“What do you say soldier? Better wiped than striped!”

“That’s a poster sarge.”

“Aaaaaaand you’ve just volunteered for double watch duty.”

There was peace in his face as he lay on the bed, his struggle over. I let the Operator drop from my mouth as I stared down at Falling Tactics. I felt, cold, empty. I had killed plenty of targets but none I knew even a little. A few images floated into my mind, climbing their way out of the memory hole, plenty of missions with insertion and extraction covered by Falling Tactics, a scene in station 5’s canteen between Falling Tactics, Chem Trail and myself, building a trap alongside him in a jungle environment behind hostile lines.

For individual operatives woken up when needed, you were close.

Maybe.

I would have liked more information as to, well, everything, but I had completed my mission and felt a bitter sense of achievement. That certainly lent credence to Falling Tactics’ assertion that we were being controlled. My own mission parameters had been updated, to follow Project Lead Muse into Station 1, I had to get into Station 2. Which meant I have to investigate Canterlot, which sounded like a bad place to be.

I picked the Operator back up and returned it to my holster then I grabbed the blanket on the bed in a hoof and pulled it up, covering the unicorn ghoul, and the dark black bloodstains that were creeping across the pillow.

I turned away and walked to the door, returning to the main room of the shack. Neon Dreams was stood by the table, staring at the beret in the centre of it. He looked up at me, eyes shining in the gloom, flicking to the door as I closed it behind me. He turned back to the beret,

“Did you do it?” he asked in a quiet voice, barely above a whisper.

I nodded, then realised he wouldn’t see that, so I replied simply “yes.” In my own quiet voice.

I saw his own nod. He let out a sigh, head falling to the table with a thud. “I couldn’t do it, what he wanted, I just couldn’t.”

“He gave me an order.” I said, walking towards the main door when my eye caught a glint on the table, the cap badge on the beret. I walked back over to the table and lifted the beret, something else falling from it as I did.

I looked at the table, it was another cap badge. 902 with a bubbling flask mark. FT-902 -CSS, Chemical Synthesis Soldier, Chem Trail. And on the other badge, 906 with an image of a series of sparks, like a diving comet. I picked the badge from the beret, feeling a great need to have some memento of my fellow operatives, some way to keep them in mind and maybe shake loose more memories. I turned to Neon Dream gazing up at me from the table, his eyes watery and holding a hint of pain.

“Do you mind if I keep these?” I asked, indicating Chem Trail’s cap badge with the one in my hoof, I saw the worry in the young pegasus’ eyes as they flicked to the beret,

“Not the hat.” He said and I nodded,

“Not the hat,” I reassured him, “just the badge.”

He nodded again and I scooped up the badge from the table and replaced it with the beret. I went to place the badges in a saddlebag, but paused and instead put them in a pouch on the chest of my barding. I would try and claim all of these, reunite in some way the 900th Special Operations Unit.

The Invisible 9.

What?

There were rumours of a special unit, off the books, with experimental magic. No one had any hard info, other than there were 9 members.

Invisible 9. That sounded right for the unit. Though how would I know that name? It wouldn’t be in official documents, around the station perhaps? But ponies working in the station would know the unit.

“Are you ok?” Neon Dream’s quiet voice shook me from my reverie and I looked back at him, my thoughts forgotten.

“Yes, I...” I paused, thinking of something to say. Comfort was not my strong suit. “I’m sorry.” Not sure that was going to be enough, but I was no good at this, “I should go.”

I turned from the green pegasus and walked out the door into a world not much brighter than inside the shack. It must have been quite late in the afternoon. My initial reaction was to look at the surrounding boulders, trying to plot a route where I could exit the village without being seen.

You should talk to Hard first.

I need to leave before there’s retribution for killing my target.

Your friend.

My friend, yes. No? Maybe? I hoped so. My rogue thoughts were right though, I should talk to Hard and arrange a burial. Then flee retribution.

