//------------------------------// // Chapter 13 // Story: Mass Effect: Salvage // by N00813 //------------------------------// Chapter 13 -- No, not a murderer. Thank you, Shepard. – Dr Mordin Solus, 2185 CE -- “Excuse me?” Luna said, raising an eyebrow. “This is a –" The griffon cut her off. “Back! Too much danger!” “What is going on?” Riana asked, whilst Sev shifted in his seat and gripped his weapon tighter. The griffon looked at her for a moment, puzzled, and then muttered in its native language: “Why doesn’t anyone speak Bird?” The voice was quite deep – its owner, probably a male. To her surprise, this language was extremely similar to the turian dialect of Talin; a pre-spaceflight version, dating back to about 1600 CE. Her translator identified it as the best match, and switched to that channel. “I do,” she replied, hoping that she didn’t suddenly make a faux pas by doing so. The griffon stared at her. “I did not know that a” – he squawked, clearly a word that the translator did not identify – “golem could speak.” “She is not golem,” Luna said, slowly. Clearly, the pronunciation of the language was tough for a non-avian. “She is from other world.” Armor and Twilight swapped glances between the griffon, the Princess and Riana. They both felt a bit left out from this, no-doubt exciting, conversation. Luna coughed a bit. “What is problem?” The griffon seemed pleased. Probably because he wouldn’t have to butcher the pony language to get his point across, Riana thought. “Madness has spread, again. For your own safety, you have to go,” he said. “How bad is it?” Riana asked. “Very. I’m afraid I don’t know all the specifics. The townsfolk… they are not alive, yet not dead. I fear for your safety. Please go!” Sev clapped his hands onto the massive metal kneepads of his armor. “See! Husks! Get the fuck out of here while we can!” “And I thought you were the tough one,” Luna commented drily as she looked at him. “You’re not excited about the fighting, for once?” Sev gave her the finger. Electing to ignore their bickering, Riana turned towards the griffon, who had disappeared by now. “Shit!” Against her better instincts, she braced herself on against the handholds placed around the shuttle’s doorway, and glanced out and around. The griffon was in the process of flying downwards, and in the distance she could see a red, smoking object shooting upwards, trailing a column of red smoke. A flare. Closer to the town, the red smoke mixed with black that rose from the ruins of burning buildings, like a demonic fog. “Red flare from town,” Riana said in English, and frowned. That had to mean a signal. But what? It could be a ‘go away’ or a ‘need help’, and she wasn’t sure what the consequences were if she disobeyed them. Luna’s eyebrows rose, and then she shut her eyes as her mouth set into a grim line. “Help signal.” Sev clenched a fist. “No. We’re not going down there.” Luna turned her head to face him. “We have to. Refusing help has major diplomatic repercussions. Combined with the events of the past week, and war is a possibility.” “Then there really is no choice. Stop the war before it happens,” Levin said. “There’s no need to play hero anymore, Levin!” Sev roared. “Whatever happened in the past is the past! Save yourself while you can!” There was an awkward, pregnant pause. “I… no, I can’t. I want to do this. I have to do this.” Levin’s static-filled sigh bathed the cargo hold in harsh noise, and all the ponies winced. “I’m sorry.” With that, he directed the shuttle towards the origin of the flare. Sev sighed, and slumped against the shuttle’s side, defeated. Fools, the lot of them. All bets were off with the Reapers. With a growl, he punched the side of the shuttle, eliciting a horrid bang from the durasteel. Riana and all the ponies jumped in their respective places, but he didn’t care. Wasn’t this why I became an independent? To choose what I wanted to do with my life? The turians took that away with the genophage. The Reapers took that away with the war for survival. And now, my employers… At least the fighting is fun. You’re in this now, and you can’t do anything about it. So just ride it out. Think encouraging thoughts. “Fucking hell,” he grunted, and checked his weapons. Claymore, loaded. Striker, working. Knife, sharp. He caught Armor looking at his knife oddly, but he couldn’t be bothered to tell him to piss off. So, he just ignored the pony. Soon, the tops of the town’s housing came into view; or, what remained of them, did. What used to be stone and wood had now turned into burning rubble; thick black smoke poured out from what had used to be rooms and living areas, and he was pretty sure he could spot patches of blood and gore splattered on the sides of the buildings that hadn’t been charred beyond