The Pawn Who Would Be Queen

High above the unassuming world, a cold wind blew upon the mountain capital of Equestria. It was as harsh as it was frigid, and it carried with it the first sweeping snows of winter. Even with the powerful magic used to keep the storms in check, this one proved an exceptionally potent maelstrom. Within the first hour, the snow reached a depth of a foot, continuing to fall at rates much faster than the city's plows could keep up. This had plunged Canterlot into grid lock of epic proportions, and more or less rendered the entire metropolis paralyzed. Winter had arrived in all its terrible fury, fed both by a still chaotically charged atmosphere and shoddy quality control at the Cloudsdale 'Weather Factory'. Orzel had little reason to doubt such a place existed, even if she'd never seen it...

Things weren't all bad, however, as soon Hearth's Warming Eve would be upon the world, and a year that had been marked with countless periods of uncertainty and strife would come to a grateful conclusion. It's final months hadn't been as quiet as many might've hoped, but at least those few speed bumps had been mild. For Orzel, oddly enough, life had become markedly simpler in many ways... In others, however, it'd become both increasingly complex and confusing. For one thing, Mother had all but come out and said that Orzel didn't need to keep doing her lessons... Both Mother and Aunt Celestia had become even more supportive of Orzel's work at her workshop, even encouraging her to sleep overnight at Maksym Field if necessary.

The reason as to why remained unclear, both Mother and Aunt Celestia were more tight lipped than ever, and yet... They weren't. Every now and then they'd mention something to do with weapons design, nothing too overt, but just enough to get Orzel's mind pondering the possibilities. What was more, they'd all but given their approval for Orzel to begin working on projects of a less than defensive nature... The girl took this to mean that they were tacitly alright with her tinkering with the weapons and other assorted pieces of military hardware she'd recently come into possession of.

When all of her inventories had been completed, Orzel discovered that in addition to the original bunker there were two other storage bunkers that contained arms and munitions, including examples of SMGs and handguns, revolvers and semi-automatic alike. The rest of the bunkers were filled with a prodigious number of mostly mundane things. These included, but weren't limited to, assorted uniforms, web belts, helmets, holsters, berets, bandages, boots, gas masks, training grenades, and a hundred-thousand pairs of government issue socks.

There were some bizarre combinations of oddities thrown in for good measure, including one bunker that contained half a dozen hollowed out naval artillery shells, a truck originating from the Imperial Griffon Army, and three fifty-five gallon drums labeled 'Assorted Preserved Fish Offal'... Orzel could only speculate as to what the intended purpose of these assorted oddities were, but... Nothing she could think of explained the need for one-hundred-sixty-five gallons of seafood byproducts.

Evidently the DAC agreed with the absurdity of the find, and the media had picked up the story about the Army losing several million dollars worth of arms and ammunition, not just at Maksym Field but at other abandoned facilities as well. As of that moment, a crack team of exigent fusspots were pouring over the various books of each military branch, combing through with the finest of combs, turning every stone, picking at every nit...

Orzel, meanwhile, was left wondering just what she was supposed to do with so much equipment. It seemed obvious at first, just auction it off in lots, but... Another part of her thought it might be worth it to rent a storefront in nearby Ponyville, at least as far as selling the weapons were concerned. Speaking of which, she'd already learned a great deal from the examples she'd gotten her hands on... The AARs, for example, were indeed quite heavy... Not so much for her, but certainly for some of the Nocturne Agents that she'd had test fire them. Oddly, while keeping and tinkering with the weapons was apparently fine now, actually firing them for herself was still considered 'off limits'...

What she'd learned through mere examination was that the .30-06 was effective out to a range of a thousand yards, and it was that sheer amount of power that was proving so difficult to counter in terms of body armor design. The issue was that after action reports, supplied by the Lone Star Territorial Garrison and various Lone Star militias, indicated that most engagements with raiders from the Southern Dragonlands took place at a maximum of three-hundred yards. Further examinations of several coups and civil wars in Zebrica backed those numbers up.

Overall, the rounds currently employed were therefore over penetrating their targets, retaining much of its energy and zipping through cleanly, rather than dumping all of its energy into the target and cavitating. Of course, this was also influenced by the size of the actual target. .30-06 was quite effective against extremely large targets, such as elk, bears, or other big game, because they had enough mass and density to decelerate the round...

As Orzel stared out into the driving snow, it was hard not to feel a sensation of coldness down her spine. Not since the death of Sokol had she given such thought to the lethality of things, she'd certainly never pondered just how to kill someone most efficiently in such mechanical detail... Or any detail, for that matter. The Princess believed planes and aircraft carriers would dominate the air over land and sea, but she hadn't considered what that actually meant... It was easy to strategize and design when the enemy was just numbers on a piece of paper, but the reports she'd examined included those of coroners, and she'd seen the very real, very gruesome wounds bullets could inflict... The autopsy photographs that accompanied them, especially those taken using color film, called back a whole host of sorrowful memories...

So, why then, was Orzel so focused on maximizing the lethality of those wounds? The reasoning was very simple... Not all of the dead were raiders or soldiers, nor were they all fighters of some far off civil conflict in Zebrica... No, a good many of those corpses she'd seen were farmers, ranchers, store owners... Members of the Lone Star Rangers and local militias, the groups that often had to deal with raiders on their own, with no aid from the Territorial Garrisons or regular Army. They were wives and husbands, people with children, and extended families... Killed, defending themselves and their communities from bands of criminals that would just as soon loot and burn a village as look at it.

Those innocent lives that'd been lost were the lives of Orzel's subjects, the people she'd resolved to defend to the utmost, even at the expense of her own life... Or her conscience. She would've done anything to prevent those lives from having been lost, even go and fight herself, but... To do so would present the unacceptable risk, the Nocturne Agency would never allow an opportunity for the raiders to potentially capture a Princess. Were it up to her, the threat of the raiders would've been dealt with swiftly and severely. It was one of the few policies of the Empire she actually agreed with...

Any nation in the Old World that dared to so much as lay a finger upon a Szafirian citizen could expect nothing less than the full and terrible weight of the Imperial War Machine to come crashing down upon them... Many a nation had tried, and many a nation had failed, to test that policy... But the matter wasn't up to Orzel to decide, not yet at any rate. Mother and Celestia were wary of potentially invoking retaliation of the Southern Dragonlands, and most of the country agreed... It wasn't Equestria's fight, it was Lone Star's. Why risk more lives when the situation was already being 'handled'?

So Orzel couldn't go to fight for her people, nor could she send troops to wipe out the raiding clans once and for all. That left only one option. If she couldn't defend her subjects in the flesh, she could at least give them better tools to do the job themselves. Designing a round that would be lighter, and kill the enemy faster, might decrease the number of lives lost to enemy action... Maybe, in the face of increasing casualties, the raiders would finally stop coming altogether. Maybe they'd finally die out, or turn against one another instead... Orzel would've have minded them becoming someone else's problem, so long as Equestrian lives were preserved.

So far, Orzel found that she liked the weight afforded by the .30 caliber bullet, but that the amount of propellant and size of the .30-06 cartridge itself were both superfluous. The Princess's potential solution was an intermediate cartridge, firing the same bullet but from a smaller cartridge, as it wouldn't require a change in the milling, rifling, and other assorted machinery already in use throughout the military's arsenals... It would also simplify development, considering that these were the same machines present at Maksym Field. A new cartridge design was only half of the solution, as Orzel didn't have a weapons platform to actually fire her theoretical cartridge, which she'd dubbed in her notes as either '.30 Basilisk Short', or the more scientific '7.62x39mm', she wasn't sure which she was more partial to yet.

That wasn't to say Orzel didn't have a few ideas in mind, because she did... She'd sketched a few potential prototypes, everything from a modification to the existing bolt-action rifle to a potential conversion of existing AARs. Her favorite of them all, primarily because of the difficulty the design presented, was one which could have its rate of fire adjusted somehow... Perhaps through a knob or a lever? Something that could allow one soldier the close range versatility of an automatic weapon like a submachine gun and the long range accuracy of a rifle or carbine... A rifle that could allow one man to assault an enemy position with the firepower of a fire team...

That particular design was, at this point, purely conceptual speculation... After all, Mother would never allow her to begin weapons research in earnest before she was an adult. She was at least getting some experience through her tinkering, but all of her designs would need to remain constrained to the realm of the theoretical for the foreseeable future.

Orzel sighed, shaking her head and looking about her surroundings, listening briefly to the indistinct chatter of the Officers and Officials that meandered about the Castle ballroom. There were no festivities underway at present, so the space was all but empty, save a few tables and folding chairs. As such, it served perfectly as the place from which Operation Firewatch might be conducted. All told, it represented perhaps the largest command meeting in the modern history of Equestria's armed services. These men and woman, gathered in that typically cheerful space, were feverishly, and fruitlessly, coordinating with one another as a microcosm of what Equestria's overall command structure would look like in the event of a total catastrophe.

Judging by the large amount of officers standing off to one side or another, the vast majority as a matter of fact, the current scenario was unfolding just as Orzel had expected. The simulations so far had been based around several different threats, ranging from a foreign invasion, an earthquake and subsequent tsunami, and a myriad of others. Each time the simulation was reset and rerun, though on occasion one or two additional threats were tossed in, just to add that much more chaos and confusion to the mix.

The ballroom's tables were set up now to represent the various Government Branches involved in the crisis, as well as provisions for the Media and the Public, though these were part of the simulation as well. At the center of the bustling chamber, Orzel laid eyes upon a map she'd meticulously crafted to be as accurate to Equestria's overall land mass as dragonly possible. It was dotted with every village, town, municipality, transportation artery and military installation currently on record. The original map had since been expanded upon by way of transmutation magic, to a point it'd grown so large that it took up a good portion of the ballroom's dance floor.

Orzel's lab coat fluttered quietly as she moved away from the window, returning to stride along the outside of the model, watching as glowing red orbs hovered above various cities and military bases. These were provided by Piercing Gaze's, wearing a black suit and tie like that of Director Orcus and nearly every other Nocturne Agent in attendance. The man stared about the map in quiet contemplation, displaying the same cold concern he'd shown when the Firewatch Scenarios had first started several days ago. The glint of the glowing orbs refracted in his glasses, further influenced by the small wisps of smoke trailing upwards from the cigar resting between his lips.

"I can't help but wonder what might've been avoided if we'd had such planning sessions in Old Equestria." Piercing mumbled, clasping his hands behind his back as one of the red orbs gradually ballooned in size, accompanied by several chirping beeps that might not've sounded out of place in a science fiction radio play. "We might very well be on the moon by now." He added, examining the map in that peculiar interested way of his. "Your 'thorough exploration' of all the possible disasters we're running through appears to be the cause for a lot of concern."

Orzel nodded silently, absently brushing a lock of hair back behind her ear, then sighing through her nose. She cast a quick glance across the room to a table, behind which sat Mother, Aunt Celestia, and Cousin Cadence. Blueblood, meanwhile was meandering off in the corner, chatting up a couple Army Generals. All members of the Crown had volunteered to take part in the exercise, despite its lengthy schedule, because their responses would add to the further realism and validity of the test results. The entire experience was visibly taxing on the lot of them, with perhaps the exception of Orzel herself... She didn't blame them...

"How many deaths so far?" Orzel asked in Szafirian, sighing through her nose.

"Too many." Came Piercing's measured response, also in Szafirian, watching as the orb once again grew in size. The spheres were more for the purpose of gauging the disaster's effects in simulated time, such as deaths and other casualties, rather than part of the disaster itself. Slipping back into Equestrian, he continued. "Manehattan's become a virtual ghost town, Canterlot isn't far off, and Applewood..." The man shook his head. "Total loss... Though, this is honestly what I expected. Diseases are such insidious things..."

"Indeed, I recall the time that..." Orzel began, only to trail off, recalling one particular winter in Cesarski, before shaking her head... It wasn't worth mentioning. "Obviously no disease we know of will have such a drastic mortality rate as the one proposed in my scenario, so I take some comfort in that, but it is nonetheless unsettling." She paused momentarily. "What do you suppose it is like in that Nightmare World we have created? When our simulation has run its course, what sort of people would come out of it alive?"

"None, I should think, it is a simulation after all." Piercing mused, rubbing his chin. Orzel knew that the man understood what she meant, he was far too smart not to.

The strange scholar had rapidly gone from unknown wild card to acquaintance, and now held a place as one of Orzel's few 'colleagues'. He seemed to enjoy the idea of sharing his insights about the strange world the two now found themselves in, and Orzel didn't care to stop him. His grasp of Szafirian and applied engineering principles of the modern era was, frankly, astounding... The man's knowledge of the arcane was likewise greatly larger than Orzel's, and that made him a font of knowledge in her continuing efforts to turn the field of Enchanting into a respectable science. So, while Piercing was by no means a trusted confidant, Orzel had come to see him as a sort of 'amiable professor'...

