The Pawn Who Would Be Queen

Orzel stood beside one of her mills, perched atop a reinforced metal step stool, eyes focused on the fast spinning bit as it machined away small chips of shiny steel. Tensely she watched for any sign of mistakes, as any screw-up on her part that might render this part a total waste. The air in the cavernous factory was colder than it'd ever been before, as she'd had neither the time nor the inclination to focus on getting the heat up and running as of yet. There was just too much for her to do, and so little time to do it in. Attired in her flight suit and bomber jacket, she was more than warm enough to work on this critical component, even if she occasionally had to take breaks to walk around and ensure she still maintained feeling in her toes.

Snow cascaded past the window, adding to the already considerable drifts that blanketed Maksym Field. Occasional gusts of wind would occasionally rattle the windows, more a fault of their design than the strength of the breeze, though it certainly contributed to the draft... Orzel had little time to worry about such notions as her own personal comfort, she had work to do, and for the moment that was all she wanted to focus on... What she wanted, however, wasn't always what she got. The month that'd passed since Operation Firewatch had seen an unusually high number of changes, with a Mother, Piercing, and even Aunt Celestia acting far less relaxed than usual.

Luna had doubled, then quadrupled, Orzel's already considerably sizable security detail, to the point that Maksym Field was being patrolled by so many Nocturne Agents and Lunar Marines that the girl suspected it didn't look to far off from its time as an Air Base. Something had to have happened, something bad... She didn't know what that something had been, and there was already more than enough to keep her mind occupied...

Firstly was Orzel's continuing frustration that she'd still yet to learn just what great calamity menaced her country, only that it was enough to have convinced Mother to send her away... She'd accepted the decision, but only because the woman made a very good point... It was best not to 'keep all of their eggs in one basket', to use an Equestrian idiom. Two tanks were stationed at the gates of Maksym Field whenever she was working there, and Grim and Fable had virtually disappeared... Not because they'd been reassigned, but because it was best for them to remain out of sight. They apparently believed that there was a very good chance Orzel might actually be at risk.

That alone would've been enough to set the girl's mind racing with worries and anxieties of the most potent kind, but then Mother had gone one step further than Orzel ever would've thought possible. The woman had presented Basilisk Defense Technologies with a request on behalf of the Nocturne Agency, including a particularly large Research and Development grant. Not only to develop certain pieces of equipment, but to then construct or otherwise purchase factories to make that equipment as well. Among other things, the ever cautious Luna had authorized her daughter to begin research, not only into her 'intermediate cartridge', but weapons, uniforms, and other assorted destructive devices... Equipment that might very well end up being used against the mysterious enemy. That, more than anything, underscored just how serious the threat actually was.

So severe was the risk that Mother had gone so far as to instruct Orzel to treat her new research as her highest priority, to the exclusion of all other studies, lessons, and every royal duty not pertaining in some way shape or form to the defense of her country. This shift in focus had been simple enough to make, but where Orzel once believed making such a change might be refreshing, now she felt... Well, just a little frazzled. Something was happening, something so terrible it'd scared Mother into letting the girl do something Orzel knew the woman hated, and she still didn't know what it was. Her ideas weren't just thought experiments anymore, they had to be developed and tested as quickly and efficiently as possible, because any delay could potentially put lives at risk.

The threat was therefore dubbed as 'TN' in her notes, meaning either 'The Nameless' or 'Threat Nightmare', she hadn't decided which she preferred as of yet. What scant details she had been given were hardly enough to base a consensus on. TN was a threat that the Nocturne Agency expected to face in forests, deserts, and urban environments. They also wanted her to continue working on her OUBC project, further indicating that they'd prefer if it could also serve as a better means of carrying extra ammunition and other equipment. Developing uniforms and bullet resistant vests for these environments would be one thing, but weapons was another thing entirely... Indeed, it was the weapons that were giving Orzel the most trouble, including the part she was still currently in the process of machining.

The Nocturne Agency requested several different types of firearm, all with an increased volume of fire and ammunition capacity than anything currently in Equestrian armories. Firstly, a new service rifle, preferably semi-automatic, with an average engagement range of less than three-hundred yards, preferably with a folding stock for additional mobility. Secondly, a submachine gun chambered in .45 ACP that would be durable, light, and easy to maintain in the field. Thirdly, a device that could make it easier to lob a grenade, primarily to be used while clearing out caves...

Setting aside for the moment that she knew next to nothing about explosives, there was a lot of work to do and little time for her to do it... At least here, in her workshop. She'd be able to continue her work once she arrived at Amberjack, as Mother was already having a sufficient workshop constructed ahead of her departure, but Lexicos only knew how long that would take to complete. Thus, she had to prioritize the projects that could be worked on with tools one might find in a garage, as those were likely the only implements she'd immediately have access to. The Princess had decided to get to work on the simplest item requested on the Nocturne Agency's list, the SMG.

Orzel had spent hour upon hour among the records and files she'd acquired with the Arsenal, pouring over countless schematics and documents, which had given her a working knowledge of how SMGs function. What she'd feared might be a foray into a highly technical field was actually surprisingly simple, depending on what sort of system she utilized to work the action. Anyone with even a modicum of work tinkering could conceivably design and build an SMG, especially if they'd been given a sizable chunk of money to do it with.

The Princess-turned-gunsmith's biggest breakthrough by far had come as a result of a discreet request made on behalf of the Crown to local law enforcement. They'd been all to happy to allow Orzel a chance to examine some of the 'Garage Built' SMGs and other weapons they'd confiscated in the course of their investigations into various criminal goings on... From a technical standpoint they were quite crude looking, but each apparently functioned to a somewhat adequate extent. It'd also been an eye opening experience in another respect, as the Princess was frankly disturbed by just how many firearms were considered 'SMGs' that actually weren't.

Having reviewed the classification in greater detail, it seemed obvious that whomever had written that particular part of the law had never so much as looked at a firearm, let alone actually understood how they worked. Orzel had come to revere Equestria's Constitution perhaps more highly than even Lexicos' scripture, and her feelings on restrictions of any kind to what weapons a person could or couldn't own were decidedly negative. Those that'd set down those rights seemed quite clear on the matter of keeping and bearing arms...

Much like her feelings about Equestria's military, she found that this too was a political stance that differed from her immediate family. Mother seemed neutral on the matter, whilst Cousin Cadence and Aunt Celestia believed their aught to be some restrictions in place... Celestia was uniquely qualified to speak on the matter, as she'd actually been present for the writing and deliberation of the Constitution, and even she admitted she didn't necessarily agree with everything in it. The right to bear arms had been enshrined, in large part, due to the violence and turmoil that followed the Nightmare War.

According to Celestia, it was a time when many feared another tyrant might seize control, or that the guards of the era would be incapable of protecting them from criminals, bandits, and highwaymen. While Equestria had prevailed, its forces were significantly depleted, and the threat of being overrun by hostile neighbors was very real. That time had largely passed, however, and Celestia and Cadence both agreed that some form of restriction might be beneficial in the long run. Their reasons were admittedly understandable, to reduce crime and keep the populace safe, but again... They'd never lived in the Empire.

Orzel could never imagine a scenario where she'd budge on the matter, it was a hill she would quite literally die on. It was also a stance shared by most of the Black Crown party, especially in southern Lone Star. Orzel knew that to publicly adopt such a position would greatly boost her popularity with them. It'd also paint a very large target on her back for the Noble Party, pun very much intended. For now she had to keep a low political profile, especially given all that was going on, but when she got back...? It'd be a very interesting time 'On the Mountain' indeed.

Setting Orzel's future plans to see about modifying the Firearms Classifications Statute aside for the moment, the exhibition of impounded weaponry had given her a further understanding of where to begin. Firstly, for the purposes of her prototype she'd foregone the typical wood 'furniture' in favor of an all metal construction. This would save on weight, allow her to create a collapsible stock, and minimize the number of tools required for production. Furthermore, much of the weapon itself would be stamped out of sheet metal, with the barrel being the only part that required any sort of precise machining.

It would be reliable, light, and, at an estimated six Bits per unit, plus a modest designer's fee of four Bits for every unit sold and a mark up of eighty percent, would only cost the Army, or anyone buying it, a mere eighteen Bits. Almost quite literally dirt cheap to produce, especially compared to the SMG already in service with the Army, which cost a staggering two-hundred-nine Bits per unit. Every prototype so far utilized a simple blow-back action, fired from an open bolt, and used the thirty round stick magazines standard to SMGs already in service. This would not only simplify ammunition logistics, but also deal with a rather annoying feed problem Orzel had discovered with several prototype purpose built magazines. As development speed was a necessity, and a solution to one of the more crucial components of an SMG already existed, Orzel found it best not to 'reinvent the wheel'...

Sighing tensely and flicking a switch on the side of the mill, Orzel unfastened the piece she'd been working on and used a rag to wipe away excess chips and the slightly warm cutting fluid. Examining the piece very closely, the girl was dismayed to see a few imperfections, but nothing that would render the part, a component of the bolt assembly, useless. It certainly felt heavy enough to do the job, and that was really the only trait it needed, as the weight of the bolt itself was part of what controlled the rate of fire, not to mention safely releasing pressure from the expanding propellant gases.

It made Orzel's skin crawl, but she'd had to incorporate a certain level of backlash into her design... Her earlier prototypes, constructed to exacting and precise standards, had hammered home the point that the real world wasn't like her drawing board. The prototypes worked perfectly well in sterile conditions, but dropping them, jostling them, or smearing them with mud, as might happen on the battlefield, would always lead to a jam or other stoppage. This was merely because certain parts didn't have enough 'slop', to use a vernacular Orzel had found in numerous notes written by the arsenal's former manager. More importantly, building them with such an extreme degree of polish would also make them that much harder to manufacture, and once again speed of production and overall quantity had to be prioritized.

