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Suomibrony

435

Original Character,Human,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

First Pony View

Some dreams you might never want to end… …but what happens when the dream really doesn't?

incomplete

<p>Have you ever had a dream that just seemed so <i>real</i>, that it was impossible to say for certain that it was even a dream at all? A dream that, despite all of its impossibilities, seemed to re-write your entire perception of reality, re-writing your sense of what—and indeed, <i>who</i>—you are? Accepting change is hard enough as it is. But when you're a <span style="color:#808000">somebody</span> who wakes up as a <span style="color:#6495ED">somepony</span>, how do you cope with the impact such a drastic change has on your mind and body? With changes like these, it must surely just be a lucid dream—albeit a suspiciously <i>accurate one</i>—just brimming with potential and ripe for exploration. So you might as well suck it up and make the most of these distressingly…unusual circumstances, and seize this <span style="color:#008000">psychological adventure</span> before you wake up and the dream ends.<br/>After all, this couldn't possibly be real, so the dream must come to an end eventually…right?</p>

teen

2012-06-07T13:32:10+00:00

2016-02-19T09:52:02+00:00

First Pony View A My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic fan fic By Suomibrony Chapter 3 Open Up The world in my home and beyond had terrified me with its authenticity. I believed I was having a lucid dream, but the extreme level of detail in the dream had torn at my conviction. Fear had taken hold and had begun to destroy that belief. As I was on the verge of unparalleled panic, a pegasus had appeared. The sight of the mythical creature eased my stress, relieved joy taking its place. My dream was, thankfully, just a dream. ‘In your face, subconscious! In your face!’ I wanted to shout, though I wasn't sure if taunting my inner psyche was a good way to show my gratitude, but I also wasn't sure I wanted to speak at all. Shock, denial, and grief had stemmed from hearing myself talk. It wasn't really my voice per se, but it came from my throat, and so I supposed by extension, it belonged to me, whether I liked it or not. At least for the moment. In high spirits, I tasked myself with a new and ambitious mission. Sitting by the window, I became aware of my translucent mirror image. Staring at myself blankly, I contemplated nothing for a few seconds before my thoughts kicked in: I wanted to climb over the figurative wall. If I was willing to accept my body and sex in this dream, I had to accept my voice as well. Believing I had nothing to worry about, I put on a smug expression (or at least what I believe passed for smug on this face). “This . . . this . . . ” Two words. That was all it took to brutally afflict me; my high morale vanished, leaving a gaping void of misery in its place. ‘Don't stop!’ my inner voice commanded. “This . . . is . . . my . . . voice,” I forced the words out, my inner-self contorting in anguish. I strongly wanted to disbelieve I had spoken, let alone believe in what I had said. Defeated by my inability to overcome the loathing I harbored for my voice, I looked down to gloomily stare at the floor. The few spoken lines repeated in my head. My very first words stung like venom, my somber admission weighing on me like a boulder. I wanted to collapse to the floor, become eternally mute, and shed tears; however, I couldn't surrender, not when I had already started and had convinced myself I could accomplish this feat. I analyzed my situation and saw a glimmer of reason, one that could help me out from my distress. In an act of defiance, I forced my discovery to trudge up my throat. “I'm this now . . . in here . . . and . . . only in here,” I mustered in a muted mumble. I could taste the torment in my tone, but the words carried a vital message: I was wasting a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. By trying to revert to only tolerating myself, I'd be devastated every time I was reminded of what I was in this dream. The shield of delusion would futilely keep trying to reassemble itself, never regaining its integrity. I would be left to wander in my dream as a broken wreck, all because I was scared of my own voice and sex. I faced my blurry self, my eyes reflecting pain back at me, although behind them were faint embers of determination stubbornly refusing to be extinguished. A thought slipped into words that I no longer had the will to speak but nevertheless offered valuable insight on how to handle my situation: ‘Why am I stalling? This is like a plaster I'm ripping off slowly. I must do it in one go. A short sting is better than drawn out pain.’ I'd have to rid myself of my disheartened mood or ignore it completely before I could tackle my dilemma. I tried to think of something positive; something that could drag me out of the pit of bad morale I was in and past the painful obstacle. How would Rainbow Dash handle the situation? She wouldn't back down; she wouldn't even think. She'd charge fearlessly at the threat! An old marching song began to play in my head. It sang of pride, courage, and victory. I'd have to do as Rainbow Dash would. Do as the march conveyed. ‘It rushes! It wins!’ My mood improved slowly but steadily, and soon, my own defeatism burned to ash like dry paper in my inner fire. I became angry at myself, angry for having the nerve to show cowardice when I had assured myself I'd prevail effortlessly! I prepared myself, not to arduously climb over the figurative wall but to smash it to pieces! I stood up, my confidence back with a vengeance. Centimeters from my very severe-looking mirror-self, the embers having erupted to a towering blaze, I took a deep breath before I unleashed my furious rant. “FILLY OR COLT!? MARE OR STALLION!? WHAT DIFFERENCE DOES IT MAKE OTHER THAN MY VOICE AND FIGURE!? THE HAY WITH THE PINK HIGHLIGHTS! IT'S ONLY A COLOR! ANYPONY CAN TELL I'M STILL A FILLY INSide this shell of a . . . filly?” My entire being shifted from fury to confusion and then, as I became silent, to shock. I trepidly backed away by a few meters, the reflection doing the same, its white shape surprisingly distinct on the clear glass. I sat down, wanting to gently press the bridge of my nose with an index finger and thumb, but I had to settle for a hoof on my forehead instead. I presented myself a concise explanation for why my outburst had taken an odd turn: stress. My foreleg descended to the floor, and I reviewed my journey in this dream so far. In summary, it had been one emotionally bumpy ride. I was well aware I had a low tolerance for stress, and I'd behave erratically if pushed to my limits. It was easy to deduce that my pent-up stress had broken through and negatively affected my attempt to attack my inhibition. I had spoken impetuously, so a simple slip-up in an otherwise successful endeavor shouldn't have come as a surprise. I rubbed a hoof at my throat, hesitating a moment before giving my vocal chords a try: “I think . . . I can do this now.” The words came out carefully, but they carried a smile of victory onto my face. I came close to my reflection and sat down, beaming at myself. I wasn't gazing at an unfamiliar creature any longer but at my alter ego. I was convinced I wouldn't encounter any hardships with myself. Finally, I could enjoy myself and my lucid dream! Feeling curious, I brought my hoof to my ear and touched it. The pinna was tickled by the gentle press of my appendage, and I let out a small laugh. No longer averse to my voice, I started to vocalize some of my thoughts. “This is quite fascinating. I can control my ears, and they also reflect my mood.” I turned my ears a few times experimentally, followed by them and my head descending unwillingly. “Shy to myself?” Just like the red hue on my cheeks, my awkward grin was unintended. My quick introspection left me clueless as to why I had become discombobulated by a simple ear motion. “Just like my tail, huh? That's also a bit difficult to describe.” Looking at my tail, I raised it playfully. My hoof found itself under my jaw as I contemplated my tail, studying the feeling it created as I caused it to occasionally jump at my command. “How do I describe something I've always had?” The words replayed in my head, perplexing me. “Always had? Why did I say that?” I shrugged it off as a slip of the tongue and continued my hoof-under-jaw mulling. “Anyway, if I were to describe what it's like to have a tail to somepony who hasn't ever had one, how would—” I cut myself off, slightly irritated. “Somepony? The hay am I—?” My hoof practically slammed to the floor, and every hair on me stood rigid for a full second. “Okay okay, time out, time out!” I blurted out, alarmed, then hastily pushed myself upright and left the kitchen. I took myself to the living room, where I rested, prone on the sofa, head slumped on a pillow. I had temporarily dissuaded myself from talking, so I kept my concerned musings inside my head. ‘It all came by itself, like it was natural. Is it a habit I'm developing? Is it somehow related to my body? Am I involuntarily trying to behave like a pony? Wouldn't I already know how to behave like a pony?’ I lifted my head from the pillow, puzzled. Trying to study my last sentence, I began to see a hidden meaning in it instead of dismissing it as another lapse. With my stress shooting past my tolerance level, my head fell back on the pillow and a million thoughts erupted in me. Forelegs over my head, I began to speculate random theories. Many of them were discarded outright as being beyond the impossible, but the ones that made a fraction of sense came out from my quivering self. “What if the pegasus was just a desperate illusion and this is all real? What if I've gone insane and I'm really in a loony house? What if Equestria's real and I've been misplaced here by a botched spell?” Despite how ridiculous it was, the last theory sounded plausible. I made a deduction so unbelievable, it carried to my voice. “But that would mean I've always been—?” The words stopped in my throat, an uneasy feeling settling in my gut as I recalled what I had said in the kitchen: ‘How do I describe something I always had?’ “NOOO!!” With that shrill cry, I bounded off the sofa and backed away from it like it was dangerous. Trembling and looking over everything in a state of paranoia, I tried to shout firmly, but my fright betrayed my tone: “My theories were baseless ramblings! I'm only stressed! That explains my behavior! It has nothing to do with being a pony! Nothing!” With my anxiety only increasing despite my frantic denouncing, I realized I was taking the wrong approach to alleviating my stress, and I sat down to recompose myself instead. “This is only a dream. This is only a dream. This is only a dream . . . ” My soft chanting soothed me back to a tranquil state over the course of a minute. With my negative emotions subdued, I gave myself a brief, collected evaluation of the scenario I was in: “This can only be a dream. It's the only sensible explanation for this impossible experience. No matter how real this seems to be, it can't ever be real.” I paused to let my self-confidence grant me a smile, “With that said, I'm ready to face anything this dream throws at me!” As if to spite me, a very natural feeling introduced itself at the worst moment. I looked over my shoulder at myself and spoke in agitated disbelief. “I'm in a dream! I can't—” Realizing it was futile to reason with something that had no sense of hearing, I ceased my protest. Either I force myself out from my dream, or I proceed with my new problem and deal with the humiliating consequences later. Neither seemed to be good choices, but I had recently made my decision to "face anything," and I couldn't eat my words. I groaned and stomped a hoof again in frustration before heading to the hallway. Standing back from the bathroom door, I manipulated the handle effortlessly with my magic. As I opened my eyes and the door, the fluorescence spilled into my view from the confines of the once traumatic room. I had a direct visual of the fixture that I had thought would be simple to use, but a quick look told me it would be far from easy. If I backed my hindlegs onto the ceil blue seat and kept my forelegs on the floor, I'd be oriented horizontally and only drench the upturned lid. Not only would it be difficult to clamber onto the seat, but its surface area was also inadequate to properly support me. I thought of placing myself over the bowl by resting my forelegs on the tank, but I discarded the concept almost immediately as I realized my configuration would result only in a wet floor, hooves, and tail. I refined the idea slightly: standing over the seat, hindlegs secure on the floor, I'd tightly embrace the tank with my forelegs to hold my back vertically. Declaring it the best solution, I approached the fixture and magically raised the lid. It was only then I realized it could be an obstruction, and the seat may be too wide for me to retain my hindlegs on the floor. Alas, my endurance was running low, and I couldn't distribute any additional mental resources to re-evaluate the plan. Squirming desperately and with no tangible progress made, I hastily improvised and initiated Plan B. In quick succession, I removed the plastic shower drain grate, raised my tail, sat over the hole, and unlocked the flood gates. The stream escaped into the water seal below, taking my tension along with it. A vocalization of relief strolled through my content smile. Certainly, it was strange to do it directly into the shower drain as a unicorn filly, and I was momentarily concerned that I had soiled my bed in the waking world, but my primary feeling was bliss. With the purl underneath me fading to a few drips and then silence, sanitation became my next concern. Allowing the disposed liquid to linger in the chamber would definitely stink up the place. My experience on plumbing was less than minimal, but I had the understanding that if a large quantity of water was poured into the drain, the unpleasant substance would be flushed down to the sewer. The obvious answer was in the shower, or rather, it was at the end of a flexible and flanged hose. Using my magic, I pulled the hand-held showerhead down and inspected it. Confusion abounded when I became aware that I'd need a bucket to fill, then empty its contents into the drain. I surmised the shower itself would be inadequate for the task. “Where do I keep the bucket...? Oh, right!” Joy replaced confusion as I ventured to the two cupboard doors beneath the kitchen sink. Swinging open the left cupboard with my ethereal touch, I found the blue plastic bucket that was my prize. I wrapped my forelegs around the blue bucket and pulled it out from its lair, my mind delaying for a second before informing me that it would be physically impossible for me to carry it in my arms. I rolled my eyes at my own forgetfulness and retracted one foreleg. I raised the handle with my hoof and bit my teeth on the metallic arch. If only I was more talented, I could've carried the bucket telekinetically, though my deduction gave me an idea for a test I'd do later. The taste of steel was displeasing, but in a moment, I had carried the bucket to the shower. With ease, I levitated the showerhead into the bucket, my proud smile in full swing. In no more than ten seconds, I had the vessel filled to the brim with water and the showerhead back in its resting place. It all had gone smoothly; my telekinesis was becoming second nature to me. I was about to empty the bucket when a funny thought announced itself: I was applying real-world rules to a dream. Why trouble myself with cleaning up my mess when anything I did or didn't do wouldn't leave lasting effects beyond the confines of my fantasy, apart from possible memories and—hopefully not—a soaked bed? In fact, I could've ventured out my home door and explored the realistic dreamworld to my heart's content without any regard for other people. After all, every being besides myself was nothing more than a figment of my imagination! Could they even behave like real people? A compilation of several amusing incidents of AI-controlled characters goofing up in video games played in my imagination. Would this dream feature similar incidents? So far, my dream was an exact match of the authentic world except for the pegasus I had seen. The winged equid was my first clear evidence of this being a fictional world. If it hadn't been for that, I would've sworn I had awoken not into a dream but to a new day. I further theorized that my unexplained transformation was utterly impossible. Therefore, my radically changed body then became the second and most remarkable sign of being in an unreal setting. How it took so long to figure that out puzzled me. I was certain there was more to it than me overlooking the obvious, but I had to urgently return to the task at hoof when a revoltingly acerbic stench invaded my nostrils. I was quick to use my telekinesis to tilt the bucket, the low-pitched sloshing confirming I was accurately displacing the water into the drain. The displeasing odor diminished to a tolerable level, and I replaced the drain cover. The bucket was then reassigned to become a subject for a most harmless test. The blue vessel was wrapped in my invisible touch. It lifted off the floor silently and began to hover gracefully through the room and out the door. With no vision or touch, my awareness of the bathroom, hallway, and anything within their confines was immensely mystifying. In essence, my magic was a sixth sense. The plastic container made its way towards the kitchen, but at the doorway, it came to an abrupt halt. My grasp vanished, and I heard the telltale clatter of the bucket crashing to the floor. I was surprised initially, but curiosity brought me to the fallen item. Inspecting the scene, my hoof came under my chin, and my brows furrowed in thought. Then, a smirk crossed my face. I was the detective, and before me was the victim. “Looks like he wanted to kick himself for leaving the bathroom, but instead . . . ” I paused to place a pair of nonexistent sunglasses on myself. “ . . . he kicked the bucket. Yeeeeaaaahh!” Although it was cheesy, my voice couldn't possibly be more off, and I didn't shout very loudly, the imitation made me chuckle. Quickly returning to pondering my recent telekinetic test, I analyzed my skill: I could manipulate lightweight items only within a limited range, and I had to keep my eyes closed for my invisible hand to function. The restrictions of my innate skill disappointed me, but I had no choice but to accept them. So many things about my magic were to be left untested, I believed. An invisible timer hovered before me, counting from and to an undisclosed digit. There could be seconds to hours remaining. My longest dream had lasted for two weeks, though not as a single sequence. Rather, I had experienced short segments that were separated by days, all in the span of single night's sleep. Zero, nine, five, eight, my microwave stated with its green liquid crystal display as I proceeded to return the bucket to its home under the sink. My current dream was advancing in real time, with each minute consisting of sixty seconds. Done with checking Time's slow but unimpeded progress, I shot a look through the window, the expanse beyond luring me with its vibrant colors and unlimited freedom. Normally, I wouldn't even consider going outside simply because it existed, but now, it would be an injustice to keep myself indoors. My mental inquiry on what compelled me to adventure outside brought me no better reply than the brief inspection of my equine body. Almost instinctively, I started towards the exit; however, when I passed the bathroom doorway, I came to a stop. Still playing by my own rules, I had to turn off the lights in the white-tiled room, but another thought also told me to venture forth into the room once more. My steps resounded off the white tiles, and my gaze was locked on the mirror. Affixed to the wall above the sink, it had told me an unpleasant tale in the past, but now, it was calling to me. With a pounce, my forelegs landed on the sink, and I craned my neck. Unlike my first encounter with myself, I wasn't rejecting my image, and unlike in the kitchen, I had a perfectly clear image of myself. Too clear, because my mind skidded to a halt, leaving me gawking at my own visage. Slowly, some thoughts gathered, forming a speck of sense. Detached from myself, I leaned closer and drawled at how adorable the being in the mirror was. Abruptly, my forehooves slipped, and the air in my lungs evacuated in a blink of an eye as my torso hit the sink counter. Fortunately, the stability failure did not result in a disaster, my forelegs having found new support from the bottom of the sink. The only damage was a startled heart and a passing feeling of heat from the adrenaline, then an embarrassed grin as I realized I had let out an atypical squeal. After regaining my composure and posture, I resumed visual contact with myself, now with an objective eye. I was the perfect blend of reality and cartoon, avoiding the dreaded uncanny valley entirely. The emerald green eyes charmed me, and I smiled like a spanner. I had learned my lesson, though, so I made sure my legs were locked and secure while I waited for my trance to wear off. Several minutes passed, but I regretted none of the spent time. My idling, however wasteful, gave me an opportunity to inspect my coat. It was smooth and white with a seeming hint of light blue, though I couldn't be sure due to the off-white lighting. Despite my attempt to be unaffected by my temporary but beautiful figure, a desire at the back of my head wanted a hand to gently caress my delicate coat. My imagination tried to run wild, but a light shake of my head tamed that impulse, and I shifted my attention to the dual-colored bangs. My messy bronze mane featured two, almost bilaterally symmetrical pink stripes extending from the forelock and along my mane to my withers. Actually, to call my mane messy was an understatement. It looked like I had stood under the downdraft of a helicopter for several minutes and never bothered to comb my mane afterwards. That description was a hyperbole, though. While some may have scoffed at my slightly scruffy outlook, I found it to be an interesting contrast to the rest of my appearance. I could've done without the pink highlights, but I didn't have any dye to conceal them with. I was, to my surprise, more bothered by pink, white, and bronze being a bad combination of colors. If I had been a stallion, I would've done my utmost to hide the pink streaks. Now, they were a minor inconvenience at worst. “Just a color.” I was casual about it, though I began to muse what color could be more suitable in its place, doing my best to project them onto my reflection. “Red stripes? Blue stripes? Green stripes?” I paused, a certain scene replaying in my mind. “Oh no, not green,” I pretended to be horrified. As I envisioned more colors, I had a sudden déjà vu. “Something about dying my mane?” I tilted my head in rumination but drew only blanks. “Or my coat, or my tail?” I glanced down at both my back and tail, expecting an answer from them but got none. “Have I ever . . . ” I gave my reflection a strange look, “ . . . dyed my mane?” I knew I had never dyed my hair; however, an image of myself with a black mane appeared in my mind's eye for a split second. I concentrated and saw it again. It didn't feel imaginary but like a true memory. A memory of myself with a groomed black mane and highlights so bright they could've been self-luminous. It was so contradictory with what I knew of myself that I reacted with incredulity. “What the hay?” With a delay, I snapped out of my introspection when I registered the unusual expression I had muttered. “Oh great! Sounds like I do have a verbal quirk!” The possibility that I had developed an uncontrollable idiosyncrasy wasn't amusing me at all. “Is it my upbringing, something I learned when I was a foal?” I theorized, again doing a double-take as the last line didn't even make sense. “For Celestia's sake, this is ridiculous!” Immediately, I flinched at my own words. With an exasperated cry, my ears pinned flat against my head, and I began to yell at myself. “WHY DO I KEEP SAYING THESE THINGS!? I MUST KNOW WHY! IT'S BECAUSE I'VE ALWAYS BEEN A PONY!” Suddenly, several images flashed before my eyes. They were from my past, but not the past as I knew it: in every image, I was a pony. My fury vanished, replaced by disbelief, shock, and growing distress. The harder I tried to repel the false memories, the longer they persisted, until I was sure they were starting to replace my real ones. Apprehensively, I retreated from the mirror, giving it one last glance before abandoning the room, shutting the door and lights for good. Wishing I could wall up the bathroom and erase the last few minutes from my memory, I backed away into my bedroom, my tail desiring to hide itself between my legs. “Tha-that was bad, really bad! It wasn't funny! I don't want that to happen ever again!” I spoke in quivering terror as I tried to wrap my disarranged mind around what I had experienced. “I-I didn't . . . I wasn't . . . I'm not . . . I've never . . . why did . . . why can't . . . I just . . . I . . . ” Incomplete sentences left me as the powerful stress took its toll on me. I couldn't restrain myself any longer and I slumped to the floor, tears beginning to drip from my eyes. I had become overstressed and terrified, despite my earlier declaration that I could handle anything this dream threw at me. Not only had it forced me to adapt a weird speech habit and lie about my origin, but it had also apparently overwritten some of my memories with forgeries. It all came so suddenly I was unable to set up my defenses. I knew what I was, and I bitterly cursed at my dream for subjugating me to act out its heinous pranks. I dried the tears from my eyes and began to pull myself together. It took a long while, but eventually, I saw the matter in a reasonable light. “It's okay. I was stressed, overreacted foolishly, and had a minor breakdown. Regardless of how good or bad this dream is, I will eventually wake up, and then all will be back to normal.” I sighed wearily, then looked at my striped tail. “Back to normal . . .” It took me a few seconds to notice I had said it lamentably. “Aargh!” My forehooves pressed to my temples, and I screamed indignantly: “WHAT THE HA—!?” I shut myself up abruptly and closed my eyes, my mood cooling almost instantly; I knew better than to repeat my mistake. I gingerly brought my forehooves together, and I began to speak in a tone so calm that it made smooth glass seem like a vortex: “No. Let's have it your way. If you want me to have the speech mannerisms of a pony, that's okay. If you want me to say I've always been a pony, then I'll comply. If you want me to have memories of myself as a pony, then I won't try to deny them.” I placed my hooves on the floor, listening acutely to the serenity of my home. I was done fighting; it was better to humbly accept a surrender than struggle for a hollow victory. I rested all my faith on the fact that I was only sojourning in a fantasy world. During my meditation and preparation for the departure from my home, I recalled one thing I shouldn't leave without: keys. If I wanted to return to my home, I'd need my home key. My keys were almost always in my everyday track jacket, but I had removed them since it had to be washed. In a few seconds, I had located the keyring lying on the bureau in my bedroom. There were only three keys on the ring, one of which was my home key. It was most fortuitous that a yellow string was tied to the keyring as well. A remnant from something long forgotten, it'd serve a purpose again. My magic easily opened the knot. With a quick inspection, I measured the total length of the string to be about forty centimeters. More than enough. I pulled the string through the keyring, then suspended them both in the air and drew them close to me. The ends met above my withers, intertwining several times and then forming a knot. I released the string, and my purely practical necklace was complete. I looked down and tugged at the string to confirm it was taut and secure, a proud smile soon spreading onto my lips. Carrying my backup plan with me, I resumed my mission; however, I came to a stop just by the door. I glanced over my shoulder, like I was silently saying 'see you soon' to my home. A sudden and short memory of myself pulling a chair at the kitchen table appeared before me. It would've been meaningless if it weren't for the fact that it was yet another fake recollection. My eyes shifted down as a feeling of concern and melancholy passed through me; I knew the conditions of my surrender. I sincerely hoped I'd retain my identity for the entire duration of the dream. A sigh passed through my nostrils, and I faced the door before me. Never before had my home door seemed so different. My reduced size made it look imposing, and I stared at it in reverence, not thinking of it as a mere wooden portal but a barrier that separated me from potential harm. If only my home door could open with the similar air-rushing, hair-raising, metal-grinding majesty that a Vault-Tec door did. I closed my eyes for a second; the door handle rattled and the latch opened, the resulting sound reverberating in the corridor. The dark brown door silently drifted open, and the invisible colors of the sun meandered through my home to paint over the darkness. With a single breath, multiple scents flowed into my nostrils, stronger than I could ever imagine. Cooking rice and meats, fresh paint, a wet dog, perfumes, soaps, coffee, tea, fish, pea soup, and more. I was almost overwhelmed by the countless aromas: my home was sterile in comparison. I quickly deduced that ponies possessed an acute sense of smell. Waiting for my wooziness to fade, I stared at what was before me. I recalled that the white-painted concrete walls of the corridor featured five more doors in addition to mine, though I saw only two, both on my left. As a form of simplistic art, a single bistre stripe decorated the walls, and an orange button flickered alone like a candle between the two doors. Past the corner to the right was my next objective: the elevator. However, the unpredictable world made me recall my earlier fear, and my desire to adventure diminished slightly. I wasn't about to retreat, but I sincerely wished I truly was in a fantasy. If I wasn't, a short and terrifying life in a research lab would be my inevitable fate. “I guess this is it,” I said, my tone full of awe, before I trepidly took my first steps beyond my home.

Suomibrony

435

Original Character,Human,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

First Pony View

Some dreams you might never want to end… …but what happens when the dream really doesn't?

incomplete

<p>Have you ever had a dream that just seemed so <i>real</i>, that it was impossible to say for certain that it was even a dream at all? A dream that, despite all of its impossibilities, seemed to re-write your entire perception of reality, re-writing your sense of what—and indeed, <i>who</i>—you are? Accepting change is hard enough as it is. But when you're a <span style="color:#808000">somebody</span> who wakes up as a <span style="color:#6495ED">somepony</span>, how do you cope with the impact such a drastic change has on your mind and body? With changes like these, it must surely just be a lucid dream—albeit a suspiciously <i>accurate one</i>—just brimming with potential and ripe for exploration. So you might as well suck it up and make the most of these distressingly…unusual circumstances, and seize this <span style="color:#008000">psychological adventure</span> before you wake up and the dream ends.<br/>After all, this couldn't possibly be real, so the dream must come to an end eventually…right?</p>

teen

2012-06-05T06:44:33+00:00

2016-02-19T09:52:42+00:00

First Pony View A My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic fan fic By Suomibrony Chapter 4 Pony, Meet Human With caution marking my steps, I wandered from my home. The concrete walls and wooden doors were effective insulation, presenting my hoofsteps with an environment where they could echo pristinely. The floor was harder than in my home, and I was astonished at how audible my steps were. My subconscious still perceived my forelegs as arms that should have had dextrous digits, and I was naturally bewildered as I experimentally tapped my hoof on the floor a few times. I pitched my neck down and raised my leg to get a closer look at my hoof, gazing at it in a strange mixture of awe, disbelief, and delight. When one has spent more than twenty years as a human guy, a dramatic but temporary change like this was a challenge to comprehend. Deciding to just roll with it, my next task was to focus my magic on closing the door as gently as I could. With the beams of sunlight denied entry into the corridor, only the faint, stubborn orange glow of the button for the lights to my left remained. I was now beyond the safety of my home. Along with the emerging concern for my dream's authenticity, the multitudes of scents entering my nose were making me nauseated. It'd only take a moment before I'd fully adjust to my acute sense of smell, but to fight my own doubts would require more than time. “Remember, this is a dream!” I told myself, my nervousness detectible in my own tone. I started as the corridor became bathed in the pale yellow that was cast by the ceiling-mounted lights, soon followed by a low droning entering my ears. Another human was using the elevator. I hoped that whoever it was wouldn't venture to my floor, not with the way I was looking. The paranoid side of my mind chucked out a few chilling concepts to my mouth, from where they slipped intermittently. “What if I'm wrong . . . ? What if this isn't a dream . . . ? What if this is real . . .?” A few seconds passed, and I heard the elevator come to a stop at the floor it was called to, then resume its journey. Listening attentively to the machinery moving the mobile room, I approached the corner cautiously, stopping so I could peek my head around to see the elevator door to my immediate right. The gray monolith of steel with a rectangular column for a window stood tall and imposingly, much like everything else around me. The sensation of diminutiveness it instilled in me wasn't helping the instinctive fear that caused me to hold my head low. I didn't want to be wrong, I really didn't, but if I was— The droning came to a halt, and as the door opened, so did my respiration. Intending to bolt back into my home, I rotated around in an instant, but in my anxiety, I had completely forgotten the door was closed. Too disarrayed to utilize my magic, I stared at the door in agape consternation. In desperation, I curled down to a small pile on the floor, the trapped air furtively exiting through my nostrils as I did my best to hide myself in plain sight. An unsettling silence soon befell the corridor: a few steps emitted from behind me, but no keys jingled, no home door opened. Nothing. The hairs on my back stood up like spikes, and the air became sealed in my lungs again. I was petrified; not even my eyes were blinking. At any moment, whoever was near me would grab me and— “You, uh, okay there?” It was the voice of a male, and he sounded concerned and confused, a stark contrast to what I had feared to receive. My dread left me with a sigh, my apprehension vanished, and my breathing returned to normal. “Did something happen to you?” He might have misunderstood my sigh as a sign of grief, although he wasn't entirely wrong. Apart from a couple of positive moments to break the pattern, this entire morning had been plagued by very stressful incidents: the shock of being a pony, the denial of my sex and the difficulties accepting it, the paranoia of my dream being the genuine reality, ridiculous theories I almost believed in, unwanted mannerisms, implausible memories. Again, to my disappointment, I had discovered that my belief in my dream being genuine was dangerously flimsy, demonstrated exemplarily by my recent, but thankfully short, panic of encountering a fellow human being. I had expected to be treated as an alien at worst and had prepared to meet hollow caricatures at best. “Do you need any help?” He was undeterred by my silence, forcing me to abandon my deliberation. With newfound faith in my dream, my confidence made a remarkable recovery. At long last and in spite of everything I had gone through, it was time to have fun! “Um, I'm . . . fine.” I mimicked Fluttershy's unassuming tone. Only the tiny smile I had betrayed my internal snickering. “Come on,” he encouraged softly. “I'm pretty sure something bothers you.” He didn't know it, but he was right; however, I wasn't about to pour my heart out to the imaginary man. Why would I? That wasn't the joy I was looking for, if it even could count as something enjoyable. I craved to let loose in this fundamentally unreal playground, and its population would serve as my playthings. “I, um, only had a rough morning,” I summed up my emotionally tumultuous experience, anticipating the topic to be changed. “Look, if you want to talk about it—” “No, I don't,” I curtly interrupted the insistent man, the brief burst of irritation carrying to my tone. He might've been genuinely worried for me, but I wasn't. I desired to have a merry time, not blabber about my immediate past, let alone think about it. I looked toward the future now. However, my gruff reply was uncalled for. “I, uh, I'm . . . it's nothing,” I said in an apologetic tone, fine tuning it to match the tender pegasus whilst I began to lift myself from the floor. “Just one of those mornings when—” “When your hair refuses to fall into place?” he interjected with a lighthearted comment. I produced a small laugh to compliment his jape, straightening my forelegs to bring myself to a sitting stance. “Oh, yes, I think you nailed the head on that,” I replied through my smile and glanced up at what little I could see of my unkempt mane. “Hit the nail on the head,” he corrected with mirth in his tone, embarrassing me to some degree. Delaying for a moment to allow my blush to fade (at least I think I had a blush), I raised myself onto all fours and finally turned to face him; instead, shock and surprise filled me as I ended up looking at his forest green plaid shirt and dark blue jeans. The middle-aged man stood perhaps about a meter from me, yet I had to pitch my head to make eye contact with his sparsely-haired counterpart. It's one thing to have estimated my height to be in the range of one meter, but it's an entirely another thing when he was twice as tall as I was. As a human, I would've been as tall as him, but now as a pony, I was so . . . tiny. “To be honest,” he said as I backed by a few steps, “if something's on your mind, I'm all ears . . .” “I-I, um, I, uh . . .” I mumbled, my sights falling on his unimpressive brown shoes as my mind tried to overcome our size differences. Retrieving some of my composure, I decided I didn't want him to suspect I was about to unload a boulder off my shoulders, so I hastily opened my mouth to say pretty much anything I could think of. Poor choice on my part. “I, uh, yes, um . . .” I stammered at the giant, drawing a puzzled expression out of him. I gawked in silence for a few seconds until my brain finally surmounted the disparity and constructed a sentence for me. A small smile of relief emerged on me as I spoke it without much thought. “Well, yeah, many things are on my mind.” Almost immediately following my reply did it dawn to me I had only dug my knees deeper. “Good to hear! So what's nagging you?” he said with an expectant yet kind tone, his relaxed visage a contrast to the blank expression that successfully concealed my shock. Rather than roll out my inner issues, I began to process a method out of the unpleasant situation that wasn't a hasty goodbye and a rapid dash into the elevator. I deemed I could turn this conversation into something else than an impromptu psychotherapy session. As I pondered for a solution, my vision drifted around aimlessly, eventually halting on the gray plastic shopping bag he carried in his fisted left hand. It was bulging with wares, and I inspected it intricately for an idea. “Well I, uh, have this . . . um.” I stalled for time as my brain worked its synapses. In sudden revelation, something I hadn't considered at all ventured into my thoughts. “I, uh, have a very, very, serious question.” I spoke quietly, and my sights detached from the bag and rolled down to my forelegs. It was a very serious question I had conjured. Very serious. Terrifyingly serious. “Shoot,” the man said casually. I hesitated for a second, eyeing my forehooves with a mix of fear and desperation. “What do you see?” I whispered timidly. It was a question aimed as much at him as it was to myself. ‘I see a pony's forelegs,’ I answered the question. ‘But that's what I see. I could be crazy and only hallucinating myself as a pony. This man could open my eyes to the truth and free me from my supposed psychosis.’ “Pardon?” he said to my surprise, and I returned my eyes on him to see he had cocked an eyebrow. Despite my unease, I repeated my question as calmly as possible, small beads of perspiration beginning to meander between the hairs of my coat. I hoped it was my coat. Hoped hard. Hoped very hard. I was, frankly, scared out of my mind. The longer the uncertainty of my shape prevailed, the more stressed I'd become . . . and I had a low tolerance for stress. “Well, I see you right here in front of me,” he said after a small pause, now with a smirk on his countenance. I suspected he was trying to camouflage his confusion . . . or worse, his mirth! He behaved like a human, not like a shoddy copy of one. If this was the genuine reality, and there were actually two humans present, I'd become quite mad. Mainly, it was because I'd be literally mad, but it was also because a voice in my head would come forth to scream 'Objection!' in fury if I wasn't a pony. It was very apparent that the possibility of suffering a highly humiliating experience had already chipped at my sanity. Swallowing hard first, I presented the unusually calm man a trembling question: “Can you please be more specific?” His brows contracted, perplexed, yet his smirk was intact. “Well, uh . . . I see you, standing on all fours.” “On all fours!?” I echoed the words with dread, my barely collected exterior deteriorating rapidly as I was becoming more and more stressed. Whether he was intentionally daft or not made no difference to me any longer. I had given him the benefit of doubt, but now, that had worn down to a thin membrane that would falter at any moment. I glanced over my shoulder and tossed my tail. I believed it was my tail. What else could it have been? Was my mind deceiving me so convincingly I could feel the muscle that controlled my tail, the hooves at the end of my limbs, and the hairs on my slender frame? “Yeah, on all fours,” he bounded the words back, looking like he couldn't possibly understand how serious I was. In fact, I couldn't understand how he could be so dense! It was as if he had deliberately lied to me! No! My senses couldn't possibly be tricking me! To believe I was currently a human, contrary to all the evidence I had, was unthinkable! I knew what I saw, I knew what I felt, I knew what I sounded like. I was a young mare, not a human! Why couldn't the despicable scoundrel tell me that!? ‘Oh no,’ I snapped out of my ferocious insisting, ‘This stress is driving me insane!’ I cast a quick but nervous glance at the waiting man, then eyed my legs with the same look. ‘No, I'm not insane!’ I asserted. ‘I only want to believe I'm a pony because being told that I'm a human who is deluded into regarding himself as a mare would be so horribly humiliating that it would completely shatter my mind and I'd succumb to a primitive defensive reaction known as intense anger!’ That emotion then began to work into my thoughts, and my brows contorted. ‘Which, by the way, is already winding up to full gear. Oh yes, it is.’ Anger felt good, I noted. Humiliation would bring me anguish, but anger would please me. With my panic converting into blind rage at a rapid rate, I realized I had two choices left how to deal with it. One was easy, the other was rational. Reluctantly, I decided to go for the difficult option, which was to cool myself in spite of the intensely aggravating situation. I knew that if I was calm, I could save myself from falling into my own paranoid theory, a theory I was more than willing to believe due to it being the most realistic explanation for everything that I had experienced up to now, but I was too perturbed. Somehow, I had to prove to myself I was in a lucid dream and not completely bonkers . . . and this man would be of the utmost importance in achieving that objective. As a concession to my angrier side, I gave the arguably duplicitous man a stern look as I said sarcastically, “Thank you kindly for the astute observation.” Without removing my glare from his continually puzzled expression, I spoke again, but without the sarcasm. “Do you mind waiting with me while I ponder my next move?” He concurred by nodding rather nonchalantly. For a moment, I thought all would be okay. I'd cool down and realize what would debunk my theory for good, and then there'd be much rejoicing. However, when he started to turn towards what I suspected was his home door, my frail tranquility didn't shatter. It vaporized. “Don't you dare to walk away from me!” I released a great quantity of my internal blaze, and my ears flattened back; he had become my enemy. I didn't care whether he was honestly stupid or not—or if I were a pony or not—I wanted him to suffer! Had my anger been tangible, it would've boiled titanium. He rotated his upper body, a very confused expression on him as he futilely tried to talk some calming words into me. “Uh, hey, take it easy now. I'm only tak—” “Shut your pie hole!” I commanded. “I didn't give you permission to leave!” To my frustration, the voice of a young mare didn't quite convey my inner drill sergeant. Because that's what I was! I was a mar . . . No, I couldn't let that urge become vocal! My humiliation would be complete if it did. “Er- What?” He seemed to be taken aback by my flammable behavior. “Permission? What the he—” He jittered as a resounding clack erupted in the corridor, courtesy of my forehoof striking the floor. I swear, I couldn't have produced that sound by any other available means. “You'll stay right here with me!” I said indignantly, my voice increasing in strength as I continued to speak. “I said I have to plan my next move, and your participation in it is absolutely mandatory and nonnegotiable!” I didn't know what I'd do to him, but I'd do something to him; of that, I was convinced. “Well, uh, but—” “Silence!” I snapped, and his eyes spread wide open. My glare locked on him, and I launched into a vehement tirade. “Since you're obviously of limited intellect and can't comprehend why I'm so furious at you, I'm left with no choice but to explain it to you: I asked you a very simple question, and you failed to answer that question. To unshroud it further, I'm in complete disbelief at how you could be so incredibly imperceptive that it was outright impossible for you to discern what you saw before your own two eyes!” Probably due to my choice of words, he looked quite lost; I continued ranting regardless. “How difficult can it be to tell to me what I really am!?” My tone bore a trace of incredulity and despair. “Does honesty give you an allergic reaction or something!? I mean, have you ever heard of the words 'straightforward', 'unambiguous', or 'frank'!?” My incendiary tone came back. “Well, now you have! Just so you know, those were synonyms, or in other words, they mean the same thing, but I'm fairly convinced the repetition was necessary to ensure the concept would sink into the raisin that pretends to be your brain!” Incendiary became vitriol. “But hey, you should congratulate yourself! Due to your stellar performance at being a marvelous example of striking ineptitude, your astonishing inability to entitle me with a clear answer to a basic question has spectacularly devastated my mood! I hope you are proud and content because I definitely don't share your sentiments. At! All!” Two hoof stomps emphasized the final two words. “However, against my better judgement, I have to warn you: if you decide to do anything to worsen my mood any further, such as talk or move . . .” I paused, but only to draw in air and rear up onto my hind legs. “I'LL FORCE YOU TO REGRET IT!” With my rant over, I slammed down my forehooves as I returned to the quadruped stance, myself wheezing in fury and eyes locked on his perturbed face. “. . . Look, I'm not sure wha—” “What is your major malfunction!?” I shouted piercingly, tears of rage in my eyes. “I ordered you stay put and silent, yet you persist!?” A subsequent exasperated huff aimed at the floor vented a big portion of my tempest, but my strict glare was quick to return to him. “Or do I have to imprint that vital directive into you?” I threatened. “Because I assure you, I know how to subdue you, and you'll cry like there's no tomorrow if you don't desist from being a bothersome oaf!” I audibly struck my hoof to the floor. The shocked man was wise enough not to speak again, but I wasn't done with him yet. I wiped the few drops from my eyes into my furry forearm. I hoped it was furry. “For your information,” I said with serenity, “I regard you with nothing but unending contempt, though I suspect you know that already. That said, I fully expect you to cooperate from this moment onward. If not, then the educative imprinting shall commence.” I tapped my hoof a few more times to give him a clue. Indeed, I had conjured an arguably efficient method to incapacitate him, and I was ready to put that plan into motion when he finally nodded his silent agreement to keep his trap shut and his legs rooted to the floor. “I'm glad that you have at last accepted your most humble and submissive position.” I said, a pleased but malignant smile on me. Right as the man seemed to relax, I shook off my calm exterior to billow an insult. “You balding baboon!” He unhinged his jaw to roll out a possible retort. Or else he was agape at hearing me insult him so suddenly; it didn't matter to me. “Ah-ah-ah,” I reproved him whilst shaking my head, a smug smile on my lips. “No talking, no moving.” He promptly sealed his cranium cavity, and I chuckled mischievously. “Say, isn't crying your ultimate wish?” I taunted him with insidious encouragement. “So what's stopping you from having a go at it, hm? Come on, do it! Fulfill that desire! I can help you achieve it!” It was quite obvious I was high on an exhilarating power trip of which I was not ashamed. “All right all right, I admit it,” I relented, laughing. “I do know you don't want to cry, but, well . . .” My vivacious tone became ominously serious. “I can't always be right, now can I?” He didn't say a word, his expression frozen in confused consternation. A wry smile emerged on me. “Good boy,” I said softly like he was a canine trainee. For the time being, our one-sided play had come to an end. So had that insistent desire to declare myself a mare to him; of that, I was most appreciative. I knew my mind was that of a male human, but to have been revealed to be one in appearance while in the immediate vicinity of another human . . . I would've died out of shame. Despite the ruckus made, no prying eyes had come to watch the commotion. Perhaps the walls and doors were just that effective at blocking sounds from accessing the abodes. Or maybe most homes, if not all homes, were vacant as it now was, seemingly, a Friday noon. Judging by the man's slight fidgeting, he wasn't comfortable being quiet and idle near me. If I truly was a pony, which I had no desire to doubt, I should've been about as terrifying as a fluffy pillow. I was quite bemused by my success at intimidating him into submission. Although I was poised to educate him in a rather brutish manner, deep down I wasn't the violent type, and I might come to regret the decision to attack the man. Might. My anger had attempted to coerce me to incapacitate the plaid-shirted numbskull and force tears from him by applying blunt force to his groin. Repeatedly, if necessary. Even the toughest guys will weep when their twins are being rendered into elongated disks, I surmised. Thankfully, I had never been subjected to such cringe-worthy pain. The closest to it was a minor bicycle mishap when I was a child. The top tube is unpleasantly hard, I had learned. I had kept my waning glare on the restless man for a while, my relaxing expression concealing my indecision on whether to dismiss him and then collect myself in solitude or if I could still find a purposeful use for him. After much deliberation, I concluded it was best to keep him in my vice as he could still prove to be instrumental in verifying my equine form and lucid dream. To put it lightly, the possibility of them being refuted was highly unwelcome; however, if that were true, I had to keep myself in check and accept it with humility if possible. With my inner inferno doused, I also began to search for the significant clue that would further aid me in my quest for affirming my physical status as a pony and my mental status of wakefulness, or rather the lack thereof. Suddenly, everything became black—although much later than I had anticipated—as the lights went out; their inbuilt timer had counted down to zero. For a brief moment, there was nothing but silence in the darkness, until I let out a little self-satisfied chuckle as I noticed (by ear) that the surmised neighbor wasn't taking his chance to escape from me. Did I really scare him into petrification? After all, I was quite sure I bore the appearance of a harmless unicorn who lacked a cutie mark and proficiency in his own telek— Wait! That was it! That was what I had failed to see earlier! If I could utilize telekinesis and generate a supportive reaction from the man, then my favored theory would receive the crucial backing it so greatly needed! “I pressed the button!” I exclaimed with pride and in mild awe as the lights came on. A partially visible tin can in his bag drew my immediate attention, and I deftly employed my telekinesis to quickly but gingerly carry the metallic object to the ceiling. Without doubt, this display of magic would cert— “You goddamn horn-headed mule!” His enraged shout caught me by surprise, and my eyes snapped open. The item dropped, but I regained my senses and saved the cylindrical container from its harsh meeting with the floor in the nick of time. “What's wrong with you!?” he demanded, his face turning red. “Is this a funny game to you!? I'm not a toy you can play with, and I really don't care what kind of sorcery you— Arrrgh—!” He abruptly hunched, his free hand clutching his chest as he groaned with a fierce grimace. Before I could deliver a proportional response for his insubordination, I became concerned for his health. Regardless of whether he was real or not, I couldn't retain a good conscience if he died of a heart attack before my eyes; my idea of fun didn't entail accidental or purposeful death. I closed the small gap and came to stand almost next to him, a pang of intense guilt and concern coursing in me. “I-I'm terribly sorry, I really am!” I apologized. “Will you be okay? Do you need help?” I offered. Although I couldn't entirely shake the feeling I was talking to an illusion, I did my best to show sincere concern for him. “Urgh! I have . . . a heart condition . . .” he strained to talk, coughing throatily. His shopping bag slipped from his hand and came to an upright position next to his feet. My concern for him ascended to a higher level. “But no . . . I'll be fine,” he tried to reassure me weakly as his posture began to fall. “No, you won't be fine! Please, you can't die!” I protested, then looked about at the doors in my vicinity as my sweat glands began to work in overdrive. “I-I should get you some immediate he-AAAGH!” My startled yelp was due to him abruptly wrapping his hands around my forelegs and hoisting me up. Next thing I knew, I had my back and forelegs pressed against the wall, my hind legs dangling in the air and his furious face so close I could feel his pungent exhales brush my facial fur. He had a feral look in his eyes, like he was seconds away from tearing into his captured prey. I dared not to talk nor break eye contact, let alone attempt to free myself. Dream or not, pony or not, I considered my well-being to be more valuable than an act of brave defiance. As he continued to glare at me like an animal, I quickly theorized that he may have feigned the heart problem in order to seize and then subjugate me to whatever cruel retribution he was now concocting in that raisin of his. I also surmised that either he was stronger than his figure implied, or I was lighter than I had estimated. Or both. It didn't really matter. What mattered was that I had to think of a way to survive this sticky situation, preferably unscathed. His deeply unsettling glower going on and on with no end in sight to my restrained predicament, I finally devised an unorthodox scheme to dissuade the brute from potentially inflicting bodily harm upon me. Namely, I took advantage of my appearance, and by that, I mean I did my best to display pleadingly big eyes and a sad pout, even whined a tiny whimper in hopes of melting his icy heart. It felt . . . wrong . . . to go for that angle, but desperate times called for desperate measures. For a moment, he was unresponsive to my imploringly apologetic and wounded look, but when he drew a vicious smile on himself, my apprehension returned to my countenance. “Good girl,” he murmured sinisterly. Without warning, he released his grip and I gasped in shock. My unprepared body almost collapsed completely when my hooves landed back on the floor. Only my hind legs took the fall less graciously, and I slipped onto my haunches, thankfully without injury. Trembling and breathless, but also relieved the extremely tense situation was over, I watched as he then took hold of his bag and approached the rightmost door of the two that were to my right. He opened the door without as much as looking behind himself, and once inside his own dwelling, he drew the door shut so fiercely I was certain a pressure wave rebounded more than once in the corridor. With the door sealed, my subdued aggravation announced its grouching comeback. “That oversized orangutang. Of all things possible, he chose to call me a gi—!” My intonation caught up to me and cancelled my aggravation's performance. My mood passed through momentary confusion before reaching impassivity. “Oh . . . right. I guess I am . . . ” I said flatly, omitting the final but obvious part of the statement, followed by a nonchalant shrug—or at least that was what I tried to do. Since I was supporting myself on my hindquarters and forelegs, I didn't shift my shoulders and forelegs in a normal shrug. On the contrary, my entire body slouched. Again, I became briefly perplexed. Moving on to more meaningful matters than being bemused by bungled body language, I reviewed the interaction I had with the man in search for clear signs of my presence in a fictional world. First and foremost, I wasn't seen as something alien but as a person who bore the shape of a pony. A real human would've not started a peaceful conversation with me; they would've done the contrary, maybe gasped in shock, but definitely not socialized with me like I was a common sight. At any rate, the dullard had eventually, albeit disparagingly, affirmed I was a unicorn. Secondly, I had utilized magic—telekinesis to be precise—in the presence of the berk, no less, taking his precious tin can and introducing it to the ceiling in a most gentle manner, which was apparently the final straw for him. I should've just launched the tin can at his weak spot upon being assaulted by his verbal volley, but the situation took an unexpected turn before I had the chance to counterattack. With the entire ordeal over, I could've also taken a moment to review my own (mis)behavior, but all things considered, that was now unnecessary. To sum up, he indirectly called me a pony, and he lost his temper when I applied magic to his belongings, not to mention he called me a gi . . . yeah. “Finally,” I said in tranquil joy, my forehooves doing the best imitation of fingers placed vertically flat on each other. “I have absolutely nothing to worry about. This is a lucid dream, and nothing but a lucid dream.” I raised one foreleg up in glee. “Dream confirmed!” I cried out in imitation of MythBusters. Pity I couldn't replicate Jamie's or Adam's voice. Kari's, then? Maybe. I wanted to bounce up and down in circles like an automated spring whilst cheering in a most unmanly way, but the constrictive nature of my male gender rules persuaded me to tone down my celebration by a great margin. As I began to lift myself up, my left hind leg nudged a mystery object. In curiosity, I oriented myself to get a look at what it was, and to my surprise, it was the sealed and undamaged tin can. I was quite sure its owner wouldn't mind if I were to procure it for myself. He definitely hadn't noticed its absence yet. Therefore, I was hasty to inspect the label. I would've been disappointed if it was tuna, ground beef, or some other indigestible dead animal. To my joy, the blue-tinted label featured images of pineapples. That was all the information I needed, and I became spellbound, which I ultimately broke free from when a sizable bead of saliva squeezed itself past my lips. The elevator had to wait; a meal to consume was now my fate! Feeling a tad unsafe where I was, I ventured to the corridor's opposite end where I would be as far away from the nasty neighbor's door as possible. If he still existed, that is. Being a fictional creation, he could've vanished like ash into the wind the moment he closed the door. I had distanced myself from the produce by a dozen meters upon relocating myself, but a magical moment brought us together again. I was quick to note that my magic's range had increased, but I had more pressing matters to attend to than researching my telekinesis. I gave my surroundings a quick look, priming my ears to be alert for the sounds of opening doors, just in case. Justin Case. I'm sure somepony out there had that name. I mean, some human. I had assumed my contemplations to be free from the 'ponyisms', but it seems I was wrong. Sure, it was fun once in a while, but to have it be constantly present both in speech and mind? Seriously? Seriously. Regardless, I was now alone with the delicacy. My beaming expression couldn't possibly tell how strongly I imagined the taste of the golden sweets in my mouth. With my magic lifting the pull tab, the can's top opened and detached with a satisfying rip and snap. The loot was in plain sight, and my joyful smile turned to a grin. I licked my chops, restraining myself to simply gaze at the exposed fruits and teasing my appetite all the while. Ultimately, the unshackled scent of the fruit ventured into my nostrils, and I was at liberty to deal with the appropriated food. The can wasn't wide enough for me to simply dive my muzzle into it, so I had to blindly levitate the rings to my mouth. That didn't hinder me at all from eating the fantastically flavored fruit and then drinking the delightful nectar in unashamed ardor. Never in my life had ordinary pineapple slices and juice tasted so incredibly good, although I noticed a slight tang of sorts in them. I attributed that sensation to my equine taste buds; however, I had for some reason begun to experience difficulties in thinking. Difficulties in thought? Thought difficulties? Never mind. Once I was done with the goods, I found something funny. Not a physical object, but a mental concept. It was funny. I think it was elation. Yeah, that was it! Pure elation. It was so powerful I started to giggle in a very girly-girly way. Very unlike me, really, but that didn't bother me much now. In this dream, I could do whatever I wanted and be whatever I wanted. So what if I behaved out of character? Or was that in-character? I had this not-really-a-thought in my head that said, 'Yo filly, you've been a pony ever since you were born.' I responded with my yes-really-a-thought, 'Sure, whatever, let's go with that, because while you are über wrong, I don't care to argue since I'll wake up eventually, and then I will be a dude again, so boo-yah!' Besides, who'd judge me? This was a dream, not a court of law. My dream. It's mine. All mine. Mine mine mine, down down down! Silly black-feathered waterfowl. Daffy Duck deserved what was coming to him. So, anyway, every negative thought, feeling, and memory was replaced with pure euphoria. Well, not exactly, but that thought sounded nice. That thought that I thought. It was nice. Sounded nice. I didn't say it, so it didn't sound literally, but figuratively. I think. Yes, I could think, and all by myself. How about that? Then out of nowhere this familiar tune exploded (BOOM!) into existence inside my head, and I wanted to bounce to it hyper-energetically. It had beepyish sounds and synthezetors. Okay, I knew the word, but I didn't care to think it right, and the music wasn't really playing in my head like there was a physical radio inside. Also, Zetor was a tractor, but whatever, I was having a laugh. Wait? Having a laugh? Like I held it physically? Never mind. Since I was obviously very happy, I launched up into the air and onto my legs, my cheery grin as wide as something that's very wide and grinny. And cheery. Simultaneously, I had realized something very extremely fascinating. “Ohmygoshthisisasupergreatfeeling!” I spoke very rapidly and in a tone matching Pinkie Pie's. I think it was a close match, if not a precise match. Not match match, but the other match. The one that doesn't burn. And pitch as in voice, not that viscous dark substance and not airplane attitude. Would be kinda cool to be an airplane, though. I'd be a Cessna 152! Then I'd fly free like an airplane, though I wouldn't be able to fly upside down. Gravity-assisted fuel system would mean engine goes 'I pass out now,' and wings unfit to support themselves when inverted would be all 'adios amiga!'. Or was that 'adios amigo!' instead? Never mind! Because I'd be wingless and falling and crashing, I'd be a very very sad Cessna 152. And very hurt. So I drifted, I mean, my mind drifted. Drifting is what cocky teens dream of doing with their repurposed front-wheel drive family sedans, which are oh-really 35% faster than normal because they have shiny rims, suspension so low they can't drive over speedbumps, and the gaudiest spoiler that money could buy. Psh! Anyhow, my mind drifted to . . . what? Was it pineapples? Oh yeah, it was pineapples! I began to wonder if Pinkie ever baked pineapple sweets, like pineapple muffins, pineapple cake, pineapple donuts, and lots of more pineapply yummy stuff! Why did I wonder that? I didn't know. I had never met Pinkie Pie. Well, I thought I hadn't, because if I did, I'd know. Unless I forgot. Which I didn't. So I knew I hadn't forgotten I hadn't met Pinkie and . . . Wait, what? Yes. No, I meant, no. No to what? I didn't know. Know what? I didn't know I knew I didn't know what? I didn't know what what? What was what what? Never mind! It was happy time in honor of happy time! “Yay.” Hey, I know what I could do now! I mean, I had honed the tone, but now, I had the correct voice for it, too! “Yay.” It was perfect! I was in stitches! Not literally but figuratively, because if I was literally in stitches, then that would've meant I was . . . in stitches? Injured and stitched? Inside stitches? Never mind! Off to the elevator, I was! Happy time! “Yay.” More stitches! So I utilized my horribly and regrettably impaired magic (Boo-hoo!) to open the big, boring, heavy, steel door like it didn't even exist. Probably it didn't, dream thingy whatnot, yeah that! I zipped inside and I had already pressed the button for the bottom floor a trillion zillion bazillion madeupnumberillion times before the door closed because I was superduperquickfast! That beepy happy music was still playing, which I could totally turn off on a whim because it was imaginary music. Yeah, really! Music off, then on, off, on, off, on, off, on. Then I got a little agitated because I hated skipping music. Anyway, I rocked back and forth to the tune, but that was because I was a poor dancer. I couldn't remember the lyrics too well, either. “We look for relaxation; so the only explanation!” “. . . and music everywhere!” “Watch the yellow screen!” “Go-go-go-go-go . . . ” “. . . here they come!” “And drop the bomb!” I met Jim! I kissed him! Did he like it? I know he did! I mean, I think he did. He wasn't the talkative type, so I couldn't tell really. Kinda weird that he looked different from what I remembered him to look like, and I'm not even sure he was named Jim. Or that I knew him to begin with. This dream was so weird. I think I had a wonky memory again, and that was confusing me. Or else, the eeeehvuuuhl dream lord had changed him, too! Dumb dream lord, playing with my memories and Jim! Oh, wait, I wasn't supposed to fight the dream lord because I had surrendered to him. Oopsie daisy! Anyway, it was very nice (very nice!) Jim was in my dream. Pity me and him couldn't wander together in this dream. It would've been difficult since I was a pony now. That sparked a weird memory, but it was too confusing and made no sense. Maybe if I wasn't a pony, then maybe me and Jim could've been together? Maybe. I could've been a chain link fence, instead. That would've made this a super duper lame dream. Anyhow, I had to go without Jim. I was sure he understood my decision. He didn't say anything at all about it, though. So typical of him. So where was I going, then? Out into the world wide world, of course! I'd be on the beaches and on the hills! Some important but grumpy old man in history said something about fighting on the beaches and hills. Strange, grumpy old man. I bet he was incontinent and very fighty. I didn't go to beaches or hills, though, but to a meadow. Grass wasn't tasty, so I didn't eat much of it. I tried to find some of the tasty plants I ate when I was a foal. Wait? How did I know they were tasty? I only saw memories of me eating them but knew not what they tasted like, only that I ate them because they were tasty. Wait, what? How did that make any sense? Confound these phony pony memories; they were driving me into confusion! I tried to find the tasty plants regardless, but when I didn't find any, I became sad for 3.14 seconds. The next digit was what now? Digit of pie? What? Pies weren't digits! Were they? Never mind! More fun time! “Yay.” Stitches! Where . . . Where did . . . the time . . . go? Not sure . . . where I've . . . gone to either . . . Stuck here . . . Couldn't climb out . . . River . . . Scary water . . . Woozy head . . . Tried to . . . think where . . . I had been . . . Very spotty . . . Were . . . the pineapples . . . special pineapples? Had a . . . weird taste . . . Saw more . . . memories . . . pony memories . . . Phony pony . . . memories . . . Like copies . . . of my . . . memories . . . but . . . just . . . as real . . . and . . . very . . . pony . . . They . . . confuse . . . me . . . So . . . tired . . . now . . . Yay . . . Stitchy . . .

Suomibrony

435

Original Character,Human,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

First Pony View

Some dreams you might never want to end… …but what happens when the dream really doesn't?

incomplete

<p>Have you ever had a dream that just seemed so <i>real</i>, that it was impossible to say for certain that it was even a dream at all? A dream that, despite all of its impossibilities, seemed to re-write your entire perception of reality, re-writing your sense of what—and indeed, <i>who</i>—you are? Accepting change is hard enough as it is. But when you're a <span style="color:#808000">somebody</span> who wakes up as a <span style="color:#6495ED">somepony</span>, how do you cope with the impact such a drastic change has on your mind and body? With changes like these, it must surely just be a lucid dream—albeit a suspiciously <i>accurate one</i>—just brimming with potential and ripe for exploration. So you might as well suck it up and make the most of these distressingly…unusual circumstances, and seize this <span style="color:#008000">psychological adventure</span> before you wake up and the dream ends.<br/>After all, this couldn't possibly be real, so the dream must come to an end eventually…right?</p>

teen

2012-06-07T13:37:46+00:00

2022-03-14T18:09:12+00:00

First Pony View A My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic fan fic By Suomibrony Chapter 5 Life On The Edge I crossed the border of Slumbertania and into Awakeyland. A throbbing inside my head welcomed me to the familiar nation. Doing my best to ignore the unpleasant sensation, I noticed I wasn't on a soft mattress and underneath a comfy blanket. Nor did my head rest on a pillow. I was laying on a soft surface, but it wasn't smooth like a pillow or a mattress. When scents of various flora and damp air began to register in my nostrils, perplexed, I ordered my eyelids to retract. Peering through drowsy slits, my eyes were greeted by a countryside landscape on an overcast day. I found myself resting on a patch of moss on an elevated rocky surface that sloped down to a river. My subcranial pounding made me question what kind of a party I had been attending and what decadent prankster had alcoholized my beverage. I was a staunch teetotaler, and to become intoxicated, not to mention so severely that I'd pass out in the middle of nowhere, was simply disgraceful and unacceptable! Whoever was responsible for my unfavorable predicament would be the recipient of a proper and acrid chewing out! However, my inebriation must've been extreme since I had no recollection of ever being at a party recently. In that case, good riddance! I didn't want to remember it anyway! Worst. Party. Ever! To further indignify my situation, a brief gust informed me I was buck naked. Although . . . it didn't feel quite naked, more like I was wearing an encompassing, skintight, warming felt of some kind. Unusually enveloping, in fact, as it seemed to literally cover me from head to toe. As I began to pay more attention to other things than my surmised hangover, I discovered something was off about my arms and legs as well as my posture. Somehow, my legs were parallel with my torso, yet it didn't hurt me one bit, and . . . then my hands . . . Why couldn't I feel my fingers? In extreme confusion, I glanced at my resting arms and saw two hair-coated somethings in their place; a startled cry launched from my mouth, and I became doubly shocked. My scream had been several octaves above what I'd normally be capable of producing. I became further confused when I placed the hard, fingerless extremity on my throat, displacing a string there. “Wha-? My voice . . . I . . .” I stammered in disbelief. Then, like a rapid train passing by a stationary observer, the events of my lucid dream flashed through my mind. I drew my limb up to my face and stared at it in agape incredulity. Suspecting the worst, I apprehensively turned my head around to get a look at myself. “Bu-but, h-how!?” I sputtered in horror, recoiling at the sight of a begrimed ice-white coat and bronze-colored, pink-striped tail. “Th-this shouldn't be possible!” Motivated by a spontaneous impulse, I shot into an upright stance before I was reminded of the impossibility of maintaining a bipedal posture. I came back down onto all fours in a second, the minor impact sending a small jolt from the ends of the limbs up to the shoulders, and for a split second, I was extremely cognizant of the drastic changes in my physique. I began to rotate erratically, eyeing my limbs and body in horrified disbelief while barely managing to speak between my frenetic breaths. “No . . . this . . . it can't be . . . I'm a—” I halted when my tail tucked itself between my legs, squeaking at the sight and feel of the involuntary reaction. Moisture began to seep into my eyes as panic began to strip away my control. It wrapped itself tightly around my heart, commanding my body to quake violently. In a matter of seconds, my mind succumbed to the fright as well. I could feel a horrified scream building up inside me . . . I couldn't let it happen. I couldn't let it win, but if this was real . . . There wouldn't be a failsafe! There would be no way out! I'd be imprisoned! Sealed! Confined! Stuck! No escape at all . . . trapped . . . in a pony . . . a filly . . . female . . . Oh no . . . I . . . Please no . . . I . . . Wait . . . I think . . . I got it . . . Yes . . . I got it. I got it! I got it I got it I got it! “It's a dream!” I exclaimed, a fragile smile creasing my lips, “I'm still inside the lucid dream! It-it makes pe-perfect s-sense! The- it- I . . .” My smile and tone withered rapidly under the powerful assault of emotions, and for a few futile but quiet seconds, I resisted before they finally prevailed over me. Cringing forth a miserable squeak, I dropped my head and granted the fluid in my eyes the liberty to run down my cheeks. I drew a heavy breath and wiped the tears into my foreleg. “Only a dream . . .” I sighed shakily in relief, gazing at my appendage as I timorously placed it back to the ground. Some events in my past had scared me, but never had I been this terrified. Few things could compare—the pure fear that takes hold and never wants to let go, it was so close to . . . I couldn't ideate how I'd . . . If this wasn't . . . If I were . . . permanently . . . No, I didn't even want to consider it. I didn't want to stress myself any further. If I hadn't remembered to tell myself I was sojourning in a vivid fantasy produced by my own subconscious . . . I didn't understand how I hadn't thought of it immediately. Maybe the very convincing waking-up experience was the reason. Would I have awoken for real if I had been overwhelmed by fear and thus changed the dream to a nightmare? It didn't make a difference; I was past the terror now. Or so I thought. As my cool returned to me, so did my awareness of the persistent headache. My recently acquired peace strained like a flimsy garment as panic's dark dominion threatened to expand into me again. “It's . . . it's . . .” I stuttered in consternation. “It's . . . it's just a minor discomfort!” I conjured a plausible explanation, trading my terrified grimace for an uneasy but wide grin. “It's not pain, not pain at all! Only discomfort! And this is still a dream!” I was so flustered I couldn't help but laugh. Nervously. Was that how fear worked on me now? How funny! Not. Then why did it make me laugh? Fear and joy crashing into each other and short-circuiting my brain? The recent stress warping my emotions? Yes! Right! The headache! I had to refute it! “It's the dream's doing! It must be! It's playing a prank on me! But I know this isn't real! Nope! Nuh-uh! Not reality! Negativo! Njet! It's not reality! Only a dream! It's the only possible explanation! Pain makes the dream stop! Discomfort doesn't!” I coughed suddenly; my saliva had heard enough of my hysterical rambling and slipped down into my windpipe. It was good saliva, for it brought immediate sanity back to my head. “Oh . . . kay . . . I got . . . the point,” I managed to say between my coughing. Once I had cleared the uninvited substance from my throat, I resumed gently sailing to tranquility island, noticing as I did so that I had fallen on my haunches in my panic-stricken state. From personal experience, I knew excessive stress would disrupt my rationality, effectively turning me crazy. Luckily, experience also told me I would recover from them. Sometimes it took a few minutes, other times a few hours, but eventually I'd conquer my madness. All I had to do was relax, during which I'd evaluate my conduct from a near impartial standpoint if possible. I didn't trust myself too highly on that, but striving for it was at least a noble goal. I had suffered two highly stressful incidents. It's not far-fetched to postulate that the incidents, combined with my momentary relief and joy of overcoming the first anxiety attack, sent my emotions and mind on the fritz. Thankfully, with that bout of cerebral incoherency a thing of the past, all was well again. The headache was becoming tolerable, though I yearned for a pill of ibuprofen to dull its edge completely. What a cruel and crazy dream I had, burdening me with an all-too-authentic headache, as if it wanted me to believe this was real and not a wry fantasy. I wasn't so easily tricked, however. My impossible transformation, the sighting of the pegasus, the interaction with the man—they were indisputable evidence. I was at peace. In a dream. Cease thinking. Take a break. I sat silent with my eyes closed, head inclined and mind void of troubling thoughts. With every drift of air passing over and out from me, I was reacquainted with my form. I clapped my forehooves lightly on the ground, tossed my tail, turned my ears, waited for a gust to gently pass through my hairs, and finally . . . “This is my voice,” I stated calmly in my unmistakably female voice. It was a pleasant voice when spoken with a collected and relaxed attitude. “And my dream isn't over yet,” I continued as I drew my eyes open and examined the circle of sunken rock I had been relocated to. I studied the vertical crescent of rocky slopes behind and next to me with scrunched brows: eighty-degree angle, three to four meters tall, laced with copious amounts of moss and lichen, but also covered with indents and protrusions. “I could climb my way out of here,” I said optimistically, then with emerging frustration glanced at the soiled undersides of my forehooves. “If it weren't for these.” Sighing away my light sourness, I got up on my hooves with little effort and began to stroll leisurely towards the river. ‘Well, I suppose I can just go down this little incline to the river emb—’ “Holy horse apples!” In a blink of an eye, I had frantically backpedaled by a few body lengths and stumbled clumsily—and without injury—onto my haunches. The innocuous incline was deceiving until I stood at its edge and the steep slope to a ten-meter drop was revealed to my eyes. I swallowed, tasting a trace of pineapples, mixed with enzymes and other unappetizing flavors, at the back of my tongue. Gathering my spinning mind, I observed that my dream liked to be consistent in regards to what I had eaten previously. “. . . horse apples?” I wondered bedazzled, my mind performing a few more revolutions before halting. Once my queasiness had faded entirely, I analyzed my situation. ‘So . . . I can't climb out from here, and I don't dare to jump down . . .’ My brows lowered as I absorbed that. “So, what now?” I pondered irately. “Simply wait here until I'm miraculously lifted out?” The sarcastic remark instigated me to cast an inquisitive look at the grassy lips above me. ‘Hmm . . . Maybe somepony's nearby!?’ I hoped, followed by a delayed flinch. “Someone, someone, someone,” I muttered in irritation as I tapped a hoof at my forehead. “Aaanywaaay,” I said as I resigned from my annoyance, ‘the likelihood of some dream character being here is slim; I should nevertheless try to call for help.’ I shouted for assistance for a complete minute, trying to draw the attention of anypony—or any human—in the vicinity. I didn't drop into despair when I realized there was no reply to my shouts. If anything, I became annoyed when my calls went unanswered. “Oh joy,” I grouched and sat down, my complaint breaking out from the confines of my mind. “It appears I've been deposited into this solitary confinement to await my awakening from this imaginary world!” With my burst over, I began to glare at the scenery beyond the river. The rural landscape was picturesque at least, and it would've been soothing . . . if it had been a sunny summer day! Accursed autumn cloud cover! I inhaled deeply and evacuated the majority of my irritation with the outbound breath. “Maybe if I were to. . . ?” I murmured, focusing a fearful yet contemplative look towards the concealed riverside precipice. I had assumed it was narrower and farther out from the cliff, but it was rather wide and close to the cliff. The gradient of the slope had fooled me into perceiving that the ground was a gentle slope into the river instead of the steep cliff that it was. “Nah,” I dismissed the idea after a moment, slashing my hoof through the air. “I'm not ready to wake up yet.” In the dreams where I plunged into water, I never "survived" it. Those incidents were how I met my end in a recurring nightmare, where I was in an out-of-control car as it soared off a pier at high speed; I always woke up the instant the car struck the water. I held no doubt the same would apply to me now, sans the car of course. I was too afraid of water to take that route. However, the point stood clear: if I were to leap down, I'd bring an immediate closure to my most extraordinary dream upon piercing the river surface. Left with nothing else to do, I gauged the appearance of the illusory world in front of me. A placid wide brown river separated my elevated rocky location from a vast yellow field of plants. I didn't know enough about agriculture to recognize what plants were growing there. It would've been nice if a combine harvester was on the field to liven the view. The wide band of yellow was flanked by a green meadow on one side and a plowed field on the other. All three met a horizon-spanning pine forest in the distance. The sky itself was nothing but a gray and featureless canvas. A typical autumn afternoon, I estimated. It wasn't a warm day, either, but my coat did a remarkable job at denying my body warmth to the cold air. A number of birds chirped merrily somewhere nearby. Good for them. I wasn't sharing their enthusiasm. With my boredom increasing every passing minute, I began to trudge around on the four by six meter semicircular zone. Jogging my legs and mind at the same time, I endeavored to remember what I had done before "waking up." My immediate recollection was of myself consuming the canned food I had taken for myself after its owner forgot to retrieve it. Following my delicious pineapple meal, everything became a disjointed blur. Riding the elevator down, being extremely euphoric, and conversing with another individual were my only memories from the foggy episode. To whom—or what—I had spoken to was lost into the shroud. The entire post-meal episode might've been a lapse into a "normal" dream, though my fading headache/hangover made me consider that the canned food was another prank set up by the dream overlord. Dreams are intrinsically nonsensical, after all. I appreciated being fully aware again, though I was disheartened that my trapped status was wasting my unique and limited dream-time in this uninteresting location. Desiring to ward off such a sad thought, I began to scrutinize my own locomotion. Since the previous attempt at figuring out my four-legged walk had only bewildered me, I decided to investigate the "quattro coreografia" with firmer determination this time. ‘Heh, look at me, creating pseudo-Italian terms for four-legged locomotion.’ I mentally denoted each leg with an abbreviation: FR, FL, HR, and HL. My plan was to slow down my gait to a near stand-still, taking one step at a time while speaking the moniker I had given to my legs as I raised them. It seemed to be so simple, yet when I lifted my front-right leg, or FR, my immediate reaction was stupefying indecision. I gently lowered my leg, my mind vacant for a spell. “Oh, come on!” I complained as my faculties came back online. “How hard can it be to comprehend walking?” I pursed my lips as I thought deeply on how to solve this astonishingly complicated issue. Maybe I was being too slow? Over-analyzing each step? I took a moment to relax a little. “Time to retry,” I declared flatly and set my eyes on my hind-legs. In order to teach my brain a lesson, I resumed my walking with a mind void of thoughts. I watched the quadrupedal performance under the role of a perceptive camcorder rather than a contemplative researcher. After a solid minute of walking, I stopped, my eyes locked on my legs as I lifted them in sync. “I started with . . . Ef-El. Then came Aitch-Ar, and then . . . Ef-Ar and then Aitch-El . . . Ah-ha! Eureka!” I exclaimed in glee. With a pleased smile on my lips, I observed my legs do their part as I resumed my gait. “Ef-El, Aitch-Ar, Ef-Ar, Aitch-El, Ef-El, Aitch-Ar, Ef-Ar, Aitch-El, Ef-El, Aitch-Ar, Ef-Ar, Aitch-El~” I chanted in a four-beat tempo, tracing an oval on the rock. Once I got the pattern down, my sporadic movement escalated to a continuous gait, my seamless chanting decreasing until it had become voiceless. I gradually raised my pace until my unhurried gait couldn't keep up and launched into a new, two-beat rhythm. Too curious to hold my thoughts at bay, I fumbled on my legs almost immediately and came to a halt on an astride stance. I gazed blankly ahead, an embarrassed smile arriving after a delay. “Oops,” I chuckled abashedly, returning to a normal stance. ‘Glad nopony was around to see my blunder.’ I glanced around to affirm I was right. Collecting my composure and normalizing my expression, I reinitiated my activity with a clear mind and keen eyes. After a few laps, I had calculated the rhythm: when HR lifted, so did FL. When those were returning to the ground, it was HL and FR's turn to reproduce the previous pair's motions. With my legs now moving as synchronized diagonal pairs, I bounced along merrily in the joy of having learned a new lesson in the art of quadruped locomotion. Not only did I have a pleased smile on my face, but my tail seemed to signal my excitement as well, swinging lively like a banner caught in a breeze. I wasn't sure why exactly, but I was feeling extraordinarily good. A desire to rear up to a jubilant cheer was begging earnestly for permission to express itself. I could imagine a filly commencing with the frivolous display shamelessly, but not me; I had strict gender-specific standards to adhere to. A craving to progress to a gallop emerged. Sadly, my current location was pitifully inadequate for anything more than a short sprint. Feeling lamentably confined again, I approached a random section of the near-vertical slope, where I then lunged upright and landed my forehooves on the steep rock. Gazing at the tantalizing grassy lips above, I opened my mouth to beseech the ruler of my dream. “Hey, uh, me,” I awkwardly addressed my subconscious. “Can you, I mean, me . . . uh, you . . . ? Never mind.” I discarded my confusion and got to the point. “Can I humbly ask to be granted a human form for five minutes please?” I voiced my wish with politeness. No response. “How about half of that?” I bargained. Nothing. “No? One minute then?” I waited for a while, gazing around impatiently. “You expect me to climb out of here in thirty seconds?” I half-hinted, scowling. “Male or female, I don't care, just give me a chance to ascend from this miserable location!” When nothing occurred, I cleared my throat and gathered a bucketful of courage. Inclining my head down, I brought forth a pout and rolled my eyes skywards. “Pweease?” I beseeched innocently, hopefully allocating an adorable shimmer into my eyes. Somewhere inside my head, my masculinity was protesting. No response. Again. With my request left unfulfilled despite my very atypical performance, I disengaged from my pose with a long, exasperated groan, then shot a stern glare at the clouds above me. “You insensitive jerk!” I snapped shrilly, declaring the fruitless one-way conversation to be over. Underneath my displeased exterior, I brimmed with bemusement. My attempt at persuasion with "myself" was unorthodox, however, I couldn't possibly associate myself with the sadistic being who operated this world, denying me my freedom and frustrating me at every opportunity. That brought my attention to my insult: "Insensitive jerk" didn't seem like something I'd normally say when I'm scornful at somepony. I associated that utterance more with a . . . No, my female structure was deceiving me. Or maybe I had become so alienated from myself that the roleplay had inadvertently lasted longer than I had intended . . . although since this was a dream, I wouldn't have to worry about inconsistencies in my conduct. No matter how good or bad dreams are, they're finite. Nightmares are conjured by a sleeping mind, too, and those are undeniably horrible. This extraordinary lucid dream was simply riddled with a number of unpleasant moments. Most of those negative moments, however, were made much worse by my stressing over every minutia. The interaction I had with my imaginary neighbor resulted in a humiliating disaster due to my losing my head and blowing up on him. In hindsight, there were many things I did wrong. I should've been straightforward and asked without leaving any room for misinterpretation. I should've ignored the paranoid notion of a psychosis. I should've said that I had no time to chat and prevented the debacle from ever taking place. I should've been rational and not viewed the man as a malicious jester. The entire ordeal happened because I had made one mistake after another until I received the full brunt of the indignifying repercussions. Why couldn't I just be carefree and positive? I had been when I was trotting about recently, but I had suppressed the urge to release my joy. Could it be that all the negative emotions made my happiness more potent in turn? I had limited it, though, put dampers on it. Was I afraid of something? Of course I was. I looked over at my two-toned tail and arbitrarily wiggled it once. “Temporarily, I'm a pony . . .” I muttered, and my eyes rolled to the side in thought. Since I was an avid fan of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, I presumed my form was a semi-conscious wish that my sleeping mind had granted. Now, I was stuck to expend that wish on this lousy cliffside. Birds warbled beyond eyesight and the sky had become slightly darker since I last bothered to pay attention to it. My mood withered further as the incredibly boring view dug itself into my conscience, myself tapping my forehoof idly as minutes passed and my mind drew blanks on what to do. Eventually, I stopped the leg-tapping and looked down at my limb, the grace of its shape more evident in my eyes now than before. My bored brows were afflicted when I contemplated a serious question: “Why a female pony?” ‘Am I so practical-minded,’ I postulated as I shifted my sights from my hoof to my flank, ‘that I consider housing my reproductive organs inside me to be such an advantage over the obvious alternative that I've manifested myself as a mare?’ Half-closing my eyes, I glanced sidelong at nothing specific. “Or as a filly, whichever way it is,” I said, trying to sound indifferent in spite of the uneasy topic and attempting to reconcile myself with my new Andrea Libmanesque voice. “Regardless of the terminology,” I returned to the present issue, inspecting my pink-striped bronze tail and white body, “why these colors, then? They're . . . feminine.” It took effort to speak that word, even if I only managed a whimper. I drifted my gaze over the irregular ground before my forelegs. “I'm thankful I don't have a princess pink coat, but . . . these colors . . . don't belong on a stallion . . .” I paused as I collected an unnerving thought and peeked at my tail. “But is . . . is this how I would envision myself if I . . . were a female pony?” I bowed my head and hushed my voice even further. Truth be told, I wasn't sure what colors I would've picked, but this selection didn't fit with me. Maybe this was the representation of my inner gi— No, the colors were purely random. An inner warmth radiated up to my skin and pushed out wet beads. I felt slightly queasy, too. I guess it was either due to embarrassment or humiliation. Or both. This unnerving self-inspection was as disconcerting as it was fascinating, and it made me wish I had studied psychology with dedication. Nevertheless, I paused shortly to retrieve some composure before I continued my introspection. ‘Every female has an underlying masculine side, just as every male has his feminine counterpart. The animus and anima, if I'm not mistaken,’ I thought sagely, recalling the little psychology I had researched. “So, this, uh, may then be my femininity personalized . . . Eh-heh, ponified, I mean,” I corrected my deduction, the lighthearted remark lacking the potency to reduce my nervousness. “So, uh . . .” My mind halted—or rather my mouth halted—and I cast a cursory glance at my rocky containment walls for courage to press on. “Since I'm . . . um, a female for the time being . . . maybe, uh . . .” I had gradually slouched as I spoke and was now completely prone, and if possible, I would've continued into the stone as well. “Because this . . . is, uhm . . . a unique situation, I could . . . could try to . . . try to . . . do something . . . something, um . . .” I was practically enveloped in a film of sweat at this point. “. . . something different.”

Suomibrony

435

Original Character,Human,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

First Pony View

Some dreams you might never want to end… …but what happens when the dream really doesn't?

incomplete

<p>Have you ever had a dream that just seemed so <i>real</i>, that it was impossible to say for certain that it was even a dream at all? A dream that, despite all of its impossibilities, seemed to re-write your entire perception of reality, re-writing your sense of what—and indeed, <i>who</i>—you are? Accepting change is hard enough as it is. But when you're a <span style="color:#808000">somebody</span> who wakes up as a <span style="color:#6495ED">somepony</span>, how do you cope with the impact such a drastic change has on your mind and body? With changes like these, it must surely just be a lucid dream—albeit a suspiciously <i>accurate one</i>—just brimming with potential and ripe for exploration. So you might as well suck it up and make the most of these distressingly…unusual circumstances, and seize this <span style="color:#008000">psychological adventure</span> before you wake up and the dream ends.<br/>After all, this couldn't possibly be real, so the dream must come to an end eventually…right?</p>

teen

2012-09-16T07:40:10+00:00

2016-02-19T09:54:35+00:00

First Pony View A My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic fan fic By Suomibrony Chapter 6 Experiments and Experiences I was in a dream: alone, bored, and temporarily a mare with literally nowhere to go. What could I do? What else had I left to do than delve into that which very few males ever admit to having? My masculinity was protesting my idea of exploration. Since I wasn't outwardly a male in this lucid dream, though, what should masculinity matter? Why shouldn't I be free to enjoy the opportunities this body could grant me? No one would ever know of what I'd do here unless I told. If there was ever a ripe time and excuse to disregard gender guidelines, it was now. I was that bored. I drew in a wavering inhale, holding it in me as I rose to a sitting position, then expelled some of my quaking with an equally quaky exhale. I closed my eyes, head tilted down as I waited for my nerves to settle. I wasn't angry, afraid, or embarrassed, only unsure. I had to steel myself. I had to be brave. I'd have to be braver than a guy standing on a speeding car. Never done that, though, and would probably never dare to. Too risky. What was riskier than that? Several things were, but in here? I had nothing but myself. What could I do with myself? I had magic and a mare's body. Both of which I'd lose when my dream ended. What could I do with both? What could I do to myself? Conjuring forth my magic, its mystifying presence immediately blanketed everything in a five-meter radius. I could "feel" the stones, patches of moss and lichen, numerous leaves, a dozen twigs of various length, and myself sitting in the middle. Using my magic to read my surroundings wasn't the same as perceiving the world with my eyes; it was as if I was "feeling" the shapes and colors of objects in a short radius around me. With my magic's help, I could tell my mane and forelock were so detestably disheveled as to resemble a crashing, sidelong wave originating from my right ear. Along my neck was a hairy path of brown and pink scrunched to a compact mess, some jutting in every direction like wrinkly rags. In contrast, my tail was remarkably prim. I decided to correct the disparity. Thinking I could simply use magic to fashion my mane into a presentable shape, I directed my invisible touch at myself; however, the attempt halted short of my body, as if I was attempting to force two identically charged magnets together. Undeterred, I located and levitated a sturdy twig towards myself, an indirect application of magic that met with success. The twig delved into the hairs along my neck and, with some difficulties at first, soon opened the hairy knots. With that part of my mane unfurled to hang down to my shoulder, the makeshift haircare tool proceeded up towards the top of my head where it untied more twined hairs and straightened twisted locks to the best of its ability. After a few more touches, the strong gale on my head was pacified to a moderate breeze. My disembodied awareness panned around me, evaluating my looks. I would've provoked a high-class pony like Rarity to give me a disdainful eye, but at least I no longer looked like I had completely disregarded my coiffure. I evaluated my manestyle to be a mixture of Rainbow Dash's scruffiness and Twilight's . . . straightness? Though my forelock was too thick to adequately replicate the lean, curved, and finely cut awning she had suspended over her forehead. Not that I'd want to imitate her style; I'd almost found my own. I tried to look up at my shaggy bangs, but as soon as I opened my eyes, the magic ceased and the twig fell. Alas, since handling hair with a gnarly twig couldn't hope to produce anything refined, I had to settle for the slightly-better-than-bedmane style. Regardless, the hair was no longer obscuring my vision, and even I could tell that its new appearance was an improvement. Feeling vivacious, I turned my head to the side and lifted my foreleg to meet the back of my hoof with my chin. Smiling, I cast the immobile twig a half-lidded sidelong look. I tittered as I imagined my pose from a third-person perspective. I wasn't one hundred percent comfortable with what I was doing, but I was relieved I had mustered the courage for it. Would I ever have another chance at this? Probably not. I had already done a few minor excursions motivated by dire rather than desire. Now that I had crossed the threshold, it shouldn't be a giant leap to do it for my own amusement. I planted my leg back on the ground and thought of something cute. I chose puppies and kittens. And cartoon ponies. And ferrets—that was original! With those in mind, I did my best to channel their cuteness into my ingratiating expression. With my head inclined and sporting a (hopefully) sweet smile, I rolled my eyes up and envisioned a person standing before me, his or her heart melting as they caught the sight of my irresistibly adorable poise. They'd kneel down, and I'd keep my innocent eyes locked on theirs. Kind words would bring a blush to me, and I'd turn my head in modesty. Hands would reach for me, gentle cooing would carry to my ears, and I'd comply silently, permitting the nimble digits to gently caress my mane and body. Fingers would run along my hairs and slightly tickle my skin, soothing me. I'd enjoy the affection I had received, and everything would be at peace. It was a delight forever left unfulfilled, I realized, when my vacant surroundings and untouched hide finally broke my daydream (in a dream) by their sheer passive presence. I sighed forlornly, my eyes downcast. I glanced around with a modicum of longing. The cold walls around me and the impassive flora beyond the river gave a horrible sense of abandonment. Even the birds had quieted, and nothing but the sound of the wind was picked up by my ears. I might not have many friends, and on some days I never left my home, but I had never been truly alone before. I was constantly aware of being near another human, be it above, below, or outside, and I always had my cell phone nearby. Not here, though. I had nothing but myself as company. A small band began to coil itself tighter around my heart. It was the unpleasant feeling of complete loneliness. Had this imaginary realm now removed all life from it but me? Abandoned me on a desolate outcropping from where I dared not to escape? Could I brave my fear? Leave my prison? Risk waking myself up? With great hesitation, I took myself to the edge of the gradient, but the sight of the stagnant river far below was brief, for my head became light, and I had to turn away as I released a weak moan of indisposition. Spotting a fairly sizable patch of moss, I rested down on it and tried to think of comforting things. Some welcome peace came to me as I posited a busy road and town not too far away, the droning of their presence merely camouflaged by the dull wail of the wind. I further reasoned that I wasn't completely alone; I simply couldn't perceive another living being from my current location. To my relief, a pair of small birds fluttered past me in an erratic aerial dance. The duo crossed my location in a span of seconds, soon followed by the low roar of a jet plane from somewhere far away. My ears were the first to align themselves at the distinctive sound, locking towards the left side of the pine forest on the horizon. I oriented myself at the origin of the sound as well, hoping to see the mechanical avian elegantly transit the sky. Disappointingly, its slender frame was entirely obscured by a blanket of gray. Judging by the sudden emergence of its distinguishable sound, I surmised the aircraft had recently departed from an airfield and was climbing up to cruising altitude. If this dream's geography was anything like the real world's, then I was roughly ten kilometers from my abode. I knew a smaller town was situated along the river about fifteen kilometers upriver from my home, which meant I would be about half of that distance from it now. The jet plane's droning gradually vanished over the course of minutes, and I resumed striking a few more demure poses. I quickly began to long for a mirror. If only I could brave my fear of water and, by some miracle, survive the plunge into the river without breaking out from my dream, then perhaps I could see my reflection in the water. The thought inspired me to picture a vivid scene. Sitting on the river embankment, I'd admire my visage smiling in tranquil joy back at me, the setting sun's beams glistening on hair and water with captivating luster, mane neat and prim—a special gift for my birthday. “Huh?” I snapped out from my odd reverie, hearing a voice call me by a name. I was left stunned, my brows wrinkling as confusion transitioned through disbelief to irritation. “Oh, you,” I said, directing my glare skywards. “So that's the pony name you've assigned to me?” Of course, I wasn't entitled a response of any kind, so I gave up the pursuit. The name circulated inside my consciousness like an airplane on a holding pattern, and for a brief moment, I swore I saw it in my mind's eye, written on a card addressed to somepony. There was another name there, but my dream lord was courteous enough not to divulge it. Not that it mattered. It was yet another nonsensical memory. I know how those played out. In a normal dream, I'd fall for them in a heartbeat, but as I was aware of being in a dream, I saw past the unconvincing folly. Regardless, now I had a 'name', and it wasn't exactly the best name for me. On the positive side, I wouldn't have to reveal it, and it wasn't a gender-corrected version of my real name. Fortunately. Disengaging from contemplating the abnormalities my dream imbued me with, I realized that I had time but no idea how to utilize it . . . until I recalled my lamentations concerning my telekinesis, and I hatched an idea on the spot. I hastily located the twig I had used recently. “Test number one: have a direct visual on the twig and try to levitate it,” I stated with a hint of strictness; the displeasure of knowing my 'name' had yet to dissipate. As I expected, the twig remained grounded, my magic unwilling to manifest itself. I held a decaying glower on the twig as my mind dispelled its excess agitation. “Test number two,” I said calmly, “try to levitate the twig without establishing a direct visual.” I performed a semi-circle, this time holding my eyes open as I focused on my magic. I "felt" a blanket of the magical touch radiate out to my immediate vicinity for a split second before wrapping itself around the twig. I knew where the twig was in advance, so perhaps that knowledge extended to my magic as well. My mane obscured the view of my horn, though I surmised it was coated in whiteness. The twig lifted off the ground without a trace of trouble, and I smiled in accomplishment. Initiating test number three, I carefully brought the twig closer to me. Its flightpath was set to cross overhead, and my magic constantly kept me appraised of the twig's approach. I was prepared for the twig to fall the instant I had it in my view, but I hoped that I'd be able to retain my magical grip on it. The twig, wrapped in a faint white glow, came into my view and immediately started to shake itself loose from my grasp. “Comeoncomeoncomeonpleasepleasepleaseplease,” I pleaded frantically as the twig began to poke itself past its shimmering boundaries. I grunted in despair when the magic's tint began to flicker. Right when I feared I had lost the battle, the tenuous aura brightened dramatically, and the twig's rebellion was quelled. My jaw wanted to dislodge at the sight as I stared at the pacified object. I fixated on the suspended twig whilst I meticulously but cautiously restudied myself for clues about my magic. For a moment, I detected nothing, but soon I noted a minor tingling at the base of my horn. I had been so focused on using my blind method of telekinesis before that I hadn't thought on how it felt. Delving deeper into my mind and nerves, I discovered that the power holding the twig was semi-independent of me. I controlled it, but the twig remained perfectly content inside its white wrapper even as my focus on maintaining the magic began to diminish as I contemplated it. Reducing my magic's intensity, the tingling and white glow gradually subsided until they faded completely, and the twig became an obedient follower of the laws of gravity once again. I theorized that the brief slip of control I experienced as the twig entered into my field of vision was not a failing of my own, but instead, it was a sign of the twig transferring from one magical grip to another. Being a novice, I was unaware of this transition; any unicorn but me could've done it without breaking a sweat. I further speculated I had not one but at the least three discernible types of telekinetic powers: the 'blind' telekinesis, the localized bubble of 'visual' magic, and the most common and mundane one that I only now had learned to use. I wasn't sure if these abilities were standard or unique to my dream-self, though. All of this made me wish for a "Telekinesis For Dummies" book. Based on the tingling at the base of my horn, I surmised that it didn't house my magic but instead behaved as a transmitter and amplifier for it. I had to direct my inner energy to travel into the horn, and from there, it would pretty much do the rest for me. Hopefully, concentrating my energy into and through my horn to wield the twig whilst it was within my field of vision would be no different from the blind magic I had become used to. I knew some form of concentration was required to maintain the controlling glow on the target, but once my grip on the lightweight twig was secure, I had to reduce the energy to near nothing for the twig to fall free. It was quite the contrast to the difficulty of achieving the hold on it in the first place. If the opportunity would present itself, I'd gladly run additional telekinesis tests on multiple objects of varying size and mass. With chary expectation, I set my eyes on the twig again, this time not directing my will outwardly, but inwardly. It wasn't about me wanting to levitate something; it was about wanting my magic to levitate something for me. I predicted a new struggle, but instead, I gawked in astonishment as the twig was more than willing to follow my command. The tingling in my forehead was faint, but the joy I held wasn't. In high spirits, I began to experiment with the twig. First, I tested my magic's range by levitating the twig upwards. It reached a strange border a dozen meters above me, where it then bounced gently up and down like a cork in water. I set the twig to orbit around me on a horizontal plane. Starting as a wavy and eccentric ellipsoid, it evened to a flat circle after a dozen revolutions as I became more adept at controlling the most common form of telekinesis. Pleased by my improved skills, I brought the twig to hover before myself. Curious, I directed my hoof into the white aura, though it caused no discernible reaction. Watching my limb attempt to interact with the sparkling glow a few more times with no success, I pondered if the mystifying layer was composed of ionized gas. Following a few more minutes of additional playing and practicing, I had honed my telekinesis to work without a hitch. “Hard to execute, easy to master.” I proclaimed proudly. In respect for the twig, I granted it a mossy mattress as a reward. Once placed on its humble bed, I sat down and bowed gracefully to the inorganic assistant, then looked at my flank in anticipation. “Oh, what a dreadful shame; I didn't receive a telekinesis cutie mark,” I said in mock disappointment. “But, really, what would a telekinesis cutie mark look like, anyhow?” I wondered, glancing at the twig quizzically. Smirking playfully, I leaned in very close to it and pouted. “Aww, liwl' twiggy is so sweepy he can't answer my liwl' question,” I cooed, fighting to keep my lips from drawing to a smile. My composure fell no more than a second after my 'liwl' display, and an exuberant laugh earned its liberty. Instantly, I clasped my mouth shut with my forehooves, blinking in shocked disbelief as I slowly withdrew my limbs. “Wow,” I said, my embarrassment affecting my countenance and tone. “That was unusual . . . not . . . like mine . . .” I looked around with flustered eyes, hoping my conduct hadn't been exposed to more than my pair of ears. “Oh-kay, nopony but me here, so all is well.” I reassured my unnerved and abashed self after my visual sweep confirmed my solitude. ‘Just my typical laugh altered in pitch.’ I swiped the issue under the rug then summarily moved back to the topic of cutie marks. I wonder if I would love carrying and manipulating things with my sixth sense so much that it'd manifest on my flanks as a cutie mark? Strangely, deep inside, I felt a longing for a cutie mark, but I dismissed that as another of my dream's ludicrous jests. Still, the capability of employing telekinesis in reality was something I would have certainly enjoyed having. Really, who wouldn't? It would be totally awesome! However, if I had become a pegasus instead of a unicorn, I wouldn't be confined to this dismal rocky formation in the first place; I would've flown away a long time ago! Although, with how much effort it took to learn to use my magic, I might've crashed back to the soil the moment I had tried to fly. The Super Mario Bros. game over tune would have played, and I'd woken up in my bed, angry and disappointed at myself for being so eager to fly that I had forgone testing my wings in the safe environment of my home. Feeling boredom settle in again, I was about to attempt a new pose when something hit me. Just a little tap at the end of my muzzle. Soon came another tiny tap on my back, then another, as well as several tiny taps around me. A quick glance at my general area revealed small discolorations on the rock, with more appearing every passing second. “Rain?” I presented and answered my question simultaneously. I gazed skywards with incredulity and received more confirmation in the form of water landing on my lips. In no dream that I knew of had it ever rained. A mischievous drop fell into my eye and I grunted, turning my head down. I lifted my limb to rub at the stricken photoreceptor, but the appearance of a hard extremity before my unharmed eye made me abort the instinctive action. Resourcefully, I discovered a softer area behind my hoof and used that to treat my closed eye instead. 'Pastern'—that word throbbed in my head as I gazed at my . . . pastern. Funny how the mind digests concepts and words unconsciously, then spits them out at a whim. My headache still throbbed, although it had subsided greatly by now. In regard to the natural phenomenon, my coat would provide protection from the chilly autumn rain, but for how long? What would happen once my coat's integrity was compromised? Under normal circumstances—as ridiculous as that sounded—I'd begin to freeze; however, this being a dream, I had no idea if it applied here as well. I guess only time could tell. Under the belief that minimizing contact with open air and the rain would reduce the feeling of the theorized loss of warmth, I lay prone on my mossy mattress. To further ensure my body heat would be contained, I pulled my legs close to my body. Then I waited, and waited, and waited. The light drizzle turned to a heavier downpour, and the world became darker. My forelock, heavy from the water, drooped over my eyes. I waited some more. What else could I do? The consistent bombardment eventually whittled down my coat's defenses, and the cold water began to withdraw body heat from me. My fascination with experiencing rain in a dream wore off entirely. “I'd appreciate a team of weather pegasi about now,” I hoped half-jokingly, wiping my drenched forelock out of my face. I had begun to shiver, and I became concerned that I'd truly wake up if this discomfort became severe. I speculated that I had kicked off my blanket in my sleep, and the resulting loss of the warm pocket of air was now being reflected in my dream. “Okay, you can cancel the rain now,” I complained to my disassociated side. “It's not funny, and I mean it. Those odd memories and the things you made me say, somepony and the likes, they were within acceptable limits, but you're seriously pushing your luck now.” A cranial knock to the rock would beam me out from this dream. Leaping down into the river would garner the same result. The gradients were impossible to climb, at least for a pony. My only feasible option was to wait. “So, what's the fun in this?” I dourly asked my overlording subconscious, who had beset me with the dissatisfactory conditions of my limited playing field and this troublesome precipitation. “I'm freezing here. Get that? Freezing. Trembling. In a dream. Are you trying to prove a point with this? Because if you are, it's entirely lost on me. Or is this retribution for my calling you a jerk? For your information, I don't regret that remark.” My forelock continued to soak up water and slipped back over my eyes. I felt as if I was enveloped in a freezing, irremovable, waterlogged, and encompassing rug. The coldness bore into my bones like drills made of ice. I wasn't in pain, but my discomfort was extreme, and I had no way to alleviate it. I felt absolutely awful, and I wouldn't allow it to last for a minute longer. I had to do something. I fumbled with my forehooves to push my soaked hair out of my vision. Hooves being hooves, and the hair being more soaked than before, my shivering and bad mood further compounded on me, and I found it troublesome to displace the bangs. After a few poor attempts, I groaned in exasperation and tossed my head up. My forelock folded haphazardly onto my head, and I had a clear vision of the world again. I possessed a fury that mixed into my trembling but gave me no warmth. What it did give me was absolute bravado. “That's it!” I shot up onto my legs, yelling at the sky. “I've had enough! I wouldn't think it would come to this, but I! Am! Leaving!” I emphasized my message with fierce hoof stomps. Peering at the darkened realm, I saw the contours of the river. Fueled by seething determination, I began to propel myself towards the body of water. I was actually galloping, but I paid little attention to how I was managing it. My fears had been quelled by the burst of rage, and I launched myself over the precipice. As soon as my legs left the solid ground, my rational side reasserted its place in my consciousness, and my fury dimmed. Regret. Sadness. That was what I felt. So many things I still desired to experience. It had been, despite all the problems and hardships, a very fascinating journey. I wish it hadn't ended like this. My gallop hadn't even been all that impressive; I'd barely managed to clear the edge of the embankment with my leap. A splash—everything became dark and all sounds were muted. I was floating with nothing under my hooves and feeling unusually peaceful. The water was chilly and surrounded me on all sides, but I wasn't trembling anymore. I held my breath, waiting to be thrown out from . . . wait? Oh no! Instinctively, I began to push water with my limbs. I had no idea how to swim as a pony, and that only made my fear grow more severe. I had to find the surface, the bottom, anything in the lightless void that I could use to regain my bearings. The little oxygen I had stored in my lungs was depleting at an alarming rate. Bubbles were flowing out from my nostrils as my diaphragm began to relax, and I was afraid that my dream was getting the last laugh by forcing me to suffer a very authentic drowning. My heart was racing and my mind was consumed by fear, but I wasn't waking up! If I hadn't been underwater, I would have screamed in horror. I was spinning in every direction when my hind hooves finally touched something hard. Instilling a speck of rational thought, I brought my second set of hooves onto the solid boundary; then, I launched myself in the opposite direction from what I sincerely hoped was the river floor. As I journeyed through the liquid, my throat convulsed for a split second, and I breathed a small amount of water. A strange warmth and peace descended into me. My scared heart joined the tranquility, and I ceased my struggling. Maybe drowning wouldn't be as bad as I had feared it to be. How about that? Air. I breathed air; my head had popped above the surface, and my instincts did their task valiantly. I coughed water, frantically pumping my legs in a dire attempt to keep me from slipping back underneath the rippling river. My forelock had again fallen to obstruct my vision; a brisk shake took care of that issue. The opposite river bank was perhaps two dozen meters away, not tall and not too steep, laced with moderately-sized rocks and exposed soil—definitely climbable. My paddling soon found a rhythm, and it became easier to swim, but I gave it no thought. My goal was simple, and my eyes were locked on the inviting safety of rocks and grass. As I neared the boundary of water and earth, my bliss became stronger, ushering my fear of water to the sidelines. “I can't believe it!” I said, laughing. “I can't believe I made it!” My hooves touched the soft soil a few meters before the shore. “I survived the fall!” My swimming transitioned to a lively gait. “A second chance at my dream!” I planted my legs on the earthen gradient and began to ascend the moderate slope. “It's so unbelievable, I could just cheer to my heart's content!” I reached a rock just beneath a protruding part of the meadow and lunged up to plant my forelegs on it. “I think I'll actually do that once I- WHOA!” The brittle soil I had placed my forelegs on crumbled as I placed my weight upon it, leading me to slip off my legs . . . “Oooff!” . . . and slam hard onto a large rock, knocking the wind out of me. With my balance lost, I tumbled back down into the river, where I lay resting sideways and partially submerged. Dazedly, I picked myself up and trudged up to the meadow. “Ah-oww,” I moaned as I came to a secure stop on the grass, my wits coming back along with an unpleasant sensation on my barrel. “I hope I didn't break a rib,” I continued as I timorously twisted and arched my back, trying to diagnose my pain. When I didn't feel anything poke at my skin or innards, I surmised I had sustained nothing worse than a nasty bruise. Before I could retrieve my joy, something dreadfully alarming dawned on me. I had felt pain. Not discomfort, but pain. Authentic pain! If that . . . then . . . I . . . No! It couldn't be! It was impossible! This was supposed to be impossible! I . . . It . . . No . . . Oh no . . . Oh no! NO! I couldn't lose it! “Come on! I can deal with this!” I began to reassure myself in desperation. “Just because this is real doesn't mean it's permanent! I can't think like that! This could be over in a few hours!” My voice began to fade in tandem with my declining hope. “Or a couple days, or in a week . . . a month . . . a year . . . never be over . . .” I trailed off, and an unimaginable bleakness enveloped my mind. Every bone, nerve, and tissue turned against me. I didn't want them! I didn't want to be in this body! I wanted out! I had to escape! Run! Flee! HELP! “No! I can't panic! It doesn't solve anything! I can't escape this no matter how hard I try! I just have . . .” My voice began to shatter. “To accept it . . . consider the worst . . . could be . . . forever . . .” I whimpered and . . . and . . . I feared so horribly. The panic, I was succumbing to it . . . NO! I couldn't allow it to win! “I refuse to submit! I won't panic!” I yelled, my voice wavering in terror. My eyes were layered with tears and my entire being was shaking, but behind it all, I was fighting tooth and nail. “I can calm myself! Be rational! Fight it! I can fight the panic! Defeat it! Crush it! Eradicate it!” Defiance began to crease my lips into a fierce grin. “Yes! I can fight this! I can win! I won't lose to the pitiful panic! Ha-ha! I laugh in its face! I won't take this lying down! I will prevail! I'm a strong girl! I can- What the hay!” I froze. I had called mys- . . . It made no sense! It made no sense! I . . . I couldn't breathe . . . I HAD TO ESCAPE! “AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!”

Suomibrony

435

Original Character,Human,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

First Pony View

Some dreams you might never want to end… …but what happens when the dream really doesn't?

incomplete

<p>Have you ever had a dream that just seemed so <i>real</i>, that it was impossible to say for certain that it was even a dream at all? A dream that, despite all of its impossibilities, seemed to re-write your entire perception of reality, re-writing your sense of what—and indeed, <i>who</i>—you are? Accepting change is hard enough as it is. But when you're a <span style="color:#808000">somebody</span> who wakes up as a <span style="color:#6495ED">somepony</span>, how do you cope with the impact such a drastic change has on your mind and body? With changes like these, it must surely just be a lucid dream—albeit a suspiciously <i>accurate one</i>—just brimming with potential and ripe for exploration. So you might as well suck it up and make the most of these distressingly…unusual circumstances, and seize this <span style="color:#008000">psychological adventure</span> before you wake up and the dream ends.<br/>After all, this couldn't possibly be real, so the dream must come to an end eventually…right?</p>

teen

2012-06-09T11:47:21+00:00

2018-04-02T05:55:59+00:00

First Pony View A My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic fan fic By Suomibrony Chapter 7. The Unforgiving Reality Ensued Terror . . . Heart racing . . . it hurt . . . I wailed incessantly . . . Ran . . . Fell . . . Got up . . . Ran . . . Fell . . . Got up . . . Repeated . . . over . . . and over . . . Tried to flee from myself. I wailed . . . until I couldn't . . . I ran . . . until I couldn't . . . Twisting and kicking . . . desperately tried to tear my body asunder . . . Failed . . . Collapsed. I couldn't escape . . . Crying. I couldn't stop crying. I tried to wake up . . . I wanted to wake up . . . I just wanted to wake up . . . I tried so hard . . . The pain I had brought on myself didn't end my nightmare . . . I didn't wake up . . . The horrible fear tormented my heart. The immeasurable emotional anguish wasn't ending my trauma. Being a pony was supposed to be a fascinating experience . . . With no escape it was horrifying . . . Every nerve told me I was a pony . . . I knew it . . . but I didn't want to know it! Tried to stop knowing . . . Couldn't stop knowing . . . I was trapped . . . Trapped . . . in a pony . . . Alone . . . Helpless . . . Had to fight it . . . Had to survive the deranging stress. Not become a filly . . . Scared . . . Filly . . . Scared filly . . . Ignore it . . . Ignore myself . . . Ignore . . . a filly . . . Ignore . . . Ignore . . . Ignore! Ignored . . . I didn't want to be scared . . . I didn't want this . . . Every nerve told it over and over and over now. Small form . . . The hooves . . . The moving ears . . . Hair everywhere . . . Pony . . . Tearful . . . fearful breaths . . . through my larynx . . . Female's larynx . . . Filly . . . Nothing I could do . . . Only try to ignore it . . . Ignore it . . . Ignore being a filly . . . A crying filly . . . So difficult . . . Impossible . . . Too many things had changed, couldn't ignore any of them . . . Why . . . ? Why had I become this? A pony . . . Female . . . Why? Why? Why, why, why, why, why? I wanted to know why . . . Body told me. A pony. All the time. Never stopped. Never! It didn't stop . . . Why couldn't it stop? I had to ignore it. Not listen. Ignore! Ignore . . . Was so difficult to ignore . . . I couldn't. Every nerve told me . . . pony. Down there . . . its absence told me . . . Female . . . I felt sick knowing that . . . Sad and sick . . . I didn't want to be this! I didn't . . . I wanted everything to be restored! I wanted peace to be restored . . . I wanted to become numb . . . Too cold . . . Too upset . . . No, I had to stop this. I had to collect myself! Be strong like a . . . Why had I said that to myself? Why? I wasn't . . . No, I didn't want to remember that! I had been stressed and still was. So wrong . . . Everything was so wrong . . . I could find peace. Could manage not to be numb and upset. I had to focus, try to piece something together. Where was I? I had no idea. Rain, darkness, and tears obscured my vision. The ground felt hard, uneven . . . What had occurred? I had panicked, and after that, all had been an incomprehensible blur, but now . . . now . . . I . . . Maybe I would be listened to . . . ? I was still sobbing . . . hearing a female in my throat twist every sound I made . . . I felt terribly discouraged from talking . . . but maybe . . . I wasn't alone? Maybe there was salvation for me? “P-please . . . help me . . . I d-don't w-want this n-no m-more . . . I j-just want out . . . I just . . . P-p-please, I w-want to know . . . It's all I ask f-for . . . t-the only t-thing . . . I w-want to know . . . t-the only thing I wish . . . How . . . how t-to g-get out . . . p-please . . . h-help m-m-me . . . h-h-help . . . I-I'm b-begging, p-please . . . I-I d-don't want t-to be a f-f-filly . . . Help . . . me . . . t-turn me b-back into a guy . . . P-please . . . help . . .” The rest of my plea were whimpers . . . The same female that had spoken in my stead was now sobbing pitifully . . . I was sobbing pitifully . . . I waited. Waited some more. Then even more. I waited so long that a form of sensibility reinstated itself. Maybe it was only a minute, but it might've as well been an hour. There came no help, no answer, and no comfort. I received nothing but cold misery in the form of the interminable downpour. I was utterly scared and alone. Desperately, I began to writhe in a final attempt to break out from my prison, grunting and squeaking tearfully all the while. It was all in vain. There was no escape. The utterly heartrending anguish consumed me again, and I resigned myself back to the role of a shriveling, miserably sobbing heap. Every audible sound coming from me consisted of pain, even as it inflicted more upon me. This wasn't what I sounded like! This wasn't what I looked like! I wasn't a pony, I wasn't female! . . . But every little spasm and sob reminded me of the precise and desponding facts of my transformed body. Wishing nothing more than total peace from myself, I gradually became silent and unmoving. Even my tongue was centered in my mouth, where it couldn't contact my teeth and divulge my lack of cuspids to me. I concentrated on the pressure my clenched teeth were exerting on each other. For a moment, I found mild comfort in this since the shape of my mouth was surprisingly human-like. Alas, I quickly recalled that stallions had a long angular muzzle, whereas mares had a significantly smaller rounded snout, the inner shape of the mouth not far removed from a human's. My tongue acted independently and inquisitively for a second, sadly confirming the assumption I had made. It didn't make an iota of difference whether my quick analysis on pony mouths was wrong or not. The irony of discovering the human-like feature in the body of an Equestrian mare shattered my self-deception and fragile tranquility like they were hollow eggshells, and the resulting outflow of tears was veiled by the rain. I was alone, lost, and beside myself with despair and horror. Grains and stones were digging into my hide, and the sky was pouring chilling water over me, but those hardly registered in me anymore. They were insignificant annoyances that hardly matched the cerebral torture my morphed body incurred. I had no will to move. No will to do anything. No will whatsoever. Lying flat like a carcass, I stared fixedly at nothing, drawing somber breaths. Was this how I'd go out? As a female animal? Life cut short before I even got close to achieving my dreams and aspirations? No matter how horrible and untimely my death would be, I always imagined there would be remains to use as identification. A body to bury. A funeral to be held. Mourning relatives. Now, I was an alien being, and my DNA was probably out of this world. Literally. I was unidentifiable. I was effectively a missing person. Was I even a person? Alive or not, if I was seen by my parents, I'd be as unrecognizable to them as I was to myself. I wished they were here with me, though. Helping me, comforting me, protecting me and loving . . . or maybe they wouldn't. Could I wish such horror on them and humiliation on me? Would they believe me? I, stuck as a petite pony, claiming to be their son? Would I believe it myself if I were in their place? Even if they were convinced, could they defend me from the world? How long would it take until they'd slip up, inadvertently but inevitably sealing my fate as some lab project? What if they could manage to successfully conceal me from the public eye? I'd probably be confined indoors for the rest of my life, my future all but ruined. Would I always be their son? Would they disown me if the secret of what I was proved too hard to maintain? What would I do? Live in the seclusion of a forest, reluctantly obeying my survival instincts and adapting to a new life? Life as an animal? Eating berries, leaves, and grass? Would I even survive the winter? Freezing and starving, I'd succumb to fatigue, weeping until my last breath. Why did I even bother to run these scenarios in my mind? I couldn't live as a pony regardless. Not as a filly. I had no future as one. No. This would be my final day. That was all I needed to know. Gradually, the rain took its toll on me, and complex thoughts became more and more difficult to abet. I considered it a fortune because it was easier for my devastated self to simply exist instead of being pensive. The rain continued, and the darkness finally became total. Maybe took an hour. Did it matter? I did nothing and now I saw nothing. The surrounding void was no match to mine. For some unfathomable reason, my heart kept beating. Couldn't it just quit it? Maybe a wild animal would come to slay me? I was defenseless, had no will to fight. Easy prey. Why wasn't an animal finding me? It would hurt a little, but then I'd be granted peace. Why wasn't I succumbing to the cold? My unwanted body was still here. I could feel it shiver. I could feel the rain pelt it. Striking the two things on my head. I had no shelter to give them from the rain, and they twitched involuntarily under the harassment of the incessant droplets. It didn't hurt, but I wept again for a fierce want to forget my bodily horror. Why couldn't the cold show me mercy and grant me ultimate peace by making me numb? Then, I saw a gleam. It vanished, then came back. The pattern continued. It was distant, but with each appearance it was nearing. I recognized it. Two lights. Close to each other. Illuminating a path. Shifted towards me. It was on a road. I realized something. I was on a road, too. The thing grew brighter. We were on the same road. I thanked the guiding force for this merciful meeting. Finally, I'd get my peace. A little bump, and then the suffering would be over. The lights were the keys to my prison cell, keys to my eternal peace, the light at the end of my dark tunnel. It would be over. The pain. The sorrow. The fear. The joys. The hopes. My life. All over. My aspiration since I was a kid. Gone, too. It was directly ahead now. We would meet soon. I wasn't scared anymore. Just a few more meters, then afterlife. I wished a Cessna 172 waited for me there . . . Never got to pilot one. Didn't even get to flight school. Worked to gather the money. To one day be free from the bonds of earth itself. Me and the plane . . . together we'd be one. The perfect bliss, and now I'd never . . . My greatest dream. Forever unattainable. The greatest joy I had ever wanted to experience . . . I cried. . . The lights were so bright now that I could barely look at them. I had to force my eyes open, but the whiteness was soon to overwhelm my efforts. Never had headlights been so bright. It was like staring at the sun, but I wanted keep my eyes open. Witness my final second. ‘Dad. Mom. I'm sorry . . . My friends. I'm so sorry . . . Jim. I'm so very sorry . . . that I'll be forever gone . . . Please, always remember me . . .’ No . . . No, no, no! No afterlife . . . No Cessna . . . No mercy. Instead, a short symphony of displacing gravel . . . It didn't come. It came so close, but it didn't come. It had been so close. My freedom from this torment, my final wish, and my only reason to feel joy. It had been coldly denied. Two rectangles in a sideways world . . . interlocked rings in between the beaming eyes of the impassive machine. I knew that emblem . . . It was supposed to be my passport to a better existence . . . Through the rain and purring of an internal combustion engine, I heard a few steps. Whoever it was had. . . Wait . . . No, I couldn't be seen as this! I had to get up and flee, but . . . I couldn't. I was so utterly defeated, so scared of the bodily terror that had befallen upon me that I was paralyzed. Besides . . . this wasn't a situation that I could run from. Whoever had found me crossed into the brightness and graced me with tangible warmth. The minor joy of receiving heat in the cold was immediately destroyed by the ever-present discomfort of my alien shape and the looming fear of it being dissected by morally depraved scientists. “Thank God, you're breathing! I thought you were dead.” He was worried. Relieved. Why? Why couldn't I be dead? I couldn't be seen as this. “Are you okay? Can you move?” I wasn't okay. Spiritless to move. What was he scheming to do to me? “Just my damn luck! The one day I forget my cell phone at home, this happens!” He was lucky; I wasn't. Who would he call? Did it make any difference who he'd call? I was doomed regardless. If only I had met my end under the wheels of the car . . . “Can you hear me?” I could hear him. Why was he lifting my head? “You don't look too good.” No, I didn't. I didn't look like myself. I didn't want to be seen as this. So little light, yet his unshaven face was shining with concern. Why? “Don't you worry one bit, I won't leave you here.” Why couldn't you? Why did you pick me up? I should've tried to run, but I didn't want to. Not as this. I couldn't be seen as this. I didn't like being carried either. A fragment of pride protesting . . . Dry, soft and warm—I had been placed on the rear seat of the car. My new environment was of little consolation. The car began to move. “My home's not far away, so I'll take you there, and then I'll call for help. You'll be fine soon, I promise.” No, I wouldn't be fine. I couldn't be seen as this. Why call for help? What was he planning to do to me? Was he good-natured? Was he saving me? Was he lulling me into a false sense of safety? He talked to me, asked questions. He sounded worried and serious, but I was absolutely inattentive to what he said and made no reply. Music was playing softly. I listened to it fixedly. Recognized a song. Breaking The Chains by Dokken. The solo was good. It helped me a little. Very little. I continued to listen to music, but grievous threads were spiraling around my heart and upset it every time I did something—anything—related to my irremovable form. My acceptance . . . No. The tolerance I had for this body had shattered, and I was so focused on keeping myself together that I was having a hard time thinking straight. If I lost myself again . . . I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't be seen doing that. I couldn't be seen as this . . . He had said soon, and more songs played, but time was being tardy for me. Only by paying attention to the music did I know time was progressing at a seemingly normal rate. With my body temperature climbing back to nominal levels, my senses started to return to me, and I came to earnestly wish I was in a sensory deprivation tank. It didn't matter how I aligned my limbs; they told me exactly what they were. I missed my fingers. Their nonexistence wouldn't leave me alone. It was like pain, but not quite. A numb agony. I didn't even want to think about them. If only it were so easy . . . I had to pound my mind with thoughts to keep myself on the calmer side, but like a piston in an engine, my thoughts quickly rotated back to my horrible situation. Perhaps it was only right that they did. I still wanted this to be a dream, because then this could end somehow. Painlessly. I just wanted to wake up, in my bed, with everything okay. I had read a fair share of fictional stories and seen movies where transformation occurred during sleep. Never did I imagine it'd happen to me. How could I have? Why would I ever prepare for the impossible? This was impossible. Something like this doesn't just happen. So . . . how could this be possible, then? What had made all this possible? I wanted to know. Then . . . there was something persistent . . . An overwhelming, repeating feeling: I couldn't be seen as this. Why? What was so wrong about this? Why couldn't I be seen as this? Because it was dangerous to be a pony. Correction: used to be. Presently, the possibility of the unimaginable horror of becoming a lab animal had been reduced. At worst, it had only been postponed. Though trivial in comparison to the real hazard, this was utterly wrong . . . It was wrong for me to be of this configuration. I was tragically and unjustly encased in this unbreakable shell. I couldn't be seen as it. As this. As a . . . a female. A much more potent and emasculating word existed to describe this extremely distorted version of myself. Female was somewhat of a neutral word . . . or maybe not . . . It was nonetheless a degrading, undesirable, and unfair title which I had not requested and had no available means to remove . . . and the irremovability of my status threatened to force tears from my eyes. I didn't want to be a female pony! Yet, here I was, mysteriously transformed into one, without the faintest clue on how to turn back into whom I used to be, and I feared that I was now doomed to this miserable life. How had this happened to me, and why? I just wanted to know the answers. Answers that a stream of tears couldn't hope to grant me. Pony or female? I didn't know which hurt me more. Frightened me more. Crying about it was so wrong, so unmanly . . . but it was the only comfort I had to offer myself. Not even shielding my eyes with my arms could accomplish that pertinent task, what with them . . . being covered in soft fur . . . possessing delicate skin . . . Like that of a female . . . They weren't my arms! I didn't want to be a filly! I'd never wish to be a female! Not even a pony. I didn't wish for anything . . . and I almost began to cry openly. My life was ruined. Of course, I would cry about that, but I still tried to save face. Only the recurring sniffles dared to reveal my grief. Wishing to forget the reality of my insufferable condition, the music again became my sole focus. Rock songs, most of which I didn't recognize. Didn't make a difference, though. The music permitted me to be quite ignorant of my flesh and future; that was what made the difference between drowning in my own lachrymosity and holding my head barely above the surface. Time passed. Was it minutes? Hours? Years? No, only five barely familiar songs had played to their conclusion when the car stopped and became quiet. The music, the engine, and even the driver were quiet. Without music to focus on, my attention shifted to the door handle instead. Not long after, the voice of a somewhat fraught male drifted into my ears . . . “Alright, here's the plan: I'll take you into my home and call you a doc ASAP. I don't know if you're seriously injured or not, but I hope to God you aren't.” . . . my strange, sensitive, disturbingly flexible ears. Why did they have to turn? I didn't want them to do that! I didn't want to know this body . . . Didn't want it . . . It wasn't even possible to mentally escape from my bodily horror, was it? A few feeble and futile attempts, sure, but I was too easily pulled back into the quagmire of misery. Wait, what? Call me a doctor? Now I was truly doomed. The doctor would probably knock this guy out cold or worse, then take me to wherever I'd then serve as a most extraordinary research subject. The guy muttered something indiscernible under his breath, but I didn't open my mouth to ask what; I had nothing but sorrow queuing within my throat. A door opened nearby, then after it closed, I had a short moment in solitude. Not that it granted me anything remotely positive. When the door before me opened, I didn't look into his eyes. If he hadn't known I had shed tears with shameful abundance, he did now. Softly spoken but useless words of consolation slinked into my tormented mind, followed by two arms and hands swiftly but gingerly taking me from the warm and gray out to the cold and dark. I was so light and small now that it was of no trouble for him to support me in his arms. Gazing at the ground beneath me, I struggled to evict the thoughts related to my form and future. Thoughts were controllable. Sadly, nerves were not, but at least I could try not to devote a thought to them. The meandering path of concrete tiles embedded in the lawn scrolled beneath me as I was transported to his abode. Concrete changed to a parquet floor, then finally to white ceramic tiles, whereupon I was laid down with care. “Okay, you rest easy here while I fetch my phone and return in a second,” the unknown male told me as I resumed my sprawled-out-like-a-starfish stance. “I really hope you aren't wounded or ill,” he reiterated before he sighed, then left in an apparent hurry. Really? Care for my health and then invite another human here? Maybe I still had a chance, though? As difficult it was to admit, my shape had adorable facial features. Perhaps I could use it to persuade the doctor to obey his professional confidentiality and extend my life . . . Life as a forever imprisoned female pony? I sighed; I had only bad choices ahead of me. I began to lethargically survey my location. The slightly rectangular white-tiled room was a bathroom with an inbuilt bathtub occupying a corner on the longer left-side wall. A small assortment of haircare bottles was perched on a glass shelf above the bathtub. To the left of the shelf and tub was a grooved door. Probably a sauna there. Opposite that door was another ajar door. The right wall was closest to me, a shower affixed to it ostensibly far above me. Resting my head back on the ceramic underlay, I continued to cling intently to the tiny tranquility I had discovered from inspecting the room. Alas, I started to shiver. Not due to a cold. An extreme fear. Unprecedented form of claustrophobia, I hastily assessed. That tremendous fear demanded all of my mental strength to keep myself from falling prey to it. I knew it wouldn't help me at all if I did waver, but a significant part of me desired to scream in complete terror under the illogical belief that I could tear myself free from my transmogrified body by twisting and kicking forcibly enough. Again . . . The Caucasian male rushed back and crouched down. “Check for injuries? I'm not sure I know how to do that,” he said with doubt both in tone and expression, followed by barely discernible speech emitting from his cell phone. He nervously licked his lips, frowning as he regarded me, then closed his index finger and thumb across his mustache before setting his hand on his knee. “Okay, I'll try to do my best. Help is on the way, right? Good.” He sighed, seemingly having second thoughts about what he was about to do. Understanding what was about to come, I hoped he'd hesitate forever to inspect me and order the "help" to go away. Alas, he then did exactly what I feared by placing a pair of fingers on my upper arm. Gingerly, he started to press my skin, moving methodically and slowly towards the end of my limb. Unwilling to look at my appendages, I fought behind tightly closed eyelids to preserve my brittle composure when my extremely distressed mind was directly informed of the encompassing layer of excess hair and the hide underneath. When he reached the border of the soft skin and hard keratin, the sensory feed became too cumbersome to bear, and I withdrew my limb. I winced lengthily, both at what had instigated me to move my limb and suppressing an excruciating discomfort when an instinct to fold five digits into my palm informed me there were only one and none. “Does it hurt?” the man wondered with justifiable concern. My response was to swiftly resile the limb to its least troubling posture. Only now did I notice I was hyperventilating. Quickly, I embraced the disappearing traces of peace remaining in myself, and not a second too late. There were no broken bones in me, only the tormented shards of a broken spirit, though I would've gladly traded the latter for the former. Bones would heal over time, but mental trauma could be forever. “I can't be sure, but it could be that . . . I see. How long? Okay . . . I'll stay on the line until he arrives,” he talked to his phone. Allegedly, some kind of medical aid was on the way. It wouldn't help me. It couldn't help me. What I needed was something much more urgent and integral: my original body. I wanted out from this highly undignified and frightening frame, but I didn't know how to leave. That was my agonizing wound, and no plaster, no suture, and no antibiotic would heal it. The pain was so grievous that I was constantly on the verge of tears. I was fearing for my life in more ways than one. I didn't want to die in a lab, but I didn't want to live in the secrecy of some guy's home, either. “Hey? You feeling okay?” he asked. It was a calmer tone now, probably meant to relax me as much as it was to relax him. Such a noble but wasted effort in my case. “Lets try to chat about something," he suggested, sounding like he was trying to mask his unease with a dose of friendly unconcern. "I heard it helps relieve stress. I'm Marcus Lundvik. Strange surname, I know, but that's what I get when my mother married a Swede, and I'm not talking about the vegetable.” He chuckled at his own remark, but I was miserably immune to his mirth. “Anyway, I'm thirty-four, I've lived in this little town since the age of five, and I work in retail. Furniture, to be precise. I get a nice employee discount both there and in the cafeteria.” A silence followed, myself doing nothing more than stare at the far wall. “So . . . how about you?” Unthinking and unmoving, I gazed at the seams between the tiles in another desperate attempt to bathe myself in ignorance of the surreal reality I was in. Here, my life was all but a nightmare come true, and he gives a quick summary of his own life? This truly was a nightmare, then! He didn't even care that I was a pony! The crouching furniture salesman—who had tried to comfort me with his deceitful hospitality—shifted on his bent legs as he waited for . . . I didn't even care. Half of his attention was on me, the other half on the phone he held to his ear. Presumably. I didn't care to find out. “You . . . don't want to talk?” His lax tone didn't adequately mask his underlying concern any longer. No, I didn't want to contribute to the chit-chat! I didn't want to hear the voice belonging to this body. I simply waited. For what, I truly didn't know. Maybe the doctor would just . . . I didn't even know. I didn't even want to think anymore! I just wanted to be utterly ignorant of everything! “Hey, uh, you'll be fine, won't you?” the guy inquired, his concern back in gear. His hand found its way onto my back, displacing hair in his attempt to comfort me. I didn't want to know I had so much hair, and his gentle stroking of it was having the very opposite effect of his intentions. Underneath the hair and the skin resided a pair of lungs within a small ribcage, pumping fitfully small amounts of air. Between them was my anxious heart, frightened of the alien framework it was now sealed in and of surgical tools that would cut it open. Then, all the hairs on me began to bristle, and my jaw locked. The tremors of an anxiety attack were approaching . . . The doorbell's abrupt chime penetrated the room and thankfully called off the hand from mollifying me into a new panic attack. Maybe it should've. I could've had a chance to escape. To survive in the woods . . . for a few months . . . “Okay, I think he's here,” he said to the phone—or me—before he stood up. “I'll be back soon with good help in tow!” With my eyes still locked on the wall, glum silence was my reply, and I was left alone with myself again. Nothing particular ventured into my mind. Hoping to retain my tattered sangfroid to the last second, I was fully fixated on analyzing the mortar between the wall tiles for crumbs of willpower to repel an overwhelming anxiety. Moments later, I heard talking coming from beyond the room, the volume increasing in sync with their approach to my location. My attention converged on their chat. A distinct fear began to form in me. Just a few seconds left, and then my fate would be defined for good. “...to a hospital if I were you,” an unfamiliar male spoke in displeasure. “Sorry. I was all shot with nerves and did what I thought was for the best,” the recently introduced man defended himself apologetically. “Don't fret too much about it, sir,” came the reassuringly spoken reply. “Currently, I have a more important task at my hooves than concerning myself with a hopefully minor and forgivable misjudgement.” Wait . . . what? Hooves? Scantly had I formed a guess in my head when the answer literally stepped into my view and— OHMYGOSH! “Anyhow, time to do what I do best!” Wha— whoa! Were my deceiving eyes me? I mean, eyes me deceiving? I mean- that-that- NO! WAY!! Oh, my, oh my, ohmy, ohmyohmyohmyOHMY! A pony! A real, sand-yellow-coated pegasus pony, with wings and feathers, a slicked-back tangerine-orange mane, golden-yellow eyes, a green medkit with flared wings, and a white cross as a cutie mark, and there was a streamlined medical kit strapped to his back with a harness and and and . . . and . . . and everything! Whaaaooow! “Hold on a second, doc. Let me take that kit off for you.” I . . . I . . . I still didn't believe what was before me! Was he real!? If he was, then I'd be ecstatic, if I wasn't already! Wow! No, that was too weak! Woooow! No! Superwoooow! That was better! I-I . . . This was incredible! A real pegasus! “Thank you, sir.” This was astounding! A breathing, living, talking, sapient pegasus! Just like in the cartoon, but more real and more awesome! Now he was looking at me and smiling so kindly, too! Was I grinning? Was this real? This better be real! I'll tell all about this on Equestria Dai—! “May I say, dear miss, you sport quite the positive attitude in spite of the emergency I was informed of." I . . . W-w-what? Dear miss? I wasn't— ! . . . Oh no . . . I had . . . I had almost forgotten . . . and it hurt so much more to be told than to know that I . . . that I looked . . . was trapped as . . . I didn't want to be seen as a female . . . This was all too real . . .

Suomibrony

435

Original Character,Human,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

First Pony View

Some dreams you might never want to end… …but what happens when the dream really doesn't?

incomplete

<p>Have you ever had a dream that just seemed so <i>real</i>, that it was impossible to say for certain that it was even a dream at all? A dream that, despite all of its impossibilities, seemed to re-write your entire perception of reality, re-writing your sense of what—and indeed, <i>who</i>—you are? Accepting change is hard enough as it is. But when you're a <span style="color:#808000">somebody</span> who wakes up as a <span style="color:#6495ED">somepony</span>, how do you cope with the impact such a drastic change has on your mind and body? With changes like these, it must surely just be a lucid dream—albeit a suspiciously <i>accurate one</i>—just brimming with potential and ripe for exploration. So you might as well suck it up and make the most of these distressingly…unusual circumstances, and seize this <span style="color:#008000">psychological adventure</span> before you wake up and the dream ends.<br/>After all, this couldn't possibly be real, so the dream must come to an end eventually…right?</p>

teen

2012-06-20T09:05:40+00:00

2016-02-19T09:56:16+00:00

First Pony View A My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic fan fic By Suomibrony Chapter 8 Recovery Is Nothing Short Of Arduous “Is something wrong, miss? Did I offend you in some way? I'm sincerely sorry if I did.” The pony had a fairly cordial attitude, but he had inadvertently brought reality itself back onto me like a jet plane with retracted landing gears. With my blissful ignorance destroyed, I had dropped my head and eyelids, a lump in my throat eager to turn the smallest attempt to talk into shameful sobs. I didn't want to speak with the voice I had now, let alone hear it weep. Being ignorant of myself again seemed like such a good idea, but my silence was a robust chain that kept me from exposing the nature of my anxiety. “Are you injured?” the still astonishing equine worried. Supposing he meant physical injuries, I feebly shook my steeply inclined head. “Are you okay?” He continued, softly, after a brief pause: “You're shivering.” Of course I was shivering, and I definitely wasn't okay. I was a victim of some unknown event which had transmogrified me and . . . and taken me to a parallel plane of existence, too! What else could explain the presence of the pegasus? He was real. The scent of his damp coat inflowing to my nostrils was definitely real. The extremely frightening threat of a short and dismal life as a lab animal was most likely no longer real. That was a relief, though woefully inadequate to undo the stress of being an animal of the opposite sex. My want to flee from this body was fierce, and the despair of not knowing of a true solution was immeasurable. I wouldn't ever want to live as a female, and to be seen as one was an injustice against my very being. The inability to remove this guise kept me perpetually distraught. I wouldn't be half as upset if I had become a stallion. I had trouble breathing . . . “I can give you something for it, though.” Daring to uncover my eyes and glance at the source of the gently spoken suggestion, I saw the pegasus grab a narrow plastic tube from his medical kit and orient the equipment to be lengthwise in his mouth. He then lowered his head to place the opposite end of the tube close to my lips. I registered the unnervingly salient yet gracefully shaped snout of mine, from where my sights quickly traveled up the translucent tube back to the pegasus. A concerned frown was replaced with an encouraging smile as he gingerly prodded the device at my lips. A faint odor of disinfectant infiltrated my mouth when I instinctively curled my lips inwards to lick them. Uncaring of the consequences, I draped my lips around my end of the tube. The disinfectant stung in my mouth, but subsided quickly. From his end of the tube came a tiny snap, and something small rolled onto my tongue. The pegasus drew the tube from me with care and placed it on the floor. “It's diazepam, a muscle relaxant,” he explained. I glanced at the contraption. There was a small box with a switch on the end that had been in his mouth; apparently, it was a container and integrated release mechanism for the drug. “It also helps to combat anxiety and stress,” he continued to detail the effects of the medicine. Letting that information orbit in my head for a few seconds first, I swallowed the near tasteless pill without vigor. I was in a dire need of some form of peace, and if I had to ingest a drug to attain it, so be it. The pegasus appraised the sensibly silent man. “Sir, can you please dispose of this in my stead?” he requested affably, giving the tube a light prod with his forehoof. “It's recyclable,” he added, as if it was an afterthought. Marcus picked up the simple medical device as prompted, the pegasus thanking him before the red-tee-wearing man left the room. He wore a very dark blue jacket earlier, I recalled. “Hey, what about the two pegasi outside?” Marcus came back to the door, the contraption still in his hand. “Shouldn't they be with you?” “Oh, no,” the pony replied politely. “Medical Brace and Ampoule must always stand alert. If things start to look grim, I'll hit the alarm,” he gestured at the medkit where a bright red button was located conveniently on the inner side of the flipped-over lid, “to inform them they have a patient to deliver. Regrettably, the stretcher's too bulky to be taken indoors, but I'm pretty sure the young lady isn't in life-threatening danger.” The paramedic glanced at me with a tender smile. I had tried to ponder this harmony between ponies and humans, but the young cogitation was demolished by the things atop my head flopping down when their unwilling owner had been referred to as a female. The guy left, but I was temporarily so out of it that I failed to discern what he said. If I had just passed out completely . . . “Listen dear, I'll start by checking you for fractures and any signs of internal injuries. It shouldn't take more than a minute.” He had a smile on him that insinuated all would go well, but it dissipated momentarily when he took stock of my miserable expression. “Don't worry,” he said in caring tone. “I've never injured a patient.” Until he had addressed me with feminine pronouns, that is . . . Although in his defense, he was factually correct, and I wasn't collected enough yet to negate the obvious evidence. A dejected sigh passed through my nostrils, and my head rested itself on the floor in defeat. My best option was to wait for the medicine to take effect and dull my anxiety. In the meantime, it was up to me to keep myself together. I had to constantly tell myself not to bend my fingers . . . “Tell me to stop if you feel any pain.” Predicting what was coming, I wished to turn ethereal to preserve my physical immunity and frail tranquility. Unsurprisingly, a light prod on my arm proved those wishes false. Fighting a desire to scream in panic, I remained tense and immobile as the pony inspected me for injuries. He was very thorough, which didn't mitigate my unease. “Relax,” he reassured, probably noticing that my breaths had become shallow and irregular. “Everything looks fine.” I did my best to retain control as he methodically pressed his hooves on my arms. And shoulders. Neck. Ribs. Back. Hips—Wait NO! Everything in the room became a smudge of predominantly white colors in my vision as my limbs instinctively shot into uncoordinated action. Next thing I knew, I had crammed myself into a corner. Hyperventilating and heart beating against my ribcage, I had secured a shocked stare on the startled stallion. All the marvel I had for the unearthly pony became virtually nonexistent. Thankfully, I hadn't lost myself to a panic attack, though it had come very close. The light pressure he had exerted on me seemed to linger on my skin, addling my thoughts. However, the vortex of disorganized cogitations quickly coalesced to inform me of what had triggered my hasty move: I was naked! Unclothed! Exposed! So was he, and I was practically defenseless! Most alarmingly, he had set his hooves too close to where . . . things I never would've imagined possessing were! Ugh. My stomach knotted now that I had consciously taken note of the . . . parts, and he . . . he could've done something appallingly intrusive to them! No wait wait wait wait! That was an irrational and unwarranted conclusion. He wouldn't dare do that to me! Would he? We were naked, and momentarily alone, and he was a stallion, and sadly I wasn't, and there could be a possibility he'd bring out his primitive desires in full while I was utterly distraught and helpless! Of course that was a ridiculous and unfounded fear! The guy would've come to my rescue regardless of the pony's actions. I had to dismiss this nonsensical assessment of the winged paramedic doing something indecent to me. Ponies would never do something so detestable. They were kind beings and incapable of evil. I had to calm down, and dismiss the ludicrous supposition that insinuated otherwise! Dismiss, dismiss, dismiss . . . “I apologize, miss.” The pegasus got up onto his hooves, a sorry look on his muzzle. “My intention wasn't to upset you.” Meanwhile, the 'dismiss' in my head lost the three first letters but remained in its loop, playing a different, unsettling song. He brought a hoof to his chin, appraising me with a thoughtful expression. “Judging by your brisk skitter, motor control of your legs is ostensibly normal,” he mused pedantically with a scantly perceivable voice. “Although . . .” With caution on his face, he began to trepidly close the gap separating us, and the broken record in my head came to a sudden halt. “Since I believe you're not injured, can you tell me what troubles you?” Glancing at the open door behind the pony, who I hoped wasn't just putting on the airs of concern, I planned to bolt on a second's notice. “I'm not a psychologist, but I can listen to you nonetheless.” I knew it wasn't from him I had to escape but from my senseless suspicions. Alas, when the frowning stallion got the clue and sat down about a meter's distance from me, my less rational side began to instinctively push myself away. “Please, do not be afraid," he articulated softly with a somber glimmer in his golden eyes. "I only wish to help you.” I would have moved farther away if not for the unyielding wall tiles. They felt cold through . . . all the . . . this . . . wet . . . my . . . coat! I think . . . I was nearing the end of my rope . . . The pony . . . a predator . . . Stupid misconception! Away with you! I had to concentrate! Concentrate, concentrate, concentrate! A modicum of sensibility! I had to hold it tightly! “Listen closely, and try to relax,” the intrusively-close stallion said in an unmalicious voice, “I promise not to upset you.” Promise or not, I . . . I suddenly became aware of having . . . of not having hands. I couldn't feel the floor underneath my . . . the . . . hooves. A subdued sensation of the solidity beneath them transmitted through the horribly enlarged nails on my two remaining digits! Soft dermal tissue and perceptive nerves replaced by relatively insensitive mass of keratin! Dexterous digits numbering in five per appendage subtracted by four to one maladroit and disfigured mockery with an almost exclusive role of supporting my body! A mutated fingertip enveloped in its own oversized nail! NO! Stop! I had to stop the never ending over-analyzation before it ruined me! I had to calm myself, I could . . . just . . . If I could just . . . almost there, almost. Okay, at least a little. I had pushed back the tears and frightened scream that would've been the declaration of a panic attack. Now if I could erase it from my entire self, too . . . “Am I doing something wrong? I can't help you if I'm left in the dark,” the pony said, looking quite comfortless himself. The answer he waited for didn't come. “It goes against my judgment, but . . . if you wish, then just . . . tell me to go away.” Sadly, any thought I instigated refused to depart from my brain. Hence, I was in no capacity to clearly instruct him to back off. Desperate to reduce the excruciatingly troubling flood of nerve signals rushing in from my upper appendages, I tried to lift them off the floor, but I had to abort the attempt when I realized the two abhorrent digits truly were pertinent in supporting myself. Undeterred by the failure, I rested on my legs . . . my hind legs while leaning against the wall, folding my arms in front of me. It was awkward, but at least I was able to ignore my arms and their extremities. Both the pony and I were starting to relax. For a few seconds. Then, another unnerving sensation struck me, and my grimace almost returned. Wanting to distance myself from the perv- . . . perplexed pegasus, I had wedged my back and head into the corner. What was on my head was . . . They . . . they were now in contact with the wall. An invasion of new nerve signals cascaded from the undesired features into my strained brain, but I was powerless to retract my head from its position. Sights transfixed on the very close stallion, I was aware that I was instinctively but senselessly straining to put even more distance between us. Plus, I was fighting an onslaught of nerve signals running down from the two large things attached to my head. Suddenly, I found myself sitting on my behind, my hind legs unable to continue supporting me. Something was now underneath me, irritating . . . What was that I felt where my—? Oh, gross! I shuddered, cringed, tried to usher away the horrible feelings and mental imagery. I didn't want to know about those! I didn't want to think on what I was! Ears, hooves, naked. Female! If I could just have a minute free from all those, I could relax! A minute as myself to calm my swirling mental chaos. I wouldn't even mind a potent anesthetic. I just wanted an escape! Alas, it was a useless want. I had to rely on my tremendously frayed self and the slowly working medicine to rebuild my shattered tolerance and dispel my anxiety for good. Wishing for some breathing space or maybe even a moment alone, I tried to surmount the dislike I had for this body's voice and speak to the pitying but puzzled pegasus. It didn't go too well; I produced nothing more than tremulous, incomprehensible peeps which only further confused the frowning stallion. Now I knew exactly what was in store for me: the stress I contained was itching for a way out, and any attempt to talk again would open the ocular floodgates. Thus, the stallion, who was apparently contemplating on how to properly mollify me, remained too close to comfort. The male with a mustache and light beard returned, his expression reflecting some form of sadness as he saw me; I liked to think he empathized with my severe plight. “What's going on? Is she okay? She looks like she's been scared to death,” he wondered with concern as he came to stand by the pony. Just his height seemed to debase me further; he looked to be slightly above two meters tall. He received an uncertain but contrite glance from the pony, whereas I suffered the sound of "she" echoing in my head like an insult and enhancing the fierce desire I had to reject this body. The looping pronoun was shortly overshadowed by the . . . the wedged things on me. I had almost managed to forget them! I was finally able to remove my head from the wall by a slight margin, but the continuing existence of the two sound-catchers didn't cease to pester me. It was as though every heartbeat sent a potent sensory pulse through them and into my overstressed brain. The discomfort of the prominent features breached my already weakened cerebral defense lines like a hot knife through butter and started to exacerbate my terror. My tenuous tranquility—if I could even associate such a word to it—finally began to erode, each passing second increasing my stress on a logarithmic scale. I wasn't sure if the pegasus and human were conversing to each other or me; I wasn't paying much attention to them anymore. My focus was firmly set on trying to combat all the unnerving things related to my inescapable physiological condition, mostly on ignoring the two intolerable troublemakers on my head. They were incessantly agitating me. In fact, it seemed like any attempt to forget them only made things worse! I was in a vicious and inescapable cycle! They reacted to my every emotion, and I wanted them to stop! Stop being down-folded! Stop turning! Stop existing! I had to erase their insufferable presence! I wanted them to go away! I couldn't take them anymore! I had to get them off me but they were still there. I was trying to get rid of them, but I couldn't grab them my fingers weren't working I wanted them back it only made things worse I couldn't get the horrible ears off me I wanted them off me to get them off me GET THEM OFF ME!! “Stop!” A sobering yell struck my eardrums along with something quickly swiping my limb from my right ear. “What're you doing to yourself!?” a sand-yellow shape shouted in extreme concern, his hard extremities now on my shoulders. My vestiges of self-restraint failed almost instantly, and panic began to build up in me at an alarming rate as I stared at the pegasus in a silent plea for help. I had to chance it . . . I had to tell him why I . . . who I . . . But . . . whimpered . . . Almost sobbing . . . Grief and fright enveloping my frantically beating heart. I cringed, pushing the pony away . . . Felt my limbs, I saw my limbs . . . I wished to unsee them, unfeel them! I couldn't . . . The collapsed pony . . . His expression was impossible to discern . . . Everything was blurring. Everything in my body felt wrong. Everything was wrong, wrong, WRONG!! I couldn't . . . anymore . . . I had to . . . “AAAAAAAAAAHHH!!” Panic didn't come . . . like I had dreaded . . . Like I had expected. That blood curdling scream . . . sounded wrong . . . It broke me like I was frail glass . . . Small pile . . . Cried profusely . . . Tried to conceal the torrents . . . Sodded my arms in return . . . My hairy arms . . . The only fingers . . . felt wrong . . . Entire body felt wrong . . . The tears weren't helping . . . So dearly wished they did . . . I was inconsolable . . . Ignoring myself was impossible . . . I failed to mute the uncontrollable weeping . . . and it sounded so wrong . . . Not my voice . . . I didn't want to hear it . . . I didn't want to know what I was now . . . They saw me be like this . . . Saw me as this . . . The unfathomable misery . . . The humiliation and shame . . . The abject horror . . . The emotional ache in my heart . . . I wished for nothing more in the world than to escape from this prison . . . A button to press, a keyword to speak, a move to perform . . . Anything! As long as I could do it now! Please . . . Anything . . . I was scared . . . So scared . . . Please . . . help . . . “Hey . . . Don't cry . . .” A soft, caring whisper, by . . . I couldn't coax myself to open my eyes . . . but . . . I knew whose voice it was . . . Something slipped underneath me . . . raised me with care . . . as if I could be shattered again . . . Lamely I tried to resist . . . but I was limp . . . I was frail . . . Broken . . . Still crying . . . Then, a warmth radiated into me. Body heat. A fragrance of deodorant and an underlying but unexpected natural scent. His arms and hands wrapped over my neck and back. Mine were . . . I circled them around him on a compulsion. I supposed he was crouching, or kneeling . . . My legs were steadying me on the floor. Strange as it was, all of this didn't upset me. I felt a calmness, and though I didn't want to embrace him or be embraced by him . . . this felt so nice. Soothing. Safe. Nothing I had ever felt before compared to this. It was a sincere effort to console me, and the inflowing serenity that closed my tear ducts began to dilute the sorrow and agony coursing within me. Still, my breaths were irregular and weak, and I randomly hiccuped with a tiny squeak. “It's okay, it's okay,” he hushed, gently stroking the wet hair on my neck. That aspect . . . the mane and underlying coat . . . they bothered me . . . But not so much now that I was inside his aura of compassion. For the first time since the realization of my situation, I was actually relieved. Not through sheer amazement, as was the case when I saw the pegasus arrive. I was simply . . . starting to feel fine. Like an injured child comforted by a loving father. Odd comparison, but it seemed quite appropriate. I smiled lightly on the inside. I had only a few and distant memories of my dad consoling me like this. Funny. A stranger was comforting me more in a few minutes than my own parents and friends had in the past year. My friends were all about having fun, and while I wasn't estranged from my parents, I never brought up any of my life's serious issues with them, either. Didn't have many for that matter, but I was the type who toughed out my personal issues. By myself. Alone. I had finally achieved the freedom I sought when I moved into a house of my own last winter. Then, I turned into a loner. A perfectly content loner. I was more or less apathetic when it came to maintaining social connections. Seeking relationships was never of much importance to me. I was about as romantic as a pile of discarded toilet rolls, and I considered the shallow-minded pursuit of a fling detestable. I was satisfied with my existence as a solitary, self-sufficient, and free person. It was a fundamentally carefree existence. And now . . . I wanted this immensely soothing and pleasant embrace to never end, because . . . I felt very safe here, protected from the horror of my body. I didn't want to be alone. Startled by a lock of hair falling across my face, I opened my eyes lethargically. Just beyond the shoulder supporting my head was the sand-yellow pegasus, the open door and room beyond it serving as his backdrop. Through vision blurred by moisture on my corneas and partially obscured by hair, I deciphered his expression of a sincerely relieved and warm smile. I would've returned the gesture, but I was in no shape to do so. I momentarily thought of withdrawing from the compassionate embrace to profess that I was perfectly fine now, but that would have been an absurd lie conceived by my pride. Had I heeded that unwise advice, it would've lead to disaster on account that I hadn't reconciled with this highly unfamiliar version of myself. So, as reluctant as I was to consider it, I had no smarter choice but to fit into this strange skin. My eyes fell shut, and I began to take deep breaths, partially hindered by clogged nostrils. Much welcomed tranquility circled into me regardless. I had to take this unique moment to deal with undeniable facts, though. Cautiously, I parted hairs off my face with the backside of my extremity—the pastern, I recalled—before replacing my appendage around Marcus' and drawing more resolve from his immediate presence. For the time being, I was a pony. A . . . a filly . . . or a young mare . . . and sadly, I wasn't bestowed with the power to change that. However, I had a new plan for my future: I'd return home, where I'd search for clues, find a lead . . . Discover the answers to why and how this had happened to me, and those in turn would provide the solution that I desperately needed. Hopefully . . . Hope for the best, prepare for the . . . the . . . No, please, not that . . . Please . . . Tears welled again behind my eyelids, and my mournful sigh ended with a tiny whimper and a sniffle. A gentle caress mollified me, giving me the strength to cease my sobbing before it had the chance to begin anew. Nonetheless, I had an incalculably bitter pill to swallow: the likelihood of my form being permanent was possible, and I had to prepare for that. From the bottom of my heart, I hoped it wasn't. “I hope you're feeling better,” the pony finally broke the silence. “Can you now tell us the cause of your anxiety?” he queried quietly, as if fearful he'd break me with his voice alone. I glimpsed at him, and his eyes shone with profound concern in contrast with his smile. Still too miserable to say a word—not even able to confirm his assumption with a nod—I tried to communicate with my eyes alone. But I knew that wouldn't really work. “You were devastated, and I'm still worried for you. I've dealt with severe physical injuries . . . but I don't have the training for psychological trauma.” He let out a long sigh before whispering glumly to the floor, “But now I wish I did . . .” I considered this body a very severe physical ailment. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do for me. That was another harsh truth; presently, this really was my body. It was my fuzzy drying coat, my four legs with hooves at their ends . . . My flexible ears, my . . . visible snout . . . my . . . my . . . That . . . The . . . fallopian tubes! Ugh . . . Close enough. It was one thing when I believed the body was unreal, but now that I knew it wasn't . . . Maybe I shouldn't have thought about what was different. Or missing . . . As if to disprove my assessment, my hind legs shifted a little in a vain attempt to find what I had . . . once had. I heaved air, feeling light-headed and sick to my stomach. “Excuse me, but if I may,” the pegasus said unsurely, looking at me with sympathy, “can I continue the examination?” As soon as the pegasus had presented his request, he inclined his head and brought a hoof to his chin. “On second thought . . .” He planted his hoof down and appraised me with a careful smile. “I believe it's unneeded. You're not injured.” His smile wilted, as if he didn't believe his own words. “Though . . . you do look terrible.” Staring weakly at him, I fought a strong gag reflex instigated by the vacancy between my legs. The hand caressed my neck again, sending placating waves into my recovering conscious. I still felt a bit queasy. If I ever had a desire to explore my reproductive parts, then that thought had perished entirely; now that the feature was sickeningly genuine, I wanted absolutely nothing to do with it! Perhaps having hooves was a blessing in that regard, since they were unfit to—I exhaled somberly but furtively—to manipulate things in the same manner fingers could. Not that I'd have to worry too much about that for long. Hope for the best, prepare— no, that was unfathomable. Too painful to consider, even if it . . . could be probable. “I think it's for the best we take it easy on her now. Whatever she's gone through hasn't been easy,” Marcus offered. “Do you agree?” With some initial uncertainty, he slid his hand along my neck, cuing me to give a yes or no. The pony had an understanding glint in his eyes as he gave a sincere affirmation, but I was unable to muster the willpower to talk. I sniffled slightly, then hummed a weak and purposefully low imitation of a "yes". My recuperation was more important than the retelling of my tale, especially if the truth of my real form would be revealed. Small steps first. Right now, I was too shaken to explain the cause of my grief without breaking into tears. Again. Rebuilding a tolerance for my present body was paramount. After that was complete . . . truth time. More solace soon flowed into me when the short-haired male caressed my back without prompt. Even my back felt somewhat different, and not only because it was covered in hair. Something to do with the spine, possibly how it was connected to my pelvis? I didn't know exactly. Obviously, a bipedal posture was difficult if not impossible to maintain, another saddening truth of my body I had to accept. It wasn't as disturbing as so many other altered parts, some of which were luckily concealed from sight . . . I think I was starting to look pale. “Say, doc,” Marcus began, worry in his tone, “does she look unwell? You think she's sick, or ate something poisonous? Is there anything you can do to help her?” I was taken aback by what Marcus said. The paramedic pegasus wouldn't stomach pump me, would he? I hoped not. Sparked by the revolting idea of stomach contents being removed, I realized I had not eaten since this morning. An unpredicted grumble indicated my stomach had noticed as well. Marcus took immediate note of the sound. “So, you're hungry, huh?” he queried, a detectable hint of mirth in his tone. He gave me a friendly pat on my shoulders that nonetheless seemed a bit too strong for my liking. “Maybe that's why doc pony here said you looked sick; you're starving!” He let out a small laugh. “I could offer you a quick meal. Bet that would cheer you right up! I mean, uh, if you're in the condition to stomach food, that is.” At his suggestion and ignoring the caveat, the hole within me replayed its message. The human chuckled to its complaint, and I mentally agreed that a meal had a chance of improving my mood and hastening my recuperation. “Now hold on! Are you sure it's a good idea to give her food?” the pegasus objected, taking Marcus' warning seriously. “Since we don't know whether she's suffering some kind of illness or not, I can't risk her developing complications from food.” "If she's really sick, then she won't eat anyways,” Marcus returned calmly. The pony trotted out of my view, talking in a strict manner, “That's a good point, but I have to keep a close watch on her. I'll hold you directly responsible if any food proves to be detrimental.” My back bristled at hearing the doc pony's sudden shift in character. “So you're saying that if she pukes on the floor, I'm the one who pays her medical bill?” Marcus quipped. By the long silence that came, the pony wasn't amused in the slightest, and despite the exchange occurring behind my back, I was sure I could feel the cross look the pony was giving Marcus. “Among other things, yes,” the pony rebutted in a very clear and level voice. “However, since you've so thoroughly evaluated the risks . . .” A deliberately lengthy pause followed his mocking tone, and only my imagination could read the unseen facial expressions that reflected the thoughts behind them. “. . . Can I trust you to understand your responsibility?” “You can,” Marcus laconically agreed to the terms presented. I hoped the petty bickering would now be water over the dam. Why was it so difficult to give me food? “Very well,” the doc pony replied, seemingly content with the arrangement. “Provided she gives her assent, of course,” he added. Luckily for me, my stomach groaned an affirmative; I wasn't eager to hear my female voice speak. Though I was calm on the surface, on the inside, I felt like a precariously balanced bucket of tears, ready to topple the moment I had to give a summary of my day. Besides, they'd never believe I was a guy if I was weeping and sobbing like a . . . Like I had done just minutes ago. “Well,” Marcus chuckled, “I take that as a yes.” Although an honest apology might have defused the situation more nicely, I was relieved that the small altercation hadn't left him embittered. When I realized he had to let go of me, however, I lost some of my serenity. I began to steel myself for the inevitable, but it felt like I was preparing to stop a bus by raising a hand at it. Or a hoof, whatever. Regardless of my unspoken doubts, he carefully set me upright on the floor, and a powerful chill immediately slinked through my bones. It was the cold of being removed from his warm grace and left standing on my own legs. My four legs . . . I felt no anger, only an abstract mental and emotional pain. The fear of this form being eternal awoke, and I shot a glance around the room from the height of about eighty centimeters: the height I'd observe the world from for as long as I was a pony. For every moment that I had my eyes open, I'd see a white snout at the bottom of my vision, and it would emit my every spoken thought in that high-pitched voice! Hate and sadness collided, creating unadulterated misery. Limply, I hung my head and closed my eyes. Soon after, my head was gingerly lifted, and another appendage wiped off the few tears I hadn't noticed shedding. I didn't object to his touch. Forlornly, I looked at the kind face, and suddenly, I noted its small likeness to a certain renowned human. “Don't be sad. Everything'll be fine,” he spoke, smiling reassuringly. “I won't be gone long, and you have a friend here who can keep you company in the meantime.” He stroked my cheek gently. I started to doubt if telling the truth would offer any help. They'd know what and who I was, but what then? Sympathy and apologetic shrugs? Opinionated dismissals and skeptical frowns? Or were these two the perfect guides to my restoration? I couldn't know, and I didn't. How had ponies come to this world anyway? Was I just a statistic? Another unfortunate person brought against their will into this world? Had the medi-pony been human once and settled to a new life out of pure necessity? I just didn't know! I didn't know anything! I felt so lost. Forsaken . . . “Indeed, everything is fine.” The pony sat down beside me with a peaceful smile, and Marcus stood up as I glanced over at my "friend". I watched Marcus as he paced out of the room, stopping briefly at the threshold to cast a quick smile our way. I wanted him to turn back, raising a forelimb in a stillborn attempt to follow him when he left my view. Unbelievably, I longed to return to his therapeutic embrace; however, I had to cope with this unrequested form on my own. Resuming the empathic embrace with Marcus would only be refusing to face reality. The longer I waited, the harder the blow would be. I had to get this done with and adapt to this existence to the best of my abilities. Hopefully, I wouldn't have to carry the burden of this body for more than a few hours. The thought of forever being a female pony caused my breaths to dry my mouth, a trace aroma of shampoo accompanying them, but I was . . . mostly okay. Somewhat okay. As okay as a guy afraid of being stuck as this for the rest of his life could be. I couldn't even wrap my mind around such an existence. I had to think of the present, which was . . . me, standing on all fours. A strange sensation. There wasn't a precise way to tell what was underneath my hooves. I could feel something, but it was subdued, like standing on very hard rubber implanted on the tips of my fingers and toes. Difficult to understand, much like the pressure in my joints, shoulders, back, and hips . . . I wasn't supposed to stand this way. Like a quadruped. It was degrading. I wasn't an animal. I wouldn't want to be an animal! Not forever . . . But the pain in my heart was too easy to provoke. I didn't want to cry again . . . I was scared . . . “Do you wish to talk, miss?” the pegasus queried from my left, the feminine pronoun striking me like a sadness-tipped arrow. My head pitched down like a withering flower, and those darn expressive ears followed suit. Taking a deep breath to produce a silent sigh first, I glanced at the tangerine-maned pony and gave him a deliberately low, melancholic hum as a reply. He kept smiling, like he was trying his hardest to assure all was truly fine. If only . . . “So, how are you feeling? Better, I hope." I gave an another hum. How could I be okay with talking when even that tiny sound was too high for my liking? “I suppose that was a yes,” he said, unsure, and another sigh of mine brought the bathtub into my vision. “Was it?” he added, but I felt too bleak to speak. Would've lead to pathetic whimpers anyway . . . Shifting in place for a spell, I tried to expedite my reconciliation to my body with no significant success. I couldn't get over the feeling that I was balancing on the nails of a pair of toes and fingers at the end of very strange appendages. What I thought were my elbows were actually my wrists, I think. Where were my elbows, then? The small motion I dared told me they were close to my ribs. My entire arm was now a leg, and what used to be my only pair of legs had been changed, too. My knees were practically on the same level as my belly. Neck felt longer, ears acted on their own, there was an ever-present snout in my vision, and I believed that even my vision was different. Somehow. I had been so blind, so imperceptive of so many things when I had thought this was a dream. Now, I was oversensitive to anything and everything! Not only of this body but smells and sounds, too. Were the colors more vivid as well? This was simply too weird to digest. For almost an entire day, I had been more or less okay being a fundamentally unreal quadruped. But now? I was an animal, and a female no less! Those few words were inadequate to describe the abject nightmare condensed into an adorable shape that had imprisoned me behind its cute countenance. Curse all those tales where the transformed person adapts to their new physique in minutes! I did adapt, yes, but only because I thought this wasn't real; I thought I had a method to return to my original form at any moment. Now, I didn't have a simple exit strategy, and I knew my body had been morphed to that of a female pony. I was afraid. I was so horribly afraid! Scared out of my mind! THIS WASN'T FUN ANYMORE!! I was grateful the medicine helped prevent another panic attack. Blinking back my tears, I glanced again at the pony. Emotionally, I was somewhere between gloom and anxiety; in contrast, he had a small smile that looked wary yet optimistic. Unable to reciprocate, I fixed my eyes back to the floor and the thin sheeting of dirty water there. For a moment, I wondered where the puddle had come from, but then I realized my sodden coat was its source. Not that the observation was of much help. I only wanted to keep my mind away from contemplating my present existence. A future that was anything but a quick return home, and then inspecting it for a dimensional hole or something, was . . . horrifying. Marcus was taking his sweet time, and the room wasn't decorated with anything to pique my interest. So, once again, I turned my head to the most interesting sight available: the pegasus. Our expressions were still polar opposites. We were opposites but of the same species. I was an opposite of myself. Even in my dispirited mood was my mind willing to appraise our differences. He had a sleek and glistening coat; mine was begrimed . . . but slightly velvety. Fuzzier. Softer-looking. Even our legs and hooves seemed to be different: his were rugged and larger, whereas mine were . . . those of a female. Dainty. Whatever! The difference was subtle but unmistakable. Or perhaps I saw things that weren't true. I had never observed such dimorphism in the cartoon itself; I thought stallions and mares had near-identical bodies. Maybe I was wrong all along? What did I even know? This was real. The cartoon wasn't. Suffice to say, my entire form was delicate, and sadly, that wasn't at all surprising. It was just another kind of humiliation. A shameful disgrace. My slightly smaller body meant I was a female. No ambiguity whatsoever. Silently, I begged for something supernatural to strike my agnostic self and restore my manhood. At least make me a stallion, because then I'd have something to relate to. Maybe have my voice restored, which would tremendously help my confidence. This morning, I had been ignorant of the reality of my sex, and looking back, I couldn't at all understand how. Now, I didn't even have to look at myself to know that I was a female pony . . . If I could just have a minute's pardon from this unjust entrapment . . . Darn tears! They were so eager to emerge, but a slow sigh and a blink were enough to send them retreating—this time. The soft breath was a small hint to myself why I was firmly aversive of talking; I knew the voice matched my looks. I had known that since I first heard it, and I had struggled so hard to tolerate it. Now, I wasn't even sure I wanted to tolerate it. I didn't want to sound like a . . . like a . . . I had now learned to loathe that word. I never wanted to hear it ever again, let alone speak it. I wished to unlearn it, forget its very existence! Maybe I could just remain mute and pretend to be ignorant . . . What a stupid idea! I had to talk . . . But not before my fortitude was concrete, not before I was ready to tolerate my tone again. Currently, I was as sturdy as chewy toffee. The sand-yellow paramedic still carried an inoffensive, gentle smile. I would've thought he'd try to strike up a new conversation by now, but apparently he had decided to remain silent. Perhaps he was detecting the scent of fragility emitting from my still-damp body? Quite decent of him, really. Or . . . Wait? Maybe he had an entirely different motive behind his smile? What was he actually thinking about? What if . . .? An awful suspicion struck me, and a flash of an intense desire to flee hit me. Unintentionally inhaling sharply, I leaned a tad to the side and compulsively bent one foreleg up. Simultaneously, my joyless gaze on the stallion traded for an apprehensive one; I had just conjured a likely explanation for the doc pony's untroubled look! “Something bothering you?” He raised an eyebrow while my leg trepidly contacted the floor, then he glanced around in confusion as if to look for the source of the perturbance. How blind he was; he was the source! I knew how guys thought! I would know; I was one! Or used to be . . . No! Still was! I knew what I did so easily and clandestinely when I knew I'd get away with it, especially when I wore sunglasses. A little fun, no harm done! I hadn't thought I'd ever be on the receiving end of such stares! Well, now that I thought of it, maybe some females were checking out my average body in that special way. Or maybe not; I had a better face than body. That was beside the point, though! The point was that the stallion was naturally predisposed to appreciate females, and hence he might've regarded my unrequested body immodestly! Most likely, he had already eyed every detail down to my . . . Wait . . . I wasn't actually . . . an owner of a desirable posterior, was I? Did I even want to know? No! I definitely and without any doubt didn't want to know! Hastily, I concluded it was best for me to remain ignorant by classifying the precise shape of my hindquarters forbidden from visual and tactile investigation. Oh great . . . Thanks to my overzealous mind, I swear I now felt the very air dab my unclothed rear in an unsettling and thorough manner. Then, visions of female buttocks—female human buttocks—began to spill uncontrollably into my mental canvas. It would've been quite pleasant, if it were not for the fact that every picture following the other had more and more noticeable properties of an ice-white filly with a pink-brown tail. I screwed my eyes shut and tried to think of something to will away the obscene and nightmarish slideshow, but it came to an abrupt a halt when something solid touched my shoulder. “Are you in pain? I can offer— Whoa!” The pony was startled, but not nearly as much as I was when I realized it was his hoof that was on me. Not a second later, I was catching my breath, standing astride a dozen centimeters from my previous spot; the brief fit of nerves had thrown my body into disarray, and I had almost flailed myself into an embarrassing pile on the floor. If it weren't for the relaxant circulating in my system, I probably would've ran out the door, screaming at the top of my lungs. "Well, uh, you seem to be quite . . . easily startled,” the fallen pony said between his panting, ending his intermittent deduction by clearing his throat, then rubbed his flank with a grunt. Meanwhile, I steadied myself, too, albeit more in posture than mind, and I noted that my right hoof felt a bit sore. Connecting the dots, I reluctantly offered the pony a contrite look; I hadn't meant to hit him. “Brings to mind a filly I knew when I was younger,” he said with a small chuckle, apparently amused by the short anecdote, or else he was trying to ease the tension. Being compared to a female pony didn't improve my mood at all. I looked away from him as he stood up, anticipating and then blinking away a small teardrop. “Oh . . . That was tactless of me,” he said apologetically. I pawed the floor nervously for a moment, hoping to arbitrarily rediscover my lost tolerance of being a female pony. I had to, lest I remain a perpetual bundle of nerves instead of just a slowly recovering one. Actually, I had to accept being the recipient of "she," and "her," and "miss" . . . and more, I feared. Was he still looking? If the situation was reversed and I was the stallion, would I . . . Maybe. Darn! Regardless if his mind was brimming with dirty thoughts or not, I had to preserve my dignity by not showing my fundamentally naked rear to him. With cautious steps, I reoriented myself to be perpendicular to him. I felt cold . . . The chills of fear and sorrow. I questioned why had I not already run away. Why had I not escaped to a solitary place where I could vent all of my pain? I guess . . . because I knew crying wouldn't help me. I could cry for hours, and it wouldn't help me. “I'm sorry, but I feel helpless when I don't know what's troubling you.” I heard the pony's benign voice and light clopping of hooves, causing me to flinch when the sounds tugged my ears to his direction. “However, if I could just try to cons—” Instinctively, I turned my head at him and raised a limb to ward off his advance. He regarded it and me with large eyes of surprise, then knitted his brows in dejected inquiry. My intense stare softened to a frown, and I shook my head lethargically. Backpedaling a slight, he sighed lengthily. “All right,” he murmured and gazed down, giving a small click of his tongue in a sign of pity. I . . . actually felt sorry for him; he only wanted to help me, but . . . I didn't request it. I had to endure this on my own. Prove to myself that I wasn't weak. I couldn't surrender to the desire of being comforted. Gradually, I rested my leg, then backtracked with utmost care. Again, I felt that unwelcome fear and grief flashing in me. Then, the suspicion on the pony came back with a shocking realization on my present self: my quadrupedal posture meant I was constantly thrusting out my rear for all to see! It was a horribly embarrassing and disgraceful revelation; I was immodest by default! How did female ponies deal with this? Did they accept it because it was unavoidable, or was pony society absent of the superficial desire of that aspect of a mare's physique? It seemed likely, and I hoped it was true. Otherwise, stallions would be utterly destitute of morals. Or they had impressive self-control. This pony's wings were relaxed, so . . . But those appendages meant nothing! Just a hypothesis created by avid fans of the cartoon! There was only one way to know for sure, but I didn't have a clear visual—not that I wanted to see another guy's device! Gross! “I know I'm repeating myself, but . . . can you please tell me what troubles you? Can you tell me anything at all?” the one suspected of uncivilized misconduct queried, his brows visibly scrunched. I had nothing to say. “Is there anything you want to say . . . to do . . . or want me to do? I'm here to help you, and . . .” His voice sank to a faint whisper as he gazed over at his medkit, crestfallen. “This is pointless.” It was just too easy to think of the worst when I was stressed . . . I should have been ashamed of myself. And I think I was. Had I not learned anything from the cartoon? Ninth episode of the first season: Bridle Gossip. Its message was to not judge a book by its cover. To not jump to conclusions, and definitely not without undeniable evidence. The idea that the stallion was covetously checking out my essentially naked body was unfair. Innocent until proven guilty. I wasn't sure I wanted to find the incriminating evidence. Ignorance was bliss? At any rate, I desired to cover myself in something; however, a quick survey of the bathroom revealed no towels to reinstate my modesty with. Great. Naked and stuck as a female pony in the presen— “Hello again!” A breeze of relief cooled my frayed nerves as Marcus announced his return. I eagerly set my eyes on the white bowl he carried in his hand. “I brought pears. Did you two talk?” Pears? Yum! “Sadly, no,” the pegasus replied, and while I still had my nose . . . snout aimed at the high-held ceramic ware, I glanced obliquely at him as he spoke, “She hasn't said a single word yet. She's been laconic and . . . jumpy,” he said the last word after a moment's hesitation. I think there was a trace of sadness when he said it, but I couldn't be sure. “I'm . . . quite puzzled.” He looked miserable, and a pang of guilt bounded within me. I knew I had been anything but talkative, and had I actually dared to hear my voice, I could've explained myself. Plus, the immense man-stuck-as-filly boulder might have come off my shoulders. However, I had a definite goal of going home, and the sooner I could start the investigation of what got me into this frightening mess, the better. A chat would more than likely only be a hindrance. Even if I were to tell my identity . . . “Well, that's a pity,” Marcus said as he came to a crouch, and I took immediate notice of the divided fruits in the bowl. Two pears in eight pieces. Stomach groan of extraordinary want! “But I'm sure she'll be just right after this little meal.” Yes. Consume the meal, then ask to be taken home. Once there, I'd be fine! Of course, I'd have to resolve the severe disagreement I had with my voice before that. Although . . . did I want to tell them of my predicament or not? What would be the advantages? The disadvantages? Perhaps it was best to relegate that dilemma to a time after these pears fill the growling hole within myself. Paying heed to my voiceless instinct, I stretched my head over the low-held ware and began to lift a limb to grab one of the fruit slices. “Hold on a sec!” Marcus exclaimed, and I stopped cold to regard him with bemused surprise. The dish was then lowered down to the floor before . . . my legs? “Bon appetit!” I heard him say with sincere delight. My raised limb sunk back to the floor, and I frowned. Sure, I was hungry, but . . . I'd have to eat directly from the bowl? Like an . . . an animal? “Don't worry; they're perfectly good pears,” he assured, apparently oblivious to why I was staring dolefully at the food. “Bought them yesterday. I had to tell myself not to eat one while I was preparing them.” He chuckled warmly, which brought my sights up at him. I saw his smile fall. “I don't know what's worrying you, but try to look past it and be positive, okay?” he said, his smile coming back with lesser strength. I felt a slight better due to his wise words, and it was true that the food was attractive. Cursorily, I noted that he had changed his shirt to a pale blue one. Oh, right . . . I was drenched when we . . . In hindsight, the embrace we had shared was plain awkward. I again focused on the food, but I felt slightly worried for myself. I really couldn't admonish myself for hugging a guy. Could I? “Hey, are you going to eat?” He gave me a light and brief touch on my chin with his finger to bring my head up. Unlike the sparse yet execrable stubble I got as a reward after a few days of not shaving, this was . . . different. Foreign? Yes. Annoying? No. How odd . . . Was I preferring soft hair instead of a beard? “Yes, the moment of truth, I suppose,” the pegasus stated, drawing our eyes onto him. He hemmed forth a smile, then gestured at the food. “Your meal, miss?” ‘Miss . . . ' I thought pitifully as I turned my attention back to the bowl. No escape from those titles as long as the two were convinced I was female, but that issue had to be dealt with later. Right now, I had something more vital to attend to. My stomach audibly instructed me to go at the pears without a second thought, but my civilized side reminded me I wasn't a primitive creature who'd dive his mouth at the pristine fruits. As Marcus had said, they were pretty good pears, and I'd be fairly off my rocker to disagree. The pears were reflecting fluorescence off their peeled surfaces like pearls, a very alluring aroma of sweetness was wafting into my nostrils, and my mouth was filling with excess water in conjunction with my mind's lust for the products of nature . . . Oh my. The pears really looked marvelous! How had I gone this long without feeling hungry? My lips were practically as dry as a desert in contrast with the ocean behind them, and to have the divine flavor of pear grace both was something to yearn for. So . . . what was holding me back? “So . . . what's holding you back?” Marcus' query drew me out of my trance. He bore a bemused smile, tilting his head. “They look fine to me.” He motioned a hand at the tantalizing food. How I so wished to have my pair of hands back . . . Nothing I could about that now, though. Aligning my eyes from the guy to the pegasus and back, the brief sadness in me was quickly overshadowed by reemerging self-consciousness. Now, I felt like I was a stage performer under the attentive eyes of a studious audience. Lifting my hoof to the slanted rim of the bowl, I pawed the ceramic in a dither, the faint noise augmented by an unexpected silence. If I just had fingers, then surmounting my considerable trepidation would be a lesser challenge. I wouldn't even be in this situation if some mysterious force had not robbed me of my body. Well, regardless . . . This still was my body . . . and it was hungry; however, satisfying it while subjected to this oppressive scrutiny was inconceivable. “Maybe she's ill and can't eat?” the pegasus surmised, and unequivocally, I disagreed on the "can't eat" part, though I didn't voice that. “While you were gone, she had an anxiety attack, which could've affected her and—” In a sign of admission to my hunger, I started to bow myself closer to the fruits and simultaneously tuned out the ensuing chatter. Maybe . . . I could do this and prove the pegasus wrong? But I was so nervous! I couldn't eat like an uncouth beast! Why did this have to be so difficult? Hunger versus pride; it was a heated battle, and my strained frown turned to a small grimace. If I could just feast on the fresh and lustrous fruits, then maybe I'd be empowered to properly reconcile with my body. Maybe even feel genuinely happy again? A trail started to escape from the corner of my mouth. I was so very close to snatching up a pale yellow treat, but then my grimace converted to a flinch, and I raised my head from the ware. Swallowing the overgrown globule that was in my mouth before inaudibly sighing my tense expression off, I glanced at both males in defeat. They wore confused expressions, and suddenly the air became heavy, and my skin heated up from the inside. I really didn't enjoy being the center of attention. Not before, and especially not as this and under these circumstances. If they had read my mind, they would've absented from the room, head over heels. “Is something wrong with the food?” Marcus queried, then looked at the pears with scrunched brows. “I swear they're okay.” Tentatively, he pinched a smaller slice and raised it to be a dozen centimeters from his visage. Swiveling his head to appraise us both, he asked for our approval: “May I?” To which I could offer only a tiny frown and nod. The produce then disappeared into the guy's mouth. “Tastes fine to me,” he said, shrugging. The pony regarded him askance but ultimately relaxed, albeit his lips retained the minor downward angle. The pony began to inspect the seven remaining slices. I took stock of him as he sniffed the contents, worried that he'd snack on a pear as well and accidentally ruin the rest of them with drool. When I hastily placed a limb on the rim of the bowl in an unsuccessful attempt to take the ware for myself, the pegasus was startled a bodylength back. A jab of sorrow inside my chest was all I needed to know what I missed. I didn't even know what finger the hoof corresponded to, and tears of longing and anguish again threatened to invade my eyes. Tensely fluttering my eyes to drive off the liquid grief first, I grimaced in determination and descended prone, doing my best to ignore the cerebral agony of hindlegs tucking parallel to my body and my two strange digits wrapping around the base of the bowl. The pegasus retreated a little more and was now watching me, head tilted and brows telling of confusion, concern, and contriteness. I stared at him morosely, feeling as though I had rescued my meal from being ruined by his unwelcome spittle. The strong aroma of pear was toying with my sinuses and beseeching me to satisfy my base needs, but I held my head level and narrowed my gaze on the sand-yellow pegasus. I had found a reason to be dissatisfied, and that feeling kept most of the horror of my entrapment under the lid. The pony's expression transitioned from minor shock to kindness. “Sorry, miss. I wasn't about to take a bite for myself, only trying to confirm the fruits were safe.” “You know that by . . . smelling them?” Marcus said incredulously. The pony promptly swiveled him a neutral look. “Of course,” the stallion replied, shining a small smile of smugness, and the salesman's skepticism slowly shifted to stunned awe. “Wow,” he finally said, plainly, then wrinkled his brows as he began to rub his small beard in thought. Being called 'miss' saddened more than angered me, in spite of my sullen mood. Although, how long could I endure such name-calling before I snapped? The debacle that followed the last time blind fury took hold of me wasn't pretty. Perhaps it was luck that I wasn't feeling enraged. Troubling as it was, never telling the pony and Marcus of my real identity and instead hiding behind this curtain of a filly started to look like a smart idea. I'd have to tolerate feminine pronouns and perhaps some chivalry, but feminine pronouns were just words, not insults, and words weren't supposed to hurt. Sticks and stones and whatnot. Weren't supposed to hurt . . . “Listen, I can tell something serious is bothering you. I won't twist your arm, but . . . I'd like to know why you're so miserable.” It was Marcus; I recognized his voice. Pensively, I transfixed my vision on the tantalizing fruits, my ungainly digits still enfolded around the bowl. Idly, I bent the joint of what constituted my only remaining digit on my right limb. Feeling one digit where there should have been five, a cold shudder bristled the hairs on my back, and my lungs contracted in mental and emotional pain. Technically, the extremity was a finger, just . . . a poor mockery of one. Pretty far from it, actually. I could still grab something the same way the ponies in the cartoon did, though I hoped I wouldn't have to adjust to that. Really, I would just go home, and all would turn out okay. From the corner of my eye, I saw a hand coming closer at me. It halted when I scowled at it and its owner. He, however, looked slightly hurt, as though he didn't understand why I was displeased at him so suddenly. With a soundless sigh, dejection replaced my tense look, and his hand dared to retry its approach. This time, I didn't object, and the light and brief touch that came on my cheek had a placating effect. The bowl, still in my embrace, was nudged a smidgen closer to me. “I thought you'd be all over this by now.” True, I wanted to devour the tempting meal, but . . . preferably in private so that only one pair of eyes would judge my conduct. Looking at the open door, I flaccidly raised my right forelimb to point at it. They didn't seem to get the meaning, so I sighed and jabbed the appendage indicatively a few times. “Do you need, uh . . . help to get up?” Marcus asked unsurely and carefully grabbed my hoof. A squirm snaked down my back as I only felt his index finger and thumb stimulate my nerves; they were the only fingers touching my hide, and I had to stifle a moan of frustration and queasiness. Timorously, I pulled my limb from his loose grip and aimed my eyes at the bowl. Once the limb was resting on the floor, I swallowed, then drew my lips in to bite them as I pondered. Communicating solely with body language and audible breaths had run its course, and that meant there was only one viable option left. I had to speak with the voice of my body. To sound like a . . . the filly I resembled. I closed my eyes and wished for deafness for the next five seconds. “I want to be alone for a while,” I said. Well, my mouth did; my vocal cords refused to do their part. An insignificant fragment of amusement threatened, but failed, to crease my lips soon after. Seems like I got that five-second wish, in a way. I had found the perfect excuse to speak, but not the strength to enunciate my thoughts. My frown worsened when sorrow pinched at my heart again. Why were my emotions so potent and easy to provoke? Okay, confession: I was always a bit of a soft touch, but this level of sensitivity was ridiculous. With much haste, I supposed that the recent and still ongoing experience was a sufficient explanation for my frailty. Additionally, my recuperation was in its infancy and vulnerable. No matter, once back in my home, things would look good for me again. I was certain of that. I had to be. I wanted privacy, but my gestures had been unsuccessful, and my unfavorable voice hadn't played ball when I had needed to talk. What would I have to do for some solitude? Physically force the duo out from here? I didn't even want to move, let alone walk. Not as this, on four legs. If it even was classified a walk! Trot, amble, canter, whatever! I didn't care! I didn't want to be this! Didn't want to . . . to be a . . . a filly . . . Accursed emotions! The horror was . . . I didn't want to release tears again! Then, I did . . . I closed my eyes to hide my emotion. “What's wrong now?” the empathetic figure asked softly. For once, I tried to speak my mind, but in a repeat of before, all I mustered were a few pitiful hums and whimpers. My ears further emphasized my sadness and discomfort. I tried to wipe the tears off, but my . . . my legs refused to listen to me and remained by the bowl. “I'd be careful if I were you,” the pony cautioned softly, and dauntless to my liquid sorrow, I looked at him. So did the guy. “She's frail.” My vision then focused on a hand that was reaching out for me. It had a wedding ring on its fourth digit. “She trusts me,” the hand's owner replied peaceably. “I know,” the sitting pony replied in a similar manner, glancing at the floor. The man's hand then moved a little closer, and, disinclined to accept more physical touches, I leaned my head back. However, his expression was sincere, and I was unwilling to disprove his earlier assessment and possibly break our trust, so I closed my eyes and moved my head closer to him. A light touch wiped the beads off my cheeks with care, and my eyelids twitched slightly when his digits ran over my nasal bone. I managed to quell my tears with his help, but was I fit to talk? A part of me wanted to stay silent for good, but another refused to back down at the dismaying prospect of . . . of speaking with the voice of a . . . voice so . . . shamefully feminine. No. Defeatism wasn't right . . . It was just a voice. Different intonation, nothing more, and it can't hurt me. Not physically . . . I sniffled, then pressed on. “Can I . . .” It was the frailest and faintest whisper I ever heard, and I couldn't believe it had come from me. Nonetheless, it was a step in the right direction. Marcus hummed in tender curiosity, and I sensed him lean closer to me. Obliged to meet his expectation, I found the crumbs of courage to reattempt presenting my yearning. “Can I be . . .” I said with a voice more like a breath than a whisper, “be alone . . . Just . . . just for a minute?” ‘So, that's how a melancholy-stricken Fluttershy sounds to herself?’ I remarked humorlessly, now that I had unintentionally emulated the bashful pony's tone. A very relieved smile crossed his face. “Sure thing, I can give you that." Relieved as well, a tiny smile paid a visit to my countenance, and my ears righted themselves. I had won a small but tough battle, and I could now eat the pears in relative peace. Two stones with one bird! I meant— No, never mind. Maybe I'd even have the gumption to speak sooner? Reveal the cause of my most extreme distress to date? Would they believe me, though? After I had been such a wreck that in no way could I have conveyed any masculinity . . . ? Great! Now that my loathing for my voice was finally budging, my male ego wanted to preserve face and join the opposition against exposing my identity. What a terrible revelation; better to be perceived as a saddened female, than a male who had bawled his eyes out because of a transmogrification to a filly. Or a mare. Not that terminology made much difference to me when I felt the empty area between my legs. “Don't lose your smile now,” Marcus encouraged when my good mood began to fade from my expression. Just for his sake, I compelled myself to smile lightly. He swiveled his head to look at the pony. “Hey, uh, Mister . . . pony . . . um . . .” In bemusement, I looked at the pony just in time to see him flash a mild frown in response to Marcus' fumbling. “Forgot my name, sir? It's Aidin,” the sand-yellow pegasus reminded plainly. “Yeah, umm, sorry, Aidin,” Marcus said, eyes aversive and a hand reaching for his neck. “Like I tried to say,” he drawled, throwing his hand down before he displayed a carefully amicable expression for Aidin. “She wants a moment for herself,” he gestured at me. As if there were any other "shes" to be confused with. Was I really about to maintain this guise then? I was torn on the subject. “No offense meant, but did she specify a reason?” Aidin demanded with a trace of dissatisfaction. “I don't want to leave her unsupervised.” “Unsupervised?” Marcus echoed, brows creasing along with a side of his lips. “She's my patient,” Aidin rebutted curtly, closing his eyes briefly, giving himself a haughty look. Meanwhile, my uncomfortably reactive ears were yet again downturned; the slick-maned pony seemed disinclined to grant me the privacy I had requested. Feeling a glimmer of bravery in me, I carefully took a try at defusing the situation. “Um, don't worry, uh . . . Aidin, I'm . . .” I nodded when my composure faltered. “Quite fine,” I asserted the blatant lie so softly that even precision microphones could not have detected it. Needless to say, I was completely ignored. And quite dispirited. I had bravely leaped off a tall cliff down into a frightening river, but accepting the reality of my unmodified voice was intimidating me to act like a . . . a meek filly. An unwillingness to behave even remotely as a female had the exact opposite effect on me. “Well, no, she didn't give a reason, but . . . ” Marcus huffed in frustration and stood up, splaying his arms at the pony. “Come on! A few minutes and we'll be back.” Aidin regarded Marcus with a distrusting frown, and a brief but tense silence ensued. “Look, I know you're worried for her too, but if she starts choking and coughing—which I'm pretty sure we both can agree on that she won't—you'll be here in a flash.” Smiling again, he joined his palms in front of his chest and aimed his fingertips at the pony, slanting his head down by a small angle as he spoke: “Besides, it's only for a few minutes. Think about it.” The pegasus held onto his look for a spell, but ultimately he assented: “It wasn't you who asked, and I respect a patient's wishes . . . So it's fair that I comply.” His tone had betrayed his reluctance, but nevertheless, he approached the door along with Marcus. There, the winged paramedic stopped and looked over at me with a small frown. “All right, miss, we . . . uh . . . ” His lips twisted in uncertainty, but quickly, a flash of revelation crossed his visage, and he glanced at the human, then back at me. “Why, where have my manners been?” he said as he wheeled to face me. “Pardon me, I've completely forgotten to introduce myself. The name's Aidin.” He briefly placed his hoof to his chest. “Pleased to meet you, miss,” he said, bowing his head courteously, whereas I regarded his sudden gallantry with surprise and disbelief. “May I humbly ask to learn your name in return?” Well, now I was definitely in a tight spot. “You asked if you could ask her a question?” Marcus said with a sly smile and crossed his arms, drawing the immediate attention of Aidin. The pony furrowed his brows as he turned to face Marcus, a scowl prickling the edge of his lips. “Yes, I did.” Any traces of humor vanished from Marcus' face. “Uh . . . sorry.” The pony sighed in a mix of disappointment and forgiveness, a silence lingering in the room for a few more seconds before he aimed a benign but expectant look in my direction. “So, miss?” Right, miss . . . This was it, then. I had balled the thought back and forth in me for long enough—now was an opportune moment to decide with finality. None of this fear of a free trip to a mental house or a surrender to silence in dread of the humiliation of being a guy with a filly's body. The honest truth had to be revealed. I was nervous of the consequences being less than favorable, but I'd cross that bridge when I came to it. Besides, if I convinced them of my manhood, my discomfort of being looked on as a real female would be gone. Maybe I would even receive help? Yes, I had to be optimistic. A few breaths to steel myself. Remaining prone, a fairly impassive mask plastered onto my face. Rescinding any trace of timorousness was of the utmost importance if I wished to introduce myself in my unnervingly female voice . . . I closed my eyes and braced myself. “My name's Rosy Stri—” I cut off myself with a cough, and my eyes shot open in extreme surprise and shock at what had (almost) come out of my mouth. “Are . . . Are you okay?” the pegasus said in alarm. I was aghast, blinking my eyes in total confusion. I tried—and failed—to compute what just had happened. Feeling the pressure of two gazes upon me, I hastily disregarded inspecting the strange lapse further and parsed myself together. “O-oh, um . . . Y-y-yes, I'm . . . I'm fine, very fine,” I stammered nervously. “O-only got something i-in my throat, t-that's all.” I then faked a few coughs, but the reassuring smile that followed had a hard time feeling honest. “I . . . see,” I got as a reply from the uncertain but concerned stallion, his human counterpart regarding me with an identical expression. “Y-yeah, there's n-no need to worry.” My confidence had dropped significantly, and the best I managed now was a trepid whisper. “Um, w-what I, uh, really meant to say is that my name's actually Rosy-” I muted myself completely and averted my head. Simultaneously, my facial muscles slackened, and I was sure I felt my pupils shrink, ears falling not a second later to accentuate the excruciating unease. I was perplexed, horrified, dismayed; those words failed to describe my condition. How, why . . . ? That name . . . It . . . So . . . What the . . . ? All I had tried to do was speak my own name! How was it possible for me to fail at something so simple, and twice in a row? What was wrong with me? “Are you shy, or . . . is it something worse?” Aidin's voice pulled a fraction of me out from my consternation, and in my peripheral vision, I saw him taking a few wary steps towards me. Marcus put his hand on Aidin's shoulder, and he in turn looked up at him with a small hum. The kind-faced guy shook his head, frowning. “She’s probably just confused and in shock after whatever she has endured. Give her the moment she wanted, okay? You can check up on her soon,” he cajoled softly. “Ah, why not?” the pegasus relented with a sigh. Looking at me defeatedly at first, he soon replaced his expression with a strained-looking smile. “Well, see you in a few minutes, when you're truly fine . . . I hope.” His smile became a slight more sincere: “Rosy's the name, was it?” Hearing that name sent a very surreal signal through my brain. Not accounting the single instance of a tiny “uh” crawling up from my throat in reply, I was completely speechless and stunned, unable and unwilling to show them my face. His smile weakened noticeably before he turned around. Both individuals walked out the door, closing it softly save for the tiniest gap through which the distancing voice of Aidin slipped in, “She seems to be upset or shy, at worst traumatized by something, but definitely not ill. I do admit that my concern for her health was a tad . . . ” My stomach rumbled in spite of the mental chaos reigning in my head, and I thoughtlessly obeyed my needs to chomp up one slice of fruit directly from the bowl. The taste was strong and pleasant, but I scarcely took note of it. Even the animalistic manner in which I ate was an insignificant disruption in the surging jet engine that was my frayed brain. Hoping to bring some much needed clarity to the situation and attenuate my turmoil, I took the three most critical aspects of my predicament and explained them with as few words as possible. My body I could explain: I had been transformed. The pegasus stallion I could explain: I was in an alternate universe where Equestrian ponies were common. My name I could . . . My name!? It wasn't mine! But . . . it was? My sights had frozen on the six remaining slices in the bowl; they enthralled me no more. Two names danced in erratic patterns inside my mind's eye like leaves in a gale. Or rather, like one leaf being pummeled into submission by the downdraft of a twin-engined helicopter. Fortunately, to dispel my worst fears, I was able to discern that leaf to be what I considered to be my male name, but my name . . . that other name was more powerful. More important. More . . . authentic? Like it really was . . . mine . . . ? Then, an awful premonition made itself known. What if I hadn’t been dragged to another universe and transformed at all? What if . . . What if I . . . ? “I am Rosy Stripes?” My whisper of extreme disbelief sent horrible chills down my back . . . and that signal into my brain again. It was a vibe of . . . of . . . validity. Had I not learned of my . .. that name only a few hours ago? Why was it now so . . . so seemingly familiar? As if it preceded this day. As if it had always . . . Wouldn't . . . Wouldn't that imply . . . I was . . . had been . . . been a . . . pony since . . . Female . . . No! That was a horrid falsity that couldn’t be possibly true! I didn’t even feel right in this body! Didn’t feel right at all . . . Intense brightness . . . of the fluorescent . . . lamps above . . . Jet engine . . . flame out . . .

