//------------------------------// // Chapter 5 // Story: Red Wings // by PropMaster //------------------------------// - Chapter 5 -         Kevin awkwardly extended a talon and gripped Red’s outstretched paw, giving it a firm shake. Red smiled at the buzzard and dropped his paw to his side. “Thanks for the save. It was looking pretty desperate there.”         Ruffling his feathers, Kevin shrugged noncommittally. “It... wasn’t actually my idea.”         Red frowned. “What do you mean?” Stepping forward, Wendy spoke up, pointing her thumb at Kevin. “This lunkhead was all for letting you become harpy food. I changed his mind.”         Kevin took a measured step backwards from Red, looking dismissive. “Nothing against ya, pup, but we scavengers gotta get stuff from somewhere, and that’s usually off the corpses of the less fortunate.”         That made a measure of sense to Red, though he didn’t necessarily have to like it. He’d scavenged before, certainly, but usually off the long-dead ponies; what Kevin had nearly done was less savory in his mind. Red shook his head, looking Wendy in the eye. “Well then, thank you for the help... but I still don’t understand why. You don’t know me.”         Wendy beamed at him, showing off a missing tooth, and she pointed towards The Crimson Score. “You’re right! We didn’t know you. But we do know your ship! We spotted it while we were flying over this little slice of Tartarus, and I just had to get a closer look. We didn’t see anybody inside, so I made Kev wait around for a bit and see if anybody showed up. We got turned around in the fog and flew into a bunch of harpies, and ended up frying them good. Then, when we were heading back to your ship, we spotted you.”         Red cocked his head to the side. “Why’re you so interested in my ship?”         Wendy stared at Red with slack-jawed surprise, and Kevin sighed, muttering, “Here we go,” under his breath.         Without another moment’s hesitation, Wendy launched into an explanation, gesticulating wildly to punctuate her statements. “You kiddin’ me?! Have you seen what you’re flyin’? This thing is a freakin’ masterpiece of freakin’ engineering! You’ve got a VTOL capable carrier ship with an engine setup that I ain’t seen anywhere else in the wasteland outside’a the pipe dreams of drunk imp engineers! You’ve got an array up top that looks like it’s made to harness freakin’ lightning for who-knows-what reason, and to top it all off, it wasn’t built by imps! Do you know how nuts that is?”         Red took a half step back, uncertain if he should be flattered or frightened by the goblinette’s outburst, and managed to murmur a hesitant, “Um...”         Wendy was less hesitant, jabbing a finger into his face and crowing ecstatically, “It’s way nuts! This thing is so frostbeams. A freakin’ mini-carrier! So, you gotta tell me, because I need to know. Who built it?”         Managing to regain a modicum of composure, Red straightened his back proudly and answered, “I did.”         She stared at Red for a brief moment before snorting and chuckling. “Ahhaha, yeah, good. Takin’ ownership, just like a real scavenger! I get that. But seriously, who built this thing? Please tell me you didn’t kill ‘em! That’d be a real tragedy.” Red chuckled at the goblinette’s disbelief. “I built it,” he responded evenly. Wendy started chuckling again, and Kevin looked embarrassed and muttered, “He’s serious, Wendy.” Wendy stopped laughing and stared at Red quietly for a moment before shaking her head. “No. No way.” Red smirked, eye gleaming with pride. “Hard to believe?” “You gotta understand, here, there’s no way you built this thing. The only thing remotely close to this level of engineering that the Diamond Dogs ever built was that freakin’ aircraft carrier, the Sweaty Balls or somethin’,” Wendy replied. “On top of that, it took a whole pack of ‘em just to do it.” Red smirked, happy to prove the goblin wrong. “I designed the engines and stabilization system for The Dog’s Bollocks too. My ship, The Crimson Score, uses the same principles and designs, only on a smaller scale. The whole thing, from stem to stern, is my design, and I built it over a few years of tinkering and experimentation. I only recently completed it and got it flying. I’ve got the designs right here if you want to take a look.” Reaching into his satchel, Red pulled out his notebook and flipped it open, thumbing through a few pages until he reached the entry he was searching for. He turned it to face the skeptical goblin mechanic, who squinted at the page for several moments. Wendy’s expression morphed rapidly into one of shock, followed by deep embarrassment. She waved away the notebook and scuffed her boot against the deck, looking sheepish. “Well, looks like I put my foot in it. Sorry Red.” “Let that be a lesson to you,” Red replied smugly. “So, the real question is, why did you save me?” Wendy gestured to The Crimson Score, looking eagerly towards the hangar doors behind Red. “I want to talk shop.” Red wrinkled his nose. “What?” Wendy smiled. “Okay, I also want a tour. And I want to look at the engines.” Red glanced at Kevin, who simply shrugged at the Diamond Dog and replied, “Hey; don’t look at me. She’s nuts about machines. It wasn’t my idea to hook a lightning gun to the bottom of my ship.” Wendy made a face at Kevin. “Awww, still grumpy about that? Look at how useful it was!” With a long-suffering expression that turned into a smirk, Kevin implored Red, “Please. Just let her look at your ship... she probably won’t break anything.” Wendy looked aghast, scowling and placing her hands on her hips. “I would never—” “Okay!” Red cut off the indignant goblin. “I’ll give you a tour, in exchange for saving my life. It’s the least I can do.” Cheering, Wendy skipped past Red and headed for the hanger doors. Red watched her go, shaking his head, and looked to Kevin. “Come on inside, I’ll make you both something to eat after the tour.” Kevin smirked at Red, looking pleased. “Now you’re talkin’. That’s the kind’a reward I can get behind.” Red, Kevin, and Wendy all sat around the table in the storage room of The Crimson Score, talking animatedly over steaming bowls of mushroom stew. Red smiled, more at ease now than he’d been initially. “I’m telling you, as long as the catapult and retrieval system I’ve installed works—which it does—I can launch a small interceptor aircraft with ease.” Kevin laughed. “That’s pretty insane. Why would you need to build a ship that launches another ship? It seems like one ship would be enough.” Red shook his head. “The Score was originally designed to be a merchant ship. The catapult system was rigged up simply because I wanted to test the design. I never imagined that I’d be using the Score as... well, a hunting ship.” Wendy whistled, surprised. “Hunting, huh? What, pray tell, are you hunting?” Red grew nervous, glancing between Kevin and Wendy for a moment. He didn’t want to have another “Brucie incident” on his hands, but Kevin and Wendy didn’t seem like the type that would be great friends with a pony. He exhaled slowly, and smiled. “I’m actually searching for the last pony.” Wendy and Kevin exchanged glances, and chuckled. Kevin said, “Well, you’re gonna have your paws full with that one, that’s for sure. I’ve never met that last piece of horse meat, but she’s got a reputation around the Wastelands.” Wendy looked a little less enthused than Kevin. “She’s a real survivor. A tough customer, too. She used to deal with the Dirigible Dogs a lot, until she went and blew up their carrier. That’s what I heard, anyway.” Red shrugged, bearing his teeth in a vicious smile. “Well, she might be tough, but by the time I catch up with her, she’ll only be one thing: dead.” Kevin smirked. “Ha, that’s the spirit!” Raising his bowl of stew, Kevin declared, “When you catch up t’ her, you sock her one for all of us Wastelanders, yeah?” Red raised his bowl of stew as well, smirking. “I’ll remember that.” Wendy shook her head, laughing a bit to try to hide an edge of discomfort that entered her voice. “I still can’t believe you built all this. It’s really something else. Pure manifested Petra from a Diamond Dog.” Cocking his head curiously, Red asked, “I’ve heard that before: ‘Petra.’ What’s it mean?” “Well, it’s sort of like... hmm...” Wendy struggled to answer. “I guess it’s creativity, but more than that. It’s almost... obsession, I guess. It’s more than doing something for fun. It’s a drive, deep inside you, that you can’t ignore. You create something because not creating feels wrong.” Red nodded, understanding. “I guess that describes me pretty well. If I’m not working on something or sketching out ideas, I feel... twitchy.” “That’s Petra all right! An itch that has to be scratched.” Kevin snorted at the banter. “All right, all this talk about skin conditions is great an’ everythin’, but I’m pretty sure we need to get out of here. Stormfront’s passin’ beneath us.” Wendy and Red both laughed at the buzzard. Kevin rolled his eyes, smirking, and stood up. “Seriously, we need to get outta here, Wends. Last thing I want is the harpies comin’ back lookin’ for a little vengeance. You should get goin’ too, Red.” Nodding and standing up, Red walked Wendy and Kevin out of The Crimson Score and back to their hovering airship, the Rotting Carcass. Red and Wendy shook hands. “Good to meet a fellow enthusiast,” said Red. “More like ‘mechanical genius,’ but I guess ‘enthusiast’ will have to do,” replied Wendy, grinning at the Diamond Dog. Red nodded to Kevin, who ruffled his feathers uncomfortably. “Yeah, don’t hug me or anythin’, alright? I saved you an’ crap, but don’t expect any more favors. We ain’t friends.” “I’ll remember that in the future,” said Red, smiling at the buzzard. Kevin shook his head. “You’re a good dog, Red. No offense meant, it’s just bad business to rescue every wastelander that ends up in trouble, especially for scavengers like me. Just don’t take on any more harpies, alright?” Tail wagging, Red chuckled. “I won’t! Not like I meant to aggravate a flock of those things. It was just bad timing.” Kevin laughed. “Yeah, well, any more cases of bad timing and I’ll end up with two airships, get my drift? Don’t be a dumbass and you’ll do okay.” With those final blunt words of wisdom, Kevin spread his wings, flying up into the hatch on the Carcass. Wendy smiled at Red and gave him a wave, climbing up the rope ladder that Kevin threw down for her and into the ship. Her head peeked out of the hatch a moment later, beaming down at Red, and she threw a paper airplane into the sky. Red reached up and caught it as it spiraled down to the deck of The Crimson Score, chuckling at the item in his paw. When he looked up, the hatch was closed and the Carcass was accelerating away, heading east. Red watched the other airship leave, and then returned to the bridge of the Score. As Red moved up the stairs to the bridge, he unfolded the paper airplane. A simple drawing was scrawled into the paper—a map of a region south and east of the M.O.D.D—with an ‘x’ marked on the rough map and a messily written note that read: Look me up if you’re in town. -W. Red chuckled and tucked the map into his satchel. He sat down in the pilot’s seat and pushed the throttle forward, going Northeast towards the M.O.D.D. He had a rendezvous with Ace and Quint. The Crimson Score flew above the stormfront, skipping across the tops of mountainous thunderheads, like a bullet ricocheting off of hard metal. The cockpit plowed through an errant tuft of vapor and rose from the wispy cloud, the condensation burning off from the internal heat of the ship in trails of rising steam. The Crimson Score nosed upwards, away from the clouds and into the higher atmosphere. Inside the cockpit, Red smiled to himself, enjoying honing his piloting skills. He knew that he’d never be the perfect pilot—and probably never match the last pony in the air, for lack of experience—but for easily paced flights such as this one, he could manage himself. Red flew his ship with what he could only describe as exuberance. He’d certainly made mistakes, but overall he could get from place to place without inviting spontaneous crash-landings or out-of-control dives—something he had not been at all sure about at the outset. He took a moment to bask in the feeling of competence, and to look on his ship as more than the means to an end. He’d completed The Crimson Score with only a single goal in mind—to hunt the last pony—but he’d created more than an instrument for the final genocide of a race that should have long passed away into the ash of the Wastelands. Wendy had said that his creation was a work of “genius,” something that he’d never truly felt about his creations. They were a part of his life—things to help him and make his life easier—not the work of art that the Score seemed to be in the eyes of one enthusiastic and like-minded goblinette mechanic. Red had been a part of the pack before. He’d been a credit to his brethren, certainly, but still a part of a whole. The machines he created were seen as oddities or sometimes useful, but never seemed to inspire awe. The adulation and respect he’d been shown from Wendy had set him aback at first, but now, after she’d gone, Red felt the glow of an inner fire. He felt pride in his work: pride not only in the designs or their efficiency, but that they were his. The Crimson Score. A name that he’d conceived in the grasp of his passionate work, a name that spoke of vengeance to be a carried out, a score to be settled with the blood of the last equine on the planet. She’d taken his eye from him, taken his purpose and former life. She’d been the instrument not only of the destruction of Red’s life, but in the grisly end of his mother as well. If he hadn’t been injured by the last pony... if he hadn’t been out in that stormfront... Red tightened his grip around the controls of the Score, feeling the righteous fury that had launched him on his exodus course through his body, setting his hackles on end. The anger gave him focus, and he smiled to himself. “I’ll get Ace and Quint to fly with me, and then the three of us will go hunting. With Ace’s skill, my knowledge, and Quint’s connections... the last pony won’t know what hit her.” Adjusting his course slightly, Red pointed the nose of The Crimson Score toward the mountains, and his paws clamped down suddenly on the yoke. His eye widened as a throbbing pulse of pain blew through his head, making him bite his tongue. Coppery liquid filled his mouth and Red grunted with agony, spitting blood and managing to slip his tongue from between his clenching teeth. He grimaced, fighting the flashes of pain erupting from the horn embedded in his skull. Shaking from the exertion of maintaining consciousness, Red tried to set the engines of The Crimson Score into a hover. He tore his paws from the primary controls, but his fingers spasmed as his nervous system overloaded, and instead he fumbled into the throttle. The engines powered up, whining as they accelerated The Crimson Score higher into the sky. Red tilted forward in the harness that he’d luckily thought to buckle himself into, his body spasming and his eye darting desperately over the controls of the airship. Blackness tore into his vision, scratching its way into his skull from behind his eye patch, and the cockpit spun, fading into— —blue light briefly blinded me and I grimaced, turning my face away from the flash. I rubbed at my head—feeling a pang of annoyance and... fear?