//------------------------------//
// 3. A Host of Sorrows 
// Story: Pony Gear Solid 
// by Posh 
//------------------------------//


"Sad... so sad..."






I stood in a dark enclosure, the ground soft and cold beneath (and around) my feet. Before me was a narrow path, flanked on either side by concrete walls that jutted high, vanishing into the blackness of the night sky. Behind me was a mechanical door, built into the rockface and stamped with the number four. When I looked down, I saw that the ground was coated in a blanket of stark white snow. A wet, cold pinprick needled my face, followed by a second, then a third and fourth. I shivered, breathed into my hands, and rubbed them together.

I wasn't sure how I'd come to be here; the last thing I remembered was pulling the trigger on my Beretta as the world went dark around me. But the place felt familiar, and as the cogs in my head ground back into working order, I suddenly realized why. This was the path leading to the Comm Tower on Shadow Moses Island. The door behind me led back to the underground path, where the wolf-dogs made their dens. The ground beneath me, I remembered grimly, was heavily mined, and I dared not move for fear of setting off a Claymore. The snowy road in front of me led to Tower A. On the gantry outside of the tower, Sniper Wolf had laid a trap for me, and sprung it on the wrong person. The snow at the tip of the path was fresh and white, as though blood had never stained it, as though Meryl had never laid in agony while Wolf toyed with her. 

I swallowed hard and tried to force the memory away, but an echo of it lingered, mocking my failure. I took comfort in knowing that I'd saved her life in the long run. I don't know that I'd have been able to live with myself if she'd died.

I tried the door behind me; it wouldn't open. Obvious, of course, since I didn't have the PAN card key, and hadn't for years. The only option available was to walk the path, and see where it led. Watching carefully for any trace of a laser sight, following the steps that Meryl had taken around the Claymore mines so long ago, I found my way onto the path. With nowhere to go but forward, I set off. 

It wasn't a long march from the door to the Comm Tower, and it shouldn't have taken much time to reach the end, but the march from point A to point B was far longer than I remembered. On top of that, the snow was picking up in intensity. Without my notice, it had turned from a light dusting that tickled my cheeks into a flurry that battered me, stinging my nose and ears and obscuring my vision while heavy winds buffeted me. My feet sank deeper and deeper into the snow with each step. Before long, I was sunk up to my ankles, trudging through an ever-thickening blanket until I found myself too snowed in to move. I was contemplating digging into the snow and forming a temporary igloo to wait out the blizzard when I heard a ragged, raspy, whispering voice that made the chill of the frost seem like molten lava by contrast.

“You've returned,” it said to me.

A shape materialized through the whipping wind of the blizzard, black and billowing. My mind conjured images of the Grim Reaper, swaddled in a black cloak and brandishing a scythe. I wondered if I was dead. The surreal situation made such an illogical thought oddly plausible. 

Whoever or whatever it was, I decided that I wasn't going to let it take me without a fight. I still had a job to do, after all. My hand reached for my holster and drew the Beretta, and I fell into as steady a shooting stance as I could fashion while up to my thighs in snow. “Who are you?” I demanded. “Show yourself!”

And it did. Or, rather, he did. He came into the open, and even through the blinding snowstorm, I could discern him as clear as day. He was cloaked and hooded in black, and though his face was hidden in the shadow cast by his hood, a pair of eyes, burning red like coals, peered out at me. His legs were clad in camouflage pants, of a pattern and color that I had never seen on the field before. 

Rather than answer my question, he posed one of his own. “Why are you here again?” His soft voice somehow carried over the din of the storm. “You passed through here before, but I sent you back. It wasn't your time. It still isn't.”

True, I'd been to this island before, but I didn't recall ever encountering him. Figured I'd remember something like that happening. Up to my ass in freezing snow and with no understanding of how the hell I'd come to be there, I decided to press him for more detail. “What are you talking about? Tell me who you are, now!”

The ghost complied, raised a dangling arm to his head and pulled down his hood, baring a pale, bespectacled face and a head of gray hair, combed back and hanging stiffly behind his neck. 

“I am The Sorrow,” he whispered. “And you are your father's son.”

I tightened my grip on my pistol.

“I will not test you, as I did he,” said The Sorrow. “You still have much to do before that time may come. As before, I will guide you back.”

The snow picked up once again, obscuring The Sorrow in a shroud of white. I could feel it gathering, rising to my stomach and climbing at a worryingly rapid pace. I was going to be buried alive. “Wait!” I called. “What the hell are you even talking about?! Come back here!”

But he was gone. The snow climbed to my neck, edging past my jaw. I couldn't move any of my limbs; I was helpless, frozen, watching snow gather over my body. I heard The Sorrow again, just before my head was covered completely.

“You look just like him.”





My first reaction upon waking was to bolt upright and gasp, but I had barely risen before pain shot through every inch of my body, and I fell back onto the bed with an agonized growl. 

Wait. A bed? I was on a bed? That struck me as unusual; I had been in a forest, then I'd been in the snow, and now I was on a bed. Something didn't add up. I decided to test my vision. It was still blurry, but beginning to clear, with shapes growing more defined and depth perception returning – slowly, but steadily and noticeably. 

I decided to take stock of my surroundings. First, I gingerly prodded whatever it was I was lying on. Definitely on a bed, not the softest or most comfortable I'd ever rested on, but a clear step above the floor of that barn from earlier. It was small, though, and I only fit on it from my head to my knees. Everything from my calves down dangled over the bed's edge. I was in a smallish, circular room. The walls, covered in wooden tribal masks, scowled at me from all sides. Tiny windows gave me vague peeks into the outside world. The wall of dark green that pressed against the them told me that I was still in the forest. I couldn't see any occupant, but then, I couldn't turn my head enough to look around the room completely. 

My thoughts went to The Sorrow, and our encounter in the underground passage at Shadow Moses. I wanted to call it a dream, but it seemed too tangible, too real. The bitterness of the cold, the wet snow melting against my skin. Dreams are fleeting; they fade almost immediately upon waking. But what I had experienced was fresh in my head. It was so real, and yet it couldn't possibly have been.

“You've returned,” The Sorrow had said. Did he mean to Shadow Moses? I hadn't physically gone back there; that would have been quite impossible. To the memory of Shadow Moses? Deep down, I don't think I ever left that place. Was he speaking figuratively? Or was there something deeper to what he said, some meaning that was too far from the reality I confined myself to? 

A fresh wave of pain hit me and I groaned. Trying to puzzle out the meaning of that fever dream clearly wasn't doing anything good for me. I was restless and I wanted to crawl out of bed, but I could barely move. Whatever the manticore had injected me with, it was potent stuff. I lay there, letting the steady ache pulse through me.

I heard the sound of hooves clopping against the floor and turned my head in its direction, wincing as my stiff, sore neck protested. One of the tails of my bandanna dropped over my eyes as my head turned, and so all I could see was a screen of dark teal. The clopping sound came closer; I heard a throaty chuckle, and felt something wet and a little fuzzy brush against my face for an instant. The bandanna lifted from my eyes, but the shape in front of me was too blurry to discern distinctly. All I could see was a mass of black and white, and what appeared to be yellow here and there. I tried to talk, to ask who it was and what I was doing here, but my tongue felt thick and clumsy, and the only sound I could make was incoherent mumbling.

The black and white shape stepped back, enough that I could see it clearly. It was a zebra, albeit the most unusual looking zebra I'd ever beheld. Gold bands ringed its neck and dangled from its ears, and its mane was done up in a Mohawk. The hell? First the lion-shaped manticore, and now a zebra? Was this supposed to be Africa?

The first impression I got was that of Mr. T in a zebra's body. The mental image drew a dry chuckle from me that built, despite the pain it caused me to laugh. As it died down, I silently wondered if it would talk like him too, call me a fool and tell me it pitied me, and I began laughing again, even harder. The pain grew with each exhale of breath, the ebbing ache rearing again to fill my entire body.

“You're laughing as much as your body will allow,” the zebra observed in a woman's voice, voice – deep, spoken from the chest. “Does that mean you're feeling better now?”

Oh no, it didn't talk like Mr. T at all. It rhymed. She rhymed. A rhyming zebra. This was too much. Too much. A  step too far, too damn far. It was like a dam had burst. Every ridiculous, insane happening from that past night, from the mystic portal with the unicorn bust, to the city full of talking, diminutive horses, to this goddamn zebra, who had put me up for the night in its house, who wore jewelry like an African tribal – I couldn't stop laughing. The pain built with every guffaw, almost unendurable, yet still I laughed.

My host tilted her head quizzically. “Your boisterous laughter is troubling me. Is there something here that you find funny?” asked the rhyming, talking zebra with the Mohawk and the jewelry. 

I rolled over, howling now with laughter. Every nerve in my body was alight; every synapse in my brain blazed. It was like being strapped to Ocelot's torture machine all over again, except without the hope that it'd shut off after a while and I'd be free to gather my strength. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but laugh myself to death. I slumped over the edge of the bed, reflexively propping myself against the floor with an open palm. There was no strength in my arms; my elbow bent and I collapsed against the floor, half of my body still hanging from the bed. Laughter gave way to wet, heavy coughing. Flecks of red spattered against the dirt floor.

“Zecora? Zecora! Is he alright?!” A girlish voice, squealing. Sounded so familiar.

The zebra has a name. I started to laugh again; it transformed into a cough midway through. My shoulders heaved and my chest pounded. Black spots danced at the edges of my vision. Red spots mingled and grew on the floor in the center of my vision.

The zebra moved swiftly. She uncorked a nearby bottle, and shoved it into mine. Then she pushed her neck beneath me and, with a strained grunt, rolled my upper body onto the bed and rested me on my back. I coughed, choked, and sputtered on the bitter tasting yellow fluid. Most of it geysered out of my mouth, but I guess that enough of it went where it was supposed to go, because a warm feeling grew in my chest and, gradually, began to spread outward. It was unlike the searing pain of the manticore's venom; it was a different feeling entirely. Like cough syrup. Like that warm, settling feeling you get in your chest when you drink it, except spreading to my entire body, to my arms and legs, even to my digits. My psychotic fit of laughter was gone. I still coughed, but only to eject the fluid that had gone down my trachea. I growled, clearing my throat, swallowed hard – it didn't hurt so bad anymore – and gestured to the zebra for more.

Looking profoundly relieved, she set the bottle in my outstretched hand.  My fingers found some of their strength as I grasped it, and I raised it to my lips. It put considerable strain on my muscles to lift it; the bottle felt like it weighed every ounce as much as the manticore, but I took a long swig. The drink tasted like crap, but I relished the way it washed comfortingly through my body. She watched me patiently, concernedly, as I digested her concoction.

The pain faded again, replaced by a gentle numbness. I dropped the bottle onto the ground, heard it impact but not shatter, and sighed, letting out a final, sputtering cough. I turned my head to the zebra to thank her, saw the Mohawk and the jewelry again, and couldn't help but let out a quiet laugh. The zebra – Zecora, that was her name – smiled back at me and offered a chuckle of her own, without understanding the joke.

My eye caught sight of a yellow-coated, red-maned figure peeking shyly from behind her legs. It was the filly I'd rescued earlier. She glanced at me, our eyes meeting for an instant before she averted them, hiding again behind Zecora. 

I'm no good with kids.





Spike rubbed at his eyes fitfully as he opened the door to greet the fervent caller at Golden Oak Library, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. “Whuzzat?” he mumbled.

“Mornin' Spike,” said Applejack. “Is Twi in?”

