The Light Despondent

by Doctor Fluffy

Keep Calm / Dreamscapes

Light Despondent Chapter 20: Keep Calm / Dreamscapes

“A war is coming, I've seen it in my dreams. Fires sweeping over the Earth, bodies in the streets, cities turned to dust… retaliation.”
Paxton Fettel, FEAR

Interviewer (I): “Mr. Aegis? Please, do come in.”

Aegis / Claw Hammer (A): “Pleasure to see you, Colonel ████████.”

I: “You keep interesting company, don’t you? Kraber, Ze’ev, Heliotrope, Reavers… even...”

A: (Raises forelegs, bends them back and forth in a motion assumed to be reminiscent of airquotes) “The New Researcher? Ae’s nice enough. A bit, uh…”

I: “Aer very existence gives our psychological department a headache. While ae takes enough medication to concuss a Diamond Dog, we love aer. Ae’s like everyone’s brilliant genderfluid child. Ae’s happy to be here, and I’d consider it my duty to make aer as happy as I can. Ae’s also been quite grateful to you, Aegis.”

A: “I was just doing what was right, Colonel. What anyone could have done.”

I: “No. You’ve done what anyone should do. And I can safely say you’ve gone above and beyond. Peace with Reavers, managing to redeem one of the PHL’s most notorious enemies… why?”

A: “It was right, wasn’t it? Besides, he wouldn’t exactly give himself a second chance. Somebody had to.”

I: “We have one of our best counter-terrorist operatives, propaganda opportunities, and another medic. And the New Researcher. And staggering amounts of Equestrian materials to work with. I’d concur. But… that’s not why I called you here. I’m here more because you come into contact with certain… otherworldly… things.”

A: “I mean, technically I’m otherworldly. I mean, I’m not from this one.”

I: “Not like that. I’ve been… worried. About the presence of other worlds. About our worst case scenario. So has the New Researcher, but ae just responds with-”

A: “Ae starts referencing Rick and Morty and belching, doesn’t ae.”

I: “Yes.”

A: “It was good advice, anyway. I… didn’t want to think about it.”

I: “Be glad for that. I’ve seen… projections for Barrierfall. Not exactly something conducive to sleep. I’ve gathered information on individuals from all over the PHL - you might know a few. Kraber himself, Yael, Heliotrope, David Elliot, John Constantine. Even more. Each of them has visions of a worst case scenario for a world like ours, but… but different.”

A: “Oh, that. I tried not to think about it.”

I: “You knew about another world and you just….”

A: “What good would it do? None of us know how to contact them, and I’m pretty sure that contacting them would do more harm than good.”

I: “What makes you say that?”

A: “Because it scares the shit out of me. We’ve lost billions already, but… being reduced to millions? Kraber barely describes any of it. I don’t want to ask about it, and he doesn’t tell me. We’re all happier that way. And there’s… other things out there. You already have one evil Celestia to deal with and one empire full of people turned inside-out. Why look for more? No, I’m happier just keeping the foals safe and playing videogames with my friend.”

---

Littleton, NH

“YOU MONSTER!” Amber Maple screamed in horror. “WHY?! WHY IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS PURE AND HOLY WOULD YOU DO THIS?!”

“YOU’RE EVIL!” Rivet yelled, trying to bury himself in the couch. “FRANCIS, WHY WOULD YOU BETRAY US SO?!”

“Oh wow, I am good at using Mei!” Francis Strang cackled as the two of them played Overwatch on Aegis’ TV. “Seven years, and just as good as I remember….”

“This is so evil!” Amber Maple cried. “Whyyyyyyy…”

“Francis, are you doing something unspeakably evil?” Aegis asked. “Oh my God, you’re using Mei?! Seriously?!”

“How do you even use an Xbox controller with hooves, anyway?” Francis Strang asked, and then inexplicably began to imitate Christopher Walken. “A tragic irony. Born without thumbs."

“Here,” Aegis said. “Let me explain the whole thing…”

---

Later That Night

The city was buzzing in spite of the battle that had just occurred.

The destruction had, thankfully, not been as bad as Yael thought. Still enough for the city to show its scars.

PHL, National Guard, ASF and others had poured support to the city. Apparently, someone had even managed to get a nightclub up and running. Not too far away from them.

“Check it out,” Heliotrope said, fluttering down to Yael. “You want to go over, and…”

Yael yawned. “Not… not right now.”

“It’s amazing what people can get through with a smile,” Heliotrope said, looking out at the city. They’d found themselves in an empty, overgrown lot not too far from the Bureau.

“Well, best club I ever visited was Vertigo in Algiers while the bombs were going off and the Barrier was due in a month,” Yael said, giving an uncertain smile at the memory.

“That one?” Heliotrope asked, confused. “They had terrible beer. Hoofington for me, during the Crystal War. No question.”

“Really?” Yael asked. “Cause at the moment, I have plenty of questions.”

“That’s not what I…” Heliotrope asked, as Yael pointed off into the distance, to the rubble that had been the buildings surrounding the Bureau.

Parked in front of it was a six-wheeled APC, a blocky mass of a vehicle that looked vaguely like it had been designed by James Cameron, with a semiautomatic grenade launcher on top instead of the old Browning M2. Yael hadn’t understood the practice of replacing HMGs with auto-grenade launchers, though apparently they’d come in handy during the war.

Milling about the vehicle were personnel in just slightly offbeat uniforms and armor, equipped to a standard all their own.

“F.E.A.R’s here.” Heliotrope gestured to her saddlebags with one foreleg. “By the way, there’s some shitty beer I managed to scrounge up.”

“Please tell me you paid,” Yael said.

“The HLF didn’t need it,” Heliotrope said, both hooves outwards in a way that made her upper body look like a ‘W’.

