The Holy City.

The sprawling griffon metropolis unparalleled in size in the entire world spreads out as far as the eyes currently flying in a cloaked airship over it can see, at least judging by the street lights and flashy buildings.

"Oh my goooooosh..." the owner of said wide-open eyes currently entering the bridge breathes out.

"Stick to the role," Veronica hisses at the Black Ops agent standing with his beak pressed against the window.

"But I've never seen anything like this," says the griffon in pure amazement.

"On the contrary, you've worked here for years, you know the Black Ops facilities in the western section of the inner city and you've been in the Imperial palace itself too several times. If you can't act the part, we can turn around and go back home because we'll just be dead meat the second we land," Veronica rolls her eyes.

"Sorry, sorry," replies Three posing as the agent Magpie shot back in Bloodstone, "I just… it's just so huge! The entire horizon is a city and those skyscrapers are waaaay taller than in Manehattan."

"They say that the Holy City is the largest one in the world but I heard that there's a city in Chineigha that's the size of your whole Equestria. Still, never been there," Veronica shrugs, "Size isn't everything, though. This place has the same layout as any other metropolis, banks and corporations are in the center, 'affordable', heh, housing on the outskirts, and a shady underground. The only really unique place is the Imperial palace itself which, if everything goes according to plan, you won't see anyway."

"Awww..." Three pouts.

"Three, Magpie told me you're not the best at all the changeling skullduggery but if you don't control yourself then everyone in Bloodstone is boned."

"Yes, ma'am!" Three salutes, putting on a stern expression before hissing in pain as several bullet wounds stain his bandages with fresh blood.

"That's better."


In contrast to the glittering city as seen from the sky, the Black Ops headquarters is a complex of simple, angular buildings of reinforced concrete with only the barest necessities in its hallways. After passing through security gates, the agents lead Veronica and Three underground to a simple room with only a desk, several chairs, and a mirror for debriefing.

Sat down, previously silent Three opens his mouth to greet the griffon who enters the room shortly after the two of them. Veronica crosses her forelegs on her chest, not letting her eyes from him. Three, on the other hole, has to exercise serious self-control because the griffon emanates a presence which completely disagrees with what Veronica told Three about him - Nicolai Irongrip, the most powerful griffon in the Empire, the devious mastermind leading the Black Ops, and the one responsible for the evil currently devouring Bloodstone. Three was expecting some evil-eyed, slick-feathered, rich clothes wearing monster twirling his moustache, not a wiry griffon in his late thirties bearing a black coat and sand-colored feathers, both greying from stress and responsibility, who's wearing only a Black Ops jacket with a small, golden pin.

Nicolai sits down into a chair across the desk from Veronica and disguised Three with an exhausted expression.

"So?" is all he asks, letting the ensuing silence suck all the information out of the duo on its own.

Veronica puts an elongated box she's been allowed to keep along with a hip pouch by the checkpoint guards on the desk and opens the lid, revealing a severed foreleg of the same unmistakable color as hers.

"My brother's," says Veronica coldly, "It really was him."

"Not a head," is all Nicolai adds.

"I wasn't about to carry a bigger ice box with me after Magpie killed two of the agents you sent with me," she pulls out a stack of photos from the hip pouch which show Magpie's dead body and his head impaled on a spike in front of the Bloodstone fortress.

"Hmmm..." Magpie hums, examining them in detail.

"You can send your guys for the head if it makes you feel better but I assumed that returning Silas here would be enough of a proof."

"And his bodyguards?"

"You try fitting two hundred griffons on that airship..." Veronica rolls her eyes, "Besides, I might need them in Bloodstone. As it turns out, the citizens weren't too happy about his death even though they knew me better than him."

"What about the cargo you brought? The data storage devices."

"Aaand here we come to the part you kinda failed to mention before you sent me there," Veronica leans over the table, her expression turning furious, "What am I supposed to do with a city on the border of getting tentacled up the ass?!" before Nicolai can answer, she continues, "So I decided to take things into my own talons. The drives I brought contain all the data Legius collected in regards to corruption. I'm pretty sure it's way more than your guys managed to recover from his facilities you managed to find. Considering that the bastard kept me in the dark about the details of his research as well, I doubt you discovered all of them. However, the organized backups of all the data were stored in Bloodstone for safety, and that's what I'm giving to you. The drives self-encrypted when I tried to use my access codes which made it clear that Legius wanted to get rid of me eventually anyway. So, I need your help decrypting the drives and figuring out something that will help me save my family's lands. It's not as if the info couldn't be useful to stopping corruption from spreading through other parts of the Empire as well."

