//------------------------------// // Infiltration (Revised) // Story: Restless Spirits // by Maverick Huntress //------------------------------// CANTERLOT, EQUESTRIA. AUGUST THE SIXTH, 1003 SECTOR SEVEN, OUTER CANTERLOT CASTLE WALLS 12:36 AM A lone figure sits crouched upon a rooftop, hidden from view as they take aim. In their cross-hairs was the target, a lone airborne guard performing his rounds under the glow of midnight moon. A closer look reveals a gap in between the armor plating. A single shot rings in the silent night not a second later, the projectile lodging itself in his neck without fail. Within moments, the pegasus's wing begins to cramp up, the sudden lack of propulsion causing the unfortunate guard to plummet to ground. The equine's fall is masked by a bush, dampening the impact and assisting in concealing the body as well. Seconds tick by before the concealed creature makes any further, the winged equine down for the time being as shielded eyes scan for any more potential targets though none were found. Looks like Lady Luck is favoring me tonight. Let's hope it stays that way. The clouds above lazily drift along, obscuring the moon for only a moment or two before allowing the celestial mass to illuminate the ground below. Some of these rays bounce off the eye wear of the unseen spectre, though no ill side-effects come from it as they perform a quick head-count of the cleared area below All of the guards from before still laid unconscious, several of the bodies sprawled out in awkward and/or embarrassing positions. They all wore what resembled Roman armor of a purple hue and featuring a crescent moon centered in the chest piece, though some did possess more or less plating and varying designs as well. Regardless, the armor had been largely moot as evident by the dart sticking out of their necks and various other parts that had been exposed, the larger equines lacking wings or a horn notably requiring multiple shots to incapacitate. The sharpshooter slings their weapon of choice over their back, deactivating the scope beforehand and being mindful of its fragility as well. Pulling out another tool, the rooftop across from the hidden hunter was chosen for their next target as they take aim; a high-pitched whine audible in the following moments as a pronged metal spear sails through the air. The shot lands, prongs digging into ancient stone as the cable it had brought along tightens up. A tap on the side of the tool releases a pair of handles already connected to the cable, the cloaked creature guiding it to the rooftop's edge before gauging when to drop. Taking several steps back, they get a running start before leaping off the roof; sailing the air as wind whips and pulls on the dark material covering the infiltrator. Nearing the targeted building, the handles are released, the sharpshooter rolling forward the second they hit the ground. Before they even stand, their weapon is already drawn, scanning the area with it in case of hostiles. When no sounds of alarm or movement is heard, the cloaked creature lets out a audible sigh as they pause for a moment. Time to get to work. The covert commando holds their weapon of choice close as they silently crosses the courtyard, footsteps muffled by rubber soles. Darting behind cover between intervals and scanning the area ahead before advancing further. Glancing at an unseen map, the distance between them and the target was no further than two-hundred meters now. Moving out once more, a sound from overhead causes the infiltrator to pause and look, pulse quickening for a moment, though nothing else happened. Checking the map again, only a hundred meters were left until arrival. The designated target was now in sight, illuminated by the glow of the moon. The paint that had been used to cover the barrens stone walls was little more than flecks of white, moss even growing between the cracks and creating spot of green on the otherwise-gray building. Looking around, the cloaked creature once more scanned for any possible hostilities but found none. The coast clear, they advance to the closest building when something overhead suddenly blocks of the moonlight. Slipping beneath an outcropping, the infiltrator draws their weapon and becomes stock-still; even their breathing goes unheard as they listen for movement. Moments pass and nothing else is heard, though they wait few more before letting out a quick sigh. However, a blur suddenly comes into view and the commando is barely able to react in time to dodge the incoming impact before it slams into the wall behind them. Taking a few steps back to gain some distance, they raise their weapon and prepare to fire when the blur strikes again; an gasp audible as their lungs forcibly collapse, slammed into with the force of a small car and sliding parallel to the wall they had been pressed against. The metallic taste of blood fills the sharpshooter's maw, swallowed without hesitation as they clutch their chest. Their breath was