Tucking the finished part in her breast pocket, Orzel quickly and quietly started walking along the factory floor, freshly swept clean of half a decade's worth of dust and debris. They'd done a lot of cleaning up of late, and not just the factory either. She proceeded to jam her hands into her pockets for warmth, once more sighing heavily, resulting in a small cloud of fog. Thinking back on everything that had consumed her thoughts lately, there was a surprising amount of them that weren't inherently negative. Most were neutral, and Orzel would gladly accept that as a win. Deep down, part of Orzel knew she was making more out of some things than there actually was.

To get more hands on experience actually working with machines, she'd made it a point to get a good portion of the vehicles in the motorpool running, including the firetrucks, which she'd already lined up a buyer for... As part of the creation of the Civil Defense Agency, Ponyville had been awarded a grant to found a professional Fire Department. Getting the trucks up and running, double checking all the hoses and the intricate pumping apparatus, had been one of the most complicated and satisfying tasks Orzel had ever undertaken.

Indeed, when not accounting for the cold, or her upcoming departure, or the looming threat of Armageddon... Orzel was actually having quite a bit of fun. More fun than she'd had in a long time, as a matter of fact... She almost couldn't believe it, but the more she thought about, the more she realized that she... She actually felt... Good. It was a feeling she never thought she'd feel again, and here she was, experiencing it as if for the first time. It'd just crept up on her out of nowhere, but as she pondered the sensation of actually not feeling totally miserable, it became clear that she'd been feeling this way for a while... She hadn't even realized it.

The world seemed brighter, and more colorful, the air was crisper, the food tasted better... Every project had been a chance to read about a great many new things, and though she'd had more than a few foul ups along the way, the Princess was a firm believer that she learned more from her mistakes than she did her successes. Learning, experimenting, tinkering, building, succeeding, even failing... No more did she need to make do picking through the Castle's garbage for bits and pieces! It was all so exciting! She'd even picked up a few new machining techniques, not to mention actually getting an opportunity for some hands-on experience!

"Mister Gaze! It is ready!" Orzel called, practically sang, as she approached the familiar spectacled man, likewise attired for the cold. He was in the process of performing a post-test examination of a few prototype 'plates' for the OUBC project. So far it was a toss up between ceramic and hardened steel, at least as far as stopping rifle calibers was concerned. Ceramic was lighter and far better at breaking up high velocity rounds, but it grew weaker with each subsequent strike, there was also the risk of it fracturing if a soldier fell or ran into something. Hardened steel had more durability, but was heavier by a considerable margin.

They'd had far more success with a 'Light Variant', one that might be issued to police officers or sold to the public. In that field Orzel found that an inch thick plate, comprised of layers of laminated fiberglass fabric and resin, was quite capable of handling slower velocity rounds, and theoretically shrapnel and fragmentation. It'd do little to stop a rifle round, but as statistics indicated the majority of gun crimes were committed with handguns, odds were that most of the time it could get the job done. They were nowhere near ready to begin full production, and Orzel really would've preferred to use a material that was lighter, and with a higher tensile strength, but no such material currently existed. Piercing looked over his shoulder, setting his pen down on the work bench, bringing her thoughts back to the present.

"Great, I could use a break." The man grunted, gesturing with his head towards the bench as he too was stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Were you planning to use the same parameters as last time?" He asked as the two of them started walking towards the front of the factory, Orzel merely nodded. "I actually had a call with the Director a few minutes ago, he's pleased with the tests so far, but he thinks they're lacking a few elements..."

"Such as?" Orzel asked, inwardly sighing at the mention of the Director. She'd given him an explicit order, that he was to inform her of all imminent threats, and of course he'd sided with Mother. He also represented another thing Orzel hadn't considered when working with other people's interests in mind, that they had an annoying habit of butting their noses in. Considering the staggering amount of funds the Nocturne Agency was willing to pay, however, Orzel couldn't say she blamed the man for expecting an input on the design and testing parameters. She just needed to work on her 'people skills', or... Maybe hire someone with better said skills, so that she could focus on the actual engineering...

"It's actually something that should be easy to incorporate." Piercing explained, adjusting the scarf wrapped around his neck while the two of them arrived at another workbench, this one sporting Orzel's latest SMG prototype, resting in a disassembled state. "He wants to know how it operates in a snowy environment as well. Not full arctic, mind you, just... Winter." Orzel nodded in understanding, it certainly wouldn't be hard to incorporate snow into her latest battery of tests. The girl took the freshly machined part from her pocket, placing it among the disassembled parts.

"Understandable... In fact, I have been giving further thought to our plans for desert field testing." Explained the Princess as she began assembling the SMG, most of the parts could be installed with either a simple press fit or locking lugs. Part of the collapsible stock could be removed and used as a tool to tighten the more vital components into place, theoretically making it easier to service in the field. "I think we have ample facilities here to commence limited production, I would like to send a small contingent to several Lone Star militias, say... A couple hundred or so. They regularly operate in a desert environment, they would be best qualified to inform us of the design's performance there." Piercing gained a slightly uncertain expression, nervously rubbing at his chin.

"The Agency would prefer these weapons remain a secret for as long as possible." The man warned somewhat half-heartedly. Orzel had expected as much, and she certainly saw the reason for secrecy, but they simply didn't have enough data for her satisfaction. Much as she found his presence bothersome, she couldn't deny that Piercing was a decent assistant and quasi-lab partner... He also was surprisingly adept at the fine arts book keeping and general organization. Orzel was good enough with figures that she could've done it on her own, but it'd take a good deal of time to become as experienced as Piercing. After all, if just anyone could do it, Lexicos wouldn't have seen fit to invent accountants.

"I am under the impression that the Agency would prefer the whole of our armed forces eventually be equipped with these weapons, correct?" Orzel asked as she twisted the barrel into place. She could've used the stock-assembly tool, but it was just easier using her considerable strength to tighten it by hand. Piercing nodded in response to her question, merely observing the assembly over the girl's shoulder. "The Defense Appropriations Committee will be hesitant to purchase from an untested company such as ours. In my readings on advertisements, 'word of mouth' is believed to be the superior method of gaining notoriety."

"If our weapon is a success with the militias, with a more robust sample size of positive outcomes, the DAC may be more inclined to accept it into regular service." The girl tightened the stock into place, then adjusted the amount it was extended. "Furthermore, given we are nearing the 'Dragon Raiding' season, the Agency will get a far better assessment of its performance under actual combat conditions, as well as learning where we may need to make changes."

Of course, her desire to send guns to the militias was based on more than mere design concerns. She hoped to give the militias a little more firepower when dealing with her aggressive dragon cousins to the south. While her as yet unnamed SMG might be ineffective in long range engagements, as was the case with most SMGs, at close range it would be a terror. There was a reason the .45 ACP cartridge was favored by the military. A short fat bullet, traveling at relatively low velocity, could deliver quite a wallop when it struck the target.

Orzel quietly grabbed the charging handle, pulling it back with a satisfying mechanical clack, then closed the dust cover, which incidentally also served as the weapon's safety. Regardless, the girl made sure to keep her finger away from the trigger as she examined the now fully assembled weapon. Empty, it weighed just under seven pounds, a whole three pounds lighter than the SMG currently in service with. It didn't seem like much, but that three pounds meant just a smidgin more other vital equipment a soldier could carry.

Fully assembled, the weapon more resembled an industrial tool than a submachine gun. It was compact, and its short stubby barrel combined with its collapsing stock would make it small enough to fit in a backpack. The sheet metal had been painted slate gray, with the weapon's serial number, '05', and place of origin, 'Maksym Arsenal', stamped just rear of the rectangular ejection port, as was required by Equestrian law. The pistol and angled fore grip where gnarled, which would hopefully make it easier to hold onto. At a glance, Orzel supposed it almost looked like a heavy duty rivet gun, of the type typically used in the construction of ships...

"I am only one person, and as smart as I may seem, I cannot plan for every eventuality." Orzel stated pointedly, briefly shouldering the weapon, ensuring the muzzle was pointed only at the ground as she double checked the alignment of its sights... A simple v-notch and post, though she'd opted to add three small dots of Sokolite, one on either side of the rear sight and one on the post. In the dark, these dots would fluoresce a bright emerald color, thus making it easier to aim. This was another feature requested by the Agency. "If we send them through typical logistical channels, which I remind you allowed several thousand perfectly good rifles to be abandoned at this very base, it could be months before these Rivet Guns of ours ever see a battlefield. Do we have months to spare, Mister Gaze?"

"No... I suppose we don't." Piercing acquiesced as Orzel made her way to the front door. "I'll bring it up with the Director, but he may still decline." The girl merely hummed in acknowledgment, of course Piercing would bring it up with Orcus, and Aunt Celestia, and Mother... With the weapon now fully assembled, sans a magazine, the two of them continued their conversation while moving towards the exit."So, 'Rivet Gun', eh? I would've gone with 'Fire Nozzle'."

"I actually considered naming it 'Wodór'." Orzel admitted once they'd stepped outside, trudging through the freezing snow, which was up to about Orzel's waist, towards one of the two-and-a-half ton 6x6 supply trucks from the motorpool, which at present was parked beside the factory. This one in particular recently had a snowplow mounted to its front, after Orzel went through the trouble of replacing half a dozen rotted hoses, seals, not to mention the tires. Due to her slight size, she had little trouble crawling under the truck, allowing her to work comfortably with the engine. It'd been yet another soothing experience, actually, much like working on the firetrucks. Getting to work with all those bits and pieces up close, it gave her renewed appreciation for the humble wrench and socket.

Now her thoughts were getting off topic, as she could see Piercing didn't comprehend the meaning of 'Wodór'. Orzel didn't hold that against him, they hadn't gotten around to covering the Szafirian translations of the periodic table... Granted some of those 'translations' were words Orzel made up solely for the purposes of her notes, as the Empire's periodic table was far less extensive than Equestria's.

