EQUESTRIA
PLANET EQUIS
FOUR DAYS BEFORE GRAND GALLOPING GALA
Celestia’s star shined brightly down upon the land of Equestria, its licking heat driving away the cool grasp of night. The star’s life sustaining light warmed the fertile soil and tempted the local wildlife out of their slumber. The nation’s inhabitants, ponies of all sizes, shapes, and types, greeted the warm and sunny day with a fervorous joy. The ponies went about their daily activities with an upbeat tempo in their motions, excitement pouring off of them in anticipation of the scheduled event in their beloved capital city.
Months of planning had been spent in preparation for the Gala, the final few days leading up to the ball having been used to ship in and assemble the items necessary for the celebration to go off without a hitch. Even now, the kitchen’s ovens in the Royal Castle were roaring hot as not only the nation’s top chefs, but those from around the globe tediously tended to their tasks, creating the finest culinary works. Public workers were on the clock 24/7, cleaning up the city and decorating the streets with flowers, banners, and other celebratory fashions.
The castle’s staff hurriedly unpacked the new shipments and rushed about the smooth granite flooring, desperately trying to meet their deadline in four days. In the middle of the semi-organized chaos stood one solid figure. The purple alicorn held a commanding yet approachable presence as she oversaw the Gala’s preparations. A small purple dragon with green spikes stood next to her, checklist in talon. The two were in sync with each other as they directed the flow of ponies, assisting by keeping everypony on schedule and minimizing accidents.
The purple alicorn, known as Twilight Sparkle, Princess of Friendship, stepped clear as a large refrigerated crate was pushed past, several unicorns carefully maneuvering their package through the bustling foyer. Twilight spied a stray towel on the floor in front of them, a slippery danger on the slick floor if one of the cargo ponies stepped on it. Shooting a quick burst of magic, the towel was moved out of the way seconds before disaster.
‘Twilight Sparkle, savior of ice ponies everywhere.’ Twilight indulged in her inner humor for a brief moment longer before turning to her dragon assistant. “Spike, update on the checklist?”
The faithful dragon’s eyes quickly scrawled across the paper from top to bottom, biting his tongue in careful consideration. “We’re on schedule Twilight.” He watched as the large crate disappeared down a hallway before marking the list with a quill, “One ice pony, check.”
Twilight smiled and rubbed her hoof on Spike’s head, “That’s my number one assistant! Keep this up and this will be the best Gala yet!”
Spike pulled away from Twilight’s hoof and straightened his head spike. “The other Galas weren’t so bad.”
Twilight froze, one of her pupils shrinking while her eye twitched. A small curl popped into existence on her mane. “‘Not, so, bad’?” She turned her horrifying gaze onto Spike, the small drake backpedaling as the crazed mare revealed her inner beast.
Spike started sweating bullets as he lifted a hesitant claw. “Uh, Twilight? Remember what Princess Cadance said?”
A glint of intelligence sparked in Twilight’s eyes, the mare’s demeanor returning to normal as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath and held a foreleg to her chest. She released her air and the pent up stress inside of her with it. “Thanks Spike, I can get a little carried away at times.”
Spike chuckled nervously as he wiped his brows in relief, “Heh-heh, no problem Twilight. It happens to the best of us.”
Twilight nodded in agreement, “Well said Spike. Now, we’ll have to place the rope barriers-,” Twilight paused as she opened her eyes and noticed the surrounding ponies staring at her, having witnessed the earlier spectacle. Her eyes darted back and forth before a nervous energy built up inside of her. “Uh, carry on,” she waved a hoof at them.
Spike stepped up next to Twilight as the crowd of ponies began working again, reaching up to pat her comfortingly on the side. “Relax Twilight. Nothing’s going to go wrong. You have multiple failsafes in place, the Guard on standby, and everything timed to the last second!” He put his arm down before returning to his checklist. “Honestly, anything short of Celestia herself calling it off couldn’t stop this from happening.”
Twilight ran her magic through her mane to comb the curls out of it before sighing. “You’re right Spike. I have nothing to worry about.” She took a step forward before a stray thought ran across her mind. “Wait… You said that only Celestia herself could stop the Gala.”
Spike’s muzzle scrunched up in confusion. “Yeah? What about it?” He looked up in time to see the gears turning in Twilight’s head. He lifted an eyebrow, “I don’t think Celestia would call off the Grand Galloping Gala, Twilight.”
The alicorn perked up. “That’s the thing Spike! She normally wouldn’t, but what if she did!?” She gasped, “What if the real Celestia was kidnapped and an imposter crashed the Gala!?”