Suomibrony

435

Original Character,Human,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

First Pony View

Some dreams you might never want to end… …but what happens when the dream really doesn't?

incomplete

<p>Have you ever had a dream that just seemed so <i>real</i>, that it was impossible to say for certain that it was even a dream at all? A dream that, despite all of its impossibilities, seemed to re-write your entire perception of reality, re-writing your sense of what—and indeed, <i>who</i>—you are? Accepting change is hard enough as it is. But when you're a <span style="color:#808000">somebody</span> who wakes up as a <span style="color:#6495ED">somepony</span>, how do you cope with the impact such a drastic change has on your mind and body? With changes like these, it must surely just be a lucid dream—albeit a suspiciously <i>accurate one</i>—just brimming with potential and ripe for exploration. So you might as well suck it up and make the most of these distressingly…unusual circumstances, and seize this <span style="color:#008000">psychological adventure</span> before you wake up and the dream ends.<br/>After all, this couldn't possibly be real, so the dream must come to an end eventually…right?</p>

teen

2012-07-09T14:53:38+00:00

2023-10-23T04:32:51+00:00

First Pony View A My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic fan fic By Suomibrony Chapter 9 In The Air Tonight Voices intruded upon my black tranquility as I became aware of a rocking motion. No! I didn't want to wake up! I didn't make a sound. More talking. One apologetic and defensive, another admonishing and displeased. I tried to retreat back into my tranquil state. I heard a mutual understanding, spoken with calmer words. I still didn't respond, even as I felt gentle prodding begin. More talking, now worried. My sleepy feeling was comfortable . . . but I was starting to feel weird all over. I guess my sleep was ending. I suddenly felt myself hoisted . . . like a pallet on a forklift? Wait! What was going on? My eyes shot wide open. “Heyyy!” I cried in surprise and confusion. The feelings tripled when I registered the uncharacteristically high pitch of my voice and a blurry impression of what might've been a bathroom. Shortly, my focusing vision confirmed it really was a bathroom. Somehow, I was suspended above the floor. “Oh man, am I glad that you're finally back!” a relieved male voice came from a little overhead. Something uncomfortably integral atop my head twisted around to make his subsequent talk clearer: “You gave us quite the scare when we found you out cold and couldn't wake you. But Aidin did a quick examination and said you were okay.” I was momentarily perplexed, but my senses hastily kicked in to remind me of the present reality: where I was, who had spoken, what he had spoken about, and . . . that white thing in my vision meant—No! “Yes, that I did,” another male voice said from beyond my immediate eyesight, currently filled by the white floor. With a light cringe, my semi-autonomous ears turned to my left to pinpoint the source before my eyes followed. Golden eyes that sat beneath furrowed brows focused on me. “But then, I began to worry that your loss of consciousness might be a symptom of a brain injury, like a hemorrhage, so I want to get you to the hospital.” “Oh, yeah, that . . .” Marcus admitted plaintively. “So, that explains her erratic behavior you told me about?” “Anxiety, communication problems, unexpected loss of awareness . . .” Aidin sighed, then continued, “I'm afraid they might indicate a hemorrhage.” I had countless inquiries spinning in my head. Concentrating on the most pressing problem, I asked, “What's a hemor—?” Every muscle in my body turned rigid as the sound of my light voice reached my ears, and I squeezed my eyes shut to dispel my shock. “Hemorrhage? Wh-wh-what's that?” I continued, dismayed by how frail my fear-filled voice sounded. “Internal bleeding,” he clarified after a momentary hesitation. No doubt my episode emboldened his suspicions of my health. “Or it could just be ischemia,” he muttered under his breath as he turned around for the bathroom exit. I had no idea what that word meant, but I knew enough already. The thought of my brain bleeding brought on a fresh slice of dread. How was internal bleeding stopped anyway? With an operation, I supposed. The imagery that presented itself to my mind's eye chilled me to the core. “Please follow me, sir. We must go,” Aidin urged, glancing over his back as he left the room. The world began to sway and bob as my living forklift obediently trailed him. “And, and, uh, this bleeding . . . it's bad?” I struggled against what seemed to be my body's inclination to speak in a hushed voice while still keeping my faculties organized. Being carried like a lapdog wasn't helping, but unfortunately, I still didn't feel I could walk on my own. “Yes,” Aidin said to me, his expression serious. “Very bad.” Shouldn't he just say everything is fine? Or was it better for him to be bluntly honest? Either way, the pony considered my health to be in danger, and it seemed certain I wasn't going home as soon as I had anticipated. “A-are you sure that your diagnosis is correct?” I worried, hoping he had misjudged and that I wasn't carrying a subcranial time bomb; I didn't want to die anymore. Blind luck had guided me to that road, and now that I had a second chance at life, I didn't want it to end on an operating table. “I'd also like to know if you're correct on that,” Marcus shared some of my feelings. I had taken little notice of his home's decoration and furniture, but now, a plain white door with six identically shaped square windows stood before the pony's path. “No, I'm not, and I can't be sure until I get her to the hospital, but I hope I'm wrong.” He glanced at me. “Now, uhm, this door is locked, er . . .” A grimace twisted his lips as he flailed a forelimb indicatively toward the door. Marcus deftly opened the lock without dropping me. “Thank you,” Aidin sighed, relieved. “Human houses and their doors . . .” The sand-yellow pony pushed the door open with his left foreleg, permitting the outside air to rush over us. Its chilly bite on me was minor, and I guess I had my coat to . . . thank. A hospital wasn't a place I wanted to go to—a building packed to the brim with people who could label me insane the moment I said something about being a human male. I truly hoped I wasn't ill. If I was, I'd have to remain hospitalized for days. How could I keep myself secret for that long? Maybe I couldn't? Who am I kidding, I definitely couldn't! Oh no . . . Oh no! No, no, NO! Desperately, I tried to argue. “But I-I, uh, I f-feel fine,” I stammered shakily, sounding like an imperfect Fluttershy copy. I wasn't sick, as in puking, coughing, or . . . paralyzed. Truth be told, I had no idea what hemorrhage could really lead to. The illness I best identified was the chronic discomfort and anxiety caused by my highly unsettling female equine form. Turning his head around to reply, the paramedic had a sad glint in his eyes that matched his words: “I'm very sorry, but feeling fine and being fine aren't the same thing.” As we stepped outside into the rainy darkness, the water that began to run down my ears afflicted me with a sudden queasiness. I hated to admit he was right; a life-threatening ailment could be amidst my brain matter. A trip to a hospital was likely unavoidable, and I'd be crazy to conjure any new counterarguments or attempt to flee. I had to accept this. “I'm not taking any chances,” he continued as we began to head for the driveway, “and I fear I may not have taken action soon enough.” He let out a sigh that expressed both worry for me and remorse for himself. “However, while you were unconscious, I took the liberty to check your pulse and finish the medical examination—and I apologize deeply for encroaching on your privacy.” He glanced at me with a sorry frown. “I hope you understand.” I was a bit disgusted, maybe even slighted, at what he had done while I was out cold, but I did understand his actions. “I believe you are unharmed, but a TIA or similar injury—or something worse—could be possible, and that's something I can't treat with the medical equipment I've brought with me.” I had no clue what a TIA was. My medical experience was limited to perusing random articles on human anatomy while bored at home, and that information was of little use to me now. Marcus joined in to be the voice of reassurance. “If you ask me, I think you're completely fine, and your stay in the hospital won't be a long one.” Hopefully, he spoke the truth . . . Cursorily, I noted that Marcus' home was the only house I could see out here. I guess we were in a rural area. Even the distance from his old-fashioned house to the driveway was notable, as were the two pony-like shapes facing us, illuminated by the driveway lights. “I'm glad that you're hopeful, and I assure you, so am I. Still, it's better to be safe than sorry,” Aidin said as he came to stand before two soaked pegasi. “But if my worries are unfounded, then you're free to leave the hospital at any time.” After this, a pegasus by his side pointedly cleared her throat. “I'll also owe somepony special a bag of carrots, if you're sound as a bell,” he said to me with a confident smile. The mare chuckled lightly after that statement; I think she was more than convinced of my well-being. “Don't sweat it,” Marcus said as I tried to discern the details of the flat object placed on the ground between the two pegasus ponies. They wore body-length harnesses that connected to the green contraption with two flexible rods per pony. “You'll be back on your legs in no time!” His fingers rubbed me lightly as he carefully adjusted my position in his arms, lightly tickling my new form in the process. Unfortunately, I couldn't appreciate the sensation. “Of that, sir, I have no doubts,” the paramedic concurred with surprising decorum. The others watched me with compassionate curiosity as Aidin motioned at the device between them. “Now, please rest her gently on the stretcher,” he instructed amicably, identifying the contraption for me. Marcus began to do as prompted, and as my health—and my life—could be in jeopardy, I decided it was best to be perfectly compliant. Carefully orienting me to be parallel with the two pegasi, Marcus let my forehooves touch down on the stretcher first, which ensued without too much mental conflict; however, when I was laid prone and my hind legs were tucked to my sides, I winced with an unintended grunt. The reconciliation with my extremely unusual physiology was still in its infancy. Marcus voiced an apology, which he augmented by gently running his hand down my neck and back. Nonverbally, and therefore secret to him, I accepted his mollifying gesture, although my briefly tensing muscles informed how questionably I regarded his gesture. He almost seemed to perceive me more as an animal than a sapient being. Heeding Aidin's further instructions, Marcus began to affix belts over my forelegs, back, and across my . . . tail. That sent a powerful squirm along the total length of my spine, but I knew that I had to be secured. Simultaneously, I realized that I was about to be taken into the air by the pegasi duo, which was a fascinating method of transportation. Still, it was hard to ignore the feelings of unease and disgrace for my restraints, but those were nuisances compared to the real threat on my well-being. A glance revealed that the locking mechanism for the belt holding my forelimbs in place was fastened with a user-friendly lock even . . . a pony could open. With their . . . my mouth. “Thank you for your help, sir,” Aidin said politely once the three belts were in place. The tangerine-maned pony looked at me with a gentle gaze, although I could see his worry shimmering in his golden eyes. “Now, please allow me to introduce my colleagues.” He looked to my right: “Ampoule.” The pegasus nodded silently with a lean smile, his short cobalt blue mane and eyes creating a strong contrast with his bright yellow coat. “And Medical Brace,” Aidin said with warmth to the mare to my left. Her aquamarine pelt was identifiable thanks to the illumination provided by the few lollipop-shaped driveway lamps. “Hello, hon,” she said with a smile, half-lidding the amethyst eyes that sat beneath her long and weathered peroxide blonde mane, before lowering her head down to whisper into my ear: “If you're what we call a false alarm, my sweetheart here owes me some fresh carrots. I promise to give you a share after you get a clean bill of health, okay?” Compassion and confidence were drawn on her features when she withdrew from me, but I was simply confused. A false alarm? With a smug expression on her visage, she looked at Aidin, who poorly feigned obliviousness of what she had said. I think. I couldn't tell if they were being honest, or if it was simply an act to make me feel safe. Relaxed. I managed to reply with a ghost of a smile. I didn't know if they could tell, but I was starting to feel ill from stress. I could only hope I'd build a resistance to my fears, and inure to my ears . . . before I broke into tears. “All right, everypony. The situation is this,” Aidin said to both pegasi, and I looked at him attentively. “As I said earlier, our patient seems to be suffering from psychological trauma. She lost consciousness recently, and she may have an intracerebral injury.” The two ponies nodded sharply in acknowledgement, whereas my frown worsened; I found no joy in being referred to as a female, and I was very much concerned of what would happen to me at the hospital. My fears ranged from surgery to death, to the potentially devastating consequences of an accidental or forced revealing of my identity. Plus, the rain landing on my literally inhuman ears was discomforting. “Good. Now—Oh, pardon me!” An apologetic grin dawned on Aidin. “I almost forgot to tell you: her name's Rosy.” Rosy? Rosy Stripes? That was my name? The one that had caused me to faint? The one that I had outright refused to think of again? The name that had always been mine, except not before today? My name must be a sign of brain injury! I mean, that name! Aidin was right; I was really suffering from a brain injury! Worryingly, the two pegasi, whose cutie marks I saw matched their names, dawdled with benign expectation on their expressive muzzles. In turn, I eyed both with justified alarm on my mind. “Um, h-h-hi,” I managed to whimper to the stallion. Ampoule simply bowed his head with a frown of sympathy, radiating goodwill that I was impervious to. My ears and head sunk down, the latter mitigating my stress none, and I closed my eyes tightly as I began to counter my ascending anxiety and hyperventilation. “Don't be afraid, hon,” Medical Brace's dulcet tone slinked into my ears, and I felt something soft grace my neck. “You can count on all of us.” She paused, while the massage continued. “Remember what I said about carrots?” “Yeah,” I pushed a shamefully tiny squeak past the lump in my throat. I couldn't understand nor believe that I was capable of producing such a sound. “Listen. In an hour, you'll be eating carrots with a smile on your lips. Trust me, hon,” she assured. By now, I believed she was sincere. As I turned to look at her with exhausted eyes, I noticed what was on my neck and smiled lightly. A real pegasus wing! It was so soft, even through my fur. A desire to unbuckle myself and cry into her aquamarine plumes threatened to impose its will upon me, but I pushed it back—simply being graced by her wing was more than I could've wished for. A rustling alerted my ears, which informed me that it came from behind, and Medical Brace retracted herself. A translucent tarp that was apparently integral to the stretcher was rolled over me by Marcus. It shielded me from the elements, much to the relief of my overly sensitive ears. The fairly spacious cover that was now being painted by the downpour had small support beams of its own, probably to provide rigidity against the colliding air once we were airborne. Noting that I was saved from the rain's torture, and with the help of Medical Brace's gesture still fresh in my mind, I began to calm. I was so shaken that I wanted to leak tears from behind my closed eyes, but I couldn't allow that. Not now, not here. Maybe . . . if I let out just a few furtive tears . . . just a small release . . . No, not even that was permitted. I had cried more in the past few hours than I had in an entire year. I had to show some dignity and resilience. By the sound of things, Aidin or Marcus began to close some kind of latches to secure the cover in place. Aidin spoke, “I wish to speak with Marcus for a while, so leave without me this time.” “D'accord,” the so far silent stallion said, and then I heard the flapping of wings. “Sure thing! See you soon, sweetheart,” Medical Brace affirmed chipperly to her special somepony. I was silent, but a few seconds later, my eyelids and ears ascended as I suddenly remembered something vital. “But, uh—” It was too late; a small g-force pressed my body to the canvas when I was hoisted into the air. “My pears . . .” I continued in a pitiably mousy tone, followed by a moan of comparable quality as I slumped my head between my forelegs. The lock for the belts irritated my jaw, but I didn't care. A muted, agitated groan emitted from my throat when my annoying ears fell, too. No matter, sooner or later, I'd acclimate to them, but the single morsel in my stomach had probably dissolved by now, and soon I'd have an empty hole in me again. Why were all the good things being taken from me? I had to overreact. I had to mess up, and now, I had only myself to blame! Everything could've gone better had I not been tricked twice by my name . . . Or a subcranial injury was the culprit. That must be what was making my name feel so genuine. I could do absolutely nothing now but hope the hospital could cure me. And maybe provide me with nutrition, too. Preferably something edible and tasty. Perhaps. Was hospital food terrible? I didn't care. I just had to be tight-lipped about myself and disallow my curiosity to act. My survival as a free, inconspicuous individual rested on being laconic and passive. I peered into the darkness. The lights from a few houses and scattered light poles of this rural area were a drab sight. I glanced at the ponies by my side, noticing a gently upwards-slanted surface between them and me. The shape was connected to the equine's harness with a pair of segmented rods. As I was examining it, the flight path changed, and a brighter light show crossing the horizon caught my immediate attention. It took me a few seconds to identify it as a highway a few kilometers away, and . . . it was beautiful. The orange streak that was slowly nearing us had me mesmerized. I couldn't help but smile, and I felt . . . a little happy. My concerns were being pushed to the caboose of my train of thought. The air and rain noisily toyed with the tarp, but they didn't distract me from soon fantasizing about the perky droning of a horizontally opposed, four-cylinder Lycoming engine rotating a two-bladed propeller at 23,000 revolutions per minute. I closed my eyes to immerse myself deeper into this stress-alleviating vision. Clear sky all around, with the exception of a few clouds. The scenery of roads, lakes, forests, and towns a few thousand feet below scrolling gently by at a velocity of 90 knots, with the wind, the entrancing rotations of the airscrew, and the heart of the machine as a soundtrack. My imagination ran so vividly that I began to hear ATC chatter, and the engine and the propeller sounds became subtly separate. Flying an airplane was a wondrous beauty worth achieving. A wish to covet. A dream to realize. It was so close. Me and the plane, together in the air . . . experiencing a freedom like no other, not as two, but as one . . . I sighed, I couldn't properly describe it, but it would be magic. I had only one more month of jobless procrastination until I was supposed to enter flight school. Despite my initial concerns on the contrary, I would safely make it on the money I had saved from my former job. I had worked in a small electronics shop, owned by one Oscar Dahlin. My task there was to do pretty much everything that didn't require his seemingly unlimited expertise on electronics. While I never saw him outside work hours, we were nonetheless cool with each other. He didn't talk much about his personal life, but what I did learn was that he was a widower with no family. He was also very passionate about his little enterprise, which he had kept successfully afloat for about thirty years. I found that to be a very admirable accomplishment. What was funny was that when he placed his old car up for sale, I bought it almost right on the spot, with the money I had earned from being in his employment. I had to wonder if getting me the car was his intention. I wagered it was; he had an air about him the days leading up to his decision to sell it. The car wasn't expensive, and it wasn't in bad shape. Of course, it didn't have power steering, central locking, or proper air conditioning. Pure practicality. Still, I was happy with the sky-blue sedan, and I think he was happy that it was in my possession instead of in a scrap yard. Sadly, he kicked the bucket the next weekend. Apparently, he ruptured a vessel, or something. I hoped it had been painless . . . and that brought back to mind my present condition. What was I thinking about? I had to go back to it! It was Oscar, and he . . . Gone . . . The shop . . . Yes! Calming, calming . . . calming . . . calming memories . . . After Oscar's death, I decided to simply enjoy my home, living on my meager savings and unemployment benefits for a while. Occasionally, I would hang out with my friends, but I had grown tired of their idea of fun, which entailed drinking themselves stupid almost every time I was with them. It hadn't always been like that, but it seemed that adulthood equaled a right to frequently invoke intoxication. Since I was the only sober guy, it was highly awkward being with my temporarily obnoxious friends, who voiced opinions that I didn't acknowledge, hoping they weren't their true beliefs; however, the louder they became, the quieter I became, and with that kind of isolation came conviction. About two weeks ago, when they were once again in an altered state of mind, I finally lost my cool and gave them a piece of my mind. After an embittering altercation, I left them to their own devices. It would take a while before I'd dare to see them again, if ever . . . They were still my friends . . . Or were they? Was I a friend to them? I was so torn on those subjects . . . and I didn't want to focus on that now. Oscar had looked so healthy that day. Slightly graying hair, but other than that, his features bore no trace of the sixty years of his life's journey. I still remember the smile on his spry, bespectacled face when he handed over the keys to me. Said that "I should take care of the humble fella.” I bought his car for a meager sum and fully expected to see him after the weekend. But that was the last I saw of him. Next I heard, he had collapsed on the way out of a hardware store. I hated to admit it—even now—that I had honestly teared up a smidgen when the news reached me. Life went on, I wasn't in any kind of financial trouble, and I was the new owner of an old car, so things were comparatively good. During my first days of ownership, I took the car on a few excursions to get a better feel for it. Namely, I tested the nimble sedan a little on a sizeable and usually vacant lot of a horse racing track outside the city limits. At some point, I had promised myself to take very good care of the aged sedan for as long as possible. I felt it was the right thing to do. Some kind of legacy, or duty, that Oscar had passed to me. Four meters of alloy and plastic weighing at about one ton gained status that was beyond its original intent as an ultimately impermanent and replaceable form of transportation. I believe that in an effort to ensure I'd responsibly protect and preserve the car, I applied a name to it. Or would that be him? Quite absurd, I confess, that I was taking Oscar's humorous comment a bit too seriously. Jim's just an unfeeling, lifeless machine . . . Maybe someday, I'll get over the sentimentality and give him a good home. I had actually learned a few days ago that he was just a couple of years short of qualifying as a museum car. I guess that was another, much better and logical reason to maintain the car. My little automobile, a future museum exhibit? That kind of an impressive accomplishment would make me burst with immense pride and joy! Wait, what was that? Ampoule's sudden guffaw wrenched me out of my memory lane. Whatever the cause of his mirth was, I had now been brought back to the present moment, and my current method of travel was dissuading me from slipping back into my recollections. After an arbitrary glance of my immediate surroundings, the compactible wing design that was integrated to a stretcher made me primarily wonder whether it was a recent innovation or if it had been perfected over several generations, and had it been developed here on this Earth or brought from Equestria? If that place truly existed, that is. As I understood (with the help of countless fictional stories and some educated theories), there's a universe for anything and everything, and more are created constantly and indefinitely. Even the number and arrangement of atoms flowing in and out from my lungs probably created an infinite number of universes for every passing attosecond. Hence, it wouldn't be a completely absurd claim that two drastically different universes – one with humans, the other with ponies – were somehow connected. However, I had no way to ascertain the existence of Equestria other than asking the pegasi . . . What if they asked what Equestria was? How would I explain that? These ponies weren't inarguable proof of its existence. Maybe I could blame the brain injury for my unusual question? Perhaps it would be wiser to start with an innocuous question from which I could segue the direction of the conversation to the ponies' birthplaces. I just had to hope they wouldn't ask me any similar questions; I didn't trust myself to produce a proper cover story on a short notice. Maybe I could pretend that I was amnesiac? No, that would be too risky. However, I could learn a lot just by starting a conversation with a simple question that's unrelated to Equestria and ponies. Now, what could that question be . . . ? Luckily, the air and rain rattling the protective tarp sparked an idea, and with a smile, I looked at the pony to my right. “Can you tell me what our altitude and airspeed are?” I queried enthusiastically to Ampoule, but my distinctively feminine voice immediately caused me to gag in disgust. I had defaulted to being an out-and-out male on a subconscious level in spite of my awareness of my equine shape. I may've received a reply to my aeronautically pertinent inquiry, but I didn't hear it over my morosity. Suddenly, I recalled an instance when I was in an ill mood, just like now. In my mind's eye, lush rolling hills were stretching so far that the vivid green blended with the light blue horizon. I was just a young . . . filly? No! The memories of my own human past were unquestionably authentic, and the brief vision I had just seen was nothing but a glitch caused by my cerebral injury! I shouldn't worry too much. I would be healed soon, and then my real name would be restored. The name that I could see in my mind but had failed to come out. No fear. The docs would fix me. Save me. Unfortunately, I doubted they could cure my number one illness: my physical composition. I had been assured—and I wanted to be sure—that I wasn't in a life-threatening danger. If I kept quiet, there was a very good chance that once I was discharged, the hospital staff would be none the wiser of who I was. And then I'd stroll home to do some on-site research, and . . . If that research was inconclusive? If I found nothing from there, or from the infinite well of information that was the Internet? Or if I learned that there was no way back? That this was how I had to be, for all time? That the worst case scenario had become real and eternal . . . ? Something started to tug at my heart, and my breaths became spasmodic. Those were the symptoms of the vague but disheartening predictions that were swirling in my mind. There was no clear vision of what kind of a life I'd have as a female equine, just . . . abstract horror and overwhelming melancholy. I knew there was nothing I could do, not right now . . . except to keep my hopes up! ‘For goodness sake! Here and now's not the darn time to drag myself down to sadness city! Anything less but the total restoration of my real self and life is completely unacceptable! I will prevail!’ I scolded myself, frowning tensely as I worked to perish the dismal thoughts and salvage my declining mood. The contempt I felt for my own moment of weakness channeled outwards, and I glared at nothing, hoping to overhear the ponies' conversation. Much to my disappointment, the two were talking in a language I recognized but couldn't speak nor understand. I almost growled at my linguistic deficiency; it would've been less menacing than a revving Vespa thanks to my dauntingly feminine larynx. I was envious of the duo's method of flight, although I would have preferred a machine to pilot. Regardless, if I had any say in my unexplained transformation into a pony, I would've chosen to be a pegasus. A pegasus stallion, just to be clear. The rhythmic oscillation of their wings gradually soothed my ill feelings, though I wasn't exactly sure why my sights became affixed to the repetitive movements of their plumed limbs. Obviously, I was amazed by their existence alone, especially now that the worst of my mind-addling trauma was behind me. I could've tried to initiate dialogue with them again, but . . . those wings . . . I stared at them in complete bewilderment. After a short duration of thoughtless observation of both ponies, it occurred to me that the wings were working in opposing directions: when the mare's wings were in an upward cycle, the stallion's were thrusting downwards, and vice versa. It took me a while, but I was able to guesstimate that turning was accomplished by the pony on the inner side reducing the wing beat rate, whereas the outer pony increased theirs. Their wings may have tilted, or the pony yawed to aid the maneuver, but such intricate details were difficult to distinguish through the darkness and the droplets streaking the plastic cover; it was only because they carried lights that I was able to see them at all. The change of heading was comparable to steering a twin-engined airplane by adjusting the engine power to create asymmetrical thrust. It was interesting that the pegasi expertly employed a technique usually demonstrated by aircraft whose control surfaces had become inoperable. The flying pair changed heading nimbly and efficiently, maintaining a level attitude. When the ponies had lifted off, the folded surfaces between them and the stretcher had expanded to produce an airfoil of sorts, although that had gone unnoticed by me when it had occurred. Apparently, sex didn't have much effect on a pegasi's muscle mass, as Medical Brace had no trouble matching her partner's wing strokes. Another apparent and astonishing aspect was their adherence to aviation regulations: the lights they carried were navigational lights! A red and a green collar on the mare and the stallion, respectively. I had to wonder where the strobe lights were. Maybe hidden underneath the stretcher and airfoil? I finally detached my focus from the pegasi to scan my surroundings. The highway was below us now, dotted with the moving reds and whites of automobile lights. Moist air was rushing in from small gaps between the tarp and stretcher. To my surprise, the smell of emission from the cars below was detectable but not irritating. Not too far away was the familiar sea of colors belonging to my home city. Mostly orange and white, in addition to logos, traffic lights, and other signs. A few kilometers ahead, on the right side of the highway, was a mall. The illuminated latticed column, most likely brandishing familiar brand names, marked its location. I had been there once or twice. The rural landscape gave way to more and more homes of various types, and commercial buildings as well. Passing the mall, we soon reached the city proper, and the highway transitioned to a thoroughfare leading into the heart of the population center. The lights of civilization that stretched out in every direction were unusually bright and vibrant. Maybe it was the darkness creating a contrast, or the water on the tarp working as lenses to enhance the luminosity of the incalculable gleams. Or my vision; I didn't exactly have human eyes anymore. In any case, it was an unusual but magnificent view. I saw so much more and farther. This vista helped me to remember the times I had ventured to one of the few hills in the city to survey the landscape. Armed with binoculars and a map, I'd sometimes stay there up to an hour, spotting landmarks for my own pleasure. Although the hill wasn't very tall by worldly standards, most of the city's buildings were of less height, thus granting me a good impression of the scenery. The farther away the landmark, the more spectacular and breathtaking it was to witness. Most notable was the water tower over 30 kilometers away! The wondrous sight was spellbinding; it took so long for me to tell myself to leave every time I had been up on that hill. All I had done was watch in stunned awe and delight. It had been so beautiful, yet so simple, and so was this. Really, what could be more wonderful than flying? Because I had no way to tell the time, I couldn't gauge how long we had been in the air. We had left the expressway behind to cross over the denser areas of the city. In the distance, a relatively large building stood almost half again taller than the ones surrounding it—our destination. I recognized the thirteen-floor-tall monolith as the city's main hospital. A sadness at the end of my flight, and the uncertainty of my future, began to creep in at the same rate the predominantly white building became more distinct. Hopefully, in less than an hour or so, I'd be told I was okay, or at least being treated back to health. I hoped they had unicorn magic that'd be able to fix me. The image of my head being cut open, the insertion of surgical tools and . . . brain bandages or whatever—Those didn't play well with me. The relaxed look I had just moments ago had been replaced by a frown, and my tail was trying to hide itself between my legs. That felt uncomfortable. Regardless, my primary objectives were to be as inconspicuous as possible and to keep my male humanity strictly to myself. I had to wear my appearance like it was perfectly normal; I couldn't detest any of its properties or show signs of ineptitude. It took a few seconds for me to fully comprehend my scheme, but when I did, my face blanked in unprecedented terror and shock. The greatest challenge of my life was minutes away, and I had no better or wiser options available. I would strive to be as passive and reticent as possible to minimize the attention I'd receive, besides the obvious medical care, and the staff would naturally be predisposed to perceive me as what I resembled. Once the hospital was no more than a few hundred meters away, I summed up the behavior I'd stick to: withdrawn, quiet, and very cautious of what I'd say or do. However, I had to ask myself: was my planned guise just another layer of humiliating femininity I was applying to myself? Was it better if I behaved as myself, sans the male human traits? Was it even possible to disallow my innate characteristics from manifesting? I couldn't know for sure. I was being taken to a hospital, a place stacked with people who could legitimately suspect my sanity the moment I acted outside my soon-to-be-assumed role. I had to attract as little attention as possible. I couldn't tell what frightened me more: the supposed brain injury, the methods the doctors would employ to treat me, my true self being exposed, or my ruse of being an authentic pony if the situation demanded for it. I hoped for the best, but I had no idea how to prepare for the worst. With the flight in its landing approach, I took notice of a wide white structure with an overhang at the far side of the rectangular roof. Exercising much precision and care, the two ponies flared to a glide along the length of the roof before landing smoothly underneath the overhang. The wing-like assembly and stretcher lowered to the floor, and a pair of the sliding doors in front of me opened into a surprisingly bright room. The sudden increase in luminosity forced my eyes to close. The two ponies pulled the entire wing assembly, and me with it, into the room. Judging by the clicks and shuffles, they were proceeding to uncouple themselves from the complex harness. The stallion said something in a complaining tone, and the mare replied with an appeasing one. Why did they speak in that language? Not that I could ask. I had to be passive. I heard more clicking, and then the stretcher was lifted off the floor and almost simultaneously rotated 90 degrees. A quick glance informed me that I had been placed transversely on the ponies' backs. I had not seen or heard any others besides the two, so they must've done it by themselves. Hooves clacked softly on the floor, then came to a halt after only a few seconds. The two spoke briefly again in that fancy language, and I heard elevator doors open. It wasn't until now that I actually questioned why I had been airlifted by pegasus ponies instead of an ambulance delivering me here. If it wasn't so unnerving being in a hospital, I would've felt amazed again. “Feeling well, hon?” Medical Brace asked softly. I replied with a hasty, positive-sounding hum. The too-high sound that climbed from my throat didn't convince me, but at least I hadn't gone rigid in dread. “Don't worry,” she continued in that unbelievably soothing voice of hers, “You're safe now, and you'll have carrots soon. Promise.” How could she be sure of that? Was she the pony splitting my head open and staunching my internal bleeding? The brightness inside the elevator was unbearable to me, so barring a few quick looks, I continued to keep my eyes sealed while I waited for my vision to acclimate. I briefly envied the two ponies for being less light-sensitive than me. To help quell my fears, I wondered if, perhaps once this was over, I could ask for a return flight home? I almost smiled in anticipation in spite of my concerns. To think, the previous evening, right before sleep, I had been busy playing . . . a video game? How odd. Why couldn't I remember what game it was? I had . . . four games? That few? I saw them on the desk this morning, and yesterday, too. Didn't I have more? Odd. Something seemed off about my home now that I thought about it. Something I should be aware of, but my mind wasn't telling me what it was. Or . . . it was simply the stress and possible brain injury throwing my faculties into disarray. Probably that, yeah. I would've continued to play whatever video game it was the next morning and leisurely counted down another day to flight school, had not fate, or whatever, done this to me. I had been removed—No! Torn away from my comfy and safe existence, and all I could do now was maintain hope that it wasn't impossible to get it back. Until then . . . For as long as I would be here, in this hospital, maybe even in this realm . . . I had to keep myself a secret . . . and that meant . . . I had to be a mare. What had I done to deserve this kind of torment?

Suomibrony

435

Original Character,Human,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

First Pony View

Some dreams you might never want to end… …but what happens when the dream really doesn't?

incomplete

<p>Have you ever had a dream that just seemed so <i>real</i>, that it was impossible to say for certain that it was even a dream at all? A dream that, despite all of its impossibilities, seemed to re-write your entire perception of reality, re-writing your sense of what—and indeed, <i>who</i>—you are? Accepting change is hard enough as it is. But when you're a <span style="color:#808000">somebody</span> who wakes up as a <span style="color:#6495ED">somepony</span>, how do you cope with the impact such a drastic change has on your mind and body? With changes like these, it must surely just be a lucid dream—albeit a suspiciously <i>accurate one</i>—just brimming with potential and ripe for exploration. So you might as well suck it up and make the most of these distressingly…unusual circumstances, and seize this <span style="color:#008000">psychological adventure</span> before you wake up and the dream ends.<br/>After all, this couldn't possibly be real, so the dream must come to an end eventually…right?</p>

teen

2012-10-07T10:25:11+00:00

2018-04-02T05:57:21+00:00

First Pony View A My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic fan fic By Suomibrony Chapter 10 So Much For Nothing An electronic chime announcing the parting of the elevator doors broke me out of my mentations. With my sensitive photoreceptors shielded by eyelids, I felt myself sway as the hooves of the two pegasi bearing me resounded off the floor. “Excuse me,” Medical Brace called as we came to a stop. “We need a scan for a possible brain injury here.” She then grunted, and the stretcher moved a little. “Ow. Whoever designed this stupid junk wasn't thinking of comfort,” she murmured under her breath. Ampoule laughed, then said something in a questioning but mirthful tone, to which the usually gentle mare replied with an annoyed grumble. I tried to understand what had been said. Something about . . . No, I couldn't figure it out. Shucks. Probably said I was really fine, and that I'd be out the hospital doors in an hour. Or not. The tone wasn't right. In any case, I had to firmly believe in positive results and, more importantly, remain calm at all times, or free room and board in a nuthouse were in my future. “I got this!” another female called enthusiastically. With a cringe, I reluctantly thanked my semi-autonomous soundcatchers for telling me that she was to my left. The next moment, I heard a series of snaps and rustles, and warily, I drew my eyelids to a slit. ‘Ouch!’ I shut my eyes. ‘Why's this still so bright to me?’ I wondered. I had been able to discern, however, that my roomy plastic cover was being removed, and I was in a small lobby of sorts. The feeling of overwhelming sensory input must've been due to my pony eyes still being unaccustomed to the brightness. I had never been sensitive of normal indoor lights before, though. Not even in Marcus' bathroom. Were the lights here brighter or something? “Go on ahead. Might take me a minute or two to deal with the team rotation paperwork and entrust me with supervision over the patient in Aidin's absence before I can follow,” Medical Brace assumably instructed to the unseen female. I felt something tap me in the barrel from underneath the stretcher's canvas. “Don't you fear, hon,” she said “You'll be okay soon.” Yeah, sure, I'd be okay, no problem. Not nervous at all. Just had to believe in good things. I was lifted up, startling my eyes open, and I noticed they had adjusted to the light. The stretcher was now on a gurney, rolling down the hallway. Gazing ahead, I observed how few people were present across its cream-colored floor. As we passed a few doors, curiosity suggested I should learn who was carting me through the white-walled hallway. Slowly swiveling my head around, I saw a hand, then tracked that up to the shoulder, and from there to the face. Medium-length anthracite-black hair, simplistic but stylish glasses, and young features. A pretty nose. She was kinda cute. “Oh, hi there!” she said very chipperly, and my ears drooped. The pleasant image I had of her broke, and her supposedly friendly expression became downright perturbing. “Uhm . . . hi,” I replied with a faint whisper, distancing my head from her a little. “So, hey, what's your name?” she asked in a rhythmical manner. That was . . . a nice variation. “Uh . . .” I averted my head from her uncanny expression on the pretense of being shy, although I didn't have to pretend that much. I guess the defect in my head hadn't cured itself because I thought of the name that felt like it was genuinely mine, when it was anything but. Obviously, I couldn't tell her my male human name. My best option was to keep a low profile for as long as possible, or until I was absolutely sure it was safe to confide my identity to somepony I was willing to trust. Somepony? The ponyisms were most likely caused by the brain damage, too! When did this even start? Did I hit my head when I fell out of my bed this morning? No, I managed to catch myself quite softly. I hadn't hit my head at all today. Strange . . . Was something wrong about my bed? My home? I couldn't be certain. Perhaps it was just the brain anomaly toying with my faculties again? “Mine's Lisa,” the young nurse introduced herself, my uncomfortable ears rotating on their own to catch her voice. “Okay,” I replied, a strain of discomfort and dread in my quiet tone. I attempted to appreciate her positivity, though it wasn't meshing well with me. We rounded a corner to a corridor with a peculiarly light pink floor. “Now, don't be such a scaredy tail. You know why? Because you have absolutely nothing to be afraid of!” Lisa tried to reassure me, but she only made me flinch. As if the jarring delivery of her statement could wash away my concerns. She was wrong. No, scratch that. She was absolutely dreadful! She wasn't even close to being like Medical Brace, who had a smooth voice and a sensibly kind demeanor. Lisa wasn't even like Marcus Lund-something. He was nice, and I'd be fast friends with him. Maybe. He was a teetotaler, right? I wouldn't hug him again, regardless. Hoping I wasn't going in for a surgery and staying here for days, but also a touch aggravated by the nurse's decorum, I replied with forced optimism in my succinct whisper: “I know.” “Why, of course you know, my littlest sweetest pony,” she replied in a manner that I found condescending, and I screwed my eyes shut. Why had I opened my mouth? Was she trying to be amusing? Had she been reassigned from a kindergarten to a hospital? Did she have a brain injury herself? She was like jagged, rusty, horrible, horrible nails on a chalkboard! Then, as she continued to talk, my eyes rolled upwards in frustrated despair. “Say, are you saying that if you didn't know, I'd have to tell it to you for you to know? Didn't I already do that? Hey, maybe—?” “Zip it,” I cut in tersely, my ears pricking backwards. That annoyed me, too. With so many things already stressing me out, I didn't need much to be pushed to my limits. “Hey now don't be such a crabap—” “Didn't you hear me?” I interrupted grouchily, my unadulterated high-pitched voice only agitating me further. “Sure, I heard you, sis, and—” Sis? With an exasperated, puny-sounding groan that brought a short-term grimace to me, I crashed my head in the space between my forelegs. “Not. One. Word. MORE,” I emphasized my ultimatum through my teeth. The silence that followed indicated she had at the least a rudimentary rational conscience. My vexation withered quickly though, and I sighed as my ears unglued themselves from my skull. “Lisa, please understand,” I said as amiably as I could, feeling that I had been a smidgen too harsh, even though I held the opinion that she deserved every drop of my contempt. “Your flippant attitude is completely inappropriate, insensitive, and . . . well, creepy. It only upsets me, and probably other patients you've had and will have.” Undesiring to start an educative tirade that would undoubtedly feature many snide remarks masquerading as advice, I simply got to the point: "Please rethink your behavior. Your silence will do me more good than anything you could possibly say, so please . . . don't talk to me anymore." After a second's pause, I added in a smaller voice, “I'm sorry.” There was a bleakness in me . . . my male self conjured the words, but my distaff larynx spoke them. The disparity made me sound alien, which only enhanced my sensation of entrapment. Thankfully, the grief and fear were soon superseded by the much welcomed peace of relative quiet I had earned for myself. The relaxant Aidin had given me was likely helping matters, too. To keep my cool, I held my eyes gently closed, taking slow breaths as I was delivered to my destination. My recent ire had riled me from the withdrawn role I had hoped to adhere to; I'd strengthen my laconic passiveness with an absolute rule: silence is golden. I'd behave as if voiceless. Voiceless, and horribly depressed. The hospital staff would definitely worry to no end, maybe even be more than concerned once I inevitably struggled to do even the simplest pony-esque things. On the plus side (if it could be called that), my silence would minimize the risk of saying something that could compromise the integrity of my sadly irremovable disguise. The gurney halted, and the characteristic sound of a knuckle rapping a door preceded a muffled female's voice. “Yes, do come in.” I opened my eyes just in time to see Lisa open a door before me, and a moment later, she carted me into the room. With a smidgen of intrigue, I surveyed the warmly-colored space, noting a couple of shelves with assorted books, a basic hospital bed by the wall ahead, and a series of windows spanning the entire length of the left wall, permitting a view of four-story apartment buildings on the other side of a street. What was most striking was the size of the furniture and equipment here: they were smaller than normal, and that made this room look huge. Even the desk in the very left corner beneath the long window—Whoa! “Good evening.” My head ascended from the stretcher's green canvas along with my pinnae stiffening involuntarily in surprised astonishment. Not at the greeting, but at the sight of a pale orange pony standing from behind the low desk to smile at us. I blinked a few times, just to make sure that what had just moments ago been inspecting the disorganized papers on the desk wasn't an illusion. No, she was still there, regarding me with some puzzlement. “I presume this patient requires my attention?” the red-maned unicorn asked. “Yes. A scan. Possible brain injury,” Lisa relayed laconically, her tone traceless of the highly aggravating glee she had earlier. I couldn't say that I was too sorry about deflating her mood. I was more concerned about my brain injury, and I didn't look forward to knowing how severe it was. “Very well. Thank you for the help,” the unicorn replied as she strolled to the gurney's left side, and that was when I spied her cutie mark: a trio of curved, translucent vertical lines snugly interlacing the shape of a bistre-brown pony. Lisa left wordlessly, which apparently prompted the mare to look toward the gently closed door with a concerned and inquiring frown. She soon removed her expression with a hum and placed her hoof on something below the gurney's mattress. “Quite rainy out there, is it not?” she said to break the ice. “Yeah,” I said instinctually, the flowery and fresh nuances of hyacinth and mandarin orange emanating from her essence enthralling me. ‘Amazing perfume,’ I commented absently. With a tiny hydraulic hissing sound, the gurney began to descend, and soon, I was slightly below face-level of the standing mare. I must've looked utterly stupid, gazing into her auburn eyes without a clue what to think or say as I came down; all the while, she drew a lax smile on herself. The sound of the door closing startled me into focusing my attention over my back, a split second after my directional microphones had done so already. “Nice to see you, Peachy Hale,” a familiar pony said in her affable tone as she crossed the few meters to stand beside the identified unicorn. After greeting the now harness-free aquamarine pegasus, Peachy Hale began to undo the not-so-restricting belts from me with her magic. It looked so effortless for her, and I had to consciously dissuade myself from gawking in wonder at her magic-enveloped horn. So instead, I stared at Medical Brace's half-lidded amethyst eyes. Her peroxide blonde mane was damp. Hah, wet mane. Well, damp mane. That sight and the associated cogitations creased my lips lightly. “Well, hello to you as well,” she said to me after a few seconds with a tiny giggle, subtle bemusement in her eyes. “Hi,” I replied in an unintentionally shy tone that, along with my tiny smile, elicited a small chuckle from her. “There,” Peachy Hale said softly as the belt pressing on my fuzzy behind was removed, the sensation and subsequent realization disconcerting me. I was naked . . . “Being free from those belts feels so much more comfortable, doesn't it?” I replied with a flat hum. The unicorn glanced at her pegasus counterpart with a smile. “Alright. I'm ready to run the scan.” She then looked at me. “Are you ready?” she asked. “Uhh . . . yeah. I think I am,” I replied, still moderately timid of my own intonation. More so, I was puzzled at what was about to occur. She'd run the scan? How? Wasn't a scanner like a big donut-shaped device conjoined with a bed? The most advanced contraptions I saw here were a scale, standing along the wall next to the bed, and a basic wall clock, the latter of which hung above and behind Peachy's desk. It was half past nine. There wasn't even a computer here. How odd. “How are you holding up, hon?” Medical Brace asked me. How should I answer that question? I wasn't gifted with an intrinsic meter to provide a numerical value of my current health at all times. “Um, I'll know soon . . . Right?” I nonetheless hazarded to reply. “That's not what I meant,” she giggled in gentle amusement. “But yes, you'll know soon.” I tried to smile, too, but my ears were telling their own tale by curving down and backwards. “Please, don't worry,” Peachy reproved me with the kindest tone. Had my ears told her I was worried? Those could throw a wrench into my plans to conceal my emotions, which might inadvertently lead to the exposure of my identity. Somehow. “You'll be perfectly fine.” “Yeah, of course. No doubt about it,” I hoped nervously, my soft female voice making my whisper sound like I was mimicking a certain withdrawn pegasus. Peachy nodded with an empathetic look. “I better start the scan, then.” Ears righting themselves, my eyes were automatically drawn to her horn when it lit up again, and simultaneously, she closed her eyes. A mere second later, my right hind leg began to sting mildly, as if it was becoming . . . completely numb! I drew a startled inhale, and I began to restlessly twitch the strange joints in my strange leg. It's one thing to have equine legs with relatively insensitive hooves, but to potentially lose sensation in the entire appendage frightened me. “Don't be alarmed, hon,” Medical Brace soothed, and I fixated a look of concerned inquiry on her as my leg lost more of its tactile acuity. With a sympathetic glint in her eyes, she reached over and rested her hoof on my, my . . . what was this part of the forelimb called? Cannon! Nevertheless, her aquamarine hoof resting on my hairy skin took me by such surprise that I forgot my present troubles. As I was looking at her with an uncomprehending gaze, she continued, “Peachy's magic is only looking at your insides, and just to be safe, she always does a complete scan for any type of physical injury.” The paramedic pegasus took on a reflective expression. “Her magic does feel a bit weird at first, I know,” she said, as if she had personal experience of this. “But that'll phase out in a few seconds.” Her moderately furrowed brows relaxed. “The scan will only take a minute or two, so take a deep breath, and think of nice things while we wait for Peachy to finish, okay?” “Okay,” I repeated quietly, stealing a glance at the colorful magic on my hind leg. True to her words, and to my immense relief, sensation returned to my hind leg. In fact, the unicorn's magic was now merely making me feel momentary numbness where it traversed. Now that I was becoming tranquil, I found it fascinating to have magic applied on me. Medical Brace withdrew her leg once she seemed to be sure I was no longer anxious. Maybe it was a deliberate effect of Peachy's magic, or I simply had understood its innocuity, or maybe the mellow pegasus could channel tranquility with her touch; in any case, I felt much relieved. The fact that I hadn't been taken to an imaging machine but to a unicorn, who was now scanning me with magic, was positively bewildering. Why was I treated to this kind of an exception? Would it be a good idea to ask? If I presented the query in an ingenious manner, they wouldn't give me strange looks for being unponylike. Then again, was magical scanning common knowledge? How could I know if I didn't ask? But could asking lead to a series of events that would reveal what I was? I'd best not ask. I noticed that the momentary numbness was coursing in my right foreleg. There was actually a thin ring of pale orange indicating the magic's apparent location, gently releasing white glimmers of magic that floated leisurely, like tiny short-lived dandelion seeds. The magical bracelet was simply beautiful to look at. I kind of . . . wanted one. Was it feminine to like a sparkly magical bracelet? I couldn't say for sure. Would I happily show it to my friends back in my original plane of existence? Would I dare to show it to Benny, David, Peter, and Thomas? I doubted that. They weren't my only friends, but . . . Were those four my friends any longer? Two weeks back, I was with them in Benny's home. I didn't see them much anymore, but when I did, I wanted to have fun, like we used to. All had started quite well that evening, and I was enjoying myself while I still could. Then, as I had come to anticipate, my friends began to drink themselves stupid. I loathed the intoxicating consumable from the bottom of my heart, and for too long had I passively watched my friends enslave themselves to the wills of the abhorrent sludge. I never felt comfortable in the presence of those who were drunk. On the contrary, their preternatural joy frightened me, which I easily converted into an empowering emotion: animosity. I had decided that if I failed to change their habits, I would no longer associate myself with those four friends. So, that evening, I feared that several years of shared friendship was coming to an end with finality, and I hoped I wasn't powerless to prevent it. I demanded that my friends quit alcohol for good. No exceptions, no pardons, and no excuses. I told them how alcohol was one of society's greatest stumbling blocks, perhaps the worst humankind has met. I explained that alcohol shattered families and caused violence, health problems, and even death. To my disheartening dismay, things quickly went pear-shaped, and my friends, they . . . They were untrustworthy, unseemly, insincere drunkards whose affability was nothing more but a mendacity constructed by their alcohol-corrupted minds! I really didn't want to . . . I didn't want to think of this anymore! Hastily, I distanced myself from the surprisingly emotional look on my recent past, spotting the magical imaging bracelet retract from my left foreleg towards my torso. In spite of my cogitations, the continuing difficulty to adjust back to my form, and the persistent worry for my health, the uplifting effect of witnessing the shimmering brilliance hadn't been snuffed out entirely. I should have been thinking of nice things, like Medical Brace had encouraged me to. I needed to think of something different to dilute my negative feelings before the scan ended . . . Something I liked . . . Cars! I liked cars. I made a quick slideshow in my mind but soon stopped at one image: a memory of my car on the clear day I had bought it, parked on its spot near my current residence. It was as if the sky above had shared its color with the 55 kW wonder machine. The vision was beautifully picturesque, with a road separating the parking lot from a green meadow, a forest not far away. I lived in a green neighborhood, but then again, the city I lived in was quite green with flora. Anyhow, I had been quite happy with my purchase, and my lips reflected that. It was a memory pleasantly unrelated to my present reality. Speaking of reality, according to my nervous system, the magic emitting from Peachy's pale orange horn was now traveling up my neck. The scan would travel to my brain, and . . . maybe it would delete my deleterious ailment? That would be more than perfect! Peachy herself seemed to be in a peaceful trance with her head aligned down, as if she had fallen asleep standing. “Psst.” The paramedic pegasus leaned a smidgen closer. “Listen carefully, hon. I'll let you in on a little secret: Peachy may tickle your nose,” she confided with such muted magnitude that I might not have heard it if I didn't have pony ear drums. The innocent look on her muzzle as she withdrew gave me a bad vibe, bringing my ears down along with a frown. “Why's that a secr—?” I started, but my ears flipped up in surprise when she shook her head sharply. “Shh. Just wait,” she whispered, casting a quick glance at the entranced unicorn, as if to affirm she hadn't been alerted. “It'll be good.” Before I could assemble a thought into spoken format, my sinuses began to itch. Badly. Intuitively, I averted my head from the ponies and closed my eyes. I suppose Peachy's magic was in my nostrils now, and it was like I had inhaled hair spray directly from the nozzle. I tried to quell the overwhelming irritation with sheer willpower, but it was simply insufferable. “AHSPLYAaahhgh!” I let out an unbridled sneeze. I was decently dizzy after the expulsion of air, and I sniffled reflexively a few times. Something ran down to my lips, and it . . . tasted salty? “Eagh!” I stuck out my tongue in disgust—Huh? What? Only now did it dawn on me that Medical Brace was laughing. Oh, she wasn't only laughing; she had collapsed to the floor, clutching herself tightly. While I was genuinely unable to comprehend what was so funny, Peachy was observing the pegasus with saucer eyes and an ajar jaw. Shortly, she began to frown. “Oh no,” she lamented quietly, upon which the unicorn's pinnae lost their rigidity. That must be a bad sign! “Oh no, what?” I worried, but she was apparently too focused on watching the merry mare to hear my faint vocalization. My peace of mind began to erode as fears that I had impressively held at bay started to drench my mind . . . which could now be doomed to cease working due to an eternally untreatable injury that would permanently kill me to death! Oh nononononono! The medical mares wouldn't let that happen to me! Okay, okay, had to calmly quick—quickly calm myself . . . Becoming calmer . . . Calming down . . . There! Regular respiration rate restored and panicked grimace prevented! That wasn't so difficult. I suppose the relaxant I had ingested was thankfully still doing its stuff. But for how long . . . ? Anyhow, now that I was somewhat collected again, I noted that the nearly uncontrollably laughing pony began to address the flatly staring unicorn: “Dear, hahahahaha! Dear, Pea-Peashihihihi! Peacherine em-em—” She produced a long chortle, collecting herself (somewhat) to blurt out: “Peacherine Emily Hale!” As she laughed herself supine, my eyes darted over to the named pony for a blink of an eye. Ponies had human-like middle names? I . . . didn't? Why did I think of that? This scene had me so deeply and utterly confused that I couldn't even think straight. The aquamarine mare certainly had fun, but her colleague's countenance had begun to take on the markings of disdain. “You, you, hahahaha! Have-hav-hahahaha-ha-have, have, have lost,” Medical Brace stammered merrily. “Lost the bet!” she managed before she again succumbed to her overwhelming hilarity. Some of her exultation transmitted to me but only brought me an awkward smile. “What bet?” I asked uncertainly, glancing at the apparent loser. She seemed to be absorbed in glaring sternly at the exhilarated mare, and I had spoken too quietly; I was promptly ignored. Again. Perhaps it was simply best to wait for the situation to normalize, then hear if they'd explain this 'bet' without my direct involvement. I wasn't in imminent danger. I hoped. Peachy would've restored order by now if I was. Still, I didn't understand any of this. The paramedic seemed to gather herself, rolling over prone to aim her bluish-green hoof at me with a drained smile on her. “Best sneeze I've ever heard from a mare.” Huh? Did she . . . just congratulate me for sneezing? And called me a mare? I almost frowned in disgruntlement. I didn't enjoy being called a mare, let alone actually being one, but necessity dictated that I keep my protests unspoken. Medical Brace pushed herself onto her haunches, wiping her tears of mirth into her right pastern. “That was, by the way, much more than I had expected,” she said to me, then let out a long and content exhale. “Mares I know produce only a suppressed 'atchi'.” She accented that onomatopeia by pressing her forehoof to her snout, and I suppressed a groan. “But not you,” she giggled. So, my sneeze wasn't typically feminine, then? Woohoo . . . I was beginning to consider imitating Peachy's indignant expression. Medical Brace finally noted said look on the unicorn, and it diminished her merriment. “I'm sorry. I guess I surprised myself,” she said with a tone too merry for the situation; Peachy's lips seemed to contort with a stifled snarl. The pegasus looked at me. “Anyway, thanks to your most opportune sneeze, I've now won myself two free spa coupons.” She brought her forehooves together before her muzzle for a moment. “And you'll get a raincoat. Isn't that just great?” I was nonplussed once again. She had won two spa coupons . . . and I had won a raincoat? By sneezing? This was completely ridiculous! First, a nurse who spoke to me like I was a plush toy, and now Medical Brace acting like she had been disconnected from reality! Was I in a hospital with perfectly sane and competent staff, or a crazyhouse with crazies who organize crazy competitions with their non-crazy and unsuspecting patients?! “Well,” with that icy word directed at the pegasus, Peachy sat down. “I admit that I've been bested, but you're definitely not being very considerate or modest about it.” Medical Brace opened her mouth to speak, but Peachy swiftly shut her up. “I'm not done yet!” she snapped. “I know perfectly well why you were cackling like a madmare, and those excuses I heard were unbelievably pitiful.” The momentarily shocked pegasus put on an unfazed look, but I could see some kind of emotion lingering in her eyes. “For months, you have waited to somehow win a bet that had impossible odds. I didn't expect you to win it either, but now that you have, you should've at least maintained your professionalism. It's not like you would've lost the spa coupons had you remained tactful.” Medical Brace simply gazed away, a trace of annoyance on her lips. “You could lose more than that now.” The unicorn squinted, and I was quite sure I saw a malpractice report being written in her mind. The pegasus was quiet, hints of morosity pricking her lips. “Althea, dear,” Peachy said with a tense, sarcastic tone. Wait. Althea? “You have a competitive spirit that has a very unfortunate tendency to get the better of you. We both know that, and you've said that you find great thrill in gambling. That's all fine as long as you're civil and respectful, and you ensure nopony is harmed. I'm afraid I can't say that is true this time, and I'm honestly not joking when I question if you've completely abandoned your so-called acclaimed empathy just so you could gloat over a trifling last-minute victory.” Alth . . . Medi . . . The darn winged pony thingie whatever closed her eyes and aimed her muzzle up, then placed a hoof on her sternum. “I prefer you call me Embee, thank you very much,” she countered the biting criticism with an air of dismissive righteousness. “And I do care about others,” she said as she relaxed from her pose. “I always do, and don't you ever again give that a second thought,” she seemingly warned, face nonchalant. I guess she had taken offense. Then, she sighed, and sincerity emerged on her countenance. “Peachy, please. We're great friends, and you know that every patient I'm with is my friend, too. I would never wish to harm my friends.” If it hadn't been for her beseeching tone, I would've sworn she was being duplicitous. I would've also sworn that ensuring I'm not milliseconds away from death is more important than their completely useless friendship junk. Peachy seemed to lose a tiny fraction of her strict look in favor of mistrusting incredulity, and I truly hoped that Embee's claim was more than a desperate attempt to save her own skin. “So, hon.” She looked toward me with a careful smile. “No harm done? I just had a little laugh, and we can simply forget that it ever was a matter worth raising a squabble over.” Faint signs of genuine fear migrated from her tone into her amethyst eyes. Darn my heart, because it felt sorry for her. Peachy aimed an expectant look of concern my way. “I apologize for my colleague's indiscreet outburst. Are you alright? Medical Brace didn't hurt your feelings, did she?” While Embee's 'little' laugh had greatly confused me, and I understood now why it had infuriated Peachy, I definitely didn't want to give the impression that I had been severely affected . . . and consequently place Embee in a stickier situation than she might already be in. My cover couldn't afford the spotlight if repercussions were to befall her because of my involvement. Embee's confidence was evaporating, most likely at the realization of her own conduct. I was moderately annoyed at her, even feeling a little betrayed; however, I was in a vital position to defuse the situation. I needed to maintain my façade at all costs, but that look of fear in her eyes . . . Perhaps I should count myself lucky that protecting myself and helping her were not mutually exclusive. I creased my lips into a smile. “No worries, Peachy,” I said casually, and the brows of both mares ascended in mixed inquiry and surprise. “You heard what your dear friend said before, right? I'm her patient, which means I'm her friend, and friends don't harm each other.” Cursorily, I noted that what I had said with my emasculated larynx threatened to make me feel wistful for my frie— for my original voice, that is. Embee seemed to be at a loss for words. “Thank you, hon,” she finally said appreciatively. I was silent behind my amiable mask, chaining an urge to tell the mares to stop idling and get on with it. Embee nonetheless soon cast a relieved look to her left with a sigh. “Well, there you have it, Peachy.” She playfully poked the unicorn in the ribs, who in turn glared back as her pale orange hoof massaged the point of impact briefly. “It was all fun and games in her opinion, too!” Peachy dropped her leg with a telling sound. When it became apparent Peachy hadn't cancelled her annoyed frown, Embee's friendly smile lessened before she spoke a single word: “Relax.” Peachy's eyes rolled down. “Hmph. Fun and games . . .” she echoed plainly. A smirk soon dawned on her, which she displayed to Embee. “Just like your bet with Ampoule, huh?” Embee's face twisted into a discontent impression with a frustrated sigh. “I can't believe I agreed to that. Now, I have to talk to him in that "magnifique" language for at least three more weeks, and he finds it so irritatingly funny when I say something wrong. I mean, I can understand that his lover persuaded him to learn it, but how could I let him coax me into learning it . . . too?” She quit her rant when she took notice of Peachy's complacent look. I thought the bright yellow stallion was from a foreign land, but it seemed I was mistaken; Embee's competitiveness could indeed get the better of her, but that was principally irrelevant. I hadn't exonerated her just so the two mares could continue to ignore me. “So, um, hello?” I suggested with minor impatience while glancing obliquely, seeing only two-colored hair in that direction. I expected the medical practicants to actually practice medicine, and I was tempted to roll out more sarcasm; out of courtesy, I didn't. “Oh!” Producing a contrite smile, the feathery-maned unicorn shifted her attention to me. “I'm very sorry. It looks like I got a little caught up flapping my gums with my colleague here.” The disapproving glance she followed up on the pegasus didn't go unnoticed by either of us. “She's very sorry, too,” she added quickly. Embee looked taken aback at Peachy speaking in her stead, but nothing on her expression spoke of offense. In my eyes, what Peachy did was rude. “Please, allow me to present you some help first.” The unicorn doc looked behind herself, and a small tissue was swiftly hovered to me from a box placed on her desk. With the white object practically at the midpoint between her and me, Peachy's warm expression turned expectant, then puzzled before becoming very quizzical when uncomfortably long seconds passed without any action from me. Clueless on what I'd have to do, I swallowed nervously. “What is it, hon?” Embee wondered, frowning. It was obvious I was doing a faux pas that any real pony would know how to avert. Peachy stalled for a few more agonizing seconds, then put a smile on herself with a sympathetic sigh. “A thousand apologies. I understand now. I'll do it for you, if you don't mind.” “I don't mind,” I complied almost reflexively. Then, the white tissue took an approach path to my visible snout, and that's when I took notice of the substance there. That was a gross and humiliating discovery, and now I knew what Peachy was trying to have me realize: I was supposed to grab the piece of absorbent paper with my . . . hoof? Too late for that, and probably physically impossible, too. Thinking quickly, I leaned in a smidgen to meet the levitating tissue, and I did my best to blow my nostrils clear. It was an odd thing to do on the account of a muzzle being quite unequal in shape and position compared to a human nose. The hygienic product, which was surprisingly resistant to my light push, soon rubbed the unpleasant materials off thanks to Peachy's telekinetic initiative. However, I felt terribly inept and humiliated as the tainted tissue was withdrawn. “Uhm . . . I'm sorry, I, um, didn't quite . . . quite . . .” I trailed off, drawing blanks on how to explain myself. So, I simply looked dolefully at her pale orange hooves, then at my own pair with a defeated sigh. It was still weird to look at them, let alone understand that they were mine. One little tug of the appendage was a more-than-decent confirmation of their inseparable relation to me. ‘I'm sorry, Peachy, but I couldn't grab the tissue because I don't have hands,’ I thought forlornly. Maybe I should've said that? As a joke . . . Peachy dumped the tissue into a waste bin by her desk with a faint sound that my perceptive ears nevertheless detected. She rolled out comforting words: “Oh, please don't feel bad. I didn't immediately remember that some unicorns lose their ability to use magic after my scan spell. Luckily, it's just a passing inconvenience.” ‘Yeah, why should I feel bad? I should be leaping in merriment because clumsy pony hooves are obviously superior to dexterous human fingers,’ I replied bitterly, with my own familiar voice . . . now unfairly restricted to my own mind. So many things I couldn't do because I was presently a pony. Correction: unicorn pony; I had forgotten a darn spiral was in my head as compensation for the unsolicited violation of my morphological freedom. But hey, I had magic now. Yippie-kay-yay . . . Most body language requiring a human form was denied to me. Like shrugging . . . and many more natural gestures and actions that I didn't want to think about. In fact, focusing on the deprivation of my familiar body only made me feel bitter and blue. “Hey, thanks for the help,” I nevertheless said listlessly with a modicum of appreciation. “I guess I was . . . and am a little out of it. I've been, um . . . in the rough today.” No, that was wrong; I was sounding too serious, and now the mares probably wanted to know more than I was willing to tell. I had to say something uplifting, and fast. “Heh, well, only literally in the rough, I think, since I've gotten myself quite muddied up,” I improvised with a sheepish look that hopefully concealed my true emotions; my upright ears seemed to be respectfully docile. “See?” I offered my left foreleg for the mares. “That's mud, all right.” It was like pointing a finger, except with a bigger nail weighing it down. Both mares seemed to be fairly puzzled. “Quite so,” Peachy murmured, her snout wrinkling as she took a tentative inhale of my begrimed and apparently smelly leg. Carefully, I rested it back to its place, feeling the tiniest shudder when I was once again reminded of my lost fingers. “Yeah, so, anyway . . .” My smile withered when two sets of curious eyes concentrated back on me. I stalled for a moment as I constructed a half-truth. “Being brought here has made me, uh, so confused, and um, and stressed, that I . . . I can't really think properly.” I paused briefly to hastily think of more ideas. “I mean . . . this brain injury I was told of . . .” I purposefully began to insert fright into my tone. “That is . . . I hadn't thought about that I could . . . but I-I . . now that I do, it's not making me feel okay . . . I'm . . . I'm s-scared, a-and I—” Suddenly, my soprano voice pitched into an unintended squeak before cutting out, and an unwelcome fluid blurred my vision. With emotional anguish pinching my very being into a flinch, I closed my eyes to fight back the tears and turned my head away from the mares. ‘I hope that was enough to dismiss their difficult questions . . . I can't tell them the real reason I'm in pain,’ I thought as I began to normalize my hiccuping respiration. Then, I realized that my feigned fright had actually originated from the very real distress I contained. I had become genuinely afraid, but not of my brain injury; that could be treated with conventional and proven means. “Oh, it's . . . It's alright, hon,” Embee said, her typically smooth voice tuned to a somber note. With a thin line of water persisting on my lower eyelids, I dared to cast her a gaze. The sight made her frown in pity. “I understand why you're scared, and . . .” She pitched her head, shuffling a restless forehoof. “I'm really sorry if I made you feel terrible when I . . . I . . .” Her voice faded to nothing. Had I made that powerful of an effect on her? In a notable sign of compassion, Peachy cast a look of concern at her friend. “Yeah,” I said dejectedly, and Embee's ears drooped. A sarcastic comment deriding her laughing fit—unethical, unacceptable, unprofessional—desired to follow, but I wisely dispersed it from my mind. I didn't want to be distressed and terrified to tears, but was it better to hide those feelings behind anger and detest projected at Embee, maybe even berate Peachy, too? No, that was unjust and wrong, and it wouldn't solve anything. In fact, I shouldn't express my anxiety at all; it could unleash my full anguish. Instead, I shrouded it with a feigned smile. “Let bygones be bygones,” I offered, expecting to help set this assumably routine medical examination back on its proper course . . . and drag Embee up from the gutter she had sunk into. Her ears perked. “Yeah, I guess you're right,” she mumbled with the tiniest smile. She soon looked to her left. “So, Peachy? What can you do to help her feel better?” Peachy sighed deeply. “It's best I tell her the news.” Finally! The moment I had been waiting for! Or dreading for . . . “Come on. Spill it out, then,” I said with careful anticipation, my tone cracking in spite of my best efforts. All my fear and grief was resisting efforts to repress it; however, disastrous panic would be indubitable if I couldn't. “All right, let me review first,” the doc pony said, closing her eyes and dropping her head to rest on her upended hoof. A suspenseful moment began, during which I began to reflect on how surreal all this was in order to strengthen my fortitude: I was in a hospital in the company of two creatures that normally shouldn't exist. One of them had helped bring me here by literally winging it, and the other had recently scanned my insides with her innate magic. To top all that, I had become a being that by all accounts should be completely fictional . . . but I didn't want to think of that! Geez! Why couldn't I give myself some peace? I had to distract myself with . . . Cars! Any of them! Renault 19! Random facts . . . Stylish and modern. Designed by Giugiaro. Took 16 hours to manufacture one car. “Hmm.” Peachy's brows bushed, and my attention immediately jumped to her. Was that a good hum? My weak smile wanted to invert in worry, but I had to be confident and patient . . . because I was a patient. A patient patient! That was kinda funny. Okay, smile integrity improved by 75%. Not that I had any expertise in scientifically measuring smile integrity. Peachy disengaged from her magically collected data inspection and gingerly rested her hoof on the floor. The expression on her face spoke of goodness coming my way, without actually speaking a single word, because faces don't speak, but the mouth does, and that's part of the face, so the face does speak. So to speak. “May I say,” the speaking face spoke, joining her forehooves, “I have some splendid news for you, dear miss.” Oh . . . That title was uncalled for; however, it was like a small slap that thankfully pushed my mental turbulence beneath a formidable layer of minor disgruntlement. Embee giggled amusedly. “That's so like Aidin when he wants to sound high-class.” Peachy replied to the comment with a sly smile, rolling her auburn eyes. I wasn't exactly amused myself, though I think the unicorn said something positive before calling me a . . . "dear miss". My masculinity would certainly be forever grateful. Nevertheless, I couldn't let myself frown in displeasure. Tolerance was the key here, and I shouldn't take female pronouns as insults. “Unlike Aidin,” Peachy said smugly, “I actually lived in Canterlot for longer than two weeks.” Upon hearing that, whatever thought that was about to congregate vanished, and I had to really, really, REALLY vanquish a fanboyish sputtering storm of astonishment with a wrecking ball made of neutronium. If the ponies had even glanced at me, they would've seen my face blank in unprecedented incomprehension because, well . . . well, well, Canterlot existed? Somewhere here? In another realm that was connected to this one? Was this even Earth? Was I in Equestria? What the . . . what, what what whatwhatwhatwhatWHAT!? Oh my GOSH! I had I had, I had to, to calm to calm calm downdown right and left NOW! Whoa . . . At least my smile was a lot more authentic now. Embee rolled her eyes. Did she? I think she did. She blew air past her lips in a dismissive manner. That's what the mare did. Okay, I was back in the present moment and reality. Yes. Good. Did I miss something? Miss? No, that disagreement didn't warp my face. Just a silly word! Anyhow, Canterlot! Where? How? “This is absurd,” Peachy said with a disbelieving giggle, and I had to stop my smile from becoming an involuntary grin. “We're getting awfully distracted, again.” I couldn't let them know how awestruck I had been or that I now wanted to know how to get to Canterlot and then go there as soon as I had been cured and my dangly-do was back! “I'm sorry about that,” Peachy said to me with a sheepish grin, an expression she replaced with a calm but gentle look soon after. “The splendid news that you've waited so anxiously for is this: you're perfectly healthy.” Wait, what did I hear? “Huh?” flew out from my mouth after a moment of dumbfounded staring. “R-really? Can you run that me by again?” I had to do a double take on myself. “I mean, I mean, uh, did you say that I'm fine?” Peachy chuckled warmly. “That's right.” She nodded. “You're healthy.” I still had trouble believing my ears. “A few insignificant contusions and scrapes are the worst you've suffered, and luckily, there's no brain injury of any kind.” The two mares exchanged relieved smiles. “I think this means we can all let out a collective sigh of relief.” Peachy then sighed, which seemingly bemused Embee into staring blankly at her friend for a short moment before glancing away with a smirk. Although Peachy's gesture seemed to be of token quality and a touch awkward, I was too happy to be bothered by such tiny issues. “I admit, hon, even I was a bit worried that you really were suffering from a brain injury,” Embee said with her sweet voice. My face was affixed in a rictus of delight. “I . . . I . . . I'm speechless,” I managed, feeling like my head wanted to float to the ceiling. “Hey, I promised you a share of carrots if you were okay,” Embee reminded, and I basked in the warmth of the pleasing promise and her friendly gaze. She tilted her head, eyes rolling to the angled side. “But, to be honest . . .” She set her sights on me, empathy written on her muzzle and ears turning flaccid. “I would've shared them anyways, because I would've felt awful if I didn't.” “Thatch, that's, touch, um . . . Thank so you very much, uh . . . Thank you so very much!” I stammered in exuberance-induced dysphasia. Both mares stifled their laughter, and I felt an urge to embrace them in joyful gratitude, which my rational side dissuaded me from. “Sorry. I'm just so happy that I can't even speak right,” I said, embarrassment tinting my voice, its perennial femininity unable to punch through my delightful daze. Peachy looked at me, comprehension shining in her eyes. “I think I can relate to that.” She seemed to hesitate, a hoof placed to her curved lips. “Now, sticking to my end of the deal with Embee, you'll receive my . . .” Her tiny cough transitioned into a small laugh. “A raincoat, I mean. If you want it, that is.” Embee surreptitiously rolled her eyes. “Anyhow . . .” Fighting an urge to sit upright and clap my forehooves together at the idea of soon receiving a garment to hide my nudity, I observed in beatitude as Peachy returned to her desk and telekinetically procured a pen and paper from a drawer. “After Embee and I sign this document, you're free to leave.” “What? It's that simple?” I queried, a big part of me unbelieving that I wouldn't need to spill out a plethora of personal information, fill a dozen-page form on past medical conditions, be hauled in to take a blood test, and pedantically explain how a Talbot Horizon differentiates from a Dodge Omni. “Uh, you mean, no obligations?” The friendly doc mare shook her head. “I can go home, just like that?” A nod. “You and Embee scribble your signatures on that paper, and that's it?” This was simply too good to be true, but I'd be a total blockhead if I started to vocally question the lack of red tape. “Sure enough,” Peachy affirmed as she telekinetically signed the document, after which Embee walked over to do her part. “You see, we aren't mandated to monitor your health when you're principally unharmed and don't need any acute aid. This document—” She tapped her hoof on it twice, startling Embee into dropping the pen and giving the unicorn a brief glower. Peachy didn't seem to notice. “—is a record that states a doctor and another practitioner treated a patient back to health, granting us the legal permission to discharge the patient, meaning you, from the hospital. Anyhow, I'm sure you wish to receive Embee's carrots, my, uh, your raincoat, and . . .” An evaluating look affixed onto her visage. “Perhaps clean yourself up before you go, too.” I ran the most important data through my head and realized that . . . this was exceptional! I wouldn't stay here for days! I wouldn't have to! I wouldn't need to! So many things had gone wrong, I had suffered so tremendously, but finally . . . YES! I simply beamed in delightful bliss, watching as Embee deftly took the pen back into her mouth to sign the document. I could never do that. Because . . . I've never had to? At any rate, I envisioned myself leaving within the next thirty to sixty minutes, wearing my new and modest raincoat, and giving the hospital a not-so-modest raspberry once I was outside. No disrespect to the staff, of course. However, I was inclined to savor a few carrots before leaving, to avoid passing out from fatigue. Judging by my stomach's silence, it had already done that; a few orange roots would certainly wake it up. A light tap indicated Embee had dropped the pen onto the desk. “So, I guess we're done here?” she presumed with a casual smile. “Unless something suddenly comes up, then yes,” Peachy replied with a matching expression. “I need to pen down a few more details, but you two can go when you please.” Then, they both looked at me. “Now, this may sound like an odd question, but are you able to walk?” My smile vanished instantly. “Oh, uh . . .” I realized I had been sitting immobile for so long that I had become complacent with my posture, and the concept of standing up and walking sent a fierce wave of dread through me; however, the two ponies were unwittingly pressuring me to behave like a normal pony, and it was imperative that I did behave like a normal pony. My survival depended on it. “Of course I can walk,” I assured lamely, but I quickly shaped my face with a mask of incredulity. “I mean, what kind of a silly question is that?” I produced a small, somewhat forced laugh, which nonetheless sounded so strange coming from my female's voice box. Everything did. Regardless, to prove myself, I sat up with much impetuousness, but the pressure I placed on my strange fingernails and heels made me feel nauseous, and I slouched almost immediately. “Please don't rush yourself, hon,” Embee cautioned as she strode towards me. “While it's true that you're healthy, the scan may've debilit—” “Nonsense!” Her concern was enough of a motive to straighten myself up. “I can and will do this!” I deflected her worry with a confident reply and expression, although small beads of sweat were tickling the skin underneath my mane. I had to act now, and so, without paying much attention to how absolutely strange it felt to place weight on slightly elastic keratin features, I stood up on my four legs and resolutely made my way towards Embee. Or that's what I tried to do. My humanity stubbornly prevented the four-legged locomotion from initiating properly. Just as I realized things were going awry, a disturbingly feminine yelp came reflexively as I— “Oh my goodness! Are you all right, hon!?” I heard Embee cry after I had pivoted myself to take a plunge to the floor, disrupting my congenital data recorder upon impact. Blinking the double vision from my eyes, my tactile perception told me that my trailing end was pointing at the ceiling, whereas my forelegs were aimed towards my hindhooves. Also, my jaw hurt a little, but that was hopefully just an ephemeral sensation. While my failure was superficially embarrassing, the serious side was that it might've renewed the concerns for my health. I quickly raised my head from the floor to do the most reasonable thing in this situation: I laughed. “Hahahahaha!” Ugh. That barely sounded like me, but it was extremely important that I didn't show any detest, awkwardness, or sorrow for being a female pony. “I'm okay, I'm okay! My, uh, legs have only fallen asleep,” I assured with a hasty untruth, grinning sheepishly. Both mares were concerned, and that sight almost turned my grin into an expression of fright. “Um, no need to help me up. I can do it myself.” “Oh, all right,” Peachy acquiesced warily. It was only now that I noticed she had leapt up onto her desk in an aborted attempt to supposedly rush to my aid. Embee was by my side, a forelimb stretching out for me to grab. I ignored it as I didn't need that kind of help, and so, carefully but resolutely, I began to manipulate my single-digit appendages. First, I gently folded my forelegs in tandem, then utilized them to set me into an awkward sitting stance. Having my furry behind meet the floor was NOT a pleasant feeling. It reminded me I was naked, and that I had an extra hole . . . which I didn't want to think about! Spurred by the disgusting and shocking epiphany, my hind legs stalwartly placed me on my four hooves. Those then ever so minutely expanded under the exertion of my light weight, and that too was a very disturbing feeling. As if I wasn't already quickly nearing the end of my wits, a rebellious part of me then cramped my entire body in protest, demanding fiercely for ascension onto my hind legs. I knew that was physically impossible, and my conscious suppression of that desire wasn't helping me. “Are you really sure you're okay, hon?” Embee said in genuine worry, and I noticed that my cramp was surrendering to a full-body shiver. Behind my straining smile, I felt like the signals coming from all the features conflicting with my human condition were ordering me to scream at the top of my lungs in abject horror as a prelude to panicked and uncontrollable thrashing. No! That was not going to happen! I had done so well this far, and I couldn't fail now! I simply couldn't! With intense perseverance and a fierce hate for my weakness, and possibly with the aid of the remnants of Aidin's medicine, I was able to get a hold of myself with remarkable quickness. The terrifying but short intrapsychic battle began to subside, and I shook my inclining head with due care to prevent my flexible ears from swaying with my motion. “Yeah, I'm okay. Don't worry about me,” I said languidly as I cursorily surveyed the ponies. With my physical stability guaranteed and the mental equivalent gradually reconstructing itself, I reinforced my small smile as I conjured an excuse. “I'm really sorry about giving you guys the scares.” I sounded enfeebled; I cleared my throat to reform my tone. “I'm still trying to wake up these insubordinate legs, you see. They wanted to give way under me, and . . . that was a rhy-mee?” I chuckled at my words. The effect on the mares was lukewarm, but I think I was doing well on swaying their minds. Next, I lifted up my right hind leg. “This one's so sound asleep, it's actually snoring.” Both mares stared in confusion and inquiry, although Embee's lips were curled in uncertain mirth. That was auspicious: my humor was effective! “Wakey wakey, sleepy time's over.” I stomped my leg on the floor. I concealed my perturbation at the nerve signals from the digit with a near-compulsive laugh. Giggle? No. It was a laugh! I felt uneasy balancing on the very ends of my limbs again. When I had still believed I was dreaming, I was completely okay with my quadruped configuration. I only had to restore that fortitude, and then I'd be fine. How hard could that be? Harder than my hooves, which were actually slightly elastic! “Oh, I see,” Peachy said after a moment, hopping down to stand before the desk. She was unassured. Why was she unassured? Didn't she appreciate my humor? My sober friends—both of them, not counting Embee—had said my sense of humor was strange. “However, if you don't feel quite okay yet, we can see if it's possible to reserve a bed for you to recover in overnight.” That suggestion brought me back to earth. “Ah, um,” I stammered in minor alarm, but I hastily constructed a casual expression. I hoped it was casual. “Thanks, but no thanks,” I declined politely, lifting my foreleg off the floor in some form of unthought body language. I placed my leg down with care to avoid repeating my previous error before I continued articulately, “While I perfectly understand your concerns and honestly appreciate your kind and hospitable offer, I assure you, I don't require additional services to augment that which I've already been granted.” I had to applaud myself for my eloquence, but conversely, speaking so much with my femininely gentle voice ironically grated my ears. Reticence was tempting me now, but that option was decisively out of the question. I was getting strange looks, and I suspected that my recent perissological statement had put the mares in extreme suspicion mode. Cornered so severely, I saw no other way out but to swallow my pride, and I continued humbly to Peachy, “And yes, Medical Brace was absolutely right. That magic you used had an enfeebling effect, but I was overconfident and didn't want to admit I might've been affected. I'm really sorry.” I produced a candid expression. “But I hold no animosity towards you. I'm telling you though, I'm quite fine now. Once I've had my meal and the reward for the sneeze, I'll head back home to rest. Really, I don't need to stay.” “Reward for the sneeze,” Embee echoed to herself with a chuckle. She was on my side now, I hoped, but Peachy had her hoof on her chin, along with a studious impression that daunted my composure. I truly hoped my verbose declination, subsequent humility, and lowly poise had dissuaded her from ordering me to remain here for any longer than I wanted. I had to look normal . . . and a delicately measured application of humor could be advantageous to that purpose! “Yeah, a reward for the sneeze,” I repeated, nervousness trying to deform my newly-formed moderate smile. A fortunate epiphany invigorated my faculty for humor, and puckishness flowed to my lips. “Maybe Peachy's holding back a sneeze, huh?” I suggested to Embee. “What?” the pegasus said in blatant disbelief, giving the unicorn a fast glance. “You're joking, right?” “Not really.” I cast her a brief glance, concealing my fright that this gamble would come crashing on me behind my maintained coolness. “Do you see how she's holding her hoof close to her snout?” I told the pegasus, my eyes aimed towards the unicorn, whose suddenly puzzled but inquiring eyes momentarily crossed when she looked down her muzzle. “That implies she's at the least prepared for the possibility.” “Hmm?” the pegasus intoned with some type of consideration in her tone. “Hey, Peachy, listen. I propose a deal,” I started coolly. “If you sneeze now, you'll get a raincoat . . . I mean, my raincoat,” I incited conspiratorially, and to show that I wasn't being mean-spirited, I laughed lightly. It was a laugh, not a giggle. Giggling is what gir—young females do. I wasn't that. Hence, logic dictates that I couldn't giggle. “Are you willing to accept that challenge, Peachy?” Embee asked. The unicorn cocked a nonplussed eyebrow and slowly lowered her hoof. I think there was a chance I had just appealed to Embee's thrill-seeking side. Not sure I could utilize that in my favor, though. “Oh, I get it,” Peachy said after a few seconds, eyelids falling to the midpoint. “You're both being total jokesters to me, huh?” With a tired huff, she closed her eyes for a moment. “I'm sorry, but I can't join that game.” “Well, I wasn't . . .” Embee started defensively but cut herself off. “All right, you got me,” she admitted reluctantly as the unicorn trotted back to sit behind her desk. “But you know, you could've tried to fake a sneeze,” she suggested cautiously. Peachy glanced upwards with a low sound of discontentment. “Ridiculous games . . .” the unicorn complained under her breath. After a moment of morose staring at the papers on her desk, she cast her softening sights at me. “Anyway, you said you're okay, and I affirmed the same.” She breathed out a small sigh, then glanced down at the signed papers again. “To be honest with you, I worried that you broke your jaw on that fall.” She glanced aside. “Or broke what I had just scanned,” my forward-aimed ears caught her quietly muttering. I camouflaged my sigh of release with a normal outbound breath. I was very glad that I had cleverly dissuaded the doc pony from infringing my right of self-determination. I also noted that I was quickly acclimatizing to standing on my hooves, even though opposition still smoldered within me. I didn't enjoy being naked either, but being among ponies made that easier to cope with. I still felt that my posture granted my posterior too much exposure. If I could just somehow conceal it . . . Why did my mind invoke images of mares wearing lingerie? That was just wrong. Or right? I didn't know. Would I wear—I wouldn't think of such things! “Now, if you have any questions, feel free to ask,” Peachy offered affably. “In any case, Embee will remain with you until you depart from the hospital. It's standard policy, you see,” she explained. Abruptly, the pale orange mare looked askance. “Wait, did I forget something . . . ?” she mumbled, putting on a thoughtful pout. Evicting the persisting visions of panty-clad ponies from my mind first, I pondered on asking if she did magical scans on humans, and the desire to know how to travel to Canterlot was piquing my curiosity like nothing else. I also wanted to learn why she and her friend had set up a betting game involving my unrequested participation, rewarding me with a raincoat and spurred a conflict that neither party dealt with adequate professionalism. However, I was eager to vacate from the hospital, now that I had been granted a clean bill of health and avoided enforced hospitalization. “No, Peachy. I have no questions to ask,” I said, one last imaginary vision of a strategically clothed pony flashing through my mental canvas. Regardless, I then looked at the pegasus. “So, Embee, if I may call you that, can I have my share of carrots now, please?” I requested politely, licking the middle of my lips to emphasize my desire for food. I must've looked cute doing it, and my feelings about that were mixed. “Certainly hon, and yes, you can call me Embee if you like.” She took herself to the exit, where she placed her hoof into a cup-shaped protrusion affixed to the door. “We'll get the carrots from the break room,” she said as she depressed the device. A click emanated from the door, and I realized it was a door handle she was operating. For ponies. Quite ingenious. “Oh, now I remember!” Peachy exclaimed in frustration as Embee backtracked a short distance on three hooves to open the door inwards; we looked over at the unicorn, and I saw her distance from what must've been a facehoof. “I'm really sorry that it took this long, but can you state your name?” My brows wrinkled in incredulity. “Of course I can.” Not an eyeblink later did I realize the ramifications of my confident and unfortunately obvious reply. Oh, the pitfalls of trying to act normal . . . I saw my name, and it was bright and prominent in my mind like a neon sign, but there was another name there. That name had been stripped of its rank and color, and I couldn't allow myself to associate with it. Not here, and not to these ponies. I couldn't hope for Peachy to accept my continued silence, and Embee already knew my name, which she would disclose if I didn't. Feverishly, I pushed my consciousness through the rapid thought lane and took the off ramp that maintained the unaffected look I still miraculously bore. “It's Rosy,” I said succinctly. Suddenly, I felt weird. “That's a nice name,” Peachy complimented with a smile. “Albeit unusually short,” she noted, amiable inquiry on her face and genuinely innocent mirth in her tone. “Well, uh . . .” Wait, did I just think I should speak out the rest of my name? I better not do that. My complete name, Rosy Stripes, was utterly false; Rosy was innocuous enough. “It's just easier to say that than my full name,” I explained. “Just like I've called you Peachy, and Embee, um, heh, Embee.” A compulsion drew my lips into a smile, but I still felt weird. Why was I feeling weird? It wasn't related to my hooves, my posture, or my worryingly unclothed form. It didn't have anything to do with my acute vision. Oh darn! Now I was sure of it: Peachy knew I hadn't told my full name! Or was it something else . . . No, the name thing had to be it! “That's quite reasonable,” Peachy said gently. “Yeah, it is.” I concurred. The glint of anticipation in her eyes was impossible to deny, and I wanted to leave this room. Now. That meant I had to walk on my four hooves. I knew how to, but the prospect daunted me just as much as staying here did. It had been tough enough to stand like a pony. However, I had to keep my cool at all costs, and it was very important that I didn't act on impatience. Disaster would strike if I caved in and bolted under the duress of anxiety. “But just for the hospital records,” Peachy continued, her congenial tone and expression informing that she was unaware of my predicament, “I think it wouldn't be too much to ask for your full name.” Well, the unavoidable was now before me, despite my desperate attempts to avert it. Dispiriting resignation brimmed within me, but I was able to chain my demeanor to indifference. “That's completely fair,” I said. ‘Except that it's absolutely not!’ I wanted to protest, but declining to speak my name would relight the recently doused suspicions. “My name's Rosy Stripes,” I divulged with a faint touch of apology that masked my distress, and I still felt so weird. What was it, then? Something regarding my name? I think I was close to realizing it when my stomach finally awoke with a creaking complaint. Distracted, I dropped my head a little, apprehension and confusion hiding beneath a disconcerted visage. “I'm sorry, but can I go now?” I requested. I saw the unicorn doc write something into the release document, possibly my name, before her face lifted up with an innocent and kind expression. “Yes, of course you can, and I wish you well. It's very nice that everything turned out fine.” Once again, I plastered a casual mask on myself. “Ditto!” I said, doing my best to sound grateful. “Thank you for everything.” Yes, everything was fine . . . except I was utterly doomed! At least she hadn't asked where I lived, because that would've placed me right in the frying pan; she'd have looked up who really lived in my home, which was me, which wasn't Rosy Stripes. Maybe I could just scarf the carrots, politely decline the raincoat, and let the rain wash me clean? I had to get out of here. Since I had been finally given permission to leave, I began to clear my mind to ensure it wouldn't accidentally interfere with my locomotion as I set my muscle memory to autonomously vacate myself from this odious interrogation room. Walking on all fours felt extremely strange after the lengthy hiatus, but I didn't think about it. I heard and felt my hooves softly contact the floor, but I didn't think about that. My body swayed. I didn't think. Naked posterior. No think! With a small sigh, I let my mind resume its normal routines. It was only a few steps before I stood in the white-walled hallway with the light pink floor. I felt like I had just been delivered a hope-shattering blow. I had told them my fabricated name, and sooner or later, it would be called into question . . . ? No, it wouldn't be. The pieces were finally congregating, and I couldn't believe that it had taken me this long to put them together! This was evidently a different world from the one I had lived in yesterday, and I hadn't materialized out of thin air or literally transformed into a pony this morning. In this universe, I had existed as this since . . . I was born. I had been dangerously wrong; my name wouldn't be discredited! It was most likely adorning the mail slot in my home door, written on the bills I had received and paid, and included in the population register. I think I now began to deduce what had felt weird: this body naturally didn't feel at all like it was mine because it simply wasn't, but my name did, even though that really wasn't mine, either. My feminine name, as inherent to me as it wanted to be, conflicted immensely with my masculine selfhood. The door behind me closed, throwing me out from my analytical introspection. Embee leisurely strolled to my right. “This way, hon,” she instructed gently, but the floor drew my attention as my train of thought whisked me back onboard. As long as I acted accordingly, I'd be relatively safe from suspicion. Everypony would . . . Every individual would see me as . . . what I truly didn't identify as. I had no qualifications or aspirations to be what I wasn't. This body I was trapped in belonged to a unicorn mare, and I had to pretend to be her more than in name when I didn't even know what kind of a pony she was! “Something on your mind, hon?” a soft voice asked. I distanced myself from my mentations once again, looking to the right to meet Embee's amethyst eyes. She had come to a stop to face me and was staring at me with curiosity. “Uhm . . . no, well, kind of,” I stammered dumbly, which, with the addition of a neutral expression, hopefully obscured my anxiety. “Did you say something?” I feigned obliviousness. “I said we're going this way,” Embee answered, gesturing with a forelimb behind herself. The hallway was vacant, with a series of doors on both sides, turning to the left after a dozen meters. She tilted her head with her lips creasing upwards. “So, you got lost in your thoughts?” “Uh, yeah.” I plastered an abashed smile on myself. “I did. Sorry. Sometimes, I think of fascinating stuff that then captivates me completely.” Unbeknownst to Embee, she had graced close to a good point: I couldn't concentrate on comprehending my condition when I was centered in a social situation. I half-coughed, half-laughed when my stomach groaned abruptly. “Anyway, I'm starving, and this isn't the best of places for a chit-chat, so . . . lead the way!” I urged with a lively tone, painting a happier look on my involuntarily borrowed body. “All right, hon,” Embee said kindly. Hastily, I reminded myself that my fear of my name being fictional had been eliminated, and that things would henceforth go comparatively smoothly if I didn't give anypony a good reason to doubt my sanity, equinity, or assumed identity. Right as Embee began to rotate around, I was suddenly hit by a speech-crippling revelation! ‘Embee, wait! I haven't properly psyched myself to walk! Oh fff . . . ponyfeathers! Vorwärts!’

Suomibrony

435

Original Character,Human,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

First Pony View

Some dreams you might never want to end… …but what happens when the dream really doesn't?

incomplete

<p>Have you ever had a dream that just seemed so <i>real</i>, that it was impossible to say for certain that it was even a dream at all? A dream that, despite all of its impossibilities, seemed to re-write your entire perception of reality, re-writing your sense of what—and indeed, <i>who</i>—you are? Accepting change is hard enough as it is. But when you're a <span style="color:#808000">somebody</span> who wakes up as a <span style="color:#6495ED">somepony</span>, how do you cope with the impact such a drastic change has on your mind and body? With changes like these, it must surely just be a lucid dream—albeit a suspiciously <i>accurate one</i>—just brimming with potential and ripe for exploration. So you might as well suck it up and make the most of these distressingly…unusual circumstances, and seize this <span style="color:#008000">psychological adventure</span> before you wake up and the dream ends.<br/>After all, this couldn't possibly be real, so the dream must come to an end eventually…right?</p>

teen

2012-11-13T01:25:25+00:00

2022-03-14T18:15:26+00:00

First Pony View A My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fan Fic By Suomibrony Chapter 11 Have A Break Okay, okay, okay . . . okay! Some rationality still in my very nervous self? Good! I knew how to walk, and I was successfully doing it even as my human condition stupidly refused to cooperate! Whatever scrap of equine condition I had, I was using it to its fullest. Remarkably, I had started walking almost the very moment Embee had, and I wanted to stay diagonally behind her. That way, I'd have fair warning to reform my strained expression into a blithe smile were she to spy a look at me, but not too far behind, lest I see her totally never before seen and now entirely forgotten behind, which would indubitably remind me of my own behind! Well, it really wasn't mine. It actually belonged to a female pony, but that was part of the problem: it belonged to a female! I didn't trust that a less sophisticated side wouldn't awake should I see the potentially alluring and hence forbidden shape surrounding my or Embee's tail. Spurred by that line of thought, the dirtier depths of my imagination spat up a highly unwelcome vision of a mare in boyshorts. As fiercely as I tried not to, I felt wronged for not having even that little modesty. The intimate experience with female nudity was unsettling me further, and I didn't know why it was worse than male nudity, but any extrapolation was prohibited by my cognitive cacophony. I was afraid, too. Afraid of what might happen if my true identity was revealed. Being regarded as a full-fledged female pony was safer than whatever event that'd ensue if I wasn't. Nonetheless, this choice was disturbing, humiliating, and adversarial to my maltreated, restrained, and violated male humanity. I needed to comprehend this untoward and nearly instinctive intolerance so that I could vanquish it. I was like . . . a Škoda 120 misplaced amongst front-engine, front-wheel-drive cars! I definitely didn't belong in this convention, and I didn't want to be here. I yearned to return to my own gathering of rear-wheel-drive cars, but I couldn't do that because I was stuck inside this! I was suffering from a contradiction of self-image and body. Transgenderism plus transpecism? I hadn't expected to come to that conclusion, but now, it seemed very appropriate. I wouldn't condemn a transgendered individual for disliking their body, because . . . they had my sincerest sympathies now that I had been forsaken into a relatable predicament. I couldn't eliminate my intolerance as I had planned. I could only hope I'd cope with it soon. Embee and I had already traveled for about . . . too far and too long. I knew it was finite, but . . . Were distances greater as a pony, or was time standing still, or . . . some third thing that made this stroll feel so perennial?! Silly misgivings! We'd be at our destination shortly. Just had to tolerate the strange bones shifting beneath my skin, the pressure applied to my four cycling hooves and the joints above them, my short stature, and . . . several other things I had once been perfectly fine with. I cringed when my tail involuntarily twitched, brushing my behind and drawing my thoughts towards the area between my hind legs . . . and the emptiness there. Much to my dismay, my tail swung a few more times before I got it under control. Forcing my head and ears straight, I walked . . . Did stallions and mares walk differently? They should be indifferent . . . Were they? I really hoped I wasn't inadvertently swinging my rear like I've seen some human females do; too disgraceful! Too degrading! No, wait, that was inane—all ponies walk in a neutral manner. End of debate! Breathing okay, walking okay, Embee was oblivious, and I was totally not troubled by my nudity; everything was perfectly okay. Almost perfectly okay. I had to maintain my . . . adequate calmness . . . as soon as I acquired it. Oh horseapples! As if fate had read my mind with malicious motives, a red- and black-maned stallion emerged from a room no more than five meters ahead and just before a turn to the left. I was scarcely able to put on a nonchalant face before we passed the dark blue unicorn, and I desperately tried to (somehow) walk in an extremely neutral manner. With my breathing on hold, I earnestly hoped his burgundy eyes weren't ogling me. I didn't dare to look over my back. Getting a confirmatory glimpse of him being a lecherous scoundrel and/or my assumably curvaceous tail section could have disastrous effects on my panicky psyche! He seemed to be drowsy, so . . . maybe he didn't gaze at me? His attention was probably on Embee instead, who, thankfully, was between me and him. She didn't have spots of mud on her, and her long and blonde mane had to be pleasing to the eye, unlike whatever unsightly mess I had on my head and neck. Suffice to say, she must be more attractive in every department. Even in the rear. She'd better be! No, I didn't want to know! As we rounded the corner, I let out my breath through clenched teeth. I noticed droplets of perspiration itching my skin, but I couldn't scratch with these hooves! They were dedicated to supporting and ambulating me . . . If I could will myself deaf to the rhythmical clicking, then my stress would reduce decently. On the bright side, I was still walking steadily! How many anxious squeaks had I already suppressed? A few . . . dozen? Darn the insubordinate part of my subconscious that rejected my form and how it locomoted! Couldn't it just quit already? HR, FL, HL, FR; that was the pattern! I could never pull off that choreography as a human! I didn't need to . . . but now, I had integrated it into my pith so well that it had become nearly automatic, and . . . this disquieting and dehumanizing method was the only way. Every quadrupedal step I took stabbed my core. Why was I subjecting myself to this torment? Why wasn't I stopping? I should stop . . . Just stop and pour out all of my accumulated anguish until I had no tears left . . . No! I wasn't weak, and I couldn't submit to the tyranny of my pathetic frailties! I could . . . divert my attention to something completely unrelated, like . . . doors! We passed one door. It was white. It had a small inset in its lower part. Then, we passed a second door. It also was white and had an inset. Third door—white . . . Inset . . . Oh! Embee and I stopped at this one. A respite from walking . . . Dispelling my stress with a single furtive sigh, I realized how dangerously close I'd come to falling apart. Counting doors was a good idea, and in hindsight, I should've tried it earlier; it would've saved me from the composure-whittling anxiety. I realized that standing was a lot easier to my frayed mind than walking. I also noted that my neck and back formed a rough ninety-degree angle, my spine descended into a concave between my pelvis and shoulders. Wait, withers, not shoulders. Anyhow, it was as if my skeletal system formed an S-shape of sorts, starting from my head and ending at my hind hooves, yet this brought me no physical discomfort. “Well, here we are, literally at the other end of the hospital,” Embee announced leisurely, as if she hadn't even seen how enfeebled I was. Probably hadn't, because the fabricated expression she saw was moderately eager, if a bit tired. ‘And figuratively at the other end of the world!’ I desired to add with factitious glee, but I was simply too drained to offer my sarcasm. “This is the break room.” Embee placed her hoof into the inset of the door, and the telltale click near the door handle ordered me to be firm just a little longer. She gently pushed the door open, and we entered the room, me with lead hooves and a great want to ignore the unease coalescing in my abdomen. Walking on all fours without preparation had done a number on me . . . I barely registered that the lights were on before we had made our entrance. “As you can see, this room's suited, though not exclusively, for ponies.” The aquamarine pegasus standing by my side gestured with a nod to our diagonal right; in the center of the room was an appreciably low, wood-framed glass table surrounded by wide and soft-looking cushions, the ensemble resting on top of a carpet patterned with multicolored bands. A section of the right wall had been neatly removed, but from this position, I saw little of what was beyond except for the edge of a window and a radiator beneath it. The wall directly ahead of us consisted of a row of windows, permitting a view of the top floors of an inner-city apartment beneath an orange-tinted sky. Rainwater streaked down panes of glass slightly above my eye level, and I was glad they were; their elevation reduced the risk of seeing my reflection. “I know this sounds like it was ripped from a trite speech, but . . .” Embee looked askance with a droll smirk as she deliberately cleared her throat. “The equidaetrics department wishes to politely offer a positive, lasting impression to every discharged patient by serving them a complimentary meal.” Equidaetrics department? I should've been more surprised at that; however, the unpleasant taste of stomach acids visited the back of my tongue, greatly reducing my astonishment. Embee had no part in my transient queasiness . . . other than forcing me to walk before I had prepared myself for it. Regardless, I forgave her blunder and was poised to eat. “Well, ah, that's very nice.” I would've said more, such as applaud the hospital's generosity, wonder why the amiable practice had been established, and question what was the point of Embee's promise of carrots if I was about to receive food anyway, but my obstinately male side dissuaded me from playing ball with my feminine voice—this time. “If you meant the service, and not that poorly written stuff our janitor roped me into reciting after I lost a game of poker,” Embee said with half-hearted humor in her tone, “then yes, it's very nice.” After a half-second pause, she hummed contemplatively. “You know hon, it's more than very nice because you'll receive more than a simple meal.” She looked toward the rain-streaked row of windows at the far wall. “The weather's perfect for your new raincoat, you see?” I was reminded of Peachy's thinly veiled dissatisfaction at relinquishing the raincoat, and I promised myself I'd return the attire back to her as soon as I knew how to send myself back to my life. Anyhow, Embee's unconcerned mood was a good sign; she hadn't been tipped off that my guts had yet to untwine completely from the aftermath of the sudden stroll. Despite that, I had no trouble maintaining a smile. “Yeah, how about that,” I started tentatively, defiant to my desire for silence over hearing my feminine intonation. “I'll be testing my reward for a sneeze in no time at all, and that reward is precisely what I wanted before I even knew I wanted it,” I jested, my mirth impeded by my unbefitting voice and a momentary awareness of my nakedness. Embee chuckled, bending her neck to show me the right half of her friendly expression. “Then consider this to be your very own little celebratory banquet.” “Mmm-hm,” I hummed with a lean smirk. ‘Little banquet? That's oxymoronic,’ I remarked with the voice I couldn't currently produce. Spontaneously, I recalled that my parents claimed my voice was charmingly mellow, and as much as my male ego loathed to admit, this set of vocal cords easily translated the quality into a femininely gentle intonation. “By the way,” Embee mulled, her hoof locating to her chin as she slowly pivoted her head to cast a look around the room. “It's actually been almost a year since the extensive renovation, which I understood was a big undertaking, and there's been talk of a small celebration.” ‘Renovation and celebration; that rhymed,’ I noted cursorily. “A small celebration with party hats, streamers, cake, and so on,” I added in a subtly humorous monotone. Embee faced me, planting her hoof down. “Ah, no,” she sighed, a little disappointed. “Just a few guys and gals gathering in a restaurant, calling it a celebration. Some might go to a club to party afterwards, I think.” She again brought her hoof to her chin, apparently contemplating something deeply. Looking at Embee, I realized I was a few centimeters shorter than her, and I felt a pang of melancholic inferiority, questioning the maturity of this body. Being slightly smaller than the roughly meter-tall pegasus—a little over half of my human height—wasn't good for my self-esteem. Thankfully, I felt my spirits recover as I watched Embee's hoof contact the pale-brown linoleum floor, creating a soft clap. Her head inclined upwards: “I heard this hospital was quite a chore to be in, what with having been built to cater only to humans, and the rampant mold growth that was everywhere.” With a light exhale, she waved her hoof dismissively before looking at me tranquilly. “Anyway, I can't attend the proposed celebration because . . .” She gazed away absently, humming softly as her eyes slid halfway shut and gained a dreamy shimmer. “Me and my special somepony must attend a celebration dedicated to us.” Combined with the warm smile and melody in her tone, I presumed she meant a wedding ceremony. Hoping I wouldn't encourage her to talk treacly about her future spouse and matrimony, I struggled for a moment to parse a proper reply. “Well, I'm very glad that fortune has brought you two together, and I wish you the best in your shared future,” I congratulated her, but immediately reviewed my words and assumed I had spoken wrongly. I felt my ears slant down as my mouth warped into an awkward smile. My eyes unwilling to stay affixed to her, I began to rectify hurriedly: “Uh, with your special somepony, I mean, not with fortune, but, well, why not with that as well? Like, uhm, fortune, you, and, er, your special somepony being together.” Warmth bursted in me now that I thought I had implied something naughty. Compulsively, I lifted my right forehoof off the floor, leaning a little from her. “Sorry for that, Embee,” I apologized, unable to wipe the embarrassed look off my face. Hers was marked by a small smile of bafflement. “That got, ah, um, a little out of . . .” I glanced in disbelief at my elevated appendage, gently resting it back and correcting my stance. “Hoof, heh.” Why had I lifted it up? Embee stared incomprehensively, before breaking into unsure laughter. “No need to feel embarrassed and apologize, hon. I appreciate the compliment and . . .” My eyes were drawn from her relaxed visage to her left foreleg, crossed over her right as if to point at me. “Humor, was it?” she finished with an inquiry. She hadn't heard anything risqué in what I had said? That was good. I wasn't fond of raunchy jokes, and telling one by accident would be a humiliating misfortune. “Yeah, humor . . .” I felt compelled to paw the floor with my forehoof. “I was trying, uhm, it was kind of funny, but in an unintentional way, uh, you see if fortune was an entity and, um—” “What are you talking about, hon?” Embee interjected laughingly. Seeing puzzled amusement on her, I realized how discombobulated I was, explaining a dirty joke she perhaps hadn't and didn't need to understand. “Gee, that . . . uh, I don't even know,” I replied, stifling a titter down to an uneasy smile, and taking reluctant control of my auricular muscles to upright my drooped ears. They were fundamental to how I communicated, and I had to be more aware of their position, though manual operation felt stranger than letting them govern themselves. “Anyway, as if it wasn't quite clear already, I want to say that you're a very lucky mare!” I spoke flatteringly, doing my best to regain my composure and repress another protest by my masculinity when expectation and reality didn't meet in my current voice. Why couldn't I fully inure myself to this voice already? “I know, hon, and thank you!” I saw the dreamy look return before she aimed her face towards the windows again. “Oh, when me and Aidin finally lock our wings and stroll together down the aisle, that, I bet my tail, will be the greatest and happiest moment of our lives! I can imagine the preparations and congratulations and celebrations, and, oh my! I can hardly wait for it!” she squealed enthusiastically. My ears had fallen to half-mast at the implication of receiving a bucketful of her romantic syrup, though I honestly wished Embee all the fortune in the world, and reacting to her gushing with a sickened groan would be extremely rude and dishonorable. Best I simply tune out whatever she said from now and wait for her to continue strolling forward. Nevertheless, Embee's eager anticipation of her marriage reminded me of my own lack of romantic skills. My "gotta connect" brain component had never developed beyond a basic attraction for the opposite sex. I presumed those factors contributed to my want of an independent and free life. Quite daringly, I thought I could do without friends as well. Or, no, on second thought, I couldn't be that solitary. I needed some kind of companionship. Friends, not a life partner. I just didn't have the innate requirements for the latter. Society in general would look at me strangely for that, but what could I do? I was what I was. As for a certain quartet whose enjoyability had plummeted ever since they found happiness from a bottle rather than from within themselves . . . ‘Without booze, there ain't no fun.’ I can't believe Benny said that. Or was it David? No, it was Benny. Had he forgotten his dad passing away from alcohol-related liver cirrhosis five years past? Probably hadn't, because I had reminded him two weeks ago. Quite bluntly, too. Whether Benny had been ironic about the exclusivity of alcohol and joy, I didn't ask because . . . I didn't feel the need. I probably should have. What happened to my friends? What happened to me? Had I misjudged them? Was I unreasonably opinionated? Was it all just a big misunderstanding? Why was I so unsure? For over a week, they had tried to contact me with calls and text messages before they apparently gave up. I . . . almost responded to one call. Maybe I should get back in contact . . . No, two friends were better than those four—or none—and I'd meet new ones in flight school. Actually, said two friends were my cousins who had recently moved away—one for work, the other for family. Once this unprecedented ordeal was over, maybe I should visit the working one, Emma, to detail this ordeal as a wacky dream or something. My parents were clueless, barely grasping the concept of the Internet, so telling them how I had stumbled upon colorful cartoon ponies and that . . . I dreamt I was one? That conversation would be all kinds of awkward. Emma, however, owned a bunch of first-generation MLP figurines. Hence, she probably wouldn't treat my coming out of the stable with derision. Anyhow, I hadn't seen Emma in a good while, separated as we were by almost two hundred kilometers. It would be great seeing her though, since she was exceptionally nice. Crossing the distance would be a small adventure in itself as I was fond of driving. Maybe I should do that , after twirling some things in my fingers and strolling around on two legs in my home out of pure joy. Then, I'd wrap my hands around the shallow-grooved, two-spoked black steering wheel . . . Yank the hand brake, shift the gear to neutral, twist the key to activate the electrics and set the four pistons rotating, turn the knob by the left side of the gauges to alight the trapezoid-shaped headlights, fasten the seatbelt, cross my right arm over my chest to lock the door, check the mirror positions, test the brakes and accelerator; all set to go! An internalized routine reminiscent of a pre-flight checklist. Quite peculiarly, if I was attentive while the engine was idling and the radio was off, I could hear tiny hissing sounds repeating harmoniously. Was that the fuel being injected into the cylinders, or was it the rotation of the crankshaft? Or the camshaft? I had no idea. I should investigate that complex machi— “Gyah!” My heart missed a beat, and for a split-second, I was unable to comprehend what had happened. My wits slipped back to their place soon enough, and I realized I had yelped due to a full-body jolt that had almost tipped me off balance. While I was busy catching my breath after receiving a sensation equivalent to a static discharge, an aquamarine hoof began oscillating up and down before my eyes. Then, my integrated magic projector relayed that two instances of external stimuli had been applied to its terminus, delivering a pair of light kinetic forces that converted at the base into tenuous neural signals, which then radiated into my cranium and prompted me to produce the shamefully feminine vocalization. “Hello?” the owner of the hoof asked with a careful laugh, stepping in from my left. My forehead was stinging, but that was more out of the strangeness of having a horn there rather than physical pain. Embee leaned closer, peering mirthfully, whereas I gazed back dumbly. “Medical Brace to Rosy Stripes, Medical Brace to Rosy Stripes,” she spoke our names with a jocular flourish. “Can you heeaaar meee?” Preceded by a small grunt, I furrowed my brows in disbelieving puzzlement. “Uh, yeah yeah, I-I can,” I replied, annoyance in my tone. “But, uh, you, ah, you didn't have to, uhm . . .” I stammered in one breath, minor hurt beneath my tone. Averting my head by a dozen degrees, my eyes remained affixed to hers as I continued hesitantly in a quieter voice, “Touch my horn.” Just vocally relating that thing to myself felt like an affront. Compulsively, I lifted a hoof toward my agitated forehead. ‘And what use would this action serve, huh?’ I asked myself irately when the extremity reached ribcage level. My hoof sank obediently back to its supporting role, and I set a mildly discontent look on Embee with a long sigh, compelling her to lean back with a rueful frown. Darn horn. Until the nerve connections up there calmed down, I'd feel like a piece of rebar was stuck in my head. Wait, had I reacted to my name . . . her name? Rosy Stripes. Right, I had her body and inexplicably adopted her name as well, but now was not the time to get absorbed in my thoughts. Again. “I'm sorry I did that, hon, but I waved a hoof in front of your eyes for ten seconds without getting so much as a twitch out of you.” I seriously doubted she had waved her hoof for literally ten seconds. Regardless, her sorry tone didn't cloak the amused look on her face. Closing my eyes, I exhaled a nerve-relaxing sigh. She was so close to me that I could smell her. Rainwater and . . . horse. “No, it's fine, Embee. I'm not mad at you,” I said peaceably, abandoning my want of vengeance through sarcasm. I was only upset at being blatantly reminded of the disparity between a human and unicorn head. No need to lash out at her for that. “Alright, hon. I was a little afraid I hurt your feelings,” she intoned with assumably sincere apology. “I wonder, though, what thought captivated you this time?” “Um, a something,” I responded, blinking my eyes like an innocent and clueless child. At least that gesture wasn't feminized. ‘If my sense of masculinity was any more unreasonably unyielding, it would object to breathing with my mare's lungs,’ I quipped, frankly becoming tired of how that aspect of my identity cared not for the credibility of my important guise. An unrelated complaint came from my mare's stomach, and with a neutral look, I tried to will Embee's ears unreceptive to the specific frequencies. Her wary smile told of my limited success. “Was that 'something' food?” she cooed with a chuckle. ‘Nope. I was merely so discouraged by the chance of hearing you talk about your love life—which in retrospect could've given me a lot of info on this universe—that I stupidly and inopportunely distanced myself to wander from thought to thought in a thoughtless desire to ignore pretty much all things related to my persistently unfamiliar and tangibly feminine equine configuration,’ I was tempted to ramble dryly, but that would've opened a can of smelly, abhorrent, nauseatingly squiggling worms. Also, I was short on appropriate and safe witticisms at the moment. “Nah. I only tried to make sense of something at the wrong moment,” I said plainly, wrinkling my lips to a small smile soon after. “I'm sorry about that. It was a little stupid of me.” Something was nagging in my head ever since I thought about my car. Probably related to intricacies of engine sounds, but that was neither here nor there. “But I'm okay, and you're right. I could really use some food right about now,” I finished, trying not to sound like I was telling her to hurry up. I then realized we (and especially I) had stood idly for a few minutes, which was probably my fault, but I didn't feel bad about it. Embee looked fairly embarrassed. “Yeah, we both got a bit distracted in our own ways, it seems. Weddings and whatnot, hahahah,” she laughed awkwardly, then nodded her head in the direction of the table. “Uh, why don't you take a seat, hon? I'll bring you the promised meal in a few.” A surge of anticipation sent a pulse to right my already upright ears, causing a nugatory and scarcely bothersome twitch instead. “All right, then! I'll get comfy,” I said happily. ‘Ugh, dumb female voice and its apparent propensity for perkiness,’ I thought unhappily behind my smile as I aimed my eyes (and snout) towards the simplistically stylish table. With my recent experience through the hospital as an educative warning, I prepared myself mentally with a fairly calm exhale before rousing my legs into action. Coming to a halt by the lime green cushion after a few short and thankfully easy steps, I began to take an interest in the upside-down comic book on the wood-framed glass table. “Excuse me, hon,” Embee started, my left ear rotating automatically to improve detection of the inquiring mare's voice, “but I didn't quite catch what you said.” I lifted my head up in minor disbelief, one ear falling horizontal. If she hadn't heard what I had said . . . well, so much for her pony ears being acute. “Did you say you wanted to get some coffee?” “Huh?” I twisted my neck to cast an uncomprehending look on her. An exchange of differing expressions commenced before I realized the pegasus had misheard me. Straightening my ear, I puffed a small amount of air through my nostrils, candor creasing my lips. “Sorry, no. I meant that I'll get on a cushion and relax.” Placing my forehoof on the cushion, I tested its pliability in conjunction with a visual inspection; my hoof sank by approximately ten centimeters. This cushion looked and felt more like a pillow. I could've used it as a place to sleep had I a blanket to wrap myself in. Gladdened by the pleasing impression, I turned my attention back to Embee, who still looked a bit confused. “I'll get com-fee, you know?” I explained, tilting my head down by a few centimeters on the fourth syllable. “Oh! Comfy. Coffee.” Embee giggled in minor embarrassment. “My bad.” “Heh,” I breathed in gentle mirth. “Don't worry. It's okay.” I then realized that was true: I wasn't unbearably anxious, Embee had no clue of my true identity, and while maintaining this feminine disguise chafed my masculinity, I had to admit that being on this side of the fence wasn't as unsettling as I had feared it to be. I didn't even have to coat my conduct with anything resembling femininity! With an astonishingly good feeling brimming within me, I again set my sights on the comic book, cursorily noting that Embee had closed the door at some point. A sudden reminder was sent from my tongue to my brain. “Uhm, but . . . I can get cof-fee, right?” I asked her. “Of course, if you want to,” Embee replied amiably, then glanced aside. “It . . . should only take a couple of minutes to brew.” She seemed uncertain about something, but her quick recovery convinced me not to ask why. Anyhow, carrots and coffee? What a strange combination, but the culinary delight and nourishment gained from both could encapsulate my distancing anxiety in hardened titanium. I assumed this body wasn't allergic or otherwise intolerant to the food and drink. I'd come off looking incredibly stupid and irresponsible if I enjoyed my basic meal only to suffer from indigestion minutes later. Dropping my eyes with a thoughtful frown, I stalled for a few seconds before deciding to go for the gamble. “Alright.” I nodded gingerly. “Wouldn't hurt to have a cup of coffee, I suppose,” I returned gratefully, hopeful that the coffee wasn't pernicious to my health. “Sure thing, hon. Why don't you make yourself comfy while I get you some coffee?” the amused pegasus suggested with a giggle. Unwilling to hear my emasculated laugh, I merely smiled back at her before I carefully got onto the cushion. As my comparatively light weight dented the pliable furniture , I questioned my balance; every surface I had stood on today was sturdy, but the cushion's softness was daunting with these digits . . . The nails of my four toes . . . and the odd sensations in them and my joints . . . I began to feel nauseous again. Bitter enzymes were threatening to advance up to my mouth unless I stopped focusing on my limbs. I hastily wondered if Embee would object to my begrimed body staining the cushion. I then presumed that if she did, she would've said something about it by now. “Hey, are you feeling okay, hon?” Embee queried, a touch of concern in her voice. Again, my soundcatchers directed towards her before my eyes did . Considering how frequently and easily my ears moved, I should get used to the discomfort they imposed on me. Eventually. “I couldn't help but notice that you seem to be a little unsteady on your legs,” she continued. Her observation brought my ears down. “Uh, sure, I'm okay.” I manufactured a smile with a confidence level of 57%. “Just getting a little tired, that's all,” I improvised, my ears recomposing themselves. “If you feel like dozing off for a while, then just drop down,” Embee suggested, prompting me to glance down at my forelegs. They were pivoted slightly off-center, as if anticipating the cushion morphing into ice. I didn't have to look to know the same was true for my second pair of legs. “You don't have to nap upright, like in a cheapo motel, when you got a nice cushion under yourself, right, hon?” she said with an inoffensive laugh. Paranoia told me not to ask what she meant, lest I endanger my cover, so I presumed whatever motel she was thinking of was comparable to a stable with unclean box stalls. “Yeah . . . Good point,” I said, averting my head so I could conceal my light disgust with an artificial yawn, which to my surprise turned authentic almost from the get-go. I began to doubt I'd get home before the want of sleep overwhelmed me. Oh wait, the caffeine could help! “Anyhow, do you have milk and sugar for the coffee?” I queried, hesitant to lower myself yet, since I was unsure I'd retain my balance through the procedure. “I'd be very disappointed if I had to drink it black.” The memory of the one time I had tried that undrinkable swill made my lips curl. Better than the beer Peter challenged me to try, though that had been enough to convince me—“That stuff's just plain nasty,” I thought out loud, taking the chance to briefly study how I sounded. In contrast to the small tremors my original voice produced in my throat, this type flowed with smoothness; the vibrations in my throat were almost indistinguishable. Emitting the light, and admittedly nice, tones from such an intimate point of origin still didn't feel right. “Don't worry about it, hon,” Embee assured in her slightly lower dulcet voice. “I'm pretty sure we got both here. If not, I can fetch some from the other departments.” I smiled; no unsavory black coffee for me! “Okay, sounds like all's good, then!” I acknowledged delightfully. She trotted to the adjoining room, and I glanced aside just in time to avoid sighting her glutes. If I were to see hers, I'd know what mine looked like. Possessing them was bad enough; I didn't want that image burned into my mind, too! My impulsive imagination took that caveat as an order to picture my present form wearing a brightly colored one-piece swimsuit. I disregarded concern for my balance, pressing a hoof to my forehead, barely suppressing a groan from becoming audible. I was disgusted a second time when nudity scored (a fraction) less on the desirability scale than the atrocious attire. Holding the hard sole to my forehead quickly began to feel very weird; I had a lasting and perfectly understandable impression that a finger was supposed to be at the end of my limb. Which finger, that I truly didn't want to know. Also, considering the things I had trampled on since I was thrust into this body, countless contaminations were probably now spreading to my visage. Reflexively, I scrubbed my forehead with my pastern, as if that'd eliminate whatever malaise I believed I had inadvertently infected my face with. Giving my grimy hoof a narrow glower of contempt, I equated the entire appendage to be indubitably feminine regardless of any evidence to affirm the claim besides its association with my body. After a second of incredulous gazing at nothing, I realized I was so annoyed that I wasn't even thinking straight. With a tense puff, I resentfully dropped the hoof, my gaze affixing to my dirt-stained pair of forelegs as if they were depraved criminals responsible for the loss of my fingers, bipedal stance, and sex. I guess that summed up what I disliked most about being a pony, and my irritation subsided as I realized the cause of my bad mood. With a significantly calmer mind, I let out a soft breath and made one reconciliatory step with my right forehoof before I uprighted my head. With a half-conscious command sent to the very end of my back, my tail swung once, reminding me of its none-too-pleasing presence. It also reminded me that I possibly had an attractive posterior. I guess my rationality finally imposed itself, because I began to honestly question why I hadn't courageously challenged my ludicrously aversive mindset. Curtailing the depraved feeling had never been difficult, so why would that be different now? However, I had to caution myself by noting that this wasn't my body, and that my male libido could disregard intellect, logic, and restraint—even basic common sense—to perceive the uncomfortably proximate and conjecturably feminine features with . . . ugh . . . deplorably arousing consequences. I had no clue whatsoever what that'd feel like now that I had female parts, and I wasn't at all eager to find out. Although . . . I could strive to be objective and disprove my ridiculous preconception about pony posteriors by keeping in mind that I wasn't some lascivious clopper who found cartoon ponies sexually enticing. This was no cartoon. Neither was this a female human's body, (and were I in possession of one, I wouldn't indignify myself by exploiting it) but a mare's body. I pictured a common horse, and I saw nothing alluring about it, not even when I pictured its flanks from the aft. How was a cartoon pony any different? In fact, had I ever felt even the tiniest hint of desire for an equine, real or drawn? No, I hadn't. Just the concept alone made me shiver as if I had been massaged with ice. That alone was a signifi—“You don't mind that the coffee's decaf, do you?” My mental cogwork was halted by Embee's voice bouncing from the room over. “Decaf? What?” I mumbled. Right! No sleep-postponing caffeine . . . “No, it's all fine by me,” I replied, hiding my disappointment with a pococurante tone. “Coffee's coffee.” I tried to shrug, but instead slouched awkwardly. I was perplexed for a few seconds before I gave a frustrated huff. Looking down, I briefly cycled my forelegs like slow pistons, sullenly accepting my physical limitations as I did so. Proceeding to analyze if my flanks shared a discernible likeness with a human female's counterpart and therefore conduct an experiment on whether visual scrutiny would or wouldn't evoke an extremely undesirable reaction in my most disagreeable area . . . No, this wasn't the time or place, especially if the most dreaded and revolting result manifested. So instead, I cast a sweeping but idle look around. A few potted plants and paintings decorated the space, and a nondescript radio on a basic stand was tucked into a corner next to the second room's entryway. Other than those and the furniture, there wasn't much else. Despite the sparse furnishings, the atmosphere was cozy for a small repurposed hospital room, and I took to absorbing its pleasantness. Embee was busy in the other room, which I presumed to be a kitchen. Judging by the steady and soft sounds of what I surmised to be a knife tapping a cutting board, she was quite deft with hooves. Or teeth. Both, perhaps. Rolling my tongue over my herbivore's teeth, I tried to imagine using them to wield a screwdriver, a hammer, or any other tool or gadget with skill matching that of a human hand. The comparison was pointless. Five fingers were better, obviously. After a few seconds of listening to the promising sounds of my meal being prepared, I let out a small sigh. The discomfort for my form and its femininity was being slowly suppressed by my recovering resilience—a beneficial development! I'd get through this impermanent predicament if I could refrain from fighting my physical composition. Actually, while I was waiting for my carrots and coffee, I should take a moment to prioritize. Sure, my ultimate mission was to return home and investigate . . . my brand new laptop computer? Something was in there? Unfortunately, the hope-inspiring inkling was too vague to provide details on what my computer contained. I had a fair idea on how I came to learn of this serendipitous tidbit, and it was related to how I knew my . . . her name. Exploring those puzzles had to wait until a later time; attuning to this body was of greater importance. Now that I was aware that the most coveted solution existed back at home, I had a greater incentive than pure necessity. Still, once bitten, twice shy; thinking ‘It's really fascinating to be a pony,’ didn't seem to work, and I was certain I'd encounter a few bumps before my humanity would withdraw to a recess of my mind, as it had done quite smoothly this morning. However, there was another concern I was struggling with, and to solve that, I had to take a straightforward approach. My subconscious opposed me, but I prevailed quickly, presenting the very daring supposition to myself: being a female couldn't be so terrible. My body temperature ascended as I became disconcerted by what must've been a combination of defamation, mockery, and betrayal. Maybe I was a little bit too daring, but it was a good move, and I couldn't allow myself to retreat. Moderately flustered—and aware how uncomfortably insulating a fuzzy coat can be—I began to ponder on the short-term benefits of being the opposite sex. Amatory themes were strictly forbidden. Just the idea of arousal—inadvertent or not—repulsed me. Long-term benefits were banned as well, due to their location being deep inside the panic territory, and I predicted that the diazepam's anxiety-inhibiting effects had expired by now. Alas, I soon discovered I was shamefully short on ideas. Arbitrarily, I wondered how this situation would go if reversed—a female as a male. I guess I was annoyed or bitter at my standstill, because I sarcastically deduced that a female would downplay the change by enunciating a few unconcerned words with their suavely titillating masculine voice, behaving with unabashed indifference from then on. Then, it dawned on me: my voice! I presumed that if I thought about it with positivity, I might come to good terms with my intonation instead of tolerating it with wavering consistency. As an experiment, I hummed quietly. Quick analysis: Gentle. Soft. Feminine . . . Trying to sound less feminine would certainly confuse Embee, and regardless of how vainly my masculine side tried to spin it, my present voice was a female's. I recalled imitating Fluttershy a few times over the course of the day and, admittedly, even before I had this voice . . . but only when I was alone and for my own amusement. Anyhow, unless its modulation occurred naturally, I shouldn't do it again. The capability of mimicking the tones of the animal-adoring pegasus was a . . . fair attribute, though I knew no immediate purpose for it. Perhaps I was only beating around the bush, and solving my vocalization quandary wasn't any more complex than understanding that talking was unavoidable. Indeed, the intonation couldn't be such a big deal, like my preposterously inflexible masculinity insisted. It was just a different vocal pitch! Could I make it any simpler? I guess not. I'd be home soon, where I'd return this body to its rightful owner and translocate back to my own. I was certain that'd happen. My intuition was telling me that the how-to was in my computer—well, hers. Anyhow, in the meantime, I shouldn't and didn't need to abide my masculine image. It hadn't done me any favors recently, and I was pretty sure that wouldn't change if I granted it full control. I should attempt to set aside the femininity-fearing trait and replace it with a flexible version once I was in my real body, if not earlier. To consider this temporary flip of my sex as a serious reduction in my worth was a very sordid attitude to hold. I had to regard this as something exciting, like a live-action role-playing game, an undercover mission, or a trial at method acting. However, I shouldn't overact or strain my femininity. Applejack was a good example of a comfortable and safe medium to aim for. She was undeniably female, but she didn't (often) profess distinct femininity, which was a skill I was uninitiated to. Still, I supposed that I had the privilege and liberty to express normally concealed wants with relative impunity. Furthermore, being on this side of the gender line might be a very educative experience, especially if nopony knew I really wasn't a mare. So . . . I had to, I could, and . . . I wanted to . . . breathe normally and douse the fire of nervousness, and . . . while based on nothing more than pure speculation and lacking any concrete proof, I surmised that every male (and female) fantasized of this, so I had to count myself lucky that I had this incomparable chance to allow . . . myself to be . . . something else, just for a while. A something . . . opposite of a guy, and that was a . . . female! What a surprisingly tough cogitation that was, but I was very relieved for achieving a significant breakthrough. From simply trying to accept my voice, to being more permissive about being a female. I had truly surprised myself. I could even enjoy these few exceptional hours before I was back in my real home. Hopefully I would. At the least, I should obey my decision. Once—or if—push comes to shove, then I shouldn't revert into the worthless femininity-rejecting shell like a cowardly wimp. It was only now that I realized I had completely forgotten to sit down—I was actually shaking a little from nervousness and minor victorious excitement. I wasn't even facing the table! Once again, I had courageously overcome an ingrained disposition that had been cultivated by constant conditioning from society, culture, and . . . so forth; I had no time to delve deeper on that kind of extensive and profound topic. Embee certainly wasn't in a hurry, but I was sure she'd bring my meal in a few moments. I better not dawdle. Wanting to sit in the exact center of the cushion, I rotated into position with due care not to misstep and collapse onto the soft underlay. I suspected that time was limited, yet I had to sacrifice a few seconds testing the articulation of my hind legs by alternately lifting them a couple of times. As strange as it was, I felt disconnected from my latter half, as if I still couldn't fully comprehend I was really in the form of a quadruped. Nonetheless, I was confident that I could sit down without spectacularly messing it up, and so, I leaned backwards to drop myself onto my hindquarters. Bad move. I sank into the cushion, its fabric instantly snuggling without mercy to inform me what was not between my legs. Granted, something was there, and that sent a vertiginous feeling into an orbit inside my head. In spite of that disturbance, my brain decoded the stream of nerve signals into a perturbingly precise word: mammillae. My tongue lolled out from my mouth with a silent, prolonged retch that threatened to eject my pharynx. Breathing laboriously, I sat like a sculpture of a pony on the verge of fainting. An elemental thought pinballed in me, disbelieving how I could be so severely afflicted by so little. Literally. Just thin fabric barely pressing the . . . insignificant protuberances. I was astonished—and very much revolted—that they were down there instead of on my thorax. While I had very recently warmed up to femininity, my misplaced human intuition was slow to embrace my rethought stance. Regarding the two features with any kind of enthusiasm was improbable, but I did come up with two mitigating factors: First, I had to be somewhat thankful I didn't have a pair of inconvenient blobs of fat on my ribcage, like most human females do; second, my queasiness evidenced that my desire to pervertly explore this body was minimal, if not totally nonexistent. Hoping to both normalize my outlook before Embee's return and put my mind on anything else than contemplating my onerous adjusting to the pair of dairy-do's where the dangly-do was supposed to be, I stretched a sluggish foreleg to the comic book that I had ignored for too long. Despite my debilitated and delicate condition, I was able to apply pressure on the book and drag it closer to myself. Now that it was the sole focus of my eyes, I began to identify details: a black, star-dotted sky above a yellow lunar landscape, three characters in orange suits . . . Two humans and a white dog in space suits? Astonishment and joy alleviating my nausea, I eagerly rotated the illustrious comic book around. Alas, disappointment came to me with a dejected sigh. “Blistering barnacles,” I complained quietly, gazing wistfully at On a marché sur la Lune. My dad loved this and other comic series, and I had read all of them several times when I was young. Images and summaries of countless books I had read years ago began to bustle in my mind, flooding me with nostalgia. I glanced at my begrimed leg resting on the lamentably unreadable comic, then directed my vision upwards to examine the two colors of my messy mane. If it were blonde, I'd be like a unicorn cousin of a certain poor lonesome cowboy's loyal and smart companion, Jolly— “Oh! That belongs to Aidin's cousin,” a voice informed kindly, drawing my sights to its speaker with a tiny, ear-stiffing, eyelid-retracting start; Embee was standing in the doorway, unaware of my minor surprise. “Ah, Ampoule, I mean,” she clarified with a hint of abashment. “He's actually Aidin's first cousin twice removed.” In my receding state of nausea and disappointment—and a touch puzzled by the reveal—I accepted the genealogy with, “That's nice to know.” Paranoia then woke up to assume she had covertly observed me while I was sickened by an anatomical feature, but I didn't let that suspicion affect my tone or outlook. “Um, how long have you been standing there?” I asked unassumingly enough. “A few seconds,” she replied. As far as I could tell, she was disarmingly sincere. She would've rushed to my aid if I had looked ill, I supposed. “Okay. I was just curious.” My eyes drifted back to the comic book. “Anyway, this would be a great read, but I don't understand squat about this language,” I said dissatisfiedly. “I share your loss,” Embee concurred with a hint of chagrin while I stared fixedly at the comic book. A summary of the story flashed through my mind. Poor Wolfe. “Ampoule's adoring that language because of the lady he dates, who also likes those comics. I forgot her name, but she's from . . . hmh, I forgot the country, too,” she said, her voice giving me the impression she was embarrassed, prompting me to look at her to affirm if that was genuine; her tone had been a touch tense. “Started with the letter B, I think.” The reflective expression on her face was genuine enough. With a contemplative hum, I brought my hoof wall to my chin, perfunctorily noting the fuzziness there while I stared over my snout; I had no means to block that strangely dainty feature from my vision. ‘Right. Gotta try to express some femininity and possibly ponyesque gestures, but only to the extent I'm okay with. Have to act natural, if I can. I'm already beyond my league just by inhabiting this body, though I'm determined to tackle this highly unusual challenge. My leap off the cliff's nothing compared to this. Still, if I conduct myself wisely, then the remainder of my time as a mare might prove both exquisitely entertaining and extremely educational. I do have to wonder, is it masculine to be feminine? Oh, never mind; I'm getting distracted.’ My outward appearance implied I was trying to crack Embee's riddle. It wasn't a hard one. “Belgium?” I offered, overturning my hoof as I cast my sights at the aquamarine pegasus. I recalled that Embee had spoken to Ampoule in another language. I was pretty sure doing that when it was principally unnecessary had been the reason for her disgruntlement. Her being mad at Ampoule for dating a foreigner was . . . Nah, that was simply inconceivable. With a hum and an oblique look toward the rain-streaked windows, her eyes narrowed briefly. My hoof sunk neatly back to the cushion. “Probably that,” she supposed neutrally, refocusing on me. So, if I was right, then Ampoule's 'lady' was a Belgian pony . . . or a human! Interspecies romance? That'd be . . . fascinating, to say the least. I was afraid to ask if it involved togetherness, but I presumed that if both parties asserted their mutual and voluntary consent, then there wouldn't be a problem. “It's nice that you knew that.” She showed me an appreciative smile. “I can't remember the names of the countless nations of this world. I only need to know the names of the neighboring towns and municipalities,” Embee said with disinterest or . . . something; I was too distracted to diligently decode her tone and expression. ‘This world? Embee isn't native to Earth? Wow! If I correctly interpreted that little detail, then that's so incredible . . . But now's not the time!’ I thought, pulling myself safe from a blizzard of astonishment. “Anyway,” Embee continued amiably, “I came to tell you that the coffee's brewing.” Her smile withered. “Finally.” She seemed a touch frustrated. Be that as it may, true to her words, I sensed the soothing aroma of coffee in the air. Embarrassingly enough, a particular emptiness within me made its existence known. My ears slumped, and my hoof found its way to my abdomen—as if that could appease my stomach. “Golly, hon, you must be starving,” Embee said, smiling sympathetically. I decided against voicing a retort pertaining to negation, brown waste, and a fictional detective. Unaccustomed to my hard hoof on my hairy hide, I glanced down to visually confirm what I felt. On the account of my snout, I didn't see all of my barrel—and thankfully, none of what had fiercely perturbed me not too long ago. I was still tangibly aware of them . . . Recovering with a quick jocular snerk, my ears perked autonomously as I retracted my hoof. “Starving? Hah! You got it all wrong. What you heard was nothing more than a harmless and meaningless side effect caused by minor food deprivation,” I joked jauntily. A tiny part of me disagreed with my chirpy intonation, but I dismissed it, reaffirming that my voice was nice, and I had the right to like nice things. “Uh, minor . . . food deprivation?” Embee's incredulous expression turned to that of amusement with a snort. “You kidder,” she commented, smirking. Despite my doubts of her sincerity, I smiled, pleased. “Eh, yeah, I got my moments,” I said, waving a hoof casually. ‘And I'm amazed I actually made it this far with so little sustenance.’ On that note, I recalled the softness of my abdomen when my hoof had been on it, but I didn't divert my focus to research why, save a hasty supposition that females had soft skin. A short chuckle escaped Embee's throat. “In all honesty, hon, I'm sorry that you had to wait this long,” she apologized through her smile. “Things designed for humans usually don't work too well with hooves and teeth,” she explained, a scowl growing on her. Twisting her head around, she glared at something out of my sight. “Opening a coffee jar sealed with a cap so . . . so—” her complaint ended with frustrated huff and a forehoof stomp. “It's like chewing a brick open,” she groused, whipping her head back. I couldn't help but frown at her plight. “I can imagine,” I sympathized, picturing Embee fighting furiously to wrench and gnaw open the cap of a decaf coffee jar. Embee sighed, her line of sight overshooting my eyes by a hair. “I guess you can,” she said joylessly. Though she looked defeated, she didn't seem jealous of me. She could fly, so she couldn't possibly envy my magic. Still, what her eyes hinted at wasn't hard to piece together. “Yeah, I . . . could've helped,” I said unsurely, a useless command to rub my hands fizzling out before it got past my ulna. Oh, sure I could've helped; I was a unicorn who could use magic just as smoothly as I got off a stretcher. In all seriousness, I'd have to try my magic sooner or later, see if my mind-rending panic hadn't erased the routines. I wasn't even sure how I had learned the skill in the first place. I got agitated and then it simply . . . happened. Embee drew a breath. “I apologize, hon. I didn't mean anything by what I just said. I could've asked for your help instead of needlessly getting worked up,” she said contritely. “It's fine, and I'm okay. You did well, I'm sure,” I consoled. I wasn't sure what else to say. If she had asked for help and I'd summoned only sweatdrops, then she would've become suspicious, and then . . . can of worms. Suddenly, I realized time was wasting, but I didn't want to bring that up in a rude fashion. “So, um . . . you said I had to wait for something?” I asked innocently. “Oh!” Her eyes widened, and she threw a brief glance over her back before fixing her sights back to me. “Sorry, hon!” she laughed awkwardly. “I'll be right back.” As the embarrassed mare headed back to the presumed kitchen, I quickly averted my gaze. My face immediately scrunched in vexation. ‘Great going!’ I began to berate myself, ‘I could've tested the integrity of my 'female pony behind equals female human behind' absurdity, but I had to heed the stupid fear of possibly "feeling" something natural! If glimpsing a horse's duff can make that happen, then seeing a human's equivalent should've afflicted me with chronic cerebral oxygen deprivation through terminal priapism!’ As soon as I had that thought, curiosity chipped in: what would the "feel" be like as a female? It was hard to admit, but were I a sexologist, this would be an extremely fortunate opportunity to research an innate body mechanism. Thankfully, I had no justifiable reason to be that curious. Besides, I wouldn't deign to mistreat a body that wasn't mine. Speaking of which, where had the original occupant gone to? Was she now in my body, or was she here, dormant beneath my self? I couldn't know, but what I did know was that since I had her body, I had her brain as well. That was the basic explanation for my pony colloquialisms, memories, and name. I would've loved to analyze the intertwined state of my mind and her brain, but once again, this was the wrong time and place. Embee was returning. She was strolling with caution for the wares on the tray held in her teeth. The sight made me wonder about the strain exerted on her jaw, teeth, and neck, accounting for the weight and placement of the two bowls. Judging by her expression, she spared it no thought. Expertly, she placed the brown tray on the table. “As promised: fresh and rinsed Maestro F1's! I hope you enjoy them!” she said happily. What were Maestro F1's? That sounded like the name of a race car. I appraised the two wares: each contained a fair pile of cut-up carrots and nothing else. Maestro F1's were carrots! How about that? Amazingly, I discerned their sweet fragrance, evoking a vague memory of visiting my grandparents over a decade ago. The carroty aroma also made my mouth water and replaced my declining irritation with an eager smile. I ensured the aforementioned water didn't escape my mouth before I spoke. “Thank you, Embee! These carrots look delicious!” I said with joy and gratitude. I left unsaid that she could've fought with the coffee jar after delivering me the simple meal. I would've said it very politely, though. “You're welcome, hon,” she replied, sitting on a Tyrian purple cushion to my diagonal left. Smiling pleasantly, she reached over to wrap her forelegs around one bowl and take it for herself. So, she was going to eat with me? Perhaps it was to establish a sense of comforting safety and equality with her patients. With one hoof supporting me, I gingerly leaned forward, stretching out a forehoof to procure my own serving. A mental flinch behind my smile told how incomplete my readjustment to being a hooved creature was. Unfortunately, as much as I desired to gorge myself on my food, a very persuasive side of my mind strictly forbade me from eating like an uncouth animal. To compound my dilemma, I was still uncertain if conjuring my magic was possible. I had been brought back to square one on such a simple concept as walking, so there was no telling how far back my telekinesis had been set. At best, it'd work like a charm. At worst, the carrots would . . . explode? I truly had no clue, but I chose not to risk it. I affixed my eyes on my begrimed foreleg wrapped around the bowl. Obviously, hooves were quite unsuitable to deliver the carrots to my mouth. I had only one option, but still . . . Maybe I could stall for time while I waited for hunger to repress my reservations. I had thought about my appearance a while ago . . . “Hey, um, Embee? Can I ask you a question?” I said, resting my impractical limb back on the cushion. How could she look so pleasingly cute and bewilderingly elegant while eating directly from the dish? Could I match her decorum? I hoped so. It was better than believing I'd be a slobbering beast. She lifted her head, sparing a few seconds to mince and swallow the food in her mouth. “Sure you can, hon,” she replied, tugging her lips into a gentle smile. “What's on your mind?” Now it was my turn to speak. In my gentle voice. Mental hum of cautious admiration. “You don't seem to mind that I'm so dirty I could be a unicorn earth pony,” I jested, the light mirth in my tone diminishing toward the end. I probably looked embarrassed or diffident, but I felt dishonest to myself; I couldn't vocally affirm that I was a pony without substantial opposition. Surely, I'd soon surmount that roleplay-hampering obstacle. The true pony gave a friendly laugh, although my slumped ears muffled it by a small margin. “Don't feel bad, hon. You don't mind that my mane and coat are a matted mess, do you?” she rebutted with a self-ironic smile, running a hoof through the fringe of her long mane. I remembered that she had flown through rainy weather not too long ago. She didn't look too shabby, really. “No,” I replied innocuously, momentarily aware of my mane, draped over my neck and withers. Felt like even it was telling me to act accordingly. I had short hair when I was a guy . . . Embee chuckled lightly, her gaze softening a bit more. “Believe me, hon.” She smirked kindly. “I've seen perfectly healthy ponies who looked a lot worse than both of us combined.” Her gentle demeanor conveyed no ill intent, and I started to feel confident that this hospital visit would be smooth sailing; I just needed to dauntlessly maintain my temporary image. “Did you want to take a shower first?” She tilted her head, an inquisitive glint in her eyes. With a drawn out hum, I righted my ears. “It's funny that you ask, because I didn't even think of taking a shower until now,” I responded to her, briefly wondering how the hay I would shower. Or more precisely, dry myself after a shower; a towel couldn't absorb all the water from a soggy coat, could it? “But, no. The shower can wait.” Inclining my head down, my friendly eyes zeroed in on hers. “I'd prefer to eat first, especially now that my meal's right in front of me,” I assured, blindly placing my hoof to the bowl's rim with a soft plink. The feeling—actually, the lack of it—was jarring, but I didn't let that show. I had to act pony, and I should consider this to be fun, darn it! “Alright, hon.” Embee nodded. “I didn't say you'd have to take a shower now,” she clarified, a trace of humor on her lips. “I know that,” I responded, almost laughing a little. A particular emptiness within me issued a silent complaint. “First the food, then the shower, right?” “Mmh, yeah,” she agreed pleasantly. I watched as she dipped her head back to her meal when, to my surprise, she hesitated. She raised her head to direct her amethyst eyes at me again, brows furrowing in worry, and I felt compelled to mimic her expression. Something was up, causing my instincts to declare DEFCON 4. “In all seriousness though, Peachy didn't bring it up, so . . .” For a second, she reached for her chin and dropped her eyes, as if unsure about speaking her mind. “I've been considering asking it myself.” She breathed out a long and quiet sigh. “What happened to you?” A chill slinked through me. “What do you mean?” I feigned ignorance, though I was equally as worried because I knew exactly what she meant: the evidence was all over my body. “You said that you got yourself 'muddied up', but . . . how?” I immediately dropped my eyes and ears. I hadn't even considered a contingency plan for this. I had been too distracted and optimistic to think of the inevitable. “Uh . . . yeah. I did get muddied up,” I affirmed quietly. “But, um, it's . . .” The excuse failed to form into a cohesive thought, let alone spoken words. Again, a want to rub my hands went nowhere. How I was slumped meant my forelegs were explicitly fulfilling their natural purpose. My decreasing mood and confidence lead to my hooves feeling unfamiliar. I didn't want to be here. Not in this room, not in this building, not in this body. I didn't want to be here . . . “When I met you,” Embee started carefully, “you seemed terribly upset, dismal even. I wanted to help, so I tried to comfort you.” What she had done had felt so unfathomably nice that, even now, it put a very brief smile on my face. “Aidin told me that . . .” She paused her soft recounting, and with a cautious glance, I saw her staring at the table; her expression was gravely pensive. “You were found in the middle of a rural road, and you panicked in that home. To be honest, while I haven't shown it much, I've been concerned all this time, and I'd like to hear what happened to you,” she whispered, her tone oozing with concern and compassion, even traces of apology for telling me what I already knew. Flashes of pertinent memories flitted in my mind, glimpsing at how my most base instincts had luckily brought me to the gravel road, where I had . . . succumbed to despair after my supplications failed to bring me help. The traumatic event was actually so powerful that it subdued my fear of exposure. All the same, I felt terrible. “Um, I, yeah . . .” I mumbled, but my disquieted mind failed to construct a sentence worth speaking. Hoping to ensure my hoof (and by extension, my body) would feel normal, thereby averting a total collapse of my rationality, I pawed the extremity back and forth on a short stretch of the table's wooden frame, absently observing the ceiling and the rectangular lamp translucently reflecting off the glass. I think it was working, and I stopped after a few seconds, but . . . my thoughts were zipping about without direction. Trying to run away from here was the worst option. A better one was to maintain my guise and composure. I had to do that . . . I wasn't so much afraid as I was disheartened . . . Perhaps I was so frightened that I felt saddened? My growing apprehension emanated from the same anxiety of my entrapment. The anxiety I thought I had become fully resilient to had changed to sorrow. Panicking . . . was behind me. Of course, I still longed deeply for my familiar anatomy, but . . . I had accepted that I was powerless to shed my form by relinquishing control. “Do you want to talk about it, hon?” Embee appealed tenderly. No, I didn't; talking about it would invoke suspicion. But if I remained completely silent, she might think I was the victim of . . . the most horrifying and heinous kind of assault. That was an impression I definitely didn't want to give her! And I wasn't any good at telling lies. Did that mean I didn't have any alternative but to reveal the truth? My roleplay would end, and . . . what then? The worst would ensue? I'd get the help I wished for? Maybe . . . this had to end? “It's, uhm, I'm . . .” I drew my dry lips inwards to moisturize them with my tongue. No. I couldn't let on who I really was. The unforeseeable risks of the future compelled me to silence. The desire to keep my true self secret was almost instinctive. I wanted . . . I needed to feel safe. Telling the truth wasn't safe, but hiding behind the identity of this mare . . . at any cost? That was . . . kind of crazy, but much safer! I wasn't thinking rationally, and I couldn't think rationally! I was in a heartrending dither, and I needed time to calm down and think what to do . . . The silence lasted for several seconds. “It's what, hon?” she asked cautiously, as if anything above a whisper would make me fall apart like a house of cards. Maybe I was a house of cards . . . I drew in a slow breath, my mouth minutely ajar before I composed myself. “I-is it okay I . . . O-once we've eaten . . . Once we're drinking our coffee?” I spoke intermittently, trying not to sound like my proposal was a plea. How could I get out of this apprehensive mess? How easy it was to . . . feel an ache, and . . . let my eyes water? ‘No, I can't!’ I closed my eyes as I turned my head away, my glum expression gaining the furrowed brows of indignation. ‘Just because I'm in a mare's body and pretending to be her doesn't grant me this kind of liberty!’ I chided myself. I couldn't be honest with Embee when I didn't know what it'd lead to. I knew too little of this world and how ponies had come. I could be just one of many who've been displaced the same way I had, but I didn't know that. I didn't even know what to say. I was afraid. I was afraid of the unknown. Too afraid! No tears, no tears, not that. Had to calm down . . . “That's perfectly okay, hon,” Embee reassured. “I suppose it's been a tough day for you, and I really don't want to make it any tougher.” Her assent to my wish—and her empathetic but subtly apologetic voice—had a placating effect. “Try to gather your strength first, and then we'll talk if you feel like you can.” “Yes, I . . .” I paused to clear the obstruction from my throat. “Thank you, Embee,” I said almost inaudibly. I was surprised that it took so little to push me to the brink of tears. How could that be possible? I hadn't even tried to be sad. I didn't want to believe that females were intrinsically more emotional than males. That had to be a pervasively circulated and accepted misconception, but . . . I was in her body. What effects did estrogen have on me? No, I really couldn't and didn't want to think about that now. Instead, I should be relieved and appreciative of the few minutes I had bought to consider my options: forge a believable story, or come clean regardless of my worst predictions. When I slowly opened my eyes, I confirmed that they were fairly dry. I faced the carrots. They were so vivid . . . and my snout was kind of the same. It was always there, telling me exactly what I was. For a brief moment, I felt something odd, but I couldn't make sense of it. Maybe it was just a small bump my abating emotions struck, or a memory from my brain that failed to manifest, or maybe it simply was the weirdness of having a snout. “Will you be okay?” Embee asked, activating my Pryer reflex to turn my left ear toward her. Wait, Pryer reflex? No, never mind! I nodded languidly, seeing her frown in my peripheral vision. “Yeah,” I breathed before I drew in another to produce a long, deep sigh. Best I try to find something positive from this. I suppose eating like a pony would . . . perhaps be fun? A different experience, at the least. Besides, I was hungry, and the path of least resistance was downwards. “Just need a moment, you know?” I continued, my voice a touch listless from my emotional perturbation. I looked at her, and sympathy was written on her face as she mouthed an 'okay'. Her gaze lingered on me, as if she believed it was the only thread holding me together. Nonetheless, she returned her attention to her food, although she looked like it was the last thing she wanted to do in the world. ‘I should eat, too,’ I suggested to myself. As unabashedly as possible, I lowered my obscured mouth to the orange treats. I was still jittery from my abrupt emotional spike. I had to behave like a pony. ‘Okay, here goes . . .’ I was now . . . eating from the perspective of a pony. Considering what I used to be, this was, without question, a bizarre manner to eat, but I was thankful that my restlessness was offset by the juicy, crunchy, and very flavorous food. I could only presume that my pony tongue made normal carrots into mood-recovering, delicious ambrosia. What was that tiny plink I heard? Did something hit the bowl? Something . . . that was on me? Oh, right! I had forgotten I was carrying my keys with me! I was surprised yet glad I still had them. That was . . . the nagging thought? Home key and . . . car key! I had a . . . Rosy had a car? If so, that was very fascinating; however, a pony owning a car was irrelevant to the present situation. I had to think . . . Wait, I had taken my keys, left my home, and . . . Idea! Motivated by desperation, my plan was forming quickly. Very quickly! It couldn't fail. . . but, if it did, I'd be in a nearly unsolvable pinch.The only solution would then be reckless honesty and hoping for the best. Well, I was already hoping for the best, but . . . I really needed some nutrition, and these were unbelievably fantastic carrots. Yum yum yum! No, that didn't do it; I was trying to enjoy this moment and my meal to the best of my abilities. Still, gotta refine my plan. Refine, refine, refine . . . I could make this work . . . Strange. I saw a short memory of peering at my car's engine. Why had I done that? Wait . . . this had been just a few days ago, and I had been . . . No, I had more pressing matters to contend with than studying her memory fragment.

Suomibrony

435

Original Character,Human,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

First Pony View

Some dreams you might never want to end… …but what happens when the dream really doesn't?

incomplete

<p>Have you ever had a dream that just seemed so <i>real</i>, that it was impossible to say for certain that it was even a dream at all? A dream that, despite all of its impossibilities, seemed to re-write your entire perception of reality, re-writing your sense of what—and indeed, <i>who</i>—you are? Accepting change is hard enough as it is. But when you're a <span style="color:#808000">somebody</span> who wakes up as a <span style="color:#6495ED">somepony</span>, how do you cope with the impact such a drastic change has on your mind and body? With changes like these, it must surely just be a lucid dream—albeit a suspiciously <i>accurate one</i>—just brimming with potential and ripe for exploration. So you might as well suck it up and make the most of these distressingly…unusual circumstances, and seize this <span style="color:#008000">psychological adventure</span> before you wake up and the dream ends.<br/>After all, this couldn't possibly be real, so the dream must come to an end eventually…right?</p>

