Gear in the Machine

by SFaccountant

War Machine

Gear in the Machine

Chapter 11
War Engine

The vid-screen issued a loud, dangerous-sounding clunking noise before it flickered on, first turning to stacked horizontal bars of static and then gradually defining itself into something resembling an image of the space outside. A series of blinking red lumens on the side turned green one by one, and when the entire row had changed the image quivered and stabilized. Rows of Leman Russ battle tanks and Chimera APCs were pictured ahead in uneven ranks. Soldiers moved around them at a hurried speed.

Gear Works sat near the back while the two other Dark Acolytes in the transport bay studied the image. It was hard to see with them in the way as the vid-screen was very small, but he doubted he had any tactical insight to offer if they gave him a good look anyway. After a few seconds one of the green lumens flashed red again, and a streak of white suddenly spoiled the imaging. The Dark Acolyte nearest the controls blurted a profanity in Binaric, suggesting he would as soon smash the errant light as try to identify the malfunction.

Scav Crawlers were odd creations among the otherwise highly standardized vehicle squadrons of the 38th Company. Assembled from the remains of burnt-out wrecks and spare parts, the transports used by the Dark Mechanicus combat engineers were almost entirely recycled in a way that inevitably invited comparison to Ork vehicles. Mismatched hull plating, hotwired internals, and engines that either struggled to carry their load or were too big to be properly mounted on in the hull were commonplace. Cranes, winches, trailers, or servo claws were mounted on every Scav Crawler, ready to devour the wreckage presumed to be at their destination. Some of the Crawlers boasted wheels and compact, sealed cargo compartments. Some were heavy tracked vehicles with open cargo beds. The most consistent feature between them was the grinning silver skull stamped on the sides of the hull on each one, announcing its allegiance to all who saw it.

As a result, it was commonplace for the transports to boast underpowered sensoria and data-feeds, unfortunately, and the systems they did possess were in poor repair. The Dark Acolyte ripped open the control panel and began feeding mechadendrites into the circuitry underneath. The vid-screen flickered, then turned bright green. Then it finally turned into a recognizable image again: that of a wasted battlefield.

This particular aftermath hosted a number of dead bodies with four arms and the remains of arcane golems. Enormous sandstone limbs littered the ground, some of them boasting strange arrays of broken crystals and scorched metal casing. No two of the constructs were alike, which was evident despite the destruction and crude quality of the display. Some of them had extra limbs, or giant, bulbous heads, or elegantly carved crests.

+Tacticae logs display a penchant for ambush and exotic weaponry. They possess examples of high technology, but these do not appear to reflect the overall industrial capabilities of the faction, which are not substantially greater than other class III civilizations on this world. Like all the lesser races, they do not understand proper strategic doctrinae.+

+The battle was successful without Astartes combat efficacy. Losses were below projections.+

+On that note, we really must adjust the sim codex formula to account for equine persistence.+

+Error: Illogical. Equines display no basis for correction.+

+Historical performance? Why would consistently inaccurate conclusives not warrant adjustment?+

+They are within acceptable statistical variance.+

+No it isn’t.+

+Shut up.+

+For what it’s worth, the inexplicable survival rate of equine combatants does not seem to influence overall tactical efficacy; ponies that are severely wounded rather than dead, or simply too scared to advance, do not contribute to victory any more than a corpse. Slightly less, in a way, since we must expend resources to extract still-living combatants,+ Gear Works mused, his interjection emerging in a two-second crackle of static.

The Techpriests slowly turned to look at the cyborg stallion, staring at him through clusters of glowing green lights beneath black hoods. It was a routine sight for him, as many of his colleagues in the Mechanicus persisted in having these reactions whenever he spoke up.

+It remains irrationally jarring every time that creature speaks fluent Binaric,+ said one of the Dark Techpriests, turning back to his companion.

+Concurrence: Carmed may experiment as he wishes, but it would be optimal to keep his projects properly contained. Its work deployments are only tolerated because the Astartes and other equine servants have an inexplicable fondness for it,+ said the other cultist, mixing his grumbling with a blurted sigh.

Gear Works endured the conversation with his usual patience while the Scav Crawler shuddered to a stop. One of the Dark Techpriests stabbed a dataspike into an inlet port and began generating a topographical data field within the noosphere link. A hundred separate augury scans – taken before, during, and after the combat – were all compiled and parsed, with mass clusters identified and marked by material type. In seconds the quantities were logged, production estimates were calculated, and objective nodes were designated.

Attached to the walls were braces carrying servitors, taking up most of the vehicle’s cargo capacity. One by one these restraints were unlocked and lowered, and the servitor within oriented itself on the ground. Once every brace was open, the cyber-slaves moved simultaneously and disconnected themselves from the charging lattice. Orders inloaded and processed, some of them immediately turned and walked off, while others shifted into groups and awaited more specific programming.

Gears stepped out of the Scav Crawler, his bionic legs thumping loudly against the ramp. A pair of servitors lurched after him, carrying hydraulic pincers and heavy drills where their forearms used to be in a past life. On the sides of the Crawler, cylinder-shaped pods carried on the sides of the hull slowly ratcheted down to the ground before opening up. Another pair of cyber-slaves stepped out onto the battered ground, the charging cables on their back and neck tugging loose from energized sockets within the pod. They stiffly rushed to join the other two, completing the squad of workers.

His squad complete, Gear Works walked through the battlefield toward his objective. The battle had clearly been fierce, but the winner was obvious from the aftermath. Numerous shattered stone hulks were strewn about the battlefield and outnumbered the hulks of wrecked tanks. Without the Iron Warriors making up the core of the force the Company division had lacked the crushing tactical edge to turn the battle into a massacre, but weight of firepower and stable firing lines had still won the day. Craters from artillery bombardment pockmarked the ground, and some of the weaponized crystals from the enemy constructs still hummed and crackled with charge on the verge of being released.

The Chaos soldiers were still rearming and moving out in pursuit of their next objectives; Gear Works was unsure what their current collective status or ultimate mission was. His role was here, far behind the storm of lasers and lightning that dueled for dominance of these lands. A golem wreck was bracketed by his optics and multiple rune markers tagged the different clusters of material. Sandstone shell for the exterior: abundant and useless. Iron endocore: abundant and useful. Arclith shard capacitors: rare and valuable.

On the other side of the battlefield, Gears spotted another formation of transports pulling up. Packs of Chimera APCs stopped at the edge of the field, most of them with their turrets replaced by cargo harnesses or servo cranes. Behind them were a few larger trucks with long cargo beds covered by canvas sheets. A few were for scrap and wreckage, but one had a white skull emblem tagged onto the side. The corpse wagon.

Gear Works stopped to watch as a stallion stepped up onto the roof of a Chimera and started shouting commands into a vox amp.

“All right, get the lead out! We have two hours to get the bodies and loose wargear packed up and sent home! MOVE IT, you louts!” Prince Blueblood stomped a hoof on the roof of the APC, and then continued. “The next person I catch filching las batteries is going to spend the rest of the operation hauling dead bodies! If I catch you filching a discarded weapon, you’ll be one of the bodies! GET TO WORK!”

Gears decided against greeting the other stallion; Blueblood looked very busy, and was probably in as sour a mood as ever. His teams were usually set to work in Ferrous Dominus itself. Field scavenging and cleanup were harder and more dangerous operations usually left to the Scavurel and Dark Mechanicus, but with the majority of the Techpriests away with the fleet there were barely enough tech-cultists to see to the major salvage.

+Team 4-913, advance to the targeted work site. Recovery parameters initiated,+ the Dark Acolyte spat to the crew of servitors. They turned in tandem and then stomped off toward a pile of three golem wrecks.

“As Techpriest Lomenai noted, these Keepers put up a laudable effort and their technology is leagues beyond anything else that originates here on Centaur III, but they are not skilled at war,” Gears said to himself as he walked around an artillery crater. “They have little ability to hold territory. They have very poor battlefield intelligence. They are unable to escalate once they engage an enemy army and they do not retreat in good order. Hallmarks of strategic inexperience. Except in Orks, I guess.”

There was little chance the mysterious wastelanders had any relation to the greenskin thugs from beyond the stars, at least. The Keepers’ war machines were exquisitely crafted monsters of stone enchanted by magic, not shambling assemblies of recycled wargear running off of dirty oil and sheer ignorance. Gear Works stopped to behold a particularly massive war golem that had broken down in the center of the field; it was a huge, four-legged thing of elaborately-carved sandstone segments with a central armored body. Atop the shattered chassis was a huge dome-shaped turret with a crystal amplifier the size of a motorbike as its primary weapon. Grooves and markers had been cut into most of the edges, although much had been destroyed beyond legibility by the pounding of autocannons and heavy bolters. The might of its cannon was evident by the huge black marks that were scattered over the battlefield, often centered around piles of ash and slag. It was unclear what the targets had been before the weapon had struck, and such materials had been deemed beyond recovery.

Gear Works clambered up one of the collapsed leg blocks to get a better look at the crystal. It had been partially damaged, with a deep gouge on one side that still hummed with retained charge. He settled in for a deeper scan, trying to untangle the numerous ionizing energy fields still surrounding the cannon.

An ident-tag suddenly popped up on his visor display. Then another. They were next to the wreck, on the opposite side of the core from where Gear Works was. One of the names was unfamiliar to him but the other he recognized, much to his regret. The optics lights in his visor narrowed, and then Gears hopped down to walk around the war golem’s wreckage.

The other side of the wreck was mostly a pile of stone rubble; battle cannons had blown apart one of the massive golem’s legs and also cracked open part of its chassis. It was here that Gear Works spotted a lone figure stooped over the rubble and sifting through it with a dull orange tail lifted into the air.

“Hello, Citizen Dapperpaws,” Gears said, his voice accompanied by a threatening undercurrent of static. “Have you been separated from your work team? This section is restricted.”

Capper Dapperpaws jumped upright, releasing a surprised yowl before quickly composing himself. The bipedal feline calmly dusted himself off, and then looked over at the Dark Acolyte. His bright green eyes betrayed nothing, and his face slowly shifted into a gentle smile.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my old buddy Cog Wonks!” Capper said with a chuckle. “I didn’t know you’d been rounded up for this gig too!”

Gear’s servo arm clamped shut, as if practicing to crush something. “My name is Gear Works, and my rank is Dark Acolyte,” he spat. “You will include both when you address me, menial. Now explain why you’re scavenging around one of the Keeper wrecks!”

Capper didn’t seem at all threatened by the stallion’s demand, and he calmly rubbed at his chin while he concocted an answer. He still wore a dark red overcoat, but this one was the usual cultist uniform among the 38th Company. A thick leather belt laden with pouches was wrapped loosely around his hips, and a light respirator mask hung around his neck. Below it was an amulet bearing the Star of Chaos; the accessory carried by most residents and visitors of Ferrous Dominus, and the source of his ident-code.

“Now, now, don’t get your bearings in a grind. My team was just moving a little slow so I went on ahead of them,” Capper explained with a slight smirk. “I know you cyber-guys are handling the big wrecks, but I just needed to check that there were no bodies or dropped wargear under here.”

“And? What did you find?” Gears drawled.

“Jack diddly,” Capper laughed, giving the Dark Acolyte a big thumbs-up. “All yours, techpony!”

Gear’s servo arm reached out and tugged sharply on Capper’s belt. Several las batteries tumbled out of his coat, along with a micro-lumen, a credit stick, a pair of playing cards bearing aces, a tiny carving of a daemon, and another Chaos amulet.

“Is ‘jack diddly’ some sort of labor vernacular for ‘I looted a dozen bodies in flagrant breach of recovery protocol?’” Gears asked dryly.

Capper’s expression soured, and he carefully but firmly removed the servo arm’s pincer from his person. “You asked what I found here. I didn’t find anything here,” he retorted, sticking out his tongue. Then he quickly added, “and everything ELSE I was going to turn in like I’m supposed to! Later.”

“Of course. If you’re done here I won’t keep you any longer. Go about your work, menial.” Gear Works turned back around and started to walk away.

Capper mumbled something under his breath and leaned down to sweep up the various objects back into his pockets. When he reached the amulet, he hesitated. Then he shrugged and picked it up.

“Hey, Gears,” Capper called.

“That’s Dark Acolyte to you, feline,” Gear Works retorted, twisting his head around again. “What is it now?”

“I guess I did find this thing here. I’d turn it in with the rest of the scavenged stuff, but if it’s real important that only you cyber people get to dig around the wreckage, then you can do it instead. No fur off my tail.” He held up the amulet, which had its chain broken. It was obviously an ident-tag amulet, of the sort that most of the mortal residents and soldiers who served the Iron Warriors wore. Unlike most of the accessories distributed to the soldiery and citizens of Ferrous Dominus, this one bore a completely different glyph: a blocky X with a horizontal line through the middle and another running under the bottom. The Mark of Khorne.

Gears stared at the amulet. “This ident-code belongs to someone named Scarlet Shrike of Rozen Wing squadron,” he said. “This was the code I detected before, along with yours.”

Capper glanced down at the amulet, and then shrugged. “Okay, sure. So what?”

“That’s a pony name. And you found that here? In the rubble?”

“Yeah. The chain was sticking out from the rocks. Is that a problem?”

