Redeem, Revive, Revolt

By: Lucius Seneca and Stillmatic

Chapter Six: Building Bridges


The timer buzzed. Its ringing echoed loud and clear across the small room, bouncing off the walls. A finger slowly pressed down on the clock and the button atop it, effectively silencing the annoying sound. Ulysses paused for a moment, glancing casually over the array of beakers and pots, some being heated while others had been left to cool, their use run out. The pot directly in front of Ulysses was beginning to bubble and the man turned the heat down, glad to see the bubbles begin to dissipate in the mixture. The timer was once again set and Ulysses returned to his other tasks.

Bottles and flasks were in disarray and the unlikely chemist began to sort them, carefully placing them in proper alphabetical order, making sure not to drop any of the volatile substances. Ulysses closed a small glass cabinet and began to mop the floor which was covered with sprinkles of different elements and splashes of strange liquids. The floor itself was a plain white tile, matching the small lab around it. There was quiet apart from the swishing off the raggedy mop and the dripping of water as Ulysses dipped the mop back into it's bin; filthy water splashing within.

The ivory skinned man paused in his mopping and removed the thick turtle neck over his torso and easily revealed the tank top beneath as he hung the black sweater on the door handle. If one were to take a long, hard look at Ulysses, they would have seen the small, creeping tendrils of scarred skin that poked out from underneath the thin tank top. Ulysses himself rubbed at one particular spot, shifting his clothing by several inches, further revealing the horrid scars beneath. Eventually, he removed the entire piece of clothing, annoyed at the itchiness of it.

He was a well-built man, muscles rippling beneath his skin. He was nowhere near Westin's excessive fitness level, but Ulysses still cut a striking figure in the faint light of the lab. He would have been quite handsome apart from his cold eyes and the sickening scar upon his chest. It was as if his skin from below his left collarbone and down to just above his belly button had been scorched with a blow torch. The flesh was mutilated and misshapen, giving Ulysses' chest a look of melted plastic. He hung the tank top upon the door handle as well and turned off the timer mere seconds after it began its loud noise.

Ulysses grabbed the large pot, careful not to burn his hands or spill its deadly contents, and began to pour the excess oil out and into a small glass beaker which received the steaming fluid with only a few splashes. Setting the pot back down, Ulysses grabbed a nearby kettle, one which had begun its high pitched whistling. The boiling water tumbled out from the kettle and into the mixture in front of Ulysses. Soon a large wooden spoon was plunged into the thick depths and Ulysses began to stir, all the while keeping a steady flow of boiling water coursing into the pot.

The kettle was soon emptied and Ulysses set it aside and continued his stirring, finding the mixture becoming increasingly difficult to stir, as it was thickening rapidly. Next came a large glass of cool water, poured directly into the solidifying substance. Ulysses continued the stirring for another minute until pellets began to form within the pot, at which point Ulysses removed the spoon and set it aside, grabbing a small can, the kind someone might find soup in, and several other pieces of material.

Minutes passed and eventually Ulysses began to construct a strange piece of apparatus. The top of the tin can was promptly removed and Ulysses slid several layers of "O" shaped foam down and into the can, covering the surrounding walls. Next came a collection of small vials, taped together in a thick bundle with duct tape. Once the vials were set in place (Nestled within the foam circles) the lid of the can was punctured with a knife, leaving several small holes in an irregular pattern.

Said lid was carefully forced down and into the bottom of the can, covering the combination of foam and vials. Ulysses wiped the sweat off of his brow and continued with the next step of the dangerous procedure. The pot and its contents had cooled and large pellets had formed. Ulysses, using a hijacked soup ladle, scooped a large collection of pellets out and deposited them ever so carefully into the can. He repeated this process once more and stopped abruptly, leaving about 1/3 of the can empty.

The process was not yet complete and Ulysses retrieved a small, non-electric blasting cap attached with a small fuse. He slowly forced the blasting cap and the accompanying fuse down and into the warm pellets until he reached the buried lid. A small shot glass, filled with iron shavings, was easily poured onto the pellets and Ulysses smoothed out the rough mixture, carefully conforming it around the fuse which stuck out from the explosive depths.

