> Red Wings
>  by PropMaster
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Chapter 1
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


 - Chapter 1 -



Diamond Dogs were not clever creatures by nature. Their attraction to shiny objects, a trait that earned their species its name, made them easily distracted. Though they were strong creatures, their brute strength tended to cause them more harm than good, their emphasis on strength causing the dogs to treat weaker members of their species as second-class citizens. They were obedient creatures, which would have been positive if it weren’t for the fact that their relatively low level of intelligence meant that they would, on occasion, find themselves taking orders from beings they meant to intimidate or subjugate. All of these traits meant that, before the Cataclysm, they were sorry creatures indeed. The only trait that they all possessed that was any credit to their species was their ability to dig.

Diamond Dogs could dig at an incredible rate. Their sharp claws allowed them to excavate harder dirt and pry loose rocks faster than many creatures could with a spade or shovel; even the excavating ability of a unicorn using magic could barely match a determined Diamond Dog. They would dig into the earth, excavating gems and jewels of value, and trade with the ogres, goblins, and other creatures of the surface, or horde them for their own appreciation. Their entire society lived almost entirely underground. The ponies of Equestria owned the sky and land, but the deep bosom of the earth belonged to the Diamond Dogs.

And then the Cataclysm happened, and for all their stupidity, for all their strength, for all their lack of focus, the only trait that mattered was that they could dig.











Ruby felt her son’s paws clutch her back, his small claws clinging to her vest, as she frantically dug into the shaking, roaring earth. She could feel his tiny frame shake with fear. Above them was chaos and ruination, the end of the world.

They had been near the surface when it happened. The ground begun to shake around them. Ruby and her son had gone into the closest supported tunnel, just as she had done many times before, though this was only the second earthquake that Red had experienced in his young life. Though many of the cavernous excavations of the Diamond Dogs were unsupported—mere claw-dug holes—primary tunnels and major locations were shorn up with lumber and, occasionally, solid stone supports hewn from the surrounding rock.

 They followed the supported tunnel to its end, the Hub: the primary cavern where the plethora of excavations the older dogs maintained at any given time fed into. With a sigh of relief, Ruby pulled Red from her back, setting him on the ground and leading her four year old pup by the paw. The Hub was a huge excavation, a massive open area dug out of the earth, ringed with stone walkways and supported by massive pillars. It was able to fit the entire pack of Diamond Dogs into it, and was used as a common meeting place. 

The Hub was slowly filling with other dogs. The larger, brutish dogs of the militia herded groups of workers and families in from the tunnels. This was not the first time the Diamond Dogs had experienced an earthquake. They had learned long ago to take proper precautions when the earth began to move, and this was nothing new to any of them. A scout would have been sent up-tunnel to check the outlets and report any damage done to unsupported tunnels and the areas where the tunnels met the aboveground. Ruby could smell her son’s anxiety, and placed a reassuring paw on his head.

The earthquake continued, far longer than any Ruby could remember. She looked around them as the militia dogs coordinated with their superiors—the smartest dogs of the pack. Ruby pulled Red a little closer to her side, and watched the side tunnels intently for her husband and older son. They appeared on the far side of the Hub, ushered into the large cavern by the militia dogs and rounded up into a group of other mining dogs. Ruby smiled, raising a paw to try to attract her husband’s attention. 

Then, the scout returned, howling, “The earth churns! Something is wrong! Something is wrong!”

The assembled dogs hushed as the militia commanders approached the terrified scout. Ruby recognised the voice of Micah, the Watchdog of the Militia. She moved closer to the hubbub, ears pricking forward to hear over the din of the earthquake. 

Micah was the highest ranked commander and Alpha of the pack, and his bark was law. “Calm down, idiot! Do you want to start a panic?” Micah’s paw lashed out, slapping the whimpering scout on the back of the head. “Now, tell us what’s wrong!”

The scout, momentarily stunned out of his panic, delivered his report. “I went to the surface, and the ground was heaving as I have never seen before! Mountains trembled, and the sky-city of the wretched ponies was falling out of the air, far in the distance!”

Watchdog Micah scoffed at the scout. “Stupid dog. The pony-city in the clouds would not fall because of an earthquake! It is in the sky!”

The scout dog tugged his floppy ears, nose twitching in embarrassment as the assembled crowd’s tails wagged with amusement. Ruby chuckled quietly to herself at the preposterous report the scout had delivered, and then the earthquake suddenly intensified.

Though most of the Diamond Dogs were sturdily built, the majority of them found themselves on their rumps in the dirt as the cavern visibly shook, loose dirt and rock spilling from the ceiling. Short and squat, Ruby was not as lanky as most other female Diamond Dogs. Her powerful build allowed her to be one of the few among the gathered pack not to fall when the earthquake intensified. Red, however, took more after his father, his young form showing growth towards a taller height—something Ruby had always been proud of. Red shared his mother’s coloration, though, his fur a dull rusty color, showing a mix between Ruby’s russet fur and her husband’s coat pattern. His yellow eyes closed tightly as he held onto Ruby’s leg for dear life. She knelt, covering her pup from a shower of debris. 

A few unlucky dogs nearby were suddenly crushed by a shower of heavy rocks, knocking several dogs to the ground and burying others beneath the rubble. Ruby swiftly slapped a paw over Red’s wide, terrified eyes, covering them so he couldn’t see the blood that began to pool on the cavern floor. She could smell it, though, and the fear and pain in the air only added to the stink. She looked to Micah, waiting for an order from the Watchdog.

Watchdog Micah stared up at the Hub ceiling, watching the shaking intensify and redouble. Ruby knew that Micah was smart, unlike the wider majority of his pack, and she could see the wheels turning in his head as he assessed the situation. She could feel the energy of the quake redouble suddenly, sending a second hail of rocks showering from the crumbling ceiling of the Hub and landing among the pack of dogs, eliciting more cries of pain. The shaking increased at an alarming rate, and she could see that things were going to get far, far worse before they got any better. On top of this, there was something else, something deep inside her that was howling, screaming like a wild animal that the scout was right. Something was wrong.

Red clung to Ruby, his frightened whines joining others, as the pack of Diamond Dogs rode the ever-strengthening quake. Micah’s piercing howl brought silence to the cavern, until only the dull roar of the churning earth could be heard. Ruby’s pointed ears perked, listening for the word of the Watchdog.

“To the Creche, dogs!”

The Creche was the nursery, where the female Diamond Dogs went to whelp their pups, and consequently, the most heavily reinforced location, buried deep within the bedrock of the Diamond Dog warrens.

The Diamond Dogs obeyed their Watchdog. Ruby hoisted Red to his paws, his weaker frame unable to move in the ferocity of the quake. The dogs moved en masse, their pack mentality working in tandem. The militia and the militia commanders, Micah among them, formed centers of calm, assisting the more unsteady dogs in moving into the tunnels and out of the Hub. Ruby kept her gaze firmly forward, trusting her husband to keep their elder son safe as she herded her youngest towards the safety of the Creche. She did her best to block out the cries of terror and pain that still echoed from behind her. She tried to convince herself that none of the voices behind her were familiar.

The Diamond Dogs flowed towards the Creche. Ruby, thanks to her steady footing, was one of the first of the pack to reach the nursery at the deepest depth of the tunnels. As she passed into the Creche, she heard a roar from one of the side-tunnels. A billow of dust and boulders exploded from the tunnel, partly blocking the tunnel Ruby had just left as a shaft collapsed in the ferocity of the earthquake. The smell of pulped meat assailed her senses, and Red vomited on the floor as he was overwhelmed by the scent.

The Creche was noticeably smaller than the Hub. Originally, it had been a natural cave, a place where a pocket of subterranean gases had bubbled and expanded, creating a large open area rife with oddly placed side-caves. The surrounding rock was strong, thick granite, and the Diamond Dogs had expanded it further, scraping and picking through the rock to create many chambers where the female Diamond Dogs could rest and give birth to their young.

The pack moved on unsteady paws into the Creche, heading resolutely towards the farther end, so as to keep the entrance clear for the incoming dogs.

Ruby clutched Red close as she moved on all fours, her claws digging into the stone for balance. Most all of the Diamond Dogs moved that way, unable to remain bipedal in the face of the earth’s violent heavings. Ruby and her son reached the farthest-back point of the Creche, where Ruby managed to regain her footing, standing on her hind legs and clinging to the granite wall for support as she looked out over the heads of the rush of Diamond Dogs moving into the Creche. 

Though the Creche was far more secure than the Hub, the violence of the earthquake still was enough to make standing difficult. The vibrations were strong enough to make breathing a difficult affair, as the very air in her lungs reverberated. Ruby could hear more tunnels collapse around the Creche, and the dogs that made it into the Creche arrived in greater states of distress, many badly wounded and dragged along by their packmates. Ruby sank to the floor, terror overwhelming her, and clutched Red close to her chest. Clinging to her, he looked up into her eyes, voice quavering. “M-mother... have you ever seen a quake this bad?”

Ruby’s heart hammered in her chest. What could she say? There was really only one answer. “... Yes, my little pup. Everything is going to be fine.”

Ruby felt the ground suddenly tug—a downward, violent motion like nothing she had ever experienced. Far above, there was the sound of collapse, of the earth reclaiming long-empty places. She knew in her bones that the Hub had collapsed. She fell to her knees, instinctively curling around her pup as the Creche rode the waves of a dying world. The Creche began to give around them, as the granite warped from the force of the ground-shattering quake. Ruby could hear sickening sounds of boulders crashing onto crouched bodies, could hear lives ending in pitiful whimpers.The assembled Diamond Dogs howled in terror as huge pieces of granite fell from the ceiling, dust filling the air. Ruby felt doom descending on the dogs, on her family. 

Her eyes rolled in their sockets in terror, searching for something, anything, to cling to... and then she saw it. Her eyes focused; a vein in the floor of the Creche. Ruby saw, and knew she had one choice, a single, slim chance. Her mother had told her stories of the quartz vein in the Creche, of the line that lead to the Womb of Gaia, a massive geode beneath the holy ground of the nursery.

 The floor of the Creche was soft, made up of decayed granite particulate and hard-packed clay. Her claws bit into the soil, and she began to dig, her desperate focus and her lifetime of mining driving her work.

Other dogs near her with any presence of mind caught on, joining her in the desperate dig into the earth. The violence of the quake made the work nearly impossible, every tremor filling in the excavation partly, but as their work grew larger, more dogs joined in. Within moments, the entire cavern floor was rooted up by the deft claws of the Diamond Dogs, their propensity for moving earth reaching new heights in their hour of need. Ruby led the dogs, barking orders over the roar of the earthquake, her son clinging to her back as she dug down, down, down, following the vein of quartz in the middle of the granite.

Chunks of the ceiling continued to fall, dropping amidst the dogs, injuring some with their crushing descent. Diamond Dogs pulled their wounded pack mates with them as they dug. A few dogs even halted to try to staunch wounds or wrap broken limbs, but were pushed away, urged by the injured to dig—a single dog’s welfare was nothing measured against the well being of the pack. 

Ruby was the first to hit the bottom of the natural pocket’s floor, her claws scrabbling against the granite and widening the base of the hole, searching frantically for the vein. She discovered the line of quartz as the rock and dirt shifted beneath her, partly burying her. She thrashed, sending dirt flying off of her and the small pup that clung to her back. Her claws found the quartz and she began to tear it apart, breaking through the more fragile pieces, searching desperately for a sign that the vein led to a larger, ultra-massive geode formation. Her claws tore at the crystals, sharp fragments making the pads of her hands bleed. She ignored her injuries, knowing that she did not have time to stop or complain. A section of the roof caved in nearby, crushing a group of Diamond Dogs as tons of granite annihilated their frames beneath its weight. Dogs began to howl, horror in their voices: “There’s no escape! We’re going to die!”

She had just begun to lose hope when a nearby dog yelped, “A pit! The Womb of Gaia!”

        Turning, Ruby rushed to the dog’s side, helping him clear the jagged, broken hole that had been punched in the vein of crystal. The pit yawned, black as the void of space and barely wide enough for Ruby to fit through. Ruby couldn’t tell how deep the geode’s bottom was, but was determined to discover it. Ruby removed Red from her back.

        Red stared up at his mother, terror clear in his teary eyes and shaking form. “Momma?”

Ruby kissed Red between his downturned ears, murmuring quietly into his ear, “Be strong, watch for daddy for me.” She handed him to a nearby dog, before jumping into the yawning, black abyss of the geode. Red screamed as his mother disappeared into the hole in the floor.

Ruby fell for several moments, tensing her legs and bending her knees to absorb the impact. After the first tense, horrifying moment passed, she realized that the geode was far, far deeper that she had anticipated, and that, in all likelihood, she was falling to her death. Ruby consigned herself to this fate, as terror overtook her senses and she began to pinwheel her arms wildly, panic setting in as she opened her mouth to—

Then Ruby hit water. Shockingly cold, black water. Her outstretched arms were pulled above her head, her shoulders absorbing part of the impact, sending pain shooting across her chest.  She submerged and barely suppressed a sharp, surprised intake of breath as the cold zapped through her system like lightning. Kicking her paws and her one good arm, she swam towards the point of light emanating from the ceiling far away.

Her muzzle broke the surface of the underground lake, and she took a welcome gulp of air. The surface was choppy, the vibrations of the earth translating into waves of water that slopped about the massive, lightless chamber. Clutching her injured arm to her chest and treading water, Ruby howled to the Creche above. “Water!”

Above, as the Creche began to shatter, the Diamond Dog pack heard the call, and began to jump. The pups clung to parents as they dove into the open mouth of the geode, while other dogs desperately widened the opening to fit some of their larger packmates.

Below, Ruby swam away from the landing zone in the water. Several dogs had the presence of mind to jump with mining lamps and lanterns. These genius, airtight mechanical devices had been bartered for with precious gems, and had been built by the goblins, made to operate in the often damp and always dirty mines. As they surfaced in the underground lake, their lanterns brightened the surface of the water and revealed the geode.

The geode was massive, as they had suspected, and the bottom half of it had flooded with water, pulled into the geode by unseen underground aquifers. Tiny white shrimp and other odd cave creatures retreated from the light of their lanterns and the violent splashing as dog after dog joined their pack in the underground lake. The geode walls were equally impressive, massive purple crystals jutting out at odd angles across the interior surface and ceiling, undisturbed for centuries. Diamond Dogs made for the crystals that protruded from the water, clinging to them and climbing up out of the water.

Before the remaining dogs above could escape, the Creche surrendered to the apocalyptic tremors and collapsed, crushing weight silencing terrified howls and scrabbling claws. Ruby watched in horror as the hole filled with boulders, some falling into the water below, until it finally plugged, leaving the dogs trapped in the trembling water and resonating crystals of the geode. Ruby’s mind went numb as she thought of Red and the rest of her family. She hadn’t seen them. Had they escaped?

Red’s howling cry interrupted these thoughts. She howled back, recognizing her son’s call and responding in kind. All over the geode, families desperately called out to each other, gathering at the edges of the lake and on jutting crystal formations. Red and Ruby reunited, Red passed from the dog Ruby had given him to into his mother’s arm. Ruby held her son in one arm, and called out into the semidarkness of the geode, waiting for her husband and other son to reply.

They never did.

After several hours, the earth settled, the shaking dying down to a more tolerable level of brief aftershocks, and the pack fell into a fitful slumber, punctuated by startled moments as tremors passed through the water. The dogs awoke to find that the Womb of Gaia, buttressed by the amethysts and crystaline structures, had seen them through the night. They had little strength, though, as the trials and losses of the previous day had left them drained. They grouped together, taking solace in their shared survival, planning how to best organize to dig through the tunnels to look for possible survivors. Watchdog Micah had been lost in the panic, and it was their duty as a pack to try to find him, alive or dead.

Above them, unknown to the bedraggled survivors, the world burned and died, and with the end of sun and moon came the end of the ponies and Equestria.







 The sun’s final explosive moment scorched the land, and the desecrated moon’s shattered remains fell, destroying the world above with massive impacts that lasted for weeks. The lives of every hoofed creature in the world ended, their spirits sundered by the cataclysm, or as the Diamond Dogs called it, "The Feast of Gaia". Through this horror, the Diamond Dogs survived as a species, hiding deep within the earth, sheltered within strong caverns and genius engineered tunnels meant to withstand the churning earth. The Diamond Dogs and the other surviving species would crawl from their places of refuge months later and face the cold, harsh reality that the world above had become. 

The Wastelands were born.






Red Wings




	

Inexorable, unstoppable, unrelenting, and utterly predictable, a stormfront roiled on the horizon, lighting the perpetual twilight of the Wastelands with flashes of electricity. Red could feel the stormfront’s distant electrical bombardment through his footpads—a rumbling tremor that shook the earth like a stampede of long-ago. He stood up, stretching, and squinted his eye, looking out across the empty expanse of wind-blown ash that surrounded his home.

The sharp walls of the crater that Red had settled within sheltered him from the rest of the expanse, limiting his view to the jagged, wind-ripped edges of the massive depression. Red kept his domain small, compact, and easy to control. A massive chunk of the moon had fallen here, splattering the earth like a pebble thrown into a pond. The resulting tectonic ripple created the place that Red now called home—a deep crater that served as both fortress and shelter, a sanctuary from the danger of the rest of the wasteland around them.

Red’s home was no simple affair, though. While the other dogs of his pack concerned themselves with the deeper parts of the earth, Red worked to connect their small community to the rest of the “civilized” Wastelands, bringing in trade and the possibility of exports. He had worked diligently in the time between a multitude of stormfronts, building a level landing strip that stretched across the crater from edge to edge, and a mooring tower in the very center for zeppelins and other hovercraft. Red stood in that same mooring tower now, at the very peak—his crow’s nest. The crow’s nest was a basic lookout platform—several slabs of lightning-scorched rock, pulled from the ground and hauled up into the structure to form a perch. Fired, interlocking clay slats formed a roof to protect from the perpetually falling ash. Red himself leaned against the central support beam—a heavy metal strut that had been driven into the earth. The structure of the mooring tower wrapped around the strut, snaking down on metal platforms littered with tie-downs and clamp points to the ground five stories below. From the crow’s nest he spent his days looking out at the skies, watching for clients and writing notations on his most recent ideas and inventions.

Red had been doing just that, a dog-eared notebook and a sharpened charcoal stub clasped in his paws, when he smelled the stormfront in the distance. The tangy ozone-scent filled his nostrils, evoking a deep-rooted emotion that sent his tail dipping low to hang fearfully between his legs. Red exhaled slowly, calming his nerves as he stared out at the stormfront, and clutched the edges of the notebook tighter. It was time, again. Approximately every one hundred and twenty hours a stormfront would roll through, the last vestige of reliability in an otherwise unreliable world. 

Red reached up, reflexively, to the underside of the roof of the crow’s nest, and tapped the hanging hourglass-like device that was slowly dribbling dust into the wind. He’d need to readjust it soon; it should have run down lower than it had. Red tucked the notebook into a shoulder-slung satchel, and carefully wrapped the charcoal stub in a light leather pouch along with several more unused writing implements. He bent low and retrieved a heavy poncho and slung it over his thin frame, the muddied grey color of the poncho serving to camouflage the russet of his coat in the wasteland’s ash, and also bring the Diamond Dog a measure of comfort. 

The Diamond Dog watched the storm, right eye wincing slightly at every thunderous exhalation from the approaching cloud bank. His paw wandered up to the brow of his left eye, claws itching a spot just above his brow, and then adjusting the thick leather eye patch that covered the empty socket in his head. Whenever a stormfront approached, an ache emanated deep in his skull, centered around his missing eye. It made him itch.

A particularly explosive crackle of lightning set Red’s hackles on edge, and he whimpered. It had only been a few minutes since the roiling stormfront had become visible. “Damn it,” Red groused, biting the inside of his cheek to release some of the anxiety building inside him. 

He forced himself to stay, sitting down again to avoid having to acknowledge the weakness that suddenly plagued his lower extremities. Red glanced up at the roof of the crow’s nest. A thick cable ran down the length of the tower, wrapping around the central strut and burying itself deep in the ground, feeding into the interconnected caverns beneath his airstrip that he called ‘home’. As much as Red hated the stormfronts, they provided a valuable source of energy. Red closed his eye, trying to even out his breathing and think of the batteries, down below him, that would be charged, the generators that would be powered for days. As much as he hated lightning, he loved the free energy that came with it.



	



“I don’t have the strips to pay you.”

Red halted in his work, staring up from the interior of the piece of goblinoid engineering moored to his tower. He’d been working for hours, puzzling his way through the highly advanced steam-powered engine, learning as he tinkered, patching the damage that was leaking steam deep within the system. The goblin hovercraft, a brilliantly mad creation, had wobbled its way to the tower and the tattered red flag that flew from its topmost point, denoting a safe landing place. It had passed through the most recent stormfront, carrying cargo bound for the goblin city of Petra—or, at least, one of the Petras. It seemed to be a goblin convention to name their city Petra, as far as Red could discern. Regardless, the engine had taken heavy damage passing through the fierce electrical storm, and the gremlin on board, their engineer, had been killed—meaning that Red was the only mechanic within several leagues with anything approaching the know-how to fix the ship. Not that Red had ever seen a Goblin engine up-close before, much less worked on one—but he’d never let that get in his way.

He stared at the Goblin for a moment longer, anger in his eye, the eye patch covering his missing eye serving to enhance his imposing appearance. He disentangled himself from the inside of the machine, glaring down at the imp before him, a wrench he had been using clenched tightly in one paw. “Well then, we have a problem, don’t we?”

The goblin sneered at the aggressive display. “It would seem that way, wouldn’t it? I need my ship fixed, and you need incentive.”

Red gestured to the wrench in his hand. “I could just beat you to death and sell your ship for scrap.” Red’s eye watched the Goblin for a reaction, and was rewarded by the sudden tension in his shoulders, the way his hand twitched for the steam-pistol on his hip briefly. He tensed, baring his fangs.

The goblin’s hand stayed put, his beady eyes locked onto Red’s yellow irises. “Tell me, dirty dog. How do you think you can repair my ship? You said you’d never worked on imp tech before. You tell me how you can fix my ship, and I might be able to find a way to pay you for your dubious services.”

Red sniffed the air, tasting the nervous fear exuding from the pores of the goblin. Gesturing to the engine with his wrench, Red began to explain. “Your ship runs on a basic principle, using the energy generated by the steam power to propel it through the air. I’ve always known that, though. You aren’t the first goblin that I’ve had to refuel with pressurized steam. But you are the first that’s ever let me near the engine of a hovercraft. The engine block took a direct hit, and it damaged some components that regulate the output of steam—valves that aren’t going to be easy to fix—but I think I can patch them. It’s just a matter of learning how much pressure they need to be able to withstand to keep your hovercraft afloat.”

He continued to explain, delving into the mechanics behind the hovercraft’s operation, and all the while he watched the Goblin’s mouth slacken into a look of incredulous awe. The fear-smell was replaced with the scent of shock and surprise. The Goblin finally held up a hand as Red began talking about his theories on steam-propulsion dynamics. “...You’ve...well, you’ve convinced me.” The goblin eyed Red with something akin to respect showing in his eyes. “You’ve got imp blood in those veins, pup. You sure you’ve never touched a hovercraft engine before?”

Red allowed himself a wan smirk, sensing the situation was going more his way. “There’s a first time for everything. So, how are you going to pay me for my services, pointy-ears?”

 The Goblin snorted at the lame insult. “I’ll tell you how, stink-breath.” The goblin hopped up into the cabin of the hovercraft, reaching into a crate. Red was behind him in an instant, the heavy wrench held in both paws and used as an impromptu garrote. “Do you think I’m stupid, imp? I’m not like other dogs. Now, let’s see what you’re reaching for. Real slow.”

The choking goblin slowly withdrew a thick, leather-bound tome from inside the crate, and held it aloft, trying to squeeze a word in edgewise around the wrench blocking his windpipe. Red loosened his grip and let the goblin slip out from his grasp, staring dubiously at the book as the imp gasped for air. “S-stupid... whelp!” The goblin spat to the side, his breath slowly evening out as he spoke. “It’s a manual.”

Red shook his head, though he felt a bloom of curiosity well up inside him. A manual? “It had better be worth at least sixty silver strips, or else I think I’ll pulp you anyway.”

The goblin snorted. “The manual isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on. It’s what’s inside the manual that’s worth more than you’d imagine. This manual’s got specifications for the maintenance and construction of electrical generators. You fix my ship, and its yours.”

Red gave the manual a dubious look, though inside he was nearly giddy. A manual like that was worth more than the repair alone! Being able to build electrical generators meant being able to supply power for things beyond the crude oil and complex steam powered machines he’d been working with. A million possibilities jumped to the forefront of his brain, and he just as swiftly pushed them aside. He kept his expression one of distaste. “A manual. One book for one engine. That seems like you’re getting the better bargain, imp.”

The goblin leered at him, eyes alight. “Oh ho, you’d like me to think that, wouldn’t you, dirty dog? But I saw it in your eye. Petra!” The goblin said this word like it had meaning beyond the name of every other imp city in the Wastelands. “Manifesting itself in a million little ways, a wellspring of creative juice. I’ve seen that look before. It’s in the eyes of every young imp that works on his first gadget. The longing, the desire, the -”

Red held up a paw, his sparse attempt at a poker face replaced with one of sheepish interest. “Fine. One engine repair for one manual, and we’ll call ourselves even.”

The goblin gave what could be considered an honest, if very toothy, grin. “Shake on it, pup.” The goblin spat into his outstretched palm and offered it to Red. Red spat on the pad of his front paw and clasped hands with the Goblin, sealing the deal. The Goblin’s grip suddenly tightened, pulling Red closer, and the imp kneed Red between the legs, eliciting a surprised and pained yelp from Red as he clutched his crotch, falling to his knees. The Goblin chuckled. “That’s for nearly crushing my windpipe, pup. Now we’re even.”

Red spat at the Goblin’s booted feet and exhaled a pained, “Fine.”



	

Red shivered as the stormfront grew in the sky, flowing ever-closer on the whistling air currents that blew across the Wasteland, heralding the approach of the high-pressure front. Red’s eye closed as lightning flashed from underneath the clouds, dozens of lances of photonic discharge striking the ground in the distance every minute. He opened his eye, forcing himself to watch the storm despite the terror in his gut. Finally, he stood again, unable to bear staying above ground any longer. He began his long, winding retreat down the mooring tower, the wind ripping at his poncho. 

As Red reached the lower platforms, his ears pricked. Over the roar of the approaching storm, he could hear a buzz—the unmistakable hum of an approaching engine. Red looked up, squinting into the oncoming stormfront, eye dazzled by the bright flashes of lightning that set his teeth grinding together. After a moment, he spotted it: a prop-engine aircraft. The ship was a mish-mash of bodged together metal scrap, a rusting scrapheap with wings. It appeared to be a cargo vessel of some kind. Red’s eye glanced to the top of the mooring tower, checking the direction of the wind before returning his calculating gaze to the aircraft. It was angling with the wind, its nose coming around—definitely intending to land ahead of the stormfront.

Red cursed the idiot pilot of the flying scrap heap. He’d have to be ready to assist their landing. It wasn’t the first time that this had happened, but Red still hated having to be above ground anywhere near a stormfront. Red ran to the base of the tower and kicked open a heavy foot locker, exposing a second battered red flag that matched the one flying at the top of the tower. Gripping the standard, he ran towards the far edge of the landing strip and held the flag aloft in the wind. 

The flag snapped to attention in the violent gale, denoting the wind direction and also serving to mark the end of the runway. A good pilot would be able to gauge his speed, determine how much distance he had to slow his aircraft, and make a successful landing; Red hoped that he was looking at a good pilot. The far end of the runway held a few dust-covered airframes that had been damaged in botched landing attempts by inexpert pilots.

Red crouched low, hunching his back against the wind and eyeing the incoming aircraft as it descended. These were the most tense moments—the second the aircraft touched down, he’d know what sort of pilot he was dealing with.

The prop plane’s multiple propellor-driven engines gave a final sputtering roar as the pilot of the craft gave them a final push, and it soared in over the lip of the crater, aligning with the runway and settling down onto it. The wind tore at the craft as it touched down, attempting to jerk it off the runway and send it into the dust off the side of the landing strip, and Red winced reflexively. The airframe leaned slightly, but the pilot inside was good after all, and the craft straightened out at the last moment. It finally slowed, coming to a stop twenty feet from the end of the runway. 

Red stood up, waggling the flag in a ‘follow me’ motion, and began to sprint for the side of the crater. The aircraft’s engines hummed as the pilot taxied after Red, who led them towards an overhang cut into the side of the crater, sheltering the big aircraft from the oncoming storm’s wrath. Red exhaled a sigh of relief as he crossed underneath the lip of the crater, and moved to the far side of the hangar area as the aircraft came to a stop. He walked to the farthest end of the hanger area, where a pulley-system and a complex mechanical rig sat silently. Red bent down and pumped a lever several times, priming the machine’s engine with fuel, and then threw a switch. With a dull sputter and a rumble, it came to life. 

He let the engine warm up, then flipped a second switch. The machine strained, and then roared as it powered the complex pulley system. Partially buried in the ash in front of the open-faced hangar cut into the cliff, thin sheets of metal rose from the ground, lifting like the flaps on the aircraft’s wings and raising into position. ln a scant minute, the metal sheets had risen to their full height, forming a massive doorway that closed the hangar off from the oncoming storm. 

Red smiled with satisfaction as the hangar doors closed him off from the stormfront, finally feeling a little of the tension he’d been carrying lift. Turning to view the aircraft now parked in his hangar, he saw two Diamond Dogs disembarking from a cargo hatch in the belly of their aircraft. They were both ragged animals, clad in dark leather and wearing a bizarre and eclectic collection of sharp weapons about their person. One was shorter, a stocky terrier-like build, face scrunched and grumbling, his snout criss-crossed with a few ugly scars. The other was taller, lanky like Red, only with sharper features. A red scarf wound around his throat, and he said nothing, eyes half-lidded and bored as his companion groused at him. Red immediately rescinded his assessment of them as ‘Diamond Dogs’, and called the air pirates by their assumed name. “What are a couple of mangy Dirigible Dogs doing in this neck of the Wastelands? Aren’t you a little far from your territory?”

The smaller dog snorted, his voice grating and higher pitched, “We are Dirigible Dogs! The sky is our territory! Not that a mutt like you would know anything about the sky, rust-face!”

Red smirked. “You might be surprised. The name’s Red. I run this airstrip.” Red tucked a paw openly into the satchel slung at his side, clutching onto the stock of a heavy-bore steam pistol secreted within, next to his notebook. “Now, should I be expecting trouble, or can we act like a pack for a few hours while this stormfront blows over?”

The taller Dirigible Dog’s eyes snapped to the satchel and then narrowed with suspicion. The little one chuckled, a raspy and annoying noise that made Red consider shooting him—if only so he’d never have to hear that sound again. “We’re looking for any port in a storm, mutt. We can be civil when we gotta be. Ain’t that right, Ace?”

Ace, the larger dog, shrugged, pulling his scarf tighter around his neck and saying nothing, but the little one seemed to take this as acquiescence. Stepping forward, the shorter Dirigible Dog offered a paw, pad-up, to Red’s snout. “Name’s Quint, and the silent one is Ace, my pilot.”

Red sniffed the offered paw pad, getting the Dirigible Dog’s scent, and offered his paw for the same treatment. Quint gave Red’s paw a compulsory sniff, and then stepped back, looking appraisingly around the hangar. “What do you have to drink in this dunghole? I’m parched!”

Red resisted the urge to bare his teeth at Quint, and stepped past the smaller dog, ignoring his question and offering his paw to Ace. Ace smirked and scented Red’s paw, and offered his paw to Red. Red glanced at Quint. “Your companion doesn’t talk much. Does he have just as annoying a voice as you, only he’s polite enough not to subject others to it?”

Quint growled at Red, but Ace snickered. A pained, deep-throated gurgle came from the back of his throat, and his mouth opened. The tall dirigible dog shook with silent laughter for a moment, no noise except the quiet rasp of air escaping his mouth. Quint scampered over and kicked his pilot in the shin. “Shut up Ace!” Ace smirked at the smaller dog as he vented his fury in a flurry of small kicks to his booted leg. “He doesn’t talk much because he got his throat ripped out by a troll!”

Quint scowled at Ace and his ‘laughter’ ceased. Red snickered at the two Dirigible Dogs as their hackles raised at each other. “All right, mutts, can the alpha-male stuff. Let’s get you downstairs and get you something to drink. I hope you’ve got silver strips, though, or else all you’re getting from me is a swift boot in your tail.”

Quint and Ace turned away from each other after the brief and unresolved staredown. Quint patted a pouch on his belt, tucked next to a wicked-looking knife. “We’ve got strips if you’ve got grog.”

Red led the two dogs to the back of the hangar, where a set of stairs cut from the rock delved down into the earth. He descended, followed by the two air pirates, leading them into his pack’s den—and more importantly—far away from the sounds of the stormfront.

A few yards into the earth, the stairway split, winding away in a myriad of directions. Red led the Dirigible Dogs onward, passing the occasional members of his pack that were working on expanding tunnels, excavating for precious minerals, or mining out hard rock. Finally, the trio of dogs halted before a larger opening: a natural cavern that had been turned into a common area. A few rough tables, hewn from stone, dotted the cavern, and a few stalagmites cut near the cave floor served as seating for some of the tables. The room was mostly empty, a single Diamond Dog sitting quietly behind what was unmistakably a bar, cleaning out metallic cups with a rag. Red gestured to the motley Dirigible Dogs. “Welcome to Cooper’s Corner, the pub, eatery, and general meeting place of our pack.”

Quint managed a genuine smile. “This is more like it. Who’d think that your little dunghole would have a place that sells drinks?”

Red rolled his eye. “Every town has a bar. Just because our town happens to be underground doesn’t change that fact.”

Ace sauntered over to the bar and leaned up against it, catching the bartender’s eye with a nod. The bartender, a chocolate brown dog with droopy ears, smiled a dopey smile at Ace. “Well, howdy-howdy. What can I get ya?”

Ace glanced around, a frown forming on his face. Quint approached the bar. “Give my pal here whatever’s the strongest swill you’ve got, and I’ll have a mug of the same.”

The bartender gave Quint a nod, his eyes meeting Red’s briefly. The two Diamond Dogs shared a knowing look, and the bartender loped over to a row of barrels set into grooves in the wall, and poured two mugs of dark greyish liquid. He set the mugs down in front of the Dirigible Dogs. “Here y’ go, fellas. Take it easy on those, now. Not everyone...is...” The bartender trailed off as the two air pirate dogs lifted their mugs and took a long drink. Red approached, a grin on his face, waiting for the inevitable reaction.

Quint’s was the first, and most extreme. With a sudden snort of surprise, his head jerked back from his mug, and he spat out the drink onto the ground. He retched, wiping at his watering eyes with his free paw, the other barely maintaining its trembling grip on the mug. Finally, after a few sputtering coughs, he managed to speak, his whining voice rendered quiet and raspy, “Gaia below, what’s this made from?”

Red smirked. “What’s the matter, pup? Our fungus liquor too strong for you?”

Quint gaped down at the cup with a mixture of disbelief and disgust. “I haven’t had something hit my throat like that in years. I thought it was engine fuel!”

Ace regarded his companion cooly, and took another long pull from his mug. The other dogs all stared at Ace as he drained his cup and set it back on the bar counter, tapping the edge with a single claw in a gesture that unmistakably said “more”. The bartender even looked a bit surprised as he refilled the mug. Red broke the awkward silence as he watched Ace take on a second mug of the strong drink. “Well, I guess the troll that got his voice got his taste buds too.”

Quint shook his head, “Ace just drinks a lot.” With a determined snarl, he took a second drink from his mug, much to the same sputtering effect. 

Red sat down on a stalagmite and propped his elbows on the bar, and nodded to the bartender. “I’ll just have some of the watered-down stuff, Cooper.”

Cooper nodded and smiled a big smile. “On the house for you, Red.”

Red smiled at his big, dumb friend as he brought him over a drink, before returning his attention to Quint and Ace. Ace stayed standing, downing his second mug more slowly, as Quint struggled with his first, taking a seat next to Red. “So, what are Dirigible Dogs doing out here? I would have figured you’d be terrorizing the sky with Gilliam and his huge airship carrier: The Dog’s Bollocks.”

Quint chuckled, staring into the metal cup as if expecting the liquid inside to burn through the bottom of it at any moment. “I’m surprised you’d even know much about Gilliam. We never came out this way with the Bollocks. The wastes west of Griffon Mount are more in-line with the goblins and griffons than our usual flight paths.”

Red leaned back, taking a sip of his own drink before continuing. “You’d be surprised at what I know about Gilliam.”

“That so, pup?”

“That is so, mutt. I helped build his flying aircraft carrier.”

This declaration brought a surprised laugh from Quint and a grunt from Ace. “You worked on The Dog’s Bollocks? You were one of those grease dogs that got that thing in the air?”

Red leaned forward with a wide grin, pride evident in his expression. “Without me, his carrier wouldn’t have ever flown. I had a paw in designing the turbines that keep it aloft.” 

        Quint smirked at Red, “Well, ain’t that somethin’. You’re like an honorary Dirigible Dog, then. Not often that a mutt gets in with us, but... you’re somethin’ else, ain’t ya?”

He shrugged, “I guess so. The job paid good strips, at any rate.”

“Well, then, I guess it’s no big deal if I tell you a little secret.” Quint leaned forward, his high voice lowering to an almost tolerable level. “Gilliam is toast.”

Red frowned, leaning back from the smaller dog. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means exactly what it sounds like, pup. Gilliam and his Bollocks got taken down two days ago. Big explosion in the bridge. The whole thing went down somewhere in the mountains far north of the old glue-stick capitol.”

Red shook his head. “That’s impossible!”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it. Get this, they say that it was the last pony that did it. Harmony or whatever the salt-licking glue stick calls itself.”

Red felt that same itch, deep inside his skull. He reflexively reached up, scratching at the skin under the eye patch. “Last pony? You sure you’re not hallucinating? The fungus drink can do that sometimes. All the ponies are dead, Quint. Whenever their pastel-colored queens or princesses or whatever they were caused the The Feast of Gaia, they took all the glue-sticks down with them. There are no ponies left.”

The stocky air pirate laughed. “Not so, dirt-digger! Ace, you’ve seen the last pony, haven’t ya?” Ace looked up from his drink, now nearly empty for the third time, and shrugged in a noncommittal way, before nodding. Quint pointed to Ace, “There, proof. Ace knows about the last bloody pony, and it just blew up Gilliam’s carrier. They say it was magic, a fireball that lit up the wasteland!”

Red scowled, rubbing his head. He felt a headache coming on. “So, you mean to tell me that a pansy-tailed pony brought down the most dangerous piece of mechanical engineering and avionics that we as a race have ever produced?” He felt a throb in the front of his skull and winced his good eye shut for a moment. Something was off.

Quint’s face blurred before Red’s eye as he leaned forward. “You’re not lookin’ so good, rust-head.” Red shivered and his head throbbed. Cooper leaned forward over the bar, the ever-present dopey smile faltering with concern.

“I...I just need a minute.”

Red stood up on shaking legs, and made a wobbling sprint out of the common area. He tore through a side-passage, stumbling as his headache intensified. He arrived at the smaller tunnel that served as his den, curtained off from the main passage by leather strips, and tumbled inside.

The room itself was a mess, the floor littered with metal scraps and tools. There was a method to the chaos—though it was not apparent to any but Red. He got to his knees with a groan. His empty socket burned beneath the eye patch, and he tore it off his head with a violent tug. The place where his left eye should have been was a mass of scar tissue, the skin around the scars hairless. Red’s claws raked unthinkingly at the old wound as he moved to the foot of a pad of leathers and furs that served as his bed. He shoved aside the pillow, revealing a small box. Red clutched at this box, opening it and retrieving from within the lower half of what was unmistakably the lower portion of a unicorn horn. The horn was white, the severed base holding a slight spiral that tapered towards a missing point. Red clutched the partial horn like a talisman, pressing it to his forehead as he leaned back into the furs with a growl of pain.

Red gasped suddenly as memories, buried in scar tissue and hidden behind an eyepatch, were suddenly in his head.



	

He loped across the Wastelands, sharp eyes scouring the crags and valleys. Far behind him, the militia bayed and hunted, corralling some unfortunate creature in a gully that one of the other scouts had discovered. His mouth watered at the thought of fresh meat. He, like the rest of the militia, had been living off rations for several days as their scavenging routes wandered farther from their den under the earth. There was much to discover, much to re-learn in this new world—a world without the blasted glue-sticks keeping their ambition in check. 

He had grown strong and tall. Fourteen years old now, and a life of hardship had taught him to survive, to hunt, to work with the pack. He was a scout, chosen for his speed and not for his smarts. He was bright, yes, but not command material. That suited him. He’d rather be at the forefront—scavenging, exploring, fighting.

The lone Diamond Dog took off, leaving the pack behind. They’d be able to follow his scent after they were done with their current quarry. Hopefully by then he’d have something to show for his work. He lost himself in the ash wastes, paws sending light puffs of decayed matter and the char of years past into the air. He watched carefully around him, keenly searching. He scented something, then—the hot smell of sweat on leather. Something had been by here recently. He chased the scent, crawling low to the ground, his nose leading him in a meandering trail down into a deeper series of crags. He spotted ruins up ahead, a group of burned-out buildings, dilapidated and seemingly empty. His nose told him a different story; something had entered the area recently. Perhaps another scavenger, searching for somewhere to hide. He dimly remembered one of the watch commanders warning him of a stormfront that would roll over this part of the Wasteland in a matter of hours. He put that aside. It was time to hunt.

He stalked cautiously along the side of one of the buildings, pausing often and listening for any sounds that would lead him to his prey. He flexed his claws and adjusted the thick leather vest that protected his upper chest. He slid around a corner, tensed and ready to spring an attack, but found nothing but the tumbled-down side of the building, which opened into a house. He peered around the interior of the building, eyes rapidly adjusting from the gloom of the outside to the only marginally darker interior. The room appeared to be a large common area, with a few charred wooden pieces of furniture and a long bar, as well as what appeared to be the collapsed floorboards and a few dessicated beds that had fallen from above. It must have been a pony house, probably an inn. As he stalked deeper into the ruin, his suspicions were confirmed. Beneath a layer of ash, the decayed remains of several ponies lay scattered about the floor, frozen in their final moments. 

His foot hit something buried in the ash that clanked with a loud metallic ring, and he froze, turning a full circle and watching for any signs that the noise he had unwittingly produced had given his presence away. Hackles raised, he spared a glance down to the floor. A piece of armor, half-rusted, sat beneath his pawpad. The ornate armor sparked a memory—it was armor that the glue sticks’ military had worn. He reached down into the dirt and retrieved a helm, complete with pony skull, from the dust. Red discarded the skull and smirked, staring at the helmet. He might be able to get a smith to convert it so it would fit his head. Red’s ears pricked forward as he heard something nearby. He looked up, and was greeted by a wholly unexpected sight.

Before him, like a spectre from the past, stood the unmistakable form of a pony. Clad in light leather armor that covered its body from hooves to ears, the only thing visible was its dimly scarlet eyes and a brown-furred muzzle, dusty with ash. He stared at this ghost, awed by the being before him. The pony likewise watched him.

He wasn’t sure what to do, not at first. He didn’t know any ponies had survived The Feast of Gaia. He certainly hadn’t encountered any survivors. This was wholly unexpected. He felt his hackles raise on his neck as his brain processed. A glue-stick. Maybe one of the last.

It was their fault. The Feast. His father and brother, and so many others of his pack, lost. The ponies had brought this on them, this world of ash and darkness. Them and their meddling, their magic, had cost every living creature so much. And now, here was one, before him. He’d never get another chance to eke out a measure of revenge on their pastel hides. He growled. “Hello, prrrretty pony. Gggglue stick picked the wrongggg place to scavenge.”

The pony smirked, a cocksure gesture that only served to make him more infuriated. “Well, look at that. A lost dog. What’s the matter, boy? Somebody fell down a well?”

He wasn’t entirely sure what this meant, but he assumed it was an insult, and his growl deepened as he began to stalk around the pony, circling it and assessing, looking for a weakness. He scented the pony, nose giving him information that his eyes could not. Despite being a pony, it was in good health. He hadn’t seen anything green growing in a long time, so he wasn’t sure how this was possible. Furthermore, the pony was a female, and young, maybe only a little older than he was. Good. He had seen male ponies—some of them were imposingly built. Girl ponies were namby-pamby, weak, useless. This wouldn’t be a problem.

“Little ggggirl pony is the one who is lost. What is the matter, little pony? Lost your herd?”

The pony rolled her eyes, but he could smell pain underneath the bravado. “Like I haven’t heard that one before. Listen, dust-for-brains, I’ll give you one chance to clear out. This is my find, and my scavenge. Why don’t you go back to whatever hole you crawled out of and stay there?” He snarled at her, tensing up, and the pony smirked. “Always the hard way. All right, butt-sniffer, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

The pony lowered a pair of brass goggles over her scarlet eyes, and he lunged at her. He attacked low, both arms darting for the pony’s front legs, trying to catch and incapacitate her. The pony nimbly leapt aside, turning her flank to him and lashing out with a brutal kick. He rolled away, the brass-shoed hoof nearly taking him in the shoulder. He got to his feet and attacked again, claws slashing in high for the pony’s face. The pony’s head jerked back, avoiding the tearing claws, and reared up on her hind legs, lashing out with a one-two punch that pushed aside his arm. He felt a brief stab of pain in his bicep and stepped back, glancing down. Blood ran from a shallow cut in his arm. He looked for any sign of what could have caused this, and saw a thin blade extended from one of the pony’s front horseshoes. He snarled and attacked again, this time stabbing out with a crude blade that had been hidden inside his vest. 

The pony met his knife attack, turning aside his blade with her own and jabbing at his chest. He swerved, knocking the thrust away with an open-handed slap, his claws grating across the bladed shoe, and he kicked out at the pony. His foot connected with her chest and the pony exhaled hard, jumping back and away from him. He pressed the attack, reversing the grip on his blade and driving it down towards the pony’s face. The pony blocked the savage cut again, dulling the force, and her hooves both locked around his wrist, holding the dagger away from her face. He bulled into her, using his size and weight to his advantage, and they went down in a tangle of limbs. 

He fell on top of the pony, who desperately clung to his blade paw, keeping the killing weapon at bay. He sneered, clasping his free paw to the weapon and using it to push down harder, driving the tip of the blade level with the pony’s goggle-covered eyes. He could smell her fear. She was panting and straining beneath him, and he knew that he’d won. He merely needed to pour his strength into his arms and drive the blade into its new home in the pony’s skull. She gasped and sputtered something. He snarled as he worked to drive his knife downward. “Gggggoing to beggggg for mercy, pony?”

“Nope. Just wanted to remind you that I gave you a chance, idiot!”

He was confused. He was winning! Wasn’t he? Then he noticed his error. The pony was holding him at bay with only a single hoof, braced against the pony skull he had discarded earlier. When they had gone to the ground, she had twisted her other forelimb away from beneath him. This same forelimb now lashed forward towards his face. He had time to take in the powerful muscle behind the attack, and another odd detail: her hoof was ringed with horns—unicorn horns. His eye filled with the sharp point of a white horn and he screamed as the hoof connected. 

He felt a wet, burning sensation as the hoof deflected off his brow, but the horn twisted, sticking into his eye. The pony shoved hard as his head exploded with pain, the vision in his other eye sparking. He released the knife and reeled away, feeling something snap and the burning in his face intensify. He sank to his knees, mouth agape, trying to speak, trying to think, but all he could feel was the hard point of something driving into his head and wet warmth flowing down his muzzle. His vision started to swim with freakish colors as he collapsed to his side. He could see the pony still, among bursting lights and odd tastes and smells, lying on her side and panting, the bracelet of unicorn horns holding one less of the magical appendages. Her mouth grimaced as she examined the damaged bracelet. “Friggin’ A.”

His one remaining eye closed as the pain overwhelmed him, and his brain overloaded as the unicorn horn settled into his skull.



	

His eye snapped open, his head throbbing with pain. Red groaned, sitting up on the pile of furs. After a moment, he retrieved the small box that had been hidden under his pillow and replaced the piece of horn inside it. He stood, shaking, and moved to a shelf cut into the dirt on the side of his room. He took a leather pouch from the shelf and left his room, heading once more for the common area.

Ace and Quint were still seated at the bar. Ace swayed lightly in his seat, drooling as he downed yet another mug of the potent drink. Quint turned to face Red as he returned to the bar. “Well, hello pup. Where’d you run off to?” Red sat down without comment, placing the leather pouch on the bar. 

Cooper brought Red a mug of the same strong drink he’d been serving the two air pirates, and Red gave Cooper a wan smile before downing the contents in one go. Quint stared at Red with shock. Red smirked, “It’s an... acquired taste.”

Red opened the leather pouch and retrieved from inside a needle-tipped syringe and a vial of a brackish liquid. Quint raised a brow questioningly, eyes darting between the needle and Red’s scarred face. “What’s that for?”

Red shook the vial, mixing the cloudy liquid thoroughly. “It’s for me. The liquid in here is a solution of purified water, saline, and lunar dust.”

Quint looked even more confused, and Ace looked up from his most recent drink to watch. “Lunar dust?”

Cooper brought Red over a smaller mug, filled with a clear, strong-smelling liquid. Red dipped the tip of the needle into the alcohol, swirling it around to sterilize the needle. “When I was younger, I met the last pony. She stabbed me through the eye with a unicorn horn.” Red tapped a claw over the mass of scar tissue. “The militia found me hours later, and one of our apothecaries was able to save my life, but they couldn’t risk pulling the horn out of my head. So, they cut off the protruding base and closed up my face, leaving me with two inches of magical pony jammed in my brain.” 

Red loaded the syringe with the solution and extended his arm forward, searching for a vein underneath his fur. With practiced precision, he stuck the sharp needle point into his arm and pressed the plunger, injecting the odd mixture into his body. Quint whined slightly. Red smoothly slid the needle out of his arm and pulled the needle tip off the syringe. He dropped the bloody needle into the glass of alcohol and replaced the syringe and vial of liquid in the leather pouch. Red felt the effects slowly, his headache subsiding as the lunar dust did its work. 