—as I glanced back up to face the direction the errant lightshow had emanated from. The feeling of aggravation left me, as I found myself looking on the absolute picture of equine grace and beauty. Princess Cadance stood before me, her blue aura of teleportation magic dissipating rapidly, and she smiled demurely. “Hello Shining Armor. I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t startle you! I’ve been practicing my teleportation.” I approached the pink alicorn, smiling hesitantly. “I’m all right, my lady. That was... a bit sloppy, though.” Wincing at my blunt honesty, Cadance chuckled weakly. “Yeah, that’s what my instructor said. I think I’ll stick to glamours and enchantments, if it’s all the same to you.” I laughed. “I don’t mind, my lady. It’s good that you’re practicing other magic, but the only unicorn that I know that has mastered so many schools of magic is—” “Let me guess. Twilight, right?” Cadance smiled knowingly. “Yes. My sister is quite the student.” Cadance giggled, trotting a bit closer to stand at a respectful distance from my side. “She was always a fast learner. How is she? Have you seen her recently?” I began to walk at a slow pace, accompanying the princess through the royal gardens of Canterlot. The rose garden was in full bloom, and the princess and I moved down the rows of spectacular flowers. Above, two pegasus guards escorted us at a distance. Hesitating, my head was filled with the screaming of my sister—the changeling’s—voice. I closed my eyes in an attempt to clear the memory from my mind, grimacing. When I opened my eyes, Cadance was leaning forward, brow furrowed with worry as she looked closely—perhaps too closely—at me. I took a practiced step away from her, keeping the distance between us at a space more befitting our roles, and mustered a small smile. “Twilight is doing well, my lady. She left Canterlot two months ago, to study in Ponyville.” Cadance frowned. “Shining Armor, is everything all right?” I bowed, inwardly cursing my lapse of decorum. “Yes, my lady.” “Come on, Shining. Don’t do that.” I played dumb, despite knowing how much she hated it. “Do what, my lady?” Scowling, Cadance shook her head. “You know what! You know that I hate it when you don’t tell me things.” I opened my mouth to speak, but Cadance held a hoof up in the air, halting my tongue. “No, I’m not done yet.” Cadance continued, her voice carrying a hurt tone that I did not expect. “Shining, you’ve been gone for nearly three months off working on some project in some far corner of the world, and I... I haven’t heard from you in all that time. Suddenly, three days ago, you come back on a brief leave, and I don’t hear anything until today! You are not only part of my guard detail when you are in Canterlot, but you are also my closest friend. Your sister is very dear to me as well. If something was wrong with her, or you, Shining Armor, I’d hope that you hold enough respect for me to speak to me plainly, princess or not.” I stared at Cadance, at a loss for words. I stammered, searching for an excuse, but Cadance’s eyes narrowed, daring me to invoke her ire with platitudes. Finally, I sat down and lowered my head in defeat. “I’m sorry, my lady—” Cadance stomped her hoof, interrupting me. “And stop that, will you? Titles at court are one thing, but we can be ourselves out here.” Chuckling weakly, I started again. “I’m sorry... Cadance. I’m just a bit... overwhelmed by the responsibilities of my project and the conditions that I’ve been working under. It is very high stress.” “Apparently stressful enough to wind you up tighter than the Night Guards after Princess Luna returned from the moon.” I smiled, laughing a bit more genuinely than I had in several days. “I guess so.” “There’s more to it, isn’t there? When I mentioned Twilight, something in you curled up and hid behind that shield on your flank. I’m not used to seeing that happen to you, Shining Armor. It... scared me a bit,” Cadance replied, her voice carrying a hint of deep concern. Running a hoof through my mane, I fought a blush that threatened to form on my cheeks. I knew that Cadance and I were close, but hearing her say something like that carried more weight than I’d expected. I regained my composure after a moment. “Yes. There’s more to it, but... I don’t think I can tell you. My project and where I work are a state secret.” Cadance laughed. “Come on, Shining Armor. I’m a princess, Celestia’s own niece. The blood of the royal family is in my veins. Who would I betray secrets to?” Shaking my head, I explained, “It’s not just about secrecy. If somepony discovered that you knew about the project, you could be targeted for the information I divulged to you. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you because of me.” It was Cadance’s turn to blush, turning her head away from me to hide her expression. She recovered quickly, and retorted, “Shining Armor, if somepony targeted me, they’d have to get through the most well trained guardsponies in Equestria to get to me. They’d have to do so under the very noses of Princess Celestia and Luna themselves. Forgive me if I sound arrogant, Shining, but I very much doubt that anypony, no matter how dedicated, could strike at me.” I chuckled. “It does sound a bit silly when you put it like that.” Cadance smiled at me. “So... spill the oats! What’s got you worked up? I don’t need every top-secret detail, but you need to get something off your chest, and I want to help.” We sat in comfortable silence for several moments as I gathered my thoughts. I spoke quietly to Cadance, and she leaned forward, listening intently. “I can’t say too much, but... I’ve been working with changelings. A week ago, I was taking samples from one for study, and it... turned into Twilight.” Ignoring Cadance’s look of horror, I continued, “One of the attendant guards ended up shocking it, hurting it... and it screamed. I-it sounded like Twily—my sweet little sister—was in the worst pain of her life.” Cadance reached out, placing a hoof on my chest, and I stared down at her gold-shod hoof for a moment before looking up at her, my eyes haunted. “I took a leave of absence after that. I couldn’t sleep. I can’t... s-stop hearing her. I can’t stop shaking like a weak foal, feeling... hate.” Cadance’s hoof fell away from my chest, and I caught her grimace, but I continued on. “I hate that changeling, Cadance. I hate what it did, what it made me feel, what it made me face. Nopony should ever have to hear a sound like that from their loved ones.” I sighed, feeling a little better at having simply stated my feelings, but I wasn’t ready for the look of reproach on Cadance’s face. She shook her head, her curly mane bobbing with the movement, and her ears canted back with displeasure. “No.” “... No?” “Shining, why choose hate?” I was taken aback by the question. “I hate it. It’s not so hard to explain.” Cadance frowned. “That’s not like you. What happened may have hurt you, Shining, but to feel hatred? That’s not like you at all.” I scowled. “Why is it a problem? That monster—” “That creature acted as it was supposed to act, Shining. Nothing more.” I shook my head. “I don’t understand.” Cadance smiled at me softly. “Think about it, Shining Armor. Changelings are shapeshifters. I’m assuming that the samples you needed were... physical samples from it’s being?” “Yes...” “So, imagine you’re trotting around, and somepony walks up to you and starts poking and prodding you. Somepony starts snipping your mane, or taking shavings off your hooves. How would you react?” I grimaced. “I