recognition. Levin took a deep breath as he beheld the scene of destruction in front of the shuttle’s viewport. Some things hit close to home, and he found himself with a lump in his throat, watching the once-glorious buildings crumble into piles of misshapen stone. This was Macedon, once. Once. We rebuilt. Everything will be fine. Not everyone. The shuttle’s whine got more and more pronounced as it skimmed closer and closer towards the ground. Up ahead, Levin could see the encampment closing in on the shuttle, and the ground rushed up to meet them – With an undignified bump, and trawling a ditch of disturbed earth behind it, the shuttle stopped. Luna and the ponies hopped out first. Sev didn’t mind. He didn’t want to be here anyways. Riana didn’t, either. This sort of politics relied on having a grasp of the intricacies between pony-griffon relations; something she didn’t have. The Princess would be a better negotiator, she decided. Nonetheless, she followed the ponies out; just in case. “I presume that the red flare was a distress signal,” Luna called out, seemingly to the entire camp. “We wish to provide help.” Riana quickly spotted the griffon from before, who was speaking to another one. The new griffon had a white eagle’s head, complete with two blue feathers that seemed out of place, and a tawny lion’s body that were both streaked with soot. He or she was also armored with plate armor, and on his or her back hung another long rifle-like weapon, seemingly identical to the one the gray griffon was carrying. Amber eyes glared out beneath a feathery crown, and purple coloring marked the area around them. Judging by the trim on the chest-plate, this new griffon was a higher officer. He or she dismissed the griffon from before with a quick nod, and went to face the arriving ponies and the aliens. Sev and Levin had unbuckled themselves by now, and both of them slowly exited the shuttle, unwilling to leave the perceived sanctuary – though for quite different reasons. “Lieutenant Gilda sak Tallis,” she said, wearily – her high voice identified her as a female – and she fluttered her wings absently, turning her head around to examine all of the newcomers. Twilight gasped, all of a sudden, as Levin did – apparently pleasantly surprised that she spoke his language. This was not the bully that Twilight had seen at Pinkie’s party. This was definitely not her. It could not be her. “Princess Luna,” Luna said, nodding towards Gilda. “The Exile? We were not aware of your return,” Gilda said in surprise, but soon that soon faded as a loud bang sounded from the corner of the camp. “We don’t have much time, so I’ll make it quick. Townsfolk have gone mad, and so have the nearby animals. We were sent to put them down – a platoon.” She was cut off by the triple percussion of shots, and a shout of “Enemy down!” Gilda shook her head, and breathed in deeply. “Everyone uncooperative, orders to kill. The madness cannot spread.” She looked like she had all the fight knocked out of her, Twilight thought, as she ran her eyes over the griffon’s slouching stature, labored breathing and constant examination of her surroundings. Even the sudden, sharp bursts of sound didn’t faze her. Sev glanced over at Levin. The turian was still – almost eerily so, as if he’d suddenly turned into a statue. He knew, then, exactly what Levin was thinking of. Riana’s earlier behavior had all but confirmed it, and this was the final nail in the coffin, so to speak. “How long have you been here?” Riana asked. If they hadn’t been attacked now, there was a chance – a slim one – that these griffons weren’t indoctrinated. Still, indoctrination was known to be an insidious weapon of the Reapers – one that would reveal itself when it was too late to stop. “One week, give or take,” Gilda replied, all semblance of formality lost. “Why? And who are you?” “I’ve seen something like this before,” Riana said, and then introduced herself and her two alien companions. Gilda’s eyes got bigger and bigger as Riana continued to explain the theory of indoctrination – it appeared that she was deep in shock, if not thought. When Riana stopped talking, a single shot punctuated the pause that followed. “So it’s not a” – she squawked – “weapon,” she mused, ignoring the looks of outrage that formed on Armor and Twilight’s faces. “Alright.” She sighed. “If what you say is true, then this area cannot be settled. Ever.” Everyone knew that the squawk had meant ‘pony’ once Armor’s face flushed red. Riana nodded. “I’m afraid so, unless the Reaper construct is destroyed. If you’ve been here for a week; have you heard any buzzing in your ears during the time? At all?” Gilda narrowed her eyes, and shook her head. “No.” Riana sighed, relieved. That meant that any indoctrinating artifact here