Gear Works turned around and walked up to the mound of rocks. His optics hood went blank, and then a bright green line appeared at one end and slowly moved across the empty space. Then the cyborg stallion recoiled in shock.

“They’re alive! I’m detecting a heartbeat!” Gears shouted in a panic, diving at the rubble. “Quick! Start digging! It might not be too late to save them!” He shoved aside the smaller rocks on top, and then grabbed a bigger stone in his servo arm.

Capper arched an eyebrow, still standing in place. “Ah… I’ll pass. Gotta go hand this stuff over to the boss pony, you know?”

“START DIGGING OR OMNISSIAH HELP ME I’LL HAVE YOU LOCKED OUT OF EVERY SANITATION CLOSET IN FERROUS DOMINUS!”

Capper groaned and stepped up, pulling aside a rock nearly as big as his head. He grimaced as he spotted a slash of red between the bits of rubble below. “Ugh, it’s all bloody,” he complained, tossing the rock away.

“It’s not bloody, the coat is red,” Gears retorted, pulling away more rocks around the opening.

Capper leaned in close, squinting. “… Some of that is DEFINITELY blood.”

“Aren’t you here to dispose of the dead?!”

“That’s what they said, yeah. Avoiding that is kind of why you found me over here, though.”

Gears snarled incoherently, a storm of angry and completely incomprehensible Binaric erupting from his mask. Capper begrudgingly picked up another stone, then lifted it up and dropped it to the side with an exaggerated grunt.

“I’ve recalled the servitors! They can cut around the sides while we dig down! Faster!” Gear Works barked. He pressed his shoulder into a large, flat chunk of rock and shoved it out of the way.

Capper whistled. “Wow. She’s a big one, isn’t she?”

Now that the pony’s upper body was unburied, it was fairly easy to identify her as a pegasus mare. Her bright red coat was dusty from the debris and covered over in places with dried blood, but still stood out easily amidst the rubble and battered body armor. Her face was mostly obscured by a curtain of long, raven black hair, but her left eye was covered by a large eyepatch decorated with the Mark of Khorne. Her wings were spread and still pinned under the remaining debris, and shredded feathers were scattered all around.

The pony was also, as Capper succinctly noted, huge. Despite most of her body still being buried, Gear Works estimated she was at least twice his size. The polyceramic armor plates of her combat suit were strapped to thick slabs of muscle, and her chest and shoulders were wider than any stallion’s he had ever seen. He had to imagine that the sheer size of the pegasus had a lot to do with her surviving for so long under so much weight.

“Hey, uh, Gears? Are you SURE she’s alive?” Capper stooped over the unconscious mare, his eyes narrowed. “I don’t see her breathing.”

“Her heartbeat is still there, but it’s fading. She won’t last much longer,” Gear Works said grimly while he continued scooping away more rock. “I’ve already notified the Genetor Aphotic, but he may not arrived in time! I need a shock pad. Or a filtration engine. Maybe a-“

“What the blazes is going on here?!”

Gears and Capper glanced behind them. Prince Blueblood was trotting over with a handful of workers carrying sacks. The Prince looked incensed as usual, but he hesitated upon seeing the body half-buried in rubble.

“Is that…? Is she dead? What happened?” Blueblood demanded.

Gear Works didn’t respond, his optics centering on a pronged silver fork strapped to Blueblood’s flank. A taser goad. The electric weapon could be used as a weapon when keyed to higher amperage, but was also given to overseers and slavemasters to inflict less lethal punishment among their charges. It wasn’t a perfect choice, but it would do.

“I need that,” was all the explanation Blueblood got before the Dark Acolyte lunged, his servo arm grabbing the taser goad and tearing it free.

Blueblood jolted back with a startled whinny, but by the time he realized what was happening Gears had already turned around. The tech-cultist held the goad in the air and peered closely at the power dial, and then a small claw emerged from his bionic hoof to grasp it. It twisted the dial a few clicks to the right, and then withdrew.

As Gears lowered the goad toward the insensate pony, Blueblood suddenly understood what was happening. “Wait! You may want to lower the charge further than that. That much power still kills the Gretchin we occasionally find in the junk heaps.”

“Thank you, but I’m well aware of the amperage,” Gears assured him while he levered the taser goad’s fork against the mare’s chest. “This one’s mass is much closer to that of an Ork than a Grot.” He reached up to press the handle trigger, but hesitated. “If she survives, don’t tell her I said that. CLEAR!”

He pressed the trigger handle, and electricity surged through the taser goad. Bright blue arcs of power lashed between the prongs, racing down the length before sinking into battered muscles. A spasm ran through the mare, and her legs jolted. Gears saw her heart rate jump briefly, but then it quickly started to decline again.

“Blast! It’s not enough! There’s no time for this!” Gear Works reached out and toggled the taser goad’s power up again.

“Too high!” Blueblood yelped.

“Either it works or she’ll die anyway!” Gears snapped back, stabbing the prongs between the armor plates. “CLEAR!”

A much more energetic shock blasted into the pegasus, and she quivered rapidly enough to unsettle some of the rubble around her. Then she gasped, sucking in a deep breath of air.

“YES! It worked! She’s breathing!” Gear Works exulted, pulling the taser goad away from the charred patch of fur.

“Good call, Chief,” Capper congratulated the Acolyte. His nose wrinkled at the smell of cooking meat, and the feline coughed into a fist. “We done here?”

“Of course not! She’s still unconscious and buried, isn’t she?” Prince Blueblood replied, stamping a hoof onto the ground. “Hurry! All of you! Clear that debris at once!”

The menials behind Blueblood rushed into action, and humans and ponies alike lined up next to Gear Works to help dig out the trapped pony. The servitors Gear Works recalled finally arrived at about the same time, lumbering around the golem wreck and taking position at the outside edges of the pile. The cyber-slaves set into the debris with drills and hydraulic claws, and within minutes the pegasus was completely uncovered.

Capper cringed as he stood over Gear Works, studying the mare’s body. While the rest of her had endured the weight of the wreckage without severe damage, her wings had been utterly mangled under the crush of stone. What’s more, the patches of crimson staining the rubble under her wings looked much fresher than the rest stuck about the work site.

“She’s bleeding again. Relieving the pressure on her wings has opened many of the ruptured blood vessels,” Gear Works explained, taking a brief ray scan of the mare’s body.

“Dapperpaws, go get a med-patch immediately! As many as you can find!” Blueblood commanded, using his telekinesis to tug on the feline’s coat.

“No, that’s unnecessary,” Gears said, backing away from the mare. “The Genetor Aphotic is here.”

Genetor Tallonen clambered across the battlefield on ten pointed, insectile legs, like a metal spider clothed in black rags. Even among the Dark Techpriests, who didn’t shy away from terrifying and grotesque body constructions, the Genetor Aphotic was particularly unsettling. Suspended between the many legs was a tall, bloated torso riddled with tubing and bits of machinery that churned underneath the black rubber robes such that the entire body quivered and pulsated even when standing in place. The back of the Techpriest was covered over with large jars and bulbs containing various serums, chemicals, and preserved samples, giving it the resemblance of a cluster of hideous tumors or egg sacks. Servo limbs hung from the top of the body, the majority of them boasting blades, saws, or needles.

Undoubtedly the most horrifying aspect of the Genetor Aphotic was his head. Attached to the body by a long bundle of tubing and wires wrapped together and joined with a series of serpentem micro-motors, his neck resembled an eel poking its head out of its lair. The head itself was mostly organic, with a set of small optics nodes replacing the eyes and a respirator attached over the mouth with its tubing running under the chin and winding around the neck. Thick, rubbery jowls hung from the Techpriest’s bloated cheeks, and pale wisps of hair poked out from beneath a peaked cap that matched its robe and bore a red, stringy-looking caduceus symbol on it.

The menials scrambled out of Tallonen’s path, huddling together behind Blueblood. Blueblood and Capper also retreated, albeit with more dignity and to a position with a better view. The servitors received an override command and immediately stopped working, turned away, and then plodded off to complete their previous, unfinished tasks. Only Gear Works remained next to the fallen pegasus as the Genetor Aphotic scuttled toward her.

+Genetor, my profound thanks for this timely intervention. The patient’s pulse has recovered, but we have not stemmed the bleeding. There is a high likelihood of complications without immediate treatment,+ Gears explained in a brief blast of static.

+Noted. Analysis… complete. Aerial extremities account for 97.21% of contingent fluid loss. Subject survival probability rated at 31.45%. Intervention sanctioned,+ Tallonen said without looking at the Dark Acolyte. He continued crawling forward, his legs lifting his bulk over the pegasus while his neck bent down so that his head loomed over her.

+I recommend arterial staples,+ Gears suggested, his servo arm gesturing to the damaged wings. +Other methods to stem the bleeding may have unacceptably reduced efficiency considering how badly the blood vessels in the wings have been damaged already.+

+Treatment order rejected. Cease advisory supervision,+ the Dark Techpriest commanded. Several servo arms levered downward with a clunk, and one particularly long, multi-jointed claw clamped onto the peak of the mare’s wings.

“Oh. So… what are you going to do?” Gears mumbled, switching to Gothic as he stepped back from the work site.

The Genetor didn’t bother replying. The servo claw lifted up the wings, blood dribbling down the shredded, dirty red feathers. Then another servo limb flipped open, revealing a rotary saw.

“Ah. I… I see.” Gear’s ears flipped down, and the optics lights on his face slowly shrunk to tiny dots.

Capper turned away as the saw’s motor started up, squeezing his eyes shut and plugging his fingers in his ears.

“And why are YOU so squeamish? Aren’t you a predator?” Blueblood grumbled, also conspicuously facing away from the operation.

“A CIVILIZED predator, Overseer. I don’t scratch up helpless animals for meals, I work for a living!”

“Barely,” Blueblood snorted.

The sound of a saw grinding through flesh and bone finally stopped, and the wings, still soggy with blood and filthy with dirt, were tossed aside like garbage. Then the Genetor Aphotic dropped lower over the unconscious pegasus and his head curved even closer, small rays of light beaming from his optics and sweeping over the large red equine. More servo arms twisted around and darted toward the body, jabbing it with several needles at once. Constant whirring, pumping, and buzzing came from the numerous mechanical limbs working in perfectly efficient sequence, all hidden from view by a curtain of black rubber. Pieces of armor were cut off and then suddenly ejected from the confines of the cloak, scattering the pony’s combat suit among the rubble that had nearly crushed her to death.

In less than two minutes, it was over. Genetor Tallonen backed away from his patient and turned around. +Subject survival probability has exceeded 86.71%. Operational threshold achieved; task complete. Cycling objective chain.+ The Dark Techpriest clambered away while sputtering Binaric Cant, not waiting for thanks or any other commentary from the assembled spectators.

Gear Works looked over the unconscious pegasus. Her wings had been reduced to a pair of thick stumps tightly wrapped in field dressings, and her other cuts and abrasions had been swiftly cleaned and treated. Some of the smaller wounds had practically vanished with some rapid nanostitching, and her coat and mane were damp from a quick (and deeply inadequate) steam wash.

“Well, what are you all standing around for? He can’t carry somepony that size himself!” Blueblood barked at his workers. “Someone get a cargo bed and get her inside a transport! Then get back to work!”

Scarlet Shrike coughed, feeling a deep, throbbing pain roll through her body.

Her head throbbed. Her muscles were sore. Every joint ached. Her eye – the one that remained – stung. Her lungs burned and every heartbeat felt like it was pounding against her chest, trying to get free. The only things that didn’t hurt, ominously enough, were her wings. Scarlet opened her eye, and then immediately shut it as the light pouring in caused the head-throbbing to intensify.

“You’re awake already? The anesthesia should have kept you under until we had returned to the relay camp, at least.”

Scarlet turned her head toward the voice and then slowly, carefully, cracked her eye open. She was lying on her side, heaped in a plasteel cargo bed that had been placed in the transport bay of a Chimera APC. Sitting next to her, closer to the open embarkation ramp, was Gear Works. The Dark Acolyte had an array of holo-screens arrayed around him that were swimming in flows of data screed, but she hardly paid any attention to them.

“Are… Are you a Techpriest? What happened?” Scarlet asked, squinting.

“I am a Dark Acolyte, technically. As for what happened, we found you buried in debris during the battlefield salvage operations. It seems you were left for dead, but we unburied you and… addressed your injuries.” Gear Works didn’t turn away from the holo-screens, but one of the aqua-colored sensor lights on the side of his visor slid to the side to watch the crippled mare. “I have contacted the Rozen Wings to update them as to your status, but I lack sufficient command authority to demand a response. We are estimated to leave the site within the hour.”

Scarlet Shrike blinked silently at the outpouring of information and frowned. Now that she was awake, Gears saw that her remaining eye was a bright green, while the covered eye socket had a trio of dark scars running across it that were visible around the top and bottom of her eye patch. Her cutie mark was also visible without her armor to cover it: an elongated skull of some sort – definitely not human and probably not a pony – that had angry looking red eyes and pointed fangs. Combined with her sheer size and striking colors, Scarlet looked every bit the savage warrior of Khorne.

Which made it all the more bizarre when she gasped and then smiled brightly.