would object.” “Of course you would!” Cadance replied, voice full of conviction. “You’d react because you were surprised, angry, or scared. You’d maybe erect one of your shield spells; defend yourself. Well, you may have a shield, but all that changeling has is its shape shifting ability. So, when you came poking and prodding, it reacted.” I hung my head. “I didn’t even think about that...” “Of course you didn’t, Shiny. You were upset, and probably shocked. I don’t blame you for getting upset; that’s natural. But to say you hate something?” I sighed. “You’re right.” Cadance smiled brightly and winked at me. “Of course I am. If I know about anything, I know about love, and part of love is its opposite.” I straightened up, smiling a bit. “It was so nightmarish. I just felt so... afraid.” I winced suddenly, putting a hoof to my forehead and rubbing it lightly as a twinge of pain shot down my horn. Cadance smiled at me, “It’s okay to be afraid, Shining. Fear is natural. Overcoming fear, facing it and mastering it... that’s the true test of a pony.” I grimaced as my headache suddenly intensified, my body feeling suddenly cold. “My apologies... I just... I don’t feel quite right.” Cadance frowned at me as I began to grimace in pain, her hoof reaching out for me. “Shining Armor?” I gasped as the image of a cracking glass screen coated in ice suddenly loomed in my vision, and I shouted, desperately, “Wake— —up!” Red roared, his eye snapping open and focusing. Panic and fear shot down his spine as he willed his body to move. Frost had spidered across the forward viewport, and the entire ship shuddered as it fought to gain altitude in the upper atmosphere. The engines were gasping behind Red, searching for air that simply wasn’t there. Cracks spiraled across the forward viewports, and the bridge interior began to groan, the whistling noise of escaping air indicating a loss of internal pressure as some of the glass in the windows began to fail. The ice spread across everything, and Red’s gasping breaths came out in great plumes of condensation, freezing on contact with the air. Red’s fingers unclenched as adrenaline shot through his system, and he reached for the throttle, desperately trying to reduce his altitude before— Behind Red, he heard the engines sputter one last time and then stall, and Red gritted his teeth. “Oh crap.” As far as he was concerned, that was the worst possible thing. Red reached out and stabbed at the starter, trying to reignite the engines. The Crimson Score’s accumulated momentum peaked out, and it began to fall, slowly at first, but gaining speed all the while. The ship began to twist in the air, and Red yelped as he was jerked against his harness, his head snapping forward and subjecting Red to a harsh case of whiplash. Red shook his head, trying to clear it, and jammed his finger desperately on the starter. The Crimson Score’s engines coughed and sputtered, but refused to start. His ship descended towards the clouds far below. Red felt like screaming and covering his eye, but he focused himself, trying to think of what to do. He was losing altitude rapidly, and the spin was gaining momentum slowly. Red’s mind raced, searching for a solution, when one came to him. A crazy, terrible idea. He had to wait. As he lost altitude, he’d leave the freezing upper atmosphere behind. The engines would begin to thaw, and they’d also get access to more oxygen at lower altitudes. They’d have a far better chance of starting at a lower altitude. The true issue, though, was reaching the lowest altitude he could manage, give the engines enough time to gain power to stop his descent, and also bring himself out of the death spiral that his ship was threatening to enter. “Not like this. Not like this. Merciful Gaia, not like this,” Red prayed, repeating the words like a mantra. Red could feel panic clawing at his head, distracting him, leaving him vulnerable to mistakes that he could no longer afford to make. He’d have one shot, a tiny window of opportunity. If he missed it, he was dead. Red’s paws shook, and he held his finger over the button to start his engines, eye darting between the altimeter and the cracked forward viewport. The ice was already melting away from the windows, but Red was more concerned with monitoring the speed of the spin The Crimson Score was in. He calculated rapidly, trying to estimate when he needed to start the engines, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was already dead. As the Score dipped into the top of the stormfront, Red whimpered, closing his eye, searching for something to cling to. His most recent hallucination came to him, suddenly. The images of his imminent demise that ran through his head again and again were replaced with gentle purple eyes, filled with a royal grace and a deep, quiet passion. “Fear is natural,” Red murmured softly. “Overcoming fear, facing it and mastering it... that’s the true test.” Red opened his eye, a calm suffusing his body, and checked the altimeter. He glanced up to the viewscreen, judging the spin. He exhaled, slowly, and then watched the altimeter’s dial spin down. 1500 meters. “One.” 1400 meters. “Two” 1300 meters. “Three Red’s finger jabbed into the button, and the engines sputtered, clearing their intakes of residual frost, and then caught. Red howled triumphantly and pushed the throttle to full power, and then gripped the flight yoke. The engines powered up quickly, as the ground rushed up to meet him, and Red’s descent began to slow. Simultaneously, Red pulled the yoke sideways, sending power to the rear rotors and bringing the Score’s death spiral to a slow halt. His velocity bled away slowly, the rapid descent turning into a controlled fall. The ground was far too close for comfort, and Red grit his teeth. “Come on!” Finally, The Crimson Score slowed to a halt. Red decreased the throttle immediately, settling into a hover barely 60 meters above the ground. He sat quietly for a moment, his brain processing his survival, and he burst into a fit of hysterical giggles. He continued to snicker for several moments before leaning to the side in his pilot seat and throwing up on the deck of the bridge. Red coughed, sputtered, and wiped his muzzle, still giggling slightly. “Holy crap that was close.” Red throttled the engines up and The Crimson Score began climbing vertically back into the stormy sky. Red’s stomach did a few more flips as lightning flashed overhead, but he held back his gorge. Once he was safely back into the sky above the stormfront, he set the Score to hover, unmoving. Unstrapping himself from the pilot seat, Red stood shakily on the deck of the ship. He slipped into the crew quarters and returned with a rag, wiping up his vomit off the deck and discarding the rag in a bin. He returned to the pilot seat and sat down in it again, simply waiting for his nerves to untangle and the shaking in his paws to stop. Below, the stormfront rumbled and raged, and Red sat quietly and listened to it, taking a measure of solace in the sound’s familiarity.         The M.O.D.D. was a cacophonous mess. A brawl appeared to have broken out between a few tables of Mountain Ogres and Fire Ogres, and they were busily knocking each other’s teeth out, as well as dealing indiscriminate property damage to the bar area. Red sat in the corner, keeping his eye on the brawl in case it escalated. Pitt stood at the back, yelling into the melee. “You bungholes take it outside! Last warning!”         The ogres ignored the baboon’s cries, and one Mountain Ogre actually began lifting another combatant up into the air, seeming intent on throwing his enemy behind the bar. Pitt’s eyes narrowed. Red leaned forward at his table, intrested to see how Pitt would handle the situation.         