The Light Despondent

by Doctor Fluffy

Didn't Know I'd Love You So Much

Sometimes I'd stay up all night,
Wishing to God that I was the one who died
Sometimes there's not enough time...

But I didn't know I'd love you so much...
I didn't know I'd love you so much...
I didn't know I'd love you so much,
But I do...
Nathan Wallace, Repo: The Genetic Opera.

Wubba lubba dub dub
I don't give a fuck
Let's dance, bitch
Do The Rick

Let's get schwifty

Someday we will die
let's party tonight
(riggity riggity wrecked son)
let's get wrecked all night
Allie Goertz, Dance Bitch. As inspired by Rick and Morty. WUBBA LUBBA DUB DUB!

Automatic surveillance activates on the interview chamber. Two figures are inside, identified as Doctor Richard Bowman (D) and Chalcedony (C).

D: “Right, have you got the crystal?”

C: “I’m still not sure we should be doing this.”

D: “Nonsense. This is a healthy prank. Healthy pranks are healthy.”

C: “Is that your professional medical opinion?”

D: “Yup. Absolutely one hundred percent.”

C: “I don't know why I hand around with you.”

D: “Lack of options?” (Pause) “Alright, so we’re clear on what we're doing. Right?”

C: “I am an expert on crystal tech.” (There is a pause) “The surveillance is on.”

D: “Good for it.” (Addresses surveillance camera) “Hi Colonel! Hope you're well! Just leaving you a prezzie. Hope you don't mind the sound of Jazz.”

C: “Why he picked this song, I’ll never know.”

D: “Because it swings. Duh.” (He brings out an unidentified tool. Music begins playing.) “There.”

C: “Does this really have to play every time the Colonel comes in?”

D: “Hmm. Let me think about that for a moment.” (Brief pause) “Yes. Yes it does.”

C: “Just so you know, when he comes knocking on my door -”

D: “This was all my idea. I know. Don't worry, I’m used to idiots being annoyed at me.” (To the camera) “Don't worry Colonel - I’ll leave you a schematic as a ‘sorry’.”

C: “What schematic?”

D: “Now, if I told you that, that'd be cheating. But first… I’d like to just say… well. A thought occurs. Colonel, it’s not often I say this, but I’m glad for what you’re doing for… our New Researcher. I suppose I have to go with that appellation?”

C: “Yes. We all do. Anyone that knows about aer does, the general public, anyone who might read this… are not ready. Wait. ...Who are you and what have you done with the real Doctor?”

D: “...Oh, I won’t do anything with me yet! But our New Researcher, well, I thought you’d exploit aer. Ae’s a marvel! A sad, horrifying marvel, but one deserving of our kindness. And you give it! Thought you’d be awful about aer. That, and it pains me to say it…”

C: “Too sarcastic even by your standards."

I: “I’m not! I genuinely am sorry for thinking you’d be another slavemaster. Ae’s had enough of them in too many Empires. But… I read a certain interview you were conducting, and it turns out you care for aer. Truly. Like an uncle to a favored niece. I was afraid, what with the PHL being focused on efficiency and results, that you’d use aer as a resource. But no, ae’s a fellow researcher. A heavily medicated researcher that needs plenty of TLC to function, which it’s greatly obliged. We may have our differences, but in the end, that’s truly laudable. In short - congratulations, you just proved you aren't a completely reprehensible idiot.”

C: “Such high praise.”

D: “From me to him? You kidding? That's the equivalent of a declaration of love by these standards. Now, let me just finish this off.”

White River Junction, Hartford, Vermont…

Trains from Canada, Concord, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, and New York clattered through the small town that had crept up around the four-way railroad intersection. The town had been a railroad hub, dried up when the rails left, reinvented itself as an art town, found itself both with the influx of refugees, and coped as best it could. Somewhere, a little north of here, according to Nny, was a school that taught how to make cartoons. He’d taken courses there, though now it was dedicated mostly to propaganda.

Everything flowed through here. Artists trying to ply their trade in a world breaking down hour by hour, valuable foodstuffs, weaponry and supplies en route to PHL bases, and refugees. Most of whom enjoyed it here during their layover if they had to switch trains - buy a snack, stop by the PHL building for whatever reason, visit the planned gardens planted in a former brownfield by earth ponies, maybe see some performance. It was nice, in a way.

One such refugee who had decided he was a Scotsman named Francis Strang who had certainly never been anyone else, was standing in front of the trains out by the food co-op.

He certainly wasn’t an Afrikaner war criminal and psychopath with a long list of mental issues and a ridiculous body count who had moved to Germany. And, as he was staring at this train, as Aegis’ foals were using the bathroom in the local food co-op, Francis Strang, who was most definitely not Viktor Marius Kraber at all, was not practicing a workout for his denial skills, which he would say he had to keep sharp through constant practice, and which also did not exist. This was clearly mentally healthy.

In essence, the Kraber that the world knew and hated was dead. To much rejoicing. And, in a bizarre turn that would surprise Kraber if he knew, at least some mourning between his parents, sister, and brothers.

"I was projecting, Kraber says sheepishly. "Of all the fokkin’ awful things I’ve done, that was one of the fokkin’ worst.

"Really, Mommy says bluntly. "I mean, really.

"Aweh, maybe not. But who the fok hates themselves enough or did anything bad enough they’d claim their parents would rejoice at their death?” Kraber asks.

"In bird culture,” Rivet says, "This is considered a dick move.”

"I love you, Rivet,” Kraber chuckles. "You’re a great colt.”

"Thanks, Mr… Mr. Kraber,” Rivet says, chuckling a little.

And Aegis smiles at this.

“Even by my standards that’s fokked up,” Kraber says.”I probably have enough mental illnesses for a book series-”

“He does,” Aegis says.

“Would it be the length of Game of Thrones?” Verity asks. “Wait, why are you even in the PHL if-?”

“Probably?” Kraber asks, brushing her off. “Also, PHL counselling is fokkin’ lekker! And even then, if someone was that fokkin broken I’d tell them they needed help.”

“Seriously, do you have tourettes or something?” Verity sighs.

“Blame his upbringing,” Aegis sighs. “We’ve been through this.”

As far as he knew, nobody in the world other than Kagan, who was probably dead in Asia, would miss him.

So.

Again.

Here he was.

The mighty warrior. The man who’d said himself that he was the man Celestia would fear for years afterward, the man that had killed Reaper - and created her, in some sense - and been present for countless massacres, killed more newfoals, Imperials, and PER than he could count, and also PHL, refugees, innocent ponies, been part of wanton murder of other people as scared as them, and no no no no no stop
fokkin STOAP

Francis considered the freight train below, likely bound for a factory somewhere. It had stopped, for some reason. The diesel locomotive was faraway enough he couldn’t see it. He coud see signs of people catching rides on the hopper cars. He’d done much the same back in Africa. People had thought he’d been possessed by an orisha when he’d killed all the newfoals…

Where was he going with that? Right. All the things he’d done, and he was here, in the parking lot of a food co-op, waiting for two of the pony spawnli - no, foals, children. It was…

It was nice, actually. No killing. No anger. A bit of booze. He had a few bottles of some homebrew in his backpack, didn’t he? He unslung it, irritated at the sling for Sylvia’s assault rifle being vaguely entangled in his backpack’s strap. Much as he missed the MG2019 he’d buried in the forest, this was just easier. And that massive fokkin’ thing was too conspicuous.

He unzipped a pocket, only to find that all three bottles of homebrew he’d been given by Moonshine and John Peters - you know, the brewer? - were empty. He idly wondered when he’d imbibed all of it. Had it been on the train here? He drank like a fokkin’ fish.

He considered the train below him. Most people didn’t see all that much wrong with survivors hitching rides on trains, on account of most people being incredibly poor. He wondered if he could do that right here and now.

Just run up and grab onto the ladder of one of the freight cars with what little money he had. Find work in a big city where nobody knew his name, or end up somewhere remote. There was a railroad to Prudhoe Bay in Alaska, maybe he could start over somewhere up there…

He imagined it. Working far away from the war, away from any of the geldos or the horsefuckers. He briefly chastised himself for thinking that, as he imagined himself somewhere remote like the oil fields of Alaska near Prudhoe Bay, the depths of a Dead End on the coast where he was one drifter among many in a ghetto somewhere, doing simple, menial work, until...

Until what? some part of him wondered. Look over at the fokkin’ wanted posters.

Not exactly flattering pictures. The same ones of him, and…

Huh.

A few new ones were posted on a nearby wall, just by the side of the co-op. The usual ones for him some bawbag named Viktor Kraber, and…

John Rumlind:
Wanted for collusion with anti-government movements such as sovereign citizens, terrorism, mass murder, breaking & entering, theft, theft of government property, torture, assault of a civil officer, and desertion.

William Warrens Kraft
Criminally insane, hoarding of food, war crimes, murder, kidnapping of pony refugees, torture, littering, impersonating a military officer

Asa Bowen
Theft of military property, murder, terrorism, squatting, conspiracy to commit murder, assault...

Kraber studied Bowen’s face. She looked… bitten. Bowen was some HLF woman who’d kept a VES Advanced Rifle. She’d looked… bitten, if that was a good descriptor. One ear burnt and deformed, covered in thin white scars.

She hadn’t looked happy back then, either. Asa was scowling in the photo, as if threatening to flay the photographer alive.

He remembered the other two from some half-forgotten expedition down in Appalachia against a PHL camp that they’d claimed was ‘hoarding’ medicine. Kraft was fat, with a walrus-like mustache folding into sideburns that he probably thought made him look distinguished, (it didn’t) and tiny spectacles, who claimed to be a marine, but quite obviously never was.

Dad hated people who pretended to be ex-military, Francis Kraber thought. ‘Bliksemed the fok out of that junkie with the missing leg.’

Rumlind… well, he was, in fact, ex-military, but his rampant misogyny, interrupting a woman then yelling at a pony recruit, had gotten him kicked out of the army before he’d even gotten out of basic. He’d painted this as oppression, but by now, Francis wasn’t so sure. The two of them had hated the vaguely socialistic policies that wartime governments had adopted, seemed almost obsessed with antiquated methods. They hadn’t gotten along with Lovikov. Seemingly, nothing could make them.

...What the fok was it with HLF and being deranged ideologues, anyway? Atlas Galt, a sociopathic Objectivist with delusions of grandeur that Kraber knew had left him to die on the rig. Lovikov, a downright awful communist on the verge of a mental breakdown who made Kraber look downright sane. Yarrow, being… well, Yarrow. Say what you like, a man who believed he was going to Valhalla probably wasn't all there.

Although, knowing Lovikov - with his delusions running on the normal order of things in Defiance - he was probably doing something even more deranged by now. Good riddance to bad fokkin’ rubbish. Whatever Lovikov would be doing right now, it would without a doubt be accomplishing fokkin’ kak.

What a fokkin’ awful environment, you need to leave, Francis told himself, You’re barely a fokkin’ step above a bergie, you’re practically penniless, and you’re among ponies. What could possibly make staying here possibly fokkin’ worth-

“Mr. Francis!” Amber Maple called out. Galloping towards him. Smile - a wide, honest, foal’s smile, a child’s smile - on her face.

Well alright then, Francis thought. That works too.

“You watching the train?” Amber yelled over to him. “Hope you’re not gonna get on…”

Fokkin’ seriously? Francis thought.

“There is that party down at the main street museum,” Amber said. “And you and dad said you’d be there. So... you coming?”

Apparently there was going to be a party down the street? Francis had been unclear on the details. He was, as a rule, skeptical of parties in what was practically the middle of the woods, but it was PHL-funded and the first chance he’d had in far too long to enjoy himself, so he’d figured he’d go. Why not?

“Yeah,” Kraber - no, Francis said, heading to the colt and filly with whom he was now sharing a house. He banished the images of work in Prudhoe Bay, or living in some colony somewhere, like what Johnny C had called Point Rotgut in his book. “. Jist… thinking about before.”

Rivet just rolled his eyes. He knew how Francis could be. Very… opaque.

”You never talked about the war,” Amber points out. “I mean… all we knew was you’d been married.”

Meanwhile, Kraber had realized that he had no choice but to be Francis. For them. For Aegis. For his own sake. Kraber was a remorseless sadist ruled by his temper and worst impulses, with no emotional control, and usually went by his surname. Francis was more likely to hang back, a blank slate on which he could imprint what little of him remained from Kraber before the War. Francis might just be him from six years ago, before the War had crossed anyone’s mind.

All that Francis said about ‘before,’ as if it was a mystical place, some rumored human colony away from the Barrier, was almost punishingly vague. He’d said as little about it as he possibly could.

That said, Amber still had to ask the tall, lanky bearded man one question:

“Anything in particular?”

And:

“Not sure,” Francis admitted. “Just…” he sighed. “Ah came oop here wi’ some mates once. Jist rememberin’... I once went oan a train up here. Whin wi could still dae tourism an’ stuff. Thir wis a Heissler loco nearby. Jist… rememberin’,” he repeated. “Ah wis happier back thin.”

“With your family?” Rivet asked, confused.

“An a bunch ay other mates,” Francis said. “So…” he looked down at the bags of rations that had filled up their saddlebags, and the few that he himself was carrying. It felt weird actually being domestic after all this time. Not on a murder spree. But again, it was, well, kwaai. “What kin we dae while yuir da’, Nny, Fiddlesticks, an’ all them are at thit PHL-ASF meetin’? Groceries’re here, so...”

He scratched his stubbly chin. He was working to keep himself at least somewhat clean-shaven, before his beard grew in thick, and some enterprising bounty hunter like Nny’s cousin Sarah realized it made him look like Kruger from Elysium, and then…

“Well,” Rivet said, a mischievous look on his face, “Nny did say there was a museum around here…”

“Oh, great,” Amber muttered.

]Meanwhile
PHL base ‘Roundhouse,’ West Lebanon. NH.

'Of all the odd bases the PHL has in New England,' Aegis thought, looking across the connecticut river towards White River Junction, 'this has to be the weirdest.'

It wasn’t. But it was hard to blame the abnormally large earth pony for thinking so, given that he was standing guard duty alongside a motley crew of National Guard, PHL, and PHL-aligned ‘volunteers’ in a roundhouse that’d been decrepit and disintegrating until a month after Aegis got to Portland, Maine.

He remembered the indignation on their faces as the New Hampshire official had given them the roundhouse as housing, forcing them to sleep on rotted ground.

After hearing about it, humans all over had opened up their doors to ponies like Aegis - this was how Aegis and Johnny C had met, and eventually how Aegis neighborhood had been built. But humans, zebras, and ponies had taken the official’s insult as a challenge, and cleaned up the old brownfield that had been given to them. They’d used earth pony and unicorn magic to draw out the chemicals in the ground, then steadily rebuild it. Of course, the near-boundless supply of human contractors helped too. Within a year - by the time the official’s defeatism and tendency to trip up the PHL in favor of HLF ‘protection’ efforts had left his approval ratings below 40% - it’d turned into their home. Always made Aegis happy to see it. He’d helped add on prefabs, a small manufacturing facility, offices, PHL wind turbines, and small plots of land, for one of the station’s resident earth ponies to try and grow in the brownfields. Sometimes, he’d have to turn your head and squint a little to see what it used to be.

