War, hatred and tyranny brew across the world. What can one man, already wounded from past loss, do against it all?
Set in the universe of Equestria at War, a mod for Hearts of Iron, and Escalation 84, a submod for EAW.
The year is 1988, a year of turmoil and strife. The United States of America has finally finished its reconstruction, but danger lurks all around. At home, a Griffin nation threatens their neighbors. Across the ocean, Equestria struggles to recover from a civil war.
A military cryptologist was selected to host a political refugee from Equestria: the deposed Lunar Empress.
William Thomas let out a tired sigh as he leaned back in his chair. He glanced towards the papers that littered his desk with mock contempt. He had spent the better part of six hours trying to decipher an encrypted radio message from Wingbardy, all because President Reagan had been getting worried that their leader, Giulio Beakolini, was getting a little uppity.
Thomas snorted as he imagined the griffon. From the handful of pictures he had seen of him, he was amazed at how much the griffon resembled the Italian dictator his name alluded to; according to the translator who sent him the transcript, they even spoke in Italian.
He let out another sigh as his thoughts turned to home, or lack thereof. While his home state had been mostly spared from the atomic fire that burned up most of the globe, the effects of the nuclear fallout still consumed it. He still remembered the day the world ended; he had been attending a family reunion on leave from military service when the bombs dropped. He remembered listening to the radio as the operator gave out the grave news.
"This is the American Emergency Broadcast Service; please, everyone, stay calm. The United States has been the victim of an attack by the USSR. Please, report to your bomb shelters and stay indoors. We have multiple confirmed reports of atomic detonations in the following cities: New York...Los Angeles…Chicago—" They had been preparing for atomic war for years by that point, but for it to actually happen… He had half-expected the broadcaster to come back and tell them it was a false alarm and that the world wasn’t actually over, but it had happened, and there was no going back.
But that wasn't the end of it; fate had other plans in mind. Instead, things just moved on from there, from the military coup to the occupation of Canada, South America, and Australia, to the building of the portals to the New World and getting everyone across, it had been a rough ride, and it hadn’t ended. Going into the New World had proved to be another turning point in human history.
Not only had they met an alien race, but multiple. They had entered into a world of magical talking ponies, griffons, and a host of other races, but even then, they managed. The ponies had been surprisingly helpful, with the country of New Mareland providing them territory and aid. The Junta that governed America had graciously accepted the offers.
Then, two years later, the Junta leaders peacefully surrendered their positions after a national referendum, Congress had been restored, and they had held the first election in the New World without bloodshed; Ronald Reagan had been reelected to his prewar position, and he nominated his opponent Jimmy Carter as his vice president—uniting the remnants of the Democratic and Republican parties into the New American Party, the united face of democracy in the United States. Their only actual opposition being the America First Party, the radicalized pro-humanity group spearheaded by the "reformed" David Duke.
It never ceased to amaze Thomas how politics still survived and thrived even after the end of the world; four loud knocks at his door disturbed him from his thoughts, and he stood up, feeling his joints pop, and walking to the door. He had a good idea as to who it was. His house had recently been renovated to include a second bedroom and private bathroom, not by his own volition, but by government mandate. He was expected to house a foreigner, a rather important foreigner, if the non-disclosure agreement was anything to go by.
When he opened the door, he was greeted by the face of a man in formal attire. A black car with tinted windows sitting in his driveway, with two more men beside it, one standing on each side of the vehicle.
"Specialist Thomas, I'm Connor McConaughey, we're with the Central Intelligence Agency," the agent who knocked on his door said, extended his hand for Thomas to shake, which he did with some hesitation. He felt a little off-put by the appearance of the CIA agents; he had expected some kind of diplomat and escort or something, not three government no-names.
Well, he supposed at least one did have a name.
"Nice to meetcha, agent," a hint of his southeastern accent peeking through. He glanced from one agent to another, taking in their appearances. Agent McConaughey weathered face hinted towards him being in his late thirties, but he wore a leather jacket with a T-shirt with the logo of some new band and khaki pants. The aged man's strange casual wear greatly contrasted with his solemn frown and furrowed brow. The other agents wore more formal clothing, button-up white shirts with black dress pants, looking more like what one would expect from a CIA agent.
"We are here to drop off the V.I.P. Specialist." As if on cue, one of the agents opened the back passenger door, and a figure in a brown cloak exited, clear by their stature that they weren't human. The cloaked figure kept their head down as they walked towards the house, flanked by the two sharply dressed agents. The protrusion at the top of what looked to be its head seemed to reveal that the new guest was a unicorn. Thomas raised an eyebrow and glanced towards McConaughey, hoping to get some sort of explanation; however, Agent McConaughey was busy watching the pony as it approached Thomas's house.
Thomas stepped inside and stood clear of the door as the cloaked unicorn entered. When they passed by him, he was surprised to see how tall they were. Most of the ponies he had seen barely reached up to his waist, but this one’s head seemed to reach his upper chest, not including the horn that probably added an extra foot, and Thomas was relatively tall. The agents closed the door behind them, and all four of Thomas’s guests stood in his living room, an uncomfortable silence falling between them.
Thomas shifted a bit as he waited for someone to say something. The unicorn had taken a seat on the floor in the corner of his living room while the two CIA agents moved around the living room, looking at his furniture and decorations. Thomas assumed they were looking for spyware of something of the sort because they, sure as hell, weren't just admiring his decorations. Eventually, after a few uncomfortable minutes, Agent McConaughey broke the silence.
“Miss Luna, I believe it's safe.”
Luna, the unicorn, nodded before letting the hood fall off, revealing her face. Her fur was dark blue bordering purple, her eyes a cyan color, their sparkle dulled by the downtrodden expressions she wore. Thomas knew admittedly very little about ponies in general, but he knew for a fact that their hair, mane he corrected, didn’t typically sparkle like the night sky or float outwards as if pushed by an unfelt breeze.
“Woah," he breathed. He hadn’t much experience with magic, so seeing the unicorn's mane sparkle and flow as if it was an ethereal flame was quite the spectacle.