had been destroyed, or at the very least, deactivated – symptoms would have manifested for sure in that time period. Unless Gilda was lying, but she didn’t seem to be… “If you tell the truth, that means you will be safe. There will be no more indoctrination. If not…” Riana let the word hang in the air for a second, “then you should all start flying away, lest you become like the townsfolk.” Gilda seemed affronted at the accusation of lying – just like a turian would – but she turned the affront into a tired smirk. “Good warning, I suppose. I’d have argued, but you seem to know what you’re talking about.” That smirk fell off her face as she muttered, “All this… this is so much more than what I thought. I’m out of my league, here.” Two shots rang out, so close to one another that they seemed to be the same sound. “But this will have to do,” she sighed, and sat down upon the grass. Usually, she’d have died before showing weakness to a pony who’d seen her humiliated – but right now, ordered to kill a town of her own people, she just couldn’t be bothered to hide how she felt anymore. Hell, she didn’t even care. This was what made her a good leader, she felt – honesty with one’s feelings. That had been her mistake at the reunion with Dash, during her time on leave. Overconfidence. A desire to impress, to be respected and be accepted. Once she’d calmed down, and looked at what had happened in that cold way the military taught you to look at things –the ruthless calculus – she found her problem. And she was a griffon. She didn’t miss a chance to improve herself. Eh, she should have known that she’d never be fully accepted in a country with the overwhelming majority population being ponies. The stares, the whispers, would follow her until the edge of the sea… She looked to the sky. The beautiful sky. It would be so easy just to fly off, abandon her duties, desert – but she couldn’t do that. Duty called. Her people needed her. All for one, and one for all. That was the griffon way. In that instant, Twilight noted, Gilda looked so much older. It had only been what, one year? Two? “Damn it!” Gilda shouted, seemingly to herself. Truth was, she was speaking to herself. Why did she get these orders? Because no one else wanted them. So they pushed them onto you. She looked towards the ponies. The exiled princess. The faithful student. The guard out-of-armor. The ruthless calculus kicked in. Magic-users, all of them were. That meant magic barriers – they’d be most useful as support units, providing the griffon sikskysher with protection against the townsfolk’s shots. Even now, the distant cracks and pops of gunfire seemed as loud as they were, one week ago. Ignoring the Princess, the ponies and the aliens, she went over to the top of one of the hasty barricades they’d set up. Piles of animal bodies lay, rotting, at the far side of the rubble pile. Over the barricade, she could see the bodies of griffons, carrying weapons in their talons – the townsfolk – lying in pools of their own blood. She punched the barricade, sending a jolt of pain up her arms. She didn’t care. What she was going to do would hurt her much, much more. “We’re purging the town,” she said, still looking outwards. If any one of the ponies wanted to stab her in the back, then and there, so be it. The sun would set soon, and that meant the enemy fire would stop, to be replaced by animal attacks. “Purge? As in, kill every griffon?” Twilight gasped, and her disobedient mind tried to construct a mental image. The streets, filled with the bodies of the dead, running red with blood; the stench of the scene, given a structure by the scent of burnt manticore; and Gilda’s talons, covered in the blood of her people… Twilight’s face went green, and she shook her head as fast as she could, trying to force the images out. It didn’t work. “There has to be another way!” This time, it was Levin’s turn to speak. “I’m afraid not,” he said dully, shaking the kinks out of his joints. “This… this is for the best. For them, and for the griffons.” “There has to be another way…” Twilight said, before sitting down onto the soft, green grass that suddenly didn’t feel as welcoming anymore. The blades of grass seemed to poke into her, like small knives, and she shifted, trying to find the most comfortable position. “I won’t help you kill.” Gilda sighed, and then smirked. “Then help the soldiers. Shield them from enemy fire, get them water and food and ammo. Tartarus knows they could use a break.” Even her smirk, her arrogant mask, was fraying at the edges with exhaustion. Twilight could see that. The Princess of the Sun, her mentor, tended to wear a similar mask, but Twilight had become very adept at spotting flaws in it. Gilda flew up to a rooftop, going out of sight for a moment. A second later, a loud bang sounded from her location, and a cloud of white smoke rose in a deceptively cute puff. Luna blinked, twice. “This has to be done,” she said, and flew up to meet with Gilda. Sev sighed, and put his theory to the test. Now or never. “So, hastatim, just like old times?” Levin recoiled, jerking back from his alien teammate. “What – how – I – how did you know?” Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. Twilight and Armor had heard the translated phrase of ‘death squad’, and the both of them also jumped back from the turian. The concept of death squads didn’t exist in the pony society, but the connotations of the words weren’t pleasant. Near them, Riana mentally kicked herself at how blunt the krogan was. She should have told him that she knew of his secret – she’d be able to break it to him better – but now, all she could do was damage control. “Things added up,” Sev said, as if he was discussing the weather. “You behavior, your responses… but that’s not the point.” “So what is?” Levin snapped, tersely. His fingers danced, and devoid of any surface to meet them, it was like he was trying to grasp at air, and noticing that, he clenched them into fists. “Can you do this? If not, you’d better go back to the shuttle, and skip the killing. You’d just get in the way,” Sev said calmly. He gestured over the griffons hiding behind the barricades, taking potshots at any sign of movement they could see. Judging by how much lead they were putting in the air, there was a lot. “You’re going?” Riana asked, trying to push the image of Levin’s tortured expression out of her mind. The poor, poor guy. “You didn’t even want to be here.” “New info,” Sev said, and shrugged. “Besides, dead men don’t need their stuff, you know?” He looked pointedly at the Avenger Levin carried; a lightweight, outdated civilian model that was very popular in the 2160s. This one was upgraded with black market military parts. “I’m pretty sure you carry that M-8 only for sentimental reasons. The new versions have much better stopping power.” Levin growled at this. “This is all that remains of the family. Their bodies were buried in a mass grave, names stricken from record. They didn't, and they still don’t, deserve that.” Sev raised a brow ridge beneath the helmet. “Oh, I don’t know. You were the one who killed them. You must have felt –" Levin darted forwards, and rearing back, smashed a fist into the left side of the krogan’s chin. He ignored everything else – the gasps of the ponies as they discovered his secret sin, Riana’s own little inhale of air, the massive bulk of the krogan in front of him – as he went for the blow. It was like punching a metal wall. Sev slammed a massive forearm into the turian’s torso, sending him back. Levin had the quick reflexes to move back with the blow, but the hit still left him winded, and he stumbled a step – a fatal mistake – closer to the ponies, who scrambled out of his way in fear. On instinct, he drew his rifle. Sev didn’t act on that mistake, but he did draw his shotgun once he saw Levin reach around his back. The two weapons unfolded themselves and settled into their owners’ arms at the same time, and the two men stared one another down. Sev regarded Levin with a cold impassivity. His Claymore was decades ahead of that puny Avenger – literally – and his armor’s shielding outclassed the turian’s. “Accept it. It’s what you did, and you can’t change that.” “You’re lying. You are,” Levin said, his voice cracking. He knew it wasn’t true, and his rifle shook, just like his talons. He squeezed his eyes closer together, trying to prevent the tears from escaping down his carapace. “Really? Then say it. Say: ‘I didn’t kill the family that last owned this rifle’.” “I, I,” Levin started, as gripped the rifle tighter and tighter, until he was sure that knuckles were white beneath the metallic carapace. Shit. Lying… lying. He couldn’t lie. He was a turian. He owned every decision he made, good or ill. Including this one. And he was going to accept the consequences of his actions: for better, or for worse. “Fuck!” He cast down the rifle, and collapsed to his knees. The rifle lay in front of his kneecaps, and for a moment he remembered how the previous owner of the rifle had looked as Levin had shot him full of holes. He must look the same right now, to Sev. Hah. Levin couldn’t find the strength to bother getting up – if Sev decided to blow his head off with a shotgun blast, then so be it. The krogan re-folded the shotgun, but kept it in his hand, and made a sound approximating a grunt and a growl. Levin didn’t even bother looking up as the shotgun made a bleeping sound once it had compacted. “Pick your weapon up, turian,” Sev said, emotionlessly. “Wait in the shuttle.” Levin laughed