“IF YOU KNOW WHAT’S GOOD FOR YOU, YOU WILL”- a colossal explosion cuts off the hollering of the pony who just ran past your hiding spot, and you jam your hooves in your ears in a vain attempt to stop them ringing. A red steel pot helmet hits the dust just in front of you with a thump, making you jump again. A second later, a beer keg lands a few feet away with a hollow clang.
“So that’s, what, six times now?” you shout at the helmet over the torrential gunfire coming from the other side of your surprisingly bulletproof crate. You’ve been squatting here for the last quarter of an hour, not daring to raise your head for the spray of bullets sweeping your position. Given that you haven’t died yet, while the team’s most veteran member is waking up in a white room for the sixth or seventh time, you figure that you’re doing pretty well. Especially now that you’ve stopped vomiting every time a loose giblet flies past you.
“Soldier’s not very good at changing tactics,” a pony wearing a vest and a slouch cap calls out to you, while looking down the telescopic sight of the rifle held by his side. “Charge in, rockets blazing seems to be his thing, but when these bloody BLU’s stick up a wall of bullets, he hasn’t a hope in hell.” There’s a sharp crack as his weapon fires, and he jeers at the enemy, “You’re gonna have to find a new use for your neck, wanker!”
“Is everypony here that crazy?” you call back.
“Nah, mate, but it gets to us all sometimes. Pyro’s been here longest, and I’m not sure there’s a sane bone left in his body.” Another sharp crack. “If he even is a ‘he’. Hell, if he even has a body!”
“So what”- you begin, but are cut off by another loud BOOM, and when you can stand to open your eyes against the heat again, the sniper’s gone, as is a good portion of the wall he’d been shooting around.
“You will not turn my battlefield into a campground!” You hear someone shout from some distance behind you. Hesitantly peeking around your cover, you spot what’s keeping your whole team pinned down: not only is there both a soldier and a fully built-up sentry nest up ahead, but there’s also a scout lingering not far away, ready to pick off anybody who might make it through. And unfortunately, he spots you at the same time. Jumping to his feet, he starts running parallel to the incoming bullets, straight towards your crate!
You roll over onto all fours and back up a bit, angling your body towards the top of the crate. Maybe if he sees that you’re ready for him, he’ll lose heart and run back. You silently hope he will, because you still haven’t worked out how these guns are meant to fire when they’re strapped to your sides.
“HAH!” the scout shouts, as he jumps onto the crate. And is immediately knocked off of it by three shots of sentry gun fire. The turret watches the fallen scout for a few seconds, before resuming its sweeping of the area behind you, oblivious to the fact that it’s just a little bit on fire. Crawling back over to your crate, you decide that there’s really only one option now.
“Help!” you shout out, “Anypony, help!”
“YOU’D BETTER HOPE THERE’S HACKY-SACK IN HE”- the soldier shout as he charges straight past you, again, and gets mown down, again.
“Anypony with some sense, maybe?!” You call out again, sounding desparate.
“Those of us with sense,” somepony pipes up from a short way off, poking his balaclava-wrapped head around the corner, “are keeping quiet.” And he slinks away again.
You sigh, defeated. You’re not a hundred feet from the control point, and going nowhere. “Well, this sucks,” you summarise.
There’s an unsettlingly close BOOM, followed by another as a rocket hits the nearby sentry, and then amid the fire and smoke, the enemy soldier lands right in front of you!
“Suck on this, you skirt-twirling drunk!” he shouts, pointing his rocket launcher square in your face at point blank range. “If Celestia had wanted you to live, SHE WOULD NOT HAVE CREATED ME!!!” Sweat pours down your forehead as you try in vain to back away from the weapon, stopped short by your own cover. The soldier laughs, a long, drawn-out laugh of victory. There’s only one way this is going to end, and you resign yourself to your fate, slumping against the crate. The soldier leans in closer, steeling himself to take the final shot, grinning savagely, and-
“Hey, metalhead!” someone shouts, and the soldier backs up, looking around behind him. There's a dull clang as the butt of a weapon much, much bigger than your own collides with the back of the soldier’s helmet, and he staggers with the force of the blow. “Drop dead and give me twenty!” the voice continues, as you hear the revving of a chain gun spinning up. Before he can gather his senses, the soldier is torn apart by some seriously heavy firepower, as it’s wielder drops down between the two of you.
