//------------------------------// // All is Fair (Act One) // Story: Cigarettes & Gunmetal // by MonoGlyph //------------------------------// Staff sergeant Dash reporting for the slim chance that some of this is getting through to you, Mission Control. Day five of the Bridleon engagement. We lost private Medley to a sniper on the evening patrol, bringing the number of our squad to nine, counting myself. Supplies are dwindling, as is morale. The Saddle Arabians are holding off the gryphon infantry with the assorted armor Equestria has loaned them, but already there are reports of our machines being neutralized via anti-tank weapons and amplified EMP grenades. The gryphons are numerous and bolstered by suicidal enthusiasm for war. Their movements are far too well-synchronized for the Saddle Arabians to defend our multiple fronts effectively. It’s only a matter of time before we are overrun. I believe that the gryphons are being directed by a competent tactician hiding out somewhere inside the city—gryphon-built monitoring systems are much too primitive to allow a handler to coordinate attacks like these remotely. He or she must be within striking distance, and must be removed if our allies are to have any chance of successfully repelling the assault. I intend to leave camp with Lightning Dust first thing in the morning to conduct reconnaissance. This is risky I know, seeing that the two of us are the most experienced officers of the group, but I figure it’s likelier that one of us will survive to return to camp this way. In the event that we’re not back within a day, I’ve appointed Stormfeather as the temporary squad leader. He may not have our… advantages, but I trust him to lead the team safely out of the city if the need arises. I hope he’ll be able to arrange an extraction with the communication issues we seem to be having. This is Rainbow Dash, signing off. The gryphon grunt was closing in on his prey. The tall, slender Saddle Arabian mare made a desperate 90-degree turn into a side alley, perhaps thinking that she could outmaneuver her pursuer inside the narrow passage. As the gryphon approached the turn he heard a clatter. The mare was knocking over garbage cans to slow him down. He kicked them aside without losing his stride. The alley was unsettling, claustrophobic for the gryphon. His species as a whole were accustomed to open skies and wide, accommodating living spaces. For the most part, Bridleon was welcoming to his kind, with comparably low-rise buildings, and no air traffic to speak of, especially not anymore. The Saddle Arabians didn’t trust air cars, even though the long highways winding high above the streets essentially allowed for the same sense of vertigo. With the constant bombardment by the Gryphon Commonwealth, many of the highways had since collapsed, crushing parts of buildings and blocking the streets. The gryphon pursuer unclipped a pistol from his combat vest and leveled its sight on the fleeing Saddle Arabian. His outstretched claw was buffeted by a sudden rush of air, throwing off his aim. Something pierced his jugular, brushing past his spinal cord. Blood rushed down his damaged throat. He hacked and gagged, struggling to keep his lungs from filling with fluid. Something almost invisible had him pinned, and he saw his blood run down what he assumed was a transparent blade protruding from his neck. The light started to shift, as though it was merely an image overlaid on a three-dimensional object. As it faded, a cyan mare took its place. She was well-built but her profile was lanky, an acrobat’s frame. Six vibrant colors adorned her mane. She grimaced at him. With the focused clarity that precedes one’s inevitable death, he noticed that her teeth were razor sharp. Something savage hid behind her clear magenta eyes. He tried to raise his pistol again. Rainbow Dash tilted her head, twisting the martial horn inside the gryphon’s neck. Choked screams escaped his mouth. With a twitch, Rainbow drove the blade out through the side of the gryphon’s throat. He collapsed in a growing puddle of blood. She jerked her head again, trying to shake the excess blood from the horn. Martial horns were a pegasus-designed weapon, little more than sharp pieces of metal welded to the skull. Some, like the one currently clipped into the slot in Rainbow’s head, were removable. None had any actual magical function. A second mare deactivated the chameleon-skin function of her body suit behind Rainbow. She was blond, with