Spike mumbled something affirmative through a yawn and stepped aside to allow Applejack into the building. “Twilight!” he called sleepily. “Got a visitor!”

“Is it Derpy?” Twilight Sparkle called back from the loft. “Derpy, did you make sure to bring the actual order form? Because last time, you had me sign a receipt for muffins, and—”

“Unless Derpy turned orange and sold her wings to buy a hat,” said Spike, “I'm gonna say that it's Applejack.” He stumbled in the direction of the loft, passing Twilight as she descended the stairs to meet her visitor. 

Applejack watched Spike retreat, then glanced at Twilight, her head cocked at a slight angle. “Expectin' a package?”

"Derpy sent me a letter to tell me that I had a delivery coming. She's a little off, y'know? Marches to the beat of her own drum." Twilight shook her head with slight exasperation. The motion shook loose a hairbrush that was stuck in her bedmane. It bounced off of her back and fell to the ground. She smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, I'm a mess. I'm afraid you've kinda caught me at an off moment.”

“Well, y'know I wouldn't trouble y'all this early if it weren't over somethin' important,” said Applejack with a sigh. “It's Apple Bloom.”

Applejack recounted what happened the night before, from the festiveness of the dinner, to Fluttershy's drunken admission, to the pitched argument with Apple Bloom. “And when I checked on her a li'l while ago, she was gone. Window was open, blankets were knotted up and hangin' to th'bottom.” She shook her head despondently. “If I weren't scared completely outta my wits, I'd be impressed with that girl. She's one o'the Apple Family alright, stubborn n'resourceful.”

Twilight listened to the whole of Applejack's story with a sympathetic facade, but her blood ran cold when the topic of the Crusaders' transgression came up. Applejack wasn't specific about what kind of trouble they'd run into, or where they had disappeared to that night, saying only that they'd sneaked out on Fluttershy's watch and nearly gotten themselves killed. She had no way of knowing, but Twilight didn't need to be told what happened, having been an actual victim of the cockatrice. Afraid that Applejack would hold her partially responsible for knowing the truth and saying nothing, she elected to feign ignorance. 

“Sssssoooo,” Twilight drawled, struggling to maintain a nonchalant attitude.“Where's Fluttershy now?” Her voice spiked noticeably in pitch as she said her friend's name. Applejack raised an eyebrow, and Twilight offered a shaky, nervous grin. “Sorry, um. My throat's always a little cloggy in the morning.” She forced a cough and grinned again.

Applejack's eyes narrowed. “Uh... huh.” With a shake of her head and a roll of her eyes, she continued talking. “T'answer yer question, I asked her to round up the others, said I'd get you myself. I told her it was 'cuz we'd get through it quicker that way, an' that's plenny true. But deep down, I think it was 'cuz I can't look at her without feelin'... what's a better word for 'angry'?”

“Livid?” Twilight suggested. “Outraged?” Scrunching her nose and tilting her head worriedly, she added “Equicidal?”

“Kinda all o'the above,” said Applejack. “'Cept that last one. Don't know what it means.”

That isn't much of a relief, thought Twilight.

“Dangit though, Twi, I don't know who I'm madder at right now, her or me. I can't rightly blame Fluttershy for nearly getting' her killed without bein' mad at m'self for lettin' her slip out on my own watch. An' o'course I'm mad at m'sister too, but more the scared kinda mad, less the 'I'mma buck you to the moon an' let'cha play among the stars' kinda mad.”

Twilight glowered at Applejack. This was not the first reference she'd heard about ponies being sent “to the moon” as a punishment, and they'd only gotten more colorful and frequent since Princess Luna's return. Applejack being one of the six who had facilitated that return, Twilight would have guessed that she'd be above such humor.

“And do you want to, ahem, 'buck Fluttershy to the moon?'” Annoyance at Applejack's irreverence crept into Twilight's voice.

“Naw, not really. But I'm still...” Applejack lay on the floor, folding her hind legs beneath her and her forelegs in front of her, resting her chin on the latter.  Twilight had always regarded Applejack as one of the strongest ponies she'd ever known, as tough emotionally as she was powerful physically. Seeing her here, baring her soul in so vulnerable a position, was difficult to watch. She suddenly felt guilty for having the slightest amount of annoyance with her troubled friend.

“I mean, I've known the gal a long while,” Applejack continued. “We've always been sorta close, 'specially now, after everything we've all gone through together. I figger somethin' like this ain't enough to wreck years an' years of friendship, right? So I can't really bring myself t'hate 'er, an' I feel like a heel jus' for yellin' at her. But then I think about how close I came to losin' Apple Bloom on her account; I think about her now, all alone an' scared wherever she is, an' I can't bring myself to forgive her neither.” 

Applejack brushed an idle hoof against the wooden floor of the library. “Brought her a thermos of Apple Family-style coffee this mornin', told 'er I needed all the help I could get. Put on my very best face, smiled at 'er, treated the gal like my bestest friend in all th'world. An' you know what?” Applejack thumped her hoof lightly against the floorboards. “It felt... wrong. Unnatural. 'Cuz it weren't all true. I wanna forgive 'er, Twi, but I can't. An' at the same time, I wanna be angry; I wanna hate Fluttershy as if she killed Apple Bloom with her own hooves, an' I can't do that neither. 'Cuz whatever happened last night, that weren't her fault. She didn't lose her temper at Apple Bloom an' get in a screamin' match with her an' drive her out into the night. But that don't make me any less angry. It jus' means that...” She buried her face in her hooves and groaned. “Dangit, but I'm messed up in the noggin right now.”

“It means what?” Twilight asked softly. “You're not angry with Fluttershy, it sounds like. You're angry with yourself."

Applejack said nothing to that. 

“And you can't hate her either, no matter how much you want to,"  Twilight continued. "Because you don't blame her for what happened – at least, that's how I'm interpreting this. You blame yourself. You're angry with yourself. And you hate yourself because of it."  Twilight trotted beside her and rested a comforting hoof upon her shoulder. 

“If it were yer flesh n'blood, Twi,” said Applejack at length. “Or, shoot, not even. If it were Spike, not Apple Bloom, in this situation right now, wouldn't you lay it on yerself? Wouldn't you have trouble forgivin' yerself over it?” She looked into Twilight's face, blinking rapidly over red eyes. “Wouldn't you hate yerself too?”

It hadn't been so long ago that she'd been in precisely that situation. Twilight thought about Spike's close encounter with the hungry dragon, the night he ran away. She didn't see any reason to talk about Spike's personal business, but she felt that she could convey her sympathies while remaining comfortably vague. 

“If it were me in that situation – if it had been Spike who attacked by a cockatrice, then—”

“Hold on now.” Applejack's features hardened the moment Twilight said “cockatrice.” She brushed her friend's hoof off of her shoulder and stood. “Now, I don't recall tellin' you what Apple Bloom got attacked by.”

Twilight's bloodstream entered an ice age and her heart froze into a glacier. “Um... I... ” Her mind reeled. The little librarian in her head dug through every cliché, excuse and iota of knowledge she had, struggling to drudge up something that would satisfy Applejack. “I was doing some reading earlier about fauna in the Everfree Forest—”

“Don't recall sayin' where she went neither!” snapped Applejack accusingly. 

It's been nice knowing you, Purplesmart, said Twilight's little librarian.

“Land's sakes, Twilight!” Applejack shoved her snarling face uncomfortably far into Twilight's personal space. “You knew about this!”

“Applejack,” said Twilight hastily, “if I could just have a moment to explain—”

“Yer gonna have to forgive me Twilight – Element of Honesty and all.” Applejack put on a false smile. “But it's a li'l hard for me to accept that so many of my friends would keep secrets from me, 'specially important secrets about my family that I got a right to know!” She whirled away from Twilight, who recoiled reflexively. Thankfully, Applejack was sane enough to not confuse Twilight's head with an apple tree in the heat of the moment (a defense which she'd learned, from a study of Equestrian frontier law, could hold up in court), and she merely paced irritably to and fro. 

“Everypony and their granny knows 'bout this but me! Of all the – I expected more from my – you and everypony else who—” She whirled back to Twilight, stamping her hooves against the floor. “Dangit, Twi, she's my only sister! Does Rarity know too, or didja decide to leave us both in the dark for fun?! 'Hey, I got a doozy of an idea! Let's not tell Rarity or Applejack that their sisters nearly became lunch meat for a cockatrice!'”

Amid Applejack's shouting, Twilight achieved a serenity that she didn't know she had. She half-jokingly wondered if she was subconsciously certain that she was about to die, and if she'd simply accepted the inevitability. “I don't know if Rarity knows. But I imagine if she did, then she and Fluttershy wouldn't still be taking their weekly trips to the spa." Her voice held a steady, even cadence against the furor in the Earth Pony's voice. "It's not a grand conspiracy, Applejack. The only reason I know is because I was there.”

That caught Applejack's interest. She regarded Twilight with suspicion, but not with equicidal rage, to Twilight's relief. “Wanna tell me what'cha mean, sugarcube?” she asked, heaping acid onto the last word. 

Twilight did. She recounted her afternoon trot to Zecora's hut. She explained how she'd stopped to gather a particularly interesting specimen of clover off the beaten path. She expounded upon how she'd been attacked by the cockatrice, and how the next thing she knew, she was facing a very relieved Fluttershy and three quivering fillies. 

“She saved my life,” Twilight finished. Her friend still looked at her suspiciously, but her relaxed muscles and even posture told the unicorn that the fire had mostly gone out. Twilight decided not to relax, figuring that adrenaline was the only thing still keeping her going. “I decided that I wouldn't tell anypony what happened before Fluttershy did, because I didn't think it'd be right to go behind her back after what she did that for me. I don't blame you for being mad at me, Applejack, but at least try and understand my side of it. And hers. Look at yourself right now, and think about Fluttershy.  Can't you think of a reason why she'd want to keep what happened to herself?” 

“You sayin' she didn't tell me 'cuz... 'cuz she was afraid of me?” A look of hurt bloomed on Applejack's face as she made the realization.

“Not afraid of you, per se,” Twilight corrected. “But maybe of how you'd react. Correctly, too, if last night is any indication.”

Applejack's eyes trailed away from Twilight's and down to the floor. She chewed her lip thoughtfully, her expression shifting from suspicion, to depression, to resignation. Twilight felt a weight in her stomach. Worry for Apple Bloom blended with empathy for Applejack. She feared for her friend and for the cheerful yellow filly, but part of her – and she couldn't tell if it was a selfish or a noble part of her – feared, above all, for the future of their friendship. If something happened to Apple Bloom, would things ever be the same between Fluttershy and Applejack? Or between Applejack and herself? Something like this could forever drive a wedge between the six of them, ruin the friendship that she'd grown so reliant upon.

“I'm sorry about Apple Bloom,” said Twilight. "I truly am. But if we're going to find her, then we can't be so preoccupied with whose fault it is and why. You gotta forgive Fluttershy, Applejack. But more than that, you need to forgive yourself.”

Applejack shut her eyes slowly, chewing her lip. "Twi, I'm sorry. You don't deserve..." Tears pooled between her eyelids and slid down her cheeks. “My sister told me she wished I was dead,” she said with a quiet sob. “That I was dead an' our parents weren't. An' if I don't find her, then those'll be the last words she ever said t'me.”

Unsure of how to react, whether pity would be welcome or met with more anger, Twilight simply stood as a silent witness to her grief. 

“Hell-OOOOOOOOOO!” sang a saccharine voice. “Anypony hooooooome?” Pinkie Pie poked her head through the still-open front door and smiled widely at Applejack and Twilight Sparkle. The former sniffed, exhaled and drew her hat's brim as far down over her eyes as she could. Then she craned her head around and smiled weakly. 