"The strongest and the smartest would survive, those that can band together for safety, or for lethality." The scholar further expanded on his earlier none answer. "As it stands, the Government is rather powerless, and I suspect once the disease has 'burned itself out' the world would be left in a far more anarchic state." He paused, humming to himself. "Eventually Equestria's government will recover, but what sort of government that will be is hard to say... With all that's been lost."

People of the Alicorn species were generally immune to disease, so the majority Equestria's most senior leadership hadn't suffered too greatly, at least on paper. Orzel and Piercing weren't Alicorns, though... It wasn't exactly clear to the girl what Piercing actually was, either. He was a Spell-Caster, but something more than that, and Orzel had to wonder if he'd actually be susceptible to disease. In the context of this simulation he was, they both were... For all intents and purposes, Orzel and Piercing Gaze had 'died' of the disease early into the ongoing simulation... Hence, much like the many officers and officials that were also 'dead', they had little to do but observe and chat amongst themselves.

Orzel cast another look at Luna, whose features remained stoic, despite what terrible thoughts obviously must have been troubling her. Inwardly the girl couldn't help some sensation of guilt for putting her Mother through such a brutal scenario, but she took consolation in the knowledge that what they suffered through today would go towards ensuring such a grim future never came to pass. Glancing at a clock on the wall, Orzel was at least pleased to see the simulation would end shortly, just prior to twelve o'clock noon. There were perhaps ten minutes left, then Operation Firewatch would conclude, and the staggeringly difficult task of tabulating the results could begin.

Already there were clear steps that needed to be taken, such as the construction of several Trans-National Highways, both from East to West and North to South. It would be a costly endeavor, but a lack of reliable paved roads had resulted in unforgivable delays delivering emergency relief to vital areas of the country. In the 'Invasion Scenario', it likewise had hindered the Equestrian Military's ability to move troops in effective fashion. Command structures would be reworked, bureaucratic communication channels bypassed, to be eventually cut out entirely...

Firewatch, in consort with the ongoing Logistics Scandal, would spell doom for dozens of useless or otherwise redundant agencies. That, unfortunately, meant there would be a great many bureaucrats now looking for work. The positive side was that the Trans-National Highway would likely create a considerable amount of jobs, both in its' design, construction and maintenance... The Highways, however, were just one of countless other improvements and changes that needed to be made.

The further changes would hopefully be overseen by the virtually guaranteed creation of the 'Civil Defense Agency'. Volunteer fire departments would be established, while auxiliary police and rescue responders would be recruited... Evacuation routes would be mapped and clearly marked, and a nationwide 'Crisis Alert System' would be created. It would allow the CDA to broadcast warnings and information bulletins directly into the home and automobile radios of every Equestrian within range, granting advanced warning... Ensuring, hopefully, that no Equestrian would ever endure the terror of sudden chaos. The girl still recalled the close margin by which she and Sokol reached the Vindictan Temple, if they'd had even a few extra minutes, Sokol might still be alive.

Orzel wished she could say she was pleased, but at the end of the day, Firewatch was only the beginning. It was one thing for everything to work on paper, but as any tinkerer or inventor would be all too aware of, what worked on paper seldom worked in practice. Now began the most difficult facet of all, getting all the gears to fit together properly... Barring any unseen interruptions or interference, Lexicos willing, Orzel would have them all running as smoothly and efficiently as a masterfully crafted watch. A dull low klaxon alarm echoed through the room as the clock struck twelve, and Orzel realized she'd been staring at the map for those final ten minutes.

"The simulation has ended! All personnel, gather your results and submit them for review prior to exiting the chamber!" An Officer bellowed through the room, Piercing meanwhile waved his hand, dismissing the glowing orbs from the map. The room was bathed in more indistinct chatter, far less gloomy than it had been a few minutes before, still Orzel's eyes remained fixed on the map... At least until she felt a pair of powerful arms yank her into a hug, nearly knocking her spectacles from her face in the process. Luna had crossed the distance unseen, and was currently in the process of crushing her daughter.

A flood of shame washed over Orzel, her Mother was practically shaking, and it was all her fault... She suspected this wasn't unlike some of the times Spike had described to her, now that she thought about it, and that made it sting all the more.

"I am sorry..." Orzel apologized quietly after Mother eventually let go, the girl's eyes cast downward. "I did not take into account-"

"Stop." Sternly commanded Mother, sniffling slightly, still resting a hand on the girl's shoulder. "Loss and failure are the most potent of teachers, so you will not blame yourself for any discomfort on anyone's part. This is a lesson that needed to be learned." She further declared, taking Orzel by surprise... Had she just been ordered not to feel guilty? Apparently so. Mother adjusted her gown, looking between her daughter and Piercing. "Your 'Operation Firewatch' was an unfortunate necessity, I am afraid... Now we see how vulnerable we have truly become." She took on a warm smile. "What we glean from this simulation will significantly aid us in future planning... Your scenarios were quite challenging to untangle, I commend your commitment to brutal difficulty."

"Thank you, Mother..." The young Princess nodded solemnly, before once again fussing with a few loose strands of hair. "What of my proposed agency? I presume you and Aunt Celestia have come to a decision." The woman nodded quietly, her smile moderating as several Generals and a few Colonels wandered past, discussing the latest findings in hushed furious whispers.

"We have decided that your 'Civil Defense Agency' is a necessary step towards better preparing Equestria in these uncertain times." Mother agreed more seriously, clasping her hands behind her back. "Celestia hopes that it will be a step towards bolstering public confidence, and the Trans-National Highway project will better reinforce the economy." The woman cast a glance to Celestia and Cadence, the two of whom were currently talking among one another. Orzel got the feeling that there was something her Mother wasn't telling her, judging by a brief guilty look back at the map, then once more at her. "This 'CDA' will need a head, have you given thought to who you would like to appoint? It is your agency, after all, and I assume you have some preference." Orzel paused for a moment, the thought of who would lead such an agency was indeed something she'd considered in detail. There were a few candidates that stuck out to her, though she wondered how Mother would feel about them.

One option was, oddly, Miss Twilight Sparkle... She'd been at the heart of a lot of the most recent crises, and therefore had the sort of experience facing villainous threats that would be necessary to prepare for them. That she shared Orzel's commitment to the cause of keeping Equestria safe further endeared Twilight, but... She was inexperienced with the terrifyingly byzantine bureaucracy of Equestria's government, and while change would come, that change would take time... Time enough to drive the young woman undoubtedly mad, as few sane persons could ever rightly deal with the various procedures, agencies, forms, and codes.

The second choice was Doctor Shiroi Hana, an expat from the distant island of Tennoshima. Doctor Hana was better versed in the handling of natural disasters, and even helped during several instances where a giant lizard had laid siege to her country's capital city... She currently taught courses on Emergency Management as a visiting scholar for the University of Canterlot, which made her at least tangentially familiar with the inner workings of Equestria's government. In fact, a great deal of the simulation mechanics drew inspiration from Doctor Hana's work, published in several well esteemed, but admittedly esoteric, scientific journals.

Lastly there was former General Forthright, now currently commanding the Lone Star Homeguard... A competent military commander, but highly aggressive and territorial, which might make him difficult for his subordinates to communicate with. Communication would prove vital in an emergency, and any delay due to a conflict of personalities or ego might cost lives. Therefore, Orzel came to the conclusion that of her short-list, it could only be Doctor Hana to lead the CDA, as much as she might've liked Miss Twilight Sparkle. Truth be told, Orzel felt the woman would be more beneficial to Equestria remaining unhindered by the responsibilities that would come with running a government Agency. She was an Element Bearer, and a librarian, after all.

"Doctor Shiroi Hana, currently working at the University of Canterlot." Orzel declared with a bit more confidence, putting her hands on her hips. "She should make a fine..." The teen paused, pondering just what sort of title to confer upon the head of her new agency.

'Director' was one option, but she'd come to associate the title with Director 'Orcus', as he fancied himself now. Whatever he called himself, the Director of the Nocturne Agency had failed to inform her of vital information, and just hearing the title brought up unpleasant memories. There was also the ever infuriating fact that despite countless months of requests and outright orders, the man had yet to release the remains of Sokol, or any of the personal effects currently interred by the Nocturne Agency... Piercing's case certainly wasn't helped by his being so friendly with the enigmatic Director, yet another road bump to using the title. Seeing this as another opportunity to further cement her authority in the eyes of the public, and in consideration that the new CDA would be a paramilitary organization, Orzel opted for something a bit more appropriate.

"Grand Marshal of Public Safety." Orzel concluded with a slight nod, Mother paused for a moment, visibly pondering the title for herself. "That is, of course, if she accepts the position. I may need time to select an alternative, should she decline."

"Very well, we shall make the offer once the organization effort is completed." Mother declared, her eyes locking briefly with Piercing's, as if they were holding some unspoken conversation. That was yet another of the changes Orzel had noticed of her Mother, that strange ability to communicate non-verbally, in a manner that the girl couldn't discern for herself. "In the meantime, I for one have grown weary of contemplating Armageddon. Is it safe to assume the same for the two of you?" Piercing shrugged while Orzel looked back to her map, uncertain as to how the map would be removed from the ballroom at its present size. She didn't want to see it destroyed...

"Never fear, the map will be returned to you intact. There are no further duties for you to perform here today." Luna had always been able to read Orzel's thoughts from the miniscule alterations in her body language, at least that skill hadn't diminished. "I think it prudent that the three of us spend a day together, perhaps to visit the new 'Hall of Engineering' exhibit at the museum?"

Orzel was certainly tempted by that offer, as she suspected Luna wanted her to be. That temptation was tempered by the very real blizzard currently in progress beyond the ballroom windows, which had rendered her journeys to and from Maksym Field so troublesome. Orzel also had the distinct impression that something was amiss, and that her Mother wanted to 'butter her up' in preparation for some revelation of an unpleasant nature.

"Very well..." Orzel conceded, straightening her wizardly robes. "First I must change into something a bit warmer, of course, then I suppose we can get under way." Truth be told, she was quite interested to see the new exhibit, as it promised to contain a whole host of inventions and factory machines at the very cutting edge of technology. Perhaps more importantly, given the amount of stress she'd been under lately, the outing would serve as a balm towards whatever Luna and Piercing were keeping from her. Speculation on just what that entailed was a getting underway, and her overly anxious and active mind was already at work drafting new fears and worries...

The familiar 'tight' feeling of weight took its place atop her shoulders, and the Princess needed to take a moment to close her eyes and think a silent prayer... A prayer for strength, and calm determination, in the face of whatever calamity it was that thus far eluded her. Assuming it had anything to do with the calamity at all, it just as easily could've been some sort of policy problem or domestic political issue. Maybe it was a personal matter, or something that Orzel simply hadn't thought of yet. 'What could it be?' This was the question that plagued her whenever she wasn't working, and here she would likewise find now reprieve. Were the two of them having problems? Would Piercing be leaving? Why did that bother her as much as it did? He was a competent workshop assistant, but hardly irreplaceable...

Other possibilities rose to the surface, each more unpleasant than the last. Thoughts of being cast aside, dormant since her first tentative days accepting Luna as her Mother, clawed their way out from the darkest pit of her subconscious. Mother and Aunt Celestia had been encouraging her to spend more and more time at the workshop, away from Canterlot, away from home... Were they trying to get her used to the idea of not seeing them, in preparation for shipping her off to some boarding school or other far off place?

Surely that wasn't the case... It was nearing Hearth's Warming Eve, after all. A time to be spent among loved ones... At least according to Orzel's research. She liked the holiday, it was far nicer than the Winter Celebrations of the Empire. To be shuffled away at such a time of year, just as she was finally starting to feel comfortable in her routine, would utterly destroy her. These worries went unnoticed by Mother, as Orzel had become quite adept at hiding her fear and anxiety, as that was just one step in better controlling it overall. She had to remind herself that it didn't matter how much she worried now, as nothing would change whatever bad news it was they had to tell her...

Dressed in a leather fur-lined flight suit, bomber jacket, and furry pilot's cap, Luna's daughter looked like a diminutive version of something out of an Army Air Corps recruitment poster. The fur lined collar was pulled up, and in addition to the hat and her typical headscarf, the girl wore a knitted balaclava, coupled with a dense wool scarf wrapped around her neck... Furthermore, a pair of bulky leather flight gloves concealed the girl's hands... This had the effect of rendering Orzel's glowing emerald eyes as the only visible portion of her skin or face. Even under so many layers, several of which were hidden from view by the flight suit, Luna knew that her daughter was most likely still shivering.