emptily. “I don’t follow orders anymore. Not military.” He punched the ground, and a tiny shockwave of earth blasted out from the center of the impact. “Not anymore.” Riana ran over and put a hand under the crook of his shoulder. Levin tensed, making to push her away – but as his gauntlet touched her neck, he decided against it, and put an arm around her shoulder as she helped him up. As they walked to the shuttle, Sev could hear her whispering to him. He didn’t respond. The rifle lay where Levin had thrown it downwards, in the dirt. He picked it up. Pretty hefty history for such a lightweight rifle. Gilda sat alongside Luna, atop the building’s rooftop, as they watched the scene unfold. She shook her head, as sorrow threatened to overwhelm her resolve. That’s going to be me. -&- Night fell upon the Valley of Death. Luna strained as she struggled to turn the planet – this was much easier back in the palace, thanks to the magical amplifier that was situated in the mountain that Canterlot was built on. She strained against her own nervous system, ignoring the jolts of pain shooting through her entire body, as she cast a complex spell on the planet. Somehow, that would make it rotate faster. Some magicians had found out about a magical theory called ‘angular momentum’, and others had linked it to moving raw-magic currents inside the planet, but she’d lost her concentration after about ten seconds of reading about complex magical calculations. She couldn’t. She couldn’t turn the planet. She slumped back onto the rooftop of the building, spent; sweat rolled off her in waves, and for a moment she felt as if she had been submerged under the sea. Gasping for air, she rolled over onto her back, and looked at the griffon next to her. Gilda sat across from her, looking down the sights of her rifle into the killing fields. “Tough job, eh?” Luna narrowed her eyes. “Raising the moon is difficult. I wager you cannot do it.” “Hmm.” Gilda’s sensitive eyes spotted a whisper of movement, and she nudged the barrel of her gun very slightly to the right, so that the crosshairs landed upon the entrance of an alleyway. “Griffons are naturally magically resistant, so of course I can’t.” Luna rolled her eyes, and she felt the strain lessen up all of a sudden. No doubt her sister had found out that the night was a bit late, and decided to solve the problem herself. She couldn’t summon any feelings of annoyance, though, and when she consciously tried, the feeling of her nerves being set on fire helped to move her mind onto more pressing matters. Bang. A white puff erupted out of the end of Gilda’s gun, dispersing slowly like a cloud of fog, as she slotted yet another cylindrical object into her weapon. The griffon herself shook her head. “That’s another one.” The princess rolled back onto her feet, and surveyed Gilda’s handiwork. “What a waste.” Gilda laughed humorlessly. “You don’t say?” Luna turned her head back to face her griffon companion. “I just did.” “It’s a turn of phrase. Never mind. We’ll be shooting at shadows in this low light.” Gilda strapped the gun across her back, and flexed her wings – the gun didn’t restrict their movement too much. “Rest.” She launched herself off the roof of the building, and glided towards her tent. The princess herself stayed up on the rooftop. She’d been born with perfect night-vision, whilst her sister could resist the glare of the sun since the day of her birth. Looking down at the bodies of the fallen, she stomped a hoof. What if that happened in Equestria? What would she do? What would her sister do? If they didn’t know that it was the fault of this ‘indoctrination’ as the aliens called it; what then? An incurable disease would have had the same effect. Would she be strong enough to order a wholesale killing, like the griffins? Would her sister? Her sister had the strength to lock her away. At the time, she’d thought that the stasis would be permanent – everyone had thought so – but somepony, or someone, had ‘done the mathematics’, so to speak, and found out that there was a deep-rooted flaw in the Elements' stasis spell. Could her sister lock the infected away? The Elements of Harmony were still a black box – everypony knew what they did, but not how. That was still one of the last great mysteries of this world, and her sister didn’t really want a lot of ponies around those artifacts – the risk of theft or sabotage remained too high. Quarantine, maybe? Like how the griffons had piled rubble across the entrances of the town, to keep the indoctrinated in. That would just be the same as putting them in stasis – for the rest of the pony population, at least – but inside, the suffering would just starve to death. It was still a death sentence – the only saving grace was that nopony outside