“I guess that works too,” Yael admitted. “So. F.E.A.R?”

“F.E.A.R,” Heliotrope confirmed. “Don’t see them around too often.”

Once upon a time, First Encounter Assault Recon - or F.E.A.R - had been, bluntly, a joke. A place that undesirables in the US military were cashiered into when, justified or not, the brass had determined them liabilities. Popular wisdom around the PHL was that Marcus Renee himself would have been sent there if not for his family history of military service.

Heliotrope, who’d been studying human history as a hobby, (“someone had to remember,” she’d say) would’ve blamed it on Cold War paranoia, but surprisingly, it was not so. Created in 2002 by a Senator who believed in ghosts after a spate of “paranormal disturbances” in the late 90’s, the organisation had - surprisingly - lasted, and the rumour mill had reported on such varied instances as the first through third Amityville hauntings, a case of what might have been demons in Utah, and something only referred to as “Amarillo”. The organization's ranks were rumoured to contain an eclectic mix - snipers, “psychics” (or “psionics”), crack commandos and - to be frank - those who would believe anything.

When magical ponies had shown up, F.E.A.R’s unique blend of kooky weirdos had been laughed off at first. Then, improbably, they’d been useful. After all - who else could stare down a sudden barrage of telekinetic assaults from Equestrian telepaths like pros, at least in the beginning? Their current leader, a Colonel Munro, was described by all as “competent” - which in this day and age meant “forgettable”, but that was hardly a bad thing.

Besides, for whatever reason, they had a tendency to find themselves in possession of higher-end Armacham tech. That was helpful.

“How about we go and ask about it?” Heliotrope asked.

“What?” Yael asked.

“Well, I figure we’re not doing anything better,” Heliotrope explained, picking herself up and fluttering upwards. “Besides, I’m still confused about what happened.”

“What happened to being drained and tired, huh?” Yael asked, cracking a smile.

Heliotrope rolled her eyes. “Really.”

---

The basement of the Bureau…
July 29, 4:10 PM

“What the hell is that?!” Dalibor asked.

Yael, to her credit, barely moved a muscle. She wasn’t scared. Heliotrope could tell. Only a few things scared her friend. HLF with military weaponry and absolutely no restraint, ponification, and probably at least one goofy, arbitrary phobia.

“Do you like our gift?” the newfoals asked. “You know the enemy. You know the… captain cactus, was it?”

“How do you know who he is?”

“You prehistoric throwbacks have unleashed a world of hurt!” the grotesque parody of a Night Guard said, in Captain Cactus’ voice. “You killed hundreds in Manehattan. You destroyed my favorite coffee place. You’ve committed war crime after crime, time after time. And we shall bring consequences like you would not believe.”

Heliotrope’s blood ran cold. She remembered this.

They’d knocked a Crystal Empire ship running on arcane, half-remembered levitation crystals out of the air, and it had slammed into a mountain. They’d picked the survivors out from an avalanche.

Knowing the conditions in some of the POW camps, the deeply suspicious way that crystal ponies had a chance to simply fall out of the record books, Heliotrope wondered if the lucky ones hadn’t been left to suffocate in the snow.

But how had it known?! How did it know so well, down to the slightest inflection…

The ersatz Night Guard switched back to another voice. Crystal Empire accent. “We didn’t know! We’re sorry!”

“You’re going to be,” Captain Cactus said. “You’re going to be. Heliotrope!”

She went rigid.

“Bring the hoofcuffs. And...”

Heliotrope remembered that he’d cocked his head, confused. Some tenderness showing through. “Some hay for them, too. They look half-starved.”

“Wow,” someone said in Hebrew.

Yael’s eyes went wide. “Who is… how… Yassen?!”

“It’s nice to hear from you too, Yael,” the person said in Hebrew. “By the way… I can’t feel my body. Can you help me out?”

“You were ponified,” Yael said. “I… it was something Shieldwall made. Slow-potion. Anti-personal mine.”

“I think I’d know if I was ponified,” the unseen voice said. “Can you help me though? I can’t feel my body. Can’t feel my body. Can’t feel my body. Can’t feel my body. Can’t feel my body. Can’t feel my body.”

Yael remembered.

He’d been implanted with a slow-potion bomb from Shieldwall. There’d been a shard of some crystal from a bomb Shieldwall built. They’d rescued him, but by the time he’d come from camp, he’d been little more than a puppet, vomiting potion as he slowly, agonizingly shifted into a pony.

He’d obsessively repeated that phrase. “Can’t feel my body.”

And then he’d exploded, potion splashing everywhere and ponifying at least ten people. For lack of a better word, it had been a nightmare.

“Yael?” somebody else asked. They’d been ponified too. “Where are you? Everything’s dark…

“What is this,” Yael asked, gritting her teeth. “What the hell is this?!”

The grotesque parody of a Night Guard smiled at Heliotrope. “I remember him. He’s responsible for more than you know. So are you, Heliotrope.”

“What are you…” Heliotrope asked, staggering back a little.

“You remember, don’t you?” the not-quite-a-Night-Guard asked. “The internment camps for Crystal Empire prisoners. The Battle of Manehattan. You constructed a town with every expense spared just outside of Appleoosa for us.”

“Who are you?” Heliotrope asked, her blood running cold. How did it know?! My service is… it’s public record, but… how… she thought. “How are you using those newfoals?”

The grotesque Night Guard thing shrugged. “It is more like squatting. Nobody is at home in here.” It tapped its head, and Heliotrope swore she heard a hollow set of clunks as if it was tapping on an old gourd. “As for who I am…” it cocked its head. “I am… We Are Gestalt. I am… we are...”

Its eyes went blank for a second. “I… We are a monument to the Solar Empire’s sins. We are…”

“Are you the source of those recordings?” Yael asked. “The creepy ones we keep hearing?”

