[MLP] Cloudbreak II: Towards the sun

[Thanqol]

What a piece of junk! How did it manage to spill his saddlebags again!? It lurched at random times, posing a serious trip hazard. Luminark had made his mind up - this had to stop. So he spent an entire evening writing a comprehensive and detailed letter detailing all the technical faults, safety hazards, and nonstandard modifications that had been made to the Peregrine that were no doubt contributing to his terrible experience. He was almost about to slip it under the driver's door when a thought struck him - oh no! He was being biased. The poor dear probably couldn't read!

So instead he cursed the letter so it would read the list of technical faults out loud. And in a fit of brilliance, to inure it against loss and be absolutely sure that... guy understood what he was talking about, he adjusted the spell to read out the relevant complaints upon seeing the component in question. Look at the engine? A stern reminder about proper maintenance and lubrication. See the cargo hold? A comprehensive diatribe on the importance of washing. Looking at those tacky dice hanging from the rear-view mirror? Hazardous in the event of a crash, somepony could lose an eye, replacing them with some sort of fuzzy variant would be preferable.

He made sure to charge the spell with a reasonably long duration. Who knew when they'd get to see a properly certified mechanic next? And then he finally settled into the cargo hold, satisfied with his work, wondering if this is what Rarity meant by the element of generosity.

(He knows, deep down, he's doing this to distract himself - underneath is the familiar squirming mass of lowkey panic and stress that's been his familiar companion all through life, back again after a brief delay. But there's something else there too. A strange, serene confidence that feels too bright to be fatalism.)

[Balmas]

Starlight eyes first the diary, and then the tape recorder in quick succession. "Honestly, I'm not sure why I'm even surprised at this point."

And for a while--too long, her mind complains--that's all there is to it. Or rather, there's too much everything else to be able to get to the rest. There's too much talking with Pinkie, walking through the steps of repair a StirrupCo 9700Mk.B reactor,. Then there's too much briefing the sheriff on 'by the way, there may or may not be hellhounds poking around the neighborhood shortly, shouldn't be too much trouble, not looking for you, keep your heads down, you'll be fine." And then there's too much, 'and actually, I don't need what I came here for after all, long story, he's gone now so it's less of an issue, no I'm not taking questions," followed by too much "Okay fine, I can look at Burgerhoof again," and honestly it's an entire afternoon before she can finally do more than flick the pages open.

And that's before she even gets to the coconuts and the cloud. Who knows what the Pink One Pinkie Pie has there.

But it's finally time! Finally evening, finally a chance to ease off the burden of taking care of a second settlement! And she's bushed, she's wiped, she's... oddly happy about the day? How long has it been since that's happened?

But it doesn't matter because she finally gets to sit down and read about herself and--

And.

Hey, Scrapscallion? Who's that? Why is that? Scrapscallion, I know we're fighting, but hey, Scrapscallion, answer her, don't ignore her, why is Luminark with you and why aren't you punching him

[Elanorin]

It might not have been what she was looking for, and she may even have moved passed it at first carrying on her search, until, a moment later, her brain forced her to stop in her tracks and began to play Images Of Possibilities to her. Shoving sheets and party supplies aside (how these had ended up in the same section was not something she was entirely sure she wanted to know) she dragged the big machine out from its storage slot and looked it over a second time. It was insane. But it was brilliant.

Now, speed was of the essence. The faster House got a body the better, who knew when that crazy pony and her 'creation' was going to show up - House did say the Library wasn't secure from service tunnel access. Also... she kind of wanted company. Looking at the mad machine that could deliver a living breathing pony that she already knew and trusted... wow, she realised she wanted that more than she'd thought. The following hours saw a flurry of activity the likes of which Milliway hadn't seen since she first created House. It went something like this:

Step 1: lug the machine (and what instructions she could find on using it) back to the control hub.

Step 2: convince House this was a fantastic idea.

Step 3: since the Library contains 'plants, animal & pony specimens' she next went on a hunt in the stacks for a DNA sample. House wanted to fight, so she was hunting for some creepy pickled relic of the most competent pony she could find/recognise that would still hold DNA. [Rolling going in to my Hoard for something useful: 3+5+3=11 Hunger remains the same]

Step 4: Hook the machine up to House's central hub.

Step 5: Push the button!

[BlasTech]

[New session start]

************************************************** ***********************

Daybreak.

It wasn’t too long ago that you could only tell this had happened by the gradual transition of the cloud cover from black to steel grey. Now, the golden light of Celestia’s sun pours itself across the landscape, running into valleys and filtering through the burnt husks of trees.

It warms the earth, stirring the mists of Everfree, curling the desiccated plants that dot the ruins of Sweet Apple Acres and even warming the depths of Ghastly Gorge where no ponies dare tread. Across the land, wastelanders turn their faces towards that blazing beacon to greet the new day.

As our focus zooms back in, it shines on three ponies in particular.

Scrapscallion

The sunlight gleams off the hull of the Peregrine as its engine idles. It glints into the lenses of the binoculars Cloudburster hoofs to you and it illuminates the vast plain ahead that leads to the Bunker’s squat grey entrance in the distance.

It also shines on the half dozen camps that have sprung up in a circle around it.

“Outposts.” She says, as you adjust the focus to see the flag flying above it – a dual headed Ursa Minor.

“Not the Enclave, at least, but those are New Canterlot Republic troops down there." she continues "I can make out about twenty per outpost, at least a dozen alicorns spread across them all and, unless I drank something weird in that town last night – some hellhounds.”

“Not a force we can take on. But we’ve got a clear run into the bunker and, ignoring the alicorns, I don’t think they can catch us if we make a dash for it. How do you want to play this?” she asks.

What do you do?

Luminark

The sunlight gives you a bit of warmth, welcome after leaving Rainbow Falls as such an uncivilised hour this morning. You’d spent last night giving Olive Daub some last instructions and helping Rarity load supplies into the rattling deathtrap that carried you here.

Despite never having been on an adventure in your life, you are a little surprised at the sheer number of trunks and suitcases that Rarity insisted you all bring. Snug is not nearly strong enough to describe the cargo hold once they were all aboard, but you’re sure it’s all for a good purpose. It was a happy coincidence that Rainbow Falls, being a tourist town, had so much luggage lying around in good enough condition to salvage.

Still, one has to wonder about the necessity of the two pony-sized trunks that she found. Especially since they seem to alternate between mumbling things about apples and pies.

The two of you are enjoying standing on the solid ground of the ridge, soaking up the rays. Close enough to hear Cloudbreak and Shredscallion talking, but far enough away to be separate from the conversation.

Two questions for you Luminark.

First, what did you say to Olive as you left him behind?

Second, do you keep to yourselves here, or will you join the discussion going on with the others?

What do you do?

Starlight Glimmer

For you, the sunlight is less welcoming. It’s harsh, glaring in your eyes as you awake. The clifftop cavern provided shelter, but wasn’t exactly the most comfortable of resting spots. Still, it was better than staying back at the MoM hub and you had a lot of ground to cover.

Pinkie’s saddlebags rest against your semi-solid flanks, still full of their various contents. Did you open any of them as you waited for sleep to claim you last night? In those cold, empty hours, the last words from the recording play over again in your mind.