Spike groaned in frustration. “You’re not serious Twi?”
Twilight lifted Spike in her magic and held him in front of her, face to face. “No! Don’t you see Spike? It happened with Cadance, it could happen with Celestia!” The curls she had combed out less than a minute ago regained their foothold, proudly displaying their victory. Twilight’s breathing quickened with worry. “It could have already happened! Come on Spike! We have to go check up on Celestia!” Spike yelped as Twilight took off at a full gallop, weaving recklessly between the staff ponies.
Twilight would indeed soon realize how silly she was, but not without consequence. Startling the Solar Empress while she was hard at work writing up new documents never did end well for the flammable material. However, even with all of this happening, the day still continued on normally for the citizens of Equestria. As far as they were concerned, nothing could go wrong. After all, what would dare interrupt the well oiled plans of Equestria’s most notorious planner and expect to get away unscathed?
0900 HOURS, APRIL 16, 2555 (MILITARY CALENDAR)
PLANET SEDRA
INSURGENT ENCAMPMENT
“Going hot!” A large blast rippled out from the entrance of the small warehouse, a small shower of debris raining down on top of the Marines as they rushed through the threshold. The sharp reports of gunfire immediately greeted them, forcing the UNSC soldiers to take cover and return fire. A shrill whirring pierced the loud atmosphere as an Insurgent spun up an AIE-486H HMG, the anti-infantry gatling gun releasing a loud roar as it spewed metal death into the cover the Marines were hiding behind.
The two forces exchanged fire in a fervent dash, adrenaline fueling their actions. Screams of agony and yells of distress filled the ears of the fighting men as bullets met their targets, burrowing into the unfortunate souls who were caught out in the open. The Rebels seemed to have an ironclad defense as more soldiers came to their aid with fresh supplies and renewed moral. However, the tactical and material superiority of the Marines proved its worth as they continued to push forward.
A sharp whizzing noise smacked into the Rebel manning the heavy machine gun, an echoing crack following soon after as the man slumped across his quieting weapon. Desperation rippled through the Rebels at the loss of their main means of suppression against their enemy. A few Insurgents made a mad dash to reclaim the weapon, all falling under the relative accuracy of the UNSC platoon.
The Marines pushed further, forcing the Rebels deeper into the building. The Marines slowed their pace as the Rebels retreated down long corridors in the office portion of the warehouse. Putting suppressive fire on the corners of doors and hallway intersections, the Marines systematically stacked up on one door after another, tossing flashingbangs in before clearing it of any hostiles. A particularly nasty surprise was a battle crazed Rebel holding an M41 SSR, the battle lust induced soldier aiming his rocket launcher at the door, willing to end his life if it meant he took a few UNSC Marines with him.
The window in the room shattered, the Rebel dropping as a fine mist erupted from his chest. A two man sniper team stood up from the roof of the building across the alley, moving on as they searched for more targets. The UNSC forces weren’t without casualties of their own however, several soldiers having already been patched up by a medic, while the more severely injured were moved out of immediate danger on stretchers. The few who had given everything for their brothers, the UNSC, and it’s citizens, were tagged for pick up and covered in tarps, their combat brothers only having the time to briefly pay their respects before continuing the fight.
The Marines pushed the last dozen or so remaining Rebels onto the roof of the warehouse. The Insurgents prepared to make a final stand as they took cover behind large AC units, the Marines preparing to take casualties as there was only open rooftop between the roof access and the Insurgents. Rallying together and drawing strength from one another, the soldiers moved.
Before a single shot was fired, a Falcon crested the edge of the roof, broadsiding the Insurgent position. The loud chops of the rotors and the loud roar of the VTOL engines beneath them caught the attention of the Rebels. They didn’t have time to stare however as the M247H HMG burst into action. The men screamed as they were gunned down by the UH-144’s side mounted gun. The gun continued to bark loudly for a few more seconds, bucking lightly in the hands of its operator.
The last of the Rebels fell after attempting to make a rush back into the building, the combined accuracy of the gun’s targeting system and that of the gunner’s HUD laying destruction to their bodies. The gun quieted and the bird’s rotors tilted forward, power dumping into its engines as it began to gain altitude while moving forward. It circled a dozen meters above the roof as the Marines flooded onto its surface. The Falcon provided overwatch while the Marines searched the bodies for intel.
The soldiers were almost finished checking the bodies, a stray Marine on the perimeter pausing to look up at the Falcon. He performed a two fingered salute, watching the gunner. “Thanks for the assist, Spartan.” The Spartan turned his cyan visor towards the Marine, nodding in response.