Despite that, Luna couldn't see any sign of it in her face... What little of it she could see, at any rate. The woman felt honestly guilty, dragging the girl out into the middle of a blizzard, even if it had moderated in the past couple minutes. By comparison, Luna and Piercing had gotten away with a few woolen jackets and earmuffs, and every person they passed on the sidewalk seemed surprised at Orzel's apparent overdressed appearance. To maintain the fiction of being 'just another family', Luna had restrained her starry hair to its dull light blue coloration, and their security detail generally wore more festive civilian clothing.

They were in the downtown section of Canterlot, nearing the Canterlot National Museum. This area of the city was already decorated for the holidays, with strings of multicolored lights and green wreathes hanging from lamp posts. The sound of joyful Hearth's Warming music wafted from an electronics store, displaying half a dozen various models of radio in its window, and even a few of the newfangled 'televisions'... Luna doubted that it would catch on. After all, why would anyone spend so much money on one 'television' when they could visit a moving picture house for a single bit?

The snow in this portion of the city had been shoveled, for the most part, and ice melted in patches where store owners had cast various handfuls of salt. The museum itself loomed ever closer, or at least its main portion. The structure was just one of nearly a dozen that comprised the entire organization, the largest single body of historical works preserved in the world. There was a popular story that so much existed to see that someone could enter the first building as a child and exit the last as an adult, and still not have seen everything. Everything from Draconic Studies, to Botany, even the fledgling field of study pertaining to 'Enriched Elements' as a sort of 'Reactive Material', so obscure and poorly understood that it had yet to receive an official name.

The falling snow was still in full effect, and traffic didn't permit the use of an automobile or even a horse carriage, not if they wanted to actually get anywhere. It really couldn't be helped, either way... Luna and Piercing had something to tell Orzel that probably was best told away from the regular staff... Especially given certain recent... Revelations. The Changeling Menace had Luna questioning the security of the Castle, add to that the scenarios that had just concluded, and the Princess was feeling exceptionally paranoid. Not telling Orzel about the threat, likewise, was proving difficult to stomach, especially as it pertained to their current outing.

Try as her daughter might, Luna had been able to see the gears turning almost as soon as the girl agreed to their little expedition. Not only was she dragging her exceptionally cold daughter through the snow, Luna had also started another round of worrying. Once again, however, it just couldn't be helped... In this case, Luna wondered if maybe Orzel was right to be worried this time.

A warm gloved hand found its way into Luna's own, squeezing comfortingly, and the woman's eyes fell upon Piercing Gaze. His black woolen overcoat clashed against the frigid white snow lining the sidewalk, but his smile radiated a comforting warmth. Just as the Princess could read her daughter, so too could Piercing read Luna. She stepped slightly closer to the man, her mind turning to the prospect of just coming out and saying what needed to be said then and there. Orzel was just a few feet ahead of them, and the sidewalk was more or less clear at present, save the security detail. Occasionally the girl would look over her shoulder to ensure that her Mother was still there, and it was in one those brief glimpses of restrained anxiety that Luna finally broke.

"Hold a moment..." Luna said evenly, bringing the trio to a halt, with Orzel carefully turning around. The woman looked to Piercing, who bore a questioning glint in his eyes. "She obviously realizes something is amiss, I will not prolong her anxiety another moment." The man looked between her and Orzel, whose eyes bore distinct look that practically screamed 'I knew it!'. Luna stepped forward, crouching so that she could better get on Orzel's eye level, resting a comforting hand on the teen's shoulder. "Orzel, I want to preface this by saying that you did nothing wrong." She felt her daughter tense, and inwardly Luna cursed herself at that. "Celestia and I have decided that, at least for the moment... Canterlot is not the best place for you to be." The girl's eyes widened, and she took a startled step back. "You are not safe here... There is a threat unlike any we have faced before, I cannot say more than this."

"Why not?" Orzel asked with surprising venom, her eyes narrowing. "Have I not shown I am capable of ruling alongside you? I have done all that I can to prove to you that I can do the duties you charge me, even in times of crisis! You need me!"

Luna inwardly cringed, she could see the hurt and betrayal rapidly filling her daughter's eyes, even if the girl's outward demeanor remained less severe. Ironically, Luna hadn't been comfortable with sending her daughter away until the completion of Operation Firewatch... The last simulation had struck exceptionally close to home, with Orzel's simulated 'death' putting into stark realization just how quickly something could happen to her, and how powerless Luna might be to stop it...

"That is exactly why I must send you away." Luna explained, her voice cracking slightly as she contemplated the cost of that final simulation. "I need you safe and sound... I cannot focus on this new threat and be concerned for your safety." It was a tactic that Piercing had suggested she use to convince Orzel, one of the many things he'd gleaned from working with her over the past several weeks. Manipulating her own daughter, even for Orzel's own good, tore at Luna's very soul. To that end, Luna decided to pull out all the stops, and so she laid her last ace on the table. "If something happens in Canterlot that renders Celestia, Cadence and I powerless... You will be the only powerful spell-caster that remains to lead Equestria."

"I am beginning to sense a pattern, Mother. How am I to lead Equestria through a crisis that you refuse to tell me the very nature of?" Orzel flatly pointed out, straightening her posture. "If it is as simple as that, why must it be me? Why not Cousin Cadence?" Her words were trembling, though if it was due to her shaken emotions or simply the chilly winter air was unclear.

Once again, her daughter had a point, but there was good reason Cadence had to remain behind while Orzel had to go... If there were infiltrators within Canterlot, they would undoubtedly grow suspicious if one of the 'Senior' Princesses up and left without good reason. They might go underground, or worse, spring their plan before Equestria would have a chance to respond.

"You will be informed if needed." Luna declared firmly, standing to her full height. "Cadence cannot be the one to leave Canterlot, her departure would draw too much attention." The woman held up a hand, stopping Orzel before she could form a response. "Yes, you would also draw attention, but as is obvious to both of us... You are not suited for winter in Canterlot." Luna's tone grew firm and forceful, as this was one of the few times where no matter what argument Orzel presented, there would be no way of changing her mind. "This is not a topic that is up for debate, Orzel. You will go, end of discussion." Orzel's eyes flashed with indignation, and Luna briefly feared the girl might lash out. Concealed as her face was, this was the most emotive Luna had seen her daughter in a long time.

"Where am I to be sent...?" Orzel practically spat, tucking her hands into her pockets, while her eyes darted towards Piercing with a look of utter contempt... So she'd recognized his influence in Luna's approach after all. The woman could only hope it wouldn't become a point of contention between the two of them. "Some dingy basement? That abandoned 'Castle of the Two Sisters'?" Luna shook her head.

"The Naval Base on Amberjack Island, in the South Luna Sea..." The woman said as gently as she could, but the look of anger in her daughter's eyes didn't diminish. "I know, it is not perfect... But you will be safe there." Like the originally proposed Naval Weapons Station Snowcone, Amberjack Island was one of the most remote Equestrian outpost in the world. Luna had no doubt that her daughter knew exactly where the island was, even if it was so obscure. It served the South Luna Fleet as a refueling depot, and Luna was struck by the irony of a letter Orzel had written some time ago, threatening to send any officer that interfered with the completion of ESS Sokol to that very region.

Perhaps less than six miles long and three miles wide at its largest point, Amberjack Island had a population of less than two thousand people, with the personnel of the Navy Base accounting for half of that number. Much of the island was unexplored, and covered in dense tropical jungle, which Luna hoped would prove more comfortable than the frigid winter temperatures of Canterlot. It was its remoteness, and reasonably insignificant size, that made the Island the perfect candidate for a place to send Orzel. The odds of a Changeling infiltrator being there were astronomically slim...

"Whatever..." Orzel finally grumbled, looking defeatedly at the ground, flakes of snow starting to catch on the furry fringe of her jacket's collar. Luna was frankly surprised at how easily her daughter had agreed, and perhaps a tad suspicious. What really stood out was her latest comment. One word answers of an imprecise nature were highly unusual... "This is stupid... I am going home." The anger had gone, replaced by the typical hollow monotone, still shaken by chittering shivers. The girl turned and started to walk away, but Luna reached out for her, as she had so many times.

"Do not touch me!" The girl snapped harshly, rounding to face Luna while shrugging the hand away. Once again, to the outside observer she would appear deadly calm, but Luna knew her too well for that. "As is so obvious, Hearth's Warming is soon upon us. I am told it is a time to be spent with family! With people we love!" She pointed at Luna. "I had feared, briefly, that you would send me away... Then I thought better of it, because surely my own Mother would not send me away at such a time!" Luna's heart grew heavy, as once again the unvarnished grief manifested itself in her child's eyes. It was more than she could bear.

"I am not sending you away before Hearth's Warming, damn it!" Luna blurted, her voice thundering more loudly than perhaps she'd intended. Her choice of words at the end, likewise, had a stunning effect upon the surprised Orzel. "You did not allow me to finish..." Luna stepped closer, grabbing Orzel by the shoulders, holding her even as the teen tried to pull away. "You will depart on the day after Hearth's Warming, and not a moment before." The girl calmed when she heard that same firm, commanding tone, evidence that Luna meant what she said. "Do you really think I would miss our first such holiday together...?" Orzel stared at her Mother, then shook her head. A myriad of emotions flashed through those expressive glowing orbs, until the anger and panic virtually evaporated from view.

"No... I suppose not..." Orzel managed quietly, kicking slightly at the snow gathering at their feet. "You are certain there is no other way?" Luna nodded solemnly. "I can continue my correspondence with Spike?" The woman hadn't honestly been expecting that question, though she likely should've... Luna doubted she could keep the two from communicating even if she wanted to, which meant she'd need to fall back on an old piece of advice, one that'd seen a lot of use of late. Never give an order you know will be disobeyed. So again, she nodded. "May I continue my work when I get to Amberjack Island?"

That actually brought up another point the woman intended to mention, though she hadn't worked out the logistics of it yet... She still had the commission order provided to her by Director Orcus, containing all the various new bits of equipment he thought might help fight the Changeling Menace, or otherwise modernize the military in general. Most notable of all the various items called for was an underlying emphasis on weight reduction. Lighter uniforms, lighter weapons, lighter ammunition... All of which would make it possible for soldiers to carry more ammunition or other equipment for the same amount of weight, or less weight for greater speed and mobility.

"I would certainly hope so." Agreed Luna, tucking her hands into her jacket pockets. "In fact, there is matter I wished to discuss with you regarding your work. However, now is neither the time, nor the place..." For the first time since their discussion had started, Luna turned to look at Piercing. The man sported a sad smile, his hands tucked into his pockets.

"If I might interject?" Piercing spoke up, then nodded towards the looming museum. "It might be best to get back underway, I'm certain you can continue your discussion far easier once inside." Orzel nodded quietly, looking briefly up at Luna. Despite reining the earlier outburst, it was still obvious that her daughter remained rather upset with her. With time, Luna hoped the teen would come to see that this was the right decision...

As they drew closer to the museum, it was difficult not to feel it was nearly as expansive and sprawling as Canterlot Castle itself. Five stories tall, with an additional four floors under ground, all in service in the preservation of historical relics from across the world and the vast gulf of time. It was here that many well known scholars had discovered their passions, and where the discoveries of said scholars were passed down onto other generations. The main building was fittingly designed with a look of ancient Equestria in mind, with carved marble pillars running along its snowy exterior. A brilliantly executed pedimental carving looked out over the building's approach, depicting a pair of cadre of cavalry with swords raised, each pointing towards an eight-pointed sun.

Together, the trio made their way along, ascending up a considerably tall set of steps before reaching the front doors. Unsurprisingly, Luna found the familiar looming figures of Grim and Fable waiting there, each concealed behind a pillar. Piercing was caught slightly off guard, but Orzel seemed totally unfazed by their presence, though by now Luna supposed that was just her natural state. The two men would never reveal just how they got there, or how they so quickly got anywhere, no matter how many times they were asked. Without hesitation, both men reached out in unison and pulled open the museum's front doors, allowing all three visitors safe passage within.

The warm air of the museum's interior awaited them, as did the scent of aging parchment, musty leather book bindings, and the sharp aroma of pine scented floor cleaner. In spite of the ongoing blizzard, the building nonetheless bustled with activity, as people young and old moved about. Some were evidently scholars, carrying with them tomes or stacks of papers, whilst others were families... A few appeared to be school groups, though Luna couldn't think of any schools that might still be holding classes given the weather.

An absolutely gargantuan domed roof at the center of the atrium was painted with dozens of murals, depicting the history of Equestria throughout the ages... The trials and tribulations, the heroes and the villains, immortalized in vivid color for countless millions of eyes to observe over the course of the thousand years this place had stood. The brush strokes, the shading, the lines and contrast, each masterfully carried out with a steady hand. Luna could've stood there admiring the ceiling alone for hours if she truly wanted, but there was so much more to be seen.