“Yes! I remember now! I was fighting one of those war golems, and then a battle cannon hit it and it fell on me! I was trying to pull myself free but then something else fell on top of the golem and I blacked out!” She breathed a sigh of relief, still smiling happily. “Thank the Gods you found me! I thought it was the end for sure! Thank you, Acolyte! I am forever in your debt!”

Her voice was chipper and sincere, and her expression was beaming. Gear Works wondered silently if some of the drugs the Genetor used on her hadn’t worn off yet after all.

“Yes, well… we did the best we could. I’m afraid there was some severe damage, however,” Gear Works said, awkwardly preparing to deliver the bad news.

“It’s my wings, isn’t it? Were they destroyed by the rubble? It feels like they’ve been amputated.”

The lights on Gear’s optics hood vanished and then rebooted, simulating a blink. “Uh… Yes. You’re… not upset about that?”

“It’s very disappointing, don’t misunderstand,” Scarlet said, her tone turning more serious, “but I almost died! Besides, it’s not the first time I’ve been maimed in battle. Probably won’t be the last, either. Blood for the Blood God, as they say!” She smiled again.

Gears continued staring. “… You’re taking this VERY well. I must confess I was anticipating a berserk rage at your loss.”

“Oh, no! I couldn’t! Not after you helped rescue me! That would be terrible!” the mare assured him. “Is that why I’m strapped down to the cargo bed, by the way?”

“No. You’re restrained for your own safety. It did occur to me that it would give me a decent head start if I had to flee, however.”

The mare laughed, which again startled him. After a few seconds her giggling stopped with a few pained coughs, and then she regarded the cyborg with a warm smile.

“What’s your name, Acolyte? I’m Scarlet Shrike.”

“I am Dark Acolyte Gear Works. You may refer to me as ‘Acolyte’ or ‘Gears,’ however you wish, Miss Shrike.” He made a few final adjustments on the holo-screen and then detached his tail spike from the Chimera’s engine cogitator. “I’m just wrapping up the final recovery protocols. This transport will deliver you to Ferrous Dominus for your recovery leave.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s really necessary. I’m already feeling much better,” Scarlet said. “The headache is already gone!”

Gear Works paused. “You… You’ve been maimed. Two major extremities were removed. You’ve suffered substantial blood loss.”

“Yes, and I’ll definitely need to get bionic wings. There might be recovery time for that, I suppose. A few days at most,” she said anxiously, shifting her position laying in the cargo bed. “I really need to get back to active duty as quickly as possible.”

“Why?”

“Religious obligation to slay the enemies of Chaos and my sacred duty to restore harmony to the planet,” the pegasus replied in complete earnestness.

“I… suppose that makes sense, although it seems strange when you put them together in the same breath like that,” Gears mused. “Well, that’s not up to me. You can make arrangements when you return home and are properly debriefed. In the meantime-“

“Oh! Sergeant!” Scarlet’s eye widened, and she raised her head sharply as she spotted something behind Gear Works. “Sergeant Folgore! You came back for me!”

Gears paused and then turned around, idly banishing the last holo-screen with a sweep of his hoof. There were three pegasus ponies walking up the embarkation ramp to the APC, all of them looking like they had just come from an active battle zone. Each wore battle armor optimized for pegasi to offer maximum mobility and minimal encumbrance while flying, and had blades attached to their boots. Dust was caked over their wargear, along with a decent degree of blood splatter.

Reading their ident-tags, Gears wasn’t terribly surprised to discover that he was being approached by the remainder of the Rozen Wings Reaver squadron, a unit of hunter-killer pegasi. He shifted to let them pass, but the unit Sergeant in the lead shifted to head straight toward him, having no intention of passing the tech-cultist by. Gear Works had no idea why the unit commander would want to address him before his wounded soldier, but the Dark Acolyte steeled himself for the confrontation.

The lead pony was a stallion identified by his noosphere marker as Folgore. His coat was charcoal black, while his mane and tail were a silvery gray dirtied and scorched by combat. His sleek, well-muscled body was scarred in multiple places, and his right foreleg had been replaced by a hefty weaponized bionic. He stopped in front of Gear Works, fixing his golden eyes to the optics lights of Gear’s visor without paying any attention to his injured subordinate.

“Greetings, Dark Techpriest. It was you who flagged my squadron, yes?” he asked. His voice was scratchy and rough, like it was trying to rise to a growl and he was restraining it as best he could.

“I am a Dark Acolyte, actually. Dark Acolyte Gear Works. But you are correct, Sergeant: it was me,” Gears said, trying to suppress a stutter. The other stallion was inexplicably intimidating despite his calm words and professional demeanor, and Gear Works suddenly felt as if he was in grave danger.

“Dark Acolyte Gear Works,” Folgore said, correcting the rank designation immediately, “it is my understanding that you located Shrike and were responsible for her rescue and resuscitation. I thank you for your efforts and diligence.” He bowed his head and touched his wingtips to the deck. “I also apologize for the feeble performance of my subordinate that made such a task necessary.”

“Oh, uh, that’s not really a problem,” Gears assured him, “I’m just-“

“Accept the apology and shut up, nerd,” advised one of the other pegasi, cutting him off.

This one was a mare, and she had a coat of rich brown with white socks. Her face seemed bizarrely beautiful and made up for a soldier, never mind a Khorne cultist, with big blue eyes, a heart-shaped mark on her forehead, and elegantly styled, chocolate-colored hair. Despite her appearance, her armor was as dented and her hoofblade was as blood-spattered as the others’, and her ident-tag named her as Stormy Ruin. Definitely the name of a pony you could expect to find among the Reaver kill teams.

The third pony was also a mare, and she had a much simpler color pattern of a dull orange coat with jet black hair in a pony tail. She said nothing, her silvery eyes slowly and constantly scanning the surroundings while occasionally lingering on Gear Works himself. She was the only one wearing her respirator mask despite the lack of any obvious airborne hazard, and it also appeared to be a much higher grade than the models dangling under the necks of her companions. Her ident-tag referred to her as Morte Venin.

These ponies – or at least the two that had spoken – had a bearing much more in line with what he expected from Chaos cultists, and in particularly devotees of the Blood God: everything they said, regardless of the actual words, sounded like a rumbling threat, as if they were constantly on the edge of a violent outburst and daring the listener to interrupt. They seemed fresh from the battlefield, with wet blood and hot dust still stuck to their weapons and armor, and Stormy – whose appearance was otherwise suspiciously immaculate for a warrior – even had a deep cut in her wing that looked as if it hadn’t been given so much as a field dressing yet. They seemed, in short, like leashed animals desperate to taste violence; the polar opposite of Scarlet Shrike.

It was hard not to notice that Scarlet was much bigger than all of them, however.

Folgore raised his head and walked around Gears to attend to his subordinate. The mares followed, although both of them kept their eyes locked on the tech-cultist while they passed by. Gear Works shrank back before their gaze, his optics lights flattening and tilting to look worried.

“Hello, Shrike,” the squad Sergeant said, sitting down on his haunches in front of the injured mare. His voice had suddenly lost much of its edge and sounded exasperated. “This is the third time you’ve been incapacitated in a combat operation.”

“Y-Yes. Well, almost. I still feel like the first case shouldn’t count since all the enemies were already dead,” Scarlet explained awkwardly.

“You fell behind. Again. And while the rest of the squadron was striking the mission objective, you allowed yourself to get distracted engaging a different enemy. AGAIN.” Folgore’s disappointment was rapidly building back up to anger, and his lips curled up to reveal his teeth. They were sharp and curved; much more like a shark’s teeth than a pony’s.

Scarlet winced. “Yes. I’m sorry, Sergeant. Ah… it was very hard to keep flying after the first lightning blast hit me.”

Gear Works, having experienced a discharge from one of the smaller Keeper lightning weapons first-hoof, was very surprised that her main problem after getting hit was staying aloft. Folgore was clearly less impressed. He stood upright again, and his wings lifted slightly as if in preparation to pounce.

“You haven’t completed a SINGLE primary objective in your entire career in the Rozen Wings!” Folgore shouted, trying to control his temper and gradually failing.

“Okay yes but it’s only been two months!” Scarlet whimpered.

“You’ve been incapacitated in combat thrice in two months?” Gear Works asked.

“Twice! It was only twice! The first one didn’t count!” Scarlet complained. “Look, I know I fell behind! I’ll boost my training regimen again! I can do better, I swear!”

“I’m more incredulous that you sustained severe injury twice before but returned to active service quickly enough to be here today,” the Acolyte explained.

“Shrike’s skull is thicker than any Space Marine’s helmet,” Stormy Ruin said with a smirk. “She’s not good for much else, but she is very hard to kill.”

“Which brings me to my final point,” Folgore said acidly, leaning forward so that he was almost nose-to-nose with the giant red pegasus. “Shrike, time and time again you’ve failed me. You’re slow, you’re clumsy, you have DESPERATELY inadequate fervor for killing, and every time we have these debriefings all you have to offer are tepid excuses and empty promises. And each time you fail you don’t even have the dignity to give yourself to Khorne in battle as a final sacrifice!”

Scarlet wilted under the criticism, her ears pinning back and her eye searching the floor. “I’m sorry…”

“No you’re not,” Stormy snorted.

“Well… okay, yeah, I’m not sorry about not dying. I actually really like that part. But I’m sorry about the rest of it!”

“SILENCE,” Folgore snapped. Scarlet flinched back, and the stallion took a deep breath. His eyes were a bright gold, and they seemed to glow as his anger bubbled around his words. “Shrike, you are a TERRIBLE Reaver, and I have given you enough chances. You have disgraced our Lord Khorne, failed the 38th Company, embarrassed our squadron, and now you have even lost your wings. I can think of no other option: you are hereby discharged from the Rozen Wings permanently, and suspended from combat service.”

Scarlet recoiled, her mouth hanging open and her remaining eye bulging in shock. “That… But… You… No! Please! You can’t!”

“There will be no further discussion,” Folgore snarled. “I will submit your formal discharge to the factional commander, and you will be stripped of your service profile and returned back to your village posthaste.”

“Ah, pardon me Sergeant,” Gears interjected while Scarlet was still reeling. “With respect: while you obviously have command authority within the squad, you cannot void Miss Shrike’s service or residency,” he explained, his servo arm nodding gently over his head.

Folgore shot him a glare, and Stormy Ruin seemed to take that as a cue. She stepped toward the cyborg pony and extended a wing toward him. “That’s a really fancy respirator rig you have there. Does it have an ‘off’ switch?” she asked in a mock-pleasant tone, brushing the tip of her primary feathers along the respirator hosing.

Gears could only manage a mumbled “wha” before Stormy’s hoof slammed into the side of his head, throwing it into the wall of the APC with a metallic clang. A crack appeared over his optics visor, and the earth pony started blubbering in pain.

“Stormy!” Scarlet gasped, “What are you doing?! Stop that!” She tried to stand up, and there was a loud creaking sound as the straps and plasteel cargo bed strained to hold her down.

Stormy planted a hoof on his bionic shoulder, pinning him against the wall and causing substantial pain as the neuro-transistors were pressed hard into his shoulder socket. “I asked you a QUESTION, nerd. Do your ears still work or should I tear those off so you can get some shiny new ones that do?” She was shockingly strong for a pony of her size, and he had to suppose she was probably holding back, too.

Folgore watched the assault with a very slight frown. “Ruin.”

With a single calm word the mare recoiled, retreating next to the Sergeant and bowing her head with her ears pinned. Her face was red, and she now wore an expression of intense frustration. Gears moaned in pain, but timidly stood back up. Scarlet huffed and finally laid back down, granting some relief to the leather straps that were on the verge of snapping apart.

“Shrike, do you have your amulet?” Folgore asked.

Scarlet blinked, and then looked down at her chest. She hadn’t noticed before, but she had been completely stripped at some point when she was unconscious, presumably to have her wounds treated. Sweat started collecting on her brow, and her eye darted back and forth hoping to spot it elsewhere in the APC bay.

“I h-have her amulet,” Gear Works said weakly, slowly raising his servo arm.

Folgore turned sharply to face the Dark Acolyte. Gears flinched at the movement, shielding his face with a leg.

“Give it to me,” the black stallion commanded, “I will get rid of it, and with that her enlistment in this army is null and void. It’s time to wash our hooves of this farce.” Scarlet winced, her expression ashen.

“Y-You do n-not have the auth-th-thority,” Gears stuttered, his body quivering so badly some of his bearings rattled.

“WHAT?” Stormy’s wings shot up and her lip curled.

The other mare’s reaction was more restrained, shifting silently into an attack pose with eyes narrowed into slits. Both pegasi looked like attack hounds waiting to be unleashed, and Gear’s optics lights went wide with terror. Scarlet looked shocked and confused, uncertain if she should or could intervene.

Folgore’s eyes narrowed. “I said: Give me the amulet. I will not ask you again, Acolyte.”

The optics lights turned into X’s, and beads of sweat were visible on Gear’s ears. “This… This is Miss Scarlet’s personal property and can only be recovered at the direct order of the Company Regiment Commander, city magistrate, or an Astartes! I must refuse!” he barked, the words spilling out all at once while he braced himself for retaliation.

Stormy tapped her hoof on the deck, and a blade emerged from her gauntlet. Her wings spread, and her leg muscles visibly tightened as her expression moved from incensed to furious. Morte seemed to be just as offended, but made no move to prepare an attack vector; she surely assumed – correctly – that one Reaver would be enough to deal with the tech-cultist.