He returned his gaze to Quint and Ace, who stared at the needle with wide eyes. Red leaned forward, capturing the two Dirigible Dog’s attentions. “Every day, the horn in my brain interacts with the magical ley-lines and absorbs magical energy, building up a charge over a few days. It took months of searching through the books and tomes in the glue-sticks’ accursed cities until I puzzled this together—months of aching, unbearable pain as the horn in my head charged itself with power. I also learned that lunar material absorbs magic. So, every few days, I have to inject myself with lunar dust to drain the charge. Every few days, I’m nearly overwhelmed by migraines that would cripple me without these injections.”

Ace made a disgusted face, and Quint leaned back, away from Red. “So... why didn’t you remember the last pony? I’d never forget it if somebody hurt me that badly.”

Red looked up at the ceiling, face calm. “That’s the funny thing about traumatic brain injuries. You forget things... like how to walk. And talk. And write.”—Quint’s eyes widened as he listened to Red—“Things I had to re-learn. But I got better. I got stronger. But, more than that—I was different. Smarter. More than the dog I was. When that horn hit my grey matter, it moved things around, changed me. But...until now, I’d forgotten all about the last pony.”

Red’s serene eye met Quint’s, and Quint’s hackles raised reflexively at the rage he saw boiling behind that yellow orb. 

“I remember the last pony, Quint. I remember that she nearly took away everything from me. And now, I know what I need to do.”

Red retrieved the needle from the glass of alcohol, shaking it off and putting it into the pouch with the syringe and vial, and he tucked the whole kit into the satchel at his side. 

“See, Quint, I’ve been given a gift. Before, I was just like any other dog. Dumb. Strong. A good digger. I never stood a chance against the last pony, because she was smarter than me. She out-thought me, and that’s how she nearly killed me. But now?”

Red reached into his satchel and pulled out another eyepatch, and pulled it over his head, straightening the leather flap to cover his scars. 

“I’m smart. Just as smart as her. I build things. Machines, weapons, airships. I never knew why, but now it’s clear. I’ve been given an edge—the edge I need to kill the last pony.”

Quint and Ace both stared at Red as he stood up from the bar, dropping a silver strip on the counter, and stalked from the bar. 

“And when this stormfront blows over, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’m going to find the last pony and make her wish she’d turned to ash with the rest of her race.”

> Chapter 2
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


- Chapter 2 -


        Red stalked through the tunnels of the den and away from the common area, leaving Ace and Quint to their own devices. His headache was back, but he was certain it wasn’t from the unicorn horn that had been so forcefully stabbed into his skull nearly one thousand two hundred and fifty stormfronts ago. He knew he was on edge, could feel the fur on the back of his neck bristle, and didn’t care. Now wasn’t the time for reason—it was the time for fury.

        He arrived at the mines far below the surface. The mines were extensive: a huge underground warren of tunnels that were connected together by the Hub. The Hub was a mass of activity and machinery, filled with a cacophony of voices and the hum of mechanized labor. A refinery for ore ran through the middle and dogs swarmed around it, heating massive crucibles of iron, copper and other metal amalgamations. Blacksmiths worked tirelessly to hammer out tools and devices and pour liquid metal into complex molds. Around the edges of this refinery other dogs worked diligently, sorting through precious gemstones and other minerals. Jewelcrafters polished and cut valuable stones into amazing shapes, creating rubies that shone, diamonds that gleamed, and sapphires that held only the deepest of blue hues. Red could not help but pause for a moment, marveling in the industry that surrounded his pack.
        
        He was thrown from his brief reverie as he heard the bark of an authoritative voice. “Shale! Keep the smiths focused. I see them drifting. Koda, check down-tunnel to see how the miners are doing. We need another load of ore before the next rotation.”

He followed the voice through the cavern, his focus and anger returning with every step. He found the speaker in the center of a group of the militia. The voice belonged to Watchdog Topaz, and she looked very, very busy. She gripped a ream of papers covered with notations in her grey-dappled paws, flipping through them as she referred to each of the different work stations. Red felt a brief moment of hesitation as he approached the Watchdog, but before he could reconsider Topaz looked up from her notes, her green eyes meeting his yellow one. “Red? Not very often I see you down this deep. What do you need?”

Red exhaled, and allowed his anger to bolster his confidence and conviction. “Watchdog, I request council with you and the Beta.”

Topaz’s ears flattened back at the bold request. “Does it have to be now, Red? The miners are getting behind schedule. They’re still a bit spooked after that gaggle of unlucky dogs broke into a chamber filled with Trolls yesterday. The only dog that survived that mishap, ironically, was Lucky.”

Red smirked. “Doesn’t Lucky only have one ear and half a tail?”

Topaz scowled at Red’s little joke. “The doctors say that he’ll only have three legs after they’re done sewing him back together.”

He winced. “I’m sorry to impose, Watchdog Topaz, but this is important. I’d like an audience immediately, if possible.”

Topaz exhaled slowly, handing the stack of notes off to a nearby aide. “What’s this about, Red? You’re usually a good dog. Something’s got your hackles raised though, I can smell it.” She rubbed at her eyes, yawning.

“I need to speak with you and the Beta about taking a leave of absence.”

Her ears stood in startled surprise, and her eyes widened, locking onto Red. “A leave of absence? That’s... pretty serious. You know that we need your expertise above ground, Red. You bring in the trade craft and keep the merchants happy and their ships running. To put it mildly, you’re invaluable to our operation.”

He frowned, allowing some of the anger to show in his posture. “These are extenuating circumstances, I’m afraid. My request still stands.”

The Watchdog’s hackles raised slightly. “I could order you to drop whatever’s got you in a huff, you know.” Topaz’s eyes grew dangerous, as she took a step forward. “I’m your Alpha, and my word will be obeyed.”

Red knew better than to challenge her, taking a step back and lowering his head submissively. “You won’t, though.” 

Topaz snarled, bending slightly to bring her nose right in Red’s face. “Won’t I? You think you know me, dog?”

He dropped to his knees, bearing his throat to Topaz, at her mercy. “You value me, and I’ve never asked for any favors. I’ve earned my keep in your pack, Watchdog. I bring in my share of the meat, and never take more than I’m due.”

She snarled in his face for a moment longer, green eyes fixated on his own yellow eye. Red held her gaze briefly before looking away, towards the roof of the Hub. Topaz’s teeth snapped forward, pulling a tuft of fur from Red’s throat, but she backed off at that, her duty to rebuke Red fulfilled. “Very well, Red. You’ll get your council, and we’ll work something out.” Topaz extended a paw to Red, and he took it. She pulled him upright, and nodded. “You’ve got balls, Red, I’ll give you that.”

Red chuckled, idly rubbing the patch of his coat where Topaz had bit him. “That puts me ahead of Lucky, at least.”

Topaz walked away, towards the upper den. Red watched her for a moment before she turned, facing him with an impatient expression. “Well?”

Red blinked, startled at the question. “What?”

The Watchdog rolled her eyes. “For the smartest dog I know, you certainly are an idiot sometimes. Let’s go, Red. Now. Council. Remember?”

“Now? Right now?”

Topaz placed a paw on her hip, ears perking forward and tail wagging with amusement. “You said it yourself. You’re a valuable member of my pack. You bring in the meat, Red, and you’ve never asked for favors. I can get behind that reasoning. So come on, or do I need to scruff you and drag you along like a pup?”

Red smiled, ears folding back in embarrassment. “Yes, Watchdog.”

Red followed Topaz, leaving the activity of the Hub behind. They meandered up the tunnel, other Diamond Dogs stepping aside and offering submissive nods to the Watchdog. Topaz favored them with gentle pats and kind words. Finally, they reached a larger tunnel, set near the center of the den. This area was the territory of the Watchdog and the Beta. Red followed Topaz into the tunnel. A metal doorway separated Topaz’s den from the rest of the cave complex, and a militia dog sat on a chair nearby, sharpening a knife with a whetstone. 

The militia dog stood as Topaz and Red came into view, and opened the door for his Watchdog. Topaz entered her den, Red following close behind. The metal door closed behind Red, and Red’s eye adjusted to the darker-than-normal room. A pile of pillows sat in the center of the room on a thick, woven rug. Only candles illuminated the area, casting the den in a flickering twilight reminiscent of the Wastelands above.

Watchdog Topaz gave a distinctly un-restrained giggle and flopped into the pillows in the middle of the den, wriggling around for a moment before finding a comfortable position. She pointed to the rug in front of her impromptu throne. Red sat down, slightly put off by Topaz’s sudden lack of decorum. Topaz gave Red a mock-serious frown, scrunching up her eyebrows. “You’re so serious, Red. Come on! Relax for a minute. Give me that, at least. It’s not every day I get to leave my duties.”

There was a snuffling snort from one of the darker side-rooms. Topaz called out into the gloom. “Micah, we have a visitor. Packmate Red has requested council.”

There was a sleepy mumble, and a rumbling voice spoke back to the Watchdog from the dimly lit den. “Tell him to cram it up his tailpipe. I’ve got more important things to do.”

Topaz rolled her eyes, giving Red a slightly exasperated look. “Micah, come.”

Micah muttered to himself, and there was a creak. Red leaned forward, neck craning to catch a glimpse of the rarely-seen Beta of the pack. Micah sat upright in the dark, on a bed of pillows similar to the one Topaz now reclined in. He glared out of the darkness at Topaz, blue eyes reflecting back the light and giving them an eerie sapphiric gleam. Micah reached out and pulled a iron wheelchair closer to his body. With a ripple of prodigious upper body strength, he hoisted himself up into the chair. His mangled legs hung uselessly beneath him, and as he settled into the chair he adjusted his lower appendages into a more normal position.

Micah rolled into the other room, a sour look on his face. The big diamond dog was still as imposing as ever, despite being bound to the wheeled device. He scowled at Topaz and wheeled to a stop next to her pile of pillows. “Look at you, acting like a pup. We’ve been called to council, Watchdog. Have some respect for the occasion.”

Topaz gave Micah a wry smile and sat up on the cushions, facing Red. Micah pulled a notebook from a bag slung to the side of his wheelchair, along with a piece of sharp graphite, and recited in a bored voice, “Council is called to order on this, the one thousand, five hundred, and fifty—” Micah’s ears perked briefly towards the ceiling before making a mark in the notebook, ”—sixth stormfront recorded since the Feast of Gaia. Packmate Red calls council.”

Red stood up, feeling briefly nervous as Micah yawned rudely. He remembered his anger, though, and used it to fuel his speech. “Watchdog Topaz, Beta Micah. I’ve called you here to request a leave of absence from my duties. I’ve been—”

“Denied.” Micah waved a paw at Red dismissively, scribbling in his notebook.

Red knew that this was part of the council, but couldn’t keep his ears from canting back angrily. “I’ve been given a disturbing report from a group of Dirigible Dogs that—”

“Dirigible Dogs? You come to us with gossip from the air pirates?” Micah scowled, glancing at Topaz. “I certainly hope you’ve got better things to do than listen to this.”

Red continued on, unswayed by Micah’s rude interruptions. “The Dirigible Dogs say that Gilliam’s carrier ship, The Dog’s Bollocks, has been destroyed, and—”

Micah laughed. “That pompous scathead had it coming. I hope the Griffons made him eat his own tail before they destroyed his ship.”

“It wasn’t the Griffons,” Red growled, his anger getting the better of him briefly.

Micah glared at Red. “Watch your tone, pup. I was bringing in the meat before you were off your mother’s—”

“It was a pony that destroyed Gilliam’s ship.”

Shocked silence reigned in the den for a moment, and even Red was surprised by his own insolence. It was time to do or die. Red knew he had mere moments to justify interrupting the Beta of his pack, or face the violent consequences. Red took his opportunity; “I have been informed that Gilliam’s ship was destroyed by a pony, the one that the Wastelanders call ‘the last pony’, or ‘Harmony’. Furthermore, I have proof of her existence.”

Micah snarled, nearly falling out of his seat with anger. “You dare interrupt me with drivel like that?! I’ll—”

Red growled at Micah, his own hackles rising. He took a desperate gamble, playing on Micah’s hatred for ponies. “You think you’re the only one that lost something to the glue-sticks, Micah?”

“You know nothing about loss, pup!”

“I know loss! I’ve suffered in this world, just like the rest of us. But, unlike you, I’ve been directly affected by the cursed ponies!” Red removed his eyepatch and gestured vehemently to the mass of scar tissue. “This was the work of the last pony, Watchdog Topaz, Beta Micah. She took my eye from me, and now I intend to return the favor tenfold.”

Topaz was silent, and even Micah’s anger abated as he stared at Red, waiting now for an explanation. Red paused for a moment, exhaling out his nervous jitters. He had come very close to death. Topaz and Micah would have never allowed such a challenge as he had presented to stand without a very good reason. “Something the Dirigible Dogs said jarred my memory. I had forgotten the circumstances of my... accident. I had a vision of my encounter with the so-called last pony. She is strong, smart, well armored and likewise armed. She defeated me in a battle of strength and left me for dead with the skull-bone of one of her ancestors shoved in my brain.”

Red looked to Topaz. “Now, she’s returned. She destroyed Gilliam’s carrier ship. The Dirigible Dogs say she used magic to do so, that she summoned a giant fireball. Regardless of how she achieved it, it was done. The last pony destroyed the most dangerous piece of engineering that the joint efforts of the Dirigible Dogs and Diamond Dogs have ever produced. Though you may not have liked Gilliam, that ship was a symbol of our species’ strength, and a twice-cursed pony swatted it out of the sky like so much scrap.”

Micah and Topaz both looked angry, now. Topaz stood, and without a word they moved into the adjoining room. Red could not hear more than whispers as they convened, and began to pant nervously, unable to help himself. He remembered the eye patch that he clutched in tense paws and replaced the article over his scars. 

After several tense minutes, Red heard them approach and settled himself, trying to appear calm. Topaz stood before Red, and Micah wheeled to flank her. Micah spoke first. “You are certain that a pony still lives, Packmate Red?” Micah’s voice spat the word ‘pony’ with a level of vehemence he only reserved for their kind.

Red nodded, relief blossoming in his chest and stifling the quaver he was sure his voice would have emitted. “I am certain, Beta Micah.”

“And you believe this last pony to be a threat, Packmate Red?” asked Topaz, her eyes hard and questioning.

Red nodded, lowering his head submissively. “I believe so, Watchdog Topaz.”

The Watchdog and Beta glanced at each other, and then Topaz returned to her seat among the cushions, and Micah wheeled himself backwards slightly. Micah gestured to the rug. “Sit.”

Red sat. Micah leaned forward in his chair, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Explain your request for a leave of absence, in light of the exposure of this threat to the pack.”

“Beta Micah, I intend to hunt the last pony,” Red explained, allowing some of his anger to darken his voice.

Micah grinned savagely, sharp teeth glinting. “Just what I was hoping you’d say.”

Topaz spoke, her voice carrying with it the air of an order. “Packmate Red, whelp of Ruby, you are hereby granted a leave of absence totaling no greater than thirty-six stormfronts. During that time, you are permitted to abandon your duties in pursuit of the last pony.”

“And when you find the glue-stick, when the light leaves her eyes... you let her know that Micah sent you. A little payback for taking my legs from me in The Feast.” Micah’s voice was almost giddy with a zealous hatred.

Topaz continued. “Upon completion of your task, you shall return forthwith to resume your duties among the pack. If you are unable to carry out your mission in thirty-six stormfronts, you may return and petition for additional time, at which point we will debate the merit of allowing you to continue.”

Red stood and bowed before his leaders. “Thank you both. I’ll leave as soon as I am able. May I be given leave to requisition supplies and materials?”

Topaz’s head cocked to the side. “Materials for what?”

He grinned, a glint in his eye. “My airship.”





Red entered the hangar in the side of the crater, returning from the tunnels below. The stormfront had rolled overhead an hour ago, leaving the air above ground smelling of ozone. Ace and Quint were scrambling over their plane, making pre-flight checks. Quint halted as he cleaned some ash out of one of the engine intakes, noticing Red. “Well, hello pup. You’re just in time to lower these hangar doors of yours so we can get out of here.”

He approached Quint, who hopped off the wing of his aircraft. “I’ve got a job for you, if you’re interested in making some strips.”

Quint’s eyes gleamed with a sudden hunger. “A job, hm? What are we talking about? I’m not about to go chasing ponies across the Wastelands with you, if that’s what you’re going to ask me.”

Red shook his head, lifting a pouch that jangled with the sound of metal from his satchel. “I need engine parts. Goblin engineering, from one of the Petras. I’ve got six hundred silver strips for you on delivery.”

Quint licked his chops, grinning at Red. “Six hundred strips? That’s an awful lot.”

He returned Quint’s grin, “I’m paying you for speed. I need those parts here before the next stormfront. You’ve got five days. Think you can make it?”

Quint looked to Ace, who had ambled closer to the conversation. Ace looked thoughtful, claw scratching his chin, and Quint crossed his arms. “Well, pup, strips or no strips, we don’t have a load of time. We’ve got another job to run, see? We need to get a shipment for the goblins at the Petra west of here.”

Red looked surprised. “They’re paying you more for a delivery?”

The two Dirigible Dogs looked distinctly uncomfortable. Quint scuffed a paw in the ash on the floor. “No. The cheapskates are holding out on us, see?”

Gesturing towards their aircraft, Quint explained. “The engines on that baby are Goblin make. Nowhere else in the wasteland to get them serviced except at one of the imp cities. The little jerks know it, too, so Ace and I have to do jobs for them, as payment for keepin’ our ship in the air.” 

Red eyed the engines on the aircraft, walking a little closer. “These are boiler-powered engines, right?”

Quint gave Red an affirmative nod. Red smiled slyly. “Well, gentlemen, it would appear that your goblin problems are about to be solved.”

Quint crossed his arms, looking skeptical, and Ace moved forward, paying close attention. “How do ya’ figure that, mutt?”

Red reached into the bag hanging at his side, and retrieved a sketchbook. He flipped through several pages before opening the sketchbook to a particular section, turing the book so that Quint and Ace could see the contents on the page. The page contained a sketched diagram of the very same engine on their plane, along with dozens of minute notes around the drawing. “Look familar?”

The two Dirigible Dogs were silent, staring at the page. Quint and Ace both looked at each other after a few moments, and smiles spread across the two dog’s muzzles. “Pup, it would appear that our schedule has just opened up. What are you proposing?”

Red snapped the book closed, tucking it away into his satchel. “Pretty simple. I need engine parts, and you need engine repair. I’ll pay you four hundred silver strips for you to get me the engine parts I need, and on top of that, I’ll repair your engines, for the very reasonable sum of zero strips.”

Quint scowled. “Too good to be true. What’s the catch?”

“The catch is that the first repair is on the house, but if you keep coming back—which you will—then it’ll cost you. But, I promise that my rates are far better than what the goblins would ever give you.” Red watched Quint and Ace as they considered his proposal, his confidence growing.

Finally, Quint nodded. “All right, Red. You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Red chuckled. “Good boy. Here’s the list of the parts.” He handed Quint an envelope.

Quint pulled open the envelope, digging out the list, and his eyes wandered down the notations. His eyes widened as they traversed the page, and he finally spoke. “What in Tartarus are you up to, Red?”

Red took a step back and moved deeper into the hangar, into the darker recesses of the massive structure. He arrived at the back wall and flipped a switch. Lamps embedded in the walls sparked and ignited, illuminating the far end of the hangar and what it held.

The airship was massive, shaped like a huge, elongated pontoon boat. The front sported a wide, yawning mouth and a extended forward deck. The forward viewports of what was undoubtedly a bridge positioned above the ‘mouth’ created the illusion of the front of the ship having a face. Six huge turbine engines mounted on rotating joints were positioned carefully, one on each corner of the body of the ship and two located centrally, aligned to provide lift and forward thrust for the airship. The back of the ship sported two sideways rotor engines, like those mounted on the gyrocopters of goblin design, which provided maneuvering.

Ace and Quint stood, mouths agape. Red moved to a ladder mounted on the forward deck of the ship and climbed up the side of the craft, standing atop the protruding deck. “Well? What do you think?” Red grinned with barely contained excitement.

Ace immediately approached, Quint trailing behind, and they joined Red on the forward deck. Quint knelt down, prodding the surface of the deck. “This is the real deal, pup. I’m impressed!”

Ace pointed up towards the forward view ports. Red nodded, “Sure, I’ll give you a tour.” Ace’s tail began to wag, and he followed Red eagerly.

Red led them inside the wide mouth of the ship. The inside was strangely bare, and the forward deck ran smoothly into the interior of the hull, continuing to the back of the container, where the engines for the airship sat in the darkness of the interior. Red moved to the engines and gave them a fond pat. “These are my design. They’re the same design that I used for Gilliam’s ship. These engines power the six side-turbines and the pair of rotors in the back.”

Ace looked about the interior, giving a low whistle of appreciation. Quint was still a little stunned. He gestured to the yawning front port of the airship. “Why such a large opening?”

Red looked particularly pleased with himself. “Because, my dear Dirigible Dog, this—” Red gestured to the wide tarmac of the interior deck, “—is the launch deck.”

Quint laughed, and even Ace sniggered silently. Quint composed himself after a moment, noting Red’s serious expression. “Oh, Gaia below, you’re serious. This thing is a flying runway?”

Red nodded, gesturing to the sides of the runway. “I’ve installed a system of pulley cables and a second powerful engine underneath the deck.” Red gestured to a thin trench that ran the length of the ship’s runway. “It works like a crossbow. If a lightweight plane was loaded onto the deck, and hooked up to the cable system, I could accelerate it off the deck and give it the forward momentum it needed to stay aloft.”

Quint and Ace both examined the trench, looking down the length. After a moment, Ace got Quint’s attention and made a complex paw motion at him. Red was reminded of a pup, demonstrating a flying aircraft with his paws. Quint watched Ace’s paws for a moment before turning to Red. “Ace wants to know how you land the ship after you launch it. Gilliam’s ship had a similar launch system, but he had a much longer deck than you’ve got here for landing planes.”

Red nodded, smiling. “Well, Gilliam had to be able to land all sorts of ships on his carrier ship. I only need to land one. So, I calculated out a minimum distance needed to launch the ship safely, and used that as a starting point. But that’s when it hit me: why not reverse the launch system?”

Red gestured down the length of the trench. “I built this cable system to work two ways. First, it launches. Second, it catches. A long cable is stretched across the front-most point, and the aircraft catches the cable on a grappling device on the way in for landing. The cable goes taught, and the system acts as a massive brake, bringing the aircraft to a stop quickly.”

Ace nodded as he listened, his eyes traveling along the deck. Red could see the pilot dog imagining the landing. Quint spoke up, “You’d need to be a pretty good pilot to pull that off.”

Red shrugged. “I’ve never flown before. My main concern, now, is getting underway. While I hunt the last pony, I’ll work on building the interceptor, probably a two-seat monoplane with a tail gunner, to launch from inside here. It should only take me a few stormfronts, tops. In the meantime, I’ll be gathering information, learning about the last pony. Finding her weaknesses and strengths. And once I know what I need, I’ll start the hunt in earnest. I’ll need to hire two pilots, one that can fly the interceptor and one to fly the carrier, while I go with the interceptor in the gunner seat and take the fight to the glue-stick.”

Quint chuckled. “Pretty ambitious.”

Red's eye scanned the interior of the flight deck carefully before gesturing towards a few metal walkways in the upper area that dotted the hangar deck. “Above us is the main body of the ship. Storage, a cabin, and the bridge of the airship.”

He led Ace and Quint to a metal stairway up to the walkway, carefully crossing them before reaching an interior hatch. Red pushed open the door and moved into a large room, full of empty shelves that covered every wall. The middle of the room was dominated by a long table, covered in papers scribbled with sketches and equations. Red gestured around. “This is the storage room, but it doubles as a workshop.”

Red moved towards the stern of the airship, opening another door. This room was smaller, almost cramped feeling, holding two bunk beds that were bolted down to the floor and a small series of upright lockers for more storage. “This is the crew cabin. This ship could be run by a single dog, but it’d be more efficient if four worked the ship; a pilot and gunner for the lightweight aircraft, and a pilot and engineer for the carrier itself.”

Red gestured aft, towards another doorway. “There’s additional storage back towards the aft of the ship, for supplies and so on. Now, let’s go to the bridge of the ship.”

Red, Ace, and Quint all moved forward through the crew cabin and primary storage room. Red pulled open a second hatch, and stepped onto the bridge of the ship. It was slightly cramped, with a single seat set at the forward-most point and an array of complex flight controls arranged in front of the seat. Wide windows wrapped around the front and side of the room, giving the pilot a one-hundred and eighty degree view of the sky. A glass skylight sat above the pilot’s seat, providing a view of the region above the ship. Red stood aside as Ace nearly jumped into the pilot’s seat, eyes racing over the controls of the ship. After a few silent moments, Ace turned to Red and grinned.

Red laughed. “Well, looks like Ace found something he likes.”

Quint, who had been mostly silent during the tour, chuckled. “He’s a pilot, Red. And, really, after all that alcohol, he’s as happy as a puppy with a toy. I’m surprised he isn’t trying to make this crazy contraption of yours take off right now.”

Red smiled at Quint and Ace. “She isn’t quite ready. I need those parts for the engines. They’re missing a few key components, including a power source. But...” Red looked to Ace and smiled. “...you get me those parts, and I’ll let you be onboard when I take her out for her first flight.”

Ace leapt out of the chair, spat in his paw, and offered it to Red. Red spat into his own paw and clasped it to Ace’s. Quint snorted. “We were going to do it anyway, Red.”

Red smirked at him. “But now Ace is going to make you do it faster.”

Quint eyed Ace, who appeared giddy with excitement. “Clever.”





Red stood at the end of the runway, watching Ace and Quint’s plane fly into the distance, on their way to retrieve the engine parts he needed. Red smiled to himself and ambled back towards the hangar. He had a lot of work to do to get his airship into flying condition, and not much time to do it. A chill ran down his spine as his ears picked up the distant sound of the stormfront that had passed overhead. 

He returned to the hangar, walking around the length of his airship. He’d never considered launching it before. For years, the airship had been a pet project—he worked on it in his free time, improving the design, retrofitting pieces, and using the massive airframe as a playground for his intellect. He’d never had a reason to fly it, and so had never completed the thing, simply expanding it over time and using it to test new ideas—ideas like the catapult launch system. He’d tested the design for the catapult, of course. He’d estimated the weight of a small aircraft and mocked up a small airframe, weighted down with excess metal slag from the forges below to provide the right amount of weight for the simulation. The catapult had been able to accelerate it to the estimated required speed for launch.

Frowning, Red massaged his temples and closed his eye, thinking hard. He knew it worked. He’d still need to build a lightweight vehicle that could act as an interceptor. The massive airship would never be fast, regardless of its design. He’d designed it for stability, the six turbines and the two rotors more than enough to ride through even the roughest turbulence, as well as enable the lightweight plane to land safely on the forward deck. If he had to chase the last pony in the air, she’d likely be able to outrun his airship... but the interceptor?

Sighing, Red opened his eye. The only thing between him and success was putting theory into practice. He’d never flown before, but he knew all about flying. If he could get into the air, the airship would be easy to pilot, and wouldn’t require complex know-how to operate. The interceptor was another issue entirely, however. It would take a lot of experience to be able to pilot the small craft, especially when it came to taking off and landing on the airship, and experience was one thing he did not have the time to acquire. He’d need to find a pilot, then; one that could fly the interceptor and take the fight to the last pony, or anybody that challenged him for that matter. Red had met Goblins, Dirigible Dogs, and Griffons on the rare occasion that they had landed at his airstrip, looking for repairs. They’d told boastful tales of ruthless air piracy, epic dogfights, and other mid-air feats he couldn’t begin to describe, and Red had learned that there were only two types of pilots: good pilots, and dead ones.

Walking to the frame of his ship, Red ran a paw along the side of the hull, his fingers tracing along the tightly welded metal plates that made up the body of the ship. Looking up into one of the turbines, he exhaled slowly, pushing aside his doubts and concerns for the time being. Right now, he needed to get to work.

 Moving towards the ladder leading up to the forward deck, Red reached for the first rung, only to wince from a headache blossoming in the front of his skull. Red clenched his teeth as fireworks exploded in his vision, and he fought a sudden spell of vertigo. He found himself on his knees as the headache intensified, increasing in magnitude. “This... nngh...impossible!”

Red’s mind searched for a reason why this was happening. He knew he had injected himself with lunar dust only a few hours ago.

Groaning, Red collapsed to his side as foreign images and haunting, bizarre colors exploded in front of his eye, dizzying and sickening. Red gasped for air, the hangar’s temperature seeming to plummet to freezing cold depths. Behind the scars where his other eye should have been, a throbbing pain exploded, and Red opened his mouth in a voiceless howl, claws scrabbling uselessly at the ground. His eye rolled around in its socket, searching for anyone nearby, but there was nobody. His vision began to brighten, colors oversaturating as everything bloomed to white nothingness. Red closed his eye against the brightness. Behind his eyelid, mist swirled, a sickly emerald-green fog that contained shapes. For one instant, Red imagined that he could see figures. A lone pony, wings spread, screamed as green fire engulfed her form. Red opened his eye, and—





—I stood, frowning with concentration at the book of magic that lay open before me. I’d been preparing for this all day, but couldn’t help but feel a little nervous trepidation. My little sister smiled at me, her eyes holding a hint of excitement that I didn’t feel. “Are you ready?” she asked.

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat, and nodded. “I guess so.”

My father’s study was a mess. I had been searching through tomes of magic and spell books, looking for a spell to try out. The teachers at school had never let me do anything but the most simple spells. I knew I was better than that. This was my chance to really push myself. 

Closing my eyes, I focused, channeling arcane energy through my horn. I envisioned the spell effects clearly, concentrating on manipulating the leylines of magic to my design. I felt the energy build and release, and I opened my eyes, peeking upwards. My horn radiated its purple aura, and to my surprise a similar colored globe of energy had formed around my body. I smiled at my sister. “Do it!”

My sister giggled, and using her own horn to levitate a bucket of water, upended it above my head, sending the liquid pouring down onto my shield spell. The water cascaded around the aura of protection, and I smiled with newfound confidence. It had worked!

A tiny hoof pointed to the soaked rug, ruining my confident smile. “Oh, dad isn’t going to like that.”

“Oh, great. I’m going to have to c—”





—Red awoke with a gasp, rolling to his side almost immediately to retch, gagging on his own spit. He was on the floor of the hangar, covered in a cold sweat. His stomach finally finished heaving, leaving him breathlessly panting. He sat up slowly, groaning and rubbing his head. He had hit the floor pretty hard and... something else had happened. His vision attained crisp clarity as a jolt of terror shot up his spine.

He reached up to his forehead quickly, touching the spot of fur right between his eye and the eye patch, near the top of his brow. He wasn’t certain what he expected to find, since there was only fur there. Red breathed a sigh of relief, as he attempted to process what had happened. Had that been... what had that been? A hallucination?

Red sighed, shaking his head. “Of course. A hallucination.” The fungus alcohol sometimes had that effect. Cooper was always careful about his distilling, but the occasional contaminated batch did slip through. He’d have to let the dopey bartender know. He got to his hind legs, feeling slightly shaky, and moved towards the stairs leading down into the den. He’d get to work on the airship after having a chat with Cooper.

“Because it was the alcohol,” Red announced to the empty hangar. The alcohol had done that to him, made him briefly lose his mind. That was all. “I’m not crazy.”

Red shuddered.





Red stood on top of his airship, adjusting the array of lightning rods he had just installed. He’d linked the rods to heavy-duty insulated cabling, which in turn ran down the insides of his ship and linked to the engines. Not only would the rods serve to absorb lightning strikes, but he could use them to charge the batteries that he would be installing on the ship as soon as Ace and Quint returned with his materials.

Stretching and bending to work a kink out of his spine, he surveyed the ship. He’d had a lot of basic work to do: the body of the ship had been looked over, and loose paneling or any other trouble spots in the airframe had been secured. The turbines had been cleaned and oiled, and he had hooked up each one individually to a small portable battery he had on paw. While it didn’t allow the turbines to spin up fully, it had been enough for Red to calibrate the turbines and make certain they were working properly.

It had been four days of focused work, but the airship was ready, save for the engines. Red felt a measure of excitement. This wasn’t just another job on some random ship—this ship was his. He’d built it with his own paws. Red smiled to himself, opening the small hatch that led into the interior of the airship and dropping down into the bridge. He closed the hatch above him and moved out of the bridge, down the stairs, and to the front landing deck. From there, he walked along a makeshift scaffold that he had erected along the side of the airship. He stood on the side, staring at the bare metal. Bending down, he retrieved a jar of thick, black paint and a brush. With a air of solemnity, he began to daub paint along the bow of his craft, his normally scrawling script becoming careful.

Stepping back slightly, Red smiled as he examined his handiwork. Written large across the bow of the ship, was the name The Crimson Score. Red tilted his head, considering for a moment, then in a burst of random artistry dipped his paw into the paint and pressed it to the hull, leaving a pawprint beside his ship’s name. He nodded to himself, liking the personal touch. He shook some of the excess paint off his paw. 

While Red wiped his paw off on a dirty rag, his ears perked as he heard the sound of an engine in the air—an aircraft was coming in. Red moved quickly down the ladder, heading out of the hangar at a fast sprint. He recognized Quint and Ace’s plane, flying overhead and working to align for a landing in the crater. Red smiled and ran, heading to the base of the mooring tower to retrieve the flag from inside. As Ace and Quint’s ship completed their flyover, Red reached the edge of the tarmac and raised the flag up, marking the end of the landing strip for Ace. The aircraft touched down without issue and Red followed alongside at an easy pace as they taxied into the hangar.

Red met the two air pirates as they exited the belly of their plane, hauling crates down the ramp. Ace drug a heavy crate behind him, and Quint carried several smaller boxes, stacked precariously. Red lent the two dogs a paw, grabbing the topmost boxes off of Quint’s load. “Welcome back, boys. You manage to find everything on the list?”

Quint smirked, gesturing with his chin towards their plane. “We got what you ordered, Red. How’s your crazy ship coming along?”

Red set down several boxes, stacking them on the hangar floor, and gestured to the far end of the structure. “She’s just about done. Once I can get the engine parts installed, I’ll be ready to take her out on her maiden voyage.”

Quint stacked his boxes atop the growing pile, as Ace lugged the crate of parts to the bottom of the gangway, assisted by Red. A few more minutes of concentrated work saw the plane unloaded of its cargo. Ace and Quint stood quietly by as Red opened up the multitude of boxes, checking the contents. Finally, Red faced the two Dirigible Dogs. “Everything’s here. Excellent work, dogs. You’re not half bad, for air pirates.”

Red tossed Quint a pouch loaded with currency, and the small dog caught it with a smirk. “The way Ace and I see it, anybody looking to off the last pony’s got the right idea. It’s about time somebody saw that glue-stick off to join its ancestors, and reminded everyone that the Dirigible Dogs deserve respect.”

“Plus, Ace still wants that ride, right?” Red smiled at Ace as the big dog’s tail began to wag. “I knew you didn’t forget. Don’t you worry, Ace. You’ll get your chance to see my airship up close.”

Red got to work immediately. As Ace and Quint helped him move the boxes of parts into the airship’s hangar deck, Quint saw the name painted on the bow of the ship immediately. “The Crimson Score? Got a nice ring to it.”

“It represents my mission. The last pony already took down one of our ships. The Crimson is going to even the score,” Red replied, bent low over one of the engines, using a wrench to tighten one of the new parts into place. He bent low into a crate for another engine part.

Quint chuckled. “Not bad! I like it, anyway. Very... memorable.” 

Ace gave the name a thumbs-up, and Red smiled. “Glad you both approve.” 

Gesturing to the engines, Red looked to the two Dirigible Dogs. “Let’s get started, then.”

Quint held up a paw. “What about our ship?

“The faster I get these parts installed, the sooner I can work on your ship,” replied Red.

Quint shook his head. “Come on, Red. You finish our ship first, and then we’ll help you out. We have places to go, after all.”

Red considered for a moment, turning away from the engines. “...What needs to be done on your plane?”

Quint smiled. “The engine on the left wing isn’t getting the same power output.”

Red nodded, “All right, that doesn’t sound too bad. I’ll fix her up for you, and then we’ll get to work on the Score.”

The three dogs exited The Crimson Score, and soon Red found himself on the wing of Quint and Ace’s aircraft, elbow-deep in the complex machinery of the engine. Quint and Ace stood beneath him, watching with interest. Red felt slightly uncomfortable. It wasn’t often that clients watched him work. Red finally spoke up, “So, how’d you two get in with the goblins?”

On the ground, Quint shrugged. “Wasn’t too hard. We ran cargo in an old zeppelin, and we made good strips on courier services between the goblins and the Dirigible Dog headquarters, delivering parts and supplies back and forth. Then, a goblin offered us a deal on an aircraft.”

Red chuckled, adjusting a valve and tightening several sections of piping. “Your mother didn’t tell you about goblins offering deals?”

Quint scowled, and Ace snorted. “I, uh... well, Ace knew something was up, but I didn’t listen to him.”

Ace kicked Quint in the shin, eliciting a yelp from the smaller dog. A brief scuffle ensued as Quint tackled Ace, and the two Dirigible Dogs wrestled on the floor. They broke apart after a moment, smiling good-naturedly. Quint took a moment to catch his breath before speaking again. “Yeah, as you can see, Ace won’t let me live it down. I didn’t realize at the time, but the deal was so good because only goblin mechanics know how to fix goblin machinery, and goblin mechanics charge out the snout for repairs to non-imps.”

Red shook his head, before spotting something in the engine. Red stuck his head and shoulders into the engine, using both paws and a wrench to remove a piece, and held it up. The article in question was a section of valve that was oddly bent with a small rupture. “You dogs happen to fly through any cold climates recently?”

Quint sighed, nodding as he looked at the piece. “Yeah. We had a layover in the northern mountains four stormfronts ago.”

Red nodded. “Looks like the cold froze up this valve, and the liquid inside expanded and ruptured the piece. I’ve got a replacement part, luckily.”

The two Dirigible Dogs looked relieved. “Thanks, Red. Glad to know we’ve got another mechanic to rely on.”

Red nodded, hopping down off the wing and heading down to the den to retrieve the part. “I’ll get this installed, and then we’ll get to work on my ship.”





        Quint and Ace sat on the launch deck of The Crimson Score, parts spread out around them on the floor, examining each piece and cleaning it before handing it off to Red. Red installed another piece of the engine, muttering to himself under his breath as he moved between the engines and the batteries. “Quint, hand me that cable.”

The smaller Dirigible Dog picked up an insulated cable that connected to the batteries and offered it to Red, who took it and, using his teeth, bit off the end of the insulation, revealing the braided wiring underneath. He spliced the cable into another cable that ran up to the lightning rods, and then began covering the newly connected wiring with strips of non-conductive wrap. Red lit a blowtorch and began to heat the strips of insulation, melting the individual pieces together into a solid unit. 

Stepping back, Red looked over the parts. The batteries had taken some work to integrate with the existing electronics, but Red was confident in his skills. The engines were nearly complete as well. Quint and Ace were of considerable assistance.

The three dogs turned as a shout came from outside the aircraft, echoing in the hangar. Red shrugged at Ace and Quint and moved out of the inside of the ship, looking down to the hangar floor. Topaz stood below, Micah beside her in his wheelchair. Red raised a paw in greeting. “Hey there. What brings you two up from the mines to the world above?”

Topaz smirked. “Just checking up on you, Red. Cooper informed me that he hasn’t seen you down in the Corner for a few days.”

Red scratched his head, thinking. “I guess it’s been a bit. I’ve been focused.”

Topaz chuckled. “Good to know you’re taking your hunt seriously, Red, but there comes a point when it’s a good idea to take a break. Have you eaten recently?”

Sighing, Red shook his head. “Not really. I mean, I have some dried meat up here that I’ve been...”

Catching Topaz’s stern expression, he relented. “No. I haven’t eaten.”

Topaz gave Red a knowing look. “We figured.” She waved the dogs down. “Come on, then. Let’s get some meat in your belly. Your two... acquaintances... can come too.”

Red, Quint, and Ace followed Topaz and Micah down into the den, and found themselves in Cooper’s Corner. A large group of Diamond Dogs were there, eating and chatting jovially. When Red entered the bar, the pack let out a cheer. Red found himself surrounded by grinning dogs, slapping him on the back and shaking his paws, offering him drinks. Red looked helplessly at Micah and Topaz, both of whom were laughing at his bemusement. “Word’s spread of your hunt, Packmate. They’re all here to celebrate.”

Red laughed, still slightly confused. “Celebrate what?”

Micah held aloft a mug of potent drink, and roared to the crowd, “The end of ponies!”

The cry was taken up by the assembled dogs. “The end of ponies!” Red found a drink pressed into his paws, and even Quint and Ace were served by exuberant dogs. Red raised his cup to the pack, and they quieted down, waiting to hear what he had to say. Red coughed, not used to the attention, but knowing that he was expected to say something. “Thank you, all of you. I’m not sure I deserve this, but I can tell you, I won’t let you down.”

Micah raised his voice, wheeling next to Red. “For thousands of years, before the Feast of Gaia, the cursed glue-sticks spat on us. They kept us from the riches of the earth, claiming territory and land that was rightfully given to the Diamond Dogs by Gaia, mother of us all.”

The pack growled, some booing and shouting curses. Micah’s voice rose again, taking on a fervent tone. “The ponies worshipped their goddesses of sun and moon, and failed to pay fealty to Gaia. They used her body, tearing her apart and building atop her mountains, angering her with their transgressions, dabbling in magics. They oppressed our ancestors, driving them from their mines, refusing to trade equally, looking on us as lesser beings, to be used for our gems and then discarded.”

The Diamond Dogs growled again, and Red even felt his hackles rise along with their anger. Micah continued, pausing only to take a brief drink from his mug. “I remember the Feast of Gaia. I knew what it meant. When the Great Mother first began to rumble, I could feel it in my bones. Gaia had been attacked.”

A hush went over the dogs, as they listened to Micah’s familiar tale. He continued on, eyes bulging with a violent, zealous rage, spitting every syllable. “The ponies had used their magic, and their goddesses had attempted to kill Gaia. For all the hatred we held for the accursed ponies, even the most lowly dog knew that to kill a god or goddess is the greatest sin. The world was held in a balance by all the gods and goddesses, and though the ponies had always taken advantage of their closeness with their goddesses, we would have never suspected them capable of such a heinous act.”

Red clenched his paws around the mug, listening and remembering the Feast, remembering the terror. It was a distant, confusing memory, but one full of loss. All the dogs were rendered solemn and silent, as they reflected on their personal experiences. Micah paused, giving them a brief moment, before continuing on, voice shaking passionately. “Their Goddesses of Sun and Moon worked their dark magic, and entered into combat against Gaia, seeking to control her domain. The battle was long, and ultimately, by the strength of our great Goddess, they failed, but only after destroying so many. Gaia feasted for a day and a night, consuming all that was not of the earth. The ponies were destroyed... or so we thought.”

Micah gestured around to the pack, drawing them in with his movements. “We thought that Gaia’s victory was complete, that though the world may have been nearly ended, we had triumphed at last over the cursed equine races. We were wrong.”

Micah placed a paw on Red’s shoulder, and Red felt pride in the gesture. Micah looked only at Red as he spoke. “Red encountered the last pony, and just like her ancestors, she did what came naturally. She attacked. She battled Red, and she left him marked.”

Red wasn’t prepared as Micah’s paw reached up, pulling the eye patch from his head, revealing the scars underneath. The pack grumbled and growled as his old wound was revealed. Micah smiled. “However, this is not the end of the story. By Gaia’s grace, Red survived, marked by the last pony. And, so marked, he was singled out by our goddess for a far greater purpose than he had ever imagined.”

Micah tenderly reached out, his paw pressing over Red’s scars. “Packmate Red was chosen to finish the work that the goddess began. He was given a mission.”

Red bared his fangs. “The end of ponies.”

Micah nodded. “Yes. The pony marked you, and the goddess saved you. You will bring the goddess’ work to fruition. You will kill the last pony.”

Topaz approached, placing her own paw atop Red’s head. “More than that, though. When Red strikes against the last pony, he will be returning honor to our race. Dogs, word has come to us that Gilliam’s great airship, The Dog’s Bollocks, was stricken from the sky.”

The pack gasped, growling and murmuring amongst themselves. A few cried out. 

“How?” 

“Who could have done that?”

Topaz held up a paw, hushing the pack. “We know the culprit. It was none other than the last pony.”

The dogs were shocked, silent for a few moments as Topaz’s announcement sunk in. Topaz continued to speak. “The pony knocked Gilliam’s ship out of the sky using the same cursed magics of her race. She spat in the face of our glorious pack, dogs. She destroyed the greatest and most dangerous weapon of war we had ever created.”

Topaz smiled at Red, patting him on the head fondly. “And Packmate Red intends to return the favor.”

The dogs cheered, howling, the noise thunderous, and Red saw Quint and Ace howling with the rest of the pack. Red stood up, bowing to the pack, and they became quiet. He cleared his throat, glancing at Topaz and Micah. The Watchdog and Beta nodded to him, urging him on. Red spoke, his voice strong. “Packmates, friends. I will complete this task. For the pack, for our race, and for Gaia herself!”

The pack howled, and Red punctuated his proclamation by draining his mug dry, and handing it to a nearby dog. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a ship to build and a pony to kill.”

Red strode from the bar, Quint and Ace following him, as the pack cheered. Micah caught Red on the way out, pulling the younger dog in close. The Beta’s eyes were fierce, and his voice was harsh. “Remember, Red. When you kill that pony, you do it for everyone... but don’t forget me. Tell that pony, Red.”

Red nodded. “I’ll remember.”

Micah nodded, seeming satisfied, and smiled at Red. “Your mother would be proud to see you, now.”

Red froze, staring at Micah. Micah looked Red in the eye, speaking slowly. “It’s a shame, what happened to her.”

Red’s ears flattened back, his voice becoming quiet. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Micah held a paw up, keeping Red in place. “It wasn’t your fault, pup. The pony was the one that hurt you. She left you addled. If it hadn’t been for the pony, your mother would still be alive.”

Red growled softly. “I know.”

Micah smiled, teeth glinting. “Good. Remember that. Now go.”

Leaving his Beta behind, Red strode up the tunnels, meeting Ace and Quint in the hangar. They both slapped Red on the back, grinning. Quint spoke up, “Well, Red. You’re some kinda folk hero, now. Ordained by the goddess herself, hm?”

Red shrugged, face serious. “I’m not sure about all that. I just know that I’m the dog for the job. I’m not doing it for the goddess, or the pack.”

The two Dirigible Dogs looked slightly confused, and Red sighed. “Come on. Let’s get to work and finish those engines.”



 
        
        Hours later, the three finished installing the parts Red had ordered from the goblins. Red sighed as he put the last engine piece into place, using an arc welder to seal the last joint. The Crimson Score was finally ready. 

Together, the three dogs moved up to the bridge. Red took the pilot’s seat, smiling with excitement as he powered up the turbines for the first time. The engines drew power from the batteries and came to life with a roar of energy, and the six turbines howled, filling the hangar with their deep-throated rumble.
        
        Red sat in the pilot’s seat on the bridge, Ace and Quint standing behind him, watching with excitement. Red looked back, smiling at the two Dirigible Dogs. “Here we go.”
        
        He pushed several levers, and placed his hand on a large thrust toggle, pushing it up slowly to a marked half-way point. The airframe of the ship shuddered, strained, and then finally lifted up off the ground, hovering a scant few feet above the floor of the hangar. The twin maneuvering rotors at the back of the ship roared as Red switched them on, and the ship balanced in the air, maintaining its station as Red adjusted the maneuvering engines slightly. Finally, with a grin, Red pushed the primary thrust lever forward. The six turbines rotated on their joints, and The Crimson Score began to coast, slowly moving out of the hangar and into the crater.

Red laughed, and Ace gave him a slap on the back. Quint spoke up, his high voice giddy. “Well, look at that. The pup can fly.”

Red grinned fiercely as the ship cleared the hangar and shoved a few levers forward. The ship rose from the floor of the crater, lifting off as the turbines roared to full power. Red pushed another lever forward, and then looked back to Ace. “Ace, would you do me the honor of bringing us in to dock with the mooring tower?”

Ace chuckled silently, a voiceless hiss of mirth, and took the pilot’s seat as Red stepped aside. Ace ran his paws along the controls, his eyes narrowing in concentration briefly as he studied the layout. Then, with a relaxed efficiency, he began to work, paws flying across the controls, adjusting the speed and climb of the ship, leveling her out at the peak of the mooring tower. Red moved to the windows and watched. The crater, his home, stretched out beneath him. His eye rose, beyond the lips of the crater walls, and looked out on the Wastelands. Before him stretched the endless expanse of ash and dust, lit dimly by a scorched and sunless sky. Far off in the distance, he could see the roiling edge of a stormfront, blowing in slowly towards his home. It would arrive in a matter of hours.

Ace brought the The Crimson Score in close to the mooring tower, gently guiding her to one of the berths. He set the engines to a lower setting, and throttled down the rear rotors, and the ship settled into a hover. Red joined him at the controls, and pulled a series of levers and switches. Docking clamps extended from the bow and stern of the ship, and Red watched the readouts as they moved into place. Finally, the clamps found the mooring tower and latched into the berth. Red smiled as the readout lights switched from red to green, indicating that the ship was docked. Ace reluctantly surrendered the pilot’s seat, and Red got to work, spinning down the turbines to a low hover.

Red stood up as Quint and Ace beamed at him. Quint offered a paw to Red, who took it. “Not bad, pup. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Ace so excited,” said Quint, gesturing to his normally very composed pilot. Ace managed to suppress his grin, his face falling into its usual neutral expression, but his tail was not so easily contained, wagging ceaselessly.

The three dogs left the bridge, and Red led them out a hatch on the side of the ship. He extended a small gangway, and they all moved off the ship onto the mooring tower. Red laughed, raising his arms up above his head exultantly as he surveyed his vessel. She’d flown. “I can’t believe it. It’s done.”

Quint and Ace glanced at each other, smiling at Red’s exuberance. “So, what’s the next step, Red?” asked Quint.

“Well, next I need to wait for the stormfront that’s about to blow in to charge up the batteries fully. They’ll need a full charge if I’m going to do any more flying, and rather than wait for a generator to power them up, I’m going to harness the power of the storm to get The Crimson Score ready to fly.”

Quint nodded, looking out towards the horizon and the distant stormfront. “Well, sounds like you’ve got everything planned out.”

“How about you two? What will you both be up to, now that this job is over?” Red asked, his excitement fading slightly.