The PHL stationed here were often little more than glorified famers, repairmen and security guards. Civilian organizations like the ASF, and independent contractors like Nny’s cousin Sarah Ruyter, would gather here to be assigned jobs. Earth ponies, with their minor agrimancy, were especially valued, and were welcomed. Aegis in particular would often be assigned to a farm for a day, with his status as an earth pony.

The inside of the roundhouse, now given over to offices and at least one massive loading bay, was abuzz with activity. The PER attack on Portland had been…

Well. Odd, to say the least. People had come from all over to help guard this new delivery, containing some of the materials and… ‘artifacts?’ ‘evidence?’ found in both Portland and Bethlehem.

Massive crates, on loan from PHL bases, lined with orichalcum and nullifying spells, one emitting a distinct ticking sound, had turned the loading bay into a maze of a place. There were a lot of odd characters here, standing by, guarding today’s… well. Delivery. Fiddlesticks and Johnny C, his cousin Sarah, Jack Weiss (and some of his ‘special constables’) and Burt Gransvoort from Gorham, and a thestral nuzzling a yellow unicorn mare with a green mane. Nkiruka, the roundhouse’s resident Zebra (she lived out back) was wearing her assault saddle, pacing back and forth. A mare with a purplish pink coat (like Heliotrope but darker) and electric blue mane streaked with pink - Popover from Linda Branwen’s pub over in Littleton - also looked like she was helping… maybe? it was hard to tell.

And most bizarrely, Colonel Ambrose Hex and his strange, scarf-wearing, staggering-under-the-tech-she-was-harnessed-to bodyguard. Getting visited by the two of them was always a momentous occasion.

“Something about you,” Fiddlesticks said, looking up at Hex’s bodyguard, “Looks familiar.”

Then she looked at a strip of blue fabric encircling the bodyguard’s neck.

“…Fiddlesticks,” Nny said, “Didn’t we find a scarf just like that?”

“It’s classified,” the bodyguard said, prompting Hex’s jaw to go strangely taut.

Up above the loading bay, Aegis could see Rachel Womack, leader of the Appalachia Security Force - a militia that’d gotten smart and decided that the PHL had the right idea - directing the workers towards a section of the loading bay piled high with crates.

As Aegis followed Womack’s idle glances towards the doorway, he could see Nny’s cousin Sarah, a shortish woman with reddish hair and brown eyes, who was pushing a dolly loaded with strange-looking boxes. Behind her, Aegis could see a red-orange pegasus mare pulling a massive crate through the doors to the loading bay, a sarcophagus crate big enough to hold a decent-sized unicorn.

‘What the hell is… eh, it’s better not to ask, Aegis thought.

He nodded to her.

“Summerwind,” he said, nodding to the heavyset red-orange pegasus mare. “You doing okay after Portland?”

“...I guess,” she said, setting the coffin crate down as she rubbed the back of her head with one foreleg. “I’m just…”

Following her was Nny’s cousin Sarah, a shortish woman with reddish hair and brown eyes, and M16 derivative on her back. A woman who Aegis might just consider his type, he’d met similar human ma… women over the years.

“Confused,” Summerwind said.

“Heard it was pretty bad,” Sarah said, casting a sympathetic glance to Summerwind.

It was, wasn’t it? Aegis thought. But he didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to get involved. Have people press him, make him question, make him worry. Still… some less-antisocial part of his brain urged him, might be interesting to know. There’s a lot of weird stories around-

But Aegis didn’t act on the latter. So he kept on moving, pushing what felt like a third of the loading dock’s workload.

“It was goddamn nuts, Sarah. First, the HLF starts shelling us. I don’t f…. bucking know why. I heard someone say their hostage operation-”

Johnny C, carrying a crate bigger than him, snorted audibly. His eyes lingered a little too long on the… crate that Summerwind had been carrying.

“Yeah!” Summerwind said. “I know, right?”

“I thought the point of a hostage operation was ‘don’t piss off the other guys,’” Fiddletsicks said, carrying a cartful of crates taller than her from outside the loading bay.

“It’s what Spoony referred to as ‘the code,’” Johnny C said solemnly, nodding slowly.

Everyone but Fiddlesticks rewarded this observation with blank stares.

“I don’t know that pony,” one of the thestrals said, with all the subtlety of a hammer.

“No, no. It’s a username. You know, ‘the code?’” Fiddlesticks asked. “It’s, uh… look, there was this story this guy told about this game, and there was a…”

“You don’t know either, do you,” Johnny C said.

“Oh, no, no… noooo…” Fiddlesticks said, visibly racking her brains, shifting her hat around. “Yes.”

“Oh god,” Johnny C groaned, facepalming. “I’m OLD!”

“Wait, was that the one where those assholes ruin a mission that’s like stealing candy from a baby, then the DM ruins their shit as violently as possible?” Fiddlesticks asked.

“YES!” Johnny C crowed, a massive grin on his face. “I’m not old!”

“But you told it to me and you’re the only one that got the reference! “ Fiddlesticks protested.

“FUCK! I’m still old!”

“I got it,” Sarah pointed out, raising an eyebrow. Nny’s eyebrows raised, his face formed into smile as he drew in br-

“Don’t. I just… you… I… no. I had a sentence here, but I don’t,” the batpony (was that Nebula?) interrupted.

Johnny C and Fiddlesticks fistbumped. Or, fist-and-hoof-bumped.

I knew it was gonna be a weird day, Aegis sighed internally. Then, before he could stop himself: “So what happened, though, Summerwind?”

“Oh shit, he can talk,” Sarah murmured. Fiddlesticks glared at her.

“Just… don’t, Sarah,” Popover sighed, blowing her electric blue and pink mane from her snout.

Aegis gave Popover a nod of thanks.

“We had a big counter-offensive planned against the Bureau,” Summerwind said. “Then… this guy. He’s not part of the offensive, he comes in and shoots everything up. Everything goes to hell, our plan is doomed, there’s a traumatized colt screaming his lungs out at the top of his lungs, people are running everywhere… Raya Caveney rams a truck full of bombs into the Bureau. And that guy, Ivan Bliss, he starts screaming violently. Bliss is… he’s an asshole.”

Aegis cast Johnny C and Fiddlesticks a Look. One that practically screamed ‘which one of us tells her?’

“He says ‘my kind,’ we have a little chin-wag about what an asshole he is. Weird thing is? He listens. And goes into the hospital to clear it himself, saying how he was ‘oaf tae practice medicine’.”

“What,” Burt Gransvoort said, “The hell. That’s just…”

“I think he was trying to kill himself?” Summerwind suggested, confused. “It didn’t work. And that,” she said, tapping one foreleg against the box that reminded Aegis of a sarcophagus, “is why we have this thing.”

A yellow unicorn with a green mane - Aegis remembered that her name was Caduceus - stared at Summerwind with a look that was not quite hatred and not quite sadness.

“Wha…” Jack asked.

“Let’s not go into it,” the yellow unicorn - definitely Caduceus said. “Please."

“Isn’t it classified?” Aegis asked. He didn’t know if it was, but whatever it was, whatever horrible thing inside didn’t concern them.

“You okay?” Johnny C asked, as he turned away from a conversation with his cousin Sarah.

Ah, crap. “I’m fine,” Aegis protested.

“You sure?” Fiddlesticks asked.

Nny looked down at Aegis. “...He’s not okay.”

“I’m fine,” Aegis sighed.

“You know,” Fiddlesticks said, visibly trying to swing a hoof over Aegis’ neck and failing miserably. As Aegis was even larger than her cousin Big Macintosh, this was completely understandable. “Bottling up emotions isn’t healthy,” she said.

“Mmmm-hmmm,” Popover nodded, an oddly forlorn look in her eyes.

“Last time I did that, I ended up beating up my roommate,” Nny said.

“Well, least you didn’t eat them like Kraber…” Aegis said.

“Bruh, who do you think inspired me?” Nny asked. “Told him as much when we were doing a performance of Repo: The Genetic Opera just before Terrance Zdunich came. I was playing Graverobber, Kraber was Nathan Wallace. It was my job… to steal… and rob…” Nny’s voice grew quiet.

Fiddlesticks held her hooves to her ears, and Aegis groaned. Goddammit, he always does this.

“GRAAAAAAAAVES!” Nny yelled.

Caduceus just stared at him. As did Hex, Gransvoort, and just about anyone in the room. Sarah fell off her crate, laughing hysterically.

“…Really,” Rachel said, after the laughter had settled down.

“Do you mind?” Hex asked.

“I ain’t complainin’,” Sarah said.

In response, Johnny C shrugged noncommittally.

Aegis’ jaw dropped. Nny was not necessarily a liar. In fact, he was honest enough Fiddlesticks had said he’d be a better Element of Honesty than her cousin. However, more often than not, he would say things simply too absurd for the logical response to be anything but:

“You’re shitting me.”

Or something like that.

“He’s not,” Fiddlesticks said, facehoofing and groaning.

“Trust the fiddle pony!” Sarah called over, her legs sprawling up over one crate. “It… really happened.”

“That’s just silly,” Aegis said, shaking his head.

“And it happened,” Nny said, rubbing a hand through Aegis’ mane. “Think about that. What’s on your mind, big guy?”

“You ever wonder if you’re doing enough?” Aegis asked. “Home wasn’t perfect, what with the monster attacks… and the Crystal War, but… I took my foals here. And they’ve gotta deal with all of… this. Fuck’s sake, my colt wants to go out there and die.”

“I don’t think he wants to-” Fiddlesticks started.

“He was our messenger during the Crystal War,” Aegis said. “Crystal Empire ponies occupied the town, and he remembers the glory of it. He thinks it’s like playing hide and seek. And most of the war - ponies charging with pikes and flintlocks - was far away enough he doesn’t get it. Amber… seems okay, but given she’s told me people try to kill her on the schoolyard and make jokes about horse hospitals, I don’t know.” He sighed, running a hoof over the tufts of mane that poked out from between the scar tissue concealed under his red bandanna. “I gotta wonder. Am I doing enough?”

Sarah stared over at him. As did Summerwind, and Caduceus, and anybody in the room that wasn’t Gransvoort, Nny, or Fiddlesticks. It was in all likelihood the most words they’d ever heard him say in one go.

“Aegis,” Fiddlesticks said in her thick Appleoosan drawl. “I wondered that awhile ago. When HLF came after me for the… benefit concerts-”

“No need to soak,” Nny said, adjusting his friend’s (Marefriend’s?) hat.

Poor Fiddlesticks, Aegis thought, but he bit it back. She’d been a Conversion supporter before the war. But then, the Three weeks of Blood and the realization Equestria never intended to make peace had destroyed her emotionally. She… wouldn’t want me to pity her. Downright condescending

“And when food went low, when we were freezing during the winter, when things got rough, when I kept getting beaten in self-defense training, I’d ask myself about that. Then I’d remember… the billions of newfoals that’ve gone into Equestria. The totem-proles. The secret police. The Return Act,” Fiddlesticks said. “And I’d say…. yes. I’d think so. In another universe. Surrounded by wonders. Even if we die, this has been the greatest adventure. Aegis, we’re on an alien planet!” she crowed, face flush with joy.

“And yet we were nearly killed by terrorists a couple days ago,” Aegis pointed out. “Why… I mean, I see your point, but why call this an adventure?”

“Because otherwise you’ll get really depressed and begin a slow descent into alcoholism and bizarre kinky sex?” Nny asked.

Sarah looked at everyone in the room, trying not to either throw up or laugh.

Fiddlesticks looked at Nny coyly, trying not to laugh. “Well, yes but no. It’s chaotic. It’s confusing. But at least we’re free. At least your foals aren’t being indoctrinated into hating others. It’s not a great place… but it’s better than the other, Aegis. ”

“Yeah,” Aegis said, looking over the other ponies and humans in this room. “I guess so. I still… don’t quite like this.”

“Hey,” Popover said. “It’ll be fine, Aegis. Don’t worry about it.”

“...It’s kind of the middle of the apocalypse, and I was supposed to be with the foals at the Main Street Museum. And have lessons with Miss Nkiruka.”

“You don’t even know if you can do zebra magic,” Nny said. “Can… can earth ponies even do it?”

“I’ve tried,” Fiddlesticks said. “It hasn’t worked out.”

“But I have to,” Aegis said. “For the foals. I have to.”

“You’re still hung up on that one, eh?” Popover asked. “Argonite is a jackass, don’t let it get to you.”

“Still kinda sad you broke his jaw,” Fiddlesticks said.

“Horseapple-eating prick said earth ponies were useless to the PH-” Aegis started.

“Well, I know that,” Fiddlesticks. “I wanted to do that! Why would you even do that without me?!”

“You broke his jaw without me?!” Popover asked, indignantly.

“Does anybody here actually like Argonite?” Hex asked, breaking his silence.

Nobody answered.

“This explains why his mouth got wired shut,” Hex mused.

“Now I don’t have to hear him insulting my friends,” Sarah sighed, collapsing back on one crate. “Seriously, though - listen to Popover. He’s not worth it.”

“So you keep telling me...”

...Is what Aegis wanted to say. What he actually did was say something monosyllabic and noncommittal, like “Yeah, mmmhmm, sure.”

Because being told he was useless had really stung. So Aegis had gone for lessons in Zebra magic with Nkiruka. It hadn’t been easy, but he’d figured he could give it a shot. It’d be time for lessons by the time the train came in, and Hex headed off to Montreal to work - apparently, Hex was always working on something. A running joke in the PHL was that Hex didn’t sleep, he just had planning time.

Judging by his reaction to what they’d picked up, Hex wouldn’t have much ‘Planning Time’ for awhile. PER tech, Aegis reflected, Is weird. It lay somewhere in between HLF pipeguns and PHL devices - often made from scrap, but with downright weird modifications.

Case in point: The things they were guarding, waiting to transfer onto a PHL train heading up from a PHL facility in Boston.

Usually, they didn’t require so many personnel out and about. Aegis could usually be given time off with his family (Foals needed a daddy. Or at least a parent) or off guarding the farms. Not wearing this painfully heavy saddle. But this… was not the usual.

For starters, it turned out the PER that had been shot actually did have sacs of potion sewn into their bodies that could be remotely detonated. This was not exactly standard. It had been for the best Francis was off foalsitting when Yael had learned about that.

“Motherfucker! He… we could’ve… that…”

“But it worked.”

“I’m sure that would’ve been a big comfort if I’d been ponified. Oh right, it wouldn’t be! Cause then I’d be a zombie!”

Yael had then thrown a chair across a room.

Currently, Yael and Heliotrope were in Burlington, intervening in a PER-HLF battle. This was probably the reason for the high security. Then again, according to Rachel, nobody had found things quite like this.

