CRISIS: Equestria - Divergence, Book 2

by GanonFLCL

Chapter Fifteen: Throttle

Today was the big day, and Lockwood couldn't be more excited. It had taken years of effort to reach this point, but thanks to some very carefully-handled meetings, well-worded negotiations, and delicate arrangements, days like today could finally happen. Peace was going to be more than just a pipe dream, more than just wishful thinking, more than just a faraway fantasy meant for little idealistic foals with no notion for how the real world worked.

No, today was real. Peace was a reality. And he took no small amount of pride in the fact that he'd played a role in making it happen.

It was late morning, and while his darling wife was making all of the preparations with the airship that would take them north, he'd taken it upon himself to prepare other, less strenuous—but still important—tasks before they left. This first meant making sure that their luggage was packed, as they were not only staying in New Pandemonium City for a few days to go through with the treaty signing and for public, political appearances, but they would be taking a family vacation down south immediately afterwards.

So, Lockwood made sure that everything was tucked away and ready to go: toothbrushes and mane brushes; a variety of outfits that made "statements", as Ivory Charm put it; accessories such as hats and sunglasses; beachwear—including a "special" swimsuit for his wife that she hadn't had a chance to wear yet and had been teasing him about all month; and basically everything he could think of that they would need for a week-long getaway from the city.

He had to make sure everything was put together for the kids, too, which of course included making sure the kids were put together. This was sometimes harder than herding cats—a southern expression, and one that amused him greatly—though Lockwood often found that he was better at it than Blackburn was despite her usual authoritativeness. For now, that meant rounding the two up and keeping them occupied in the royal bedchambers while they waited for Blackburn and Gadget to give them all the go-ahead.

"Bluebolt, come down from there right now," Lockwood said, watching his daughter swoop about near the ceiling. "You're messing up your clothes and mane, and you know you have to be presentable when we get up north."

"But Daddy, I don't wanna be presentable," Bluebolt huffed, remaining up near the ceiling and making tight circles to and fro. "And Momma wants me to practice flying as often as I can so that I can be as good as her one day! So, I'm practicing! Watch me do a barrel roll!"

Lockwood ran a hoof over his face as she barrel rolled and almost flew into the wall. "You can practice flying later, after we make our first public appearance up north, alright? There are going to be a lot of ponies there who are meeting our family for the first time and we want to make a good first impression, don't we?"

"Meh!"

Lockwood grumbled to himself, then looked to Crossfire, who was busy chuckling at the display and shaking his head, causing the little gold earring in his ear to shake. "Crossfire, maybe you could convince her to behave for just five minutes?"

"No can do, Your Highness," the large stallion said with a cheeky smile. "As y'all can plainly see, I've got my own hooves full as-is."

That was true enough, since Crossfire was busy keeping young Fireglow—Lockwood and Blackburn's son—occupied at the corner table. Fireglow lacked the rambunctious energy his sister had, for which Lockwood was thankful. At the moment he was quiet, busy piecing together a simple puzzle more appropriate for a pony a year older; he needed little help with it since he was such a fast learner.

The little pegasus colt had a dark red coat and a golden blond mane, and yes, Lockwood was keenly aware of how similar in coloration he was to Flathoof—a great many jokes had come of it—but nopony was ever serious in suggesting that anything was going on there.

After all, Fireglow had Lockwood's eyes, just like Bluebolt did; it was an extremely dominant trait, apparently, the only thing Lockwood's mother had ever given him that lasted. Instead, the coat and mane coloring apparently made Fireglow resemble his grandfather on his mother's side, so that was also an easy enough excuse for it all.

Lockwood wanted to argue that Crossfire didn't need to supervise the puzzle and could help reign in the always-energetic Bluebolt, but he didn't have the heart to do it. So with a heavy sigh, he did the only thing he could think of to convince his daughter to come down: "Bluebolt, will you come here and sit still so that I can fix you back up if I give you a cookie?"

Bluebolt gasped and swept down to the floor faster than a filly her size had any right to move. "Cookie! Cookie!" She started bouncing in place excitedly. "Gimme gimme gimme!"

Lockwood rolled his eyes and took a packet of large chocolate chip cookies out of the luggage compartment meant for snacks and treats, then passed one of them over to Bluebolt. She grabbed it instantly, then hopped up onto the bed and, for a brief moment, pretended it was an airship coming in for a landing; yes, she made the engine noises and everything. Always did. The cookie "ship" came in for a "landing" right in her mouth, and she started eating it one bite at a time.

Lockwood let out a sigh of relief and sat beside her, taking a spare brush to straighten her mane. "I really need to stop spoiling you so much, my little cookie pilot. Your mother's not going to like it if the only way she can get you to listen to her is if she bribes you with sweets."

"Momma won't have to bribe me," Bluebolt said matter-of-factly between bites.

"Oh? So only I have to bribe you to listen to me?"

She smiled and nodded. "Uh-huh!" She said it like it was obvious, like stating that water was wet.

"Well, I don't exactly see how that's fair. Are you telling me you like Momma more than Daddy?"

She shook her head. "Nuh-uh! Daddy always gives me cookies when he wants me to do something. Momma doesn't give me cookies at all, so I just make sure it's Daddy that asks me things the most so that I can get more cookies."

"You're a devious little schemer, aren't you?" Lockwood tousled her mane, then hissed at himself for messing it up before brushing it again. "Just like your mother."

"Her Majesty might be a schemer, but I'd say it's more that the Princess has got y'all wrapped 'round her hoof good 'n' tight, ol' buddy," Crossfire chortled.

"Oh yeah? Well you try resisting this cute little face!" Lockwood said, grinning and putting his hooves on Bluebolt's cheeks.

"Daaddyy!" Bluebolt grunted, pulling away and pouting.

"I can resist just fine," Crossfire said, giving the little filly a grin. "She may be cute as a button, but that ain't nothin' I can't handle. I've got nerves o' steel, I tell ya what."

"Feh, you say that now, but just wait until you've got kids of your own. I'm sure Pattycake's already been dropping hints here and there."

Crossfire's face reddened and he looked away immediately. "I don't know what you're talkin' 'bout."

Lockwood smirked, but dropped the issue; Pattycake had been rather open with him about saying she wanted foals with her new husband, mostly because she felt it would be difficult to be as open with Crossfire about it. The big lug was oblivious to hints but also scandalized by open discussions on the subject of sex, specifically pertaining to his own sex life. Pattycake was… not so closed-off about it.

At any rate, after ensuring that Bluebolt's appearance was back to the picture of perfection it had been before she started getting impatient, Lockwood took a moment to ensure that everything was together one last time.

With the expectedly-perfect timing Lockwood had come to expect over the years, Gadget called in on Crossfire's communicator. "Okay fillies and gentlecolts, we're all situated down here. Head on down and let's get the luggage all loaded up; we'll make it up north before lunchtime! I don't know about you guys, but I'm eager to see if Pandora Tower's chef is as good as Havoc says he is."

"Roger that, Gadget," Crossfire said, leaning into his communicator. He rose up from his seat and tapped the table. "Okay, Your Highness, it's time to get goin'. Y'all can leave the puzzle there for now, we'll worry 'bout it when we get home."

Fireglow looked up at Crossfire, then nodded and slid the pieces he was working with into the pile and hopped out of his chair. Crossfire helped him walk over to Lockwood and then hoisted him up onto his father's back to ride down to the hangars.

Fireglow was all smiles when he did, and patted Lockwood's neck before pointing at his sister. "Da da! Cookie?"

Lockwood chuckled. "You know you're not supposed to be having cookies so early in the day, buddy. What would Mommy say?"

Fireglow stared at Bluebolt, who was still busy chomping on her cookie and—Lockwood was certain of this—deliberately doing so such that Fireglow could clearly see her doing it. "But Buebow got cookie."

He was still getting pronunciations and grammar right; he was quick-witted and smart for his age but he was still young. Lockwood wouldn't expect a three-year-old colt to be reciting poetry, but Fireglow at least understood a lot of words and vocabulary. It was just that his sister's name always seemed to be a sticking point.

Lockwood glanced at his daughter, then rolled his eyes back to his son before hoisting a cookie out of the bag, taking half of it to give to the young colt. "Okay, you can have a cookie, but don't tell Mommy. Okay?"

Fireglow snatched the cookie and shoved the entire half into his mouth, devouring it just as quickly. He then shook his head. "Won't tell Mommy," he said, not a single bit of cookie left in his mouth.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Crossfire grunted as he hoisted all of the luggage onto the cart he'd be using to lug it all down to the hangar, and then they all set off on their way.

The trip down to the docking hangars was simple and quiet; Blackburn had requested their departure be given as little pomp and circumstance as possible, knowing full well their arrival up north would be quite the opposite. They'd already dealt with the celebratory hullabaloo over the past couple of days from the Queen's Council and from their family and friends, so Lockwood didn't make a fuss.

The hangar belonging to the Wyvern was the most well-maintained in the entire docking bay, if only because the Wyvern saw such infrequent use that it needed to be attended to constantly so that it was always in tip-top shape; other ships were tuned-up and maintained in between flights, after all, so things worked a little different. That just seemed par for the course when comparing the rest of the fleet to Her Majesty's personal airship, which she only ever flew herself.

The Wyvern was a large, boomerang-shaped ship with an elongated forward section that resembled an ancient dragon's head, and its wings, when deployed fully, would even evoke draconic wings. It was easily capable of carrying the entire royal family and then some in complete comfort, yet was also one of the best-equipped ships in the fleet.

Lockwood didn't consider himself a connoisseur on the subject of airships, but Blackburn talked his ear off every chance she got whenever she made adjustments to it, and she was always making adjustments. The ship was her pride and joy, the closest thing she said she'd had to a foal of her own before Bluebolt was born, and having the chance to show it off to her family was something she enjoyed very much.

The ship was fully modular, meaning that it could have parts and systems swapped out with the quickness and ease that Blackburn preferred everything to operate with. Lockwood could see what adjustments had already been made, having a rudimentary understanding of the ship's layout. Most of the modifications weren't worth mentioning apart from the fact that all of the weapons systems were missing, part of showing good faith to their northern hosts.

"Right on time, everypony!" Gadget declared as she waved the quartet over to the boarding ramp. "C'mon, let's get you all loaded up and ready so we can get moving. Her Majesty's ready to go, and you know much she hates waiting around."

"Don't I ever," Lockwood said with a smirk.