teen

2013-02-02T20:51:24+00:00

2022-03-14T18:17:52+00:00

First Pony View A My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic fan fic By Suomibrony Chapter 12 What Goes Up Must Come Down ‘Best carrots I have ever tasted!’ I thought as I ate, a small smile pricking my lips. I felt content champing my food, but what I was prepared to tell Embee limited my joy. Had I been a pathological liar, I would've felt proud of cooking up the fairly plausible tale. Nevertheless, I laid my hopes on her unconditionally accepting my yet unspoken cover story. If she didn't, then . . . it really wasn't worth keeping up my ruse with further lies. Instead, I'd do my best to submit . . . Apologize with sincere remorse, and from thereon, be as honest as Applejack without much regard for my continued safety. But what would the outcome be if Embee still mistrusted me? So much for honesty being my salvation. I was clueless on what would happen afterwards, or what I'd do. Would I just sink into despair? Maybe . . . or maybe not. It really depended on whether the demurely eating pony—or anypony—knew of any prior incidents of transdimensional mind dislocation into a pre-existing body. I couldn't risk asking before I had exhausted my alternatives first. One such alternative was the extensive perusal of the Internet—like a library, but so much more immense, accessible, and extremely . . . advanced? How odd. For a moment, I had begun to marvel about an everyday thing. At any rate, Embee was a slower eater than I. The last of my meal traveled down my throat, and the empty bowl became the second most prominent white attraction in my vision. The winner was part of my face. I sighed, my nostrils flaring visibly. As I gazed bleakly at my protruding facial feature, my brain suddenly cranked out a positive note: since stallions had a larger, stockier muzzle, perhaps I should consider myself lucky that my vision was less obstructed. A spontaneous itch at the top of my snout compelled me to gingerly rub the spot. The feeling of a huge fingernail meeting facial bone where it shouldn't be was almost too strange to comprehend. The nasal bone being underneath a soft layer of furry hide just added to my confusion. Sighing, I returned my hoof to the cushion. I hadn't thought of it before, but there were two distinct aromas in the air. One was coffee, the other . . . sharp and strong, but with a hint of refined sweetness. Floral. A flower in the second room? Could be. Anyhow, the white ware before me beamed a message of success: I had just dined like an earth pony or pegasus. Or a magic-inept unicorn, I considered wryly. I surmounted most of my unease once my stomach got its third delivery of sweet and juicy nutrition. In fact, its well-deserved satiation was now countering my woes to some degree. With a few faint smacks, I slowly licked my lips, savoring the remainder of succulent carrot juice on them. I was a bit saddened that there wasn't a little more of the orange delicacy. They were only simple vegetables, yet they were so good that I seriously began to consider including them in my regular diet from here on. Chicken and carrots in rice and moderately spiced sauce? Or maybe I'd eat them as is, like a quick snack? “Sooo, how did you like them carrots?” Embee's mellow query drew my gaze to her. Carrots, not apples. That was sort of funny, and I would've chuckled if I wasn't on a knife-edge. Furthermore, my less-than-stellar prognosis of the coming storytime over coffee was impeding my food-induced delight, painting me with a pallid expression. Embee sported a tender smile, empty bowl before her. Despite myself, a mischievous sensation developed. ‘Should I let it happen? It might entertain me during this dire moment, but would it go against the role I'm portraying? How would Embee react? What's not okay for a female to do . . . Oh? Is she worried?’ Embee raised her right hoof and leaned slightly toward me. “Are you feeling alright?” she asked, a modicum of distress on her countenance. I nodded once with an affirmative hum. “Okay”, she sighed through a smile, relaxing her posture. “Speaking for myself, these carrots were great.” She glanced at the empty wares. “How about you? Did you enjoy them?” That was the green light: I chose to air what I had vacillated about as a predictably poor imitation of Big Macintosh: “Eeeeyurp!” Embee's eyes dilated as reserved amusement creased my lips. I hadn't expected that the structure of my equine throat would alter the pitch of my belch. As bemused as I was, the sound pulled me out from my mood pit. I chuckled to myself, pausing for a second before a quick and light laugh escaped me: “Hehaha!” Even that sounded—Oh, wait, did I just . . . giggle? My smile remained intact, but my ears curved back and my coat gained an insulation boost, corroborating that my indubitably feminine laugh qualified as a giggle. I had breached my self-imposed femininity parameters, I believed . . . but no! Rejecting this minor female-pertinent attribute, as easy as it would've been, was simply impermissible! For the time being, I had a female voice, so naturally I had a female laugh as well. If it had a tendency to come out as a giggle . . . then so be it! My inner argument lasted no more than a few seconds, during which I cursorily noted Embee's flat look. “I'm sorry, that was really crude,” I masked my discomfiture with an apology. “But I thought it . . . uh?” I quieted, my auricular muscles directing my ears down. Only now did I start to interpret her expression: incredulity combined with a trace of disdain. “Would be funny . . . to, er . . .” I found my voice again, but only as a mumble before it faded to nothing. Dismayed, I gazed downwards over my snout, wishing I could sink and disappear into the cushion. “You . . . thought it would be funny to belch?” Embee guessed doubtingly. I hummed as hesitant confirmation. She didn't sound much disgusted or insulted, so that was a little reassuring . . . but I was ashamed. Disappointed, too. It went without saying that what I had done was indecorous and, considering my earlier demeanor, very unexpected. I further surmised that belching wasn't regarded well among females. I had presumed . . . I had anticipated otherwise? I would've moaned in dejection, had it not died in my throat. I only wanted to have some fun before I started weaving my web of lies . . . “Hey,” Embee said softly. Save for my autonomous ears trying and failing to align themselves upright, I was unresponsive. Still, I had to be a little thankful that she interrupted my pensiveness. I was at the brink of a worthless intrapsychic pity party anyway. “Rosy?” she tried again. An indiscreet flinch caused my eyeblink to be a tad tenser than normal. ‘Okay, I have to be clear here: that's not my real name. It just seems like it really is,’ I reminded myself, starting to fear that my original name was in danger of erasure if I accepted my name. Her name! More worry crept in. ‘Right! I also have to prepare for an honest path. Make sure that I don't slip up. So, my name's not Rosy Stripes . . . and now I feel like I'm telling myself a blatant lie. Although, my name's not bad, per se. It's just a female's . . . but I have to be adamant here! My actual, human male name is—’ “Rosy?” I almost let out a grunt of frustration at Embee's inquiry. Hastily, I retrieved my original name (and that name felt disturbingly extraneous), then recited it in my mind at lightning speed a few times. With worry-easing success attained, I languidly raised my head toward the aquamarine medical mare. Her face wore a frown of obvious concern, an expression that was much more welcome than presumed irritation. “Uh, yes, Embee?” I replied with a glimmer of forced joy in my listless tone. ‘So, do you want to hear my not-entirely-fake story now, later, or never? Please say never. I'll be so happy if you do, and I'd be even happier if I could just go home, no questions asked. My life's most important mission awaits there.’ Abruptly, a bunch of memories spilled into my mind, only to vanish a second later. Something remained, though. I saw a vague semblance of a parking lot. Thinking harder, I recognized it as the one near my home. An older guy, almost twice as tall as me, was standing by a familiar light blue sedan. A keyring with two keys hanging from his index finger above my head. They were for the car, and he was offering them to me. His name was Oscar, and . . . I wrapped the keys in my magic, since I was now the new owner of said vehicle. This all felt normal, as though I had been there, because . . . I had actually experienced all that? The old, spry guy, he was . . . a proprietor of a used car dealership, Oscar's Cars. Wasn't he? I had a plethora of human memories that stated he owned something else. Now I . . . had two recollections on how I had acquired the car. Most perturbingly, my . . . No, Rosy's . . . How odd. We shared names. No, wait, what!? The name . . . Just like my name did, my . . . her memory felt more authentic. That was a nasty omen! If her memories took precedence over mine, and I unlocked more of hers, then who and what I was could degrade . . . Be usurped . . . Fade . . . Cease to exist? Oh no! Nonononono! That'd be bad! Really, really bad! “Hey? Hello?” Embee drew me out from my confounding consternation—confusion in her voice—and her face was the picture of worry. I proceeded to do my best not to hyperventilate, or look like I had seen a ghost. “Are you feeling alright, hon? You seemed to zone out as soon as you replied.” Oh ponyfeathers! I had been so absorbed in my memory mix-up and subsequent fear for my existence that I was jeopardizing my guise. The guise that could be the end of me? Hopefully not. Thankfully, I wasn't trembling, but I was close. “Uhm, yeah . . . I'm-I'm okay,” I said mutedly, inadvertently sounding somber; given what I had just experienced, why wouldn't I? Embee's frown eased a tad. “I truly hope you are,” she whispered warily. As much as I would've loved to lighten our respective moods with a chit-chat, I had a very crucial objective to tackle. I performed a review of my psyche, which swiftly yielded an anxiety-attenuating result: my most significant defense against identity death was my perpetual discomfort at inhabiting a mare's body. ‘I suppose I'll do fine if I can protect myself from marefication, maybe reluctantly accept the change if it's inevitable but perfectly reversible. However, there's absolutely no conceivable way I'd ever want to be a mare forever!’ My vehemence was highly assuaging. Additionally, the events of today served as a very powerful reminder of what and who I was. And I might've overreacted about identity erosion. My cool was regenerating, allowing me to concentrate on the here and now. “Don't worry about me, Embee. I'll be just fine, alright?” I said, my weak smile contrasting with my tepid tone. ‘That sounded more defensive than I had intended,’ I thought remorsefully as I placed my hoof on the bowl. “Anyhow, I can't thank you enough for the carrots. They were simply lovely. Unmatched by any other variety I've ever eaten.” My smile withered when my shame reemerged. “But how I expressed my gratitude . . .” I couldn't keep my eyes on Embee's appreciative expression. The illegible comic felt easier to look at. “I offended you with my improper . . . I'm sorry . . .” my glum tone dwindled to an indecipherable mumble. I was also afraid that I had clued her in that everything wasn't right with me. She'd probably inquire about my ordeal now. “What?” she uttered. “No, you didn't! You don't need to feel sorry. I wasn't at all offended.” Blinking dumbly at her compassionate protest, I asked in disbelief, “You weren't?” My tone was tinted with wary hope. “Nope.” She shook her head, her pleasant smile almost persuading me to believe her. “Did you zone out because you thought I was mad at you?” “Yeah, that's precisely why,” I responded, intuitively taking the opportunity to save my skin. Then, I collected my courage to confront another quandary, my vision drifting from one table corner to the other before refocusing on her. “But you . . .” I tilted my head. “You weren't even a little offended?” I asked, certain she had disapproved of my conduct. Embee's lips twisted into a perplexed smile. “Wh-why . . .” She broke into a short but friendly laugh, then raised a foreleg as she said: “Now why on Equestria would I be mad at you?” “Uh . . .” My rueful expression froze. Had I just received proof of the existence of Equestria? I was faintly aware that it was real, but . . . No, not now. My protracted ruminations would renew Embee's concerns, maybe even alight her suspicions about my rationality. Or dig up more memories with undesirable effects. “I, uh, um um, because I . . .” Dejection was still on my countenance as I distractedly fixated on the purple cushion underneath her. Hoping to reduce my light nervousness, I tried to wring the edge of my cushion, an act that was impossible to accomplish with a hoof. “What I, uh . . .” I cleared my throat and my confusion. “What I did was a tremendous faux pas that should earn me appalled looks and scornful comments,” I analyzed despondently. Embee's giggle was sufficiently lighthearted to cause my ears to finally perk up and cast off some of my dismay. “Relax.” “I'm honestly trying to,” I said, my lips barely moving; Embee didn't seem to notice my optimistic whisper and continued to talk. “Perhaps a strict pony would be cross with you, but you can trust me, hon. I'm not a strict pony.” Her easygoing nature brought a smile to my face, and I raised my head to look at her half-lidded amethyst eyes, relief flowing through me. ‘But you can trust me, hon,’ I echoed her words, earnestly wishing I could simply overcome my fears and confide in her. “It's great that you're being so understanding and friendly,” I said shyly, the appreciation in my tone almost succumbing to a constrained imitation; it wasn't easy to ignore the suspicion of Embee's unending goodwill driving me into an inescapable corner. Maybe I could compensate for my pretense by being honest about everything else? “Thank you, I do my best. You can bet your farm that laughing about a little belch doesn't even come close to tangling my tail.” She drew a hoof to her mouth, her warm chuckle circumventing it with ease. “Hehehe, ahh, yeah,” I tittered atypically, aversively casting a glance at an abstract painting to my right. “It just seemed like a fun thing to do,” I admitted sheepishly, shifting my gaze to the potted plant in the corner as I pawed the cushion with my forehoof for a second. A sudden pang of sadness made my smile diminish. Adjusting to my relatively insensitive and maladroit extremities would take a while, but I was confident that my bodily discomfort would never subside. Not when I knew the perils that could entail. However, I had to drive into my mind that no matter what occurred, being a mare was only temporary. If I couldn't solve this predicament by myself, then I'd absolutely have to seek help. One way or another, everything would be fine. I had nothing to worry about. “Listen,” Embee intoned politely. I promptly placed my attention on her. “If it's not clear already, I agree with you. It was funny.” A boulder fell off my withers. “Oh,” I breathed. My smile regained its integrity. “It . . . was?” I asked timidly. Embee smiled calmly. “Definitely.” I was a smidgen puzzled. “Thanks,” my shy tone pitched with a trace of glee. “I was so worried that it was anything but funny.” “Ahh,” Embee sighed sympathetically, her ears flicking backwards for a second. “I'm sorry I upset you, hon. You confused me; that's all.” “O-okay,” I acknowledged, shrinking a little. “Well, that's very nice to know, really. Thanks. Again.” All things considered, I felt mellow, and I hummed happily at this development. “And, uh, I of course accept your apology,” I continued quietly. “I misunderstood you, thinking the worst . . . It was shamefully presumptuous.” I paused for a moment, recalling something called "confirmation bias," but I didn't think deeply on it. “But please accept my apologies as well. I mean, if that's okay with you.” I almost grinned at recognizing and then deliberately abetting my accidental Fluttershy impression: a tiny pitch alteration, some softness, and voilà! It was just too easy. I liked soft things, and my voice was no exception, although I still preferred my true voice. “It's okay. I'll gladly accept your apology if it makes you feel better,” Embee said with candor. Was that her angle? To do everything she could to ensure my comfort and peace of mind? With admiration warming my heart, I concentrated on the table. “Yeah, it does, but I'm already feeling better . . . Thanks anyway.” I felt that I was receiving more respect and attention than I deserved, something that not many had done for me, in retrospect. Then again, I couldn't recall more than a couple of instances when I had wanted or needed respect or an apology. I guess my life had been smooth in that regard. That could be one explanation for why being a sudden mare was so hard to cope with. Somepony who was less finicky and stress-prone would probably do well. Somep . . . one who had toughened up through flight training; I couldn't be a pilot if I unraveled at the seams when the stinky stuff struck the propeller. And I as sure as hay would be a pilot! Not for big aircraft or fighter planes. Just the smaller craft. They seemed more inviting. However, the topic of piloting brought to mind that the Marcus guy looked a lot like First Officer Jeffrey Skiles. He and Captain Chesley Sullenberger safely landed a severely damaged Airbus into the Hudson River without casualties (Canada geese notwithstanding). Maybe one day, I'll be just as amazing as my idols! Except without the loss of engines and subsequent emergency ditching. At the least, I should consider hovering a Cessna. I've seen videos of it being done, and read a little about how to do it. I also read how to recover from a stall. Maybe I should just play it safe, and not try anything crazy. Just like I should do now? A fake story or the sincere truth? Which one was the crazier choice? Which one guaranteed a return to my home? Was Embee trustworthy? I was reluctant to dig up a sore issue, but . . . I needed to make sure I hadn't lost a memory, even one I'd rather not have. If I had, then that was solid proof of impending identity loss. I had entrusted Thomas not to tell anypony of my fascination when he found out about it due to a mishap with my browser tabs. To my great relief and surprise, he seemed nonchalant. ‘Hey, whatever floats your boat, man.’ Then, two weeks back, we were hanging out with other friends. Their habitual drunkenness was getting on my nerves, so I recommended that they should try to go easy on the stuff, that I very much preferred our joys to be sincere and not perverted by a toxic substance. Thomas saw fit to expose my secret, and things turned very sordid. I tried to keep my cool. I tried to be civil. I defended my stance, my opinions, myself. My friends questioned my sexual preferences and identity, trying to "save me" and to "be a man" by offering drinks. I didn't need to be "saved", and intoxication didn't equal masculinity! Just because I liked a cartoon about magical ponies and was secretly creeped out by drunken people, I was treated like dirt? What the hay was their problem? I didn't make fun of them or their hobbies; I couldn't stoop down to their level . . . I just didn't like them drinking so much . . . I cared for my friends, but I was afraid of saying that. It probably would've served as another source of mockery . . . I tried to play the ignore card, but that only escalated my belittling, and sadly . . . I complimented the jerks with some very nice words before leaving the immature and insensitive morons in a rage. I almost crashed into a bridge support on the way home . . . I was speeding, took a corner badly, and the rear tires lost traction. After one full spin on the wet asphalt, I was miraculously driving forward again, as if I had done a daring stunt. I could've died. I could've lost Jim. My parent's would've lost me . . . If only my friends hadn't been intoxicated out of their minds! They would've never said and done what they did if they were sober; I was sure of that! I was also sure they were sorry and wanted to make amends, but I was done with them. I couldn't believe I felt regret about that decision. Thomas was . . . used to be my best friend. I had known him for almost ten years, and he blew it all away for cheap giggles! He betrayed my trust! How could he do that to me? It still hurt a little, even after two weeks. Maybe I was at fault, though? Maybe I took their jests seriously, let them get under my skin when I should've deflected them with ironic remarks. Geez! I was a forgiving, pitiful, soft-hearted guy who longed to regain a lost friendship with a bunch of jerks . . . Could I trust Embee, then? She wouldn't betray me, would she? “Sorry to disturb you, hon, but you look like you're absorbed in your thoughts again. Have been for the past two minutes, actually.” Her calm voice made my auricular muscles twitch in attention. Coincidentally, I realized I automatically gauged sounds to determine in a split second if I was under the threat of impending harm and what decision or action I should take to ensure my safety. Pryer reflex, I recalled. I had no idea where I had learned that from. I had a hunch I had read it from a book when I was young. Or when she was young. Be that as it may, the adoption of at least one equine instinct was a little creepy. Fascinating, but creepy. Anyhow, I had just explored my persona and memories, and hadn't encountered anything that was missing or distinctively ponylike, so . . . despite the touching recollections, I was relatively good. As I focused on Embee's gentle, inquiring expression, I assured myself that if I kept some form of recursive loop active in my subconsciousness, then I'd prevent a possible personality death. A disparity between body and mind was good. “Uh . . . Yeah, I did get lost in my thoughts. Sorry,” I admitted belatedly, smiling bashfully at Embee. There was a hint of worry in her eyes, though. Sooner or later, she'd ask the toughest question of them all. If I could just be fearless enough to rescind my planned cover story. From posture, to voice, to the increased vividness of colors, my current physiological status maintained an underlying sense of confusion, constantly affecting my demeanor in ways I couldn't fully prevent or even detect. Embee must've noted my unusual behavior by now. Speaking of behavior, my voice alone was in all likelihood guiding me towards femininity without my deliberate intention or even knowledge—“Oh great!” I thought out loud, my tone rich with factitious abashment and honest shock. “I think I'm doing it again. Uh, getting lost in my mind, that is.” The situation called for a titter. Talking: okay. Very feminine laughter: not yet okay. “Don't worry about it.” A sad but sympathetic look washed over her face. Seemed like I had convinced the mildly mannered mare, thank goodness. “You must've gone through a lot recently. Please, take all the time you need to sort it out. We'll talk if and when you feel ready, okay?” Or maybe I hadn't. Her unassuming statement was foreboding; I had to stop my plaintive expression from frowning. “Thanks for trying to understand me. You're right: I've been trying to sort things out,” I confessed diffidently, willing a ghost of a smile. I poked my bowl idly with the tip of my hoof, pushing the ware by a few centimeters. I couldn't feel the ceramic. “It's . . . just so complicated. I don't even know where to begin,” I lamented, my focus affixed on my snout and the insensate hoof resting on the bowl. ‘Look at that. A trifecta of white. That's not complicated at all,’ I noted joylessly in a futile attempt to cheer myself up. ‘And my inner voice is male. Imitating the Team Fortress 2 Sniper got a few laughs from Peter. He loves that game, yet he's not a brony despite all the overwhelming pony content modded into it. Or maybe that's exactly why he's not a brony. Well, goodbye sniper, welcome Fluttershy. I hope we'll meet again.’ I sighed dolefully. Soon, I'd tell my story, which was nothing more than blaming my panic and muddy looks on a can of pineapples, but . . . I kept getting odd flashes: Tin. BPA. 'Rapid ingestion may cause temporary disruptions to the thaumaturgy system.' What was BPA? What was a thaumaturgy system? Whatever it was, I apparently had one now, and I had disturbed it when I scarfed the pineapples. “Rosy, it's okay. We'll go at your pace,” Embee reaffirmed softly, and I managed the composure to look at her. Once again, it occurred to me that I was in the presence of something impossible: a sapient, self-aware pony. That cheered me up a little. Feeling a smidgen privileged, I watched in mild awe as her lips moved with a perfect imitation of human suppleness: “When you feel ready, then you can talk, but only if you want to, remember?” Her intelligent eyes accompanied an incredibly compassionate smile; I gently closed my own to avert a brain-locking cuteness overload. “Yes, I remember,” I whispered. Ignoring what I had seen, I pondered if I could simply . . . shut up. Nothing and nopony was forcing me to say anything. Still, I felt obliged to provide . . . I couldn't just be stubbornly enigmatic to her. Could I? “By the way,” Embee began in her smooth voice. With a wary but curious “Hm?” I opened my eyes. She still looked cute, but luckily my brain didn't bust its circuit breakers. Maybe I was just a tad too rational to allow that. “I did a bit of thinking myself, and you know what?” Embee's smile changed to a friendly smirk, bestowing me with much needed optimism. “I know what? Well, that depends if I know what this 'what' you speak of is,” I replied, eliciting a small chuckle from her, though I suspected she was only being tactful about my offbeat humor. Nonetheless, an amiable smile spread across her face, which I assumed was due to kindness and vivaciousness mixing in her mind. Not that I could really know. “Believe it or not, you remind me of my sister.” My ears folded towards my nape, but I kept my smile. “Oh, um . . .” Was I like her sister? That was . . . great? “I'm . . . I'm honored, Embee.” My eyes dipped down as I ended my supposition with a contemplative hum. Part of me regarded her innocent comment as accidental derision to my self-image, another as firm evidence that I was behaving like a female without my knowing . . . but I was determined not to fall prey to those preposterous insinuations! I was safe. My demeanor hadn't become involuntarily feminine. I was still a guy. I was only pretending not to be. There was no cause for alarm! Sustaining calmness . . . “Going deep into your thoughts again, are you?” Embee asked, chuckling lightly. I was a little busy to answer yet. Calmness . . . sustained! Ears uprighted! “Aahh, well . . .” I drawled deliberately, directing my eyes at the ceiling. “Since you said I'm like your sister,” I said to Embee with a hopefully confident smile and tone, “I've decided to utilize my limited intellect to conduct a full introspective analysis on our shared aspects, disregarding the obvious similarities, such as, uh, such as . . .” No, I couldn't titter at what I was about to say. I could do this with a straight face! “Such as both of us being female ponies,” I said a little uneasily. “Hehehe!” Darn! I broke into a titter, and I almost tittered about breaking into a titter. It was kind of funny in hindsight . . . “Uhm, to perform my research with sufficient exactitude, please grant me a moment of relative silence.” The grin I flashed brought to mind Applejack's attempt at dissuading Pinkie Pie from entering the barn in "Party of One." Embee's face was the perfect picture of befuddlement. “Uh . . .” Her brow arched slowly. “Okay, Rosy. You do that,” she said flatly, as if unaware she had spoken. “And so I will, thank you!” I proclaimed with a raised fing . . . hoof. That minor disappointment washed away my nervosity. I stopped myself from trying to lean on a nonexistent wrist. At least gazing towards my mane wasn't impossible while in this form. Anyhow, I had bought a little more time to deal with a topical problem: being compared to Embee's sister was not a strike at my voluntarily displaced and potentially threatened masculinity, because she was in all likelihood a great and reputable pony. Like my favorite: Rainbow Dash! Who wouldn't want to be like her? I kind of was now since . . . I had the matching anatomy (including the—ugh—unspeakables). Except I had a horn on my head instead of wings on my back, a non-raspy voice, different colors in my coat and mane and . . . Actually, I wasn't at all like her. Perhaps not even in personality. Oh well . . . “Meh. I'm drawing blanks,” I submitted with mock disappointment. With a click of my tongue, I cast off my pseudo-contemplative look. Rather surprisingly, Embee was smiling. Was it an honest smile, or only out of politeness? Had my humor been that strange? Oh, never mind! “So, tell me Embee, what makes you think I'm awes—” I covered my fumble with a small (and an accidentally adorably demure) cough. “Sorry. How exactly am I like your sister?” I queried with eager curiosity in my tone, even though I was averse to being compared to . . . an assumably outstanding and respectable mare who was probably totally awesome! Maybe Embee's sister really was Rainbow Dash? That'd be even more totally awesome! Totaliest awesomest? An unsure grin grew on Embee. “To be honest, it's a little embarrassing.” Her ears curled back. “Maybe to us both, but, uh . . .” Her gaze fell toward the table's rim. ‘. . . my sister is THE one and only Rainbow Dash!’ I excitedly finished her sentence. Then, I realized something even more astonishing: ‘That'd mean she's real?’ I almost gasped. While only a few seconds had passed, I already felt my patience ebb. “Oh, come on! Don't start second-guessing yourself now! You're making me sweat in suspense here,” I complained lightheartedly. Embee's ears rebounded in minor surprise as she locked her startled eyes on me. However, my urging sparked a thought, and thus, I raised a forelimb to my snout. A short whiff was followed by a prompt increase of distance between the two features. “Ew.” I grimaced in disgust at the origin of loam and pony sweat. “Thank goodness I'll be clean before I go home,” I murmured. Embee understood my sentiment, if her curled lips were of any indication. “So anyway, your embarrassing tale?” I queried, flatly appraising my unfamiliar limb a moment longer before I gently placed it on the cushion. “I'm sure it's great, and not because you'll implicitly make fun of me, which I'm sure you won't,” I encouraged, my tone pitching up toward the end. “You're way too gracious to do that,” I complimented sweetly, finishing with a wide grin. Hopefully, I had now succeeded in replicating the cutest expression I could envision, minus adorable squeak sound effect. I reminded myself that I had forgiven Embee's tactless laughing fit while I had believed I was dying of a brain injury. The equine gambler, who up until now had forgotten to look bashful about the unspun yarn, sighed lightly. “Right, uh . . . How you reminded me of my sister, well . . .” She paused to clear her throat from behind her hoof. “When we were just fillies . . . and please, don't take this the wrong way,” she said timorously, shaking her head. “No worries, Embee. I'll take it the right way!” I said merrily, using that and a diabetically cute expression to cover a suspicion that I was about to be compared to a filly. A young female, the four letter g-word, the antithesis of me. Oh, wonderful . . . A reserved giggle slinked into my acute ears. “When we drank soda, she'd, uh, I can't believe I'm telling you this . . .” She hid her face into her hooves for a second. “Sometimes, she'd goad me into a burping contest, and I, well . . . do I even need to say more?” My brain cogs halted. ‘She . . . What?’ Befuddlement tugged my lips to an uncertain smile. “Ah, uhm, that's some, uh, thing, hum,” a few poor attempts at speaking my mind rolled out my mouth, as Embee's cheeks began to turn pink. How the hay does fur turn pink? I'd have to contemplate that later. “You, uh . . .” I finally got a disbelieving smirk onto my face. “No. No.” I shook my head slowly, then smiled slyly as I cast the uneasy pegasus a diagonal look. “You know what I think? I think you're only playing a joke on me,” I posited, bending my right foreleg up, my analytical side telling me I was basically pointing a finger at her. Didn't feel at all like a finger, though. Mane swaying, she shook her head, the trying smile on her lips discernibly fighting an embarrassed grin. “I'm not joking, hon.” My hoof met the cushion, and I ignored the numbness to the best of my abilities as I stared blankly at Embee. “So . . . Okay, I'm not offended, but . . . let me get this straight,” I said slowly, my tone full of incredulity. “My burp made you think of belching contests with your sister?” “That's right,” Embee vouched, her tone wavering with a titter. “She was, and still is . . . Oh, what's the word?” While Embee absorbed herself in browsing her internal dictionary, my imagination created a reenactment of the sibling scenario. As ridiculous that mental image was, a memory of Need for Speed: High Stakes—a game I played as a kid—provided the sound effects. Whoever had coded the background sounds for the food joint at the starting line of Redrock Ridge must've had a tremendous laugh, because that plain white building was the source of frequent belches. In fact, they were so frequent, every virtual patron there might've been a professional competitive belcher! Placing my hoof before my mouth failed to conceal my smile, let alone prevent a snicker from becoming audible. Two females trying to best each other at burping? Now that was outright absurd! My preconceptions about the prettier sex—specifically them being elegant and above the immaturity of unabashed belching—were crumbling fast. “I'm sorry, Embee.” I lowered my hoof onto the table's wooden edge. “But I think the word you're trying to think of is 'unprecedented', because never in my life have I heard of two fillies dueling with belches,” I said amusedly. Embee chuckled. “Well, now you have,” she affirmed abashedly. My imagination assembled a vivid vision, which expedited my composure's downfall. “No, no no no!” I exclaimed, trying to contain my laughter, gesturing my forelimb at Embee. “No way! You have to be kidding!” The blush on her cheeks told me otherwise. “As I said, I'm not!” “Okay okay! You leave me no choice but to believe you,” I conceded, my hoof slipping to the cushion. “But I hah-have to admit, I have, hahahah, ahh, no idea why this is so funny. Haha, just . . . b-b-bfftwhahaha! Burping f-f-fillies! Geez! No! Hahahahahaha!” My laugh was disconcertingly female, prompting me to get a hold of myself. “Hahahaha! Hahaha, haha! Okay, phew. Hah! There! All okay! I'm okay!” My imagination acted up once more, coaxing me to snicker lengthily, followed by a few disobedient giggles, which my self-image and pony façade wished to denounce and ban, contrary to my earlier approval. Not counting a few short laughs from both of us, a relative silence permeated the room; our only guests were the muffled sounds of presumably ordinary hospital activity penetrating the door and the soft noise of the air conditioning vents above. Embee was smiling widely, the red on her cheeks diminishing. Meanwhile, I was thinking on how to laugh without sounding too feminine. “One time, my sister said, ‘I'm famished’,” Embee recounted casually, glancing a few degrees to her left. Formulating a tolerable laugh had to wait. “Alright,” I said through my nonplussed smile, a half-cough, half-chuckle ascending my throat a second later. I was so close to laughing again. “So, what's—” “With a belch,” she interjected abruptly, facing me with a wry grin. My breathing stopped, my brain stopped . . . and then I lost it. “Pffffhahahahahaha!” The sheer power of my amusement made me collapse onto my right side. “Hahahahaha! Hehe-hehe-help! Get me hahahahaha! A doctor! Hahahaha! I'm dying, hehehehihihihi! Of-of-of laughter! Hahahahaha! Hihihihi!” I tried to get up, but a strength penalty had been imposed on my muscles. I squirmed in mirth, tears leaking from my closed eyes. I sounded so strange, wheezing and squeaking between bursts of laughter, but it also felt so good. I could hear Embee laughing with me. Shared joy was the best joy! I surrendered to revel in my well-deserved mirth, finally accepting that giggling, while unquestionably abnormal coming out of my mouth, wasn't at all bad. Giggling was strangely hilarious in itself. So perky! Despite my voice being unfit to imitate her, I was able to produce a few passably Rainbow Dash-like laughs. That was both amusing and adorable! After a minute of positive debilitation, I began to collect myself, with the occasional laugh and giggle setting me back a little. I didn't mind. Pony physiology being what it is, and laughter-induced weakness affecting me, I had some difficulties rolling prone and sidling towards my lime green cushion. ‘Left foreleg to my left, push with the right, then repeat with my hind legs.’ I was very glad I didn't have prominent mammaries on my chest like human females do. Otherwise, my sideway movement would've felt absolutely dreadful with the squishing and the tugging and the utter dismay. Seriously, possessing such inconveniences would've felt dreadful regardless. Why human females put them on display and what made them attractive to human males was almost alien to me. I never cared for them. Then again, my libido was like a Citroën 2CV in a world of sports cars. Back on my cushion, I pushed myself to a sitting stance, a posture that my restive human condition found easiest to comply with. “Thank you, thank you!” I exclaimed breathlessly, waving a forelimb weakly. Embee looked drained, having spent a good while making her sides ache, too. “You've been a wonderful audience, Embee,” I said, thinking I was an actor who had just performed a play and expecting a round of applause. Not including begrudging participation in elementary school plays and my current masquerade, I had never acted. “My pleasure,” she replied with a wide smile. “But I think it was you who played the part of the audience.” Her eyes closed as she giggled. “Or we had a duet!” That earned a brief and casual giggle from us. “Maybe we did.” I carefully wiped my appreciated tears into my fetlock, followed by a happy sigh. “To be honest, I'm very grateful for the food and the laugh. I really needed to unwind after what I've gone through.” Oh darn! I accidentally insinuated that my ordeal's been awful. Not that she didn't already have an inkling. “Speaking of which, I'll tell you more about it soon,” I said to keep her curiosity at bay, clinging hard to my smile as I forced my ears to stay propped up. “There's no rush. Take all the time you need,” she reminded sweetly, almost apologetically. Was she afraid that her presence alone was pressuring me to explain? “Yeah, I know,” I whispered, my smile slipping away briefly. “I mean, I shouldn't be too eager, haha,” I said lamely. The icicles of apprehension were poking at my back. I really didn't want to tell a lie. Or the truth for that matter. However, I had to stay calm above all else. Everything would work out in my favor. Somehow . . . “Well, I think a cup of soothing coffee will help us put our concerns to rest.” Her gaze drifted toward the second room. “Unless the coffee has evaporated by now,” she joked bashfully. “If so, then we can't drink it,” I said gloomily, but before she could reply, I smiled half-amusedly. “We'd have to inhale it.” I surprised myself when I was actually able to giggle, though Embee's reciprocation sounded a lot more natural. “Let's hope it doesn't come to that.” She reached over for her bowl. “Anyhow, I'll take these—” “No, hold on!” I raised my hoof. “Why?” She stopped, setting an inquiring gaze on me. Assisting her and following her to the other room could help me relax better than the coffee. “Uh, I got this thing, you see?” I gingerly tapped my horn, trying not to grin awkwardly when I felt a tiny pulse marginally in front of my forehead. ‘Darn unseen unicorn rebar and its sensitive stand-by magic,’ I complained as I lowered my hoof. “I think I can help you this time.” Assuming I could get my magic to work . . . I really hadn't thought this decision through, had I? Oh, super . . . “Oh?” A gentle smile grew on Embee; I did my best to replicate it. “I'd greatly appreciate that! Thank you.” Withdrawing her hooves from her bowl, she sat down and beamed at me, which made me feel terrible behind my unworried mask because I didn't want to let her down. I didn't have a second to rehearse, either. Wait, I did have a few seconds! “Embee, I know you care for me, but you don't have to watch over me. It's, uhm, actually making me a little nervous,” I said with hopefully believable meekness, idly rubbing my forehoof on my hind leg. The sensation of a big fingernail running over my narrow and elongated metatarsal evoked bewilderment, wistfulness, and even some curiosity. This was a good sign; the recursive loop was functioning. “I'm sorry.” Embee frowned contritely. “I didn't know I was bothering you.” Her demeanor educed a pang of guilt to downflap my expressive directional microphones. “I'll give you some peace and pour us some coffee in the meantime.” She stood up, and I made a quick note on how, in case my equine intuition malfunctioned. I brought my ears up, suppressing the minor flinch of my inflexible humanity. “If it's still in a liquid state, that is,” I chirped forcedly, hoping to ease our respective worries. Her amused chuckle verified that I had at least achieved success on her side. My foreleg now back on the cushion, I fixated on my bowl before she turned around; sighting her tailside now might ruin my inchoate concentration. ‘Okay! Just have to stare intently at the bowl and think really hard that I'm moving it with an innate and mystifying power! I'm sure I won't have any problems at all. Nope. Nothing can go wrong with my ethereal touch,’ I thought frantically, doing my best to prevent perspiration leakage. ‘No, wait. I have to think differently. More confidence, less worrying!’ My tongue stuck out the side of my mouth in determination. ‘I think I can do this. Yes! That's right! I have to do this, I can do this . . . I will do this!’ Suddenly, an epiphany brought my head up. ‘Why can't I?’ I stared at the wall ahead in puzzlement. ‘I was the second pony in magic kindergarten to learn the basic levitation spell.’ Next thing I knew, I felt something odd within my forehead. Subsequently, a tingling, shimmering glow encased the bowl, and it ascended a dozen centimeters. This sight, coupled with my vague flashback, almost rolled my eyelids past their maximum operating limit; the magic vanished, and the bowl capsized before it fell with a grimace-inducing bang. “What was that!?” Embee yelled in shock from the room over. I stared aghast at the luckily undamaged bowl. “Ponyfeathers,” I whispered through my teeth. The sound of hoofsteps impelled me to frown fearfully. Not a second later, Embee appeared in the doorway. Wearing an alarmed expression, she glanced toward the table, then at me. “Rosy? What happened?” My eyes darted between the overturned bowl and her. “Uh, I, um . . . I sneezed,” I fibbed guiltily, then inhaled congestedly a couple of times before using my fetlock to wipe my snout—carefully. Equine cartilage, epidermis, and hair where thin air should be just didn't mesh with me. “And I lost my concentration.” As my posture wilted, I hesitated. ‘I can't act this way. It's too feminine . . . But didn't I recently giggle uninhibitedly? Oh, what the hay, I can do this, too.’ I realigned my ears toward my neck and pouted ruefully. “I'm terribly sorry,” I said, like I had been caught thieving cookies from a jar. “Oh, don't feel too bad, hon,” Embee soothed, encouraging my ears to perk up. “But . . .” She cocked an eyebrow. “I didn't hear you sneeze, though.” I glanced aside, recalling my very unbridled sneeze from earlier. “Well . . .” I rubbed the soft hairs on my chin with my pastern. “It was a tiny sneeze, you know?” I brought the soles of my forehooves to my snout and imitated a dainty sneeze; it'd be a frigid and cloudless day on Venus when I did that for real. “I had to dampen it so I wouldn't lose my focus.” “I think I understand, but still . . .” Her questioning glance towards the table felt oppressingly allusive. “It's not an infallible technique,” I said remorsefully, hoping Embee wouldn't examine my rubbish explanation. “Hmm.” Her gaze lingered on the bowl for an agonizingly long second before she smiled warily. “Well, good thing nothing broke. Just be careful, okay?” I couldn't help but smile now that I was off the hook. Also, I felt confident about summoning a levitation spell, which was remarkable given how uncertain I was just moments ago. “Oh, I will,” I intoned peaceably. “Now, uhm, maybe I was wrong about being nervous. Let me try again.” I zeroed in on the bowl, then expected it to do what I wanted . . . No, for the bowl to do what my magic needed it to do: the ceramic ware had to arise. A tingle in my forehead told me that magical energy had begun to spool up in my body, and would transmit its signal from my horn as soon as it . . . calibrated itself with Earth's unique background magic. After a small delay, a white aura enveloped my target, immediately bestowing me with a feel of its ceramic construction. As if every square millimeter of it was covered with my tactile sense! Another second later, the vessel began to ascend. I grinned widely at this, and the bowl flipped over without so much as a conscious command to do so. This was intuitive! I wasn't even straining myself! Moving the bowl was as easy as holding it in a hand! “Ta-daa!” I pointed an outstretched foreleg at the bowl floating an arm's length above the table. “My mundane ability is working mundanely! Yeeeeey!” I cheered energetically. Was my perkiness affecting my voice, or was the voice making me act perky? “That's, uh, amazing, Rosy,” a bemused Embee inserted, eyeing the lightly bobbing bowl. My hoof, the white vessel, and my exuberation settled in tandem, ending with my flat stare on her. “Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to ruin your fun,” she continued apologetically. “Eh,” I sighed nonchalantly. A want to shrug began to travel to my shoulders, but I thwarted that signal: shrugging entailed moving the shoulders upwards, but with my forelegs supporting my body, shrugging would actually cause me to lurch downwards, which would look abnormal in my current physiological state. “I was overdoing it anyway,” I said dismissively. Truly, why had I been so exuberant? I had known the basic levitation spell for years. Well, not really . . . Darn memory mix-up! Suddenly, I caught sight of something fascinating, and my lips creased to a smile. “Although, you know what would be really fun?” I asked amiably. “No. Tell me,” Embee said, tone tinged with curiosity, but I chose to keep my lips sealed. Since I'd have to walk to the second room soon (and walk in general), I levered myself up. Thus, I was reintroduced to the unpleasant standing-on-my-nails feeling. My attention was quickly drawn from the lack of hands to my tail falling between my . . . cheeks. I was fairly okay with the extra appendage providing modesty, but the 'receptacle' itself evoked nothing but abhorrence. Still, out of sight, out of mind. “Well, are you going to tell me or not?” Embee urged affably. I circulated several ideas in my head on how to tell her, but I abandoned the whimsical idea of speaking in a sensual tone. The remotest concept of flirting—even by accident—as a mare to a mare who was apparently days short of being married was highly unbecoming and boorish. Moreover, it would be reprehensibly irresponsible to defame the pony whose body I inhabited. What I did do was lower my head slightly and whisper (unsensually), “So, what I think would be fun is . . .” Embee lowered her head, and her bemused but expectant visage nearly made me giggle. Deliberately, I curved my head toward her right. As I expected, Embee mirrored my gesture. “Music,” I finished, allowing myself a smirk. “Oh!” Her head sprung up, mine following at a slower rate. “The radio!” she exclaimed in joyful realization as we exchanged glances. “All we hear is, radio ga ga,” I sing-songed, my head tilting lightly as I made my body sway from side to side. I would've trotted in place, but the incurred forces on my hooves and equine joints could've upset my restrained and wounded human condition. One of Embee's ears drooped sideways. “What?” She looked at me, visibly lost on what I had referenced. Smiling, I rolled my eyes with an inoffensive puff. “Never mind,” I said jovially. Aside from her ear lifting up, her outlook remained unchanged. “Let's just have some sweet tunes drift into this cozy place.” I cast a look at the table and colorful carpet. Along with the cushions, it was like an oasis of soothing vibrancy among the dull brown walls and floor. My attention returned to Embee as I heard her distractedly utter, “Radio gaga?” A second passed before she shook the confusion away. “Oh yes, music,” she said awkwardly. “What the hay is a radio gaga . . . ?” My acute auditory sense detected the puzzlement under her breath as we both took a few steps to the radio. So much for shaking her confusion away. She even studied the radio's brand; it definitely didn't provide the answer. Her confusion amused me, but I didn't want to make her feel any worse, so I half-heartedly tried to stifle my giggle when she looked at me cluelessly. “Don't worry your head about it,” I reassured happily. “They were only lyrics to a song I've heard,” I summarized. “Ohh-kay?” She nodded, the glimmer in her eyes hinting that she absorbed the trivia without immediate comprehension. Nevertheless, anticipation drew her lips to a smile. “Well, if we're lucky, that song might be on the radio right now!” “That'd be great!” I said eagerly as Embee faced the radio, my tail surprising me by flicking to my right. ‘Joy can do that to my tail? Gotta be careful, then. Wouldn't want anypony to glimpse the unmentionable,’ I thought uneasily behind my gleeful smile, then lightly swayed my tail a few times to improve my understanding and control of the caudal muscle. Meanwhile, Embee placed her hoof on top of the radio to manipulate a switch. The garbled noise spewing out made her sigh in discontent. “Sorry, hon. This thing was brought here only a few days ago, and this is my first time trying to use it,” she said, presumably to vent her frustration. “But I understand it works like any normal radio by, uh . . .” A thoughtful frown came to her as she started scanning the various buttons and dials on the radio's coal black shell. “Tuning into frequencies?” she continued slowly, as if sparing no attention to what she was saying. I was quick to spot the tuner dial. With an oblique glance and an ear-levelling sigh, I chose to grant Embee the full delight of finding it by herself . . . which meant I also got to delight in boredly observing her meticulously inspect each and every feature on the radio but the correct one. Finding it after several long moments, she decisively placed the tip of her hoof into one of several accommodating grooves on the dial's side and gave it a light twist. I took note of that deftness. “Ah! That did the trick!” she exulted when the radio finally began to air something intelligible. Instantly, both my equine instinct and my curiosity reoriented my ears toward the speakers. “So what's it playing?” I wondered impatiently. “. . . almost night,” A male voice spoke, “Two minutes to midnight? No, not yet folks. Anyhow, sounds like we got a caller.” Was this a talk show? I almost gasped in excitement at the surprise. I could learn a lot about this world, especially if the topic in question pertained to ponies! Or better yet, if a pony called in! That'd be so awesome! “Uh, yeah . . .” The caller, a female, hesitated. “Most horrible movie scene?” My blood curled upon hearing that. “Definitely that scene in The Machinist where Miller . . . That was just awful! Just so awful! It gave me horrible nightmares for days! Even my boyfriend said he—” Unwilling to hear more, I latched my ears to my skull (and for once, I was very thankful for their suppleness). “Embee, this isn't music. Change the channel, please,” I beseeched restlessly. Oh no, imagery was incoming and I had to think of anything else, but I was too late . . . Oh gross, oh gross, oh gross! If I had the power to eradicate one memory right now, it was that scene. I hated gory movies! Couldn't Thomas have chosen a "softer" movie to rent, like the director's cut of Das Boot as I had recommended? In his defense, he probably didn't know what was coming. I could still taste the cheese puffs crawling up my throat, and I had seen that movie years ago! Even he stopped gobbling his snacks after witnessing the horrifying event, although he did try to joke about his discomfort. I was of lesser integrity and made no effort to hide my nausea. We should've just played a video game since those don't make me sick to my stomach. And this . . . was a fond memory I had of him. I felt both happy and sad. I liked the times when I didn't submissively tag along with him into a disheartening carouse . . . “Hey, are you okay, hon?” My acute ears discerned Embee's voice amidst the currently playing rock song. “I'm sorry,” I said weakly to the frowning pegasus mare by my side, righting my ears to make the music sound clearer. “Sorry about what?” she queried, a little confused. A bunch of memories regarding happy video gaming moments cajoled for my attention, but I sent them back to the recess of my mind with a small sigh. “That movie the caller mentioned . . .” I was leery of going into details. “Umm . . . Well, it has a really disgusting thing in it . . .” The sickening memory flared up, making me gag. “Trust me, you don't want to know,” I said, hopefully dissuading her from prying to know what damage a horrendously unsafe drill press could do. “That kind of movie, huh?” A look of understanding dawned on her. “I have a pretty good reason to favor lighthearted comedies myself.” That I could agree on, but I'd probably regret my curiosity for half an eternity. “That reason being?” I whispered apprehensively, feeling cold despite all the insulating fur I had. Embee swallowed visibly, horror shrinking her pupils. “The reason, uh, was a movie my sister wanted to see. It was unique. A space movie, uhm . . . Alien,” she divulged. “Yeah . . . seen that one.” I moaned feebly as a shudder slinked through my entire body, wishing I could take my barrel into a tight and protective hug without flopping down in doing so. I could sit on my haunches, I realized, but I decided not to; I could tough out my transient nausea. “Anyhow, let's not think about the awful things, shall we?” I suggested, trying hard to eradicate the unease from my smile. “To allay our filmography afflictions, let's focus on the music for a moment.” I could forget the sickening scenes if I listened to the music instead. I hoped. “There's no easy way out, there's no shortcut home! There's no easy way out, givin' in, givin' in can't be wrong, no! There's no easy way out, there's no shortcut home! There's no easy—” I had hoped. “Oh, shut up,” I grumbled quietly at the inopportune song, and with remarkable precision, I poked the dial just like Embee had. I took no notice of the new song that began to play, but in the corner of my eye, I saw Embee looking at me in puzzlement. “I didn't like that song,” I said offhandedly. “Why not?” she asked, meeting my flat stare with a peaceable smile. “I thought it was nice.” “It didn't fit my mood, that's all,” I replied shortly, my ears revealing my subsequent dismay. ‘Didn't fit my mood? What the hay? That was a stupid reply!’ If I had spared a moment to think, I could've spoken a white lie instead of being disadvantageously sincere. “Didn't fit your mood? What do you mean by that?” Embee said, her face mixed with confusion and worry. I was in a pinch. I actually liked the song, but it simply . . . hit too close to home. Did I really make that pun? I was oh so laughing. “Did the song upset you?” Embee interrupted my cogitations. My ears pricked up, and I almost tripped in my haste to turn myself perpendicular to her. “I'm not upset!” Subsequently, I winced in guilt, my ears turning down. “Well, kind of, but not really, uh, I'm sorry for snapping at you, but, uhm . . .” I mumbled apologetically, unable to look at her. Everything had been going well. I could've just let the song play and done nothing, but I just had to let it get the better of me . . . What was I going to do now? “What's wrong, hon?” Embee queried tenderly. I hesitated before directing my eyes up to hers. “Is this about what you've experienced, before you were found?” She had a studious but sad glint in her eyes. As my silence continued, she turned to face me. “Rosy?” She took a trepidatious step closer, and I quickly doubled the distance, nearly bungling my stability as I did so. ‘Horseapples! Can't I even move right? Of course I can't! It's almost impossible to be a pony when I have no idea when it will end—if it can end. Oh no, wrong thoughts, wrong thoughts! It will end, it will end, but . . . I think I've only built mental barriers to keep my anxiety in check. They can't hold on forever! In fact, my computer providing the ultimate solution could just be another barrier—a desperate, hope-inspiring delusion!’ I really wanted to come clean and not soft-pedal everything, but honesty was forbidding; not only was the likelihood of profuse weeping very high, there was no guarantee Embee would believe me. However, I believed she was sincerely worried and wanted to help in any capacity she could. Was she trustworthy, though? Could she console me in a time of extreme crisis? I hoped so. “It's okay, you can talk to me.” Maybe she was right. Maybe I should get the planned pineapple excuse out of the way before I shied away from it. “Ah, what I did . . .” The words stopped in my throat and my face scrunched up with emotion. No, I couldn't do this yet. I blinked away the unwanted tears rimming my eyes, whispering in a pitch so high it was almost a whine: “Okay, yeah, I'll tell you soon, I promise.” I wasn't particular to how my feminine voice made me sound even more fragile; I cleared my throat to sound more collected. “Uh, haha, but I can't abscond from helping you first, right?” I said lamely through a strained smile. I struggled with an onslaught of discrepant sensations as I balanced on three digits, pointing the fourth at the table to my right. “We can enjoy coffee and have a nice talk once I've gotten those things where they need to be.” As I looked at her, I understood that she knew I was struggling to keep my powerful discontentment under the lid. She stared at me with a face full of pity, almost pleading to know why I was behaving like this. I couldn't smile any longer. “Alright,” she assented warily, almost regretfully. I had to blink tears away again. I was marginally thankful for the respite, and I summoned my magic to place the wares onto the tray. Without any kind of pleasure. I simply . . . couldn't; my mind was in disarray. I barely took notice of encasing the tray in a white aura. White aura? Not green . . . like my eyes? Well, whatever. In a few seconds, my task was done. The tray floated off the table and gracefully flew into the next room. I followed it with shaky legs, dumbfounded at the effortless manipulation. However, the pining for my real form was making my breaths heavy; I had to stop after a few steps and a forty-five-degree turn to my right towards the sink. At least I could take stock of the room from the doorway while my distress abated. Remarkably, my magic was still keeping the tray aloft and safe, despite my inattention. The initial impression of the room was . . . white. The ceiling was white, the walls were white, and the floor was . . . grayish? Several light brown cupboards, breaking the white monotony, lined the walls from my right all the way to the far corner, where the sink was. A black and white picture hung on the left wall, but apart from recognizing it as depicting the hospital, I spared it no further attention. Adjusting my sight to the right of the sink, I saw a white mini-fridge in the far right corner, a dishwasher to the left, and a bouquet of flowers—mauve dahlias—in a glass vase beside the fridge. Next to the fragrant flowers were a microwave and the coffee machine. The distinctively aromatic coffee was waiting to be poured into two cups with detailed landscapes depicted on them. Of all the colors in the world, the machine was pink; I almost chuckled at that. Admittedly, the uncommon color made it look quite lovely. The one in my home was just a boring grey. ‘Pink: the color that once was considered masculine is nowadays the exact opposite,’ I deadpanned mentally. Tucked in the far corner of the room was the sink. Excluding the appliances, everything was scaled for ponies. I placed the magic-shrouded tray on the steel drainboard, and the minor tingling in my head faded at the same rate the white and wavy aura did. I had wanted this levitation performance to feel even a little special, but instead, it had been disappointingly anticlimactic. Maybe later it'd feel exquisite again? Maybe I was simply too preoccupied at the moment? I sighed dolorously, my ears dropping as I stared at the waxed floor. A few seconds to settle my nerves would do me well. The sheen of the fluorescent lights on the plastic floor was easy to focus on. My attention was drawn to where my petite hooves met the floor, a reflection of something white and vague extending forward. It began to sharpen into something recognizable. I tilted my head, and the shape moved. My brain was assembling the details into a distinguishable image. The face was one of the most central parts of an individual's identity, and to see an unfamiliar one . . . which could replace mine? I wanted to look away before it was too late, but my neck was as unyielding as a girder. I felt strangely curious, yet apprehensive. “Hey, how are you feeling, hon?” Embee said caringly, my semi-independent ears telling me she was standing on my right. Simultaneously, I saw two protrusions extend on either side of the reflection beneath me. Those were my ears, and I started to recognize . . . I didn't want to see this! Stopping a frightened gasp in my throat, I broke out of my daze with a start. My sight lingered on the unimpressive plastic tapestry between the cupboard and sink for a moment before turning to Embee. I thanked my lucky stars I hadn't discerned my foreign visage while she had been gazing at me with a frown. “What was that, Rosy?” her whisper slinked into my ears, which twitched marginally as I reminded myself of my real name. It felt meaningless, like the name of a character from a book or a video game. In spite of my best attempts, the radio wrenched my ears toward it, capturing my attention. “Aw-right! You're on Nostalgy Radio with Sound Wave, and do I feel energetic! I just luuuuv the music you wonderful humans delight my ears with! Mmm-mm! So, all of you two-feets and four-hooves still awake, don't go dozing off yet, 'cause now it's time to fly! I would fly, but I'm an earth pony, hah hah hah! Have some good-goodness by a wonderful fella who, contrary to his name, isn't petty, hahah!” Embee's amethyst eyes continued to scrutinize my blank expression as I tried to make sense of why I was estranged by what was once my name. “I'm getting really worried now. Are you sure you're feeling okay?” Her increasing concern for me brought somberness to my face, and I closed my eyes. I inclined my head, hastily surmising that the stress was playing tricks on me. “I need a minute to clear my head,” I said humbly, intentionally avoiding her question. I faced the sink; however, if the gleaming floor wasn't daunting enough, something more intimidating was between the doorway and the pink apparatus: a looking glass. Sure, it was no larger than a laptop screen and served as decoration, but . . . What kind of a smartflank mounts that kind of torture device in a kitchen!? Oh, right . . . they wouldn't know an extremely fraught pon . . . person like me would come across it. I definitely didn't want to see my present face. Not only could that become my 'primary' face and erase my real one, but I could risk a repeat of the two earlier viewings. The second one nearly traumatized me . . . “By all means,” Embee said conciliatorily, followed by a single, soft prod on my right shoulder. I was initially floored by this, but when I realized the touch was too soft for a hoof, I suddenly felt moved. Embee had done something I could've never anticipated . . . ‘A nuzzle is apparently a non-verbal method of communication to impart compassion, inspire mutual trust, and mollify the recipient,’ I summarily analyzed the fundamentals of Embee's gesture as I plodded the short distance to the sink, avoiding the looking glass. ‘But that's not a reason to start sniveling like a miserable foal!’ I berated myself, shivering minutely from the sheer power of the emotions I was curtailing. I had to distract myself. It was . . . a little funny that I felt like I was in a miniature-scale kitchen. The ceiling was high, but the sink and cupboards were low enough that an earth pony could reach them with ease. While my vision was aimed at the microwave, I saw the aquamarine and blonde shape of Embee in the corner of my eye. Turning my head completely around—an achievement only my equine neck could permit—I saw her tilt her head with a supportive smile. I smiled back weakly, and only briefly; the glimpse of my trailing end was highly dissuasive. Luckily, I didn't become involuntarily excited, only confused. I wasn't even sure why I might become aroused by a mare's flank, especially my own, but I was afraid to risk finding out. Then again, under these tormentous circumstances, arousal was impossible anyway. My composure was crumbling, and I became immersed in dismal disbelief. I didn't want to comprehend that I was standing like a pony—as a pony—but the unceasing sensation at the ends of my remoter limbs wasn't telling any merciful lies. My mental barriers were falling like dominoes, and I had to fiercely repress a desire to sit my shivering form on the floor and cry my eyes out. I wanted a respite from all the horrors my mind and body were pushing onto me . . . and that's why I was by the sink! I had to do something besides succumb to my emotions, even if that would feel good . . . A current rushed to my horn, and a second later, my ethereal grip twisted the handle to bring about a pillar of water from the faucet. I reached my right han . . . hoof in a desire to cup water . . . once my left hoof would do its part? Darn. It was obvious I couldn't hold a significant amount of water in my hooves, and supporting part of my weight on my equine elbows didn't sound appealing. The sole was concave, but the triangular shape—the frog—was a channel that'd allow the water to run out. Stupid, ungainly . . . I couldn't even cup water properly . . . I let the water run over my dainty hoof, but I couldn't feel it. Warm water running between my fingers? Never thought I'd miss that. I'd get it back. I'd get everything back! A memory came to me as I gloomily watched the water run over my hoof. I had singed my hand one birthday when I tried to put out the candles on the cake with my fingers. It was a crazy thing to do, but I was . . . How old was I back then? Wait? This . . . When was this?! I frantically racked my brain, but I had no idea when I had burnt my hand . . . or when my birthday was. I couldn't even narrow it down to a specific month! How could I forget something so important? Horrible dread and loss filled my heart, and I began to pound my mind harder. No, wait! I did recall more details! I had accidentally set the fur behind my coronet band on fire when I had tried to douse the candles by clapping them with my hooves. I had disregarded my mom's warnings, but I was very young and thoughtless. No . . . wait, what was this? What was doing this to me? What . . . But . . . I had two conflicting memories again? No, no no no no no nonono! This wasn't happening! If . . . If I cried just a little bit, maybe I'd feel better about this shocking development? Better about losing myself? No, I could stay collected! If I didn't, I would frighten myself into hyperventilation and subsequent sniffles and tears! Acting on an impulse, I began to collect water into a magical bubble. As some form of therapy? I wasn't really sure right now; I couldn't think straight. As my magic collected the water, I noticed that while I could "feel" the temperature and shape of the water, its lack of contact with skin meant there was no sensation of slipperiness or coolness. It was strange, but I latched onto the peculiarity as if it were a lifeline. The bubble, it was like . . . a rippling plastic bag with water, and the plastic was my slightly lacking tactile sense. Now, what could I do with this bubble? Wash my tears, I concluded in a fraction of a second. The magic bubble opened gently as it met my face to spill its contents over my closed eyes, my muzzle dividing the soothing cascade into two torrents that poured into the steel sink below. I was breathing shakily and my teeth were clenched; I needed a second bubble of warm water to cool my nerves. As I was gathering more water with my magic, I got a better idea. A little fun. Just had to concentrate a little harder than normal! I used my hoof to push down the handle, before getting to work. The irregular blob of water began to smooth out until it was a perfect sphere, thanks to a primarily purposeless trick I learned about three years ago. Huh? Oh, right. That tidbit belonged to her. A victorious smirk visited me for catching the inconsistency. I was not done with the bubble, though. I turned it into a cube. That was easy . . . Too easy. Just like the sphere, this light-refracting cube looked neat. Meticulously, I began to stretch it, flatten it, give it protrusions and curves. Excluding the resculpting of a few details, it was like perfectly projecting my imagination into reality. With a touch of pride beneath my melancholy, I floated my piece of art to the middle of the room. Embee and I stepped forward to examine it more closely, sadness stiffening my joints. Embee's eyes were glued on my magical sculpture. “I've seen things like that in the air. They're usually at a much greater altitude than I am, though,” she said with wonder in her tone. When I didn't reply, she looked at me. “But you creating that with just magic and water? I'm honestly impressed, Rosy. It's very beautiful!” Despite her praise, I gazed pensively at my beautiful scale replica of a Cessna 152—the wingspan seemed about right at 35 centimeters—as I raised it to hover above us. I've lived near an airport most of my life, so I saw airplanes fly over our home often and at a low altitude. They were so incredibly bedazzling . . . “One of these days, I'll fly a plane,” I said with a voice full of longing, sending my sufficiently accurate reproduction on a clockwise holding pattern. A few laps later the plane had brought a smile to my face. “Look at it fly. Isn't it just so incredible?” I found myself sounding depressed, which I had to rectify. “Airplanes are so super awesome . . .” I cheered, trotting sluggishly on the spot. “Heeheehee . . .” my giggle came out splendidly: full of energy and ending on a doleful sigh . . . Embee ignored the soaring plane to look at me with undeniable concern. I heard her speak, but I wasn't paying attention. I kept watching the plane wistfully. I had to think . . . on how to make the best of a bad situation! Plan ahead! I could do quite okay in this body for a few days, if the circumstances demanded it. Maybe my identity would degrade a little, but I'd get it back in perfect condition once I was in my body. Right? I hadn't changed or lost anything permanently, had I? I could save myself from being flooded with this mare's experiences, couldn't I? On that note, where was she, then? Maybe she was in my body? Maybe she couldn't take it and had gotten herself killed . . . like I almost did. I felt so horribly guilty about the harm I had placed her body in, and I was so sincerely sorry. But . . . if she wasn't in my body, was she here with me? If so, she was witnessing my irresponsibility ruin her life the very moment I left my home. I was so sorry about that, too. I hoped she'd forgive me . . . Or maybe it was worse? Maybe my existence in her body had killed her, and her memories and traits were now being passed on to me? Maybe my body expired when I was torn from it? Then I'd have nothing to return to—a most horrifying thought! I'd be trapped in this body, fighting a battle I couldn't win! Little by little, I'd lose pieces of myself! Experiences, feelings . . . memories. Those I cherished most: my parents, my joys, my aspirations . . . Those that inspired me to be free from the bonds of earth itself . . . The ones that made me . . . me! I'd lose them all! I'd lose everything! For over a decade, I dreamt of flying a plane, and when I was weeks from making that wish turn real, this happens! I'd lose that too, and . . . and . . . I couldn't take this anymore! “Or maybe I'll never fly a plane!” I shouted mournfully, my eyes turning misty. The Cessna entered a steep dive and crashed between us, violently shattering into countless droplets scattering in every direction. I . . . I didn't mean to kill it . . . “Rosy!?” Embee yelled in shock, but I couldn't look at her. I stared in open-jawed despair at the wet puddle—the allegory for my life and future—as tears blurred my vision. “What did you—” A somber squeak escaped me with a cringe, and I crumbled to a sitting stance. The weight on my forehooves made me realize I didn't have palms to hide my face in, and that horrible loss almost persuaded me to shrivel up into a quivering pile. “—do that . . . for? Oh my . . .” she continued emotively. I struggled to weep silently, which would be okay, but . . . I was inconsolable, and the cork on my bottled emotions was loosening. “Rosy?” Embee asked softly. “What's going on? What happened to you? Talk to me, please,” she implored. I was trembling fiercely and could hardly breathe. I tried to read her expression, but everything was a fuzzy blend of colors. She was close. Sitting before me? In the puddle of water that once was a resplendent replica of an airborne beauty? “Rosy. You're safe and you can trust me, I promise,” she spoke rapidly, tone dripping with sincerity and compassion. “I can . . . trust you?” I whimpered hopefully, tears blending with the water in my soaked facial fur. “Really?” Solemnly, she said, “Yes, you can.” That was all I needed to hear! “I give my word—Uhmh!” I had reached over to her and pulled us together. Squeaking several thank you's in a pitch higher than I had ever anticipated I'd be able to, I wrapped my limbs over her back and wings, embracing her like my life depended on it. I held my breath as the last of my restraint withered and my full sorrow began to find its way out in an anguished bawl. “Everything will be okay, hon. Everything will be okay,” Embee soothed, stroking my back with care as I cried profusely. I didn't care anymore how wrong it sounded to cry with a female's vocal cords. I didn't care that all my life I had believed guys weren't supposed to cry! I wasn't bound by that stupid, oppressive, and ridiculous constraint anymore! I couldn't be and wasn't afraid of my own emotions. I just wanted to purge all of my sadness and my anxiety . . . To shed tears until I had none left. That would help . . . Weeping was helping. Sweet release. I had so needed this . . . and I really wanted to say I believed her now, but all I could reply with were sniffles and sobs. I was glad she was here, being consolingly warm and soft. I wasn't enduring distress alone this time, and I . . . I didn't want to be alone! There had to be others like me, there had to, there had to! Please please please please . . . “Em-m-m-bh . . . Emh . . . I-I-Igh . . . th, nhj . . .” I gibbered miserably, overwhelmed with so much emotion I might as well have aphasia. “It's okay, I'm here for you,” she whispered. I tried to feel her wing, but a hoof and fur-coated skin were no analogues for hands. Even the small acute area in the back-center of the hoof was insufficient. It was better than nothing, though. The little I could feel, along with her presence, was gradually calming me. She was my relaxant. Thank goodness, thank goodness, thank goodness . . . But I had gone beyond a line I hadn't considered crossing. Now I couldn't hide anymore, and I didn't want to! I had to do this. “I . . . I . . . I have . . . a que . . . a question,” I said between my hiccuping sobs. “Yes, hon?” Embee asked hushedly. “What-what w-w . . .” I choked on my own tears. Embee rubbed my spine consolingly. “Take your time. It's not a race.” Was she crying too? Maybe. Just the thought alone that she was affected by my intense sorrow bestowed me with gratitude. I respected her. I trusted her! She could help me! Maybe she knew something? Maybe she could save me? “What would . . . would you . . . would you do . . . if you . . .” I stammered raspily, trying to stave off my persistent crying just long enough to squeeze out one sentence. I was too frail; I broke into a new bout of sobs with a gasp. “I'm here for you, Rosy. Don't worry,” the only friend and support I had right now reassured. Breathing raggedly and rapidly a few times, I recovered a fraction of myself, then spoke tremulously but resolutely: “What would y-you do i-if you w-woke up in a b-b-body that's n-not yours?” There was no turning back now. ‘Please know what I mean. Please don't betray me. Please don't do that to me! Please help me . . . Please help!’

Suomibrony

435

Original Character,Human,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

First Pony View

Some dreams you might never want to end… …but what happens when the dream really doesn't?

incomplete

<p>Have you ever had a dream that just seemed so <i>real</i>, that it was impossible to say for certain that it was even a dream at all? A dream that, despite all of its impossibilities, seemed to re-write your entire perception of reality, re-writing your sense of what—and indeed, <i>who</i>—you are? Accepting change is hard enough as it is. But when you're a <span style="color:#808000">somebody</span> who wakes up as a <span style="color:#6495ED">somepony</span>, how do you cope with the impact such a drastic change has on your mind and body? With changes like these, it must surely just be a lucid dream—albeit a suspiciously <i>accurate one</i>—just brimming with potential and ripe for exploration. So you might as well suck it up and make the most of these distressingly…unusual circumstances, and seize this <span style="color:#008000">psychological adventure</span> before you wake up and the dream ends.<br/>After all, this couldn't possibly be real, so the dream must come to an end eventually…right?</p>

teen

2013-06-18T13:08:23+00:00

2018-04-02T05:58:10+00:00

First Pony View A My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic fan fic By Suomibrony Chapter 13 Consarn Crippling Personality Flaws “Rosy, hon . . . What would I do if I were in a body that's not mine? Why do you ask that?” ‘Okay, okay, okay! She's asking warily, whispering inquiringly, not doubtingly. I can't be hasty. Have to test the waters . . . for impurities? Never mind! I have to restore my rationality real quick-like. It's wavering right now . . . but coming along. Carefully asking, thinking, a shred of calmness . . . careful, careful . . .’ I sobbed out a few coughs before finding my voice. “J-just answer . . . p-p-please,” I requested squeakily. The grand effort almost collapsed my head onto her back. Or withers. Shoulder? Whatever . . . I hoped from the bottom of my heart that she would know what to do if she were in my situation. Or if she knew somepony who had been. I needed advice. Some guidance. Help. Also, a caveat: if I started to spill out everything, Embee would think I was a hysterical crazybrain, and then it would be game over forever! She was silent, not answering my question. That was bad . . . increasingly bad . . . It was becoming harder to assure myself I was doing the right thing. Retreating into my disguise couldn't protect me from my fears and suspicions anyway. In fact, doing that would only make things worse! Was I rational yet? “I, uh,” Embee began abruptly. I surreptitiously let out the air I had unknowingly trapped in my lungs. She caressed my back to moderately consoling effect. “I would do whatever I can to find out why I'm in somepony else's body,” she said softly. Okay . . . Good! That was a fairly smart and obvious—and relieving—answer. It also implied she had a fair idea what to do if her mind were swapped . . . assuming this was a mind swap. If not, then it was likely my true body had effectively become a corpse! Oh no, no no nononono! Perish those horribly pessimistic thoughts! I didn't want my hopes to die . . . So this was a mind swap! Embee had an idea! Act! But carefully . . . I drew in a couple of snotty breaths to bolster myself, identifying the scents of dahlia and coffee. “Would you . . . Would you seek help?” I asked frailly. I was a shakily-breathing, clingy wreck, but I had to maintain a sensible mind. Somehow . . . “Of course I would,” she replied with more certainty. She was my support. The only one I had. In fact, I'd probably collapse like an empty sack if she let go. “Even when . . .” My jaw was moving, but no sound came out. The stakes at play were dissuading me from proceeding. If Embee thought the truth was nothing but hooey . . . No! Hiding was over! “Even when you . . .” Only a pitifully tiny peep? I had to try harder! “Even when you don't know how to get back to yours, and you . . . you fear nopony will believe you?” I sounded tearful but at least got words out of my mouth, nervously weaving and prodding my limbs in and around her feathery counterparts. Pliable plumes that I couldn't properly feel or grasp. No fingers gently running through them . . . It was too easy to feel forlorn, but at least I siphoned some extra comfort from her. She was warm, yet I shivered like I had bathed in arctic water. “Rosy? Is that what . . . Oh, ehm . . .” she trailed off with a few stammers, the caressing stopping cold. Her response was a bad omen, and I compulsively wrapped her wing between my appendages. That would stop me from shattering! Maybe . . . “Hon?” Frightened. Couldn't breathe. Seconds ticking. “Rosy?” “U-uhh, y-y-yes, Emb-b-bee?” I replied apprehensively. This could be it! The breakthrough after which everything would turn for the better. Or for the worse! For the loony house! No no no, had to stay calm! Calm calm calm clam clam clam . . . clam? Bivalve mollusk! “You . . .” Her solitary word was so packed with confusion that picturing her vacant expression was a no-brainer. I pictured that? Good! My mind was still working like a thing that works! “That's, uh, um . . .” Her wings shifted under my forelegs. Actually, her left wing barely moved since I had it snared between my limbs. “Hey, do you think you can let go for a moment?” ‘Let go?’ A powerful chill snaked up my spine, making my ears stand on end. My teeth clenched as I abated my breath. My eyes opened but were shut in short order by searing tears. ‘Sit on my own and support half of my weight on my horribly weird digits? Is she out of her f-f-fu-feu-feathery mind!’ I noted my euphemism, which I abstained from investigating by considering Embee's gently spoken suggestion instead. The fact that I was thinking with some degree of eloquence implied I was recovering. “Uhh . . . I-I g-guess I c-can,” I mumbled. “No, hold on wait Ichangedmymind,” I hastily corrected in my enervated voice; the intrinsic purpose of my limbs became apparent when its hardest part graced her fuzzy skin. “I mean I mean uh, I have a much better idea.” I tried to will a smile, but failed. I drew a breath that sounded not unlike a prolonged sob. “Wecouldjustkeeponhuggingbecausethisisthebesthugeverandyoudon'twantthistoenddoyou?” I blabbered, hoping to guilt her into never ever letting me go! A small titter came from her. “Don't worry, hon,” she assured, probably not understanding what I had said. She sounded a tad strained, too. “Why don't I let go first, and you just follow nice and easy, okay?” No wait wait wait what!? Was she tempting me? I'd chain myself to her if I could! “Just tell me to stop if you—” “Stop,” a high-pitched yelp squeezed its way up my throat as I hastily tightened my clumsy appendages together. “Ah-ahah-alright,” she said coarsely, an unsure laugh in her tone. “Aow.” Her pained reaction confused me, but my distress prohibited further analysis. Recognizing that I was distressed must've meant I was regaining my senses. She tried to wiggle her wing free, but it had become even more constricted than before. “I'm very sorry, I was too hasty.” I felt her sides expand beneath my limbs, then contract when she let it out as a soft but long sigh. Her relaxation had a similar effect on me. There was something I was missing, something I should understand as clear as day . . . “So, uh, how long do you need, hon?” she asked, the wing I was tightly clutching slackening by what little it could. My brain kicked into gear and evaluated the time needed to elapse . . . by providing me an imaginary calendar; I promptly dismissed the unrealistic chronograph. “I don't know,” I replied defeatedly, my ears slumping. I knew I couldn't . . . No. I wanted to say this. “I know I can't embrace you forever, but this is so wonderfully comforting, I want to believe I can. You can't imagine how much I value your help.” I was nearly thrown for a speech-halting curve by my delicate voice. Any higher and quieter, and I would've been whispering peepy gibberish. Was that how female voices worked, or was this specific to me? It didn't matter. Embee remained silent, and I was too glum for thoughts; I let her presence calm my mind. After a moment of relative silence, she gave me a light stroke. “Well, I'm glad I can help, but as much as I want to, I won't do anything before you do.” In contrast to her statement, her wedged wing again vainly pursued its freedom, probably due to an involuntary muscle spasm. Oh my, that was it! Her feathery limbs were likely delicate, and my extreme clinginess was paining them. That she was sacrificing her own comfort bestowed me with gratitude . . . and shame. I tried to untangle my limbs, but they refused to obey as I was short on stolidness. “I only need to prepare, that's that,” I whispered, doing my best not to sound reluctant, or let on that the idea of placing weight on my extremities was disquieting by itself. All of a sudden, the fact that I was currently colling a pony—a pegasus no less—reached my higher consciousness. I was hugging a winged equine! How . . . How ineffably exceptional! Now, I simply had to protract the hug for a little bit longer. Just a teensy bit. The warmth transpiercing her pleasant fur was so nice that I could just forget all concerns— “Alright, ready when you are, hon,” Embee stated innocuously, cancelling my nascent trance and tiny smile. Her spasming, twisted wing strongly urged me to quit being injuriously selfish, so . . . self-aimed pep talk commence: ‘I must and can sit on my own! I have the fortitude for it! If not now, then as soon as I do what must be done. So . . . So . . . Fortune favors the bold, and no time like the present! Three, two, one . . . Go!’ With gritted teeth, I released my interlocked limbs, freeing her wing. Displaying even more courage, I concluded that advancing to the next stage without delay was in order. ‘Okay, this will not be too bad, it's not too bad, it's not too bad, not bad at all, not bad, not bad, not bad, not bad,’ I chanted as I lowered my forelegs. ‘Right! Legs on the floor! Four of them. Meaning: no hands. Like that's new! I've been robbed of an essentiality . . . but didn't I put this fact behind me already? Why has it renewed? Come on, I can deal with this!’ I fiercely suppressed an urge to pull my forelegs up. I was so busy denying commands to actuate nonexistent digits that I scarcely noticed Embee taking her limbs off me. The same didn't apply when her head and mane gently brushed against mine, making me aware of how nonabrasive my hairy cheek was. However, my thoughts were quickly diverted elsewhere by my cognitive cacophony . . . which I had to keep in check! ‘Rationalizing things could help! I'm suffering from the aftereffects of a severe nervous and emotional breakdown and am in shock, but just for a few more minutes and then I'll be fairly fine . . . I think,’ I attempted to assure myself, anxiously anticipating my body to apportion anaesthetics into my agonizing anterior appendages. I sat with strength gained through plain determination, but the unreasonable inklings of abandonment refused to scatter. Opening my eyes at long last, I confirmed I wasn't alone; Embee's standing—and blurry—form was at an arm's reach. The distance seemed impossible to bridge; I yearned to return to her pleasant embrace with the hope it would do all the necessary talking and convincing. If only things were that easy. I was currently so hypersensitive to all things equine about myself that I was losing the stamina to resist and keep my head lucid . . . could I pass out? “Ouch,” Embee groaned quietly, impelling me to get a grip on myself; she was gazing displeasedly at her slightly-opened left wing. I frowned guiltily. “I'm . . . I'm sorry,” I whispered so quietly I wasn't sure I was speaking at all. “I didn't mean to hurt you, but I got absorbed in—” With a tiny grunt, she fully unfurled both feathery limbs. The sight caught me off guard; I squeezed my eyes hard to clear my vision so I wouldn't miss any details of this close encounter of the winged kind. She tested her starboard feather limb, and I gazed at its bewildering oscillations. Repeating the moves with the left made it jolt at its apex, eliciting a wince from her. “Buh . . .” I breathed unintelligently, my attentive eyes obediently tracking the spectacular attraction as its moves began to gradually smooth out and her pained flinches cessated. Then she turned her attention to me with a small sigh. I was supposed to say something. “I'm sorry,” the words rolled out of my mouth like a pair of marbles. “What? Oh, no.” She shook her head. “You don't need to be sorry, hon,” she said softly, her wings tenting, as if trying to imitate an F4U Corsair. Needless to say, amazement trumped remorse. “If anything, I'm the one who should be sorry.” Her mane swung about as she gave her wings a hasty glance before sticking her muzzle into her left wing like a preening bird. “Whuh?” I inquired while she gingerly retracted her wings. Why did she poke her wing, and why was she sorry? I had hurt her, not her who I had hurt . . . her? Focus! No, not the car! I blinked my eyes twice to cease the cerebral auto show and reinstate my cognition. “You see, pulling a stretcher through the gusts developed quite a cramp, but I thought it wouldn't be a problem,” Embee said as she raised her foreleg and momentarily tilted her head—pony body language, I presumed cursorily. “Unfortunately, when you accidentally twisted up my wing, it was like being jabbed with a sharp stick.” Her ears flipped down; I noted that mine were facing her. “I had to stand up and stretch my wings a bit, but I chose to grit my teeth and wait for you to relax instead.” Her smile matched the apologetic tone. “Once again, I'm sorry. I hope I haven't upset you, hon.” “No, uh, I'm . . . It's fine. You haven't,” I said in a powerless tone, flashing an honest smile. Embee's ears flapped up. “Thanks for clearing things up. I, um . . .” I glanced down at the moderately reflective floor. “I didn't realize why you suddenly asked to let go, and . . .” I slouched a little. “Maybe you were a bit vague?” Was I implying she had made an error? I should soften the impact quickly. “But I was too distressed, so my interpretation was impaired, and, and . . . and . . .” What was I saying? I couldn't think well. Confused. Why? Not sure. Just confused. “It's alright. You don't need to feel bad,” Embee assured tenderly. A small smile on my face signified I was regaining my senses. “Speaking of which, are you feeling any better?” “Humh . . .” I vacillated at answering the difficult question, thoughtlessly dragging a forehoof on the wet floor. For a moment, grief reverberated within me, but dissipated just as swiftly—I still had no keys for this biological prison. “Adequately better,” I said quietly, inclining my sights to my hoof as I lifted it. I blinked, and I saw a hand; another blink, and the feminine hoof was back. A vision, I realized. A hoof's location didn't correspond to a hand anyway. I was wistful for my fingers, but on the flipside, magic was probably a sufficient substitute. Bipedalism, however . . . “Adequately? That's great to hear,” Embee tried to instill positivity. “On the other hoof, I'm still worried for you.” She had tried . . . “I appreciate the concern,” I said, relinquishing the sarcastic tone for listless sincerity. The limb I gazed at poignantly reminded me how physically dehumanized I was. Nothing I could do about that but absorb it, accept it, and then deal with it. Things would improve soon. Hopefully. “To get back on track, if you don't mind, you mentioned waking up in somepony's body?” she asked, her right foreleg lifting. I glimpsed it meeting her jaw, but the floor's reflective surface took precedence—whose brilliant idea was it to use shiny floor material? I had almost seen an impression of my unfamiliar visage, which was probably similar to Embee's. Everypony seemed to look the same if it weren't for the mane and colors—and number of eyelashes. “Can you tell me what that was about, hon?” she inquired further, her hoof upsetting the puddle between us. Dozens of pony expressions flitted through my mind, all of them obviously cartoonish. Were they real, there could've been a terrifying chance they'd replace the faces of those I knew. “Yeah,” I muttered absently, affixing on my raised limb again. I saw the fur yield, exposing human-like skin and structure—another anatomically incongruous vision. I was looking at phalanxes, not whatever an arm was made of. Anyhow, I was avoiding the situation; I hadn't even thought on how I'd break the big news to Embee. That . . . I had been dislocated across the dimensional borders into the body of a pre-existing mare, my selfdom was in a flux, and I was without a guarantee that either could be undone . . . or even that the truth wouldn't be dismissed as a severe delusion symptomatic of psychosis. No, telling all in one go would be too much for her to digest. In comparison, seeing my equine visage or applying pressure on four hooves should be the least of my concerns. With slack lips on my inclined muzzle and a metric ton of doubt, I aimed my eyes at Embee. “So, uh, yes, what I, um . . .” I needed to expose the core of my problem right now, but a discouraging fear of mutual mistrust wrenched my carrot-filled stomach. “Hold on a sec.” Levelling my head, I cast a look to my right, from where I began scanning to the left. Hopefully, some of the room's features would serendipitously bestow me with an impeccable solution. ‘Black and white picture of the hospital; wall-length windows behind a warmly-smiling Embee, whose expression I mimic so she won't worry too much; an unremarkable doorway of the redundantly unremarkable kind; the unadorned small rectangle of reflective horror, aka a mirror; the adorably pink brewer that every insecure "masculine" male will denounce and hate instinctually and . . . seems like I'm not getting any ideas. Darn.’ With a sigh of mixed despondency and exasperation, my vision fell to the remains of the water Cessna, whereupon I felt a pang of compunction. ‘I'm in an awful dither. At least I regained my sense of humor, which is a sign of recovery, I think.’ “What is it, hon?” I heard Embee ask; there was a glint of encouragement in her eyes, but otherwise she looked concerned. I bit my tongue, avoiding staring at her. “Please, don't be afraid to speak your mind.” She was right: I shouldn't be afraid. Alas, validating the truth required concrete evidence, which I sorely lacked. Everything rested on how I expressed myself, and I wasn't confident in my abilities. Dropping the upheld limb with a tiny splat, my ears signaled . . . Wait, splat? My ears rebounded. “Embee?” I said toward the soaked floor with epiphany in my tone. Hearing an attentive hum, I steeled myself and lifted my head. “Can I have a rag or towel, please?” I whispered politely. “Oh, uh?” She tilted her head in bemusement, a small smile appearing a moment later. “Sure. The cupboards may have something. Let me take a look.” ‘I guess she didn't expect that response,’ I thought as she faced a cupboard to my left, befuddlement on her face. ‘Hmm . . . How about that? I'm looking at her drenched tail and what surrounds it . . .’ She used her mouth to ajar the door, then pushed it all the way open with her foreleg. ‘I guess to some that could be attractive, but I don't feel the much feared involuntary excitement.’ Relief creased my lips. ‘Well, this is outstanding! The distinct lack of sexual attraction means that my libido doesn't associate a mare's behind with a hu—’ “There's a floorcloth here,” Embee announced, casting a look at me over her back. My interrupted thoughts regrouped hastily, bringing to mind that while my primal part was moderately pleased by furtively appraising human female behinds, my intellect never wasted a second to sternly condemn my vileness to beshaming effect. “Will that do?” She indicated a folded white something on the cupboard's upper board. I blinked my ruminations away, the saline remnants of dry tears stinging around my eyes. “Yes,” I affirmed, renewing my smile. “The floorcloth will do perfectly.” Briefly, I envisioned Embee clothed in one of those hoodies that are long enough to go past the hips; were I a human female, I'd wear that to protect my curves from immoral eyes as well. “Alright.” She gracefully plucked the cloth with her teeth and brought it to me. Without so much as a thought, I clamped the basic cloth between my hooves. When Embee released the cloth and it fell over my extremities, I was left staring at the assembly in a flummox; should she not have asked me to use my arcane skill? Some kind of song started to play, but Embee drew my attention away from it. “May I ask what you need it for?” she queried while backing a little, puzzlement creasing her brows. I tipped my forelimbs indicatively at the puddle. “I should clean up the mess I made, shouldn't I?” I explained as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Ah—what?” Embee almost leaped out of her skin. She promptly shook her head lightly, casting off her befuddlement in favor of a mellow expression. “Oh no, you don't have to,” she said in a matching tone. “Let me take care of it.” Her departure from amenability surprised me. “Um . . .” She had thrown a wrench into my works; I had to yank it out before they fell into disrepair. I overcame my dismay as she took a small step closer, presumably to take the cloth for herself. “I just feel it's my job, not yours,” I objected timidly. My frown, sitting posture, and joined hooves must have made me look repentant, which might've been amusing had the situation not been serious. Embee studied me for a second, then reshaped her lips with amiability. “Rosy, I admire devotion and sense of responsibility, but I can also sense that you're stressed.” How did she know I was stressed? I hadn't reaffirmed I was. “Why don't I clean up while you relax, and then maybe you can tell me what's troubling you, okay?” A fair suggestion, and tempting . . . “Can I please have the cloth?” She showed no signs of hostility; her intentions were arguably commendable and her demeanor affable . . . but I had to stay on course. I unfettered the cloth, placing my forehooves on it as soon as it landed. “I have to clean up this puddle, okay?” I insisted, my voice devoid of the courage that had levered me onto all fours. Not a moment later, my hypersensitivity acted up, causing me to heave air and upset my balance. Despite the debilitating flood of tactile and mental feelings, I kept myself upright. A quick glance confirmed that the cloth was still trapped underneath my hooves. “It's really important that I do,” I continued in a nauseated tone. Sparked by a sudden inspiration, I stomped my forehoof. The sharp influx of inhuman sensation exacerbated my unease. Exhaling as I shook my head, I performed the move again with the addition of a listless grunt. Three successive stomps later, I felt like I couldn't breathe, but I couldn't stop there. Acting on impulse, I pushed myself onto my hind legs, my wits a moment too late to get their say. ‘This is a terribly bad idea!’ I thought as I folded my forelegs to my body. “Rosy!” Embee finally surmounted her puzzlement. “What are you doing?” A combination of incredulity and worry was on her countenance, horror on mine. “Something utterly stupid,” I replied through unmoving jaws. I maintained my bipedal stance by continually performing tiny hops, though I was only postponing the inevitable. Pinkie might've been able to stand upright with relative ease, but not me. Apparently I wasn't a perfect analogue of the cartoon rendition, and apparently Embee was the perfect rendition of agog bewilderment. Unless I tumbled onto my back or side, I'd have to let my oversensitive forehooves take the brunt of the impact. My heart squeezed with anxiety; every passing fraction of a second made the difference between human and pony anatomy excruciatingly apparent. Perturbingly enough, I was sure the muscles articulating my hind legs felt different, too. Same for my spine, pelvis, and . . . As insignificant as the issue should have been by now, the emptiness between the legs resurfaced. It was unbalancing—in more ways than one. My time was up; gravity got its wish. A strained yelp escaped my throat, and my face warped in consternation. I fell onto the right side of my hip with a grunt, my shoulder on the same side following a split-second later and knocking the wind out of me. The muscles in my neck did their duty, saving my head from an undamped impact. “Oh no! Are you alright?!” Embee's exclamation punched through my daze. I saw her hoof reaching out to me, both wings flared open in panic. “Sort of, yeah, don't worry,” I replied, gazing at the sideways world, too defeated to care that my ear was squished between my head and the floor. Even my respiration was ready to throw the towel in. That's what I got for trying to attain an essential human characteristic in a pony's body. My eyes misted up as I began to realize the ramifications of my incapacitation. Nonetheless, I scrounged some strength to raise my head and offer Embee a short-term smile. “I'm not physically injured,” I attested feebly, sniffling. My left hind leg was crossed over my right—that didn't feel right. The former's hoof scuffing the latter's hide wasn't any more pleasing, but slightly adjusting my legs was better than letting them be. Embee sighed sympathetically, her wings retracting. “That stunt of yours really worried me.” I weighed whether to snark or be serious; the latter won in nanoseconds. “I know you're worried. It's natural to be. I'd be. Well, I am. Anyhow, my injury's just . . .” I looked down at my sprawled-out forelegs. My slender forelegs with arguably shapely hooves . . . “Perfectly encompassing,” I finished with a lump in my throat, my feminine voice exacerbating the estranging isolation. Forming a truce with my voice had been a cold comfort when I was poignantly aware that very little of me was permeating this organic cage. “An encompassing injury? So you did hurt yourself?” Embee inquired, apparently lost on what I had meant. “I'm not sore or hurt in the sense that'd require bandages or the like, but I'm suffering nonetheless,” I bemoaned lethargically, glancing at the cloth in the puddle about one meter away. The fur beneath my eyes absorbed superfluous water as I recalled that my current posture echoed my appearance on the gravel road. Hesitantly, I twisted myself longitudinally, simultaneously pulling my forelimbs in tandem, starting with my right. My hind legs, moderately retracted as they were, jutted away from my body. Thus, I was akin to the letter L when all was set and done. My imagination pictured a pair of colorful bracelets above the coronet band of my right hoof. Was it my imagination? Might've been a memory. I couldn't tell. Did I even want to know? “Rosy?” My right ear spasmed at Embee's gentle call. I turned my low-held head toward her. “Yes?” I peeped submissively, rolling my eyes up to meet hers. “What are you suffering from? What's going on with you?” she implored, placing herself prone; I greatly appreciated that equality. “Is there anything I can do to help you?” Besides unquestionably believing every word I said? That was only wishful thinking. I was incapable of blurting out the cause of my agony, but she could push me into a compromising corner. “Have you noticed anything unusual about my behavior recently?” I whispered dourly, hoping she'd get a clue. “Well . . .” She hesitated. “You've been repeatedly distracted by your thoughts, became agitated by a song, made a miniature airplane out of water, smashed it abruptly before breaking into tears, mentioned waking up in another body, insisted on cleaning the puddle, then reared up . . .” Confusion rivaling her concern, her jaw tried to mouth out words. Shame burned within me. She needed answers, and I was obliged to provide. “Yeah . . . yeah.” I looked at her folded forelegs; replicating her posture would bestow me with immense discomfort. “What's going on with me is that . . .” I trailed off with a sigh, eyes and ears drooping. Was I attempting to shy away? Was I still a lousy coward who had misgivings about Embee's trustworthiness? Just to show that I wasn't backing down, I placed my insensate hoof on my foreleg and tried to coil the former around the latter. It didn't work, but the sensations incentivized me. “I really thought I was ready to tell you, but my reluctance is irrationally unyielding,” I explained quietly. Or in other words, I was . . . had been a coward. “My only option was to break myself into submission, if you will.” The smile I tried to show was precluded by my indomitable misery. “Break yourself?” Embee said in stunned disbelief. “What do you mean by that?” I sniffled, but my tear flow was already ceasing. “Acta non verba.” My smile finally got its fugacious limelight, but Embee was at a loss for words. “Confused, Embee? No need to be. It means: actions, not words. So . . . what better way to demonstrate than by overexerting my fragile tolerance? I would've scrubbed the floor for . . .” I paused to cast another glance at the cloth, imagining myself wiping the puddle slavishly until I'd achieved the debilitating result . . . Or become desensitized to my hooves. “I don't know how long,” I said lackadaisically, refocusing on her. “But hey.” I tilted my head. “Looks like I discovered a poignant shortcut: attempt to stand on two legs and let the outcome do the trick.” I tried to chuckle, but I simply didn't have it in me. I felt like I had been demoted to a good-for-nothing animal, albeit one possessing speech, notable acumen, and—most graciously—an innate ability substituting for my lost hands. “A shortcut to do the trick? I'm sorry, hon, but I still don't follow.” Embee's commiseration and concern was true. Maybe. How could I know for sure? “It's fine. I probably don't make much sense right now,” I said torpidly. “I'm confused, exhausted, stressed, crestfallen, anxious, discontent . . .” I itemized, nodding my head minorly at each word; a heavy breath signaled the end of it. “I can't accurately detect everything I'm afflicted with.” “What's causing those?” Embee whispered. Looking into her eyes, I got the impression that all the info I had given to her, verbal or otherwise, was currently being evaluated. I took a moment to review the very recent events: lacking the willpower to tell my woes, I was so close to making a breakthrough when, sadly, the twisting of her wing caused an interruption, and the subsequent end of the embrace renewed my constraining cowardice. I had to employ an extreme method to wear myself down, yet I was currently avoiding the unavoidable by almost forcibly reviewing my recent . . . Never mind! “What's causing those?” I huffed irately. “Being beset by an unrequested form that I disassociate with,” I confessed, regret striking me a second too late. If I were a plane, I had passed V1. Embee tilted her head, and my ears drooped. “Are you saying that you don't identify with your body?” I sensed incredulity in her voice and carrot in her breath. “Yes, I am,” I replied resignedly. I couldn't deny that exposing the truth had felt good, but there was very little of that relief now. “Because it's not your body?” Her tone was uncertain. Suspicion of an unfavorable result urged me to apply the brakes and reverse engine thrust, but that was out of the question. I shook my head, closing my eyes as I said, “It's not my body.” Thus far, Embee had maintained eye contact; now she slowly surveyed me from face to tail and back. I felt like I was being regarded as a pitiable lusus naturae. That notion, and the accidental actuation of my tail, made my head drop a little with a wince. “You . . . You have awoken in a body that's not yours?” Her question educed a nod and a glum murmur of agreement from me. “Oh, I, that's . . .” I couldn't say for sure, but there might've been emerging realization in her voice. “That's the truth I've held secret since we met. I'm in the wrong body, don't know how it happened, and I'm clueless on how to undo it.” My situation sounded so disheartening that my voice sank to a mumble. “And just to get this out of the way, I used to be . . . I'm a human, too.” The weight of Embee's potential response was so intense, I felt like I'd snap if she so much as hinted at turning on me. “What? You're . . . a human?” she said intermittently. She then pressed a hoof to her forehead. “This is . . .” ‘Unbelievable?’ That was it then: Vr achieved. I had to rotate—to take the plane into the air. No turning back, no reason to hold back! “Well, frankly, I don't expect you to believe me! I mean, mind swapped with a pony? Psh!” I overturned a hoof, casting a momentary look toward the ceiling. “That's just plain outlandish, stuff of fiction, impossible, unheard of, crazy talk. Take your pick! If I hadn't been mysteriously subjected to it myself, I wouldn't believe it, and I didn't, so I convinced myself I was having the most tremendous lucid dream ever. That was the most realistic assumption, and it kept me going quite well. After all, dreams are finite and can be broken with self-inflicted pain. I presumed that if the dream voided its appeal, I could bonk my head and everything would revert to normal. Well, my dream unquestionably voided its appeal when I smashed onto a rock by the riverside and nearly broke a rib. I assure you, absolutely nothing has been normal ever since. You can't imagine the immense horror that came when I realized I was unable to escape a body I never asked for. As close as I was to blinking out of existence under the wheels of a late nineties Audi, I greatly appreciate that I'm still breathing. This body's not mine, you see, and snuffing it out would've been an unforgivable misdeed I'd never be able to live with. Not that I would've been around to feel terrible about it.” I pushed up a humorless chuckle. “Anyhow, this being a mind swap, I think I can safely say I'm not selfish in wanting my familiar form back. My familiar life, actually. Two lives are at stake here, and you can help restore them both. I certainly don't have any ideas what to do myself, and I'm pretty sure you wouldn't ever wish to condemn somepony to live my life, just like you wouldn't want me to live the life of somepony I'm not. While I don't have any proof that you are, I suspect you're not giving much thought to what I say, but rather realistically, speculate what kind of psychosis would delude me to think I'm entrapped in somepony else's body. So, um . . .” I bit my lip; the combination of dwindling hope, a premonition that my talk was counterproductive, and speaking extensively with my debatably selfhood-precluding voice was taking its toll on me. “Just make your conclusion, and I'll . . .” It was becoming very hard to keep my voice steady, but I continued defiantly. “I'll humbly, albeit very reluctantly, accept it because I don't have evidence to substantiate the truth with, whereas your profession not only places you above me, but also has bestowed you with the necessary credentials, expertise, and authority to decisively dismiss my poorly presented assertion.” I ran out of stamina; closing my moistened eyes, I crashed my head over my forelegs with a muffled groan. ‘Yeah, she's going to dismiss everything, just . . . just like my . . . those who are . . . were my friends! They deflected my requests to stop the hurtful jests with some variation of “can't you take a joke, dude?”’ How could my alleged friends do that? Did they not see my increasing anxiety? Couldn't they discern right from wrong? What was my relation to them? An in-name-only friend as a docile and submissive designated driver? I did that service out of principle; it was either sober me or drunk Benny behind the wheel of his gaudy Civic. At least I didn't have to drive that abused automobile after I got my own, but I think their drunken presence offended the ancient econobox, too. Wait, why was I even thinking of this irrelevant garbage? Coping mechanism, maybe? An escape from the ongoing stressors? The stress? That was it! The stress. It was messing up my faculties. I shouldn't think of the bad times. I should think of the good times! I had to discover a go-to topic to soothe myself, something incontrovertibly awesome that wouldn't make me think of a life I may not return to. I needed an optimal passport to . . . My car in its designated parking spot with its windshield wipers moving! Hold on? Why were they moving? I was perfectly certain I had visited my parents—my real human parents—yesterday and it hadn't rained. On further study, the perspective being from outside and before the car, at a height of one meter, not to mention the distinct feeling that I was a pony, tipped me off that this precise memory wasn't mine. There was something significant about the memory, maybe because it was related to my decision to purchase an endemic human-made transportation for— “Rosy?” Upon hearing Embee's tentative call, my ears and eyes arose and opened, respectively. Reality was reinserted as I segregated the memory, but I felt a twinge of related sadness right before my despondency squashed it beyond identification. “Here comes the dreaded, or I guess, deserved verdict,” I drawled drearily, letting impulse decide what I said and did. “So what am I? Loony, a basket case, bonkers, some other definition? How about clinically insane? That sounds medically accurate, doesn't it? Maybe I'll come to like it eventually?” My head felt like lead, allowing me only a few degrees of movement towards Embee; I caught a glimpse of her seemingly perpetual concern. Or confusion. Perhaps my erratic conduct was going so far above her head it was knocking a few weather satellites out of orbit. “Hey, I know I'm not supposed to offer advice, but I really don't care anymore, so remember: opinions and feelings influenced by my conduct must not affect your judgement.” I tried and failed to sound nonchalant; I was too sullen to alter my phlegmatic expression and the associated enervated intonation. “It's part of your profession to be perfectly fair and impartial, yet consoling in some manner which may not even be honest, I guess, and just . . .” My speech reduced into mumbles before fading it out entirely. Time seemed to tick very slowly, and I wasn't thinking much. It was a little unusual, but I was exhausted. A long, gentle sigh emitted from my left. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but you said you woke up in a body that's not yours?” Embee's whisper sounded cautious, perhaps sympathetic. Maybe it was just feigned. Whatever. “You could say I woke up in a nightmare that doesn't end,” I defined dismally, staring emptily at the wall ahead. I was a little surprised that she hadn't caught some detail from my rant, or assured everything would be fine. Perhaps she sensed the latter's futility, opting to save it for when I wouldn't potentially spurn her helpfulness. Upon that thought, I realized I still held some hope against hope. Raising my head by a small measure, I looked toward her. “You know how I've behaved recently?” I asked. “I do.” She inched herself a little closer. A supposition of dubitable veracity dawned on me: compared to a male's, my female voice had better odds at appealing to Embee's conscience if I sounded vulnerable and apologetic. I started with an unintended stammer before I got my act on. “I'm really sorry about the ranting, Embee. I'm just in debilitating pain. Not physical, mind you, but emotional and mental pain. I have so little faith in being taken seriously that . . . that . . .” I paused, unsure how to amend the damage done by my sourness. Shame pulled my visual focus to the corner of the wall diagonally afront of me. “Even when every fiber of me was screaming and pleading for help, I was using any means necessary to keep the mind swap a secret.” With a sigh, I let my head rest. “I'm afraid I've only made things worse for myself . . . I messed up the delivery of all the vital info, maybe irredeemably, but I can't stress enough that what's happened to me is . . . should be by all accounts impossible, yet it really has happened,” I lamented, still minutely incredulous that I had been separated from the inseparable, but the plethora of incessant tactile sensations decisively countered my disbelief. Speaking of countering . . . “Embee?” I mumbled, letting my eyes close. “Yes, hon?” she replied innocuously. Innocuously enough. My tongue was in all likelihood as silvery as a half-century old carcass of a forgotten vehicle in the woods; however, trying to learn what was coming could lead to new methods at convincing her. I wasn't going to give up. Not yet. “Are you performing a preliminary diagnosis, perhaps considering disassociative disorder symptomatic of some form of psychosis?” I ventured dispiritedly. “Those aren't related, hon. And no, I'm not diagnosing you with any kind of mental disorder,” she said, her gentle tone inflected with subtle firmness. “Why not?” I queried, puzzled. “Diagnosing you with a mental illness isn't something I'm qualified to do, not to mention I'd never forgive myself for crushing your spirits.” Something touching my foreleg called for my attention. “I'm just a basic paramedic whose shift actually ended about twenty minutes ago. My job is to treat injuries and console those in need,” she continued as I gazed dumbly at the source of the pressure: it was her aquamarine hoof. “And it looks like you're in dire need of the latter.” I stared in wonder at her peaceable smile. A feeling of tranquility was radiating from her hoof, and somehow I was 72% certain it was her magic at play—although a pegasus with magic was preposterous. I wanted her to explain this, but a greater issue took precedence. “In that case . . .” I started, but I paused to review her statement. Her capability to conclusively diagnose me—a threatening obstacle in itself—was now out of the picture, which meant I could strive for much needed closure; this debacle had run for too long. “I must admit that I have nearly insurmountable trust issues which made me act like a passive-aggressive nimrod, and I apologize if I disrespected you.” I probably had disrespected her. “So please, hear me out. I really, really need to trust you.” Her mellow smile was replaced with a look of seriousness. If she had something to say, I didn't give her the chance. “In fact, I demand raw, undiluted, unrefined honesty, so no hidden meanings, no smooth talking, not even white lies. Absolute honesty.” Despite her placating touch, I struggled to keep myself together; I had demanded her to be unforgivingly straightforward, which was crazy times ten. “Can you do that?” “I can,” she affirmed solemnly. “I give you my word that you can trust me.” My human side cried for a hand as it tried to stop me from laying my phalanxes over Embee's pastern. She glanced at this briefly with bemusement before her eyes returned to my now pleading look. “Okay, so . . .” I swallowed. “When I say that I'm in the wrong body, do you really believe me?” I asked, my faint voice almost giving out. The final seconds were upon me. I'd soon know if I had scored a trustworthy confidant . . . or was left to toil alone with my hardships. I couldn't breathe. Embee opened her mouth, and a cold wave swept through my bones. “I do.” “Mwgh?” I squeaked, tension leaving me with cosmic velocity. My heart and body were aflutter, but a tiny speck of doubt remained. “But . . . but . . . I-I don't have anything to back the truth with, I've . . .” A strange cough cut me short; I didn't let it stop me. “I've—” The same cough came again. What was wrong with me? I couldn't stop it. Wait, no. I wasn't coughing. Diffusing vision, convulsing breaths . . . I didn't believe it . . . I had begun weeping. “Listen, hon. It's okay, everything is okay,” Embee said, her voice reassuringly void of treachery. “I believe you. Well, to be very honest with you, I can't deny or confirm what you said, but I'll take your words as true.” Her unrequested clarification, while a little worrisome, adhered to the honesty criteria. “You don't have to be scared anymore. I'm here for you, hon.” I tried to express my gratitude, but combating my emotions was next to impossible; only whimpers and hiccups passed through my trachea. “It's okay to cry, let it all out. Don't keep your emotions bottled up,” Embee said, having caught my attempts to limit my overflowing sensitivity. I was about to ask if I was crying like a female, but I let the topic wither once I presumed my voice was simply fostering a suspicion, and I didn't want to ruin this immeasurably wonderful moment anyhow. As I lay there crying unabashedly, I realized I had almost completely ignored the radio and its pony host. ‘. . . my second year here. That's, I think . . . almost half as long as the first ponies here. Anywho—or is that anyhow? No idea. My teacher probably would. Right, right, a song coming up about . . . living in submarines?’ Aside from the upbeat song, a silence had descended upon the room. I was shaking from the abating adrenaline. Her hoof was on my left forelimb, and my right one was still on hers. She wasn't speaking. Nothing needed to be said. It was a comforting wait. When my tear shedding finally ceased, I was so drained even smiling was difficult. “I can't tell you how happy and relieved I am.” I sounded like Fluttershy with a cold. Not that I knew what she'd sound like if she were to have a cold. “You already have, hon,” she pointed out. From the corner of my eye, I saw her lean closer—Oh my! A soft poke to my shoulder . . . A nuzzle! To my surprise, a giggle shot up my throat. “What's funny?” Embee asked, smiling inquisitively as another giggle gained its liberty. “You nuzzled me, that's—hehehee. I mean, you did that before, but I was in the dumps back then. I don't know why it's making me giggle. I suppose I never thought how weird nuzzling is. It felt weird, but nice,” I explained, the giggles in my tone defying my control like Teflon. “Oh gosh, what's with me? This is embarrassing.” Regardless, I took my right pastern to my eyes, wiping the remnants of my tears into the warm and furry skin. For good measure, I gently wiped my nose, too. Well, snout. “I don't mind your giggles, hon. I'm just glad to see you're happy,” Embee assured, cautiously rubbing my left foreleg. That felt weird as well. Strange thought: would I feel okay with my limbs if hands gingerly massaged them? I felt a little anxious, but also curious to find out. “I'm also happy that I'm happy,” I said with a warm chuckle, my mind still a smidgen consumed by the reconciliatory caress. Staring at my limbs, I envisioned a pair of hands meticulously caressing them. It would be like physiotherapy. Concurrently, normalcy was returning to me. Sort of. I'd never attain the normalcy I was used to as long as I was a pony . . . No, I didn't want to dwell on that. I should get something done instead. “I think I should get up . . .” Discomfort twisted my lips when I felt my frog compress, but I refused to resile my foreleg. “Something wrong, hon?” Embee asked after a few seconds. I looked at her with a difficult smile. ‘Nothing's wrong. I'm fine,’ I thought of saying, but honesty trumped denial. “I'm not ready to stand on my hooves yet.” My expression and ears fell. “Kinda shattered my tolerance for them when I suffered a breakdown and . . . you know?” Recounting the events leading to my confession was too painful. “Oh?” Embee lost her smile. “Well, don't rush yourself.” Glints of encouragement were in her eyes. “Take whatever time you need to . . .” She hesitated, perhaps mulling if it was wise to speak her mind? “To feel okay.” Sensing Embee's caution, I showed her a smile and raised my auxiliary body language communicators—allowing them to stay down would contradict my facial expression. “I'm sure I only need a minute, or two.” The doubt in my tone belied my estimation. “Not long anyhow, so don't worry. Just have to prep myself mentally.” I made a token attempt at a nonchalant hum. Hiding or downplaying my weaknesses—even temporary ones—seemed to be a habit. Had I learned to wear a mask to conceal my true self in fear of condescension and rejection, maybe even violence? I had heard the words. Gay, emo, and so forth. In general, I had been spared from such disparaging remarks myself. Sometimes, I felt like I had to gauge my every word and action, as if the sword of Damocles would fall if I deviated from the established norms. Maybe being afraid of ostracization was one reason for my low stress tolerance? More than once had I wanted to defy the generally accepted masculine norms, but I never had the courage. Some did, and they could help change the public attitude. Maybe they could form a movement? Like feminism, but for males! Then, it would be laughed out of court by other males amidst accusations of sexism against females. How cynical of me. Anyhow, I shouldn't ponder on prevalent sociocultural values. I should talk with Embee. “Hey, uh, prepping myself mentally doesn't mean we have to sit in silence,” I said a little shyly. Embee seemed lost in her thoughts, gazing at something behind me, but her ears oriented in my direction. Turning to me with a hum, she asked, “I thought you needed a moment to yourself?” “Well . . . yeah, I kinda do, but uh, not really,” I dithered, tempted to escape back into my ruminations. “Ugh.” I closed my eyes shut for a moment. “Never mind,” I concluded a little irately. I could think and think, but that wouldn't put me back on my hooves. Still, I wanted to make time pass. “Hey. I um . . . I got a question. Before I told you about my condition, did you make any assumptions?” My imagination came up with a word; it rhymed with grape. Oh joy . . . I presumed Embee was a smidgen baffled at my vacillation and sudden question. Meanwhile, my tail was doing its utmost to close the gap between itself and my body. “I can't say I didn't.” Compunction creased her lips. “I could only speculate what was troubling you until you began to open up. Even when you mentioned being in a body that wasn't your own, I was unsure what to make of it, but I kept an open mind and patiently waited for you to elaborate. I also must admit that your sudden rant had me confused, and yes, I was a little hurt as well.” “I'm not proud about the commotion I caused.” My ears drooped in shame as I thought back on my emotional rollercoaster. “You were under immense stress, so it's no skin off my back,” Embee pardoned me. I smiled carefully. “Maintaining your amiability and candor was nothing short of admirable,” I complimented her, sensing the muscles behind my cheeks undo the latest ear position. However, my smile was short-lived as I posed a serious query: “Speaking of patience, would you have kept me here for as long as necessary to get me to open up?” “Of course not,” she answered, which sounded like an objection wrapped in an amicable tone. “I can request and reason, but not force you to speak. You have the right to decline any and all offered aid and leave the hospital at your volition, provided you're capable of doing so.” She paused, sighing furtively through her smile—a hint of frustration? “It's simply how things work here.” “So . . .” I let that info sink into my cortex. “I could've just uttered a pococurante ‘Thank you for your help, goodbye,’ and then strolled out of here, just like that?” A recollection of a video game with abysmal voice acting and a paltry storyline came to my mind, but on the plus side, it had a fair selection of cars. Blinking my eyes, I again felt the sting of dried-up tears. Brushing the residue away with a hoof didn't seem possible—or appealing. A tissue balled up in magic might be sufficient. Embee's smile had taken on a puzzled slant. “Pococ . . . uh? Yes, correct.” She nodded. “If you stood up and headed out the hospital, I wouldn't have a binding reason to stop you.” A downtrodden look had overcome Embee. “Though I'd worry myself sick and ask why you're leaving on such short notice.” She earned my immediate sympathy. “No worries, Embee. It's unlikely I'd leave.” That brightened her up. “Well, not yet, at least. You probably want to help me as much as you can. Besides, sleeping at home is a lot more relaxing than sleeping in a hospital, though I'd prefer to sleep in my familiar body.” I giggled lightly. “Sleeping in my body? That sounded weird, like it's a sleeping bag, but you get what I mean? So, in any case . . .” Maybe I should get up? Tentatively, I dragged my hoof on the floor. Result: my resurrecting optimism was making readjustment easier. Still, as I upturned my limb to gaze at the sole, the pang of loss instantly rippled through me. Signals within my mind tried to find what was no more . . . It was an ineffable feeling. I cleared my throat, renewed my smile, and continued where I left off: “Now that I haven't stupidly traipsed away, you're aware of what I'm afflicted with and have mercifully given me the benefit of the doubt, and . . .” Once more, I had to part the smile for seriousness. “You will help me, right?” I asked emphatically. “You can count on it, hon!” she replied without hesitation, bestowing me with happiness I had to externalize with more than my wide smile. I dithered for a fraction of a second before I closed my eyes and . . . “Yay.” My lips drew to an abashed grin as Embee laughed. “That was adorable!” she exulted, and I was sure my cheeks had become lightish red. “How did you come up with that?” “Mmm, um.” I was unable to look her in the eye. In fact, I couldn't look at anything but the inner side of my eyelids. “I heard it from somepony . . .” If Embee were to ask, I'd speak the name. Maybe she knew her? Perhaps if her sister really was Rainbow Dash, she— “Hey.” That and a soft tap to my left limb took me out of my hopeful predictions. “Give my regards to that somepony if you two meet,” Embee wished. I gasped. “You know her!?” I asked in astonishment, a pulse of feelgood jolting my body. I could've used it to spring up onto my legs. Nächstes mal? Gratuitous German! Blinking her eyes, Embee looked thoroughly baffled, but I didn't let that break my excited grin. “What? No, I thought you did?” “Oh . . .” I deflated. “I'm sorry, I don't.” Would be nice if I did. Why did I imagine myself sharing a tea and chatting with her, as a mare? It was only a fantasy. If it weren't, I would've been overjoyed . . . and a little disturbed that I was happily indulging somepony's memory. Half-lidding her eyes, a gentle look appeared on Embee's features. “Well, it was a cute little cheer, anyhow.” My shyness came back in full swing; it was easier to gaze at my forelegs than her. “Thanks,” I said with a titter, a little embarrassed that she called me cute. My titter was cute, too. “You're welcome,” Embee said happily. As I hummed sweetly, an unusual warmth filled my heart. “I think being cute's nice,” I whispered to myself. But . . . could I really be cute, and like it too? Nothing was wrong with something else being cute, like a puppy, a kitten, some cars, cartoon ponies, or a cutesy little iguana rubbing its adorable face against a friendly hand. I d'awwed mentally. Anyhow, all of those could be male. Maybe not the car, though. The closest reference of cuteness was Embee's face, which was remarkably expressive when compared to a real pony . . . which she was. Did my face look like hers? I was new to being cute, but that wasn't intrinsically linked to being female. A notion in the back of my mind insisted otherwise. That was the instigator of the conflict! I had been paranoid of appearing unmanly in any context or manner, and that fear was still trying to dominate me. Irrational nonsense! If something feminine appealed to me, then nothing should stop me from reaching for it. In the same vein, if something masculine appealed to me, then nothing should stop me from reaching for it, either. In fact, I was pretty sure a law stated that expressing oneself was a fundamental right entitled to everypony regardless of gender, the exercising of which should never beget discrimination. “Just heard on the radio that it's going to be a sunny day tomorrow,” Embee's voice twisted my ears. What . . . what did weather have to do with anything? Oh, right. Pegasus. “You look like you got something on your mind,” she said at the same time I looked at her wing. Glancing aside, I hummed thoughtfully: were I to heed my old habits, I'd have to concede personal freedoms, including the right to express cuteness. No further exploration of this topic was needed. For now. In fact, I should think less and do more. Acta non verba, right? “I think I got a forecast of my own,” I hazarded quietly, staring at my forelimbs as I carefully tested their articulation and my readiness with minute movements. “Oh? What kind?” Embee asked, her tone going from mild confusion to curiosity. I let confidence shape my lips. “In less than a minute, I will be up on my hooves,” I said, challenging myself. “That's my prediction.” “Ah!” She smiled widely. “Here goes.” Inhaling deeply, I closed my eyes and counted to three. Letting my muscle memory do its thing, I retracted my forelimbs in tandem, using my right as a lever. “Okay, looking good so far,” I congratulated myself once I was sitting on my haunches, feeling a smidgen unnerved. Embee sat up, too. “Well?” she wondered after a moment of inaction. A muscle spasm arced through my left hind leg. It was like a toe: same bones, but different shapes. “Uhm, I'm just taking a breather.” My confident smile was unwilling to manifest, so I had to fake it with indifference. “I still got, what, forty-five seconds?” I waved my hoof. “No pressure.” A small titter escaped me. Embee frowned; she wasn't buying my ruse. “How are you feeling, though?” she queried. “Like the two fingers I have left are highly misproportioned with unwieldly nails that expand a bit when weight is applied on them,” I explained hastily. “Oh, and there's this slightly softer area underneath.” Demonstrating how flexible a pony foreleg was, I showed her an upturned forehoof like the palm of a hand. “See?” I would've pointed at it with my right hoof, but it was busy propping me up. “Oh . . . yes,” she said dumbfoundedly, my sole attracting her attention for a second. “It's called the frog,” she informed matter-of-factly, accenting it with a wary smile. “Frog,” I stated lightheartedly. I knew it was called a frog, but why? What made it froggy? Why not call it a toad instead? Maybe the shape resembled a frog? “It's a shock absorber,” she said, pointing her hoof at it. “Uh-huh,” I uttered fascinatedly. Embee gently touched the area with the tip of her hoof. “With each step, the frog compresses and helps circulate blood back up your limb,” she described, lightly pressing the feature as she spoke. I lethargically drew my hoof away. “That's, ummm, very nice to know,” I woodenly expressed my appreciation, unsettled by the frog's purpose and relative insensitivity. Putting my hoof down with the care reserved for extremely brittle objects, I eyed Embee with wariness, as if she were a crazy scientist disguised in pony skin. “And also very creepy,” I said without emotion in my voice. Ponies have blood? My blood rushes up my leg when I step on it? Embee seemed to be appraising me plainly, possibly contemplating my response. “Well, in any case,” I recovered half-forcibly, the perturbing info sinking into my conscience like a ship—not that ships invariably sink, “time's running out, and I'm prepared and calm.” My voice box disagreed with my statement. “Sort of.” Still not? Fine. Honesty over honor. “Actually, I'm quite nervous, but I said ‘prepared and calm’ just because I want to give you the impression, hehe.” Embee's look of concern was returning. Without further ado, I sprang up onto my legs. “That was easy peasy! Standing and calm!” I exclaimed with an unintended squeak in my shaky tone, showing Embee a triumphant smile to hide my strife. “So, uh, did I not do this in a timely fashion?” I asked, perfectly aware that she couldn't have kept track of time. I felt breathless. I was breathless. Why was I breathless? “You don't look too well, hon,” Embee gauged. I didn't know how unwell I looked, but perhaps I had forgone preparing myself adequately, and that was showing on my features. Would I adjust faster if I took a careful step to the right? No, that didn't work. An alarm in my head was urging me to get up on two legs and trade my forehooves for hands at once. But how? I didn't know transformation spells! Besides, if I did, wouldn't it hurt like the dickens when tissue and bone reshaped? Unless said spell also numbed the nerves, that is. “Tell me what's wrong,” Embee suggested, coming to stand before me. My ears plunged as I began to talk a mile a minute. “I feel like I'm only halfway done that I shouldn't stand on fours that I should—” A reflex made me pause and re-moisten my mouth. “That I should get up but I can't because it's impossible and we both know that and I really really want my human drive routines or whatever to know and accept it too!” I still wasn't able to breathe without feeling like each inhale was stinging my heart. Hoping to attain some shreds of tranquility, I glanced at the drainboard to my right. Then, I looked up at the ceiling above. I was only one meter tall, but the size of the furniture in here tricked my senses. I closed my eyes; none of this was helping. “Why can't I adjust?” I whispered sternly to myself, hoping my nerve endings would stop hating the limbs they were in. The floor was barely more than a muted feeling. Was I unable to attune to the quadruped stance because of some hard-to-define fear? Maybe. “This is how a pony stands. Either I'll do it, or I'll cry and do it.” That logic didn't whisk away my inner anguish. “Why can't I just accept this?” Not a second later, I affixed a dumbfounded stare on nothing as it dawned that my voice had become squeaky. As a human, I had never become squeaky when I was close to crying. Wait, crying? I blinked my eyes hard, pushing out some superfluous fluid rimming them. My ears pricked up and then instantly fell toward my neck. “Oh no, I am so not going to cry!” I said in annoyed disbelief, but my fortitude declared Wir haben keine Verstärkung mehr! I was defiant, though. “I sure as hay can stand like a pony and not—” I hiccuped. A second later, fluid trickled from my eyes. “Darn it!” I grouched somberly, screwing my eyes shut and dropping my head. “This wasn't supposed to happen,” I groaned, poorly masking my misery. I would've collapsed as well, but I had come this far; I couldn't let myself fail more. “Supposed or not, just let the tears come,” Embee contested softly, but that only increased the severity of my scowl. I had to try harder to curtail my anguish. “Don't bottle your feelings, hon.” My tense outlook vanished, and my ears relaxed. She was right. I was the only one adjudicating my frailness. I sighed deeply, craning my neck to gaze at the white ceiling panels. “Okay, okay, it's just a few tears, just a few,” I consoled myself, my voice as intact as a shattered vase. When my eyes lined up with Embee's, she offered a sympathetic frown. “I can't believe I'm still a wreck. I was so sure I could just . . .” My eyes closed, and I shook my head, feeling my mane flop about on my nape. “Be fine.” Drawing a snotty breath, I kept my eyes closed; the tears escaped regardless. “I must've broken myself quite bad,” I assumed weakly. Was it really true that females were intrinsically more emotional than males, or was that a mere factoid? Maybe I was in denial? Softy me, even softer as a mare because of a higher estrogen-to-testosterone ratio? I had reformed my stance on crying when I embraced Embee, both of which were good things. However, I thought I had a grip on my emotions. Perhaps my inexperience with assumably higher emotional mercuriality was making me more sensitive than authentic females? “I hope this helps you pull yourself together.” Abruptly, my eyes snapped open as something warm and soft crossed my neck. Bewilderedly, I darted my vision about, but the only trace of Embee was . . . her back and tail parallel to mine . . . beneath my head? My imagination, vision, and tactile sense of my nape and the area between my throat and foreleg—I refused to call that area my chest—cooperated to depict a fairly accurate image of what was going on. Technically, my chest . . . I had the equine equivalent, and that was all I needed to know! Anyhow, no arousal from looking at Embee's hindquarters. I appreciated that infinitely. Although now I was curious what would look attractive to a pony, if not a bare bottom. Ponies must have different sexual standards on the account that they're typically unabashedly undressed. Still, was her behind attractive in the eyes of a stallion? This was hardly the time to go off on tangents, though. “Uhm, Embee? What are you doing?” I asked cluelessly. “Giving you a hug,” her mellifluous voice originated near the base of my right ear. Her forelegs weren't on me. “Like, um . . .” I observed Embee's tail wag once. “Pony style?” A tiny smile creased my lips. Why did I think of some kind of song? Bon-Bon style? Never mind. “You could say that,” Embee affirmed, chuckling amiably. “It's a hug.” A few seconds later, she gently started to undo the interlock. I pivoted my head to the right. “Ergh!” My tranquility was broken with a flinch when her head bent my right ear. “Oh, sorry!” Embee said instantly, backing away with shock on her countenance. Trying to distance myself from the problem, I tilted my head to my left. Simultaneously, I rolled my eyes toward my audio wave collector, raising my right hoof to brush away the discomfort, but my wits kicked in and halted my limb halfway up. “I didn't hurt you, did I?” The dual arrays on my head picked up her concerned query. “No, no, you didn't,” I assured tinnily, discerning with a delay that I was adorned with a fixed grimace. “I . . . I've got sensitive ears, you accidentally rubbed my right one, and it's, there's, uh . . . An itchy feeling, like a fly walking over something that I really shouldn't have because what I have sticks up from my scalp. It's a new sensation,” I explained, calming down gradually. “Bhhr,” I shivered in disgust before gingerly resting my leg on the floor. “Alright,” she whispered as I initiated an accustomization procedure by actuating my ears like airplane elevators. “I suppose I'd be touchy too if I had parts I'm not used to having.” I was gazing at her hooves. Why was I gazing at her hooves? Well, whatever. Would it help if somepony massaged my ears? On second thought, that would just freak me out. “How are you feeling, though?” I stopped my imitation of a pre-flight check with an insightful hum. “All things considered, quite good,” I said to her, a tad astonished at this. She brightened. “That's great!” “It's a definite improvement, yeah,” I mused, lifting my foreleg a few centimeters. A moment later, I let it drop down. After repeating the move a few times, I performed the same cycle with my right hind leg—without looking at it. Standing on fours felt weird enough, so seeing my trailing end might be more than my recovering mind could deal with at the moment. “I guess I could pace for a bit,” I ventured, then surreptitiously bit my lower lip. Leaning a little closer, Embee raised her right foreleg and frowned slightly. “You sure about that, hon?” she voiced more doubt and concern than I had. I closed my eyes with a light sigh. “Yes, I am,” I stated resolutely. I was greeted by an uncertain gaze when I reopened my optical sensors. “Don't worry, Embee. Besides, if I wasn't sure and ready, what would you do?” A smirk grew on me. “Pick me up and carry me around like you're a skycrane?” I laughed at my joke, which I wasn't supposed to, but the mental imagery simply was too funny. Well, if estrogens or whatever made my emotions more potent, then what could I do about it? Go with the flow? Why not. Better to make the best of a bad situation after all, and Embee was going to help this situation. Somehow. The plan was still in its infancy. My best and only dependable support and confidant settled from her wary stance, smiling puzzledly. “What's a skycrane?” “A heavy-lift helicopter,” I said casually. Embee blinked her eyes once. No, twice. A third time. Fourth. Would there be a fifth? Behind my anticipatory smile, I felt a giggle creeping up. “Okay, a heavy-lift helicopter,” she parroted. Her inferred incomprehension amused me, which I expressed with a polite chuckle, unable to quell it further. “Anyhow, I'm going to see if I can walk by myself.” I shot a look to my left. The wall was lined with windows, but a curtain drawn about one third across from the left meant I had a safe area where I could do my accustomization walk without seeing my pony reflection. “If I can't,” I said jovially, looking back at Embee as I gestured my foreleg at her, “you'll be my Sikorsky S-64.” My intonation fluctuated with a laugh toward the end. “Hahaha.” Her laugh was feigned, probably not understanding the joke, but I didn't hold it against her. I sighed, reassigning my hoof to its designated role. “You'll airlift me to wherever I need to be if I can't walk, that's what I meant.” I hoped she didn't think I was belittling her from behind my affable demeanor. Although, being hauled around by her like a thoroughly inept foal would do my self-esteem a disservice. She smiled slyly. “That would be the first time I'd have to carry a healthy pony indoors.” I narrowed my gaze. “I'm not a pony,” I reminded her irately. “Huh?” Embee gave me a blank stare. “I didn't say you're not a human,” she placated in a slightly confused manner. “Of course you wouldn't say it,” I said sardonically, keeping my glare on her for a couple of tense seconds before I relented. “Anyhow, I'll walk carefully, so that I won't transgress my human mind–pony body agreement.” Feeling like my latest uttering was a veiled critique and warning, I faced the curtains and set off. “All steady, all steady,” I muttered dourly as I plodded, my nicer side working in the back of my mind to forgive her. Perhaps I had overreacted? She couldn't possibly afford to look dishonest in her line of work. At any rate, my muscle memory was doing its task excellently. Ef-El, Aitch-Ar . . . I didn't need to recite that. ‘I teared up a little, and that took away the anxiety? Hm? Or maybe my irritation grants me tenacity? How about that?’ I cocked an inquisitive brow at the plain curtains before me. ‘Why are they white? Hmph, don't know, don't care. Ugh, I have to work out this superfluous tension.’ I rotated around, choosing a topic on a whim. “So, this being a pony thing . . . It's a little like a video game, except a lot more immersive. A huge haystackin' lot. As near as I can tell, no video game I've played makes me feel like I'm literally the character itself.” Embee had recovered from her post-verbal gaffe scare. “Not accounting a few exceptions, I never see the character's torso or legs. In fact, even if backlit by something luminous, the player character, meaning me, doesn't cast a shadow. Now, tell me, how lame is that?” I complained as I paced to Embee. I realized this was a topic I had discussed with one of my friends. Which one and when, that didn't matter right now. “Pretty lame?” She looked a little glum, presumably due to my stern demeanor. “I'm not into any video games . . . except for dance games.” She displayed a careful half-smile. The mental image of her showing her moves on a dance mat made my eyes widen. “That is sooo . . .” Eye-shutting excitement came to my face. “Awesome!” I did my best Rainbow Dash impers . . . imponification? I didn't get the voice right due to a lack of her characteristic raspiness, but that was only a minor setback. Needless to say, Embee's previous error was fully pardoned. When I opened my eyes, she looked pleased. “I'm pretty good at them,” she said modestly, but I garnered she was downplaying her boast. Her ears weren't curled down, either. “I'd just embarrass myself were I to try a dance game,” I admitted through my congenial smile. “My agility is probably minus one, hahahaha!” From the looks of it, I confused Embee again, but that was of no consequence. “I don't know dance games too well, but I'd be thrilled to see you rock your body.” Because seeing a pony play a dance game was more fascinating than seeing Embee win at it. Speaking of contests, I decided to perform a second test walk. “You know, it's great that we've established a fairly casual atmosphere. It's very relaxing.” I met the curtain again, spinning around to discern a happy Embee in the same spot as before. “A moment of unwinding before we get down to brass tacks, if you will.” I sighed contently. “Well, looks like I'm walking fine now. So, what's next?” I started heading back to her, but stopped after a few steps. “The puddle?” I said indicatively. Embee also looked at the mass gathering of H₂O. Our gazes met a few seconds later, signaling the start of a short period characterized by a mutual attempt to deduce each other's blank face. “I believe the puddle is woefully incapable of taking care of itself,” I broke the silence, struggling to keep a straight face. “Hmm.” Embee looked to her right. Her facial expression seemed to say ‘oh, what the hay’ as she walked towards the puddle. “Hmh, it's soaked,” she stated flatly, poking the floorcloth like a child would poke a dead rat with a stick. Gross. A smirk came to my lips. “Hey.” “Yes?” She aimed her amethyst eyes at me. “Maybe if I rolled over the puddle?” I suggested subduedly, raising my left foreleg—it was the dirtier one. “I could use a bath, as you can see.” Once again, I failed to keep a collected demeanor. Seemed like I was giggling a lot, and the last one was a bit squeaky even though I had tried to stifle it down to a snicker. On the less amusing side, I was trying not to think about the grime making my skin itch. I'd have to scratch my back with something eventually. Maybe a fork. Embee, rather remarkably, allowed herself a giggle as well, though the tone of it evidenced she was being cautious for some reason. “Not to offend you, but you did wash your face recently.” “No offense taken,” I assured, but the reminder of my temporary loss of sanity, and the vague reflections of my face, were making joy a difficult emotion to retain. “But, uhm, just to be clear, it's not really my face. Although, saying that it's this face, these legs, this voice and, uh, so on . . .” I rambled, disquieted and dejected. “I'd start to feel like I'm not myself anymore, and that's, hmh . . .” I placed my eyes on the pink brewer. “Uh, I'll expound more once we're enjoying our coffee, just as I promised.” Something in the corner of my eye compelled me to turn my head. I shouldn't have. There it was. Quite close. The face that truly wasn't mine, with tousled rose-striped hair that wasn't mine. Sadness and worry were in its emerald eyes, even a touch of dread. I didn't dare move. The face blinked, began to look fazed, and still I didn't move. If I did, then that face would move. I didn't want to associate with that face. If I didn't think of expressions, they wouldn't come to the face. Nothing bad would happen if I didn't think. I wasn't in that mirror. I wasn't thinking it was me. This was a most desirable state, and should remain unbroken. Those unusually large pupils with the green irises definitely didn't belong to me. If I knew how, I'd think of a start-edgy. Strat-dredgy? Oh no! I was thinking! Not thinking was good. Yes, unthinking. I was unthinking, and blinking. Staring at the not-me face. That pony face. Blink. Vacant pony face. Blink. Vacant pony face. Blink. Vacant . . . female human face? Blink. Pony female. Blink. Human female. Blink. Pony female. Blink. Human female. I kept blinking. “Hey?” Familiar voice nearby. What I saw in the mirror looked worried. I felt the same way. Why wasn't I breathing? “Are you okay?” The voice again. Emerald irises shrank. The face reflected my shocked gasp. My eyes instinctively shut. I didn't see any more of what shouldn't be mine. Almost lost my balance too, and thoughts circled, spun, orbited; I couldn't choose one. “What was that?” the voice belonging to the green pony asked. I knew she was green because I had seen her before. The human face flickered in my mind. What had I seen? I had seen me as a human. False false false! It wasn't me! It wasn't. It was . . . her! She had imagined herself as a human, and that was what I saw. I saw her imagination! I had access to what she had thought. I saw how she had imagined herself were she human! “Can you hear me?” A nod, yes, my nodding. “Okay, now try to calm down, and take slow breaths.” Bayerische Motoren Werke . . . Bimmer had good ideas. To hear down, slow me, and calm breaths. Yes, calm breaths! That was it. “What happened?” the female voice I possessed presented my question as I gazed into Beemwee's second outward wits. Embee's visible spectrum detectors. Her eyes! I knew what had happened, and it had perplexed me greatly. That was what had happened; I had become greatly perplexed. “I should ask you the same thing,” Embee said as I shook my head so fiercely my pony ears swayed. Ouchies! As I nictitated stunnedly, I discerned that my heartbeat was palpable in my ears and I was perspiring from pores I didn't know I had. “You froze when you looked into the mirror.” That tone . . . An inferred question! “Uh . . .” Embee's studious stare motivated me to sound like I retained my marbles—before I could ascertain that I had my wits in place. “It's only because I saw a face that's not mine,” I summarized, my eyelids drooping halfway out of exhaustion. “Well, it was more than that. It was haunting. Paralyzing. Mind-addling.” I sighed, trying to figure out something more academic to say. “A complex psychological reaction.” I let my eyes close. “To be honest, I'm not entirely sure what happened, which is frustrating in itself, but as it stands right now, I don't feel inclined to investigate.” I could still see the face. How many times had 'she' imagined this? It wasn't much better than my current face, which felt like a mask grafted in place of my own. I licked my lips, and I couldn't say how, but even they felt somehow inhuman. Ponylike. At least the imagined face hadn't overwritten my familiar mug. “I think I may need to sit down for a moment and let the dust settle,” I murmured as I opened my eyes, feeling a little vexed. Did I really send my mind on a hard loop just by accidentally gazing into a mirror? How fickle could I be? I should've just focused on the cuteness factor, but no, I had to spook myself. “Sounds like you need it,” Embee said as I quickly took stock of my position. “No argument from me,” I replied tiredly. I began backing toward the doorway, eyes closed. Seemed like a good mirror avoidance procedure. My muscle memory was doing an outstanding job, too. Hey, wait a minute! I could've just closed my eyes and then stepped away from the looking glass. What a moron I was! I came to a sudden halt, opened my eyes, and grunted, all in a tenth of a second. It was also moronic that I had backed into the doorframe! Indignation and humiliation coloring my face, I cursorily took note of a puzzled—or concerned—Embee before I huffed and took myself out of the kitchen. The lingering sensation of the doorframe on my left rear end was a severe violation to my sense of sanctity. Passing the radio, I listened with half an ear to Sound Wave's anecdote about some people still being bothered by ponies being unclothed. That was followed by a commercial break. Awaiting the abating of my agitation, I stood by the lime green cushion I had sat on several minutes ago. It had a small depression with patches of thin dirt here and there. I was reluctant to sit down, as I knew I'd receive a fondling—“Hey, can I ask you a few things?” Embee's voice cut through my thoughts and the jazzy jingle of the radio. She was standing in the doorway. “Sure you can,” I said, mustering a pleasant smile; I didn't want to look crotchety—what an apt word . . . Her hoof met her jaw for a second before she gestured it at me. “You're not a pony, right?” I sighed. No, I'm actually an Excalibur Phaeton Series III, I snarked mentally. “That's right, Embee. I'm only physically a pony,” I attested calmly. “Alright.” Her hoof returned to the floor. “So you're a human?” I appreciated that she didn't use the past tense. Although, wasn't my condition already established? Maybe she was confused and needed to verify a few things before we got to the actual point? “Correct.” I maintained my complaisant decorum. “I am a human, who is inexplicably trapped in somepony's body.” I poked the cushion, as if that would make it go easy on my dairy-do's. I hated knowing I had those. Embee's distinct voice flowed through the air: “Which means Rosy Stripes is not your name.” My left ear dropped sideways. Fluttering my eyes in a mix of annoyed disbelief and puzzlement, the abstract painting on the wall held my momentary attention before I directed an askance look at Embee. “Since when?” The absurdity of her assumption educed a sceptical chuckle from me. “From where did you get the idea to doubt my name?” “Uh, Rosy?” she asked carefully, looking all around perplexed. “What?” I replied a little tersely. I got an inkling I wasn't seeing the full picture here. “You're not a pony?” “Mhm.” “That's not your body?” “Yup.” “Which is to say, you pretended that it was your body?” “Uh-huh.” “Because you thought I wouldn't take your claim of a mind swap seriously?” At the last question, however, I sighed sullenly and let my eyes roll down in shame. “Yes.” “So, to sum up, you're not a pony, but a human, who only pretended to be a pony,” she said slowly. “Is this correct?” She seemed inoffensive and investigative, not doubtful and distrusting, so I stayed polite—being rude certainly wouldn't improve my standing. “Yes, it's very correct,” I affirmed. Still, I couldn't help but feel that I was being treated like I was one sandwich short of a picnic. She gazed at me from where she stood, as if gauging me. “That is to say, you pretended to be a pony, and took on a feigned name, that being Rosy Stripes?” I huffed coarsely as I wheeled to face her. “Feigned name? That is my . . .” My crossness transitioned into worried incredulity. “Name?” I began to see it: if I had tried to keep my true identity hidden, then why did I use my real name as a cover? I hadn't? As crazy as it was, that wasn't my name. In fact, my name didn't match my persona nor my past. I was quite certain Rosy Stripes wasn't a guy's name, either. I even recalled writing down that other name, and it was on official papers. A plethora of evidence in my head pointed to that the name being mine, but my intuition disagreed strongly. Oh no . . . How could I have let myself be tricked so easily? “Hon? Is there something you're not telling me?” Embee queried as she strode forth from the doorway. If I hadn't known better, I would've thought she was starting to mistrust me. Surmounting my mixture of shock, nervousness, and fright, I tried to give her a collected answer. “Since this isn't my body, it means I don't have my brain.” I didn't sound very collected, though I elicited a curious brow from Embee. “Rather remarkably, I have access to some of the information stored therein, but on the flipside, it has an almost unfailing tendency to take precedence over mine. So, this is tough to say, but Rosy Stripes has become my name. Maybe retroactively, too, as I feel like that it's been my name for as long as I can remember. I don't work myself up about these changes though, because everything will be fine.” My voice cranked to a high-pitched whisper and I shifted my focus to the table's wooden frame. “I simply know everything will be fine, and I refuse to think otherwise. Nothing good will come if I submit to pessimism.” At least I hadn't slumped to the floor, or began pleading for help. I had to maintain some dignity, and I wasn't panicking. Just a little apprehensive. Okay, so maybe I was a little harried. Embee would help me. “Hey.” She walked close to me. I inclined my head up. “Hey to you, too,” I said, the touch of joviality scarcely making up for the drop in my composure. Why was I trying to hide behind unconcerned masks anyhow? They wouldn't make my problems go away. “Don't worry, hon. I'm sure everything will turn out fine,” she assured. As I showed her a hopeful smile, her eyes dropped down for a moment. She was looking at something on my throat? “Just let me ask you, can you recall the name you had?” Was that her primary concern? Why not ask to recap my entire life so she can write it down? Or present any ideas on how to help me? Oh well, she sounded serious enough about the name. I took a deep breath to steady my nerves, but it was more for show than anything. Still, fake it till I make it. “Yes. I can recall it.” Embee didn't know I was a male in a female's body, and I had a strong suspicion she'd ask to know the masculine name. If she knew it, then there was a good chance she'd (un)knowingly expect me to fit the male mold. I liked some (but not all) of the feminine things at my disposal, which were normally inaccessible due to physical and social restrictions. If Embee didn't recognize me as female in gender, would she pressure me to relinquish my femininity? Would now be a good time to ask her opinion on males who don't adhere to gender norms? “Can you tell me that name?” Embee queried, just as I had expected. I would've preferred to analyze the gender dilemma by myself a while longer. “Sure.” I drew a small breath and then said the name out loud. “Sorry, can you repeat that?” Embee said with a friendly smile. The mumble I had produced would've befitted Fluttershy, though I didn't believe she would've been as liked were she male with that personality. I turned my ears down. “Oops, my bad,” I said with a giggle in my tone, smiling meekly. For lack of a better term, I felt cute. ‘Tomboys are totally cool and accepted by society, but its male counterpart isn't.’ The laconic insight on double standards had me worried. Anyhow, I didn't have time for indecisiveness. After composing myself, including righting my ears, I said what I had to say. I truly hoped I hadn't set myself up for disaster. Embee, however, looked fascinated. “Viv?” she repeated in delight. “Yes,” I affirmed nonchalantly. I was none too happy about my decision, but I wished to avoid the repercussions of being a male who has violated gender norms. “It's short for Vivienne.” Besides, what was so bad about being female? It would only be for as long as I possessed this body. I could still enjoy this. I could be Rosalinda Vivienne Stripes.

Suomibrony

435

Original Character,Human,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

First Pony View

Some dreams you might never want to end… …but what happens when the dream really doesn't?

incomplete

<p>Have you ever had a dream that just seemed so <i>real</i>, that it was impossible to say for certain that it was even a dream at all? A dream that, despite all of its impossibilities, seemed to re-write your entire perception of reality, re-writing your sense of what—and indeed, <i>who</i>—you are? Accepting change is hard enough as it is. But when you're a <span style="color:#808000">somebody</span> who wakes up as a <span style="color:#6495ED">somepony</span>, how do you cope with the impact such a drastic change has on your mind and body? With changes like these, it must surely just be a lucid dream—albeit a suspiciously <i>accurate one</i>—just brimming with potential and ripe for exploration. So you might as well suck it up and make the most of these distressingly…unusual circumstances, and seize this <span style="color:#008000">psychological adventure</span> before you wake up and the dream ends.<br/>After all, this couldn't possibly be real, so the dream must come to an end eventually…right?</p>

teen

2013-12-08T09:47:09+00:00

2022-06-25T10:49:07+00:00

First Pony View A My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic fan fic By Suomibrony Chapter 14 Turbulence Before Headwind A song had started playing. A likeable song I recognized by its appreciable bass guitars. A song David would've disparaged for being "lame." Since death metal with more guttural snarling than actual singing was his cup of tea (a drink he wouldn't deign to consume, I presumed), his opinion on music was close to null and void anyhow. We did have great times playing Saints Row 2 in co-op, however. He was a trigger-happy spitting image of Nathan Explosion, and I was a measured and tactical, chronologically-displaced Wehrmacht soldier! Both with the same British English voice. Uncanny, but amusing. “So, should I call you Viv or Vivienne?” Embee asked. “Viv or Vivienne? Hmmm . . .” I thought she should call me a duplicitous coward for submitting to a complex sense of shame and—er, no. This was negative thinking. I was . . . I was exceptionally courageous for taking on the challenge of upholding my perceived gender, thereby attaining unique and possibly enlightening insights on female existence itself! “I'll leave that up to you,” I replied in a deliberately sweet tone, almost indifferent to what name she called me by, although Vivienne sounded a tad more charming. I had been called by my middle name before, albeit rarely, so this shouldn't . . . Hold on. My sort-of namesake had been called that. I neither wanted nor needed to know more. “I think Vivienne's a very nice name.” Embee presented her choice with such mellowness that I felt a shred flattered. “Don't you think so, too?” “Um.” I rested my chin on my elevated pastern as I looked towards my bangs. “I guess I must agree . . .” Frankly, hiding behind a new alias was going to be hard on me. Furthermore, my middle name wasn't so much 'me' as Rosy was . . . and neither name should be mine! “Hey,” Embee said softly. “Don't doubt yourself.” I was initially puzzled as to why she said that, but I quickly presumed that my outward impression of reluctance had something to do with it. “I truly think your name's beautiful.” She sighed, creasing her lips to a smile, whereas I felt a little dirty about letting her believe a lie. “You should cherish it, and think of it as your own. It's your name. You said so yourself.” I didn't reply; I was asking myself if I had put my neck on the line by pretending to be a female human in a mare's body. I was afraid of Embee's reaction to knowing my true gender. Being straight with her from the get-go would've been right, but would it have been safe? I didn't believe she'd make fun of me, but she could unwittingly pressure me to act male, and she could suspect I never was anything but a mare if I didn't. However, what if my pretense placed my gender identity at peril? My eyes had opened to how conditioned . . . no, indoctrinated I was to automatically resent any personal aspects of femininity, or the suspicion thereof—“It is your name, isn't it, hon?” Embee's careful query engendered a small gasp from me. “Of course it is,” I affirmed impulsively, forgoing my contemplations and forging a smile. Darn it. I could've just blurted a definite 'no' instead. “Good.” She smiled in relief. “I began to fear you were relapsing.” “Ah, don't worry, I wasn't. I was repeating it in my head. My name, that is. So it would stick. So I wouldn't forget that my name's, uh, Vivienne. Like you said it is. Like I said it is. Like it's supposed to be. Geez, sorry!” Broken sentences spoken meekly and Embee's inquiring look weren't boosting my confidence. Nevertheless I frowned in determination, lowering my voice. “You saw what happened to me, right?” Embee nodded with a hum. “I can't let that awful disaster happen again, so I must tell myself who I am. Repeatedly.” Heeding her concern and my fib, I began chanting the masculine name internally. The name that should be more mine than Vivienne was! I had to stay firm. That was how I obeyed speed limits, even when despicable drivers behind me reduced the three-second rule to a third or less. Irresponsible and thoughtless morons! Just like my friends when they were corrupted into a raucous bliss and egged me to drop the hammer. I was certain they were good people; alas, aside from a few exceptions, I hadn't seen their good sides in a year. But that was neither here nor there. I had to stay firm! This was a matter of survival! I had to denounce my imposed name and repeat the correct name until it felt like it was mine ag—Wait . . . Repeats? Repeating movements of . . . windshield wipers? Was I onto something? “Sounds like you got a technique down.” Embee's voice was replete with consideration. She may've said something more, but I was too preoccupied to hear it. There was something I could almost recall . . . Something yesterday? Something about the windshield wipers . . . or maybe not? It could be just a random thing that seemed relevant by being the latest memory from before the start of my incident. I should focus on the name instead. My name. Yes. Did it feel like mine yet? Only a little, but if I kept at it . . . “Not to interrupt, but would you like to make yourself comfortable?” She glanced at a cushion—the one I sat on before. “I could bring you the coffee in the meantime. Then we can talk more.” “Uhm . . . sure.” My—no, Rosy's humanized visage inexplicably reappeared in my mind, miming my speech. Its association with me was weirding me out. I was building a resistance to these things. I hoped. “Relaxation is, ah . . . It ranks high on my priorities list, right after getting to the bottom of my mind swap predicament.” Despite the imagined face speaking my lines, my resolution held steady. Alas, the cushion I laid my eyes on stopped me in my tracks. Could I really let it get a feel for the two down theres, like it had before? Was it better to stand on my four hooves and receive a strange look from Embee in return? Comfort over customs? Decisions, decisions. Embee's soothing tone swiveled my ears. “I know you're worried, Vivienne, but—” “I know I know,” I interjected, facing her after a beat. “You don't have to tell me.” Discerning that I was getting worked up, I tried to retain a calm demeanor after a quick cough. “But hey, um, I . . .” The recent humanized image brought to mind that perhaps I had it easier; I had Embee. “Just to remind you and myself, this isn't my predicament alone.” I looked at the rain-streaked windows and the lit-up apartments beyond. “She . . . Rosy Stripes,” I struggled a bit; it felt like I was referring to myself in the third-person. “She's in my body, feeling all kinds of lost, I think.” Spooked a little by the fuzzy reflection of a white-coated pony in the window, I turned my head back to Embee. “Maybe she has an idea about what's happened.” A memory attempted to invade my mental canvas; I screwed my eyes shut for a fraction of a second, and then it was gone. I wasn't sure whether to be happy or disappointed. “An idea?” Embee inserted, interest in her voice. “You mean Rosy has an idea? How do you know?” I had to consciously stop conflating my name to myself. My not-name! “I actually don't, and I'm not sure I want to purposely unlock more of her memories. Just imagine my name problem, but more widespread. Anyhow, it doesn't matter if she knows. Her situation is arguably worse . . .” She was stuck in an unfamiliar form in a world where her kind was pure fiction, possibly overwhelmed by despair and distress as the truth was dismissed or ignored. The awfulness of that swiftly disintegrated my mild frustration, and my vision migrated to Embee's forelegs. “Where she is now, she doesn't have anypony to rely on. I believe she's in dire need of help, but sadly, she can't get that. She's more alone and helpless than a faithful car heartlessly abandoned on a frozen lake in late winter as appreciation for a decade of untiring and diligent service.” My sights climbed up to Embee's eyes, recalling that the tale of the car had come from my dad's mouth. I hoped it wasn't true. “So, as you can guess, my concern for her is immeasurable. I hold hope that she can be rescued from a tragic fate.” I would've placed my hands on Embee's shoulders—if we were human. “You and me, we are the first ones who can actually do something about that,” I beseeched earnestly. “Just like I can't stay in this body, she can't stay in mine. For all we know, she may be under the threat of the same identity-threatening effects as I am.” My head and ears slumped. I wished from the bottom of my heart that 'she'—Rosy—hadn't taken her own life. Like I almost had. I could feel the weight of shame and guilt lying upon my heart. For me and her. My mortality had advanced to the forefront of my mind. Before today's ordeal, I had pondered about death a few times, but not in a suicidal manner. I'd had my moments of gloom, but I wasn't a futureless, depressed wreck. Still, what would come after death? Was it eternal sleep without dreams and awareness? Or some form of new beginning? Be that as it may, a gradual transition into something that I wasn't entitled and didn't want to be was contending with the severity of death itself. I was at the risk of involuntarily stealing somepony's life! That was utterly wrong and unjust! At least death was . . . conventional. Was she thinking about these things, too? “Hey, I'm sure she's fine,” Embee finally got a say, trying to resuscitate my asphyxiating hope. “It can't be so bad for her, right? Just like you have, she's probably found somepony who is—Wait, you said she doesn't have anypony?” “Yeah, anypony . . .” I said somberly. “As you know, I have her brain. It affects my speech mannerisms. Makes me say somepony and everypony, and so on. It's kind of compulsive, and I don't always bother to correct myself.” I sighed, gazing at Embee weakly. Then it struck me. Was it affecting me in other ways as well? Was I thinking like I used to? Did I exhibit my or 'her' characteristics? How much was I myself? “No, I'm . . . I'm sorry, let me rephrase my question,” Embee cut off my existential crisis before it dug deeper into my core. My self-preservation instinct was semi-consciously correcting my ponyisms and segregating distinctly pony memories and traits; that was a monumental advantage. “What do you mean by Rosy not having anypony?” “Oh, right . . .” I languidly rolled my eyes to the right, repeating my true name in my head to ward off my not-really-my-name, and also feeling a touch disappointed Embee hadn't urged me to fight the ponyisms. “Where she is, there aren't ponies, and she's not even physically pony, what with having my body,” I explained glumly. As much as I hated to think of it, she could be ruining my life by trying to pretend she was me, and possibly failing at limiting her female behavior—because unlike tomboys, feminine guys were universally reviled. I felt like dying on the spot just to spare myself the anguish of my cursory speculations . . . which reminded me of a much worse fear: she was dead! The inability to verify my fear quickly breathed oxygen on my embers of hope. “Listen, can you tell me what you looked like?” Embee asked. I felt a smidgen of disconnect when I brought up my male image. “Your surname?” I could. I felt a shred less disconnected from my name, presumably due to my earlier inner name chanting. “Where you live?” About ten kilometers northwest from this hospital. “Where you were before you realized you were in Rosy's body?” I was in my home, undoubtedly sleeping and dreaming about something irrelevant. Maybe that was the windshield wiper thing? Just a strange dream. Laptop resting on the parking lot, stuff displayed on it, the car's windshield wipers moving. Something had happened soon after? Wait, this wasn't my dream or memory! “Vivienne?” Embee roused my attention; I hadn't said a single word throughout her questioning. As I peered into her eyes, a question popped up in my mind. “Hey, what's with these questions about my looks and so on?” A kind smile formed on her lips. “Rosy's in your body, so naturally, knowing some identifying details and your place of residence will help narrow down the search—” “No!” I exclaimed, subtly flustered. “You don't understand! She can't be found!” I would've made some kind of gesture, but all I managed was to throw my tail and lean slightly forward. We were almost touching snout to snout. “Why not?” The puzzlement on Embee's face wasn't surprising. In fact, it was daunting. She was on my side, but one little verbal slip-up could change that. I put some space between us. “I told you, there are no ponies where I come from,” I reiterated, careful not to let my voice quiver with nervousness. “Not the kind that are sapient and can fly and cast spells. Those are . . . They don't exist there! It's a different world.” A worrisome thought crept in: How could I explain to her that I knew of ponies through a cartoon and associated fandom? Or rather, how would I do that without making myself sound plum crazy? Embee still looked like she wasn't believing her ears. “Excuse me, what?” ‘Oh no! Now it's happening! The worst fear of them all! She's disbelieving me for real! I'm screwing up, I'm screwing up, I'm screwing up!’ I couldn't show that panic on the outside. “Okay, uh . . . Let me think how to, um.” What could I think here? Many things were piling up on me already: an existential crisis, easily provoked bodily discomfort, guilt over my gender deceit, worries about the fate of Rosy, memory fragments and her personality possibly twisting up mine. As if that wasn't enough, being female was bestowing me with conflicted feelings. But this wasn't the time to analyze any of that; I had to think of something to say right now! “How about I, err . . . How about I come up with something completely false but plausible.” That was smart; make my attempt to lie as transparent as possible. “I really don't want to, but if I must, then I—” “Oh, no!” Embee objected, taking a step closer, her frown easing into arches of beseechment. “Don't do that. Stick to the truth. Please.” Good. My tactic had worked. “You really want the truth?” I was leery nonetheless. “Naturally,” she affirmed, more softly. “What made you think otherwise?” I was obliged to answer that, or else I'd be on a short leash. I looked past her to the kitchen and glanced at the radio as I did my best to speak a rational reply: “Well . . . If the truth sounds impossible, or the exposing of it may result in severe repercussions, then an option ensuring continued safety and accord is preferred.” That was pretty much the basis of every social interaction condensed into a slightly cynical nucleus. Or a glimpse on how fear can be used to suppress and deny freedoms. “This is serious, hon. We both know that.” Embee took a step closer. “It's really important that you're honest and fearless, and I want you to be, no matter what. Can you do that?” she urged softly. I couldn't look her in the eye. I had asked her to be extremely honest, and now she was doing the same to me. “You can't forget the lie you maintained, about who you tried to be?” No, I couldn't forget, and I really didn't want to maintain a lie, but I wasn't the kind who took risks without circumspect evaluation, which I lacked the time and peace of mind for. “It was ruining you.” That pulled my ears down. “Don't repeat that unfortunate mistake. Be brave. Please.” “Since you asked nicely,” I conceded quietly. I had to be brave, and that meant taking risks. “What do you want to know?” And I hoped she wouldn't ask any questions that would garner trust-jeopardizing answers. “You said ponies like me don't exist?” She gestured at herself. I saw an opportunity for humor. “So says the pony who stands right before my eyes,” I said, smiling on the inside as I lightly poked her supporting foreleg. Her lips pursed, and she eyed me strangely. My ears raised with a pang of dread. Had I done something wrong? Should I run away? “You do know that's not what I meant, hon,” she said mellowly enough, placing her limb to the floor. “It was a joke, Embee,” I defined morosely. I had expected her to laugh, maybe chuckle, but not throw cold water on me. “I know it was, hon,” she appeased, but I didn't feel it. Jokes rely on purposefully subverting expectations. Did that mean I had just been explicitly dishonest? “So, you said Rosy Stripes is in another world, yes? The one you came from?” Once again, I segregated the imposed name. “Yes.” I closed my eyes, trying to attain a calmer state. “Imagine a realm much like the one we're now in, but populated by humans only.” I opened my eyes but avoided looking at Embee, directing my gaze upwards with a diagonal slant. “That includes the various indigenous flora and fauna, of course.” I would've flung my hand with a flourish—if I had one. When I looked at her, the tiniest smile pricked my lips. “It would've been a drab and lifeless place without them.” As if on cue, a stream of picturesque vistas treated my mind's eye, but too rapidly to tell which belonged to me. “Mmmh . . . Do you by chance come from the past, before contact was made?” she rolled out another question, ostensibly ignoring my dry wit. My nervousness was transforming into mild aggression. That could cause a problem if I didn't deal with it, as the oft-used phrase went. It entailed . . . I had no clue. Forcibly ignoring grievances? A conscious attempt to ignore my troubles would be as effective as not thinking of a polar bear driving a neon green dirt bike. Another interpretation was acceptance, which—Wait. “Contact?” I echoed, getting a weird sense of déjà vu. I would've asked about how ponies came to this world, but that question had to wait. It was probably a teleportation mishap or some such, anyhow. I had a much more pertinent query to make. “What date is it?” After Embee provided the answer, I checked and triple-checked my memory to compare the dates. “I should be thankful that hasn't changed,” I said plainly. “Okay then. Time travel's out of the question,” Embee deduced. “Hmmh . . .” If she was iffy, her thoughtful expression concealed it, and peering past it yielded nothing but paranoia trying to coax me into distrusting her. So, I focused on her weather-ruffled mane in an attempt at self-placation. Not counting the black dye I'd tried on a whim, I wasn't a stickler for hair fashion, but I did have my mane in ribboned twin tails when I was youn—consarn it! “You came from an alternate universe, correct?” “Ehm.” I retrieved my faculties. “This is the alternate universe.” I emphasized the clarification by tapping the floor. Darn numbness! That shouldn't annoy me! “But yes, you're correct.” I lightly shook my hoof in a futile attempt to recover sensitivity. “There's no time travel involved.” My mind backtracked to the twin tails. It wasn't such a bad look . . . but not for me! Aside from this brain messing me up with a recollection that wasn't mine, did I have deeply repressed feminine desires that only a female body could emancipate? Most likely, but this was inconsequential. What was consequential was that my cerebral chaos could compromise my credibility if it caused the conveying of ill-conceived cogitations. Embee was peering at me with scrutiny in her eyes. “Before we contin—” “I may hav—oh?” I inadvertently spoke over her, but my apology puttered out before it reached my larynx. “Uh, no, no. Let's just get this over with it,” I concluded, screwing my eyes shut and touched my bridge; I would've pinched it, but no fingers, no pinching. “I'm not from the past, not from the future, not from this Earth, and not from the place that I presume is Equestria,” I specified, taking my limb off my face to sweep the room on 'this'. With that said and done, I chanced it by not resting on my laurels. No guts, no glory, or something to that effect. “So uh . . . As the cherry on top, I know of ponies because I saw them on the Internet. To elaborate, they're fictional characters where I used to be. Yeah, that's right. You and every pony are moving pictures come to life. Except not really, because you sure don't look like an artist made you.” I paused briefly at Embee's dumbfounded appearance, as though I had to confirm that she was real. The characteristic horse odor certainly was. “That said, you look very natural and realistic for being a green-furred, winged, miniature horse with cute, big eyes and an expressive face.” That was admittedly an indirect compliment veiled in an agitated tone. “Similarly, this form I'm stuck in feels undoubtedly real, and not like it's produced with a graphics program. I guess at least one universe out of the infinite must have the improbable as a reality, and the chances of inexplicably being transported to one must've been infinitesimal! I bet there's a universe where we are the opposite genders! Or dogs, or mice, ferrets, iguanas, front-end loaders, you name it!” My imagination provided a short vision of each critter—and vehicle—in corresponding colors. “In this universe? Adorable sentient ponies! Uh . . .” An itch at the base of my ear! I flicked it, and the nuisance was gone, thank goodness! “Was, was . . . was I clear enough?” I ended my rant. Could I ignore my itching coat though? Dealing with it meant that, or accepting it, or whatever! “Ah, yes . . . Yes, you were.” Embee looked taken aback, her ears hanging flaccid. “Ponies on the Internet in a world without Equestrian ponies? That's, huhm . . .” she said very quietly, but not quietly enough for me not to pick it up. “Deal with it!” I blurted tensely. As if that could make things right, just like it was completely right that my light voice was potentially distorting my self-image on a subconscious level. “You can't imagine how much I wish to throw indisputable evidence at you like confetti. Alas, sticking to the truth is the only thing I can do. If you don't believe it, I'll just say that I couldn't care less.” Just like I shouldn't care less about all the mind-addling inconveniences and concerns amassing into a sphere of bad feelings. The back of my thigh was itching, too . . . The radio wasn't playing a song anymore? . . . an earth pony riding a horse and going by the alias Horace R! What a brilliant symbiosis, hm? Can't say how many of yous are listening this late, and sleep beckons me off the air waves as well. Just as a reminder though, you can catch my handsome self next Sunday at the horse race track, where I'll partake in an earth pony–only race. Not to boast, but I have experience on how some of you fillies love a sweaty stallion. Mh-mm. “Ghhrrh,” I tried to growl, but it was so lacking I cursorily thought of denouncing my female act right then and now. “Stupid Sound Wave! I'm not in the mood to hear his carefree drivel!” White magic engulfed the radio, turning it silent; I had manipulated the power button with efficacy comparable to fingers, although I suspected an internal component nearly popped loose. Embee shot a glance at the contraption as if feeling sorry for it. “I wager he's a self-absorbed lecher!” Perturbed by how much I sounded like an angered Pinkie Pie, I placed my pastern to my throat. I would've preferred Twilight's or Rainbow Dash's voice, if I had the choice. Or my original, darn it! I was hurting on the inside, and that's where it had to stay! I had to wear a tough face, because that was what guys had to be 24/7, and . . . that was just ridiculous! I was a softy at heart, with emotions and feelings that I had never had been encouraged to show. Why was I thinking of this now? I had to get a hold of myself, somehow. “Self-absorbed lecher? I don't know about that.” Embee aimed a studious frown at me with some worry thrown in. “Look, I know you're under a lot of stress, and I don't blame you, but please, try to stay calm,” she said carefully. ‘Stay calm, she says! As if I have an 'instant tranquility' button on me!’ I bit my tongue, looking sour. That was just a defense. A defense I couldn't relinquish! Also, I was striving to be truthful, but I was hiding behind Rosy's middle name and trying to curtail my feelings. The base cause for those was an irrational shame supported with plausibly sound logic. I had to think hard and fast on how to break these obstacles if I wanted to be truly honest with Embee. Tomboys were okay, but sensitive guys weren't. Tomboys didn't wish to be guys, and I didn't wish to be female. But no! I had learned that having attributes or persuasions for femininity regardless of volition, awareness, and intensity was socially unacceptable and invalidated a male from being male. How utterly moronic was that!? But this rant was equally stupid. Bottom line was, nothing I did or said would change my chromosomes . . . But the impossible had happened; I truly was without XYs. “Vivienne?” Embee said, but whatever. I couldn't do anything about my current biology. That meant I had several indispensably feminine aspects that I had no choice but to live with. However, by countering my anti-feminine sense of masculinity, was I improving myself? Or was I changing into a female? That was a frightening possibility, but I wasn't sure what defining female characteristic a male couldn't have. Where and how did I draw the line? In fact, where did Embee draw the line? As much as I didn't want to admit it now, expressing my allegedly "weaker" feelings had been comforting, even empowering. I was overcoming deeply entrenched gender norms. That didn't make me a female, did it? No, my gender preconceptions were mucking up my judgement. As long as I thought I was male . . . As long as I had faith in being a male at the core—No! I needed to be absolutely certain, without a grain of doubt, that I was still a male in spite of my physical composition! On that thought, what were the downsides of being female? What would I lose if I—Oh foul word! What was I thinking? My gender was integral to my identity, and those were endangered enough! I had to— “Hey, hello?” An aquamarine hoof swept gently before my eyes. “What do you want from me!?” I snapped. Embee jumped, despite my quivering tone. “Uh, nothing. Nothing. I'm sorry, I . . .” she began, recovering and folding her wings along with taking her hoof off her chest. “I really think it's best for you to relax. You're shaking a little.” Alerted, a peep of a grunt squeezed up my throat and I tightened several muscles across my body. That worked to some degree. “You're very stressed. There's no doubt about that.” I formed a truculent frown to oppose her assessment. “I have an inkling there's more than just your trust issues playing up. Maybe you'd like to tell what's getting under your skin?” she suggested caringly. “It could help relieve the tension.” The corners of my lips became taut, and I tilted my head to get a glimpse of my forehooves. “Many things are getting on my nerves.” Such as the absence of a soothing palm on my forehead. “But we shouldn't worry,” I added with dismissive nonchalance, though I felt like my lungs had lost some flexibility. “I'm constrained and confused by a body that's not mine, and my analytical nature is making things harder by producing a bunch of nonsense. But I can shrug these inconveniences off.” That was a daring claim, but I believed in it. Well, I did for as long as my lips were moving. Also, literally shrugging was impossible, which meant that metaphorical figurative was fundamentally dishonest. Or some such. At any rate, supplying Embee with satisfactory information about the important matters topped taking a break to dissolve my agitation. Besides, my inner problems were mine, not hers. “If you say so,” Embee desisted warily, and I abruptly realized how immeasurably great it'd be if I wasn't robbed of human body language. “I'd prefer if you talked about the inconveniences instead.” “Oh nononono! You wouldn't want to hear me whining about stuff that doesn't matter,” I objected. “Don't give that a second thought. Just carry on grilling me like normal.” As if I didn't have enough to shoulder, I began to feel like I was a static figure whose only means of dealing with the itchy fur was through sheer willpower. One nuisance was located where my spine turned into a tail! How would I dare to touch that? Could I even reach it? Profanities! I should've taken a fork or a spoon when I had the chance! “Grilling? Ah, asking questions. Oh . . . Alright then,” Embee started tentatively. Were my ears upright? They weren't, so it was likely they were telling her more than I let on. Was I looking at Embee? Nope. I was facing her, but eye contact was inconceivable; the table's edge parallel to us was an easier target. “I must say,” she continued, but with a touch of curiosity in her tone, “I've never encountered somepony who has been mind swapped—” “Someone, thank you very much,” I corrected her, as well as overruled my unwanted pony intuition. Aside from emulating human-like gestures with hooves, my means of body language were limited to my ears and tail. What could I do with those? Flick my tail in anger? No, I wasn't that angry, and neither should I intuitively know that tail flicking was a sign of anger. “Uh . . . Who has been mind swapped from another universe where we . . . ponies are fictional cartoons,” she resumed at a slower pace, lending to a feeling that she had a hard time believing what was coming out her mouth. “Yeah, you better believe it! Or not. I can't force your mind, and even if I could, I wouldn't because that would be irredeemably unethical. Anyhow, you sound a bit clueless, so you may want to do the smart thing and find somepony who knows about mind swaps,” I demanded. In a less impetuous manner than I had predicted. “I'm really sorry, hon. I don't know who knows,” Embee said softly, but to me, it sounded like she was covering her back. Also, no minor, half-conscious flexing of the fingers and arms; doing little more than move my neck and tail was becoming cumbersome. “This is very new to me.” “Excellent! This is very new to me, too!” I commented sardonically. I couldn't stand still any longer, so I began wandering in an erratic pattern. “This is great, just great! I've been transdimensionally dislocated to a mare's body, I'm almost constantly afraid of discrediting myself, the fate of my original body is a worrisome mystery, my identity is being chipped at, being at terms with my present form is an unending challenge, and your means and ideas on how to actually undo this horrendous mess equals jack monkey squat!” “Jack monkey squat?” Embee's incomprehension brought me to a halt at the opposite end of the table. I gave her an incredulous glare, my jaw working out nothing for a second. “You must be kidding me! It's a colloq—Oh, forget it!” I whipped my sights to the light brown floor, hiding the spike of despair twisting up my face. No, I couldn't cry about everything, even if at this moment it would feel so right. “Hon,” Embee started after a few silent seconds, “your situation sounds much more dire than I had thought.” “Maybe you'll now—” A lump got into my throat. All the support and understanding Embee gave me felt so insignificant when she had nothing which actually helped me. Embee's sigh made my ears reorient toward her. Why wouldn't she stop torturing me? “I believe I now know how rough you have it, and if anything, I'd be in tears about it, too.” “I'm not crying!” I interjected in an undulating tone and with . . . Darn it! “I'm only . . .” I looked away. “My eyes have only become overmoistened.” “That's the same thing,” Embee pointed out what I already knew. “But different!” I couldn't get my voice up to strength, and my ears slipped down. The latter seemed to have a will of their own, and I wasn't always aware of their position. “Differently worded and . . . stuff.” This was a futile fight, but I couldn't give up. That would be submission. What was I doing? “Please, Vivienne. You don't have to be like this. I clearly see that you're upset.” The lameness of my defiance wasn't lost on her either. “There's no danger in admitting that. Just be honest with me. I'm honest with you. I won't judge you or force you to do anything against your will.” My eyes turned toward her, but my neck refused to follow. “I do wish that you'd relax and keep your hopes alive. Things can't be as bad as you think.” “Easy for you to say when you're perfectly comfortable in your skin and free from the immense stresses I'm subjected to,” I remarked sourly, finally getting the strength to crank my head. “I want to be honest. I'd be happy to be perfectly honest.” My gaze shifted to the abstract painting by my left. “But how can I be honest with you when I'm not honest with myself?” That was all I could say in my forcibly normal voice, as I was certain my next vocalization would expose more of my internal fragility. I wanted to shed tears, and part of me viewed that as an affront to my persona. That wasn't two identities with separate feelings. This was only me, replete with emotional indecision. How could I be like this? How had I driven myself into this unbearably tight spot? “Viv, ah, I mean, Vivienne.” My ears twitched at hearing Embee's gentle voice. “You don't mind if I were to call you Viv?” Great! Now she was shortening my middle name. Middle name? No! Fight this! “Is there some way I can—” “Shut up and let me be!” I snapped, my voice on the verge of what I didn't want it to do. Her shocked, then disappointed expression diverted my focus to the painting again. “Sorry,” I mouthed. I couldn't ball up my nonexistent fists or press my temples, both of which might help keep my turmoil from exploding. Or finally break me. I was so deprived of everything . . . But not of my original name! Why was I still hiding, then? Would she treat me differently if she knew I was male? Would she acquiesce her compassion and tell me to suck it up? That would be so horribly callous if she did that! “Shut up and let you be?” Embee repeated dejectedly. “That's what you want?” I didn't, and I couldn't say that I didn't. For the few silent seconds that followed, I stared at the modern art, guilt swirling in my head. “Please, don't retreat into yourself. I'm trying to help and understand as much as I can, but I can't do that if you shun me. I know why you're behaving as you are, but please, think of what you're doing.” Considering that I had given the impression of being as volatile as a powder keg in a smelter, Embee must've taken a huge risk opening her mouth, let alone speak all that. Nevertheless, she was right on at least two things: I should know better than to take out my frustrations on her, and I shouldn't squander her aid, as little as it was. Hooves clicked, prompting me to take note that she was maneuvering around the table with caution in each step. A humble surrender had been conceivable, but her advance took me out from that mentality. She read my frown and stopped. “Please don't be like this. It's unlike you.” I turned my head away, consciously aiming my eyes away from my rear end; catching a glimpse of something too incongruous for my self-image at this time could be highly discomposing. “You say this isn't like me?” My question came out in a slightly shaky tone—and I'd hate to think I was offended by her assumption. Embee replied with a non-provocative hum. “Well, you're absolutely right. Being a dainty little equine isn't like me, so there! Does that answer your question?” The mild surprise that my remark had brought to her visage dimmed. I wasn't proud of what my emotionally conflagrant conduct was producing. I cursorily noted that my ears were pricked, which was better than aimed towards my neck or slumped down. “Besides, I haven't told you anything about myself, and we've known each other for about an hour, so what do you really know about me?” She was resuming her approach? No and no! “Nothing! That's what! You know nothing about me! You can't tell me what I'm like!” She balked by the table's last corner, raising her foreleg. Was she feeling threatened? That wasn't my intention. My adequately Pinkie-devoid assertion may've been a little harsh in tone, but it lacked a quintessential masculine brunt. Not that my original voice was much more intimidating. Embee sighed. “That's true, hon. I don't know you,” she admitted quietly, her hoof reuniting with the floor. “Even so, I believe you're good-hearted and fair-minded.” “Good-hearted and fair-minded?” I parroted, unconvinced. For her sake, I was going to at least try to play nice. “Well, I'm not a debased criminal, nor do I have any desire to be one, so in that respect you're not wrong. However, I'm positive that—consciously or not—I've allowed my biases, suppositions, and misconceptions dictate my actions and opinions, thus enabling less-than-ideal results. The water-airplane, outbursts at the radio, twisting up your wing, and so on. Lapses in rationality . . . Maybe I'm not as smart as I think I am.” “Your vocabulary and self-examination makes me think you're intelligent,” Embee inserted, probably to boost my spirits. “Sure,” I commented flatly, unable to coax myself into thanking her. “I've read books and did okay in school. I peruse the Internet every day to learn new and exciting things. Those may've granted me some insights on a mess of topics and an above-average vocabulary, but I mean . . .” My head inclined. “Those don't equal intelligence or rationality. I wouldn't be in a hospital, and I definitely wouldn't have been extremely reluctant to explain the cause of my erratic behavior if I were genuinely smart. On the contrary, I would've come clean without a shred of mind-addling fright. But I didn't, and I couldn't.” My ears fell. “I observe and contemplate, but usually keep my discoveries to myself. It's just how I am. I'm an introvert thinker, and I like being that.” The impulsive, reassuring smile I showed Embee had the longevity of an ice cream cone in a furnace. Sometimes, I felt that introverts were inferior to extroverts. “In the same vein, honesty is great, but habitually withholding my opinions isn't conducive to that pursuit. I fear saying something irrevocably stupid, controversial, or inappropriate. I play it safe by being non-confrontational and trying to be nice in general. I just can't always live it, as you've seen. When irritation creeps in, I become assertive, but that's at the cost of courtesy and circumspection. Maybe I have good intentions, or maybe I just think I have good intentions. Either way, the execution goes awry and then . . .” Something finally gave in. Namely that whatever thing that prevents eyes from turning too moist. “This is stupid! I'm blabbering my heart out to a stranger and I . . . I kinda sound whiny. I should shut up!” I screwed my eyes shut. I had to stay quiet. I really had to. I didn't even recognize myself in my voice, and that could hurt more than it ought've. I had also felt like going into a rant about how my traits kept my lips sealed for over a year and through a dozen get-togethers where I subserviently watched four familiar humans degrade themselves into inebriated caricatures whose raucous bliss was highly unsettling and very alienating! Oh geez, Embee absolutely didn't need to know any of that. It was worthless and irrelevant. Although I had been sort of wistful for the quartet when I was seemingly moments away from becoming roadkill. How pathetic! Or maybe, in my utter devastation, I had forgone my dislike for my friends and recognized their merits? Maybe they weren't so bad? Or maybe they were? Would I ever know if they held sincere regrets about the outcome of the latest meet-up, and not just shallow ones? Would I get back in the first place? Oh wait, the tiny grain of hope: this world had unicorns and magic, meaning anything was possible. Optimism rejuvenated! I still felt like crying, though, but that was okay. I didn't want to deny my emotions any longer, and that should be final. “Hon.” Embee's voice gently drew me out from my extended introspection. “I truly worry for you.” She was blurry; my eyes were wet. She had also come close to me. “You've endured so much stress already, and now you're being awfully hard on yourself as well.” “Really?” I said in a drained, groaning voice. As much as I would've enjoyed taking Embee into an embrace, apologizing for my indignant behavior, and promising to keep my woes to myself, I carefully turned around and began to lumber around the room. “I think I'm being lenient . . . and more honest. More open. That's good. And . . . more whiny, which is not good.” Due to my current frailness, I was feeling weird all over. I promptly came to a stop opposite the kitchen doorway and chose to rest my forehead against the wall. Except something acted as a lever and things went a bit awry. “Ow,” I moaned almost voicelessly, eyes squinted as if pained when I retracted my head. ‘My stupid horn and my stupid equine nose!’ “You're not whiny, hon. You're only venting your frustrations. It's normal, and nothing to be ashamed of,” Embee offered while I was trying to see if my magic-caster had been bent or driven inwards. Of course I couldn't see it, but I sure did feel nerve endings in my forehead telling a story. I could have rubbed my nose or reached for my horn, but touching either or both was discouraging. “My voice is tinny and higher than normal.” A lot higher than the normal I was used to. “Make what you will of that. Anyhow . . .” I faced Embee in spite of my reluctance. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. You're correct; I have to work out my frustrations.” I almost reciprocated Embee's smile. “However, I should've never expressed my bad feelings as irritation, and especially not at you. Regrettably, things spiraled out of my control and I stopped thinking straight. That, and my exhaustion is no excuse or justification for my poor conduct, though.” “Don't worry about it anymore. It's in the past now.” Again, she didn't hesitate to approach me. This time, I didn't act upon a desire to escape her proximity. I was a little surprised she hadn't chewed me out. I was sure I had reduced my worth in her eyes. “Although, you hit your snout there. That didn't hurt, did it?” “Oh, um, thanks for the concern, but no, I did not . . .” I shouldn't downplay the issue; I had to be open. “Actually, it didn't hurt, but was uncomfortable. It's only painful on a mental level. Kind of like if you were without wings all of a sudden, but painlessly and in the reverse. Okay, that was a bit confusing. All I'm saying is that you know by now that I'm sensitive of everything that deviates from my self-image, so just calling this a snout—” I saw tiny creases form when I scrunched the feature half-consciously. “That's disturbing,” I thought out loud, a grimace staying on me for a few seconds. I had intended to point at my muzzle for her, but that . . . No. Just no. “Oh?” Embee frowned compunctiously, then looked pensive for a while. “Should I be careful in mentioning, uh, your pony anatomy?” “Well, I uh, I dunno.” I would've rubbed my neck if I hadn't suddenly doubted the suppleness of my forelimbs. Itches were pricking all over me, though my brief walk had helped solve most of them (somehow) and the remaining ones were tolerable. “It would be odd if you said I have, um . . . not-hooves and a not-snout?” Had I not been recently perturbed, I would've chuckled. Instead, I closed my eyes as I sighed lightly. “Just, um, be direct. I'll be direct, too, whenever I'm capable. It's best to talk about things with their real names.” I was talking with short pauses between words and minute stressing of random syllables. I had to sharpen up. “Sometimes I'm kinda okay about hooves and the fur and so on, but other times, circumstances pull me so far from my comfort zone that I . . . That . . .” A few seconds passed, during which I was recomposing myself. So much for sharpening up. “It's worse than any pain I've ever felt.” “That's . . . That's awful. I don't know what to say. I'm sorry.” Embee looked like she was ready to nuzzle me, which would've been nice —and awkward. Nuzzles were fundamentally weird to me, but evidently potent. “How are you feeling, hon? I hope you aren't in pain.” I was starting to think that my misery was making her conscience ache for real—not that it wasn't aching already. So, it ached for more real? Up to eleven? “I'm kind of fine. I try not to pay too much mind to things.” I touched my throat. “You see, a bit of overthinking or a basic self-feeding discomfort loop can set it off.” That was close; I had felt a tiny bit of anxiety circulate within me. I was unable to identify its trigger. Or maybe I was refusing to identify it. Whichever way, it didn't shatter me. Not yet. “Still, don't be too alarmed if I push out a few tears. That's how I'm going to cope from now on. No more trying to act like nothing's wrong, or channeling my bad feelings by being a testy jerk. Those don't solve anything, and at worst, make you resent me.” “I wouldn't want to resent you. Crying is the best cure, especially when somepony is there for you.” Embee gave me a soft nuzzle. I was so caught off guard that the only thank you I mustered was in my stare. I didn't break into tears. Maybe I had run out? “I don't know how much of a consolation that was, but I hope it helps you stay strong.” With my gaze on anything but Embee, I hesitated for a moment before I chose to speak. “How little it helps doesn't matter. You did more than nothing, and that's what matters. You're truly wonderful, Embee, putting up with my confusing antics with the patience of a tectonic plate.” The included scientific poeticism was solely to dilute my sappiness with a shred of humor. I wasn't into voicing sappy things. At any rate, Embee's delighted smile aided in improving my mood. “I don't know if I can thank you enough, or truly come to appreciate your commitment and empathy. What I can be grateful for is that you haven't waved the white flag and left me hanging.” “I would never walk out on you, hon. That's not my contract, but my conscience obliging me,” she said softly, but with an adamant undertone. “That's very commendable. Really, it is.” I was almost muted by a feeling of warmth, and I wasn't sure I had said enough. “Ah, I, umm, I get this vibe that you're not the kind to whom patients are chores to slog through just so you can scratch out a living. You actually care.” I wasn't being a good orator, but I couldn't let that stop me. “Care for whom you tend to. Care about me, even when I was being difficult . . .” My smile withered, and with my gaze on her hooves again, I didn't see if her smile held. “I didn't mean to be difficult and antagonizing, and I'm ashamed and sorry. I feel like I owe you a favor.” “Vivienne. Your apology is welcome and I admire your sense of responsibility, but you aren't indebted to me.” Ears still slumped in submission, I rolled my eyes up at Embee. Her face was the picture of kindness. “Now, let's not stand here by the wall.” She gestured toward the table. I took note of her foreleg's flexibility; I shouldn't forget that mine had the same qualities. “Why don't you take a seat and relax instead?” My ears perked up, but not in delight. “We'll spend a few minutes enjoying coffee, taking a break from this stressful seriousness. After that, or if you really wish to skip the coffee altogether, I can go start asking around if anypony knows about mind swaps or transdimensional travel.” “I think that's exceptional,” I did my best to sound eager, hoping my consternation wasn't apparent. “The asking around part, I mean. It's an excellent start, yeah, better than just wallowing in helplessness and despair. I'm exceedingly happy you take me seriously. However, uhm . . .” If I were to sit down on the cushion, I'd get a feel for the dairy-do's again. Ick! Just the fact that I had those nearly made my lips warp in horrified disgust. “Why should I sit? I can stand just fine, as you can see.” Oh darn. Was I going to avoid mentioning the deterrent? Embee hemmed thoughtfully. “Are you sure? You'd drink the coffee standing up, and you're obviously disconcerted by your body.” At that deduction, I glanced aside with a low, bothered groan. Could I really do as Embee presumed? “Perhaps being seated would feel more human and help you unwind?” “Hmmh . . . Uhh, let me check something.” Incentivized by her, albeit slowed by my apprehension, I approached my former seat. I gave it a prod, and my hoof sunk in without much sensory feedback. I looked behind myself at such an angle that I only saw a tiny bit of my tail; I was being too careful about seeing my latter end. Again. “I can't unfeel my body, you know?” I said to her meekly before redirecting my eyes to the cushion. I gave it a second prod, trying to gauge how deep I would sink into it. “I'd have to support myself on my forehooves regardless, and I, uhm, would be very aware that I have fur everywhere and, uhhm . . .” I really couldn't say I had a hairy behind. Or that it was naked. That would be too crass! The primary issue—the parts in between my legs—was just too embarrassing and taboo. I had told her that it was best to talk about things directly! Failure to keep up my side wasn't doing my self-respect a favor. “I see,” Embee said solemnly. “So there's no way to avoid what you physically are, hmh.” She strolled to her seat, but she didn't plop down on it. “Don't let that get to you, though. A positive attitude can do wonders.” I stared at her encouraging and possibly wise smile in hopes of contracting it. “I'd like to have that attitude, but I'm afraid it's hard to keep a balanced and positive mentality when it could inadvertently soar up to blind optimism.” Embee's expression failed to propagate to me, so my next focus was the cushion. “That was what kept my fears on the down-low, and my mind deluded. I was willingly ignorant, confident that I had a guaranteed escape plan from what I thought was the most spectacular dream ever.” I scoffed weakly at myself. “I believed a lie, since believing otherwise was simply too frightening. In hindsight, that lie was as solid as a drenched waffle, and I broke quite badly when reality smacked me upside the head. I like to think I've recovered, but I haven't.” I cast a glance at Embee and saw her face painted with commiseration. “My failures in communicating my distress, unending concerns for my identity, and recurring struggles with my physique.” I pawed the cushion for no particular reason. “They're easy to rouse and can bring me down quickly. As if I didn't have enough on my plate, I can't be sure of how much you believe of what I've said of where I'm from and what and who I am and how I learned of ponies.” I raised my head, my own words echoing in my ears as I gazed dumbly ahead. Not a second later, a single-syllable chuckle got its freedom, and my face creased with a tired smile. “I'm sorry, Embee, that must've sounded confusing.” “No need to apologize, hon. I understood what you said.” Embee's tranquil demeanor put me at ease—to an extent; some of my reservations refused to rescind. Particularly now, when Embee looked hesitant about something. “The part about Equestrian ponies being cartoons in your universe still sounds almost impossible.” I would've shown a desperate, pleading stare, maybe resignedly restated that my hopes and desires shouldn't sway her mind. But I didn't. If anything, I bore a dull gaze over my snout. “Almost,” she emphasized. My breath became trapped for the duration of my surprised blinking; she was willing to keep her mind open, even when the truth had seemingly implausible qualities? “Well, infinite universes,” I said, nonplussed, as if to remind us both on how the impossible could be possible. “Infinite universes,” echoed Embee—who I could call just as improbable as her view on ponies being mere fiction. “Maybe there's a universe where our roles are reversed?” she humored me. My active imagination produced a wacky but plausible scenario. “Or one where a stressed-out, inexplicably human-bodied pony-me is with a human-you, bewildered by what's occurred but nonetheless offering endless support, while admittedly more than puzzled by human-bodied pony-me having said that humans were little more than a fairytale. Haha.” My random speculation and subsequent laugh were of jocular nature, but low on cheerfulness. Embee seemed moderately delighted. Anyhow, my serious attitude came back quickly. “I suppose your disbelief of ponies being fiction isn't surprising, because it really does sound outlandish. Much to my dismay, without irrefutable evidence I can't substantiate the truth.” My ears and voice lost vigor. “All I can do is hope that you take my word for it.” “Not to diminish your concerns, but I'm facing a great challenge, too. I'm being sincere with you and I do my hardest to comfort you, and I fear I'll push you away if I come off as callous or untrustworthy.” I had suspected that Embee was treading on eggshells and felt responsible for my well-being, but hearing it from her was humbling. Bothered by my obmutescence, I looked around evasively. A lame attempt at innate pony body language raised my foreleg. Just to complete that move, I pawed the cushion again. “Please, know this, Vivienne. I do think you're a human,” Embee said warmly. Weight rolled off my back and I finally found my voice. “Thank you for that, Embee, and also for showing your perspective. It should help me stay on an equal level with you, so that I can better understand where you come from, thus greatly reducing misunderstandings and unwitting untowardness.” I felt embarrassment tug at my facial muscles. “Um, that came out awkwardly. I'm sorry.” “No, it's alright.” The now characteristic half-lidded look manifested on Embee. “Your message came across just fine.” “Well, okay, being on the same level's good,” I said shyly, cursorily noting that Embee had yet to sit down. “Ahm, about being on the level, I do, uhh . . .” The truth would come out eventually, but would it be for the best if I shed my alias before things could take a nasty turn? Or take a nastier turn. “I want to um—I need to tell . . . I really have to ask about . . . uh. How should I say this?” I was hesitant to approach the matter, and I didn't have the stones to blurt it out. “Yes, hon?” Embee queried after a few seconds had passed. “You have a question?” Fortunately, she was great at pushing me forward. “Uh, yeah, of course I do,” I affirmed stiltedly, then took a breath to stabilize myself. “I just wonder . . .” An impulse raised my foreleg, like I was going to gesture at something; I wasn't. The same impulse also directed my eyes ceiling-wise. “I mean, I look and sound the part, yeah.” With the impulse's effect worn off, I set my eyes on Embee and placed my hoof to my chest. “But how can you be sure that I'm a feee-lly?” That was really close to success; I had almost said female. Small steps, small steps . . . I placed my hoof down. “How can I be sure you're a filly?” Embee repeated. I cast a sidelong look at nothing specific. “Mmmh.” Hesitation wrinkled my lips, but my drive to speak prevailed. “Yeah, or no, I meant the, um . . . differences.” I had thought I could overcome my vacillation. I never liked taking risks, and the risk here was that Embee's helpfulness would change from caring support to potentially insensitive urging upon learning and believing my true gender. A male being vulnerable was unfortunately often seen as unacceptable. If Embee held that opinion, what could I do to sway her mind? “Differences?” Embee's bemusement dug me out from my thoughts. I partly anticipated her to question my perceived gender and make this so much easier for me. “Well, a mare is an adult female pony, and a filly is a young female pony,” she informed cordially, then glanced a little past me. “Hmh. Rosy is definitely a young mare, so it's striking she doesn't have her cutie mark yet. She must be a so-called late bloomer.” Her focus returned to me, whereupon she noted my stymied stare. I tried not to, but I felt like she had talked about me as if I wasn't present; I had yet to succeed in fully separating myself from my name. That name being Rosy Stripes. “Hold on, you didn't ask what separates a filly from a mare, did you?” “No,” I said tonelessly. “And the lack of a cutie mark isn't my concern, though I guess it's a bit peculiar. Anyhow, I asked, uh, about something else, but I don't have what it takes to be direct.” I sighed, disappointed that I was beating the bush around. No, wait . . . that wasn't how that went. “Humh.” Embee reached for her jaw. “Oh?” Realization illuminated her visage. “How I can believe you're a female human?” My face blanked at the prospect of her doubting my human origin. “That's what you meant, right?” I smiled in what I hoped was a calm manner, then inserted alacrity into the breath ascending to my larynx. “Yeah. Sorry for messing up the question. I became a bit nervous, that's all.” I was nearly tittering. Because I was a little nervous. I'm sure Embee knew. “Don't be nervous, hon,” Embee said softly. She knew. I sighed, closing my eyes. “I try not to.” I sounded almost as soft as her. Me, with a normal speaking voice higher than hers? I already knew that, but this instance was a splash of lemon juice on my lacerated masculine self. “That's good.” Her mouth was a smile, but her overall facial expression was sad. “You've been so tense all this time.” “All this time?” I echoed in disbelief. “But I had moments of genuine relaxation and joy, so I wasn't tense all the time. I liked those moments.” They kept me ignorant of what this body could possibly do to me. Like muddle up my birthday, replace my name, and give me conflicting memories on how I came to possess a car. The windshield wipers! I looked at the windows, onto which my imagination superimposed the light blue sedan. It was strangely haunting, as if I was being stared at. It was so vivid that I almost turned to ask if Embee could see it. By no means did the car look menacing. Kind of cute and harmless, actually. There was something intriguing about it, but it was hazy, much like some dreams were after waking up. “You were easygoing a few times, but I did sense that something was off. It wasn't just your absent-mindedness and puzzling behavior, but also an uncertainty in your movements,” Embee explained. Wait, I was looking at her? The car vision must've really occupied me. “I presumed you were exhausted and recuperating from your stress.” “Oh, I'm exhausted alright,” I commented truthfully. I glanced at the window, and my imagination swiftly envisioned the likeable car again. The windshield wipers were moving. How perplexing—and irrelevant. “It's been a long day, and I suppose that shows. Just like almost everything I said or did alluded to how I don't belong in or agree with this strange form, but regardless, I try to work with it.” I would've shrugged lackadaisically. “I do see that now. As I said, your body language and general demeanor was hinting at something.” She paused with scrutiny in her eyes. “In fact, you look a little uncomfortable, as if your muscles are constantly tense.” To test her assumption, I raised my hind leg. She was right; resistance impeded my movement. A tendon (I presumed) in my leg autonomously oriented the hoof downwards, which I found a smidgen creepy. “It's discomfort stemming from being something that I'm not,” I provided a short analysis enthusiastically as I dropped my leg. “That's why I haven't sat down yet. Last time felt . . . wrong.” The memory of the sensation was so fresh that an icy pulse traveled down my vertebrae. “I don't know how to explain it.” Primarily due to a notion that talking about dairy-dos could be construed as obscene. Secondly, I felt sickened just thinking of describing the feeling. “I adjusted to it through plain determination, so that my cover wouldn't be blown.” Regret washed over me. “The cover I never should've enacted.” Embee frowned sympathetically. Even so, I was afraid of negative consequences. Small steps, though. Small steps. “Standing is easier, oddly enough when considering that I don't have a direct and acute feel of what's underneath me. Kind of like I'm levitating, but the pressure exerted on my hooves and that frog-thing sends information to nerves inside my legs.” My right ear turned horizontal. “Did I make sense?” “Yes, you did.” Embee had a kind smile. “Humans have nerve endings on the undersides of their feet, which, if I am not mistaken, is pivotal to their sense of balance.” “That's very true,” I interjected, uninterested in any further details of the human anatomy. Normally, I would be curious to hear it, especially from a pony's point of view, but as it stood right now, I wasn't in the mood. “Humans also possess a versatile feature, known as hands, which they use to accomplish a variety of tasks with appreciable dexterity.” I ended my sarcastic exposition with a melancholic sigh. “I wonder what I would do if I had such prehensile parts?” I stuck to my act, though wistfulness certainly had infiltrated my tone. “I think I'd rub my itchy back.” Embee looked concerned. “Or do a great deal of normal things I never paid attention to.” For some reason, I recalled an established fanon: Lyra was a quirky pony with a penchant for all things human. However, if she were real, would she have (somehow) reached out to a random human and arranged to swap minds? Or bodies? Whatever. At least that hypothesis would entail mutual consent, a forewarning, and in all likelihood, a guarantee of a quick and easy exchange cancellation. Okay, this was only making me feel disadvantaged, so . . . Totally random and unrelated thought: “Embee? Did the coffee jar have a screw cap?” I asked in a spiritless voice. “I recall you became really annoyed opening it with teeth and hooves.” “Oh . . .” She looked over her back before I got to vocally equating myself to a screw cap. “We've completely forgotten the coffee.” “Who cares?” I grouched, even though right now a mugful would grant me much needed normality and tranquility. “Now don't work yourself up again, hon.” Her compassionate reproach was followed by an inquisitive frown. I quickly rolled out a lukewarm sorry. “Didn't you say your back's itching?” “Yeah?” I cocked a brow. “It's right there in the middle of my spine,” I was courteous—or perplexed—enough to give her a proper answer. “I've learned to filter out the irritation, so it doesn't feel too bad.” Like sitting with a nail up one's hind fat until the pain has become dulled. “What's it to you? You feel so much for me that you're thinking of giving me a back rub?” I regretted my spontaneous and flippant tease microseconds after my mouth closed, partly because I sounded a touch . . . female dogish. “I'm thinking the itch is irritating you.” Embee retained her polite demeanor. “You don't say?” I admitted plainly, clandestinely astonished by her integrity. Maybe my worry of being unkind was unfounded? Also, if I couldn't reach at my back, maybe I could . . . go prone and roll over a few times? That's what I . . . she had done when she was little. And yesteryear. Oh joy . . . Embee took a few steps toward me, smiling gingerly. “I could take care of that itch, if that's what you need help with?” “You'd do that?” I laughed incredulously at her proposal, dismissing the wacky impression she was coming on to me. I presumed she was responding to my humor with more humor, so I played along and put on an inviting smile. “Well, your help so far has been beyond immeasurable, but if you don't find it strange to put your hoof on me, then be my guest. I don't mind at all. You'd do me a grand service. Just make a small and quick sweep over my back, and nothing more, okay?” “Alright, hon.” I had expected her to see right through me, but instead, she closed the gap and raised her hoof. “Just a small, quick sweep.” ‘She's actually going to do it?’ My breath got stuck, and I became so nervous of her hoof touching my equine back that I was afraid I'd produce an effluvium upon contact. I couldn't go back on my word . . . or look at my back. Time stood still, and my smile had frozen. My eyes were aimed over Embee's back, so in my discombobulation my imagination did the necessary modifications to make it look like mine. Sort of mine. The hips stood higher than the back, and there was a tail, too. In my initial forays with this form, I had thought nothing of the tail. No longer, though. It just looked—and felt—out of place. ‘Oh!’ A swipe and quick scrub! Every muscle in my back turned rock solid, and then . . . it was over. The itch was gone. Embee backed a little, still looking tranquil as ever. “You actually did it?” I marveled, eyes wide in shocked disbelief. “Of course I did,” she said, surprised by my reaction. “You gave the go, and I was convinced you'd be okay.” The blank stare I held on Embee broke after a few mutual eye blinks. “Hahahaha! I wah-hahawasn't being seheheheerious!” I cried out amidst my titters. “I mehehehean, couldn't you tell?” There was something odd and embarrassing about my titters, and tittering in the first place, but I didn't divert my mind to it. “Seems like I didn't.” Embee sighed, looking unamused. “Why didn't you say you weren't serious?” Was she annoyed? Regardless, it put me on a glide slope toward earth. “I was sure you honestly asked for assistance.” Her snout scrunched. “And as much as I want you to feel okay, I don't appreciate being tricked.” “Well . . .” I considered pointing out that what had occurred was just a communications mishap, but my doing so could make me look unconcerned. I thought of myself as a decent person, and I greatly preferred that she did, too. “I wasn't pranking you.” I had also been humbled by what I interpreted as open critique, so I vacillated on whether to apologize or not—but not for long. “Neither was I opposed to your help, Embee. I simply disbelieved you would rub my back while subliminally asking for it without conscious expectation of you actually going ahead with it,” I explained my mindwork, dancing my hoof in the air as if testing a piano. Embee stared into space, with her lips pursed tight. How embarrassing. For me. “You lost me where . . . you lost me.” Her tone was devoid of feeling, and she didn't put her eyes back on me. “Yeah, it made a lot more sense in my head,” I said sheepishly, and along came a small titter. Confounded insulating coat, it was containing my embarrassment warmth. Embee cast off her stupefaction with a small but brisk headshake. She looked fairly okay and temperate, but I didn't want to push her buttons. “Anyhow, you didn't do wrong. It was for the best that you rid the, um, my annoying itch, and I'm not ungrateful. Really, I'm not. I would never want to be ungrateful, if I can help it. In any case, I'm sorry for leading you on, and if you wonder, which you might not, but, um, yes, I'm okay,” I said as softly as I could bear to hear. Then, I accidentally brushed my behind with my tail. “As okay as I can be.” Feeling like something had touched me inappropriately, I almost looked back; I limited myself to a peripheral peek without turning my head. Thus, I saw nothing of myself, thank goodness. I had also raised my foreleg, which likely was due to my mind becoming more wired to my current brain. I hated to think of that. “I probably won't ask you to give me another rub.” I tried to put on a casual expression. Emphasis on 'tried'. “I mean I hope I won't.” I couldn't guarantee that some kind of itch wouldn't demand to be touched. It better not manifest on my behind! I was so touchy about it—Oh gosh, wrong wording! “So, uh, anyhow, are we cool now?” I continued impulsively. Embee gauged me for a moment, then smiled. “Of course we're cool,” she answered calmly. I felt her calmness wasn't parting adequately genuine benevolence and reconciliation. “Are you sure?” “Yes.” She nodded. Still unconvinced, I tilted my head. “Are you really sure?” my inquiry came with a slight squeak akin to Sweetie Belle. At this rate, I would eventually mimick every pony in the cartoon. Every female pony. “Absolutely,” Embee said solidly, and without any kind of squeaking. Was I being finicky about this? On a lark, I chose to keep my serious face as I spoke my next line quickly: “Really super duper genuinely zero kelvin perma-cool?” That froze Embee's face for a few seconds. “Okay, okay, you can stop that now,” she said, bursting into a hearty laugh. “I just didn't like your prank.” As she kept laughing, I found myself in danger of following suit. “Alright, but to be extra sure, you're not displeased with me?” Her laugh toned down, but her mellow smile didn't; my trepidatious smile accompanied my serious question. “You don't view me as inferior and yourself as superior, do you?” I hoped she was the kind who clearly showed if I wasn't on her good side, rather than smile amiably while secretly holding me in contempt. “Oh, no, no, certainly not,” she objected, momentarily serious. Perhaps I was nearing a point whereafter she would feel genuinely annoyed, and then she'd think less of me. Go me. She was still being nice, however. “Got it. I was just checking that we're on amiable terms.” I paused. “For real,” I added meekly. “Don't sweat it, hon. We're on good terms and definitely not unequal, trust me.” Did I just see a glimmer of disquietude in her eyes? “Just don't be so tense, and try to worry less, okay?” she instructed in a kind manner. I glanced at her ears; they were in the downflapped position. I saw that as conveying sincerity and a touch of worry. Her body language was much more reassuring than her words. “I appreciate that.” Because I'd hate myself forever if I made her turn her back on me. Or made her think I was thinking she was thinking I was thinking she was untrustworthy—my brain locked up briefly. “Ehm, uh . . . I try to worry less, but unfortunately, it's not easy when the path to normalcy is bumpy,” I said sagely. I guess it was sagely. “So I seek humor whenever I feel like I can hold on to it. Hence, my little practical joke. It was poorly thought out, and maybe soared past your detection range. I don't hold that against you, by the way.” I really didn't want to blame her for anything. Not when I could help it. Nonetheless (and perhaps unduly), I felt that I had to watch my figurative step. “So, umm, as for why I was tense . . .” Did she ask that? Oh well, whatever. “Naturally, I thought the back rub would feel really weird, and it did feel a bit weird, but didn't feel too weird.” Did I confuse her again? Her attentive look and gentle smile had withered during my last phrase. “That made sense, right? I mean, it should, but I'm just, um . . .” My mumbles were decipherable only to myself, and my ears were hanging by the sides of my head. “Not too weird?” she asked. Or inquired. Questioned? Interrogated! No, that was too severe. I cleared my throat—inadvertently demurely so. “Not as weird as having a fem—oh! This voice, yeah, um—” Acting on an impulse, I spun completely around and walked a short distance. I was totally not being evasive, I was totally unaware that I was being evasive, I totally didn't almost spill the beans on my gender, and I was totally not nervous. Totally. Toyota-lly? “It's sort of . . .” Taking a grand effort to refocus my mind, I turned halfway around to look at Embee with a feeble smile. I had to salvage this situation right now. Revealing my gender without circumspect planning and forethought could be ruinous. “Ahm . . .” I took myself back to the cushion, but stopped short of it. “I'm really sorry, Embee. Hehheh, ah. I'm weary from everything that's happened today. It makes me blabber about irrelevant things without much restraint or cohesion.” That should grant me some time to think. “No doubt this has been a hard day for you, Vivienne, but if you don't mind me asking, what did you say about your voice?” Embee queried, ostensibly caught on my slip-up. “It's not like yours?” Well, great. The noose was tightening, and I had undoubtedly contributed with my recent behavior. I was just that awesome . . .