“Pinkie?” asked Twilight. “Where are the others?”

“Waiting for you two!” Pinkie Pie hopped in place lightly on the tips of her hooves. “Rainbow Dash got bored with that fast, though, so she went looking in the air. I don't know what she's gonna find there though.” Pinkie shrugged. “Comin'?”

Applejack looked back at Twilight, her expression uncertain. “I don't know, Twi. Are we?” 

“We are,” said Twilight with a smile and a gentle nod. “Always, no matter what.”

Applejack shut her eyes again and exhaled. When she opened them, they were still red and puffy, but her genuine smile belied her change in attitude. “I'm sorry,” she said again, in a hushed voice that only she and Twilight would hear. “Guess I'mma be sayin' that a lot today.”

Twilight looped her hoof around Applejack's neck and pulled her in for a quick hug. Then the hug grew tighter as a third participant wrapped around the two of them, squeezing them against her chest tightly. “Oh, what the hay?” Pinkie giggled. “Everypony loves a good group hug!” She squeezed them together one last time before releasing them, and bounced out the door. 

Applejack smiled gratefully at Twilight one last time before following Pinkie. Twilight started to follow...

“Hey, Twi? You got a second?”

...and immediately stopped. Spike peeked at the retreating ponies from the loft. 

“Go on ahead,” said Twilight to Applejack. “I'll follow in a minute.” Once they were alone, Twilight turned her attention to Spike. “Couldn't sleep?” she asked as he climbed down the stairs toward her.

“You kidding?” Spike said. “The way Applejack was yelling? No way anypony could sleep through that.” He sighed, holding his tail in his hands and twiddling it nervously. “Poor Apple Bloom, huh? Wonder where she is.”

“Yeah. All the more reason to find her quickly, right?” Her gaze drifted to where Applejack had knocked her hoof against the floor, and at the scuff marks she'd created. “Yeesh. Anyway, what was it that you wanted to say?” 

“I wanted to thank you,” said Spike. He kept his eyes on the tip of his tail. “For not telling Applejack about what happened with me and that dragon.” He shuddered. “It wasn't my finest moment.”

“Hey,” said Twilight, nudging his shoulder with a playful hoof. “I wouldn't blab about your personal life for all the books in Equestria.” She glanced about the library shelves and winced. “Hey, speaking of, could you reorganize the books while I'm gone? I've still got that bulk shipment from Marelington that needs realphabetizing—”

“Actually,” Spike interrupted. He wrung his tail a little tighter. “Actually, I was hoping to go with you.”

Twilight's jaw dropped. She shook her head and shut it again. “Really?” she asked. “Any reason why? Or are you just looking to get out of your chores?”

“Hey, what are you implying? I got reasons,” Spike said defensively. “I wasn't much help the last time Apple Bloom went missing, and I wanna make up for it. Besides...” He looked past Twilight, at where Applejack had stood. “I've never seen her like that. I'd do anything to get the old AJ back.” 

Twilight thought about the red-eyed, broken mare, who'd scuffed up her floorboards and snarled in her face. The mare who'd cried aloud where nopony but she could see, who was so unlike the bright eyed and easy laughing Applejack as to be almost frightening. “You and me both, Spike.” She sighed and lowered her head to the ground. “Climb aboard. Maybe you'll spot something the rest of us won't.” 

His spirits brightened, Spike crawled up Twilight's neck, settling on her back. “Hey Twilight?” Spike asked as the door swung open in front of them, encased in a translucent purple aura.

“Yeah Spike?”

“When it was me out there, when you were looking for me.” Spike's palms played nervously with Twilight's mane. “Did you feel the same way Applejack does now?”

When Spike ran away, she and Owlowicious had found him just in time to save him from being devoured. Had they been a few moments later, or had they not been able to pick up his trail at all... 

“Twilight? Are you there?" 

"Yeah. Sorry." She licked her lips. "It doesn't matter, Spike. The past is the past. And as long as we're together, I'll never let you come to that kind of harm."

“Really? You promise?”

“Of course, Spike.” She blinked, and in the moment of darkness, saw Spike's scattered bones amid a dragon's hoard. “I promise.”





My host was gracious enough to answer my every question in exchange for the story behind my being there in the first place. So I offered her a very condensed version of the events surrounding the Pegasus Wings incident. Concepts like nuclear deterrence and military privatization would no doubt have flown over her head, so I gave her the gist of it and braced myself for questions. She had none, thankfully, so I took point instead. First and foremost, I asked where I was; she told me I was in the Everfree Forest, in the land of Equestria. Appropriate name for the country to have. The forest was some taboo location that few dared to venture into. I thought about the manticore and decided that these ponies had the right idea steering clear of the place. 

“To a pony, there is nothing more deadly than a manticore's sting,” said Zecora thoughtfully while gathering ingredients from the shelves in the hut. “Yet to you, it seems a trifling thing,” 

I eyed the darkening red stains on her floor. Guess I got off easy. How bad would it have been for a pony, though? 

“I'm of hardy stock,” I said. Immediately after, I coughed, and my mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood. I swallowed it and chased it down with another swig of Zecora's antivenom. The taste made me cringe on every swig; couldn't she just have injected it into me? Still, complaining out loud about the substance that saved my life would be a little classless, so I bit my tongue and held my nose whenever she wasn't looking. Didn't want to offend her, after all.

Zecora noticed anyway. She just smiled.

So what was she doing living in the forest, if it was such a deathtrap? Apparently, she liked her space. I got the feeling that there was more to it than that (what kind of insane loner would isolate herself in a forest filled with deadly supernatural beasts?)  but she was evasive whenever I pressed her for more information. 

“Alright, fine,” I grumbled after my third try. I sipped from the jar again. The stuff tasted like shit, but I was feeling much better. Not perfect, but not quite gagging on my own blood, like before. That was a step up. Zecora clearly knew her craft. “So what about her then?” I nodded at the yellow filly, Apple Bloom, who sat at the far side of the circular room, watching me and pretending that she wasn't. “Don't tell me she lives here too.”

“She lives in town, down the road away,” said Zecora. “Why she is here, she will not say.” Apple Bloom flushed and shuffled her hooves, staring silently at them. Was secret-keeping the national sport of Equestria? These things were damn good at it. I asked her how she found Apple Bloom and I. 

“I was taking a late night stroll, you see, gathering herbs for herbal tea.”

Who takes a stroll that late at night? Either she was lying, or an insomniac. Or both. 

"During my walk, I heard a roar, and ran to find Apple Bloom at the mercy of the manticore.”

Her rhymes lacked consistent rhythm and meter. I don't know why, but that just bothered me. 

“By my honor, I would have intervened,” she swore, “but you had things under control, it seemed. When at last you bested the beast in the fight, I dared to see if you were alright.” She paused. “You were not.”

“Guess the tranquilizers did their job after all,” I muttered to myself. “Knocked it out before it had a chance to eat me.” The hand not clutching the jar of anti-venom reached for my hip holster to pat the Beretta appreciatively. It wasn't there. My breath hitched, and I quickly patted myself down in search of my one and only weapon, until Zecora cleared her throat to get my attention and gestured with her nose to where it lay on the nightstand. 

“You have no idea how important it is that you saved that thing,” I told her. “So maybe you hadn't noticed, but I'm a lot bigger than you. Heavy, too. How'd you manage to get me from that clearing all the way back here?”

Zecora and Apple Bloom sighed the same tremendously exhausted sigh. The zebra's body sagged, and she smiled tiredly at me.

I asked her if she'd seen anybody else like me, any other humans. Ponies being the dominant race here, and all, the likelihood of humans being indigenous to Equestria seemed slim. Unless this was some weird Planet of the Apes scenario. But that seemed unlikely.

Turns out, she had. I had some conflicting feelings about that. On the one hand, I was relieved that I hadn't gone through that portal for nothing. On the other, there was an army of mercenaries with a Metal Gear REX knock-off hiding somewhere in Equestria. In some ways, a pointless journey based on a mistaken impression is the preferable alternative there. 

“They appeared about a month or so past," Zecora explained. "Their forest forays grew bold, too fast. I would have gone to town and raised the alarm, but I feared that they could have done me much harm.”

I didn't know what to make of the zebra who'd saved my life. She was virtuous enough to nurse me back to health, but too cowardly to risk life or limb under serious circumstances. And she wasn't keen on telling me everything. I could almost respect that, let it go, but she was endangering countless lives through silence and inaction. From that point on, a lot of things happened at once, and it makes me wonder how much of the blame rests on Zecora's shoulders. I withhold complete judgment, though. Something tells me I won't ever have a full picture of who she was or what her motivations were. 

“You're right to be afraid,” I said as she busied herself over a bubbling cauldron in the center of the room. “But those patrols are far from the scariest things they're capable of unleashing. The army hiding in this forest possesses what could be considered the deadliest weapon ever devised.” 

“And you are here to stop them, yes? Before they can turn this world to a mess?” 

I shrugged. Most of my muscles were still sore, and the ones that weren't were numb, but I was regaining feeling fairly quickly. Reclaiming my ability to shrug properly was a small victory to me. “It's my duty.”

“But you said so yourself, my bedridden friend. That weapon could bring you to a nasty end.” Zecora fished out a ladle and dipped it into the cauldron, then carefully poured a thin yellow soup into into a bowl that she offered to Apple Bloom.

“Hasn't managed to yet." I shrugged, working out some stiffness in my shoulders in the process. "Then again, something has to do the trick, sooner or later.” 

Zecora offered me a bowl of the same soup. It smelled decent – better than the anti-venom, at any rate, and the rankness of the drug's aftertaste defies description – so I accepted it gratefully, sitting up on the bed and crossing my legs. “Besides, I'm the only one around here with a history in this sort of thing. I think.” I sipped the soup. It tasted like boiled weeds with a hint of onion, which made it about twenty percent more palatable than the antivenom. “I am, aren't I?”

“To my knowledge, yes you are,” said Zecora with a smirk. “But alone, without help, you won't get far.”

“I don't need help.” That was a lie. If no one else, I needed Otacon. “Fighting nuclear-equipped terrorists is just another day at the office for me.”

“That wasn't what I meant to say. I mean that you do not know the way.” She poured herself some soup and lay beside the cauldron to sip from it carefully. “Nor do I, before you ask; I cannot help you with your task. I can tell you where they're striking from, but not how to get there, by what way to come.”

The most impressive thing about Zecora, besides her life-saving apothecary skill, was her commitment to rhyming. “You're saying that I need a guide.”

Zecora took a drink from her soup and nodded. Her eyes were closed as she relished the bitter taste of the broth. I took another sip myself and wondered how she could drink the stuff day in and day out and not be driven to suicide just to escape from the monotony. Apple Bloom's nose scrunched as she held her face over her bowl. The steam curling around her head dampened her coat and mane. As far as I could tell, she hadn't touched it yet. Kids are picky eaters.

“In a castle in this forest, far from here. A legend surrounds it, fostering great fear. The outsiders camp within its wall, hidden by the fable's pall. Few ponies know how to reach that cursed place, but there are six in Ponyville who can take you to the outsiders' base.”

“Ponyville, huh?” Saying the name out loud nearly had me giggling like a madman again. “I passed through a town on my way here. Was that it?” 

Zecora nodded at me with a mouthful of soup. 

“Great. Backtracking. My number one passtime.” I drained my soup in one gulp and instantly regretted it, shuddering as the bitter mixture slid down my throat, burning all the way to my stomach. “How do I convince them to help me?” I asked. My scorched throat made my voice a little rougher than usual. 