The weird, weird guns and other gadgets below. They were staring down at the various other things taken from the PER at the synagogue. There was a set of body armor that had been durable enough to withstand rifle rounds at near-point-blank range, and yet light enough to hide under a hoodie, (hadn’t been much help when Francis stabbed him in the balls and stomped out the man’s neck) which would go to PHL R&D for reverse-engineering. There was a squirt gun that had somehow been customized to fire the potion at incredibly high pressure. That would… well, whatever had been used to maintain the high pressure might go into making better machinery, or something. Maybe engines? Heliotrope had been interested in its applications, wondering if they could use it to improve the average car’s engine.

All of it had Shieldwall’s mark - it looked like a shield splattered with something, engraved on the device’s metal casing.

But then, they’d had to leave. Yael and Heliotrope were off “pacifying” various HLF.

There was the usual bounty of arcane materials to be worked into new PHL guns. A few vials of potion that’d be sent to Decontamination, and some odd devices that had been sealed in orichalcum-lined safeboxes at Heliotrope’s highly vocal insistence. There was the teleport spike. There was the box Aegis could not stop thinking of as a coffin.

Evidently, Popover had been confused as well, before asking the question out loud.

“It was my friend,” Caduceus said “Now she’s…” the mare looked down, saddened.

“Ponified?” Aegis asked.

Caduceus nodded. “Yeah. But here’s the thing: She ended up one of the weird newfoals.” The mare snorted. “Yeah. Go ahead. Say what you will. Oh, an Annie, a Abomination, a PP, she’s PER, she deserved it. But this. Was. My. Friend.”

Nobody had a word to say to the mare.

“She died as herself, y’know,” the mare said. “Begging us to kill her.”

“...Wait,” Aegis said, looking confused, head cocked almost doglike. “I have literally never heard of that sorta thing.”

“She was a bit of a special case,” the mare said. “Died regretting it.”

“Fascinating,” Hex said, earning a dirty look from Caduceus.

“How awful,” Popover said, both hooves to her mouth. She wasn’t gasping. Just silently begging, silently asking why?

“Dark. So… what does this thing do?” asked Jack Weiss, who’d been called in with some of his once-homeless ‘special constables’ for extra help in guarding. He was pointing at one of the orichalcum-lined boxes.

“I… don’t really know,” Blackpowder admitted, pointing to a photo he’d taken of the device. It looked like some kind of aerosolization bomb, “But, it has Shieldwall’s signature on it. Literally.” He pointed with one hoof to the kiteshield-like cutie mark scratched on the bomb’s casing.

“I’m so confused,” Rachel Womack sighed. “Summerwind… They flew damn Hinds into the city, yeah?”

Summerwind nodded.

“You don’t just waste that spur of the moment. so I have to wonder: what are they planning? If Shieldwall was around here, and so are PER that can field Hinds...”

She paused, lost in the thought.

Everyone had heard of Shieldwall. A friend of Yael’s had seen him before, while helping to evacuate people down through Northern Africa. He’d stumbled into a refugee camp, parched, unable to speak, then exploded all over the camp. He’d been turned into a living bomb full of potion.

“You think conspiracies are everywhere,” Hex sighed.

“And? I was right about there being a conspiracy in medical organizations all over the world,” Rachel said.

“Anyone could’ve seen that coming,” Hex retorted.

“Except,” Rachel said, “The people that were-”

“Guys,” Nkiruka said, trotting up between them. “Please. Let’s not fight over this, alright?” she pointed with one foreleg to the yellow-coated, green-maned mare. “Caduceus here lost a friend. We’ve… all lost people to ponification. Let this one go?”

“Agreed,” Caduceus said. “I’m not letting you argue over Sylvia’s corpse.”

“Sylvia?” Johnny C said. “Wait, you’re Caduceus, right?” he asked, looking over at the yellow mare.

She nodded. “We’ve met.”

“...Okay, wait,” said a National Guardsman with a mechanical arm that looked to have at least a few weapon modules installed. “Seriously, Heald? How many people do you know? Your congresswoman, Hex, your cousin, Heliotrope... ”

“A lot,” Nny said. Then, lamely, with a shrug, “I get around.”

“He does,” Fiddlesticks confirmed. She looked at Hex and his bodyguard, who confirmed it with nods of their own. “Whoa. Hold the phone, and the mayo. Is that… If that’s Sylvia, then is that...” she pointed down at the box. “Reaper?”

“We have that thing’s corpse here?!” Rachel gasped, staggering back.

“Well, damn,” Aegis said, raising an eyebrow behind his thick goggles. “No wonder you requisitioned the synthetic orichalcum, Colonel.”

Hex nodded. “Precisely, Mr. Aegis.”

They were the only two people in the room that managed to keep completely straight faces.

“Son of a bitch!” Fiddlesticks yelled, among the exclamations of PHL, ASF, and others who had signed up to guard the delivery while they waited for the train. It’d be repetitive to list what everyone had said, and kind of boring for all involved, so just assume that everyone said the same thing.

“Come on,” Aegis said, surprising Hex, making himself about the only calm person in the room. “It’s dead now. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“It’s dead as far as we know,” Johnny C pointed out. “This is Reaper! Could it really, resurrect, y’know, the dead?”

“Yes,” Hex said. “Information suggests that Reaper could. However, the horn was shot off, so the possibility of self-resurrection is limited. Assuming nobody gets a unicorn horn aug and places it on her for shits and giggles. At which point…” Hex shook his head.

“Don’t go there, Colonel,” Popover said.

“Good idea, Pink… Popover,” Hex said, ignoring the look of horror on Popover’s face as he barely avoided misnaming her.

“And it’s also in an orichalcum-lined box,” Aegis pointed out.

Hex blinked. “Impressive composure, Mr Hammer. Might I ask… why you’re back here?”

“The foals,” Aegis said. “I’ve been away from them before, and I’m keeping them in my grasp as long as I can.”

“Which is why you have a foalsitter,” Hex said, vaguely sarcastic.

“He prefers ‘bodyguard.’”

“I’ll bet he does,” Hex said. “Physical strength. College education. Excellent marksmanship scores with assault saddles. You really could go far, Aegis.”

“I’m happy where I am, sir,” Aegis said, saluting. “Keeping the foals safe.”

“I can respect that,” Hex said.

“Incredible,” Popover breathed, trotting a little closer. “I… was it…”

“It was fuckin’ horrible to watch, if that’s what you mean,” Caduceus said. “She kind of got what she deserved.”

...So which of them am I supposed to be scared of? Aegis wondered. At the same time, Nny and Fiddlesticks shared a Look that Aegis had little doubt meant the same thing.

“That’s… shockingly cold,” Aegis said, tensed up a little.

“I’m with the stallion-mountain on this one,” Popover said. “I don’t mind how you react, it’s just that’s a-”

“I don’t know how to react,” Caduceus said. “She was my friend… but she was a traitor… but she was my friend.”

“An anomalous newfoal,” Blackpowder said, and whistled. “We have one. Actual proof they exist… Honestly, I’m a little scared of what R&D will do with the body.”

“I thought you were scared of the spike?” Fiddlesticks asked, pointing over at the teleport matrix spike on the table, a peach-and-amber colored obelisk about twice as long as a railroad spike, softly glowing and marked with odd designs. It had proven an enigma to all of them.

‘We don’t use teleport spikes anymore,’ Heliotrope had explained. ‘When the Crystal Empire’s artillery… nasty stuff, we’re lucky the Solar Empire haven’t been able to make it work with ponification potion…’

“You guys do know how weird this thing is, right?” Nkiruka asked for the umpteenth time, looking down at the teleport spike, which was emitting a vaguely peach-colored glow.

“Enough to think it’s like finding someone in a military unit equipped with a Mondragon rifle?” Johnny C asked.

“I have no idea what a mondragon is,” Nkiruka explained.

“Before he says anything - It’s really old, and obsolete,” Fiddlesticks explained.

“I was going to say that!” Nny protested.

“In as many words?” Aegis asked sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.

Nny looked downwards. “Okay, fair enough.”

“Nkiruka? How long till the lessons start?” Aegis asked, tapping one hoof on the ground.

“Not too long,” she said. “Just… be patient.”

“All I’m doing is standing around, looking intimidating,” Aegis said. “I’m not even doing anything.”

“Trust me, we’re happy to have you around,” Rachel said.

I wonder if the foals are having a better time out there, Aegis thought. ‘I hope they’re looking after Mr. Strang.

Main Street Museum of Art, White River Junction, Vermont
About an hour before a party

”Those’re the severed testicles of Elvis Presley,” Rivet said, pointing matter-of-factly to a pair of objects in a jar.

“Oh fok, why would you even do that?!” Kraber Francis said, laughing at the sheer absurdity of it all. “Oh, hey. A sea monster!”

This was beyond a doubt the weirdest babysitting (or, well, foalsitting) he’d ever done. Apparently, the museum also had a small theater. If that was the word. Sometimes movies would play. And sometimes, as was happening today, there’d be live music. Today’s event was some one-man-band called ‘Mucous Membrane, with a list reading ‘In memory of Ben Digby, Gary Lester, and Les’.

Whoever ‘Les’ was had been obscured by a poster for The Lost Children, a pro-HLF band that’d play in HLF shantytowns like Defiance. Kraber Francis hud bin tae one ay their gigs. It wis awright, actually.

He sincerely hoped they wouldn’t play here. Eh didnae want more ay his past tae come up.

“Ooh, a Jackalope!” Rivet said, staring up at a strange creature in a jar. “I didn’t know you had those on Earth!”

“We dinnae,” Francis said.

“Really? We have jackalopes back in Equestria,” Amber Maple said, confused. “Earth is weird.”

“And from mah perspective,” Francis said, “Yuir a talkin horse from another universe.”

She looked up at him, and Francis was caught aback by just how much her mane resembled human hair. It… seemed to behave like human hair. And…

There was something weird about most ay it, actually. I’ll do something Kraber wasn’t capable of, Francis thought. Protect her and her brother.

“Saying it twenty times,” Amber said, “Doesn’t make it funny.”

“Like Blackpowder!” Rivet called over from another section of the museum.

Francis and Amber looked at each other. “Definitely,” the two of them said, and chuckled.

“Blackpowder’s kind of a jerk,” Francis said.

“Well, every pony on Earth’s been through a lot,” Amber said. “Rivet and I have. You just gotta…” she looked up at him. “You are really unforgiving, aren’t you.”

“Yes,” Francis replied bluntly.

“I know Blackpowder can be overbearing-”

Francis raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, he’s a jerk,” Amber admitted. “But he’s been through a lot. We all have. Just… ”

“I got it, kid,” Kraber said, bending over a litle and ruffling her mane. “I’ve been… pretty fokkin awful at forgiveness.”

“Hold on, Rivet,” said a slightly short (but then, a lot of people were short next to Francis) man with a receding gray hairline and thick black glasses. “You actually have jackalopes?”

This was Mr. Ford, owner of the museum. Apparently, he was a friend of Johnny C, thanks to him having once posted on the Museum’s page “You guys are crazy as balls! I love it!”

Two small dogs that looked somewhere between Jack Russell terriers and Rottweilers with black fur around the head, and orange eyebrow markings trotted around his feet. One was sniffing Rivet, clearly not sure what to make of this bizarre, vaguely horselike alien.

Mr. Ford had taken kindly to ponies of Equestria, having sponsored examples of art made by various ponies and PHL displayed nearby, even spilling out onto the street. Even now, the entrance was guarded by a huge statue of Lyra, made out of flags and now-priceless objects of barrier-eaten nations. Apparently, Sixstring would also be playing here tonight.

“We do,” Amber confirmed.

“Well, how about that…” Mr. Ford said. “What, does Celestia use them as lubricant?”

“Why would she even do that?”

“Considering what your daddy and Johnny told me about Celestia’s regard for life nowadays, I don’t doubt it,” Mr. Ford said. “So gratuitous. Who could even say Celestia’s a hero if she does so many gratuitously horrible things?”

Francis’ stomach grumbled. “Mr. Ford? Will there be food at the party later?”

“There will be, some of it made by Popover, but I do hope that’s not all you’re here for,” Mr. Ford said. One of the dogs barked, and licked Rivet’s face. He giggled a little.

Good tae see one ay the wee foals gittin a chance tae be a bairn, Kraber Francis thought.

“Nah,” Francis said. “The daddy ay these two foals told me tae look eftir them, last time I saw him-”

“Is he okay?” Mr. Ford asked. The dog at his feet, the one that was not currently licking at Rivet’s fetlocks or trying to get a horseback ride from him, looked worried. Its eyebrows would have looked narrowed and concerned, if not for the fact that its eyebrows were just markings that naturally looked like that.

Kraber Francis chuckled.

“Nah, he’s just over at the PHL building,” Amber said.

“So,” Mr. Ford said, looking Francis up and down. “You’re their foalsitter.”

“What?” Francis gasped, looking confused. “Ah’m nowt… ah mean…” An’ what’s wrong wi that? He thought. No, someone, something that sounded for all the world like the notorious HLF terrorist Viktor Marius Kraber thought. Not him. Could never be him. Fokkin’ enjoy it. “Ah prefair th’ boadyguard,” he finished lamely.

“Don’t sugarcoat it, Mr. Francis,” Amber said. “You’re the foalsitter.”

Francis shrugged. “Awright. Ah’m th’ foalsitter. Braw wi’ that.”

“Besides,” Rivet called over, “What with mom being a bit…” he shuddered, and suddenly looked very sick. “Y’know.”

“I don’t know,” Mr. Ford said, and Francis leaned in, nodding.

“You… really don’t want to,” Amber put in.

“Anyway,” Rivet said, looking over a sculpture that looked like a mix of old, broken rifle parts, a few musical instruments, and odds and ends cobbled into a vaguely gunlike shape. A lump of rock - Chalcedony, if the label was correct - was the only signature. “You’re like another daddy!” And then, with a questionably innocent look in his eye that understood love, but not the mechanics of it: “Maybe you can get man married and I’ll have two daddies!”

Amber just fell on her back guffawing hysterically. Mr. Ford looked at Francis, shrugged, and said: “What works, works.”

The surprising thing to Francis Kraber was that he didn’t really mind. What the fok did he care? Aegis was the nicest gl - stallion he’d yet known. Something about him, about his foals, seemed to make him more Francis, less Kraber, and just all around a better person. Aegis was everything that HLF claimed ponies weren’t. Kind. Loving. Actually… Well, in short, not a monster. And he wanted nothing to do with Equestria.

“I guess I’m open to that,” Kraber said, shrugging. “Sure. Yuir dad’s a great stallion.”

“When’s the performance, though?” Amber asked.

Mr. Ford looked up at a wall clock. “Pretty soon.”

“Aw, ponyfeathers. I wanted to be with Dad for it,” Rivet sighed. “I thought the train would be leaving by now.”

So did Aegis.