Quint gestured back towards the Hangar, smirking. “Well, Ace and I got another delivery job lined up. We’ve got to pick up some stuff at this out-of-the-way little hellhole in the wastes north of Mount Ogreton, and bring it to this place called the ‘M.O.D.D.’ It’s a little pub on top of a mountain, way to the east of here, run by a bunch of monkeys. It’ll take us about two solid stormfronts to retrieve the stuff and then fly to the M.O.D.D.”

Nodding, Red looked out to the east, voice lowering. “I think It’d be great to meet up at the M.O.D.D. You know, catch up?”—Red turned to face Quint and Ace, expression serious—“I don’t have anybody out there that I can rely on, no ties to any organizations. I’ve lived in this little corner of the Wastelands all my life. I think... I’d like to start expanding my horizons beyond my pack’s territory, and that begins here.”

Quint and Ace shared a sideways glance. Ace shrugged, and smirked. Quint nodded slowly, a smile spreading across his face. “Yeah, you know what, pup? That sounds good. Ace can draw you a map with the M.O.D.D. on it, and give you some headings to follow.”

Red smiled, “Sounds good to me. We’ll meet at the M.O.D.D., two stormfronts from now.”

The three dogs headed down the mooring tower, back across the crater to the hangar. Red waited outside their plane as Ace went inside, returning several minutes later with a crudely drawn map and a few sets of numbers indicating headings Red should follow. Quint, meanwhile, did pre-flight checks on the plane, prepping their vehicle for takeoff ahead of the stormfront.

All too soon, Ace and Quint were gone, leaving Red alone in his crows’ nest on top of the mooring tower. Red watched as their aircraft banked to the east. It’s wings suddenly dipped, rotating briefly left and right in an aerial salute. Red laughed, shaking his head at Ace’s little farewell maneuver. He turned into the wind, then, facing the approaching stormfront.

This was it. He felt the all-too-brief bubble of exuberant energy burst as lightning flashed in the distant storm.





Inexorable, unstoppable, unrelenting, and utterly predictable, a stormfront rolled towards Red, and for the first time in nearly one thousand two hundred and fifty stormfronts, he was going to be out in the middle of it.

 Red sat in the pilot seat of The Crimson Score, powering up the engines, his eye glancing up every few moments to the windows; as the stormfront approached, it filled the sky with black clouds that spat lightning. Already, he could see the leading edge of whirling sleet. The Crimson Score groaned in her berth as the harsh winds assailed the mooring tower. Red completed the pre-flight checks, the final switch closing the doors to the open mouth of the hangar deck below him, and exhaled out the nervous energy that filled his stomach. 

He had brought supplies on board earlier before the maiden flight, food and water enough to last him several stormfronts, as well as a few other knick-knacks, including his syringe and several vials of freshly-prepared lunar dust mixture. He didn’t know when he’d have time to prepare more within the next few stormfronts, so he wanted to be ready. In fact, Red was as ready as he’d ever be. 

The only problem was that he didn’t feel remotely ready.

Stormfronts were a part of life in the wasteland. If he was going to fly over the wastelands—if he intended to hunt for the last pony—he couldn’t afford to avoid stormfronts any longer. It was time to face it down, fly into the furious electrical phenomenon and conquer it. If he couldn’t manage that, then this entire endeavor was a massive waste of time.

Red chewed on the inside of his cheek, trying to release some of the nervous tension. The stormfront filled his view ports, rolling over the top of him. Red fired up the engines, growling to himself. “You got this. Every pilot has to do this at some point. Come on, come on, focus!”

The terror bloomed in his guts as the stormfront hit, thunder crashing overhead. Lightning struck the edge of the crater, and Red found himself on the deck, curled in a ball as the edge of the storm raged in the window above his head. It was too much. He fought the whimpers that threatened to escape his throat, grinding his teeth together and trying to find something, anything to focus on. He could smell burnt meat, charred flesh, and all too quickly, he was taken back, an addled pup recovering from a traumatic brain injury. His vision fogged as he remembered. 





        Red knew he was in trouble as he stared into the sky above him. His brain couldn’t quite process his trouble properly, focusing instead on the bizarre patterns and chaotic beauty of the clouds, as they roiled overhead, filling the air with sleet.

        How had he gotten out here? His brain tried to put pieces together, analyzing, but it wasn’t up to the task. He had been practicing walking, and that was good. Momma wanted him to walk whenever he could. Walking was good, it made him stronger, made thinking easier. Momma wanted him to recover, wanted him stronger, and so did he. He felt dimly proud, until a rumble overhead reminded him of his current circumstances. He focused, thinking. He remembered walking, and then he remembered being lost. That happened a lot. He forgot things, silly things, but he was getting better. He walked too far, though, this time. He remembered a nice dog, a funny dog, telling him which way to go. He’d followed where the dog pointed, but he must have done something wrong.

        Overhead, the clouds boiled, and Red was entranced by the beauty of their almost lifelike movements. The fresh air was like a balm, clearing his head, and he smiled up at the sky. He stretched his paws up, feeling the sleet rain down on him, cold and strangely refreshing. Then the thunder came, louder than anything he could remember.
        
Red screamed, curling up in a ball as lightning scorched the ground nearby. The lights and noise were everywhere, like a maze to the broken mind of the addled Diamond Dog. He couldn’t see anything but the flashes of lightning as it struck around him, couldn’t hear anything except the howling wind and the explosive acoustics of thunder. He lay in the middle of the crater, writhing in pain as his mind was overwhelmed by the power of the stormfront. He coughed, turning his head away as ash and sleet fell around him, driving into his open, howling mouth.

He couldn’t remember much, but he remembered The Feast of Gaia. He remembered the roar of the earth. Now, it was back. Gaia had remembered the souls she had overlooked in her feasting so many years ago, and was back to claim them. The world was ending all over again, and Red knew that he would be buried, swallowed up by the hungry goddess, his body crushed beneath a million tons of rock.

The Diamond Dog writhed as lightning crackled around him, deafening him, further dulling his already damaged senses. He felt, rather than heard, the rapid approach of something that slid through the sleet and ash to fall at his side. 

Paws clutched him, and Red’s nose was filled with the comforting scent of home. He opened his eye and discovered that Ruby was kneeling over him. Her face was streaked with tears, but she smiled. He mouth moved, saying something that his ears couldn’t hear. Her paws tugged at him, and Red found himself on his feet, staggering forward. He could see, far away, another dog, waiting at the tunnel into the den, watching from the safety of the entrance and waving them inside. Red moved, stumbling, and paws pushed him forward, urging him into a headling run. He moved, faster, feeling his fur stand on end as he pushed himself. He felt charged, giddy, a tickling sensation. Suddenly, those careful paws at his back shoved him, pushing him down into the ash. An explosion of light, so bright and so close, kept his head down for another moment. Rolling onto his back, he looked behind him.

Ruby stood on her toes, arms askew at odd angles as smoke rose from her body, curling in wisps from her fingertips, her elbows, her head, and into the air. She was twitching slightly, then fell to her knees, head slumping forward. Her back bent and she fell without ceremony, face-first into the ash and sleet.

Red couldn’t remember going to her. He couldn’t remember lifting her up, carrying her back to the tunnel. All he could remember was the smell of charred and burnt fur, the reek of smoking flesh.





        Red shivered on the deck, nostrils full of the stink of ozone and burnt fur, mind scrambling for something, anything to cling to. He retched, his nerves overcoming him briefly as his fortitude waned. Around him, The Crimson Score trembled and shook with the fury of the storm overhead. His head rang with the noise outside.

        He managed to stand up, moving back to the pilot’s seat through an effort of will. He placed his hands on the controls, trying to still the shaking that suddenly ran through his paws. He closed his eye, trying to think of anything that could bring him a measure of fortitude.

        Ace and Quint came to mind. He imagined them, waiting for him at the M.O.D.D.. He imagined never arriving, their disappointed faces as they left, writing him off as another wanna-be pilot. That mutt’ll be stuck in the ground until Gaia claims his sorry hide.

        He pictured Ruby. Briefly, all he could see was a charred corpse, and his stomach twirled as his claws dug into the pads of his paws. After a moment of terrified mental scrambling, he dredged up her face, her green eyes and warm smile. He imagined what she’d say. Red, what are you waiting for? An invitation? The phrase rang in his mind, bringing a smile. She’d always used to say that, whenever he hesitated to do something she’d asked. She’d be so disappointed in him if she saw him now, balking in the face of a couple of clouds.

Red opened his eye, and faced the front viewports. He gasped, all the mental fortitude he’d gathered suddenly flying away as he stared at the “couple of clouds” above him. He’d forgotten the power, the raw destructive potential of the full brunt of a stormfront. He’d been terrified of the leading edge of the storm. This... this was the belly of the beast.

He couldn’t do it.

His ears flattened back on his head. Maybe he could try again. Maybe... the next stormfront wouldn’t be so bad? He didn’t... have to fly in a stormfront. Maybe the last pony was as afraid of stormfronts as he was.

Laughing bitterly at himself, Red sagged in the pilot’s chair, his arms dropping to his sides. This was it. This was what he amounted to. All his intellect, all his planning, and he was thwarted by meterological phenomena, reduced to lame excuses.

Red stiffened as he felt a sudden, sharp pain explode in his head. His head lolled to the side as he lost motor functions, sitting loosely in the seat, body twitching as his muscles spasmed.

He couldn’t help but feel a small bit of satisfaction as the headache overwhelmed his senses, sending him lurching sideways out of the chair as he forgot how to sit up straight. This, at least, wasn’t a made-up excuse. His vision exploded in a kaleidoscope of color, and—





—I woke up with a sharp gasp of terror, sitting upright in bed. Outside, thunder crackled and a storm raged, and something was in bed with me. I nearly screamed, leaping out from under my blankets and rising to my hooves. A tiny voice squeaked as I grabbed the edge of my blanket in my teeth pulled the covers off my bed, my horn glowing and lighting up the room.

My sister was curled in a small ball, staring up at me through her dark mane. She looked awful, tear tracks staining her muzzle and bags under her big eyes. I sighed with a measure of relief and annoyance, spitting out the edge of my blanket and letting it fall to the floor of my room. “Are you alright?”

My sister shook her head, her mane tossing. Her voice quaked with barely restrained terror. “I-I’m scared.”

I knelt down at the edge of the bed, tousling her mane gently, my annoyance gone in the face of her fear. I was her big brother. It was my job to be there for her. Mom and dad were always so busy, working late in the city, and a lot of the time it was just the two of us. “Hey, it’s okay sis. Thunderstorms scare me a bit, too.”

She stared up at me, eyes wide. “R-really?”

I smiled, sitting down on the bed next to her. “Yeah, really. In fact, I’m glad you came in here. I was having a bad dream.”

She giggled, hiccuping slightly. “You don’t have bad dreams! You’re the strongest big brother in the world. Nothing scares you.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “I do so have bad dreams.” Closing my eyes, I tried to picture the dream. It was faint, something about... flying? I remembered lightning and thunder, though, and the smell of burnt fur, punctuating my dream and adding to my fear. “I don’t remember what it was, though. You rescued me before it could get really scary.”

She laughed, eyes widening. “I saved you?”

I nodded, making my face earnest. “Yep. You saved me.” I gave her a hug, feeling her fear drain away. “Thanks.”

I held her close as she laughed, a little pride entering her voice, replacing the terror that had been there. “Wait ‘til I tell mommy and daddy.”

I chuckled, pushing her away playfully. “Aw, come on! Don’t tell them I’m having nightmares! I’m supposed to be the strong big brother, not a fraidy-pony!”

She giggled, winking. “I’m just kidding! I’d never tell on you.”

I laughed, giving her another hug. “You’re the best little sister I could ask for.”

She smiled, nuzzling my cheek affectionately, and—





—Red’s eye snapped open. He sat up slowly, blinking away the bizarre dream. He rubbed at his head, as thunder boomed overhead. The headache had passed, gone as suddenly as it had come. He sat quietly for a moment trying to process what had just happened. Lightning flashed outside his view port, and The Crimson Score shuddered with the force being unleashed by the stormfront.

        Standing up, Red touched his cheek. He could feel warmth there, like the ghost of the soft touch of a forgotten sibling. That had been bizarre, stranger than anything he’d ever experienced. More than that, though, the... memory... had filled his head with something other than the terror that had clouded his every thought.
        
        He felt strong. 

        Moving to the pilot seat, Red reached out to the controls, and throttled the turbines up. The docking clamps strained, and he pressed their release switches and gripped the controls. The Crimson Score rose, shivering as the airframe was buffeted by the howling wind. Lightning struck the mooring tower next to his ship, and Red smiled, baring his teeth with a ferocious growl. 

“Here we go!”

Red opened the throttle, and The Crimson Score responded, lifting into the storm. Red laughed with exultation as his ship rose through the grey and black expanse, her windows spattered with moisture as the storm engulfed her. He flipped a switch on the panel in front of him and the exterior of his ship was suddenly illuminated, as lights snapped on across the ship. 

“Lift! Lift! Come on, baby, bring me the sky.”

The Crimson Score roared upward, turbines straining and engines pushed to their limit as she screamed skyward. Red sat at the controls, watching as the lightning rods absorbed strike after strike, charging his ship’s batteries, breathing life into her engines and pushing her to new heights of performance.

Red stood up, abandoning his seat to stand at the controls, his energy level too high to accept sitting down any longer. He was as charged as the batteries beneath him, as the storm around him. He eased back on the throttle, adjusting his course so his compass heading pointed east. 

Engines rumbling, The Crimson Score broke through the roof of the clouds, exploding into the perpetual twilight. Below, the thunderheads of the stormfront gathered like colossal mountains. Between the haze of the sky and the very dim pinpricks of the stars above, and the clouds below, Red was treated to a surreal landscape of immeasurable beauty. He gasped, one paw reaching out to press against the window. He couldn’t have imagined this moment ever occurring. 

He’d always been a Diamond Dog, a whelp of the earth. Dirt was under his claws and in his blood. He’d stayed within his den, the hangar, the crows’ nest, never once considering life beyond the walls of his crater. Storms had hemmed him in, keeping him close to shelter, safety. Now, though? 

Now, his claws clutched the sky, and his reach was infinite: as far as his craft could carry him. The twilight haze of the sky—for all its dim lifelessness—belonged to him. Out here was uncertainty and danger, and he discovered that he wouldn’t have had it any other way. He’d faced the stormfront. A smile passed across his face, and he rubbed at his eye briefly, feeling overwhelmed by the moment. He sat down in his seat, pulling a lever, rotating the airship around slowly, taking in everything.

Red stopped the slow rotation of The Crimson Score and decreased the power to her turbines, sending her into a hover on the roof of the world, and adjusted the course to face into the east. Red closed his eye, focusing himself, centering his energy and reminding himself of his purpose. He wasn’t here to sightsee. He had a job to do. A mission to accomplish. He was going to complete the work of a goddess, bring pride back to his pack.

More than that, more than anything, he was going to make the last pony pay. For his father. His brother. His mother. Himself. For the world they had ruined.

He placed a paw on the toggle switch controlling his forward throttle, pausing for a last, brief moment to take in the sky—his sky.

Red pushed the throttle forward, and the hunt began.











- End of Chapter 2 -





Special Thanks to:


WardenPony, shortskirtsandexplosions, RazgrizS57, and TheBrianJ













> Chapter 3
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


- Chapter 3 -


        Thunder and lightning filled the twilit air of the Wastelands, as a stormfront moved through the desolate landscape. Sleet spilled from the clouds, covering the barren and ash filled wastes with cold slush. Creatures cowered in holes and coverings, sheltering from the fury of the storm. The only things unphased by the storm were the trolls, their gibbering cries filling the wastes as they hunted.
        
        There was only one other creature out in the storm. Up inside the clouds, an airship swerved through the sky, swaying erratically. Inside the bridge, Red scrambled to keep The Crimson Score from being torn apart as the winds blew the ship around. He cursed under his breath as the Score rocked—another incredible gust of wind shifting it off course—and pulled the control stick to the side, leveling out the ship.
        
        Red scowled at his own stupidity. He should have known better than to go out in a storm like this. Yes, the batteries needed charging, but that had been accomplished in his first push through the stormfront. The trouble had started when he’d actually decided to begin piloting the ship. Before, he’d only ever flown The Crimson Score up and down, pushing through the clouds and into the relatively calm air above the massive storm. Once Red began flying forward, though, he’d learned that it took a lot of focus and finesse to keep the ship on a steady course, and he’d accidentally began to lose altitude as he’d overcompensated. 

Now, he was back down in the stormfront, and he was regretting ever choosing to build something as complex as a VTOL airship. The problem was not the ship, though, and Red knew it. He was inexperienced, and it was probably going to kill him if he didn’t get the Score under control.

Red cursed himself again as his airship fishtailed through the air when he pushed too much power into the rear rotors, sending the rear of the ship flinging around and sending the Score into a spin. He swallowed hard, focusing himself as the ship revolved in mid-air, and slowly decreased the power to the rear rotors. The ship finally eased out of the spin, and Red sighed with relief.

He was only given a brief respite though, as the next gust of wind hit the ship, pushing it sideways, and Red’s clumsy piloting sent the aircraft into a tilt. He gasped, shifting the thrust to the other side, and Red found himself tilting the opposite way just as fast. Growling, he did his best to keep his fear in check as he accelerated, shifting from forward momentum into a climb, hoping to break through the clouds once more. The wind carried the ship, and Red felt a chill run down his spine as the rear of the ship began to pitch upwards, threatening to push the ship’s tail up and flip the ship upside-down—which would be the end of him. Red boosted the power to the forward turbines, and the ship leveled out, but only just.

The viewports filled with grey clouds and were spotted with sleet and ash. Red could only see the bow of his ship, and no further. He pushed the engines again, and The Crimson Score began to rise, finally popping out of the top of the stormfront. Red sighed with relief, simply satisfied to stay above the clouds for the moment. He couldn’t see the end of the stormfront, but knew that if he waited, it would pass beneath him soon enough. He tried to calculate the distance he’d traveled; the mountains had been far in the distance when he’d taken off, but he had no indication of where he was now.

After taking a few minutes to collect himself and reorient to the east, Red decided to practice flying once more. He carefully pushed the throttles forward and the ship began to move horizontally. The prow of the airship began to dip, and Red increased the thrust to the forward engines. The ship began to level out, and soon Red was cruising above the clouds once more. Red smiled, as The Crimson Score rode atop the storm, its design no doubt looking like a odd boat atop a foggy ocean. The Crimson Score was illuminated from below by lightning, and Red could see cloud-to-cloud strikes crackle through the stormfront, casting an odd glow of erratic light.

Noticing that his course was drifting, Red adjusted the rear rotors. He yelped as his ship began to glide sideways, losing altitude once again and dipping him back into the grey miasma of the stormfront. Red was briefly dazzled by lightning as it flashed in front of the ship. He did his best, adjusting his course once more in an attempt to try and end the bizarre sideways slide.

Red growled with frustration as his untested paws skipped over the controls of the ship, and finally discovered that though he had managed to get his craft to fly straight, he was still losing altitude. The Crimson Score dropped beneath the stormfront, and Red peered into the wasteland, taking the opportunity to judge the distance he’d traveled. His crater home was long gone, far to the west, and the mountains had grown larger. Below, the Wastelands were filled with broken hills and cratered valleys, the countryside dotted with the occasional ruined structure and precious little else.

The Crimson Score’s engines roared as Red brought the uncontrolled descent to heel, bringing her slowly back into the clouds. Wind tore at his ship again, threatening to undo him, but Red persisted, eventually managing to pop back up out of the clouds once more, greeted by the top of the stormfront. He immediately noticed that he was not alone. To the east, was another large airship, floating above the storm on six balloons. The zeppelin was a mess of metal plates and stuck-together parts and colored an odd mold-green.

Red worked to correct his ship’s slight drift. Balancing the power between the main turbines and the rear rotors was more of a trick than he’d imagined. His ship finally held steady, hovering, as the zeppelin lurched closer. Red scowled to himself. Yes, he’d definitely been spotted. Red pressed a button, sending power to an electronic broadcast system, and pulled the receiver close. He reached forward and pushed a clasp on the forward viewport, and the glass window opened with a small pop and a rush of air. Pressing another button, he broadcast his voice out a set of covered speakers mounted on the prow of the ship. “Attention, unknown zeppelin. This is The Crimson Score. State your intent for approaching. I can defend myself.”

Red hoped the nervous tension he felt didn’t show in his voice, and he reached a paw down to his satchel, patting the steam pistol in his bag.

The Zeppelin’s motors sputtered and slowed, and it floated near The Crimson Score. After a few moments, over the noise of the stormfront below, a thickly-accented voice was broadcast over a loudspeaker on the zeppelin. “Greetings and salutations! This iz Brucie, friendly neighborhood flying squirrel. I have never seen ship such as yours in Vasteland before! Vhere does comrade Crimson Score hail from?”

Red was briefly put off by the bizarre accent, his brain taking a moment to sort out the foreign pronunciation, but eventually he managed a reply. “I’m flying in from the west.”

The voice of the flying squirrel responded with a raspy chuckle, “Ahh, from the vest! Brucie only knows two things that come from vest. Griffons, and Dirigible Dogs! Tell Brucie, Crimson Score, you are Griffon ship, da? You look like Griffon ship.”

Red briefly considered bluffing and going along with “Brucie”s assumption, but decided against it. “Well—”

“If yes, Brucie already paid Golden Gang one thousand silver strips for so-called ‘protection’, and Brucie will not be paying any more!”

Red scowled. “No, I—”

“Nyet, not one more strip!”

Red frowned, getting more frustrated. “I never said—”

“Zero!”

“But—”

Bruce’s heavily accented voice let out a sudden and dramatic sob. “Brucie has many children back in St. Petersbrittle! Many mouths to feed, da? Brucie can hear them now!”—his voice took on a falsetto quality—”Papa, vhy have you brought no nuts for us to eat?”—Brucie’s voice returned to a tearful rendition of his normal accent—”Because, dear rhebyohnuhk, Brucie had to give avay all silver strips to Griffons!”

Before Bruce’s voice could break into a ridiculous falsetto tone once more, Red broadcast over the top of him. “For Gaia’s sake, I’m not a Griffon! I’m a Diamond Dog!”

There was a brief pause in the broadcast from the zeppelin, then Bruce’s voice carried over the stormfront once more,”Vhy didn’t you say so! Crimson Score had Brucie all vorked up! Brucie was about to start heartfelt rendition of St. Petersbrittle national anthem. It brings tears to every eye in vasteland, da?”

Red shook his head. “You been up at high altitudes for a while, Brucie? I’ve met a few pilots that haven’t had enough oxygen. They get funny in the head.”

Jovial laughter, punctuated by the occasional hacking cough, broadcast from the zeppelin. “Oh, Brucie likes you! Brucie thinks Crimson Score will do good business, da?”

Red frowned. “Business?”

Bruce’s voice became fast-paced, and Red was barely able to follow the squirrel’s words. “Bruce is best salesrodent in entire Vastelands! You vant it, Bruce got it! Ammo for guns, belts for pants, fuel for ship! Strange objects, ramcraft metals, collectible items, and one-of-kind moose antlers.”

Red’s head nearly spun. “...Moose antlers?”

Bruce’s grin was audible. “Da, moose antlers! Brucie thinks they vould look very dashing on front of Crimson Score! Strike fear into hearts of Vastelanders, hmm? Da, Brucie think so.”

“I... don’t think I’m interested in moose antlers.”

Bruce’s voice muttered quietly. “Brucie vill never sell moose antlers...”

Red pondered for a moment. “Do you have much in the way of survival equipment? I could probably use a few things.”

“Ah ha! Brucie knew Crimson Score would be good customer! Brucie will bring his ship around to your bow, and we will meet face-on, eh?”

Red inwardly shrugged. He might as well. He could at least talk to Bruce, get some information, perhaps learn about the Wastelands. “Very well. Come around to my bow, Bruce.”

The zeppelin maneuvered closer, slowly coming into alignment with the front deck of The Crimson Score. Red set the engines, making certain the ship would not drift, and then moved down to the hangar area. He opened the hangar doors from the inside and drew his steam pistol, carrying it openly as he walked onto the front of the ship. A rusted hatch on the Zeppelin aligned to the front of the ship, and a metal gangway extended from the bottom of the zeppelin, creating a thin walkway up to the hatch. After a moment, the rusted door was pulled open, a thick haze of smoke escaping, and revealing... nothing.

Red frowned. “Huh.”

A light tap on his shoulder interrupted any investigation Red could have begun, and he spun around, grip tightening on the steam pistol. Hanging upside-down from the hangar door was a fuzzy, goggled face with huge incisors. “Hello!”

“Gah!” Red stumbled back, tripping and landing on his tail with a grunt.

Bruce dropped from the ceiling, turning in a quick somersault in midair and landing on his paws before Red with a smirk, “Vhy is it dat Diamond Dogs alvays bark vhen they see squirrel?”

Red stood up, frowning at his lack of decorum. “Sorry, must be a habit.” Red looked over the squirrel, taking in the strange creature’s appearance.

Bruce was a small flying squirrel, barely half a meter tall, and carried a thick cigar in his incisors. A fuzzy hat sat atop his head, and his eyes were covered by a pair of slightly oversized goggles. Removing the cigar from his mouth, Bruce gave Red a flourishing bow and roguish grin. “Vell, it is not often that Brucie meets Dirigible Dog vith such good manners.”

Red smirked. “I still haven’t met a Dirigible Dog with much in the way of manners. I’m a Diamond Dog.”

The diminutive squirrel looked up at Red, goggles reflecting the dim twilight as he looked the dog up and down slowly. “Brucie sees no difference.”

Chuckling, Red shrugged. “The Diamond Dogs don’t fly. Well, not until me, anyway.”

“So, vhat makes Diamond Dog different now?”

Red paused, caught by his own explanation. “...Nothing, I guess?”

Bruce laughed. “Ha! Then Crimson Score pilot is Dirigible Dog to Brucie!”

“Fair enough. And my name is Red.” Red offered a paw to Bruce, who shook it.

“Brucie is glad to meet Red. Come, come aboard, look around, see vhat Brucie has for flying dog Red!”

Red moved to follow Bruce inside, but Bruce held up a paw, gesturing with his cigar towards the gun in Red’s paw. “Brucie humbly request Red’s weapon is holstered, da? It makes Brucie nervous.”

Red frowned, but tucked away the pistol in his satchel, before following Bruce into the bizarre zeppelin.

Red coughed slightly as he entered the interior of the zeppelin, a haze of cigar smoke filled the whole of the ship. Bruce himself scampered ahead, climbing along the walls and occasionally even the ceiling on all fours, flipping on interior lights that dimly illuminated shelves and stacks of equipment. Red gaped at the sheer volume of stuff that filled the zeppelin. “No wonder you have six balloons keeping this thing afloat.”

Bruce chuckled, blowing some smoke into the air. “Is full-time job, being scavenger.”

Running his paws along the shelving, he wandered through the stacks of equipment. He stopped in front of a large display of weaponry. Knives, Guns, and other implements of war hung along a wall and filled an entire section of shelving. Red pulled out his steam pistol, showing it to Bruce. “Got any ammunition and steam cells for this?”

Bruce looked over the steam pistol before snickering, and blew a few rings of smoke into the air, the glow from his cigar reflecting red in the goggles on the squirrel’s face. “Da, Brucie has ammunition and steam cells. Is this only veapon dat dog Red has?”

Unable to help but notice the subtle derision in Bruce’s voice, Red asked the merchant, “Why? Do you think it isn’t enough?”

Bruce laughed, “Friend, there is no such thing as ‘too much gun’ in Vastelands. Help Brucie help Red, hm? Does dog have experience vith other veapons?”

“Not really, beyond this pistol.”

The diminutive squirrel scrambled around the shelves, hefting weapons and dropping them into Red’s paws, all the while chattering away. “No experience means Red does not vant something dat is too precise, da? Brucie think so, yes...”

Red found himself holding four or five different weapons, while Bruce continued to drape weapons by straps and holsters onto the Diamond Dog. “Hmm, shotgun is good, da? Double-barrel, single-barrel. Point and shoot, yes? No need to aim vell. Blunderbuss also good. Never runs out of ammo! Or perhaps dog vould like machine gun? Loud noises, very fast, much bullets! Oho! Grenade launcher also good. Vhy need to aim, vhen could just pull trigger, and... boom! No more problem, eh?”

Red staggered as Bruce threw a belt of grenades over his shoulder, and added a few more heavy weapons to the pile. Red finally called out, hoping to focus Bruce some. “Brucie, I’d rather use weapons that are steam-powered, like my pistol. That way I can save on ammunition.”

Bruce halted, dropping a few weapons onto a shelf and placing his hands on his hips. “Steam is good, da, and savings are better! Hmm, Brucie may have something...”

Bruce scampered off, leaving Red to consider all the firearms he’d been loaded down with. He carefully set down the armload of equipment and set aside the shotguns first. He tried to recall every detail he could about his quarry, the last pony. She’d been wearing heavy leather armor, and he’d seen a few metal plates covering her flanks and forelimbs, no doubt for enhanced protection over vulnerable areas. He picked up one of the higher-caliber machine guns. The bizarre thing had three barrels, and obviously spun, like a gatling weapon. He set it aside, and picked up another machine gun. This one had a single barrel and a drum magazine. He set this one aside as well, and hefted a long-barreled rifle. He examined it, liking the heft, and noticed that it appeared to have a complex firing mechanism that allowed for both semi-automatic and fully-automatic fire. He set this weapon aside, pondering what he might need. Armor penetration would be necessary, to deal with the last pony, so he needed a powerful weapon that could punch through leather and metal.

Bruce returned, carrying a large weapon that dwarfed the small squirrel. It was a simple looking gun of goblin design, and most importantly appeared to be steam-powered. He handed it off to Red, who whistled appreciatively. “What is this beast?”

“‘Beast’ is goblin-made, steam-powered rifle! Can fire very fast, or one-shot, yes? Very accurate, but vith rapid-fire setting, dog Red can... how does saying go? ‘pray and spray’, da?”

Red nodded, liking the sound of it. “It uses the same steam cells as the pistol?”

Bruce nodded, grinning wide, “Da! Brucie vas searching, and remembered, ‘Brucie did trade with goblin six stormfront ago!’. Brucie got dis gun for good price!”

Smiling, Red hefted the weapon, feeling the weight and the grip. “Yeah, this is good. What kind of ammunition does it use? I’ll probably need enough punch to take down an armored target.”

Bruce pointed to the gun’s chamber, which was currently open. “Rifle uses high-caliber steam bolts... and Brucie just so happen to have some that are special-made. They penetrating rounds, da? For armor targets, just as Red vas thinking, hm?”

Red nodded, “Perfect. I think I’ll take this, that ammo, and... the grenade launcher and the rounds for that as well.”

Bruce cackled, “Brucie like friend Red! He big spender, yes? Brucie also has much armor, as vell. Perhaps friend Red is getting into big trouble, hm? Armor is alvays good idea.”

The two figures moved deeper into the Zeppelin, into a smaller section that was filled with armor. From heavy metal pieces, to lighter leather, and everything in-between, Bruce’s wares were versatile. Red finally found a leather vest that would protect him against some small-caliber weapons. Red couldn’t recall the last pony carrying any long-range weapons, so he decided to forgo heavy armor in favor of the maneuverability that the lighter articles afforded. He also picked up leather bracers for his upper arms, to defend against slashing weapons and offer him a modicum of protection from the dagger weapon the last pony had used on him.

Bruce chuckled, goggles reflecting the interior light as he looked over Red. He’d tucked away the poncho in his satchel in exchange for the leather vest. He now wore the heavy rifle on a strap on his back, and the steam pistol hung in a brand-new leather holster on his waist. He’d also picked up a light canvas belt that went around his upper arm that held a sheathed dagger. Another new belt hung opposite his holster, holding a pouch for steam cells and magazines of ammunition. Finally, the grenade launcher hung off his shoulder, along with a bandolier of grenades. Red smirked, striking a pose. “How do I look?”

Bruce laughed, coughing, and stumbled back in mock-terror. “Ah! If Brucie did not know any better, he vould think that new dog stood before him! Brucie has seen great transformation, from uninspiring vasteland pup to Crimson Score pilot, scourge of skies! Eyepatch now looks like grand accessory, hm?”

The Diamond Dog dug into his satchel, retrieving his bag of silver strips. “How much is this all going to be?”

Bruce’s head cocked to the side, and he frowned, considering. After a moment, the squirrel replied. “Five hundred silver strips for rifle, three hundred for grenade launcher, one hundred for all ammunition and grenades, and one hundred for all armor. Brucie throw in knife on arm for free!”

Red thought through for a moment. “So, one thousand silver strips for the whole getup? How about eight hundred?”

Bruce took a long drag on his cigar, seemingly unconcerned by the counter-offer. “Hmm, Brucie think that friend Red pushes luck? Nine hundred and fifty strips.”

“Eight hundred and seventy five.”

Bruce chuckled. “Ah, this is sounding like better offer, yes? But is still too low. Brucie thinks nine hundred and twenty five. Rifle is of high quality!”

Red considered. “Nine-hundred.”

Bruce scowled. “Come now, friend Red! Brucie has much mouths to feed in St. Petersbrittle, da? Childrens vould think less of their papa if he did any less than nine hundred and twenty five.”

Red chuckled. “I’ll go nine hundred and twenty five if you admit that you don’t have any mouths to feed but your own.”

Bruce laughed uproariously, slapping his knee and pausing briefly to cough heavily, “Oho, Brucie likes you, Red. Very vell. Brucie has no childrens. This is big lie. Very convincing, da?”

Red smirked as he dug into his pouch of silver strips. This was most of his funds. Luckily, he had food enough on the ship. He began to count out the silver strips, for Bruce’s sake, tucking away each strip into a separate pouch for the merchant. 

Bruce watched intently, goggles fogging slightly with smoke, and idly chattered at Red. “Tell Brucie, vhy does dog need so much heavy veapons, hm?”

Red paused in his counting briefly to consider the best answer; he shrugged. “I’m on a hunt.”

Bruce leaned in a little closer, goggles reflecting the silver strips as they were counted. “Ahh, a hunt. Dangerous game, hm?”

Red focused on counting out the strips, not fully paying attention to Bruce. “I’d have to say so. I’d imagine that if I was the last of my kind, I’d want to be as dangerous as possible.”

Bruce’s head jerked back, and the cigar fell from his mouth to the deck, and he scrambled to pick it up. He coughed, goggles nervously searching Red’s face now. “Last of kind, eh? Vhat... sort of creature does friend Red hunt?”

Red smirked, finishing his count and offering the strips to Bruce. “The last pony is my quarry, Brucie. Here you go. Nine hundred and twenty five silver strips.”

Red stared at Bruce as his goggles moved between the strips in Red’s paws and Red’s face. There was something amiss, but Red couldn’t quite pin down what it was. Bruce was almost visibly sweating as he obviously considered something, his paws wringing. Red frowned, “You okay, Brucie?”

Bruce appeared to snap out of whatever was occupying his thoughts, and his goggles glinted up at Red’s face. “Da. Da, Brucie is fine. Vas just thinking about finding mono-goggle for dog Red’s eye, hm?”

Red chuckled. “Why would I need something like that?”

“So Brucie cannot do something such as—” Quick as a flash, Bruce leapt up, poking Red in his good eye, “—this!”

Red jerked back, wincing his good eye closed as the tiny paw poked him. “Augh!” He dropped to one knee, rubbing at his eye. “Brucie, what gives?”

Red wasn’t ready when Bruce produced a massive shotgun, seemingly out of thin air. The quadruple barreled weapon pressed into Red’s chest, and the squirrel, previously so nervous, seemed determined now. Red snarled, “What in Tartarus is this, Brucie?”

Bruce frowned. “Is nothing personal, dog, but Brucie is afraid that business is over. Vhat Brucie vant, now, is for dog to put Brucie’s merchandise on deck. Very, very slowly. No funny business, da?”

Red growled, paw clenching around his pouch of silver strips. “I assume you want these as well?”

Bruce frowned, obviously considering the offer, but shook his head. “Nyet. Red can put strips avay, and then dog can drop all veapons on deck.”

“I thought we had a deal,” Red said, scowling as he tucked the strips away. 

“Deal is over, da?” Bruce smiled, regaining some of his swagger. Red sighed as he began to drop all his newly acquired weapons on the deck, until he was down to the armor, his satchel, and holstered steam pistol. Bruce gestured with his oversized shotgun. “Pistol as vell, da?”

Eyes narrowing, Red reached slowly to the clasp of the belt and dropped it on the floor. “I thought you weren’t robbing me, Brucie. You know that the steam pistol is mine.”

Bruce frowned, glancing down at the pistol. “Then Red and Brucie make trade, da? Red keeps strips, satchel, and shiny new armor things, and Brucie takes dog Red’s pistol and does not blow dog Red’s brains all over bulkhead. Is good trade, hmmm? Da, Brucie think so.”

Red shook his head, eye narrowing. “Fine. Are we done? I’d like to leave before a certain psychotic squirrel decides to empty four chambers of obviously-compensating-for-something into my guts.”

Bruce smirked. “Is not so bad. Brucie is feeling generous today.”

Red was marched out of the zeppelin, and returned without ceremony to the front deck of The Crimson Score. Red turned to face Bruce as the squirrel retracted the gangplank between the two ships. “Why? Why turn on me now, Brucie?”

Bruce stared across at Red, considering him quietly for a moment before replying. “Red seems like good dog. Very smart. Has good ship, yes? But Brucie knows last pony. Pony is survivor, da?”

Red scowled. “Why throw in with her, then?”

“Because pony... pony is special to Brucie.” Bruce flicked his cigar away, off into the stormfront far below the two ships, and smiled at Red. “She is... repeat customer!”

With that, Bruce slammed the hatch into the zeppelin closed, and a few moments later the airship flew away, disappearing into the distance, leaving Red alone in the sky. Red watched the zeppelin depart, scowling into the wind and cold, watching his breath fog the air. He finally sat down on the edge of the deck, letting his paws hang free into the vast space beneath his ship. Below, the thunderheads on the trailing edge of the stormfront flowed together, obscuring the ground.

After a few moments, gathering his thoughts, Red reached into the satchel and retrieved his notebook and a piece of graphite. He flipped open the notebook to a fresh page and wrote inside it.





Note To Self:

The last pony is not universally vilified. I didn’t expect to come upon any creatures sympathetic to her, and I was careless in giving out information. I met a merchant: a flying squirrel by the name of Brucie. He has ties to the Griffons, mentioning “The Golden Gang,” probably a group of Griffon air pirates or mercenaries running a protection racket. If he’s up on his payments, that means I could end up tangling with these Griffons in the future. He also made it clear that he has a personal interest in the last pony, describing her as ‘special’ to him. This seems bizarre. Every time I’ve spoken to the denizens of the Wastelands of ponies, they’ve always been full of hate and malice. Regardless, I’ve learned that she is a repeat customer to Bruce, so I may be able to tail him in the future and learn more of her whereabouts, or perhaps even catch her when she meets with Bruce. That will have to wait, though. Bruce caught me off guard and stole my steam pistol. I have a few daggers stashed around the Crimson Score, but they are less than ideal. I need ranged weapons to survive. I’ll have to locate the M.O.D.D. sooner rather than later, and hopefully I can purchase a weapon or two there.





Red tucked away the notebook and graphite in his satchel once more, and stood up, heading back inside his ship and up to the bridge. He settled into the pilot seat. Well, at least this wasn’t a total loss, he thought. Gathering information was his first priority, and he’d learned several things. Red paused, wondering why Bruce hadn’t simply blown a hole in his face and been done with it. He’d admitted to the merchant’s chubby face that he was hunting for the last pony, and being disarmed, though a setback, wasn’t going to change that.

He pulled the map Ace had scrawled for him, set it on his console, and set his instruments to the first heading listed. Red flew slowly, following the trailing edge of the stormfront, watching as the massive bank of clouds pulled ahead of him, revealing the wasteland below in all its ash-laden glory. Red kept The Crimson Score at a lower altitude and focused on maintaining his course, watching for the landmarks noted on the map.



Red flew for a few hours without issue, occasionally having to correct his course due to minor mistakes. Spotting the first landmark ahead—a point simply labeled ‘ruins’—Red flew low over the small town. Tucked into the foothills of a mountain range, the small village was obviously of pony make. He examined the strange architecture: the buildings were primarily made from stone or brick, and didn’t have the usual gaudy pastel colors he associated with pony-made structures. Red had always been able to tell pony architecture apart from others because of the wide spaces between buildings and the large amount of “park” space, places where the ponies could enjoy the outdoors. Red assumed that it had something to do with their evolution from pastoral creatures.

Regardless of reasons, though, this town was different. Red gained a bit of altitude and made a mental note to return here when he’d acquired some weaponry. He didn’t know much about ponies other than simple hearsay or what he’d observed from the few ruined settlements around the crater that he had explored. This place was far too much of an anomaly not to spark his interest.

Red was beginning to feel exhaustion creep into his mind. He’d been flying for several hours, and had been pushing himself for a stormfront to complete The Crimson Score. He flew higher into the foothills, watching for a level point somewhere relatively safe to put down for the evening. After several minutes of searching, he spotted a suitable location, a flat area tucked between a set of hills. 

Red brought the Score down, carefully settling the craft into the ash and dust. He moved through the ship, securing the hatches and locking everything down while he prepared to rest. Satisfied with his preparations, he returned to the bridge and settled into the pilot’s seat, setting the engines into a standby mode. If something spooked him, he’d be ready to power up and take off in moments.

Leaning back into the chair, Red tried to relax, but found his mind wandering. Reaching into his satchel, he pulled out his notebook and graphite once more, flipping to the most recent entry, and began to scribble beneath it. He drew simple geometric shapes and lines, not attempting to accomplish anything, simply allowing his mind to drift and his paws to move on their own; the simple task relaxed him. His eyelid began to drop lower, his paws began to slow, and—





I sighed, staring at the workbench in front of me. Scrolls and notes were spread out, surrounding the simple metal framework of my... device. I sighed, pressing a hoof to the side of my head, massaging my temples as I tried to focus. I was so tired. I’d been working for hours, trying to tackle some of the issues with the magic I was attempting to create.

I had hit a stumbling block. While I was aware of what the device was supposed to do, I didn’t have the slightest idea how to create the effects I wanted to achieve. The magic was something new, something untested and unexplored, which was exciting. I was proud to be working on this assignment. I knew that my superiors were watching me carefully, seeing what I could accomplish. They’d said words like ‘promotion’, and that was good, very good. A promotion meant moving out of this outfit on the edge of the nasty, dangerous swamplands—a post that was not by any means a place for an up-and-coming unicorn like myself. I was capable of so much more than Spell Research and Development, and this device was my chance to prove myself.

I turned back to my notes, re-reading over the careful selection of spells that I had been forming over a year of study and experimentation. I nodded to myself and hefted several new additions to the framework of my construct, using my mouth and hooves to position them and my magic to affix them in place. I stepped back, looking over the device again.

The construct was a bizarre looking prototype. The metal body was a helical spiral that held a large arcane focusing crystal. Around the spiral stuck four spokes, each one holding a hollow crystalline orb. These four orbs were special containers, crafted by master artificers to my specifications out of the purest amethyst gemstones, and were the final pieces needed for the device. 

Well, almost the final pieces.

I left the device on the bench, and trotted purposefully into the halls of the base. My workstation was underground, as was the rest of the clandestine facility in the western wastes. I moved with purpose to Director Razorwing’s office, passing by several pegasus and earth pony guards in the halls of the facility. The halls were whitewashed and immaculately clean,  I knocked on the Director’s door and stepped back, shifting from hoof to hoof with nervous anticipation.

After a moment, Director Razorwing opened the door, peering out into the corridor. The white pegasus’ bleach blond mane stuck out in an unkempt manner, and I could tell that he’d been napping. He smirked when he saw me. “Well, look who it is. Our newest egghead.”

“I think it’s ready, Director Razorwing.”

Razorwing snorted, tossing his mane. “I don’t like hearing ‘I think.’ It is or it isn’t.”

I put on a determined face. “It’s ready. I need access to fresh samples and a test subject, and I should be able to demonstrate it immediately.”

Razorwing smiled at me. “Now that’s more like it. I’ll get you a requisition order and you can get your samples. When you’re ready to test them, let me know.”

Razorwing turned away, heading back into his office. His door slid closed behind him with—





—a slam shook Red awake, and he gasped, startled. Something was pounding against the viewport in front of him. Red sat up in his seat, his notebook spilling onto the floor, and he came face-to-face with the snarling visage of a troll. The troll clung to the front viewport and battered its thick, stupid skull against the glass, its beady black eyes full of menace. Red could hear scrabbling against the side of his ship’s hull and knew that a pack of the leathery beasts had discovered his ship. He flipped a switch, sending the idling engines back to full power, and powered up the turbines. They came to life with a roar of energy, and Red pushed them to full thrust, climbing into the air in a rapid vertical takeoff.

The Crimson Score exploded into the dusty air, sending a plume of ash out in every direction. Red set the engines to hover after he gained 30 meters of altitude, and gunned the rear rotors. The Crimson Score went into a spin, rotating like a top. Red sent the ship through several revolutions, glaring out the viewport at the troll as it clung to the glass. With a screech of claws, the troll was flung loose, spiraling away into the air.

Red finally halted the spin of his craft, sitting silently and listening. It was quiet, but that meant nothing. Gritting his teeth, Red reached into a compartment beneath the pilot’s seat and withdrew a long knife. He didn’t want any nasty surprises when he left the ship, which meant going out and making certain the hull was clear of any clinging trolls.

Red stood up on his toes and levered open the top hatch, opening it to the outside air, and leapt out onto the top of The Crimson Score. He immediately spotted a pair of trolls, climbing up the starboard side of the ship, peering through windows and scraping at the bulkhead, searching for a way in. He checked around, confirming that they were the only two, and then whistled sharply at the two beasts. Black eyes, full of hunger, met his yellow eye, and he motioned to them, snarling, “Come on, then. Let’s get this over with.”

The trolls climbed up the hull of the ship, sharp claws screeching as they clung to the metal. Red moved to meet them. He lashed out with his foot, smashing spindly fingers as they searched for purchase on the edge of the ship, and danced backwards as the other troll leapt to the roof of the ship, snarling at him. The first troll arrived on top of the Score, nursing a broken finger and growled, rage filling its eyes. Red watched them, dropping into a low stance and reversing his grip on the knife. Trolls were grapplers, preferring to get in close and pull prey to the ground with force of numbers. He could handle these two without much trouble, but he couldn’t afford to be careless. The trolls circled him, snapping their sharp teeth at him and gibbering madly. 

Red watched them carefully, shifting his stance to adapt to their position. They suddenly lunged, simultaneously launching themselves at Red. Red snarled and moved to meet them, body-checking one and bringing it down on the hull. His dagger plunged downward, and the troll beneath him snarled and dug its claws into his sides as it was stabbed, its sharp nails raking against the tough leather. The other troll came from behind, wrapping its arms around Red’s neck in an attempt to choke him, while its sharp teeth bit into Red’s hide. 

Red growled in pain, pulling the dagger out of the troll beneath him and rolling backwards, falling on top of the troll on his back. He twisted as its grip loosened, coming face-to-face with the troll, and he snarled, his teeth plunging down into the troll’s throat. The troll’s claws raked across the back of his skull as Red’s fangs punctured its leathery hide, rewarding the Diamond Dog with a hot spurt of black blood that filled his mouth. Red nearly gagged on the taste, spitting and pulling back as the troll began to bleed out, its arms going slack as it gurgled weakly. 

The other troll tackled him full in the back, and he twisted to meet the new threat. They traded blows, troll claws raking across his armored arms as his dagger stabbed again and again into the unarmored flesh of the beast. The troll gripped him, the pain from its injuries only seeming to make it angrier, and pulled Red hard against the hull. Red fell atop the troll as it went down, his weapon sliding between its ribs and sticking hard. Red released his weapon and grabbed the troll by the sides of its head. The troll snarled and snapped in his grasp, and he slammed the back of its skull against the bulkhead, again and again, until it stopped moving. Red fell back after a moment, panting and sweating as adrenaline coursed through his veins, and he surveyed his handiwork.

 Black ichor covered the top of the ship, as well as smeared his muzzle and chest. He growled, paws reaching up to touch the side of his head. Two deep wounds bled freely, matting his coat. He was surprised that the troll that had bit the back of his head hadn’t taken some hide with it when he’d collapsed atop it. His vest and the leather bracers on his arms had taken some damage, but hadn’t been punctured, merely torn in a few places where scrabbling troll claws had run across the tough surface.

Legs shaking, Red stood up and almost immediately coughed, spitting out some more black troll blood. He kicked one of the corpses, growling at it, before hefting it by an arm and a leg and throwing it over the edge of the ship. He repeated this process with the other troll, clearing the top of his ship of the mortal remains of the two trolls, and then re-entered the ship through the access hatch.

Red felt the adrenaline rush leaving his system, and with it came a wave of weakness. He reached back again, gingerly, and felt the two wounds across the back of his head, and grimaced. He was bleeding heavily. 

Red went immediately to the first aid kit in the storage room and pulled it open, retrieving several thick bandages and a white, thick-grained powder in a vial, along with two small compact mirrors. He set one on the table before him and sat down on a stool. He lifted the other mirror and, watching the reflections, surveyed the wound, wincing at what he saw. There were a ragged double-line of punctures running across the back of his skull, oozing blood. He opened the vial of grainy powder in his off hand and, bending his head down, poured the white powder onto the wounds in small amounts, though the sudden tremor in his paws made that difficult. 

He yelped as the powder touched his injuries, stinging and burning. He steeled himself and continued to pour, covering all the wounds with the powder and then, with a grimace of pain, rubbing it into the injuries, packing the powder into the bleeding ring of holes in his head. Red closed his eye as the pain lessened.

The powder was an old Diamond Dog remedy, made from the soft talc rock, ash, and a blend of underground plants and fungi. They would ease the pain and, more importantly, help stop the bleeding, creating scab-like coverings over the wounds while they healed. Red began to wrap bandages around his head, keeping them tight to help stop the bleeding further, and then finally sat up, looking in the mirror.