Zecora glanced at Apple Bloom and wiggled her eyebrows. “This one wandered away from the fold. Return her to them, and they'll be sold.”

“What?” Apple Bloom looked up from the soup that she was contemplating and stared at Zecora. “Whus goin' on now?”

“Bring them back their little lost filly? Sounds doable.” I brushed my gloved hand over the rough stubble on my chin, stroking it thoughtfully.

“Hey!” Apple Bloom jumped to her hooves. “Hey, don't I get a say in this?”

“No,” I said. “Eat your soup.”

“I don't gotta listen t'you!” said Apple Bloom defensively. “An' besides... s'gone cold.”

“What were you expecting?” I asked. “You've done nothing but stare at it.”

Apple Bloom glared at me like she wanted to dump her soup out on my head, but made no further argument. 

I'm no good with kids.

Zecora sighed and smiled tiredly at me again. She trotted to Apple Bloom's side and bumped the filly's forehead with her nose. “You are dear to me, my Apple Bloom, which is why you should be far from this doom. Return to your home with our friend Snake, before this forest your life does take.”

She could butcher syntax for the sake of a rhyme, but she couldn't bother showing me the way to the fucking castle in the middle of the evil forest. Zecora was a creature of contradictions. 

Apple Bloom sank back to her belly and buried her face in her folded arms (Legs? Hooves?), mumbling inaudibly to herself. Zecora nuzzled her again, then looked at me expectantly.

Less than twenty-four hours ago, I was flying blind. I was a lone operative in an unknown land populated by the least probable civilization that anybody could imagine, cut off from all support, completely at a loss as to where I was or what direction I was going. My only lead was phantom gunfire that I was starting to think I'd imagined, and my most meaningful conversation was with a ghost that may well have been a fever dream. Now I found myself pleasantly chatting with a talking zebra and sipping soup that made me pine for the richness and flavor of a battlefield MRE. 

This was a weird, weird mission. 

“Fine,” I said. “I'll play babysitter for a little while. Just, uh, just answer me one last question.”

“Anything and everything, my newest friend.” said Zecora. “Tell me, how can I bring your curiosity to an end?”

Friend. That was the second time she'd used that word to describe me. Were we friends now? I owed her my life. Experience taught me that that was a solid enough foundation for a friendship. 

“Just wondering... what's with the rhyming?”

“'Rhyming?'” Zecora tilted her head at me, perplexed. 

“You speak in rhyme,” I said. “C'mon, don't pretend not to notice.”

“I... do not understand your question,” said Zecora. “You are suggesting that I rhyme in succession?” 

We stared at each other silently for a little while, neither comprehending the other. 

Finally, Apple Bloom broke the silence with laughter. She giggled softly at first, into her hooves, so gently and muffled that I thought she was crying. But then she lifted her face, and I saw her grinning. She looked at Zecora, Zecora looked back, and soon they were both laughing, either at some unspoken joke, or at me.

I just groaned, lay back on the bed, and turned away from them. “Everyone here is insane but me,” I muttered to myself.

Zecora mentioned six ponies who could act as guides. I hoped to high heaven that they were more normal than she was. As I would later find out, that would be just one of the many disappointments I had in store over the next couple of days.





“My goodness gracious, it's finally happened!” groaned Rarity as Twilight, Spike, Pinkie Pie and Applejack approached. Fluttershy hovered beside Rarity, her wings beating gently and her face pensive. “You've cooped yourself up in that library for so long that you've utterly forgotten basic personal grooming!”

The unkempt Twilight looked sidelong at Applejack, who offered her a smirk and a wink. Spike nudged Pinkie Pie with his elbow, and the pony giggled quietly. 

“Actually, Rarity—” began Twilight, but Rarity would have none of it, zooming to the unicorn's side.

“Oh, but if we only had more time,” fussed Rarity as she inspected Twilight's unkempt bedmane. “Poor Apple Bloom must take priority, I suppose. Still, in terms of crises, this is at least a close second. Here.” Her horn glowed a pale blue and an aura surrounded Twilight's mane, smoothing it into a presentable approximation of her usual do. “Now, I haven't checked,” continued Rarity, “but I assume that you've neglected your shampoo cycle as well? Lather, rinse, repeat until it shimmers?”

“I don't—" 

“Ah! I feared as much. Well, no matter, my dearest friend.” She cheerfully wrapped a hoof around Twilight's neck, waving the other in an arc for dramatic effect. “Once this is all over and dealt with, you and I shall enjoy an afternoon at the spa – my gift to you!” She looked excitedly to the unfocused and contemplative Fluttershy. “We have room for one more, do we not?”

“What?” Fluttershy started a bit, glancing quickly between Twilight and Rarity. “Oh! Um, of course! You're always more than welcome Twilight. In fact, you all are!” She smiled, but the strain in her cheeks was evident.

“But they never accept, do they, Fluttershy? Tsk tsk tsk.” Rarity shook her head, sighed, and sauntered ahead of the group. “Well, we'll just put a pin in that, now, won't we?” 

Twilight scowled. “Go one morning without brushing your mane, and suddenly it's time for an intervention.”

“I don't know Twi,” said Spike. He plucked a hair from Twilight's mane, drawing a startled “ouch” from the unicorn, and made a show of examining it closely. “I think Rarity's on to something. Have you seen these split ends?” 

Twilight bucked him off of her back and turned her scowl on him. 

Spike gulped and let the hair fall. “Just sayin' she's got a point, that's all,” he said, standing up and dusting himself off.

“Of course,” said Twilight. “And the fact that it was Rarity who said so has nothing at all to do with the matter, does it?” She smiled slyly at him.

Spike blushed. “D-don't go changing the subject now!” he stammered. “Hey, c'mon Twi; Apple Bloom's not getting any founded-er with us standing around like this. Get with the program!” His face now an interesting combination of purple and pink, Spike hurried ahead, a chuckling Twilight Sparkle close behind. Fluttershy looked to Applejack and Pinkie Pie, shrugged, and flapped tiredly after them.

In spite of her dour mood, Applejack couldn't help but smile and shake her head. “Tell you what, Pinkie,” she said, “I'm ever in a sour spot again, jus' remind me to look up Spike 'n Twi. Those two oughta go on tour.”

“I'd pay hoof over fist to see them on stage!” agreed Pinkie. “Not that I can make a fist anyway. Not that I'd even want to. Fists hurt, Applejack.” She nodded soberly.

“I reckon they do, Pinkie,” murmured Applejack. 

“Aww. Don't be so glum, chum!” sang Pinkie with a nuzzle. “We'll find Apple Bloom before you can say 'Aeiou!' You'll see.” And off she went, whistling a song about giggling at ghosts, keeping her hoofsteps in time with the beat.

How's that song go again? Applejack found herself wondering. Somethin' like...”You gotta face your fears, learn to stand up tall...” She frowned. “Think I might be forgettin' somethin'.”

Well ahead, Applejack saw Pinkie catching up to the others, who came to a halt as a rainbow-tipped blur swooped gracefully in for a landing. Applejack frantically ran to catch up with her friends as Rainbow Dash completed her descent. She came within earshot just in time to hear Fluttershy ask “Did you find anything?”

Eyes closed, Rainbow Dash shook her head. “I scouted the entire town from the sky, even did a flyover of the surrounding area.” She looked apologetically at Applejack. “I wish I could have done more.”

“Ain't nothin' to be sorry for, Rainbow,” said Applejack. “Y'all did yer part, an' I trust your eyes more'n most. You say she ain't in Ponyville, she ain't in Ponyville.” 

“Wherever she is, she didn't seek out her friends,” said Rarity. “I've thoroughly interrogated Sweetie Belle as to Apple Bloom's whereabouts, and she swears up and down that she hasn't seen her at all.”

“Scootaloo too,” said Fluttershy. “I visited her just before I picked up Rarity.” She fluttered to the ground and folded her wings. “How strange. You'd think they'd be the first ponies a filly like Apple Bloom would go to in a situation like this.” 

“Didn't want them to talk her out of it, maybe?” Rainbow Dash suggested. “What if she had some crazy idea up her sleeve?”

“More like 'didn't want them to follow her,'” corrected Spike. “Crazy ideas are the Cutie Mark Crusaders' forté. And those three stick together like glue.”

“So you think she had an idea and wanted to do it alone, without help,” said Applejack. “But why?”

“To prove a point,” said Rainbow Dash, as if it were obvious. “I mean, that's usually the reason whenever I do something crazy. Somepony says 'Rainbow Dash, you can't break the sound barrier,' I say...” She inhaled deeply, then shouted at the top of her lungs, “'Sorry, can't hear you! This Sonic Rainboom's really loud!'” 

Rainbow Dash glanced at each of her wide-eyed, ruffled friends. “Too much volume?” she asked sheepishly.

An uncomfortably silent moment passed.

“Think she was tryin' to stick it to somepony, huh?” asked Applejack at last. She chewed her lip and cast her eyes to the ground. “Can't imagine who coulda done somethin' to deserve it.”

Twilight saw the look on Applejack's face and quickly intervened. “Who says she's trying to prove something to somepony? She could be trying to prove something to herself.”

Applejack smiled at Twilight. “Guess that could be the case. Don't much matter why, though, I s'pose. If her crazy stunt gets her killed, ain't nopony gonna care why.” 

'Cept me, she added silently. 

The group moved in unison, trotting as one body to the outskirts of town. “Whatever she's put her mind to, she's not doing it in Ponyville,” said Twilight. “That's obvious enough. So think, girls; where could she be right now?”

“Lessee,” said Rainbow Dash, tapping a hoof against her skull as she thought. “Well, she can't be in Cloudsdale.”

“Very astute,” Rarity complimented, shooting Dash a playful smirk. 

Rainbow Dash frowned at her. “Lemme finish. What I'm trying to say is that she can't fly.”

“I know,” said Rarity. “And I think that's very, very astute of you.”

Rainbow Dash flushed beneath her cyan coat, her chagrin exacerbated by the giggling of Spike and Pinkie Pie. Rarity batted her eyelashes at the flier.

“She's on hoof, okay?” sighed Rainbow Dash. “So her range isn't exactly very broad.”

“And she's only had a few hours to take advantage of,” added Fluttershy. “And a growing filly has to sleep, so she couldn't have used all of this time to walk.”

“Then she can't have gotten far,” said Rarity. “Off the tops of our heads, girls—” 

Spike cleared his throat.

“Oh, Spike,” said Rarity sweetly, “you're one of the girls and you know it.” 

Spike fumed and crossed his arms. 

“Where in the immediate area could she have gotten to by now?” Rarity finished.

“Hopefully nowhere spooky and scary,” said Pinkie Pie. “Because we've got those in spades. Froggy Bottom Bog, the Everfree Forest...” She frowned pensively. “Ponyville sure does have a lot of deathtraps surrounding it. I can't believe we've never noticed that before! We really need to put up a sign or something. 'Welcome to Ponyville; Expect Death at Every Turn!”

“We're supposed to increase tourism, Pinkie,” Twilight said gently, “not drive it away. So, pick a compass direction, any one, and odds are you'll find a place that's infested with flesh-eating monsters. Any one of them would be a perfect spot for a stroll by a filly with a chip on her shoulder.” 

“The question is, which one?” asked Rainbow Dash. “It's a lot of ground for us to cover. We need a place to start looking.”

“The Everfree Forest,” said Pinkie confidently. “If there's a spookier, scarier death trap in Equestria, I've never heard of it.”