had to actively kill. Some relief for the unlucky insane. Would her sister kill the ponies herself? She thought of them as her responsibility – if they were suffering, and she could not cure them, would she not seek to end their suffering using any means possible? Maybe the griffons were right. Maybe death was sometimes the most peaceful path, ironic as it seemed. Shaking her head and sighing, Luna started to follow the griffon back to the encampment. -&- The asari and the turian sat side by side in the relative peace of the shuttle’s cargo hold. “You could have told me, you know,” Riana said quietly, still with her arm around her friend’s shoulders. “You didn’t need to torture yourself. I said I would listen.” Levin thought of lying – the thought passed his mind for but a second – but what was the point? She knew. Everyone knew. “I was afraid that I would push you away.” A hint of a smile graced her features. “So you kept it to yourself. Suffered, but kept silent.” She paused, trying to find the right words. “You don’t have to, not anymore.” She gulped down the lump in her throat. “I knew, anyways.” “What?” “I figured it out,” she said, putting her hand over the talon on his knee. “And I’m still talking to you. Let it – let it out.” Levin shook his head. He was almost angry that she hadn’t told him. Almost. How would he have reacted? Would he have done the same? Had an emotional breakdown? Perhaps. He chuckled quietly. “I figured it was my punishment, you know? For doing what I did. I thought the hastatim were the line between order and anarchy. I thought that they were the ones who had the guts to do what had to be done.” He paused for a while, and Riana squeezed his talon, letting him take as much time as possible. “Maybe. But I wasn’t their material. Not by a long shot.” Riana sighed, and held his talon in her hands. “That means that you’re a good man at heart.” He chuckled again. “We’ll see.” There was the sound of a soft impact against the ground, and the two rose to see the griffon from before, as he waited awkwardly with Levin’s folded rifle in his hands. “The other one told me –" “I know,” Levin said, smiling despite a formless ache deep in his chest. “Thanks.” The griffon scratched the back of his head. “Erm, no problem. I have to go.” “So, what now?” Riana asked, letting go of his talons. “Do you want to continue with the salvage?” Levin nodded, and stood up, waiting as Riana did the same. “You know, I started this business to get away from my past. Try to run, go somewhere where no one knows me. Ironic thing is, the furthest I go, the closer it hits to home.” “And it was also there that you managed to find yourself. To find your own path. To atone.” Riana’s serene voice helped to calm him down, and Levin picked up the gun and slowly strapped it onto its place on his back. “You could be an awesome psychologist.” She giggled. “I don’t have the degree. But, maybe one day.” -&- Sev faced the ponies. The two siblings sat as far away from him as possible, and also kept a far distance from any griffons, who did the same. They were both content to keep to themselves. Fine for him. The griffon watch at the barricades switched; most likely, a new set of guards for the night watch. This meant that he had the perfect chance to go into the town proper. He acted on that opportunity. As he neared the largest barricade, a griffon stopped him – her relatively long eyelashes gave her gender away. She had a mottled gray falcon’s head, and a tawny lion’s body, yet she also wore a blue feather on her head. Likely a sign of rank. She held up a talon, and Sev bristled unconsciously at the act. “You’re on your own out there,” she said, looking at him out of the corner of one eye. The other eye was still scanning the road ahead of the barricade. “Get into trouble, we’re not coming for you.” “I know,” Sev rumbled, unfolding his shotgun. The griffon put her talon back onto the body of her rifle. “Go get them.” Sev put a foot in the barricade, and pushed upwards, vaulting over the rubble. He didn’t even glance back. Soon enough, the barricade faded into the darkness behind him, and all he could see of the encampment were the spots of light that were the torches, placed behind each barricade. His helmet VI lit up nearby heat signatures in red squares – and there were a lot. The most opulent building, near the town center, was also the one with the most enemies inside. Double the fun. This particular building had been once used as a town hall, or convention center, or marketplace – somewhere people gathered, although for what reason he could not tell. The banners lay on the floor in tatters, strips of cloth that were dyed red by the blood pooling on the floor. The inner door was of a wooden, old, human design – there was