Blam!         The Mountain Ogre rocked backward suddenly, as one of it’s arms tore off at the shoulder as a massive slug blew through its flesh. The Fire Ogre he had been lifting fell atop his mortally wounded nemesis and rolled to a standing position. The area around the ogres cleared rapidly of other patrons as Pitt stood up atop the bar, wielding a massive rifle in one hand and a pistol in the other. The rifle’s bore smoked slightly, and Pitt lifted the weapon to his lips and blew the haze away from the barrel. His eyes narrowed. “Alright, I’ve been nice and accommodating to you dimwitted tubs of lard for the last minute or so, but that stops now.”                  Pitt balanced easily on one back leg and using his free foot, cocked the rifle, ejecting a huge, smoking shell from the chamber, and then aimed it at the group of ogres once more. “Both of your groups owe me three hundred strips for the damages to my bar, and twenty strips for the round I just plugged your buddy with. I’m going to get those silver strips one of two ways. I’ll let you idiots figure out which way ends with the least number of you filled with lead.”         The ogres stared dumbly at Pitt for a moment. The Mountain Ogre with the missing arm whimpered and muttered something through gobs of drool and blood, and the Fire Ogre he’d been about to throw through the bar lifted up one leg and stomped his opponent’s head in, before turning to Pitt. “You protectin’ Mountain Ogres or sumfing, Pitt? You takin’ sides?”         Pitt rolled his eyes and snarled in reply to the accusation, “No, lard-for-brains, I’m protecting my friggin’ establishment from getting torn apart by obese patrons. I don’t care if you’re Fire Ogres or Mountain Ogres or Ass Ogres. All I care about is my friggin’ stuff getting broken, something that I don’t take kindly to. So, you’ve got about three seconds to pay up some strips before I make you into next week’s stew.”         All the ogres glanced at each other and chuckled. The Fire Ogre that had been speaking snarled, “Yeah, you an’ what zoggin’ army?”         Pitt smirked, and called out, “Free drinks to the first warm body to pull a gun on these chumps.”         The bar suddenly bristled with gun barrels as the patrons all around the ogres pulled an incredible assortment of weaponry from bandoliers and belts and trained them on the dumbfounded ogres. Red chuckled and pulled out his steam pistol, taking aim at one of the ogre groups. After an awkward moment of silence, one of the Mountain Ogres shrugged and turned to the rest of his group. “We’s not gettin’ thru dat mess.”         The Fire Ogre looked ready to murder someone, but was at least intelligent enough to think better of trying anything with the amount of firepower pointing his direction. He rounded on his fellow Fire Ogres. “All right, get out yer strips.”         Pitt smirked as the two groups forked over three hundred silver strips each, and the Mountain Ogres dropped twenty additional strips on the counter after some prodding from Pitt. The bar was deathly silent as the ogres filed out of the bar separately. Pitt smirked and started pulling cups from beneath the bar and lining them up on the bartop. “Thanks for the help, ya friggin’ scabs. A round on the house, as promised.”         The remaining patrons cheered and began doling out the drinks. Red helped himself to a mug, and leaned up against the bar as Pitt poured cup after cup of what was undoubtedly his cheapest brew. After several minutes of work, the bar’s patrons had settled back into their seats and the comfortably loud babble of conversation filled the foul smelling bar once again. The mangy raccoon threw the mangled ogre arm up on the bartop and hissed at Pitt, “G-got ya somethin’... f’r a drink?”         Rolling his eyes, Pitt snatched the limb off the bar top and poured the raccoon another round. Red made a disgusted face at Pitt, and Pitt smirked at him, “Ah, c’mon pup. You were enjoying my stew a bit ago.”         Red snorted. “Yeah, but I should have known better. Who’s body parts was I eating, I wonder.”         “Nobody you knew,” replied Pitt with a harsh laugh. His expression suddenly became thoughtful. “... Probably nobody you knew.”         Frowning at the sudden change of phrasing, Red hesitantly asked, “What does that mean?”         “Well, you know what they say, Red, “ said Pitt, chuckling darkly.         Red stared at Pitt, waiting for the rest of the statement, but Pitt merely gestured off to one side of the bar, where a toothy Dirigible Dog was chowing down on a bowl of stew. Something in the stew crunched, suddenly, and the Dirigible Dog spat out an object that looked suspiciously like a canine tooth. Deciding a change of topic was in order, if only for the sake of his suddenly sick stomach, Red said, “I’ve been looking for two Dirigible Dogs, by the name of Ace and Quint. Have you seen them?”         Pitt shook his head. “Nah, I haven’t seen ‘em for a few stormfronts. You know ‘em?”         “Yeah. They helped me fix up my ship, and promised to meet up here in two stormfronts. I’ve been waiting for a while now, and they haven’t shown.”         Pitt tapped a finger against his chin, pondering for a moment, before shrugging. “That’s too bad. They were picking up cargo for me.”         Pitt turned away from Red, and Red sighed, wracking his brain trying to figure out why they were late. He’d arrived late to the M.O.D.D. after the second stormfront, but if Pitt said he hadn’t seen them, Red believed him. He caught Pitt’s eye after a moment and waved the baboon back over. “Pitt, where were Ace and Quint flying to?”         Pitt replied, “North of Mount Ogreton, a tiny goblin settlement that’s south of the big Petra and west of the Valley of Jewels.”         Frowning, Red asked, “Do you think something could have happened to them?”         The baboon threw his hands up in the air. “What do I look like, their mother? I don’t know! Crap happens out in the Wastelands. They’ll show up, or they won’t. That’s how it goes.”                  Red stared down at the bar for a moment before straightening up. He slapped a few silver strips on the bar top and nodded to Pitt. “This should cover my tab.”         Pitt scooped up the strips without comment, and Red walked out the doors to the M.O.D.D., heading for The Crimson Score. He’d spent most of his wait time at the M.O.D.D. repairing the cracked viewports across the ship, and she was ready to fly once more. He detached the charging cable that one of Pitt’s brothers had hooked up to his ship, and ascended quickly to the bridge of the Score. He disengaged the mooring clamps and powered up the engines to full, bringing it out of the hover they’d been maintaining for the better part of twenty hours. Red dipped a paw into his satchel and retrieved the slightly crumpled paper airplane from within, and unfolded it, revealing Wendy’s map of the area of the Wastelands southeast from the M.O.D.D. Red tucked the map on top of the control panel in front of him. Lifting off, he adjusted his heading to the southeast and began his flight out into the unknown. The Crimson Score left the mountains behind swiftly, moving down into the foothills with ease. Red kept his ship low, scanning the dark and shattered landscape below his ship for any signs of recent wreckage. He didn’t know for sure if Ace and Quint were even in trouble, or simply running late, but he knew deep in his gut that if he didn’t go out and look for his two friends, nobody ever would. Red watched the ground, shining the forward-mounted exterior lights of the Score over the fresh wreckage of an airship. The debris was not Quint and Ace’s ship, but the design was familiar to Red. He flew lower, looking closely at the still-deflating envelope of the balloon that once held aloft the crudely build ship. The entire vehicle was riddled with bullet holes and scorch marks, and as Red’s forward lights shone into the bridge of the decimated airframe, he saw corpses that immediately made him realize why the ship was familiar. The bodies of the Mountain Ogres that had been at the M.O.D.D. filled the ship. They’d been blown apart by the sheer volume of fire that had hit their vessel. The wreckage appeared to have already been picked over, and Red felt it was safe to assume that the Fire Ogres had shot down the Mountain Ogre ship and had taken anything of worth. Red accelerated the Score into the air once more after circling around the wreckage, and continued on his southeastern course.   