"It means 'Hydrogen', which has an atomic weight of one. This is our company's first weapon..." Orzel elaborated, at that Piercing gained a look of understanding, then winced with an accompanying 'so-so' hand gesture. Which was about the same reaction she'd had upon actually saying the name out loud. "I agree, the Basilisk PM-72 'Rivet Gun' sounds much better." Again, the man winced ever so faintly at the weapon's designation. The '72' referred to the last digits of the current year according to the Szafirian calender, rather than the Equestrian one, yet another tactic Orzel employed to confuse anyone that might attempt to steal her notes. One could never be too careful, especially now.

"I still think we should stick to Equestrian when it comes to the initials..." Argued Piercing, just as Orzel had expected. This was a conversation they'd had several times so far. Rather, Piercing had brought it up numerous times and the Princess consistently declined to change her mind. "Pistolet Maszynowy doesn't really trip of the tongue. BSMG, Basilisk Sub-Machine Gun, is far easier to pronounce."

Sometimes Orzel wondered if he just brought it up for the sake of trying to get a rise out of her, maybe he used it as one of his 'tests'... By now it was obvious he wasn't just here to assist her, or to better learn Szafirian. Mister Gaze was a spy, her Mother's spy to be precise, undoubtedly relaying whatever she did back to Luna at the end of each day. Orzel first become suspicious shortly after Piercing asked that ridiculous question about 'having a higher purpose'... Subsequent odd questions had made it all the more obvious. Of course, Piercing had to know that Orzel knew that he was a spy, and Orzel knew that Piercing knew that she knew that as well... Espionage could be quite confusing. So long as he remained a helpful and competent assistant, however, Orzel saw no reason to openly confront Piercing about it.

The girl stopped beside the supply truck and opened the driver's side door, tossing the PM-72 onto the bench seat within the cab. She was about eye level with said bench, and for a few moments struggled to climb up into the truck itself. By now Orzel was used to it, though she still wasn't going to admit defeat without at least trying first. Still, between the snow, the slightly constraining nature of her flight suit's leather, and the length of her legs, it proved impossible to reach the first step in any sort of dignified manner.

Momentarily Orzel tried actually jumping up, but the ground was too slick, and she nearly fell backwards onto her rear. Piercing snapped his fingers, his magic arresting her fall and helping her to get her feet back under her. Then he conjured into being a small flowing platform, which finally allowed her to step up and awkwardly wriggle into the driver's seat.

"Thank you, Mister Gaze." Mumbled the Princess's, punctuating her gratitude with rather dejected sigh. She closed the door, then watch the man trudge around the front of the truck, eventually climbing in on the passenger side. He managed to do so in with far greater ease, then paused briefly to rub his hands together for warmth. "Two initials versus four, 'PM' saves two letters. It will be cheaper to stamp on the completed weapons." Orzel continued as she flicked a switch on the dashboard, a her eyes drawn to a darkened orange indicator beside the switch, indicating the glow plugs were warming up. Eager to move on from the subject, the truck gave the girl a quick path to a different topic.

"I have given further thought to the 'Rapid Deployment Vehicle' concepts the Director requested." Orzel pivoted the conversation, waiting until the indicator flickered on before she pulled the starter knob. The starter itself whined, the engine sputtering and making all sorts of noise. Orzel pressed the accelerator a few times, adding a little more fuel to the mix. The diesel coughed several times, then rumbled to life with a deep thunderous rumble. Thick gray smoke coughed forth from the exhaust pipe, quickly dispersing on a gentle southerly breeze. "I am thinking it would be easier to replace the quarter-ton truck with one that has higher ground clearance, something better suited to mounting a heavy machine gun... I also think perhaps an autogyros might be a good idea." The girl put the truck into gear, something she'd been having a little trouble with seeing as she'd only been driving for a couple weeks. This time she only accidentally ground the gears once before the vehicle lurched forward.

"An autogyro?" Piercing's skepticism was easy to discern, though Orzel tried not to let it distract her as she started driving the truck towards the nearest aircraft hangar. "I mean, I can see why they'd draw your attention, but... Do you really think the technology will ever go anywhere?" Orzel shrugged, adjusting a lever on a small control panel that in turn manipulated the snow plow, clearing a path along the road as the truck rumbled along.

"I admit, I have my doubts, at least in its current state. Still, there is enough potential to warrant further development. If we could somehow build one that could take off and land totally vertically? The applications could go far beyond the military. Search and rescue at sea, rapid medical evacuations, it could be revolutionary..." The truck rumbled along with the Princess at the wheel, jostling both occupants in their seats. The suspension left a bit to be desired, but that was a job that'd been moved to the bottom or the girl's to-do list on account of everything else going on.

"That is why I would like you to approach a few aviation engineers about it, then ask the Army to ship five quarter-ton trucks ahead to Amberjack Island. That way I can begin modifications sooner, rather than later..." Instructed Orzel, Piercing took a small notebook from his pocket and began jotting the instructions down in it, then looked at her, then... Back at his book. He was certainly a note taker, and quite thorough... She'd been giving another matter some serious thought, that being the disposition of her company's assets in mainland Equestria whilst she was temporarily at Amberjack. "Mister Gaze." The man hummed in acknowledgment. "I realize that you are already a busy man, I would not hold it against you if you decline, but seeing as I will soon be unable to manage our workshop directly..."

"I'll mind the store for you, but only until you get back." Piercing agreed with that trademarked jovial tone of his, evidently attempting to lift Orzel's spirits. "I might need to hire some extra hands though, and someone to fix the heat. Any major decisions come up? Well, I can just pop on over to Amberjack and ask. It's still your company, after all." He rubbed at his chin as they pulled up to the looming aircraft hangar. Orzel's brow furrowed ever so slightly as she brought the truck to a stop, a somewhat jerky one, seeing as her feet just barely reached the pedals.

"My company..." Orzel repeated the words as she turned off the engine. "That is another matter that concerns me. Is it not a conflict of interests that a company owned by a Princess is being paid by her own government to develop and produce arms and equipment for a profit?" Piercing stowed the notebook back in his pocket, once more taking on that thoughtful look of his. Orzel meanwhile opened her door, grabbing the PM-72 from the seat and awkwardly descending to the snow covered tarmac below.

"I'm not quite sure." Piercing began as he too exited the truck, and together the two of them made their way towards the waiting hangar access door. "You don't just own BDT, your an active employee. We're using your ideas, your schematics, your prototypes." He opened the door and stood aside, allowing Orzel to enter into the darkly shadowed hangar ahead of him. What awaited her beyond was a massive cavern of steel, dimly lit by windows that ran across an upper section of the flat exterior faces.

"Here's an idea... Have you ever heard of commission sales?" The man asked curiously, Orzel nodded, waiting for him to step inside, then closing the door behind him. "So, here's what I think. If your company generates more profit for you in a year than you would be paid for performing your duties as Princess, you don't take any money for those duties. If you make less, you only take enough to make up the difference. Maybe even turn the excess salary into a tax refund or something? Even in my time, there was nothing people like more than getting their money back from the Government." Orzel pondered the theory while she felt around along the wall, until finally she arrived at a bank of light switches.

"An interesting idea..." She agreed, flicking the switches up, on after another. Steadily, in rhythmic fashion, the great overhead lights of the aircraft hanger burst forth with vibrant pale light. "I shall have to discuss it with Mother, of course."

Piercing abruptly cracked his knuckles, with a suddenness that quickly shifted Orzel's attention to something else. Her stomach was growling, ever so faintly... She'd had her typical breakfast, a large portion of protein and calories, but lately even that hadn't been enough to last until midday... Draconic metabolisms could be really bothersome, even downright paradoxical. Orzel could theoretically go several months without eating, centuries even, if she ever chose to 'hibernate'.

The problem was that if she wasn't regularly keeping up her intake, even if it was for only a couple hours or so, her mood would drastically begin to shift. Her temper flared, her anxiety spiked, and there were very few things that didn't strike her as irksome when in a hungry state. Even meditation failed to fully correct the issue, and more and more Orzel found herself riding a fine line between the extremes of emotion and the calm collected exterior she so ardently maintained.

Of course, part of her suspected her increasingly early hunger might've had something to do with what'd become her recent 'Lunch Time' habit... Ponyville was only a five minute flight away on Fantom, at least when Orzel really poured on the coal, much to Mother's annoyance. Spike had likewise been undergoing physical changes since his own near-Elemental Transformation, he'd grown several inches taller, his muscles were more pronounced... He'd even started growing a beard, as every attempt to shave the stone-like fibers resulted in a ruined razor blade. Apparently he too suffered from the issue of having hair that disliked being cut.

Spike also seemed more... Confident, assured of himself, but never arrogant. This was made clear whenever the two of them spoke, as he could articulate his thoughts and argue his points with greater enthusiasm than before. His convictions were stronger, his statements bolder, his mind sharper... That was the most endearing change Orzel had noted, and though they occasionally argued, those arguments were some of the most spirited and thoughtful debates the Princess had encountered, outside of her family's nightly dinner... Incidentally, Orzel had an open invitation to stop by the Library at just about any time. Thus she'd made it a daily ritual of hers to visit Spike for lunch, and there was little that could get her to deviate from that routine, short of vital work on her weapons...

"After this round of testing is complete, I think I would like to take a ride over to Ponyville for lunch..." The Princess stated matter-of-factly, once more restoring her attention to the task at hand. "For now, let us commence with testing. Environment Foxtrot, please."

Piercing snapped his fingers, bathing the otherwise empty hangar space in a brief and brilliant flash of white light, bright enough that Orzel had to shield her eyes. It lasted for a few seconds before winking out entirely, leaving the interior of the aircraft hangar looking far different than before. Where once there was empty floor space, now it was as if a small forest had suddenly sprouted into being, complete with dirt, rocks, undergrowth, and even a small stream that ran along the center. This remarkably compact grove of nature was surrounded on all sides by a barely visible wall of yellow magic energy, intended to stop any stray rounds from passing through.

