The Pawn Who Would Be Queen

Princess Orzel sat sequestered in her laboratory's Enchanting Chamber, surrounded by the heavy aroma of frankincense and sage, with coiling serpentine patterns of smoke swirling up from a 'safety smoke pot' setting on her already crowded enchanting table. For the better part of the past month she'd been working to unlock the secrets of her pendant, which according to the EMCLAS test was somewhere on the order of fifty-thousand years old. That meant it pre-dated the collapse of the Kwarczkie Clan and the Ancients by twenty-five-thousand years, and perhaps made it the single most intact relic of that time period to exist.

Of course, the young Enchantress repeated the same one-hundred cycle test numerous times, more than enough to provide a conclusive sample size, which confirmed the original findings... It was needless to say one of the most exciting discoveries of Orzel's life, yet it was overshadowed by the very quality of enchantment that'd drawn her attention in the first place. The runes she'd seen within the ruby were, in fact, only the first of several layers. The others were hidden beneath them, or written at such a small scale that they were all but invisible to the microscopes Orzel had on hand.

The Princess had prayed for guidance, for some assistance from Lexicos to help her uncover more of the mystery... The answer to that prayer had come in the form of an idea. While all enchanted items generally drew arcane power from the ambient energy around them, they still possessed an internal reservoir that needed to be replenished from time to time. If that reservoir could be replenished, perhaps she could discern more of the pendants enchantments, and how those enchantments functioned... Typically that wouldn't be an issue, Orzel made all of her enchantments with an easy to remember process for restoring magic, but the pendant was a fifty-thousand year old artifact. She could only guess as to how to recharge it.

Presently she was waiting to use the EMCLAS to prepare the pendant for a small scale test, as its powers were barely functional at present, much as had been the case with her family's sword prior to her arrival. The EMCLAS could bombard the object in its chamber with a massive volume of magic, which Orzel intended to use as a metric of finding the proper location to apply more power... As with most things, however, her eagerness to work on the pendant was tempered by that all too annoying facet of reality. Time. It would be another twelve hours before the EMCLAS was finished with its current task, and thus for now the Princess still wore her pendant...

Time, however, was hardly on Orzel's side. The fact remained that she was nowhere near close to uncovering the answers she sought, and unfortunately that meant she'd needed devote her attention to matters that required her immediate attention in the interim. Project Gungnir was coming along at a snail's pace, but it was coming along. Her other projects, particularly the 'High Mobility Multipurpose Vehicle' and the recently renamed 'Helicopter', were proving far less challenging.

The prototypes for each vehicle had been produced entirely in Equestria, the former being sub-contracted to Rook Automotive and the latter by Raketnaya Aeronautics. Each was in need of improvement, but that was to be expected. They were, after all, prototypes. The Helicopter's engine was rather anemic, only capable of lifting itself and the pilot a few feet off the ground. Plans for a larger helicopter with a stronger engine were in the works... The HMMV on the other hand had an unfortunate susceptibility to Anti-Vehicle Mines and small arms fire, though its sturdy chassis, automatic transmission, and exceptionally high ground clearance made it remarkably reliable... Reliable enough that there were already plans to 'Up-Armor' the HMMV, though there was some concern that might limit its off-road utility in a desert environment.

All of these problems were ostensibly now the responsibility of 'Doctor Moondancer', whom Mister Gaze had recruited to oversee 'Domestic Research and Development'. Moondancer was certainly talented, and she understood a lot of the concepts Orzel was trying to implement, but there were still snags. It wasn't just her own company that'd been drawing on her considerable experience. The Agency wanted more and more enchantment schematics, and though she easily managed to fill most of their requests, there was always more to replace them. Often Orzel would receive messages and letters asking for clarification as to why she'd made a certain decision, and then she'd have to explain at length the reason that the rune appeared one way and not another.

Were that the extent of the matters that consumed nearly every waking moment of every day, Orzel might still have been able to eek out some meager facsimile of free time. Unfortunately, it wasn't... The most important matter she was dealing with in particular, the one that she presently labored over with a rising sense of dread and frustration, had landed on her desk roughly around the same day she'd made her startling discovery about her pendant, though she doubted they were related.

Cerberus had raided a Griffon Airship, only to discover its crew were Changelings, Changelings that'd conducted at least one part of some dark ritual before they could be stopped completely. The photographs and samples provided were very strange... The runes bore striking resemblance to a script that'd existed long ago, in the time of the Ancients. Orzel deduced it was likely derived from that script, much as Modern Szafirian wasn't entirely identical to Ancient Kwarczkie.

They were similar enough so as to be near indistinguishable, but it was the minute and otherwise seemingly inconsequential changes that made translating the text that much harder. To do so required Orzel first to learn the ancient script in question, which bore a remarkable resemblance to Ancient Griffish in form, if not function. She'd requested that the airship be sent to her, or at the very least the piece of floor that housed the runes, only to discover that the airship and its contents had been destroyed shortly after the photographs were taken. They did, however, send her the artifact they'd recovered. Said artifact now occupied the EMCLAS, being bombarded with magic to hopefully discern its purpose and era of manufacture.

Until that data came in, Orzel had nothing to go on but the photographs... She'd done more with less, but first she had to translate what the runes actually meant. Every test she ran, ever lead she pursued, had the unfortunate side effect of generating quite a lot of paper... The more she researched the language, the more notes she took, the more clutter appeared, the harder it became to find the notes she'd made in the past...

Her normally orderly Enchanting Chamber had become cluttered with boxes upon boxes, each filled with countless notebooks, photographs, dossiers, files, documents, and folders. Between them and the various books and tomes she'd requested for reference material, the room more resembled a filing archive than a space in which the arcane arts were practiced. These boxes were nonetheless stacked in neat orderly fashion, with corridors between them that were just wide enough for Orzel's diminutive four-foot-eleven frame to pass through. It represented only a small fraction of the papers, as her drafting room on the other side of the laboratory and even her bedchamber had also suffered a similar fate.

It was a miracle she remained as calm as she did, especially considering the almost literal mountain of work that now loomed around her... A lot of her barely maintained calm she attributed to her studies in High Magic, particularly the Astral Projection spell. She and Spike had conversed twice a week since her first use of that spell, and getting to privately spend several hours at a time with the person she cared about didn't hurt.

Spike didn't want anyone, not even Twilight, to know... Not that he didn't trust her, he just wasn't sure how his Mother would react to the idea of him and Orzel being to communicate unsupervised. The Princess didn't really mind the secrecy, she was sure her Mother wasn't keen on the idea when informed by Grim and Fable, though she hadn't done anything to stop the practice either. It wasn't as if she could keep things a secret forever.

Sometimes Orzel and Spike would 'walk' through the meadows outside of Ponyville, others they would sit together beside a river, or underneath that same tree at the edge of town. There they would discuss the future, or whatever was going on in their lives. Spike was still very curious about the work Orzel did, and the girl did her best to answer his questions without going too far into detail...

She had, however, deviated from typical security procedure in one respect. Spike lived in Ponyville, one of the towns the Agency considered a 'Hotspot' for paranormal activity. As such, there was a good chance the FDPV might inadvertently stumble upon such a happening. Knowing just how dangerous some of these happenings could be, she'd given Spike some insight into various code words, just in case he found something...

'Parallax' for instance indicated a potential time or dimensional distortion anomaly, while 'Beachhead' referred to an incursion of hostile forces from another plane of existence. 'Blackwood' was a little trickier to explain without giving too much away, so Orzel had defined it as the anomalous presence of 'Duplicate Uniformed Personnel' combined with a 'fluorescent liquid of unknown origin'. If Spike was ever to encounter even one of these scenarios in the field, he was to contact Piercing Gaze, or failing that the Nocturne Agency in Canterlot. He was to say the codeword first, then give as much information as he was able...

It would probably get her in trouble if ever her bodyguards found out, but assuming Spike ever did happen upon one of the various scenarios she'd informed him of, he would be safer for it. A Cerberus Team would deploy within the hour to handle the threat, whatever it was... Spike just had to be absolutely sure that what he was dealing with was indeed paranormal... Otherwise there'd be Tartarus to pay on Orzel's part... Of course she would gladly pay it, if it meant Spike was safe...

The Princess honestly wished she could be Astral Projecting with Spike at that very moment, because for however much as she was able to remain outwardly calm, her present work had her mind working overtime. The Princess's eyes stared intently at the pages of a textbook on the particulars of 'Greater Transmutation', the magic precursor to Alchemy, as what she'd deciphered of the runes so far made mention of exchanging one thing for another. In spite of her impressive acumen for speed reading, she'd not turned the page in nearly five minutes. It could only mean that there was something else occupying her thoughts.

Orzel didn't need to think too extensively to realize that 'something' was Spike... The young man was in her thoughts almost constantly, to an almost obstructive degree. He still referred to her as 'My Lady', especially after Orzel had explained its endearing, if somewhat literal, connotations in Szafirian society. For all intents and purposes, the girl certainly considered the term accurate. She was his 'Lady', her heart belonged to him...

This wasn't the first time that Orzel's mind strayed from her work to matters of the heart, though it was perhaps the most disruptive it had been since that day in the Castle Library, when she'd first read 'For The Republic'. The discovery she'd made about herself as a result of reading that book was something she still struggled to accept, even nearly a year later. Orzel still remembered the visceral self-loathing that'd taken root in that instant... She'd feared herself a dissident, a traitor to her people... The thought that her parents' had died saving such a person had not sat well.

Now she knew she was a dissident, but that word hardly bothered her as much. The Equestrians were her people, and she had devoted herself to her own 'Duty to the State' by her own choosing... She hoped that she would have made her parents proud, even if there was a part of her that knew they'd likely be horrified at the person she'd become. In the end, however, Orzel deduced that wasn't the primary issue that'd drawn her thoughts from her work. Rather, it was a quiet curiosity, one that'd lingered in the shadows ever since she and Spike had admitted their feelings for one another... What would her life have been like, had Cesarski never burned? Where would she be now, had she and Spike never met?

Being nearly seventeen, her Mother and Father would've been seeking to finalize an agreement between her and suitable suitor, making the appropriate arrangements for her marriage when she came of age. Odds were it would've been Midshipman Bazyli, or perhaps Yuri Zhukov, son of the Supreme Legate of the Imperial Legion... Both would've been considered good candidates, though the latter was rumored to be far more concerned with glory than most.

Yuri would likely have been the most effective choice, assuming Mother and Father were aiming to ensure Orzel's safety from the MIS. Even a cur like Agent Zhelezo wouldn't dare to accost the daughter-in-law of the Supreme Legate. Yuri himself was said to be very protective, though he was also known to be just as exacting and stern as his father. Orzel's life with him would've been safe, and certainly comfortable given the wealth possessed by the Supreme Legate, but as the Equestrians would put it, Orzel would have been little more than his son's 'arm candy' for social functions within Imperial High Society. Her fate would've been similar with Bazyli, or anyone else for that matter, as really that was all 'Defective Spouses' were expected to be...

Knowing what she knew now, any notion of an arranged marriage unsettled Orzel greatly, but... In a world where Cesarski hadn't burned, she never would've known of freedom or liberty, or the joys and knowledge that could come from a 'seditious' book. She would be ignorant of all that she now held dear and, appallingly, content in her role as 'arm candy', because that was what she was conditioned to feel, lest the MIS come to pay her another, potentially final, visit.

It was a sobering realization, to think that all she had become, all she had accomplished here, was the result of such suffering and death. As much as it might've seemed arrogant to think, Orzel believe now that her survival was more than some cosmic accident. One way or another, Cesarski had been doomed... Lexicos must've seen Orzel's plight, and being the all-knowing and merciful Goddess of Knowledge that she was, plucked the girl out of a world of abysmal prospects and deposited her into one where those prospects were nearly limitless.

Sighing heavily through her nose, Orzel closed the book and slid it to the side, resting her elbows on the cold obsidian slab of her enchanting table. There was no way she'd be able to continue her work at present, not with her mind racing from one point to another. Even with regular meditation, it was growing difficult to keep track of all the thoughts in her head, all the ideas, all the inventions... Add that to the meticulous notes she kept, and it was becoming next to impossible to get much of anything done.

Her brain's ability to process information moved so fast now that sometimes, even when she hadn't been meditating deeply, time felt as if it was traveling at a different rate. Sometimes faster, sometimes slower, but always frustrating in its inconsistency. In these cases, Orzel found it best to step away from whatever she was working on presently and move on to something else. Closing the book on transmutation, she moved it over to the side and glanced around her enchanting table, spotting a nearby cardboard box with its lid resting askew.

Orzel neatly set aside her papers regarding the ritual circle, then the box closer. It was identical to every other one that surrounded her, though its contents were comprised of various bits and pieces of electronic equipment rather than papers or photographs. It was a prototype of what amounted to a portable scheduling and research device, something she hoped might help her to reduce the clutter of all the paper and boxes. In essence, it was a portable library, though it was capable of doing so much more. She'd therefore dubbed it the 'Katalog Badań Osobistych', or 'Catalog of Personal Research' in Equestrian.

It was her latest attempt to blend electronics with enchantments, taking inspiration from the various computers she'd used in her time at Site R. Rather than create one singular enchanted item with many enchantments that needed to be strung together in one long unbroken sequence, she'd decided to create a battery of smaller ones. Various runes placed on small metal cards which could be inserted or removed into one 'Modular Assembly'... It was essentially a primitive facsimile to the 'Layered Enchantments' she'd discovered in her pendant.

If the new method of enchanting proved successful, it might go a long way towards a solution for Project Gungnir's missile guidance system. Not only that, but it could revolutionize the way enchanted items were created! Progress was already being made on an ability to 'stamp' runes consistently into sheets of metal... If that technology were combined with Orzel's Modular Assembly concept, it could make devices like the KBO viable for sale to the public...

An especially hopeful outcome was that they could be made available to students and faculty alike. Books that once would've been to expensive to get ahold of could potentially be stamped into a piece of metal the size and shape of a playing card! Literacy could be greatly increased, and as a result the number of scientists and mages working in Equestria would increase, which would increase scientific advancement! The Princess had to stop herself, then shook her head, she was allowing her brain to go sprinting off into the future again...

Unlike her earlier prototypes, this version of the KBO had been lavished with the most comprehensive changes Orzel could conceive of. It weighed approximately three pounds, a whole four pounds lighter than her earlier model. Another benefit of the Modular Assembly was that a higher density of enchantments could be inter-connected without requiring an incredible amount of weight. In terms of the missile program, weight saved in the guidance system was weight that could be used for increased fuel capacity, or a larger warhead.

In addition to keeping track of her notes and reading material, she'd installed several small cold cathode display tubes and even a small cathode ray tube screen, similar to those in the EMCLAS Control Panel... When all was said and done, her KBO would theoretically serve as a radio receiver, library, notation medium, navigation aid, watch, and even possibly a medical monitoring system. Orzel had even been able to link it to her satchel, to a point where all she need do was flick the appropriate switches, turn a knob, hit a button, and anything she stored within would materialize directly in her hand.

It had taken a fusion of every discipline she knew to get this far... Personally, she doubted this model would ever work entirely as she hoped, but if it accomplished even half of its designed tasks she'd consider it a success. Again, there was a reason Lexicos invented the concept of prototypes. It wouldn't be the end of the world, even if the KBO failed spectacularly she'd get a good amount of useful data.

Grabbing one of her enchanting styluses and a pouch of WKD, she reached into the box and withdrew a small flat slip of metal, approximately the size and shape of a playing card. This was the latest iteration of a 'Runic Plate', the card of aluminum that allowed her to pack so many enchantments in such a small package. It was one of nearly a dozen that had to be painstakingly created by hand. Yet another benefit of the modular design was being able to take plates that worked and move them on to the next prototype without having to create entirely new ones from scratch.

Orzel adjusted her grip on the stylus, dipped it back into the pouch of WKD, and resumed her work from her last rune. As was always the case when using the incredibly potent medium, her focus had to remain acute, as any error she made would afford her less than two seconds to correct. Of course, considering how things around her seemed to slow down when she was working, two seconds was usually more than enough.

For the next thirty minutes the Princess continued to work on the Runic Plate, until once again she found herself struggling to maintain her focus... She had plenty ideas, she knew what runes had to be placed and where, but found her thoughts once again diverting to other matters. In this case it was once more on the matter of prototypes, specifically an idea she had for the Vasiliskov Rifle - Experimental. That was the PVV's new designation, seeing as Vasiliskov Rifle or VRX was far easier for Equestrians to pronounce on its own, it also consumed much less ink to print on order invoices... It never failed to amaze Orzel the lengths the Army would go to in order to save money... Where was she? Oh, yes, the VRX!