The first lieutenant leading the platoon twirled his fingers in the air. “We’re done here, let’s move out!” The Marines followed his command as they filtered back into the roof access, needing to continue pushing down the block.
The Falcon moved out over the street, more Marines kicking down the doors of other buildings to clear them of any Insurgents. The ariel view the Falcon offered showed the entire east side of town being locked down and systematically searched for Rebel troops and ammunition caches.
The Spartan watched as a few other Pelicans came in from the direction of the FOB, several landing where the injured needed exfil while others were prioritized by different fireteams, the air ordnance proving to be very useful against any retreating Insurgents.
Knowing that he had orders, the Spartan turned on his comms. “Pilot, head towards Marian’s Square. I’ll be getting off there.”
“Acknowledged.” The Falcon performed one last loop before moving out towards the Spartan’s objective, the system’s star glinting dully off of the Spartans dull steel gray and maroon armor. There was work to be done and he was only just getting started.
1700 HOURS, APRIL 16, 2555 (MILITARY CALENDAR)
UNSC CA-121 ENDURING EMBER
MARATHON-CLASS HEAVY CRUISER
The half-ton armored Spartan moved down the brightly lit hall of the aged cruiser, stepping aside to let a large cart pass by, the engineers shying away from the genetically augmented super soldier. He continued on his way however, having long since gotten used to the social isolation someone of his station experienced. He was the obedient soldier, the big gun, the last resort. He was an angel of death, a soldier so perfect that everything in his way crumbled to ash and dust.
People just couldn’t relate to such a creation, hence the lack of healthy social contact.
The Spartan II moved with a purpose, heading towards the bridge to be debriefed by the captain. He, along with most of the soldiers who had originally departed the ship over a week ago, had just returned from ground operations in the city of Brighton. They had originally arrived in system as an escort to a supply ship, as was the normal for the obsolete vessel. However, the planet Sedra was a known Insurrectionist hotspot. The UNSC was nowhere near full strength even two years after the Human-Covenant War and were only able to divert a few ships from the slowly restrengthening fleet to try and stem the Rebel activity.
As a result the UNSC Pyxis, Echoing Thunder, and Masquerade had asked for assistance in a search and destroy operation in Brighton. The Ember, having been given a temporary break until High Comm gave them new tasking, obliged.
The Spartan’s mind was crystal clear, his consciousness always battle sharp. Very rarely did anything muddy his thoughts as years of back breaking training, brainwashing, and constant battle stress tended to beat out anything that could potentially be distracting. This hyper awareness allowed him to take in his surroundings in a heartbeat; the gray steel of the hallway was clean of most dirt and grime, technicians, engineers, and soldiers walked towards their destinations, usually talking to one another in neutral or jovial tones, an occasional laugh echoing towards him. The air was cool and clean as the scrubbers performed their job flawlessly. For an old ship, it was very well maintained as most of the crew members on it had served aboard it their entire lives, the ship essentially an extension of themselves.
The Spartan turned at an intersection, having no need to read the signs giving directions to the Bridge. Two Marines stood guard on either side of a large blast door, standing at attention. They saluted the approaching Spartan, the super soldier nodding in turn as the doors slid open to permit him entry. A few ensigns looked up from their terminals before returning to their work. A large bearded man dressed in a grayed officer's uniform turned as he heard the footsteps of the heavy Spartan.
Noticing the new arrival, a small smile broke out on the captain’s face. “Ah, prompt in your arrival, as usual Petty Officer.”
The Spartan snapped to attention and gave a crisp salute. “Captain Sanders.”
“Ah, ah, ah!” The captain waved off his salute. “Why do you insist in following protocol so stiffly Ale? You’ve served with us for two years now, you’re practically family.” The captain turned towards his command console, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a small tin of mints and fished one out, pausing in his actions briefly to offer Ale one. The Spartan shook his head and Sanders shrugged before placing it in his mouth and putting the tin away.
The captain began reading lines of text on the brightly lit screen, checking up on any directives from High Comm. “How did everything go down there in Brighton?”
“The mission went according to plan sir. We encountered firm resistance, but everybody performed their jobs professionally.”
The captain grunted in agreement. “Good. Very good.” He leaned away from the terminal and cracked his back, releasing a sigh of relief. “So, did you get to stretch you legs and kick some sorry Innie ass?”
Ale blinked, having long since learned that the captain was very informal about most things. Despite his lack of following guidelines, the captain had proven himself an effective leader many times over the two years he had known him. Not only did he accomplish his objectives, but he did so in a manner that preserved many of the lives aboard. Thus, the crew held a lot of respect for the family man.