“Take them, share them with your friends and use them when the time is right.”

What was that pony thinking? And who would you actually count amongst your friends? What use could anypony have for some feathers, a rattling coconut and a statute? And that container of pink cloud … that had to be for you right? At least, eating pink cloud would likely be fatal for anypony else.

There had been only a little bit more to the message. The last words for Pinkie Pie had for you across two hundred years.

“Now you have to go back. The Bunker needs you, but not as it once did. It doesn’t need you as administrator, enforcer or leader. It needs you as its protector. Equestria needs you as its protector. Good luck, Starlight.”

Had there been a touch of hope in the pony’s voice? Or was it just the contrast between her normal exuberance and the sadness she’d had when talking to you earlier?

Regardless, you can now see the Bunker in the distance, as well as the camps now spaced around it.

What do you do?

Milliway

"Day 67: The trials continue, but despite the Princesses' support for the project there are definite avenues where we are seeing more progress than others. The work by Mosaic and Gestalt, for instance, shows promise. The work by Mirage and Trixie on the new portable stealth spells is also working well and we hope to have a prototype for testing in the near future. The work by Double Trouble, on the other hand, is less likely to generate a viable asset for the war effort."

Milliway, you wake up on your desk in the depths of the Library, papers sticking to your muzzle. There's no sunlight for you down here, just the harsh glare of florescent lighting and the smell of coffee, helpfully prepared by House. You’ve spent the last while sifting through the documentation that came with the cloning cylinder as fast as you can. There are dozens of notes, entries by none other than Twilight Sparkle, that detail the operation of the cylinder.

"Day 105: Double came to me today with a proof of concept. While impressive, in theory, the process still has many many drawbacks. Too many, really, for it to be useful in the near term. They chiefly stem from the targeted incubation period. Shortening it so drastically puts an incredible strain on the specimen. Normal pony DNA breaks down and … well … the results are really not pretty."

The cylinder is now connected to House’s mainframe by a thick rat’s nest of cables in every colour of the rainbow. The cloning process is primed, powered and ready to start. There is only one thing left to do …

“Day 142: Dee-tee turned up at my office today with a potential solution to the degradation challenge he’s been facing. He theorises that the speed of the cloning process can be compensated for through the use of a more robust donor than a common pony. He theorises that … well, I admit I’m not exactly keen on his proposal. On who he wants to approach for a test sample. Maybe once the IMP project produces a viable alicorn we can use them instead but …

… am I really considering this?”

They sit on your table, three small glass cylinders filled with preserving gel. You found them on your second trip into the stacks. The crown jewels of the Library’s specimen collection. Three samples from their manes: One, multicoloured like the dawn’s pastels. The second, a midnight blue flecked with stars. The third, a tricolour of purple, pink and cream.

“Day 181: We are shelving the flash clone project. While it can potentially provide a viable body, we have hit a snag that was obvious in hindsight. A clone needs a mind to function, elsewise all we are able to produce is a foal in an adult’s body. Double Trouble has considered reaching out to Stable Tec to leverage their research into mind transference and the Crusader mainframes, but apart from allowing a pony to prolong their life, there seems to be minimal use for it in the war effort.

I’m just glad we caught ourselves before we performed the first test. I do not want to have to think of the ethical minefield we just dodged."

It’s time. The port is open and the display above it reads “input sample”.

What do you do?

[Thanqol]

"Olive Drab, you may be the result of a suinecromantic technique to exorcise agonizing aspects of my id by containing them in a vaguely plausible pony shell," said Luminark, "but you seem okay. I hope you are. I felt like saying that the fate of this entire community rests on your shoulders but... it doesn't, really. You're in charge but that doesn't mean that you need to fix everything. You just..." he sighed. "Try to lead, rather than rule, okay? Do your best and don't beat yourself up too much for not having more than that. If other ponies won't step up to help you then it wouldn't have worked out anyway."

He didn't feel exhausted or afraid as he walked over to join the others. Just for a minute... this at least he couldn't have stopped. Something in him put him here and that seemed to be one of the few things he could truly rely on.

"New Canterlot Republic? Aren't they the good ponies?" said Luminark. He thought, but didn't add: the good ponies who we have to protect from the bunker ponies.

[TheAmishPirate]

Scrapscallion

The sunlight gleams off the hull of the Peregrine as its engine idles. It glints into the lenses of the binoculars Cloudburster hoofs to you and it illuminates the vast plain ahead that leads to the Bunker’s squat grey entrance in the distance.

It also shines on the half dozen camps that have sprung up in a circle around it.

“Outposts.” She says, as you adjust the focus to see the flag flying above it – a dual headed Ursa Minor.

“Not the Enclave, at least, but those are New Canterlot Republic troops down there." she continues "I can make out about twenty per outpost, at least a dozen alicorns spread across them all and, unless I drank something weird in that town last night – some hellhounds.”

“Not a force we can take on. But we’ve got a clear run into the bunker and, ignoring the alicorns, I don’t think they can catch us if we make a dash for it. How do you want to play this?” she asks.

What do you do?

The Scrapscallion let out a low whistle. “And here I was going to the Bunker before it was cool. Question is, what kinda party are they here for?” It sure would be great if they didn’t have to fight another big name of the Wasteland today, even cooler if they were on board with this whole “screw the Enclave” thing, but so far their track record on warm welcomes wasn’t super great for some reason.

He didn't feel exhausted or afraid as he walked over to join the others. Just for a minute... this at least he couldn't have stopped. Something in him put him here and that seemed to be one of the few things he could truly rely on.

"New Canterlot Republic? Aren't they the good ponies?" said Luminark. He thought, but didn't add: the good ponies who we have to protect from the bunker ponies.

“I dunno, man, why don’t you go down there and take a survey of who’s going to shoot us?” The Scrapscallion scoffed, savoring a good eye roll before tuning out the idiot nerd and getting back to saving their flanks.

So anyway...who exactly were the good guys here, again?

[Base roll to Read a Sitch: 2 + 2 + 2 = 6. Going with Who's in control here?]

EDIT: [For bookkeeping, Luminark is rolling to Help, got an 11, and so the net result is 8]

[Balmas]

“Take them, share them with your friends and use them when the time is right.”

Starlight scowls at the memory. Neither enforcer nor leader nor administrator? How is she supposed to protect people if they don't respect her, don't obey her, don't love her? That's how it works. You come in, you perform feats, they love you, they put you in charge.

Idly, she taps the coconut against the cliff face, not really paying attention to the rattle. She's more consumed with studying the camps below, plotting a course. Of course the weather chooses now to break the two hundred year cloudy streak. Time was, anypony with wings could get where they needed to go virtually invisibly simply by flying high enough, but now? The instant she jumps off that cliff, she's going to be instantly highlighted by the bright sunlight.

She still hasn't drunk the cloud. It's not nerves, she doesn't think. She just doesn't want to risk anything going wrong right before she returns home. She's got no idea what the Pi--Pinkie Pie's put in it. It seems like the kind of thing you drink either after the dust has settled, or right before you start kicking it up and have nothing left to lose. Either way, the time isn't now.

The time right now is plotting, and sneaking, and charting a course through the camps so she can get in without having the entire camp start shooting.