Orzel carefully removed her gloves, hat, balaclava, and extra scarves... These she tucked into the numerous pockets lining the flight suit. Popping her collar back down, the Princess partially unzipped the bomber jacket and straightened her headscarf... Lately she'd opted towards the color black. Luna could hardly believe it, especially considering the flight suit was intended to keep air crews warm at an altitude of over twenty-thousand feet, but Orzel still looked chilly. The girl tucked her hands into her jacket's pockets, peering around the space with a slight familiarity. Luna had once brought Orzel here as an attempt to get her out of the Castle, and while the girl had enjoyed the excursion, she'd not shown any interest in making it a regular one. This outing in particular would be a success so long as she could sooth her daughter's nerves, at least somewhat.

Making their way through the atrium, the trio and the two looming bodyguards passed into a vaulted hallway, one of several branching off throughout the massive complex. This threshold of this hallway in particular was decorated with a series of stylized cogs and gears, as well as a sign comprised of large copper colored letters, proclaiming it to be the 'Hall of Engineering'. Within lay a series of exhibits, from simple steam engines to automobiles, bridges and tunnels to ships and aeroplanes.

A biplane hung suspended by cables overhead, painted in the colors of the Army Air Corps. Luna didn't know what type of aircraft it was, but she had no doubt her daughter did. What'd drawn the girl's immediate attention wans't the aeroplane however, it was an exhibit on internal combustion engines, featuring a radial engine taken from an aeroplane, cut away in places so as to allow onlookers a glimpse of its inner mechanics. In fact, pretty much as the Luna expected, Orzel had whipped out one of her innumerable notebooks and was feverishly scribbling in it. For all the tenseness of the days events, the woman was nonetheless pleased to see a familiar glimmer of excitement in the girl's eyes... She just hoped that it would remained, when all was said and done...

Spike's gaze steadily swept the sleepy town, covered in a healthy helping of pristine white snow. The winds whipped past him, carrying helpless flakes in twisting and turning maelstroms of miniature size. The temperature was easily in the low single digits, making the young man's breath that much more visible as he trudged along. Almost every shop in sight was closed, with market stalls packed up for the duration of the storm. The typical ambling throngs of people were absent today, and only a handful of brave souls dared to venture too far from home. There were a few automobiles that moved purposefully about the town's snow covered streets, intermingling occasionally with motorcyclists, all of whom Spike assumed to be some level of crazy or foolish to ride in such weather...

Then again, regardless of the weather their presence was hardly surprising to Spike, motorcycles were fast becoming an everyday presence in Ponyville. Motorcycles weren't alone in their growing number, recently there'd been an increase in the presence of pickup trucks. Again, that made perfect sense to Spike. Ponyville was a widely agricultural town, and pick up trucks weren't nearly as difficult or as expensive to maintain as a workhorse. In fact, it was men in pick up trucks that were currently attempting to plow the snow from the streets. Plows that would've required a team of difficult to control horses, simplified in operation by the miracles of technology.

Spike took care to wait for the road to clear before he started on his eastward trek, sighing heavily through his nose as his eyes fell to the sidewalk. He'd walked these streets at least a hundred times in the past, so was little need to look up as he began the journey to his destination. This gave him more than ample time to retreat into his own head, where he hoped to make sense of everything he was feeling. He and Twilight had both received invitations to the upcoming Hearth's Warming Ball in Canterlot, and in his last letter from the Princess she'd expressed a great amount of fondness for the idea of seeing him again. Spike, of course, had a fondness for the idea of seeing her again, but... Once again he was wrestling with the implications that arose from that fondness.

He'd been trying to convince himself that his interest was purely platonic, that there could be no other option.... Of course, Spike wasn't much of a liar, especially to himself. Doubt always arose as to whether was his interest in Orzel purely platonic, as he couldn't shake the notion that there was something else to it. He by nature of his job liked books, she flat out loved books. He liked models and O&O, she liked models and O&O games. He was a Dragon, she was a Dragon... Spike knew first hand that the Princess grew concerned when he was feeling unwell, but wasn't the nature of every friendship...? What was the harm in thinking it might be more than that? Spike wished he knew, indeed that was part of the problem. If he committed to that course, it could very well ruin his relationship with the closest thing he had to a best friend.

"Why does this have to be so damn difficult..." Spike muttered to himself, tucking his hands into the pockets of his leather bomber jacket, a gift from Orzel... That certainly didn't clear anything up. All he knew for certain was that he wasn't used to feeling this way, made exceptionally more difficult to deal with considering how amped up he'd been feeling of late.

Ever since his partial Elemental Transformation, keeping his feelings in check was like trying to hold back the ocean with a broom. Yet another reason he'd needed to take a walk was to cool off, both figuratively and literally... The young man wished that how he felt about the Princess was the only thing troubling him, but the truth was that there was an exponentially long list of obtrusive thoughts plaguing him. He need only take a brief look around at all the automobiles and motorcycles to see one of the others. The increasing presence of machines, now doing the jobs of horses, was one of the many things breeding discontentment among his thoughts.

With the darkness of the blizzard came the dull yellow glow of recently installed electronic street lamps. Steadily flickering in the face of wind and snow, they filled the air with a dull incandescent buzz, barely audible above the wind. Spike was halfway across town by then, halfway to his destination, but nowhere nearer to answers. Along the way he saw more than a few houses decorated for the upcoming Hearth's Warming Eve, but that'd more or less been the norm last year too. What stuck out now were the number of houses that bore the standards of Princess Celestia or Princess Luna separately, fluttering and snapping upon their flagpoles with the wailing gusts.

The demarcation line between the two seemed to be the very street on which Spike was strolling, that which separated the larger rural portion of the community from the more upscale 'Uptown' ward. The rural side displayed wide support for Princess Luna and Princess Orzel, the upscale preferring Princess Celestia. That any such demarcation even existed was a new and worrying development, at least in Spike's opinion. Rumor had it that Filthy Rich was thinking of running for Mayor in the next election, and though the retail magnate neither confirmed or denied the rumors he'd run on the Black Crown ticket, even the possibility of someone opposing Mayor Mare was enough to stir up trouble. It was relatively minor now, a few snide comments between neighbors here, an offhand half-insult there, but even that was unusual for the typically united little township.

Seeing those small cracks of division, minor as they might've been, made it that much harder for Spike to determine just how he felt about Princess Orzel. Granted, she'd had nothing to do with the founding of the Black Crown party, but they were her supporters. In a perfect world that wouldn't matter to him, especially as he didn't give a rat's ass about either side, but one side... One side wouldn't leave him alone. The Black Crowns tended to keep to themselves, but the Nobles... They were the ones he had to watch out for, the ones that would scream and posture and demand the loudest. Spike gave them little credence, he didn't accept their offered fliers or pay attention to their speeches. All he wanted was to be left alone, as was always the case when it came to politics.

For a few brief moments Spike once more recalled his first meeting with Orzel, the night that'd filled him with such vexation prior to their first written correspondence... She'd asked him what his intentions were... Asked if he shared the views of those who derided her in the papers. If he honestly did, he could've said as much. Spike suspected the Princess wouldn't have reacted negatively. It probably would've annoyed her on some level, but... Not as much as lying to her. She'd expected Spike to be honest then, an expectation that the boy sincerely doubted had changed as their relationship deepened. He'd tried to hold true to that expectation, and maybe that was why he was having such trouble convincing himself that there was nothing going on between him and his future sovereign.

By now, Spike could hear the faint burbling of the downtown river crossing. Here the air was sweet with the smell of baking bread and cooling pies, enough to drive the stronger worries from his thoughts. His destination emerged through the snowy mist, residing at the edge of the river beside a stone bridge, beyond which lay the wide open fields of Sweet Apple Acres, half a dozen other farms, and Equestria at large. The young man's objective was a rustic two story stone building, with tiled terracotta roof shingles that sat topped by a layer of snow, and a vaguely crooked chimney that jutted just a few feet above that. A steady stream of dull gray smoke spewed from the soot coated aperture, adding the distinct smell of burning firewood to the whipping torrents of air current.

As Spike crossed the street towards the building, he took note of its more distinguished characteristics. The first was a cluster of faintly buzzing neon signs in one of the first floor windows, one of which proclaiming the establishment to be 'OPEN'. The second attribute Spike recognized was the steady sound of aggressive sounding 'Blues Rock' playing inside, much quieter tonight than it usually was... The third was the presence of nearly a dozen motorcycles, parked neatly beside one another outside, covered with tarps of varying colors and patterns.

A sign nailed above the door depicted the black silhouette of a man on horseback, a satchel slung over his back, a musket in his hands. It was joined by a fancifully stylized series of words, 'The Iron Horseman', and it was a hard place, where hard men came to drank hard liquor. On its surface, such a business might've seemed out of place, especially in a town like Ponyville. Then again, most people didn't really understand why the establishment existed in the first place... Spike had figured it out a few months ago, specifically after Twilight warned him not to visit the place. Here it was possible for anyone from all around Equestria to possibly turn up, with its clientele being just as diverse as the nation itself. Some were perfectly friendly folks, while others... Weren't.

What drew these people in was as interesting as the people themselves, at least to someone like Spike, seeing as a large portion of his job entailed sending and receiving messages. In the grand scheme of things, Ponyville was more than an agricultural town, it was also the most vital railway junction in Equestria. What was more was that it was centrally located with regard to Equestria's road system. Anyone making the journey cross country almost certainly had to make a stop, however brief, in Ponyville. This not only made the otherwise unassuming village vital to the passage of passengers and freight, but also the packages and parcels of the Equestrian Postal Service.

Thus, the Iron Horseman served as more than just the local watering hole for Ponyville's rougher denizens. It was a stop over for the employees of at least a dozen various courier services, all of whom had essentially ground to a halt with the storm raging as violently as it was. Spike was neither a courier nor a rough customer, but he knew a slightly unlikely man who was at least one of those things. The very same man Spike went to when he needed advice about 'Man stuff'. Given tonight was 'Steak and Beer Night', Spike had no doubt said person would be inside. The boy approached the wooden door, tensely biting his lower lip.

He'd only ever visited once or twice before his birthday, though his visits had increased shortly thereafter. While he knew he was more or less safe, the fact remained that he'd stick out like a soar thumb the second he stepped over the threshold. He took a moment to pop his collar up, breath deep to steady his nerves, and put on his most serious face. Now was a time for action. With that final thought, Spike grabbed the door knob, turned, and pulled.

The smell of whiskey, tobacco smoke, and frying butter washed over him like a tidal wave. The music was louder now, the song in question was definitely the sort of thing Twilight wouldn't have liked Spike listening to. It talked of guns, whiskey, and more than a few questionable life choices. The teen puffed out his chest and quickly stepped inside, pulling the door closed behind him. Right beside the entrance was a large wall of hooks, each sporting a messenger bag, belonging to a wide array of courier services. A map of Equestria hung nearby, with well over a hundred points marked with bright red push pins, each indicating where at least one visitor might've originally hailed from. Beside that was a sign depicting a skull and crossbones, forcefully warning any that looked at it that 'Mailbag Thieves' would be shot.

A large jukebox at the far side of the room filled the space with its music, situated beside a little used stage. The barroom was dimly lit, swirling with dense foggy smoke, populated by the rough looking crowd Spike expected he'd find there. Most were eating steak or drinking beer, as was the custom for Steak and Beer Night. Most sat at rustic wooden tables, some were playing pool or poker, while others still eased themselves on stools directly at the bar. The majority appeared to be locals, while others wore the varying uniforms of their respective courier service. A few glanced up from their drinks at the sound of Spike's entrance, briefly staring at him with indifference for a flickering instant before going back to their own business.

The walls were adorned with a wide assortment of photographs, trinkets, and other knick-knacks. Each had a story behind how it happened to be there, and seeing as the Iron Horseman dated back as far as the founding of Ponyville, there was enough to cover nearly ever inch of the wood paneling. Among the highlights were two old trap-door rifles, so large it seemed impossible for one man to fire them, accompanied by at least fifteen mounted animal heads, each more exotic than the last. These weapons and the assorted trophies that accompanied them were gifts from a fellow by the name Chief Gunners Mate 'Dented Silver', one of the most well traveled sailors in the Equestrian Naval Exploration Corps... Indeed, stories passed by veterans of the ENEC were among some of the reasons Spike had initially considered joining the Navy.

