Boards creaked, metal groaned. The ever-present rumble of an engine thrummed in the background. Somepony coughed, another shuffled. There were ponies laying down, ponies standing up, and ponies sitting. Nobody physically moved, but all their eyes were on one place, and one place only.

The Demon in Metal.

It sat against the far wall near the entrance to the engine, it's arms hanging over its knees and its head bowed. It's faceless mask helmet seemed to bore into the wooden floor beneath the bench it sat upon. Its figure loomed in the darkness for those farther away, but the ones who were lucky enough to be close got to see every intricate detail.

Blood covered its armour, the viscous substance seeming to stain the fabric beneath; and shine on the smooth gray material. The Demons shoulders were sagged, and some thought he was asleep. This did not deter them from averting their curious gazes.

Directly across from the Demon was another sleeping biped, though this one was given an even wider berth. It's pointed ears and blue tinted skin gave away what the monster sleeping in the car with them was. Nopony looked at him, nopony spoke to him, for they were to afraid. They wondered why the Demon had not just killed the General right when he had gotten off the train and rid the world of another Elf.

Everypony jumped when the bench the Demon sat upon creaked and groaned from the shift in weight. Some watched in fascination as the towering metal behemoth stretched its arms as high as they could go, wich wasn't far seeing as the roof was only slightly higher than him.

"I will be back." Its voice spoke with a deep, garbly tone. There was seemingly no emotion. More than a few ponies shuffled uncomfortably as the Demon raised his right arm and began fiddling with a device attached to it. silence reigned throughout the train car, and more than a few ears drooped down. A unicorn mare, a teenager by all accounts, brought her younger sister to her side with an outstretched leg, trying to keep her as far from the sleeping Elf as possible.

Eyes turned and regarded said Elf, and fear took the hearts of many. So many ponies within that car had been abused, tortured, raped, and broken. Even with their new-found freedom, many still held a lingering doubt and sense of unease.

"M-Mr. Demon, sir."

A young voice broke the tense atmosphere, and the Demon looked up from its device. Its faceless mask seemed to cast a shadow across the car, not like there was much light in the first place. Its head turned left and right, searching for the perpetrator behind the voice.

A young stallion stepped forward from the darkness. His coat seemed to shimmer, and his fur seemed glossy and smooth. Even as a pony, everyone knew he was very, very different.

This stallion was a Crystal Pony,

"Yes?" The Demon's voice once more sounded throughout the train car, its voice seeming to echo in the silence. Everypony present watched the exchange with intrigue.

"Y-you aren't going to leave us alone with the e...e-e-- that thing over three?" The stallions voice seemed to catch in his throat as he tried to name the vile being tied up and sleeping on the bench. Nearly everypony's eyes filled with fear, more than a few backed away with their ears folded.

The Demon turned and regarded the sleeping general. He had a large bump forming on the side of his head were the Demon had struck him, and a splatter of blood decorated his once pristine suit were one of his dying guards had fallen on him. The Elf was bound in the mechanical metal rope that detached from the Demons arm, but the heavy muscles of the General seemed bulky enough to break it. The Demon turned back to the ponies.

"I'll be in the next car over. The metal wire wrapping him up is strong enough that not even I could break it without immense effort. You are all safe." The Demon saw a few ponies visibly relax, but more than a few kept their fearful expressions. After a moment of thought, a buzzing suddenly sounded throughout the car.

"Spitfire, come in, over." It sounded as if the Demon was talking to someone far away, but that seemed ludicrous to many of the Equestrians. They saw the Demon nod his head once before a mighty bang at the end of the car caused everypony to jump.

A Pegasus in ragtag armour strode through the doorway and kicked the door closed behind her. Upon entering the light and taking off her headgear, gasps resounded throughout the assembled ponies.

"Its Spitfire!"

"It's the Captain of the Wonderbolts!"

"She's alive!"