“Sir?” Aegis asked, saluting. “Wasn’t the train supposed to have…”

“I recieved a message from Yael and the National Guard detachment responding in Burlington,” Hex explained. “They said the skirmish is being…” a look of discomfort crossed his face. “Neutralized.”

“So they’ve got it under control?” Rachel asked.

“Yeah,” Hex nodded. “There’s enough time for the train to be diverted up there in the aftermath. For us to pick up whatever they recover from the site.”

“Makes sense,” Johnny C nodded. “More PER in the area, with more Shieldwall gadgets…”

“Well, it’s not just that,” Hex said. “There’s word that the HLF might have… something. I don’t know what.”

“What, this ‘Hotline’?” Fiddlesticks asked, rearing up for the sole purpose of making airquotes with her forelegs.

“You know,” said Popover, “You could just roll your eyes while doing that.”

“Nny does airquotes all the time,” Fiddlesticks pointed out.

“Nny has fingers,” Popover replied.

“Huh. I guess that does throw a wrench in things,” Fiddlesticks admitted.

“You’ve heard of it, then,” Hex said. “I must admit, usually R&D works on pony stuff. But this has them a little unnerved. I... ” Hex ran a hand through his thinning hair. “I need to go back. Besides, we…” He looked down at Aegis. “We have a transmission. From the Resistance. And they need me to help work on the data we’ve received.”

Aegis’ ears poked up a little. As did Fiddlesticks, who barreled into him.

“What’d… what’d they say?” Aegis asked. Fiddldesticks was practically clinging to him, begging Hex for answers, pleading…

“That a highly-placed Ministry of Supply plant-”

To put it lightly, Fiddlesticks was enraptured. Aegis rarely saw that kind of joy - her eyes had gone starry, (literally) and she had a smile on her face from ear to… well, that didn’t quite work, more from eye to eye. “You mean my-”

Aegis stuck a hoof in front of her mouth.

“CMRMPHRN FMRMRMPHTMPH!”

“Thanks, Aegis. And yes, yes, that one,” Hex said. “Please don’t do that.”

“Sorry,” Fiddlesticks said. “But… what’d they…”

“Simply put, he said that something’s got the Ministry of Supply on edge. That they’ve been funneling supplies into what used to be Reykjavik, and he has no idea what it is, but he’s guessing they’re building something. Big. He says it’s been labeled under ‘Colony supplies,’ but Reykjavik isn’t exactly known as a prime colony location.”

“How… how are things back home, though?” Popover asked, her eyes wide.

Hex shook his head. “Not… not great.”

“My mother’s still there, though,” Popover said. “I… I know we’re not on good terms, but I have to know if she’s fine.”

“Then I hope she’s alright,” Aegis said. “But just don’t worry about it right now. It’ll… I saw the last batch of photos. I couldn’t sleep at night, Poppy.”

“I guess… wait, Poppy?” Popover asked, scrunching her snout a little.

“It sounded cute,” Aegis mumbled, blushing slightly under his thick white fur. “Just… Resistance Reports are usually kind of grim.”

“You damn right,” Fiddlesticks said, nodding. “By the way, Colonel, do the Resistance know what Gestalt is? Cause, well…”

“We’ve been worried,” Johnny C interjected.

“Yeah. We’ve been worried,” Popover added. “It’s scaring the customers back in the bar.”

“Why do you work there, anyway?” Rachel asked, confused. “Everyone likes having an earth pony on the farm. They add a bit of…” she smirked. “Color.”

That, and apparently we make healthier food, Aegis reflected. Only academics just barely above Lyra, Laconic, or Shriek’s status had been invested in studying earth pony magic for most of Equestrian history, and only a few years before the return of Luna had it been a very serious subject. It’d been a welcome addition to see it written in the forestry publications Aegis (and, surprisingly enough, Nny and Fiddlesticks) enjoyed.

“By which I mean, he liked reading Earth forestry publications,” Aegis explains. “Something about managing the family land.”

Aegis had been pleasantly surprised to hear all the benefits that earth pony-grown produce had on humans. Apparently, it’d made them all-around healthier, and humans found consuming them had been found to be less susceptible to diseases made common by exodus from the Barrier. Including, appropriately enough, feather-flu.

Suck THAT radish, argonite! Aegis thought.

“Well,” Popover said, then froze up. “I see what you did there,” she chuckled. Aegis, Nny, and Fiddlesticks chuckled along with her. “Anyway, though. Someone’s gotta do the cooking, but the broadcasts are scarin’ the customers.”

“Same with mine,” Sarah agreed.

“How could you not be?” Aegis asked, shivering a little at the thought of the last broadcast. “That’s weird.”

“The Resistance has no idea what it is,” Hex said bluntly. “All they know is that it’s a security risk, and they’re scrambling to find out what it is.”

“So nobody knows what’s going on, the world’s ending, and everyone’s scared to piss,” Aegis sighed. “What else is new.”

It wasn’t gallows humor. It was paralyzed in the crematorium humor.

“But there’s still the Museum,” Fiddlesticks said. “There’s still music. There’s still…”

“We’re all here?” Nny finished.

“Yeah, that,” Fiddlesticks said. “Come on, big guy, lighten up!”

This being summer, the concert wasn’t upstairs in the museum. It was out back, under a tent. Someone was setting up stalls, and Rivet and Kraber were sitting on the back porch, watching the sun set. Amber was just behind them, a cheap pen somehow affixed to her hoof as she scrawled out a few letters on a piece of paper. A bottle of root beer that Kraber Francis had bought her sat nearby.

“What’re you doing?” Francis asked.

“Dad wants me to try some exercises for writing,” Amber explained. “He can type on a keyboard or use a game controller, so he wants me to try my hoof at it.”

“Yuir da’ is a freak,” Francis said, approvingly, affectionately.

“He’s our daddy,” Amber said. “He’s thinking someday I can hold up a pistol with a hoof.”

“That is crazy,” Francis said, whistling a little. “Damn. Can yuir da’…”

“No, he has an assault saddle,” Amber said, and chuckled. “Too big for Rivet, he could get lost in it.”

“I’ve seen motorcycles smaller than your dad, I can believe it,” Francis Kraber chuckled. “How’s that root beer?

“Pretty good,” Amber said, sliding it over with one foreleg and placing her muzzle over the straw.

Kraber Francis reflected on this. It felt… nice.

Except for the sculpture on a pedestal nearby, a stylized skeleton with what looked like a horse skull placed above a human one, with shreds of rubbish arranged into the shapes of bones. There were purplish-pink lights fixed into the eye sockets. It looked like it was looking down at Rivet, who didn’t seem to mind.

There was that same signature marking it, lump of chalcdeony and all.

“I’ve seen worse,” Rivet says.

You nod at that. “I’ll bet. Chalcedony’s sculptures are weird, but when you take a boat to America...”

Rivet just nods. “That was awful.”

“The less said, the better, son,” Aegis agrees.

Two ki… foals… children, Francis Kraber thought to himself. Me looking after em… for their dad. Being their friend.

Couldn’t have planned anything better.

”Didn’t most of your plans involve going to the flank-crack of the world and hiding till everyone died?” Vinyl asks.

“Yeah, they were shitty plans,” Kraber says. He looks over at Aegis, and ruffles his mane. “Glad I went with this big lug.”

“Thanks, you gaunt mental patient,” Aegis laughs.

“I had a mate,” Francis Kraber said. “Back in uni whin ah wis here. Eh eywis said artists wir crazy. Seriously, I goat tae wonder a bit there.”

“Who, Chalcedony?” Rivet asked, jerking one foreleg towards the sculpture. “Nah, she’s alright. You really gotta worry about Daddy.”

“What?” Amber asked.

“Kid,” Francis said, “Yuir da’s massive. Why wouldn’t be be awri-”

“He gets… sad, sometimes,” Rivet said. “Maybe it’s cause of ma. Maybe… it’s not me, is it? I hope it’s not me.”

“Come on, don’t be like that,” Francis said. “Amber, Rivet, it’s not… your dad loves both of you. I’ve spent the last few years beating what little fokkin empathy I have tae death wi’ a basebaw bat, and even I can see it.”

“You’re sure?” Rivet asked.

“Trust Amber on this one,” Kraber Francis said, “Yuir da loves you. Anyone can see it. He’s… he jist needs… a pick-me-up. Something. Trust me, he loves you a lot.”

“You’ve barely been with us for a week,” Rivet said, confused.

“He brought you here, he put a roof over your head, he made sure neither of you are PER,” Francis said. “I think that’s a passable way to say you love your kids. Dad was…. dad was the same, sometimes.” Francis Kraber paused and continued on. “He changed, of course. Got more open, after awhile. The war, his bastard of a father, taking on his wife’s name just to piss him off… Did a fokkin’ number on his head. Dad wisnae dumb. Just hurt.”

“I wanted to ask - How much of that was true?” Rivet asks.

“Every fokkin’ thing except what I said next,” Kraber says.

“What happened to your dad?” Amber asked. “You don’t talk about him often.”

What would dad think of me, anyway? Francis Kraber thought. Killed a lot of people… too fokkin’ many of ‘em weren’t PER or Imperial. Been an all-around kontgesig.

“Yeah,” Rivet said. “What about your dad?”

“...He probably thinks I’m dead by now,” Francis said finally. “Bet he’s happy about that.”

“...What,” Amber said.

“Dad, uh…” Kraber Francis said. “He… Ah went tae the HLF. He went PHL. That pissed him oaf.”

As a matter of fact, Kraber Francis hadn’t paid attention to any interviews with his dad. The old man had been in radio silence, and auld Paul Strang wouldn’t have anything good to say about his son.

Paul Kraber, on the other hand, would restrain himself from being anywhere near like his own father, and simply beg his son to turn himself in.

“I’ve done things he’d disown me for.” He ruffled Rivet’s mane. “No, Rivet, you’ve got nothing to fear from yuir da.”

“He… he can’t hate you, can he?” Amber asked. “What could you have possibly done in the HLF that was so terrible? If you were in the Reavers…”

“I got kicked out, remember?” Francis asked.

“He did,” an unfamiliar person said from behind him. “Something of an inauspicious day.”

Francis Kraber twisted around, one hand on that new Ruger revolver he’d gotten from Orzala, Hauser, and Blackpowder. Nobody that didn’t know him as Francis could’ve known that he’d said it.

Which meant this person knew him as Kraber.

Which meant…

There was a train leaving soon. Trains were always heading through here. It was White River Junction. He could jump on and leave… Nobody would know which train. He could leave. He’d kill the fokkin’ kontgesig, it’d be fokkin kw-

“There goes the good Colonel,” Johnny C said, snapping off a salute. The train would just be passing by the Main Street Museum now. The work was long done, Popover had left to plan the party, and everyone was just beginning to filter off.

“Godspeed,” Rachel Womack said, wincing. She’d lost part of her leg in the Three Weeks of Blood, and had never quite recovered.

“Why was he even here?” Aegis asked, and everyone - everyone - including people that outranked him. “No… seriously. Why was he here? There’s no research stations for miles, so we might as well be Alaska. The most interesting thing with PHL R&D that happens around here is installing yet another turbine.” He winced. “That I usually carry.”

“Ignoring the fact that there actually is a research station in Alaska,” Fiddlesticks said.

“It was the remotest place I could think of,” Aegis explained. “So… why us, of all people?”

“We have been getting a lot of attacks lately,” Rachel sighed. “Why, dear-god why, does it have to be us?!”

“I’ve been asking that question a long time,” Aegis said, sighing. “I need a drink.”

“No,” Rachel said, looking at a map of New England. “I mean, why does it have to be here. What’s the advantage?

There were thumbtacks in a pattern spreading upwards from New York and Boston, out to eastern Canada, with most of them concentrated in Vermont, New Hampshire, and Maine.

“PER attacks are in purple,” Rachel explained. “HLF are in red. Blue means a battle. Counting Portland and the clusterfuck at that abandoned quarry, we have five so far. It’s… why so many PER? Here?”

“Well, fuck,” Johnny C sighed. And yawned. “Great. Maybe they’re all looking for something?”

“Well, we were in Portland,” Fiddlesticks said. “I… don’t think they were looking for anything in particular.”

“Probably not,” Rachel said. “But I can’t help but wonder.”

“You’re still hung up on the Hinds, aren’t you?” Johnny C asked.

“No, it’s that time of the month what do you think it’s about?” Rachel snapped.

“...I feel like I should make some sort of witty comment here,” Johnny C said.

“Don’t. But Nny, everyone’s hung up on the Hinds,” Reclaimed Beauty said, and Aegis was uncomfortably aware that she was staring at his flanks.

“Beau,” Aegis sighed, facehoofing. “Stop being hung up on mine.”

“I’m not apologizing!” Reclaimed Beauty said, beaming.

“...Why did I expect anything else,” Aegis said, but everyone could see him smiling as he said so. Reclaimed Beauty, Nny, Fiddlesticks, all this lot, they were his friends. “But yeah. I am too. PER are supposed to be subtle. Then, all of a sudden, two choppers full of soldiers, ponies, and stocks of potion.”

“They came for Reaper,” Fiddlesticks said. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Kind of,” Rachel said. “Which raises the question of how they found her. But the thing that bothers me is…. Jacky, what did we decide?”

“They were preparing for something beforehand,” Jack Weiss said, nodding, a little irritated at Rachel’s nicknaming. “The teleport spikes, for one thing.”

“But there weren’t enough to bring in a battalion,” Reclaimed Beauty said, confused.

“Yeah,” Aegis said. “But we only found two spikes on the PER in Bethlehem. Who’s to say there aren’t more out there?”

“Isn’t that right?” the man asked. “‘Mr Francis?’”

...Wait, so is he calling my fokkin’ bluff or what? Kraber thought. He held one hand to his revolver.

Standing behind the three of them was an older man. He looked almost genial - his kind old features and warm smile, hazel eyes twinkling from behind worn half-moon spectacles, were entirely incongruous with the body armour he wore and the pistol in its holster. He wore two necklaces - one was of a Norse-style runic symbol, and one was a crucifix. This man was Tom Richardson, more often called Preacher, from back in the Reavers. Dark, curly, thinning hair topped off his head.

“It’s Mr. Francis,” Amber said, suspicious. “Who’re you?”

“An old…” Preacher said, scratching his chin. “Well, I wouldn’t call us friends, per se.”

“I fed a man tae wolves while you guys weren’t looking, once,” Kraber Francis said.

“I’m still not clear on why you did that,” Preacher said.

“It was for the environment! PER have no fokkin regard for trophic cascades and the effect of wolves on streams and fish populations,” Francis complained. “It’s all ‘oh, hey, we hate humans eating meat and being so cruel!’ But show them wolves eating animals, and they can’t handle it.”

“If you say so,” Preacher said. “If you’re trying to shock me, it won’t work.”

FOK! “Obviously fokkin’ not, Jesse Custer.”

“My name isn’t Jesse Custer,” Preacher sighed.

“Well, everyone calls you Preacher, so you’ll have to forgive a slip of the tongue,” Francis said. “Why’re you here?”