a bright teal coat. In much the same way as her companion, there was something distinctly unequine about Lightning Dust. Dash and Dust were both experimental genetic variants, designer-grown soldiers spliced with foreign DNA. Rainbow Dash was gifted with a select few wolf genes, supposedly granting her added ferocity in combat and instinctual pack loyalty, ideal traits in a squad leader. Lightning Dust was spliced with the DNA of a lioness and, while she wasn’t particularly talented as a member of a team, her developed muscle mass and quick reflexes made her an excellent stand-alone unit. “I would have snapped his neck or something, instead,” said Lightning Dust. “This bloodletting shit looks cool and all, but that won’t do you much good when you catch some exotic blood-borne pathogen. Who knows what kind of diseases these mangy ratbirds are carrying?” “Oy!” They turned to face the voice. Another gryphon was hesitating at the end of the alley, assault rifle at the ready. Lightning Dust spread her wings to propel herself to the newcomer, but she needn’t have bothered. An artillery shell detonated where the gryphon was standing, dispersing pieces of his body in the air. Blood-red carbon rain fell on the two pegasi for a few moments. Rainbow Dash smiled at her companion. Lightning Dust grunted and moved to brush bits of viscera from her mane. “Whatever. Don’t know why I even bother.” A spider tank lumbered toward the spot where the gryphon had been standing, admiring its handiwork. Its spherical head rotated and studied the two impassively. Rainbow Dash gave it a wave. “Thanks buddy.” The machine turned and continued on its way. “Dash, I’m not regretting leaving camp with you,” began Lightning Dust. “Celestia knows I’m happy to stop foalsitting those tenderhoof recruits for a sec. But do you have any idea where we should start looking? This city’s a fucking labyrinth. The Commonwealth’s base of operations could be anywhere.” Rainbow Dash lowered her thermal goggles over her eyes and reactivated the chameleon-skin, gesturing for Lightning to do the same. They spread their wings and took off, straining their voices to be heard over the wind. “Time Turner managed to trace the gryphon signals to several points in the city and triangulate them around a mile-wide radius,” yelled Rainbow Dash. “Plan A is to search that area.” Lightning Dust narrowed her eyes behind her goggles. “Isn’t Turner a medic? He knows how to trace local broadcasts too?” Rainbow looked at Lightning over her shoulder. “He’s a multi-talented individual. They didn’t assign him to our squad for his martial prowess, after all.” They’d split up to search the suspect territory more efficiently. The afternoon air was laden with desert dust and the thick rumble of distant explosions mingled with the rattle of gunfire. Stormfeather told Rainbow Dash once that the wartime ambience sounded different from the holofilms, as though the added menace of its authenticity somehow reinforced the soundscape. In the theater, you knew it was only a track overlaid onto the background. In an actual warzone, every gunshot, every distant explosion told a story, was itself part of a greater whole, a symphony of conflict and blood and death and mourning. Rainbow Dash thought he was being needlessly melodramatic, but then, she was conditioned to participate in battle after battle. The poetry of it was lost on her, ironed out. She was a born soldier. An active imagination wasn’t convenient here, not if you wanted to leave with your sanity intact. The gryphon war carriers hovered steadily over the horizon. They would not enter the city after the first four were shot down by Equestrian anti-air. Nevertheless, it seemed that enemy reinforcements would come endlessly no matter how the Saddle Arabians struggled and fortified. Rainbow Dash suspected that her superiors would cut their losses and pull Equestrian support out of Bridleon soon. She hoped they would. Even she could not survive here indefinitely. Meanwhile, the press were no doubt still reporting that this was a trivial border skirmish. She’d checked the Grapevine several days ago, during a quiet moment—there was scarcely any mention of the conflict on the feeds. It would take nothing short of a full-on nuclear detonation to force the Equestrian generals to admit that maybe this wasn’t just another foreign scuffle. Admit that maybe Equestria needed to take a bit more of an interest besides sending small detachments of fresh-faced recruits