I gave a nod of decision and made my way down the hewn path, aiming to return to Hard Lemonade and... outline the situation. I picked my way through the shacks, remembering the route I had been led in both directions and clocking the hum of the generator shack to guide me as I made my way back to the door of the Lemonades. It occurred to me that I didn’t know Hard’s position in this town, was he Mayor? Sheriff? Or just a regular citizen? He seemed to command some kind of respect.

Doesn’t matter, it’s not important.

Oh not this again. It’s not the mission?

N-no, I, was just not planning to return. Figuring out the social structure of somewhere I would never see again was a waste of time. I cleared my thoughts as I came to the door of the shack, paused for a moment then knocked twice on the metal. I heard hoofsteps inside again as someone approached the door, pulling it open. It was Hard Lemonade.

“You’re back.” He stated flatly, some suspicion in his eyes.

I nodded, “I have a request to make,” I said, “on behalf of Falling Tactics.”

Hard cocked his head to the side, “was that his name then? The old ghoul.” He gave a shrug of his shoulders, “what’s the request?”

I closed my eyes and let out a sigh, “a burial. He passed away.”

Hard Lemonade gave me a look befitting his name, turning my statement over in his mind. If Falling Tactics had lasted 200 years, then ghouls don’t die of old age, and he’d probably know that, I could see him connecting dots as his eyes narrowed.

“There’s a spot for him.” He said slowly, “will you be attending?”

I shook my head, “I need to be moving on.”

“Probably for the best.”

The door closed, leaving me standing in the street and listening to the hoofsteps and muffled talking from within. Peach Lemonade was home and likely asking who had been at the door. I turned away, weaving back to the path up the rocks but instead of going to Falling Tactics’ shack I hopped over the top of the rock wall, clinging to the rock with my hooves as I slid towards the ditch. Landing in the dirt I looked back up at the wall, trying to catch a glimpse of the guard towers. I crept my way around the encircling ditch, looking to get over to the eastern side of Littlerock and hugging against the side of the ditch as I passed under the northern guard tower. With the light fading I would be hard to spot in my dark barding, an advantage I intended to exploit as I clambered out of the ditch on the eastern side of the village.

I took a brief look back and trotted away, feeling the weight of the cap badges in my pouch.

I returned to the tree line, taking one if the rad-x pills to allow me to press a little closer to the irradiated woods. While the needle still spiked on the pipbuck a message on the condition readout told me what was actually getting through the chemical resistance. Very little. Still, I didn’t feel like pressing in to the woods themselves given that the radiation was mildly high even in the outskirts, and I didn’t want to think about how irradiated the woods might be further in. Especially if this had persisted for 200 years. So I walked in silence, besides the rhythmic ticking from the pipbuck. Having consulted the map I figured I would continue to skirt the Whitetail Woods then head down a pass between the edge of the woods and the hills outside Ponyville, from there I could pass through Ponyville and follow the old rail line towards Canterlot. Most of the stations had been built near rail lines for ease of construction so it wouldn’t be too far away. Indeed, on my pipbuck map it looked pretty close to the rail line.

I started trying to spot some kind of hollow or shelter I could use, the light was fading fast and the ever present cloud layer would prevent Luna’s moon from lighting my way. Falling Tactics had said the pegasi closed up the sky and I wondered if being cut off from the sun and moon effected those ponies left behind, maybe that was what drove these raiders so savagery. That or selfishness.

As the light fled and night wore on I spotted a little hollow by the light of my pipbuck, a depression in the ground behind a large rock and under a gnarled dead tree. I was not the first to find it though, judging by the old pony skeleton I found laying in there, surrounded by open rad-away packets. No wings, no horn, an earth pony then, in tattered barding. I searched around the body, no rad-away, clearly, but there were a hoofull of caps in the barding. I would bury them come morning but they had one last duty to perform.

I moved the bones to give me enough room to curl up, hidden by the rock and overhang, and arranged them a little further out, hoping they would dissuade investigation.

“You’re on watch,” I said to the bones, “wake me if anyone approaches.”