“Miss Luna, your quarters are over there,” Agent McConaughey said as he pointed to the recently added section of Thomas’s house. “We plan on bringing you your belongings tomorrow evening.”
The unicorn stood and absently nodded, the glum expression still on her face as she walked towards her room. Her horn had lit up as she twisted the nob with her magic and entered, the door closing gently as she disappeared from view. Agent McConaughey turned to face the Specialist with a newfound sneer. “Specialist William Thomas.”
“Yes, Agent?” he asked with a hint of trepidation.
“I want you to know we’ve read up on your file.”
“Oh?” a touch of nervousness tainted his voice.
“If we get even a single report of mistreatment of her or anything of that nature, you'll find yourself court-martialed faster than you can say 'Oh fuck.' This mission is too important for some asshole to fuck up,” the agent bitterly spat.
Thomas felt bitterness well up inside him, the agent was jumping to quite a few conclusions, but he couldn't really blame him. Not with how they were now. “Agent, I understand your concern, but you don’t have anything to worry about. That is well behind me now, and Miss Luna will be treated as well as I can manage. But if you don’t mind me asking what’s so important about her, besides being tall, she looks like a normal unicorn.”
The agent hadn't expected the question and regarded Thomas with a raised eyebrow, “Specialist, what do you know about the Equestrian civil war?”
Thomas shrugged, “I saw a headline in the paper.”
“Oh. Well, Specialist, that pony was an important part of it, a vital part. America was uninvolved during the war, so she decided to ask us for a haven for her and a few subordinates. We granted her request because the ruler of Equestria, Princess Celestia, has gotten more and more concerning with how she's been handling rebellion. You were chosen to host her while her subordinates were allowed to live here as residents.”
“Subordinates?" his eyes lit up with curiosity, "Is she some kind of general? And how bad was it to make her run from her home?”
“...I’m afraid I can’t answer that.”
Thomas sighed but didn’t press the issue. As he had expected, it was classified. As they were finishing their little exchange, the pony in question exited her room, unintentionally announcing her presence with the creak of a door. Drawing the eyes of Thomas, who did a double-take as he saw her without the cloak covering her body.
Her tail, unsurprisingly, was the same as her mane—free-flowing with a sparkling nightscape. She had a patch of darker blue fur on her flank where her 'cutie mark,' as the ponies called it, was. The mark was the image of a crescent moon. However, that wasn’t what truly stood out. Thomas had seen only a handful of ponies before, but he’d never seen one with both wings and a horn, like some kind of pegasus-unicorn crossbreed. The agent noticed his gaze and turned and faced Luna as well.
“Miss Luna, is your room comfortable enough?” The pegasus-unicorn silently nodded. “That’s good to hear. If that is all, we can leave.” The agent nodded towards his fellows, one of whom had been peering through the blinds, and they began to file out of the house, but before Agent McConaughey left, he turned and said. “Miss Luna, could you please come here for a moment?” She approached him, and he whispered something into her ear. Her face scrunched up in confusion, then she nodded and returned to her dour expression. After that, he left, giving Thomas a parting glare as he went. Luna returned to sitting in front of the couch on the hardwood floor.
Another uncomfortable silence settled on the room. Thomas just eyed the pegacorn—he was particularly proud of that name—observing her body language; despite not being human, the ponies, in general, weren't too difficult to read, especially with their big expressive eyes, and she was giving the floor an empty stare. "So?"
She slowly glanced up to him, and her frown disappeared as she gave him a passive look.
“Uh, what brings you to the States?” He asked in the hope that he could start some kind of conversation.
The pony didn’t vocally answer, but the reappearance of her frown made him regret asking. He mentally facepalmed and physically sighed, walked over to his couch, and sat down; the pegacorn watched him warily. He reached over and patted the seat closest to the pony. “Yah know, you don’t have to sit on the floor. You’ll probably be staying here for a while, so you might as well get comfortable.”
The pegacorn hesitated for a moment before she nodded and stood up. She boosted herself onto the couch using her forelegs and laid down, resting her head on the armrest, tucked her limbs beneath her in a most cat-like fashion; Thomas had to suppress a snort at the thought.
He felt a little guilty for being amused; the girl had lost her home, but then again, so had he. They relaxed on the couch for a few minutes in silence before he checked his watch for the time. Seeing it was 7:26, he supposed he could try and make breakfast. Maybe that would cheer up her solemn mood. But what did magical, talking horses eat? He remembered talking to one about food once, but he wasn't about to go outside and pick some flowers.
“Miss Luna?” He asked, keeping his tone low and soft.
She turned to him and gave him the same neutral expression.
“Would you like something to eat?”
The pegacorn took a moment to respond, but she nodded.
“What would you like to eat?”
Much to his relief, she answered. “Anything-’ her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat, “-is fine, thank you.” He nodded and stood up. Progress!
“Alright, I’ll make some pancakes. You want one or two?”
“One,” she gave him a weak smile. He’d have to look more into the civil war in Equestria at some point. He read that the country had been torn apart by the two warring diarchs and half a dozen newly independent states, but he had read that four months ago. He wondered if she had been a leader or general of one of the revolutionary states before having her country crushed during the war. Maybe he hadn’t been all too truthful with the agent, but it wasn't like it mattered.
He poured the batter he had mixed into the pan. The more he had thought about it, the more he wanted to ask her directly, but he didn’t think she’d take that well. She was obviously still hurt by what had happened, and he wasn’t going to push her to tell him. If he pushed the magical horse enough, he'd probably end up as a frog; he chuckled at the thought, and he opened up his fridge, pulled out a jug of orange juice, and poured some into the two cups he had laid out, then he placed the last pancake on his plate. He looked over the two plates of pancakes and the accompanying glasses of orange juice and smiled, until he noticed that the one he had placed on Luna's plate was a little too brown around the edges; he used his spatula to replace one of his with her slightly burnt one. Then he grabbed Luna’s plate and drink and walked out of the kitchen.
Luna’s head swiveled to the kitchen door as she saw him enter the living room, and she flashed him a soft smile as he set her plate down on the end table next to her. “Thank you, Mister…” Her face fell as she realized she hadn’t gotten his name.