and a few tanks. A pair of gryphon medics scurried on the street below, carrying a wounded soldier on a stretcher between them. Rainbow Dash zeroed in on the party, following them from above. A crumbling apartment complex greeted them as they reached the end of the street. The medics weaved around the battered, skeletal remains of cars and transports in the parking lot and stopped in front of the double doors. One more gryphon emerged from the building, surveyed the surrounding cityscape surreptitiously, and marshaled the group inside. Rainbow Dash activated the comlink with Lightning. “I may have located the gryphon command post.” “Wow, alr—dy? —ot bad, Dash.” Rainbow could barely hear what her partner was saying over the static. “I’ll be —ver there as soo— I can. —hit these sons o— where it hurts.” Rainbow Dash looked over the building once more and checked the position of the sun. “Negative,” she said. “We’re pulling back for now. Come midnight, we’ll hit this place with the others.” “You kidding? —u want the rookies to suppo— —s? Dash, we can clear— place —r own.” With the chameleon-skin, she was probably right. They could easily storm the building by themselves. But what of the rest of the squad? Rainbow felt uneasy leaving them on their own for any longer than absolutely necessary. What’s more, she knew that the two of them wouldn’t be enough in the event that they needed to take prisoners for questioning. “That’s an order, Dust. We are returning to camp immediately.” There was a second of radio silence. “Roger,” came the other mare’s voice resentfully. There was a selection of new bullet holes in the walls of the tenement building the squad had chosen as their temporary shelter. Rainbow Dash felt her lungs tighten reflexively until the conditioning kicked in, relaxing her. A well-used maxim of one of her old drill instructors echoed in her head. Don’t expect anything, and you will be ready for it. She checked the ammo clip attached to her leg-mounted magnetic shard pistol. A small chunk of metal rested in the slot, good for maybe two or three more shots. She’d figured she wouldn’t need any more than that when she left camp that morning. “Cover me, Dust.” Lightning nodded silently. Rainbow Dash slid stealthily into the partially-collapsed hallway. The old rug was scuffed and ripped in places, likely prey to careless gryphon claws. She arrested her breathing as she advanced further. Spots of dried blood painted the floor brown around her. An outstretched foreleg lay protruding from the doorway ahead. Hoofed. Rainbow Dash maintained her careful approach in spite of the relative safety provided by the chameleon-skin. She had braced herself mentally for the sight beyond the door, but she felt a pain in her chest as she gazed upon her fallen comrades. The pack had been culled, leaving only her and Lightning. Stormfeather lay on his side in a pool of blood that the arid air had long since dried out. His face was blank, eyes dull and lifeless as child’s marbles. It looked like he had tried to buy time for the rest of the team and was unceremoniously gunned down. Joe and Emerald Green were a few yards away, apparently blown apart by a wildly inaccurate SMG or assault rifle. Seasong slouched against the wall, probably slain by the same. The shots were seemingly random, and hit mostly non-vital areas. She bled out slowly; the gryphons left her there, ruling a mercy kill as a waste of ammunition. Rainbow found Lucky Streak and Jubileena in the kitchen. They had been ineffectually taking cover behind one of the tables, and the bullets had torn right through the wood. Lightning Dust approached from behind. She didn’t look as shaken by the violent passing of their squad-mates. “Notice somebody missing?” she asked. “…Yeah, corporal Biceps and Time Turner aren’t present here,” said Rainbow Dash, swallowing the lump building in the back of her throat. As she mentally replayed Lightning’s question, she thought that she heard an accusatory note. “Are you implying something?” “All due respect, Dash, come on.” Lightning rolled Lucky Streak on his back, seemingly fascinated by the pattern of entry wounds sprayed across his torso. “Turner feeds you a vague set of coordinates and then, while you’re gone, the gryphons just so happen to discover the camp and kill everyone. Except for Turner, of course. And a set of dumb, impressionable muscle. They’re conveniently MIA. This doesn’t seem suspicious to you?” Rainbow felt a disproportionate wave