[[12] on Read a Sitch. What's my best way past these camps? What should I be on the lookout for? Which enemy is the biggest threat?]

[BlasTech]

The Scrapscallion let out a low whistle. “And here I was going to the Bunker before it was cool. Question is, what kinda party are they here for?” It sure would be great if they didn’t have to fight another big name of the Wasteland today, even cooler if they were on board with this whole “screw the Enclave” thing, but so far their track record on warm welcomes wasn’t super great for some reason.

“I dunno, man, why don’t you go down there and take a survey of who’s going to shoot us?” The Scrapscallion scoffed, savoring a good eye roll before tuning out the idiot nerd and getting back to saving their flanks.

So anyway...who exactly were the good guys here, again?

[Base roll to Read a Sitch: 2 + 2 + 2 = 6. Going with Who's in control here?]

EDIT: [For bookkeeping, Luminark is rolling to Help, got an 11, and so the net result is 8]

Glad you added that last bit - I was all ready for unfortunate consequences, but you managed to dodge them through the power of Friendship™

Anyway, Scraps, in answer to your question - it would seem that nopony is really in control at present.

The outposts are too far apart to be a siege and look more like observation posts. There to raise an alarm if anything nasty comes boiling out of the Bunker, or potentially deal with it more directly, but not enough to really take it out. The NCR troops seem to know it too. You spot several keeping an eye on the place through binoculars or spotting scopes, but there's not enough heavy weapons or other paraphernalia visible to support a full scale battle.

As for whether the Bunker is in control - well, unlikely. You can see smoke rising from some of the outbuildings, but whether that's due to the NCR's efforts or just the factional infighting, you can't tell. It's more likely the latter given what you know about the various departments and how well they play together.

Basically, you're likely wading into a big bowl of chaos.

Starlight scowls at the memory. Neither enforcer nor leader nor administrator? How is she supposed to protect people if they don't respect her, don't obey her, don't love her? That's how it works. You come in, you perform feats, they love you, they put you in charge.

Idly, she taps the coconut against the cliff face, not really paying attention to the rattle. She's more consumed with studying the camps below, plotting a course. Of course the weather chooses now to break the two hundred year cloudy streak. Time was, anypony with wings could get where they needed to go virtually invisibly simply by flying high enough, but now? The instant she jumps off that cliff, she's going to be instantly highlighted by the bright sunlight.

She still hasn't drunk the cloud. It's not nerves, she doesn't think. She just doesn't want to risk anything going wrong right before she returns home. She's got no idea what the Pi--Pinkie Pie's put in it. It seems like the kind of thing you drink either after the dust has settled, or right before you start kicking it up and have nothing left to lose. Either way, the time isn't now.

The time right now is plotting, and sneaking, and charting a course through the camps so she can get in without having the entire camp start shooting.

[[12] on Read a Sitch. What's my best way past these camps? What should I be on the lookout for? Which enemy is the biggest threat?]

This is going to sound straightforward - but your best bet is to just fly straight in. Not too high, because who knows who might be watching from above the clouds. And not too low to put you in grabbing reach of any hellhounds popping out of the ground. But low enough and quick enough to outpace any hoof patrols. These guys seem to be acting more like guards - keeping ponies getting out. They don't seem to be set up to prevent ponies getting in.

What you'll need to be on the lookout for is ... well, it's twofold.

One, is the reception you'll get when you get to the Bunker. You're not the Administrator there anymore, and - well - the last time you were here they tried to lock you up. You'll need to be careful in how you approach things to keep things calm - lest the ponies panic and do more damage to themselves.

But the biggest thing you should look out for, and the biggest threat? It's what you need to protect the Bunker from. Pinkie's message echoes in your mind here, there is something that poses a risk to both the Bunker and Equestria at large. Now, it might be just protecting the bunker from itself, but you don't think that's the whole picture. Forces are coming for the Bunker, or might even already be there. That's your biggest threat. All this petty squabbling between the departments? White noise, and a potential dangerous distraction.

[TheAmishPirate]

The Scrapscallion passed the binoculars back with a confident nod. “They can’t catch us, but they’re about to get caught out by the Enclave if they stay put. See, look how they’re pointing everything at the Bunker? They’re keeping things in, not keeping us out. Lucky for all of us…” He tapped the Peregrine’s hull. “We got a ticket into the Hangar, and after its defenses got souped up, none of the nerds in there’ll be able to crack it easy. We get them a safer post, we get us a few dozen more Foal Scouts to keep the Enclave out, that’s a win for everypony in my book.”

Perfect plan, zero flaws, provided Luminark didn’t ruin everything.

[BlasTech]

The Scrapscallion passed the binoculars back with a confident nod. “They can’t catch us, but they’re about to get caught out by the Enclave if they stay put. See, look how they’re pointing everything at the Bunker? They’re keeping things in, not keeping us out. Lucky for all of us…” He tapped the Peregrine’s hull. “We got a ticket into the Hangar, and after its defenses got souped up, none of the nerds in there’ll be able to crack it easy. We get them a safer post, we get us a few dozen more Foal Scouts to keep the Enclave out, that’s a win for everypony in my book.”

Perfect plan, zero flaws, provided Luminark didn’t ruin everything.

"Ok, I've heard worse ideas I guess." replies Cloudburster, lifting the binoculars back to her eyes. "Means you'll want to head to that camp, they've got the Grimfeather's flag flying as well. Probably means Regina's there on behalf of mom."

"But you know how the NCR are, right? If you want them to lift a talon to help defend the place, you're going to have to cut a deal with them - a contract, I mean, something more than just offering a win-win."

What do you two do?

[Thanqol]

The Scrapscallion passed the binoculars back with a confident nod. “They can’t catch us, but they’re about to get caught out by the Enclave if they stay put. See, look how they’re pointing everything at the Bunker? They’re keeping things in, not keeping us out. Lucky for all of us…” He tapped the Peregrine’s hull. “We got a ticket into the Hangar, and after its defenses got souped up, none of the nerds in there’ll be able to crack it easy. We get them a safer post, we get us a few dozen more Foal Scouts to keep the Enclave out, that’s a win for everypony in my book.”

Perfect plan, zero flaws, provided Luminark didn’t ruin everything.

Luminark made a face like he was about to ruin everything. Correct Scrapscallion's grammar, perhaps, or make some sort of stale commentary on the nature of the Peregrine's technical specifications. But then he let the breath out and just... didn't. "All right. Let's go make a deal."

He was distracted and intrigued by the idea of doing something as civilized as working out a contract. Oh! Maybe it'd have signatures! And notaries! What could be better than signing a notarized contract over tea?

[Elanorin]

They sit on your table, three small glass cylinders filled with preserving gel. You found them on your second trip into the stacks. The crown jewels of the Library’s specimen collection. Three samples from their manes: One, multicoloured like the dawn’s pastels. The second, a midnight blue flecked with stars. The third, a tricolour of purple, pink and cream.

It’s time. The port is open and the display above it reads “input sample”.

What do you do?

Milliway was staring at the three specimen jars. She was sat, head in her hooves, unmoving, much like she had been for the past hour. At least. When she found them it had felt like this amazing victory. Better than she could ever had hoped for (hell, she'd been prepared to clone herself if she'd had to and the creeps were still crawling down her spine at that). And yet, sat here, faced with the best of all imaginable choices, it felt all but impossible.