Orzel had already designed it with an eye towards reliability and versatility, but... What if she could modify it in a modular fashion, much as she was doing now with the Runic Plates? What if the single platform could be altered to fit numerous needs? Something that could act as a sniper rifle, light machine gun, or carbine, depending on its configuration. It would minimize the amount of replacement parts necessary for the various arms already in service with the military, which would in turn simplify logistics and make the weapons easier to maintain.

News of the latest VRX test in Equestria was promising, both in the single shot semi-automatic version and the one with burst fire. Recent global events had seen the Army offer a contract for a new infantry rifle. The fact that was precisely what the VRX was intended to serve as, plus the Nocturne Agency's apparent satisfaction with the PM-72A and the Vasiliskov prototype, gave Orzel's design a considerable edge against its competitors. Compared to some of the other rifles that'd been put forward, almost all of which were bolt-actions, the VRX outclassed the weapons it went up against in almost every field...

The only places it fell short, in the first case quite literally, was the reduced range of the 7.62x39mm cartridge, and the currently limited availability of said ammunition. Perhaps if she could develop a means of extending its range in a marksman variant? Rubbing tiredly at her temples, the Princess secured her enchanting supplies and returned the unfinished Runic Plate to its box. Orzel closed her eyes and groaned, then rested her head on the cool obsidian surface of her enchanting table. Why couldn't she just stay on topic...? A few moments later she heard the usual fluttering wings of Midnight, the familiar landing just a foot or so in front of her judging by the sound of it.

"Bored?" The bird asked pointedly, Orzel shook her head while taking a deep breath. "Really? Because you look bored." There was something about the cadence of the bird's voice that struck the girl as unnervingly familiar... She'd heard her familiar speak numerous times before, but not like this. It was almost... Chiding her? "I am not surprised. You have been so focused on one project for so long that you are searching for any means to alleviate the monotony, but the depth of your boredom is so great that you find all of your other projects equally tedious. You want something new." The Princess opened her eyes and lifted her head to look at Midnight, once again trying to place the source of that voice... It just wouldn't come to her.

"My work is of vital importance to Equestria's defense. It does not matter what I want, I cannot waste time." Orzel responded flatly, sighing heavily through her nose as she stood from her seat and straightened her lab coat. "I already have enough projects as it is without starting a new one, I am merely... Winding myself up. I need to 'blow off some steam', as the Equestrians say." Rolling her shoulders, the Princess allowed Midnight to hop onto her shoulder before making her way into the Contamination Minimization Chamber.

Maybe the bird was somewhat right about Orzel being bored, but it wasn't as if the girl could just go waste time in order to end her boredom. She had far too much work to do, and far too little time in which to do it. No, there was no time for 'fun' any more... Much as she would've enjoyed working on her next batch of enchantments for the Agency, Orzel doubted she'd be able to remain focused on that task for longer than she had the previous one. That was probably the worst part about all this...

She kept pin-balling from one topic to another, each one holding the potential to change the world in one form or another, but the ideas came and went so swiftly as to leave her spinning... Worst of all, Orzel didn't even know why it was happening. There were a few OUBC 'Spall Coating' tests Orzel was planning to conduct over lunch, but there was nothing stopping her from carrying them out a little early. A little time at the shooting range would surely alleviate some of the anxious energy, shouldn't it?

Several jets of decontaminating mist flooded the chamber, infused with various anti-bacterial agents and Arcogen gas, to neutralize any arcane particles that might've attached themselves to Orzel's clothes. Looking up at the clock within the CMC prompted Orzel to do a double take... It was only zero-nine-hundred hours in the morning... She could've sworn she'd been working in her enchanting chamber for something like five or six hours. Assured that she didn't pose a risk of contamination to her workspace, the Princess stepped out into the lab proper.

From there the girl grabbed her satchel from one of the lab islands, then made her way towards a row of metal lockers beside the elevator. Touching her ID badge to one of the doors, Orzel opened the door and beheld its contents... The weapon into which she'd poured all her vast intellect, one that, if properly introduced, could shape the world of small arms design for decades to come...

Taken as a whole, the VRX was probably Orzel's small arm that she'd designed thus far. It was an odd looking weapon, but the reason for that oddness was part of what made it so effective. Weighing eight pounds in total, it made use of a long-stroke gas piston to operate its action. Most of the gas assembly was concealed beneath the forward hand-guard, save for a distinctly angular gas block, lined with three small vents to relieve some of the pressure. The receiver itself had been milled from a single piece of forged steel, and so either side of the forward trunnion was marked by a 'Lightning Cut' so as to reduce weight.

A hooded front sight sat atop an oddly shaped muzzle break, intended to direct gas in a certain direction so as to make it easier for the shooter to keep their aim on the target. The weapon's furniture included a birch laminate, pistol grip, and forward heat and hand-guards, while its stock was of a folding style almost identical to that of the PM-72A. This prototypical variant was intended for the Navy, the Lunar Marines, and the Army Air Corps, all branches were the compactness of a weapon was a priority.

As with all of the prototypes she'd sent along to the Agency for review, it fed from a thirty round magazine that curved almost like a banana. In this case they were slab sided aluminum, coated in a material similar to rust-colored Bakelite. Orzel found that ribbed steel magazines easier and sturdier to produce in the long run, but she rather liked the Bakelite aesthetic, so she'd gone out of her way to make a few. There were many in the Army Ordnance department that felt the same way, though the Lunar Marines and Cerberus in particular felt the bright coloration impeded a soldier's ability to blend into his surroundings.

Each thirty-round magazine, twenty in total, was filled with 7.62x39mm rounds. There was still some debate as to if it would be cheaper to manufacture them with steel cases as opposed to traditional brass, but at this point brass seemed the more likely outcome... The infrastructure for the creation of brass cartridges already existed in Equestria, and Orzel agreed that was probably for the best. Steel case was markedly more wear intensive on the weapon's inner mechanisms, though...

That wear really didn't seem to impede the VRX, which had thus far displayed a remarkable ability to survive regardless of if it was filled with dirt, mud, sand, snow, ice, water or even after having accidentally been run over by a five-ton truck. If anything, the weapon was a little too sturdy, as the ejector as originally design tended to want to rip the heads off of brass casings... Orzel had thus sent several prototypes of a revised 'ejector' to correct for the issue. It would likely be more cost effective in the long run to move to cheaper steel case ammunition, but for now the Army lacked the budget for so great a change to its logistical train, especially seeing as that logistical chain was still mired in controversy.

Placing the magazines into her satchel, the Princess took the rifle and delicately secured it in a cloth rifle bag also hanging in the locker. From there it was a simple matter of slinging the bag over her shoulder, closing the locker door, and making her way to the elevator call button. Tapping her badge to the ID scanner, Orzel was rewarded with a green light and soft chime. She stood there for a few moments, listening to the machinery as it brought carriage down. Stepping into the carriage when it arrived, she once again tapped her ID badge and selected the 'Ground Floor' button.

Thus commenced the ride to the surface, which Orzel and Midnight usually spent in silence. A soft cheerful song filled the carriage, all while the Princess nervously tapped her foot on the tiled flooring. To her slight surprise she saw another light flick on among the floor buttons, and within a few moments the elevator was nearing the 'Abnormal Biological Observation and Mutated Subjects Laboratory', situated several stories above Orzel's underground lab. She inwardly cringed at the name of the lab, there was always some comment made by those working in ABOMS Lab on account her appearance. Wordlessly she prepared herself for the inevitable awkward meeting, meanwhile Midnight blinked out of sight.

The the floor indicator chimed delicately, and a few moments later the door slid open. Moving out of the ABOMS Lab, with an expression of extreme annoyance, wearing clothes distinctly not in keeping with a laboratory environment, was a kid... A teenaged girl, like her. Orzel didn't know this particular girl personally, though she'd spotted her once or twice in the cafeteria. She was being escorted into the elevator by an older looking gentleman of average height, bearing the aspect of a life long administrator. His slight build and delicate features pegged him almost instantly as a Spell-Caster, while the graying blonde goatee and harsh narrow eyes identified him as Director Quercus Suber.

The Director was the highest ranking Civilian Scientist at Site R, a botanist by trade, though he'd expanded his disciplines to become a sort of 'jack of all trades' as a consequence of his position. His authority didn't extend over Orzel's false 'Researcher Boyegolovka' identity, as she was there as a 'Military Scientist'. His security clearance wasn't high enough to know her true identity, or the grand majority of the work Orzel did in her lab, with bothered him to no end. Those were just some of the numerous reasons the two tended to avoid one another...

"I don't expect to see you down here again, Alba." Suber grunted with audible frustration, which was somewhat explained given the obvious family resemblance between Suber and 'Alba'... "Labs are no place for children." Suber continued chidingly, his eyes briefly falling on Orzel, his features gradually mired in silent disdain. Orzel pretended not to notice at first, but after a few moments made a show of perking up.

"What did you say?" She asked in Draconic, keeping to the cover story that she didn't speak Equestrian well. Then, to her everlasting surprise, Alba actually responded.

"He's not talking to you." The girl assured in Draconic, then turned her attention back to Suber. "I was just looking around, Dad. It's not like there's much else to do here!" Alba continued with frustration, crossing her arms across her chest as the two boys accompanying her scurried swiftly into the elevator itself. "If you don't want me to make my own fun, the least you could do is get them to clear some that new minefield they set up on the beach!" Orzel quietly averted her eyes at the mention of the minefield, she'd already become intimately acquainted with the perils that arose when one strayed into one.

"I don't like it anymore than you do, dear, but there's nothing I can do. You know how they are with 'security'." Suber stated with a bothered tone, pointing into the elevator and finally coaxing Alba fully inside. "As I said, a lab is no place for children, especially today. I'm not saying you can't make your own fun, just not here. Now go." Alba sighed with resignation but nodded as Suber leaned in and touched his ID badge against the security crystal. It glowed a typical green, and with that the Civilian Director of Site R stepped out of the elevator.

The doors closed, and thus the elevator continued on its lengthy ride to the surface. Obviously Alba intended to go to the ground floor as well, though... Orzel didn't see an ID badge on her person, so that begged the question as to how she'd gotten so far under ground... Perhaps the air shaft? The ride to and from the surface typically somewhere on the order of seven minutes, possibly longer if someone else decided to board, and Orzel suspected it'd be an even longer journey by ladder in the air shaft, so it seemed unlikely. Unsure of how to speak to the newcomer, Orzel did her best to remain focused on the wall ahead of her, though once again she found herself nervously tapping her foot against the floor.

"So... Did your parents kick you out of their lab too?" Alba abruptly spoke up in Draconic, though not nearly as fluent as Orzel's, as she was limited by the relative shortness of her tongue. The Princess silently shook her head, adjusting the strap of the satchel and again the rifle case. "What's the deal then, huh? Why didn't you get told off? Normally Dad freaks out whenever he spots a kid anywhere near the labs."

Orzel bit her lower lip as she considered how best to respond, by now the sharpness of her teeth didn't even register. After a few moments of uneasy contemplation, she merely unclipped her ID badge from the breast pocket of her lab coat and held it up for Alba to see. Silently she braced for the ultimate realization as to her identity as the controversial 'Researcher Boyegolovka', and the subsequent 'Using Magic for War is Bad' lecture that almost invariably followed. Alba examined the badge for a few moments, Orzel could quickly see the recognition in the girl's eyes, it wouldn't be long now.

"Wait, you're that Boyegolovka kid? I didn't think you actually existed!" Alba said in Equestrian, unable to hide her astonished excitement. Orzel managed to maintain her stoic facade, although internally she was just as astonished as the girl. Orzel clipped the badge to her jacket again, then tilted her head to the side, feigning ignorance as to what the other girl had just said. "I'm Alba, it's really nice to meet you! I didn't think you were, y'know... Real?"

The girl swapped back to Draconic, gesturing to herself. This was the first time Orzel had paid her any actual attention. As in all things, Alba was taller than her, though only by a few inches. Her posture was proud, almost cocky, and her dainty face seemed set in an almost perpetual impish smirk. She was quite beautiful, at least in the Equestrian sense of the word. Once again, Orzel found herself very aware of her numerous aesthetic shortcomings... Though now whenever those thoughts arose, she would just think back to Spike...

The Princess greatly appreciated whenever her wrote to her about her 'Draconic Beauty', but only in the month since she'd started Astral Projection had she started to believe it herself. The way he talked to her, the way he smiled so warmly, it was enough to convince her that she was beautiful... To him, and in the end that was really Orzel cared about. Working to move past a crippling need for external validation about her looks was the next problem Orzel intended to tackle in therapy...

"You don't talk much, do you?" Alba asked rhetorically, Orzel simply shrugged, tucking her hands into the pockets of her lab coat. "I like that... Everyone around here just talks all the time, about all sorts of stuff..." The girl continued somewhat tiredly, rubbing awkwardly at the back of her neck. "Can I tell you a secret? I mean, you don't speak Equestrian, so who could you tell?" Orzel opened her mouth to correct the girl, but again chose to maintain her cover. Besides, she had an exceptionally high Security Clearance Level. Alba might as well have been telling her secret to Director Orcus himself.

"I can't stand all the science and learning stuff! My Mom forced me to learn Draconic, y'know? This is the first time I've ever used it. Said it'd look good for admissions so I could go to college, but I don't really want to go to college!" Alba continued, just plowing along, her pronunciation slipping just a tad as she went. "I wanna be a wizard or an enchantress or something, and not like my Mom who studies magic 'theory'. I don't want to study for studying sake, y'know? Not like the scientists... All they do is sit around in their labs all day, looking at stupid numbers and graphs and data and-" Orzel cleared her throat rather loudly. "Uh... No offense intended..." She added sheepishly, to which Orzel merely shrugged again.

"So... Uh..." Alba began again after several tense seconds of awkward silence. "What's in the bags?" Orzel opened her mouth to respond, then stopped herself. She had a High Security Clearance, Alba didn't, and a lot of the work that she did in her lab as considered to be a State Secret. Even if that wasn't the case, she still wouldn't have felt comfortable speaking about it with a random teenager.

"I cannot say." Orzel stated stoically, though Alba seemed unconvinced. "I am curious. How did you get down here without a badge of your own?" The blonde grinned at that, then walked up to the elevator's ID badge scanner.

Fishing around in the pocket of her jeans, she withdrew a small piece of emerald, its surface lined with several deeply gouged runes. Holding the emerald up to the badge scanner, she channeled a small of magic into it, causing the runes to glow a bright orange color. The scanner glowed a familiar shade of green, and Orzel watched Alba press a button that was all too familiar to her.

"I learned how to enchant stuff like this all by myself! That's why I can't wait to get out of here, I wanna be an artist!" Alba declared, pulling her finger away from the button at the top floor. Orzel had to bite her tongue at that, she wasn't about to turn someone away from enchanting on account of a difference of opinion... Besides, the Princess knew she was right, so what was the use in arguing the point further? "Anyway, this little baby duplicates the scan of the last person that swiped! Part of the reason I needed to come down here. I've been trying for weeks to get to the top floor, this is just the first time I've gotten it to work with my Dad's card! He's the boss here, y'know? He can go anywhere, so if I can duplicate his swipe, so can I."

"May I?" Orzel asked curiously, gesturing at the emerald. Alba briefly held out her hand, then withdrew it before looking intently at the bag. Her request was easily implied. "I specialize in Advanced Weapons Research. I can say no more than this." Alba quirked an eyebrow, rubbing curiously at her chin before hesitantly offering the emerald. Orzel took it gingerly and examined it. "Would you care for a critique?" This time it was Alba's turn to shrug. "Your use of emerald is a good choice, though your rune work could use a little refining. Right now I am estimating your success rate at forty-two percent? You would have far greater success replicating the complex signatures emitted by our ID gems if you utilized a more potent medium." Alba took the emerald back and examined it again.

"I've been begging my Dad to let me take some from the Enchanting Wing, but he says it's not for anyone to use. I make due with what I can salvage from the desiccant packets that come with the monthly supplies..." Alba admitted somewhat proudly, and Orzel nodded in appreciation of that... It was a testament to her skill as an Enchantress that she was able to synthesize a usable medium from Incandessium and Enchantium desiccant packets, much as Orzel had. "That stuffs been getting harder to come by lately, they keep diluting it, makes it less potent."

"New safety measures." Orzel explained with a shrug, prompting Alba to raise an eyebrow. "Under certain conditions, the desiccants can become dangerously unstable and detonate..." The elevator continued on, swiftly passing the ground floor. The Princess glanced over at Alba, who appeared skeptical about Orzel's statement. Nonetheless she gained a giddy glint in her eyes as the car carried on upwards. "Are you sure it is wise to go to the top floor? There is a reason it is off limits." Orzel's eyes remained fixed on the rising floor indicator, in just a few moments they'd be arriving at her floor...