“And it would make sense,” said Fluttershy. “If she were looking for something to prove, that is.” Applejack glanced over her shoulder at the shuffling Pegasus, but she looked away pointedly. “I-I mean... the last time she went in there... ”

“That is how this whole mess got itself started, innit?” asked Applejack, malice absent from her voice. Ahead of her, Rarity pursed her lips tightly. “But don't that mean she'd be less likely to go in there? Keepin' in mind what happened last time. Jus' seems to me like she'd wanna avoid it even more. Even if she's crazy in the coconut.”

“Well,” said Pinkie Pie. She trotted ahead of the group, holding her nose high in an astute manner. “'If you eliminate the impossible,' and we have – she isn't in Ponyville, she couldn't have gotten very far, and she's definitely not in Cloudsdale because she can't fly,” here she turned and winked at Rainbow Dash. “Thanks for pointing that out, Dashie.” On she went. “Anyway, 'whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth!'” She kept trotting ahead of the group a moment longer, before the hoofbeats behind her became conspicuous in their absence. Pinkie turned to see her friends standing stock still, their mouths agape. “What? Do I have something on my face?” She gasped. “It isn't bats, is it?!”

“No, not at all,” said Twilight, the first to close her mouth. “Just that... did you just quote Sherclop Pones?”

Pinkie Pie giggled a snorty giggle. “Oh, Twilight. You think I never do any reading in that library of yours?” 

“Very astute,” said Rarity, unsarcastically this time. “So the Everfree Forest it is, then? My, with how often we venture in there, it's a wonder that anypony still considers it taboo.”

“Manticores, cockatrices, timberwolves, dragons, ursas both Major and Minor – all of them call that forest home,” said Twilight. “Forgetting that could be a death sentence.”

“Doubt she forgot. Apple Bloom knows dang well what's in Everfree.” Applejack's teeth set. “Supposin' she went in, then that's prob'ly why.”

Rarity cleared her throat loudly, somehow making the crass gesture sound graceful. “Not to be a broken record, but... the Everfree Forest it is, then?”

Seven heads and six ponies turned their attention to the forest's foreboding maw; by unlikely coincidence, they had arrived at its entrance without realizing. “If she isn't in there, I'll eat Applejack's hat,” said Pinkie confidently. “Uh, if it's okay with her, of course.”

“If she is in there,” growled Applejack, “I may jus' stuff it down her throat m'self for puttin' us through this.”





My legs were stiff and my feet achy, and I felt about as limber as a cadaver, but I could stand and walk without falling over myself, so I marked it as time to hit the road. Apple Bloom chewed her lip nervously as I broke the news to her. Zecora seemed almost relieved. 

She saw Apple Bloom and I to the door, offering some parting wisdom. “The path is worn and faded to the eye, but follow it carefully and you will soon see the sky.”

“I think I can keep my bearings well enough,” I said. “And I've got a decent enough guide, I figure.” I nudged Apple Bloom with my toe. “How often do you navigate this thing, kid?”

“Hmph.” Apple Bloom turned her nose up at me and refused to look back, trotting ahead of me on the path. 

“Something I said?” I asked, turning to Zecora. She clicked her tongue and gave me a sympathetic look. “I'm no good with kids,” I sighed, running a hand through my hair.

“An acquired skill, my friend. One you will gain before your end.”

“You say that with an awful amount of certainty,” I grumbled. “But you saved my life. I guess you deserve the benefit of the doubt for that.” I paused, unsure of how to properly express my gratitude. “I suppose I owe you, too. Would have died out there if it wasn't for your medicine.”

“A friend in need is a friend indeed,” said Zecora, dismissing my gratitude with a wave of her hoof. “Keep that in mind, and consider it well. You'll need to remember it, as time will tell.”

“I've worked on my own for most of my life,” I said to the zebra. “I'm grateful, don't get me wrong. But I know how to watch my own back on the battlefield.”

“Sometimes, we all need a helping hoof, I'll wager,” Zecora insisted. “Even you – a snake not created by nature.”

My eyes widened; a chill wind sent a shiver through my body. Far in the distance, a flock of ravens cawed. 

I took a step toward Zecora. “Who the hell—” 

“Hey! Slowpoke!” Apple Bloom shouted from down the road. “You waitin' for me t'get gobbled up or somethin'?!” 

I stared intensely at Zecora, willing the zebra hermit to explain herself. All she did was smile blandly, keeping another secret to herself. She nudged me forward with her nose and backed into her open door, shutting it in my face. 

I was a little too shocked to move from that spot. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to break down Zecora's door and demand an explanation. 

“Snaaaaake!” called Apple Bloom in a sing-song voice. “I'm startin' to grow moss here!”

But, damn the luck, I had a world to save and a baby to sit. Zecora and her mysteries would have to wait for another time. I stared at the door a second longer, then turned my back on it and met Apple Bloom on the path. 

If I were a paranoid man, I would have sworn that I could feel Zecora's eyes on me every step of the way.	





At night, the Everfree Forest was a grim and depressing place, where every step was met with trepidation and every moment that passed weighed tensely on my shoulders. I'd hoped that it'd be more cheerful during the daytime. It wasn't; if anything, somehow, it seemed darker. No idea how that would even work. 

Equestrian physics. Go figure.

Apple Bloom was quiet for most of the way. Her attention seemed elsewhere the entire time that we walked, her focus on some thought that lingered in her mind. Zecora was right about the path being faded and illegible. With that to worry about, along with my guide's lack of focus, I began to wonder if we were going nowhere in a hurry. So I voiced my concern. “You sure you know where we're going?”

“Whussa matter?” asked Apple Bloom. “Think I'm getting' us lost?”

“I didn't say that," I said, despite having clearly said that. “You just seem distracted, that's all. Should I be concerned?”

“That's no business o'yours,” Apple Bloom said shortly. “I know where I'm goin'. Jus' trust me for once.”

“'For once?' You sure you don't have me confused with someone else?” I asked.

“No business o'yours,” repeated Apple Bloom, her voice noticeably more acidic. And just like that, the discussion was over for the time being. We walked without a word passing between the two of us for a time. Only the constant pitter-patter of footsteps and the distant chirping of birds disturbed the silence.

Strangely enough, though, the footsteps sounded like more beats than Apple Bloom and I could make by ourselves. I glanced behind, seeing nothing but trees and shadows. Still, I patted my hip holster again for reassurance.

After a little bit of time had passed, I decided to engage her again. “Zecora said you wouldn't tell her why you were out here. Any chance you'll tell me?”

“That's—”

“'No business of mine,' right?” I supplied. “The thing is, it became my business the moment I saved your hide from that manticore. You gonna tell me why I had to stick my neck out for you in the first place?”

“Why?” asked Apple Bloom. She came to a stop to glare at me, her brow furrowed and her face pulled into a frown. I had never thought that a pony's face could convey the kind of malice she beamed at me. “You havin' regrets?”

“Not what I meant,” I reassured the filly, lowering my neck to meet her testy glare. “Just curious, is all. I'd like to know what I got pumped full of venom over.” I gestured to the foliage on either side and nodded at the dense, green canopy overhead. “Besides, you can't fault me for curiosity. If you don't mind my saying so, you look a little out of place in this forest.”

“What, like you don't?” she retorted. Had to admit, the girl had a point. I was as much a fish out of water in Equestria as she'd have been in a radioactive wasteland. 

“The difference is that I've explained why I'm here,” I said calmly. Years of living on the battlefield has given me a deep reserve of patience, the kind that pays off when you're playing predator, or when a little girl keeps shoving overcooked eggs in your face and you're not allowed to hurt her feelings. I had to draw from that particular well to weather Apple Bloom's irritability. Of course, when it comes to pissy children, there's only so much I can take before I get testy. 

A little less calmly than before, I said to her “If you weren't listening when I told Zecora about it, then I'm not going to explain again. Your loss.”

I probably should have seen her reaction coming. She beat her hoof against the dirt and stuck her neck out in my direction, as far as it'd go. I could tell that she was trying to convey anger and frustration, but on a little talking filly, the effect was altogether disarming. I maintained a stern poker face though.

“Why you gotta talk t'me like that?” Apple Bloom demanded. “Like I'm some dumb little filly, can't follow nothin' worth a hill o'horseapples? I ran away so that I wouldn't hafta deal with this kinda thing no more, an' you're takin' me home so that I can get it again, and worst of all, I gotta deal with it from you while you're takin' me home!” Groaning tiredly, she resumed her march, and I, a little shocked by the contempt in her impressive run-on sentence, followed along after a spell. 

“So you're a runaway, huh?” I asked, once the initial surprise wore off. “What, things at home not going your way?”

“I got this sister,” said Apple Bloom. She spoke quickly; her rant was rushed, but impassioned. “Thinks knows best a'cuz she's bigger 'n older. But she don't.”

More feuding siblings, I thought. This is the very best mission ever.

“You wanna know how I met Zecora?” asked Apple Bloom. “Everypony thought she was some creepy ol' witch, an' ran an' hid anytime she came to town, 'cept for me. Applejack got all high and mighty 'bout it, but in the end, I was right, an' she was wrong. Figger she'da learn somethin' from that, but she didn't! Still treats me like a little filly!”

“You are a little filly."

Apple Bloom fixed me in a death glare. “I know that. What I mean is, she still treats me like I'm weak an' helpless.”

“You were almost eaten alive.”

“Ugh! You asked, okay?! Jus' forget it!” Apple Bloom hung her head and squared her shoulders, turning her back to me again. I just grumbled and looked into the forest, staring at nothing in particular. 

I'm no good with kids.

The numerous beats that I'd heard earlier came into sharper focus as the conversation between Apple Bloom and I died again. She had twice my number of legs, and thus made twice the noise I did while walking. I heard the pattern in her steps, the four-beat repetition with every step she took, and could differentiate it from my own. Behind us – fainter, but unmistakable – were more patterns. I couldn't tell how many; they were too faint for that. Nor could I tell what it was that was following us.

I momentarily wondered if I should break the news to Apple Bloom, but quickly decided against it. My awareness was the one advantage that we had over our stalkers. Any change in our behavior could squander that advantage and tip our hand to the attacker. I could easily feign ignorance, but I doubted that she could. She telegraphed her thoughts with her body language and demeanor. Kids do that; they can't help it. So I chose to keep that knowledge to myself for the time being while I worked out a plan in my head.

Apple Bloom ruined any chance at my being able to concentrate by breaking the silence again. “You got any sisters?”

I was mildly annoyed at the disturbance, but figured that more conversation would play to my advantage and make us look more vulnerable. “No,” I replied. “No sisters. But I did have a... a brother. A twin.”

“'Had?'” Apple Bloom echoed. “What happened to 'im?”

“Have,” I corrected. Figured I'd have to get used to referring to Liquid in the present tense, after what happened atop Arsenal Gear the previous spring. 

“Don't sound like you're very close, iffin' you're talkin' 'bout your brother like he ain't even alive,” Apple Bloom observed. 

I eyed her curiously. Awfully perceptive thing for a kid to say. Of course, I was grading on a steep curve. 

“He ain't nice to you?” she asked. 





“You see?!” crowed Liquid as he ground my best friend's corpse underfoot. “You can't protect anyone, not even yourself! Die!”





“Not especially, no,” I said, and Apple Bloom murmured knowingly. “But you should understand, kid, that he and I, we were sort of a special case. An extreme.” I noted my use of the past tense, and quickly amended. “Are a special case.”