The Demon saw that the focus was directed away from it, and silently exited towards the front of the train. Unlike his squadmates loud entrance, he made sure to be stealthy. It was his hope that Spitfire would calm them down long enough for him to get a report.

Dean opened the door to the next train car, which was empty, and proceeded through it. His boots clanked upon the floor as the wind howled through an open window to his left. Dean stopped and walked up to the window.

Outside, the sky was turning gray, showcasing the beginnings of a large squall. They had been riding south for nearly four hours now, and it would be another two before they came to their rendezvous point with General Blight. The General had informed them to stop near one of the Resistance safe houses were they had been stockpiling what had seemed like barrels of gunpowder. Dean wondered what exactly the General intended to do, but didn't question it. He would find out once they returned.

A somber feeling passed over him, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. What sounded like scratching reached his ears, but it was gone after a second. Dean reckoned it to be a mouse or rat of some kind, seeing as how old some of these train cars were.

'Dean...'

Lightning flashed outside, and the Human spun in place, but did not draw his weapons. His head slowly turned to find the perpetrator, only to come up blank. His motion detector was silent as well. The room was dark, but he could see well enough with his enhanced vision.

'Please.'

The window was forgotten as Dean slowly crept to the centre of the train car. He was growing tired of things messing with his brain, and he was nearly certain that it was happening again. A pang of fear gripped his heart as the thought of the monster from his dreams materializing in the darkness behind him. Its massive jaws ready to devour him whole, those tentacles ready to do unspeakable things to his mind and body....

He shook his head and scowled.

"Show yourself!" His voice was raised, but not so much to be a yell. His hand drifted to his pistol, and his eye twitched. A pressure was building in his gut, and his hair was standing on end.

'Accept it....'

'We are gone...'

"Who are you!" Dean's eyes went wide as his pistol snapped upwards. Surely he was hallucinating. All the horrors he had recently witnessed had reawakened something within him. This something was begging to be let loose, to rip and tear its way through all that stood in his path. Funny thing really, as he was utterly powerless at the moment to do anything. The situation felt hopeless, the cruelty of the Elves seeming to have no bounds.

'Please... Dean...'

It sounded like Marie, but that was impossible. She was back on Earth, safe with their baby boy. Something was using voice, something was trying to break through the mental wall that he had erected seven years ago.

The world flashed white, and Dean suddenly gained clarity. She was dead, and it was all his fault. He had screamed that night, cried until the tears could no longer come. It was an impossibility, the reliability of that cursed letter. The Orith hadn't pushed that far, they hadn't reached so far out before. He was a superhuman, designed to take on the Orith and keep those behind him safe. He was the hero humanity needed...
He was the hero his family needed...
He failed...
He failed Marie...
He failed Jaxon...
He failed...

Another flash of light occured, and Dean blinked. A fog descended over his thoughts like a blanket. His senses were hyper aware, and his breathing was rash. The boards beneath him groaned, and he found that he was kneeling on the floor. Lightning flashed, and Dean blinked. Why was it so bright?

He could see them again, the Orith. They killed his wife, his kid, and now, they were killing this world. Because of them, he was forced into war, because of them, he was a killer. Because of them.... so many have died... Had he been earlier for that little girl in the shopping mall, maybe for the boy that was riddled with holes in front of him? What of the women who had been used for an act so vulgar that he couldn't truly describe it using words. What of what they tried to do with Twilight? Or what they did do to that poor mare. What about the hundreds, thousands, or millions of Equestrians that were enslaved, raped, and killed. What about them? He couldn't save them, he was powerless. He was supposed to be powerful, but instead, he was but another pawn in the cruel game of life...

A cold, metal taste filled his mouth. The scent of steel, brass, and gunpowder wormed its way into his nostrils. His eyebrows scrunched in confusion as he slowly became aware of his hands, and what they were holding. He didn't want to look, he didn't want to believe what he had nearly done.