The wasteland flew past beneath Red, and he maneuvered high over the decimated ruins of a small township, apparently abandoned for years. He’d been flying for nearly a day now, and exhaustion was starting to take its toll on his mind. He’d pushed himself well beyond when most pilots would have stopped to rest, but now he was at his limit. Red adjusted his course with a sigh, pulling into the upper atmosphere and settling his ship high in the air. He switched the engines to maintain a stationary hover and leaned back in the pilot’s chair. He felt himself drifting off to sleep, and his eye began to droop, when something out the front viewscreen caught his eye. Farther south, from the edges of a scattering of impact craters, a red glow emanated dimly, piercing the blackness. He hadn’t noticed it because he’d been flying too low to see into the depths of the cratered surface that was a bit further east, off the route that Red had been following. Red frowned, blinking away his exhaustion, and pulled The Crimson Score out of its hover and turned east. He turned off the interior and exterior lights and began to fly closer, keeping high in the atmosphere so as to avoid detection. The Crimson Score flew closer to the lights, which slowly separated into distinct groupings of bonfires and electric lighting. Red squinted, but couldn’t make out much detail. Standing up, Red set the Score to hover over the top of the bonfires, and went downstairs, pausing only long enough to grab a spyglass from the storage area. Red moved out to the front landing deck and peered over the edge of the deck, lifting the spyglass to his eye. The spyglass revealed large figures around the bonfires, standing around and talking animatedly. A half dozen airships were parked in a circle, around the bonfires, and the ships’ electric lights were illuminating the area further, lighting up the crevasses and hills of dust that had filled the bottom of the crater. Red frowned to himself, trying to get a better look at the figures down below, when something caught his eye. A seventh, larger ship was flying in low from the southern edge of the crater. This ship lumbered to a halt and settled on rickety landing struts. A large ramp opened in the belly of the ship and disgorged another group from its interior. Red finally discerned that the figures below were ogres, probably Fire Ogres. Red ran the spyglass over the other nearby vessels and confirmed this guess, spotting the airship that the Fire Ogres from the M.O.D.D. had been piloting. Below, the ogres greeted each other with back-slapping and some more violently good-natured punches. The newest arrivals returned inside their vehicle, and the electric lights of their ship powered up fully, brightening the area considerably. A few minutes later, they returned, herding a massive group of chained figures down the ramp with them. Red scowled, muttering to himself, “Slavers.” The slaves were gathered together at the base of the ramp and split into groups, pulled towards different bonfires. The ogres gestured animatedly at each other for a while, and a brawl broke out briefly that seemed to happen for no reason and stop just as quickly. Red shook his head at the ogre’s stupid displays of machismo, chuckling. He was about to put the spyglass away, when two slaves suddenly broke away, running from the bonfires and ogres. They moved briefly through the brightly lit area, and Red’s eye widened with shock. Down below, two Dirigible Dogs that were unmistakably Ace and Quint ran together, heading for one of the smaller zeppelin airships. They disappeared into the interior of the ship, and Red clenched his teeth, glancing around below. The ogres noticed the missing slaves, but didn’t realize where they’d gone until one of the airships began to lift off. Red turned away, sprinting as quickly as he could manage in his exhausted state, and ran for the bridge. Leaping into the pilot seat, Red brought The Crimson Score out of a hover, dropping out of the sky as quickly as he could manage and circling around to come at the ogre encampment from the south. He clenched his teeth, watching as the ogre ship lifted into the air. Below, the ogres opened fire, muzzle flashes lighting the dark interior of the crater. The ogre ship took several hits, and one of the engines began to smoke slightly. Red pushed the engines of The Crimson Score, bringing her down as low as he could manage, and he buzzed the ogre encampment at top speed, sowing confusion as the gunfire suddenly spread from a single target to two. Red snarled as impacts dinged against the Score’s lower hull, and pulled his ship up, flying past the hijacked ogre zeppelin and powering on his exterior lights as he did so, fully illuminating The Crimson Score. Red swung The Crimson Score around, maneuvering towards putting his bulkier and far more armored ship between the ogres on the ground and the zeppelin, when, from below, a massive plume of flame exploded from the slaver ship. Red gasped as the rapid-fire blasts of a gatling weapon spat fire into the zeppelin’s envelope, blowing holes in the floundering ship. The envelope began to deflate, and the zeppelin jerked towards the ground. The zeppelin turned and began to power towards the ash dunes a few hundred yards distant of the encampment as the slaver ship opened fire with its gatling gun once more, peppering the ship with bullets. The zeppelin lurched and finally crashed into the dunes, sending up a massive cloud of black ash and dust, covering the crash site. Red grit his teeth and pulled The Crimson Score up, turning off the exterior lights before the large slaver ship could draw a bead on his vessel. Red flew towards the lip of the crater nearest the crashed Zeppelin and set the Score down in the dirt, landing her without any modicum of grace. The Crimson Score settled with a dull thud and scrape, sending dust into the air, and Red powered down the engines. Red ran to the storage area, unceremoniously dumping the contents of his satchel onto the messy table. He retrieved the steam pistol, the spare steam charges and slugs, his rifle and ammunition, the first aid kit, the single harpy-made grenade, and the spyglass. Throwing everything that could fit into his satchel and shouldering the rifle, Red ran down to the front deck of the score and slid down the ladder, landing in the ash. Red sprinted to the lip of the crater and pulled the spyglass up to his eye, looking into the crater and finding the crash site. From the ogre encampment came distant yells and shouts, and a line of torches began to advance from the encampment, heading towards the crash site. Red trained his spyglass on the downed zeppelin, but it was obscured by a plume of settling dust and smoke. He put the spyglass into his satchel