At first she'd reached for the one on the left, the bright shimmering pastels promised a clone of the most revered of all ponies she'd ever heard of and learned about as a filly. There was so much potential there. Hell, in that body perhaps House could help sort out more than just this crazy pony and her mad machine. Perhaps his wise mind in that body could help defuse some of the chaos here?

But then, the blue, with its shimmering stars, it called to her, on a personal level. It held the face she most wanted at her side. The one she'd feel most able to relate to. It was a selfish thing to keep that as an option for those reasons, but then again, had he not said his favourite colour was blue?

Then there was that last jar, the one her brain was informing her on a maddening loop of internal lectures was the right choice simply by virtue of its connection with the crystal heart that was House's, well, heart. The compatibility there was undeniable and, hell, wouldn't that serve towards the success of this insane venture which was already risky?

So it was the needs of the others, versus the wants of her heart, versus the logic of her mind, and Milliway remained, unmoving, staring at three jars. The urgency was rising though, she couldn't remain like this indefinitely or nothing would come of it and that deathmachine would show up and likely all would be lost. When her indecisiveness burped up the idea that perhaps she should just pour all three in and see what happened she finally spoke.

"House, do you have a preference here?" It was going to be his body after all.

[TheAmishPirate]

"Ok, I've heard worse ideas I guess." replies Cloudburster, lifting the binoculars back to her eyes. "Means you'll want to head to that camp, they've got the Grimfeather's flag flying as well. Probably means Regina's there on behalf of mom."

"But you know how the NCR are, right? If you want them to lift a talon to help defend the place, you're going to have to cut a deal with them - a contract, I mean, something more than just offering a win-win."

What do you two do?

Luminark made a face like he was about to ruin everything. Correct Scrapscallion's grammar, perhaps, or make some sort of stale commentary on the nature of the Peregrine's technical specifications. But then he let the breath out and just... didn't. "All right. Let's go make a deal."

He was distracted and intrigued by the idea of doing something as civilized as working out a contract. Oh! Maybe it'd have signatures! And notaries! What could be better than signing a notarized contract over tea?

"Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Lame." The Scrapscallion griped as he boarded the Peregrine. "Woulda thought saving their hides would've been bargain enough, but sure, whatever, let's go make a deal."

The Scrapscallion briefly considered pointing out a few things he might be willing to offer this Regina that she'd definitely enjoy, but then again, maybe it'd be a bad idea to roll up to Milliway the negotiations with a black eye or two.

The Scrapscallion decided to keep his mouth shut.

[BlasTech]

Luminark made a face like he was about to ruin everything. Correct Scrapscallion's grammar, perhaps, or make some sort of stale commentary on the nature of the Peregrine's technical specifications. But then he let the breath out and just... didn't. "All right. Let's go make a deal."

He was distracted and intrigued by the idea of doing something as civilized as working out a contract. Oh! Maybe it'd have signatures! And notaries! What could be better than signing a notarized contract over tea?

"Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Lame." The Scrapscallion griped as he boarded the Peregrine. "Woulda thought saving their hides would've been bargain enough, but sure, whatever, let's go make a deal."

The Scrapscallion briefly considered pointing out a few things he might be willing to offer this Regina that she'd definitely enjoy, but then again, maybe it'd be a bad idea to roll up to Milliway the negotiations with a black eye or two.

The Scrapscallion decided to keep his mouth shut.

Tea and Contracts? Clearly, nothing is better than that.

"Alright, let's load up and head down" says Cloudburster. "Take it easy so nopony shoots at you, and I'll fly ahead to let them know we're coming"

-==-

A few minutes later, and the Peregrine's engine spinning down in the middle of the NCR encampment. Two earth pony guards come out to greet you. Not exactly welcoming, but not overtly hostile, they walk you all into a nearby tent after exchanging a few words with the pegasus. Rarity and Cloudburster walk in behind you.

Inside are a few sleeping cots, foldaway chairs and a portable table. Standing behind that, looking over a map of the region, are two griffons. One appears to be middle aged, a ragged scar running across her left eye down past her beak. The younger one has two pistols, cut down rifles really, in underwing holsters and looks up as you approach.

Scrapscallion - Your time in the wastes means you know the older of the two griffons in front of you. Gawdnya Grimfeathers, head of the Talons mercenary group and now de facto leader of the NCR.

Luminark - You recognise the younger one from your disaster of a diplomatic summit. Your last image of her, before you'd vanished in a cloud of radioactive dust, had been her climbing unsteadily back up, armor and feathers disheveled by the blast that had been meant to kill you.

"The F*ck?" she exclaims, eyes widening with surprise as she notices you. "Aren't you dead??!"

What do you two do?

Milliway was staring at the three specimen jars. She was sat, head in her hooves, unmoving, much like she had been for the past hour. At least. When she found them it had felt like this amazing victory. Better than she could ever had hoped for (hell, she'd been prepared to clone herself if she'd had to and the creeps were still crawling down her spine at that). And yet, sat here, faced with the best of all imaginable choices, it felt all but impossible.

At first she'd reached for the one on the left, the bright shimmering pastels promised a clone of the most revered of all ponies she'd ever heard of and learned about as a filly. There was so much potential there. Hell, in that body perhaps House could help sort out more than just this crazy pony and her mad machine. Perhaps his wise mind in that body could help defuse some of the chaos here?

But then, the blue, with its shimmering stars, it called to her, on a personal level. It held the face she most wanted at her side. The one she'd feel most able to relate to. It was a selfish thing to keep that as an option for those reasons, but then again, had he not said his favourite colour was blue?

Then there was that last jar, the one her brain was informing her on a maddening loop of internal lectures was the right choice simply by virtue of its connection with the crystal heart that was House's, well, heart. The compatibility there was undeniable and, hell, wouldn't that serve towards the success of this insane venture which was already risky?

So it was the needs of the others, versus the wants of her heart, versus the logic of her mind, and Milliway remained, unmoving, staring at three jars. The urgency was rising though, she couldn't remain like this indefinitely or nothing would come of it and that deathmachine would show up and likely all would be lost. When her indecisiveness burped up the idea that perhaps she should just pour all three in and see what happened she finally spoke.

"House, do you have a preference here?" It was going to be his body after all.

"I honestly ... am not sure" replies House, after a moment.

"They all feel ... familiar for some reason or other. But I don't know which one would work best."

You're right though Milliway. This is a choice for you to make. There is no wrong answer, but there is one that might work better than the others.

Would you like to read a sitch and try to put together the clues you've got in front of you?

Or would you like to consult a source that is less ... tangible. Would you like to open your mind?

What do you do?

[TheAmishPirate]

Scrapscallion - Your time in the wastes means you know the older of the two griffons in front of you. Gawdnya Grimfeathers, head of the Talons mercenary group and now de facto leader of the NCR.

Luminark - You recognise the younger one from your disaster of a diplomatic summit. Your last image of her, before you'd vanished in a cloud of radioactive dust, had been her climbing unsteadily back up, armor and feathers disheveled by the blast that had been meant to kill you.