"Yeah, didn't you hear? There's supposed to be some big shot living up there, but I've seen tons of those guys in those spooky uniforms go up and down all the time. My bet is it's some sort of secret bar, or some sort of casino, or maybe a secret government command center..." Alba explained giddily, and Orzel got the feeling it was possible for the best she not seek a career in science... Not that she'd want to prevent her companion from doing so, but honestly... A secret casino? Then again, Orzel knew all too well what awaited them on the top floor. In a matter of moments the elevator came to a stop, the floor indicator chimed, and the doors slid open.

Alba visibly flinched when she found a pair of Cerberus Troopers standing on the other side, dressed in the now standard CERPAT battle uniform. Orzel remained calm as ever, even as her companion frantically looked to push one of the lower floor buttons on the panel.

"Researcher Boyegolovka?" One of the men asked in Equestrian, Orzel merely nodded. "We weren't expecting you back so soon, or that you would be bringing a guest..." The man narrowed his eyes at Alba, grip tightening ever so faintly on his PM-72A. "She is a guest, right?" The Princess nodded again, and so both men loosened their grips on their weapons and stepped out of the way. "Alright then."

Orzel really hadn't been planning on coming back to her residence when she'd left her lab, but she supposed it would probably be best to change out of her lab wear and into something more appropriate for the gun range. Why she was allowing Alba to come along was a little harder to explain... Part of it was because she'd yet to meet anyone with whom she could converse on the island, and sending her away would be rude. The other reason...? Well, Orzel supposed she just liked the way Alba carried herself.

In an island full of serious scientists, with many of those scientists looking down on Orzel both figuratively and literally, this was the first encounter she'd had that wasn't outright unpleasant. Perhaps it'd even aid the Princess's creative mind if she added a little 'boisterousness' or 'pizzazz' to her daily routine. Already she was finding it infinitely easier to concentrate, and for that alone the girl owed her now compatriot a debt of gratitude... Unaware of Orzel's inner machinations, Alba followed Orzel out of the elevator, eying both guards with a mix of surprise and confusion. The Princess continued on at a steady pace, even as the girl lingered a couple steps behind.

"Wait... They know you up here?" Alba asked, Orzel nodded again... Was this what it felt like to be on the other side of her conversations with Midnight? "You work on weapons, so... Is there some sort of 'Doomsday Machine' up here you're working on?" Orzel actually burst out laughing at that, unable to constrain a smile as the two of them approached the floor's solitary doorway. Reining in her giggles, she simply shook her head.

"Nothing so fantastical... Yet..." The Princess stated with a tone of deadly seriousness, swiping her badge over the scanner. Alba briefly blanched, prompting Orzel to laugh once again. The magnetic locks disengaged, and with a hydraulic whine the door swung open. "I am joking, of course. As Equestrians are gifted with certain 'special talents', so too am I."

"In this instance, that special talent is the research of new technologies, particularly as they pertain to National Defense. As such, my relationship with the Equestrian Military is... Unique. There are a great many people that would also like to have me working for them, Equestria's enemies, so precautions must be taken to ensure my safety." Orzel explained, leading Alba inside her living room... "Welcome to my home... Such as it is." She added, with only the faintest hint of somberness.

Alba stepped in, looking around at the various pieces of nautical decor. Orzel was gradually making the space into more of a 'home', adding various bits of her own decor to that already provided. For example, she'd mounted several animal heads on the wall near the fire place, as well as a large wooden display case in which she stored several prototypes that hadn't quite made the cut.

She'd also produced a replica of what many considered the first gas operated machine gun, known as the 'Flapper Rifle', initially designed by the legendary gunsmith Double Aught. Essentially a lever-action rifle modified with a metal paddle that would be flung forward by the gasses exiting from the barrel, thus working the lever by way of a metal rod. It was this design that'd inspired the later development of the less than successful 'Spud Digger', so named because the lever tended to dig up the dirt beneath it if placed to low to the ground...

Orzel also had plans to create, or purchase, one of those weapons to add to her growing collection of firearms. Already the largest owned by any Princess, though really that wasn't saying much... She was the only Equestrian Princess that actually owned firearm. The majority of her collection, at least that which she'd built at Site R, resided in two large metal gun safes in her bedchamber. Everything from rifles to machine guns to semi-automatic pistols and revolvers, most of them were prototypes, others were simply pieces she'd built out of curiosity, to 'see if she could'...

Alba was certainly surprised to see what, to her, must've been an unparalleled arsenal in such a place of prominence, and Orzel got the feeling she wasn't exactly comfortable about them either... It was totally understandable. To Orzel they were just machines, tools to be used however their owner intended, but she understood many Equestrians didn't share that attitude.

"Never fear, they are not loaded." Orzel explained calmly as the door closed behind them. "As I said, I am a weapons researcher..." She added pointedly, pausing briefly to tuck a few strands of her hair back beneath her headscarf. "Please, make yourself comfortable. I will be back momentarily." She started towards her bed chamber, then froze. "As I said before, precautions must be taken for my safety. As such, there are several loaded firearms concealed throughout the residence. I do not expect you will find them, but on the off chance that you do, do not touch them... In fact, it would be wise to treat all firearms you may encounter as if they are loaded..." Alba bit her lower lip, then after a few moments nodded in acceptance.

With that, Orzel made her way into her bedchamber, ensuring she carried the rifle case and her satchel along with her. It took her about four minutes to change out of her laboratory clothes and into something a little more comfortable. CERPAT fatigue pants, combat boots, and a navy blue and white telnyashka, as were being issued to the Navy. She took a moment to regard herself in the bathroom mirror, inwardly preparing herself for what was to come...

As this telnyashka bore strong similarity to a standard tank top, it therefore lacked sleeves. As such, it was very easy to see the strips of glittering metallic scales that ran from top portion of Orzel's wrists up to her shoulder and neck. Her muscles and considerably dark bronze skin, likewise, were no longer concealed by the relative looseness of her sweater and lab coat. This would be the first time Orzel interacted with someone her own age in such a state, and so she was mentally preparing herself for whatever ridicule or shock might arise... Gently clasping the pendant that dangled around her neck, the Princess mumbled a brief prayer and straightened her headscarf.

Orzel emerged from her bedchamber with both bags still on her person, closing the door behind her as she made her way back into the living room. Alba stood before the weapons display case with arms crossed, her face set in a look of curious contemplation. She briefly looked over at Orzel, then did a slight double take, which prompted an inward sigh on the Princess's part.

"This is your house right?" Alba asked, quickly turning her attention back to the display. Orzel responded with an affirmative hum. "So why did you let me in? I'm just curious, since... Well, up until a couple minutes ago we didn't know each other." Orzel offered another shrug.

"Why did you choose to stay?" The Princess countered, earning a slight smirk on Alba's part.

"Because I've spent months trying to get up here? Even if it is just your house, I intend to see as much as I can..." She declared firmly, once again examining the displayed prototypes "Assuming you let me, of course." Orzel gave another affirmative hum, adjusting the strap of her rifle case. "Did you design all of these? I'd like to know more, otherwise I don't think anyone would believe me when I say I came up here."

"I designed all of these, except for that one." Orzel declared, gesturing to the replica Flapper Rifle. "Do not expect to find them on store shelves any time soon, these are my greatest failures." She added with a faint hint of pride, gesturing towards a shotgun. She'd intended for it to be fully automatic, and it was... For two or three rounds at a time. "On that one I failed to allow enough clearance in the action. To solve this problem I would need to redesign the entire bolt assembly." The Princess shrugged, regardless of the outcome, it'd nonetheless been informative.

"I would love to go into further details, but I actually do have work to be doing..." Orzel temporized, looking at the strap for the rifle case again... She really didn't like going to the range alone, but she wasn't about to drag Grim and Fable along with her. "I really should not be doing this, and bear in mind this is contingent on whether or not I can attain security clearance for you, but... I am about to run some tests, would you like to come with?" Alba turned with a raised eyebrow, as if to ask the question Orzel hadn't quite answered herself. 'Why?'... "I have few friends here, certainly none that are my own age... I am not presupposing that we are already friends, but there are few people with whom I can converse so easily." Alba brought a hand to her chin, rubbing curiously as she thought.

"I'll be honest... My Dad warned me to stay away from you." The blonde stated cautiously, briefly earning another inward sigh from the Princess. However, Alba's tone was suddenly betrayed by a wide smile. "Normally I think 'test' and all I think is boring stuff, but I get the feeling this isn't the sort of test conducted in a normal lab... Is it gonna be fun?" Orzel looked up and to the side, inwardly contemplating whether or not dumping magazine after magazine into various armored plates would be fun or not. She determined that it indeed would be very fun, and so offered an emphatic nod. "Alright, I'm in!"

From there the two soon departed, briefly stopping aside so that Orzel could consult Grim and Fable on the topic of attaining a security clearance for Alba. They explained that they couldn't very well grant that sort of thing to a civilian, especially a teenager, unless said civilian was the employee of a defense contractor working on behalf of the government. So, Orzel simply offered to hire Alba as a new 'administrative assistant'.

Alba, having never actually had a job before, gleefully accepted when she was informed of the generous basic hourly wage offered by BDT. The fact that it'd probably annoy the Tartarus out of her father was also a contributing factor. Orzel preferred not to get involved in the matter of her new friend's relationship with her parents, that was purely their affair... That being said, the girl could certainly sympathize, to an extent. The Princess's relationship with her father was far less contentious as Alba's, but she would've been lying if she said there were times when she hadn't done something just for the sake of driving him crazy. They were just fewer and further between.

With that sorted out, Grim and Fable agreed that there was little chance of Alba being an 'infiltrator'. Also taking into account her Father's security level, and the fact that Orzel would make few friends on the island if she kept everything about herself and her work a secret, the two behemoths issued a Special Probationary Basic Security Clearance card. The VRX wasn't as sensitive a piece of equipment as Project Gungnir, which required an Ultra High Security Clearance to even know about...

From there, Orzel and Alba made their way to the firing range situated in the 'Military Personnel Only' section of the complex. The latter gawked at just about everything they passed, as this entire section of the island was new to her. Orzel had to make a point to Alba that whatever she saw in this part of the island was to remain a secret. No matter how cool or exciting she might've found things, she couldn't tell anyone without a Security Clearance card equal to or greater than her own.

What was to follow at the firing range would be the beginning of Orzel's second friendship, one that she hoped would last a long time. She was sure to walk Alba through all the rules and safety precautions several times, even though at no point did Orzel intend to allow the girl to actually manipulate a loaded firearm. It would, however, afford her an opportunity to see how quickly a relative layman could familiarize themselves with the firing procedure of the VRX, even if no actual rounds were in the magazine.

Thankfully it seemed Alba had little interest in actually using the weapon at first, though she appeared more intrigued as time went on. Orzel still insisted that she wouldn't allow her friend to operate any weapons without first receiving written or verbal permission from her parents... Fun as she might've found them, the fact remained that firearms were not, and never would be, toys. Again, Orzel was thankful that Alba understood as much...

Where things went from then on was up in the air, but the Princess was hopeful she'd finally found another person she could consider a friend. With any luck, nothing would arise to ruin the day...

Regent-General Pharynx stood quietly in his quarters, once again observing the map of Equestria that dominated its center, as if staring at it would somehow inspire him to some great epiphany. Ruling the hive in its day-to-day had been a slight adjustment from his usual method of command, much of the work had already been delegated, but it was still a hassle he would happily return to the Queen when all was said and done. The Queen's health was improving, now that she could focus her attention fully upon the hive-mind, but there was no telling if she would ever recover so long as the source of the 'unknown presence' was concealed.

Thankfully, there seemed to be some progress on that front, courtesy of one of his deep cover assets in Canterlot, situated highly on the Castle Staff. They'd uncovered some gossip among the guards and the Cleaning Staff regarding the night that Princess Orzel had apparently arrived to Equestria. It couldn't be a coincidence that her arrival had come on the very same night Queen Tempo first encountered the maddening 'things that should not be'. The asset had likewise revealed that the Princess's biological Mother had died after arriving to Equestria, having been killed by strange creatures that the Equestrian Military had been quick to cover up.

Those creatures were spirited away to a highly secretive facility in the middle of Canterlot, where agents had struggled to get close without arousing suspicion. Regardless, one or two sympathetic 'fellow travelers' in that facility had been kind enough to give a glimpse into a top secret medical report. A report that concluded the 'Strange Creatures' were 'Exo-Changelings'...

There were several possibilities raised by that revelation, and none of them would result in a speedy end to the Queen's problem. The first theory was that Princess Orzel herself was somehow responsible for the interference. Like the Exo-Changelings, she was a creature born of a different world. Even if the Equestrians claimed she was a dragon, there was no telling what effect her presence might have on the hive-mind.

Pharynx personally didn't see how such a thing could be possible, and Chrysalis herself found the theory laughable, at least when she was capable of laughing in a manner that wasn't maniacal. She described the intruding presence as "smelling" of chemicals like formaldehyde and other preservative agents, coupled with tobacco smoke. That presented the second theory, that the Equestrians had captured whatever was responsible and taken it to parts unknown.

Whether it was the corpse of Princess Orzel's Mother, or the mysterious 'Exo-Changelings' responsible for her death, remained to be determined. Chrysalis seemed to believe it was the latter, and once again Pharynx was inclined to agree, given how the Queen had described 'plunging her talons' into the chest of a woman dressed in bronze armor. She had done no such thing in reality, but the memory of the event was apparently so vivid that it may as well have been her own hand.

It also presented a frightening prospect, the kind that gave Pharynx nightmares... If the creature's were already 'dead', and somehow still asserting control on the hive-mind, what would it take to put an end to that control.

His particular hive was far enough removed from the 'First Hive' that it would see little ill effect, but what of the other, older, hives? What if it was affecting more than just the Queens of those hives? That was the reason Pharynx was still building his army, why he still ordered his infiltrators to put themselves at risk in Equestria. Not just to keep an eye on the activities of the Equestrian military or to gather information about their new technologies, but also working to find other infiltrators.

Standing orders were to make contact with any infiltrators encountered from other hives and urge them to have their Queen's make contact with Pharynx. If that failed to work... The orders placed averting a war between Equestria and the Badlands Hive above anything else. He couldn't go to the Equestrians directly, not yet at least, not unless it was an emergency. Odds were they wouldn't believe him, and any public arrest of one of his agents would scare other infiltrators into hiding, making contacting the other hives all the more difficult...

Yet things might spin irrevocably out of control if he waited too long. Once again, their fellow traveler in the Equestrian's secretive paranormal investigation agency known as 'SMILE', revealed that apparently there were already other large scale operations attributed to 'Shape-Shifters' underway. An incident of apparent air piracy, for example, and rumblings about plans to sabotage Equestrian roads, telephone and telegraph communications wires, even railway lines, indicated that whatever Hive was responsible, their actions seemed aimed more at wreaking havoc than anything else. Once again, should it come down to war between Equestria and the Badlands Hive, that would undoubtedly result in punic actions... Maybe it was time to re-adjust his strategy after all.

"Thorax." Pharynx called over his shoulder, a few moments later the door to the chamber opened, and through it entered his younger brother. Pharynx turned and crossed his arms over the numerous medals lining the breast of his uniform, nodding to the younger man as his aide-de-camp rose from his customary bow of greeting. "I require your counsel..." Pharynx pointed at the map, specifically Canterlot. "You studied diplomacy more extensively with Queen Tempo. Were you in my place, how and when would you approach the Equestrians?" Thorax drew closer to the table, taking on the aspect of deep reflection.

"I would first seek the contact of the other hives, and determine if they are suffering the same issue plaguing us." The younger man stated simply, clasping his hands behind his back. "I would perhaps see if some sort of cooperation can be reached, and together we can solve the crisis without involving the Equestrians." Pharynx nodded, that had been his plan from the start, though he could see the gears still turning in his brother's head. "If it becomes apparent that one or many of the hives are infected with this... Madness... We may have little choice but to alert the Equestrians. As I recall, there are some twenty or so hives that we know of, you've only contacted the agents of five." Thorax's features hardened in a manner Pharynx wasn't accustomed to.

"I have a discouraging feeling that even if we managed to contact them all, there are some Queens that would use this opportunity to invade and occupy our own people, just as surely as we would've invaded the Equestrians." Thorax continued, Pharynx nodded again, though that hadn't been an aspect he'd thought of. Wars between hives were exceptionally uncommon, with the exception of one.

"The overwhelming majority should remain uninvolved, even if their Queen's have succumb to madness." Pharynx theorized, pacing around the edge of the map, his lips curled downwards in a thoughtful frown. "They'll be caught up in their own internal power struggles, or hurrying to find someone to take the reins of leadership, as our own Queen did with me." His eyes narrowed on the Eastern portion of the map, specifically a small portion of the Griffon Empire barely visible there. It was filled with numerous tall mountains, as with most Griffon territorial holdings, but they were placed remarkably near one of the only hives with a general known location. "The Hive of Mount Grover, however, may not even realize there is a crisis to begin with." Thorax pondered that momentarily, then shivered.