“William Thomas, you can call me Will, Tom, Tommy, or whatever,” He said, extending his hand. She reluctantly placed her hoof in his hand, and he gave it a firm shake.
“Thank you, Mister William.”
"That works too."
He walked back into the kitchen and fetched his plate, grabbing two forks and the bottle of syrup on his way back. He placed his plate on the end table on his side of the couch and laid the syrup on the coffee table in front of the sofa. He sat down with a contented sigh and handed a fork to Luna. Which she lifted from his hand with a dark bluish aura; the same aura surrounded her horn. She was using magic, he knew that, but it was still interesting to watch her move the fork around in the air so easily. It reminded Thomas of the Jedi using the force in Star Wars. He still had the tapes sitting in a box next to the television set. He heard that they were making a third movie before the war, but he supposed it had been canceled with the end of the world; he didn't even know if George Lucas had survived the nuclear holocaust.
Dismissed the dark thoughts from his mind and focused on enjoying his food. He and Luna ate in silence, giving Thomas time to think about what he should do about his new living arrangements. She had been courteous so far, so he supposed it wasn’t going to be too unpleasant, but he wondered how she would react if he ate meat, remembering one of his few times he had talked to a pony.
It had been on a visit to New Washington, and a male pony had randomly introduced himself to Thomas. While he had been uncomfortable at first, eventually, they had struck up a pleasant conversation. The stallion told him that he was curious about humanity as a whole and resolved to introduce himself to a random human to sate his curiosity; Thomas just so happened to be the first person he saw. Thomas had politely answered his questions and asked a few of his own, but when they inevitably came to the topic of diet, the pony had to take his leave. By politely sprinting away.
After they had finished their food and drinks, Thomas had offered to pick them up, to which Luna replied with a polite “Thank you.” After laying the dishes in his sink, he returned to his place on the couch. He quickly realized that he didn’t know what to do next. The pony seemed to be doing moderately better—she no longer had a frown and her eyes were a bit brighter—but he wanted to see if he could cheer her up fully. Then he had an idea.
“Hey, Miss Luna?” he grinned.
“Yes, Mister William?” she turned her head to face him.
“Have you ever watched Star Wars?”
She, of course, hadn’t, but what surprised him was that she had never seen an actual television. She said they were fancy devices of the nobles in her homeland, something she had no time to enjoy. Apparently, the only movie she had ever watched was a film in theaters with her friend and her friend’s friend. The film was based on the popular book series “Daring Doo.”
He knelt by the box filled with VHS tapes and searched around for the movie. He had acquired a lot of tapes over the years. Many he had owned before the war, some he had obtained from ruins, and a couple he had bought from people after arriving in the new world. They were one of his prized possessions. He would go to the ends of Earth and the New World to protect them. With the movie in the tape player, he took his spot on the couch, leaned back, and relaxed. He cast an eye towards Luna to see her reaction to the movie. She seemed to be amazed as the opening text crawl and music began. Thomas chuckled to himself; he remembered his first time watching A New Hope when he was fourteen; he had probably looked a lot like she did, mouth agape and wide-eyed as he saw the strange fictional planet of Tatooine. Growing up in the southeast, he knew heat but seeing a world entirely covered by a desert? Now that was something, and it astounded him as a child. All bright-eyed and filled with imagination, never expecting the horrors to come.
Thomas gritted his teeth; he hated where his train of thought kept going. He had no clue what was triggering it, but it was definitely new, he had managed to go six years without having to dwell too much on what had happened, but now every other thought in his head called his attention towards the war. It had begun to irritate him. He took a deep breath and cleared his mind, just focusing on the movie and enjoying the awed reactions of the pony. Fortunately, she had begun asking him questions, and while it usually would have bothered him to talk during a movie, it provided the opportune distraction from his turbulent thoughts.
“How does the vessel travel through the heavens like that?”
“The ship isn’t real. It’s all just props or movie magic.”
“I thought humans could not perform magic?”
“Uh, it’s not real magic,” a small part of himself laughed at the apparent contradiction, “It’s special effects, like when they edit the film, they change certain things to make it look better. It’s a bit hard to explain; I’m just a cryptographer, not a director.”
She nodded her head and turned her attention back to the television, she gave him the occasional comment and question, but otherwise, her eyes were glued to the screen. Thomas smiled as he relaxed and wondered if she would want to watch more.
Seven hours. Seven hours. They spent seven hours, not just finishing the two Star Wars movies, but he had made the mistake of mentioning Star Trek halfway through the second movie, and she insisted on watching it. Despite some risqué scenes with Captain Kirk, she had enjoyed it, but, as much as Thomas liked the show, spending three hours binge-watching episodes took a lot out of him.
He swiftly stood up and turned off the VHS, earning a protest from the pegacorn lying on his couch. “Sorry, Luna. But I have to get at least some work done today.”
She huffed, but, despite her disappointment, she smiled; her happiness was infectious, and Thomas found himself returning the expression. The pony hopped off the couch and stretched to loosen her joints; she even gave her wings a few flaps.
“Thank you, William. I greatly enjoyed watching those films.”
“Glad you liked it,” he responded as he rubbed his eyes; they were sore from watching television. That was probably the reason he avoided watching it too often—along with the fact that he had watched every movie he owned at least three times. “I hadn’t expected you to get so into it.”
“How could I not; your films were excellent! Star Wars was an especially wonderful adventure; who wouldn’t love to view a valiant creature trek through the stars to save a princess and stop an evil empire. I could see it rivaling even the tales of Daring Do in popularity—if your kind would be willing to distribute it in Equestria. And what of the ‘special effects?’ You told me your kind has no form of magic, and yet, you make a film with swords of light and space-faring vessels the size of cities!”
Thomas chuckled at the pony’s enthusiasm, “Such high praise. I’m sure George Lucas would have been happy to hear that.”
Luna’s eyes locked onto his own, “Is that the maker of the film?” He nodded, and he swore her smile grew wider. “Is he going to continue the film? I would hate it if such a wondrous story ended on such a sour note.”
Thomas’s smile faded. The man was probably dead. With how many nukes hit the west coast, the man was almost certainly gone. If he wasn’t, he would have read something in the news about the man. No. He was dead. The films were just one more item he had to remember the lost.