He and the others boarded the ship without much ado. Once on board, Gadget and Blackburn greeted everypony with waves and smiles. And, to Lockwood's surprise, so did Gray, who was dressed in the fancy "uniform" of her ambassador position: a crisp gray coat with a high collar and the customary black and red livery of New Pandemonium City. Gray was always an imposing mare, but the outfit made her look extra imposing, like she was ready to start barking commands and ordering executions.

"Oh! Hello, Gray. What are you doing here?" Lockwood asked. "I thought we already said our little goodbyes at breakfast?"

"As family, sure," Gray said with a smirk. "This is a professional farewell from me as New Pandemonium Ambassador, though. Curaçao would want me to make one last little bit of effort so that everything feels as official as possible, y'know? Not to mention I'm supposed to check in with Dawn to let her know you're leaving."

"As always, appreciate your presence Ambassador Gray Skies," Blackburn said with a polite nod and a coy grin. "This is a momentous occasion between our two cities."

"And we couldn't have done it as effectively without you," Lockwood added with a grin. "To think that when I first met you, you were just an 'unemployed schlub', as you put it, living in my apartment complex. Seven years later and you helped us negotiate peace in the north. Funny how things work out."

"It's been a long journey, hasn't it?" Gray offered her hoof to him to shake, which he did. "Safe travels, Your Majesty."

"Thanks, Ambassador. We'll see you in a few days when we get back."

She then gave a firm nod to Blackburn, waved and smiled at Bluebolt and Fireglow—who each returned the wave and smiled back—then strode off the ship.

While Gadget and Crossfire helped load the kids into their seats and the luggage into their storage compartments, Blackburn pulled Lockwood aside, and did so quite forcefully at that, which Lockwood knew meant she was concerned about something. She was always concerned about something, of course, so this wasn't surprising.

"Still not so certain about aspects of this trip," Blackburn said quietly. Her eyes drifted briefly towards their daughter and son, then back to Lockwood. "Not sure if taking Bluebolt and Fireglow best decision."

Lockwood nodded; they'd had this conversation several times over the past two weeks, and they always went the same way. "I understand your concern, BB, I do. Bringing the two of them to the big city seems like a big deal, but you're making it out to be a bigger deal than it really is. We've taken them on vacation to the southern continent before, haven't we?"

"Still would rather leave them here, pick them up after the treaty is signed, then head south for vacation," Blackburn huffed. She shook her head. "Mind racing constantly; not sure what to make of situation. Pandora Tower, unknown location; unaware of layout, of potential areas for them to get lost—"

"Honey, please, there's nothing like that you need to worry about. I'll assure you again, we have the best guardians possible in Gadget and Crossfire, and I'm willing to bet we can count on a few others to keep a watchful eye on them too."

"But—"

"Look, if you really want to leave them here with Gray and Flathoof for a few days until we get back, I won't argue with you about it," he said, taking her hoof in his. "But I'll at least make the case for bringing them along, like I've been doing. When Gray and Flathoof got married, that made Gray my sister-in-law. That makes Curaçao—a close friend—my sister-in-law too… twice-removed, or something like that.

"So, their whole family is my extended family, and yours as well, My Queen." With a smile, he added, "That makes Bluebolt and Fireglow their family too, and apart from Havoc and Velvet—and Gray, obviously—none of them have met them yet.

"What's more, Curaçao has a daughter of her own now, too, and that makes little Jellybean a cousin to our kids; she's our niece. Not to mention Velvet and her adopted son, who would therefore be our nephew. This'll be the first and best opportunity for the kids to meet their cousins."

Blackburn sighed, looking up at the ceiling. "Am aware of the familial connection. There will be later opportunities—"

"But this will be the best one," Lockwood interjected. "What better way to introduce our kids to their extended family than by showing how we've all worked together to finally bring an end to the conflict between our two cities that's been going on since before even you were born?"

"Just can't shake feeling that something is off about situation." Blackburn shook her head again. "Paranoid. Always paranoid. Situation has been working well, cannot help self from thinking the worst. Has been… difficult, to open up to others."

Lockwood smiled and set his hoof on her heart. "If it makes you feel any better, remember that Gray said Havoc is gonna meet us out in the field when we're making the final approach into the city. There aren't many ponies out there that would keep a better eye on the kids and keep them out of danger. She loves our kids."

"Hmph. True enough. Treated them like she was their aunt before she was their aunt." Blackburn pulled Lockwood closer and set her forehead against his. "Trying to get better at trusting. Still difficult. Trust Havoc and Gray implicitly; they feel like family, act like family, are family. Insipid, no need to trust, not part of equation. Same with Velvet, but… trust enough. Briarthorn vouches for her."

"In more ways than one," Lockwood added with a raised eyebrow. "I don't think either of us were particularly curious about Velvet's… uh… talented tongue, but—"

Blackburn cleared her throat, thankfully putting a stop to that train of thought immediately.

"Don't know the other two sisters as well," she continued. "Rarely interact with them. Only interaction with Dawn before was negotiations; still don't trust, professionalism suspicious. Interact with Curaçao only via Gray's 'telepathy'; cannot trust yet, never seen face outside of wedding."

Lockwood nodded. "I understand. I don't think you'd trust me, either, if your only interactions with me were over the phone or something equivalent. If it matters any, though… I trust them. They won't let anything happen. Have a little faith in them."

Blackburn paused, then sighed and nodded. "Again, will concede to your judgment of their character. You knew them before I did, better than I do. Have always been good judge of character before." She then turned and made her way towards the cockpit. "I should just have faith…"

With their conversation finished, Blackburn headed off, Gadget following just behind her without even needing to be signalled for it. Lockwood made his way over to the kids to make sure everypony was secure and calm, not because he didn't think Gadget and Crossfire hadn't done a good job, but because Blackburn's words made him feel the need to double-check everything again; he disliked it when she was nervous, because then he got nervous.

Bluebolt was as energetic as ever, more so now than she had been before boarding. "Yay! Momma's gonna fly!" the filly cheered as she squirmed in her seat. "This is gonna be fun! Hey Daddy, tell Momma to do some loops! I wanna do some loops!"

Lockwood chuckled. "Sweetheart, you know you won't be able to feel the loops while you're seated. Your seats are gyroscopically-balanced, meaning they rotate to match the ship's movements, and you know your mother won't let you two out of your seats at your age. You haven't mastered your balance yet, especially your brother."

Bluebolt scrunched up her nose. "I know what gyroscoptercal means, Daddy. But I still want Momma to do a loop!"

"Heh. Okay, I'll tell her. You'll have to keep watch out the window, though," he said, gesturing to the large viewing window near the boarding ramp, so that passengers could see outside the ship. "It's not quite the same, I know, but it'll have to do for now, my little cookie pilot."

That seemed to satisfy her, so she gave him a big nod. "Okay, Daddy." She then very suddenly pouted. "I just wish that Symphony could come too. It's not fair…"

"Aww, sweetheart, I understand. I wish your friend could come too, and her parents and sister and everything, but you know they can't," he said, setting a hoof on her shoulder. "I know it's complicated and it might be hard to understand why, but Secretary Virtuoso told you that he and his family don't want to go back north."

She grunted and looked away. "Momma should make them, then, so that I can play with Symphony when we go meet the rest of my bigger family. I wanted to introduce her to my cousins."

"I'm sure you did, honey. I wish there was something we could do, but you know your mother doesn't like to make anypony do anything they don't agree with. That's why her friends and advisors all trust her and follow her loyally." He smiled and gently rubbed her shoulder. "When you're the queen someday, sweetie, they'll do the same for you if you treat them right."

"I guess… I'm just gonna miss my friend." She then tilted her head to the side, smiled, and waved, all of the negative thoughts gone in an instant. "Hi Captain Briarthorn!"

Lockwood turned and saw the aforementioned pegasus stallion boarding the ship, carrying his own bag of luggage, albeit a smaller one. He was all smiles and waved at the princess with a foal-like glee.

"Hey, squirt!" he greeted, setting his luggage into an empty compartment with ease. "Excited for the big trip?"

"Yeah!" Bluebolt exclaimed. "I've never been up north before. You've been there though, right?"

"Many times, yeah. Never really explored the city much, mind, but I've paid a few visits back in the day," Briarthorn said in a recitative tone, as though he were in a school play.

He stepped forward like a robot and theatrically clapped Lockwood on the shoulder, his grin that particular mania just a few hairs shy from where Lockwood could tell at which point Briar both started and stopped being serious. Lockwood suspected he was one of the few who would acknowledge just how clever the lust-lived smuggler could be, so how ironic was he trying to be here?

Briarthorn went on: "If anypony knows more about the city, though, it's your pop. He lived there all his life until he and your mom got married, y'know?"

Then Briar winked at Lockwood, and Lockwood sighed theatrically and arched his eyebrows back at Briarthorn, communicating and conceding without words, "Yes, I get what you're doing" and went on into "Fine, it was a neat trick" and finished with a mostly-serious, "Now, could we please move it along?"

Briarthorn bowed graciously; both he and Lockwood began to chuckle, but quickly stopped when Bluebolt, in a quiet and fidgety voice, said, "Daddy says the city's a lot like ours, just dirtier in some places but nicer in others. We're only gonna see the nicer ones, right Daddy?"

Lockwood smiled. "That's right, sweetheart. Our hosts live in one of the nicest parts of the city you could imagine. But remember, just because the other parts don't look as nice doesn't mean the ponies aren't just as nice. You know Daddy's friend, Keeneye?"

Bluebolt nodded rapidly. "Yeah, she's the one with those weird glasses that helps Chief Storm with spotting fake ID cards."

"That's right, and she used to live in one of the dirtiest parts of the city. So did I, when I was very young." He set his hoof on his daughter's shoulder. "Remember, never judge a pony based on the circumstances of their birth, their living conditions, or their careers. Judge them by their character and the way they treat others around them, especially the way they treat strangers."

"Okay, Daddy."

Lockwood then turned to Briarthorn and grasped his hoof to shake. "Well, Briarthorn, you old pirate, are you ready to finally be able to say you've officially gone legit? I know it's been years since anypony's been doing anything pirate-y, but after tonight, everypony in Hope's Point will officially be 'just' a citizen of the north."

"Hmm…" Briarthorn tilted his head side to side, making a show of biting his tongue in thought. "I dunno, just being a pilot by itself seems pretty boring if you ask me. I kind of liked being a pirate pilot. Pirate Captain Briarthorn just has a nice ring to it, y'know? Yarr. Avast."