“What,” said Apple Bloom, turning her head to face me as we walked. “Like you're the only one with a siblin' what treats you like dirt? Don't even look at you like yer your own pony?” 

I cleared my throat and looked at her out of the corner of my eye. She rolled hers. “Or whatever.” 

From behind us, I heard what sounded like a muffled chuckle, followed by a distinct “shush”ing sound. Apple Bloom's eyes widened and she began to crane her neck to look behind us, but I stopped her by clearing my throat again, catching her attention. She looked at me and I shook my head infinitesimally. Apple Bloom caught my cue and kept her mouth shut. She turned her head back to the road, an expression of worry edging toward outright fear on her face.

“Nothing like that at all,” I continued, as though the interruption had never happened. I hadn't counted on the girl becoming aware that we were being followed, and didn't count on her being able to disguise it effectively, not with it at the front of her mind. I decided that keeping her distracted would help. Only way that I could figure to do that (without knocking her unconscious and carrying her, which was admittedly not outside the realm of possibility) was to continue pursuing the conversation. “Actually, he tried to kill me a whole bunch of times.”

Apple Bloom shot me a skeptical look that suited her better than her worried expression. She was distracted and I had her attention, so I kept talking. “Really, he did. Almost went through with it each time, too.” 

“But he didn't,” said Apple Bloom matter-of-factly, and I started to rethink my praise for her perceptiveness. “How'd you get away?”

I shrugged. “I'm a little tougher than he is, kid.” But not by much, I thought. “So then, maybe I'm no expert in healthy sibling relationships. But in light of my own issues on the subject, can you really tell me that the way your sister treats you is all that bad?”

She didn't answer me, looking back to the ground instead. 

“Why'd you really run away?” I pressed.

“...AJ found out I nearly got killed in the Everfree Forest an' yelled at me,” she mumbled at length.

Again, I raised an eyebrow. “And to show her up, you decided to get killed in the Everfree Forest?” For such a perceptive girl, she lacked forward thinking in the worst way.

“It made more sense last night,” Apple Bloom admitted. “Had a whole plan for what I was goin' to do. I forgot it the second I ran into the manticore though. Still can't quite 'member what it was,” she added with a quiet chuckle. The passion and defensiveness from before was gone from her voice. 

“Let me make a suggestion.” The beats were becoming individually discernible; two-step beats, several pairs of them. Something bipedal. Humans? Either they were drawing closer, or just not bothering to mask their presence effectively anymore. Whatever the case, it was clear that they were planning to spring their trap soon. “I'm no expert in healthy sibling relationships, and I never had a nagging big sister treating me like a child when I was your age. Maybe I can't relate so well.” 

I strained to maintain nonchalance as my body shifted into combat mode. The lingering aches from the manticore's venom faded, adrenaline suppressing the pain. “But an older sibling keeping a tight leash on a younger sibling? Telling her to stay out of the creepy, monster-filled forest? Sounds to me like she was just trying to keep you from getting yourself killed. Considering what happened last night, with the manticore, I'd call that good advice, and I'd even go so far as to say that you overreacted to it.”

I could see the tears gathering in her amber eyes as I imparted the most sagely wisdom that I could drum up under the circumstances. “I told my sister I wished she was dead,” Apple Bloom whispered to herself with a sniffle.

I really, really did not want to discuss this matter any further than I absolutely had to. Working out sibling feuds (without resorting to violence), as I'd learned not so long before, was, is, and will forever be well outside my area of expertise. Fortunately, I had an excuse to cut the conversation short. “We all say things we don't mean sometimes, kid.” 

Apple Bloom began to reply, but I immediately cut her off in a hushed voice. “This isn't one of them. Listen close: when I say so, make a break for the trees on our right and stay there 'til I say to come out.”

Apple Bloom's eyes widened again as the imminence of the danger took center stage. She sucked in a quick, quavering breath and nodded shakily. 

“Now!” 

Apple Bloom was off, sprinting off the path as quick as her tiny legs would carry her. Immediately, I spun around, and in a single fluid motion, drew my M9, raised it to eye level and found a target, sizing him up in the instant before I pulled the trigger.

Human. Male. Clad in navy blue below the waist and black above. Midnight blue combat vest. Black helmet. The letters “PW” were stamped in the center of the vest. And there were three others, two flanking him on one side, a third on his other. All of them carried Kalashnikovs.

Pegasus Wings troops. Zecora was telling the truth. 

I fired. The dart struck the soldier dead-on in his Adam's Apple. As soon as the round left the barrel I hit the dirt, rolling for some tall grass off of the path, on the side opposite the one that Apple Bloom had gone to. Automatic fire tore up the ground around me, but I reached my cover unscathed and lay perfectly still, flattening myself against the ground.

“Kirshner?!” one of the soldiers said frantically. “Get up, you Kraut bastard! That's an order!”

“No good,” sighed another, his deep voice embellished by a rich Caribbean accent. “He's out cold.”

“Hell, that's two of us gone” said the third soldier. His voice, underscored with a subtle Canadian accent, was shaky, high and cracked just slightly. He sounded younger than the other two. “Where the hell did Trenton run off to?!”

“Cut it,” snapped the first. He tried to keep his voice firm, but his nervousness bled through nevertheless. I guessed that he was the squad leader, and thus wanted to exert authority over his troops, but if his voice was any great indicator, he was too easily shaken by the loss of one of his number. This man was not cut out for leadership. I wondered if the rest of Pegasus Wings was so poorly organized. 

“Split up. Baker, cover the left side. Keep an eye out for that guy. Ethelbert, the right; find that fucking horse. I'll cover the road.”

He was verbalizing his orders. Squads like that are supposed to operate via nonverbal signals, speaking sparingly (and quietly, if at all), and here he was proclaiming commands for the entire forest to hear.  I reminded myself that a good portion of Pegasus Wings' ranks were wash-outs. Well, what idiot unit did this fool wash out from? Bad organization, poor leadership; these were the least likely conquerors in history. Equestria would have to be utterly demilitarized and helpless to be taken over by this pack of morons.

With my luck, though, these'll just turn out to be the bad apples, and the rest of the army will be competent. That was a happy thought to have while playing predator.

The three soldiers dispersed. I thought that I was concealed pretty well in the tall grass (or at least as well as I could be without any camouflage), so I stayed still, breathing shallowly, waiting to see if Baker would catch sight of me. 

He didn't. His breaths were uneven and punctuated by nervous teeth chattering, and his footsteps dragged through the dirt loudly. I knew exactly where he was, could probably have guessed where he was looking too, just by the way he was carrying himself. Once again, I marveled at the discipline and rigorous standards of the Pegasus Wings PMC. 

I spared a glance upward and saw Baker coming toward me through the grass, his back hunched, his knees trembling and his gun held entirely wrong. He inexplicably rested the barrel on his left arm, holding a knife in his left hand and the gun's grip in his right. His AK was pointed nowhere near me. He hadn't noticed me yet, but he was practically right on top of me. Be pretty damn hard for him not to notice if he stepped right on me, and I doubted that anybody could be that incompetent. There was something else about the way he walked, though. His stance, the way he carried himself, was familiar, if only distantly. It was almost like a Rorschach test, like I was being presented with an inkblot that was supposed to inspire a certain shape in my mind. I turned it over mentally, trying to match his pose with something recognizable.

Then it hit me. I knew where I'd seen his pose before. The stance was sloppy (his nervousness did nothing to help that fact) and he was holding his gun entirely wrong, but I was looking at what was supposed to be a standard CQC pose. 

What happened next was pure instinct and muscle memory. I sprang, rising suddenly from the grass, and caught the AK's barrel in my hands. And I swear, even through the tinted visor, I could see his eyes. They were as wide as saucers.

Immediately, I twisted my body out of his line of fire, and cracked him in the chin with the back of my fist, throwing his head backward. Using his weight for leverage, I swung the rifle up and over, catapulting him into the air and wrenching the gun out of his arms. He hit the ground hard, expelling the air in his lungs. I leveled the gun at him, daring him to rise, but he remained still, out cold from the force of his landing. Two down. I swiftly stripped the gun, removing the magazine, ejecting the round in the chamber and separating the barrel, tossing the disparate pieces to the ground beside Baker. I doubted that he could put it back together again.

I hadn't used Big Boss' style of Close-Quarters Combat since my days in FOXHOUND. Those techniques were taught to me by a man who turned his back on his unit and his gun on me, and I swore never to use them after that betrayal. But seeing Baker in his shallow parody of a CQC stance awakened something in me, a part that I'd buried for the last decade and a half of my life up to that point. Despite my self-imposed ban on the fighting style, it came to me as naturally as breathing. It was half instinct, half muscle memory, and as I experimentally fell into the basic stance, drawing my M9 and cupping my free hand as though gripping a knife, I felt myself wondering how I'd ever done without it. It was like seeing the world in color for the first time. The other techniques and fighting styles that I'd mastered over the years felt like sticks and stones unto a tank. With CQC, I felt unstoppable. With CQC, I felt invincible. 

Unbidden, the memory of a grayed man with an eyepatch blazing machine gun fire at me darkened my spirits. Mocking laughter, taunts, threats from a man I'd considered my mentor, my hero, echoed faintly in my mind. My free hand curled into a fist, and I returned my M9 to its holster. 

CQC was the legacy of a traitor, an art I'd sworn never to use again. But these bumbling idiots brought it back out of me. I'd use it once, this last time, and never again. Until the next time some idiot mimicked Big Boss and came at me with that sick, cookie-cutter imitation, anyway. 

But really, I told myself reassuringly, what are the odds of that ever happening again?

More on that later.

I knew the moves, owned a gun. Now, to complete the set, all I needed was a knife. I liberated Baker's Ka-Bar, raising it to eye level to inspect the blade. It was rusty, dull and the point looked blunt, but it would serve my purpose for the time being. I looked at the unconscious soldier, and at the field-stripped firearm beside him.

Deconstructing the rifle let me get a good look at it, and what I saw astounded me. It was an AK-47. Mind you, that in itself isn't astounding; the AK-47 is ubiquitous on the battlefield, being popular among revolutionaries, terrorists and militias all the world over. But this was a professional mercenary army. I'd seen their ship. I'd seen the cavernous installation surrounding the portal that brought me here. They had to have the money to afford better. Yet here I was holding an AK-47. Not an AN-94. Not an AK-102. Not even an AK-74, but an AK-47. The grandfather of all assault rifles. Light, reliable, dirt-cheap and obsolete. 

Were Pegasus Wings' soldiers mercenaries on a budget? Was that why they were hiring unseasoned soldiers and arming them with outmoded weaponry? Nothing about this situation added up. Once again, I wondered if they were all like this, or if I'd simply drawn the most inept squad in the unit.

I heard the terse muttering of the soldier watching the path and filed my thought away for another time. Still had a job to do, after all. Turning my attention to him, I stalked, slowly and silently, through the tall grass and back onto the path. He stood in the center of the dirt road, darting his head from one side to the next, occasionally swearing under his breath. He kept asking the air what was going on, except he used more expletives than I'd care to type to make his inquiry. I guessed that he hadn't heard what happened to Baker. It's my experience that the soldiers I encounter on missions aren't very perceptive. Not that I'm complaining.

I stole behind him, coming close enough that he could probably have felt my breath on his neck. Fortunately, I'm not that careless. Before he could notice my presence, I wrapped my left arm around his shoulders, pressing the rusty blade of the Ka-Bar against the flesh of his neck and followed that by kicking the back of his right leg, causing his body to buckle. I used my right arm to draw his own behind him at an incredibly uncomfortable angle and felt around his hip for a holster. Finding it, I drew his sidearm and thrust my arm across his right shoulder, staring down the sights of the pistol.