He looked awfully ridiculous, his muzzle and good eye poking out from a layered wrap of bandages. He chuckled at his reflection, and his chuckle turned into near-hysterical laughter as he shook, the fear he’d felt during the encounter bleeding away with the laughter, leaving him hollow and nauseous. His laughter turned into more coughing, and Red gagged. He managed to grab a bucket tucked into a corner before he vomited, emptying his stomach. Hunching over the bucket for a few moments, stomach heaving as he spat, Red cleared his guts and mouth of the taste of troll blood. He finally sat down, leaning back against the bulkhead near the floor, breathing heavily, and pushed the bucket away. Crawling on all fours, he worked his way back onto the bridge and slid into the pilot seat. Red estimated he’d only gotten a few hours of sleep, but there was no way he was going to be able to rest after that encounter.

Red took The Crimson Score out of a hover and throttled the engines forward, heading for the looming mountain range.





Red checked the map against his current heading and nodded, noting down the next landmark as he passed over a massive, sprawling urban landscape of ruined buildings. A pony city stretched out before him, more massive than anything he’d ever experienced. The sheer scale of construction was impressive, even if what remained were hollow shells of former buildings, stretching upward to touch the dim haze of the sky above. Red had actually been forced to increase his altitude by several hundred feet to stay well clear of the ruined ironwork spires that reached up like claws, threatening his ship. He stared down into the dark streets far below. Camp fires lit the city in some places, no doubt denoting groups of wastelanders vying over the resources and scraps of the ruins. Red adjusted his course, heading north-east for the far-distant mountain range. He had at least another three days of flying ahead of him, by his estimate, before he reached the M.O.D.D.

Below him, Red noted activity on the ground. He watched with interest, and suddenly tensed as shapes began to lift from one of the camps—airships. Two zeppelin craft pulled into the atmosphere below him. No doubt they’d seen him flying in from the west and were looking for a easy target. He pulled up into the sky and pushed the engines, shooting The Crimson Score away from the city at full speed. Red grit his teeth, ignoring the throbbing ache in the back of his head, and focused on keeping his aircraft on course. He felt the rear rotors begin to drift slightly, and he adjusted their power accordingly, smiling to himself. He was maybe, just maybe, starting to get the hang of this.

The Crimson Score flew over the center of the city, and the zeppelins rose to meet it. Red scowled as he realized he wasn’t going to pass them without being intercepted by one of the two rapidly rising craft. He slowed his engines slightly, and angled in on one of the Zeppelins. He considered for a moment at how best to approach the situation, and then powered on the broadcast system, closing with the nearer zeppelin. He lifted the receiver to his mouth and put on his best gruff voice. “What do you fools think you are doing? Are you searching for death?”

Red continued to approach the craft, waiting for a reply. Finally, the zeppelin broadcast back from unseen speakers, “You will land immediately and surrender yourself, or we will blow you out of the sky!”

Laughing, Red broadcast back to the zeppelin, “Ha! You don’t know who you’re dealing with, obviously. I’m feeling merciful, though, so I’ll let you know: This is... Captain Talon, of Griffon Mountain, pilot of the airship The Crimson Score!”

Red listened intently, hoping his bluff paid off. There was a long pause, and Red steeled himself, reaching forward to the throttle controls. Finally, he heard the voice of the other pilot. “We... we did not recognise your craft, Captain. Your airship is new to us. We thought the Golden Gang were the only griffons in these parts of the Wastelands!”

Red smirked, and replied, his voice harsh, “Idiots! Do you think that the Golden Gang own the skies themselves?! I should shoot you down for your insolence!”

The other pilot’s voice broadcast back, carrying an air of desperation, “W-we’re sorry! We’re sorry! We won’t bother you! We don’t want any trouble with the griffons!”

Red stifled a laugh and spoke into the receiver, broadcasting back. “If we weren’t fully loaded with cargo, you would be in a world of hurt. Retreat from my airspace at once, scum!”

The zeppelins began to lose altitude without reply, and Red deactivated the broadcast system, powering the Score forward. He briefly muttered a wry word of thanks to Brucie. The squirrel’s obvious fear of his ship, based upon its advanced look, had given him the idea to pose as a Griffon vessel. His gambit had obviously paid off. As the two zeppelins retreated, he continued unhindered over the ruins of the city. Red smiled to himself, speaking aloud. “Not bad. Not bad at all. I should use that trick more often.”





Red adjusted his heading once more, watching the mountain range below carefully for the tell-tale signs of the M.O.D.D.. Ace’s map featured a very rough sketch of what appeared to be a small building stuck on the peak of a mountain, held aloft by a forest of cross beams and braces. Red angled The Crimson Score down between several peaks, looking out for any sign of the M.O.D.D. Before long, he spotted a glow, illuminating the twilit sky above one of the mountains. He brought the Score around, smiling to himself. He’d done it. It had taken a few days of careful flying, but he’d navigated the Wastelands.

The Crimson Score flew around the side of the mountain, revealing the bizarre structure of the M.O.D.D. before Red. Illuminated by the sickly green glow of a neon sign that spelled “MODD” in the hazy air, the three-story building was a ramshackle of hammered-together metal and wood, and it sagged on one edge ever so slightly. Beneath the structure, dozens of metal struts and braces held the building to the mountain, preventing it from collapsing into the ravines far below. Several airships were moored or hovered over the M.O.D.D., and wasteland denizens of all shapes and sizes moved to and from the building. Red grinned and set the Crimson Score into a hover, bringing it to a halt over one of the many berths. He extended the docking clamps and his ship tucked into place, maintaining its station on the berth.

Red double checked the engines and gathered his things, preparing to disembark. He stopped in the workroom and slowly, carefully, unwound the bandages from the back of his head and face. He winced, touching the area around the bite wounds. They were a little tender, but appeared to be healing nicely. Red left the scabbed-over injury open to the air, and headed down into the hangar deck. He exited out the front hangar doors, sliding them shut and locking them. Climbing down the ladder off the side of the front deck, Red moved down the stairs leading from the berth where The Crimson Score hovered placidly. Red brushed past an inebriated goblin and into the front doors of the first floor of the M.O.D.D.

The M.O.D.D. was a melting pot of various Wasteland creatures, all joined by the common cause of getting stupendously drunk and held in check by the wary eye of the baboon bartender. Red’s nostrils were assaulted by the combination of strong drink and bodily fluids, and he focused on not gagging. The bar was lit—dimly—by gas lanterns that flickered, casting eerie shadows through the hazy room. Circular tables held ogres, Dirigible Dogs, goblins, and all manner of other beings. Red walked farther into the room, feeling glances pass his way, and he kept his face neutral, impassive. Suddenly, a mangy raccoon with bloodshot eyes stood up on a nearby table, pointing at him with a metal foreleg. “Fresh meat!”

Red glared at the raccoon, not understanding, but the cry was taken up by nearby patrons, and soon the bar was chanting it raucously, paws and hands drumming against the bar and tables. “Fresh meat! Fresh meat! Fresh meat!”

The bartender stood atop the bar, leering down at Red. “Well, look at that. Hello there, fresh meat.”

Red glared up at the baboon. “What’s the deal?”

The baboon grinned at him, baring his huge canines. “It’s a tradition here in the Monkey O’ Dozen Den. I’m Pitt, this is my place, and my eleven other brothers and I run the joint.”

Red snorted. “Nice to meet you. Now, what’s going on?”

Pitt reached below the counter and pulled three jars of clear liquid from underneath, placing it on the bar before Red. “The challenge. You’re fresh meat, pup, and that means that you gotta prove yourself. No pilot who’s ever come through here has avoided the challenge.”

Red eyed the jars of liquid. “All right.”

The baboon chuckled, his nostrils flaring, and he produced a small shot glass, placing it in front of Red on the bar as the Diamond Dog moved closer and pouring a small measure of an amber liquid into it. “Simple, really. I’ll bet you a hundred silver strips that I can drink these three jars of water before you can finish the shot glass. Only two rules. Rule one is that you’ve gotta give me a head start and let me drink the first glass of water before you start on your glass. Rule two is that I can’t touch your glass, and you can’t touch mine.”

Red chuckled. “If you think I’ll bet one hundred strips, you’re crazy.”

The baboon laughed. “Don’t get smart with me, pup. That’s the deal. One hundred silver strips, or you can fly somewhere else.”

Red considered his options carefully, and then offered, “I’ve only got seventy strips.”

The baboon snickered. “Fine, seventy. I’ll let ya off light. Now, you gonna take the challenge, or am I gonna have to throw you off the side of the mountain?”

Red shrugged. “Fine, let’s go.”

As he sat down at the bar, the patrons all cheered and began to chant again, and Pitt stared Red in the eye. “Remember. I drink my first jar, and then you go. And no messing with my jars.”

Red nodded, focusing on the shot glass, stretching out his fingers and shaking out his shoulder. He knew this con, knew that Pitt was going to flip the larger jar over the top of his shot glass and prevent him from grabbing it. He was ready. Pitt sneered at him, then without ceremony grabbed the first jar, chugging it down. Red watched carefully, and as the baboon finished, he reached for his shot glass, quick as a flash. The baboon merely set down the jar and grabbed the next, drinking it down. Red picked up his shot glass, completely uncertain now, and stared at the liquid inside. Pitt hadn’t even tried to put the jar over his glass, which meant that there was another angle. He scowled, sniffing the liquid in his shot glass. Pitt finished the second jar and moved on to the third, staring Red dead in the eye. Red slowly set the shot glass down on the bar and watched Pitt as he finished the last jar of water and roared, slamming it down on the bar and raising his hands in victory as the bar laughed and cheered. Pitt looked Red in the eye, grinning. “Pay up, pup.”

Red dropped seventy silver strips on the bar, and Pitt slid them off the bar top and away. Red eyed the shot glass and said, after a moment, “So, what’s in my glass, Pitt?”

Pitt smiled, picking up the shot glass and downing it in one go. “Alcohol, idiot.”

Laughing, Red leaned back in his seat and stared at the now-empty shot glass. “Not bad, Pitt.”

Pitt snickered, cleaning up the three jars and shot glass. “Not bad yourself, pup. You drink that glass, and people know you’re really fresh. You’ve obviously been around the Wastelands a few times. You know better than to trust something at face value. Trust me, pup. You'd a’ drank that, and there’d be four or five ogres or goblins waiting outside to rob a rube like you blind. What’s your name, mutt?”

Red offered a paw to Pitt. “Red. I pilot The Crimson Score.”

Pitt stared at Red’s outstretched paw for a moment, until Red awkwardly retracted it. “Yeah, nice ta meet ya and crap.”

Nodding to himself, Red leaned forward across the bar. “So, you sell anything more than just alcohol here?”

Pitt eyed Red, sliding another patron a glass of strong alcohol and serving up another one a sandwich featuring a skewered pastel parasprite on top. “That depends, pup. What’re you lookin’ for?”

Red leaned forward. “I got blindsided by a floating fuzzball, and he took my guns. You sell anything that goes ‘bang’?”

Pitt nodded. “Yeah, I got a few things. What’d ya need?”

Red hesitated for a moment. “...A steam pistol, or something heavy and high-caliber, like a rifle.”

Pitt glared at Red. “I thought you only had seventy strips?”

A grin spread across Red’s face. “I thought part of being a Wastelander was not taking things at face value?”

Pitt snarled at the Diamond Dog, “Go hang yourself, ya mutt.”

Turning away, the baboon stomped up a set of stairs and bumped into a smaller primate clad in blue overalls. Pitt snarled, hitting the monkey over the head. “Idiot! Watch where you’re going, or so help me, next time I’ll throw you down the stairs and break your scrawny neck!”

The monkey cowered. “Sorry brother! I was just—”

“Don’t you ‘I was just’ me! Now, get your butt downstairs and watch the bar before somebody robs us blind. Friggin’ waste of oxygen...”

 Pitt’s brother stumbled downstairs and began serving the patrons, sliding drinks down the bar as though his life depended on it.

 Behind Red, a scuffle broke out between a few goblins, their knobby fists flying as they fought and yelled at each other unintelligibly. Red watched with disinterest as the goblins crashed through a few tables, spilling the drinks of a group of ogres. Within moments, the melee was outside, as the large ogres flung the smaller goblins bodily out the front doors of the bar.

After a few minutes of waiting, Pitt returned with a rusted steam pistol and a long rifle, complete with scope. Pitt set them on the bar with a grin. “One steam pistol, and one rifle. I even found one with a scope!”

Red picked up the steam pistol, scowling at its condition, and then set it aside, hefting the rifle. It was a bolt action weapon, in fairly good condition, and the scope appeared to function properly, not missing any lenses or parts. Red nodded. “What’re you offering?”

“Sixty for the pistol, and eighty for the rifle.”

Red laughed. “You must be joking. I’ll do thirty for the pistol, and sixty for the rifle.”

Pitt considered for a moment. “Seventy for the rifle, and you’ve got a deal.”

Red reached into his pouch of silver strips and retrieved one hundred strips, plopping them down on the bar. “Done. I need ammo for the rifle and a few extra steam cells and bolts for the pistol.”

Pitt nodded, scooping up the strips, and returned upstairs briefly, coming back with two boxes of bullets and a handful of steam cells and bolts. “Got plenty of ammo for the rifle, but not so much stuff for steam-powered hardware.”

Red eyed the bullets and held up twenty strips. “This enough?”

Setting the bullets down, Pitt shrugged. “Well, like I said, not a lot of steam powered ammo. It’s at a premium at the moment, see? What with the war in the Valley of Jewels going on.”

Red scowled at Pitt, tapping the bar top with annoyance. “You trying to swindle me, Pitt?”

Pitt bared his fangs at Red. “You owe me thirty strips, you lying mutt, and I intend to get them, one way or another.”

Red frowned. “All right, thirty, then.”

Pitt grabbed the thirty strips as Red dropped them on the bar. Red tucked away the steam pistol and all the ammo in his satchel and slung the rifle over his shoulder. “Pleasure doing business with you. Now, what’ve you got to eat in this place?”





A few hours later, Red sat in the pilot’s seat of The Crimson Score. He’d decided to pay Pitt for the berth for the night, and had hooked up his batteries to a M.O.D.D. charging cable that the baboon had provided him at some cost. Red relaxed in the pilot’s seat, determined to catch a few hours of uninterrupted rest. He retrieved his notebook from his satchel, his paws briefly brushing over the weight of the new steam pistol nestled inside. He’d spent the better part of an hour cleaning out the steam pistol and rifle and making certain that they were in working condition. Pitt probably had overcharged him a bit, but he needed those weapons. Red was not interested in tangling with trolls at close range again anytime soon.

Red flipped open the notebook and moved to the most recent page. He stopped, squinting, and turned back to the page previous.

A bizarre drawing of some sort of device sat on the opposite page, where he had been doodling before dozing off in the Wastelands when the trolls had attacked. The device was a crystal structure of some kind, with a helix frame wrapping around the crystal. Four spokes topped with orbs radiated out from the frame. “Hello... what are you?” Red’s paw brushed across the drawing. The graphite’s texture felt odd under his paw, and a curious warmth spread through his claws as he touched the sketch.

Red gasped as a sudden pressure exploded in his skull, sending him flipping backwards out of the seat. He landed on the back of his head, and groaned as he felt a scab scrape off on the deck, sending blood oozing out of the re-opened bite mark. His back arched as another blast of pain jolted down his spine. His paws scrambled for the satchel, spilling out the contents. He found the syringe and needle, biting his tongue as the fearful pressure increased. He managed to load the syringe and simply stabbed the needle into the meat of his leg, yelping with pain, and injected himself with the moon dust solution. He slid the needle out of his leg, tossing it aside as his muscles spasmed, and his vision exploded in bright colors, dulling his senses and leaving him unconscious.



 


- End of Chapter 3 -





Special Thanks To:


shortskirtsandexplosions, WardenPony, TheBrianJ, RazgrizS57













> Chapter 4
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


- Chapter 4 -




        I snapped out of my daydream with a start, wincing and rubbing my temples with my hooves. My head ached, as though somepony had just hit me in the back of the skull with a frying pan. I sighed, slightly irritated by my lack of focus. My machine sat on the workbench, as it had for the last month, taunting me.
        
        The initial tests of the device had failed. Something had gone wrong with the spell that I had created to focus the device’s magic, and it had left me back at square one. Director Razorwing had seen the potential for my project, luckily, and had given me more time to work out what had gone wrong. I opened my notebook, and used my telekinesis to float several tomes of arcana and spellcrafting down from a stack of similar books I had recently requisitioned from the Canterlot Archives.

        My eyes darted from the books to my notes as I poured over pages and pages of treatises on spell creation, hoping that they could illuminate my error.  I levitated my quill over and turned my notebook to fresh pages. Scribbling down anything that seemed like it might be useful, I went through the first volume in short order. Frowning at its overall uselessness, I set it aside and retrieved another book from the pile, levitating it up to eye level and flipping through to the index at the back of the book. A slip of paper fell out of the inside cover of the tome, drawing my eye with its swirling descent to the floor, and I extended a tendril of magic, catching it before it landed on the stone.

        I unfolded the paper and smiled as I recognised the precise lettering. 

Big Brother,
I happened to be studying in the Canterlot Archive when your order came in, and I can tell you’re working on some very advanced spellcrafting! I’ve been studying spellcrafting in school recently, so I threw in this book. I’m not sure what you’re working on, but maybe this will help? I included some notes, too! Don’t worry about writing in it, this book belongs to me. Good luck! Love you!
- Little Sister

Chuckling to myself, I set the note carefully on my desk and turned to the table of contents at the front of the book. Sure enough, there were several sections that had been annotated. I flipped to the first section and smiled at the tiny, neat notes written in the margins of the page, pointing to several sections of text. I perused the book, carefully studying both the content and my sister’s own annotation. I halted at a specific paragraph, pouring over it again and again. Glancing between my sister’s annotation and my notes for reference, I laughed. “You adorable genius! You always were the smart one.”

        I set aside all the books and levitated the machine off the workbench, carrying it with me out of my lab and into the hallway. I trotted past several guards, nodding to them as they saluted me, and arrived once more outside Director Razorwing’s office, knocking on the door to announce my arrival. I heard Razorwing’s gruff voice mutter something from within, and then the door opened and I was greeted by the bleary stare of a blond pegasus. “This had better be good, Lieutenant. Do you have any idea what time it is?”
        
        I ignored the gruff welcome and smiled at him. “Sir, I think I’ve got the problem solved. The reason my device wasn’t working properly was because the samples I received were all most likely collected from different individuals! I need the four samples to be from a single individual test subject for the focus spell to work properly.”

        Director Razorwing scowled, sitting back on his haunches and rubbing at his eyes, his voice slurring slightly. “You mean to tell me that, this whole friggin’ time, the problem was the samples?”

        I nodded. “Absolutely, sir. I was so convinced that the error was in my own spellcrafting, that I never stopped to consider the possibility that something else was the issue.”

        Razorwing sighed, standing up on all fours again and trotting into his office, glancing over his shoulder at me and muttering sleepily, “Give me a second.” 

The director shuffled through some papers, before finding what he was looking for, pulling a form from a pile of other forms and quickly filling it out with a pencil. As he wrote, he mumbled around the writing implement in his mouth. “M’kay, thif ‘ouda do ich—ptooey!” The director spat out the pencil on his desk. “This form will let ya retrieve the samples yourself. Take one of the guards with you when you do, Lieutenant. We wouldn’t want any problems, would we?”

        I nodded, levitating the form off of the Director’s desk, “Yes sir! I’ll let you know when I’m ready to run another test, sir!”

        Director Razorwing smirked, sitting back heavily on an overstuffed pillow. “Good luck stormin’ the dungeon.”

        I chuckled and left his office, closing the door behind me, and made a beeline down the hallway. I stopped at my lab to drop off the machine and retrieve a saddlebag of supplies, and then continued my enthusiastic rush down a flight of stairs, my hoofsteps echoing off the stone walls of the building. I passed through a magical field at the entrance to the main laboratory, frowning at the slight stinging sensation that ran through my body as the force field determined my identity and let me through. I passed several other researchers and guards before arriving at the holding cells. 

        The dungeon-like holding area shimmered with the aura of a dozen types of magical shields, and several guards clad in steel armor and carrying spears flanked the entrance into the holding area. From within, hisses and shrill cries echoed oddly through the force fields, sending a slight chill up my spine. I held up the form to one of the guards before he could challenge me. “Sergeant Storm Bolt, I’m here to get collect some samples. I’ll need one of your ponies to assist me.”

        The veteran unicorn guard nodded, his voice carrying a hard, confident edge that matched his expression. “Allow me to assist you, Lieutenant.”

        I smiled at the older unicorn. “Thanks, Sergeant.”

        Together, we moved through through the magic shields surrounding the entrance to the holding cells. The cells were small; large enough to fit a single pony and not much else. Of course, there were no ponies in the cells, but creatures far more sinister. I walked carefully along the center of the hall, keeping the cells on either side of me as far away as possible. Even though these were all powerfully shielded and warded, I didn’t want to take any chances. Storm Bolt trotted casually along to a cell in the middle of the block and tapped his horn against a crystal embedded in the wall next to the steel bars. The field containing the creature within shimmered, then fell. Storm Bolt raised his spear and opened the door with a murmured spell. I stood alongside him, already casting out lines of magical energy into the chamber. 

I focused on the monster inside the small room, and my eyes were met by pupil-less green orbs of sinister intent. Its black carapace rattled as the thing shifted and turned to face us, and Storm growled, “Stay where you are, or I’ll have to electrocute you.”

The insectoid creature hissed, bearing sharp fangs toward the two of us, but then my spell caught it, lifting it up into the air and holding it immobile. It squirmed against the spell, snarling, and then finally went limp when it discovered that it could not break my magic’s hold. I cautiously entered the cell, pushing the monster against the back wall of the tiny space. I called back into the hall to Storm, “Would you mind helping me? I need to collect samples.”

Storm Bolt nodded and closed his eyes briefly, focusing his own magic as his horn shimmered with a electric blue energy. His spell took over for my own as I released the monster from my hold. Storm frowned, his eyes opening. “Got it, Lieutenant.”

I used my telekinesis and opened my saddlebag, retrieving several glass containers, a scalpel, and a thick needle. The black-carapaced being watched me and began to squirm once more, prompting a burst of magical power from Storm Bolt as he focused more energy into holding it immobile. I set the glass containers on the floor and levitated the scalpel up carefully. I sent a tendril of energy worming under the monster’s carapace, prompting it to spread its wings open, and then held the thin, insect-like wing in place. My scalpel extended, and as carefully and quickly as possible I shaved a thin filament off the thing’s wing. It hissed and screeched at me, writhing. I frowned as I tucked the first tissue sample into a container. “Calm down. If you squirm, you might hurt yourself.”

The thing hissed at me again and grew still. I smiled, murmuring gently, “There we go. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

I leaned closer and bent down a bit to get a better look at the thing’s rear legs. The bizarre carapace was oddly shaped with holes running through the exoskeleton. I used the scalpel again and cut as carefully as possible into the carapace, running the ultra-sharp blade into the skin of the beast and cutting away a thin flake of the exoskeleton. I stood upright and realized that I had shifted a bit too close to the creature, as my muzzle now was only a mere inch away from the thing’s mouth. Before I could move my head back, its tongue flicked out, brushing against my nose, tasting me in the manner of a serpent or reptile. I recoiled, disgusted. “Dang. Storm, that thing got a taste of me.”

Storm scowled. “I’ve got my eye on it, sir. Don’t you worry, I’ve been around long enough to be wise to these things’ tricks.”

 I nodded, feeling slightly more at ease, and proceeded, now more determined than ever to retrieve the samples quickly. This creature was processing my psychic spoor, learning about me, digesting whatever my surface thoughts had been at the time of tasting. It was getting to know me, and that was disconcerting, to say the least.

I raised the scalpel again, moving around to the side of the creature where a sheen of green skin formed a softer underbelly. I scowled, pressing the scalpel to the creature’s ‘ribs’, and cut in. Green liquid oozed from the shallow cut, and I carefully worked at cutting away a small tissue sample. Red suddenly mingled with the green, and I jerked my head back as fur sprouted across the being’s body. I averted my eyes as a sickly green glow encapsulated the creature briefly in a bright flash of magical power. When the magical haze cleared, I was caught off-balance by the form the creature had taken. Lavender fur contrasted with a darker purple mane and tail. A purple and pink highlight streaked framed a delicate, spiraling horn. Tear-filled, deep purple eyes met my blue ones, and a soft voice whimpered. “S-shiny? Why are you doing this to me?”

Storm Bolt’s voice called out from behind me, “Lieutenant, stand back!”

“T...Twilight?” I shook my head, trying to focus, but my sister’s eyes pleaded with me, tears running down her sweet, gentle face.

“Sir, stand back!” 

“Shiny, p-please! Make it stop!”

Storm Bolt’s voice rang out, reminiscent of every drill sergeant I’d ever encountered in my career in the military, “Lieutenant Armor, I am ordering you to stand back!”

Training kicked in, and I did as I was ordered, taking an obedient step backwards. A sudden surge of electricity fired over my shoulder, causing me to flinch. Twilight screamed, pain making her voice raw as she called out to me. “Shiiiinyyaaaugggh—!”

Her form shivered and then hung limply as the electric current overwhelmed her motor function. Her body suddenly blackened, purple fur disappearing in a spreading green swath of energy that spilled from the tip of her horn, down her body, running almost like blood, revealing the creature beneath. It wasn’t until Storm Bolt’s hoof gently touched my shoulder that I realized I was holding my breath. I gasped, inhaling sharply and panting, nerves overwhelmed. 

“I-I never... I didn’t r-realize...”

Storm Bolt snarled behind me, voice carrying a sharp edge of distaste, “I hate changelings.”





Red groaned, stirring on the deck and rolling onto his side. He reached back, gingerly touching the backside of his skull and felt a small damp spot. Wincing, Red tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness overwhelmed him and left him lying on the deck, panting. He lay prone for several minutes, allowing his head time to recover, and then sat up slowly. The bridge spun about him briefly before settling down, and Red fought a wave of nausea. He exhaled slowly and leaned back against the base of the pilot’s seat. That hallucination had been rough, far worse than any he’d ever experienced. Though he knew that part of his nausea was from the blow to the back of the head and the slight loss of blood, deep down he was aware that part of the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach had carried over from the... vision.

Red tried to think objectively as he leaned forward, scooping up his satchel and a few of the items that had been spilled on the deck in his mad scramble for the syringe of lunar dust solution. He’d experienced these massive headaches before, certainly. Ever since the damnable unicorn horn had been shoved in his brain, he’d had to inject himself with lunar dust at least once every other stormfront to quell the slow buildup of magical energy that caused his migraines. He’d been injecting himself for years now, and though he’d still occasionally get small headaches or pains, nothing had ever taken him completely out of commission—until now, that is. 

Something had changed. 

Perhaps the horn was picking up stronger leylines of magic, or the concentration of lunar dust needed to be increased. Regardless, even though he’d experienced headaches, visions or hallucinations had never accompanied these episodes. And there was more to these than simple auditory and visual components. Red had now been affected emotionally, not once, but twice. These moments had felt very real, almost as though he was living in them, not simply a bystander but an active participant in the life of this pony. He’d awoken just as sick as the pony had been, as he had been, watching “his sister” be electrocuted. Not that the creature had ever been his sister. Not that Red had ever had a sister.

Red growled, shaking his head and mumbling to himself, “You are a diamond dog. Your name is Red, you are a good mechanic and a poor excuse for a pilot. Your mother died in a stormfront and your father and brother died in the Feast of Gaia. The last pony tried to kill you, and you’re going to return the favor.”

A resounding silence met Red’s assertion of reality. Red sighed. “Gaia below, I need a drink.”





Red ambled into the M.O.D.D., wincing into the hazy light. The other patrons paid him no mind. He’d proven that he was not ‘fresh meat’, and his brief moment of celebrity had passed, sending him back into obscurity—just the way he liked it. He was another thirsty pilot, like everyone else. Red sat down at the bar and waved Pitt over. Pitt grinned at him. “I thought you’d gone to get some shuteye, pup. What’s the matter, my berth not to your liking? The room service not satisfactory?”

Red smirked at the snarky simian. “I’ll take the strongest drink you have.”

Pitt poured Red a drink without further comment, and Red gratefully lifted the earthenware mug to his lips, taking a cautious sip of the strong beverage. The flavor wasn’t terrible, but Red wasn’t there for flavor. He was there to calm his nerves, ease the sick pit that still lingered in his stomach. He could hear the lavender pony screaming, the heart-wrenching sound still echoing in his head and making it hard to focus, much less sleep. Red downed the drink and exhaled appreciatively as the alcohol burned its way down his throat and into his stomach. He waved Pitt over for a refill and downed this second drink as rapidly as the first. Pitt raised an eyebrow and, without being asked, filled Red’s mug for a third time. Red nodded to Pitt and dropped some silver strips onto the bar. “That cover me?”

Pitt gave Red a nod, scooping the strips into his pocket. “Yeah, that’ll do it.”

Red stood up, taking the mug with him, and left the bar. Pitt called after him as the door to the bar closed. “Hey, I didn’t say you could have the mug!”

Pitt shook his head, grumbling to himself, and turned to serve another patron.

Outside, Red returned to The Crimson Score and laid down on a bunk in the crew cabin, stretching out onto the thin mattress with a sigh and sipping at the mug of potent alcohol. His head swam pleasantly as the drink did its work, easing his frazzled nerves and quieting his mind. He thought less about the screams of the pony; less about the gut-wrenching sobs and tear-filled, violet eyes. He’d seen creatures hurt before; accidents happened in the mines, as well as in the scouting parties that the militia sent out. Death was a part of life, after all, and that had never been more apparent to the world than after the Feast of Gaia. The creature hadn’t even really been his sister, and on top of that the creature had merely been knocked unconscious, not even killed. So why had that moment resonated with him? Why had he awoken feeling sick at heart after watching a creature—and a pony no less—be hurt? Pain was never pleasant, certainly, but the plaintive cry had torn at him like nothing had in many years, not since his mother had died.

Red sighed, rolling into a better position on his side and setting the mug on the deck of the ship. He groped for the satchel that lay at the foot of the bed and retrieved his notebook and graphite, and flipped open to a new page. Pausing as a memory nudged at his hazy consciousness, he turned back a page to find a sketch of an odd machine. He frowned at it, recognizing it now. It was the same machine from his dream, the one that he—that the pony—had been working on. He stared at the machine, voice slurring drunkenly, “What’re you for, machine? A... a dumb pony machine!” Red snickered. “A machine for... making rrrrainbows! And butterflies. Because that’s what ponies do. They like pretty thingsss. They build things all for themselves and never for anyone else. And then they blow up the world with their dumb magic. Magic that’s just as dumb as this machine!” Red barked a laugh, flipping to a fresh page of the notebook, and began to write. 

I’ve had visions. Wird Odd dreams of a pony. A unicorn from before the Feast. He’s building a machine—the same machine that I’ve drawn on the page before this note. I don’t know why I’m seeing things, but the horn in my brain is to blame. I’ll need to try increesing incrazing making bigger the dose of lunar dust I use. Maybe.
The dreams are interesting. They have an effect on me. I wake up and feel things, emotional things. I remember the dreams vidly vivily vividly. I might learn useful things, but I’m also afraid. The dreams are too real. I feel like I am the pony. It is almost confusing at times. Who is dreaming about who?

 Red sighed and dropped the notebook and graphite on the deck next to the bunk and rolled over again, falling into a fitful, alcohol-assisted slumber.



 

        Red awoke with a start, his eye slamming shut just as quickly as the pounding headache of his hangover hit him. He sat up and immediately regretted doing so as his stomach gave a slight lurch. He concentrated on breathing evenly and not vomiting, and finally stood up. He picked up the mostly empty mug of alcohol and dumped it out into a basin. Sighing, he moved from the crew compartment into the storage room and rummaged through a few crates of food until he’d assembled a meal of dried mushrooms and soft jerky. He filled the mug with some water from a canteen, and moved downstairs and out the hangar doors to the open air of the deck. He sat down in the center of the strip, chewing thoughtfully on his meal and swallowing with a grimace as the food hit his upset stomach. Red maintained his composure—it wouldn’t do to waste food—and managed to finish his meal. He stayed seated for a few extra moments, allowing the cold mountain air to clear his head, before returning to the pilot seat of The Crimson Score. 

With a sputtering roar, the engines of The Crimson Score revved back up to full flight capacity, breaking their hours-long hover, and Red disengaged the docking clamps. One of Pitt’s “brothers” spotted Red preparing to take off and moved over to the ship, disengaging the power cable that had been hooked into the Score’s engines. Red waited patiently for the simian to remove the cable from his ship, and then accelerated into the sky. He flew into the hazy air, getting some distance between the M.O.D.D. and himself before easing back on the throttle and simply hovering. Red needed to do something to focus himself, get his thoughts off the visions and alien emotions that were confusing him. He’d been focused on his mission, his objective, and every day he’d woken up with his mind full of plans—formulating contingencies, improvements he could make to The Crimson Score, and strategies—all towards his ultimate goal of encountering and killing the last pony. 

Today had been different, though. Today had been the first day he’d awoken without a fresh idea, as his mind had been clouded with the painful haze of an imaginary sister’s screams. Red felt a shiver run down his spine as the thought entered his head, unbidden, and he immediately gripped the controls of his ship, flying southwest, out of the mountains. He’d passed over a odd pony village that was a few dozen hours of flying away, if he took a direct course there. He’d need to return to the M.O.D.D. after the coming stormfront, in order to meet with Ace and Quint, but until then he had time to kill; time better spent scavenging and gaining knowledge about ponies rather than sitting and worrying about bizarre dreams. A pony village seemed like the best place to start.

Red adjusted his heading and set out for his new destination, his focus on piloting his vessel leaving little room for stray thoughts or worries.





The village was nestled in the lowlands of the surrounding mountain range, buildings standing as a silent testament to a bygone era. Its stone construction was relatively untouched, the location and the terrain having shielded it from the worst of the Feast of Gaia’s fires. Earthquakes and tremors had shattered a few buildings, but the village had been built to last, the foundations of the imposing and tightly packed buildings dug deep into the earth. The streets were empty, devoid of the usual debris that plagued most abandoned cities, and the only noise was the throaty howl of the wind that flowed down from the mountain peaks. 

This pristine quiet was broken as The Crimson Score flew overhead, making a low pass over the village, circling the vicinity. Finally, Red brought his craft in to land at the outskirts of the town. Red emerged from the hangar doors, secured them behind him and reached back, pulling his rifle off his back. He stood on the edge of the deck, lifting the scope to his eye and peering into the tight alleyways and roads between the buildings. Red waited, giving anything stupid enough to venture into his established field of fire time enough to peek out.

He was not disappointed. A leathery, snarling troll stumbled from between two buildings, pausing briefly to peer up at the large airship parked suddenly in its backyard. Red smirked as he adjusted his aim, peering into the scope to align the crosshairs with the troll’s lumpy forehead, and squeezed the trigger. The rifle fired with a loud crack, and the troll was knocked back on its heels and fell in a soundless slump into the ash that covered the ground. Red slid back the action on the rifle, ejecting a shell casing and reloading a fresh round into the chamber, and waited. Within moments, two more trolls emerged from the ruins, converging on their fallen comrade. They squabbled with each other, and Red was disgusted as the two suddenly begin to tear into the fallen troll’s corpse, devouring their former companion with abandon, their bloodlust making them blind to the airship outside the village. Red scowled and took careful aim, practicing the movement from one target to the next several times, and then took the shot. 

The first troll took the powerful rifle round in the chest, a little above its heart, and collapsed with a gurgle. The other troll turned, taking note of The Crimson Score, and charged towards it as Red worked the action on the rifle. He took aim and shot again, this time wide of his rapidly moving target. As the troll closed the distance, Red calmly set aside the rifle and drew his steam pistol from the holster on his hip. He sighted down the barrel and patiently waited for the troll to close the distance between them, and then fired. The recently restored steam pistol fired with a hissing noise, and the steam bolt took the troll square in the gut, halting its run as it staggered from the shot. Red fired again, the next bolt going high into the monster’s sternum and dropping it face-first into the ground. Red nodded to himself, pausing to reload both weapons fully before climbing down the ladder, his paws finally touching down on the unfamiliar ash of this part of the Wastelands. 

Red checked to make sure the rifle was secure on his back as he moved towards the nearest set of buildings. He kept his steam pistol in hand, the weapon raised as he turned into the first corner, his eye tracking across the shadowed streets for movement. Red couldn’t hear anything moving inside the city, but he knew that meant nothing. Peering into shattered windows, Red saw nothing but decaying rooms filled with broken furniture. There were scraps of things, obviously manufactured pre-Feast by the ponies, littering the floors inside the buildings. Dusty pictures and paintings hung on tattered walls, their colors as faded as the rest of the wasteland’s hues.

Red carefully pushed through a splintered door and into an abandoned house. Treading lightly across the ash-strewn floor, he began searching the room, checking into corners and lifting up fallen shelves and other broken furnishings. He moved from building to building, searching through each one. He wasn’t really certain what he was looking for, but something about the potential for discovery was thrilling. Red approached a central grouping of buildings, keen to examine what lay at the center of the town. A battered clock face lay shattered on the ground, surrounded by stone rubble, and he peered up at the closest building, eye following a tall tower that ended belatedly in a scorched ruin. Red knelt down, turning over the broken clock and discovering a complex mechanism of broken gears and weights, a true mechanical clock. Grinning with delight, Red began to take apart the pieces, tucking the metal gears and other parts into his satchel. He could use these parts and learn how the gear mechanism worked, and then rebuild it, far smaller, and create a clock that he could set and adjust to measure stormfronts far more precisely. Red felt excitement building as he considered more possible uses for the salvaged parts.

Red stood up, done collecting clock parts, and moved into the building that stood adjacent to the old clock tower. It appeared to be a well fortified structure, less of a town hall and more reminiscent of a fort. The front door was an imposing piece of wrought iron, which was shut and locked, and Red was unable to break through the lock or access the hinges. Temporarily stymied, Red searched for a way in, walking around the building. The windows were set higher in the wall than normal, and appeared to be covered with rusted bars, preventing entry. Red moved around the back, beginning to think that this building would be forever closed to him, and stopped, smiling. The back door of the structure appeared to have been made of wood, and though it may have been solid, something had broken it asunder long ago. Red cautiously entered the doorway and immediately halted, staring into the interior of the building with some awe.

The building was entirely composed of a single, large room. The edges of the room were covered with shelves upon shelves of scrolls and books. The center held many tables and benches, loaded with shattered glass articles and rusted metal instruments. Despite the age, Red knew a workshop when he saw one. This, however, was more alien than any mechanical shop he’d seen before. Pony bodies littered the floor, perhaps a dozen of them, mostly skeletal remains.

Approaching the center of the room, Red stood before a raised stone stage around which the tables and benches were arrayed. A few skeletons lay on this dais, felled by the Feast of Gaia that had destroyed them so long ago. He knelt down in the ash and brushed a paw along the top of the stage, surprised to feel metal beneath his fingers. He pushed away the layer of ash, revealing inscribed metal beneath the layer of ancient char. Red did not recognize the inscription, not at first. He grew inexplicably excited, suddenly, and began to clear the dais of ash and the mortal remains of the ancient equines, using his paws to brush away the debris and slowly revealing the top of the dais.

The purpose of this room and the workbenches became immediately clear. The dais held a massive metal plate, inscribed with a pattern of concentric circles and lines, around which were written archaic runes that Red could not decipher but evoked a dull feeling of recognition. He stared at the metal tablet, fingers brushing along the lines and circles, and one of his paws suddenly sunk into a buried indentation in the center of the plate, something sharp within pricking the pad of his paw. He jerked his hand back with a surprised hiss, glancing briefly at the pinprick of blood welling from the tiny wound, and then more cautiously examined the center of the dais. Bending down low, Red blew air into the depression in the center of the dias, sending a small cloud of dust into the air and uncovering the middle of the tablet. There was a hole in the depression, and a pointed gemstone stuck out of the top of this hole. Red frowned, reaching out and touching the gem, attempting to pull it out of the depression. He accidentally applied some pressure to the gem, and it sank suddenly into the hole. 

Red fell back with a yelp as the dais suddenly lit up with a white glow, each carved rune and line radiating light out from the crystal. Red rolled off the dais and landed in the ash with a grunt, getting to his feet and staring at the dias, torn between running away and staying to watch. A hysterical group of voices issued from the dias, emanating from the central depression.

“Oh Celestia! He left us! He left us!”

“Calm down, I’m here! I’m not going to leave you!”

“How could he do that? We need to maintain the shield, buy as much time as possible!”

“He left us!”

“Starshine, focus on the shield! Keep it up!”

“Oh Celestia, what was that!? What was that flash?”

“The leylines are all wrong! I can’t—”

“Everyone, quiet!”

A sharp voice issued forth, and silence dominated the room, excepting a quiet, muffled sobbing. Red stared around at the room, comprehension slowly dawning in his eye. These were ghosts speaking to him, the last moments of the ponies in this room transmitted through the device on the dais. The calmer voice spoke again.

“My name is Candle Flame, and I am a unicorn from Sacramareto, teaching as part of the arcane school here in town. I am the most veteran mage of the school. If anypony is hearing this, then... then the worst has happened, and we are all gone.”

Red stepped forward onto the dais once more, standing on the glowing metal plate and staring down at the crystal in the center of the room, which was projecting the sound.

“I’m afraid time is short. In the eventuality of the collapse of the world, of... of Equestria, then it is our final duty to preserve our knowledge for those that remain, for anypony that survives. As long as there are unicorns, there will be a need to learn how to control arcane power and magic.”

There was a rumble, slightly muffled, and a roar of sudden force, and Candle Flame’s voice began to tremble.

“Therefore, it is imperative that anypony hearing this message know that we have preserved several tomes explaining the nuances of basic magic, as well as our understanding of unicorn psysiology, and several more advanced books of spells. This... this small collection should be enough to allow anypony to learn how to harness magic and teach them the importance of caution and control. I—”

One of the voices in the background wailed. “The shield is failing! The shield is—”

There was another roar, far louder, and then the very shaken voice of Candle Flame, his breaths coming in quiet, panting gasps. “I... I’ve managed to erect a shield around myself, but it... it’s failing. Agh... Goddesses preserve me, I’m the last one... nggh... the others are... they’re gone.”

Red winced, kneeling down to stare into the stone, listening intently. Candle Flame’s voice spoke, quickly now. “Tomes are... are beneath the arcane plate on this platform. Nngh... the platform will react to a unicorn horn that is connected to... to the leylines.”

There was a sudden gasp of desperation, and Candle Flame’s voice grew louder, as if he’d drawn closer to the magical stone recording his final moments. “My family is in Sacramareto, by the sea! Ahgh, Goddesses, please, I... I don’t want to die!  Please, please—”

Candle Flame’s voice was suddenly gone, and Red sat back on his heels, feeling briefly shaken. Pony or not, despite what they had done to upset the balance of Gaia and cause the Feast, he still keenly felt those last terrified moments. Red grimaced, standing up. “They brought it on themselves. Their magic caused their end.”

Red looked around the room, seeing how the bodies were arrayed, facing outward. They had been maintaining a ‘shield’, buying Candle Flame time to speak. He suddenly felt disgust, as the words of the pony echoed in his mind. This place was an ‘arcane school’, where the unicorns practiced the magic that had ended the world. These same souls may have been directly responsible for every single death of the Feast of Gaia—even their own. Red stared into the empty sockets of a unicorn skull and said, quietly, “You ponies were so preoccupied with whether or not you could do something, you never stopped to think if you should.”

As he stood up and prepared to leave, the inscribed plate on the dais shifted. Red leapt off the raised platform and into the ash near the base and rolled onto his back with a small grunt.

The metal plate began to shift, the circles-within-circles sinking and disappearing into the dais. Red stood up and watched with interest as the metal shifted aside, seeming to fold in on itself and revealed a small collection of books. The metal finally stopped moving, and the glow dissipated without a sound, leaving the room dim once more.

Red stared at the books, debating quietly whether or not to even bother with the tomes of magic, when something that had been said in the recording came to mind. Red moved on top of the dais once more and crouched down, reaching into the hidden compartment and pulling the stack of tomes out of their reliquary. He examined each book’s cover, frowning with consideration at each title before selecting three out of the group: ‘A Foal’s Guide To Magic’, ‘A Treatise on Unicorn Physiology’, and ‘Leylines Across Equestria’. He set the other books aside. As he stood up, the metal plate shifted beneath him. Red reacted purely on instinct, leaping once more off the dais and landing on his tail on the stone floor of the room. He watched the metal reform and groaned quietly as he stood up, his tailbone sore. “I really need to stop doing that.”

Red tucked the three books into his now-overstuffed satchel, grimacing at the weight around his shoulder. Luckily, his ship was only a brief hike away, and Red moved to the back door of the ruined school and squinted into the streets. While he had been inside, the temperature had dropped significantly, and a dense fog had rolled into the town, reducing his visibility to a dozen feet in front of him. Red frowned, tightened his grip on his steam pistol, and walked slowly down the street, keeping his back against the stone wall of the building. He moved down an alleyway and towards where he remembered the central square of the town had been. As he approached the exit to the alley, his nose was suddenly assaulted by a ghastly smell. Red froze in his tracks, flattening himself against the wall and slowly crouching down.

He knew that smell. It was a mixture of feces, blood, and the charred smell of burnt feathers—almost toxic in its foulness. There was only one creature in the Wastelands that smelled so awful.

Harpies.

Red moved quietly, fighting down the sudden sense of panic, and made for the opposite end of the alley. He halted at the mouth of the alleyway, peering around the corner, and caught the briefest glimpse of a winged something touching down on the street before he tucked back into the dark alley, closing his eye hopelessly. He fought down a whimper and waited, his nose assaulted by the pungent scent of harpy. He could see more shapes, dark, flying through the mist overhead. Red swallowed hard.

He remembered the harpies’ physical forms, a mixture of a saggy, pink-skinned, hairy torso, a gryphon’s wings and talons, and the wicked, hooked beak of a vulture. These didn’t matter as much as the smell, though. He’d always remember that smell. He’d been topside on the landing strip, assisting a group of goblins with loading trade goods from the hangar when a massive swarm of harpies, a raiding party, dropped from the sky, screeching in their unintelligible tongue. Red had been lucky, narrowly escaping into the tunnels, but he’d seen the harpies work. They moved like birds, their skin-covered heads bobbing slightly as they walked on razor-sharp talons, landing in front of their prey and distracting them, and then without warning—whoosh!—two harpies would come, from either side, tearing into their prey with talons and carrying them into the sky, screaming. Red had watched those wicked talons work, had seen them cut viciously but oh-so-carefully, tearing into flesh but avoiding vital areas. He knew that the victims that were carried off could only pray to bleed out on the flight back to the harpy nests, because otherwise they’d be alive when the harpy chicks started to eat them. 

Red crouched at the mouth of the alleyway, listening to the near-silent wings of a flock of harpies as they settled into the ruined streets of the town, scavenging or hunting. Hearing a guttural screeching, he peered around the corner, only to duck back as two harpies suddenly bowled past the entrance to the alleyway, scrabbling and screaming at each other in a ball of striking talons and feathers. Red took this opportunity and scampered around the corner, around the side of the building and into the nearest doorway, pushing it open and sliding into the ruined house. He ducked immediately down into the darkness and underneath a large windowsill. Red paused, breathing heavily, but clapped his free paw over his mouth, muffling the sound of his breathing as something heavy suddenly landed on the windowsill above him, crunching the glass. He nearly gagged as the toxic scent wafted into the room, and watched with horror as hooked talons gripped on the edge of the sill. A harpy perched directly above his head, close enough that he could reach up and touch one of its talons.

Red raised the steam pistol slowly upward, bracing to fire it from his awkward position, though he knew that if he shot, he was as good as dead. His only chance lay in stealth. He’d go down fighting if discovered, certainly, but he wanted to avoid that for as long as possible. Red watched the talons above him shift and turn around as the harpy adjusted its position to look into the street, a necklace of teeth and bones rattling on its neck as it moved. Red could hear the squabbling outside intensify, and knew that the monstrous bird was distracted. He slunk through the ash, making as little noise as possible, until his foot crunched down on the remnants of the glass window. Red did not hesitate; he rolled to the side and came to a halt beneath a sagging wooden desk that was pushed up against the wall. He lay on his back, staring into the room, willing his breathing to quiet.

There was a shifting near the windowsill, and then the harpy lept into the center of the room, obviously searching for the cause of the sudden noise. The monstrous creature was finally in full view, and Red got his first good look at a harpy. The creature was ugly, it’s lower body similar to the front legs of a griffon, complete with rending talons. It’s feathers were a muddy-looking brown, and appeared almost greasy. Its torso was featherless, the visible skin a sickly tan, and was spotted with curly hairs. The harpy wore a belt that was covered with random knick-knacks and shiny bits of metal, along with a few crude looking grenades. It had no real upper limbs, instead sporting a pair of massive feathered wings.

 Red held his breath, staring at the back of the feathered monstrosity and praying to Gaia that it would not see him. The creature turned, peering into the black room, and cawed to itself, ruffling the mane of feathers that ringed its naked, vulture-like neck. Red stared at the harpy as it approached the far wall, its talons clacking against the stone floor. Red silently reached into his satchel, extracting a single metal clock gear from his pack, and threw it hard, through an open doorway that led into what appeared to be a hall of some kind. The metal gear clattered onto the floor at the far end of the hall, and the harpy’s head snapped upright in the direction of the noise, its goggle-covered eyes glinting, and its head cocked to the side in an almost inquisitive manner. It stalked into the hallway. Red rolled onto his stomach and got to his feet swiftly, standing up and looking out the broken window to the street. There was a group of harpies, but they had gathered around the still-ongoing brawl, their cackling cries seeming to cheer on the combatants. 

Red vaulted out the window and landed on silent paw pads, moving down the ash-strewn street, not daring to look back. He paused at an alleyway and holstered his steam pistol—something he should have done several minutes ago had he not panicked. He couldn’t afford to accidentally unleash a round as his nervous paws twitched. He ducked into the alleyway and spotted his salvation; a pile of refuse. These were rotten wooden panels, like a stack of crates that had simply collapsed or had been broken down. Red crouched down and began to stack the wood panels aside, making a small space within the rotten boards, and then crouched into this void. He leaned back against the wall and sat down, beginning to re-stack the boards around his trembling form. He covered himself completely, and then for good measure began to smear his already-dusty coat with ash and soot, trying his best to camouflage his scent as well as his appearance.