"We'll get right on it," Nicolai nods, "Anything else?"

"I'm keeping the airship," she nods towards Three, "This guy blew up the one Magpie stole from your agents."

"No."

"I can't afford to be away from Bloodstone for a month, taking a train and then arranging an Emperor-damned expedition through corrupted territories. If you want a reliable regent of Bloodstone instead of another civil rebellion, you'll lend me the ship, at least until we either stop the corruption or bring the sun back."

After some consideration, Nicolai nods.

"Alright."

"I suppose I'm not getting any guarantee that I won't get shot the second I leave this room, right?"

"Veronica, it's not my loyalty to the stability of the Empire that history itself can question. It's much easier to make deals with a griffon whose word has weight."

"So no?"

"No."

"Then I don't have anything else to add," Veronica shrugs with a sigh, "I stuck to my end of the deal, now it's up to you."

Nicolai nods.

"You can go. The agents outside will escort you to the ship," he looks at Three, "Agent Tabbs, you stay here."

"Might want to take a look at his wounds, he's got more holes than a changeling," Veronica snickers, walking off.

"Agent?" Nicolai raises an eyebrow.

"I'm alright, sir," Three looks him straight in the eyes, "I just need some rest."

Once Veronica leaves the interrogation room, Nicolai visibly relaxes in his chair.

"Yeah, sure..." he smirks, "Two weeks of paid leave. You going home? Martha hasn't seen you since the sun disappeared, if I recall correctly."

Three does his best to adjust to Nicolai's complete one-eighty now that Veronica is gone. Quickly searching through whatever little information he managed to draw out of the agent back in Bloodstone, he recalls that Martha refers to the agent's wife living in a small town in the south. Does Nicolai know all his underlings on a personal level? Nothing he managed to get out of the agent pointed to him being close to Nicolai.

"No, sir," he shakes his head, "I'm afraid Martha will have to wait a little longer. I'll send her a message telling her I'm okay."

"Then it's two weeks of paid leave with daily physical therapy and shooting practice. And I expect a full written report on the operation tomor- no, make it the day after tomorrow. Dismissed."

Three salutes, hissing in pain.

"Yes, sir!"

"At ease, Tabbs. Go get checked up now."

"Hobbling there already."


Day 1

Three ends up wandering through the Black Ops complex for nearly an hour, noting that once someone has passed the checkpoints at the entrance, it looks as if they'd be able to get pretty much anywhere. Granted, there's a bunch of rooms locked via mechanisms reminding him of simple and basic versions of locks back home in Brauheim but as long as he sticks to common rooms, bathrooms, and hallways in general, no one's going to bother him, doubly so due to the high amount of griffons rushing around with binders, personal electronics, or talking into wireless headsets. It seems that his Black Ops jacket is giving him all the anonymity one needs to stay here unnoticed.

The best part is that the complex is extremely well labeled. There are signs on pretty much every intersection of two hallways, above the door of every common room, and on many of the locked meeting rooms Three passes by. All in all, in a strange way, Three feels here at home, like inside a dwarf mine or in the tunnels of the hive. Still, taking in all this information and building an internal map of the place takes its toll on him, his head beginning to ache, and eventually he ends his exploration quest by looking for the guest quarters agent Tabbs was using whenever spending time here at the base.

Several other agents greet him, to which he just replies politely and with a weary smile that he's just come back and needs a quick check-up at the infirmary followed by a good night's sleep.

Day 2

Three wakes up later than he himself wanted to. Apparently, his body needed more time to absorb the stress and information from yesterday. The guest room is small, spartan, consisting only of a desk with one of those electronic thingies which looks like an access terminal, a chair, a bed, a small wardrobe, and a connected bathroom equipped with a shower and a toilet. It does sound like a lot but the entire space for all of that could easily fit into Magpie's office in Bloodstone… almost twice.

Three checks the terminal, experimentally pushing buttons until it lights up. It's difficult for a changeling like him to extract information based on a habit so in regards to everything agent Tabbs did without thinking Three's forced to improvise.

"Umm, username and password..." he mutters in front of the dark screen showing only a box with two prompts, "b02TABBS aaaand… umm… xXxMetalRulez0609?" two strings of letters and numbers come to mind, Three's basic changeling infiltration instincts doing much better work sorting through the stolen information than he could achieve consciously.