Suomibrony

435

Original Character,Human,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

First Pony View

Some dreams you might never want to end… …but what happens when the dream really doesn't?

incomplete

<p>Have you ever had a dream that just seemed so <i>real</i>, that it was impossible to say for certain that it was even a dream at all? A dream that, despite all of its impossibilities, seemed to re-write your entire perception of reality, re-writing your sense of what—and indeed, <i>who</i>—you are? Accepting change is hard enough as it is. But when you're a <span style="color:#808000">somebody</span> who wakes up as a <span style="color:#6495ED">somepony</span>, how do you cope with the impact such a drastic change has on your mind and body? With changes like these, it must surely just be a lucid dream—albeit a suspiciously <i>accurate one</i>—just brimming with potential and ripe for exploration. So you might as well suck it up and make the most of these distressingly…unusual circumstances, and seize this <span style="color:#008000">psychological adventure</span> before you wake up and the dream ends.<br/>After all, this couldn't possibly be real, so the dream must come to an end eventually…right?</p>

teen

2014-05-13T18:07:51+00:00

2019-08-19T06:45:34+00:00

First Pony View A My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic fan fic By Suomibrony Chapter 15 Touch And Go I sighed resignedly, peering lazily at the orange cushion—it was to the left of the lime green one—before my sights climbed up to Embee. “No, this voice isn't like mine,” I admitted, although I would've rather not. I could've said nothing more, but taking tentative steps toward the truth was wiser than avoidance. I was that awesome. Sort of. “In fact, it's kind of unsettling not to sound like myself.” Ouch. That stung more than it should have, but I held myself together. Might've been that my choice of words was a bit too poignant. “I can tell myself that I'm okay, but it's futile if I'm unable to take it to heart. I suspect that I occasionally and unwittingly conform to this voice.” That would be a lot less disturbing if this was a case of a female with a different female voice. Maybe. Pinkie Pie with Applejack's voice and vice versa? “What do you mean by conforming to your voice?” Embee asked. “I mean, my voice is . . . the voice I had was a quintessential permanency, just like many other things I'm sorely without. As I said earlier, I don't recognize myself as I speak. It's a little like having a rasp due to a cold, except not quite, because I sound . . . kind of, uh . . . It's like a filter of sorts.” I couldn't say it was a feminizing filter; I wasn't ready to take a drastic leap to the reveal. “It's . . . Uh. I'm not putting any extra effort into sounding soft, peppy, somber, or distraught.” Those were neither directly attributable nor typical to femininity, I reminded myself. “My tone just happens to come out that way because of the structure of my voice box.” Embee's amethyst-encircled black pupils conveyed curiosity, but perhaps also puzzlement. They were also nice to look at. The eyes were the mirror of the soul, or something. Now, however, was not the time to distract myself with trivial deliberations. “Don't get me wrong. I can talk fine, and I do have to talk, and occasionally I feel that this voice is, uhm, nice and . . . well, cute. It's not really a bad voice, per se.” A smile sojourned on my dispirited visage. “That's the danger, actually. I don't want to think of my present voice like it's perfectly normal. I'm afraid that if I do, then I . . . then how can I safely say I'm still me and not more like . . .” I trailed off; my emotions, in particular my unresolved fears, fell like a portcullis right when I was on the brink of actually telling her. “More like her,” I managed to push a few words past the lump in my throat, gesturing at myself. “Oh, but you're still you, Vivienne. A voice won't change that,” Embee reassured, although I had a hard time feeling her effort. I had also sensed something as I spoke, but only in hindsight did I posit what: was my voice creating a feedback loop that caused me to become fragile because I sounded fragile? “It really can't be so bad to sound a little different, can it?” I felt slighted. “A little different?” I couldn't even summon the ferocity to shout. “Please don't downplay this, Embee. This isn't little. This is serious!” I jabbed my hoof to her chest—hopefully without injury! “Sorry, sorry, sorry!” I said, cringing as I retracted my appendage to keep it safe from retribution. “I didn't mean to, I just . . . I was close and you were there and I didn't consider—” Resting my limb, I saw nothing alluding to offense in her surprised expression. “Uhm, so, uh . . .” Amidst my discomposure, a sudden inspiration alighted. “Embee . . . Please, think of your own voice. Think of how you talk and sound. How you stress your vocal cords. Think of talking as usual, but with this voice. Or maybe imagine yourself with Aidin's voice. Or no, forget that.” I laughed flusteredly. “That might be just too freaky to imagine. In any case, you'd notice that it doesn't sound the same, I mean, you don't sound as you used to. You sound like a stranger. Well, not literally. Or maybe literally. It-it doesn't matter.” I shut my eyes briefly, reorganizing my errant thoughts. “Hey, I hear you, but please, stay calm,” Embee inserted, but I kept going. “What I'm getting at is that the new voice impedes you from being who and what you are. You accept this, I'm guessing with some pain and longing, and adapt over time, perhaps convincing yourself that you'll do just fine and you're just as you were. However, sooner or later, you might suspect that something hasn't made it through the transition. The tonal discrepancy accumulates—Has accumul . . . Darn. Gotta think how to present this . . .” I glanced at the ceiling tiles as I parsed together something sensible. “A latent presumption of whom the voice befits influences or has influenced your personality.” For a moment, I envisioned myself, for whatever reason, tapping the tips of my hoofsies together and announcing in a particularly perky voice, ‘And I'll be so happy if my lovely voice makes me act like this out of habit!’ Obviously, I lacked the will for that, and I probably would've broken into tears halfway through it anyhow. One thought lead to another: Rainbow Dash, the tomboy that she was, had her untomboyish moments, and the few things Embee had said had created an allusion that my numero uno pony was her sister. “If you had your sister's voice—she doesn't sound like you, does she?” I gestured at Embee. “Ah, she doesn't,” she clarified. “But I urge you to calm—” “Okay then. If you had your sister's voice, wouldn't you start behaving like her? Not overtly, but exhibit mannerisms and a variety of subtle cues that principally aren't yours. With that in mind, wouldn't you be at least a little upset?” To think, I had delusively assured myself that a different pitch wasn't a big deal . . . Embee seemed confused. “Humh . . . A dissonance between indoor and outdoor voice, hmm . . . I suppose I would be upset, and if I started acting like her . . .” With brows wrinkled, she glanced down, either in consideration or concern. “I hadn't thought about voices in the way you do, to be honest.” “Thank you!” I exclaimed shakily, not willing to show envy at Embee's comparatively unfaltering demeanor or let my own voice daunt me to silence. “I'm glad I opened your eyes. Or ears. Or both!” Would I have felt any better if I could've thrown my hands in the air? Maybe. I didn't have them, and it would've been a lethargic move regardless. “My ears and eyes are open, hon,” she said reassuringly before frowning imploringly. “Just try to relax. Please.” “And they were never closed?” I guessed, to which she nodded with a kind hum. “And yeah, I'm trying to be calm. Well, I'm trying to be calm now. I wanted to get things off my mind. That's—that's it.” “Alright. That's good. Just relax, okay? You'll be fine.” At her suggestion, I took initiative on controlling my stress. As much as it could be controlled anyhow. First, I had to convince myself that I wouldn't die a little every time I opened my mouth. Or at the least that there'd be a limit to how much I could die. “. . . What did you sound like?” “What did I sound like? I sounded . . . I was, uh . . . I'm not good at describing voices, so, hmm . . . Let's just say that I didn't sound like an emotionally fluctuating cheerleader.” Assigning that occupation's typical image to myself almost had me gagging in disgust. “You understand more than a fraction of my anxiety, and that's . . . that's great. More than great, actually. Compassion, and a desire to understand others, they're so . . . ” I was feeling winded. ‘Sometimes I feel like empathy isn't valued, like some can't feel for others, or refuse to see things from another perspective,’ I lamented, staring at the floor. ‘Or at worst, use empathy as a specious tool to shamelessly manipulate the emotions and distresses of others to further self-serving agendas! Isn't pretending to care what psychopaths do? I don't even know. What I do know is that exploitation is horrible. I also know for certain that I know nothing. Socrates said that. I'm not thinking well.’ “Vivienne,” Embee said, obliging me to raise my head. “I feel your anxiety, but still . . .” Her hesitation made me guess that she wasn't withholding good news. “Please don't take offense, but I think you're blowing things out of proportion.” “No offense taken,” I said, ears slumped. “A female fretting over having another female's voice is no big deal, right?” There I went again, vocally referring to myself as a female. It felt as pleasing as starting a manual drive car in first gear but without the clutch depressed. I was unable to conquer my fear and tell her. Not that I was in the right state of mind to properly comprehend my fears, anyway. “You're stressing yourself out, and that worries me considerably.” So, she had taken the tonality of my last statement and my general behavior as a sign of an imminent breakdown? I couldn't say she was entirely wrong about that; letting my bad feels burst into tears would've granted me some alleviation. “Relaxation is high on your priority list.” Her tender voice sent a small, attentive jolt through my ear muscles—their precise name escaped me. “You said that yourself, didn't you?” “I did,” I acknowledged pensively. Her recalling my own words was rather thwarting. Out of principle, and a desire to achieve longer lasting tranquility, I couldn't take those words back. “I did say so, and I would say so again,” I cemented my adherence with a trace of resolution. I saw a hopeful smile on Embee. “To be consciously and fully ignorant, insensate, and oblivious is impossible, and to be on the level, I'd prefer not to be, as I'm sure it would do me a huge disservice.” On that note, I had become mostly desensitized to standing due to continuous exposure. That didn't mean it didn't feel a bit weird. “An awareness of my situation and the related challenges and problems should allow me to face them, therefore I'll comprehend and accept them or defend myself against them.” “And to get that, you must strive for peace of mind?” Embee asked, but it might as well have been a recommendation. Gazing into her eyes, I deduced that my ordeal—especially the thing about ponies being cartoons—was skirting the boundaries of her comprehension. I couldn't blame her. I'd be skeptical too if our situations were reversed. I'd still commit myself to providing comfort, because simply put, that was the right thing to do. Embee's heart was aboard, thankfully, but her expertise was probably on treating injuries and soothing the injured. My wounds were in the psyche. One couldn't train for all possible emergencies, and even an emergency that one was trained for was still going to be traumatic. It wasn't unusual for maritime accident survivors to never board a ship again. Same deal for planes, trains, and automobiles. That was a movie with Steve Martin and John Candy. Anyhow . . . “Peace of mind, yeah. Achieving it sounds easy in theory, but . . . I guess time will tell,” I said, taking her offer with some seriousness. “Speaking of theories though, my piloting prowess is unproven.” A fleeting smile graced me. “Being a pilot is my aspiration, Embee. Hence, the . . . plane made out of water.” I couldn't maintain eye contact. “I'm sorry about the mess. I was already at the end of my wits, and then one of her memories subsum . . .” My voice gave out, but I wasn't about to submit. “It was an awfully unpleasant exp . . . I was terrif—” “No, hon, you shouldn't dwell on that,” Embee cut in, clearly concerned for my well-being. “You're enduring an awful lot already. You don't need to make yourself feel any worse.” After a few seconds that felt like a whole minute, she approached gently and gave me a light nuzzle. That felt nice. Too nice, because I had to consciously stop myself from reciprocating with a hug. “You should try not to look back on the moments that hurt you.” Everything had become a blur. I blinked twice to rid the excess fluid, but it wasn't effective. A careful application of my limb was, however. “Ah . . . Agreed, and th-thanks for being my safety net. It means a lot,” I expressed gratitude, unimpeded by my enervated tone. I felt like if I even thought about crying, I was going to break down. Embee had a compassionate smile. “If you fall, I'll do everything I can to catch you. Like I just did.” She sounded so obliged that I felt sorry for dragging her into this mess, and I had to distract myself before I started thinking my vulnerability was influencing her decisions. “So, I, falling reminds me . . . I'm pretty sure I could perform a deadstick landing . . . I mean.” She might not have known what that meant. My thoughts felt like they were zipping about again. “That's controlled landing of an unpowered airplane. Anyhow, that and what I've learned of aviation, airplanes, how they function and how to fly them . . .” I closed my eyes briefly. “None of that compares nor could prepare for this.” I glanced back at my tail as I tossed it. As I did so, the zigzagging thoughts in my head froze, then fell straight down like a dozen pebbles. A surviving thought informed me that the visual and tactile feeds were too much for my selfdom center, which had now crashed. “Beeesides.” My brain thingy rebooted all sorts of quicklike and I now had a visual of Embee. “While I can't say I'm perfectly right, the senior pilot monitors the gauges and keeps the ATC, and by proxy, the emergency services appraised while the junior pilot controls the plane to a suitable landing area.” With my thoughts returning to their patterns, I recalled the water plane's fate and what had lead to it. I shooed the unrequested and disheartening recollection out of my mind. “Flying is teamwork where communication is vital, the crew share mutual respect and trust, and they focus diligently on their agreed-upon duties. The safety of the plane and occupants is the be-all and end-all, so neglecting that or outright putting lives in jeopardy is simply unacceptable.” A moderately uplifting epiphany came to me. “That's applicable to several things, really, like driving, and even society itself.” “Um?” Embee cocked a belated brow, looking perplexed. “It is?” “Yeah,” I said, though my voice still had that almost-about-to-cry rasp. Some kind of thought attempted to apply the brakes. But not now! I had to talk. I really wanted to talk. “A work environment, just like society, has its rules and laws, and they must make sense. If I question the rules or laws, and their justifications are questionable, then respecting and following them will be next to impossible. In all fairness, I don't like being told how to think or live my life, and conversely, I don't tell others how to live theirs. 'Live and let live,' and 'respect is earned, not given.'” A ghost of a smile came to me with an equally weak chuckle. “I like those phrases, so it stands to reason that I try to live up to them. I wish to achieve my dreams, but that doesn't mean I can or want to be selfish and uncharitable. On the contrary, the freedom of expression and information and the right to self-determination are just as indispensably important to me as empathy and thoughtfulness. Individual pursuits shouldn't compromise the collective goal, and neither should ever be used as a cudgel of subjugation.” “So . . .” Embee started, placing a hoof under her bemused countenance. Meanwhile, I was feeling off. Fatigue, I presumed. I gently ran my pastern over my right eye under the belief it would ward off tiredness. I wasn't sure if it did. “The bottom line is that you are for fundamental rights and a balanced, equal society?” “Undoubtedly,” I verified, briefly noting that I had talked for length without being bothered by my light intonation. Was that what I was supposed to note? Oh, never mind. “You see, nopony's perfect, and everypony's different. We have unique personalities, beliefs, aspirations, and so on. Therefore, disagreements, while unfortunate, are inevitable. That doesn't cause undue conflicts if everypony is conscientious. When an open mind is encouraged, prejudice is refrained from, discrimination isn't condoned, and the various lifestyles, opinions, and worldviews are respected, accepted, or tolerated, then everypony should get along just nicely. I hope.” While I momentarily second-guessed myself, Embee hummed thoughtfully, then rested her hoof. “After all, everything we do, say, or think affects everything around us. I try to consider what I say and do, like 'If I say this, do I offend somepony?' and 'If I do this, will I hurt somepony?' Do what you like, but don't go hurting others. Everypony would benefit for taking responsibility of their actions and showing consideration for others. It's simple, really. But sadly, even I falter at it.” “Even so, it sounds like you've given these things a lot of thought,” Embee inserted, her calmness telling me she was either unimpressed or thoughtful. “Do you talk about these things with friends and family, too?” Her tone hinted at curiosity. Maybe. “Actually, no, I haven't.” I never had. I couldn't say for sure about my parents, but I doubted my friends would care. They'd probably just tell me to "chillax" and stop behaving like an idealistic, wigged-out political activist wannabe—which I wasn't and didn't want to be! “So, I was saying about responsibility . . .” My enthusiasm had dropped significantly, but I couldn't drop the topic so abruptly. “Um, which means that nothing and nopony regardless of status is exempt from indictment and critique.” I relocated my views on justice systems and government into the back of my mind, leaving only a few words to speak. “Checks and balances, you heard of that?” Nopony should have absolute power, since absolute power corrupts absolutely. I should've thought out loud, but thanks to Embee, it had become depressingly apparent I had gotten on a soapbox. I hadn't ever expressed these things, not even on a message board, because I had no doubt my views would be mercilessly picked apart by scoffers just for the sake of trampling my self-esteem and to bolster their own superiority. “Yes, I have.” Embee was apparently receptive and hadn't urged me to put a sock in it. Yet. “To be straight as a die, I agree with you on many points. I'm pretty sure countless ponies share the sentiments that we should treat each other as we treat ourselves, and harmony is an essential and cherished staple of Equestria. To that end, checks and balances are pivotal, as that's one of the many insurances of equality and fairness in an egalitarian society. I presume you feel strongly about the values you mentioned.” “You don't have to presume, Embee, because I do.” I replicated her smile, happy that she was trustworthy, convivial, and most importantly, hadn't said anything degrading or disrespectful. Or worse, told me that my opinions are equal to garbage. “Unfortunately, I've accidentally gone on a tirade, and societal topics are a bit irrelevant to the here and now.” I really was going to end this abruptly. I had recognized her effort to salvage the conversation, but my shame had other ideas. I then said with feigned (but restrained) annoyance: “I'm an inhibited pilot-to-be, not an idealistic sociology student.” Or an insufferably obnoxious haranguer, for that matter. “Oh? You don't want to talk more?” Embee seemed oblivious to the origin of the allusion. My ears were as upright as flags on a windless day. “Mmm yeah. I mean, no.” I smiled warily. “I kinda let my mouth run there . . . or how did it go?” I mumbled, briefly resting my chin on my pastern. I didn't consider myself sufficiently experienced on social topics, redundantly reminding myself that I could make a moron out of myself by speaking with more ardor than acuity. Besides, I may've given Embee the impression that things here were worse than they really were. This wasn't a place rife with corruption, poverty, inequity, and social progress as short as the total length of the average Andorran child's navy fleet placed end to end. I was in a country that measured high on many charts, such as the World Happiness Report. Relatedly, I was primarily content with my life. I shouldn't have much to complain about. “Hey.” Embee roused my attention, smiling reassuringly. “You did talk a bit, sure, but your opinions are fair. From sports to soy foods and banking to books, we all have opinions on things, and believe me, you don't need to feel bad about yourself. I think we can learn a lot when our opinions are challenged, and that can only happen when they're exposed to something or somepony who can challenge them. You see, that's when we have to review our opinions so that we may better understand them. We can then see where we're wrong and right. It's not a one-way affair, either. The challenger must be prepared to humbly check if their opinions and perspectives are well-founded just as much as the challenged has to. Trust me, this is extremely beneficial to everypony involved.” I had to refute her intelligent argument somehow. “Yeah, but, uh . . . Okay.” I couldn't. It wouldn't be right. “Just to be clear, I'm not thinking badly of myself.” If only I could've smiled to back up that claim. “Well, not so much that you need to worry about it. I'm just sorry for my excessive talk. This wasn't the time or place to open up about all those things, if there ever is such a time and place.” I felt like I had disgraced myself. It was so potent, as if it was coating my heart in lead. “Maybe so, but don't beat yourself about it, okay? The good news is that I understand you a little better now, and it's always important to understand each other.” After Embee said that, I let my eyes slump to the right, certain I was radiating a submissive aura. Had she been a foe, she would have used the acquired understanding to strike at my weak points. When she didn't speak another word immediately after, I started looking for probable causes for my yapping and for some means to chin up a bit. Of course, as she said, everypony had their opinions. Moreover, I felt safe expressing mine due to the trust we had forged. However, others could fly off the handle if somepony presented an opinion they didn't like hearing. Furthermore, it was extremely likely that somepony had more developed and refined insights and opinions than I did, and could present them in a more cordial and much less agitating manner than I could ever hope to, or was better than me at something I felt confidently proficient at. Whoever they were, I hoped they wouldn't rub it in others' faces, because that would be really unkind and jerkish, and I was pretty sure I wasn't the only one who didn't think highly of unkind jerks. A kindhearted person would warmly encourage and help motivate others to ascend to their level. “Are you feeling tired?” Embee inquired. “A little,” I answered, confused as to why she had asked. “It's not unusual, all things considered.” “Yeah, you do look a little tired,” she said, a touch of tender teasing in her tone. “Tiredness,” I realized. “That explains why I was yammering all of a sudden. Reduced control and inhibitions. That kind of stuff, you know?” I received a nod and a hum for my succinct explanation. Although resting was tempting me with respite, I had to stay awake somehow. Lightly driving my hooftip into the carpet felt weird enough to repel my sleep-feels. “Hey, I'm sorry if I dampened your spirits there, hon. I didn't mean to.” Embee must've read my overall demeanor, notably the hoof action, as a sign of dejection. “I was a bit unsure what to make of the sudden change of topic, and it took me a moment to get into it. Tired or not, I was certain you'd want to talk more. I thought it was keeping your mind off stressors. You certainly had a smile going on there.” I couldn't deny that. A calm mind would've kept my stressors away, until I said something dumb. Unless I already had, in which case Embee was exercising formidable restraint and politeness by not calling me on the carpet. She could tell me where I was wrong in a supporting and gentle way. If she would. “Perhaps a discussion could keep you awake and relaxed?” I vacillated on taking her clue to continue spewing my mind in spite of my doubts. I could say something appallingly wrong, and then she'd view me with disrespect. Or maybe not. She didn't seem to be the type. “Well, I guess there's no harm if I talk for a spell.” She made her decision during my silence. “Just speak up if you think I shouldn't, or want me to stop.” For fairness' sake, I was obliged to let her speak; I hadn't given her many chances during my blabbering. “I was reminded of a book that Lucek, a friend and colleague here, gifted me last week: Animal Farm. I've read a fair share of books, but he said this is a dark tale that made him understand the times of his parents and grandparents much better, and also appreciate what he has. What we all have.” Her smile's return coincided with my ears pricking. “He said that we should always be vigilant.” "Against forces who wish to undermine our liberties and quality of life?" I hazarded with curiosity. Immediately afterwards, I believed I had jumped to a rash and regrettable conclusion, which I had voiced as a guess. "He didn't say it like that, but . . .” She cast a glance upwards as she tapped her chin with her hoof. “He did say something about how evil wins if good does nothing." “Yeah, I get that. Complacency can be delusive, after all.” I refrained from commenting further. In fact, I felt I had said too much already; I had to be careful. If I was free of worry, I could be unaware of threats to my identity. But if I was expressing myself freely? “Well, um . . . Give me a second.” I trusted she wouldn't intimidate me from expressing myself, although I was already doing a good job of that. Or wait . . . Had I expressed myself to keep my identity alive? My worldviews couldn't be so easily wiped out, degraded, or replaced if I created an imprint of them. I repeated things about myself to myself so I'd "upload" them to my current "hard drive", therefore not forgetting myself and becoming who I wasn't? That wasn't such a crazy theory. Anyhow, I was interacting with a literal alien, so maybe I should grant my curiosity an audience? “So, hum, odd and sudden question: how have things been for you here?” “Hm?” Embee appeared surprised. “Oh! Pretty well, thanks for asking!” she said happily. “The first weeks were the most bewildering time of my life, but ever since I acclimated, I've grown curious about the way of life and the culture here. I've borrowed books, seen movies, and visited local attractions and museums. Aside from one place, an arcade, the hustle and bustle of this city hasn't drawn me in. This serene and quiet island Aidin showed me did. It might sound unbelievable, but that was a definite turning point for us.” A dreamy look shimmered in her distracted eyes. “Must've been like out of a dream, right?” I had to feign joy for her. Learning how she was fitting in was exciting; hearing about her romantic pursuits wasn't. My feelings were closer to Scootaloo's when she had witnessed the hexad hug in The Cutie Mark Chronicles, but that was an honesty Embee wouldn't appreciate. “It was more than that.” Her mellifluous tone made me think that she'd soon speak about her going all Juliet for her Romeo. When she gazed starry-eyed out the window, I suspected something worse: I'd be in a sticky situation if she asked about my romantic endeavors. I hastily decided that sincerity was the best policy. What would she think of my borderline asexuality? She wouldn't expect me to "get over it" and "fall in line", would she? Nah. She didn't seem like the type. “You know, the island's not like the others near the city, because it's pretty much unpopulated, and there's just one main road there. Or was it two? They all look like grey lines from above. Aidin also lead me to a quaint log cottage, which turned out to be a café! They had these wonderful sugar-coated jelly donuts with strawberry jam filling!” “Oh yeah! I know that place!” I chirped. I was not going to be perturned by that. At least I was back in safer waters. “It's a pretty fine island.” As I recalled, it was a conservation area with a golf course and a small beach. And a spa. I was sure Embee knew. The tasty baked goods weren't exclusive to the exquisite café, but I didn't want to spoil Embee's elation. “I've been there a few times with my dad. I was too young to remember why, but I'm guessing he wanted me to enjoy myself. Like good dads do!” I had to keep up my happy smile though plain determination. Strange how I would only miss things when I had doubts in ever experiencing them again. Maybe once this was over, I'd head to my parents and give them a hug. If they'd appreciate it. If I could possibly overcome my petrifying inhibitions. My emotions weren't as inhibited as I wanted them to be. ‘Embee, please distract me before my smile breaks and I start sniveling.’ “My dad also took me out on some escapades when I was just a filly, and suffice to say, many happy memories were made!” Embee exulted, granting my wish and saving me from embarrassment. “Same story when Aidin invited me to the lush island. Hard to believe I used to avoid the forests around here because I thought uncontrolled nature was dangerous at worst and demanding supervision at best. He proved me wrong, and let me tell you, I'm very thankful he did! What I experienced was dramatically gorgeous and peaceful in its . . . its wild and otherworldly way! I won't ever forget it! The weather has taken time to get used to as well, and I heard the seasons are because of axial tilt—Oh?” Her exuberant smile reduced. “I'm sorry, hon, I must sound like I'm stating the obvious.” “Yeah,” I drawled, smiling out of politeness, but also feeling a sense of pride. “It is, and it's okay. Do go on. I'm happy and proud that the magnificent and untamed wilderness delights you. My attention is rapt.” I thrust my right limb transversely to accent my gusto. Increasing eagerness to hear Embee's thoughts on this little corner of Earth was pushing my sorrows and weariness away. Also, it was her turn to talk my ear off. “I had heard that this place was unspeakably exotic and diverse, and I did attend the introductory seminars, but to see the things with my own eyes was . . .” She shook her head. “I wasn't sure what I was getting into coming here. I wanted to experience something new and exciting, but I also wanted to be of help. How did it go . . . ?” Her hoof relocated to her lips, and her eyes rolled upwards for the duration of her short pause. “Ah! Cooperation, assistance, and education!” she said eagerly. Sounded like some kind of inspiring motto. I could get behind that. The possibility that trade and travel had been established a few years ago meant that basing my image of Equestria and its populace on the cartoon was no longer applicable, though it might still work as a base reference. “Oh, I'm sorry again. My daydreaming about the magnificent thicket nearly made me forget my question,” she said laughingly, but true to her words, there was a longing in her tone. Also, it was sort of nice to know I wasn't the only one who had derailed. It made me feel less like an oddball. “So, Animal Farm? You've read it? I understand it's a notably popular book.” Her departure from the safe topic of nature and local attractions hit me with some dismay. “Ah, yes, it's well-known, but no, I haven't read it. I did see the animated adaptation about four or five years back. From what I know, it's an illustrative satire on how self-indulgence and the lust for power can ruin good intentions and corrupt liberators into oppressors. I think it's a thought-provoking cautionary tale.” I hemmed; I didn't want potential paradigms to come out my mouth. I would've preferred to talk about something less polarizing. I did talk about planes! “Lucek said it's an allego—” “But as I was say—” We struck an impasse, our expressions presumably identical. “Uhw . . . Saying something about flying before we both div . . . I unwittingly diverged from the flight path with my haphazard idealistic nonsense.” I felt a pang of injustice, as if criticising myself was wrong. How could it be wrong? If I put on the kid gloves, I could act like I was full of myself. Nonetheless, I felt contrite; the look on Embee's face—which I took as disappointment—amplified my feelings. “Haphazard idealistic nonsense? Oh no, it wasn't anything like that,” Embee said pityingly. “Okay.” I sensed her underlying frustration at my lack of self-respect, but also her near-desperate wish that I think better of myself. I was immediately beset by a conflict: I wanted to thank her for the tender vote of confidence, and simultaneously insist that my unacademic opinions were worthless. Ultimately, I didn't want to disappoint her. “Well, uh . . . Thanks, I guess. It's not easy to move away from a self-critical mindset, but I gotta try until I succeed.” I was truly struggling to meet her expectations. At least I could show her a smile for a moment. “So,” I continued once she brightened up, “while flying's typically a task for two, I want to go solo someday, and without passengers or cargo, so it's only me who pays the price if I mess up.” I really liked the idea of flying, but as much as I wanted to feel spirited, it eluded me at the moment. “Well, the plane would pay the price, too. Darn. That's uncool.” Feeling sorry for the innocent but imagined aircraft, a corner of my lip puckered and my eyes fell. Amidst my lack of enthusiasm and weird but familiar sense of empathy, memories of flying virtual planes on my parent's computer flittered in my mind. I had a personal Gimli Glider moment—with a Cessna Caravan. When the distance was a hair above 100 km, loading the fuel tanks to maximum capacity was superfluous. In hindsight, it should've come as no surprise that I didn't have enough. I had set flaps to 30 degrees, which meant I had to keep the plane from pitching up, but I did carefully pull the nose up as I came in for the landing. The rate of descent escaped my mind. An airspeed of 80 knots was a bit fast, but the Caravan braved it gallantly. “Don't doubt yourself, please. You'll be an excellent flier, I'm sure of it.” Embee was again trying to save my self-esteem. Apparently my misery was breaking her heart, and I really couldn't let myself do that to her. “Yeah. I will be.” I smiled leanly, reminiscing on my successful, albeit imperfect, virtual landings. But wait . . . If I was good at something, should I not feel proud of it? I couldn't be an expert from the get-go, but I'd never be good at anything if one failure equaled unsuitability. I was awful at parallel parking. Did that mean I was unfit to drive a car? I never got the gold licenses in Gran Turismo 4. Did that mean I was terrible at the game? My opinions were far from perfect. Did that mean I shouldn't have any at all? No, no, and no. Life was full of trials and unending learning. I had a long way to go before I was skilled enough to express myself with commendable finesse and ignore the obvious hecklers. Likewise, performing an error or errors in the safety of a simulation was a superb method of learning and improvement. “Airplanes are wonderful, and imagining how enlivening and excellent it'll be to fly one makes me feel a little better.” I still felt bummed out despite my moderately upbeat tone; emotions were easy to rouse, hard to tame. “That makes you feel better? Hey, that's outstanding!” Embee said optimistically, a twitch in my ears almost erecting them. “Do you want to talk about planes some more? I don't know much about them, but don't let that hinder you. Chat away!” “Maybe,” I replied. My impromptu idealism-spewing was fresh in my mind, and if I "got into gear," I could ramble about planes for who knew how long. Then she'd feel like an outsider—and we wouldn't be even one step closer to undoing my predicament. I had to stabilize myself before we could do anything. “Or maybe not. Sorry for going off on an accidental tangent. I was making an analogue somewhere back there before I began speaking what the spittle brought to the mouth.” With my awakeness on a slow decline, the internal safeguards preventing me from spilling my mind were slackening. Super . . . “The spittle brought to the mouth?” Embee echoed curiously. “That's a new expression.” “To you, but not to me, hmh.” An awkward smile got its momentary limelight. “I've been here ever since my wails desecrated the midwife's ears.” I laughed lackadaisically. “Er, I mean, not here in this hospital, but . . . the world that I'm no longer in, that really looks much like this one, aside from ponies and . . . Anyhow, my cries, and that . . . That must've been in this same, uh, my universe's version of this hospital . . . twenty . . .” A wave of cold dread chilled my spine. “Um, twenty-two! Twenty-two years ago.” I shouldn't have said that, and I couldn't say to Embee that I wasn't sure. Perhaps it was an intuitive feeling that I was twenty-two. Or maybe Rosy was twenty-two? Was that twenty-two in human years? Oh profanities! “So, uh, one speaks before thinking. To speak whatever one pleases, impulsively and without forethought or consideration for the consequences. That's what the spittle thing means,” I explained spontaneously. “I heard it from my aunt. Too long ago to know when.” “Ahh. Okay. Never heard of that one before.” Embee nodded. “I learn new things every day.” I was so nervous, if she asked for my age, I'd promptly confess my uncertainty—and then I'd cry. I was that awesome. “So do I. Many things, actually.” My honesty knocked at me, daring to spill a load of things I had learned just from being of a different species and opposite sex. I ushered them back to whence they came from. “Anyhow, here's a new analogue to replace the plane analogue: I'm traipsing through a tunnel of seemingly infinite darkness, firmly hoping to see a shimmer of the enthusing daylight. Hope is what keeps me going.” My steadfast disposition was transient; I sighed despondently. “But the darkness frightens me, and the slightest misstep makes my heart skip a beat. I want to unwind and feel genuinely at ease, but I'm afraid that if I drop my guard and become carefree, I'll start losing myself. What can I do?” “Well . . .” Embee held her tongue; I presumed she was thinking something reassuring, wise, and positive. Or maybe I had asked for the impossible? My apparent lack of self-sufficiency crept in as a form of critique, but I knew that I couldn't always rely on myself alone. I was humble enough to ask for help when I was convinced I needed it. “I understand that having a body you don't identify with concerns you greatly, but perhaps you can focus less on that and more on being yourself regardless?” Embee's suggestion lifted my ears. “Uhm?” However, my eyes didn't stay up for long. I had asked for her advice, but I couldn't realistically expect her to provide the perfect answer. She wasn't an oracle, but simply hum . . . equine. Aside from the intricate and innumerable physiological and cultural aspects, humans and ponies weren't so different. There were many nice ponies, and some mean ponies. Like Trixie and Blueblood. Although, Trixie's arrogance could be due to a deeply ingrained and unresolved inferiority complex, and Blueblood might've had his whims carried out by amenable ponies since an early age, fostering an assumption that everypony was unquestionably servile to him. At any rate, those two could be fictional. Anypony from the cartoon could be. Even Rainbow Dash? Something in me hinted at having encountered ponies who hadn't treated me fairly. Definitely not Rainbow Dash. She wouldn't. Hopefully. Maybe flouters had? The recollection was too vague, and I preferred it that way. It wasn't my recollection! Anyhow, be myself regardless? I wasn't sure what to think of that. Was it what I had expected to hear? Could I truly be myself despite the obvious physical disparity? I supposed that I could be myself—in pony shape—through an admittedly flimsy form of self-deception if I didn't have a female's voice. Wait, was I missing Embee's point entirely? “The light at the end of the tunnel,” her repetition of my words took me out from my deliberations. With my breath on a brief hold, I stared deep into her eyes. “Place your trust in reaching that. I can't predict how long the journey will be, but do bear in mind that you don't have to walk alone. To continue the dark tunnel analogy, I hope to be the torch that keeps the darkness away, and don't forget: I'm the safety net that catches you if you fall.” There was more than encouragement in her tender tone. Subtle confidence? Or was it subdued desperation? I was too late to analyze her outlook; sobriety had replaced whatever was there. “Now, I'm going to say this as gently as I can, because I know this will sound difficult and even unpleasant.” She sighed, probably to brace herself. “You have to strike a happy medium.” “Happy medium?” I repeated, unimpressed, yet secretly in agreement with her. “If I weren't aware of what that meant, I'd suspect you're asking me to be ignorantly carefree . . . Er, which I'm sure you aren't.” I was afraid I had offended her with a wholly unsubstantiated allegation and an implicit spurning of her help. “I'm not,” she said, unoffended. Neither was she lighthearted. Quite serious, but calm. “I'm not telling. Nor am I ordering. I'm advising.” If not for her tone, I would've surmised she was talking down to me. “Oh, okay,” I said humbly, almost slouching in submission. “I must apologize for my poor reaction. I'm a bit touchy, and I shouldn't be touchy.” “That's alright, hon. It's been a very rough day for you, and you're weary. I would be moody too if my life was flipped upside down.” In reading her expression for further clues on her mood, I came to a conclusion: I didn't want her to worry herself sick, or worse, become discontent if I didn't appear calm—and less moody. Typically, it was females who were said to be moody, but what were males who were more strung up than a piano wire suspended between skyscrapers? Anyhow, everypony had their limits, and I shouldn't cross hers. “I do recommend that you take it easy and do what you can to be yourself, but please, don't put on the airs for my sake.” She shook her head. “A forced peace won't hold.” Well, darn it. She was savvy. Maybe that was a boon in disguise? “You're right. Things will fall into place by themselves, and trying to expedite that might have a counterproductive effect. So, yes, I have to find a balance where I neither wreck myself with worry nor attempt to frivolously dismiss my grievances as inconsequential nuisances,” I affirmed my concession. Now, if I could actually stick to that. I didn't trust myself too much. “That's the voice of rationality, Vivienne.” A hopeful smile creased her lips. “Find a balance, don't force it. Then you'll do fine.” “I hope so. About voices, however . . .” I was reminded of a much more poignant and real voice, one that I had tried to use it as a means to lever me to the revelation, but . . . I didn't have the courage. “Rationally speaking, I have this voice, I can't do anything about it, and that's just how it is. The same applies to my current form, so, I guess . . . there are a few temporary losses that I must have the serenity to accept.” I sighed deeply, feeling somber and resigned as I gazed at my raised foreleg. Unlike my voice, this part wasn't explicitly feminine. Was I trying to asexualize this body? If I was, it wasn't going to work. Being female would only be half scary if I didn't have to fear another identity trying to usurp mine. Trying to. I was sure my survival instinct was putting up a formidable fight despite the setbacks. Still, perceived as a female, voice of a female, physically a female. Exhibiting feminine tendencies was an inevitability, because everything I said or did was going to be feminized one way or another. To know that was . . . a bitter pill to swallow, to say the least. I didn't know for sure, but maybe there were two types of transgenders: those who corrected their body to match their gender, and those who didn't or couldn't, opting to adapt instead. Would I change this body if I had the chance, though? Would it be right? This wasn't my body. Did I even fit the typical definitions of transgenderism? “Hey? This might be a stupid question, but are you feeling alright?” Embee worried. I sent a stare toward the ceiling instead of speaking my mind. Asking if I felt alright had an inverse effect. “Bad time to ask, huh?” My demeanor had done the talking, it seemed. “Sorry.” I gently closed my eyes, sighing. “Accepting what I am physically and the pertinent ramifications . . . It hurts just to say this, but I think I'm going through a bit of an identity crisis.” Opening my eyes, I briefly placed a hoof to my temple. “I mean, there's not a grain of doubt that I do everything in my power to retain my identity. I don't identify as a mare, but when my entire physical being is . . .” Another look at my hoof, another moment of disparity between self-image and body. “Disproportionated. The emotional and psychological effects . . . They challenge my comprehension. You can probably guess how I feel.” In all likelihood, my crackly tone told the answer. Relatedly, I was getting so close to telling the truth, but it was such an imposing obstacle I wasn't sure I'd get over it on my own. “Being a pony burdens you that much?” Embee asked quietly, but not in condescension. I inferred she had a desire to know more. Her saying "pony" instead of "mare" meant that the snare I laid for her had failed. Secretly disappointed, I nodded a slack yes. “Less than a day is not enough time to come to terms with it, especially when I've suffered a number of breakdowns. Can you imagine that I don't know how to feel about being this?” Exercising dexterity, I poked my hoof to the base of my right ear. It promptly spasmed, sending shivers all over me. “Uhghg . . .” I cringed. “Darn it, I should not have done that,” I groaned. I regained my senses with a grunt. “Other times, I think too deeply on what I am and what I can't be, and I start feeling miserable. Diminutive and vulnerable, too. All those feelings, even those I can't describe, they can diminish and recede, but they won't go away.” My throat closed up before I could say more. Maybe that was for the best. Embee opened her mouth as if about to say something, but then closed it. She sighed, looking somewhere between powerless and sympathetic whilst I let my anguish subside. “I think I understand.” I doubted she fully understood, but I trusted she was doing her best. “I wouldn't ask for anything more than understanding. And maybe some support,” I said earnestly in an undulating voice. With moisture buildup in my eyes and tiny quivers arcing all across my body, I placed my pastern to my lips. I had to take a few breaths to calm myself. The relaxant given to me while I was in the house had definitely worn off by now. I had only my fortitude left—and Embee. “Vivienne. Maybe you don't realize it yourself, but you're still in shock. However, you're repeating yourself, which makes it harder for you to let things fall into place as you said they would. You must work toward breaking free from the negative cycle that so easily grips you. I can lend support, help you to pick yourself up, but you must do something toward that yourself. Thinking your way out from your negative cycle might seem impossible, but I feel in my heart that you have plenty of intelligence, courage, and determination to make that happen, and I'm here to help you.” She had a carefully encouraging tone again, but I wasn't particularly confident in my intelligence or courage, and determination was just a nicer way of saying I was obstinate. An unwillingness to change my stance could just as well keep me in the cycle as it could push me out, and I couldn't say for sure if I held much control over my determination. I withdrew my limb, and as I held it a little beneath my head, Embee approached. “Now, just take it gently.” She raised her hoof, its tip lightly meeting my limb's counterpart. She had my attention. “You'll do okay if you don't upset yourself like you did, getting up on your hooves so swiftly you cried, and we both know you're sensitive to your ears. So, again, take it easy and slowly.” She let her hoof sink; I held mine where it was, a bit bemused that I hadn't physically felt her touch. Not that I hadn't felt it in another manner. “The anguish you feel won't go away by trying, but it won't go away either if you keep summoning it.” She backed a little, her left legs trampling the orange cushion without loss of balance; I surmised my motor skills weren't on par with hers. “At the risk of sounding obvious, you should never stop being yourself. I believe you have a strong spirit in you that can fight against all odds.” Her smile faded. “Although, if I have upset that spirit and made it less eager to fight, I apologize.” I rested my limb with care. “No, you didn't upset me, and I'm too persistent to simply forgo being myself. Surmounting the physical inconveniences and limitations is a tall hurdle, but I'm sure I can do it with your help. It also asks for time, I think. Like waves evening out, or something. Anyhow, you're quite right. I must be gentle with myself, and if I can attain it, a positive attitude or a happy medium could be an advantage. Maybe I have the smarts for it.” I was reluctant to say I was smart; I had done several stupid things today. “Speaking of upsetting . . .” Wait, that sentence wouldn't do. No time to rethink, though. “Uh, I'm sorry about tricking you, asking for a back rub. It was very thoughtless of me.” “Don't sweat it, hon. I reacted poorly there, too,” she said compunctiously, but just like my penitent tone had implied, I felt timid. I almost disagreed with her as well. Why was I trying to make myself of less worth than her? “Mistakes are normal. It happens to the best of us, and I don't claim to be the best. I'm just a big-hearted mare from a boring town known for its soapstone, if even that.” Her lips creased to a smile that hinted at the memories behind her amethyst eyes. “Sincerely apologizing and humbly taking responsibility do wonders for a broken trust.” “You're forgiven,” I said without hesitation; I thought the reproach I had received was fair. Furthermore, I'd never forgive myself if I got on her bad side now that I had secured her as my ally. My only ally. “For better or worse, you are what you are, fostered and taught by your parents, cultivated by your environment and fellow kin. Nopony's perfect, and everypony can make mistakes, but like you said, accepting responsibility and being genuinely sorry can undo or reduce the harms done by a mistake. For example, while not a mistake per se, you had preconceptions about the laws of nature here based on what's it like where you lived.” I paused briefly, as a question came out of the blue. “Say, how much of Equestria's environment is under supervision?” “Hum . . .” Embee's eyes rolled in thought, soon followed by a frown and another hum as she laid her head on her hoof. A few seconds passed before looked at me again. “A third? Or was it a fourth?” Her frown eased. “I actually don't know. I completely flunked at natural history.” She laughed embarrassedly. “I should've asked my neighbor back home, but I didn't get to know him well, and asking him never crossed my mind for that matter. He was, hah, he fancied himself as a meadow specialist, so he might've known.” “Okay. Thanks for fulfilling my curious whim. Hmh. Meadow specialist,” I said the last two words under my breath, amused as well. “So, as I said, the nature here wasn't as, um . . .” I couldn't say bad. Because it wasn't. Hurricanes, typhoons, and cyclones notwithstanding. “. . . unnerving as you thought it was, and it's normal to be cautious of the unknown. Similarly, not everypony understands why they're afraid of something, but nonetheless, they let their instincts decide for them.” That was pretty much what I was doing by being Vivienne. “Same might apply to mistakes: some may not understand the mistakes they make, or why they made a mistake in the first place.” I felt like that was a critique directed at myself, although in hindsight, I may've subliminally thought of my friends. I didn't need to think more on that; it was something to take up with them, assuming I had the bravery. “Maybe I've become a little too tired to understand things?” “Tired as you are, you have profound views and insights, and continue to be an amazing thinker. I admire that, and I'm impressed.” If Embee gave me any more validation for my intellect, I would blush. Better to be abashed than become prideful, as I wasn't particular to arrogance. Yet I admired Rainbow Dash, who was more often than not reckless, boastful, and egotistical. Anyhow, Embee said I was smart, then . . . maybe I really was smart? Perhaps not smart enough to be a certified researcher or a scientist, but smart enough to do okay. I wouldn't always be right, but I wouldn't always be wrong, either. That was pretty meaningless. “I won't lie, hon,” Embee said softly, “I'm starting to feel tapped out, too.” “You know . . .” Her compliment was motivating me to open up a bit, although I had to break through a wall of inhibition. “I try to understand. I want to understand how things work: physics, astronomy, whales, the behavior of others, you name it. Ever since I was mature enough to think for myself, I've tried to understand a lot of things. I even try to understand myself, and sometimes, I think that my cognitive processes are the greatest mystery I know of. Now more than ever, I have to understand myself if I'm to be less erratic and strike the balance you spoke of.” I took note of my snout, then the messy bangs, and lastly, the things I stood with. I looked at Embee right as I realized I had knees in my arms, which actually were legs. I felt a smidgen woozy. Letting out a long sigh, I glanced to my right at the abstract art piece with the red and orange ribbons crisscrossing over a starry background. Maybe that was some kind of an allegory to the complexity of the universe? Or maybe it was made on drugs? Whatever the inspiration was, it was lost to me. Just like I didn't think deeply on the art piece, I rarely needed to think what I was to myself. I was me, and always had been me, but separation from my physical self had a profound effect that was more baffling than edifying. “But I dunno,” I murmured, my weariness and participation in the discussion preventing deeper self-analysis. Heeding a want to rest, I prodded my insensate hoof into the cushion's edge, whereupon I was reminded of what I didn't want to feel. “I've got a few unresolved issues . . .” I thought. Out loud. In a low, groaning voice. I felt indifferent that I did. Purposeful slipup? “I'd be happy to hear what those issues are. Maybe I can solve them, or at the least help you understand how to solve them,” Embee offered, repositioning herself by the table's corner to my left, as if ready to sit down and talk with me. I gazed at her welcoming expression, unsure about the opportunity. “Do you think you'll then find much needed comfort and peace of mind?” Humming, I looked down at the comic book. “What's on your mind?” she inquired after a brief moment. What was on my mind was an issue I'd have to present with exceptional tact. “Let's talk it through, okay?” Was tiredness lurking in her eyes? Possibly. I gave the cushion another prod, half-wishing the unspeakables were as insensitive as a hoof. After a few seconds, the silence was broken by a soft click of her tongue. “Have you wondered why I stay with you instead of seeking assistance?” I was reminded that she was off duty; she didn't need to be here with me. “Can't say I have, but now that you mention it, I do wonder. Funny.” A corner of my lip upturned in transient joviality. “Seeing as my situation is somewhere between unusual and unprecedented, why haven't you rushed out the door to find help?” Embee presented one of those sad smiles that nonetheless bore hope. “Before I can go asking for assistance, leaving you here by yourself—or in the care of somepony else if you can't join me—I must be assured and confident in your ability to be fine and awake for longer than a couple of minutes. You're getting better, but I still worry for you.” Assured and confident? Right, I could assure her, but she'd trust her own judgement if I didn't make a solid case. “I thought I was so enigmatically special that you can't in your good mind squander a single second of my specially enigmatic speciality of enigmatical specialness of enigmaticalness,” I droned, aided by my weariness that was further compounded by my lingering recollection of the cushion-administered fondling. However, Embee's giggling signified that my playfulness hadn't gone to waste. “Specially enigmatic specilsticical . . . ? Bleh!” She stuck out her tongue, a giggle following without delay. “Ah,” she sighed, “how do you do that?” I was powerless against smiling myself. “I just um . . . I just do.” I was sure my cheeks were lighting up. “Well, anyhow, you don't need to worry so much that you feel tied up. I'm as fine as I can be, and I'm sure I can stay awake for more than a couple of minutes, maybe up to an hour. I'm not as think as you tired.” Embee suddenly broke out into a guffaw. I was smitten with her laughter, exhibiting a confused titter. “Oh, um, what's so fun . . . ny now? Buh!” I facehoofed, disbelieving my gaffe—and I couldn't believe I just facehoofed! Although I had substantial evidence for both. After disconnecting my limb from my face, I gave the former a glance. Embee was occupied by mirth. “That was embarrassing,” I muttered, gathering my poise. “But I can take a joke. I'm humble, and I'm fine.” The gentleness of my tranquil vocalization chafed with me, but my chagrin wasn't for long. She was still having fun with herself. It was no skin off my back. She was laughing with me, not at me. “Okay, it wasn't that funny,” I objected quietly in spite of the tiny smile tugging at my lips. I took another look at the fundamentally alien features of my limb: in addition to coping with the whole equine locomotion gist, how many times could I apply pressure on these four extremities before my tolerance was at its limit? I didn't want to suffer an anxiety attack in the middle of a hallway. Or in other words, start shedding a few conspicuous tears. “Whew. You tickled my funny bone there. Thank you.” My ears told Embee had made a timely recovery, which I confirmed with my eyeballs. “It was nice to be of service,” I voiced my lightheartedly sarcastic comeback, rolling aforementioned eyeballs. “Anyhow, what you were saying earlier makes sense. While you were having fun times, I ascertained whether I have the endurance to accompany you wherever you went. I said I must work with this body, and I understand that I absolutely have to, but I can't guarantee I won't suffer a moment of anxiety somewhere down the line.” The contrast of having claimed to be fine and now admitting my frailness downed my ears. I didn't note when they went up. “So, perhaps it's best I don't go anywhere until we're both sure I'll be fine.” I rested my extremity. Embee stared at me for a full second without a conclusive expression. “That's more or less what I said, hon.” I detected neither teasing nor condescension in her tone. “Yeah, more or less.” I found myself a bit nonplussed. “So we're in agreement,” I said kindly, but minorly humiliated. “By the way, thanks for, well . . .” This was going to be an awkward transition. Better just do it. “For being here when you could be asleep at home.” I would be sleeping now. In my bed. A memory flash! Furniture designed for ponies? Had I . . . Rosy been to an IKEA recently? My inkling said yes, and also said this was before the acquisition of the car. There was something about the car. Affordable and— “Think nothing of it,” Embee said modestly, driving off the inkling. Driving . . . ? Whatever. “I just follow my heart.” “Hmmh. Following the heart.” I was reminded of a small bit of trivia: conscience was "heart feeling" in Estonian. “That's sweet and kind.” Following my appreciative smile to her, I pressed the cushion again, considering kneeling down onto it so I could rest and perhaps think things over. Send Embee away, or not? Or something else? “So, um, I feel . . .” I felt daunted just looking at the cushion. “I feel that um . . .” No, I couldn't ask her to familiarize me with disagreeable anatomy, especially when said anatomy was ineffably intimate. I could just follow her, but . . . I had felt empty walking. Then again, I never liked walking naked. It was so . . . sway-happy without the confining garments. Was my current form's nakedness better? Maybe it was. “Ugh!” What was I thinking!? “Is it a bad feeling, hon?” Embee asked soon after I had closed my eyes and placed my hoof to my bridge—again! I held it there, as if I could block out my curiosities on what advantages being physically female bestowed. I discovered one discouraging aspect pretty quickly: most human females had dairy-dos, and I couldn't imagine those being comfortable. I had never asked if they were. Even if I exercised courtesy and tact, expressed sincere curiosity, and assured that my inquiries were free from debauchery, I was afraid it'd take only a few seconds to be accused of, condemned as, and then vilified for being a depraved pervert. Fortunately, the overwhelming majority of informative and educative web sites weren't excluding perusers due to extremely negative gender stereotypes that weren't propagating equality. “You can tell me, can't you?” Embee queried, indirectly instigating me to take my extremity off my face. “Is it something about hooves? Don't be frightened to tell me, Vivienne.” I was gazing at my upended hoof, like I had done so many times. I didn't think much, and I let the limb reunite with the floor. Out of nowhere, the fact that the mammalian prominences on ponies were comparatively insignificant elicited a strange thought: if being pony had been my choice, would I have chosen to be a mare just for the convenience of . . . internal equipment as opposed to external? I was afraid to answer that question, yet I was pretty sure I already knew it. I had speculated on it several hours ago. Granted, the specific anatomy itself and the inherent functions repulsed me—especially periods! As far as I knew, they were unspeakably awful. “Not to pry, but is your coat itching?” Embee queried carefully, prompting me to review if my itches demanded immediate attention. “For the time being, no, it's not, and if it were, I'd use a tool of some kind,” I replied, albeit a little annoyed. Should I have said that I wasn't opposed to her help? “There should be a clean brush in the bathroom. I could have it brought to you if you want,” Embee offered. “Or actually, it's not far from where we are now. If you feel up to it, we could go there. Maybe the walk will be refreshing?” “I'm not sure I want to do either. Having my body brushed would wake me up like nothing else, but being extremely uncomfortable in my skin instead of adequately tolerant is more trouble than it's worth. Also, removing grime off me isn't much of a concern at the moment. Thanks for asking, though. I'm content with just being able to stand and walk with these things. I do pretty fine at that, as long as I don't start fretting about it.” I held my limb a little beneath my head, feeling a pinch of agitation when I looked down along the grimy hair. As if having four legs was an affront to my persona. It kind of was, and my agitation was a habitual defense for my sorrow. Aggression was seemingly a strength, whilst sorrow wasn't. Maybe showing sorrow was a true strength, and covering up sadness with indignation was a weakness? As I kept staring at my elevated leg, I wondered how would this entire day have been if . . . this was flipped over. A female-me in a stallion's body? What would I miss? What would I appreciate? Not being the target of predatorily sexual males was perhaps one advantage. Not to say that predatorily sexual females were unheard of. But this was an irrelevant subject. I should have been thinking of something more immediate, private, and personal—aside from that, geez! I was fairly sure some females wouldn't hesitate to "get a feel". I was above such primal and shallow pursuits. I wasn't sure what a female would find appealing in being temporarily male. Perhaps merely exploring existence as a male would be an exquisitely eye-opening and educational experience? Of course, it would have to be temporary, just like my present predicament was. Hopefully. “You have that look again, hon,” Embee said in a lighthearted tone, which earned her a plain look as I gingerly brought my hoof down. “The kind of look that says you were deep in your thoughts. Whether it's something bothersome, embarrassing, shameful, fascinating . . . agonizing? I don't know, Vivienne. Is it something you can't tell me, or something you really want to tell me but are afraid to? I don't know, but I do know that every second of your silence increases my curiosity and worry. So, hmh.” Having become serious, she renewed her smile. “A bit for your thoughts?” I immediately realized she couldn't carry money on her. Unless she had it hidden under her mane, which was possible, but unlikely. I also had a hunch that bits weren't the primary currency here. Force of habit on her part? “I'm sorry, Embee,” I said in my (presently) naturally soft manner. “I'm just wondering if . . .” No, I couldn't bring myself to ask what she'd do as a male. Not yet, and not so suddenly, anyhow. “. . . wondering if we should go asking about how to fix this entire situation, or see how well I can relax first with some coffee and casual chat. I'm still recovering. You know, slowly pulling out of the negative cycle? It's not going to happen smoothly or quickly. Think of it as exhaustion after a long run. Or long flight, if you will. Recovery will happen, but it takes time, and I can't unfeel the ache. So, again, I wonder if going or staying makes my troubles less cumbersome.” “Well, I gave you my opinions and suggestions, and you've made your own assessments,” Embee recounted, serious and calm. “I think it's fair to say that you have the capacity to make the decision.” That should be easy. “Okay, I'd like to . . .” Maybe deciding was anything but easy? “Hmm?” Grooves and ridges sprawled from where I laid my hoof on the cushion. “Some rest would do me well.” My inhale brought in the scent of coffee that had been in the air ever since its brewing. “The coffee wouldn't be bad, either.” I locked eyes with Embee. I had only the faintest idea on how it was possible that a species I considered purely fictional not only existed but had come to Earth. I had something warmer to say. “Speaking of bad, whatever I've done and said, I feel fortunate, privileged, and grateful to have met you, and talking with you some more would be a delight.” With her lips creasing to a smile of appreciation, I realized a casual chat and coffee time would delay finding the help I required. “However, we haven't done much to solve my predicament, and it's most likely past midnight . . .” Doubting we'd find help during the night, I let my gaze migrate from Embee to the cushion, where it remained for a few seconds before going back to her. “Why do simple things become so complex?” Right as I said that, a barely-formed idea touched my mind. “Well . . . Perhaps I should go on a limb and heed my instincts?” That's what I did, and shortly, I was staring down my snout at the lime green fabric. “It can't hurt to sleep for a few hours,” I said to Embee, having resigned to my base desire. “You'll take this issue up to, um . . . I don't know the procedures, but I trust that you will relay my situation to whoever knows best while I'm snoozing.” “I'll do my best, trust me. I'm absolutely sure somepony knows how to make everything okay for you and Rosy.” Her confidence and relief was overtaken by a slight frown. “Are you really sure you want to sleep?” “Please, don't make me doubt myself,” I warned, a little scared I would. “I do that too much and too often already. It's a quagmire I don't need to get stuck in. So, listen carefully. It's been a strange day. A long, trying, tiring day, and that means I do not want to rest.” Her expression forebore a question on why I had changed my mind; I continued with an earnest emphasis before she got a word in. “That I've had a long and stressful day means I am in need of rest.” Her eyes rolling diagonally down strongly implied she was contemplating. “Alright, I understand. Let's go find a bed, okay?” She walked towards the door, holding me in her kind but appraising sights until she passed in front of me. “Yes, lead the way, please.” I rotated around and walked beside her, leaving unsaid that I had wasted a lot of time on being aversive, bemoaning my flaws, and . . . yadda yadda. As a silver lining, I felt I had gotten a lot of things out of my system, and I was considerably more relaxed compared to ten or twenty minutes ago. Realistically, I could not cancel my shock and its symptoms. That would be akin to switching off clinical depression or paraplegia. Embee hesitated by the door, looking over at me. “Hey, I just want to say that once you have settled in, I or somepony else could bring you the cof—” Suddenly the door clicked, swinging inwards as if by its own; we both backed out of its path, although I nearly tripped over myself as my forelegs and hind legs simultaneously pushed and pulled me. A blue—or could be teal—pony stood before us, her mane and tail in two hues of yellow. “Embee?” the pony said, her brown eyes evidencing puzzlement. “Oh, Night Light? It's nice to see you!” Embee's tone was full of joyful surprise. “Likewise!” came the cheerful response. “But, ehm . . . What're ya doin' here, at this hour?” She wore satchels—or saddle bags—and was wingless and hornless. An earth pony! “Didn't your day end an hour ago? Or are ya workin' overtime?” “Well, yes,” came the reply. As I was standing half of a body length farther back than Embee, I had a good view of one half of her face as she gave me a brief glance. Would she tell this mare what had happened? A reassuring smile appeared on Embee before her face turned out of my view. “I got tangled up in something I could've never foreseen.” “So did I,” my lips barely moved with my whisper. I was glad Embee hadn't spilled the beans right off the bat, but I also reflected a little on how immeasurably improbable and reality-shattering it was to unexpectedly wake up in a pony's body in an alternate universe where ponies exist. One little variable different, and I could've awoken as a stallion. Or as myself. Or as a female myself. Or much worse, as a real pony in some farmstead! Or as a 1964 Ford Mustang—the first pony car. Supposedly in that state, I wouldn't count as a living, sapient being. Nightmare or not?

Suomibrony

435

Original Character,Human,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

First Pony View

Some dreams you might never want to end… …but what happens when the dream really doesn't?

incomplete

<p>Have you ever had a dream that just seemed so <i>real</i>, that it was impossible to say for certain that it was even a dream at all? A dream that, despite all of its impossibilities, seemed to re-write your entire perception of reality, re-writing your sense of what—and indeed, <i>who</i>—you are? Accepting change is hard enough as it is. But when you're a <span style="color:#808000">somebody</span> who wakes up as a <span style="color:#6495ED">somepony</span>, how do you cope with the impact such a drastic change has on your mind and body? With changes like these, it must surely just be a lucid dream—albeit a suspiciously <i>accurate one</i>—just brimming with potential and ripe for exploration. So you might as well suck it up and make the most of these distressingly…unusual circumstances, and seize this <span style="color:#008000">psychological adventure</span> before you wake up and the dream ends.<br/>After all, this couldn't possibly be real, so the dream must come to an end eventually…right?</p>

teen

2014-08-25T22:56:39+00:00

2019-08-19T06:49:18+00:00

First Pony View A My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic fan fic By Suomibrony Chapter 16 Mixing It Up “Hmmh.” Night Light's countenance transitioned from bemusement to a despising frown. “Treatin' a patient as a friend ain't unusual, Embee,” she said without a trace of sympathy. Her frankness shocked me. ‘Is she for real? She can't possibly disapprove—’ “It's lovely!” Night Light declared. ‘Oh . . . Never mind.’ “In fact,” she continued, “didn't ya spend almost three hours with a little colt who'd injured both his wings tryin' to fly from one apartment to another where his friend was, and he was worried he'd never fly again? Oh no, no need ta answer; I already know ya did! That was so sweet of you, keepin' yer wing over him and talkin' with him till he dozed off, all peaceful and happy-like.” A modest blush colored Embee's cheeks. “Me being me.” My mind was busy digesting the info gained from the chit-chat as Night Light went on, “Oh, I ran into Ampoule, and we talked for a bit. Get this: he had some 'insight' about culture. He reckons that learnin' the language is the key ta learnin' the culture.” A sly smile spread over her lips. “If'n ya ask me, I think he's just too embarrassed to admit he's fawnin' over his girlfriend,” she whispered, giggling a bit. Embee, however, wasn't amused. “Don't give me that look. He roped ya into learnin' the basics of the language, and ya spent a week beatin' yourself in the head over it. Say whatcha want 'bout poker, he beat ya fair an' square. Anyhow, he also said that a language has proverbs, metaphors, and expressions formed and developed through millennia, so when ya know the language, ya know the culture! Ain't that amazin'?” I felt like leaping into the conversation, but I chose not to. Night Light continued, “Sorry, listen ta me, talkin' your ear off like it's my favorite hobby, hahahahaa!” The jaunty earth pony's focus shifted to me as she walked further into the room, smiling like nothing weighed on her mind. “So, who's the gir . . . uh?” She stopped in her tracks, mouth dropping slightly ajar. “Oh dear golly . . .” she said in astonishment, her wide-open eyes surveying me as if I were clad in neon signs. She may've seen my blank flank. Maybe that was the cause? What would I say if she asked? That I was a late bloomer? I could at least try to see her cutie mark. Or not. The saddlebag and angle we stood at meant that I didn't have a line of sight on hers. When her focus returned to my face, she coughed up an unexpected laugh. “I saw you had a few smudges here and there.” She raised her forehoof to casually point its tip at me; apparently I had some grime on my chest—or whatever the area ahead of the sternum was called. “But I didn't realize you were that filthy. Did ya take a bath in a muddy ditch or somethin'?” I wasn't pleased by her flippant presumption. “Oooh nooo, not a ditch, but a river, where I nearly drowned,” I answered in a mocking singsong voice. “It was . . . It was fun,” I finished dolorously. This wasn't my body and I had nearly gotten it killed. Twice! What a terrible disgrace! Oh no, I couldn't start crying . . . “Uhh . . .” Night Light stammered as I carefully checked that my shame and grief weren't opening my tear ducts. “I'm . . .” Contriteness creased her countenance. “Sorry?” Then it turned into genuine concern. “You okay?” “As in healthy?” I cleared my throat, stabilizing my tone. “Sure am. Don't worry, I only had an accident.” If the only means of escape off a cliff could be called that. Anyhow, there was no need to tell her the entire story. “The worst is behind me now, and I'm getting better. Just still in shock, that's all.” I willed a smile, turning my attention to Embee. She looked pensive. I didn't think deeply on it. “So, as much as I prefer not to sleep in a hospital, can you please lead the way?” A command in my head said to point a finger toward the hallway. Naturally, this meant I held a hoof toward it. I assured myself that the promise of sleep would keep my recurring equine incompatibilities, and related concerns, to a minimum. “Whoa there, hang on now!” Night Light briskly strolled to Embee, effectively blocking our path. I had a direct view of her side now; her cutie mark was a clipboard illuminated by a lantern. “If'n you've been in the break room with this here patient, then she's already been discharged, right?” “I'm right here,” I mumbled, a little annoyed that she was talking to Embee about matters pertaining to me. A single "she" wasn't enough to rub me the wrong way. However, feminine pronouns were the least of my concerns if she asked my name. “Yes.” Embee nodded politely. “Signed and approved.” “Hmh. Okay.” Night Light cast a brief glance at me, scrutiny and inquiry written on her visage. I pursed my lips, rolling my eyes aside in pretend-haughtiness. “She's been discharged, so why's she needin' a bed?” She laughed in the manner that implied some form of nervousness; I once again felt disgruntled. Was it too much to ask that she speak to me? “Ya know the rules, Embee. This ain't no hotel. I know ya care a lot 'bout the patients, and that really is amazin', but we can't go grantin' beds ta ponies when they're lookin' grimy and weary.” Another glance of examination my way. “From what I can tell, she needs a shower, but she's gonna have to find someplace else ta sleep.” After her adamant statement, her gaze returned to me. I was trying to contain my minor indignation in a ball of apathy. Moreover, the pronouns didn't mean I was any less of a male to myself. “Has your family, next of kin, or friends been notified of your situation?” she asked in evident concern, rotating to be in line with me. Yay for no longer treating me like chopped liver. “No, nopony knows, and I don't have anypony here . . .” Aside from Embee, I was by myself, and being alone felt kind of unpleasant. When in new company, I wasn't confident admitting my more sensitive feelings to myself, let alone showing them. Which I might've already done. “They don't know anything about this, let alone that I'm here, because they . . .” I drew a soft but audible breath, thinking for a moment. “They're pretty far away.” Distance between universes was impossible to calculate. Technically, I was maybe ten to fifteen kilometers from my parents; I had never measured the distance. “I'll tell them what's occurred the next time I see them.” In other words, mum's the word. Nopony would believe me, and being in the form of a cuddly magical pony from a line of toys and cartoons marketed for adolescent gir . . . females was a surefire way to earn strange looks, demeaning comments, and at worst, allegations of sexual deviancy and gender confusion. I was being really negative, wasn't I? My parents would refrain from judging me poorly. Hopefully. “Alright then.” Night Light's conduct changed from circumspect to warm. “Well, ya probably wanna get home. Unless you're homeless.” She laughed lightly; however, she became serious in a blink of an eye. “Oh no! You ain't homeless, are ya?” she said pityingly. “Wha?” I stuttered for a moment as I powered up my voice. “No, no. I have a home.” It wasn't truly mine, but it was better than nothing. “You do? Oh good! That's great news!” She cheered up surprisingly swiftly. My mind fell on the concept of homeless ponies. That was truly tragic, but I held no doubt that charitable organizations eagerly provided food, aid, and shelter with no strings attached for those who had fallen on tough times, just like they so kindly did for humans. “So, if you're all ready to go, we can arrange for a taxi to take ya home.” “Oh?” I whispered, intrigued by the easy return to my sort-of home. I mused whether homeless ponies were offered transportation to Equestria . . . to continue being homeless? Anyhow, I had to voice a relevant complication that had almost instantly become apparent: “Is the taxi service free?” I asked, extremely aware that I lacked a single dime to barter with. Night Light's solemnity didn't instill me with joy. “Afraid not, sorry.” “Excuse me,” Embee said to her, then cleared her throat. “Something's come up, but it's confidential. You understand?” “I understand patient confidentiality,” Night Light replied nonchalantly. “You also understand that you owe me a favor. Well, I have a request,” Embee spoke equally relaxed, but I got a bit nervous; was Embee going to ask Night Light about mind swaps? Night Light blinked her eyes. “Now?” she inquired, to which Embee nodded decisively. “Okay . . .” Nonplussed, my brain was in a flurry over the possible outcomes of their dialogue, and a flight reaction prepared me in the event that things took a nosedive. Of course, if the plane had gone into a spin, it was corrected by . . . setting throttle to idle, keeping the nose down, and countering the spin with the rudder, then increasing throttle and leveling out once longitudinal rotation was controlled. I didn't need to worry; I trusted Embee knew what she was doing. “Uhh . . . hum.” Night Light stole a glance over her back. Nopony was out in the hallway, but I did hear a faint din of indiscernible talking. “What can I do for ya?” “You live just down the street from here.” Embee smiled gently, still as self-assured as before. “How about you hoof over your spare key and let her stay in your home while you work the night shift?” Notwithstanding Embee, our faces blanked. ‘What? That's quite a demand . . . No, an unreasonable request, and . . . Well, if Night Light complies, then should I not agree as well?’ Night Light's mouth spread into a strained grin with a titter. “Come on, Embee. Be serious.” “You think I'm not?” Embee replied with apt seriousness, which was replaced by sympathy as she looked my way. I was too bewildered to utter a word, let alone decide if I should smile in reluctant consent or perform a dissuasive headshake. “She's gone through a lot more than meets the eye, and I think a place that's cozier than a hospital bed would help her relax and recover from her shock,” Embee implored to Night Light. She glared at Embee in disbelief, then glanced at me with an obvious desire to hear my input on the matter. “Yeah, I've gone through a lot and, so, uhm . . .” I let my voice fade to nothing, finding the floor very appealing to my eyes. Never the kind to boldly speak my opinion when negative consequences seemed assured, my body language took the reins and set my ears to full flaps down. My ambiguous disposition must've made Night Light consider me as Embee's subservient accomplice. “Embee, I know ya mean well and all, but you really oughta think about what you're askin' for. Ya earned one favor from bestin' me in a dance game challenge. That ain't a free pass to force me to do anythin' ya wish, even if it ain't for your benefit.” That was quite an indirect warning to Embee, while also moderately motivating me to do something. I couldn't in good conscience stay in Night Light's home, let alone feel welcome if she had given her consent through gritted teeth. “Um, well . . .” I whispered so quietly I wasn't sure I had said a thing. Thinking I could give a visual cue, I looked at Embee. Alas, her head was turned aside and downwards. From my position, I wasn't able to read her expression. I did surmise she was in her thoughts, but could I trust her to know what was right? If I reached . . . Oh, I couldn't tug her nonexistent sleeve. I must've subconsciously perceived Embee as equal to a human—and that was a good thing. Regardless, as much as I valued her support, affability, and concern for my well-being, her request was too much. Now, if I could just say that kindly. It felt like it took a minute to scavenge my courage to speak clearly, even though no more than a second or two had passed. I tested my voice box with a light cough. “We don't need to burd—” She flipped her head around so suddenly that I shut up with a hiccup, but I was relieved she wasn't upset or offended in any way, shape, or form. “Haha, you spooked me there,” I noted self-consciously. “Anyhow, um, it's obvious Night Light doesn't want to comply with your request to accommodate me in her home, so I think we, uh, we should respect that.” I put on a conciliatory smile, although a dash of doubt made me question if my equine facial muscles replicated my attempt with perfect fidelity. “See, Embee, even she understands,” Night Light said with a slightly scolding undertone, nodding at me. With Embee's attention on her presumed friend, I had to rely on her ears to tell me what she was feeling. “She knows what's best for her. And me! And she's being a lot more sensible than you.” “Hmmh,” I hummed in assumable agreement. ‘Me? Sensible? Yeah, right!’ If anything, my rationality had stalled over a dozen times ever since I took my first steps as a magic-capable female ungulate. “She don't wanna be in my home if I don't like it, and no offense to either of ya, but I ain't gonna accept a guest on such short notice,” Night Light continued, softening her tone as she spoke. “None taken,” I interjected; Embee remained silent. I took a step closer to see a part of her face. Night Light glanced behind herself. The door was still open. Was she going to close it? “Things uh . . . Things have happened,” Embee said during the intermission. Profanities! She wasn't going to spill the beans, was she? “Yeah, I get that, and whatever's happened, you inform who needs to be informed and fill out a form or two,” Night Light replied, a little flustered. “I take it ya don't wanna drag me into this, but that's exactly what you're doin' by askin' me to house a discharged patient who says she's all fine an' dandy.” She spared me little more than a cursory glance, then gestured at Embee. “Yet you say she's still in shock from nearly drownin'.” “My shock is passing . . .” I said diffidently, but I was ignored. “And it was I who said I nearly drowned,” I added so quietly my lips barely moved. “Just 'cause she'd feel cozy in my home ain't enough to win me over. Unless one of ya tells me what's goin' on, I can't take your silly request seriously.” The silence that ensued was broken only by nonspecific noises from the bowels of the hospital. “So, what's it gonna be? Tell me or don't tell me? I ain't got all night,” she said, glancing at us both, although I could sense from her tone that she wasn't really interested in what we were hiding. I considered pulling out the pineapple ruse, but reticence prevailed. While I waited for Embee to make the call, I presumed she hadn't considered that Night Light would decline taking a total stranger—me—into her home. Not so firmly and bluntly, anyhow. Compared to me, Embee had behaved in a nearly flawless manner, so . . . I still wasn't understanding her misjudgement. Then, I recalled what had happened in the office, and I realized that I didn't know what Embee was like. Perhaps her empathy was about helping those whom she perceived to need help more than placing herself in another pony's hooves? I really didn't know, and my mind was becoming dulled. “Alright, alright,” Embee eventually said, sounding both resigned and resolute. “I was wrong. You're right.” She looked over at me with a sad frown, as if apologizing for failing me. Before I had a chance to say anything, her attention returned, with a sigh, to her colleague. “You're both right, and I'm very sorry.” She humbly inclined her head, with her ears following suit. “I really don't know what came over me. Ah, I'll ask for a favor some other time, for something else,” she said ruefully, a slight stammer creeping into her tone. She was taking this harder than I had predicted. I needed to boost her confidence somehow, but . . . I didn't know how! “Yeah, somethin' less ridiculous,” Night Light added pointedly. I furrowed my brows in disapproval at her impudence. “Besides, she . . . I'm sorry, miss, I didn't catch your name.” Her politeness didn't fully prevent my irritation from getting the better of me. “Sorry, not telling you.” “Uh, okay?” A slightly stymied Night Light soon gave Embee a curious look. “Do you know her name?” Of course, if I didn't speak my name, Embee would. She sighed through her nose. “I do, but if she doesn't want to give her name, then I'll honor her wish.” Leaving my responsibility to myself was sort of okay, I supposed. “O . . . kay then?” Embee's reluctance seemed to dumbfound Night Light, as the earth pony's brown eyes drifted over to me. “Are ya sure you don't wanna tell me yer name?” “I'm sure,” I replied without hesitation, hiding my apprehension with a cool demeanor. If I did something wrong, she'd sense that I wasn't a true pony, and then I'd be in a pickle. “Alright.” A small smile curved her lips. “I'm Night Light.” She showed me the underside of her forehoof. “Pleased to make yer acquaintance.” Heeding an assumption and hoping to minimize any suspicions she had, I held mine to hers. She promptly gave it a light bump, and her smile spread. Just to be safe, I replicated it, though it felt strained. I hoped it didn't show. “Likewise,” I said cordially, feeling I had averted disaster as we both dropped our hooves. To her credit, introducing herself so that I'd introduce myself was cunning, but as small as a name was, I couldn't let Night Light believe and spread that lie. I composed myself and devised a little something that, hopefully, would defuse the dawning tension. “Dear Night Light, I hold nothing against you, and I hope you hold nothing against me. As normal and expected as it would be to kindly introduce myself, I wish not to reveal my name. I don't ask you to understand why, and I can't answer if you ask me why. I’m sorry, but I only ask that you respect my decision.” The peaceable delivery sounded pleasantly silky, which wasn't so bad, apart from the fact it came from my mouth. Night Light's face relayed disappointment. “Have it yer way then, missy,” she desisted curtly. I sensed she would get back at me somehow. “You don't wanna tell me your name, fine, but I gotta call you somethin’, so . . .” Her face lit up with glee. “I can just call ya 'Missy'!” “Wh-what?” Surprise surged through my vessels. “Uh, I mean . . .” I didn't want to accept the nickname, nor did I want to stir up conflict. I put on a nonchalant face and looked her in the eye. “Yeah, I can live with that.” “Alright! Missy it is!” she said with so much delight that I . . . No. Rather than follow my frown with a retort I'd regret, I shifted my sights to the left wall. I was annoyed by being called "Missy", and annoyed that I was annoyed by it, but also rethinking the necessity of my female guise. Alas, breaking it now would introduce a variable whose disposition I hadn't adequately determined. While I gazed at the wall, I believed I heard Embee quietly berate Night Light. At least my right ear had cranked around, so what I heard must've been real instead of imagined; I wasn't the kind to hear voices in my head other than my own. “Well, as I was sayin', you’ve got a home, and . . . hum? That's a house key, ain' it?” “Hm?” I cocked a brow at Night Light. ‘The what now? A key on me? Oh, right!’ I had almost forgotten the source of the easily-ignored sensation on my nape and beneath my throat. “Sure is,” I affirmed simply. I had smartly collected my keys before I left my sort-of home. I also had a vague recollection of being inside a very familiar automobile earlier today, but I was sure I hadn't driven it anywhere. I hoped I hadn't! Darn canned pineapples and something in them that disrupted my . . . magic frequency? Whatever it was, it wasn't good for me. How could I have driven, though? This body lacked the dexterity and dimensions to use both the wheel and pedals. Then what did I . . . Rosy do with a car if driving was unfeasible? “Unicorn with a house key? That's a house key?” Night Light mumbled, peering at me investigatively. I almost asked if it was odd for a unicorn to have a key. “Nmh, whatever. Ain’t my concern.” Following her nonchalant hoof throw, she whipped her head to Embee. “But hey. You're my friend and all, and I do a lot for ya when asked. But this idea ya had? I can't get it outta my head. I mean, what were ya thinking? You normally ain’t like this.” I was in for a bit of a surprise when Embee sighed and gingerly facehoofed, a posture she held for several seconds. “I'm not sure. I must've thought I had a great idea,” she whispered as her hoof came off her face. “I'm sorry, Night Light. This day must've worn me out more than I thought.” My ears sagged in guilt and sympathy; I wouldn't have exhausted her if I hadn't dawdled on everything. Night Light said casually, “It's okay, Embee. You're still my friend, and ya do look a bit tired. I suggest ya got get some sleep before ya contract eye circles.” She laughed lightly. Whether she was subtly mocking Embee or kindly teasing her was hard to deduce, especially as Embee sported a smile, albeit a lean one. “You also look like ya need a bit of shut eye,” Night Light said to me, interrupting my guess on how healthy their friendship actually was. “Yer the third pony I've seen in the last ten minutes that's lookin' worn out.” It dawned on me that if it weren't for that accent of hers, Night Light's voice would be even a closer match to the stealthy female from Red Faction 2—a lackluster game compared to the original. “Anyhow, I don't know what else ya've gone through today, and I suppose tryin' to pry won't garner nothin', but . . ." she paused as her muzzle scrunched with a sniff, "Ehh. No offense, Missy, but ya got a, uh, loamy aroma about ya, as my pa used to say. Have ya thought about showerin'?” I'd better get used to that nickname for as long as we were talking. “Maybe I'll shower, maybe I won't. It's hard to say anything conclusive yet.” I let my hoof migrate to my jaw. Taking a shower as a pony wasn't appealing in the slightest. Nonetheless, I had to be mentally prepared. I tossed my tail lazily as I relaxed my forelimb, both of which reminded me how much I still had to make sense of. It wasn't sensible to imagine applying a magic-enshrouded brush to my coat, standing petrified and staring in depressed resignation at nothing as each stroke swept away more of my dignity. Perhaps it would be less torture if I were sitting? “I'll think about showering once things have normalized,” I said to reassure myself, and to ensure that apprehension hadn't, and wouldn't, invade my voice. My ears remained upright, and neither mare looked like they were going to inquire about my state of mind. “Sounds good to me,” Night Light said, casting some validity to my assumption. “But I gotta say, I think your coat’ll be nothin’ short of lustrous once all that dirt comes off.” “Lustrous?” I repeated tepidly, knowing full well she had spoken a compliment. I was leery of saying more, daunted by the notion of catalyzing the topic to conditioners, coat care, primming up etc. Basically, I was afraid to engage in filly talk, where my total lack of experience would guarantee me much embarrassment and humiliation. “Yeah. Dazzling. Stunning. Beautiful.” She smiled. I didn't. Not only was I hoping to end this topic through reticence, the synonyms had now spurred my imagination to depict my current form as a Rarity mock-up. If it ever came to settling for some kind of style, that wasn't it. I preferred simple and casual, for starters. Night Light continued to stare at me with a spark of inspiration glistening in her eyes; I stared back with blank disinterest. “You know, to have a pretty coat and mane,” she said as I watched her teal hoof point at my respective anatomy. Or was she more blue than teal? “Ya’d look absolutely lovely.” Expressing my mild agitation in its purest form would be unwise. “Hmm . . .” I hummed thoughtfully as a pretext to soften my voice. “So, Night Light, if I were to look lovely, would you fall in love with me?” I cooed, throwing some (presumably) demure body language for effect. Night Light promptly broke into a hearty guffaw. “Only if I were into mares, ya foxy miss!” she rebutted, slashing her hoof vertically like a claw, sporting a daring grin that exposed her teeth. Foxy miss? It could've been a lot worse, but nevertheless, the moniker and her unabashed response weren't instilling me with confidence. While I did what I could to keep a cool demeanor, her expression softened into a lax smile beneath . . . bedroom eyes? “Or maybe I actually am into mares, did ya think of that?” she whispered, coquettishly closing the small gap without a trace of hesitation. Overwhelmed by the confusion of this development, my mouth dropped a little. An operational part of my brain favored producing and then furiously waving a stop sign in her face. “When the time's right, when ya’ve normalized, and when I'm rarin’ for a certain special kinda bliss, how ‘bout we, hum, get a bit dirty together?” Centimeters from my face, she softly double-clicked her tongue and fluttered her eyes; I felt her gentle breath twirl in my nostrils. “Whad’ya say to that, Miss Foxy?” I stared at her, trying to do the thinking thing that made the smart thinking happen. Once the cogs in my brain got free, I backed away with a burst of nervous laughter. “Okay, that's enough. You've had your fun,” Embee spoke up, shooting me a worried glance before locking her stern gaze back on Night Light. “For crying out loud, you're creeping her out.” “Creepin’ her out? Ya kiddin’ me? She's embarrassed, not creeped out.” Night Light pointed at me, unfazed by Embee's scolding. I had collapsed onto my hindquarters, my equine face and limbs having proved no deterrent for my forehooves to do their best at the adjoined-fingers-over-mouth gesture. Still unsure what had transpired within my head, my breaths were tinged with laughter. “Oh gosh, what the hay?” As jumbled up as my gray matter was, it posited that Night Light had enacted a bit of vengeance for my refusal to reveal my name. “Yep, totally embarrassed,” she stated. “Red cheeks and all.” I spied a bespectacled dark-haired man stop outside the doorway, casting a bemused look at us before shrugging and continuing on. Embee seemed to relent. “You incurable prankster,” she said blithely as she shook her head, then tilted it. “And you told me to be serious.” “Don't go gettin’ your feathers all ruffled and start actin’ all 'professional' on me,” Night Light defied leisurely. “It really don’t apply to me since my shift ain’t even started. Don't forget that you're not above doing little harmless pranks yourself.” I may've been in a bit of a tizzy, but I was sure Embee's face flushed. I felt that Night Light was being hypocritical with the whole "act professional" thing. “Besides, respondin’ playfully ain't hurtin' nopony. Just look at her, she ain't upset one bit.” Their attention turned to me right as a sound not much unlike a nicker escaped me. Was that how I tittered? A nugget of dismay insinuated that my laughter wasn't as it used to be. I imagined my voice box as a literal cardboard box with the Venus symbol crudely painted on it, paired with an equally crude arrow-shaped sign pointing at it and stating, "Explanation, darnit". Meanwhile, Embee conjured thoughts of her own, furrowing her eyebrows at her friend in presumed dislike at her jaunty attitude. The unspoken rebuke evinced a sigh from Night Light. “So, ya feelin’ okay?” she asked me, mirth still in her voice and expression. With my forehooves now back on the floor, I spied Embee raising an eyebrow in curious dubitation. Night Light rolled her eyes at Embee, huffing lightly. “You're not offended, upset, shocked, or somethin’ to that effect?” she continued insipidly. “Nah, I'm fine. Jokes are jokes, and it's all fun and games as long as they're harmless, and this one was harmless,” I said as I laboured to get myself up, thinking how to wrap my mind around what happened instead of letting my quadrupedalism disrupt my upbeat mood. “It was funny in hindsight, because I didn't expect you to, umm . . .” “Come on to ya?” Night Light helped when it became apparent I wasn't finding the words. “Ahh . . . Yes.” I smiled self-consciously, looking aside as my ears took a horizontal position. “I thought you'd, uh, you'd back out in shock or disgust, but you did the opposite.” I flicked my eyes at her, where they lingered for a few seconds. “You were direct, open, and unabashed, so . . . yeah.” How many would react with offense to an apparent approach from the same sex? How many would go beyond the acceptable and react with violence? Those who were thin-skinned, I presumed. “Don' worry 'bout it.” She chuckled casually. Sufficiently relieved, I found the willpower to turn my head. “Not everypony's swingin’ both ways like I am.” She . . . just boldly admitted to being bisexual? Wow! That was ear-prickingly brave! “It was clear to me that your flirtin’ was just for giggles, though.” “Yeah, that's right, I'm straight,” I affirmed nonchalantly—Oh profanities! “Uh, sort of . . . ish.” What a mistimed moment to reconsider where I stood on the Kinsey Scale! “You mean, ya have doubts?” Night Light asked, becoming sincere. “Or . . . I hope this ain’t true, but have ya been pressured to keep your sexuality a secret?” She glanced over her back; the hallway was empty. Embee strolled out to take a look, ostensibly confirming our relative solitude and privacy before returning. We were now standing in a triangle, and I hadn't thought of a single thing. “No, I don't have . . . er, I haven't . . . I mean, yes. Or no. I'm not sure. Well, I'm not really into . . . into the, um.” I chose to mute myself before I nervously stammered out something blatantly honest. ‘I'm not into ponies in the romantic or erotic sense, and, actually I'm not into the whole sex thing either,’ I finished the sentence in my head. Had I said that, I would've made things much more complicated. How much could I say of myself without making it apparent I wasn't a genuine mare? Night Light was bi, so she couldn't possibly be prejudiced and skeptical. Could she? It'd be tragically ironic if she was. I had less faith in convincing her of my humanity, and now wasn't a good time to reveal my true gender. Anyhow, I had a mare's body; I naturally identified as a guy; as weak as my libido was, I was sure my preference was for females; and lastly, ponies shared enough humanlike aspects to qualify as humans in my subconscious. So, with all those accounted, if I were to state and express interest toward mares, what would that make me? To her I would be lesbian, but what I would I be to myself? Oh, this puzzle was too massive for my tired head to solve. “Hey, listen,” Embee's intervention started as a whisper, drawing our attention. “I know your intentions are good, but I think you're only putting her in a tight spot,” she reasoned with Night Light. I saw an opening to remove myself from the potentially difficult discourse. “I agree. You obviously care about my . . . about how I feel on the inside, and that I don't submit to what I'm expected to be like.” How poignant. “I'm sorry that we have to cut this short. Embee and I got places to be, and talking about, uh, sexuality is an awkward topic for me anyhow, so let's drop it. Please?” I beseeched conciliatorily. If I ever let on that intercourse disturbed me profoundly . . . I wasn't devoid of romantic feelings, but . . . What kind of intimate relationship worked without intercourse? A guy who wasn't getting any action was typically seen as a loser, but what was a guy who wasn't interested in the action at all? Celibate? That was commonly associated with religious vows, and I was agnostic. “Sure thing. Dropped,” Night Light stated, lightly striking her forehoof to the floor. “Thanks.” Stunned and a little pensive, I barely got my voice above single decibels. “Don't mention it.” She produced a small smile, but the disappointment and sadness of resignation was in her eyes. I felt like I had denied her the chance of helping me out of my (assumed) sexual conformity. “So, Embee?” Night Light said, and I swear she sounded a little morose. “You could, I dunno, pay for her taxi ride? You know, when she goes home?” A free taxi ride? That would be most excellent! If Embee's smile was of any proof, she was agreeing with the proposal. “Maybe even let her use your perfume?” “Perf . . . um?” My inchoate smile was replaced by blank shock, shortly followed by a vision of my present form effusing varieties of scents in the shape of wavy trails and rose petals, myself traipsing gracefully and carefree—and producing heart shapes in the eyes of every stallion unfortunate enough to be caught in my wake. I got my smile up and running before the true pony females caught on to my apprehension. “You mean, deodorant?” I indirectly asked for confirmation for my supposition. I had no doubt I could employ several methods to dissuade any stallion (or mare) unlucky enough to take genuine interest in me. Also, perfume was the aromatic version of a sundress and high heels. Granted, I was a male and therefore unlikely to wear either item, but my current sex hadn't kindled my mind—especially towards high heels. They were scientifically proven to be harmful, and were impractical as well. Deodorant, however, was equivalent to a t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. Unless it was an explicitly feminine deodorant, in which case the t-shirt was hot pink with "XX chromosome power!" written on it and the jeans weren't loose fit. “No worries, hon. I have both perfume and deodorant. If you wanna use one or both, I don't mind lendin’ them to ya.” The provided info and Embee's calm smile helped me overcome the remainder of my apprehensions. “I respect your offer. Thank you. In case personal hygiene becomes an acute issue, I may ask for what you have available.” I would've voiced my disinterest in perfumes, but I didn't wish to infringe a female code I was unaware of. Night Light giggled for some reason while a cursory presumption emerged in my mind: Applejack and Rainbow Dash might touch a perfume bottle once or twice a year—to Rarity's dismay. Or by her desperate behest. “I don't know you, Missy, but I think you're good with words,” Night Light merrily remarked, which I took as a compliment. “You don't have the flair or accent, but I'm wonderin', do ya hail from Canterlot?” “Uh, no,” I replied swiftly, a touch surprised. Of course, every locale had its own customs and culture, and I was certain that Equestria wasn't culturally homogenous, just like I was certain that I . . . Rosy wasn't from Canterlot. “Hmh, okay. I had this picture in my head that unicorns from Canterlot are usually needlessly formal wordsmiths. Never been there myself. My mother says that they're snooty prigs, but I'm sure they're all fine and kind.” I didn't laugh with her, though I tried. I would've been worried about my overall conduct not being inherently mine, but unlike memories, a name, and definable ponyisms, separating virtually identical traits was next to impossible. Fright threatened to envelop me, but resignation and subsequent acceptance quickly reduced it to a tepid ember. After all, if the traits are identical, then why should I worry? Taking a brief look at my hoof, I thought that maybe we weren't so different in some other respects. Kind of like having a parallel universe version of myself with the same humble home, same relic of a car, same overthinking— “Heeeey,” Night Light drawled abruptly. “Why so quiet all the sudden? Did I say somethin’ wrong? I know I sometimes say stupid stuff, but ain't no reason to give me the silent treatment.” Heeding an inkling, I turned my attention to Embee. I caught her thoughtful look, and she caught my diffident expression. She let out a soft breath and drew her lips to a warm smile. That was supposed to be reassuring . . . right? “Okay, I really shouldn't get involved with whatever's going on between you two,” Night Light spoke up again, a little frustrated by our strange behavior. “I'm sure it's all sorts of friendly-like and patient confidentiality-like and, heehee, totally not sensual-like. That was a joke, Embee. Stop squintin’ at me. Yeah, I'm just stallin’ you two. My bad. Ah but what I could get involved in is enjoyin’ a cup of coffee. My shift starts in, oh, ten to fifteen, so—” Directing a quick glance toward the kitchen, her outlook changed with a wide-eyed blink to an ear-fallen frown. “Oh please, tell me there's some coffee left for me?” she said in a pleading tone, giving us both earnest looks. “There's plenty,” I replied distractedly, indifferent to the coffee now that Night Light's earlier remark about unicorns may've given Embee a reason to doubt the truth. Nah! That was a ridiculous supposition sparked by illogical paranoia. “Great!” Night Light's lips formed a new smile. “Oh? It ain’t decaf, is it?” I detected a hint of dismay in her voice, an assumption which her hanging ears substantiated. “I'm sorry, Night Light, but it's decaf,” Embee answered consolingly. Night Light's outlook transitioned from solicitation to sadness, slowly settling on a sullen downward stare. “Peachy,” she muttered, making her way toward the kitchen with a protracted huff. I couldn't tell if she had chosen to derive whatever delight the unideal coffee could offer, or if she now had a score to settle with her colleague. “Will you and Night Light be okay?” I whispered to Embee. “You two kinda didn't see eye-to-eye a few times, and I am, uh, was worried that might strain your relationship.” Night Light's ears didn't turn, so I presumed she didn't hear us. “Eh.” Embee's sigh felt orphaned without a shrug; she waited until Night Light was out of sight. “She's happy-go-lucky.” Just like Embee was in Peachy's office, I recalled. “She's too forgiving to hold a grudge for long.” A peripheral glimpse of a person walking past the open door caught my attention, this time reminding me that hospitals never slept, only became a little quieter. With Embee making her way out, I saw fit to follow. “Okay, who done spilled water all over the floor?” Night Light's unamused voice twirled us around. The earth pony appeared in the doorway not a second later, her frown evidencing she hadn't been rhetorical. “Sorry, Night Light, that was my fault,” I said, promptly taking the rightful blame. “Sorry, Night Light, that was my fault,” another voice spoke over mine. “What?” With my hoof still aimed at myself, I looked over at the second speaker in disbelief. “No, I did. Wait, why’re you . . . ?” We had spoken at the same time, our stances were similar, and I bet even our expressions were exact matches. We cast our collective looks at Night Light. Her mouth was spread open in a frozen laugh, as if she was in a conflict between guffawing at our comedic behavior and demanding a proper answer for her inquiry. “What in the name of Eques . . . Ah no, no don't bother,” she said lightheartedly, throwing a forehoof. “It don’t matter who did it.” Her smile vanished as she glanced into the kitchen, her eyes unmistakably taking stock of the spatters there. “I'll clean it up anyway.” Her cheeks bulged as she billowed out a breath, whereas I was too stupiefied for thoughts or actions. Her eyes landed on the radio, appraising it for a short moment before taking herself there. In a matter of seconds, she had powered it up and tuned it to a station that, by the first notes I heard, didn’t sound like Radio Nostalgy or whatever; violins played a high-tempo but beautiful melody. However, her adept manipulation of the radio awed me; Embee had been baffled by the device. “Ain’t this Vivaldi's Winter?” Night Light asked elatedly, followed by her starting to trot on the spot to the piece. “It could be,” I speculated despite her being ostensibly entranced by the audible art. Classical music was very recognizable, but I was poor at connecting the names to pieces and vice versa. I was mesmerized further when she elegantly danced her way back into the kitchen, where the clicking of her hooves continued echoing into my ears. “Classical music is one of the finest genres ever conceived,” I whispered, entranced. Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, Chopin, Dvorak, and more; it seemed unlikely that Equestria had those. What else did they not have? Blues? Punk? Heavy Metal? House? Psy-Trance? Didn't punk originate from counterculture, just like rap and rock did? Maybe they did have those genres? For all I knew, the various indigenous cultures here on Earth presented unthought-of musical treasure troves for ponies. “It sure is nice music.” Embee sounded like she too was captivated; the violins were now playing a much calmer, serene melody. “I'm not sure I've heard this one before. But oh, hey.” She nudged her foreleg into mine. “We better get going before we get lost in the music, okay?” “Yeah . . . After you, please.” I decided that she should walk out first, as I wanted to get lost in the music for a couple more seconds. “You know, not everypony's . . .” Embee halted moments after stepping into the hallway. “Oh my!” She wheeled around so quickly her tail stuck out horizontally. “Peachy!” she exclaimed, her brows standing as far up as possible. “Of course!” “Of course what?” I queried, naturally confused. “How could I've forgotten?” For the first time since we'd met, Embee's mouth went wide in realization. Her behavior would've been startling if I didn't trust her sanity. I was still confused, though. I tilted my head. “Forgotten the, um . . . the raincoat?” I guessed with a smidgen of jocularity, feeling exposed now that I made my nakedness apparent. I cast an arbitrary glance to my left, seeing Night Light standing in the kitchen doorway with curiosity written on her face. “Yes, sure, that as well!” Embee said, dismissing the modesty-enabling attire as a triviality. She then gestured for me to come out into the hallway, and I complied. Shortly after, she punched her hoof into a hole by the door, which then closed. I looked up, spotting the mechanical door closer. It was so far above. “She may know how to help. She works late today, but let's hope we're not too late.” Aiming herself to her left, Embee glanced over her back. I prepared myself for the short walk that I knew was coming. Peachy could help me, somehow, and that was just awesome! “Follow me!” Embee sped off in a hurry. “Right behind you!” I shouted (or tried to), my eyes affixing to her distancing shape. I was asking for full throttle, but my legs had become unresponsive. With desperation fighting my petrification, I looked down at my right foreleg. “How do I gallop?” I raised my limb as if the answer was there. I wracked my mind, trying to solve my quandary. I knew walking and trotting, but galloping was . . . incomprehensibly complex. So, FR and then . . . my hind leg? Left or right? Darn. The golden success I urgently needed eluded me. I looked ahead, expecting to see Embee waiting for me. What I saw were several doors spaced evenly on both sides of the hallway, wooden chairs with red seats lined against the walls here and there, and the hallway itself ending in a T-junction. But no Embee! Profanities! I had lost her! “Ooohh,” I moaned miserably, staring down the vacant hallway as if my vocalization could summon her. With the hope that I'd find her or Peachy's office keeping me from spilling tears, I set one hoof before the other. I was determined to reach the junction and from there I'd go . . . left? Oh, never mind. Embee would come soon to check why I wasn't right behind her, or was waiting for me around the corner. Everything was fine. Except for walking. Almost zero sensation, and far from being quiet. If I thought the clacking was loud now, a racket was guaranteed were I to (successfully) gallop or trot. Or canter. Only I was creating noise, which meant that if anypony was nearby, they weren't walking. Doors were on both sides of the hallway. Embee had sped off, presumably waiting for me right around either corner ahead. Passing a few red chairs, I was a little shocked when I realized their height matched mine; then again, I wasn't holding my head up. These chairs were meant for humans, but might they work for ponies as well? I placed one hoof on a chair before I decided against it. Facing the pale white end of the hallway again, it occurred to me that a small car might fit in here. A British Leyland Mini! What a spontaneous observation mixed in with whimsical fantasy! But really, I would be more than thrilled if I had the opportunity, the permission, and the bravery to commandeer the renowned and recognizable automotive icon. However, my allegiance was, and would always be, to my own car, although it wouldn't fit in here anyhow. Maybe just barely? Just had to work my imagination . . . Oops. Imagination. Not magically start clustering airborne particles into a tenuous wireframe sculpture. Admittedly, this was a brilliant sight, like luminescent white yarn suspended in thin air, but . . . No, I shouldn't be doing this. The display vanished in a blink of an eye, but with the sight fresh on my mind, it was no challenge to envision the affordable, and strangely adorable, light blue car. With the windshield wipers in motion. W-what was that about? Was Jim trying to tell me a story or what? I didn't speak windshield wiper. I was just tired . . . “Buh,” I vocalized lethargically, returning to reality from my drowsiness-induced inanity. Daunted by the feel of my ears twisting and swaying, I denied myself a brisk head shake that might have exchanged additional weariness for lucidity. “Mwhahm . . .” I stifled a yawn. The third and final door on the right was open. Voices emanating from the room primed my ears, so I stopped and peeked in as I passed by. Five low-sitting, empty beds were on each side of the room. No, there was a sixth bed behind the white curtain in the far right. That was where the talking was coming from, and neither voice was Embee's. The beds had equal-sized wooden head/foot-boards framed by curved stainless steel, and wheels instead of legs. My presumption of hospital beds as simplistic, unappealing constructs made by the lowest bidder was challenged by these modern and stylish examples. Much like in the break room, the colors here consisted of various hues of brown, and the windows lining the wall at the far end provided a view of the city. By the beds were night stands, each with a lamp so slender they had to be LEDs. Most important of all were the beds themselves. The clean, white sheets, pillows, and blankets tantalized me with promise of respite. So, which one would it be? Find Embee and fight to stay awake, or sneak to the nearest bed and hope for a moment's escape from my present form? Decisions, decisions . . .

Suomibrony

435

Original Character,Human,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

First Pony View

Some dreams you might never want to end… …but what happens when the dream really doesn't?

incomplete

<p>Have you ever had a dream that just seemed so <i>real</i>, that it was impossible to say for certain that it was even a dream at all? A dream that, despite all of its impossibilities, seemed to re-write your entire perception of reality, re-writing your sense of what—and indeed, <i>who</i>—you are? Accepting change is hard enough as it is. But when you're a <span style="color:#808000">somebody</span> who wakes up as a <span style="color:#6495ED">somepony</span>, how do you cope with the impact such a drastic change has on your mind and body? With changes like these, it must surely just be a lucid dream—albeit a suspiciously <i>accurate one</i>—just brimming with potential and ripe for exploration. So you might as well suck it up and make the most of these distressingly…unusual circumstances, and seize this <span style="color:#008000">psychological adventure</span> before you wake up and the dream ends.<br/>After all, this couldn't possibly be real, so the dream must come to an end eventually…right?</p>

teen

2015-04-07T21:00:08+00:00

2019-08-19T06:50:59+00:00

First Pony View A My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic fan fic By Suomibrony Chapter 17 Two Tired, Too Tired I looked to my left, expecting Embee to arrive speedily and then promptly escort me to Peachy's office, but the couple of seconds that I waited didn't yield the return of the closest thing I had to a friend here. Hoping I wouldn't regret this decision, and wary of intruding upon somepony's privacy, I ventured into the ward. None of the beds were occupied; I chose the first one to the right. It was set so low that I would have to do little more than collapse into it. I placed one limb on the bed. Oh, this was so soft and alluring that I couldn't help but grin. Even a minute or two of rest would do me wonders. “. . . has been more fundamental,” a distinctly British-English male voice came from behind the curtain. I could tell it wasn't a live person. A radio, perhaps? One more limb on the bed! I almost giggled. “I was always happy. I didn't care. Get on with it. Better laugh.” It was another voice, but it sounded . . . Scottish? “Now I find . . . Life's too short now. I find I've got awful serious. You know, I don't . . . I can't be bothered with insignificant things anymore. I just crack on with the important things now. That annoys me, because I liked the way I was before Piper. I don't like, ah, particularly like how I'm now.” That was haltingly poignant. What Piper was didn't weigh on my mind. Would I return back to my normal life just as I was, with valuable insights and wisdoms, or would my current biology remain with me in spirit even when— “Pardon me, but is somepony there?” a voice asked with an accent I couldn't identify. I was so caught off guard that I compulsively tried to say yes; a sharp breath was what came. As my wits returned, I frantically assessed whether a hasty exit from this potentially sticky situation was prudent. Whoever was behind the curtain sounded very living . . . and might have a contagious disease that could kill me! Or not. A room with five, likely six, beds, no staff present, and a door left wide open was anything but a quarantine. “If my ears weren't tricking me, then I sure heard somepony come in,” he speculated as I stealthily removed my hoof from the bed. Once I had all four on the floor, I took a few steps back. Sadly, that served as a very audible reminder on how impractical hooves were for sneaking. Once I determined that bolting would be highly suspect, I let out a resigned sigh. “Ah, yes. Somepony's definitely here,” I affirmed, nervousness injecting a constrained laugh into my tone. At least I wasn't feeling so tired anymore. Making my physically female presence known to another variable was inevitable, but hadn't crossed my mind until now. If I showed myself, his eyes would appraise me like I were a vein of gold to a destitute miner! Not all males were like that, but how could I know for sure? Could I just give in to fear? Wouldn't Embee be here soon anyhow? I amassed my courage, took a breath, and . . . forward I went! Reaching the curtain, I stuck my head out past its precipice and looked to my right, reluctantly appreciating my long neck. A brown pony was supine in a bed, his mane and eyes were deep purple, and any shred of hope I had of him not being male disappeared. “Uh . . . Hi.” A forced smile covered my apprehension of being measured as mating material. I quickly diverted my mind away from such irrationality as he reciprocated my greeting. The bedstead was separated from the floor by about forty to fifty centimeters, and the bed (which was a little large compared to his stature) was bent so that he was in a slight sitting posture. Beside his bed was a wheeled wooden table with a lacquered finish and a flatscreen TV on it; that device was the source of the two voices I had heard prior. Now it was playing some kind of tune His forelimbs rested on the white blanket that reached up to his armpits (or whatever the pony equivalent was), his left limb was in a cast, and he . . . was garbed in a white shirt? “Well . . .” He touched his jaw, then turned his hoof toward me. “It's nice to meetcha. What brings ya here?” he said, confused. Judging by the fragrance displacing the faint odors of disinfectants typical to the clinical environment of a hospital, he must've bathed in a tub of birch leaf extract. It was pleasant, as much as I wouldn't have liked to admit that. To have my clothes would've been pleasant, but they were on my chair back home and were . . . were for a pony? That couldn't be right. Anyhow, he was wearing a shirt! Was his lower half covered up as well? I wanted clothes. My modesty demanded them! How could I get them? I couldn't just walk up to him and say, ‘Your clothes. Give them to me. Now.’ “You're sure a quiet one, huh? Don't look like one of the nurses, either.” That finally garnered my attention. My envy for his garment and discomfort at my nakedness was troublesome; however, the fragrance in the air and his phlegmatic but amiable demeanor contributed to maintaining my unassuming outlook. “Oh, uh . . . Apologies. I'm bad at introducing myself, and no, I'm definitely not a nurse.” Nurses were often depicted as female, so the allusion of myself as a nurse didn't mesh all too well with me. I quickly reminded myself that male nurses weren't unheard of. But that was utterly trivial! I had to introduce myself and state my business. “I'm . . .” Would I need to tell him my name? Not unless he specifically asked, and then I might have another Night Light case to deal with. Or worse. “Well, I'm just, ah . . .” My eyes dipped for a second, and I caught myself pawing the floor. “I'm just a tired pony going wherever curiosity takes me,” I said with a slight stammer, a muscle spasm going down my right hind leg. I could've said 'mare', but as relatively neutral as that word was becoming, I had to cut myself some slack this time. “I won't be here for long, so introductions aren't necessary. You see, somepony's supposed to be with me, but she . . .” I saw the empty doorway and a snippet of my tail from the corner of my eye. “She's busy taking care of a very important matter and will be here soon. If not, then I'll go looking for her.” I wished she would arrive this instant to ask where the hay had gone! I doubted she would give me a scolding for my little misadventure. Then again, it was she who ran off, so she might owe me an apology. Regardless, she had earned my trust, and I was certain she wouldn't dare to break it. “Hmmh, alright.” The stallion drew his lips to a casual smile that my skittish side suspected to hint at libidinous thoughts. “Well, thanks to my bum leg, good sleep just ain't happening. This doohickey's fancy and all, but I'm starting to think it's just keeping me up with all the stuff it's got to show. Now, since you said you ain't gonna be here for long, would ya want to shoot the breeze while you're staying? I know it's a mite strange to ask, but some company would be lovely, and who knows, a small chat might just give me a bit of what it takes for me to nod off. Whaddya say?” He was polite enough, and I was smarter than to believe that males were unapologetic devotees to the whims of their primal wants. I definitely wasn't, so there was that. I joined my appendage with my chin. “Mmmh, let me think about that.” On one hoof, I could bid him a courteous farewell and go looking for Embee, but on the other hoof, staying put meant neither of us wandered around in search of a serendipitous rendezvous. Additionally, if I could civilly converse with a male pony without acting like a ball of nerves, I would prove myself capable. “Strange seeing just your head if we're gonna chat for a while, so would ya mind stepping forward?” he suggested. I burst out laughing, unnerved at the prospect of displaying myself. Simultaneously, my tail nestled itself protectively over the characteristic female feature. “Ahh, yeah, that's true, I don't gotta, uh, need to . . .” My limb was still aloft; I gingerly lowered it. If I was going to show myself, I'd have to be ready and relaxed. “I could, but I won't. I have my reasons,” I said, trying to sound calm. It occurred to me that I easily equated my present form to that of a human's. Unlike humans, being unclothed was common for ponies, so I didn't need to worry (inordinately) about being admired in the wrong way. I strongly suspected that being admired in the right way would feel wrong as well. However, I didn't have the foggiest on what made a mare's figure attractive to a stallion (and vice versa). The thought of taking a gander of that by appraising what I was aft from the neck turned my eyes, but I disallowed my head from following suit on the account of inadequate resilience to the high influx of body image dissonance. The mildly expectant look in his eye caught my attention. “I might know what you're thinking: for what reason do I stay here, out of sight?” I posited. Cursorily, I spotted the TV's remote on the nightstand and a blank paper slip tied to the top of the bed's steel frame. “That's what's on my mind all right,” he attested casually. “I trust it's for a good reason, ain't it?” That made me realize I hadn't thought of a reason. I glanced to my left, spotting a radio on the nightstand over yonder. “How should I say this?” As I dithered, I internally named the sufficiently unassuming stallion Plum Kissel due to the color of his eyes, mane, and coat. Coat? Idea! “Well, I've gone through a tumble, which means I don't look presentable. Don't ask. It's a long story that I really don't feel like recounting.” I spared a thought on how to make myself sound unworried. A small pitch-up, perhaps? “All things considered, though, I'm doing fine.” If I discounted the gap between my inner and outer self, that is. “My coat's so dirty and matted that you wouldn't believe. To give you a clue, it's more gray than white. I did wash my face a little, as you can see, but I think a few smudges remain.” I rubbed my cheek in an attempt to feel whether I was right. Alas, my hoof was insensate. The pastern was a different deal, thankfully. “Quite the embarrassment, if I may say so.” If not for my undeniably dissimilar intonation, that phrase would've suited Rarity. Wait? Could I be pretending to be vain as a justification to hiding myself? Although, to do that on purpose didn't appeal to me at all. “I get that,” Plum Kissel's simple reply and gentle chuckle was a promising sign of him believing me. I decided to forget the Rarity allusion. “But ya don't need to be shy.” “Shy? Oh, but I'm not shy,” I spoke in mild protest. Now I had to provide a counterpoint. “I'm soft-spoken, rarely make noise about myself, and frequently think on what I should say or not say. It might seem like I'm shy, but I'm not. Well, I'm probably not shy.” Maybe I actually was shy and just didn't like acknowledging it? I would have to think about that . . . later. The look in Plum's eye evidenced scrutiny. “Is that so?” he mused, rubbing his chin, although he soon put on a friendly smile. “Well, it's beside the point. I was talking about how you carry yourself.” An unvoiced oops pulled down my expressive ears. “I'm telling ya, don't get all bothered for not looking your best. Ya seem to be a mighty fine young lady all the same.” A young lady? “Right.” I looked away to hide my scowl. ‘You told me I shouldn't feel bad, so I better oblige, because telling me what to feel is more important than what I actually feel,’ my recalcitrant side thought sardonically, feeding off my negative emotion. ‘Potentially aggravating others by being assertive is too risky, so I must do what I can to meet their expectations, whatever those expectations are,’ I continued with arising dejection. ‘Furthermore, tiredness weakens my self-control, increasing the propensity of poorly-conjured thoughts and actions. Thus, it's imperative I stay keen and don't do anything stupid, taking every female pronoun and everything else that goes against my identity and self-esteem in stride. I just hate it, and I'm scared. I'm scared of this body, and I'm scared it'll leave lasting marks on my psyche. I feel so powerless, and angry at being powerless, but no amount of bitterness and anguish will make things right.’ “Listen. I'm guessing you're mild-mannered and thoughtful, and that's just fine. That look you got going on there, though? Makes me guess ya got upset about something. Do ya want to talk about it? Was it something I said? Did I misplace my words?” His peaceable tone encouraged me to relax. But why should I? He had hurt me! “Yes, it was something you—” Wait, what was I doing? I couldn't take out my anxieties on him. This was just what I had to prevent from happening again! “No, forget what I said. You're getting the wrong idea. I'm not upset. Well, I don't mean to be. Definitely not at you. Uhm . . .” I bit my lip, trying to spur my mind into producing something perfect instead of slathering myself with criticism. “I'm sorry. I really am. I . . . I can be mild-mannered and thoughtful, like you said. I like being mild-mannered and thoughtful. It's just that . . .” My words stuck to my throat, and I had to calm myself. Strange how indignation acts as a façade for sorrow. “I don't know what came over me. It's been a very stressful day, and I'm weary. Both affect my mood, most likely for the worse.” My mind wandered back to how I had reacted as if being shy was undesirable. “Um, about being shy. I might be shy. It's probably true.” My eyes drifted over to the space between the bed and curtain. “Maybe it's nothing I should be ashamed of . . .” “Ya think it's wrong being a shy?” he queried bemusedly, apparently having caught my mumbling. “Shy?” I whispered to myself, feeling like I should agree that being shy was wrong. Females could be shy to their heart's content and . . . because I was male, I couldn't? As of the time being, I wasn't male on the outside, and had I not griped about inequality? Maybe I had been too reactionary? Maybe I was afraid of being honest with myself? I was cautious of potential repercussions if I were to align myself with reputedly feminine traits. What if I had those traits from the start? “I suppose it's not wrong,” I acquiesced, not wanting to pay mind to this dilemma any further. “But you did say something earlier . . . Um . . .” I was going to use my soft intonation to hopefully create a mollifying atmosphere. “Yeah, I can be talkative and carry a conversation, but I must feel safe and comfortable first, and really, I'm . . .” Wearing a frown of apology mixed with wariness, I dipped my head and glanced at the few specks of light the buildings outside produced. “Normally, I wouldn't hide myself like this, but I'm prone to being self-conscious. If you were to see me as I am now, I wouldn't feel comfortable being like how I like to be, and when I'm uncomfortable . . . I mean, I would feel like I can't be myself if you, um . . . you were to see how grimy I am.” Grimy looks or not, I would feel uncomfortable seeing myself. On that thought, I was certain a full-sized mirror would show so much pony that a humanized visage would be too incongruous to manifest. My reflection would overwhelm me, but being flustered was better than being terrified. “Ya get fidgety when ya ain't feeling comfortable? ” Plum Kissel surmised after a moment. “It's quite obvious, isn't it?” I replied, feeling like I was admitting a shameful crime. “Thanks for trying to understand, though.” “It's nothing.” He waved his hoof. “Just take it easy. I ain't gonna chew you out, if that worries you.” The curtain was making my neck itch. Surreptitiously, I rubbed the itchy spot against the curtain. I then chose to wait and see if had something to say; a few relatively silent seconds passed. “So, if ya still got time to chat, what topic would strike yer interest?” “Uh . . . I dunno?” So many topics I could choose from. I glanced at the nocturnal view behind the windows, recalling the common occurrence of helicopters passing over my apartment. I wasn't sure he'd care about aircraft as much as I did. What would be close to his heart? Masonry? Cooking? Gardening? I had no idea. I could ask! Well, he had asked what I would like to talk about, but that lead back to how my interests might not resonate with his. Conversely, his interests might not interest me. I could pretend to care. No, I shouldn't; that was insincere. Would he react poorly to my honesty if I said I was uninterested? His protracted, leisurely gaze started evoking some concerns. He might believe I was in low spirits, starting a topic by continuing on how my unclean appearance didn't make me any less pretty. Or any less sexy! Maybe he wouldn't do that, though? He seemed too courteous to be brazen. Regardless, now I had a reason to prepare to absorb or deflect whatever disagreeable comments I'd receive with dignity instead of mortification or want of retribution. As an aside, the TV was advertising a documentary about an adventurous unicorn, who . . . “. . . after years of studying and practicing a fog dispersion spell, I enhanced this camera to literally turn millions of cubic tons of water invisible! See these distinctive formations strewn about in this photo? Of course you do. That's the wreck of the bulk carrier Derbyshire and its debris field, five kilometers below where we're standing now! Unbelievable, innit!?” He sounded very enthusiastic, and whatever ship that was, I too was becoming thrilled as . . . I could catch the premiere of Under The Surface next Wednesday! Friday had just become Saturday, so— “I'm assuming you're the kind of lady who takes pride in her appearance.” Plum Kissel's voice filtered into my mind. The critical amount of attention to what I didn't think of myself washed my small but eager smile away. “Oh I . . .” Fortunately, I had set up some timely mental buffers just for this possibility. “Yes, I do value my appearance,” I concurred, combating my chagrin with a tone of equanimity. “Now don't get me wrong, I'm not a stickler for looking glamorous. I don't even flaunt my looks. That's just not me. A simple but tidy look does me well enough. But, uhm . . .” A long exhale gave me time to think of what to say. Or rather, have the fortitude to say it. “Taking care of my mane, tail, and coat, the combing and brushing, the conditioners . . .” I cast a sidelong glance, gritting my teeth. “And the makeup if I absolutely must.” My muttering was drowned out by the TV this time. Ointments and whatnot meant for females were acceptable; learning how to properly use them couldn't be an impossible hurdle, and couldn't be that different from their male counterparts. Makeup was a whole new ball game, however. I couldn't, for the life of me, differentiate mascara from eyeliner. Judging by the nomenclature alone, eyeliner was lighter and less showy than mascara—and eyeliner was applied to line the eyes. I hoped I wouldn't need to learn through practical experience. Anyhow, I wasn't done yet. “Rarely do I feel like I'm not forcing myself through a chore, but I think we can both agree that being neat and clean is a necessity I can't and shouldn't eschew. Well, unless I've gone loopy and enjoy the attention a completely disheveled look draws.” I smiled to make my joke more apparent. I surmised that the chore would take an hour to complete— I hated it already. “When I don't need to go anywhere, and I know nopony's coming to pay a visit, then I can forget the hassle. It's a special kind of liberty and an indescribable kind of delight when I don't need to go anywhere and I can be at home by myself, shaggy mane and so on.” I let out a short but soft sigh, convinced that my act had served its purpose. “Sorry. My drowsiness is getting the better of me, and I'm talking your ear off.” “I got sleep teeming about in my noggin, too, but not enough to put my lights out,” Plum Kissel said in a lethargic but amiable manner. “Anyhow, getting a small load off your back eases the mind, and I say that's what everypony needs to do now and then. Talk away, if ya can.” “Thanks for the offer, but I'm . . .” I was interrupted by a yawn that I did my best to hide by biting my teeth together behind my closed mouth. By the time I was done, I had some thoughts swirling about. To truly understand the plights of females would require thorough familiarization. My situation had partly incited my attempt to relate. There was also curiosity. Maybe empathy, too. Hard to say when my declining awareness made my overall behavior intuitive rather than contemplative. I then recalled that my bane as a male was facial hair. Stupid, annoying, prickly, itching, and absolutely good-for-nothing facial hair. At least I was spared from having hair on my neck. Except now I was hairy all over, but this was a smoother kind of hair. I was like a warm plush toy . . .That was a needlessly cute way to put it. “So.” Plum Kissel's expression was so tranquil I couldn't help but think if he had secretly injected himself with a sedative. “Hearing a little rant like that from somepony other than my lovable sweetheart came as a surprise.” I too was surprised. “Well well, how about that?” I murmured sneakily before chuckling, alluding to (the total falsehood of) knowing more than I was letting on. That my pretense had been so convincing it resonated with the presumable complaints expressed by his consort bothered and puzzled me, but I believed the good outcome was what mattered. “That look and tone tells a story I don't know about,” he pointed out, smirking as if he knew that I knew more than he knew. I hummed conspiratorially. “It was nothing but a glimpse.” A small glimpse to the mare's world. A world I knew almost nothing about, though I now knew he was in a (presumably) happy and loving relationship. That should help to quell my misgivings about him coveting me. Come to think of it, I hadn't felt comparable anxiety in the presence of Night Light, who might've seen something alluring in me on the account of her bisexuality. Her advance, while made in jest, had nonetheless thrown me for a loop. In retrospect, she seemed to spare little foresight to the consequences of her behavior, but that was a mental tangent I decided not to pursue aside from hoping she wouldn't be sacked for wrongful conduct or malfeasance. Anyhow, attention and affection from the opposite sex was normal and expected, although before today, I hadn't receiv—Wait, I had! When I came home one late evening, a young (and admittedly good looking) blonde was outside my apartment's main entrance. She said she locked herself out, and when I opened the door to admit myself inside, she gave me a hug. That confused me just as much as getting a hug from an intoxicated friend along with a confession of (hopefully) platonic love. As I had been too perplexed to say anything else but a thanks, the blonde and I parted on good terms when she headed up the stairs while I took the elevator. Now that this was at the forefront of my mind, maybe Embee awoke feelings I unknowingly held for the stranger? Or maybe not? I wasn't sure. Be that as it may, if by some impossible circumstances I befriended the blonde—or any female for that matter—it would never develop into anything serious. I had doubts of a non-sexual relationship lasting once she made a request for coitus. Out of fear of committing social suicide, I'd never say that just the mere thought of engaging in that activity repulsed me. Being presented with the obligation to fulfill that duty would put me in a tight spot, but the conundrum was that I wouldn't want to hurt her feelings. If I declined, and she didn't take that as a reason to walk out, she could resort to guilt-tripping, extortion, and other forms of unscrupulous methods to get her way. It wouldn't be consensual and honest love, and being treated as an asset wasn't right. In fact, that kind of abuse would be extremely appalling—if it were male on female. For some reason, males were thought of to be always raring for action, and if not, then they had something wrong in them and deserved to be made fun of. What a deplorable injustice. But why was I even thinking of this cynical, hyperbolic, and depressing garbage? I had to think of something else. Something nicer, and optimistic, and soothing. Something . . . that was warbled about? Soy beef so unbelievably excellent, it tasted just like the real thing? More warbling . . . ? Well, birds warbled. What was that one bird, though? It reminded me of a misty dawn over a lake so tranquil it was like a mirror, with the bird's call resonating from somewhere unspecified. It was . . . a diver? Gaviana Arctica? Well, whatever. I would never take up diving. I knew how to swim, but I wasn't fond of swimming in anything but a pool. Bodies of water were inexplicably scary. Ships were okay, so I could be on one as long as it didn't sink. Then it would be scary. Submarines were definitely out of the question. They were giant seafaring coffins that literally folded into themselves if they exceeded crush depth. That was even scarier. The submarines I liked were Yellow Submarine and Golden Submarine. The latter was a vintage race car, not a submarine. “Hey.” Who said that? “Are ya listening to me? You aren't nodding off there, are ya?” I raised my head that had somehow dropped. “Uh . . . No?” I blinked my eyes as, and nodding off upright was fish I called . . . Darn. Physically unsustainable! I saw his amused but inquiring face, and I had this body with the bad combination of nakedness and femaleness. I had to say why I wasn't showing it. “So, it's needless to say that how I look right now is so far from what I'm used to that, uhh . . . that I'm a little embarrassed,” I droned. To say that I was a "little" embarrassed looking and sounding like a female was an understatement. If not for my odor, I would probably smell like a female as well. Or like a horse. A female horse. What was I thinking about? “That's been made quite clear already,” Plum Kissel said leisurely. What was clear was that his accent was close to Night Light's. I wasn't too good at identifying regional accents, unless they were very definable. Like Australian. That wasn't a regional accent. Accent was a Hyundai, and that was inconsequential. “Oh, right.” It dawned on me that I had repeated myself, but also that he had denoted the redundant nature of a specific phrase. “It was a needless thing to say, and can you ever guess what I did when I said that?” I remarked with an exaggerated tone of fascination. “If something is needless to say, why say it then?” Wait, was I suppose to explain it? “Ain't that one of life's strange mysteries?” He chuckled, apparently privy to the joke. “It's one of nature's mysteries,” I recited a line from the third Ratchet & Clank game with pep in my voice. Then I got the giggles, and I realized I was a bit out of it. Trying to rub the sleep out of my eyes, I lightly jabbed myself in the muzzle. Amusingly, the discomfort was more effective than the rubbing would've been. “Well, before ya nod off for good,” Plum Kissel joked. I presumed he had joked. I was tired for sure, but I wasn't nodding off. “Let me tell ya 'nother needless thing: I respect ya.” He respected me? That was unexpected, and welcome, I supposed. Consideration and affability was ordinary, but to specifically express respect? What instigated him? Had he said something I missed? “I'm gonna say that I ain't the kind to dole out undue pressure. I know that no mare can look fine and dandy all the time, and I wouldn't expect them to. So, trust me. I ain't judging you. Sure got a fair bit of muck on ya, but we're in a hospital. This ain't a place where looking your best matters, and I gather I ain't the first one to see ya in your condition. I was in much worse shape, and it bothered me none. Ya got a messed-up mane and some spots on yer coat, but that ain't such a mighty bother as ya make it out to be, ya hear?” To that I hummed in comprehension, although I was plain bemused. “Yeah, I'm not too much bothered. Just the right amount.” “Just the right amount?” he said, laughing. What was funny? I would hide from everything that reminded me of my sex, including even the kind-mannered non-verbal appreciation of my figure. He was seeing my face and hearing my voice. That should be enough, and he shouldn't ask for anything more. “Well, I ain't thinking any less of ya for not looking yer best and keeping yourself back there. But listen to me, rambling on about things that ain't relevant no more. I'm gonna say again that I don't wish no pressure on ya, but what ya might should oughta do is get going to find whoever you were with. Ya look to be on your last legs.” How could I be on my last legs? I had four of them, which was more than two, so . . . Oh, wait. The phrase meant something else. “I'm beat, but not that badly. If I wanted to sleep, I'd go to a bed. If I wanted to find who was with me, I'd leave. I'm not in a rush to leave yet, so can you please continue? I'll try to pay more attention and not nod off.” Seriously, falling asleep upright? Not a chance! I'd topple over in seconds. “Okay.” He seemed to hesitate briefly. I didn't feel like moving which seemed to be my primary reason for staying. “Well, jab my wrapped-up leg if I'm wrong, but ya don't seem to be the kind of mare who pays much mind to being ladylike. You just want to be the kind of mare you want to be. Right?” That was . . . almost correct; I still didn't like those pronouns. “Hmm . . .” How should I approach the quandary? “Yeah, you didn't say that I absolutely have to show myself, and it's also true that I'm . . .” Being so evasive that I was talking about an irrelevancy. “Yes, you're right. I just want to be the type of . . .” I trailed off again, feeling like I'd have to do some self-analysis. I could try to do that, out loud, but gender-flip it? “Well, some, um . . . some mares are very feminine, others less so, some like to pursue interests outside the conventional, and the kind of . . . I'm kind of in the middle. Well, sort of. It's hard to summarize. I could talk about this and myself for minutes, but I'm gonna cut it short by saying that I'm somewhat unconventional and there's more to me than meets the eye. Uhm . . .” Like a shelf toppling and spreading its contents all over the floor, a plethora of disjointed thoughts and ideas spilled into my mind, the most pertinent one being how it was totally fine for a female to like male stuff or be masculine, because that was cool and awesome and empowering, but males were ridiculed and disparaged if they weren't the epitome of manliness. One of my secrets was that I had curved manicure scissors at home. They offered finesse a nail clipper couldn't. Nail clippers were just brutal. Like cutting hair with a hedge trimmer. Anyhow, one thought that seemed topical pertained to how I was starting to feel that males were pressured to hide their emotions and constricted into narrow roles, but females had more liberties in both. Except in countries where females had barely any liberties at all. That was truly horrible. Fortunately, genuine rights activists worked tirelessly to improve the rights and lives of those who deserved them the most. “Ain't ya gonna talk some more?” Plum Kissel asked. As I stared at him, I imagined he would be something like thirty or so if he were human. He didn't sound old. “Eh. It's fine if ya don't want to talk more. We’re both tired ponies, and ya might wanna get going to who ya were with.” “I'll go when I want to go,” I said, a little dismissive of his concern. Then I thought my decorum was harsh. “But okay, you have a fair point. A few more minutes and that's that. Speaking of thinking, I was thinking of something, and I do feel like talking, but on account of being tired, conveying a coherent and intelligent thought might require more concentration than I'm capable of. That doesn't stop me from trying. I can be quite persistent, you see.” “I see it plain as day.” Plum Kissel chuckled. He seemed to do that a lot. “You might have me beat in sleepiness, but that don't seem to stop them big words from coming outta yer mouth.” I smiled a bit at that. I had received validation. “Big words, huh?” I hadn't thought on what constituted a big word. “Mmm, I know many big words, such as . . .” I glanced at the floor, “Sophisticated, induction, countenance, alacrity, fortitude, etymology, entomology. Hahaha, I almost mispronounced those. They're almost homophones.” Something splendid came to my mind. “For your information, etymology is studying the meaning and origin of words, but entomology is studying insects, including arachnids. Arachnids are eight-legged, but insects are six-legged. Oh? But does entomology include caterpillars and worms? Hmm, I don't know. But if I see a word I don't know the meaning of, you can bet that I'll look it up, and I might even remember it in the future if it's a really memorable word. Like overmorrow! That's such a rare word that could be used more often. I need to remember that. Although, I'm not sure when I would need to use the more esoteric words. Would I ever need to say neoprene or protuberance, for example? How does protuberance differ from protrusion? Protuberance might have something to do with anatomy, I think. What's neoprene then? Was it some kind of rubber? Or used in rubber production?” “Whoa there, ease up there for a second,” Plum Kissel faced the sole of his healthy hoof at me, laughing affably, yet a little nervously. “Don't ask me any of that. I don't got a clue what you're talking about, and ya don't gotta say every word ya know for that matter.” “Oopsie. I got carried away.” I sounded like a ditz. Then I saw the sleep in his eyes, and my embarrassment changed to ear-drooping remorse. “Um, but if you think I'm bothering you and want some quiet and peace, you can kindly tell me to leave. No hard feelings.” “Nah, nah. Don't feel bad.” His friendly rebuke raised my ears. “Unless ya truly go out of your way to get on my nerves, I ain't shooin' ya off. Ya ain't been a nuisance, and ya don't seem to be of that nature. I was thinking of saying again that ya oughta go looking for your pal, but I think they's coming for ya in a spell anyhow. I did have something else on my mind, but it's gone now . . . Gonna think and see if I can get it back.” He laid his head to the pillow with a yawn. Perhaps he'd fall asleep now? Then I'd have to leave. Sadly. So many beds here, where I could slip underneath the comfort of a blanket, a pillow so soft, snuggle so happily that I'd let out cute little giggles, and I wouldn't be sure whether to like or fear that. I would laugh and cry at the same time, and I wouldn't know why. My eyes were starting to hurt. Tiredness . . . “I promise not to doze off and leave ya hanging. Would be a mite peculiar turnaround, right?” Plum Kissel said humorously, lifting his head a smidgen. “But hey, got any clues when they's coming?” “None,” I said simply. “Well . . . Soon, I guess.” He hadn't paid much mind to the TV ever since he saw my face. “Okay.” With a yawn, his head descended to the pillow. Now that he was staring at the ceiling, I decided to ward off my sleepiness with an extraordinary action. I dropped my head and turned it a bit to the left. With my head out of his scan range, I'd use my left hind leg to very carefully touch my ear. Just once, and lightly. While this was my idea through and through, reaching at myself in this manner was almost incomprehensibly weird. In addition, my posture starkly reminded me of my equin— ‘Oh gosh! Bad bad bad! Ow, ow, ow, ow . . .’ I wasn't in pain, but my left ear was tingling from tip to base so severely I couldn't breathe. Instinct was telling me the nuisance would stop if I gave it a touch; however, to do that would be undeniably counterproductive. I had to tough this out. I heard a chuckle. “If ya actually gonna sleep, can ya please not do it there?” Plum Kissel advised. “No, I won't,” I squeaked. ‘Okay, gotta stop being strained. Slow breaths, steady breaths, normalizing . . .’ I took a deep breath, then popped my head back into view, plastering a mellow look on my face. “I truly can't sleep. My friend hasn't—” Darn! I let that slip. “She's not here yet, and I've not gone looking for her. If she had come, she would be here, and if I had left, I wouldn't be here,” I explained. Then, I froze momentarily, a mild blush most likely tinting my cheeks. “That's quite obvious, haha.” “Sure is obvious.” He scrutinized me. Thus, I believed my joke had fallen flat. Had I at least saved face? Maybe I hadn't. Oh well. As an aside, the TV was broadcasting a jazzy tune: saxophone, piano, and string instruments. The theme to Poirot? “I got a question for ya.” “A question?” I was puzzled, but didn't anticipate foul play. “What is it?” His expression went blank, as if something absolutely remarkable had come to his mind. Soon, his lips drew to a pleased, smugly foreboding smile. “It's a sentence or phrase that inquires for information, but that's not important right now,” he said nonchalantly. “What?” I was utterly dumbfounded. That I wasn't in trouble was a relief, but the scope of his vocab . . . Wait!? “You kidding me?” I said chipperly. “That's so like from the movie Airplane!, hahahaha! That movie's so amazing and funny! You've seen it, haven't you?” “That I have, and recently, too,” he affirmed with confidence. “Both of 'em.” “That's so awesome! I saw the second movie last week. That scene where a door reads 'Danger Vacuum', and when Striker opens it, a vacuum cleaner attacks him! I was laughing myself silly!” Curtailing my amusement was ineffective, as I could not stop seeing the scene play in my mind's eye. I think I heard him affirm my rhetorical question. “Hahahah, but, yeah, you hadhaha a question?” I mustered. “A vacuum cleaner,” I whispered, jamming my pastern to my lips. “Pmfhthmhmhmpfff.” It was so bad at blocking off the passage of air. So hairy, too. Hair in my mouth? Gross. I surreptitiously spat out hairs; whether any were on my lips was irrelevant. But why was I laughing so easily? Silly, capricious emotions. “They sure were amusing movies,” Plum Kissel commented. “Strange, but amusing. I gotta say, some things flew right over my head. Pun intended, of course.” “Of course,” I said jovially, glad he enjoyed the wacky comedy classics. “But, right, the question.” He took on a more sober outlook, which I tried to mimic. “So, if it looks like your friend's not coming, when are ya gonna get going?” “Oh, ahahamahhum?” I reacted with a half-laugh, still a little too cheerful for myself. Get going? Away from all these alluring beds? I was doing quite well not being anxious-wrecked talking to a male pony, which was a fantastic accomplishment! Besides, I wasn't sure I needed to intervene if Embee was busy telling my predicament to Peachy. I would only damage my credibility by saying something irrevocably stupid and contradictory. “A few more minutes, and then I'll be going.” He raised one of his brows in doubt; I had sounded reluctant and apologetic. “Fair enough,” he agreed after a moment's deliberation. “So, whatcha wanna talk about these few short minutes?” “Mmmmh . . .” My brain produced specks that amounted to nothing coherent. Thankfully, all I needed was to give the blatantly obvious device a glance. “You've been watching that thing?” I gestured at the TV. “Anything fascinating come on it lately?” “Without question,” he said, glancing at the ceiling in thought. “There's been so much I can hardly sum it all.” I believed he was trying to dissuade me, but I didn't want to call him out on it. “Oh . . . Mmh . . .” I quelled a yawn. I recalled a spell that converted internal magic into a stimulant meant to postpone sleep, but it was a bit too intricate for my skills. That recollection didn't belong to me anyhow. “What's been going around in this world?” This world? That wasn't a slip of the tongue, was it? “Sorry, I missed most of the news,” he said, frowning. “Okay.” I was a little disappointed. But wait! He missed most of the news. “Well, what didn't you miss?” “Ahh,” he hemmed, seeming a little thwarted. “Lemme think back now . . .” His brows furrowed, and he hummed thoughtfully. “Some country has been recognized by lots of other countries. Summeland? No, that ain't it . . . Somaliland? I don't know what's the issue, though. A country's a country, and it's on the map, ain't it? How can it not be recognized?” I had heard that name before. One of my neighbors was Somalian. He was friendly, but his thick accent made him hard to understand. “Anyhow, what more? Hmmm . . . How did that newslady say it? Continuing a recent trend across the world, ponies have formed a party in . . .” Was he trying to recite things verbatim? That was mildly funny, for some reason. “Slow . . . Slovenia? Slovakia? One of those. Political party. Not party party.” “Cool. A party for ponies. Party time,” I said with a weary cheer in my voice, aware that I was becoming delirious again. “I know what party is, so no worries there.” A party for ponies meant the pony population had the right to vote, had a chance to be represented in a parliamentary democracy, could affect a lot of things, and something more that I couldn't think of right now. I was unsure if I got all those right. I favored transparency, direct democracy, and disliked that whole "first past the post" thing. “What's it named? Party ponies?” I presented a little joke. I wasn't a big fan of party parties. They were noisy and rowdy. “Maybe, but translated to the language they speak over yonder,” Plum Kissel speculated. “I ain't sure. Slovenians or Slovakians . . . Uh, they speak Slovenish? Slovakish?” “Slovenian and Slovakian, respectively,” I corrected lethargically. “I think.” I was always so unsure. Except when I wasn't. How obvious. “Thanks. You seem to know a bit more than I do, eh?” Plum Kissel smiled courteously, which I reciprocated. “Thailand, after some debate, has finally agreed to grant . . . Ohh? Way-sass?” He was clearly puzzled. Why was he trying to sound sophisticated? I could tell him he didn't need to, but nah. Not worth it. He could think I was being condescending. “Whatever-the-things to pegasus ponies,” he finished woodenly. “They weren't let in the country because feet are dirty to the Thailandish. Sounds mighty iffy to me. Wiping them feet and hooves clean oughta do the trick if it's such a bother, shouldn't it?” “Thailandish?” I uttered, thinking that was a misnomer. “Never mind. Sorry, I dunno a thing about how things work there.” Didn't Thailand go through a military coup every five years? And people vacation there? Crazy. “Neither do I,” Plum Kissel said. “Well, today's storm front's passing, so it's sunshine tomorrow. That's it for the news.” He must've taken my inquiry about world events literally. “Gotta tell ya though, after that came this funny play about a human couple and their pony neighbors. My Next Door Neighbors. Stunna Shades, of all ponies, was a guest star. Ya ever heard of her?” His question elicited a blank stare. “Uhh . . . maybe?” I shouldn't lie. “The ‘I'm too cool for your absurd hijinks’ partner of Jolly Goodshow?” More blankness from me. “In the movie Ponyventurers?” I slowly shook my head. “Ya don't?” He seemed incredulous. “Well, I recommend ya see it! Got a sequel in the makings, I heard.” “Okay.” Movies with ponies, TV shows with ponies? That was so nifty. Oh, sudden random recollection! “What were you watching when I came in?” “It was . . . something about a factory on stilts out in the sea? A rerun? No . . .” Again, he was creasing his brows like he was compiling a convoluted . . . thingy. Concept! Compiling convoluted concepts. Reticulating splines? “Alpha, alpha . . . Piper Alpha? Whatever it was called, it went up in a fiery blaze long ago. I reckon it was a terrible thing.” “That does sound terrible,” I said in a moment of somber soberness. I had a hunch lives were lost, and the best solace I had was hoping that those who were unlucky didn't suffer. “But hmm . . .” A factory in the sea, named Piper Alpha. A derrick? “You know something?” Plum Kissel asked. “I get the feeling you've been here for a while.” “A while, yeah . . .” I had been here since November. She had. Rosy had. “Piper Alpha doesn't ring a bell, sorry.” Maybe I would look that up once I could? Plum Kissel didn't regard the TV as an unparallelled miracle machine, which meant he had ample time to get acquainted with them, I guess? “Why did it burn up?” I queried. “I'm sorry, I don't know,” he replied. “I passed out for a spell when it was on this thing.” He waved lazily at the TV. “I would been glad had I slept all night.” “That's okay. Night's young.” I didn't want to discuss the grim tragedy anyhow. However, him dozing off reminded me of my dad—and I had to check that I wasn't thinking of a pony dad. It wasn't unusual for my dad to come home exhausted after work, often settling to watch TV for a few hours before he fell asleep. Keeping him awake when watching something together was an amusingly futile competition. On weekends, he spared time and energy for me. When and if he did. I was often busy in my room playing games, while he did something else like yard work. In hindsight, I should've appreciated the moments we had, but it hardly ever registered back then . . . No, I shouldn't think of this. My tiredness in addition to the endured ordeals coupled with the burden of my present status plus female hormones equaled heightened emotionality. Also, there was the convoluted psychological effect of being ostensibly female that provided liberties and opportunities I (sub)consciously took advantage of despite the risk of skewing my self-image further from its masculine origin. Whoa . . . That was a surprising spark of smartness. So, anyhow . . . What was this blank paper slip attached to the bed? A name tag, perhaps? Respecting Plum Kissel's intimacy, I chose not to approach and then flip the tag around without his explicit consent. I might have to tell my name if I did. “Ngh.” He gave his leg a strict look, shifting in bed. “Darn busted leg of mine bothers me the most. It's the only thing that's kept me from getting good and lasting sleep.” His expression eased soon after. “I'm sure the next time's the charm, though.” “I like your optimistic outlook.” A broken leg was no joke. Fortunately, I had never broken a bone. Knock on wood. “I hope your leg heals quickly.” I received a kind smile and a thanks for that. “Although, may I know how that happened?” More ways to stay awake and not go anywhere. “Ain't no harm in knowing, I say,” he said in a laidback manner. “Know what makes a poor combination? It's inexperience, confidence, and a bicycle. Misjudged a corner on the trail, rolled down a hill, hit a rock on the way, and came to the gentlest stop when I smashed into a tree.” I shouldn't have chuckled at that. He didn't seem to take offense. “Long story short, lots of pain and a few prescriptions. It ain't so bad, though. A nurse kindly helped clean me up, I got this TV for myself, and the spinach crêpes were so tasty I couldn't believe I was eatin' hospital food. Come tomorrow, I'll be in the good care of my brother. Of course, I gotta give up some of my meager wealth to ride in one of them "iron wagons", as my brother calls them. Says they smell funny, too. It ain't a big secret he doesn't think highly of them. I just call them cars, and sure, they are a mite strange, but I'm fine with them. Things are how they are here, and I ain't one to make a fuss about it. Anyhow, being all banged up, I can't help out on his mustard turnip farm, but I can't have it all, now can I?” “No, I suppose not.” I stared at nothing; my brain funneled the last of my reserve thinking energy into my thinking thingy. I pictured a pony in a taxi. Then I pictured the taxi. Then I pictured an iconic London cab. What was their real name? Routemaster? No, that was the iconic double decker. The point of fact was . . . “I like iworn . . . wern . . . wiron wan . . . gons,” I said out loud. Thought out loud. Why did I didn't I say sense? I meant . . . I really liked cars. Maybe all of them. I wanted to hug a car. That was weird to think of. I was thinking in not straight, in a curved manner. Vanner? Van. Minivan. Voyager, Chrysler. Caravan, Dodge. One and the same? “Hello?” He waved. To rouse my attention? “You okay there?” Ow, my horizontal ears became vertical. Was he talking to me? “You mean, me?” My cognition was like porridge. I would like some porridge. Rice porridge was the best. “Yes, you.” He laughed. Was I supposed to laugh, too? I chose not to. “Ya got that "I'm sleeping with my eyes open" look about ya.” I heard him, so . . . I had to acknowledge that I did hear him. “Mhm, okay.” Did he say something meaningful? “Will ya do something about that now?” I think he asked for me to do something about sleeping? Not sleeping. I had to do something to stop sleeping. What was this "that" he mentioned? “A few minutes ago, ya said to go in a few minutes. Just to be clear, it's been a few minutes.” “Yeah . . .” I started smiling, but the smile felt funny on my face. Maybe it was a cute smile? I was tired. He didn't look as tired. “So, time for ya to be a smart filly and get going before you'll be missed.” “But Imnota fwhl . . .” I wanted to sleep, and I wasn't a filly! I was going to say what I was! “Iwhm a mawnr.” “Alright, I'm sorry. You're a mare.” No, he got it wrong, and then he laughed like not angry but friendly happy. “Just go already.” “Gngh . . .” I looked over at the doorway that lead to the hallway that might lead out to where where where . . . where Embee was. Where there were no beds. Where I would say stupid stuff that makes nopony believe me. Unless I wouldn't say anything. Gold was silent and golden. “Ooh . . . Wasdat?” White shape with a brown hairy thingy that had pink? That whole thing that was part of me and shouldn't be. It would freak me out, if that whole freak out part in my head would freak out. I was feeling like laughing was the right reaction, but I didn't feel like actually laughing. Would it be weird if I held my tail in my quasi-arms? Would it feel soft to my face? Oh, I had something to do! “I gotta who find waiting I was . . . for me?” Okay, voice control was being broken. “I mean, I mean . . .” I was wiggling my weird limb in the air, because that helped me form words in my mind that then would go to my mouth. “That thing . . . something.” I hoped Plum Plum knew what I was meaning. If I knew, then . . . No, he wouldn't know. I hoped he knew enough. Connects the pictures to get the puzzle. Maybe if I closed my eyes and thought harder, but not so hard I would shut my eyes for hours. That could happen? No, I'd fall over. Wait, the TV was muted? It was not muted just moments ago. Did he turn it off? With his hooves? Or with his face? Either way, that was the opposite of clumsy. How marvellous! Maybe I could be opposite clumsy, too? “So, listen. Since I know you're leaving and all, how about ya kindly turn off the lights and close the door on the way out? I would do that myself if weren't confined to my bed. I'd be mighty thankful for your help.” That . . . thinking . . . His idea was reasonable and nothing hard to do. Lights close and door off. My head felt heavy, just like my eyelids. “Yeah!” Up with the head, and not to be so sleepy. “You was am . . . nice pony . . .” I was sounding so squeaky with this tired voice. It was almost laughably funny. Then I'd hear squeaky laugh. Then I heard it. I sounded weird. “We had happen . . . good talk and . . . thanks for . . . nights to you.” I backed a little, and the curtain went over my skin. That felt a little ticklish, but okay. I could rub myself against something solid . . . Maybe later? I turned toward the door where the light switch was. Next to the door. Not in the door. I got there, walking unsteadily like in a sludge, which wasn't quite right. No sludge here at all. Only flat floor that I couldn't feel too well. Once where I had gone to, I stared at the switch . . . How would I make it do its thing? I had to touch it with hands, because that was how it worked, but I had pony body that had no hands and four things that definitely weren't hands. Stalemate. That switch was right in my face, too. Oh! The opposite clumsy thing! I was so clever! I used my face to do the switching thing, and I had to keep my giggles inside myself. Why was that what I did that funny? I didn't get it. Anyhow, next was the door that was next to me. I had to go around it and push it shut. That I did. With my muzzle, because of no hands. Again, I was holding back giggles, because everything was so funny! I backed clear of the door, and bumped my behind into a bed. My body was full with embarrassment. Klim Pussel asked if I was here. He knew I was here, so why did he need to know what he already knew? He laughed a little, then said I should get to a bed if I wasn't going to leave after all. He could sleep now, not me. I was going to be silent until he was sleeping. Then I would go out so he didn't know I had left. That was an ingenious plan! Darkness was very dark. I liked it. Soothing darkness, and twangy talk pony was not making the talking. My eyes were closed, so it was even darker now. I wouldn't like to leave. If I forced myself to leave, I would cry, because forcing myself would be uncool. Embee would come, and then we'd do what needed to be done, and I wouldn't cry because she lended support and was nice and kind and stuff. I wouldn't sleep now. I was standing, and sleep couldn't happen if I was standing. I didn't mean to be sleepy. I had been so valiant. Plymouth. I raised my leg a little. The one on the left and back, because I had four. Kinda kept the tip of the hoof resting to the floor. This was a little weird. I was standing like my legs were locked and keeping me up. That was weird. I wasn't even wobbly. Being pony felt weird all the time, but no freaking out feelings. That was good and I was feeling nice and . . . ice cream . . . cookie dough . . . cold on a summer day . . . glistening things . . . wash and swish . . . the sound? Jimmy's sounds! Like . . . Twish twish twish twish twish. Not heartbeats, but something . . . Valves and rotation . . . Over head cam . . . Cute face car . . . Kisses . . .

Suomibrony

435

Original Character,Human,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

First Pony View

Some dreams you might never want to end… …but what happens when the dream really doesn't?

incomplete

<p>Have you ever had a dream that just seemed so <i>real</i>, that it was impossible to say for certain that it was even a dream at all? A dream that, despite all of its impossibilities, seemed to re-write your entire perception of reality, re-writing your sense of what—and indeed, <i>who</i>—you are? Accepting change is hard enough as it is. But when you're a <span style="color:#808000">somebody</span> who wakes up as a <span style="color:#6495ED">somepony</span>, how do you cope with the impact such a drastic change has on your mind and body? With changes like these, it must surely just be a lucid dream—albeit a suspiciously <i>accurate one</i>—just brimming with potential and ripe for exploration. So you might as well suck it up and make the most of these distressingly…unusual circumstances, and seize this <span style="color:#008000">psychological adventure</span> before you wake up and the dream ends.<br/>After all, this couldn't possibly be real, so the dream must come to an end eventually…right?</p>

teen

2015-10-20T06:35:07+00:00

2022-03-14T18:26:18+00:00

First Pony View A My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic fan fic By Suomibrony Chapter 18 Make Believe Something blurry, but recognizable, then darkness. A voice asked why was I here. A female's. I mumbled something, and tried to think, but neither went too well. She would help me in. In to what? Would find Embee? For what? I was gently pushed or guided. I wasn't sure. Everything felt out of place. Something soft was on me. I wasn't sure what was going on or where I was. Maybe I was on a cloud in the sky? That made sense. Kind of. I thought again, but thoughts were escaping my grasp like a wet bar of soap. Was I thinking? Hold on. I thought I was thinking. So I was thinking. I felt something? I was feeling something. Not a cloud. Not cotton. Not a cotton cloud. Harder. I was on lying on something, sideways. Everything felt oddly normal, but when I opened my eyes . . . A pair of legs and feet, a pair of arms and hands, and a pair of . . . unwanted surprises. While I was undoubtedly disconcerted, I nonetheless realized I was in a well-lit but windowless room with white-tiled floors and walls. A row of lockers and a long, wooden bench were across from me, and the bench I was on was set against a wall of lockers as well. This wasn't the hospital. Somehow, I knew this place was a spa hotel. Why I was here? What had happened? I tried to think, but no answers came to mind. I wasn't even sure how much time had elapsed. Bewildered, I sat up stiffly. Next to me was a plastic bag along with a set of folded clothes: navy blue jeans, a black track top with orange stripes down the sleeves, and a t-shirt in a color I wasn't sure whether to abhor or accept. “Hon?” a voice said, grabbing my attention. A slender, young blonde was standing to my right. “Are you okay?” The moist and uncombed hair, the aquamarine shirt, gym pants and canvas shoes; there was something familiar about her. “I think I'm okay,” I said numbly. Feeling exposed, I wasted no time putting on the t-shirt. Once done, I rested my hands on my thighs. “I don't remember a few things.” I reached for the jeans. At least their color wasn't typically associated with femininity, although that had not weighed much on my mind when I put on the pink shirt. Still didn't, for that matter. “Oh? That's an unfortunate side effect of the spell,” the woman informed ruefully. “Spell?” I asked with a bit of apprehension, nevertheless focused on getting myself into the jeans. “Peachy isn't a magician, but we were in luck when she was able to cast a transformation spell. While you still do have Rosy's body, the spell provides a high identity protection. Amnesia and some memory leaks may occur, but it's only short-term and infrequent,” she explained, then seated herself next to me and laid her arm on my shoulder. “You don't need to worry, hon. Everything's going to be fine. I'm here for you.” Her hair, her half-lidded look, those amethyst eyes? She was Embee! How? Why? I was utterly puzzled. Not just by her humanity. My humanity. I slowly flexed my fingers and looked down my arms to my elbows. There was something different in how they looked, but not as appreciably as it was with the entirety of this physique. This shape was right and wrong, and I was both delighted and distressed. I shouldn't be; I should only be grateful that I had this much. “I know everything will be alright,” I said optimistically as I put on my socks and sneakers, trying to forget my relatively unimportant grievances. “You know why we came here?” Embee asked softly. “I remember. Do you?” “Yeah, it's coming back to me.” Like a poorly edited clip show. “You visited me this morning, and immediately you could tell I hadn't showered in days.” That was embarrassing, but I had my reasons for abstaining from showering. “That's right.” She chuckled warmly. “Coming to this spa was your idea. A crash course, you said. I don't know why you were so awkward, though. I got the feeling you were afraid to be seen.” I wrapped my arms over my midsection, slouching a little. “Do you have a body image issue?” “This isn't quite how I used to look like,” I admitted. “But don't worry.” I hastily smiled at Embee. “Aside from a few trivialities, I'm okay with this. Just a little self-conscious, that's all.” That was putting it lightly. So many people in the spa, such implicit pressure to behave normally, and I hadn't been in full agreement with my apparel. While now out of sight in a plastic bag, they nevertheless evoked recent feelings of humiliation and discomfiture. The crash course! It was sparked by a sense of boldness, not unlike dipping myself into cold water just to prove to myself that I could. Much like the iciness sapping my warmth, my courage had also dwindled when put to the test. Determined not to go back on my decision, I had undertaken a very harrowing trial. Yet, I couldn't believe I had chosen to experience that by my own accord. Embee suggested we get out of here. I put on the track top, but left it unzipped. Would be too constricting otherwise. As a silver lining, there wasn't much to constrict. I then happened upon a mirror, where something anthropomorphic stared back at me. The clothes matched mine, and to whom the head on my shoulders belonged to was immediately apparent. “Are we going or not?” Embee said laughingly as she grabbed my arm. I didn't resist her pulling me away. As we walked, I scrutinized my hands. They weren't covered in white hair. I physically checked for prominent ears on my head; I didn't find any. I had a nose, not a muzzle. I was so glad I wasn't anthropomorphic. That would just be too freaky and draw unwanted attention. Through a red-carpeted hallway with mahogany walls, we came to an open and fairly lavish lobby, sporting maroon recliners and brass-lined glass tables. Embee leisurely recounted how I had been meek and withdrawn. I didn't need any reminders. I was still meek and withdrawn, but slightly less now that I was clothed. After Embee did something at the reception, we ventured out into the spacious parking lot that was ensconced by trees and bathed by the afternoon sun. Many cars were here. I remembered where mine was. I had a weird feeling now that we were inside, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I did put my right hand on the wiper stalk. Embee inquired if something was wrong. I had set the wipers into motion, and I was captivated, as if I was seeing a message meant for me in a language I didn't understand. “Nothing.” I turned the wipers off. Everything worked excellently. Lights, engine, transmission, clutch. Everything. An old, reliable car without bells and whistles. A purist's wish? Some guy, who might've been named Oscar—I wasn't sure—was retiring and had put his business for sale. This car had been the cheapest on the lot and had been there for a very long time. It also looked kind of lonely, so I took pity on it. A pony looking for a car was such a surprise that for some reason Oscar offered to drive the car to my home with me as a passenger after the purchase. That was exceptionally nice of him. Wait? Did any of this actually happen? It seemed improbable, yet . . . My memory seemed muddled. “Careful. Don't wake her up,” Embee whispered suddenly and tensely, much to my confusion. I asked her what she meant, but she seemed oblivious. I heard another voice, but maybe that was from the car radio. “. . . leap to conclusions . . . substantiate her humanity.” That came from the radio? I was sure I had heard that female voice before. A song was playing, but while it sounded familiar, I couldn't tell why. Was it from Mario Kart? Inexplicably, I was by myself next to a river estuary, or some kind of body of water in the grassy lowlands. A road curved here, hugging the sandy embankment. A boxy-looking green car crossed the median and flew into the water, sinking in a matter of seconds. I was saddened, but also angered. How could someone mistreat a vintage Volkswagen Polo! Or was it an Audi 50? They were practically identical. Despite my fear of water, I considered diving to the car and checking which one it was, maybe even rescue the car somehow. Or not maybe. I absolutely had to! To leave it there wouldn't be right! Before I had time to act on my plan, I was interrupted by a hand on my shoulder. A guy in a flannel shirt and brown trousers with slightly graying dark hair and a thin mustache was behind me. Puzzled, I faced him. “Your mom does what she thinks is best for you, but doesn't always ask for your input.” She had convinced my dad to rearrange my room when I was in school one day. That had really ticked me off! “You're not as distant with your dad. He's got a kind heart, but he's a pushover and not the sharpest pencil in the drawer.” It was discouraging that I didn't think I could engage in a deep and meaningful discussion with him. “They love you, but don't really show it. Your friends are great at video games and like fun as much as the next guy, but a thoughtful bunch they are not.” Sometimes, I felt that their minds hadn't matured much since their teens. “I get the impression you're the sensitive type.” I had the impression that sensitivity was not an appreciated trait. “A hair over sixty, widower, no kids, no grandchildren, no family to speak of. Did I ever tell you I had friends? I believe I didn't.” The man's hand slid off my shoulder, and he smiled sadly. “I kept my enterprise afloat for nearly forty years. That's how I lived my life. But time has passed me by. I guess loneliness got to me, and I saw you as a child I never had.” That was a tad creepy. He chuckled, then speculated that I might be right. He placed a car in my palm. Hearing sloshing from the body of water, I turned around to see a light blue four-door sedan of European design slowly rise from the water. “It's not much,” the man said humbly. “Just a thing that has served me well.” The car was shedding pearly droplets, approaching me at a crawl, its wheels spinning lazily as they elegantly cleaved water. It traversed the incline and came to a rest on the road, being so clean it might as well have been self-luminous. It was eerily otherworldly, yet beautiful. Mesmerized, I knelt down by the front and ran my fingers slowly over the gray bumper. It was coarse. “Treat it well.” “I'll try,” I said, but I became puzzled when I realized no one was here. Although, the green car was now on the beach, its entire front end a crumpled and depressing mess. I wished I could've helped it somehow. Now it was too late. It was a dead car. When I looked back at mine, I saw moisture on the headlights. “Are you crying?” I inquired softly, gently wiping a little of the fluid off. A silence dawned, its duration unusually hard to calculate. “Why were you crying?” I received no answer. Then I realized how absurd it was to talk to a car. Embee was waiting inside the car. I wasn't sure if she said anything, or if I said anything. Next thing I knew, I was behind the wheel, passing apartments of various age and design. Shops, a few parks, even a cathedral. Very recognizable locations, but none of them seemed specific. Then we stopped by the roadside for some reason. There were only trees here, and the vacant road was slanted just a bit as it curved to the left. Embee had gone into the woods, and I was leaning against my car, gazing in boredom at the rural thickness. Another car was coming from ahead. Strangely, it looked precisely like mine. It was going a little fast, and the road looked wet. Not too surprisingly, the car spun out of control. “No,” I commanded tersely, as if the car was a misbehaving child. It regained traction and sped past me as if nothing had ever happened. However, as bemused I was by this sudden event, I felt like I had done something remarkable. I pressed my mind, and gathered that the bumpers were unpainted plastic, and a car was composed of hundreds upon hundreds of parts. What had that to do with anything? Regardless, Embee and I were soon back on the road. We ultimately arrived at a gas station that also housed a supermarket and a diner. It was by a freeway, and grasslands stretched out as far as the eye could see. The gas station was colored in orange and green, but otherwise was a plain, white concrete building with large windows. I had to remind Embee to lock the car doors. No central locking in this car. I had parked next to a modern, silver gray sedan. It was shiny and streamlined, but also bulky with sharp, intimidating headlights. Like many other cars, I thought it looked menacing. My simplistic and somewhat smaller car looked placid in comparison, amplified further by its round-edged, gently trapezoid headlights. It was such a cutie! But I'd be careful of saying that, because deviations from the normal were socially unacceptable. I asked what her plan was as we walked through the sliding doors. She stopped and looked to the left with a hum; that was where the supermarket was. She then looked to the right, toward the diner. “I could grab something to eat,” she said and headed to the right. Naturally, I followed. The furniture here was made out of dark wood, with a floor composed of brown tiles. Quite a fancy diner. Maybe it was a restaurant? Why was I so unsure? Did I not know? Positioning ourselves at the tray rack, we took stock of the displays ahead. ‘Sandwiches and baguettes in plastic wrap, doughnuts, muffins, pies,’ I itemized, easily identifying them through the plexiglass covers. ‘Water, juice, milk, soda, tea, coffee.’ “There's a lot to choose from. Even meals.” A backlit menu was above the row of counters ahead, although most of the displayed goods were for omnivores. Maybe Embee wasn't interested? I gestured at a separate sideboard. “You can make your own salad over there, if you like.” “Hold that thought.” She leaned close, whispering, “I got a womanly need demanding my attention.” “Oh?” I didn't need to think twice to infer what she meant. “Well . . . Gonna take care of it?” I whispered back. “Right away.” She opened the beige shoulder bag she was carrying, procuring from within a sky blue package, then handed me her bag “Can you take my bag and find us a seat in the meantime?” “Certainly.” I slung it over my shoulder and willed a smile. “I'll choose a window seat.” With a thanks and an acknowledgment, she strolled off toward wherever the restrooms were at. I envied her positive attitude, but I couldn't believe she was going to cheerfully push one of those things into herself. I made my way to a secluded booth in the corner, sat myself on the green sofa, and let the bag's strap slide off my shoulder. Speaking of straps and shoulders, I stuck my fingers underneath my shirt collar. “Stupid things,” I muttered, finding and then returning what had slipped off to its intended place. Considering my proportions, perhaps the piece of clothing was unneeded. Resting my elbows on the table, I held my head on a bridge formed by my fingers, feeling a little despondent. I cast a glance to my right, and as luck would have it, my car was not far beyond the glass. It seemed to project comfort to me. Strange. A sudden voice nearby drew my immediate attention. A slightly stocky young guy in a gray hoodie was standing by the table, his dark hair featuring a gelled tip dyed red above his forehead. I recognized that person, and I hoped he wouldn't recognize me. “Pink highlights? That's funny. Perfectly natural, am I right?” His affably sarcastic comment drew my gaze upwards for a second. “Pure one hundred percent natural, guaranteed. I've had them, well, since always. Can't get these anywhere, since rosy pink hair dye is unheard of and impossible to manufacture,” I replied in kind. He smiled slyly with a chuckle. “That's funny.” Funny? No, I was nervous. He was one of my disputable friends, after all. “Know what's really funny?” “Off-hand, no,” I said plainly. Benny didn't look or sound intoxicated, so perhaps he would behave himself. “You see that light blue car?” He pointed at my car outside. “With my two Mark I eyeballs,” I affirmed, trying to act cool. “My friend has the same kind of car,” he informed. “That's neat.” I held my eyes on my car as I waited for my frown to vanish. “You know what else is really funny?” he asked confidently. I remained silent, giving him a stoic stare. “My friend's got the same kind of track top you do.” “Okay.” My eyes slowly rolled toward the window, whereupon they snapped back to him. “What a coincidence.” Wearing the most self-satisfied smile his face could handle, he sat down opposite me, laid his arms on the table, and crossed his fingers. His index fingers unfurled to point at me. “What's even more funnier is that you look a lot like my friend.” I was speechless, but I had plastered a look on my face that was somewhere between astonished and nonchalant. “But my friend's not a chick.” I felt that word was disparaging, and not just at me. “Never thought he'd look cute as a chick, though,” he remarked complacently. Was he playing with me? I had a feeling he had put two and two together already. “Are you like his identical twin sister or something? That's funny. I thought he had no siblings.” Feeling like I had no recourse out of this mess, I placed my face into my palms with a sigh. “So, what's it like?” “What's what like?” I said from behind my hands. “Come on, don't play dumb. That car and the clothes, and the face that's like yours but prettier.” So, the cat was out of the bag. Finally. I didn't look him in the eye, though. “The smart guy is now the chick, huh? Got a dandy new name for yourself? Please don't tell me it's something dumb, like Kelly.” His smarmy attitude convinced me to hold my tongue. “Okay, be like that. So, how's it like to have . . .” He did rubbing motions on his chest. “Had a lot of fun, eh?” “Fun?” I was so appalled that I felt queasy. “Graft a pair of bean bags to your chest with duct tape and try to go about your day as normal, then tell me how much fun that is. You'll quickly discover them to be inconveniences without any redeeming qualities. In fact, I sometimes feel like I'm deformed.” Benny said I shouldn't think of myself as deformed, adding that I was a fine looker. He missed the point completely, but I was so dismayed I couldn't bring myself to enlighten him. “So, bean bags, huh? That's what, B-cups?” Barely, fortunately. I remembered seeing myself in a mirror, in my underwear, with a deranged grin stuck on my face. There was no doubt I had suffered a massive emotional breakdown soon after. “Hehhey, round domes are better than pointy cones!” What was that supposed to mean? Then I saw that his gaze was aimed below my neck; I tucked the sides of my track top closer. “Don't hide 'em, sexy.” “Don't call me that!” I snapped. “And I have every right to hide them. They're not your eye candy.” I turned askew, starting to feel unbearably self-conscious and somber. “I don't even particularly like them.” They were an affront to my person. When Benny uttered another idiotic remark, I left my seat with an urgent want to expunge my bad mood. Spotting a metallic door behind myself, I promptly opened it and walked through. To my astonishment, I found myself in an iron-clad room with a wooden desk at the far end. Between me and that, however, was a bulky robot with a powdered wig on its glowing dome of a head. Presenting itself as Button Gwinnet—which I raised a brow at— he stated that my assault into his well-defended fort was daring and brave, but that he wouldn't surrender the Declaration of Independence without a fight. Utterly confused, I thought it best to not say a word and go back through the metallic door. To my annoyance, I had reverted to a pony form decked in leather armor and a bandana. I hated to know that the leather armor was quite figure-hugging. I assumed it couldn't be any different for ponies. But I was more agitated by the fact that the lever that opened the door was wholly unusable with hooves! Thwarted, I faced the malfunctioning bucket of bolts and imitated dialogue. Passing the speech check to convince the robot I was Thomas Jefferson on a mission to ensure the DoI's safety seemed all too easy. Button-bot chuckled. “My dear girl,” he spoke to me with affable disbelief in his aristocratic voice, humiliating me when he ruffled my mane with his three-fingered robotic hand. “I'm sorry to say this, but you are not Thomas Jefferson.” “I don't understand this. My success chance was one hundred percent,” I complained, incredulous and dismayed. Enunciating a decidedly feminine grunt, I used my foreleg to gently push Button-bot's limb out of my hair. After he happily remarked how preposterous it was that a "fair and dignified young lady" attempted to impersonate Thomas Jefferson, I sighed in defeat. I didn't have the audacity to attack a fundamentally harmless robot, so I chose to do this quest the hard way. “Okay, I'll hoof it to the library and bring ink so that we can make a forgery of Declaration of Independence to give to the Brits.” “Deliver the redcoats a forgery? That's astounding!” He was so awestruck that he jumped on the spot. Quite impressive for a robot who resembled a metallic avocado with legs. “I can not believe that ingenious scheme did not come to me first!” I had a vague inkling that the idea was his, not mine. He ruffled my mane again, the humiliation of which created a ball of loathing within my chest cavity. “Without a shred of doubt in my mind, I must profess that you are a very clever girl.” Although disgruntled by his compliment, I plastered a demure smile on my face. “Yes, I am a very clever—” I cast a look over my back, catching a very unobstructed view of my tail. “Pony,” I finished flatly, feeling that attributing the g-word to myself in any capacity was equal to self-betrayal. “Can it apply to my physical self?” I placed my hoof between my eyes as I screwed my eyes shut. “It's just a harmless word,” I reasoned as I opened my eyes. I was back in the seat of the gas station/diner/restaurant place, opposite Benny, and best of all, I had reverted from a leather-clad mare to my previous self. That I was still female put a damper to my joy, however. Benny was holding a piece of cardboard in his hands with “Shall we continue?” scribbled on it. I think that was what was scribbled on it. A wireless game controller was on the table; I took it and pressed the start button. He promptly threw the cardboard sign over his shoulder. “So, do you like some sausage in your pie?” he asked, sporting a wry smile and twirling his index finger on the table. He then became utterly flabbergasted when I expressed my surprise at him being a chef. His brief stint as a burger flipper and pursuing a career as an electrician couldn't be conducive to cooking. But what kind of pie has sausages? Seemed like he only became more confused, and that was starting to confuse me. Our staring contest ended when he asked if I could stand up and turn around. When I wanted to know why, he replied that he needed to assess if I was blessed with beautiful buttocks. I rolled my eyes with a huff of disgust, then in no uncertain terms outlined that I was tired of his debauchery, and suggested he acts like a civilized and responsible adult or leaves me be. He defended himself by saying that teasing was an essential part of friendly banter. I pointed out that his teasing and banter was anything but friendly. He crossed his arms, leaning back leisurely. “Okay. I'm sorry. I think I got off to a bad start.” I assumed he had taken my wish with some seriousness. “You're a girl now, huh?” he posited. “Not mentally. Only physically,” I clarified, uncertain of his trustworthiness. “But girls are girls, and guy are guys, so that means you are a girl,” he said with a happy smile, as if things were that simple. Sighing, I momentarily buried my face in my hands, unwilling to believe he was being genuinely obtuse. “No, think for a second. My body is female, but my mind is male. That doesn't mean I'm female.” “If you're not, then you gotta act like a man,” he said plainly. I looked at him, perplexed. He then started talking about how a real man would derive every form of pleasure out of possessing a female form, sexual or otherwise, then segued into how men and women have exclusive and distinct interests, roles, traits, and hobbies, and that the lines shouldn't be blurred or crossed. Then he started juggling glowsticks. This somehow demonstrated that it was okay for males to act like a female if it was to make fun of their stereotypical behavior, but totally uncool to genuinely behave effeminately or like feminine things. I gathered he was rambling about what was socially unacceptable and what wasn't. I interjected by querying why something had to be socially unacceptable. “It's just how it is, and nothing good comes out of questioning it.” That sounded ominous, like a threat veiled in an impassive tone. Apparently done with ranting, he produced six pony figurines that he lined up on the table. “So, let me ask you: which one of these do you identify with the most?” The figurines were instantly recognizable, and my eyes were quickly drawn to the rainbow-maned mare. Was that what I identified most with? Rainbow Dash was what I felt I must strive for. With my arms tented, I held my thumbnails to my lips as I began reconsidering the yellow pegasus to be the closest match to my personality. “You know, the pony you choose decides what you are.” Benny's smug smile was off-putting, and he seemed to silently revel in letting me see it, leading to the inference that I was playing into his hands. “So, what kind of a girl are you, hmh?” “My identity is not female,” I insisted. Then I hatched an idea so brilliant that my exasperation was instantly replaced by face-blanking astonishment. I eagerly placed six figurines of my own before his, each identical to his, save for one notable detail: my lineup consisted of males. “So, which one of these do I identify with the most? You think it's this one?” I pointed at the male Rainbow Dash. “Well, sorry, but no.” I slowly shook my head, as if Benny's unspoken guess was wrong. “I have a bit of each, but if I had to choose one, and only one.” I gingerly placed one pony on my open palm. “This is the kind of a guy I am,” I said self-assuredly, yet softly, as I raised my palm to my eye level. “You gotta be joking.” Benny frowned, dissatisfied. “You want to be a wimp?” “Oh no, now you're misunderstanding him,” I said calmly. “For starters, he's sensitive, empathetic, and sweet.” “Yeah, whatever,” Benny said tersely. “You should've picked this one.” He pointed at the male Rainbow Dash. “Or that one.” Now his finger rested on male Applejack. “Maybe this one.” Male-Twi's turn to receive a light tap on the head. He regarded Pinkie to be unbearably lively and "too pink". “That yellow disgrace doesn't deserve to call itself a man, and neither do you if you don't wise up and choose something better.” Withholding my resentment for his derisive assertion, I returned male-Fluttershy to the line, then studied the counterparts of each pony like it were a chess game. “In your opinion, you believe it's perfectly fine for women to be like any of the six mares?” Benny's reply was a firm yes. “Even these two?” I pointed out Applejack's and Rainbow Dash. When Benny replied with another yes, I knew what the natural follow-up question was. “Is it perfectly fine for men be like any of the stallions here?” “Nope,” he said, his tone unchanging as he then claimed that the white one with a poised expression and stylish mane was playing for the same team due to his grandiloquent decorum, lifestyle, and appearance. I wasn't convinced sexual orientation was determined by those factors. Obviously, I was heavily opposed to the double standards he espoused, but I had to maintain my civility, and above all else, refrain from personal attacks. “I believe in equality, which means that men and women deserve the same opportunities and freedoms in their private and public life,” I stated. “Or in other words, men can be feminine and women can be masculine, without fear of prejudice and judgment. The world would be pretty boring if we were all the same. Therefore, diversity is a virtue. By your admission, however, you're fine with tomboys. From this I draw the assumption that you don't try to shoehorn them into a narrow and archaic role, telling them to "woman up" when they exhibit traits typically associated with the opposite gender. So, with that said, it's not too much to ask that you refrain from "correcting" men who exhibit femininity, right? I mean, how does it affect your life if a guy is not the epitome of masculinity?” Benny was looking like a kid sulking for not getting his way. “Bah! Why you gotta try to outwit me? You're the chick, not the smart guy.” His petulant retort didn't upset me one bit. Actually, I laughed a little. His expression changed instantly. “Dang,” he said with a dead serious tone. “You're like you, but a girl. It's kinda hot. That giggle, though? It's too girly. So yeah, don't do that again.” “Oh?” I was surprised, even somewhat worried. “Are you imposing an arbitrary femininity limit on me?” He replied affirmatively with an expletive added for measure. “Your voice's also too girly. All that perkiness and softness. Quit it.” His draconian demeanor was like that one time when my friends and I, him included, were transformed into ponies with the exception of that I got hit with the sex swap stick, and my bemoaning of my predicament had been met with disheartening belittlement and ridicule. “If you had this voice for a few days, you too would realize that it becomes the new normal. It's unsettling at times, but I just have to live with it.” I found a faint smile. “It does draw out my feminine side. That's not inherently bad. Every guy has a feminine side. Even you.” “Shut up! That ain't true, and stop trying to be two things at once.” He enunciated a shallow insult spiced with curse words, evidently peeved. “It's like that cake thing. You can't be girly and call yourself a guy, too.” Was I getting under his skin by not conforming to his concept of gender norms? “Okay then.” Intimidated and unwilling to agitate him further, I chose to drop the topic. “Um, but you don't have a problem with my figure, do you?” I asked reluctantly. His reply was an unwavering no, and his gaze dipped. He smiled a little, as if not sure whether he should smile at all. “I'm sorry to say this, but I like to imagine you in something more flattering.” He nodded indicatively toward a blonde. Her attire consisted of a blue low-cut top, a miniskirt, and high heels. She then saw us, gave us a smirk, and started to spin slowly around on the spot while twirling her hand as if waving a lasso above her head. Next she came to me, placing her hands on her knees as she leaned down, she introduced herself as Naughty Nighty. She sultrily asked if she was exciting me. I replied with a no, and added that I would rebuff her romantic or sexual advances. Benny wanted to know if I had interacted with my lady parts. “It was horrible and I'm never trying it ever again!” I cried out. They both stared at me in disbelief. Naughty Nighty called me frigid, as if that was something I should be ashamed of. When she stormed off, Benny commented, “What a fine looker she is.” I expected her to trip on her high heels. That didn't happen. “Kinda like you, huh?” “I know, I'm a total hottie,” I chirped jauntily with a subtle touch of sarcasm to camouflage my shock and contempt. He then went on to say that I would look great if my outfit was more titillating. Producing a pencil and a sheet of paper from literally nowhere, he quickly made an illustration of a young woman casting a confident look over her shoulder, wearing a denim vest, shorts, and leggings. Despite my reluctance to give him an ego boost and a small victory, I had to admit that making a lifelike illustration with only a pencil was extremely impressive. However, I held my tongue when he, with salacious word choices, opined that the intriguing apparel emphasized the attractiveness of the thighs and posterior. As he colored the hair copper-brown with rosy-pink stripes, I allowed myself a disgruntled huff and a frown. I made it clear that I preferred my modest and nearly gender-neutral outfit. Curiosity got the better of him and he wondered if I was wearing women's undergarments. I saw no reason to tell him a lie, although I was embarrassed to confirm his suspicion. “That's hot,” he said happily. I couldn't be sure if he was joking or not. “If you think about it, being attracted to a female who identifies as a male makes you attracted to the same sex. Sort of. I mean, I'm still me, just with a cuter face, higher intonation, more curves, and longer hair with these vivid highlights.” I grabbed my hair and gently let them slip out of my hands. “Say, if I were to cut my hair short, would I resemble myself then?” I pulled my hair back behind my head and held it by one hand in a ponytail so as to create a more boyish appearance. “Oh, but hey.” With my jocular side taking a stand, I applied a deliberately feminine slant to my intonation. “It's no secret you have the hots for me.” I rested my head on my bridged fingers, casting him a sidelong look as I fluttered my eyelashes. “Even once I'm back to being physically male?” I undid my little pose with a demure giggle. He had an uncertain look about him. “Still think of me in my undergarments, hm?” I placed myself on the sufficiently spacious table, supporting myself on my elbows and folding my legs up as if to read a book in bed. My smile was so catty that I was close to sprouting whiskers. I did sense that I had gained a hairy skin, expressive ears, and a lively tail—par for the course to an anthropomorphic unicorn. “I'm a guy at heart, and I'll make sure you won't forget that.” “Okay, that's not funny.” He pushed me back into my seat. “You put an awful image into my mind that I have to eradicate, pronto.” He stood up, then started dancing and chanting "guy stuff", spawning bottles from his person like Sonic the Hedgehog with unlimited rings trapped in a hurt loop. However, I was in for a rude surprise when I learned that I had reverted to a (clothed) pony form. With my mischievousness all but gone, I looked at myself with apprehension. “No, I don't want this. This isn't me.” So frightened that I was at the brink of tears, I hid my eyes behind my hooves. “Take it away, please. Take it away.” I felt appreciably human all of a sudden, and visually confirmed that I was—with unmistakably female characteristics. “Not perfect, but better.” Despite my palpable disappointment, my sangfroid returned in seconds. Benny ended his strange ritual and glanced pityingly at the beer can he held in his hand. From where and how did he get that? “Girls don't have the faintest clue of what it's like to be a guy.” Was that addressed to me? Did he assume my physical sex invalidated my experiences as a male? That was too ridiculous to take offense to. “Well, drinking isn't exclusive to guys,” I said, half-amused incredulity creasing my face. “But you do know that I think getting wasted is decadent, and that I find it extremely difficult to relax and have fun with inebriated friends, right?” “I get it. You're a boring, no-party girl,” he retorted, the bottle turning into streaks of light that projected upwards before fading away. I chose not to remind him of my true gender, as I believed he was well aware of it already. “Doesn't surprise me, since you're a naive and idealistic wanna-be intellectual. I bet you even have oh-so-smart debates in your dreams.” He then presented an argument that masculinity was gauged by how much a guy was into sports. Ridiculous! No one thinks like that anymore. He must've been joking. “And why do you stay by yourself at home when you could be getting a good buzz and be doing all sorts of fun stuff with us guys?” He held his arms out before me. “You really gotta learn how to let your hair down.” “My hair's already down.” I was puzzled by the sudden change of topic. “Down to my shoulders, as you can clearly see.” “Why you gotta be like that?” Clasping his temples, he did a full spin on the spot. “We're trying to save you from your boring life by inviting you to our fun times. We have fun every weekend! Do you think it's fun being all by yourself?” I replied that I didn't need saving, and that I can enjoy being alone. “That's not normal.” When I stated that it was normal for an introvert, he shook his head in pity and implied I was being an obstinate misfit. Why was he being so judgmental and narrow-minded? “Maybe you should've been born a girl.” Where did he derive that from? Did he think females were inferior? Certain he had tried to push my buttons, I chose not to respond to his thoughtless quip. “Well, I don't have to be what you think I should be,” I stated, a little timid, but resolute. “I can be different. Like an AMC Pacer! Anyhow, there are many ways to be a man, and femininity and masculinity aren't mutually exclusive. So, a man can be as manly as he wants and be crazy about sports or whatever that's typically associated with males, yet show a softer side on a regular basis. Or whatever that's typically associated with females. Or prefer solitude to socializing.” “Whatever you say. I'm gone,” he said wearily, then began making his way past people whose presence I hadn't noticed before. “Hey!” I stood up. “I thought we had a good thing going here. Come on, don't go! Let's keep talking, friend to friend, um . . . man to man.” He didn't heed my appeals. I sighed, folding my arms after seating myself. “What a quitter,” I muttered, disappointed that he had actually bailed out. Had I been too heavy-handed and driven him off? Speaking of which, I held my hand at an arm's length and eyed it with mild curiosity. They were slender and the nails were short, so at least they couldn't be literally heavy-handed. I was glad I hadn't inherited my parents' big hands. On a whim, I thought of nail polish and extensions. “Blegh. Those are so lame.” I balled my fist, cracking a mellow smile as I felt like I had channeled a bit of my inner Rainbow Dash. “Au naturel, that's the best.” “Hehheh! You showed him who's boss!” someone with a raspy voice complimented. Hovering aside the opposite booth was the prismatic mare herself, looking characteristically cocky, as she often does. “But I got places to be. See ya, sport.” Her exit was so swift I had no time to surmount my bewilderment. “What and how?” I said dumbly. “Isn't it obvious?” A white mouse with copper brown hair adorned with pink stripes stood on the table, a look of nonchalance on her face. “That conversation was fairly cohesive, but otherwise, very little makes sense here.” Something in me insinuated that this mouse, who wouldn't be out of place in a Don Bluth movie, was Rosy. That couldn't be, though. I knew for a fact that she was a pony, not a mouse. “Just look at that.” She indicated to my right. A horse sharing the same colors as the mouse was nearby. “I'm not a horse!” the horse informed, as if I had insulted her. “I have a horn, and I'm smaller than a horse. That makes me a unicorn pony. Thankfully, I'm not a G1 pony.” I was sure I heard the Metal Gear Solid alert sound effect when consternation appeared on her face. “Or a G3.5 pony!” she exclaimed in shock. “Or that?” The mouse indicated to my left. “Does that make sense to you?” Outside was my car, except with a pair of wings with an engine on each, and its roof and trunk extended into a v-tail. I laughed amiably at the silliness. “Oh Jimmy, you can't fly. You're a car!” His aircraft parts retracted after a moment, and I sensed I had taken the wind out of his sails. For that I felt bad. My apology seemed to restore his spirits. Embee tumbled through a hole that opened in the air, nonchalantly straightened herself, and took a seat. Immediately after, a cartoonish rendition of one of The Beatles grabbed the hole's corner and made it vanish into itself. Soon after Embee's return, another person appeared. He was a humanoid in overalls, but with a gray pony head with a red mane and dark blue eyes behind rectangular glasses. On his palm were three pristine diamonds. The finest he had to give to his favorite niece so that she could live comfortably, and had some insights on how to get the best out of their value. Then I had afforded myself a place of my own and some tech for entertainment and practical use. The humanoid pony left, and Embee hadn't been fazed at all. Even I wasn't so much. It was just my uncle. Or was it? Although, wasn't he a pony? No, a human? This was unthinkably confusing. Something light blue was zipping around the floor in erratic patterns. When I identified it, I gasped excitedly as I joined my hands with a clap. I crouched down to meet the blue marvel, but it zoomed past me; however, it came back. “Hey,” I whispered sweetly. “You're a cutie.” It seemed curious, and was the size of an RC car—because it was an RC car! “Can I pick you up, please?” I lowered my hand for it. Daunted by my presence and stature, it hesitated for a while before taking itself to me. Exercising utmost care, I gently picked it up and held it in my arms. “Look, Embee! It's a baby car!” I gingerly put my cheek to the baby car. “Isn't it just so adorable?” Embee agreed, expressing a desire to snuggle the little car and make d'aww sounds. Then the miniature machine escaped from me, growing a pair of antennas and translucent wings. “Okay, what are you trying to be? A butterfly?” I asked laughingly, eyeing the hovering baby car with intrigue. “No? Hmm, a dragonfly, then?” The wings became avian and the antennas changed into tufts of prismatic hair. “Oh sure, you and Rainbow Dash are like two peas in a pod,” I said with playful sarcasm. The flying not-Rainbow Dash then landed on the table, its wings and hair becoming dozens of tiny white sparkles that fleeted off with a faint tingle. Then, a paper cutout of Rainbow Dash's face covered up the little car's fascia. “That would work if we weren't on the same team, you know.” “Oh my gosh! It's Rainbow Dash!” Embee let out an uncharacteristic squeal, her hands on her cheeks. The little car seemed nonplussed by this, discarding the paper mask soon after. “Oh . . .” Her delight faded. I was a little amused by her disappointment, although I felt I shouldn't be. Something about the car caught my eye. “You got some smudges. Let me take care of them.” I applied a napkin and some car wax to diligently clean him up. Once done, I gently rested my hands on his fenders, glad that he was sparkly clean now. “Hey, I never asked your name. Do you have a name?” When he gave his name, I reacted with delighted surprise. “No, really? Your name's Jimmy? That's so strange. I know someone named Jimmy, too. Well, he's actually Jim, but, eh, you know. He's outside, right there.” The baby Jim turned around to face his bigger brethren. “It's like you're his smaller twin. That's so cool!” Baby Jim was overjoyed. He wanted me to give him a kiss? As compliant as I was to grant him his wish, I couldn't forget my adoration of and loyalty to his bigger brethren. “Oh, I love you too, Jimmy. You're my snookie wookums.” “Who's Jimmy?” Embee asked, amused and curious. “Is he your boyfriend?” She laughed warmly. The restaurant disappeared. Embee disappeared. Everything disappeared. Even baby Jimmy was gone? Next thing I realized was that Embee had rematerialized, but she looked very blurry and very pony. “Mmmhyeah . . .” I mumbled, starting to doubt she had spoken at all. And if she had, what had she said? “Where's Jimmy?” I sounded weird. I tried to find him, but all I saw was more brown and some intense brightness to my left. I was on something soft. Some kind of fabric. I was in a bed? Since when? Embee laughed softly. “Good morning, hon. I came as soon as I could.” A short pause followed while I tried to clear up my vision with a few blinks. “Well, I guess I could've let you sleep a little bit longer,” she said with a hint of apology. “But it's nine in the morning and . . .” She sighed. “I'm really sorry about last night. When I reached Peachy's office, I realized I had left you behind in my hurry, but then I got stuck thoroughly explaining your situation to her. And she was hard to convince. Then Nighty came by, and I asked her to find you and help you to a bed if you were tired. She later told me you had struck up a chat with a patient and then dozed off.” A small smile of amusement graced her features, as if she was cautious of finding my misadventure funny. “Anyhow, Peachy and I came to look at you, and she did a preliminary inspection. She said that she's quite certain of your humanity. However, just like you and me, she also needed a good rest. Now, don't worry. She should be here in a few hours to run some tests.” Now it was my turn to smile. “Oh . . . Okay, that's great news. Really amazing.” I sounded groggy, as if I had porridge in my throat. Nor were my thoughts forming smoothly, but good things had happened and were coming. I wasn't sure how I was positioned, but after a moment, I realized I was prone. “I'm gonna get outta bed . . .” I pushed myself up. My mind . . . came to a sudden halt. It remained halted for . . . a while? When my thoughts began thinking again, I chose to do as I had said. Something didn't go quite as I had expected and I slumped on my side. “Oh?” I heard Embee utter quietly. “What happened now?” “Uh . . . Dunno?” I was stupefied and disoriented. Rolling over supine, I began staring at the ceiling. The blanket that once was on me was now underneath me. Something was off about how that felt. Then I extended my arm and saw that it wasn't an arm, but something white with a hoof. “Oh, right.” I folded my foreleg over my forehead with a sigh. “That explains it. Kinda forgot . . .” Then I started becoming aware of my ears denting the fabric. I groaned in exasperation and discomfort. “Forgot that you're a pony?” Embee whispered carefully. I could sense she didn't want to upset me. Or maybe she didn't want to alert anypony. “Eh . . .” I lazily looked around to see if we were alone. We were. “Joints and skeletal system and whatever else that's pony,” I said dispassionately. “To reconcile—” I yawned, stretching a bit. “Takes a moment.” That I was in a hospital bed and still in this weird body fostered a question. “So, hey, am I a patient again?” “In a manner of speaking, yes,” Embee replied. I wasn't sure how to feel about that at first. “Well, spare me the details.” I raised my head, staring down my barrel. Past my folded forelegs and my anterior legs with their upended hooves, my tail was splayed about. All of this was such a really strange thing to see, much less be confined to for the time being. I looked so smooth all the way to there, because female anatomy was kind of like that. Except for the two bumps I now had. Gross. I wasn't oblivious to what was further down between my legs, but thankfully, they were beyond my direct line of sight. Although, the nubs being down there and not up here was a silver lining. Out of sight, out of mind? A dainty muzzle at the bottom of my vision helped obstruct my view, though. Once was up and walking, I wouldn't see or feel my intimate female anatomy, anyhow. Although, then I'd be aware of the emptiness . . . How important was that part of the male anatomy to me? I wasn't truly wistful for it, but I didn't want to be without it, either. I wasn't sure what to make of it, but frankly, I felt— “How are you feeling, hon?” Embee asked. “You don't seem so happy,” she continued when I remained quiet. I didn't want to say I was feeling despondent. “I just woke up, so uhm . . . brain is slow.” I gazed at the footboard, but it didn't hold my attention for long. “I'm clearly still dirty, and a little itchy, too.” I wiggled to resolve the latter nuisance. Even a full day after being introduced to this form, I was so unused to its dimensions and structure that it took me over five seconds to do something as simple as get on my side and squirm the itch away. Could I have reached for it with my foreleg? If it bent that way. Probably did. I didn't care to try it now. For no specific reason, I looked toward the window. I squeezed my eyes shut with a grunt, mentally complaining morosely about the brightness and the windows refracting sunlight directly into my sensitive retinas. “Did you at least have a good sleep?” Embee asked, evidently concerned. “Seemed like your dream was pleasant.” “Yeah. Or most of it was,” I gave her the very short version, and a small smile. “Funny thing about dreams is that most of the details aren't retained, leaving me with an abridged version. Not always, but sometimes.” My drowsy tone was giving way to my normal voice through a phase of squeakiness. Well, as normal as it could be. “But yeah, things were better in my dream. You know, human, and . . . stuff.” I hardly believed the part of my brain that conjured my dream had ranked being human above being male. “I'm sorry that I woke you up,” Embee apologized. “No need to feel bad. I would've woken up eventually and learned that I was just dreaming.” It occurred to me that Embee's mane wasn't as rugged as it was yesterday. She must've combed it. The relative silence of last evening was contrasted with the discernible din of life emanating from the corridor beyond the ajar door. “You know, I could do with something to eat and drink. Maybe even go outside for a while?” I brightened up a bit. “Maybe there's a café or a diner or something nearby where I could get a cup of coffee and breakfast?” I suggested, inspired by my dream. ‘Apple pie laced with cinnamon and vanilla sauce.’ My fantasy was so intense I felt the flavors on my tongue. “Hmm, ah . . .” Was she going to support my idea, or shoot it down? Perhaps I needed to improve my odds? “To celebrate the good news, you know? Humanity almost proven and upcoming tests, and . . . We never got to our coffee, so perhaps . . .” Then I had second thoughts. “Perhaps it's wiser to stay here, eat some hospital food. I can keep myself occupied while I wait for Peachy, no problem.” I hummed thoughtfully as I took stock of the inactive TV. Perhaps I could lie in bed and numb my mind with something remotely interesting? What was broadcast during mornings, anyhow? Talk shows? Banal cartoons? Bottom-tier soap operas? Prosaic documentaries? I felt so negative about being cooped up in bed that even my ears couldn't feign enthusiasm. Although, traipsing about among ponies and people meant that I'd have to actively confront and swiftly overcome the challenges of this body. “Well, might take an hour or so before Peachy's here.” Embee's estimation gained my attention. I rolled over prone, but now I faced the wall instead of her. I tried to rotate while prone, but my hind legs weren't responding to my inputs in the manner I had expected. Sitting did not present a solution. “Uh . . . what are you doing, hon?” she asked quizzically when I poked my hind leg a few times out of curiosity. The lone, inhuman digit touching another, lone inhuman digit gave me the shivers. “Turning around,” I answered flatly, using my forelegs to twist myself around on my axis. “Clumsily.” I sighed, a smidgen self-conscious. “So, you said Peachy will here in an hour?” “I did. It's enough time to do something other than wait around idly—if you get yourself cleaned up.” She sported a tiny smile as she leisurely raised her foreleg. Knowing that I was grimy didn't stop me from casting a look down my side and back. Still so easily taken aback by being a pony, I blinked, dumbfounded. “Then we can see about going outside,” Embee's voice drew my eyes to her like magnets. “I've heard of a quaint place that's just around the corner.” “Aaaah,” I uttered, stuck staring at her sideways. Then I comprehended what she had said. “Really?” Her congenial expression and affirmative hum and nod strongly supported the notion that a little treat in a café was now much closer to reality. “That's wonderful!” My face flushed and I put a hoof over my mouth. ‘I'll be blushing like mad if I don't get used to how feminine I can sound.’ “Don't get too excited, hon.” Embee laughed warmly, apparently delighted by my joy and unaware of the cause of my embarrassment. “I must get some paperwork out of the way first so that I can be your pony-in-charge.” Now I was puzzled. “Pony-in-charge?” I said from behind my hoof, wary of my voice. “What does that mean?” I continued haltingly, lowering my hoof. So easy was it for me to unintentionally mimic Fluttershy that I scrutinized my foreleg for yellow hairs. Much to my relief, I found none. Anyhow, I trusted Embee not to mistreat me, but I didn't like being on a figurative leash. Or being bossed around, for that matter. “Being your pony-in-charge basically means I act as your guardian and take responsibility of your well-being.” Her explanation put my concerns to rest. “I can't guarantee I'll be allowed to be your pony-in-charge, though. But I'm hopeful.” “So am I, because I'm sure we both know that the circumstances are unusual, and I don't know anypony else to trust but you.” I was compelled to thank her effusively for her altruism, but that I didn't have the necessary courage to speak my mind struck me with shame. “So, yeah, it's best that I don't go by myself, or with somepony I don't know.” I looked outside again. The rooftops of the city's skyline were the predominant sight, and above them was a sky with scattered clouds. For being an autumn morning, the day looked warm. I saw a few pegasi flying about. Then I thought of the ponies on the ground, and if I were to go outside, it was likely I'd have to put on the pretense of being just one pony among the many. One mare among the many. “Would be a bit scary, me being, uh, me being . . . being a being like this,” I said with a touch of anxious laughter. “I could run into a situation I can't deal with on my own and then, umm . . .” One look at Embee was all I needed to recover my inchoate joy. “But I don't need to think about what could go wrong when I'm with you.” I didn't want to admit that I was becoming a touch emotional. Rather than let that show, I chose to get out of bed. Also, the faster I washed the grime off of me, the sooner we'd venture to a café and have a relatively tranquil and normal moment. Like in my dream! “Do you need help?” she queried once I had come to a stop after placing one foreleg to the floor. Never a fan of being inept, I slid another leg off the bed, getting another affirmation of the characteristic insensitivity of hooves. But then doubt struck me. “Uhh . . .” I stammered, gingerly tapping one hoof to the floor as if I could gain more sensitivity. No such luck. I had just woken up, so my brain wasn't churning out a thorough plan. Embee's approach evoked a quick response. “Oh, not so fast.” I raised my foreleg to halt her advance. “I want to see if I can do this by myself.” Embee surveyed me. To mitigate her doubt, I put on a beseeching smile. “Hmm, alright,” she conceded calmly and backed away, although I could tell she was staying alert. With my forelegs on the floor and my rear pair now at the precipice of the bed, I was deliberately maintaining a gap between my latter half and the bed. Under no circumstances should anything get in contact with the highly disagreeable teats! Simply acknowledging that I had them was making me queasy. Nonetheless, I carefully levered myself out of bed. That was when I had to reacquaint with the four legs and their limited input, and I was fortunate that my sense of balance didn't throw in the towel. I stood shakily and wide-legged, like a newborn foal, for a few seconds before I corrected my posture and replaced consternation with a bashful look. “Not bad, Vivienne, not bad at all,” Embee offered some praise. “Well, yeah. I did okay,” I said modestly, pawing the floor. Improving my motor controls was inevitable and preferred, but did that mean I'd become more ponylike in mind and behavior? I was about to voice that dilemma when something distracted me. “Ohh . . .” I moaned and raised my left foreleg, peeking warily toward my rear. There was my grimy equine end, the similarly untidy tail, and female features that were thankfully out of sight. None of those were of immediate concern. “Is something wrong, hon?” Embee asked softly. I was being besieged by a feeling that wasn't uncommon, and its return was natural, but definitely wasn't welcome. “This is really embarrassing.” I frowned haplessly, avoiding eye contact as I walked to the door. I looked both ways, seeing a few ponies of various colors and a couple of humans. “What's embarrassing?” Embee inquired from behind me. I retreated and faced her, but I couldn't spit it out. “Can you tell me what it is?” My gaze tracked a random pattern between our forelegs, unable to ascend her legs and meet her eye. “Hon?” I had to trust her with my problem. “I promise, your secret will be safe with me.” No dancing around the subject, no time to think of something eloquent and tactful. Just straight to the point! With supplication written on my face, I looked to her. “I gotta pee,” I blurted speedily.

