//------------------------------// // Explotions, Gunfire, Near Death Encounters and the like Sir. Nothing we couldn't handle. // Story: Blackhawk Down: Equestria // by A Space Cephalopod //------------------------------// Kevin stood on the balcony of the library, leaning against the railing with a Zune in his hand, black earbuds in his ears and the cord handing down his chest. The music could be heard from feet away, the old country tune tolling its slow melody out in the air past his ears. Despite his hard set and passive expression, glistening tracks ran down his cheeks, drops of saline falling from his chin and onto the letter in his left hand. He looked out over the rolling hills and verdant fields before him with passive acceptance, paying them no attention as the sun set on the horizon. Normally he would have a cup of coffee or an energy drink nearby to his right, but in its stead was an ashtray, occupied by three crushed butts and one burning cigarette. On his left lay a white pack of cigarettes, a black pony’s skull and crossbones decorating its façade as a warning to any customer that would buy them; a flip lighter lying open next to the pack. He stood like this as the sun set, silently crying and sparing a few fleeting glances to the letter, breaking this routine only to draw off of a cigarette or light another. His solitude was broken half an hour later as the glass door behind him swung open, the lavender unicorn that resided in the building walking out levitating two cups of steaming coffee. He looked back at her shortly, looking back to his media player to turn it off and stow it and the letter on his person before taking the offered floating mug. “Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice not betraying his status as he took a drink from the white porcelain. He ignored the pain in his mouth and throat as he quaffed the searing fluid, finding the burning sensation more desirable than the pain in his chest. Twilight nodded, curling up in a wide rocker on the balcony and laying her mug on the rail nearby to cool. They sat in silence for a few minutes, both watching the sunset, ignoring the world around them until Twilight broke the ice. “Is… something wrong,” she asked, watching him as he lit another cigarette, observing the pack as he laid it down and noticing it was nearly empty. Kevin shook his head, inhaling the cancer. Twilight allowed him his personal space, falling silent and taking her mug into her hooves before blowing it to cool it faster. She sipped from the rim carefully as she watched a tear stream down his cheek and fall to the floor, a sniff escaping his passive stance. “I’m sorry,” He said quietly, taking another drag from the cigarette before finishing his sentence. “You’re trying to help, I understand, but I don’t want to trouble you with my… well my troubles.” Twilight gave a sad smile as he began to open his metaphorical shell. “It’s alright,” she said in return. “Would you like somepony to talk to?” Kevin sighed, nodding slowly before pulling a white envelope from his pocket and handing it to her. She took it in her magical grasp, removing a letter from inside and reading it over. She was silent for a moment before she lowered the paper. “What is this, a break-up letter?” Kevin nodded. “It’s from someone back home,” he said. “My girlfriend in fact… We started dating in high school, and it lasted for nine years. I was going to ask her to marry me when I got back. I even picked this up on one of my combat tours.” Twilight had since returned her attention to the letter, moving it aside to find him holding a black felted box, the top flipped back to reveal a silver band with a polished and gleaming emerald on top. “I was ten weeks from being shipped back home from the base when I got the letter. I didn’t open it because we were attacked and I had to protect myself and my fellow soldiers. I forgot about it in the chaos of the ambush and hadn’t read it when we ended up here. I finally opened it about two hours ago, and let’s say that a certain changeling caught the brunt of my fury and misdirected emotions.” He took the ring from the box, holding it to the light and gazing upon its prismatic facets. “I was ten weeks away from living the dream, you know? Ten weeks and I would marry my sweetheart, buy a two story house with a white picket fence, a two car garage and eventually have two and a half children.” He put the ring back in its box, closing it and tossing it over his shoulder. “So much for the American Dream…” Twilight sat silent, casting a spell to clear the air around her as he lit another of Filthy Rich’s trademark Filth Sticks. Kevin coughed heavily as he exhaled the carcinogens, the fit lasting three minutes before it subsided. “Shit you ponies sure go all out on death sticks,” he commented, putting the one he had out and tossing the remainder of the pack into a trash bin beside him. “You know, I have to say the worst part of that letter is where she mentions my cousin Ellie…the damn punk. She left me for my own damn cousin.” He shook his head, pocketing the lighter by his hand and turning around. He opened the door, stepping in but halting before he closed the door. “Thank you, for listening.” Twilight smiled and nodded, floating the letter