“The children back in Bastion-”

“Where?” Francis asked, frowning.

“...Needed maple syrup,” Preacher finished, not answering him. “Or they wanted it, which amounts to the same thing to some of them. So here I am. Meeting a friend who said he’d help.”

“So I nearly killed you in a botched fokkin’ maple syrup drug deal,” Kraber chuckled. “How about that.”

“There would have been less embarrassing ways to go,” Preacher said with a shrug. “My name’s Tom Richardson, by the way. Unofficial Chaplain to Maximilian Yarrow’s Reavers, a Human Liberation Front group, though I should probably say you needn’t worry.”

“You’re HLF?” Amber yelped, looking towards the gun in Francis’ holster.

“You say that very openly,” Francis said with a frown.

“What would be the point in lying?” Preacher said. “Besides which, I don’t have a very high bounty on my head for being brought in dead, and I’m certain it’s not much higher alive. In fact, I reasonably doubt I have a bounty - Ah, anonymity. Lovely thing.” He turned to Amber. “And you needn’t be concerned, young lady. I am not here to hurt anyone, or indeed anypony.”

“...But you said you were HLF,” Rivet said, confused.

“Did he tell you he is?” Preacher asked, jerking a thumb towards Francis.

“Retired,” Kraber Francis said.

“Oh? Finally left working for… well, those types?” Preacher asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Retired,” Kraber Francis growled again.

“I can’t say I blame you, though I can say I’m surprised,” Preacher said. “Pleasantly, though. Did someone offer to pay you more than-”

“Well, I did make more money when I left, but I retired cause I was….” Kraber Francis considered this. “I ever tell you about my dad, Preacher?”

“You’re going to tell a long meandering story about him,” Preacher said, folding his arms. “I can tell.”

“Not really. Da’ wis a smoker, once. Wis drivin from Kru….” Francis Kraber stopped himself. Naw, naw, nowt Kruger, somewhere else. “Somewhere bout 15 hours away from home. Smoked th’ whole way. When eh got oot the car, eh realized it smelled awful in there an eh couldnae take the fokkin’ smell. So eh stoaped. That’s what I did,” Francis said. “One moment ah wis…. Next, before ah ken it, ah wisnae. Nae much tae tell. Some people dinnae huv a speech break em intae shape like ya tried tae get me tae ken. Some people jist look at themselves an’ ask the fok they daein.”

Preacher nodded slowly. “An… interesting metaphor, and apt, I shouldn’t wonder.” He unfolded his arms, looking at Rivet. “To answer your query, young sir - tell me, did you ever hear of the Redstripes?”

“The who?” Amber asked.

“I’ll take that as a no. What about Rickard Thomlinson and the Rangers of the North?” At the blank looks, Preacher smiled softly. “How about Soren’s Skydivers? The Kraken Grenadiers? The Sternguard? Weller’s Boys? Any of those names ring a bell?”

The ponies shook their heads.

“Ah, I see,” Preacher said. “Now here’s a different question - have you ever heard of Atlas Galt?”

“That k… fokkin bawbag... was responsible for Portland!” Francis spat.

“I thought that was Lovikov?” Rivet asked.

“If you didn’t know Galt was responsible, then he’s doing like he eywis did,” Francis said. “Cat’s-fokkin-paws ivraywhere. Someday, that bawbag wi’ be naebody in th’ grand scheme of things, an’ naebody will ken or care.”

“I wasn’t asking you, Mr Francis,” Preacher said idly.

“But ah’m right,” Francis said.

“Perhaps. Though I would admit it would be ironic, in an evil sort of way. You have likely heard of more HLF units than any PHL affiliated individuals. I was asking these young ponies whether they’d heard of Mr Galt. Since you’ve mentioned him to them, they have, and Mr Lovikov, it would seem. Even so, they’ve given me answer enough.” He looked at them. “The only HLF you’ve heard anything about seem to be the ones who are… shall we say, the loudest and nastiest. Most of the others I mentioned are decent enough types. A little… eccentric.” He paused, a slight, sad frown crossing his face. “Or they were. Most of them are gone now, of course.”

“...Wait, really?” Francis asked. “You’re… what happened to them?”

“What do you think?” Preacher asked, perhaps a little harsher than he would have wanted. “They fought PER and Empire and they died, while you were off killing children and refugees with Lovikov and his thugs.”

Rivet looked like he was about to cry. Amber was staring at Preacher with raw hatred in her eyes.

“Excuse me,” Francis Kraber said, resisting the urge to strangle Preacher, “Kids? I’ll be right back.” His voice sounded cold, and strange even to him. “Jesse Custer here and I need to have a friendly conversation.”

His fingers were twitching as he motioned for Preacher to come with him. A moment later, the two were standing between a building and the railroad tracks.

“Well,” Francis said, surprisingly calm. “I consider myself a generous man. Not often I reply to people asking me to shoot them.”

Preacher frowned. “Repentance starts by admitted you did something wrong, Mr Francis, and if you aren’t prepared to accept what you did, you -”

“It’s not about that!” Francis Kraber interrupted. “The fok was with that?! Are you saying that to me? To them? I am fokking done with that kak. I all but wrote a resignation letter in the blood of other HLF!”

"Please don’t remind me,” Mommy says, looking a little sick.

"Sorry,” Kraber says, a little sheepish.

"You went way overboard,” you say.

"Ja,” Kraber says. "I did. I overdid it, but I’m not saying they didn’t deserve it.”

"Fair enough,” you say, and you are surprised at the venom in your voice. That sheer, raw, hatred for the men that would’ve held a "Oh. I’m sorry. I was too…”

"Trust me, they were all bastards. And the loss of Ides is… actually, no fokkin’ loss at all. There’s nothing wrong with wanting revenge,” Kraber says. "Just don’t-”

“LOSE YOUR WAAAAYYYY!” Amber abruptly belts out. Verity cringes. Kraber and Aegis just stare at each other, shrug, and enjoy it in the way that only a parent can enjoy their child’s first, halting steps towards genuine talent.

“Ja,” Kraber says, nodding. “That. Don’t lose that.”

“Good going, kid,” Vinyl says, “But you’re trying a bit too hard. Worrying way too much.”

“I thought it was a good start, Amber,” Kraber says.

"Did you really say that to Preacher, though? Mommy asks.

"Nah,” Kraber admits. "It just slipped out at the time.

“I have fokkin’ napalmed my bridges!” Kraber Francis continued. “Who the fok says that in front of kids?! Oh, by the way, kids, your foalsitter-”

There was a brief look of confusion in Preacher’s eye.

“-is a homicidal, bosbefok, mass-murdering kontgesig! Feel better now?! I’m their foalsitter, I can’t let that happen to them! I owe everything to their dad for giving me a place to stay, and for the last! Fokkin’! TIME! I! AM! RETIRED!”

“You seem to be happy enough sharing other parts of your history, considering your language and the fact they know anything at all about Lovikov and Galt,” Preacher pointed out. “As well as threatening people with death, or certainly severe injury, if they say something nasty.” He scowled.

“Oh, I wasn’t going to,” Kraber said. “I know you well enough to know you wouldn’t provoke me in front of kids for the sheer hell of it. And I wanted somewhere quiet so we could talk this over without getting each other woedend.”

“You can be surprisingly insightful when need be, but it doesn't change the facts,” Preacher said. And then he sighed. “But then, ‘let he who is without sin cast the first stone’. What I said was nasty. I’m sorry - it was unbecoming. But the fact remains - I had friends with the Redstripes and the others. Good people. A cousin even. And while they were dying against the enemy, your superior officer was garrotting his superior officer-”

“Helmetag died when I was with you,” Kraber interrupted. “Gregor… was a good man. He deserved better than what that…” he paused. “I ever mention I grew up near a greek family back in Cape Town? They made the best baklava. Lovikov is what they would have considered a malaka.”

“I wouldn’t consider Lovikov spoiled,” Preacher said. “And I didn’t know you knew greek.”

“Not much,” Kraber said. “Here and there. But he was spoilt. Like a wolf with rabies.”

“Which led him to be the kind of monster the worst of the HLF seem to actively cherish, and then led him to encourage you. Because he didn’t like leaving ponies alive, and loved killing innocents. And this doesn’t erase the time you were with him, killing innocents, instead of fighting the enemy.”

Francis sighed. “Fok. Damn you for being… I dunno, right about something. I should have been better then. But… I am damn fokkin’ well going to do better now.”

“That I suppose, remains to be seen,” Preacher said quietly, “though I must admit, you seem to be making a sincere effort.” He sighed. “In any case - we have most of the Redstripes with us now. Some of the others too, those who could make it. Not enough, of course.” Preacher chuckled. “I’m starting to think most of the HLF who aren’t with the increasingly radical ‘program’ that Galt and Lovikov peddle are starting to come to us, which if nothing else is wonderful for learning German or French - or Chinese, would you believe. Most of it is swearing, but still.”

“How are you guys doing?” Francis asked.

“Well enough,” Preacher said evenly. “We’ve somewhere to be, and as you can tell, we’re a little better equipped than most.”

He motioned to his armour. A big, shiny Armacham logo was on the armour.

“I’d ask, but you’d give a circular answer or just something vague. So no.”

“What makes you say that?” Preacher asked.

“Ah, howzit my bru, I think feeding people to wild animals is funny and I’m dangerously unreliable! How about telling me where you got better gear than the rest of the varknaaiers!” Kraber said sarcastically.

“A friend of Yarrow’s in fairly obvious high places,” Preacher replied bluntly.

“You don’t say,” Kraber said.

“What?” Preacher asked, shrugging. “He’s some R&D type, high hitting. He makes deals and gets the gear, and we’ve been fortunate enough to have him give us some of this equipment.”

“That’s… a lot more information than I’d expect you to give me,” Kraber admitted.

Preacher chuckled. “I didn’t give you his name. Even if I did, I doubt his position is so fragile that one man who’s currently running under a false name for fear of probably having that rather excessive bounty collected on would run to tell on him. Wouldn’t you say?”

“I would say,” Kraber agreed. “Besides, if he’s in R&D, he’s probably in a city with lots of PHL. I’m not going within a mile of one of those places if I can fokking help it.”

“... and in retrospect that is the funniest thing I said all week.”

“Not saying much,” Verity points out.

“Most ironic thing?” Kraber suggests.

“That works,” Aegis says, nodding.

“So who is it, anyway?” Verity asks. “Which officer?”

“Fokked if I know,” Kraber shrugs. “Not my business. Besides, if I did know, I wouldn't tell you.”

“That is, perhaps, a wise position to take,” Preacher said with a shrug. He glanced at Amber and Rivet. “I believe your young friends are concerned about you.”

Kraber considered that. Ponies, foals… being concerned. Caring about him. Children trusting him. Nice change of pace. “I think they might be. Better head back.”

“You’ve certainly changed from the man who we threw out,” Preacher said as they walked back. “It almost makes me wonder if what you told me about having too much was true.”

“Well, we both oversimplified some things,” Kraber said. “All you need to know?” He looked around to make sure nobody was listening. “Lovikov had us do… y’know. A checkpoint.”

Preacher nodded. “I… see. Extortion.” He shook his head.

“Ja,” Kraber nodded. “But does shooting a man’s car up for no reason, stripping it of everything, killing the occupant, and leaving some kids orphaned count as extortion? Because Lovikov did that. And if I hadn’t just broken the fok down at that car trunk, I would’ve done it because he would’ve fokkin’ told me to do it.”

Preacher blanched. “Dear Lord, we should have come here from the start. Maxi said as much.”

Kraber nodded. “Aweh. It’s bad up here, and I could sleep drunk and happy knowing you were killing everyone in camp with smiles on your fokkin’ faces.”

“You know that’s not how we operate,” Preacher said.

“I know,” Kraber said. “But. I also know someone has to kill the fokkin’ varknaaiers before there’s a town burning to the ground, people lined up against walls and living hand-to-mouth in conditions that make this-” he swept his arm around, gesturing to the vaguely organized squalor that surrounded them- “look like fokkin’ prewar.”

“Are you sure that’d happen?” Preacher asked. “There’s enough PHL military presence here I don’t feel safe myself.”

“There’s people that’d want that just to spite the PHL,” Kraber said. “Guns taken, forced to depend on kontgesigs that’d soon as shoot them for the sheer fokkin’ hell of it as protect them. Not standing for that kak. Not. Anymore.”

Preacher nodded slowly.

“But… the thing you need to know about the checkpoint, is that… Say, have you heard of this? Up by Berlin, New Hampshire bit north of Milan, along the Androscoggin, some HLF guy doesn’t kill a mother and foal? Reavers hear a lot of things. I know that much.”

“We’ve heard tell of an HLF man letting ponies escape, yes,” Preacher nodded. “I also heard tell of a man with a rather impressively advanced weapon taking on a super Newfoal with only another unicorn as backup, but that’s something of an urban myth. You wouldn’t know anything about that, though, would y-?”

“Yeah, that was me,” Kraber said. “Both counts.”

“I am hardly surprised,” Preacher chuckled. “Well, Mr Francis, I can’t say you’ve not made your mark. Many things you were during your time with us, but hardly a dull character.”

“Well, that is the closest thing I’ve recieved to a compliment in a long time,” Kraber said. “it’s been… interesting, Preacher. But I have foals to-”

“Oh, hey Preacher, what’s up?” Johnny C asked, wearing his PHL-augmented National Guard armor, Fiddlesticks trotting behind. “See you’ve met Mr. Francis Strang. Didn’t know you two, y’know, knew each other.”

“I knew all the Reavers, living and otherwise,” Preacher said quietly. “Six hundred and ninety nine come under that second count. Mr… Strang was something of a problem case while he was with us, but it’s good to see he’s finally made something of himself. Threats of GBH aside.” He gave Francis a pointed look, and he had the decency to look abashed. “I’d hoped it’d happen, but here, with ponies… some things beggar belief.”

“What’d he do?” Fiddlesticks asked.

“He ended up foalsitting,” Preacher said. “Obviously.” He cast a knowing glance over to Kraber Francis Strang. “Tell me, would you be up for a drink before I see to my business?”

He took a small flask out, holding it up with a knowing smile. Kraber Francis raised an eyebrow - among Reavers, offering a drink of that stuff was a mark of respect, one he had hardly expected to ever receive from a Reaver again.

“Ah, what the hell. Why not,” Francis shrugged.

“Well, if we’re holding out mysterious liquids, here,” Fiddlesticks said, reaching into one of her saddlebags and pulling out a brown plastic bottle. “Tapped it ourselves over the winter.”

“‘You have your poison, I have mine?’” Johnny C asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I feel safe in presuming yours is not as… unpleasant as mine,” Preacher said with a wry grin, before taking a swig and handing the flask to Francis. The slight grimace was one of a man used to a foul taste.

Francis gulped his flask down. “Still tastes awful… But then, I’ve had every kind of rotgut on the east coast, so I’ve had worse.”