“William?” Luna called softly. Thomas jumped in his skin; he had forgotten she was there. His mind had wandered off to the past. She no longer had a happy smile; in its place was a concerned frown.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” He gave her a smile that he knew didn’t match his eyes, “But, to answer your question, I don’t know. Those movies were made back home...on Earth.”
“... that is what you call your world?” she asked tentatively. “Forgive me if it is too personal, but I heard that your world was dying.”
He chuckled dryly, “Dead is more appropriate. Sure the government is still working on those rescue missions in the Caribbean, but in ten more years, the world’s gonna be iced over.”
“Oh,” she appeared to think something over. “How did your world die?”
His eyes snapped to the pony, and he raised an eyebrow. “Oh boy, that’s a loaded question.”
“I meant no offense!” she quickly amended, “It’s just that I had been able to read some reports during the first crossings, but they were always very general. The ‘Europeans’ had been vague in their answers, and I never had the time to investigate personally.”
“You must have had a pretty high position if you were getting reports from the First Crossing.”
She shifted her gaze to a nearby wall, a frown forming on her face, “You could say that.”
He sighed and crossed his arms, the movement drawing her attention back to him. He didn't say anything for a while, instead choosing to stare at the pony. “Do you really want to know?” She hesitated before nodding her head, mirroring his impassivity. He shook his head, giving a disappointed sigh. “Alright. For starters, we killed our world, along with untold millions of people on it."
To the pony’s credit, she didn’t seem fazed by his statement; most of the innocent peace-loving creatures would probably be horrified at the prospects of that level of destruction, but not her, apparently. Nevertheless, it made him wonder if she had gleaned at least that part. “How did you destroy yourselves?” she asked.
“We dropped what we called atomic bombs all over the world; the bombs had enough power to level entire cities, killing millions each. But the sheer destructive power wasn't the worst part of the bombs. Nope, the worst point was radiation. If you were lucky enough to survive the explosion, you would be graced by a slow, painful death by radiation poisoning.”
Luna’s brow furrowed, “How did you survive? Did you contract this poison?”
He shook his head, “Nope, I lived in a small town in the south. They only nuked our state capital and largest city, so I survived. But, even after that, we were still technically at war, and for the first year, the government gathered people up and had them live in makeshift towns in the least damaged suburban and rural areas. The civilians worked in what remained of factories to produce weapons to fight the ongoing war, and we soldiers were sent to either fight against the Soviets or protect the remaining supply lines.”
“You still fought even after facing such devastation?” her face was a mix of shock and anger. “That’s absurd! With such devastation, you were in no shape to fight!”
Thomas shrugged, “I suppose that’s true, but everyone was devastated, even our enemies, so even with our weakened state, we fought on. And I was assigned to protect supply lines.”
“Your people were decimated. From whom would you protect them from!”
“Gangers,” he spat. “Groups of people who decided the best thing to do during the apocalypse was to attack convoys and loot what they could from the remains. My convoy got attacked five times during the first year; I’m happy to say I nailed eight of the shit-heads.” a sadistic grin crept onto his face. He hated killing people; even the Soviets were still people. But the gangers? Not them; they weren’t people. They were animals, filthy rabid animals.
Luna was startled by his sudden shift in attitude, but she recovered. “I see," her eyes betrayed her nonchalance; he could see the concern in her eyes and felt his face heat up in shame. He cleared his throat, wiped the cruel grin off his face, and returned to a neutral expression.
“...Anyway, so after a while, the constant raids started to cripple us, well, cripple us even more than we already were. Then a few of the remaining military leaders decided they knew what was best and, through a coup, they assumed control over the remains of the government. They shifted our war efforts away from fighting the Soviets and back towards home.” He paused for a second, “I have to say, I never really liked the coup, but that was one of the best things they did for us—besides build the portals, of course.”
“And why is that?"
He felt the urge to grin again, but this time he suppressed it, knowing that it would put her off. “Well, they brought the boys home to kill off the gangers, and a mighty fine job they did. We never suffered a single ambush again, and I got to see a few of the animals executed on the firing line.” She gave him a concerned look at that last comment, but he brushed it off. He would hold no compassion for them, not after what they took from him, “Now, this is where the Junta starts getting a little crazy. With our supply lines restored and safe, they decided they needed more, and where better to get resources than from our northern neighbors in Canada?”
“So you invaded this 'Canada?'”
“Not me—I was still on convoy duty—but yeah. We marched an army into Canada and occupied it; wasn't too hard, took a beating, and their population was reduced to only a couple million, but their industries were mostly intact. We used them to supply our troops, and we launched an attack on a Soviet oil rig off the coast of Alaska. That failed. Horribly. It ended up destroying the rig, killing everyone on it.”
She grimaced, “That’s awful.”
“Yeah, but it gets worse. After that, the Soviets counterattacked; having expended their nuclear arsenal, they opted to launch a swarm of rockets at a nearby military base. Too bad, that military base was being used to treat people with severe radiation poisoning. Killed everyone there—I think the casualty count was around ten thousand. With that absolute failure, everyone lost the will to fight, and we turned to internal affairs and avoided fighting the Soviets; they were too busy handling their problems to care about conquering us anyway.”
Her jaw dropped, “... So they killed thousands of innocents...and you did nothing?”
His eyes narrowed, “Didn’t you just say we were in no condition to fight?”
Her shock turned to fury; her mane lost its shape and seemed to drift apart, forming a cloud of stars. A chill ran down his back as he glanced into her eyes; for a brief moment, he thought her pupils contracted into slits, but that couldn’t be. “They killed innocent people! They killed wounded innocent people! Such evil deserves to be paid back in blood! All throughout your tale, your people fight and fight for meaningless reasons, but when they kill thousands of suffering innocents, you do nothing!"