"You don't mean...?" The aid muttered, his eyes also falling on the mountains. "It is true, then? The First Ones really do exist?" Pharynx nodded, and he himself couldn't restrain a shudder of disquieted unease.

It was the fault of the Queen Martialis, the First Queen of the First Hive, that Changelings were so universally despised and reviled with such a violent passion. It was a little known history, one of the few pieces of information that most members of the hive seldom learned. Nonetheless, the history of the First Hive, and the ancient 'Deal' it'd struck, was required reading for all high-ranking Generals. Someone had to know what they were up against, in the frightening event that the disturbingly odd swarm of Mount Grover ever darkened the skies over the Badlands.

They were practitioners of dark rites, that preyed just as much on other Changelings as they did other species... Nothing was beneath them. They took more than emotion from their prey, so much more... Pharynx's thoughts returned to some of the things he'd heard the Queen mention, an overwhelming desire to kill, to consume, to sate a ravenous hunger.

"If you encounter agents of their hive in Equestria, there can be no hesitation..." Thorax stated bluntly, taking as serious a tone as Pharynx had ever heard from him. "They must be eliminated."

"I fear it is already too late. Already their schemes are driving Equestria's military to increase its readiness." Pharynx admitted, bowing his head as he leaned on the table. "The more I ponder the source of the Queen's madness, the more I think about that night Princess Orzel came to this world. You read of it in the captured newspaper, did you not? When it was revealed she was not of this world?" Thorax hummed in agreement, examining the map with equal unease.

"Her people departed this world long ago, only to return by some sort of freak accident of magic. Who is to say that hers weren't the only ones to do so?" The General looked at Thorax, searching his brother's face for a sense of comprehension. He was pleased to see that to be the case. "What if some ancient ancestor of the First Hive is to blame for this crisis? What if the 'dead' continue to speak because they have found a more than willing ear, beyond the mind of our Queen?" He and Thorax shivered in tandem as the words left his lips.

"Then all we can do is prepare for the worst." Thorax stated with obvious notes of fear, though to his credit he was outwardly collected and calm. "I would still advise caution before speaking with the Equestrians, allow our army to increase in size as originally planned. At the very least, we will have ample force to defend ourselves if they fail to see our side."

Pharynx nodded silently, eyes lingering on the otherwise unassuming mountain. There was little he could do but hope the First Hive didn't indulge their baser instincts before a solution could be found. Even a small attack, against the most insignificant Equestrian outpost, could very well invite their terrible wrath...

Though there was a considerable chill in the air, the northern waters of the wide open Celestia Ocean's face was as calm and placid as a mountain lake, almost mirror smooth. Seldom did such mornings arise here along the North Bugbear Coast, and it was a crying shame that the sea need be disturbed. Already the morning had seen the arrival of half a dozen fishing boats, based in the Northern Griffon fishing village of Kaltwasser Harbor. They weren't alone, however, with a much larger neighbor now tracing a slow steady wake through the dawn's lingering calm. The lone bulk carrier, 'CS Aleksa', worked her way along a south-westerly course... Her hold was laden with heavy iron ore, her destination the Equestrian city of Baltimare, her primarily Thestral crew eager to reach warmer waters and their extended families in that far flung port.

Aleksa was new to these waters, having been purchased by the 'Castile Shipping Company', an equally new shipping firm based out of the Northern Griffon provinces. Nonetheless, she'd made quite a name for herself. Her Captain, an old salt expat Equestrian by the name of Downeaster, had made his bones hauling raw gold ore all along the Griffon Coast. Like Aleksa herself, he was hardworking, hard-bitten, and tough-as-nails... At least, that was how he came off to his crew.

For Nor'Easter, a young fisherman aboard one of the ubiquitous fishing boats within sight of the plodding steamer, that was only the beginning. Nor'Easter was just as hard working and tough as his father demanded he be, though life hadn't 'whipped him hard enough' to make him quite so hard-bitten. His father had never been one to mince words. That said, Nor'Easter couldn't help watching Aleksa with excitement whenever she made her run... It'd mean his Old Man would be out of his hair for a month or two at least, hopefully more.

There were lines that needed hauling in, so Nor'Easter tore his eyes away from Aleksa and set once more to work. With his eyes on the sea, he pulled and pulled and pulled foot after waterlogged foot of rope from the briny depths. The water was just above freezing, and even his heavy work gloves struggled to keep his fingers from going numb. It was laborious monotonous work, but it paid about well as one could expect in the Griffon economy, and that was all Nor'Easter really cared about.

The more money he could squirrel away while his father was away, the sooner he could book passage on the next freighter bound for the warmer climate of Zebrica. He could only ever make progress when the bastard was away from home, as that was about the only time Nor'Easter held onto his earnings longer than the amount of time it took for Downeaster drink them all away... The young man's hope was to sign on with one of the Mercenary Companies operating there, they were bound to pay better.

Nor'Easter would do practically anything to get out of the Griffon Empire, especially with everything that'd been going on of late. The Empire, for all he cared, could rot. So could the 'Iron Bloods' that everyone seemed so intent to fawn over. It wasn't like the Iron Bloods were ever actually going to do anything, and neither would the Empire. It'd just be more of the same... All the screeching and shouting, just noise, and Nor'Easter could hardly stand it any longer...

Yanking hard on the line, the last thing the young man expected was for it to yank back. Indeed, as soon as he tugged it pulled with such force that it nearly toppled him over the side. His nearly numb fingers, in remarkable twist of luck, were what saved him. Allowing the rope to slip through his hands and over the side, rapidly uncoiling itself with a speed Nor'Easter had only ever seen of a falling anchor line. It ended just as quickly as it started, and the man quickly gathered himself and began pulling the line back in.

A stream of white bubbles was rising in a straight line, a few feet away from the side of the boat, though now it appeared to be curving off in another direction. Two other identical lines of bubbles also emerged, though this remained perfectly straight... Tracing them with his eyes, he could see the source of whatever they were moving to converge with the path of Aleksa. The end of the line came up far more quickly than Nor'Easter imagined, though it soon became obvious this wasn't the actual end... Were that the case, he would've found several lobster traps. Instead he found the line severed and frayed, as if it'd been cut by a blade... Or several, rotating in opposite directions.

Looking between the rope, the line of bubbles, and the steadily moving cargo ship, Nor'Easter's brow furrowed. He'd had a reputation for not being the most particularly bright bulb, so it usually took him a bit more time to figure things out. The rest of the men aboard the fishing boat seemed to take note of the severed line, then a distant thunderous 'Whump!'. The young man turned to the source, spotting a column of water erupting from wherever what'd caused the line of bubbles had curved off to. Explosion... Bubbles... Straight line... Cargo ship... Several more seconds passed, at which point his eyes widened. Was it a fish? With scissors? Some sort of suicidal scissor fish?

Two massive explosions once again split the morning calm, sending two gigantic columns of white water hurtling up along the starboard side of Aleksa. The massive bulk carrier rose up in the center while her bow and stern dipped lower, that was something Nor'Easter had no problem recognizing. Whatever the cause, the ship had just broken her back. The cascading water fell back to the sea, revealing that Aleksa was quickly settling low in the water.

Her amidships deck-house crumpled in on itself, the stern and bow now rising out of the water... The single brass screw at her rear churned uselessly against the air. For a few moments Aleksa's respective ends rose skywards, as if suspended by cables from the heavens, all while the crew visible on her deck commenced to running around like mad... At least until they started sliding towards the buckling center. In that moment a single word barged to the forefront of his mind, a word that almost every fisherman in Kaltwasser Harbor had learned to fear and dread... 'Submarine'.

The rumor was that the Empire had sold off several of its submarines to pirates, though Nor'Easter had never really bought that. Even to him, it didn't make sense... Why would pirates want to sink ships with a submarine? How would they steal the cargo if it was on the bottom of the ocean? Nonetheless, there was a very real fear that the pirates, the Iron Bloods, or maybe even the Griffon Navy itself was behind recent sinkings.

Nor'Easter felt a plunging sensation in his gut as Aleksa stopped crumpling inward, but instead hung motionless... Realization was dawning, that was his father's ship... For some reason, he didn't feel any of the anxiety or fear he would've expected. There was tension, certainly, but nothing else. If anything, the anticipation was electric. Eventually there came a point where Aleksa could no longer sustain the strain, and with an audible metallic death groan the aged ship snapped in half. In less than thirty seconds, the ship and her heavy cargo of iron ore slipped beneath the surface. Her crew hurled themselves into the sea on the way down, swimming for all they were worth in a desperate attempt to escape a watery grave.

Already the fishing boats had disengaged from their work, their engines roaring as they rapidly whipped around towards a field of surfacing debris, drowned bodies, shivering survivors, and a glowing inky black oil slick. Nor'Easter stood transfixed, but as the ship moved around he caught sight of something else. A pitch black metallic shape rising from the surface, water cascading off of it in white rivulets of foam. It was the conning tower at first, then the entire main body, of a submarine.

The tower was adorned with a large decorative shield, depicting a fearsome emblem of the Emperor's royal house, leaving little doubt as to its origins. Were that not enough, its crew was rushing out on deck, and from the conning tower they hoisted the unmistakable ensign of the Imperial Griffon Navy. The submarine lingered on the ocean's surface for ten or fifteen minutes, just long enough for everyone to agree that they should give it a wide berth, before slipping beneath the waves just as abruptly as it had emerged.

When all was totaled, Aleksa went down with fifty-seven of her eighty man complement. Captain Downeaster, it was said, had given the order to abandon ship, but himself had gone down with his command. There wasn't a family in Kaltwasser Harbor that wasn't affected in some way, with many losing husbands, fathers, brothers, and sons... The Empire of course denied having had anything to do with the sinking, but of course they would say that. It was obvious they weren't pleased to have to now allow the Northern Provinces to trade on their own accord, this was likely just a means of trying to keep their people dependent on them.

Nor'Easter's indifference to the dealings of the Empire and the Iron Bloods ended that day... Much as he and his Father despised one another, Downeaster was still his Father, and that still counted for something. It was only a matter of hours before the first 'Local Peacekeeping Militia' was formed, all while portraits of the Emperor were torn from buildings and cast into a bonfire started at the town's center. It was on this same bonfire that Imperial flags and other paraphernalia were thrown. Those that resisted or dissented, few in number as they were, were shouted down by throngs of furious, angry, emotional people. Nor'Easter was certainly among those throngs.

In place of Imperial flags, and lacking access to the 'Iron Blood Flag', the largely Thestral population of Kaltwasser elected to raise dozens of 'Bi-colors', the twin-tone banners of the Thestral Imperium banners, in their stead. A navy blue field, with two horizontal strips of white, one at the top and the other at the bottom. At the center of blue field, offset slightly towards the hoist, was white two-headed bat with wings spread wide, perched atop a shield displaying the coat of arms of Empress Aurora, Mother of the Imperium and of the current 'reigning' Empress. The flags were typically kept on hand for various local holidays that honored Aurora and the thestrals that once served her, and had not held anything more than sentimental meaning for as long as anyone had been alive.

The words 'retribution' and 'separatism' themselves went unspoken, but there was nonetheless a rising tension in the air... If such crimes continued on the part of the Imperial Navy, it wouldn't be long before all of the North called for war. When news of the loss of so many Thestrals reached across the ocean, their ancestral brothers and sisters in Equestria would undoubtedly cry out for vengeance.

Wiping some sweat from his forehead, Spike paused for a moment to bask in the warmth of the late spring sun. The temperature was ramping up to summer, and with summer came the very real risk of wildfires. This was the first year where the Old Guard claimed they were actually supposed to get a decent budget for wildfire prevention, but much of that money had been 're-appropriated' by the City Parks Office for... Well, it wasn't exactly clear what. That'd left a great gaping whole in the FDPV's budget, so the entire department had taken it upon itself to make up the shortfall. Spike had already placed a call to Mister Gaze, the man Orzel had instructed to look after her considerable estate in her absence.

Mister Gaze had been all too eager to contributed a sum of some one-hundred thousand Bits on behalf of Crown-Princess Orzel herself, plus another hundred-thousand on behalf of Basilisk Defense Technologies. Both donations had raised the perceived reputation of their respective sources in Ponyville... Additionally, Assistant Chief Rich and other members of the FDPV had added sizable chunks of their own personal money to the proverbial hat. With the mayoral election just a few short days away, the news about the Department's budget and Rich's donation was not doing Mayor Mare any favors in the polls.

Sizable as these donations had been, however, the fact remained that there was still a very good chance the department would come up short. So, the FDPV and its parent, the CDA, had organized a joint fundraiser in the form of 'Civil Defense Awareness Day', which included a large cookout, live entertainment, a raffle, and several helpful and informative exhibits about how the common citizen could contribute to Equestria's continued Civil Defense. Spike actually rather liked the concept, not just because it stood to potentially make up their budget shortfall, but also because it'd brought a lot of people together that, previously, had been divided by the election.

Spike would've been equally excited to take part in the festivities, were he not there to demonstrate the various tools used by the 'Modern Firefighter'. One wouldn't be wrong for thinking it was a fairly easy job, except that it involved him repeatedly having to get in and out of his full bunker gear for a portion of each subsequent demonstration. The first ten times had been easy, but by late afternoon he found himself flagging, even with his enhanced endurance. In hindsight, perhaps that was the reason Macintosh chose him to do the job.

Right now they were between demonstrations, and so the young man had taken the opportunity to take a seat on one of the steps running along Engine One's cab. His russet brown jacket rested off to the side, his telnyashka drenched with sweat, and he himself was alternating between drinking plenty of water and occasionally eying the various patches of purple scales that'd been cropping up in greater numbers along his arms of late. Every now and then he'd stop to idly stroke his slightly stubbly chin. Lately, keeping himself clean shaven was becoming quite bothersome, though he used the term 'shave' loosely, considering it required literal power tools. He'd wake up at zero-five-hundred to get ready, shower, shaved, dressed... By the end of the morning he'd need to shave again, and then again at the end of his shift.

"Maybe I should try waxing it..." He mused aloud to himself, turning his attention more to the ongoing festivities. The fundraiser was taking place near town square, equidistant from the hospital, police department, and fire station. As such, there was no shortage of friendly faces, many of whom strolled past with a wave, a smile, or both. The air was sweet, the mood was calm, so... Why wasn't he? Deep down, for some reason he couldn't quite place, he had a pit forming in his stomach, the very same pit he'd had a month ago...

"Hey, Spike!" A familiar twangy voice called from his right, shaking him out of his reverie. He turned his head towards the source and paused for a moment, there stood Applebloom, Scootaloo, and Sweetie Belle... The Cutie Mark Crusaders, whom he'd seen only the night before at their last O&O game. They were dressed for the warm weather as much as they were for the festive atmosphere, each managing to wear attire that complemented their appearance well, in a wholesome sort of way. The trio stood on the sidewalk of the town's square, just at the edge of the shadow cast by Engine One. "Workin' hard, or hardly workin'?" Applebloom continued, it was a line she used whenever she stopped by of late, adding a friendly smirk to that fluttery twang of hers. Spike shrugged, standing to his new lofty height of seven and a half feet.

"I'm certainly getting a work out, if that's what you mean." The young man responded as he straightened his telnyashka. A brief breeze reminded of the fact that while it was still warm, the coming arrival of evening would bring with it a moderate chill. That hadn't been as much of a problem lately, ever since those first patches of purple scales had started appearing on his forearms. "You here to see the Chief? He's working the barbecue." The young man jerked a thumb towards the station house, outside of which sat a fairly large smoker which filled the air with the remarkably tasty scent of brisket.

Typically Applebloom stopped by the station every day to drop off Big Mac's lunch, even if the Chief already had lunch, as was very much likely the case given his current job. It was nice to see his friend cared so much about her brother. Today, however, Spike noticed that she'd come empty handed, and accompanied by her friends as well... Odd, but not unusual given the entire town had turned out to partake. Sweetie and Scootaloo looked at one another, then quietly nudged Applebloom.

"Oh, uh, no... We're not here to see him, I-... We just wanted to come see you, actually." The girl said somewhat shakily, and for a few moments the young man was struck by the profoundest sense of Deja Vu. The mannerisms were different with Applebloom, but as he'd become quite adept at reading Orzel, and reading his friend was a far simpler task. She was nervous about something, though he didn't know what. "We were actually going to head on over to Sugar Cube Corner for a snack, and thought it might be nice to come pick you up for a surprise cupcake, so... Surprise!"

Taking in the scene as a whole, he noted the awkwardness Applebloom spoke with, atypical to her usual blunt manner... Sweetie and Scootaloo likewise looked more serious than usual, though not angry... More protective, possibly supportive, he might've even guessed she was there for moral reassurance... That begged the question, for what possible reason could Applebloom need that reassurance...? She was probably one of the most self-confident girls he knew. All of these thoughts transpired in a moment, and Spike had to ask himself that age old question, a question Big Mac assured him all men faced at least one time in their lives. Was she just being nice to him, or was she trying to flirt with him?