Another interesting bit of decor was a collection of half a dozen yellowed teeth, enshrined within a protective polished wooden shadowbox. The story, as Spike understood it, was that they'd been punched out in that very barroom. That alone wasn't an uncommon occurrence, but these teeth in particular had been knocked out by none other than 'Scarface Altair', undisputedly the greatest Heavy Weight Boxing Champion to ever step into the ring. His autographed picture, more specifically the mugshot taken shortly after knocking loose said teeth, hung in the same display. The gap-toothed grin, busted lip, and considerable shiner must've been painful in the moment. In Spike's opinion the man didn't look all that bad, if anything that particular photograph made it seem he was exceptionally pleased with himself.

These pieces commemorating violent bouts of history easily explained why Twilight didn't like the idea of her quasi-son hanging out in this particular establishment. It was a place for tough people, the sort of place a Dragon should have no problem walking into and feeling right at home. Spike would need to start building some muscle if he ever wanted to live up to that image of himself. It'd likely mean doing more things that Twilight wouldn't like, but what Twilight didn't know wouldn't hurt her. She was Equestrian, and as much as she might've loved Spike, that meant she likely just wouldn't understand... Especially now that it was getting even harder for him to keep a lid on his emotions.

Spike silently scanned the room for the person he'd sought for help, and it didn't take long to spot him at the bar, sitting right beside a small cathedral-esque radio. The young man rolled his shoulders, tucking his hands back into his pockets as he started through the barroom. His facade remained as outwardly serious as possible, especially as he passed more than a few rough looking couriers in the midst of a game of Lone Star Hold'em. He spotted a short blonde woman among them, wearing a Ponyville mail carrier's uniform. Derpy Hooves, the local Mail woman, sat with her pretty face set in stone, not unlike the stoic mask of Princess Orzel...

One eye was fixated on her cards, the other actively wandered, as if probing her opponents for any sign of weakness. Considering the sizable amount of chips sitting before her, it was obvious the woman was on a winning streak. Miss Hooves wasn't the person Spike had come to see though, no... His target was the mountain of a man lounging at the bar, adorned in dirty work boots, well-worn overalls, and a red flannel shirt, its sleeves rolled to the elbows. A sandy blonde crew cut occupied his head, whilst dense stubble adorned his hard-bitten features, and thick bristly hair virtually carpeted his heavily muscled forearms. Before him rested an old black cowboy hat, whose surface, like the skin of its owner, had the appearance of sun beaten leather.

In one hand the man clasped his low-ball glass, filled with ice and dark amber liquid. 'Bear Creek Bourbon', if Spike recalled the man's preferred brand. The man's other hand held a fat smoldering 'Gordo' style cigar, from which strands of white vaporous smoke wafted to join the bar's soupy atmosphere. Big Macintosh didn't sit alone at the bar, being joined by several other men farmers, all of whom similarly were sipping their drinks or puffing cigars. A bald tanned man stood behind the bar, his flannel button down shirt struggling to contain his considerable gut, his face set in the resting expression of an unhappy pit-bull. That expression became more of a snarl when his eyes fell on Spike, and wordlessly tapped Big Mac on the arm, then pointed out at Spike. The farmer merely held up a hand, as if to demand the bartender wait a moment.

"...Altair's got Bull up against the ropes, he's giving him a left, then a cross! Bull's trying to keep his defense up, but Altair's not letting up! I knew he was saving up for something in the last round!" The radio announcer shouted excitedly, a tremendous thundering roar erupted in the background, almost so loud it nearly drowned out the announcer's voice. Spike could see Big Mac's entire demeanor change, becoming far more tense than it'd been before. "Bull goes down in a hail of punches!" In the background Spike could hear someone counting. 'One... Two... Three...' on upwards until they reached ten. "That's it, folks! Scarface racks up another knockout victory in the third round! Just listen to that roar, the crowd here is going crazy!" Big Mac visibly relaxed, taking a long swig from his glass. At further prodding from the bartender he looked over his shoulder, then smiled faintly at Spike before gesturing to the seat beside him.

"If y'all'er gonna sit at my bar, ya gotta buy food, and ya gotta buy a drink. Ya got one of them thar gov'ment type IDs?" The Bartender asked sarcastically as Spike took the offered seat, the boy of course shook his head. "Y'all at least got muneh?" The teen paused for a moment, feeling around his jacket pockets. After a couple moments he produced a small leather wallet which he set on the table. "Tonight we got steak, that's it. As for drinks, ah got cola, ah got root beer and ah got sarsaparilla. Take yer pick, boy."

"Sarsaparilla." Spike responded, the bartender merely shrugged and reached under the bar. After a few moments he withdrew a brown glass bottle, not unlike that the teen expected to see beer served in, from which he expertly removed the bottle cap. The bartender set it down with a heavy 'plink!', then unceremoniously withdrew a green 'One Bit' bill from Spike's coin pouch. With that, the man waddled off to place Spike's order with the cook, then tend to his other customers, leaving Spike and Big Mac on their own. "I kinda need more advice, regarding that person I mentioned last time. I wanted to ask her to see a movie or something, but I'm not really sure how I feel about that myself. There's... Actually an awful lot I don't know how I feel about." Big Mac took a thoughtful puff on his cigar, exhaling a small cloud of smoke and pursing his lips.

"Why?" Was the farmer's monosyllabic response.

"Because she's a... Well, y'know... Not that that matters, it's just that I trust her a lot, and I don't want to ruin that." Spike began, taking a slow sip of his sarsaparilla. He gradually began to relax, the more he thought about where he was. Seated as he was at the bar, bottle in hand, talking with the only person he trusted to keep his mouth shut about the whole thing. "Plus, since she's a... Well, y'know... It feels like it might come with a lot of issues. I can tell for one thing that her Mom doesen't seem to like us spending time together as it is, and if it didn't work out...? I'm sure she'd want my head to explode."

Big Macintosh took another sip of his drink, reaching over and turning down the radio, which at this point was going into the Post Fight wrap-up. That left just the sound of the jukebox to fill the background, which was now playing a rather somber sounding ballad about mothers preventing their children from becoming cowboys. Spike couldn't help thinking how prophetic the song sounded, given where he sat... Twilight was as close to a Mom as he had, and that was all well in good for most things, but sometimes... Sometimes he wished he had a Dad too.

"Afraid?" Big Macintosh asked curiously, swirling the ice cubes in his glass.

"Of all her issues, or losing her, or having my head exploded by her Mom?" Spike asked in response, Big Mac just shrugged, once again puffing on his cigar. "In all three cases? Yeah... But, the main reason I'm concerned is that she wants to be my friend, but what if that's really all that she wants from me? Friendship? Or what if it turns out that I really do want something more and she doesn't feel the same. Or what if it's the other way around? That's why I'm thinking it's best to just... Keep it friendly. Play it safe." Big Macintosh was silent for a good ten seconds, visibly mulling over Spike's words before exhaling through his nose.

"Bullshit." Big Mac's response was punctuated by another sip from his glass. Spike stared at him with confusion, he hadn't ever heard the man swear before. "Seems ta me yer jus' drummin' up excuses. Buck up, else y'all'll just be spinnin' yer wheels all yer damn life, ain't gettin' nowhere. Ya like this girl or not? It'sah simple question, son."

Spike opened his mouth to speak for a moment, then thought better of it. He needed to think for the moment, so he took another sip from his bottle, the sweet soda fizzing across his taste buds. A few moments later the bartender returned, placing a plate before him, loaded with a large sirloin steak and a side of mashed potatoes, sprinkled with little bits of bacon. He didn't waste any time tucking into the meal, as he'd also had a nigh-insatiable appetite for protein since his birthday... Apparently, according Orzel at least, that would remain an ongoing state... At least this time it gave Spike a chance to think without just sitting there like a bump on a log.

Orzel was the kind of person Spike could trust with a secret, the kind of person that valued loyalty, honesty, and chivalry as he did. Still, she always seemed like there was more on her mind than she could rightly let on. Sometimes it was to do with politics and policy, but... Other times, Spike felt as if maybe she was dealing with something more... Personal. Though to the casual observer it was difficult to tell, at times she would randomly freeze up. Her eyes would glaze over, taking on a familiar thousand yard stare. She always dismissed it as her thinking about something unimportant, but... The more he thought about their conversations, the more he recalled those instances were she'd go completely motionless, the more it became apparent that she had a lot going on in that head of hers.

If Spike did want to pursue a more meaningful relationship with the Princess, he would need to accept the fact that there was a lot he didn't fully know about her... Though the young man had to admit that he did like Orzel, he liked her a lot, actually... He supposed he'd known that from the beginning. What was more, she'd encouraged him to get help for his various issues. While Spike was willing, there were few qualified counselors in Ponyville, none of whom Spike had been able to strike a good rapport with...

Orzel was the only one he trusted when it came to talking about certain things, things he couldn't turn to Twilight or Big Mac or anyone else fore. She knew that he wasn't perfect, just as he knew that she wasn't perfect... She could be severe, impulsive, and cold at times. While she claimed the contrary, Spike also had a feeling that her obsessive neatness was more a neuroses than a mere desire to keep tidy... Why else did she insist upon tidying Spike's room, or the Golden Oaks library in general, even if they were already spotless?

None of this changed how Spike felt about Orzel, of course, and so the question remained as to what he should do... If he should do anything at all. He could play it safe, just keep their relationship as it was... There was nothing keeping him from pursuing something more later, though... What if by the time he worked up the courage, it was too late? The teen took a good long drink from the sarsaparilla, sighing with annoyance through his nose as he continued eating his steak. All those questions were just a cover for the truth. Spike was scared, scared out of his mind... He had a terrible poker face when it came to talking to anyone he had a crush on.

He'd kept his feelings poorly hidden from Rarity, the teen could only imagine how quickly the studious Princess Orzel would figure it out for herself... Spike accepted now that he never had a chance with Rarity, merely on account of his age. Had that not been an issue, he still doubted anything would've come from it, simply out of fear. It would likely wind up just the same way with the Princess, if he did nothing to change. The question Big Macintosh had asked him wasn't 'to ask' or 'not to ask', it was 'be afraid' or 'don't be afraid', and he almost always tended towards the former.

There were exceptions, of course, when the chips were down and his friends needed him... It just felt different when it came to his own personal wants or desires. He wanted a lot of things, it was an urge that grew stronger with each passing day, and it took a great deal of effort to keep controlled. Equestrians weren't supposed to be selfish, at least not the Equestrians he'd been raised by, yet another of the many mindsets now at odds with his new found draconic instincts.

Looking around the barroom, Spike imagined how its rugged patrons might act in his place. His eyes fell upon the mounted muskets of Dented Silver, the shadowbox enshrining the loosened teeth, and half a dozen other keepsakes he didn't know the origins of. All of it spoke loud and clear as to what his next actions should be, for there could be no reward without risk. He needed to man up, grow a set, bite the bullet, take the risk! The only alternative was stagnation, a constant state of being afraid to do anything... As much as he feared rejection, he couldn't deny the fact of what he was... A Dragon, and when in history had there ever been a dragon scared to take risks? He certainly wasn't going to be the first.

"Yes, and no..." When he finally answered, Spike's tone was flat and muted as he set the bottle back down. He'd swiftly wolfed down what remained of his steak and potatoes, and now commenced to drumming his fingers against the bar top. "Yeah, I think I do like her, but I don't know for sure." The teen straightened on his stool, setting his jaw and furrowing his brow. "I'll never figure that out if I don't at least try, right?" Big Macintosh offered Spike a small smile.

"Eeyup." The man agreed, finishing off the remainder of his drink. The Bartender returned moments later to refill the glass, his sour expression having slightly abated in the interim. Spike spent the next half hour conversing with Big Macintosh, at least as much as he could. His earlier bout of speaking was about as talkative as Big Mac ever got, and from that point on he was back to his usual laconic self. At the conclusion of that period, and an additional bottle of sarsaparilla, Spike bid the big man a brief farewell.

The teen deftly navigated the snowy streets of Ponyville with new found determination, far too caught up in his own thoughts to pay much mind to the world around him. By now it was well into the evening, and the temperature had dipped below zero... Still, between his naturally heightened body heat and the bomber jacket, Spike was pleasantly warm. The young man skidded to a stop just before he reached the door to the library, a new thought suddenly barging to the forefront. With tentative hesitation Spike lifted his jacket sleeve to his nose and sniffed, then winced in realization. He reeked of tobacco smoke and alcohol, and Twilight would never let him hear the end of it if she caught so much as a whiff. He'd need to sneak in and change clothes...

So it was with great care that Spike gripped the handle, turning it slowly, cautiously, before opening the door. The door swung inwards, virtually silent on its hinges. Twilight thankfully didn't seem to be in the reading room, as the lights were out inside, so the teen tip-toed inside. He closed the door behind him just as carefully as when he'd opened it, moving like a ghost through the darkened interior, every step calculated so as to risk as little noise as possible. Eventually he made his way up to the second story, and finally into his room... It didn't take long to change, and he tucked the offending clothes deep under a pile of other discarded garments in his hamper, so as to better mask their presence.