A dedicated firing range would eventually be constructed on site, but for now this would do nicely. It was a remarkable boon to have a powerful spell-caster on the payroll, especially one capable of creating such convincing facsimiles of real world terrain. He could also manifest targets, magical manifestations of everything from bulls-eyes to realistic humanoids that moved, acted, and fought as their real counterparts might. All of it amounted to yet another reason Orzel content to ignore Piercing's spying...

Typically this was the part where Orzel would hand the PM-72 off to one of the agents from her security detail, as Mother still wasn't sanguine about the girl actually operating a firearm. Orzel had never actually fired one, even having spent so much time building and refining her prototypes. It wasn't for lack of trying either, as she'd aced just about every written safety test Grim and Fable came up with, memorizing all the vital rules of firearm safety.

Rule one, the firearm was always loaded, even when it wasn't. Rule two, never ever point the firearm at anything she wasn't willing to utterly destroy. Rule three, she was to keep her finger off the trigger until such time as she actually was ready to fire, especially with an automatic weapon. Rule four, be mindful of her target and what lays beyond her target. As she'd learned from observing the effects of .30-06 rounds fired at close range, just because she hit what she was aiming at didn't necessarily mean the bullet would stop traveling, there was also the real possibility of missing her target altogether. Rule five, if a cartridge failed to fire, she was to handle the weapon incredibly delicately and dispose of the problem cartridge in a safe and cautious manner. Rule six, especially important considering they would be firing in an enclosed space, was to always, always, always wear ear and eye protection.

Orzel could recite these rules by heart, and could do so from left to right, right to left, front to back, back to front, in Equestrian, Szafirian, and Draconic, or any combination thereof. Ultimately she'd only been able to convince her minders that she was actually ready by doing precisely that, as proving that she understood just how serious proper firearms safety was in not one, not two, but three languages made it rather difficult for Grim or Fable to refuse. Still, up until recently they'd been giving her a firm 'No'... In the end, oddly enough, it had to be Mother that stepped in and gave the okay. Orzel took Mother's permission to mean that however much the woman hated letting the girl do her work, she at least trusted her to do so safely, and considering some of the impulsive experiments Orzel had pulled... That meant a lot.

Once more checking over the weapon to ensure it was ready for the test, the Princess approached a small workbench, seated within the magic wall, at the very edge of the test area. It, like the forest itself, had been manifested by Piercing's magic. Upon this bench were numerous tools that could be used to make minor tweaks and adjustments to the PM-72 without having to go all the way back to the workshop, as well as several sets of ear and eye protection, plus a stack of ten fully loaded thirty-round stick magazines.

Both Piercing and Orzel donned their protective gear, then the Princess picked up one of the magazines, searching for any visible defects. The magazine itself bore several scratches and knicks where the black paint was worn away, while the polished brass casing and copper jacket of the top round gave back dull reflections. It still amazed her that something no larger than her thumb could be so deadly... The percussion cap weapons in use in the Empire were far more complex to load, at least, if her Father's anecdotes were anything to go by.

It was a delicate dance, pouring the powder, slipping in the wad, tamping down the ball, seating the cap itself... Thirty to forty seconds of meticulous work certainly seemed a more theatrical lead up to the firing of a weapon, but there was little place for theatrics on the mechanizing battlefields of Equus.

"I am loading the weapon." Orzel stated loudly and clearly, for Piercing, or anyone else to hear. She slipped the stick into the magazine well. "The weapon is hot, we will now commence the 'Sustainability of Fire' test. Target, twenty-five yards." That was a slightly more eloquent way of stating that Orzel intended to fire the weapon until she either ran out of spare magazines or the weapon jammed, overheated, or suffered any other mechanical malfunction.

The record was six and a half magazines, as of their last SoF Test, which realistically was more than adequate. Odds were there wouldn't be a scenario where the weapon would be firing magazine after magazine for such a sustained period of time, especially as it was easier to control when fired in two or three round bursts. Still, Orzel wanted to make sure she'd worked out the 'seizing' issue her earlier prototypes suffered from, and that the bolt assembly was still weighted properly. Keeping her finger off the trigger and the muzzle pointed safely at the ground, the Princess stepped forward, nodding towards one of the trees at approximately twenty-five yards down range. Moments later, a paper silhouette appeared on its trunk with a whoosh of arcane energy.

The anticipation was at first difficult to put into words, all Orzel could articulate was that holding a fully loaded firearm certainly felt a lot different than an unloaded one. What made it that much more electrifying was that it was her design, this wasn't some model steam engine, or repairing a faulty lawnmower, or disassembling a toaster... She herself had crafted every component with her own two hands, from design to completion. She'd seen others get to use it, and now... Finally... It was her turn to take it for a spin.

By now the Princess recognized her feelings with greater accuracy, and all the memories those feelings conjured. It was the same sensation Orzel had felt when first she'd laid eyes upon the inner mechanisms of a ticking clock, for in that instant, though she hadn't realized it at the time, she'd fallen in love with machinery and technology... It was the same way with her first successful foray into Enchanting, her first exposure to Equestrian music, her first time reading through the articles of the Equestrian constitution, and when she'd first laid atop her hoard.

Orzel couldn't help feeling a strange and elemental power stirring deep inside her, as if every fiber of her being, every muscle, ever strand of hair, was synchronizing with one another. Sometimes she might feel something similar when attending prayer services, but doing so required a good deal of work, and a surprisingly deep level of meditative concentration. This time... This time she had her eyes wide open... Flipping open the dust cover, and be extension removing the safety, Orzel exhaled slowly and brought the muzzle of the weapon up to bear on the target. The first round gleamed up at her through the ejection port, waiting for her to send it down range, as if goading her into doing so.

Bringing her finger down to rest on the trigger, the Princess set her jaw and prepared herself for the whirlwind of lead, fire, and fury she was about to unleash. She squeezed slowly, and noted for future reference that the trigger pull seemed just a little stiff, but that was a concern for later. In one tense moment the trigger came back all the way, the bolt surged forward. In one fluid motion it scooped the top round off the magazine, then slammed it into the chamber. The firing pin struck the primer, the powder ignited, the pressure built and built, hurtling the bullet down the barrel faster than the speed of sound, giving rise to a resounding glorious crescendo!

For a few blissful moments it was as if time itself had slowed down, giving Orzel a moment to truly take in and appreciate the delicate ballet of her creation in all its splendor. A rhythmic baritone 'Bam! Bam! Bam!' cut through the air, the gun continuing steadily to chop away. Smoldering brass cases danced tumbled through the air, trailing faint wisps of smoke behind them as they were ejected from the weapon, their job thoroughly completed. Each eruption of fire from muzzle accompanied an easily controlled pulse of recoil, owed to the PM-72's gnarled grips, compact size, and its slow cyclical rate, which topped out somewhere around four-hundred-fifty rounds per minute.

Taken as a whole, that first chattering burst of fire instilled in Orzel a deeper love for the machine she'd so carefully crafted than she would've thought possible... This sensation of awe at the powers of physics in motion, she realized, was something she could get quite used to. The target upon tree in question was quickly struck, each impact throwing off tiny fragments of paper and bark, exposing the white wood beneath with every round that slammed home. The grouping wasn't about what she'd expected of her creation, with the rounds generally striking the target silhouette in the '9' to '10' rings, though a few stragglers wandered off into the '8'.

Orzel wasted no time in ejecting the spent magazine when weapon ran empty, swiftly slamming another one home and racking back the bolt. Another steady 'Bam! Bam! Bam!' ripped through the air, on and on she went, depleting one magazine only to replace it with another, over and over again. By the end of the sixth magazine the Princess found it impossible to constrain the almost predatory grin that'd spread across her face, nor did she really feel a need to.

With racing pulse and panting breaths, Orzel's eyes took on a distinctly reptilian appearance. The emerald orbs glowed as bright as the dawn, focusing in on the silhouette as if it were some delightfully tasty morsel of bloody raw steak. She couldn't help it, she was just so... Hungry. Everything else around her faded into the background, all was superfluous, there may as well have been nothing else in all creation than the Princess, her gun, and her target. Each successive shot accompanied an adrenaline surge, accented by unspeakable elation and an insatiable hunger for more.

This was one of the few changes that'd come about after her near Elemental Transformation that the Princess actually viewed as a positive... As heightened as her negative emotions might've become, their positive counterparts were just as equally amplified. The great slumbering beast she kept under lock and key had found an outlet for its fury, if only for a brief moment, and for that brief time Orzel had again entered a state of perfect, beautiful, efficient, predatory synchronicity. It felt so liberating to not constrain the aggression, such a rush of emotion that Orzel was genuinely sad she couldn't indulge that facet of herself more often.

Each successive magazine went just as smoothly as the first, even as she felt the angled forward grip physically warming up in her hands. Were she an Equestrian it was very likely she'd stop for fear of burning herself, but between the rampaging endorphins and frigid cold air that filled the hangar, she actually welcomed the rising heat. Every movement she made to reload was so perfectly timed as to appear almost mechanical in nature, like one pint-sized destructive wind up toy. Orzel could do this all day...

'Bam! Bam! Bam! Clack!'. Orzel swiftly reached to the table, eager for the chance to burn through the next magazine, only to realize that there was no 'next magazine'... She'd fired all ten magazines without a single stoppage, and while the weapon was certainly hot, it hadn't overheated or seized up. Smoke coiled lazily upwards from the muzzle, the barrel itself now glowing a vibrant cherry hue... The vapors danced and twisted in the calm air of the aircraft hangar's interior, and all around her the Princess found herself in a faint haze of whitish-gray smoke... Evidently 'smokeless powder' wasn't nearly as smokeless as advertised.

Orzel inhaled the fog deeply through her nose, basking briefly in the heady bouquet of expended powder, scorched brass, and red hot steel. To say she was crestfallen that there were no further magazines to fire at present would be an understatement, but... Her fun was over now, and as much as she wanted more of that rush that came from expressing her more aggressive emotions, she nonetheless had a job to do. Now would begin the arduous, and slightly tedious, process of measuring the weapon's temperature, the temperature of the hand guard, the bolt assembly, and so on... That would be fun too! Just... Not as fun as mag-dumping three-hundred rounds of .45 ACP ammunition with a submachine gun, but... Still fun!