He paused, really making a show of biting his tongue now. "Same with Scandalous Scoundrel; Smoldering Love Smuggler; Top-Class Rapscallion; Roguish, Rakish, Raucous, and Thrilling Ne'er-Do-Well; and especially The Loudest Prick In the Open Skies."

"Are… are those actual names ponies call you, or did you make those up?" Lockwood asked, genuinely unsure.

"It just won't feel the same being… legit. I mean, it's gonna be pretty much the same work, sure, but there's a special je ne sais quoi, that somma-somma magical mystery missing that you just can't replace."

"Hmm…"

Briarthorn shrugged. "Oh, I'm sure I'll enjoy parts of it—the flying, for example—but there's just a piece of me deep down in the deepest part of my deep, deep gut that's gonna miss the thrill of it all. I'm bracing myself for the grief-pangs."

"I'm sure that bein' able to fly safely back 'n' forth between our two cities wit'out crossin' pass the Belt o' Tranquility's gotta be a pretty good motivator though, ain't it?" asked Crossfire, who was adjusting the harness keeping Fireglow in his seat; the tyke was playing with the buckle and had loosened it. "Think about it: y'all ain't gonna have to ever operate the Diffusion system ever again."

"After this trip, that is," Briarthorn grunted. "I mean, yeah, that'll be nice, I guess."

Lockwood could hear a very soft bitterness in his friend's voice; he quietly thanked the stars that with the new peace treaty in place, pegasi like Briarthorn would never have to fly and operate their airships' Diffusion shielding systems ever again.

It was a desperately-kept secret among only the highest-level members of Hope's Point's fleet and medical hierarchy that the Diffusion system took a bodily toll on its flyers; most flyers didn't last more than ten years operating it before their organs just stopped working properly.

Briarthorn continued with an uncharacteristic quietness. "Family legacy, remember? Going out and flying Diffusion's been my life for like a decade now."

"I'm not sure what you want from me here, Briar," Lockwood said, projecting confusion while he considered the fortunate, if unspoken truth.

The situation had changed for the better lately, sure. Gadget had managed to work out a flaw in the system after some time—the solution came about roughly three years ago—that significantly lessened the damage done to the bodies of the flyers. A flyer that normally would last about ten years could now reasonably fly for twenty under the same conditions.

Gadget identifying the harmful magical signature made it possible to develop a new system of treatment; it wasn't a cure by any means, but pegasi like Briarthorn had made huge strides in recovering from the sickness that they didn't know they had. Combined with the lowered flight volume thanks to the upcoming peace, things were looking up for the city's fleet personnel.

Briarthorn sighed. "It's not gone altogether, but… the way my dad, my grandma, my great-grandfather? The way they went out?"

Lockwood didn't have anything he could say at the moment. Not safely at least. So he gave Briarthorn a genuine look of deep sympathy

Briarthorn shook his head. "It just feels like giving up a part of who I am if I give up on the pain they suffered to get us this far."

Despite his concern, Lockwood couldn't exactly talk to Briarthorn about it. Briarthorn didn't know that he should have died because of Diffusion sickness by now. At the old rate of flights, he'd have likely been dead about two years ago; with the lesser volume, he'd have lasted another year, maybe a year and six months. But combined with Gadget's new treatment system, he was likely to live another ten years in relatively good health, maybe more.

"Even with the city shields," Briar continued. "Even with the bigger accomplishments."

He was already showing the signs, even, such as no longer slurring his speech—when sober, of course—and being able to focus himself consistently. He'd even cut back on his drinking, if you could believe that.

"Diffusion was me."

Lockwood firmly set a hoof on Briarthorn's shoulder, though; the less talked about with the Diffusion system, the better. Blackburn wanted to put the whole thing behind them; they were developing a replacement system based on New Pandemonium's fully-electronic mechanics, so there would never be a need for the system's use ever again.

Briarthorn's final Diffusion flight when they headed south was intended to be the last hurrah before the system was retired for good, and the flight crew position with it.

"Being a Diffusion flyer doesn't define who you are, Briar," he said. "You're a pilot, first and foremost. And one of the best at that!"

"I carved out a piece of myself, by myself, for myself, and I so honored my family. My city... My Queen. My King?" He blinked once, then twice, then wiggled his eyebrows at Lockwood.

Lockwood nudged Briar's chin. "Just think: you can fly freely up to New Pandemonium now. A city with millions of ponies. Think of how many beautiful new faces you can meet up there."

Briarthorn tapped Lockwood's hoof over his own chin. "That, my friend, that… is a good point. A great point, the best point, dare I say it, the pointiest of points there is. I have it under good authority that there's quite an active scene up there if I know where to look."

"Yeah, that's right. I'm absolutely certain that Velvet would be happy to show you around town," Lockwood chuckled.

"Hmm, yes." Briarthorn nodded sagely. "I can work with that. My sweet velveteen rabbit says she's got a little black book of gifted stallions we could share, and to be honest I'm sort of curious how they measure up. Eh? Eh?"

He then clapped his hooves together in a prayer-like gesture. "And I promise not to embarrass ol' Queenie. Not any more than usual, anyway. I have to thank you guys again for inviting me along on this lil' holiday, even if I technically have to work once we head past the Belt after we finish with all the diplomatic malarky."

"Of course! Circumstances made it so that you were the first face from Hope's Point that the northerners' most esteemed leader got to meet, and apparently you made a good impression." Lockwood laughed and clapped Briarthorn on the back. "Consider this a reward for putting the right hoof forward. I knew I was right in calling you up that day."

Briarthorn saluted with his wing. "Always happy to serve! Now, since I don't think anypony needs me until we get to New Pandemonium, I'm gonna head into the engine room and take a nap." Wistfully, he added, "The Wyvern's engineering is just so oddly soothing, y'know? Purrs like a kitten."

"Off you go then, you old pirate," Lockwood said, shooing the flighty pegasus off.

"Attention, everypony, this is your co-pilot speaking," came Gadget's voice over the announcement system. "Flight preparations have all cleared, and we will be— yes, Blackburn, I have to do it this way! You know how often I get to play co-pilot? What? Don't get smart with me, I know you— just let me have this!"

Lockwood blinked, staring at the speakers with an amused smile.

Gadget cleared her throat. "Ahem. As I was saying. Passengers, please take your seats if you are unaccustomed to take-off and flight procedures, make sure your harnesses are properly fastened, and ensure that your luggage is secured. Thank you for flying with us today, and enjoy your flight."

Lockwood heard the hangar doors seal up tight, and watched through the port window as the bay filled with seawater so that the ship could begin its departure. While the ship was lifting off the hangar floor and making its way out through the undersea tunnel, he shook his head and turned to Crossfire, who stood dutifully at Fireglow's side to make sure the colt was kept occupied with a small toy—an action figure of a superhero pony—instead of fidgeting with his harness again.

He let out a sigh of relief and moved to the port window to watch as the ship moved out into the ocean, where they passed by several of the new structural adjustments the city was finishing up near the old hangars, which were technically little more than new hangars but were actually much more than that.

The new hangars were built underwater to accommodate the exploratory vessels Hope's Point would be sending out in the coming month. The first expedition was already scheduled for the day after the construction was complete; Captain Ember Heart and the crew of the Comet Chaser were reportedly "stoked" to have the opportunity.

It still amazed him that soon enough, Hope's Point would be scouting out the deepest reaches of the sea; what lost undersea marvels would they discover? For a city of self-proclaimed "pirates", he had to wonder if they were hoping to find sunken treasure. The thought amused him greatly.

Once the Wyvern surfaced, Lockwood knew it would only take two hours or so at most before they arrived at New Pandemonium City; the Wyvern was one of the fastest ships in the fleet, and Blackburn had made adjustments to increase its speed for this journey in particular, if for nothing else than to impress the northerners with her flight skills.

In the meantime, an in-flight movie was put on to entertain the kids and keep their attention for the trip. It was one of Fireglow's favorites—and Bluebolt's too—focused around sentient, cartoon airships that had formed some sort of racing league, starring a rookie racing ship that was trying to win the big championship. It was a blatantly merchandise-driven movie—Bluebolt and Fireglow had toys for all of the main characters—but the kids loved it and it had a good message about sportsmanship, so Lockwood didn't have a problem with it.

A little under two hours later, the movie was over, and Gadget's voice came over the announcement system again:

"Attention passengers! New Pandemonium City's airspace is approximately two hundred miles out; we should arrive within the next five minutes at our current airspeed. Please ensure that all passengers and belongings are secured, as Her Majesty has opted to put on a show for these northern yokels."

Bluebolt looked swiftly at Lockwood, eyes wide. "Go tell Momma about the loop, Daddy! Quick quick quick!"

Lockwood chuckled. "Okay, okay, I'll tell her. You just sit tight, okay?"

He made his way up from the passenger cabin into the cockpit, which was only separated from the passengers by a short, narrow hallway. Like all airships in the fleet, the cockpit had an easily-recognizable layout so that any pilot and co-pilot could adjust to the environment.

As such, Blackburn herself was locked away in a glass-like tube in the center of the arrangement, her wings coated in a black substance that mimicked her movements to control the Wyvern's flight mechanisms. She otherwise wore her customary flight suit—red and gold, the royal colors—and would be changing into something more presentable when they landed.

Gadget sat at the co-pilot station, monitoring the equipment and making minor adjustments as they went; the two were a practiced pair that operated almost automatically.

Blackburn's eyes drifted to him very briefly, then back forward. "Come to watch final approach from better angle?"

"Sort of. Mostly I'm here because our daughter wanted me to pass along a request," he said with a formal tone. "Her Royal Highness Princess Bluebolt has issued a royal decree that the Wyvern's pilot should perform a loopdeloop."

Blackburn's expression soured slightly.

Lockwood tilted his head. That was unexpected. "Something wrong?"

"No… nothing. Just a… bad memory," Blackburn muttered.

"A bad—" Lockwood's hoof instantly went to his mouth. "Oh. Oh. I'm so sorry, I didn't even realize—"

"It's alright," Blackburn said softly. "Never told her the story, couldn't have known. Such a specific detail, never made much of it, so couldn't have expected you to recall it."

"That's no excuse for me and you know it. I should've thought about what I was saying, especially given the circumstances, and I apologize." He wanted to hug his wife right now, chastising himself for even daring to bring the final memory of her mother up, but that damnable glass was in the way.

"It's alright," she repeated, nodding firmly. "If my daughter wants a loopdeloop, she'll get one. More than one. Big ones, too." She then glanced out the viewport towards the approaching city before turning her attention briefly to Gadget. "No contact yet from Commander Havoc yet?"