A glance at the clock told Spike he still had some time to work on his latest model, so he turned on a radio he'd purchased for his desk and set to work. The model itself was an EF Mk. VII, a biplane produced by Eiserner Flügel, formerly in the service of the Imperial Griffon Fliegende Korps... In its heyday, the Mk. VII was one of the most maneuverable and heavily armed fighters in the world, though it'd since been replaced by the EF-990. Spike already had a model of the aforementioned EF-990, an even more heavily armed monoplane, and a remarkably intimidating design. Models of the Mk. VII were a lot harder to come by, and Spike had needed to order this particular kit from the Griffon Empire via catalog.

For forty blissful minutes Spike threw himself into the kit, trimming sprews and sanding the remnants smooth, preparing each piece for construction and eventual painting. Through it all he listened to upbeat Hearth's Warming music wafting over his radio, even getting to a point where he was humming along, inwardly pondering that which he'd already pondered during his earlier venture outside... The young man resolved to himself that of the chance didn't present itself before the Hearth's Warming Ball, he'd attempt to ask Orzel the question that'd been plaguing his mind... At least, he'd attempt to make an attempt...

"Flash! News from the West Parthenian Coast!" Spike looked up as the upbeat Hearth's Warming carol was abruptly cut off, replaced by a serious sounding musical sting. "Tensions across the continent of West Parthenia have risen tonight, following a brief naval engagement between the Prench Navy and a submarine of unknown origin, following the sinking of two Minotaur freighters. Though the Prench report the submarine to be a Griffon design, witnesses to the display indicate that the submarine was appointed as one might expect a pirate vessel." Spike raised an eyebrow at that... He'd known pirates to occasionally seize warships from Prance and other powers in West Parthenia, but... A pirate submarine? "The Griffon Empire has denied accusations of selling surplus submarines to pirates, but-"

As usual, Spike didn't particularly care to listen beyond that, instead changing the channel to one that was playing music again. He was by no means pleased by the news, nor was he totally apathetic, it was just... There wasn't much of anything he could do about it, and so long as the pirate submarine didn't take aim at an Equestrian ship, odds were there wasn't much the Equestrian Navy would do either. Spike was sure that at that very moment, a certain petite Princess was in the midst of a heated discussion with her family, vehemently arguing that action should be taken before Equestrian ships were attacked. It'd undoubtedly come to nothing, of course, and Orzel would soon be calling to ask his advice...

This was an instance where Spike suspected he agreed with the Princess, and not just because he liked her. Pirates were a scourge that'd been allowed free reign of the seas for far too long, but at the very least they'd been attacking on an even field. They had to close and fight a ship one-on-one if they wanted to plunder or sink it. If the pirates now had access to submarines, civilian ships of all flags would be at greater risk, Equestrians included... The whole thing really didn't sit right with Spike, but again, there was little he could do. So he went back to working on his model. At least Ponyville was about as inland as one could get, with no chance of the pirates responsible making it there. Unless they sailed up the river. Spike shook his head, now he was just being silly...

Peering through his binoculars, Coronel Trepatroncos sneered at the vague outline of the facility, barely visible in the near total darkness. Flakes of snow snagged upon his white balaclava, whipping past in a frenzy of motion and bone chilling wind. Through his binoculars he saw little more than a few points of light, and just the faintest outlines of a pair of chain link fences, one erected behind the other. On any other night, he and his team would've stood no chance approaching the facility's perimeter, but not tonight... The blizzard that encompassed them all came courtesy of a few thousand Bits, stuffed strategically into a few pockets of a few Cloud Quality Inspectors.

Facility security would have a difficult time patrolling through so many deep drifts of snow, and with conditions so thoroughly whited out, the Coronel and his men could slip in close to the wire without fear of being spotted. That wasn't to say Trepatroncos was altogether happy with the weather either, in fact he hated that it needed to be so cold... Still, considering the hefty sum of gold he'd been promised for this little excursion, the Coronel could muddle through... His men, likewise, would all be expecting a cut of the action... While the Coronel would've preferred to just eliminate them and take the money for himself, well trained accomplices were exceptionally difficult to come by... After all, what if he needed to pull another one of these operations in the future?

"The perimeter sentry is making his rounds now..." The Coronel relayed to the man beside him, a Teniente by the name of Pinzón. The sentry in question was trudging through the waist deep snow, visible only by virtue of a flashlight beam that struggled to cut more than five feet through the snow. "Just passing the infiltration point... We've got twenty minutes before he gets back, let's do this." Pinzón nodded, looking over his shoulder and speaking to another man there... It was difficult to hear the man, even as closely clustered as they were. Regardless, a well drilled band of figures melted out of the snowy treeline, descending upon the facility perimeter below.

Trepatroncos led the squad of twelve men over the drifts of snow, pocked with a few visible craters where the weight of the snow had actually triggered landmines buried in the soil beneath. The craters had quickly been filled in by snow, but remained just barely visible enough so as to allow safe passage through the minefield. It didn't take the intruders nearly as long to reach the fence as might've seemed possible, seeing as their lighter bone density and overall weight made them sink less deeply, yet another reason they'd chosen to attack in a blizzard. It would've been even quicker and safer had they been able to use their wings to fly in, but no one was suicidal enough to attempt to fly in this weather. So they stepped lightly, just in case...

Each man was armed with a Griffon made AP-919 SMG, equipped with a Griffon suppressors and loaded with specially made Griffon sub-sonic 9x19mm rounds... These weapons were painted white, to match both the snow and the white fatigues, all of which were standard issue for the Imperial Griffon Army's 'Graupeljägers', soldiers specializing in arctic warfare of a covert nature.

Coming to a stop beside the outer fence, Trepatroncos could hear the chain links clinking against one another, whilst the barbed wire topping it flexed from side to side in the wind. Briefly, the man eyed a sign affixed to the fence itself. 'Attention! This is a Restricted Area! No Trespassing! Use of Lethal Force is Authorized!'... The sign was generally superfluous, considering the typical security presence and the minefield would surely deter all but the foolish or the brave from attempting to breach the fence. Of course, the facility was intended to remain a secret, and as such the lighting around its perimeter remained off at night... Typically, this reduced visibility was offset by the presence of Guards with frequent guard patrols. Once again the storm played to their advantage, as most of the guards were inside, and those that weren't were having trouble moving at their typical pace.

"I need the wire cutters, Coronel." Pinzón requested in their native tongue whilst peering at the fence from behind a pair of ski goggles, the white mist of his breath being carried away on the wind.

"Remember, once we're inside we're supposed to be Griffons..." Trepatroncos reminded the man, he reaching to his belt and producing a pair of wire cutters, which he hand forward to the Teniente. Peering at his wrist watch, the faintly glowing radium painted watch hands told him it'd been less than seven minutes since they'd set out. "Come on, Pinzón. Más rápido!" The squad waited tensely as the Teniente deftly cut through the fence, producing a hole large enough for them to slip through without much trouble. "Make sure to cut the alarm circuit before you make your move..." Trepatroncos ordered to another of the men, this time speaking in vaguely accented Griffisn.

"Ja, Oberst." The man responded dutifully before leading seven of the men away, moving along the inner perimeter fence in the opposite direction, fast disappearing in the snowy mist...

Trepatroncos, Pinzón, and the four others meanwhile skirted along the inner fence in the other direction, moving towards one of the few sources of visible light, casting a stark white beam through the snow shrouded darkness... Moving closer revealed the source to be a small security checkpoint, with an electronically opened gate and a small pre-fabricated gatehouse. The gatehouse was occupied by a trio of men, while three more stood outside. All wore black combat fatigues and balaclavas of their own. Unlike Trepatroncos' men, they were additionally equipped with hooded winter jackets of indeterminate material. More notably, most carried bolt-action rifles, while only one or two AARs...

Inch by inch, the Coronel and his men crept closer, to a point where he could not only hear the soldiers talking inside, but see them as well. Each was particularly muscular, or at the very least bulky in some fashion. The patches sewn to their shoulders depicted a stylized snarling three-headed dog... The Coronel was so close, he could actually make out the unit's motto embroidered beneath the cantankerous canine, 'Pro Omnibus Hominibus'... Loosely translated, it meant 'For All Mankind'. This confirmed to Trepatroncos just what unit he was dealing with, all the more reason to make this mission as quick and quiet as possible.

Trepatroncos was all too familiar with the threats that this particular unit faced, for a long time he'd done the same thing in his own corner of the world... He liked to think of himself as a realist, that his government was already profiting from the work he put into attempting to contain anomalous objects, so why shouldn't he get a piece of the pie? The Lunar Marines that bore the patch of 'Cerberus' were cut from a different cloth entirely, and to some extent Trepatroncos admired their commitment to 'protecting the world'... Unfortunately, that commitment meant they'd fight like fiends to prevent the Coronel and his men from getting away with their plunder.

"Portcullis, this is Central. Gimme a Sit-Rep, over." A woman's voice spoke up from what sounded like a radio, or possibly an intercom, from within the gatehouse. Trepatroncos and the other men in his team waited in the shadows, observing as one of the men picked up a headset and put it on.

"It's hard for us to see more than ten feet in this soup. We've got snow, snow, and more snow..." The man responded evenly, peering out the forward facing window. The Coronel followed the soldier's gaze, out along the long road leading up to the gate. Little was visible beyond the reach of the floodlights mounted atop the gatehouse, as the road dipped downwards before snaking off somewhere into the trees. "Hold on a second..." He trailed off, and for a few moments Trepatroncos had to consider blowing their stealth early... Could the soldier really see the trio of trucks waiting at the edge of the trees, the very same trucks the Coronel was here to ensure made it through the gate.

"Do you want additional illumination?" Central asked curiously.

"Negative, Central. Eyes are just playing tricks on me. We could do with some Hotel Charlie, though, if you're feeling generous." The soldier declined evenly, allowing Trepatroncos to breathe a slight sigh of relief.

"Acknowledged, Portcullis, we'll get that out to you PDQ. Expect next check-in in approximately fifteen Mikes, how copy?"

"Portcullis copies all. Out." The soldier responded before removing the headset and setting it on the desk, then quietly making his way over to join his fellow soldiers seated around a flimsy looking card table.

By virtue of the snowstorm, none of the men at the checkpoint had spotted Trepatroncos' team in the darkness, so he and Pinzón moved around to the rear of the gatehouse. Focused as they were on threats coming from in front of the building, odds were the guards wouldn't take note of any movement behind them. Still, each step was taken carefully, as any undue movement might rouse the attention of the men inside, or the men currently standing at the gate itself...

The Coronel and Teniente waited for the guards standing outside to turn away, then the latter of the two moved towards a small electrical junction box at the back of the building. For several seconds he examined the cables running into the box, then reached out with his wire cutters and snipped a couple. If they'd done their homework right, those wires in particular would disable the intercom system and the far more important alarm circuit, it was impossible to completely disable one without the other. Trepatroncos looked at his watch again, ten minutes to go until the sentry would come back this way, but they only needed five. It wouldn't be long now... Soon, very soon, Trepatroncos would be relaxing on a beach somewhere... Just a little more cold.

A pair of headlights stabbed forth in the distance, then another, then another... The source? A convoy of three covered Equestrian supply trucks, which rumbled through the snow at a steady pace, immediately catching the attention of the guards. Trepatroncos and Pinzón quickly moved back to join the other four men, watching in silence as the trucks slowly crept along the snowy road, then came to a stop at the gate. One of the men inside the gatehouse stepped out to join one of his colder comrades, and together two of them moved towards the first truck.

It was at this point that the Coronel and his men made their move, advancing swiftly on the gatehouse with their SMGs leveled. Between the rumbling engines and whipping wind, the suppressed sub-sonic reports of the weapons went entirely unheard by anyone not within twenty feet of their muzzles. Bullets peppered through the gatehouse, shattering windows and tearing into the Cerberus troopers still inside. One never knew what hit him, being quickly filled with a hail of hot lead before collapsing to the floor in a bleeding mess. The other staggered for a few moments, evidently attempting to go for the intercom, only to fall a few inches short.

The men outside the gatehouse were briefly alerted to the commotion, at least until the driver of the first truck, shot the two of them that'd approached with a suppressed pistol. The team wasn't fast enough to get the last two men standing near the gate, however, and one of whom raised his AAR at Trepatroncos and Pinzón. The Coronel winced at the thunderous burst of fire, ripping through the air and overwhelming the howling wind considerably. Pinzón staggered for a moment as one of the rounds caught him in the shoulder, zipping through one side and out the other, then continuing to punch through one of the two fabric pouches that contained his wings.