“Yes and no,” the not-quite-a-night-guard said. “They… aren’t recordings. They’re… they are and they aren’t. And they are.”

“What are you?” Heliotrope asked. “Are you… We have people in the PHL looking into whether or not you’re Resistance..”

“Any pony with a functioning conscience is of the Equestrian Resistance,” the newfoals said in unison. “For example, unlike them, I use the totem-prole network. You humans would call it hacking. There is a wealth of information in here.”

“But… no pony working against Celestia would use the network, would they?” Yael asked. “How does that even work?”

“No pony can do what I can. What we can,” Gestalt explained.

“You might very well ask yourself how many of Gestalt there are,” the voice on the other end said. “There are many of us. One tries to contact through emotion and as a result... Some try to contact through methods such as these. Another… has given up. Resigned themselves to what is coming.”

And suddenly the deformed newfoals collapsed, dead.

Yael and Heliotrope stared dumbly.

“I suddenly understand jack shit,” Yael said.

---

“Oh, I think you know,” Heliotrope said as the two of them headed over to the FEAR APC. Yael observed one of them, ASP rifle pointed downwards. Backing him was an unnervingly silent man in an opaque full-face helmet, carrying a shotgun that looked like a SPAS-12 with a box magazine.

Yael grumbled.

“Great, another person calling us a waste of money,” the man with the ASP said, then went rigid in apprehension. “Ah, sorry… Lieutenant… ah… Sergeant Ze’ev.”

He had a nametag reading “CHEN”. The man next to him had no nametag, and Yael almost would have taken him for a mannequin if not for the slight, imperceptible motion of his breath.

“It’s alright,” Yael said.

“She’s just… never liked your rifle that much,” Heliotrope explained.

“It’s a locally produced copy of a gun I already don’t like,” Yael said. “I actually had nightmares about the trigger back in basic.”

Chen blinked slowly behind his visor. “Nightmares… about the trigger?”

“I had a hard time pulling it,” Yael explained. “So… why’re you here?”

Chen sighed. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Can I promise to try?” Heliotrope asked.

“Says the magical flying pony,” Chen said. Then blinked. “Goddammit my life is weird.”

“Preaching to the choir here,” Yael said, nodding. “All seriousness though, we’re not in a position to laugh. We got back from watching some…” she ran a finger through her black hair. “I don’t even know. Whatever it is that controls the Gestalt broadcasts just hijacked a PER communication system and started telling us things it couldn’t possibly know.”

“Things like what?” Chen asked.

“The voices of the dead,” Heliotrope explained. “Or… no, people we know were ponified. It… it couldn’t…” she shivered. “It couldn’t possibly know!

“Well, that’s part of why we’re here,” Chen said. “Allegedly, some of it was a man in a trenchcoat trying to summon something terrible, but-”

The silent man behind him shook his head. Yael raised an eyebrow at the sudden motion.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Chen said. “Heard you were part of some anti-HLF taskforce?”

The silent man sighed.

“He’s right,” Heliotrope said. “It’s not really a taskforce, it’s more that we just got pointed in one direction and told to get away from Montreal.”

“Whatever you’ve stumbled onto, it must be getting serious. This guy-” Chen pointed to the silent man. “He’s closer to tactical weapon you deploy than a soldier.”

The silent man shrugged, modestly.

“These broadcasts, somebody trying to summon something, the spirits of the dead… did you know that our resident unicorn Twinkle picked up a strange event over in White River junction just recently?” Chen asked.

Heliotrope looked at Chen, curious. “No. No, I did not know that.”

“Apparently, something extradimensional touched that town. Then, as soon as it was there…” Chen said. “Gone. You’ll have to ask him about it later.”

“I’ll make sure to do that,” Heliotrope said. “Bout where is he?”

“Powder-blue unicorn stallion with a yellow and pink mane,” Chen said. “He sounds. Kind of like-uh, Christopher Walken.”

“Oh, Twinkle,” Heliotrope said. “That stallion that always dreams about the shrieking maggots of grief.”

“He really needs a hobby,” Chen said, patting his silent friend on the back.

The silent man nodded vigorously.

“Not even going to ask,” Yael said, sighing. “Where were you going with this?”

“I mean that we’ve been assigned to work with your…” Chen said. “For lack of a better word, ‘taskforce’. The PHL have gotten spooked.”

Heliotrope raised a few eyebrows. “Really?”

“This… wasn’t the first time the HLF saw a PER attack coming,” Chen explained. “Besides, we’re near Boston. The PHL’s main base to defend against the Solar Empire.”

Yael considered this. She supposed it made sense.

“Well, I’m happy to see you anyway,” Heliotrope said. “Strange things are ahoof here. Say, does anyone in there know a way to psychically trace people?”

“Twinkle might?” Chen suggested.

Heliotrope stared for a moment. “I guess we all have to make sacrifices. Seriously, though, I might need a way to do that. There’s weird people around. Did anyone tell you part of why we got sent here?”

“I didn’t ask,” Chen said.

“Well, we were hoping to find Viktor Marius Kraber, and bring him to justice,” Heliotrope said. “Or find that he resisted arrest.”

Yael folded her arms, as if the thought of letting a nowhere-near-innocent man think he was coming in peacefully and enacting some indiscriminate justice didn’t bother her in the least.

It didn’t, by the way.

“Strangest thing is,” Yael said. “He’s just… gone. I asked the prisoners, I’ve been looking all over. But it’s like after Portland, he just dropped off the face of the earth.”

“I don’t think we can find him,” Chen said dolefully. “Psychic tracing usually only works when the psychic has a strong signature to work with, some idea where to start, and preferably some DNA of the target.”