"Not yet," Gadget replied as she scanned through her monitors. "Should be getting something in the next minute or—" She suddenly paused; one of the monitors' readings had changed, even Lockwood could see that from here. "Huh… what the hell?"

Blackburn raised an eyebrow. "Gadget? Something wrong?"

"I dunno. I'm reading a huge energy spike off to the starboard—"

There was a blinding flash, and Lockwood utterly lost his balance as the entire ship rocked violently as though hit by something large. Even Gadget had been knocked out of her seat, though she quickly reasserted herself in her co-pilot's chair. Blackburn, meanwhile, was busy trying to keep the ship level; whatever had hit the Wyvern had knocked her off kilter, and the ship along with her.

"Report!" Blackburn snapped as she hastily lowered her goggles over her eyes and prepared to adjust her trajectory.

"Something just hit us!" Gadget blurted, rapidly sorting through her data monitors. "An energy blast, and a big one!"

"From where? There's nothing on the viewport," Blackburn said, moving her head so that she—and the ship's exterior cameras—could see with a full range of vision.

"I don't know, there's nothing on our scanners— wait, what's that?" Gadget asked, pointing ahead and off to the starboard side.

Lockwood, just getting back to his hooves, saw it too: a translucent glimmer in the distance, far, far larger than the Wyvern was by roughly fifty-to-one. The glimmering ceased after only a few seconds, and the trio's eyes widened in shock and, at least in Blackburn's case, anger: it was an NPAF airship, one that Lockwood certainly didn't recognize.

"Is that an NPAF cruiser?" Gadget muttered, glancing at Blackburn in between checking her readouts. "I don't recognize the design, do you?"

"No. New design, unknown to me." She gave Lockwood a hard glance. "Seems we were misinformed."

Lockwood fumbled his words. "There… there has to be some mistake here. Are we sure it's the NPAF?"

"Could be that rogue faction Havoc mentioned," Gadget pointed out; Lockwood was grateful for the vote of confidence.

"Havoc said they'd cleared them all out, though."

"Havoc lied or was likewise misinformed," Blackburn snorted. "Sincerely hope not the former."

"The hell's goin' on up there?" came Crossfire's voice over the ship's internal intercom.

"We were hit by an NPAF cruiser shot," Gadget answered. "We're trying to figure out just what's going on. The hostile ship's like nothing we've seen before, had some kind of cloaking technology."

"An NPAF cruiser? The hell? I thought we had a ceasefire?"

Gadget huffed indignantly. "Golly, Crossfire, ya think?"

"Open a channel," Blackburn commanded, not looking at Gadget as she did so.

Gadget did just that, placing a set of headphones over her ears. "Attention unidentified NPAF cruiser, this is the Wyvern of Hope's Point, personal craft of Her Majesty Queen Blackburn. You are in direct—" She then abruptly flung the headphones off, clutching her ears. "Motherf—"

"Gadget, report."

"That's a jamming frequency," Gadget said, twisting her hoof in her ear. "They cut off communications between us and them." With a brief flip of a switch, she grunted, "And our own personal transmitters, too, looks like. The Wyvern's internal speakers still work, but all our wireless systems are completely down."

"Likely with the city too, then. Can't call for help," Blackburn noted, narrowing her eyes and looking forward. "Are they preparing to fire again?"

"I'm not picking up any energy readings at the moment," Gadget noted, shaking her head. "That was a pretty decently-powered shot, though, so maybe it takes time to recharge. I can't get a read on their armaments from this distance."

"Damage report."

Gadget scanned through the data with all the speed of an expertly-practiced co-pilot. "That shot blasted our starboard bow, but no critical systems were damaged, just a structural breach—heavy, but inconsequential—to the boarding hatch."

"From that distance, shot should've hit something more important," Blackburn muttered. "We didn't even see it coming."

"Other than that, the shot did send an electrical surge through the ship's maneuvering controls. The engines are stuck at the minimal power needed to keep us aloft, and all other controls are registering as unresponsive. I'm sending a reset pulse through the system, but it'll take a minute or so to get everything resituated."

Blackburn paused. Lockwood couldn't see her eyes but knew that they were likely darting along the viewport screen for any sort of information she could find, but if she was seeing the same things Lockwood was, then there was nothing out there but open skies and the assailing cruiser.

"Something's off," she muttered. "Why waste sneak attack on inconsequential damage but not prepare follow-up?"

A clunk on the top of the ship drew her attention, and Gadget's and Lockwood's too. It was followed by another, and another, and another.

"What was that?" Lockwood asked.

"Distinct sound of AMP Trooper magnetic hooves making contact. Boarding hatch critically damaged; ship locked down, immobile. Only possibility: we're being boarded," Blackburn said matter-of-factly.

"We didn't pick up any AMPs on the scanners, visual or otherwise," Gadget said, though she was still drawing her sidearm as a precaution. "Don't tell me they've got cloaking tech too?"

"Only possibility. New developments? Or just unused before?"

Gadget nodded, then activated the intercom. "Crossfire, we're being boarded. Lock and load."

"Roger that, weapons ready."

Lockwood nervously looked between Gadget and Blackburn. "I'll… I'll head back to keep the kids calm. Probably easier to keep an eye on just one of us while trying to fly, right Gadget?"

"And makes it easier on Crossfire to protect you if you're in his line of sight, yeah. You might wanna grab that taser I gave you, too, just in case," Gadget said, her eyes still watching the ceiling as if expecting the intruders to bore into the ship. "I'll keep Blackburn covered, you just watch your ass, got it featherbrain?"

"Be careful," Blackburn said firmly.

"You too," Lockwood replied. "Both of you."

Lockwood hustled back into the passenger cabin, where Crossfire was dutifully keeping himself between Bluebolt and Fireglow and the only point of entry in the cabin: the heavily damaged boarding hatch, which even from the inside was showing signs of weakened integrity. The ramp certainly wasn't going to open properly anytime soon.

"Your Majesty," Crossfire said with a short bow, not turning to look at Lockwood. "Ya might wanna get yourself set up behind me. These varmints ain't gonna give ya long."

"We're setting up in here, then?"

"Yessir. This here's the main point o' entry, and I can't rightly lead 'em anywhere else without riskin' damage to the ship." The burly stallion rolled his shoulders. "Them comin' through the choke point here'll be like shootin' fish in a barrel, anyhow."

This was the first time Lockwood had seen Crossfire's full defensive deployments, which had been steadily improved upon by Gadget over the years to account for changes in the royal family. His armor carried a pair of shoulder-mounted heavy rifles, each more than capable of firing rounds that could tear through AMP Troopers with ease, but that was relatively standard-issue stuff for even the militia at home.

What made Crossfire's armor unique was a deployable shield, not made of metal but of magical energy; it was one of Gadget's inventions that simulated unicorn magic, in this case a defensive barrier. It worked similarly to the shield that protected their city, but on a smaller scale and not quite as universally effective; Crossfire's shield couldn't tank airship-grade weaponry.

Lockwood opened up his luggage compartment and fished a small stun gun out of the side pocket of his suitcase, where he'd placed it for safe-keeping; he rarely kept it on his person, arguing that he didn't really need it, but he was at least willing to bring it with him just in case. The weapon wasn't particularly big, and it strapped to his hoof and forelimb easily.

Normally it worked like a regular taser, shocking a would-be assailant for long enough that Lockwood could retreat elsewhere. But Gadget had also given it a special setting for AMP Troopers that would launch a tiny "dart" that could shut them down quickly, easily, and without endangering ponies nearby with an electrical discharge. "It always pays to be prepared," she'd said.

He then situated himself behind Crossfire as well, using the shield as cover so that he could defend his children as best he could.

And then, they waited.

It only took about twenty seconds after Lockwood had armed himself that the boarding party made their move. In the span of a few seconds, the AMPs sliced open the entryway by superheating the metal and tearing it straight off.

Crossfire opened fire as soon as the entryway was open, letting loose dozens of rounds into the fray in just over a second; the defensive shield was configured to allow his shots to go through to his targets, but not vice versa. Lockwood caught sight of AMP Troopers—Automated Mechanical Ponies—just outside, hanging off of the sides of the ship and under the wings with magnetic attachments on their mechanical hooves.

Several fell from the initial volley; the others took cover just outside the edges of the entry frame. Lockwood could hear more impacts on the structure above them; more of them were coming. How many, he didn't know, but he was confident that Crossfire could take care of them.

The few that had vision on Crossfire before being ripped to shreds fired flechette rounds from their own shoulder-mounted launchers, but they impacted Crossfire's defense shield and harmlessly plinked off it. Crossfire didn't even need to adjust his posture to shift the shield's position; they just let loose and didn't bother with intricate strategy.

The robotic enemies attempted to get through again, and again Crossfire mowed them down. The loud whirring of his fully-automatic rifles was dulled by the silencing mechanisms of his armor; without them, Crossfire would likely be deaf by the end of the afternoon. The AMPs fired back in turn, but never seemed to make any impact.

Lockwood had never really seen Crossfire in action before. Training exercises were one thing, but seeing him facing off against real AMP Troopers instead of the mock-up versions they used for training back home was something else entirely.

Despite how fast his shots fired, he never missed a single round. Every single bullet struck its mark, and this was all his doing—there were no targeting mechanisms in his armor's visor other than to highlight enemies for him. Just an example of his special talent, Lockwood figured; he might as well have been named Bullseye.

All the while, Lockwood ensured that his children stayed safely behind Crossfire's shield and near himself. Bluebolt was watching the display with rapt attention, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe; Fireglow, meanwhile, was bawling and quite loudly at that, assuredly terrified of all the noise and violence. Lockwood wanted to take them both far away from here, and would do so as soon as he could.

For the moment, Lockwood felt assured that this would continue for quite a while. The AMPs were cheap cannon fodder for all intents and purposes from how Blackburn described them, and were used as such. If a single one of them made it past the doorway, it would be considered worth losing dozens more.

Even so, the tactic didn't seem to be working. Were they just hoping to exhaust Crossfire's ammunition supply? That would take several minutes of non-stop firing, but they probably didn't know that. Lockwood was no tactical mastermind, but even he figured this plan wasn't working and wondered why they were keeping it up.

Then, something different happened. Another wave attempted to make their way inside the ship, and again Crossfire held them off. This time, though, one of them fired something besides flechette rounds, which looked like a little canister. It tumbled through the air above the spray of bullets and flechettes, striking the ceiling above Crossfire's head.