and slid over the edge of the crater, scrambling down the escarpment and into the bottom of the crater. The crater edge that he had arrived at was about four hundred yards distant from the crash site, through pitted and uncertain ground and ash dunes. The ogres seemed to have an equal amount of distance to cover. Red hesitated; he had no idea if Ace and Quint were alive. The ship had been shot to hell, and they could have been caught by stray bullets at any time. Gritting his teeth, Red pushed these thoughts out of his mind. He owed it to Ace and Quint to try and save them. Red sprinted into the dunes, feeling his head ache from the overexertion of the past several days and his body begin to tire, only pure adrenaline keeping him going. He had no idea how long he was going to last before becoming more of a hindrance than a help to this desperate escape attempt. Red powered onward, panting with exhaustion. He stumbled several times, falling down dunes and covering his body with ash. At first it was annoying, but his exhausted brain eventually caught up to the action and Red realized it was a good idea to camouflage himself to be the same color as the dust around him. Red allowed the ash to cake onto his coat, dulling his russet colors into a ghostly gray. He only concerned himself with keeping his rifle clean of the dust, to prevent misfires. Red covered the first hundred yards at a far slower pace than he’d intended. Cresting a dune of ash, he could see the line of torches spreading out, some six hundred yards away, moving to enclose the crash as they approached. Red gripped his rifle, aiming high through the scope at the nearest torch, and fired twice, sending bullets into the edge of advancing ogres. The closer group of ogres seemed to hesitate, slowing down as they were shot at. Red smirked and continued onward, getting closer to halfway to the crash site. From within the crash, a muzzle flash illuminated the darkness briefly. Red grinned to himself, happy to see some sign of life from Ace and Quint. With renewed vigor, he moved towards the crash. Two dark figures emerged from the crash site, and Red raised his rifle into the air, shooting once, giving away his position. Red moved to the nearest dune and clambered atop it, training his eye through the scope of his rifle. He monitored Ace and Quint’s progress, and saw that they had turned towards the muzzle flash from his rifle. However, Red also noticed that the nearer group of torch-bearing ogres had changed direction, coming towards him now as well. Red lay prone and raised the rifle scope to his eye. He aimed towards the nearest torch and, adjusting for his target’s movement and the distance, opened fire. He fired three times, the first two seeming to have no effect. On his third shot, the torch suddenly dropped to the ground, winking out. Red chuckled grimly, pausing to reload, and stood up, changing his position to another dune a bit farther away. He began to fire on another torchbearer, and after four shots managed to hit his target. Red winced as a high-pitched whine buzzed past him, a bullet flying overhead. He shifted positions again, returning to the other dune he’d been shooting from, and was about to fire when he realized that he could hear panting breaths approaching from a few dunes away. Red shouldered his rifle and slid down the dune carefully. He crested the next dune and, looking down, spotted Ace and Quint. The two Dirigible Dogs were climbing up the dune towards him, Quint clinging to Ace’s waist. Red shouted, urgently, “Up here! Come on, let’s move!” Ace and Quint froze, staring up at him. Quint muttered, “Holy crap. Red?” Red smirked. “Who else is gonna take on an encampment of ogres to save your sorry tails?” Ace rasped a nearly silent, hissing chuckle, and bounded up the sand dune to stand before Red. Quint yelped, unbalanced as Ace left his side, and fell over. Red grinned at Ace as the bigger Dirigible Dog put a paw on Red’s shoulder with a grin. Red pointed towards the edge of the crater. “The Crimson Score is parked up there. Let’s go, quick as you can manage.” Ace spun around, retreating back down the dune. Red eyed the approaching line of torches. They were swarming over the crashed zeppelin, some two hundred yards distant. “Let’s get moving, pups, we’ve got—” He stopped talking, as he looked down the dune. Ace had knelt down next to Quint, and was helping the smaller dog to his feet. Red had noticed, initially, how close they were standing together, and now it made sense. Quint was hurt. Sliding down the dune, Red joined Ace and Quint at the base of the pile of ash. Quint grit his teeth, looking up at Red as he balanced on his right leg. “I took a bullet to the leg. It might be broken or something.” Red peered down at Quint’s lower left leg and winced. There was a ragged hole in his leg that was bleeding profusely. Red glanced up at Quint, and Quint nodded. “Yeah, it’s bad. We don’t have time to stop and play doctor, though, pup. We gotta move.” Reaching into his satchel, Red fumbled for the first aid kit, but Quint cuffed him on the side of the ear, making Red yelp and jump upright. Quint glared. “I said we ain’t got time. Move your tail!” Red nodded and shouldered his rifle, moving back up the dune. The ogres that had broken off from the main group were only a hundred yards away now, and closing fast. Red glanced down the dune, and watched as Ace practically drug Quint through the dust. Red snarled angrily and called, “Ace, pick him up!” Quint called back, “I can do it!”  Ace glanced between Quint and Red, heaved a silent sigh, and picked Quint up. The little dog protested, snarling curses in between yelps of pain as his injured leg was moved about. Picking up the pace, Ace began to run through the dunes, towards the lip of the crater. Red followed the two Dirigible Dogs, throwing nervous glances over his shoulder. The ogres were growing closer, close enough for Red to be able to pick them out in the dark. He reached into his satchel and drew his steam pistol. He opened fire, the pistol hissing out puffs of steam as it threw slugs at the oncoming ogres. Red smiled as he saw an ogre stumble, injured, and a second one dropped to the dust, unmoving. He continued to retreat, pausing occasionally to open fire, the steam pistol’s greatest advantage being its lack of muzzle flash. Despite his efforts, the ogres were continuing to gain on them. Red was at the limit of his strength, the adrenaline no longer enough to keep him moving at anything more than a fast jog. Ace had slowed down as well, the added weight of carrying Quint causing him to be bogged down far easier in the soft dunes of char and dust. Red growled to himself, pushing his body to keep moving forward. Ace heard him growl, and turned to glance back at Red. Red continued to fire into the advancing ogres. The hundred yards of separation had turned into forty, and the ogres were beginning to fire on Red as he moved, their own advance slowing to duck behind dunes. The lip of the crater was perhaps thirty yards away, now, with a steep incline to surpass before arriving at The Crimson Score. Red caught up to Ace and Quint, and Quint snarled. “This is looking bad.” Red nodded, panting. “I’m almost out of ammunition for my steam pistol. I can’t fire the rifle, though, because the only thing that’s keeping them from missing me is the fact that they can’t quite figure out where I am.” Ace shook his head, and Quint clenched his paw into a fist, looking upset. Red smirked at them, managing to gasp between breaths. “Hey, I’ve been in worse scrapes than this.” Quint chuckled quietly. “Really, pup?” Red nodded. “It’s been a busy couple of