//------------------------------//
// 19: From Bad To Worse 
// Story: Bear, Scribe and Paladin 
// by Speven Dillberg 
//------------------------------//

“Why do I have a bad feeling about this?” Thomas asked quietly, looking at the amassed crowd in front of him. Nearly all of them were ponies of each kind, though a few griffons and even a minotaur could be seen. “This place is way too open,” he mumbled, talking about the large hall. There were numerous windows, the door was wide open and the pillars off to the side provided great hiding spots. His HUD was useless amongst so many non-hostiles, anyone who wanted to attack him would simply not show up.
“Oh, calm down,” Veronica moaned, wearing her full set of T-51b.
“Easy for you to say. You’re fucking bulletproof,” he muttered.
“Yeah, and you chew metal and shit bullets,” she replied. “So shut the fuck up already.”
“You may now ask any questions you have for my guests,” they heard Celestia say.
“This is gonna suck,” Thomas muttered as he stood up from his chair. “Hello!” he exclaimed loudly. “As the Princess said, I am Thomas.”
“What is your response to the allegations that you are responsible for the current conflict?” one of the reporters asked.
“Firstly, don’t cut me off when I’m talking,” Thomas replied harshly, shooting a glare at the blue unicorn. To his credit, the pony didn’t even blink. “Secondly, between leaving three children to a lifetime of slavery and starting a war, I’ll pick war every time.”
“Does this mean you enjoy such things?”
“No. I’m just very good at it,” Thomas replied, sounding curiously unhappy.
“The Princess told us that you have experience our Royal Guard don’t.” From the pegasus’ voice, it was clear she thought that claim was utterly facetious.
“Have your soldiers faced a horde of completely fanatic murderers, most of them better armed than them?” he spat back. “Have they gone against wildlife so deadly going within a hundred yards is suicide? Do they know how to use weapons designed to punch through half a foot of solid steel?” Thomas could feel Veronica’s eyes on the back of his head, knowing she was frowning at his exaggerations. “I’ve fought monsters who used children as suicide bombers, and wiped out towns for fun. I have experience your military never will. And the only way I survived was in armour that makes the stuff your soldiers have look like tin foil.”
The response to that was overwhelming silence. “Way to freak them out, jerk,” Veronica said, slapping him in the back of the head as she stepped forwards. “Ignore this idiot,” she called out to the crowd, pulling off her helmet.
“W-was he telling the truth?”
“He was exaggerating, but for the most part... yeah. He really did wipe out the upper command of those ‘fanatic murderers’ by himself, too” she air-quoted.
“Actually, I had help.”
“Oh, right, Boone.” The power-armoured woman turned to her black friend. “What’s he up to?”
“Back with 1st Recon,” he replied.
“Uh...” 
Thomas turned back to the reporters, who were now staring at the pair in shock. “Right, sorry, got distracted. Uh, you there, at the back,” he said, pointing at the minotaur.
“Thank you,” he said, standing up. “What is your opinion on the Diamond Dog forces? Do you feel that the Equestrian military is capable of winning this war?”
“Honestly, I have no idea. The Dogs are strong, probably the toughest thing I’ve faced that wasn’t an animal. As for you ponies... Honestly?” he asked. “Without the griffons, I think you’d be in over your heads.”
The response was everyone shouting in disagreement. “Why do you feel that way!?” one voice, louder than the others, called.
“Because your army is - ” He spun around, raising his arms to cover his face. Just in time, too, because that quick action saved his life, the crossbow bolt meant to end him instead going through his right arm. “MOTHERFUCKER! VERONICA!” he shouted.
The Scribe had acted the even before the first syllable had left his mouth, sprinting for one of the open windows. The lone grey-coated pegasus hovering there, a crossbow in his hooves, only stared in shock as the power-armoured woman managed to somehow jump the fifteen feet from the window ledge with ease. “Oh shit!” she cried as she wrapped her arms around the stallion, bringing them both crashing fifty feet down into a shrubbery.
“My wing...” he moaned.
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever done,” Veronica muttered as she picked herself up. “And I slept with Cass.”
“Veronica! You okay!?” She looked up to see Thomas looking out the window, yelling down at her.
“I just jumped out a damn window, what do you think!?” she yelled back. “What about you!? You got shot in the arm!”
“One second!” He turned back to the shocked crowd and made his way back to the stage, dripping blood the whole time. “I’m afraid we have to cut this short,” he said diplomatically. “Sorry about that.” He walked back to the window. “It fucking hurts, but I’ve had worse!”





“Now hold still,” the nurse told him. “The last thing you want to do is make it worse.” The moment the white earth pony turned around, she heard a cry of pain. “Or you could be like the griffons and completely ignore every word I say,” she muttered through her teeth.
“I’ve had two holes in my skull,” Thomas replied, looking at the freshly-removed bolt. “And this isn’t the first time I’ve been shot, either.”
“Regardless of your experience on the matter, it is my job to make sure you are okay.” The nurse grabbed a roll of bandages. “Now stay still or I will go and collect some volunteers to hold you still.”
Thomas complied, holding out his arm to give the mare easy access to his wound. “I’ve treated myself for worse, you know.”
“There is a difference between field first aid and actual medical attention,” the nurse said tersely. “You don’t know how lucky you are that it went right through, you know.”
“I have two holes in my arm, how is that lucky?”
“Because it missed the bone. No telling how much damage that could have done.”
It was only five minutes later that he emerged from the nurse’s office, a bandage now covering the damage. “Need a drink?” Veronica asked, holding out a bottle of whiskey.
“Thanks.” Thomas gladly took the bottle and drunk from it briefly. “Find out anything about the pegasus that shot me?”
“Never imagined I’d ever hear you say anything like that,” the Scribe commented with a smile. “Anyway, that pony thought you were some demon trying to enslave Equestria or something.”
The man stared at her. “And he thought a bit of steel would stop a demon?”
“I don’t know how crazy people think,” Veronica replied loudly.
“Okay, okay,” Thomas chuckled. “How’d he even fire the crossbow, anyway?”
“It was modified,” Grimfeather replied, landing next to them.
“Way to get yourself shot,” Dom called out snidely, a smirk on the skinless face.
“Modified? How?”
“The model of bow your assailant used is a minotaur design,” the griffon explained. “The only way a pony could use it with hooves was if the trigger and grip were modified to be more hoof-friendly.” He turned to the black man, who had listened patiently. “Someone wants you dead, it seems.”
“Not the first time,” Thomas shrugged calmly. 





“What do you mean, everything went to Tartarus!?”
“Exactly what he said, sir,” Clarion Call panted. The grey stallion stood there stoically, but it was very clear that he was in pain. 
“There must’ve been at least eighty of them, sir. All heavily armed, all waiting for us.” Frost Lance wheezed as he rubbed at his barrel One of his armour plates had been badly damaged, and the bent metal had gouged into him.
“No civvies, though,” Firebolt added. His face was a mix of blues and blacks, so much so that it hid a lot of his actual crimson coat. “We’re lucky we got out at all.”
“You three are among the best trained soldiers Equestria has seen since the time of Nightmare Moon. Your armour is like nothing seen on this world. How did this happen!?” Shining asked loudly. 
“There were three Diamond Dogs down there with magic. Magic, sir,” Clarion repeated.
“Why do you think it looks like I got hit by a train?” Firebolt asked, pointing at his face.
“One of them threw half a boulder at me,” Forst Lance added.
Shining just gaped. “Oh, this is bad.”