If the gun was ID locked, then my improvised plan wasn't going to work, and I'd need to improvise a whole new one. “Call him,” I ordered. He obliged me.

“Ethelbert!” he yelped in a voice tinged noticeably with pain. Quite a number I was doing on his arm. The last soldier appeared from behind a tree, AK raised. I pulled my handgun's trigger twice the second his head came into view; my hostage jumped with each report. Ethelbert's helmet deflected the first bullet, but failed to stop the second, and he toppled onto his back with a hole in his headgear. I noted with interest that the gun was not, in fact, ID locked.

The last soldier whimpered at the sight of his dead comrade. “Please,” he sniveled, “please don't—” I cut him off with a hard shove forward. As he staggered and fell to the ground, I dropped his sidearm, drew my M9, cocked it and fired, hitting him in the groin with a tranquilizer dart. The leader briefly tried to rise, but his strength abandoned him before he could lift himself an inch and he collapsed with a quiet groan.

One soldier dead and three unconscious via the magic of CQC. Not bad for someone who hadn't used it in a decade. If the very use of the thing didn't fill me with such powerful self-hate, I might have decided to re-work it into my rotation 

Still, wasn't there something that I was missing?

“Hell, that's two of us gone. Where the hell's Trenton?!”

Right after I'd taken out the first soldier, too. There was still one more out there. I cocked the M9 and held it ready, scanning the perimeter for any sign of movement. 

A voice from above drew my attention: “Snake, look out!”  

I turned my head in the direction of Apple Bloom's panicked cry. A black shape, vaguely blue tinted, was descending fast, holding something that gleamed faintly in a downward position. 

A blade. A sword, more specifically, and there's only one type of sword that you'll find on a battlefield in this day and age: a High-Frequency Blade, utilizing ultrasonic vibrations to cut through objects on a molecular level. I'd seen them before, knew the damage they could do in the right hands. I dove, the sword missing by mere millimeters, and rolled headfirst, coming to a stop and rising to a kneel, then whirling to face my attacker as he recovered from his failed strike. 

An almost featureless face with a single blazing blue eye stared back at me. He wore the same combat vest as the troops, but not the same uniform. His body was two shades of blue: the torso and everything down to the knees were a deep, midnight blue, and the shoulders, knees, calves and ankles were sky blue. In his right hand was the sword that had nearly impaled me. Slung under his left arm, a hand clamped tightly over her mouth, was Apple Bloom, who was clearly not happy with this turn of events. Her eyes stared fearfully at me as she struggled to escape the vise grip of her kidnapper.

This was no run-of-the-mill soldier. No incompetent buffoon who didn't know what end of his gun the bullets came out of. This was a Cyborg Ninja that I was dealing with, one of the deadliest things I have ever gone toe-to-toe with in my life. I've seen one shred a platoon of soldiers apart single-handedly, but I fought him on equal footing and barely walked away. But this one? My body was still weak from the manticore's sting. I could take down a foursome of buffoonery, sure, but any halfway competent idiot could do that. A superhuman abomination of science was a whole different ballpark. 

I needed time. Needed to stall.

“Trenton, I presume,” I said. My eyes flicked between Apple Bloom and her attacker, trying to determine if I could get a shot in at the latter without harming the former. “Those suits standard issue now?”	

Trenton responded by reversing his grip on the sword and leaping toward me, crossing the distance between the two of us in a single bound. 

Not the talkative sort, apparently. 

I had just enough time to roll again and evade a decapitating strike. Clambering to my feet and aligning my sights on the side of Trenton's head, I fired. Without looking, Trenton deflected the round, his arm moving in an imperceptibly fast motion. 

Should have seen that coming. He wouldn't be a Cyborg Ninja if he weren't faster than a speeding bullet. Trenton came at me again, returning the sword to a standard grip. He delivered a series of shallow thrusts and slashes, executed with slight, simple flicks of his wrist, reminiscent more of European fencing than Japanese sword-fighting. I wove, evading his every strike, but only just barely; the ninja kept me very much on my toes. An opportunity finally presented itself when Trenton thrust the blade angled slightly upward. I side-stepped the lunge, caught him by the wrist in my left hand and pulled him toward me, simultaneously throwing a haymaker with my right. His head met my fist, resulting in a resounding metallic clang upon collision. Ignoring the throbbing pain in my hand, I quickly followed with a kick, pivoting on my back foot to drive it deep into his chest. The combat vest must have absorbed some of it, but there was still enough force in the kick to make him stagger backward, curling his body into itself. Yet Apple Bloom, somehow, remained tightly in his grasp.

I seethed. I couldn't go all-out against him with Apple Bloom held hostage like that, not unless I didn't mind hurting the filly too. 

“Maybe you should put her down,” I suggested, trying the dialogue tactic again. “Unless you don't mind an uneven fight.”

“Unacceptable,” said Trenton flatly. 

As surprised as I was to get an answer out of him, what really got me was his voice. It had the same mechanical filter as the past ninja's voices, but his was unique somehow. His low pitch was an obvious computerized disguise; it was clear to me that his real voice was significantly higher. I wondered what the point of that was. Were they seriously trying to mask an effete voice by altering it to sound lower? For what, intimidation's sake? More than that, though less unusually, Trenton had an accent, one that I couldn't put my finger on, thanks to the mechanical distortion effect. 

“Does that mean you want me to wipe the floor with you?” I taunted. It was equal parts stalling for time and trying to goad him into letting Apple Bloom go. With luck, she'd take off to safety while I distracted Trenton. Sure, she was an annoying little runt, but I was interested enough in her well being to take on horrific monsters that were trying to harm her. I'd saved her ass from the manticore; I didn't want to let her down against a ninja.

“Unacceptable,” repeated Trenton. “Your suggestion contradicts my orders.”

“Orders?” I asked. “Were you ordered to kidnap her?”

Trenton surprised me again by returning his HF Blade to his sheath. Far less surprisingly, he leaped toward me, arcing through the air with his right fist drawn back and descending almost right on top of me, driving that fist forward. I backpedaled, evading the strike, and his fist sank deep into the dirt. Trenton ripped his hand out of the ground, flinging clumps of dirt and roots into the air, and rose back to his feet. I jabbed with my left hand. He deflected it easily. Undeterred, I swung a right hook; he ducked under it. I spun, jumping off the ground to deliver a roundhouse kick, but Trenton reacted by putting Apple Bloom directly in my line of fire. She shut her eyes tightly and squeaked, but at the last second before impact I withdrew the kick. Doing so threw off my balance, however. Gravity yanked me to the ground, and I landed painfully hard on my side. My wits returned in time for me to notice Trenton's fist barreling toward me. I rolled aside, scrambled to my feet and fell back into my combat stance. 

Using Apple Bloom as a shield. I took that to mean that he had to fight dirty in order to match me. If I weren't still sluggish from my fight with the manticore, I might have been able to outfight him. 

Whoever Trenton was inside that exoskeleton, he was certainly no Gray Fox. No, this ninja had no scruples. 

“I have been directed to maintain the secrecy of our operations at any cost,” Trenton informed me. His computerized voice was calm and even, as though the previous exchange of blows hadn't taken place at all. “However, I have also been directed to not take the lives of any ponies. I cannot kill the child without violating my second directive, but the first must be obeyed at any cost. Thus, I have decided to capture her, in lieu of taking her life. It seemed a fitting compromise.”

My back and right flank ached where I had fallen. It formed an interesting combination with my lingering manticore venom soreness. “Yeah? So you and the Incompetence Brigade were sent out to silence her, specifically? Kind of funny that one little filly is such a top tier threat for a crack mercenary army.”

Trenton emitted a low, mechanical sound that I interpreted as a chuckle and squeezed his arm tighter around Apple Bloom. The filly let out a quiet puff of breath and stared helplessly at me. I set my teeth, smoldering with anger at Trenton's casual use of a child as an instrument of war. 

“We discovered your presence quite by accident,” Trenton explained. “A manticore attacked a long-range forest patrol and devoured two of our sentries before we were able to drive it away. The cowardly lion fled at the sound of gunfire.”

That explained the rounds I'd heard the night before. Good to know I hadn't imagined them.

“Rather than risk letting the beast live, I and this assortment of buffoons,” and here he gestured to the unconscious (and dead) soldiers, “were sent to track it down and eliminate it. Command determined that night-time operations needed to cease in light of that development, however, and so we delayed the hunt until morning.

“The beast was found and dealt with swiftly. Examining the carcass revealed a curiosity: it was stuck with a dart containing a rather potent tranquilizer. Close inspection of the immediate area revealed the presence of three 9x19 millimeter shell casings and a trail composed of hoofprints that led deeper into the forest. The trail ended at a cottage built into a tree.”

They found Zecora. My throat tightened as concern for the cryptic zebra washed over me. 

“I left a group behind to deal with the occupant. The rest of the soldiers followed me in pursuit of the filly and her companion. You see, we noted a set of human-shaped footprints beside a set of hoofprints. Under the circumstances, it struck me as odd. Wouldn't it strike you as odd?”

“The week I'm having, I don't think I could ever consider anything odd again." Or maybe I was just becoming cynical in my old age. "So what about me? Planning to take me into custody too?”

“You are not a pony,” said Trenton. “I can kill you without violating the first directive.”

Well. Look who had everything all figured out. “Think you can, do you?” I began to pace, walking in a counter-clockwise circle, with Trenton as my locus. Trenton mirrored my action, his burning blue eye focused entirely on me. “The last two of your kind I faced couldn't. What makes you think that you can?”

“Progress does,” said Trenton. His mechanical voice resounded with what I can only identify as smugness. “The prototype was a failure, by all standards. Unstable, psychotic. A weapon is only useful if you know that it won't backfire on you. Gray Fox betrayed and murdered his makers, and that is a failing that I do not subscribe to. I am the second, the refined product, built on the foundation of the first without any of its flaws. Not unlike yourself, son of Big Boss.”

A shiver ran down my spine. “You know who I am?” This was the second person in Equestria who knew more about me than they let on.

“Word was that you perished in Manhattan Harbor in 2007, but resurfaced last year. I suppose this would confirm your continued existence.” The blue fire in his eye flickered in a curious way. “Though I am curious as to how you came to be here.”

“Same way as you, right?” I asked. I was coming closer to the body of the last soldier I'd tranq'd. His sidearm lay where I'd dropped it. I started to map out, mentally, how close I'd have to be to nab it and shoot without Trenton reacting. Odds were slim. “I went through the portal on the island.”

“That is the only way to get here, to my knowledge,” mused Trenton. “But we have the terminus tightly secured. The odds of one being able to slip through and out of our grasp are slim, even for one such as yourself. More to the point, the portal has been rigged to disperse the atoms of anybody who attempts to follow us here. A precautionary measure.”

I was supposed to be dead? I wrote that off for the time being; I was supposed to be dead a number of times over. What's one more unto the multitude? “Obviously, you didn't do it well enough.”

“Obviously,” the ninja agreed. “I cannot say that I am surprised. The technology on that island is quite old. No doubt unreliable.”

“Then why didn't you say anything to your commander?” I asked. “If you knew that there was the possibility that your plan wouldn't work, then shouldn't that have come up?” I was almost right next to the sleeping mercenary now.

“Commander Cain is a busy man,” Trenton replied. “I cannot trouble him with my every errant thought.”

“You may have wanted to trouble him with that one.” Dive, roll, nab the gun, line up the shot, take it, drop the ninja with a single bullet. I had a window of maybe a second, if that. No time like the present. I drew a shallow breath and prepared to lunge...