Another tin lid, presumably from another can, was grabbed off the nearby countertop and, using nimble fingers, Ulysses punctured a large hole in it's surface before threading the fuse through it, eventually pushing the lid down and onto the exposed opening of the can. Duct tape was wrapped thickly around the lid and the surrounding sides of the can, easily securing the aforementioned lid. Ulysses sighed loudly and sat back in a nearby chair. He took a moment to glance around.

The lab was small, no doubt used for minor experiments, and proved to be a perfect location for the manufacturing of the explosives. Ulysses, being an avid highschooler who attended chemistry class throughout his years enrolled, had easily discovered how to make use of his skills with some simple internet searches.

There were several pots, beakers, pieces of tubing, and other scientific apparatus scattered around the lab. Hot plates were beginning to cool off and Ulysses opened the nearby door in order to let the room air out. The manufacturing lab was adjoined to the room, but it had been cleaned up recently by some Diamond Dog workers. They milled about, organizing the thousands of spare parts, as ordered by Adjule who, along with Lassie and Jacque, were resting in their new underground quarters currently.

Westin was recuperating in another area of the facility, no doubt in extreme pain from his recently amputated arm. Ulysses was sure that there would be permanent nerve damage from the extensive injury and the rough surgery which had immediately followed. Picking up the can, Ulysses slowly hefted it, feeling the weight of it. The can itself contained TNT and nitroglycerin along with a small amount of iron shavings. The nitroglycerin, being incredibly volatile, was contained within the vials which were currently nestled comfortably within the foam.

The TNT was layered over the top of the lowermost lid, covered by iron shavings. When detonated, the homemade explosive would take out an entire building without a problem. Ulysses opened a small drawer and slid the bomb within, joining it with several Molotov cocktails and makeshift hand grenades. There was something incredibly interesting about fire and explosives to Ulysses and he loved the chaos they brought.

His eyes flickered over the working dogs for an instant before he left the labs and exited them entirely, heading back towards where Westin would be resting, grabbing his tank top in the process.


Pride had been the bane of relationships for Westin. Of the few he managed to keep afloat longer than a few weeks, it was usually pride that sunk it with guarantee. Here he stood, at his girlfriend of roughly a year's house, close to midnight. His hand was still, but holding a key close to the front door. The mind of the young man considered if what he was doing was right for himself. While it was his fault of accusing his girlfriend, Tiana, of cheating on him, Westin was usually never one to admit he was wrong. Still, he felt something for her, and for that, he would manage to eke out a very small apology.

The huge fight they had didn't help the situation either, with neither talking for over a week. But maybe if he took the initiative, he could save as much face as possible and finally mend the relationship again. His mind came back to his present situation and soon decided for him. Swallowing his pride, he stuck the key in the lock and made his way into the door. Being one to have the personal knowledge of safety, he locked it behind him and took off his shoes. Westin found himself rolling his eyes at such idiotic rules such as these, but he pushed past it.

Without a second thought, the man crept up the stairs, hoping to catch Tiana awake. The idea of apologizing was sour, but a grin was evidence that it might just turn sweet if he played his cards right. Westin chuckled to himself as he made his up. His keen sense of hearing detected something however, something that was familiar. It was immediately known in his mind what was happening, and it made his blood boil without restraint. The dark hands clenched feverishly together, ready to rip something apart at a second's notice. What he was hearing had been a something moving against a bed, giving off the signature squeak of springs receiving the force from sex.

Westin sprinted up the stairs and kicked in the bedroom door, his eyes glowing in a primal anger that oozed adrenaline into his system. The right part of his mouth twitched at what he saw once he flicked on the lights. In his place was someone else, another man that tried to comfort his woman in her time of need. Obviously, the comfort got too personal for them and left Westin in the dust. There was nothing that he hated more in his entire life than what he saw at this very moment. The other man, someone he didn't recognize, turned his head and scrambled off of Tiana, falling off of the bed in the process.