of anger wash over her. “Why in Tartarus would Time Turner betray Equestrian interests for the fucking gryphons?” she demanded. “He’s a patriot, Dust, same as you and me.” “I don’t know,” Lightning admitted quietly. “I can only comment on what I see, and what I’m seeing here looks fishy.” Rainbow brushed past her partner and examined the entrance hall one last time, fighting the urge to break something. A subtle blinking light caught her attention, almost invisible in the harsh glare of the desert sunset streaming through the windows. “I say we head back to that outpost you found and pay them back tenfold,” said Lightning. “If you’re right,” said Rainbow Dash dubiously as she approached the blinking light, “if you’re right and Time Turner did go rogue, he wouldn’t give us the coordinates to the real outpost unless they were preparing a trap for us there.” The light was buried in a crack in the sandstone wall. She started scraping at it with a forehoof. After a few moments of focused digging, a bug-sized device fell out of the crack and onto the smooth, sandblasted floor. “Isn’t that one of the proximity alarms from our ambush kit? I don’t remember setting those up around camp,” said Lightning, looking over Rainbow’s shoulder. “Oh… shit.” “We’re leaving,” ordered Rainbow Dash. “We’re leaving right now.” They activated their chameleon-skin as they ran back down the ruined hallway. There was a flash outside. “Hold on, Dash. I can… I can see you.” Rainbow turned around and saw that, like her, Lightning Dust was fully visible. “Damn it. They must have set off a localized EMP. It’s shorted out the bodysuits.” They know that we have the chameleon-skin. They know. “Get your gun ready. We’ll have to fight our way out of this one.” They heard the scraping of gryphon claws on sandstone. Two soldiers armed with electric stun-guns rounded the corner. Rainbow raised the shard pistol. The electromagnet buzzed to life, propelling razor-sharp fragments of steel into the flesh of their opponents. The first shot perforated a gryphon’s torso. The second lodged the projectile inside his skull. As the other gryphon took aim with his stun-gun, Lightning unloaded her own clip into him. “Well, I’m out,” she said. “Yeah, me too.” The blonde mare grinned. “No ammo, no working bodysuits. I guess this makes it a fair fight.” Something or someone ambled through the entrance around the corner. The footfalls were slow and sounded heavy. A massive equine albino turned the corner unhurriedly and regarded them with piercing, blood-red eyes. “Hey there, Sarge.” Rainbow felt her pulse quicken. Bulk Biceps had changed out of his Equestrian fatigues and was now wearing Commonwealth colors. He was a mountain of a stallion, bioaugmented to the eyes. His artificially-enhanced musculature threatened to burst through the combat vest he was wearing; it seemed that the gryphons did not have a set of gear his size readily available. Rainbow Dash spread her forelegs and coiled her rear legs into a crouch in a wide sakuden’ko stance. “You know what we do to deserters don’t you, Biceps?” Biceps bore his yellowing teeth at them. “’S gonna take more than a few fancy zebra moves to take me down. You think you got what it takes?” A chat window appeared on Lightning’s neuro-optical interface. (20:25) Commander_Giblet joined the conversation. (20:25) Commander_Giblet: I’ll hold him off. You have to get out of here. Head back and use one of the windows. (20:25) Lightning-Strikes-Twice: Are you crazy?! This motherfucker’s about three times your size! (20:25) Commander_Giblet: Exactly my point. We can’t overpower him physically, and neither of us has any ammo. Don’t let your feelings cloud your judgment. There’s no profit in having us both captured, but if you go quick, you might be able to make it out of here. They want us alive, they were using stun-guns; I’ll be fine. Regroup with another squad and hit the outpost when you can. Biceps began to advance toward them, his heavy footfalls kicking up clouds of dust. His crimson gaze locked with Rainbow’s. (20:26) Lightning-Strikes-Twice: Dash, there’s probably more Commonwealth soldiers waiting outside. (20:26) Commander_Giblet: You can outpace any gryphon, Lightning, don’t bullshit me. Go! Lightning fell back reluctantly and Rainbow heard her hooves rushing over the sandy floors to the rear of the building. A feral growl escaped Rainbow’s throat as she sprung toward the albino giant. Her knee connected with Biceps’ chin, throwing it