ragged, shallow and quick as their concealed eyes lock onto the ambusher. Or rather, tried to before they were slammed into again. This time, however, the wall from before kept them from going anywhere. "Well, well, well, what do we have here? Some dressed-up mutt sneaking around the castle grounds, trying to steal from the treasury? Or maybe you're an assassin, sent here to take out the Princesses'? Whatever you had planned, you're a fool for thinking you could get away with it." The captive creature stayed silent, taking the rare moment of opportunity to get a better grasp of what exactly stood before them. The voice was distinctly female, the tone and smugness coming from someone who had both training and experience, but the most interesting part was her appearance. Unlike the other equine they had encountered, this one had a dark gray coat, leathery wings, and bright, slitted eyes of yellow that were currently trying to burn a hole through their head. Another notable aspect was her armor, a darker purple than the others and the helmet more closely resembled that of a samurai's instead of a Roman's. A light-blue eyeball was mounted in the middle of her armor as well, a crescent moon acting as the helmet's crest. Different species, different armor. Possibly special forces. Glancing down at the leather-winged equine, the infiltrator chuckles for a moment though stops once the coppery taste of blood returns. Being able to analyse an opponent without their knowing was quite useful, finding out that they have no weapons is even more so. "W-why are you chuckling?" "Because I have the upper hand." A smug, masculine voice responds. Even though it was just loud enough for the guard to hear, the confidence it carried was deafening. "What!? No, you d-" The woman was cut off as her head and muzzle were suddenly grabbed, vision largely obscured and her words muffled by cloth. What she could see was a stone wall about to slam into the left side of her face, the rough rocks digging into her coat and skin as she was pinned against it. Her legs and wings flail about, hitting the infiltrator several times in the process but that didn't stop him from pulling the equine's head back and slamming into the wall repeatedly; blood dripping down the stones and her fur by the time her movements grow still. Breathing heavily, the commando finally lets go, her body unsteady for a moment before toppling and hitting the ground with a heavy thud. "Bit more blood than I'd like but it'll do." The sharpshooter muses as he quickly looks for and locates his dropped weapon, examining it for damage before taking aim at the guard's neck. A dull thump was the only audible sound following suit, concealed eyes remaining on the dispatched opponent for several moments as a memory raced to the surface of his mind. The heat of the roaring flames lick at his face as he raced towards the wreckage, a lone body visible in the blazing sea of yellow and red. It reaches out for him, a lone hand extended and begging for help but he watches in horror as the inferno engulfs her. He screams but it's drowned out by the following explosion. The hand, along with its owner, is incinerated instantly, nothing left behind but ashes. He cries out that there's still hope for her, that they can still save her, but they don't listen. The commando shakes his head, ridding himself of the haunting memories. He looks down again at the limp body once more, sprawled out like a corpse. "Never again." Moving over to the unconscious guard, the commando slips their arms around the equine's upper body and neck before hauling her up against the wall. Grunting from the effort and weight, he takes a moment to pause and look around for someplace to put her. Spotting a door to the left of where they had been fighting, he lets go and moves to investigate it. As expected, the door was locked but a swift kick to the handle broke the aged wood surrounding it and granted access inside. Peering into the building, shelves upon shelves of cloth, dusty armor, and more could be seen with what little light got through the unkempt windows lining the walls. The commando looked around outside before making his move, grabbing hold of the equine woman once more and bringing her inside the storage building. Propping her against one of the shelves, he grabs a couple sheets of cloth and sets to work on patching up the unfortunate guard. Starting with the helmet, the bashed side severely dented and making it somewhat difficult to remove, the commando is surprised to see a mess of dark purple hair underneath it. However, the crusting blood linking the two isn't and is quickly taken care of with the help of one of the clothes. Making sure the inside were clear as well as what he could of the mane, he discards the cloth before checking her head for the source of the blood. The swelling had already started though the fur made it hard to tell with the helmet on, spanning from the jaw all the way to the eye. It was likely she