The screen blinks, its blackness giving way to a picture of Tabbs with who looks like his wife Martha and a small griffon chick's grinning head trying to get into the picture on the bottom. Several small icons are laid over the picture, one labeled 'Reports'. Three quickly skims its contents, discovering that it contains information on past Tabbs' missions. It should prove useful to read just in case of having to answer questions as well as a template for the report Nicolai ordered Three to give tomorrow.

A blinking envelope icon on the bottom of the screen stops Three from digging into the reports. He pokes the touchscreen, revealing hundreds of what looks like conversations. The one on top is marked 'Orders', accompanied by a string of numbers which don't mean anything to Three. Opening the message reveals Nicolai's orders from yesterday written down with details.

"Oh shoot!" Three stands up quickly upon reading the first part regarding his physical therapy and looking at the clock. He was supposed to be there five minutes ago. Fake wounds or not, he rushes out of the room and follows the mental map he made yesterday. Thankfully, even though the room where the therapy is supposed to happen isn't among the places he passed yesterday, the systematic and well-documented layout of the complex allows Three to get there within the next five minutes and knock on the door.

"Come in!" a pleasant female voice calls out. Three enters, immediately apologizing.

"Sorry for the delay, I woke up late and I'm still limping," he chuckles nervously.

The room is outfitted with several wardrobes, most of them open and showing equipment or colorful boxes Three can't identify at a glance. The centerpiece is a padded, elongated table with a hole on one end. Of course, if he wasn't a changeling, or was one familiar with griffon standards of beauty, his beak would have to drop when seeing the chick waiting for him and leisurely stretching. All Three can say, though, is that she's mostly brown, sleek with well-defined musculature and has all the backside bits everyone seems to like, only accentuated by extremely tight and stretchy white pants… worn for no particular reason. He's never been one to understand clothing, doubly so because drones have nothing to cover anyway.

"Don't worry about it," the chick gives Three a soft smile, "I don't have an appointment after you this morning so we can stretch it as we deem fit. Anyway, my name is Simone, Simmy for short."

"Tabbs," Three shakes her foreleg, "Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise," she nods towards the central table, "I received your medical report and while it looks like you're healing remarkably well, we're going to have to be extra careful today. Let me see what I'm working with."

"Sure," Three lies down and Simmy begins to unwrap his bandages and poke around his bullet wounds. Three occasionally hisses, mostly for show. His medical knowledge is barely past the 'bleeding holes hurt' stage but it seems to work here.

"I'm happy to say that other than the wounds you're in great physical shape," Simmy nods approvingly.

"Need to be in good shape to serve the Empire," Three chuckles.

"You'd be surprised how many field agents here let themselves go on long-term assignments," Simmy laughs back, "Alright, I think we should leave exercise for tomorrow at least and get straight to a massage. Today, you should take it easy and just get some steps in. Turn around, please. Head in the hole."

The allotted hour goes by quickly with Simmy commenting on Three being unusually stiff in places unrelated to the bullet wounds but getting better throughout the massage. What's really happening is that Three had only a general idea about the griffon body and based his range of movement on his own as a drone which is definitely limited flexibility-wise. However, as Simmy points each issue out, Three alters his disguise to allow for motions natural to the griffon body.

Of course, that leaves him a bit wobbly as far as movement is concerned afterwards, though it doesn't seem to bother Simmy too much as she helps him gather himself and supports him while he walks around for the final few minutes.

Once the physical therapy is over and he's alone again, Three breathes out a sigh of relief.

"Ooof, now that's done… let's take a walk. Next is the firing range in the afternoon and I need to study the old reports to write a good one. How do infiltrators keep track of all these details? My head is starting to hurt again and it's still the morning."

In light of everything, after strolling through the yet unmapped parts of the complex, Three returns to his room to take a nap.

This time, his internal clock wakes him up properly some half an hour before he's supposed to be at the firing range.

"Might not be a bad idea to get there a little early this time."

Now this feels like home for real!

The firing range is simple as can be and of pretty much the same design as the one in Brauheim or the Bloodstone armory. Long lanes filled with various targets, one for a shooter each. The place is loud as hole but the good part is that everyone is keeping to themselves.

Almost...

"Hey, Tabbs! Heard you got back from the Redtalons," a bulky griffon with a dark blue hoofball cap observing the practicing griffons walks over to Three and gives him a friendly slap on the back. The name Emmet flashes through his mind.

