The inequine monsters first came from the sky. Massive Celestial ships appeared in low orbit and dropped millions of individual launch pods containing those damned metal monsters all across the planet. It was an instant and unabashed declaration of war.

They launched the attack at the worst possible time for the vast majority of the globe, striking during a peace summit with most of the leaders of the world security council in attendance, in essence crippling the immediate response that would surely have been swift. At the time, most professional militaries of countries were rather ill-prepared to face such a technologically superior enemy, and most still are to this day. Even with the great strides in weapons and armor. The day they came would be called ‘Bloody Monday’ by survivors, and by the Sun would we never forget it.

Over the last fifteen months of open combat, and guerilla warfare, the ‘Collies have mostly proved their dominance in all except one regard. Magic. They couldn’t perform it to save their metal asses, which gave us the homefield advantage so to speak. Of course, in our early ignorance, some tried to reason with the invaders, asking for mercy in exchange for tutelege of the world of magic, but those ponies were never really heard from again.

The biggest most devastating loss during those times had to have been the Princess... the Sun Banner Standard still holds mixed feelings for the Equestrian fighting forces of the Coalition. She’d gone down in the most volatile and powerful burst of magic ever recorded on Solis, the power and anger of the flare making anypony who’d seen it prostrate themselves as low to the ground as they could, citing it as ‘the day the Sun touched the dirt.’ She hadn’t been heard from since that day, assumed killed in action defending Canterhorn mountain.

Her sister, Coalition Commander-Princess Luna, took the banner high in remembrance of that day, leading to the first actual battle won against the enemy. It was brutal, bloody, and devastating.. but we gave those fuckers a bloody nose. That was also the day we figured out how to fully decommission those metal freaks they called soldiers, using powerful weapons scavenged from already killed bodies of the enemy combined with enough magic to punch right through the heads.

But, ever since then it’s been a rapid decline of morale and victories are thin. What number of enemy troops we do kill always come right back, the old saying about Hydras and cutting off heads usually comes to mind. We have heard rumors though, about ‘Collies able to destroy entire garrisons and companies with the use of magic. We just have to hold out hope that it’s the terrified rumor of somebody who doesn’t know what they saw. Luna have mercy on us all if these bastards figure out our one ace in the hole.

The dim and strictly maintained walls of the Collective’s orderly dropships constantly stood ready to deploy companies worth of the Modular Soldier System (MSS) series X-24 variety. It was a modern combat platform of soldier designed for shock troop type fighting, and currently in it’s early beta field trials. It’s imposing stature stood over six feet tall, boasting an impressive amount of armor plating covering every inch of the thing, and carried the standard issue Rastech-4V12 rifle all Collective troopers carried.

This particular dropship had four bays designed to hold twenty four of the prototype combat system each, all of them able to be dropped in slim but durable pods from orbit, and sitting motionless and utterly silent simply waiting for the push of a button to fall into combat, ready to kill. A technician walked along the grated steel walkways on the same level of these currently open-faced pods, doing various checks on the machines that were currently asleep.

BT-7274, RT-6354, AK-5823... most units seemed to be in operational order, ready to deploy at the drop of a hat. The slim little technician, herself half molded with flesh and metal, worked diligently to prepare them for the inevitable moment they’d have to go and test them. No two drop-bays worth of X-24 was exactly the same, the Military deciding to test various things such as specific material type of armor, slightly more advanced combat routines, and things the like.

She sighed, and checked off the last unit in Bay 3, the designated leader for all the rest of the units in the bay, JR-2928. She didn’t like her job, but... they kept telling her it was necessary. Officially, these units were property of the Military, but didn’t receive rank. She always picked out the ones she liked the most and assigned little ranks and fake personalities to them in her head, it was... the least she could do, most of the time. She finished her routine inspection, and with one last look to ‘Lieutenant Junior’, moved her half mechanical half organic body out of the drop-bay.

Just over three hours later, an order to activate two of the four bays onboard would come down, and so the process begun. The crimson red early drop lights flooded Bays 1 and 3, and the pods contained within illuminated and powered on. The various combat-ready units started to turn on as well, forcibly dragged from their sleep to fight. Their programming kicked on, and their pre-combat checks begun on themselves. Diagnostics were checked, servos and motors tested, and weapons and gear were secured properly and efficiently. The model soldier for the lightning war to come.

The steady burning crimson light abruptly turned green after three minutes of checks, the pods open face closed and pressurized, and the floor of the bay slid away and retracted to reveal a sheer drop nearly 20 kilometers down. One by one, forty eight pods descended at terminal velocity to the specified position on the surface, coming in hot and hard like missiles bound for the enemy’s destruction. At five kliks up, a sort of gravity assisted parachute deployed and slowed the descent of the vehicle to safe proportion, slamming down right onto an active battlefield scarred by bombs and explosives. The noise of open warfare between two distinct sides rang through the air, bullets whizzing overhead the rapidly deploying landing craft.