wouldn't be able open it entirely for at least a few days, or eat comfortably either. Wrapping the muzzle up was the best way the commando could come up with to stop the bleeding there, the wound further up on her head requiring a bandage all the way around. A check of the helmet reveals a sharp, jagged invention on the interior to be the source of the cut; likely caused by the stone denting the metal hard enough to deform it. Tying the bandage in a knot behind the woman's head, he rests it on a collection of cloth before finally standing up. "I may be a soldier, but I'm not a heartless one." The commando steps outside, closing the door behind him but stops before it shuts entirely. His gaze falls upon the strange equine once more, watching her chest to make sure it was still rising and falling before finally leaving her be. The remaining distance was quickly closed by the infiltrator though he was on high-alert, eyes checking everywhere for more potential threats as the target entered his view. A grunt comes from the commando as the space in front of it was wide open, no where to take cover or hide behind. Gripping his weapon tighter, he keeps his body low as he sprints across the open courtyard. A set of large, twin doors barred entry to the building, ancient wood surrounded by a metal frame. Unlike the previous door, these seemed unphased by time and too thick to simply break through. A steel lock similar to the other he countered was present too, further complicating entry. However, it wasn't any more of a problem then the unconscious guards he had dealt with. Opening up one of the pouches on his check, a squished stick of something resembling clay is pulled out. Tearing off a small block before returning the rest to its pocket, the block itself inserted into the keyhole of the lock and filling it up as much as possible. Fishing around another pouches, a small black object was removed from it before finding its new home inside the clay-filled lock. Moving several meters away, the covert commando grips one pocket, eyes sweeping the area once more before tightening his grasp. Pieces of steel and wood fly through the air, a small fireball engulfing the lock in the blink of an eye along with a good portion of the door itself. The sound wasn't too loud, a small boom that echoed off of the surrounding buildings, but was most likely heard by anyone within a few hundred meters. Making his way to the massive doors, he grips one of the handles and gives it a sharp tug but no luck; a glance at the hinges revealing them to be severely rusted and corroded. Blasting them off was an option but the resulting noise would definitely be heard in a large area so the commando dismissed the idea and instead gripped both handles, pulling on them both this time. Even with his strength and stature, it took several moments for the doors to give even a little leeway. Once they did though, the infiltrator takes full advantage of it; gripping the slightly-opened door and throwing their whole body backwards with each yank on the handle. After repeating the action several more times, there was finally a gap large enough to let the covert creature to slip inside. He did so without difficulty, though his clothing did get snagged on the splintered face of the door. Fortunately, all it took was a twist of his torso to free the material before he passed through the doorway. The inside of the building was largely devoid of light, the grimy windows coated with years of dust and filth, with only small patches of moon light offering illumination. Before venturing further in, the spectre reaches into one of his pockets and pulls out a elongated cylinder. A click is heard before a beam of light fills the area in front of him, providing a much better look at his surroundings. Several rows of tables, benches, and chairs filled the main area, varying in size and shape but their purpose the same nonetheless. Making his way down the path between them all, he recalls his memories of eating in such a place; the laughter, arguments, and conversation between squad mates while grabbing a bite to eat. Focusing back on his objective, he moves towards the back, ignoring the door to his right in favor of just hopping over the counter. The light reveals an array of old pots and pans, cooking utensils both familar and foreign lining the walls. Rummaging through the various cabinets and drawers, he finds a number suitable for use. Pocketing them, he moves on to look through the rest of the kitchen. Near the back, the sharpshooter finds himself facing a large door roughly his height; the design of it all too familar. Unlike the ones outside, this door seemed perfectly functional as it opened with a light pull on its handle; a wave of cold washing over him and sending a shiver through the commando as well. Inside a goldmine of meat, hanging on hooks, sitting on shelves, and packed in crates as well. All cooked or ready to by the looks of it, though some seemed to be consumed by