There was a flash of light, and a shrill piercing sound filled the air. Lockwood shut his eyes; the flash was downright painful, like staring at the southern sun for too long. He could just barely hear Fireglow's bawling and Bluebolt's sudden screaming over the intense ringing in his ears.

Without the ability to see, Lockwood did what he could to ensure his son and daughter stayed close, grabbing them both up as best as he could while they were still in their seats and hugging them closely to himself.

It took several seconds before the ringing in his ears died down enough that Lockwood could hear the whirring of Crossfire's rifles again, accompanied by the stallion's frenzied shouting. He still couldn't see anything, though, and assumed Crossfire couldn't either; if he was shooting blind, that wasn't a good sign for his accuracy.

Then Lockwood felt something strike his jaw, hard. It felt like metal. The sudden hit was enough to disorient him further, and he briefly loosened his grip on his kids. In that instant, he felt them both be violently yanked away from him.

His vision was returning now. He could see the vague outlines of the mechanical ponies filing into the passenger cabin; Crossfire's shots were still hitting a few and knocking them back out of the entryway, but a few had made it past the barrage.

A few Troopers made their way towards the hall leading towards the cockpit; two others had grabbed Fireglow and Bluebolt—the latter was struggling to get away—by tearing apart their seat harnesses; two more moved towards Crossfire, flanking him and attempting to move him aside.

The burly stallion squared up and slammed one of them in the face with his metal-clad hoof, hard enough to it shattered the thing's helmet and the mechanisms underneath. The other of the two charged a hoof with electricity and jabbed it into Crossfire's left shoulder; the mechanisms underneath violently shorted out, creating a small, impactful explosion that ripped part of Crossfire's armor apart, but also blew up the Trooper's faceplate.

But that had been enough to get Crossfire to stop firing his guns, which gave the two Troopers holding Fireglow and Bluebolt ample room to maneuver around him without getting hit.

"I don't know what's going on back there!" came Gadget's voice over the intercom system. "But you'd all better hang onto something, because we've got maneuvering systems coming online and we're gonna get out of here!"

Not even a second later, the entire ship violently lurched, and everypony in the passenger cabin—flesh and machine both—lurched with it. The AMPs were better balanced thanks to their magnetic hooves and mostly maintained their positioning in the room, while Lockwood tumbled towards the rear of the cabin, and Crossfire remained firmly in place, the magnetics in his own armor activating automatically with the sudden, violent motion.

Lockwood shook off the shock of the blow to his jaw and the remaining disorientation from the flash—since when did the NPAF use flashbangs?—then aimed his taser at the closer of the two AMPs, who was holding Fireglow.

As intended, the taser dart impacted and instantly sent out an electronic signal that shorted out the internal systems of the Trooper without endangering its cargo in the process. It froze in place, still holding a wailing Fireglow out in front of it like an offering rather than a prisoner. Lockwood then moved as quickly as he could to grab up his son before any other AMPs could do the same.

He then turned towards Bluebolt, who was still in the grip of another one of the Troopers, loudly screaming as she tried to get away. He took aim again with his taser and stunned that AMP too, shorting it out just as it got to the entryway.

With a sigh of relief, he then looked to Crossfire, who was meanwhile in a frenzy, literally ripping apart the few Troopers left in the cabin with them with his hooves. They were too close for him to use his guns on anyway, but he was more than strong enough to make due without them.

The large stallion was definitely hurt, though, Lockwood could tell from the way he was moving; the leg attached to his left shoulder was not moving as quickly or precisely, and hobbled slightly when he put his weight on it. He could see traces of burnt skin there; hopefully it wasn't serious.

Once Crossfire had dealt with the last of the robots, Lockwood hustled over to him and wordlessly handed Fireglow over; Crossfire wordlessly took the colt in turn, giving Lockwood a nod of affirmation. He'd keep the prince safe with him and get him situated in a new seat.

"Daddy!" Bluebolt shouted. "Help!"

Lockwood wheeled around to see that another AMP Trooper had clamored over and grabbed his daughter out of the disabled AMP's grip. "Bluebolt!" he shouted, moving as quickly as he could.

The AMP turned towards the entryway, its rocket-powered hooves lighting up as it readied itself for flight. Crossfire fired a pair of quick shots out of his working rifle into the thing's rear legs; thus, instead of leaping gracefully out of the ship, the machine simply tumbled out like a sack of bricks.

Lockwood leapt after it without a second thought.

He knew he wasn't a great flyer by any means, and that even in the most ideal circumstances he'd never manage to keep up with an AMP Trooper's rocket-assisted flight capabilities, which made them faster than any but the fastest of pegasi.

This AMP, however, had thankfully been completely disabled; its rocket thrusters weren't operating whatsoever, leaving it in total freefall, and it didn't even seem to be trying to counteract that fact at all. It was now plummeting ten thousand feet towards the Wasteland below without any deviation in its course whatsoever.

This made it easy to catch up to it, of course, whereupon he grabbed hold of Bluebolt as tightly as he could. "Hang on, sweetie, I've got you!" he shouted over the din of air rushing past them.

Bluebolt clung onto Lockwood just as tightly, and he tried to get her out of the robot's grip, but its hooves were locked around her tight, like robotic rigor mortis. The ground was racing towards them; he had seconds to work with. He gave the forelimb of the machine a fierce kick, tugging at his daughter in the process. Then another, then another, then—

He managed to free her, and a second later the machine impacted with the ground below, shattering into thousands of pieces.

Lockwood breathed a sigh of relief, then held his daughter up so he could look at her; she was absolutely terrified, shaking uncontrollably. "Are you okay, honey? You're not hurt are you?"

She shook her head, looking like she was about to cry. "Daddy, what's going on?! What's happening?!"

"I'm not sure yet, sweetheart, but I'm gonna get you to safety, okay?"

He glanced back up towards where the Wyvern had been as he leapt out of it, but he saw that it had moved. It was still moving, in fact, sweeping about the air with evasive maneuvers as it tried to avoid getting hit by the energy blasts radiating from the massive NPAF cruiser; apparently it had been waiting for something before it resumed firing, but Lockwood knew just a single shot might shut down the Wyvern again.

Seeing them both from this angle made Lockwood realize just how big the size difference between the ships was. It wasn't quite fifty-to-one, but closer to forty. Still, it was bigger than anything in Hope's Point's fleet by a long shot.

His eyes widened when he saw that there was another squadron of AMPs coming his way, though; he wasn't out of trouble yet. "Oh dear. Hang on tight, honey, okay?"

Bluebolt whimpered and did just that as Lockwood flew in the opposite direction of the battle.

The Wasteland was a wide open, flat, featureless expanse of dusty fields, with the nearest changes to the terrain being the Goldridge Mountains a few dozen miles east of here, and the Redblade Mountains a hundred or so miles west. Neither of which would serve as cover for a fleeing pegasus, so as the AMPs gave chase, it came entirely down to Lockwood's speed and ability to avoid them.

Or rather, his lack thereof.

Lockwood desperately did everything he could to keep himself away from the pursuing machines, which true to his expectations was proving exceedingly difficult. He didn't know why they weren't firing their flechette rounds at him, but he wasn't about to question his good fortune; if they were firing, he knew he definitely wasn't agile enough to avoid them.

As it was, the AMPs seemed intent on forcing him to move the way they wanted him to move. He would swoop left only to be forced to immediately swoop back to the right; he would try to dive only to be forced to rise back up; he'd attempt to loop back around the way they'd come only to be forced to reverse course yet again.

And then Lockwood saw where they were leading him: right into yet another squadron of AMPs. He was outnumbered roughly twenty-to-one. Rather, forty-to-one; he couldn't count Bluebolt.

That is, until he heard a shot from above him. The AMP immediately to Lockwood's left, which was just now reaching out towards him—or more specifically towards Bluebolt—violently veered off-course as its head exploded in a shower of metal.

Lockwood glanced up to see a most welcome sight: Briarthorn diving down towards him, a huge cannon-like gun gripped in his hooves.

"Yeehaw, you rusty tin cans!" the pegasus captain shouted, firing another shot; the gun's muzzle flared, and another AMP immediately fell as its entire chest cavity was ripped open. "Eat my sweet, sweet lead!" Another shot; another ruptured AMP. "Boom! How d'ya like them oranges?!"

Lockwood wasn't sure if he could call the odds "even" now, but they were certainly better in his favor than they had been a moment ago. Besides Briarthorn's shots ripping apart AMPs with relative ease, he was also drawing their attention his way, and since Briarthorn was a much better flyer than Lockwood he was able to both avoid them and their counterfire—they seemed more than happy to use their weapons on him—as well as continue his own attack.

It was easier now for Lockwood to evade the attempts by the robotic ponies to corral him and Bluebolt in the direction that they wanted. He would swoop left, but the AMP that attempted to force him back to the right would suddenly turn into so much shrapnel; he would dive down, only there wouldn't be an AMP there to make him rise back up; he looped around back the way he'd come only for the AMPs to keep moving past him and chase after Briarthorn instead.

But once the next squadron of AMPs had caught up, the odds turned yet again. There were now enough Troopers to maintain the chase of Lockwood and Bluebolt and deal with Briarthorn, and so Lockwood found himself being forced to fly back towards the battle, where he could see the Wyvern still desperately avoiding energy blasts and flak cannon fire.

The Wyvern was doing a good job of it—his wife had the reputation as the best pilot in the fleet for a reason—but still struggling and utterly incapable of fighting back. Lockwood wasn't sure what anypony could do in this situation at all other than desperately wait for help to arrive. Somepony. Anypony. There was no way Havoc would let this happen if she were here.

Curiously, some of the flak cannons weren't firing at the Wyvern at all, but at something off in the distance. But Lockwood had neither the time nor the inclination to try to figure out what and why that was. All that mattered was that he and his daughter were getting closer to danger rather than further from it.

Worse, because there were enough AMPs to pursue Lockwood again, that meant there were more than enough to give Briarthorn a hard time. Though they were far enough apart that Lockwood was in no danger of getting hit by a stray shot from either party, they were close enough that he could still hear Briar shouting over the rushing air and wind at his opponents.

"Your Majesty!" the boisterous captain shouted as he bobbed and weaved between hostile machines still firing at him. "We gotta go!"

Said filly clinging to his neck, Lockwood shouted, "They're after Bluebolt for some reason!" He pulled backwards, just barely avoiding another AMP as it tried to slam into him and divert his course. "We have to make it back to the Wyvern!"