Red grew still as something clattered in the alleyway. He leaned back, pressing himself into the stone wall, willing himself to fade into the background. The stacked boards allowed only a limited visibility, but his strong nose could still smell the harpies that were undoubtedly nearby. Red’s eye widened with fright as a harpy strode into view. Its head was facing the pile of refuse that he had hid inside, its goggle-covered eyes betraying nothing. Red resisted the urge to wet himself, knowing the smell would give him away. The harpy leapt up onto the wood pile, its talons gripping onto the rotten boards. Red closed his eye, unwilling to face his impending demise. The harpy above him made a noise, a quiet trill, almost in consideration. Red bit his tongue to keep from screaming, feeling coppery blood flow into his mouth. He cracked open his eye and found himself snout-to-beak with the harpy as it poked its long-necked head in between a few boards to get a better look at way lay within. Red spoke, his voice a bare whisper, “Clever bird.”

As its beak opened, no doubt to cry out, Red’s claws leapt upwards, delivering a savage blow to the creature’s exposed throat. The harpy attempted to pull its head back, its beak opening in a silent cry as Red’s claws gripped the harpy’s throat, now using both paws to choke the bird, crushing its windpipe and larynx with a strength born of fear and desperation. He dug his claws into the beast’s throat as its talons scrabbled and stomped on the boards, but the rotten wood blocked the savage blows. Its wings flapped suddenly, and Red was wrenched from the wood as the harpy lifted into the air. Red rose eight feet into the mists, the harpy’s talons desperately lashing out, grabbing at him spasmodically. Red grunted with pain as a talon clutched onto his chest and dug into the leather, feeling the sharp claws pierce into his chest through the leather vest in a few places.


Red maintained his grip on the harpy’s vulture-like neck as they rose level with the rooftops of the buildings that made up the alleyway, and the bird suddenly spasmed, its wings whipping out stiffly and carrying the two of them onto the nearest roof. The rotten shingles gave beneath the weight of Red and the harpy, and they fell through the roof into some sort of attic. Red landed hard on his back, grunting as the harpy landed atop him. He tightened his grip, wringing the monster’s neck and feeling—rather than hearing—the crackle of cartilage as he crushed its windpipe. Red kept his paws around the harpy’s neck until it ceased moving completely, before collapsing back with a gasp of exhaustion. He tried to shove the carcass off him, but found he lacked the strength. He lay back, exhausted and hurt, the dead harpy draped across him like a sack of meat. Reaching up to his chest, he tugged the sharp talons out of his leather vest, gritting his teeth as he felt blood ooze from the puncture wounds the tips of the harpy’s claws had inflicted on him.

The sky grew darker above him as black clouds rolled overhead, blocking out any dim ambient light and plunging the town into a thick darkness. Red managed to lever the dead harpy off of him, scooting away from the body and into a corner, and sat there, staying quiet. He could see decently in the dark, as most members of his species could, and he hoped that the harpies would abandon their scavenging and leave. With a wince, Red opened his leather vest, checking out the wounds on his chest. The bleeding holes were small, and appeared to be minor, though they burned fiercely. Red knew he’d need to clean them out as soon as he could. Who knew what kind of infection a cut from a harpy talon could bring?

After several minutes, Red slowly moved over to the body of the harpy to search it. The harpy wore a crude bandolier, stuffed with scraps of metal, a few silver strips, and what appeared to be a collection of small bones. Red also found what appeared to be a grenade. He moved to tuck this grenade into his satchel, and realized with frustration that one of the books he’d stored within had gotten lost, more likely falling out of his satchel at some point along his brief aerial battle with the harpy. Briefly checking over the contents of his satchel, Red discovered a few clock gears and some bolts for his steam pistol had also fallen out at some point. Red was less concerned about the bolts and gears and more concerned about the book. He needed that book. It might be able to help him understand what the horn that had been jammed in his eye was doing to him. 

Red froze as he heard a screeching cry from outside, and looked up towards the hole in the roof. The harpy call was joined by several others, and soon black shapes flew up into the darkness, leaving the streets behind in favor of the air. Red stayed still, watching as the swarm of harpies flocked together into the sky. They seemed to be leaving.

Red exhaled slowly, feeling the tension he’d been carrying dissipate, leaving him feeling drained. Searching around in the darkness, Red was unwilling to light a lantern or torch for fear of attracting any attention to himself, and he nearly before fell down a rickety set of stairs. Running a paw along the wall, Red walked cautiously down the steps into the lower rooms and moved to the nearest window, peering out into the black of the streets. He could see nothing, and knew that he had almost no chance of finding the book he’d lost if it had fallen out of his satchel elsewhere. Red crept out into the street, staying close to the building wall, and retraced his steps, finding the alleyway he’d hid in earlier. He sifted through the rotten wood and rubble, and resisted the urge to cheer when he rediscovered the now slightly-battered tome. Grabbing the book, he once more secured it within his satchel.

Turning away, Red slowly began tracing his steps back towards The Crimson Score. Though he assumed the harpies were gone, he took no chances, keeping low and sneaking from house to house, staying in cover as much as he could. After a tense hour of cautious traversing, Red finally arrived at the edge of the village, realizing he couldn’t see his ship with the dense cloud cover and the thick fog obscuring his vision. In fact, he wasn’t entirely certain this was the same location he’d entered the village from. Red tried to visualize the area where he’d set down The Crimson Score and remembered, belatedly, that he had shot a few trolls nearest where he had landed. Red began to circle along the edge of the town, staying within the ruined buildings as best he could until finally he came across the crumpled form of a dead troll, now partly buried by ash.

Red stood within a doorway with his weapon ready, checking to be certain it was fully loaded, and then exhaled slowly. The Score was only a hundred yards or so in front of him by his best estimate, which was a long way to run without cover. He didn’t trust that the harpies had left completely—one of their number was missing, after all—and though he hadn’t seen evidence that any remained behind, something was making his hackles rise, keeping him on edge. Red stared into the dark, willing his eyes to penetrate the dense fog that obscured his vision, but he saw nothing except the occasional flake of snow or swirl of ash.

Steeling his nerves, Red sprinted into the open, straining to cross the distance between the building and his ship as swiftly as possible. Much sooner than he would have hoped, his nostrils filled with the pungent scent of harpy, and he muttered a curse under his breath. His ears caught the sound of wings, and Red fell prone into the ash, narrowly dodging the talons that raked right overhead. Rolling onto his back, Red and raised his steam pistol and waited for the next harpy to come at him. As expected, a harpy came screeching out of the fog, talons stretching forward, and Red fired once, twice, three times; two of the steam bolts burying themselves in the chest of the onrushing beast. The harpy’s scream became a gurgle and its wings faltered, crashing into the ground at Red’s feet. More shapes emerged out of the fog, flying above him and circling menacingly as he scrambled to reload the three empty chambers of the steam pistol, opening the cylinder and sliding three fresh steam bolts home. He snapped the cylinder closed and raised the steam pistol, pausing only long enough to pull the rifle off his back and clutch it in his free paw. 

Two harpies came down at him from the flock that had been circling overhead, and Red opened fire, emptying the steam pistol into the two monsters with a growl. A third harpy came out of the fog and Red barely had enough time to drop the empty steam pistol and raise the rifle before it was on him, claws raking for his face as its ugly beak opened in a hungry scream. Red thrust the barrel of the rifle forward into the harpy’s chest and fired point-blank, the rifle’s loud shot slightly muffled as it blew a hole in the harpy’s torso. The harpy dropped to the ground, and Red worked the action on the rifle, moving into a crouch and snarling as more harpies dropped towards him out of the fog. A half-dozen of the monsters came spiraling in on top of him, tightening the noose. Red fired into the flock, trying to make each shot count, until he pulled back the bolt action and the breach yawned open, empty. Red felt a spike of fear run down his spine. The harpies cawed, their unintelligible vocalizations mocking him, promising death.

Red spun the rifle around, clutching the forestock like a club, swinging the butt of the weapon into the beak of the first harpy that got close enough. Red snarled at the harpies as they swarmed him. “I’m not dying here, you filthy buzzards! Not today!”

Red grunted as he was brought down by a harpy slamming into his back. He dropped to his knees, whirling and smashing the butt of the rifle into the harpy’s wing. Talons raked across his shoulder and Red let out a yell of pain. He dove sideways, out of reach of the grasping claws of the harpies that were crowding him, and he threw the rifle into one as it came at him. Red got to his feet, yelling defiance into the swarm of harpies, baring his teeth and preparing to make a final rush into the mass of feathers and beaks and talons approaching him.

Light suddenly exploded across the landscape, piercing the fog and illuminating the area. Red gasped, squinting into the sudden bright lights as the harpies scattered into the air and whirled around to face the source of the light. Above the melee, a metal airship hovered on VTOL engines, focusing its twin spotlights on the group of harpies. A harsh voice broadcast over an unseen loudspeaker. “Hey, mutt, that your ship?”

Red spun around, spotting the looming silhouette of The Crimson Score a dozen yards away. He turned again, facing the ship, and raised his paws above his head and flashed what he hoped was a recognizable thumbs-up and nodded his head wildly. The voice chuckled, “If you’re lying, you’re next.”

Above, as the harpies began to regroup, some sort of weapon system belched out a staccato noise, and electricity exploded into the atmosphere, crackling into the close-packed flock of harpies. The monsters screamed and burned, scattering as a quarter of their number fell in smoking puffs of feathers. The intense energy caused several of the harpies’ grenades to explode, causing even more damage to the flock as they retreated into the clouds. Red stared up at the ship, briefly dumbstruck at the display of power, before coming to his senses and retrieving his spent pistol and rifle from the ash and sprinting for The Crimson Score. He quickly clambered up the ladder and scrambled to unlock the hangar doors, before rushing inside and up to the bridge of the Score, activating the engines and powering on the exterior lights, further illuminating the dense fog. Red poured power into the engines and The Crimson Score lifted off into the fog. His saviour’s aircraft followed him, the powerful spotlights shifting to focus on the Score. Together, the two ships broke through the cloud cover and into the open air above the black thunderhead. Red shifted his engines into a hover and pulled the microphone up to his mouth, broadcasting to the other ship. “This is Red, pilot of The Crimson Score. I owe you my life.”

The other ship replied after a moment. “Well, gratitude in the Wastelands does exist! The name’s Kevin, Red. Your ship can hover like mine, yes? How about we chat face-to-face?”

Red hesitated on his response, but reconsidered. If this “Kevin” wanted to rob him, he could have just killed Red as easily as he had the harpies. Red replied after a moment. “That sounds doable. Bring your ship around to my bow and we can talk on the deck there.”

Making certain that his ship would stay stationary, and after taking a moment to reload his steam pistol and holster it once more, he walked downstairs. As he passed through the crew compartment, he grabbed a roll of bandages and began wrapping up his shoulder. He’d forgotten the injury while his adrenaline had been pumping, but the gash was starting to sting and burn painfully. Red clenched his teeth as he ambled down to the forward deck of The Crimson Score, tightening down the bandage to stop the bleeding. The other ship pulled into his view and settled into a hover above the forward deck. A rope ladder dropped down onto his deck from an open hatch, and a female goblin scrambled down it, landing on the deck agilely. A moment later, out of the same hatch, a feathered creature winged down onto the foredeck. Red’s paw dropped to his steam pistol and he nearly drew the weapon before his brain recognized the creature as a buzzard, and not a harpy. Red glanced between the goblin and the buzzard, and they stared at him awkwardly for a moment before Red slowly moved his paw away from the holstered pistol. Red spoke quickly, “Sorry, I’m a bit jumpy at the moment.”

The buzzard chuckled. “No crap, mutt. I don’t blame ya, though, it’s not every day that you gotta fight for your life.”

The goblin woman snorted and spoke up, “Nah, that’s just every other day.”

The buzzard winked at Red. “Excuse my jaded cohort. I’m Kevin, and I pilot the Carcass. This is Wendy, my mechanic.”

Red extended a paw forward, towards them both. “I’m Red. It’s... good to meet you. Really, really good.”








- End of Chapter 4 -











Special Thanks To: WardenPony, RazgrizS57, TheBrianJ, shortskirtsandexplosions





> Chapter 5
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


- Chapter 5 -


        Kevin awkwardly extended a talon and gripped Red’s outstretched paw, giving it a firm shake. Red smiled at the buzzard and dropped his paw to his side. “Thanks for the save. It was looking pretty desperate there.”

        Ruffling his feathers, Kevin shrugged noncommittally. “It... wasn’t actually my idea.”

        Red frowned. “What do you mean?”

Stepping forward, Wendy spoke up, pointing her thumb at Kevin. “This lunkhead was all for letting you become harpy food. I changed his mind.”

        Kevin took a measured step backwards from Red, looking dismissive. “Nothing against ya, pup, but we scavengers gotta get stuff from somewhere, and that’s usually off the corpses of the less fortunate.”

        That made a measure of sense to Red, though he didn’t necessarily have to like it. He’d scavenged before, certainly, but usually off the long-dead ponies; what Kevin had nearly done was less savory in his mind. Red shook his head, looking Wendy in the eye. “Well then, thank you for the help... but I still don’t understand why. You don’t know me.”

        Wendy beamed at him, showing off a missing tooth, and she pointed towards The Crimson Score. “You’re right! We didn’t know you. But we do know your ship! We spotted it while we were flying over this little slice of Tartarus, and I just had to get a closer look. We didn’t see anybody inside, so I made Kev wait around for a bit and see if anybody showed up. We got turned around in the fog and flew into a bunch of harpies, and ended up frying them good. Then, when we were heading back to your ship, we spotted you.”

        Red cocked his head to the side. “Why’re you so interested in my ship?”

        Wendy stared at Red with slack-jawed surprise, and Kevin sighed, muttering, “Here we go,” under his breath.

        Without another moment’s hesitation, Wendy launched into an explanation, gesticulating wildly to punctuate her statements. “You kiddin’ me?! Have you seen what you’re flyin’? This thing is a freakin’ masterpiece of freakin’ engineering! You’ve got a VTOL capable carrier ship with an engine setup that I ain’t seen anywhere else in the wasteland outside’a the pipe dreams of drunk imp engineers! You’ve got an array up top that looks like it’s made to harness freakin’ lightning for who-knows-what reason, and to top it all off, it wasn’t built by imps! Do you know how nuts that is?”

        Red took a half step back, uncertain if he should be flattered or frightened by the goblinette’s outburst, and managed to murmur a hesitant, “Um...”

        Wendy was less hesitant, jabbing a finger into his face and crowing ecstatically, “It’s way nuts! This thing is so frostbeams. A freakin’ mini-carrier! So, you gotta tell me, because I need to know. Who built it?”

        Managing to regain a modicum of composure, Red straightened his back proudly and answered, “I did.”

        She stared at Red for a brief moment before snorting and chuckling. “Ahhaha, yeah, good. Takin’ ownership, just like a real scavenger! I get that. But seriously, who built this thing? Please tell me you didn’t kill ‘em! That’d be a real tragedy.”

Red chuckled at the goblinette’s disbelief. “I built it,” he responded evenly.

Wendy started chuckling again, and Kevin looked embarrassed and muttered, “He’s serious, Wendy.”

Wendy stopped laughing and stared at Red quietly for a moment before shaking her head. “No. No way.”

Red smirked, eye gleaming with pride. “Hard to believe?”

“You gotta understand, here, there’s no way you built this thing. The only thing remotely close to this level of engineering that the Diamond Dogs ever built was that freakin’ aircraft carrier, the Sweaty Balls or somethin’,” Wendy replied. “On top of that, it took a whole pack of ‘em just to do it.”

Red smirked, happy to prove the goblin wrong. “I designed the engines and stabilization system for The Dog’s Bollocks too. My ship, The Crimson Score, uses the same principles and designs, only on a smaller scale. The whole thing, from stem to stern, is my design, and I built it over a few years of tinkering and experimentation. I only recently completed it and got it flying. I’ve got the designs right here if you want to take a look.”

Reaching into his satchel, Red pulled out his notebook and flipped it open, thumbing through a few pages until he reached the entry he was searching for. He turned it to face the skeptical goblin mechanic, who squinted at the page for several moments. Wendy’s expression morphed rapidly into one of shock, followed by deep embarrassment. She waved away the notebook and scuffed her boot against the deck, looking sheepish. “Well, looks like I put my foot in it. Sorry Red.”

“Let that be a lesson to you,” Red replied smugly. “So, the real question is, why did you save me?”

Wendy gestured to The Crimson Score, looking eagerly towards the hangar doors behind Red. “I want to talk shop.”

Red wrinkled his nose. “What?”

Wendy smiled. “Okay, I also want a tour. And I want to look at the engines.”

Red glanced at Kevin, who simply shrugged at the Diamond Dog and replied, “Hey; don’t look at me. She’s nuts about machines. It wasn’t my idea to hook a lightning gun to the bottom of my ship.”

Wendy made a face at Kevin. “Awww, still grumpy about that? Look at how useful it was!”

With a long-suffering expression that turned into a smirk, Kevin implored Red, “Please. Just let her look at your ship... she probably won’t break anything.”

Wendy looked aghast, scowling and placing her hands on her hips. “I would never—”

“Okay!” Red cut off the indignant goblin. “I’ll give you a tour, in exchange for saving my life. It’s the least I can do.”

Cheering, Wendy skipped past Red and headed for the hanger doors. Red watched her go, shaking his head, and looked to Kevin. “Come on inside, I’ll make you both something to eat after the tour.”

Kevin smirked at Red, looking pleased. “Now you’re talkin’. That’s the kind’a reward I can get behind.”





Red, Kevin, and Wendy all sat around the table in the storage room of The Crimson Score, talking animatedly over steaming bowls of mushroom stew. Red smiled, more at ease now than he’d been initially. “I’m telling you, as long as the catapult and retrieval system I’ve installed works—which it does—I can launch a small interceptor aircraft with ease.”

Kevin laughed. “That’s pretty insane. Why would you need to build a ship that launches another ship? It seems like one ship would be enough.”

Red shook his head. “The Score was originally designed to be a merchant ship. The catapult system was rigged up simply because I wanted to test the design. I never imagined that I’d be using the Score as... well, a hunting ship.”

Wendy whistled, surprised. “Hunting, huh? What, pray tell, are you hunting?”

Red grew nervous, glancing between Kevin and Wendy for a moment. He didn’t want to have another “Brucie incident” on his hands, but Kevin and Wendy didn’t seem like the type that would be great friends with a pony. He exhaled slowly, and smiled. “I’m actually searching for the last pony.”

Wendy and Kevin exchanged glances, and chuckled. Kevin said, “Well, you’re gonna have your paws full with that one, that’s for sure. I’ve never met that last piece of horse meat, but she’s got a reputation around the Wastelands.”

Wendy looked a little less enthused than Kevin. “She’s a real survivor. A tough customer, too. She used to deal with the Dirigible Dogs a lot, until she went and blew up their carrier. That’s what I heard, anyway.”

Red shrugged, bearing his teeth in a vicious smile. “Well, she might be tough, but by the time I catch up with her, she’ll only be one thing: dead.”

Kevin smirked. “Ha, that’s the spirit!” Raising his bowl of stew, Kevin declared, “When you catch up t’ her, you sock her one for all of us Wastelanders, yeah?”

Red raised his bowl of stew as well, smirking. “I’ll remember that.”

Wendy shook her head, laughing a bit to try to hide an edge of discomfort that entered her voice. “I still can’t believe you built all this. It’s really something else. Pure manifested Petra from a Diamond Dog.”

Cocking his head curiously, Red asked, “I’ve heard that before: ‘Petra.’ What’s it mean?”

“Well, it’s sort of like... hmm...” Wendy struggled to answer. “I guess it’s creativity, but more than that. It’s almost... obsession, I guess. It’s more than doing something for fun. It’s a drive, deep inside you, that you can’t ignore. You create something because not creating feels wrong.”

Red nodded, understanding. “I guess that describes me pretty well. If I’m not working on something or sketching out ideas, I feel... twitchy.”

“That’s Petra all right! An itch that has to be scratched.”

Kevin snorted at the banter. “All right, all this talk about skin conditions is great an’ everythin’, but I’m pretty sure we need to get out of here. Stormfront’s passin’ beneath us.”

Wendy and Red both laughed at the buzzard. Kevin rolled his eyes, smirking, and stood up. “Seriously, we need to get outta here, Wends. Last thing I want is the harpies comin’ back lookin’ for a little vengeance. You should get goin’ too, Red.”

Nodding and standing up, Red walked Wendy and Kevin out of The Crimson Score and back to their hovering airship, the Rotting Carcass. Red and Wendy shook hands. “Good to meet a fellow enthusiast,” said Red.

“More like ‘mechanical genius,’ but I guess ‘enthusiast’ will have to do,” replied Wendy, grinning at the Diamond Dog.

Red nodded to Kevin, who ruffled his feathers uncomfortably. “Yeah, don’t hug me or anythin’, alright? I saved you an’ crap, but don’t expect any more favors. We ain’t friends.”

“I’ll remember that in the future,” said Red, smiling at the buzzard.

Kevin shook his head. “You’re a good dog, Red. No offense meant, it’s just bad business to rescue every wastelander that ends up in trouble, especially for scavengers like me. Just don’t take on any more harpies, alright?”

Tail wagging, Red chuckled. “I won’t! Not like I meant to aggravate a flock of those things. It was just bad timing.”

Kevin laughed. “Yeah, well, any more cases of bad timing and I’ll end up with two airships, get my drift? Don’t be a dumbass and you’ll do okay.”

With those final blunt words of wisdom, Kevin spread his wings, flying up into the hatch on the Carcass. Wendy smiled at Red and gave him a wave, climbing up the rope ladder that Kevin threw down for her and into the ship. Her head peeked out of the hatch a moment later, beaming down at Red, and she threw a paper airplane into the sky. Red reached up and caught it as it spiraled down to the deck of The Crimson Score, chuckling at the item in his paw. When he looked up, the hatch was closed and the Carcass was accelerating away, heading east. Red watched the other airship leave, and then returned to the bridge of the Score. 

As Red moved up the stairs to the bridge, he unfolded the paper airplane. A simple drawing was scrawled into the paper—a map of a region south and east of the M.O.D.D—with an ‘x’ marked on the rough map and a messily written note that read: Look me up if you’re in town. -W. Red chuckled and tucked the map into his satchel. He sat down in the pilot’s seat and pushed the throttle forward, going Northeast towards the M.O.D.D. He had a rendezvous with Ace and Quint.





The Crimson Score flew above the stormfront, skipping across the tops of mountainous thunderheads, like a bullet ricocheting off of hard metal. The cockpit plowed through an errant tuft of vapor and rose from the wispy cloud, the condensation burning off from the internal heat of the ship in trails of rising steam. The Crimson Score nosed upwards, away from the clouds and into the higher atmosphere.

Inside the cockpit, Red smiled to himself, enjoying honing his piloting skills. He knew that he’d never be the perfect pilot—and probably never match the last pony in the air, for lack of experience—but for easily paced flights such as this one, he could manage himself. Red flew his ship with what he could only describe as exuberance. He’d certainly made mistakes, but overall he could get from place to place without inviting spontaneous crash-landings or out-of-control dives—something he had not been at all sure about at the outset. He took a moment to bask in the feeling of competence, and to look on his ship as more than the means to an end.

He’d completed The Crimson Score with only a single goal in mind—to hunt the last pony—but he’d created more than an instrument for the final genocide of a race that should have long passed away into the ash of the Wastelands. Wendy had said that his creation was a work of “genius,” something that he’d never truly felt about his creations. They were a part of his life—things to help him and make his life easier—not the work of art that the Score seemed to be in the eyes of one enthusiastic and like-minded goblinette mechanic.

Red had been a part of the pack before. He’d been a credit to his brethren, certainly, but still a part of a whole. The machines he created were seen as oddities or sometimes useful, but never seemed to inspire awe. The adulation and respect he’d been shown from Wendy had set him aback at first, but now, after she’d gone, Red felt the glow of an inner fire.

He felt pride in his work: pride not only in the designs or their efficiency, but that they were his.

The Crimson Score. A name that he’d conceived in the grasp of his passionate work, a name that spoke of vengeance to be a carried out, a score to be settled with the blood of the last equine on the planet. She’d taken his eye from him, taken his purpose and former life. She’d been the instrument not only of the destruction of Red’s life, but in the grisly end of his mother as well. If he hadn’t been injured by the last pony... if he hadn’t been out in that stormfront...

Red tightened his grip around the controls of the Score, feeling the righteous fury that had launched him on his exodus course through his body, setting his hackles on end. The anger gave him focus, and he smiled to himself.

“I’ll get Ace and Quint to fly with me, and then the three of us will go hunting. With Ace’s skill, my knowledge, and Quint’s connections... the last pony won’t know what hit her.”

Adjusting his course slightly, Red pointed the nose of The Crimson Score toward the mountains, and his paws clamped down suddenly on the yoke. His eye widened as a throbbing pulse of pain blew through his head, making him bite his tongue. Coppery liquid filled his mouth and Red grunted with agony, spitting blood and managing to slip his tongue from between his clenching teeth. He grimaced, fighting the flashes of pain erupting from the horn embedded in his skull. Shaking from the exertion of maintaining consciousness, Red tried to set the engines of The Crimson Score into a hover. He tore his paws from the primary controls, but his fingers spasmed as his nervous system overloaded, and instead he fumbled into the throttle. The engines powered up, whining as they accelerated The Crimson Score higher into the sky. Red tilted forward in the harness that he’d luckily thought to buckle himself into, his body spasming and his eye darting desperately over the controls of the airship.

Blackness tore into his vision, scratching its way into his skull from behind his eye patch, and the cockpit spun, fading into—





—blue light briefly blinded me and I grimaced, turning my face away from the flash. I rubbed at my head—feeling a pang of annoyance and... fear?—as I glanced back up to face the direction the errant lightshow had emanated from. The feeling of aggravation left me, as I found myself looking on the absolute picture of equine grace and beauty. Princess Cadance stood before me, her blue aura of teleportation magic dissipating rapidly, and she smiled demurely. “Hello Shining Armor. I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t startle you! I’ve been practicing my teleportation.”

I approached the pink alicorn, smiling hesitantly. “I’m all right, my lady. That was... a bit sloppy, though.”

Wincing at my blunt honesty, Cadance chuckled weakly. “Yeah, that’s what my instructor said. I think I’ll stick to glamours and enchantments, if it’s all the same to you.”

I laughed. “I don’t mind, my lady. It’s good that you’re practicing other magic, but the only unicorn that I know that has mastered so many schools of magic is—”

“Let me guess. Twilight, right?” Cadance smiled knowingly.

“Yes. My sister is quite the student.”

Cadance giggled, trotting a bit closer to stand at a respectful distance from my side. “She was always a fast learner. How is she? Have you seen her recently?”

I began to walk at a slow pace, accompanying the princess through the royal gardens of Canterlot. The rose garden was in full bloom, and the princess and I moved down the rows of spectacular flowers. Above, two pegasus guards escorted us at a distance.

Hesitating, my head was filled with the screaming of my sister—the changeling’s—voice. I closed my eyes in an attempt to clear the memory from my mind, grimacing. When I opened my eyes, Cadance was leaning forward, brow furrowed with worry as she looked closely—perhaps too closely—at me. I took a practiced step away from her, keeping the distance between us at a space more befitting our roles, and mustered a small smile. “Twilight is doing well, my lady. She left Canterlot two months ago, to study in Ponyville.”

Cadance frowned. “Shining Armor, is everything all right?”

I bowed, inwardly cursing my lapse of decorum. “Yes, my lady.”

“Come on, Shining. Don’t do that.”

I played dumb, despite knowing how much she hated it. “Do what, my lady?”

Scowling, Cadance shook her head. “You know what! You know that I hate it when you don’t tell me things.” I opened my mouth to speak, but Cadance held a hoof up in the air, halting my tongue. “No, I’m not done yet.” Cadance continued, her voice carrying a hurt tone that I did not expect. “Shining, you’ve been gone for nearly three months off working on some project in some far corner of the world, and I... I haven’t heard from you in all that time. Suddenly, three days ago, you come back on a brief leave, and I don’t hear anything until today! You are not only part of my guard detail when you are in Canterlot, but you are also my closest friend. Your sister is very dear to me as well. If something was wrong with her, or you, Shining Armor, I’d hope that you hold enough respect for me to speak to me plainly, princess or not.”

I stared at Cadance, at a loss for words. I stammered, searching for an excuse, but Cadance’s eyes narrowed, daring me to invoke her ire with platitudes. Finally, I sat down and lowered my head in defeat. “I’m sorry, my lady—”

Cadance stomped her hoof, interrupting me. “And stop that, will you? Titles at court are one thing, but we can be ourselves out here.”

Chuckling weakly, I started again. “I’m sorry... Cadance. I’m just a bit... overwhelmed by the responsibilities of my project and the conditions that I’ve been working under. It is very high stress.”

“Apparently stressful enough to wind you up tighter than the Night Guards after Princess Luna returned from the moon.”

I smiled, laughing a bit more genuinely than I had in several days. “I guess so.”

“There’s more to it, isn’t there? When I mentioned Twilight, something in you curled up and hid behind that shield on your flank. I’m not used to seeing that happen to you, Shining Armor. It... scared me a bit,” Cadance replied, her voice carrying a hint of deep concern.

Running a hoof through my mane, I fought a blush that threatened to form on my cheeks. I knew that Cadance and I were close, but hearing her say something like that carried more weight than I’d expected. I regained my composure after a moment. “Yes. There’s more to it, but... I don’t think I can tell you. My project and where I work are a state secret.”

Cadance laughed. “Come on, Shining Armor. I’m a princess, Celestia’s own niece. The blood of the royal family is in my veins. Who would I betray secrets to?”

Shaking my head, I explained, “It’s not just about secrecy. If somepony discovered that you knew about the project, you could be targeted for the information I divulged to you. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you because of me.”

It was Cadance’s turn to blush, turning her head away from me to hide her expression. She recovered quickly, and retorted, “Shining Armor, if somepony targeted me, they’d have to get through the most well trained guardsponies in Equestria to get to me. They’d have to do so under the very noses of Princess Celestia and Luna themselves. Forgive me if I sound arrogant, Shining, but I very much doubt that anypony, no matter how dedicated, could strike at me.”

I chuckled. “It does sound a bit silly when you put it like that.”

Cadance smiled at me. “So... spill the oats! What’s got you worked up? I don’t need every top-secret detail, but you need to get something off your chest, and I want to help.”

We sat in comfortable silence for several moments as I gathered my thoughts. I spoke quietly to Cadance, and she leaned forward, listening intently. “I can’t say too much, but... I’ve been working with changelings. A week ago, I was taking samples from one for study, and it... turned into Twilight.”

Ignoring Cadance’s look of horror, I continued, “One of the attendant guards ended up shocking it, hurting it... and it screamed. I-it sounded like Twily—my sweet little sister—was in the worst pain of her life.”

Cadance reached out, placing a hoof on my chest, and I stared down at her gold-shod hoof for a moment before looking up at her, my eyes haunted. “I took a leave of absence after that. I couldn’t sleep. I can’t... s-stop hearing her. I can’t stop shaking like a weak foal, feeling... hate.”

Cadance’s hoof fell away from my chest, and I caught her grimace, but I continued on. “I hate that changeling, Cadance. I hate what it did, what it made me feel, what it made me face. Nopony should ever have to hear a sound like that from their loved ones.”

I sighed, feeling a little better at having simply stated my feelings, but I wasn’t ready for the look of reproach on Cadance’s face. She shook her head, her curly mane bobbing with the movement, and her ears canted back with displeasure. “No.”

“... No?”

“Shining, why choose hate?”

I was taken aback by the question. “I hate it. It’s not so hard to explain.”

Cadance frowned. “That’s not like you. What happened may have hurt you, Shining, but to feel hatred? That’s not like you at all.”

I scowled. “Why is it a problem? That monster—”

“That creature acted as it was supposed to act, Shining. Nothing more.”

I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”

Cadance smiled at me softly. “Think about it, Shining Armor. Changelings are shapeshifters. I’m assuming that the samples you needed were... physical samples from it’s being?”

“Yes...”

“So, imagine you’re trotting around, and somepony walks up to you and starts poking and prodding you. Somepony starts snipping your mane, or taking shavings off your hooves. How would you react?”

I grimaced. “I would object.”

“Of course you would!” Cadance replied, voice full of conviction. “You’d react because you were surprised, angry, or scared. You’d maybe erect one of your shield spells; defend yourself. Well, you may have a shield, but all that changeling has is its shape shifting ability. So, when you came poking and prodding, it reacted.”

I hung my head. “I didn’t even think about that...”

“Of course you didn’t, Shiny. You were upset, and probably shocked. I don’t blame you for getting upset; that’s natural. But to say you hate something?”

I sighed. “You’re right.”

Cadance smiled brightly and winked at me. “Of course I am. If I know about anything, I know about love, and part of love is its opposite.”

I straightened up, smiling a bit. “It was so nightmarish. I just felt so... afraid.”

I winced suddenly, putting a hoof to my forehead and rubbing it lightly as a twinge of pain shot down my horn. Cadance smiled at me, “It’s okay to be afraid, Shining. Fear is natural. Overcoming fear, facing it and mastering it... that’s the true test of a pony.”

I grimaced as my headache suddenly intensified, my body feeling suddenly cold. “My apologies... I just... I don’t feel quite right.”

Cadance frowned at me as I began to grimace in pain, her hoof reaching out for me. “Shining Armor?”

I gasped as the image of a cracking glass screen coated in ice suddenly loomed in my vision, and I shouted, desperately, “Wake—





—up!” Red roared, his eye snapping open and focusing.

Panic and fear shot down his spine as he willed his body to move. Frost had spidered across the forward viewport, and the entire ship shuddered as it fought to gain altitude in the upper atmosphere. The engines were gasping behind Red, searching for air that simply wasn’t there. Cracks spiraled across the forward viewports, and the bridge interior began to groan, the whistling noise of escaping air indicating a loss of internal pressure as some of the glass in the windows began to fail. The ice spread across everything, and Red’s gasping breaths came out in great plumes of condensation, freezing on contact with the air.

Red’s fingers unclenched as adrenaline shot through his system, and he reached for the throttle, desperately trying to reduce his altitude before—

Behind Red, he heard the engines sputter one last time and then stall, and Red gritted his teeth. “Oh crap.”

As far as he was concerned, that was the worst possible thing. Red reached out and stabbed at the starter, trying to reignite the engines. The Crimson Score’s accumulated momentum peaked out, and it began to fall, slowly at first, but gaining speed all the while. The ship began to twist in the air, and Red yelped as he was jerked against his harness, his head snapping forward and subjecting Red to a harsh case of whiplash. Red shook his head, trying to clear it, and jammed his finger desperately on the starter. The Crimson Score’s engines coughed and sputtered, but refused to start. His ship descended towards the clouds far below.

Red felt like screaming and covering his eye, but he focused himself, trying to think of what to do. He was losing altitude rapidly, and the spin was gaining momentum slowly. Red’s mind raced, searching for a solution, when one came to him. A crazy, terrible idea.

He had to wait. As he lost altitude, he’d leave the freezing upper atmosphere behind. The engines would begin to thaw, and they’d also get access to more oxygen at lower altitudes. They’d have a far better chance of starting at a lower altitude. The true issue, though, was reaching the lowest altitude he could manage, give the engines enough time to gain power to stop his descent, and also bring himself out of the death spiral that his ship was threatening to enter.

“Not like this. Not like this. Merciful Gaia, not like this,” Red prayed, repeating the words like a mantra.

Red could feel panic clawing at his head, distracting him, leaving him vulnerable to mistakes that he could no longer afford to make. He’d have one shot, a tiny window of opportunity. If he missed it, he was dead. Red’s paws shook, and he held his finger over the button to start his engines, eye darting between the altimeter and the cracked forward viewport. The ice was already melting away from the windows, but Red was more concerned with monitoring the speed of the spin The Crimson Score was in. He calculated rapidly, trying to estimate when he needed to start the engines, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was already dead.

As the Score dipped into the top of the stormfront, Red whimpered, closing his eye, searching for something to cling to. His most recent hallucination came to him, suddenly. The images of his imminent demise that ran through his head again and again were replaced with gentle purple eyes, filled with a royal grace and a deep, quiet passion.

“Fear is natural,” Red murmured softly. “Overcoming fear, facing it and mastering it... that’s the true test.”

Red opened his eye, a calm suffusing his body, and checked the altimeter. He glanced up to the viewscreen, judging the spin. He exhaled, slowly, and then watched the altimeter’s dial spin down. 1500 meters.

“One.”

1400 meters.

“Two”

1300 meters.

“Three

Red’s finger jabbed into the button, and the engines sputtered, clearing their intakes of residual frost, and then caught. Red howled triumphantly and pushed the throttle to full power, and then gripped the flight yoke. The engines powered up quickly, as the ground rushed up to meet him, and Red’s descent began to slow. Simultaneously, Red pulled the yoke sideways, sending power to the rear rotors and bringing the Score’s death spiral to a slow halt. His velocity bled away slowly, the rapid descent turning into a controlled fall. The ground was far too close for comfort, and Red grit his teeth. “Come on!”

Finally, The Crimson Score slowed to a halt. Red decreased the throttle immediately, settling into a hover barely 60 meters above the ground. He sat quietly for a moment, his brain processing his survival, and he burst into a fit of hysterical giggles. He continued to snicker for several moments before leaning to the side in his pilot seat and throwing up on the deck of the bridge. Red coughed, sputtered, and wiped his muzzle, still giggling slightly.

“Holy crap that was close.”

Red throttled the engines up and The Crimson Score began climbing vertically back into the stormy sky. Red’s stomach did a few more flips as lightning flashed overhead, but he held back his gorge. Once he was safely back into the sky above the stormfront, he set the Score to hover, unmoving.

Unstrapping himself from the pilot seat, Red stood shakily on the deck of the ship. He slipped into the crew quarters and returned with a rag, wiping up his vomit off the deck and discarding the rag in a bin. He returned to the pilot seat and sat down in it again, simply waiting for his nerves to untangle and the shaking in his paws to stop. Below, the stormfront rumbled and raged, and Red sat quietly and listened to it, taking a measure of solace in the sound’s familiarity. 





        The M.O.D.D. was a cacophonous mess. A brawl appeared to have broken out between a few tables of Mountain Ogres and Fire Ogres, and they were busily knocking each other’s teeth out, as well as dealing indiscriminate property damage to the bar area. Red sat in the corner, keeping his eye on the brawl in case it escalated. Pitt stood at the back, yelling into the melee. “You bungholes take it outside! Last warning!”

        The ogres ignored the baboon’s cries, and one Mountain Ogre actually began lifting another combatant up into the air, seeming intent on throwing his enemy behind the bar. Pitt’s eyes narrowed. Red leaned forward at his table, intrested to see how Pitt would handle the situation.

        Blam!

        The Mountain Ogre rocked backward suddenly, as one of it’s arms tore off at the shoulder as a massive slug blew through its flesh. The Fire Ogre he had been lifting fell atop his mortally wounded nemesis and rolled to a standing position. The area around the ogres cleared rapidly of other patrons as Pitt stood up atop the bar, wielding a massive rifle in one hand and a pistol in the other. The rifle’s bore smoked slightly, and Pitt lifted the weapon to his lips and blew the haze away from the barrel. His eyes narrowed. “Alright, I’ve been nice and accommodating to you dimwitted tubs of lard for the last minute or so, but that stops now.”
        
        Pitt balanced easily on one back leg and using his free foot, cocked the rifle, ejecting a huge, smoking shell from the chamber, and then aimed it at the group of ogres once more. “Both of your groups owe me three hundred strips for the damages to my bar, and twenty strips for the round I just plugged your buddy with. I’m going to get those silver strips one of two ways. I’ll let you idiots figure out which way ends with the least number of you filled with lead.”

        The ogres stared dumbly at Pitt for a moment. The Mountain Ogre with the missing arm whimpered and muttered something through gobs of drool and blood, and the Fire Ogre he’d been about to throw through the bar lifted up one leg and stomped his opponent’s head in, before turning to Pitt. “You protectin’ Mountain Ogres or sumfing, Pitt? You takin’ sides?”

        Pitt rolled his eyes and snarled in reply to the accusation, “No, lard-for-brains, I’m protecting my friggin’ establishment from getting torn apart by obese patrons. I don’t care if you’re Fire Ogres or Mountain Ogres or Ass Ogres. All I care about is my friggin’ stuff getting broken, something that I don’t take kindly to. So, you’ve got about three seconds to pay up some strips before I make you into next week’s stew.”

        All the ogres glanced at each other and chuckled. The Fire Ogre that had been speaking snarled, “Yeah, you an’ what zoggin’ army?”

        Pitt smirked, and called out, “Free drinks to the first warm body to pull a gun on these chumps.”

        The bar suddenly bristled with gun barrels as the patrons all around the ogres pulled an incredible assortment of weaponry from bandoliers and belts and trained them on the dumbfounded ogres. Red chuckled and pulled out his steam pistol, taking aim at one of the ogre groups. After an awkward moment of silence, one of the Mountain Ogres shrugged and turned to the rest of his group. “We’s not gettin’ thru dat mess.”

        The Fire Ogre looked ready to murder someone, but was at least intelligent enough to think better of trying anything with the amount of firepower pointing his direction. He rounded on his fellow Fire Ogres. “All right, get out yer strips.”

        Pitt smirked as the two groups forked over three hundred silver strips each, and the Mountain Ogres dropped twenty additional strips on the counter after some prodding from Pitt. The bar was deathly silent as the ogres filed out of the bar separately. Pitt smirked and started pulling cups from beneath the bar and lining them up on the bartop. “Thanks for the help, ya friggin’ scabs. A round on the house, as promised.”

        The remaining patrons cheered and began doling out the drinks. Red helped himself to a mug, and leaned up against the bar as Pitt poured cup after cup of what was undoubtedly his cheapest brew. After several minutes of work, the bar’s patrons had settled back into their seats and the comfortably loud babble of conversation filled the foul smelling bar once again. The mangy raccoon threw the mangled ogre arm up on the bartop and hissed at Pitt, “G-got ya somethin’... f’r a drink?”

        Rolling his eyes, Pitt snatched the limb off the bar top and poured the raccoon another round. Red made a disgusted face at Pitt, and Pitt smirked at him, “Ah, c’mon pup. You were enjoying my stew a bit ago.”

        Red snorted. “Yeah, but I should have known better. Who’s body parts was I eating, I wonder.”

        “Nobody you knew,” replied Pitt with a harsh laugh. His expression suddenly became thoughtful. “... Probably nobody you knew.”

        Frowning at the sudden change of phrasing, Red hesitantly asked, “What does that mean?”

        “Well, you know what they say, Red, “ said Pitt, chuckling darkly.

        Red stared at Pitt, waiting for the rest of the statement, but Pitt merely gestured off to one side of the bar, where a toothy Dirigible Dog was chowing down on a bowl of stew. Something in the stew crunched, suddenly, and the Dirigible Dog spat out an object that looked suspiciously like a canine tooth. 

Deciding a change of topic was in order, if only for the sake of his suddenly sick stomach, Red said, “I’ve been looking for two Dirigible Dogs, by the name of Ace and Quint. Have you seen them?”

        Pitt shook his head. “Nah, I haven’t seen ‘em for a few stormfronts. You know ‘em?”

        “Yeah. They helped me fix up my ship, and promised to meet up here in two stormfronts. I’ve been waiting for a while now, and they haven’t shown.”

        Pitt tapped a finger against his chin, pondering for a moment, before shrugging. “That’s too bad. They were picking up cargo for me.”

        Pitt turned away from Red, and Red sighed, wracking his brain trying to figure out why they were late. He’d arrived late to the M.O.D.D. after the second stormfront, but if Pitt said he hadn’t seen them, Red believed him. He caught Pitt’s eye after a moment and waved the baboon back over. “Pitt, where were Ace and Quint flying to?”

        Pitt replied, “North of Mount Ogreton, a tiny goblin settlement that’s south of the big Petra and west of the Valley of Jewels.”

        Frowning, Red asked, “Do you think something could have happened to them?”

        The baboon threw his hands up in the air. “What do I look like, their mother? I don’t know! Crap happens out in the Wastelands. They’ll show up, or they won’t. That’s how it goes.”
        
        Red stared down at the bar for a moment before straightening up. He slapped a few silver strips on the bar top and nodded to Pitt. “This should cover my tab.”

        Pitt scooped up the strips without comment, and Red walked out the doors to the M.O.D.D., heading for The Crimson Score. He’d spent most of his wait time at the M.O.D.D. repairing the cracked viewports across the ship, and she was ready to fly once more. He detached the charging cable that one of Pitt’s brothers had hooked up to his ship, and ascended quickly to the bridge of the Score. He disengaged the mooring clamps and powered up the engines to full, bringing it out of the hover they’d been maintaining for the better part of twenty hours. Red dipped a paw into his satchel and retrieved the slightly crumpled paper airplane from within, and unfolded it, revealing Wendy’s map of the area of the Wastelands southeast from the M.O.D.D. Red tucked the map on top of the control panel in front of him. Lifting off, he adjusted his heading to the southeast and began his flight out into the unknown. 

The Crimson Score left the mountains behind swiftly, moving down into the foothills with ease. Red kept his ship low, scanning the dark and shattered landscape below his ship for any signs of recent wreckage. He didn’t know for sure if Ace and Quint were even in trouble, or simply running late, but he knew deep in his gut that if he didn’t go out and look for his two friends, nobody ever would.





Red watched the ground, shining the forward-mounted exterior lights of the Score over the fresh wreckage of an airship. The debris was not Quint and Ace’s ship, but the design was familiar to Red. He flew lower, looking closely at the still-deflating envelope of the balloon that once held aloft the crudely build ship. The entire vehicle was riddled with bullet holes and scorch marks, and as Red’s forward lights shone into the bridge of the decimated airframe, he saw corpses that immediately made him realize why the ship was familiar.

The bodies of the Mountain Ogres that had been at the M.O.D.D. filled the ship. They’d been blown apart by the sheer volume of fire that had hit their vessel. The wreckage appeared to have already been picked over, and Red felt it was safe to assume that the Fire Ogres had shot down the Mountain Ogre ship and had taken anything of worth. Red accelerated the Score into the air once more after circling around the wreckage, and continued on his southeastern course. 
 
The wasteland flew past beneath Red, and he maneuvered high over the decimated ruins of a small township, apparently abandoned for years. He’d been flying for nearly a day now, and exhaustion was starting to take its toll on his mind. He’d pushed himself well beyond when most pilots would have stopped to rest, but now he was at his limit. 

Red adjusted his course with a sigh, pulling into the upper atmosphere and settling his ship high in the air. He switched the engines to maintain a stationary hover and leaned back in the pilot’s chair. He felt himself drifting off to sleep, and his eye began to droop, when something out the front viewscreen caught his eye. Farther south, from the edges of a scattering of impact craters, a red glow emanated dimly, piercing the blackness. He hadn’t noticed it because he’d been flying too low to see into the depths of the cratered surface that was a bit further east, off the route that Red had been following. Red frowned, blinking away his exhaustion, and pulled The Crimson Score out of its hover and turned east. He turned off the interior and exterior lights and began to fly closer, keeping high in the atmosphere so as to avoid detection.

The Crimson Score flew closer to the lights, which slowly separated into distinct groupings of bonfires and electric lighting. Red squinted, but couldn’t make out much detail. Standing up, Red set the Score to hover over the top of the bonfires, and went downstairs, pausing only long enough to grab a spyglass from the storage area. Red moved out to the front landing deck and peered over the edge of the deck, lifting the spyglass to his eye.

The spyglass revealed large figures around the bonfires, standing around and talking animatedly. A half dozen airships were parked in a circle, around the bonfires, and the ships’ electric lights were illuminating the area further, lighting up the crevasses and hills of dust that had filled the bottom of the crater. Red frowned to himself, trying to get a better look at the figures down below, when something caught his eye. A seventh, larger ship was flying in low from the southern edge of the crater. This ship lumbered to a halt and settled on rickety landing struts. A large ramp opened in the belly of the ship and disgorged another group from its interior. Red finally discerned that the figures below were ogres, probably Fire Ogres. Red ran the spyglass over the other nearby vessels and confirmed this guess, spotting the airship that the Fire Ogres from the M.O.D.D. had been piloting.

Below, the ogres greeted each other with back-slapping and some more violently good-natured punches. The newest arrivals returned inside their vehicle, and the electric lights of their ship powered up fully, brightening the area considerably. A few minutes later, they returned, herding a massive group of chained figures down the ramp with them. Red scowled, muttering to himself, “Slavers.”

The slaves were gathered together at the base of the ramp and split into groups, pulled towards different bonfires. The ogres gestured animatedly at each other for a while, and a brawl broke out briefly that seemed to happen for no reason and stop just as quickly. Red shook his head at the ogre’s stupid displays of machismo, chuckling. He was about to put the spyglass away, when two slaves suddenly broke away, running from the bonfires and ogres. They moved briefly through the brightly lit area, and Red’s eye widened with shock.

Down below, two Dirigible Dogs that were unmistakably Ace and Quint ran together, heading for one of the smaller zeppelin airships. They disappeared into the interior of the ship, and Red clenched his teeth, glancing around below. The ogres noticed the missing slaves, but didn’t realize where they’d gone until one of the airships began to lift off.

Red turned away, sprinting as quickly as he could manage in his exhausted state, and ran for the bridge. Leaping into the pilot seat, Red brought The Crimson Score out of a hover, dropping out of the sky as quickly as he could manage and circling around to come at the ogre encampment from the south. He clenched his teeth, watching as the ogre ship lifted into the air. Below, the ogres opened fire, muzzle flashes lighting the dark interior of the crater. The ogre ship took several hits, and one of the engines began to smoke slightly. Red pushed the engines of The Crimson Score, bringing her down as low as he could manage, and he buzzed the ogre encampment at top speed, sowing confusion as the gunfire suddenly spread from a single target to two. Red snarled as impacts dinged against the Score’s lower hull, and pulled his ship up, flying past the hijacked ogre zeppelin and powering on his exterior lights as he did so, fully illuminating The Crimson Score.

Red swung The Crimson Score around, maneuvering towards putting his bulkier and far more armored ship between the ogres on the ground and the zeppelin, when, from below, a massive plume of flame exploded from the slaver ship. Red gasped as the rapid-fire blasts of a gatling weapon spat fire into the zeppelin’s envelope, blowing holes in the floundering ship. The envelope began to deflate, and the zeppelin jerked towards the ground.

The zeppelin turned and began to power towards the ash dunes a few hundred yards distant of the encampment as the slaver ship opened fire with its gatling gun once more, peppering the ship with bullets. The zeppelin lurched and finally crashed into the dunes, sending up a massive cloud of black ash and dust, covering the crash site. Red grit his teeth and pulled The Crimson Score up, turning off the exterior lights before the large slaver ship could draw a bead on his vessel. Red flew towards the lip of the crater nearest the crashed Zeppelin and set the Score down in the dirt, landing her without any modicum of grace. The Crimson Score settled with a dull thud and scrape, sending dust into the air, and Red powered down the engines. 