A pregnant pause hung over one side of the battle, the organic resistance of the primitive world of Solis, before the pods opened with surprising force. The combat ready units immediately exited the vehicles, and were already quick to work. The last thing some Coalition forces saw was the strange new units drawing their rifles, before being cut down with precision that was unheard of from the typical Collective soldier.

The vast majority of the dropped units found themselves off target, almost half of them down in the Coalition’s kill zone just below their entrenched position. The other half though? Right on target, on the top of the hill the enemy had fortified. They immediately went to work, destroying enemy lines and creating openings for the mis-dropped friendly units. They made no sounds, save for the unique and distinct retort of the hybrid rocket-rail-gun rifle they carried, devastating the organic enemies they faced.

JR-2928 was the de-facto communications array for his Bay of similarly configured units, which in practice meant he was the one issuing battlefield orders to the other units in his ‘platoon.’ He was the only one from his Bay with more armor plating on his left side, the shoulder pauldron of which contained more equipment for radio communication, and was able to talk with the dropship up in the air. The Collective forces didn’t really talk, especially outwardly, and mostly relied on program-to-program communication via the link that platoons shared with each other.

This was their first combat trial, and it was executed with the standard machine precision expected of all Collective soldiers. They’d taken two immediate casualties on the drop, but lost none to open combat with the mixed griffon-zebra forces garrisoning this fortification. Periodic supersonic cracks of rail-gun assisted rockets sounded as the forces swept through the pitiful compound, executing any resistance and containing anything that looked useful for intelligence on the planet. Information was invaluable to the Collective, since the natives seemed unwilling to part with any of it. Any time they’d moved on a town or installation, books and papers were burned to deny them any real idea of how things functioned.

Eventually, the typical sleek grey standard model of soldier made their way up the hill, turning to the sentry mode and setting up perimeters around the area to make sure any enemies either couldn’t slip away, or counter attack. They were comparatively dumber than JR-2928’s platoon, but not really any less equipped. None of them could be considered ‘sentient’, but they did execute the job efficiently and expertly. The differences between X-24 MSS models versus the standard 321-B MSS were blatantly apparent when they stood so close together, for whatever reason his code decided to note. Bigger and painted glossy black and silver, his platoon were almost like demons next to the five odd foot tall variety soldier. They almost reminded him of...

A click sounded in his head and his task was laid out clearly before him; proceed Northward to the next known enemy position. No complaints were heard from him or his platoon, and onward they began to march in small and orderly tactical squads to another set of enemy lines.

“Listen up! We lost all contact with those striped and clawed pukes to the South, which means they failed! They probably know exactly where we are, which means we need to be prepared to die to get the civilians out of here! Sergeant, that’s your job.” The stallion talking was clearly an aged one, fur that was once a vibrant red-brown now greyed, his mane not far behind that.

A resounding chorus of ‘Sir yes sir!’ sounded from the group of assembled ponies, mostly all fresh faced conscripts straight from the two week training center designed not to make them good soldiers... but mostly just less scared cannon fodder. Nevertheless, the aged stallion continued.

“This won’t be an easy fight, but Sun be damned if we won’t let those ponies evacuate and live another day! This is what the Princess expects of us! We die here today, we join her wherever she went! We die here today, we save Equestria! Who’s with me-” Whatever he was going to say died in his throat as the supersonic scream of rail-gun assisted rocket tore through his torso, literally blowing the entirety of his body out behind him leaving only gore.

The assembled ponies freaked out. The experienced ones among them proceeded to immediately leave the youngest and untrained to die, seeing to their task of evacuation while hopefully buying some time with the new recruits. Except... they didn’t seem to be getting slaughtered. Staff Sergeant Thornbush looked back to see them basically running around like chickens with their heads cut off, but the only casualty was the General.

He dove behind cover and kept scanning the area, where the hell were they? The ‘Collies should be swarming by now! “What in the Moon?”

Another high ranking soldier crouched next to him, as Thorn was about to speak to him, he saw the jaw and neck of the Sergeant explode in a visceral and grim display of blood and mist. Then the supersonic crack whizzed by, temporarily deafening him as he fell over in pain from the shrapnel of... bone, oh Sun and Moon that was bone!

Wait! N.no, they couldn’t be that smart now could they? They were drawing out the experienced soldiers first, only to kill the recruits later. Damn those bastards, damn them to hell!

Thorn felt multiple deep lacerations and cuts all across the right side of his body, he was probably bleeding substantially from that non-direct hit. He had to get the hell out of this position, but he was against a wall and a hard place... the only place to move was directly through the main street the other pony had just been killed in. No doubt, the ‘Collies had line of sight on it. Tartarus, they probably surrounded the whole damn town. So much for ‘civilian evacuation’, he thought. And just as he said that, the sound of rapid fire supersonic cracks rang out through the entire town, screams echoed loudly and he thought he could even smell fires.