Outnumbered and out of position, the two remaining defenders didn't last long, quickly being subdued by the rest of the team. Not hesitating for an instant, the infiltrators quickly dragged the corpses out of sight, commencing to bury them in the snow while Pinzón propped himself up against the gatehouse, putting pressure on the wound, smearing blood all over the white painted exterior.

"I just got the wind knocked out of me..." Pinzón grunted in Griffish, speaking through gritted teeth as he struggled into the gatehouse, leaning against the desk and pressing the button that opened the gate. Trepatroncos moved to stand beside him, the electric motor quickly withdrawing the gate. The trucks drove past without further incident, entering into the facility as if all was normal... Perhaps no one had heard? "Got any morphine?"

"Gorrión, get to work on Pinzón. The rest of you, heads on a swivel!" Trepatroncos ordered, once again looking at his watch as a shorter man moved to tend Pinzón's wound. By now the Coronel's teeth were chattering ever so slightly at this point, but odds were that was more to do with adrenaline than anything else. He glanced back at his watch... In a few minutes the sentry would be coming back this way, assuming he hadn't heard the shots already... Just one man was easy enough to dispatch, but Central would be expecting him to check in via the intercom. When he didn't, they'd call down to ask where he was. With the intercom and alarm circuit disabled, they wouldn't get an answer... It'd be at that point that stealth went out the window.

If they were lucky, if the plan was still going along as designed, the other team was at that very moment loading the three trucks with as many artifacts as they could get their hands on. While they could likely get a fortune for anything they carted out of the facility, there were several particular items that'd been specifically requested by the person funding the mission. They'd be on the first truck out, assuming the intelligence as to where they were being stored was accurate. Trepatroncos didn't really know what it was he was stealing, exactly, only that it was very valuable and there were a lot of people interested in it.

The Broker apparently had someone willing to pay over thirty-million Bits... Again, the Coronel would've preferred to just kill the little weasel and sell directly to the buyer, but... Like Trepatroncos' men, the Broker was of far greater use to him alive, at least for now. There would still be plenty of artifacts to sell off, and Trepatroncos didn't know nearly as many as potential customers as the Broker did. The Coronel looked up at the barely audible sound of a burst from an AP-919, it seemed the patrolling sentry had just been dealt with. Once again he looked at his watch, nervously tapping his foot against the floor... Briefly he caught himself looking at the two dead Cerberus troopers laying there in a pool of blood and broken glass, biting his lower lip as he did so. He hadn't had any other choice but to kill them... A phone on the desk suddenly started ringing, but not a man in the building dared to pick it up.

"Ready up, boys! It's about to hit the fan! Go loud!" The Coronel shouted, swiftly exchanging his magazine for one with full-load rounds, then twisting the suppressor. The locking lugs clicked mechanically, allowing him to remove the suppressor...

For a few moments he considered tucking it into his pocket, but he wasn't quite sure 9x19mm shell casings and speaking Griffish would be enough to sell the story that this raid was carried about by Graupeljägers. With that in mind, he tossed the Griffon made accessory to the floor, waiting patiently for the other boot to drop. His eyes darted again to his watch, now the trucks were overdue. Every moment they waited now risked being killed or captured, but it'd all be for nothing if they bailed just when the trucks needed them most.

Then, in the blink of an eye, all Tartarus broke lose...

"Code Seven! I say again, we have a Code Seven Intruder Alert! This is not a drill!" The voice of Central was now echoing throughout the facility, surging forward from dozens of PA speakers. A shrill air raid siren sudden shrieked to life from somewhere within the facility proper, followed by another, then another. Floodlights snapped on along the perimeter fence, one after another. Search lights flickered on atop guard towers within the facility, indeed it seemed the entire place was lighting up like a Hearth's Warming tree, illuminating several buildings within the facility itself.

It wasn't long before Cerberus Troopers began pouring out from several structures, all of them carrying weapons, each moving with well trained purpose and determination. Trepatroncos had barely a moment to tackle Gorrión and Pinzón to the floor of the gatehouse before a cluster of gunfire sent hot lead scything through the air where just a moment before they'd been standing. Just as had been the case for the guards, there was little in the way of cover for the Gate team to get behind, but they had to hold their position just long enough for the trucks to escape.

Then, as if to prove the reason as to why that was so important, gate began closing of its own accord. Teniente Pinzón crawled along the floor to the gate control button, still bleeding from his shoulder. He tried to override the close command, but it had no effect. Desperate to keep the barricade open, Trepatroncos peaked up over the gatehouse windowsill and fired a burst from his SMG into the gate's electronic motor. It had the desired effect, stopping the gate from closing any further, though Trepatroncos doubted whether it'd really matter in the end.

The trucks were more and more overdue, and if they didn't somehow manage to make it out, odds were Trepatroncos and his team would have to escape on foot. More bullets popped and whizzed by, not just from slow firing rifles but from the powerful AARs as well. There's was a deep rhythmic thunder, and it was easy to tell which rounds came from them merely by virtue of the bright green tracers that often went skipping off into the night. It was clear that the Coronel's team would be unable to hold the gate, and he watched with slight dismay as one man took a series of rifle shots to his chest. As with Pinzón, each of the four rounds tore clean through with bursts of dark crimson blood, clustered in a grouping no larger than the palm of Trepatroncos hand.

Just as the Coronel was planning to give the order to withdraw, a pair of headlights suddenly emerged from behind one of the buildings beyond the gate. The man heard the familiar rumble of the supply trucks, all three of which were flooring it towards the gate with the engines roaring loudly...It seemed all of them would make it, at least until the driver's side window of the third vehicle was riddled with bullets and subsequently painted with blood, an Equestrian bullet reducing the top portion of the driver's head to little more than pink mist. The truck went careening out of control, slamming into the side of building and forcing half a dozen Cerberus Troopers to dive out of the way.

The remaining trucks blew past the gate, and Trepatroncos could only hope it'd at least been loaded with something of value...

"Vamos! Vamos! Ahora ahora ahora!" The Coronel shouted in his native tongue, forgetting for a split second that he should've been speaking Griffish, and immediately regretting it... Oh well, he couldn't un-ring that bell.

The gate team quickly started to withdraw, bullets cracking past more sporadically from the behind. The amount of fire had slowed considerably, as the cold was likely making it difficult for the enemy to manipulate the stripper clips required to load their weapons. That wasn't to say the fleeing force was completely safe, however, as Gorrión was suddenly struck in the chest as he attempted to heft Pinzón into a fireman's carry. The man let out a loud wheezing groan as the bullet zipped clean through, miraculously missing Pinzón's head, but spraying his face with...

"Dios mío! Qué demonios es eso!?" Pinzón screamed as he fell to the floor, wiping away the bizarre glowing violet liquid and staring wide eyed at the now unmoving Gorrión... Except he wasn't 'Gorrión' anymore, for a few moments it looked like the man's body was consumed by fire. Though the man's uniform remained untouched, his skin and overall physical appearance changed drastically... Gone was his deeply tanned skin or the brilliant hazel eyes, replaced with a purple-ish pallor and milky white orbs that just stared into Trepatronco's soul. Dumbfounded and frightened beyond reason, the Coronel did something he probably shouldn't have and picked Pinzón up himself.

With the man still bleeding over his shoulder, Trepatroncos beat a hasty retreat towards the second truck, which had stopped in defilade to await the team. He did a quick headcount, of the six men they'd started with, only half that many were now present, including Pinzón. Looking over his shoulder, Trepatroncos spotted two forms laying in the snow near the gatehouse... One was totally unmoving, and surrounded by a growing puddle of that bizarre fluorescent liquid. The other was very much bleeding red, and despite his injuries was struggling to crawl towards the safety of the truck.

"Coronel! Ayúdame!" The man shouted frantically as the Cerberus Troopers rapidly advanced to retake the gate. "Por favor, Coronel! Espérame!" The Coronel could only turn his back and heft Pinzón into the back of the truck, climbing in shortly behind him, abandoning the man to his fate...

He couldn't save Pinzón and go back for his fallen comrade, not if he wanted the mission to succeed... He tried to console himself that with one less man, there was one less person to split the spoils with, but... It didn't help much. He couldn't even look back to see what happened, instead hunkering down for his life in the covered back as the truck rumbled off into the darkness. Once within, he was pleased to see there was a great number of wooden crates, all of which were marked with the insignia of the Nocturne Agency... Each one bound to bring him riches to rival General Blanca himself.

Unfortunately, this wasn't a chance for him to revel in the victory he'd just achieved, as it seemed there was a very real previously unknown problem. Of the men seated in the back of the truck, all but one seemed shocked by the glowing liquid that currently stained both the Coronel's and the Pinzón's uniforms. Trepatroncos leveled his weapon, setting his jaw and glaring at each man intensely.

"One of you, help him... The rest of you, don't make a move." The man stated with a voice like molten lead. "It seems not everyone here is who they say they are..." The man eyed the one man that seemed unfazed suspiciously. "We'll clear this up at the rendezvous. For now, don't make any sudden moves."

They would clear it up... They most certainly would, if it was the last thing Trepatroncos did. Not only was he not keen to have... Whatever the hell those things were in on the deal's he'd made, getting rid of them would further reduce the number of people he'd need to split the proceeds with. Not once did the thought enter his mind that these creatures, whatever they were, might've been the very same ones he'd been hired by... Though, it probably wouldn't have mattered if it did. Their gold was just as valuable as anyone else's, and so long long as they paid him what he was owed, Trepatroncos saw no reason not to do business with them... He just didn't want them on his team.

A life confined to the dark and dank tunnels of the Underhive was all that Echo desired... Safe below ground, away from the scorching sun of the badlands, never wanting for food or water... It wasn't that he was afraid, or even that he didn't enjoy the sun. After all, what self respecting Changeling didn't like a good basking period? No, Echo was content with his life deep within the eldest and most sacred of domains because, to him, there was no higher calling... For countless generations, Echo's family line had seen to the needs of the nobility of the hive, granting their every whim, no matter how trivial. The nobles were the defenders of the Hive, at least... In an academic sense. Yet of all his innumerable brothers and sisters, Echo had the distinct privilege to be chosen as the attendant for the highest of the high.

The gaunt fellow bore a greenish pallor typical of all those within the Hive, and strode purposefully onwards, past the narrow passages leading to the quarters of the Hive nobility. The stone in the Underhive bore a beautiful swirling pattern of gray and white, like coiling wisps of smoke, suspended in the living rock from which the passage had been carved. Faintly illuminated by a sort of fungal plant, Echo couldn't recall the precise name, his pale white skin took on an almost ethereal green glow. Adumbral robes of blackest cloth swished with every step, only occasionally dragging along the uneven floor, though Echo hardly took notice. Occasionally the passage ceiling pressed low, and so his short powder gray hair would brush against the ceiling, yet even this was not enough to give him pause.

Those other servants and lesser nobles whom he passed gave him his credence, bowing their heads in respect of his illustrious office. As the Queen's personal attendant, he was to be given the same respect as the Queen herself. Recent changes briefly put the order of things into doubt, but with time things had settled... In fact, that aspect of life had remained virtually the same, and Echo still retained his lofty title. That wasn't to say he was altogether ignorant of the changes either. He rather missed Queen Tempo... On some level, Echo had been fairly smitten with the former monarch, and though it wasn't meant to be, he sensed she'd reciprocated those feelings. Her daughter, Chrysalis, had a very different way of going about things, and Echo was saddened she didn't share her Mother's cordial demeanor. Then again, it wasn't the place of the Queen's Attendant to question her means or motives, only to serve her every wanton desire.

The passage gradually widened and regained much of its lost height, giving way to a large wooden door, carved with tremendous bas-reliefs of a time long past. It was flanked on either side by six heavily armored soldiers, their black chitinous breast plates and helmets reminiscent of the heroic figures enshrined upon that very door. Wickedly sharp swords rested on their belts, decorated with a forest green strip of fabric tied around their pommels. The soldiers didn't bow, and Echo hadn't expected them to. They were the Queen's guard, technically his military 'equals' in the hive's hierarchy. Without so much as exchanging a word, his intent already broadcast in the vague manner of the hive-mind, the guard closest to the door opened it and stepped aside.

Echo entered the chamber beyond, the guard closing the door behind him, effectively sealing him within. The space was immense in comparison to the quarters of even the most highly regarded Nobility, elaborately filled with finely crafted furnishings of all sorts. A great pillar of sunlight jutted down from the center of the room, brought to this immense underground depth by a series of mirrors and tunnel shafts, all in service of illuminating a single chair. While not as intricately decorated as the Royal Throne that sat within the Regal Chamber in the Upperhive, it was nonetheless an impressive construct of wood, leather, and fragments of blackest stone. Echo quietly hurled himself to the floor with as much dignity as he could, prostrating himself in the awe inspiring presence of the chair's lone occupant.