Orzel removed the final empty magazine and double checked that the chamber was clear, racking the bolt back and forth several times just to be sure. Then she placed the weapon on the table, doing so with a reverence and gentleness she reserved only for her most cherished of model warships. She could picture now, in her mind's eye, the night that Cesarski had burned... She imagined the soldiers in the Empire's capital city, each equipped with the PM-72 she'd built.

In the simplicity of its construction, she couldn't help but imagine the Empire actually might've been able to produce something similar, a weapon that very well might've shifted the outcome of so much devastation. More importantly, it was exactly the sort of thing the Empire would never have allowed its subjects to possess. With one PM-72, a man might very well hold off an entire company of Imperial soldiers, or even the feared Sapphire Guard... The most feared 'civil' guards in the Empire, and the obedient lackies of none other than the MIS.

With ten PM-72s, a hundred, a thousand...? The MIS would never dare to set foot inside of her family's, or anyone else's family's, home again. She'd seen weapons that could level the playing field, the AAR, the SMG-45, but only now, after firing one for herself, did the picture come further together. It was a seven pound amalgam of sheet metal and turned steel, and yet she'd instantly come to love it, as one might love a particularly fine painting or a cherished family heirloom. It was all the clearer to her in that instant, just where she stood on the topic of arms... If anyone was ever foolish enough to attempt to confiscate the PM-72 from her personage, they would have to do so by prying it from her cold, dead, hands.

"Let's see how hot it is..." Piercing stated curiously, reaching out to put his hand on the weapon. Orzel inwardly had to refrain from trying to snatch the weapon away, mentally reminding herself that the man wasn't attempting to take what was, to her, one of the the newest an most magnificent items in her hoard. Piercing's palm glowed faintly for a few moments, then faded out. He then took the notebook from his pocket, turning to a different page and scribbling his findings within. Orzel pulled out her own notebook, looking at Piercing's notes, then transcribing the findings down in her own. "So... Lunch?" Orzel looked at the PM-72 for a few moments, then bit her lower lip.

She licked her lips, she was most certainly hungry, but... Something felt different. Looking past the edge of her nose, she experimentally stuck her tongue out... The Princess froze, as now could see her tongue by quite a decent margin, and what was more... It'd taken on a distinctly forked appearance, and she could move it with remarkable dexterity. She could... Taste the air. The powder, the brass, the steel, the pine sap oozing from the freshly perforated tree... Piercing likewise took note of the new development, and Orzel could hardly keep her shoulder's from slouching.

"Do cholery..." She swore in Szafirian, sighing heavily through her nose and pinching the bridge of her nose. The change to her tongue had likewise altered the sound of her voice, giving it an almost two toned sound and exacerbating her native accent to even greater heights. "Thisss isss in-tol-er-able!" She groaned in Equestrian, well... More hissed than groaned. "Jussst asssss I am get-ting usssed to ssspeaking your en-sssuff-er-ably sssoft lan-guage!" The Princess took several deep breaths, and at this point she also became aware of the change to her eyes, as she could observe their slitted reptilian appearance in one of the shiny spent shell casings that'd landed on the workbench. She lifted her spectacles, briefly taking the world out of focus, then set them back on her nose. "I vasss hav-ink good day too..." Orzel looked at Piercing. "Isss bahd, tak?" She asked, gesturing to her eyes.

"Of course not!" Piercing responded, almost a little too rapidly for Orzel's liking. "Look, they're your eyes, and they're perfectly natural for a dragon. Like it or not, there's not much we can do to change them..." The Princess wanted to speak, but the man held up a hand. "You thought you could speed read before, right? Well, imagine how fast you can read now that your eyes have fully developed!"

That... Was actually a very good point, and it certainly took a lot of the sting out of yet another physical change that Orzel, personally, had to be ugliest draconic feature she'd gained yet... Orzel hated to admit it, as she still didn't wholly trust the man, but... Maybe it was just the lingering rush from the experiment, or just her new overall more positive mood, either way she was actually starting to like him.

"As for the tongue thing?" Piercing continued with a surprisingly renewed chipper attitude, perhaps picking up on Orzel's transition from merely tolerating his presence to tacitly accepting him. "The best thing you can do right now as far as the speech is concerned to focus on the hissing. Don't worry as much about pronunciation or sentence structure. Once you get enough practice keeping the hiss to a minimum, it'll be easier to go back to speaking normally." Orzel gave the suggestion a few moments thoughts, then nodded, once more conceding defeat to her accent... For the moment, at least.

"I will take under advisement." Orzel responded, making quite a concerted effort to keep from extending the 'S' in the final word. "Though hungry, I am want to run through tessst again. Dwadzieścia-" She stopped herself. "Twenty more times, at very small. Expanding sssample size, make better resultsss, tak?" She decided, making several more notations in her book. Much as she hated the change, she still had a job to do... And doing so might actually help take her mind off of things. "Firssst, I adjust trigger, then ssstrip and clean-ink weapon for next test..." She paused for a moment, briefly gnawing on the end of her pencil. "Could alssso make opportunity to examining barrel wear. Only after tesssts completed do we break for lunch." Piercing nodded in acceptance of the idea, setting his notebook on the table whilst Orzel began to disassemble the PM-72's trigger assembly.

"You just want to keep firing it, don't you?" Piercing asked skeptically, Orzel merely nodded her head. "Thought so..." He removed his ear protectors and set them on the table. "Maybe I could run the test a couple times?" The Princess paused in her work for a moment, both to pick up one of the nearby tools and to consider the man's request.

"Mussst be keep to test parameters, make ssstatic as possible. Introduce new variables, mid ssstudy? Could contaminate resssults." Orzel concluded studiously, waiting just a few moments before allowing a ghost of a smirk to emerge. "You jussst have to be run-ink through twenty tesssts of your own..." Piercing nodded at the suggestion, snapping his fingers and summoning several crates of .45 ACP rounds beside the table. Hopefully Spike wouldn't mind a slight delay in Orzel's arrival for lunch... While part of her wanted to blow off some steam, especially given the latest development, another part wanted to take some time practicing her new manner of speech... She already looked bad enough, she didn't want to add to that by coming off as a poor speaker as well.

The scent of paper and dusty shelves lingered in cozy atmosphere of Golden Oak Library, even several hours after Spike had finished restoring the day's bevy of book returns to their proper places. The aroma had by and large been supplanted by gingerbread and hot chocolate, Twilight's winter drink of choice... Spike's as well. Lately his Mom had been busy assisting Mayor Mare with a considerable amount of paperwork, work that Spike suspected very well was the result of recent... Political developments. Currently the woman was making use of the larger reading table in the library, tending to the matters of local governance too complex for her son to take more than a casual interest in. Something about 'evacuation plans' and zoning permits for a new road that might possibly be running through Ponyville.

As Spike sat quietly at the kitchen table, staring out at the falling snow, he found himself grateful for the mug of cocoa steaming on the table in front of him. The newest shipment of EG-1 novels had just come in, which had yet to find shelf space, as it meant transferring some other books to storage. That would be akin to pulling teeth with Twilight, and seeing how she was so busy already, there was bound to be some delay. That at least reduced Spike's regular work load, if only temporarily. Where usually he had to run errands around town, winter meant most of his time was spent at home.

At times it could become quite boring, but it beat trudging through the snow. Spike still had his models, and the weekly game of O&O, but otherwise he'd probably just catch up on his reading... Or make holiday snacks, which Twilight would then set out in the library for the odd person that might wander in for a book. Speaking of snacks, his stomach was giving him all sorts of fits today. It wasn't on account of anything that he'd eaten, quite the opposite in fact... He was waiting for Orzel, who was an hour overdue for their lunch...

It wasn't uncommon for Orzel to occasionally take a while to arrive, between weather conditions and other factors beyond her control, Spike was actually impressed at how consistent she was. This was by far the longest she'd made him wait, not that the young man was upset over that fact. Despite his discomfort and slightly worsening temper, Spike was more than happy to wait if it meant spending time with his favorite Princess.

The radio played faint Hearth's Warming songs, further adding to the picturesque scene unfolding outside. Spike took a large sip from his mug of cocoa, which Twilight had made according to a recipe from Pinkie Pie... As such, it was probably about the richest thing he'd ever tasted, and that helped to assuage his persistent hunger pain. He could've eaten lunch three times by now, but... It just wouldn't be the same. Spike relished every opportunity he had to sit down and talk with the Princess, about any topic, really... Especially considering such opportunities would soon come to an abrupt end.

Orzel had given an address at which Spike could write her, though he doubted it was the actual address, seeing as the girl's departure and subsequent location apparently was supposed to be a State Secret. The news was disappointing to say the least, especially as he'd planned to ask Orzel to maybe stop by for dinner when Twilight was out... Spike had just about got the courage up to make his pitch, but... Then the Princess had to go and tell him she was leaving. Since then, Spike hesitated to broach the topic even slightly.

After all, the decision to leave wasn't Orzel's, and the young man didn't want to make an already difficult situation worse. Though she couldn't give an exact reason as to why she had to go, it didn't take a rocket surgeon to figure out that the suddenness of the decision and the State Secret angle probably had something to do with 'National Security'. Whatever the actual cause, Spike could see that it rattled the Princess considerably whenever they talked about it. If it was enough to rattle Orzel, well... The last thing she needed to worry about was him asking her out to dinner.

That wasn't to say Spike was giving up, far from it. Orzel would come back to Equestria one day, and Faust willing, he'd be able to make his request. For now Spike had been making do with their daily lunches, spending as much time as possible with the Princess, doing his best to support his friend in her time of difficulty.