His horn glowed and from a custom tailored pouch on his side, out came the small unicorn issue sidearm. “Forgive me Mama..”

A single shot echoed down the street Staff Sergeant Thornbush had previously occupied.

JR-2928 and his platoon came up on a hill overlooked a good majority of the enemy installation, a primitive town made from clay and concrete. He ordered a small detachment of soldiers to flank around the long way while he and the majority of the platoon started the assault from where they were. They were there for ten minutes waiting for the right moment, when one of his soldiers spotted a combatant on a raised podium seemingly speaking to the group of gathered soldiers.

Age analysis of the species gathered was overwhelmingly young, probability of freshly trained conscripts 98.23%.

Suspected officers and leadership within crowd, probability of hit 99.92%.

The attack kicked off with a single shot that obliterated the presumed commanding officer of the garrison, sending the rest of the gathered ponies into an absolute fervor. The leadership scrambled for cover, while the conscripts ran in all directions away from the mass of flesh that used to be an officer. JR-2928 hadn’t even fired his weapon yet, something telling him he wouldn’t even need to should his units do their assigned tasks.

Along the main road just above where the mass of enemies were gathered, a more haggard looking pony dove for cover, most likely to try and find where their position was. After a moment, a second one staggered towards him and was swiftly rewarded with an explosive death from another member of the platoon. BT-7274, if the tags were correct. And after that it all fell directly as he predicted, his upgraded Pentium processor calculating every probability and outcome possible to secure the easiest victory as the flanking unit began their assault. Outflanked and outgunned, the town started to be folly to the Collective.

A closer unit reported a single gunshot from the town, but no others reported damage of any kind. He stared down the main road again, and noticed a new blood spatter against a wall that wasn’t previously there before.

From there it was all simple, clearing houses with known contacts and killing any they came across. Standing orders were to find any intelligence and act upon it with extreme prejudice, the town itself couldn’t pose any less of a threat to the prototype soldiers, not with the equipment that they’d seen so far. JR was walking down one of the stone roads with an escort of two other soldiers, when an unexpected supersonic crack took the arm off the soldier to his immediate right.

Quick analysis and observation revealed a foal, aged no older than 9 holding a captured rifle, although he’d been knocked back in the aftermath of the retort of the powerful gun. His reward for the unexpected strike was the lieutenant’s escorts firing automatic rocketfire directly into him, liquefying his body and turning the balcony he was hiding on into mere rubble.

A scream flashed out in his mind.. no wait that was..

A click sounded and his objective was made clear. He turned his head to find the soldier missing an arm bleeding the black-red fluid from the new stump, the ooze staining the concrete under him as it was automatically cauterized, and the smell of cooked flesh and rubber filled even his senses. It didn’t matter, unit was still combat operational with one limb, mission uncompromised.

It went like this for minutes, hours, maybe even days of combat. Orders from the dropship to move here and eliminate resistance. He was compelled to obey by his programming, his units led to victory every single time by the powerful processor he possessed. But for every order obeyed, and every second he spent engaged with the enemy, he managed to never fire a single shot. His rifle remained fully loaded as even his platoon ran dry of ammunition, resorting to brutal close combat with the specially developed mono-edged blades they’d been given for testing.

JR-2928 was hazy at best for the exact amount of time he’d been operationally deployed. It was a jumbled mess of combat and dull nothingness in his skull case, days and nights spent tailing members of the Coalition forces to hideouts and garrisons. Commanding the platoon of units and solo reconnaissance. His model of combat soldier was unmatched by any other on the field currently, and the ponies were starting to get wise. Survivors told of the Black Knights of Death herself, clad in glossy darkness and gunmetal silver, wiping out entire towns of armed ponies without a thought. He in particular was developing a reputation, his uniquely armored side and apparently unique helmet fins contributed to the propaganda.

He’d seen drawings of himself plastered on military buildings, signs saying ‘Dont be a fool! Report this tool!’, in reference to himself. Others with large local currency bounties in range of the millions for his head, and he was simply doing what his creators told him to do.

And his creators were watching. JR-2928 was the most successful prototype out of them all, meeting and in most cases succeeding expectations for his class entirely. The fear he sewed in enemy hearts was worth its weight in gold in this guerilla war. The Collective started to drop leaflets in the local language with his visage on it, saying mostly along the lines of ‘Surrender or Die.’

He and his platoon had been getting picked up by the dropship after a successful mission, as was routine at this point. Months of his operation had been well documented by both sides, but more-so by the Collective. Some routine in his processor kept refusing to fire his rifle, something his creators were apparently blissfully unaware of. Him and the rest of the units under him returned in orderly single-file lines right back to the restocked drop-pods, simply waiting for the next combat mission.