upwards. The stallion barely flinched, sweeping artlessly at her with one of his forelegs. She took the brunt of the blow and smothered it, locking his foreleg with her own and driving her other one hard into one of his joints. The reinforced tendons wouldn’t tear. He reared back and kicked her hard with his other foreleg. A sharp pain rippled through her chest. He must have fractured one of her ribs. She staggered backwards, losing her grip. He advanced, throwing another blow. She ducked, ignoring her aching chest, slid through his open stance and drove her rear leg decisively into his pelvis. Biceps cursed and his knees buckled, but he stayed upright. He turned around to face her as she rolled to her feet. She dashed forward, head and martial horn set to impale her opponent. There was a click as he caught the blade between his hooves and a snap that vibrated her skull as he bent the blade until it shattered. He threw the steel shard aside and kicked her away. Roaring like an enraged bull, he threw out his forelegs in a double sledge kick. The narrow hallway did not afford Rainbow much room for dodging, so she caught the downward blow between her own forelegs as best she could. Biceps drove them apart and tossed his head through the open space. His forehead landed on the bridge of Rainbow’s muzzle and she felt a wet crunch as her nose collapsed under the pressure. Blood rushed through her nostrils and over her lips. She stumbled backwards dazed from the attack, but Biceps did not allow her the respite. He stepped forward and threw out two hooks. The first clipped her right side while the second connected with her left cheek, flooring her. She felt one of her teeth come loose as she rolled with the blow. He kicked her viciously in the chest once more as she tried to find the leverage to get back on her feet. Her ribs screamed and she fell back, only barely holding back screams of her own. "Y’did pretty good, Sarge,” he said, rolling his head casually from side to side. “Considering.” Rainbow grit her teeth. “Wish I could say the same for you, you steroid-abusing, turncoat fuck.” A gryphon entered the hall behind Biceps, as if following some unseen signal, and kneeled by her, fastening a pair of plastic cuffs around her forehooves. She fought to stay conscious as the gryphon took a stun-gun from his holster and held it to her stomach. The last thing she registered was a terrific jolt. Her heart and lungs felt like they would burst from her ribcage. Everything went white. She was roused by a familiar voice. “Wake up, Dash.” Harsh light streamed down on her, visible even behind her eyelids. She’d been sat on an uncomfortable wooden chair. The plastic cuffs on her forehooves remained firmly in place. The telltale visual artifacts in her peripheral vision told her that her NOI was shot, probably from intentional tampering by the gryphons. She cautiously tried to open her eyes, but the blinding light prevented her from doing so. She coughed once, to try and get her dry throat back into working order. “Time Turner? That you?” “It’s nice to see you alive, sergeant.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “You’re currently in the custody of the Commonwealth. You may be a war prisoner, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t talk like civil people. In fact,” there was a rustle as someone shifted in their seat, “I would prefer this didn’t escalate needlessly. The gryphons have some questions to ask you.” She sniffed. “I’m Rainbow Dash, my birth-date is February first, 1993, I am a staff sergeant and my service number is 11056284.” There was a pause. “Very good,” said Turner. “But the information we seek is not of that sort.” “Well, under the laws of war set by the Solidarity of Domains, that’s all I’m obligated to tell you,” said Rainbow mechanically. “So you all can fuck off.” “Dash,” he started again, almost pleading. “They’re willing to torture you, Solidarity or no. You know as well as I that the laws of war hold little sway over the Commonwealth. I’m trying to spare you the unnecessary suffering. They want details on what Equestria’s plans are, concerning Bridleon and the war at large, how much hardware they’re willing to push into the city and detailed descriptions of the weaponry they have available.” Rainbow snorted derisively and sputtered as blood rushed down her windpipe from the nasal fracture. “Are you kidding? I’m a staff sergeant, Turner. Even were I willing to tell you, I’m not high enough on