Thomas felt his heart lurch in his chest. He felt an odd mix of overwhelming humor and pain. She thought that a thousand people already doomed to die was bad? What about the millions that not only the Soviets killed, but they had killed. How many families died because of some stupid war between two world powers? Over four billion were killed, and she was worried about a couple thousand! It was funny. No, it wasn’t funny; it was hysterical. And he laughed. An image of one of his best friends passed through his mind’s eye. His face frozen in a smile as a chunk of gore splattered out the side of his head. He collapsed to his knees, barely registering the pain of his clothed flesh hitting the hard floor. An image of his little brother's pained face as he reached for Thomas. He laughed until his throat was sore, and he was regularly interrupted by a painful dry cough. And his father. Oh God, his father.
Tears and mucus streamed down his face, and he found himself curling into a fetal position as he begged his own mind to stop showing him the memories. He attempted to dig his nails into his skin in a vain effort to distract his mind. Luna stood by helpless as she watched the human suffering; her anger had disappeared, replaced by guilt and fear. She had done that to him. It was her fault, and she needed to fix it. But she didn’t know how. What if what she did just made it worse. Then, she had an idea; the alicorn concentrated and readied her horn.
And cast a sleeping spell.
Thankfully, it worked. She had no idea how humans interacted with magic, being from another world and all. But, she was relieved when he stopped whimpering, and his breathing slowed. She used her magic to gently lift him and turned to bring him to his room. She walked to the hall that housed his and her rooms.
At the very end was her room; her eyes glanced towards the ornate door marked with a symbol of the moon. The human government had gone out of its way to make her comfortable, and while she was flattered, it only served to remind her of home. She frowned and shook her head to clear her thoughts. It wasn’t the time to think about her mistakes.
Across from her room was the bathroom; she never had to use it due to having her own private bathroom, customized to fit an alicorn. Near the start of the hall was William’s room marked by a plain white door. She magicked the door open and entered with the human held aloft in her magical aura. His room was rather spartan in comparison to her own. The walls were painted the same white as his door, with only a singular window covered by blinds letting light into the dark room. It was furnished with a bed in the corner of the room, and across from it was a dresser, presumably filled with human clothes. And, in another corner, a desk with what looked like a small television screen with a typewriter keyboard, a boxy device with a horizontal slit, along with a tray of thin plastic devices—she made a mental note to ask him about those later—and finally, a black lockbox that came up to her knees. The only true color came from the blue carpet floor. She laid him carefully on the bed. While he seemed to be sleeping peacefully, she didn’t want to take chances.
She closed her eyes and focused on entering into the Realm of Sleep. She opened her eyes to see the ground beneath her gone, in its place a sea of swirling night. Stars and clouds moved and shifted as if liquid, making navigation through the realm difficult. Or it would, if not for Luna's millenniums of experience. Nevertheless, she flapped her wings out of habit and flew through the starscape for the human’s dream.
To her relief, she was able to find his dream; she had tried searching for one a few times on the humans during her stay with their Central Intelligence Agency, and, to her shock, she had not been able to find one during her stay. Not even a nightmare. It had concerned her greatly and had put her under the impression that humans could not dream.
She tried entering into his dream to check on his wellbeing but found herself unable to. Every time she attempted to enter, it seemed as if he unconsciously pushed back. She had never experienced that before, and while she could try and enter through brute strength, she didn’t want to take the risks of damaging him. So she settled on trying to catch mere glimpses of the dream.
She circled the bubble that constituted the human’s dream, and while she couldn’t get a proper view of his dream, she was able to catch impressions, and after circling it for a while longer, she concluded that it was not a nightmare. No, indeed, it was the opposite; he seemed to have great joy.
“I can’t believe my little boy is joining the army,” Thomas’s mother wiped away a tear that had formed in her eye; it tugged at Thomas's heartstrings, and he was compelled to give her a comforting hug.
“Don’t worry, mom, I plan on getting a job in intelligence, so I won't even be in any danger," he hugged her tighter. “I’ll be fine.”
"Besides, it's not like the Reds would actually try anything," walking up from behind them, his father gave Thomas a pat on the back. A big smile adorned the man’s clean-shaven face. The man had dark chocolate brown hair, styled into a mullet, and deep hazel eyes that contrasted with his mother's seafoam green eyes and blonde hair. He had been born with his mother’s eyes and his father’s hair. “The best of both worlds,” his father often said. "And if they do, I'm sure our son will give them what for!"
"Nathan!" his mother cried, "I don't want our son fighting! What if we go to war? Do you want him to march off to his grave!"
His father's smile faded, and he looked at his wife gravely. "Anna, our boy will be fine." His mom opened her mouth to protest, but his father cut her off, "I know that he'll be safe. He's too smart to have his potential wasted on the frontlines. He’s a smart boy. They aren’t going to waste such a talented boy."
"What makes you so sure?" his mom’s voice wavered.
"I can see that our son will move on to do great things, and God won’t let him die before his time has come," his father said as he wrapped his arms around the two of them and pulled them to his chest. Thomas felt embarrassed by what his father said. Both of his parents saw something great in him, but he never could see it himself. They knew that, and while they always pushed him to be his best, they never forced him into anything he hated.
His mother whispered something, but Thomas couldn’t quite catch it. He knew his mother would worry about him, but he wanted to serve his country. To keep his country and family safe from the Reds. He had hoped that he could serve behind a desk, making sure all the supplies got to the frontlines and that the injured could get out and receive medical attention, but he was willing to serve on the front lines if he had to.
“Mom! I’m home,” came a voice from the living room. They broke their hug as Thomas’s younger brother Gabriel entered the room. “What’s going on in here?” asked the sixteen-year-old.
“Your brother signed up,” his mother replied. The younger boy turned to Thomas, his eyes wide.
“You're really gonna do it, Will?” Thomas nodded. “Geez, did you call Olive?”
“Not yet, I called to tell her earlier, but she didn’t pick up,” his older sister, Olivia, had moved to New York City to pursue her dream of becoming a fashion designer. She had been pretty successful, but her job kept her working late. “I’ll try to call her before I ship out to Basic.”
“When do you leave?”
Thomas smiled cheekily and leaned down a bit to look his brother in the eyes, “Why? You trying to get rid of me? Even if I leave, you’re not getting my room.” His father chuckled behind him.