Red ran to the storage area, unceremoniously dumping the contents of his satchel onto the messy table. He retrieved the steam pistol, the spare steam charges and slugs, his rifle and ammunition, the first aid kit, the single harpy-made grenade, and the spyglass. Throwing everything that could fit into his satchel and shouldering the rifle, Red ran down to the front deck of the score and slid down the ladder, landing in the ash. Red sprinted to the lip of the crater and pulled the spyglass up to his eye, looking into the crater and finding the crash site. From the ogre encampment came distant yells and shouts, and a line of torches began to advance from the encampment, heading towards the crash site. 

Red trained his spyglass on the downed zeppelin, but it was obscured by a plume of settling dust and smoke. He put the spyglass into his satchel and slid over the edge of the crater, scrambling down the escarpment and into the bottom of the crater. The crater edge that he had arrived at was about four hundred yards distant from the crash site, through pitted and uncertain ground and ash dunes. The ogres seemed to have an equal amount of distance to cover.

Red hesitated; he had no idea if Ace and Quint were alive. The ship had been shot to hell, and they could have been caught by stray bullets at any time. Gritting his teeth, Red pushed these thoughts out of his mind. He owed it to Ace and Quint to try and save them.

Red sprinted into the dunes, feeling his head ache from the overexertion of the past several days and his body begin to tire, only pure adrenaline keeping him going. He had no idea how long he was going to last before becoming more of a hindrance than a help to this desperate escape attempt.

Red powered onward, panting with exhaustion. He stumbled several times, falling down dunes and covering his body with ash. At first it was annoying, but his exhausted brain eventually caught up to the action and Red realized it was a good idea to camouflage himself to be the same color as the dust around him. Red allowed the ash to cake onto his coat, dulling his russet colors into a ghostly gray. He only concerned himself with keeping his rifle clean of the dust, to prevent misfires.

Red covered the first hundred yards at a far slower pace than he’d intended. Cresting a dune of ash, he could see the line of torches spreading out, some six hundred yards away, moving to enclose the crash as they approached. Red gripped his rifle, aiming high through the scope at the nearest torch, and fired twice, sending bullets into the edge of advancing ogres. The closer group of ogres seemed to hesitate, slowing down as they were shot at. Red smirked and continued onward, getting closer to halfway to the crash site. From within the crash, a muzzle flash illuminated the darkness briefly. Red grinned to himself, happy to see some sign of life from Ace and Quint. With renewed vigor, he moved towards the crash.

Two dark figures emerged from the crash site, and Red raised his rifle into the air, shooting once, giving away his position. Red moved to the nearest dune and clambered atop it, training his eye through the scope of his rifle. He monitored Ace and Quint’s progress, and saw that they had turned towards the muzzle flash from his rifle. However, Red also noticed that the nearer group of torch-bearing ogres had changed direction, coming towards him now as well.

Red lay prone and raised the rifle scope to his eye. He aimed towards the nearest torch and, adjusting for his target’s movement and the distance, opened fire. He fired three times, the first two seeming to have no effect. On his third shot, the torch suddenly dropped to the ground, winking out. Red chuckled grimly, pausing to reload, and stood up, changing his position to another dune a bit farther away. He began to fire on another torchbearer, and after four shots managed to hit his target. Red winced as a high-pitched whine buzzed past him, a bullet flying overhead. He shifted positions again, returning to the other dune he’d been shooting from, and was about to fire when he realized that he could hear panting breaths approaching from a few dunes away. Red shouldered his rifle and slid down the dune carefully. He crested the next dune and, looking down, spotted Ace and Quint. The two Dirigible Dogs were climbing up the dune towards him, Quint clinging to Ace’s waist. Red shouted, urgently, “Up here! Come on, let’s move!”

Ace and Quint froze, staring up at him. Quint muttered, “Holy crap. Red?”

Red smirked. “Who else is gonna take on an encampment of ogres to save your sorry tails?”

Ace rasped a nearly silent, hissing chuckle, and bounded up the sand dune to stand before Red. Quint yelped, unbalanced as Ace left his side, and fell over. Red grinned at Ace as the bigger Dirigible Dog put a paw on Red’s shoulder with a grin. Red pointed towards the edge of the crater. “The Crimson Score is parked up there. Let’s go, quick as you can manage.”

Ace spun around, retreating back down the dune. Red eyed the approaching line of torches. They were swarming over the crashed zeppelin, some two hundred yards distant. “Let’s get moving, pups, we’ve got—”

He stopped talking, as he looked down the dune. Ace had knelt down next to Quint, and was helping the smaller dog to his feet. Red had noticed, initially, how close they were standing together, and now it made sense. Quint was hurt.

Sliding down the dune, Red joined Ace and Quint at the base of the pile of ash. Quint grit his teeth, looking up at Red as he balanced on his right leg. “I took a bullet to the leg. It might be broken or something.”

Red peered down at Quint’s lower left leg and winced. There was a ragged hole in his leg that was bleeding profusely. Red glanced up at Quint, and Quint nodded. “Yeah, it’s bad. We don’t have time to stop and play doctor, though, pup. We gotta move.”

Reaching into his satchel, Red fumbled for the first aid kit, but Quint cuffed him on the side of the ear, making Red yelp and jump upright. Quint glared. “I said we ain’t got time. Move your tail!”

Red nodded and shouldered his rifle, moving back up the dune. The ogres that had broken off from the main group were only a hundred yards away now, and closing fast. Red glanced down the dune, and watched as Ace practically drug Quint through the dust. Red snarled angrily and called, “Ace, pick him up!”

Quint called back, “I can do it!” 

Ace glanced between Quint and Red, heaved a silent sigh, and picked Quint up. The little dog protested, snarling curses in between yelps of pain as his injured leg was moved about. Picking up the pace, Ace began to run through the dunes, towards the lip of the crater. Red followed the two Dirigible Dogs, throwing nervous glances over his shoulder. 

The ogres were growing closer, close enough for Red to be able to pick them out in the dark. He reached into his satchel and drew his steam pistol. He opened fire, the pistol hissing out puffs of steam as it threw slugs at the oncoming ogres. Red smiled as he saw an ogre stumble, injured, and a second one dropped to the dust, unmoving. He continued to retreat, pausing occasionally to open fire, the steam pistol’s greatest advantage being its lack of muzzle flash. Despite his efforts, the ogres were continuing to gain on them. Red was at the limit of his strength, the adrenaline no longer enough to keep him moving at anything more than a fast jog. Ace had slowed down as well, the added weight of carrying Quint causing him to be bogged down far easier in the soft dunes of char and dust. Red growled to himself, pushing his body to keep moving forward.

Ace heard him growl, and turned to glance back at Red. Red continued to fire into the advancing ogres. The hundred yards of separation had turned into forty, and the ogres were beginning to fire on Red as he moved, their own advance slowing to duck behind dunes. The lip of the crater was perhaps thirty yards away, now, with a steep incline to surpass before arriving at The Crimson Score.

Red caught up to Ace and Quint, and Quint snarled. “This is looking bad.”

Red nodded, panting. “I’m almost out of ammunition for my steam pistol. I can’t fire the rifle, though, because the only thing that’s keeping them from missing me is the fact that they can’t quite figure out where I am.”

Ace shook his head, and Quint clenched his paw into a fist, looking upset. Red smirked at them, managing to gasp between breaths. “Hey, I’ve been in worse scrapes than this.”

Quint chuckled quietly. “Really, pup?”

Red nodded. “It’s been a busy couple of stormfronts.”

Ace and Quint glanced at each other, some unspeakable emotion passing between them, and then they looked at Red. Quint said, after a pause, “I’m done. Ace, put me down.”

Ace stopped at the bottom of a sand dune, and knelt, carefully setting Quint down. Quint reclined against the dune for a moment, exhaling slowly as pain throbbed up his leg. Red met them at the bottom of the dune, frowning. “What’s going on?”

“You heard me, Red. I’m done,” replied Quint. “I’m bleeding out fast, and my leg’s messed up somethin’ bad. I’m slowing Ace and you down.”

Red stared at Quint. Ace put a paw on Quint’s shoulder, and then stood up, looking to Red. Red shook his head. “There’s got to be a better way.”

“This ain’t your decision, Red. We’re all almost out of time, and if you don’t get going, all three of us are going to end up dead, instead of just me. Unless you got a magical potion that’ll put my leg back together, there ain’t nothin’ you’re gonna be able to do for me.”

Red growled. “I know more than rudimentary first aid!”

“I’m dead, Red! I was dead the minute I took a bullet to my leg! Something in it is shattered, and I can’t feel anything below the bullet hole!” yelled Quint. The smaller dog swayed a bit after his outburst, his eyelids fluttering slightly, and he shivered. “I’m fadin’ fast, Red. You gotta get Ace outta here... because even if you got me to that ship, I’d still be dead.”

Red’s exhausted mind worked, trying to find a way out, an alternative. Ace suddenly reached out, grasping Red’s shoulder, and then gestured upward. Red glanced up, towards the sky, not quite understanding, but then he heard ogre voices, now close enough to be heard properly.

“Dey went dis way!”

“Move it, ya zoggin’ gits!”

“We’re comin’ for you, doggies!”

Red exhaled, glancing down at Quint. Quint smiled at him. “Get outta here Red... an’ go kill that pony ’a yours.”

After a moment of hesitation, Red fumbled in his bag and offered Quint the harpy grenade. “You know what this is?”

Quint took the grenade, feeling it in the semi-dark, and laughed weakly. “Oh. Oh, that is good. That is too good. Yeah, Red, I know what this is.” 

Quint nodded to Red, gripping the grenade to his chest. Red stood beside Ace, the two dogs looking down at their companion for a moment. Ace turned and broke into a run, heading up the dune. Red searched for something more to say, but realized that there was nothing that he could say that would make what he was about to do any easier. Red moved, sprinting after Ace, and left Quint at the bottom of the sand dune.

Ace and Red moved quickly, Ace no longer having issues with the dunes. The ogres spotted them and began to give chase. Red yelped and stumbled down a dune as bullets whizzed by over head. Red went into a head-over-heels roll, landing in a dazed heap at the bottom of a dune. Ace came behind him, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck and lifting him up and helping him regain his footing. Behind them, the Ogres began to shout. Suddenly, there was a resounding explosion from two dunes behind them. Red froze, glancing back to see a plume of ash fly into the air, and the sound of ogres howling in pain. Gunshots rang out, and Red heard a strangled yelp.

Ace shoved Red, silently snarling at the younger dog, and Red shook himself, breaking into a run once more. The two dogs reached the crater’s edge, and began to quickly climb up. The ogres were shouting below, back in the dunes, and the torches began to converge. Ace crested the lip of the crater first and spun around immediately, reaching down and giving the struggling Red a paw up, dragging the gasping and exhausted Diamond Dog to the top of the crater wall. Red knelt, panting, and gruff voices called up to them from the base of the crater.

“Oy! Puppies! Oy!”

Red stood up, and he and Ace began to run towards The Crimson Score. The next words they heard, though, stopped them cold.

“We’ve got your friend!”

Red glanced at Ace, and Ace shook his head. A high-pitched scream from below gave them both pause, and Ace stared back at the lip of the crater. Together, they moved to the crater’s edge, and peered over. The ogres were standing in a group, and one stood ahead of the others, his hands on his hips. Next to him stood a slightly smaller ogre, who was holding up a weakly struggling Quint above his head. The ogre gave Quint a shake, and Quint screamed again, sobbing.

“We’ve got your friend, an’ we’re willin’ t’ cut ya a deal. We’re reasonable folk, ain’t dat right, boys?”

The other ogres chuckled raucously. Red stared at Quint, who twitched feebly in the clutches of his captor. Glancing at Ace, Red saw the bigger dog staring down at Quint, silent tears streaming down his face. Red shuddered, and called, “What are your terms?”

“You come down ‘ere, an’ we’ll take you an’ your ship. In exchange, we’ll let your friend live. We’ll fix ‘im up, even. All three of ya can be together. You’ll be slaves, sure, but you’ll all be alive.”

Red stared at Quint, who continued to shiver as the ogre clutching him gave him another shake, causing him to cry out piercingly.

“Fink abou’ it, puppies. You’ll all three be alive. What’s it dat I’ve heard blokes say? ‘Where dere’s life, dere’s ‘ope?’”

Red’s paws clenched into fists. “...Ace?”

Ace had stood up, and moved to stand next to Red. He was still crying, and looking at Red with an expression of pain and sorrow. Red shivered, and shook his head. “I... I don’t know what to do.” 

Gently, Ace lifted the rifle from Red’s sagging shoulder. He worked the action, spitting out an empty shell and chambering a fresh round. Ace wiped at his eyes with the back of his paw, and then lifted the scope to his eye. Red looked down to the group of ogres far below.

The rifle cracked, and Quint’s head snapped back, blood and brain matter exploding from the back of his skull. The ogre holding him jumped, dropping Quint’s body into the dust. The ogres roared and began to fire on the lip of the crater. Ace lowered the rifle and spat onto the ground, and then turned away, heading for The Crimson Score. Red stared after him, shocked, but then moved as well, climbing up the ladder behind Ace. 

Wordlessly, Ace led Red up to the bridge, and sat down in the pilot’s seat. Red stood behind Ace, panting, searching for something to say. Ace powered up the Score’s engines, and as bullets began to ping against the side of the hull, the ship powered into the sky, leaving the ogres far behind.

High in the atmosphere, Ace turned The Crimson Score to the south and accelerated, towards an unknown destination. Red stood quietly behind Ace, staring out the upper viewport and into the black sky above them both. He exhaled slowly, and began to ask, “Where—?”

Ace held up a paw, silencing Red, and pointed to the map that sat on the front of the controls. Red looked closer, and saw that Ace was pointing at the ‘x’ that had been marked by Wendy nearly a stormfront ago. Red opened his mouth again, but Ace shook his head, and stood up. He gave the pilot seat a pat, obviously indicating that Red should take over. Red slid around Ace and sat down, taking the controls. “What are you—?”

Ace was walking away, though, back towards the crew cabin. Red shook his head, focusing himself, and continued to pilot, heading for Wendy’s ‘x’.

Back in the crew compartment, Ace sat down slowly on one of the bunks, his claws clutching the edge of the mattress. He sat silently for a moment, before picking up one of the rough and fibrous blankets and leaning back, lying down on the bunk. Ace pulled the blanket close, curling around it, and tucked his face into the folds of cloth, shaking.






End of Chapter 5











Special Thanks to: Raz, Brian, Warden, and Skirts.





> Chapter 6
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


- Chapter 6 -




        The Crimson Score flew above the Wastelands, heading south towards the marked ‘x’ on Wendy’s map. Red was a wreck, his ears drooping and his eye glazed with exhaustion. He’d been piloting for a few hours, maneuvering low to the ground to more effectively break the line of sight of any would-be pursuers. He sincerely hoped that the Ogres in the crater decided to leave him be; he doubted that he’d have the skill to evade any more experienced pilots for any amount of time. The Score may have been bulky and well armored, but it had no way to defend itself in the air; if Red was forced to confront any attackers he’d be in serious trouble. As it was, he already found himself making stupid mistakes and his lack of sleep was causing his focus to drift: a dangerous thing to have happen while flying an airship.

        Red glanced back towards the crew compartment as he heard the sound of paw pads on the deck, and was met by the grim visage of Ace. The older Diamond Dog’s eyes were bloodshot and scarlet, and he stared through Red for a moment before focusing on him. Ace reached out and gave Red a pat on the head, a normally condescending gesture that was oddly comforting in that moment.

        Red opened his mouth to speak, but ended up coughing instead. He cleared his throat and said, “Hey Ace.”

        Ace nodded in reply, and Red asked, “You here to take over?”

        Nodding, Ace gestured towards the copilot’s seat. Red gratefully slid out of the pilot’s chair and into the infrequently used copilot seat, and Ace took the controls of The Crimson Score from him. Ace gave Red a sidelong glance, dropped his head to his chest, eyes closing briefly and his mouth going slack, before looking up at Red. Red gave Ace a weary nod. “Yeah. I’m beat. You know where we’re going?”

        Ace nodded, pointing to the map on the control surface and the marked location on it. “Do you know what’s there?” asked Red.

        Ace didn’t react, simply focusing on flying the ship. Exhaling, Red leaned back in his chair and watched the dark sky. He closed his eye, sighing, trying to sleep, but every time his eyelid shut all he could see was Quint’s head snapping back as the bullet pierced his skull. Red shifted uncomfortably for several moments, until Ace glanced at the younger dog quizzically. Sighing, Red asked, “Ace, what you did back there...”

        Ace’s eyes hardened, and he turned and looked out the front viewport once more. 

Red’s ears drooped. “Too soon?”

        Glancing away from the viewport at Red, Ace exhaled slowly and nodded once, a pained expression crossing his face briefly. Red nodded. “Okay. That’s okay. Just... thank you. You saved my hide back there. I was so exhausted that—”

        Without looking away from the controls, Ace reached over and clamped a paw over Red’s muzzle, silencing him. Red grumbled quietly and leaned back in the copilot’s seat, closing his eye again. He tried to clear his mind,  but he was so tightly wound up that he found the task impossible. Red stood up from the copilot seat, announcing, “I’ll be in the storage room.”

        Ace gave Red an acknowledging nod in reply, and Red walked back to the storage room, sitting down at the table. The table was a mess, covered with the accumulated junk he’d thrown out of his satchel in his haste to mount a rescue almost two hours ago. He began sorting through the stuff, tucking away his journals, charcoal writing implements, and various other odds and ends, until all that was left were the clock parts he’d collected, along with the three books he’d retrieved from the reliquary in the ruins. Red perused their titles: ‘A Foal’s Guide To Magic,’ ‘A Treatise on Unicorn Physiology,’ and ‘Leylines Across Equestria.’

        On a whim, Red flipped open ‘A Treatise on Unicorn Physiology,’ and began to read. 

        ...while all ponies possess similar physiologies in most regards, unicorns and alicorns are uniquely blessed to be able to manipulate leylines through use of their ‘magicae cornu,’ commonly called the ‘horn.’ Each unicorn’s horn is, itself, a tiny leyline, and is connected to the world’s leylines through the energies displayed between natural or ‘wild’ leylines and the organic leylines...

        Red yawned, feeling his eyelid droop lower, and chuckled to himself on such an astute choice of bedtime reading. The tome was very dry, though certainly full of information. However, the last pony was no unicorn; that much Red was sure of. Why she’d been carrying unicorn horns was far beyond his understanding. Red skimmed the next group of pages, looking for something to catch his attention. His eye widened, and he sat up in his seat as he read on.

        …the unicorn’s horn can store magical energy, building a charge over time even without nearby natural leylines, simply due to the fact that it is a leyline as well, albeit a small one...

        Chuckling, Red tapped the side of his head, pleased with his own knowledge. “Who needs you, book? I figured that out on my own. I bet it even mentions using lunar dust to store magical energy somewhere...”

        …if a unicorn allows this energy to build up beyond a certain point, it can result in headaches and magical sensitivity, similar to a sore tooth. The easiest way to reduce this energy is to simply use magic...

        Red snorted. “Easy for you to say.”

        … or, in the unlikely case that this is not possible, to drain the magic through use of mana batteries. Though more advanced mana batteries can be created with gemstones and advanced enchantment, lunar sediment...

        “Bingo.”

… lunar sediment may be used to hold the charge of magic power. A unicorn simply must focus their magical current and direct it into the lunar sediment. Though direct contact can serve to drain minor amounts of energy, this is never enough to fully remove the charge from the horn. The charge will continue to build, until the horn becomes overcharged.

        “What? That’s impossible, I’m certain injecting the lunar sediment worked.”

         Failure to reduce the charge from a horn completely can result in extreme magical sensitivity, to the point where shifting leylines can cause minor to severe headaches, or the use of advanced and highly powerful magic can set off a magical reaction through the sympathetic resonance between leylines. This can cause extreme pain, massive migraines, unconsciousness, and hallucinations. In extreme cases, where the unicorn’s horn has become overcharged, they may even experience spell-like side effects from the highly powerful magic spells being cast. These spell-like side effects usually mimic the triggering spell in some way...

        Red blinked. “The use of advanced and highly powerful magic?”

        Frowning, Red set the book down. He was too tired to process the information fully. This was important though, and he knew it. He rubbed at his eye, setting down the book and marking his place. Standing, Red moved out of the storage room and into the crew cabin, lying down in one of the bunks. He closed his eye, trying to untangle the information he’d just learned and draw rational conclusions. He began to drift off, and was soon asleep, lulled by the motors of The Crimson Score.





        Red’s eye snapped open as he awoke with a start, sitting up in the bunk. He stood up and moved back to the storage room, grabbing the copy of ‘A Treatise on Unicorn Physiology,’ flipping it back open to the most recent page. Squinting, Red scanned down the page, until his eye fell on the passage he was looking for.
        
        “Resonance from the use of advanced and highly powerful magic can cause massive headaches, hallucinations, pain, and unconsciousness...” he murmured.

        Red sat down in a chair, trying to piece things together. Things were beginning to make sense. He’d been having those smaller headaches ever since he’d been impaled by the unicorn horn, and he’d been able to reduce the magical charge the horn had been accumulating by using the lunar dust. He still injected himself every few days, out of habit, though recently it seemed that his symptoms were getting worse, and the lunar dust was not helping. This explained why—he was dealing with more than shifting leylines.

        Somewhere, someone was using magic, and Red had a good guess as to who was responsible. “Gluestick,” he growled.

        The unicorn horns strung on the pony’s hoof were explained now. Though the pony wasn’t a unicorn, she must have found a way to harness the energy stored in the horns to use magic, and it seemed that recently she’d been dabbling in more than just minor sorcery. Red shook his head, something in the back of his mind highly impressed by a non-unicorn having learned to harness ‘advanced and highly powerful magic.’ 

“What are you up to, pony? What spells are you using?” he muttered quietly.

        A paper airplane soared through the air and hit Red on the side of his nose, interrupting his train of thought. Red blinked, unfolded the paper airplane, and discovered Wendy’s map and note. He turned looking forward to the bridge, only to see Ace smirking back at him and waving. Red stood up and walked over to Ace, giving the older dog a hesitant smile. “Hey. What’s going on?”

        Ace snagged the paper airplane out of Red’s paw and pointed to the ‘x’ marking, and then drew his finger north a small ways to a large dot marked ‘Petra.’ He tapped his claw on the big dot, and then gestured to the copilot seat.

        Red sat down next to Ace, watching out the forward viewport with interest as The Crimson Score dropped through the thick cloud cover. As the Score breached the clouds, Red gasped at the sight before him. A massive construction grew from the ground, an immense and multi-tiered spire of iron that glowed with thousands of internal lights. The construction pierced the clouds and disappeared in a surreal orange glow, hiding the upper tiers of the hive-like construction. Red looked at Ace, at a loss for words, and even Ace seemed a little more serious than normal, faced with the sheer scale of the incredible conglomeration of imp-built platforms. “This is Petra?”

Ace nodded, and pointed to the radio. Red powered up the device, spinning a dial to listen in to different frequencies, but did not find any communication directed at their ship. He smiled as he stared at the massive city, its lower tiers tapering slowly skyward. Counting, Red spotted over twenty individual platforms that were gigantic in size, bigger than any city he’d ever seen. Comparing the two were not really possible though. A normal city sprawled, spreading across the landscape, while Petra was a study in conservation of space. There were no open areas, no wasted space. Everything had purpose, and that purpose was industry. 

Various hovercrafts and airships swarmed around the city, transporting goods to and from different tiers. Red could see tracks that ferried steam-powered locomotives around the spire, bringing passengers and materials between the lower platforms and the center of the towering construction. Hidden deep within the bowels of the city, some massive industrial construction that glowed with the orange light of a smith’s forge lit the entire central area. Steam and smoke billowed from stacks all across the struts, filling the air with a smog that permeated the entire sky.

        Red swallowed. “So, this is where Wendy lives?”

        Ace shook his head, and tapped the map, gesturing to the ‘x’. Red nodded. “Oh, right. Petra is separate from her ‘x’ on the map. So, we’re just passing through?”

        Instead of replying, Ace suddenly squinted out the forward viewport. Red followed his gaze and spotted two goblin airships approaching rapidly. As they approached, the radio squawked at them. “Attention unknown vessel, this is Petra Air Defense. You are entering Petra airspace. State your intentions; failure to comply will be met with lethal force, over.”

        Red considered briefly, before replying, “Petra Air Defense, this is The Crimson Score. We intend to dock briefly within your city before continuing on south. We need to take on supplies for our journey.” 

        Ignoring Ace’s quizzical expression, Red gestured towards the city. Ace scowled, and banked the score towards the massive construct. The radio crackled a reply. “Crimson Score, Interceptor Squadron Nine will escort you to outbleeder landing platforms, located on Strut Nine. Deviation from their flight path will be interpreted as hostile action. Petra Air Defense, out.”

        Red chuckled. “Twitchy little imps, eh?”

        Shrugging, Ace piloted the Score into the massive city. The two interceptor ships led them towards one of the lower struts of the city, and Ace followed their flight path. Red smiled, still awed by the sheer scale of Petra; he’d never imagined something so colossal could possibly exist. 

They approached the city proper, the scale of Petra becoming rapidly apparent. The city was a massive tribute to industry, culture, and technology. Tenement halls and warehouses, massive complexes of housing and factory buildings filled each strut of the great imp city. The place seethed with activity as imps moved materials and goods from place to place, airships loaded cargo at a plethora of berths and docks, and trains ferried raw materials up from the lowest struts and in from the surrounding hills and mountains. The single strut of the city that they were approaching was nearer to the bottom, and as they flew closer to their destination, Red peered down towards the lowest reaches of the city.

Thousands of imps worked below the city, harvesting what appeared to be clouds of steam from a massive ruined city that spread across the whole of the base of Petra, partly buried in a massive crater that was many times larger than the one Red had grown up in. Red quickly understood why the imps’ chief export was steam powered technology and the pressurized steam batteries that ran it. Oil fires burned down in the depths, and slag from foundries poured into the pits, adding to the hellish atmosphere of the crater’s shadowed landscape.

Getting closer still, Red began to ascertain the structure of Petra, and how it supported itself. The central core of Petra, a massive stalk that pierced into the sky, actually was less of a straight construction and more of a tapering spike. Each strut was a massive circular platform, holding three levels of buildings, like three blocks of the ruined pony cities stacked atop one another. The struts were positioned equidistantly around the tapering central stalk in a spiraling formation. The uppermost struts were slightly smaller, their edges showing signs of construction towards expansion. 

The central stalk seemed to be a hub of all industry, as all the raw materials flowed into the center of the vertical city. The interior of the stalk glowed with reds and oranges; light from a thousand forge fires and metal foundries illuminated the areas of the struts closest to the stalk. The flash of lights from loading docks and vehicles moving into and out of the stalk revealed that they wound underneath scaffolds and walkways and catwalks with grates and porous metals that allowed the light to pass through them.

Red was in awe. Petra was more than a marvel of construction and ingenuity—it was a beacon of radiance. The all-metal aesthetic of the imp’s construction made the city shine. Brass edged almost every building, and aluminum covered every roof. Even the rusted metals sparkled with flecks of iron and corrosion. The darkest places of Petra were brighter than even the most well-lit of the Diamond Dog caverns where Red had grown up. His species could see far better in low light conditions, certainly, but that did not change the fact that, to him, this city was a light in the darkness of the twilit wastelands.

“It’s beautiful.”

Ace smiled at Red and gave him a pat on the head, obviously unmoved by the sight before him. The Crimson Score closed with the strut that the two imp hovercraft were guiding them to, and Red gestured to the lit path into a ship berth designed for larger vehicles like the Score. Ace nodded, seeing the landing lights delineating their berth, and carefully brought The Crimson Score in, landing without issue. Red stood up and clapped a paw on Ace’s shoulder. “I was thinking, Ace. We need to send off Quint. Honor his memory, in some way.”

        Ace scowled, shaking his head and crossing his arms, obviously not interested. Red scowled back at him. “Why not? I think it’s important. Besides, I’d really like to see this city up close, and I need to get a few things for the ceremony.”

        Shaking his head, Ace sat obstinately in his seat, not moving. Red sighed. “Fine. You sit and stew in it. I’ll be back shortly, after I’ve gathered a few things.”

        Ace shrugged at Red, and Red turned away, heading out of The Crimson Score and into the massive city.

Red climbed down the ladder, into the docking area that the Score had landed on. A multitude of other ships, mostly not of imp design, were also berthed there. The docking area was dingy and rank with the smells of spilled oil and fuel, and moisture dripped from the corrugated metal in the ceiling. It was, altogether, an unpleasant place. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, Red slid past a few drunk goblins and climbed a ladder to a catwalk that ran around the circumference of the area. Following some crudely daubed orange arrows that were painted on the catwalk, Red found himself before a small office area. The place was mostly silent, except for the frantic shuffling of papers. Red glanced around, and spotted a sign above a desk piled with refuse and paper.

Dockmaster’s Office


Strut Nine


Outbleeder Docking - Ring Bell For Service




Red frowned, peering into the pile of refuse for anything that even remotely resembled a bell. He reached forward hesitantly, intending to shift some papers aside, when a taloned foot stretched out from the pile of junk and clasped around his wrist. Red yelped, jumping back, but the clawed foot hung on tightly. Red jerked his arm back hard, and the entire mountain of garbage toppled forward, nearly burying him, and releasing a screeching mess of black and white feathers. Red found his wrist free, and darted back to the doorway of the office, watching with concern. A massive, gangly bird extracted itself from the refuse with quietly muttered curses in a heavily accented tongue. The bird turned to peer at Red, and Red swallowed hard. The avian was almost completely white, shaped like a massive hawk. The ends of all its feathers were black, and a messy topknot of plumage protruded from the back of its head like some sort of insane mohawk. The bird coughed once, clearing its craw, and spoke more loudly, its voice chipper. “Thanks, mate. My boss is a bit disorganized. He’s been out for a tick, so I was trying to clean up when a pile of junk toppled on me.”

Red blinked at the odd bird, before remembering he was expected to reply. “Oh! Um, yes, no problem.”

The bird’s head bobbed forward, peering at Red. “So, I suspect you need to put in for a berth. You got the strips to pay?”

“Yes. I’ll only be here for a few hours, though.”

The bird’s head cocked to the side and his eyes narrowed as he considered. Showing considerable balance, the bird stood on one foot, the other talon darting into the pile of refuse and pulling out a form. He glanced around for a moment, grumbling something unintelligible under his breath, and then reached up to his wing. He tugged sharply and pulled out a single feather, and offered the form to Red. Red took it, reading through the form, while the bird rummaged around and found an inkwell. The bird dipped the fresh quill into the ink and gave it to Red. Red took the quill, smirking as he finished reading the document. “So, if I’m reading this right, I simply leave a ‘security deposit’ here with you, and since I’m not staying for a full day, you’ll return it to me when I come back?”

“That’s the short of it.”

“That seems... entirely too reasonable. What’s the catch?” asked Red.

The bird chuckled. “Ah, not as fresh as you look. Read the fine print.”

Red peered at the form for a moment before spotting a tiny scrawl across the bottom of the paper. He frowned. “This is impossible to read.”

The bird snickered. “That’s the point, mate. I’ll clue you in, though, seeing how you helped me.” Clearing his throat, he recited, “If, at any point, you are found guilty of any misdeed by the clan militia of Strut Nine, or any struts above or below, you will lose your security deposit.”

“That doesn’t seem too bad,” replied Red.

The bird nodded. “Not so bad for most, sure, but you’re an outbleeder. The imps will have you under scrutiny, and they’ll take any opportunity to make a profit on you with fines for perceived misdeeds. Especially now, with the trouble they’ve been having with the ogres.”

“I’m no friend of the ogres,” muttered Red darkly.

The bird shrugged in reply, and took the form from Red, tucking it away into a box. Red pulled open his pouch and retrieved his purse of silver strips. “How much is the security deposit?”

“Twenty silver strips.”

Red scowled. “Twenty? I’ll give you fifteen.”

The bird nodded. “Fair enough, mate. G’day.”

Red paused as he dug the silver strips out of his satchel, and glanced at the bird. “... That was too easy. How much do regular customers pay?”

“Oh, sharp as a tack, you are! The regulars pay ten, but seeing as you’re an outbleeder, we usually look for a bit more silver.”

Red scowled, but handed over the strips. He turned to leave, before pausing and asking, “So, what are you, exactly? Some kind of secretary?”

The bird nodded. “Secretary bird, yeah. I’m surprised you know! Most of your kind have never even heard of the Zebraharan serengeti.”

“I’ve read a few things, actually. Didn’t everything from that area speak in rhyme?” asked Red, with interest.

The bird snorted, and cleared his throat. “Ask again about my rhymes, and your murder will be an unsolved crime.”

Red smirked and left, heading out of the docking area and into the city proper.



Eye wide, Red walked through the tightly packed streets of the city, trying to take everything in. The city was a mass of imps and other creatures hustling about their business. Shopkeepers leaned out their doorways, hawking their wares. Crowds of goblins moved together, bringing loads of cargo towards lifts to the higher struts, while others hassled passers-by, pointing them towards shops and other locations on the Strut, trying to drum up business for their clan. The buildings loomed over Red, and above him the higher struts blocked out his view of the sky, creating a feeling not unlike the caverns of his home. Red was almost comfortable, until he felt a tug on his satchel.

Red reached out and snagged a small goblin by the ear as his hand slid into Red’s satchel. Red snarled at the emaciated imp, “I don’t believe that anything in this satchel belongs to you.”

The goblin winced, and replied in a whinging tone, “S-sorry! Sorry! My mistake.”

“Your mistake indeed,” Red growled.

A voice from behind Red called out, “Problem, outbleeder?”

Red turned, keeping a tight hold on the goblin’s ear. Before him stood a group of goblins, all heavily armed. They wore red sashes with three white dots on their waists. Red replied, after a moment, “Yeah. This goblin was trying to snag something from my satchel. Got it handled, though.”

The foremost goblin scowled. “Pickpocket, hm?”

The small goblin shook his head, wincing as his caught ear was tugged painfully. “N-nosir!”

The head of the group gave Red a nod. “We’re the militia on this level, outbleeder. Barrow of Cog Blood. We’ll take it from here.”

Red gave Barrow a nod, and stepped aside. Barrow scowled at the trembling imp. “Third time we’ve had a complaint about you, little troll. Anything to say for yourself?”

“Please! I... I won’t do it again!”

Barrow rolled his eyes and pulled out a steam pistol, aiming it at the imp’s forehead. “Well, let’s find out what blood runs through those veins, shall we?”

The pickpocket lifted a trembling hand up, offering it to Barrow. Barrow drew a small knife and ran it over the goblin’s palm, drawing blood. The militia goblin then reached into a pocket and retrieved a silver shard of metal, and pressed it to the shallow cut. He scrutinized the bloody metal. Red leaned forward, interested, and watched with awe as the blood suddenly reacted with the odd piece of metal, shifting its color suddenly to a inky black with green splotches.

Barrow nodded. “Look at that. A Score-bleeder. I thought you were all slaves by now, Score-bleeder.”

The unlucky pickpocket winced, and Barrow gestured to one of his compatriots. The other militia goblin drew a rope from his side and bound the pickpocket’s wrists together, and then the group of militia began to take him away. Red called to Barrow, “What’s going to happen to him?”

Barrow scowled at the Diamond Dog. “Why should you care, outbleeder?”

“You mentioned slaves.”

“Yeah, I did. He’s a Score-bleeder. His clan is in debt to Cog Blood. We own their worthless hides.”

Red scowled. “Since when have the goblins needed slaves?”

Barrow ignored Red, moving to catch up with his companions. Red watched him leave, hackles standing on end, but calmed himself down after a few moments. “There’s nothing that you can do. This isn’t your place,” he murmured to himself. Though he’d initially been curious about Petra, now all he felt was the need to finish his business and leave.

Moving on, Red wandered farther down the street, keeping more aware of the surrounding crowds. He didn’t want another incident on his paws, not if the trouble he could bring might result in another being becoming enslaved, and he wanted his ‘security deposit’ back. As he walked, he paid closer attention to goblins around him, noticing that many of the groups carrying cargo to the upper levels were shackled, and being escorted by other armed goblins. Red shook his head, disgusted by the state of the great city. For all of its industry and technology, the widespread use of slaves was startling. 

Pushing his personal feelings aside, Red continued deeper into Strut Nine until he arrived outside of a jeweller's shop. Red smiled and ducked inside, staring around at the wares on display, in more familiar territory among the bounty of Gaia’s earth. A goblin popped from behind a display case, smiling. “Ah, greetings. Are you here to sell?”

“Here to buy, actually.”

The goblin squinted at Red, head tilting curiously. “Ah. I see. That is surprising. Most dogs come to sell gems!”

“I assure you, I’m a customer. Do you have any fire opals?” asked Red.

The merchant gave Red and eager grin. “Of course.”

Red considered for a moment. “I’ll take two fire opals, then. And, before you ask, I’ll give you fifty strips for both of them.”

The merchant clapped his hands. “Excellent! I’ll get your opals.”

The goblin retreated to the back and returned with two small boxes a moment later. Red dropped the fifty strips of silver on the counter and took the boxes, tucking them into his pack. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

“Likewise.”

Before he left the shop, Red asked the merchant, “Excuse me. I have a question.”

“Yes?”

“Earlier, I saw a goblin of the militia use some sort of silver metal to test another imp’s blood, and it changed colors when it touched his blood. What was that?”

The merchant’s eyes narrowed. “Nothing for an outbleeder to concern yourself with.”

Red frowned, gave the merchant a curt nod, and left, returning back to the street and following his route back along the avenues and alleyways. He paused only once, briefly, to buy a bottle of potent alcohol from a bar, before returning to the docking area of Strut Nine.

Red walked into the Dockmaster’s office, and called, “Are you trapped under trash again? If so, I’ll just be taking my security deposit and leaving.”

The secretary bird poked his head up from behind a slightly smaller mound of refuse, making a disgusted face. “G’day. I almost wish I was buried again. Then I wouldn’t have to do any of this work, eh?”

Red smirked. “Right. Well, I’ll take my strips and be gone, then.”

The secretary bird nodded. “One second.”

The bird strode out from behind the mess, moving to a lock-box. After a moment of careful manipulation with less-than-dexterous talons, he managed to open the box and retrieve Red’s fifteen silver strips. Red tucked them away into his satchel and gave the bird a nod. “Thanks.”

“You enjoy our fair city?”

“Well, I got what I came for, anyway.”

The secretary bird snorted. “Lucky you.”

Red rolled his eye. “I suppose. How long have the goblins been slavers? I didn’t realize that they took members of their own race as forced labor.”

“They didn’t used to. Not often, anyway. The problems with the ogres, though, have gotten them desperate. Lots more clans been slipping into debt with the bigger clans.”

Nodding, Red exhaled slowly. “I guess desperate times call for desperate measures. I don’t like it, though.”

The secretary bird cocked his head. “Not much you can do about it, though.”

Red shrugged. “Still doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

With that, Red took his leave of the Dockmaster’s office, returning to The Crimson Score.



Red slid into the co-pilot seat and gave the sleeping Ace a nudge. Ace snorted and sat up, glancing at Red with a scowl. He jabbed a finger at the map, pointing to the ‘x’. Red sighed. “I know you want to go, and we will. Let’s just get out of here, first. Then, we gotta make a quick stop somewhere quiet.”

Ace sighed, and fired up the engines. Red powered on the radio and transmitted, “This is The Crimson Score calling Petra Air Defense. Do we have permission to leave Petra, over?”

After a moment, the radio squealed a response. “Crimson Score, Petra Air Defense. Interceptor Squadron Four will escort you from Strut Nine to the edge of our airspace, over.”

Red nodded to Ace, and Ace lifted off from the berth, turning the ship south once they cleared Strut Nine. Two imp hovercraft flanked the Score, following her for two kilometers before breaking off and returning to the city. Ace exhaled as they left, visibly untensing. Red chuckled. “Yeah, that’s not exactly pleasant. Maybe when we get to that little ‘x’, I can take some time to build that interceptor vehicle, so we can have a way to defend ourselves. Maybe even mount a gun on top of the hull?”

Ace nodded once, smiling slightly. Red leaned forward in his seat, peering into the wastes, and gestured to a small crater on the surface. “There. Set us down.”

With a grunt, Ace did as he was told, flying lower and bringing in The Crimson Score to land. 

“Come with me, Ace. Quint would want you there for this.”

Ace shook his head emphatically, frowning at Red. Red sighed. “I know you’re still upset, but I don’t see why you’d want to miss this. Quint’s spirit should be returned to Gaia.”

Ace ignored Red completely, his ears flattening back on his skull angrily, and he brought the Score down at the edge of the small crater. Red stood up and walked towards the crew cabin, calling back over his shoulder. “I hope you change your mind.”





        Red sat in the dust of the crater, digging away at the ground with his powerful claws, opening a small hole in the earth. He sat back, panting, and carefully piled the dirt into a mound. Slowly, he lay the two fire opals and the bottle of alcohol into the hole, and then stood up, staring down into the tiny grave.

        “Quint. I didn’t know you very well, but... Well, you helped me build my ship. You brought news that made me remember something important to me.” Red hesitated, trying to find the words to express his gratitude. “You gave me a purpose, gave me a reason to become more than a simple mechanic. You would have gladly joined me on my hunt for the last pony, because you were a tough soul. You were a survivor. I’m just sorry I couldn’t save you. I needed your savvy, Quint. But... I’ll figure it out. I’ll take care of Ace, and I’ll...I’ll kill the last pony.”

        Red scowled at himself. Those last words sounded hollow, even to him. “I will kill the last pony,” he repeated, with more conviction. With a nod, Red spat onto the dirt mound beside the hole.

        “Merciful Mother Gaia, I return this dog to your bosom. Take his body and enrich your being with his form, which was dutifully given serving his pack.”

        With that, Red kicked the dirt into the hole, covering the gemstones and bottle. He carefully smoothed over the dirt, brushing fresh ash over the mark in the earth, leaving no trace of the buried items. Red took a step back and tilted his head to the black, starry sky. He howled, a ululating call that echoed over the wastelands. 

He howled his sorrow to a moon that was no longer there.





        Red returned to the Crimson Score, his steps heavy and expression pensive. Ace sat on a bunk, arms crossed, waiting for Red. When Red arrived at the cockpit, he frowned at Ace. “You should have been there.”

        Ace scowled at Red and stood up, jabbing a finger into Red’s chest emphatically, obviously trying to make a point. Red’s ears flattened and he growled, and Ace’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know why you’re making a fuss. This was important, Ace!”

        Silently snarling, Ace turned away from Red, his paws clenching and unclenching. Red hissed, “You’ve got something to say to me? Let’s just get this out of the way, right now, then. I’m tired of you getting mad when I mention Quint.”

        Ace turned around and shook his head at Red, and jabbed a finger again into Red’s shoulder, and then pointed at himself, shaking his head. He repeated the motion, pointing to Red, pointing to himself, and shaking his head. Red frowned, not feeling up for a mime show at that moment, and turned away, walking towards the bridge. He couldn’t resist making one last comment to Ace, though. “You know, for somebody who was so close to Quint, you should have been there for him at the end instead of running away.”

        Red heard stomping footsteps behind him and whirled, just in time to meet Ace’s heavy haymaker punch squarely with his jaw. Red’s head snapped back and his vision blossomed with bright lights. Red moved his hands up to defend from another blow, but too late. Ace threw a second punch, a left hook that popped Red’s right brow. Red gasped as pain suddenly exploded across his forhead, the horn in his skull jarred by the blow, and he dropped to his knees as darkness began to overwhelm his vision. The last thing he saw before blacking out was Ace’s stunned expression.





With a quiet yelp, I jerked awake from my nap. I exhaled as my brain unclouded, and sat up, touching my jaw lightly with a hoof. I realized what I was doing and smirked, shaking my head. That dream had been extremely vivid, more so than some of the others. I’d practically felt the punches that had been thrown by that big Diamond Dog. Regardless, though, it was still a dream; nothing had actually punched me. I lay down once more, rolled onto my back, and stared up at the night sky.


Returning to work after my all-too-brief sabbatical had been trying. It was hard to simply jump back into the swing of things after what had happened. I’d had to rely on others to retrieve my samples for the past several days, as after the “incident” it had been suggested that I stay away from changeling drones for a while. The one that had “tasted” me was still there, apparently, and I had no desire to go near the creature, or any of its kin for that matter.


 I had been working on my device again, testing the construct’s effectiveness and re-checking the spells woven into the materials and focusing crystals. Everything was ready for a full test with a live subject... except me.


I couldn’t shake the fear that the changeling drone had instilled in me, a uncertainty in not only my work but the ethic of what we were doing in this place, so far from home.


Sitting up, I looked away from the night sky’s beauty towards the desolate features of the place I found myself in. I sat on a rock outcropping that was tucked into the side of a mesa. The front entrance to the lab was cleverly hidden with both magic and physical camouflage. Around me, the world was desolate, a dry and arid landscape of black sand and red sandstone, with only scruffy tufts of brittle grass growing in patches. The mesa I sat on was one of many, like black and red monoliths that rose out of the desert like daggers, plunged into the carapace of a great, black beast.


The black sand was unnatural, a by-product of the swarms of changelings that lived in this area. Their hives, great jagged constructions of alien design, dotted the land, spiking into the heavens. Green lights emanated from within the hives, a natural bioluminescence that the changelings created. They fed off emotion, the most potent being love. The central figure of every hive, the queen, fed off her drones’ adoration for her, and the larger hives had stronger queens.


I exhaled slowly, releasing the tension of the day, allowing myself to relax briefly, feeling energized by the outside world. It was strange, but though I’d only been to the surface once or twice in this place, the deserted and empty landscape felt familiar to me, almost like home.


Frowning, I ignored the odd feeling of belonging that I felt in this place. This was not my home, of course, but the nagging sensation of familiarity would not leave me. I felt that I knew this place, and it knew me. I had been retreating outside over the last few days to gather my thoughts, and it had stuck me as odd that I was more comfortable in the “hostile” territory than the safe base hidden within the mesa.


It must have something to do with the dreams.


Yawning, stretching out and rolling to my hooves, I slid back through the shields and invisible wards to the front entrance and the base hidden within. I moved through several guarded checkpoints and submitted myself to magical searches and security questions, before finally passing through a magically secured metal hatch designed to withstand any sort of destructive force. Passing through the portal, it closed behind me with a whir of metal, locking once more. I shivered slightly, feeling briefly claustrophobic, but the fear passed. I walked calmly to my lab and sat down on a pillow in front of my workbench, bringing my muzzle level with my creation. The device sat before me, glowing softly, and I sighed. 


It was time to face my fear and bring the device in for a full test. The test chamber was ready, and the sample had been prepared. A few of the senior unicorn mages were finalizing the wards and spells, and then everything would be ready. Several senior members of the Equestrian Military were there to see the test, as well. They’d heard what I’d accomplished already, and felt that I was on to something. I stared at the device, admiring the aesthetic beauty of the design that I had created, and quietly dreading the coming test. I knew that it would work. It’d proven itself in the previous tests, but this was the first full-scale test on a changeling drone.


I stood up after a quiet moment of contemplation and put on my armor—had to look good for the senior staff after all—and then carefully levitated the device into the air. I left my lab and cantered quickly into the depths of the facility, to the secure chamber that had been prepared for the test.

I arrived outside the chamber at the guard post just in time, as the two generals that were there to observe the test and their aides reached the check point. I saluted the generals sharply. “General Light Brigade, General Brass Top. Glad you could make it. I’m honored to have you both here, sirs.”


The two generals returned the salute, and smiled at me. General Brass Top spoke gruffly, “Lieutenant Armor, from what we understand, this is certain to be an historic day.”


I smiled. “Thank you, sir. If you’ll excuse me, generals, I need to get to the test chamber. The observation area is just around the corner.”


Turning sharply, I moved through a door into the test chamber’s ready room. Several senior mages and a contingent of fully armed and armored guards turned to look at me. I blinked, startled by the larger-than-average security detail. “Gentlecolts.”


The guards all nodded to me, and two of the senior mages approached me, smiling nervously. “Don’t worry, Lieutenant Armor, just an extra precaution! The test chamber is ready for your device to be deployed. Just a few last minute things to see to.”


“Good thing you thought to wear your armor, Lieutenant. We’ve adjusted the test slightly, but everything should be well within the capabilities of your device. We’ll just put a few wards on you, and then you’ll be ready to go into the chamber.”


I frowned as the mages wove a plethora of wards and protective spells into my armor and around my person, feeling layers of magic settle over me like a tingling shroud. After a few minutes, they were done, and nodded to me. I smiled, trying not to seem nervous, and moved to the metal hatch that separated the ready room from the test chamber. I gave the guards a nod. “All right, let’s get this done.”


The guards gave me a salute and then flanked me, raising their spears towards the hatch. I frowned at them and opened the hatch with telekinesis, wondering why they were so nervous. The test chamber was a simple affair, a dense metal room that was egg-shaped and completely devoid of any furnishings. The walls were smooth, and covered in protective wards against everything from physical assault to magical overload. As the hatch opened wider, though, the cause for their heightened security became immediately apparent.


There wasn’t one drone in the chamber, there were a dozen of them, held in place by magic that kept them from moving, and they weren’t alone. In the center of the room, held suspended in a bubble of magical energy, was a changeling queen.


The queen was a horrific mix of equine form and insectoid parts, with a flowing teal mane that shimmered unnaturally, and an onyx carapace that glimmered and enclosed the lime-green exoskeleton of the creature. Her head was similarly equine, with the long muzzle and feminine features, but blue slitted eyes and fangs betrayed her true nature. She bore a twisted horn that pulsed with sickly green energy, and she struggled weakly against the magical bonds that held her.


I took a step back and glanced over my shoulder at the senior mages, my face a mask of horror. This wasn’t just a simple test against a drone! This was far more than I had planned for!


“This won’t work!”


The mage frowned. “You will deploy the device, Lieutenant Armor!”


With that, the guards shoved me roughly into the test chamber and closed the hatch, leaving me alone with the changelings and their queen. I shivered, staring up at the thrashing changeling queen. She halted her movements and turned her head to stare down at me from her prison, her slitted eyes narrowing with anger.