"That's quite enough, Echo." Queen Chrysalis, unquestioned ruler of the Bad Lands Hive, declared with a disdainful scowl. Echo quickly scrambled to his feet, bowing his head in solemn respect. The Queen was only twenty years old, yet she possessed the imposing presence of a ruler twice her age. Her sharp features, lit from above, cast ghostly shadows down her magnificent face. Piercing green eyes glared at him through several strands of stringy blackish-green hair... "Have the scouts returned?"

"Of course, your Magnificence." Echo responded in a hissing, grovelling tone, shrinking somewhat into himself. It was best for one's health to appear as feeble as possible in the presence of the new Queen, especially given the rumors regarding just how she'd come to power.

Queen Tempo's deteriorating health was known to most of the Hive, but the abruptness with which her heart failed left even the best healers baffled... Or, so the story went. For their failure to preserve the Queen, those healers had all been exiled to the surface for their 'gross incompetence and treason'. As such, none of them were actually present to offer a contrary story. Echo doubted Chrysalis was capable of regicide in this instance, as she and Tempo had been exceptionally close... The excommunication of the healers just as well could've been the result of grief. Still, rumors had a tendency of sticking around within the hive, no matter how unlikely. Shaking those thoughts from his mind, the attendant cleared his throat.

"The scouts report that the Dragons have taken little notice of our recent activities, but the Equestrians have deployed their horse soldiers in greater numbers..." Echo continued cautiously, keeping his eyes set firmly on the floor. "I believe they call them 'Rangers'." Chrysalis emitted a sharp hissing sound, obviously displeased.

"It's as if they knew... Mirage musn't have been as stealthy as he's lead me to believe." The young woman growled, rising from her seat. Echo chanced a look and was unsurprised to see that, save for a simple breach cloth and brassiere, the Queen wore nothing at all. Her long hair reached down to her belly-button, further serving to shield the only sort of modesty covering her upper torso. That was nothing new. Why should the Queen concern herself with modesty, especially within her own personal chambers? It was tradition, dating since time immemorial... Of course, there were some instances where a modicum of modesty was required. "Robe. Now." She ordered... This, apparently, was one of those times.

"At once, Excellency!" Echo bowed before dutifully approaching one of the finely crafted dressers and withdrawing a silken robe. Unfurling it, he approached the Queen from behind as she outstretched her arms. With practiced ease, the Queen's Attendant slipped the robe over her arms and tied the simple sash around the waist. "Shall I call for the palanquin?" He asked, as evidently it seemed the Queen intended to leave her Chambers. She glared at him, and Echo submissively wilted beneath her gaze.

"No, fool." Chrysalis snapped harshly, turning and resuming her seat upon her throne. "General Mirage shall arrive shortly, to explain himself... That worm isn't worthy to gaze upon my unadorned form." Echo nodded apologetically, bowing his head and watching the door. He had sensed the brief summons within the hive-mind, though it would likely take some time for the General to arrive. "More and more those damnable Equestrians encroach upon our territory, hoarding their love to themselves..." Echo once again nodded, but said nothing, recognizing that his Queen was entering one of her 'moods'. "Soon... Soon we will be able to consume that love ourselves!"

The minutes passed in silence, with Chrysalis glaring directly ahead at the door, her evident fury growing with each second. It radiated throughout the hive-mind, to such an extent that even Echo was beginning to grow irked at the tardiness of General Mirage. They didn't have much longer to wait, however, as the door to the Queen's chamber was throne open and a rather nervous looking fellow entered, perhaps twice the age of the woman seated on her throne. He fell to the floor, his armor clattering loudly as he went about prostrating himself. The guards outside the door slammed it shut, sending the echoing reverberations throughout the chamber. This time, the Queen didn't bid him to rise as she had Echo, and instead glared hatefully down at the quivering officer.

"General Mirage, what am I to do with you...?" Chrysalis muttered in displeasure, drumming her fingers on the smooth wooden arm of her chair. "I told you to observe the enemy without raising suspicion, so why now do they deploy more of their Rangers to their southern border?" Mirage's response was muffled by the floor, and at that the Queen rolled her eyes in contempt. "Rise and speak, if you must..."

"I do not know, my Queen." Mirage responded nervously, averting his eyes. "The enemy had already started to deploy troops before my men even arrived. Perhaps they marshal there in defense from another threat? We are nearing the time of year where the dragons attempt to raid the border settlements." He defended in a rapid and submissive fashion, not anything like his considerably large muscular form might suggest. "It should not be possible for them to have seen my warriors, they made use of the tunnels up to the very edge of the border, unless someone told them where to look?"

It looked to Echo that Queen was considering the General's words, though whether that was a good thing or not was up in the air. Chrysalis had only ascended the throne on the Night of Wicked Dreams, a month or two ago, and many Nobles with tertiary claims to the throne would surely attempt to overthrow her should she fail. Echo doubted they'd succeed, of course, but that was contingent upon who the Queen's Guard sided with. Invariably they'd side with Chrysalis, as that'd been the final order of Queen Tempo before her passing, but the rest of the hive didn't know that... Uprisings were rare among Changeling Hives in general, and virtually unheard of within the Bad Lands Hive, but they could happen.

Mirage was a well respected officer, and despite his apparent recent blunder, he remained highly influential among the other Generals. Chrysalis needed his loyalty if she was to further consolidate her power, or quell a rebellion instigated by less than pleased nobles... There were officers beneath Mirage that weren't as loyal, and Echo supposed one of them might have told the Equestrians. Not out of any sort of misplaced 'honor', Echo was certain of that. More likely they wanted Mirage exiled, at which point they could try to get themselves promoted to the lofty title of General...

"It may be possible..." Chrysalis allowed, looking at the floor and rubbing her chin. Echo could guess there was more to her summation than Mirage's claim. The hive-mind had been oddly effected on the night of Queen Tempo's death, and Chrysalis grudgingly confided that following the former Queen's expiration, she'd felt something that just... Wasn't right. Something that squirmed and writhed within the hive-mind like a slain beetle. Echo wasn't sensitive enough to feel it himself, but he'd called for the appropriate healers as ordered. Now, she likely assumed those 'squirming' things had something to do with the enemy's sudden knowledge. Chrysalis cast a look at Echo, had she heard his musings, or... Was it the other way around? Was the hive-mind projecting her thoughts onto his? "Recall your forces, and await further instructions, General Mirage... You may leave." Mirage bowed quickly and scurried out of the room.

"How did such a miserable creature become General...?" The Queen asked rhetorically when Mirage was gone, once more rising from her seat and outstretching her arms. Echo quickly went to work, undoing the sash and removing the robe, before neatly folding it and returning it to the dresser. The Queen again sat upon her seat, her bare pale skin radiating in the sunlight from overhead. The Attendant quickly resumed his place at the Queen's side, standing in silent reverence. Once more he felt the hive-mind thrum... "I must find a soldier without fear of failure." Her heavenly presence transcended that miniscule chamber, and Echo could've sworn he felt a sudden twinge of... Satisfaction. "Yes... He will do nicely."

Once more silence reigned, with Chrysalis observing the door with evident contemplation. Echo didn't dare interrupt her thoughts, though he had to admit he wondered just who the 'He' she referred to was. He new most every General within the Underhive, and not a one of them was what he would call 'brave'. They orchestrated skirmishes for training purposes, carried out covert raids of Equestrian settlements, and occasionally dealt with the odd raiding party from a rival hive.

With the exception of the latter most, these were generally trivial tasks, that could be planned and executed from the safety of one's chambers. Then Echo got an odd sensation, something was drawing closer. Something that put him on edge. It was the same feeling he'd get whenever the hive was threatened by one of its rivals, or at risk of being discovered by dragons on the prowl. An uneasy desire to cut and scamper to the nearest dark hole, where he could safely transform to mimic the rock face and pray to survive... That was when the door opened once again.

Stepping into the chamber with rigid, confident steps, Echo saw a warrior wearing armor common to the regular troops. The only deviation was the presence of three vertical red lines painted on the helmet, the traditional mark of a Colonel. Long strands of crimson hair cascaded about his shoulders, and a pair of dull purple eyes looked about the room as the soldier removed his helmet. Echo didn't recognize the man, then again why should he? He was a lowly Colonel, after all, hardly worth the notice of the denizens of the Underhive... Still, he radiated something akin to... Independent resolve. Very strange, and exceedingly rare, among Changelings. This was especially true of those in the Hive's Swarm ranks, as obedience and strict adherence to orders were considered an absolute must for the rank and file.

"My Queen." The Colonel stated, bowing deeply, but not hurling himself upon the floor as the others had. Echo was flabbergasted, and rose to his full height, preparing to order the impudent cur be clapped in irons, but... Chrysalis raised a hand, silencing his order before it could be given.

"A true warrior need only bow..." Chrysalis purred, lacing her fingers together as she reclined in her seat. "You are Pharynx." The woman stated simply, to which the Colonel nodded. "I assume you've been keeping up to date with the latest information from our enemies? What is your appraisal of their troop deployment to the border." Pharynx looked thoughtful for a moment, but not hurried, like so many other officers to come into the chamber. Most unusual indeed...

"The enemy is deploying Rangers... Highly mobile forces, which makes sense considering the terrain." Pharynx began, clasping his hands behind his back. His voice was even, aggressive, and determined... Echo noticed a distinctive temper to each sentence, not unlike that of Queen Tempo... Perhaps this was one of her personal students? "Yet the Rangers are not nearly the bulk of their armed forces, they are more akin to heavily armed constabulary. This leads me to believe that they don't know exactly what is at play, only that something is stirring... Likewise, they have deployed across the entire southern border, even areas we do not control, rather than massing their forces..." A predatory smile crossed his handsome features. "Either they are pre-occupied by the dragons and do not know of our presence, or if they do know of our presence, they don't know where we are, so they must defend everywhere at once."

"Indeed..." Chrysalis hummed thoughtfully, and Echo could certainly see why. This 'Colonel Pharynx' was obviously more attentive than the Generals called upon to do such things as plan and scheme. "You mention the bulk of their armed forces are away, we can launch an invasion before they could respond!" Pharynx once more appeared thoughtful, then shook his head, another first for Echo... Had he just said 'No' to his Queen?

"I strongly caution against that, my Queen." Pharynx stated simply, glancing upwards at the sunlight filtering down from above. "Our Swarm is powerful, but not nearly powerful enough to face the Equestrian's in an all out invasion..." Chrysalis was stunned by the statement, but the Colonel held up a mollifying hand. "The province of Lone Star is regularly inundated by dragon attacks, as such its inhabitants have armed themselves considerably. Were we to invade overland, we would find ourselves facing a rifle behind every pebble. We do hold the advantage in manpower, but even that wouldn't be enough for a protracted campaign." He clasped his hands behind his back. "If you intend to attack the Equestrians, we must build our forces and mass for a rapid decisive victory. Eliminate their Princesses, dictate terms in their Castle in Canterlot, before they can bring their industrial and military might to bear. I also urge against this, at present... We don't have nearly enough troops."

"And how long must we wait until we do?" Chrysalis asked, obviously displeased with another urge for caution.

"Approximately five years..." Courteously offered Pharynx, nodding upwards at the sunlight. "We would also need to cease construction of similar frivolities, and better direct the labor towards the construction of weapons, armor, and provisions." Chrysalis hissed a laugh, a most wonderful sound, her eyes lingering on Pharynx for several moments. Echo could only wonder what his Queen would desire, and that was relatively rare... It was his job to know, after all. Would she have Pharynx exiled for impudence...? That was generally how such things went. Maybe she'd order his execution? Echo would never state his thoughts so bluntly, but he believed the Queen to be far less... Grounded than her Mother. Prone to fits of temper, and even borderline madness.

"You have three years, General Pharynx, to plan and prepare for an invasion of Canterlot... Our hive's food reserves shall last until then, among other considerations..." Chrysalis finally pronounced, slightly cryptic about the latter point. The man seemed unfazed by the obvious promotion, another oddity in Echo's experience. "Use whatever means you deem necessary, and please..." She added more coyly. "Feel free to consult me at any time." Pharynx bowed once again, before rising and replacing the helm atop his head. "You may leave..." With that, the newly-minted General made his way from the room, leaving Echo as the only one to hear the Queen's quiet murmur as she rubbed almost painfully at her temples. "Hopefully this will be enough to sate them." The woman groaned softly. "Echo... Fetch the healers, Mirage's incompetence has given me a migraine..."