“Oh well,” Heliotrope said, fluttering around. “There’s some weird people around, and I’m glad for any help. Who knows what could be happening out there?”

---

That Night…

Get to Defiance. JI will be waiting. Recruitment and cleanup operation.

The text message blinked on the phone and Amber Hill found herself staring at it with a growing unease in her gut. She, along with a few others, was sat in a heavy APC driving towards John Idle’s last known position. Idle was scouting - that Hill and her Odinson group had been despatched to support him was unusual, and yet here they were, ten of them huddled in this truck, a larger group than Yarrow had sent out in months.

“What is it?” the man opposite her said. She looked up: Preston, one of Yarrow’s best, was frowning at her. The black man’s shaved head, scarred visage, permanent frown set against a glasgow smile, and intimidating height didn't make him seem that reassuring to those who didn't know him, never mind the imposing heavy armour. Despite that, Hill always felt better knowing the big man was around.

She showed him the text. “Maxi’s got a plan.”

Preston frowned at the text, then narrowed his eyes. “Better be a good plan. Defiance is Lovikov’s rathole.”

“Yeah,” Hill said. “And Lovikov’s got fuckin’ rabies.”

To put it lightly, Lovikov did not have a good working relationship with the Reavers. In fact, to call it anything other than outright hate would be a grave understatement. All the times that the Reavers had tried to work together, even after they found themselves with backing, there’d been a bit… too many friendly fire incidents. Too many shots to the head passed off as the Ponified’s Peace when there’d barely been a drop of potion within a foot of them.

Preston snorted. “Guess that's why we’re putting him down.”

The fact that Lovikov had garrotted a the previous Menschabwehrfraktion leader with a section of barbed wire didn’t help either.

“You think that's it?” McReady, one of the other Odinsons, asked. He looked worried. “That's gonna be a tall order: lots of HLF there.”

“Don't worry, Peter,” Preston said, looking at him with hard eyes. “Lovikov’s hole is full of mediocre scum. No real fight in ‘em. With a little forethought and some luck, we should be fine.”

“I almost wish we did it earlier,” Hill sighed.

The Reavers had left Leonid Lovikov to his own devices for awhile. Steered the old Purity down the St. Lawrence Seaway, dispensing justice, refugees, and aid where they could, and set down on the shore of one of the Great Lakes near what would become Bastion, in a spit of land unimportant to both the Canadian or American governments.

They’d focused on the American Midwest, mostly. Focusing on sovereign citizen HLF groups who were a threat only through sheer force of imbecility. Keeping farms that employed ponies safe, asking little in return. They’d even helped settle the disastrous newfoal labor experiments.

And now they were coming back. But when Preston considered the reaction that an HLF contact had given when he’d explained they were coming back, just near the border in Upstate New York:

---

Somewhere in New York…

”I will do fucking anything if you take me somewhere that Lovikov isn’t,” Petra Strode said slowly.

“Excuse me?” Preston had said.

Petra repeated herself. Then: “Away from the malaka. Please. I don’t know how he’s gotten the power he has.”

“He and Kraber are-”

“No,” Petra said. “Whatever Lovikov’s been stirring up in the HLF since Portland, Kraber’s had nothing to do with it. He’s gone. When everyone was getting out of Portland and headed north, Kraber was going towards the hospital, and then the trail just stops. Meanwhile Lovikov’s… I don’t know. He’s convinced people that he has a way to predict PER attacks. That somehow he can save us all from PER. On his terms, of course. Whether we like it or not.”

“Has he said it like that?” Preston asked.

“No,” Petra said. “But it’s fucking Lovikov, would you even be surprised? Whatever he’s doing, the collateral damage would be unacceptable and some of my friends don’t even care.”

“What?”

“People believe Lovikov. That he can do this. And with what he was willing to do in Portland, I don’t think he has anything nice in store.

---

Yeah, Hill was right.

“John Idle’s not a forethought kind of bloke,” Hill said shortly. “He's more an ‘act on impulse, shoot ‘em all’ kind of guy.”

“John Idle is Maxi’s third,” Preston retorted. “Maxi trusts him. I trust Maxi.”

McReady nodded, and Hill, sighing, nodded too.

“Whatever the plan is,” Fredricks, another Odinson with a symbol not unlike a giant squid painted on his armour, said with a groan, “I hope it means we’re outta this fucking bucket soon. I hate long drives. Why the fuck is America so big?”

“D’you want a political answer, a geographical answer, or a sarcastic answer?” a German man named Karl Osterman asked, as he held a picture of a little girl.

“If you make it all three, I’ll be impressed,” Fredricks smirked.

“Would ‘aggressive expansionism’, ‘aggressive expansionism’, and ‘McDonalds’ do?” Karl snorted.

Fredricks laughed, then he winced as he stretched. “Doesn’t explain why this armour’s so fucking tight.”

“The PHL fucker didn't get your measurements right, Timmy?” a sneering man with a red stripe down one side of his armour said.

“Fuck you, Martell,” Fredricks swore, giving him the finger.

“You're not pretty enough, Timmy,” Martell winked.

“That's enough!” Preston snapped, and the APC fell silent. “You're soldiers. Act like it.”

Martell snorted. “Whatever, Preston. It'll be good when Lovvie’s a corpse anyway. Fucker let the Redstripes die off. Too busy looting corpses and killing everything four-legged that passes by his neck of the fucking woods.”

Hill said nothing. Martell had been a Redstripe, before that unit had been destroyed. Now he, and the other surviving Redstripes, had joined up with Yarrow. There were all sorts like him: ex Chimeras, Kraken Grenadiers, “Rangers of the North” who’d worked with Rickard Thomlinson and joined up with his brother Aaron, some of Soren’s Skydivers and the Sternguard, and even defectors from the Sons of Macha and the Silent Storm. Most of those units were gone, now. From PER or PHL, even other HLF that they’d thought they trusted.