"The F*ck?" she exclaims, eyes widening with surprise as she notices you. "Aren't you dead??!"

What do you two do?

"Yeah, no such luck, apparently." The Scrapscallion shrugged with a huff. But even as he plied the 'ol Scrapscallion charm to the situation, he couldn't shake the feeling he was being watched.

Okay, yeah, there were two griffons, right here, watching all of them, and probably also a handful of guards outside, so there was actually a lot of watching going on. But like, a feeling of being watched-watched. With intent. He couldn't tell if it was good, bad, or sideways, but what the hay could he have done to catch the eye of one of these NCR goons?

And...why did it feel like said eye belonged to the mom?

[Rolling Reputation on Gawdnya: 1 + 2 + 3 = 6 I throw myself on the mercy of the MC.]

[Balmas]

Huh. Well, that's simpler than expected. Easier, too--maybe it's just Scrapscallion rubbing off, but there's part of her that feels cheated by the missed opportunity to sneak through the camp, possibly while seducing someone on the way in.

Still, that's a good thing. She ignores the shouts as she zooms past the camp, less falling hawk and more gliding stealth bomber.

But she's not aimed at the front door. If things are running the way she'd run things--and the fact that people are here admittedly puts paid to that assumption, but we work with what we have--that's where the Friendship Squads will have set up a defensive position. Randomly dropping in there out of the blue seems like a good way to get vaporized.

She's not sure what that would do to her, but it seems like a bad idea to test it.

Instead, she's aimed at the vents. An underground facility this size needs ventilation to bring fresh air from the surface. And that flows throughout nearly the whole Bunker. She zoops through the grill like jello being fed through a set of teeth, and then she just needs to hope she remembers the way to her office.

[BlasTech]

"Yeah, no such luck, apparently." The Scrapscallion shrugged with a huff. But even as he plied the 'ol Scrapscallion charm to the situation, he couldn't shake the feeling he was being watched.

Okay, yeah, there were two griffons, right here, watching all of them, and probably also a handful of guards outside, so there was actually a lot of watching going on. But like, a feeling of being watched-watched. With intent. He couldn't tell if it was good, bad, or sideways, but what the hay could he have done to catch the eye of one of these NCR goons?

And...why did it feel like said eye belonged to the mom?

[Rolling Reputation on Gawdnya: 1 + 2 + 3 = 6 I throw myself on the mercy of the MC.]

A question for you Scraps!

Can you tell me of a time you had to break a contract with a Wastelander? I mean, not just when you delivered cargo late or missed up one of the Ts and Cs (not that you can be bothered negotiating that level of detail), but when you straight up broke a promise that you should've kept? I'm sure it's happened and ... well, it looks like she knows it too.

Who was it, why did you break it, and what was the result?

Huh. Well, that's simpler than expected. Easier, too--maybe it's just Scrapscallion rubbing off, but there's part of her that feels cheated by the missed opportunity to sneak through the camp, possibly while seducing someone on the way in.

Still, that's a good thing. She ignores the shouts as she zooms past the camp, less falling hawk and more gliding stealth bomber.

But she's not aimed at the front door. If things are running the way she'd run things--and the fact that people are here admittedly puts paid to that assumption, but we work with what we have--that's where the Friendship Squads will have set up a defensive position. Randomly dropping in there out of the blue seems like a good way to get vaporized.

She's not sure what that would do to her, but it seems like a bad idea to test it.

Instead, she's aimed at the vents. An underground facility this size needs ventilation to bring fresh air from the surface. And that flows throughout nearly the whole Bunker. She zoops through the grill like jello being fed through a set of teeth, and then she just needs to hope she remembers the way to her office.

So - just in through the vents? No security? Nothing to dodge?

Is the Bunker really that easy to get into? Or is there something lurking ahead of you as you slip past the first grate?

If so, roll for an AUF - if not, then tell me what your journey is like before you drop down into the Administrator's office.

[Thanqol]

Luminark - You recognise the younger one from your disaster of a diplomatic summit. Your last image of her, before you'd vanished in a cloud of radioactive dust, had been her climbing unsteadily back up, armor and feathers disheveled by the blast that had been meant to kill you.

"The F*ck?" she exclaims, eyes widening with surprise as she notices you. "Aren't you dead??!"

What do you two do?

"I got better," said Luminark flippantly, but looked away. He... didn't want to remember that day. He didn't want to think about having... abandoned everyone. A bit more quietly, and a lot more sincerely, he added. "Glad that you're okay."

"Anyway," he cleared his throat. "My understanding is that there are bad things going down at the Bunker and too many awful ponies either have or are trying to get their hooves on it. And, um. I feel some sort of responsibility towards... that... situation. So I'm back now, hopefully here to make sure everything turns out okay."

[BlasTech]

"I got better," said Luminark flippantly, but looked away. He... didn't want to remember that day. He didn't want to think about having... abandoned everyone. A bit more quietly, and a lot more sincerely, he added. "Glad that you're okay."

"Anyway," he cleared his throat. "My understanding is that there are bad things going down at the Bunker and too many awful ponies either have or are trying to get their hooves on it. And, um. I feel some sort of responsibility towards... that... situation. So I'm back now, hopefully here to make sure everything turns out okay."

"Well that's ... nice I guess?" replies Reggie, before shooting an aside whisper to the rest of the gang. "You guys know he was dead, right? You can't fix dead!"

She's interrupted by the older griffon clearing her throat.

"Oh! Uh." she stammers, resting a talon on her chest for a moment - as if in memory of something - before turning back to you all. "I'm not really doing a good job of this am I?"

Deep breath, while the older griffon rolls her eyes fondly.

"Okay, starting over. It's good you survived too -stillnotsurehow- but what's your plan for making "everything okay"? This place has been spitting out random warbots and mutants for days now - it's a hazard to the whole waste."

[Balmas]

So - just in through the vents? No security? Nothing to dodge?

Is the Bunker really that easy to get into? Or is there something lurking ahead of you as you slip past the first grate?

If so, roll for an AUF - if not, then tell me what your journey is like before you drop down into the Administrator's office.

See, I think the issue here is you're imagining something out of a Shadow Spade novel. The hero crawls their way through vents that are large enough, for some reason, to accomodate an average pony, and soundproofed enough that nopony will notice the tromping of hooves on thin metal, before unscrewing a ventilation grate and emerging where they need to be.

Not so the Bunker! This is a premier, top-of-the-line, secret research facility for the Ministry of Arcane Science, built at the war-heightened peaks of paranoia! Before you even reach the grates, you need to figure out which of them are disguised, which of them are obvious (and therefore trapped), and which of them actually lead where you want to go. And of course you'd need to figure out how to disable the disintigration fields--because there was that one time with the murder of pigeons--and the air filtration systems, because again, murders of pigeons.

Oh, and then you'd need to figure out how to shrink your average pony down to something approaching the diameter of a soup can. After all, the architects read Shadow Spade too.

[[6]. So close.]

[TheAmishPirate]

A question for you Scraps!

Can you tell me of a time you had to break a contract with a Wastelander? I mean, not just when you delivered cargo late or missed up one of the Ts and Cs (not that you can be bothered negotiating that level of detail), but when you straight up broke a promise that you should've kept? I'm sure it's happened and ... well, it looks like she knows it too.