“Yes sir,” Ale responded after a brief pause.
The captain nodded before moving towards a locker in the room. “It does some good, getting the boys planetside and letting them burn off the energy they get while cooped up in here.” He began inputting a code into the keypad on the locker, “They can get a tad bit restless.”
Ale mentally agreed, knowing that he secretly enjoyed running rampant for a few days. Spartan or not, he was still human.
With a small beep, the lock turned green and Sanders opened the locker. He ignored the magnum, its magazines, and the scattered M228 12.7mmx40mm rounds rolling around the bottom of the locker and instead swept aside an extra pair of officer fatigues. He spotted what he was looking for and grabbed a small box, closing the locker after he withdrew the package. He turned towards Ale in a contemplative manner. “You know, something has always puzzled me. Everytime I call you up here or encounter you elsewhere, you’re always in full battle dress.”
The Spartan turned his head slightly as he thought about the captain’s unasked question. Ale didn’t rightly know why he never took off his armor. It used to be because it was an absolute hassle to take the heavy and cumbersome powered assault armor off, but his current suit, the Mark VII, had been designed to be taken off and put on more easily. He had never bothered using the new addition in the armor bay; they had build a device that was supposed to assist in taking his armor off in a much more efficient manner than by hand. The fact that he didn’t use it only added to some of the crews annoyance of Ale, certain members having not been entirely happy with removing some of their own personal equipment to make room for it.
The captain watched in fascination as the Spartan, a soldier with inhuman reflexes and a quick mind, had to think over his rather simple inquiry. Meanwhile, Ale had finally come to the conclusion that he hadn’t a single clue as to why.
‘Perhaps… it’s because I’ve been in it so long I can’t picture being out of it. I’ve become so attached to it that it’s become a second skin to me. It’s an extension of my body.’ With that rather startling revelation and a small newfound concern that he may have become a little more reliant on his armor than he should be, the Spartan finally answered his question.
“As an integral part of this ship’s security, it is within the best interests of the crew and their safety that I be prepared for any situation at any time.”
Captain Sanders stared at Ale for a few moments before slowly nodding. “Alright, if that’s what you want.” He shook his head, “On to more celebratory matters.” He stepped towards Ale, holding the box out to him. “High Comm, after having reviewed your service over the past two years in the defense of this ship, the UNSC and her colonies have seen fit to reward you with a promotion.” Ale took the box carefully, opening it. “Congratulations Chief Petty Officer.”
Sure enough, inside the polished wooden box sitting on a velvet lining was a golden insignia detailed by three chevrons topped by a rocker and the UNSC Eagle displayed proudly above it all. The captain cleared his throat, “Now, normally I would pin that onto your uniform for you personally as my own way of congratulating hard workers on this ship, but seeing as you are in some of the best armor known to man...”
Ale stood still, dragging on the silence for a few seconds. He finally gave an awkward nod, much to the relief of the captain, before he closed the lid. He straightened his stance with a dull metal click of his armored boots before giving a stiff salute. “Thank you sir.”
The captain humored Ale and saluted back. After finishing the salute, the captain rubbed his beard. “Well, you’re dismissed soldier. You have a few days of R&R before we head out on our next delivery. In the meantime, we’ll be in a high orbit above Sedra’s moon.” He waved Ale off, “You have a good rest Spartan, you deserved it.”
Ale tucked the box under his right arm before turning towards the door. “Captain,” he said respectfully as he exited. Ale moved at a fairly sedate pace back towards his room, his mind slowly depressing into a slightly more relaxed state. He breathed deeply to help release some of the built up stress he had endured over the past week. It didn’t do a whole lot of good, but Spartans were known to suppress any and all emotion that would interfere with their combat performance. Something Ale really enjoyed was sleeping. Mind you, he wasn’t lazy, but he certainly appreciated the benefits of sleep.
Now, many soldiers didn’t enjoy sleeping. The main reason for this was because they feared that which plagued them in their daily lives would come to visit them when they were in no position to fight back, completely helpless to their living nightmares. Ale had plenty of those to contend with, but he had taken steps to learn how to beat these away. He was very studious and he enjoyed learning. It was only natural that he would eventually read up on methods of confronting his fears, even if they were buried under an iron will in his waking world.
The Spartan didn’t have to walk far before he reached his quarters. Being the only Spartan on board, he had no need of sharing a bunk room. This was a luxury that most soldiers did not have. His room however, wasn't that glamorous. It was furnished for a utilitarian lifestyle, said contents of the room consisting of a single bed, writing desk, personal computer, locker, and a small bathroom with an even smaller shower.