"Ouch!"

"Damn, sorry," the griffon backs off, "How bad is it?"

"It's healing quickly but it still hurts like h- blazes," replies Three with a tired smile, "I think I'll just do the ordered practice and go back to sleep."

"We can start early if you want," says Emmet, "Everyone else is just messing around here-"

A muffled explosion slightly shakes the room.

"-or testing some experimental gear in the restricted section," Emmet shakes his head, "Seriously, whatever we pay the cleaning staff, it's not enough. Last week, there was some radioactive goo with tentacles that came alive and tried to escape through the vents. Guys from research came up with some new beam rifle and forgot to test its interaction with titanium shielding."

"Oops."

"Yep, a big one," Emmet smirks, "Although the restricted section did smell like marshmallows for two days."

Three swallows a string of drool.

"I could go for some right now," he laughs, "Is there that experimental rifle and some titanium shielding around?"

"How about this?" Emmet joins in, "You get over eighty percent and the bag's on me."

"Two bags for a hundred?" Three winks.

"Hah, wounded but more cocky than ever!" Emmet tosses Three a pistol which he snatches out of the air.

Far more familiar with the situation now, Three picks a lane and says:

"Give me three shots to see how my foreleg's holding up and then let's go for the score."

"You got it," Emmet leans against the wall behind Three, "You're not hitting a hundred anyway."

Three aims at a static cutout of a griffon in the distance with a bullseye on its chest, aims the pistol, and fires. Once, twice, three times. None hit the center.

"Alright, you gotta do twelve out of twelve now."

"For… marshmallows!" Three empties the clip and examines the result, "Aww, shoot..." he realizes he slipped out of the role and corrects himself, "Damn it!"

He wasn't expecting the target to at first start moving after the third shot and a new, spinning one to drop on the last two.

"Ten, missed the final one both times," Emmet winks, "Impressive."

"Unfortunately, no marshmallows," Three shrugs.

"Tabbs, if I could get your accuracy on the top difficulty and my first try, candy would be the last thing on my mind. The first griffon whose aim got better after being shot four times. Maybe I should eat some lead too. Speaking of eating, you up for dinner today?"

"Can't, sorry," Three shakes his head, "I'm exhausted already from physical therapy and this isn't really helping. Plus, I still need to submit the mission report."

"No biggie," Emmet waves it off, "Alright then, let's get to business. Hundred shots on static, fifty on moving, and then I'll let you go early for today since you're in early recovery."

"Thanks!"

Day 4

"Here's our sharpshooter!" Emmet greets Three approaching the cafeteria table he and two other agents, one male and one female, neither of whom Three knows, are currently occupying.

Refusing Emmet's offer repeatedly might rouse suspicions, and it might also allow Three to ask some questions about the progress of the decryption process. In light of that, Three decided to join the firearms instructor for dinner.

"Hello, everyone," Three gives the group his usual tired smile and sits down with his tray containing only a glass of orange juice and some vegetables.

"Geez, what's that?" Emmet glances at Three's 'dinner' with a horrified expression.

"Meh, recovery," Three shrugs.

"The body needs protein, proootein to fix all the holes!" he flexes his biceps, "Not this crunchy green nothing. You're never gonna get better like this."

"Hey, don't look at me, the diet came with the health report," Three rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, that might go a long way to explaining why you spend eighteen hours a day sleeping."

"Physical therapy isn't the easiest thing in the world."

"At least Simmy is easy to look at, isn't she?"

The female griffon agent at the table snorts in contempt.

"Give a chick three pairs of fake tits, monthly liposuction, yoga pants, beak gloss, and a bimbo smile, and you guys go crazy around her."

"She knows her stuff," says Three, "I definitely feel better afterwards every time," he sighs, "Then I go to bed and wake up all tense again."

"Easy solution," Emmet grins conspiratorially, "Take her to bed with you. You can do all the stretching you want."

"I think I threw up in my mouth more than a little," the chick facetalons.

"Don't be jealous! I know that working in Intel doesn't let you get your daily steps in but you could stand to lose-"

"Buddy, there's a thin line between jokes and harassment and you're currently tying your noose out of it," the chick narrows her eyes.

To his credit, Emmet realizes his misstep and shuts up.

"Sorry, Lisa."