It’s a gryphon. Your team’s heavy weapons guy is a gryphon. And as she touches ground, you notice that she’s not alone. Standing on her back is a shockingly familiar, shockingly pink filly. It’s a few seconds before either of them turns to face you, during which you can’t hear anything other than the pounding of bullets into flesh, hot brass hitting dirt, and thousands and thousands of rounds being fired.
Eventually, though, the gryphon turns around, setting its massive gun down on the earth with a thud as it leans over you. Pinkie Pie jumps off of its back and turns to face you herself.
“Are you alright?” she asks, looking worried, “Are you hurt?”
“No, just very, very scared,” you admit.
“Wuss,” the gryphon pokes you verbally, before looking up at the sentry nest ahead. “You can thank me for the gunship rescue later; right now we’ve got about five minutes to make a very long walk down a very short alleyway.” She shifts her weight and hauls her gun up again, standing almost upright to counter-balance its tremendous weight with her wings. “You coming, Pinkie?”
“Right behind ya, all the way!” she cheers, before turning to you. “Come on, you too!”
“A-are you sure?” you ask nervously, “She didn’t ask for my help…”
“No,” Pinkie says, hauling you to your feet, “but I’m asking for it. You’ll make taking out that sentry a lot easier, and besides, it can’t be any fun for you to just sit here all safe-and-sound while we have fun getting shot at!”
“Pinkie Pie,” the gryphon pipes up, “has anyone ever told you that you’re random?”
“All the time, Gilda! Why?” Pinkie replies.
“Because they’re wrong. You’re not random, you’re just plain crazy! Now would ya get over here?”
Pinkie hops forward and lines up behind Gilda, and with a click, the nozzle of the device strapped to her sides starts letting loose a stream of red vapour. You quickly figure out that it’s a portable version of the ceiling device in the surgery. The two start walking forwards, as Gilda begins spinning up the minigun’s barrels again.
“Hey, wait for me!” You shout out, running up and falling in step to Pinkie. She flashes a smile at you, and you’re forced to smile back, but you can’t figure out why. “S-so, uh…” you start, suddenly nervous, “how do we actually fire these guns?”
“Oh, it’s easy!” she replies, “You just look at whatever you want to shoot, and think about shooting it!”
“What? How does that work?” you ask, having to shout as Gilda starts firing at the amassing enemies up ahead.
“I HAVE NO IDEA!” Pinkie shouts back, before glancing at a gauge on her device. “Gilda! We’re charged!” she called out.
“Hit it!” Gilda shouts back as the enemy’s sentry comes alive, beeping rapidly as it swings its head around to target the gryphon. It fires, loosing a salvo of rockets at her as red lightning begins to crackle around her. The rockets hit, and the explosion sends your ears ringing, blocking out everything except Gilda’s yelling. It’s terrible. Even with Pinkie healing her, there’s no way she could have survived that. Except, as you continue to listen, her yelling starts to morph into loud, happy laughter.
“I AM BULLET PROOF!” she shouts, and as the smoke clears, you see that she’s right. Both her and Pinkie Pie and coated in the same metallic sheen that your new heart had, and you instantly make the connection. The next salvo of rockets just bounce off of her, spiralling away and hitting the ground harmlessly. “Hey!” Gilda shouts back to you, “That thing’s slowing us down! Get rid of it!”
You turn your attention to the sentry, aim up a bit, and think to yourself, willing the grenade launcher at your side to fire itself. And, to your great surprise, it does, sending a pair of grenades rolling through the air towards the sentry. With a loud bang, they explode taking the turret with them. Grinning, you aim at the respawned scout from earlier as he tries to rush the three of you, and with another bang, he’s down, straight back into the white room he only just woke up from.
“I win, you git!” you shout, really getting into the swing of things now. It’s only a few more seconds and spent grenades before a klaxon sounds, and speakers holler all across the battlefield. “The final control point has been captured! RED team wins!”
You look at Pinkie and smile. She smiles back at you. Gilda turns around and grins at the both of you. You won! This silly battle’s over!