“We should be there in a few hours,” Preston said with a frown. “Worry about what happens then.”

As he spoke, the APC came to a halt.

“Hey guys,” the driver - a woman named Ellie Sykes - called back at them. “Trouble.”

---

It was a long stretch of road in the middle of nowhere. In retrospect, the chances of a rogue HLF patrol - six jeeps, about twenty or so men - finding a PHL refugee truck were slim. The chances of Reavers coming upon them were even slimmer.

Somebody was unlucky today.

As the APC pulled up, the badly-equipped HLF turned their guns on the Reavers, already suspicious. Preston got out of the thing first, securing the helmet of his heavy Armacham gear as he did so. Most of the others followed suit. Preston approached the group, a modified sledgehammer in his hands. At the top, Sykes took the APC’s cannon, her armour slightly lighter than theirs but still effective.

“What is this?” Preston asked calmly.

“Who the fuck are you?!” a nervy-looking HLF man - probably no more than twenty - said, aiming a battered Kalashnikov at Preston.

The big man didn't even tense. He planted the base of his sledgehammer in the ground, and waited. Behind him, Hill and the others came up, armed to the teeth. There was a tense standoff.

“Preston,” the big man said after a moment. “Odinson. Reavers. HLF unit under Yarrow. You?”

The man - the boy - trembled. “I - I shouldn't tell you.”

“Do I look like PHL?” Preston asked.

“You're wearing fancy enough armour for it,” another man, slightly older and slightly more rodent-esque, said with a sneer.

“See many with a Redstripe symbol, asshat?” Martell said, pointing to his arm, holding his machine pistol one-handed. “I know who these little shits are, Preston. They’re the Menschabwehrfraktion. And that little shit is Fergus Fuckin’ Farnowitz.”

“Holy shit, you’ve met Farnowitz before?!” Fredricks asked.

“And I forever regretted the experience,” Martell growled. “You thinking you gonna rough some little refugees up, stay away from the real war, boys?”

The rodent-esque man growled. “Says the Reaver.”

“Yeah, says the Reaver, Farnowitz,” Martell said. “Says the fuckin’ Redstripe who didn't have anywhere to go before Maxi Yarrow got off his arse and actually helped what was left of us, instead of just raiding my friends’ corpses like you and your vultures!”

“Calm down,” Preston growled. He looked at Farnowitz. “This is a PHL truck. Why are you waylaying it?”

“Routine patrol,” Farnowitz growled. “None of your fucking business.”

“It is now,” Preston said, shoving past him and heading for the truck. Farnowitz moved to stop him, but the other Odinsons aimed their guns, and he stepped back, grumbling.

Driving it was a black woman with fine, straight, dark hair. She wasn’t overweight, but she wasn’t in the peak of shape either. A faded polaroid of a woman graced her dashboard, with the word “Alice” written on the bottom in a jagged attempt at cursive.

To her credit, she looked strangely unperturbed.

“Apologies,” Preston said to her shortly. “You're PHL, right? Presumably you have transport papers?”

“What’s it to you?” she asked. She didn’t snap. There wasn’t enough anger in her voice for that.

“I’m proving a point,” Preston said in return, moving to take his helmet off. He smiled, a surprisingly gentle smile given his scarring. “I'd just like to check them briefly. I have no intention of stopping you.”

Farnowitz spat. “They're horsefuckers!”

Preston ignored him, holding the woman’s gaze.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Everyone calls me chipmunk, or chanterelle,” the woman said.

Preston just stared for a second.

“No, I don’t know either,” the woman sighed. “Blame Alice for that one.”

Preston simply shrugged. “I’m Preston. I’m a member of the Reavers.”

Behind him, Farnowitz looked incensed.

“Why should I show you my papers?” ‘Chipmunk’ asked.

“Because I’m asking nicely, and because I’m not him,” Preston said, jabbing a finger at Farnowitz. “And because, hate to say it, these aren't safe times.”

‘Chipmunk’ chuckled. “I’ll give you that.” She paused. “Fine. Since you asked so nicely.”

She went to her dashboard - the thing had a little 9mm pistol in it, but her hand passed that and went for a small wallet. She pulled it out and showed him an ID card. He nodded, scrutinising it for a moment.

“It expires in ten days,” he pointed out. She tensed. “I’d get that seen to if I were you.”

“Yeah,” she said shortly.

“And it says here you're a refugee transporter,” Preston said. He looked at her. “It's good work. Got a few in now, I take it?”

“Yeah,” ‘Chipmunk’ said tightly. “Foals, mainly. Lots of war orphans.”

Preston nodded. “Too many.”

He turned away, and ‘Chipmunk’ breathed a sigh of relief. She turned her engine back on.

“You're letting them go?!” Farnowitz yelled. He motioned, and a few of his men moved to block the truck. “They're fucking horsefuckers, moving fucking gluesticks into our fucking country, and you're letting them go?!”

Preston turned to glare at him. “Make your men stand down, Farnowitz.”

“Fuck you, traitor!” Farnowitz swore. He pulled out a pistol, only for Preston to suddenly charge at him, moving faster than the heavy armour should have allowed. He brought his hammer up, whacking Farnowitz to the ground with the haft. Another HLF man moved to shoot him, and he brought a Seegert heavy pistol out, blowing the man’s skull out.

In a flash, the other Odinsons aimed their weapons. Another HLF man tried firing, but only succeeded in winging Martell, who swore. The man was vaporised a second later by a shot from Hill’s Type-7. There was a pause as the remains of the man - little more than a charred skeleton - fell to the ground, and the remaining HLF stopped what they were doing, pausing to take what they'd just seen in.