the chain of command to have access to any of that information.” She heard Time Turner sigh. “Okay, we’ll start small. You’re familiar with a good number of Equestrian arms, right? Tell me about what you do know.” Her ribs were beginning to ache again. If she’d received any medical attention from the gryphons, it was likely minimal. “No,” she spat out. “Fuck you. Your buddies have probably seen most of our weapons in person, anyway.” “This is going no place,” said a third voice. His heavy Tlanese accent made him difficult for Rainbow to understand as she had only a foundational grasp of the language. “I am thinking perhaps it is time for more aggressive persuasive methods.” “I don’t think that’s necessary sir,” said Time Turner hastily. “I think it is necessary. Gilda!” There was movement on the other side of the room. “Take our reticent friend and convince her to talk.” Several pairs of talons manhandled Rainbow to her feet. “This probably goes without saying,” she announced as they led her away, “but I’m going to kill you for this, Turner; you and your muscle-headed lackey.” “Goodbye, sergeant,” said Time Turner. She was escorted down several flights of stairs and through a hall whose windows looked out onto a large, opulent room. The surroundings worried Rainbow Dash; the chipping gilded columns, the torn curtains acting as impromptu doors and the decorated atrium implied that this was something akin to a harem. She expected that Bulk Biceps would take her to the crumbling apartment complex she’d scoped out earlier, but this clearly wasn’t it. Chances of rescue seemed more and more remote by the second. They led her into a spacious bathroom. This place was well-kept once, as indicated by the luxurious hot tub occupying the center, along with the golden sinks and the candelabra, but layers of grime and dust have since diminished its beauty. A rusted steel operating table was set by the rear wall, probably not one of the room’s original furnishings. She struggled feebly, and was bludgeoned with a baton for her trouble. The gryphons forced her onto the table and tied down her limbs with lengths of recycled cable, not bothering to remove her cuffs first. The position was uncomfortable, and the steel was cold on her skin, despite the warm, stale air. She amused herself wondering if her captors had refrigerated the table specifically for this purpose. A female gryphon came fourth and addressed her. “So your name is Rainbow Dash, is it?” Her accent was not nearly as pronounced as that of the voice in the interrogation chamber, but the hard consonants and the rolling R’s were noticeable nevertheless. “And you’re… Gilda?” Rainbow asked. The gryphon bowed her head in mock salute. “Time Turner tells us you’re some kind of supersoldier, yes?” Gilda somehow managed a grin despite her rigid beak. “I must say that you don’t quite meet my expectations. You could not evade capture, and Biceps bears not one injury after your encounter.” Rainbow stayed silent. I’m not a supersoldier you superstitious slag, there’s no such thing. Genetic variants are hardly any less likely to be captured or killed than any standard soldier. “Why the six-toned mane?” asked Gilda. “If you were really custom-grown, wouldn’t the commanders want something a bit easier to camouflage?” “Unintended genetic defect,” said Rainbow before she could stop herself. She’d grown tired of hearing the question from her fellow operatives and the programmed response came unbidden whenever she was queried. “Ah, forgive me,” said Gilda. “I’d thought it was a matter of, what is it that the Equestrians call it? ‘Gay pride’?” “That’s a little juvenile, don’t you think?” Rainbow fixed her eyes on the cracked ceiling. “You wound me, Dash,” Gilda cackled. “All I want is to get to know you a little better. And indeed,” she leaned in uncomfortably close, “over the next couple of hours the two of us will get to know each other real well.” A rattle could be heard outside as a trolley bearing a number of tools was wheeled over the debris-strewn floors into the bathroom. “Looks like our toys are here,” said Gilda. “Now we can get started. Are you not excited?” Rainbow gave the trolley a cursory glance, not allowing her mind to linger on any of the instruments. There were blades of several sizes and shapes, some smooth and some serrated, there were bottles of assorted chemicals—maybe poison or acid or bleach—spiked presses, prods, probes and electric clamps along with more antique items like