“Lord above,” Preacher sighed. He took the flask back and screwed his top on, before sighing. “Do me a favour, though, Francis. You didn’t know them - the Kraken Grenadiers, the Redstripes, Rickard, Soren… but you knew of them. And you know us.” He sighed. “Dare I ask - don’t forget us, when it all ends, one way or another. When they write their histories, don't forget any of us.” Before Francis could reply, Preacher turned and sighed. “So, Mr Heald. Syrup?”

Johnny C and Fiddlesticks nodded.

“Mmmhmm,” Fiddlesticks said. “No additives, preservatives, what have ya… an’ a little earth pony magic. Tell the kids I worked hard on it.”

“They’ll certainly appreciate it,” Preacher said with a smile. “Oh, and Joe says to thank you for the dress - his daughter looks lovely in it.”

“He still just callin’ her ‘the Kid’?” Johnny C asked.

“Ah, yes,” Preacher said with a chuckle. “Joseph Rither is many things, God bless him, but a man of imagination is possibly not one of those things.”

“Some things never change,” Johnny C said. “But… y’know, I heard Mr. Francis say things are getting bad around here.”

“Are they?” Preacher asked.

“They are,” Fiddlesticks confirmed. “Two PER bombings in the last week. Nny’s cousin’s dealing with the second one.”

“I stopped the first one,” Francis said. “Well. I helped.”

“And your list of pleasant surprises for me grows,” Preacher chuckled. He sobered slightly. “I would ask if you’d like me to ask Maxi to send some people, but somehow, I doubt they’d be a welcome sight.”

“I was thinking more… someone to keep an eye on things,” Johnny C said. “I mean, look at me. I’m not exactly inconspicuous. I’m singing on stage later, for God’s sake.”

“Neither are most of our people,” Preacher said. “And Maxi stopped sending lone scouts for the most part when the PHL shot Wolfgang. Still, I can ask for nothing - he’s always valued my opinion.”

“See what you can do,” Fiddlesticks said. “Cause… well, no matter what, we do value your opinion.”

Preacher smiled. “Appreciated. If you see a jeep with some chaps in Armacham armour around, you know who we are. And if someone’s head conveniently explodes near you when you need it most… well, then you know who we are.”

“...I don’t know, I see people’s heads exploding a lot,” Francis said. “Even cause some of it now and then.”

“You’ll know when it’s us,” Preacher said. “Right, Mr Heald, Ms Fiddlesticks, shall we go confer with my driver? I think Erin is probably getting antsy by now…”

“Come on, there’s no reason for her to be that paranoid,” Fiddlesticks sighed. “This is Vermont.”

“Wolfgang would disagree about paranoia, I think,” Preacher said. “And with all due respect, you’re not the one with bounties on your heads.”

“He has a point on that last one,” Francis admitted. “Anyway… I’m heading back to watch the foals. Nny, where’s Aegis?”

“Lessons with Nkiruka,” Fiddlesticks groaned, one hoof to her face.

“Now? Seriously? It’s about tae start!” Francis groaned. “His foals want him here.”

“You know how Aegis gets,” Fiddlesticks said. “Maybe you could bring them over to the roundhouse. Talk some sense into him.”

Aegis wheezed out, fur dripping through his fur.

A common misconception about Zebrica was that it was all deserts.

This was not even remotely true. There were plenty of forests all over the country. Zebras, particularly shamans, dibia like Zecora of Ponyville (who now worked in PHL greenhouses on most definitely harmless projects)-

Verity snorts in disgust, and gazes around, mortified and just how horselike she sounds.

“I’m sorry about what happened to you,” Yael says.

“I’m sorry for laughing,” Kraber adds.

“I’m not,” Vinyl said.

“Why would you laugh?” Yael asks.

“Because it’s ironic,” Kraber explains.

“He’s got you there,” Heliotrope says.

“Mmm, true that,” Vinyl says.

“I said ironic, not funny,” Kraber said.

“One day, you’re going to be surrounded by people who hate everything you stood for and laugh at your pain,” Verity says.

“What? Again?” Kraber asks. “Twice was enough. It was awful.”

She snorts. “Yeah? Well, you’ve got a better deal than me. Fuck you, and fuck the dice gods while I’m at it.”

Anyway, zebra dibias, medicinemen… medicinemares… medicinezeb…

"Trouble with tenses there, Aegis?

"Yes…”

"Just go with ‘Medicinezebras.’ “

"Thanks, Vi.”

...Medicinezebras that used herbs and the power of God to heal their patients, enjoyed the forest. It was an excellent place to grow medicinal herbs, you would be surrounded by nature, and the trees were shady, making it very relaxing.

As such, Nkiruka had taken the space behind the old roundhouse for herself. This being what some would call a brownfield, a chemically polluted area of land, some would call it stupid. But Nkiruka, through her talents, had been working her magic on the land. She’d built a home out of one of the shipping containers, and if Aegis looked closely, he could just make out the buffers against one of the flatbed railcars through the trees. According to Rachel, they’d use those flatbeds and an assortment of refurbished locomotives to pack up the base and leave at Barrierfall. He could see the town through the woods, too.

Still, in between two towns in two different states, alongside a river, it made a passable oasis.

The lights and the clotheslines strung with ikenga charms above the shipping container were against regulations, somewhat. They’d be hellish to pack up, as would be the canopy extending outwards from the container.

The bottles stacked on the cheap patio furniture under said canopy, however, probably would not be hell to pack up. This was because they were labeled ‘Nuka-Cola’ and that shit is delicious.

Could really go for one, Aegis thought, panting.

From what Nkiruka had told him, zebra magic wasn’t too complex. Every being of Equus had magic - it was a part of them and their planet. Earth ponies and zebras didn’t have horns to superconduct a planet’s latent thaums, or wings to glide on them like pegasi.

What they could do was serve as conduits.

At the moment, Aegis was trying be a conduit between earth’s thaums and a small pear tree Nkiruka was trying to grow. It was exhausting - like learning to use a new muscle. Soon (in theory) he’d be able to raise trees.

Provide for his foals. Defend them with his life. Make sure they had the best damn life possible even here. Even now.

At the moment, Aegis could not even do that for a pear tree. He was staring at it, wishing desperately he had what humans had called psionics. There was a roaring tempest beneath his hooves. He was channeling his magic, pouring his heart and soul into the earth, begging for it to do something!

Come forth, thaums! Imbue this tree with life so I can give my foals the most delicious of pears!

Aegis burst out into wheezing giggling at the thought of that. Then he coughed. Aegis could feel the earth roiling beneath his hooves.

There was so much below him. It was like he was standing above a reservoir of energy, a veritable typhoon. If magic came from the soul, then all those scientists - scientific racists, pseudoscientists, more like - had their heads so far up their flanks they were at risk of imploding into a black hole.

First off, humans were no more soulless than him. Second, there was magic on earth. You just needed to know where to look.

Aegis stared at it like a unicorn might grasp an object. Gazpacho, from over at Linda’s pub, had told Aegis he focused on objects with his eyes, and imagined himself using his eyes to pick them up. It was the horn, of course it was, but his horn was close enough to his eyes that it didn’t matter.

Aegis did not have a horn. So he imagined a path directly from where his hooves met the earth. Imagined a system of roots spreading from the keratin, probing into a leyline.

Come on Aegis half-thought, half-grunted. “Can do this.”

He imagined touching the plant. There was so much energy thrumming through his body. It felt uncomfortable, his body felt like it was shaking from this Power. He could feel his hooves hurting. He could feel something like a fire in his throat.

He could feel it!

“Let the energy out,” Nkiruka said softly. “Do it now.”

So much power! SO MUCH RUSHED THROUGH THE EARTH BELOW HIM, HE COULD DO THIS, HE COULD WIN! HE COULD PROTECT HIS CHILDREN, HE’D NEER WORRY, AND HE’D BE HAPPY, HAPPY AT LA-

And then Aegis farted.

“...Good?” Nkiruka asked, uncertain. “Not quite what I meant.”

Aegis sighed, and resumed.

Animate it. Make it dance.

“Mr. Aegis,” Nkiruka said. “I believe you need a rest. All this work in your state, when tired, is not for the best…”

“Can do it,” Aegis wheezed.

“Mr Aegis, you seem overstretched,” Nkiruka said. “Continuing as you do might leave you quite wretched.”

“That… was… terrible,” Aegis coughed.

Preacher stepped out, waving at Erin - the girl was sat in her jeep, looking oddly incongruous in her armour. He took out his phone, frowning at it slightly.

Worth doing? he wondered. Wolfgang Brennan had been shot by PHL for the crime of existing: Preacher had spoken to his brother Heinrich about the whole thing. The two had been scouting near the site of a PER attack, and an overzealous PHL guard had found them and, upon realising who they were, shot at them. Heinrich had escaped with a graze.

Wolfgang hadn't escaped at all.

Their ‘backer’ had pulled strings and got the body returned to the Reavers where it belonged, but it had been a solemn reminder that - as much as most of them wanted to help - they weren't wanted out here. The well, as many of their members had said, was poisoned, and they were better staying away and staying safe. They had focused on putting Bastion together, focused on other things, and only Yarrow’s best men - Preacher himself, Erin, Preston, Theo and Idle - were allowed out scouting anymore. The PHL wouldn’t do this for them.

But then, Preacher thought. We’re not them, are we?

Still.

He pulled his phone out and started to text.

PER in Vermont and New Hampshire area. Threat to friends. Two attacks recently. Requested any help we can offer. TR.

After a moment, a reply buzzed back.

They need our help?

Preacher typed his reply.

They ASKED.

There was a long pause, and Preacher wondered whether the other man was thinking it over, or whether he was just wondering how best to say no. After another moment, the reply came.

It must be bad. Safe for deployment?

Preacher clucked his tongue, wondering whether he should be honest or lie. Then he dismissed that idea - Yarrow trusted him. Lying would jeopardise that trust, and he was a leader Preacher respected, unlike many (well, since the last of the old Sternguard had been killed off and the Redstripes and Kraken Grenadiers folded in, all) other HLF.

Uncertain. PHL presence in area. Possibility of ravenous wolves and mad dogs. High risk.

He paused before sending, hoping the response would be a favourable one. Finally the text came back.

Vermont area being scouted by JI.

He looking at Bowen?

She thinks she’s being a reformist, but she insults us so often I think it’s a verbal tic. Still, he’s not too far. Will dispatch Odinson group to back him up. Their lives on your head.

Preacher sighed, but he felt a wash of relief.

Understood. YfV.

Putting the phone away, Preacher hoped that he'd done a good thing today. He guessed it was all in God’s hands now.

“Dad promised to be there,” Rivet sighed.

“Well, then I’ll convince him tae fulfill that,” Francis said as they headed over the river. The PHL and ASF had built this bridge from their roundhouse to the other side of the river. According to Amber, some people had questioned the bridge’s usefulnesss, but payment was payment. Be it money or rations.

The sun was beginning to set, and yet another train was clattering along the nearby railroad bridge. The wind whistled against Francis’ hair, and Amber and Rivet’s manes. There was an appreciable amount of traffic - that side of town was a short walk from the Main Street Museum, and government-enforced rationing discouraged driving such short distances. It was the whole spectrum of people that the three of them were flowing past on their way to find Aegis.

There was a steady babble European and African languages that Francis couldn’t help but hear.

And plenty of ponies as well. Earth pony farmers and workponies like Aegis who must’ve been tired from long days. One unicorn stallion, not quite as large as Aegis, had a filly bouncing in his back. Pegasi were flittering overhead.

And was that….

“A pony made of crystal?” Kraber Francis asked, confused. There was, indeed, a crystalline pony walking along the bridge nearby, clad in an old Homestuck hoodie.

“Oh, that’s Brighthoof,” Amber explained.

“Hi,” Brighthoof said, waving over at them. She had an odd accent, somewhat more formal, a little stilted. Like Nny’s vaguely, lazily southern accent, like the place where a British accent was starting to run into a Southern American one. Like from South Carolina. Kraber Francis had been there before. “I… I’m used to th’ stares.”

“Dinnae make it right,” Francis said. “Ah nivir thoat ah’d meet a crystal pony. Thoat they wis just stories.”

“Where have you been?” Brighthoof asked.

“...Naewhere good,” Francis said.

“Ignore it,” Rivet sighed. “He’s always conveniently dodging questions and giving vague answers.”

“Because the actual answers are awful,” Francis said.

“Fair enough,” Amber admitted. “Have you seen dad?”

“Yeah,” Brighthoof said. “He’s over with Nkiruka. Trying to do zebra magic. I think he wants to impale newfoals on tree roots or something.”

“...Does it even work that way?” Amber asked. “I mean, I know Nkiruka, I’ve met Basimah from over in Portland, and that doesn’t really seem… y’know… possible.”

“Who knows,” Brighthoof shrugged. “Either way, he’s devoted, I’ll give him that. He better get back soon, though. Or he’ll miss the better parts of that block party.”

“Why do you think we’re trying to find him?” Kraber Francis asked.

“....Oh,” Brighthoof said, nodding a little. “You three go and find him. He’s just pouring out thaums, Amber, it’s not going to end well.”

“...Is he going to explode?” Francis asked uneasily.

“No, he’ll just be really tired and sick,” Brighthoof said. “He’s not going to really be hurt-”

“We’ll be hurt!” Rivet interrupted. “Emotionally.”

“Wait, why didn’t you say anything?” Amber asked, confused.

“I was going to,” Brighthoof said. “But… I think it’s for the best if I head off with the three of you.”

She gestured to the narrow spit of forest along the east side of the river with one foreleg. Near West Lebanon. Near the roundhouse that had become a PHL building, meant to administrate this transportation artery.

Anything could come through here. Anyone.

“Ah, why not,” Francis said.

Brighthoof cast a curious eye, one that shone like a ruby and almost seemed to glow over the tall, lanky scottish stranger. “Mr. Strang?” she asked. She looked…

Grateful?!

Francis Kraber’s mind reeled for a second. A pony, grateful. Happy to see him. Safe. It was a rare experience, and so far he’d had it only…

He counted. Maybe once in Agua Caliente, Rime Ice… I wonder how he’s doing after it was my fault, my fokkin’ fault he got bliksemed, maybe Caduceus, those people from the Sorghum, Nebula… Aegis and all that lot who are my new chommies…

He looked down at Amber Maple and Rivet. So small, so tiny… so cute! and for all the world, not all too different from children. Just tiny horses, or, well, foals. That weren’t zombies or fokkin’ Celestia Jugend, just children.

Aweh, by the standards of the last week or so, it wasn’t all that uncommon, but by the standards of his fokkin’ wasted excuse of a life, it was pretty fokkin’ kwaai.

“Whit’s tha’ look fir?” Kraber Francis asked, curious.

“I’ve heard good things about you is all,” Brighthoof said. “People say you’re…” she held one crystalline foreleg up to an equally crystalline face. “Dependable. We had three military-”

“Three?” Kraber Francis asked.