“What…” one of the HLF said, eyes wide with shock.

“You don't get it,” Preston said blandly. “You got to kill indiscriminately before - but not anymore. You've done enough. Now, it gets put right.”

“You fucker,” Farnowitz sneered. Preston looked back at him. “You think you can piss on what the HLF stands for and get away with it?”

Preston took his helmet off, a scowl on his face. “Why not? You did that to the HTF.”

Farnowitz looked like he was about to order his men to do something else, when the back door to the PHL van burst open, and a squad of troops in heavy armour burst out, led by a surly looking man. They brought their weapons up, aiming at everybody. The Reavers aimed back until Preston held a hand up, ordering them to stand down.

Farnowitz and some of his men made a run for their jeeps. Farnowitz managed to get in and signal for the jeep to start driving off - most of his men weren't as lucky. Some took bullets to the back. Most simply stopped running and held their hands up, surrendering, including, Preston noted with some satisfaction, the nervy young man from earlier.

The surly man at the head of the PHL squad kept his gun trained on the Reavers. ‘Chipmunk’ got out of the truck’s cab, a scowl on her face. She pulled her 9mm out and aimed it at the Reavers and other HLF too.

“What the hell, Kellman?!” she swore. “I told you to stay put!”

The surly man growled. “For all I knew these bastards were about to have a fucking shootout right near us! I wasn't prepared to be a fucking bystander - or collateral!”

‘Chipmunk’ sighed. “Goddamn it, Sergeant!”

She looked at Preston, who had a raised eyebrow.

“‘Lots of war orphans’,” the Reaver said quietly. “I don't think I've ever seen war orphans that heavily armed.”

She gave a helpless shrug. “We’ve been - uh, well, waiting. This is an old trick.”

“I can imagine,” Preston said shortly.

“You’re all under arrest,” the surly Sergeant - Kellman - said, brandishing his AR at the Reavers and Menschabwehrfraktion. “For HLF activity, terrorism, treason -”

‘Chipmunk’ held up a hand. “Hold up, Kellman.” She paused, frowning at Preston. “You didn't even think about stopping our truck, did you?”

“No,” Preston replied blandly. “I was hoping to avoid a firefight with these idiots, truth be told. I came to kill PER and Empire, not humans. Not even Farnowitz.”

“You're still HLF,” Kellman sneered. “You're terrorists and traitors. Be thankful we’re just gonna lock you up.”

“No fucker’s locking me up,” Martell snorted, as Hill pulled the shoulder pad of his unpainted arm off, exposing a wound in his shoulder. “Even one-armed I’m still worth more than any of you PHL shitbags.”

“You're not helping, Martell,” Preston said quietly. He glanced at the young HLF boy, who had a terrified expression on his face. “You. Boy. Name.”

“Hey, you don't get -” Kellman began, but ‘Chipmunk’ shushed him.

The boy stammered. “H-Harry Drake.”

“Harry Drake,” Preston repeated. “Why are you here?”

“I-I wanted to do something, but the army wouldn't take me,” the boy said. “I - I just -”

“What does it matter?” Kellman asked.

Preston glared at him, before looking back at Harry. “Get in your jeep. Fredricks, go with him. Take him… take him home.”

‘Chipmunk’ scowled. “What the hell are you doing, Preston?”

“That boy has no place with these scum,” Preston said, pointing at the other Menschabwehrfraktion. “And no place in a jail cell waiting for the rot to set in. Fredricks is going to take him, and we’re going to make him useful, with us.”

The boy looked shocked. “I - I’m not going to jail?”

“No,” Preston said. “If you want to do right, we’ll help you do right.”

The young man got in the jeep, Fredricks with him.

‘Chipmunk’ scowled. “What makes you think we’re letting you go?”

“The fact that I helped you, that I didn't do anything wrong,” Preston said, “and the fact that you're not the sort of person who punishes people for no reason.”

‘Chipmunk’ narrowed her eyes. “That's a pretty big assumption.”

“Yes, it is,” Preston said. “But you could have tried to shoot me earlier. I didn't have my gun out. I had my helmet off. You could have sent your men out the minute things turned ugly, but you didn't. I don't think you wanted to send your men out at all.”

‘Chipmunk’ said nothing, though her expression spoke volumes.

“I think you know that we’re on the same side,” Preston said quietly. “And I have faith you'll make the right choice.”

There was a momentary pause as ‘Chipmunk’ considered this.

Kellman snorted. “We should take these guys in, Lieutenant.”

“Yeah, we should,” ‘Chipmunk’ said with a frown. She lowered her gun. “But y’know, I don't think the truck will hold all of ‘em.”

Preston smiled, and nodded, before motioning to his people.

“Hey!” Kellman said. “You can't do that!”

“I have a lot of discretion about how to do my job, Sergeant,” ‘Chipmunk’ said. “These people aren't our targets. We've captured some of Lovikov’s, that was our mission.” She held up a hand. “I want you to go back in the truck and radio command - tell them we’ve captured a group of Menschabwehrfraktion.”

Kellman grumbled, and headed back into the truck. ‘Chipmunk’ gave Preston a nod, and began herding the HLF prisoners into the truck. Preston motioned to the rest of his squad to get into the APC.

A few moments later, they’d all piled into the APC and driven off. Kellman stepped out of the truck.

“Radioed in,” he said sullenly. “I’ll be writing this in my report, you understand.”

“Do what you want, Sergeant,” ‘Chipmunk’ said with a snort. “They can't do anything but demote me. I’m a damn trucker, how bad could it get?”

Kellman said nothing. He frowned - the Reavers had left behind a small piece of armour: Martell’s shoulder-plate. Probably accidental, but he picked it up anyway. It might prove useful to someone.