what looked like a deadbolt lock that was supposed to hold the door in place. Supposed to, because it was now riddled with holes, and the door swung gently in the slight breeze. Sev ripped the door off its hinges, and chucked it to the corner. Better than have it hang around in the air and obscure his vision. The action elicited a sickening crunch from the wooden doorway, and through the thermal sensors, he could tell that there were warm bodies moving towards him. He scanned the inner room. The outer area was a common room, that had been completely devoid of any materials. The desk at the corner had been looted clean, and even the chairs and tables were missing. The inner room, however, was trashed. A bisected table lay in front of him. Both halves appeared to have been joined at the center, once upon a time; but now, it was like a battering ram had hit it. Beyond that, several cabinets lay face down on the floor, and paper files from their insides littered the surrounding area. A griffon body lay, slumped against the back wall of the room. He was still clutching a weapon in his dead hands – gone down like a true soldier. Sev checked the body over. The griffon had been some official, judging by the fabric human-style tie he wore - and the shiny rings on his talons. Sev relieved him of those. He looked like he’d died of about twenty bullet wounds – they’d turned the white feathers on his head into red, and his gray body was littered with splotches of black. Definitely dead. The heat signatures were closing in; about two of them. If the townsfolk were insane, then they would have started attacking one another – but it was like they were working in a team. Or maybe, it was the animals… The room’s side staircase suddenly creaked. Sev sighed. The two creatures were still approaching, but at a slower rate. Well, too slow. His shotgun boomed once, and the two heat signatures stopped moving of their own accord. They still tumbled down the staircase like bags of hay, though. Animals. Well, they sure looked like them. Their heads had seemingly dissolved into a red pool , and their leg sections hadn’t fared much better. They resembled minced meat more than body parts. Well, that still meant that they wouldn’t be carrying any sort of valuables. It was going to be a long night. -&- Twilight jumped as yet another loud bang erupted from one of the barricades. The griffon sikskysher, his longer-barreled weapon distinguishing him from the rest, ducked back down to reload, and caught her eye with a wave of his talon. “Hey! Pony! Need bullets!” Twilight paused, not knowing what to do. Would giving the griffon more ammunition make her an accomplice to murder? Would this count as murder? She didn’t want anything to do with that. It was a can of worms. But she did want to help. Friends did that for one another. “Er…” Armor squared off against the griffon. “Get it yourself.” The griffon rolled his eyes, and clacked something in his native language. It didn’t sound pretty. He scooted quickly past the ponies, towards one of the tents, and was swallowed by the canvas folds. “So much for friendship, huh?” the griffon said, emerging from the tent whilst he lugged a heavy crate behind him. Twilight laughed guiltily, and helped the box along with her magic. The griffon gave her a small smirk. “Cheers, lass.” “Her name is Twilight Sparkle,” Armor growled, from his sister’s side. “Don’t you –" “Guard, shut up or help.” And with that, the sikskysher faced the road again, waiting for another target of opportunity. Armor’s face flushed an angry red. “Did you just –" “Yes, I did,” the griffon sighed, still looking down the sights of his rifle. “And I mean it. You’re worse than useless if you keep makin’ noise.” “I’m the Captain –" “Not here, you’re not. Go back to Equestria if you wanna order ponies around. Cheers.” Armor made a deep, menacing growl that the griffon ignored. “You’re going to hear from your superior about this.” “Hmm.” The griffon adjusted his position slightly, shifting to the left. A second later, he clacked his beak twice. “Not yet.” One of the other griffons on the barricade, a female of small build, smirked as well. “Give ‘em hell,” the male said, to the female. She saluted, quickly. He detached himself from the cover of the barricade, and slinked around to another one. Twilight watched as the griffons on the barricades worked like a well-oiled machine, helping one another out, smiling and chirping to one another, despite the grim atmosphere. It was like they were trying to cover the horror of what they were actually doing with jokes and banter. Was that what Twilight herself did? When they journeyed into the Everfree, on that fateful day, to defeat Nightmare Moon, she distinctly remembered the sound of Pinkie’s raucous