I hunkered down in the back of the hollow, pulling Resolve from my back, making sure the safety was on, and setting it near to my head so it would be within reach if I had to wake directly into action.

You could just grab it with telekinesis.

Again, conserve magic, deceive opponents, subterfuge. And also, I think I’m just more used to mouth firing guns at this point.

Good thing you only use pistols.

Of course. I’m a professional.

Resolve positioned I lay down my head, closed my eyes and drifted off into sleep with only a skeleton, and my rogue thoughts for company.

It was a mission, the usual, infiltration, sabotage, assassination. It was a familiar pairing, myself and 906, Falling Tactics. Using his auto-telekinesis he inserted us into the mission area. Some kind of zebra surveillance post in an old tower on the fringes of a jungle.

This was to be a pincer attack, both operatives striking targets. I was to go in from the bottom, sabotage the generator, Falling Tactics would go in from the top, sabotage the monitoring equipment. Meet in the middle to eliminate the target.

Initial infiltration was incident free, sneaking in a door as a zebra guard came out to investigate a knocking noise. I crept along the hallway and down into the basement maintenance room, finding the main generator. Looked like it was coal fired, strange, though maybe it was the original one from this tower’s previous use. Using my spell I severed the cables running from the generator out to the rest of the building, invisible blades biting deep, and some of the water pipes for good measure.

The lights went out, but I had decent enough night vision to get back up the stairs and into a cupboard before someone came looking. We only had a limited window of time before the zebras started a backup generator. This was when Falling Tactics would destroy the communications equipment on the roof.

Listening to determine if the coast was clear I heard the sound of hooves clop past me towards the basement door. As they faded away I exited the cupboard and made my way up the stairs, looking out for corners and cubbyholes to hide in. This seemed to be a lightly staffed operation and I managed to avoid the few zebra that were stumbling about in the dark.

The lights came back on as I reached the commander’s room. I could hear him pacing the room, tapping something metallic. I had a feeling in my gut, something wasn’t quite right. Pressing up against the wall beside the door I heaved myself up on my hindlegs, back to the wall and pistol in my mouth. Pressing a hoof to the door I gave it a push, letting it swing open freely as I stayed out if the way.

A good choice.

Gunfire came spilling out of the room, sparking off of the far wall with bursts of flame. A talisman rifle. I listened to the bursts of fire, trying to spot when the zebra ran out of-there!

Click.

I swung round the door, sighting along my pistol. My eyes widened, the Zebra was not reloading, he was standing up in the same hindleg stance as me, rifle still pointed my way, clicking off the safety.

I had been tricked.

Time slowed as I saw a grin slide along the zebra’s face as his hoof flexed over the long trigger. I was too slow, thrown off by my mistake I would not be able to fire first.

· The world still seemed to be going slow as the zebra’s face exploded, the loose viscera flying my way as surely as a bullet would have. I closed my eyes and felt the hot, wet mess strike me, blood mostly, but there were some more solid fragments. I dropped back to all four hooves, shaking my head to try and dislodge the worst of it.

Opening my eyes, I saw the window behind the zebra was shattered and the soft glow of magic was illuminating it, and the shape floating outside the tower.

“Thank you 906.” I said, wiping my face with a hoof,

“Luckily for you 909, my timing is impeccable.”

I awoke slowly, drifting up from the dream as I opened my eyes and took in my surroundings. At the sight of the skeleton, I snatched up Resolve before the memory of the night before came back to me. I shook my head at my reaction and holstered the gun on my back again, noting that, somehow, the safety was off again. I clicked it back on.

Peeking out past the skeleton I saw a wasteland just as empty as it had been the night before. I rested a hoof gently on the pony skull,

“Good work soldier,” I said softly before stepping over the bones and into the wan light of a wasteland morning.

I sat on my haunches and looked around; the area seemed clear. Turning back to the hollow I looked at the bones of the dead pony whose resting place I had used. I should bury them. Though, looking at the dry dirt all around, that might be problematic without any tools.

Its alright, use magic.