“Hold,” Folgore said coldly. Stormy almost stumbled in surprise at the command, and then quickly straightened. “Very well, Acolyte. Your resistance puzzles me, but we are above brutalizing mere laborers over petty disagreement about the rules.”

Were Gear Works not afraid of having his respirator ripped out and stuffed down his throat he would have noted that they already did brutalize him, that he was not a mere laborer, and that there was no actual disagreement over the rules aside from whether or not the Reavers should have to obey them. But he was completely terrified, so he simply bowed his head quietly while Folgore turned away.

“Shrike, whatever happens from here on out, it is no longer any concern of mine. Khorne willing, we will not cross paths again,” he lifted a wing and walked toward the embarkation ramp, and the mares turned to flank him on the way out, giving Gear Works a final heated glare as they did so.

“Does this mean I’ll have to attend the victory feast on my own?” Scarlet Shrike asked, blinking away a tear.

Stormy stopped with a groan and twisted her head around. “For Warp’s sake, mare! You just had your wings ripped off,” she chided, her voice noticeably lacking the heated aggression from earlier. “Take a few weeks to recover and just… go home already! It’s over!”

She huffed and then dashed after the rest of the squad, leaving Gear Works and Scarlet Shrike alone once again in the APC’s transport bay.

Gear Works stood up straight, and then groaned as he heard a strange grinding noise come from the shoulder of his bionic foreleg. “Blast, she definitely damaged something,” he grumbled aloud.

“Stormy’s such a hothead sometimes, I’m terribly sorry about that,” Scarlet said wearily.

“It’s… fine, Miss Shrike. I have endured worse,” Gears assured her. Then his servo arm curled around and under his belly, grabbing something beneath the folds of his robe. “As earlier discussed, this belongs to you. I already took the liberty of repairing the chain.” The servo arm held the amulet bearing the Mark of Khorne.

“I can’t believe you actually talked back to Sergeant Folgore over that thing,” Scarlet said. It wasn’t clear by her tone whether she was happy about that or not.

“I couldn’t possibly sacrifice your ident-marker so easily. The Sergeant intended to destroy it,” Gear Works retorted, walking up to injured mare. “This amulet isn’t merely a hunk of metal with your name inscribed and meme-tagged within the circuit wafer. It was gifted to you by the Iron Warriors as a token of your service and loyalty. It contains your profile, your combat history, and your primary data weave. It is a key to your home and your career, and were you to give yourself to Khorne in battle it is likely the only part of you that would make it back to the grave marker.”

Scarlet blinked repeatedly, looking somewhat overwhelmed.

Gear’s servo arm lifted it up higher, dangling the Mark of Khorne before her eyes. “Now, it may be that such things mean nothing to you. Perhaps you’d as soon see the amulet melted down as have to wear it again. Maybe after all this you’ll take your peers' advice and leave the ranks of the Company for good. But that’s your decision, Miss Shrike, not the Sergeant’s.”

“I… I see…” Scarlet whispered, her ears pinning back. “Uh… th-thank you, Acolyte. For everything. I’m not sure I deserve it…”

“Irrelevant. What you do or do not deserve is not for me to judge.” Gears dropped the amulet in the cargo bed between her front legs. “We both have our duties, and this is mine. Recovery of surviving personnel and wargear takes priority over mere battlefield salvage.”

“And so you did recover me. At least one of us is good at his job!” Scarlet chuckled and smiled sadly as a miserable tear ran down her cheek.

“If that will be all Miss Shrike, I should see to the withdrawal of the scrapper servitors. I wish you luck in your reassignment and/or early retirement.”

Gear Works turned away from the cargo bed, and then halted. There were half a dozen ponies standing at the embarkation ramp, watching intently, along with Capper Dapperpaws. Most of them were clearly laborers carrying supplies and material in their packs, but at the front of the group was Prince Blueblood. The unicorn quickly straightened up and adopted a disinterested expression, and then coughed into a hoof.

“Are we interrupting something? This Chimera is designated for our departure,” the Prince asked.

“No. I’m finished here,” Gears said curtly, shifting to walk past him.

Blueblood did not let him pass, much to his surprise. Blueblood stepped to the side to block his path, and then reached out a hoof to lift the cyborg pony’s chin. Blueblood peered into the optics array, his eyes narrowing. The break in the visor wasn’t very large, and no pieces of diamantine had come loose from the screen that replaced much of Gear’s face, but the damage was quite obvious and the Prince doubted it was accidental.

“Your visor is cracked,” the unicorn announced, his expression darkening. “How did that happen? You didn’t get hit out in the field.” Blueblood turned a suspicious glare on the mare strapped down further in the transport hold.

“That was Stormy. I’m very sorry about that,” Scarlet sighed. “She tends to lash out when she’s provoked. Or when she’s bored. Or when she’s experiencing some other emotion but can’t quite find a way to express herself in words so she defaults to violence.”

“I… see,” Blueblood mumbled, looking somewhat surprised by the answer. Then he turned back to Gear Works. “Your leg is making strange noises too. Would you like to return with us, Acolyte? It will spare you a walk across the battlefield and perhaps a few extra hours of hazing from your esteemed peers.”

“Oh, well, that’s uncharacteristically thoughtful of you. Just give me a moment to ensure my servitor contingent has been secured and inform Techpriest Lomenai.”

Gears summoned another holo-screen, lifting his bionic hoof. The refracted light panel displayed a dizzying array of geometric patterns and scrolling text, completely beyond the ability of anyone else to read, much less understand. The ponies following Blueblood shuffled past him and stashed their cargo, some of them piling it on the stack of cases and boxes next to Scarlet. The Prince waited silently for Gears to finish, unbothered by the jab at his sense of grace and generosity.

“Ah, it seems they already left,” Gear Works said, tapping the holo-screen and banishing it once again. “Without informing me.”

Capper crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the stack of crates next to Scarlet Shrike. “I thought you Mech guys had some kinda connection up in your heads so you could easily check up on each other and send messages if you needed to.”

“Affirmative. That would describe our noosphere uplink nodes. They can indeed do that,” Gears replied. “They did not.”

Capper coughed into a fist awkwardly and looked away. The other laborers finished stashing away the cargo, and when the last crate was shoved into place Blueblood’s horn started to glow. A lever near the entrance flipped, and then the embarkation ramp lifted closed.

The unicorn banged his hoof twice against the deck. “Pilot, you may proceed! The cargo is secure!” he barked. “Menials, once we return to the dump site you’ll unload, unseal, and then deposit the salvage on platform 9.”

“Aren’t we going to get a break? We set out so early!” Capper complained, heaving an exhausted sigh as the Chimera lurched into motion.

“What do you call two hours of sitting in an APC if not a break?” Blueblood asked snidely.

“The way some of these guys drive, I’d call it an occupational hazard,” the feline answered.

Blueblood noticed that the red pegasus was staring at him, so he broke off his argument to address her directly. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I am Prince Blueblood, as you’re likely aware,” he said gruffly, staring down his nose toward the maimed pony (as best he could, considering that she towered over him).

Scarlet’s expression brightened considerably and her ears pivoted forward. “Ah! I thought so! I’d heard that more of the royal family had been recruited besides Princess Luna, but I thought it was just a rumor! I’m Scarlet Shrike, Reaver third class! Or I was this morning, at least. I think I’m still a Reaver, though? Acolyte Gear Works probably knows.”

Blueblood waited until she stopped speaking, and then frowned slightly. “You’re a Reaver?”

“Yes, your Highness!” she chirped. “Probably!”

“As in, the hunter-killer soldiers marked by Khorne, the Blood God?”

“Yes, your Highness!” she said again just as happily.

Blueblood stared at the mare inscrutably for several long seconds. “… Did you suffer a head injury among your other wounds? Or perhaps it’s the anesthesia?”

Scarlet seemed confused by the question, but Gears shook his head. “Negative. Judging by the conversation with her squad, this demeanor is entirely normal for her.”

“Demeanor? Did I say something wrong?” Scarlet asked, her ears pinning back and her expression wavering with concern.

“No. Which is the source of my skepticism,” Blueblood replied.

Scarlet looked even more confused, and Capper leaned over toward her. “They’re talking about how you’re not a frothing lunatic. It’s a compliment!”

“Oh! That! Ha!” Scarlet laughed breezily, which was, again, not the sort of reaction that the Prince expected from a Khornate warrior. “I’m a little more level-headed than some of the other cultists, it’s true.”

“You’re more level-headed than some Canterlot diplomats,” Gears retorted.

Capper stepped over in front of the mare, bending over into a bow. “My name is Capper, by the way. Capper Dapperpaws, at your service.” He reached out and took her hoof, attempting to lift it to his lips for a smooth, genteel kiss. It refused to budge so much as a millimeter, as if he was pulling on the leg of a stone statue.

“What are you doing?” Scarlet asked, clearly puzzled. She didn’t seem to be putting any effort into resisting, but the slightest tension in her muscles made her leg impossible for Capper to shift.

Capper chuckled and let go of her without answering the question. “By the by, it was me who found where you were buried.”

“Oh! Really?” Scarlet Shrike smiled widely and bowed her head. “Thank you so much, Mister Dapperpaws!”

“Don’t mention it! It was the least I could do!” the feline replied with a smirk, returning to his previous position leaning on the supply crates.

“That certainly describes your contribution to digging her out,” Prince Blueblood grumbled. “Anyway, to return to my previous line of questioning: it was my understanding that being blessed by the Blood God Khorne gave one supernatural strength and blinding rage. Do his gifts sometimes manifest in other ways? Or are you not properly marked yet?”

“No, you’re exactly right!” Scarlet said brightly, nodding her head. “I have those things!”

“… Uh huh…” the unicorn mumbled, his doubt plain for all to see.

Scarlet’s expression turned into a smirk, and then she shifted to move her legs under her body. The cargo bed she was on creaked as the straps holding her down went taught, and that noise intensified while she slowly stood. The lengths of leather tightened to their limit, quivering, and then – one by one – each of the three restraints snapped. The plasteel bed went flat once more, and Scarlet Shrike stood up triumphantly, her head held high.

Capper whistled and clapped, delighted at the display of raw power. Prince Blueblood seemed less impressed.

“I was more referring to the ‘anger’ aspect of the gift,” the unicorn drawled. “You don’t feel the power of Chaos driving you to fury?”

“Why, of course I do!” Scarlet replied, lifting a hoof to wag at the stallion. “The power of Khorne’s rage is like a volcano constantly threatening to explode and consume everything around us! But you know, you can’t just fly into a berserk rage all the time, especially off of the battlefield. It’s not helpful to anypony. So I do meditation exercises to calm myself down.”

There was a long silence after she finished speaking, filled only by the rumbling engine of the Chimera.

“… Well I think it’s working,” Capper opined.

Scarlet nodded. “It does! I’m actually a little worried about how the squad will do if I’m not there. Sergeant Folgore will be fine; he’s very good himself at self-control. But Stormy is terribly impulsive and I’m worried she’s going to pick a fight with an Astartes if I’m not around.”

“What exactly happened? You said you were unsure of your current rank,” Blueblood asked.

“Miss Shrike’s squad command isn’t taking her injury with the same degree of grace as she is,” Gears explained. “Sergeant Folgore has insisted on dropping her from the Rozen Wings squadron and even demanded she be exiled.”

“That’s kind of… extreme, don’t you think?” Capper asked, arching an eyebrow. “Why would he care what happens to her after she’s left the squad?”

Scarlet chuckled nervously, her eye very conspicuously avoiding contact with everyone else’s. “I don’t really know, but I would very much like to stay with the Rozen Wings if I can, or join with some other hunter-killer squad in the 38th Company if I can’t.”

“You should join the rank-and-file mercs,” Capper said, leaning over toward the mare. “Most of ‘em get guard rotations around the city. Safe and boring! Easy money!”

“Due to the repeated heavy assaults on Ferrous Dominus since its establishment, the actual casualty rate for city guards and garrison troops is only slightly less than that of the assault forces fighting outside the region,” Gear Works corrected the menial. “It would actually be higher if not for the battle of Ponyville, which saw an especially grievous death toll and skewed the average.”

“Thank you for that totally necessary clarification, Gee Dubya,” Capper said dryly. “My POINT was that it’s easier and there’s a lot less violence. MOST of the time.”

“But I don’t want an easier and less violent job! I want to kill the enemies of Harmony and take their skulls for Khorne’s throne!” Scarlet complained.

The others looked quite perturbed at that comment, but Gear Works nodded in agreement.

“What’s more, without an active combat assignment it’s very unlikely Miss Shrike will be able to requisition bionic wings. The Dark Mechanicus puts a low priority on supporting equine units with military-grade prosthetics, so the troops rely on the officer corp to lean on them. I suppose she could buy some from Trademaster Delgan’s people, but that junk won’t be able to survive combat AND would be ruinously expensive.”

“But I’ve already lost my assignment, so what do I do?” Scarlet asked sadly, lying back down in the cargo bed. “I have to apply to a new combat command now, right? But if I don’t have any wings, what Reaver squad would take me? And if I’m not in a Reaver squad, who knows how long it will be before I’m finally assigned bionics? They’ll probably just stick me on guard duty anyway.” She heaved a miserable sigh.