“I AM GOING TO ENJOY KILLING EACH AND EVERY”- the soldier hollers, rounding the corner again before stopping short with surprise. “Oh, uh… GOOD WORK MEN! Now everyone back to base for s’mores and, uh… my tales of amazing wartime valour, featuring ME!”
“So, since we’ve won, what happens now?” you ask as your trio walk into the base’s kitchen after Soldier’s started telling some pretty ridiculous war stories.
“Same thing I’ve been doing for years,” Gilda replies, “First of all, today wasn’t the end of this battle. We’ve gotta keep pushing forwards, as per instruction. I mean, did you think this’d end just because we’ve taken over some shiny metal disk in the middle of a construction yard?”
“Well,” you begin, before realising what she meant – that was hardly worth waging war over. “So what are we trying to do?” you ask, as Pinkie starts rummaging through cupboards, looking for something to eat.
Gilda sighs. “Truth be told, there’s a missile that BLU’s been building. If we don’t get to and deactivate it before it’s ready to launch, who knows what they’ll do with it?”
“Hang on a second!” You cry, “They can’t just go launching missiles inside Equestria’s borders!”
“And who said we’re still in Equestria?” Gilda points out. “So long as we’re not near Celestia’s playgrounds, we’re not her problem.”
“So, where are they most likely to launch this missile?” you ask, a bit hesitant.
“You really need to ask that? At us, duh!” Gilda rolls her eyes. “And wouldn’t that be a downer ending, since we’ve worked so hard?”
“You’re telling me,” you reply, “first day on the job and it turns out we’re on the brink of being blown to bits.”
“Aww, don’t be so loomy-gloomy, you two!” Pinkie says with her usual cheer, “This’ll cheer you up!” And she holds up two bottles of something that you instantly recognise.
“Booze!”
“A-an’, an’ that’s how, Equestria was a maid, I think.” Pinkie drunkedly concludes her tale, a cheerful story full of candy, colour and something called Caligula. She breaks down into fits of giggles again.
“…right,” Gilda says, barely halfway through her second bottle and barely tipsy.
“Pinkie, what are we drinking?” You ask again, seeing the world as if through a slightly steamy window.
“Oh, I make it myself!” Pinkie chirps up, “You mix Sasparilla, vodka an’ whiskey, and then pour in a whole bag of sugar! I call it thunder-b, thunder… Fun-der bomb? Something like that.”
“Whatever it is,” you decide, “it’s amazing. I feel like I’m drunk twice over, but I can still see everything!” You swing your hooves around to emphasize ‘everything’ and accidentally knock over an empty bottle. “Err… I meant to do that.”
“…sure,” Gilda says, sounding almost bored.
“Gilda, what’s wrong?” Pinkie asks, “you’re being not-fun, like a, an… unfun-thing.”
“Just quietly contemplating my life,” Gilda replies.
“Aww, you’re not still hung up about what Dashie said, are ya? ‘Cos you know you’re a changed mare now. Or lioness, or whatever”-
“she-gryphon,” Gilda interjects, “and I know what you mean, but for the better? I kill for a living now, what does that make me?”
“Better than soldier,” you butt in, “because you can actually do it!” Pinkie breaks into hysterics, but Gilda doesn’t so much as smile. “Hey, you know what? Once we’ve beaten this rocket thing, why don’t you just stop? If this upsets you that much, why keep doing it?”
“I guess you’re right,” Gilda says, “I just never thought of that before.”
“Wow, you’re smart,” Pinkie compliments you.
“Aww, no, I’m really not,” you bashfully disagree.
“Yeah you are, you’re a smarty-smart, clever colt.” She persists.
“Well, It’s nothing to what you are,” you say, “you’re really smart, I mean, you did that… thing, with the heart, and the glowing, and making Gilda bulletproof.”
“Aww, that’s not smart,” she denies your claim, “that’s just what they trained me to do.”
“Still, you’re pretty smart. And downright cute to boot,” you say decidedly, before your cheeks flush as you realise what you just said.
Both girls look at you in surprise. “You… you think I’m cute?” Pinkie asks.
“Well, yeah, ‘cos you’re always really cheerful and bubbly and fun and stuff,” you reply without hesitation.
“Oooh,” they both say in realisation, before Gilda continues, “Sorry, it’s just that on her first day here, our current engineer tried to force himself on Pinkie, saying pretty much the same thing.”