“Release me.”


I ignored the queen, moving slowly into the center of the room, directly below the queen’s magical cage. I set down the device and took a step back, trying my best to calm myself. A voice echoed from a sonic rune in the top of the chamber. “Very good, Lieutenant. Our mages are keeping the queen caged, so you will be quite safe as long as you do not deviate from the planned procedure.”


I nodded. “All right then.”


I could hear the senior mage begin to explain, obviously more for the generals’ benefit than my own. “Gentlecolts, Generals, this is the first full-scale test of Lieutenant Armor’s creation, a ‘Spell Locus,’ as he calls it. The concept is fairly complex, but to put it into lay terminology, the device enhances the power of a spell that is channeled through it, using the organic material placed in the four sample orbs as the focus of the spell’s targeting. With this device, Lieutenant Armor believes that he can create spells that can specifically target only certain species of creatures.”


In the meantime, I carefully focused myself, channeling my energy into the Spell Locus, using it as the center of the most powerful spell of shielding that I could muster. The sample orbs glowed with potent arcane energy, facilitating the targeting of my spell down from a general spell of shielding to one specifically targeting changelings. I exhaled slowly, closed my eyes, cast the spell, feeling my entire body weaken as I channeled all my power into the central focusing crystal.


The changeling queen’s voice echoed around the chamber. “I’ll warn you only once more! Your meager pony spells cannot hold me forever!” She did not sound very convincing, and I detected a quavering tone of fear in her voice.


I settled back onto my haunches as the spell completed, panting with exertion. The central crystal processed my spell rapidly, my pink magical aura flowing inside the crystal, out into the helical body of the device, and out into the four sample orbs. The orbs pulsed, and a circular shield slowly expanded into the room, growing as the powerful Spell Locus processed the arcane energy I had imbued it with. I winced as the shield touched me, but was glad to see that the shield ignored me, leaving only a gentle tingling sensation as I passed through the shield’s expanding magical field. 


The shield expanded and touched the first changeling drone. The changeling resisted the shield’s expansion for only a few moments, body straining and eyes wincing closed, but then was roughly pushed away. The changeling jolted sharply and screamed with insectoid pain, and with horror I realized that the wards that had been keeping the drone in place were still active. The changeling’s front legs buckled and snapped as the wards exerted increasing force against its carapace, mauling its body. The changeling passed out as one of its leg joints popped with a sickening wet noise.


“Release their wards! I’ll be fine!” I shouted.


“Why? What’s happening?”


“The shield! It’s exerting kinetic force against the changelings, pushing them, but your wards are trying to keep them in place! It’s hurting them!”


There was a brief discussion, and then the magical wards fell. The changeling slumped and was pushed away by the shield, its front legs shattered by the exerted force of the holding wards. Green ichor leaked from its injuries, smearing across the ground, and I coughed sickly as the smell of the changeling blood reached my nostrils. The rest of the changelings, similarly freed, buzzed about the room frantically, scurrying away from the shield in a panic or bashing themselves against it in a vain attempt to break through. I felt only a meager satisfaction at my success, tempered by the pain I’d inadvertently caused one of the test subjects, and as the shield expanded into the room the changelings pressed themselves against the circular walls, chattering at each other and hissing frantically. I noticed that even the unctuous fluid the injured changeling had been leaking was being pushed along the floor by the shield’s expansion. Two changelings quickly flitted down to the floor, retrieving their unconscious brother and carrying him up to the side of the room and away from the advancing magic spell.


I frowned, glancing up. The changeling queen watched the advancing arcane wall, her eyes wide and terrified. As my shield encountered the wards surrounding her, the two magical fields interacted spectacularly, sparks of energy spattering across the shields. The mages dropped their barriers, releasing the changeling queen, and she landed atop the shield, only to be violently repelled away into the air. She righted herself with a buzz of her wings, glaring balefully at me. “Do not pretend that you are safe, pony. This shield will break!”


With a hiss, she called her drones to her, and the drones complied, buzzing around their queen. The queen gestured to the drones and pointed to the shield that had filled almost three-quarters of the room before finally halting in its expansion. The drones focused their efforts, bashing against the spell at a single point, and the changeling queen sent flashes of green energy from her horn into the powerful barrier, attempting to weaken it.


I watched their efforts, noticing how they rebounded off the shield every time they made contact. However, their work was beginning to show some results. Their battering and blasting was creating a weakness in the shield spell, a visible series of cracks in the glassy, domed surface. I remembered the Queen’s warning and clenched my teeth. “It needs more power or it’s going to break!”


I closed my eyes, drawing from my inner strength, and sent more magical energy into the device. The cracks sealed themselves after a moment, and I sighed with relief. The changeling queen snarled and hammered an insectoid hoof into the shield, ineffectually venting her frustration. The shield suddenly expanded, pushing the queen away, and inexorably began to fill the room.


The changeling queen hissed with startled fear, flying towards the top of the shield. Most of the drones stayed put, still attempting to weaken the shield as the distance between the shield and the walls shrunk to nil, though two followed their queen up to the top of the room. The ones that did not move became trapped between the wall and the shield, hissing and jabbering at each other as they squirmed. The shield continued to expand, and I gasped, realizing what I had inadvertently caused.


The changeling drones rapidly ran out of space as the shield pressed them into the walls violently; their legs tried to brace against the shield, only to be rebuked by the shield’s effect. They became wedged, pressed against the wall, and thrash convulsively, their screaming turning to gurgling coughs and cries of pain as their carapaces crushed between the shield and the wall. I closed my eyes, horrified, but could not block out the sounds of their foalish mewls as they died whimpering. Their cries ceased, one by one, as wet, meaty popping noises assaulted my ears, followed by a terrible crunching and crackling sound. Finally, I opened my eyes, and sharply spun away as I was confronted with the mortal remains of the dozen or so changelings that had been so horribly killed. They had been reduced to nothing more than black, flattened sheets of crushed carapace intermingled with green, chunky fluids. I spat as my stomach heaved, and barely managed to hold my gorge, trying to find something to focus my attention elsewhere. 


The changeling queen screamed, and I looked up. The shield had expanded to fill the egg-shaped chamber, and then passed through the walls as it continued to expand. The only places the shield was still visible was where it was stuck between the crushed and flattened remains of the drones and the wall, and at the top of the room, near the ceiling. The queen and her last subjects were trapped at the top of the room. The two remaining drones desperately battering themselves against the shield. She snarled at them to stop, but they disobeyed, crashing again and again into the shield, damaging themselves as their carapaces began to give and crack under the repeated violent assaults against the shield. She stared down at me, her desperate eyes darting between her last wounded subjects and me. “Do something!”


I nodded, gathering my wits. “I’ll try!”


The mages in the other room called out, “Lieutenant! If you disable the shield, you’ll be defenseless!”


“I don’t care! I didn’t mean to kill them!”


“Lieutenant, perhaps it would be best if you let the shield complete its expansion.”


“No!” I searched frantically for a better explanation, something that would appeal to the mages. “I can only assume acquiring a changeling queen was incredibly difficult! She is more valuable alive than dead!”


There was silence from the mages for a moment, then one of the generals responded, “Very well. Do what you can, Lieutenant.”


I exhaled, and quickly drew power out of the device, using my horn to store the energy contained within the Spell Locus. The changeling queen hovered at the topmost point of the oblong room, the shield a mere foot away from her. “Please, please; don’t let me die!” she beseeched me, fearful tears filling her eyes. Her two drones were spent, hanging weakly on the ceiling and panting with exhaustion and pain.


I grit my teeth as the energy built up in my horn, a headache turning into a migraine turning into blinding pain. I hadn’t realized how efficient the focus crystal was, and now I was paying the price, as I was forced to reabsorb more than double the energy I had expended on the spell. I groaned with anguish as my horn turned into a hot poker driven between my eyes. The shield slowed as I reached my limit and collapsed to my side, moaning as my horn glowed and spat sparks of magical power, well beyond the safe limits of energy storage.


The changeling queen saw me collapse and wailed, “No! No! Please!”


I turned my head up, looking at her as she was pushed against the ceiling by the shield. “I’m s-sorry! I’m sorry! I tried!”


The queen screamed, turning her face away desperately and squeezing her eyes shut as the shield pressed closer. The two drones bravely interspersed themselves between the barrier and their matriarch stretching out and pushing desperately against the shield. Their legs gave way first, snapping and dislocating at the joints. They fell limply and crawled to their queen, pressing themselves against her and in front of her. The shield pressed in, and with sickening snaps they began to compress, cushioning their queen with their bodies. They did not make a sound, simply clinging to the changeling queen as they expired. The queen screamed, turning her head away as the shield pressed closer, pushing her dead subjects aside. The shield pressed into her chest, her carapace fracturing with sickening snaps, like the cracking of eggs. 


Then, finally, the Spell Locus dimmed, it’s energy expended. The shield shrunk away from the ceiling.


The changeling queen shivered, sobbing, as the shield collapsed back into the Spell Locus, her weakened carapace leaking emerald vital fluid. She fell from the top of the room, finally, sliding down the wall, leaving streaks of fluid in her wake, to land in a crumpled heap. I stood up shakily, but went to my knees as pain shot through my skull. I could see the desert, suddenly, but it was different—black char melding with white ash, the sky dark. I shook my head, clearing the image from my mind, only to find myself face-to-alien-face with the changeling queen. She stared into my eyes, her expression unreadable, and murmured, softly, “Thank you.”


I jerked back, gasping with fear, as her head darted towards me. Her lips touched mine, and I found myself caught in an embrace with the changeling queen. I exhaled with surprise, squirming in her grasp, and winced my eyes closed. I felt, suddenly, her cold carapace become warm, and soft. Her embrace deepened, and when I opened my eyes, instead of looking into the green and reptilian pupils of a queen, I found my gaze locked with the beautiful violet eyes of a princess.


I screamed.









End of Chapter 6









Special Thanks To: Warden, Skirts, Brian, Raz, and Ponky









> Chapter 7
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


- Chapter 7 -


        Red woke up screaming, and immediately regretted the decision, as his jaw ached in protest. He winced and closed his mouth quickly, his tender muzzle throbbing with pain. He sat up slowly, grunting slightly. Ace sat next to him on the floor, looking worried, ears pricking forward towards Red as he revived. Red mumbled incoherently, “Gaia below, the sounds... their screams...”

        Red shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind, and glanced at Ace, who was staring at him with a confused look on his face. Red reached up and rubbed his jaw, feeling slightly awkward. “Sorry. You rang my bell really good.”

        Ace nodded and gave Red a sheepish grin. Red sighed. “I didn’t mean it like that. I... Well, I just thought that you should have been there with me when I laid Quint to rest instead of hiding here. I didn’t mean... when we were in the crater.”

        The larger diamond dog smirked and nodded to Red, obviously accepting the apology. “Why didn’t you come with me?” Red asked.

        Ace shook his head, frustration evident as he clenched his paws into fists for a moment, eyes darting around the cabin briefly. He pointed to Red’s satchel. Red frowned, pulling off the satchel, and offered it to Ace. Ace took the satchel and set it on the nearest bunk, opened it, and retrieved Red’s sketchbook and charcoal pencil. He opened the book to a fresh page, and Red watched curiously as Ace began to draw. After a moment, he offered the sketchbook to Red. Red glanced at the drawing.

        On one side of the page was a crude stick drawing of a Diamond Dog, with a gemstone above his head. On the other side of the page were two stick figure Diamond Dogs, one big and one small, with a cloud above their heads. A horizontal line separated the two figures from the other one. Red frowned. “I’m... not quite sure. That’s me, and that’s you and Quint?”

        Ace nodded emphatically, tail wagging, and used the pencil to circle first the gemstone, and then the cloud. Red peered at the two symbols, slowly realizing what Ace was indicating. “Oh.”

        Red hadn’t thought about it before, but he realized that he was different from Ace and Quint. Red was a Diamond Dog, and they were Dirigible Dogs. They lived in the air, never settling down. Red, on the other hand, was rooted within the tradition of the earth, worshiping Mother Gaia.

        “You and Quint never worshipped Gaia, did you?”

        Ace shook his head, looking solemn. Red sighed, pounding his forehead with his palm. “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Of course Quint didn’t. You saw that.”

        Standing up, Ace offered Red a paw. Red took it after a moment, and Ace hauled the younger dog to his feet. Red looked down at his feet, embarassed. “I didn’t even think, Ace.”

        Ace smirked at Red, and have him a condescending pat on the head. Red chuckled. “All right, so I screwed that up. How do Dirigible Dogs send off their fallen packmates?”

        Expression darkening and eyes narrowing, Ace set the charcoal pencil down, and drew two fingers across his throat, and gestured out to the north, back the way they had come. Red put it together. “Ah. Dirigible Dogs don’t get mad, they get even.”

        Ace clapped his hands together and gave one of Red’s ears an affectionate tug. Red snorted. “All right, I can get behind that. I’ll add some ogres to the list, right alongside the last pony. How’s that sound?”

        The bigger dog clapped Red on the shoulder, and then turned away, returning to the bridge. Red smiled and followed his friend.





        Hours later, Red was at the controls of The Crimson Score, with Ace sitting in the copilot seat. The older Diamond Dog was stretched out, his back paws resting up on top of the control surface. He’d occasionally whistle, drawing Red’s attention, and point to a dial or make a motion with a hand, indicating that Red should be paying attention to something or adjusting the Score’s flight. After Red fixed whatever Ace had indicated, he’d lean back once more and return to his nap. Red was fairly certain he was napping, anyway, judging by the way his breathing changed and the occasional snuffling snore. But, despite Ace’s state of consciousness, he seemed to possess a sixth sense when it came to the movements of the Score, always waking up spontaneously to tip Red off to an error or suggest a better route to take.

Red began to adjust to the coaching slowly, though it did irk him somewhat that Ace felt the need to point out every little thing Red did wrong, or supposedly did wrong. He wasn’t used to feeling criticised, but he tried his best to be receptive and learn from the far more experienced pilot, knowing that Ace probably knew far more about flying than he did.

He had initially felt awkward, trying to carry on meaningless conversation, but after the first hour of sidelong glances and pantomimed replies, Red had settled on not talking, simply focusing himself on flying his airship instead. This seemed to suit Ace just fine, and after another hour the silence seemed more comfortable. Red wondered if this was how it had been when Quint and Ace were flying together.

Sighing, Red glanced at Ace, who was napping once more. He wanted, more than anything, to talk with Ace about Quint, but he knew that the older dog was keeping his emotions bottled up. He’d caught Ace staring blankly at the controls more than once, as if deep in thought. If Ace noticed the scrutiny, though, he didn’t let on. So Red let the sleeping dog lie, and continued to fly towards the ‘x’. He was certain that they had to be close.

Below, the wasteland’s flat desolate expanses became rolling foothills of ash and snow, and in the far distance Red thought he could make out mountainous shapes. Far behind their ship, another stormfront roiled, a black line of approaching clouds that was many hours away from them.

Red slowed The Crimson Score down, shifting forward in his seat to peer at the hilly expanse, noticing a subdued orange-yellow glow lighting an area a kilometer away. Smiling, Red reached out and tapped Ace on the shoulder. “Hey, Ace. Wake up. I think we’re here.”

Ace sat up, rubbing his eyes and yawning, and peered blearily out the front viewport. He smiled, tapped the glass, and nodded. Red chuckled. “All right. Shall I take her in, or would you like to do the honors?”

Ace considered the offer for a moment, and then gave Red a “go on” motion, sweeping a paw over the console as if presenting Red with a gift. He stood up, stretched, and ambled back towards the crew compartment. Exhaling, Red decreased The Crimson Score’s altitude and flew towards the distant lights.

Approaching the lit area, the hills became craggy and split with fissures. At first, Red felt rather underwhelmed by the appearance of the town. It was small, just a few dozen buildings and a handful of airstrips and landing pads perched on the edge of a fissure; nothing compared to the sheer scale of Petra to the north. As he approached one of the landing pads, he gasped, pulled back on the yoke and shifted the engines into a hover. He stood up and looked down into the canyon.

Below the edge of the earth, bridges spanned across the chasm, and buildings were carved into the rock face, or clung in several places to the cliffs’ sides. Platforms perched precariously in places, supporting market-like areas and open spaces where small hovercraft loaded and unloaded cargo. Pipes that snaked down the canyon emptied water and waste into the lower reaches of the fissure, and nearest to the bottom of the canyons were yawning mine shafts which pierced into the earth, a flow of powered mine carts carrying the work of the miners up to the city proper. Red smiled, shaking his head with wonder, and sat back down at the controls, piloting The Crimson Score down to one of the landing pads. The Wastelands always found new ways to surprise him.

Red extended the landing struts and settled the Score onto the landing area. He powered down the engines and shut off the other systems, before standing up and moving back to the storage area. Ace was already there, and he had slung Red’s rifle over his shoulder. Red gestured to the rifle. “You keep that; I have my pistol. We’ll get some better gear here, maybe?”

With a shrug, Ace led the way out of The Crimson Score. Red locked up the ship behind them as they left, and together they stepped out onto the front deck of the Score and descended down the ladder to the landing pad. A group of goblins, clad in leather armor and heavy canvas scarves, approached the two Diamond Dogs. Red noted that, though their garb was a mish-mash of custom tailored armor, the scarves were all the same: green with a bar of yellow running through the center, worn around their necks. Red raised a paw in greeting. “Hello there.”

One of the goblins stepped forward, looking over Red cautiously. “Greetings, outbleeder. This landing pad is a public area, but it belongs to Corton, of Clan Petal Blood. If you wish to leave your craft parked there, you’ll have to pay fifty silver strips for the first stormfront, and thirty more each additional stormfront you spend here.”

Red frowned, considering. “That seems a little steep. How about forty strips for the first stormfront?”

The goblin chuckled. “Save your haggling, outbleeder, this is non-negotiable. Fifty for the first stormfront, paid up-front.”

“How about forty-five?”

“Fifty is a reasonable price for a full stormfront.”

Seeing that the goblin wasn’t about to budge, Red sighed and reached into his pouch, digging out fifty silver strips and presenting them to the goblin. The goblin took them and smirked, tucking them away in a bag at his side, and began to saunter away. “Pleasure doing business with you, outbleeder.”

Red held up a hand. “I’ll give you five extra strips if you tell me where I can find a goblin called Wendy. She lives here and she’s a mechanic that works on the Rotting Carcass for a buzzard named Kevin.”

“I know her, yeah. The Carcass dropped her off here an hour ago and headed back to the Petra to the north. What do you want with her?”

“She’s a friend of mine,” replied Red, “and she offered to meet up if I ever made it down to this part of the Wastelands.”

The goblin peered at Red and Ace for a moment, and then shrugged. “She’s part of Copper Blood. The Copper-bleeders are down two levels, towards the western end of the crevasse. Just follow the ramps down, their colors are black on blue.”

Cocking his head, Red inquired, “Colors?”

Ace shook his head with exasperation and pointed to the matching scarves draped around the imps’ necks and shoulders. The goblin smiled at Ace. “Your friend knows what we mean. We wear our colors to differentiate ourselves from others.”

Red chuckled, feeling embarrassed by the obvious answer to his question. “Right. I guess I could have figured that out myself.”

The goblin smirked. “Yeah, probably. You’re fresh blood, aren’t you pup?”

“I guess you could call me that, yeah,” said Red.

“Well, you be careful. We Petal-bleeders are an honorable lot, but there are those of less savory blood that can smell fresh meat like you coming.” With that, the group of Goblins walked away, heading back into a nearby building.

Ace and Red glanced at each other, and Ace shrugged. Red gestured towards the edge of the canyon, where ramps and bridges led down into the crevasse. “Let’s go.”

The two Diamond Dogs moved down into the cliffside city. Red paused at the edge of a ramp, looking over the ledge and into the canyons, marveling at the industrious constructions of the imps. The city, like Petra, was a masterpiece of spatial efficiency: houses and warehouses stacked atop one another, roads and bridges running along at careful angles, buildings hung on the edges of the cliff-spanning bridges, clusters of tiny shops and market stalls lined the thin walkways. Though it was amazing, it lacked the grandeur of the Petra to the north; the city’s use of stone and natural formations in the rock gave it a far less ‘advanced’ appearance, and served to understate the size of the city.

Red passed by several merchants peddling their wares. Smaller creatures also worked among the goblins, odd little bipedal creatures that wore full-body suits of leather that covered them entirely, goggles that glowed with internal lights, and helmets and scarves or masks that kept their faces hidden away entirely from view. Gadgetry and weapons hung off these smaller imps, and they chattered at each other in bass-toned, metallic sounding vocalizations that were unintelligible to Red. Red nudged Ace and asked, gesturing to one of the odd goblinoids. “What are those?”

Ace stared at Red, face deadpan. Red stared back for a moment then sighed. “I guess it’d be too much to ask for a pantomime show. I’ll ask Wendy.”

Smirking, Ace moved ahead of Red a little way, working his way down the crowded ramp. Red raced to catch up as Ace stopped in front of a merchant cart selling leather armor and other assorted clothing. One of the tiny imps, its leather-draped body almost blending into the surrounding wares, stood behind the cart. Ace gestured to a heavy canvas bandolier that had a multitude of pockets sewn into it, which hung from a rack on the cart well above the imp’s reach. The small imp nodded and reached into the cart, retrieving a long metal pole with a claw-like metal appendage affixed to its end. The creature used the pole, reaching the claw up to the bandolier, and depressed a button. With a hiss of steam, the claw dexterously gripped the bandolier, and the imp pulled the bandolier down, offering it to Ace. Ace grinned, and Red laughed aloud. “Wow. That’s handy.”

The small imp made a noise that might have been a chuckle, and gestured with its fingers, indicating to the bandolier. Red paid close attention and deduced, after a second repeat of the gesture, that the article of clothing cost fifteen silver strips. Red dug into his pouch and offered ten strips to the imp. The imp hissed from behind the metal mask hiding its face, goggles reflecting Red’s muzzle, and repeated the original gesture. Red smirked, pulling out two more strips. The imp considered the new offer, and then nodded after a moment. Red dropped the strips into its outstretched glove, and nodded to the small creature. The imp gurgled something at Red in reply.

Ace put on the bandolier across his chest, and Red chuckled at the larger dog. “For some reason, you look more like a co-pilot wearing it like that.” Snorting, Ace adjusted the bandolier on his shoulder and patted the pockets fondly.



Red and Ace made a few more stops at stalls and shops on their way down the ramps to the second tier of the town, browsing through curious contraptions and interesting imp-crafted items. Red saw a fair number of the odd, smaller imps mingling together, and also observed a gaggle of smelly goblinoids with wrinkled, leathery skin and beady, dull eyes. They were carrying crates of metal ores up from the lower levels to a workshop, led by a few regular goblins that acted as handlers for the brutish imps. Red dimly recalled these ugly creatures, having encountered one on a goblin craft that he had repaired many stormfronts ago. The goblins called them “hobs,” and they were the barely intelligent workhorses of the imp family. There didn’t seem to be many hobs on the upper levels, but looking down towards the lower levels, Red noticed that they increased in number, gathering around mine shafts and storage yards.

Ace led the way down a second ramp, to what Red assumed was the second level of buildings. Together, they followed the canyon west, heading towards the edge of the cliffside city. Red stopped in front of a small shop that held a display of weapons in the street-facing window and stepped inside the building; Ace followed him in with an eager expression.

The interior of the shop extended back into the cliff, the small shop forming a long, thin corridor in the rock. The single room of the shop was a bit cramped, and weapon racks were tightly packed along one wall, displaying the shop’s wares. Farther back, a cloth partition closed off the rear of the shop, hiding the area from view. Metallic noises and the sound of heavy machinery wailed from behind the partition. Red glanced around, noting that nobody appeared to be in the front area of the shop. Ace stepped up to one of the gun racks, examining a rifle with interest. Red approached the racks of weapons and noted that all of the guns were locked into the rack with a simple clamp mechanism, preventing would-be shoplifters from making off with the displayed wares.

Ace stepped away from the racks and glanced back towards the cloth partition, and Red followed his gaze. “Well, obviously somebody is here. You see anything that you like?”

Ace nodded, gesturing to a complex rifle with an automatic action and a metal crossbow. Red nodded. “All right, then.”

Red moved back to the cloth partition and hollered, “Hey! We’d like to buy something!”

As soon as Red uttered the word “buy,” the noise behind the curtain stopped, and a scruffy looking goblin wearing heavy-duty metalworking goggles and a leather apron drew aside the partition. The goblin hollered, far too loudly, “Customers! Good! Welcome!”

Red took a step back, startled by the yelling imp. “Um, yes. Thank you?”

The goblin lifted the goggles off his eyes and ran a calloused hand through his patchy, grey hair. “What?”

“I said thank you!” replied Red, a bit more loudly.

Squinting, the goblin suddenly rolled his eyes. “Hang on,” he muttered, and reached into his ears, pulling out wads of cotton. With a shake of his head he said apologetically, “Sorry about that. I was working in the back. I’m Bit, of Drill Blood. What can I do for you?”

Red chuckled, amused by the goblin already, and gestured back towards Ace and the guns. “We’re looking to pick up a weapon or two for my friend here.”

Bit glanced at Ace and stepped forward, brushing past Red brusquely and looking Ace up and down. “All right, big fellow. What are you looking to buy?”

Ace gestured to the rifle and crossbow. The goblin frowned, glancing at the two weapons. “No.”

Red blinked, confused. “No?”

Gesturing animatedly, Bit indicated the two weapons. “No. They’re all wrong for him. His arms are too long, and his shoulder is the wrong shape for the stock’s butt to fit comfortably.” As the goblin mentioned each “issue,” he poked Ace in the forearm and shoulder, respectively. “His grip is going to be wrong, too, because his paws are too big. Look at ‘em!” Bit grabbed one of Ace’s hands, holding it up to Red. “See? Big! These guns are built for small goblins, not big dogs.”

Ace stared at Red, completely at a loss. Red shrugged at Ace, and turned his attention to the odd goblin. “So... do you have any guns for big dogs?”

Bit shook his head emphatically. “Nope.”

Rolling his eye, Red moved towards the door. “Ace, we’re wasting our time.”

Bit held up a gnarled hand. “Now, just a moment!”

The two Diamond Dogs glanced at each other. Reluctantly, Red turned back to face the goblin. Bit smiled slowly. “You happen to be speaking to a gunsmith! The best weapon artisan of my clan, I am. I don’t have any guns for big dogs now... but if you’ll be in town for a while, I can make something more suited to your big friend here.”

The goblin poked Ace in the chest, and Ace growled at him, eyes narrowing. The goblin scowled and swatted Ace on the nose. “No.”

Ace went cross-eyed, startled. The goblin reached into the back pocket of his trousers, retrieving a small piece of string that was knotted across its length. “I just need a few measurements. Won’t take more than a moment.”

Red frowned. “I’m not sure how long we’ll be.”

“Nonsense, you’ll be here for a while,” retorted the odd goblin, already stretching the string across Ace’s chest, murmuring to himself, “Thirteen knots, hmm, yes...”

Ace stood still, eyes silently pleading with Red as the goblin lifted his arms up, hopping up onto a stool that he produced seemingly from thin air. Red exclaimed, “How would you even know how long we’re going to be here?”

“Easy. You’re on the second level, which means you’re not conducting trade, which is exclusively confined to the first level. Second, you’re on the west end, which means you’re either looking for somebody or very, very lost. You don’t seem to be the type to get lost easily, so I’m assuming that it is the former. Third, you’re in my shop, which means you need guns, which means you need me. Shoulders back, please,” he prattled on as he worked, directing his last comment to Ace, who complied bemusedly. “Four and three-quarter knots at the shoulder, Six and a half to the middle line, yes, good...”

“Well... ah... we haven’t even agreed to buy anything,” stammered Red, caught completely off guard by the goblin’s retort.

The goblin halted his measurements, and Red smiled, glad to finally say something that seemed to connect. Bit turned, smirking. “Haven’t you?”

“I’m certain we haven’t.”

Turning back around to face Ace, Bit resumed taking his measurements. “I think you have, even if you haven’t realized it yet.”

Red sighed, rubbing his eye, completely exasperated. He could feel a headache coming on. “That doesn’t make sense.”

Bit tapped Ace on the side, prompting him to lift his arms up, and Ace shifted from foot to foot, plainly uncomfortable. Bit switched between speaking to Ace with a commanding tone and talking to Red in the same breath. “Arms out wide, please, and fully extend them. Good boy! Let me break it down for you, then. You need guns, and I am a weaponsmith. Moreover, I am one of two weaponsmiths in this town that have the equipment to manufacture weapons that are made for outbleeders. Bend your elbows, if you could. Good! The other weaponsmith with the capability to make weapons for non-imps’ family was killed by Dirigible Dogs in a raid years ago. He won’t work for you, and might shoot you if he saw you. Fingers wide, please. What a good pup! Thus, you need guns, you need me to make you guns, and I assume you’d prefer to work with somebody that won’t shoot you on sight. Sit!” Ace sat down on the stool compliantly, which Bit had vacated at some point. The goblin reached into a pocket and set a strip of jerky on top of Ace’s nose and said, sternly, “Leave it.”

Red stared at Bit, completely confused. Ace stared at the treat cross-eyed, unmoving and focused, keeping the jerky balanced precariously on the tip of his nose. After a brief moment of silence, Red asked, “What are you doing?”

Bit shrugged, smiling strangely. “Amusing myself.”

Throwing his hands up in the air, Red exclaimed, “Okay, fine! You’re insane, but you make a good case. We need guns, we need you, you’ll make us guns. How long will this take?”

Bit tugged at the tips of his ears, looking pensive, before replying, “One stormfront.”

“Okay. That seems reasonable. How much?”

“I’ll make a crossbow and a rifle for your friend, similar to the two he wanted but precisely built for his body type. Two hundred strips for the rifle and one hundred and fifty strips for the crossbow,” said Bit.

Red frowned, considering. “One hundred for the rifle and one hundred for the crossbow.”

“Two-fifty for both, and I’ll throw in a dozen crossbow bolts and a box of ammunition for twenty strips.”

“Two boxes of ammunition.”

“Deal.”

Red and Bit shook hands. Ace whimpered, still sitting on the stool, staring at the jerky on his nose, tail wagging slightly. Red shook his head, embarrassed. “Just grab the jerky, Ace.”

Blinking as if coming out of a daze, Ace jerked his nose up, flipping the jerky into the air, and caught it in his mouth with relish. Red sighed. “All right. We’ll be back in three days.”

Bit clapped his hands together delightedly. “Excellent doing business with you, outbleeder.”



The canyon walls pressed in around Red and Ace as they traveled farther west into the depths of the city’s second tier. The shops thinned out, replaced with residences. This area’s homes were a bit more humble than those closer to the center of the city. The dense press of impkind thinned out into a far more comfortable space of quiet streets. A pack of younger goblins playing in the street turned to stare at the two Diamond Dogs before scattering into the alleys, giggling and laughing and peering from the comfort of doorways and shadows at the strangers. Red noticed that many of the goblins in this area wore blue armbands with a black spot prominently displayed; the color scheme of Clan Copper Blood.

Encouraged, Red approached the nearest group of older goblins. They seemed to be a sort of militia group, wearing armor and carrying weapons openly, and the goblins eyed Red and Ace warily. Red smiled in what he hoped was a friendly manner and said, “I’m looking for Wendy of Copper Blood. We’re friends of hers.”

The closest goblin eyed Red with interest. “You the dog that flies The Crimson Score?”

“That’s me,” replied Red, surprised that they knew who he was.

The goblin exhaled slowly and chuckled. “Good thing you’re here. Wendy won’t shut up about your ship. Talks the ear off any imp that gets too close to her workshop. Must be pretty frostbeams to get her that excited.”

Red laughed. “It is pretty... frostbeams?”

The goblin gave Red a nod, and then gestured towards a side street. “Wendy’s shop is at the end of that street. You can’t miss it. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have to patrol.”

The goblins moved on, and Red and Ace turned down the side street, following it to the end. Red stared at the building at the end of the road, and Ace whistled appreciatively. Electric lights lit a colorful sign that read “Wendy’s Widgetworks,” and a series of interconnected gears decorated the front of the shop. The single visible window of the workshop was dusty and filmed over with grime. The sound of heavy machinery echoed out the open front door of the shop. Stepping inside, Red and Ace stared around at the messy front area. The front of the shop was just a mass of shelves and tables cluttered with pieces of machinery in various states of repair. Some items had prices on them, others were unlabeled. Farther back in the shop could be heard the sound of machines running, and a lot of yelling, barely audible over the industrial noise.

After a brief moment of hesitation, Red called into the back of the shop, “Hello? Wendy? It’s Red!”

Wendy’s head, her eyes shielded by goggles, appeared from behind a massive metal machine, and she grinned with delight, waving at Red wildly. Whatever machine she was working on suddenly coughed, and smoke began to pour out of the engine compartment. Wendy flailed at the fumes, sputtering angrily, and shut the machine down. The thick, oily smoke filled the small shop quickly, dropping the visibility to nil, but at least Red could hear.

“Red! Hey buddy, how’s things?” called Wendy from somewhere in the haze.

Red squinted into the smoke, coughing, and replied weakly, “Not great.”

Wendy appeared through the thick fumes, smiling up at Red, and scampered to a switch on the wall. Powerful fans in the ceiling turned on, and the air quickly cleared. Wendy chuckled. “Sorry ‘bout that, Red. So, what brings you here?”

Ace and Red glanced at each other, and Red shrugged. “We needed a place to go. Wendy, this is Ace, the new pilot of the Score. Before you ask, he’s mute.”

Wendy grinned up at Ace and offered a hand to him. “Well hello, tall, dark, and furry. A friend of Red’s is an acquaintance of mine!”

Ace shook Wendy’s hand and smiled at her. Wendy beamed back at the taller Diamond Dog and glanced at Red. “Looks like you’ve got a good thing going. A mute pilot? Maybe I should pull Kevin’s tongue out. He’d whine less!”

Red and Wendy laughed, and Ace smirked in reply. Wendy gestured around the interior. “So, this is my place. You’re welcome to stay here. What have you got going on, Red? Any business with a clan?”

Red shook his head. “Not exactly. We do have a crazy gunsmith making some weapons for Ace, though.”

Wendy smirked. “Crazy gunsmith? You must have wandered into Bit’s shop. He’s a good imp. Not like the rest of the Drill-bleeders, at any rate.”

“Does your clan have issues with Drill Blood?” asked Red, curious.

“Just the usual. They undercut us in a few deals, we stole a few customers, standard stuff. Nothing too exciting, anyway. Not like we’re in a feud or anything! It’s just business.”

Nodding, Red said, “Well, we’re really here because we needed somewhere to lay low for a bit, and this was the first place we could think of. Well, the first place Ace could think of. He spotted your map on the dash while we were... avoiding some ogres out in the wastes.”

Wendy frowned, concern evident, and pulled her goggles up onto her forehead. “You’d better tell me what happened, then. If you’re in trouble with ogres, you might be spending more time here than you like.”





It was far later in the day, and the canyon city had grown quieter as the crowds of working imps returned to their homes. Red, Ace, and Wendy sat in a loft above her shop. The loft was a cozy and cluttered affair, bearing the hallmarks of a mechanic’s home: half-built devices, machine parts cluttering the free space, and lots of grease. Red felt a sense of belonging in the place, though Ace was obviously a bit less comfortable, taking the seat nearest a window and cracking it open. Red and Wendy sat on either side of a small stone table, and the remnants of a simple meal lay spread across the board. Outside, a stormfront blew high over the canyons, though the city within the fissure was well protected from the fierce winds and lightning.

“... and so we left Petra and came here,” finished Red, having spent the better part of a few hours recounting their tale.

Wendy leaned forward, glancing between the two of them evenly. “That’s quite the adventure you boys have had. Sorry about your friend, too. He sounded like a good dog.”

Ace smiled at Wendy and gave her a nod. She returned the grin and sat back in her chair. “The ogres are going to look for you, no doubt about it, but there’s a few things we can do to put them off the scent. First, we’ll need to disguise the Score, and maybe pay off a few people to not mention that it landed here. We goblins are no friends of the ogres—don’t get me wrong—but we do conduct trade with them. Second, you both need to stay here for a stormfront or two, and lay low. I’ll find something to keep you occupied for a while, maybe help me in the shop and earn a few strips. Either way, any thoughts of hunting down the ogres that killed your friend, or flyin’ off searching for the last pony need to stop, and now.”

Red frowned. “I’m not a big fan of putting off the hunt for that long.”

        “Well, you’re just gonna have to grit your teeth and take it like a dog, because you aren’t goin’ anywhere for a while.”

        Red glanced out the window. “All right. Two stormfronts, but no more. That gives me a fair bit of time to work with, and I have something in mind.”

        With a gleam in her eye, Wendy smirked at Red, “Oh, is that so? I know that look, pup. It’s petra.”

        “I want to build the interceptor for the Score, and maybe a gun turret on top of the hull. I’m done being defenseless in the air. Think you could help me, Wendy?”

        Wendy leapt up out of her chair and pumped her fist into the air with an excited giggle. “Spend some quality time with another mechanic of equal or lesser genius to me? I’m so in. Just as long as Kevin doesn’t come callin’ me for another trip into the wastes, I’m all yours.”

        Red smiled. “Well, looks like it’s going to be a productive couple of stormfronts.”






End Of Chapter 7







Special Thanks To: Warden, Skirts, Brian, Raz, and Ponky







> Chapter 8
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


- Chapter 8 -



Red lay prone in the dust of a massive windswept impact crater, peering into the scope on his rifle. Ace lay next to him, staring through a spyglass into the valley, where a massive chunk of lunar sediment sat in its center like a huge hill. Red glanced at his friend, Ace, and nodded quietly to him, gesturing to the area where his rifle was aimed.

It had been a moment of insane happenstance. Red and Ace had been doing a shakedown run on the newly repaired Score, flying out west over the Wastelands, and had flown into a stormfront, letting the batteries of the Score soak up some energy. They’d dropped down out of the stormfront to reorient themselves and navigate back to the city where Wendy was waiting for them, when they’d noticed something strange: lightning strikes coming from a point on the ground, blasting the side of a huge hill. They’d landed to take a look at the strange phenomenon. 

Approaching the area, Red had used his rifle’s scope as a spyglass, and, peering towards the area where massive plumes and arcs of electricity blasted the side of the hill, he had spotted the origin of the bizarre lightning: a copper gun of some kind, attached to a kite that was absorbing lightning strikes and channeling them down a wire to the device. The device shuddered and smoked, and with a final crackle of electricity it exploded into copper shrapnel.

Red frowned, shifting his view in the scope to the side, looking at the side of the rock that had been hit by the lightning. The hill had been scored by the electricity, carving a massive tunnel into the rock. Red suddenly gasped, eye widening.

Inside the cavernous mouth of the freshly created tunnel stood the last pony.

Red gestured to Ace and pointed to the hill. Ace shifted his position and adjusted the view through his spyglass, looking where Red was pointing, and his ears pricked forward. Red returned his eye to the rifle scope and watched as the pony trotted into the depths of the massive moon rock. Red moved to a crouch, glancing at Ace. “Did you see her?!”

Ace nodded, eyes wide with surprise. Red grinned fiercely. “Here’s the plan, then. We’ll just wait for the glue-stick here, and when she comes back out of the rock, I’ll take her down with the rifle.”

Ace’s head cocked to the side, staring into the cave for a moment. He gestured to Red and himself, and the pointed to the cave, his fingers making a walking motion. Red considered for a moment before replying. “No, we’ll stay here. Going in has too many unknowns. We know the score out here: one way in, one way out. She had to dig a tunnel to get in, so that means there aren’t any other entrances or exits. At least, none that she could find.”

Ace scowled and gestured up at the roiling stormfront overhead. Red frowned. “I didn’t even think about that.”

Rolling his eyes, Ace gestured to The Crimson Score, and then down at the hill, before pointing at the sky again. Red’s eye narrowed as he tried to decipher what Ace was conveying. “We go back to the Score if it gets too bad?”

Ace nodded, and Red smiled. “Okay, fine. We wait, and if things get too bad out here, we’ll go back to the Score and wait out the storm. The pony doesn’t have an airship, so she won’t be able to get very far.”

Ace smirked and clapped Red on the shoulder, and Red fought a mixture of excitement, awe, and an odd sense of unease. He shifted his position back, keeping his scope trained on the entrance into the hill.

The last pony was good as dead.





My eyes opened slowly, only to wince shut as harsh white light filtered through my squinting eyelids. I groaned slightly, shifting position and trying to ascertain where I was. Intense sounds and images flooded my mind.

Screaming changelings. The crunch of carapace. A tender kiss. The cold taste of chitin-covered lips. 

I gasped and sat up in bed, my reddened eyes shooting open and darting around the room wildly. Cadance sat at my bedside, staring at me with a mix of worry and delight. “Shining! You’re awake!”

I jerked backwards, falling out of bed with a grunt and landing on my haunches. I pushed away from her, breathing shallowly, heart pounding loud enough to send bass throbs into my ears. Was it her? How could I trust my eyes? It could be a trick. I scooted on my rump into a corner of the room.

“Shining?” she asked, eyes wide with concern.

I shivered. “St-stay away from me.”

She stood up quickly, and I cringed at the fast movement. She froze in place for a moment as confusion flashed across her face, replaced by a calm, uncertain smile. “I’m going to go get the doctor, okay? Will you be all right?”

I didn’t reply. I simply watched her, trying to make up my mind; trying to see through any disguise to the truth beneath. Cadance slowly backed away from me to the door and left. Alone, I relaxed, but only for a few moments. The door opened and a pony in a lab coat entered. He smiled reassuringly, his voice gentle. “Hello, Lieutenant Armor.”

“...Doctor Splint, how long was I out?”

“Three days, Lieutenant.”

My eyes widened in shock, but I didn’t say anything, weakly gesturing for the doctor to continue while I collected my thoughts. “We’ve been closely monitoring you, making certain the changeling queen did not damage your mind or enchant you in some manner,” Doctor Splint continued.

“And?”

The older stallion stated, calmly, “Aside from your lack of consciousness, which we determined was caused by absorbing too much magical energy into your horn, everything appears to check out. We’ll keep you here for a few more days, just to keep an eye on you and ensure you suffer no more adverse effects. You had a very trying experience in the test chambers, and you should take a little time to make sure you’re ready before going back to work. We have a few counselors on staff that you can talk to, as well.”

I shivered as a fresh wave of images came to me. “What happened to the changeling queen?”

“She is being treated for her injuries. We expect she’ll make a full recovery, thanks to your efforts.”

I closed my eyes and nodded slowly. “One more question, doctor.”

“Lieutenant?” 

I opened my eyes, focusing on the doctor. “Have you read the paper today, captain?”

Splint’s brow furrowed, meeting my gaze evenly. “Looks like Spitfire came in first at the Canterlot Derby, “ he replied, slowly and clearly.

I frowned, testing him with a different code phrase, “Have you read the paper today, lieutenant?”

The doctor raised a brow at me, but responded nonetheless. “The Canterlot Derby was cancelled on account of rain.”

“Have you read the paper today, sergeant?”

“Lieutenant?” he asked, uncertain.

“Answer me. Have you read the paper today, sergeant?”

Splint sighed. “Soarin’ and Silver Lining crashed on the last turn at the Canterlot Derby. Will that be all, Lieutenant, or would you like a blood sample?”

I exhaled slowly. “Yes. I’m sorry, doctor, but... I’m sure you can understand. The last thing I remember, I was in the test chamber with the changeling queen.”

He smiled at me. “Yes, I understand. I’d be a little wary if that was the last thing I remembered. I assure you, though, the facility has not been compromised. You fell unconscious rather quickly in the test chamber, and the changeling queen also passed out from the severity of her injuries. The guards carried you out and brought you here minutes later, and the changeling queen was unconscious the entire time. We’ve been slowly draining out the massive amount of mana you absorbed back down to stable levels.”

“How bad was it?”

“Frankly, Lieutenant Armor, we didn’t expect you to regain consciousness for weeks, maybe even months; you’re a very resilient stallion. Now, would you mind returning to your bed?”

With a weak chuckle, I moved out of the corner of the room and back into the hospital cot. I glanced out towards the door and frowned. “Oh, crap! Doctor Splint, could you let Cadance know it’s okay to come back in? I might have been panicking a bit when I woke up.”

“She told me,” he said, frowning. “Are you sure you’re fit to see her? Rest might be better for your stress levels.”

“Doctor,” I said with frank sincerity, “there’s nopony else in the world that I would rather see right now.”

Doctor Splint smiled and left the room. A minute later, Cadance cautiously peeked in from the doorway, her smile a fragile mask. I winced at her expression. “Cadance, I’m sorry. You... startled me. I had nightmares while I was out.”

She entered the room, wings opening nervously, and bit her lower lip. “Oh, Shining, it’s all right; I understand. You went through an awful accident. I shouldn’t have been so eager! I should have let you get your bearings.”

I shook my head and replied firmly, “No, it’s my fault, and I’m sorry.” I lowered my voice to a gentler tone. “I know that you would never hurt me, Cadance.”

Cadance smiled crookedly, then began to cry. Approaching the bed, she leaned in close, nuzzling me, and I stiffened, shocked by the contact. I reached up after a brief pause, wrapping a foreleg around her shoulders, and returned the affectionate gesture. It might not have been very proper, but at that moment I didn’t care.

“I was afraid you’d never wake up, Shining. When they told me what had happened, how much magic you’d absorbed to stop that spell...” she spoke quietly between sharp intakes of air.

I was a bit surprised by how much she knew, but I figured that power and rank had privileges. “How much do you know about what happened?” I asked.

“I made them tell me everything. I told them that I’d already been briefed on the work going on here, and that I knew about the changelings.”

My suspicion confirmed, I exhaled slowly. I winced as my horn suddenly ached, but the pain passed within moments. Cadance smiled at me and placed a hoof gently on my cheek. “I heard that you saved the changeling queen, Shining.”

 I chuckled. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

Cadance giggled. “No need to be modest: you did a good thing, and I’m proud of you. Though your test didn’t go quite as planned, the Spell Locus worked, too.”

Belatedly, I realized I had been holding my breath ever since she’d placed her hoof on my cheek. I breathed in and coughed slightly, my cheeks reddening. “It did work, though I’d rather do future tests in a more... controlled environment.”

“Maybe this time without live test subjects?”

I snorted. “Definitely.”

Laughing softly, Cadance stepped away from my bedside, going to the small table by the side of my bed, and picked up something with her telekinesis, levitating the item over to rest on the bed next to me. “I have something for you, Lieutenant Shining Armor.”

Glancing down at the item, I immediately recognized the unmistakable shape of a medal box. My gaze shifted back to Cadance, and she smiled, pride evident in her posture and eyes. She opened the box and placed it before me, turning it so I could see inside.

Three items lay within: a writ, a medal, and a pair of silver clovers. My mouth dropped open. “Are those...?”

Cadance lifted the writ from the box, unrolled the small, gold-embossed scroll, and read it aloud. “This writ, by royal decree and through commendation of peers, declares that Lieutenant Shining Armor be elevated, forthwith, to the rank of Captain. This elevation of rank by deed and merit is to be made official upon the presentation of this writ, as decreed by Their Royal Highnesses, Princesses Celestia and Luna, Diarchs of Equestria.”

I sat up, laughing with delight. “Oh, wow.”

Cadance smiled. “Congratulations, Captain Shining Armor.”

I didn’t expect what came next. Cadance leaned in suddenly, and her lips brushed mine, delivering a chaste kiss before I could react. My eyes widened and I swallowed hard, staring up at her. I felt my heart race and my face redden. Cadance blushed as well, putting a hoof over her mouth to hide her smile like a demure schoolfilly. I finally managed to speak. “W-what was that for?”

“Bravery deserves its own reward.” She smirked, levitating the Bronze Star out of the box, “Oh, but I guess they gave you a medal for that already. My mistake!”

I steeled my nerves. “I guess I’ll just have to give it back, then?”

She giggled. “I don’t think you can give back a Bronze Star, Shining Armor.”

“I meant the kiss,“ I replied, my voice betraying a slightly uncertain tremble.

Cadance’s eyes widened, and she laughed. “Oh my, somepony’s grown bold.”

“Rank has its privileges,” I retorted smugly.

She smiled. “Very well, Captain. I suppose it’s only proper! After all, we can’t have your reputation tarnished by rumors of you stealing kiss—”

I didn’t let her finish. I sat up in bed, placing one hoof on her cheek and running it down her jawline as I leaned forward, returning the kiss with equal parts passion and nervous fumbling. After several long, wonderful moments, we broke apart; both of us breathing hard. Cadance laughed, delighted. On impulse, I planted a second, smaller kiss on her chin.

She smiled, taking a step back. “Done now?”

“Do I... have to be done?” I asked, hopefully.

She nodded slowly, her face returning to a more neutral smile. I sighed, smiling wistfully, and lay back in bed. She eyed me for a moment, the expression on her face unreadable, and then returned to my bedside, sitting down once more. I winced as my horn twinged, the pain a little sharper. Cadance noticed this time and frowned. “Everything all right?”

“My head and horn still ache from taking in so much mana. It’s just a li—”





—grit his teeth as a flash of pain twinged from behind his eyepatch. Grumbling, he focused on his work, tightening down the nut securing the engine block in place. The interceptor was coming along. With Wendy’s help, he had made record time, and had spent off hours helping her in the shop, earning her assistance and bringing in the strips she needed for parts, plus a little extra. He smirked and straightened up slightly, yelping as he bumped his head against an overhanging piece of airframe, sending a sharp flash of—





I blinked, shaking my head to clear away the cobwebs. Cadance was leaning a little closer. “Are you all right, Shining? You drifted off for a second.”

Chuckling, I shrugged. “I think I’m okay. Nothing a little rest won’t fix, anyway.”

Cadance smiled uncertainly. “Okay then. I’ll leave you to get some rest. You take it easy, okay? I’m down the hall, so if you need anything, I’m close by.”

“Thank you, Cadance,” I said sincerely.

She turned and left, leaving behind only the slight scent of raspberries and Canterlot roses. I sighed, relaxing a bit and looking up toward the ceiling. I closed my eyes, smiling to myself.



 

Red exhaled slowly, staring through the scope. He and Ace had moved closer to the mouth of the cave, getting a better vantage point for shooting. It had been over an hour, with no sign of the pony leaving the giant moon rock. Red and Ace had taken a few extra minutes when they repositioned to camouflage themselves a bit, rolling in the ash and turning their coats a the same dull and dusty grey as the surrounding landscape. Now, they appeared to be two lumps of rock; blending with the ash and debris around them.