fire-branding irons and a few smooth, round tools that were probably choke pears. This was a classic pre-torture technique to get the victim in the right state of mind—a display of one’s equipment. Imagination is a powerful thing, sometimes more so than the actual procedure; if the prisoner is particularly weak-willed or squeamish—as are most untrained personnel—merely the sight of the tools is often enough to convince them to talk. She caught her breath in anticipation. Gilda lifted one of the knives. It looked poorly maintained; rust crept across the face of the blade, and the edge was notched. Fine burr was visible along the sides. The gutter was crusted over with something. Gilda dragged the edge of the blade across Rainbow’s cheek, drawing blood. There was a moment’s delay before the pegasus’ nerves reported the sting to the brain. Her face was motionless as a mask. Gilda smirked. “I have to admire your stoicism, my friend. If your nation has more soldiers like you on reserve we may have our work cut out for us. However,” she gently laid the knife on the operating table, “there is one key advantage we gryphons hold over your kind.” Rainbow’s eyes flickered. “Oh yeah? What’s that?” “Claws.” The next instant Rainbow felt a terrible, piercing sensation as the gryphon dug into her left eye socket. A hoarse scream escaped her lips as Gilda tore her optic nerve and pulled the eyeball free. The pain felt as though it would never cease, but it soon receded to a dull ache that made her teeth itch to dig into something. “Excuse me,” Gilda said mockingly. “I was getting a little peckish.” She displayed the bloody morsel for a second before shoving it into her mouth. Rainbow shuddered once, trying to suppress the urge to scream obscenities at her captor. “Getting uncomfortable? Worry not—it’s only going to get worse from here on in.” The rest of the session passed agonizingly slowly. She could not say how much time had passed—it could have been thirty minutes, it could have been two hours. She found herself unable to muster the focus necessary to estimate. It didn’t matter much, either way. Rainbow’s pain management conditioning was the only thing that kept her together throughout the ordeal. Willful detachment from what was happening to her body allowed her to keep from submitting to the psychotic gryphon. This, much like her martial training, was a zebra-taught technique; a latent state of meditation, total isolation of the mind from the body. She was vaguely aware that her muscular responses remained on autopilot while the mind was indisposed. Her body flew into violent convulsions with every excruciating new act. Bleach burned on her skin. Her arteries wept with each incision. The searing touch of the branding iron left her skin charred. Halfway through the session Gilda had two of her companions heft Rainbow from the operating desk and suspend her from the ceiling. This was to facilitate more consistent work to her back and legs. The feathers on her wings were pulled out violently and in clumps, and the follicles were doused in foul-smelling acid to prevent any regrowth for the foreseeable future. At last, Gilda sighed and put down her shock whip. Rainbow wanted nothing more than to collapse and bleed out in peace, but the rope kept her uncomfortably upright, like a worn-out marionette still hanging from its strings. Her rear leg bones were fractured in several places and properly broken in at least one. Gilda had apparently gone a little overboard in response to Rainbow’s lack thereof. It was an amateur job; such treatment would likely have killed any unenhanced prisoner. “I tire of your lack of cooperation, Dash. If you continue stubbornly refusing to negotiate with us, I cannot promise your continued survival.” Rainbow momentarily surfaced to cough out a sardonic chuckle. “You wouldn’t stop if I agreed to talk,” she grumbled, licking her cracked lips. “I’ve known people like you; you’ll keep going until I’m just meat, and you’ll relish every second until then. You’re not a soldier, Gilda. You’re an enthusiast.” She thought she saw a flicker of rage pass over Gilda’s features. “Is that what you think?” Gilda asked. “If that’s the case, let’s discard all pretense of interrogation. I am going to take a little break, understand? When I return, we will conclude this affair for good and all.” One final statement echoed in the bathroom behind her as Gilda marched out. “Yeah, you’d damn well better kill me, Gil; for all your sakes.”