His brother just rolled his eyes, “No, I’m not trying to get rid of you. But I want to know how long we have to spend together before you ship off. I still want to watch Raiders of the Lost Ark, and I’m pretty sure that this’ll be your last chance.”
“Gabe’s right, Will,” his father chimed in. “Did they tell you when you leave?”
Thomas nodded, “Next week, Tuesday.”
His mother clapped her hands together, “That gives us six days. And you know what? Why don’t we go off to the theaters, Nathan?”
“Sounds fine to me,” He said. “Why don’t you and Gabe go get changed? I need to talk to William.”
Gabriel had already sprinted upstairs. Thomas’s mother cast a worried glance towards the two before going upstairs as well. Then, after waiting a few moments to make sure they were out of earshot, Thomas’s father turned to him, his gaze as strong as steel. “Will,” he called, motioning for him to get closer. When he did, his father laid his hands on his shoulders. “I want you to know you’ve made a big decision.”
“I kno-”
“No. You don’t know. I may not have served, but your grandpa did. And he came back with scars. And not just on his body, but his mind too. He didn’t talk about what he saw much, but when he did…” His father’s voice cracked, and Thomas wrapped him in a hug. “Please, don’t get careless, I couldn’t bear it if I lost my-”
“I won’t, Dad, I promise I won’t,” he cut him off. His father hugged him as if he was going to lose him if he didn’t hold on. They hugged until his father regained his composure, then he pulled away and reached into his shirt.
“I want to give you this. Your grandpa gave it to me when he came back from the war,” his father drew his hand back and pulled a necklace out from under his shirt. He took Thomas’s hand and placed it in it. When his father released his hand, Thomas inspected it. It was a beautiful golden cross on a silver chain. A pearl sat in its center, and ornate engravings inlaid with silver decorated its body; his mouth hung open as he moved it in his hand. “I want you to have it now, and I want you to know that I’ll always be here for you. Nothing on Earth can stop me from helping my son.” Thomas glanced up at his father before he put on the necklace.
“Alright, we’re ready!” called his mother before she and Gabriel walked down the stairs.
“Alrighty then,” his father responded, regaining his cheerful tone, “You ready, Will?”
“Yeah.”
The theater wasn’t that far, so they walked instead of drove. Thomas’s father and mother walked in front of their sons, holding each other’s hands. His mother glanced back and saw the cross adorning his neck. “Where’d you get that, William?”
“Dad.”
She turned to her husband, “Where’d you get that, Nate? It’s so pretty!”
“Dad said it was a gift from a woman he helped in France.”
“During the war?”
“Yep.”
“You must tell me,” she playfully demanded.
His father shook his head, a grin on his face, “Alright, so it was July 4th, 1944. My dad had been on patrol in a French town, just south of Normandy, that’s when-”
Thomas groaned as the morning light shone through his window, the melody of the local bird population audible, even through his closed window. His spine popped as he pulled himself into a sitting position and rubbed his bleary eyes. Whatever he did last night gave him one of the best nights of sleep he had in years. What did he do?
His brow furrowed as he tried to recall what happened, but nothing came to him. It was as if the memories were just beyond the reach of his consciousness, but they would occasionally dip into his mind before fleeing back into the edges of his mind. He chuckled at his overly long analogy. He stood up and walked over to the window.
There wasn’t much activity outside, only the occasional car passing and a single person standing outside their house with a cup of coffee. With the sun just peeking over the roof of his neighbors across the street, it was safe to assume that it was still early in the morning. He stood by the window a little longer, trying to remember what happened the night before.
His eyes eventually settled on his car parked in the driveway, and one of the elusive memories was dragged into the light. He remembered Luna. He remembered making her something to eat. He remembered watching television with her. He remembered talking to her. That’s when his mind drew a complete blank. It was as if that part of his memory had been blotted out of existence. He glanced around his room, hoping something came back to him. It wasn’t until his eyes settled on the black lockbox in the corner that he could remember.
The War. They talked about the War.
Everything flooded back to him, even his mental breakdown. He sighed and fell back onto the bed, suddenly exhausted; he had a relapse, but how did he get to his room? There was no way he dragged himself back to his room; usually, he’d pass out from mental or physical exhaustion and wake up on the floor. Maybe he did somehow stumble his way back to his room. He snorted and dismissed the idea; it was far more likely that Luna brought him back to his room after he fell unconscious. If that was the case, he supposed he ought to thank her. But before he did any of that, he needed a shower.
He stood up and walked over to his dresser, opened the top drawer, ignored the loaded M1911, and grabbed a colorful horizontal striped polo, slacks, and underwear. He threw the slacks and underwear onto his shoulder and held up the striped shirt. He usually wore more muted clothes, but the polo had earned its place as his favorite shirt through softness alone. After getting his clothes picked out, he closed the drawer and left his room.
The hallway was completely silent; glancing into the living room, he saw no one and assumed Luna was still asleep. He entered the bathroom, set his clothes down, ensured he had a towel, and undressed. He glanced towards the radio that sat on a shelf above his counter and considered turning it on. If Luna’s presence was anything to go by, some significant events were happening in the world, and she would probably appreciate any updates on the status of her homeland. He turned the dial to a station he enjoyed: the Voice of the Old World Newscast.
“-regardless, rescue operations are still underway,” the English anchorman finished. Thomas sighed as he stepped into the shower, another piece of news he missed. “To our listeners just tuning in, I’d like to thank you for joining us on V-OWN; it’s a pleasure to have you with us. However, my dear listeners, our next bit of news is a touch dire and has many people here in the European Union strung up. Recently, the princess of the pony nation Equestria has made a rather alarming speech.” That caught Thomas’s attention. “Our reporters were able to attend and record the speech. What follows is a recording taken two days ago, in the capital of Canterlot.” A brief silence followed, in which Thomas lathered himself with soap.
“Ponies of Equestria!” the sudden shout startled Thomas, almost making him drop his soap. “It fills me with great joy to see so many loyal ponies assembled here today. I know many of you have struggled much these last few years, and I know that many of you are tired and just want everything to return to normal.
“But I’m afraid that cannot happen.