stormfronts.” Ace and Quint glanced at each other, some unspeakable emotion passing between them, and then they looked at Red. Quint said, after a pause, “I’m done. Ace, put me down.” Ace stopped at the bottom of a sand dune, and knelt, carefully setting Quint down. Quint reclined against the dune for a moment, exhaling slowly as pain throbbed up his leg. Red met them at the bottom of the dune, frowning. “What’s going on?” “You heard me, Red. I’m done,” replied Quint. “I’m bleeding out fast, and my leg’s messed up somethin’ bad. I’m slowing Ace and you down.” Red stared at Quint. Ace put a paw on Quint’s shoulder, and then stood up, looking to Red. Red shook his head. “There’s got to be a better way.” “This ain’t your decision, Red. We’re all almost out of time, and if you don’t get going, all three of us are going to end up dead, instead of just me. Unless you got a magical potion that’ll put my leg back together, there ain’t nothin’ you’re gonna be able to do for me.” Red growled. “I know more than rudimentary first aid!” “I’m dead, Red! I was dead the minute I took a bullet to my leg! Something in it is shattered, and I can’t feel anything below the bullet hole!” yelled Quint. The smaller dog swayed a bit after his outburst, his eyelids fluttering slightly, and he shivered. “I’m fadin’ fast, Red. You gotta get Ace outta here... because even if you got me to that ship, I’d still be dead.” Red’s exhausted mind worked, trying to find a way out, an alternative. Ace suddenly reached out, grasping Red’s shoulder, and then gestured upward. Red glanced up, towards the sky, not quite understanding, but then he heard ogre voices, now close enough to be heard properly. “Dey went dis way!” “Move it, ya zoggin’ gits!” “We’re comin’ for you, doggies!” Red exhaled, glancing down at Quint. Quint smiled at him. “Get outta here Red... an’ go kill that pony ’a yours.” After a moment of hesitation, Red fumbled in his bag and offered Quint the harpy grenade. “You know what this is?” Quint took the grenade, feeling it in the semi-dark, and laughed weakly. “Oh. Oh, that is good. That is too good. Yeah, Red, I know what this is.” Quint nodded to Red, gripping the grenade to his chest. Red stood beside Ace, the two dogs looking down at their companion for a moment. Ace turned and broke into a run, heading up the dune. Red searched for something more to say, but realized that there was nothing that he could say that would make what he was about to do any easier. Red moved, sprinting after Ace, and left Quint at the bottom of the sand dune. Ace and Red moved quickly, Ace no longer having issues with the dunes. The ogres spotted them and began to give chase. Red yelped and stumbled down a dune as bullets whizzed by over head. Red went into a head-over-heels roll, landing in a dazed heap at the bottom of a dune. Ace came behind him, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck and lifting him up and helping him regain his footing. Behind them, the Ogres began to shout. Suddenly, there was a resounding explosion from two dunes behind them. Red froze, glancing back to see a plume of ash fly into the air, and the sound of ogres howling in pain. Gunshots rang out, and Red heard a strangled yelp. Ace shoved Red, silently snarling at the younger dog, and Red shook himself, breaking into a run once more. The two dogs reached the crater’s edge, and began to quickly climb up. The ogres were shouting below, back in the dunes, and the torches began to converge. Ace crested the lip of the crater first and spun around immediately, reaching down and giving the struggling Red a paw up, dragging the gasping and exhausted Diamond Dog to the top of the crater wall. Red knelt, panting, and gruff voices called up to them from the base of the crater. “Oy! Puppies! Oy!” Red stood up, and he and Ace began to run towards The Crimson Score. The next words they heard, though, stopped them cold. “We’ve got your friend!” Red glanced at Ace, and Ace shook his head. A high-pitched scream from below gave them both pause, and Ace stared back at the lip of the crater. Together, they moved to the crater’s edge, and peered over. The ogres were standing in a group, and one stood ahead of the others, his hands on his hips. Next to him stood a slightly smaller ogre, who was holding up a weakly struggling Quint above his head. The ogre gave Quint a shake, and Quint screamed again, sobbing. “We’ve got your friend, an’ we’re willin’ t’ cut ya a deal. We’re reasonable folk, ain’t dat right, boys?” The other ogres chuckled raucously. Red stared at Quint, who twitched feebly in the clutches of his captor. Glancing at Ace, Red saw the bigger dog staring down at Quint, silent tears streaming down his face. Red shuddered, and called, “What are your terms?” “You come down ‘ere, an’ we’ll take you an’ your ship. In exchange, we’ll let your friend live. We’ll fix ‘im up, even. All three of ya can be together. You’ll be slaves, sure, but you’ll all be alive.” Red stared at Quint, who continued to shiver as the ogre clutching him gave him another shake, causing him to cry out piercingly. “Fink abou’ it, puppies. You’ll all three be alive. What’s it dat I’ve heard blokes say? ‘Where dere’s life, dere’s ‘ope?’” Red’s paws clenched into fists. “...Ace?” Ace had stood up, and moved to stand next to Red. He was still crying, and looking at Red with an expression of pain and sorrow. Red shivered, and shook his head. “I... I don’t know what to do.” Gently, Ace lifted the rifle from Red’s sagging shoulder. He worked the action, spitting out an empty shell and chambering a fresh round. Ace wiped at his eyes with the back of his paw, and then lifted the scope to his eye. Red looked down to the group of ogres far below. The rifle cracked, and Quint’s head snapped back, blood and brain matter exploding from the back of his skull. The ogre holding him jumped, dropping Quint’s body into the dust. The ogres roared and began to fire on the lip of the crater. Ace lowered the rifle and spat onto the ground, and then turned away, heading for The Crimson Score. Red stared after him, shocked, but then moved as well, climbing up the ladder behind Ace. Wordlessly, Ace led Red up to the bridge, and sat down in the pilot’s seat. Red stood behind Ace, panting, searching for something to say. Ace powered up the Score’s engines, and as bullets began to ping against the side of the hull, the ship powered into the sky, leaving the ogres far behind. High in the atmosphere, Ace turned The Crimson Score to the south and accelerated, towards an unknown destination. Red stood quietly behind Ace, staring out the upper viewport and into the black sky above them both. He exhaled slowly, and began to ask, “Where—?” Ace held up a paw, silencing Red, and pointed to the map that sat on the front of the controls. Red looked closer, and saw that Ace was pointing at the ‘x’ that had been marked by Wendy nearly a stormfront ago. Red opened his mouth again, but Ace shook his head, and stood up. He gave the pilot seat a pat, obviously indicating that Red should take over. Red slid around Ace and sat down, taking the controls. “What are you—?” Ace was walking away, though, back towards the crew cabin. Red shook his head, focusing himself, and continued to pilot, heading for Wendy’s ‘x’. Back in the crew compartment, Ace sat down slowly on one of the bunks, his claws clutching the edge of the mattress. He sat silently for a moment, before picking up one of the rough and fibrous blankets and leaning back, lying down on the bunk. Ace pulled the blanket close, curling around it, and tucked his face into the folds of cloth, shaking. End of Chapter 5 Special Thanks to: Raz, Brian, Warden, and Skirts.