Honestly, he wasn't sure how to respond if it proved to be the latter. He didn't really have those sorts of feelings for the members of the CMC, they were more like 'sisters' to him, and it'd just be a little too... Weird. Besides, he already had something going with Orzel. Sure it was long distance, but that wasn't as big of an issue given recent developments. In fact, Spike trusted Orzel's commitment to that relationship was as strong as her commitment to basically anything else she did, which was to say 'Absolute'.

Then again, Applebloom didn't know Spike was in a committed relationship... He'd never actually told anyone that he and the Princess had feelings for one another, outside of Twilight of course, let alone how serious those feelings were becoming. Still, Spike wasn't about to get sucked into some weird 'love triangle' thing like out of one of his adventure novels... Those always ended with someone getting hurt, and somehow, someway, he'd come out looking like the bad guy.

"I'm actually just waiting for the next demonstration to begin, so I can't really run off." Spike offered honestly, he really was, and it wasn't like he could go running off willy nilly in the middle of his shift. Applebloom paused for a moment, visibly processing his response. Scootaloo and Sweetie glanced at one another, flinching slightly, evidently they hadn't thought about that. Applebloom's body language suggested that she'd been lightly wounded by his response.

"Don't get me wrong, I always appreciate the chance to hang out with my friends!" Spike added quickly, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. Applebloom was obviously shaken by the last word in his sentence, and he got the feeling there'd be a lot of... Awkwardness in his future. "Maybe after this next demonstration? It's supposed to be the last-"

Then, as if by the hand of fate itself, the universe intervened. From within the station came a trio of almost deafening wails from a buzzer alarm, which caused all three of the girls to take a step back. Spike's response, however, was to grab his fatigue jacket. Quickly donning it, he rushed to the display area and commenced to getting into his bunker gear, an act also carried out by the only other man assigned to the position. Within the open bay of Engine One, he could already see the other men on duty getting into their bunker gear, and those that'd been working other areas were running to get ready.

"Engine One. Engine Two. Engine Three. Ladder One. Tanker One. Respond to a mass casualty train derailment and fire on Provincial Road Thirty-One, Eastbound. Mile marker thirty-seven..." The dispatcher's voice was scratchy, but rang loud and clear through the entire station.

"Sorry! Gotta run!" Spike shouted to the girls over his shoulder as he moved. Without any further pause, he grabbed his flash hood from the display table, quickly pulling it over his head. Next, he stepped into his boots, which incidentally had his trousers already around the ankles. With practiced ease he pulled them up over his uniform pants, slipping the suspenders over his shoulders. The rest of the ensemble passed in a blur, jacket, air tank, respirator, helmet, and finally gloves. The majority of the outfit was russet brown, broken up by several orange 'High Visibility' stripes, while the helmet, gloves, and boots were black accented by orange.

Together, he and the other display operator moved the table out from the front of Engine One, then proceeded to place the equipment back aboard the vehicle with as much speed as possible. The other bay doors were rising steadily, and all throughout the building he could hear heavy diesel engines rumbling to life. Big Mac and Rich were already in the process of finishing getting ready when they neared Engine One themselves, all while a large crowd had amassed to watch the department roll out.

"Come on, kids! Let's go! Get the lead out!" Rich shouted emphatically, already climbing into the driver's seat while Big Macintosh took the passenger seat. Spike followed shortly, clamoring into the passenger cab where a trio of other firefighters had crammed themselves. "Dispatch reports it's a freight train hauling thirty twenty-thousand gallon tanker cars and a whole mess of other nasty stuff slammed head on into a passenger train that ran a signal. Contents of the tankers are unknown at this time, but at least two of them ruptured and the contents are definitely flammable. No word on the drivers of the trains, but local sheriff's are setting up a two mile cordon. They're asking for as many ambulances as they can get, so odds are this is going to get messy." The man explained as the engine started rolling forward onto the street, the lights flashing to life, followed by a high pitched wailing siren, not unlike that one might hear in an air raid.

The entire mood of the truck grew more serious at the mention of the passenger train... Up until that point, the worst thing most of them had ever seen was an airship wreck that'd happened a month or so ago, on roughly the same day as the automobile accident. The entire crew had been slain by what the police suspected to be sky pirates, and the ship's faintly hazardous cargo had lit the sky for miles. In that time they had seen other casualties and loss of life, but even the airship crash couldn't compare to something so massive as a passenger train derailment. Once again, it seemed Rich and Big Macintosh were better equipped for the heavier aspects of the job, but thankfully the younger members of the department had transitioned from 'New Bloods' to the 'New Guard', a means of distinguishing them from the various fresh recruits that still sought to join...

Even having become one of the New Guard, Spike realized that he'd need to prepare himself for the worst. It was bad enough that there would be so many dead or wounded, but the presence of burning tanker cars only made the situation that much more precarious. Not only because of the difficult nature of fighting such a massive fire, but because of a phenomenon known as a 'Boiling Liquid Expanding Vapor Explosion', or BLEVE...

BLEVEs as a result of derailments were becoming more of a rarity as rail safety regulations improved, but they were still a very real risk. When they did happen, they almost always tended to be bad for everyone involved. Massive fire balls, chunks of hot flaming debris, not to mention the potential for a shock wave which would shatter glass, or disintegrate houses to splinters... All of which could become deadly shrapnel in the maelstrom of fire that was a BLEVE.

Spike had never actually seen one outside of training, in that case it'd been a very small propane cylinder from a portable camping stove. The stories Big Macintosh told were nothing like that dinky little puff of fire, and were indeed harrowing enough to make Spike hope never to see a BLEVE in person. They could come with no warning, and throw debris countless miles away, depending on the size of the tank. The devastation they wrought was bad enough in its own right, but when coupled with a lot of the still dry grass and other underbrush in the area? Underbrush that should've, and would've, been taken care of by now were it not for a lack of funds... It was a recipe for a massive wildfire. This was it, the big game, the final fight with the evil wizard, the do-or-die scenario that set a CDA fire department apart from others.

Spike glanced out the window as the truck, and indeed the rest of the department, rolled noisily onto Mainstreet. Applebloom, Scootaloo, and Sweetie were all standing on the sidewalk, mere faces among a transfixed crowd, who all stood motionless to behold the unfolding scene... As far as the young man knew, none of the girls had ever seen the department deploy in full. The quintet of emergency vehicles surged through Ponyville, sirens shrieking, air horns blaring, engine's roaring... Vehicles moved swiftly out of the way, making room for the trucks to pass speedily along. Spike turned his attention to the other three men riding in the rear cab with him, all of whom were fiddling with or adjusting their respirators, and all of whom wore a familiar patch affixed to their shoulders.

The men riding with him were all earth-walkers or spell-casters, the portion of the department far better suited to attacking a fire from the ground. There weren't many pegasi in this line of work, and those that were didn't act as firefighters in a traditional sense. The bunker gear was too specialized to be adapted to protect their wings. Even if it could be, it was also too heavy for them to make effective use of said wings. As a result, those few pegasi that signed on were assigned the task of gathering clouds, which in turn could be used to keep a steady flow of water in the tanker truck. At the moment, Spike was in the presence of Ace Point, Maple Spicket, and Plowshare... They all looked more or less identical in their equipment, identifiable only from their general build and large Hi-Vis lettering on the lower back portions of their jackets.

Spike found them overall to be a bunch of good guys, each from different walks of life, who'd all managed to make it through training and the probationary period. Ace Point was typically a talkative guy, very physical, very high endurance, which Spike supposed came from his part time career as a professional tennis player. Maple Spicket owned the largest maple tree orchard in Central Equestria, and as such he was actually quite well off. He'd also given generously, which wasn't surprising. He'd joined the FDPV to give back to his community.

Plowshare, the man that'd been helping with the display, had been a farmer once upon a time, but a wildfire had swept across his land, and burned everything he owned to the ground. Spike didn't need to ask his reason for signing on. His frustration that the budget for wildfire prevention had been diverted to the CPO was... Difficult to accurately quantify.

Admittedly, the probationary period had been a tad rushed, but Ponyville was in desperate need of well equipped professional firefighters... This incident was proof enough. Had this happened before the department was in place, odds were the time to get any meaningful response to the site of the derailment would be close to an hour. Not a lot of people thought about the distances involved when it came to moving around a rural area, and the closest professional department prior to the FDPV resided in Coalwood, approximately thirty miles in the opposite direction.

Spike briefly considered starting a conversation among his comrades, but he could see they were all preparing themselves for whatever came next. Occasionally the truck would slow down to take a turn, but otherwise Rich kept the pedal down. So the young man turned his attention to the buildings rushing past, knowing deep down in his gut that today was another day where things would change forever. Within a few minutes he was driving past the library, preceded by a number of ambulances that'd probably been sent by Ponyville General.

Twilight was standing in the front door, just one face among dozens that'd paused in their days to watch the spectacle, and yet hers was so clear... Ashen white, jaw hanging ever so slightly, eyes wide. She had to know, just as Spike did, that this call was different. At their current rate of speed Twilight remained visible only for a few moments, then it was back to watching the buildings blur past.

Within two minutes they'd passed the eastern bridge at the outskirts of town, tearing along more of the freshly paved asphalt. Provincial Road 31 was a four lane thoroughfare, two lanes on either side, which only recently had been paved in order to keep up with its busy commercial nature. Running through the Ponyville Rail Hub, it tended to see a lot of eighteen-wheeler traffic, and the eastbound tracks ran more or less parallel to its entire length. Both the tracks and the road ran through mostly flat terrain, filled with groves of trees, fields, and even forests that were now lush with greenery in the wake of the spring thaw. There were only a few other towns along its route before it transitioned into a larger turnpike, the first of which was Rose Township...

Rose was a lot smaller than Ponyville, and as such lacked its own fire department, beyond a small volunteer force. They were certainly effective when combating the typical residential or occasional brush fires that came up, but hardly equipped to handle a disaster of the magnitude Rich had described. It used to be Coalwood's job to help them out, now the duty fell to Ponyville's department. A typical response time to that area, assuming no traffic, was somewhere in the order of twenty five minutes. Not great, but better than an hour and fifteen.

Spike's foot tapped restlessly on the floor, almost half an hour was a lot of time to think about things. For a few moments he wasn't quite sure if he was ready for this... All the death, all the destruction, could he handle it? Once again his mind turned stories Orzel had told him about the night she'd come to Equestria... The fires she described, an entire city ablaze, were all the more staggering to imagine now that he'd become a firefighter. A chill ran down his spine, his doubts nearly getting the better of him... What would he have done were he called to fight the Cesarski fire? If he'd known Orzel was in that city, would he run away? What if he hadn't been able to go in, would he want one of her rescuers to chicken out at the last minute? No... No, he'd stand and fight... Like a dragon.

He would do what he had to do, as if Orzel was the one in peril, because she was the person that mattered to him most. She had become, for all intents and purposes, a part of his hoard... At least, in the sense that she was precious to him. How many other people's 'Orzels' could he save? How many wouldn't have to lose the one that mattered to them most of all. He needed to do his job, no matter the cost to himself.

Midway through the ride was when Big Macintosh began relaying his plan for when they arrived over the radio, a rather bulky set that'd come installed in the truck. The primary mission of Engine 1 and Engine 3 would be to fight the passenger cars already fully involved, as well as any fires that immediately threatened the rescue efforts of the RVFD. Ladder 1 and Engine 2 would assist in the evacuation, and Tanker 1 would keep all the vehicles supplied with water as usual, at least until another tanker loaded with fire retardant foam could arrive.

They would do whatever they could to rescue as many people as possible, but the unknown nature of the cargo in the tankers meant that so long as the fires raged close to the undamaged tankers they'd have to minimize the time they spent within the cordon. It seemed bizarre, to just sit idly by and let the fire burn, but each tanker car was potentially a twenty-thousand gallon bomb, and there were evidently thirty of them. The other cars in the freight train likewise contained an unknown cargo, other than it was 'Nasty Stuff', to quote Rich. That could be anything from toxic waste to dynamite, so Spike certainly understood the reasoning behind the cautious approach.

It wasn't long before Spike could see a massive cloud of choking dingy smoke rising from the horizon, stretching higher and higher into the otherwise clear late afternoon sky with each passing minute. Rose Township was just coming up, but already Spike could see a number of cars driving in the opposite direction. Others were galloping away on horseback, obviously the Sheriff of Rose had warned his citizens it was time to scatter. The road into town was blocked by a lone police cruiser, though it was quickly moved out of the way to allow the firetrucks passage.

The town passed just as quickly as it came, a small collection of maybe a dozen buildings, none of which went higher than two stories. All made from wood or brick, much like those in Ponyville, except these seemed different, somehow... Frail, defenseless, exposed... Spike couldn't quite explain why he felt that way. Maybe they just seemed so quaint that he couldn't foresee them surviving in the event the worst came to pass... Either way, it was his job to ensure that didn't happen.

Spike got his first look at the wreck just as the truck passed through Rose, even slightly concealed by a now burning grove of deciduous trees. Several ambulances were lined up in a row a hundred yards away from the trees, set up in an area not obstructed by burning debris or smashed rolling stock. All of which had their crew attending to someone, and it was here that the other ambulances pulled off to assist...

Most of the wounded were bloody or bruised, others miraculously looked shaken but no worse for wear. There was a section beyond the edge of the road where the dead that'd been pulled out of the wreckage were being gathered... Their mangled and burned corpses looked more like Nightmare Night decorations than actual people, but... They were actual people... Actual dead people. Men, women... Children... Some of them were all accounted for, others were missing pieces... Spike forced himself to look away, to focus on the task at hand.

Of the wreckage, he saw only the trees and the smoke at first, but his attention was quickly drawn to the rusted train tracks running on an embankment alongside the road. There he saw half a dozen box cars, which had smashed and folded in on one another like some giant metal accordion. Large wooden crates and metal drums lay strewn about the grass, or scattered across the road, most of the latter having been ruptured in some fashion to reveal a thick greenish-black sludge that pooled around them... Worryingly, each was marked with an Arcane Radiation Hazard placard.

The trucks needed to slow down at this point, navigating the debris congested roadway with greater caution... Spike peered out the window at one of the crates, hoping to gain some insight into its contents. One of the crates had strewn small cylinders of what looked like powdered coffee creamer, many of which were also cracked open, spilling their powdery white contents across the pavement. Either way, both the crates and the barrels bore a bright red skull and crossbones, as well as bold red lettering that read 'CAUTION! HAZARDOUS MATERIAL! POTENTIALLY FLAMMABLE CONTENTS!'.

When most people thought about powdered creamer, it was hard to imagine it could do much damage... On its own, that was true, but under the right conditions the substance could be almost as dangerous as gasoline. At this point the sirens were turned off, seeing as they were no longer necessary, leaving the rumble of the truck's engines and crackling of burning timbers as the only sound to accompany the eerie scene. There were more wrecked freight cars, with equally unusual cargo. What looked like brand new automobiles, disinfectant gel, even hair pomade, not to mention half a dozen overturned coke cars. The small, porous, dark gray fragments of fuel were scattered everywhere. Some of them were already burning, cloaking the area in a dull grayish white haze.

Then came the blue painted tanker cars, by far the most numerous of the rolling stock. Like the other cars, they too had folded together into one jumbled mass of steel. Each bore the logo for 'Arquerite Chemicals', which only served to add to the tension. Had they belonged to some sort of petroleum company it might've given some clue as to their contents, but with chemical companies it was almost impossible to tell just by looking. They'd need to wait for the shipping company to supply a manifest before they'd know for sure. Given the presence of potentially radioactive materials, Spike almost wished it was an oil fire.

The brigade of firefighters came upon the collision site after maybe five minutes passing the wreckage of the freight train's derailed cars, where a large fire was already in the process of being fought by the local volunteers. The blaze was fed by the fuel that each locomotive had been carrying. In the case of the passenger train, it was several tons of coal. In the case of the freight train, it was fuel oil, both of which had been widely dispersed at impact. The smoke was so thick and heavy here that it blotted out the sun at this close range, pulsating and billowing, as if to conceal some great and terrible demon hiding within.

The two burning tanker cars were situated directly adjacent to the impact site, contributing most of the black smoke to the rising pyre. A sensation of profoundest dread overtook Spike, because the flames that wreathed the tankers were bright neon green, almost identical in color to those that'd been fought aboard the crashed airship. If these tankers were hauling Unstable Sokolite, or even the ingredients required to make the compound, it might very well have been too late to stop an explosion.