Suomibrony

435

Original Character,Human,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

First Pony View

Some dreams you might never want to end… …but what happens when the dream really doesn't?

incomplete

<p>Have you ever had a dream that just seemed so <i>real</i>, that it was impossible to say for certain that it was even a dream at all? A dream that, despite all of its impossibilities, seemed to re-write your entire perception of reality, re-writing your sense of what—and indeed, <i>who</i>—you are? Accepting change is hard enough as it is. But when you're a <span style="color:#808000">somebody</span> who wakes up as a <span style="color:#6495ED">somepony</span>, how do you cope with the impact such a drastic change has on your mind and body? With changes like these, it must surely just be a lucid dream—albeit a suspiciously <i>accurate one</i>—just brimming with potential and ripe for exploration. So you might as well suck it up and make the most of these distressingly…unusual circumstances, and seize this <span style="color:#008000">psychological adventure</span> before you wake up and the dream ends.<br/>After all, this couldn't possibly be real, so the dream must come to an end eventually…right?</p>

teen

2015-12-24T08:02:09+00:00

2018-04-02T06:01:50+00:00

First Pony View A My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic fan fic By Suomibrony Chapter 19 Going Potty Is Not a Potty Thing Trailing Embee by half a body length, I glanced at a person we passed. Being waist-high was somewhat unsettling. My internal critique had become too intense to keep unvoiced. “I should've chosen my words better, Embee.” “Huh?” She looked at me before realizing what I alluded to. “Oh, it's nothing to feel sorry about. You said what was bothering you, that's all.” She finished with a jovial giggle that felt a little mocking in my ears. I assured myself that I was misinterpreting it. “But I could've said . . .” I bit my teeth as I gathered the necessary bravery. “Fillies room. No . . . Ah,” I finished with a mild huff, disappointed at myself. ‘Restroom! I could've said restroom! Geez! Darn my not-so-awake brain!’ “Hey, don't worry about it, hon,” Embee assuaged as we navigated past a woman strolling in the opposite direction. Embee's mellowness made me think I was overemphasizing my concern. “Yeah, I guess you're right,” I conceded. I caught a snippet of a topic that two earth ponies were having ahead. “. . . and leaky windows. There was talk of knocking it down,” said the mare of various grades of light brown and pale blue eyes. She looked so dispassionate that I first thought she was sleep-deprived. “That would've been more than welcome, but the powers that be wisely chose to do the impossible by renovating this ugly and dilapidated colossus instead,” her yellow interlocutor with her mane in a tight bun complained. “This hospital wasn't built to code to begin with, and I bet it's only a matter of time before the same old problems crop up again.” I spied her cutie mark: a cleaved lemon. For some reason, the conversation didn't continue as we passed. “She looks like a whirlwind pulled her through the mud. I hope she's all right.” I recognized that as the other pony's voice; her passionless tone was tinged with a speck of pity. “She's no filly for sure, but why's she without a cutie mark?” the other noted nonchalantly. “Strange.” That I had become their new topic didn't bestow me with delight, but I had neither the time nor desire to intervene. A poster on the wall caught my eye. Brief as my observation was, I did get more than a glimpse. Two distinct frames on a white background. The left side was completely black, with "Can you see me?" in thick, white lettering. "How about now?" was on the right side, except here the darkness was pierced by a few rectangles and curves of silvery white. Beneath these images was a happy pony, wearing white bands around his barrel, knees, and hocks. "Be seen, be safe!" There was something else underneath, but I had passed so quickly I hadn't been able to decipher the small print. I did deduce that the pony was wearing safety reflectors. That was pretty neat. I was thankful I wasn't tripping over my legs, but I feared I'd accidentally squirt out a puddle. Were the muscles that kept the bladder contents contained unlike that of a male's? Something seemed to have become stuck to me and was gently brushing my buns. I looked over my back to see what it was. The realization was almost immediate and my face creased with exasperation. As little use it was, I gave my tail a tiny toss. As if it could come loose . . . We rounded a corner and suddenly I came face to face with a deep blue pony. “Awmh, oh,” I stammered, then took a few small steps back. “S-sorry?” He backed away with a mirthful laugh. “Gracious gail, we nairly bamp'd aisader!” Then the cyan-maned stallion went along his merry way, sending a glance my way before he disappeared out of sight. I was paralyzed, utterly confused by his bizarre vernacular. “Hey?” Embee called, waving at me by a door to the right a couple of paces ahead. “This is the place.” She pushed her hoof into the depression by the door. I sighed in relief as the white door swung open inwards. “Finally.” When I crossed the short distance to her, it truly dawned to me that I was about to enter a place reserved for females! This was a criminal invasion of privacy! Maybe not literally criminal, though. Or maybe it was? On a lark, I looked at the opposite door. An emblem there sported the shape of a male pony. “Well, what are you waiting for?” Embee queried, a trace of confusion both in her tone and expression. “I thought you were in a hurry.” “Yeah yeah, but . . .” If I now expressed preference for the . . . colt's room? “Just feels weird when I'm not really a . . . uhm . . . mare,” I mouthed the last word silently a few times before I got it out. While Embee gazed at me with innocently curious but patient eyes, I deduced that the sign on the other door wasn't going to make me more male. Not physically, anyhow. Maybe not at all? “Never mind. I'm just being needlessly fussy. Fillies room, ladies room. Same difference, right?” Suppressing a nervous laugh I didn't want to hear, I strolled forth. “Ah, not exactly.” Her comment made me balk just beyond the threshold and cast her a shocked look. “Not exactly?” I echoed with a quiver of trepidation. An assuaging look came to her visage. “I know, I know. What's in there is out of the ordinary, but using it shouldn't be a problem.” She cast a furtive look around, evidencing she was going to say something to me in confidentiality. “Vivienne,” she said in a hushed tone, putting on a soft and suppliant smile. For courtesy's sake, I faced her. “Being a pony is no doubt disconcerting, but nothing's changed in that thing there.” She lightly stressed the last three words, followed by a light but ostensibly encouraging jab. “Now go there, relax, and do as you normally do.” I finally gathered a modicum of bravery. “But it's lots of . . .” A few timid words out. Then I groaned feebly. “I'm sorry, I really gotta go we'll talk later okay? See you soon,” I said hurriedly, performing an about-turn. I heard Embee cough lightly, as if startled. Did my tail swipe her in the face by accident? “Sorry,” I half-yelped. A little shaky, I reluctantly ventured into the controversial room. “Okay. I'll wait right here. If something stumps you, or you need help, just give me a holler and I'll be there before you know it.” She then closed the door. Helping me at the simple task of emptying my bladder into where it was meant to? The humiliation would kill me! At first glance, this was a sufficiently cozy and clean restroom with its brightly lit interior and white tiles covering every surface. I didn't see any flowers or other stereotypically feminine accessories or decorations, either. So then the only difference was that sign on the door? My sentiments about going where no man should go were perhaps overblown. A low-mounted sink was in an alcove to the right. Of course there had to be a mirror! I cautioned myself not to look there. Now, the thing that I so desperately . . . Wait, it didn't look quite right. Directly ahead in a nook of its own was a slightly elevated, lengthwise oblong plastic-rimmed porcelain bowl with what looked like a pitchfork or rowlock at its far side. Between this and the sink alcove was another nook, but whatever. I had to do my business into what amounted to a surreal floor-mounted sink? Seriously? This wasn't what I had expected to find here, and I had mistaken it for the regular thing. Oh well . . . I approached the art gallery reject. Then I got cold feet and questions filled my mind: Why was the lid hinged to the side instead of the back? Where was the tank? The water only filled the hole? Did this operate with vacuum instead of water displacement? What if this thing was out of service and Embee didn't know? What would I do if the brown matter collided with the air screw? There wasn't a ceiling fan here, though, but if this thing started regurgitating . . . ? My pressing issue made me wince, clearing my mind from the needless panicking. “This is no big deal,” I said faintly. “It's like a low . . . Well, sort of . . . Maybe?” The proverbial hourglass was on its last grains of sand. But I was dangerously short on courage! “I've done it into a shower drain. Once. This is much better than that, and is designed for ponies, so this should be super easy and not at all stressful or frightening. Nothing can go wrong.” My nearly voicelessly spoken pep talk didn't dispel my palpable trepidation. When I exasperatedly questioned what the hay was I trying to accomplish by dawdling, I finally poked a hole into my illogical indecision. Nonetheless, I spared a withering stare of dejected resignation at the fixture. “Just have to turn around and position myself carefully but quickly,” I whispered breathlessly as I performed. “The tail,” I squeaked tinnily through a grimace. Took a few painstaking attempts to command it just right so that I could hold it securely aside and thus prevent its soiling when I opened the metaphorical sluice. At the last second, I gathered what the rowlock was for: I positioned my tail through it so it wouldn't fall into the bowl. What good was this colorful and hairy appendage, anyway? My hind legs with their seemingly unusual articulation made sitting down slightly more challenging, and motor finesse for squatting had become unavailable. At last, relaxation. Although, I exercised some restraint in fear of splashback. Naturally, I was glad I hadn't wet the floor, and . . . my eyes were turning moist. ‘Why's this happening? That I was disconcerted bemused me. “It's like doing the number two, just more fluid,” I rationalized, closing my eyes. Why I was whispering to myself? Could I make my dysphoria abate with a voice that served only to remind me of it? I didn't know. I had just woken up; exposing the logic from beneath my emotions was cumbersome. What wasn't hard to deduce, however, was that doing the number one sitting wasn't unsettling in itself. I had to do the cleaning all by myself in my own home, so it stood to reason that I minimized making a mess. Hence, eliminating stray torrents meant I didn't need to wipe the seat or clean the floor. Unfortunately, this pragmatic practice had to stay a secret, as I had a hunch that its revelation would be met with jeering. Doing the one and two in one sitting was normal, so what made eliminating the latter from the equation a laughing matter? I didn't get it. I wouldn't be surprised to be utterly clueless to some social customs. I was regarded as a bit of an oddball among my friends, even when they were as sober as a judge. I doubted they'd be so opinionated that being level-headed was beyond them. Anyhow, I hadn't come to this small space of solitude to reminiscence and review. My immediate urgency had been dealt with. Another thing had arrived to the queue, but I had dithered about the issue by thinking about irrelevancies. The matter couldn't be postponed indefinitely, and the perfect solution being directly underneath me contributed to my consent. Never had I imagined to receive such intimate and incontrovertible evidence of females being no different from males in this regard: both had to do the number two. I thought back on how I'd do this natural occurrence at home. I had a small folding stool that greatly helped me get in a stable and comfortable position to do the needs. It was stored between the washing machine and the wall when not in use. Except this wasn't a memory belonging to me. Still, that I . . . she hadn't renovated her bathroom to be more pony-friendly was puzzling . . . because electronics and whatnot had taken priority. Not digging that in hindsight. Although, the cell phone was a relic bought from a flea market. But she was resourceful. Much like me. Or I thought my resourcefulness was hers. Or the other way around? Darn overlapping identity aspects. Done with my business, I began looking for paper. Worryingly, I didn't see any. However, taking paper to not one, but two orifices that I knew to be in close proximity of a third was disconcerting and nauseating. Inadvertent touching of the untouchable, as loathsome as the mere thought was, couldn't make me skimp on personal hygiene. One glance down brought up another obstacle: I couldn't hold paper. Not with hooves, anyhow; I wasn't oblivious of my telekinesis. I had no reason to stay seated or see the truffles ready for donation to the sewage system. To my immediate right was a tile in the wall with a very recognizable icon that told me all I needed to know. Gazing upwards at the wall to avoid sighting my waste, I held my hoof on the edge of the lid as I carefully lowered it. I couldn't feel the lid, though, so I had to peek a few times to affirm it was tagging along with my limb. Depressing the lower half of the button summoned the big flush. As a small detail of curiosity, the lid had a protrusion, presumably to facilitate its raising by wedging a hoof under it. This room was shaped like an F flipped on its head. In the space between my present location and the sink alcove a square panel with a hole. Next to it was a sign that depicted a series of happily smiling pony-shaped figures. Then it dawned on me that these were instructions for the panel. What was this thing? “To use the . . . LadyFresh?” A small laugh slipped into my voice. That name was so ridiculous I spontaneously thought of a hypothetical name for antiperspirant for men: Dudeorant. “Press the button on the floor . . . Five seconds until . . . Press it again to cancel . . .” I shut my mouth; I didn't need to quietly recite select parts of the instructions. The silhouette was applying her hoof to a flat shape on floor, and truly, beneath the panel and offset by an estimated twenty centimeters was a hoof-shaped elevation that I hadn't noticed prior. According to the illustration, I was to . . . “Oh?” The forwardness of the instructions imbued me with mild shock. However, my discomfort was temporary, as I studied the instructions and the device with growing suspicion. It dawned on me that the signs were plastered on a separate panel, most likely concealing the components for this contraption. In any case, the device would disperse disinfectant mixture that supposedly was an effective sanitizer? I wasn't sold on that procedure, most likely because having my intimates sprayed with soap was never part of my routine! I sighed heavily. “As if being a mare couldn't get any worse,” I muttered dejectedly as I depressed the button. A tiny, green light lit up with a soft buzz. I then positioned myself to receive an unorthodox and humiliating hygiene treatment, not forgetting to hold my tail aside. My only solace was a hope that the inventor of this preposterous apparatus was a pony, and had tested it personally. This brought up an old video game-related memory of Captain Qwark being a test subject for the infamous Crotchitizer. Oh, the shrieking . . . Since I was a smidgen worked up—and had something at the very end of my digestive tract—I chose to bow a little. “You fresh me, I fresh you,” I said as I glanced morosely at the wall-mounted joke, soon followed by a sound not unlike that of a raspberry blown through tightly pursed lips. That . . . didn't make me feel like a winner. Should I have abstained from such a juvenile form of defiance? My rumination was interrupted by the sensation of slight moisture beneath the base of my tail. My initial dismay was slowly eclipsed by incredulity. “What? That was it? Just a small burst?” I had been ready for something much, much worse. I turned around, disbelieving that I was actually disappointed. I had to test the machine just to see what actually came out. A small but short condensed cloud of vapors that dispersed into nothing soon after their ejection? Left speechless, I peeked towards what was thankfully unseen. Was it actually clean now? I wasn't going to spread germs and nasty odors around, was I? My solids had been solid, and passed very cleanly. I hoped I didn't have drops of yellow tucked in a fleshy nook. Ugh . . . That thought put a sickeningly graphic image into my head. A faint but sweet scent lingered in the air, which I assumed to be present at the base of my tail as well. I wasn't even feeling any moisture there anymore, so . . . all was good? I shot a glance of uncertainty at the ludicrous device as I began to head for the exit. One press of the button by the door to unlock it, and I had a path out. Embee greeted me with a complacent look. “How did it go, hon?” Her positive attitude was putting a small smile on my face. “Not too badly.” I moved clear of the door; Embee closed it. “After some initial uncertainty, I did my thing quite well, and then I got sprayed in the butt,” I summarized glibly. “You were what?” Embee wheeled to face me, sporting a quizzical stare. My smile warped into a grin that would've benefited from a squeak “Ahhah, you heard me.” A short but awkward moment before I developed a remorseful frown. “I should not have said it like that. Or at all that.” I pawed the floor, unwilling to look at her anymore. “I was trying to make light of the situation.” “It's alright, hon, I'm not mad at you,” she said, and not a trace of disdain was on her features. “Caught me off guard by your choice of words, that's all.” “Oh? I see. Well, um . . . that's okay.” A relative silence ensued as I began to retrieve my sangfroid. “So, you used the LadyFresh?” I could tell that she intended to express sympathy, but the trace of amusement in her tone stood in contrast with that. I managed a strained laugh in return and an aversive glance. “It's, uh . . . a divisive device.” The successive use of two similar-sounding words was mildly funny. “Some are fine with the thing, others hate it.” “Are they in every restroom?” I felt sorry for every pony who was coerced to or coerced themselves to get hygienated. That wasn't a real word. “I don't think so,” she replied. That was good to hear. “This hospital is a test bed for some inventions. Been a boom of them lately now that they're going from diagrams on paper to functional prototypes.” Diagrams on paper? Probably meant blueprints. “Functional prototypes, mmh,” I mused, but a sarcastic remark eluded me. I settled for the next best thing. “Better than nonfunctional, I guess.” “Nighty used the LadyFresh once, and only once.” Mirth tugged at Embee's lips, but not mine. “You should've seen her. She was fuming, claiming it was a bidet with every flaw refined to perfection. I too gave it a try, and in my opinion, it's—” “Sorry sorry, coming through,” a person donned in a dark jacket said indifferently as he hurriedly navigated past us; the intervention roused me from my impassive state. “I must apologize to you, hon,” Embee resumed soon after, recovering from her surprise much faster than I did. “It didn't occur to me that you'd use it, and I'm sorry for the humiliation and anxiety it must've brought you.” “Oversights happen,” I said laconically. I tried to think of something more to say, but I was thwarted by the fear of saying something that'd potentially make her guilt more severe and prolonged. “Anyhow, hygiene's important, so . . . what choice did I have? I just couldn't go dirty,” I defended my decision. I looked around, checking if we were being listened to. We weren't. “I would've used paper, you know? But, um, there was none.” “I understand,” she said consolingly. “Think of the bright side. This might have been the first and the last visit to the fillies room.” I surmised she alluded to that Peachy would help me regain my humanity. I shouldn't hold my hopes too high and believe everything was destined to be resolved in an hour or two. Nothing I could do would expedite things, but Embee's optimism at least gave me a small morale boost. “Yeah, the last time—” Another person walked past us, startling me slightly. “The last time I'll have to endure the LadyFresh, too.” I sighed. Intimate femaleness and the reminder of being a four-legged creature of smaller stature educed a spell of discomfort. “That's really bothering you, is it?” Apparently, my indisposed demeanor tugged her empathy string. “Yeah, it is, but it's not serious. I'll get over it,” I replied, inadvertently imitating Fluttershy's soft intonation. I then raised one foreleg, cast a glance from the corner of my eye toward my back, and saw my tail make a lazy upwards motion before settling to its relaxed state. I wasn't sure why I did this. Some form of pony body language at play? “Would you like to file a feedback ticket?” Embee's demeanor and tone were so affably placid, I couldn't say whether she was serious or joking. Knitting my brows and shooting a gaze to my lower left, I contemplated the proposition. “Well . . . It doesn't seem relevant. I got a shower to take, and soon. Kinda starting to feel itchy again.” I took stock of the row of chairs lined against the wall. A spontaneous thought recommended I rub myself against them. I seemed to be so convinced of hooves being dedicated only to locomotion and support that I subconsciously assumed I had to deal with skin irritations by alternative means. “Let's not dawdle, then.” As usual, I remained by her side, half-a-body length behind as we began walking. ‘My first and last time showering as a pony? I can do that.’ Showering was a necessity that I had to endure, but I wasn't afraid. All I had to do was to act sensibly, and definitely not fuss about. “Hmh,” Embee vocalized a small chuckle as she glanced at me. “Pardon me for bringing this up, but the way you were unsure of going into the fillies room, I want to know if everything really did go well in there.” “Pretty much.” I didn't expect her to request extra convincing. Had I made the impression of pretending things were fine when they weren't? “I was anxious at first, but once I sat down, I started feeling quite okay. I don't need to elaborate my opinion on that silly hygiene contraption, do I?” “No, no need to. I'm happy that you did well.” We passed a few empty chairs lined against the hallway wall. Then Embee cast a glance at me. “Sat down, you said?” “Yeah, sat down,” I echoed, puzzled, but soon chuckled a little nervously. “Well, you don't mean I'd do it standing up, do you? That's uh . . . That's how guys do it.” It was fortunate Embee wasn't looking at me. Else, she might've seen the subtle misery on my face. Had I said that I wasn't a guy, the self-betrayal might've shattered my composure. All of a sudden, a humorous epiphany made me laugh on the inside. “With some training, I wager I'd be in the same ballpark.” More like no training at all! My for-once confident assertion evoked a delighted laugh from Embee. “Confident, huh?” Her encouraging comment introduced a layer of coyness to my bravado, and I had to fight myself not to divert my gaze in shyness. “Well, for mares, it's perfectly normal to do it standing up.” I barely wrapped my mind around that when she resume talking. “But the fillies room I brought you to?” I presented a hum of curiosity. “I thought what it had was pretty close to what you were used to. That's why I decided not to escort you to the closest fillies room.” “What?” I became both irked and confused. “You mean we didn't need to go walk to the other end of the floor?” “Now, don't get frustrated, hon,” she reproached gently, sparking a pinch of shame; was I getting on her nerves? “I know you don't have it easy, and prefer not to do things the pony way. I was certain you wouldn't take it lightly if you had to use a—” The final word did not register, because I was sure she did not say that. “Wait, stop.” To my surprise, she stopped. I, too, halted in my tracks. Albeit nonplussed, I gave her an askance look. “To use a what now?” I did not believe it started with a "U" and ended with an "L". “A marenal,” she enunciated unambiguously. I was so dumbfounded and incredulous that I was left blinking. “A marenal?” “Oh, right. You're not from here.” Shame transitioned on Embee's features and she dropped her voice. “Sorry, hon. I can't believe I forgot there's more to this than just a young woman stuck in a mare's body.” Now it was my ears that drooped. “Yeah . . .” I scavenged a sad smile. “It's a world of difference.” “That's quite poetic, hon.” Her smile was happier than mine, although I could tell that she wasn't downplaying my predicament. Apparently this was such a sensitive topic that neither of us came up with anything immediate to say. I merely stared glumly at a streak of light reflected on the floor. Something in me insinuated that her not knowing of my true gender kept me safe from hardships; to be looked down upon and shamed if or when I behaved atypical to a male was a powerful, compelling fear. “But you know what a urinal is?” Her question pricked my ears despite my rue. “Of course, but I never used one.” I didn't mean to say that much, but considering she believed I was a genuine female, I supposed it was kind of fine. Judging by her reserved giggle, she may've taken my accidental admission as dry humor. “Well, it's like a slimmer and longer toilet affixed to the wall.” She said toilet? Why did I regard that word as exempt from her vocabulary? Maybe because it was too crass for a pony? “You hold your tail aside, back over the lip of the thing. It fits neatly between the legs, you see. Then you do what's natural, and there you go! All done.” I hadn't asked to know that much, but I wasn't revolted. “You make that sound so simple,” I said in astonishment. “Being no stranger to it might explain why.” She let out a small laugh. I was so absorbed in wonder that I didn't immediately notice she was peering at me as if a smidgen sorry. “Did I blow your mind?” “Yeah,” I responded, mental pictures keeping me absent: a urinal, then a horse, then downsize both until the horse was a colorful pony— “If I had led you to a marenal and explained what to do, would you have actually used it?” Embee said in a nonplussed but inquisitive tone. “Humh, would I?” Facing away from a pony-ergonomic urinal, holding my tail sideways, and releasing a golden stream from between my buttocks? That was far removed from doing my business the normal way. The dismaying vision alone drew my eyes toward the floor, but I set them on Embee shortly. “Nah.” I gingerly shook my head. “Too pony.” “It's alright, hon.” As she said that, I cursorily noted we were rather solitary for the moment. “You weren't pleased by the LadyFresh, so, hmm . . .” She certainly looked thoughtful with her hoof under her jaw. “A bidet, then? Would that've been okay?” I assumed the restroom we skipped had a bidet. Wasn't a bidet like a sink one sat on that then discharged a continuous stream of water at the nether region? That would've been acceptable . . . if one of my orifices wasn't erogenous . . . “I don't think I'd react well to that, either,” my lowly response disguised my disgust. Then curiosity produced a question regarding fixtures for male ponies. Before I could voice it, a person walked past us. “Mein Gott im Himmel!” a strained and exasperated, but unmistakably digitized male voice came from his pocket. Embee and I exchanged stunned glances before we set our eyes on the guy. Procuring a phone from therein, he briefly glanced at the screen before answering the call. “Hey, dad,” he said in clearly feigned joy, as if reluctant to talk. As he distanced from us, I heard him continue tiredly. “This place is a big, mostly white building to the left, right after the bridge.” There was a beat. “You missed it? I swear, you'd lose your way putting on a shirt.” “That as a ringtone?” Embee said to herself, chuckling. “Ah, but let's keep going, hon.” Her natural prowess at the art of four-hoof walking caught me unprepared, forcing me to a short but haphazard quasi-canter so as to catch up with her. The two mares from before were coming our way. I mentally coined them nicknames: Mare 9000, due to her monotone, and Cleaved Lemon, due to her cutie mark. “. . . portrays the regal sisters in an unfavorable light,” the latter said, evidently displeased. “How does it concern you? It's only a comedy, and not to be taken seriously. If they had a problem with it, they would've let it be known months ago,” Mare 9000 reasoned just as we passed. Her cutie mark was a pudding bowl filled with . . . liquid fudge? “Hey look, that was the dirty girl without a cutie mark,” Cleaved Lemon commented with a touch of awe. Slightly peeved, but maintaining my pace, I shot her a cross look. The restraint that disallowed me from giving them a piece of my mind didn't extend to my tail; it rapidly flicked from one side to the other a few times before I regained control. “What's her problem?” she said superciliously. “Experience tells me it's your imprudence,” Mare 9000 answered sardonically. My problem was that I was too touchy about my perceived gender. I had to learn how to endure this with dignity. While it would save me a lot of trouble to be seen as my true gender by default, realistically speaking, that was impossible. I hadn't begun to surmount the threshold of telling Embee— “We're here,” she said abruptly, and we came to a stop. “Oh?” A fog of puzzlement filled my mind. “Really?” Seemed like we had only walked two dozen paces and gone around a corner. “That's good.” I glanced back at the mares while Embee opened the door; they were strolling away from us, absorbed in their chatter. So, we went into a square room decorated with white tiles on every surface. To the left was a small bench, a few simple white-painted lockers, and in the near left corner was a single covered socket with an appropriate warning about not touching it while wet. The shower was in the far right corner. A shower curtain was suspended from a curved rail, and the floor was recessed with a drain in the middle. “So, Viv? Can you take care of yourself?” “I guess,” I replied cursorily. The shower head was affixed to the wall about halfway up the ceiling, and the shower controls were on the wall directly beneath. Actually, the controls looked nothing like I had seen before. A large dial, with a blue-to-red gradient crescent above it, paired with a vertical slider. “Figuring out how this works shouldn't be complicated.” I also spotted a sponge on a low wall-mounted tray. “Nothing more complicated than to dial it to warm and then raise that smaller switch to get the water flowing,” Embee instructed with a flair of joyful aplomb, opening one of the lockers. They had large handles. Were they called handles by ponies? She inspected what was inside, then did the same for the second locker. “Now who emptied these?” She sounded somewhat miffed, but there wasn't a sign of it when she turned to me. “Please excuse me for a moment, hon. I must bring you some things, but I promise to be back as soon as I can.” I smiled. “I'm not worried.” Her optimism was enjoyable and improved my confidence. I raised the slider to the top, the artificial rain fell on my back and I had to get out of there and I did with a leap and a vocalization oh that was quick! “You okay?” Embee had rushed to my side, unquestionably concerned. With my mind in a flurry, it slowly dawned that I had spun around and was now staring at the shower with my forehooves to my mouth. “Hon?” “Uhhh . . .” I increased the gap between limbs and mouth so I wouldn't get a taste of hair and hoof. “I'm . . . I'm fine.” My consternation changed to embarrassment, as I realized I had produce a high-pitched squeal that I hadn't predicted I was capable of. “Cold.” I gently placed my limbs back to the floor. “The water, I mean. It was cold . . .” A few chilling drops were taking their sweet time getting off me. “I heard a scream.” A bespectacled, short-haired man was standing by the doorway. He resembled Gordon Freeman from Half-Life . . . “Was it you?” He sounded calm, but had a peculiar accent. Italian? A woman with short black hair popped past the door frame to catch the view. She didn't bring to mind any video game characters, though. I hoisted myself up. Confounded by the audience attracted, I looked toward Embee for verbal advice. I gathered she was waiting for me to open my mouth, and was wholly unaware of the true cause of my perplexity. Setting my gaze on the two bipeds, abashment worked its way to my face. “Hah, well . . . I just, um . . . I made a sound. It happens.” Preferably, I would've denied the obvious, but that was about as pointless as insisting a smooth sphere had sharp corners. “That's right. It was nothing serious,” Embee said to the onlookers collectedly, thankfully taking some of the burden off my back. “It was only cold water, and when it's cold, and I don't expect it, and um, then . . . I yelped, because, you know, suddenly cold.” Ignoring how flustered I had sounded, I took myself close to the shower and stuck out my forelimb to literally test the waters. “And now it's warm. The water's warm, not the cold. But I guess, it sort of is, because the cold is now warm . . .” “Are you all right?” the talkative Gordon asked. The way I was being looked at, I had a strong suspicion my sanity was being scrutinized. “I'm, um, I'm fine . . . uh, just fine,” I stammered. “Hey, no pressure, hon,” Embee said to me, showing me a reassuring smile. She then faced the audience of two. “I'm sorry, being the center of attention makes her nervous.” What a surprisingly accurate supposition. “Yeah,” I affirmed promptly. “I see,” the Gordon look-a-like said, nodding. “Well, you simply think about how you don't have to be afraid, and take it chill.” He had a courteous tone, but his accent intrigued me. After sighing deeply and recovering some of my calmness, I unglued my legs and turned around lethargically. My wits then produced something possibly funny. “But not the shower, since a chill shower is uncool, which in turn is thermodynamically incongruous,” I explained, as if carefully correcting a misconception. The spectating female offered a two-syllable laugh. “You're trying to be funny, but honestly, that was lame.” The anonymous female's words were as thorny as pillows, but accented Gordon gave her a disapproving glance. “Lame as a lime since lame and lime seem same,” I responded spontaneously, albeit awkwardly, doing my best to smile puckishly. “Wonderful display.” With the back of his hand facing me, he gave me the thumbs up. “You're now qualified to not be as boring as dishwater.” Based on his mellow but bizarre compliment, I had helped engender a casual—or an offbeat—atmosphere. “Well, um, thanks!” Now that I had hastily overcome my bewilderment with a sufficiently cheerful response, I was going to ask them to leave. My eyes were relaxed, I pitched my head down a little with a furtive sigh, and maintained my small smile. This was going to be my demurely cute pose. “Anyhow,” I started with a soft croon. “Would the two of you kindly give me some privacy?” My inflection was so exquisitely sweet that I hardly believed it myself. It actually made me feel weird on the inside, like I was both curious and cautious of transcending past variable femininity into behaviorally female. This would be a recurring dilemma beyond doubt. “We have better things to do than peep on a funny mare taking a shower, don't we?” he said to the woman next to him with a touch of humor. She concurred with a nonchalant hum. “Oh, but one thing, Embee—Or two. Is it fine if I call you Emmy? It has a nice ring to I think.” Embee hemmed. “I prefer Embee, thank you.” “A name like Mismysmas rings like a cracked bell,” the female quipped. “That's very flattering,” he replied with benign sarcasm; she curled her lips to the side, facetiously unimpressed before leaving wordlessly. “But, eh. I'm sorry. Forget what I said, Embee. My idea was bad now that I think of it. You like your nickname, and everyone calls you by it.” This guy's parlance was truly activating my cerebral neurons. I wouldn't say he was Russian, though, even if the accent kind of sounded like it. “Don't feel bad about it, Lucek,” Embee said gently. “Thank you, but it's cool. No skin has come off my back.” That wasn't how the idiom went. “So, the one thing I want to say.” He reached into his pocket, retrieving what was most likely a phone. “I found a song that's much like by the band your sister plays in.” Embee's sister was in a band? So much for her being Rainbow Dash. Envisioning her with a Fender Stratocaster made both twenty percent cooler, though. “When you can, you can come and give it a listen.” For how long was this guy gonna stick around? “Hey,” I interposed myself. “You can give me the requested privacy when you can. Such as now.” I still had my sweet tone going on . . . He backed a little, facing his palms toward us. “Okay, okay.” He chuckled amiably. “I'm very sorry, miss.” There was that unspeakable honorific again. Resigned but piqued, a long sigh rolled out my mouth. “Don't get mad, please. You'll get your privacy . . . now!” Never having lost his easygoing decorum, he reached for the door. “Pa pa.” What a strange thing to say; he was evidently off his rocker—or on drugs. Also, what kind of a name was Lucek? Or would it be spelled Lusec? Regardless, he was finally gone! “Way to go.” Embee giggled. “You sure asserted yourself there.” Her compliment colored my cheeks in bashful pink. “Well, um . . . Yeah, I did,” I concurred. “Say, do you think he assumed I'd stay here with you?” she followed with a rhetorical question. “You could go and ask?” I suggested, although joking about two females sharing a shower was tempting. Perhaps Night Light would propose to do that? I didn't doubt she'd again try to get me out of the perceived closet—and then she'd try to get intimate. “I wager he was yanking our tails.” Embee's smile developed into a smirk. “But when you asked them to leave, you didn't say the three of you, did you?” She emphasized the implied omission by placing her hoof to her chest. “Oh, hahah, oops?” I tittered, flustered. “Maybe, uh, maybe I think you're so amazing I wouldn't want to be by myself?” I theorized jokingly as Embee approached the door. “Maybe,” Embee insinuated lightheartedly, opening the door. “Anyhow, you can start showering any time you want. Oh! See that sponge?” Her gaze indicated where to look. Politeness prevailed over sarcasm. “Yes, I do.” The sponge was mostly green, its white and rougher side facing us. “I'm guessing it's clean.” Because if it weren't, she'd advise against using it. “I'm sure it is,” she said without a shred of doubt in her tone. “So, use it to scrub yourself, if you can or want to.” I gave her a blank stare, then looked down at my maladroit hooves before cursorily eying the pliable sponge. Of course, the apparent incompatibility was of little concern when I had telekinesis. However, applying the sponge to myself would mean getting intimate with my physical self, which I predicted to be highly unsettling. “Well . . . I'll try, but no promises,” I said, not even bothering to downplay my trepidation. “Kind of have to go the hands-free way. I know how to spool up this horn on my head, but if I said it's like having disembodied hands . . . Uhh, no, that's not right. Like having a tactile sense beyond my body? Hmmh, that's closer . . .” “Hey, just make it a priority to avoid upsetting yourself. You don't need to use magic if that worries you,” Embee reassured. “Oh, no,” I shook my head lightly. “Using it doesn't worry me. I guess I'd worry more about how I'm using it so well after relatively short practice sessions. But that doesn't concern me as much as my conflicts between mind and body does.” I realized something, and then facehoofed. “Ugh, now it's me who keeps yapping. Okay, asking for your advice on how to cope with all sorts of things and talk things through would be great, but now's really not the time. I need to shower, and I'm wasting precious water.” I felt genuinely bad about all that unused water going down the drain . . . “I'm more than happy to be of help, but you're perfectly right. We can talk later.” She took herself outside, apparently convinced I could take care of myself. “I'll see you in a bit. Just remember: Don't do anything you're not comfortable doing.” Then the door was closed. Her parting advice was simple, yet commendable. The room was becoming humid, and the rushing water radiated warmth. I pictured myself from a third person perspective: discontent was evident on my face, as I had no clue what to do but become thoroughly soaked. That image reminded of my sensitive ears. They'd strongly disagree with the impacts of innumerable droplets. They didn't have to be sensitive, but such was the case with uncontrollable self-image clashes. However, they had been struck by water just minutes earlier, and I hadn't even noticed. “Okay, trial by fire. Er, trial by water.” I took a deep breath, steeling myself, then ventured toward the waiting cascade. But wait! I had an astonishing opportunity here . . .

Suomibrony

435

Original Character,Human,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

First Pony View

Some dreams you might never want to end… …but what happens when the dream really doesn't?

incomplete

<p>Have you ever had a dream that just seemed so <i>real</i>, that it was impossible to say for certain that it was even a dream at all? A dream that, despite all of its impossibilities, seemed to re-write your entire perception of reality, re-writing your sense of what—and indeed, <i>who</i>—you are? Accepting change is hard enough as it is. But when you're a <span style="color:#808000">somebody</span> who wakes up as a <span style="color:#6495ED">somepony</span>, how do you cope with the impact such a drastic change has on your mind and body? With changes like these, it must surely just be a lucid dream—albeit a suspiciously <i>accurate one</i>—just brimming with potential and ripe for exploration. So you might as well suck it up and make the most of these distressingly…unusual circumstances, and seize this <span style="color:#008000">psychological adventure</span> before you wake up and the dream ends.<br/>After all, this couldn't possibly be real, so the dream must come to an end eventually…right?</p>

teen

2016-05-08T21:47:34+00:00

2022-03-14T18:27:54+00:00

First Pony View A My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic fan fic By Suomibrony Chapter 20 A Sense of Equinessence I had reduced the localized rain to an irregular pillar, dialed the temperature to the coldest, and placed myself so close I felt the spatters land on my phalanges. I cast a glance at the door, wary of Embee returning at an inopportune time. My solitude did little to dispel my embarrassment as I, for lack of a better term, stuck my muzzle into the falling water and began lapping it. Refreshingly cold, and without a side taste. With my thirst satiated, I licked my lips as I stepped back. Embee's return was inevitable, and if I did not accomplish anything by then, my ego would self-destruct. Not wasting another second, I returned the warmth to the shower and set the flow to maximum. I was interrupted. A tiny feeling just under my throat reminded me of the string and keys I was carrying. Acting like I was on a timed mission, I reached for the string in an effort to rotate it and find the knot. Poking a hoof at it did diddly, an unpleasant fact I could only sigh at. “Okay okay okay,” I mumbled restlessly, shooting a look up at my horn. I didn't see it; I saw only a mess of hair. “Now, how did I make this . . . Oh?” I felt a tingling and heard tintinnabulation. So bemused at my lack of a struggle, I momentarily forgot what I was going to do. “So, now to—” Pulling the string off without untying it was ineffective. After a second to let my mind focus, I was getting the hang of things. “There goes . . .” As impossible as it was, my eyes rolled to the right and tried to see the knot come unloose. I was nervous . . . Why was I nervous? Could it be that my subconsciousness attributed object manipulation to my forelimbs, and with them firmly planted on the floor, I wasn't fully accepting my ethereal touch? Whether I was right or not, it shouldn't constitute a major impediment to the usability of telekinesis if I was attentive and patient. The ends of the strings untwined, like two snakes falling from an embrace. Now that I had the string and accompanying keys off my person, I set them on a course to the bench. Wait . . . “Darn!” Only one key remained, and it wasn't the key to my home! The two items fell onto the bench as I immediately placed both forehooves to my face and groaned in exasperation. A moment later I desperately tried to get hooves underneath my body before my face could meet the floor, but one of them slipped and then the other and mild panic and I flailed for something to grab onto and then— I was fine, I was fine, I was fine. I was . . . shaken up and disoriented. Where . . . How was I positioned? Flat on my belly. Left forelimb to my left, right forelimb to my right, both projecting almost straight forward. I had to get up, but the rear pair, outstretched as well, didn't fold the same way forelimbs did. That was a problem. I would have bend my legs at the knee and ankle, but that was easier said than done. I was being thwarted by my own physique. Technically not mine, but whatever. I rested my head on my frogs, staring at the exit door directly ahead as I sulked about my predicament. Then it dawned on me that I was resting my head on my frogs. “Hmmh.” Did I have elbows? I couldn't say for sure, but there was something I assumed to be bone at the bend. My forelimbs were astonishingly flexible, too. That the same didn't apply for my hind legs dampened my awe. Resting my forelimbs on the floor and crossing one over the other, my eyes soon affixed on them. “Do I have little dainty hooves or what?” I thought out loud, my morose tone blending a hint of Rainbow Dash's rasp with Fluttershy's softness. Something fell over my eyes, but knowing what it was wasn't an impossible puzzle to solve. “Ugh.” Barely had that left my mouth when I had an epiphany: I was directly beneath the shower—and I had not minded my ears at all! “Well, amazing, I guess.” I was dumbstruck, but glad. Despite that, my mind began sending out messages of agitation, as if making itself look busy after being caught idling at its station. This late reaction was lukewarm; my ears twitched a few times. That minor loss of control was annoying, unlike the warm torrent. However, Embee could come at any minute! I had to get this hair off my face. “Aow.” I flinched as my hoof impacted with my forehead with more force than I had intended. I had to be careful, and I was, but being somewhat sensitive to having a horn made me a little fidgety. Then I looked over at my left hind leg. “Oh, come on. Work with me,” I complained when bending my very-hard-to-see knee didn't yield the expected result. Where was my ankle? Did I have an ankle? Getting these limbs into a position whereupon they could raise me was becoming an exercise in futility. “Nrrrhhh!” I was trying to do something, but didn't know what I was doing, let alone the correct way to get back up. “I'm not inept, darn it,” I seethed, my waterlogged tail struggling to whip about. The thought of being confined to the floor due to ineptness along with Embee finding me in a humiliating state like this inserted growing dismay into my irritation. Resigned to stare at my rear half, a shred of curiosity soon suggested reaching over to touch it and my tail. I didn't act on it. It wouldn't provide a solution. Short on ideas and with Embee's return looming, I pushed my front half up with my forelimbs. At an impasse again, I looked back to gauge how my legs were now. I was momentarily distracted; my tail was like a pennon attached to the end of my spine. “So weird,” I said, perplexed. However, my voice served as a stark reminder that I was staring down a female's back, legs . . . and rump. That all of this was unmistakably equine thankfully made any resemblance to a human's anatomy nugatory. Although, that it was equine was unsettling in itself. Anyhow, I couldn't let my mind wander off to contemplate trivialities! The increased clearance between the floor equaled more space for moving my legs. Retracting my right leg proved a success. After I had three legs on the floor, getting the last one in place was no problem at all. No, now the problem was that I was explicitly aware of my quadrupedal nature. A familiar tinge of wistfulness resurfaced. “Nicker,” I deadpanned, mocking the emphasis my preconception put on the "animal" part of the "talking animal" aspect. I let the facts of my physical attributes settle before I began to think what my next step would be. I sent a plain gaze at the sponge behind me; it was still in its tray. I decided not to use it. Not yet, anyhow. As far as I could tell, I had no shampoo. Perhaps in a locker? The shower's warmth didn't give me much of a reason to leave its influence, but wasting water to satiate my vanity was selfish. After some hesitation, I cut off the water. Dripping wet, but not as cold as I had feared, I sighed in mild relief. But without shampoo, what could I do? Wait until something happened? As if on cue, I heard a rapping at the door. “Hey, hon. It's me, Embee. Can I come in?” “Oh, um . . .” Dawdling, I briefly considered stalling her. “Yes. Yes, you can.” Embee walked in, carrying a pair of cream-white saddlebags. After closing the door, she glanced at me, with no trace of anxiety on her features. I creased my lips into an imitation of herst. “How's it going? Is everything looking good?” she asked, reaching for her side and removing the saddlebags with a quick nudge. With her muzzle. Could I do that, too? That kind of dexterity was astonishing. “You look positively drenched.” Her gentle joke was moderately uplifting. “Yeah, I wet myself.” Embee burst into laughter, and my gaze gravitated down. I pawed at the floor like I was manipulating a touch pad. She collected herself soon. “I'm sorry.” She was unmistakably trying to hold in her laughter. “That was immature, and I shouldn't think it was funny.” “I agree . . .” A tile diagonally to the right requested I look at it. “But it was kind of funny, wasn't it?” Embee chuckled. “Yeah, it was.” That was great to know. She opened the saddlebag with her mouth, followed by looking at me with mixed curiosity and amusement. “You didn't wet yourself for real, did you?” “Oh no no no,” I assured laughingly, my initial abashment waning. “If I had, I wouldn't tell you about it.” I looked at her askance. Embee smirked. “The soaked bed sheets would have.” I was momentarily lost on what she meant. Of course, I had been in a bed recently! “But ah, they are very absorbent bed sheets,” I coined a retort, going so far to speak in a sophisticated tone. “Not even the tiniest of discoloration thanks to years of research and development to produce the most fantastic fabric imaginable.” “I see.” Her smile faded. “I doubt they absorb the stench, and I didn't detect a stench.” Clearly, she was playing a lighthearted game with me with her stoic mannerism. I cleared my throat. “Therefore, we must concur that the bed being soiled is extremely unlikely.” “Seems sound. Now, please excuse me, but I must go and discover if you left a puddle somewhere along the way here.” She strolled to the door. “Though it might've been cleaned up already, but I can ask around.” I wasn't taking her seriously until she actually seemed ready to head out. “You really gonna do that?” “Nope.” She cast a look over her back, her lips arched to an affable gotcha-smile. The door closed soon after she had spun around. Joy came to my face, but I was so puzzled that I was momentarily speechless. “I was only joking.” How obvious. “I knew you were, hon, don't worry,” she said mirthfully, turning around. “Me and my sister did these things where we tried besting each other, all in the name of fun, of course. You remind me of those times.” “That's great.” My happy outlook hid an ultimately insignificant concern: being compared to a female, even indirectly, infringed my male identity. “She must like you as much as you like her.” I didn't want to say love, but . . . “You're perfectly right. She's not the kind to show it very easily, acting all cool-faced and so on.” That was a little familiar; however, Embee's sister wasn't Rainbow Dash. “Does she live with you here?” If she did, maybe I could meet her? “Ah, no. She's among the griffons, in a band called Grifpony.” So much for my wishful and unrealistic . . . wish. Besides, I had more important things on my plate. “You might not know, but the griffons have endured several years of squalor and adversity, from which they've only recently began to recover.” “No, I didn't know.” Years of squalor and adversity? Like Somalia, then. Except the north. “So, Grifpony, you were saying.” “Yes. They bring griffons happiness, while also giving them an outlet for their frustrations.” How did that work? In the same way a romantic ballad did, I presumed. “Well, that's what one of the band members told me, anyway. ‘Music's a form of art that can express things words cannot.’ Makes sense. He writes the lyrics.” “I guess he's great at it.” I could extract more fascinating information. “But what's your sister doing?” “She's doing a wonderful thing that fills my heart with pride.” Embee saying that without a shred of embarrassment came as a mild shock to me. To be honest, I was a little envious that she could. Her witty response had earned a small chuckle out of me, but my question remained unanswered. “To answer your question, she's the drummer and a vocalist.” “Really? That's cool!” My eagerness to learn more elevated my intonation to a range I wasn't yet quite comfortable with. “It's more than cool, hon,” she said with a chuckle. I saw a glint of tiredness in her gaze. Had she not slept well last night? “But let's not get distracted. If we're efficient, I'm sure we'll have time for breakfast somewhere other than here.” “Yeah, that's nice, but, um, you said we. Not me.” I gestured at myself, then at her and me. “We.” This made Embee's eyebrows arch with inquisitive puzzlement. “I prefer privacy, and . . . I want to try to take care of myself. It's . . .” My voice sank. “It's kind of a pride thing.” I then implored, “That's an okay thing to ask for, right?” “Ahm . . .” Embee mulled over this proposal, tilting her head. “I suppose it's okay.” An unnatural silence descended into this small room. Maybe she was aware that my method wouldn't be efficient. “Well, at least let me help you get started.” She dunked her head into one of her saddlebags, emerging with a blue and white bottle. After she placed it on the bench, curiosity brought me in for a closer look. The label was blue, fading to a paler shade toward the top, and at the base were the contours of a happy pony's front half. “It's not what you'd find in a hair salon.” “Ah,” I acknowledged her lighthearted quip. Colloidal? That was an unknown word. I'd have to look that up when I had the chance. As I read further, I gathered more info. “It's some kind of anti-itch shampoo?” “That's right,” Embee affirmed. “But I'm not feeling itchy anymore.” I glanced at the bottle with dubiety. “Could you've not chosen something—” From the saddlebag, she procured a transparent bottle containing orange fluid. “Normal,” I finished lamely as I saw an unfamiliar brand name inscribed in silver lettering. Beneath it was a blue sky within a gold-framed image, and wavy, magenta lines passing through the lower edge. No mention of pony, so I had to presume this was for humans. “I was lucky to find that. Don't know if that's what you'd pluck into your bouquet, but it should work well for your mane and tail.” Embee then nodded indicatively at the other bottle. “The anti-itch shampoo is for your coat and skin, of course.” “Yeah, okay, but . . .” I looked at my damp body with subdued consternation. “Can I skip that and just do my hair real quick?” My ears and voice sank. “I really don't like feeling too pony, you know?” “I know you don't like to. You've shown impressive bravery and initiative showering without my help, though.” I would've taken her compliment as a backhanded insult if I had been in an exceptionally bad mood. “Try to have a positive attitude, hon. You're not going to be furry and four-legged forever.” “Thank goodness,” I said with a sigh. “There's so much that . . .” I hadn't meant to turn my head, but now that I had, the sight of my latter half in its undeniable equine whiteness evoked abhorrence, shortly followed by resignation. “That doesn't conform with my self-image.” That barely scratched the surface. “Sorry for being a mood breaker. I'm happy this will be over eventually, but in the meantime, I'll have to do my best not hate all this . . .” I huffed lightly instead of saying 'horse business'. Was this how transgenders felt about their bodies? Would they even think of the bodies as their own? “Which is why you probably don't want it to annoy you any more than it already does. Now . . .” Embee raised her forelimb to gesture at me, although her attention was briefly captured by the droplets falling from her hoof. I was damp, and the floor in our vicinity was wet. “Can I take a look at you?” “Oh? Uhm . . . By all means.” I wasn't aware I had to give her permission. She spent a moment scrutinizing me. “Close to clean!” That was something to smile about. I had cleaned myself up well! “But not entirely, I'm afraid.” Albeit not well enough. “I'll just shower again,” I said with a slight groan and turned around back towards the shower. I couldn't believe I had failed at something as simple as showering. “Naturally,” Embee said sympathetically. “Uhhuh,” I mumbled as I started plodding back to the shower. Darn, I had been nursing an irrational hope that I wouldn't have to shower a second time. “But listen.” I stopped and looked back at Embee with a small amount of hope returning to me. “I strongly recommend you use the anti-itch shampoo.” “Why?” I asked, my hopes once again dashed at the prospect of a second shower, and using the shampoo would just add time and difficulty to it. I couldn't imagine that applying the shampoo to my person would be very comfortable either. Embee, noting my fretfulness, seemed to ponder her words. “A pony's skin is delicate and can become irritated without proper care, and a body that doesn't itch is one less bodily issue you have to worry about,” she explained. Her argument was solid, but so was my stubbornness. “Well . . .” Being itchy would be extremely unpleasant, on par with the frequent needs to interact with myself to counter the itching. Therefore, I . . . had to accept the high maintenance my entirely hair-covered self required. “Okay then.” I glanced at the bottle with muted contempt, but showed Embee a meager smile. “I guess it's nothing to get my panties in a bunch about.” My choice of words struck me like a wet fish-boomerang, compelling me to correct my blunder somehow. “Uh, because . . . I don't have panties.” My eyes drifted slowly to a random floor tile. “Aaah . . .” I made a light clicking sound with my tongue. “I'm feeling kinda naked right now.” Not to mention incredibly self-conscious. “Humh . . .” Embee was calm, but evidently at a loss for words. Her hoof met her jaw. “I can imagine that bothers you, but you do know that ponies normally are unclothed, and you've not worn anything since this all started.” “Yeah, well . . . that's not really helpful,” I commented meekly. “Uh, did you bring a towel?” “I'm sorry, I haven't yet.” Embee's rueful look transitioned to a thoughtful frown. “Maybe I can check the lost and found for panties for you?” My tension crumbled. “Ahahaha.” If I blushed any more fiercely, the pigments would start running down my cheeks. “That was supposed to be a joke, right?” I said, half-smiling. Gosh, panties on me? I would die of embarrassment! “No, I wasn't joking, hon. I thought you'd want to have something.” She looked and sounded so sincere, I felt sorry for indirectly rejecting her idea. “Well . . . Uh, you know that I'd . . .” I'd rather not wear panties, due to not having a compelling reason to. Or hadn't ever had a reason to. “I'd rather not wear only undergarments, because obviously, they are undergarments. Meant to be under . . . You know what I'm saying.” “Don't worry, hon.” Embee seemed to take things with a relaxed mindset. “I think it's safe to ask if there are any clothes to borrow.” I wasn't sure I wanted to wear somepony's clothes. Pony clothes? Pony panties? “No guarantee anything will fit you, but I hope for the best!” “So do I.” I did my best to match her concerted enthusiasm despite my reservations about wearing something I had never thought of wearing. My mind's eye was flooded with dozens of female underwear of various kind, finishing with Embee's head bursting through a white backdrop like it were paper, cheerfully announcing I could pick any of my liking. Speaking of garments! “What about the raincoat I won from that strange bet of yours?” I assumed that wouldn't make me look or feel uncomfortably feminine. “Oh, that. I'm sorry, I had to forfeit it.” My incredulous and hurt expression did the speaking. “Peachy said the bet wasn't the issue, but my behavior. It wasn't proper, I had crossed a line, and I . . . She would be in a world of trouble if word got around.” Embee shook her head pitifully. “I'm really sorry about this, hon.” Her regret softened my outlook, although I was somewhat disappointed, and also concerned by the ramifications of the games played behind the curtains. “It's . . . It's alright, I guess. I mean, let's not worry about it. I can't do anything about it.” Getting nosy would probably prolong her discomfort, and maybe end with me in a tough spot as well. I had enough on my plate already. “Wearing a raincoat under clear skies would be conspicuous, anyhow.” “That's likely,” Embee agreed. Her being down in the dumps didn't feel right. Being down in the dumps was my job! How would I lift her spirits, though? I didn't want to be accidentally condescending or indifferent. But I had to say something! “Maybe . . . Maybe being outside for a little while would be refreshing? For you as well. A really, uh, a delectable pastry will make the bad feels fade faster?” Something fell over my vision. It was my hair. I wanted to complain, but turning the discussion back to me felt selfish, so I kept my mouth shut. “That's a good idea,” she replied optimistically while I was carefully moving my hair aside. “I could go for a fresh cheddar taco salad. And hey.” I finally had an unobstructed view of Embee. “It's nice that you thought of cheering me up.” She closed the gap between us and, to my surprise, gave me a small, quick hug, then stepped back. “I appreciate it.” That my poorly construed attempt at comforting her had led to such a strong response left me utterly confused. “Yeah, I said what I said because that was what had to be said.” My impeccable eloquence couldn't be followed by anything more appropriate than a hoof to the cheek and a sigh of dissatisfaction. Embee found my reaction amusing. I didn't chuckle myself, but I saw the humor value at least. My eyes landed on the items on the bench. “Uhh . . . So . . . Use how?” Hopefully my exceptional verbosity and a tentative prod of one of the bottles Embee had laid out conveyed my uncertainty. Eagerness radiated in her eyes. “Yes. Let's get to that.” My gaze fell back to the two bottles on the bench. “I'm sure you don't need advice on how to take care of your hair. The tail might seem like a puzzler at first glance, but it's not much different.” She indicated the anti-itch shampoo bottle. “For your coat, apply this on your body and then spread it with a wet sponge. Don't worry if it gets into your mane or tail. As long as you cover yourself from head to hoof, all's good. Wait five minutes, then rinse it off with water. That's all, I think.” Her expression was sincere and encouraging. She inhaled sharply. “Oh. Pardon me. A few more.” She dug up an item from the saddlebag. “If you want to, use this brush to remove loose hairs and any remaining dirt from your coat.” That oval-shaped thing with a strap across it was a brush? “Ah, alright.” It looked more applicable for floor scrubbing . . . “The second saddlebag has combs and brushes.” More brushes? “And a few other things you might be familiar with. Oh! I ran into Lucek on the way back. He pretty much placed his music device into my saddlebag, by "deliberate accident", if you can believe that. He's such a lovable goof.” She shook her head, laughing lightly. “I don't think he'll mind if you give it a look and a try. He said there was a song I oughta listen to, but I can't remember what it was . . . mmh, it's right on the tip of my tongue.” Apparently, the ensuing lull meant the name wasn't going to emancipate itself from her tongue. “Anyhow . . .” My gaze had fallen on the daunting anti-itch shampoo. There was no way. If I placed so much as a hoof on myself I would be paralyzed with anxiety. “Hey. Viv? Don't be discouraged. You've done remarkably well, all by yourself.” Unexpectedly, she gave me a brief but tender nuzzle. “Not bad for somepony who's not a pony.” Confused, then abashed, I had trouble finding my voice. “Thanks.” “You're welcome.” Her expression was that of kindness, but curiosity glimmered in her eyes. Had my demeanor nonplussed her? She cast a quick glance around, although her attention fell on the key and the string. Suddenly, those seemed to symbolize . . . something so profound I couldn't think of what it was. “All set? Shall I go?” “Yeah, I'll do fine.” The key that . . . sets things in motion? Starter engine . . . Failing to come up with anything poetic, I vacantly observed Embee taking herself to the door. There, she hesitated. “Not to knock on your confidence, hon, but will you able to do it all on your own?” My pride said yes, and my rationality said no; my mouth said nothing. The enduring silence wasn't helping my case. “Or do you think I should stay and assist? You know, it might be a time saver.” My wits hurdled back into action. “Uhm . . . How about you give me ten minutes?” I pitched. That was a start. Now to develop it further. “If I'm not done by the time you get back, then we'll go with your plan?” After a second, she agreed. “Sounds good to me. See you soon!” “Bye!” I said as she headed out, and then I . . . became paralyzed with indecision. “Ten minutes,” I reminded myself, working up a shred of resolve. “Ten minutes to prove myself adept. Didn't I ask for this? Way to go, me.” I scanned the items on display, trying to figure out which one to go for first. Perhaps the purple-capped bottle with the orange liquid? It was the regular shampoo, wasn't it? Wait, it was conditioner? No, it states to be two-in-one? What was that? Or more specifically, how would I use it? Would something bad happen if I used it wrong? “Ugh. Females are probably experts at this by default. Probably.” Rainbow Dash might only dunk her head in water, shake herself dry, then stroll out wearing nothing but a face of nonchalance. Maybe I should go for the anti-itch shampoo? Being for the body, it was more familiar. Kind of. “A Sense of Equinessence,” I read out loud. “I'm already sensing enough of my equinessence,” I commented despondently. My attempt to pick up the bottle started poorly; I knocked it over. I sighed dejectedly, watching it roll down to the floor. I offered my outstretched limb a withering gaze. “Magic, magic, magic,” I muttered flatly, aware that I was a little nervous. The tingling came, the bottle was wrapped in a white cloud, and shortly flew up to match my own (modest) height. Peering at the item, my slightly panicky mind diverged into briefly pondering how the characteristic sound of magic was produced, and if the light radiating from it extended beyond the visible range. I hoped I wasn't emitting lethal levels of radiation every time I lit my horn. “Okay, how do I open this?” I had only held items, not manipulated them with precision. This one had a top with a sealed hole in the middle. Wait, what was I thinking? I had opened doors before, and performed other feats of telekinesis, hadn't I? This should be a cinch. “Hmm . . .” Invisible to the naked eye, a subsection of the magic field concentrated on the lid and pulled it upwards. It unlatched and rotated, but didn't come off. Had I broken it? No, the cylindrical lid was apparently a valve affixed on helical ridges on the nozzle. Interesting engineering design. I sent the bottle to a position above my back. “Gnh!” I would have sent it. After gently rubbing my snout, I corrected the trajectory to pass around my head to where I wanted it to be. Alas, gravity alone wasn't coaxing an agreeable amount of the contents out. Preceded by a moment of messing with my disembodied grip, I squeezed the bottle and coated myself from nape to tail with the lotion. Having placed the bottle on the bench and closed the lid, I breathed out a small sigh, relieved I had made this much progress. The fragrance in the air was difficult to identify. A mild, sweet scent. “The sponge.” It gained a sparkling bubble of white of its own. My initial reaction to spreading the lotion over myself was that of total rejection. I had to choose an easy start. Like my neck. From there . . . upwards. I couldn't ignore my face, though I wished I could. This wasn't any fun to do, but shaving was worse. Silver lining discovered. “Wooptee do,” I cheered flatly. All of a sudden, a horrible taste invaded my mouth. “Pheaw!” I had unconsciously licked my shampoo-covered lips, hadn't I? The taste was unwelcome, but so was the sponge. It was an intruder that I was drawing down to my forelegs. I couldn't look at those due to entering a state of rejection and denial. “I have these,” I whispered, tapping the floor lightly in an effort to instill logic into my head. It seemed to work. If I kept my cool, I'd get through this self-imposed ordeal without any hiccups. When I began working on my underbelly, some of my muscles contracted. This did not dissolve my determination, but I dared not to cover every surface on the account of clashing with the two little things that I was in fierce disagreement with. Then, something quite crucial came to me: I was applying this lotion to myself so that I wouldn't become itchy later. Having an itch between my legs would be unbearable. Unwilling to make a swipe, I gently placed the sponge to what I rather not think about, and let it be there. Had I begun working instantly, I may've flipped out and annihilated the sponge for sexual assault. I compared this unspeakable tribulation to a woman-turned-stallion washing their dangly bits. The thought was gross. Revolting to the point of queasiness. However, how uncomfortable would it be if I had things lolling about freely and exposed? So . . . not having anything of that sorts was preferable? After some consideration, my answer was an intransigent maybe. The sponge hadn't gone anywhere and was still pressed to my underside, reminding me of the impending chore. Taking a few deep breaths, I steeled my resolve and cautiously began moving the sponge around in slow circles. I methodically worked the shampoo into the fur around my nether region, taking extreme care not to brush up against any sensitive parts. Concluding that I didn't need to torture myself further, I let go of the sponge with a short but pronounced groan. “Get outta here.” I punted it to the corner of the shower, relieved that I could soon become ignorant of a certain part of my physique once again. Immediately, I realized I had forgotten something, and groaned again. The sponge was shrouded in a new magical cloud, and soon after, it was over my lower back. I had the rear pair of legs to do. That was easy, but I mouthed vulgarities as I lathered my buttocks. “Okay, you've harassed me enough. Now shoo.” I lethargically flung the porous annoyance into the air, watching it tumble into the corner from whence I had taken it. My voice echoed in my head. “Oooh, I can sound so soft and sweet, yet so sarcastic and contemptuous,” I crooned, then gagged silently. “Like Twilight if she were having a nasty streak.” I let that swim in my head for a moment. “Great. Now I nearly sound like her. Well, not that close, but . . . hmm.” A speck of optimism had sparked. “I could try to train my voice to sound . . .” My optimism deflated. “Not like myself, anyhow.” Contemplations on the psychological effects of a voice that prevented the expression of my identity could prove very depressing. If I couldn't be the me that I preferred to be, then what was the next best thing? Time seemed to freeze. “I guess I'll be alright being Viv for a couple of hours more.” Because everything would be okay before sundown. How could I be sure? I couldn't. So . . . Embee had mentioned a music player of some sort, hadn't she? Wiser from my recent mishaps, I didn't rummage through the saddlebag with my limb. A black, rectangular item stood out from the other items. Before I procured it, I reminded myself to be cautious of the magic conductivity and the energy balance. If the inner layer, which served as an insulator, was compromised, the magic would collapse on itself and potentially ruin the delicate electronic components. “Many thanks, not-my-brain,” I said sardonically, having realized where the information came from. I assumed I had a little less than five minutes before I'd have to wash the lotion off my body; I could make the contraption play a tune for me while I wait. Surprisingly, the device lit up almost by its own. The language I was greeted with was nearly unidentifiable, but a few familiar words offered valuable indicators. The white letters on the blue background identified artist and song. I had to browse the catalog, but there came a problem: magic didn't seem to conduct electricity by itself. The absence of physical buttons meant I had to literally touch the screen. I placed the player on the bench, but of course, a hoof didn't taper into a narrow point, practically blocking the screen entirely. Even if I were to use my hoof, feasible precision would be an impossibility. Dismayed, but determined, I switched back to the ethereal touch mode. Now, I had to be careful. Magic didn't conduct electricity. Not in its nominal state, anyhow. Assuming my unrequested info was correct, I'd have a finger substitute by converting a fraction of the energy into miniscule bursts of electricity. A few drops of water on the screen were potential hazards. I could get rid of them by . . . No, not on myself. I was still wet. The cover of the saddlebag looked soft and dry. One little swipe and . . . Yeah, that worked nicely. Now I was ready. Sort of. Holding my breath, brows knitted with apprehension and eyes on the device, I performed dry runs. I couldn't see the infinitesimal currents, but I knew I directed them away from the device. As I started to get the hang of this trick, I carefully sent a discharge to a corner of the screen; I assumed no vital components were at the extremes of the device. Now for the real attempt. “Ha,” I said in reserved glee as the catalog scrolled smoothly. I continued practicing until I was sure I wouldn't mess it up. Still, this was a little unwieldy, as I was deliberately tampering with the magic's self-stabilizing nature to enable this inventive method of manipulation. Could I find a familiar song? These names were unpronounceable—until I got a lucky break! The titles were in moonspeak, but the artists weren't. I chose one song randomly. I heard nothing. Was it playing anything? The tiny speaker pushed out faint sounds. Guitars? I navigated to what I presumed to be the main menu. One of the icons there had to be a browser. No way could this be a mere music player. The meager sounds unexpectedly exploded into heavy metal. “Oh, wow,” I said, staring at the screen in bewilderment as my ears passively collected sound waves. “Humh . . .” I had no idea what the song was about. It could be about cardboard boxes for all I knew. “This isn't bad.” Sort of like Iron Maiden sung in gibberish. “Hm?” I raised my head, confused by what had obscured my vision. “My hair . . .” I complained, placing the player on a dry surface before hastily raising my foreleg up t—“Ow!” With an accidental, self-inflicted minor pain throbbing above my eye, I clumsily brushed my forelock away from my face. Barely had I placed my limb back on the floor when I realized something alarming. “My hair!” I hadn't done anything with it, and Embee could be back any minute! Returning to the shower in the corner, the shampoo-for-humans bottle flew to me a moment later. I thought of catching it as I deactivated the cloud of magic. The bottle spun madly and hit the floor after it had bounced off my hoof—because it was a hoof. I sighed despondently, picking the bottle back up with the most common spell, then squeezed out a gob of the lotion atop my head. I had just snapped the lid shut when my mind froze. I gave my frog a blank stare, then rolled my eyes up towards the unseen deposit of shampoo. Mildly annoyed, my focus returned to my stupid limb. “With this, huh?” Seemed like I didn't have any better ideas. Two was better than one, so I reluctantly sat down and started kneading my hair. I cringed every time I snagged an ear, though less and less so each time. I wasn't having fun, but my self-esteem demanded I do this annoying task myself rather than have Embee do it for me. I was rushing it. After half a minute, I felt I had done enough. I spun the dial on the wall to turn on the water, then stood up. The torrent drowned out the music. In hindsight, the song may've given me some subliminal encouragement. Empowering me, perhaps? If I directed my ears just right, could I hear it again? “Yeah, that's good.” Casting a lingering glance at the saddlebags, a speck of apprehension infiltrated my mind. My physical self was female. That meant I had a female's hair. So, unless something inexplicably gave me a boyish haircut, I'd have to figure out a look for myself. I cut off the water flow, but my return to the saddlebags was marked with tension. I found a chestnut-brown plastic comb. It wasn't so intimidating. What it could do to me was intimidating. Or what I could do with it, to be precise. “Straight hair?” I queried warily, just to test if the idea was agreeable. My imagination ran off, depicting me with hair longer than my body held aloft by a light breeze. After imagining alternatives ranging from braided to pompadour, I figured that straight hair was kind of neutral. It wouldn't be long, just to my . . . Did I have shoulders? Or wasn't that the withers? This was confusing. “Hey!” A rapping came from the door. “It's me, Embee. May I come in?” Had ten minutes passed by already? I dropped the comb back into the saddlebag. “Sure you can.” Embee strolled in leisurely, now wearing a new pair of larger, orange saddlebags. “How are you?” “Uh.” She had asked the toughest question of all. “Pretty fine!” My faked perkiness seemed to widen her smile, but as the door closed her eyes fell on the player. “Do you like that kind of music?” she asked. Her tone indicated that she didn't. “Well, it's kinda neat,” I admitted shyly, unable to feign dislike. I gave the little machine a glance as Embee approached. As she began unloading her baggage on the bench, I voiced an important question: “Would you like me to turn it off?” “Ah, no.” She had such a gentle smile. “If you like the music, you can let it play. It doesn't bother me that much.” “But it does bother you,” I said emphatically. She was definitely assessing me and my demeanor. “Don't worry. It's no problem, hon,” she assured, letting out a small chuckle. “At least it's not—” She said something odd. Ta-sy sa-me? “That song's stuck in my head, I tell you.” She didn't seem to mind that it was. “Anyhow, you look drenched, but you smell clean.” “Woohoo,” I cheered reservedly. “Now I need to, um, become dry.” As I thought of drying myself, doing my hair, and whatever else, I started to doubt we'd have the time to go anywhere before Peachy's arrival. Indeed, where were my priorities? Did I really think I could go out and dine in a cafe? “What's the matter, hon?” Embee's inquiry roused my attention. “You look a little glum.” “Ahm, well . . . Just the usual things.” I didn't want to bring her down by suggesting we forget our little venture for a tasty pastry. “Such as?” she gently pressed the issue. My eyes drifted over to nowhere specific. “I had ten minutes to take care of myself, and considering the circumstances, I think I did well. Did I do well?” Embee was slightly stunned by my sudden question. “Yes, I think you did.” “Okay, good.” I was reassured, but being nervous hindered the coalescence of my thoughts. “I have to do something about my hair. I mean, I can't just leave it like this, but it's not really my hair, so . . .” A glance at her became a vacant stare, as her colors were gradually superimposed by mine. An assortment of mare faces I had seen in the cartoon appeared in my mind, each with my colors. They felt like nonverbal taunts, symbolizing how little difference— “Yes, go on.” Embee pulled me back into the real world. “Well, I can't look like myself, can I?” I blurted sullenly. Immediately regretting my words, I wanted to pinch the bridge of my nose. The tip of my hoof would have to do. It probably looked stupid. ‘A few hours as Viv can't be so bad. I'm only being insecure. I don't need to be afraid.’ “Hey.” Embee gingerly took my limb off my face, putting an end to my monologue of self-placation. Ashamed and dejected, I didn't give myself permission to look her in the eye, despite her compassion. “I have an idea.” “Oh?” I was leery. “What kind of an idea?” “You describe your hair, and I do my best to replicate it,” she suggested brightly. I looked at her with confused disbelief. A friendly smile was on her lips, her eyes full of unwavering optimism, and I'd have to dash those without breaking her spirit? “Uh, yeah, I . . .” Trying to find the right words, I turned my head. Doing so, I felt something minor, but notable. “Well, uhm, I certainly didn't have hair growing out of my nape . . .” This fact unlocked another thought. “My hair's markedly different from what it was, so to have precisely the same style isn't possible.” Did I ever have a hair style? “Besides, I'm not good at describing my hair. It's just there, and I do something to it to make it look decent and . . .” Then it hit me. “You know, that's the thing!” Embee, puzzled, glanced at my aloft limb. “What is?” “Sorry. I'm not making sense, am I?” I briefly rubbed my chin as I gathered my thoughts into a more enunciable shape. “I had ten minutes to take care of myself, and I did a fairly okay job, but everything's not done yet. We came to an agreement that you'd do what I hadn't by the time you got back. So, how about you make me look decent? Nothing too fancy. Just, well . . . decent. Something that takes five minutes.” “Five . . . minutes?” Embee repeated slowly, apparently doubtful. “Yeah, only five minutes,” I restated, hiding my uncertainty. I hoped those tales of females taking eons to get their hair done were wholly unrealistic hyperboles. “Alright, I'll see what I can do.” Embee was quick and eager, removing her saddlebags and procuring an item from the one she brought earlier. Bewildered, I turned to face her, my eyes focusing on the comb she now held. One end of it extended into a loop that curved into itself, forming a gap through which Embee's forelimb passed. “Now stand still, relax, and enjoy . . .” Her eyes landed on the player. It was still playing heavy metal. “Hey, do you think it's alright if we listen to something else? Something peaceful?” Her request was amiable. “Not at all.” Due to a moment's error, my limb ascended by a few centimeters. “Um.” I wrapped the device in a white cocoon. I couldn't be sure, but Embee seemed curious of my ability. “What would you like?” “Hmm . . . I was thinking of jazz, but . . . What was the name of that song?” she mumbled, pinching her memory. “Ah!” Then she enunciated the artist and song name, but . . . did I hear that right? “Can you please repeat that?” I asked as I began to browse the catalog. As a side note, perhaps my worries of accidentally frying the circuits was unfounded. Anyhow, she repeated the name. “This one?” I flipped the screen around so she could see it. “I think that is it, yes.” She verified with a smile. “Well, five minutes.” I sighed, ready to give relaxing an honest try. ‘Five minutes until I look like a decent mare. Oh geez. Well, nothing else I can do but roll with it,’ I thought in dismay. ‘On the bright side, I'll get out of here soon. Feels like I've been here forever.’

Suomibrony

435

Original Character,Human,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

First Pony View

Some dreams you might never want to end… …but what happens when the dream really doesn't?

incomplete

<p>Have you ever had a dream that just seemed so <i>real</i>, that it was impossible to say for certain that it was even a dream at all? A dream that, despite all of its impossibilities, seemed to re-write your entire perception of reality, re-writing your sense of what—and indeed, <i>who</i>—you are? Accepting change is hard enough as it is. But when you're a <span style="color:#808000">somebody</span> who wakes up as a <span style="color:#6495ED">somepony</span>, how do you cope with the impact such a drastic change has on your mind and body? With changes like these, it must surely just be a lucid dream—albeit a suspiciously <i>accurate one</i>—just brimming with potential and ripe for exploration. So you might as well suck it up and make the most of these distressingly…unusual circumstances, and seize this <span style="color:#008000">psychological adventure</span> before you wake up and the dream ends.<br/>After all, this couldn't possibly be real, so the dream must come to an end eventually…right?</p>

teen

2017-05-02T21:17:05+00:00

2020-06-22T16:51:14+00:00

First Pony View A My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic fan fic By Suomibrony Chapter 21 Through Few Doors, Not To Wards, But Finally, Outwards To Outdoors Having pressed the play button, I stared at the magic-enshrouded hardware, already planning to investigate if it could do more than just play music. I should— “Hey!” Startled, I looked over my back at Embee where she was doing something to my backside. “What are—Uh-oh.” Noticing the electronic device precariously slipping out of its flickering shroud, I deposited it on the bench before it could flicker out entirely. “Er . . . So uh, what are you doing?” She blinked a couple of times, holding the comb aloft; my eyes glazed over its curved handle securing it to her hoof. “Straightening your tail hairs, hon.” Her puzzlement was superseded by an amiable smile. “Just breathe easy, I'll get this all done in thirty seconds.” The comb sank into my hairs. “If you let me,” she continued, half-amused a moment after my tail had freed itself from the tool. “Uh, alright. Sorry.” Wrestling the fifth appendage to a lax position unsurprisingly mandated rigorous self-control. “It almost has a mind of its own,” I explained. “I'm unused to it and try not to do anything with it so that I won't be aware of it. It being the tail, not the mind in the tail. There's no mind in the tail. Well, yes. Or no. No, it's just a figure of speech.” “I know that.” Judging by Embee's expression, she had gone from sympathy to mild bemusement. Nonetheless, her friendly appearance wasn't gone for long. “And don't worry, you don't have to stress yourself about this. I'll try to be quick, though.” She resumed combing my tail. “It won't hurt, I promise.” “Yeah, but it's . . . It's new, and weird. I, um, I have to accept it and stay calm. That's, that's, yeah, a good idea. Gonna try that.” I took a deep breath. “Stay calm . . . Relaxed breathing . . .” A small spasm went through my body each time I felt a small tug near the end of my vertebrae. I had to distract myself . . . by starting a conversation . . . about . . . “This song? Um, that's playing . . . What do you think of it?” “It's good, I don't mind listening to it,” she replied succinctly. Was she unimpressed? Did she subtly dislike it? She said it was good, so it was good. Was it? “Ah, the tail's done. Let me see if I should comb your hair now or . . .” She moved to my side and gingerly combed the hair above my eyes. Was that all? No. She sat down and . . . seemed to unravel knots in my hair. I ducked my head so she wouldn't have to stretch herself. My hair must've been a total mess, though. How she was unraveling knots with a comb and her other hoof was both puzzling and astonishing. “It's not bad, not awesome. Decent song, I guess,” I contributed, a sweet and fruit-like fragrance with a floral hint wafting into my nostrils. But with all this shampoo and whatnot having been used, I couldn't tell if it was her scent. Granted, she was so close to me that her aquamarine underside occupied the majority of my vision. A little awkward, especially because of the occasional nudge to my ears and horn. “This is the song Lucek said is like that of Grifpony? The singer's got a high voice, a bit shrill, I think. Not like my sister. Or any of the band members. I hear a resemblance overall with the style. It has the same sort of, 'roughness' Grifpony has, but this is . . . Hmm, I wouldn’t say tame. Less frantic? Sorry, hon, I don't know how to put it into words. I don't understand a single word of what she's singing about, so I don't have much to comment on the vocals.” She stepped back, and smiled before, again, visually scrutinizing my hair. I had kept an ear out to detect signs of disapproval or disappointment, but she had sounded unconcerned and mellow throughout. “He, uh, Lucek said this is like them. Grifpony, I mean.” I had another good view of Embee now that she was standing beside me on three legs, with the comb in her raised fourth. My eyes were drawn to her brace with a heart on it for a cutie mark. Her musculature was briefly highlighted when she shifted her leg. “Do you like them?” I asked half-absently. How much strength did I harness in my hind legs? Was I comparably physically stronger as a pony? A female pony? That could be a huge issue—if my masculinity was based on raw physical strength. “To talk and mingle with, sure, and I'm real happy that my sister's doing what she likes. She never felt that our hometown could fulfill her dreams. Always more outspoken than me. My dad, though, well . . .” Embee's laugh gave of a cue of warmth. “He's Ironstring Twang.” “A celebrity?” I had caught on that he wasn't a no-name. Then I evaluated my behavior and my ears sank. “Oh, sorry, did I interrupt you?” “Not at all, hon. He's known in town, and in a few others around. But in Manehattan or Canterlot? Maybe not widely. There's a fan club in Spitzburg.” Her eyes widened a tad, either out of incredulity or amazement. “Of all the places. Spitzburg.” “Humh . . .” This was a moment where I'd rub my neck, clueless, but didn't in spite of the fact that I had the flexibility for it. “Okay.” Spitzburg? Was that in . . . Austria? No, that was Salzburg. “You don't know what his music's like. The rare records shop here in town may have a few discs,” she hazarded to guess. A dedicated record shop? I knew of only one, and it had closed years ago. “But, ah . . . what was I saying?” Glancing down at the comb, she casually cast her limb into the air. The comb soared off, clearing my back with room to spare, and came to a rest on the bench after a harmless tumble. “Nice throw,” I commented spontaneously. “Thanks! So, where was I . . . Oh yeah. My dad, he sensed my sister was going to tread in his hoofprints.” She dug up a hairdryer from within one of the four saddlebags. “He wasn't thrilled about her joining up with a few griffons and ponies who were only passing through, but he's been all smiles about it since they proved to be an honest and friendly bunch.” “Yeah, um, that's good.” I hushed my voice as I mumbled. “A hair dryer . . .” Anything I'd never had to use for my hair before felt . . . emasculating? It wasn't really, but it felt like it. Embee left the apparatus on the bench and took the cord into her mouth. “M-hm,” she affirmed belatedly, walking over to a covered socket. She had heard me? Sharp ears. “Hwm mh ght . . .” she muttered. The socket, being above her head, was narrowly out of reach, a fact that clearly annoyed her. A spark of wit glinted in her eyes, and she reared and planted her forehooves on the wall, after which she was able to nudge the cover open and insert the plug. “Anyhow, I admire Grifpony's passion and commitment. They have talent, and their music's well made. It's not really my kind of music. Mostly. They've got two ballads I adore. The Shade That Trails, and Night Sky In Your Eyes. Do you like ballads?” “Ballads? Hmm, ah, yeah . . .” What kind of a ballad was okay to let her know of? Something that I could admit to liking? Oh! “Don't let this name trick you, they're not actual scorpions, or poisonous, or terrifying, but Wind of Change by Scorpions is really great. You really should give it a listen, and learn the historical context. That really adds to its impact. On the other end of the spectrum is Rock You Like a Hurricane, which is really amazing as well. Truly an amazing, empowering rock-out song. But that's not a ballad, sorry. Got a bit carried away.” I liked some sensitive songs, too, such as Where Have All The Flowers Gone by The Kingston Trio. That one was so beautiful, so tragic, so moving, that it could bring a tear to my eye if I wasn't careful. Embee hummed. “Rock-out song, you say? That could be something my sister would be all over. I like happy songs, though, with an energetic beat that get my legs into a rhythm.” Our chat hadn't stalled her for long; she wrapped her limb around the hair dryer. “Yeah, makes sense. You like dancing games,” I recalled. “That I do,” Embee affirmed. “Uh, but . . .” I pointed at the saddlebags. “Um, no towel for me, huh?” Flimsy and vague notions about makeovers were trying to excuse me out of the inevitable. “The towel's in the bag,” she replied without a missing beat. “You wanted things done quick, and a hair dryer is a lot faster than a towel. We'll soon see if it's needed.” “Hmm, yeah. Maybe it will be.” On the topic of towels and what they could be used for . . . “Honestly, I asked for a towel . . .” My eyes averted. “For modesty.” I suppressed an impulse to paw at the floor. “It's impractical for that purpose, but, uhm . . . shrug?” I said, as performing it was impossible when standing on all fours. “Shrug?” Embee's brows set into the quizzical position. “Ah, yes. A shrug. Uh, yes, you're right. A towel would fall off in a heartbeat.” She glanced up thoughtfully. “Might stay on if it were fastened with a sash. Like a skirt, if you will.” “Hadn't really thought of that.” First panties, and now a skirt? What next, a bra? Or not. Those served no purpose whatsoever on this body. Therefore, I had to be thankful I wasn't compelled to wear them. “But the towel . . . It's not a proper piece of clothing any way you slice it.” “True. I know something that is.” A smirk trickled to her lips. “But listen, aren't we talking an awful lot, hon?” My focus was drawn to the hair dryer as she gently wagged it in her grasp. “Sure, uh, we definitely are,” I noted sheepishly. “Let's not dawdle. Um, I'm s—” The machine was turned on, the music was drowned out, and I closed my eyes as air began blasting at me. “—orry I was running my mouth and all sorts,” I continued under my breath. The temperature was pleasant, although my ears acting like air scoops disallowed complete relaxation. “I know what you said about your—this hair not being like yours, but you got any wishes on how it oughta look?” Embee asked over the noise. Her question was tough, because I've never had to ask myself what kind of hairstyle I'd have as a female. Or more specifically, as a female sapient unicorn. In any case, what kind of style could I rock and still feel like I hadn't betrayed my self-image? How to be a convincing female, without being uncomfortably female? Did this question have any relation to something as basic as a hairstyle? “Viv?” “Uh . . . Well, um . . .” I paused. Not only was I under pressure to say something, I had to aurally overpower the hair dryer. “I'm not sure! It should be okay as long as it's not complex or showy! Or unflattering!” I then reduced my voice to a normal level and began to speak my thoughts. “Like Uma Thurman's bob from Pulp Fiction. I don't get the appeal of that. Maybe it was a nineties thing? Hmh, each decade seems to have examples of popular hair that then looks ridiculous in hindsight. Like the mullets of the eighties, and in the late seventies, women had a dust bunny for hair. Not all, but some. Come to think of it, the mullet looked fine on MacGyver. He also looks a lot my dad. That's actually super awesome. Wow.” “Oh, he does? Um, wait, who's Mag, uh . . . guy wear? What's a mullet, and . . . dust bunny hair? And who is . . .” A relative silence ensued. “I'm sorry, hon, I caught a few things, but you just made me feel like the bewildered newcomer I once was.” She heard all that I said? And she had no idea what I was talking about? “Eh . . . Um . . .” The monumental challenge of explaining everything was daunting. I just had to believe I could do it. “So, uh . . . MacGyver was this guy, fictional guy in a TV show who often got out of sticky situations with the, um . . . the ingenious assembling and application of seemingly unrelated items. Mullet is his hairstyle. Long at the back, but short, er, normal otherwise. Dust bunny hair, ah . . . it's a style women had long ago. Kind of a frizzy style. Probably has a designated name. Not sure how popular it was. Uma Thurman's the name of the actress in a movie called Pulp Fiction. Supposedly it's a great movie, but nothing's ever convinced me to watch it in its entirety.” I sighed, feeling like a rock had rolled off my back. “I hope your curiosity is satiated.” “I may have to learn more about those later. But thanks!” I could tell by Embee's tone that she was pleased. “Yeah, any time. I'm sure I forgot a lot of important details, but you'll learn them once you do, uhm . . . learn them.” I noticed that the hot air from the hair dryer was going over other areas than my head. My coat was in need of drying as well? It didn't feel too bad. Like a warm shower, but without the wetness. I could've almost enjoyed it if I wasn't acutely aware of being a naked pony. Of course, now that was secured at the forefront of my mind. Annoying! It might go away if I thought of something entirely different, such as . . . a golf ball. I was picturing it, and . . . its aerodynamic properties. A perfect sphere created drag, but a sphere— “That should be alright,” Embee said, the machine powering down a moment later. “Oh? Already done?” My inquiry was replied to with a happy hum and a nod. “Well, now we can go!” Excited, I took myself to the door. But there, right as I was about to use the hoof-handle, I realized I had forgotten the key! “With airy hair like that?” Embee asked laughingly. “Airy . . . What?” I cast her a confused look, glancing at my tail a second later. It looked tidy—for a tail. As I considered that my mane must be just as neat, Embee set the hair dryer down and approached me. “Viv, please,” she said, disbelief mixed with mirth. “I know you're eager, but . . .” I faced her without thought, and she promptly but gingerly ran her limb over my head, displacing countless hairs that I could feel waving like sea grass in a lazy current. “You think we gotta do something about this?” “Undoubtedly,” I replied in mild aghast, having pictured a Koosh ball I had as a kid. “You know what to do?” “I know exactly what to do,” she said confidently. “I've learned a thing or two from my mother—she's no stylist, mind you, but my grandma was. I have also done my sister's hair on a few occasions.” She procured a small, light-brown bottle with a black cap from the saddle bag. In no time at all, she opened it and applied a clear substance to the comb. Gel? Or . . . salve that prevents the forming of split hairs? I wasn't going to ask. So . . . if hair gel or whatever was a prerequisite for having what Embee believed was decent hair, then so be it. This unplanned extra measure meant I couldn't get my key just yet. “A style that won't turn heads for the wrong reasons,” she mused. “A style that . . .” The comb's plastic bristles contacting my nape and then parting hair left and right threw my cogitations into a brief flummox. “A wild style, uh, a fluffy mane, yeah . . . it's too conspicuous.” Embee hummed, acknowledging what I had said. “Let me tell you, that ruffled 'I flew through a storm'-look was perfect for one occasion. That, a lilac aerobatics suit, some eyeshadow and a touch-up of my lashes, and I was the graceful mare of the night and the enigmatic bane of baddies: Serene Wind.” I pictured Embee in a Wonderbolt-esque outfit, thick eyelashes a la Rarity, and a voluminous, uncombed mane whipping in the wind. “She, um, a comic book character?” Hopefully, Equestria wasn't a stranger to the concept of comic books. “You can say that, though legends say she's based on a real figure. Make what you will of that,” Embee answered. So I was right? “Hmm . . .” The combing paused. “A natural style . . .” she mused as she began to bring down the hair on my crown. “Yeah, should be no toughie to get done.” “Alright,” I said noncommittally, levitating the music player to inspect the interface. The symbols were intuitive, so the foreign language posed no obstacle. Finding the minimize button was also easy. “Ah!” I cringed, shaking my head briskly. “Huh?” Embee stopped combing. “Did I hurt you?” I gave her an apologetic look. “No, not really. Um . . . My ears. I'm alright with them on a conscious level, but not instinctively. I'm sorry.” “Don't feel bad, hon, I understand what you're saying.” She gingerly moved my hair past the root of my ears. “I'll try to be more careful.” “Much appreciated,” I said faintly, placing my eyes back to the floating screen. Evenly spaced icons were laid over a low-altitude photo of a city consisting of colorful but old buildings. A Central European city? Possibly. In any case, what could this gridded ball icon be for? A gateway to a wealth of knowledge, of course! The first thing I'd take a look at would be . . . a text box with more moonspeak preventing access to the coveted treasure? There was an unusual letter in one word that puzzled me. An 'l' with a slanted line at the middle. “Haslo? Hasto?” “Hasto?” Embee repeated, the grooming progressing unhindered. “What's that, hon?” “I don't know. It's what this . . . Ohhh.” My moan broke Embee's brushing. “Password.” I gestured at the floating device as she looked at me with inquisitiveness. “It's a password. It's asking for a password.” Frustrated and annoyed, I nearly slammed the device on the bench. “Who locks their web browser with a password?!” This preventing of . . . Denied of information when it was literally within my reach . . . It wasn't fair! “Huhm . . . I'm . . . I'm sorry, hon.” In spite of her confusion, she was sympathetic. “Are you alright?” “Yeah, I am,” I replied with a tiny quiver in my voice, gathering myself before speaking again. “Oh geez. I took that a bit harder than I needed to.” Why was this happening? A number of vague explanations swirled in my mind, mainly related to psychology, hormones and frequent discomfort stemming from this strange form I was stuck in for the time being. But I didn't devote time to analyze them further, as it wouldn't really accomplish anything worthwhile. Best I try to normalize myself. “I could've looked up something of interest, but I guess I can't now,” I said dispiritedly as Embee carefully resumed doing my hair. I could've looked up detailed articles on magic. Or history of Equestria. Maps and geography. Geography? Places. Locations! “Say . . . Embee?” “Yes, hon?” said the sapient, aquamarine pegasus that by all accounts wasn't a common horse from this seemingly mundane world. “Where do you come from?” I asked, not turning my head to see her amethyst eyes and interrupt the grooming that would be over very soon. “Equestria,” Embee replied. She didn't follow it up with anything. So, she had probably cracked a small joke, perhaps to alleviate my anxiety and brighten the mood. “Color me surprised. I had thought you hailed from Tromsø, the seagull capital of Norway,” I said nonchalantly, but with a touch of feigned disappointment. “Seagull capital?” She chuckled, incredulous and amused. “You know that from experience?” “No. It's what I've heard. Never been there, because it's really far away.” The combing stopped. Finally. I may've just experienced the longest five minutes ever. “But where are you from? Please be a little more specific.” Right as I had voiced my query of curiosity, Embee took an oval-shaped brush out of the saddle bag, the sight of which made me frown with dismay. “Oh no, not more brushing . . .” “Any remaining debris needs to get out of your coat and off your skin,” she explained as she returned to my side and slipped her hoof through the strap. “But if you really don't want to, all you need is to let me know.” “I will,” I acknowledged submissively, unsure if I could let her know. Ugh. The plastic bristles were crossing over my side to my underbelly. “So, how about my question?” If she kept talking, maybe I would be less uncomfortable? “Yes.” She was scrubbing my back now. Wait, this actually felt nice. Weird, but nice. “A day's journey from Canterlot, past the Smoothslope Mountains, is the province of Upper Northbottom. Along the road following Ten Crook Creek upstream resides the town of Pending. Funny story, though, settlers couldn't come up with a good name, but that didn't stop them from establishing a town. When any visitors asked, they were told that the name was pending. The name stuck. Of course, an official name was penned eventually. Sure, it's a special looking tree in the plaza, but Roan Oak simply hasn't caught on.” “That's pretty unusual, and interesting. Don't know any towns that got their name by, well, not having a name.” Contrary to my preconceptions, few, if any, of the names presented were horse puns. “What's downstream?” I asked on a lark. “Lower Northbottom,” Embee replied. I was befuddled for several seconds. “How, um, logical.” Oh great. Embee wasn't squeamish about scrubbing my lower back, and . . . well, it wasn't my bottom, per se. Was it? “Have you been there?” I queried in a slightly higher pitch. “I got relatives there, so yes.” Her voice was so casual, I could almost picture the face to go with it. No way was I going to show her my own disconcerted face. “If you wonder what's it like, imagine small coastal towns, like a chain of pearls, as they like to call them. Beyond the coast are hundreds of islands, the inland is flat plains dotted by farms, and mostly everypony speaks a language you'd hear only on that side of Equestria.” “I can imagine towns and landscapes,” I commented. How does one imagine a language? I pictured a word book as an answer. “They're an industrious lot, but they go easy on their weather duties.” Thank goodness, she was done scrubbing! Now the real relaxing could commence. “But they are friendly and unconcerned. Sometimes to a fault. It really demonstrates their . . . Hmm. What was that phrase? . . . Oh, it'll come to me.” She coiled her limb around the hair dryer's cord and yanked the plug out, the lid coming down with a snap; her carelessness made me cringe. As she began placing items back into the saddlebags, I retrieved my lone key. The application of a brush on my body had left me a little shaky. Tension leaving me, I surmised. I was glad my telekinesis wasn't disrupted in any discernible manner. The last thing I would want was to make something explode. Not that I knew how to do that on purpose . . . But somehow I knew adhesive magic? A fairly simple spell and related to restoration magic . . . and I was again unlocking information from a brain that wasn't mine. Wait, unlocking? The key? This key that was hanging from my neck . . . unlocks doors, starts the engine, and . . . I was starting to see something through a mental fog. But what? Maybe the key to undoing my predicament? If I thought harder, I could see . . . a glimpse of . . . “Ow,” I muttered faintly as a spike of disorientation struck me. What had I seen? Bands of curved, muted colors in varying thickness. Like a rainbow's sick cousin. “Veeders gaajin andens gaan,” Embee said all of a sudden. I think that was what she said. Watching her stuff one pair of saddlebags into a locker, I repeated the phrase in my head as I had heard it, unable to make any sense of it. “Excuse me, what?” “Nja mair. Dja haern mij reet. Ijk speek bitjen laavins,” she said, slipping on the beige saddlebags. Her bright visage contrasted with my utter dumbfound . . . ness? Dumbfound . . . ity? My mind was all twirly whirly feeling. “That's their language.” Embee looked a touch less casual. Maybe partly sorry? “They? Who? Oh, the bottomers, uh, low ponies? Hold on.” The piece of electronic equipment that might've been more than a mere music player was still announcing its existence. Had it begun to play a new song? Regardless, I turned it off. “Okay, can you translate all that for me?” I queried, eager to learn something despite my confusion. Or maybe due to my confusion? “First: Weather's going, and then it's gone.” The hairs on my back stood on end as I witnessed Embee take the device into her mouth and place it into her saddlebag. It wouldn't have teeth marks on it, would it? Or did she use her lips only? “Second: Yeah, mare, you heard it right, I speak a bit of Lowerian.” She cast a look around after that, possibly to check if anything was forgotten or misplaced. “I bet you've learned more than a few phrases.” I cast a cursory glance at the shower, not seeing anything out of place—except the sponge! “True. For example, 'Beijm' is a common greeting.” As Embee said that, I wordlessly walked to the two-toned sponge, and again exemplified how quick I was to forget that hooves weren't made for grabbing. However, I did pinch the green object between the backside of my hoof and . . . whatever nomenclature the underside of the preceding section of my limb had. “Beijm? Okay. Sounds like it means something other than "How's it going, mate",” I said, doing a probably poor attempt at an Australian accent. After I had returned the item to the tray, I saw Embee smile. I assumed it was out of gratitude for the little thing I did. “Pretty nice of you to put the sponge back.” She confirmed my assumption. “And pretty scummy if I hadn't,” I quipped lightheartedly. Her giggle could mean a lot of things, though I took it as a positive response. “So, right,” Embee started talking as we finally made our way to the door. “Beijm comes from 'sonnbeijm.' Sunbeam. The pleasure of a warm and sunny day to a friend, family member, or guest. It can also be a farewell.” I waited outside as Embee reached for the light switch, came out from the darkened room and shut the door. I kept myself beside her as we began to make our way to began to make our way back. “Another expression I can't forget is 'mejg,' used to express disappointment or disinterest. I've heard it originally describe a broth that was more water than veggies and flavor.” We weaved past a pair of stallions, one green and the other blue. Feeling momentarily uneasy by their smiles and possibly admiring eyes, I lost track of what Embee was talking about. “The towns are serviced by train.” The topic had changed? “It's a really pretty train, too, sparkling blue, like the sun's rays reflecting on the sea. It's got an official name, but locals simply call it Navse.” “Navse?” I asked right as we turned a corner and into a corridor with two steel doors on the right. Elevators! But she passed them. Why? Weren't we leaving the hospital? “I've heard that the trains were notorious for being late.” Embee and I stopped at a windowed corner opposite the elevators. What were we going to do here? “So, imagine, ponies waiting for the train, and when it finally arrives, somepony says "Navs en kamm." Sometimes humorously, or eagerly, or annoyedly if it's really late.” My visual mind constructed a lifelike picture while she turned her head to the open window. “Hey there.” “Hey!” The mare behind the glass looked up from her papers. Gosh, that innocent and friendly smile and her brown, billowing, batting-like mane. It was oddly familiar! She was . . . like a pony version of the nurse from Wonder Boy III: The Dragon's Trap! “What can I do for you, Embee?” “Just asking you to forward an item,” she replied, then nuzzled her right saddlebag open. After rifling through it for a few seconds, she looked at me, slightly embarrassed. “Uh, hon. You don't mind helping me out a little, do you? I can't get the thing. Phone, I think it was?” “Uhm . . .” I was briefly dumbstruck of being asked for help. The nurse pony gazed at us with intrigue, and the two stallions from before had ventured within eyesight. I had to play my part and act like I was just a normal pony. “Sure,” I said as I peeked in. There it was, at the bottom of the bag, beneath some bottles and a brush. I almost went through with using my hoof, but the instance I felt my weight shift to three legs I rethought my plan. A magic globule enveloped the requested item and conversely displaced its captors. “Much obliged, hon.” Embee smiled. Now she was staring at me. She started to look a little puzzled. “Can you give it to her?” She nodded at the receptionist. “Oh, yeah, yeah, sorry,” I said, slightly preoccupied. Magic, me-pony, Embee-pony, and receptionist pony, but all in an environment that was very terrestrial. This was somewhat surreal. The unnamed mare tracked the multimedia device as it floated over to her and onto her papers. “Who does this belong to?” she queried as her gaze lifted. “Lucek,” Embee answered concisely. The receptionist’s brows furrowed. “Sorry. I should know, but I don't know who that is,” she said, unsure of herself. I had to think of a name for her until she mentioned it. Or someone asked. Rece-pony? No, not good. “Don't you remember? He gave you a box of delicious chocolate-covered prunes for your birthday.” If my eyes weren't deceiving me, I saw Embee furtively lick her lips. “Oh!” The light brown mare's eyes lit up with realization. “It's, yeah, it's that man who was telling me the other day that a cheetah has the fastest bird.” “What?” I mouthed, tilting my head. Why would a cheetah have a bird—a fastest bird? It made no sense. Had this Lucek guy been crushed under a lobbed menhir or something? “He's quite the character, isn't he?” Embee said with a chuckle, evidently used to Lucek's insanity. “He hasn't recommended you a cartoon with four kids, one of whom is a zombie, has he?” That insane premise . . . might have the potential of being good. “Nah.” A smirk creased recept-pony's face. “Well, not yet.” Both she and Embee giggled, while I merely presented a slightly uncertain smile so as to not look out of place. “Anyhow, he, ah, lost that thing there of his you were just given, and I'm betting he wants it back as soon as possible.” I looked over my back for no particular reason as Embee spoke; the stallion duo entered the elevator as it spewed out two white-coated women and another male pony. “I'd go myself, but I'm busy right now. I'll be sure to have somepony send it to him.” When I turned my attention back to the receptionist, she had taken the device into her mouth. A chill went down my spine. “Don't bite it,” I said quietly as she vanished beyond a divider, worried more about teeth marks than saliva. “Relax, I used my lips,” her carefree voice bounced into my ears, herself emerging a second later. I backed a tad, coaxing a difficult smile to my face in the absence of my mind assembling anything resembling a complete word. “So, anything else I can do for you, Embee?” “No, that's all,” she declined complaisantly. “Alright.” The chipper mare's deep blue eyes rolled to me, her smile becoming a little wider. “How about you?” “Uh, me?” My smile faltered briefly. “Nothing. I'm good.” I glimpsed Embee shut her saddlebag. “Let's keep going, then,” she casually commanded before looking at the receptionist. “See you, and thanks.” When Embee walked past me, I made sure to not stay far behind. I bid the receptionist a farewell, too, suddenly feeling a touch bewildered. Maybe I was unconsciously entrenched in a belief that being pony was vastly different from everything I knew, which made me uncertain of anything I did? “Hold up,” Embee said all of a sudden. I stopped where we had come to. I could still see the receptionist's corner, plus another load of ponies spilling out from the elevator. “Um, where are we going?” I asked. “Here.” Embee reached up to push a keypad next to the door we were by. Impressive precision doing that with a hoof. “And what's in here?” I asked warily as I followed her into what seemed to be a small, darkened storage room. After she had stretched herself to reach a higher position, the lights came on. Awaiting her reply, I watched in silence as she strolled past the two metallic shelves in the center of the room. They were packed with translucent boxes. Acting on a superficial compulsion, I rounded the door and pushed it almost shut before I made my way over to her. She had taken her saddlebags off, opened one, and procured a bundle of keys. With them hanging by her teeth, she approached a nondescript box sitting in the corner among others of its ilk. She unlocked the padlock and nudged the lid open, as my curiosity prompted me to take a closer look. Amidst the packets, folded cloths, and other miscellaneous items was another small, translucent box. “A cap and protective boots. I expected more,” Embee commented to herself, disappointed. She then turned her attention to me. “Well, these have been here for months, which means nopony's missing them. Or missing them enough to return for them. I guess they'll be auctioned off eventually. But let's see.” She took the small box and placed it on the floor. “Want to see if the boots fit?” “Eh.” This would've been a perfect moment to shrug. “Why not?” I poked at the box lethargically, flipping the top open after I summoned my disembodied touch. “Protective boots, you said? Looks like the heel of a hiking boot trimmed to a thin sheet, with a hole in the middle and straps on top,” I described flatly. “It's like a sandal? Or maybe it's just a slightly fancier horseshoe.” Thankfully, without nails. “They're called protective boots since they protect the hooves from hard surfaces, such as rock and pavement.” I saw a glimmer of cautious hope in Embee's eyes. “It's still shaped like a horseshoe.” I turned the gray rubber shoe around and stuck my hoof in it, then sat down and used my free hoof to bring the Velcro straps together over my coronet band. Without changing her expression or saying a word, Embee placed the other shoe before me. I repeated the process in equal silence. “Viv, I'm not pressuring you to wear them if you don't like them.” Her words instilled me with a sense of doubt. “Yeah . . . Why should I wear these anyhow?” I took a look at the sole of the shoe. Or boot. Whatever. “Because . . . these hooves aren't mine, so, um, I have to act responsibly by guaranteeing they aren't damaged,” I answered my own question resignedly. “You don't like feeling pony,” Embee recalled sympathetically. “But.” She dug up a purple-colored thing from the box. “Maybe this'll be a good counterbalance?” She stuck her hoof into the mystery item, stretching it into the shape of a typical baseball— “A cap?” I verbalized what I saw. “I hadn't expected that.” Realistically, though, how would it serve as a counterpoint to being pony? “It's what you'd normally like to wear, right?” Following a few seconds of hesitation, she perched it on my head and carefully adjusted it to fit. “What do you think? Good, or bad? Want to take it off?” I tried to see the rim, but my hair was in the way. “I, er . . .” The cap wasn't of objectionable style, I had nothing negative to say about the color, and most importantly, it wasn't interfering with my ears or horn, so . . . “Yeah, I'm okay with this.” “You sound and look a little happier,” Embee noted with delight in her tone and a smile on her face. “Nonsense,” I disputed, fully aware that she was spot on. “I'm supposed to be perpetually downbeat and . . . and this cap's ruining my wonderfully done hair, too. All that work you did, undone,” I bemoaned histrionically. “Such a shame,” I continued, mimicking the eponymous Talk Talk song. Gosh, now I wanted to hum a few more verses. Embee blew air past her lips. “You're such a contrarian diva,” she chided playfully. “Ehm.” I wasn't vain, but saying that I wasn't could ruin the lighthearted mood. “Did you not once say I'm a prankster?” “Okay, correction.” She cleared her throat and composed herself the face a dulled official. “Contrarian prankster diva.” Although still in a playful mood, I frowned, aware that we were at the cusp of starting a game where I'd earn titles I wouldn't regard with honest admiration. A small razzberry was my ultimate rebuttal, which consequently caused her to burst into an unabashed, precariously infectious giggle. I held it in as I said, “Anyhow, let's get going.” I stood up and turned for the door. “Ah, no,” Embee said quickly, evidently caught off guard. “Huh?” What could we still be doing in this unwelcoming storage room? The answer was Embee prodding two more boots towards my hind legs. My exposed hind hooves. I looked down, and saw an obvious disparity. “Oh. Right. Four legs. Four boots. Or shoes. Or sandals,” I rambled in a careless tone as I put my hooves face to face with the boots. “Uh?” Well, my forehooves were face to face with the footwear. Confused, I performed a full 180 without delay. When I looked at my rear pair, I noted Embee had backed up, rubbing her snout. “Did, um, did something happen? “Your tail—No, I'm alright.” She sniffed twice. Maybe she had almost sneezed? So, I had to simply step on the shoes. Except now that I did, I was standing on them and the strap. I tried to free one shoe, but . . . “Ugh. I don't think I'm flexible enough to get it,” I complained as I gave up. “Also, my prehensile abilities are extremely limited, so . . .” I hope she'd catch the clue and give me some assistance. Embee stared at the squished shoes thoughtfully, then drew a breath as she looked me in the eye. “So, how about using your magic?” she suggested gently. “Hum,” I commented, feeling markedly witless. “That's . . . that's definitely a good idea.” Frankly, it had genuinely escaped my mind. “Should have thought of that . . . but, uhm,” I said in a fading voice; the cursory hypothesis about natural inclination for utilizing hands and the faulty adaptation to a unicorn form leading to the occasional forgetting of telekinesis wasn't heard aloud. Regardless, the shoes were liberated from their tight spot with a couple of steps, and then given a helping (magic) hand to reintroduce themselves to my soles. “So, hon. How do they feel?” Embee queried, cautiously optimistic now that I was shoed. “Well, hmm . . .” I panned my head to get a view over myself. I was certainly aware that I had four legs, but wearing shoes really seemed to make it harder to disbelieve. Consequently, I began to feel desolate. “They feel like nothing,” I said dispassionately. “Really?” Her amethyst-colored eyes widened in honest surprise. I quickly stole a glance toward the open door, checking that we hadn't gained an unwanted audience. “I have hooves, Embee. They're insensate. You know that just as well as I do.” Well, that was curt. “Oh . . . That's true,” she concurred dejectedly. Now she too was sad, and much more open about it than I was. Time to brighten the mood. Somehow. “But it could be worse,” I continued in a more relaxed manner. “It could?” I couldn't tell whether she was doubtful or fearful. “Yeah, I . . .” What could be worse than being a feminine-voiced cuddly pony? I wasn't blatantly feminine, so I could act like a tomboy. But what form would disallow that? “I could be a poodle.” Embee developed a confused smile. “Viv the poodle?” Then she laughed. “I'm pretty sure you have a wonderful picture in your mind,” I hazarded, unamused. She at least tried to look sorry. “I can think of better things to be.” “Oh? Do tell. I'm curious.” I was about to reply with the obvious when she continued. “I don't need to guess what's the best, but if it had to be anything else but that.” “You cunning rascal,” I chided, but she only giggled. “A cat?” she guessed. “No,” I replied firmly. “Is that what you'd be?” “Mom dressed me up for a special festivity. Maybe you've heard of it? Nightmare Night? If not, I'll skip the story for now. But everypony is dressed up that evening. What was I?” Her aversive gaze was deliberate. “Meow don't know.” “Hah, clever.” I smiled meagerly. When the silence became protracted, Embee's liveliness waned. “Well, I told you mine, but you don't have to tell me yours. It's okay.” She began to tidy up, but I felt I had an obligation to fulfill. I couldn't take and then not give. “Er . . . I, uh . . . feel awkward saying this, but when I was younger, I thought dinosaurs were neat, and I had a game, a video game, with a . . . the avatar, um, playable character. I thought, I think he's awesome and uhm, he's not a dino . . . but . . . I fantasized how cool it would be to be a dragon.” Embee had picked up the keys and closed the box where I got my borrowed (and sparse) apparel from as I talked. “Of course, recent experien—” “Awh dhwgn?” she said through her teeth as she secured the padlock to the box and locked it. “Uhm, yeah. I was—oh.” I reminded myself that she might've pictured dragons as fear-inducing, fire-breathing, humongous troublemakers. “It's a different kind of dragon. Purple, walks on fours—is that unusual? I dunno. Uh, it's about . . .” How would I estimate the height when doing that might put my limb at the same height as my head? Wait, that was it! “About my present size, and um . . . not dangerous. The kind you'd be friends with, and think he's cool, and . . . uh . . .” “And looks cute?” She guessed while putting on her saddlebags. “Uhm, I suppose?” The adorably cute, or the different type of cute that strongly hints at romantic affections? Could I even pretend to think that— “Well, well. Never would have guessed it. Viv the dragoness,” Embee commented, giving me a sly look. “Eheh, yeah, well, no, um, kind of, not really, or maybe . . .” I stammered, my imagination acting on its own accord to visualize a confident, feminized PS1-era Spyro clone in my colors. “I'd rather be a dino,” I finally blurted, bowing my head down immediately after. “A cool dino. Maybe raptor. Dunno,” I added, nearly voiceless. “Don't feel bad, hon. I wasn't making any fun of you,” Embee reassured kindly. “I know you weren't. I'm just . . . just embarrassed. Not even sure why . . . it just feels so . . .” I said meekly, my vision wavered for a moment, and I found my hoof half off the ground, uncertain if it should go up or stay down. The past twenty-four hours had stressed my integrity and self-image to their breaking points. Personal revelations, intense emotions, and unexpected female changes were simply building to another climax and throwing things out of proportion again.Or at least that was what I theorized. Could be a really flimsy theory. Probably was. But to prove its flimsiness I'd have to test it extensively. “You okay, hon?” Seemed like I was giving her a reason to worry. I assured her I was fine and restated that I was embarrassed. Nonetheless, she observed me quietly for a few long seconds. “Alright. Well then. One little thing, and then we can go outside. Follow me, please.” She started for the door and slipped through the gap. “Woohoo,” I cheered shyly as I followed her. I let her close the door. “Oh . . . kay, where are we going?” I asked, confused that we distanced ourselves further from the elevators. “Not far.” As soon as she said that, she turned toward a door and effortlessly pushed it open. The room was plain. Windowless, colored in beige, and beside the door was a sole potted plant missing half of one blade, as if bitten. Posters possibly pertaining to healthcare and a couple of paintings framed in glass were on the walls. In the center of the room was a very low particle board table encircled by plaid pillows. “I can't go outside without a few necessities,” Embee explained. A smaller room was to the left, lined with lockers; there was one frame with her name in black on a gray tag. “Normally, only staff can come in here, but nopony's gonna raise a big stink about you being here.” “Okay.” Still recovering from my general bemusement, I vacantly observed her opening the thin metal door. Figuring I could spend my time on better pursuits than persuading Embee to second-guess herself, I looked back towards the center of the room and spotted a newspaper sitting atop the low table. Adorned with an eager smile, I approached the table. All was going smoothly, until the floor gave under. Well, the floor hadn't budged; the pillows I stepped on did. Unfortunately, sudden loss of foreleg stability was a relatively recent and startling concept to me. At least my landing was soft. “Hm?” Embee looked over at me, undoubtedly having heard my ungraceful collapse. “Ah.” A smile spread on her face. “Decided to get comfy?” Not sure how I was positioned, aside from upright and facing Embee, I stole a quick downward glance without pitching my head. “Mmh, yeah.” “We won't be here for that long, hon,” she quipped, apparently assuming my plopping down was a nonverbal remark. “So you say,” I shot back, feigning indifference. She merely laughed through a closed mouth, then pulled a yellow saddlebag from her locker. While she wasn't looking, I gave myself a brief inspection. Forelegs sprawled out on the edge of the pillow, and my hind legs folded almost one on the other. And there was my tail, that I sent a command to by accident. Then I did it a few times on purpose. Gosh, it looked and felt so . . . “We-ird,” I mouthed, half-creeped out. I'd never get used to this shape, would I? Perhaps that was a boon in guise? Anyhow, the newspaper. I reached for it . . . and didn't quite get it. Too far way. A sigh passed through my nostrils. Oh . . . It wasn't too far away. I had a magical spire on my forehead. I wrapped the paper in a fluctuating telekinetic bubble and dragged it to myself. Now I could turn off my cranial rod and check if the front cover had anything interesting. A quick glance to the paper's upper side brought to my attention that this wasn't a national publication, but one of those free, city papers that promoted and reported local events. Anyhow, back to the main attraction. Ads. Lots of ads. Normally, I would ignore them without a second thought, but being in a parallel world created an exception. 20% sale on boat paint and related paraphernalia. A renovated pizzeria offering free pizzas for the first fifteen customers for the entirety of next week. Even an upcoming car expo. Featuring legendary Group B rally cars? How cool was that! Maybe not as cool as the Ponymporium, a retailer of various Equestrian goods. Buggies, fabric, furniture, and more. I'd go there out of curiosity, if it was nearby. The address corresponded to a department store that had been vacant for a couple of years. Wasn't a small place, either. A dedicated two-story building with a roomy underground parking lot. In defiance of my quadrupedal nature, I tried to turn the page over. The results were far from elegant, but counted as a moderate success, and so, I put my eyes on the written article. It was something about theater. Theater . . . One of those institutions that never died, yet nopony I knew actually went to them, and certainly never mentioned them. However, I had gone to the theater as a kid thanks to, I suppose, a culturally conscious school. The only significant memory I recalled was people dressed as yellow baboons, one of whom frequently bent over to expel smoky gas with the sound of a foghorn. Classy. Anyhow, this article exuded enthusiasm. Good for them. Or him. Or her. Who wrote the article? Raspberry Spark? Ponies in radio, ponies in print. Did that name hold a meaning? Related to the Razzie Awards? No, that seemed extremely unlikely. Maybe the name, Raspberry Spark, symbolized that even bad performances can lead to an epiphany? In any case, I only glossed over the article. The next page . . . had a picture of some kind of mammal with a red eye and robotic body parts. It was the headlining picture for what was playing in theaters. Movie theaters, that is. Lugging a pair of miniguns, this cybernetic cousin of a camel is the face of the off-the-rails action movie spoof Llamanator 2: The Alpaccalypse. Some other movies were also listed, such as American Jesus, a satirical comedy; Ponyventures 2, a screwball comedy; Odin Ubit: A Dark Destiny, a docudrama; Edgeworth, a science fiction— “Time to get up, greenbelly.” A familiar voice and something prodding my side brought my eyes up from the literature. I only needed to glance at the aquamarine shape to identify it as Embee's leg, from where I trailed it up to her smirk. “Okay, um . . .” I did as suggested, although it was made difficult due to the combination of a pliable surface and inadequate understanding of equine motor skills. My higher brain functions initiated once I was on firmer ground. “Greenbelly?” Embee's smirk had mellowed to a much more approachable smile, which promptly changed into that of realization. “Oh, right. It's what a lazy pony's called where I'm from.” “Because . . .” I drawled expectantly. “A lazy pony lays on the ground so much, their coat gets stained green by the grass,” she explained. “Huh. Interesting.” Always nice to learn things that evidently originated from pony culture, though I was downplaying it outwardly. Not cool to be called lazy, after all. “Well, that's . . . something that doesn't apply to you, being so green and all.” She chortled. “Wow, you're shrewd, aren't you?” “Uh, yeah, I can be,” I said, doubting myself just enough to shy away from giving a straight yes. I stole a quick look toward the locker room. “So, ah, we're done here?” I continued as I turned my eyes back to Embee. “Yes,” Embee responded gladly. “We can go now.” In a few short seconds, we were once again trekking down the hallway, back towards the elevators this time. As we did, I sensed something unusual. Or rather, the lack of something, which was unusual. It was only when we stopped by the elevator that I understood what it was. “I didn't realize how much these shoes quiet my steps,” I said to Embee, holding my limb aloft. “And you’ve got shoes, too. I . . . hadn't really paid much attention to them.” They were yellow, just like her saddlebags and hair, and with a hard-to-decipher insignia running across the straps. “They look kinda nice. Suits your hair color.” Also, she was wearing a plastic ankle ring. “Thanks!” she replied to my half-thought compliment, glancing pleased at her forehooves. Then, the elevator doors parted. A sole occupant walked out so briskly that I barely caught a glimpse of her face. “Ugh,” I muttered, disliking the loud clacking of her high heels. “Ugh what?” Embee queried. “Something wrong?” “No, It's fine. I just . . .” Would she need to know? I couldn't think of any harm in her knowing. “I guess sensitive hearing and proximity to high heels isn't a good combination.” I explained once we were within the steel cube. “And I honestly don't like the sound they make in any case. Don't know why, really.” “Hmm, okay.” She gently struck a button on the panel. Fortunately, it wasn't too high up. “I take it you've not often worn high heels.” “Not often? Hah,” I sneered. “Never in my life.” “Oh.” Seemed like my impudent opinion had stumped her. “But aren't there occasions that require wearing them?” “No,” I said firmly. “They look uncomfortable, are detrimental to the feet and posture, horribly impractical . . .” Wait, I was getting too deep into this pretend-female persona. “I'll cut my tirade short and say that I have nothing good to say about high heels.” Embee's look was that of pensiveness, whereas mine was that of unshakeable nonchalance. “Well, I guess a woman knows better than a mare.” Ouch. “Yeah,” I affirmed, furtively uncomfortable, embarrassed, and then ashamed. How could I ever break it to her that I wasn't a true female? Moreover, only now did it dawn on me that I had several moments in privacy where I could've let her know. But then again, did she really need to? The doors opened, the din of chatter symbolizing how little privacy we had now. It was almost daunting to step beyond the comparative solitude of the elevator into the hallway beyond, but I followed Embee steadily. We ventured past several doors, chairs, people, and ponies on our way to what I assumed was the outside. We were halfway between the sliding doors and the hospital’s reception desk when Embee stopped and looked at me. “Viv, why're you so quiet all of a sudden?” I didn't reply. I looked down at the lobby floor briefly, then out towards the sunlit exterior, where a short, concrete, multistory parking lot stood on the other side of an empty road. An ambulance was parked outside the hospital doors. The man inside was writing on a board placed over his steering wheel. “Why do you look sad?” “I'm . . . I'm not sad,” I lied to Embee, but I was actually remorseful. Opposite the ambulance, on the right, a maroon pony walked past, his gaze alighting on me for a small moment as he walked in and went to wherever he was going. The encounter left me a little unsure of myself. Certainly he couldn't see me as what I really was? Could anypony else, though? Could I take that risk? “I'm nervous. Scared. Of going out there.” I realized that the confidentiality of our conversation couldn't be guaranteed in a hallway, so I sidled closer and whispered, “You know, I'm not really a mare.” I shuddered, the confession hitting hard. “I know you're not,” she said compassionately, curling a limb over me to give me a hug. “No.” I dodged under the offered hug. “Please, don't do that, not now,” I pleaded apologetically, then promptly moved to a corner where the wall met the vestibule. I needed a moment to gather myself. Crying alone was one thing, but crying in public? I couldn't let that happen. The judgmental stares would devastate me. “Sorry.” Evidently Embee had followed me to my niche of extremely tenuous solitude. The precise point where the floor, the wall, and glass pane's frame met was free of dust. No point in staring down there, but where else could I look? “If you're really frightened, if this is really that tough, well . . . you can bow out of it anytime, no problem. We don't need to go outside.” I kept staring at the floor as I quietly said to her, “I can't. Not when I'm so close. But . . . truth be told . . .” This wasn't going to be the truth I wrestled with the most. “I don't know pony etiquette, or how to behave like one. I'm afraid somepony's gonna see through me and immediately tell that I'm not the real thing.” “Don't sell yourself short.” Her tone was such that picturing a tiny, bashful smile on her wasn't hard “You were able to trick me well.” “For about ten minutes, and I was doing a pretty poor job at it, too,” I specified sardonically, easily recalling last evening's events in the break room. “Listen, hon.” Embee's cautious optimism seemed gone, replaced by benign seriousness. “If a poor attempt was good enough, then you got nothing to worry about.” “I just feel that if I mess up in some way, things will go awry faster than you can say 'tubular frame.'” I checked our surroundings, in case we were being listened to. “What if I'm asked what's the population of Equestria? I don't know the answer to that.” “Neither do I,” she said, tone unconcerned. “Does that make me not a pony? What kind of trouble will I be in?” “You can give an estimate, but I can't,” I whispered exasperatedly, ignoring her role reversal puzzle. Or . . . maybe I shouldn't ignore it. “So, er, if you, well, I were to bungle up knowing something that's common knowledge, I . . . I don't know what kind of trouble I could get in.” “You say if, but I get this feeling you're convinced it's a when.” I was surprised she said that. She couldn't know I was . . . definitely not thinking like that. At all. It wasn't a when, though I kind of . . . No, I had to have faith in myself. I'd counter Embee's deduction by . . . showing her a morose face, and not looking at her, while still kind of doing so. Because I was still right, but . . . not really right. Half-right. Or a smidgen less than half-right. Thirty-forty percent right? “I know you like to be cautious, but I'm pretty sure you want to go outside, too.” “Yeah, well . . .” Unknown to her, I had mentally acknowledged that I had gotten cold feet and I should do something to . . . warm them up. “Please don't give into pessimism and think that the worst, whatever it might be, will happen. It won’t. Ponies aren't going to pry for details. To them, you're just another pony walking down the street. Don't forget, I'm with you. If somepony strikes a chat with us, you can play the quiet type and I'll do the talking.” “That sounds . . . good.” A shred of rationality was persuading me to think sensibly. “I guess I can't really do anything else other than be myself, even at the risk of being, well, unponylike. I mean, I can't convincingly fake being from a completely different culture, and realistically speaking, it'd take forever to learn a fraction of what you know. So . . . alright, I'll do what I can to keep a low profile, like you suggested. That's not really so far from what I usually tend to do.” I would have continued our hushed dialogue, but then the noise started. I turned my head toward the disturbance, my directional microphones seemingly amplifying its intensity. Somewhere out of sight, a terrible sound was being made. Worse, it was becoming louder, and coming closer. There was no mystery unveiled when I saw it being carried from the depths of the hospital. My only solace was a desperate wish that this perturbation was only passing through. “Oh no,” I bemoaned when it didn't come true. “Oh no what?” Embee queried, clearly not bothered by the noise. The noise. That horrible noise, right next to the reception. It was one of the most reviled sounds in existence, an aural abhorrence that could transform a placid pacifist into a manic murderer. “Agh, I can't bear it,” I said as I cringed. “I gotta get out, now.” Without any hesitation, I ventured out as quickly as the doors permitted. When I was finally outside, I drew a deep breath, extremely relieved that the torture was over. Speaking of the outside, it was sunny and quite warm. Some puddles here and there from yesterday's rain. Moreover, there wasn't a crowd out here. Just a few people coming and going down the gradient to the right. The ambulance I saw before slowly passed me, down to the street, where it turned right to merge between a silver sedan and a medium-sized white truck. That truck had artwork on it that evoked my curiosity. Only a few steps and it was clear: A transparent bottle cradled by the vegetation of a yellow field, a gleeful light-yellow pony with a blonde braided mane smiling excitedly at the discovery. Above all that was something written in a bold, descending hue of orange: Trigo Limpio. “That was a sudden change of heart,” Embee commented as she came by my side. “What convinced you?” “Ahh, you see, there, um,” I dawdled, unsure of speaking my mind. A momentary glance down at the pavement dug out a random piece of trivia from a dusty corner of my memory. However, quoting Michael J. Caboose for comedic effect would still be too direct. “Appointing me as the caretaker of an infant would be a recipe for disaster.” “How does that relate to trotting out . . . Oh, you don't mean that, do you?” she doubted, frowning sadly. “It's hard to stay cool when I'm subjected to one of the most infuriating sounds in the world,” I explained, starting to steadfastly descend the sidewalk, whereas she had become stunned. “Of course, that's just my opinion. Sorry, I guess.” Her shoes didn't muffle her steps much as she hurriedly caught up to me. “Uhm . . . Maybe motherhood would convince you otherwise?” “Hahaha,” I laughed flatly, feeling queasy. “Maternity is unconditionally out of the question.” Carrying an unwelcome parasite in my body that I'd have to pass out like a ginormous kidney stone was almost as desirable as contracting cervical cancer. “How, how can you say that?” Embee's sorrowful demeanor prevented me from opining strongly. “You may possess everything that's needed to be a good parent, but I know I don't. There's nothing in me that says 'Yay! I want to have children!', and as far as I can recall, that's how it's always been.” I had mindlessly headed right at the junction of the hospital road and the street, and was now at another, much busier intersection. Privacy was impossible here, so I withdrew to the lawn and to the shadow of a towering tree there. Embee followed. “It's kind of a big deal—I've not even spoken to my parents about it. I'm pretty sure they wish for grandchildren, and I . . . Well . . .” I kneaded the yellow and orange leaves on the ground. “I feel genuinely bad for letting them down, but . . . I'm not the type to . . .” Reality seemed to knock me on the head as I realized I was face-to-face with a being that just a day before only existed in fiction. “Why am I . . . Why do I open up to you about these things?” “Might be because you trust me,” she guessed. “That seems likely,” I admitted without missing a beat. “Well, if it makes you feel better, you can talk to me about anything,” Embee offered. I was happy she could offer that. I contemplated that as I cursorily looked at the cars now that the lights had turned green. One had its window open, and out poured a fragment of a song: “Whenever you need someone, to lay your head and heart upon . . .” How apt. Thereafter, my attention was briefly held by a billboard erected on the lawn. It depicted a portrait of a brunette on a white background and a puce-colored bottle on her palm. “So, I, um, I'm sorry about being blunt earlier. Some things just don't gel with me.” “High heels, a baby's cry . . .” she itemized with a slight touch of lightheartedness. “Anything else you'd like to tell me about?” “I don't have a list readily available, sorry.” I smiled weakly. “But, uh, you don't think I'm wrong in some way for being . . . not excited about . . . having offspring,” I said in a diminishing voice, and with a few pauses so that the few people strolling by on the sidewalk wouldn't overhear us. Possessing male parts would make the experience . . . No, even then I wouldn't engage in the act. “I admit, it's unusual, but it's how you are, hon. Nothing wrong with that. You're not harming anypony.” That took a load off my mind. “I hope your parents will understand, though, when you tell them.” If I would ever have the courage. “Just don't accept offers of being a foalsitter. Er, babysitter. Alright?” That was a good way to make a serious situation a little less serious. “I'll be sure not to,” I said with a small laugh. My attention was stolen by an unusual sight on the street. It was the yellow pony and her stoic compatriot from earlier, wearing helmets, and riding a quad! “Is this safe?” the yellow one cried fearfully, clinging to the driving mare like her life depended on it as they stopped at the lights. “It's safe as long as you don't yell into my ear,” she cautioned in a collected monotone. That I could hear it was astounding. Anyhow, in contrast to the yellow one's plain white helmet, hers was red with a few black dots on it. Like a ladybug! That was kind of . . . cute? Yeah, cute. Then, they turned to the left and soon were out of sight. “They were driving a quad.” I said to Embee in astonishment. “Is that legal? I mean, it must be legal. Is it?” “There's no law that bars a pony from acquiring a license. I suppose there's been no need to, since our bodies aren't much good for driving,” Embee explained. I eyed her, envisaging her in the seat of several vehicles, many of which ultimately required distinctly human features and dimensions she lacked. However, an exciting exception had already been provided. “You can get a license and a quad if you have the money.” Although, I'd most likely request to be the driver if she did have a quad! “I got wings,” she said with a flair of confidence. “But not right now, because your wings are covered by your saddlebags, and I'm flightless, so you and I have to walk.” Unadjusted to my softer vocal attributes, my jesting but innocuous singsong tone afflicted me with a momentary abashment. “To where?” I glanced down the street both ways. Beyond this very intersection was a drive-in burger place and a short, uphill dead end road ensconced by apartments. Unlikely we'd go that way. Across from us was a grocery store and a bank. From the latter emerged a pair of blue, purple-maned ponies, one unicorn, the other an earth pony, each wearing saddlebags. “I know a place not too far,” Embee replied. “How far?” I asked, glancing down at my legs with a modicum of apprehension. She sighed, apparently sensing difficulties. “I'd say a minute if I were to fly, but walking might take about ten or fifteen minutes.” That time frame didn't expound on the most crucial factor. “Distance?” “Uh, let me think . . . This wider street we're by, we go to the left two blocks. I think they're called blocks.” When she looked at me with a questioning face I verbally affirmed she got her terminology correct. “Then right another two blocks, and hmm, a left, and . . . It's just by the river.” “Okay, I get the picture now.” I had retrieved a map from my head and drawn an approximate path to the destination. “That will probably take ten to fifteen minutes, if I keep a good pace.” Another glance at my legs. All four of them this time. “I'll . . . I should do fine.” I was about to embark on a test of endurance, composure, and perseverance. “You've just got to believe in yourself, and you'll do great!” Suddenly, something drew her attention, her eyes full of surprise and alertness as she stared past me. “Is there something wrong?” I asked as I looked over myself to scope out what she could possibly be fixated on. There were a pair of ponies on the opposite side of the street, the same ponies who had left the grocery store a minute prior. “Yeah.” Before I had any time to react, Embee removed her saddlebags in one swift move and unfurled her wings. With a powerful flap she shot into the air, making a beeline across the road to the two ponies. Then I saw what Embee had seen: The earth pony was grimacing and coughing while the other one was looking on, shocked, apparently at a loss what to do. Was this a serious crisis? Was the earth pony in danger of dying? “Ohhh,” I moaned, feeling very restless as I watched Embee make a landing. Had she told me to stay put? Had she not told me to stay put? Should I stay here? Should I go to her? Could I be of any help? What was I supposed to do? What did my instincts tell me? I couldn't stay here! To stand idly was wrong. Negligent! I should get over to her even if she had the situation under control. No! Stop! I was being too hasty. I couldn't leave her saddlebags here! That meant I'd have to take them to her. By . . . wearing them. Wincing, I leaned down, fitting the saddlebags over my withers. Straightening, I fidgeted against the cloth rubbing through my . . . fur.

Suomibrony

435

Original Character,Human,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

First Pony View

Some dreams you might never want to end… …but what happens when the dream really doesn't?

incomplete

<p>Have you ever had a dream that just seemed so <i>real</i>, that it was impossible to say for certain that it was even a dream at all? A dream that, despite all of its impossibilities, seemed to re-write your entire perception of reality, re-writing your sense of what—and indeed, <i>who</i>—you are? Accepting change is hard enough as it is. But when you're a <span style="color:#808000">somebody</span> who wakes up as a <span style="color:#6495ED">somepony</span>, how do you cope with the impact such a drastic change has on your mind and body? With changes like these, it must surely just be a lucid dream—albeit a suspiciously <i>accurate one</i>—just brimming with potential and ripe for exploration. So you might as well suck it up and make the most of these distressingly…unusual circumstances, and seize this <span style="color:#008000">psychological adventure</span> before you wake up and the dream ends.<br/>After all, this couldn't possibly be real, so the dream must come to an end eventually…right?</p>

teen

2018-04-04T21:28:52+00:00

2018-04-04T21:28:51+00:00

First Pony View A My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic fan fic By Suomibrony Chapter 22 Street Scene I had to get to the other side of the road; Embee surely needed my help. The four-laned obstacle between us bustled with cars. An intersection stood directly ahead of me. I tried to gallop, but my limbs tangled themselves beneath me. I tripped and stumbled, but caught myself before I could topple to the ground. I stood still for a moment, eyes wide. It seemed my mind was racing faster than my body—I had to keep it together! With renewed determination, I took a deep breath, and moved at a brisk trot towards the intersection. Ponies walked down the streets, oblivious of the crisis that was happening on the other side of the street. I trotted past them, keeping my eyes locked on the intersection. I was 10 meters away . . . 5 . . . 1 . . . And then I was there! But there was no time to celebrate. I lifted a hoof to press the button . . . and stopped, scrunching up my face. Hoof? Shoe on hoof? Leg. Not use a leg, but use, er . . . what I saw . . . My nose? Muzzle? No, yes, face, foot? Ah! No time for this! I'd just have to use my hoof, and hope I hadn't stepped on something icky that would then be transferred to whoever next used the button! I waited nervously for the lights to change, and caught quick glimpses of Embee across the road through the speeding cars. They seemed so much larger and intimidating from my height. Finally, the cars began to slow down, and the lights changed. As quickly as I could, I trotted my way across the intersection. I passed by the idling cars, their presence large and frightening. A cold sweat settled underneath Embee's saddle bags. Normally, I'd be cataloging each car, labeling make and model. The nervousness, however, ushered my automotive enthusiasm to the background of my thoughts. Weird. With a little hop of nervousness, I finally reached the other side. I looked around and spotted Embee. She was standing beside the two ponies a little ways past a fast food restaurant. I started to trot towards her. She was maybe ten meters away from me, but . . . why . . . why wasn't she doing anything? What were . . . The blue pony with a purple mane was looking kind of . . . male. Actually, he was, and he seemed to be clearing his throat with a pained expression across his muzzle. The second pony was also male, and was standing beside his friend looking mildly concerned. So . . . I hadn't assumed their genders correctly from across the street, and it seemed the situation wasn’t quite what I thought it was either. My pace was reduced to a standstill by the onset of cold feet. I shouldn't be afraid, and I wasn't. I was just . . . hesitant. “Eagh, that was bad, really, really bad,” the blue pony I had presumed to be seriously ill complained, clearing his throat again. He was an earth pony with grey saddlebags and . . . had some sort of weather meter device for a cutie mark. The second pony was also blue and carrying saddlebags, but he was instead a unicorn and had a mauve mane marked by very thin, yellow streaks. “I told you so,” he said. “I tried one before you! The candy's got fire to it.” “So you ate something hot?” I whispered to myself quietly, in a slight daze from having believed a calamity was unfolding. What were they eating? Potato chips with sour cream and chili? That would be delicious, not disgusting. “Well, I thought you were in some serious trouble,” Embee commented, in post-relief unconcern. “I'm truly glad you weren't.” “And aren't we glad we're right next to the hospital?” the unicorn with the yellow-streaked mane joked. “In case it actually was serious.” “It is actually serious. Do you have something I could drink?” meter-pony asked, grimacing. “Anything will work.” “Something to drink? Yeah, here.” A transparent bottle floated from the mauve-maned unicorn's saddlebag. His eyes were purple, like his magic; the meter-pony's eyes were lime green. And neither of them were wearing shoes. Or boots. No hoofwear at all. So they were shoeless. Barefooted? Barehooved? Bare . . . ly controlling my nervous impulses. I blinked, and focused my attention back to the conversation at hand . . . hoof? Eh. “Thanks.” The bottle had a peculiar loop, which he slipped his limb through before unscrewing the cap with his teeth. Interestingly, the cap didn't detach. Perhaps a design similar to the shampoo bottle? The liquid inside was faintly colored red. Strawberry? “Well, that doused the . . .” the unicorn said as the bottle was hoofed back to him, but was distracted when he glanced in Embee's direction. “Oh, hey, who are you?” Her ears pricked in surprise. “What? Who am I? You forgot my name?” “Hahaha, no no no. Behind you.” The unicorn pointed past Embee and toward . . . me? Uh-oh. “Oohh. Yes, that’s my friend,” Embee told the two, and gestured at me to come closer. Uncertain of what would unfold next, I only showed a small, nervous smile as I reluctantly trotted over to stand by Embee. “Ah, alright. Your friend, then.” Meter-pony’s expression brightened. Was that a good sign? Certainly nothing awful would ensue. Hopefully. “I'm Weather Gauge. Gauge for short.” “And I'm Skyward Beam,” said the unicorn in a similarly welcoming and happy tone. “We're cousins.” We stood in silence. Were they waiting for something? Why were they staring at me? “. . . and you are?” I was . . . to introduce myself? What a fiendish proposition! Okay, okay, reality and courtesy dictated that I had to . . . think of something to say . . . something or anything. “Ahm, well-eh-uhm . . .” The traffic drowned out my mumbling. Gauge tilted his head. “Uh, did you say something?” I responded with a tiny yes. “Really sorry, but I can't hear you. Talk louder, perhaps?” I couldn't do that, so I timidly looked down and began rolling a loose grain of gravel beneath my shoe. Until that grain landed between the seams of the sidewalk's tiles from where I couldn't recover it. “Please excuse her,” Embee said to the two stallions. “She'd love to introduce herself, but, ah . . . she's been trying really hard to work up her confidence. You see, she's very shy and speaks softly. It's really noisy here, too. You understand? Not easy to hear. Oh and no, don't ask me to do the introductions. She's asserted that I can't do it in her stead, and trust me, she can be very assertive.” When she glanced at me, I looked slightly aside, attempting a smirk of contentment to support her story. “I see. Hmh. Okay, introductions aren't needed when we've got places to go,” Skyward seemed to conclude after the shortest of ruminations. “I suppose you got a point there,” Gauge relented, his voice unsure. “But hey, before we go, can you throw the candy into the trash over there before they spontaneously combust?” He gestured at a steel box by the fast food place. “But a fire in a trash . . .” I was talking too quietly to hear it even myself. “How about we give them away instead?” Skyward Beam suggested. “Give them away?” Gauge said with skepticism. “Who'd want them?” Skyward looked at us. Gauge's gaze followed a second later. Surprise made a fleeting impression before a doubtful scowl emerged. “Skyward. Why would you want these gentle mares to suffer?” “Suffer?” Embee questioned, laughing incredulously. “What kind of sweets are we talking about?” “These.” Skyward produced a blue bag from his pocket. “We wanted something unique and exotic. A flavor special to this world. Gauge here wanted a bag of––these aren't them––but they were named . . . err.” Why was he being so hesitant? “Dog farts,” Gauge said bluntly. “Danish candy, I've heard.” “That's . . . some candy.” Embee raised a brow as she looked at me, possibly presuming I had info to share. I wasn't particularly informed on the subject; she seemed a little dejected when I shook my head. “I assume it's better than what we just had. Honestly, I'd rather eat rubber,” Gauge remarked dryly. “Nice . . .” I said, but immediately realized I was still inaudible. “Marketing speech,” I continued in any case. “I can't agree with you unless I chance it. May I have one?” Embee was approaching the sweets with an open mind when she had been presented with a negative impression? She had sounded confident, though . . . “Sure.” Skyward turned the open bag sideways, then gently shook it to deposit the contents closer to the aperture. “A word of warning, they're . . . surprising.” His smile almost belied his repulsion as Embee plucked one of the notorious sweets into her mouth. That was when I got a good look at the artwork on the side of the bag. A-ha! I knew these candies! “Hum, it's sweet. Hard, but fruity. Some kind of berry?” Embee analyzed. She had wisely not bitten—oh no! I must warn her immediately! “Don't—” I was too late; a crunch signaled that the candy had met its demise. “Bite it,” I finished dejectedly, putting down my . . . shoe-adorned not-hand that I had impulsively raised, and then retracted as I had flinched. Judiciously steering my mind away from contemplating my feet, I discovered I did not have a clear view of her face from where I was standing, but it was nonetheless clear that she had become frozen. That lull was over in a blink of an eye. Invigorated, she dashed a few meters to the base of a tree on the lawn beside the sidewalk, spitting out her mouth's contents. “Ew yuck! Gross! Awful! Eagh!” she cried in disgust, drawing bewildered stares from the few people in the parking lot across the narrow and grassy divider, but their curiosity was brief and they turned away shortly after. “Gross and awful? They are, they are . . .” Gauge lamented sympathetically as Embee continued to cough and gag. “Can—ech, can I please have some of that drink, too?” she asked as politely as she could. Gauge passed the bottle to her. “Much appreciated.” She took a swig, and then another, and began pitching her head upwards. “You're welcome, uh, but heh-hey, stop, please? That's my Snapple.” Gauge determinedly took the bottle back when it seemed like she was overestimating his generosity. As he reached towards Embee, I noticed something: like Embee, he too was wearing a bracelet. It was dark blue, matching his coat color. Embee had put her hoof to her lips, shocked. “Oh! I'm sorry for getting carried away . . .” She looked at me. “Err . . . do you want to try them, too?” Skyward tilted the bag by a few degrees towards me. Facial expressions, ear positions, and . . . I guess my tail also counted. Communicating a reserved agreement with body language alone was beyond my abilities. “Wouldn't want to be the odd one out, right?” I braved to speak. Gauge shook his head. “Still being too quiet there, sorry.” Skyward agreed with a hum. He then approached me, smiling welcomingly. Probably. Alright, I had to stay cool. He was completely innocuous, and suppositions of him harboring amorous desires in immediate need of satiation was simply alarmist nonsense. He turned the magic-enclosed bag almost ninety degrees and rattled it lightly to help a bunch of oblate spheroids roll to the aperture. I was amazed none fell out. I couldn't pick one up due to being digitally denied, so . . . I put my face close and—jumping jehosafar! What an intense aroma! “Pungent, aren't they?” Skyward remarked soon after I had drawn my head back. I offered a meager, abashed smile before retrying my approach. Collecting one with my lips seemed beyond my abilities . . . No I got one . . . Wow! Highly potent flavor! The candies had never tasted this strong before, but . . . it made enjoying the fruity freebie even better! Gauge stared at me expectantly, and so did Embee, while I allowed my saliva to slowly break down the candy. Eventually, the hard shell would become brittle enough for the strong powder inside to escape and mix with my saliva. Biting the candy would unleash the powder at once, and to the unaccustomed, that could be a truly nasty experience. “She's not gagging and spitting.” Skyward looked exceptionally perplexed. “Yeah . . .” Gauge wore the same expression as he walked back to his cousin. “I can see that. Oh! what if she hates the candy as much as we do, but is being too courteous to spit it out?” “Or maybe she's not a stranger to the candy?” Embee speculated. This wasn't a contest per se, but it was admittedly a cool little thing that I was "winning" it. “Oh-hoo,” Skyward said with a tone of realization, having become aware of my expression. “That smile. You must be really pleased with yourself.” I averted my eyes. “Yeah, you're so coy now, having played us. Good on you,” Gauge congratulated halfheartedly. “Don't get too excited. Just wait 'til she bites it,” Skyward whispered. “I'm sure she'll—” Crunch went the candy, releasing the encapsulated ammonium chloride. This would've scorched my acute taste buds, if not for my past non-pony experiences granting them decent tolerance. “She'll what?” Gauge asked flatly, while his cousin gawked in disbelief. “Ah, yeh, hum . . .” he responded with immaculate intellect. “So, what does this mean?” Embee inserted herself. “It means she gets to keep the candy,” Gauge replied, snatching the bag out of its magic bubble with stunning dexterity and boldness. “She . . . does?” Skyward's eyes locked on the bag Gauge held in astonishment, then darted around in search for what I presumed to be the expired cloud of magic that once held the bag. “Heeeyyy . . .” Skyward drawled admonishingly, then telekinetically repossessed the bag. “I'm sorry, but since I paid for these, they're actually mine.” “And since I don't want them, you'll eat them all by yourself? I didn't know you were a glutton for punishment.” Gauge needled, to his cousin's chagrin. “Well, I, er, I get to choose what I do with them . . .” Skyward turned to me and exchanged his scowl for a somewhat polite expression. “So, yes, dear, uh, oh gosh . . . what's-your-name, you can have these, if you wish.” Embee opened her mouth, but then closed it. I had no idea why she did that. In any case, I glanced at my starboard portable container as I used a brief flash of magic to open it. As the goodie bag was deposited, I remembered that these yellow saddlebags belonged to Embee, and . . . it was doubtful that Skyward would inquire about the items within, which obviously weren't mine, and obviously were meant for ponies, and most likely meant for female ponies. Then again, conversations were unlikely when I was playing the shy type, and Skyward wouldn't inquire anyway. Reminded of their presence, I could feel the belt for the saddlebags fastened around my . . . . barrel. “Right-o,” Gauge said, sporting that deep voice again. “How's we bi'em luvlay lai'ies ayr fon'est fa'wells an' gee'n goin?” Why the sudden and very poor mockery of English accent? “How's . . . what?” Skyward stared at his cousin. “Who do you think you are? Jolly Goodshow?” “Eh . . . I did a good impression, didn't I?” Gauge asked, using his normal voice again. Skyward creased his lips. “Mmh, mmh,” he hummed, tilting his head from one side to the other as if nursing a stiff neck. “Three out of ten.” “Harsh, but fair.” Gauge took the criticism calmly. His choice of words was coincidentally funny, though I was sure he had no idea who Zavomir Serdar was, or know of Battlefield: Bad Company for that matter. “Was that a laugh?” Gauge asked me. “No, you're only hearing things,” Skyward said in a scantily audible voice as he put himself closer to Gauge. “It's all in your miiiiind.” “You two really aren't giving her a break?” Embee said, probably worried my self-esteem was taking a pummeling from their jesting. “Well, maybe. But I'm sorry, we have to break for it. Make a for it, I meant. Er . . .” Gauge's wordplay had apparently fallen flat on its face on the start line. “Make for—what the hay are you trying to say? Did you sleep well last night?” “Get going?” Gauge indicated toward a bridge further up the road. A constant stream of cars were cresting it . . . and . . . oh my! What was I seeing? Could it be? It couldn't . . . No no no, this couldn't be happening! It was! It was approaching, and I was so amazed I drew a breath in awe. “Oh my gosh!” I couldn't believe it! “Look at that, look at that, look at that! It's a Morgan! Could it be a Plus Four? It's green. Glossy . . .” This was unbelievable! I had never seen a Morgan for real. The odds of that, and now, to see it so close . . . No way! It was slowing down. Oh, it was stopping! “Oh yes! It's a Morgan Plus Four! Isn't it wonderful?” It was so close I could smell it! Exhaust, sure whatever, carbon monoxide, whatever I didn't care. “ A Morgan Plus Four! This is the most awesome thing ever!” Those lines, those curves, those wire wheels, the canvas roof, the . . . the . . . the everything! “I can't believe this is real!” I was tempted to get close and touch it. But I shouldn't, and didn't. I didn't have the permission. But really! “A Morgan Plus Four!” I was smiling so . . . so smilingly! “This is so cool!” And then it had to move on with the traffic, but I was simply too happy to care! My happiness scale was off the charts! “You saw that? It was a Morgan Plus Four!” I had to look back at the green wonder once again, marvelling at the piece of art on wheels. “Oh my gosh, a Morgan Plus Four! That was so super awesome!” Suddenly, I realized I was alone at being excited. “Umm . . . Why are you all staring at me?” “I'm amazed you can talk,” Gauge explained pithily, earning a disapproving glance from his cousin. Skyward said, “What my cousin meant to say is that he's happy you've overcome your shyness and thinks you're a pleasant and happy young mare with the voice to go with it.” “Yeah, certainly . . . and you're um, a great . . . colt . . . I mean—” I was at the precipice of falling back to the shy persona despite the air of affability. Or, more likely, due to it. Inexperience at being on this side of the male-female dynamic wasn't beneficial to my confidence. “So, hey, uh, what's a Morgen?” Gauge queried. “Morgen? No, that's Morgan,” I corrected pointedly. “Also, for your benefit: Jag-uar, not jag-wire, the "e" in Porsche isn't silent, and, hmm . . . I'm confident soubaru is closer to the intended pronunciation than suburu.” “Like I said, she can be very assertive,” Embee reminded the stunned Gauge. “And knowledgeable,” she added. “Er . . . Without a doubt,” he agreed, producing a mollifying smile once his attention returned to me. “Excuse my ignorance, I'm but a humble weather coordinator. Can you tell me what's so fantastic about the Morgan?” “It's one of the most awesome cars ever,” I replied promptly—in a perky tone that a flared a wave of disconcertion. “How so?” he followed, curious. “It's a work of art on wheels.” My brevity was unintended; the lightness of my voice was conflicting with my internal image at an inopportune moment. “There's a reason I say that . . . The styling harkens back to an era when it was common. Modern cars are technologically sophisticated, though I find their aesthetics insipid and unimaginative. I mean, people fawn over them and their tech and style, but I'm like 'yeah, whatever', and then I see a Volkswagen Transporter T3 and I'm like 'whoa awesome, that's so super cool'. Could it be some form of unreplicable mystique? Charisma and character? Maybe cars age like wine? I'm not fond of alcoholic beverages, but I think the analogy fits. I have heard of a British car. A Morris? It was produced in the hundreds of thousands in the seventies and eighties and got a bad reputation for being shoddy. If I'm not mistaken, a mere few hundred remain today. Goes without saying that value is inversely proportional with quantity. Pristine examples must go for a hefty penny. Anyhow, I digress. As was quite evident, the attractive design of the Morgan stands out among its contemporaries. They aren't mass produced, which makes them rare and expensive. The frames are crafted out of wood, to which the meticulously sculpted body panels are fitted to.” “Excuse me for interrupting,” Skyward interrupted. “I'm sure what you're saying is great and all, but I'm having a hard time hearing—” A large delivery truck coasted to a stop by him. “Over all this—” The diesel engine growled, as if annoyed by his defiance and wishing to intimidate him into submission. He smiled sheepishly at me as the truck moved on. “Oh . . . sorry,” I apologized, forcing myself to speak louder, if only momentarily. “I know that my speaking voice is soft, but I . . .” Their frowns and forward-pricked ears were dispiriting clues, I reluctantly raised my voice further. “I also now know that it's too soft to be heard.” Both ponies offered consolation and encouragement soon after. Though, being reminded of my voice almost nullified the positive effect. “I don't know if I can share your passion for those things. I don't understand them, but it's cool, you understand and like them, and that's great. For you. I don't have a real opinion, even if you tried to assert one out of me, hehe.” Gauge gave a wink after his bemusement-mixed attempt at admiration. Skyward, in contrast, had held a placid look throughout. “I should be surprised, but few things do anymore. Yesterday, I met a pony who was looking for buddies for his team of paint . . . paintball something. Throwing?” He raised a hoof, creasing his lips quizzically. “Whatever it was, we talked for a moment, and he said that paint thing was off the hook. Whatever that means.” “Ponies who've been here a while tend to pick on some, er, lingo, and become amazed by earthian stuff,” Skyward explained to Gauge. “Earthian . . . ?” I echoed in my mousy voice, confused and intrigued by the unknown word. “Who knows, next you meet a pony who likes . . .” Skyward furrowed his brows, and soon drew a breath through pursed lips. “Those dance games!” he exclaimed, striking a hoof. “Dance games?” Gauge laughed dismissively. “You couldn't have said anything crazier. I utterly failed at them. You failed at them. Our friends failed at them. We all got cross-legged and fell. You said it wasn't, but it was humiliating and embarrassing! So, no, not gonna meet a single pony who likes, or is even good at dance games.” Unbeknownst to both stallions, Embee smiled knowingly and rolled her eyes. “I believe we've already met.” What an odd thing to say . . . Oh! She was sly! “Yes, we have. Obviously. But I'm confused. Why do you—” Gauge paused mid-sentence, then looked around diffidently. “I . . . I stand corrected.” Skyward chuckled with an air of intrigue. “Well, well, well. Perhaps she can help you feel humiliated and embarrassed? Er, less humiliated and embarrassed.” “Oh, but we've got places to go, cousin!” Gauge exclaimed, then quickly appraised Embee and me. “Goodbye, and so long!” He took off with briskness. “Off we go. Trot trot!” Skyward was befuddled. “Well . . . You two have a great day.” “Likewise!” Embee responded. However, Skyward didn't follow Gauge, who was heading toward the bridge in the distance. Instead he approached me with a smile, putting me at minor alert. “Enjoy the, um, well, I don't think they're sweet. I had expected them to be sour and sweet, but . . . they're candy. I guess.” The gesture was genuine and disarming. Then it hit me. “Yeah, um . . .” I had received a nearly full bag of candy for nothing. Or very little. Maybe this feeling would subside shortly? “I know something stronger than sour and sweet.” However, he would not like that type of candy. In any case, I still felt indebted. Alas, I had nothing to give aside from a thanks. Or . . . did I? Could I really . . . ? I hadn't ever . . . But it wouldn't take more than a second, anyhow. “Anyhow, thanks for the candy,” I said kindly (and quickly) right after I had touched his neck. That was kind of a daring move. Normally, touching was done with a limb. Conversely, giving a hug would've been overmuch. Moreover, had Skyward used maple syrup as bodywash? He . . . also had bafflement written all over himself? Was that a blush forming? “Sure. Thanks, uh, er-haha, I don't know you, lady, but introductions come before invitations for that.” What was he insin . . . Uh-oh. I had portrayed myself as a bit of crumpet. Best to talk him—and myself—out of this embarrassing mistake. “Well, yeah, I . . .” Having a female's voice suddenly seemed to be the greatest obstacle to my plan. “I'll tell that, tell you that . . . You're great, don't get that wrong . . . I'm just . . . just.” Skyward grinned and let out a small laugh. “Straightforward?” I ducked my head, tacitly confirming his guess. If only I was less inhibited. “Perhaps you try to be more assertive than you are and are more shy than coy—or doing a superlative job at giving that impression, ha ha. Kind of cute, either way. I appreciate the gesture, but I'm sorry to say that I don't have the time to take you up on the offer.” Did that mean he was politely rejecting me? Awesome! “Although, if you wish to find me and make a proper introduction at a better time . . .” He produced a tiny piece of paper and a pen and scribbled something on it. I was too discombobulated by the turnaround of my luck to react when he held the paper within my reach. When I started recovering, I . . . I could just say no. Just had to be assertive! “Oh . . . kay,” left my mouth; the planned refusal was just too blunt to be voiced. This pony wasn't an abhorrent jerk, so I couldn't convince myself to be dismissive. How should I proceed? Pawing the ground wasn't producing any ideas. “Hey, aren't those Marefect shoes?” Skyward noted. “Gotta say, they look fantastic on you.” A compliment for my . . . mare's shoes? They hadn't exuded a feminine aura. Until now. Well, technically, I wasn't cross-dressing. Anyhow, a look of gratefulness should prevent the alighting of his suspicions. “So, right, this . . . ?” he resumed after the silence had become prolonged, slowly advancing the pivotal paper closer to me, until it was right above my closed saddlebags. “I will, I mean, uh, you will . . .” This situation had advanced so far beyond anything I could've ever prepared for. All I managed to produce was a smile out of pure confusion. “And I will . . . put it in your bag for you? Ah, got it.” He then did that, looking a little nervous all the while. Was he frightful of instantaneous and excruciating retribution? “Alright. Um . . . My cousin's getting impatient. It was nice to meet you.” He bowed courteously. “Goodbye, and perhaps we'll meet again.” His tail aloft as if suspended by a wire, he joined the waiting Gauge, glancing over himself—at me—every few steps. “Shyness is a veil that conceals something wonderful, don't you think?” he supposed as he came close to his impatient cousin. Gauge glanced at me, a wry smile adorning his face as they both started toward the bridge. “You expect to get more than a glimpse?” Where the conversation then lead to remained unheard due to distance, noise level, and my drooped ears. “Wow.” Embee's astonishment brought me out of my dismay. “A nuzzle. You gave him a nuzzle?” she inquired, confused and curious. “I'm not sure what to say. Never crossed my mind you'd do that.” “I, I, I was thinking he'd, um, um . . .” I was all nerves, but I was going to explain myself regardless. “A thanks wouldn't be enough for the candy, so I had to think of something better and, and, it was just a saying-thanks-is-not-enough-so-here-is-a-thanks-nuzzle, not a I-like-you-a-lot-let's-go-for-a-date-nuzzle. I wouldn't do that. Never. He's, he's ah, ah, you know? I mean, I mean, um, I'm, I'm—” “Hon. Take it easy. Relax. It's not as bad as it may seem,” she said calmly. Or maybe she had instructed? Be that as it may, I should listen to her, I should not worry too much, because she would fix things. Somehow. “Now, let's keep going.” From standing to face-to-face, to being parallel. “Follow me?” She slowly headed towards the intersection behind us, away from the faraway bridge. “I will.” I hesitantly followed, anxious for her help. “So, to start off,” she began once we were waiting at the nearby crossing lights. “There are many kinds of nuzzles. Prods and sweeps. Upwards, sideways, diagonally, straight, curved, fast, slow, where it starts, where it ends. There's a lot more to than I can ever explain, I'm afraid. From what I could tell, he didn't expect an affectionate nuzzle.” She chuckled, amused. I supposed it was a tad funny. “Not everypony expects a nuzzle of any kind out of strangers, though don't take that as nopony expecting it. Customs vary between regions.” “The bottomline is that I shouldn't have nuzzled,” I lamented, having admittedly become impatient of Embee's explanation. “It's so stupid. I did the equivalent of gazing at him seductively while doing an indicative caress of his abdomen and saying, 'Would you be so kind to introduce yourself to me?'” I shuddered, creeped out by the sultry female intonation unbefitting of me. “I know you're regretting it, but please don't worry about it anymore,” she consoled. “But I do,” I insisted woefully. “I gave him a false impression and . . .” The lights changed. As I cursorily glanced to the right, up an inclined dead-end street, I had a small epiphany. “Heh. I am a false impression.” Embee came to a stop once we had crossed over, whereupon she studied me and my sad smile. “Because you put on the impression of being what you aren't?” The subtext was obvious. My smile faded. “Pretending is the only thing I can do right now, and I'm failing at it.” Expressing myself without reservations while also acting like a convincing female pony couldn't be anything else but an impossible task. “Oh, chin up.” Embee's optimism contrasted with my fears of committing embarrassing or conspicuously out-of-pony acts out of ignorance. “We met not one, but two ponies, and neither thought you were any less than the real thing. You were gushing about that unusual car, and they accepted it. You even got some candy, too! That's like a reward for a job well done!” Apparently, she was happy for me. It was almost uplifting, though treating the candy as a reward for deliberate deception felt morally questionable. “I can imagine that accidentally misleading Skyward to give you a date proposal weighs on you, but . . . you tried to clear up the misunderstanding, didn't you?” “I did think about it, yeah, but I . . . couldn't.” My defeated response educed a drawn-out gaze of concern from her. She had called me assertive, and now I was proving her wrong. I was proving myself wrong. “Well, all things considered, what happened isn't a major problem if you put it into perspective.” That she was sure it wasn't a major problem made me scowl. However, a shred of rationality slinked in, preventing my refutal of her assessment. I glanced back toward the bridge, just catching sight of the two ponies before they disappeared behind the bridge's crest. “It's . . . true.” I struggled to relinquish my fretfulness. “It's not a major problem. It's only a tiny kink. Nothing more. He, uh . . . They think I'm a pony, and that's what I set out to do, so . . . Woohoo, reserved cheering,” I admitted meekly. “That's the perspective. You're getting there. A pebble is a boulder under the magnifying glass. Keep that in mind, and work on instilling confidence in yourself.” Embee resumed walking down the sidewalk. I trailed her while pondering her apothegm in slight bemusement. “So, that Skyward? It's good his proposal was in written form. If he had asked you out there and then, you would've had to say no.” She was absolutely certain of that. I had to be, too. Now if I could also verbally affirm that. “. . .You would've said no, right?” “Is that even a question? Of course I would have,” I replied almost forcibly. “I'm not that, er, I'm not submissive. He was friendly, though.” On the account of knowing I could contradict my statement on submissiveness, I chose not to speak more. “Yeah, he seemed nice. Awkward, but nice. Anyhow, I probably don't need to tell you to forget his proposal.” Her solution to my dilemma was simple, but I guess . . . it felt too callous for consideration. But racing back to Skyward and then rejecting his offer didn't seem any less uncharitable. “He doesn't know my name, but if he did, I'd have a lot of explaining to do. Unless I don't go as myself.” Or rather, even less as myself than I already was. “It's not my place to make new friends for somepony else, not to mention a friend who mistakenly thinks that somepony is pursuing the whole romantic shebang.” Shebang. A wave of revulsion traversed through my person when my mind took upon itself to extrapolate that last word into the approximation of the tangible sensations. “Uh, had I . . . well, it's unlikely, but had I not been assertive enough, would you have done something?” “I had thought of that myself, and it had me in a tight bind. I was afraid I'd create a stir if I were to step in.” Her apparent decision to stay on the sidelines was disheartening. “To be on the level, I was perfectly ready to take that risk,” she continued, restoring some of my morale. “Torch my tail if I were to embarrass you by making you look inept, though. Romantic flairs or not, talking to a stallion isn't that different from talking to a guy. Certainly you gotta have experience there.” “I've talked to guys countless times, so, um, stallions, guys, same thing. No problem.” Talking to guys as an unwilling female made it so much more complicated, though. Social norms and unconscious expectations . . . I couldn't even begin to wrap my head around it. “A little more confidence, hon.” She gave me a glance, which returned a second time as a stare when I remained quiet. “I'm sorry, hon. Do you want me to mediate in the future?” “Well, maybe,” I said aversively, then retrieved my normal speaking voice. “You intervened a few times at, uh . . . other times, and did what you saw best to keep suspicions low. I'm, um—” Unexpectedly, I realized the large shop windows to our right were reflective. My eyes flicked to the side and caught a small glimpse of something white and decidedly in my control. The mere prospect of seeing a clear, full-body view of myself brought me to a halt, and I averted my eyes in a flash. However . . . “I think I got an idea.” Embee had advanced past me by a few body lengths; she observed me with anticipation as she returned. “An idea? On what?” I surveyed our immediate location; the sparse traffic on the sidewalk equaled adequate privacy. Although, I had talked about carelessly unusual matters without attracting difficult inquiries from outsiders, but . . . I still preferred caution right now. “What if I said I was unlucky enough to be temporarily transformed into a pony? By a spell? That's almost the truth.” “Transformation spells?” Embee reacted with intrigue, followed by a thoughtful hum. “I've heard of them, but as far as I know, none can change a human to a pony. I can't say your explanation would be credible.” I sighed forlornly. “I'm truly sorry, hon.” “It was worth considering.” I dragged myself onwards, as if my shoes had become lead. My optimism was defiant, however. “Hypothetically, if such a spell were real, could Peachy cast it?” “Could she, hmm?” Embee's brows bushed in thought. “I don't know, to be honest. A transformation spell must require a lot more than looking for and then fixing up fractures and hernias. She's really good at that, but I'm afraid she'd be only half as good at magic outside her field.” I couldn't avoid thinking of the results of that. “I'd rather not end up a faun.” That was less preferable than being a pony? I had to give this some thought. “Fawn?” Embee wondered. “Faun,” I corrected, feeling a shimmer of dejection settling in. I suppose I was more . . . accustomed to being assumed for a pony than mistaken for some kind of goat. “I'm not familiar with whatever that is, hon. Well, in any case, I'd know more than almost nothing if I read Spellbound Paperbound, but it wouldn't surprise me if the magic you long for has a dedicated team researching it,” Embee's attempt to cheer me up didn't hit the mark. Or maybe I misinterpreted her comment? Better to have little hope than none at all? “Yeah, who wouldn't want to be . . .” The current topic and my voice served as catalysts to heighten my discomfort. “Well, if this is their idea of a viable product, I'd file a complaint, demand compensation for the mental distress, and most importantly, ask about the return policy.” “You certainly would!” Evidently, my wry humor amused her. Granted, that was the intention. “Some humor helps to lessen the burden, doesn't it?” “My thoughts exactly.” I reduced my pace. “Er, on that note . . . Hold up for a moment?” She gazed at me inquisitively as she came to a stop. “Something weighing on your mind?” “Weighing on my mind? Hah, ehm, close, but not quite. The belt rubbing against my belly has begun to make me feel queasy, and carrying a load that I feel on my back and my sides isn't a joy.” In fear of offending her, I left unsaid that I didn't like being a beast of burden. “Send the bags back to me?” She wouldn't have requested that if she wasn't confident in my magic. “Gladly.” Glancing at my back, I became temporarily puzzled that I had traversed quite the distance from the hospital without being specifically aware of my cargo. In any case, I manipulated my magic to unbuckle the belt and gently delivered the items onto her. However, I left the belt open, as it most likely had been when she was carrying the saddlebags last. “Thank you, hon. I was starting to miss these,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “Sure you were,” I responded with lighthearted doubt. “Well, I feel better now.” Unburdened, too. “A pleasure to hear.” As she said that, I noticed we were next to an establishment that, despite its name, had very little to do with subterranean public transit. A customer left the premises with a wrapped item in hand, and I detected the scent of spices and cooked meat wafting from it. Embee was continuing onwards. Needless to say, I found my place next to her. We didn't have to walk far before we came to another intersection where we had to wait. On the other side was a brown pegasus with a long, violet mane, looking up at a red pony moving in circles high above her. “Get down already,” the mare commanded, sounding and looking ornery. “I'm getting tired of talking up to you.” The red pony stopped in mid-air, his light blue eyes almost entirely shrouded by his orange hair as he gazed down. “Waste many long and boring days grounded while your internal magic slooooowly gets into harmony with the external magic, and you too would be spending a whole day flying and floating all cheerful,” he said with a half-mocking, half-pleased tone, then began circling in random patterns again. “Yeah yeah, I was there once, but I had some restraint.” The mare's glower had relaxed to an unimpressed stare. Meanwhile, the lights had changed, so Embee and I plodded on. “Big talk.” The flying pony stopped again right as we passed them. What was it he said? Harmony with internal and external. It almost seemed familiar. I should ask Embee if she— “Hey hey hey!” It was the red pony again, his flying upright appearance being so abrupt that I stopped in my tracks. What was that thing on his lower— “Oh, Norwegian curse word,” I said in mild aghast. Barely had I gathered my thoughts when his mouth opened again. “Onowrigi-what? Er, whatever. Sorry sorry sorry.” He waved his forelegs side to side, wearing a cheeky grin. “Alright, I was about to, well, I'm gonna ask you: why don't you got a cutie mark?” “Buuh . . .” What should I say when I had a direct line of sight of his implement in plain view . . . Though him being (presumably) anatomically correct should've not come as a surprise. How else would he empty his bladder? By perspiration? That would arguably produce the worst kind of BO ever. Embee seemed to take an initiative, stepping forward while wearing a face of disapproval. Then, my mind put itself into conversation mode. “I . . . What? I don't? Have I forgotten to apply it again?” I looked at my bare hindquarters. “Aw, shucks. This seems to happen every morning,” I pretended to gripe, then regarded the insolent stallion with a sidelong stare. Embee let out an unfettered laugh. “Funny.” Red pony, however, wasn't amused. “Seriously, why don't you got one? Well, not one, two. But you know, same thing.” “Because I don't got 'em,” I responded, brusquely walking past him. “It'll come when it comes.” I expected that to seal this undesirable conversation. “I was only asking a question.” He sounded like he had dissatisfaction written on him, which I confirmed with a glance. Also, he was about to trail me; the brown mare bit his tail and yanked him back. “Come on,” she said a second after releasing him. “Don't you see you're annoying her? Leave her be. Please.” Her exhaustion betrayed her exasperation. “Well alright,” he groused, apparently in surrender. As we distanced ourselves, I wondered if they were a mother and a son. Or siblings. Be as it may, I was happy and relieved that enduring his peskiness was over. “Good going, sticking up for yourself finely there,” Embee complimented once we were out of earshot. “But I'm sorry you had to. Some ponies just don't know their manners.” “People and ponies alike. Thankfully though, people don't fly pantless,” I remarked. The look in Embee's eye hinted of an incoming inquiry, which I decided to pre-empt. “Public nudity isn't really well-received. I can understand why, but some people, uh, take it too far, as if nudity is the highest of evils. I don't get that kind of mentality. I'm not squeamish. Sure, I can be initially discomposed, I mean, it's not a sight I wish to see, but if it's not exposed for nefarious purposes, then it's, uh, how should I put this . . . as harmless as pictures in an encyclopedia. Context is what matters. Some like to see nudity and, and uh, that's okay, I suppose. They just can’t help themselves from being perverse; it must be instinct. Instincts are like a river's current, and sapience is a boat. Some boats are more powerful and maneuverable than others . . . I guess some struggle in a stronger current, or have a small rudder, or weak engines.” And I was a decent performer who'd do a lot better being a seaplane. “Alas, some boats deliberately toss out their outboard engine and revel in being driftwood. They think of only themselves and are convinced the world is their oyster, making life harder for so many people. And I'm not saying that it’s just guys being lecherous rectal orifices. I mean, it's more common with guys . . . but degenerates are contemptible regardless of gender . . .” Those types of people are inconsiderate wretches. They deserve to be locked away from society and shamed for all of eternity.” Due to a few rotten apples, males had to collectively carry an unfair stigma of being guilty until proven innocent. However, even I had thought the worst of males recently . . . “Viv. That last point. It's very scathing. Vindictive. You may want to instead consider the benefits of rehabilitation instead of punishment.” Embee's leniency brought a scowl out of me, even if I understood her rationale. “But I'm not a newcomer any longer, so I understand what you're trying to say and it's a grand pity you've been disrespected just for being a woman. I wish I could offer more than my sympathies and a promise to help. Try to keep your head up and don't let the adversities get to you, alright?” “It's ah, well . . .” The conversation's change of course had flustered me, although I should've seen this coming. “I feel like my day's ruined when I receive unsavory remarks.” I had never received any, but . . . “The mere thought of it sickens me.” Because it would take my apparent femaleness, soak it with putrid filth, and rub it in my face with unrepentant malice. “I would never do such a thing myself. Doesn't matter what they're wearing, even a furtive leer is beyond me. I hope I'm not getting a lot of them right now.” I glanced about in momentary paranoia. “I'm practically unclothed.” “You were anxious about being naked, I remember, but ponies go about their daily lives without harassment and disapproval. As for stares of lust, human and pony alike can have an eye for each other, but that's more of an exception than the norm. Human instincts tend to disqualif—” Her hoof broke the tranquility of a tiny puddle and I stopped as she did; she produced a quiet but dejected moan upon raising her soaked shoe. However, she seemed somewhat bemused when our gazes met, then ostensibly decreed her misfortune insignificant with a nonchalant chuckle before moving on. “Well, don't worry about guys staring at you like dragons ready to pounce loose gems. Some guy—or girl coming up to you all of a sudden with an invitation to intimacy is also very remote.” The provocative art on the internet seemed like an ideal counterargument, but even I was aware that it was only a droplet in the sea of unprovocative art, reflecting the fantasies of a limited subset and not the barely controlled urges of the masses. “I . . . I suppose I can breathe more easily.” My being a pony granted me an almost guaranteed freedom from scorn and ravenous looks despite my undress . . . though mixed feelings regarding the whole "being pony" facet curbed my relief. Delving deeper into my psyche so as to separate rationality from intuition might—A pony passed us in a rush, and the pitapat of his hooves as they receded behind me brought attention to my own and their similar but subdued sounds. So where and what was I . . . I was unable to focus now. Darn! “A small hypothesis, if I may,” Embee liberated me from the sound trap. “If you saw a guy naked, would you find that alluring?” Presenting a faked female insight was nothing short of extremely daunting. “I uh . . . No, I don't. Never have, to be honest.” No pretensions, I decided after all. As I didn't have an eye and mind for guys, they were about as exciting as a slab of concrete. A woman could tell me that a crew cut and a defined jawline with a stubble equaled impetus to impregnation, and I'd think it was a wholly undecipherable abstract wrapped in an enigma sealed within a riddle. “Maybe women, uh, other women are different? I simply don't feel anything. Well, one thing I do. The p-uh, erm . . .” I wasn't comfortable saying that word in her presence. “The obvious features are unappealing. This applies to both sexes, just to put that out there.” My opinion on male genitalia was neutral only when applied to my own, though I easily equated female genitalia with a surgical wound—a particularly revolting thought to have under these extraordinary circumstances. “I find clothed more appealing. Not sure how that came to be.” Indeed, a naked woman looked "wrong," but was "better" with some clothing. “Maybe I'm just different? Anyhow, since they're out in plain sight by default, I assume you aren't fazed.” “Fazed by what? Can you explain . . . Oh, that's right,” she affirmed, comprehending what I meant. “It's there and can be easily seen if looked for. Don't know why anypony would suddenly start hollering about hiding them, though. Seems absurd, like hocks, the nape, or tongues being declared obscene. It's only another part of a pony.” I had expected her to finish with a casually toned "so get over it" as a response to the quibbling of the ridiculously straight-laced. “You make it sound so mundane, like they're not special,” I noted, astonished by her relaxed attitude. “Hmmh, I've never thought of saying it like that, but in essence, you're right,” she said in an untroubled tone; I had to remind myself that she was from a society where au naturel was the everyday attire. “That reminds me. Right about the time I came here, some place in the world was pushing hard for ponies to be clothed in public at all times under the duress of legal consequences. Something about ending up on a list, and even prison. Thankfully, it drew so much controversy and opposition that it failed to pass. Going there should be all okay now. What was this place, though? It had a strange name . . .” What place in the world had such an extremely and preposterously negative stance on nudity that even ponies weren't exempt? “Might it, uh, have been . . . Iran?” “No, it started with another letter, or did it . . . Ind, imh, sing, sim . . . ? Ah!” She brightened suddenly. “Mississippi!” “Missis—Wha?” Advanced society . . . backwardness still in abundance? I was having . . . clouds clouding the brain. If I were bumped into . . . might barely notice if it were a Stormtrooper riding an ostrich. “Gotta tell you, I attended mandatory seminars about customs, culture and the like when I arrived here. Before I was here, in here, I mean, I was in Saguenay for a good while. A nice place, neither small or too big. I was in over my head, though, struggling to speak with some of the locals. Or most, on some days. Thank goodness for Ampoule acting as a translator! The two of us must've accounted for five percent of that city's pony population, too. But oh, it's a story for another time.” She . . . was talking? I had to get a grip of my wits. “Bar a few exceptions, people are clothed at all times, though in hindsight, it wasn't explained why nudity is frowned upon. It's kind of a mystery to me still.” Again, I was in a position of pre-empting a question she had. “Don't ask me. I don't understand it either. Parents teach their kids a thing which they never question, and when they become parents themselves, they teach their kids the same thing and they never question it. Some kind of a self-perpetuating cycle?” I had suspicions that religion was involved, but my parents were as secular as they come. In fact, my mom was almost nontheist, which she attributed to her highly pious parents whom she openly defied in her teens. “A young mind takes the words of their elders for granted until something about it seems suspect, I suppose.” Embee produced a sigh that seemed to combine mirth and pity. “Ah, that reminds me of an old man I met while I was there in Quebec. We had some small talk about different matters to pass the time with. To get to the point, though, he related a funny story from his school years. They were to be taught sexual education one day, but the books they got had their pages glued together by the teachers.” I couldn't help but groan. “Prudish scruples should never obstruct educating a nascent generation.” Then, a peculiar thought crossed my mind. “Hey, but . . . were you taught . . . ?” Cute-faced sapient pony-beings existing in reality—as opposed to a kid's cartoon—being given lessons on sexuality, the details of pertinent anatomy, and intercourse . . . Allusions to it seemed almost unthinkable. “Why yes, hon,” she replied unreservedly. “Everypony needs to know what maturity brings them, and no, our books weren't tampered with.” She chuckled, her frankness being both admirable and surprising. “I hope it was the same with you.” “Well . . . yeah.” I was careful not to talk as we passed a small crowd. “Our teacher was quite upfront, being informative and serious on the functions and features of both sexes. Certainly a different kind of curriculum from math, literacy, physics and such. I'm sure many had figured out things on their own, while others had their misconceptions corrected. I was somewhere in the middle: indifferent, but not ignorant. It's a little funny now, but I hadn't anticipated . . . I was more than bemused when we were given condoms.” I had to pause briefly in order to halt the developing giggle in my tone. “It was a tangible symbol of maturity, if you will. The time to use it never came, and I don't think I threw it in the trash. It's probably somewhere among my stuff, waiting for its er, finest hour.” It would wait forever. “Really?” Embee seemed humored, in a pleasant and affable manner. “In all seriousness, if you do find it, be sure to check its expiration date. I know you don't wish to have children. A compromised condom might ruin that plan entirely.” Her wording allowed me to do a mental gender flip that nullified the disturbing implications. “Ooh, I’ll keep that in mind.” “Wonderful,” she said while I began to consider telling her that I wasn't pursuing intercourse. “Before I forget to ask, have you ever heard of an IUD?” The acronym genuinely confused me. “No, I haven't. Have you?” “I have. It's an intrauterine device, a form of contraceptive,” she explained promptly. “I see. Where does it—Oh! Oh . . .” The picture assembled itself, and it was a highly unsettling image. “W-w-well, uh, just to let you know, I'm, I'm not accepting of foreign objects into, ah . . .” I said wanly. “My sincere apologies, hon. I really didn't mean to upset you.” She certainly looked sorry. “You are very sensitive about your vagina?” “Don't call it that,” I almost shouted despite my feebleness. I was in disbelief that word could come out of her mouth, so unabashedly and publicly, and worst of all, attribute it to me. “Call what what? The vagina?” That made me cringe. “You don't like it? Why?” “Merely a personal distaste,” I explained, unwilling to tell her the complete truth. “You're free to call it by that name in any other company. All I ask is that you make an exception for me.” “Fair enough. You call it something else?” She was genuinely curious. “Yeah, I do,” I answered and . . . a string of repeated nasty words in my mind reflected my consternation. “I, err . . . it's embarrassing, sort of, but I, uh, I call it . . .” Every term and euphemism I thought of felt either childish or vulgar, not to mention that the anatomical feature itself seemed nefandous in more ways than one. My opposition to possessing said feature compounded matters even further. I had drawn a line at begrudgingly acknowledging it, but now I was in a bind where I absolutely had to coin a term within a reasonable time frame. A mental catalog of unrelated references and images browsed in a blink of an eye yielded a sufficiently passable definition. “Edsel grille.” “Edsel grill?” she parroted, either bemused or skeptical. “As in grilling food?” “N-no, this is a different grille. It's . . . uh, a very defining feature of ah, proverbial vehicle . . . But it's just a silly moniker that I've adopted. Kind of an internal moniker.” I laughed sheepishly. “Long story. Awkward story.” “So,” Embee began, apparently still puzzled by my esoteric response, “before I continue, it'd be good if I knew your relationship with your, ah, Edsel grill.” “Oh, well, it's there, it works, for better or worse, and, er, I . . .” I chose not to say I kept my interactions with it to a minimum. That was just too honest at this point. “I don't talk about it much.” Or rather, not at all. “Never found a good reason to bring it up in a conversation, and it's not easily brought up anyhow with . . . somepony. Yeah, some pony. How about that?” Like talking to an alien. In a manner of speaking, she was an extraterrestrial. I moved in closer to increase the confidentiality of our conversation. “To clarify, I almost want to think I'm talking to another human. Interesting dichotomy of my subconscious side seemingly ignoring what's blatantly evident.” “A kind of a selective predisposition?” she theorized. “You could say that,” I agreed cursorily. “More importantly, though, I'm new to being naked in public, and I know it's okay for us, and I'm okay with it myself. Sort of. Our, this talk, it's uh . . . I'm feeling very self-conscious.” Certainly I was now jinxed, and I would accidentally rub my nubs against my inner thigh right as Embee would inquire about bras or female hygiene. “And you want to talk about something completely different? Alright, I understand. Oh, and you can think of me as a human, if you like. We're just two women on a stroll to a café, aren't we?” Her jovial supposition didn't resonate with me. “That's, ah, yeah, we are,” I said with a plastic smile, feeling a little rotten inside. Hearing a rumbling from behind, I spotted a blue bus coasting in the traffic. An advertisement was plastered on its livery, the white lettering on the black-to-dark purple gradient promoting something "equi-cite". Whatever it was, the pony depicted ahead the phrase had her front leg raised, as if poised to saunter coquettishly out into the third dimension, and a flirtatious expression enticing to the stallions, but I had a fair guess men would also fall for it. enticing to more than just the stallions. Personally, I was reminded of Rouge the Bat—and Rarity. They were similar. White, eyeshadow, distinct eyelashes . . . Strange that which wasn't human was attractive in a manner that a human was. Or in some cases, more attractive. Not erotically. I knew myself. If I was presented with the option of good sex or a dozen fresh pears, I'd choose the fruits without a second thought. Pears were beneficial, nutritious, and tasty. Sex was . . . gross. Granted, I had never experienced it, but neither had I ever swam in fish guts. “You got a topic for me, or are you lost in your thoughts again?” A voice floated in from the outside world, followed by a kindly laugh. That voice belonged to Embee. An anthro . . . She couldn't be because . . . No, a presumption that anthros were solely bipedal was incorrect. Something could be anthropomorphized by simply giving it a name. I could name a candy wrapper Leopold. In any case, a sapient pony was . . . still a pony. But sufficiently and intriguingly human. Maybe it was the eyes, or the mouth? The eyelashes seemed important, though I was clueless as to how they made the difference. There had to be more to this. The overall shape of the face? A more expressive face than that of a . . . spider? An arbitrary sum of features I wasn't able to consciously discern? That . . . presented a sudden, and disappointing end to my musings. Henceforth, I had to temporarily conclude that female ponies were kinda cute—for being quadrupeds. That I had comparable physical attributes meant I was cute as well. Tempted as I was to visually confirm that, a successful attempt would in all likelihood propel my consternation into the upper atmosphere of the nearest Jovian planet. Regardless, a few more questions had brewed in my mind for awhile that I had never sought an answer to: several female anthros had male admirers, but did male anthros have female admirers? What was the science behind the appeal of anthros? And . . . whoa, what was that bright red boxy beauty cruising by? Definitely early 80's design! I could just about spy its embossed name. A Dodge . . . Mirada? Never heard of it, but it looked really really cool! But why did I think it looked cool? There must be some kind of science behind that as well! “You are in your thoughts, aren't you, hon?” “Uhh . . . In my thoughts, you said? Er, I was. Sorry. A small thing spiraled into the potentially profound. An almost metacognitive moment of pontification. I could tell you about it, but I don't know . . .” A sudden influx of potent scents broke my line of thought and slowed me to a halt. Discovering a florist's shop and the dozens of potted flowers placed on both sides of its door and on select spots under the green awning, I continued, “I can't focus on it right now.” Flowers outside in the fall? They'd freeze, if the day wasn't warm. On a whim, I looked back, and realized we had already traversed three blocks. Another bus rolled by, coming to a halt by the bus stop just ahead. I vacantly watched as a guy in a green-lime striped polo sprinted to it past us, and a pair of burgundy earth ponies walked out. One of them had a dull expression. “So, let me get this straight? You actually went through it all and became an owner of a little shop out in the islands?” “I can't believe it either! I'm so stoked!” the other said in a voice audible with giddiness as they ventured to the right, past a row of stone bollards to a cobblestone street. “I also get to learn and, get this, keep a secret recipe that had been passed down for generations. I feel so honored and humbled, oh my gosh, you can't even imagine . . .” Embee blocked my view. She tilted her head. “Are you feeling well, or are you thinking deeply again?” I looked past her briefly; the two ponies were out of sight. “Yeah, no. Er, I mean, yes to feeling well, and no to thinking deeply.” My branial functions returned. “I'm sorry. See those flowers there?” My attempt to gesture ran into a quadrupedal-pertinent conflict that I failed to resolve in a timely manner. “Yes, I do see them.” If not for her kindly tone, I would've suspected her of being sarcastic. “They look nice. What about them?” “I'm astounded that I can sense more than a trace of the fragrant scent at this distance. Feels more like I have a blossoming bouquet in my face. Makes my head spin.” Starting to discern the reflection in the window, I averted my gaze. Just to be safe, I took myself to the farthest bollard. A good ten meters or so. Embee followed me there. “Ah, the scent's milder over here. Smart move, hon.” That wasn't the reason I relocated; I offered her a clever look regardless. Embee continued, “Question. What if you had a bouquet in your face?” I remained hesitant, afraid my mind would replicate an unsolicited visualization of myself the instant I'd speak. “Ehh . . . I'd pass out?” I predicted. There was some visualization, but it didn't develop beyond fleeting colors superimposed over Embee's facial features. Said facial features developed a careful smile, though. “Out of delight?” she hypothesized. “I don't . . .” I had intended to say that I didn't think that was possible, but the lack of concrete evidence meant I couldn't be certain. “. . . I don't want to try.” How embarrassing would it be to get a faceful of flowers and crumble into an elated pile of fluff. “You don't want to? That's fine.” She cast a lingering gaze at the flower shop. “You want a go at it?” A funny mental image coaxed a little laugh out of me. “If you are knocked off your hooves, don't stay out for long. Keeping a watch over you can't be anything but tedious.” “Don't wait. Give me a gentle prod and I'll get right up.” Her response to my jest was realistic in tone, and possibly in practice as well. “Oh! That reminds me.” The way her eyes rolled to an oblique angle suggested she had a pleasant memory to share. “I'll tell you as we go,” she said, heading past the bollards to the sidewalk next to the cobblestone street. “Huh, uhm, oh-okay.” As stupid as it was, I was caught off guard by her continuing the journey. I was so quick in following her lead that my realization of stepping onto a slightly uneven surface was delayed. Just as surprising was the fact that I didn't lose my balance. This relatively new method of locomotion had become second nature by now, which was both good and bad. That I wasn't fumbling over myself was good—adaptation to my form fostering fears of identity loss was bad. I reminded myself that my stay in this body was, short of a verifiable guarantee, assured to be reversible. “So, this summer, I visited a slumber yard,” Embee said casually. “Ah, a slumber yard?” I said, putting on the airs of being awed, though I followed that with faked carelessness. “It's a yard where you go to slumber?” Of course, that was the closest approximation I had. Embee giggled. “That's a fair approximation.” To that, I replied with . . . silence. I hadn't thought I was anywhere close to being correct. “A slumber yard can be indoors, but they're less common and popular. Think of an enclosure, with a grass, earth, or sand floor, but sometimes it's mats or towels. Or mattresses, with servings of food and drink. Those places are high class, and expensive.” We were on the left side of the street; it led to an empty clearing. To the left was another short street, also ending with bollards separating a busy road. We weren't going that way. Embee headed diagonally to the right, across to the sidewalk. As I followed her, she kept talking, “So, right, yes, you pay a fee, walk in, and lay down. In a moment, a caregiver will approach to give you a massage.” I glanced at the bright orange stone building to our immediate right. The shape of the large doors lining its façade indicated that it might once have been a place for carriages. In any case, I was supposed to be focusing on Embee's tale. “Nothing rough or hard. It's not that kind of massage. Gentle rubbing and stroking, a little scratching here and there, maybe some soothing music playing in the background if it's one of those places that has 'em. I can't tell you how relaxing it is; you'd have to experience it yourself.” I was mildly taken aback by her suggestion. “Well, it genuinely sounds unique, but I've never been massaged. To have a pony massage me, that's um . . .” “Pony?” Embee's tone pitched in surprise, then she laughed. “Oh no, not a pony. It's done by a human. Nimble and soft hands can be some kind of wonderful, I tell you.” “Oh?” No hooves kneading my skin? “That is . . . a situation I've never been in either.” Yesterday, I had imagined caressing to be a pleasing experience. Now, the likelihood of this form imbuing me with exclusive delights conflicted with my apprehensions. “I don't know . . .” I glanced to my right, and realized I was slowing down in the middle of a street. Fortunately, aside from parked cars—and a lone dump truck trundling at a mild pace from over a block away—the street was empty. Embee was waiting on the sidewalk, possibly aware I had fallen a little behind. “I'm not saying you have to,” she said in a mollifying tone as I caught up. “I was only saying it's not easy to put into words.” The dump truck made a right turn, and disappeared behind the predominantly old buildings of this area. “Hard to put into words? Like driving?” “Hmm, could that be a good comparison?” She took to the left at the Y-fork we were at. “What's driving a car like?” “Oh, it's only the greatest joy I know!” My exclamation brought out my inner . . . elation. The sun's warmth didn't cool down my unanticipated blush. “Well, a joy that's tied with flying. I think my interest in airplanes began when I was maybe six or seven, but I can't recall when I became interested in driving. It feels more like an instinct. Even the oldest dreams I can think of had something to do with cars. A black Pontiac Firebird, a red Jaguar XJ6. Gosh, I was always . . . always disappointed when I woke up.” I had almost said heartbroken. “I didn't do anything wacky. Stunts or chases. Nah, the pleasure of being at the helm of such wonders was all I needed. The first time I got to drive, a real car, I was really nervous, but also extremely excited. I had finally reached a marvelous milestone in my life. Driving. It's just so . . . It's an amazing feeling that knows no equal. It's magical, and I wish you knew how magical.” I had gone from unbridled excitement to bashful enthusiasm. My eyes panned over the cars lining the short street. “You see these cars parked here? I have preferences, and am less enthused about the modern ones, but I'd be satisfied to some degree to drive any of them.” A glossy black pearl of Jan Wilsgaard's later artistry tucked between two minivans caught my eye. “I'd learn how it works and how it feels, and then I'd have a lot of fun. Not going fast, or such. Just plain, relaxed driving, delighted by extraordinary euphoria that defies description.” “I adore your passion. It really sounds like it's, well, allow me to use this phrase. Like it comes from your heart,” Embee chipper tone bore a touch of dejection as we turned to the right to a quiet street next to the placid river bisecting the city. “I don't know how I could ever feel what you feel or have felt.” “Unless you try driving a quad,” I teased carefully. “I don't know about that either,” she said laughing lightly. “I saw that thing, and to be fair, I wouldn't feel safe on it. But I'm really happy for you,” she continued before I could suggest other vehicles she theoretically wasn't physically incapable of operating. “I suppose it'd be fair to say that you wouldn't be happy as a pony, even if it were your body and not somepony else's.” “Exactly.” Then I saw the deeper meaning. “That's . . . that's so true. I'm not suited for driving when I'm . . . physically restricted.” Having one of my favorite delights denied dimmed my mood like a thick cloud blocking the sun. “And that sucks majorly.” “I'm sorry, hon.” My dreariness wasn't lost on her. “Should I've been more careful with my words?” “No, it's . . .” I couldn't say it was alright. I was perfectly willing to forgive her, but not give her an implicit consent to hurt my feelings. “It's just how it is.” A spark of defiance ignited. “But I'll find a way to make it work.” I saw something behind my closed eyes during a single blink. “And I uh . . .” What had I seen? Absolute darkness where a pair of trapezoid-like shapes stared at me, gradually brightening up until they had become blinding highbeams of a car. My car. “I almost had it.” I suddenly felt like I was enveloped in a thick fog of confusion, but just as determined to talk. “I had it . . . I had everything planned out and certain it'd work flawlessly, but I must've overlooked something or messed up somehow, and now I'm stuck in her body. I mean, I'm not her . . . not supposed to be here.” Again I saw the headlights in my mind, then a flashcut of the windshield wipers from so many angles I couldn't even begin to count them. There was something I was to understand here, but . . . “I don't . . . I don't get it.” I nearly jumped when a bicyclist zoomed past us without warning. This was a pedestrians-only sidewalk! “Overlapping identities, memories, something,” I presented a cursory analysis, startled. I wanted to rub my head, but . . . doing that with a leg wouldn't feel right. “Overlapping identities? Memories?” Embee noted with a small hint of vibrancy. “I meant to speak to you about that as soon as you woke up, but the opportunity slipped by and I regrettably didn't get a chance after. So, excuse me for being abrupt. I was skeptical of your story at first, but what Peachy discovered during that night convinced me you had told me the truth. She did a scan of you while you were asleep, not for injuries, but rather, she did the unusual task of inspecting your magic signature.” “My magic signature?” I was both curious and sensing familiarity. Odd, but in light of the very recent event, not entirely surprising. “Yes, every being, pony or otherwise, has magic within themselves. It circulates within the body and interacts with the magic around us on a constant basis. When it's in harmony, it helps pegasi fly and enables spellcasting for unicorns. When it's not, well, you can guess.” Her sober tone conceded momentarily for a tiny chuckle. “Anyhow, various factors inherent to bodily magic produce distinct and unique patterns, a magic signature. Peachy said that she discovered your magic signature exhibits, and I quote, an active interlaced supernumerary layer.” “And that means what? That I'm just a . . . a wave of magic?” That my experiences, memories, existence—my entire self—could be reduced to the evanescence and diminution of a circulatory radio signal was unsettling. “No, not at all.” Embee halted, and so did I. She came near, consoling empathy written on her face. “You're more than that, Viv. A person, a living being sadly in a body it's not meant to be in. Those times when you feel like Rosy instead of you, instead of Vivienne,” my nascent thoughts on the matter were paused as I consciously separated the names from myself, “that's when your displaced magic essence overlaps and interferes with hers.” Embee had given merit to a most nightmarish possibility. “She's still here?” I asked in terror. If she was, then there was nothing in me back home and, and . . . and . . . “No, don't be afraid, she's not there with you,” Embee assured right as my eyes begin to well up with tears. “If she were, we wouldn't be here. Two essences, two minds, cannot share the same body without debilitating cognitive and motor control conflicts. She's not doing that, as you know. She could be dormant, but Peachy said that's highly unlikely when her essence exists only as a passive.” “Her, Ros . . . a pasv . . .iv, oh . . . okay. T-that's, that's . . . better, I think. Yeah, uh . . . yeah.” My future didn't look much brighter, but my trembling was arrested by sadness. “She's . . . she's dead?” “No, she's not,” Embee said gently. “A dead essence is petrified. An active essence fluctuates with your mood as well as your constitution and health. A passive essence, however, circulates without a cognitive link. Your active essence, in a manner of speaking, flies above it. Being an active essence, it's more reactive and has a broader frequency than that of a passive magic.” “Explains the intersecting.” Still so shaken up that speaking three words without interruption was a small miracle, I nonetheless comprehended Embee's exposition with the help of some minor visualizations. “You seem to know . . . Do these . . . mind swaps . . . Are they frequent?” “I was relaying what Peachy told me, and gave you a brief overview on magic essence. Beyond that, I honestly don't know.” The corner's of Embee's mouth upturned slightly with optimism. “I'm sure she'll answer any questions you have when we get back. She'll have to do another examination so as to better understand—” “When will I go back? To me? Myself.” Seemed my words of anxious imploration had to squeeze through a ball of concentrated fluff in my throat. “I know that means a lot to you, more than I can emphasize, and I feel sorry letting you know that Peachy can't send you back.” That could've devastated me to the point of uncontrollable sobbing, but in the back of my highly disquieted mind, a nugget of rationality had anticipated the news. Defeated, I held my head down, blinking out remaining water from my eyes. “But she can help diagnose what's happened and how, and then contact an expert who can send you back.” That was a bright fire in the abruptly fallen darkness. A warm fire I could stay by and not feel cold and isolated. But a fire needed fuel; I needed a time frame. “Will it take long?” “A few days perhaps,” Embee answered softly. A few days of veggie diet, a few days of no-hands-all-feet, a few days of a voice as light and dainty as a feather, a few days of estrogen-influenced behavior and thinking . . . It couldn't be as intimidating and stressful as projected, but somehow, a few days seemed like it might last for weeks. “We should definitely hope you don't have to wait any longer than that.” “Yeah, we should,” I agreed. In my emotional state, I felt gratitude for her that had to be expressed sincerely. “Not good with words right now, so excuse me for . . .” I could . . . not feel right about using my forelegs. I . . . was averse to nuzzling. But then I recalled that Embee had given a hug of sorts yesterday that I could perhaps try to emulate. “Doing this is my thanks,” I said faintly as I crossed my head over her nape and let hide meet hide. “It's perfectly fine, hon,” she said while I fought tears behind my closed eyes. I was so not used to my emotionality. Nonetheless, I was comforted, and I granted my retinas access to light. A bicycling pair rolled by, their curious gazes and momentary deceleration spooking me just a little bit. It reminded me of one of my solo bicycling city ventures years back, where I had glimpsed (undetected) two women in a loving embrace in a grove off a quiet footpath. I untangled myself from Embee. “That was good, wasn't it?” She was happy for me, whereas I had some surplus ocular moisture and felt self-conscious and embarrassed. “Yes. I'm feeling better now,” I said in a squeaking tone. I cleared my throat, then cast a cursory look around. “Where's the cafe? I'm still willing to get there.” “It's right there, Viv,” Embee gestured at a yellowish-orange, single-floor wooden building a mere twenty meters—so close after all this? Briefly astonished into unresponsiveness, delight and relief powered me back up. “Alright, it's about time we had coffee, and something sweet and . . .” Recalling a recent acquisition, I put my magic to use and procured a single unit of candy from her saddlebag. “Comforting.” This fruity-flavored hard candy was sooooo perfect for this occasion. “Mmmhhhh.” Then I saw the half-smile on Embee's face. The other half hinted at doubt and disgust. “I'm honestly glad it's good for you, but I've never had candy like that. It burned my tongue . . .” Apparently, her turning around and heading toward our destination meant she had left her questions unspoken. We rounded the white post marking the cafe's corner and into a gravel-floored yard. Low, concrete stairs lead up to the open door. Predicting we'd get our coffee and sugary goodness in a minute, I hastened the returning of my palate to its neutral state. Embee heard the candy being minced between my teeth. “How can you eat that?” she marveled. “With my mouth.” My exact answer coaxed an unfettered laugh out of her—and I'd blush myself to the ground if I couldn't hold in my giggle. She then quickly ascended the stairs and . . . I should've been astute enough to take mental notes on how! When she vanished beyond the doorway, I raised a limb and took stock of it and the shoe. “With her legs,” I stated under my breath.