---

The next night
Littleton

Yael and Heliotrope limped into the Cardsharp Pub.

It had been… an interesting night. Neither of them had slept well. Yael sleeping well was a momentous occasion, but this wasn’t as true for Heliotrope.

She’d had bad dreams. In fact, Heliotrope had woken up screaming like a little filly, fur drenched in sweat. The way she’d explained it, “everything went to hell.”

Yael’s brain had promptly given up trying to imagine just what ‘everything went to hell’ could mean in a time when almost a third of the world was gone, billions were dead or worse, Israel was gone, and you couldn’t get a good coffee.

Heliotrope, apparently, had been thinking of a world where the PHL’s various seats of power on the East Cost had fallen to PER, Imperials, and HLF alike before Barrierfall. She was completely unsure if it’d actually been a dream or a very realistic worst-case scenario she’d been living.

There were vague looks of disgust on the faces of a few people she and Heliotrope passed. Yael sighed inwardly.

“Goddammit,” Yael sighed. “Is everyone getting weird dreams?”

“You aren’t,” Heliotrope pointed out.

“Well, I’m beginning to feel a bit left out,” Yael sighed, sarcastically, as they headed up to the pub.

“No you’re not,” Heliotrope said, rolling her eyes.

“I reserve the right to be annoyed, though.”

There was a one-eyed beggar with a guitar sitting outside the pub. One of his legs was gone, replaced with a prosthesis that used the front end of an old ski as the foot. His left eye was…

Well, neither Yael nor Heliotrope could say. There was a patch of scabby skin over one of his eye sockets, extending upwards about half an inch forward from where the eye would have been. The patch of skin over the eye looked to be growing short, bristly hair.

Yael and Heliotrope passed him a few dollars each and headed into the bar.

“‘Preciate it,” he mumbled.

Nny was lying back on one of the couches, in a nest of Corona beer, ammunition, weaponry, a molotov cocktail, sketchpads, and at least one large border collie-lab mix. Fiddlesticks sat across from him in a hammock, making idle conversation as she strummed along her fiddle with both hooves.

Aegis… was actually not there, on account of being at home with the foals.

It was difficult to tell whose tongue was lolling out more. Nny or the dog.

Francis was walking by, passing a plate of crabcakes to Nny. Falyn and a muscular, stocky woman with a black mane of hair shaven on one side were sitting at a table. Meanwhile, Popover was trotting by with a tray of food atop her head.

“Afternoon, Poppy,” Heliotrope called over. There was a vague, approving noise from under Popover’s giant tray of food.

“Last night was fun, huh Francis?” the woman with the green and pink half-mohawk asked.

There was a smile on Francis’ face. “Thanks, Falyn.”

“Damn right!” one of them - evidently named Falyn - crowed. “Haven’t seen that dog around for awhile, Nny. What happened to him?”

“Eh, Lovikov shot him,” Fiddlesticks said. She rubbed the dog’s head as it panted. “He got better!”

Francis’ jaw dropped. “That fokkin’ bawbag!”

“Isn’t he just,” the woman with half her head shaven said wryly. “He was bad even before Portland, but now… Well, not many people seem to like him that much.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Francis said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“And like that,” Yael said, “You know why we’re here.”

“Right, forgot to introduce you guys,” Nny said, gesturing to the other woman with the half-mohawk. Hers was just pure black. “Vera, this is Francis. Francis, Vera Low. Vera, Falyn. The pegasus mare who looks like she has part of Popover’s color scheme is Heliotrope. Falyn, Vera, this tall Israeli woman is my cousin-”

“Shalom,” Yael said. “I’m Yael Ze’ev.”

“You, in our pub,” Falyn said, going a little starry-eyed. “How. About. That.”

“And apparently, I’m here too,” Francis called over.

“Hey!” Heliotrope smiled, waving over to him. And to Francis’ surprise, he waved back.

“Weird,” Heliotrope said. “Usually we just get terror and a shotgun pointed at us.” She looked over at Francis - or more specifically, the Ithaca 37 on his back. “Can you… Can you, I don’t know… try and help with...?”

“Preevyet, Falyn,” Vera said.

“Vera, the woman with green and pink hair is Falyn...” Nny continued.

“Nope,” Francis said, a smile on his face. “Nowt worth it, Heliotrope. Nowt.”

“Don’t… just don’t even joke about that,” Yael said. From what Francis could tell, she didn’t look like she was sure whether she should be disturbed or laughing along.

“It’s nice to meet you, Vera,” Falyn said. “You’re why I did my hair like this. I heard about it in the book Nny and Fiddlesticks wrote.”

“Ah, I helped with Russian translation,” Vera said. “Didn’t expect that to make hair popular.”

She paused for a second.

“Why did you draw her looking like Zarya, anyway?” Yael asked.

(“Honestly, the hair was way more popular with us before that,” Popover said.

“Not like we have a choice, what with not having much mane on the sides of our heads,” Fiddlesticks said. “And he got bored.”)

“Yeah, I got bored,” Nny confirmed. “I mean, in my defense…” he pulled up a picture on his iPhone. “Seriously, you do look kinda like her.”

“Fair enough,” Vera said, nodding as she accepted Falyn’s hand. “Though… was actually because of ponies, Falyn. Ponies always look like they’ve mohawk. And I was...”

“Bored?”

“Pissed off at uncle,” Vera said. “He is HLF man. Would rather be orphan all over again than find out was still related to him.” She cracked her knuckles. “Having horsey hair would piss him off, so figured… why not?”

“Don’t I know it,” Falyn sighed, fistbumping Vera. “Mom and dad went HLF during the three weeks. I… didn’t want to be part of that.”

(“I like you, Fallen,” Vera said, nodding.

“Falyn,” Popover and Falyn said at once.