I can’t do that. I’m limited to telekinesis and my special spell, I never learned anything else.

We can. Try it.

I frowned and stared at the ground before the large rock that hid the hollow, trying to focus, to will the dirt to leap out of the way. My horn flared and an orangey glow took hold of a square of dirt. The ground rippled like water and the earth pulled itself up, opening a small trench in the ground, big enough to store the bones. I floated the skeleton into the hole, dark green magic a gentler conveyance to the grave than me trying to manipulate the bones with hooves and mouth. Once in the ground the orange glow covered the excavated dirt and slid it back down into the hole, covering the bones and consigning them to their rest.

I looked up at the rock and squinted at it, summoning the silent blade spell. My hoofwriting was never great but I used the spell to chisel words into the rock, very stark and straight lined.

‘HERE LIES AN UNKNOWN WATCHER’

It seemed appropriate for their last service.

With all that magic use, I felt a little drained, especially as I’d never used earth magic before. The orange overglow flared one last time as I levelled out the dirt over the grave.

Wait. Orange?

My stomach rumbled, halting that train of thought with a need for breakfast. I had kept back the oat bar from yesterday and used the inventory sorter in my pipbuck to bring it to the top of my saddlebag, plucking it from the bag and tearing the cover off of my tasty treat.

Maybe it was the memory of the sweetness of the snack cakes, but my tasty treat turned out to instead taste of bland cardboard and betrayal.

I sighed, still it would keep me going as I plodded my way to Canterlot. Or, at least for the day.

Back on my hooves I resumed my silent march, stopping every now and again to scan the area. I had the distinct feeling I was being followed, but there was nothing on my E. F. S. nor could I spot anything with the binoculars. At least nothing following me, what I did spot was a cluster of three ponies also walking the wastes.

These three were not dressed in leather strapping and sports padding however, one was in some kind of red hooded coat or cloak and the other two shined silver as the hidden sun cast light down. They were in Power Armour with, as I adjusted the zoom, a familiar symbol on the flanks of an apple with three sparks in gears on it, overlaid with a winged sword.

Steel Rangers!

I nodded, Steel Rangers, elite soldiers of the Ministry of Wartime Technology, specialists outside the direct military chain of command, similar to myself in some ways. The hooded figure must be some kind of scout, or a tech or communications attaché.

The rangers were heroes, surely they provide some kind of stability in this wasteland.

They might be able to help me with my mission, or at least help with supplies. I resolved to go down and talk to them.

While I moved slow and out of habit put cover between myself and the rangers, I knew the power armour provided E. F. S. to the wearer, so they would be able to track my approach, hopefully I was flagged up as non-hostile.

I could hear them talking as I approached, the rangers in armour having tinny voices as their words were broadcast from the helmet.

“I’m telling you,” the scout had said, “the information we have points to an entire stable out here,”

“That must be what Paladin Steelhooves is doing way out here.” The ranger on the right said,

“Steelhooves is in exile,” came the tinny voice of the other ranger, the one on the left, “he wouldn’t be tracking a stable. We’ll steer clear of him.”

One of the rangers turned as I approached, tapping their fellow with an armoured hoof. The trio stopped and turned to face me.

Say hello.

I gave a salute, “Greetings Steel Rangers,” I said, “I am a Special Operative attached to the Equestrian military. 900th Unit. I request your assistance with my mission.”

That was a lot of talking for me. The rangers were still and impassive, their scout/attaché tilting their head at me, confused. Maybe things had changed in 200 years, maybe protocol was no longer the same. My salute faltered.

“That’s a pipbuck” the ranger on the left said, with the scout perking up,

“Its a different pipbuck,” there was a gleam in his eye

The leftmost ranger spoke again, “alright tribal, give us the pipbuck.”

I dropped my hoof to the ground, “negative ranger,” I said, “this pupbuck is property of the Ministry of Arcane Science, the Ministry of Wartime Technology has no claim on it.”

There came a click as the large rifle on the leftmost ranger swung down from its resting position. “won’t ask again tribal.”