“Yeah, that does sound like quite a pickle.” Capper muttered, scratching his whiskers. “I don’t suppose those other squads will take you on so you can get your fancy space wings and then join them in the field later, would they?”

“Unfortunately, Miss Shrike’s established combat record isn’t going to impress the other squad commanders either,” Gear Works admitted. “Her most difficult confirmed kills are Ork foot soldiers, and not an astounding number of them.”

“That’s not true! I defeated that war golem today!” Scarlet protested.

“You said a battle cannon destroyed the war golem. You just happened to be fighting it at the time.”

“… Does that not count?”

“I don’t think you’re going to impress the other squad commanders or the Blood God with that, no.”

Scarlet pouted sadly.

“In any case there are only three Reaver squadrons anyway, including the Rozen Wings. I think Miss Shrike’s best option is Blood Star squadron if she’s going to beg for a Reaver assignment, but I don’t rate her chances highly,” Gears admitted, shaking his head.

Blueblood glanced from Gears to Scarlet to Capper and then back again to Gears, his expression supremely annoyed. “Are you all being serious right now?”

“I’m sorry? What do you mean?” Scarlet asked nervously, afraid that she had offended the Prince somehow. Capper and Gears also turned toward the unicorn, also unsure of what he meant.

“Are you listening to yourself?” Blueblood huffed, glaring more directly at Scarlet. “You call yourself a servant of the Blood God and a soldier of Chaos, yet here you are stumbling over your own hooves about records and procedures and requisitions. It’s none of my concern of course, but frankly it’s embarrassing to witness.” The unicorn stepped forward, and Scarlet gulped and straightened as best she could.

“These louts have good reason to be concerned with bureaucratic niceties; Dapperpaws is a mere menial, and he’s one disciplinary report from the slave pits. Acolyte Gears joined a religion that valorizes organizational tedium. But you, Miss Shrike, are a warrior, are you not?” Blueblood was now standing directly in front of the mare, his head craned up to look directly into her remaining eye.

Scarlet nodded rapidly, not trusting herself to speak.

“And you are a scion of Khorne, are you not?” the Prince continued. “A mighty Chaos soldier, empowered by the Dark Gods?”

Scarlet nodded again.

“Then ACT like it!” the unicorn barked. “Are you going to take your demotion with a quiet pout or prove to your unit that you’re an asset?!”

Scarlet’s eye widened. “B-But… my wings! Even if I could… uh… fight my way back into my unit, I simply can’t deploy with them like this!”

“The Prince here is big on giving orders, not so big on making plans,” Capper admitted.

“Be silent, scoundrel,” Blueblood snapped before addressing Scarlet again. “If you need new wings first, then GET them. Use force, or persuasion, or bribery if you must. Don’t curl up into a ball mewling about the approval process. Are you a Chaos pirate or a Canterlot barrister?”

“I think you SLIGHTLY underestimate the difficulty of requisitioning bionic prosthetics of suitable make,” Gear Works said to the Prince. “It is not a process amenable to brute force, like securing a fuel supply. Bionics must be custom-calibrated and fit to precise individual specifications. Furthermore, Techpriests are notoriously difficult to charm, and Miss Shrike hardly has any materials of interest to tech-clergy.”

“Ah. Yes. My mistake. Who could have realized it would be HARD? Go ahead and wallow in your helplessness, then,” Blueblood sneered.

“Now hold on a tick,” Capper said, one paw scratching at his chin. “If all we need to do is talk a Techpriest into helping out, I think we can manage.”

“I cannot concur,” Gears replied. “Most tech cultists are not as agreeable as I am, Menial.”

“You’re probably right. So we should just use you, instead,” Capper continued, winking.

Gear Works recoiled, the optics lights on his face widening. Blueblood arched an eyebrow. Scarlet perked up, her face brightening.

“W-What? Me? I’m not a Techpriest!” Gears protested, suddenly alarmed.

“Yeah, yeah, I know: you’re the lower ranking kind of cyborg weirdo. Whatever,” Capper waved off his concern, still smiling broadly. “But you’ll do fine! We believe in you!”

“Belief isn’t the problem!” Gears protested. “Bionic limbs and organs are very different from other mechanical devices! Simply replacing a leg requires advanced knowledge of at least four primary disciplines! For wings I’d need at least six! It’s nothing like constructing a laser! I have no basic competency or experience here!”

Scarlet, for her part, looked even more hopeful. “But… if you did have that… then you’d make them for me?”

“I can’t!” the Dark Acolyte insisted. “I have regular duties and deliverables! Trying to learn the necessary fundamentals will be hard enough, but I can’t possibly construct them as well in my extremely limited personal time! And then I have to INSTALL them without rendering Miss Shrike an invalid!”

“Oh, don’t be so overdramatic,” Blueblood huffed. “You’re installing wings; it’s not as if she can get any MORE grounded if you muck it up.”

“We’re talking about an organically integrated flight system! If I muck it up it is EXTREMELY likely that the resulting accident will kill her, which may indeed be considered MORE grounded than merely being flightless! And even THAT assumes that the installation occurs without complications! I’ve never done anything like that before!”

“I will take that risk!” Scarlet said firmly. “Please! I’ll accept whatever you can make for me!”

“Did you not hear the part about the time constraints?” Gear Works replied. “Your desperate and unwise consent to the procedure is not a meaningful obstacle! It’s simply impossible!”

Scarlet deflated, her ears pinning back before she looked away. “I… I understand. You’ve done so much for me already. Even if you could manage it, it isn’t fair for me to put you in this position.”

“You see this?” Blueblood interrupted. “This is what I’m talking about! No determination! No nerve! The Acolyte just dumps some empty excuses on you and you immediately back down!” The unicorn glared, and Scarlet Shrike cringed nervously. “Do you want to be restored to your former glory or don’t you?!”

“I do! But… they seem like pretty good excuses, though…” she replied meekly, scratching one of her forelegs with the other.

“Oh for Aunt’s sake, do I really have to think of everything?” the unicorn seethed before turning to Gear Works. “Acolyte, I’ll be requisitioning your services for a week, starting tomorrow. Some kind of emergency in the scrap-grinders or something. Use that time to figure out what you need to figure out and manufacture some acceptable bionics.”

Everyone else in the transport bay jolted in surprise.

“Really? You… You’d do that for me?” Scarlet asked, looking awestruck.

“No. I’m doing it for the Acolyte,” Blueblood corrected her. “He’s precisely the sort of type to eventually reason himself into aiding you anyway despite his schedule and just give up sleeping until he perished of deprivation or was ejected from the Mechanicus for neglecting his duties. It’s beneath me, but I can spare some measure of influence to save us all the embarrassment.”

A tear dripped from Scarlet’s good eye, and she sniffled. “Thank you! Thank you all so much!”

“Uh… I… er…” Gear Works timidly raised his servo arm, trying to work out how best to enter a complaint. He felt reasonably committed to his earlier objection despite Blueblood’s apparent belief that he was definitely going to do the job anyway. “I… have to construct working bionic wings in… a week?”

“If you have some extra time I actually would like you to join the menial teams for a few hours,” Blueblood muttered. “The Techpriests avoid touching the machines that the pony teams use like they’re contaminated. The scrap-grinders are working fine, but I don’t like the way it rattles near the end of the late shift.”

“It’s… It’s kind of a-“

The Prince cut him off while grimacing at Scarlet’s eye patch. “You should also whip up a bionic eye while you’re at it.”

“Wh-What?!” the Acolyte yelped, his optics lights widening.

“Oh, no! That’s okay!” Scarlet assured him, shaking her head. “I’m fine with one eye, really!”

“Nonsense. Why would we allow an elite combat unit to deploy warriors with impaired depth perception?” Blueblood asked.

“Don’t they have an entire unit that’s blind?” Capper asked.

“Tzeentch-worshipers don’t count. Nobody cares what happens to them,” the Prince said dismissively.

“Okay, wait! Hold on! I can’t build both a functional bionic flight prosthesis and an optical unit in a week!” Gear Works complained.

“The Warsmith rebuilt some third of Macintosh Apple’s body overnight, did he not?” the unicorn asked airily.

“The WARSMITH!? You can’t compare me to him! You may as well ask me to raise the sun because Princess Celestia can do it!” Gears fumed.

“And that’s the sort of poor initiative and self-defeating attitude that has your peers abusing and taking advantage of you throughout the cult,” Blueblood sighed, shaking his head.

“No it isn’t!”

“But they ARE abusing and taking advantage of you, right?” Capper asked.

“Yes! But if anything my behavior is an adaptation to constant mistreatment, not the cause of it!”

Scarlet started laughing, and the others turned to look at her.

“Oh, sorry. I’m sorry,” she said, trying to stifle her giggles. “I’m just… I’m so relieved to have somepony to help me! And the way you all joke and banter with each other is so much fun!”

“… Which part was the joke?” Gears asked, confused.

The pegasus sighed and wiped her eye with her leg, and then addressed Gear Works more seriously. “I understand that this is no simple task, and I have nothing of worth to give you for your service. I will gratefully accept whatever you can offer me, and would be forever in your debt.”

“More debt, that is,” Blueblood sniffed. “You still owe him for digging you free.”

“And me, for finding you,” Capper said, winking.

“You tried to loot her body,” Blueblood said dryly.

“That is MOSTLY inaccurate,” the feline snapped back.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” Scarlet laughed nervously. “Although if you happen to have found my armor among the salvage I would like it back…”

Gear Works tuned out the banter as the Chimera rumbled along, thinking to himself and scanning the noosphere. Images of several bionic wing configurations scrolled past him in visions only he could see. Some were primitive and practically ornamental; hunks of metal that were too heavy for real flight and lacked any real nerve integration. Others were complex and customized specifically to the bearer’s physiology to optimize weight and air flow. There was a wing that had been built to look organic, with exquisite artificial feathering and myomer twitch-motor ligaments.

The total number of designs was fairly low. Prosthetic wings were an unusually sensitive mobility limb, and the Dark Mechanicus did not have substantial practice (or show great interest) in their manufacture. In Gear’s experience the bionic wings they did eventually produce weren’t satisfactory, either; Breezy Blight complained quite often that she couldn’t fly very high or far with hers, although he suspected that had as much to do with her corrosive breath damaging the joints as it did with the design. Luckily, Breezy’s power armor possessed an effective flight pack that rendered the bionic’s efficiency mostly moot, but Scarlet Shrike didn’t have such impressive wargear.

Making the bionic eye would be relatively simple, although it would still require a great deal of study. Those designs had been designed and tested to exhaustive perfection and the adjustments necessary for ponies – even very large ones – were trivial. But the wings were going to be an engineering challenge that Gears didn’t feel remotely capable of handling alone.

But perhaps he didn’t have to…

Ferrous Dominus
Sector 4
Lab complex G-44

“So there I am, standing over two injured infantrymen, no more splinter magazines, and only Nacht for support. She’s cursing up a storm while trying to recalibrate the echo cannon, and the Orks are blind-firing into the brush. Bullets zipping by everywhere! I’m creeping toward a tree to get a jump on them when I pick something up coming from the other direction; there’s a Killa Kan walking over to the ridge. I look over and see a high-beam sweeping the sky. We have seconds until we’re caught between a light assault walker and a dozen Flashgitz. I can barely think over the rattle of machine guns pounding the air!”

Gear Works stood over a small pedestal that was holding a sphere in the grip of a trio of metal claws. The sphere was a construct of metal and glass composites, with several lumens and sensoria nodules centered around a single central receptor. Wires trailed from the opposite side of the orb, hanging freely in loose curls.

“We have a rule for night ops, though: kill the lights. Visibility is always a bigger issue for the enemy. I kick off the tree and take to the air. A bullet hits me when I spin around, but with the adrenaline surge I couldn’t tell whether it got through my plate at the moment. I build altitude, bringing the splinter rifle around exactly at the same time that the high-beam centers on me in mid-air. Time seems to freeze.”

A probe extended from the hoof of Gear’s bionic leg with a tiny glassine shard stuck on the tip. It was slowly pressed into place, and then a series of servo beamers above swung down from the array above. Hair-thin lasers pulsed from the beamers, rapidly grafting the lens shard in place. After a few seconds the servo beamers withdrew, and then Gear Works turned to pick up the next piece.

“I could already hear the reports from dozens of bursts behind me. There was so much intense sound rolling through the forest it felt like the world was splintering apart, but my focus was on the lights. One burst, straight across the right fender. Four needles to empty my last magazine. Both lights blow out at the same time the big shoota opens up. One bullet slams into my chest plate, another hits my hip from behind.”

The servo beamers pulsed again, setting the last piece of the lens in place. Gear Works withdrew his foreleg, and the thin metal probe slid back into the hoof casing. A long metal needle descended from the servo array, slowly pressing its tip into the center of the cooling lens plates. He turned toward a holo-screen, watching a series of nigh-indecipherable diagrams that were splashed across the surface.

“I fold up my wings and go into free-fall, bullets whizzing by from both directions. I hit the ground and roll, curling up as best as I can to make a smaller target. The greens are still firing, but it’s all completely blind now, cutting through the air where I was. I scurry into cover, beneath a tree. Something hurts. I can feel blood running down my leg. And then the echo cannon fires!”