“Dad’s military,” Amber explained. “Not very high-ranking, though. Most ponies outside Equestria are. Unless they’re out in the wilderness and just want to be left alone.”

“I can respect that,” Francis said. “Wanting to be left alone.”

“Who wouldn’t? Just get away from all this...” Brighthoof asked, earning a shocked glare from Rivet.

“I wouldn’t,” Rivet sulked, looking down through the bars of the bridge. Which, some fatherly instinct left in Francis’ mind noted, were thankfully too thin for him to go through. Thank God!

“Keep away from the side of the bridge,” Francis said. “Ah ken ya’d have tae try pretty hard tae git through those bars, but it’s makin’ me nervous.”

“Okay,” Rivet said, practically beaming up at Francis as he trotted a little further into the bridge, closer to his sister.

Amber flashed Kraber Francis a worried look. What was that about?

“Wha-” Francis asked.

“Later,” Amber said, as they neared the edge of the bridge. “The forest is coming up.” She pointed with one foreleg.

“Not much ay a forest,” Francis said, a little skeptical.

“Well, it’s the closest thing for awhile,” Rivet said.

They were both right. It was more like a narrow spit of overgrowth. There were buildings in the middle, like PHL R&D, but nobody really wanted to do anything there. It’d require too much work to do anything there, so the overgrowth remained.

Thanks to close proximity to both the PHL building and Lebanon’s airport, the overgrowth was used for plenty of things. More often than not, it seemed that PHL or anyone working with them would use it to relax. This was why the trees had been strung up with weird, recycled lights. They were all made of recycled glass, either jars or bottles, and they glowed in all the colors of the rainbow in the late-afternoon shade. A small plot of Equestrian plants, lightly glowing pink in the late-day shade that you could mistake for nighttime, sat nearby.

They headed down the river, southwards, towards the hut where Nkiruka made her home. The rainbow-colored lights gave an eerie cast to the shadows between everything, but it was…

Lekker, Kraber Francis thought. Things seemed to flitter between the trees. Weird flashes of light and shadow that could have been the branches moving. Or could they?

Victory was trotting through the bushes nearby. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked. Almost wistful. “When Barrierfall comes, this’ll remain. You won’t.

Huh?

“You really think that you’ll be safe, don’t you?” Victory asked. “Look. Something like that other you, something like me… we’re inevitable. Just make sure it’s me, yeah?

Jy is vol kak, Kraber thought. We already went over this! I did a Gurren Lagann reference and everything!

‘You want to bet on that,’ the Dark Kraber said, looming over them.

“...Is something weird about that tree?” Amber asked, pointing to the space where the Dark Kraber was standing.

“Kind of?” Francis Kraber asked. “Let’s just ignore it. We’re looking fir yuir da, nowt playin’ manhunt.”

You know that you can’t ignore me forever, the Dark Kraber said.

Why not? Kraber thought, an irritated look in his eyes. ‘You ignore you all the time. And Ek is siek en sat van sy nonsens. Saying I’ve ‘Forgotten.’ He flicked an eye to the unfamiliar pistol at the Dark Kraber’s hip. ‘How does that old saying go?. I do not shoot with my hand; he who shoots with his hand has forgotten the face of his fa-”

I remember his face perfectly we-

“Stop that,” someone snapped. “All of you. Even one such as him deserves a moment’s peace.”

The Dark Kraber promptly shut up. For a moment the armoured figure simply stood, looking almost indecisive, then he vanished.

“Ha!” Victory laughed. “I thought he'd never -!”

“I was talking to you too,” the voice said sternly. “Go. Away.”

Without even having a chance to react, Victory vanished too.

“Hmmm?” Brighthoof asked, clearly more confused than anything. Her eyes seemed to glow. “I can… I can…”

“Can you see them?” someone unfamiliar asked.

“Good question,” Brighthoof said. “I could sure as Tartarus see something around, but…”

“It’s for the best that you didn’t, then.”

They could see an albino mare sitting at a table in between two trees. It was a shadowy little nook, one that you could have missed if you didn’t look hard enough.

“Shades of shades,” she said, sighing. “Not worth your time.”

“Sooooo…” Amber said, head cocked to the side, “Do you mean the trees, or…”

“No,” the albino said. “In any case, they’re gone now. They won’t bother your friend for awhile.”

“Mr. Francis is haunted?” Rivet yelped. “That’s… really cool, actually!”

“In a word, yes,” the albino said. “He is haunted, but I doubt he is so… enthusiastic about it.”

“Who would?” Brighthoof asked. “You don’t want to bother with ghosts, trust me.”

“Trust me,” Francis said, abruptly finding himself saying: “It’s not cool. They’re fokkin’ assholes. It’s all ‘The only way out of the pain is through a bullet in your head! Your body is the anchor keeping your from flying! Over the stars!!’ And then if I die, I’ll say ‘This isn't pleasant... I'd rather not be dead... Don't want to die... Don't... Geez... This is worse than goth poetry... Agg…’"

“Actually, I believe you’d make a gurgling noise,” the albino said.

Why do I keep thinking of her as an albion? Kraber wondered. “What, really? Ah, crap. I always wanted those to be my last words. That, or go out playing ‘The Light Depondent’ at full blast while apologizing.”

He squinted at the albino. She looked to be playing a game of chess. There was no visible other player. Whatever cutie mark she might have had didn’t show up against the pale fur unless you really squinted to see the discolouration, and in this weird, algae-lit sunset, you were lucky if you could make out as much as a discoloration. Her mane was long, tied back into a ponytail (ha ha, there was irony) and she wore a loose white robe. The strangest thing was the small sword at her side, golden-hilted and set with a small jewel in the center of the pommel. It was impossible to tell what would be able to hold the sword. Mouth? Horn? It was hard to tell if she had the latter, on account of a thick mane.

“You’re a stranger,” Brighthoof said. Matter-of-factly.

“Aren’t most of us?” The albion - no, albino - asked. “None of us are native to this world. We’re strange to everyone else. Pony, human, zebra, diamond dog, all others that are.”

The albino had a point. ‘Strange’ was relative here. Everywhere had played host to odd drifters. Nobody had questioned a strange, lanky scotsman with no past, a poor shave, military training, a mysterious duffel bag, and skill at cooking shrimp and grits walking into town and shooting up PER. Nobody really batted an eye at Johnny C for long.

“Fair enough,” Brighthoof said. “But I don’t mean that. I mean, I can feel there’s something odd in you. Something otherworldly.”

“I’m just a passerby,” the albino said innocently.

Maybe the weirdest thing of all was that she looked familiar. Not in a way Francis could place. But something about her - something about her tics. Her eyes. Her fur. The, the cadence of her voice. Something about that felt like a fragment of something half-remembered from awhile ago.

Kraber Francis brushed it off. Somehow, it seemed unlikely he’d get any satisfactory answers. This is why Aegis is a real china, he thought. He’s fokkin… honest.

The irony of that sentence crashed down on him. Note to self: Never tell that to anyone else, you lying fokkin’ kontgesig.

“Scuse me,” Rivet said, with the well-meaning social obliviousness of a child, “But have you seen a large pony! Looks big as a small horse, kinda whitish-tan fur, wears goggles? He’s got purple eyes, wears a red bandanna?”

“Rivet!” Brighthoof hissed.

“Sure,” the Albino said. “He’s over there, Rivet.”

“How did you know that?” Amber asked, suspiciously. “Are you… I don’t know, creeping on us?”

“No, I’ve just been around,” the Albino said. “Much like your friend, Mr Francis.”

Kraber Francis’ skin crawled at the edge she put on his assumed name. She knew. She fokkin’ knew!

His heart was pounding. Who was she? The sister of one of the people he’d killed? At the end of it all, he’d killed more PHL than he’d like. Not as many PER as he’d like, as evidenced by Shieldwall not being dead yet. Still, he’d fired at least one of the shots that left Catseye to die death by exsanguination, so there’d been that.

Focus.

He’d killed PHL in Vermont not even two weeks ago.

He knew what he’d fokkin’ well done.

“I knew this day would come,” he sighed, the calm of his voice, his natural accent showing through. Amber looked up at him, alarmed. “Can’t blame someone for wanting me dead. I probably deserve it, anyway.”

“Okay, now I know you’re screwed up,” Amber said to the Albino. “Mr. Francis, what, what’re you…”

“How’d you know Mr. Francis?” Rivet asked, confused.

“I could have used my mysterious cosmic powers,” the mare said quietly, not looking at the three of them. “Or alternatively -” She cracked a smile. “I could have just read a newspaper. Forgive me for not using your real name. You don’t like it - and I don’t like lying.”

Kraber Francis blinked. “Wait, do you -?”

“It doesn’t matter,” the mare said softly. She was looking up at the sky, now, her red eyes wide and full of… what could only be described as conflicting emotions.

“What are you doing?” Kraber asked, frowning at her.

“Looking at the sky,” she replied. “I’ve seen the sky before of course, but I haven’t. There’s other worlds than these, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Kraber said. “Equestria for one.”

“You would know,” the Albino said with a grin.

Kraber frowned slightly, confused. "What do you mean?"

The Albino shrugged. “The multiverse… it’s an infinitely confusing place. If there’s a possibility for our choices, do our choices matter? Do our choices create the divergence, or does divergence simply breed choice?"

Kraber went slightly cold. "What do you know about the multiverse?"

She smiled slightly. "Probably a great deal more than you do."

"How do you know I know anything?" Kraber asked.

"Apart from the fact that you asked?" the Albino asked. "I know you." At Kraber Francis' sudden scowl, she smiled. "There’s many places the events that led you here have happened. This is not the first, nor will it be the last. Much as such things matter. But that it all continues, that so much can, will, and has happen… there’s beauty in that.”

“...Francis, what’s going on?” Amber asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Good question,” Kraber Francis said. “Nae fokkin clue.”

“Buuuut… but she’s talking like she knows you,” Amber said, clearly expecting an answer. There was an edge to the beginning of that sentence.

“Is this normal for you?” Brighthoof asked.

“How the fok would I be in a place to decide normal?” Kraber asked. “Something surreal and horrifying happens to me all the time.”

“Of course,” a voice said from behind Kraber, and he turned to see a man in an incongruously white suit, a little badge - a Star Trek badge of all things - on his lapel, “our choices matter on the linear level. And ultimately the philosophical debate does nothing at all.”

Kraber turned back to the mare, only to see that she wasn’t there. He frowned, turned back to the man - but he was gone too.

“Wait… what?” Rivet yelped, staggering back, all hooves whipping back at full throttle.

“Confusion is understandable,” a different voice said quietly. Kraber looked up again, and another mare, blue with a white and blue mane, was looking sadly at the sky herself. “I’m confused myself.”

“I hate my life so much sometimes,” Amber muttered.

“I feel your pain,” Kraber said, nodding.

“I see it all,” another voice added, and a young woman sat on a porch step. “I see all of the suffering around me, and I know it could be ended in one wave of His hand… but then, He never would. He has not said it, not to me, nor would he - but He does not need to.”

“Perhaps it is choice,” another voice said, belonging to a dark haired, bearded man in a white trenchcoat, arms folded as he stared at a rock. “Perhaps for choices to exist, there can be no guiding hand. Or perhaps it is a game and He is watching for the outcome.”

Kraber looked around. “Who… the fok... are you? What are you?”

And the Albino was staring at the sky again. “Ask me who I was.”

“...Jacob Marley?!” Amber asked, shuddering. “My dad? Lyra Heartstrings?”

“The last two are at least partly correct,” she said with a smile. “I could even look like her if I wanted. Although I doubt seeing her would be wise.”

“Why?” Amber asked.

“Meeting your heroes almost always disappoints you - or them. Or both,” the Albino said. She looked at Francis and smiled. “Good people are my purview and my parts, my fathers and mothers, my memories and my faces.”

“So you're… like a gestalt?” Francis asked, his blood running cold.

“If you like,” the Albino said. “I am the sum of good people. Many good people. Maybe you knew some. Oddly enough, you’ve never been one.”

“A good person?”

“Oh, that you’ve been - I mean, you’ve never been me. An infinity of infinities, and none of you became me. You’ve never been the sort to give any regard to destiny. Which is admirable. If someone told you it was your fate to be ponified, you’d threaten to… ‘rip off their head and piss in their skull’.”

“It’s true,” Francis said, nodding. “I would do that.”

“...I’m confused,” Amber said.

“Preachin’ tae the choir,” Francis said, nodding slowly.

“Everyone is,” the Albino said simply. “It’s strange though - you’re everywhere, and yet you are so rarely the man who ends the game. Perhaps that is your purpose - to remind us that the game is not the whole game. That even the pawns, the bishops, the rooks… the knights… have their place. Gods and monsters all around, Sun Tyrants, puppeteers, and you’re the human face. Or, alternatively… maybe you just are, and we should not try to explain it.” She smiled. “It does not matter either way.”

“It didn’t seem important, did it?” Kraber asked.

“Everything and nothing is,” she said. “Because everything is, nothing is. And because nothing is… everything is.”

“... did you just come here to spew this philosophical kak?” he asked. “Because it really, really makes no sense. Still… it’s kind of relaxing in a way.”

She shrugged. “I came here to see. To knock on the sky and listen to the sound, and other well-meaning cliches. I have, unfortunately, a lot to do.”

“Don’t we all?” Kraber asked.

“Perhaps. I don’t know what you’ll do, but… you have a lot of work ahead. At least another ten chapters, and that's this arc alone - it has to be said, there's a lot to say. That’s at least one constant,” she said. “By the way, my little ponies. Your father is down a little ways south. He is attempting to use zebra magic.” She smiled. “Remember you soon.”

There was a train rattling by, a flurry of shadows and tympani of wheels on rail, and in that moment, the albino walked behind a tree.

Rivet trotted around to the other side, scratching the back of his head with one foreleg. “What the crap was that?!”

“I have noooooo fokkin’ idea,” Francis said, as they headed through the trees, along the river.

“Did you… did you know them?” Amber asked.

“Yeah, she talked like she knew you,” Brighthoof said. “They were… they were weird.”

“Ah’ve nivir seen any of them in my life,” Francis said.

“Weird,” Brighthoof repeated, as they headed down the pathway.

Coming up here was Nkiruka’s hut. In the middle of...

Plants. So. Many. Plants. Francis wouldn’t have guessed you could fit this much into such a small place. This made the previous jungle of plants look like the great plains. Fruits and flowers burst from every tree, some of which wouldae looked at home back at home in Cape Town, luscious greens and purples and blues, oh he’d have so much fun back there in a botanical garden. Some of the fruits even seemed to glow.

“Yeah,” Rivet said. “Nkiruka grows a lot of Equestrian plants, and…” he cast a quizzical eye over at Francis. “You’re not worried?”

“I’ve been near a lot of magic,” Francis said. “I don’t think it could make things worse than they already are, and… it’s just not scientific. If magic really did hurt us that bad, things would be way fokkin’ worse for you.”