This had gone wrong.

There was an itch in my mane, I could still feel the presence of something following me, even as I confronted these rangers. No extra pip on the E. F. S. though the three pips ahead of me were turning red. I didn’t have an anti-material rifle with me, so just shooting the rangers was not a great plan. Unless I could get a round through the eye lens. But how fast on the draw could I be? Not with the Operator, that was too obvious. Maybe Resolve? If I acted like I was going for my saddlebag I could grab it. S. A. T. S. would help with lining up the shot, but I’d probably have to actually fire it with telekinesis.

That left the other ranger. I could really do with backup from Door Knocker right now. FT-901-AAS, Anti-Armour Soldier. But, even without their special spell, there were a couple of weakpoints in the power armour I could get to.

But first, I needed to bluff.

Luna preserve us.

“It needs a key to take off,” I stated, slowly raising a hoof, “it’s in my saddlebag. Let me grab it.”

I could feel the ranger’s eyes narrowing even if I couldn’t see them. “Go on.”

I reached my hoof back towards my saddlebag, angling my body slightly away as I brushed the grip of Resolve. My hoof touched the top of my saddlebag before I whipped it forwards, snagging the gun, wrapping it in a telekinetic field and dropping into S. A. T. S. I focused in on the leftmost ranger, forcing the targeting spell to narrow its selection, picking the left eye lens. I queued up two shots as I needed to preserve the spell for my next attack. I went to trigger the safety only to find it was already off.

What is with this gun?

I dropped S. A. T. S. and squeezed off two rounds into the ranger’s eye. The first round struck true, shattering the glass while the second round drifted a little higher, ringing the ranger’s helmet like a bell. Suddenly there was a buzzing noise and a lance of red light flew in from over my shoulder, piercing the broken lens and into the ranger’s helmet. A magical energy weapon! I resisted looking over my shoulder for the shooter and instead continued my plan, dropping back into S. A. T. S.

In the heightened awareness of the targeting spell I could pick out the targets for the silent blade spell; air hoses, joint coverings, wire casings, ammo feeds, weapon mounts. I did not want that minigun spinning up. S. A. T. S. wouldn’t really help with targeting this so I dropped it as I engaged my spell, the number of blades causing a visible rippling of the air around the ranger before they bit into the armour. Almost simultaneously the air hoses to the helmet fell away, the flexible coverings around the joints split apart, the guns on the battle saddle dropped to the ground and the ammunition scattered. The light on the helmet winked out and sweat rolled down my face.

Triggering that many blades was draining, but I wasn’t in the clear yet. Keeping Resolve gripped in the frog of my hoof, yet holding it near my mouth, I turned to the scout as the leftmost ranger crumpled to the ground and the rightmost one locked up.

“I think you need to rethink your approach.” I said, “you are not having my pipbuck. You are going to eject your comrade and leave.”

The scout nodded furiously, sidling over to the frozen ranger and manipulating a hidden panel, then having to pull a small leaver with their teeth. There was a hiss and what would usually be a powered opening of the armour was instead facilitated by a lot of pushing by the attaché. Having extracted the strawberry red pony from the armour the two of the started to retreat, before a beam of red energy lanced out again and struck the ground in front of them.

They turned tail and ran.

I on the other hand turned back to face the direction the beams had come from, looking left and then right, before frowning and looking up. There was something in the air, circling before diving down towards me. I had enough time to get Resolve into my mouth before it landed gently before me. Bright green stuck out from familiar black and grey.

Neon Dream. Wearing an old set of Framework Trooper barding, modified with wing holes and a battle saddle. On his head was a black beret, bereft of a cap badge.

“What are you doing here?” I asked,

“Watching your back.” He said, “luckily for you, my timing is impeccable.”

Great, Falling Tactics had told him that story.

Author's Note

Thanks to kkat for creating this crazy mashup and letting others play around in it.
Thanks to Somber too, I may reference things from Project Horizons and Homelands here and there.