over to him. “Keep it,” he said, holding up a hand to stop her. “I don’t was a Dear John letter cluttering my pockets.” Twilight gave him another nod, returning the letter to its envelope and wedging it under her foreleg as he closed the door. “What a strange species,” Twilight mused as she watched the sun continue its descent, her inquisitive mind peeking through for the first time in a long while. “Maybe he wouldn’t mind answering a few questions about his race.” … “Sup lizard,” Kevin asked as he walked through the center room of the library, giving Spike a noogie before walking to where he had left his rifle and helmet. Spike harrumphed, crossing his arms and facing him. “I don’t know ape,” he sniped. Kevin chuckled as he clipped his helmet next to the gasmask on his pack, slinging the rifle over a shoulder. “What are you laughing at?” Kevin shook his head, walking up to the little dragon and crouching before poking him on the snout. “You,” he said with a smirk. “I was joking with you. I know you’re a dragon. It’s a joke where I come from, and it isn’t supposed to upset anyone.” Spike blew smoke out of his nostrils, his cross expression refusing to budge. Kevin sighed as the offense had set in fully. “You eat gems, right?” he asked, getting a single nod. “Tell you what. You forget that happened and forgive me, I won’t call you that again, and you can have the big emerald on the silver band out on the patio.” Spike raised an eyebrow before shrugging and heading toward the glass doors to the patio. “It’s in a black velvet box!” he called after him, getting a thumbs-up before the door closed. Kevin sighed, rubbing his face before standing up. He groaned before turning to the front door, Silvermane having cleared him to tour the town whenever he wanted after the raid earlier on the basis that their purpose is to help and the ponies wouldn’t react too oddly. “I thoroughly hate downtime.” He mumbled, making his way through the doorway, having to hunch to exit efficiently. ... Kevin walked though the town, looking for something to do after he had been relieved of his offer to help an hour ago. The pop of sporadic gunfire reached his ears every so often, ponies of the resistance and citizens alike ducking temporarily before continuing on their way. To Kevin, however, the sounds went un-acknowledged, the seasoned soldier easily continuing on his search without so much as a second thought. He lent hands where he could, helping ponies carry loads and assisting the resistance forces in moving dead changelings and wounded to triage at town hall and the pyres outside the town perimeter. It was a slow process, requiring miles of foot travel, but he didn’t mind; he was trying to pass the time after all. As he was making his way back to the barracks, a pony he already knew the name of stopped him. It was a mare, about as tall as his waist with a two-tone blue mane and tail, violet sunglasses resting on her muzzle. She smiled at him with a sly grin, seeming to stare through him from behind the shades. After an awkward minute of silence, she finally said “Hey there.” Kevin cocked an eyebrow at her supposedly important issue. “Hello,” he replied, angling his gaze down at the disc jockey to compensate for the height difference. “Yeah, I’m Vinyl,” he held out a hoof, which Kevin shook. “I noticed you were helping ponies and I was wondering if you might be able to help me with a bug problem back at the club.” Kevin sighed. What did she think he was, an exterminator? “I would love to help,” he replied, the mare grinning slightly wider. “However, you see I am a soldier. All I know how to use is this rifle,” he patted his SCAR affectionately. “And I doubt bullets would be very effective against bugs without causing serious property damage.” “It’s not that kind of bug problem,” she stated, lifting her glasses to show him more explanatory facial expressions. “The changelings have taken up residence in my club, and I don’t want to go asking the resistance. Their policy is more, ‘shoot everything and hope we hit something,’ you know?” Kevin made and exasperated motion, silently agreeing with her. “More to the point, I saw the way you and that other one of you handle things, more precise and less damage. I want you to get them out of there in time for tonight’s show. I don’t care if you kill them or scare them out, that ain't my problem. I just want them gone. I would be willing to pay you too, name your price!” Kevin thought on the subject for a moment. He was not, by the code of conduct for the military, supposed to accept payment for services rendered to locals. “I can give you bits, or I could give you free tickets to my shows, or I could do…” She reared up and placed her hooves on his waistband, putting on a sultry look. “Other things… I'm not against inter-species ya know.” She gave him a wink that caused him to blush. “No thank you, umm…” He rubbed the back of his head nervously as she got off him. “Payment isn’t necessary ma’am…” “Vinyl,” she said sternly. “Ma’am makes me sound old and I'm only twenty four.” Kevin nodded. “So shall we take a look at your problem then,” he asked, being lead away from the alley they had retreated into, following her to the club. She led him down the streets into a more barren part of