Suomibrony

435

Original Character,Human,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

First Pony View

Some dreams you might never want to end… …but what happens when the dream really doesn't?

incomplete

<p>Have you ever had a dream that just seemed so <i>real</i>, that it was impossible to say for certain that it was even a dream at all? A dream that, despite all of its impossibilities, seemed to re-write your entire perception of reality, re-writing your sense of what—and indeed, <i>who</i>—you are? Accepting change is hard enough as it is. But when you're a <span style="color:#808000">somebody</span> who wakes up as a <span style="color:#6495ED">somepony</span>, how do you cope with the impact such a drastic change has on your mind and body? With changes like these, it must surely just be a lucid dream—albeit a suspiciously <i>accurate one</i>—just brimming with potential and ripe for exploration. So you might as well suck it up and make the most of these distressingly…unusual circumstances, and seize this <span style="color:#008000">psychological adventure</span> before you wake up and the dream ends.<br/>After all, this couldn't possibly be real, so the dream must come to an end eventually…right?</p>

teen

2019-08-25T23:53:12+00:00

2019-08-25T23:53:11+00:00

First Pony View A My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic fan fic By Suomibrony Chapter 23 Fika? Dipping into the comforts of my cherished memories, I brought back a pleasant recollection of that time when I briefly admired the quaint look of a little cafe. That was from the way back far time of twenty seconds ago. Oh, happy times . . . To be impeded by a short flight of stairs was frustrating, especially when it didn't have a ramp for the disabled. Not that I considered myself disabled, but the neurological map of my body was slow to make the necessary corrections. If I had paws, I'd have direct tactile sensation instead of the negligible report transmitted through rubber soles and insensate keratin. So, to plan my moves . . . First pair of legs had to go on the first step and . . . then to the next? Followed by the trailing legs onto the step below? That didn't seem correct . . . “Are you coming?” Embee's head protruded past the door frame, bemused eyes blinking on her blank face. “Uh . . .” I broke out from my stunned surprise. “Yes. I only have a problem to solve,” I said in a moment of thoughtless honesty. A spontaneous glance over at myself; how to bring it up to the concrete plateau just a little ways up and ahead seemed like the puzzle of the ages. Just a little ways ahead? Up ahead? Up? Yes! I'd clear this problem in a single bound, with catlike grace! I bent my back legs and with some assistance of my front pair propelled myself at the prerequisite angle and trajectory to soar to the correct height and from there make the perfect landing—whoa! Momentum! Brakes applied. Inertia! Rear brakes applied! That . . . that was a lot happening within a second. I was certainly relieved I had come to a controlled halt instead of pivoting face first into the concrete or caught by the banisters. Regardless, now that I was up here safely I could . . . meet the eyes of a still bemused Embee. “Ah, yes, the stairs . . . They're, hah, solved,” I said sheepishly, as if a single word encapsulated the explanation and defense of why I had employed such an unorthodox method to get here. “That was the problem? You don't know how to walk up stairs?” she whispered in innocent disbelief. “Well, um, not yet,” I whispered back uneasily, certain that learning the finesse of stair navigation was inevitable. A glance at the physical manifestation of the inevitable was partially obscured by that sort-of-myself that was equine-shaped and felt weird to look at and whatnot. This exact location, however, wasn't the place for self-reflection. “Would you . . . have liked me to help you at that?” Embee asked as I placed my eyes back on her. “That didn't occur to me . . . and it doesn't matter anymore, anyhow,” I replied, uneasy about being taught how to ascend stairs; I wanted to retain my dignity and learn on my own. “Shall we go inside now?” Her expression brightened. “Yes, we will,” she agreed casually, although I had a feeling I had made a scene and . . . What? This place was empty? Well . . . All the better! The walls and most of the furniture were of light brown wood and much more contemporary than the late 19th exterior would've keyed me in on. A pop song of some kind was playing quietly, broadcast by a radio I presumed. Also, the pleasant scent of cinnamon and coffee were conspicuously strong. Oh, right, pony senses. That explained it. “Welcome,” a deep voice greeted me from my left. That voice belonged to a burly and bearded twenty-something wearing a vivid red shirt on the other side of the counter, on which a couple transparent domes protected doughnuts and other pastries from the elements. “Thanks,” Embee responded; he broadened his relaxed smile. “I'd like a cup of vanilla tea with milk, sugar and honey, please.” “Straight to the point,” he remarked, amused. “Anything else you'd like to have?” “Yeah.” Embee moved over to the glass cabinet at the end of the short counter, whereupon she began to leisurely inspect the contents. “I'd like that, please,” she poked a hoof at the glass. Beard guy relocated to retrieve her choice and placed a small round green cake atop the counter. “Your tea needs some time to brew, I’ll bring it to you when it’s ready.” “Okay, now it's your turn to order,” Embee said to me. Me? But I had been feeling so peaceful here in this . . . comforting illusion of invisibility. Anyhow, I'd act like my being a female unicorn was perfectly normal, and everything would be cool. For me as well. “Uh . . .”And I should not become apprehensive of my voice. “A plain mocha coffee with cream and sugar. Two pieces.” “Got it,” Could-cosplay-as-a-viking affirmed. “And as well . . .” Now to pick something to nibble on. While I peered at the foods, I also spied the name of what Embee had chosen: a princess cake. Although it did look temptingly delicious, I wanted something more nutritious and less sugary. A sandwich should do well. Just had to find one with ingredients friendly for herbivores . . . Cucumber, salad, and cheese should be friendly enough. If not, dyspepsia down the line would inform me otherwise. “That sandwich . . . uh, there.” I tried not to show how awkward I felt pointing at it with a leg. A basket on the countertop had a collection of oblong, dome-shaped items in checkerboard-patterned wrappers. I could've pointed at them as well, if not for my inadequate stature. “I'll have one of these, too. The blue one, in the basket,” I requested, hiding my transient dismay. The not-actually-confirmed-to-be-a-viking plucked the blue-stood-for-vanilla treat from amidst the reds, browns and greens. “That's all, thank you.” “Alright,” he acknowledged and got to work. “Hey, could you get us a place to sit?” Embee suggested, casting an indicative look over to a doorway perpendicular to the displays and a fridge. “I'll follow you soon.” “Okay,” I agreed quietly, becoming aware of a mounting feeling of disorientation. This cafe had started to feel . . . Everything was taller from this perspective and that was affecting me, unconsciously at first. In any case, I had to find us a place. Wait . . . I had heard something. I stopped, it stopped, too. I started walking again. The steady rhythm of a rubber mallet softly tapping at a wooden floor . . . beneath me? Oh . . . I had a lot to reconcile. “What's holding you up?” Embee inquired, unconcerned. “Uhm . . .” I gazed at her, trying to figure out an excuse that'd fall within the parameters of my pony-guise. The relative silence was . . . relative. A discernible voice atop a rhythm was audible. “This song . . . I've heard it before.” I didn't care about the song, and odds were I would forget it before we were done with our meager breakfast. “I'll help your memory,” the barista said as he produced a phone, presumably from his pocket. “Let's see, let's see . . .” He caressed the device with his index finger. “Rock DJ, by Robbie Williams.” “Mmmhhh . . . Okay. Thanks.” I hadn't thought he'd look it up. Come to think of it, I wasn't sure a song like that suited this small and rustic but modernized cafè. Anyhow, that was not up to me to decide; I had a seat to find in the adjacent room. Seeing how this place was vacant, I was looking forward to a well-deserved moment of relaxation and then talking about my magical mystery . . . “Well-heheh-hello!” . . . If the next room didn't have a solitary pony sitting at a low, round table. Worse yet, it was the only table I could see that was suitable for pony customers. Ergo, me, unfortunately. Despair and horror was trundling to my face, but I wrenched it into an eager smile. “Hi,” I replied to him in a tiny voice that made me sound more pleased than I . . . wasn't at all. “Didn't expect another pony here,” the light gray stallion said happily. “Neither did I,” I said, fighting to maintain my composure as I bravely took myself to the table and appraised the low, pastel-cushioned chairs. “You know, it wasn't a complete surprise,” the pony resumed talking while I carefully maneuvered my equine self into the one o'clock position chair to his six o'clock. A twelve to his six felt too intimate, like a setup for developing a romance. Now I had to defeat a cringe, as I once again had been reintroduced to the things I didn't like having located where they shouldn't be. Maybe I was sitting incorrectly? Maybe if I pulled my legs closer together to put myself in a slightly raised posture? This felt weird as well, but feeling like a pony was preferable to feeling like a mare. “Heard some talking, figured it was girls, but I guess it was ponies. Isn’t it great to have some familiar company? You got a friend there or—” His bare hoof met his cheek. “I didn't say you weren't a girl, did I? I mean, you are, aren’t you?” He chuckled with a smile. Delighted by the brilliance of this conversation, I simply sighed despondently and darkly said, “Do I look or sound like a colt to you?” How I wished . . . His smile dropped like a stone. “Whoa-ow, oh oh, oh, def-definitely not,” he said, stumbling on his words. “You're certainly a girl. A really fine-looking young mare, to be precise. There's no mistaking that. Have I, er, did I offend you? It's not in my habit to do so. I'm sorry. Sincerely. Let's . . . Let's put that blunder behind us and start anew. Wouldn't be wise to play a song in the wrong key, right?” “Sure,” I droned dispassionately, a nastier side of me wanting to vocally equate his green-white mane to toothpaste. Although . . . he was probably right. Let bygones be bygones. “Allow me to introduce myself.” He placed his hoof on his sternum. “Name's Bent Fabric. Pleased to meet you.” Logically, I should introduce myself. Unwilling to provide either my pony or human name, I gazed over what was on his side of the table. An empty plate with crumbs, an open and partially completed page of a crossword magazine with a pen laid over it, and a green juice box with a straw. I also spied a hint of bemused impatience emerging on his face. I'd have to buy more time. “So, uh . . . Bent Fabric . . .” A name like that aroused the notion of him being in the trade of dodgy items. An unfortunate misattribution, I surmised. “You're, uh . . . a musician?” “Eh?” He mildly recoiled in surprise. “Haha, no. I'm not. A musician? Where did you get that from?” “Well, uhm . . .” I would've shrugged, but that might've been unponylike—and I wasn't sure I'd maintain my balance. “You said singing in the wrong key . . .” Bent laughed, humoured. “Oh, that's just a phrase I've heard said more than once. Well, believe it or not, I know very little about music. I've come over here on behalf of our family enterprise. Negotiate trade, discover new and exciting trends and textiles, but right now, I'm having a day for myself. Relaxation, wandering around freely, going to meet a few friends soon, that sort of thing. Say, if you ever find yourself in Nickergood Brook, get yourself to the corner of Main Street for The Corner Fold. Might find something that'd look great in your home—or on you.” He gave me a wink, probably picturing me in an elegant dress . . . “I could have a fine duffel jacket tailored for you to go along with your hat.” “Oh?” Not a dress, then? A jacket? A gender-neutral piece of clothing? “I wouldn't mind that,” I said with a tinge of interest. “Anyhow,” Bent carried on, “I came upon this little place by chance on my morning stroll. Nice and quiet, isn't it? Just two rooms or three, like it was once somepony’s home.” “Once a home? I can see that,” I agreed, taking a cursory stock of the room. However, I was in a corner, where from I couldn't see into the first room. What was holding up Embee? “But right . . .” Bent said. I realized I was still wearing my hat. Bad form! I reached for it . . . but I was wearing a shoe! These limbs weren't meant for grabbing. “You've yet to introduce yourself.” Caught with my limb aloft, I rubbed my chin with my pastern and cast an oblique glance at nothing specific. “Well, I'm just . . . me.” My tone received an infusion of mild whimsy. “My name's a mystery, only known to a select few who've earned that special privilege.” “Oh, that's uh, something . . .” He leaned back, stroking his chin, then tilted his head before smiling. “Can you grant me that special privilege if I offer a significant discount on that jacket I promise for you? Let's say, ten percent.” I hadn't anticipated him to begin bartering. Neither had I anticipated a growing discomfort at the very end of my vertebra. I had to expose my eyes to my white-coated backside to get a better idea of what was wrong. My . . . right ankle, I supposed, had trapped a few hairs between itself and the seat when I sat down, pulling my tail into an uncomfortable position. ‘Stupid tail,’ I groused as I freed the hairs from under my leg and watched as I slowly slinked my tail through the back of the chair. “Twenty five?” Bent upped the offer. I glanced again at my tail, believing for a moment that it would disappear in tandem with the fading discomfort. When I looked back, his lips had creased into a smile, and I smiled back just to appear friendly. He leaned a little forward and his eyes narrowed. “Fifty,” he said in a low voice. Fifty percent off just to learn my name? I was genuinely astonished he'd go that far. However, I was technically penniless at the moment. “Tempting, but no,” I declined pithily, but cordially. “No?” Bent was surprised, almost aghast. He collected himself quickly. “Ah-kay. How about if you get it for absolutely free?” A free jacket! “That's quite generous,” I said . . . though, I didn’t mean to say that aloud. Bent smiled, and I felt like I had just stepped into a trap. “Well, hmm, I guess I have to give you my name . . .” His smile grew. “But only as soon as you can get me that jacket.” I smiled back. “Yes, of course I can . . . Oh-hoh, you got me there. You're clever—and a tough sell. I can admire that, hmmh . . .” I thought my hat off my head while he was planning his next move; it was rude to wear hats inside. “You're being very enigmatic about yourself. Like the Duke, huh?” “The Duke?” I repeated, concealing my fright with honest cluelessness. “Duke.” Bent said a single word? What was this? A dastardly litmus test of sorts on Equestrian culture? “Er . . . Care to elaborate on that?” I said carefully, fearful of showing my ignorance. If I only had a Holo-Duke to distract him with as I'd make my escape. Or would that be a Holo-Pony? “Everypony where I'm from knows about the Duke. You've not heard of the Duke's tale?” Bent's query was devoid of any visual or verbal clues to a merciless tear-down of my pony-guise. “Sorry, no,” I meekly shook my head, feeling a slight bit of shame for being in the dark. Sort of like my not having seen The Lord of The Rings movies, to draw a quick parallel. “Alright, um . . . Maybe my town is not every town, heheh. Let me think about how to put that story in short form. Wouldn't want to prattle about it until you are bored. So, ah . . .” He pressed his lips and scrunched his snout as he thought.“Okay! The Grand Excursion of the Duke of Whinnypeg is a story of a humble but poor furnisher who was contracted by the town's mayor, and when rewarded with select riches and lustrous clothes for a superb job well done, decides it's ripe time for a vacation full of luxury as he had always dreamed of.” “That summary was well articulated,” I noted in nonplussed disbelief. “Did you write it yourself?” Was he really that good, or did he have a hidden cue card somewhere around here? “Hahaha no. I was paraphrasing the book's back cover out of memory. Poor memory, maybe, hahaha. It's one of my favorite reads, and I've been really itching to see the photoplay. Does this city have a theater?” he suddenly asked. “Most likely,” I replied. What was a photoplay, and why was it in a theater? “It's a big city, I think, so it must have a theater, maybe even two—or more. I should take a look if I come across any, but would the play be here, I don't think so, but . . . never say never . . . dhah-hmm, but when I was in . . .” His voice had gradually reduced to thoughtful muttering, apparently forgetting my presence. Gosh, what was taking Embee so long? “Ah, anyhow!” The unexpected resumption in volume almost pricked my ears off my head. “Figuring he could have some fun, you know, the duke, he presented himself as ah, heh, 'The Duke of Whinnypeg' as he lounged in the resort town. Duke, for short. Of course, when asked for his name, he said it was a closely guarded secret, or some such, just to never let anypony know his true identity. Hehehe, heh, you see, this is after his act has taken ahhuhhuh, a predictable turn when he goes, weeeell, afoul with his finances and . . . huhm?” His narration was interrupted by Embee's arrival. Finally! “I'm very sorry, hon, the payment wouldn’t go through,” she excused her late arrival. “Well hello!” Bent made his presence known. “How are you?” “I'm fine, thanks for asking.” She took the nine o'clock seat. I was puzzled, and a little shocked. Did these two ponies know each other? “That's very good to hear.” Bent cast curious glances at us. “You called her 'hon'. Are you her sister or friend or . . . ?” “Friend,” Embee said warmly, taking her saddlebags off. I showed a complimentary smile, hoping she'd carry the conversation and allow me to take refuge in being a silent observer. “That's nice, real nice. My name's Bent Fabric.” They were strangers? Why would a complete stranger ask about another's well-being at first sight? That was so weird. Also, he had extended his hoof out for a . . . hoofshake? Embee too was bemused, but her wits were quicker and reciprocated the gesture. Bent's eyes fell on her hoof and he hesitated briefly before the limbs were linked for the motion. Maybe he had expected her to remove her shoe before shaking his hoof, but had felt it wasn't crucial enough to speak about? “Pleasure to meet you, Bent. You can call me Embee,” she introduced herself as I looked down at my shoes. Should I remove them? Would it matter? They were still legs and not the highly versatile digits I used to have. Ugh, I had to stop thinking about this lest a feeling of deprivation ensnare me in a debilitating blanket of depression. “Get called Embee, humh? Embee and Duke.” I was Duke to him? Being referred by that moniker wasn't so bad. “Well, you're a girl, so that makes you Duchess.” Until he feminized out of courtesy . . . and consequently evoked a memory of an animated movie. “Duchess?” Embee said in a rising pitch, arching a brow at me. “I don't know, I guess I'm a cat now,” I said with an air of nonchalant tranquility, “Purr purr,” I deadpanned. “A cat?” Bent laughed, humored. “You're a strange filly.” “I know,” I said flatly. If only Bent would kindly leave so I could talk with Embee about my being an interlocked magic circle—or what was it? “To be clear, my name is a contraction of Medical Brace,” she cordially informed Bent, whereas I realized she had caught on to my passive aggressive decrum before I or Bent had. “I'm a paramedic.” “Ah, well, yeah, Embee rolls off the tongue easier.” Bent leaned a bit her way. “Name matches the cutie mark, I see.” He wasn't shy of checking her hips, and she wasn't offended. Peculiar, but . . . okay? I was happy that he was ignoring me. “Did your parents have a dream where they saw your name?” Prophetic dreams? That seemed too outlandish to believe. “I doubt it. Names in dreams before foaling is an anecdotal myth that very so genuinely happened to a friend's grandparent's aunt. My story's that I had a habit of clinging on to my parent's legs long before I had any memories of doing so, and they hadn't thought of a proper name for me. I guess they thought I was like a brace for a leg. Makes for a funny story, doesn't it?” How did she know what she had done before she had memories of doing . . . Right, her parents must've told her. “Yeah, yeah, certainly!” Bent glanced down at his empty plate and that magazine beside it. “But oh, think now, if they had seen your name in a dream, they would've been so amazed to later learn how right it was.” “If it were right,” Embee adduced doubt. “If it were? Don't give me that, hahah-eh . . .” Bent's laugh vaned like an oxygen-starved candle; apparently, Embee hadn't been kidding. “Are you seriously saying the dream can be wrong?” “M-hm,” Embee affirmed nonchalantly. “I know a colt whose parents are competitive archers, and I heard from him they dreamt he'd be an archer, too. Little did they know he'd yearn to join the fire brigade. So, yes, I know a firefighter named Piercing Arrow. Go figure.” “Wow,” I uttered, astonished. A firefighter named Piercing Arrow? What a dimension-breaking coincidence of cosmic proportions! Although, in all fairness, Pierce-Arrow’s logo wasn’t solely embossed on fire trucks . . . “Wow indeed.” He didn't hide his amused behavior. “Think, Embee, if you had become you a shingler.” Embee gave him a puzzled look. “Eh?” “Or me? A musician! Hahaha! Or you a . . .” Bent looked at me while I had begun musing on the probability of a prophetic dream mispredicting the future. “Uh . . . You're ah, hmm . . .” What did he think I was? “A cat?” I suggested, prepared to be attributed a very female-specific occupation. He shook his head in confused amusement. “I don't know what you could've been. Definitely not a cat. But you've not got your mark yet.” Having to creatively explain their absence seemed imminent. “Might get them within a year? I don't try predicting these things.” Didn’t he just do exactly that? “I'm guessing they'll be about locks.” I had to double take at his deduction. “Locks? Why?” “You got a key.” He gestured. “Say, it's a bit strange looking. Not for a house, is it?” The key, of course, and he had already made a fair estimate. “You're right, it's not for a house.” I heard the sound of walking. The radio, while rather muted, was playing something I had heard before, somewhere, sometime in the past . . . Oh snap! Rhythm is the Dancer! The, ostensibly, sole employee of this cafe had arrived with our orders. “Here you are.” Tea and the princess cake for Embee; and coffee, a sandwich, and foil-wrapped chocolate-coated vanilla foam goodie for me—and a packet of sugar for my coffee. “Thank you,” Embee said. My reticent nature got to me, and I merely nodded with a smile. I unwrapped the packet and deposited the sugars into the cup. My impatience took over and raised the white vessel to my lips. I had been waiting for this respite since yesterday, and . . . oh, this was so creamy and smooth. I could feel my concerns fleeting away. The experience would be heightened once the dissolving sugar added its sweetness to the mix. “So, I'm really curious,” Bent began after the tall one had left. “Tell me about your key. What's it for?” I took another sip. “It opens portals,” I said simply, sparked by a touch of playful wit. My answer had bestowed Bent with anticipation, and seeing him stew in it for several seconds was mildly amusing. “Yes?” “Portals.” Obscuring the truth and dissuading him from asking compromising questions was paramount; a riddle might help throw him off the trail. I took a moment to think. “Here’s a riddle: Two swing out, one rises, another falls, a fifth spins on a thread, and a final one initiates brilliance.” I then took a bite of my breakfast; soft bread with crunchy salad surrendered expected but satisfying flavors. Iceberg lettuce? Probably not harvested off actual ice floes. “How vague, but oddly fascinating,” he said slowly, then scrunched his brows and looked down in deep thought. “Swinging and rising? Do portals function that way?” “No, I don't think they do.” Embee sighed wearily. “It's a car key and opens it. Portals being a very different way to say doors,” she informed. “I guess a key does unlock doors, but . . .” Her voice trailed off, but not so far that it was inaudible. “Two swing . . . but spins?” “You spoiled the riddle,” I reproved after my mouth wasn't occupied with delicious food, disappointed she had ruined my little fun. However, I wasn't truly upset. “That riddle's too tough, hon,” Embee said to me with sympathetic dismay. I could've said something back, but not while I was having another bite. “An owner of a car, oooh . . .” Bent expressed heightened intrigue. “What do you do with it?” In disbelief at his obliviousness, I bemusedly replied, “Uh, I drive it.” “Is that so?” he said with awe. “I always thought it was really difficult, if not impossible, for a pony to drive. How did you do it? Oh, right, right. Magic.” He waved a hoof by his forehead. “That must've been very helpful. But cars, ah, you know, they're not made for us?” “I know that, but, as you deduced, I did the impossible, and wisened by that experience, I began researching . . . better . . . options,” my eagerness dissolved into trepidation as I realized the information I was relaying didn't belong to me, even though it felt like it did. This amicable dialog had to end without piquing his interest further while also delivering closure. “Don't get any wild ideas of this being part of a grand endeavor with huge investments and research teams. It's only a project of passion of my own.” I saw the wide-eyed look on Embee of fascination—or alarm. I had a feeling she was poised to intervene if I was starting to behave unlike what she knew I was. “Now I'm mostly focused with finding solutions to, ah, the obvious shortcomings. If it works, good. If it can be replicated, good. If it can be reliably replicated, even better.” “An inventor? I'm intrigued. Very intrigued,” Bent said, doing an enthusiastic clap. “Oh! Gotta tell you this before I forget, but a friend of my dad has a tool shed that once wasn't. See, he used it to sell wares all over, and fix it all over as well. Started out as a steam wagon he got from somepony in Manehattan, but it was of a wonky kind, on the account of the narrow spacing of the wheels in the back. Almost makes it a three-wheeler. It's a pretty fancy looking thing, like a train being driven backwards, if you ever saw one. Have you?” “No,” I replied, perplexed by the nonsequitous tale. “Of course she's not seen one,” Embee said rather boldly, giving concern that she let it slip that I wasn't a genuine pony. “Trotter Tricorns are hoof-made and there aren't that many. Stands to reason that they wouldn't be a common sight.” I relaxed now that my concerns had been alleviated. “Has your dad's friend ever considered parting with his shed for a considerable sum?” “If you're trying to hint that somepony would care to buy it, I'm sorry to say, but no. Nopony sees any value in it,” he responded neutrally. “But some one might,” I noted, my brain having produced images of vintage steam wagons maintained in immaculate condition by museums, preservation societies, and dedicated private persons. Bent scowled in doubt. “Like I said, nopony cares to buy—Oooh, oh. Aaah . . .” Now he got it. “Yes, think of what a boon it would be if someone purchased an authentic and extremely rare Equestrian steam wagon, and cherished it with care comparable to the most beloved pets and family members. It would be a very, very beautiful and priceless steam wagon. Cannot put a price on family and friends, after all.” My heart wept for knowing that many vehicles of the past, including irreplaceable and illustrious one-of-a-kinds, had been lost forever due to callous indifference and disappreciation of their immeasurable value. “Didn't ever think of it being worth more than a bucket of sand. I must let him know and urge him to send feelers for an earthian buyer before his wealth literally rots away.” I was happy for having enlightened Bent, and potentially saving a small piece of Equestrian history. “Duchess,” he addressed me. I quickly tempered my chagrin. “How did your interest in cars begin?” “Well, um, cars. I truly don't know. I was simply drawn to them.” Obviously, I left out the numerous amusement park rides, video games, driving school, and an instance of trying my parent's car on a vacant sandy lot. “Drawn to drive a car . . . riage instead of drawing a carriage?” His play on words was almost cringeworthy, and also educed a debasing image in my head. Nevertheless, I kept my displeasure to myself, lest he believe I was too "high-class" to pull a wagon. “That pun was met with thunderous applause. Thank you, thank you,” he said, bowing as much as his sitting posture permitted. For being an excitable goof, his sense of self-irony was commendable. “But, er, yes, driving is difficult, isn’t it?” “Yeah,” a lapse of thoughtlessness let me say. “Sort of. Knowing how a car functions and knowing how to not drive poorly is . . . the easiest part of it all.” I had to extrapolate, placing myself in the driver's seat. “These, ah . . .” I held up my limb . . . of ungulate structure with a shoe; a jolt of disconcertment had to be firmly subdued. “Aren't the grippiest of things, and, uh, my dimensions aren't sufficient to reach the pedals, and . . . you know that already,” I said shamefacedly, realizing I had stated the obvious. “Which is why I use the most common spell.” Indicatively, the checkerboard-patterned confectionary rose briefly off the table for a moment. “It is . . .” The smile I had just developed faded because . . . I didn't need to extrapolate any longer. “All things considered, not that great.” I looked to Embee, awaiting her to redirect the conversation; her expression was that of perplexed suspense. Bent, in contrast, had his ears at a slight forward slant. Aware that I was in a bind with only one logical exit, I overcame my trepidation. “I mean, I've practiced decreasing the delay between thought and action down to a blink of an eye, but protracted, simultaneous multi-control with a high degree of precision is exhausting.” Not to mention, disappointing. How could I have ever foreseen and prepared for hands and feet having an edge over telekinesis? “That's why you started a project, that I have to assume, involves magic?” Bent hazarded in a moment of sobriety. I affirmed it with a hum that might've been a little despondent. I had a sneaking suspicion that this enigmatic project may've been the catalyst of my troubles, but I didn't have a clear picture of what had transpired. “I have to say that you haven't really given any specifics on what sort of magic you're trying to use, but I still ask you, have you tried . . . uhm, what was it? I'm not a unicorn, sorry. Got unicorn friends though, but uh, I recall one spoke of a spell in passing one time . . . Alive spell, life spell? Tried that?” “Uuuuhhhm, a give life spell?” I was uncertain how to respond: tell a bold-faced lie, or be daringly truthful? “Hey, hon, are you sure you want to talk about that?” Embee said to me with a tone that subtly informed me of her concerns. I was, after all, talking about subjects I hadn't been personally involved in. “What are you, her mother?” Bent laughed merrily, apparently mistaking Embee's attitude for overbearingness. “I'm sure it's not your place to tell her what she can or can't talk about as much as it's mine.” By the look on her face, I could tell she had not foreseen her valiant effort being thwarted so bluntly and swiftly; I had to rely on myself until she was able to try again. “So, ah, a life spell. Anything you can, or should I say . . . ” He glanced at Embee with raised eyebrows, but a relaxed expression, before his attention fell squarely back on me. “. . . Want to tell me about it?” So, I had been given the liberty of withholding information on my own accord, and he'd know if I did. Jubilations . . . “That spell, ah, I must admit that it's very appealing, but, err . . .” I didn't have to rely on a past MLP: FiM episode, as I . . . now knew more than what that had shown. I took a larger sip of coffee to gain some tranquility and confidence. It also warmed my insides, a warmth my fur coat kept from dissipating. “It doesn't function so well,” I said sadly, shaking my head. I had so much on my tongue, ready to leap out explaining exactly why the spell was highly problematic. “If it did, steam would be mostly obsolete as motion power. A car's, well, it's not a wagon, even when it’s a Volkswagen.” I produced a mild smile; Bent didn't seem to get it. “Well, in a manner of speaking, a car is a highly complex wagon. Probably more complex than a steam wagon. The car I have is simple. Kind of a fortunate find.” This wasn't my memory, but I was thankful I had developed that awareness. “But I digress. I would not say that the spell's broken, but I wouldn't trust casting it on any device capable of limitless motion.” “Limitless motion? Ah, yes, a thing that can, at least in theory, keep going endlessly, like a wheel on an axle.” Bent had surprised me with his quick deduction. “Why's that?” “Well, because it's a thing that can rotate. Forever,” I joked. Reading Bent's wry smile, I inferred that he knew I had to give him the real answer. Silenced by trepidation, I stole a look at Embee; she had put a hoof to her chin, her body taut with anticipation as her wide-open eyes darted from Bent to me and back. “From what I understand, um, ah . . . it has a lot to do with spatial awareness. The spell tends to erroneously read a revolution as being slower than designated . . . which then causes increasing and uncontrollable acceleration. In fairness, perhaps the spell's not actually broken. I mean, maybe I'm just good enough to cast it properly? Maybe somepony who's more than ten times better than I could cast it properly? Some spells can be like that. Go figure.” I would've shrugged, but I accepted that I was sadly bound by a physique that relied on four-legged support, even while sitting. “Excuse me, but I happened to look at the time,” Embee said, gesturing at a box-shaped clock on the wall—an ingressed face with pale orange pointers and digits. Peculiar. “You were to meet your friends. When, exactly?” “When? Oh, that'll be at—” Bent's gaze locked on the clock for a few silent seconds. . . and so did mine. “Oh.” He cringed as though poked with a pointy stick. “Yes, almost now . . .” Caught in a flummox, he collected his magazine and pen into his bags, then put them on. “I'm sorry that my departure will be so sudden. I can't leave my friends waiting, but . . . Ah, maybe we will meet again? I'd be more than happy to learn more about you and your project.” “Sure,” I replied, distracted by that clock . . . which reminded me of something . . . My car had a clock. Almost similar, somewhat recessed into the dashboard . . . It functioned just fine, and was illuminated by pale orange light. Why was this important? The clock worked by itself. I didn't need to do anything to it. The interior lights worked . . . just as they should. All things . . . normal. Magic theory to practice . . . Wait . . . No. “Hello?” a voice said. “Yes, hello?” I replied with a response to the . . . Embee, it, yes, her. What? “Are you feeling alright?” she asked. Had anypony ever told her she has nice eyes? “You were staring into nothing.” “I nunnot dot . . . I don't know. Uhm . . . I wasn't mentally present, was I?” I began to recollect myself. “I saw something, well uh . . . A memory was trying to intrude.” I glanced around and saw that it was just Embee and I. “Bent's gone, I see, huh.” Fortunately, Bent had left fast enough to miss my stupor. “Yes, he said goodbye and everything,” Embee said as she looked toward the doorway, as if to catch him snooping on us past the frame. “Okay, that's um . . . okay. More than okay,” I said, afraid of expressing my relief. I had wanted him gone, but to say that openly and brazenly even after the fact would reflect poorly on me. Embee trained a concerned look on me, which she ended with a small sigh. “So, what made you become absent?” she inquired with some hesitance. “That memory you mentioned, it didn't come out unprompted, did it?” “Well, no, thankfully no. I looked at that clock, and I then started remembering things that, you know, don't belong to me.” Should I also have said the memory seemed recent? “You did talk about magic a lot, and in detail as well. Knowing you, that seems like a subject you wouldn't know much about,” Embee said with a subtly instructive tone. “Stands to reason the clock was a contributing factor to the memory overlap. Maybe it wouldn't have happened otherwise, but water poured on fire equals steam,” I rationalized with a simile. “I had figured out that as long as I can separate the identities—her and mine—I'll be alright. Mostly alright. I don't embrace the experiences, to be honest, but neither am I freaking out about them anymore.” All I wanted was to be in control. “It's fantastic that you’re handling this well, but you should still be careful.” She was apparently not as convinced of my abilities as I was. . . maybe I shouldn't be so confident. “You're not saying I could get stuck in 'there'?” I asked in a small panic. “No, it's not that dire, don't worry,” she assuaged. “From what I learned from Peachy, becauseher presence is passive, to get you out of 'there' isn't impossible.” “A passive presence.” I had to think back on what Embee had said of my predicament before we had entered this café. “That is, I'm an active presence that's become entwined with her passive presence, and sometimes what's hers sometimes feels like mine?” “Mostly right. Her traits, personality and memories, what makes her a pony, are there along with yours, and as you may have experienced, they can intersect,” Embee affirmed. “She herself is not there with you, which means she cannot grab on to you and not let go, so to speak. However, if she were there—” “It would be the end of me, I know.” Two minds in one body equaled one body with no mind, and that was the last I'd think of that macabre possibility. “To retrace,” I continued before Embee had the chance to discuss the nightmarish topic, “just as I can descend from my flight level to hers almost unwittingly, I can also leave with almost no input of my own. However, ideally, I should have an altimeter and a TCAS.” I'd have to explain what those were—if she asked. “Tea-cass? Uhmm, certainly.” Now she'd ask . . . Right? “Well, I think I get what you're suggesting.” She deduced what my jargon meant? “But consider this: can you tell yourself to wake up when you're fully asleep?” “Uh, no.” My airplane of optimistic defiance suffered an engine flame out, but I took the initiative to restart it promptly. “But resigning to flying in the dark is unwise. You said I have to be cautious, and I agree, but I have to somehow know that I'm not myself when I'm not myself.” That gave me a bit of a pause. “Gosh, what a paradox,” I said to myself, mildly frustrated. “That means you have to recognize the situation and turn away from it before you become enveloped by it. But of course, if you're already lost in the mist, then some kind of prompt is required to whisk you out of there.” She dipped her head in thought, continuing to ponder whilst she took a long sip of her tea. “It has to be a disturbance, a small, 'this doesn't feel right' feeling that tips you off.” I raised a limb. “ As if anything about this would ever feel right. ” Taking a cue from Embee—and with a hope to maintain a steady mind—I took a sip of my coffee. Ick! It had already become lukewarm . . . “Unfortunately, a tentative measure is better than having none at all.” “Do you like being a pony?” Embee asked while I was downing the last of my once-hot. . . drink. She asked me what now? Stunned (and insulted), I stared at her in disbelief. I was so taken aback that I thought I'd have to physically force the levitating cup onto the table; I let it settle the 'normal' way. “I tolerate this because that's all I can do. It'd be a different story if this was my body transformed and I had done it by my own volition, and I could undo it with a snap of my fingers.” A glance down rendered that a critical folly. “Snap of my hooves? Or a tap?” I corrected, discombobulated. “I don't know how to snap my fingers. In fact, I don't even know how it's done. But that’s not the point . . .” Refocusing my attention on her, I asked morosely, “Why would you ask that? I thought you already knew.” “Yes, I know, and I’m sorry that I upset you.” The apology was nice, but she hadn't answered my question. “That you were upset by the question, though, perfectly demonstrates your strong opinion on the matter, which incidentally weakens your connection to her.” “And thus, easier to break?” I eased up now that I understood why she had asked; she had provoked me in a pursuit to observe a sufficiently authentic manifestation of my sentiments. “Yes. You could cause a bit of a shake up somehow, and there you go.” Her eyes gravitated to her yet untouched cake; for a moment I had thought she'd call for a break. “A thought, a feeling, a comment. Something that goes completely against who you are.” “Well, um . . . maybe she likes a certain food I can't stand,” I surmised flatly. “Though I'd rather not snap out of it when my mouth's filled with a nasty taste.” “True. It has to be something that has a chance to happen at any time and frequently,” Embee stated the obvious but uninspiring truth. I sighed despondently. I didn't know much about card games, but seemed like fate had dealt me a bad hand. “Ouch!” A gruff yelp suddenly emanated from the other room, soon followed by the sound of a rushing faucet; both I and Embee I had turned our attention to the minor commotion. “Ah, ears,” she said to me. “Your ears.” Puzzled, but also perturbed by excitement and an awareness of what I had, I asked, “What about them?” In response Embee's smile widened. It almost felt ominous. “Don't smile like that.” “Sorry.” She returned to her sincere appearance. “Ears. How do you feel about them?” “Well, I’d rather not feel them,” I answered. “I have very sensitive ears. Or am very sensitive to them. I don't want to touch them, or have them touched, without . . . without being prepared for it.” Then I wouldn't freak out severely. Only moderately, perhaps. “I was afraid you'd come over to test me . . . and, I hate to say this. But, if I'm not being myself, I guess you could . . . well, maybe it would bring me back.” Just the mere mention of the experience was harrowing. In fact, I was slightly trembling. “No, don't worry about that now, hon, just relax,” Embee instructed gently, having noted my anxiety. “Yeah, I'm a little on edge . . . But you know, it'd, when I'd . . . It would cause a feeling I don't want to feel but I can't get rid of.” Explaining this to her was a little hard to do when my voice wanted to give out. I took a silent but deep breath. “My ears . . . they follow me everywhere I go . . .” Again, my throat clamped up as I recalled yesterday's horrifying evening when . . . every part of me wasn't how it was supposed to be. “And I can usually forget about them, but when they’re touched . . .” Hiding my eyes behind my arm, I continued fragilely, “I don't want to be there again. I've been there and I don't . . . again . . .” I couldn't carry on any longer. “Don't think about it, okay,” Embee soothed while I was fighting my emotions. I had to put my mind on something else other than that which made my eyes water and nose run. “Here.” Now fighting a reluctance to show myself, I took a careful peek; she was offering a tissue. “Thanks,” I said weakly, though I couldn't take it with this . . . Of course. I had to literally ‘mind’ that other method. Also, I suppose I shouldn't feel too ashamed of myself. It wasn't Embee who'd perceive me negatively . . . “Good day not to wear makeup, huh?” Embee said while I was busy transferring runoff eyewater to the tissue. A joke to lighten the mood? “Hahaha,” I laughed spiritlessly, despite my effort to appreciate her attempt at comedy. I didn't even want to consider a situation that required paint on my face. “But it doesn't need to be the ears,” I suggested. “Probably shouldn't be.” Speaking of body parts, I thought one of my legs had become numb. “It could be a last resort,” she said while I was adjusting my posture. “Yeah, the first choice should be something less ups—egh.” I should've been more careful! I didn't want the cushion buckling and then brushing up against me where it shouldn't. “Such as whatever that was?” she said with cautious curiosity. I placed the tissue flat on the table and contemplated momentarily. “Maybe,” I hazarded hesitantly. Could it be worse than the ears? I couldn't be sure, and I didn't know if I wanted to be sure. “And what was ‘that?’” she said. Was she going to guess what 'that' was? No? It wasn't a rhetorical question? This was all on me, then. I bit my tongue, sighed deeply, and would've fidgeted if I had dared to. “Oh . . . uhh . . . I don't know if I want to tell.” “Why?” she probed. I ducked my head timidly and in a voice just a smidgen louder than the soft pop music filling this place, reiterated, “I don’t want to say.” Embee laughed lightly in confused amusement. “Why not?” Even I began to smile—out of embarrassment. “You're really not letting it go, are you?” “Just spill it out and then it'll be over,” she reasoned. It was a compelling argument. If I danced around the subject and employed circumlocutions as I usually did, I'd only inconvenience myself until she'd put two and two together. “Well . . .” How would I express this concisely? I think I got it . . . but saying it would require a bit of moxie. “My teats aren't supposed to be down there.” Oh droppings in Scottish colloquialism, I botched the wording! “Uh, I mean . . . I meant . . .” The, not my. And worse, Embee was smiling. “Come on, it's not really funny.” “No, it's not, I'm sure of it. It's very serious from your perspective.” Was it not serious from her perspective? “I'm just happy we got this over quickly.” “Whoop-de-doo,” I cheered plainly. I would have slapped myself hard in the face for my humiliating gaffe if not for the block of hurt at the end of my limbs. “Don't be so sullen about your brashness. Maybe it's just not your style to be like that, but I can appreciate the directness of it. So, just this once, for my sake if not for yours, go easy on yourself. You did well. Also, if I may add, when I'm tending to an injured pony, it helps me a lot to help them if they can say what's hurting. Now . . .” Her thoughtful but apologetic outlook didn't portend well. “Not to downplay your discomfort regarding your teats—” “Ugh.” My groan of disgust gave her pause. They weren't mine, and I didn't want to have them anyway! “—but you seemed to react with pain.” “Is there a difference?” I commented caustically through my teeth. She wasn't put off by my surliness. “Yes, there actually might be. But I understand you, it's a tough topic, but please, stay calm and hear me out,” she ever so gingerly suggested. “Will you? Please?” She would talk about those things . . . but she would hopefully only offer a simple and brief summary and that would be it. Just had to maintain my resilience and all would be golden. “Fine,” I conceded to her will, bracing for hearing displeasing information. Nonetheless, she gave me a moment of respite before she opened her mouth. “You might not know it, but there could be an abrasion, a bruise, or a healing wound that's a cause of undue irritation.” The imagery added to my nausea. “I'm not in the mood to take a look.” I had to again remind myself and be a little thankful that they weren't that easy to see and weren't two flagons of nuisance. “No, you don't have to, but with your permission, I can.” Her audacity struck me dumb. Slowly, I began to realize that if something was . . . not all well back down there, it was to my benefit she identified it and have it treated . . . Preferably not immediately! Or immediately, if it was that severe. Hopefully it wasn't! But she'd only take a look first and . . . I could live with that. “Okay, but make it quick,” I said in an apprehensive monotone, wanting to put my hands into an embrace over my ribcage—if I had the latter. Why, I wasn't sure. Some body language thing. “I'll have to get down—” “No need to,” she dissuaded pleasantly, springing off her chair with the kind of elegance that'd make cats scowl with envy. She gestured at the table. “Simply brace yourself against the table and stand on the chair. Can you do that?” “I guess.” Although bewildered by what was transpiring—or was about to—I did as instructed. As she approached, so did my fright. “Just—” No, I shouldn't speak so loudly; the bearded man in the other room that was very close by might come and witness this unusual event. “Just don't touch anything, please,” I whispered nervously. “I won't,” she assured, her head partly beneath me. With one fear dispatched, another took its place; I was afraid I'd slip. The table's lacquered top would make it a slippery surface, but . . . maybe that was counteracted by the rubber soles on my shoes. How long would this inspection take? Time seemed to have become dilated, but a glance at the clock told me the thinnest pointer was progressing at its nominal pace. My car clock didn't have that . . . and that was all I'd think about that! Flying into a storm cloud was the poorest of ideas! “Alright, all done.” Embee backed out. “You can sit down now and take a sigh of relief.” With a small tremble coursing in my body—and with utmost care—I placed myself back on the chair. Only then did I feel safe enough to breathe easy. “You don't have to worry. They look healthy.” “Yay, they're healthy . . .” And in the wrong place, but also . . . weren't obtrusive, so . . good for me? “Oaaghh . . .” I moaned wearily, then mumbled as I closed my eyes, “I don't want to think about this.” “How do you feel, hon?” Embee inquired, unquestionably concerned for my well-being. “I feel like . . .” I was in dire need of tools of mollification. “Can you ask the barista to come here? I need to bury my face into his hands, since I don't have my own at the moment,” I requested in tired, squeaky voice. “That was a joke, by the way. Don't call him over here.” Embee smiled, appreciating that I still had a sense of humor after all that what I went through. “If it helps you at all, we could discuss your tea—” “No,” I cut her off with frail-voiced but strongly enunciated plea. “Not now. Maybe later. I don't know. It's too new for me. I can't, I'm sorry.” “That's fine,” she said mellifluously. “You just got through a bit of a hardship, bravely might I add, but . . . if it makes you feel any better, you can have my cake.” She pushed the plate with her cake over to me. Her generous act of kindness and compassion almost brought a tear to my eye. That was highly unusual for me. “No, it's your cake.” I gently pushed it back to her. “If I want one for myself, I'll buy one for myself,” I stated humbly. Then I realized I really couldn't do as I had said. “If I had money with me, that is. But thanks anyway.” “No, really, I don’t want it,” she pushed the cake back. I promptly pushed the cake back. “You've done so much for me already, I don't know if I want that debt to you.” She took that as a mild jest, giggling. “It's just a cake.” But I had been rather serious, even if I had masked it with humorous tone. “Be careful. A cake today; a mansion tomorrow,” I contributed to the light mood with an improvised aphorism. “Think it over,” she said after chuckling, then gestured at the uneaten object beside my empty plate and cup, “while you eat your goodie?” “Oh, yeah.” A chocolate covered marshmallow awaited me. If there was one thing that I could safely say was a plus about being a pony, it was the added potency of flavors. While I was using my mind powers to remove the foil off the treat, I noted that Embee hadn't begun eating. “Seriously, you can have that cake.” To that, she laughed leisurely, “oh, alright”. She then dropped her head and—oh okay, that just happened . . . She had dug into her cake, and now had its innards lining her mouth . . . and affixed her bemused eyes on me. “What?” she said, licking her lips unceremoniously. I shouldn’t stare; it was impolite. “Eh, nothing.”

Suomibrony

435

Original Character,Human,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

First Pony View

Some dreams you might never want to end… …but what happens when the dream really doesn't?

incomplete

<p>Have you ever had a dream that just seemed so <i>real</i>, that it was impossible to say for certain that it was even a dream at all? A dream that, despite all of its impossibilities, seemed to re-write your entire perception of reality, re-writing your sense of what—and indeed, <i>who</i>—you are? Accepting change is hard enough as it is. But when you're a <span style="color:#808000">somebody</span> who wakes up as a <span style="color:#6495ED">somepony</span>, how do you cope with the impact such a drastic change has on your mind and body? With changes like these, it must surely just be a lucid dream—albeit a suspiciously <i>accurate one</i>—just brimming with potential and ripe for exploration. So you might as well suck it up and make the most of these distressingly…unusual circumstances, and seize this <span style="color:#008000">psychological adventure</span> before you wake up and the dream ends.<br/>After all, this couldn't possibly be real, so the dream must come to an end eventually…right?</p>

teen

2021-04-24T07:27:40+00:00

2023-10-23T05:32:52+00:00

First Pony View A My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic fan fic By Suomibrony Chapter 24 Simulacrum. A relative silence had descended now that our conversation had ended. Some pop song was playing, and Embee was enjoying her tea. That is, whenever she wasn't inserting her face into the cake for a bite. The juxtaposition of that with her decorous tea drinking was rather bewildering. I should stop staring at her before she inquired about that,. I turned my attention toward the chocolate-covered marshmallow with vanilla foam in front of me. “Hey, do you know what a jokester's favorite day is?” Embee asked whilst I was discreetly and self-consciously licking the last of the vanilla foam filling off my waffle-bottomed chocolate treat. I had anticipated a different question. “Uh . . .” I floated the goodie to my mouth, granting myself a pretext to think for a few seconds more. “I don't know.” Her cheeks puckered with a smile. “Jesterday!” she chirped. Weak as the joke was, I was genuinely amused. “Ah ha ha ha, clever.” “Yeah, I think it's funny, too,” she said with delight—and without a shred of irony. I was bemused, but also curious. “But why tell a joke?” It had been unprompted, after all. Confused surprise wiped her smile. “Why not tell a joke?” she replied, her positive outlook being restored soon after. “Seemed you needed a bit of cheering.” “I didn't know I was mopey.” In all fairness, I wasn't all sunshine and rainbows, but definitely not depressed. “Sorry. Have I misread your silence?” Compunction drooped her ears. “You hadn't said anything for a while.” Her measurement of time was puzzling. “Less than a minute is a while?” “Sitting silent with company is a little unusual for me, I guess.” Was she criticising me? Had she expected me to engage in small talk? “I guess I'm not one to keep talking for the sake of talking.” That was a bit . . . blunt. “Oh . . .” She leaned back slightly, as if a tad insulted, and also hurt. “Do you think we could have a substantive conversation?” she inquired carefully. “Of course we can,” I said in a conciliatory tone. “Er, but talk about what?” Then I realized I had inadvertently given the initiative to her. Now I had to hope she wouldn't bring up something boring, or worse, something that was intrinsically female. “Anything, really. Friends, family, hobbies. Whatever you like,” she suggested. Friends, family, and hobbies? “Any . . . thing?” I should've been very happy that Embee threw the ball back to me, but it had sprouted a lit wick—and on some days, I just couldn't get rid of a bomb. “I'm . . . I'm honestly a little afraid to talk about anything when I have this looming fear of dropping down into some pony's memories without a way to propel myself out.” Maybe if I had a Bat-ladder, or was saved by the sudden appearance of an extraordinarily heroic porpoise? “Don't worry about that now,” Embee assuaged confidently. “I'm here, ready to ruffle your ears to get you back.” “With tears in my eyes?” I recoiled at the idea. “Yeah, sure, I'd like that a lot . . .” I protested, even as I realized that I didn't have a choice but to submit. “Well, I won't, but what must be done has to be done . . .” “I'm really sorry.” My despondency was not lost on her. “But if it makes you feel any better, I can think of a milder approach. How about I, ahm hmm . . . Touch you on the snout—er, nose?” It was kind of her to correct herself. “What do you think of it?” “Well, um, that's . . .” Something bopping this white thing in my vision would . . . perhaps not be so bad? Just weird. Not bad. Just . . . okay. It would be okay. “Yeah, it's acceptable. If it doesn't work, then you can use stronger methods.” “Very well. Now, should we have a conversation or . . . ?” She glanced over toward the doorway leading to the other room and, of course, the exit. “If you're feeling tense, a few minutes of talking might help.” “Yeah, perhaps. How about you tell me more about yourself?” As innocuous as that seemed, I realized the flaw in her talking about herself. “Or wait, no, don't. You'd talk about pony stuff, and that could put me in a trance.” “And then I boop you,” Embee said, mimicking the motion. “Comforting,” I responded, smiling lightly even if I was a tad perturbed. “I genuinely appreciate your joyful attitude,” I continued in a moment of sincerity. “A bit of jollity makes life easier.” She drew a small, short breath. “But, you know, we don't really have to talk about me, if you don't want to. I could even try not saying anything about myself.” The discomfort I felt for having so much power over her made my being a mare nothing but a minor inconvenience. “Well . . . I guess it's . . . it's preferable that you don't?” I said hesitantly, then sighed. “I'm so sorry that I said that. Just ignore it, forget I said anything.” Before she could interject, I added, “Could I have my candy, please?” It'd offer a little bit of an uplift in this moment of self-hatred. “Yeah, ah, sure,” she said softly. “Here you go.” She dug up the crumpled, blue bag and pushed it across the table to me. “Thanks, I'll . . . not get to them this way,” I said awkwardly. Instinctually, I had placed my limb atop the bag. “Would you say that’s both good and bad?” Embee must be alluding to how I was divided on adjusting to my ponyness. “Uh, hmm, maybe, I don't know . . .” My answer was just as ambivalent. Slowly, I opened the crumpled candy container with my mind powers. “I'll only eat one.” “You can eat as many as you like. They're yours, aren't they?” They were, but I'd still desist from taking more than one. Explaining the moderation to her would be easy, if I ever deduced the logic behind it myself. Regardless, since I was taking only a single candy, I decided to go for my favourite. “I prefer these brown-grey ones. They are the most potent.” I held said example in the air for her to see, shortly before ingesting it. “Ah-a.” Her smile belied her opinion on the indelicacy. “What's it taste like?” she inquired despite her disgust. I moved the hard candy onto my tongue and let it sit there for a brief analysis. “Like spicy licorice.” This gave her a pause, during which her disposition didn't improve. “Is the hard shell made of the same fiery substance as its insides?” “Yes, though maybe not as hot.” I took this moment to return my candy bag to her possession on the account of that I didn't have anything on me where to put them. Then I felt suddenly . . . very naked. But naked was normal. And accepted. And not strange. Certainly I could convince myself of it. Or not think about it. Having diligently stored the sweets into her saddlebag, she rested her eyes on it after its closure, as if frightened they'd go up in flames. “I'll have to avoid picking the kind you like.” Her spitting out candy shards at the base of a tree was fresh in my mind. “But you could've had worse,” I consoled nonchalantly. Her brows curled. “There's something worse in there?” I laughed lightly, having half a mind to jest that the bag itself would be an unhealthy snack. “No, not really. I meant that it could've been an entirely different type of candy.” The hot candy I had now was nothing to some other kinds. Compared to this, Embee's spicy fruit surprise might as well had been a breath mint. But in all fairness . . . “The two ponies, Skyward and Gauge I think they were, they could've, um, donated something dreadful. Like Hershey's.” “Oh?” A glint of innocent curiosity washed away her frown. “What's that?” “It's a candy that makes you hate America,” I quipped dryly. She gasped. “Oh my, that's terrible. I'll be sure to never eat that! Who'd ever think of creating something so vile? I don't want to be hateful.” She . . . genuinely thought the candy held that kind of power over the mind? Hard as I tried not to, her innocent naivete made me chuckle. “Aha.” She eyed me with a warm eye of admonition. “You were joking, weren't you?” “Yeah, ah, I was,” I admitted coyly. “It happens.” “You have a funny sense of humor.” That was a compliment, I presumed. “Better for it to be funny than not.” I was glad to have a friendly conversation sprinkled with jollity and playful humor. Seemed like I hadn't had one in a while. When was the last time I had fun with my friends? “So tell me,” Embee said, interrupting my introspection. “What's the candy really like?” “Like spoiled milk and puke dyed chocolate brown.” A fleeting thought surmised that in this world the candy might be better, or not exist to begin with. “Not sure why it's made, or why it even sells. I can only assume it's an acquired taste—and to that I have to add that some people probably have really poor taste. And don't throw that back at me. The spicy candy can be compared to peppers. They're often used as condiments, so while hot candy is unusual, it's not removed from the culinary realm. Spoiled milk, however, belongs in the trash, not in the mouth. And let's not even talk about the second alleged ingredient.” Judging by Embee's expression, her stomach had just cringed. “Yes I agree, let's not.” Gradually, she eased her mind off the revolting impressions, then glanced down at her nearly empty plate. “I better finish this though.” When she began to lick the plate clean, I had to consciously command myself not to gawk. To keep myself occupied, I began to unwrinkle the foil wrapper as a mental exercise. In theory, I could undo each and every wrinkle, but that'd go down to the microlevels of telekinesis. Even that thought seemed to stand at the edge of that feared mental trap. “Well, do you think we should get going?” Embee asked suddenly. Her cake was no more. I assumed the same applied to her tea. “Sure.” I placed the foil in my empty coffee mug. Embee donned her saddlebags. I only had a hat to wear, though I briefly wished for something more substantial, preferably to protect that part of me which I didn't think highly of. “I hope this seat was clean,” I said as I began to remove myself from it. “I'm sure it was, and is, clean. This cafe is very clean. Stands to reason that the seats would be as well,” Embee reassured as I stood up . . . and remained perched on the seat like an indecisive cat. I had been sitting so long I had almost forgotten that I'd have to stand and move on all fours. A leap down onto the floor was a little daunting, not because of the distance, or controlling my momentum, but because I wasn't sure I'd be able to absorb the sensation of landing on hooves. Best I get it done before I overthought myself into petrification. Down I leapt and . . . it wasn't so bad. I was a little surprised. “Hon, I couldn't help but think here. You sat on that seat for a good while, and only now that we're leaving you worry it was unclean. How come?” I cast a glance at the potentially contaminated furniture. “The last thing I want to worry about is grime getting . . . on my coat.” It being a genuine concern wasn't corroborated by Embee's confused but inquisitive expression. “Sorry, hon, you tried to tell me something, but then chose not to. Any reason as to why?” “I showered recently, as you know, and I, ah . . . Who doesn't like to be clean?” I tried to deflect lamely. “Hey.” She approached me. “You don't have to be ashamed, hon,” she whispered as she took me into a brief but unexpectedly calming hug. “I get what you mean,” she continued as she backed off, “Don't worry about the grime that much, the vagi—ah, that, the . . . Edson grate?” I couldn't believe that she almost said the word I didn't want to associate with something I have. “It's self-cleaning.” “Edsel gril—” Shock and disbelief took over as the meaning dawned to me. “It is?” She cocked a brow. “You didn't know?” “Actually, no,” I confessed accidentally, but quickly collected myself as I realized that I might've put myself at the precipice of a disguise-demolishing pitfall. “Or, huhm, now that I think of it, maybe I do. I mean, there's that thing called . . . discharging.” I had two wishes: To not experience that bodily function, but if that was too tall of an order, then wish No.2 was that discharge not be as messy as the one I had some familiarity with. “Well, now that the pieces have fallen together, I don't know whether to be thankful or revolted. So, I uh, I will be . . . thankvolted, ah-hah.” I would've punctuated that with a thumbs up . . . “Wasn't this taught to you in sex ed?” My forced lightheartedness hadn't affected Embee. “Probably was, but could be that I forgot. Maybe I wasn't paying attention?” I suppose since I had dodged the danger—I should distract her before I was back in the crosshairs. “Uh, anyhow, since we're leaving, should we return these plates and mugs . . .” Without hands, that seemed close to impossible. “It's polite that you want to help, but you don't have to. The kindly man will take care of it, I'm sure.” Embee glanced toward his presumed location; he was unseen from where we stood. “Okay then.” By coincidence, I noted that the softly playing music wasn't a nondescript pop tune anymore, but seemed to exude a bit of gravitas, with droning vocals imbedded within a steady tempo resembling that of the Velvet Underground. “ . . . taller than his ears, and placed the apple on the hay. Now selling his tail for a smile, that's not a way for it to lay . . .” “Well, that's not I'm Waiting For The Man,” I thought out loud. “What?” Embee halted, having only taken a few steps. “Oh, the music, you mean? I don't know what that is. Or who it is. Ah, but this song . . . This could be by Moody Grimtone.” “Who?” my curiosity spoke for me. “Moody Grimtone,” she replied—and that was all? “Note to self: Stupid questions begets stupid answers,” I quipped flatly. Embee's laugh was that of playful mocking. “He's a pony from the Dustover, a town at the very edge of the Parched Canyon. Life's not so easy there, and that makes him different from most other musicians, and he makes different music, too.” By that, she meant brooding rather than bubbly? “Occasionally, an untameable wind comes through the canyon, carrying gravel and sand . Everypony stays inside until it has blown over, and during that time, the town's completely isolated. It can go on for weeks, and as you can imagine, things can become quite bleak. But producing spectacular dyes out of the iridescent rocks dug up from the canyon is worth it, I guess.” Suddenly, she glanced over herself as if a fly had gone by. “But what are we waiting for? Did you not say you wanted to leave?” “Right when I started to get settled in here,” I half-joked as we began to make our leave for real. Honestly, this place was cozier than the hospital. Although, I really shouldn't feel like this was a place I'd rather be at, considering what was at stake. “So, what's on the other side of that canyon?” I resumed our topic. As the barista came to our line of view, I saw that giving his phone a single-finger massage had become his latest occupation. “Have a pleasant day,” he presented a complimentary farewell that felt more routine than sincere.. Just as soon, his attention was quickly diverted by two dark-haired guys coming in, one of whom wore a conspicuous, white hoodie. It had a cartoonish rodent of some kind, holding a curved finger to his head and was captioned with yellow lettering that stated: I'm having a thinkeroo. The other person, who looked a lot like a young Robert Mitchum, was lethargic in his movements. “Oh, man, again?” the barista greeted them in a conspicuously unusual manner. “He needs a coffee,” his healthy friend said, sighing. Seemed like this guy and the barista shared history. But why ask for a coffee? “Noo . . .” the not-so-well guy moaned as he sat down by a table, whereafter his face disappeared into the embrace of his crossed, hairy arms. His buddy sawed an index finger over his own stubble. “Okay. Not a coffee. Make it an espresso,” he ordered with the weight of a firm but understanding commanding officer. “Noo . . .” his friend protested. “A frappe?” I chipped in. “Is he okay?” Embee said, evidently taking this seriously. “He doesn't look okay.” “Noo . . .” The poor fellow raised his head, gazing at us over his arms with bleary eyes. He let out a weak, withering laugh of cryptic revelation, instilling him with short-lived joy. “Uhgh . . . No me pasa la cruda . . .” he said croakily as his head fell back onto his arms. “It's nothing to get worried about, he will be okay sooner or later. You can count on it,” the all-okay guy said to Embee with a touch of exhaustion as he sat down by his compatriot, whereupon he began to talk to him in a different language. If his tone and gestures were any indication, he was giving his friend a stern scolding. I gave a doubtful look at the barista, who creased his lips to a sorry smile and shrugged. “He'll be okay. If not.” He held up his device of long-distance communication. “Help will be a call away.” “Well . . . It's on them if he's come down with acute radiation poisoning or something,” I said to Embee, taking myself to the exit and beyond; the barista guffawed at my wry humour. At the concrete plateau of eventual descension, I was overcome by indecision. It was only a few steps, but how to do that on all fours, that were in essence toes, was still beyond my capabilities. While I was here, I heard Embee say goodbye—and a few cautionary words. She was a pony of healthcare, after all. A moment later, she was beside me, and thereupon, she read my expression. “Alright. Watch,” she whispered. Of course, I was supposed to observe, so I could learn how to do it, but I unthinkingly gazed away so as to not look at her posterior without her explicit permission. Even though her behind was that of a pony and didn't resemble that of a human's . . . But the principle still mattered! “Something on your mind?” Embee said, once again dispelling my contemplations. “Yeah, uh, no . . .” Without further thought, I placed my forelegs on the first step. Then I'd have to move them to the next step down, and . . . feel uncomfortable standing at an inclined posture. Oh, why had I not thought of this earlier: I should've just made a small leap to clear the steps altogether! To get down to ground level, I'd have to simultaneously push with my hind legs and "walk" with my forelegs. If I didn't overthink it, then I'd be very chore-ohno-graphic! “Umph!” Embee enunciated when my uncontrolled forward momentum was arrested by her broadside. Caught in a flummox, I tried to brush off perceived post-collision irregularities, but seeing a shoed-limb put a halt to that. “Sorry, I thought I . . . Of course. That was the problem. I thought how to descend the stairs instead of relegating that to my instincts. If I have any, I mean, maybe I do, but they're latent uh—” Embee giving me an unexpected but warm hug disrupted my thoughts. “Your front legs walked fine, but you did a kick with your hind legs.” When she backed off, I made a deduction despite my confusion. “That was ah . . . a ‘you did well, six out of ten’ hug?” “You're starting to analyze hugs now?” Embee said laughingly, eyeing me with bemused incredulity. “Analyzing helps rationalize things, and it's also mentally stimulating,” I explained as we ventured to the street. “A mystery is a question without an answer, and curious minds are looking for answers. As you can guess, I have a curious mind.” “But are there mysteries you don't want answers to?” she inquired further. “Uuhh . . .” I was briefly overcome by doubt. “No, I don't think so. A mystery does not repulse. It attracts,” I countered. “What kind of a mystery is that which does not reward for its solving?” A bicyclist passed us from behind, thankfully by a wide berth. “The kind that reveals an unpleasant surprise” Embee said. A flock of autumn leaves carried by a breeze rustled along the street. “Were you thinking of a fruit-flavored hard candy with a spicy core?” “Why, well . . .” she hemmed and chuckled. “Not really, but it's a fair example. They were inviting, and seemed benign. I should've known better, though, but I didn't believe those two ponies when they warned me. Shame on me.” “Oh, well, it's a learning experience. Next time, um . . . check it before you eat it.” Reminded me of that clip of a TV host discovering a crushed candy stuck to his shoe, and then eating it. Gross! But it wasn't candy, but something his cat had chucked up. Gross times infinity! Also, how stupid could one be to eat something that was stuck under their shoe. Sheesh! Upon arriving at an intersection, we waited for an approaching van to pass before we crossed. As we waited, I spied quite the fine thing. “Wo-how, look at that,” I said in a low, hushed tone. “At what?” Embee asked, clueless and casting glances all around. “There, on the other side,” I tried to verbally point at what was clear as day. “Hm?” Finally, she was finding the mark. “Ohhh.” She looked at me with a wry smile. “Would you say that's a fine piece of a man?” “Huh?” Her insinuation left me dumbfounded, along with cranking up my body temperature. I hadn't seen any people here, let alone guys . . . except for one who was walking away and down the street in jeans and a t-shirt. Perhaps unwisely light for early autumn. “No, uh, no. That's, that's not what I had my eyes on. What they were on is over there, at that blue . . .” In my flummoxed state, my embarrassment shifted to mild abashment. “I would say it's beautiful, but uhm, well . . .” “That blue beautiful . . . Ah.” Embee finally saw the main attraction. “Yes, that is . . . that I must take a closer look.” Crossing the street and turning right, I approached the spectacular legend. “Don't see these often, especially of this kind and in this condition. It almost looks untouched.” “Uhm, okay.” Embee rushed ahead and gently halted me. She then pointed her already raised limb. “So, what is this thing that you're so fascinated about?” “It's a Subaru Impreza WRX, I'm guessing version two, from the mid 90's. In blue and with gold rims as you can see, just as the iconic rally car,” I explained as I began to do an inspective walkaround. “This could be a 22b, though that'd make it exceptionally rare.” I stopped momentarily to peer through a window into the interior. “It'd be right-hand drive if it were, as I understand the 22b was Japan-only. So, this could be an RS coupe? I'd have to learn more about Imprezas to truly know.” “To your credit, you know a lot more than I do, or expected you to know,” Embee noted as I continued my tour. “I'm not seeing any obvious aftermarket parts or tacky modifications. That's great. The exhaust seems to be stock as well. I can tell by its oval-shaped muffler. Commonly replaced to produce a heftier sound, and sometimes improve performance. This car seems to be unmodified, though if I am wrong, then I must say I'm impressed at how subtle it is.” Having completed my lap, I returned to Embee. “I adore cars that retain their original condition. It's like a well-preserved piece of history. Many owners modify their cars, to set it apart from the factory standard, but in perhaps an ironic twist, it's those that remain unchanged that ultimately become the most valued.” “Oh, um, I suppose that is ironic.” She looked at me, past me, then again at me. Her brows furrowed. “I'm sorry to say this, but it looks like any car to me.” “Mmmhh, yes, but not quite. It's much more than just any car. Look at what's behind it.” We travelled a short distance to get a better look at the silver appliance of stylistic uncreativeness. “This here is a bulging, loaf-shaped bunker of metal and plastic that bears a face of that which wants to show the world that it's powerful and aggressive, grrrr.” I then groaned, as if reacting to a display of the described vacuous aggrandizing. “It'll be an underappreciated classic in twenty years,” I ironized as I turned around with swiftness. “This Subaru, however, now look at its face.” “Face?” I heard Embee say in apparent confusion. That's what I had said, hadn't I? Once we had gathered at the proper location, I resumed talking. “This is from the twilight of the era when the common car looked docile, when their headlights were four corners connected by straight lines, perhaps with some modest curvature. The Impreza differs by trading docility for confidence. Not aggression. Not bravado. Confidence. And assertiveness. It knows that it's not like the other cars. It's an athlete, but doesn't need to show off, because it knows that's for the insecure. Granted, the Impreza has a spoiler on its back and flared bumpers, but that's comparable to having a muscular build as opposed to being lean. I think.” A bloated "compact" quietly rolled by; I regarded it with contempt and disgust. “An unexciting city car with tapered headlights and a large air intake,” I muttered. “Eh?” Embee said quizzically. “That car over there had the look of that which hates everything. I'm sure its first generation was cute as a puppy, greeting everything with an innocuous and soft "hi". I wish more cars today were fun and carefree, rather than sharing the common and generic styling queues seen on almost every car. Everything has sharp, angry headlights, looking to be taken seriously. Where's the creativity? Where are the new Bertones, Gandinis, and Giugiaros poised to give a swift kick to this tiresome trend of homogeneity? I mean, when so many cars look feisty and ferocious, it . . . I don't know . . .” I sighed, actually becoming dejected. “Neither do I know, but it, it's, uhm . . .” Embee's inability to contribute, while not unexpected, was discouraging and dismaying, and enkindled a feeling of self-doubt. Who in their right mind would want to be that jaded miser who lambasts the modern times and harps on about things being better in the old days? Though, on that note, I didn't like what constituted as popular music in my school years, but 80's music filled me with emotions I couldn't properly describe. “Ah!” Embee exclaimed. “Yes, it loses its meaning and effectiveness, and you then begin desiring for the different, or their diametric opposites; the unassuming and gentle. I'd certainly be beside myself with frustration if every dress was a poodle skirt with lace frills.” “Yes, precisely,” I chirped. “I too would . . . Well, actually, I'm not that much of a dress-minded, uhm . . .” No, verbally referring to myself as a female demanded more bravery than I could muster. I also didn't know what a poodle skirt with lace frills was. “But you make an interesting point. Clothes and cars aren't the same, but clothes can be the means to express one's persona, and that'll be very hard to do if all clothes are the same. Much like cars, they have to serve my practical needs first, but it stands to reason that they have to synergize with my self-image as well. When it does, it feels and looks good; an important combination applicable to both cars and clothes! As silly as this is, I'd choose a Grumman-Olson P800 over a modern sports coupe. It just seems like it's more fun to drive. For being a no-frills utility vehicle, it's rather stylish, too.” “I have to take your word for it.” Embee's neutral and unstressed acknowledgment indicated that my enthusiasm was, despite her commendable efforts, eluding her full understanding. “But, um . . . I digress. It's possible that an apparent lack of aesthetical variation has sparked an interest toward the uncommon, or in this case, the past designs.” I gave the always-poised Subaru a once-over glance. “Designs that perhaps, I have to admit, were ubiquitous once. The datedness is what makes it charming?” “Or as you put earlier, charming as a cute puppy.” I hadn't realized it earlier, but that sounded soppy. Although, I had said it with earnest . . . “Yeah.” No point in trying to deny it. “I have a soft spot for cars that exude sympathy,” I said as I rubbed the pavement, combating my embarrassment. “In all fairness, though, this car's not cute and cuddly. Quite the opposite. Well, it certainly isn't ugly, but it's confident and uhm, what would be the opposite of cuddly?” “Mmmmh . . . Masculine?” “Masc . . . uhm, could it?” I looked back at it and her a few times, trying to decide whether to affirm her observation or employ clever wording to covertly distance myself from corroborating a notion that females appreciated masculinity in its many forms. Alas, time was short, and so, begrudgingly, I conceded to her presumption. “Hadn't actually realized that could be . . .” I said in an insightful tone, suppressing my chagrin. “Maybe it's not? You have a keen eye for cars, so you'd know better than I ever could. But I can for sure say that masculinity doesn't exclude cuddliness,” Embee said with an air of sensual recollection. “That's some, er, carnal wisdom,” I opined jestfully, and that was as far as I'd go with acting like I was a hetero female. Her giggle further emphasized how out of my league I was. “Anyhow, this Subaru's also honest and unpretentious, appearing as it is rather than trying to be what it isn't.” I had a sudden moment of realization. “I wish I could say that about myself,” I whispered pensively to myself. “What?” Embee said. I felt a tug behind my cheeks as the relevant muscles brought my ears up. “Hon, I didn't hear you.” “Well, uh, I said that, or tried to . . .” If I had only thought in advance what I'd talk about. Oh! “An honest car can be cute.” On second thought, I should've kept that to myself . . . “A car, cute?” Embee was bemusedly intrigued. The cat was out of the bag now. Hard as it was to admit, though, my apparent femaleness made it more permissible to express my softer side. “I wasn't sure if I wanted to say it out loud, but um, well, you said cuddliness and, um, I thought and then said . . . Yeah, a car can be cute. Like, um . . . a Volvo 144.” Though being rectilinear with hard lines perhaps made it masculine to some degree? “Some of them had these small wipers across their round headlights that gave them a mournful frown that seems to plead for a hug and to be told everything will be alright.” That was . . . femalish, but the real dilemma was on whether to permit or disallow it in the future. I would go back eventually, and as sad as it were, I'd have to then be extremely careful in where, to whom, and how I'd show this side of me again. Also, wipers . . . Something about them . . . “Oh . . .” Embee moaned. “You'd hug a car?” She then chuckled warmly, and I too felt a warmth emerging all over myself. “That's kind of sweet.” “It is?” I was genuinely surprised. “Well, of course it is. Um, thanks for understanding. It means a lot,” I said shrinkingly, relieved she hadn't laughed at me. When she wordlessly came close, I already knew what to expect: she did that neck-over-mine pony hug of soothing, empathy, and strength. Like an iguana puzzled by being gently petted, I cast a half-bewildered look around as I said, “Would be great if I had one of those cuties here, so you could see it for yourself. But they were common long before my time.” Being aware that not all of them had survived to this day made me sad. That then led to a dreadful deduction; some heartless miscreants might've actually gone out of their way and deliberately harmed those innocent-looking and completely defenseless cars! Before I could become visibly upset, I sighed and collected myself. “Well, maybe we're lucky and see one?” “Maybe,” I replied to Embee's inspirational comment, knowing that I'd then have to put my words into action—assuming I'd be given permission to engage in the interaction of compassion. “But a distinct and appealing look is exactly what caught my attention when I—Oh. Hold on, hold on, this isn't mine to have, but . . .” Images began to whizz before my eyes. “Uhm, be ready to bop me. What I'm going to do is risky, but I fully trust you to do the right thing.” “Huh?” Embee was caught unaware, maybe just as much as I had been. “Yes, I'm ready.” Raising her limb into a ready position, I became briefly alarmed that she'd beat the literal snot out of me. “What are you going to do?” “Okay, this will feel weird. I have to talk about things that feel like I was there, experiencing them, in third person . . .” I took a breath. “She wanted a car for a purpose. Found one that was different by its looks, but also upon further inspection . . .” She had requested to see the engine bay. “Less complexity . . .” The engine and its associated components didn't fill out the engine bay; the ground was visible. “Got it, the car, to home, hard as it was to drive, with the difficulties it imposed.” Aware of my increasing confusion, I shook my head lightly and paused momentarily. “In the evening, though . . .” I appraised the unrelated but sufficiently similar vehicle by us, then walked to its outer front wheel. “Checking the wheel, did she, I?” Hesitantly, I gently poked the rubber, mentally apologizing for the unsolicited physical contact. “I'm not sure what that was for. Maybe something was there? I . . . then went inside . . . closed the door. Was she . . . sitting on the seat? Yes. Content and eager.” Burdened with a nascent revelation, I faced Embee. “Have you, have ever . . . had an Oatsam?” I asked. “Yes . . .” she said warily. “Oatsam, is what?” Strained, I drew circles in the air to spur her to do the work for me. “It's an oat cookie . . . and . . . well, they're good, and they come in a package of eight. Oh yes, the wrapper unfolds itself with the touch, specifically when you want it to come off. Some kind of an interaction with a pony's own magic.” “And that's . . . What, really? It does that? That's amazing!” Although why was this amazing? This invention was hardly new. “Hon, may I suggest that you stop,” Embee implored gently. “Yeah, um, well, not yet. I want to know . . .” This stroll along the border of minds was taxing, but if I stayed on this course, I might unshroud the source of my crisis. “There, see . . .” I pointed at the car that I saw superimposed over this other one. “In that, in mine of hers . . .” I could see into it like it was a wireframe render. Pure light was ebbing and flowing like aurora borealis to the front wheels from the seat. I should've made that shorter by connecting it to the steering wheel. What had I connected? “A reactive spell . . . Touch, and it works . . .” The strange daze that I was in began to abate. “Telekinesis. It . . . is the projecting of magic to a desired, normally inert, object or objects. But that requires constant concentration, and controlling a dozen things for protracted duration requires the kind of constitution that I . . . not, she has not . . . Knew this long before . . . got ahold of a car. She ah . . . umh . . . oh wow . . . that's freaky.” The car's bumper pulsed alternatingly between gray and blue; it stopped when I prodded at it in confusion. As I lifted my head, the street lined by an unbroken row of inner-city apartments changed to a parking lot aside a gently curving road with a grassy field on its other side. I became transfixed by sheer confusion, as these two realities behaved like a lenticular image. “Do you think I can help you a bit?” my pegasus acquaintance said; suddenly I attained a strange sense of clarity despite the bewildering event. “Well, I truly don't know, but I'll gladly accept it. The most basic and common spell of them all is the mind-projecting spell. By studying it extensively and taking from what I learned, I was able to enchant sections of the car to respond and then maintain a link—” My friend abruptly raised her hoof and jabbed me in the snout. “Hey!” I cried out. Embee didn't even look sorry. “What was that for?” I reached to scrub my—I had a snout? And a hoof and . . . “Oh, of course . . .” Ponies had these, and that was . . . not so fun for me to have. “I . . . I should have not been so adamant . . .” I lamented ruefully, falling to silence as I contemplated expressing gratitude or asking forgiveness. “Don't worry about, Viv,” Embee said, steadfast but soft. “Now, do you think we should go?” “Might be a very wise idea.” Shakily, as if unfamiliar with how to move, I took myself from the street back to the sidewalk. I had a careful look around, afraid I had attracted a crowd, but I was in luck. This was a particularly quiet side street off another quiet street. The odd ability of seeing the appearance of my car that obviously couldn't occupy the same space as the Subaru remained. Speaking of wise ideas, I averted my eyes before I'd be sucked in again. “But I don't understand. How could that . . . Whatever she did, how did it put me in here?” As if to spite me, a strong gust drew itself over me like a carpet of unsolicited caresses. “Maybe it didn't, but do you think Peachy can help you at discovering what did?” “I don't know the answer to that,” I said, half-vacantly. Embee had taken me out of the fog, but the proverbial moisture lingered on. I hoped I could at least glance at a car without seeing it turn into an apparition. “Then follow me so we can go ask Peachy herself what she knows and what she can do,” she instructed as she began making her way down the street. Unthinkingly, I glanced at the closeby Subaru. Or I think it was supposed to be a glance, but it held my attention just long enough that my vision was once again filled by the wireframe render, except now the aurora borealis was crisscrossing all over it. Spooked, I looked ahead, where this street merged with a busier one. As hard as I tried not to reflect, that vision showed more of what had been done. It wasn't only about controlling the wheels, but also the pedals, the gear stick, the windows, and redundancy—oh, no, no, no! I couldn't think of this, not now, not here, and maybe not ever! “You're coming, right?” Embee called from a short way ahead. I took one step; a tiny pebble rolling with a complaint beneath my foot made short order of that. I had one look down and lifted a leg in puzzlement. I was in that strange and confusing moment again where I wasn't quite sure of what I was seeing or feeling. I was this thing, but I wasn't. “Are you feeling fine?” “I-I am . . . I'm still recovering, soh . . . sorry,” I called back, or tried to. My high register perturbed me, even if it shouldn't. She was naturally okay with this voice, but I was only tolerating it out of necessity, and sadly, incremental—albeit reluctant—acceptance. I caught up to Embee, right as I found my will to speak again, though not the will to look her in the eye. “You must be mad at me.” “About all that back there with the car just then?” Embee inferred correctly, then hummed lightly. “No, not at all.” “Are you joking?” I couldn't tell whether she was serious or snide. “I wasn't,” she said levelly, to my astonishment. “On the contrary, your approach was remarkably intelligent.” Embee's unfaltering optimism and leniency regarding my obviously careless and unsuccessful venture was simply baffling. Inclined as I was to strongly refute her, I decided to tone it down to skepticism. “How you came to that deduction is beyond me, most likely due to my intellect being beneath yours.” “Oh, now you are joking.” Embee's casual response instilled me with mounting exasperation, even irritation, not to mention that she indirectly suggested my intelligence was above or on par with hers. “But allow me to explain. You understood the risks, you had me on the ready for when or if you lose control, and I did precisely as you had trusted and expected to do. That to me is an example of forethought and planning.” Tired of the unrequited praise, I let her know what I thought: “And to me it was plain improvisation.” Smiling widely at me, she came to a sudden stop. Instinctively, so did I. “Well, then you're a natural!” she said brightly as she poked me lightly in the shoulder. So stunned was I that not even my instincts could concoct the simplest of rebuttals, and my brain frayed further as it tried to digest her compliment. I had been ready—No, expecting her to call me out, that her doing the opposite was incomprehensible. How could she call me intelligent? I didn't think I was. I was only intelligent in comparison to the people I regularly interacted with. That didn't mean I was genuinely intelligent. At any moment, a person could make me feel dumber than a rock and that . . . That wouldn't feel great. But was it better to feel inescapably inadequate than to let the compliments potentially create a false sense of superiority? No, that'd only lead to deleterious and ultimately destructive depression. A middle ground had to be somewhere. Maybe that middle ground was humility. If so, slipping into the destructive, self-effacing mire was still a dangerous reality. “Bit busier here,” Embee said suddenly. Indeed, I hadn't even noticed that we had come to the end of the street and were back at the heavily trafficked avenue. I promptly shelved my introspections. “Hmm, should we talk about something? A casual topic?” Embee suggested. “I guess we could. Let me think of something . . .” I took stock of the active city life whizzing by, now with even more colorful ponies here and there. Some were above the rooflines, gliding along currents like birds. Two descended down to a windowed balcony on the third floor, shared words I couldn't hear, and were soon let in by a pony on the inside. Bedazzled by the sight unimaginable, I set a gaze on Embee that occasionally shifted to her saddlebags that hid her wings. Looking toward the house on the other side of the avenue, Embee produced a smile that all but said she too had entered homes that way. It was then I realized I had become so preoccupied that I hadn't noticed we had stopped. “Oh, um . . . I don't know what to talk about.” “Really? I was so sure there you'd have it.” Bemused by the sighting of the flying, colorful divergences in reality, her amused chuckle didn't inflict me with embarrassment. Conversely, I replicated her initiative to resume our walk. “Well, I can do the honors. You talked passionately about that car back there, and how cars look. Care to enlighten me on what got you to do so?” “I don't know, I just wanted to?” I replied, though afterwards I began to look for a deeper cause. I also had to check that we weren't in proximity to overly curious ears. “Could've been a subconscious compulsion fostered by a fear of losing myself, reducing the threshold of revealing what I feel strongly about, even if normally I'd be averse to talk about it.” She cocked a brow. “Why'd you be averse? Haven't you talked about it with your friends?” She assumed I had friends? She wasn't entirely wrong, but . . . “Oh, I've considered it, but I'm afraid those guys wouldn't care.” They'd laugh and scoff at my fondness for the plain, cute, and the older, restrained designs, much like how their love of tuning or drifting didn't impress me. “Guys? Male friends?” Embee had produced a picture where I stood out for reasons I should've anticipated and prepared for. “Uh . . . Yeah.” Did I want to reinforce her perception, though? Now could be a rare opportunity to cast some doubt, though. “But um, there's four . . . and with me, that's five, and well, that makes one of the guys, too.” “Does it?” Embee, to my dismay, expressed the wrong kind of doubt. Now she probably thought I was desperate to fit in with a group where I didn't belong. Her false inferral combined with my nervousness robbed me of my courage, and I remained silent. “Well, didn't mean to make it a negative, sorry. It's really nice that you're getting along with guys, but of course, I must ask: Do you have female friends as well?” Sadly aware that I had let my chance pass, I sighed. “Mom, I guess . . .” I replied apathetically. “But if you mean in my age bracket, uh . . . Cousins, but they don't really count, as I rarely see them, let alone talk with them.” “Oh, that's a pity.” Under my current mood, Embee's compassion was mildly warming. “Don't they miss you?” “Eh . . . Maybe. I don't know. If they did, they would've done something about it. It's not like I'm giving them the cold shoulder.” If we talked, though, I'd still be extremely unwilling to stray from the typical and prevailing preconception of masculinity. Sometimes, I envied females for having a cheering crowd urging them to kick stereotypes in the hiney, fight oppression in its many forms, and tell whoever inisted women can't pursue "manly" interests like enduro biking and whatnot can ski into a bog. But if an unchallenged Adonis of all time so much as suggested liking needlepoint, he'd forever be looked at askew as a deranged weirdo who sleeps with men. Double standards, why did they have to exist? “So, how about a role model? Do you have any?” I put Embee's question under a microscope and tried to see if I could apply it to a character, real or fictional, that was both tough and soft. “I mean, a female role model?” She had to go there? “I don't need any.” And the instant I gave my terse reply, I envisioned the mane six gasp in unison and then plaintively inquire for a proper explanation, to which I'd apologetically tell that a female role model wouldn't be constructive to my male self-image. Even Embee had noted my acerbic rebuffal. “Can I ask you something?” she said carefully. It was for the best I mellow out. “Sure.” I brought out a smirk. “You like to ask me a lot.” “You can ask me anything whenever you like.” I was glad she was able to chuckle at my perceptive remark, as that meant the minor fracture in the atmosphere had been mended—though that was a strange analogy. “I'd like to ask you what kind of a girl do you see in yourself?” “What?” I said in a tiny voice, completely blindsided and in disbelief. I wasn't even upset by her using that word. She would eventually use it, I knew, but . . . I wasn't one. I could pretend to be one passively. To actively, though . . . No, I couldn't—I didn't want to! “Did you just, I mean, you did call me that?” I stammered, my internal distress allowing my impetuousness a moment of control. “A girl? Yes, I did. Would you say it is wrong?” Now I had a second chance to . . . permanently alter the mostly pleasant dynamic we had established. “Well, calling me that is . . .” If she were convinced I wasn't female, then she might take a less appreciative stance to my vulnerability, emotionality and, yes, femininity. Assuming she'd even lend me the courteous benefits thereafter. “Er, calling me that feels . . . not right. I'm an adult now.” “I'm not sure what you mean. Is there a cutoff age for being a girl?” Embee inquired bemusedly. Genuine puzzlement emerged as I took a serious gander at her question. “Uh, I don't know. Never though it had a specific age.” However, concerning myself with a matter that shouldn't even pertain to me convinced me to distance myself from it. “Well, whatever. Seems it's just arbitrary after all.” “Like its own heap paradox, huh?” Her knowing of that terrestrial concept left me speechless in astonishment. But that was to assume it was an exclusively terrestrial concept . . . “Let's settle it by decreeing that there's no cutoff age. You were a little girl, and now you're a big girl. Once a girl, always a girl!” Initially irked, I reciprocated her onefold, albeit improvident, merriness with a smile out of politeness—but also as a means to conceal my discomfort and even terror. Just because I had been that . . . this for a little over a day didn't mean I'd always be. Would I? “But let's go back to my question from earlier.” Hold on! What question? Oh no! “When you think of yourself, when you look at yourself, what kind of a girl do you see yourself to be?” I had an urge to bolt, but I was cognizant enough to know that wasn't a solution at all. “Well, um . . . I'm . . . I'm not sure I want to . . .” I said timidly, daunted by her question, pondering whether this charade was worth enduring this self-identity crisis. Were I to cast off this adopted alias, I would . . . still have this face and this voice, shrouded in this impertransible veil of femaleness. Would I be more free, or more aware of how trapped I was? “Are you afraid? You have nothing to be afraid of, hon. I'm not judging.” Embee had most assuredly noticed my dejected demeanor and reticence—and of course she could say that to another female! Alas, that benefit was too precious to risk losing with the revealing of my real identity. I might still have Embee by my side, but I'd be alone with my woes. But I so wanted to be honest . . . and I guess I could. “The kind that acts stoic and cool, but is actually sensitive.” Considering that I hadn't been doing a stellar job at maintaining that façade as of late, my admission was easy to make. “And by saying that, even that little, says that you're stronger than you give credit to yourself.” There was poetic, empowering beauty in Embee's simple words, but I felt drained, even a touch defeated. “I'm glad that you said that.” I smiled appreciatively at her as I battled with a dilemma. I was being more like I wanted to be like, while being less like myself in identity. The horrible irony. I shouldn't have to be more like "Vivienne" to be more like myself! “Here's a novel idea that I hope will ease your mind,” Embee started after we had navigated past a group of ponies and humans. “Be what you feel like you are, not what you think you should be.” “I . . . Yes, I've been thinking of that, and it's . . . it'll take some time for me to . . . to not be afraid of being walked over. You understand me?” In all honesty, that was a lesser fear. Changing my character, even for the better, might be perilous when the connection to my true identity was precariously tenuous already. “Yes, I do,” she said, taking a distinctly sober tone. “Just don't forget that you don't have to be afraid with me.” “I won't, and appreciate that,” I thanked, painfully aware of how afraid I was of her warm and bright demeanor concealing a morning star of prejudice. I trusted her; I should trust her more, but . . . Could she have been right? Had I now encountered one of those mysteries I didn't wish to unshroud? I had to discover her disposition, though! Somehow. Sometime. Cleverly and surreptitiously. Or in other words, I wouldn't ever, since in trying to do so I'd obviously mess it up in more ways than one and end up humiliated, embarrassed, and disgraced. “Want to talk about anything?” Embee suggested. It seemed like a warm invitation, oddly enough. “Yeah,” I replied thoughtlessly, half-aware of my depressed tone. “If you don't mind, I want to talk about cars.” That would be great. It'd be a healing process. “By all means,” she kindly granted me the permission and privilege. “I once had a dream where I had a Pontiac Trans-Am, the black kind with a golden eagle painted on it. That was soooo cool. I wouldn't even drive it fast. I'd feel great just being in it, basking in its immeasurable awesomeness.” A billion images spilled across my mental eye like candy from a bag torn open too fiercely, and just as quickly as they rushed by, I had a hold of one for retelling. “Oh, that reminds me of that time me and one of my friends were playing this old racing game. His dad is one of the coolest, collecting old games and consoles. He must have a hundred games or more. So, anyway, instead of driving supercars, we used a cheat code to drive estate cars. That was a lot of fun, because, as the saying goes, it's more fun to drive slow cars fast than drive fast cars slow.” “Estate car? Pon-te-ack?” Embee verbalized, both confused and intrigued. With my spirits on the rebound, I felt like I could actually do this. “I'll try to explain . . .”

Suomibrony

435

Original Character,Human,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

First Pony View

Some dreams you might never want to end… …but what happens when the dream really doesn't?

incomplete

<p>Have you ever had a dream that just seemed so <i>real</i>, that it was impossible to say for certain that it was even a dream at all? A dream that, despite all of its impossibilities, seemed to re-write your entire perception of reality, re-writing your sense of what—and indeed, <i>who</i>—you are? Accepting change is hard enough as it is. But when you're a <span style="color:#808000">somebody</span> who wakes up as a <span style="color:#6495ED">somepony</span>, how do you cope with the impact such a drastic change has on your mind and body? With changes like these, it must surely just be a lucid dream—albeit a suspiciously <i>accurate one</i>—just brimming with potential and ripe for exploration. So you might as well suck it up and make the most of these distressingly…unusual circumstances, and seize this <span style="color:#008000">psychological adventure</span> before you wake up and the dream ends.<br/>After all, this couldn't possibly be real, so the dream must come to an end eventually…right?</p>

teen

2022-09-20T04:31:37+00:00

2022-09-20T04:31:37+00:00

First Pony View A My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic fan fic By Suomibrony Chapter 25 For Better and/or Worse. During our return towards the hospital, Embee and I had discussed cars in general despite her spotty understanding of them, not forgetting to summarize what a Pontiac Trans-Am and an estate car were. Our conversation meandered, as they tended to, coming to an unplanned stopover at an automotive icon from the land of the rooster. I had already described its appearance in brief, but I had to mention its sound as well. “Just like how it looks like nothing else, then and today, it also has an unforgettably adorable purr with an undertone of, hmm, a whine?” Shame that only I could hear the sympathetic tin snail in my mind. “A purring whine, you say?” Embee remarked dubiously. “And that makes it adorable?” “For a car that was given very little, if any, consideration toward aesthetics, it does, hard as it is to believe. Accidentally adorable? Imagine that,” I said with the warmth of abashment as we walked up to the final pedestrian crossing where we waited for the signal. We were now a street away from the hospital, a monolithic concrete sugar cube that imbued me with both excitement and dread. “Imagining is all I can do.” Our safe passage granted, Embee cast glimpses at the cars around us as we made our crossing, none of which I could call adorable, much less endearing. Pity. “Hmhh,” I hummed, wistful for 'friendly' cars. “Well, as many words as I could employ, they won't ever make for a comprehensive image.” I took notice of a sizable collection of water at the base of the sloping road up to the hospital. “I could try scooping up water from a puddle and see if I can recreate it that way. Just like how last night with . . . when . . .” My unconcerned mood eroded as the events of that emotionally tumultuous time reemerged. “But I wish not to think or talk about that.” The brief and partial recollection had already placed an invisible burden on me that weighed my head down. Pushing myself up the gradient felt harder now that an increased awareness of my physical self had resurfaced. I didn't want to devote a thought to that, but it was all around me. This was only temporary, I assured myself. I should hold my head up, and not appear dejected. All would be fine soon, perhaps. Unrelatedly, two ponies standing ahead were having a friendly conversation. “Look what I got here for you on your special day, to my best of friends!” The red unicorn floated a colorful book out of his green saddlebag. “Whoa cool! It's I'm a unicorn, and what's a jacuzzi? Just what I wanted for my birthday!” The magic bubble transitioned from deep blue to mallow as the other, sand brown unicorn pony took hold of the hardcover book. “This'll go great with I'm a pegasus, and what's a nacho? You're the best!” As we passed the duo, I had to wonder if the hug he gave the other was of romantic nature. However, I had been unusually unrestrained in hugging lately without expressing or producing romantic feelings . . . I hummed, briefly intrigued by the book passing from one pony's magic shroud to the other's. “Having a decent grasp on my magic is incredible when contrasted with the fact that I don't know how to run,” I quietly notified Embee. “I suppose that is quite the contrast, if not a reversal. You knew nothing of the former and never had to think on how to do the latter.” “Obviously.” I directed an upwards gaze, slightly irked by her casual summarization of my ineptitude. I nonetheless saw her pensive countenance, perhaps understanding that she had accidentally struck my self-esteem. “Do you wish to learn? To run, I mean.” “Wha, oh, weh, uh . . .” Her earnest proposal sent a spasm of shock through my body that would've brought me to a halt if my subconscious maintenanceof my ambulation cycle hadn't successfully repulsed it. It did, however, make the very flexible end of my vertebrae curl skyward for a second. “I-I, it's, I did, err, to tea . . . I taught myself how to trot, so that's something, but uh, running, I . . . I'm not sure,” I stammered. Again, my head fell, and I observed my legs move into view and then trail out of view as I ambled onwards. I rebounded in disgust and mild horror, but nonetheless, I reasoned that knowing additional locomotive modes wascogent, even if attaining them required subjecting myself to psychological discomfort. “Yes, I'm sure . . . I have to know.” “You have to? Do you want to?” Embee gently expressed her doubt, undeniably concerned for my well-being. “No, I honestly don't want to,” I said in a droning, sullen tone. “But as much as I hate to admit it and . . . This is hard to say, so please excuse me if this sounds convoluted, but . . . knowing how to be what I certainly don't like being means I won't panic when I don't know how to be it. If I know how to run, I won't panic when I don't know how to run. Or I could just tell myself that I don't need to concern myself with any of that, since this'll be over soon anyhow. But I know that there's no guarantee I won't be . . . this . . . for the long haul.” “Don't fear, it won't come to that.” Embee was prompt in diluting my concerns. “It's just a day, or maybe two. You'll do fine.” “I admire and envy your optimism.” I sighed wearily, refusing to form even the simplest predictions of what two days of pony life could even be like. Actually, it wasn't the pony aspect that frightened me . . . “Finally, we're here,” Embee said joyfully. “Yeah . . .” We made it up to the summit of the low eminence the hospital stood on. My fate was inside, yet I was beset by arresting trepidation. “Well, what's holding you?” she queried, giggling lightly. “Uh, something, I don't know.” I was looking up towards the tallest floor, as if living out here, in uncertainty, was preferable to going inside to learn the brightness—or the bleakness—of my future. “So, hon, what was that car called?” Embee drew my attention to the topic we had happily discussed a few minutes earlier. Despite my confusion regarding the question, I realized she was easing me out from my sudden petrification. “You once called it two horses?” “Ahah, yes, 2CV, meaning, two horses, and uh . . .”As I held my gaze on Embee, I suddenly began feeling like I was staring at a mirror; perturbed, I averted my gaze. “I really shouldn't think we are that. You can think so, for yourself, but I certainly don't want to do the same,” I defied with a tinge of aggravation. “I don't, and I'm not, and I won't be, and I cannot . . .” I whispered with defiance . . . and I only needed to hear my thoughts spoken with the wrong voice to know how little it mattered. “Oh, but I didn't say . . . we both are . . . I see,” Embee's tone changed from mild confusion to contriteness. “I'm very sorry, hon.” Rueful of my testy decorum, the silent crying I was doing on the inside gave me a soft and, incidentally, conciliatory tone. “Don't blame yourself, Embee. I'm not angry at you. I'm only being sensitive and snappy, for reasons we both know.” I had meant to follow that with more, but aware that I would inevitably expose my inner turmoil in a public space, I sighed deeply instead. “Let's move on.” For saddening her, I castigated myself by taking the initiative of being the first to walk up to the sliding doors. “Well . . . It's nice to have a sunny and warm day again, don't you think?” Embee asked with nary a sign of the sadness she once had. I presumed she wanted to reignite an amicable mood with weather talk. Hardly an exciting topic, but it wouldn't feature sensitive details to be overheard by uninvited parties. “After two days of rough weather, sure,” I said neutrally as we navigated through the moderately busy atrium. At least my sensitive hearing wasn't being assaulted by the cry of a baby like it had last time. “Two?” Embee's surprise nonplussed me, though my attempt to correct her was aborted by the feeling of diminution when a gathering of heedless but chatty people walked past us. “You said two days of rain?” “Two, yeah . . .” I thought back, checked, double-checked, and triple-checked, and only then was I certain that my memory matched my statement. “It rained yesterday and the day before, though the first rains were lighter.” Another group walked by, spooking me slightly. Being amidst humans. Of average height. At least twice as tall as I was. This really shouldn't be unnerving. But it was because it stood in contrast to what I was and wasn't. I hated this! “Sorry, hon, but no, it didn't rain for two days,” Embee countered. “Chalk it up to discrepancies between parallel universes,” I whispered to her with mild difficulty while I subdued my skittishness. I then relocated myself to a nearby, relatively secluded alcove with two doors to . . . storage or maintenance rooms? I didn't care! Embee had dutifully followed me; I faced her. “Maybe the Golden Gate Bridge is green in this realm, I don't know,” I continued, trying to lessen my stress with a modicum of levity, though a spell of curiosity catched at the opportunity. “I wonder what else is different.” “Wonder about that later, hon, and please wander with me this way,” Embee gestured towards something just a bit down the hallway; a glance that way revealed an elevator. Knowing that meeting Peachy was prudent, if not belated, I trailed Embee obediently. As the doors parted, we took ourselves into the spacious enclosure of vertical motion. Unfortunately, it soon became packed with humans, which proved intimidating. My instincts were going into an almost primal state, putting me into a mode of a cornered animal trying to camouflage with its surroundings when escape was impossible. I wasn't really that what my instincts suggested, but so much of my body corresponded to that impression that I was unable to free myself from it, though a bastion of rationality held on. I was so absorbed in this act of predator avoidance that I didn't realize I had been staring with a blank intensity at the tiny gap where the floor met the door until the latter withdrew. As the occupants disembarked, I remained catatonic by my lonesome. “Hey, you coming?” Embee was waiting; like in a trance, I joined up with her. “I should consider the similarities instead,” I resumed talking as if I hadn't paused at all, my flat tone betraying my disarrayed state of mind. As if on cue, my mind went through a slideshow of matching details at high-speed. “The same home, the same furniture, mostly the same furniture, the same car, maybe the same car, it could be the same car . . . But so many similarities anyhow. Too many similarities. Too many similarities?” A sudden, apprehensive confusion caused my ears to droop and left my mouth slightly ajar. “Yes, hon?” That was more of an inquiry on my well being than a wish for me to continue verbalizing my deduction. Presumably. I tried to make sense of what my rhythmically spoken deductions and wildly oscillating feelings told me. “It's disconcerting.” “Sorry, hon, I don't quite follow. What's disconcerting, and how so?” she asked, but a glance around her surroundings seemed to give her second thoughts. “Actually, try to think about it and have it figured out once we're with Peachy, okay? Can you follow me there?” After a moment's deliberation, I nodded my assent. Not many people here, but ponies instead. Less unsettling, fortunately, but I was still a bit on edge. As we journeyed toward my fate through the corridors and past living creatures, I occupied myself with the cerebral challenge of converting abstruse emotions into apprehensible elocution. However, we arrived at a door sooner than I had expected; Embee rapped it gently. “Peachy? You there?” Embee called out, with no response. “No?” Sidling over to the keypad adjacent to the door, she deftly tapped in the buzzer. When that too yielded nothing, she looked at me with a sigh. “We have to wait then.” “Greeeaat,” I complained, annoyed that we'd now have to wait out here, where confidentiality was difficult. “But we don't have to wait here.” Embee produced a mischievous smile and began playing with the number keys on the keypad. I felt nothing but demoralising inadequacy as I raised my own limb up for a brief evaluation. Seemed like taking this limb to my face-level, much less higher than that, demanded willpower equal to that of stepping over a campfire naked. “Huh, it wasn't that?” Undaunted, she attempted again. “Ah,” she breathed with composed delight, shortly followed by her pushing the door open. I didn't wait around to follow her in. I was immediately intrigued by what I saw inside, least of which was the absence of Peachy. “What's with the, uh, new furniture and the cardboard boxes?” I counted six of them, a few closets, a few chairs of small size, and a bed that bore some similarity to that of a dentist's. “These weren't here the last time.” The door shutting with a noticeable thud earned my undivided attention. When my startled prey animal instinct faded, my eyes gravitated towards the far side of my back. That sight acted as a catalyst for my disorderly thoughts to coalescence. “Maybe you don't remember, but this room was looking really sparse. Sometime around midday yesterday, many hours before you arrived, a pipe started leaking above her office, so she had to move to another until it's taken care of,” Embee explained, having put herself by the desk at the far end of the office. “This one happened to be vacant. Maybe it could become hers. It's only a few rooms over anyhow.” She then stared out one of the windows to the right of the desk. “I was sure we'd be late, not her.” A smirk drew on her as she shot a look my way. “On the better side, now we won't be late.” I failed to reciprocate; a much more pertinent thought had taken priority. Alas, in my rush to speak, I made a vocalization that my mixed-up mind hadn't formed into coherent language. “Yes, hon?” She ambled to me. Rationality asserted itself and restored my ability to speak. “Disconcerting, ah yes, that I said, and with disconcerting I meant . . . I mean, if this were some random pony's body, rejecting the unfamiliar and unrelatable much like I do with the body itself would be almost instinctive. But if this is not that, but is . . . ahm . . .” Apprehension struck from the shadows and nearly disabled my speaking skills. “Is something closer . . . in terms of being identifiable.” Embee's brows were knit tight. “You're talking about her being this universe's you?” Her deduction was astonishingly poignant and unexpected. “You said what I couldn't bring myself to say.” However, now that she and I had broken the proverbial ice, I found an ounce of courage. “To be so physically disparate that it's often uncomfortable, yet being almost the same individual . . . That's unsettling. Disconcerting. I don't want to and can't be her. But the absence of one barrier between our identities is giving me a serious cause of concern.” “Consider this then: you and she are completely different, but only a select few aspects stand out as a match due to their striking similarity.” Embee's voice of calm and reason once again set my fears aside just enough for logic to assert itself. “So, instead of two close parallel lines overlapping, it's the intersection of two oblique lines, and I'm focused on that crossing because it's producing the brightest color?” I theorized. The bemused look on Embee evidenced that the mental image I had verbalized wasn't easy to transmit. “Putting it that way, yes, I think so.” My supposition, albeit cursory, motivated thinking on it further. “Those commonalities were then perhaps sufficient to blur the distinction between our realities and cause the swap of minds.” Embee's puzzled look again indicated she wasn't quick on comprehending the presented concept. I sighed lightly and decided to go and peer out the window while she caught up. Much to my chagrin, my stature meant I couldn't look down to the street. I'd have to actually brace myself on the window sill, though first I had to believe that the u-shapes at the end of my limbs didn't have or wouldn't gain the adhesive properties of wet soap. “Ahh,” I heard Embee breathe in shocked surprise in reaction to my minor lunge. I showed her an assuaging smile whilst I was technically standing upright. While still on all fours. With care I straightened my forelimbs while taking the necessitated steps with the other pair. “This is the only way I can get a good look down at the street. Normally, I would've pointed, but I don't feel like taking the risk of . . . of becoming unbalanced,” I explained, hiding a tinge of emerging sadness hidden behind annoyance. All these unnecessary complications just to satiate a speck of curiosity—“Aow!” Startled, I recoiled from the window, almost collapsing backwards onto my back. Reflexively having found my footing, I bit my tongue, subduing my flurry of emotions. “Are you okay, hon?” Embee asked, having already come to my side. “What happened?” “I, eh, ufh . . .” I drew breath, briefly dropping my head to meet a raised part of my limb. “I forgot I have a horn,” I told her with irritation in my quivering tone, then rolled my eyes up, whereupon I saw the two colors of my forelock. Mane. Hair! “It's just . . . I don't see it, the horn, so I guess I forgot it was there. Having it. Stupid really.” “Not stupid. Understandable.” Embee gave me a gentle nuzzle. “Did it hurt, though?” Comforted, I sighed. “No, it only felt weird. It has nerve connections, and having it slightly pushed into my skull . . . Egh, that makes it sound far worse than it felt. It was only a tiny tap, but I'm so not used to it. So yeah, I'm okay now. I'm only being awfully emotional over . . . kind of small things.” That was a prompt to analyze myself, but I didn't trust myself to make objective deductions when I wasn't calm and collected. I gave an indicative glance at the aperture to the sunny world outside. “I'll . . . I want to try again.” Undaunted, though heeding the words of caution spoken by Embee, I put myself back to making a reattempt at gazing down at the street. Maybe I'd spot a rare car by chance? “Mind swaps, you were saying something about that,” Embee drew attention to an earlier but interrupted topic. “Uh, could a mind swap happen by itself?” “It seems so unlikely, that it cannot be anything but impossible,” I said to Embee, who had relocated to one box, perhaps out of curiosity; I continued gazing down many floors below as I parsed together a more substantial guess. “Interuniversal mind swaps would be a common occurrence if all that was required is a few matching parameters from their respective universes.” A woman with a pram passing by a corner store below sparked an idea. “But if it received a push of some sort . . .” “By what?” Embee said inquisitively, her saddlebag inadvertently sliding atop a cardboard box that then halted her approach to me. “By what . . . Or whom, and if by whom, why?” I said while she effortlessly freed herself from the bind and, soon thereafter, her saddlebags, whereas I had begun feeling like I was playing the central character in a detective story. “Who else could've been there two nights ago at the perfect time and exact place to alter our respective fates? The evidence points at you-know-who.” “That's a considerable leap of judgement, hon, and also a bold accusation you're making,” Embee, to my surprise, said disapprovingly. “For all we know, she may've had just as little to do with this as you do. It could've been an accident, or a completely unrelated event that affected you both. You shouldn't ask why, but how, and certainly not pass judgement so quickly.” Dumbfounded, I faced away from her in shame. She had spoken wisdoms I would've expected out of myself. “I know that you regard her with anxiety, especially fearing that her identi—” “Don't say it,” I cut her off snappily, then immediately receded into staring at nothing in remorseful melancholy. “I already know. But I wish I didn't.” “I'm sorry, but it's better to know, even when that in itself is frightening. Trying to ignore the danger doesn't make it go away, after all. It only makes you more vulnerable to it.” Embee's reason delivered in a dulcet voice helped my head up. That's when I saw in my peripheral vision a cap resting on the floor near the door. How and when . . . It must've fallen off my head when the door had spooked me. “Perhaps that fear also makes you associate undue blame on her? Whenever you speak of her, or refer to her, it's never by name, and with resentment and apprehension. To put it in another way, you're depersonifying her. Maybe you haven't noticed that you do, but I have.” Resisting obstinance, I had to ignore the contrived distraction of collecting the desolate cap and ponder on Embee's insight. If I was antagonistic toward . . . her . . . It seemed plausible that I was disposed to disagree with anything related to . . . or might it have been the other way around? Regardless, Embee was correct, and I'd be doing myself a pernicious disservice denying it. “Think for a moment. What could she possibly gain by, well, taking over your life and leaving you with hers?” What would anypony gain from—Darned idiosyncrasy! “I don't know!” I cried out, frustrated and disturbed. Just to give myself a short breather, I decided to actually scoop that headwear off the floor. Alas, I was again not in the best of moods and tried to literally grab the item. Miserably, I sent it sliding across the floor to Embee. She beheld me with an empathetic gaze, then grabbed the cap with her teeth and laid it on a box. Enfeebled by my ineptitude, a bout of apathy engendered consideration for a risky endeavor. “I could know if I . . . If I try to think back to two days ago and learn what she knows.” “You what?” I was numb to Embee's gasp. “Oh no, you should not do that.” “I'm sure I won't, or I didn't do, or um . . .” Hold on. To where was that sentence leading to? I was trying to reference something I did? Or didn't do? “She did . . . didn't do . . .” Of course, now I recalled! I had assumed blame for my predicament rested on me. “I wasn't at fault,” I defended myself, as I . . . felt like my thoughts weren't here and confusing? Okay, what? “Now listen to me and don't think on it further.” I was aware, I believed, that was my alarmed friend. I hadn't had any cause for alarm myself though. “Okay.” Switches, levers, buttons, dials, and so on. All okay. Everything that was within physical reach had been connected and was functioning as intended. The wheels turned, and so did the pedals. All that was left was the awakening of the engine, and then I was ready to do a tentative test drive around the parking lot. But then . . . an anomaly? “Why . . . Why did . . . it do that? It wasn't supposed to . . .” “Viv, Viv,” somepo . . . No! No? Oh-ne . . . van . . . two, three? “Vivienne?” “Eh? Who?” That name . . . was for me? Mine? Name? Who said that name of mine that I associated with myself more than with the other . . . was showing me her hoof? Why was Embee—Uh-oh! “Ah!” I yelped, having received her hoof into my face. “Viv, Viv? Vivenne?” Embee called out while I was beside myself with embarrassment and exasperation. I couldn't do anything about having a light and high female voice, but I'd gladly prefer not to sound that feminine. “Are you okay now?” “Yeah, um, t-thanks. I . . . I think I deserved that.” Collecting my composure—and as much as I tried not to—I rubbed my not-actually-injured snout. “It was a bit forceful, though.” Or was it a muffler? That was what ruminants had. Muzzle! That was what it was . . . what I lamentably had. “Oh, well . . . Sorry?” Embee laughed nervously. “I'll try to be gentler, if there is a next time.” “There will be, I just know it.” Caught in a spell of curiosity, I poked gently at my very visible nose, only to flinch when I realized the strangeness of this thing was too much for me to bear. That it was an integral part of my face only added to my stupefied disbelief. “And I'm not sure there really is a gentle way.” Regardless, explicitly aware that she might receive this next revelation unfavorably, I nonetheless had to at least test the waters. “Anyhow, I saw it, Embee, I saw it. I mean, I think I saw something possibly important.” “I'm afraid to ask.” Embee sighed, raising her limb as if to take a vow. “What did you see, Vivienne?” I could feel my muzzle protesting already. So, I too sighed, and decided to forge ahead despite my reservations. “Remember I said it rained for two days, and you said it rained only yesterday?” She nodded slowly. “Yes.” “Alright, so,” I continued cautiously, “why use the windshield wipers when it's not raining?” “Excuse me, but what are those?” “You don't know?” I reacted snappishly, incredulous at her ignorance. However, I quickly saw the error of my temperamental behavior. “Sorry. It's those narrow components, often found in pairs, typically on the car's foremost window, but also as a single unit on the rear window on some cars, displacing accumulating water from rainfall but also to remove grime and dirt.” I was interrupted by a gentle laugh. “Alright, alright, Vivienne, I got it.” “So . . . Well . . .” Alas, I received a sudden pause, as I was seeing the windshield wipers of my car—or its counterpart in this realm—from multiple angles, both outside and inside. Thinking deeper on it despite my wariness, these visions seemed to be a collage of memory snippets and imagined and inexact extrapolations, and unlikely to provide a solving clue. “The, um, the wipers worked fine when I, sorry, she tested them earlier, but then seemingly activated by themselves right before she was to do a preliminary drive. Now, the question is, why did they do that?” I was frustrated but also puzzled by this aberration. Then it dawned on me! “Because it was raining when I had driven, er, uhm . . . from . . . I don't know. I can't recall . . .” I held a moment of silence for that loss of recent memory. “Moving on . . . It rained for me, but not for her. My car, when I had arrived, then occupied the exact spot as hers, and presumably and inexplicably combined with it during her run of the pre-drive tests. I saw, and can still see the stalk, er, the control lever for the wipers moving up by itself all of sudden into the active position. Perhaps her car was correcting itself to match mine. But unlike hers, my car isn't augmented with driving-assisting magic, at least to my knowledge, ruling it out as a probable inciter of this merger.” A major hole in my searching supposition became apparent. “However, if that's when this swap happened, how didn't I realize I was no longer in my own form? I would've immediately noticed it, wouldn't I?” I looked to Embee for answers. “Is it possible for two realities to become entangled, and then be unbound after an unknown duration, and that only once unbound were we displaced from our respective realities and bodies?” As she blinked in silence, I realized once again I had delivered her a topic beyond her expertise. “Possibly?” she hazarded. Disheartened, albeit undissuaded, I carried on. “While they, the realities, were um, locally interlocked, I was, err . . . we were unaware of anything being out of the ordinary, but only up to when they finally parted, which I guess to have happened when we were asleep . . . But what caused that separation then? And how come this ostensibly began with the windshield wipers? That doesn't make any sense.” I had an urge to scratch my head but . . . not with these things. I could've stepped on something dirty and then I'd transfer it to my mane. “But I'll make sense of it. I have to.” “Not to bring you down, hon, but maybe it's not you alone who can make sense of it?” What was Embee on about, trying to discourage me like that? I might be on the cusp of discovery here if I just kept analyzing further! “She may not have known anything was seriously amiss. All what she did, and you did, could've been wholly unrelated to whatever caused this.” “But I really need to know. I mean, I must know. By some means, somehow, I guess, I'll just think it, and that'll make it . . . then I'll know . . . because I kept thinking . . .” My determination faltered as I sadly realized that correlation didn't equal causation. I could put myself through the wringer and analyze recent memories again and again in an endless pursuit of answers where none could ever be found. “Embee, you know how hard I . . . I really wanted to know,” I lamented, crestfallen. “How am I to . . . Where do I go from here?” “Giving up isn't easy when you've convinced yourself not to,” she wrapped rationality into a consolation. “To learn what truly happened must feel like the only question you have in your life, but hard as it may be to accept, you alone cannot answer it. Neither can I, though my joy would be boundless if I could. Don't take all this too hard though. Be proud of yourself instead. In little more than a few minutes you put together terrific theories that I'm sure Peachy would like to hear as well.” The door made an unlocking sound, betokening its opening. “Speaking of whom.” In walked a cream brown mare with a red, long, feathered mane. I was immediately shaken by nervous excitement. “Ah, morning. Nice of you to finally get here—while I wasn't here.” She gave Embee a small, questioning smirk, who rolled her eyes in pretend innocence. “Good morning to you as well,” Embee reciprocated as Peachy walked herself over to me. “Hi,” I said proactively—with a thin whisper. “Well hi to you as well. I'm very pleased and thrilled to meet you again.” Though no words escaped me, I too felt the same way—and also a little apprehensive. That glimmer in her eyes was of wonder in seeing a human stuck in the wrong body and a sincere desire to help me, not delight for having an experiment to play with? “Now, without any delay, and as the phrase goes, let's get down to brass tacks,” she took herself to her desk; Embee and I congregated at it as well. “I've gone over the notes I wrote, to get back up to speed on this matter, but it goes without saying that any new information you can provide can advance the resolving of your situation.” She opened a laptop computer I hadn't consciously paid attention to. “Embee told me of you and your believable arguments of your humanity. I feel it's fair that I'm up front with you: I must admit to you my doubts, anticipating your case to be symptomatic of some form of severe disillusionment or stress-induced dissociative fugue. However, Embee's statements along with her observations, and the peculiar magic signature in you, strongly corroborates you having told the truth.” I gasped, awe-struck. “So that means my humanity's been verified! That's great news, yes!” I felt like I had come airborne by the elation and relief. “What else did you discover about me?” I asked with excited curiosity, right before a flash of dismay filled with an intense dread of losing face. Could she have discovered my true gender? “Not much else, I'm afraid. Magic signatures can tell what you are, but not who you are or what you know.” She chuckled lightly. The magic signature couldn't tell my gender? That was a very close bullet dodged. “I cannot read your mind.” Was I in the clear, though? Had she been able to read my physical features? The image of a mare poring over a male body, even if it were to be mine, was certainly unwarranted, however. “I took the liberty of checking you for ailments, just to be sure. All signs pointed to you being perfectly healthy.” “Cool.” I was still in such a tizzy that my reaction was flat. “Embee told me a little about you. Perhaps this is kind of a formality in that regard, but I'd like to hear it from you.” Peachy looked at me kindly. “Your name's Vivienne?” “Hm,” I affirmed hesitantly, unsure of if I wanted to go down this path with her as well. “Last name?” Peachy said affably, creasing her lips to an expectant smile when I remained mute. “Vivienne?” A feeling of despondency hung over me. “Uh, it's . . . hazy.” “Alright. Vivienne Hazy,” Peachy shifted her attention to her computer. “No, that's not it,” I interrupted, sensing my limp ears rebound. “Oh?” she blinked confusedly. “It's not Hazy?” “No. The name's not hazy. I mean, it's hazy in that . . .” I huffed slightly. “I feel like I should know, but I'm confused by a number of names. One of them is correct, but I can't tell which one. Point is, I don't know my last name.” “Not at the moment, hon,” Embee consoled. I should've been optimistic enough to vocalize a meager hum. Her bright smile, helpful as it might've been, was subdued by my wall of defeat. Peachy had put her attention back on her machine. “First name. Vivienne. Last name. Unknown, for the time being. Gender. Female.” Once again, I felt conflicted about this propagation of a false identity that conversely granted flexibility in the expression of emotion and anything and everything feminine, accidental or deliberate. “Well, no. I shouldn't assume,” she gently criticized herself. Was she tipped off by my unease? Paradoxically, I was exceptionally averse to surrendering my alias, even though doing so would be a significant relief. “Do you have a differing preference? Non-binary?” I had a poor understanding of the spectrums. “Ah no, uh . . .” I said haltingly, bringing a smile to my lips even though I felt I was about to do a self-betrayal. “It's a bit silly, but I always feel uneasy drawing attention to it, but, yeah, I'm female.” The chance to set the record straight had been set so close I could smell it—and I had been too fainthearted to take it. “Alright.” Peachy took the lie at face value. “And your age?” “Don't you know not to ask a lady her age?” I said with a hint of sullenness, angry and disappointed at myself. “A lady can ask another, can't she?” Peachy half-joked; I nearly groaned. “But in all seriousness, I don't mean to offend.” “Twenty two, I think,” I guessed. “It could be her age.” Peachy's left ear canted sideways. “Her?” “You know, her.” Peachy's continuing bemusement convinced me to briefly hold up my limb to my sternum. “This, her. I don't want to say her name, and I expect the same from you.” Catching myself becoming perhaps a bit demanding, I softened my disposition. “If I may make such a request, that is. Be that as it may, I know what her name is, and it's not mine. It's not supposed to be, but it wants to feel like it is. I'm afraid that were I to be called by her name, I'll react to it like it were mine, and I'm really trying to keep our respective identities and personalities separate, even though that seems as futile as segregating pigments in water. I can tell red and blue apart with ease, but I'm most anxious about the shades of purple. Does the mallow belong to me, and mauve to her? I don't know, and not knowing . . .” I dropped my head momentarily as I sighed, having heard developing fragility in my tone. “Try not to think about it, hon.” Embee comforted. “Everything will be sorted out in the end.” “This is perhaps the worst kind of an identity crisis to have. But I digress. Twenty two. That could be my birthday, or her birthday, or a number associated with it. I really don't know.” However, it suddenly came to me that I was old enough to own a driver's license. “No wait, forget that . . . Let me think here.” A figurative drawer opened up that ejected images to my mind's eye. “Okay! I received a bottle of wine as a birthday gift from my parents and this feels . . . not many years ago, but . . . They know I don't drink, but I wasn't mad about the gift either, though, neither were they, I think. Maybe they had forgotten that I don't . . . But I felt bad, like I was being ungrateful when I was only being true to my principles.” This recollection came with unexpected emotional baggage. “I feel too sad about this, I'm sorry.” What was with me? “Who are you saying sorry to?” Embee asked with a tone of gentleness that seemed to convey a congratulation. Bafflingly, I didn't have an immediate answer. I had . . . apologized for my behavior? For being just a touch sad? My relationship with my emotions must be poorer than I thought. “Well, I'll put twenty two here, with a question mark,” Peachy stated soberly; however, something soon seemed to weigh on her mind. “Please forgive my oversight. I should've asked you the instant we met: how are you feeling?” After the very recent failures of my own, I felt . . . “Exhausted, conflicted, dismayed, bewildered, distraught, frustrated, humiliated, embarrassed, and indisposed,” I summarized, feeling like even my voice counted as an enervator. “Oh . . . my.” Peachy's hoof moved up to her chin. “Indisposed as well?” Of all the things she could've taken concern with . . . “Is it because of something you ate?” “No. Funny though, as funny as it can be anyhow, is that all the things that I've had to endure, nothing's made me throw up,” I remarked sardonically, then exhaled resignedly. “Oh well, I should look forward to it with aplomb.” “But Vivienne,” Embee so wonderfully reminded me that I had subjugated myself into portraying a female character. “You forgot one feeling.” “Just one?” I said numbly. “Hopeful,” she said with cheer, and much to my initial bemusement, laid a limb over me to gently rock me. “Actually, you don't need to rely on hope alone when that comforting feeling is supplanted, perhaps superceded, by knowing the anticipated outcome is assured.” She nodded at Peachy, who nodded affirmatively back at me. “Careful with that kind of talk,” I warned Embee. “You'll make me feel better about myself.” “And that's exactly what you want,” she said pithily, seeing right through my defensive reproach, and I couldn't counter her argument due to the simple fact that she was perfectly right. “I see you two have formed a friendship.” Even Peachy seemed to read me better than I did. “That's great, honestly. It's doing wonders for your mood.” “Well uhm . . .” Bringing this to my vocal cords shouldn't involve so much internal resistance. “In fact, that's putting it quite succinctly. That I haven't had to be by my lonesome has been a lifesaver, and made my life, as it is, a lot less arduous.” If I had more to say, it didn't materialize; Embee gestured her appreciation by laying her wing over my back. “Don't do that,” I whispered, “I might start crying.” She withdrew respectfully, perhaps knowing me well enough not to become bemused. “To get back on track.” Peachy eyed her computer briefly. “My report summarizes most of what we know of your situation and how it came to be, mostly retold by Embee I must note.” I noted Peachy had a rubber shoe with a thin, peglike protrusion on its lip, perhaps to assist in using the computer. When she had donned that, I didn't know. “Let me begin by saying that transformations are not unheard of, Equestrian species to another by magic or enchanted items, accidental or deliberate.” While she quickly glanced at the screen, I tried to ascertain if she had insinuated I had been transformed. Or maybe I was simply misinterpreting her words. “Mind swaps, however, are rarer, as transferring minds swiftly and intact requires more magic than reshaping a body does, and this applies to cross-species transfers as well.” “That's great and all,” I spoke up, feeling just a tad impatient, but also desiring to know if she could answer a question of particular interest, “but just to make a guess here, an imperfect transfer can lead to memory loss and . . . other selfhood-related irregularities?” “That's a fair and astute assessment, yes,” Peachy said, astonished and, albeit reservedly, delighted. “You're a clever girl.” “Yeah, I'm a raptor.” At least I could counter the unintended insult with pert humor. It did leave both Peachy and Embee confused. So confused, in fact, I worried they had taken it literally despite their confirmation I was human. “Gosh, it was a joke. I'm obviously not a raptor. I can't believe I have to say that.” I thought I'd follow that by jokingly saying I was actually a dragon, or a fox, but it'd only deepen their confusion. Although . . . I should've considered that they might've not known what a raptor was in the first place. Or maybe they did know? It was a bird as well, if I wasn't mistaken . . . “Okay, uh, carrying on.” Peachy recomposed herself and perused her computer for a few seconds. “A mind transfer cannot be, or should not be partial. It's all or nothing. If the transfer cannot be made in full, the spell cancels itself. This is inherent to all magic, including spells, by the way. That the transfer has happened regardless is suggestive of a deliberately broken spell, or an unintended, though highly rare side-effect caused by another, unknown spell or magical event.” It was like I had won an anti-lottery—without knowing I was a participant. “To have that kind of luck is astounding, to say the least.” “It truly astounds me as well.” The disbelief in Peachy's tone was undeniable. “A seemingly accidental pony-human mindswap across the universal divides, the kind that's befallen you no less, is what I would've easily dismissed to be all but impossible.” “I'm living proof of it not being impossible. But I grow weary of this debate over the whats and hows and assorted intricacies. It's not providing any sort of resolution.” Recognizing the effect my eroding patience had done on my decorum, I drew a breath to reassert my tranquility. “Let's skip to the point. Embee had told me you can't, but I want to hear it from you: can you reverse this cross-dimensional mind swap?” “I hate to disappoint, but Embee's absolutely right. Sending you back is far beyond my capabilities.” With dejection I looked over at Embee, who unfortunately gazed back with sad compassion. “Determining your point of origin isn't what I can do, either.” “I hadn't asked to know that, but, um, thanks anyhow.” While I was perplexed by the receiving of additional but unrequested information, a thought ventured to the forefront of my mind. “What can you tell me about her passive presence and what it has to do with me. Or what it does to me, I suppose.” “Yes. Her passive presence is like a repository of her memories, personality, and traits. It's her essence, if you will. Naturally, in the absence of her active presence, you've become the active presence, with the benefit of your own, unique memories, personality, and traits. A mind transfer's supposed to seclude the passive presence so that it cannot be accessed by the new host. Since it hasn't, along with the transfer possibly being partial, identity conflations are sadly to be expected.” Peachy's serious but calm tone changed when she put on a positive smile. “However, you and her being different species is a dissimilarity that heightens rejection, making the overlaps, regardless of duration, temporary.” I was, however, not reassured. “Clearly, that means the similarities are the ones that stick.” “Unfortunately.” The look on Peachy was that of sympathetic dismay, as if she had hoped I wouldn't have made that deduction. “But if she likes strawberries and you do as well, then it's not so bad, is it?” “Ughr,” I huffed, less disgusted by her downplaying of my anxiety than by my personality being tampered with, and much more fearful of any changes, no matter how minor, being permanent. “It's the principle of it.” A second later, a faint ember of hope convinced me to ask: “Are there any others who share my unenviable predicament? Would make it a bit easier if, you know, I had some . . . one to talk with . . . slim as the odds are.” The sad look on Peachy's face gave me time to prepare. “Not as far as I know, I'm sorry.” With my wish to be with someone who'd be able to perfectly empathize with me dashed, I had very little more to say. “I'm . . . I'm all alone then.” “But I'm here,” Embee offered sympathetically. “No, Embee, you're not here,” I rebuked. “You cannot understand and relate to my anguish and confusion because you haven't been inexplicably removed from your normal life and locked within a strange form that has virtually nothing in common with your own self.” “You're right, and I'm sorry, hon, I haven't,” Embee admitted. “I don't have the frame of reference that you do. Though, if I may kindly suggest, consulting transgender support groups—” “This is nothing like that and I don't care what you suggest! My predicament is absolutely not comparable!” Much to my horror and chagrin, her pitying but undaunted visage telegraphed just how wrong I was. Defiance petered on even as shame became stronger. “Well, fine, it's body dysphoria, I get that, but they're in disagreement with their sex, whereas I'm not!” That statement regarding myself was true on the account that I wasn't the sex I was now—and that made perfect sense. Having said it without the slightest falter was equally perplexing. However, with my indignance subsiding, and an uncomfortable silence hanging over us, another tone emerged. “Look, I'm . . . I'm sorry, about that, ah, that outburst,” I said peaceably. “You're the closest thing I have to a friend here, and I should not be so . . . brusque. I'm easily stressed and behaviorally confused, and I don't even know what you meant to suggest and assumed that it would be what I wouldn't like. But now I think I see what you might've tried to say, and I suppose it would've been really nice to have some others to commiserate with, but a group for transgenders isn't the right one. Even if I were just an unseen observer in an online environment, they ah, their, the issues are similar, but not identical, and I wouldn't feel a sense of belonging.” “If you say so, and well, if things start looking grim, at least don't forget that you're never alone. You have us,” Peachy said, first carefully, but with developing gusto. “Now, if we may continue . . .” She then retrieved a plastic box resting at the other end of her L-shaped desk and put it before her. “You were able to earlier, I've been told, but are you able to use your magic at this moment?” she asked as she pried the box open. “Yes,” I replied, nonplussed. “I actually should be overjoyed that I can use it at all. I mean, I was more than elated to do something as simple as lift a pillow by thinking about it. Magic's such a strange thing, too. Seeing and feeling without using either senses, like a continuous but soundless echolocation with tactile sensation.” “That's an interesting way to put it, Vivienne.” Peachy then demonstrated her own ability. “I can pick up this pen and sense the wall behind me. It's not a true tactile sensation, however, but merely the magic relaying information.” “Hmm, it has a range limit, about fifteen or twenty meters, at least for me. It's an impressive reach, but, well, I'm sure it could be farther . . .” And if I thought about that further, I might accidentally lose track of myself. “As important as magic's become to me, in all honesty, I can't help but feel bereft of what I can't use. There was an immediacy to them. Magic's more of a command that's issued and then performed, and I've yet to learn how to reliably reduce the latency to an acceptable level. Also, body language cannot be done with magic.” “Excuse me, if I may interrupt, but what precisely can't you use?” Peachy didn't get what I meant? Had I been too vague? “She means hands,” Embee helped her unicorn colleague. Peachy let out a small moan. “Sorry to hear that.” I could not ignore her casting a glance down at my forelimbs. “You must be missing them an awful lot.” She certainly meant well, but I genuinely felt sickened by her directness. “Do you have any idea of the immeasurable comfort I would've given myself so many times if I could've just buried my face in my hands? I don't have that now, and so I have to figure out other means, but there aren't. So I have, I have . . . nothing. That's what I have, and I'm feeling confused, anxious, and insecure.” I suddenly became aware of my voice breaking. “Excuse me.” I drew a breath and let it out as a sigh. Embee brought my eyes to her when she gently nuzzled me. “I should be grateful that I at least have and can use magic. I would be so utterly lost if I had only these useless hooves to . . . err to, um, to . . .” The irony of my now aborted rant following Peachy's poor expression of sympathy became unpleasantly apparent. I was in the presence of a pony who didn't have a spire of spellcasting on their head. “I'm sorry, Embee, I didn't mean to offend, but please, try to understand my plight,” I expressed my remorse, albeit defensively. “And I'm kind of emotional, and carried away by it, and that's not an excuse, but just an explanation as to why it happens, and uh, I kind of hate it because I'm not sure I'm supposed to be like how I am, but the circumstances are extraordinary and . . . huh?” Oddly enough, Embee's gentle giggle was comforting, halting my babbling temporarily. “You know, I envy your ability to do so much with hooves and not think of it as strange or insurmountable. I sometimes feel debilitating alienation and disconnect—” “Stop stressing yourself out again, hon,” she said tenderly despite everything, with little effect however. How could I even believe to be on par with these magical ponies from a realm I had believed to be pure fantasy when I was more of a thinking and talking animal! Four feet and not doing so well with or on them! “All those fundamental mannerisms and gestures that I couldn't and can't do and . . . and I have these big ears that signal my emotions by falling and rising, and turning towards every sound I hear and I cannot properly reconcile with them and I can feel those muscles right behind my jaw, and my spine extends to a long-haired protrusion that swings side to side when I'm annoyed and tucks itself between my legs when I'm scared and . . . and these are not things I, as a human, would have any reason to perform, which means they're instincts, and are also the most evident signs of the changes I've undergone and that makes me question how much I am truly myself anymore!” And then I stopped breathing. A primal flight reaction fostered by the feeling of heavy peril began surging through my veins. If I knew how, I'd run, though where would I run anyhow? There was no escaping from any of this and, and, and . . . and I had to stay calm, stay calm, stay calm . . . stay calm. A deep breath, and . . . okay. I was okay. I did well. Just a little shaky, and almost teary-eyed. “Don't let your fears take control.” Embee was a little slow in taking me into a brief, soothing embrace. “It's not good for you.” “A mild sedative can help with your anxiety.” Peachy's suggestion was enticing, but when a whiff of fabric softener could make me feel giddy, altering my behavior with pharmaceuticals seemed like a gamble rather than a guaranteed protection. I only agreed with coffee, and the occasional painkiller for when circumstances required it. “No, no thanks, um, uhm, egh . . .” I let my tongue go across my lips. “I feel like even my mouth doesn't feel like it used to. I know I don't have the teeth of a human, but I'm talking about the tongue, the lips, and shape of my mouth. If . . . If I just . . . If I just had something that I could look at and feel comfort in knowing that it is me, an entirely unchanged physical connection to myself, then maybe I wouldn't be so stressed all the time.” My sense of self-awareness arrived to slap me in the face with a fish procured from Unhygienix's stall. “Or become so easily stressed, I mean, it just happened more than once within the past few minutes.” Peachy held a thoughtful gaze on me, letting a careful smile emerge slowly. “If it's of any consolation, you're still female.” I cringed, then laughed nervously. “I would've gone crazy if that had been taken as well.” I seriously hoped I wasn't correct. “Don't be so sure, hon. You're stronger than you give yourself credit for.” Embee assured. “How can you say that? I don't need my dysmorphia to be worsened by, well, ehh . . .” Expressing what I felt was most objectionable in being female was impossible when I was pretending to be safe and secure in being one. Further compounding my hesitation was that I'd turn my predicament on its head if I presented a convincingly earnest argument from the hypothetical perspective of a woman turned stallion, and I genuinely had neither the insight or resolve to do that. But I had to say something believable, that I myself could believe in, too. “Sometimes I have thoughts of fancy, small what-ifs, flights of curiosity, sparks of fascination, and, admittedly, mild but momentary disillusionments, but never to the extent where I think my life would be better if I weren't . . .” Unable to go against myself, I clenched my teeth behind closed lips. “In all honesty, I prefer not to ever find out what being of the opposite sex would do to me. Not long-term, anyhow.” A few days might be endurable. Any longer than that and I'd become genuinely afraid for myself—and I didn't want to think of that! “Can we please get back on track now?” “By all means.” Putting her face to the box before her, Peachy pulled a long and transparent item hanging at the end of a thread. “Are you able to take this vial with your magic and open and close its lid?” “Yes, I can, am able to, I mean. What's it for?” Unsure what it was for, I refused to do as asked. “I was getting to that,” Peachy said with a small laugh. She had rested the questionable item on her desk. “It's so that we can get a magic sample.” Despite that simple reassurance, I had to thwart my own distrust and convince myself that she wasn't tasking me with self-harm. Wrapping the vial in a shroud, I labored briefly with its unplugging and plugging. “Hmm.” Peachy briefly scrutinized the vial as I disengaged my magic. “You did very well. Thank you.” Unimpressed by the congratulation, I . . . Why was the vial glowing white? “Oh, wow, the magic's there inside?” Mesmerized by seeing a piece of my telekinetic force contained, I stared at the vial as Peachy carefully took it by the string and lowered it into a small envelope she had opened while I had been occupied with amazement. Peachy laughed again, cocking a brow. “Yes, I said what the vial's for, didn't I?” she said as she sealed the envelope, “I'll have it delivered to the lab shortly for analysis, so we can learn what it can yield about your condition.” “Uh, I hesitate to ask . . .” I raised my limb tentatively. “But will you also need to take a blood sample?” “No, but I don't see any harm in it.” Her succinct answer came as a bit of a shock. “Wehll, uhh . . .” My voice developed a tremble. “I-I don't like n-needles. J-j-us-s-st say-saying.” “Relax. Contrary what you might think, we don't have any here. We'd have to go elsewhere to take a blood sample. But even so, the needles we use are of a special kind. Looks much like any needle, but it's a hollow tube with two microneedles attached to what resembles a downsized electric toothbrush. The needle drawing blood is serrated and gently vibrates itself through the skin, and the other administers a local anesthetic. It's practically painless.” “Really? Aaah, ooohhh.” I shook as the tension left my body. “Incredible. Genuinely incredible.” Those kinds of needles must be invaluable to diabetics and others who must puncture themselves daily. “Anyhow, um, getting the, my results from the magic might take a day or two, right?” Just as I could surmise that to be true, I had to now surmise I'd have to live as a pony for that duration. Female pony. Such joy . . . but endurable. Yes. Endurable. “It might be ready by day's end. If not, then yes, tomorrow or the day after at the latest.” She began tapping at her computer again, whereas I struggled with accepting that I no longer had to surmise the duration of my condition. This was concrete now, and I should try not to be afraid. My head wanted to fall, but I couldn't bear the thought of seeing my feet. Even though the air wasn't moving, I was sure I felt it cascading down my sides like a dense fog, as if to make my form explicitly incontrovertible. “But . . . but how long must I wait to get back to living my life?” “Not too long,” she assured, but the lightness in which she said it made it feel like it was a throwaway line. When she saw my scowl, she took on a placating tone. “I had contemplated keeping you here in the hospital from hereon, but as gracious and accommodating we can be, this place's a poor substitute to the soothing comfort of a home. True, I'm aware that it's not your home per se, but nonetheless, I feel safe permitting you the freedom to go there. In fact, it's crucial that you look, if you can, for a schedule or a calendar and ensure that all, if any, commitments, meetings, and events, with friends or family or otherwise, are circumspectly cancelled. This goes without saying, but I recommend that you ask for Embee's assistance. She'll be more than happy to help.” Embee took that as a cue to give me an empathetically confirmatory nod. “We can all agree that mingling with "long-time friends" you don't actually know would be unbearably stressful. I'll check if any appointments show up on this end and have them cancelled, too. Now, I know that waiting can be extremely trying, so I sincerely encourage you to remain patient, calm, hopeful, and perhaps most importantly, find ways to be happy and entertained.” Peachy made some inputs on her computer. “If it's not too much for you, I'd like you to later recount what's transpired since this unfortunate experience began. Just giving you a heads up about that, and as always, it's fine if you decline. I understand it's not been a pleasant time. On a brighter note, Embee might've told you this already, but I've messaged a friend I know who in turn knows a specialist on—” “How long must I wait?” I interrupted, having become dissatisfied by the instructive monologue that I felt was avoiding answering a most crucial question. Embee went up to the desk. “Excuse me, but I'd like to humbly ask you to be fair to her,” she implored. Peachy bit her lip, but with a sigh, she steeled herself. “It's with much regret that I must say I don't know precisely how long the wait will be.” Embee looked at me sorrily, expressing dismay at the response her persuasion had garnered. “Then make an educated guess!” I demanded. A terrified voice in the recess of my mind was trying to convince me that I didn't want to know. Peachy's ears wilted. “Please, stay calm, and listen. I was very explicit in letting him know this was most urgent.” Infuriation, a defense reaction, threatened to rise to the surface, but in a moment of clarity and understanding, I tempered, then quenched it. Belligerence and confrontation had no place here and served no meaningful purpose. Instead of sealing myself up with an erupting blaze, I laid myself open, and implored: “I cannot live in uncertainty. I won't survive living in uncertainty. I absolutely need and deserve an estimate, if nothing else.” The silence that ensued could've made the vacuum of space noisy, and how she looked like she wanted to be anywhere else but here was a dreadful omen. “ Ah, well . . . fifteen, maybe only ten days,” she said, uncharacteristically timidly. “Oh that's um, some two weeks abouts . . .” I said in a voice barely above a whisper. I meant to thank her for her sincerity as well, but nothing audible came out. I felt empty . . . Sad, crushed, hopeless? Oddly unmoved and tranquil, as if my emotions had been deactivated. “Are you okay, hon?” Embee's queried. “I don't know,” I replied, feeling like I was in a place of mystifying peace within the eye of a storm. It'd pull me in if I touched it—safer to stay here then then . . . “My friend's in a distant part of Equestria and mailing him takes time, and then he has to contact the specialist. That takes several days, but I'm willing to admit that my estimate could be wrong, very wrong. That, and the exigency of this matter means the wait could be significantly less than ten days,” Peachy said. Explained? To inspire hope? “Okay,” I acknowledged. Was she frowning? Out of worry? Why was she worried? I was fine. “When I get the return message, I promise you, I'll send news of it to you immediately, even if it's in the middle of the night,” she continued. “Mhm.” I still felt emotionally numb. I wasn't sure that was good, or going to last. This must've been a defense mechanism. A lull before the inevitable turmoil. Strange how cognizant I was of it, yet so resigned. “Can you be so kind and take the sample in my stead?” Embee looked at me after having spoken her request. “She will be needing me.” I had a feeling that didn't portend well for me. But I was okay, just okay. Nothing was wrong. I watched in silence as Peachy took the box and left. Now it was only me and my flight-capable friend here. In this quiet place with a sterile odour. What was next? Embee neared a bit, and I sensed she was about to give a hug or something of the sorts—and I receded instinctively. The storm ejected cold water on me before I knew why I had distanced myself from her. If she had touched me, then I would know that . . . I couldn't do this anymore. I'd have to accept it, and, no . . . NO! “I can't do it.” I looked away, trying and failing to put a familiar limb to my eye. “Do what, hon?” Embee said softly but with urgency. “Tell me.” I turned around, looking for a portal through which I could escape this all. But all I saw was the storm that I'd have to go into. “No, I don't . . .” I turned once more, and instantly recoiled when I looked down, frightened that the reflections of light on the floor were mirrors. “I can't . . . can't I . . .” I could reclaim peace if I braved the winds and made it to the other side . . . but it might not be the kind of peace I'd want? “You can't what, hon?” Embee said empathetically, directing me to face her with the softest of dabs. “Can you tell me? I'd like to know.” Her gentle request was compelling, but . . . if I said it, then I couldn't unsay it, and that'd make it real. But it was real, just less so now. Kind of. Or not. I was scared. “I want to help, hon.” “What's there to help?” My bitter repudiation was but a spark of skepticism betraying the nearness I was to despaired sobbing. I faced away from her once again. “It's . . . could . . . two weeks . . . and I . . . don't want to . . .” I hated and feared that I'd have to. “I'm . . . not this.” But I was—and I wasn't! For almost two weeks? “I can't do it.” “Of course you can do it, hon, I know you can.” Embee had repositioned herself to facilitate face-to-face talking. “Listen, you have more tenacity and fortitude in you than you realize. You can and will make it through the hardships and sadness, even when it seems like it will crush you. Even if it were two weeks, don't think about that. Think this way: tomorrow will be one day less to wait, and with each passing day, the wait becomes shorter. It won't be so bad when I'm here with you, for you. You'll do alright.” “I would, I had, afh, a few d-days, that I, coast it okay, b-bht,” I explained, my words overlapping with themselves. I was a mess about to happen. No, worse. I had a concern she'd have to know of, that I might articulate without breaking down if I tried. “But igh . . . idh . . . gham . . . don't . . .” Had to try harder and not hyperventilate. “Know, how to be, I'm not, want to, don't, no, I don't, not know, this, be, no, I don't . . .” This wasn't working! I was barely coherent. “Try to relax, hard as it may, I know, but I also know you can do it.” Embee too had come to the same realization. “Now focus, hon. Collect your thoughts, and speak them to me.” Yes. I had to get a grip on myself, if for just one sentence. A deep breath, and try to get this imploration through a duct that felt as narrow as a straw. “I need to, ah, to know . . . I don't know how to, and I . . .” That ended with a miserable squeak and a salty rill reaching my lips. “Keep going, hon.” She laid her wing across my back while I stared fixedly down as a trembling something overladen with fright and anxiety. Something this—that I—wasn't, and I wasn't who I didn't belong in, in the form that made it impossible to be who I knew I was and what I was, and so what I was trying be and what I could be couldn't be who and what I was, meaning I was . . . what? “Don't stop trying.” I glanced at her, but immediately closed my eyes and shook my head in rejection of what . . . I almost was. I was so afraid of . . . I couldn't force myself to be willingly ignorant! The truth was all around me at all times and I could feel it and I'd hear it, and I hated that I'd have to know how to and I was scared that I'd come to know and I was scared scared scared scared scared scared scared! But it wouldn't be in mind. Only in body, not in identity, only in body, only in body, and that was, that was . . . that was all? Maybe? Acceptable? Maybe? Hopefully. Maybe? I was reasoning with myself. Yes. I'd need help to . . . to be . . . something that this I was . . . and not speak it as a whimper. “I . . . don't . . .” No whimpering, no! No sobbing, not even the smallest of sobs. Had to keep it together. Steel myself, and get this pain voiced. “You know what you are and I know what I'm not, but I need help with that.” The vague wording did not dull the message I knew myself. It hurt so bad I gasped; a prelude to sobbing. But I reined it in. If I had actually begun to . . . then I wouldn't need help anymore. I would already be it. Or would it? No or yes, no or yes? I didn't know, but I was too frightened. “Help with what . . . Ah, I understand. Yes, I can teach you how to be a mare.” That was terrible! Why did she say it? I knew she might say it. I should have expected her to say. I knew what she said was right. I'd need the help. Being this, having to be this, learning how to be this, knowing how to be this . . . but only for a while! It would hurt nonetheless. It was hurting now. I was afraid it would never stop hurting, and afraid it would stop hurting. If the former . . . I'd never be at peace, and the latter . . . I'd die. “Hang in there.” Too debilitated to resist, I let Embee take me into an embrace. “If you think it's two weeks, it'll be over before you even know it, you'll see.” When she said that, I moaned pitifully. How would I ever have the persistence and tenacity to stall, hinder, resist, stop . . . No, I wouldn't die! I'd be me, whatever happens . . . but not the me I was? Would I ever be? Was I now? I was scared. “But don't despair, hon, it can very well be less than that. The lab results might provide you the most wonderful surprise! Also, Peachy could be terribly wrong with her estimate, she said so herself. Since it's an urgent matter, I'm sure every step is taken to make your wait as short as possible.” Her optimism had no effect on me. I was on day two of . . . Her optimism had no effect on me. The thoughts and memories of the prior day filled my head . . . and I didn't want that! Couldn't they leave me be? This was a bad day, much worse than yester . . . Was today really that bad of a day? Could it actually be less bad? Could I think day two was better than day one, and it'd improve from there? But yesterday . . .No? Yes. “I was in a bad way yesterday,” I said in this currently raspy, fatigued Fluttershy voice that . . . I was afraid to accept as . . . a normal trait. “You were, but not anymore,” Embee said in her consoling, dulcet voice. I wished I didn't, but I was recalling the wetness, the stinging cold, the stones digging into my skin, the intolerable, unending anguish . . . “I was in a really bad way. Truly awful . . .” “Don't dwell on it, hon.” “I was found.” And I hadn't been happy that I had . . . “Yes, you were.” I sniffed. “I could've died.” The light that had pierced the darkness, heading toward me . . . could've done it for me. “We're very happy you haven't.” “I was doing a terrible thing. I had given up. I regret it more than anything I've ever done . . .” I hugged Embee tighter, almost whimpering. “That's all in the past now. You're getting better.” “Because I have you.” I receded from her so I could look at her with somber appreciation. “More than once have you saved me from the maw of despair. Thanks to you, I have hope.” Right when my optimism was about to be rekindled, a horrifying reality threatened to snuff it out. “But, but . . . but she doesn't.” In mounting panic I gazed deeply into Embees eyes. “Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasesendhermessageanywayyoucantoletherknowtoholdon . . .” Her silence . . . a sad silence . . . My life was crashing down with more heartrending effect than a flaming airship, and the untenable uncertainty . . . Up to two weeks of waiting just to learn that I'd have nothing to go back to? “Waiht thath lhnh . . . I can't, khn . . . can't . . .” I fell. Curled up. Sickening anguish. “Nnnnnnnh . . . Nohooo . . . no, no, noooo . . .” Why this . . . to me . . . Nothing I could do . . . I couldn't . . . couldn't . . . breathe right . . . Was . . . bad . . . No . . . no . . . no . . . end . . . End . . . this . . . please . . .

Posh

436

Main 6,Other,Twilight Sparkle,Crossover,Human,Adventure,Dark,Metal Gear,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic,Death,Violence

Pony Gear Solid

Solid Snake teams up with ponies to save Equestria, and gradually learns to love it.

incomplete

<p>Metal Gear has fallen into the hooves of an Equestrian revolutionary, who, with the backing of his human mercenary allies, intends to use it to depose Celestia and crown himself ruler. Having crossed into Equestria in pursuit of this rogue weapon, the legendary Solid Snake must ally with the residents of Ponyville to prevent a nuclear catastrophe.</p><p>See also <a href="/story/369125/equestria-gear-solid-the-definitive-experience" rel="nofollow"><i>Equestria Gear Solid</i></a><i>,</i> the hilarious spin-off EQG parody in which everything you know is wrong, and every single character from the story is an awful caricature of themselves. </p><p><a href="http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/FanFic/PonyGearSolid" rel="nofollow">Now with its own TVtropes page!</a></p>

teen

2012-09-25T06:17:49+00:00

2016-09-10T17:07:41+00:00

"A legend is nothing but fiction. Someone tells it, someone else remembers, everyone passes it on.” Some of you reading this are probably asking yourselves why I'm bothering to write it in the first place. Truth is, I'd love nothing more than to live out my retirement in the relative comfort that suburban America provides, and to forget all about my past. But I can't do that. My war may be over, but I still have a job to do. I have to see this age off, to leave behind my story so that future generations will remember me. The real me, free of the hyperbolic legends that have sprung up about me, free of the pariah caricature that the Patriots and their proxies drew of me. The true story of my life needs to be told, the whole truth, and nothing but. To have come to this point in my memoir, you've no doubt read a lot of unbelievable claptrap. You've read unbelievable stories, the stuff of fantasy and science fiction. Stories with people like Psycho Mantis, Vulcan Raven, or Vamp, whose supernatural abilities defied the laws of reality, or heroes whose bodies and souls were the playthings of an ancient conspiracy with no regard for personal freedom or self-determination. Through it all, there's one common thread: It all sounds unbelievable as sin. I wouldn't blame you for discounting the words in this memoir. It'd be easy enough to dismiss everything I say as the demented ramblings of a senile coot. My doctor tells me that I'm pushing eighty, after all. For all I know, I really am nothing more than an old fool who long ago lost his grip on reality. But if you've kept reading through everything I've written so far, then you must see some sense in what it is I'm saying. That, or your suspension of disbelief is the stuff of legends. So I want to thank you, first of all, for sticking with me so long. And I beg your pardon in advance for taxing that trust to the utmost with what it is I'm about to tell you. Because while my exploits may be almost common knowledge by now, thanks to the internet finally living up to the ideal of free information exchange, there's one story that I've always kept close to my chest. One mission I've never shared with anybody, at least outside of those who took part in it. It's almost embarrassing to write about, given the subject matter, which is why I've kept it close to the chest for this long. But it's got to come out sooner or later. And I'm not getting any younger. It was in the wake of the Manhattan Incident that the book of my life began to draw to a close. Events that came to a head in 2014, when the Patriots were deposed from their centuries-long reign over the world, had their foundations laid in 2009, on a chilly April morning, the day before the 220th anniversary of George Washington's inauguration as the first President of the United States. What began as an act of kidnapping by a terrorist faction became one of the greatest tragedies in New York's history. By the next morning, the President and his predecessor were both dead, along with thousands of innocents, and Manhattan Island looked like God had driven his snowplow through it. What happened that day had long-reaching consequences, a sort of domino effect upon the rest of the world, and the United Nations had its hands full playing damage control. Entire countries fell into chaos as America withdrew within its borders to lick its wounds. Nations that relied upon an American military presence to act as deterrence suddenly found themselves defenseless. The global situation grew increasingly unstable – all according to plan, of course, as the Patriots steered events their way, shaped the world in their own image. And as war closed in around those nations who lost their American military backing, they began to realize the futility and the costliness of maintaining their own standing armies. It's here that the War Economy of the 2010s has its roots. Private military contractors grew in demand; private armies, without loyalty or ideology, began fighting broad-scale proxy wars on behalf of entire nations, driving their economic development and lining their own pockets with blood money. By the end of the year 2009, what would evolve into the War Economy had started to take hold of the entire world – all because of what transpired on that fateful April day. It's important that you understand the framework of the War Economy that was responsible for the rise of the PMCs, because the story I'm about to tell concerns one PMC in particular. You probably had never heard of Pegasus Wings before now, and that's okay; they were nothing special. Numbered no larger than three hundred and fifty men at their peak, many of which were culled from the ranks of deserters, war criminals and the dishonorably discharged. Though considerably less professional than the PMCs that ran in the final days of the War Economy, they nevertheless raked in a fair amount of income from their deployments. Never made the kind of waves that the companies under Liquid's banner did though. At least, nowhere on Earth. What you DID probably hear about was that report released in early 2010 that warned of the rising availability of black market nuclear materials. That was probably one of the last instances of information being freely distributed among the masses, before the Patriots seized total control of the digital flow of information. Well, Pegasus Wings was responsible for that, at least in part. By the middle of 2010, you see, they were able to secure for themselves a decommissioned Soviet nuclear missile. Now, by this point, the SOP system didn't yet have complete control over every single gun in the world (that was a far more gradual process than the growth of the War Economy), but the Patriots did have a death grip over the world's stock of WMDs, and they were rushing to take control of what they didn't already own. That Soviet missile was one of the only ones of its kind left: a naked nuke, unfettered by nanocontrol. You should also know by now that the specs for Metal Gear REX – the nuclear-equipped walking death mobile that I destroyed on Shadow Moses Island in 2005 – had been on the black market for years by the time of the Manhattan Incident. And while years of anti-Metal Gear weapons development had, by that point, reduced the strategic importance of Metal Gear considerably, having one in your arsenal pretty much ensured that nobody but the ballsiest of nations would ever give you grief. Even if you didn't actually have a nuclear stockpile, owning a Metal Gear acted as an effective bluff and countermeasure, as long as you had a good enough poker face to convince the rest of the world that you had something for it to fire. So it came to pass that a nuclear weapon fell into the hands – or, more fittingly, for reasons that will become apparent later, the hooves – of Pegasus Wings. And, to make an already bad situation that much worse, so too did a black market cookie-cutter copy of Metal Gear REX. If you've read this far, then you should be pretty familiar with my stance on nuclear proliferation, and on Metal Gear in general. But to reiterate both succinctly, I've dedicated my life to making sure they both die out. So when our contact in the Navy, a young Lieutenant Commander whose name I've conveniently forgotten in my old age, passed word to our group, Philanthropy, about Pegasus Wings' exciting new toy, there wasn't much else that Otacon and I could do but set out for another mission. Pegasus Wings had set up shop in a remote part of the Pacific Ocean. Our connections secured for us a landing spot at an old World War II-era airstrip that wasn't far from their island. Parachuting onto the island directly wasn't an option. Forgetting for now that dropping down onto a strip of land that small from the height that we'd need to be at to avoid detection was like throwing a dart at a bull's-eye the size of a barnacle, I'd probably be shot to death hours before I even hit the ground. Flying in via helicopter wasn't an option either, for similar reasons. What self-respecting mercenary army wouldn't have a handy stockpile of anti-air munitions on hand? No, I had to keep a low profile, and that meant aquatic insertion, my least favorite, yet most frequent, method of infiltration. I slapped on a pair of fins and some scuba gear and made for the island. It wasn't so far out from the airstrip – we could see it from our landing site, even – so it didn't take me long to reach it. An hour and some change, if I remember right. I emerged from the ocean to find a dock that featured an industrial sized crane, dangling a long steel wire tipped with a hook the size of a sedan over a tanker berthed in the harbor. On the side of the tanker was an emblem of two blue, feathered wings, spread wide with their tips arcing upward like a grin. Between them was the face of a horned, midnight blue warhorse, with vacant black eyes and a doleful expression on a face that shouldn't have been capable of emotional expression. You're not stupid, I hope, so you probably gathered that it was the emblem of Pegasus Wings. Searching the ship seemed as reasonable a starting place as any, so I boarded and had myself a look around. It was easy enough to find my way about the place; the ship was the same class as the U.S.S. Discovery, the tanker that I'd infiltrated almost three years prior, and the layout was close to identical. It was markedly better furnished, however, stocked from bow to stern with high-tech electronic equipment and weaponry. The bridge looked like something out of Star Trek, very much unlike the spartan, computer-operated bridge of the Discovery. Plush chairs sat in front of complex, glowing consoles, and a gentle, humming pulse ran through the room. Lining the upper decks were gun emplacements, point-defense batteries, and missile racks; the ship was a floating fortress, armed to the teeth and fully capable of doling out as well as soaking up punishment. But more to the point, and most importantly, the ship was completely deserted. I searched that ship from one end to the other, and didn't encounter a single soul. I contacted Otacon to inform him of my findings. “Maybe the ship itself is the Pegasus Wings HQ,” he postulated. “Speaking from experience, a mobile command base would definitely have its advantages.” I thought about the cargo plane that I'd spent so much of the last few years aboard, the safe haven that had protected Otacon and I as we became wanted men, and couldn't help but agree. “But then, what about the island base?” I asked. “Some kind of supply depot, maybe? Even then, that still wouldn't explain the crew's whereabouts. You'd think that, even with most of the crew on dry land, they'd spare a handful of people to guard the ship.” Otacon didn't have an answer for me, so I signed off and continued my exploration. I made my way down into the hold, following the familiar path through the mess hall (somewhat more lavishly furnished than the one aboard the tanker that lay dead in New York harbor) down to the engine room, and wove through the criss-crossing, dimly lit corridors that took me into the deep recesses of the ship. The first few areas of the hold were completely empty, save for some empty wooden crates that lay tipped over, spilling packing peanuts, Styrofoam, and not much else. Whatever was being stored there had been moved some time ago. A film of dust coated most surfaces, and much of the remaining metal equipment – scattered crowbars here and there, a forlorn forklift in a distant corner – had begun to rust from disuse. Blame the salty air. The last section of the hold was the same kind of cavernous room where I had discovered Metal Gear RAY in the bowels of the Discovery. But, to my mild disappointment, there was nothing there this time, save the same service walks and gantries that lined the walls of the Discovery's hold. Again, I contacted Otacon. “There was definitely a Metal Gear aboard this ship,” I told him, “but it looks like it's been moved out already. That explains the heavy lifting equipment out on the dock.” “The only place it could possibly be now is the island,” Otacon told me. “It must be the assembly point and staging area for Metal Gear. And if they've evacuated the ship completely, then it could be that they're planning to ditch it and fortify the island.” My stomach churned unpleasantly at the idea of another mercenary nation being founded on a remote island. This whole “Outer Heaven” business had been in vogue for far too long. Closing the link with Otacon, I made my way back out of the hold and off of the ship. I sped down the dock, determined to put an end to this new mercenary rebellion before it could begin in earnest. The gate that led into the island proper was left cracked open. I found that more than a little perplexing. The only weapon I had on me was my modified M9 Beretta, and tranquilizers wouldn't be much use in a firefight, but I held it like a lifeline as I stole into the base, keeping it level and ready to fire at a moment's notice. But the island base, too, was empty, and a massive contrast to the well-maintained and modern ship that sat vacant and forlorn in the harbor. This place reeked of obsolescence. There weren't any obvious indicators as to its age, but from the level of decay and the look of its equipment, I pegged it at around the 1970s at the latest. Otacon suggested that it and the airstrip that we had landed on used to be parts of the same facility. The base's layout was simple: A barracks on the far left side, a rectangular hangar in the middle of the base, and a larger, circular, domed structure. Inside the barracks, there wasn't much besides rusted bunks standing row on row and a mess hall that stank of long-expired food. I did find a rusted Mosin-Nagant bolt-action rifle on a moldy old mattress. The relic caught my eye immediately, and I tried cycling it on the slim chance that there was still a round loaded. I wasn't altogether surprised to find that the action was rusted solid, but I was a little disappointed. Leaving the barracks, I checked out the smaller, rectangular hangar. Not much in there; some rusted old trucks with moth-eaten furniture inside the cabins. I didn't recognize the model off the top of my head, but they looked as old as the facility itself, and each of them was stamped on the doors and hoods with a faded white star, a symbol that I recognized as the old American Army logo. That struck me as particularly unusual; there wasn't enough space on the island to justify the presence of one truck, let alone several. And why were there American trucks in the same base as a Russian rifle? I left the hangar and took one last look around the place, but there wasn't much to see that I hadn't already seen. Steeling my nerves and once again gripping my Beretta, I made for the domed structure. There was a wide gate, like the entrance to a garage, and beside it a door. I gripped the door's handle, took a deep breath, and tentatively nudged it open. The door to the hangar had groaned something awful when I'd opened it. Those hinges hadn't been oiled in who knows how long. But this one opened smoothly, with nary a sound. I noted the difference and stepped into the room, my gun held at the ready. Yet even in the darkness of this hangar, I could tell that it, too, was devoid of human life. There were no sounds besides my footsteps as I edged into the building; no telltale smells of sweat or cologne – or flatulence, if you'll believe it – that always gave away human presence. I was quite alone. I was well past exasperated by this point. It isn't that I minded the lack of enemy soldiers to shoot and sneak past, but I was hoping to find something besides a worthless gun, Styrofoam and rancid odor on this mission. Pegasus Wings had a presence here; the ship was evidence enough of that, but what that presence was, I couldn't determine. Three hundred and fifty soldiers had vanished, taking with them a Metal Gear and a nuclear missile. Part of me felt like giving up, going back to the Nomad and getting some goddamn dinner, but I couldn't just let a malignant mercenary army remain in possession of a nuclear delivery system, so I resolved to keep searching. My hand groped along the near wall, searching for a switch to provide the hangar with some illumination. I found it at last, taking it in my hand and pulling it down. It resisted, only slightly, but complied in the end. There was a spark from the switch, the sound of electric equipment stirring and coming to life, and suddenly, the hangar was bathed in fluorescent white light. I don't find myself at a loss for words often (in fact, it's been said that I talk too much, for too long) so try and understand just how flabbergasting the sight before me was. I'll try to convey it with words, but whether it's my memory dulling with time, or that room being too wondrous for words to do justice by, I don't think I'll be able to do it right. For starters, it was huge. I don't think the exterior of the building really captured just how big it was going to be on the inside. The place was enormous and shaped like a sports stadium. It was a single room, circular in shape. And every surface in the room was chrome. Everything, every panel, every instrument, the very walls themselves, reflected the fluorescent light from the ceiling. It was like being inside a lightbulb. The instruments themselves – how to put this? I hate to bring up Star Trek again, but those are the best terms I can describe it in. You know the way that forward-thinking sci-fi tries to cast a certain futuristic look and feel onto everything? Trouble is, they're always trying to envision that future in present-day terms. It's hard to capture the look and feel of the far-flung future when you're constrained by the limitations of contemporary times, so everything winds up having this weird, sort of archaic feel to it. It's meant to look futuristic, but you can tell that it isn't. Well, that's the way that the equipment in that room looked: like old equipment dressed up to look futuristic. The interior layout winded and spiraled downward. The whole thing reminded me of the seating in a football stadium, the way the consoles were arranged in the circular pattern, tapering down to a wide pit. I was standing close to a ramp that led from the entrance I'd come through to the bottom. It was wide, wide enough to comfortably accommodate one of those trucks that I'd found in the hangar. I guess they were used to run supplies up from the bottom of this room to the outside world. Or the other way around. Whichever. As much as the scale of the place hit me, the quality of its maintenance was what really made it stand out from the rusted-out carcass that was the base. This place was so unlike that; it had a life to it, a pulse. I couldn't help but wonder what it could possibly have been built for. Well, actually, it was three things that stuck out. The scale. The quality of its maintenance. And the big honking arch in the center of the pit at the bottom of the room. Otacon rang me, said that he'd been keeping up on the visual data transmitted from my nanomachines. To say he was excited would be a gross understatement. I couldn't recall him ever being so animated, especially in the wake of his sister's death in Manhattan not so long ago. “Can you believe it?” he asked me, almost giddy. “It's like the Guardian of Forever! Think it'll take you back in time if you walk through it?” I didn't have the slightest idea as to what he was talking about. I've had a lot of time on my hands during my retirement, and this place gets cable, so I've since been able to educate myself on classic Star Trek. Actually, it's a funny story. Hearing “Guardian of Forever” on an episode brought me back to the memory of that day, reminded me of that mission I'd gone on. It's what prompted me to write this chapter, incidentally. Where was I? Oh, right. Otacon. He wanted to know everything about that room, demanded that I bring back some sort of sensitive equipment for him to study. “Scientific curiosity,” he called it. “Otacon,” I said to him tentatively, not wanting to burst his bubble too maliciously, “is that the same scientific curiosity that pushed you to develop REX?” He got quiet, responding a few moments later with a mollified “touché ,” and signed off before I could apologize. I sighed to myself, pressing a palm to my forehead and squeezing my thumb and index fingers against my temples. I felt bad for hurting him like that – who wouldn't kick themselves after inventing a world-ending machine like REX? – but that man needed a spine in the worst way. Figured I'd bring him a shiny piece of metal and call it an apology gift. Putting aside Otacon's oversensitivity for another time, I walked down the ramp and holstered my Beretta; there wasn't any point in keeping it out. This place was as lifeless as the rest of the island, empty, and eerily sterile. Every step I took echoed loudly, reverberating off of the chrome walls; my every footfall came back to me as the stomping of a colossus. I looked down as I walked, noting silently the black, rubbery tire tracks running down the length of the ramp. “There's one hypothesis confirmed,” I said to the empty room. When I came at last to the pit at the bottom, I stared up at the arch which towered above me. This entire island was one of contradictions – the modern wonders of the tanker berthed outside, the hollow, derelict military barracks, the science fiction look and feel of this... whatever the hell this room was, and even the arch itself. So completely unlike anything else on the island. The military base may have been old; this thing was ancient. Like something out of a National Geographic article about ancient Egypt, or Rome, or some other dead civilization. It was bigger up close than it had looked from the top of the room, more than big enough enough to accommodate the trucks in the hangar next door. It's funny; I could tell just by looking at it that it was old, but age didn't cause the thing to lose any luster. It was beautiful, exquisitely and ornately carved with inlaid patterns that I didn't recognize or understand, at least at the time. But even without comprehending, I couldn't stop staring. At the pinnacle of the arch was the bust of a unicorn, resplendently white in the room's fluorescence. It stared down at me with shimmering eyes, an expression of serenity adorning its long face. I didn't realize that a horse's face could express something as abstract as serenity, but I guess that shows what an ignorant bastard I am. It was the centerpiece of the room. Possibly of the base itself. I got the distinct impression that this building was built around the arch, that the arch was the sole reason for this base's existence. There was a sacredness about the place that was just starting to creep onto me. It felt holy. Consecrated. Like a monument to some ancient faith or creed that nobody alive could now remember. Suddenly, I felt compelled to touch the arch, to feel it. To make that ancient history come alive just by feeling it against my hand. But the buzzing of the Codec interrupted me before I could do something as stupidly sentimental as that, and I shook off the feeling. Otacon's voice still sounded droopy, but he was definitely intrigued by what it was we were seeing. “This room is important,” he told me, “though how, I don't exactly know. But we know that Pegasus Wings came here, and we know that they brought a Metal Gear. It's a small island. There aren't many places for them to have stashed it.” I looked at the ground on a whim, and noticed something peculiar. The tire tracks ran from the end of the ramp, down the center of the arch. But they didn't come out of the other side. Well. That was telling. "Otacon," I said. “This archway... there're tire tracks that run right to its opening, but that don't run out the other side. I think whatever goes through here... comes out someplace else.” I allowed myself to press a hand against its frame. To my surprise, it felt warm, almost hot, to the touch. "That shouldn't be possible. Should it?" "Site-to-site transportation of matter? I mean, we have been referencing Star Trek pretty liberally so far." "Try to think outside the realm of science fiction, Otacon," I sighed. "Well... I wanna say no, but it's hard to argue with the evidence, isn't it? Teleportation's something we've seen before. Maybe this is just the same thing on a macro scale." I chewed that over. Psycho Mantis had that kind of ability, vanishing and reappearing on the other side of the room without so much as a telltale puff of brimstone. But transporting an entire army from one place to who the hell knows? That was a whole league apart from him. Now, the question was, who would have the resources to put together something like that, to build a machine that violated all the laws of physics, that could be exploited for military purposes? Some podunk, small-time private army? No, someone else had to have bankrolled this. Not too difficult to guess who, I hope. I doubted they were involved with Pegasus Wings and their activities, but a facility with technology of this caliber could only have come from the Patriots. But the island didn't look like it was home to any kind of active presence; nothing outside of the dome facility was being maintained. Maybe this was some project the Patriots had been working on, but abandoned. Maybe Pegasus Wings found it and got it working again. But how did that fit together with the Metal Gear, with the nuke? “Snake...” Otacon's voice was hesitant. I could predict what it was he was about to say, and I could guess why he held it back. “Do you think that they took Metal Gear through that teleporter?” “It sounds incredibly stupid,” I said. “Naturally, that's probably exactly what happened." I snorted, wondering why and how shit like this fell into my lap time and time again. "You know what this means, of course." Otacon hesitated to answer. So I went ahead and supplied the words that he was so afraid of saying. “I have to follow them, Otacon. I need to see where they've taken Metal Gear.” He tried to protest, but his heart wasn't exactly in it. He had to have come to the same conclusion that I did. We couldn't very easily let a Metal Gear remain in the hands of potential terrorists. No way we could justify that, after spending four years breaching the sovereignty of recognized nations to destroy their Metal Gears. I knew damn well that whatever damage that Metal Gear caused, whatever blood it spilled, would be as much on my hands for my inaction as it would be on Otacon's for inventing it, if I walked away. Otacon finally agreed with my assessment. There was more equipment arranged around the arch, control panels that glowed dimly, and padded, rotating chairs that faced away from their stations. He directed me to one of them, talked me through the process of starting the machine up. I'm not sure how he knew what to do to get it to work. Sure, he was always good with computers, but these were archaic machines from another era, hooked up to an ancient portal that would take me God knows where. Figured he'd have a little bit of trouble with them, but he talked me through the process like it was nothing. Maybe it was my nanomachines again, relaying information to him, or some other damn thing. I don't know; my skillset doesn't include the intricacies of computer science. But he got that computer to work, and as it hummed to life, the glow on the monitor readout intensified. The fluorescent light dimmed, and in the dead center of the arch, floating in midair, the tiniest ball of yellow light appeared. I watched it, mesmerized, as it grew in size, very quickly filling the massive frame of the arch. The fluorescent light winked out altogether as the light shone radiantly from every inch of the portal's maw. It's funny. That unicorn bust that I was looking at before, the one that looked so white and beautiful and inviting—it was the one thing in the room that didn't reflect the yellow light from the portal. If anything, it darkened, shriveled, and turned a sinister ebony. The look of serenity twisted into a grim scowl, and finally extended into a mocking sneer. And I? I stared back defiantly, refusing to be cowed by a shaped piece of rock. “Snake,” said Otacon timidly as I stared into the sea of gold. “Did you ever see Stargate?” “See, now that's a reference I can understand.” I replied. I stared deep into the portal, trying to discern something – a recognizable shape, some hint of what lay in store for me beyond – to no avail. “I saw it in theaters, actually. The guy at the ticket booth said I looked like Kurt Russel. Why?" “Suffice to say, it's more than a little relevant right now,” said Otacon, forcing some cheer into his voice. No kidding, I thought. “I could be out of contact for a while. If I'm not back in seventy-two hours, I'm not coming back at all. Take off and find help. Find Jack. Come in after me, and finish whatever I've started. We can't let this one get away, Otacon.” “I'll come for you, Snake,” said Otacon. There was a hardness in his voice, a resoluteness that I wish he'd carry himself with more often. It was, and still is, very becoming. “But you make sure that I don't have to. Don't make me lose you the way I lost Emma.” I couldn't help but smile sadly at the company he was putting me in. “Hold the fort, Hal,” I said quietly. Filling my lungs with what could have turned out to be my final breath of Earth air—or my last breath of air, period—I stepped into the brightness, letting it swallow me, engulf me in its shining heat. And then I was gone.

Posh

436

Main 6,Other,Twilight Sparkle,Crossover,Human,Adventure,Dark,Metal Gear,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic,Death,Violence

Pony Gear Solid

Solid Snake teams up with ponies to save Equestria, and gradually learns to love it.

incomplete

<p>Metal Gear has fallen into the hooves of an Equestrian revolutionary, who, with the backing of his human mercenary allies, intends to use it to depose Celestia and crown himself ruler. Having crossed into Equestria in pursuit of this rogue weapon, the legendary Solid Snake must ally with the residents of Ponyville to prevent a nuclear catastrophe.</p><p>See also <a href="/story/369125/equestria-gear-solid-the-definitive-experience" rel="nofollow"><i>Equestria Gear Solid</i></a><i>,</i> the hilarious spin-off EQG parody in which everything you know is wrong, and every single character from the story is an awful caricature of themselves. </p><p><a href="http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/FanFic/PonyGearSolid" rel="nofollow">Now with its own TVtropes page!</a></p>

teen

2012-04-02T05:40:31+00:00

2017-08-04T18:37:46+00:00

"Using the old cardboard box trick, huh? Looks good on you, Snake." “...and so then Pinkie Pie said 'oatmeal? Are you crazy?!” Laughter erupted around the table in the Sweet Apple Acres farmhouse's dining room as Fluttershy finished her anecdote. “Dangit, Fluttershy,” Applejack panted, fighting against the giggles as she wiped a tear from her eye with a shaking hoof, “I can't believe I weren't there for that one. That story's a right classic.” “Well,” said Fluttershy, pausing to take another sip of cider, “Ms. Cheerilee didn't find it all that funny at the time. The last time I paid her a visit, she still hadn't gotten the cheese smell out of her basement.” “She'll come 'round,” said Applejack. “Time has a funny way of puttin' these things inta perspective.” She slid the nearest bottle of cider down the table into Fluttershy's waiting hoof. “Top yerself off there, iffin you like. We got plenty in the cellar.” She spared a worrying glance to Big Mac. “We do still got plenty, don't we?” “Eeyup.” Big Mac smirked at Applejack, glancing at the half-empty cider bottle beside Fluttershy and arching his eyebrows. “Like I said, then!” She turned back to Fluttershy with a broad smile. “It's been a par-ticularly fruitful harvest, after all, an' we got plenty to spare.” “Oh, you're too kind,” said Fluttershy, pushing the bottle back down the table. “But I think I may have had just a bit too much already. I think it's startling to – starting to afflict – start – ” Fluttershy took a deep breath, exhaled, closed her eyes and concentrated. “Starting to affect the way I chalk – talk! Oh goodness, I can't even speak properly anymore.” Her voice had a fluttering, buoyant quality to it, despite her angst, and she maintained a dopey grin on her face, so very unlike her usual shy, quiet smile. “This is so embarrassing. Maybe it would be bitter – batter – better – if just stopped for the night.” “Aw, don't be s'darn self-conscious. You ain't the first pony to get a li'l bit tipsy after imbibin' in Sweet Apple Cider.” said Applejack, relieved to no end that Fluttershy was calling an end to her bender. Sure, it was modest by most standards, but for Fluttershy, who hardly touched the stuff if she could help it, it was noteworthy. She'd invited the bashful pegasus to dinner with the hope that a social occasion would bring her out of her shell the slightest bit, and in that, the plan had succeeded, though she had to ply Fluttershy with considerably more cider than she'd thought. The anecdotes, however, were certainly worth the effort; Fluttershy was spilling stories that she doubtlessly would never have thought about sharing if she were sober. “The stuff has a funny way of muckin' up words," Applejack added with a wink. "Loosenin' lips. Lowerin' inhibitions.” “Applejack says that cider's the reason I was born in the first place!” Apple Bloom chimed in cheerfully as she trotted into the dining room from the kitchen, precariously balancing a tray of apple fritters on her nose. She set the tray on the table, oblivious to the gobsmacked, open-jawed expression of her big sister, the blushing face and subdued giggling of Fluttershy, or the bemusement of Big McIntosh. Applejack flushed visibly beneath her orange coat. “Apple Bloom,” she said, gritting her teeth tightly together, “do we need to have another talk about what is and is not appropriate conversation when company's over?” “Shucks, sis!” said Apple Bloom, nuzzling Fluttershy's side affectionately. “It's just Fluttershy! She's practically family!” She turned to her sister with bright, shining eyes. “An' if I can't talk that way around family, who can I talk that way around?” “Preferably,” growled Applejack, “nopony. Yer too young t'be talking like that.” She paused. “Or to know what I meant when I said that.” “Puh-leeze,” said Apple Bloom, jerking her head in Fluttershy's direction. “Not like what I said's any worse than some o'the stories she's been telling.” Fluttershy smiled, genuinely touched by Apple Bloom's familial sentiments. “You're so sweet,” she said, leaning down to ruffle her mane and accidentally pushing a mop of hair into her eyes. “But m-maybe you should listen to your sister.” “'Maybe,'” Applejack huffed under her breath. Big Mac chuckled from across the table. “After all,” Fluttershy continued, picking an apple fritter from the tray. “As my mother always said, 'always keep your audience in mind,' I happen to know one or two stories about you that you wouldn't want to come out at a time like this.” She chewed her fritter somewhat more sloppily than she would have had she been sober, and set it down upon her plate. “Is that right?” Applejack said, turning on Apple Bloom with a sinister grin on her face. “Now now, Fluttershy, don't y'all hold back on Apple Bloom's account. Let's hear some o'them tales.” Apple Bloom's heart skipped a beat as she pushed her mane out of her eyes. She wasn't certain what, exactly, Fluttershy had in mind, but whatever it was, she'd either never live it down, or be grounded long enough to ensure that she'd be a blank-flank forever. “Th-that's okay Fluttershy,” she said hastily. “No need to say nothin' you might regret later.” “Well,” said Fluttershy, leaning forward and resting her chin on her folded front legs, evidently oblivious to Apple Bloom's protest. Her voice was faintly distorted and her words noticeably slurred from a night of moderate cider consumption. “There was that one time with the Cockatrice...” Applejack's expression of sinister glee winked out of existence. She stared blankly ahead, her eyes going out of focus. She no longer looked at Apple Bloom at all. Rather, she seemed to be looking beyond her, at something not visible to anypony else. The filly, suddenly very nervous, edged uncomfortably away from her sister's unfocused gaze. “Cockawho?” asked Applejack, turning back to the table and staring blankly at Fluttershy. “Oh, you haven't heard of them before?” asked Fluttershy, who was clearly too drunk to notice Applejack's change in demeanor. “I do believe I have,” said Applejack in a slow, measured deadpan. “But why don'tcha remind me, jus' in case my memory's a tad foggy.” “You know. A Cockatrice. Head of a chicken, body of a snake. They can turn you to stone just by making eye contact, you know. Very dangerous creatures.” She nodded sagely at her own statement, leaning down to sip from her cider glass, forgetting momentarily that she had cut herself off for the night (and, more importantly, that her glass was empty). “Yes. That's what I thought it was.” Applejack's voice was still eerily calm. Apple Bloom gazed cautiously at her sister. Now, now, she told herself. Maybe she's not so mad. It's not like her eyelid's twitchy or nothin'. Boy, wouldn't I be in for it if it were. Applejack's eyelid spasmed subtly. Horseapples, thought Apple Bloom sourly, wilting. She tiphooved towards the kitchen door, hoping to escape before the torrent of Applejack's fury hit. “An' what, pray tell, were the circumstances of Apple Bloom's meetin' with that chicken-snake?” asked Applejack in her worryingly impassive voice. Please, Fluttershy, Apple Bloom thought, willing her thoughts to beam into the drunk pegasus' mind. Please, please say that your lips ain't that loose. “She and her friends ran into the Everfree Forest during their sleepover,” Fluttershy explained, her eyelids drooping sleepily. “And they almost got turned to stone too. Luckily I...” She yawned a graceful, gentle yawn, her closed eyelids preventing her from seeing the throbbing vein in Applejack's forehead. “Woke up and noticed they were out of bed,” she continued as the yawn drew to an end. “Otherwise, you'd have a rock for a sister.” Fluttershy giggled. “'Rockle Bloom.' Oh, the fillies at school would tease her so...” She smacked her lips, snuggled her head into her forelegs and began snoring. “Apple Bloom.” Applejack's sharp call froze the escaping filly in her tracks. Fluttershy jolted awake, startled by the sudden change in Applejack's tone. Sobriety hit her like a ton of bricks as she saw the joyless face of her friend and the fear that radiated off of Apple Bloom. A cold chill crept up Apple Bloom's back as she nervously turned back to her sister. “Is what Fluttershy's sayin' true?” asked Applejack, her voice reverberating with barely restrained anger. Big Mac's eyes darted from Fluttershy, to Applejack, to Apple Bloom and back. Apple Bloom shuffled her hooves nervously, eyes riveted to the ground. “Well... there's a li'l bit more to it than that...” “I didn't ask for no hemmin' and hawin',” snapped Applejack. Apple Bloom jumped at the harshness in her voice and looked vainly to Fluttershy for help. “You tell the truth now,” said Big Mac sternly, leaning forward onto the table as he gazed at Apple Bloom. Apple Bloom decided to stake her future on the chance that her family would treat her mercifully if she were simply honest. Planting her hooves and meeting Big Mac's gaze, she gave a firm, if timid, “yes.” “Applejack,” said Fluttershy hastily, “if I could just explain—” “I'm thinkin' I've heard all the explanations I need,” Applejack interrupted, pushing away from the table. “Apple Bloom, you go to yer room and you stay there 'til I come talk to you. I'm gonna see our guest out.” She trotted to the front door, keeping her eyes locked steadily forward. “Fluttershy, you'll come with me now.” “Applejack—” Applejack stamped her hoof against the floor so hard that the wooden boards splintered and cracked beneath her. At that moment, the open, sociable, funny drunk Fluttershy evaporated. Drooping her wings and her ears in tandem, she slid off of her chair and sullenly fell in step behind Applejack. She glanced back, hoping to catch a glimpse of Apple Bloom, but the yellow filly was gone from sight already. All she saw was Big McIntosh, whose silent, judging gaze followed her to the door. “AJ, please don't be harsh with Apple Bloom—” Fluttershy began as they stepped outside together, before Applejack met her almost nose-to-nose and locked their gazes together, performing a near perfect simulacrum of the pegasus' legendary stare. “I don't know what them fillies was doin' in yer house when they was supposed to be with Rarity that night,” hissed Applejack, “and I don't rightly care right now, though I probably I will when I swing by her place tomorrow mornin' to give her a piece o'my mind.” She jabbed a hoof accusingly at Fluttershy, who recoiled. “But for whatever reason, they was in your care, an' truth be told, that wouldn't'a bothered me none, if I'd known. I woulda figgered I could trust you with somethin' as little as my baby sister's life. Guess I know better now, on account of you lettin' 'em sneak out an' get jumped by a chicken-snake!” “I-I didn't...” Fluttershy stammered. Abashed, she turned her head away from Applejack. “I-I wasn't... I wouldn't have—” “Wouldn'ta what?” asked Applejack, advancing on Fluttershy, even as the latter backpedaled. “Wouldn'ta let 'em get stoned? Or et?! I know what Cockatrices do to their prey, Fluttershy, oh do I ever know all too well what they do t'their prey! Yer dang right you 'wouldn't have,' 'cuz if I lost my sister on account o'yer negligence..." Her face darkened. Fluttershy's breath hitched and her chest heaved. She shut her eyes tightly, stifling the tears that Applejack's words had drawn out of her. But Applejack was unmoved, her anger providing a powerful shield against her friend's pathos. Still, unwilling to castigate the sobbing pegasus any longer – she had a sister who needed scolding, after all – she sighed and looked away. “'Git. We'll talk more 'bout this later, Fluttershy.” “Applejack... I'm s-so—" “Don't. Make me. Repeat myself." Fluttershy nodded with a sniffle. Turning her back to Sweet Apple Acres, she trotted miserably down the road home, leaving Applejack to sweep up the tattered shreds of what had been, up until moments ago, a pleasant night. Apple Bloom sobbed into her pillow, her muffled cries audible only to her. I'm such a loudmouth, she thought. Should'a never piped up. Fluttershy wouldnt'a got kicked out, I wouldn't be in no trouble, and we'd all be enjoyin' apple fritters right now. A fresh wave of tears spilled into her damp pillow. Or maybe if AJ weren't such a sourpuss sometimes. She didn't hafta be so mean to Fluttershy. Coulda let her explain... don't even understand what she's so rumphurt 'bout... There was a harsh rapping at her door. Apple Bloom stiffened, swallowing her sobs as the door swung open, the silhouette of a pony in a Stetson hat obscuring the light that now washed into her room. She remained still, her back turned to the door, as her sister trotted in, her telltale heavy hoofsteps giving the filly a glimpse at her older sister's anger. “You wanna tell me jus' what you were thinkin', chargin' into the Everfree Forest like it were some kinda game?” she demanded as she came to Apple Bloom's bedside. Apple Bloom made no reply. “Silly me, Apple Bloom,” said Applejack, “I said that like I was askin'. I ain't. Talk.” At length, Apple Bloom gave a sullen reply. “Why bother? Not like you'd listen to me anyways.” “Now don't go givin' me that bunk,” snapped Applejack. “Dangit, Apple Bloom, you're lucky I'm even givin' you a chance to explain! S'more than Fluttershy got, an' it's more than you deserve!” Apple Bloom pulled her pillow tightly against her chest, curling around it. “What in Equestria were you tryin' to prove?” Applejack pressed. “You got jumped by a cockatrice, Apple Bloom. You could'a died!” As if responding to a challenge, Apple Bloom whirled about, jumping to all fours atop her bed. “But I didn't, AJ!” she shouted furiously, tears clinging to her eyelashes. “Why are you even mad about this?! It was, like, forever ago! An' Fluttershy saved us 'fore anything could even happen!“ “If it weren't for Fluttershy,” growled Applejack, “you wouldn't'a been there in the first place! If she'd kept an eye on you like a responsible mare—" “'Responsible mare?!'” Apple Bloom laughed a harsh, guttural, very un-fillylike laugh. “You mean like you? How many bits didja bring home from the Grand Galloping Gala, huh big sis? Didja fix the leaky roof yet, you responsible gal you? Can Granny Smith walk more'n two steps without fallin' over herself?!” Applejack planted both hooves onto her sister's bed and rose to stand on her hind legs. Beneath her Stetson, her eyes narrowed to slits, and her flared nostrils gave her the appearance of a bull about to charge. Apple Bloom wasn't quite sure what had gotten into her, that she was talking back to her big sister this way – they got on famously at the best of times, granted – but she rather liked being able to stick up for herself. Maybe the events of the night had brought a simmering undercurrent of sibling rivalry to the surface. Maybe the fumes from the cider had given her the extra nip of courage she needed to push back against her overbearing, overprotective guardian. Or, more likely, she'd gone insane from misery and didn't realize the danger she was putting herself in. “Yer the one in trouble there, li'l filly, not me,” said Applejack in that low, dangerous tone that she reserved for her most wrathful moments. “An' for your own sake, you better keep that in mind! I'm the one what puts food in your ungrateful belly, an' a leaky roof over yer head's miles better than no roof 't all! So I don't wanna hear that kinda backtalk from you, 'specially when I ain't done nothin' t'deserve it!” “Yer dang right I'm ungrateful!” Apple Bloom met her sister's stare, met it and returned it in full force. “An' who wouldn't be with you lookin' after 'em?! I didn't ask for you t'raise me, an' if Ma an' Pa were still alive, I wouldn't hafta put up with it!” Those words were the first to penetrate the armor of Applejack's anger, and her angry expression faltered slightly. “You don't know what you're sayin'.” “I know dang well what I'm sayin'!” said Apple Bloom. The momentum had swung her way, and now she moved in for the kill. “I'm sayin' that I wish you was dead 'n not them!” It was like being kicked full-tilt in the stomach. Applejack's eyes widened, the wind drained from her lungs, and her hooves slipped from Apple Bloom's bed, clopping against the floor. Apple Bloom knew she'd hurt her sister, though she couldn't have begun to guess just how deeply. And she didn't care. The fight now over, she lay on her bed and rolled around, once again treating Applejack to a view of her back. She heard the soft tapping of hooves against the floor as Applejack exited the room, then the click of her door as it shut securely. And, as she strained her ears to listen for signs of life outside, she swore she heard a quiet sob. Apple Bloom didn't give a good gosh-dangit-to-Heck how Applejack felt at that moment. She glanced at her window, still open a crack from that afternoon, when Applejack had told her to nudge it open a little bit to let the smell of their frying fritters waft out over Ponyville. “What better way t'drum up business for the Apple Family,” Applejack had said, “then by remindin' them what they're missin' out on?” The memory wasn't a pleasant one anymore. Apple Bloom fought it down. She needed to focus on the task at hoof, after all. She took her blanket in her mouth and, with a bit of finagling, began knotting it into a rope. I don't know how long I was out for. Couldn't have been much longer than a few hours. I could tell because I didn't feel any older. And maybe that doesn't sound so significant, but after Shadow Moses, I'd wake up after a full night's sleep, and somehow, I'd feel older. As if I could sense that I had aged, substantially, overnight. It was years before the physical signs of my aging began to show, and when they did, I can't say I was surprised that it was happening. I think part of me could tell all along. So it was important when I woke up from my nap, and I didn't feel any older. Meant that I hadn't been there too long, though that didn't help me in any event. The first thing I felt, as I was regaining consciousness, was something cold and wet pressed against my face. I brushed at it, still mired in that no-man's-land between sleep and waking, and it went away, only to be replaced by something warm and wet dragging across my cheek. “Cut it out, Meryl,” I muttered sleepily, rolling over to escape. But it persisted and intensified, even after I batted at my cheek to knock it away. I opened my eyes slowly, expecting to still be surrounded by the brilliant light that had knocked me out in the first place. But to my surprise, it was dark. Not pitch-dark; I could make out what was hovering over me, but dark enough that I had to strain a little bit to see it. Beady black eyes stared into my own. Now very much awake and alarmed, my own eyes flew open, and I immediately scrambled into a sitting position, my hand shooting toward the Beretta on my hip. The thing that had watched me in my sleep cocked its head quizzically, and my mind registered it as a familiar, recognizable shape. It was a dog, probably a collie, given its coat and general look. Friendly enough, too. But then, I'd always been good with dogs. I relaxed immediately after discerning that what had roused me was a harmless dog. It wore a collar with a dangling gold tag around its neck – a domesticated dog at that. So wherever the portal had taken me, it was at least someplace civilized. The first thing I thought to do was to call Otacon on the Codec. There was no answer but static on his frequency, nor on the emergency frequency that we'd set aside for rainy days. I'd been afraid of that, but I'd left him with instructions. All I could do was hope that he wouldn't have to follow them. I figured that'd be an adjustment. I'd been a lone wolf for most of my career, but for years by that point I'd had Otacon looking over my shoulder, giving me intel, advice, technical knowledge whenever I needed it or asked for it. He was like a guardian angel. A nerdy guardian angel who liked crapping up my stereo with his anime soundtracks, but at least I always knew where he stood. Still do. Putting that aside for the time being, I took in my surroundings. There was a wooden crate sitting just behind me, lidless and propped upside down, the open end stuck into the ground. Had to wonder what the point of that was, but it was me-sized and conveniently located, so who was I to complain? Figured whoever it belonged to wouldn't mind so much if I borrowed it without asking. If it was just dumped here haphazardly, then what right did he have to complain? My muscles were a little cramped from laying and sitting for who knows how long, so I decided to stand. I climbed to my feet, shaking off the cobwebs and stretching as I rose. Felt good to move again. The dog darted between my ankles, looking up at me with a lopsided, tongue-wagging grin. Whoever owned this dog evidently did not train it to be a guard dog. Not that I'm complain. I like dogs, always have; I'd sooner kill a person on a mission than a guard dog, and I'd always avoid it if I could. I reached down and scratched behind its ears, reasonably sure it wasn't going to bite me. It liked that. I figured it would. I used to race dogs, you know. I was in a barn, I realized, as I wandered around the place. On an apple farm, no less. There were dozens of barrels all over the damn place, each one stuffed like a turkey with apples in all the various hues and shapes that apples come in. A wheelbarrow full of hay, too. My stomach growled. That was the second indicator for how long I'd been asleep; not long enough to have aged, but long enough to have an empty stomach. Well, I thought, I'm on an apple farm, surrounded by barrels of apples. When in Rome. Or wherever the hell. But then, I reasoned, wouldn't any farmer worth their salt-lick notice that someone had pilfered an apple or two from their harvest? It could raise an alarm. Could get me into trouble. Could get me noticed. Could make carrying out my mission that much more difficult to do. Then again, I was damn hungry. And there were so many that, honestly, who would have noticed if one was missing? I guess I had started assuming, in my delirious, hungry state, that these farmers were not worth their salt-licks. I reached into a barrel and selected a nice round golden delicious. I breathed on its skin, rubbed it off on the front of my suit (probably a bad call, given the amount of grime that's accumulated on that old thing over the years) and raised it to my lips. The dog didn't like that. It started growling as soon as I picked the apple, but just before I could take a bite, it started barking this high-pitched, piercing yelp. “There are plenty of other apples,” I said to the dog. “Who cares if I take one? Nobody'll notice.” The dog didn't like common sense almost as much as it didn't like apple thievery. Its barks and growls rose in both volume and pitch. I wasn't so hungry that I'd lost all reason; I knew that I was on a farm, and I knew that the dog could raise an alarm, call in its owner and get me spotted. So I undid the holster on my hip and drew out my Beretta. I didn't like killing dogs, and I didn't like killing animals in general, Raven's ravens notwithstanding (bastards startled me, alright?!), but tranq'ing them seldom, if ever, had any long-lasting side effects. So I was guilt-free. But apparently, I was too late on the draw, because I heard a voice calling “Winona? Whassamatter girl?” It was a man's voice – deep and rich, with a Southern twang to it. The farmer, no doubt. That damn dog (Winona? Really?) had drawn some unwanted attention to my activities, something which, in my line of work, is generally considered a bad thing. The upshot was that farmers generally carried guns with them to chase out rustlers, so if nothing else, I'd get some genuine armament out of this. Three cheers for on-site procurement. I made for the upturned crate and raised the lip, sliding underneath into utter darkness. I could still hear the dog barking outside, giving away my location. Not that I forgot to tranq it in my hurry; it was a tactical decision to leave the dog awake and to let it narc on my hiding spot. I settled into a kneeling position, holding my Beretta tightly with both hands. I heard hooves. Hooves. What kind of farmer rides a horse into a barn at whatever hour of the night it was to catch a rustler? The kind that doesn't need both hands to use his gun, that's what kind of farmer. So I'd get a handgun. Hoped it wasn't a revolver. My stomach growled again. I wished I hadn't dropped that apple. “What is it, Winona?” said the farmer's voice. He was right outside now, close enough that I could hear him clearly, even through the crate. “Somethin' under the box?” How many unwary sentries had inadvertently made those words their last? Not that I was going to kill him. He was an innocent bystander in all of this. Probably. "I ain't havin' a good night,” said the farmer. “Got no patience for this. I'mma count to three, an' I wanna see you in the open. No tricks. One.” I had this trick, back in my youth. Whenever some poor dumb soul noticed me slipping from here to there in my box, I'd sit still and turtle up while he examined my hiding place, and just when he started to lift the box to see what was underneath, I'd throw it aside, startling him, grab him in a chokehold, and snap his neck. Or I'd just shoot him. Or tranq him, or get him in a sleeper hold. It was a flexible maneuver, one of my favorites for that reason. I planned to do just that when the farmer inevitably finished counting down. “Two.” I thumbed off the safety of my gun. “Three. Now, I warned y'all—” I exploded from beneath the box, tossing it rather higher into the air than I'd meant to, and raised my gun to what I had assumed would be eye level. I was, however, stymied by the fact that the farmer was not at eye level with me. He was several feet lower than that. Also, no less importantly, he wasn't a farmer with an antiquated gun, but a small red horse with freckles. And he stared at me with the same incredulity that I stared at him with. The surprise made me hesitate for a heartbeat before I regained my wits, adjusted my aim, and fired. The gun emitted a pop, its report suppressed by its silencer, as the tranquilizer dart stung him in his throat before he could say a word. He hit the ground at the same instant that the box did, out cold. The dog didn't like that either. It coiled its legs and pounced at me, driven to attack by what it probably assumed was the death of its master. It only got up to hip level, and its teeth weren't so sharp, but it startled me, got the drop on me before I could ready my gun for another shot. I kicked my leg to dislodge it, sending it skittering across the barn's floor, but it wasn't done with me yet. It got its footing back and charged at me, barking madly. I raised my gun, racked the slide, and fired a second shot. The dog's momentum carried it a few feet more as it skidded along the ground, knocked unconscious, just like its master. Its master who was a small red horse. With freckles. I've seen and done some crazy shit in my time, and had crazy shit done to me in turn. Roasting my mentor being roasted alive. Seeing my best friend being ground underfoot beneath a giant robot. Being sniffed and groped by a bisexual knife maniac. But as far as sheer shock value is concerned, nothing quite beats the revelation that, wherever I had wound up, it was populated by sapient, talking ponies who practiced agriculture. Not a turn that I could have predicted. Wherever that Stargate-looking thing had sent me – wherever it had sent Pegasus Wings – it sure as hell wasn't anywhere on Earth I knew about. The pony would be out for a while (those tranquilizers could take down an elephant) but there was always the odd chance that someone would come across him and the dog. That wasn't a chance that I wanted to take. I stooped beside the body and placed my hands beneath it, straining to lift it into the air. For something that was half my size, the bastard was heavy. His body was thick, powerful, and bulged with muscles beneath his red coat. This was a workhorse, one that could probably have done some serious damage to me, had my trigger finger not been so quick. After a bit of effort, I got him into the air and slung him over my shoulder. Carrying him to the wheelbarrow of hay, I lowered him into it, then carefully arranged the hay over his body, leaving him room to breathe while still concealing him from prying eyes. I had meant to put the dog in there with him, but the pony was so big that there wasn't enough room for two. So I took the crate that I'd hidden beneath and placed it over the sleeping collie. The thing needed air holes though, so I picked up a pitchfork that rested beside the wheelbarrow and jabbed it through the top of the box. Instant air holes. I returned the pitchfork where I had found it and stepped outside. On a hill, not far from the barn, sat a red farmhouse, two stories tall and kind of narrow. I didn't think much of it at the time, but one of the second story windows of the farmhouse was open, and a blanket, knotted into a rope, dangled from it to the ground. I figured that some rebellious country girl had snuck out for a rendezvous, and briefly wondered how a horse would have been able to tie a knot with its hooves in the first place. The night sky was alien, but beautiful – a sea of rich purple, studded with stars. The moon was waxing, but even with a portion of it obscured, it was a good size bigger than the one I was used to seeing, at least four times as large. Gorgeous as it was to look at, that really got to me. It wasn't my moon. The craters scarring its surface weren't my craters. This wasn't my world. What an unsettling realization to come to. I drew a pack of cigarettes (a new brand that I was trying, The Boss) and lit one up. I missed Otacon's presence like hell, but if anything good came from being separated from him, it was that I could smoke in peace, without hearing the Surgeon General spiel. And I needed a smoke, right then and there. I inhaled a breath of rich tobacco. The nicotine filtered into my system, and my nerves steadied. I held the smoke in my lungs for a few moments, then exhaled slowly, watching it curl and dissipate in the cold night air. I wanted to savor the few moments that I had to myself, outside of that big red barn, beside that big red farmhouse, because I knew, deep down, that I wouldn't be having too many like it for a while. So I stood there, alone in the nighttime chill, smoking my cigarette and reflecting on the turn that my day had taken. There was a distant crack, a rapid sound, faint, but unmistakable as gunfire. I whirled in its direction, drawing my Beretta again. The sound had come from a ways away, I could tell, and there wasn't much else down the way it came from but a forest. I drew my scope and held it to my eyes, zooming in as far as it'd go, but I didn't have much luck. I couldn't penetrate that dense wall of foliage. I heard the sound again – three-round burst fire, terminating as quickly as it had started – and asked myself what the odds were that a race of animals who didn't have the digits necessary to operate firearms could have made that sound. I didn't have an answer for myself. Pegasus Wings had gone through the same portal that I did. Obviously, they didn't wind up in the exact same location as me, or else there wouldn't have been a farm left to wake up in. I found that curious. In any event, it meant that they were here, somewhere. I didn't have any back-up, nor any intel to guide me, and nothing at all by way of clues to go on besides the distant sound of gunfire. But something to go on was better than nothing at all. I drew out my portable ashtray (a birthday gift from Otacon) and dropped my cigarette into it, hoping that I'd get another opportunity to smoke before too long. Taking one last look around the serene farmland, I stalked away, down the path that would lead me into the forest.