Shifting his position, Red rolled onto his back and sat up, stretching briefly. Ace took the rifle and kept an eye on the entrance to the cave. The waiting was tedious and boring, but the eventual payoff was sure to justify it. Catching the last pony off guard and ending her life meant he could return to his pack a hero. He’d have struck the death blow against the equine race, a blow for all those that suffered in the wake of The Feast of Gaia.

Red spoke softly to Ace. “Do you think this is the right way to do it?”

Ace glanced at Red, quirking an eyebrow quizzically.

“It just seems... anticlimactic. A bullet to the head, and that’s it?”

Shrugging, Ace glanced down into the scope again. Red sighed. “I mean... maybe we should just cripple her. Shoot her leg, and then go down and finish her off personally.”

Ace snorted, and passed Red the rifle with a look that said ‘it’s your call.’ Red frowned and lay prone again, sighting down to the cave, watching for any sign of movement. “Maybe that’s all it really needs to be. One shot, and the ponies are done, put out of their misery. It’s a kindness. After all, who would want to be the last of a dead race?”

Shaking his head, Ace closed his eyes, taking the chance to nap for a bit. Red tapped a claw on the stock of the rifle, waiting.





I woke up with a small gasp and glanced around. I relaxed, recognizing my room in the hospital wing. With a grunt, I sat up, stretching my legs with a wince. My joints felt stiff, so I slid off the bed and onto my hooves, standing carefully. I flexed my stiff muscles, enjoying the feeling of movement. I walked out of my room and into the hall, glancing around. The hospital wing was quiet, the nurse station empty. I shrugged to myself, turning to glance at the door to my room. A small chalkboard hung on the front of the door, declaring “Cpt. S. Armor - Resting - No Fluid Restrictions.”

Focusing my power, I carefully extended a field of telekinesis out to the piece of chalk. My horn gave a small throb of protest, making my eyes water a bit, but I persisted, levitating the chalk. I wrote clumsily “walking” where “resting” had been. I set the chalk back down and smiled. Progress!

I moved at a slow pace. My knees were stiff and my legs shook, but overall things seemed to be working. I wandered the hall, aimlessly taking turns, paying little attention to where I was going; instead I focused on the act of moving. My muscles strained a little, but I pushed through the soreness. Eventually they warmed up to the idea of walking, and the ache melted away.

As I turned a corner of a hallway, I found myself looking at two guards standing at a door at the end of the hall. The chalkboard on the door read “C.Q. - Restricted Access - Hostile Patient - 800 ml fluid restriction.”

I stared at the door for a moment, and then approached the guards. They both extended wings, blocking me. “Captain Armor. Glad to see you up and about, sir.”

“Thank you, Corporal Sky. If you don’t mind, who is in the room you’re guarding?”

The guards glanced at each other briefly, before Corporal Sky responded. “The changeling queen, Captain.”

Nodding, I gestured to the door. “Mind letting me through?”

Corporal Sky frowned. “She’s been very uncooperative, sir. I’d advise against it. The doctor was adamant that we keep access to her at a minimum.”

“I understand, Corporal, but I’d like to speak with her, if that’s all right.”

Corporal Sky sighed. “Permission to speak freely?”

I frowned. “Granted.”

“Sir, are you sure you’re up for it? You’ve been through a lot recently, and I’d hate for anything more to happen to you.”

Chuckling, I replied, “Your concern is noted, Corporal. Just think of this as... a bit of therapy.”

Corporal Sky nodded. “If you say so, Captain.”

The guards stepped aside, and I carefully opened the door. The room was dimly lit and cleared of furniture. A semi-opaque curtain separated the back half of the room from the front, and I could see a dark shape beyond. I approached the curtain, holding my breath, and reached for the material.

“Who is there?”

I froze as the changeling queen’s voice called from behind the curtain. She sounded perturbed.

“Doctor, if you’ve come to poke and prod at me again, I assure you, I am in no mood.”

I exhaled, stepping back, staring at the dark shape. It moved slightly closer, the sound of rasping metal coming with the approach.

“...Doctor?” her voice was curious now, rather than angry.

I glanced back at the door, considering a hasty retreat.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” said the queen.

I looked back to the curtain. Luminescent green eyes locked onto mine, and I shivered. She knew I was there. I steeled myself and reached out, drawing aside the curtain.

The changeling queen sat down, smiling slightly. Her torso and chest were wrapped securely in bandages, and her wings were tightly secured to her body. She wore heavy restraints around each leg, which appeared to restrict her movement to only the back half of the room, like a dog tied to a stake. 

She spoke first. “Hello, little pony.”

I observed her silently, my face impassive. Inwardly, I felt like fleeing. The queen chuckled, running a too-long tongue over her fangs. “I was hoping I’d get to see you again.”

I scowled. “Why?”

She made a pouty face. “Oh, come now, after what you did? After what we went through together? Who wouldn’t want to meet their savior?”

Turning around, I walked towards the door. “This was a mistake.”

“Then why are you here?”

I glanced over my shoulder. “I don’t know.”

“I do,” she replied.

Frowning, I turned to face her. “Oh really? Well, enlighten me then.”

The changeling queen laughed, “Such venom. I appreciate that... but I digress. You’re here because of what happened in the testing chamber. You’re wondering why you saved me. Why I didn’t kill you when I had every opportunity to do so.”

“What do you mean, ‘every opportunity to do so?’”

“Simply that, dear. You were unconscious in my clutches for several minutes. Your friends were too busy gathering reinforcements to come rushing in to save you. As a matter of fact, one of the generals suggested flooding the room with toxins and killing us both, for safety.”

“That’s not true!” I retorted, clenching my teeth.

Her eyes narrowed. “As a matter of fact, little pony, I saved your life. When I heard them consider flooding the room with poison, rather than risk giving me an opportunity to escape, I told them that I would cooperate.”

I was silent, staring at her with distrust. She smirked. “Be honest with yourself, dear. If you had been outside that room, with me locked in there and only one soldier at risk, what would you do? Would you kill us both, or risk more lives trying to rescue a single pony?”

There was nothing to say to that, no way to respond, though I felt a twinge of doubt. The changeling queen chuckled menacingly. “So, as you can see, I had plenty of opportunity. But I didn’t take it.”

“Why not?”

“Because a queen pays her debts,” she replied emphatically, stomping a hoof on the floor and causing her chains to rattle. “You saved me. More than that, you tried to save my drones, though you ultimately failed, poor dears. Don’t feel too bad about their loss, though; they all gladly died knowing they had protected me.”

I shivered. “Awfully callous of you.”

“Then allow me to put it another way, pony: I do not allow myself to get as attached to my drones as I used to. My children are ripped from me, used in experiments, destroyed for the purposes of ‘defense’ and ‘understanding.’ If I allowed myself to care, my mind would have shattered long ago.”

My eyes widened as I stared at her, and she met my gaze evenly. She smiled after a moment, her voice low as she spoke. “Didn’t think much about that, did you? You poor, naïve little pony. Every creature has a mother; it makes no difference that my children are many, while ponies have few.”

I turned away, unable to meet her gaze.

The changeling queen watched me in silence for several long moments. “So, this begs the question: why save me?” she asked, finally.

“Because you asked.”

She scoffed. “Perhaps I should ask to be released from these chains, and allowed to leave this awful place!” She laughed wryly at her own joke. “You’ll have to do better than that, little pony.”

I scowled. “Because you were afraid.”

Her frighteningly sharp smile dropped into an impassive expression. I continued, “You weren’t trying to trick me; you were truly afraid. When you called out to me, it wasn’t a ruse, it was pure, terrified desperation. You had nopony else to turn to, so you called on me. You begged.”

Standing, she took a step towards me. I held my ground. She stopped, her snout nearly touching mine, at the limit of her restraints. She spoke with quiet menace. “A queen does not beg.”

“You did.”

She hissed at me, showing her pointed teeth, but I didn’t move. She closed her mouth and chuckled spontaneously. “Hm... I like you; you’re not quite like the other ponies. I wonder what sets you apart?”

“I’m no different from any other pony.”

“Don’t be stupid. Any of the other ponies would have fled at the sight of me, let alone dare to be in my presence. Any of the others would have struck me or jabbed me with needles to calm and addle me. So tell me, what makes you so different?”

I stepped forward, within reach, and whispered in her ear, “I’m not afraid of you.”

She went quiet, completely still. I stayed where I was. After a moment, she took a step away, her eyes showing a modicum of respect. “So you aren’t. Then what is it that you fear, I wonder?”

The queen transformed before me with a flash of green magic. In her place stood a bandaged and shackled Cadance. I took a step back, flinching as my ears flattened atop my head. “Stop.”

“What’s the matter, Shining Armor?” asked the changeling queen’s voice, a smile spreading across Cadance’s beautiful face.

My eyes widened. “How...?”

“Don’t look so surprised. I got a good taste of you back in the test chamber.”

I shuddered, remembering the kiss. Of course she had.

The not-Cadance examined herself, an uncharacteristically cruel smirk on her lovely face. “This one is pretty, Lieutenant. Tell me, who is she? I may have gotten a taste, dear pony, but not enough of one to learn much other than her form.”

I refused to rise to her taunt. “Turn back.”

She laughed. “Struck a nerve, have I? Ah well, I suppose that you won’t tell me willingly. Unless, of course, you’d like to give me another kiss.”

Puckering her lips, the queen approached me again, and I took another step back, but found myself unable to look away. She laughed, her voice teasing. “Oh, look at that. You want her. Not so chivalrous, are we?”

“Shut up. I’d never—”

“Don’t fool yourself! Who is she, Lieutenant? Somepony above your station, perhaps? A love that is out of your reach?”

I said nothing, but something about my expression must have betrayed a hint, and the changeling queen smiled. “She is above you. Out of your class. Maybe even royal.” She examined the cutie mark on her flank. “Yes, I believe she is royal; only those of high blood gain such extravagant markings and colorations.” The changeling queen noticed something, and she laughed. “Oh, more than that, though! I nearly missed the wings beneath all these bandages! You’re not just in love with a royal, you’re in love with a princess.”

I scowled. “Leave her out of this.”

“I’m afraid I simply can’t help myself, Lieutenant. Even though you know my nature, you can’t help but love this form. Sad, really, how uncontrollable your base instincts are.” She giggled. “And your love is positively decadent.” Her eyes glowed green, and I shivered.

“I’m leaving,” I announced, and turned away.

“Shining Armor, don’t go!” Cadance’s voice pleaded with me. “I love you!”

“Don’t mock me!” I stood up, moving for the door.

“Come now, Shining. She may be above your station, but I’m not.”

I turned around, and was greeted by a view of Cadance, bent low in a lewd posture. “You’re sick,” I said, backing away and facing the door.

“Wait! Please!”

Cadance’s voice was gone, replaced by the Changeling Queen’s chilling tones. I stopped, not turning around, one hoof on the door. “What?”

“...If I promise not to do that again, will you come back?”

“Why should I?”

There was a pause. “Because you’re the only one that’s ever treated me like something more than an object.”

I glanced over my shoulder. The queen sat at the far end of the room, her ears canted back and her expression apologetic. I scowled. “I should leave.”

“Please don’t,” she pleaded.

“Why do you care?”

“Why do you?” she retorted.

I paused, confused. “What?”

“Why do you care about me at all, Lieutenant Armor? You could have let me be crushed to death in that test chamber. You could have not come here and visited me.”

Frowning, I turned and sat down in front of the door. “I saved you because not saving you would have been wrong. Nopony should die like that. I understand that sacrifice is necessary sometimes, but what was happening in the test chamber was cruel, unnecessary, and it was my fault it was happening. Doing nothing would have gone against everything I stand for and believe in. If I had done nothing, I’d never be able to look Cadance in the eye.”

The changeling queen nodded, a small smile on her face. “I see. That still doesn’t explain why you’re here now, though.”

I hesitated, wincing as pain shot down my horn and into my head. “Is it strange to say that I found you interesting? You’re the first changeling that I’ve ever met that was more... intelligent than a drone.”

The queen smirked. “My subjects are not ones for deep conversation.”

I chuckled. “I’ve spent so much time trying to learn about changelings, but nothing prepared me for you.”

Shifting slightly, the changeling queen stood up. “You are an interesting pony, Lieutenant Armor.” A few moments of uncomfortable silence passed, and suddenly she spoke again. “I apologize for my earlier behavior.”

I blinked, startled. “What?”

She muttered something under her breath, and cleared her throat, speaking slowly and clearly. “I said I am sorry. I shouldn’t have mocked and taunted you with your heart’s desire. It is in my nature to want to dominate, and... well, it had been some time since I fed in any meaningful way.”

I hesitated, considering what she said carefully before replying. “Just don’t do it again.”

“I can’t promise I won’t, but I will try to... restrain myself. If you were dying of thirst in the desert and somepony offered you water, would you not drink greedily?”

My horn began to ache, making my head swim a little. Shrugging away my discomfort, I stood up. “I suppose.”

“Where are you going?” the changeling queen asked.

“Away. I need to rest. I was unconscious for several days because of all the energy I absorbed stopping the spell, and I still haven’t recovered.” I stumbled slightly as my horn throbbed with pain.

“You look unwell, Lieutenant,” she said, curiosity suffusing her voice.

I snorted. “I’m fine, just dizzy.”

Standing, the queen took a step towards me. “You should wait until it passes before you exert yourself moving, Lieutenant.”

My knees grew suddenly weak, and I sat down with a grunt. I felt like I was going to be sick, and my horn felt hot. “M-maybe that’s not such a b-bad idea.” I gritted my teeth. “My horn is burning.”

The changeling queen chuckled. “Hm, interesting. Shall I kiss it and make it better?”

I glared at her, and she smirked, shrugging. “Just a joke, Lieutenant.”

“W-well, it’s not... appreciated at th—



	

—winced slightly, rubbing at his eyepatch. Red spat off to the side, grumbling under his breath, and sat back, crossing his arms as he surveyed the construction. The wings had come together nicely, and the body of the airframe was fully covered. Wendy stood on a stepladder, dangling off of it with her upper body deep inside the engine of the interceptor. Red nodded, calling out, “Looking good, Wendy. Another stormfront of work and we’ll be taking her out for a test flight.”

Wendy’s oil-smeared face glanced back at Red, and she grinned. “That sounds like a good plan to me.”

Red moved around to the other side of the interceptor, running a paw over the sleek wings, and then ducked underneath the engine compartment, peering up into the guts of his partially assembled ship.

“Whoops! Look out below!”

Glancing up, Red jerked his head back just in time to avoid a socket wrench hitting him right in his good eye. His hind paw hit a patch of grease, and he slipped, his back legs whipping out from underneath him as his head made contact with the decking of The Crimson Score’s hangar area with a—



	

—gasp, I opened my eyes. I was on the ground, still in the changeling queen’s room. I rolled over onto my side and sat up with a grunt. The queen stared at me evenly, a frown on her face. “Oh good, you’re awake. I was afraid I was going to have to call the guards, and believe me when I say that they would not appreciate how the situation would have appeared. I’d rather not have to explain your twitching, unconscious body on the floor of my room.”

I spat off to the side and shook my head, reaching up and tapping the tip of my horn. The pain had passed, replaced with a dull ache. “I appreciate your concern.”

The changeling queen snorted. “Can you blame me? I like having only two sets of shackles and some limited mobility. Imagine what they’d do if they thought I’d knocked you out cold?”

Standing up slowly, wary of any weakness, I made for the door. “I need to go rest.”

“Hope you feel better, Lieutenant. At at the very least, have the dignity not to pass out on my floor next time you visit.”

“I’ll try to remember that,” I replied wryly.

I opened the door and let it close behind me. The two guards eyed me. Corporal Sky spoke up. “Sir?”

“I’m all right, Corporal.”

“It got a little loud in there, sir.”

I frowned. “Nothing to be concerned about. As you were, Corporal Sky.”

I trotted away and back down the hall, doing my best to retrace my steps and return to my room. I eventually encountered a nurse, who gladly escorted me back to my room. 

Cadance was waiting for me when I returned. I shivered slightly when I saw her, my mind flashing back to the queen’s transformation, but I suppressed that uneasy feeling and smiled at her. “My lady?”

She grinned. “I came to check up on you, and you were gone. So, I decided to wait.”

I approached her. “Thank you for your concern, my lady. I hope you didn’t wait long?”

“Oh, no, it’s all right. I don’t mind,” she replied.

I brushed past her and sat down on the bed, lying back to rest. Cadance quietly watched me, a pensive expression on her face. Breaking the silence, I said, “I have a question.”

Cadance, whose gaze had grown slightly unfocused, perked up and looked me in the eyes. “Yes?”

“How were you able to get time away from your duties in Canterlot? I’m very grateful you’re here, but it’s not like... well, royal guards get injured in the line of duty all the time, and they don’t usually have Princesses coming to visit them.”

Smirking slyly, Cadance replied, “I used the excuse of bringing you your medals. I also called in a few favors; being a Princess can be useful, sometimes.”

I grinned at her. “Well, I appreciate it, my lady.”

“There’s something else, too!” Cadance suddenly exclaimed. “Now that you’re a Captain, and your Spell Locus is working, you can move out of this facility and work closer to Canterlot once the testing is complete.”

Smiling, I sat up in bed. “I’d like to be closer to home. The work I’ve done here has been... well, it’s undoubtedly been important, but it’d be great to be back in Canterlot.”

“I’ve heard that Captain Irontail is getting close to retiring, which means that his position will be open soon. Wouldn’t it be exciting if you could get his job?”

I blinked, surprised by this announcement. “Captain of the Royal Guard. That would be exciting. With this most recent promotion, it’s definitely a possibility as well.”

“I’d like it if you were back in Canterlot, Shining. I miss our walks in the rose gardens.”

“I’ve missed them too.”

We sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, thinking about the future. I watched Cadance out of the corner of my eye, simply taking in her presence and relaxing. She seemed to notice and smiled at me. “I’ll let you rest, Shining. I’m afraid that I have to leave soon, but I’ll be certain to visit before I go.”

I nodded to her, yawning suddenly. I covered my mouth with a hoof, stifling my exhalation, as Princess Cadance turned to leave. “Wait,” I blurted.

Cadance turned around, giving me a quizzical look. I felt my cheeks grow hot. “...Don’t go. Not yet.”

She laughed gently, returning to my bedside and sitting down. I grinned at her and shifted slightly, getting into a more comfortable position, and I closed my eyes, relaxing and enjoying the peaceful moment. 

I could smell the Canterlot Rose Garden in her mane, and could feel the warmth of her presence nearby. For the first time, I felt more at home than I had in weeks. Cadance’s voice caught me off guard as she hummed a soft tune. The melody lulled me, and I sighed as I felt some of the tension of the last few days bleed away. She began to sing, quietly.

“Flicker of the firelight,
Wind in the vines,
Stars in the heavens,
A moon that shines.
A place where ponies gather,
To leave their worries behind,
A place where ponies gather,
To make friends of all kinds.
So give me the light of hearthfire,
Warm and bright,
Give me some friends to share it,
I’ll stay here all night.
For love is for those who find it,
And I’ve found mine right here.
You and me and the hearthfire,
And songs we love to hear...”



I didn’t realize I’d fallen asleep until I opened my eyes and discovered that Cadance was gone. I stared at the empty space she’d been in, her faint scent still lingering in the air, and I sighed. Things had to go back to the way they were, at least for now. However, with my promotion to captain, it meant new opportunities. The possibility to raise myself above my station and finally be worthy of...

I shook my head and snorted, sitting up. I winced as my horn throbbed, but I ignored the pain, got to my hooves and walked to the adjoining bathroom: a simple stall with a shower, hidden behind a clear curtain that was set into the ceiling. I stepped into the shower and turned on the water. I’d been languishing in bed for days, and I needed to feel clean and clear my head.

The water hitting my muzzle shocked my senses, waking me up quickly, and I blew some errant droplets out of my nostrils. I sat down heavily on my haunches and grabbed some soap from a tiny bottle tucked into an alcove in the shower. I lathered myself carefully, using my telekinesis. My energy felt strained with only that gentle application of arcane power, and my horn twinged once or twice, like a sore muscle being stretched.

I closed my eyes, leaning into the spray, and when I opened them again, acid-green eyes stared at me from the other side of the curtain.

I yelped, scrambling to my hooves. The eyes were gone, but the echo of a familiar chuckle rang in my ears. I scowled.





“What was that?” I demanded, standing before the changeling queen once more, my mane still damp from my hasty exit from the shower.

“What was what?” she replied, her tone amused.

I scowled. “A moment ago, you did something. What have you done to me? Have you enchanted me? Is it a spell? What?”

I approached her, my eyes narrowing to slits as I peered at her. She was easily a head and shoulders taller than I, but she took a few steps back. She sneered, “I can’t possibly imagine what you’re talking about, Lieutenant Armor.”

“Cut the crap. You were spying on me.”

“I did no such thing.”

I rolled my eyes and shook my mane, sending droplets of water flying around the room. The changeling queen made a disgusted face as some moisture spattered her carapace. “If you’re planning on torturing me with water, pony, you’re going to have to do better than that.”

I sat down, making sure that I was out of her reach. “Fine. You don’t want to tell me? That’s fine. I’ll just wait.”

The changeling queen chuckled. “How juvenile.”

“I grew up with a younger sister.”

“How interesting,” she purred sarcastically. “Tell me more about your boring pony life full of magic and friendship.”

“I’m very patient,” I murmured, smirking.

“I can see that,” she muttered.

I didn’t speak. She tried to engage me. “I can outwait you, Lieutenant.”

I allowed the silence to stretch a while longer, before saying. “I’ll just stay here.”

“Feel free to stay,” she retorted.

I added, “Waiting.”

“By all means, take your time,” she said.

“Asking you questions.”

“It won’t do you any good!”

“Being annoying,” I said, turning to look at the opposite wall.

The changeling queen hissed at me, but I didn’t move, knowing I’d judged the distance properly to place myself just out of her grasp. “Or you could just tell me what you did, and I’ll leave,” I said, still not looking at her.

She spat on the back of my head, and I reached up, wiping the green goop out of my mane with careful nonchalance and flicking it onto the floor. Suddenly, green eyes pierced my own, filling my vision, and I leapt up, spinning around. “There! What did you do?”

The changeling queen snarled at me. “You’re losing your mind, pony. I’m doing nothing.”

“You’re doing something. I could see your eyes, just now, and earlier, in the shower.”

The changeling queen snorted, her face shifting suddenly from anger to amusement. “Oh my. Thinking of me in the shower, Lieutenant? How unseemly.” She fanned her face with a hoof in an exaggerated manner. “What would your pretty pony princess think?”

I scowled, staring at her. “Maybe you’re right,” I declared suddenly, smirking.

Her eyes widened, and she laughed incredulously. “What?”

“Maybe I was just thinking of you.”

She smirked. “Don’t flatter me.”

“Honestly, changeling... I can’t seem to get you out of my head.” I took a step closer to her, now nearly within her reach.

“...Changeling?” she asked, sounding unimpressed.

“What else am I supposed to call you?”

“Call me Chrysalis. All my favorite playthings do.”

“Chrysalis... I dream about you, I think, but when I wake up, I can’t remember anything.”

She laughed. “I have that effect on ponies.” She licked her lips, showing her fangs. “Especially stallions.”

I exhaled, stepping closer, within her reach. “That kiss...”

“Yes?”

“I... I think...” I faltered, and then shook my head. “No. It’s wrong.”

“You’ll soon think otherwise.” Her eyes flashed green and her horn exploded with an acidic aura. Green energy blasted towards me, and smashed into the transparent shield I’d erected around myself. The power sparked off the shield and sputtered around my head viciously, before abating. Chrysalis collapsed to the ground, sides heaving with exertion and eyes filled with anger. I slid to my haunches as my horn sent waves of pain into my skull and down my spine. I managed to get to my feet and stagger a few steps out of her reach before dropping the shield and sitting down heavily, clenching my teeth as pain threatened render me unconscious. Flickers of ash and dust, a wide open plain, a barren hill with a cave. The feel of a rifle in my paws, the cold scope pressing against my brow as I wait for the pony to emerge. Ace snores, suddenly, and I blink, gasping and groaning, falling to my side.

What was that? More strange dreams?

The changeling queen, Chrysalis, snarled at me from the floor. “You think you’re clever, pony? You didn’t plan that out very well, did you?”

I spat, trying to get the sudden taste of copper out of my mouth. I’d bitten my tongue at some point. “To be fair, you just drained any power you’d been storing on my shield... and unlike you, my magic recharges, while you have to feed to get yours back.”

“Damn you,” she spat, her entire body shivering suddenly. “Damn you, pony.”

The pain in my horn abated, leaving me sick and weakened. I didn’t trust myself to stand. Instead, I lay on the cold floor and waited for the nausea to pass. 

Chrysalis snarled to herself, or perhaps at me, her body twitching. “Pony,” she hissed.

I didn’t respond, focusing solely on controlling my uncomfortably churning stomach.

 “Pony,” she rasped again.

“What?”

“Pony, I hurt.”

I chuckled weakly. “Serves you right. With you weakened, I won’t have to worry about you messing with my head.”

“I... I need...” she fell silent, and I glanced at her shaking form.

“Not buying it.”

She didn’t reply, the shaking growing more severe, her chitin plates rattling against the stone floor. I sat up, groaning slightly as my head throbbed. I managed to get to my hooves. “It’s been fun, but I think I might need medical attention. Good luck with the hunger pangs.”

Chrysalis didn’t respond, and I pushed open the door to her room and slowly walked out, feeling completely drained. The guards glanced at me, looking concerned. “Sir?”

“The changeling queen might need to see the doctor. Don’t trust her, though. She tried to attack me.”

“Yes, sir.”



I lay in bed several hours later, resting. My entire body ached from the strain of maintaining the shield spell earlier. My horn in particular was especially sore, giving me an awful headache.

“You caused quite a mess earlier, Captain Armor. I hope you realize that.”

I glanced up, only to spot Doctor Splint standing at the end of my bed. He didn’t look very happy. “Hey Doc. What’d I do?”

“I think you know very well what you did,” Splint replied, eyes narrowing slightly.

I sat up, sighing. “I was getting flashes of the changeling queen’s presence earlier. Felt like a scrying spell of some sort, like she was watching me. So, I made her show her hoof and use the rest of her power trying to dominate me. Problem solved.”

“That may be, but you left her wholly drained of energy. She nearly died from the stress and strain of using up all her power. We just managed to get her stabilized.”

I winced. “I... didn’t know.”

Doctor Splint scowled. “In the future, Captain, let me handle my patients. She was already severely weakened by her injuries. You very nearly pushed her over the edge.”

“I’m sorry, Doctor Splint. I won’t let it happen again. I just... I wanted to face her; take care of it myself.” I shook my head. “Is she going to be all right?”

“She’s still very weak; drifting in and out of consciousness. We haven’t been able to get her to feed in any significant way, so she’s still in critical condition.”

I nodded, feeling a little ill. “Again, I’m very sorry. I’ll avoid aggravating her in the future.”

Doctor Splint nodded, reaching out and taking a look at my charts and the nurses’ reports. “Regardless, how are you feeling?”

“Not great. My whole body aches, especially my horn.”

“Have you used magic recently?” asked Doctor Splint, giving me a knowing look.

“Yes,” I replied, wilting a little under his scrutinizing gaze. “I used a shield spell when Chrysalis tried to cast a domination spell on me.”

Doctor Splint facehoofed, shaking his head. “Captain, please! You need to take it easy! Anything more than extremely minor telekinesis could exacerbate your condition. Your control of arcane powers are going to be shaky at best for a few more weeks. Using complicated spells could cause any number of things to happen, including sending you back into a coma.”

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” I lay back, putting a hoof on my forehead. “I seem to be making bad decisions lately.”

“Well, stop it. With all due respect, you’re not making my job any easier, Captain.”

I chuckled weakly in reply, and Doctor Splint scribbled some notes on my chart. “Anything else, Captain Armor?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt her. Just... weaken her. Make it so she couldn’t do... whatever it was she’d been doing to me,” I said.

“What, exactly, did you think she was doing to you?” said Doctor Splint, his gaze growing a bit icy. “The room she is in is warded against magic, in order to keep her contained. If she was at full strength, she might have been able to project a spell out of there, but at the cost of a vast amount of power. As she was, though, I doubt she had the energy to do much except affect things within the confines of the room.”

I sat up quickly, ignoring the brief stab of pain that shot down my spine, and stared at Doctor Splint, my mouth hanging open. “You mean... she couldn’t have been able to do anything to me outside of her room?”

Doctor Splint nodded. “As far as I can tell, it’d be impossible, Captain Armor.”

Covering my face with both hooves, I flopped back on my bed with a groan. “I’m such an idiot. Of course her room would be warded.”

“You may want to take up the offer for counseling,” said Doctor Splint evenly. “A fair number of ponies report similar episodes after coming in prolonged contact with changelings, and especially changeling queens.”

I nodded, unable to look the doctor in the eyes. “Yes, sir. I think that’s a good idea.”

Doctor Splint set my charts back at the foot of my bed. “And, Captain? Take it easy. The more rest you get, the better you’ll feel.”

“Thank you, Doctor Splint.”

The doctor trotted out, leaving me alone with my embarrassment and apparent psychosis. I rolled onto my side, growling to myself. “Damn it. Great way to start off my career as a Captain.”

After stewing in my guilt for a few moments, I finally closed my eyes, trying to rest. The doctor was right: I needed to recover and focus on myself instead of the changeling queen. “Tomorrow I’ll visit her and apologize.”

With that in mind, I tried to sleep.





Red awoke with a snort as the ground began to rumble and quake beneath him. Ace was already on his feet, glancing around with a panicked look on his face. Red got to his knees, gasping in awe as the massive hill trembled, as if a giant beast had awoken within and was shaking the mountainous chunk of lunar sediment.

From the mouth of the cave, as thunder rumbled overhead from the passing stormfront, a massive, echoing explosion issued forth, preceded only moments before by a squealing, slightly singed equine form. Red fell to the ground, covering his head, as chunks of debris spewed from the mouth of the cave. He opened his eyes as the entire hill collapsed in on itself, obscuring the area in a cloud of thick white dust and ashen particulate.

Red lay there for several moments, dumbstruck, as the hill sunk into the center of the crater, leaving little trace of its existence other than a smoking pile of jagged rock. A dozen yards away, the last pony sat, staring at the remains of the massive piece of the moon. Red stared at her, breathlessly. 

Wings.

She had wings.

The pony’s beautiful wings stretched, suddenly flaring out, as she screamed at the rubble. 

“Aaaah—Aaaaah!” She hopped up to her hooves and roared into the destruction left behind her. “I swear to all that is holy in this cockeyed universe, why can't it ever be... frickin'... simple?!”

Red gaped at her, his brain trying to process a sudden bundle of conflicting emotions. Ace nudged him urgently, and Red suddenly remembered his purpose.

“You know what? Screw it! I have better places to be!” shouted the pony, apparently at nothing. She threw her bags into the ashes at her hooves, and produced two odd objects: a jar full of green light, and a femur bone. 

Red brought the rifle up, his paws suddenly unsteady. He exhaled, trying to bring himself under control.

“Screw you!” snarled the pony, kicking briefly at the remains of the lightning gun. “Screw you!” she spat at the bone in her hoof. Red blinked with confusion as the last pony shattered the bone over her head, sending swirls of ash and bone fragments cascading over her body. 

Overhead, the storm rumbled, lightning crackling and thunder roaring.

Red exhaled again, the shaking in his paws ceasing. This was it. He aligned the crosshairs of the scope with the pony’s chest, briefly, before aiming a bit higher towards her slender and less heavily armored neck. One shot. Clean kill.

“And most of all, screw you!” the pony roared up at the sky, gripping the jar of green flame in both hooves. “I don’t need your incessant crap! I’m going stargazing and nopony can stop me!”

Red squeezed the trigger, just as the pony screamed an unintelligible word. She was enveloped in a bloom of green fire that whooshed out of the jar, and the next moment she was simply gone.

Red stared at the spot where the last pony had stood. He waited, patiently, for something to happen. 

Nothing did.

Ace was similarly silent, his jaw hanging open. The two Diamond Dogs shared a glance of incomprehension, dumbstruck by the turn of events.

“What in Gaia’s name just happened?” asked Red.

Ace shook his head. Even if he could speak, there were no words to articulate what they had seen.

Red gesticulated fiercely towards the ashes. “What in Tartarus was that crap? Magic? Was that—”

A sudden, sick feeling lurched through Red’s guts, leaving him breathless. “Oh... oh merciful Gaia. That was the spell.”

Red stood up, but his skull suddenly felt like it had shattered, split in two, rent asunder by the horn stabbed into his brain. He was on the ground, but he didn’t remember when he’d fallen over. His eye saw nothing but green, and he felt nothing but heat and pain.

Ace knelt next to Red, reaching out to steady his companion as he writhed on the ground. Green electricity began sparking off his dusty coat, and Ace pulled his paws away and leapt back. After a moment, Red’s body grew still, and Ace approached him again, shaking him, trying to revive his unconscious friend. Red groaned, shifting. “Let me rest,” he murmured.

Ace sat back, watching Red, before reaching out and prodding him again. Red grumbled and his eye opened, blinking blearily up at Ace. “... nng... what?”

Ace frowned at him. Red’s eye focused, and he sat up, screaming. He slid on his butt in the dust, scrambling away from Ace. Ace stood up, and followed his friend, his frown becoming a concerned expression.

Red got to all fours, stumbled, and went face-first into the dust, yelping. He tried to get up again, his limbs seeming to not work correctly. Ace scowled at Red, and Red shouted, in panic “Get away from me! How did I get here? Where am I? Who are you?”

Ace lunged forward, catching up to the panicking Diamond Dog, and threw a solid right-cross into Red’s jaw, laying him out flat. Ace stood over Red, panting slightly and shaking the sting out his fist. Electricity crackled overhead, setting Ace’s fur on end. 

Red lolled on the ground, barely conscious. Ace leaned down and picked up his confused companion, hoisting him over one shoulder as he began hiking back towards The Crimson Score. Red grumbled and gained consciousness briefly, struggling in Ace’s grip. “Mmph... whoever you are, you’re in a lot of trouble. You’re violating so many treaties we’ve established with the Diamond Dogs. When Princess Celestia finds out about this, she’ll—ungh!”

Red grunted as Ace reached around and clocked him on the back of the skull with his fist, sending him back into unconsciousness. Ace sighed as Red went limp. He didn’t enjoy doing that, but the alternative of carrying a struggling and confused Red all the way up the crater did not appeal to him in the least. After he got to the Score, he’d fly Red back to Wendy’s shop. Maybe she’d know what to do. 




	


Special Thanks To: Ponky, Skirts, Raz, Brian, Warden, and Worsty














> April Fools' Day Bonus: "Chapter 9"
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


- Chapter 9 -




        Red awoke with a soft groan, cracking open his eye and peering around. His head was throbbing and sore, and he felt weak. The room slowly came into focus as his vision cleared a bit.

        He was in Wendy’s workshop, in what amounted to her living area above the main shop. He was currently lying on a cleared-off table, in the middle of the room. On one side, Ace dozed in a chair, his feet propped up on a pile of scrap metal. On the other side of the messy living area, Wendy sat on the edge of her bed, fussing with an altimeter and muttering to herself. Red settled back onto the table with a sigh, closing his eyes again and willing the pain to subside. It didn’t, but he felt a little stronger, and so he sat up fully. Wendy glanced up at Red and set the altimeter aside, grinning at him. “Well, look who decided to wake up. Have a nice nap, Red?”

Red sat up fully, a smile slowly spreading across his face. “Yes, actually.”

“Woah, buddy, take it easy,” Wendy urged her friend. “From what I gathered, you got messed up by something out in the wastes.”

        “The last pony,” Red said evenly. “She used some sort of spell to... disappear.”

        Red winced suddenly, a paw reaching up to clutch his head briefly. “No... not disappear... she’s traveling through time.”

        Wendy snorted. “Sure she is, pal. How about you lie down for a bit?”

        “I’m not crazy, Wendy.”

        “I didn’t say crazy! Concussed, maybe...”

        Red shook his head. “The pony. He told me.”

        “What pony?” queried Wendy with a frown.

        “The unicorn. The one I’ve been dreaming about... he’s in here, now.” Red tapped the side of his head nearest his missing eye. “He’s telling me... everything.”

        Ace woke up from his nap with a snort, sitting up, and smiled at Red. Red motioned Ace closer with a wave, and Ace approached. “Ace... I can do it.”

        Ace blinked, casting a sidelong glance to Wendy, who shrugged in response.

        “I can kill the last pony. It’s so simple, really.” Red reached up and pulled off his eye patch.

        Beneath the scrap of leather covering his missing eye, there was no scar, no empty pit. Instead, there glowed a brilliant magenta orb of pure manafire. Ace and Wendy took a hasty step back. “What in Tartarus happened to you, Red?” cried Wendy.

“I’m learning, Wendy. See, the unicorn from my dreams, he’s an accomplished spell caster. He knows so much... and he’s teaching me how to use the horn in my skull.” Red reached out into the air, and his head suddenly was haloed with a magenta magic aura. There was a spark, and suddenly a glowing arcane compass materialized into being, the arrow on the compass pointing resolutely West. 

“This will lead me right to the last pony.”





        The Crimson Score touched down in the desolation of a small ruined town beneath the crumbling mountain castle that once marked the hub of Equestrian civilization. Red was the first to disembark from the craft, stepping out onto the front deck of the Score and moving resolutely to the ladder, where he climbed down and set foot in the ashes. Wendy and Ace moved to the front deck as well, peering over the edge at Red as he marched towards a row of ruined buildings.

        “You’re sure you won’t need our help?” called Wendy, her voice trembling with trepidation.

        “Keep The Crimson Score running hot, and prep the interceptor for launch. I’ll need you ready to go as soon as I get back.”

Red strode into the ruins, picking his way through the desolation and ruin. The beady eyes of trolls watched him from the shadows, but when he turned his baleful, magenta eye on them, they shrank back. He finally reached an ash-covered dome, like a massive hillock. Red knew better, though. He could feel the warmth emanating from the place.





        Spike sat back on his haunches, humming quietly to himself as he watered some petunias. The botanical garden and workshop that he lived in was always so quiet when his pony friend was gone. Spike smirked, murmuring to nopony in particular, “Hope you’re enjoying Miss Pie’s company.”

        Behind him, the huge double doors to his garden burst open, bringing a chill gust of air and a billow of ash into the gardens. Spike turned around, smiling with amusement. “I won’t say I told you so, but Miss Pie is not going to be so easy on you.”
        
        Spike froze, staring with confusion at the Diamond Dog standing before him.

        Red smiled evenly at the massive purple dragon. “You were expecting, maybe, somepony else?”

        Spike reared up on his back legs, growling angrily. Red held up a hand, and a magical aura encircled Spike’s body, lifting the startled dragon off the ground. “Not so fast, you scaly geriatric. You’ve got something that I need...”

        Spike roared at Red in response. Red ignored the dragon’s protests, as he walked over to a jar of ashes sitting next to the alchemical circle. “Ah. The reagent for the time travel spell.”

        Spike’s roar halted, and his eyes widened. “How do you know about that?”

        “Shining Armor told me.”

        Spike frowned. “Shining Armor?”

        “Oh, sorry, you missed out on that episode, didn’t you? Shining Armor is Twilight Sparkle’s brother,” Red stated matter-of-factly

        “I knew that! I grew up with her!” said Spike.

        Red rolled his eye. “My mistake. It’s hard to keep canon straight sometimes.”

        Spike squinted at Red. “You’re nuts.”

        “No, not crazy. I’m smarter than your average dog, and I’ve got all the arcane knowledge of a highly-accomplished unicorn to go with it.” Red picked up the jar of ashes and grabbed a handful of the bone dust, before spreading it over his head. “Now, let’s get this show on the road. I’ve got some time-travel to disrupt and a long-delayed genocide to complete.”

        “If you think I’ll help you, you really are crazy,” growled Spike.

        Red dropped Spike on the floor, releasing his telekinetic hold on the massive dragon. Spike took the opportunity, rearing forward and lunging at Red with his powerful jaws. Red leapt aside, allowing Spike’s momentum to carry him past his intended target. His magenta eye strobed with energy, and Red stepped forward as Spike stood up on his back legs, his claws extended and swiping. His right paw clenched into an fist that burned with arcane fire, and he leapt up, delivering a devastating punch into Spike’s massive gut as he shouted the verbal component of the attack spell.

        “Shoryuken!”

        Spike clutched his stomach and doubled over in front of Red as the Diamond Dog landed in a crouch in front of his face. Spike’s gut rumbled in protest over the harsh blow, and Spike’s eyes crossed briefly as his maw closed in a desperate attempt to hold back the inevitable. Red grinned. “Sorry about that, just needed a bit of dragon fire.”

        Spike’s cheeks bulged, and he opened his mouth, green flame erupting forth and bathing Red in its brilliance.





In Downtown Dredgemane, chaos had reached a fever pitch. Beneath a crackling storm of rainbow-colored fireworks, guard ponies ran out from their various homes, furiously slapping on layers of dark armor as they filled the street with a progressively thick militia. The cobblestone sea of names rumbled under their trampling hooves. The clamoring of their armor filled the air while a sky-shattering array of swathing searchlights pierced the starry sky.

Perched high above the town that was being angrily roused from its slumber, the Royal Grand Biv stood atop the City Council Building. The structure's rooftop had been drenched in prismatic paint, and it still leaked from the edge of its metal shingles. With a glint of ruby goggles, the mute miscreant observed the direct result of its hoofwork, then galloped away just as an errant searchlight brushed past its multicolored coattails. Several guardponies barked and hollered from down below. Hooves pointed up high and several net guns fired in futility at the Biv's darting shadow as it hopped from rooftop to rooftop and made its way far from the rampaging defenders of Dredgemane.

Undeterred, the Royal Grand Biv dodged two more blind volleys of net guns and leaped into the misty air. The figure eventually came to a stop in the middle of a long, thin alleyway lined on either side with abandoned market stalls. The shadows here tripled beneath several two-story buildings and the lurching canyon walls above them. The distant hoofsteps of the guards had become a harmless murmur.

The Biv paused as if for a much-needed breath. The masked pony glanced back over its billowing cloak. Nothing but the shapes of several wooden stands lingered behind or beyond it. With a softer gait, the rainbow-colored vandal trotted towards the nearest intersection of thin streets—

“Raaaugh!” Harmony suddenly spun around the corner, swinging a splintery plank of firewood in two forelimbs.

The Royal Grand Biv took the thunderous impact in the skull. Its goggles rattled as it literally backflipped from the bludgeoning. The figure twirled to its hooves and slid to an awkward stop against a wooden market stall.

The last pony tossed the scant remaining shreds of lumber to the cobblestone and marched furiously towards the fiend. A breathless Pinkie Pie slid to a stop behind her. “Whew!” She panted. “It's a breath of fresh air to have a drop on the Biv for once!”

“Unless you have anything useful to contribute, shut your trap,” Harmony grunted without looking. Her amber eyes were burning twin holes in the the Biv's mask from afar. “I'm beyond tired. This scuffle here is going to be our last.”

“Indeed. This will be your final scuffle, pony,” called a voice from the nearby rooftop.

Harmony’s ear flicked in annoyance. “I’m a little friggin’ busy here!”

“I think you’re going to have to clear your schedule, then.” A Diamond Dog dropped down from the rooftop, standing between Harmony and the Biv.

Harmony blinked, her eyes narrowing in confusion. “Who the heck are you?”

Pinkie Pie grinned, bouncing in place. “Oh! A guessing game! I’m good at—”

“Shut up, Miss Pie,” droned Harmony. Pinkie Pie closed her mouth, grinning at Harmony.

“Who am I? Why, don’t you remember, pony?” Red smiled evenly, gesturing to the scars surrounding the magenta orb of energy.

“Nope, definitely sure I don’t remember you.”

“Well, maybe you don’t... but the last pony does. See, we met a long time ago, in the future. You and I fought, and you rammed a unicorn horn into my eye and left me for dead.” Red growled at the pony. “Ring a bell?”

Harmony’s eyes widened. Red nodded. “Yes, there we are. You remember now, don’t you?”

Harmony shook her head, gritting her teeth. “It doesn’t matter. How the heck are you even here?”

“I dropped in on your pet dragon and borrowed a cup of ashes and some green fire. I believe that I’m anchored to the pink bouncing pony next to you.”

Pinkie Pie beamed at Red. “I’m Pinkie Pie!”

“Nobody cares!” snarled Red.

“Hey, you leave Miss Pie alone!” Harmony lowered her head and drug a hoof along the ground, preparing to charge. “Nobody gets to snark at her but me!”

“I’m afraid I can’t leave her alone. You see, I know that this particular spell has certain limits to it, including a limit to how far one can travel from the anchor.” Red lunged forward.

Harmony met him with a head-butt in the side, knocking Red off-balance. Red spun with the hit, grunting as the air was blown from his lungs by the force of the blow. As Harmony spun around, Red delivered a quick one-two punch to her side, knocking her away. Harmony recovered with a flare of her wings, twirling up onto her back legs and throwing an uppercut at Red.
Red bobbed his head away from the blow, but Harmony wasn’t done. She tackled into him, grabbing him by his vest and throwing him into a wooden stall. Red shattered through the market stall, and rolled to the side, just in time to narrowly avoid Harmony’s stomping hooves as she landed where he had just been. From the ground, he kicked out, connecting solidly with Harmony’s jaw. Harmony slid back, wincing. “So, you know your stuff, pup. Better than the last time we tangled, anyway.”

“I’ve been learning, glue stick. Your biggest mistake was leaving me alive.”

“Your biggest mistake was not bathing today, ya stinkhead!” Harmony spat.

The two combatants rushed each other, and Red reached out, his longer arms providing him with enough advantage to grip Harmony by her outstretched hooves. With a grunt and a pull, Red dropped onto his back, pulling Harmony on top of him. His back legs kicked viciously as he used her momentum to send her sailing away into a nearby building.

“Har-har! Are you okay?” cried Pinkie Pie.

“I’m sure she’s fine.” Red stated calmly, as he approached the pink mare. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some business in the future to attend to.”

With that, Red grabbed Pinkie Pie and lifted her up over his head. Pinkie Pie struggled in his grasp. “Hey! What are you doing!?”

“Throwing you out of range,” Red stated, and then he heaved Pinkie Pie down the alleyway, towards the main street.

“Wha—aaackies!” Pinkie cried as she sailed through the air. Red didn’t get a chance to see her land, as green fire suddenly filled his vision.





Red found himself once again in the botanical gardens, standing next to a stunned looking pony in leather armor, with a short-cropped fuschia mane. Red smiled. “Ah, home again. Now, where were we?”

The last pony snarled and drew a mana rifle out of it’s holster, leveling it at Red as Red drew his steam pistol. They glared at each other evenly, their weapons trained on one-another’s heads.

“So, what’s your plan, pup? You’ve got me where you want me? Now it’s time to unveil your dastardly plan of vengeance in an ultra-boring monologue?” the last pony spat.

“No. I think I’ll just win,” snarled Red.

“Do it, then. I think my gun is faster, though. You shoot, I shoot, we both die.”

Red smirked. “As poetic as that sounds, I think I’d rather do this a little differently.”

The last pony raised a brow at him. “What’s that?”

“See, I’ve got magic now. So when you try to shoot me...” A magenta aura suffused Red, and a bubble shield appeared between Red and the last pony. “... I’ll just survive, and you’ll have a bullet in your brain.”

The last pony’s scarlet eyes narrowed, and she lowered her manarifle. “So... You’ve literally got me where you want me.”

“Yes. You see, though, I’m not going to shoot you.” Red lowered his pistol.

        The last pony blinked. “Come again?”

        “See, over these months of pursuit, I’ve come to admire you. Your ingenuity. Your abilities. You’re an amazing specimen. You’re more than just a scavenger; you’re a symbol in the wastelands.”

        “Your point being?” the last pony asked.

        “Shooting you is too easy. I don’t want to kill you, I want to defeat you. I want to fight you, fairly, and I want to win.” Red smiled. “So, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to go to my airship. You’re going to go to your airship. We’re going to lift off, and then I’m going to do my best to shoot you out of the sky, and you’ll do the same. May the best inventor and pilot win.”

        The last pony slowly smiled. “I like your style, pup.”

        “Call me Red.”





        Red grunted as he pulled himself from the wreckage of the interceptor craft, limping out onto the flat plateau. A hundred yards away, the wreckage of the last pony’s airship, the Harmony, smoldered and smoked. He grinned to himself as he limped towards the wreckage. Overhead, The Crimson Score circled, coming in for a landing nearby.

        Red walked through the mangled remains of the dirigible airship, chuckling. “I won.”

        A piece of sheet metal shifted and tumbled aside, and the last pony stood up from the wreckage. She smiled dazedly at Red. “Pretty smooth flying. I’ve never seen a ship that could launch an interceptor before. Caught me by surprise.”

        Red smirked. “You weren’t so bad yourself. The hidden rocket pods nearly got me.”

        “Nearly?” the last pony scowled. “So, that’s not your burning wreck over there that I blew up?”

        “Fine. You got me. But I shot you down as well.”

        The last pony and Red stared at each other evenly for a moment, before glancing away. “So. What now? Do we call it a tie?” asked the last pony, brushing a hoof across her short fuschia mane.

        “I don’t know. We both are still alive. We’re evenly matched.”

        “You and I are like two sides of the same coin, you know?” said the last pony. “Both inventors, both motivated... the only difference between us is what we’re working towards.”

        “My whole motivation for everything was just to find you and take you down... and now that I’ve found you... I’m not sure what I want.” Red smiled uncertainly. “You’re... amazing.”

        The last pony grinned fiercely, approaching Red. “Wrong word. Try again.”

        “Uh, you’re... astounding?” stammered Red, taking a step back as the last pony approached him like a cat stalking a mouse.

        “So close. Try again.” She pounced.





“Awesome.”

Red lay in a bunk in the crew cabin of The Crimson Score, panting for breath. The last pony lay next to him, smoking a cigar and grinning at the exhausted Diamond Dog. “You’re not so bad yourself. Of course, I’ve got literally no frame of reference for that statement, so take it how you will.”

        “I’ll take it as a compliment,” Red said breathlessly.

        “Good boy. Now, I’ve got another few tricks to teach you,” said the last pony, with a devilish grin.

        “I already learned beg. What else is there?” Red asked, his tail wagging.

        “Oh, you’ll see.”
        






The End