Who was it, why did you break it, and what was the result?

Uhhh, you want a list? Stuff happens, y’know. Can’t be helped.

But if we’re talking stuff happening that she might’ve heard of, then mayyyyyyyyyyybe she heard about Bitsburgh. Way back when, they contracted him to go and get a load of scrap from point A to point Them. It wasn’t really a contract, y’know, he doesn’t go for all those messy details, they just made him promise three things, and he’d get paid.

He broke the first promise where he said he’d go and get the stuff by ditching the whole job partway through. Because oh my gosh was it boring. Nothing more than a dumb freight job over pancake flat roads. Some of which were actual roads! Laaaaaaaaaaaaaaame. He blew their down payment on fuel and other goodies to finance another, much more fun job that he can’t be bothered to remember right now.

He broke the second promise where he said he wouldn’t come back until he had the stuff by doing exactly that. Under the cover of night, no less, to have some fun with the mayor’s daughter. Who may have been a significant part of the third promise.

So anyway that’s why he’s not allowed in Bitsburgh anymore.

"Well that's ... nice I guess?" replies Reggie, before shooting an aside whisper to the rest of the gang. "You guys know he was dead, right? You can't fix dead!"

She's interrupted by the older griffon clearing her throat.

"Oh! Uh." she stammers, resting a talon on her chest for a moment - as if in memory of something - before turning back to you all. "I'm not really doing a good job of this am I?"

Deep breath, while the older griffon rolls her eyes fondly.

"Okay, starting over. It's good you survived too -stillnotsurehow- but what's your plan for making "everything okay"? This place has been spitting out random warbots and mutants for days now - it's a hazard to the whole waste."

The Scrapscallion really wanted to leave him out to dry hear what this definitely great plan was, and so he shut up for a sec to watch the show listen.

[Thanqol]

"Well that's ... nice I guess?" replies Reggie, before shooting an aside whisper to the rest of the gang. "You guys know he was dead, right? You can't fix dead!"

She's interrupted by the older griffon clearing her throat.

"Oh! Uh." she stammers, resting a talon on her chest for a moment - as if in memory of something - before turning back to you all. "I'm not really doing a good job of this am I?"

Deep breath, while the older griffon rolls her eyes fondly.

"Okay, starting over. It's good you survived too -stillnotsurehow- but what's your plan for making "everything okay"? This place has been spitting out random warbots and mutants for days now - it's a hazard to the whole waste."

"I am hoping that nopony bothered to take me off the bunker's security filters, what with me being dead and all," said Luminark breezily. "I intend to walk up, find out who's in charge, talk sense into them, and hopefully not have the entire thing devolve immediately into a spectacular action sequence. Worst case I have to do another stint dead, but there are worse things in life than death."

[BlasTech]

See, I think the issue here is you're imagining something out of a Shadow Spade novel. The hero crawls their way through vents that are large enough, for some reason, to accomodate an average pony, and soundproofed enough that nopony will notice the tromping of hooves on thin metal, before unscrewing a ventilation grate and emerging where they need to be.

Not so the Bunker! This is a premier, top-of-the-line, secret research facility for the Ministry of Arcane Science, built at the war-heightened peaks of paranoia! Before you even reach the grates, you need to figure out which of them are disguised, which of them are obvious (and therefore trapped), and which of them actually lead where you want to go. And of course you'd need to figure out how to disable the disintigration fields--because there was that one time with the murder of pigeons--and the air filtration systems, because again, murders of pigeons.

Oh, and then you'd need to figure out how to shrink your average pony down to something approaching the diameter of a soup can. After all, the architects read Shadow Spade too.

[[6]. So close.]

You manage to evade the fields, squeeze past the blades and step around the traps, eventually making your way to the air vent above the Administrator's office. Such is your mastery of stealthy-stealth-ness, that nopony is the wiser as you reach your destination.

Clearly you are a master of the maze. The super of the sneaky spies. The ultimate ... uh ... underhooved undertaker?

... Ok, maybe not that last one.

Anyway, it's all going swimmingly up until you drop down from the ceiling into your office ...

--==BZzzzwwoooRRrnnn==--

A crackling energy field springs to life around you. Trapping you inside a shimmering white bubble a good foot of the ground.

It seems somepony else has been reading Shadow Spade, as one of the egg-shaped chairs in front of your desk slowly spins around to reveal the pony who had been lounging in it. Grey bun of a mane, silver rimmed spectacles, clipboard and impeccably tidy labcoat. All that's missing is the small white cat.

Proper Process, divisional secretariat and head of the administration department, blinks and regards you critically over the rim of her glasses.

"Well. You're not who I expected to fall into that particular trap." she observes.

As your eyes adjust to the bunker's harsh lighting, you see two other ponies sitting around the administrator's table: Target Practice, the Chief of Security, and Big Bang the head of the Chemistry department. They look like they've been talking, clearly you've just interrupted a meeting of some kind.

What do you do?

Uhhh, you want a list? Stuff happens, y’know. Can’t be helped.

But if we’re talking stuff happening that she might’ve heard of, then mayyyyyyyyyyybe she heard about Bitsburgh. Way back when, they contracted him to go and get a load of scrap from point A to point Them. It wasn’t really a contract, y’know, he doesn’t go for all those messy details, they just made him promise three things, and he’d get paid.

He broke the first promise where he said he’d go and get the stuff by ditching the whole job partway through. Because oh my gosh was it boring. Nothing more than a dumb freight job over pancake flat roads. Some of which were actual roads! Laaaaaaaaaaaaaaame. He blew their down payment on fuel and other goodies to finance another, much more fun job that he can’t be bothered to remember right now.

He broke the second promise where he said he wouldn’t come back until he had the stuff by doing exactly that. Under the cover of night, no less, to have some fun with the mayor’s daughter. Who may have been a significant part of the third promise.

So anyway that’s why he’s not allowed in Bitsburgh anymore.

Well, with all that playing through your mind there's barely enough room for two additional thoughts.

The first is that the mother of the young griffoness talking is looking at you like she's recalling the tale of Bitsburgh in all the vivid embellishments borne of a Wasteland's worth of retelling. You can see it in the set of her beak, in the glint of her eyes as she leans back against the wall of the tent. She pulls a knife from her bandoleer and purposefully begins sharpening it with long, slow strokes. All without her eyes leaving yours.

-shinkt- -shinkt- -shinkt-

The second thought, following right on the tail of the first, is that the thing she's sharpening isn't actually a knife.

It's a melon baller.

Why the hay does she even carry one of those??

"I am hoping that nopony bothered to take me off the bunker's security filters, what with me being dead and all," said Luminark breezily. "I intend to walk up, find out who's in charge, talk sense into them, and hopefully not have the entire thing devolve immediately into a spectacular action sequence. Worst case I have to do another stint dead, but there are worse things in life than death."

"Oh okay." replies the younger griffon. "Well, once you've died and come back again you can look us up?"

She glances at Cloudburster who is looking at you with an expression of exasperation.

"Or is there something you wanted to talk to us about before you go and get yourself perforated? Your buddy there suggested you wanted to cut a deal of some kind." she finishes, indicating the pegasus.

What do you do?