Posh

436

Main 6,Other,Twilight Sparkle,Crossover,Human,Adventure,Dark,Metal Gear,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic,Death,Violence

Pony Gear Solid

Solid Snake teams up with ponies to save Equestria, and gradually learns to love it.

incomplete

<p>Metal Gear has fallen into the hooves of an Equestrian revolutionary, who, with the backing of his human mercenary allies, intends to use it to depose Celestia and crown himself ruler. Having crossed into Equestria in pursuit of this rogue weapon, the legendary Solid Snake must ally with the residents of Ponyville to prevent a nuclear catastrophe.</p><p>See also <a href="/story/369125/equestria-gear-solid-the-definitive-experience" rel="nofollow"><i>Equestria Gear Solid</i></a><i>,</i> the hilarious spin-off EQG parody in which everything you know is wrong, and every single character from the story is an awful caricature of themselves. </p><p><a href="http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/FanFic/PonyGearSolid" rel="nofollow">Now with its own TVtropes page!</a></p>

teen

2012-04-03T06:03:02+00:00

2016-09-23T06:48:09+00:00

"If you see any UMAs, you tell me, okay?" Something about walking through a jungle always gets me nostalgic. Not, oddly enough, for any of my past missions where I've had to go through a jungle, but for something else, something that's just beyond recollection. I hear there's such a thing as “genetic memory,” and maybe it's that, but I'll be damned if I can be bothered to look it up. I've heard enough gobbledegook about genes for one lifetime. Judging by the position of the moon when I'd woken up, I put the time somewhere between ten thirty and eleven (provided, of course, that day/night cycles worked the same way here as they did back home). It took me at least a half an hour to get from the farm to the forest where the gunshots had come from, partly because I needed to navigate through an unfamiliar town with a surprising number of night owls. The streets were surprisingly well lit for such a rustic-looking town, so I kept mostly to alleys, darting from one to the next to reduce the risk of being spotted. Shooting out the streetlights was an option, but not an ideal one, due to the risk of drawing attention to myself. Glass shattering tends to make a racket, never mind the sudden darkness. So I stuck to my pattern of hiding and evasion. It was slow work, but little by little, I made my way from one end of the town to the other, where a faded, beaten path led into an unpleasant looking forest. It was the kind of repulsive place you'd find in a Disney cartoon. The path continued past the entrance, but it was faded and overgrown from disuse. I figured residents of the adjacent town avoided that forest, and judging by the look of it, they probably had good reason to. I wondered why a bustling burg was built on the threshold of such a horrible place. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained. I swallowed hard, kept a hand on my holster, and followed that ancient path into the forest's darkly grinning maw. It was a while before anything happened; the first leg of my journey was entirely uneventful. I spent most of that time trying to mentally come to grips with just how strange a turn this mission had taken since I discovered that archway in the island base. Throughout my career, I've always been able to recover very quickly in the face of the bizarre, but there is a great difference between a floating psychic in a gas mask reading my PlayStation memory card data, and waking up in a barn apparently owned and operated by a talking red horse. And after passing through the town, watching diminutive horses talk and smile and laugh and do decidedly non horse-like things, my mind was working in overtime preserving my sanity in the face of increasingly insane developments, just the latest of which was this overgrown forest where the air hung stale and heavy and damn near palpable. Never before had I felt so uneasy about a place as I did in that forest. I felt like an intruder, like I was trespassing someplace that I had no business being in. Now, I'm a professional trespasser, so trespassing normally doesn't bother me at all, but this was the first time I actually felt self-conscious about it. It was even a different feeling from the domed structure where I'd found the gateway. That place had felt sacred; this place felt the exact opposite. It felt and looked like a perversion of the natural order. It felt evil. But hey, I'd heard gunshots come from this place, and ponies don't have the necessary digits to operate firearms, so evil be damned, I was going to pass through the place. And I don't think it wanted me to, not one bit. The path, already faded and worn, disappeared after a while, leaving me with nothing to indicate where I was going, if indeed I was going anywhere worth going to, or if I was simply getting more and more lost in a forest that looked at times like it wanted to grind my bones to make its bread. What kind of PMC would set up shop in such a place, I wondered? The kind that wanted to avoid detection, keep its activities strictly clandestine. What better place to hide an army than in the one place you know that nobody will bother looking for one? I had to give Pegasus Wings' commander some credit on that one. Tactically, it was a good decision to choose the scariest damn place in the world to hide a Metal Gear. The atmosphere alone acted as a deterrent, never mind whatever may have been lurking within. Suddenly, I heard a shrill, piercing scream. I drew my gun and held it steady, checking my immediate surroundings for danger. Nothing met me but a second scream, shriller and more frightened sounding than the first. This time, it lasted about a second before it was drowned out by a bone-shaking, pants-wettening roar. The screaming voice picked up again. “Help me! Somepony, please help me!” The first sign of any life in that forest, besides myself, was a terrified scream. That didn't bode well. Still, it seemed worth following up on, so I raced off in the direction that the screams were issuing from, dashing quickly through underbrush and leapfrogging rocks and fallen logs until I came to a wide, oval-shaped clearing. I ducked, staying out of the open as I peered through the shadows at the scene unfolding before me. A lion loomed over a tiny yellow pony, pinning it to the ground with a ham-sized paw. Its face was pressed very close to the pony's, close enough for droplets of drool to splatter onto its face and run down its cheeks. I didn't see any gore, and the pony still thrashed and inarticulately begged for its life, so as far as I could tell, I'd shown up just in the nick of time. The lion pulled its lips back over its teeth and grinned as the pony begged for mercy. I've seen animals kill and eat to survive. It's a part of nature; there's no more evil to it than if I were to eat a hamburger. But this was different. Fear was written on every feature of that pony's face, the kind of fear that a mere animal is incapable of experiencing. This pony – this child – was fully aware of what was happening to it, fully cognizant that its short life was coming to a brutal end. It wasn't my problem, and it wasn't a part of my mission, but nevertheless, I couldn't let that stand. I rose from my place in the shadows and fired a tranquilizer round into the lion's flank. It yelped at the unexpected pain and stumbled off of the pony, whipping its great head back and forth in search of the source of the shot. The pony, perplexed, stared at the lion, perhaps trying to understand why it hadn't been eaten yet. The lion caught sight of me (great night vision, those lions) and emitted a low growl. Otacon once told me that the tranquilizers in my gun could bring down an elephant. Now here it was, being tested against actual African wildlife, and it was working damn slowly, if it was even working at all. The lion was wobbly on its feet, sure, but it didn't seem to feel the full effects of the tranquilizer. But I did manage to get it away from the pony, which was a small victory, I guess. Of course, I also managed to make it angry at me. And I gave it an outlet for that anger, once again, in the form of me. Whatever. I figured I could handle a big kitty cat, so I stepped out of the trees, into the clearing, and met the lion face-to-face. The pony, laying on her back between the two of us, rolled onto her belly, saw me standing there and gasped. I've always wondered what she must have been thinking right at that moment. Pity I never asked. I cocked my gun. The downside to the modded Beretta was that I needed to manually load the next round whenever I fired a shot. Sure, it kept me from racking up a conspicuous body count, which made it invaluable on sneaking missions, but it was unwieldy in a fight due to the weak rate of fire, and at that point, it was the only thing I had on me. Of course, cocking a gun looks and sounds cool, and secretly, I've always gotten a little thrill from doing it, so it was worth the trade-off. “You don't look so tough,” I said to the lion. The lion rebutted my taunt by unfurling a pair of leathery red wings and raising a multi-segmented, scorpion-esque tail of the same color. And by roaring. Loudly. I may not be as familiar with mythological creatures as some of my more educated acquaintances. But I knew what a Manticore was. And that was a Manticore. I was just asking myself how I could have ever missed seeing those wings and that tail when the Manticore lunged at me. I fired again, but the shot went wide right, and the beast crashed into me before I could load another round, knocking my gun from my hand. It flew out of sight behind me as the Manticore pinned me by the shoulders, snout pressed against my face, its hot, stinking breath searing my skin. Try pressing your face against a radiator covered in rancid meat and taking a big whiff sometime; you'll get an idea of what it was like to have that thing's breath in my face. Just as it had with the pony, it bared its fangs to me, opened its mouth and dove for my head. I caught it with both hands, straining hard to keep it away from me as it snapped its jaws and shook wildly to dislodge my grip. My offensive arsenal being dangerously limited by that point, I took the only avenue available to me: I drove my forehead into the Manticore's nose with as much force as I could muster. The blow landed dead-on, although one of its teeth caught me by the temple, below my bandana, giving me a shallow, but painful, cut. I ignored the pain and butted it again, eliciting a snarl. It redoubled its efforts, bringing its jaws perilously close to my throat and snapping, millimeters away from tearing my jugular out. Realizing that I needed to get out from under that thing, I coiled my legs, pressed my feet against its belly and heaved. Your average lion weighs somewhere on the order of six hundred pounds. My max leg press at the time was three fifty. Do the math. There's a disparity there. I strained against that monster's bulk, gritting my teeth and pushing as hard as I could, but to no avail. It was simply too heavy, impossible to lift. So, as I often did in impossible situations, I changed my tactics. The lion roared into my face; I opened my mouth and roared right back as I coiled my legs and slammed my feet into its muscular stomach. The Manticore wheezed and recoiled, stumbling backwards off of me. It recovered swiftly, but the momentary distraction was all the time I needed to recover. It shook its head and growled at me as I leaped back to my feet and into a fighting stance, hands balled, shoulders squared, legs spread evenly apart. My gun was behind me, and even with the drugs pumping through its blood the Manticore was quick enough that it could have intercepted me before I could even come close to snatching it back up. Fleeing was out of the question too, for the same reason. It was a mismatch, even with the Manticore handicapped, but hand-to-paw combat was the order of the night. The pony, like an idiot, had stuck around to watch the fight, standing well behind me and just to my left. The Manticore's eyes flicked in her direction, then back to me. It dove at me again, but the glance it spared the pony had prepared me for a feint. Sure enough, as it came within striking distance of me, it quickly adjusted its course and rushed at the pony, who yelped in fear and cowered. I tackled the Manticore in midair and we rolled through the dirt together. Eventually, I came out on top, pinned it on its back, and bashed my fists against it. Again and again, I rained heavy blows onto its face, punctuating each punch with a grunt as I battered it into submission. Something sharp dug into my right shoulder, just beside my neck, and a searing liquid heat suddenly spread into my body. I cried out in equal parts shock and pain, and the Manticore, taking advantage of my lapse, threw me off of its body. I rose to my feet again, shakily this time. The heat in my shoulder spread rapidly, to my arms first, then to my legs. My limbs felt like they weighed a ton each, and I struggled to hold my balance. The Manticore dangled its tail over its head, and I swore it smirked smarmily at me. Through my blurring vision, I could see a droplet of blood, my blood, dripping from its stinger, staining the grass where it landed crimson. Venom, I thought. It injected me with... with... My thinking grew sluggish, mirroring my physical deterioration. The effects of the venom were becoming harder to resist; simply standing on two feet now required a Herculean effort. I'd gotten careless, let an unfamiliar monster get the drop on me, and I'd been poisoned for my trouble. I knew I wasn't going to last much longer. I thought about Otacon, and wondered if he'd be able to follow my instructions. I trusted him, trusted that he and Jack could get the job done without me. I was about to die, but at least the mission would be in good hands. And at least I'd make sure my last act had some meaning to it, if it meant keeping that idiot child alive. My Beretta lay in the grass beside the filly, who, defying all conventional wisdom, still held her ground like a moron. The Manticore stood between the two of us, digging its paw into the dirt and preparing to charge again. I needed to be quick and decisive. With the venom coursing through my veins, that wouldn't be at all easy. The Manticore came for me, sailing through the air, wings spread wide, claws out, fangs bared. And I dove. I rolled beneath it as it hung in midair, coming to a halt a finger's length away from my gun. I scrabbled vainly for it, my increasingly heavy and inarticulate hand grasping nothing but wispy green grass. Behind me, the Manticore landed on all fours, turned around to face me where I lay, and roared again. My fingertip brushed against the grip of the Beretta, inadvertently pushing it away a half-inch more, ensuring that it was completely out of reach. The filly – I could barely make it out by this point, even with it standing less than a foot away – looked at the gun, then at my hand, and without further hesitation kicked it closer to me, right into my palm. I made an expression which I hoped turned out to be a smile, wrapped my fingers around the grip, rolled onto my back, cocked the gun, raised it into the air, pointed it at the Manticore and fired. I make it sound easy, but take my word for it, it wasn't. I was slow as molasses, and I suspect that the only reason the Manticore didn't snatch me up and shred me apart right then and there, why I'd survived for as long as I had, was because it feeling the effects of the first tranquilizer I'd fired into its body. Made us even, I suppose – tit for tat, sting for sting. The strength was nearly gone from my limbs; the gun felt as though it were carved from lead. Raising it from the ground was difficult enough, but my numb fingers could barely grasp it well enough to work the slide and chamber the next round, and by the time that was all done, the Manticore was nearly on top of me. My vision had deteriorated to the point where I couldn't even see the laser painting the target, never mind the iron sights. It was all I could do to point at where I thought the Manticore was, shoot, and pray to whatever god this pony-infested deathtrap had that the shot was on the mark. I honestly don't know what happened after that. My last memory of that battle was firing that last round. For the second time that day, I slipped away into unconsciousness, with the sinking realization that, this time, my number truly had come up. Each pound to the door was like a hammer driving a nail into Fluttershy's skull. Moaning through the head-splitting pain, she trudged across her darkened living room to her front door on unsteady hooves. She nudged it open, blinking bleary red eyes and wincing as warm sunlight streamed onto her face. The light compounded her splitting headache, super-heating the nail in her skull to a glistening, white-hot spike, and she shut her eyelids tightly to block out the offending luminescence. “C-can I help you?” she mumbled to her early morning visitor. The response was terse. “Is she here?” Fluttershy's eyes snapped open at the sound of Applejack's voice. The sunlight fried her retinas and renewed her headache, and she squeezed her eyes shut again in the same instant that she opened them. “Appleja – n-no, I – is who here?” she asked cogently. Fluttershy heard Applejack sigh heavily, then felt her flank brush against her wing as she trotted, uninvited, into the house. “Shoulda warned you about the consequences of late-night imbibin'. Guess that's another reason for you not to drink.” Fluttershy groped for the opened door with a trembling hoof, found it, and shut it behind Applejack. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. The memory of their argument from the night before was still powerfully fresh in her mind. “I'm gonna ask again,” said Applejack slowly. “Is Apple Bloom here?” “Apple Bloom?” Fluttershy shook her head incrementally. It irritated her hangover too much to move her head any more than the barest amount. “No, she's not. Why would she be?” Applejack sighed again, though this time, Fluttershy swore she heard a trace of a stutter in her breathing, like a half-choked sob. She turned away from the door and opened her eyes halfway. The drawn curtains and dim lighting in her house muted the pain of sight somewhat, just enough to make looking at Applejack bearable (physically, anyway). Fluttershy avoided staring directly into her eyes, not certain it she'd ever be able to look at her with openness after the incident at Sweet Apple Acres. Applejack, too, took great care not to meet Fluttershy's bloodshot gaze. Her expression remained carefully neutral, betraying no emotion, but her posture sagged and the brim of her hat was drawn farther down over her face than usual. A saddle was slung onto her back, from which a worn saddlebag hung. “She ran away,” said Applejack at length. “I woke up this mornin' to check on her, and she was gone. Her window was open and there was a blanket tied into a rope leadin' to the ground.” Fluttershy gasped sharply, her eyes flying open again, though she ignored the pain that it brought this time. “'Ran away'?” she parroted “Why?” “We had a fight,” said Applejack. “'Things were said. Leave it at that. I ran for Big McIntosh the second I noticed, but I couldn't find him anyplace. Figure he started early out in the orchard, took Winona with him. I didn't want to waste time findin' him that coulda been spent findin' Apple Bloom. He can take care of himself. She...” Applejack's voice hitched again. She coughed and cleared her throat. “Anyway.” “But why would she be here?” asked Fluttershy, trotting closer to Applejack. Applejack shrugged. “It seemed a good place t'start lookin', after the way she stuck up for y'all last night. An', uh, in any event, I needed to come by an' talk to you. See, uh...” She trailed off, glancing nervously away. “Dang, but I'm too hungover t'do this." Fluttershy tilted her head, winced at the pain it caused her to do so, and tilted her head back to its starting position. "You don't sound hung over." "Don't let that fool you." Applejack said with a ghost of a smile. She inhaled deeply, and lowered her gaze to the floor. “What I'm tryin' to say is that... I'm sorry, Fluttershy.” Her voice was even, steady, again. “For the way I talked to you last night, the way I treated you. You didn't deserve half of it. I could blame it on the cider messin' with my head, but that'd be the easy way out, an' Ma 'n Pa raised me right – taught me to responsibility for my words an' deeds. Truth is, I was mad, dang mad, an' I let it get the better of me. I got the right to be sore with you, and I ain't yieldin' that. But I shouldn'ta flew off the handle like I did. So I apologize for actin' like such a... well...” Applejack laughed mirthlessly. "Pick a word an' fill in the blank." “I... I appreciate that.” Fluttershy fought earnestly to keep the tears away, and earnestly failed. “And I want you to know how... how sorry I am for what happened the night of the sleepover.” “I know yer sorry. An' wanna say I forgive you, but..." Applejack sighed. "I can't say that an' be honest about it. Not yet, anyhow." Fluttershy hiccuped. “But I still need you,” Applejack continued. “I got a sister runnin' loose in a big ol' world chock fulla all manner o'nasty things that'd look to hurt her. A filly's a filly; to hay with what she says.” She stepped closer to Fluttershy, smiling guardedly at the pegasus. “I need to find my sister, an' I could use an extra couple'a eyes. Think you can spare yours?” “You don't even need to ask.” Through her tears, Fluttershy returned the smile. Whether it was a trick of the light, or her own sleepy vision playing tricks on her, she swore that she saw tears welling up in those brilliant green eyes. But it was a passing thing, and any traces of mushiness on Applejack's part were gone as quickly as they'd appeared. “Much obliged, Fluttershy,” said Applejack warmly. “I reckon we oughta start by roundin' up the others, six pairs of eyes bein' better'n two. First thing's first though.” She dug into her saddlebag, fished around for a moment, and retrieved a slender thermos with the Apple family crest stamped upon it. Applejack offered the thermos to Fluttershy, who hesitantly retrieved it and unscrewed the lid. Fluttershy held her nose over the thermos' opening and inhaled, her shy smile growing wider, less guarded. The rich scent of freshly brewed coffee danced in her nostrils. “Yer prob'ly tired of bein' hung over, right?” asked Applejack as Fluttershy took a lengthy, savoring drink from the thermos. “This ol' family brew oughta fix you up right an' proper. Nothin' bucks a hangover like hot coffee, Apple-family-style. That'd be with cinnamon, if yer curious. Don't tell nopony. Family secret.” She winked. Fluttershy giggled into the thermos and smiled gratefully as the caffeine entered her system, her headache dulling to a low throb, as opposed to the stab of hot iron from before. “I do feel better,” she said, “thank you.” Applejack shook her head. “Thank me by helpin' me find my sister. That drink don't come free, y'know.” She strode past Fluttershy, opened the door and stood aside. “After you.” Fluttershy trotted out of her front door, nodding her thanks at Applejack, who shut the door and followed briskly behind her. Though Applebloom's disappearance had fostered anxiety in her heart, she couldn't help but feel a small tinge of relief as she stepped into the brilliant sunlight of a newborn summer day. A friendship she'd feared irreparable was on the mend. But Applejack said herself that she hadn't forgiven her yet. And as the two of them cantered resolutely down the road to Ponyville proper, Fluttershy swore to herself that she would earn that forgiveness.

Posh

436

Main 6,Other,Twilight Sparkle,Crossover,Human,Adventure,Dark,Metal Gear,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic,Death,Violence

Pony Gear Solid

Solid Snake teams up with ponies to save Equestria, and gradually learns to love it.

incomplete

<p>Metal Gear has fallen into the hooves of an Equestrian revolutionary, who, with the backing of his human mercenary allies, intends to use it to depose Celestia and crown himself ruler. Having crossed into Equestria in pursuit of this rogue weapon, the legendary Solid Snake must ally with the residents of Ponyville to prevent a nuclear catastrophe.</p><p>See also <a href="/story/369125/equestria-gear-solid-the-definitive-experience" rel="nofollow"><i>Equestria Gear Solid</i></a><i>,</i> the hilarious spin-off EQG parody in which everything you know is wrong, and every single character from the story is an awful caricature of themselves. </p><p><a href="http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/FanFic/PonyGearSolid" rel="nofollow">Now with its own TVtropes page!</a></p>

teen

2012-04-04T06:38:22+00:00

2017-07-28T16:04:41+00:00

"Sad... so sad..." I stood in a dark enclosure, the ground soft and cold beneath (and around) my feet. Before me was a narrow path, flanked on either side by concrete walls that jutted high, vanishing into the blackness of the night sky. Behind me was a mechanical door, built into the rockface and stamped with the number four. When I looked down, I saw that the ground was coated in a blanket of stark white snow. A wet, cold pinprick needled my face, followed by a second, then a third and fourth. I shivered, breathed into my hands, and rubbed them together. I wasn't sure how I'd come to be here; the last thing I remembered was pulling the trigger on my Beretta as the world went dark around me. But the place felt familiar, and as the cogs in my head ground back into working order, I suddenly realized why. This was the path leading to the Comm Tower on Shadow Moses Island. The door behind me led back to the underground path, where the wolf-dogs made their dens. The ground beneath me, I remembered grimly, was heavily mined, and I dared not move for fear of setting off a Claymore. The snowy road in front of me led to Tower A. On the gantry outside of the tower, Sniper Wolf had laid a trap for me, and sprung it on the wrong person. The snow at the tip of the path was fresh and white, as though blood had never stained it, as though Meryl had never laid in agony while Wolf toyed with her. I swallowed hard and tried to force the memory away, but an echo of it lingered, mocking my failure. I took comfort in knowing that I'd saved her life in the long run. I don't know that I'd have been able to live with myself if she'd died. I tried the door behind me; it wouldn't open. Obvious, of course, since I didn't have the PAN card key, and hadn't for years. The only option available was to walk the path, and see where it led. Watching carefully for any trace of a laser sight, following the steps that Meryl had taken around the Claymore mines so long ago, I found my way onto the path. With nowhere to go but forward, I set off. It wasn't a long march from the door to the Comm Tower, and it shouldn't have taken much time to reach the end, but the march from point A to point B was far longer than I remembered. On top of that, the snow was picking up in intensity. Without my notice, it had turned from a light dusting that tickled my cheeks into a flurry that battered me, stinging my nose and ears and obscuring my vision while heavy winds buffeted me. My feet sank deeper and deeper into the snow with each step. Before long, I was sunk up to my ankles, trudging through an ever-thickening blanket until I found myself too snowed in to move. I was contemplating digging into the snow and forming a temporary igloo to wait out the blizzard when I heard a ragged, raspy, whispering voice that made the chill of the frost seem like molten lava by contrast. “You've returned,” it said to me. A shape materialized through the whipping wind of the blizzard, black and billowing. My mind conjured images of the Grim Reaper, swaddled in a black cloak and brandishing a scythe. I wondered if I was dead. The surreal situation made such an illogical thought oddly plausible. Whoever or whatever it was, I decided that I wasn't going to let it take me without a fight. I still had a job to do, after all. My hand reached for my holster and drew the Beretta, and I fell into as steady a shooting stance as I could fashion while up to my thighs in snow. “Who are you?” I demanded. “Show yourself!” And it did. Or, rather, he did. He came into the open, and even through the blinding snowstorm, I could discern him as clear as day. He was cloaked and hooded in black, and though his face was hidden in the shadow cast by his hood, a pair of eyes, burning red like coals, peered out at me. His legs were clad in camouflage pants, of a pattern and color that I had never seen on the field before. Rather than answer my question, he posed one of his own. “Why are you here again?” His soft voice somehow carried over the din of the storm. “You passed through here before, but I sent you back. It wasn't your time. It still isn't.” True, I'd been to this island before, but I didn't recall ever encountering him. Figured I'd remember something like that happening. Up to my ass in freezing snow and with no understanding of how the hell I'd come to be there, I decided to press him for more detail. “What are you talking about? Tell me who you are, now!” The ghost complied, raised a dangling arm to his head and pulled down his hood, baring a pale, bespectacled face and a head of gray hair, combed back and hanging stiffly behind his neck. “I am The Sorrow,” he whispered. “And you are your father's son.” I tightened my grip on my pistol. “I will not test you, as I did he,” said The Sorrow. “You still have much to do before that time may come. As before, I will guide you back.” The snow picked up once again, obscuring The Sorrow in a shroud of white. I could feel it gathering, rising to my stomach and climbing at a worryingly rapid pace. I was going to be buried alive. “Wait!” I called. “What the hell are you even talking about?! Come back here!” But he was gone. The snow climbed to my neck, edging past my jaw. I couldn't move any of my limbs; I was helpless, frozen, watching snow gather over my body. I heard The Sorrow again, just before my head was covered completely. “You look just like him.” My first reaction upon waking was to bolt upright and gasp, but I had barely risen before pain shot through every inch of my body, and I fell back onto the bed with an agonized growl. Wait. A bed? I was on a bed? That struck me as unusual; I had been in a forest, then I'd been in the snow, and now I was on a bed. Something didn't add up. I decided to test my vision. It was still blurry, but beginning to clear, with shapes growing more defined and depth perception returning – slowly, but steadily and noticeably. I decided to take stock of my surroundings. First, I gingerly prodded whatever it was I was lying on. Definitely on a bed, not the softest or most comfortable I'd ever rested on, but a clear step above the floor of that barn from earlier. It was small, though, and I only fit on it from my head to my knees. Everything from my calves down dangled over the bed's edge. I was in a smallish, circular room. The walls, covered in wooden tribal masks, scowled at me from all sides. Tiny windows gave me vague peeks into the outside world. The wall of dark green that pressed against the them told me that I was still in the forest. I couldn't see any occupant, but then, I couldn't turn my head enough to look around the room completely. My thoughts went to The Sorrow, and our encounter in the underground passage at Shadow Moses. I wanted to call it a dream, but it seemed too tangible, too real. The bitterness of the cold, the wet snow melting against my skin. Dreams are fleeting; they fade almost immediately upon waking. But what I had experienced was fresh in my head. It was so real, and yet it couldn't possibly have been. “You've returned,” The Sorrow had said. Did he mean to Shadow Moses? I hadn't physically gone back there; that would have been quite impossible. To the memory of Shadow Moses? Deep down, I don't think I ever left that place. Was he speaking figuratively? Or was there something deeper to what he said, some meaning that was too far from the reality I confined myself to? A fresh wave of pain hit me and I groaned. Trying to puzzle out the meaning of that fever dream clearly wasn't doing anything good for me. I was restless and I wanted to crawl out of bed, but I could barely move. Whatever the manticore had injected me with, it was potent stuff. I lay there, letting the steady ache pulse through me. I heard the sound of hooves clopping against the floor and turned my head in its direction, wincing as my stiff, sore neck protested. One of the tails of my bandanna dropped over my eyes as my head turned, and so all I could see was a screen of dark teal. The clopping sound came closer; I heard a throaty chuckle, and felt something wet and a little fuzzy brush against my face for an instant. The bandanna lifted from my eyes, but the shape in front of me was too blurry to discern distinctly. All I could see was a mass of black and white, and what appeared to be yellow here and there. I tried to talk, to ask who it was and what I was doing here, but my tongue felt thick and clumsy, and the only sound I could make was incoherent mumbling. The black and white shape stepped back, enough that I could see it clearly. It was a zebra, albeit the most unusual looking zebra I'd ever beheld. Gold bands ringed its neck and dangled from its ears, and its mane was done up in a Mohawk. The hell? First the lion-shaped manticore, and now a zebra? Was this supposed to be Africa? The first impression I got was that of Mr. T in a zebra's body. The mental image drew a dry chuckle from me that built, despite the pain it caused me to laugh. As it died down, I silently wondered if it would talk like him too, call me a fool and tell me it pitied me, and I began laughing again, even harder. The pain grew with each exhale of breath, the ebbing ache rearing again to fill my entire body. “You're laughing as much as your body will allow,” the zebra observed in a woman's voice, voice – deep, spoken from the chest. “Does that mean you're feeling better now?” Oh no, it didn't talk like Mr. T at all. It rhymed. She rhymed. A rhyming zebra. This was too much. Too much. A step too far, too damn far. It was like a dam had burst. Every ridiculous, insane happening from that past night, from the mystic portal with the unicorn bust, to the city full of talking, diminutive horses, to this goddamn zebra, who had put me up for the night in its house, who wore jewelry like an African tribal – I couldn't stop laughing. The pain built with every guffaw, almost unendurable, yet still I laughed. My host tilted her head quizzically. “Your boisterous laughter is troubling me. Is there something here that you find funny?” asked the rhyming, talking zebra with the Mohawk and the jewelry. I rolled over, howling now with laughter. Every nerve in my body was alight; every synapse in my brain blazed. It was like being strapped to Ocelot's torture machine all over again, except without the hope that it'd shut off after a while and I'd be free to gather my strength. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but laugh myself to death. I slumped over the edge of the bed, reflexively propping myself against the floor with an open palm. There was no strength in my arms; my elbow bent and I collapsed against the floor, half of my body still hanging from the bed. Laughter gave way to wet, heavy coughing. Flecks of red spattered against the dirt floor. “Zecora? Zecora! Is he alright?!” A girlish voice, squealing. Sounded so familiar. The zebra has a name. I started to laugh again; it transformed into a cough midway through. My shoulders heaved and my chest pounded. Black spots danced at the edges of my vision. Red spots mingled and grew on the floor in the center of my vision. The zebra moved swiftly. She uncorked a nearby bottle, and shoved it into mine. Then she pushed her neck beneath me and, with a strained grunt, rolled my upper body onto the bed and rested me on my back. I coughed, choked, and sputtered on the bitter tasting yellow fluid. Most of it geysered out of my mouth, but I guess that enough of it went where it was supposed to go, because a warm feeling grew in my chest and, gradually, began to spread outward. It was unlike the searing pain of the manticore's venom; it was a different feeling entirely. Like cough syrup. Like that warm, settling feeling you get in your chest when you drink it, except spreading to my entire body, to my arms and legs, even to my digits. My psychotic fit of laughter was gone. I still coughed, but only to eject the fluid that had gone down my trachea. I growled, clearing my throat, swallowed hard – it didn't hurt so bad anymore – and gestured to the zebra for more. Looking profoundly relieved, she set the bottle in my outstretched hand. My fingers found some of their strength as I grasped it, and I raised it to my lips. It put considerable strain on my muscles to lift it; the bottle felt like it weighed every ounce as much as the manticore, but I took a long swig. The drink tasted like crap, but I relished the way it washed comfortingly through my body. She watched me patiently, concernedly, as I digested her concoction. The pain faded again, replaced by a gentle numbness. I dropped the bottle onto the ground, heard it impact but not shatter, and sighed, letting out a final, sputtering cough. I turned my head to the zebra to thank her, saw the Mohawk and the jewelry again, and couldn't help but let out a quiet laugh. The zebra – Zecora, that was her name – smiled back at me and offered a chuckle of her own, without understanding the joke. My eye caught sight of a yellow-coated, red-maned figure peeking shyly from behind her legs. It was the filly I'd rescued earlier. She glanced at me, our eyes meeting for an instant before she averted them, hiding again behind Zecora. I'm no good with kids. Spike rubbed at his eyes fitfully as he opened the door to greet the fervent caller at Golden Oak Library, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. “Whuzzat?” he mumbled. “Mornin' Spike,” said Applejack. “Is Twi in?” Spike mumbled something affirmative through a yawn and stepped aside to allow Applejack into the building. “Twilight!” he called sleepily. “Got a visitor!” “Is it Derpy?” Twilight Sparkle called back from the loft. “Derpy, did you make sure to bring the actual order form? Because last time, you had me sign a receipt for muffins, and—” “Unless Derpy turned orange and sold her wings to buy a hat,” said Spike, “I'm gonna say that it's Applejack.” He stumbled in the direction of the loft, passing Twilight as she descended the stairs to meet her visitor. Applejack watched Spike retreat, then glanced at Twilight, her head cocked at a slight angle. “Expectin' a package?” "Derpy sent me a letter to tell me that I had a delivery coming. She's a little off, y'know? Marches to the beat of her own drum." Twilight shook her head with slight exasperation. The motion shook loose a hairbrush that was stuck in her bedmane. It bounced off of her back and fell to the ground. She smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, I'm a mess. I'm afraid you've kinda caught me at an off moment.” “Well, y'know I wouldn't trouble y'all this early if it weren't over somethin' important,” said Applejack with a sigh. “It's Apple Bloom.” Applejack recounted what happened the night before, from the festiveness of the dinner, to Fluttershy's drunken admission, to the pitched argument with Apple Bloom. “And when I checked on her a li'l while ago, she was gone. Window was open, blankets were knotted up and hangin' to th'bottom.” She shook her head despondently. “If I weren't scared completely outta my wits, I'd be impressed with that girl. She's one o'the Apple Family alright, stubborn n'resourceful.” Twilight listened to the whole of Applejack's story with a sympathetic facade, but her blood ran cold when the topic of the Crusaders' transgression came up. Applejack wasn't specific about what kind of trouble they'd run into, or where they had disappeared to that night, saying only that they'd sneaked out on Fluttershy's watch and nearly gotten themselves killed. She had no way of knowing, but Twilight didn't need to be told what happened, having been an actual victim of the cockatrice. Afraid that Applejack would hold her partially responsible for knowing the truth and saying nothing, she elected to feign ignorance. “Sssssoooo,” Twilight drawled, struggling to maintain a nonchalant attitude.“Where's Fluttershy now?” Her voice spiked noticeably in pitch as she said her friend's name. Applejack raised an eyebrow, and Twilight offered a shaky, nervous grin. “Sorry, um. My throat's always a little cloggy in the morning.” She forced a cough and grinned again. Applejack's eyes narrowed. “Uh... huh.” With a shake of her head and a roll of her eyes, she continued talking. “T'answer yer question, I asked her to round up the others, said I'd get you myself. I told her it was 'cuz we'd get through it quicker that way, an' that's plenny true. But deep down, I think it was 'cuz I can't look at her without feelin'... what's a better word for 'angry'?” “Livid?” Twilight suggested. “Outraged?” Scrunching her nose and tilting her head worriedly, she added “Equicidal?” “Kinda all o'the above,” said Applejack. “'Cept that last one. Don't know what it means.” That isn't much of a relief, thought Twilight. “Dangit though, Twi, I don't know who I'm madder at right now, her or me. I can't rightly blame Fluttershy for nearly getting' her killed without bein' mad at m'self for lettin' her slip out on my own watch. An' o'course I'm mad at m'sister too, but more the scared kinda mad, less the 'I'mma buck you to the moon an' let'cha play among the stars' kinda mad.” Twilight glowered at Applejack. This was not the first reference she'd heard about ponies being sent “to the moon” as a punishment, and they'd only gotten more colorful and frequent since Princess Luna's return. Applejack being one of the six who had facilitated that return, Twilight would have guessed that she'd be above such humor. “And do you want to, ahem, 'buck Fluttershy to the moon?'” Annoyance at Applejack's irreverence crept into Twilight's voice. “Naw, not really. But I'm still...” Applejack lay on the floor, folding her hind legs beneath her and her forelegs in front of her, resting her chin on the latter. Twilight had always regarded Applejack as one of the strongest ponies she'd ever known, as tough emotionally as she was powerful physically. Seeing her here, baring her soul in so vulnerable a position, was difficult to watch. She suddenly felt guilty for having the slightest amount of annoyance with her troubled friend. “I mean, I've known the gal a long while,” Applejack continued. “We've always been sorta close, 'specially now, after everything we've all gone through together. I figger somethin' like this ain't enough to wreck years an' years of friendship, right? So I can't really bring myself t'hate 'er, an' I feel like a heel jus' for yellin' at her. But then I think about how close I came to losin' Apple Bloom on her account; I think about her now, all alone an' scared wherever she is, an' I can't bring myself to forgive her neither.” Applejack brushed an idle hoof against the wooden floor of the library. “Brought her a thermos of Apple Family-style coffee this mornin', told 'er I needed all the help I could get. Put on my very best face, smiled at 'er, treated the gal like my bestest friend in all th'world. An' you know what?” Applejack thumped her hoof lightly against the floorboards. “It felt... wrong. Unnatural. 'Cuz it weren't all true. I wanna forgive 'er, Twi, but I can't. An' at the same time, I wanna be angry; I wanna hate Fluttershy as if she killed Apple Bloom with her own hooves, an' I can't do that neither. 'Cuz whatever happened last night, that weren't her fault. She didn't lose her temper at Apple Bloom an' get in a screamin' match with her an' drive her out into the night. But that don't make me any less angry. It jus' means that...” She buried her face in her hooves and groaned. “Dangit, but I'm messed up in the noggin right now.” “It means what?” Twilight asked softly. “You're not angry with Fluttershy, it sounds like. You're angry with yourself." Applejack said nothing to that. “And you can't hate her either, no matter how much you want to," Twilight continued. "Because you don't blame her for what happened – at least, that's how I'm interpreting this. You blame yourself. You're angry with yourself. And you hate yourself because of it." Twilight trotted beside her and rested a comforting hoof upon her shoulder. “If it were yer flesh n'blood, Twi,” said Applejack at length. “Or, shoot, not even. If it were Spike, not Apple Bloom, in this situation right now, wouldn't you lay it on yerself? Wouldn't you have trouble forgivin' yerself over it?” She looked into Twilight's face, blinking rapidly over red eyes. “Wouldn't you hate yerself too?” It hadn't been so long ago that she'd been in precisely that situation. Twilight thought about Spike's close encounter with the hungry dragon, the night he ran away. She didn't see any reason to talk about Spike's personal business, but she felt that she could convey her sympathies while remaining comfortably vague. “If it were me in that situation – if it had been Spike who attacked by a cockatrice, then—” “Hold on now.” Applejack's features hardened the moment Twilight said “cockatrice.” She brushed her friend's hoof off of her shoulder and stood. “Now, I don't recall tellin' you what Apple Bloom got attacked by.” Twilight's bloodstream entered an ice age and her heart froze into a glacier. “Um... I... ” Her mind reeled. The little librarian in her head dug through every cliché, excuse and iota of knowledge she had, struggling to drudge up something that would satisfy Applejack. “I was doing some reading earlier about fauna in the Everfree Forest—” “Don't recall sayin' where she went neither!” snapped Applejack accusingly. It's been nice knowing you, Purplesmart, said Twilight's little librarian. “Land's sakes, Twilight!” Applejack shoved her snarling face uncomfortably far into Twilight's personal space. “You knew about this!” “Applejack,” said Twilight hastily, “if I could just have a moment to explain—” “Yer gonna have to forgive me Twilight – Element of Honesty and all.” Applejack put on a false smile. “But it's a li'l hard for me to accept that so many of my friends would keep secrets from me, 'specially important secrets about my family that I got a right to know!” She whirled away from Twilight, who recoiled reflexively. Thankfully, Applejack was sane enough to not confuse Twilight's head with an apple tree in the heat of the moment (a defense which she'd learned, from a study of Equestrian frontier law, could hold up in court), and she merely paced irritably to and fro. “Everypony and their granny knows 'bout this but me! Of all the – I expected more from my – you and everypony else who—” She whirled back to Twilight, stamping her hooves against the floor. “Dangit, Twi, she's my only sister! Does Rarity know too, or didja decide to leave us both in the dark for fun?! 'Hey, I got a doozy of an idea! Let's not tell Rarity or Applejack that their sisters nearly became lunch meat for a cockatrice!'” Amid Applejack's shouting, Twilight achieved a serenity that she didn't know she had. She half-jokingly wondered if she was subconsciously certain that she was about to die, and if she'd simply accepted the inevitability. “I don't know if Rarity knows. But I imagine if she did, then she and Fluttershy wouldn't still be taking their weekly trips to the spa." Her voice held a steady, even cadence against the furor in the Earth Pony's voice. "It's not a grand conspiracy, Applejack. The only reason I know is because I was there.” That caught Applejack's interest. She regarded Twilight with suspicion, but not with equicidal rage, to Twilight's relief. “Wanna tell me what'cha mean, sugarcube?” she asked, heaping acid onto the last word. Twilight did. She recounted her afternoon trot to Zecora's hut. She explained how she'd stopped to gather a particularly interesting specimen of clover off the beaten path. She expounded upon how she'd been attacked by the cockatrice, and how the next thing she knew, she was facing a very relieved Fluttershy and three quivering fillies. “She saved my life,” Twilight finished. Her friend still looked at her suspiciously, but her relaxed muscles and even posture told the unicorn that the fire had mostly gone out. Twilight decided not to relax, figuring that adrenaline was the only thing still keeping her going. “I decided that I wouldn't tell anypony what happened before Fluttershy did, because I didn't think it'd be right to go behind her back after what she did that for me. I don't blame you for being mad at me, Applejack, but at least try and understand my side of it. And hers. Look at yourself right now, and think about Fluttershy. Can't you think of a reason why she'd want to keep what happened to herself?” “You sayin' she didn't tell me 'cuz... 'cuz she was afraid of me?” A look of hurt bloomed on Applejack's face as she made the realization. “Not afraid of you, per se,” Twilight corrected. “But maybe of how you'd react. Correctly, too, if last night is any indication.” Applejack's eyes trailed away from Twilight's and down to the floor. She chewed her lip thoughtfully, her expression shifting from suspicion, to depression, to resignation. Twilight felt a weight in her stomach. Worry for Apple Bloom blended with empathy for Applejack. She feared for her friend and for the cheerful yellow filly, but part of her – and she couldn't tell if it was a selfish or a noble part of her – feared, above all, for the future of their friendship. If something happened to Apple Bloom, would things ever be the same between Fluttershy and Applejack? Or between Applejack and herself? Something like this could forever drive a wedge between the six of them, ruin the friendship that she'd grown so reliant upon. “I'm sorry about Apple Bloom,” said Twilight. "I truly am. But if we're going to find her, then we can't be so preoccupied with whose fault it is and why. You gotta forgive Fluttershy, Applejack. But more than that, you need to forgive yourself.” Applejack shut her eyes slowly, chewing her lip. "Twi, I'm sorry. You don't deserve..." Tears pooled between her eyelids and slid down her cheeks. “My sister told me she wished I was dead,” she said with a quiet sob. “That I was dead an' our parents weren't. An' if I don't find her, then those'll be the last words she ever said t'me.” Unsure of how to react, whether pity would be welcome or met with more anger, Twilight simply stood as a silent witness to her grief. “Hell-OOOOOOOOOO!” sang a saccharine voice. “Anypony hooooooome?” Pinkie Pie poked her head through the still-open front door and smiled widely at Applejack and Twilight Sparkle. The former sniffed, exhaled and drew her hat's brim as far down over her eyes as she could. Then she craned her head around and smiled weakly. “Pinkie?” asked Twilight. “Where are the others?” “Waiting for you two!” Pinkie Pie hopped in place lightly on the tips of her hooves. “Rainbow Dash got bored with that fast, though, so she went looking in the air. I don't know what she's gonna find there though.” Pinkie shrugged. “Comin'?” Applejack looked back at Twilight, her expression uncertain. “I don't know, Twi. Are we?” “We are,” said Twilight with a smile and a gentle nod. “Always, no matter what.” Applejack shut her eyes again and exhaled. When she opened them, they were still red and puffy, but her genuine smile belied her change in attitude. “I'm sorry,” she said again, in a hushed voice that only she and Twilight would hear. “Guess I'mma be sayin' that a lot today.” Twilight looped her hoof around Applejack's neck and pulled her in for a quick hug. Then the hug grew tighter as a third participant wrapped around the two of them, squeezing them against her chest tightly. “Oh, what the hay?” Pinkie giggled. “Everypony loves a good group hug!” She squeezed them together one last time before releasing them, and bounced out the door. Applejack smiled gratefully at Twilight one last time before following Pinkie. Twilight started to follow... “Hey, Twi? You got a second?” ...and immediately stopped. Spike peeked at the retreating ponies from the loft. “Go on ahead,” said Twilight to Applejack. “I'll follow in a minute.” Once they were alone, Twilight turned her attention to Spike. “Couldn't sleep?” she asked as he climbed down the stairs toward her. “You kidding?” Spike said. “The way Applejack was yelling? No way anypony could sleep through that.” He sighed, holding his tail in his hands and twiddling it nervously. “Poor Apple Bloom, huh? Wonder where she is.” “Yeah. All the more reason to find her quickly, right?” Her gaze drifted to where Applejack had knocked her hoof against the floor, and at the scuff marks she'd created. “Yeesh. Anyway, what was it that you wanted to say?” “I wanted to thank you,” said Spike. He kept his eyes on the tip of his tail. “For not telling Applejack about what happened with me and that dragon.” He shuddered. “It wasn't my finest moment.” “Hey,” said Twilight, nudging his shoulder with a playful hoof. “I wouldn't blab about your personal life for all the books in Equestria.” She glanced about the library shelves and winced. “Hey, speaking of, could you reorganize the books while I'm gone? I've still got that bulk shipment from Marelington that needs realphabetizing—” “Actually,” Spike interrupted. He wrung his tail a little tighter. “Actually, I was hoping to go with you.” Twilight's jaw dropped. She shook her head and shut it again. “Really?” she asked. “Any reason why? Or are you just looking to get out of your chores?” “Hey, what are you implying? I got reasons,” Spike said defensively. “I wasn't much help the last time Apple Bloom went missing, and I wanna make up for it. Besides...” He looked past Twilight, at where Applejack had stood. “I've never seen her like that. I'd do anything to get the old AJ back.” Twilight thought about the red-eyed, broken mare, who'd scuffed up her floorboards and snarled in her face. The mare who'd cried aloud where nopony but she could see, who was so unlike the bright eyed and easy laughing Applejack as to be almost frightening. “You and me both, Spike.” She sighed and lowered her head to the ground. “Climb aboard. Maybe you'll spot something the rest of us won't.” His spirits brightened, Spike crawled up Twilight's neck, settling on her back. “Hey Twilight?” Spike asked as the door swung open in front of them, encased in a translucent purple aura. “Yeah Spike?” “When it was me out there, when you were looking for me.” Spike's palms played nervously with Twilight's mane. “Did you feel the same way Applejack does now?” When Spike ran away, she and Owlowicious had found him just in time to save him from being devoured. Had they been a few moments later, or had they not been able to pick up his trail at all... “Twilight? Are you there?" "Yeah. Sorry." She licked her lips. "It doesn't matter, Spike. The past is the past. And as long as we're together, I'll never let you come to that kind of harm." “Really? You promise?” “Of course, Spike.” She blinked, and in the moment of darkness, saw Spike's scattered bones amid a dragon's hoard. “I promise.” My host was gracious enough to answer my every question in exchange for the story behind my being there in the first place. So I offered her a very condensed version of the events surrounding the Pegasus Wings incident. Concepts like nuclear deterrence and military privatization would no doubt have flown over her head, so I gave her the gist of it and braced myself for questions. She had none, thankfully, so I took point instead. First and foremost, I asked where I was; she told me I was in the Everfree Forest, in the land of Equestria. Appropriate name for the country to have. The forest was some taboo location that few dared to venture into. I thought about the manticore and decided that these ponies had the right idea steering clear of the place. “To a pony, there is nothing more deadly than a manticore's sting,” said Zecora thoughtfully while gathering ingredients from the shelves in the hut. “Yet to you, it seems a trifling thing,” I eyed the darkening red stains on her floor. Guess I got off easy. How bad would it have been for a pony, though? “I'm of hardy stock,” I said. Immediately after, I coughed, and my mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood. I swallowed it and chased it down with another swig of Zecora's antivenom. The taste made me cringe on every swig; couldn't she just have injected it into me? Still, complaining out loud about the substance that saved my life would be a little classless, so I bit my tongue and held my nose whenever she wasn't looking. Didn't want to offend her, after all. Zecora noticed anyway. She just smiled. So what was she doing living in the forest, if it was such a deathtrap? Apparently, she liked her space. I got the feeling that there was more to it than that (what kind of insane loner would isolate herself in a forest filled with deadly supernatural beasts?) but she was evasive whenever I pressed her for more information. “Alright, fine,” I grumbled after my third try. I sipped from the jar again. The stuff tasted like shit, but I was feeling much better. Not perfect, but not quite gagging on my own blood, like before. That was a step up. Zecora clearly knew her craft. “So what about her then?” I nodded at the yellow filly, Apple Bloom, who sat at the far side of the circular room, watching me and pretending that she wasn't. “Don't tell me she lives here too.” “She lives in town, down the road away,” said Zecora. “Why she is here, she will not say.” Apple Bloom flushed and shuffled her hooves, staring silently at them. Was secret-keeping the national sport of Equestria? These things were damn good at it. I asked her how she found Apple Bloom and I. “I was taking a late night stroll, you see, gathering herbs for herbal tea.” Who takes a stroll that late at night? Either she was lying, or an insomniac. Or both. "During my walk, I heard a roar, and ran to find Apple Bloom at the mercy of the manticore.” Her rhymes lacked consistent rhythm and meter. I don't know why, but that just bothered me. “By my honor, I would have intervened,” she swore, “but you had things under control, it seemed. When at last you bested the beast in the fight, I dared to see if you were alright.” She paused. “You were not.” “Guess the tranquilizers did their job after all,” I muttered to myself. “Knocked it out before it had a chance to eat me.” The hand not clutching the jar of anti-venom reached for my hip holster to pat the Beretta appreciatively. It wasn't there. My breath hitched, and I quickly patted myself down in search of my one and only weapon, until Zecora cleared her throat to get my attention and gestured with her nose to where it lay on the nightstand. “You have no idea how important it is that you saved that thing,” I told her. “So maybe you hadn't noticed, but I'm a lot bigger than you. Heavy, too. How'd you manage to get me from that clearing all the way back here?” Zecora and Apple Bloom sighed the same tremendously exhausted sigh. The zebra's body sagged, and she smiled tiredly at me. I asked her if she'd seen anybody else like me, any other humans. Ponies being the dominant race here, and all, the likelihood of humans being indigenous to Equestria seemed slim. Unless this was some weird Planet of the Apes scenario. But that seemed unlikely. Turns out, she had. I had some conflicting feelings about that. On the one hand, I was relieved that I hadn't gone through that portal for nothing. On the other, there was an army of mercenaries with a Metal Gear REX knock-off hiding somewhere in Equestria. In some ways, a pointless journey based on a mistaken impression is the preferable alternative there. “They appeared about a month or so past," Zecora explained. "Their forest forays grew bold, too fast. I would have gone to town and raised the alarm, but I feared that they could have done me much harm.” I didn't know what to make of the zebra who'd saved my life. She was virtuous enough to nurse me back to health, but too cowardly to risk life or limb under serious circumstances. And she wasn't keen on telling me everything. I could almost respect that, let it go, but she was endangering countless lives through silence and inaction. From that point on, a lot of things happened at once, and it makes me wonder how much of the blame rests on Zecora's shoulders. I withhold complete judgment, though. Something tells me I won't ever have a full picture of who she was or what her motivations were. “You're right to be afraid,” I said as she busied herself over a bubbling cauldron in the center of the room. “But those patrols are far from the scariest things they're capable of unleashing. The army hiding in this forest possesses what could be considered the deadliest weapon ever devised.” “And you are here to stop them, yes? Before they can turn this world to a mess?” I shrugged. Most of my muscles were still sore, and the ones that weren't were numb, but I was regaining feeling fairly quickly. Reclaiming my ability to shrug properly was a small victory to me. “It's my duty.” “But you said so yourself, my bedridden friend. That weapon could bring you to a nasty end.” Zecora fished out a ladle and dipped it into the cauldron, then carefully poured a thin yellow soup into into a bowl that she offered to Apple Bloom. “Hasn't managed to yet." I shrugged, working out some stiffness in my shoulders in the process. "Then again, something has to do the trick, sooner or later.” Zecora offered me a bowl of the same soup. It smelled decent – better than the anti-venom, at any rate, and the rankness of the drug's aftertaste defies description – so I accepted it gratefully, sitting up on the bed and crossing my legs. “Besides, I'm the only one around here with a history in this sort of thing. I think.” I sipped the soup. It tasted like boiled weeds with a hint of onion, which made it about twenty percent more palatable than the antivenom. “I am, aren't I?” “To my knowledge, yes you are,” said Zecora with a smirk. “But alone, without help, you won't get far.” “I don't need help.” That was a lie. If no one else, I needed Otacon. “Fighting nuclear-equipped terrorists is just another day at the office for me.” “That wasn't what I meant to say. I mean that you do not know the way.” She poured herself some soup and lay beside the cauldron to sip from it carefully. “Nor do I, before you ask; I cannot help you with your task. I can tell you where they're striking from, but not how to get there, by what way to come.” The most impressive thing about Zecora, besides her life-saving apothecary skill, was her commitment to rhyming. “You're saying that I need a guide.” Zecora took a drink from her soup and nodded. Her eyes were closed as she relished the bitter taste of the broth. I took another sip myself and wondered how she could drink the stuff day in and day out and not be driven to suicide just to escape from the monotony. Apple Bloom's nose scrunched as she held her face over her bowl. The steam curling around her head dampened her coat and mane. As far as I could tell, she hadn't touched it yet. Kids are picky eaters. “In a castle in this forest, far from here. A legend surrounds it, fostering great fear. The outsiders camp within its wall, hidden by the fable's pall. Few ponies know how to reach that cursed place, but there are six in Ponyville who can take you to the outsiders' base.” “Ponyville, huh?” Saying the name out loud nearly had me giggling like a madman again. “I passed through a town on my way here. Was that it?” Zecora nodded at me with a mouthful of soup. “Great. Backtracking. My number one passtime.” I drained my soup in one gulp and instantly regretted it, shuddering as the bitter mixture slid down my throat, burning all the way to my stomach. “How do I convince them to help me?” I asked. My scorched throat made my voice a little rougher than usual. Zecora glanced at Apple Bloom and wiggled her eyebrows. “This one wandered away from the fold. Return her to them, and they'll be sold.” “What?” Apple Bloom looked up from the soup that she was contemplating and stared at Zecora. “Whus goin' on now?” “Bring them back their little lost filly? Sounds doable.” I brushed my gloved hand over the rough stubble on my chin, stroking it thoughtfully. “Hey!” Apple Bloom jumped to her hooves. “Hey, don't I get a say in this?” “No,” I said. “Eat your soup.” “I don't gotta listen t'you!” said Apple Bloom defensively. “An' besides... s'gone cold.” “What were you expecting?” I asked. “You've done nothing but stare at it.” Apple Bloom glared at me like she wanted to dump her soup out on my head, but made no further argument. I'm no good with kids. Zecora sighed and smiled tiredly at me again. She trotted to Apple Bloom's side and bumped the filly's forehead with her nose. “You are dear to me, my Apple Bloom, which is why you should be far from this doom. Return to your home with our friend Snake, before this forest your life does take.” She could butcher syntax for the sake of a rhyme, but she couldn't bother showing me the way to the fucking castle in the middle of the evil forest. Zecora was a creature of contradictions. Apple Bloom sank back to her belly and buried her face in her folded arms (Legs? Hooves?), mumbling inaudibly to herself. Zecora nuzzled her again, then looked at me expectantly. Less than twenty-four hours ago, I was flying blind. I was a lone operative in an unknown land populated by the least probable civilization that anybody could imagine, cut off from all support, completely at a loss as to where I was or what direction I was going. My only lead was phantom gunfire that I was starting to think I'd imagined, and my most meaningful conversation was with a ghost that may well have been a fever dream. Now I found myself pleasantly chatting with a talking zebra and sipping soup that made me pine for the richness and flavor of a battlefield MRE. This was a weird, weird mission. “Fine,” I said. “I'll play babysitter for a little while. Just, uh, just answer me one last question.” “Anything and everything, my newest friend.” said Zecora. “Tell me, how can I bring your curiosity to an end?” Friend. That was the second time she'd used that word to describe me. Were we friends now? I owed her my life. Experience taught me that that was a solid enough foundation for a friendship. “Just wondering... what's with the rhyming?” “'Rhyming?'” Zecora tilted her head at me, perplexed. “You speak in rhyme,” I said. “C'mon, don't pretend not to notice.” “I... do not understand your question,” said Zecora. “You are suggesting that I rhyme in succession?” We stared at each other silently for a little while, neither comprehending the other. Finally, Apple Bloom broke the silence with laughter. She giggled softly at first, into her hooves, so gently and muffled that I thought she was crying. But then she lifted her face, and I saw her grinning. She looked at Zecora, Zecora looked back, and soon they were both laughing, either at some unspoken joke, or at me. I just groaned, lay back on the bed, and turned away from them. “Everyone here is insane but me,” I muttered to myself. Zecora mentioned six ponies who could act as guides. I hoped to high heaven that they were more normal than she was. As I would later find out, that would be just one of the many disappointments I had in store over the next couple of days. “My goodness gracious, it's finally happened!” groaned Rarity as Twilight, Spike, Pinkie Pie and Applejack approached. Fluttershy hovered beside Rarity, her wings beating gently and her face pensive. “You've cooped yourself up in that library for so long that you've utterly forgotten basic personal grooming!” The unkempt Twilight looked sidelong at Applejack, who offered her a smirk and a wink. Spike nudged Pinkie Pie with his elbow, and the pony giggled quietly. “Actually, Rarity—” began Twilight, but Rarity would have none of it, zooming to the unicorn's side. “Oh, but if we only had more time,” fussed Rarity as she inspected Twilight's unkempt bedmane. “Poor Apple Bloom must take priority, I suppose. Still, in terms of crises, this is at least a close second. Here.” Her horn glowed a pale blue and an aura surrounded Twilight's mane, smoothing it into a presentable approximation of her usual do. “Now, I haven't checked,” continued Rarity, “but I assume that you've neglected your shampoo cycle as well? Lather, rinse, repeat until it shimmers?” “I don't—" “Ah! I feared as much. Well, no matter, my dearest friend.” She cheerfully wrapped a hoof around Twilight's neck, waving the other in an arc for dramatic effect. “Once this is all over and dealt with, you and I shall enjoy an afternoon at the spa – my gift to you!” She looked excitedly to the unfocused and contemplative Fluttershy. “We have room for one more, do we not?” “What?” Fluttershy started a bit, glancing quickly between Twilight and Rarity. “Oh! Um, of course! You're always more than welcome Twilight. In fact, you all are!” She smiled, but the strain in her cheeks was evident. “But they never accept, do they, Fluttershy? Tsk tsk tsk.” Rarity shook her head, sighed, and sauntered ahead of the group. “Well, we'll just put a pin in that, now, won't we?” Twilight scowled. “Go one morning without brushing your mane, and suddenly it's time for an intervention.” “I don't know Twi,” said Spike. He plucked a hair from Twilight's mane, drawing a startled “ouch” from the unicorn, and made a show of examining it closely. “I think Rarity's on to something. Have you seen these split ends?” Twilight bucked him off of her back and turned her scowl on him. Spike gulped and let the hair fall. “Just sayin' she's got a point, that's all,” he said, standing up and dusting himself off. “Of course,” said Twilight. “And the fact that it was Rarity who said so has nothing at all to do with the matter, does it?” She smiled slyly at him. Spike blushed. “D-don't go changing the subject now!” he stammered. “Hey, c'mon Twi; Apple Bloom's not getting any founded-er with us standing around like this. Get with the program!” His face now an interesting combination of purple and pink, Spike hurried ahead, a chuckling Twilight Sparkle close behind. Fluttershy looked to Applejack and Pinkie Pie, shrugged, and flapped tiredly after them. In spite of her dour mood, Applejack couldn't help but smile and shake her head. “Tell you what, Pinkie,” she said, “I'm ever in a sour spot again, jus' remind me to look up Spike 'n Twi. Those two oughta go on tour.” “I'd pay hoof over fist to see them on stage!” agreed Pinkie. “Not that I can make a fist anyway. Not that I'd even want to. Fists hurt, Applejack.” She nodded soberly. “I reckon they do, Pinkie,” murmured Applejack. “Aww. Don't be so glum, chum!” sang Pinkie with a nuzzle. “We'll find Apple Bloom before you can say 'Aeiou!' You'll see.” And off she went, whistling a song about giggling at ghosts, keeping her hoofsteps in time with the beat. How's that song go again? Applejack found herself wondering. Somethin' like...”You gotta face your fears, learn to stand up tall...” She frowned. “Think I might be forgettin' somethin'.” Well ahead, Applejack saw Pinkie catching up to the others, who came to a halt as a rainbow-tipped blur swooped gracefully in for a landing. Applejack frantically ran to catch up with her friends as Rainbow Dash completed her descent. She came within earshot just in time to hear Fluttershy ask “Did you find anything?” Eyes closed, Rainbow Dash shook her head. “I scouted the entire town from the sky, even did a flyover of the surrounding area.” She looked apologetically at Applejack. “I wish I could have done more.” “Ain't nothin' to be sorry for, Rainbow,” said Applejack. “Y'all did yer part, an' I trust your eyes more'n most. You say she ain't in Ponyville, she ain't in Ponyville.” “Wherever she is, she didn't seek out her friends,” said Rarity. “I've thoroughly interrogated Sweetie Belle as to Apple Bloom's whereabouts, and she swears up and down that she hasn't seen her at all.” “Scootaloo too,” said Fluttershy. “I visited her just before I picked up Rarity.” She fluttered to the ground and folded her wings. “How strange. You'd think they'd be the first ponies a filly like Apple Bloom would go to in a situation like this.” “Didn't want them to talk her out of it, maybe?” Rainbow Dash suggested. “What if she had some crazy idea up her sleeve?” “More like 'didn't want them to follow her,'” corrected Spike. “Crazy ideas are the Cutie Mark Crusaders' forté. And those three stick together like glue.” “So you think she had an idea and wanted to do it alone, without help,” said Applejack. “But why?” “To prove a point,” said Rainbow Dash, as if it were obvious. “I mean, that's usually the reason whenever I do something crazy. Somepony says 'Rainbow Dash, you can't break the sound barrier,' I say...” She inhaled deeply, then shouted at the top of her lungs, “'Sorry, can't hear you! This Sonic Rainboom's really loud!'” Rainbow Dash glanced at each of her wide-eyed, ruffled friends. “Too much volume?” she asked sheepishly. An uncomfortably silent moment passed. “Think she was tryin' to stick it to somepony, huh?” asked Applejack at last. She chewed her lip and cast her eyes to the ground. “Can't imagine who coulda done somethin' to deserve it.” Twilight saw the look on Applejack's face and quickly intervened. “Who says she's trying to prove something to somepony? She could be trying to prove something to herself.” Applejack smiled at Twilight. “Guess that could be the case. Don't much matter why, though, I s'pose. If her crazy stunt gets her killed, ain't nopony gonna care why.” 'Cept me, she added silently. The group moved in unison, trotting as one body to the outskirts of town. “Whatever she's put her mind to, she's not doing it in Ponyville,” said Twilight. “That's obvious enough. So think, girls; where could she be right now?” “Lessee,” said Rainbow Dash, tapping a hoof against her skull as she thought. “Well, she can't be in Cloudsdale.” “Very astute,” Rarity complimented, shooting Dash a playful smirk. Rainbow Dash frowned at her. “Lemme finish. What I'm trying to say is that she can't fly.” “I know,” said Rarity. “And I think that's very, very astute of you.” Rainbow Dash flushed beneath her cyan coat, her chagrin exacerbated by the giggling of Spike and Pinkie Pie. Rarity batted her eyelashes at the flier. “She's on hoof, okay?” sighed Rainbow Dash. “So her range isn't exactly very broad.” “And she's only had a few hours to take advantage of,” added Fluttershy. “And a growing filly has to sleep, so she couldn't have used all of this time to walk.” “Then she can't have gotten far,” said Rarity. “Off the tops of our heads, girls—” Spike cleared his throat. “Oh, Spike,” said Rarity sweetly, “you're one of the girls and you know it.” Spike fumed and crossed his arms. “Where in the immediate area could she have gotten to by now?” Rarity finished. “Hopefully nowhere spooky and scary,” said Pinkie Pie. “Because we've got those in spades. Froggy Bottom Bog, the Everfree Forest...” She frowned pensively. “Ponyville sure does have a lot of deathtraps surrounding it. I can't believe we've never noticed that before! We really need to put up a sign or something. 'Welcome to Ponyville; Expect Death at Every Turn!” “We're supposed to increase tourism, Pinkie,” Twilight said gently, “not drive it away. So, pick a compass direction, any one, and odds are you'll find a place that's infested with flesh-eating monsters. Any one of them would be a perfect spot for a stroll by a filly with a chip on her shoulder.” “The question is, which one?” asked Rainbow Dash. “It's a lot of ground for us to cover. We need a place to start looking.” “The Everfree Forest,” said Pinkie confidently. “If there's a spookier, scarier death trap in Equestria, I've never heard of it.” “And it would make sense,” said Fluttershy. “If she were looking for something to prove, that is.” Applejack glanced over her shoulder at the shuffling Pegasus, but she looked away pointedly. “I-I mean... the last time she went in there... ” “That is how this whole mess got itself started, innit?” asked Applejack, malice absent from her voice. Ahead of her, Rarity pursed her lips tightly. “But don't that mean she'd be less likely to go in there? Keepin' in mind what happened last time. Jus' seems to me like she'd wanna avoid it even more. Even if she's crazy in the coconut.” “Well,” said Pinkie Pie. She trotted ahead of the group, holding her nose high in an astute manner. “'If you eliminate the impossible,' and we have – she isn't in Ponyville, she couldn't have gotten very far, and she's definitely not in Cloudsdale because she can't fly,” here she turned and winked at Rainbow Dash. “Thanks for pointing that out, Dashie.” On she went. “Anyway, 'whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth!'” She kept trotting ahead of the group a moment longer, before the hoofbeats behind her became conspicuous in their absence. Pinkie turned to see her friends standing stock still, their mouths agape. “What? Do I have something on my face?” She gasped. “It isn't bats, is it?!” “No, not at all,” said Twilight, the first to close her mouth. “Just that... did you just quote Sherclop Pones?” Pinkie Pie giggled a snorty giggle. “Oh, Twilight. You think I never do any reading in that library of yours?” “Very astute,” said Rarity, unsarcastically this time. “So the Everfree Forest it is, then? My, with how often we venture in there, it's a wonder that anypony still considers it taboo.” “Manticores, cockatrices, timberwolves, dragons, ursas both Major and Minor – all of them call that forest home,” said Twilight. “Forgetting that could be a death sentence.” “Doubt she forgot. Apple Bloom knows dang well what's in Everfree.” Applejack's teeth set. “Supposin' she went in, then that's prob'ly why.” Rarity cleared her throat loudly, somehow making the crass gesture sound graceful. “Not to be a broken record, but... the Everfree Forest it is, then?” Seven heads and six ponies turned their attention to the forest's foreboding maw; by unlikely coincidence, they had arrived at its entrance without realizing. “If she isn't in there, I'll eat Applejack's hat,” said Pinkie confidently. “Uh, if it's okay with her, of course.” “If she is in there,” growled Applejack, “I may jus' stuff it down her throat m'self for puttin' us through this.” My legs were stiff and my feet achy, and I felt about as limber as a cadaver, but I could stand and walk without falling over myself, so I marked it as time to hit the road. Apple Bloom chewed her lip nervously as I broke the news to her. Zecora seemed almost relieved. She saw Apple Bloom and I to the door, offering some parting wisdom. “The path is worn and faded to the eye, but follow it carefully and you will soon see the sky.” “I think I can keep my bearings well enough,” I said. “And I've got a decent enough guide, I figure.” I nudged Apple Bloom with my toe. “How often do you navigate this thing, kid?” “Hmph.” Apple Bloom turned her nose up at me and refused to look back, trotting ahead of me on the path. “Something I said?” I asked, turning to Zecora. She clicked her tongue and gave me a sympathetic look. “I'm no good with kids,” I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “An acquired skill, my friend. One you will gain before your end.” “You say that with an awful amount of certainty,” I grumbled. “But you saved my life. I guess you deserve the benefit of the doubt for that.” I paused, unsure of how to properly express my gratitude. “I suppose I owe you, too. Would have died out there if it wasn't for your medicine.” “A friend in need is a friend indeed,” said Zecora, dismissing my gratitude with a wave of her hoof. “Keep that in mind, and consider it well. You'll need to remember it, as time will tell.” “I've worked on my own for most of my life,” I said to the zebra. “I'm grateful, don't get me wrong. But I know how to watch my own back on the battlefield.” “Sometimes, we all need a helping hoof, I'll wager,” Zecora insisted. “Even you – a snake not created by nature.” My eyes widened; a chill wind sent a shiver through my body. Far in the distance, a flock of ravens cawed. I took a step toward Zecora. “Who the hell—” “Hey! Slowpoke!” Apple Bloom shouted from down the road. “You waitin' for me t'get gobbled up or somethin'?!” I stared intensely at Zecora, willing the zebra hermit to explain herself. All she did was smile blandly, keeping another secret to herself. She nudged me forward with her nose and backed into her open door, shutting it in my face. I was a little too shocked to move from that spot. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to break down Zecora's door and demand an explanation. “Snaaaaake!” called Apple Bloom in a sing-song voice. “I'm startin' to grow moss here!” But, damn the luck, I had a world to save and a baby to sit. Zecora and her mysteries would have to wait for another time. I stared at the door a second longer, then turned my back on it and met Apple Bloom on the path. If I were a paranoid man, I would have sworn that I could feel Zecora's eyes on me every step of the way. At night, the Everfree Forest was a grim and depressing place, where every step was met with trepidation and every moment that passed weighed tensely on my shoulders. I'd hoped that it'd be more cheerful during the daytime. It wasn't; if anything, somehow, it seemed darker. No idea how that would even work. Equestrian physics. Go figure. Apple Bloom was quiet for most of the way. Her attention seemed elsewhere the entire time that we walked, her focus on some thought that lingered in her mind. Zecora was right about the path being faded and illegible. With that to worry about, along with my guide's lack of focus, I began to wonder if we were going nowhere in a hurry. So I voiced my concern. “You sure you know where we're going?” “Whussa matter?” asked Apple Bloom. “Think I'm getting' us lost?” “I didn't say that," I said, despite having clearly said that. “You just seem distracted, that's all. Should I be concerned?” “That's no business o'yours,” Apple Bloom said shortly. “I know where I'm goin'. Jus' trust me for once.” “'For once?' You sure you don't have me confused with someone else?” I asked. “No business o'yours,” repeated Apple Bloom, her voice noticeably more acidic. And just like that, the discussion was over for the time being. We walked without a word passing between the two of us for a time. Only the constant pitter-patter of footsteps and the distant chirping of birds disturbed the silence. Strangely enough, though, the footsteps sounded like more beats than Apple Bloom and I could make by ourselves. I glanced behind, seeing nothing but trees and shadows. Still, I patted my hip holster again for reassurance. After a little bit of time had passed, I decided to engage her again. “Zecora said you wouldn't tell her why you were out here. Any chance you'll tell me?” “That's—” “'No business of mine,' right?” I supplied. “The thing is, it became my business the moment I saved your hide from that manticore. You gonna tell me why I had to stick my neck out for you in the first place?” “Why?” asked Apple Bloom. She came to a stop to glare at me, her brow furrowed and her face pulled into a frown. I had never thought that a pony's face could convey the kind of malice she beamed at me. “You havin' regrets?” “Not what I meant,” I reassured the filly, lowering my neck to meet her testy glare. “Just curious, is all. I'd like to know what I got pumped full of venom over.” I gestured to the foliage on either side and nodded at the dense, green canopy overhead. “Besides, you can't fault me for curiosity. If you don't mind my saying so, you look a little out of place in this forest.” “What, like you don't?” she retorted. Had to admit, the girl had a point. I was as much a fish out of water in Equestria as she'd have been in a radioactive wasteland. “The difference is that I've explained why I'm here,” I said calmly. Years of living on the battlefield has given me a deep reserve of patience, the kind that pays off when you're playing predator, or when a little girl keeps shoving overcooked eggs in your face and you're not allowed to hurt her feelings. I had to draw from that particular well to weather Apple Bloom's irritability. Of course, when it comes to pissy children, there's only so much I can take before I get testy. A little less calmly than before, I said to her “If you weren't listening when I told Zecora about it, then I'm not going to explain again. Your loss.” I probably should have seen her reaction coming. She beat her hoof against the dirt and stuck her neck out in my direction, as far as it'd go. I could tell that she was trying to convey anger and frustration, but on a little talking filly, the effect was altogether disarming. I maintained a stern poker face though. “Why you gotta talk t'me like that?” Apple Bloom demanded. “Like I'm some dumb little filly, can't follow nothin' worth a hill o'horseapples? I ran away so that I wouldn't hafta deal with this kinda thing no more, an' you're takin' me home so that I can get it again, and worst of all, I gotta deal with it from you while you're takin' me home!” Groaning tiredly, she resumed her march, and I, a little shocked by the contempt in her impressive run-on sentence, followed along after a spell. “So you're a runaway, huh?” I asked, once the initial surprise wore off. “What, things at home not going your way?” “I got this sister,” said Apple Bloom. She spoke quickly; her rant was rushed, but impassioned. “Thinks knows best a'cuz she's bigger 'n older. But she don't.” More feuding siblings, I thought. This is the very best mission ever. “You wanna know how I met Zecora?” asked Apple Bloom. “Everypony thought she was some creepy ol' witch, an' ran an' hid anytime she came to town, 'cept for me. Applejack got all high and mighty 'bout it, but in the end, I was right, an' she was wrong. Figger she'da learn somethin' from that, but she didn't! Still treats me like a little filly!” “You are a little filly." Apple Bloom fixed me in a death glare. “I know that. What I mean is, she still treats me like I'm weak an' helpless.” “You were almost eaten alive.” “Ugh! You asked, okay?! Jus' forget it!” Apple Bloom hung her head and squared her shoulders, turning her back to me again. I just grumbled and looked into the forest, staring at nothing in particular. I'm no good with kids. The numerous beats that I'd heard earlier came into sharper focus as the conversation between Apple Bloom and I died again. She had twice my number of legs, and thus made twice the noise I did while walking. I heard the pattern in her steps, the four-beat repetition with every step she took, and could differentiate it from my own. Behind us – fainter, but unmistakable – were more patterns. I couldn't tell how many; they were too faint for that. Nor could I tell what it was that was following us. I momentarily wondered if I should break the news to Apple Bloom, but quickly decided against it. My awareness was the one advantage that we had over our stalkers. Any change in our behavior could squander that advantage and tip our hand to the attacker. I could easily feign ignorance, but I doubted that she could. She telegraphed her thoughts with her body language and demeanor. Kids do that; they can't help it. So I chose to keep that knowledge to myself for the time being while I worked out a plan in my head. Apple Bloom ruined any chance at my being able to concentrate by breaking the silence again. “You got any sisters?” I was mildly annoyed at the disturbance, but figured that more conversation would play to my advantage and make us look more vulnerable. “No,” I replied. “No sisters. But I did have a... a brother. A twin.” “'Had?'” Apple Bloom echoed. “What happened to 'im?” “Have,” I corrected. Figured I'd have to get used to referring to Liquid in the present tense, after what happened atop Arsenal Gear the previous spring. “Don't sound like you're very close, iffin' you're talkin' 'bout your brother like he ain't even alive,” Apple Bloom observed. I eyed her curiously. Awfully perceptive thing for a kid to say. Of course, I was grading on a steep curve. “He ain't nice to you?” she asked. “You see?!” crowed Liquid as he ground my best friend's corpse underfoot. “You can't protect anyone, not even yourself! Die!” “Not especially, no,” I said, and Apple Bloom murmured knowingly. “But you should understand, kid, that he and I, we were sort of a special case. An extreme.” I noted my use of the past tense, and quickly amended. “Are a special case.” “What,” said Apple Bloom, turning her head to face me as we walked. “Like you're the only one with a siblin' what treats you like dirt? Don't even look at you like yer your own pony?” I cleared my throat and looked at her out of the corner of my eye. She rolled hers. “Or whatever.” From behind us, I heard what sounded like a muffled chuckle, followed by a distinct “shush”ing sound. Apple Bloom's eyes widened and she began to crane her neck to look behind us, but I stopped her by clearing my throat again, catching her attention. She looked at me and I shook my head infinitesimally. Apple Bloom caught my cue and kept her mouth shut. She turned her head back to the road, an expression of worry edging toward outright fear on her face. “Nothing like that at all,” I continued, as though the interruption had never happened. I hadn't counted on the girl becoming aware that we were being followed, and didn't count on her being able to disguise it effectively, not with it at the front of her mind. I decided that keeping her distracted would help. Only way that I could figure to do that (without knocking her unconscious and carrying her, which was admittedly not outside the realm of possibility) was to continue pursuing the conversation. “Actually, he tried to kill me a whole bunch of times.” Apple Bloom shot me a skeptical look that suited her better than her worried expression. She was distracted and I had her attention, so I kept talking. “Really, he did. Almost went through with it each time, too.” “But he didn't,” said Apple Bloom matter-of-factly, and I started to rethink my praise for her perceptiveness. “How'd you get away?” I shrugged. “I'm a little tougher than he is, kid.” But not by much, I thought. “So then, maybe I'm no expert in healthy sibling relationships. But in light of my own issues on the subject, can you really tell me that the way your sister treats you is all that bad?” She didn't answer me, looking back to the ground instead. “Why'd you really run away?” I pressed. “...AJ found out I nearly got killed in the Everfree Forest an' yelled at me,” she mumbled at length. Again, I raised an eyebrow. “And to show her up, you decided to get killed in the Everfree Forest?” For such a perceptive girl, she lacked forward thinking in the worst way. “It made more sense last night,” Apple Bloom admitted. “Had a whole plan for what I was goin' to do. I forgot it the second I ran into the manticore though. Still can't quite 'member what it was,” she added with a quiet chuckle. The passion and defensiveness from before was gone from her voice. “Let me make a suggestion.” The beats were becoming individually discernible; two-step beats, several pairs of them. Something bipedal. Humans? Either they were drawing closer, or just not bothering to mask their presence effectively anymore. Whatever the case, it was clear that they were planning to spring their trap soon. “I'm no expert in healthy sibling relationships, and I never had a nagging big sister treating me like a child when I was your age. Maybe I can't relate so well.” I strained to maintain nonchalance as my body shifted into combat mode. The lingering aches from the manticore's venom faded, adrenaline suppressing the pain. “But an older sibling keeping a tight leash on a younger sibling? Telling her to stay out of the creepy, monster-filled forest? Sounds to me like she was just trying to keep you from getting yourself killed. Considering what happened last night, with the manticore, I'd call that good advice, and I'd even go so far as to say that you overreacted to it.” I could see the tears gathering in her amber eyes as I imparted the most sagely wisdom that I could drum up under the circumstances. “I told my sister I wished she was dead,” Apple Bloom whispered to herself with a sniffle. I really, really did not want to discuss this matter any further than I absolutely had to. Working out sibling feuds (without resorting to violence), as I'd learned not so long before, was, is, and will forever be well outside my area of expertise. Fortunately, I had an excuse to cut the conversation short. “We all say things we don't mean sometimes, kid.” Apple Bloom began to reply, but I immediately cut her off in a hushed voice. “This isn't one of them. Listen close: when I say so, make a break for the trees on our right and stay there 'til I say to come out.” Apple Bloom's eyes widened again as the imminence of the danger took center stage. She sucked in a quick, quavering breath and nodded shakily. “Now!” Apple Bloom was off, sprinting off the path as quick as her tiny legs would carry her. Immediately, I spun around, and in a single fluid motion, drew my M9, raised it to eye level and found a target, sizing him up in the instant before I pulled the trigger. Human. Male. Clad in navy blue below the waist and black above. Midnight blue combat vest. Black helmet. The letters “PW” were stamped in the center of the vest. And there were three others, two flanking him on one side, a third on his other. All of them carried Kalashnikovs. Pegasus Wings troops. Zecora was telling the truth. I fired. The dart struck the soldier dead-on in his Adam's Apple. As soon as the round left the barrel I hit the dirt, rolling for some tall grass off of the path, on the side opposite the one that Apple Bloom had gone to. Automatic fire tore up the ground around me, but I reached my cover unscathed and lay perfectly still, flattening myself against the ground. “Kirshner?!” one of the soldiers said frantically. “Get up, you Kraut bastard! That's an order!” “No good,” sighed another, his deep voice embellished by a rich Caribbean accent. “He's out cold.” “Hell, that's two of us gone” said the third soldier. His voice, underscored with a subtle Canadian accent, was shaky, high and cracked just slightly. He sounded younger than the other two. “Where the hell did Trenton run off to?!” “Cut it,” snapped the first. He tried to keep his voice firm, but his nervousness bled through nevertheless. I guessed that he was the squad leader, and thus wanted to exert authority over his troops, but if his voice was any great indicator, he was too easily shaken by the loss of one of his number. This man was not cut out for leadership. I wondered if the rest of Pegasus Wings was so poorly organized. “Split up. Baker, cover the left side. Keep an eye out for that guy. Ethelbert, the right; find that fucking horse. I'll cover the road.” He was verbalizing his orders. Squads like that are supposed to operate via nonverbal signals, speaking sparingly (and quietly, if at all), and here he was proclaiming commands for the entire forest to hear. I reminded myself that a good portion of Pegasus Wings' ranks were wash-outs. Well, what idiot unit did this fool wash out from? Bad organization, poor leadership; these were the least likely conquerors in history. Equestria would have to be utterly demilitarized and helpless to be taken over by this pack of morons. With my luck, though, these'll just turn out to be the bad apples, and the rest of the army will be competent. That was a happy thought to have while playing predator. The three soldiers dispersed. I thought that I was concealed pretty well in the tall grass (or at least as well as I could be without any camouflage), so I stayed still, breathing shallowly, waiting to see if Baker would catch sight of me. He didn't. His breaths were uneven and punctuated by nervous teeth chattering, and his footsteps dragged through the dirt loudly. I knew exactly where he was, could probably have guessed where he was looking too, just by the way he was carrying himself. Once again, I marveled at the discipline and rigorous standards of the Pegasus Wings PMC. I spared a glance upward and saw Baker coming toward me through the grass, his back hunched, his knees trembling and his gun held entirely wrong. He inexplicably rested the barrel on his left arm, holding a knife in his left hand and the gun's grip in his right. His AK was pointed nowhere near me. He hadn't noticed me yet, but he was practically right on top of me. Be pretty damn hard for him not to notice if he stepped right on me, and I doubted that anybody could be that incompetent. There was something else about the way he walked, though. His stance, the way he carried himself, was familiar, if only distantly. It was almost like a Rorschach test, like I was being presented with an inkblot that was supposed to inspire a certain shape in my mind. I turned it over mentally, trying to match his pose with something recognizable. Then it hit me. I knew where I'd seen his pose before. The stance was sloppy (his nervousness did nothing to help that fact) and he was holding his gun entirely wrong, but I was looking at what was supposed to be a standard CQC pose. What happened next was pure instinct and muscle memory. I sprang, rising suddenly from the grass, and caught the AK's barrel in my hands. And I swear, even through the tinted visor, I could see his eyes. They were as wide as saucers. Immediately, I twisted my body out of his line of fire, and cracked him in the chin with the back of my fist, throwing his head backward. Using his weight for leverage, I swung the rifle up and over, catapulting him into the air and wrenching the gun out of his arms. He hit the ground hard, expelling the air in his lungs. I leveled the gun at him, daring him to rise, but he remained still, out cold from the force of his landing. Two down. I swiftly stripped the gun, removing the magazine, ejecting the round in the chamber and separating the barrel, tossing the disparate pieces to the ground beside Baker. I doubted that he could put it back together again. I hadn't used Big Boss' style of Close-Quarters Combat since my days in FOXHOUND. Those techniques were taught to me by a man who turned his back on his unit and his gun on me, and I swore never to use them after that betrayal. But seeing Baker in his shallow parody of a CQC stance awakened something in me, a part that I'd buried for the last decade and a half of my life up to that point. Despite my self-imposed ban on the fighting style, it came to me as naturally as breathing. It was half instinct, half muscle memory, and as I experimentally fell into the basic stance, drawing my M9 and cupping my free hand as though gripping a knife, I felt myself wondering how I'd ever done without it. It was like seeing the world in color for the first time. The other techniques and fighting styles that I'd mastered over the years felt like sticks and stones unto a tank. With CQC, I felt unstoppable. With CQC, I felt invincible. Unbidden, the memory of a grayed man with an eyepatch blazing machine gun fire at me darkened my spirits. Mocking laughter, taunts, threats from a man I'd considered my mentor, my hero, echoed faintly in my mind. My free hand curled into a fist, and I returned my M9 to its holster. CQC was the legacy of a traitor, an art I'd sworn never to use again. But these bumbling idiots brought it back out of me. I'd use it once, this last time, and never again. Until the next time some idiot mimicked Big Boss and came at me with that sick, cookie-cutter imitation, anyway. But really, I told myself reassuringly, what are the odds of that ever happening again? More on that later. I knew the moves, owned a gun. Now, to complete the set, all I needed was a knife. I liberated Baker's Ka-Bar, raising it to eye level to inspect the blade. It was rusty, dull and the point looked blunt, but it would serve my purpose for the time being. I looked at the unconscious soldier, and at the field-stripped firearm beside him. Deconstructing the rifle let me get a good look at it, and what I saw astounded me. It was an AK-47. Mind you, that in itself isn't astounding; the AK-47 is ubiquitous on the battlefield, being popular among revolutionaries, terrorists and militias all the world over. But this was a professional mercenary army. I'd seen their ship. I'd seen the cavernous installation surrounding the portal that brought me here. They had to have the money to afford better. Yet here I was holding an AK-47. Not an AN-94. Not an AK-102. Not even an AK-74, but an AK-47. The grandfather of all assault rifles. Light, reliable, dirt-cheap and obsolete. Were Pegasus Wings' soldiers mercenaries on a budget? Was that why they were hiring unseasoned soldiers and arming them with outmoded weaponry? Nothing about this situation added up. Once again, I wondered if they were all like this, or if I'd simply drawn the most inept squad in the unit. I heard the terse muttering of the soldier watching the path and filed my thought away for another time. Still had a job to do, after all. Turning my attention to him, I stalked, slowly and silently, through the tall grass and back onto the path. He stood in the center of the dirt road, darting his head from one side to the next, occasionally swearing under his breath. He kept asking the air what was going on, except he used more expletives than I'd care to type to make his inquiry. I guessed that he hadn't heard what happened to Baker. It's my experience that the soldiers I encounter on missions aren't very perceptive. Not that I'm complaining. I stole behind him, coming close enough that he could probably have felt my breath on his neck. Fortunately, I'm not that careless. Before he could notice my presence, I wrapped my left arm around his shoulders, pressing the rusty blade of the Ka-Bar against the flesh of his neck and followed that by kicking the back of his right leg, causing his body to buckle. I used my right arm to draw his own behind him at an incredibly uncomfortable angle and felt around his hip for a holster. Finding it, I drew his sidearm and thrust my arm across his right shoulder, staring down the sights of the pistol. If the gun was ID locked, then my improvised plan wasn't going to work, and I'd need to improvise a whole new one. “Call him,” I ordered. He obliged me. “Ethelbert!” he yelped in a voice tinged noticeably with pain. Quite a number I was doing on his arm. The last soldier appeared from behind a tree, AK raised. I pulled my handgun's trigger twice the second his head came into view; my hostage jumped with each report. Ethelbert's helmet deflected the first bullet, but failed to stop the second, and he toppled onto his back with a hole in his headgear. I noted with interest that the gun was not, in fact, ID locked. The last soldier whimpered at the sight of his dead comrade. “Please,” he sniveled, “please don't—” I cut him off with a hard shove forward. As he staggered and fell to the ground, I dropped his sidearm, drew my M9, cocked it and fired, hitting him in the groin with a tranquilizer dart. The leader briefly tried to rise, but his strength abandoned him before he could lift himself an inch and he collapsed with a quiet groan. One soldier dead and three unconscious via the magic of CQC. Not bad for someone who hadn't used it in a decade. If the very use of the thing didn't fill me with such powerful self-hate, I might have decided to re-work it into my rotation Still, wasn't there something that I was missing? “Hell, that's two of us gone. Where the hell's Trenton?!” Right after I'd taken out the first soldier, too. There was still one more out there. I cocked the M9 and held it ready, scanning the perimeter for any sign of movement. A voice from above drew my attention: “Snake, look out!” I turned my head in the direction of Apple Bloom's panicked cry. A black shape, vaguely blue tinted, was descending fast, holding something that gleamed faintly in a downward position. A blade. A sword, more specifically, and there's only one type of sword that you'll find on a battlefield in this day and age: a High-Frequency Blade, utilizing ultrasonic vibrations to cut through objects on a molecular level. I'd seen them before, knew the damage they could do in the right hands. I dove, the sword missing by mere millimeters, and rolled headfirst, coming to a stop and rising to a kneel, then whirling to face my attacker as he recovered from his failed strike. An almost featureless face with a single blazing blue eye stared back at me. He wore the same combat vest as the troops, but not the same uniform. His body was two shades of blue: the torso and everything down to the knees were a deep, midnight blue, and the shoulders, knees, calves and ankles were sky blue. In his right hand was the sword that had nearly impaled me. Slung under his left arm, a hand clamped tightly over her mouth, was Apple Bloom, who was clearly not happy with this turn of events. Her eyes stared fearfully at me as she struggled to escape the vise grip of her kidnapper. This was no run-of-the-mill soldier. No incompetent buffoon who didn't know what end of his gun the bullets came out of. This was a Cyborg Ninja that I was dealing with, one of the deadliest things I have ever gone toe-to-toe with in my life. I've seen one shred a platoon of soldiers apart single-handedly, but I fought him on equal footing and barely walked away. But this one? My body was still weak from the manticore's sting. I could take down a foursome of buffoonery, sure, but any halfway competent idiot could do that. A superhuman abomination of science was a whole different ballpark. I needed time. Needed to stall. “Trenton, I presume,” I said. My eyes flicked between Apple Bloom and her attacker, trying to determine if I could get a shot in at the latter without harming the former. “Those suits standard issue now?” Trenton responded by reversing his grip on the sword and leaping toward me, crossing the distance between the two of us in a single bound. Not the talkative sort, apparently. I had just enough time to roll again and evade a decapitating strike. Clambering to my feet and aligning my sights on the side of Trenton's head, I fired. Without looking, Trenton deflected the round, his arm moving in an imperceptibly fast motion. Should have seen that coming. He wouldn't be a Cyborg Ninja if he weren't faster than a speeding bullet. Trenton came at me again, returning the sword to a standard grip. He delivered a series of shallow thrusts and slashes, executed with slight, simple flicks of his wrist, reminiscent more of European fencing than Japanese sword-fighting. I wove, evading his every strike, but only just barely; the ninja kept me very much on my toes. An opportunity finally presented itself when Trenton thrust the blade angled slightly upward. I side-stepped the lunge, caught him by the wrist in my left hand and pulled him toward me, simultaneously throwing a haymaker with my right. His head met my fist, resulting in a resounding metallic clang upon collision. Ignoring the throbbing pain in my hand, I quickly followed with a kick, pivoting on my back foot to drive it deep into his chest. The combat vest must have absorbed some of it, but there was still enough force in the kick to make him stagger backward, curling his body into itself. Yet Apple Bloom, somehow, remained tightly in his grasp. I seethed. I couldn't go all-out against him with Apple Bloom held hostage like that, not unless I didn't mind hurting the filly too. “Maybe you should put her down,” I suggested, trying the dialogue tactic again. “Unless you don't mind an uneven fight.” “Unacceptable,” said Trenton flatly. As surprised as I was to get an answer out of him, what really got me was his voice. It had the same mechanical filter as the past ninja's voices, but his was unique somehow. His low pitch was an obvious computerized disguise; it was clear to me that his real voice was significantly higher. I wondered what the point of that was. Were they seriously trying to mask an effete voice by altering it to sound lower? For what, intimidation's sake? More than that, though less unusually, Trenton had an accent, one that I couldn't put my finger on, thanks to the mechanical distortion effect. “Does that mean you want me to wipe the floor with you?” I taunted. It was equal parts stalling for time and trying to goad him into letting Apple Bloom go. With luck, she'd take off to safety while I distracted Trenton. Sure, she was an annoying little runt, but I was interested enough in her well being to take on horrific monsters that were trying to harm her. I'd saved her ass from the manticore; I didn't want to let her down against a ninja. “Unacceptable,” repeated Trenton. “Your suggestion contradicts my orders.” “Orders?” I asked. “Were you ordered to kidnap her?” Trenton surprised me again by returning his HF Blade to his sheath. Far less surprisingly, he leaped toward me, arcing through the air with his right fist drawn back and descending almost right on top of me, driving that fist forward. I backpedaled, evading the strike, and his fist sank deep into the dirt. Trenton ripped his hand out of the ground, flinging clumps of dirt and roots into the air, and rose back to his feet. I jabbed with my left hand. He deflected it easily. Undeterred, I swung a right hook; he ducked under it. I spun, jumping off the ground to deliver a roundhouse kick, but Trenton reacted by putting Apple Bloom directly in my line of fire. She shut her eyes tightly and squeaked, but at the last second before impact I withdrew the kick. Doing so threw off my balance, however. Gravity yanked me to the ground, and I landed painfully hard on my side. My wits returned in time for me to notice Trenton's fist barreling toward me. I rolled aside, scrambled to my feet and fell back into my combat stance. Using Apple Bloom as a shield. I took that to mean that he had to fight dirty in order to match me. If I weren't still sluggish from my fight with the manticore, I might have been able to outfight him. Whoever Trenton was inside that exoskeleton, he was certainly no Gray Fox. No, this ninja had no scruples. “I have been directed to maintain the secrecy of our operations at any cost,” Trenton informed me. His computerized voice was calm and even, as though the previous exchange of blows hadn't taken place at all. “However, I have also been directed to not take the lives of any ponies. I cannot kill the child without violating my second directive, but the first must be obeyed at any cost. Thus, I have decided to capture her, in lieu of taking her life. It seemed a fitting compromise.” My back and right flank ached where I had fallen. It formed an interesting combination with my lingering manticore venom soreness. “Yeah? So you and the Incompetence Brigade were sent out to silence her, specifically? Kind of funny that one little filly is such a top tier threat for a crack mercenary army.” Trenton emitted a low, mechanical sound that I interpreted as a chuckle and squeezed his arm tighter around Apple Bloom. The filly let out a quiet puff of breath and stared helplessly at me. I set my teeth, smoldering with anger at Trenton's casual use of a child as an instrument of war. “We discovered your presence quite by accident,” Trenton explained. “A manticore attacked a long-range forest patrol and devoured two of our sentries before we were able to drive it away. The cowardly lion fled at the sound of gunfire.” That explained the rounds I'd heard the night before. Good to know I hadn't imagined them. “Rather than risk letting the beast live, I and this assortment of buffoons,” and here he gestured to the unconscious (and dead) soldiers, “were sent to track it down and eliminate it. Command determined that night-time operations needed to cease in light of that development, however, and so we delayed the hunt until morning. “The beast was found and dealt with swiftly. Examining the carcass revealed a curiosity: it was stuck with a dart containing a rather potent tranquilizer. Close inspection of the immediate area revealed the presence of three 9x19 millimeter shell casings and a trail composed of hoofprints that led deeper into the forest. The trail ended at a cottage built into a tree.” They found Zecora. My throat tightened as concern for the cryptic zebra washed over me. “I left a group behind to deal with the occupant. The rest of the soldiers followed me in pursuit of the filly and her companion. You see, we noted a set of human-shaped footprints beside a set of hoofprints. Under the circumstances, it struck me as odd. Wouldn't it strike you as odd?” “The week I'm having, I don't think I could ever consider anything odd again." Or maybe I was just becoming cynical in my old age. "So what about me? Planning to take me into custody too?” “You are not a pony,” said Trenton. “I can kill you without violating the first directive.” Well. Look who had everything all figured out. “Think you can, do you?” I began to pace, walking in a counter-clockwise circle, with Trenton as my locus. Trenton mirrored my action, his burning blue eye focused entirely on me. “The last two of your kind I faced couldn't. What makes you think that you can?” “Progress does,” said Trenton. His mechanical voice resounded with what I can only identify as smugness. “The prototype was a failure, by all standards. Unstable, psychotic. A weapon is only useful if you know that it won't backfire on you. Gray Fox betrayed and murdered his makers, and that is a failing that I do not subscribe to. I am the second, the refined product, built on the foundation of the first without any of its flaws. Not unlike yourself, son of Big Boss.” A shiver ran down my spine. “You know who I am?” This was the second person in Equestria who knew more about me than they let on. “Word was that you perished in Manhattan Harbor in 2007, but resurfaced last year. I suppose this would confirm your continued existence.” The blue fire in his eye flickered in a curious way. “Though I am curious as to how you came to be here.” “Same way as you, right?” I asked. I was coming closer to the body of the last soldier I'd tranq'd. His sidearm lay where I'd dropped it. I started to map out, mentally, how close I'd have to be to nab it and shoot without Trenton reacting. Odds were slim. “I went through the portal on the island.” “That is the only way to get here, to my knowledge,” mused Trenton. “But we have the terminus tightly secured. The odds of one being able to slip through and out of our grasp are slim, even for one such as yourself. More to the point, the portal has been rigged to disperse the atoms of anybody who attempts to follow us here. A precautionary measure.” I was supposed to be dead? I wrote that off for the time being; I was supposed to be dead a number of times over. What's one more unto the multitude? “Obviously, you didn't do it well enough.” “Obviously,” the ninja agreed. “I cannot say that I am surprised. The technology on that island is quite old. No doubt unreliable.” “Then why didn't you say anything to your commander?” I asked. “If you knew that there was the possibility that your plan wouldn't work, then shouldn't that have come up?” I was almost right next to the sleeping mercenary now. “Commander Cain is a busy man,” Trenton replied. “I cannot trouble him with my every errant thought.” “You may have wanted to trouble him with that one.” Dive, roll, nab the gun, line up the shot, take it, drop the ninja with a single bullet. I had a window of maybe a second, if that. No time like the present. I drew a shallow breath and prepared to lunge... “'Ey you!” shouted a woman's voice, rich with a rural accent. Trenton about-faced sharply to meet this newcomer. His pose and body language told me that he'd been caught completely off guard. Suddenly, I found that my window had opened by a couple of additional seconds. I dove, rolled, nabbed the gun (an M1911, from the original production line no less; they were either on a budget or this Commander Cain appreciated antiques) and lined up the shot. In retrospect, I should have taken it, even though it likely would have been pointless. I experienced a momentary lapse, though, on account of what I saw just beyond Trenton. Arrayed in a “V” formation were six ponies, each a different color. Two had horns; one was lavender and carried something pudgy, purple and spiky on her back, and the other was brilliant white. Two had wings, yet only one, the blue one with the rainbow mane, was airborne; the light yellow one stood on all fours. Two could have passed for normal equines but for their unsettlingly human facial features; one was pink, and the other, at the head of the group, was orange and wore, of all things, a Stetson hat. Lucky for me, I'd gotten my giggles out in Zecora's hut. Otherwise, I might have experienced a full-blown psychotic episode. Evidently, Apple Bloom recognized at least one of the ponies in the group, because she immediately wiggled free of Trenton's grip on her mouth. “AJ!” she shouted, her voice cracking on a high note. “Help me!” Trenton's hand clamped over her face again, and whatever else she had to say was shouted into the ninja's palm. The orange mare with the hat (AJ, I guessed) dug her hoof into the dirt and bared her teeth at the ninja. “I'm only sayin' this once,” AJ said in a dangerous tone that left no room for debate. “Set 'er down now.” Trenton responded by drawing his sword and holding the blade to Apple Bloom's throat. The cutting power of the HF Blade was such that the barest flick of his wrist would sever her head from her body. Of course, I knew that a Cyborg Ninja had the dexterity not to make such a mistake, and being under strict orders not to kill, he certainly wouldn't have done it on purpose. The threat was an empty one. AJ didn't know that. With a mad roar, she charged at Trenton, closing the gap between them in moments. Trenton raised his leg high into the air and dropped his heel onto AJ's head the instant she came into striking distance. Her momentum vanished into the ether; she came to a full stop, stood stock still, wavered cartoonishly for a moment, and then toppled onto her side, groaning. Triumphantly, Trenton kicked her unconscious body aside. AJ rolled a few feet to the right, off of the path. Her hat fell off of her head and lay discarded on the road. Suddenly, I remembered that I was holding a loaded handgun. Springing to my feet, I fired twice, striking Trenton in the back on both rounds. He jerked with each impact, but showed no other sign of harm. Lightning-quick, super strong and bulletproof. A winning combination for anybody to have. I was barely holding my own against him at reduced strength; I doubted the ponies had a prayer. Four of the five who hadn't charged the ninja snapped out of whatever trance they had been in and followed their friend's example. Purple Horn bucked its luggage to the ground before taking off, and it remained behind with the yellow coated, pink haired straggler. Rainbow got to Trenton first, turning in midair and bucking at his head with a pair of powerful back legs. Trenton sidestepped, raised his right arm and smashed his elbow, vertically, onto Rainbow's head. She fell beside his foot, unmoving but alive. That seemed to stall the other three – Purple Horn, Curly Hair, and the Pink One – because they skidded to a halt upon seeing Rainbow getting dropped with one hit. Trenton took advantage of their shock; moving in a blur into their midst, he set to work. A kick to Curly Hair's side before she could react to his presence sent her sprawling to the dirt with the wind knocked out of her. Another kick at Purple Horn was deflected by a sudden violet shimmer that seemed conjured out of nothing. Trenton recoiled and recovered in the same moment, switching his target to the Pink One. He attempted the same heel drop that had felled AJ, but the Pink One bounced (yes, bounced) aside. With the broadest, most out of place grin possible, she reared her front legs up and stomped both of of her hooves onto that foot. Trenton's agonized, computerized screech filled the air. He was bulletproof, but not hoofproof. I wondered if that was a design oversight. Purple Horn attempted a charge. Trenton planted his back foot onto her face and shoved her away. She skidded through the dirt beside the Cowardly One and the spiky purple thing. The former gaped, wide-eyed; the latter knelt beside Purple Horn and cradled her head. I chose that moment to sprint at Trenton, dropping the useless gun as I went. Trenton kicked the Pink One in the belly, hard enough to raise her up a few feet into the air, then spun, pivoted and kicked her again, launching her like a cannonball at me. She and I collided, and I was sent backward, landing hard on my back once again with the grinning pink pony on top of me. “Hi there!” she said, looking into my eyes with a smile. Our collision and the pain that it no doubt caused her apparently was not enough to dampen her spirits. This was the very worst mission ever. The Coward's shocked expression melted, solidifying into one of grim resolve. “No,” she whispered in a ragged voice. Trenton hissed, but didn't turn to face her. His grip tightened on his sword. “No!” the Cowardly One shouted, this time with iron in her voice. “How dare you hurt my friends this way! How dare you lay your hands on Apple Bloom like that! Don't you have a single shred of decency in your being you monster?!” Her wings unfurled and beat furiously, drawing her into the air, and she advanced on the ninja at eye level. Finally, he turned around to meet her furious stare. A pair of gentle blue eyes, forced into a mask of anger that they looked completely foreign in, met a single, ferociously burning blue eye that betrayed no emotion but rage. The mask faded; the anger in her eyes gave way to fear, and the beating of her wings slowed. The Coward drifted back to the dirt, staring at the ninja and quaking. “I... I...” she stammered. The iron was gone from her voice. Trenton raised his sword. It was a dramatic gesture, but a pointless one. The sharp side of the blade faced away from the Coward. He was going to strike her with the blunted end. It was nonlethal, but debilitating; a hardy man (or pony) could withstand a blow like that, but she didn't look too hardy from where I was sitting. I pushed the Pink One off of my chest and climbed to my feet, breaking once again into a full-tilt sprint toward Trenton. The sound of hoofbeats from behind told me that my collision buddy was following closely. We didn't make it in time. The sword descended on the terrified pony. From the side of the road galloped a rejuvenated AJ; she slammed into the Coward, knocking her out of the path of the blade. The sword struck AJ in the back of her neck, accompanied by the crackle of electricity. AJ yelped; she didn't have time for anything longer than that before she crumpled to the dirt and lay fetal and motionless. Apple Bloom shrieked the pony's name (“AJ” stood for “Applejack.” I guessed that was the sister she'd talked about) before devolving into incoherent sobs. Trenton spared a glance to the purple spiky thing, who still knelt beside Purple Horn and stared back at the Ninja with a frightened expression. He looked briefly at the Coward, who shut her eyes tightly and whimpered. With a disgusted grunt and a shake of his head, he turned his back on her, sheathed his weapon and leaped straight into the air. A moment later, he landed in front of me, his faceless mask and burning blue eye mere inches from me. “No witnesses,” he said, choking Apple Bloom again to stifle her. I heard the Pink One growl at the act, but she made no move to stop him. “I will take her, and they will follow, and you will be among them.” “Go to Hell,” I whispered harshly. Trenton headbutted me, driving his metal forehead into my bandanna-covered brow, and kneed me in the gut. It felt like a locomotive had plowed into me at full speed. I gasped and fell, clutching my skull in one hand and my stomach in the other. "The castle in the forest's center. You will come. She will be imperiled if you do not.” I watched him shove the Pink One out of his path and stoop to retrieve my discarded M1911. He seemed to weigh the weapon in his hand for just a moment. Then he pointed it into the tall grass off of the path and fired a shot. The suddenness of the motion and the noise made the Pink One jump. I can't say it didn't surprise me too. Field commanders don't typically execute their soldiers for a poor job. Trenton pointed to the first soldier I'd tranq'd and fired a second time, putting a bloody hole in his head. He aimed for the last one, the one I'd held hostage, and fired a third shot. The soldier jerked briefly in his sleep, then lay still. The sound of the gunfire shocked Apple Bloom into silence. Trenton met my gaze again, leveling the weapon at me, and for a moment, I fully expected him to fire. But he didn't. He hesitated. His hand trembled, and finally, released the gun, let it fall to the ground. Instead, he pointed at me with the hand that had held it. “No witnesses,” he repeated, as if that was all the explanation needed. And then he was gone, sprinting down the path into the forest with Apple Bloom in his grasp. In seconds, he was out of sight. I'd saved her from the manticore, an otherworldly beast, only to let her get swept away by a monster that was far more familiar to me. Another failure for the pile of failures in the career of Solid Snake. Yet the pain in my head was excruciating enough to take top priority over kicking myself, and the pain in my stomach made that look like nothing. I shut my eyes and ground my palm against the spot where Trenton had hit me, as though that would somehow make the pain go away, and pressed my other hand tightly against my abdomen. “Hey,” said the Pink One in her high, girlish voice as she trotted up to me and poked her face into mine. “You okay there?” That was a very trying morning for me, one of the most trying I'd endured in recent memory. “Okay” was the last word I would have used to describe the situation, or myself. And yet, the question made me chuckle. The chuckle built into a pained, breathless laugh as I shook my agonized head and raised it to look the Pink One in her sapphire blue eyes. For an instant, I could have sworn that I saw the outline of a billowing black cloak in the air behind her. “I haven't been okay in a very, very long time,” I replied through my fading laughter. She always wore a smile on her face, even when locked in mortal combat with a monster. Against Trenton, it was one of glee. But the smile she offered me now was one of sympathy and reassurance. “At least you've got one thing down. When the world's got you on the ropes, sometimes all you can do is laugh.” The obtrusively pink pony with the cotton candy mane held her hoofed leg out to me. “My name's Pinkie Pie. What's yours?” I heard stirring behind me, accompanied by the nervous voices of four young ladies. The rural Southern drawl, so similar to Apple Bloom's, was not among them, and in my heart was a festering concern for Apple Bloom. Not just on account of her kidnapping, but on account of the idea that, for all she knew, she just watched her sister die. I didn’t have a loving sibling relationship. My twin tried to murder me. On a personal level, the bond between Apple Bloom and her sister, the aptly named Applejack, was alien to me; I couldn’t relate. But I’d seen loving siblings, who had been torn apart by feud, be brought together again for an instant... before one of them died tragically. Otacon cradling Emma’s bloodied body in his arms... Applejack could lose her sister forever because of a misunderstanding. For all Apple Bloom knew, her own sister was dead, because of that same misunderstanding. Otacon walked out of his family’s life, consumed by guilt, leaving behind a sister who thought that he abandoned them because of her. A grudge stewed in her heart that drove her to help create a weapon of mass destruction, because of a misunderstanding. Both parties bore blame. And me? My hands were in this too. I’d let Apple Bloom out of my sight long enough for her to get caught. I was given the opportunity to pull her out of Trenton’s grasp, and I’d squandered it. I put someone in harm’s way, someone who should never have been there in the first place. I watched an innocent suffer the consequences of my failure. Worst of all, it wasn’t even the first time I’d let it happen. Meryl writhing in the snow, begging me to shoot her, a tiny red dot hovering over her body... Not again. There would be no more Emmas. That filly was going to survive. I took Pinkie Pie's hoof in my hand and shook once, with as much strength as my envenomed hands could summon, and forced a grim smile onto my face. “Call me Snake.”

Posh

436

Main 6,Other,Twilight Sparkle,Crossover,Human,Adventure,Dark,Metal Gear,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic,Death,Violence

Pony Gear Solid

Solid Snake teams up with ponies to save Equestria, and gradually learns to love it.

incomplete

<p>Metal Gear has fallen into the hooves of an Equestrian revolutionary, who, with the backing of his human mercenary allies, intends to use it to depose Celestia and crown himself ruler. Having crossed into Equestria in pursuit of this rogue weapon, the legendary Solid Snake must ally with the residents of Ponyville to prevent a nuclear catastrophe.</p><p>See also <a href="/story/369125/equestria-gear-solid-the-definitive-experience" rel="nofollow"><i>Equestria Gear Solid</i></a><i>,</i> the hilarious spin-off EQG parody in which everything you know is wrong, and every single character from the story is an awful caricature of themselves. </p><p><a href="http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/FanFic/PonyGearSolid" rel="nofollow">Now with its own TVtropes page!</a></p>

teen

2012-03-06T05:14:04+00:00

2016-11-22T18:28:03+00:00

“Light is but a farewell gift from the darkness to those on their way to die.” Applejack awoke to indistinct voices whispering around her. A terrible pain ran down her neck and to her back. She tested her legs, wiggling each one gently to ensure that she still had her physical faculties. Satisfied, she braced herself against the inevitable pain and tried to push off of the ground. She managed to rise a couple of inches before collapsing onto her stomach. “Hey, she's up. Applejack? You okay?” The boyish voice came from beside her. She felt a clawed hand rest upon her face. “Careful, Spike,” a soften, calmer voice warned. Fluttershy, thought Applejack. “There's no way of knowing how serious her condition is.” Spike's hand was gone a moment later. Condition? Applejack thought blearily. How bad was I hit? She lifted her head and opened her eyes, blinking slowly. Fluttershy stood in front of her; Spike was out of her field of vision. The former eyed Applejack cautiously. “Hey, partner,” said Spike, imitating Applejack's accent. “I've got something for ya.” Applejack heard a quiet rustling, then felt the familiar feeling of her hat enveloping the crown of her head. “You lost it when you went all hero on Fluttershy.” “Which I'm very grateful for!” Fluttershy added quickly. “Thank you, Applejack. You saved me.” “Don't need no thanks,” Applejack said, her voice straining with effort as she attempted to stand once again. It shot up and down her back in waves, but she withstood it, rising to all fours with no slight effort. Years of applebucking had endowed her with an iron constitution which she prided herself on. No farmer worth her cider would let a little back pain keep her down when there was work to be done. “I'd be a pretty awful friend if I let that thing hurt anypony I cared about." Almost as awful a friend as I am a sister. The horrifying sight of her sister in the clutches of that faceless monster flashed in her mind's eye. Doubt and self-reproach gnawed at her as she silently chastised herself for failing to keep Apple Bloom safe for a third time. She kept the thought to herself, but her expressed sentiment brought out a guarded, but optimistic, smile from Fluttershy. “Oh?” sniffed Rarity. “I suppose you're implying that Fluttershy is the only one of us about whom you care?” Ever graceful, she strode to her friends' side. Her expression relieved, despite her catty tone. Applejack was well aware that Rarity was teasing her, but she still winced at the memory of the Rarity taking a hit from the kidnapper. “How're y'all holdin' up?” she asked. Rarity made a brief show of inspecting herself and shrugged. “It hurt, if that's what you're asking, but it was more damaging to my pride than anything else. I'm more upset that I didn't get to return the favor.” “Yeah. You an' me both.” Applejack worked her shoulders and cracked her neck. The pain in her body hadn't faded in the slightest, but it bothered her less as she regained her strength. “Was I out long?” Spike tapped a claw against his chin. “Thirty minutes maybe. The others were on their hooves in about half that time,” he added casually. Applejack scowled at him. The competitor in her was not at all pleased at being beaten to recovery. “Then again,” Spike mused, not really noticing Applejack's displeasure. “You were hit harder than anypony else. I guess it makes sense that you'd take longer to recover.” “Some iron constitution I've got,” muttered Applejack. “Speakin' of hurt pride.” A particularly bothersome spike of pain shot through her head and she shut her eyes tightly, willing it away. “What about the others? Twi an' Rainbow an' Pinkie?” Spike clicked his tongue, but made no further answer. Applejack wrenched her eyes open, fighting the agony stabbing into her skull. Sweet mother of corn whiskey, it's like every hangover I've ever had hittin' all at once. “You gonna tell me?” “Oh, I was—” Spike cleared his throat. “Right, your eyes were closed. Uh. I did this thing. Heh.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder and smiled sheepishly, blushing. Applejack looked in the direction that he indicated. Twilight Sparkle stood not far away, flanked by Rainbow Dash. The pegasus was massaging her rainbow-maned head with one eye shut tightly, still recovering from the savage blow that the kidnapper had laid on her. Nevertheless, she wore a tight-lipped smirk, a look she shared with Pinkie Pie. She sat in the dirt beside Rainbow Dash, a hoof pressed against her mouth as though she were fighting back giggles. Towering over the three of them, his back turned to Applejack, was a two-legged thing in a skin-tight blue/gray suit who stood with his arms folded, furtively discussing something with Twilight. He was just similar enough to the thing that had stolen Apple Bloom for Applejack to grow overwhelmed with irrational anger. She barked a challenge at him, drawing everyone's attention. “You!” She staggered toward them, collapsed after one step, then dragged herself through the dirt toward him rapidly. “Yer one o'them monsters what nabbed my sister! You got some nerve stickin' around, you—” “Applejack, calm down!” Fluttershy's legs clamped around her midsection. “Please, for your own sake, don't do something that you'll regret.” “I'll regret not buckin' his face inna jam, that's what I'll regret!” snapped Applejack. “Now lemme at 'im!” She wriggled free of Fluttershy and resumed her enraged crawl For his part, the blue-suited thing regarded her with a raised eyebrow. Now that he was facing her, Applejack could see a stubbly beard on his face, and a blue/green bandanna tied around his forehead. She found him altogether quite ugly. It made her want to smash him more. Rarity sighed. Applejack's body shimmered a faded blue, and she found herself floating just high enough in the air for her legs to not find purchase on the dirt. “What the hay? Rarity! Lemme down!” “Applejack, it's alright,” said Twilight calmly as she edged toward her. She kept her voice as soothing as possible, as though she were speaking to a foal. The condescension only made Applejack angrier. “This is our new friend. His name is Solid Snake—” Pinkie suddenly burst into a fit of laughter. The thing in the suit grumbled something under his breath. “And he's here to help us,” said Twilight. “He was trying to save Apple Bloom from that monster when we found them. Remember?” She grinned at him. “Help me out here,” she said through her clenched jaws. Snake glanced at Twilight, then at Applejack. “So you must be that overbearing sister that Apple Bloom was telling me about.” His voice was deep and sounded like crunching gravel. Overbearing...?! “Why you dirty, low-down, no-good son of a diamond dog!” yelled Applejack. “I'mma break outta this spell an' when I do—” Twilight facehoofed as Applejack made several violent and profane promises. “I said to help. How is that helping?” she asked, exasperated. “How?!” Snake shrugged. “I'm not exactly at a hundred percent right now. Under the circumstances, I think I'm doing pretty well.” He took a few steps toward where Applejack hovered, suspended in Rarity's magic field, and observed her like she were an animal in a zoo. Applejack seethed. “But if it'll make things easier for you, I suppose I can make an effort to play nice.” He came within striking distance of Applejack. She swung at him; he backed out of reach. “Of course, it has to be a two way street,” he said to Twilight. “I need assurance that this one isn't going to go postal.” “Y'all might try talkin' to me, for starters,” said Applejack curtly. “Twilight ain't my lawyer.” “Maybe she should be. You aren't making a good case for yourself.” Snake came back within reach of Applejack, and she fought back the urge to swing at him again. “The thing that took your sister brought her to a ruined castle deep in this forest," said Snake. "I don't know where that is, but I'm told that you do. If you want to walk right in there and confront Trenton alone, after what he did to you and your friends, then go right ahead.” Her friends exchanged uncertain looks with one another. “Or you could show some sense and listen to what I'm trying to say,” Snake continued. “We have a common enemy and a common purpose. Get me to the castle, and I'll help you get Apple Bloom back. But you need to put your trust in me.” His eyes were grayish-blue and, somehow, ancient. “How about it?” Applejack looked away from his face, to Twilight Sparkle behind him. She offered Applejack a nervous, encouraging smile and a slow nod. Please, the unicorn mouthed. “Well...” Applejack sucked in a breath and exhaled it slowly, relaxing her muscles. “If you did right by Apple Bloom, then... I s'pose you can't be all that bad.” She glanced over her shoulder at Rarity. “Y'all can let me down now, sugarcube. No more rough-housin' from me.” “Oh, thanks heavens,” breathed Rarity as her levitation field vanished. Applejack's heart fell at the sudden loss of buoyancy. She dropped, but Snake's hand lashed out and caught her by the hoof, and she dangled in his grip, the tip of her tail brushing against the grass. Applejack glared daggers at Rarity. “My levitation isn't as powerful as Twilight's,” said Rarity, plaintively digging a hoof into the dirt. “It takes more effort to hold up something as heavy as a grown pony.” “Yer lucky I ain't a sensitive gal, Rarity, or I'd think y'all were callin' me fat,” said a testy Applejack as Snake lowered her to the ground. She stood upon all fours, incredibly sore and deeply pained, but standing nonetheless. “I acted like a heel just now,” she said, straining through the pain to look up at Snake's face. “This just hasn't been a good day at all. Not that that's any excuse.” She offered him a hoof. “Applejack.” Snake knelt, took her hoof and shook it gently, mindful of the pain she was in. “Solid Snake.” Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash erupted into full-blown belly laughs. Rainbow Dash sank to the ground and plopped onto her bottom behind Pinkie, the two leaning back-to-back as they roared with joy. Snake flushed and clenched his jaw. “Because 'Pinkie Pie' sounds so much better,” he grumbled. “Girls,” said Twilight flatly. “Seriously? Are you four?” With a mighty effort, Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash forcibly repressed their laughter into less raucous (but still mirthful) chuckles. “Okay,” gasped Pinkie, in between bursts, “okay, you're right. I'm done. We're done” She grinned, giggled one last time, coughed, and grinned again, looking at Rainbow Dash. “Done?” “Done,” agreed Rainbow Dash, returning Pinkie's grin. Snake folded his arms. “You're crocked, aren't you?” he asked. “Uh-uh,” said Pinkie, shaking her head. “I'm Pinkie Pie, remember? Silly.” Snake pressed a hand against his forehead, shut his eyes, and groaned. I hastily brought Applejack to speed, silently wishing that Twilight had waited until the orange pony regained consciousness before grilling me for answers. Would have saved me some trouble; I could have played the exposition game with all of them at once. Still, for someone who'd recently suffered a savage blow to the spine, no doubt impairing several cognitive functions, Applejack picked up the gist of my story with relative ease. “You think that Trenton feller's usin' Apple Bloom as bait?” asked Applejack as she rubbed her sore neck. Fluttershy, the cowardly, butter-colored pegasus, kept shooting worried glances her way, but largely kept her distance. Figured I'd missed something; didn't care enough to ask what it was though. “Could be. He told me that he'd been ordered not to hurt any ponies he encountered.” The word “ponies” felt thick and ridiculous in my mouth, and I hated myself a little bit more every time I found myself saying it. “But then he implied that she'd be in some sort of danger if I, or we, didn't come for her.” I drew my pack of cigarettes, selected one, and lifted it to my mouth. I hadn't had a smoke since waking up in Equestria, and it was starting to get to me. “Quite a contradiction.” The cigarette left my mouth abruptly, dangling inches away from my face, wrapped in a translucent purple aura. I snatched at it; it danced away from my reach. Twilight Sparkle stepped in front of me and shook her head, dropping the cigarette to the grass. Shooting her the most antagonistic glare I could muster, I stooped, retrieved the cigarette, and returned it to the pack. I guess the universe figured that if Otacon couldn't be there to nanny me, then someone had to pick up the slack. “Do you think that it was an empty threat?” asked the white unicorn, Rarity. I have never been and will never be attracted to an animal, but even I had to admit, there was a glamour to Rarity that was impossible to avoid noticing. “That he only said it to get us over there?” “If that's the case, then we'd be waltzing into a trap just by showing up,” added Rainbow Dash. She hovered in the air with her hind legs dangling down and her forelegs crossed. Poor thing had a fine lump on her head. I thought about the pain that Gray Fox' punches wracked me with, then at the way he'd lobbed off Ocelot's arm, and reasoned that if a lump was the worst she got from a Cyborg Ninja, then she ought to have considered herself lucky. “Y'know somethin'?” said Applejack, looking at Rainbow Dash and Rarity. “I don't think I really care whether it's a trap or not. I ain't leavin' my flesh-an'-blood with that monster.” She looked at me with those big green eyes, her face stony and resolute. “If you can help my sister, then I'll take y'all where ya need t'go, no question. You gals with me?” I knew from experience how crippling a hit from even the blunt end of an HF blade could be, yet she not only withstood one, she was raring to go another round. No wonder Applejack was able to shrug off that spinal injury. Hers was clearly made of iron. Rainbow Dash swooped in to land beside Applejack. “You can count me in,” she said with a grin. “Trap or no, I want to see that Trenton chicken try and take me on in an even fight.” Rarity sniffed. “Darling, do you really think that you have to ask? I can't face Sweetie Belle and tell her that Apple Bloom's still lost out here.” She smiled. Pinkie Pie bounced forward, light and buoyant upon her hooves. “This Pie's never met a meanie she couldn't get a giggle out of! Except for that one. And that other one.” She looked intently at me. “Are these bad guys dragons? Or griffons?” Fluttershy shuddered. She shuddered so often that I now find myself wondering if I should even bother pointing out specific instances where she shuddered, or if I should just leave it unspoken that shuddering terror was her default state. I stared, eyes narrowed, at Pinkie Pie, trying to decide whether I found the pony's non-sequitur-based method of communication charming or obnoxious. “I'll take that as a nope-a-roney!” She took her place beside Rarity and grinned at me. “And no more making fun of your name. Pinkie Pie swear! Cross my heart and hope to—” She went on like that for a little while, illustrating the purpose and nature of a Pinkie Pie swear. I settled on obnoxious. “Gotta admit,” said Twilight Sparkle, “I wasn't expecting to ever see that old ruin ever again. I guess history has a funny way of repeating—eek!” A look of surprise tinged with pain crossed her face. The pudgy baby dragon, the one who'd actually been less useful than a blunt and rusty knife in the fight against Trenton, had caught Twilight's tail. She whipped it out of his hand and glared at him. “Yes, Spike?” she asked impatiently. “I just wanted to know, uh...” Spike dug his toe into the ground nervously and linked his hands behind his back, rocking back and forth on his feet. It was a very human gesture that looked woefully out of place on a foot-and-a-half-tall lizard. “If you were still cool with me coming with you.” Twilight started, clearly taken aback. “You still want to—no! Of course not!” She recovered her wits and took on an authoritative pose. “Things have changed, Spike,” she said tersely. “I'm not comfortable putting you in harm's way like this, not after getting a taste of what we're up against.” There was a familiarity in her voice that nagged at me... “Oh, it's way scary,” Spike agreed, nodding. “And I'm not in any rush to look that thing in its big blue eye again, believe me. But at the same time...” He held his tail in his hands and wrung it, a gesture that I interpreted as doleful and submissive. “At the same time, I'm more scared for you guys, knowing you have to go up against it. And for Apple Bloom, too, knowing she's stuck with it. So going with you, and seeing it again, somehow seems less scary than sitting at home, knowing that you're in danger.” Spike twisted up his face and shrugged. “Does that make any sense?” Twilight raised an eyebrow. “Not convinced, Spike,” she said flatly. Spike sighed, dropping his tail to the dirt. “Okay. Let me put it another way... I don't know if I'd have been any help against Nightmare Moon, or against Discord. I'm no Rainbow Dash, that's for sure.” “Aw, don't sweat it, Spike,” said Rainbow Dash, elbowing Applejack for some reason and smiling smugly. “Nopony's perfect.” “But being with you, and trying to help, that'd be actually doing something, and that's a lot better than what I usually contribute. Which isn't a whole bunch.” His voice, which sounded on the verge of breaking when he started speaking, grew more confident and secure with every word. “I don't want to just curl up in a ball and be useless while my friends are out there, fighting the good fight. I want to help, Twilight.” Spike dropped his tail, folded his hands, and stared hard at Twilight, making the puppy doggiest eyes I'd ever seen. “Can't you give me that chance?” Common sense demanded that she drop him in a hole and leave him there. I could see no practical function that a stumpy lizard could serve on a mission of tactical espionage. But something in Twilight seemed to think otherwise. I took note of the precise moment when she capitulated. It was easy to tell from the way the look on her face shifted from annoyed beyond all reason to frustrated. It was a subtle shift, to be sure. “You stay out of sight,” Twilight ordered. “Anything happens, you stay out of trouble and out of the fighting. Don't try to be a hero. Got that?” Spike's face lit up and he nodded, climbing quickly onto the unicorn's back. She turned to the rest of her friends. “He gave me the eyes,” she explained. “What was I supposed to do?” Her friends got a laugh out of that. I didn't join in; I was too busy thinking of how doomed this mission was to laugh. I thought back to the discussion that Twilight and I'd had, which ended abruptly when Applejack regained consciousness. Twilight wouldn't budge when I insisted on only taking one of them with me to the castle: “We're strongest as a group. Where one of us goes, we all go.” There was no denying her friends' commitment to one another, their courage in the face of the unknown. It was admirable, but it was also ignorant and borderline suicidal. Moreover, it was help that I simply did not need. Otacon was my friend and lifeline, true, but in the field, I was on my own, and that's always suited me fine. Babysitting one green rookie is always a trying experience, but at least Meryl's butt was easy on the eyes. And Jack definitely could hold his own in a firefight, which went a long way toward mitigating him. But I doubted that these seven had any redeeming features of their own, could pull their weight in the event that something went wrong. And having them along on what was supposed to be a solo sneaking mission was unnecessary baggage that further jeopardized my already unlikely chances of success. I wrote “seven” just now, even though one of them hadn't yet committed to joining our little endeavor. Fluttershy was still off to the side, laying with her legs tucked under her body, looking very alone and very confused. “What about you, Fluttershy?” Applejack asked softly. “You still with me?” Fluttershy looked Applejack in the eye for just a second before looking away again. Slowly, she rose to her hooves, looking very insecure upon them. “I... suppose I still owe it to you...” she said meekly. “Fluttershy...” Applejack paused for a moment, biting her lip and closing her eyes. She looked at Twilight Sparkle, who nodded encouragingly. I still didn't get it, and still didn't care enough to ask. Applejack looked back at Fluttershy, eyes teary. “Of all the ponies here, you owe me the absolute least, sugarcube. Jus' tell me if you're in or out. I won't hold it against you if ya don't come with.” Fluttershy's jaw went slack. She made a number of babbling attempts at vocalization before she was able to collect and articulate herself. “Th-then of course I'm going with you!” She galloped toward Applejack, sliding on her rump the last couple of feet and coming to a rest just in front of her. “If you really need me, that is.” “We really do,” Applejack assured her. And then, in an action that made my blood sugar rise by a factor of twelve, they embraced, both of them shedding tears that rolled and splattered upon one another. “I'm sorry for before,” Fluttershy said into Applejack's mane, her voice adorably muffled. Make that a factor of thirteen. “An' I'm sorry about last night,” said Applejack, pulling back to look into Fluttershy's eyes. Oh my God. That was more sugar than I could stand. I turned away from the love-in and rubbed my forehead, groaning. It was a grand stroke of fortune that I hadn't had solid food in more than a day, and thus couldn't splatter the dirt with my breakfast, but that didn't diminish the feeling of nausea that wracked my stomach. “Uh, Snake?” asked Twilight Sparkle. “Are you okay?” I glanced over my shoulder to see the entire group staring at me with confusion, including the still-embracing Applejack and Fluttershy. “I'll manage." This was the worst mission ever. Our first order of business was to investigate Zecora's hut. I didn't need to lobby hard for that detour; Twilight and the others were adequately aghast at the idea of something happening to Zecora , and they accepted the suggestion readily. By the time Applejack awoke, it was set in stone that we were looking into Zecora first and foremost. Would have made life difficult if she'd objected. She did, albeit half-heartedly, but it didn't take much to bring her around. All I needed to do was point out that Zecora had saved her sister's life for her to fall in line with the others. So we took off, walking in silence for the first leg of the voyage. About twenty minutes into our walk, Applejack abruptly broke her silence. “Can you tell me more about how Zecora helped y'all? You didn't say much 'bout it, jus' that she did.” I actually had “said much 'bout it,” with Twilight, while Applejack was unconscious, and didn't care to repeat myself. Then again, her request wasn't unreasonable, so I complied. “After the manticore stung me, Zecora found us and brought us back to her place. Nursed me back to health overnight.” “You were stung by a manticore?” Fluttershy gasped. “But its venom is the most potent known poison in Equestria! Nopony survives a manticore sting.” Wasn't she listening when I talked about this before? With Twilight? Wait, she was looking after Applejack while she was unconscious, wasn't she? So I guess she wasn't listening at the time. Made sense. “I'm not a pony. Maybe my immune system's better than yours,” I suggested. “I... see.” Fluttershy withdrew into herself after that exchange, staying silent for much of our stroll through the woods. I'd catch her sneaking glances at me from time to time as we walked, but every time I noticed, she looked away, finding something else to occupy her interest. Ten more minutes of this cycle wore on my nerves, and on what had to be her fifteenth glance, I called her out. “What?” “Um, what do you mean?” she said with a slight stammer. “You keep staring at me,” I said in a low voice. The others took notice, their eyes on me as I confronted the pegasus. “What do you find so fascinating?” “I just...” She looked at the ground, at her hooves as they tromped through the grass. Despite her wings, she seldom took to the air, a fact that intrigued me. Maybe she just wasn't that good at it. “I've never seen anything quite like you before.” Was she coming on to me? “And I like to make a habit out of getting to know all the new creatures I meet,” Fluttershy continued. Not convinced that she wasn't coming on to me. “So, um, if you wouldn't mind... when this is all over...” I battled the urge to dry heave. “...could I maybe sit down and talk with you for a while?” she asked meekly. “I just have so many questions about you, and your life, and your kind, and... well, and about everything, really!” Oh. Well. Okay then. “I'll think about it." Spike turned around from his perch on Twilight and smiled at me, leaning backward on a folded arm that was braced against Twilight's neck. “She wouldn't be Fluttershy if she didn't try to make friends with everything she met,” he said. Fluttershy blushed. I grunted something non-committal and looked away. Twilight suddenly came to a halt and held her foreleg up. “Stop,” she hissed. I crouched and came up beside her, a hand on my holster. We'd arrived at Zecora's hut. The door to the hollow treehouse appeared to be shut. The interior was dark; I couldn't see into it. No way to tell if there was something nasty waiting in there for us. “Let's go quietly, everypony,” she whispered. “If there's anyone in there, we want to take them by surprise.” I rose a little, hunching my back slightly to keep a low profile. “I'll take point,” I said quietly to her. “If there are soldiers in there, then you'll want me front and center.” Twilight nodded. “Agreed. Spike? Remember what I said?” “Man,” sighed Spike as he dismounted. He found a spot next to a bush, plopped down and cradled his chin in his palms. I crept forward, slowly drawing the M9. The soft, somewhat distant hoofbeats of the others followed me as I neared the door, settling into a CQC stance. It was incomplete without the knife, but with luck, I could spring on any hypothetical attackers before they noticed how unarmed I was. And having a gun certainly made me feel better. I reached the door and placed my free hand against it. It was left ajar, and yielded slightly. That didn't relieve me any. I glanced over my shoulder. The others were arrayed behind me in that V-formation. Their expressions were variations on either determination or worry. Fluttershy embodied the latter; Applejack the former. Twilight's face was somewhere in between. The unicorn gulped and nodded at me. I turned back to the door, sucked in a deep breath, and shoved. The door flew inward, striking the wall with a thunderous crack and rebounding toward me. It struck me in the shoulder; I barely felt it. I pushed into the house, gun at the ready, and quickly scanned the room for any threats. Visibility was nearly nil. I didn't see anything immediately obvious besides a bulbous, indistinct shape that cluttered the center of the room. “Twilight,” I muttered. “Light?” There was a hum behind me and a flash of pale purple light, and suddenly, a dozen candles around the room ignited. Zecora's hut was empty. No zebra. No soldiers. No bodies. No immediately obvious signs or traces of battle. The hut was identical to how I'd left it, and I mean that literally. Nothing was different. And that's precisely what was so disconcerting. The object in the room's center turned out to be the cauldron, still full of that nasty soup Zecora had fed Apple Bloom and I. I dipped a finger into it; a skin had formed over the top layer, but the liquid was still lukewarm. Apple Bloom's bowl lay, untouched, where she'd left it, and the bed was still rumpled and unmade, just as it was when I'd risen. The others filed into the hut behind me upon realizing that there was no danger. Twilight pensively examined the pots and jars on the shelves. Fluttershy avoided glancing at the walls, where Zecora's collection of tribal masks scowled at us from all sides. I saw Applejack looking downcast, with Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash trying to comfort her. Rarity trotted up to the cauldron and stopped beside me. She leaned her face over the edge and sniffed, then recoiled with a wrinkled nose. “I don't understand. What does it all mean?” she asked. “Probably that Zecora could benefit from a cooking class,” I said. Twilight glared reproachfully at me from across the room, then resumed her examination of Zecora's pottery. Was she cataloging it? Checking to see if anything was missing? “Snake,” sighed Rarity. “I realize you aren't from around here, but surely where you come from, sarcasm is never your first response to a lady's query.” “Yeah?” I said, not looking at her. “I ever see a lady around here, I'll remember that.” I imagined Rarity scowling at me and allowed myself a tiny bit of self-satisfaction. “Y'know,” said Rainbow Dash, floating in the air beside Applejack. “I think I know what might've happened to Zecora. Trenton killed those guys that went with him, right? His teammates?” She talked with her hooves an awful lot, spreading, waving, and somehow clenching them as she spoke. How the hell did she clench hooves? “If he was fine with killing them when they were on his side, then why would he let Zecora live when she obviously wasn't? He probably offed her and ran away wearing her head like a hat.” “Rainbow!” snapped Applejack. Fluttershy let out a pathetic whimper. “Not appropriate!” “What?” said Rainbow Dash said, dropping to the ground and coming head-to-head with Applejack. “Look, I'm not saying that I hope that's what happened.” “Oh, Applejack,” breathed Fluttershy, her eyes going impossibly wide. “You don't think that they would actually do that to poor Zecora, do you?” “I don't know what to think, sugarcube,” said Applejack. “But I know we ain't gonna get anywhere by goin' all morbid-like. Rainbow's just talkin' out of her—” “'Outta my' what, Applesack?!” “I can't exactly tell you what y'all are talkin' out of if you innerupt me, you big blue lummox!” I pressed my palm against my face, poking my fingertips beneath my bandanna to rub my forehead as Applejack and Rainbow Dash went at it. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rarity performing a strikingly similar gesture, and I immediately dropped my hand back to my side. Damn, but those ponies could argue. A sudden, sharp noise like a thunderclap interrupted the burgeoning debate and caused everyone in the room to jump a meter into the air. I whirled and leveled my gun at the source of the noise, which turned out to be Twilight Sparkle. She stared down the suppressor-equipped barrel, her eyes wide, and chuckled nervously. “Sorry to startle you, Snake, but they were yelling, and I didn't know how else to, uh.” She coughed. I lowered my weapon. “Anyway. She's alive.” “You know that for certain?” Rarity asked. She sounded skeptical. “How?” “Because,” said Twilight, indicating the shelf behind her with a sweeping gesture, “of what isn't here.” We stared at that shelf in silence. “Is this a riddle?” Pinkie Pie asked. She tilted her head and perked her ear like a confused puppy. “Is the answer 'melon?'” “Oh,” sighed Fluttershy, so quietly that I nearly dismissed it as my imagination before she repeated herself louder. “Oh! I recognize some of those!” She took wing and fluttered toward the shelf, scrutinizing the jars and their contents. “This is phlegmlock; I use it to treat flu symptoms in my animals. Ooh, and fegelein—with the right ingredients, part of a cure for poison joke!” Fluttershy returned to the ground and folded her wings. “These are herbal remedies and potions!” I holstered my weapon and crossed to the shelf, picking up a jar full of blueish gunk and examining it. “Zecora's some kind of witch doctor, huh?” I said, turning the jar over in my hands. It was labeled in some jagged script that I didn't recognize. “Can't argue with the results. Her anti-venom saved my life.” I turned to Twilight. “But I don't see your point.” The jar was illuminated by a pale, purple aura and floated out of my hand. It hovered a few inches in front of Twilight's face. “First of all, Zecora is not a witch doctor. She's a shaman. Very different." The jar full of gunk floated back onto the shelf. "And second, Zecora and I have talked pretty in depth about potions and remedies in the past. Between our conversations and my own research, I've gotten to know most of her supplies and what they do like the back of my hoof. The one you were holding is a zebra analgesic, colloquially referred to as 'Bottoms Up.' It's used to treat hemorrhoids.” I heard Rainbow Dash snicker behind me. “My point is that a number of very potent potions, of various uses, are missing from this shelf,” said Twilight, ignoring Rainbow Dash. “Primarily healing potions, but there are several missing which are multipurpose. One in particular has psychotropic properties.” Zecora manufactured the Equestrian equivalent of LSD? That was a surprise. “That doesn't prove anything one way or the other,” I pointed out. “For all we know, the soldiers left to guard this hut took them without knowing what they were for.” Twilight shook her head. “There's a definite pattern to the potions that were taken,” she said. “Any idiot could fill a sack with them and be on their merry way. They'd have no way to distinguish between Bottoms Up and a bone-knitting potion. Whoever took these knew exactly what they were getting, and chose specifically.” “That still don't tell us much,” said Applejack. “Jus' that Zecora was gone 'fore anyone could come lookin' for her. Don't say why she went, or where.” I respect Zecora for her pharmaceutical skill to this day (hell, with my body the way it is now, I'd kill for some of those potions Twilight mentioned), but I came away from that investigation with even less of an understanding of her than before. I started to wonder whether Zecora had some agenda of her own, and if she did, what exactly it entailed. She could have left Apple Bloom and I to die, but instead, she took us into her home, fed us, and nursed me back to health. Yet, at the same time, she did nothing to help Apple Bloom when she was waylaid by the manticore, and did nothing to back me up when I intervened. If I hadn't attacked the manticore when I did, would Zecora have done anything to save Apple Bloom? Or would she have left the filly to die? Now that I'm thinking about it again, the fact that the soldiers only caught up to us after we'd left the hut strikes me as convenient. That she was absent from the house when we returned, and that many of her more potent concoctions were missing along with her, makes it that much more curious. Was she approached by Trenton and his soldiers? Did she sell us out in exchange for her own safety? Or was saving us, only to sic a cyborg ninja on us later, just part of the plan? Of course, that's all speculation; I had, and have, no proof that she betrayed me. The worst she did to me was save my life. So I didn't voice my suspicions, reminding myself that there was a job to do. Condemning my savior could wait until Apple Bloom was safe and sound and Metal Gear destroyed. So we emerged from Zecora's tree house with more questions than answers, one of which Rainbow Dash decided to voice. “So let's say Zecora did skip town. What about the soldiers?” She looked searchingly at each of her friends, expecting an answer, then back at me as I ducked under the low-clearance door. “Didn't you say that Trenton left a couple guys behind to keep an eye on the place?” The distinctive report of an AK-47 tore through the air. My hand flew back to my holster as the ponies froze in place. There came more gunshots; rapid fire, full auto, not in the immediate area, but worryingly close. “What's going on?” asked Spike as he waddled toward the rest of us. “Is that gunfire?” Twilight turned to me. “Have we been spotted?” I shook my head quickly. “If those shots were meant for us, we'd know it. But someone's in a firefight nearby.” I looked at Rainbow Dash. “You were saying?” Rainbow Dash frowned and opened her mouth to reply, but another burst of gunfire cut her off. Twilight stepped away from the group, her shoulders squared and her head lowered. “That could be Zecora they're shooting at!” Or it could be some redneck washout gone hunting, I thought. Twilight looked behind herself at us, her face grim and resolute. “C'mon, everypony! Hurry!” “Right,” said Spike as he scrambled onto Twilight's back. He didn't look happy when she bucked him right back off. “Stay in Zecora's hut, Spike,” she snapped. “Wait there, where it's safe, and we'll come back for you.” Spike looked genuinely hurt. “But Twilight, I can help! You said—” “No buts, Spike! I told you to stay out of trouble!” She turned her back to him. “Let's go, everypony!” Looking at those ponies, with their inoffensive color schemes and funny hats and tramp stamps, it was easy to forget that they were animals who were renowned for their swiftness. Caught off guard by their initial burst of speed, I briefly had to sprint to catch up with them. I spared Spike one final glance before we left Zecora's house behind. He wasn't staying put. Six ponies and a human raced headlong toward the sounds of battle. The automatic gunfire cut off suddenly, and for a moment, it seemed as though the fight had ended before they could make their presence known. A series of five booming reports, distinctly louder than what the AK was capable of producing, told them that the fight was yet undecided. Before a great amount of time had passed, they came upon a scene that quite defied their expectations. A human in Pegasus Wings livery stood in a clearing with a single tree in its center. There were several large rocks scattered here and there, and a large boulder rested against the trunk of the central tree. The human was surrounded by multiple attackers, nine in all. They were short, but their heads and shoulders were well above the tall, unshorn grass, and they stood upon four legs. Their bodies were brown, twisted, and gnarled. Their canine faces were dominated by a pair of bright yellow eyes, which they had narrowed to slits. The lights in their eyes glinted against the chrome finish of a long-barreled revolver, which the human was desperately fumbling to reload as his attackers tightened the circle around him. His AK-47 lay discarded on the ground not far from where he stood, beside the broken and splintered body of one of his attackers. There were several empty magazines littered around it. Snake and the others crouched in the underbrush outside of the clearing. “What the hell are those?” he asked. “Those are timberwolves!” Fluttershy breathed, her face lighting up. “I've never had the opportunity to see them up close before.” “Timberwolves,” said Snake sourly. He rubbed his temple. “Of course they are.” The human snapped the cylinder on his revolver shut, leveled it at one of the wolves and fired. The gun emitted a terrible crack that made the observers clench their teeth and cringe. One of the wolves' heads exploded into timber, and its decapitated body fell limply into the underbrush. “I don't see any sign of Zecora,” said Twilight, once she'd recovered from the shock. “Whatever's happening here, I don't think she has much to do with it.” Rainbow Dash whirled, turning on Twilight. “So what are you saying? We should just walk away?” “He's the enemy,” Snake pointed out. “On the battlefield, one doesn't typically go out of his way to save his enemy.” “So what?” Rainbow Dash turned on Snake now, her wings bringing her up to eye level with him. She stuck her face into his; Snake firmly held his ground. “He's in trouble, and he needs help. We can't just leave him like this!” A second gunshot brought their attention back to the battlefield. This time, the wolves were ready for the human's attack; the one in his line of fire nimbly dodged, and the gunshot harmlessly tore into the underbrush. The soldier cocked the revolver and sought a new target, but at that moment, a wolf leaped onto his back and clamped its jaws onto his shoulder. It pulled hard and tore away a large section of his combat vest, spitting it into the grass, and attacked the flesh he'd just exposed. The soldier valiantly tried to throw him off, but another wolf attacked him from the side, knocking him onto his back. The rest of the pack swarmed him as he screamed. “You see that?” said Snake. Rainbow Dash trembled with helpless rage. “That's the universe taking care of a problem for us. We should take this opportunity to—“ “Stop!” cried Fluttershy. She leaped out of her hiding place and into the clearing. The tall grass rose midway up her legs, obscuring her full height and making her seem much smaller than she was. The wolves' ears perked, and they withdrew from the soldier, turning upon Fluttershy and baring their fangs. “I'm rubbin' off on you, 'Shy!” crowed Rainbow Dash. She shot to Fluttershy's side and unfolded a wing, throwing it protectively in front of the yellow pegasus. The others raced to Fluttershy's side as well, taking up positions alongside her. Snake reluctantly joined them, towering over the others from the rear of the group. “Hello,” said Fluttershy sweetly, a kind smile on her face. “My name is Fluttershy, and these are my friends. We were walking through this forest just now, and couldn't help overhearing the awful racket going on over here.” “What the hell does she think she's doing?” Snake growled. Pinkie Pie turned to him and held a hoof to her lips. “Shh! This is her thing!” “Now, I know that you need to eat meat to survive,” continued Fluttershy. “And it would be terribly rude of me to tell you not to do that, or to try and shame you into not eating meat. You can't help what you are. You're predators, and predators kill to survive. I understand that completely.” The wolves formed a line, keeping the largest and bulkiest of them—the alpha—in their center. He was a giant, larger than the average wolf, closer in size to a manticore. The second largest stood beside and just behind him; giant though that one was, it was easily dwarfed by the alpha. Though the pack kept their postures tense and their teeth bared, they held their ground and listened as Fluttershy spoke. “But look at that poor thing,” Fluttershy cooed. “There are so many of you, and only one of him. You can't all possibly eat well just feeding off of him, can you? There isn't that much to go around, between the eight of you.” She leaned forward, bowing her head slightly and batting her eyelashes at them. “Surely, you can find a much more substantial meal somewhere else, right?” The wolves' expressions faltered. Frowns crossed their wooden muzzles. They looked to one another, then to the alpha, who ran a long, leafy green tongue over thorny wooden lips. Then he bared his fangs again, this time in a sinister grin, and took a step forward. He barked twice, the second bark tapering into a prolonged, throaty snarl, and the other wolves soon joined in. Their shoulders hunched, their splintery hackles rose, and they began to advance. Fluttershy's face went ashen. Her five friends snorted and dug their hooves into the dirt. Twilight Sparkle lowered her head and bared her horn. Solid Snake joined their ranks, arms raised and fists balled. “Very convincing,” he said to Fluttershy. The wolves bounded forward. The ponies galloped to meet them. Snake held his ground and braced himself as a wolf broke rank and sprinted toward him, barking madly. It leaped and sailed through the air, its maw wide open, rows of black, gnarled teeth gnashing. Snake caught it in the air and threw it to the ground, using its momentum in concert with his beastly physical strength to enhance the force of the impact. The wolf yelped in pain, but the dense grass cushioned it enough to prevent the landing from crippling it. It scrabbled back to its feet and wove away from a stomp, then coiled its legs and jumped at Snake again. Snake caught it under its forelegs, twisting his neck to keep out of reach of its snapping, slavering jaws. Flecks of thick, sap-like saliva splattered his face and the front of his suit. The wolf lunged with its face, again and again, and each time, Snake narrowly avoided having one of his cheeks or his nose torn away. He wrapped his right hand around the wolf's left foreleg, choked his grip upward toward the elbow, and began to twist. The wolf stopped moving and emitted a piercing whine. It struggled, vainly thrashing about to escape Snake's grip as its leg cracked, splintered, and finally broke off. The wolf howled. Snake beat his end of the broken leg against the wolf's intact foreleg, once, twice, a third time. The leg broke on the third strike, and the dismembered wolf fell into the grass, writhing and crying. Snake lifted his foot, preparing to deliver a killing blow. A sharp bark distracted him, and he whirled around in time to see another wolf leaping toward him, slavering jaws bared for the kill. Snake spun on his back foot and struck with a kick that connected with the wolf's muzzle. Its body twisted in midair from the impact of Snake's foot against its face, and it fell into the grass. Quickly, it rolled back to its feet and bared its fangs. Snake left his crippled target where it lay and turned his full focus onto the newcomer. Rainbow Dash locked eyes with one of the wolves and chose to meet him head-on. They closed the distance between them 'til it was mere inches, and the wolf snapped its jaws, expecting to bite down on supple pony flesh. But they clamped shut on air as Rainbow Dash broke her charge, unfurled her wings, and zipped to the side at a ninety degree angle. The wolf's eyes followed the spectrum of her contrail as she began to circle him, a whirlwind of color. A hoof lashed out and smacked the wolf across the face. It retaliated with a fierce swing of its paw, but found no purchase, and received a kick in the back of the head for its trouble. Dazed and disoriented, the wolf didn't even notice when Rainbow Dash broke her pattern and shot straight into the air above the wolf. She peaked at the forest's canopy, flipped in midair, and hurtled at the wolf like a lightning bolt, keeping her body straight as an arrow. The wolf recovered just in time to look up at the triumphant blue pegasus hurtling toward it, and folded its ears against its skull sadly. Rainbow Dash barreled straight into the wolf's back, bending its body inward and breaking its wooden hide in several places. She springboarded off of it, flipped in midair, and landed on all fours with catlike precision. The wolf whimpered, writhing painfully in the grass, unable to fully move from the force of Rainbow Dash's attack. The pegasus shook an aching hoof, and held it to her mouth, sucking gently. “Oh, be quiet, you baby. You think you've got it bad? That hit gave me a splinter.” A savage bark behind her drew her attention. A second wolf bounded toward her, grinning a wolfy grin. Rainbow Dash tensed and unfurled her wings, ready to take to the air, but a length of rope shot from behind the wolf and wrapped around the its neck, jerking it to the ground. It landed with a thud and immediately began struggling, gnawing at the rope and shaking its head back and forth. Applejack held her lasso tightly in her mouth, straining as hard as she could to keep the wolf under wraps. “Rai'ow,” she slurred through a mouthful of rope, “ake 'i' 'own.” Rainbow Dash tilted her head. “Huh? Oh! You want me to—yeah! Right!” She shot forward, skidded to a halt in front of the bound wolf and reared onto her hind legs. She struck quickly and powerfully, brief jabs with her left hoof interspaced with powerful hooks with her right. Each strike elicited a yelp and a growl from the wolf, who frantically tugged and chewed at the rope to free itself. But each blow cracked its wooden face a little bit more, weakening it for the coup de grace. Finally, Rainbow Dash drew her right forehoof back and swung it 'round for dramatic effect. “Looks like your bark,” she growled, “is worse than your—“ The rope snapped. The wolf's eyes shifted to glare at Rainbow Dash. She froze. “Uh—” The timberwolf took hold the end of rope that Applejack held, and swung her toward Rainbow Dash. Pony collided with pony with a painful crash, and they rolled through the grass as a tumbling, entangled mass of legs. Applejack shook her head and glared at Rainbow Dash. “You had to showboat,” she snapped. “Y'all jus' couldn't resist, could ya?!” “Hey,” said Rainbow Dash defensively, “how often do you get to use a classic line like that, huh?” The timberwolf barked, and the feuding ponies froze. It charged toward Rainbow Dash and Applejack, and they threw their forelegs around one another, screaming. "Hi-yah!" A white and purple blur collided with the wolf, knocking it off course and stunning it momentarily. Rarity landed, balancing on one hind leg, her other raised and bent at the knee and her forelegs held in a "Y" shape. The wolf regained its equilibrium and snarled at the insolent unicorn. "And to think," said Rarity, "they laughed when I took that Krav Marega class. Well, who's laughing now?" The wolf, who now assumed a defensive posture, stood midway between Rarity and a boulder. It leaped at her, but Rarity swung her back hoof and caught the wolf beneath the chin. The wolf staggered backward toward the boulder, caught off guard by Rarity's attack. Rarity pressed her advantage; she turned her back upon the wolf, leaned onto her forelegs, and struck the wolf in the face with a powerful dual-legged kick. The kick spun the wolf's neck around, causing its head to collide against the boulder. Weakened by the sudden avalanche of cranial trauma, the wolf could only wobble uncertainly on its legs, blinking rapidly. Rarity maintained a tense stance, staring it down, until the wolf's eyes finally closed and it collapsed into the grass beneath the boulder. Panting, Rarity looked at Applejack and Rainbow Dash. Applejack glanced at the boulder that Rarity had used against the wolf, then at Rarity, and broke into a smile. “Don't say it,” Rarity warned. “Don't say what?” asked Applejack, her smile broadening. “You know what I mean. I know you do." Rarity coughed. "The 'T' word?” “T?” Rainbow Dash stroked her chin. “Timber? Like what a lumberjack says?” Rarity huffed and blew a lock of hair out of her face. A cry from Snake drew their attention. The human had a wolf pinned against a tree with his left arm and was punching it in the face with his right, but another wolf had leaped onto his back and was now snapping its jaws at his neck. Rainbow and Applejack extricated themselves, and together with Rarity, charged to Snake's aid. One of the wolves circled Fluttershy, licking its chops. Fluttershy quivered; her every plea for reason was either ignored or met with another hungry look from the wolf. She was losing faith that she'd be able to end this particular conflict nonviolently. The wolf lunged at her. Fluttershy squeaked and dove out of the way, and the wolf passed over her, landing in the grass. It whipped around to strike again. Fluttershy took to the air, beating her wings rapidly in a desperate bid to gain altitude, but the wolf's jaws snapped shut on her tail, and it tugged her back to the grass. She landed on her belly and rolled onto her back, scooting away from the wolf as it stalked toward her. Its tongue lolled out of its mouth; Fluttershy guessed it was either happy or hungry (or possibly both). She squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face in her hooves. Pinkie Pie suddenly bounced forward, interposing herself between Fluttershy and the wolf. “Oh hi!” she chirped. “I don't think we've met quite yet; y'see, I don't come into the forest very often and when I do it's usually for business and not pleasure, so I never get to make many new friends or meet anypony new! Oh, but I guess you're not really a pony, you're a wolf, so I should say 'anywolf' or 'anywolves' maybe if I want to go plural...” The wolf took a stutter-step backward. Its swagger, its hungry confidence, were gone, and it now backed away nervously as Pinkie Pie bounced closer and closer, chattering ceaselessly and drifting from one topic to the next. Frightened, it turned to run, only to find its path inexplicably blocked by the same pink pony it was fleeing from. "...not to mention the humidity makes my hair poof like you would not be-LIEVE!" sang Pinkie Pie, sticking her face into the wolf's and rolling her eyes for emphasis. The wolf shut its eyes and snapped at Pinkie, but it came up empty. It opened its eyes. The pony had vanished. Perplexed and fearful, the wolf turned left and right in search of her, finding nopony but Fluttershy. It growled at her. Fluttershy winced, coughed quietly, and pointed at the wolf's back. The wolf craned its head backward, as far up as it could, to see what Fluttershy indicated. “...and that's how I learned the difference between trigonometry and tracheotomies," said Pinkie Pie, perched atop the wolf's hindquarters. The wolf's jaw dropped. It hadn't even felt Pinkie's weight until it noticed her. Suddenly, its legs buckled beneath it, and it collapsed to the ground, pinned by the pony. "Hey, speaking of humidity, what's the weather like in here?" Pinkie Pie asked, once again shoving her face against the wolf's. "I guess because you don't have the pegasi regulating it it gets pretty hairy sometimes." She giggled, and the wolf moaned unhappily, physically pained by her pun. "Hairy? Like a dog? Geddit? Nah," she said, waving a hoof dismissively and obliviously smacking the wolf in the eye with it. "You wouldn't get it because you don't have hair; you're made out of wood. Do you ever get termites? Like some ponies get lice or worms? Ooh, can I check you for termites?!" Pinkie turned around and belly-flopped upon the wolf's back. It yelped in pain, the wind knocked out of it, and its wooden skin splintered from Pinkie's sudden drop. "I never got them," Pinkie continued. "Not termites, I mean, you silly filly!" She propped her head up on her elbows, which dug painfully into the wolf's skin. "Even when I was living on the rock farm – oh, did I mention I grew up on a rock farm? Now THAT is an interesting story!" Pinkie began absentmindedly kicking her hind legs up and down, whacking the wolf in the back of the head each time. The wolf struggled to free itself from Pinkie Pie, but found itself impossibly pinned beneath her. Pinkie, for her part, failed to notice the wolf's efforts, or the pain she was inflicting upon it with her playful, girlish kicks. She looked and acted as though she were laying on her bed flipping through a magazine, not fighting for her life against a woodland beast. The wolf's struggles grew weaker with each blow and each passing second, but Pinkie Pie kept right on telling her story. "Well y'see, back when I was just an itty bitty little ittle twinkie Pinkie, I lived on a rock farm with my parents and my sisters, where there was no smiling or singing or laughing or even any cake. Can you believe it? Not even on birthdays!" The wolf moaned pitiably. "I know!" exclaimed Pinkie Pie. "It's like, DUH!" She punctuated her exclamation by slamming both legs, in unison, onto the wolf's head. It suddenly went very, very still. Pinkie Pie did not notice. "No, we had igneous rocks for our birthdays, and we'd carve them up and eat 'em with frosting – we did have frosting, but it was made out of shale and water—” “Pinkie,” said Fluttershy softly, and a little sadly. She placed a hoof on the party pony's shoulder, then gestured at the silent wolf who lay still and prone beneath her. Its eyes were glassy and unfocused, and its tongue hung out of the side of its mouth. Pinkie removed herself from the wolf and stepped in front of it. She tentatively reached a hoof toward its face, tapped it on the nose, and withdrew quickly. The wolf remained still. “Did I? Huh. I guess I talked it to death. I didn't even know I could do that.” She looked at Fluttershy, frowning. “You don't get that bored with my stories, do you?” Fluttershy said nothing. An overpowering wave of sorrow struck her in the shoulders, forcing her to drop to her haunches and sit in the grass. Her eyes looked into the faintly yellow, lifeless, darkened eyes of the timberwolf. "Fluttershy?" asked Pinkie Pie hesitantly. The pegasus continued to stare silently into the dead wolf's eyes. Twilight Sparkle dug her hooves into the dirt, staring down a large wolf who bulged with what could only be described as wooden muscles. It barked harshly at her, sap dripping from its chops. A purple aura emanated from Twilight's horn. Thick, choking, purple smoke materialized between her and the wolf. The wolf's keen sight couldn't penetrate the dense haze. It tried to sniff out the illusive purple unicorn, but all it could smell was an overpowering grape scent. There was a flash directly ahead of the wolf, and the silhouette of a pony appeared. Twilight’s horn shone brightly; a light expanded from it, tendrils of energy snaking in all directions like the rays of a miniature sun, before the light imploded inward, focused at the tip of her horn. A noise like a sonic boom ripped through the air and the wolf was gone, catapulted through the tree line and quite out of sight in less than a second. Twilight Sparkle heaved a sigh and sagged her shoulders. “I wonder how high it'll go,” she mused to herself. “The stratosphere? At the least, according to my calculations.” A low, rumbling growl behind her sent a shiver of panic down her spine. Her horn flashed as she tried to teleport away from the danger, but the wolf collided with her and broke her focus. Twilight lay on her stomach in the grass. She felt wooden paws pin her forelegs to the ground, and she had to grit her teeth to avoid crying out from the pain of the wolf's claws digging into her skin. Sap dripped onto her neck as the wolf lowered its muzzle to her neck. “Hey!” shouted a boyish voice. “Get off of her, you big wooden jerk!” Twilight's eyes widened. She felt a sudden addition to the weight pressing down on her, heard a sharp intake of breath and the familiar searing sound of fire breath, and then the wolf was off of her, yelping and shrieking in pain. Twilight pushed onto her hooves, and saw a scene that made her heart leap with pride and sink with fear simultaneously. Spike was on the wolf's back. His arms were locked around its neck and his face was pressed against its nape. The top and back of the wolf's head blazed like a vivid green mane. Tongues of flame licked at Spike's head, but he ignored them, unfazed. He lifted his head and sucked in another breath, but the wolf shrugged its mighty shoulders enough to break the grip he had around its neck. Then it bucked, catapulting him off of its back and into the grass. Howling with agony, the wolf turned and sprinted into the woods, its cries of pain echoing in the clearing long after it had vanished. Twilight fixed Spike with a glare and sucked her teeth. The dragon smiled sheepishly, crooked his arm, and rested his chin in it. "C'mon, admit it Twilight," he chuckled. "You needed—" A loud, feral, canine roar drowned the remainder of Spike's bragging. The dragon and the pony turned to see the timberwolf alpha, giant and bearlike, rumbling toward them like a freight train. Immediately, Twilight leaped in front of Spike and bared her horn at the wolf. She threw up a magic barrier, but underestimated the wolf's strength and momentum. It barreled through the shield, breaking it without breaking stride, and batted Twilight aside with a massive paw. Twilight fell to the grass with a grunt. When she lifted her head, she was greeted with the sight of the timberwolf alpha clutching her assistant in its gargantuan jaws. It glared at her with furious yellow eyes, snarling at the unicorn. Spike trembled. He stared into Twilight's eyes, silently willing her to do something. Twilight quickly ran through her options. Short of teleporting Spike out of its jaws, she could think of nothing. The wolf itself presented too great a variable for her to do that with any reasonable assurance of Spike's safety; in a best case scenario, Spike would rematerialize with wolf teeth embedded in his skin. In a worst case scenario, he'd rematerialize with the wolf's jaw phased through his head. Twilight swallowed. On her own, she felt quite useless. "Drop him," growled a low, gravelly voice. Fortunately, Twilight Sparkle was not on her own. Solid Snake, flanked by Applejack and Rarity with Rainbow Dash overhead, rushed to her side. The human gripped a chunk of timberwolf leg like a cudgel. Behind the wolf, Pinkie Pie bounced lightly on her hooftips. "Do what he says," said Twilight. She took a step forward. "Let the dragon down, and walk away from this." Her horn began to shimmer. "So help me, if you harm one scale on his head..." The wolf barked through a mouthful of Spike and pounded its paw against the dirt. Twilight swallowed hard and tensed. The sounds of the stand-off drifted through Fluttershy's ears. She heard them, but only distantly, as background noise. For the moment, the entire world was herself and the empty eyes of a lifeless timberwolf. Not far away, another wolf whimpered and mewled, and for some odd reason, Fluttershy heard that more clearly than Twilight's menacing threats to the alpha male. A timberwolf, its forelegs broken off at the elbows, writhed in the grass, struggling to raise itself onto limbs that no longer existed. Syrupy blood dripped from the wounds. It was the same everywhere she looked. Crippled timberwolves, their bodies splintered, shattered and broken, lay scattered all around. The acrid smell of burnt wood wafted past her nostrils, mixed with the lingering odor of cordite. Headless timberwolves lay as silent reminders of a fight that she and her friends had been late to. And, propped against a tree in the center of the clearing, a human tried desperately to staunch the flow of blood from a mortal wound. A boulder hovered over the alpha wolf's body, outside of its line of sight. It was wrapped in a shimmering purple aura. Twilight Sparkle licked her parched lips. And then, audible only to Fluttershy, came a loud, snapping sound. "Stop it!" screamed Fluttershy. She took to the air, winging over the wolf and beneath the boulder and landing between the two groups of combatants. "Stop it! Stop, stop, stop it! Stop it right this second!" she cried. “Move, dammit,” snapped Snake. “We're trying to clean up your mess.” Fluttershy trembled, and she whirled upon Snake, her eyes wide and red. "I said STOP IT!" she roared. "Both of you, all of you, just stop! Stop and look around! Look what all this fighting's done!" Her friends did as they were told, and as they looked about the clearing, they beheld what she did: the broken, beaten bodies (lifeless and otherwise) of a pack of timberwolves. "Stop complaining," said Snake. "You were the one who wanted to get involved, remember?" Furious, Fluttershy stomped toward Snake. "I wanted to help that poor human!" she rasped. Her throat was dry, parched from her screaming. "I wanted to prevent more violence and killing! I didn't want this! All this did was add to the body count! More bodies, more blood, more death!" Snake said nothing, and did not move; if he was at all put off by Fluttershy's behavior, he did not give it away. Fluttershy turned her back to her friends and advanced upon the alpha male. It held its ground, eying her as though she were little more than a curiosity. The pegasus beat her wings and took to the air again, coming face-to-face with the alpha. "Why couldn't you have just listened?!" she demanded. "This could have all been avoided if you and your pack just left! All this fighting and carnage and death, all for what?!" Tears stung her eyes, flowed freely, but she didn't let up one bit. "Your pack is dead! The ones who aren't are crippled! You're the only one left standing, and instead of realizing what you've led them all into, you're still trying to pick a fight!" The alpha glanced at the dragon in its jaws. Its grip relaxed somewhat. "How dare you hold my friend hostage like that!" said Fluttershy, pointing at Spike. "How dare you use him as a tool in this ridiculous blood sport! This isn't hunting, this isn't living as a predator, it's meaningless—" Fluttershy's sentence ended abruptly. Her voice quivered. Fury was beginning to give way to sorrow. "Stop it now," she begged. "Let him down and take what's left of your pack and just go. Don't cause anymore violence today." The timberwolf alpha turned away from Fluttershy. It gazed around the battlefield, littered with the remains and crippled bodies of his pack. It looked at the human, still alive and holding his shoulder and staring with interest at the drama in the clearing. Finally, it turned back to Fluttershy. Their eyes met, Fluttershy's swimming with tears, the wolf's shining a pale yellow. It looked past Fluttershy, at her friends, who were still arrayed for a fight, and it bowed its head. Its great jaws released their grip on Spike, and he tumbled to the grass. Immediately, Spike vanished in a flash of purple, and reappeared at Twilight Sparkle's side. She pushed him behind herself with a hoof and held him there, her body still tense and her horn still glowing. Slowly, the great wolf turned its bulk away from the group. Pinkie Pie quickly scrambled out of its way as it strode toward the crippled remains of the wolf who Rainbow Dash had beaten into submission. It leaned down and pushed beneath it, taking it onto its back. The alpha strode next to the wolf that Rarity had beaten, and gathered it as well. It looked across the battlefield, at the remaining wolves, dead and crippled, and bowed its head again. Then, mournfully, it strode out of the clearing and into the dark of the Everfree Forest. Fluttershy gradually returned to the ground and folded her wings. Her body still trembled, and her head and shoulders slumped forward. Heavy, heaving sobs wracked her body. "Fluttershy...?" Pinkie Pie moved on tiphoof toward the pegasus and wrapped a foreleg around her shoulders. Wordlessly, Fluttershy turned into Pinkie Pie's hug. Pinkie wrapped her other leg around her and held the pegasus as she wept. "It's wrong," she gasped between sobs. "It's killing, and it's stupid, and it's so... it's so..." "I know," said Pinkie. "I'm sorry." She held her tighter and brushed her mane. The boulder returned to the ground, unnoticed by all, and the purple aura faded. “'Naught's had, all's spent,'” Snake said under his breath, dropping his makeshift cudgel and drawing a cigarette from his belt. “'Where our desire is got without content.'” He placed the cigarette in his mouth and reached for his lighter. Another purple aura yanked it from his mouth, let it dangle in the air for a moment, then dropped it to the grass. Snake sagged his shoulders and sighed. I stared at the crippled body of the timberwolf whose legs I'd broken, and thought of the dogs I'd raised in Alaska a lifetime ago. Sure, the similarities were few and far in between. I didn't even know that these things could technically qualify as wolves. Wolves aren't made of wood. But that plaintive noise it made reminded me of a time when I had to put down one of my dogs. My favorite, actually. A sweet and gentle male who'd rest his chin on my knee whenever I was sitting down and stare up at me with big blue eyes. He'd broken his leg in three places and wouldn't be able to race again, wouldn't even be able to walk without enduring a very unpleasant agony. So I took him out back, alone, with an old Winchester carbine, and I let him die with dignity. And right before I pulled the trigger, he looked me in the eye, and he made that noise, that quiet, resigned, pitiable whine. For a moment, I reached my hand toward the head of the timberwolf. I wanted to brush my fingers over its wooden skin. I wanted to feel it stir, see its head lift and its tongue loll happily out of its mouth. But it whined, loudly and shrilly, as my hand drew closer. I withdrew before I came into contact and clenched my fingers tightly, dangling my arm at my side. The wolf didn't even move anymore. It just lay there, crying, and staring into space. “Hey Snake?” Applejack nudged my hand with her nose. “Everythin' alright?” I wasn't that obvious, was I? “Fine. Just a little sore, I guess.” I looked down at the orange mare. She was bruised all over, and there was some very odd chafing around the corners of her mouth, but she stood tall and proud on all four legs, no worse for wear. “You're pretty good, y'know that?” “Shucks, stranger, same to you!” she said with a laugh. “Happy t'have you on our side!” “Yes,” agreed Rarity. She dusted herself off; it seemed pointless to me, because her effervescent white coat was still spotless, despite the tussle. “You know, you may be an uncouth ruffian, but you're handy in a tight spot.” I smiled grimly and turned away from them. Fluttershy was at the side of the Pegasus Wings soldier, who rested his back against the tree in the clearing's center. She examined his wounds while Pinkie Pie stood a little ways away, looking detached. A whole chunk of his shoulder was missing, and blood coated the entire left side of his uniform. I doubted he would make it, but sparing him some comfort was a nice gesture from the pegasus nonetheless. I began to walk toward the two of them, just as I heard Rainbow Dash burst into laughter. “Oh, I get it now!” she gasped between chuckles. “The 'T' word! That 'T' word!” Rarity groaned. Didn't care. Kept walking. The tall grass tickled my calves and shins. “What did I tell you, Spike?” demanded Twilight. She and her baby dragon were at the edge of the ring of trees, sitting alone together. “I gave you one very simple, very specific instruction. Remind me, Spike, what was it?” “To stay put,” he said glumly. “And what did you choose not to do?” Twilight continued, in that patronizing tone that parents always used for children who disappointed them somehow. “But Twilight, that thing was about to eat you alive! If I hadn't shown up when I did—” “Better me than you, Spike,” Twilight interrupted. I admit that I was eyeing them now, mildly interested in their spat. Twilight rubbed the back of her neck with a hoof while glaring at the dragon who sat beside her. “One of the others could have helped me out of that spot. By stepping in yourself, by disobeying me, you put yourself in harm's way unnecessarily. You could have been killed, and what good would that have done? For me, for you, or for anypony?” Spike heaved a trembling sigh. “I just wanted to help you, Twilight. I'm sick of being useless.” “You're not useless at all. You help me every day, Spike,” said Twilight. Her words were kind, but her voice was tense and authoritative. Spike was silent. They sat there together like that for a few moments before Twilight wrapped a leg around him and pulled him against her chest. Spike's eyes opened in surprise for a moment, but then he nuzzled his face against her and returned the hug. “I'm not ungrateful,” she said to him. “I just don't want to lose you because you're trying not to lose me.” She ran her hoof over his head. “Thank you for saving my life, Spike.” Another family that was nearly torn apart. I thought about Applejack and her sister, and wondered what Twilight would do if she ever lost that dragon. What was he, her pet? Not quite the same thing, I guess, but she seemed to care deeply for him. I returned my focus to the soldier and Fluttershy; they were holding a conversation now. “Please don't talk like that,” Fluttershy said kindly. “With the proper treatment, you're sure to pull through!” The soldier ran a gloved hand through her mane. She trembled slightly, and her eyes betrayed a hint of discomfort, but she didn't move. “That's great,” he said. His voice, though weak and faded, was colored by a strong Brooklyn accent. “Can you get me the proper treatment?” Fluttershy looked away from him, blushing. “W-well...” He laughed softly. “I didn't think so. But thanks anyway.” He looked past her, at me, and for a moment, his eyes widened just a bit. “Well now. You're not regular infantry.” “No, I'm not. I'm...” I looked at Fluttershy, over my shoulder at Twilight and Spike, and over my other shoulder at Rainbow Dash, Rarity and Applejack. The group was heading toward us now, slowly, like a funeral procession. The crunching sound of hooves through grass alerted me to Pinkie Pie's presence. She was edging closer to us now. “I'm a...” I thought for a moment. Should I even bother with a cover story? Ah, the hell with it. “A veterinarian.” He coughed a familiar gurgly laugh. “Is that right? What, are you interning here?” “Something like that.” I knelt in front of him and reached my fingers under the bottom of his balaclava. He said nothing, so I tugged it off of his head, exposing the face of a middle-aged man with a well-grown (if unkempt) yellow beard and fading blonde hair. The hair on his chin was stained red, his face pale from blood loss. His eyes were similarly bloodshot, so much so that I couldn't tell what color his irises were. They just looked black. “Thanks, doc,” he said, breaking into a bloodied smile. “It was getting hot under there.” I nodded. “What's your name? Your rank?” He tried to hold his hand to his forehead in a mock salute, but stopped before he got anywhere near, gasping and groaning in pain. Fluttershy darted to his side and held his arm, gently pulling it back to his side. “Case,” he said in a voice that sounded markedly weaker. “Captain Ronald Quincy Case, of the Pegasus Wings army. Second only to Commander Cain himself.” He paused, and made a face. “Or I was.” “'Second in command'?” I repeated. “What's the second ranking officer of a military unit doing on a scavenger hunt out here?” Captain Case bit his bottom lip and smiled. “'Scavenger hunt.' Appropriate.” With Fluttershy's help, he raised himself to a more comfortable sitting position against the tree. “There were seven of us. Five troops, myself. And the freak.” “Freak?” A blazing blue eye flashed in my mind. “You mean the ninja. Trenton.” Fluttershy shuddered. Case blinked. “You've met, huh? Yeah. He's a real charmer. Took the five shittiest troops in the unit and dragged me along with him to keep an eye on them. Time was, I wouldn't have had to do what he said, but Commander Cain's been reevaluating the chain of command ever since bringing him on board.” He spat. Rarity made a quiet sound of disgust. “We were sent to hunt a big kitty. Did that. But there were signs, y'see, of human life out here in these woods.” He waggled his eyebrows at me. “So Trenton stuck us outside an abandoned house and went off in the woods to chase down whoever it was that was poking around in the forest.” Case closed his eyes and let out a pained breath. “They came not long after.” “The wolves,” Spike supplied, and Case nodded. “How did they get you so far from your post?” Case smiled sadly, his eyes still shut. “They got the drop on us. I didn't even see them 'til my partner started crying for help. By the time I noticed and went to help him, he was gone, dragged off into the woods. I pursued them. Then I got surrounded.” I ran my tongue along the bottom row of my teeth as I processed this. “They killed your man to lure you into a trap. Interesting tactic.” "Never found his body," grumbled Case. "Stupid kid, but he didn't deserve what he got." The captain gestured at the bullet-riddled wolf who was surrounded by spent magazines. “As for me, I wish I could have made a better stand for myself, but there were too many, and they were too quick.” He laughed. “I guess it's my punishment though; I used to poach wolves with my dad when I was a teenager.” The aghast look on Fluttershy's face and the way she recoiled told me that she didn't care one bit for that revelation. “You said you were the army's number two man,” I said. “Why was Trenton able to treat such a high-ranking officer like a common grunt?” “Again, blame the chain of command,” said Case. “The Commander apparently thinks that he's more valuable than a man who's served at his side faithfully for fifteen years.” He finally opened his eyes and looked into mine. “Are you familiar with Zanzibar Land?” Intimately. “The mercenary nation, right? The one that revolted in 1999?” He made a finger-gun at me and pretended to shoot it. “Bingo, doc. Cain and I were both loyal members of the Zanzibar Land military. After the Christmas incident, with Big Boss dead and most of our army in tatters, Cain and I, and about fifty others, took what little we could scrape together and fled, less than a day ahead of the NATO mop-up squad. We stuck together after that, went our own way as a mercenary outfit. Eventually, that outfit evolved into the Pegasus Wings private military. Not the biggest, nor the best armed, but we were good soldiers, and we carved out a living for ourselves. Bought a freighter, refit it as a warship, and lived the good life on the high seas.” I couldn't imagine how lost the ponies were, with all this talk about NATO and Zanzibar Land and Christmas. Well, shit, I thought, see how they like being confused by a lack of context. “So what changed?” I asked. Case licked his dry lips. “That fucker Trenton happened. We were acting as private muscle to a Russian unit assigned to root out Chechen rebels when, out of nowhere, that one-eyed blue bastard showed up and started talking about some new job. One that'd pay dividends a million times over. I wanted to get rid of him, but Cain was hooked, and they spent days hammering out an arrangement while me and the rest of the unit swilled vodka by day and shot Chechens by night. Finally, we pulled out of Russia and went to some coordinates that Trenton provided.” “That's when you found the island,” I said. I looked over my shoulder at Twilight and the others. “And that gateway.” “Yeah,” said Case. “You catch on quick, for a guy who disimpacts doggy bowels for a living.” Rainbow Dash snickered; I ignored her. “Cain and Trenton and I, and a few others, we went through, and... that's when we met our client.” “'Client?'” I asked. “I thought Trenton was your client.” “No, no,” said Case. “Trenton was just his representative, or a middleman. Somesuch. The client is some crazy pony fucker who calls himself Macbeth.” “Macbeth?” asked Twilight, her voice suddenly fear-stricken. She pushed forward, shouldering past me to get into Case's face. “Macbeth of Stalliongrad? That Macbeth?!” I glanced over my shoulder, at the rest of the assembled group. They all looked absolutely flabbergasted. Applejack looked expectantly at Spike, and Spike only shrugged in response. “Well, he sure ain't the Thane of Glamis,” said Case, cracking a sardonic smile. He didn't budge an inch in the face of Twilight's sudden intrusion. “I take it he's a big name around here?” Twilight pulled away from Case. “He's a revolutionary,” she said, still with that quasi fearful voice. “Years ago, he tried to start an insurgency against the Princess in the city of Stalliongrad. It got serious enough where Princess Celestia had to personally put it down.” She looked at her friends. “You girls have seriously never heard of this?” They collectively shrugged. “I heard about some trouble in Stalliongrad about five or so years back,” said Rarity. “But I didn't know the specifics. Nopony did.” “Then how come you do?” I asked, nodding at Twilight. “The guardsponies talk a lot,” she said with a nonchalant air. “I never saw anything about it in the news, but I overheard a number of conversations between those who'd accompanied Princess Celestia on the mission.” Her face molded into a sly expression. “You'd be surprised how easy it is to overhear sensitive information when you spend as much time around the palace as I used to.” State secrets being discussed openly by the people involved in them? Woodward and Bernstein would have turned Equestria inside and out in days. “Did they say what this revolutionary was like?” I asked. Case's face turned thoughtful, and he looked at Twilight with intrigue. “Well,” said Twilight, shifting her weight from one leg to another. “It's been a long time, and I didn't overhear many specifics about the rebellion. But I do remember one guard saying how brave Macbeth was. How he looked Princess Celestia right in the eye and delivered a stirring and powerful speech.” “An idealistic revolutionary who likes to talk?” I asked. I tried to picture Solidus as a pony, with writhing, mechanical tentacles instead of wings and a wakizashi for a horn. “He's a fucking chickenshit retard,” snapped Case. He'd modulated his voice thus far in his discussion, but here he suddenly grew irate. The change was startling, to say the least. He spat again, and this time Rarity shuddered a little. “A raving asshole lunatic. Totally divorced from reality. I said as much to Cain, told him that nothing good was going to come out of this job, no matter what Trenton promised him. I was told that this was the direction that the army was taking, that if I didn't like it, I could take my walking papers and go back to America.” “Why didn't you?” asked Pinkie Pie softly. I was startled; it was the first I'd heard her speak since Fluttershy's little speech. Case fixed her with a stare. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, and frowned. “I want to say that I had no place else to go,” he said at length. “Technically speaking, I'm a war criminal; I'd be thrown in the stockades the second I set foot in my home country. I hear some Zanzibar Land personnel were allowed to return to their countries. I knew one guy, in particular, this Inuit guy, who got picked up for an Army special operations unit.” He stared intently at me, then continued speaking. “But the truth is, I owe Cain my life. All us ex-Zanzibar Landers do. He kept us together, made us into something when we had no other recourse.” He leaned his head back against the tree and laughed. “Sounds stupid, I know. Following orders blindly, even when you know they'll go nowhere good.” “Darn right, that sounds stupid," muttered Rainbow Dash. "Rainbow," said Applejack in a low voice. Case raised an eyebrow at the pegasus. Rainbow Dash shrugged. "There's a difference between being loyal, and being stupid. Friends don't betray each others' trust, and if they do, then they don't deserve any loyalty. Staying loyal to someone who betrays you is stupid." "I don't believe the dying man asked for your opinion, Rainbow Dash," I said. Case shook his head. The motion was slow and laborious. He was running out of steam. “Thanks, doc, but she's right. I was an idiot for following Cain after he turned on me. Especially when it turned out that I was right all along.” His eyes shifted back to me. “As soon as we took the job, we started making all these cutbacks. Had a platoon of ten M1 Abrams. Cain hawked 'em and bought a bunch of flatbed trucks and surplus APCs instead. He sold all but six of our Chinooks, and all but one of our gunships! You know what our standard issue weapon used to be? Steyr AUGs, just like Zanzibar Land. Cain sold 'em all and bought those pieces of shit.” He pointed at the chewed and broken AK-47. "Second-rate hand-me-downs from some blood diamond pissing contest in Bowa-Seko. Can you even find Bowa-Seko on a map?! And don't get me started on the fucking Arms Material shit!" His voice now grew louder, bolder, full of zeal. For a man who was on death's door, who I thought was losing steam, he spoke powerfully. “Everything from sidearms to anti-armor weapons got downgraded. We're marching around with guns that haven't been cutting-edge since the fucking Cold War.” Case harrumphed. “That broke the camel's back for the last of the Zanzibar Landers; I'm the only one left besides Cain who's been with the unit from the start. Cain filled their spots with wash-outs like the ones I came out here with. Bunch of fuckfaces, can't tell CQC from CQD.” His chest and shoulders heaved with every painfully drawn breath. This tirade was sapping the last of his life. “I should have complained. I should have talked him down. I should have shot that fucker Trenton in the back of the head and chopped him into chum, but I held my tongue and followed orders like a good officer.” He took a deep breath and released it slowly. “And then he brought Metal Gear into our ship.” The ponies had a vague understanding of what Metal Gear was, but they couldn't appreciate what it represented, couldn't comprehend what horrors it was capable of unleashing. Equestria was a world that had never experienced nuclear Armageddon; may it never. But Case and I knew. "I have no doubt that Big Boss would have used the power of Metal Gear judiciously,” said Case. “But Cain isn't of sound mind or judgment anymore. Trenton's poisoned him. And Macbeth?” He spat a third time; Rarity let out a miffed “oh honestly.” I don't know what her problem was. He couldn't even muster any saliva on that last one. “Anyone who listens to that prick can't have good judgment.” The fire in his eyes was fading, but all their remaining intensity was now honed on me. “He's not going to use Metal Gear as a deterrent. He's going to use it as an instrument of open war. He has a nuclear missile, and he's going to launch it. I don't know at what, and I don't know when, but I know that he will. My gut tells me he will.” I leaned forward and gripped his intact shoulder. “Tell me where it is,” I said. “At the castle?” Case tried to shake his head and failed. “No, no,” he said instead. “Primary staging area. He's moved most of the troops and equipment there. And don't ask me where it is; I haven't been in the know for a long time.” He exhaled sharply; I took it to be a laugh. “Trenton might know. Beat the shit out of him and he'll tell you. Even if he doesn't, it couldn't hurt to try.” Maybe I would have laughed with him if my stomach wasn't so knotted. “What're you packin' there?” he asked suddenly, indicating my holster with his eyes. “C'mon, show me.” I drew my gun, a little surprised by the request. “Beretta,” Case breathed. “The John Woo special. Tranquilizer variant, if what we found on the big kitty is any indicator. Not good enough.” He held up his right hand. The revolver he'd used to kill the timberwolf was still clutched tightly in his fingers. “Smith and Wesson Model 500. The gun my dad used on those wolves we poached.” He offered it to me barrel-first. I ignored the faux pas and took it. It was heavy, but not unmanageable. “Thanks,” I muttered, examining the weapon. It had a chrome barrel, and a smooth, black lacquered grip. I opened the cylinder; three rounds were chambered. All in all, a nice gun, but not much more than a collector's item. The Model 500 was and is the most powerful handgun in the world, but the force of the recoil and its absurd weight makes it impractical and unwieldy. It was mildly impressive that Case was able to hit anything at all with it, but then, he'd also spent a full five rounds without any luck, if the earlier shots were anything to go by. A gun like that is really nothing more than a fancy, expensive paperweight, never mind the limited ammo. Still, I didn't want to offend the dying man, so I took it without complaint. I looked at him again; he was holding three additional .500 rounds. In his hand, they looked like giant brass fingers. I took the bullets, nodded my thanks, and began sliding them into the two empty chambers. The spare I slid into a pouch on my belt, beside my portable ashtray. “Why are you doing this?” asked Twilight Sparkle. “Why help us? You're betraying your friends by doing that, aren't you?” Case breathed slowly, deeply now. He seemed more relaxed, at ease, having gotten all that he wanted off his chest. “Young lady, you never served under Big Boss, so I don't expect you to get much of what I'm about to say.” He rolled his reddened, dying eyes to look at me. No, not at me. Through me. “But you will. Oh, I know that you will.” I froze, midway through loading the last round into the revolver, and locked eyes with him. “A soldier's just a tool, see, unless he's loyal to himself. Unless he's fighting for himself. Not for king and country. Not for an ideology. And certainly not 'for the mission.' A soldier must fight for himself.” The way he said it, stressing every individual word in the sentence, he made it sound like the most imperative, empirical, universal concept. It was certainly one that I was very familiar with. “I followed Cain on a mission that I knew was wrong. I took my orders unquestioningly while he and his new inner circle ran our army into the ground. I sold myself for the sake of loyalty that my commander no longer valued. And worse, I knew full-well that I was making the wrong choices. I lost sight of what was important, and in doing so, I betrayed myself and my honor as a soldier.” His breaths grew shallower with every word he spoke. “If I'd died out here, without you finding me, I'd have died a tool. But you've given me a chance to fight for what I really believe in, even if I'm only helping in some tiny, insignificant way.” He smiled, shut his eyes, and inhaled one final, shaky breath. “You've given me a chance to make amends. And that... young lady... that is worth dying for.” I saw a ripple of transparent black cloth appear in front of Case's body, and then his head dropped forward over his chest. He let out a final, gurgling breath, and was gone. He still wore his dying smile. “What do we do now?” asked Fluttershy. Her eyes were red and her cheeks streaked with tears. She'd been crying again; I hadn't even heard her. I almost answered her question, but swallowed my response and glanced at Twilight. These were her friends. I was the outsider. Better to defer that responsibility to her. “No sign of Zecora,” sighed Applejack. “The feller we found instead died anyway. An' we're no closer to shuttin' down that Metal Gear business, or savin' Apple Bloom, than we were an hour ago. In hindsight, comin' this way seems like a wagon-sized waste o'time.” Twilight sucked in a breath through her nose. She about-faced and looked at her friends, one after another. “We may have lost time coming out here. We may not have found who we were looking for. But in taking this detour, we may have saved a person's soul, and that alone means that this wasn't a waste of time. “There's more than that, though. We're not flying blind anymore, because we now know more about what we're up against. More than that, we know who we're up against. Macbeth of Stalliongrad wants a second revolution? We'll bring it to his doorstep. “We've beaten Nightmare Moon. We've taken down Discord. We stared down the Changelings and made them blink first. These new bad guys might be unfamiliar, they might be powerful, but they are not at their level. Behind their scary weapons and blue-on-blue color scheme is just a pony, like you or me.” Twilight winked at me. “Maybe not so much like you.” Spike coughed loudly. “Or you,” Twilight sighed, and Spike smiled. “We've saved Equestria from bigger and badder. So I know, in my heart, that we can save it now. We'll rescue Apple Bloom, take down Metal Gear, and hoof-deliver Macbeth to Princess Celestia.” I could tell that Twilight was talking a big game for the sake of her friends. An unfortunate reality that being a leader presents is that you can't ever let on just how frightened you are, or just how high the odds against you loom. And Twilight, to her credit, was playing her role superbly, even if I saw through it. The others smiled, their spirits brightened; even Applejack looked somewhat relieved by the way she was speaking. Between the way they'd fought off the timberwolves, and the way Twilight rallied them, I was starting to develop a grudging, but genuine, respect for their abilities. “Now, c'mon,” said Twilight, stooping to allow Spike access to her back. “Let's double-time it, everypony.” She trotted briskly ahead; the others fell into step with her. I didn't. I glanced at the gun in my hand, and thought again of that long-dead dog. "Wait," I said. They stopped, mid-trot, and looked back at me. "Snake?" asked Twilight. "Something wrong?" I didn't answer her. Instead, I walked back to the wolf I'd crippled, coming to a stop just above where it lay. It was silent, but still alive, and we looked at each other for a long, long moment. Rustling in the grass told me that the others were coming toward me. I heard the gentle beating of wings and felt a brush of wind against me, and I glanced to my side. Fluttershy hovered next to me. She looked me in the eye, tears still running down her face, and gave me the most minute of nods. "You're not going to leave it there," said Twilight Sparkle softly. It wasn't a question. I looked at the revolver in my hand, then back at the wolf, back into its bright yellow eyes. My mind wandered, drifting to the memory of a nighttime blizzard on a secluded island, of a sobbing, broken man with a family of fluffy white dogs, and of a proud wolf lying defeated in the red-stained snow. I raised the revolver and pressed it against the wolf's temple. "Everyone's here now," I whispered. "Rest easy." Beside me, Fluttershy returned to the ground. She pressed her hooves against her ears and turned away from the crippled wolf. My thumb cocked the hammer on the revolver. The wolf blinked its baleful yellow eyes. My heart cracked, just the smallest bit, as it whined one final time. I squeezed the trigger, and the gun roared.