Ale moved over to his locker and opened it. There were special charging stations built into the locker for his preferred weapons. His weapons, unlike his armor which was standard issue for updated Spartans and the Spartan IVs, were experimental. His request to use them in live fire scenarios, which were conveniently real tests during his missions, had been approved as he had both the proper training and education to wield them. He carried what looked like an MA5D Assault Rifle, a pair of M7/Caseless Submachine Guns placed seamlessly into grooves on his thigh armor, and finally an M6C Magnum. However, each of these weapons were instead dubbed the EX9M4, EX13M9, and the EX27M2.
These weapons were designed to implement the dependability of human weaponry with the lethal ability of Covenant weaponry. Other than a few small changes in their outward appearance, designed that way to make them less distinguishable to any thieves or rebels, the main change was the munitions. Specifically, that the weapon didn’t really have any munitions to begin with.
The magic happened in a specially created magazine that was inserted into the magazine port of the weapon. The magazine glowed an unearthly blue as plasma roiled and stayed hot under it’s super condensed conditions. When discharged, it fired high energy bolts that, for all intensive purposes, simulated the effects of plasma rounds. When the super condensed plasma ran out of energy, Ale would simply place it in a charging station built onto his armor. The MJOLNIR MVII’s fusion-plasma hybrid power system would recharge the magazine within an hour.
Walking around in a nuclear reactor, while intimidating at first, certainly had it’s benefits. Needless to say, Ale could be in the field with no further supply on his suit’s fuel source for a few hundred years before the power in his suit, and ultimately his ammunition, would run out.
Science lesson aside, Ale placed the box underneath his dress blues before closing the locker door. He moved over to his computer terminal and made sure that there were no further updates awaiting him. Satisfied, the super soldier moved over to his bed and sat down. Ale quietly mulled over a few stray thoughts, isolating himself in the silence. Knowing that he wasn’t supposed to be needed for another two days, he quickly made a game plan on his activities during the duration.
‘Strength training, combat simulator, equipment check, research, repeat,’ he mentally tasked. With that done, Ale rotated and placed his legs up on the bed before lying down, having found the undersuit, hydrostatic gel, and surprisingly, the polymerized lithium nibocene layer to be rather comfortable padding. Plus, you get used to sleeping in your armor in the field.
Mentally commanding the lights in his room to turn off using his neural interface, Ale closed his eyes and quickly drifted to sleep.
EQUESTRIA
PLANET EQUIS
FOUR DAYS BEFORE GRAND GALLOPING GALA
The high stress activities of the day had come to a standstill as the sun fell and the moon rose. A cool breeze rolled through the city of Canterlot, the citizens cuddling deeper into their beds before drifting off to sleep. A light was still on however in one of the castle’s towers. The Princess of Friendship’s compulsive nature to oversee everything had kept her up well into the night. Only the insistence of her assistant had finally driven her into the guest bed chambers.
Spike was preparing his basket for bed, stopping to stretch widely while releasing a loud yawn. He smacked his slips before crawling into the basket. Twilight stood a few feet away from him and held a scroll in front of her. She was reading over it carefully before a small frown creased across her face. She began mindlessly pacing while studying the status of the Gala preparations. Her hooves clicked on the polished marble, preventing Spike from falling asleep. He tossed and turned for a minute before he finally let out an irritated huff.
“Twilight,” he muttered groggily. When he didn’t receive a reply, Spike groaned before taking a deep breath. “TWILIGHT!”
The pacing mare shrieked before jumping a few meters into the air, her horn blazing as she reflexively reacted to the loud noise. Her mind caught up with her body and she let out a relieved sigh. She glided back to the floor and turned towards Spike as he shuffled back into his bed. “Sorry Spike, I’m just nervous.” She rubbed her mane in embarrassment.
Spike stayed quiet for a few seconds before he was able to process a reply. “You still have three days Twilight.” And with that, he fell promptly asleep, his quiet snores in synch with the rise and fall of his blanket.
Twilight nodded before quietly walking towards her luggage. Using her magic, Twilight rummaged around before she pulled out a baby blue silk night gown with a triumphant hum. She pulled it over her head, enjoying the smooth kiss of the silk against her fur. Feeling fatigue creeping into her, Twilight turned off the lights with little effort and climbed into bed. She released her own quiet yawn before closing her eyes. “Goodnight Spike,” she murmured before she too succumbed to Luna’s realm.