“I’m sorry, my ponies, but this is the way it has to be. What we knew as normal has died. Killed by the treacherous forces of Nightmare Moon and the Secessionist. If Equestria is to survive, we must forge a new normal. One that insurgents cannot so easily strike down. A new normal not founded on the weaknesses of Harmony.” Numerous gasps interrupted the speech; Thomas didn’t understand the significance.
“I know what I say sounds unspeakable, but let me ask you, my dear ponies... Did Kindness save your colts and fillies from the cultists’ rifles?” she asked coldly. “Did Honesty shield your fathers from the bombs? Did Laughter defend your homes from the artillery! Did Generosity stop the roaring machine guns from slaughtering our people! Did Loyalty save those dying in the trenches! Has the ‘Magic of Friendship’ saved anypony during this miserable war? No!
“Do you believe the Changelings will accept our friendship? Even as I speak, they mobilize to conquer our home! Our faith in Harmony has weakened us! We must be strong; we must do what it takes to survive. My ponies, a new era lurks on the horizon, and I will be the one that guides you into it; I am Daybreaker, it is my duty, my responsibility, to prepare my ponies into this new age, and under my guiding hoof, nothing will ever threaten us again! Chrysalis and her kind will never break the iron will of my subjects. The endless wars of Griffonia shall never touch our continent. And the foul supporters of Sombra will be dashed beneath our hooves!
“Forward my ponies! Forward onto this bright new age! Forward unto Dawn!” Cheering and loud thumping followed the speech before getting cut off as the recording ended.
After a brief silence, the British newscaster cleared his throat, “That was the speech.” A shuffling noise came from the radio. “Now, listeners, I don’t like to input personal opinions during the news section of our show, but this...this speech worries me. Now I suppose there wasn’t anything directly threatening, but…I don’t know, I just have a bad feeling about this,” another pause. “But that’s all for the speech, onto recent events in Olenia and the Soviet Union.”
Thomas tuned out the newscaster and instead continued his shower. He sympathized with the radio host’s feeling; something about the speech rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe it was the strange name change. Daybreaker. People usually didn’t just change their name out of the blue. He shook his head; there was no use worrying about it.
He turned off the shower water and dried himself off before getting dressed. After doing a brief inspection of himself in the mirror, he brushed his teeth and shaved. Then, he put his dirtied clothes and towel in the laundry basket and left the bathroom.
He was once again greeted by silence; Luna still hadn’t awakened. He checked his watch for the time: 7:53. He shrugged; perhaps she wasn’t a morning person. It just gave him more time to get to work on the cipher. He entered the living room and walked over to his desk that sat in the corner. As he sat down, he opened the drawer that held his work and laid them on his desk. But just as he had picked up a pen, his phone rang.
He let out an irritated sigh and reluctantly stood up and walked to the phone. He picked it and greeted the caller with, “Hello, this is William Thomas. Who’s this?”
“Tommy! I have news for you,” a familiar voice of his commanding officer answered back. “It regards your work.”
“News for me, sir?”
“Did you hear about the speech in Equestria, Tommy?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Cut the sir business. What did I tell you about that!”
“Yes, er, Micheal.”
That’s better. Anyways, the Europeans have requested our aid in decrypting some radio messages they picked up, and you’re being assigned to it.”
Thomas’s brow furrowed, “S-,Micheal, what about Wingbardy?”
“They have taken a low priority; right now, we need to figure out if the Equestrians are planning something. You should be receiving an email from an EU delegate sometime this week, but the specifics are still being worked out, so don’t expect to receive anything now.”
“Understood, Micheal.”
“Have a good morning, Tommy.”
“You too,'' Thomas hung up the phone. That threw his daily schedule out of whack; most of his day was spent working. He let out a sigh, picked up his work, and scanned the room for something to do. He didn’t feel like watching television, so that was out of the question. He didn’t have any friends to call; most of them left him. His expression soured; that wasn’t something he liked to think about. He briefly considered going back to sleep but dismissed the idea. There was no use throwing off his sleep schedule when he’d just have to get it back on track later.
Eventually, he started cleaning up the house; it busied him for a few hours. By the time ten o’clock rolled around, he had swept up the kitchen, living room, and hallway, wiped down every counter, washed all his clothes, and washed and dried the dishes. He was in the middle of folding his clothes when Luna’s door creaked open. He glanced towards the door to see the scowling pony. She looked tired, her fur was a mess, and, somehow, she managed to get bedhead. He suppressed a chuckle at her appearance and greeted her.
“Good morning, Luna.” She grumbled something in response. Not a morning person.
“Do you have any coffee?” she asked, although it lacked the politeness she had yesterday, sounding more like a demand. Definitely not a morning person.
“In the kitchen,” he stood up, “Let me show you.”
She huffed but allowed the human to escort her. She hated mornings, but after staying with their Central Intelligence Agency for a while, she had grown accustomed to waking up early. That didn’t mean she had to like it. The human led her into the kitchen to a small machine that sat on the counter. She didn’t recognize the brand, but the machine was familiar enough. It was good to know that she would be able to obtain coffee in the mornings; William would have been in for a terrible time if she hadn’t. He turned on the machine, and they stood in silence as the pot filled. Thomas avoided looking at the irate blue pony; she might have cared if it wasn’t for the fact that she was awake at ten in the morning and still hadn’t had coffee.
The machine made a beeping noise as the pot finished filling. Thomas retrieved two cups and poured in the coffee. Luna snatched up her cup as soon as he finished filling it, and she began downing the coffee as she held it aloft in her magic. He raised an eyebrow, “No sugar?”
She paused for a moment to send him a testy glare before continuing to chug the bitter black fluid; he cringed. Then, taking a container of sugar out of the pantry, he dropped three spoonfuls into his cup. Luna let out a content sigh after finishing her cup; Thomas couldn’t help but notice that she looked a lot more put together after finishing the drink.
“Thank you, William,” she said politely. “I apologize for being so ill-mannered.”
He waved it off, “No hard feelings,” he smirked, “I’ve dealt with much worse than one grumpy pony.”
She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smirk of her own, “Hmm, I would say I was quite tame. If I were truly annoyed, you wouldn’t dare speak to me like that.”