Briarthorn grimaced as he shot forward and swept between two AMPs in such a way that they hit each other with their own flechette rounds. As he circled back around, he said, "Thought you might want to do that. No can do, buckaroo. Out of ammo. Her Majesty didn't keep a stock lying around."

"Then I don't exactly have a plan!"

Lockwood continued to fly and try his best to evade the mechanical ponies, but he could see yet another squadron approaching in the distance. Even if he was as good of a flyer as Briarthorn or Blackburn, he doubted he'd be able to escape. There were too many of them, and eventually he'd have nowhere to fly to.

He shouted out to Briarthorn: "Briar! You take Bluebolt and fly back to the Wyvern! You can make it while I'll keep them distracted!"

Briarthorn didn't respond for a moment. Then: "Lockwood, buddy. Mister Nice Guy. You trust me?"

Lockwood looked at him bizarrely for a moment, not hiding his confusion even in the chaos. "Briar, I am actively trusting you with my life!"

Briarthorn chewed on nothing, hard. "Sorry." He shot backwards, dodging a salvo of flechettes. "Well, okay, that's great! You do, so just… don't get too mad at me."

Lockwood grunted, uncertain but determined, and kept on flying as best he could; Briarthorn tended to have crackpot ideas most of the time, but when it came to flying he was a genius.

Still, it unnerved him when Briar looked at him, quite seriously, and solemnly said, "Lockwood. When I say this to you, please take it with utmost sincerity and with utter literal factual truth: Do not stop flying towards the Wyvern for anything. Promise me."

Lockwood paused. "Cross my heart," he replied.

And so Lockwood flew, keeping his eyes darting in every direction to watch for movement, to try and keep an eye on the battlefield ahead of him. Some of the flak cannons were firing at something low to the ground now, something that definitely wasn't the Wyvern, but they stopped after a minute or so, and Lockwood didn't have the time to think about what that was all about.

The AMPs were relentless, though, and did not give Lockwood any room to breathe or maneuver. Whatever Briar was doing wasn't keeping them occupied enough to divert their attention from their prize. Lockwood felt his wings beating slower, his speed dropping by the minute, as he attempted to escape; nothing he tried seemed to be working. The AMPs predicted his every move and compensated even for his attempts to feint.

Then, as one of the mechanical ponies lunged forward to strike at Lockwood, it instead collided with a barely-visible field of translucent gold, tumbling downwards as its systems shorted out.

"And for my next trick," came Briarthorn's voice, "the greatest of all my wonders!"

Hearing this, Lockwood glanced about quickly, trying to find Briarthorn as he belted out words like a carnival barker in the chaos, shifting about oddly to sound like it was coming from multiple directions at once.

Then… there!

He spotted the captain just a few dozen feet below him, swiftly flying tight circles around Lockwood in a spherical pattern. That was why his voice kept moving in and out: he was moving so fast that he was on a different side of Lockwood with every word. A trail of translucent gold followed behind him; he was moving swiftly enough to activate his latent pegasus magic, a difficult feat.

But that was not what concerned Lockwood.

What concerned him was the unmistakable signature golden glow of the Diffusion field that all of Hope's Point's airships used to protect them from harm. Diffusion flyers like Briarthorn were trained to encircle their ships to create these fields, and were so skilled that they could do so even while their ships were in motion at nearly supersonic speeds.

The only thing was, the airships provided these flyers with technomagic equipment to generate the field, keeping it locked to the ship in-flight. Generating a field without the equipment was considered nearly impossible, except…

Briarthorn spoke as if he could hear Lockwood's objection before he even said it. Maybe he saw it on his face.

"You gotta feel it, Lockwood," the captain said. "You have to know the system outright. Intimately. Like a lover, bud. The way the air and the magic mix, it's… it's amazing."

Lockwood was by no means an expert. Just understanding the technomagical functionality of the shields, on an intuitive level, would be something rare indeed. Briarthorn clearly knew it; his family—his great-grandfather in fact—had invented it. This must have been how.

But then he considered that Briarthorn was generating the field entirely himself. He could see the golden trail following his friend begin to solidify in the air like a faintly translucent gold curtain. And Briarthorn's great-grandfather had died developing the system; by the time he'd perfected it, his inner organs had supposedly been pretty much liquid.

"Briar! Are you crazy?!" Lockwood shouted. "You can't! Not without the anchors! You know how to do it; you know it's not safe!"

"Got no choice, Kingarino!" Briarthorn shouted back. "If I get this shield around you, those rust buckets won't even get close!" His voice spiralled around Lockwood, feeling like a strange, whirling echo.

Bluebolt, her fear if not diminished then plateaued, faintly murmured into Lockwood's neck: "He sounds scary, Daddy…"

More and more Troopers converged as Lockwood continued to fly all-out in the direction of the Wyvern. Briarthorn's orbit effortlessly matched his pace in a way that felt seamless.

Lockwood watched as Briarthorn increased his speed and torque, spinning wildly, the shield now essentially a sparkling white-gold fireworks display as countless AMPs impacted uselessly against the power of Diffusion and were torn apart. In seconds there were so many sparks and small explosions that Lockwood had to shield his eyes, temporarily blinded from the sheer brightness of it all.

But he kept flying, remembering Briarthorn's instructions. The sounds did not fade. The lights did, though, and Lockwood had to focus intently on where he'd been going last; the feeling of flying blind was inherently terrifying.

Because from his eyes, the whole world had gone golden.

Slowly, the plinking became more distant as well. Lockwood and Bluebolt became encased in a solid golden bubble. Outside, more and more troopers blotted out the sky, and he could see more and more of them trying to force their way through. But the impacts felt distant and muffled, muted even.

Bluebolt opened her eyes and gasped in wonder, and then fright. "Wh-what is this, Daddy?" she asked.

Spinning faster than ever in orbiting spirals around them, Briarthorn was little more than a blur with wings that glowed with streaks of white and orange from every feather. He'd taken off his goggles as well; his eyes were wide open and wild, and there was a cocksure grin on his face.

"Briar, don't be stupid," Lockwood said desperately, hoping to talk Briarthorn down despite knowing that there was no going back from where Briarthorn already was.

"What, and let the king get dogpiled by a billion-jillion robots?" said the glowing pony-like buzz that retained Briarthorn's wobbling, echoing voice. "No thank you. I'm not about to fail now."

Lockwood's eyes darted about frantically, trying to find a place both where his eyes wouldn't cross and still looking straight ahead where, distantly through the gold and the rain of robots, he could see the Wyvern drawing closer.

"Did Blackburn put you up to this?" he asked.

Briarthorn actually laughed. It sounded like a small chorus from all around the pair inside the bubble. "Lockwood, buddy, I don't even know anymore. Did she tell me to guard you with my life? No. She does that with most people. She didn't with me. Now, she noticed that I noticed that. What do you think that means, huh?"

Lockwood groaned loudly, the sound strangely dying close to his body as he sat in the eye of a golden whirlwind. "Briar, please! Don't play her games now! Come on, drop the field. We can just fly back the rest of the way!"

There was a quiet chuckle that rang throughout the gold of the shield. Briarthorn's body was beginning to turn completely white, the only thing in the barrier that wasn't glowing with golden energy.

"The moment there's no anchor, the Diffusion shield pops like a bubble. Tissue paper, bud. The coefficients for a shield this small while retaining rigidity and energy dispersal require a tight, strong engine, and brother, you've got me. I can go all night, baby!"

"Briar," Lockwood pleaded as the loops became so quick that Briarthorn's image became more stable, like an animation of the fuzzy afterimage of a brilliantly glowing pegasus. Lockwood began to slow down, trying to reach out to the glow. "Please don't do this."

"Ah ah!" Briarthorn said in a buzzing tone. "You keep flying. Right towards the Wyvern. You promised."

Lockwood course-corrected. "Okay, but you don't have to do this!" he sharply replied.

The buzzing light-pony, whose face was now upside down and facing away, leaned "up" to look "down" at Lockwood in the center.

"Lockwood." Briar's voice was becoming more resonant. Jostled, but with nowhere to go. "I know, buddy. We don't have to do anything. Hope's Point's founders didn't have to leave New Pandemonium. They did. They chose that. Freely. Blackburn didn't have to be a force of nature. But she is."

"Stop. Just stop this!" Lockwood's vision was becoming blurry, and he suspected through the blood rushing in his ears that it was because of tears. It could've been the wind shear, but he knew it wasn't.

"You know when I said I didn't know? I do now. Moving this fast? It's like flying. Or running. Or walking. Or, uh…" For just a moment in that glow, there was this self-deprecating laugh as the glow distinctly considered the filly in Lockwood's grip. "Loving. And, well. I love you guys. It's weird how that's true, huh?"

Lockwood felt dampness on his chest. His daughter seemed to realize what was happening too as she peeked out into the golden bubble, still on an intercept course with a ship that was both moments and yet an eternity away. She sniffled, and buried her eyes in her father's chest.

"In a little bit, Lockwood, I'm gonna… need to really concentrate. I won't be able to waste time talking, y'know?" Briarthorn said, his voice deceptively light and gentle. He paused, and then some of the old wickedness returned in his voice. "Oh, and tell Blackburn, 'Briar says he forgives you', 'cause she'll know it's true if you say it."

Lockwood's eyes widened, despite everything. "Briar—"

"There's my proof, buddy. See? I hang around her enough. The Diffusion's been killing me this whole time, hasn't it? I bet she even had the doctors lie to me."

Lockwood felt a lump in his throat. "Please, Briar, it's-"

"I told you what to say! And you know why? 'Cause that'll be our little secret. How I finally got ahead of her. Because I know that she's going to blame herself at some point. And that she's going to get upset. And that it's going to be able to hurt you." A pause. "We both know I'm right."

What could Lockwood say? He began a stammering reply, but his friend went on uninterrupted.

"So, the only way to break that is to give her some closure from a trusted position. That is, tell her that I said I forgive her."

Lockwood lifted his gaze to the rotating image, now glowing white, and somehow, knew he was looking at him right between the eyes. "Do you?"

What Briarthorn said next, Lockwood could only describe as infinitely sad, something that made him want to give Briarthorn a hug and tell him it would be alright… and yet simultaneously no one would blame him if he punched the smugness off Briar's face:

"That's up to you, Lockwood."

They said nothing for a moment. Briarthorn was now shining like a spotlight on a stage.

"Lockwood?"