town, warehouses and rundown housing dominating the infrastructure of the area. Kevin felt something off, brushing it off as PTSD from Rio. Nevertheless, he adjusted his hold on his rifle, readying himself to fire on the first thing that reared its ugly head. “You keep your club in this area?” “No doubt,” Scratch said, bouncing once to turn and face him, continuing to walk on the path in reverse. “Well, it isn’t really a club. It’s more of an abandoned warehouse I host raves and things at. My club was In Canterlot, but you can probably guess why I’m not there anymore.” Kevin nodded once scanning the windows and rooftops for anything unusual. This was, however, a rather broad term considering he was in a world of talking ponies. “And here we are,” Vinyl said as she turned around, pushing a lock off a chain with a quick lift of her hoof. The chain link gate swung open slightly, Vinyl pushing it open in full before motioning Kevin inside the expansive courtyard. ‘Great,’ he thought as he passed the threshold, continuing into the yard and past the danger zone. He reached the door to the warehouse, turning around to find the gate closed and locked, Vinyl nowhere to be seen. “How did I fall for this...” he mumbled, sucking air through his teeth and raising his rifle, lowering himself into a crouch and slowly moving toward a large concrete block in the shadow of an awning. Once there he rose slightly, peeking over the block with his rifle, sighting the area for something resembling a changeling. Finding the all clear, he turned his attention to the entrance to the building. Even though he had nothing to check his Intel on, it was a lead and he was obligated to follow it. … As the door swung inward, a shadow against the sunny background stood before it, weapon raised and pieing the room for contacts. The figure stepped in, quickly making its way to the nearest point of defensible cover. The stack of bricks was near the door on the right, Kevin digging in his pockets for something as he remained hidden. Within seconds he had produced a pair of Night or Dark glasses, the tight fitting and streamlined devices looking like a set of swimmers goggles, save for the faint green glow behind the blacked out lenses. As the optical device powered up the room came into light, the black shadows glowing with the green radiance of the enhancement. The central floor was filled with litter, paper cups, broken speakers and shimmering glitter prominent among the mess. “Hello...” Kevin muttered as something liquid reached his attention. He checked the room again, this time scanning the high ground of the catwalks and rafters for contacts before breaking cover. He stalked to the small puddle of fluid, placing the fingertips of his glove in the fluid and bringing it to his nose. “Blood,” he said expressionlessly before wiping the red fluid on the cement at his boots. Around him were more puddles, these radiating on a different color spectrum than the crimson next to him. “There was a skirmish,” he deduced, following the trail of red drops. “The defender survived the attack, but they were wounded. They took refuge… here…” He looked up in time for his vision to fade to black, a sharp pain being the last thing he could remember. ... ‘Twice in a week,’ Kevin thought as he came too, trying to raise his hand to rub his face but finding them held fast. “The fuck…” He muttered past a thick tongue before opening his eyes. It was dark, which meant his goggles had been removed. He turned his view over his shoulder, struggling against the hemp fiber ropes around his wrists. A shuffling sound stopped him, causing him to look around the dark for the source. “KoJ si ti? KoJ te isprati za mene?” It was Greek or some Baltic language Kevin was sure, but he didn’t understand it. The questioner was asking him something, this was something he was also certain of, but again, he could not understand them. “I…” “KoJ si ti? KoJ te isprati za mene?” This time the speaker used more forceful words, making the point that they were not messing around known. Kevin heard the sound of a gun cocking, jumping slightly in his defenseless state. “KoJ si ti?! KoJ te isprati za mene?!” Kevin felt the chill of steel on his forehead, the large barrel pressing against him. He closed his eyes, trying to think past the panic that was filling him. “Jas ne…” He started, remembering something a friend in high school had told him to say if he ever found himself in northern Greece. “Jas ne, se, raz… razbi… razbiram. Jas ne se razbiran!” The gun barrel retreated slightly, maintaining contact with his brow but relieving the pressure. “Parlez-vous français? Mluvíte česky?