“Oh my gosh!” you cry out, alarmed at what you’d just done, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to”-
“Aww, don’t worry about it, you didn’t know!” Pinkie smiles at you.
You smile back, relieved that you haven’t upset her. “So, what happened?”
Pinkie looks thoughtful for a moment. “Well, he wouldn’t take me not being interested for an answer, and I started to get a bit scared, which is when Gilda showed up!”
“Seeing Pinkie Pie again was a bit of a shocker,” Gilda continues, “given how we originally met, but anyway, I told the engy to back off, you know? He wouldn’t, and said that he, well, ‘wanted’ her, and I told him that she was already taken. He didn’t believe me, so…” Gilda trails off, and you notice her blushing slightly as Pinkie stifles a giggle.
“So…?” You press her.
“So I showed him that she was, by, well, kissing her.” Gilda finishes, embarassed.
Pinkie burst out laughing. “The look on his face after we broke off! He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry!” You yourself are chuckling pretty hard at this, and even Gilda manages a smile. “So anyway, as he words it, ‘yer just damn lucky I’m not interested in fillyfoolers, or yer’d have ta fight me for her’ and he walks away!” Pinkie says.
“Like he’d stand a chance!” Gilda says, slightly boastfully, “the guy’s so overweight he can barely run!”
“He wobbles!” Pinkie giggles, “Not to mention being a grouchy old mean meanie pants! Not like you at all, umm, You.”
There’s a short pause. “’You?’” you ask, confused.
Pinkie Pie looks a little embarrassed. “I don’t remember your name,” she admits.
“Huh,” you utter, and then pause to think. “Okay, that’s worrying – I don’t remember it either!”
“Oh great,” Gilda says, “I guess we’ve got to think of a name for you until you remember, then.”
“Hmmm,” Pinkie muses, then spots the bottles on the table, “Hey, I know! We ought to call you Funder Blast, because you’re fun, and you blow things up!”
“You did not just name him after what we’ve been drinking,” Gilda mutters disbelievingly, “that’s just bad.”
“Aww, can’t you call me Cupcake, or something cute?” you cheekily ask.
Both girls give you questioning looks again, and Pinkie giggles. “Well, aren’t you the brave one! Hey, there’s a much better name! Let’s call him Bold!”
“That’s not too bad,” the gryphon says, “I had a cousin called Bold. Can’t remember what happened to him though.”
“I’m okay with this,” you agree.
“It’s settled,” Pinkie confirms, “I’m gonna call you Bold.” She stifles a giggle again, “At least, when I’m not calling you Cupcake or something cute.”
Your cheeks flush. “You mean you actually want to date?”
“Well, why not? You think I’m cute, I think you’re really fun to be with, so let’s date!”
“Well, alright!” You agree, and smile at your new fillyfriend. She smiles back, and leans towards you a little. You lean towards her. Inch by inch, the two of you gradually close the distance between you until you’re muzzle to muzzle, gazing into each other’s eyes like a pair of love-struck schoolfoals. Turning a bit, you peck Pinkie of the cheek, and she giggles, that cute, bubbly laughter that you’ve only just realised makes the heart she gave you a touch warmer.
“That’s not how you kiss a girl for the first time, silly!” Pinkie instructs you, “You’re meant to lean in, slooowly, and then hold back just a hair’s breadth away.” She demonstrates as she talks, moving so close to you as to give you a scent of her sugary coat. “Then the couple slip their hooves around each other,” she continues, curling her forelegs round your waist as you do the same, feeling her soft hair brush against your limbs. “And then,” Pinkie continues, “ever so delicately, he”-
“Oh, just go and make out right in front of me, why don’t ya?” Gilda says, breaking the atmosphere while rolling her eyes. Judging by the mischievous glint in Pinkie’s eyes, she’s as tempted to oblige the gryphon as you are, but neither of you move to do so, nor do you break apart. The two of you spend the rest of the evening like that, reduced to slightly tipsy, chatting among yourselves, with you and Pinkie embracing each other with romantic abandon.
Just outside the door, a gruff, slightly overweight pony wearing a hardhat grits his teeth at your back, and utters a single word: “Darn.” Unseen, he turns and trots away, already planning.
Engineers are good at planning.