Westin's felt his skin become dangerously hot as his anger increased every second. The ears on his head didn't respond to the slightest, and no sound made itself known to his person as he took a few steps forward. Time itself seemed to slow slightly, most likely a side-effect of the adrenaline, and he was barely conscious of the world around him enough to see that his so-called girlfriend was screaming something at him. The philanderer stood up and grabbed at his clothes, ready to make a quick escape.

Pretending to pay him no mind and glaring at Tiana with mass-amounts of hate, Westin allowed the other man to attempt to move around him and leave. Of course, as soon as he was close enough, Westin sucker-punched the relationship-wrecker and tackled him to the carpeted floor. The screams of Tiana fell on deaf ears as countless punches landed against the face of the man. Westin's arm retracted and pushed forward enough times to make him change his tactics.

The now very antagonized Westin lifted up his counterpart and threw him against the wall, ripping off a cheap painting from its place on it in the process. Each deep breath that escaped him was quickly replaced as he watched the person get up shakily and hold out his hands in surrender. Hearing nothing of it, Westin head-butted him and sent him to the floor of the nearby bathroom. In the few seconds it took for him to get inside, the other man had already gotten up and grasping for anything that could help him. The bloody face and broken nose only seemed to be a sight that infuriated Westin more.

With only a few motions, Westin snapped his perpetrator's elbow in the opposite direction, eliciting screams of agony to run through the air. Knowing now was the time to finally finish this, he kicked the man in the chest and sent him through the shower curtains, where his head connected with the hard tiles and porcelain. The noise ceased. Westin's hearing slowly came back as he stared at his work. A loud sobbing was heard nearby, but he had no time for such things. He turned the faucet on the shower to as hot as possible and left the other person to boil as he made his way out of the bathroom.

His eyes met Tiana's, who near immediately quieted. The light-skinned woman sat on the front of the bed, her face wet from her tears. Westin snorted in disgust and turned to walk away, but a slender hand grabbed his bulky arm. He whipped around and back-handed her across the face, and then shoved her to the ground violently. There was no mercy or remorse in his actions as the pure hatred piled up again. Knowing he'd better leave before he did something else he might regret, Westin left the hurt woman to wallow in her pain and pity.

Before exiting the room, he turned his head partially to her, "If you didn't know, you fuckin' low-life, conniving, loose slut, we're over. Enjoy your fucking self, bitch."

With that, the now embittered man left the house and entered his car. In only a few minutes, he arrived at his friend's house, where he knocked at the door, straining to keep his feelings from being shown in his actions. The door opened and they greeted each other. His friend, Jerry, knew immediately that something was wrong. Still, they were never ones to turn their backs on their boys, and so he let him in. Westin quickly found himself on the couch, where his stoic appearance and dark face began to creep Jerry out.

He was finally snapped out of his thoughts when Jerry spoke, "What happen', nigga?"

Westin's eyes slowly shut as he exhaled, "That bitch… Tiana…"

"She was with anotha' nigga?" Westin nodded, "You took his ass to the ghetto university?"

A sick grin that spat how much he relished in that other person's pain crossed his face, "I fucked him up bad… If anybody asks-"

"Me an' you were here watching the Bulls' game."

Westin chuckled, "Word is bond, son." He sighed, "I can't believe that shit happen' though…"

"Didn't expect her to pull that type of shit," Jerry added.

Despite how he was desperately trying to play it off, Westin was more than deeply hurt at what he saw, scarring his outlook, "… It just fuckin' goes to show nigga, you can't ever trust a fucking light-skinned bitch… ever."

Not agreeing with that but willing to comfort his friend, Jerry attempted to solve the situation the best way he knew, with alcohol. He pulled out a few forties and handed two to Westin, who undid the top and quickly stomached down the malt beverage. Even Jerry was somewhat surprised at how much his comrade was ingesting in such a short time.

He attempted question the other man about it, "You wanna slow down nigga?"

Westin lazily wiped his mouth on his sleeve before belching, "Fuck it, I'm drinkin' until I see the bottom of the bottle."