“ (Do you speak French? Do you speak Czech?) “Nestačí sdílet slov,“ ‘It is not enough words to share,‘ Kevin thought, confused before he understood. ”Wie wäre es mit Deutsch? Kanske svenska?” ”How about we stick to the pony tongue? I will not ask how you know Ice Tongue or Goth, and you will not ask me any more questions.” Kevin nodded once, setting his service tag number in the front of his mind as he was trained. He wasn’t going to give this thing anything. ”Would you like some light shed on the situation?” Kevin fumbled mentally, recovering just as a set of shutters opened, flooding the room with light and causing him to flinch. He swore under his breath as he blinked to let his eyes adjust to the sudden onslaught of the sun. After a minute he could observe the room around him, and what he saw would be surprising if he didn't deal with it on a daily basis. Along the walls of the apparent office room were tables and racks, both laden with weapons, ammunition and explosives. The majority of the firearms he couldn’t identify, being oddly large caliber from the bore of the barrels and slightly over-sized in their construction. The explosives resembled Compound-4 and Symtex, fragmentation grenades of older design and smoke canisters flanked a crate’s amount of munitions, an estimated three thousand rounds of assorted ammo lined up on columns around their respective firearms. ”You like the view?” the speaker said, drawing Kevin's attention away from the tables. It was a man, around six feet tall with a black braided mohawk that dropped to his shoulders. His skin was pale, his clothing a mixture of black and gray in a urban camouflage pattern. He was built with muscle that caused his uniform to struggle to stay closed, seeming to be two sizes too thin on his frame. On his back was a folded combat axe, the breaching spike and wide head causing it to resemble a medieval war axe. He held his left hand over his abdomen, crimson stains covering his flesh and gray tee. ”What happened to you,” Kevin asked, finding his legs were not secured and standing with his arms behind his back. The man lifted his right hand, a silver handgun resembling a Desert Eagle clutched in his fist and aimed loosely at Kevin. ”Not your problem,” the man said. ”And I thought I said you wouldn’t as me any questions?” Kevin chuckled humorlessly. ”The tables have turned since then,” he stated. ”You’re injured, bleeding out if I’m right, and i am obligated to help the wounded.” The man dropped his hand, sighing and holstering his sidearm with mild difficulty. ”So what happened?” ”Some of those morphs swarmed the warehouse,” he began limping to an empty table and sitting on it. He motioned for Kevin to come to him, turning him around and untying his hands. ”I killed all of them, but they got me in the gut as a last attempt.” Kevin shuffled through a box at his feet, pulling out a medical kit. Inside was several items he recognized save for the alphabet it used. He tore the top away from the packet of coagulating agent, rolling up the man's shirt and pouring the white powder over the wound. It would need further attention than he could provide, Kevin deduced as the white powder near instantly turned red. He clamped a bandage over it, tying the straps around his back and stomach tight. ”How did you end up here,” the man asked. ”You look like you’re from the dunes.” Kevin shrugged, double checking the knot he had tied before rolling the man’s shirt back down. ”You could say that,” he said vaugely. ”But where I’m from, you would have never heard of.” ”The Eagle Republic eh,” the man asked, getting a surprised look from Kevin. ”Yeah I know about you. Freedom Freaks is what we call you all, running head long into any conflict that appears and the freedom of a people are threatened or has been suppressed. The last I heard, your president was content that there was nothing going on in the world. What are you, an advanced scout or someone to cause a need for help?” Kevin threw up his hands, standing and walking toward the shutters. ”I’m not allowed to say anything without talking to command first,” he informed, dodging any questions right away. Outside the scene hadn’t changed, the sun still bearing down toward them, nearly set. The smoke from the body pyres blotted out most of the sky here, telling Kevin he was west of the library and the bunker. He scratched his head, turning and pointing at the man. “What are you doing here,” he asked. “And furthermore, what the hell is your name?” “Koloss,” He said curtly, pulling a pack of cigarettes marked white with something in Cyrillic scrawled across the front. “I'm here because my nation was attacked by the morphs in the sunny season. We chased them off, but I was ordered to track their leader and stand guard against her.” “Colossus,” Kevin mumbled, finding the name fitting for an advanced guard. “Alright, look here. You have a bleeding abdominal wound, a bullet is floating inside your flooding guts and you need medical attention I can’t give. I am urging you to let me take you to the ponies so they can give you the proper care.” Koloss shook his head, taking a drag off his cigarette. “Not on my life,” he said in morbid humor. “I’m not allowed contact with any of the locals. I’m surprised you are for that matter. Last I heard, previous contact in the deserts to the west of here ended in a bloody conflict between us and the Zebras.” Kevin sighed, walking up to the man and meeting him a foot away. “Look Koloss,” he said in an aggressive tone. “Either you come with me, or I knock you out, call us even, and carry your ass to a medic.” Koloss blew smoke in Kevin’s face, smirking. “I dare you.” Kevin sighed and drew his 1911, pistol-whipping the soldier on the temple before he could react. “Challenge fucking accepted,” Kevin muttered as he lifted the man over his back, turning toward the door and making his exit.