The freight train was evidently being pulled by two large steam locomotives, while the passenger train had been pulled by a single smaller model. The two trains slammed into each other at such a velocity that the once mighty machines had become little more than twisted masses of steel and hot iron, the inferno consuming them gave each an almost draconic air. It was impossible for Spike to tell where one locomotive ended and another began, but from the sheer violence of the impact, it was clear to the young man that there were likely no survivors among the crew.

The combined flames of the locomotives and the tankers burned with such intensity that Spike could actually feel the heat from within the truck's cab... If only that was the only type of heat they had to worry about. On a hunch, the young man reached over to a compartment in the passenger cab and opened it, revealing a bright yellow Arc-Radiation Counter, marked with the emblem of the CDA. Grabbing the wand on the side, he turned the central knob and rolled his window down just a tad.

Poking the probe out through the cracked window, the silence of the cab found itself abruptly filled with a new heart-quickening sound. A slow by steady 'Tick... Tick... Tickety-Tick... Tick tick...' that seemed to suck the air out of the space. Spike quickly closed the window and turned in his seat to look up at Mac and Rich, both of whom had also heard the sound.

"I want one of you guys from each team to keep an eye on your radiation meters. Not you, Spike. Gonna need those muscles of yours. So long as it stays low, we'll stay as long as we can. If it starts going up, we're out of here in ten minutes." Rich ordered clearly, making sure to use the radio so that all those involved could hear him. "No one removes their respirator for anything..." He added with dire seriousness, then turned a knob on the radio. "Central, this is FDPV Ground Command, on site at the Rose Wreck. Be advised, it looks like the freight train was carrying material that's giving off low levels of Arcane Radiation."

"Not certain exactly as to what it is, but I'm gonna bet it's raw Incandessium and Enchantium, possibly mixed... Not to mention a large amount of Render..." Rich's tone was as calm and professional as ever, as if he was just ringing someone up at the Bargain Barn. 'Render' was the technical term for the semi-liquid sludge that remained after refining thaumatergic ores. Comprised of all the impurities that couldn't be processed through further refinement, it was probably the nastiest 'Nasty Stuff' a fire department could face. "I need you to dump every man you can on this scene, just in case this thing pops off. We'll also need De-Con units, and get the locals to widen the security cordon to..." The man paused, then looked at Macintosh, who merely held up his hand and clenched it twice. "Let's expand it to ten miles."

By now the truck was passing through the smoke, bringing the wreckage of the passenger train into view. Spike had never seen flames so large, it was a log jam had caught fire, and Spike counted at least five cars already fully involved. Smoke poured from every window... Spike tried to tell himself the carbonized twig-like shapes he saw dangling out of them were just pieces of wood, even though many looked suspiciously like bodies. Six other trucks weren't that far behind, with many of them threatening to go up at any moment.

Another truck from the local volunteers was struggling to keep the flames at bay, but to do so left little manpower to actually pick among the wreckage for survivors. The grass on either side of the road had also started up, adding more dense smoke to the conflagration, and couching the immediate vicinity in an eerie ethereal smog.

Struggling to stem the chaos were volunteer firefighters of Rose, though only two or three of them that could work on rescuing people, as the others were busy beating back the blaze. Frantically the rescuers pulled bleeding groaning bodies from the shattered wooden carriages, primarily those that were nearest to the flames. It was hard to imagine that half an hour ago his biggest worry was wondering if his friend, who also happened to be the sister of his boss, had a crush on him. Now...? Not so much.

Again he was struck by just how quickly one's day could change from fine to terrible. He was certain that the people aboard these trains had no idea of what was going to happen to them when they started their journey. It was been just as sudden for them as it was for Spike. It all very well have what could've been a page taken from a book about the deeper rungs of Tartarus, and it was his job to pull these people out of those hellacious flames... He and his fellows would be like ancient knights, rushing in to save the defenseless villagers, but... This was no fantasy.

The trucks pulled off into formation as Big Macintosh had ordered, each man preparing himself to do his job to the utmost. In a matter of moments Spike and the others were out of the cab and on the hard debris strewn asphalt. Most moved quickly around to the side to unspool hundreds of feet of hose, Spike included, while others began affixing the hose ends to a serious a valves mounted on the engine's side. Others were running lines in from the tanker truck.

"Let's get to work, grunts! Time to earn your pay!" Rich shouted as he hopped out of the driver's seat and closed the door with a heavy thud. Macintosh meanwhile was making his way over to a rather haggered looking volunteer, his typical relaxed posture now deadly serious beneath the respirator. Spike had to hand it to these guys... They didn't have nearly the equipment his department had, but they'd held their own all the same. "Get me hoses cooling the tanks closest to the fire as fast as you can! Really pour it on!" The Assistant Chief added, looking among the dismounting firefighters.

Most were fixated on their various assigned tasks in deploying, others were moving to deal with the rapidly escalating brush fire, but some... Well they were stunned, maybe even downright scared. Spike didn't blame them, he was terrified as well. Any moment those tankers could all go up, probably even start a massive wildfire, not to mention hurling tons of Render into the air. Then again, if the tankers did 'pop off', Spike and his compatriots wouldn't be around long enough to have to deal with the mess... Happy thoughts, Spike. Happy thoughts...

"I'm good to go!" Spike stated forcefully over his shoulder as he moved towards the sixth burning car with a nozzle at the ready, then knelt on the ground for better stability. His respirator was hissing steadily, even as his heart rate started to climb. He had to stay calm, had to keep a cool head. The hose suddenly stiffened in his grasp, glancing down he could see a faint trickle of water trailing from the end. Pulling back on the lever, he let forth the highly pressurized stream at the smoldering sixth car. Great plumes of hissing white steam arose wherever the water made contact, slowly driving back the gaining flames.

"That's good! That's good!" Another man, Emerald Green, shouted from beside him. He was one of the more senior members, though Spike didn't know all that much about him. It was all they could do to hear one another over the roaring flames and popping timbers... Perhaps Spike would need to write Orzel about potentially developing a means of communicating more easily, a smaller radio that they could all wear in their ears or something. That was a matter for another time, as Emerald pointed to a section of the passenger car which was already burning. "Aim for the base there, see?" Spike nodded, turning the hose on the area indicated.

For a good twenty minutes he aimed the hose as directed, managing to beat back a good deal of fire in the vicinity of the passenger car. It was enough to at least take the pressure off of many of the rescuers, now predominantly members of the RVFD that'd been able to back off from their primary fire fighting duties. Some were tentatively moving into other cars, though most of their efforts seemed focused on the eighth car. After a few minutes one of these men navigated his way through the debris, up towards Spike himself.

"You're the dragon, right?" The volunteer asked, a quick look at a patch on his jacket revealed his name to be Hasty Ladder. Spike gave another nod. "They want me to relieve you! Head over to that car over there, they can't get the door open and we're not gonna be able to keep the car from going up much longer!" The man ordered, pointing frantically at the eighth car.

"Roger that!" Spike agreed, smoothly passing the hose to the man, then rising from his knee and starting through the rubble strewn charred ground to the eighth car in the passenger train. In the course of doing so he passed dozens of pieces of debris... Shattered glass, smoldering timbers, a discarded boot... At least, it looked discarded until Spike spotted the jagged fragments of bone and flesh that jutted up past the ankle. He took a deep breath, set his jaw, and continued moving forward at a steady jog. All he could smell was the rubber of his respirator, and for that he was grateful.

Honestly, Spike didn't know how the volunteers had managed to stay so close for so long. He could feel the heat already, even with his bunker gear on... The sound was unlike any other fire he'd ever heard in all his days, a low howling wail, so loud he could feel it vibrating the air in his lungs. Somehow he managed to steady his nerves and continue on towards the rail car, which was starting to show signs of fire... Most passenger trains used gas or coal stoves for heating purposes... It was a miracle more cars weren't already involved, as beating back the flames with hoses would do little to prevent them from catching fire internally.

Four firefighters were pounding on the door, which looked to be made of reinforced steel. Looking at the side of the carriage revealed it to be a mail car, which meant it was also likely hauling a good amount of cash, so naturally it was likely built like a small fortress. A fire breaking out in there would be far worse than the other cars... All that paper would go up in one great big ball of flame, and its unusual protective steel plate would swiftly transform it into a furnace. The fire from the other cars was rising nearly a hundred feet into the air, whipping and thrashing wildly, flaunting its destructive power for all to see. That would be nothing compared to the mail car.

"Hey! Hey, I'm here to get this door open!" Spike shouted at one of the closest men, his voice barely audible over the snapping, crackling, roiling flames. The volunteer looked over, and Spike inwardly winced... His eyes were wide with panic behind his own respirator, as if he'd just about reached his limit. "Come on, man! Help's here now! I can handle the heat if it goes up! Get out of here!" The man glanced once more at the door, then reluctantly stepped back, making room for Spike to get up close. It seemed his arrival was having a similar effect elsewhere, turning back two other officers that'd all but had it.

Spike moved up to the door for himself, noting that it was not only reinforced, but also badly damaged. He could see a pair of frightened people standing just beyond it, there faces covered in soot, both of them dressed as mail clerks. Flames were flickering at the rear of the car, blossoming into much larger, much more intimidating sizes.

"Move back a couple steps, I need to bust this open!" Spike shouted at them, but he could tell they didn't want to get any closer to the flames than they already were. "Look at me, okay? Look at me!" He stated a bit more calmly, still needing to shout. "I will get you out of there, alright? Trust me!"

The two clerks looked at one another, biting their lips before scrambling a few steps back. Spike rolled his shoulders, then cracked his knuckles, limbering up for a few moments before taking hold of the door and pulling for all his worth. With a juttering metallic screech, the door easily lifted away in his hands, breaking away on its hinges and granting him access to the now smoldering interior of the mail car.

Casually casting the four-hundred pound steel reinforced door aside, he turned his attention back to the rescue. Every moment the fire was surging closer, his bunker gear growing all the hotter with every inch. Spike was fortunate not to be bothered by it, but he could only imagine the discomfort the other volunteers had been in, let alone the pain of those still trapped in the car itself.

With as much speed as he could muster he pulled the first clerk from the wreck, just as flames were beginning to consume the bags of mail within. Now he could see they were both women, and as such he had little trouble handing the first one off to the other waiting firefighters. He had to move quickly, the fire was springing forth with more vigor than he'd anticipated. The woman that remained inside very well could've been someone's mother, or a sister, or a wife... She was someone's daughter, if nothing else. He needed to get her out of there now, but she was just staring at him, unmoving. With no time to wait, Spike grabbed her by the wrists and pulled her free, turning his backs to the flames just as they filled the entire compartment.

Tossing the clerk to one of the waiting firefighters, Spike could see that she'd not escaped unscathed, with several nasty looking burns on her arms and exposed lower legs. Neither of the survivors had been directly touched by flame, but that didn't prevent them from sustaining injury... Another thing Spike had learned since becoming a firefighter was that fire didn't act as one might expect having watched movies. It didn't have to touch you in order to burn a person...

Heat radiating outwards could do just as much damage, unless something got in its way. So that's precisely what Spike did, putting himself between the still at-risk mail clerk and the yawning chasm of fire. The flames erupted around him with vicious fury, raging at him for denying them their prey, trying to consume him in her steady, but even as the jacket and trousers were coated in thick black soot, Spike would not submit. For all its terrible destructive power, this fire was but a tithe of what he could withstand.

Seeing that both women were now a safe distance from the car, Spike hopped out of the doorway. His bunker gear was slightly charred, but he and the others moved away from the mail car without injury... The flames from within were spreading to other uninvolved wreckage, and Spike could only pray that Emerald and the volunteer that'd taken his place could get the hose on it quickly enough, as there was little time to spare. Undoubtedly there were more people in need of help among the wreckage, so Spike and his cohorts split into groups of two in order to check the other cars. Accompanying him would be Maple Spicket...

Slamming easily through an already opened wooden door on the next carriage, he made his way through the next rail car in search of survivors. At this point they couldn't risk stopping to recover bodies, as doing so would take time they very likely didn't have. It was difficult to describe the sheer amount of blackness that could arise within the confines of a structure on fire, even if the sun weren't already on its way to meet the horizon

In a lot of ways, Spike suspected it might've been like deep see diving. Those that weren't properly trained could easily lose track of themselves, and become disoriented or lost... The thick black smoke enveloped him entirely, making it almost impossible to see, so he had to check for survivors by hand. Seat by seat, row by row, from forward to back... He would move in and attempt to find a pulse, no easy feat given his thick gloves... If that failed, he'd place a hand on their chest to see if they were still breathing. Any that he found to still be alive were passed off to Maple Spicket behind him, who would in turn ferry them outside to other rescuers, then come back in. Given the amount of smoke, and the sheer carnage of the impact, survivors at this stage were few in number...

Between the smoke, the heat, and the impact, he saw little sign of life. There were plenty of crumpled bodies, some of them having been smashed almost to the consistency of jelly, broken up by jagged fragments of white boon, all mixed in with discarded luggage that'd spilled from overhead compartments. Reaching the end of the car, Spike came face to face with what at first appeared to be an elderly man propped up against the door, since bulged inwards slightly...

The man was clearly deceased just by a cursory examination, but something about him struck Spike as peculiar enough to warrant investigation. Pulling a heavy flashlight from his utility belt, the young man had to get almost face to face with the man in order to see. It was then that he made a startling conclusion, as his closer examination revealed something... Well... Strange. If Spike thought he was scared before, he didn't know what he felt now...

The truth was that this man wasn't elderly in the slightest, at he was merely... Dried out, like beef jerky, but... Somehow more desiccated. The eyes were shriveled and dry, the skin pale and leathery... His face was contorted into an extreme look of agony and fear, his teeth yellow and cracked. Spike had no idea how this disturbing feat was accomplished, but that wasn't what truly put the fear in his heart. That honor fell to a pair vertical slits, one on on either of the man's temples... Both were smeared with a strange glowing purple liquid.

Obviously this man wasn't killed on impact... Strangely, he was almost totally naked, and someone had left a loosely folded suit beside him. The suit itself was in tatters, and splotched extensively with more of the violet ooze. To Spike's horror he recognized a faded tattoo on the man's pectoral... A Maltese cross, decorated with the emblem of the RVFD... The name 'Hasty Ladder' was barely discernible beneath... Hadn't Spike already encountered that man before? A sudden and frightening prospect filled Spike's head... Something had done this recently, and whatever was responsible had stolen this man's uniform. He lifted the dried out husk with a surprising amount of ease, then passed along to Maple Spicket.

"I don't know what the fuck's happening, but watch yourself around that 'Hasty Ladder' guy... Fuck, the whole RVFD. Don't let any of 'em leave, and keep this one out of sight! Tuck him in with the bodies behind Engine One!" Spike warned harshly... Maple Spicket had been with him the entire time, and if he was the creature responsible for doing this, surely he would've done anything he could to stop Spike before finding the body. "Once that's done, I want you to get on a phone and place a call to Maksym Field, ask for Mister Gaze. Tell him Spike's calling, if they give you any static just say 'Blackwood'!" Maple just stared at him quizzically. "Just do it!" Trusting his firefighting brother to carry out the task, Spike girded himself again for the task at hand.

Over the course of their conversations, Orzel had hinted once or twice that she worked on matters that were... Unusual... Strange even. She never went into much detail, but she had passed along a few gems... For one thing, she'd informed him of a special codeword and when to use, just in case he happened upon anything strange while he was on the job. Not strange as in 'I could've sworn I parked my car here instead of there', but rather... Well... Otherworldly.

Especially if it had to do with there being two of a person, notably if one of those persons was dead, and especially if that person had a job that entailed a uniform of any kind. Said person might turn up later, somehow, and if they did Spike was to act as if he didn't know they were dead. More importantly, if he suspected a 'Blackwood' scenario, he should keep on his guard at all times, and be very careful about the people he trusted. The number of people 'in the know' had to remain small... No matter how much others assured him it was okay, that they could be trusted, that he was safe, he had to assume they were a threat.

He'd begged Orzel for more information than that, but she'd already told him more than she should've... She just wanted him to be safe, and Spike had to wonder what the odds were that he'd ever encounter something like that. Apparently he'd just beaten the odds. Whatever the word 'Blackwood' actually meant, he was not under any circumstance to use it unless he was one-hundred percent certain he'd happened upon something 'Otherworldly'. Orzel had told him this with such seriousness and concern that Spike was inclined to believe her...

From there on he and Maple carried on their rescue mission, until all cars were searched and cleared of survivors. With their grisly task complete, the firefighters made their way back to the waiting trucks. With resources limited, the sun going down, and the air in the tanks running low, the decision was made to allow the evacuated cars to burn while new air tanks were swapped for the old. Spike was one of the last to go swap tanks, preferring to go near the end so that he could do so alone, just in case whatever quasi-alien creature was out there wanted another snack... Spike was assuming it was an alien for now, surely there was nothing native to Equus that could do such a thing.