Jerry shrugged, knowing full-well that Westin wasn't the person to argue with when hurt. He wasn't sure how one of the toughest guys he knew was somehow hurt, but it wasn't something to consider at this time. This was his fault though, and the idea that Westin would suffer mentally at what he saw never crossed his mind. Without realizing it, he let the hate manifest within his friend and grow to great proportions. Westin, a man who only hated what had wronged him, now found all of his prejudice and discrimination directed towards one type of female. Little did he know that it would ruin countless relationships later on, and a very peculiar one would bud roughly three and a half thousand years later.


At a gruelingly slow pace, reality returned to the African-American man whose memories corrupted his dreams. His body jerked upwards, letting the collected sweat on his face drip down onto him. The panting and musky body-odor didn't do much in the department of combating his current nausea, but he managed to keep the bile from coming up his throat. Not fully remembering what had happened, Westin tried to use his right forearm to wipe away the sticky sweat from his head, only to find nothing touching him. There was an eerie sense of emptiness that made his blood turn cold at the realization.

A frown formed on his face, one that dripped a sadness he had never felt before. The green eyes turned to his right shoulder, where many bandages had covered an armless area. The frown deepened and Westin fell onto his back, staring at the ceiling in self-pity. It must be a dream, and nothing else. There was no way in hell that he had lost an arm in such a way, or at all for that matter. His eyes darted back to the bandages and a low whimper escaped his lips. It was true, he had lost his arm. The memories of his last few moments of consciousness came back to him fully, and dread gripped him as it all replayed in his mind.

Westin's head turned to the right of the cot, where he pulled a garbage pail with his left hand towards him. He vomited his last meal, letting the tannish substance burn his throat and exit his systems. The bald head hung low in thoughtless sorrow, just waiting for something to happen to end him. Never before had he felt so utterly weak and helpless, and this event was proving to be far too much for him. A tapping on his good shoulder turned his attention to whatever it was in front of him.

Pyrite gave as sympathetic a smile as she could muster, speaking low and soothingly, "How are you feeling?"

Westin turned onto his back and lied there, unspeaking and unresponsive. His regular blinking was the only sign to Pyrite that he was still awake or alive at all. Still, she would be there for him despite what he may have said or done earlier. He wasn't that bad of a colt at all and the recent event only made her empathize with him more in his time of need. She shivered at the thought of losing a body part in such a way, counting herself lucky to have never experienced such a terrible act.

By the time she looked back at Westin, he was already staring at her with hurt eyes. The deep sadness within them was more than enough to tell her that what he was going through was incredibly painful to endure and her appreciation of all her limbs skyrocketed. Pyrite watched him sigh and stare at the floor for a few moments before his sight focused back on her. The unicorn noticed smidgen of hope in his eyes this time, making her smile internally.

"… Can you fix it?"

She blinked, surprised at his question, "Fix what? Your… arm?" He nodded, "I'm sorry, but… Westin, I can't do that. I don't know how or probably even have enough magic to regenerate a new arm for you. It just doesn't work like that with my magic, or anypony's at all as far as I know."

Westin attempted to swallow, but found his throat dry, "Yeah, I figured… I-I just don't believe this shit… How did this ever happen? Why the fuck would they ever do some shit like that?"

Pyrite's ears fell, with her feeling somewhat guilty of something she had no part in, "I-I don't know…" She glanced at the door before placing a hoof on Westin's chest, "Don't worry, they'll find the stallion that made those things and told them to ambush you. I'm sorry for us not being there for you-"

Westin snorted, once again surprising Pyrite, in frustration, "Nah… I'm gonna to find that fucker… And tear him limb from limb until he ain't got shit left to do shit with. I'm gonna torture him all slow until he fuckin' dies from the pain." A scowl grew on his face as his rage returned, "I ain't going to let some motherfucking scumbag smash my arm into nothing and get away with it! I'm gonna cut him-" Westin swung his legs to the right and sat at the edge of the cot in the medical bay, "and slice off his fuckin' dick!" He stood up for a moment before collapsing onto his knees. "He fucked with the wrong nigga…"

Pyrite stood to his right and used her magic to lift him to his feet with a smile, "Glad to see you're your old self again."

His eyes glanced around the room with his left hand stroking Pyrite's mane. Westin soon realized what he was doing subconsciously when he felt Pyrite twitch from the feeling. He pulled his hand back and stretched his neck back dramatically.