Every now and again he'd get it in his head that he should just come out and ask her, or at the very least tell her how he felt. Try as he might, it was just one scenario where Spike couldn't bring himself just bite the bullet and get it over with... Then he'd remember just how important his correspondence with the Princess was to both of them. To bring up such a topic, so close to her date of departure on the day after Hearth's Warming Eve, could very well upset that correspondence. Still, Spike supposed he could use Orzel's departure to his future advantage, it'd give him time to really hit the gym and maybe even start looking into those 'Trendy Technology' magazines the Princess regularly talked about. Then he might be able to understand more of what she said whenever she talked about that sort of stuff...

His relationship with Orzel wasn't the only thing that had Spike 'spinning his wheels', to use Big Mac's words. The young man had recently had another important talk with Twilight about his desire to help people as more than be a librarian, this time in a field far closer to home... Ponyville was putting together a new professional Fire Department, part of some new initiative by a recently founded 'Civil Defense Agency'. It was apparently going to be very different from the volunteer fire department that currently serviced the town's needs, and the pay was certainly nothing to laugh at either. The only catch was that in the event of a National Emergency, say a massive wildfire or other calamity, the Department could be called upon to assist local fire services wherever the trouble was, which... Just seemed like it should be a no-brainer to begin with.

They were looking for volunteers that were sturdily built, physically fit, who didn't particularly mind fire all that much. As a dragon, Spike was all three of these things. Big Macintosh had been selected to serve as the department's 'Chief', and he'd offered Spike a position, but as was the case with the Navy, he'd have to produce a parental release form. He was hoping that the fact it'd be based in Ponyville, and that he wouldn't be at risk of hurting someone else, might just be enough to convince his Mom to sign off. Twilight hadn't outright refused as was the case last time, so Spike was cautiously optimistic...

Sighing faintly, the young man rubbed at his chin and cheeks, which he'd only just recently managed to clear of bothersome stubble. It took a trip to the hardware store, but he'd finally found a means of 'shaving' again... It just required a hand-held belt grinder, originally intended for getting into small difficult places. While not strong enough to harm his skin, which had grown far more durable of late, the grinder was just strong enough to do away with those pesky whiskers. The only downside, especially given the current weather, was that had to do so outside, as the act of shaving now created a great deal of sparks... He could only imagine the sort of hardware the barber might need to employ when he next went in for a proper haircut.

Looking at his reflection in the window, the young man moved his lips about, examining the only bit of facial hair he'd retained... A large bushy mustache. Apparently that was the new 'style', at least according to every other man he'd seen applying to join the FDPV. As he was admiring the crop of bushy dark green hairs, however, Spike spotted the familiar outline of Orzel on her broomstick fly briskly through the snow. As usual she had a satchel slung around her torso, but this time she was also carrying a brown paper bag. She waved at him with her free hand, balancing hands-free on the broomstick as she flew past, quickly making her way out of sight... A few moments later, as had happened so many times before, Spike heard the front door open.

"Allo, Miss Sparkle!" By now Spike was well enough attuned to her monotonous manner of speech that he could tell this was a very cheerful greeting, he could practically hear the 'smile' in her voice. "I sorry for tardinessss. Would have called, but not expect work to be lassst as long. I buy food to say sssorry."

Spike rose from his seat and made his way out into the reading room, pausing to lean in the door frame as he watched the Princess unzip her snow spattered bomber jacket and lean the broomstick beside the door. As usual the lower portion of her face was concealed beneath a section of her headscarf. What was unusual was her manner of speaking... Which was accented strangely. Twilight meanwhile looked up from her paperwork, offering a smile of her own, though Spike could tell that she too was surprised by the Princess altered method of speech.

"It's perfectly alright, Orzel. You didn't have to do that!" The woman responded, adjusting her spectacles and looking over the papers. There were hundreds of them, laid out in different piles of varying heights. "I ate an hour or so ago, and I've got a lot of work to do. Why don't you and Spike eat without me." Orzel cast a look at Spike, then nodded at the suggestion. She quickly removed her jacket and hung it beside the door, though she was still wearing the familiar 'Flight Suit' underneath. Wiping her boots on the floor mat, the girl carried both her satchel and the brown paper bag with her towards the kitchen.

"Good afternoon, SSSpike." Orzel greeted amiably, peering up at him with those verdant eyes of hers, glowing faintly behind a pair of thick prescription lenses... Just as every time before, the young man was briefly struck dumb by their beauty, but also... He noticed that they looked different than the day before, having the slitted features of a reptile, which... To him, made them all the more stunning. He was far better at collecting himself through experience, and there almost no visible trace of the brief tangent of his thoughts.

"Good afternoon, my Lady." Spike was gratified to see that Orzel's reaction to that greeting remained the same, though this time he suspected she might blame the flush to her checks on the cold weather she'd just flown through. Regardless, Spike stepped out of the doorway and back into the kitchen, making ample room for Orzel to follow behind. Sniffing at the air, he hoped to guess what she might've brought for lunch... Odds were it was burgers, or maybe sandwiches, but... There was something else in the air. Something he'd smelled a few times on Big Macintosh, apparently the scent of expended smokeless powder. Like most things, what Orzel was up to lately was a secret, but again... It didn't take a brain scientist to figure out it probably had something to do with guns. "Busy day at work?"

"In man-ner of speaking." Orzel affirmed, setting the bag on the table and her satchel on the floor. Though she seemed find, it almost sounded as if she was actually struggling to talk. "Great many tesssts, wanted to run personally. May have... Over indulged curiosssity." In addition to the eyes and her occasional 'hissing', Orzel seemed... Different. Not nearly as rigid, with a barely detectable spring in her step. This was, perhaps, the closest Spike had ever seen her to being happy, in fact... She seemed downright 'bubbly'. "Again, much apologize for the making you wait. How has day been?" She added more seriously as Spike pulled out a seat for her, which she readily accepted before being pushed in, just as she always did.

"A little boring..." Spike admitted, seating himself as the Princess began taking food from the bag... There was lots of it, as was typically the case with their lunches, seeing as there were two ravenously hungry dragons to feed. That being said, Spike was frankly skeptical that so much food could come out of the same bag naturally. In total, the feast would include fifty cheeseburgers, thirty large orders of Prench fries, six buckets of fried chicken, a pound and a half of mashed potatoes, and twenty large sodas. Every part of the feast, with the exception of the sodas, was piping hot... As if it'd just finished being cooked that second. "Is this one of your projects?" The young man gestured at the bag, to which Orzel offered one of her stoic smiles.

"You know Enchantressss can not reveal her secrets..." She stated cryptically before tugging down the portion of her headscarf covering the lower part of her face. She took a tentative sip of her drink, a few moments later her eyes went wide, but again she made no mention as to why. "Is a test piece I working on. Want to be seeing if my SSSokolite compound could... Could..." She trailed off, abruptly sighing and swapping over to draconic.

"I wanted to see if it could effectively bind to paper, and I also wanted to test an enchantment I developed based on our O&O campaign..." Her pronunciation of her Draconic had drastically increased, and her voice sounded... Smoother, even taking on a delightfully scintillating dual tonal quality. "It is also part of a work thing, I suppose. I have dubbed it the 'Lunchbag of Holding'."

Spike was hardly surprised to watch the Princess abruptly wolf down an entire cheeseburger in under eight seconds, though somehow she still managed to retain a scrap of the grace expected of a future sovereign. What did surprise him was the emergence of a forked tongue that darted briefly out from between the Princess's lips, then retreated with equally swift motion. Spike handled it with about as much aplomb as he could, though he was certain that the ever observant Orzel had spotted the brief surprise in his eyes.

"It is yet another facet of being a dragon I was not prepared for." Orzel continued in draconic, gesturing to her eyes, then sticking out her tongue a good six inches or so. Retracting the appendage, the girl shrugged ever so faintly. "While speaking Equestrian is more difficult, I have found speaking Draconic, or even my native Szafirian has become... Easier."

That was certainly becoming evident with every word she spoke, as the sharpness of her consonants and the overall flow of her words seemed far more natural... It only made sense that the language of dragons would be influenced by a level of tongue dexterity that wasn't present in other races. Though her general tone remained subdued and monotonous, it was much easier for Spike to discern her general emotion merely by the lyrical quality of her voice. She didn't seem altogether displeased talking about the change, but she obviously wasn't enthused by it either.

"Can you say something specific for me in Draconic, like a tongue twister?" Spike asked cautiously in Equestrian, Orzel merely nodded. "Lesser leather never lettered... Lesser letter never..." Spike stopped as Orzel emitted one of her strange coughing giggles, which certainly took some of the sting out of it. Taking a deep breath, the young man tried again, this time far slower. "Lesser leather... Never weathered... Wetter weather better."

"Lesser leather never weathered wetter weather better." Orzel repeated in Draconic without so much as missing a syllable, obviously aided by the recent change. "Can you can a can as a canner can can a can? How can a clam cram in a clean cream can? If a dog chews shoes, whose shoes does he choose?" Spike was surprised to see Orzel actually smile, a real smile, fleeting as it might've been. "I was worried the change would make it difficult for me, but with practice I should be able to more easily adapt back to Equestrian." She admitted softly, her eyes turning back to the table. "I do not feel as restrained as I once did... At least, when I am speaking with you..."

Spike once again spotted the faint flushing of her cheeks. He was certain of it now, he wasn't just seeing things... She might very well feel the same way about him as he felt about her. For a few moments the young man thought he might gather the courage to speak his mind, to get it out in the open then and there, before it was too late... Just as with his earlier attempts to say those charming phrases, Spike found his tongue thoroughly tied. He couldn't spit it out, not here, not without any sort of warning...

"So, tongue twisters aside, anything in particular you want to talk about today, my Lady?" He inquired, continuing in draconic for the Princess's benefit. He couldn't keep from grinning inwardly, as once again the Princess's cheeks flushed... He didn't know why he carried on addressing Orzel as such, as it obviously got her flustered, but... She was cute when she was flustered. Maybe he hoped it might inspire her to say something instead, thus saving him the anxiety of working out how to do it on his own. "How about I go?" The Princess merely nodded, as she was once again in the process of eating. "So, I talked to Twilight about possibly-" The girl abruptly started giggling, in her strange, reserved, cough-like way. Spike was fast starting to realize that despite the oddness, that sound becoming one of his favorite things to hear. "What?" Orzel wiped at her lips with a napkin, then took another sip of her drink.