frost or frozen solid. Checking out one of the slabs on the shelves, he gives it a prod and is surprised to feel it give way. "Damn horses sure know their stuff." Shedding the pack he had been carrying, the spectre lets it drop to the freezer floor before grabbing whatever was still good of the precooked pieces; a considerable amount all things considered. Moving around with all the added weight wouldn't be too difficult, the commando's combat pack weighing around the same, but he'd have to ditch it should a fight break out. Satisfied with what he had gathered, the bag was zipped up and slung over his shoulders once more. Eyeing the remaining pieces of meat one last time, he turns around and heads out of the freezer; shutting the door behind him with a click of the lock. Walking past the table once more, he takes a moment to stop and look at the various pieces of gear lining the walls; curiosity getting the best of the spectre as he notices what looked to be swords and other kinds of weapons among them. Walking along one of the rows, he shines the light on the walls, giving him a better look at the equipment hanging from it. As expected, there were swords along with maces and a wide variety of other melee weapons with a suit of armor acting a divider for the groups . Glancing over them, he notices a few have plaques and takes a step closer to look at one of the fancier swords. Dawnbreaker - Used to slay the dark sorcerer Thalgor in the battle for Neigh Haven City. Dawnbreaker, eh? Interesting.... The commando reaches for the blade after placing his light down, carefully removing it from the wall and laying it down on one of the tables before drawing the sword from its sheathe. The grip was warm to the touch, like a cup of tea that was just the right temperature, and comfortable to hold. However, he nearly drops it when he sees the blade itself glowing brightly; quickly distancing himself from the weapon as it laid partially-drawn on the table. Fortunately, nothing was bursting into flames and neither had he. "Bloody hell..." Slowly approaching the sword again, the startled spectre takes hold of the handle and pulls the sword the rest of the way out. It was as if someone had forged a molten piece of metal into a sword and never let it cool, though it was a lot lighter than anything he had handled before. It gracefully cut through the air, the temptation of performing a few moves too great as the commando smirks behind his mask. Mimicking several moves that would normally be made with a knife, Dawnbreaker was proving quite enjoyable to wield as its glow trails behind it with each swing. However, one of the swings had clipped the table with the scabbard on it; slicing through the wood with a hiss and a pop. Alerted by the noise, the sword-wielding sharpshooter snaps to the source of the noise as the ancient table begins to smolder and smoke. "Bollocks." Quickly snatching the sheath and holstering the glowing blade, the commando runs into the kitchen and looks around for anything that could be used to smother the developing fire. A heavy-looking cloth hangs from the wall, resembling a fire blanket in appearance and for him, that was enough. Grabbing it, vaults over the counter and tosses it onto the smoldering wood. Letting out a sigh, he glances over to the sheathed sword. "Lucky I didn't get burned." Figuring that since the scabbard hadn't burst into flames already and grabbing the sword hadn't burned him either, the spectre decides to take Dawnbreaker with him. Undoing his supply pouch's belt, he slips the scabbard onto it before securing both with a soft click. Making sure it wouldn't hinder movement or bounce too much, he gives the hilt a squeeze before drawing it. The motion was flawless without the slightest resistance from the sheath, a chuckle coming from the commando as he returns Dawnbreaker to its new home; leg feeling notable warmer but nothing uncomfortable or distracting. Glancing along the wall once more, he looks for any other items of possible interest. One in particular catches his eye, a large shield made of greenish-gray segments. Making his way towards it, the sharpshooter reads the plague mounted above the shield. Ironhide - Crafted by Black Smith and used in the Reclamation of Gryffindor. "Huh, noticing a play on words here. Canterlot - horses, Gryffindor - Griffins... What's next, Draconia?" The spectre shakes his head, lifting the shield and testing its weight. It was heavier then he'd prefer and the handle was uncomfortable as well. Shrugging, he returns Ironhide to its resting place before heading back over to the entrance. When he went to slip through the cracked door though, he couldn't even touch it. "The fuck?" He reaches for the ancient door again, though the wood remained elusive to his touch as something stopped the commando once more. That's when he noticed the words ingrained into the doors. Alert: The following items have been stolen: Dawnbreaker. Guards have been sent for retrieval. "Shit."