Gears tapped the holo-screen as various sections started flashing yellow, and the needle slowly started pulling back up. The lit-up portions of the diagram pulsed green, and then several of the diagrams collapsed into lines of rapidly shifting data-screed. Another servo limb lowered, and then started to spray a coat of polish over the cybernetic organ.

“Half the Orks drop in a few seconds and the others start scattering. But here’s the kicker: the echo cannon’s sonic cascade can make it sound like the cannon is coming from the target rather than the shooter, depending on where you are! So then the blinded Kan starts shooting into the Flashgitz! It was beautiful! One of them falls over and starts crawling across the ground, howling angrily and coming right toward my hiding place. So I-“

A loud buzzer suddenly spat an announcement in Binaric Cant. +Access request acknowledged. Code 004-274-34C. Awaiting response.+

“That the door?” Dusk Blade was hanging from some piping running across the ceiling, and he glanced down from his upside-down perch to check the access lumen.

“Blast! She’s here already!” Gear’s ears pinned back, and his servo arm slumped over his withers. “I was hoping she’d wait to be contacted. I’m not ready!”

“It’ll be fine, Gears. Here, I’ll get it.” Dusk released his hold on the pipes and spread his wings, flipping around and landing lightly on his hooves. “Anyway, long story short, three Dark Acolytes are dead and I need a place to hide out until I’m sure they can’t pin it on me.”

“That… Wait, what? How? What did you skip that you could have reached that sort of conclusion?!”

Dusk trotted up to the entrance, ignoring Gear’s questions. He slapped a hoof against an access panel, and the buzzer spat out another incomprehensible warning before the door slid open.

Dusk Blade blinked, staring at the brass Mark of Khorne hanging by a chain against a wall of bright red. Then he slowly tilted his head up.

Scarlet Shrike waited patiently until the Lieutenant finally made eye contact, and then she smiled pleasantly. "Hello!"

"UWAGH!!" Dusk recoiled, his wings swinging open as if to help him evade or shield him from attack. “What the HAY man you didn’t tell me they were making pony Space Marines! Is this supposed to be classified or something?!"

Scarlet winced somewhat at the reaction, and then chuckled weakly. “Oh, no, I’m not an Astartes or a mutant or anything. I’m just very healthy! Ha ha!”

“Aside from the extensive physical trauma you’ve endured, of course,” Gears interjected, eliciting another awkward laugh from the pegasus. “Miss Shrike, this is Lieutenant Dusk Blade of the Night Guard. There’s absolutely no reason for him to be here, but all my attempts to secure my work space from him have failed. Lieutenant, this is Scarlet Shrike, formerly of the Rozen Wings Reaver squadron.”

“Formerly? Why? What happened to the squadron? Did she eat them?” Dusk asked, still posed defensively.

Scarlet’s eye twitched, and then she cleared her throat. “It’s very nice to meet you, Lieutenant, but I have business with the Dark Acolyte today.”

“Y… Yes…” Gears wilted considerably as the maimed Reaver turned toward him. “So, ah… as anticipated, the optical implant is ready. It was not easy, but all the challenges in acquiring the necessary fabrication schedule and components proved surmountable. Here.”

He turned toward the assembly pylon, and Scarlet followed excitedly, walking over next to him. Dusk joined him on the opposite side, although he kept glancing over at Scarlet the way he often looked at heavy security servitors: like he was afraid they might open fire or explode at any moment.

“This is the bionic implant I’ve fabricated. It is a Cambron-9 pattern internal optical prosthesis. The unit is self-contained, so the installation surgery will not require the further removal of skull tissue. Obviously there will need to be internal insertion and modification within the damaged socket, and that will be… non-trivial. But it is ready and can be installed immediately with your consent.”

Scarlet’s eye shined and her jaw hung open slightly in amazement. She started walking around the assembly to look at the device from all angles.

“In addition to acting as an ordinary optical sensor, it contains a micro-stack data clone of your amulet. All of the information and access codices are uploaded every cycle, so it is a full backup in case you lose your accessory again.”

“That sounds great! And I really like that you made the lens green so it matches my real eyes!” Scarlet said brightly.

“Does it do anything else? Like have a fancy scanner or night vision or something?” Dusk asked. He looked far more skeptical of the bionic than Scarlet was, looking over the nearby holo-screens and frowning.

“It has thermal imaging, yes. Unfortunately more sophisticated vision sensors and scanning bandwidth would have required an onboard cogitator, either in an integrated helmet or external peripheral built into the skull. This one can do little more than read meme-tags and pick out energy surges,” Gear Works admitted. “Oh, yes, and the photon beamer.”

“The what?” Scarlet looked up.

“It’s something the Tau developed. A highly compact, low-energy alternative to their defensive stun grenades occasionally deployed as a non-lethal weapon for disabling and subduing recalcitrant natives. I even had the dubious pleasure of seeing it used in action during Canterlot!” Gears explained. “It’s small enough to both fit into the optical node and the power capacitors can be charged entirely from the neural uplink through the optic nerve. It takes a little while, of course, and can only be used once per charge, but it’s the only tactical sub-component I could install on such a small base unit with an appropriately simple function. Stand back, please.”

Scarlet and Dusk backed away uncertainly, and then Gear’s servo arm extended to poke a holo-screen. A brilliant flash of light came from the Cambron-9, accompanied by a gentle fizzling noise. Dusk and Scarlet flinched, blinking rapidly, but they were far from blinded; rather they had a tall column of white briefly burned onto their vision, stretching from the implant to the ceiling.

“The output is short-ranged and tightly focused, so it doesn’t have quite the impact on an assault mob that a photon grenade does, but the limitations were necessary to account for all operational parameters.” Gears turned around. “Do you approve?”

“Yes! Yes I do!” Scarlet said cheerfully. “Thank you so much, Acolyte! It’s perfect!” She started bouncing from hoof to hoof in excitement, grinning widely. “I can’t wait to see what you’ve created for my wings!”

“Uh… Yes. Well. About that…” Gear’s ears pinned back, and the sensor lights in his visor started flitting back and forth, as if trying to avoid eye contact.

Scarlet noticed the change and quickly tempered her expectations. “What’s wrong? Are they not ready? It’s okay if they’re not!”

“They’re not ready,” Gear Works said, hanging his head. “Worse, I wasted much of the time I was given trying to produce a novel design, but it’s a failure. The bionics are nearly unusable.”

Scarlet slowly arched an eyebrow. “… Nearly unusable?”

“He’s being kind of hard on himself. Personally I think the whole crystal blade look is almost worth it on its own, even if you couldn’t fly with it,” Dusk said.

Scarlet’s ears perked, and Gear Works groaned.

“What exactly happened? Do the wings need more time to be finished?” the maimed pegasus asked.

“No… They are finished, just… non-viable,” Gears admitted weakly. “I suppose I should just show you. Follow me, please.” He turned around and walked toward the next laboratorium section.

Scarlet and Dusk followed after Gear Works. Although the Dark Acolyte trudged along as if he was being force marched to a penitent cell, Scarlet Shrike looked quite excited to see what he had built. Dusk Blade stealthily studied the pegasus while she trotted along, slowing or speeding up to adjust his view.

Dusk had heard of ponies who defied genetic trends and grew up to be monstrously bigger than any of their relatives, such as a peculiar pegasus in Ponyville who was apparently so swollen with muscle that his bodily proportions had ended up hideously distorted. Scarlet Shrike was more normal in her shape but was still bigger than any pegasus, unicorn, or bat pony he had ever met; even Empyra, who fancied herself an equine queen, ranked several inches shorter than Princess Luna even without taking the horn into account. Scarlet may have been slightly shorter than Celestia in his estimation, but the bright red mare was much broader, with legs and shoulders covered in slabs of muscle and massive hooves that thudded against the flooring like armored greaves. It was a tremendous disappointment to him that her wings had been reduced to a pair of stubs wrapped in bandages; not so much because he felt sympathy for her injuries, but because the sort of wingspan on such a pegasus had probably put Celestia’s to shame.

“So what’s your deal, exactly? How come Gears has to make you bionics? Not usually his thing,” Dusk asked.

“He doesn’t have to. He’s agreed to do so out of the goodness of his heart,” Scarlet said with a happy smile.

“Also Prince Blueblood was badgering me into it,” Gears admitted. “It’s mostly the heart thing, though. Probably.”

“Okay, sure. He’s a great guy. Agreed. But what’s happening here? How did it turn out like this?” Dusk pressed.

“Miss Shrike was suspended from her Reaver squadron after being seriously wounded in combat. Because she cannot be authorized for bionic replacements without her squad leader’s requisition, she had to find an alternate means to secure augmentation. I am that means,” Gears explained.

Scarlet nodded happily in agreement. “If I can still fight, then there’s a chance the Rozen Wings will take me back!”

“Why would you want to go back to the squad that dropped you?” Dusk asked.

“That… Uh…” at this Scarlet seemed to hesitate, and her eye darted away. “It’s… It’s because they’re my friends, that’s why.” Her voice wavered slightly, as if she wasn’t completely confident in that response, but it firmed as she continued. “I want to prove myself to them and be able to support them again!”

“They’re your friends, but they ditched you after you got hurt?” the bat pony asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Yes, uh… friendship… works a little differently among Khorne cultists,” the mare said with a nervous chuckle. “If you’re not properly supporting your squad or meeting your objectives, it’s not just a failure, it’s more like a betrayal! My squadmates may have been hard on me, but my errors and shortcomings were my own, and I must overcome them!”

“Or in this case, get someone else to overcome them for you,” Dusk replied with a shrug.

Scarlet grimaced at that response, but Gears immediately disagreed. “Hardly. I can install some bionic replacements, but these components do not represent substantial force multipliers. Particularly in the case of the wings,” he sighed. “It will be up to Miss Shrike to earn the respect of her squad, and she will struggle against her body’s limits as much as any of us.”

“Y-Yes! Exactly!” Scarlet said, nodding vigorously.

“That said, her description of friendship among Khornate ponies being ‘different’ sounds like an excuse concocted by somepony who has adapted to relentless bullying and scorn. Her squad abandoned her because she was slower, didn’t come back for her once she was incapacitated, and only showed up long enough to inform her of her suspension. Her squad leader stated directly that her survival was a grievous disappointment.”

Scarlet Shrike winced at each point, a flush darkening her bright red cheeks as she hung her head.

“While I hesitate to draw conclusions from a single observation event, and it is of course no concern of mine whether Miss Shrike is truly friends with the Rozen Wings, their behavior does not reflect any of the affection of friends, or even the bare respect of squadmates or comrades. Although I certainly believe Miss Shrike when she says that they find her substandard performance offensive.”

Gears reached the door and his servo arm stretched forward toward a security lever. He hesitated when he realized the heavy hoofsteps behind him had stopped, and he twisted his head around to check on his augmentation subject. Scarlet Shrike had stopped in the middle of the room, staring forlornly at the floor with her ears pressed flat against her head.

Her eye darted up to look at him, and then fell back to the floor. “Do you… Do you think they… hate me?” she asked. Her voice trembled, thick with trepidation.

“No,” Gears said immediately. “Whatever else one can say about Reavers, you are not subtle. If the Rozen Wings hated you, then you would know it, and so would anyone else who saw you together. Their behavior – and again I am basing this on a single observed encounter – is more akin to frustrated peers than friends… Well, except for Sergeant Folgore.”

Scarlet’s head snapped up, and her entire body tensed. “How? What do you mean? What about him?”

“He didn’t seem as disinterested in your immediate fate as I would expect from someone who was disappointed at your survival,” Gear Works explained, “he was clearly invested in your removal from combat duty entirely, not just from his responsibility.” Then Gears shook his head. “Or perhaps I’m just imagining things. I’m not an especially empathetic pony, and I was quite terrified at the time.” He lifted a hoof toward the next room. “Shall we proceed?”

Scarlet Shrike didn’t move right away, staring down at the brushed steel floors and thinking. “Maybe… Maybe you’re right about them. But… even if they don’t care about me, I still care about them.” She looked up and pressed a hoof to her chest. “I worry about what they’ll get up to without me. Stormy is very aggressive and can’t help but pick fights, and Morte has even more trouble interacting with others.”

“Yeah, bad tempers are kind of a given when Khorne’s your guy,” Dusk mumbled.

“Oh, well, not in her case. Morte isn’t too angry to handle conversation, she’s mute,” Scarlet explained. “She doesn’t know any wing language either, but I have an easier time interpreting her eyes and body language than the others do. Sergeant Folgore doesn’t seem to care about her input on anything so long as she follows orders, and Stormy just gets angry trying to figure her out.” She lifted her head higher. “I want to try to help them, even if they think of me as a burden. They’re important to me. That’s why I need to do this.”

“And that’s all the reason you need, Miss Shrike.” Gear Works turned back to the door and unlocked it. The security lumens flashed green, and then the machinery within the walls started to pull the gates open. “It is, of course, going to be quite a challenge. Especially if you’re equipped with these things.”

The next room was an experimental laboratorium containing a wealth of machining tools, smithing benches, and micro-fabs. Scarlet had never seen its like before, being new to the Mechanicus temples in general. Nonetheless, her attention inevitably settled on an unfamiliar figure standing in front of a test dais in the center of the area. A male Tau in a blue and black jumpsuit was tapping at an engineering tablet, seemingly oblivious to the ponies entering the lab.