"Your mustache..." Stated Orzel, gesturing at her own upper lip. "It is like... What is the word? Larval stage of a butterfly..." She trailed off, then snapped her fingers. "Caterpillar! Yes, it is like a great big caterpillar, that wiggles when you talk. I find it quite silly." Spike absently rubbed at the mustache for himself, then looked at his reflection in the mirror... The Princess certainly had a point, now that he looked at it. "I greatly preferred the full beard, I thought it made you look... Very rugged. Very distinguished." She admitted, once again averting her eyes to the table. "It is your face, of course, do with it as you please... I am not trying to tell you to change." The Princess quickly added, a bit more seriously than before.

"I know..." Spike responded, chuckling faintly to himself. He truly did understand, both that Orzel wasn't telling him to change, and why she'd gone out of her way to say as much. "I kinda liked the beard myself, not gonna lie... I just wanted to be fashionable, I guess." The young man shrugged, then abruptly brought his palm to his forehead. "I totally forgot about why I kept the mustache to begin with!" He groaned, then took a sip of his drink. "I want to sign up for the new Fire Department they're setting up in Ponyville. Mom hasn't outright said 'No' yet, so I'm hopeful." Orzel leaned forward on the table, idly taking a few more bites of a second burger.

"I think you would make a fine addition..." The Princess agreed sagely. "I actually am planning on selling the firetrucks at Maksym Field to that very department, so you can take comfort in knowing I have repaired them personally." Spike actually did take comfort in that, if there was anyone he'd trust to get something mechanical up and running, it was Orzel. She leaned back in her seat, taking on a slightly more serious posture. "If you do take the position, I would like very much for you to keep me updated in our letters as to how the department is developing. If issues arise with funding or other red tape that hampers its progress, do not hesitate to inform me."

This was a side of Orzel that Spike had only seen rarely... The 'Princess' part of Princess Orzel. She could go from bubbly and cloy to stern and serious at the drop of a hat, especially if she perceived that someone in the government wasn't doing their job. For Spike, it was both a blessing and a curse... A blessing in that the Princess had a habit of getting whatever needed doing done as quickly as possible, a curse in that it often times required her to put herself in a far colder mindset. She did so because she cared, but in the moment she could come off as... Aloof, or even downright mean, depending on the severity of the infraction.

"You'll be the first to know, I promise." Spike agreed honestly, and with his solemn assurance, Orzel was back to her usual neurotic but otherwise conversational self.

Spike once again noticed the Princess was, even in the process of eating, taking care to organize her immediate surroundings in that typical obsessive way of hers. Occasionally she would get that far away look in her eyes, just staring off into space... It wasn't nearly as often now as had been the case in previous visits. Most telling was her idly organizing each handful of fries according to size, from longest to shortest, before eating them. She did so with such speed that it would've been difficult to notice, had Spike not trained himself to spot it... It, just as much as the Princess's overall demeanor, helped to give him an idea of where she was at, mentally speaking.

While by no means fully relaxed, not that he'd ever actually seen her fully relaxed, she nonetheless seemed more placid than usual. Odds were it was a mix of finally getting to eat lunch and whatever scientific tests she'd run prior to her arrival, but... Spike liked to think at least some of it had to do with him. Of course she'd told him that he didn't need to change his appearance for her, and he believed that to be true, but... Spike wanted to anyway. So he'd probably grind off the remaining mustache and grow everything back in evenly, as the young man figured to do so unevenly would drive the Princess crazy... Even if she wasn't actually going to be stopping by for much longer.

That drew his thoughts to the upcoming Hearth's Warming Eve Ball, to which he and Twilight had already received their invitations... They'd even been asked to perform a play, which Spike had been given the honor of narrating. He didn't know if Orzel would attend the pageant, apparently she wanted to attend one final prayer service prior to her departure, and Spike couldn't really fault her for that... Even if he didn't really get the point of any of it. What concerned the young man more was that he wasn't sure what he should get the Princess for Hearth's Warming Eve...

Again, she insisted that she didn't need anything, and again... Spike didn't care, he wanted to get her something. He didn't know what exactly, but he supposed it wouldn't be all that different from buying a gift for his Mom... Perhaps a new slide rule, maybe a T-square? Odds were the Princess would appreciate it no matter what Spike got, and maybe that'd even give him the chance to get a few things off his chest... Either way, Spike would just be happy to see her one last time before she left. Whatever the cause for her departure, even if it had rattled her, it couldn't be much worse than Nightmare Moon or Discord... Right?

Piercing sighed quietly as once more he strolled through the well manicured halls of the Nocturne Agency's headquarters, eyes cast upon the floor, brow furrowed in deep thought. He'd only just teleported back to Canterlot a few minutes ago, as Orzel had bid him to make contact with several engineering firms and to bring her proposal for field trials to Orcus. In all honesty, however, Piercing's focus was far from those immediate requests. Exhaling a small puff of cigar smoke, the man briefly looked sideways, glancing at a man standing beside a water cooler, chatting with an absolutely stunning receptionist... Piercing shook his head, not only was that wildly inappropriate, he was also happily involved with Luna.

What stuck out wasn't the receptionist, however... No, it was the man himself. He was a rotund fellow, dressed in the virtually ubiquitous cheap, off-the-rack, government issue, black suit and tie. His face, though, was vaguely familiar... For a few moments Piercing struggled to place him, then he recalled Nightmare Night... He'd seen that same man, dressed as a janitor, mopping the floors in the Castle's main entrance hall. To Piercing's amazement, the man now wore an 'Agent' badge... He could only wonder just how many other members of the Castle staff were Nocturne Agents in disguise.

"There are some right peculiar blokes working here..." He mumbled to himself, averting his eyes back to the floor. Taking a small puff on his cigar, the Sub-Director of the entire Nocturne Agency pondered the nature of his upcoming conversation with Director Orcus... Nearly a month had gone by since the Facility 127 Raid with very little to show for it, other than half a dozen dead Cerberus Troopers, a couple wounded prisoners, and, most startlingly, a handful of Changeling corpses.

Two had been recovered at the gate, the third from within the compound itself, near the warehouse that'd been raided, and a fourth that'd been found face down on the snowy banks of a river some twenty miles east of the facility. The dead found at the facility were easily attributable to gunfire from the defenders, but the latter most corpse had faced a far more deliberate fate. He'd been knelt down at the edge of the river, then shot point blank in the head, though not before first having its palm slashed open.

This, coupled with statements taken from the prisoners, seemed to support the theory that the man responsible for running the raid hadn't known there were Changelings in his midst. The prisoners themselves cast doubt on an early theory that this was an operation by Griffon special forces, though they didn't solidly disprove the idea either. The men responsible weren't amateurs, and they weren't run of the mill common criminals either.

They'd known about the proper handling artifacts, and performed enough intelligence gathering to know more or less exactly what it was they were stealing. Coupling that with the fact they were using Griffon Equipment, and that they could speak both Griffish and Ornithian with varying degrees of fluency? It didn't take long for a pattern emerged... They might not have been Griffon special forces, but they were just about the closest thing to it.

Ornithia had exceptionally strong military ties with the Griffon Empire, regularly trading food, petroleum, and other rare resources for surplus equipment and military advisers. As such, it boasted one of the most advanced and well equipped militaries on the continent of Amazonas... That made it just about the closest thing Equestria had to an equal in this hemisphere, at least from a military standpoint. Like Equestria, Ornithia's government also possessed its own paranormal intelligence agency, Division Five...

Division Five was to the Nocturne Agency as a Mall Cop was to a Lunar Marine, with only a fraction of the budget, experience, and commitment as the latter. They regularly sold off the artifacts they recovered on the black market, and it was all but common knowledge that the Nocturne Agency had more Ornithian artifacts in its custody at any given moment than Division Five ever had in all its combined years of operation. So far Ornithia was denying any part Division Five might've had in the attack on Facility One-Two-Seven, but of course they would do that... They weren't necessarily being forthcoming with information about who might be behind it either.

So that begged the question, the matter that so thoroughly dominated Piercing's thoughts. Had the raid been an operation sanctioned by the Ornithian Military Junta, or had Division Five gone rogue? Neither was a comforting scenario in its own right, but things were made all the more complicated due to the clandestine nature of both Division Five and the Nocturne Agency. If it was an Ornithian attack, then that meant war, but... Not a public war.

To declare war publicly would require the divulgence of just what it was that was stored at Facility One-Two-Seven, and that'd defeat the whole point of keeping it a secret. Instead they'd need to wage a war by proxy, funding dissident groups in Ornithia, supplying them with arms and monetary support, eventually toppling the Military Junta from power with the hope that the new regime wouldn't be worse than the old. It was a dirty, deceptive, under handed crapshoot... But it beat mass panic as a result of certain secrets that were better left unsaid.

If the raid was the result of Division Five going rogue, or at the very least a portion of it, the matter could be handled with more... Latitude. Ornithia would have to disavow those responsible, and that'd give the Nocturne Agency the freedom to track them down and sanction them as necessary. Either outcome would require a great deal of intelligence gathering and investigation to determine, but for the moment...? There were larger things to worry about.

The greater concern, even more so than who was responsible for the raid, was just what had been taken. The items stolen from Facility One-Two-Seven were by and large low level artifacts, which could easily be recreated using the advances of modern magic or technology. In all honesty, they might've been perfectly fine being stored in a regular museum, if not for other factors. All the stolen artifacts bore considerable value on the black market, both for their providence, their rarity, and their antiquity. The people that would buy them weren't the sort that wanted to take over the whole world, just perhaps carefully selected parts of it.