[Balmas]

Starlight ***** an eyebrow. "Who, exactly, did you expect to fall into this trap?"

Lazily, she allows herself to schlorp into a puddle at the bottom of the bubble, before reforming back in a sitting position. She is casual, composed, confident, in control, but in a non-confrontational way. She doesn't need to fight for respect. She simply is.

She's home.

The effort of forming a martini glass out of her own leg is perhaps less than justified, but it's worth it to see the look on Proper Process's face.

"No, really. Was it Byte Size? I may be a bit out of the loop, but last I remember her work on miniaturized spy drones was truly astonishing. Or maybe Ashheap finally managed a breakthrough on reanimating energy weapon goo piles, but that seems likely given the outcome of his last self-experimentation. Or did Otto finally manage to hybridize himself with that cuttlefish RNA enough to fit through a tunnel that size?"

Hmm. There's a twinge. Wonder whether he actually survived?

A concern for another day. Right now, she needs to get these ponies on side. Or at least, not actively against.

[[11] on Read a Pony.
-How could I get Proper Process to help me save the Bunker?
Holding 2.]

She pauses, and rolls her eyes. "Oh, do put the guns away, Target. Maybe you didn't hear, but I'm taking a contractually-enforced leave of absence. You don't have to worry about me seizing power for at least another ten years."

[TheAmishPirate]

Well, with all that playing through your mind there's barely enough room for two additional thoughts.

The first is that the mother of the young griffoness talking is looking at you like she's recalling the tale of Bitsburgh in all the vivid embellishments borne of a Wasteland's worth of retelling. You can see it in the set of her beak, in the glint of her eyes as she leans back against the wall of the tent. She pulls a knife from her bandoleer and purposefully begins sharpening it with long, slow strokes. All without her eyes leaving yours.

-shinkt- -shinkt- -shinkt-

The second thought, following right on the tail of the first, is that the thing she's sharpening isn't actually a knife.

It's a melon baller.

Why the hay does she even carry one of those??

Oh no, the eye belonged to the mom.

New plan, new plan. Dunking on Luminark? Back burner. Top priority; getting out of here in one piece, and with all pieces still attached. The Scrapscallion was crazy enough to leap into a reactor going critical, but Gawdnya thinking he was going to put the moves on her daughter?!

Nopony was that crazy.

"Oh okay." replies the younger griffon. "Well, once you've died and come back again you can look us up?"

She glances at Cloudburster who is looking at you with an expression of exasperation.

"Or is there something you wanted to talk to us about before you go and get yourself perforated? Your buddy there suggested you wanted to cut a deal of some kind." she finishes, indicating the pegasus.

What do you do?

"Yep, right, we can all agree; terrible plan, we got a better one in the works, not important." The Scrapscallion inserted himself into the negotiations, at a respectful, mother-and-Cloudburster-approved distance from Reggie. "What's important? Good question, thanks for asking. Answer: The Enclave Fleet heading here, now." He didn't even pause for dramatic effect! That's how serious he was taking this c'mon Gawdnya be cool this was! "Cloudburster and I raided one of their outposts the other day, and we caught some of their communications. They're sending a fleet - a big one, maybe everything they have left - here, and they're gonna take everything that's not nailed down. You think those mutants and murderbots are bad? Wait until the Enclave gets their hooves on that stuff. We're talking Friendship City all over again, all over the place. Or worse, they get their little kingdom in the sky back, and good luck getting them out of there a second time."

The NCR cared about that stuff right? Right. Definitely. No need to melon-ball the messenger.

"Here's the deal; this Bunker here was my base of operations before it went to pieces. Which means I can get all of us inside the hangar. It's fortified, inside and out. Seriously, just got some fancy autoturrets on the entrance, it's pretty sweet. I can let all of you in, and that'll keep the Enclave from rolling over your guys, and leave them to deal with whatever weird science crap comes shambling out. Added bonus, great spot to hold them off while we get the situation down below under control. Everybody wins, right?"

[Thanqol]

Luminark nodded along to Scraps' proposal. "I'm really too new to this outside world to pick sides in this big weird political throwdown," he said, "but at bare minimum I'd prefer it if all the terrible things in that bunker remained on the inside."

[Elanorin]

"I honestly ... am not sure" replies House, after a moment.

"They all feel ... familiar for some reason or other. But I don't know which one would work best."

You're right though Milliway. This is a choice for you to make. There is no wrong answer, but there is one that might work better than the others.

Would you like to read a sitch and try to put together the clues you've got in front of you?

Or would you like to consult a source that is less ... tangible. Would you like to open your mind?

What do you do?

Not only was this extremely important - House getting a body was a Big Deal as he might well end up keeping it... indefinitely, and he deserved the best. But also, with the crazy hack looming in the wings with their deathtrap of a poorly constructed bot, she felt she had something to prove when it came to craftmanship. She was going to face this pony and her construction would be superior in every way. And whatever happened after the dust settled, they would both know it.

There was nothing for it, she needed to get a more direct taste of her options. And so Milliway steeled herself, drew a deep breath, in and out... and took an actual sip of each jar.

[Rolling to Open My Brain: 1+3+3=7]

[BlasTech]

[[11] on Read a Pony.
-How could I get Proper Process to help me save the Bunker?
Holding 2.]

She pauses, and rolls her eyes. "Oh, do put the guns away, Target. Maybe you didn't hear, but I'm taking a contractually-enforced leave of absence. You don't have to worry about me seizing power for at least another ten years."

"Well, I see no reason not to say." replies Proper Process, regarding you as if assessing the shield's ability to contain you too. "I was expecting Luminark to attempt to get back in here. The Administrator's office seemed a likely target for such an attempt - so this room is rather thoroughly trapped. That pony has left things in a most intolerable state, and needs to answer for his actions."

"Anyway, enough of that." she clicks her tongue, before turning back to the other ponies. "This interruption should not disrupt our negotiations to bring peace to this bunker. Target, Bang. You were both saying?"

The two other ponies snap out of the distraction afforded by your arrival, turning back to each other with looks of undisguised venom. They pause, silent, waiting for the other side to make the first move. Eyes narrowed, jaws clenched. Tension building.

But it's Proper Process' expression you notice most. Small, almost unnoticeable, but the pony is smiling.

It makes it clear. You can't convince her to help save the bunker. She wants the division to continue.

What do you do?

"Yep, right, we can all agree; terrible plan, we got a better one in the works, not important." The Scrapscallion inserted himself into the negotiations, at a respectful, mother-and-Cloudburster-approved distance from Reggie. "What's important? Good question, thanks for asking. Answer: The Enclave Fleet heading here, now." He didn't even pause for dramatic effect! That's how serious he was taking this c'mon Gawdnya be cool this was! "Cloudburster and I raided one of their outposts the other day, and we caught some of their communications. They're sending a fleet - a big one, maybe everything they have left - here, and they're gonna take everything that's not nailed down. You think those mutants and murderbots are bad? Wait until the Enclave gets their hooves on that stuff. We're talking Friendship City all over again, all over the place. Or worse, they get their little kingdom in the sky back, and good luck getting them out of there a second time."

The NCR cared about that stuff right? Right. Definitely. No need to melon-ball the messenger.