With fresh air in his respirator, he made his way back towards Engine One. By now the sun was completely set, so the only illumination came from hand-held flashlights and the fire itself. Big Macintosh and Rich stood at the front of the Engine, both of them eying the flaming tanker cars with nervous postures. They'd been pouring hundreds of gallons of water on the tankers nearest the flames, as they were most at risk for a BLEVE. That, unfortunately, prevented them from trying to put out the rest of the blaze. Reinforcements from Coalwood were still several minutes out...

A group of paramedics was still operating nearby, stabilizing the wounded victims' necks and placing them on stretchers to be carried out. They were still tending to the two women pulled from the mail car, who seemed surprisingly well off all things considered. There were others, though... Others that hadn't been nearly as lucky. One woman's face at first looked to have been cut severely, but as Spike got a good view of her face, he realized there was more to it than that. She was young, maybe twenty or twenty one... At one time she might've been pretty, but the collision of her head with some unknown object, coupled with severe burns, left her looking almost like... Well, it was difficult describe. The closest approximation Spike could think of was when he flipped a hamburger too early, so little chunks of it remained stuck on the grill, exposing the uncooked ground beef beneath.

Setting his jaw, Spike watched one of the paramedics search for the woman's pulse, while another examined her eyes. They were talking among one another, but all the young man heard was a progressive ringing in his ears, growing louder and louder, until all the world was deafened to him. Again he recalled the times when Orzel would get quiet, when she would just... Stare through him... Again he'd thought he understood what she felt, but now... Now having seen desolation on so massive a scale, Spike truly knew exactly why she took on that look. She was reliving it, in her mind, just as he likely would for the rest of his life...

Spike wanted to go somewhere private, to pull off his respirator and throw up, to try and purge the gruesome images from his mind, before every grisly detail became seared perfectly into his brain... He would be afforded no such luxury. This was his job. He had to do his job.

"Hold up!" Rich ordered hurriedly, shaking Spike from his moment of introspection and back into the present. "What's so important you had Emerald run off for?" The young man paused for a moment, then glanced around for any sign of the RVFD. Seeing none of them present, he gestured for Rich to follow him behind Engine One, towards the bodies.

"You're probably not gonna believe me when I say this, Boss, and I can't really give you much detail, but..." Spike began, pausing briefly to grab a fire axe from the side of the truck... Just in case Rich wasn't really Rich... "I know a guy who knows a guy in the Government, and he knows a thing or two about weird shit... Told me I should give him a call if I ever found some of that weird shit on the job." The man stopped beside the other bodies, where he was relieved to see the body he'd recovered from the carriage resting untouched. Rich visibly recoiled at the sight of the dried out leathery husk. "I'd say this qualifies."

"Holy shit..." Rich said quietly, his respirator wheezing as Spike tucked the remains back under the rear of the truck. "That's Hasty Ladder! I know that stupid tattoo anywhere... How's that possible, he just went to work the pile by the locomotives!" Rich glanced over in the general direction of the locomotives, then shook his head.

"This stays between us, alright?" Spike asked hesitantly, Rich gave an equally hesitant nod. "Y'know that weird shit I mentioned?" The Assistant Chief nodded. "You ever see that movie where the aliens come and swap places with people? That sort of weird shit." Spike held up a hand and jerked his thumb in the direction of Ponyville. "Before you say I'm nuts, lemme remind you of half the shit that goes on in our backyard!" He slung the axe over his shoulder, watching Rich process the information for himself. "Look, you know just about as much as I do. This friend I mentioned says we can't trust anyone, no matter who they look like! I know in a couple minutes a bunch of guys from the Army gonna pop in here, them we can trust. No one else, alright?"

"Alright..." Rich agreed reluctantly, turning his attention back towards the burning locomotives. "Look, Mac wanted me to tell you to head on over to those two burning tankers. Wants to see if you're strong enough to push them away from the others. They're still leaking whatever it is, and its burning like a motherfucker. If we can get them out of the way we'll have a much easier time actually fighting the fire." Spike couldn't hide a skeptical look in his eyes. "I know, I hear they normally weigh somewhere on the order of a hundred-fifty tons, but we're hoping enough of its burned off by now to make it moveable." Rich patted him on the shoulder. "I'm trusting you on this alien thing, alright? At least give it a shot, just keep an eye on Hasty, yeah?"

"Alright, I'll give it a go." Spike restored the fire axe to its original position, quietly making his way along the scorched road towards the burning tankers and locomotives. The young man paid as little attention as he could the the RVFD men without looking like he was trying to ignore them, quickly approaching a pair of men in FDPV bunker gear in the process of dousing the uninvolved tanker in water. It hissed and popped in thick steamy clouds of vapor, but the raging green fire that lashed against it failed to diminish. "Chief wants me to take a crack at moving the burning one, try to keep your hoses off of me!" The men looked at him doubtfully, but nonetheless nodded.

Gritting his teeth, Spike limbered up as best his heavy gear would allow before finally cracking his knuckles. Cautiously he stalked closer to the tanker, closer than any other firefighter might've dared, the raging inferno already battling against his protective gear. A faint emerald glow emanated from the patch on his shoulder, indicating that it'd started working to dissipate the heat, which it was only supposed to do when faced with temperatures well above one-thousand degrees. Step by step, foot by foot, the young man's advance didn't stop. Even if his gear melted or burned away, he still should've been more than fine in such a hellacious environment...

The flames themselves appeared to be the result of ethanol, though they were likely fed by what Spike suspected to be two otherwise innocuous materials, raw Incandessium and Enchantium... In all honestly, it was probably best they were burning, rather than remaining mixed together and under pressure, especially when exposed to extreme heat. This was essentially how a substance known Stabilized Sokolite was made. In addition to its usefulness as a binding agent in enchanting, it could also serve as an additive to explosives, making them more potent.

Heating the combined ingredients beyond a very narrow range for an extended period of time created the far more dangerous 'Unstable Sokolite', which had a shock tolerance just under that of nitroglycerin. Hopefully the substance that'd leached out, and remained inside the tanker, was too diluted by impurities to have achieved this unstable state of yet.

There was a growing number of industrial applications for both forms of Sokolite. Unstable Sokolite, when mixed with other combustible materials, served as an exceptional oxidizing agent. Adding more chemicals into the mix resulted in the creation of 'Re-Stabilized Sokolite', a far more potent form of its 'Stabilized Sokolite' cousin. Pure Unstable Sokolite meanwhile found use in large scale demolition.

Of course there were problems aside from whether it'd explode or not, namely that Sokolite of all kinds would become exponentially more radioactive depending on the amount of contaminants in its ingredients. This particular slurry was probably loaded all sorts of things to ratchet up its radioactivity. Knowledge of these chemicals, and many others, was required reading among CDA fire departments, as each required different methods to extinguish.

As per recent safety regulations, the two ingredients were supposed to be transported separately from one another, and never in so large a quantity as was evidently aboard the derailed freight train. Apparently Arquerite Chemicals hadn't gotten that particular memo, or the one about transporting Render in flimsy metal drums...

As protective as his suit and the enchanted patch were, Spike had never faced a fire fed by Unstable Sokolite, and so he expected it'd be the first real test of just how fireproof a dragon actually was. The tanker car loomed over him, a soot-blackend crumpled juggernaut of blazing hot steel. The tanker's eerie green cargo was streaming from several massive splits in its side, immediately catching fire as soon as they made contact with the air. These splits revealed the tanker's steel to be roughly an inch thick... The metal actually glowed nearly white hot, and was gradually being melted away by the pressure of the gushing slurry. Fully loaded, a tanker like this would weigh somewhere between hundred-forty and a hundred-fifty tons.

Given that so much of the cargo had burned away or flooded into a massive pool of the glowing liquid around its shattered carriage wheels, Spike was hoping it'd be reduced to something like seventy-tons. There were several stories where dragons from the 'Reaver Clan' had gone up against the Army, in some instances being so strong that they could lift and throw entire tanks. Spike wasn't a Reaver, but he hoped he might be at a point in his training where now he could attempt to lift such a weight... After all, he regularly trained by lifting entire automobiles, and those generally weighed a few tons.

Lifting cars in a perfectly safe environment was one thing, doing so while standing waist deep in a lake of burning chemicals that could potentially explode at any given moment was another. The frightfully intense verdant flames whipped back and forth, and though they were rightfully intimidating, Spike girded himself and clenched his teeth. Taking several tentative steps forward, Spike was surprised to find that his respirator still hadn't started melting, nor had any of his other gear. The patch on his jacket was flaring brighter than before, and Spike estimated the temperature had to be several thousand degrees by now. He could've sworn Orzel said they shouldn't be effective against such heat... Maybe she'd put a little something extra in his patch?

The young man closed his eyes for a moment, taking several deep breaths and envisioning Orzel to calm himself... He was honestly glad she hadn't decided to Astral Project to him at the moment, as he wasn't entirely sure if he'd be able to do this, and didn't want to appear weak... In her own way, Orzel was there with him now, in the form of that patch... Helping to keep him alive, holding back the flames so that he could do his work. With one final sigh of determination, Spike stepped into the flaming pool and commenced wading towards the base of the carriage. At first he couldn't be sure, but... After just a few seconds in the pool, he could've sworn he tasted copper, or maybe tin?

To his everlasting surprise he remained entirely dry, as the flaming chemical seemed incapable of actually making contact with his clothes on account of Orzel's enchantment. The fires whipped all around him, the patch on his shoulder glaring brightly as it sopped up much of the heat and, apparently, repelled the chemical. Stopping less than a foot from the tanker, Spike placed both gloved hands against the searing hot surface of massive steel construct, then gave an experimental push... The super-heated metal bent inwards, deforming almost as malleable as clay, though the tanker itself remained stationary. Gritting his teeth, he took a few steps backwards, then surged forth with his shoulder lowered.

The impact was far more violent than his earlier push, actually resulting in the tanker briefly rocking over onto its side with a heavy metal shriek, only to suddenly roll back towards him. Assuming a better stance, the young man raised his hands above his head and braced for the tanker to land upon him. He wasn't entirely sure what would happen when it did... Maybe he'd punch his way inside, then have to punch his way out. Maybe he'd actually catch it... Maybe it'd just flatten him like a pancake.

In a matter of moments every second of his life flashed before his eyes, from his youngest childhood years to the present day... His Mom, his friends, his Mom's friends... All had contributed to molding him into the man he was, all had helped him to take on the responsibilities of growing up, had taught him that the strong needed to protect the weak... Then there was Orzel, the person he wanted to continue growing up with... How would she react to news of his demise? Likely the same way she had at the loss of her Mother... If anything, leaving her in such a state would be Spike's biggest regret. He'd told her he loved her, but... He hadn't told her he loved her. Part of Spike feared that this moment might very well be his last, that there was nothing he could do but embrace the inevitable... Another part of him, its bestial voice rising from deep down inside of him, refused to accept it. It would not go willingly.

Spike couldn't help but agree with its sudden emergency, this wasn't how a dragon was supposed to go out... He wasn't going to be crushed by some paltry piece of rolling stock... Time slowed to a crawl as the massive tanker came crashing down, crashing down with all its weight, implacably intent on smushing him. Again Spike's mind flashed with images of Orzel... Her smile, her laugh, the night they'd danced together... In an instant the tanker's fall was violently slammed to a halt, the world snapping back into focus. Spike emitted a deep guttural groan, straining against its weight while struggling to find his footing in the broccoli colored slurry of flame.

A great bellowing roar erupted from his throat, and audible through his respirator was voice not wholly his own, taking on multiple tones, just as Orzel's had. Slowly the tanker rose higher and higher into the air. It had to weigh something like seventy or eighty tons at this point, having dumped the majority of its contents. With a steady determinedness, Spike walked the burning tanker out into the field beside the train tracks. He carried it almost over his shoulder, as one might carry a rug heavy bag of grain. Every step saw his feet sink into the soil, but he would just tear them loose and keep moving.

A steady stream of flame dribbled from the fissures in its hull, stretching a good thirty yards as a testament to Spike's display of strength. Here the flaming tanker would pose little further risk of heating the other tankers beyond their breaking point. One down, one to go. Hurling the cumbersome heap of metal away, it landed to the sound of a tremendous calamitous chorus of groaning steel and twisting metal. The mixing adrenaline and other draconic stress hormones coursing through Spike's veins once more bid time to appear slower. Strangely, he could feel his muscles bulging larger, his bunker gear becoming notably tighter as he moved.

Striding predatorily back to the remaining burning car, Spike wasted little time in attempting to repeat his earlier feat of strength. Crouching once more in a lake of flames, the young man lifted with his legs, and thus more easily raised the tanker out of its flaming crater. This one was far heavier than the last, and yet he found little trouble in heaving it about on his own. Once again Spike's steps were slow and careful, though this time he moved with considerably more confidence than before. In a matter of several minutes he'd repeated the task, manipulating massive amounts of steel and hazardous materials in a manner impossible for a normal man...

Odds were all that lifting would leave him sore in the morning, especially considering how he'd expended himself earlier at the fundraiser, a place in time that seemed remarkably distant despite it having been only a couple hours ago. The ultimate pain he found himself in when all was said and done would have to be Future Spike's problem, right now he was still busy acting in the present. The second flaming tanker soon found itself tossed beside its sibling, all while flaming chemicals beaded and cascaded like rain water off of Spike's thoroughly charred bunker gear.

Wreathed in flames, the young dragon felt an instinctual need to pounded his chest, his voice once more erupting in a powerful roar that rivaled the flames themselves. He wished Orzel could've been there to see him, now that he knew the outcome of the risky venture. While she probably wouldn't admit it herself, it was well known that all dragons tended to find immense displays of strength and bravery on the part of their significant other to be quite attractive... Much as he tried to remain humble, Spike couldn't help but feel a sense of exhilarated pride in the aftermath, because it seemed just about everyone that'd been working the scene had paused, however briefly, to gawk.

Other firefighters were finally arriving on scene, each of them wearing small yellow tubes affixed to their bunker gear, which Spike recognized as a CDA issued dosimeter. He cast a dubious glance at the burning liquid he'd just waded through, wondering just how much radiation he himself might've been exposed to... Likely more than all the other men on scene... With the tankers no longer present to feed the pools of flaming liquid, the newly arrived departments were able to begin adding their hoses to the fray. One tanker in particular arrived, painted bright yellow as opposed to the standard red, indicating it was a HAZMAT vehicle. It provided the various firefighting teams with access to a dense orange fire retardant foam, the proper tool for the job.

By now the world was enveloped in the near total blackness of night, and so the only appreciable light came from spotlights affixed to the firetrucks and the flames themselves. For the next twenty minutes Spike resumed the task of fighting the fires as directed by Rich and Macintosh, lugging massive hose lines, moving heavy materials, all while more and more personnel filtered in.

Spike's interest in the new arrivals resided more in the timely arrival of a Fire Brigade from the nearby Canterhorn Territorial Garrison Arsenal, a group that'd just happened to be undertaking a series of wildfire fighting drills in the area... Every member of the 'Army Fire Brigade' wore full black bunker suits, though their respirators were notable different. Rather than helmets, their heads were concealed beneath tough fabric hoods, which wreathed rounded polarized faceplates. Every breath they took wheezed more easily than those of the FDPV, and their air tanks were notably smaller in scale.

Spike didn't buy the story for a second, seeing as every single one of them was armed. This was allegedly so that they could guard any barrels of Render in the area, preventing less than savory individuals from snatching up materials that might be used in a 'Dirty Bomb', but quarantining and cleaning up hazardous materials was another of the numerous scenarios CDA Departments trained the handle.

His disbelief of their cover story, or the reason for their being so formidably equipped, was cemented when their leader made his presence known. He went by the name 'Smith', Colonel Silver Smith of the Canterlot Territorial Garrison, but Spike recognized his voice as Piercing Gaze. The young man was as cooperative as he could be when approached, leading 'Colonel Smith' to the corpse of Hasty Ladder, still stashed among the dead near Engine One.

"You said you saw more of this purple stuff on clothes beside him?" The man asked curiously, crouching beside the body. Spike nodded, watching Piercing examine the strange lacerations on either side of the man's head. "You were right to call us..." He stated seriously, standing to his full height and gesturing for two of the other military 'firefighters' to come over. "Bag him for transport. I want this man's duplicate found immediately... If you can't find him, call in the dogs and an aerial team with thermals. Take him alive." One of the men nodded dutifully, rushing off towards the area where the volunteer firefighters were being gathered for decontamination. "Who else knows about this?"

"Assistant Chief Rich mostly... Him and Maple Spicket, the guy I sent to call you." Spike explained, earning a slightly annoyed sigh on Piercing's part. "Hey, your lucky I'm the one that found him! He'd be a charcoal briquette right about now, and you'd have no idea about this 'Blackwood' thing, whatever that is." The man rubbed the back of his neck, his respirator wheezing softly as he was unfortunately forced to concede with a nod.