Lockwood's reply was quiet. "Briar?"

"Thanks for letting me grandstand one last time. Can't really brag about this one later."

"Of course." Lockwood didn't bother to hold back his tears. Briarthorn was impossible to look at, brighter and brighter with every moment.

"It's a big day for me, you know? Doing a shipless Diffusion, outwitting Blackburn even for an instant? It's nice. Doesn't happen often."

Briar's voice began to ever so slightly shift, becoming more and more resonant to the point of intermingling with the wind. Lockwood was starting to have trouble hearing every word.

"One thing I'll say: it's really pretty. Dad talked about this too, you know? Said it was how his grandad described Diffusion at its best. Said that he sounded relaxed. Now I get why. It's not… it's not about moving faster. It's about rhythm, Lockwood. Watch, I bet now I can even try the spiral again, way easier this time. Because I get it."

As his voice began to stretch, growing colder and wispy, the light began to spin, and the constant ribbon behind it became a thickened tube. It became utterly silent except for the wind of Briarthorn's orbit, the gold thickening until Bluebolt and Lockwood could barely see through both it and the bright light circling around them impossibly fast.

"It's gorgeous, you know. It's like… I can see deeper or something." Briarthorn's voice sounded like it was coming down the far and distant end of a very long tunnel.

Lockwood watched as the light flowed around him, liquid and… laughing? He could swear he could hear Briarthorn's voice at the edge of his hearing, like from inside a tin can. His voice was mild. Pleasantly surprised, even.

"The thing that gets me is… it doesn't hurt."

Then there was silence, with nothing but the wind of the loops. Lockwood kept flying. The light that his friend had become kept circling. But Briarthorn had just slipped beyond words.

Bluebolt's voice was solemn, and cut through the silence like a knife: "We won't forget you."

Lockwood sagged, feeling more defeated than he'd ever felt before.

"I'm sorry, Daddy..." Bluebolt whispered.

Lockwood smiled at her through his tears. "He's a weird guy, right?"

She smiled softly back at him. "Yeah… but he's a good pony, too."

Then, an enormous, roaring explosion resounded from the direction of the NPAF cruiser, so loud and powerful that Lockwood could feel the faintest hint of a shockwave passing through even the Diffusion field. The AMPs clearly felt it too, because he saw each and every one that remained around him tumbled about before plummeting motionlessly towards the ground below.

"What just happened?" he asked nopony in particular.

Havoc flew at a leisurely pace through the open sky of the Wastelands, deciding it would be a better use of her time than just standing around and waiting for a proper signal to get moving.

She was restless; today was the "big day" as everypony at home was calling it, and she really couldn't deny that this was a truly special occasion. Her Majesty Queen Blackburn would be arriving in New Pandemonium's airspace any minute now, the first time she—or any of her family—had done so "officially" since Hope's Point was founded.

A red letter day, as Dawn had called it. The treaty was ready to sign, and by the time everypony went to sleep tonight, the two cities would be at peace. There would be open trade and communication between them, and they could ensure better modes of transportation between them, and best of all, they could work together to cultivate the land of the Wastelands into something more.

Within the next few decades, the entire northern continent would be a better place, just like Pops wanted. Havoc took no small amount of pride in knowing she'd had a big hoof in making it happen.

So yeah, she was a little restless and couldn't just sit around. No, she had to fly, to give her wings something to do while she waited for communication that Her Majesty's personal airship, the Wyvern, was arriving. She'd already arranged things with Blackburn and Lockwood to meet their ship before they made their docking procedures at the city's airport; Dawn had argued against it at first, but the case had been made that the royal family wanted the NPAF to send a representative, and she was their choice.

It meant the world to her that the royal family respected her so much that they were giving her the opportunity to be the official "face" of New Pandemonium, at least for this one occasion. After the pomp and circumstance of the greeting, it was all Dawn's show, but for the next hour—probably less, actually—it was Havoc that got to show off to the north all that she'd accomplished, even if most of those accomplishments weren't public knowledge.

She was, in a word, stoked.

When her earpiece buzzed, she found it hard to keep the excitement out of her voice. This is it, she thought. "This is Commander Havoc," she said, speaking loudly and clearly so her transmitter would pick up her voice against the wind's interference.

"Commander Havoc, this is Commander Jetstream," came the voice on the other end. Havoc hadn't been expecting the Admiral's son to contact her, but she figured that if somepony important would be giving her her cue, he was perfectly suitable. He sounded anxious, actually. "What is your current position?"

"I'm in New Pandemonium airspace at the moment, roughly a mile south of the city walls. Everything is a go for Operation Welcome Wagon."

"Are you alone at the moment?"

Havoc tilted her head, even though she knew he couldn't see her. "Uh… affirmative." It was a stupid question. Who would be with her anyway?

"Good. This is on the private channel, and is an off-the-record communication. Everything is just between you and me. Are we clear?"

"Off the record, huh?" She smirked at nopony in particular. "Sure thing, Motherfucker, what can I do for ya?"

She heard Jetstream grumble on the other end. "I told you, that was just in a dream, and I was on a bad trip at the time that I had it, and I'll remind you that I was drinking when I shared it. It… it doesn't mean anything."

"Suurre it doesn't. So, what'd your mom have to say when you told her about your little fever dream, then? Or were you too chickenshit?"

"Fuck off, Havoc."

"Hey hey hey, you kiss your mother with that mouth?" Havoc snickered. "I mean I know you want to—"

"Look! Nevermind! We've got a situation here at the NPAF airfield, and you need to be kept in the loop on this."

She blinked. "Huh? Why, what's going on?"

"It's the Chameleon-class cruiser. She's gone missing."

"The hell do you mean, 'missing'? I thought you guys were setting up the decommissioning for it this morning?"

Jetstream grunted. "That's exactly the problem. The entire decommissioning process was moving along just fine under the supervision of Commander Skyfall, but after doing a routine test of the cloaking equipment, we haven't heard anything else from the docking platform."

"So? The ship turns invisible, no shit. It's not like it actually disappeared."

"We physically checked out the platform five minutes ago. The cruiser isn't there. It's been missing for roughly an hour by our estimates, but… those might be inaccurate. All of the tracking equipment at the docking platform suffered from a malfunction last night and we haven't gotten the software readjusted yet."

Havoc grumbled and ran a hoof over her face. "So you're calling me because you guys somehow lost a cruiser? Tell me again how that's my problem?"

"Doesn't it seem odd to you? The timing, the particular ship that's missing?"

Havoc paused, then her eyes widened. "Wait, you don't think—"

"I do think. So does my father. Apparently the seditious elements in our ranks haven't quite been purged, yet."

"I thought Skyfall was loyal to us, though? Your dad cleared him and everything."

"Well, either Skyfall played my father for a fool, or the Chameleon's crew mutinied against him and are taking this into their own hooves. Assuming this is an attempt at an insurrection."

"Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck." Havoc ran her hooves through her mane to calm her nerves; this was bad. Bad bad bad bad bad. "Okay, so, what's the deal here? What can I do?"

"You're the only asset we have in the field at the moment; it'll take another hour or so to launch a proper search party since we're trying to keep this under wraps. If word got out that we lost a cruiser, that would not make the NPAF look good, especially to any visiting diplomats, hmm?"

"Shit, so I've gotta find an invisible ship out in the fucking Wastelands, all by myself. Wonderful. I'm on it, but keep me posted."

"Will do, and you do the same. Good luck."

Havoc bolted off further into the Wastelands, not knowing exactly what she was supposed to do but knowing that she needed to do something. Her first thought was finding the Wyvern and intercepting it, letting Blackburn know there was a… technical problem or something. Turn them around, then call them back after Jetstream gave her the all-clear.

Piece of cake.

She took off with all the speed she could manage, knowing how far-fetched that plan sounded. The Wyvern had to be a few minutes out from New Pandemonium airspace and that was at that ship's supersonic speeds. Havoc still wasn't that fast, and knew she likely never would be. Rainbow Dash might've been able to do it, but she wasn't here and she'd never passed on the real secret to that Sonic Rainboom at any rate.

The second option was just as far-fetched, of course: finding the invisible cruiser before something happened, whatever that might be. Best case scenario, the ship's crew was just taking a joyride around before the cruiser got decommissioned for good. Stupid and irresponsible, sure, but not necessarily seditious despite how dangerous it was.

Unfortunately, Havoc found out within a few minutes that she was not only not fast enough to get to the Wyvern before it reached New Pandemonium airspace, but that the worst possible situation had arisen from it.

The huge NPAF cruiser was currently firing on the Wyvern, which was in the midst of performing evasive maneuvers to avoid the Chameleon's high-powered energy blasts and flak rounds. Worse, the Wyvern looked like it might've already been hit: it was trailing smoke from its starboard side.

As she flew in the direction of the battle, she activated her transmitter to broadcast on an open channel, that way the Wyvern would hear her too. "Attention NPAF Chameleon-class cruiser, this is NPAF Commander Havoc! Cease fire immediately! Repeat, cease fire immediately! You are in direct violation of the ceasefire agreements between New Pandemonium and Hope's Point!"

There was no response on the other end, just static. The fact that the Wyvern wasn't responding either worried her; obviously the ship was operational if it was flying so well—Blackburn was as impressive a pilot as she claimed to be, it seemed—so why wouldn't they be responding to her communication?

She cleared her throat and tried again. "Repeat, this is NPAF Commander Havoc! Chameleon-class, stand down and cease fire immediately! You are firing on the Wyvern! That's Queen Blackburn's personal airship! Do you copy?!"

Again, no response.

Havoc snarled, then snapped into her communicator. "Answer me, dammit! This is NPAF Commander Havoc! Stand the fuck down! There are foals aboard that ship! Stand! Down!"

Nothing.

"Fuck," she huffed to herself. "Queen Blackburn, come in, this is NPAF Commander Havoc, do you copy?! Anypony aboard the Wyvern, if you can hear me, please respond!"

And once again, no response.

That was, at least, until she heard and saw one of the Chameleon's portside flak cannons fire. Then, a flak shot whizzed by her and exploded only a few dozen feet out. She just stared at the puff of black smoke left behind by the explosive for a second before directing her glare towards the cruiser.

"Chameleon… did you just fire at me?!" she spat into the communicator.

The only response was the sight and sound of the other portside flak cannons firing, but Havoc did not wait to see if they'd been fired at her. Which, of course, they were; if she hadn't moved, she'd have absolutely been hit by at least one shot.