“Oh? Well, my apologies, princess.” He performed a mock bow, holding up one arm to keep his coffee from spilling. The pony’s heart raced, and she nearly dropped the cup. He glanced up and, seeing her stunned state, tilted his head. Did he perform some kind of faux-pas? “You okay, Luna? It was just a joke; I didn’t mean to offend.”
She regained her composure and gave a nervous chuckle, “Ah, of course, a joke.” She shook her head to clear her thoughts. The human didn’t know she was a princess; he was merely making a joke. She didn’t know why Agent Connor warned her not to disclose her status, but she wouldn’t go against his request. And if she was honest, she preferred him not knowing; he treated her casually, and throughout her long life, there were only a hoof-full of ponies who treated her like that. One being her sister…
“Luna?” the pony had been staring at the floor absently; Thomas could tell she had drifted off into thought. It was a bit odd seeing someone else do it, but he recognized it. The pony didn’t respond to his call, so he leaned down and snapped his fingers. The pony nearly jumped upon hearing the pop; her eyes shot around the room, looking for the source until settling on the human’s outstretched hand. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at it intently.
“What was that?”
“ What was what?” He followed her eyes to his hand, “The snap?”
“Yes, did you do that with your hand?” He snapped again, and the pony tilted her head. “How do you do that?”
He shrugged and did it again, “I don’t know how it works; you just kinda do it.” He faced the palm of his hand towards her as he did it again.
“And doing that just makes that noise?”
“Yeah, I suppose that’s just another benefit of having fingers,” he glanced over to the coffee pot; it still had enough coffee for about three cups. Maybe he made too much. He pointed towards the machine, “I don’t suppose you’ll want another cup?”
“As for a matter of fact, I would. Would you be so kind as to pour out a cup for me,” her cup floated towards him. “You wouldn’t say no to a princess?”
He snorted and set his cup on the counter, “Of course, your majesty.” He seized the cup from her magic and poured her some more coffee. “Do you want any sugar in it, or are you just gonna chug down another cup of black coffee?”
“Hmm, I think I’ll take two spoons of sugar this time.” He dropped two spoonfuls into the drink, stirred, and handed it over to her. “Thank you, William. You make a wonderful serf,” she joked, taking a sip.
He placed the spoon in the sink before returning to his cup. He took a sip and grimaced as the cool liquid entered his mouth. Even with the sugar, cold coffee tasted awful; he quickly gulped down the drink and placed his cup into the sink. Luna eyed him the entire time.
“What about me chugging coffee, Mister William?” Luna teased.
“Mine was cold.”
“Hmm, that sounds like an excuse.”
He ignored the comment and sat down at the kitchen table. Luna joined him, taking a seat facing him. They sat in silence for a while, the only sound being the occasional sip from Luna’s cup.
“This chair is uncomfortable,” Luna whined, breaking the silence.
“I can imagine; it looks like your tail’s being pressed against the back.”
“It is, and it’s uncomfortable. Can we go sit on the sofa?”
He raised an eyebrow, “You know, you don’t have to wait for me, right?”
“Of course I know that, but it is a bit boring sitting on the sofa alone.” A cheeky grin crept onto her face, “Maybe we could continue watching Star Trek?”
He chuckled at the suggestion, but his cheerfulness died when memories of the day before resurfaced. “Luna,” he began, “do you remember what happened last night?”
The pony frowned, “Yes.”
“I’m sorry for what you saw, I don’t remember what happened exactly, but I do know I had a relapse,” his head dipped.
“What!” she exclaimed; her outburst made Thomas flinch. “What are you apologizing for?”
“For allowing you to see that.”
“What an absurd thing to apologize for! You suffered a ‘relapse’ because of my actions! If anything, I am the one to blame.”
“But I agreed to tell you what happened on Earth.”
“That means nothing!”
“I could have avoided saying anything, then you wouldn’t have to hear my sob story, and I wouldn’t have had a breakdown.”
“Sob story? Your whole world died; that’s not some trivial event!”
“I never said it was, but every human alive saw the same thing, and they’re out living their lives without breaking down at the slightest provocation. I just need to get over it.”
She slammed her hooves on the table, “That is the most outrageous thing I have ever heard in my entire life! You have emotional damage after suffering through a war worse than anything I can even imagine, and yet you blame yourself for experiencing pain? How can you be so foolish!”
Thomas stayed silent, considering her words before the sound of dripping made him glance over to her cup. Her coffee had spilled. She appeared to have noticed that too and was in the middle of magicking some napkins over to clean it up. Her eyes narrowed as they locked onto his.
“Mister William, you should seek professional help. I am no psychologist, but it is clear you are suffering from mental trauma. It is not good to bottle these things up; it will harm you in the long run,” she said matter-of-factly.
He snorted, “You say that like I haven’t already tried.”
“Well, have you?”
“Yeah, but it’s a bit hard to get an appointment. The waiting list is a couple of ten million long, so their schedule is pretty packed. I’m probably somewhere around 36,453,133. They’ll probably be able to see me in sixty years.”
Luna cringed at that, “S-surely you jest.”
He shrugged, “Maybe. There’s probably only a couple of million on the lists. Not everyone directly saw the horrors.”
‘That’s awful…” her ears slowly fell flat on her head.
“Yeah, it is. But there’s nothing that can be done about it. The doctors said that this’ll just be something that we all have to deal with. PTSD is the new normal until the next generation comes, and we all die off.”
Her face fell, “Is there truly no way to help?”
“I dunno, I’m no doctor; I’m just a cryptologist,” he stood up and rubbed his head. He was starting to develop a headache. “How about we get off of this topic and head to the living room to watch some television.”
She nodded, hopped off the chair, and walked beside him. “I’m sorry, William,” she hung her head—the same way she did when he first met her.
He extended his hand and tousled her mane; it was soft and silken, and touching it, he found out that it was indeed made of individual strands of hair, but they all coalesced to form the waving ethereal star-scape. “Don’t worry about it, Luna; now let’s go watch some movies.”
“Are we going to watch Star Trek again?” she seemed to perk up a little.
His face twisted into a mischievous grin, “Maybe, but I had something else in mind.”