“Ah,” Brighthoof said, nodding, her translucent, almost crystalline fur shimmering. “Then we’d apparently be disease carriers. Which’d mean…” she paled, and for a second Francis thought she’d gone invisible. “No. Let’s not think about that, my little ponies.”

“Agreed,” Amber said, looking kinda sick. “Miss Nkiruka!” She called. “We’re here for Dad. He… needs some time to relax.

“There is no need for you to shout,” said a zebra, trotting up. Her mane was a deep coal-black, a mohawk interwoven with golden jewelry. Her eyes were a deep green. Francis had seen her in a few photos in Aegis’ house.

Presumably, this was Nkiruka. He’d never actually seen her.

“I heard you all before you called out,” she said. There was an odd lilt to her voice. Like some of the people Francis Kraber had known back in the old neighborhood of Zonnebloem that had once been called District 6, the ones that had moved back in when he was seven. The ones that Paul Kraber had taken little Viktor, Nelius, Lauw, and Tania to see off in the shit housing developments they’d been relocated to, after leaving Cousin Richard and Helen to guard the house. After-

stop.

That is the past. That. Is. Not. Me. Ah’m Francis Strang. Naebody else.

“Where’s dad?” Rivet asked. There was an… an edge to his voice. Francis didn’t like it.

“Over there, by the leaves that hang,” Nkiruka said, pointing to the other side of her hut. “Do I presume your are the one who calls himself Strang?” She asked, looking up at Francis.

“...Calls myself Strang?” Kraber asked. “I… I am Francis. That’s…”

“I do not know what you’ve gotten into your head,” Nkiruka said, walking around to the other side of the shipping container, beckoning to the four of them with one foreleg. “But mark these words: I know what I said.”

Goddammit, does everyone fokkin’ know? Kraber thought. And as they turned the corner, passing by the

Aegis, on the other hand, or hoof as it was, did not know what he was doing.

He was staring intently at a small sapling sprouting from the ground before his forelegs. He seemed almost rooted to the ground, strange cracks spreading around where his hooves met earth.

“Say, Nkiruka,” Brighthoof said. “Can you… we just ran into two strangers. Can you… who… They acted like they knew Mr. Francis here, but...”

“I have no fokkin’ clue what happened,” Francis said bluntly.

“There are strangers all around,” Nkiruka said. “You must be more specific who you found.”

“Whae found us,” Francis corrected. “There wis a mare so pale ah couldnae see her cutie mark, wearin a robe ay some kind. “

“Ah,” Nkiruka said. “I have seen her before. But information on her? I only find it in the obscurest of lore. I know only that there are other worlds, that she is a traveler. She was part of some tale that was written of old, but the trail of that story, alas, has gone cold. Only one thing should you keep in mind - this pale mare is not of mere pony kind.”

...This is still so fokkin’ weird Francis Kraber thought. Talking zebras with magic that make a nice herbal remedy, talking ponies… am I going bosbefok? He thought on the irony of that. Wait, no, that’s kak. I’ve already been bosbefok, and it was fokkin’ awful! I think I’m just going sane in a crazy world. That makes much more sense.

As they were discussing this, Amber and Rivet were heading over to their dad, and Francis gasped at the sight.

He was under some tall, sloping trees with thick, overhanging branches that practically blocked out the sun. Nkiruka had hung glass jars full of some odd lights from Equus, in blue, pink, and green. They weren’t doing Aegis’ complexion any favors.

The big stallion looked intensely unhealthy, smaller than a stallion his size had any right to be. His white fur was almost yellowed, his ears were drooping, and his eyes were tired. His muscles seemed to sag over his frame, like he didn’t fit in his own body anymore.

“Mate?” Francis asked, uneasy. Something was like ice coursing up his spine. He wanted nothing more than to hold the big stallion in both arms, just sit together under one of the hanging trees with a cold beer, him with a big glass bottle of rotgut from Moonshine and John Peters - you know, the brewer? - and Aegis with a bowl of the same. “You dinnae look good. Like ya need a doaktir.”

The biggest surprise in all this was that it wasn’t. Aegis. Once Claw Hammer. Now he’s my best friend left in the world, Francis Kraber thought. Years ago, he would’ve said that was pathetic. And bliksemed the man who said a damn fokkin’ dof thing like that into a bloody pulp. If he was lucky.

There was an almost selfish pang of joy at the realization that he had a friend now. An honest friend who wouldn’t reach into the darkest depths of what little soul a fokkin’ kontgesig like him had left and pull more awfulness out from deep within.

But it passed with the realization that his friend looked awful.

“Dad,” Amber said, sighing. “I thought you’d be there earlier?”

“I did, but I had to…” Aegis said, staring intently, distractedly, at the sprout. “Had to…”

“Oh no,” Rivet said. “Daaaad…” he sighed, irritated.

He seemed almost dead to the world. Staring down at this tiny little plant. Wait, Kraber Francis thought. I am a doctor. Surgeon, yes, but not... “Mate,” he said. “I learned some medicine. Not much I can dae withoot a medicine cabinet and a prescription, but…”

“You’ll thank me for this later,” Aegis wheezed. Francis could barely hear him. And Amber looked old. More than she had any right to look.

“Well, I’m not feeling thankful now!” Rivet said, a little cross as he looked up at his dad. “The he...ck, dad?!”

“I don’t know what you’re doing,” Francis said, “But it isnae healthy.”

“I was trying zebra magic,” Aegis said.

“He was,” Nkiruka said, nodding. “I’d say he’s rather successful.”

“...Did it go well?” Amber asked, hopefully.

“No it didn’t!” Rivet yelled, his voice little more than a squeak of indignation. “Dad looks dead!”

“Rivet, don’t be like that,” Amber said.

“Why’re you being like that?!” Rivet demanded. “He left us with Mr. Francis this whole ti-”

“Excuse me?” Francis asked, looking down at Rivet.

“Well, you’re… pretty cool, Mr. Francis,” Rivet said.

“And your dad isnae?” Francis asked, quizzically, sarcastically.

“He ignored us when we were supposed to be enjoying the party,” Rivet said. “I’d say no.”

“He’s doing this to protect us!” Amber said. She looked over at Nkiruka, who was lying in a hammock between two trees. “Nkiruka? Did he… is he making progress?”

“What’d you learn?” Nkiruka asked, as Aegis stood, panting.

Aegis looked over at Nkiruka and shrugged slightly. “I thought you were supposed to instruct me or something,” he panted.

“Well, that’s a no,” Nkiruka said, looking over at him. “Your father has learned nothing.”

“You know who else ignored how we felt to keep us safe?” Rivet asked. “Mom.”

Amber gasped. “Rivet!”

Aegis stared over at his son, a tired, unspeakably pissed-off look in his eyes. “Don’t,” he said. “I haven’t. Done. Half. The. Things. She. Has. Don’t compare me to her.”

“But you left us,” Amber said.

“I do that all the time,” Aegis said. “It’s called having a paying job. Amber, Rivet…. I’m doing this for you.”

“...But you were done with the PHL work,” Amber said, confused.

“True, but I don’t have much time to learn zebra magic on the job,” Aegis said. “I don’t like being away from you two very much, but I have to work for you. What if Viktor Kraber comes in, and I can’t get to the assault saddle? I could shatter the earth under him, I could turn the grass into spears and…”

“I think ya could take him,” Kraber Francis said.

“That means… a lot, Mr. Francis,” Aegis said. “Thanks.”

“I know, daddy,” Amber said. “I know you want us safe.”

“...By ignoring us,” Rivet sighed.

“Not helping,” Amber hissed.

“I’m sorry,” Aegis said. “For what I said. I…” he was downcast. “I really am, Amber. Rivet. But… I’m sorry for what I said. I just… I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

He stared at the plant intently. Mentally begging at it, practically screaming at it for it to do anything.

At the sight of watching it fail to obey him, Aegis slumped to one side, wheezing a little.

“Dad!” Amber yelped, galloping over, trying to hold up her father. “Rivet, help…”

Nowhere had Rivet’s resemblance to his father been as apparent as it was there, with Rivet rushing over, trying to prop his father up.

Kraber Francis hung back. This wasn’t for him. Wasn’t his family. Wasn’t…

Keep telling yourself that, he thought, and he walked forward. “Is there something I can do?” he asked, concerned.

“We’ve got it!” Amber called over.

“No, sit, do not worry for the foals,” Nkiruka said, looking over at him as she headed towards her hammock. “Enjoy the cola.”

“I’m more worried about their father at this point,” Francis said, looking at Aegis’ two foals, trying to keep their father from falling over. He seemed almost rooted to the ground, and nothing his foals could do seemed to move him. Then again, even in this state, Aegis was huge and heavy.
“Aegis,” Kraber said. “You only get so much time with your kids.”

Everyone looked to him.

“In a sane world,” Kraber said, “We wouldn’t have to worry. But what you’re doing… isn’t a job. It’s more of a hobby. I did something like that, once - Took more shifts than I should have cause I wanted to provide.” He paused for effect. “Then I woke up unable to move in bed.”

“How…” Rivet asked.

“Then, Kate, ah… had her way with me,” Kraber said.

“Oh my God,” Amber gasped.

“It was a nice…” Kraber’s mouth quirked into a smile. “She called it an un-birthday present. But that was just how Kate was.”

“...Where are you going with this?” Aegis asked.

“The point is… look, what’s going on here isn’t about whether you shoud enjoy time with your kids or get paid,” Kraber said.”It’s about balance. You can learn this… I don’t know, sometime there isn’t a concert. Rivet, you’ll have time with yuir da’. Aegis, you’ll have plenty of time to learn this. Just… not on the day Nny and Fiddlesticks are trying to parody Repo: The Genetic Opera.”

“You’re shitting me,” Aegis said.

“He’s not,” Amber said. “They’re really doing it.”

“Think I can get them to tape i-” Aegis started, only to be met by at least three skeptical looks. “Wait. Why’s Brighthoof here?”

“You didnt sound too good so I went to get help,” Brighthoof said. “Come on, then. I have seen serfs in the crystal empire who got half-portions that looked better than you. You. Need. A. Break. You’re pushing yourself really hard, Claw Hammer.”

“Wait, his real name is…?” Francis said.

“Aegis sounds cooler,” Rivet explained, off-hoofedly.

“It really does. Anyway, it was my alias when I broke into Equestria,” Aegis explained, and somehow this memory seemed to sustain him. “Everyone called me that for protecting the ponies on the Last Ships. Kinda stuck.”

“Huh,” Francis said. “Kw… cool. Anyway, Aegis, I know how it feels to be overstretched with your kids, your job, and the overwhelming anxiety of living in borderline poverty.”

“You? Impoverished?” Brighthoof asked.

“I only have two other sets of clothes,” Francis said. “But you get used tae this sortae thing. Ah wis impoverished till ma finished med school to learn psychology and neurology. It isnae tae different.”

Mom had moved to South Africa from East Berlin, on account of wanting to get as far away from Europe as possible and met his father. He’d been poor before - hell, he’d been born into it after dad lost his job in the Three-Two battalion and didn’t come back quite right until Mom’s lessons in psychology paid off and he found a job as a cop.

With how things had been back then, this wasn’t too different.

“LIke Erika Kraber?” Nkiruka asked. “For the announcement she gave… I almost hate her.”

The surge of white-hot anger from Francis Kraber was overwhelming, and for a second he couldn’t see. His hands were twitching. Something went red-white, that bitch,, that FOKKIN’ HOERKIND, HOW FOKKIN’ DARE SHE INSULT HIS MA-

“But,” Nkiruka said. “Waited is a letter removed from ‘wanted’, and after she said they’d been drunk…”

Okay, cool it. Cool it, Viktor. She meant no fokkin’ offense, he thought. And, to his pleasant surprise, it was his own voice.

How Kraber remembered that awful fokkin’ day. More gesuip than he’d ever been, desperately needing his fokkin’ fix, hands trembling, a sawed-off shotgun in his coat and his hunting rifle on his back, covered in blood, face coated in tears, unidentifiable muck, and viscera. He hadn’t shaved in days. Calling his mother to find out what the tests proved about Cousin Richard, Peter, Anka, and Kate.

The wordless howl of rage he’d made when she’d said there was no coming back and the horrible, awful things he’d done to police, to innocent ponies, civilians, to people that so much as looked at him funny…
STOP

Kraber Francis calmed down the slightest bit. Was… was Aegis staring up at him? Did he know? Did he know?!

“How I hated,” Nkiruka said solemnly. “How I was haunted. So many lives, snuffed out. Not coming back, no doubt. As soon as Catseye, as Reitman called the newfoals better…. ” And the look of sheer raw hatred on her face took even Kraber Francis back. “I knew that moment… I would get her.”

“We did,” Aegis said, nodding weakly, still staring at the plant. “Down in Agua Caliente. I wasn’t… I wasn’t good enough.”

No, Francis decided. He didnae know. That, and I actually saw him there, and he was doing okay, so he doesn’t need to know that. “Look,” he said, finally. “Yuir here. Yuir daein this outae yuir love fae th’ foals. So, you goat plenty right.”

“But he left us alone?” Rivet asked, not quite looking at his dad.

“I was going to come soon,” Aegis said. “When I was done.”

“And when would that be?” Amber asked. “When would that be?”

Aegis didn’t answer.

“Ah didnae spend enough time wi’ my own bairns ‘fore they were ponified,” Francis said. “An’ ah wish like Heaven ah spent more. Jist… nivir write oaf time wi’ th’ bairns at times like this, ken?” He held out a hand.

Aegis looked up at him, eyes suddenly a bit less weary. “Alright.”

“Thinkin’ ay learning like thit, it disnae work well. Only leads tae…” He looked around furtively. “Nah, ya don’t want tae ken.”

“Are you ever going to tell us your past?” Rivet asked.

“You don’t,” Francis said, “Want to know.”

“I’d guess we don’t,” Aegis said, and he stepped out of the depression he made. Weirdly, it seemed like he’d left actual craters where he’d been. Even weirder, the ground seemed to pull at his legs, as if he’d taken root.

“Amber, Rivet,” Aegis said, drawing his two foals into a hug, “I’m sorry for what I said. For being so annoying and irritable. I just…” he shook his head. “I was just…”

“I get it,” Amber said. “I’m not the same when I’m tired. And neither are you, Rivet.”

Rivet gave his sister a Look that practically screamed ‘I am just barely trying to say something sarcastic.’

“I said,” Amber said, nudging her brother with a foreleg, “And neither are you, Rivet.”

“Fine,” Rivet mumbled, almost grudgingly, as he was drawn into his father’s massive forelegs.

“Well don’t just stand there,” Aegis said, looking up at Francis. “You lived in my house, you took care of the foals, you talked things out with me. You’re part of this family too, I’d say.”

Francis smiled at that, shrugged, and joined in the mass of hugging ponies. Part of a family.

How about that.

But, as Kraber Francis noticed, there seemed to be grass growing between the cracks he’d left, and the plant Aegis had been so focused on seemed… greener, somehow.

Ah, well. Wasn't important.