She dove towards the ground first, then swept to the side to avoid another salvo of fire directed her way. She was a smaller target than even the smallest airships, so the heavy, physical ammunition weapons had a significantly harder time hitting her. She moved too fast and too unpredictably for them to get a bead on her.

She'd never flown as a striker in a skyball game before, but she knew the techniques, and this was the same concept: quick, sudden movements and feints to avoid your opponent.

But beyond just avoiding their shots, Havoc was at a loss for what to do. They weren't responding to her messages the way she wanted, and since the Wyvern was almost guaranteed to not be armed—convincing Blackburn to do so as a sign of good faith seemed like a foolish notion now—there was no way anypony could do anything to the Chameleon, not until reinforcements arrived.

Reinforcements! That was the key. She leaned into her communicator. "Commander Jetstream! Come in! This is—"

She then winced as a loud, shrill screech filled her ears; she frantically tore her communicator out of her ear to stop the noise. Now she knew why the Wyvern wasn't responding to her: a jamming frequency. The Chameleon was doing everything it possibly could to buy all the time it needed to do what it came here to do.

Which meant that Havoc needed to physically make her way back to New Pandemonium to report in and drum up reinforcements, and fast, but fast enough was hardly something that felt possible. Was Blackburn capable of evading fire for an hour? Even the most fit pegasi needed to take breaks if they were flying so strenuously for more than twenty minutes.

Havoc continued to evade the fire coming her way—she didn't have time to focus on what was being directed at the Wyvern—but found that whoever was in charge of aiming was getting better and better with every shot. There was no doubt that the AI-directed system had been given additional control now, and a computer was far more accurate than any pony.

She had to sweep left and right at random, quickly and with as little giveaway as possible so that her movements wouldn't give her away, but even still, she found herself being forced to move the way that the Chameleon wanted her to move so that she wouldn't run right into a full salvo.

For now, that meant diving lower to the ground than she would've liked. She could hear the explosives ripping apart the ground just behind her, and with every other shot she could even feel dirt and rock just barely spraying against her back. She swept down and left at the last second, knowing that the next shot was going right; if she wasn't careful she—

The flak round exploded in the dirt just feet underneath her hooves.

Havoc tumbled through the air and slammed hard into the dirt, rolling along for several feet before another flak round impacted just a few feet away from her, blasting her with rock, dirt, and shrapnel.

Her entire world was pain.

There was a ringing in her ears that wouldn't stop; she couldn't feel most of the left side of her body, nor could she even see well out of that eye; everything was spinning uncontrollably; it was hard to breathe because of all the dust and smoke around her. All she could see was black, and blood.

There was a sort of cliché about seeing one's life flash before your eyes before death. Havoc had always believed that the saying was just that: a cliché.

But as images and sounds rapidly played out in her mind, she realized that maybe there was something to it.

These weren't her false foalhood memories either, these were the real ones she'd experienced, the ones that had carried her forward from being just an antithetical clone of Fluttershy to being her, to being Havoc.

She remembered ripping apart AMP Troopers with hooves and flames to impress her father.

She remembered her first meeting with Rainbow Dash, how the pair of them had hit it off so well just by being a pair of competitive jocks with a love for trash-talk.

She remembered when she nearly fucked that friendship up by calling Dash a dyke, not realizing how hurtful that was. She remembered barely reigning herself in to apologize instead of blowing up.

She remembered the day her father had tricked Nihila and, with the help of Havoc, her sisters, and her friends, destroyed the so-called goddess of evil and took her power for himself.

She remembered that her best friend had turned out to be an alien pony from another planet that needed to be sent home, and how her dad had helped Rainbow's friends do just that.

She remembered that later that same morning, her father had left them behind to become a literal god.

She remembered flying south with Lockwood's family and Dawn, meeting Briarthorn, meeting Blackburn, and Gadget, and Crossfire, learning that Lockwood was to be the king of Hope's Point itself some day, and how the sheer surprise had shocked the unflappable Curaçao into silence.

She remembered meeting Cotton Rose just a couple of nights after that after a fight with Dawn—another fight with Dawn, since they were always arguing by that point. She remembered how poorly she'd started things and how she'd nearly chased the other mare off because she didn't understand.

She definitely remembered the end of that night. Cotton was a generous, open-minded lover, eager to please and with no qualms about letting Havoc do whatever she wanted that night, or the next few nights they met up, or any night they had together for all these years afterwards.

She remembered the royal wedding, how she'd finally had the courage to confirm to Lockwood's face that she'd had a crush on him for a long time, and how she'd gotten over it.

She remembered how happy she and Cotton were that day too, since the latter hadn't expected to have been invited to a royal wedding.

She especially remembered how happy Curaçao was when she made the announcement—in private, family only—the next day that she and Shroud were engaged.

She remembered every single trip she made to Hope's Point over the intervening years. Every single face of every single pony she ensured made it safely between the two cities stuck out in her mind, no matter how uneventful the journey was.

She remembered how good Pewter's cooking was whenever she'd visit the Checkpoint. His spicy black bean soup was the best.

She remembered when Princess Bluebolt was born, remembered holding her for the first time, remembered how good she'd felt to be trusted like that, and remembered how it had taken no time at all for Havoc to realize that the peace between the two cities meant more than just making sure a few ponies could make it between them safely. It meant no more fear, no more heartache; it meant happiness and hope for ponies all through the north, especially for those who hadn't even been born yet.

She remembered Curaçao's wedding and how it had been a small affair with only friends and family who lived at the tower invited. It was still a pretty big turnout. Except for Dawn. Havoc remembered that Dawn hadn't been there, not until much, much later, after the wedding cake had been cut and everything.

She remembered every evening she shared with Cotton over the years, every meeting with her new friend Blackburn and old friend Lockwood, every visit to her sister Gray when she finally made the move down south.

She remembered being there for Velvet when she'd found out she was infertile, how much she'd approved of the adoption of Caramel Rye.

She remembered Gray's wedding, too. That had been in Hope's Point and was harder for the others to make arrangements for, but everypony did what they needed to do to attend. Again, except Dawn. Work always came first.

She remembered everything, all the way up to what she ate for breakfast this morning as she made herself ready to set out for one of the biggest days of her life. How she'd styled her mane perfectly so that she'd look good on camera, how she'd cleaned up her military uniform so that it would gleam in the spotlight, how she'd burned through half a pack of cigarettes to calm her nerves.

A part of her was ready just to remember it all and let what came next take its course.

Every other part of her told that part of her to shut the fuck up, because watching her life flash before her eyes was one thing. Dying was another.

And dammit, Havoc knew she was too cool to die. She was too angry to die; the rage was bubbling up inside her like an inferno, and she would not let it be contained.

Havoc stumbled to her hooves, barely even able to register the ground beneath her. The eye she could still see out of drifted up to see the Chameleon redirecting all of its fire back at the Wyvern.

Blackburn. Lockwood. Bluebolt. Fireglow. Gadget. Crossfire. Briarthorn. They were all in danger. All because somepony couldn't get over their old, stupid hatreds and anger.

If somepony like Blackburn, who had every justifiable right to never want peace and to just stay angry and bitter forever, could overcome her grudges, then anypony else who held onto them was just stupid and wrong.

She clenched her teeth so tightly that they should've cracked, her body shaking with unfathomable rage. Her father had once told her that there was no sense in giving less than one hundred percent in battle, and she was done playing softball with these fuckers.

Hatred. Anger. She'd show them what those things meant. She'd burn the concepts into their skulls so that they'd never forget.

She took to the air again, ignoring the excruciating pain in her side and how hard it was to breathe; her entire left side felt limp and lifeless. Her wings still worked, thankfully, so with a snarl, she pushed off and flew straight at the Chameleon, igniting all of her hooves in flame and directing them back to propel her forward and upward.

The Chameleon's portside flak guns shifted towards her—she could see them do so from here now—and opened fire. She was too small and now she was moving too fast; the explosions burst behind her every single time.

She didn't care, though. All that mattered was the sheer, furious anger she felt, the incomparable hatred for the ponies that dared to do this to the ponies she cared about, to her.

She felt nothing but unadulterated rage; nothing else mattered now. Not her love for her friends, for Cotton, for her sisters; laughter and joy were foreign concepts and her mind burned them away. All she wanted was to do was burn.

And so she went faster, the flames at her back more intense than anything she'd ever output before, so fierce that she could feel the air around her grow hot around her. And still the enemy fired, and still they could not catch her; she was too fast.

A split-second before she impacted the side of the cruiser, Havoc's world went white hot. The explosion in her ears was familiar, satisfying beyond compare, like a memory of happier times. She didn't even feel the metal of the Chameleon as her hooves made contact. It just melted right before her eyes, and she passed straight through like it wasn't even there.

Layer after layer of the ship's innards turned into liquid metal as Havoc passed through them, and behind her there was nothing left. She melted a hole straight through the ship all the way through to the other side, and once her body touched the open air again, there came another resounding explosion as she superheated the oxygen around her.

But she couldn't stop, wouldn't stop, until her work was done. She moved at supersonic speeds, sweeping around and drilling straight through another section of the ship with the heat of a star. She was moving too quickly to even register what she was moving through, what systems she was hitting, if there were crew members in the way or nearby.

And she didn't care. All that mattered was her rage. They would pay for what they did. They'd never do it again, to her, to anypony. There was no room to allow them a last chance to escape, to make a defiant last stand against her unbridled fury, to even hope that they could make one last shot.

They would all burn.

She struck through the cruiser again, and again, and again. It listed off to its side after the first impact, shuddered uncontrollably after the second, and completely sundered in half by the third, but Havoc just kept going, and going, and going, until the ship hit the ground and was absolutely, without a doubt, no longer a threat.

And when she was done, she landed a safe distance away, feeling the anger begin to slowly dissipate as she looked upon her handiwork. She could breathe again, though it was hard to do. The pain was still there across her side and in her eye, but less severe, more of a lingering sensation. She still couldn't see out of her left eye at all, but her vision had cleared up in the right.

"Havoc?" came the voice of Lockwood from somewhere behind her.

She turned and saw the King of Hope's Point standing there, his daughter fearfully just behind him staring at her with… awe? They were surrounded by AMP Troopers, or at least the remains of them. Havoc was certain she saw Briarthorn there, too, but he didn't acknowledge her presence yet and looked like he was sleeping, motionlessly slumped against a teary-eyed Lockwood.

What a weirdo.

She gave Lockwood a weak smile and took a step towards him. "Hey Dream—"

And then everything went black.