There were, of course, one or two artifacts that stuck out as remarkably dangerous to the world at large. These were what every field agent the Agency had was currently looking for, though with little success. The first was an enchanted necklace known as the 'Alicorn Amulet', a powerful construct that, as the name might suggest, granted its wearer the powers and abilities of an alicorn... In the process of doing so it also drove the user, to use a modern Equestrian colloquialism, 'Nucking Futs'. Piercing could say from personal experience that combining a totally insane personality with enough arcane power to flatten a mountain range was decidedly not good.

Thankfully reports suggested that the Alicorn Amulet had yet to leave Equestria's shores, and the search for it was going far better than the other major concern. Speaking of which, the second foreboding pilferage was a crate containing numerous books. In the shadowy world of black magic and the occult, books could be more dangerous than all the bombs in the world, and words could certainly hurt someone. This crate in particular included the ancient grimoires and spell books of countless rogue wizards, some more dangerous than others. The true menace among their number arose from the only complete collection of works written of that mad Abyssinian shaman, Felis Catus...

There were things that man was not meant to know, truths too sinister and foul for mortal minds to comprehend, secrets that the Ancients had done everything in their power to conceal. Felis Catus had scoffed at the warnings, and with manic determination sought out those wretched truths, in doing so driving himself thoroughly into madness. His rantings and ravings had been compiled by loyal followers into a wretched amalgamation, crafted from tanned human flesh, written in ink taken from the very abyss itself, all culminating in the artifact known as 'The Tome of Obscurum Scientia'.

Every foul page, from cover to accursed cover, had been infused with the magic of wizards sacrificed in brutal and bloody rituals older, written in tongues older and more terrible than anything a sensible human mind might dare to conjure. Contained within that abominable tome was the sum of all the foulest arcane knowledge imaginable, twisted and perverted to the forces of darkness. Only one man had ever braved its pages and survived with his sanity intact... To even gaze upon its cover, or handle it with bare hands, was to invite the foulest of fates to befall one's truly unfortunate soul.

Orcus had been that 'one man', and even now he refused to full reveal that which he'd discovered, only faintly alluding to a bizarre world 'beyond the veil' where evil reigned eternal... That very same evil at one time had menaced Equus many thousands of years ago, and ever since its final expulsion by the Ancients and the Kwarczkie allies, there had never been any shortage of mad fools, determined to unleash that plague once more upon the globe.

The book never should've been stored with so many other low level artifacts, it would've been much safer in a dedicated bunker, buried thousands of feet underground, encased in concrete and surrounded by thirty metric tons of radioactive waste. Steps could've been taken to ensure that any that dared attempt to get near the book would never live long enough to ever gaze upon its pages, but... To create such a facility was to invite challenge, as the forces of the Occult would soon deduce what was hidden there and make regular attempts to steal it.

It was thought that keeping the Tome of Obscurum Scientia among low level artifacts in a boring and otherwise unassuming facility was the better solution. The cults of the world would look high and low for a specialized secret bunker, they'd never think to look in the supply depot a few miles down the road. Obviously, the Agency had made the wrong choice, and now a very deadly artifact was out and unaccounted for... That Changelings were involved only made matters on that front worse. To say Luna was upset would be an understatement... By Faust, Piercing had never known a person could turn such an unhealthy shade of scarlet. Her fury was such that the man actually feared the woman might literally, literally, go through the roof!

Piercing took a longer puff on his cigar as he came to a stop outside Orcus' office door. There was nothing he could do to bring Luna down off the ledge, short of actually finding and recovering the Tome of Obscurum Scientia. This was, needless to say, easier said than done. Exhaling a dense cloud of thick smoke, the Sub-Director wordlessly shuffled inside the office of his boss and long time friend... The mood, however, was far from friendly. The Director was seated behind his polished wooden desk, eyes set in a manilla folder, with his omnipresent smoldering cigarette perched between his lips. Upon spotting Piercing, the man glanced at his wristwatch.

"You're late..." Observed Orcus, Piercing took out his own pocket watch and opened it. The numbers were a tad blurrier than they'd been when he first got it, and he suspected a trip to the eye doctor was once again in his future. Still, the watch showed he was actually two minutes ahead of schedule. More importantly, it contained a photograph of Luna in the cover, and seeing her smiling face... Well, it was enough to drive the dread away, for a few moments at least.

"Not by my watch, I'm not." Countered the Sub-Director, closing the watch and tucking it back into his pocket. Orcus merely huffed in apparent frustration, Piercing knew his old comrade didn't really care about his punctuality, he just... Needed something to complain about sometimes. Given all that was going on, the ancient scholar didn't blame him. "Orzel's gone off to have lunch with that boy Spike, a little later than usual. She's had a new physical development with her transformation..." Orcus merely hummed... Right, that was something Luna would be more interested.

"You'll be happy to know the she's solved the seizing issue, and we completed a total of twenty-one Sustainability of Fire tests with only five stoppages." Piercing continued a little more hopefully. The Director's eyebrow quirked upwards, then he hummed again, acknowledging the figure. "We should be ready to begin limited production within a couple weeks. Most of the tooling is set up, we're just waiting on manpower..." Piercing trailed off. "She's also made a proposal regarding desert field tests." Orcus raised his eyebrow again, this time pausing to close the file and set it on his desk.

"What did she have in mind?" Asked the Director, his brow thoroughly furrowed in thought... It was clear to Piercing he was only paying half attention, so the man quietly took a seat across from his friend, briefly glancing at the file on the desk.

"Bear in mind I'm just the messenger here. She's recommending that we send a few hundred units to the militias in Lone Star." Piercing explained, watching the Director closely to gauge his reaction. Orcus' brow unfurrowed, his attention now fully on the proposal itself. "She thinks doing so could build some brand recognition for BDT, and might make it easier to get wider acceptance from the DAC. It'd also give us valuable insight into how the weapon will function under battlefield conditions." Orcus took a long drag on his cigarette, then exhaled the smoke through his nose.

"Because of the raiding season?" Orcus asked bluntly, Piercing nodded. "From the prototype's I've seen, the design is not a highly sophisticated one... Anyone could make them..." The man trailed off, looking at his desk. "If the dragons capture one, how long do you think it would be before we started seeing copies used against us? Then again, that'd be the same with any weapon they picked up." The Director bit his lower lip. "At the same time, she's right... BDT is an unknown entity, and the DAC hate's spending money on unknown entities. Our people at the border could certainly use all the help they can get." The man sighed. "Having a civilian version in production could also make it easier for us to stash a few away for the Agency's less than above board operations... So... Yes, go ahead and start sending them to the militias." Orcus put his cigarette out in the nearby ashtray, then immediately lit a new one. "How else is the Princess faring?"

"As I said, she's undergone a recent change in transformation. Fully developed reptilian eyes, long forked tongue... She's taking it rather well, I think her new role as a gunsmith is improving her confidence better than expected." Piercing explained evenly, drumming his fingers against the armrest of the chair. "I dare say she almost seemed... Happy. Were we not required to move her, I suspect we'd be well on our way towards a design for that new rifle she keeps talking about." Piercing paused, earning another silent nod from the Director. "Speaking on the topic of why we're moving her in the first place..." The man looked at the folder on the desk.

"We ran a genetic comparison between the Exo-Changelings and the Changelings we recovered following the raid..." Orcus casually slid the file across his desk, allowing Piercing to grab it for himself. "As if they weren't already, things just got complicated." Piercing opened the folder and examined the documents within, and upon doing so Orcus' assertion bordered on understatement. As expected, the Exo-Changelings and their Equus native counterparts shared similar basic genetic markers, but it was how they differed that tossed a spanner into the works.

"So it's more than one hive we have to worry about." Piercing deduced, snapping the folder closed. "My guess is that each hive is independent of the others, given their insectoid behavior..." Orcus nodded in agreement. The issue now wasn't just the fact that they needed to be on the look out for Changelings, but that each individual hive likely had its own plans for interfering with Equestria, which would complicate efforts to counter every possible angle. "Have you informed S-COM yet?"

"No, I wanted to give the pathologist time to verify her results." Orcus took a slow inhale on his cigarette, an act Piercing mimicked with his own cigar. "In the meantime, we need to begin working on strategies to handle the Changelings, within our own borders and, potentially, abroad." His eyes briefly flitted around the room, as if searching for something, but... They quickly returned to his desk. "I'm worried, Observos, and I don't worry easily..." The man stated solemnly. "The big picture is becoming too vague, the stakes too high, the fate of the world rests on too many variables... It used to feel like we were playing poker, there was some strategy, some means of affecting the outcome, but now...?"

"Now we're rolling dice." Piercing concluded for him, the Director merely nodded, taking another drag on his cigarette. "Look where we are, Orcus." The man gestured about the room with his cigar. "I realize you got here the hard way, but... I just got back, and what I see is... Well, the world's a lot better now than it was, maybe even better than you think it is." He took another puff on his cigar. "Fortune has been kind to us, and I have faith that she'll continue to show favor to Equestria... Long enough, at least, for us to come up with a plan. The world would've ended a long time ago were that not the case." Orcus smiled sadly.

"Do you honestly believe that?" He asked, Piercing returned the man's sad smile with one of his own.

"It doesn't matter what I believe." The man countered as he reclined in his seat. "I could believe the world is flat, that wouldn't make it so. All that matters is the cold and incorruptible evidence. Seeing as the world is a thriving and lively place, rather than a decrepit lifeless dust-ball, I'd say the evidence clearly suggests our successes far outweigh our failures." Piercing watched several strands of wispy smoke wafting upwards towards the ceiling. "One day, and that day could come sooner than later, the whole bloody thing might very blow up in our faces, but as of now it hasn't... Not yet." Piercing grinned quietly. "When or if it does come, when the chips are down and we're in our darkest hour, we'll be ready." Orcus sighed smoke through his nose, his eyes once more focusing on his desk.

"I hope to the Gods you're right." The Director mumbled. "Because I don't know what in Tartarus we'll do if you're wrong."