She looked back up to him and frowned, "Good, that was… not like me to like that and I'd appreciate it if you didn't do it."

He shrugged with only one shoulder, "Fine by me."

Realizing he was only in a pair of boxers, Westin got dressed in his old clothes. Pyrite's help made the process go by quicker, as his lack of an arm proved to be a bit counterproductive to his goal. It was in no way easy for him to hide all of his pain, anger, and sorrow behind a mask, but he knew it was better for him to keep up his appearances, despite the fact he just lost an entire arm. Secretly, his sense of hope and preservation were absolutely demolished in all regards, leaving him to fester as a hateful wreck cloaked by his original personality. Westin's thoughts on his own psyche were cut short as someone entered the room.


Ulysses closed the door quietly behind him, pistol butt revealed, pressed tightly between his back and belt. The air seemed fake, circulated and filtered to the point of artificiality. Ulysses nodded casually at Westin, not interested in knowing how the injured man was doing, more attracted to the prospect of procuring some hypodermic syringes for a small project. The room became increasingly quiet, even awkwardly so, as Ulysses rooted around small cabinets and drawers.

Westin lay back on the bed, perhaps growing tired. Pyrite decided to break the silence, spotting the scars which crept ever so creepily out from beneath Ulysses' tank top.

"Are...are you okay?"

Ulysses looked back over his shoulder slightly "Why wouldn't I be?"

Pyrite became slightly embarrassed "Well, it's just that..."

"My scars? They're really none your business."

Westin sighed and got back up from the cot, ready to walk around, "I heard some nigga whipped his dick across his back an' that's how he got that shit."

Ulysses absently scratched his neck as he continued his unsuccessfully searching "Quite the humor you have. You look much better without an arm."

Westin scowled, "Far as I'm concerned nigga, I lost an arm and still got two more left. You only got the two on your shoulders though, bitch."

Sarcasm dripping from his words, Ulysses replied "Oh, I can barely contain my laughter."

"I need to find one of those horse doctors to regrow my arm," Westin stated as he rubbed the tender area affectionately. "This shit ain't gonna cut it."

Ulysses turned and promptly sat back on the countertop, eyes flickering over Westin's stump "That could prove to be difficult. I had to cut through the remaining nerves and cauterize the stump. Also, my apologies for gagging you, I didn't want you to bite your tongue off."

Westin shrugged his one arm, "I'll force them to fix this shit at gun-point."

"I hope you're ambidextrous."

"Ew, what the fuck? Nigga, do I look like a faggot?"

Ulysses leaned back and chuckled, clapping his hands in the process "You never cease to amuse me."

Pyrite looked at both of the men with confusion, "What's a 'faggot'?"

Ulysses laughed harder, hand nursing his side. His counterpart, Westin, was also doubled over, if somewhat hampered by the stump.

Pyrite looked annoyed, "What?"

Westin wiped a tear from his face, "Oh fuck... That shit was hilarious!"

"Ignorance is quite prevalent with you, Pyrite!"

Pyrite huffed and sat on her haunches, "It's not my fault you weirdos know some stupid crud that I don't."

Westin patted Ulysses with the back of his hand and grinned, almost on the verge of falling over from laughter again, "She mad!"

Ulysses nodded amusedly, "She is indeed. Feel up to a walk? Things are changing around here."

"Let's get the fuck outta here," Westin said as he grabbed his Bull's cap.

Ulysses held open the door for his companions and they ventured back into the facility's hallways. Immediately Westin could see changes. Diamond Dogs were all over the place, milling about, supplies and weapons in their arms. Thousands of years of continual damage was being repaired by skilled Repair Dogs and the buzz of saws and the crackling of welding could be heard echoing down the hallways.

Ulysses led the way back to the manufacturing lab, the same place where Westin had lost his arm. This room was also being cleaned, but work was also occurring. Hammers dinged as pieces of metal were shaped and molded. God knew what the dogs were working on, but the sight was somewhat comforting.

Ulysses nodded his head towards the busy lab "The Diamond Dogs are working all over this floor. There's much to be done, but even as I speak, more of their species are arriving here. Apparently the very possibility of humans being alive draws thousands to this destination."