“Who are you? Why are you here?” Scarlet demanded, stepping in front of Gear Works as if to protect the smaller pony.

The alien glanced over at her. “Huh. I figured Gears was deliberately skewing those mass calculations, but it seems I was wrong. Is this some kind of daemonic mutant or a rare pegasus sub-species?”

“That doesn’t answer EITHER of my questions,” Scarlet huffed, taking a threatening step forward.

Gear’s servo arm touched her shoulder. “It’s quite all right. This is Fio’el Fennin, one of my colleagues hailing from the Earth Caste of the Tau. I assure you, he is here to help. Fio’el, this is Scarlet Shrike, the augmentation subject. To my knowledge she possesses no key divergent gene-strains; her size is simply on the high end of the probabilistic curve for our species.”

Scarlet quickly reigned in her posture and gave the engineer an apologetic smile. “Ah, sorry! My mistake! I know you’re on our side now, but then there was that other group of Tau that used that assumption to their advantage and then killed a bunch of people. So, you know, it just pays to be vigilant! Nice to meet you, Fio’el! I’m very happy to have your help with this project!”

Fennin said nothing for several seconds, staring blankly at the pegasus. Then he looked down at Gear Works again. “Didn’t you say the subject was a Khorne cultist?”

“Yes, I am!” Scarlet volunteered happily.

“…… Are you sure?” Fennin asked.

She laughed. “Quite sure, Fio’el! I know I’m more personable than some of the other Khornates, but I say there’s no point in devoting yourself to the god of slaughter if you don’t enjoy it!”

“Yeah, see, I don’t get it though; every other Khorne cultist I’ve met is nearly insane with anger all the time,” Dusk Blade admitted. “Even that Tellis guy feels like he’s doing the crazy prankster bit on the edge of a psychotic breakdown. I figured rage was just part of the package.”

“Yes, it is,” Scarlet agreed again, placing a hoof against her chest. “Khorne’s fury fills each and every one of us, inspiring our hearts to violence! To temper our anger and release it when advantageous is a core aspect of our training and religious rites!”

Fennin, Gear Works, and Dusk Blade stared at Scarlet.

“… I’m told I’m very good at the tempering part, actually,” Scarlet chuckled self-consciously.

“Extremely good,” Dusk said blandly, “probably the best, actually.”

“Thank you!”

Fennin put down his engineering tablet. “Well, now that the introductions and incredulous prodding are out of the way, I imagine you’re here to see what’s wrong with your replacement wings.” He lifted an arm to the objects on the testing dais. “Here they are. I rather like the aesthetic, but they are fairly impractical.”

The bionic wings were a pair of long metal sheathes that encased a series of thin, pointed, white crystal plates that were stacked together. Scarlet started walking around the devices, utterly perplexed. They didn’t look like wings at all, or even some kind of arcane propulsion machine.

“This is an Arclith Shard Kinetic Pulse bionic flight system, model, uh… well VII would be the closest, I suppose. Not that it makes much difference.” Gears walked up to the dais and summoned a holo-screen from nowhere. “The wings are currently in standby mode. Here.”

With a jab of his servo arm, the wing cases unfolded. Scarlet’s eye widened in wonder as the crystals fanned out and extended, settling in a shape that was more obviously an imitation of biological wings. The opaque, glassy crystals formed the “feathers,” while the silvery casing formed the connective limbs that anchored them.

“We actually constructed this unit with the crystals found at the very site in which you were incapacitated. We’re still unsure where the Keepers mine their conduit silicates, but they’re of excellent quality,” Gear Works noted.

“It looks like Princess Luna’s flight pack on her armor,” Scarlet pointed out, her eye still shining with fascination.

“Yes. That was the original design. Created by Warsmith Solon himself.”

Scarlet whirled on the cyborg pony. “You created a machine designed by the Warsmith himself?!”

“No,” Gears and Fennin said simultaneously.

At her surprised expression, Gears wilted again. “We, uh, tried to do that, but…”

“Didn’t work,” Fennin grumbled. “The man’s notes are complete garbage. The schemata may as well read ‘this circuit induction is magic, don’t bother trying to figure it out.’”

“There’s a real possibility it IS actually magic. Princess Luna’s armor is fueled by daemonic sorcery.”

“Don’t even get me STARTED on Warpspawn reactors! I am not going to start imprisoning space monsters for a power supply when we have piles of perfectly usable ion-vanadium power cells!”

“I’m sorry, can we back up a little?” Scarlet asked meekly, gesturing to the bionic wings unfolded in front of her. “What is wrong with the wings, specifically? They can’t generate lift or thrust?”

“On the contrary, they generate so much that installing them would be suicidal,” Fennin sniffed. Then he hesitated. “Well… actually, that might not be the case with you. Like I said, you’re much heavier than I expected and judging by the size of those stumps we could actually reinforce the drivers properly if we can get enough metal drilled into your back. The normal output of these things is so intense they’d tear themselves right out of most ponies.”

Scarlet blinked in surprise. “Oh. Uh… really? Can’t you… turn them down a little bit?”

“No. Obviously you can shorten the activation pulse to lower the total impulse thrust, but every attempt to actually weaken the kinetic discharge per active cycle has failed. Your acceleration will be intense, violent, and short. So that’s the first problem,” Fennin announced. “The second problem is kind of fun, so we’ll do a live demonstration. Move aside.”

Scarlet backed up, watching the dais intently. Gears tapped a few buttons on the holo-screen, and then a pair of heavy servo arms lowered themselves down from the ceiling and clamped onto the top edge of the wings, carefully avoiding the crystal blades. He gave Fennin a nod, and then the engineer brought up his tablet again.

“Beginning test cycle 86. Hazard zone clear. Capacitors charged. Engaging impulse cycle.”

A surge of force blasted from the crystal vector thrusters, and the blade-like panes glowed a furious red. The servo arms and dais clamps trembled and creaked from the recoil, struggling to hold the wings in place. A tremendous rush of air blasted through the test laboratorium, throwing Scarlet’s long black mane to one side despite her being well out of the path of the thrust.

Then, after precisely one second, the cycle ended. The servo arms stopped shuddering, and a gentle whine came from the bionics themselves. The crystals remained a bright red, however, and a few arcs of plasma jumped between the blades.

“You might not be able to understand fully because you’re nearly illiterate and the most complex piece of technology back where you came from was a water wheel,” Fennin began, pointing to a bar graph on the dais, “but right now this flight system is at about 72% of its emergency heat threshold. That is after one second of effective thrust. This system generates a truly unfathomable degree of waste heat; it shouldn’t even be possible according to any of my projections and simulations!”

Scarlet stared at the alien blankly, aware that she was being insulted but honestly struggling to understand his explanation. “Oh… kay. Is that a big problem?”

“It means that less than two seconds of thrust will hit 100% and overheat it,” Dusk replied before Fennin could. “And then what happens? It explodes?”

“Actually, no!” Fennin replied. “I was as surprised as anyone to find that the emergency cooling safeties work flawlessly, especially given that nothing else in this stupid design functions as expected! Zero overheat shutdown failures over the 78 test cycles that reached threshold. You’ll just lose impulse control until the vector crystals cool enough to engage another cycle. Which may be a problem if you’re airborne, I dunno. I don’t really do aeronautics.”

“You’re working on a bio-integrated cybernetic flight pack, and you ‘don’t do aeronautics?’” Dusk asked with an arched brow.

“No. Don’t do bionics either, to be honest,” Fennin replied with a shrug.

“I didn’t have a lot of choices when I was searching for someone to put aside their time to help me for absolutely nothing in return, sorry,” Gear Works grumbled. “Also, I thought that Tau expertise in high-energy transmission would be crucial in figuring out the lithoconductor drivers.”

“How did that work out?”

“Poorly,” Fennin said without a trace of frustration or regret, “I can’t figure out what the Warsmith did to his design to handle the obscene heat generation. As far as I can tell Princess Luna’s personal flight pack is almost heat-neutral and utilizes ONE modular thermal pump! I’ve tried to come up with an auxiliary cooling sheathe to distribute energy bleed, but the acceleration tears them apart in short order. The best I could do was to get them to vent upward and outward so they don’t bake the user or melt away the limb seals.”

“Um, so…” Scarlet began anxiously, “I think I understand the problem. It can only be used in short bursts, it’s hard to control output, and it gets so hot it shuts down quickly, right?”

“Yes. You could probably use it to glide, but it would be insanely dangerous and is anyway completely unsuitable for long-range flight,” Gears admitted, his ears pinning back. “I’m very sorry, Miss Shrike, but I’m afraid I’ve failed. We’ll need to start over with a more conventional design.”

“Are we sure that any exist that can carry something of her size?” Fennin asked.

“Fio’el, please!” Gears protested, his optic lights narrowing and slanting irritably.

“That’s not an insult; I’m serious. Every other pegasus I’ve seen probably has less than a third her mass,” Fennin explained, gesturing to the red pony. “I feel like any bionic system that doesn’t have a thrust engine isn’t going to work either. At least this one has enough power to get her airborne easily.”

“And you’re basically out of time anyway, right?” Dusk added. “Are you going to go to Prince Blueblood and beg him to make up some more fake work for you to do so you can start over?”

A frustrated groan came from the Dark Acolyte’s mask, and Gears hung his head again.

Scarlet looked over at him, and then up at the wings. She leaned in toward one of the crystal edges, watching the carved surface slowly dim from bright, neon red to a darker shade. She could feel the hot air blowing off of them, warning that even the briefest contact would be disastrous.

“How durable are these crystals?” she asked.

“Extremely,” Fennin responded. “These ‘Keepers’ are still a mystery to me, particularly the origin of their technology base, but their fabrication process creates very strong litho-conductors. Furthermore, the sheer amount of heat it generates, absorbs, and vents means it’s almost immune to thermal conduction weaponry and warps molecular disintegration arrays… sorry, I can see your eye is starting to glaze over. In dumber terms: they’re highly resistant to lasers and power weapons.”

Scarlet nodded hesitantly. “I see. Can you run that test cycle again? Where the wings activate for a second?”

“If you’d like,” Gears volunteered, turning back to the holo-screen. “Preparing test cycle 87. I will begin the ignition at your command, Miss Shrike. This one will probably shut down before it reaches a full second of thrust; it still hasn’t cooled completely since the last cycle.”

The pegasus turned away from the dais, looking back and forth around the lab. Then she spotted what she wanted and trotted over to a rack holding numerous meter-long metal rods. She took one of the rods in her jaw and then carried it back to the others, who watched with perplexed expressions.

“Please, go ahead,” Scarlet ordered, adjusting her grip on the rod so that she was holding on to one end.

“Initializing,” Gear Works announced, his servo arm grazing the holo-screen.

Again a wave of intense force erupted from the wings, and the servo clamps quivered and sparked as the vector shards fought to rip them free of their mountings. In a heartbeat, however, the thrust stopped and the dais stopped shaking. Several holo-screens showed bright red graphs and meters, verifying that the bionics had overheated and shut down.

“Another threshold overheat, another flawless failsafe initiation,” Fennin noted. “There’s a bit of irony that a Chaos soldier invented a system so insanely dangerous and volatile but somehow perfected the failsafe overrides so that it could never burn itself out or melt down. I’m sure it would be very comforting to the hypothetical equine catapulted into the sky like a ballistic rocket. Anyway, now what?”

Scarlet lifted the metal rod and then swung it toward the fan of crystal wings.

A gentle sparking noise came from the contact, followed by a light sizzle. A piece of severed metal landed on the opposite side of the dais, one end glowing orange from where it was sliced through. It bounced loudly against the floor, and then rolled to a stop next to Gear’s hoof. Scarlet dropped the remaining piece of the rod, smiling broadly.

“That… uh… hmm.” Fennin scratched at his chin. “Okay, that’s pretty clever. I didn’t think it could be weaponized like that.”

Gear Works straightened uncertainly as Scarlet Shrike approached him.

“Dark Acolyte, thank you so much for your help,” the pegasus said brightly. “I approve of this bionic system. Please, install the wings.”

“R-Really? But… they still can’t fly effectively!” Gears warned.

“Well I’m not exactly in soaring shape right now, so I’ll take the upgrade,” Scarlet said decisively. “How soon can you install them?”

Gear Works looked over at Fennin. The Tau engineer shrugged. Dusk Blade grinned and slapped a wing over Gear’s withers encouragingly.

“For the record, I think this is a TERRIBLE idea,” Gears said, “but if you’re sure, we can begin the surgery in two hours after some additional calibration and servo reworking.”

Scarlet squealed in delight, but Fennin furrowed his brow. “Why do you need to rework the servos? They handled the stress of the vector propulsion just fine during the test cycles.”

“I want to alter the range of aug-ligament motion so that the crystal vectors can’t touch her body,” Gears explained. “Really, we should have worked that out right after we discovered the heating issue, but I didn’t believe we’d ever actually install them.”

“Oh. Yes. Good idea.”