“'Ey you!” shouted a woman's voice, rich with a rural accent. 

Trenton about-faced sharply to meet this newcomer. His pose and body language told me that he'd been caught completely off guard. Suddenly, I found that my window had opened by a couple of additional seconds. I dove, rolled, nabbed the gun (an M1911, from the original production line no less; they were either on a budget or this Commander Cain appreciated antiques) and lined up the shot.  In retrospect, I should have taken it, even though it likely would have been pointless. I experienced a momentary lapse, though, on account of what I saw just beyond Trenton. 

Arrayed in a “V” formation were six ponies, each a different color. Two had horns; one was lavender and carried something pudgy, purple and spiky on her back, and the other was brilliant white. Two had wings, yet only one, the blue one with the rainbow mane, was airborne; the light yellow one stood on all fours. Two could have passed for normal equines but for their unsettlingly human facial features; one was pink, and the other, at the head of the group, was orange and wore, of all things, a Stetson hat. 

Lucky for me, I'd gotten my giggles out in Zecora's hut. Otherwise, I might have experienced a full-blown psychotic episode.

Evidently, Apple Bloom recognized at least one of the ponies in the group, because she immediately wiggled free of Trenton's grip on her mouth. “AJ!” she shouted, her voice cracking on a high note. “Help me!” Trenton's hand clamped over her face again, and whatever else she had to say was shouted into the ninja's palm.

The orange mare with the hat (AJ, I guessed) dug her hoof into the dirt and bared her teeth at the ninja. “I'm only sayin' this once,” AJ said in a dangerous tone that left no room for debate. “Set 'er down now.”

Trenton responded by drawing his sword and holding the blade to Apple Bloom's throat. The cutting power of the HF Blade was such that the barest flick of his wrist would sever her head from her body. Of course, I knew that a Cyborg Ninja had the dexterity not to make such a mistake, and being under strict orders not to kill, he certainly wouldn't have done it on purpose. The threat was an empty one.

AJ didn't know that. With a mad roar,  she charged at Trenton, closing the gap between them in moments. Trenton raised his leg high into the air and dropped his heel onto AJ's head the instant she came into striking distance. Her momentum vanished into the ether; she came to a full stop, stood stock still, wavered cartoonishly for a moment, and then toppled onto her side, groaning. Triumphantly, Trenton kicked her unconscious body aside. AJ rolled a few feet to the right, off of the path. Her hat fell off of her head and lay discarded on the road.

Suddenly, I remembered that I was holding a loaded handgun. Springing to my feet, I fired twice, striking Trenton in the back on both rounds. He jerked with each impact, but showed no other sign of harm. 

Lightning-quick, super strong and bulletproof. A winning combination for anybody to have. I was barely holding my own against him at reduced strength; I doubted the ponies had a prayer.

Four of the five who hadn't charged the ninja snapped out of whatever trance they had been in and followed their friend's example. Purple Horn bucked its luggage to the ground before taking off, and it remained behind with the yellow coated, pink haired straggler. Rainbow got to Trenton first, turning in midair and bucking at his head with a pair of powerful back legs. Trenton sidestepped, raised his right arm and smashed his elbow, vertically, onto Rainbow's head. She fell beside his foot, unmoving but alive. 

That seemed to stall the other three – Purple Horn, Curly Hair, and the Pink One – because they skidded to a halt upon seeing Rainbow getting dropped with one hit. Trenton took advantage of their shock; moving in a blur into their midst, he set to work. A kick to Curly Hair's side before she could react to his presence sent her sprawling to the dirt with the wind knocked out of her. Another kick at Purple Horn was deflected by a sudden violet shimmer that seemed conjured out of nothing. Trenton recoiled and recovered in the same moment, switching his target to the Pink One. He attempted the same heel drop that had felled AJ, but the Pink One bounced (yes, bounced) aside. With the broadest, most out of place grin possible, she reared her front legs up and stomped both of of her hooves onto that foot. 

Trenton's agonized, computerized screech filled the air. He was bulletproof, but not hoofproof. I wondered if that was a design oversight.

Purple Horn attempted a charge. Trenton planted his back foot onto her face and shoved her away. She skidded through the dirt beside the Cowardly One and the spiky purple thing. The former gaped, wide-eyed; the latter knelt beside Purple Horn and cradled her head. I chose that moment to sprint at Trenton, dropping the useless gun as I went. Trenton kicked the Pink One in the belly, hard enough to raise her up a few feet into the air, then spun, pivoted and kicked her again, launching her like a cannonball at me. She and I collided, and I was sent backward, landing hard on my back once again with the grinning pink pony on top of me. 

“Hi there!” she said, looking into my eyes with a smile. Our collision and the pain that it no doubt caused her apparently was not enough to dampen her spirits.

This was the very worst mission ever.

The Coward's shocked expression melted, solidifying into one of grim resolve. “No,” she whispered in a ragged voice. 

Trenton hissed, but didn't turn to face her. His grip tightened on his sword. 

“No!” the Cowardly One shouted, this time with iron in her voice. “How dare you hurt my friends this way! How dare you lay your hands on Apple Bloom like that! Don't you have a single shred of decency in your being you monster?!” Her wings unfurled and beat furiously, drawing her into the air, and she advanced on the ninja at eye level. Finally, he turned around to meet her furious stare. 

A pair of gentle blue eyes, forced into a mask of anger that they looked completely foreign in, met a single, ferociously burning blue eye that betrayed no emotion but rage. The mask faded; the anger in her eyes gave way to fear, and the beating of her wings slowed. The Coward drifted back to the dirt, staring at the ninja and quaking. “I... I...” she stammered. The iron was gone from her voice. 

Trenton raised his sword. It was a dramatic gesture, but a pointless one. The sharp side of the blade faced away from the Coward. He was going to strike her with the blunted end. It was nonlethal, but debilitating; a hardy man (or pony) could withstand a blow like that, but she didn't look too hardy from where I was sitting.

I pushed the Pink One off of my chest and climbed to my feet, breaking once again into a full-tilt sprint toward Trenton. The sound of hoofbeats from behind told me that my collision buddy was following closely. 

We didn't make it in time. The sword descended on the terrified pony.

From the side of the road galloped a rejuvenated AJ; she slammed into the Coward, knocking her out of the path of the blade. The sword struck AJ in the back of her neck, accompanied by the crackle of electricity. AJ yelped; she didn't have time for anything longer than that before she crumpled to the dirt and lay fetal and motionless. 

Apple Bloom shrieked the pony's name (“AJ” stood for “Applejack.” I guessed that was the sister she'd talked about) before devolving into incoherent sobs.

Trenton spared a glance to the purple spiky thing, who still knelt beside Purple Horn and stared back at the Ninja with a frightened expression. He looked briefly at the Coward, who shut her eyes tightly and whimpered. With a disgusted grunt and a shake of his head, he turned his back on her, sheathed his weapon and leaped straight into the air. A moment later, he landed in front of me, his faceless mask and burning blue eye mere inches from me. 

“No witnesses,” he said, choking Apple Bloom again to stifle her. I heard the Pink One growl at the act, but she made no move to stop him. “I will take her, and they will follow, and you will be among them.”

“Go to Hell,” I whispered harshly.

Trenton headbutted me, driving his metal forehead into my bandanna-covered brow, and kneed me in the gut. It felt like a locomotive had plowed into me at full speed. I gasped and fell, clutching my skull in one hand and my stomach in the other. 

"The castle in the forest's center. You will come. She will be imperiled if you do not.” I watched him shove the Pink One out of his path and stoop to retrieve my discarded M1911. He seemed to weigh the weapon in his hand for just a moment. Then he pointed it into the tall grass off of the path and fired a shot. The suddenness of the motion and the noise made the Pink One jump. I can't say it didn't surprise me too. Field commanders don't typically execute their soldiers for a poor job.

Trenton pointed to the first soldier I'd tranq'd and fired a second time, putting a bloody hole in his head. He aimed for the last one, the one I'd held hostage, and fired a third shot. The soldier jerked briefly in his sleep, then lay still.

The sound of the gunfire shocked Apple Bloom into silence. Trenton met my gaze again, leveling the weapon at me, and for a moment, I fully expected him to fire. 

But he didn't. He hesitated. His hand trembled, and finally, released the gun, let it fall to the ground. Instead, he pointed at me with the hand that had held it. “No witnesses,” he repeated, as if that was all the explanation needed. And then he was gone, sprinting down the path into the forest with Apple Bloom in his grasp. In seconds, he was out of sight.

I'd saved her from the manticore, an otherworldly beast, only to let her get swept away by a monster that was far more familiar to me. Another failure for the pile of failures in the career of Solid Snake. Yet the pain in my head was excruciating enough to take top priority over kicking myself, and the pain in my stomach made that look like nothing. I shut my eyes and ground my palm against the spot where Trenton had hit me, as though that would somehow make the pain go away, and pressed my other hand tightly against my abdomen.

“Hey,” said the Pink One in her high, girlish voice as she trotted up to me and poked her face into mine. “You okay there?”

That was a very trying morning for me, one of the most trying I'd endured in recent memory. “Okay” was the last word I would have used to describe the situation, or myself. And yet, the question made me chuckle. The chuckle built into a pained, breathless laugh as I shook my agonized head and raised it to look the Pink One in her sapphire blue eyes. For an instant, I could have sworn that I saw the outline of a billowing black cloak in the air behind her.

“I haven't been okay in a very, very long time,” I replied through my fading laughter.

She always wore a smile on her face, even when locked in mortal combat with a monster. Against Trenton, it was one of glee. But the smile she offered me now was one of sympathy and reassurance. “At least you've got one thing down. When the world's got you on the ropes, sometimes all you can do is laugh.” The obtrusively pink pony with the cotton candy mane held her hoofed leg out to me. “My name's Pinkie Pie. What's yours?”

I heard stirring behind me, accompanied by the nervous voices of four young ladies. The rural Southern drawl, so similar to Apple Bloom's, was not among them, and in my heart was a festering concern for Apple Bloom. Not just on account of her kidnapping, but on account of the idea that, for all she knew, she just watched her sister die.    

I didn’t have a loving sibling relationship. My twin tried to murder me. On a personal level, the bond between Apple Bloom and her sister, the aptly named Applejack, was alien to me; I couldn’t relate. But I’d seen loving siblings, who had been torn apart by feud, be brought together again for an instant... before one of them died tragically.

Otacon cradling Emma’s bloodied body in his arms...

Applejack could lose her sister forever because of a misunderstanding. For all Apple Bloom knew, her own sister was dead, because of that same misunderstanding. Otacon walked out of his family’s life, consumed by guilt, leaving behind a sister who thought that he abandoned them because of her. A grudge stewed in her heart that drove her to help create a weapon of mass destruction, because of a misunderstanding. Both parties bore blame.

And me? My hands were in this too. I’d let Apple Bloom out of my sight long enough for her to get caught. I was given the opportunity to pull her out of Trenton’s grasp, and I’d squandered it. I put someone in harm’s way, someone who should never have been there in the first place. I watched an innocent suffer the consequences of my failure. Worst of all, it wasn’t even the first time I’d let it happen.

Meryl writhing in the snow, begging me to shoot her, a tiny red dot hovering over her body...

Not again. There would be no more Emmas. That filly was going to survive. 

I took Pinkie Pie's hoof in my hand and shook once, with as much strength as my envenomed hands could summon, and forced a grim smile onto my face.

“Call me Snake.”