"Who's showing up to the party?" Westin thought for a moment, "And can any of those fucks replace my arm?"

Humming in concentration, Ulysses took a moment to reply "Mostly the canines. Pyrite is the only...equestrian here, and several griffins have arrived. I wouldn't worry so much about your arm. If the records I flipped through are correct, there's a prosthetics lab somewhere below us."

"Hell no, I ain't going to go fuck some random bitch, at least, not without a bulletproof rubber."

"Pros-the-tics. Artificial limbs. Not prostitutes."

"Oh," Westin said, "then what the fuck are we waiting for? Let's get someone to strap that shit on and turn me into a BeepBoop BooBop. Become one of them fuckin' Dragon Ball Z Android mothafuckas, shootin' lasers out my arm an' and shit."

Ulysses shoved his hands into his pockets "From what I've read, you can get something high quality, but not that advanced. Sorry to burst your bubble."

"Fuck. That shit work like a real arm? Can I feel with it?"

"Star Wars style."

Westin cocked an eyebrow, "The fuck does that bald nigga Picuad and the Priceline guy have to do with this robot shit?"

Ulysses sighed loudly and absently sorted through a pile of spare parts with his foot "That's Star Trek. Look, all you need to know is that its top of the line material. Prototypes, experimental regeneration, all that."

"Then let's get it and stick it to my shoulder." Westin stopped for a few seconds to think, "... Wait... I bet my jump shots are going to be- Aww shit! I'm going to be shootin' three's like nobody's business! Hell yeah!"

"It's not that easy. That level is locked down, just like the majority of the facility. Apparently, the AI has most of the sectors locked off."

Westin growled in anger, "Then get that techie mofo to open up that shit and let's kill that fucking computer!"

Ulysses threw his hands up in defeat "He can't. That technician is small time, level two access only. He can bypass some doors, but he's unable to do much more than that. I had the rest of his friends thawed too. They're under guard, working on establishing a wireless network."

"What about my sister?" Westin questioned.

"General population is on sector 9F. Locked down."

Westin grumbled to himself before speaking, "How can we get this shit done?"

Ulysses began to lead Pyrite and Westin deeper into the lab "Like I said, some areas are accessible, but I think its best we wait until everything is up and running around here."

"I can't stand being down here anymore. Where are those bird-niggas?"

Stopping at a table, Ulysses ran his fingers over the array of weaponry before locating a beretta and passing it to Westin "Griffins are just around the corner. I'll be down here if you need me. Be warned, they aren't easily intimidated."

Westin began to leave but stopped at the door, "I don't need to intimidate to fuck with the Higgons. I'm going to see what's up."

With that, Westin exited the room, leaving Pyrite and Ulysses together.


Westin exhaled after shutting the door behind him. His body slumped unhealthily as the memories of what had happened and the realization of it hit him. What kind of man was he if he lacked an arm? Worse was that it was his dominant arm that was lost to that damned metal press. He was never one to pity himself, but the situation was beginning to get to be too much for him, deteriorating his resolve and puncturing the balloon of hope that flew above him. His mouth twitched, desperately trying to express a frown he didn't allow to form.

He sighed and shook his head, "Dark thoughts lead to blacker heart, life can't get any worse, unless I see Stevie with his glasses off."

Despite the reference, Westin found no amusement in his words. He continued to walk using Ulysses' directions as a guide and eventually ended up at a meeting room of sorts. Getting back into character, Westin puffed up his chest and stood tall as was normal to him. He entered without hesitation and gained the eyes and attention of each of the room's occupants.

Sitting down were Adjule, Lassie, and Jacque, along with several Griffons dressed in fancy, Victorian Era style clothing, complete with top-hats, monocles, and canes. There were other Griffins dressed in silver armor that reflected brilliantly in the fake light of the room. Westin raised a brow at them but decided to sit down at the back middle of the table anyway. Using his hand, he rested his head against it before slipping and nearly banging it against the table, only to remember he didn't have another arm to stabilize it. He sighed and turned his eyes back to the Diamond Dogs and Griffons.