The chirurgeon pit was a monstrous construct of stained porcelain and gleaming aluminum, looking like a cross between a butcher’s table, an assembly fab, and a holy shrine. A platform in the center was ringed with battered metal fencing and restraint chains positioned over a large drain. Tubes and syringes surrounded the table, which would have been quite intimidating enough to most patients. Above the table, however, was a vast collection of servo arms, each tipped with some tool of surgery or construction and hanging on a set of concentric ring-shaped rails.

On the outer ring of the cluster were small, precision motion arms with scalpels, flesh-stitchers, and probes. Closer to the center were larger, less precise machines: saws, welders, sanders, clamps, and some devices that were completely unidentifiable to the casual observer. In the middle was a drill head. While a drill had obvious applications in a procedure that required the removal of substantial bone and tissue in order to install mechanical devices, this particular drill was some ten inches wide at the base and boasted teeth that looked designed to grind rock rather than flesh.

Scarlet stared in awe at the contraptions while Gear Works tenderly unwrapped the stumps of her wings. The stink of disinfectant was thick in the room, which served as a subtle reminder that much of the 38th Company was dedicated to the Chaos God of plague and that nearly all tech-cultists possessed inbuilt respirators that rendered them immune to airborne chemical hazards. Candles were set up around the room to provide the majority of the light, which seemed remarkably inefficient but definitely gave the alcove an atmosphere of solemn religiosity. Long scrolls sealed to the wall with wax contained tech-scripture and inexplicable diagrams, completing the arcane impression.

“This device is amazing! Is it going to install the bionics itself?” the pegasus asked.

“It will do most of the work, yes, but there will be many delicate operations that I will need to perform personally, particularly when installing the eye,” Gears explained. “I’m no meta-surgeon, so I’m afraid usage of the auto-surgery is essential.”

“Isn’t this one used for the Chaos Space Marines?” Dusk asked while he walked in behind Scarlet, towing a mag-lev cart that had the cybernetics stacked on it.

“Yes, usually. Miss Shrike’s bone density is closer to theirs than it is a human’s, and anyway this device is of much higher quality than the sub-IX chirurgeons.” Then he whirled around. “And WHY are you still here?!”

“What? Why would I leave?” Dusk kicked aside the chain attached to the cart. “This is huge, Gears! Your first weaponized bionic enhancement of a live subject!”

“… And you… want to watch?” Gear Works asked, perturbed.

“Sure! I’m pretty acclimated to gore and stuff, it doesn’t bother me.” Dusk grinned. “More importantly, this is a big milestone for you, and I want to be here for you as moral support! Or physical support, if you screw it up and she dies. I can help get rid of the body.”

“Is that likely?” Scarlet asked, interested but not obviously distressed.

“Of course not! Gears knows what he’s doing!” Dusk assured her.

Gear Works coughed. “As previously mentioned, I have no actual experience with this procedure. This pattern of auto-surgeon has a catastrophic failure rate of a mere 0.3%, but that is due to mainly being used on unusually robust subjects. There is no way to calculate my own unforeseen errors, unfortunately, so I cannot fully advise you on the potential risk.”

“If the hyper-active, overheating crystal wings didn’t scare me off, then surgery isn’t a problem!” Scarlet laughed. “I’m pretty robust too!”

Gears chuckled anxiously, and a series of holo-screens appeared on the edge of the railing. “Well, then… please step into the restraint pit, Miss Shrike. I’ll administer the anesthetic.”

Scarlet Shrike stepped through a gap in the railing and stopped in the middle of the ring. She was calm but curious, looking at the machines around and above her with undisguised wonder and no apparent fear for how sharp most of them were. A servo arm moved along the railing and positioned itself under her chin, while another swung down from above and seized her by the back of her neck. More mechanical pincers emerged from the platform and locked onto her legs. Soon the pegasus was completely immobilized and the servos locked, freezing her in place.

“Beginning analgesic cycle. Please relax,” Gear Works requested.

All at once, a dozen smaller servo arms tipped with needles shifted into position and then plunged into the mare. She flinched at the suddenness of it all, and a gentle sucking sound came from the devices all around her as the syringes rapidly pumped the anesthetic solution into her body.

“Oh! That’s… That’s a lot of needles!” she chuckled.

“Well you need a lot of serum,” Gears admitted. “This is, by the way, your last opportunity to stop this. Once you fall unconscious in the chirurgeon pit, you will wake up with the bionics installed or you will not wake up at all.”

Scarlet’s expression hardened. “Of course. Do what you must, Acolyte. If I cannot endure this, I can’t possibly survive the trials of being a Reaver.” The syringes withdrew. There was no effort to patch the injection points, and blood started dribbling slowly down her legs and flank, leaving tiny streaks of darker red among her coat.

Gear Works nodded. “As you wish, Miss Shrike.”

Several seconds passed. Dusk walked up to the railing, and then waved a wing in front of Scarlet’s face.

She blinked. “Yes, Lieutenant? Is something wrong?”

Dusk Blade turned his head around toward Gears. “How long is this supposed to take? That was a LOT of juice.”

“I’m not sure. I’m going to ready the bionics for implant,” the Dark Acolyte said, plucking the Cambron-9 optical bionic from the cargo hauler.

Dusk Blade turned back to Scarlet. “Well, I guess you’re not going anywhere… Mind if I ask you something?”

“Is it about my size? I really don’t know what to tell you, Lieutenant. I just grew up this way,” Scarlet sighed.

“No, this is about the other thing people keep bringing up incredulously,” Dusk assured her. “You’re a Khorne cultist. You have your Mark? Like, your cutie mark used to be different?”

“Yes. It was a shield with wings before,” Scarlet explained. “It changed upon the completion of my blood trial.”

“Blood trial. Yeah. The blood trial,” Dusk’s wing tip scratched at his chin thoughtfully. “Could you tell us more about that?”

“Oh, sure! After studying the Path and having our devotional ceremony, each aspiring cultist is invited to an arena fight to earn their Mark. In order to pass you must best a Bloodletter in single combat!” Scarlet seemed quite animated as she spoke, and the servo arms holding her head in place creaked to keep her still.

“Bloodletter… Hey, Gears? What’s a Bloodletter? Do you know?” Dusk asked, leaning over to one side.

Gear Works absently tapped a holo-screen while he was hauling one of the Arclith Shard wings into place. It rapidly expanded, showing a humanoid daemon with skin of dark red. Its body was very lean and a little taller than a human’s, with a goat-like legs and an elongated head framed by two curved horns on each side of its skull. It held a blazing longsword in one hand and its body was riddled with spines and scales.

Dusk Blade whistled. “Wow. You beat one of those?”

“Yes!” Scarlet chuckled. “It took my eye down with it, though!”

“Still, I’m really impressed! That sword looks like it could cut a pony in half!” Dusk remarked.

“They don’t let the Bloodletters use their swords,” Gears remarked as the servo clamp carried the bionic wing up toward the ceiling. “The combatants would stand no chance, so they disarm the daemons first.”

“Oh. Uh…” Dusk arched an eyebrow. “So it’s an unarmed fight against a daemon? That’s still pretty hardcore!”

“The aspirants are allowed melee weapons. They aren’t required to be unarmed. Although they usually are after they get decked by a Bloodletter for the first time,” Gears dropped down to the mag-lev and started lifting the second wing. “Incidentally the rate of maimed failures to successful cultists was still so skewed at first that they changed it from a fight to incapacitation to a ring match; first one thrown, shoved, or tricked outside the circle is the loser,” Gear Works continued. “The cult preachers weren’t very happy about the changes, but the Iron Warriors preferred more units of mediocre but still bloodthirsty soldiers to a tiny corp of true pony elite.”

“I see,” Dusk said, staring directly at Scarlet Shrike with an unreadable expression.

She smiled nervously. “That’s… true, yes. Bloodletters are quite vicious, and it really is difficult to hold your nerve before Khorne’s rage renders us fearless conquerors!” Her eye darted to the side. “I certainly didn’t…”

“Why did you end up taking the blood trial anyway?” Dusk asked, leaning against the pit railing. “Like, how does someone like you get it into their head to swear servitude to a dark god? Let alone Khorne, the god of bloodshed, war, and anti-social tendencies.”

Scarlet Shrike looked like she wanted to shrink from the question, and the servo arms holding her in place creaked some more as they strained to hold her in place. “Well… it’s a little embarrassing, but… I wasn’t much of a fighter before.”

Gears turned around as if he was going to interject, thought better of it, and then went back to work.

“I come from a small pegasus village called Airbrook, near the border. I was a guard. Obviously. I mean, look at me,” she gave another wry chuckle. “There wasn’t much muscle labor to do in a place like that, so the bigger ponies get trained as guards. I was one of the best fighters. Well… I was the biggest fighter, which often made me the best fighter because I could bowl everypony else over during training.” Scarlet flushed. “Not that the sparring was very intense in Airbrook. There wasn’t much pressure to become the most skilled warrior. We dealt with griffon bandits and the odd flying beast that threatened the village, and occasionally patrolled trade roads. It wasn’t very demanding.”

“I’m guessing this story takes a turn when the Iron Warriors arrive,” Dusk said.

“Close. It took a turn when the Orks arrived,” Scarlet said bitterly. “A squad of Deffcoptas buzzed the village. We’d heard of what was happening in Equestria but it all seemed so weird and distant until the greenskins shot up our home.” She clenched her teeth, and the servo arms groaned against the tensing of her muscles. “They didn’t take anything, they just strafed the cloud houses and shot up the place until they ran out of ammunition and left. I took three bullets trying to shield a family friend of mine.”

Dusk frowned. “You couldn’t fight off the Deffcoptas? They’re plenty dangerous, but not that tough.”

“We didn’t try. We fled or hid. We were completely paralyzed in the face of a handful of alien raiders,” Scarlet scowled. “I was so ashamed. I felt so helpless and pitiful. So when a pamphlet advertising enlistment with the 38th Company arrived in Airbrook, me and a few of the other pegasi left to sign up.”

“And how’d that go?” Dusk asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Not great,” Scarlet grimaced. “I joined a regular assault force, but I wasn’t very good with a lasgun and the other pegasi could fly rings around me. In my first engagement I ended up crashing and an Ork rushed me and tried to hack me up. I fought him off and managed to escape, but I was beaten pretty badly so I retreated behind the gun line and then the regiment Commander yelled at me.” She sniffled. “I just wasn’t cut out for war. But war was what Equestria needed. So in my weakness, I turned to the Blood God.”

“…… You know, usually it’s the bloodthirsty, glory-hungry warriors who love battle that end up swearing themselves to Khorne,” Dusk drawled.

“That’s what the cleric said too! But I thought if I could just prove myself to the Blood God and endure the trials, he would make me a worthy warrior! And it worked!”

“Did it, now?”

“Yes. Well, mostly,” the maimed pony admitted. “With the blessing of Khorne I have become utterly fearless. I no longer dread the crush of melee, flinch from the sound of gunfire, or feel ill at the sight of gore. My desire for victory is finally the equal of my desire to protect my home and my friends! And I have the Blood God to thank for all of it!” She sighed. “But it’s not enough, is it? I cannot merely be a vessel for Khorne’s power. I must do MORE than endure! I must triumph! I have to-”

“Miss Shrike,” Gear Works interrupted.

She started, and the restraints let out another strained groan at the movement. “Yes? What’s wrong?”

“Why are you still conscious?”

Scarlet blinked. “Uh… I… feel a little sluggish, I guess? I don’t know.”

“That much anesthesia should have been enough to knock out a bear!” Gears retorted. “Bah. All right, let’s try another dose.” He brought up a holo-screen and started tapping at it.

“Sorry, I always have been rather hardy,” Scarlet chuckled.

“We’re SURE she’s not a pony Space Marine, right?” Dusk asked, leaning over toward Gears. “Secretly kidnapping ponies and turning them into pony super-soldiers would hardly be the most ridiculous thing the Iron Warriors have done.”

“I assure you Lieutenant, she does not possess any biological features consistent with Astartes gene-forging other than exaggerated bone density and mass.” Gear Works swiped his servo arm across the holo-screen, and then jabbed an activation key. “Beginning supplementary analgesic cycle.”

Scarlet held her breath as the servo arms swiveled back around and again plunged numerous syringes into her legs, neck, chest, and flank. A chill ran down her spine, and her remaining eye started blinking sleepily.

Dusk watched the needles withdraw after a few seconds, and then he looked over at Gear Works with a grin. “So… just how closely did you study her physiology? Eh?” He nudged the Acolyte with a wing.

“Lieutenant, I’m replacing an eye and two of her extremities. The tissue scans were extensive and necessary,” Gears said flatly.

“Okay, okay! I getcha,” Dusk coughed, and then stepped closer to whisper. “Seriously though, is she your type? I just figured since she’s also getting the machine tre-”

One of the servo needles suddenly flipped over the railing and stabbed toward Dusk’s flank. The thestral bounced aside, swatting the syringe with his wing while stepping out of reach. “Sorry! Sorry. I’ll be good.”

The biometric augurs drooped noticeably as the bat pony fell silent, and Gear Works glanced over at Scarlet. The pegasus was asleep, her body hanging limply against the shackles and servo restraints. He slid a hoof down the side of the screen, and the heavy drill in the center of the chirurgeon assembly started lowering itself down toward her back. Several other servo arms descended ahead of it, boasting claws and pinchers and other tools of surgery that were more difficult to identify.

“Here goes everything,” Gears breathed as the drill started spinning up.