laughter helping the whole group to put one hoof in front of the other. Without that encouragement, they would have fallen back. She was certain of that. Perhaps it was a coping mechanism. It had to be. They wouldn’t just laugh while they killed their own people. Would they? The griffons were a savage race, the history books said. They’d separated into separate clans, once upon a time, but reunited under a single banner around the same time that the separate pony clans had. Though, unlike the ponies, their reunification was bloody and vicious, as some clans preferred their own independence. Twilight had tried to keep an open mind. Gilda was the first griffon she’d ever really gotten the chance to know. She’d seen the griffon ambassador, way back when she was still living in Canterlot, but the old bird had preferred to keep to himself. Gilda’s behavior in Ponyville only confirmed what doubts she had in her mind about the integrity of the griffon race. But now? Now, she wasn’t so sure. -&- Armor trudged off to the lieutenant’s tent. Poking his head inside the folds, he saw Lieutenant sak Tallis running maintenance on her curious, if horrific, weapon. “What is it, pony?” she said, seemingly unperturbed. The weapon in her hands had been broken into pieces, some large and some small, but Armor got the feeling that it was still capable of fitting back together. Currently, she was rubbing the part where the metal tube met the wooden stopper with a rag, and she showed no sign of stopping. “The name's Shining Armor. And the issue is, one of your griffon troops is harassing my sister,” Armor replied, his voice still in that low growl. “Stop that happening.” Gilda raised an eyebrow, and she put down the rag, before snapping the gun back together. “I’ll see.” She took her time to strap it onto her back. The pony was probably exaggerating. Most of the troops here had their prejudices knocked out of them by the fifth day of this mission, and at this point they were looking for all the help they could get; pony, changeling, or otherwise. Hunger, ammunition shortage and the realization of what they were doing, had all contributed to that. Twilight Sparkle was sitting on the grass, her ears flicking around like butterflies, facing away from them and towards the barricade. She didn’t seem like that smart geek from before, so confident of her own Princess and friendship’s ability to solve any problem. Ha. Friendship. Kind of ironic, considering that friendship had been the source of the problem between her and Dash at that reunion. She’d chosen that pink moron over her old partner. Shame. Well, her loss. “Twilight Sparkle,” Gilda started, speaking slowly and monotonously. The guard had probably overreacted – when you were surrounded by people you didn’t know, you tended to be more edgy and irritable – and she would know. “What has happened here?” The pony jumped slightly, clearly not having heard the two creatures approaching through the noise of gunfire. “Er… nothing. Somegriffon wanted me to give him bullets, but I didn’t, so… he went and took it himself. I felt bad, so I helped him, and he thanked me. I think.” “He called her a ‘lass’,” the guard said angrily. “No one calls my sister ‘lass’.” Gilda groaned, and faced the guard. “This looks like a private argument. Go deal with it yourself.” She began to stalk back towards her own tent. “I’ve got stuff to do.” “What if I told you that he was insubordinate?” the guard said, suddenly, and Gilda turned around to face him again. “You’re going to have to be more specific.” Armor smiled grimly. “He told me that he didn’t care about your opinion of him. That he didn’t care if you spoke badly of him.” Gilda’s eyes widened, before she settled into a low glare. Don’t jump to conclusions. There may be ulterior motives. Trust no one. “Describe the one that was insubordinate.” “Male griffon, gray head. Long gun –" Ah. So it was one of the sikskysher. Gilda rolled her eyes, and slapped her face with a free talon. “He doesn’t answer to me. He is one of the sikskysher.” Twilight had been watching this whole exchange with a look of dread, but upon hearing the odd word, her ears perked up. “The what?” Her brother visibly deflated, stomping a hoof on the ground. “The closest pony analogy is that he’s part of the griffon Royal Guard.” “Special forces, to be precise,” Gilda said, absentmindedly eying each of the barricades. “I’m regular army, so he’s not under me.” Rubbing the bridge of her beak with one of her talons, she sighed. “Quit bothering me. I have enough on my plate as it is.” She turned around and left. A deep boom reverberated throughout the valley, and all the griffons exchanged worried glances. In particular, one mottled gray griffon wearing a dyed blue feather shook her head.