His hands began to shake, then his shoulders, then his whole body. Rain began to fall outside the train, and the streaks of water mimicked what was currently crawling down his cheeks. His hands slackened, then tightened, then slackened again. His helmet lay off to his right, and his gloves were missing. He could feel the cold metal of his pistol not just in his mouth, but also his fingers and palm. A simple squeeze, and it was over. Everything he had worked towards, everything he had fought for... gone. He didn't know why, he didn't know how, but the itch to pull that trigger had suddenly seemed welcome...

...and it sickened him.

"Dean?"

His eyes snapped up, and they were met with a look that understood. How could they though? How could they possibly understand? So much had happened, so much had been a weight on his mind and shoulders. So much pain, death, destruction and depression. So much that he felt the need to see it gone. For good.

What would he know, the Pegasus before him? Maybe he did know, but that was impossible. The suffering was to much, he couldn't take it. He wanted to see her again, to see his wife and kid--

"Easy, Dean. It's alright." A hoof rested on his arm, and the gun was pulled from his face painstakingly slow. The prior negative feelings slowly began to deteriorate, and the cold embrace of realization crept up on the Human. His heartbeat accelerated, and his breathing quickened. Lightning flashed once more, and it illuminated a face full of panic. Tears poured freely from his eyes, which seemed dead to the world at large. He barely noticed his fingers slacken, or the metal device falling away. He hardly noticed the hoof that was placed on his shoulder.

The gun finally clattered to the floor, its sound seeming to echoe and reverberate through the train car. Dean's horror-struck eyes followed it as the weapon seemed to bounce. Its black figure swallowed whatever light touched it, and the death wrought by the pistol caused his head to swim with nausea.

His eyes closed, and the tears poured even harder. Never before had he felt so helpless, so weak in his life. Seven years he had fought, and seven years he had seen the horrors of war and genocide. Was this what trauma was? Why was he suffering from it now? Why not last month, or last year? Why not at the beginning of the war when he... when he received...

"Dean, look at me."

He did, and the sobbing stopped. The tears did not.

"I am here for you, and I know how you feel. Whatever it is you are going through, I know that you'll pull through. We need you, Dean, we need you more than ever. If you focus on the past it will tear you apart. Instead, focus on the future, winning the war, freeing the creatures of this world, and bringing peace to yours."

Dean found himself nodding, and he sniffled. His face began to harden, and the feelings of doubt, loathing, and despair were left behind. The problem wasn't fixed, not even close... but he couldn't quit, not now, not ever. His arm found its way to his face, and he wiped away the wetness. His depression was gone in the blink of an eye, and the sudden swing in his emotions went unregistered by both the Pegasus and the Human. Dean began to wonder why he had even felt the way he did anyway.

'Why did I do that? What did I see that caused such a... reaction?' Dean blinked, and his mind came to a temporary conclusion:

'Jaxon and Marie are fine. Whatever is messing with my brain is in for a fight, because I won't give in so easily,' Dean glanced at the Pitch black Pegasus who was staring at him. His wings were unfurled, and a sad smile was splayed across his face. A feeling of warmth came from the look, and Dean knew that a connection had somehow just been established. If they were to succeed, then they would need each other. The others needed support, Midnight needed support, and even Dean needed support. Together they would win. And together they would free Equestria.

"Thank you, Midnight. Let's get to the front," Dean stood up and grabbed his pistol, helmet, and gloves. He holstered the gun, but did not don the final touch to his armour, instead choosing to leave his hair to run free. A look of determination came over him, and he silently vowed that whatever inner turmoil was harassing him could wait. He had a mission to accomplish, and he would be damned before his feelings got in the way.

As Dean turned to leave, he failed to notice the ghostly form of his dead wife and kid, standing in the darkness. Their fates were once more forgotten, and the storm raged ever on.

Finally, the lightning flashed once more, and the figures were gone. There was nothing left but the shrouded darkness, and the tears of a broken man...