"Here's the deal; this Bunker here was my base of operations before it went to pieces. Which means I can get all of us inside the hangar. It's fortified, inside and out. Seriously, just got some fancy autoturrets on the entrance, it's pretty sweet. I can let all of you in, and that'll keep the Enclave from rolling over your guys, and leave them to deal with whatever weird science crap comes shambling out. Added bonus, great spot to hold them off while we get the situation down below under control. Everybody wins, right?"

"The enclave ..." says the younger griffon. She looks like she's about to say more before she's cut off by the mom.

"No deal." she replies, eyes narrowed.

"You broke contract out at Bitsburgh, as well as breaking a few other things." she said, muttering the last part. "Even if you told me Celestia was coming down on a flaming meteor and asking us for help, I'm not about to put my ponies in harms way just on your word alone."

What do you do?

Luminark nodded along to Scraps' proposal. "I'm really too new to this outside world to pick sides in this big weird political throwdown," he said, "but at bare minimum I'd prefer it if all the terrible things in that bunker remained on the inside."

"On the other claw, that's probably the most honest assessment I've heard today." she continues, looking at Luminark.

"If the Enclave are coming, what do they want from this place?" she asks.

What do you do?

Not only was this extremely important - House getting a body was a Big Deal as he might well end up keeping it... indefinitely, and he deserved the best. But also, with the crazy hack looming in the wings with their deathtrap of a poorly constructed bot, she felt she had something to prove when it came to craftmanship. She was going to face this pony and her construction would be superior in every way. And whatever happened after the dust settled, they would both know it.

There was nothing for it, she needed to get a more direct taste of her options. And so Milliway steeled herself, drew a deep breath, in and out... and took an actual sip of each jar.

[Rolling to Open My Brain: 1+3+3=7]

Okay. Well let's start with the Celestia jar. You lift it to your lips and take a swig, moving it around on your tongue as you consider the flavours. It starts with a hint of nutmeg, a touch of cinnamon - with a rather smoky aftertast----

BLARGH.

Ok, no. Not really. I mean, what were you expecting? This isn't a fine scotch, this is 200 year old preservation gel designed by the Ministry of Arcane science. It tastes like old boots marinated in sweat socks and banana peels and then served up with a plate of toast burnt so badly it's turned to liquid.

Maybe if this had been designed by the Ministry of Morale, things might have been different. But no such luck.

Luna's gel is not much better. In fact, this sample is freezing. So cold on your tongue nearly burns. You have to spit it out and then rub it off with your hooves before it can cause any permanent damage.

That leaves only the Cadance jar.

Well ... in for a bit in for a bushel, right? (Is that the right saying? Always get that one wrong).

You take a swig of the liquid, fully ready to spit it back out the moment something bad happens. For a second though you're disappointed. It tastes - bland, like you're drinking nothing at al----

-==-

You see the Crystal Heart, spinning on its pedestal in a city made of glass.

-==-

A stallion looks at you, his mane a brilliant two toned blue and his coat pure white. You can't hear the words he speaks, but you can feel the love behind them.

-==-

You feel wings, stretched out to either side, as you barrel towards something in the distance. Small, purple, falling. A tiny creature clutches a blue gemstone as black smoke billows towards him.

-==-

THUD.

Blinking, you find yourself back in the Library, slumped over one of your computers and your tongue buzzing with a strange tingling sensation. Your hoof is splayed over the keyboard, and you note that it has pulled up the log of the diagnostic you ran earlier.

Synccomp root access granted. Diagnostic underway: root kernel CrE5H4|2D.exe operating … … 100%, fault error diagnostics nil. Rootkit scan complete. Gestalt #C4D4|VC3 integrity OK. Memory checksum passed. Backup test … effective. Diagnostics complete: no errors found.

Your eyes, still reeling from the visions they just had, latch on to one part in particular.

Rootkit scan complete. Gestalt #C4D4|VC3 integrity OK. Memory checksum passed.

Gestalt #C4D4|VC3 integrity OK.

C4D4|VC3

CADANCE

What do you do?

[Elanorin]

Your eyes, still reeling from the visions they just had, latch on to one part in particular.

Rootkit scan complete. Gestalt #C4D4|VC3 integrity OK. Memory checksum passed.

Gestalt #C4D4|VC3 integrity OK.

C4D4|VC3

CADANCE

What do you do?

Milliway was frozen in a stare yet again, this time on the screen in front of her. How did she not see this before? It was right there. Right, the hell, there. In front of her ash-grey nose. Her hunch was busy crossing its legs and nodding smugly in the back of her mind, dishing out prime cuts of 'I told you so's' and 'you never listen to me anymore'.

Well. At least the choice was clear and that was... good. Right? No more indecision. Her path was obvious and all there was left to do was to lift the pink/purple/cream specimen jar and put it in the slot, close the hatch and push the button.

So she did.

And it was the single hardest thing she'd ever done.

As the machine began to hum, or whirr, or whatever it did as it began to work its insane magic, Milliway sat down and for a moment, while she was still alone, she allowed herself to feel the sting of loss. Sure, this plan was brilliant. Sure she was certain it would work. Sure, it was a fantastic thing that House got not only a body but clearly it was going to be much more than that. It was going to be a perfect fit. Not just a body. His body. No, her body. It was giving back a major piece of what was so clearly missing. It was doing the Right Thing.

And yet it felt... so very hard.

The vision of the blue and white pony played in her mind and she knew she was no longer going to be (if she ever had been) House's number one pony. Hell, she wasn't even sure the pony that would emerge from that machine would be House at all. House, as she knew him... was disappearing with every thump, hiss and burp of the machine before her. She'd made him to not just be an assistant around the workshop but to be her friend, and only her friend. The one she could rely on and trust to never betray her. Hurt her. Leave her. As he was beginning to grow and gain self awareness it had started to dawn on her how much that was not only unfair but not really friendship at all. It was possessive. Manipulative. And a bit creepy. That blue and white stallion may not exist anymore but the image served as the perfect picture that whoever emerged from there was not House, perhaps not even Princess Cadance, but whoever they were they were their own and would make their own choices and friendships and there were no guarantee that she would be one of them, no less number 1.

And that was... good. It was as it should be. This was a Good Day. This was a win. This was genius on a scale she had not wielded for months now, hell, if ever. And yet it made her feel more than a little bit sick to her stomach, and not just because of tasting centuries old preservation jelly.

Somepony was emerging from all this and she realised now they were less her brilliant brain creation and more a case of somepony broken that she'd merely put back together. Or some of them at least. The matter of the missing shards was still very much a thing that needed addressing. Especially now. It was somepony amazing. Truly, jaw-droppingly amazing and, hell, probably the one the world needed every bit as much as either of the other choices.

But still, to Milliway, this was a goodbye and she had to swallow hard against the lump in her throat.

[Thanqol]

"On the other claw, that's probably the most honest assessment I've heard today." she continues, looking at Luminark.

"If the Enclave are coming, what do they want from this place?" she asks.

What do you do?

Luminark looked at her askew. "I don't know what they think is in there," said Luminark. "I've never even met an Enclave. But from what I know is in there? Imagine the mages who did that," he pointed a hoof at a convenient mountain with a massive crater taken out of the side, "had two hundred years to refine their craft."