"No offense taken," she says, "Can't rightfully say that I'm not jealous of Simone's looks but it's not my job to spend eight to twelve hours each day working on my body in order to make every cock in a twelve-mile radius stand up at attention. I just sit in a chair and go over data. Sometimes, when I don't fall asleep at my desk I even have the time to fly around the city a bit. All my required shooting practice goes towards the day when, once someone comments on my weight a little too often, I go nuts and start spraying and praying."

"You're one scary lady, Lisa."

"And you'd better not forget it."

"Hmm, if you're from Intel, did you hear anything about the progress on the hard drives we brought from Bloodstone?" asks Three.

All the other three agents give him curious looks.

"That's top secret, Tabbs. Can't even confirm or deny that I know anything."

Emmet smirks.

"Well, by admitting you know that's top secret, you-"

"Do you know what happened to the last agent who tried into stuff that's been marked top secret by the big boss himself? To them and everyone they talked to for the month before it happened. I do. It doesn't make eating dinner easier, let me tell you."

"My apologies, Miss Lisa," Three sighs, "I don't harbor any love for the Redtalons but griffons are griffons. The corruption bombs we blew up near Bloodstone threaten to swallow the city and spread all through the east and it just keeps gnawing at me. Makes me wonder about how much better than Legius we really are."

Gasps from all around the table convince Three that he overshot, and by a lot.

"Tabbs, that's not something an agent says twice in a company," says Emmet carefully.

"Sorry, sorry," Three tries to salvage the situation, "I know I overstated that by a lot but you can't say you don't know what I mean. It's inevitable that spreading corruption like that is eventually going to bite us in the ass harder than any Redtalon ever could."

Lisa taps her talons several times against the table before saying:

"Look, let's just say that the decryption process is taking its usual course without any unexpected hitches, slow and steady, and leave it at that, okay? RnD guys are doing all they can with the deciphered stuff we're providing them."

"Yeeeah, let's drop the subject before the goons from Internal Affairs decide to pay us a visit," Emmet nods, "So, anyone saw a good movie lately?"

With the casual mood returning, Three eats his overly healthy dinner and excuses himself on reason of exhaustion, expecting to simply end his day. On the way back to his room, however, he sees a group of griffons descend down a set of stairs. For some reason, the image keeps bugging all the way 'home' so as he lies down, he starts replaying it over and over and over until-

"Hugs and holes!" he curses, sitting upright in the darkness.

The surrounded griffon the Black Ops agents were escorting was taller and broader than them and completely white. All showing a physical shape Three had seen before and his head kept trying to point out.

"That was Mister Cromach!"

Day 7

The days have blended into a rather pleasant monotone filled with recovery, mapping out the complex, and Three's first attempts at using the air vents to get into the parts of the Black Ops headquarters restricted to Tabbs in his changeling form. Unfortunately for him, he hasn't seen Cromach again so far, so he wasn't able to relay Blazing Light's message regarding doing anything rash or crazy. The good part was that doing so would reveal his disguise and likely endanger the mission of getting the decrypted drives back to Bloodstone.

When Three crawls out of the air vent inside his room, he notices that his terminal is blinking. From past experience, it means that there's a message waiting for him.

"A visitor for me?" he tilts his head in confusion.

Suspicious, he heads off to the reception and finds that the guest waiting for him in the visitor's chair is Veronica Redtalon herself.

"Oh, hello," he greets her, a question in his tone of voice.

"Hello again, agent Tabbs," says Veronica, shaking his foreleg, "I brought something Nicolai wanted from Bloodstone and I wanted to see how you were doing while his guys were unloading it. You know, us being the only two survivors of the mission and whatnot."

"Recovering, thanks for asking," Three nods, "How are things in Bloodstone?"

"Do you want to take a walk? This sterile environment isn't exactly my kind of place."

"Sure."

They head outside, casually strolling towards one of the airship landing pads. Veronica keeps track of nearby griffons and when she's sure there's no one within earshot, she whispers:

"No chance to talk inside, I'm certain that every visitor room is bugged."

"Got it," Three nods, "So, any news from Bloodstone?"

"Just one, just one," Veronica giggles. The completely uncharacteristic happy and girly noise from her makes Three give her a confused glance.

"Hi, Three!" a familiar hive link connection opens and a voice resonates through Three's head, "Now, don't start jumping up and down and reveal us, okay?"

It takes every single drop of Three's self-control not to pounce at her. Nothing can stop him from suddenly beaming at everyone and everything, though.

"THIRTEEN? Is that really you? How?"

Veronica/Thirteen allows herself a smile as well.

"I think I cashed out my luck for the next hundred years at least."