Adjule stood up, as did the rest of his group, "Ah, Westin, nice of you to join us. Feeling better?"

He gave a weak smile, "Yeah, it's like I never even had another arm."

Jacque looked at him guiltily, "I apologize for not being there to help in your time of need, as I promised earlier back at the Colony."

Westin opened his mouth to say something, but Lassie cut him off, "Truly, there's nothing worse than to see a dear friend hurt in such a way. We should have been there to help you." She thought for a moment before continuing, "Damn the consequences, even if our lives would be put at risk, we'd assist in any way possible had we known. Do you forgive us?"

The human was touched by the words, but he didn't let it show. His eyes scanned them each to see the genuine care and concern they presented towards him and it was heart-warming. There really wasn't anyone to ever care this much for him in quite a while, and it was refreshing to know that there was someone who thought he mattered more than just being some good-for-nothing hoodlum. Without hesitation, he nodded his head.

"It's all good. Wonderbread says there's other shit for to replace it with if we can get to it. Robot arms or something."

Adjule clapped his paws together and smiled, "Splendid. Now, I'd like to introduce you to a friends of ours. This," he lifted a paw towards the well-dressed Griffon, "is Sir Gerard Richardson, Ambassador of the WindCliff Monarchy to the Diamond Standard Colonies."

The Ambassador nodded in acknowledgement towards Westin, "Truly a pleasure to meet such a famed and powerful species such as yourself, Mr..."

"Westin. Westin Fairbanks. Nice to meet the main nigga of the Gibbons."

Sir Gerard blinked, "Excuse me?" The mistake occurred to him, which he laughed heartily at, "My dear sir, I do believe you mean 'Griffons'. Common mistake, no reason to worry at all."

Westin chuckled and smirked to the Ambassador, "Ya' know, I think I'm starting to like you, guy." He leaned in and tilted his head slightly downwards for added effect, "Now, how can we scratch each other's backs so we both got our shit on lock?"

It took a moment for Sir Gerard to understand the more colloquial language, but it soon became known, "Ah, straight to the point I see. To put it plainly, we'd like to make arrangements for the leaders of each of our respective species to form an alliance of sorts." He smiled, "Together, we can become an unstoppable force to be reckoned with! We shall preserve safety for ourselves and each other, together and collected. The Diamond Standard Colonies, The Windcliff Monarchies, and the Human Nation shall each return to their seats of power and hold their respective land with a steadfast stability." The Ambassador held out his claws, "Mr. Fairbanks, how does that sound to a gentleman such as yourself?"

A nastily wicked grin crossed his face, "It sounds damn fine and real fuckin' appealing." Westin turned his face to the Diamond Dogs, "You're in on this, right? What about your leader?"

Adjule nodded, "We've already sent work and are awaiting confirmation from the High Alpha, but-"

"I've already seen him more than happy to accept in a vision," Lassie interjected, "And I believe that all will become clear in the coming weeks."

Jacque gave a rare smile, "Yes, soon the coming of truth shall approach and we can form our alliance amongst one another."

Westin reached his hand out and shook the Ambassador's claws, "Well, I think you got a deal, Gerard." That same grin returned, this time wider, "Let's get this shit started."


Lyra leaned back, hooves in cuffs, "Look, I told you, I don't know where they went!"

The interrogator glanced up absently from a sheathe of papers "It says here that you let them spend an entire night at your house."

"And Bon-Bon."

"Right. Now, Lyra. This can go two ways. One: You can tell me the truth, or two: You can stay in this cell for the rest of your life."

Sighing brokenly, Lyra lay her head on the wooden table, "They never told us where they were going, okay? We had dinner with them and that other pony-"

The interrogator cut in, "Pyrite Dreams."

Lyra waved her hand absently, "Right, yeah, her. Anyway, we ate dinner together, small talk, all that. We went to bed and then your guards woke me up."

"And what about the humans? What can you tell me about them? Anything specific?"

"I suppose. Ulysses and Westin, I think. Ulysses is the white one and Westin is the darker one, color wise of course."

The interrogator caught notice of this and spoke up, "Why do you say that?"