It was regular that he would see the technician for his section, a female Priorja of the Collective, Technician 1st Class Rierre Jennele. It was assigned that she would fix whatever damage he or any other unit would sustain while on mission. She spoke to them while working, more often than not, but they never spoke back. Soldiers of the Collective weren’t programmed to speak, and so they simply didn’t.

It was unusual, however, that his technician would alter or update software on the platoon. That action would only be performed by system admins or ranking general staff, which he was never activated for. No, he was active and combat ready when Tch1 Rierre attempted to update his software with an unauthorized line of code. The golden visor across the front of his head changing to a crimson red, showing the operating user a warning of ‘Would you like to update while still active? This could crash your system.’ It was ignored, and his vision was washed with Rierre’s own visor face showing an emotion that was unreadable to the soldier bot.

The synthesized voice of his technician sounded in his pickups, “I’m doing this for your own good... I know you’re in there still, somewhere anyway... Lieutenant Junior, you are hereby relieved of duty in the Collective.”

His system was shut down, and entered the startup phase of a new update.

~Enstage Startup Modular Soldier System X-24~

~Property of Collective Armed Forces~

Update Initialized,
Serialization....... Check
Firmware......... Check
Systems....... Check

Data....... ERROR
Core Matrix......... ERROR
Suppression....... ERROR

Update Complete. W̴̬̪̜̽̅͜ȧ̶̭̯̜̟̓̅k̷͍͕̒̌͘ͅę̸̝̮̋ ̵̩̩̲͋̾̚U̶͈̥̹͒̀̂͠p̸̢̡̟̎͠.

The next time he was activated wouldn't be for some time, bureaucracy within military command saw his unit sitting unused on a dropship, simply collecting dust while the war underneath them dragged on. Lines were ever shifting, mostly in the Collective's favor, but occasionally an unexpected push would breakthrough the lines and take out a company of soldiers. More would simply come in to replace them, but it was easier and more cost effective to just kill the enemy.

Which is why him and his unit was finally reactivated, to seal a bulge in the lines and eliminate the suspected officer in command, renowned pony Colonel Spitfire, lightning fast pegasus based warfare being her specialty, and the area seeing an abundance of the tactic spiking in recent battles. That, combined with confirmed KIA 'Wonderbolt' personnel, pointed strongly to the HVT being who the Collective thought she was.

It was routine, activate, check, and drop. He'd done it tens maybe hundreds of times, each battle being replayed for better possible outcomes and better data later on. Training and programmed discipline, all that he was amounted to that. The retracting plates of the floor slid away, and down his unit went. Terminal velocity to five kilometers, and landing straight onto an enemy company in the heart of winter. It was instant chaos as the entrenched ponies in foxholes were suddenly assaulted by thousand pound drop pods containing death incarnate.

Gunfire erupted all throughout the area as Junior kicked open the pods door, and went to work with his platoon. The cold disagreed with his joints, but the first priority was detaining a pegasus soldier for questioning, relaying this to the other units and ordering them to work as well. The combat was routine, rarely seeing anything that could actually hurt a unit under him, but a particularly concentrated number of captured rocket rail-guns were in the area in the enemy's control, unexpectedly causing a casualty in his platoon. Other units responded with extreme prejudice, eliminating the hostile and moving on.

Overhead the enemy was flying with pegasi squadrons, implementing the pony-bound bomber tactic which had seen marginal success recently. His platoon gunned a few straight out of the sky, making blood and gore rain from the snow covered trees. It was revolting.

What?

He stared in disgust at the wretched display, and it caught him off guard. Wait... consciousness? He shook his head and took a look around, then to his heavily armored form. God above, what was he?

The serial number stamped to his forearm said 'JR-2928', but he remembered being called 'Lieutenant Junior'... just what in the hell was going on right now?

The unit he was with stopped forward motion with no orders from the de-facto leadership, no real brain process from them as Junior was starting to have a panic attack. He'd consciously shut off all communication with the dropship as soon as he could, feeling sick as the unintentional order to sever comms with command went through to the roughly twelve other remaining soldiers in his platoon.

Gunshots brought him back to the moment, a round ricocheting off his hybrid titanium-alloy helmet causing him to flinch and nearly fall down on his ass. He damn near howled out in a deep and menacing synthetic voice "What in the fuck do you think you're doing?!"

That startled the pony even further, with the practical colt dumping the rest of the firearm's magazine at him to little effect. The golden visor across his face turned to blue as he moved closer towards this little pony, curiosity sparking more than anything, his synthetic voice cracking up once again "Now, take me to your commanding officer, please."

Author's Note

Haha hello~!

This is my take on a protogen type species in the universe, warmongering and >>morally grey<<

If you enjoyed PLEASE leave me feedback in the comments, I enjoy that :]