"Spike, I assume you know it's me here, right?" Piercing asked, again the young man nodded. "What did Orzel tell you about Blackwood?" The man asked earnestly, so Spike answered as honestly as he could, further explaining that Orzel had only done so because she was worried for Spike's safety. The older man merely nodded after that. "You cannot tell anyone else about this, or about Blackwood, okay?" The man's tone was a little less intense than before, though no less serious.

"Repeat after me. This man was killed by exposure to radioactive waste strewn about by the crash. His body is too contaminated to undergo a traditional burial and will have to be cremated." Piercing said slowly, but Spike just stared at him expectantly. "This is bigger than you can possibly imagine, laddy. The implications of what you've found are dire, and any leak of this plus the information you know to the public could lives at risk. It is a matter of utmost national security."

"Is it the same National Security matter that forced Orzel to leave...?" Spike asked pointedly, his only answer came in the form of an imperceptible nod... That was all he really needed. "This man was killed by exposure to radioactive waste, strewn about by the crash. His body is too badly contaminated to undergo traditional burial and will have to be cremated." The young man stated sourly. "Don't you have some way to just wipe this from my memory or something?"

"That's what you asked the last time." Piercing stated dryly, only to chuckle faintly. "You did good by calling us, lad... Your country's proud of you." The man added honestly. "I can't go into further details right now, but... If you're really interested in learning more about what's going on, why don't you give me a call later. The people I work for need a pair of eyes in Ponyville, someone to stand as a sort of... Sentinel for us. Orzel trusts you, that makes you a good candidate." Spike was surprised at the offer, and he'd certainly take Piercing up on it later, when things weren't so crazy. "Now, I'll need to debrief you and the other two gentlemen you mentioned..." What followed was a brief by succinct conversation held between Piercing's 'Silver Smith' persona, Spike, Rich, and Maple Spicket.

They were informed that the body of Hasty Ladder appeared as it did because he had been struck by a cosmic ray, which bounced off the sun at just the right angle to create a clone... Of course, none of them actually believed that story, so Piercing 'leveled' with them. Speaking 'off the record', he informed them that he had no clue as to what'd happened, only that this was the real Hasty ladder, and that the one they had now was some sort of imposter. Not an alien, as Spike had suggested, just a fluke of magic that needed to be studied.

Nonetheless, the news could potentially cause undue attention to be drawn to the accident, which could potentially damage the economy and put a lot of people out of work. So Colonel Smith appealed to their patriotism... It'd make things much easier for all parties involved if they kept quiet while an investigation was conducted.

As further incentive to this end, evidently fearing patriotism wouldn't be enough, each man was offered the princely sum of fifty-thousand Bits up front, and an additional two-thousand Bits a month for the remainder of their lives, totally tax free. It would be in their bank accounts within the hour, should they accept. They were, of course, free to decline the offer and go to the papers. This was Equestria after all, there was nothing 'Colonel Smith' or anyone else for that matter could, or would, do to stop them from exercising their freedom of speech. Given the choice, the three of them all agreed that one dead body among hundreds of other dead bodies wasn't really newsworthy, even if the circumstances of the man's death, and apparent temporary resurrection, were admittedly strange.

Spike played along more to keep up the illusion that he didn't have some deeper idea as to what was going on. Somewhere in his mind, he had a feeling his earlier example of 'aliens replacing people' wasn't that far from the truth. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility... After all, Orzel was an alien. Then again, maybe he'd find out the truth when he called Mister Gaze later. Hopefully it'd make talking to Orzel about her work less cumbersome, if nothing else.

All three of them agreed they'd first use the money to cover whatever budget shortfall remained following the fundraiser. Whatever they had left would be theirs to keep. Furthermore, they wanted an additional 'cut' to be paid to Hasty Ladder's estate, double what they'd been offered. They deemed it the price for getting them to lie to a widow and her children. It seemed a fair means of atonement for omitting certain facts in their official reports. Piercing was amenable to their terms, so the deal went ahead.

Shortly thereafter, the FDPV was rotated off the line, as while the bulk of the wreckage had been extinguished, there were still numerous spreading wildfires that would likely burn through the night. The men would still need to go through decontamination, but from that point on they'd all be free to get some rest. It was only when Spike stepped into the well lit decontamination tent that he realized just how black and sooty his clothes were, and how close to empty his air tank was.

Calculations made by examining the dosimeters of other firefighters that'd arrived later revealed members of the FDPV and the RVFD were both exposed to a moderately concerning level of arcane radiation. Spike especially so, with readings taken from his bunker gear showing that wading through the pool of slurry had exposed him to enough arcane radiation that a normal man would've writhing in agony by now, even of the clothes themselves repelled the liquid...

As such, both departments were checked into Canterlot General Hospital for observation and preventative treatment, as CGH was the closest facility with personnel qualified to administer the treatment. The paramedics thought it especially wise to keep Spike for close examination, given the fact that Spike had lifted several hundred tons of weight that evening, that he'd evidently gained a significant amount of muscle mass in the process, and that he showed no signs of acute radiation syndrome. If anything, he seemed fitter after his exposure than he'd been before. If nothing else, it was very strange... Like... Something out of a comic book or pulp science-fiction novel.

It was only as he was riding back to Ponyville in the back of an ambulance that the full force of everything that'd just happened really hit him... No longer in a constant state of danger, free from the weight of his bunker gear, all the death, blood, and carnage came barreling at him like the two very trains that'd crashed into one another to begin with. Even if Spike wanted to sleep in the hospital, he doubted it'd be possible... Now was a moment when he wished Orzel would come to him, when he wished she would appear at his side, and tell him once more that everything would be alright...

It was just after three in the morning, and Luna had finally made it to the soft embrace of her bed, a delay widely instigated by the time difference between Equestria and the Griffon Empire. The Iron Bloods had renewed their anti-Empire rhetoric, albeit not without a legitimate reason for doing so... The sinking of a cargo ship, the Aleksa, had seen one of the final bastions of support for the Griffon Empire in the north all but evaporate. The thestrals of Griffonia had long seen the Griffon Empire as the 'successor state' to the Imperium, even though they maintained a symbolic allegiance to the Obsidian Throne.

The death of so many thestrals in what appeared to be a deliberate act by the Griffon navy had swayed them from vague indifference and outright refusal to righteous betrayal and vehement hatred. Oberst Eisenblut had capitalized on the anti-Empire but pro-Imperium sentiment by claiming that, if the North should gain Independence from the south, he would restore it to its rightful place as the 'Imperium's true successor'... What this would mean in the long run was, admittedly, difficult to predict. That wasn't even getting into the matter that the attack had killed at least one Equestrian citizen, possibly more, which hadn't done the Empire any favors in the Equestrian press.

There were several lengthy attempts to bring the Empire and the Iron Bloods to the table, but... Only the Iron Bloods turned up. There was nothing on the part of the Empire but flat denial, mainly through spokespersons. Emperor Grover hadn't been seen or heard from in days, and there were rumors circulating that he might be forced to abdicate on account of his potentially failing mental faculties. Crown-Prince Stempel was a relative wildcard, widely untested, and much too old to take the throne. It'd more likely be one of the Generals, and that in turn indicated a strong possibility that a Griffon Civil War wasn't far over the horizon...

Luna would've been in bed at least by midnight were that the extent of things, but things were never that simple in Canterlot... The Great Clans of the Dragonlands had dispatched another Special Emissary, this one to complain about how certain new weapons and armor were giving the people of Lone Star an 'unfair advantage' in defending themselves against the 'Unaffiliated Clans'. Luna was of the mind that when forced to defend one's self from imminent death, one needn't concern themselves with the 'fairness' of how they did so, a fact she communicated as diplomatically as possible.

The Great Clans were more concerned with their own interests, namely keeping the smaller clans content enough with their lot not to pursue membership in the Great Clans. A progressively hardening Equestrian border meant less plunder, and less plunder had the smaller clans targeting one another. Sooner or later, they'd combine to form larger 'Great Clans', either through conquering their neighbors or peacefully integrating, rare as the latter might've been.

The balance of power in the Dragonlands, both East and South, had always skewed in favor of the 'Legacy' Great Clans, those that'd been members of their loose confederation for thousands of years. A sudden emergence of newer, less 'traditional', Great Clans threatened to upend that balance. Dragons weren't nearly as averse to waging war against one another as the Griffons were, and so the Special Emissary was hoping Equestria might ban the use of some of the more effective means of repelling attack... Primarily SMGs, body armor, and any other 'Modern Weapons', so that the Unaffiliated Clans could go back to the 'Old Ways'.

Luna had told him, a little more bluntly this time, that even if she wanted to, she simply couldn't. Equestria's constitution was quite clear on the matter, and even if it wasn't, the people of Lone Star would just find new and more violent means of resisting... Furthermore, if the clans raiding Equestria's southern border truly were 'Unaffiliated' with the Great Clans, then it shouldn't be the Great Clans coming to plead on their behalf.

Any clan 'affiliated' with the Great Clans that raided Equestrian territory would nullify the treaty preventing Equestria's military from responding in full force, which would lead to a war between the two. There'd been a time when that war likely would've been fought to a bloody draw, but that was no longer the case. The very same weapons decimating the unaffiliated clans would give Equestria a military edge overall, and its sheer industrial base would out-produce the Dragon economy in terms of war material. They would be buried in an avalanche of tanks, planes, bombs, rifles, and all manner of other new devastating weapons.

The Emissary knew this fact quite well, and so the matter of 'fairness' was quickly dropped, for now... Luna had no doubt the matter would arise once again, next time it was likely the Special Emissary would demand to speak to Orzel, a 'fellow' dragon... The woman actually had quite a nice giggle at the thought, her daughter wouldn't be nearly as diplomatic in her own responses...

That meeting had been the last thing to trouble Luna's troubled mind before returning to her chambers. Now the Princess was engaged in that most wonderful of after-hours activities... Sleeping. It wasn't her typical 'working sleep', either, but a true and solitary slumber. This was one of the few nights that she didn't take up the mantle of Dream Warden, though it was an occurrence that had become slightly more frequent as of late, as frankly she had enough to worry about without taking on the problems of others. Of course, though her current slumber was free of the nightmares of other people, it was no less fraught with the horrors of her own self imposed torment.

The current cavalcade of imagery consisted primarily of Equestria in flames, falling rapidly beneath a combined Griffon-Dragon-Changeling invasion, with all of Luna's loved ones being killed or captured while she was forced to watch. All things considered, however, it was one of her milder nightmares... Frightening enough to be unnerving, but frankly boring when compared to the other things Luna had witnessed in her line of work. At least this particular dream wasn't the one where her daughter transformed into an evil version of herself, forcing Luna to use the elements of harmony to banish her to the Moon...

The continuing parade of darker images was thankfully halted when the waking world intruded upon that of dreams. The bed was shifting beside her, and Luna became vaguely aware of an arm draping itself around her waist, followed by someone distantly speaking her name. The nightmares ceased to coalesce, fading into nothingness as the voice grew more insistent, and it was with bleary eyes that the Princess returned to the land of consciousness. Blinking tiredly as she gazed up at the skylight ceiling above her bed, she was easily able to discern that she'd been asleep for perhaps an hour, judging by the movement of the stars. With an annoyed groan, she turned to face the source of the arm. Unsurprisingly she found the face of Observos... Piercing Gaze, looking lovingly at her in the pale light of her moon. She'd gone to bed alone that night, so he must've only just returned.

"I have been asleep for less than an hour..." Luna grunted dismally, unable to muster anything more than a weak frown. There were worse things to be woken up by, at least Piercing wasn't a guard come to tell her that the Changelings had finally put whatever their scheme was into play. Even so, sleep was precious to Luna, and any disturbance was unwelcome... "You best have good reason to disturb me, otherwise I shall have you thrown in the dungeon..." Piercing smiled faintly, chuckling softly before kissing her on the cheek, and it was then she detected the faint lingering odor of smoke, though... Not his typical pipe smoke. "I was not kidding." The woman added darkly, though Piercing took that as an invitation to kiss her again, though his features quickly took a more serious look. "Did you just get back...? How did your 'excursion' go?"

"We caught another infiltrator, so... I'd say it went well enough." Piercing explained moderately, laying his head on the pillow and scooting closer to Luna's back. "Hoped to catch you still awake, but..." He shook his head. "Sorry for waking you, love. I just wanted to let you know I'm back, fit as a fiddle..." The man added matter-of-factly, to which Luna could only roll her eyes and roll over to face Piercing directly. They were close enough now that their noses were practically touching, and it was evident by Piercing's still relatively neat hair that he had only just arrived.

"I get the sense there is more to this than merely apprehending an infiltrator." Observed Luna, prompting another more reluctant nod from Piercing. The fact that he'd gotten into bed with her at least told the woman that it wasn't immediately serious, that her presence wasn't urgently needed in the situation room, and she took some modicum of comfort in that.

"This one killed a firefighter at that derailment earlier..." The man began, before quickly holding up a hand. "Not Spike..." He added, knowing that Luna would likely ask, if only because it seemed the young man was dead set on inserting himself into Orzel's life... Perhaps that was a poor choice of words, on Luna's part. By now she'd come to accept that Orzel and Spike were in love, or at the very least thought they were, and nothing she did would change things for the better. "From the look of things, the infiltrator's also responsible for the accident to begin with. We found one of the track switches tampered with, a mile or two down from the derailment." Piercing's features turned to granite. "He hasn't said a word since we brought him in, no surprise there, but Orcus thinks he wanted to do more damage than was done."

"How so...?" Luna asked, and Piercing explained to her the contents of the freight train's cargo. Had there been some sort of larger explosion, or had the other tankers been allowed to 'cook' to the point of BLEVE, the resultant detonation of all that slurry would've hurled barrels of improperly stored Render thousands of feet into the air...

The then widely dispersed radioactive particles would fall out of the sky across a wide area, thus leaving a space of nearly forty square miles entirely uninhabitable. Fortunately the CDA was working to clean up both the spilled cargo and the Render, and putting plans in the work to deal with other situations of potential 'fallout' in the future. The rail line itself would hopefully be back in service by the end of the week. They would've observed a longer period of pause, were that particular piece of track not absolutely vital to Equestria's economy.

"I see..." The woman nodded, inwardly sighing at the thought of just how close they could've come to an utter disaster.

"Yeah..." Piercing agreed, snuggling up against her with a sigh. "Your future son-in-law really saved our bacon. Did you know he's strong enough to lift a tanker car? Twice?" Luna's eyes widened at the man's statement about her 'future son-in-law', prompting the man to burst out laughing... She knew then that he'd only said it to 'pilfer her ibex', or perhaps the saying was 'get her goat'? "Seriously though, that boy's got real potential."

"I don't doubt that..." Conceded Luna, leaning over and lightly thwacking Piercing for his little joke, all in good fun. "Still, the idea of him and Orzel being able to interact entirely in private makes me almost as uneasy as the thought that a large portion of our farmland might've been irradiated for the next thousand years. You are of little help in the matter." Piercing chuckled again, pulling the blankets up a little higher over both of them. Stressful as the news was, Luna was still incredibly tired, and as long as the fire was contained she saw little need to dwell in the land of the conscious. Still, she had some questions regarding the Changelings... "I was unable to read Orzel's latest report on the runes found aboard Warlock..."

"That's because she filed the report at the last minute..." Piercing explained, briefly conjuring an image of a hurried Orzel to Luna's mind. It wasn't like her daughter to leave things until the deadline, at least not things relating to enchanting. "So far she's been able to translate a few of the runes, relating to 'Making two into one' and 'taking from the dead', or words to that effect." Luna looked at him with obvious concern. "Despite their silence, we're getting a lot of good intel just by studying our prisoners. We're not scrambling like we were before, and we got a massive backlog of enchanting schematics to comb through... I'm gonna recommend to Orcus that we take some of the pressure off."

"Perhaps, upon completion of her analysis of the runic circle, she would be better off devising a means of capturing the mole." Suggested the Princess, nodding at the notion of giving her daughter less work. Developing enchantments to help counter the leak in the Agency wouldn't be nearly as stressful a job as designing new 'Field Enchantments'.

"I was thinking more we just let her do whatever she wants for a time, let her mind reset as much as possible... Maybe even let her get into a little trouble." Countered Piercing, yawning faintly as he and Luna both prepared for sleep. "I don't want her to burn out, she is still just a kid... A very grown-up hyper-intelligent kid, but a kid nonetheless. A little youthful rebellion can be a good thing, from time to time..." Luna only hummed, closing her eyes and sighing softly through her nose.

"Even so..." She stated blearily, nuzzling up closer to Piercing. "Continue to refer to young Spike as my 'future son-in-law' at your own peril..." Piercing once again chuckled, sounding much more distant now than before.

"I love you, Lu..."

"I love you too, Observos..."