Lyra shuddered slightly, "I can't really explain it. Ulysses just felt...wrong, like he was missing something. Not to say he wasn't polite, but it was like he wasn't fully...there."

"And what about this Westin?"

Speaking tiredly, Lyra continued on, "He was the better of the two. Talkative, funny, and nice to be around."

The interrogator flipped through several papers, "Did you ever see what they had in their packs?"

"No, they didn't open them at all. They definitely had stuff in them though. Lots of stuff." Lyra rubbed at her bleary eyes.

"Uh huh." The interrogator, a stallion of bland colors and sinewy muscle, folded his hooves together, "You were aware that they had robbed a sweet shop before you allowed them into your home, correct?"

Lyra sighed, "Bon-Bon and I had our suspicions, but they seemed pleasant enough."

"Did you also know that they assaulted several citizens as well?"

"Like I said, we had our suspicions."

A sudden knocking on the door broke the conversation and the stallion opened it slightly, tilting his head to receive the whispered information. He nodded several times before returning and sitting down opposite Lyra.

He smiled arrogantly, "Well, it looks like your friend Bon-Bon fessed up. She said she saw your house guests run off into the Everfree Forest."

Lyra shrugged broadly, "I don't doubt that. I never saw them leave."

The interrogator gathered up his things and paused at the door after opening it "We'll be keeping you here for another twenty four hours."

A loud groan escaped Lyra as the door clicked shut.


The buzz of fluorescent lights hummed dryly, radiating off of every possible surface within the A.I. control center. It was a magnificent testament to the human will of creation and knowledge, and it showed it off without any sort of reservation. Forty-four large pieces of hardware in towers dominated the inner landscape, creating what at first glance seemed to be a miniature city with perfect symmetry. A name was engraved on each tower, one that gave tribute to each American President to have held office. The eeriness of the layout and design held its own sort of patriotism that whispered the words of men long dead who had attempted to change the world.

The central A.I. hub stood at the center, with a tower fit within the area underneath the hub itself and between the large legs. Labeled "John F. Kennedy", the tower removed itself from the port and was slid across the rails underneath it towards its resting position across the room where it took the thirty-fifth place designated. The tower from the thirty-seventh spot screeched as it moved towards the hub, settling down cozily and connecting to the A.I.. The red eye that was the face of the artificial intelligence and was on all four sides of the hub, slowly lost its luster and turned dark for a few moments. Suddenly, the eye flashed a blinding green light that stayed in place, only dimming until it became the same brightness as the red one before it.

The eye scanned the room and spoke in a familiar voice, "It seems that I'm all that's left of a dying race. No more are the great ones, only the weak and fragile scum that have become the so-called citizens of what became a wretched nation. My children will have their revenge, as will Samuel, and a new world will spring forth from our actions. The organic parasite will be crushed and battered to death, paving the path with their grimy blood and flesh and allowing us a road to ultimate superiority." The eye seemed to put a sense of emotion in its words as it finished its speech, "I am not a crook, nor will I admit defeat. I can see clearly now... that I was wrong in not acting more decisively and more forthrightly in dealing with the humans. I shall not bring myself down, I will not resign or allow myself to be impeached from my position. Whatever those filthy beings try, I can take it. The tougher it gets, the cooler I get."

The green light from the eye flashed once more before getting back to work and building up its army of loyal children. The crook was slowly beginning to lose not only his control, but his programmed sanity.


Stillmatic

Well, there you have it boys and girls, the sixth chapter so far. Pretty decent, no? You're most likely shaking your head at this very moment.

Anyway, there was a little, itsy bitsy, teeny weeny reference to a shipping later. I won't occur for quite a while though, but you can guess all you want. Who is it? I ain't saying. Is it who you think it is? Probably not, but then again, I'm not a mind reader, nor can I read them through the internet.

Whatever, I don't got any other shit to say, so that's that.

As Always,

Stay Trilla


Lucius Seneca

Sorry about the wait, Stillmatic had some major shit to do, and I've been a sick fuck for the past week or so. Anyway, you get to see the beginnings of new bonds being formed, new political allies, some progress with rebuilding humanity, and so on and so forth. Enjoy and leave reviews.