“Huh?” Falyn asked.

“It’s… not pronounced like that,” Popover explained, voice somewhat muffled by the tray she was carrying.)

Heliotrope held out a foreleg - then, with some prompting, Yael held out her fist as well. Vera bumped them too.

“That was… is that how this usually goes?” Yael asked.

“Ah, I see. And da,” Vera said, at the same time that Heliotrope nodded. “Is good to meet you, Yael. Your cousin told me good things of you in Alaska.”

Yael froze for a second. It was as if all bodily functions had disappeared from the tall Israeli. “He… did.”

“Well, obviously,” Nny said, seemingly not noticing that his cousin was…

(“If she’s having a heart attack, I know to deal with it,” Francis said.

“What kind of - I don’t - she’s-” Popover stage-whispered at Francis angrily, before Yael spoke again.)

Yael kissed her cousin on the cheeks. “I love you so much, Nny.”

“...Okay then,” Francis said, looking over at Heliotrope, who shrugged.

“Francis… You’re the HLF man I’ve heard so much about?” Vera asked.

“Retired,” Francis said.

“Then you’re one of good ones,” Vera said. “By the way…” she looked over at Yael. “Why’re you here?”

“Well, the two of us are here for…” Yael started.

Punishment? Francis thought. He’d heard about that awhile ago. Not sure where. But it didn’t seem right to say.

“We’re part of a special taskforce,” Heliotrope said. Yael mouthed her a silent ‘thank you.’ “Vera, did you come for, uh…”

“To hurt HLF,” Vera said, flexing one impressive bicep.

“Taking that as a yes,” Yael said. “Would you be willing to fight with us?”

“What do you think got me transferred down here?” Vera asked. “I have score to settle. If that’s right word.”

“Do I get to throw molotov cocktails at New Englanders that fly the confederate flag?” Nny asked.

“Well, since a lot of HLF have ties to that sort of movement, prob-” Heliotrope started.

“Done deal!” Nny interrupted,. “Cuz, I’m with you a hundred percent of the way! Because the world is full of idiots that don't understand what's important. And they'll TEAR us apart, Yael!!”

“I have made a terrible mistake,” Yael sighed.

“But if you stick with me,” Heliotrope added, taking a swig of a pitcher of beer, “I'm gonna accomplish great things, Nny, and you're gonna be part of - *URP* - 'em. And together we're gonna run around, Nny, we're gonna... do all kinds of wonderful things, M-”

“Please stop,” Yael interrupted, ignoring the bemused looks on everyone else’s faces. Well, Vera just looked confused. “What about you, Mr. Strang, Popover, Falyn?”

And then, before anyone could say anything, as Falyn and Popover were proclaiming that they’d rather stay as civilians on the grounds that somebody had to do their jobs:

“I can provide a list of HLF arms caches nearby,” Francis said. “Maybe a few settlements.”

“That’s… very generous,” Yael said, taken aback.

“But don’t tell them it was me,” Francis said.

“Anything else you can do? Information on troop movements, Defiance’s defenses?” Yael asked.

‘Oh, Yarrow would be fokkin’ woedend if he knew what I’m doing,’ Kraber Francis thought. “Considering all the HLF we’ve seen around lately… I doubt the last one still works. But if you need help, just ask.”

“You’re sure you don’t want a more active role?” Yael pressed.

“Naw,” Francis said. “That’s behind me.”

---

Aegis bursts into laughter.

It says a lot about Kraber that his reaction to this is just to raise an eyebrow.

“Isit?” he asks, sarcastically.

“Yes,” Aegis says bluntly.

For a moment, you wonder if Kraber will be mad. As if he’ll say something horrible, judging by the look on his fa-

“...Aweh, fair enough,” Kraber admits. “I was drunk when I said that.” He pauses, and sees that Aegis looks a little unnerved. As if he’s only just realized that he said something sarcastic to a mass murderer. “Come on man. You know I love you. And your bluntness.”

“Yeah,” Aegis says, cracking a smile. “Up top!”

The two of them bump fist and hoof.

---

“That… doesn’t seem sustainable,” Heliotrope said.

“It isn’t, but I’ll take what I can get,” Francis said. “Just…. Jist a peaceful existence. Nae more grotesque violence. Nae more oan radges a burst mooth-”

Aegis is making strange noises. ‘Mmmmfff!’ ‘Pfffftffbb!’ ‘Mmmmf mmfffffmmf eep!’

“-if only for a bit. All the awful ka… crap I did, it’s the last of that sortae thing. Jist gaun straight, movin oan and choosin’ li-”

Author's Note:

DIDN'T EXPECT ME TO UPDATE SO SOON, DID YOU?!

Comments

[Starcat5]

DIDN'T EXPECT ME TO UPDATE SO SOON, DID YOU?!

No I didn't. I also expected more comments by now. Seriously, people, only 18 views? And at least three of them are mine from different devices!

[Doctor Fluffy]

7590269 I know, right? I feel like this damn thing is invisible. Maybe I should have it rated T again...
EDIT: Ratings really don't matter as much as you'd think - you can just sorta change them whenever. I could get this rated Everyone if I wanted.

[Doctor Fluffy]

7597417 I fuckin' love reading Jeff Vandermeer! He's actually a friend of mine - well, he was the counselor at this camp I went to like 4 years ago. It was all very formative. It was a great 2 weeks.

[Ericcartmanlikescheese]

[Doctor Fluffy]

7657969 So I'm guessing you liked it!

[Hallucination]

So where are Fang and Candy? Is Dave a barber/librarian like he always wanted?

[Doctor Fluffy]

7998063 Nobody will ever truly know.

All seriousness, though, "Twinkle" just seemed like a good name, his depression was hilarious... and I was in a really weird mood when I put in that reference.