Posh

436

Main 6,Other,Twilight Sparkle,Crossover,Human,Adventure,Dark,Metal Gear,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic,Death,Violence

Pony Gear Solid

Solid Snake teams up with ponies to save Equestria, and gradually learns to love it.

incomplete

<p>Metal Gear has fallen into the hooves of an Equestrian revolutionary, who, with the backing of his human mercenary allies, intends to use it to depose Celestia and crown himself ruler. Having crossed into Equestria in pursuit of this rogue weapon, the legendary Solid Snake must ally with the residents of Ponyville to prevent a nuclear catastrophe.</p><p>See also <a href="/story/369125/equestria-gear-solid-the-definitive-experience" rel="nofollow"><i>Equestria Gear Solid</i></a><i>,</i> the hilarious spin-off EQG parody in which everything you know is wrong, and every single character from the story is an awful caricature of themselves. </p><p><a href="http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/FanFic/PonyGearSolid" rel="nofollow">Now with its own TVtropes page!</a></p>

teen

2012-04-12T00:53:56+00:00

2016-08-10T16:43:12+00:00

"Unfortunately, killing is just one of those things that gets easier the more you do it." Coming out of the darkness of the Everfree Forest and into the daylight of the afternoon sun was an adjustment. In part because my eyes needed to adapt to the light after so much time in the dark, sure, but also because of how Equestria looked in direct sunlight. The place was vivid. Brilliant, really. Everywhere I looked was saturated with color, from the sunlight that shone upon the blue bricks of the castle, to the bright, almost neon coats of my companions. By contrast, I and everything else from my world seemed drab and washed out. I kept looking down at my boots in the grass, and noticing how badly they clashed with the environment. I was a sore thumb which was not created by nature, and I put all other sore thumbs in history to shame. Camouflage, I decided, would not be an option. In hindsight, though, I wonder how well the OctoCamo would have worked in Equestria. The forest terminated at the edge of a wide chasm, and we hid in the moderate cover that the trees and underbrush provided. Across the chasm was a metal bridge, which seemed to have been fabricated using whatever scrap was on hand. According to Twilight, the castle was comprised of multiple structures, though only the outermost parts of it were visible from our vantage point. A wooden guard tower, which appeared to have been made from native Equestrian wood, stood in front of what had once been the castle's gatehouse. A single soldier, clad in a black T-shirt and navy blue combat vest, stood at watch on the tower, resting a sniper rifle upon his shoulder. The tower was shorter than the wall, but it still offered him a decent panoramic view of the area in front of the castle. Probably a good thing that they didn't stick the guards up on the wall itself. That thing didn't look at all stable. "At least they did something about that tacky bridge," mused Rarity. "Hmm?" I was only halfway listening, preoccupied as I was with trying to plot a way across the bridge without being spotted by the sentry. "That bridge. The one that's right in front of you?" said Rarity, waggling a hoof at it. "The last time we were here, it was a rope bridge. Personally, as shabby as this one is, I like it a bit more. It looks less likely to break and kill anypony who crosses it." I eyed it dubiously. "That's an upgrade?" Rainbow Dash snorted. "It's an upgrade, but only because when you're at rock bottom, you can't go anywhere but up. It's in one piece, and it isn't dangling over the side of the canyon. So, yeah. Upgrade." Fluttershy tiptoed (or would it be tiphoofed?) closer to us. "It does look safer than the old bridge," she said. "That was very helpful of those soldiers to replace it with something more secure. I suppose that's one nice thing to take away from all of this." She offered me an optimistic smile. I didn't return it. "They're here to kill you," I said, over-stressing each syllable to patronize her. "Not to fix your country's crappy infrastructure." Fluttershy's smile faded. She blushed and backed away, staring at the ground and mumbling contritely. Twilight frowned at me. "That was unnecessarily rude, Snake" she admonished. She moved a little closer to me, close enough that I could see the clotted, discolored spots where timberwolf sap had splattered her, and spoke in a quieter voice. "After what happened back in the forest, I don't think that we should discourage Fluttershy's optimism." I looked past her, at the baby dragon who sat a little detached from the group, and decided that I didn't want to take directions from someone who brought a child into a war zone. "I'm not here to wet-nurse you. There's no place for nannying on the battlefield." Forcing a subject change, I nodded in the direction of the guard tower and asked "Is that a new addition?" Twilight clenched her teeth and narrowed her eyes at me, clearly unhappy with my disregard of Fluttershy's feelings. Then you shouldn't have brought that child into a war zone, I thought. She let out a sharp breath and rolled her eyes. "Yeah. The castle's new tenants probably threw that together." Applejack trotted forward and knelt in the grass beside me. "Wonder what else they've done with the place," she remarked. "Could have all kinds'a nasty surprises waitin' for us in there." "Yeah," said Rainbow Dash. "Sure would be great if we had somepony here who could, I don't know, fly or something. Then that somepony could get the lay of the land and come back and tell us what's waiting for us before we walk into it." She tapped her chin with her hoof pensively. Suddenly, her face lit up. "Wait a minute! I'M somepony who can fly! I can do all those things! Rainbow Dash, you are a genius!" She laughed and took to the air, darting toward the gatehouse. Fortunately, her self-serving sarcasm telegraphed her intent, and I caught her by the tail before she could get out of arm's length. "Hold it." Rainbow Dash glared at me, fruitlessly beating her wings. "Hey, I don't care how cool hands are. Keep 'em to yourself." She tried yanking her tail out of my grip, but I held tightly. "Then use your head," I said, gesturing at the gatehouse. "You can't just dash in there and look at stuff." "Oh yeah?" demanded Rainbow Dash. She floated closer to me. "And why not?" Twilight nudged her shoulder and directed her attention to the guard tower. Rainbow Dash's ears drooped. "Oh. Right." She chuckled. Not the cleverest creature I'd run into, but she was nothing if not zealous. Zeal gets you killed if you don't have a level head backing it up, however. "First thing's first," I said. "We take out the sentry. Once he's out of the way, you're good to go." Fluttershy spoke, but her voice was quiet, and carried an air of dread. "How are you going to do that?" "Think I'll try shooting him," I muttered. Fluttershy made a little choking sound, like she was swallowing a sob. I could practically see the judgmental look that Twilight was giving me. It isn't as though I didn't sympathize with what Fluttershy was going through. Twilight was right; it was a small miracle that she was capable of any semblance of optimism after how badly she was affected by the scene in the forest. But there wasn't any time to take her personal feelings into consideration. This was a crisis that needed solving, and she'd chosen to see it through. I don't know what her reasons were for staying with us after the fight with the timberwolves, but she was committed, and she couldn't renege on account of hurt feelings. Still, I thought, the least I can do is throw her a bone here. I drew the M9 and held it up for Fluttershy to see. She looked fearfully at it. "This is a tranquilizer gun," I told her. "It's what I used to save Apple Bloom from the manticore. Completely nonlethal. It'll knock that soldier unconscious, and he'll be out for hours, but it won't kill him." Fluttershy took her eyes off of the gun and looked into mine. She swallowed and gave a tiny nod. Well, that was one problem solved... or at least delayed. I turned back to the guard tower and eyeballed the sentry. He was resting the rifle across his shoulders and, for some odd reason, descending beneath the wall of the guard tower, and reappearing a moment later. "What in the world is he doing?" I thought out loud. "Squat thrusts," said Rainbow Dash. "The two-legged kind." I gave her a skeptical look. "This is a crack mercenary army. They haven't exactly been impressive so far, but they're not that unprofessional." Rainbow Dash sucked her teeth. "Live in denial all you want, Snake. That guy out there is doing squat thrusts." "He is not doing – look, I'll prove it." I reached for the scope on my belt. It wasn't there. "Where the hell is my...?" I patted the other pouches and bags on my person, thinking that I misplaced it at some point, but no. It was just gone. "When did I lose it?" I groaned, growing somewhat agitated. Did it fall out while I was fighting the manticore, or the wolves, or Trenton? That had never happened before. Did Zecora steal it from me while I was unconscious? "Yeah," said Rainbow Dash with a derisive snicker. "You sure showed me, Snake." "What's the matter, Snake?" asked Pinkie Pie, bouncing toward me. "Lose something?" I frowned at her. "My scope." "'Scope?'" asked Pinkie with a tilt of her head. "Like binoculars? No problem-o!" Grinning, she darted into the high grass. The only sign of her presence was a tuft of pink hair that poked out of the grass like a periscope. A moment later, she emerged, a pair of binoculars clamped in her mouth. What in the hell?! "Where did you get those?" I asked, gesturing at the binoculars. Pinkie trotted up to me, a happy smile on her face, and dropped them into her hooves. "Oh, I have binoculars stashed all over Equestria." She nodded. "In case of binocular emergency." All over Equestra. Not even "all over Ponyville," or "all over the Everfree Forest." I didn't know how to react to that. I just knelt there, staring at Pinkie Pie, my mouth hanging open as my mind tried to process everything she'd just said and done. The pony held her binoculars out to me. I took them, nodded numbly, swallowed, turned back to the gatehouse, and raised the binoculars to my eyes without another word. "Squat thrusts," I said. "I'll be damned." Rainbow Dash floated beside me, her forelegs crossed, a smug expression on her face. "You've learned a valuable lesson about disagreeing with Rainbow Dash today, Snake." God, she was irritating. I lowered the binoculars and raised my pistol again. There was a little bit of comedy in it; what kind of sniper does squat thrusts in the middle of guard duty? Funniest damn thing I'd ever seen during a mission. For the first time in my career, I had to stifle a laugh as I prepared to shoot a man. This Equestria fiasco was full of firsts for me. Some of you out there might be wondering why I chose not to use the Model 500 to take down the guard. Some of you might think it was a concession to Fluttershy. It wasn't (though like I said, I did sympathize with her). With respect to Captain Case, the Model 500 was not an option. Its ammunition was scarce, its weight was considerable, its recoil made it all but inoperable as a mainstay sidearm, and its noise made it absolutely useless on a stealth mission. I took it and kept it because it was a parting gift from a dying soldier, not because I foresaw any practical use for it. By contrast, the M9 was lighter, silent, and came equipped with a laser sight. It was the right choice. Also, for obvious reasons, I really don't like revolvers. I leveled the gun and waited for an opportune moment to pull the trigger. The sentry dropped into another squat, his head passed below the waist-level wall of the guard tower, and reappeared a moment later, right in my sights. I fired. There was the usual soft hiss of the suppressed gunshot, and an instant later, I heard a muffled cough as the sentry dropped. Not a bad shot. "You're good to go," I said to Rainbow Dash. "Thanks, dad," said Rainbow Dash sarcastically. I heard her wings beat and felt a faint gust of wind as she passed. She dropped into the chasm, pulled up once she reached the opposite end, and skirted around the edge of the gatehouse wall, keeping low. Not long after, she rounded a corner and was out of sight. I settled in, stroking my stubble thoughtfully as I stared across the bridge. "How far across is that chasm?" I wondered out loud. "I don't know," said Pinkie Pie from above me. In a very thoughtful, earnest tone, as though it seriously meant something to her, she added "I didn't bring my ruler." Suddenly, I became aware that she was perched upon my shoulders, resting her chin on the top of my head. I shut my eyes and clenched my teeth. "Get. Off." After a moment, she complied. "How in the world did you get up there without me noticing?" "Climbed," said Pinkie Pie. She wasn't looking at me; her attention was fixed on the gatehouse and guard tower. "How could you climb on me without my – ugh, forget it." I lifted my borrowed binoculars again, keeping an eye out for any trace of Rainbow Dash. I caught sight of a prismatic contrail darting into the sky, disappearing into one of those cheesy clouds. What was she up to? "If you're anything like me, then you're probably frustrated right now," said Twilight quietly. "Take my advice: don't try figuring out Pinkie Pie." "Yeah?" I asked. The cloud was moving now, edging closer and closer to where we hid. "You've tried?" I heard Twilight sigh. "When we get back to Ponyville, I'll let you flip through my six volumes of notes on her behavior. There's no pattern to anything she does. It's one of her charms." "'Charming' wouldn't be how I'd describe it," I muttered. "More like 'insane.' I thought Zecora was as out there as it got, and then I met Pinkie Pie." The cloud was right on top of us now. I set the binoculars down and reached for my Beretta, not sure of what was coming. "I keep wondering how this place is going to top itself next." Suddenly, Rainbow Dash dropped from the sky. She beat her wings to slow her descent and landed lightly in the center of the group. Admittedly, I probably should have seen that coming – she did fly into that cloud, after all – but adjusting to a whole new set of physical laws was tough going. I didn't like it. "Didja see anything?" Applejack asked, apparently unperturbed by her friend literally falling out of the sky. "Any sign of Apple Bloom?" Rainbow Dash shook her head. "The gatehouse is empty, except for a bunch of tents. There're a bunch of giant thingies in a courtyard outside of the main part of the castle—" "The keep," Twilight corrected. "The what?" Rainbow Dash looked askance at her. "No, the main part of the castle." Twilight huffed. "What you're referring to is properly called—" "Anyway," continued Rainbow Dash. Twilight pressed a hoof to her face. "One thing that's weird about the gatehouse though: Remember the pedestal where we found the Elements last time we were here? Well, the statue on top of it is gone. There's just this giant box on it now." "You keep using vague terms, nonspecifics," I said. "'Giant thingies.' 'Giant box.' Describe them a little more." "They're thingies. And they're giant," said Rainbow Dash matter-of-factly. "And there's a box on the pedestal, and it's also giant." She shrugged. "That's all I got." A moment passed where I stared at Rainbow Dash with a blank look on my face. "Fine," I said at length. I holstered the Beretta and picked up the binoculars, tossed them back to Pinkie Pie, then turned to the bridge. "We should be on our guard. Just because the gatehouse is..." "Is what?" asked Spike, speaking up for the first time in a while. "You planning on finishing that sentence?" I didn't answer. I was completely focused on the ghostly figure in black which had appeared in the middle of the bridge. Glowing red eyes bored into me beneath his hood-covered face. Illuminated by the light of his eyes was a sinister, toothy smile. It was him. The thing that spoke to me in my dream. The Sorrow. "Do you see that?" I asked, keeping my voice level and turning to look at the others. Pinkie Pie raised her binoculars to her eyes. "Do you mean that knothole a quarter of an inch below the platform on the guard tower, or the cobweb covering the rightmost brick in the gatehouse?" "What? No. I mean the—" I turned back to the bridge, half expecting it to be gone, like in those horror movies where the second the hero takes his eye off of something unusual that only he can see, it vanishes. Reality defied my expectation, however. The Sorrow still stood there, grinning that shit-eating grin at me. Son of a bitch. "Snake?" asked Applejack. "Y'all look like y'seen a ghost." The Sorrow was not a ghost. I told myself, over and over, that ghosts did not exist. It was a hallucination, probably brought on from the effects of the manticore's venom. It hadn't been that long since the sting; I was probably still feeling the effects of it, however slightly. That thing on the bridge, the one from my dream, was a figment, and nothing more. Besides, I thought, what would the ghost of a human be doing in a world populated by talking ponies? More evidence that I was simply hallucinating. In the dream, it knew things that only I knew, and out here, only I could see it. It was a lingering effect from the manticore's venom, and nothing more. Then I noticed that I was putting a substantial amount of effort into reasoning my hallucination away, and that my rationalizations were, themselves, somewhat irrational. And that only made me more nervous. I ordered myself to shake it off. Freezing up like that in the middle of a mission was unbecoming. "It's nothing," I said to Applejack. "I thought I saw another sniper, but I guess I was wrong." Pinkie Pie offered me her binoculars. "You wanna borrow these again and make sure? 'Cuz I see plenty of interesting things out there, but no snipers." "It's fine. Just a shadow. I must be getting old. Vision's starting to crap out." I drew my Beretta again, clenching it tightly in my hands. "Let's go." I took point as we moved onto the bridge, stepping lightly and slowly. Upgrade or no, the bridge looked rickety as hell, and we were putting a lot of weight onto it together. I didn't want to take a chance by running across, putting undue stress on the thing. The Sorrow stood in the same spot in the middle of the bridge, smiling that ghastly smile beneath his hood. As I came closer to him, he moved aside, standing as far out of my path as he could. His feet made no sound against the metal floor. I couldn't decide if that was a good sign or not. "What're you looking at?" I growled quietly. He remained silently smiling, his coal-like eyes following me as I passed, but I forced myself to swallow my discomfort. It's a hallucination, I reminded myself. Nothing more. The ponies and the dragon climbed the steps to the front gate. I lagged behind, staring up at the guard tower. "Hold on a minute," I called over my shoulder. "What's the matter?" asked Rainbow Dash. "Looking for someplace private to stare into space and mutter to yourself?" I turned around and scowled at her, and she shrugged. "I calls 'em as I sees 'em." I pointed up the ladder leading from the ground to the platform. "There's a high-powered rifle up there," I said in a less-than-friendly tone. "That's the kind of thing that comes in very handy in a pinch." I looked at Twilight. "Unless you don't think we need the additional firepower." Twilight waved a hoof. "You know best." I nodded, gave Rainbow Dash one last smoldering look, and began to climb the ladder. "I don't like him," I overheard Rainbow Dash mutter. "It doesn't matter whether you like him or not," said Twilight. "We need him right now." "Twilight's right," said Applejack. "Look, he's done right by us so far, Rainbow, and he sounds like he really wants t'help Apple Bloom. Ain't that really what matters?" "I didn't say I wouldn't work with him," said Rainbow Dash. "Gosh, AJ, you know I'd do anything for you or Apple Bloom, even if it means I gotta work with some crazy shaved gorilla." She snorted. "I just don't like him. That's all." It's cute how they figured I was out of earshot. I pulled myself onto the platform. The sentry lay curled in a ball, cradling his rifle in the crook of his arm like a teddy bear. He snoozed quietly, occasionally smacking his lips, but otherwise remained still and silent. Slowly and carefully, I removed the rifle from his grip and examined it. It was an M24, an older bolt action rifle that's still in service with some armies around the world. Its age didn't bother me; as long as it could perform, I wouldn't complain. By the look of it, the gun was better maintained than the AKs that the soldiers in the forest had carried. I suspected that they had few dedicated marksman rifles in stock, and had to take special care of the ones they did have. It also had a sling so that I could carry it on my back; I wouldn't have to cradle it constantly. I pulled back the gun's bolt. A live round sat in the chamber; presumably, it had a full five rounds in the magazine. I rolled the sleeping guard over to checked the pouches on his vest for additional ammunition, and was rewarded with multiple five-round stripper clips. Counting the rounds already in the gun, I had twenty-five shots to use against an army of more than three hundred. Maybe I'd get lucky. Maybe they'd all charge me in fourteen-man single-file lines, and I'd be able to fire each individual round from the front of the line to the back. Or maybe I'd just have to make my shots count. I glanced over the wall at the nearby bridge. The Sorrow had vanished. Good riddance. I slung the rifle onto my back and descended the ladder again, skipping the last two rungs. "You can crack all the jokes you want," I said to Rainbow Dash, "but I expect you to take them back when I save your ass with this gun." "Oooooooh," said Pinkie, like a child who'd watched her sibling get sent to his room. Rainbow Dash gave me the stink-eye and turned away. I knelt in front of the wooden door, drew my M9, and nudged it open. Aiming down my sights, I stepped inside, and quickly scanned the gatehouse's interior for any sign of threat, but it was as Rainbow Dash described it: full of canvas tents, broken columns, and not much else. There were six smaller tents set up with no thought to organization, alignment, or pattern, and a larger tent set up in the middle of the room. Towering over that was the pedestal Rainbow Dash had mentioned, where a giant black box rested. There was some lettering on the box, but I couldn't quite make it out from where I was standing. Rainbow Dash floated past me, snickering. "As scary as those tents are, I don't think you need to pull your gun on them." She was starting to get on my nerves. I grumbled and holstered my gun as the others filed past me. "I don't get it," said Spike. "Where are all the soldiers?" "Captain Case said that they'd moved most of the troops to a staging area outside of the castle," said Twilight. "I guess it stands to reason that the castle'd be sparsely populated by now." "But this is only the gatehouse," said Fluttershy, looking especially nervous. She must've had a phobia for old ruins. "The castle's bigger than this one structure, right? And there was that soldier in the guard tower, so we know it's not completely deserted." "She's right," I said. "There could be troops in some of those tents. For all we know, this is the barracks." I looked at Rainbow Dash. "Good thing you loudly announced our presence as soon as we walked through that door." Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes. "And if there were any soldiers in those tents, they'd have jumped right out and attacked us the second they heard us coming. Right?" An unsettling, silent moment passed between the eight of us as we looked from tent to tent. I half expected someone to jump out right then and open fire, but again, I was wrong. I did hear a nervous squeak from Fluttershy, who was no doubt contemplating the same possibility as me with a far less cool head. The blue pegasus smirked. "See?" I sighed and lowered my voice, speaking quietly. "As a general rule, when you're on an infiltration mission, you don't talk unless you're absolutely certain that there's nobody around to overhear. To hell with your assumption; there could still be soldiers in those tents waiting to ambush us." "Snake has a point," said Twilight, speaking softly. "Everypony, pick a tent. Let's clear this place before we do anything else." The others scattered, each one selecting a smaller tent at random to poke around in, apparently leaving the large one to me. The only ones left standing there were myself and Spike the dragon. "So," he said, flashing me a fanged dragon grin, "I guess we're partners, huh?" I raised an eyebrow at him. Bad enough that Twilight Sparkle decided to bring her pet child into a dangerous infiltration mission. One of us would always have to keep an eye on him, which made the situation so much more complicated than it had to be. Worse, though, was that she expected me to babysit him. If she were in earshot, I'd have given her a piece of my mind, but since she wasn't, I just turned away and walked toward the large tent. "What do you think we'll find in that tent?" he asked. "You really think there's some—" I looked down at him sharply and held a finger to my lips. He mouthed "oh," and pretended to draw a zipper closed along his mouth. I had the notion that if he were Pinkie Pie, he would have had a literal zipper to close. The thought was strangely therapeutic. We reached the tent. I pushed the flap aside with one arm and thrust my gun inside with the other. Seeing no threats in the immediate area, I moved inside all the way, glancing quickly from one end of the room to the other for any signs of ambush. There were none. I motioned Spike inside, and he waddled in on his stumpy little dragon legs. The tent wasn't palatial in size, but there was definitely more room to move around than the other tents. There was a workbench and assorted clutter at the far end of the tent, and ammunition boxes stacked all over the place, though not so high that a man could conceal himself behind them. I lifted the lid of one experimentally. Inside were dozens of magazines full of rifle ammo. Interestingly enough, there were no gun lockers or racks anywhere in the tent, so while they had plenty of ammo stored in there, they didn't have any guns to fire it with. "You can talk now," I said to Spike as I holstered my M9. "Before you say anything though, I've got a job for you." "Yeah?" asked Spike, his voice and face hopeful. "Yeah." I tossed him one of the clips of rifle ammo I'd taken off the sentry. He caught it, turned it over in his hands, and frowned. "Find me more like that," I told him, and I headed toward the bench. Spike made an unhappy noise. "That's it? That isn't very important." "It's plenty important," I said as I reached the bench. "Could be the difference between life and death. You should be honored to root around for bullets." There were various gun parts littering the workbench's surface, along with a set of tools a vise, a typewriter (of all things), some scattered papers, and... was that a handgun? And not an M1911, at that? I blinked, shook my head, and reached out to touch it. The gun felt solid. Not a venom-induced hallucination. "Give me some credit, Snake," said Spike. I heard him opening ammo boxes and rustling through their contents, heard the clicking noises of plastic against plastic and the jingling of unloaded bullets. I felt a growing irritation with the little dragon; even though I hadn't interacted with him much until that point, he was still getting on my nerves easily. At least Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash could contribute in a meaningful way. The dragon was ordered to find ammo, and he wasn't even fulfilling that role properly. Maybe I just have problems with children who develop self-importance issues. "Any idiot can go on a scavenger hunt," Spike went on as he slid the lid back onto a box. "I want to do something important, something actually useful for a—" I turned around sharply. "The last time you tried to be useful, you nearly got yourself eaten alive, and someone had to step in to save your life. Coincidentally, the same thing happened to the last child I spoke to, who also did something idiotic to prove herself." Spike stared back at me, indignant and shameful. He had no reply, so I continued speaking. "This is a battlefield, and children have no place on the battlefield. If it were up to me, you wouldn't be here right now. But you are. So the least you can do is find me some damn bullets." I turned back to the bench. "Leave the fighting to the ones who know what they're doing." I didn't say it out loud, but regardless of our collective performance in the battle with the timberwolves, I think that group consisted entirely of myself. Possibly Applejack, too. "Maybe you didn't notice," said Spike. His voice rose in volume as his own anger built. "I saved Twilight's life in that fight." I inspected the gun on the bench. It was a Five-SeveN, a relatively new model pistol that fired 5.7×28mm ammunition. It was a superb gun with a high capacity, well built and well maintained. What the hell was it doing here? "I imagine that's the only reason Twilight let you tag along this far," I said to Spike as I examined my new sidearm. "But one lucky shot doesn't mean you've somehow proven yourself to be an asset." I looked at him again. "You aren't. You're a liability." "Well, I don't want to be a liability anymore!" Spike shouted. "Then go home." I turned back to the bench. "And grow up." There were two spare magazines of ammunition for the Five-SeveN; I pocketed them and slid the gun into the holster that I usually reserved for lethal sidearms. "Because the cruel truth is that you don't know how to handle yourself, and that means that one of us will always have to look out for you. And it's hard enough to watch your own back without having to worry about someone else's." The papers on the desk were mostly reports regarding ammunition stocks, personnel evaluations, or medical exams. Everything was typewritten, which explained the typewriter. I couldn't find a single writing utensil anywhere, which made me wonder how one was supposed to sign off on anything, or keep any sort of checklist. Maybe they wrote in blood. I did find a few interesting documents. One was a duty roster with only twenty-seven names on it. Four of them I recognized – Kirshner, Baker, Ethelbert, Case. Trenton led a party of six others into the forest in pursuit of the manticore; all were killed, but the list didn't reflect that. I guessed that the other two troops, whose names I didn't know, were also somewhere on that list. Still, a handy thing to have. Assuming it was up to date (albeit imperfectly, if the dead soldiers names were still on it), that meant that there were only twenty-one soldiers occupying the castle. The last was a memo. Whoever typed it must have been angry; there were holes in the paper where he'd struck the keys with unnecessary force. TO: Quartermaster Loomis FROM: Capt. Case RE: Doing your []ucking job for you Loomis, I went ahead and repaired Lucky Number SeveN for you. You're []elcome, by the way. Just wanted to remind you that if we still had a single competent engineer on staff, your ass would still be sitting in a []ell awaitin[] cour[] martial. This morning I asked myself if I hated you or that lunatic in the basement more, and when I saw that gun sitting on your workbench, I decided on you. I wouldn't trust you to shine the shi[] off my []oots, let alone fix the commander's pr[]cious sidearm. Shape the fuck u[]. It's no secret around here that I'm slipping fast on the chain of command, but I can still fix guns better than you, which means that if I slip much farther, I might just wind up with your job. If you get promoted to XO over me, I'll kill you myself. Eat shit, -Ron I touched the Five-SeveN in my holster, and felt a trace of gratitude for the dead captain. Case was still giving me guns from beyond the grave. At least he gave me something useful this time. I turned away from the bench. Spike sat with his back against a stack of ammo boxes, looking sullen. "Find anything?" I asked. Spike glanced at me and narrowed his eyes. He tossed me the clip I'd given him; I caught it and returned it to my belt. "Does that mean you didn't find anything, or that you gave up and stopped looking?" I asked. The dragon lifted himself off the ground, dusted himself off, and sighed. "I just want to help Apple Bloom." I pressed my hand to my forehead and closed my eyes. If I'd known that going through that portal meant spending so much time around whiny children, I'd have turned my back on it, gone back to the Nomad, eaten my dinner, and forgotten the whole thing. "Look, you're here now, so you may as well contribute. Just don't do anything stupid." I knelt in front of the dragon. "I overheard your talk with Twilight back in the forest. She's right; don't get yourself killed because you're trying to help. There's no shame in realizing that something's out of your league. If we hit something that's beyond your ability to handle, then stay out of it, and leave it to us." Hesitating a little, I reached out and placed my hand on his tiny, scaly shoulder. "Alright?" Spike glared at me, blushing. He brushed off my hand and made his way for the exit, leaving me kneeling alone. "Don't talk to me like I'm some stupid kid," he growled. He found himself entangled in the tent flap for a moment before he freed himself and left me kneeling alone in the tent like an idiot. I'm no good with kids. The others were gathered around the large pedestal when I existed the tent. Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy floated next to the box, one on either side. Spike saw me coming and made damn sure he wasn't anywhere near me. Didn't care. It wasn't my problem if the kid wanted to be a brat, as long as he was a productive brat. "Find anything?" I asked. "Just moldy boxes and yucky food," said Pinkie Pie. She held an MRE packet in her hooves and stared into it with one eye. "This one says it's supposed to be banana pudding, but it's all dry and powdery." She emptied its contents into her mouth, swallowed them in one gulp, and shuddered. "It's an MRE," I said. Pinkie blinked at me. "You're supposed to add water before you eat it." Pinkie tilted her head at a ninety degree angle and blinked twice. "Never mind." Pinkie shook her head rapidly, her mane flying about like cotton candy caught in a tornado. "Oh, I almost forgot!" Out of thin air, she produced an object in one of her hooves, which she tossed to me. "I found a this thing. Don't know what it is." I caught the this thing, and turned it over in my hands. It was a directional microphone, of all things, very similar to the one Jack had used during the Big Shell crisis. I had an antique one as a souvenir aboard the Nomad, though it was totally non-functional and strictly decorative. "This is a valuable piece of equipment. Could come in very handy." I eyed Pinkie suspiciously. "It was just lying around in that tent?" Pinkie shook her head again. Then where the hell did you...?! "You don't have directional microphones stashed all over Equestria, do you?" Pinkie held her hooves against her mouth and giggled into them. "Oh, Snake. You're such a kidder!" But that just raised further questions! I tried to demand more answers, but I caught a furtively hissed "psst!" from Twilight. I looked at her, and she shook her head, frowning. "Don't try figuring out Pinkie Pie," she'd said to me. Yeah, but... ugh. I decided to change the subject completely. "So what're they up to?" I asked, nodding at the pegasi hovering around the box. Twilight's frown deepened, and she glanced at the directional mic with a cough. Relenting, I put it away, adding it to my steadily growing collection of new toys. Twilight smiled brightly at me and winked, as if to once again tell me that she sympathized. I pray that I never reach her level of tolerance for insanity. "They're trying to make heads or tails of whatever's in there," she said. "Dash figures the lid's on the top, but they can't see any way to open it." I folded my arms, chewing my lip idly. The less nicotine I had in my system, the more I'd chew my lips, and the more I chewed my lips, the more canker sores I'd have before the mission was over. Damn, I miss smoking. "How do you suppose they got that box up there?" I cupped my chin. "And why?" "Every party's gotta have a centerpiece," Pinkie Pie chirped. "Although I don't know why they had to go with such a yucky one. Gosh, it's yucky." She looked at me. "You agree, right? It's yucky?" I ignored her. "What do the markings say?" I asked. "They're very strange," said Fluttershy. She landed on top of the box and curled up, then peeked down at me. "I think one of them is supposed to be a symbol... it's a triangle with a lower case 't' inside of it. I hope that helps." Triangle with a lower case... I pictured the image in my mind. "The logo for AT Corp." "AT Corp?" asked Twilight. "What's that?" "Rarity, you agree with me, right?" asked Pinkie Pie, a little desperately. "That's one yucky centerpiece, right?!" "It's a weapons manufacturer," I said. "Used to be called ArmsTech Inc., before they absorbed a bunch of other corporations and changed their name." I frowned. "So they got their hands on something built by AT Corp, huh? I'd like to say that whatever's in there is a component for Metal Gear, but the one that Pegasus Wings stole was a black market copy, not a factory-made one. Couldn't have come from ArmsTech, unless they acquired it some other way." "There's a word, too," said Rainbow Dash. She traced a hoof over the lettering. "And a whole bunch of letters that don't spell anything. Hey, what does 'IRVING' mean?" "'IRVING?'" I thought hard, trying to come up with something to match the name, but I'd never heard it before in that context. I told them as much. "What do the letters say?" Fluttershy hopped off the top of the box and hovered beside Rainbow Dash. "Excuse me," she said quietly, nudging her friend out of the way. "It isn't a word. Maybe an acronym? Hmm." She looked closely at the lettering. "'ATC...' and then there's a space. 'XMG...' then 'IRVING,' then '00'." ATC XMG IRVING 00. I thought about what that could mean. "'ATC' obviously stands for 'AT Corp," I said. "The 'X' designation usually denotes a prototype weapon. 'MG...' could that stand for 'Metal Gear?'" Maybe I was right the first time, and IRVING was some kind of new component for Metal Gear that AT Corp was developing, and Pegasus Wings got a hold of it somehow. But what would that— "Doesn't anypony agree with me that it's a yucky centerpiece?!" Pinkie Pie all but shrieked. I grit my teeth and snapped "Fine! It's hideous!" Pinkie smiled. "Okie-dokie-loki!" I felt like hitting her. "I don't think frettin' over what's in this box is gonna get us any closer to savin' Apple Bloom," said Applejack. "We'll worry 'bout it when it becomes a problem, but right now, we need to get back on track." I nodded. "Agreed. I found a duty roster in the quartermaster's tent. It was the only one of its kind in there, so I assume that it's today's. Six of the names on it belong to the soldiers who were killed in the forest, which leaves twenty-one men staffing the castle. That's good news, because I might have to perform a top-to-bottom search of the castle to find Apple Bloom, and having such a small number of guards means that I can slip through—" "Hold on now," said Applejack, frowning. "Y'all keep sayin' 'I.' Not 'we.'" "Yes. Because I'm going in there alone." "My apple-buckin' hiney, you are," said Applejack flatly. Could have done without the reference to pony butt. "Her phrasing may be crude, but Applejack is right," said Rarity. "We're all here for Apple Bloom, Snake, and so we all go together." There was a slight look of disgust on her face, probably over what Applejack said. "That's a lovely sentiment," I said, drawing once again on my deepest reserves of patience. "But—" "'But' nothing!" snapped Rainbow Dash. She beat her wings furiously, raising herself to my eye level. "We didn't bring you to this castle so you could ditch us at the home stretch and go off on your own." "One of us stands a better chance of getting through the keep undetected than all eight of us," I calmly pointed out. "Yeah, right," said Spike bitterly. He folded his arms. "You gonna give us all the speech about how we can't handle ourselves now?" My eyelid twitched. I'd hit my quota of back-talking children with Apple Bloom; I needed another one like I needed a melanoma. "Everypony, stop," said Twilight in a commanding, authoritative voice, cutting me off before I could respond properly to Spike. "Girls, Spike, Snake, everypony just simmer down, and we'll talk this over." Twilight looked at me first. "Snake, I understand that this kind of thing is your specialty, and I get that you want to do things your way, alone. But you can't possibly expect any of us, especially Applejack, to stay behind when Apple Bloom's life could be at stake. We came out here to rescue her, and we can't just sit back and wait while you get the job done for us." Twilight turned to the others. "And I know how desperately everypony wants to get Apple Bloom back. But Snake knows this business better than any of us. Second-guessing him at this point isn't going to get us anywhere." She looked back at me. "We're so close to finishing what we set out to do. We can't start bickering like this, or we'll never get anything done. So let's compromise." Compromise. I could have been halfway to liberating Apple Bloom in the time it took to get through that argument, and Twilight wanted to compromise. Otacon didn't throw himself into rescuing Emma personally. He let Jack take care of it, because he knew that he was needed elsewhere, and that Jack was better equipped to save her than he was. Then again, these ponies had proven that they could handle themselves in a fight better than Otacon could (a fact which I promised myself I'd tease him about if I ever saw him again), which probably inflated their senses of how valuable they were to this mission. Fending off a pack of bloodthirsty monsters and slipping past heavily armed soldiers undetected were not the same thing, though, and they didn't seem to understand that. There was a brief moment where I thought about tranquilizing the lot of them and getting Apple Bloom myself, but I decided not to do that. I didn't know that they'd all be awake by the time I got back, or that I'd be able to rouse them, and while I have a history of carrying copious amounts of equipment without trouble, I doubted that I could carry six ponies and a dragon all on my own. Compromise it was. "Assuming the memo was accurate, there are twenty-one soldiers in that keep," I said. "That means that they're spread pretty thin, but not so thin that all eight of us could sneak through." "Okay," said Twilight. "Then how many of us could go without risking getting caught?" I considered that for a moment. "Ideally, I'd go alone." Rainbow Dash flared her nostrils angrily. "Of course, that isn't an option anymore. So... two of you, I suppose." Honestly, the fewer of them that came along for the ride, the better, but Applejack would no doubt want to accompany me, and the other six of them wouldn't take kindly to being left out. I had to allow them a token presence, for the sake of unit cohesion. "Prob'ly goes without sayin', but I'm comin'," said Applejack. Just as I thought. "Who else?" "Well, um, before anypony asks..." Fluttershy looked meekly at Applejack. "I'm sorry, I know I said I'd go with you, but stealth is just such a stressful thing, and I—" "Sugarcube, I meant what I said before." Applejack smiled kindly at Fluttershy. "Ya don't owe me anythin'. I won't hold it against you if y'all sit this part o'the trip out." Fluttershy breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness." She nodded apologetically to me. "Sorry, Snake." "Don't worry about it," I said. Silently, I added I wouldn't have brought you if you'd begged. "Well, I think it's pretty obvious who should go," said Rainbow Dash proudly. "Between me and Applejack, you won't find a more butt-kickin' duo. And I have a true gift for staying out of sight. Remember how good I was at scouting earlier?" She smirked at me. "Sorry, Snake, but it looks like you're stuck with—" "Twilight," I said. Twilight Sparkle started, her eyes wide, and Rainbow Dash's jaw dropped. Pinkie helpfully reached over and closed it for her. "Uh, heh, Snake," said Rainbow Dash through clenched teeth. "That isn't how you say 'Rainbow Dash.'" "Twilight's horn gives her an added dimension of versatility," I said, avoiding the word "magic" at all costs. "Might give us an edge in there. Who knows?" I looked at Twilight, then at the group. "Unless there are any objections." "Uh, well..." Twilight blushed a little. "Versatility? Really?" I shrugged. Really, I was just fishing for an excuse to not bring Rainbow Dash along. Twilight coughed and cleared her throat. "I mean, of course I'll go with the two of you. Happy to do it!" Rainbow Dash folded her forelegs grumpily. "Yeah, 'versatility,' sure. Maybe there's a big scary bookshelf in there that needs re-alphabetizing." "Oh, don't be so bitter," Rarity chided. "It's unbecoming." She looked at me. "What of the rest of us, then?" I gestured at the door we'd come through. "Keep the exit secured. If we pull this off, we'll still need a way out. And if things go badly in there, we'll need reinforcements. Just wait." "Sure. Waiting." Rainbow Dash fluttered back to the ground, trotted over to the pedestal, and flopped onto her belly beneath it. "I hate waiting." "Don't mind her, Snake," said Twilight. "Rainbow's just passionate about getting Apple Bloom back, that's all." I wondered how often Rainbow Dash had that excuse to act like a jackass. "If there's nothing else," I said, turning back to the door that led to the keep, "then we we should probably get moving. Stay low, stay quiet, and stay out of sight. Don't attract attention, and don't get into a fight unless you have no other option." "Don't get spotted, don't go buckin' critters left 'n right," said Applejack. "Sounds easy enough to remember." My entire livelihood, boiled down to two sentences, spoken with a country-fried Southern accent. Never had I felt so belittled. I pushed the door open. "Rarity?" asked Twilight. I let out an exasperated sigh. What the hell— "Look after him for me? Please?" Oh. "Darling," said Rarity, sounding almost offended. "Did you really think you needed to ask?" Twilight couldn't not have been aware of Spike's growing inferiority complex. I wonder how she figured assigning him a babysitter would help matters at all. Maybe she knew something I didn't. Irrelevant. I drew Lucky Number SeveN and stared down its sights, holding the door open as my two new partners followed me out. The gatehouse led into the remnants of a corridor that, I guessed, once provided a handy killzone for the castle's defenders in the event of invasion. There wasn't much left of the corridor's walls, but now and then we'd pass a mostly intact section with an arrow loop carved into it, or a taller section with a notch where I supposed the defenders would have kept a boiling pot of lead. Old cliches are the best kinds of cliches. At the end of the corridor was another crumbling, unsound wall and gate. Taking point, I pushed the gate open, and scanned the area for threats, finding none. I motioned the two ponies through and shut the door behind me. We stood upon an ornately carved staircase that rose no more than a meter off the ground. The door led into the spacious, circular courtyard that Rainbow Dash described. Pegasus Wings had turned the courtyard into a makeshift helipad. Chinook helicopters, six of them, sat parked around the edges of the circle, in front of the twisted, broken remnants of what had once been a fence that ran around the courtyard's perimeter. The centerpiece of the helipad, as Pinkie Pie would put it, was a sight that made my heart sink: A fully armed Hind D gunship. All the choppers were painted in blue camouflage. Immediately, I understood what Rainbow Dash meant when she said "giant thingies." "What are those?" whispered Twilight. She crouched low to the ground, following my instructions appropriately, if too literally. "I can see windows in them, but they don't look like they'd travel well on land. Airships?" "Not a bad guess," I said quietly. "They're helicopters." "They're what?" asked Applejack, squinting at the docked aircraft. "Heli-what-now?" The wonders of a society of Luddite ponies. "Aerial vehicles," I explained. "Smaller and faster than airships. The ones around the circle are transports. The one in the middle is an attack craft." "Oh," said Applejack. "Neat." The path leading to the keep's entrance was at the leftmost side of the circle. The keep itself looked to be in better condition than the gatehouse. Its upper levels were crumbling and broken, but everything below looked reasonably intact, if overgrown. Separating the courtyard from the keep was a mostly intact wall and a portcullis, which had a rather odd, lumpy patch of moss on it. The early evening sun, already starting to descend, shone on the far side of the portcullus and keep, which, if nothing else, told me which direction was west. There was no one in sight, but that didn't mean we were alone. There were, after all, multiple vehicles for people to conceal themselves in. Possibilities ran from engineers addressing mechanical problems to some non-coms enjoying forbidden fraternization away from the prying eyes of the chain of command. So I holstered Lucky Number SeveN, wondering why I'd drawn an unsuppressed firearm in the first place, and unslung the sniper rifle (to scout, not to be a voyeur). Twilight noticed and asked "You aren't going to start shooting, are you? Because I thought you said to avoid conflict." I glanced at Twilight and wordlessly tapped on the scope. She mouthed a silent "oh," (the same way, I noted, that Spike had) and went back to laying low, while I felt a slight pang of disappointment. I was kind of hoping that she had a hidden cache of binoculars that I could borrow from too. Through the scope, I could see into the windows of the choppers. One by one, I checked them, but they all turned up empty. The crosshair fell on the Hind D, and for a moment, I contemplated taking a potshot at the rotors. A well-placed bullet might cripple the thing, saving me the trouble of shooting it down later. The hatch on the side of the Hind suddenly opened, and out stepped a fair-skinned man with a buzzcut, wearing a stained, greasy jumpsuit. "Damn," I breathed. "Guess we aren't alone after all." And there we were, completely exposed. I lowered the rifle and made for the left banister. Motioning for the others to follow, I vaulted over it and landed upon the grass below. Twilight and Applejack followed, one after the other, landing on either side of me. We moved swiftly, diving through a gap in the old fence, and took cover behind a Chinook. I dropped to my belly and crawled underneath the chopper, then stared through the scope at the man by the Hind. Judging by his clothing and state of cleanliness, I guessed that he was a mechanic. Judging by his presence at the helipad, specifically at the Hind, I guessed that he was performing some maintenance. Judging by the way he kicked at the gunship's chassis and swore in Finnish (faint echoes of which carried to our hiding place), I guessed that he wasn't having much success. Good, I thought. If the Hind is down, then that's one less complication to deal with down the line. I crawled out from under the chopper, climbed back to my feet, and glanced out of our cover. Between us and the portcullis was another chopper, and between us and that chopper was nothing but open ground. I sucked in a breath. We'd have to go quickly. "Something up on the portcullis just flashed," said Twilight worriedly. "Flashed?'" I asked. "What do you mean 'flashed'?" I knelt beside her and raised the rifle's scope back to my eye. "See that mossy overgrowth?" asked Twilight, pointing a purple hoof. "It was only there for a split second, but I definitely saw something flash." Upon closer inspection, the overgrowth looked very odd and out of place. It was a different color than the rest of the moss covering the castle, and it didn't resemble moss at all. It looked more like grass. Lumpy, man-shaped grass, with a long, protruding section, which itself looked less like grass and more like the concealed barrel of a rifle. "It's a ghillie suit," I said in mild amazement. "That's a sniper up there. That flash must have been..." I glanced over my shoulder, at the sun shining its orange light onto the portcullis. "It was the glare from the sun on the rifle's scope. There's just enough light there that the scope reflected it." With sincere respect, I added "That was a good catch, Twilight." "What do we do now?" whispered Applejack. "That guy'll see us 'fore we get anywhere near him." "I could take him out right now," I said. "But the gunshot would alert that mechanic, and he could call for help. The M9's suppressed, but it's too difficult a shot with a handgun." I lowered the rifle and swore. Twilight patted me on the shoulder, looking quite pleased with herself. "You know," she said slyly, "Starswirl the Bearded once wrote 'Where conventional thinking ends, the unorthodox begins.'" "Uh-huh," said Applejack dryly. "I think I got that in a fortune cookie once." Twilight glowered at her. "You're suggesting we think outside the box?" I asked. "Do you have any ideas?" Twilight looked long and hard at the sniper in the ghillie suit. Slowly, she turned to me, looking intently at my rifle. A sinister grin spread across her face. If her suggestion was to shoot him, I'd whack her. Designated marksman Dan Hoyer lay on his belly and stared through the scope of his rifle at the courtyard stretched out in front of him. He was not the sharpest knife in the squadron, having been forced into military service after failing the GED three consecutive times, yet even he had the sense to notice that his role was redundant and pointless, because if the gatehouse were actually well protected, there wouldn't be any need for a sniper to keep watch over the helicopters. He'd brought his concerns to Captain Case that morning, as the captain and a squad prepared to follow Mr. Trenton into the forest, in pursuit of the beast that had ambushed a patrol the night before. Captain Case had listened thoughtfully to Hoyer's suggestions. When he'd finished explaining his feelings on the situation, the captain clapped him on the shoulder. "Son," he said, "I could spend the rest of my life writing about all the idiot mistakes that this army's made lately, and I still wouldn't scratch the surface." "Then you'll talk to the commander?" Hoyer had asked hopefully. When the captain finished laughing and drying his eyes, he said "If the commander gave half as many fucks about my opinion as he did about sucking up to our chickenshit client, we wouldn't even be here right now, and there'd be no need to complain." And that was that. The ghillie suit was itchy, heavy, and uncomfortable, and barely resembled the moss it was supposed to mimic. His M1903 Springfield rifle, an antique in the 21st century, was badly maintained, prone to jamming, and the lens on the scope had a crack in it. He'd given it to Quartermaster Loomis to repair, yet it seemed to have returned to him in even worse condition than he'd left it. Just once, he wished he could use one of the M24s, but those were reserved for the front-line sentries at the staging area. If he ever found out that someone at the castle was using an M24, he promised himself, he'd steal it out from under the poor idiot's nose. Once again, the sun glanced off of his scope, and he pulled away with a grimace. "Stupid sun," he muttered. "Thinks it's such hot shit." He shook his head, grumbling, and raised the scope back to his eye. The gun suddenly began to shimmer. A purple aura encased it, barrel to stock, and to Hoyer's shock, it levitated out of his hands. "That's new," he said astutely. He grabbed for it, but it moved out of his reach, and rotated in midair until the barrel pointed directly at his forehead. Suddenly, designated marksman Dan Hoyer felt very afraid. "O, pathetic human!" the gun spoke in a deep, warbley voice. "Thou hast displeased the guardian spirits of this place! We have come to lay our judgment upon thee!" Hoyer rose to his knees, trembling, and swallowed hard. "R-really? No foolin', huh?" Far away, hidden behind the bulk of a Boeing CH-47 helicopter, Twilight Sparkle kept the rifle levitated, projecting her voice through the aura she used to manipulate it. Beside her was Applejack, her face hidden in her hooves. "Twilight, this is dang foolish," she said, her words muffled. "Quiet," hissed Snake, kneeling behind the two ponies. He held the directional microphone in one hand and used the other to press an earbud, which was connected to the microphone, into his ear. "He's buying it. Pull back on the bolt. The little lever on the side." Twilight felt through her aura for the lever Snake was talking about. She found it, but hesitated, and looked at him, biting her lip. "It won't fire, will it?" "No," said Snake. "Just do it." Relieved, Twilight complied, but it jammed before she could pull it back. She glanced at Snake, who just shrugged and waved for her to continue. "Listen well, thou insignificant... worm!" said the gun. "In ancient times, we swore to keep watch over this place, in the name of our Great and Powerful lord... the Great and Powerful..." The voice paused, as if hesitating. "...The great and powerful lord...?" prompted Hoyer. "Hey, is the gun jammed?" "Thou impudent and wretched mortal!" boomed the gun, thrusting itself into Hoyer's face. Hoyer recoiled and fell backward onto his ass. "We expect patience when we pause for dramatic effect! Our lord, the Great and Powerful... er... Smooze... demands it!" Hoyer glanced nervously between the gun's barrel and scope, wondering which part the voice was coming out of. "He demands patience, or long pauses?" he asked. "Indeed!" At the Chinook, Snake rose, patting Twilight on the shoulder. "Nice. Keep him focused on the gun. Take him out when we're through. Applejack, let's move." "This is never gonna—" "Applejack!" snapped Snake. The orange mare sighed, rolled her eyes, and darted for cover behind the next Chinook. Snake followed closely, keeping the microphone in one hand trained on the sniper, and his Beretta in his other hand trained on the Hind's mechanic. "All this time, thou hast encroached here, and what hast thou given back to the spirits of this place?" demanded the gun. "Nothing but... iron deficiency, and a... a bloated, constricted... gastrointestinal system!" "What the hell does that even—" "Well, the spirits will have nothing more of it! The Great and Powerful Smooze will have thy backsides for lunch! And for dessert, he will devour... thy very souls!" Deep, forced-sounding laughter rolled from the rifle. "I'm sorry!" said Hoyer. "I didn't mean to, uh... encroach! How can I make it up to you?" Snake and Applejack passed beneath the portcullis, and Twilight felt fulfillment at the success of one of her plans. "Thou must nap! Yes, nap! For one thousand hours!" "'Nap?'" asked Hoyer. "How will that—" Twilight swung the rifle, hard, cracking its buttstock against Hoyer's face. The sniper fell, unconscious, against the cold roof of the portcullis. "I didn't realize being a ham was so much fun," she mused. "No wonder Trixie loves it so much." She galloped to the portcullis. The Finnish mechanic chanced to look up as Twilight sprinted. He caught sight of the purple unicorn, opened his mouth to shout, and promptly collapsed into a sleeping ball as a tranquilizer dart stuck him in the neck. Snake cocked the M9, nodding his approval at Twilight. He looked sidelong at Applejack beside him. "Some fortune cookie." I didn't have any complaints about Twilight's plan, or its success. It was deeply gratifying to have the patented Equestrian lunacy working for me for a change. I figured that as long as the wind was blowing my way, I had no cause to bitch. The double doors of the keep were shut. I braced myself against one door; Twilight and Applejack pressed against the wall behind me. I counted down from three; on three, I pushed my door open and moved into the keep's antechamber with my M9 drawn. The room, while large, was smaller than the gatehouse, and had the advantage of an intact ceiling. It was rectangular, with the same worn, Roman-esque columns jutting from floor to ceiling. Wedged between two columns was a pair of man-sized lockers, which I took note of as potential hiding places. Crates and cardboard boxes were stacked along the wall on my left. Fluorescent lamps were placed in the four corners of the room, but the lighting they gave off was dim at best. Each lamp had a neon orange cord that ran down a winding staircase on the room's right-hand side. Besides that staircase, there were two other corridors that led out of the room. On the left was another staircase leading to the upper levels, which I only noticed after passing the stacked crates and boxes. By hiding behind them, I could avoid the line of sight of anybody coming from the upper level. Directly ahead of us was a corridor that stretched far, its endpoint shrouded in darkness. There was no way to tell how it extended, or in what direction it ultimately ran. Like the gatehouse, the antechamber was unguarded, a fact which I found difficult to swallow. There were supposed to be twenty-one soldiers in this castle. Where the hell were they? Twilight trotted to the stairs on the right and looked down. "If I remember the layout correctly from last time, then there isn't much down the front corridor besides the great hall and a couple of adjoining rooms – the kitchen, maybe a lavatory; we didn't explore. I doubt they keep prisoners on the upper levels. If they're keeping Apple Bloom anywhere around here, it's got to be in the lower levels, out of sight." "You sure 'bout that?" asked Applejack. "I could see 'em locking her upstairs in a tower or somethin', like in some old mare's tale." "Could be," said Twilight. "But I'd think that the upper levels would be reserved for things like crew quarters, or offices. That leaves the lower levels for things like holding cells, storage. What do you think Snake?" What indeed. "Something isn't right here," I said. "Trenton all but threw the doors open for us when we fought in the forest. We've been here for a while now, and aside from a couple of idiot sentries and a mechanic, we haven't faced any opposition." "You're suggesting Rainbow Dash was right before? That this is a trap?" asked Twilight. "If it is, it isn't a very good one. They could have ambushed us in the gatehouse as soon as we walked in, but they didn't." "Maybe it isn't as simple as a trap," I suggested. "Maybe there's some other element at play here." Trenton made a threat on Apple Bloom's life to ensure that we'd follow him to the castle, even after telling me that he had standing orders not to attack ponies. It was an obvious ploy, but we walked into it regardless. So how come we hadn't been captured or gunned down yet? The sound of footfalls descending the left-side staircase brought us back to the moment. I rushed to the stack of cardboard boxes. By a stroke of luck, there was one empty box piled on top. I looked at it, then at the two ponies. If a box this size could fit a grown man comfortably, it stood to reason that it could fit two miniature horses. "Here," I said, tossing them the box. "Get under there and stay quiet." Twilight looked skeptically at the box. "How many missions did you say you'd gone on again?" she asked. The footsteps drew closer now. I could see the shadows of two men cast upon the wall of the stairwell. "Just do it!" I hissed. Twilight didn't look sold, but she complied, levitating the box over herself and Applejack. The two ponies huddled close to one another as Twilight dropped it over them and, moving together with a surprising amount of efficiency, they scurried into the corner. "...but you know what I miss the most?" asked a voice coming from the stairwell. Hiding in the locker was not an option. I dove for cover behind the crates stacked against the wall, braced my back against them, and held the M9 ready just as the two soldiers entered the room. "Not having to deal with that maniac Nigel every time you want to take a crap?" asked the other of the two. "Close," said the first soldier wistfully. "Indoor plumbing." The two sighed together. "Hey, wait a second." I heard a soft click, the sound of a safety being switched off. "That box." "What about it?" said the first. "C'mon, it's just Loomis pulling the Solid Snake prank again." I admit a slight curiosity as to how that prank worked. "Loomis left for the staging area this morning," said the second. "Besides, after Nigel put him in a sling that one time, he wouldn't even think of trying it again." He edged toward the box with his AK leveled, walking right past the stacked crates I hid against. "Whoever's in there, come out now, and I promise to only shoot you a little bit!" He chuckled at his witticism. My grip on the M9 tightened, and I inhaled deeply. I raised my gun, aiming for the soldier's neck. A purple aura encased the box, and it flew forward, smacking the soldier in the face. It was a purely diversionary move, same as what I'd pulled on the red pony back in the barn. Applejack pivoted on her front legs, reared her hind legs back, and bucked the soldier squarely in the pelvis. He curled into himself and fell backward with the wind knocked out of him, dropping his AK. Regardless of their quirks (or, in Pinkie's case, lunacy), these ponies had initiative, and I liked that in them. I jumped from my cover, spun around, and fired a dart into the neck of the first soldier before he could react. He thudded against the cold stone floor. I released a long sigh of relief and moved to stand over the soldier Applejack had taken down. She advanced on him slowly, teeth set and eyes narrowed. The soldier struggled to catch his breath and draw his sidearm. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," I said, cocking the M9 for emphasis (and to load a new round). The soldier rolled his balaclava-clad head backward to look at me, and his eyes bulged. He'd managed to draw his M1911 halfway from its holster, but now his fingers slowly uncurled from it, and he raised both hands over his head in a submissive gesture. He still panted hard, and I think he was crying a little bit. "Catch your breath," I ordered, kneeling beside him. I rested my arm on my bent right knee and leaned forward. "Then start talking. Where are the other soldiers?" The soldier squeezed his eyes shut. He made a series of guttural choking sounds, but failed to form a coherent word out of them. "G... g... " Gradually, he formed a syllable. "Go..." "Gone?" Twilight supplied. "Gone where? And why?" "God," he whimpered. "God, God, please God help me, please..." Twilight pressed a hoof against her face and shook her head. My sentiments exactly, I thought. By Case's count, there were three hundred good soldiers in Pegasus Wings and fifty incompetents, and I kept running into the latter. Sure, it made my life easier, but it was also embarrassing to see grown men acting so pathetically. The soldier's eyes opened. He looked around the room quickly, no doubt searching for a potential avenue of escape. Given how hard Applejack had hit his pelvis, though, I figured it'd take a miracle to get him mobile. His eyes fell on my right leg, where Captain Case's Model 500 was strapped to my ankle, and they bulged again. "God," he whimpered pitiably. I set my M9 on the ground and drew the revolver, holding it up so that he could see it. "You know this gun, don't you?" I asked. "You know who it belongs to." The soldier's lower lip trembled, and he nodded. "Trenton said that the captain got eaten by the big cat," he sobbed. "Well, he done fibbed. Now, you're gonna answer my question first, y'hear?" growled Applejack. "We're lookin' for a filly, heard your buddy Trenton brought her here." She placed a hoof on his stomach and started applying pressure. "Be real nice if you could help us find her." The soldier's red eyes leaked a couple more tears. I glanced at Twilight; she was looking hard at Applejack, her mouth hanging open slightly, like she couldn't believe what she was seeing. Was Applejack typically this violent, or was she just having a particularly bad day? With her sister missing, I could believe the latter. "Dungeon!" he gasped. His voice was harsh and breathy; he still hadn't recovered from Applejack's attack "She's in the dungeon – oh God, help me please..." Applejack leaned in close, coming almost nose-to-nose with the soldier. The length of her hat's brim was the only thing keeping them apart. "If any of you've done a thing t'hurt her..." The soldier shook his head rapidly. "No! No! I mean, Nigel wanted to, but I stopped him! I-in fact, I tried to help her! I brought her food, and tried to get her to talk to me, and—" "You think this is a pettin' zoo?!" snapped Applejack. The soldier shut his eyes tightly and sobbed. Twilight interceded, placing a hoof on Applejack's shoulder and drawing her away. "Better not be lyin'," said Applejack. The soldier rolled onto his side and sniffled. "Moving on to my questions, now," I said, pulling back on the gun's hammer (once again, strictly for emphasis). "For your sake, we'll start off slow. Who's Nigel?" The soldier shook his head fearfully. "Oh, no no no no no, you don't want to fuck with Nigel, man. He's crazy." "I asked who he was," I said. "Not for advice." "Right!" squeaked the soldier. "Right! Nigel. He's on prisoner detail right now, because he spends all his time off duty in that basement. I told the officer on duty not to let him watch her, but he said it was the commander's decision, and—" "Enough." I exchanged a look with Applejack. She nodded, grimacing. I almost pitied poor Nigel. "Where are the other soldiers?" The soldier swallowed hard. He reached up to tug his balaclava over his nose, wiped it with his sleeve, and pulled it back down. "M-most of the army's at the... at the s-s-staging area already. The only ones left are the chopper pilots and the armor crews." "'Choppers?'" asked Twilight. "Does he mean the—" "Big metal thingies," I interrupted. "Stay focused." I leaned forward a little more. "Where is Metal Gear? Is it already armed with the nuclear missile?" Our hostage never took his eyes off of the revolver. "Staging area. We trucked it there in pieces, then started putting them together. I-I don't know if it's ready yet; I'm not assigned to that part of the base. And I don't know how close to being ready it is either!" Dammit. Then there was no way to know how much time we had. "How do I get to the staging area?" The soldier pointed weakly down the corridor at the front of the room. "Head out the Great Hall and take the path that leads past the way you came in. It's a couple hours on foot." "'The way I came in?'" What was he babbling about? "I came in through the gatehouse." "No, no, not that. Not the backdoor. I mean the way you came in here." His voice was stronger now, with a little more energy to it, and he wasn't sobbing on every other syllable anymore, which I guessed was progress. "There's only one way in and out, right? And we're sitting on it." I glanced at Twilight. She looked away from Applejack to meet my gaze, and shrugged. "Thanks," I muttered, shooting Twilight a look. I returned the revolver to its spot on my ankle, collected my Beretta and rose to my feet. "You've been a real help." "I just wanted to, you know, because..." He pointed at Applejack. "She hits really, really hard, and the guy who had that gun before you was a real badass... so if you killed him, that means you're an even bigger badass... so that means—" Without looking, I shot him in the neck with the M9, and he fell asleep. "Threaten him into talking, and he never shuts up," I muttered, racking the gun's slide. I nodded at the two ponies. "Nice job on that ambush." Applejack molded her grimace into a smirk that disturbed even me. "Years of applebuckin'. It's kept me in shape. That Nigel feller touches Apple Bloom, he'll get the same." "Backdoor, huh?" Twilight murmured. I raised an eyebrow at her. She clarified. "He corrected you when you said we came in through the gatehouse. 'Not the backdoor.'" That was a nice catch. I didn't even notice it; I was too busy trying to get a sane answer from the idiot. "The gatehouse is at the front of the castle, but the way he talked, it sounds like we came in through the rear of the base," I said. "But why would they leave their backside exposed like that?" I was grateful that Rainbow Dash wasn't there to hear that last bit. "Well, they've got the Everfree Forest on their doorstep," said Applejack. "Guess they prob'ly figure that nothin's ever gonna get through that, so they don't need to worry so much 'bout coverin' it." "We got through it," I pointed out. "And Zecora lived in there." "Didn't say it was smart, Snake," said Applejack. Twilight levitated the cardboard box off the ground and floated it over to herself. "Does this trick ever actually work?" she asked, turning it over to examine the interior. "I can't see anypony being fooled so easily." "I never used it on a pony before, so I don't know," I said. The red stallion flashed in my mind again. "Actually, that's not entirely..." Applejack, apparently uninterested in the story, turned to the descending staircase. "So I guess you was right after all, Twilight. Dungeon it is." "Normally I enjoy being right," said Twilight. She dropped the box and peered down the stairs. "But I have some mixed feelings this time. Dungeons, ugh." She shuddered. "So cramped, so claustrophobic. So filthy." Applejack rolled her eyes. "The way you're talkin', it sounds like we brought the wrong unicorn by mistake." I looked between the stairway leading to the dungeon and the other corridor. The one that led to the Great Hall, to the staging area, to Metal Gear. The doomsday clock was ticking, and I had no idea how close it was to midnight. Metal Gear could be ready to fire at any moment; there was really no time to lose. But Apple Bloom still needed rescuing. That was still on my shoulders. Then again... I'd gotten them this far. If they pulled Apple Bloom out of this, then I'd have done my part to save her. If that idiot was right, then there was precious little standing between them and liberation. Just a crazed man named Nigel, and at that point, I didn't doubt the ponies' abilities against Pegasus Wings. And if the others stood their ground, as instructed, then there would still be a way out. They could coast on home and go back to their lives, doing whatever the hell it was that colorful ponies did when they didn't have to worry about nuclear annihilation. There were a lot of ifs, sure, but at least they were plausible ifs. And I could do what I came to Equestria to do, and put an end to this insurrection once and for all. "Hey Snake?" asked Twilight. "Are you coming?" I looked past her, over her shoulder at the stairs leading to the dungeon, and shook my head. "Sorry. But I think this is where we part ways." "What? What're you on about?" Applejack asked, incredulous. "You said you'd help me get m'sister back, remember?" "And I have," I said. "The way is clear. Your friends have the exit covered. Go down there, spring your sister, and go home." "Well, what about you?" asked Twilight. "What are you going to do?" I gestured at the corridor that led to the great hall. "We don't know how much time's left until Metal Gear is ready to fire. If I'm going to have any chance at stopping that thing, I need to go now." "Snake, get serious," said Applejack, adjusting her hat on her head. "How big an army are you goin' up against? You really think you can get through 'em and take out that weapon all by yer lonesome?" "Approximately three hundred and fifty strong," I said coolly. "And believe me when I say that I've faced longer odds than that." Truthfully, I hadn't; this was as bad as it'd ever been for me. At least on Shadow Moses, I was better armed. Right now, the closest thing I had to artillery was a useless revolver. "We don't have any other options," I said, as much to myself as to Applejack. "For all we know, it's already too late. Get Apple Bloom back, go home, and get word out to the powers that be about everything that's going on out here. If I don't make it, then at least you'll still have a fighting chance." Neither of them looked like the enjoyed the idea of me going off on what sounded like a suicide mission alone. But gradually, Twilight nodded. "If you're sure, Snake," she said softly. She sounded hurt, downcast. Worried. Shit. We'd just met and she was already attached enough to worry for me. Maybe I had it all wrong worrying that Fluttershy was the one with the inappropriate cross-species attraction. "We might not meet again," I said. Part of me was grateful; another was, for some reason, disappointed. "For what it's worth, I couldn't have gotten as far as I did without your help." "Neither could we," said Applejack. She doffed her hat and held it against her chest, smiling sadly. "I won't forget how you helped us, Snake. How you helped Apple Bloom... an' how you helped me. Thank you." She bowed her head, turned, and began making her way down the stairs, leaving Twilight and I alone. I stooped to retrieve the box she'd dropped and offered it to her. "Believe it or not, a cardboard box is indispensable on a sneaking mission," I said. "I can't even begin to list the number of agents whose lives were saved by a handy cardboard box." Twilight blinked, squeezing her eyes shut a little longer and a little tighter than normal. She levitated the box out of my hands and smiled. "I'll keep it close, Snake. Don't get killed out there, okay?" "You too." I was about to turn away when another thought occurred to me. "Assuming things go sour, though, I left instructions for back-up to follow me in. You'll know them when you see them." "Back-up?" Twilight asked. "More guys like you?" That was almost insulting. Not that she'd know. "Something like that," I said. "You'll be in good hands, take my word for it. Now go save the day. I've still got a job to do." Twilight nodded. She gave me one last smile before she, too, vanished down the stairs and around the corner. The only trace of her was the purple glow of her aura around the box as she descended, and soon enough, even that was gone. I felt oddly hollow with her and Applejack gone. Figured it was because I didn't do anything to directly save Apple Bloom, the way I told myself I would. It didn't matter anymore, though. Odds were good that I wouldn't be seeing them ever again, and I had no time to dwell on the thought. The most pressing matter on my agenda was hiding the two soldiers I'd tranquilized. Fortunately, in a rare stroke of luck, the doors to the out-of-place lockers opened easily. One of the lockers was empty, to my disappointment, but it would still serve a useful purpose. I hefted the body of the first soldier, dragged him to the locker, and stuffed him inside, slamming the door shut and locking it after him. Then, because one good turn deserved another, I opened the second locker. "Hot damn," I muttered. Five grenades (four of them frags, one incendiary) and a small supply of C-4 sat in a box inside of the locker. It doesn't sound like much, but without any sort of explosive or missile, I may as well have attacked Metal Gear with a water gun. I thanked whatever idiot thought it would be a good idea to keep the explosives in so random a location, and pocketed them. Then I dragged the second soldier over, stuffed him into the locker, and shut it in his face. Feeling better than ever about my odds, I drew the Beretta and continued on my way. Twilight found Applejack waiting for further down on the stairs. "You know somethin', sugarcube?" she said, speaking softly. "Sure, Snake's kinda gruff, but I think I'm gonna miss him all the same." "Yeah. Yeah, me too," said Twilight. She made sure that Applejack wasn't looking, then wiped at her eyes. "He's definitely a unique character." "You sound upset, Twi," said Applejack. "Everythin' okay?" I made a new friend and let him go off on a suicide mission on the same day. "I don't like goodbyes. That's all." Quietly, they descended the stairs. There were incandescent lightbulbs strung along the ceiling, but their light was so dim as to be next to useless. The light from Twilight's aura was far more helpful in illuminating the way. Their hooves against the stone steps made an unavoidable clopping sound, so they stepped as lightly and carefully as they could to minimize it. Twilight kept her eye on Applejack as they wound their way down the spiral staircase. She could only imagine the extent of Applejack's duress, with her sister kidnapped and her body battered by the day's series of confrontations, but her behavior since they met in the morning exposed a side of her that she never thought she'd see. From her fury in the library, when Applejack discovered that Twilight hid a secret from her, to her advancing on that hapless soldier with murder in her eyes, Twilight actually felt afraid of one of her friends for the first time. They were none of them killers. Even during the fight with the timberwolves, when their lives were at stake, they fought only to win, not to kill, and what death the battle did produce nearly broke poor Fluttershy's spirit. Sure, there were moments in the past – intense, life-or-death situations – where Twilight had asked herself how far she'd be willing to go, if she'd kill in a situation that necessitated it. Up until then, she never thought she could go through with it, but mere hours ago, she'd put a boulder over a wolf who held Spike in its jaws. She thought about Applejack threatening the soldier, hurting him to get the answer she needed, and realized that, at heart, the situations weren't so different from one another. So, she thought, if Fluttershy hadn't stepped in and scared the timberwolf away, what would have happened? Would I have killed to save Spike's life? "Applejack," she asked hesitantly. "I... can I ask you a question?" "Ain't really the best time for it, sugarcube," said Applejack, keeping her voice hushed. "We've gabbed a lot durin' this mission, but Snake was right; it ain't smart t'flap yer gums when sneakin' around." "I know that," said Twilight. "But I've been thinking—" "See," said Applejack with a soft chuckle, "now there's your problem." Twilight tried to laugh with her, but she couldn't find humor in the joke. "That soldier from before, the one you..." Applejack slowed, halting mid-step. Twilight took a deep breath. "What I'm trying to ask is... would you have killed him, if it meant saving Apple Bloom?" Slowly, Applejack rotated her head to look Twilight in the eye. The glow of Twilight's aura, combined with the shadow cast by her hat's brim, kept most of her face shrouded in shadow. Her bright green eyes stood out, however, and the image disturbed Twilight enough that she had to look away from her friend's gaze. "Why do you ask, Twi?" Twilight forced herself to look Applejack in the eye, and tried hard to gather her thoughts. "You're scaring me," she whispered hoarsely. "I thought you might hurt me when we talked this morning, but I told myself that you were just mad because I'd mislead you. That you wouldn't ever do that. But then, when you interrogated that soldier, you..." She swallowed. "I've never known you to be like that. It..." She swallowed, tried to drudge up more to say, but nothing came. Applejack bowed her head, sighed softly, and trotted back up the stairs to Twilight. She wrapped her forelegs around Twilight's neck and pulled her in for a hug. "I'mma say this once, an' I think you know me well enough t'know that I'm not blowin' hot gas by sayin' it." She rested her cheek against the back of Twilight's neck. "Apple Bloom is my flesh and blood, my one an' only baby sister, an' I promised myself a long, long time ago that I'd never let'er come to no harm. If it ever comes down t'takin' a life for her sake, then there is no choice to make, nothin' t'think about, an' nothin' t'feel guilty about." She pulled away, and held Twilight at hoof's length, looking into her eyes. "Remember before when I asked you how you'd feel, iffin' it were Spike an' not Apple Bloom? If you'd blame yourself? If you'd hate yourself? I didn't give you a chance to answer, an' that was unfair of me, an' I apologize. Apologize for scarin' you, too. But after what happened back in the forest, with Spike an' the wolves? I don't think I need an answer." Twilight wet her suddenly dry lips. "What if it was one of us, and not Apple Bloom?" she asked hesitantly. "Me, or Pinkie, or Dash?" Applejack sucked her teeth and looked away, knitting her eyebrows together in thought. She drew herself up, raised her head high, squared her shoulders, and looked Twilight straight in the eye again. "Y'all are my family. An' I would kill for any one of my family." Without another word, she turned away, and resumed her march down the stairs. A few moments passed where Twilight, too stunned to move, simply stood rooted to her spot. She shook it off and took the stairs in twos to catch up with Applejack. "And," she said, panting, "is that a new feeling? Or have you always felt that way?" "You might'nt have noticed, Twilight," said Applejack, "but my folks're dead. Losin' yer ma an' pa at a tender age makes you treasure the kin y'got left." She laughed once, quietly, mirthlessly. "Hated Braeburn when we was kids. Hated the way he never shut his dang mouth. Must've been all that time I spent doggin' Big Mac. I got used to the quiet, grew t'prefer it, even." Applejack broke off abruptly, and Twilight wondered if she would stop talking altogether. "An' then my folks died." Applejack's voice was somber now, more quiet and reserved than before. "Suddenly, puttin' up with the chatter became a hay of a lot easier. Ain't just kin, neither. Once upon a time, I thought Rainbow Dash was a jackass, Pinkie was a brainless buffoon, an' Rarity was a stuck-up snob. Now? I'd lay my life down for any one of 'em. Got a funny notion of family, I s'pose." She paused in her stride, and Twilight had to stop at the last second to avoid colliding with her. "Guess what I'm tryin' t'say is that, deep down... yeah, I prob'ly always felt this way. Or at least, I felt this way f'r most'a my life. It just took somethin' like this t'bring it outta me." She shrugged and continued down the stairs, Twilight following close behind. The farther down they went, the colder it got. Twilight wondered how far into the earth they were going, how deeply delved the castle's catacombs were. She began to notice a sour, acrid stench. It was light, for the time being, but the deeper they went, the stronger it became. "So, hey, my turn to ask questions," said Applejack. "You? Asking?" said Twilight, surprised. "I thought you wanted us to keep quiet." "Yeah, well, these stairs're takin' a while," said Applejack. "Gotta pass the time somehow. An' besides, I'm a li'l bit worried about you m'self. Yer gettin' right morbid with yer questions. What's eatin' ya?" "In magic kindergarten, I read an entire volume about proper autopsy procedure," said Twilight. "So this is comparatively normal, by my standards." "Shucks." "Yeah..." Twilight looked down at her hooves, watching them tread the worn stone steps one by one. "Do you remember when Snake put down the timberwolf?" "Considerin' it happened jus' a couple'a hours ago, yeah. Crystal clear." "I think that's what got me thinking about... killing." The memories played back in her mind. The broken body of the wolf. The quiet, resigned whimpering. Snake's expressionless, emotionless face as he pulled the trigger, his enigmatic final words to the beast. "He was so... cold, so detached when he took that thing's life." "Maybe not so much," said Applejack. "He seemed almost like he didn't wanna do it, from where I was standin'. I think it got to him a li'l bit." "But he still did it. Regardless of how he felt, he killed that wolf without hesitation." The gun's deafening roar still reverberated in her mind. Patches of her face were still sticky from where the wolf's sap-like blood had splattered her "I don't want us to get to that point, where we become so desensitized to killing that it just comes naturally to us." "We won't, sugarcube," said Applejack softly, comfortingly. "Things'll go back t'normal for us after this. You'll see." "Everyone's here now. Rest easy." He pulled the trigger, and the gun roared. "Maybe. I hope you're right, Applejack." The staircase ended in a long, rectangular room, the sight of which sickened and horrified Twilight. Decaying torture implements – a rack that still bore the skeletal remains of a long-dead pony, an iron maiden with its door shut partway, a board that held a variety of rusted, but intact, implements – littered the room. The walls were lined with splintered wooden stable doors, each with a tiny, barred window, and a taller, windowless door that didn't seem to resemble a stable. A latrine, she guessed, which would explain the sour smell. She noted with detachment that the cables from the lightbulbs in the stairwell and the extension cords from the lamps upstairs led to a steadily humming generator at the end of the hall. This is horrible. Ghastly, she thought. Another thought, unwanted but unshakable, surfaced in her mind. The Princesses ruled Equestria from this castle a thousand years ago. This couldn't have been their idea. Princess Celestia disavowed any involvement with the inequinity of torture a long time ago; she ordered herself to believe that fact, but her heart still felt heavy and cold. Applejack nudged her, hard, to draw her attention. The orange mare lay low, pressed closely against the ground, and she motioned for Twilight to mimic her. Applejack pointed at the left side of the room, which bore a long, wooden table and a single chair. A muscular giant of a human soldier, wearing a blue sweatshirt embroidered with the Pegasus Wings sigil, camouflage pants, and balaclava, sat in the chair, leaning its backrest against the wall behind him and propping his feet upon the table. His arms were folded and his head bowed, and he snored softly. "That'd be our buddy Nigel," muttered Applejack. "S'bigger than I thought he'd be." Twilight lowered the cardboard box over herself and her friend. "This place – it's a nightmare," she whispered. "You don't think Princess Celestia knew that there was a torture room here, do you?" "It's her castle, sugarcube," Applejack whispered back. "I think it's dang unlikely that she wouldn'ta known about this. "But – no! I don't accept that! I know her better than that. You know her better than that. This isn't like her!" "It's a dungeon, sugarcube. What in the hay were you expectin'?" "I..." Twilight faltered. "I wasn't expecting... Applejack, what if there's one in Canterlot too? Oh, Princess..." "Twilight Sparkle, you will not go crazy on me. You will keep it together," said Applejack sternly. "I don't like the idea any more than you do, but it ain't worth losin' yer kibbles 'n bits over. Not right now." Twilight heard, and understood, what Applejack said. She was right. But this wasn't the kind of thing she could just dismiss. "This is too much. Too much. I can't—" "My sister is in this room." Twilight's train of thought stopped cold. "You think this doesn't bother me none? Of course it does. Makes my blood boil, in fact. But my sister bein' locked in this dang torture chamber is more important than some thousand year old skeletons in the Princess's closet. I need you in the moment, Twilight." Still shaken, still unsteady, but remembering why they were there in the first place, Twilight gathered herself. She took a deep breath, sucking in the stale, acrid air, and exhaled slowly. "You're right. You're right. I'm sorry." "Don't need to apologize. You need to have a nervous breakdown every couple'a weeks to function. Puzzled that out myself a long time ago." The joke brought a smile and a hollow laugh from Twilight. That specter of doubt still gnawed at her, but she pushed the thoughts from her mind, forced herself to concentrate on the moment. Whatever this room represented, whatever it meant, would have to wait. She would have to wait. And the Princess deserved a chance to explain herself. "Now," said Applejack, all business again, "the guard's asleep, so we gotta move real quiet-like, an' those doors prob'ly need a key to open. Which he's prob'ly got on 'im. Ideas?" Twilight gave her fears one final shove from her mind, and thought hard for a solution. "Searching him for the key would run the risk of waking him. We don't want that." "We could break the doors down," suggested Applejack. Twilight looked sidelong at her. "Don't be ridiculous. The noise would wake him." "So we follow up by breakin' him down. Easy as line-dancin' with a rattlesnake." "Be serious," said Twilight, smiling despite herself. She felt a deep-seated gratitude and affection for Applejack for making an effort to keep Twilight at ease, despite juggling her own distress. This is a nightmare for her, and here she is joking to keep me from losing my mind. There were some moments where Twilight loved her friends especially. "Hey, jus' trying to keep our options open," said Applejack. "Not like we need a key to open a locked door, right?" "If you want to do it the right – wait a minute." A memory surfaced from the recesses of Twilight's mind, a memory of long nights studying alone, pouring over scrolls defining the inner workings of a— "No. We don't need a key." "Uh, Twi, I was jokin'. Bustin' the doors down is a dumb idea," said Applejack quickly. "Yes, it is," said Twilight. Pride at her own ingenuity swelled in her, pushing her horror further out of her mind. "Fortunately, we won't have to. Because I happen to know how to pick a lock." "How to pick a – what?!" Twilight nodded, smiling. "One time, back in Canterlot, I had the misfortune of getting locked out of my dormitory, and I had to sleep out in the hall. The next morning, I marched straight to the library and learned everything I could about every type of lock in existence, promising myself that I'd never let that happen to me again." She turned her smile on Applejack. "Well? Think it'll work?" Applejack's head was cocked, her left eye squinted, her right eye wide, and her jaw hanging open. She held that expression for several long moments, before she shook it off. "Sorry, sugarcube, but y'all broke m'brain for a minute there." Her face became stern and resolute again, and she tensed her muscles. "Alright. Let's get crackin'. Start with one door, an' move on from there. Quietly, now." Twilight nodded and swallowed. "On three. One – " The box suddenly lifted, exposing Applejack and Twilight. The ponies looked up to see the dungeon's warden towering over them, the box dangling from his right hand. From a distance, he'd been giant. Up close, he was nothing short of mountainous. He stared at the ponies like they were insects. Applejack and Twilight glanced at each other, exchanging a blank look, then looked back at the soldier holding the box and glaring murderously at the two of them. Reasoning that meaningful dialogue had to begin somewhere, Twilight cleared her throat and smiled sheepishly at the guard. "So..." Nigel dropped the box and lunged. Before either of them could react, he'd wrapped a bear-sized hand around both of their necks, lifted them off the ground, and slammed them against the wall. "How in the hell did you two get past security?" he asked in a calm voice that defied his violent demeanor. "What security?" Applejack managed to rasp through his iron grip. The soldier slammed her against the wall a second time, harder, and she gasped a silent cry of pain. "You smart-mouthed bitch." He squeezed his thumbs against their throats, cutting off their airflow. Twilight choked and flailed, struggling to draw breath. Her lungs burned, and her vision swam, as oxygen deprivation started to take its toll. Her eyelids fluttered and her eyes rolled back into their sockets. Distantly, she heard a voice screaming. "Please, stop! Whatever you're doin' out there, jus' stop it! Don't hurt 'em!" And, closer to her, a response. "You'll be next if you don't shut your mouth, you—" Twilight's eyelids snapped open. The light that filled the room shone through her closed eyelids, and the thunderclap noise that accompanied the flash was deafening. Nigel flew across the room, propelled by the force of Twilight's attack, and Twilight and Applejack, caught in his grip, flew with him. They collided painfully against the cell door at the far end of the hall. Twilight heard the wood burst apart from the force of their impact, and felt Nigel's grip around her neck release. She rolled away from him, coughing heavily, struggling to breathe. She inhaled; her throat burned with every breath, but oxygen filled her lungs. She couldn't bring herself to open her eyes, but felt him seize her by her mane and pull. Twilight cried out in pain as he dragged her, blind and helpless. She scrabbled vainly for release, struggled to focus her magic for another attack. There came a loud, cracking, snapping sound, bone and cartilage breaking apart, and he released her again, screaming. Applejack? "Fuck you!" Nigel shouted. Twilight heard a thudding, crunching noise, and a grunt of pain from her friend. "Fuck you!" Nigel bellowed. Gunshots, three of them, echoed in the torture chamber. "FUCK YOU!" A fourth. "FUCK YOU!" A fifth, a sixth, a seventh. She heard nothing from Applejack. Twilight shut her eyes tightly, mustered what magical strength she had left, and stretched out with her senses. She felt the livid Nigel, distantly sensed a terrible pain like nothing she'd ever felt. She felt Applejack, alive, but hurting; she didn't know where or how. There was a third presence, too – Apple Bloom's – and, mysteriously, a fourth, which she couldn't quite discern. But she filtered the others out and focused on Nigel. The weapon she needed was in his hand. Twilight felt the metal frame of Nigel's pistol, and wrenched it away from him. She turned the barrel so that it faced its owner, who fell curiously silent midway through another curse. Twilight's magic stroked the gun's trigger. She wondered how Snake felt each time he fired a gun, each time he took a life. She remembered his inscrutable expression as he killed the crippled timberwolf, and wondered what emotion it was hiding. Such a slight amount of pressure to fire so terrible a weapon... She pulled on the trigger. There was no explosive report, no sound of brain and bone splattering against the stone floor. Was it jammed, like the rifle she'd turned against the portcullis sentry? No. It was empty. Laughter. The guard was laughing, at Twilight, at his cheating death, it mattered not. Something was outrageously funny to him. It built to a crescendo, then was cut off abruptly by another heavy, bone-shattering blow. An eternity passed before Twilight heard Applejack's voice. "Sugarcube. Are you alright?" Twilight numbly opened her eyes. Her vision had returned, though colors and objects still bled together. The only thing she saw, with any clarity at all, was the soldier who lay on the ground amid the indistinct fragments of the broken jail cell. There was an indentation in the side of his head, visible even through his balaclava. His left leg was bent inward. "Twilight." Applejack's voice came again, more firmly this time. Twilight heard Applejack, felt her comforting hoof upon her shoulder, but couldn't see her, couldn't see anything but the dead Nigel. The room around them moved out of focus. "He shot at you," she said in a vacant, lifeless voice. "Are you hurt?" "Fit as a fiddle," said Applejack. Though the room faded around her, the sound of Applejack's voice still rang through loud and clear. "He missed every shot. Got me with a mean right hook though. Gonna bruise nicely." Twilight became aware of the gun, still floating in the grip of her purple aura, and dropped it like it was diseased. A quiet voice, resounding with barely constrained hope, carried to Twilight's ears from across the room. "AJ...?" Twilight felt Applejack leave her, heard her hooves against the stone again. The room vanished completely, so that Twilight was alone with Nigel. She fixated upon the corpse, memorizing every detail. The left leg, bent at the knee, at so unnatural an angle that her gorge rose. The red fluid dribbling from his balaclava and down his neck. She wondered what his face looked like beneath that mask. She wondered if the expression that he wore into death was one of fear, or of pain. He was laughing when he died. "It's me, li'l sister. I'm right here." "How can you be alive? That monster... his sword..." "I'll always come for you, Apple Bloom. Even if I gotta crawl back from the grave." I almost killed someone. Her heart hammered in her chest. Her throat burned and ached with every inhalation. If he'd pulled that trigger one less time, I would have killed him. "Applejack, I'm sorry! I'm so, so—" "Hush now, quiet now. I gotcha, li'l sister. It's gonna be okay." Twilight Sparkle stared at the corpse of the man who'd nearly killed her, who she'd nearly killed in turn, and desperately repeated those words to herself. It's gonna be okay. It's gonna be okay. Something took shape over the body of the soldier, a bespectacled human, cloaked and hooded in black. Fiery red eyes gazed at the body behind his glasses, regarded it expressionlessly. Then, as if noticing her for the first time, his head lifted, and he fixed his gaze upon Twilight. A thin smile curled across his lips. It's gonna be okay. It's gonna be okay. Slowly, the ghostly human shook his head from side to side. No, he mouthed. Twilight shut her eyes as tightly as she could, willing the phantasm away. It's gonna be okay. It's gonna be okay. It's gonna be...

Posh

436

Main 6,Other,Twilight Sparkle,Crossover,Human,Adventure,Dark,Metal Gear,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic,Death,Violence

Pony Gear Solid

Solid Snake teams up with ponies to save Equestria, and gradually learns to love it.

incomplete

<p>Metal Gear has fallen into the hooves of an Equestrian revolutionary, who, with the backing of his human mercenary allies, intends to use it to depose Celestia and crown himself ruler. Having crossed into Equestria in pursuit of this rogue weapon, the legendary Solid Snake must ally with the residents of Ponyville to prevent a nuclear catastrophe.</p><p>See also <a href="/story/369125/equestria-gear-solid-the-definitive-experience" rel="nofollow"><i>Equestria Gear Solid</i></a><i>,</i> the hilarious spin-off EQG parody in which everything you know is wrong, and every single character from the story is an awful caricature of themselves. </p><p><a href="http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/FanFic/PonyGearSolid" rel="nofollow">Now with its own TVtropes page!</a></p>

teen

2012-09-25T06:21:04+00:00

2017-07-27T07:17:42+00:00

"You've served your purpose. You may die now!" In the context of the castle, the term "great hall" was a misnomer. I'm sure it was great, once upon a time, but all I saw was another crumbling ruin cluttered with the out-of-place trappings of modern civilization. A hall of its size was probably used for social gatherings, feasts. Fittingly, Pegasus Wings had turned it into a mess hall. The path to the dais on the far end of the hall was lined on either side by rows of dirty aluminum benches. A chilly wind blew through one of the long-shattered windows lining the walls, tickling my face and tossing the tails of my bandanna around my head. How the hell the troops ate in a room so exposed to the elements was beyond me. At least the gatehouse had tents. The dais sat in front of a "U"-shaped alcove, and upon the dais rested a rotted-out, cobweb-covered throne. Assuming it was as old as the rest of the castle (and it suited the crumbling ruin atmosphere far better than the more modern aluminum benches), I couldn't figure out what it was still doing there. According to the others, they'd already replaced the old rope bridge and whatever used to rest on the gatehouse pedestal. Why remove them, and not the throne? In the alcove behind the throne were a pair of moss-covered windows with only shards of glass stuck in the pane. Built into the right side of the alcove was a tall, wooden door, or rather, the bottom half of one; the top had long ago broken away. Curiously, the door was tall enough to accommodate me. I'd have to duck my head to get under it, but it had significantly more clearance than the size of the ponies it was built to accommodate would suggest. Everyone I'd met until that point was pint-sized, barely coming up to my hip. I think the red one in the barn could meet my stomach, but that was the high water mark for pony height. Comparatively speaking, this door was enormous. Who or what the hell was it built for? I leaned against the empty windowsill and gazed outside. The sun was almost down by then; the sky was a mix of blues and reds, fading gradually into rich purple. The spectacular height of the great hall gave me a panoramic view of a courtyard far below, one which put the makeshift helipad between the gatehouse and keep to shame. This one was huge, and mostly empty, though the stony remnants of ancient buildings scattered about told me that it wasn't always so spacious. Many of the buildings still retained a semblance of form, but many more had simply been smashed to bits. That accounted for a lot of the rubble, which carpeted large swaths of the courtyard. I got the feeling that some sort of battle took place in that courtyard, one which shattered whatever structures had stood there so long ago. Even with so much rubble, the size of the courtyard was such that there was enough room to comfortably house several trucks. I saw a flatbed, and a covered truck which I assumed was a troop transport. The courtyard was encircled by a looming curtain wall that was only slightly shorter than the window I stood at. The wall was cracked and weathered, but seemed to have held up rather well over time (or at least, better than most structures in that dump of a castle). Whatever fight took place here seemed to have largely spared that wall. That didn't make much sense, unless the fight was localized entirely in the castle. Maybe it was a Trojan Horse situation. Or an uprising from within that razed most of the buildings. Off to the right was another partially intact structure: a tall, ring-shaped wall, shiny and black, whose circumference took up an absurdly large percentage of the absurdly large courtyard. I tried to get a glimpse into the ring, but the only entrance I could see was a colonnade of the same color and material as the rest of the wall, perpendicular to my vantage point. The wall looked very much out of place, more elegant than the utilitarian gatehouse and keep. The rest of the castle was clearly built from individual bricks stacked upon one another, but this other wall seemed carved from one giant piece of obsidian. It was seamless, polished even. The dying sunlight glinted off of it. At the far end of the courtyard was another gatehouse, which vastly outsized the one I'd passed through on my way into the castle. Instead of an enormous set of double doors, however, this gatehouse possessed a pair of portcullises. The one facing the inside of the courtyard was open; past it, I could see the one which separated the gatehouse from the outside world. Through that portcullis, I could see the shadowy treeline of the Everfree Forest. Flanking the gatehouse were two jutting turrets. I held the scope of my rifle to my eye, and saw sentries posted on either turret, one each, both armed with rifles whose states of disrepair would make Master Miller quiver with fury. I thought of the note from before, and wondered just how bad Quartermaster Loomis was at his job. The first portcullis being open made my job somewhat easier, but I'd still have to circumvent the second somehow. The mechanism to open it had to be inside of the gatehouse, but I couldn't open it without drawing attention to myself. Maybe there was another way? My mind drifted back to my previous missions, searching for something in my experience that would be relevant. I'd encountered a similar situation on Shadow Moses, when I needed to get through the tank hanger, but I had Meryl to open the hanger door for me then. In this instance, I was on my own. Sure, I could have doubled back and asked one of the ponies for help, but time was a consideration, and backtracking would only eat more of it than I could spare. Besides, in this situation, I doubted that they would have been able to do anything that I couldn't have done by myself, talented as they were. In any case, inspiration struck when I thought about the duel with Liquid's gunship on the comm tower. I didn't have enough firepower to take him on at that point, so I found a sturdy length of rope and rappelled down the side of the tower to get to a conveniently located Stinger missile launcher. I looked again at the manned turrets and the sturdy wall. Finding my way up there would be easy enough. Knocking out the guards, even easier. Now, all I needed was a rope. I made a cursory search of the great hall, but I wasn't expecting anything, and found no lucky surprises. Backtracking is a pain and a last resort for me, so I decided to keep moving through the fortress, hoping that I could find either a rope, or some other solution to my dilemma. So out the door I went, back into the chilly Equestrian dusk, and down an enormous and steep flight of stairs. Back in the old days, castles were built by sticking a wooden fort on top of a raised mound; they called it a "mott-and-bailey" fortress. Judging by the height of the keep and the slope of the hill I descended, I'd say that this particular castle was initially constructed under that principle. Everything else – the walls, the gatehouses, the other structures – must have been added over time. I kept a careful watch on the sentries in the turrets, hiding and ducking behind rubble for cover, but I needn't have worried. They kept their eyes on the forest in front of them, without variation, without fail. I suppose there's something to be said for that kind of dedication, but the whole practice struck me as redundant and silly. There was nothing out there but the staging area, and nothing between the castle and the staging area to look out for. Everfree fauna, maybe? I guess they just didn't see any point in covering the courtyard, since the only entrance into it was adequately covered, or so they probably thought. Still, given what I'd seen from Pegasus Wings infantry up until that point, the fact that they were performing their duties at all was something else. I decided to look in the ring-wall first. From a distance, I was struck by the grace evident in its construction, the way it clashed with the rest of the ruin, looking clean and new amidst the keep's decay. But up close, I felt – no, knew, with a certainty that made me nervous – that its appearance was a lie. It was old. The age and scale of the thing struck me; looking at it, I could tell it was a labor of love, a monument to something... or someone... long forgotten. A feeling of almost palpable sacredness radiated from the structure. I recognized the feeling; I'd experienced it before, in the sleek structure that housed the portal on the island base. I knew, then, that I wouldn't be likely to find a rope in there, and that what I did find would raise more questions and answer none. Metal Gear was still out there, waiting for me, but I felt irrationally compelled to see what was in there with my own eyes. And, you know, there was always the possibility that what I needed was down there. Remote though it may have been, it was worth checking out, at the very least. The space inside the ring spiraled downward, with circular rows of what looked like stadium seating flanking me on either side. In front of me was a path that descended down a steep slope into a deep pit, the locus of which was a wide, towering black arch, capped at its apex by a bust of a black unicorn. It was even more magnificent up close. Its surface shone as though painstakingly polished. No, "polished" implies that it was tarnished. This thing looked as though dirt and grime had never once touched it. Despite its fresh appearance, I knew, instinctively, that it was ancient, as ancient as the ring at the top of the pit. Yet it looked timeless, ageless. Pure. I rested my hand on it gently, felt the cool, smooth stone beneath my palm. It was as faultless as it was clean; I couldn't feel a scratch upon it. Through all the unknowable years that this thing had lain in this pit, it remained intact, whole, and untouched by the passage of time. How could that be possible? But then, there was precedent for this sort of thing. The arch in the island base, while also clearly ancient, was just as intact as this one. But there were differences between the two, besides simple color. Now that I was close, I could see the bust at the top in greater detail. The bust on the first arch had been of a white unicorn, gazing serenely at the world before it. This one was black, its eyes shut, its expression mournful. Tire tracks ran from the entrance of the arch and back up the path I'd just walked down, yet they didn't run through the arch, just out of it. I'd seen the same phenomenon at the other portal. "There's only one way in and out, right? And we're sitting on it." So that's what the idiot soldier had meant. Pegasus Wings set up shop here because it was the point where their world – our world – intersected with Equestria. But then, I went through the same portal that they did, back on the island. Yet I had no memory of coming out through this one, slipping through the castle's defenses and out the back door, and winding up in a barn in Ponyville, unconscious and at the mercy of a red horse with an apple tattoo. I figured that Pegasus Wings emerged from the portal in another spot of Equestria, but that matter took a backseat to the mere fact that they were there and posed an immediate threat. Standing face-to-face with that mystery, though, I realized that I didn't know what to think. "More to the point, the portal has been rigged to disperse the atoms of anybody who attempts to follow us here." Trenton's words. I'd ignored them at the time; as with the mystery of Pegasus Wings' point of origin, Trenton's remark hadn't seemed worth dwelling on. Thinking on it, though, it sounded as if I should have died when I crossed that threshold. Yet I'd emerged, alive and intact, albeit in a barn. Maybe they rigged it poorly. Maybe, instead of turning my component atoms into nothing, they set it to rearrange me in some random location. That seemed the most likely explanation. Thinking back, Trenton had agreed with me when I pointed out that they'd done their job improperly, that passing through the portal wasn't lethal. “You passed through here before, but I sent you back. It wasn't your time. It still isn't.” Or maybe it was. That hallucination, The Sorrow, spoke to me as though I'd died once before. Could I have died crossing the portal into Equestria after all? Could he have "sent me back," so to speak, because it just wasn't my time? Up until then, I'd considered The Sorrow a hallucination, a fantasy brought on by an overtaxed mind, fueled by a potent nerve toxin. But seeing that arch turned my world upside-down, put all options back on the table. Suddenly, intervention on the part of a smugly grinning ghost seemed plausible. I was jarred out of my ruminations by a sharp, yet furtive, "psst!" coming from above me. Startled, I drew Lucky Number SeveN and leveled it at a curiously low-hanging cloud that was almost directly over my head. "Oh, put that away!" hissed a raspy voice. A rainbow-crowned blue head poked over the edge of the cloud and frowned at me. "Those things'll put your eye out!" "Rainbow Dash." I lowered the gun and released a sigh of exasperation. Of all the ponies to tail me after I'd thought I'd parted ways with them for good, it had to be the least tolerable of the bunch. Pinkie Pie, even, would be an improvement. And how did she expect me to put an eye out with my own gun? It was a pistol, not a Red Ryder BB Gun. "What are you doing here?" "What?" hissed Rainbow Dash. She cupped a hoof over her ear. "Speak up; I can barely hear you." Not surprising; low-hanging as her cloud was, its altitude was several times my own height. Raising my voice ran the risk of alerting the castle's few sentries to my presence, and I didn't want to risk that just to accommodate the world's worst pony. I told her that, as patiently as I could. Rainbow Dash did not appreciate my patience. "You're going to have to speak up," she hissed. Of all the... Unable to articulate my exasperation with words, I pressed my fingertips hard against my cloth-covered forehead and grumbled. "Fine, fine. I'll come to you." The beating noise of tiny wings grew closer and closer, until a slight gust of displaced air washed over me. "There," said Rainbow Dash, glaring sternly at me. "You happy now?" I returned the look with my hand still cupping my forehead. "Ecstatic. Now, what the hell are you doing here?" "I've been tailing you from the sky ever since you stepped into that first courtyard." she explained, her voice still bearing a sharp edge. "I came out here to ask you why all three of you went into the castle's main building, and only you came out the other side." "There was a fork in the road. We split up." Rainbow Dash raised an eyebrow. "Are you down here looking for Apple Bloom?" "No, we found out where she was. Applejack and Twilight are getting her out as we speak." Rainbow Dash lowered her brow and narrowed her eyes. "So why aren't you with them?" "Because there was someplace else I had to be." I was starting to think that walking down that path to this secluded archway had been a bad idea. Rainbow Dash would not have had the gall to confront me in the open, with the sharpshooters keeping watch, meaning I'd have been spared another tedious tactical debate. Maybe that arch had a will, and putting me under its thrall was just part of a scheme to piss me off. "We discussed this in the forest. I'm on a mission, remember?" "Yeah, I remember that," said Rainbow Dash, the edge in her voice sharpening considerably. "I also remember you agreeing to help us rescue Apple Bloom, but you went ahead and ditched us the first chance you got." "I didn't 'ditch' anyone. I suggested that we split up, and they agreed. I'll go on through the forest to the staging area to finish the mission, while you and yours get Apple Bloom out of here." Her angry expression faltered, and she looked blank for a few moments, before incredulity crossed her features. "You suggested splitting up?" she asked. "And they agreed?" I nodded curtly. Incredulity gave way to anger, and she rose into the air, wings flapping furiously. "That wasn't the deal," she snapped. "You were supposed to help us get her out of here, which means that you were supposed to stay with us until she was safe. None of this 'splitting up' pile of horseapples." "The situation's changed." I pointed off into the distance, in the general direction of the portcullis leading to the rest of the forest. "Metal Gear could be ready to fire at any moment. If I'm to have any hope of stopping it, I need to go, and I need to go now." "So you're just gonna abandon my friends? Turn your back on us after all we've done to help you?!" The pegasus jabbed a hoof at me accusingly. "What if they get caught before they make it out of the castle?" "Caught by what?" I flung my hands up, opened my arms wide. "Who's there to stop them? The only resistance they could possibly meet is unconscious." "Did you forget that we were practically invited in here?" Rainbow Dash punched one hoof into the other. "Trenton told us to come, made it as easy as possible to get in – why?" "Why don't you tell me, since you're an expert on tactical infiltration all of a sudden?" "You're supposed to be the expert," she retorted. "But you can't even see that Trenton made it possible for us to get in, and he's going to make it impossible for us to get back out! This is a trap!" As if I hadn't considered that exact possibility. As if I hadn't sprung a hundred traps before, knowingly and unknowingly. "Some traps are unavoidable," I said. "Sometimes, you have to spring them, and make it look like you blundered into them so that the enemy lets their guard down." I turned away from her, and began to climb the ramp that led back to the courtyard. Rainbow Dash, however, was not finished with me. She darted over my head and landed in front of me, her wings splayed and her back flattened. "Maybe," she said. "But if you're going to do that, then you better damn well make sure you can fight your way out of that trap. And as much as I hate to admit it, our odds are better when you're with us than with you gone." "This is bigger than you and your friends." I stared her down, meeting her outrage with a cool and steady gaze. "None of what we've done today will be good for a thing if Metal Gear goes online." "Snake." Rainbow Dash's voice sounded plaintive now, and her expression softened to match her tone. "That trap, whatever it is... if it springs on my friends, then they could die." My stomach knotted as her words sunk in. I'd watched whole fire teams gunned down, sat back in my cover and waited for the chop to die down while men and women dropped before my eyes. I'd listened to Jack babble in fear about a SEAL team being blown to bits by Fortune, and I didn't feel a damn thing. There was a disconnect in all of those instances, though. It's different when a comrade dies. It's different when someone you know, personally, lays the losing card on the battlefield. I could deal with it. Maybe Rainbow Dash couldn't. I empathized with her; I'd been green once too, lost friends and didn't know how to handle it. But this wasn't Desert Storm. "And how many lives would be saved if I took out Metal Gear before it fired? If your friends' lives are the price of stopping a nuclear apocalypse, then so be it. I'll live with their deaths on my conscience." Leaning forward, towering over her, I asked, "Can you live with the deaths of thousands on yours?" That froze her. She didn't reply for several moments. Figuring the discussion over, I stepped around her and continued on my way up the ramp. I didn't hear any sign of pursuit for the first few steps, and fooled myself into thinking that Rainbow Dash had chosen to leave me alone after that. Then came the sound of hooves beating rapidly against stone, growing louder as she drew closer to me. "You know somethin', Snake?" Rainbow Dash's hoofbeats cut off, replaced again by the sound of her wings beating, fanning cool air over my shoulder. "I'm getting pretty sick of that attitude of yours." "'Attitude?'" I swatted half-heartedly in her direction, but my hand didn't make contact, which only served to frustrate me more. "I'm trying to save your damn country from destruction. If you don't like that I have an 'attitude' about it, then go back to your friends and don't deal with it anymore." Rainbow Dash wove in front of me again and pressed a hoof against my chest. She pushed, putting enough weight behind herself to stop me from taking another step. It wasn't enough to set me off, but it did get me mad. "You shut up and listen," she said. "We've done a lot for you so far, enough to earn a little bit of respect. So I don't know where you get off treating us like we're just corpses in the final body count." "Were you listening to a word I said?" I asked in a low growl. I placed my hand on Rainbow Dash's hoof and firmly pushed it off of my chest. "Metal Gear could fire at any moment. I stop to help your friends out of whatever trap's waiting for them, and we lose everything. You care more about yourselves than preventing a holocaust? Fine." I jabbed a finger into her face, centimeters away from her eyes. "But stay the hell out of my way." Rainbow Dash's eyes crossed, focusing on my finger. She clenched her jaw, bared her teeth, swatted my hand away, and struck me across the cheek with the back of her hoof. I held my cheek where she'd struck me, pain throbbing beneath my touch. Her hoof was like a rock, and she had a hell of a lot more muscle backing her punch than I'd have thought by looking at her. It was impressive. It was also enough to set me off. I aimed a haymaker at her face, but she dodged to my right, accidentally exposing her stomach as she fluttered away. Seizing the moment, I swung a left hook at her, and this time, my fist sank into her belly. She expelled a pained breath, but, unbowed, jabbed me hard in the chin, splitting my lip against my teeth. She jabbed again, but I wasn't so stunned that I didn't see it coming, and I caught her midway up her foreleg. I swung her, up and over my head, and threw her hard against the stony slope behind us. She rolled down the ramp, and I drew my M9, leveling it at her as she came to a halt. Rainbow Dash scrambled back to her hooves. She panted, her chest heaving with every inhalation. Warm, sticky blood ran from my lip and down my stubbly chin. We stared at each other; she, silently daring me to take the shot, and I, daring her to test my shooting reflexes. But neither of us moved, and the stand-off stretched on, until the rumbling, mechanical cough of an engine cut through the silence that hung between us. I glanced over my shoulder, tilting my head in the direction of the noise. "Do you hear that?" I whispered, tasting the tang of my blood. Rainbow Dash cocked her ear. She didn't take advantage of my lapse in attention, so I assumed that meant she was listening too. The engine was idling now, and the steady, reverberating beat was joined by a cacophony of rusty, metallic clanking noises. The portcullis, I thought. The engine roared to life again, and I heard the sound of tires crushing ground underfoot, then the scraping of brakes kicking in. I looked back at Rainbow Dash, gauging her intent. She looked past me, at the top of the ramp, the direction where the noise had come from. There wasn't any point in continuing to fight after that interruption, so I holstered the gun and ran back up to the ring-wall's entrance. Pressing myself against one of the burnished black columns framing the entrance, I leaned out ever so slightly, peeking at a covered truck that had just pulled into the courtyard. The portcullis, which had opened to allow the truck in, slammed shut immediately with a hideous shriek that grated on my ears. Out of the covered back end of the truck came a group of soldiers, five in all, filing out in an orderly fashion and forming a single-file rank beside the truck. Oddly professional of them. Behavior like that could only be expected from a military unit which met basic competency standards, a feat which I'd thought beyond the Pegasus Wings infantry. I guess I really had just been seeing the dregs of the unit. I heard the cabin doors open and slam shut, and saw a figure disembark from the driver's side, though I couldn't make him out clearly with a wall of soldiers blocking my view. The distant sounds of conversation carried over to where I was. I remembered the directional microphone that Pinkie Pie had somehow retrieved, drew it, and affixed the accompanying earbud. I felt the gentle rustle of air being displaced beside me, and knew that Rainbow Dash had decided to be a looky-loo. As long as she stayed out of sight and didn't take another swing at me, she could do whatever the hell she wanted. "...have your assignments," said a deep voice, rich with an English accent. "Stick to 'em. That'll be all, now. Get on with it." "Sir!" said the soldiers in unison, snapping off crisp salutes. Two immediately turned and jogged to the keep, cradling their AK-47s in their arms. The remaining two moved out of sight, heading toward the spot where, I recalled, the other two trucks were. With the soldiers out of the way, I got my first decent look at the man who'd spoken. He was tall, thickly muscled, and wore a navy blue T-shirt beneath his body armor, and a ballcap bearing some sort of insignia that I couldn't make out (I guessed it to be the Pegasus Wings sigil). In one hand was a submachine gun of some sort, and I squinted hard to get a look at it. "Looks like an HK MP-7," I murmured. "What's that mean?" whispered Rainbow Dash. She peeked out at the courtyard from a vantage point behind my leg. "Advanced gun," I said, using the simplest possible terms to explain. "More cutting-edge than what we've seen so far from these clowns." Another voice came over the earbud; it was fainter and more distorted, but clearly higher in pitch than the muscular Englishman's. "Make no mistake; I'm glad that Mr. Trenton called us over here, but I worry that we'll fall behind schedule." The Englishman looked over his shoulder to reply. "If we do, it'll be by a matter of minutes. Insignificant. Besides, it's not as if we're keeping to anyone's schedule besides our own." "You sound less than enthused," said the other voice, coming through louder now. A shape on four legs came into view, trotting around the front of the truck and coming to a rest beside the Englishman. It was a haggered, emaciated old gray earth pony with a long, unruly gray beard that nicely contrasted with the clean-shaven face of his human contemporary, and a matching tangle of gray mane. His left eye was milky and glazed over, and I could make out a faint scar running vertically through it. There wasn't anything on his ass where the other ponies had tattoos; nothing but a patch of pale, bare skin that was tinted slightly red. Maybe he'd had his removed. "Macbeth?" whispered Rainbow Dash. I nodded, swallowing. "He's got the revolutionary look down pat," I remarked. "Nice to see some stereotypes transcend borders." "The guy with him," said Rainbow Dash. "Must be that Commander Cain." "Must be." Macbeth and Cain turned and walked, side-by-side, to the keep. "Looking forward to meeting the prisoners?" Macbeth asked, sounding casual. Cain snorted. "More looking forward to asking Trenton how he got my XO killed. He can tell me all about it while they're offing 'em down here." My heart skipped a beat. Rainbow Dash whacked me over the head with a wing. "You can hear them through that, can't you?" she hissed. "What're they saying?!" I glared at her briefly, then turned my attention back to Cain and Macbeth. "That'd be that trap you were so worried about. They're talking about meeting the prisoners." "Prisoners?" Rainbow Dash said, her voice cracking. "As in more than one prisoner?" "Yeah," I sighed. Macbeth and Cain were out of sight now, and I couldn't pick up anything else on the D-mic, so I put it away and looked down into the mussed and concerned face of Rainbow Dash. "Guess they got the others. It sounds like they're planning to stick them down in the courtyard and execute them." "What?!" Concern bloomed into full-blown fear. "Then we've got to do something!" The steady, rusty clanking of the portcullis, followed by the truck's motor roaring to life, reverberated in my ear again. I peered out from my cover, and saw the truck backing out of the castle's gate slowly. "Why didn't they just park outside and send the personnel in?" I muttered, thinking out loud. "Could've saved themselves the hassle of—" "Would you focus?!" Rainbow Dash snapped. "It's just odd, is all," I said, leaning back into cover. I unslung the sniper rifle and cycled the bolt halfway, then looked at Rainbow Dash. "Looks like you got your wish." Her quizzical expression prompted me to elaborate. "If I want to move on and finish this mission, I'm going to have to help your friends out of this mess. Help you, help myself." I glanced into the breech to ensure there was a round chambered and slammed it shut. "And that's all that matters to you, huh?" Rainbow Dash asked acidly. "Helping yourself?" "If it were, I would never have come to Equestria in the first place," I replied. "Much less, stuck with you for as long as I have." Leaning out of cover, I raised the rifle's scope to my eye and set the crosshairs over the sentry in the right turret. He was leaning over the wall facing the forest, gesturing to someone below. Truck driver, probably. Maybe he was giving the guy directions? I turned to place the crosshairs over the sentry in the other tower. He still faced the courtyard, resting his useless Springfield on his shoulder. "How are they playing this? Execution by firing squad, maybe have the sentries... but no, there're only two snipers for five targets, assuming they aren't executing the children. Want to make it numerically even, or else they'd panic whoever didn't get shot straight away. Make it harder to get a clean shot. Maybe that's why they trucked in those extra troops... then again, there's already a small garrison at the base. Enough for a firing squad, no doubt. So what's the point?" "I think the point of it matters less than the fact that they're doing it," said Rainbow Dash. Had I been talking to myself? I suppose I've just grown so used to having Otacon on an open channel over the years that I think out loud out of habit. I returned to cover, leaning the rifle against the wall beside me. Rainbow Dash was getting twitchy; her feathers rustled and her right front hoof tapped rhythmically against the cobblestone. "If they're bringing your friends down to the courtyard to execute them, then we might be able to effect a rescue," I said. "First, though, something needs to be done about those snipers." "You've got a gun," Rainbow Dash pointed out snidely. "An unsuppressed gun," I said. I drew the M9 and held it out for her to examine. "This is the only weapon I have that can take them out silently, and it's an impossible shot to make from here." Rainbow Dash snorted and rolled her eyes. "Thought you were supposed to be a badass." I frowned, mildly stung by her barb, but mostly annoyed with her ignorance. "Quick lesson on guns, Rainbow," I said, holstering the M9 again. "Pistols are good for close and medium-range encounters, not for sharpshooting. At this range, the M9's useless. And this," I added, indicating the M24, "is perfectly suited for a shot like that, but it's conspicuous. I'd get one shot, and that'd bring the whole base down on us." "Afraid to fight your way out?" "Our only advantage is the element of surprise. We waste that, and we're as dead as the others." I glanced out of cover again. The other trucks, the flatbed and the covered one that were parked in the courtyard when I first passed through, were now passing beneath the portcullis. But for the ruined bits of castle dotting the area, the courtyard was now completely empty. Maybe they moved the trucks out to avoid the possibility of shooting them by mistake? "Hmm." I cupped my chin in my hand, running my thumb along my jawline as I thought. If they sent the captured ponies into the courtyard, accompanied by a firing squad, I'd have to break cover and draw their fire. As soon as I did, the snipers would take me down, rendering the whole thing pointless. Snipers, I could handle. A firing squad, I could handle. Not together. No way to take out the snipers without drawing the rest of the personnel's attention. Might delay, or even ruin, the execution, but slim chance of making it out alive, myself. Other options? I glanced at the frustrated cyan pony who'd bloodied my nose. She'd done a decent job as a scout before, managed to stay hidden. Might have been a fluke, given the understaffed nature of the base. Then again, maybe she was just that good. And she had that cloud manipulation ability. Couldn't argue against its usefulness. Rainbow Dash shifted uncomfortably and averted her eyes. "Would you quit staring at me?" she muttered. Odd; she didn't strike me as the self-conscious type. I briefly thought of Meryl, then dropped the thought with a shudder as I remembered what a pain in the ass the self-conscious type was to work with. "Don't flatter yourself," I said, rising to my feet and taking hold of the M24. She had a retort coming, but I cut her off before she could get the words out of her mouth. "It doesn't look like I'm gonna be able to take out those sentries. It'll have to be you." "Me?" Her eyes widened, her body stiffened, and her unfurled wings drooped. "What, you mean – you mean kill them?" she stammered, her voice cracking on "kill". "You don't have to." She seemed to relax a little. "At least, it isn't necessary. If you know a sleeper hold..." She shook her head. I considered. "A sharp enough blow to the head or the jaw should knock 'em out, if you think you can manage one." "'Manage?'" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Well," I said. "You got some shots in on me, and the worst you did was split my lip. Think you can do better on them?" Rainbow Dash tightened her lips and narrowed her eyes. "When this is over," she muttered, "you and I are going another round." "One thing at a time," I said, nodding knowingly. "Get going, and make it quick. And don't worry; if anything goes wrong, I'll be watching from right here." "And if it were anypony but you, that'd be a relief." Rainbow Dash turned and fluttered down the ramp, back to the cloud she'd ridden in on. I turned back to the exit, dropped to my belly, crawled into the middle of the walkway, and pressed as closely as I could to the ground. In broad daylight, the poor camouflage might have meant my end, but hopefully, visibility was low enough to conceal me. I rested the rifle's stock against my right shoulder, held the barrel steady in my left hand, and peered through the scope, running the crosshairs first over the sharpshooters in the turrets, then over the entrance to the keep. Not much time on the clock, I thought grimly. Rainbow Dash had better pull through. "Twilight?" Twilight Sparkle blinked, and the ghostly vision was gone. She was back in the dank, feculent dungeon, with her friend, a filly, and a human corpse for company. It was like the set-up to a bad joke. "Yeah," said Twilight. Surprised at how raspy and hoarse her voice sounded, she cleared her throat and shook her head. "Yeah, sorry. What were you... what were you saying?" Applejack exchanged a look of concern with her sister, then turned it upon Twilight. "I said that we need to be on our way. We've still got a job t'do, an' all that." Twilight nodded absently, muttering an affirmative. Her gaze drifted over the human guard's corpse, at the unnaturally bent leg and the concave wound in his head. He was laughing when he died. "Twilight...?" Applejack trotted to her side. Hesitantly, she extended a hoof toward her friend. "You in there, sugarcube? Twilight jerked away, wrenching her gaze away from the body. "I'm fine," she said quickly. Her heart hammered in her chest, her legs trembled, and she struggled to steady her breathing. "Just fine." "Twi...?" Twilight shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. "I'm fine, alright? I just – you're right, we need to get going. Like Snake said, we should get back to Ponyville and send a message to the princess." "Snake?" asked Apple Bloom, sounding hopeful. "Snake's here too?" "We separated a li'l while ago," said Applejack, "but he helped us get down here to rescue you." To Twilight, she asked "Are you sure you're alright?" "Yes," Twilight sniffed. Tears pooled behind shut eyelids, stinging her eyes, and she slowly released a long, staggering breath. Shake this off, Twilight. Finish this crisis, and... A phantom gunshot rang out in her mind, followed by the wet, splattering noise of a man's brains landing against the ground. ...and then worry about ever being able to look your friends in the eye again. "I'll lead the way," she said softly. Her horn glowed with the same dim, purple light that had led them into the dungeon, and she strode upon trembling legs toward the stairwell. "Stay close behind me, girls." There was no conversation as they ascended the stairs, the silence disturbed only by the soft clopping of their hooves against the stone steps. The eerie stillness was somewhat calming to Twilight, who, freed from the disturbing atmosphere of the dungeon, found herself lost in her own thoughts. She'd told Applejack that casual killing was something that she wanted to avoid. Her attempt at shooting the guard hadn't been casual; there was no question that it was in self-defense. She knew it. Applejack, evidently, knew it, given how well she was taking her own act of killing. And the gun had been empty anyway. There was no blood on her hooves. But I did it without hesitating. Even if she hadn't actually shot the human, the intent was there. I may as well have killed him myself. It was irrational, she realized, to hold herself morally culpable for something that never happened. It was necessary. It was kill-or-be-killed. And I didn't even kill him, Applejack did. But her justifications rang cold and hollow, and her guilt was not so easily dismissed. She could only wonder how Applejack felt, if this was another facade for her own benefit, or if she felt as sick with herself for killing the human as Twilight felt for almost killing him. It wasn't long before they reached the top of the stairwell. Twilight ascended the final steps and came into the keep's antechamber, lost in her thoughts and oblivious to the world around her. Applejack's sharp cry of surprise snapped her out of her stupor in time to see a Pegasus Wings soldier on her right leveling his rifle at her. On her left was another; they must have pressed themselves against the walls beside the stairwell entrance to avoid detection. And she, so wrapped up in her ruminations, completely missed it. Stupid, she berated herself. Stupid, careless, irresponsible. "Stay where you are," the soldier on her right commanded her. Twilight's aura intensified. A brilliant burst of pink shot from the tip of her horn and struck the soldier in the chest, knocking him backward into one of the fluorescent lamps. Both tumbled to the ground, one of the lamp's bulbs shattering upon impact. There was a sharp crack, the sound of bone shattering. Twilight whirled, and saw the other soldier doubled over in pain, clutching his pelvis, Applejack standing with her back to him. The soldier dropped to the floor and lay on his side, curled into himself and gasping breathlessly. "Trap," said Applejack. "Looks like Rainbow was right." "Yeah." Twilight turned the the double doors that led to the makeshift helipad. "We need to book it. Keep Apple Bloom close." She inhaled sharply, dug her hoof against the floor— The doors burst inward, their sudden motion and loud creaking startling Twilight into stillness. Into the antechamber came Rarity, Fluttershy, and Pinkie Pie. Rarity looked dejected, Fluttershy terrified, and Pinkie Pie wore an apologetic smile. Towering over the three of them was Trenton, his burning eye focused upon Twilight alone. Slung under his left arm was a little bundle of purple and green, whose plump face was frozen in an expression of terror, and whose wide, green eyes darted fretfully around the room, before landing on Twilight and lingering there. Twilight's breath caught. The shock of seeing Spike in Trenton's clutches was enough to wipe away any and all traces of guilt and trauma. She didn't see the human with his broken leg and skull; she didn't feel revulsion at what she'd nearly done to him. All she saw was Spike in the arms of a monster. All she felt was an overriding need to protect him. Perhaps this is what Applejack was talking about. Trenton drew his sword and placed the blade beneath Spike's chin. "This cuts matter at the molecular level," said Trenton, his voice perfectly conversational. "Your friends may not know what that means, but I know that you do." All eyes were on the baby dragon, all save Twilight's, which burned white-hot at Trenton. "I've long wondered whether that means it is capable of cutting through dragon hide," Trenton continued. "I theorize that it would. Stand down, or we will find out together." The glow enveloping Twilight's horn shone brighter, and her mane and tail billowed, caught up in a shimmering purple whirlwind that swirled around her body. A low, unsettling hum began to fill the room. All the while, Trenton stared, unmoving, his blade millimeters from Spike's neck. "Twilight," Spike whimpered. "Please." Spike's pitiable, frightened tone, and the pleading look in his eye, pierced the armor of Twilight's outrage. The blind anger that overtook her slipped away, and the heavy weight of the day's events again settled onto her shoulders. I'm sorry, Spike. But I can't risk losing you. The storm of her aura died down; her mane and tail hung limp and unkempt, and she lowered her gaze to the floor. Trenton pulled his blade away from Spike's throat, and the dragon released a quiet sigh of relief. Applejack spat. "Dirty coward. Hidin' behind children's all yer good for." "The tactic works," said Trenton. He pointed his sword at the corridor which led to the great hall. "Walk. Make no move to escape, or we will revisit my theory." Unable to look her friends in the eye, Twilight, head bowed, simply did as she was told. By the guardsponies' accounts, Macbeth was supposed to be a bold and charismatic revolutionary. He may well have been, but to Twilight, he certainly didn't look the part. The scruffy, unwashed gray earth pony stood on the dais at the far end of the great hall, in front of the old throne. At his side stood a tall, heavily muscled human in a black T-shirt and blue combat vest, a Pegasus Wings ballcap on his head. In one hand, he held a gun that was larger than the pistol Snake had used, but smaller than the soldiers' rifles. The human leaned against the alcove wall, staring disinterestedly out the window. The old pony saw them, and curled his chapped and cracked lips into a pensive frown. "Five intruders," said Macbeth. His decrepit appearance did not match his voice, which transformed every spoken word into a velvety purr. "Five intruders, for six elements. Mr. Trenton, forgive my skepticism, but I just don't know that these ponies are who you said they were." Trenton knows who we are? But of course he did, after the way he spoke to her before. How, though? Despite their status as three-time saviors of Equestria, she and her friends enjoyed a quiet life of anonymity in rural Ponyville. It was rare that somepony outside of their hometown recognized them; even among the Canterlot elite, they were simply nameless country folk. But Trenton knew who she was by sight. And that didn't make a great deal of sense. "I assure you," said Trenton, "these are five of the six bearers of the Elements of Harmony." So Trenton knew who they all were – or at least, he knew enough about Twilight to make an educated guess about the others' identities. She could write off his knowledge of the Elements of Harmony; Macbeth could easily have told him about. But he'd also been in exile for years; there'd be no way for him to know who the current bearers were. Trenton did, by sight. And that made very little sense. She noted that Trenton and his employers did not seem to consider Spike an intruder, then noted with a jolt of shock that Trenton failed to mention Snake entirely. She glanced over her shoulder at the ninja, whose fiery blue gaze stared straight ahead at Macbeth. What is he playing at? "You said you had a complete set," said the human in a bored (yet strikingly accented) voice. "There's five of them; there ought to be six. Maybe you've got the wrong ponies." "These are the same ponies I encountered in the forest – Twilight Sparkle, Rarity, Applejack, Pinkie Pie, and Fluttershy – the Elements of Magic, Generosity, Honesty, Laughter, and Kindness, respectively," said Trenton. "Where the Element of Loyalty, Rainbow Dash, has gone, I know not." Rarity's eyes lit up. "That showboat?" she said primly, tossing her head and throwing her mane about her shoulders. "She simply couldn't stand that she was part of the rearguard and decided to be a drama queen about it. We came to the conclusion that it would be best for everypony involved if she just left." "Oh yeah," Pinkie said in a long, thick drawl, rolling her eyes. "I mean, Rainbow Dash has her bad days – I call those days 'Gildays' – but she just totally lost it this time." Rarity and Pinkie Pie glanced expectantly at Fluttershy. After a few moments of nervous stuttering, she managed a timid nod. "She had... hurt feelings." Hurt feelings? Losing control? Ditching us because of an argument with Rarity? Twilight crinkled her nose. That doesn't sound like Rainbow Dash at all. "Not that it particularly matters," Rarity added. "We do have an able replacement. Do we not, Spikey-Wikey?" She flashed the hapless baby dragon under Trenton's arm a comforting smile, and he, despite himself, returned it a little. "Sixth member of their gang buggered off," the human remarked. He turned to regard the group directly for the first time. He looked old, maybe slightly older than Snake (though Twilight admittedly hadn't seen enough humans to make anything more than an educated guess on the subject), and his face, unlike Snake's, was hairless. "No telling what she knows. If she talks, that'll definitely complicate matters. No way we can let ourselves fall behind schedule now." Macbeth nodded without looking at him. "Agreed. However, for now, I believe I am satisfied regarding the identities of our prisoners." He hopped off of the dais and trotted toward the prisoners, coming to a halt a few paces away from the assembled group. His left eye was damaged, blind, but his right was amber, with a wide, wild look to it. "So. I know who you are." The stink of his breath forced Twilight to breathe through her mouth. Quiet sounds of disgust, and heavy breathing, told her that her friends had a similar reaction. To have such fetid breath as to disgust ponies standing so far away was downright impressive. Macbeth didn't seem to care about their reactions. "However, there's still the matter of my introductions. I am called Macbeth, late of Celestia's cabinet, last Equestrian Secretary of War. You may or may not have heard of me. If there's one thing in this world which Celestia loves more than tea, it's airtight control over the history books. The gentleman behind me is Commander Alistair Cain, of the Pegasus Wings army, a mercenary unit which has pledged its loyalty to my cause." Cain nodded at them, then turned his attention back to the window. "And you have, of course, already met Mr. Trenton, the freelance specialist who brokered our arrangement." Twilight looked over her shoulder at Trenton, to see if he had any sort of reaction to his introduction, but he stood perfectly still, at attention. "Together," said Macbeth, drawing himself up proudly, "we aim to force an end to Equestria's thousand year history of unbroken autocratic rule." He threw a grin over his shoulder at Cain. "Isn't that right, Commander?" Cain murmured in agreement, shrugged, and continued to stare out the window. Never had Twilight met somepony with so little regard for Princess Celestia, or the golden age her reign had brought about. A thousand years of unbroken autocratic rule meant a thousand years of peace and prosperity. Little in the way of war, or internal conflict, and an economic bounty that benefited all citizens everywhere, under the watchful eye of a benevolent ruler. Who, in their right mind, would want to put an end to that? But I guess I shouldn't assume that he's in his "right mind," should I? "Let me get this straight," said Twilight. She pulled back a pace, hoping to gain some relief from the mad revolutionary's breath. "Equestria exists in a state of utopia, which has persisted across a millenium, and you not only think that this is a bad thing, but you want to put an end to it?" "Oh, it sounds silly when you put it that way," Macbeth chuckled, shaking his head. "It doesn't just sound silly," said Twilight. "It's madness. We're in a golden age. Why the hay would anypony want to tamper with that?" "Equestria has prospered, I do not deny that," said Macbeth, nodding. "But consider this: our nation is now as it was fifty years ago, and it was then as it was five hundred years ago. The evolution of our society has plateaued, and there is no change in sight." His intact eye flashed, and his grin widened dangerously. "I intend to force that change." "But you just said that things were fine the way that they are," said Pinkie Pie, tilting her head. "If things are dandy, why mess with 'em?" "Because the world continues to change," said Macbeth. "And we do not change with it. And if we continue, dead in the water as we are, then the world will eventually evolve beyond our capacity to adapt to it." "We've known peace for a thousand years," Twilight said skeptically. "I don't think that's liable to change anytime soon." "What you call 'peace,' I call 'stagnation,'" said Macbeth. His voice was cool and calm, and his every word sounded deliberate, as though rehearsed. He might have been planning to give this speech for a long time. Or maybe he's given it before. "Change never comes of its own accord, Ms. Sparkle." Macbeth drew in a deep breath before he continued speaking. "This truth is written into our very history as a nation. Unless we will the change that Equestria needs into being, our society will remain static for all time. The pattern of change, of forced adaptation, must continue." "Yer really gonna lecture Twilight about history?" asked Applejack. "Ain't a contest of wits that yer likely to win, partner." "The facts need no interpretation; they are what they are," said Macbeth. "One thousand years ago, Princess Luna attempted to seize the throne for herself. Conflict ensued, and Equestria was changed. Before that, Luna and Celestia cast down the demon Discord, and Equestria was changed. And untold eons before that, Discord wrested Equestria from the rule of the god-emperor, and Equestria was changed. Every iteration of our civilization came about as a response to a world-changing conflict; each time, we fought, we struggled, and we were forced to adapt." "The god-emperor?" thought Twilight. What does that even mean? No history she was familiar with went much farther back than the union of the three races and the founding of Equestria, though granted, there were gaps in that history attributed to the rise of Discord. If he was referencing some event which predated Equestria itself, it was nothing with which she was familiar. Her mind was a vast repository of arcane and historical knowledge, perhaps rivaling even that of the Canterlot library. Pig-headed as it made her feel to think it, if she wasn't familiar with it, it likely didn't exist. There was no "god-emperor" in Equestrian history, and while the Princesses may have fit that bill, they never proclaimed themselves as such. "All this, of course, is to say that conflict is the greatest agent of change," Macbeth added. "This I am quite certain in. Meeting Commander Cain, and learning the history of his world, only confirmed my belief." Cain released a minute, disgruntled sigh. "You wanna leave me out of this?" he grumbled. "He's a fucking chickenshit retard," Captain Case had said of Macbeth. Twilight found herself beginning to agree with him. The Macbeth standing in front of her, speechifying with abandon, was a marked contrast to the charismatic revolutionary she'd overheard the guardsponies describing. Still, Macbeth feeding them his story and philosophy might have its benefits – "know thy enemy" was a cynical expression, but not an unwise one. "Is this why you staged that revolt in Stalliongrad, all those years ago?" asked Twilight. Macbeth's eye focused on Twilight, and his grin turned wolfish. "One among the Elements has heard of me," he purred. "Celestia is losing her touch. Though whatever you've been told about me, I doubt it's the complete story." His tone and continued disrespect for the Princess drew a shudder from Twilight. "Long before I met Cain, and learned of his human army," said Macbeth, "I raised a cadre of followers and assailed a very specific location in Stalliongrad, in order to bring about the change that I longed for." He rounded on Twilight, leaning close enough to her face that her horn poked noticeably into his forehead. She tried to back away from him, but he pressed closer, digging her horn deeper and breaking the skin. "Do you know why I chose Stalliongrad, specifically, to launch my revolution?" whispered Macbeth. The stink of his breath was inescapable now, and Twilight's disgust was further compounded when she noticed a thin trickle of blood running down the length of her horn. "I'm waiting, Ms. Sparkle." All eyes, even that of Trenton and those of the bored Commander Cain, were on Twilight as she stammered out a sub-audible "No". "Because it is a symbol," hissed Macbeth. He pulled away, dislodging Twilight's horn. The gash in his forehead was not deep, but blood dripped down his muzzle all the same. "A symbol of Celestia's devotion to her static regime. Thirty-seven years ago, in the midst of a dispute with the griffons over settling rights north of Griffonstone, Princess Celestia vanished. I stepped in as regent and mobilized our armies for a preemptive strike. By the time she returned from wherever she had gone, the disputed zone was a tinderbox, ready to ignite. All it would take was a single shot." "Now, that's as poor a fabrication as I've ever heard," sniffed Rarity. "Tension with the griffons all those years ago is common knowledge, but as to your embellishment about the Princess disappearing? I may not be a scholarly as Twilight, but I know quite well that none of what you're saying—" "The Princess tells you it didn't happen!" roared Macbeth, suddenly livid. "All information regarding her disappearance was suppressed to prevent the population from panicking, and to avoid alerting the griffons to a weakness they could exploit! At the time, nopony in the cabinet knew what had happened, but she was gone, and in her absence, I rose to the occasion!" Macbeth angrily smacked his chest with his hoof. "I served Equestria as its highest civilian officer, bypassing the legions of distant relations making up the royal family through whom the line of succession ran. Not one of them could ever have driven our great engine of war to victory. Not one of them had the vision or the tactical acumen to overcome the griffons. So I took power, to wage the conflict which would usher in the next evolution of our society! And then..." He dropped his voice to a low, rumbling whisper. "Then she returned. Said nothing of her whereabouts, nothing of the time she had lost. But whatever happened to her, wherever she went, it was enough to change her mind entirely about the use of military force. She unilaterally withdrew our forces from the griffons' borders and stripped me of my title for what she called 'taking unnecessary liberties'." He spat. "Two years later, that pacifistic drivel she called the Pax Equestria took effect." The Pax Equestria. Twilight knew the accord well. In the wake of that territorial dispute, Celestia declared that Equestria could never live up to its ideals of peace and universal friendship so long as it maintained standing army. She decreed that Equestria forever forsook war as a means unto an end, as a way of life, and disbanded the military. Many ranking officers and members of the infantry found their way into the Royal Guard, or into other civilian militia bodies, but as a national institution, the military simply did not exist. And life is better for it, thought Twilight. We're untroubled by our neighbors; we've enjoyed good relations with them. The griffons, the minotaurs, the zebras. The yaks remain recalcitrant, but they'll come around sooner or later. The Pax Equestria has done more for the security of the country in thirty-five years than the military ever did in a thousand. And Macbeth wanted to undo that, to enact the military, and war, as an institution. All in the name of progress. "So some of what'cher sayin's true," said Applejack, "even if the rest of it sounds more sour than a jug'a horse cider. Say we take your word for it, though. What's that got ta do with whatever happened in Stalliongrad?" Macbeth giggled – giggled, like an unhinged schoolfilly. The shift from livid to melancholic to manic was more disturbing than the tittering shrillness of the laugh. "Oh, everything, my little hayseed," he said, and Applejack snorted, stung and annoyed. "The war may never have happened, but the engine was never dismantled – merely retired, and left to gather dust. Equestria's entire cache of modern military marvels was put away, like a toy that a schoolfoal has outgrown. That cache was located in Stalliongrad. It took me many long years to learn this – and many more to formulate my scheme, still more to convince enough of my old lieutenants to follow me once more – but I finally seized that cache, and declared myself in open rebellion of the crown. The crown herself soon arrived to personally draw my scheme to an end." His eye glinted. "Little did Celestia know that seizing the cache was never the whole of it. It was merely to act as a spark, which would ignite the flames of rebellion all across Equestria. Only... that never happened." Disgusted, he shook his head. "The complacent ponies of Equestria failed to act by my example, and our stagnation continued unabated. And from that, I took the lesson that ponies cannot be counted on to advance their own society." "A-and..." Fluttershy gulped as she nervously stammered her question. "And w-what did the Princess decide to do w-with you?" The smarmy, self-satisfied grin that Macbeth wore wavered, shifted, until it changed into an expression of real emotion – a sad, reflective smile. "She knew I was broken. Knew I'd learned that nopony would ever side with me against her. So she exiled me from Equestria, for all time. And here, I came, deep in the Everfree, to live out my final, agonizing days in seclusion." The mad grin split his face again, and he stared up into the blazing eye of Trenton. "But sometimes, the universe has different plans. Once again, I am given the chance to save Equestria from stagnation. I have learned the lessons of my past failures; I will not trust in ponies to bring about their own change. Equestria will sail into the future, borne aloft by Pegasus Wings." Pinkie Pie rolled her eyes. "I've eaten chunky peanut butter that was less nutty than you." "Genius is never understood in its own time." Macbeth's wild eye narrowed. "I must admit, this is not how I'd hoped our meeting would go. I had hoped to win you to the cause, rather. Surely, the six saviors of Equestria condemning Celestia would rally Equestria to my banner, perhaps even convince her to step down without my having to fire a shot." He sighed and drooped his ears, but brightened almost instantaneously. "Thankfully, I know another way you can serve the revolution. Trenton?" A loud and sudden thud drew Twilight's attention to Trenton. The ninja had dropped Spike to the ground; he'd landed on his belly with a groan and a sheepish look. Trenton strode to the door in the alcove where Cain stood, pushed it open, and stood to the side, pointing stiffly through it like a wooden doorman. "Through there." Rarity took a few steps forward and peered at the door. She stared up at Trenton, blinking in confusion. "You're not going to tell us how walking through a door will benefit your scruffy employer's cause?" "Ms. Sparkle," said Trenton, "please inform your friends what it means for a blade to cut at the molecular level." "Rarity," said Twilight. "Just do what he says, please." Rarity scoffed and glowered at the ground, trotting reluctantly toward the door. "It figures. We're all going to be executed, and I'm going to die looking frumpy." Spike followed Rarity, with Fluttershy and Pinkie Pie in tow. The pegasus looked the dragon over cautiously, examining him for any boo-boos that the ninja's rough handling may have left on him. "You know," grumbled Spike as he strolled past the ninja, "you could have just set me down." Pinkie nudged his rotund head with her nose. "Aw, like a little old pratfall could hurt a guy like you." "Well, yeah," said Spike, casually rubbing his chest with his knuckles. "Dragon scales, and all that. It was just rude. Just because you're a crazy cyclops, you can't have manners? Geez louise." Applejack and Apple Bloom walked ahead of Twilight, who felt Macbeth's steely gaze on her as she moved, sending a disturbed shudder down her spine. Trenton's eye was on Applejack as she passed through the door, but before Apple Bloom could reach the threshold, he stepped in front of her. "Not you," he said. "What?" asked Applejack incredulously. She turned on Trenton and dug a hoof into the dirt. "You two-timin' snake! Get away from her!" She lunged at Trenton, who swiftly drew his sword and leveled the tip at her face. Applejack skidded to a stop with Trenton's sword centimeters away from her nose. Her gaze ran up the single-edged blade, to Trenton's eye, where she glared furiously at him. Macbeth laughed and stomped his hooves in applause. "Oh, I thought something like this might happen. Allow me to explain." He trotted to the door and leaned in the frame, draping a foreleg over Apple Bloom and drawing her close. The filly's eyes went wide, and she released a quiet, mewling sound of discontent. Addressing Applejack, Macbeth spoke. "Miss... I'm sorry, what is your name?" "Applejack," said Trenton. "Miss Applejack." Macbeth dipped his head in a gesture that faintly resembled courtesy. "When Trenton informed us that we had a filly in our midst, and that there were six ponies en route to retrieve her, we determined that we had no compunctions against disposing of the latter, but that we were less inclined to let the former share that fate." "Oh, give it to me straight," snapped Applejack. "He means that they're fine with killing us," Twilight supplied, glancing from Trenton, to Macbeth, to Cain. "Just not with killing a foal, like Apple Bloom." She frowned. "I couldn't have put it any better myself," said Macbeth. He paused to consider his words. "Well, actually, I did, and it was too much for your provincial brain to handle." "I'll provincial you," Applejack growled. "We didn't march all this way out here just so you could—" "Applejack," said Twilight. "Do what he says." A look of shock came over Applejack's face, and she stared at Twilight open-mouthed. "You serious?" she asked. "You expect me to leave my sister with these sons of—" "Yes," said Twilight tersely. "I do. Because if we do, then she'll at least be out of harm's way." "So?!" "So she'll be safe while we break free from whatever asinine trap they've laid for us," said Twilight, shooting the assembled group of villains a dirty look. "We'll come back for her." "Such certainty," Macbeth cooed condescendingly. "Carry that certainty a while longer, and the next several minutes might be interesting." Apple Bloom, fearful, looked at her sister with wide, watery eyes. "AJ..." "S'alright, sister; no need t'fret." Applejack looked into the eyes of her sister, softening her stony expression. "Twilight's right. This ain't the worst jam we've ever been stuck in." "I jus' got'cha back, Applejack." Apple Bloom looked away, at the floor, and shut her eyes. "Don't make me lose you all over again." Applejack's expression softened further. Blinking rapidly, she ducked under Trenton's legs and embraced her sister tightly. The hug lasted mere moments, as Trenton roughly took hold of the back of Applejack's neck and pulled the ladies of the Apple family apart. Wresting herself from Trenton's grip, Applejack fired a final seething look of hatred at the ninja, and skulked away to join her friends in the expansive, ruin-dotted courtyard. "I don't expect you to believe this, Miss Sparkle," said Macbeth. Twilight looked sidelong at him, narrowing her eyes. "But I do intend to take care of this little one in the absence of her family. I've always wanted a protégée of my own." Apple Bloom's lips quivered, and she broke into open sobbing. Twilight felt cold anger once again come over her. "You're a hypocrite," she growled. "Ordering your cowardly minion not to kill ponies, only to turn right around and execute us." "Trenton mentioned that little rule, did he?" Macbeth's eye glinted. Twilight froze, as she realized that she just came close to blowing their cover. Trenton inclined his head slightly at Twilight. But Macbeth just shrugged and smiled blithely. "Tainting the revolution by spilling the blood of innocents before I reveal myself is not how I'd prefer to go about this, but one plays the cards that one is dealt. I don't long for bloodshed, Ms. Sparkle. I just accept its inevitability." It was a lie. At best, it was a pathological lie. Case's warning about Metal Gear, and Snake's assurances of its raw power, mixed with Macbeth's megalomania to create the unsettling certainty that he planned to kill thousands with it, that he'd do so without a moment's regret. But if Trenton didn't tell them about Snake, then they couldn't have known that she knew about Metal Gear, and that was a precious advantage that Twilight did not want to give away. "And what about your treatment of children?" Twilight pressed. "You'll hide Apple Bloom under your skirt, but not Spike?" Macbeth cocked his head and blinked. "'Spike?'" Once again, Trenton clarified. "The pet dragon." "Ah!" Macbeth chuckled and shook his head. "Of course; how silly of me to forget that dragons are people too. Just like pudding skins, and wheelbarrows." He laughed and mirthfully whacked Trenton in the thigh. Trenton, rock-steady and dispassionate as ever, failed to react. "However attached you are to your pet dragon, it is a thing, and I will not afford it respect," said Macbeth. "The most I'll allow is letting it die with you, with dignity, and even that taxes the limits of my generosity." "None of us are dying today," said Twilight firmly. Macbeth reacted with the same knowing, condescending smile. "Again, Ms. Sparkle, I'm counting on that certainty to make what's coming interesting." He nodded in the direction of the stairs. "Go to your friends, now." Once again, with no other visible option, Twilight Sparkle could only do as she was told, and slink away to join the others. None of us are dying today, she repeated to herself, again and again. She wasn't sure what to expect, or what Macbeth intended to visit upon them, but as she took in the familiar scenery around her, she remembered that the castle was already the site of their first great victory together, and that thought offered her some comfort through the uncertainty. The one-eyed earth pony watched Twilight descend the stairs for a short while, before returning to the great hall to stand beside Commander Cain. Behind them both was Trenton, still and unmoving as a statue. Macbeth looked to his human comrade. "You seem rather disinterested in all of this, Commander." Cain shrugged and adjusted the visor on his ballcap. "I've heard your sales pitch before. Can't say that it has quite the same impact after the ten millionth time." He raised and crooked his left arm, and glanced at his wrist-mounted keyboard. "Would have preferred that we just shot them here and now. We've got a genuine sense of urgency now." "You can't fault me for trying to sway them," said Macbeth. He rested his chin on the bare window sill and deeply inhaled the night air. "And besides, I'm eager to see if Trenton's machines live up to their considerable hype." Cain glanced over his shoulder, regarded Trenton for a moment, then looked back down at his wrist. He raised his right hand to the keyboard and brushed the keys delicately with his fingertips. "Waste of time, waste of energy. But you're the one signing my paycheck." Twilight joined her friends in the center of the courtyard, and was immediately greeted by a warm nuzzle from Pinkie and a proud grin from Rarity. "I'm beginning to wonder if I missed my calling," the white unicorn mused. "Perhaps I should have gone into acting, rather than fashion." "Acting?" asked Twilight. She looked over her shoulder, at the brijeb window where the revolutionary and his human minions stood watching them, and then back at Rarity. "What was the act?" "Oh," said Rarity, waving a hoof, "that bit about Rainbow Dash getting her feathers in a fuss and flying off? A little collaborative misdirection that we all worked out together, just in case something went wrong." Hope lit within Twilight's heart, and she cracked a tiny smile. "So Rainbow Dash, right now..." "Is ready to swoop to the rescue at any moment!" said Pinkie Pie. "So don't worry, Twilight. We got this." "Which is also why we let ourselves get captured, instead of putting up a fight," added Fluttershy. She bashfully lowered her head and glanced up at Twilight. "I mean, if it were anyone else, we probably could have... but Trenton grabbed Spike before we could do anything, and..." Rarity stiffened at Fluttershy's words, and her grin faded. For a fleeting instant, she glanced at Spike, who sat upon a piece of rubble that was close to twice his height, cradling his head in his hands and resting his elbows on his thighs. Fluttershy noticed Rarity's change in demeanor and sniffled. "S-sorry." "Y'all made the right call," said Applejack. "For Spike, 'n for yourselves. This way, we got ourselves a fightin' chance." "Yeah, yeah," Spike grumbled. He kicked the back of his feet against the heavy piece of rubble. "I still think I could have taken him." Twilight's spirits, lifted briefly by the news that Rainbow Dash was their ace-in-the-hole, died down again at the sight of the dejected dragon. "Speaking of," she said, trotting to his side, "are you okay Spike? He didn't hurt you, did he?" "Who, me? Nah." Spike shook his head emphatically. He was making an effort to be brave. It may have fooled everypony else, but Twilight knew him better than that, and could see right through him. "Still..." Twilight lowered her voice and leaned in closer. "That had to have been scary, what he was doing to you. If you need to talk..." "I'm fine," Spike insisted. "No need to worry about me, Twilight. It happened. I'm over it." His words were confident, but there was an uncertain waver in his voice. Twilight leaned closer and looked him in the eye. "Spike..." Spike sighed and turned his head away from Twilight. He shut his eyes and cupped his hands in his lap, nervously pressing his thumbs against each other. "Can we talk about it later, Twi?" His voice was quiet, but thick and choked. Proving himself had been Spike's entire motivation for accompanying them on this journey. Being held hostage by Trenton had to have been a serious blow to his confidence, never mind whatever psychological trauma it inflicted. His relative maturity made it easy to forget sometimes that Spike was still very young. And I agreed to bring him along. She regretted the decision after the encounter with the timberwolves. Seeing Spike helpless in Trenton's grasp only reinforced her belief that she'd made the wrong call. Whatever happens to him out here is my responsibility. I can't let him go through that again. I won't. Twilight bumped her nose against Spike's forehead affectionately, drawing from him a hiccuping laugh and a smile. "Of course, Spike," she said softly. "Whenever you're ready." She turned back to her friends, bottling up her self-blame and crushing it down. They had to survive now, and she had to ensure it, so that she'd be able to castigate herself properly later. "Twilight," said Fluttershy. "Where is Snake? He wasn't with you when we met up in the keep." Applejack glanced at the nearby portcullis. "We split up. We heard that the bad guys' world-blowin'-up machine was just about up an' runnin', so he ran off in a hurry to take it out." "Leaving us behind to fend for ourselves?" asked Rarity flatly. She raised an eyebrow. "How heroic." Twilight glared at Rarity. "We wouldn't have gotten this far without—" "Uh, Twilight?" Pinkie Pie interrupted, cutting off Twilight mid-rebuttal. "Sorry to butt in, but..." She turned and raised her rear into the air, looking over her shoulder at Twilight and blinking. Rarity stared, perplexed. "That hardly seems appropriate, Miss Pie. You've been consorting with Rainbow Dash far too often for your own good." "Oh, get your mind out of the gutter," said Pinkie. "I'm trying to show you something important!" Twilight was about to ask just what was important about Pinkie Pie's posterior when she noticed her tail. It was ramrod straight, and shaking rapidly. She blanched. "Twitchy tail." "Twitchy tail?" Spike repeated. He leaped off of the rubble and grabbed his own tail, wringing it tightly. "Twitchy tail?!" The distant crash of heavy metal carried to their ears from the direction of the gatehouse. A second later came a noise that shocked – and confused – everypony in earshot. "Um..." said Fluttershy, "there's no grazing land in the Everfree Forest... right?" Twilight, trembling and backpedaling with a slow, tremulous gait, shook her head "Then..." Fluttershy looked back at the keep. "Why did we just hear a moo?" Occupying the pedestal in the center of the castle's gatehouse, where once the Elements of Harmony had lain dormant, was a large metal box, stamped with the emblem of an arms manufacturer and labeled with what appeared to be a nonsensical string of letters. Within the box was a slumbering giant, the first of a line of weapons meant to usher in a new era in unmanned warfare. At an electronic command from Commander Cain, made via wrist-mounted keyboard and delivered via sophisticated CODEC technology, the giant stirred, awakened, and stretched its legs. The top of its head struck the lid of its container forcefully with a heavy clang, creating a convex dent on the box's outside. It crouched as low as it could, and sprang upward, this time knocking the lid of the box clear. The sound of metal striking metal with such force carried over the castle grounds, to the ears of five frightened ponies and a baby dragon standing in a courtyard. It rose upon legs of cloned tissue, artificial muscle, and sinew. Its head was a T-shaped metallic construct, a diminutive copy of the head of another two-legged engine of mass destruction. At the top of its head, a dome-shaped eye swiveled, taking in the world for the first time. When designing Metal Gear REX, Dr. Hal Emmerich incorporated an element whose necessity his superiors questioned: a loudspeaker, and the ability to project a beastly roar through that speaker. Officially, he contended that it was designed for psychological warfare, that the sight of so gargantuan a fighting machine roaring would cripple the morale of any enemy on the battlefield (off the record, he included it because he thought it was cool). But the designers of this weapon had a far different design influence. They wanted to put the enemy at ease, lull them into complacency, before trampling them underfoot. And also, there was just something deeply ironic about a killing machine which mooed. The weapon, now cognizant of its surroundings, quickly determined the fastest way to reach the source of the signal which awakened it. Coiling its mighty legs, it leaped through the hole in the gatehouse ceiling and landed in the makeshift helipad, barely avoiding (and entirely failing to notice) the sleeping body of the Finnish mechanic. In another bound, it landed on the arch where the ghillie suit-clad sniper lay unconscious. With a final bound, it landed atop the roof of the keep. Magic-enhanced masonry protected the ancient structure from collapsing under the weapon's weight, but the shock of its landing sent waves through the building's aged walls. A layer of dust shook from the ceiling of the Great Hall. Its occupants, save the despondent Apple Bloom and the stoic Trenton, glanced upward as they were peppered. In the courtyard, six pairs of eyes were drawn to the roof of the keep. Six jaws dropped, and six hearts skipped the same beat. On a turret adjacent to the courtyard's portcullis, a young and tempestuous sniper rested his rifle against a wall and leaned forward, awestruck at the sight of the weapon. Behind him, poised to strike, was Rainbow Dash, who likewise forgot herself, and gaped. Hidden behind a wall which enclosed an arcane portal, Solid Snake stared at the weapon through a rifle's scope. His jaw clenched, his teeth crushed together, and his finger lightly traced the trigger of his gun. "Metal Gear."

Posh

436

Main 6,Other,Twilight Sparkle,Crossover,Human,Adventure,Dark,Metal Gear,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic,Death,Violence

Pony Gear Solid

Solid Snake teams up with ponies to save Equestria, and gradually learns to love it.

incomplete

<p>Metal Gear has fallen into the hooves of an Equestrian revolutionary, who, with the backing of his human mercenary allies, intends to use it to depose Celestia and crown himself ruler. Having crossed into Equestria in pursuit of this rogue weapon, the legendary Solid Snake must ally with the residents of Ponyville to prevent a nuclear catastrophe.</p><p>See also <a href="/story/369125/equestria-gear-solid-the-definitive-experience" rel="nofollow"><i>Equestria Gear Solid</i></a><i>,</i> the hilarious spin-off EQG parody in which everything you know is wrong, and every single character from the story is an awful caricature of themselves. </p><p><a href="http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/FanFic/PonyGearSolid" rel="nofollow">Now with its own TVtropes page!</a></p>

teen

2013-03-04T08:15:04+00:00

2017-05-30T17:40:43+00:00

"this doesn't strike you as a bit unfair? i mean, all you've got is a helicopter." Atop its perch, IRVING coiled its legs, and Twilight’s gut instinct told her to move. "Everypony, scatter!" Her friends dove aside, and she vanished in a violet flash, popping back into existence several meters behind where she'd been standing. By that time, IRVING was airborne, and dropping rapidly onto the spot which, moments before, was occupied by five frightened ponies and a baby dragon. It landed upon the piece of rubble where Spike had sat, crushing the block beneath its bulk. "Well," said Pinkie, dusting herself off, "that explains the twitchy tail." In the tower overlooking the courtyard, Rainbow Dash hovered behind an oblivious sniper, jaw agape and eyes wide. "What is that?" she whispered, forgetting herself. The sniper she’d been preparing to ambush whirled at the sound of her voice and raised his rifle. "Who's—" Dash’s ears drooped. Oh yeah, he’s here too. She jabbed her hoof into the sniper's jaw the moment he glimpsed her, stunning him, and followed through with a fluid kick across the cheek that sent him sprawling to the floor. He fumbled for his sidearm, but Dash landed on his wrist with all of her weight. She felt it twist beneath her, heard a snap, heard the sniper scream, knew she had to shut him up, and back-hoofed him across the jaw. He fell silent. In the courtyard, IRVING uncoiled its powerful legs, rising to its full height with a shuddering bovine groan. Rainbow Dash’s ears perked at the sound. She peeked over the turret, once again staring in awe at the newly awakened war machine. It wasn't the largest beast she'd ever seen, but it was still enormous, dwarfing her friends and making her feel very, very small. She smacked herself and shook her head. Stay focused, she thought. Still got one more to take care of. She glanced at the other tower. The second sniper had his eye on the courtyard, and rested the barrel of his rifle on his shoulder. He spared no attention to anything else around him. So there's my opening. Rainbow Dash sprang over the side of the tower and landed on the wall below. Pressing herself as closely against it as she could, she slowly crept toward the other tower. She thought about the giant standing amidst her friends, gulped, and clenched her jaw. "WAYPOINT REACHED," IRVING said. The voice startled Twilight, who hadn't expected so bizarre a machine to be capable of speech. Though distinctly feminine, it sounded as sterile and lifeless as the machine itself looked. "XMG IRVING UNIT 00 AWAITING FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS." In the keep, Macbeth turned to Cain. "Commander?" Cain sighed. He tapped another series of commands into his keypad. The group below watched, tense, as IRVING stood still for several long moments. A sudden shudder ran through its body. "ORDER CONFIRMED. WATCHDOG MODE ENGAGED." "Watchdog mode?" Pinkie parroted. The party pony hid behind a piece of overturned rubble, but poked her head out of her hiding spot to glance confusedly at IRVING. "So it's gonna start barking now, instead of mooing?" IRVING swiveled its head to focus on Pinkie. A yellow hoof and a clawed, purple hand rose from behind her and dragged her head down and out of sight. "HOSTILES DETECTED. DEFENSE PROTOCOLS ACTIVE. ASSESSING THREAT." Applejack acted first. She charged, skidded to a halt beside IRVING's left leg, pivoted and raised herself onto her forelegs, and struck it in the calf with a double-hoofed buck. IRVING's leg jolted a little, though more from surprise than from pain. It craned its head down to Applejack, who, initially put off by its lack of reaction, set her jaw and reared back a second time. IRVING didn't give her the chance, and kicked her lazily in the chest, swatting her like a nettlesome fly. Said fly sailed backward, slamming the rubble which concealed Pinkie, Fluttershy and Spike, and slumping face-first against the ground. Fluttershy peeked over her cover and gasped. "Applejack!" She leaped to the prone earth pony’s side and knelt. She held Applejack steady as she struggled to her hooves. "Easy, now. Don't push yourself." Satisfied, IRVING swiveled its head to regard Twilight. She swallowed her fear and mustered a glare; her horn shimmered and her aura rippled around her, kicking up a dust storm and whipping her mane about her head. Sparks danced up and down the length of her horn. A sphere of lavender light built at its tip, no larger than a pea at first, but immediately expanding to twice her own size. She was interrupted by a sudden jet of flame which shot from IRVING's “beak”. Twilight reacted quickly, reshaping the offensive manifestation of her aura into a shield and enveloping herself in it, warding away the ignited gas which washed over and past her. The ground around her crackled and burned, but she remained unscathed. But her eyes were wide and her jaw agape, her confidence badly shaken. This She'd been caught off guard; had her reflexes been infinitesimally less sharp, she'd be a charred corpse. Normally, she'd take a measure of pride in her ability, but fear canceled it out. "ASSESSMENT COMPLETE." Though certain it was all in her head, Twilight swore she heard a smugness in IRVING's voice. "THREAT NEGLIGIBLE." Pain stabbed through Applejack. IRVING hadn't put much muscle into its kick (and ain’t that thought fright’nin', thought Applejack), but that didn't make her hurt any less. That wasn't even counting her collision with the rubble, not to mention her lingering pains from every other hit she'd suffered that day. Heck, she swore she'd been hurt more in the last twenty-four hours than she'd been in a lifetime of working on a farm. But pain wouldn’t hold Applejack back when her friends were depending on her. She looked to the yellow pegasus at her side, who stared transfixed at IRVING. "Fluttershy," she said in a pained whisper. "I know y'all mus' be scared outta yer wits right now, but y'need to focus. You with me?" Fluttershy made no reply. "Fluttershy, did y'hear me?" "D-dragon," she whimpered. Of course her mind would have gone to her dragon phobia. The thing breathed fire; was she expecting Fluttershy to not make that connection? "I know what it looks like, but it ain't no dragon. It's a... it's a thing, which is definitely not a dragon." Applejack's fumbling was lost on Fluttershy. "Dragon," she repeated, louder, but squeakily. Tears flowed freely from her eyes, her breathing picked up, and Applejack swore she could hear the sound of her heart hammering in her chest. "Dragon! Dragon!" Her voice rose in volume until she was practically shouting. "Dragon!" IRVING took notice, swiveling its head toward the two of them. "DRAGON!" shrieked Fluttershy, rooted to the ground by fear. Twilight shouted a warning, but it was lost as IRVING unleashed another jet of flame at Fluttershy. Applejack threw herself on top of the pegasus, protecting her body with her own. The flames themselves passed overhead, but the superheated air singed her coat and scorched her skin, making her scream as the nerves on her back blazed. A sudden and frightening burst of heat on her head made her panic; her hat had caught fire. She doffed it, and watched with dismay as it shriveled and burned on the dirt. Twilight summoned her aura again, and fired blast after blast into IRVING. The shots that struck its armored head were shrugged off, not even noticed, but the shots which struck its legs made them jolt and shake with every impact. They did no damage, but annoyed it enough to draw its attention. IRVING lowered its head and charged toward her, impacting a hastily erected shield which flashed upon impact and strained inward. Twilight dug her hooves into the ground, taxing her muscles with the effort to remain firm and unwavering. But IRVING pressed against her shield with all of its weight, and she felt herself sliding backward. She grunted and channeled more energy into the shield, but quickly realized that her approach was all wrong. The shield was working fine; the amount of energy she'd initially put into it was enough to repel IRVING. IRVING was simply bigger than her, stronger than her. It could throw more weight against her than she could throw against it, and no amount of magic could change that. So, she concluded, there was no way to fight a defensive battle against the thing. She needed to go on the offensive. The energy she'd summoned for her attack before, reformed into a barrier out of necessity, was still largely untapped. Most of it was channeled into reinforcing her shield at that moment. Twilight collapsed the shield into a singularity, focused at the tip of her horn. Momentum carried IRVING forward for a fraction of an instant, then there came the sound of a thunderclap, and it rocketed backward, careening toward the window in the keep. Trenton caught Cain by the collar, hooked an arm around Macbeth, and pulled them both to the ground, throwing his own body over Apple Bloom. IRVING crashed through the window, taking much of the wall with it, its weight and the force with which it was thrown far more than what the ancient masonry could withstand. Debris pelted Trenton, but his exoskeleton held beneath the bombardment, and IRVING passed him overhead. It skidded down the hall, upending tables and lamps, before slamming into the hall's entrance and coming to a stop. There it lay, crumpled and motionless on its side, its legs tucked under its chin. Macbeth stirred first. His eye, shut tight when he was thrown to the ground, reopened. He regarded IRVING bemusedly, then looked at Trenton with an arched brow. "I hope you saved the receipt." "Bitch, bitch, bitch," snapped Cain. "Shut up and wait." In the courtyard, Twilight took a tentative step forward. Her chest heaved and her heart hammered as she struggled to catch her breath. A tired smile crossed her face, and she sighed in relief. Her body swayed, and she nearly toppled to her side, but something caught her and propped her up. "Twilight?" It was Spike; he'd come to her side, and now braced his stubby arms against her flank. "I’m sure that took a lot out of you, but please don't do your Berry Punch impersonation right here." She exhaled sharply in a tired simulation of a laugh. "It's... okay," she panted. "I think—" An outraged bellow echoed from the ruined keep, and any and all traces of optimism in Twilight Sparkle died a sudden and inglorious death. IRVING stirred in the great hall, rolling onto its knees, then pushing off of them to stand on its three-toed feet. The twisted remains of a bench entangled one of its legs, and it kicked the offending piece of metal off, throwing it through the hole it had created and nearly striking Rarity, who backpedaled rapidly to avoid being crushed. Cain, smug, glanced at Macbeth, who scoffed, folded his forelegs, and rested his chin upon them. "Could have fooled me." IRVING lowered its head and charged, forcing Trenton to grab his employers and roll out of its path. Apple Bloom, no longer pinned beneath the ninja, gasped for breath and drank in a deep gulp of air. Her eyes widened at the sight of IRVING sprinting, heedless, toward her. Trenton grabbed her by the end of her mane and yanked her backward, then clutched the filly to his chest. IRVING leaped from the hole its impact had made in the keep, landed in the courtyard, and stormed toward Twilight like a locomotive. She'd poured virtually all of her energy into the attack, hoping to incapacitate IRVING all at once. There was very, very little left that she could bring to bear against it. She felt Spike's hands leave her, and, as he'd predicted, she dropped onto her side like a stringless puppet. The baby dragon stood in front of her, arms spread wide, feet planted firmly, chest puffed, and stout tail thumping against the ground. She wanted to warn him off, to tell him to get out of the way, but she couldn't catch her breath enough to form an articulate sentence. IRVING drew closer, head bowed like a ram, and Spike opened his jaws wide. A plume of green fire burst from his mouth and washed harmlessly against IRVING's armored head. It struck him before he could make a second effort, tossed its head back, and threw Spike up and over. He landed hard on the ground behind IRVING. It didn't didn't break stride, didn't even slow, and it closed what little distance remained between itself and Twilight. Twilight threw up another shield, but too much of her energy had been expended before to make it effective. IRVING collided with the shield; it bent inward, strained for a split second, and burst. Its individual pieces winked into nothingness, and IRVING's plowed into Twilight, slapping her hard on her jaw with the front of its beak and throwing her backward. Twilight was unconscious as she arced through the air; she was still out when she struck ground and her limp body rolled, until she came to a rest against one of the turrets flanking the castle gate. From there, IRVING wasted no time, leaping across the courtyard and landing beside Twilight, its right foot narrowly missing her head. Spike cried out Twilight's name and sprinted toward her on stubby dragon legs. IRVING's head swiveled to stare at Spike as he made his mad, vain dash to his oldest friend. The glowing red sensor dome on IRVING's head seemed to shine a little brighter as it lifted a foot high over Twilight. A length of rope snared that foot, and IRVING, surprised, turned to its attacker. Applejack, unsteady but unbowed, clutched her lasso tightly in her jaws. She dug her hooves into the ground and strained her neck, putting every bit of weight and muscle into an effort to save her friend. IRVING did not budge. It kicked the bound leg forward, yanking Applejack off the ground, and swung her like a ball on a chain into the curtain wall. IRVING kicked again, to the side, swinging Applejack a second time. At its full length, the rope snapped, letting Applejack fly freely. Momentum carried her through the air, over scattered debris, toward the entrance of the pristine ring-wall. She hit the ground and tumbled through the entrance, a groaning, rolling, bruised and bloodied ball. "What in the..." The voice came from beside her; it was gruff, gravelly, and sounded incredulous. Applejack felt gloved fingers on her neck. "Still ticking, huh? What the hell are you made out of?" Applejack made a noise that was an amalgam of a laugh and a cough. "Sterner stuff'n most." A crash from the courtyard drew their attention. IRVING's foot was lodged in a shattered piece of debris; Pinkie Pie, somehow, stood upon IRVING's head, thrilled to no end with her own antics. Rarity stood, poised and tense, at IRVING's feet. Together, they'd drawn IRVING away from Twilight, and Twilight was still in one piece. "Atta girl, Pinkie," said Applejack hoarsely, breaking out a weak smile. Applejack felt Snake's fingers rap her on the neck. His touch, while light, still stung, and she winced. "The plan seems to have hit a snag," said Snake. "Want to fill me in?" Rainbow Dash was unhappy with herself. The day's events had been stressful enough. The ease with which Trenton had cast her aside in the forest was a terrible blow to her pride. That her defeat came so quickly hurt enough, but that it was followed by Trenton making off with Apple Bloom, with everypony unable to lift a hoof to stop him – that just made her feel downright useless. She wondered if that wasn't why she lashed out at Snake so often. Sure, he was unlikable and weird and left her friends to fend for themselves in a hostile environment surrounded by heavily armed soldiers, but did he really deserve the kind of treatment she subjected him to? Or was she just acting out her frustrations on him? His presence in the group, an intruder to their group dynamic, made him a convenient outlet. Should I treat him better? Maybe thank him for his help? Assuming he hasn't run off on me by now. Adding to all of this stress was the knowledge that her friends were fighting a battle which she not only couldn't participate in, but couldn't so much as observe without breaking cover. She was impatient, restless. She wanted to ditch the mission Snake had sent her on and throw herself into fight, alongside the rest of her friends, where she knew she could make a difference. Heck, on more occasions than she could count, her speed and skill were the only things standing between a pony and messy oblivion. Yet she, valuable resource that she was, was a non-factor, and that killed her inside. The battle might be going terribly, for all she knew. How many of her friends were maimed, crippled, or dead? Whose bodies would she find when she did leap into the fray? Warring with herself over her inaction, Rainbow Dash fluttered into the turret and folded her wings against her body. She pressed her belly close against the ground and crawled toward the remaining sniper, closing the distance between them inch by inch. The sniper kept his back to her. He cradled his rifle close to his chest, but Rainbow Dash could see that it was a decrepit old thing. The wooden furniture desperately needed a new coat of varnish; the scope's casing was rusty; the stock, visible beneath his right armpit, had a thick piece of duct tape wound vertically around it – it looked like it'd fall apart if it were fired just once. She was directly behind him now. He had no helmet; his head was covered only by the same black balaclava that the other soldiers wore. A good hit to the back of the head would be enough to drop him. She unfurled her wings and kicked off of the ground, drawing back her right foreleg in the same motion. The sniper whirled and side-stepped, barely avoiding her attack. He rammed the butt of his rifle into Rainbow Dash's chest. The blow sent her tumbling backward onto the floor of the turret. "Nice try," he said. She recovered in time to see him raising his gun. The end of the barrel was in hoof's reach; at such close quarters, he wouldn't even have to aim. A faint, plaintive wail carried up to the turret from the courtyard below. Rainbow Dash recognized the voice as Spike's. He cried a single word, a name. "Twilight!" And suddenly, Rainbow Dash had a very good idea of how the battle was going. A surge of anger shot through her. She smacked the barrel out of the way before the sniper could fire, jarring his finger away from the trigger. She pounced again and sucker-punched the sniper in the stomach. He doubled over, the force of her attack expelling the oxygen from his lungs, and she ascended 'til she was at eye level with him. Dash struck him with a right hook to the cheek, then a left, then an uppercut that drove his jaws together. She registered the sensation of something wet and warm splashing her face, but only distantly; she didn't have the presence of mind to stick a label onto the sensation. She pulled a foreleg back, and, with a yell, drove it directly into the sniper's nose. Bone and cartilage snapped beneath her hoof, and he stumbled, falling and striking the back of his head against the lip of the turret. He slumped forward, twitched for an instant, then lay still. Wings beating, chest heaving, Rainbow Dash hovered in that spot for a long, long moment. She touched her hoof to her cheek, smudging the warm, sticky substance that had splashed her, and held it in front of her face, trembling. Against her cyan coat, the blood looked almost purple. She dropped to the turret. Her eyes passed over the brutally beaten sniper, and she found herself suddenly compelled to vomit. "No," she moaned, "no no no no no...!" She groped at his neck with her blood-stained hoof, until she felt the tiny beat of his pulse beneath his skin. The nausea passed; the trembling did not. Rainbow Dash's legs gave out, and she fell onto her haunches, breathing hard and quickly. In the courtyard, a fetal Fluttershy watched with wide eyes as Rarity sprinted toward IRVING, with Pinkie Pie bouncing close behind her. The unicorn skidded to a stop and lowered her hindquarters, and Pinkie bounced onto her back. Pinkie bounced again, Rarity providing her a boost, and landed on top of IRVING's head, her hooves producing a metallic clank as she struck its armor. Aware of its unwanted headgear, IRVING backed away from Twilight, swinging its head from side to side in a vain effort to dislodge her. It launched a clumsy, ill-aimed kick at Rarity, missed completely, and wound up thrusting its foot through a half-buried chunk of rubble, obliterating it. "Whoo! They should put you in a carnival!" Pinkie lunged for the dome-shaped sensor and pressed her face right up against the electronic eye. "Whussis do? Is it like a second head?!" She giggled. "'Second head.'" Pinkie spun her new toy experimentally and caught it after a full rotation. "S'fun! I can make my head do that too, but it kinda hurts my neck if I wind it up too tight. Ever wish you were made of rubber?" IRVING stumbled dizzily away from Twilight, futilely rolling its head back and forth. Unshaken, Pinkie spun the dome again, watching with child-like glee as it whirled like a roulette board. A jet of flame, perhaps fired in some artificial approximation of desperation, spewed from its beak. Like a flashbulb, the flames bathed the courtyard in light before burning out. Rarity bared her horn toward IRVING's exposed leg, even as Pinkie continued her antics atop its head. A thin, black cord extended from IRVING's underside and snaked up its back, coiling around Pinkie's rear leg. "...I don’t even know what she was so upset about; I’ve never even seen a platypus, much less—" Pinkie froze mid-anecdote at the sensation of something tugging at her leg. She dipped her head down to glance between her forelegs, and saw IRVING's prehensile tentacle wrapped tightly around her right hind leg. She lifted her head and grinned sheepishly at IRVING's sensory dome. "Well, I prefer to wait until the third date—" IRVING tugged, yanking a yelping Pinkie off of its head. She dangled, upside-down, and flailed her limbs helplessly. With strength belied by the tentacle's slender appearance, IRVING slung her into Rarity's path, and Pinkie bowled her over before the unicorn could so much as cry out in surprise. They collided, and rolled together across the rubble-strewn courtyard, finally coming to a halt when they struck the half-crumbled remains of a structure. Twilight stirred. Pain assaulted her, compelled her to stay down, but she fought it off and raised her head enough to get a glimpse of where the fight now stood. Pinkie and Rarity were down – unconscious, or worse. The miniature Metal Gear hunched down, head pressed almost against its knees, and made a noise like a horse's nicker. It aimed the top of its head, where Pinkie had danced moments before, at the helpless and unconscious ponies, and charged. They weren't dead yet, Twilight knew, but that was about to change. She felt a stirring in the deepest recesses of her chest – a spark of warmth, accompanied by searing anger, that died out as quickly as it came. She wanted it back; it was comforting, and oddly familiar. But she couldn't find it, and she was alone. Applejack was nowhere to be seen; Fluttershy was crippled with fear, and Pinkie Pie and Rarity were about to be ground to paste. She glanced sidelong at the hole she'd made in the keep, where she knew Macbeth and his dogs watched the show. She hoped they'd enjoyed the performance. Something latched onto IRVING's right calf just then, something purple and green and pudgy. IRVING, its assault stalled, reared to its full height, stumbling and bellowing in a sudden fit. Spike's arms and legs formed a tight ring around IRVING's leg. He opened his jaw wide, and sank his teeth deeply into IRVING's meaty calf. Twilight felt an instant of relief that Pinkie and Rarity were safe, one which promptly gave way to renewed terror. Spike was attacking IRVING. Spike, who'd been held so precariously in the jaws of the timberwolf, who'd had a sword that rent molecules held to his throat, who'd choked back tears and begged Twilight to let him keep his pride, brewer of tea, baker of cookies, shelver of books and number one assistant in Ponyville, in Equestria, in the world, a baby who'd barely lived a thumb of a life, now sank his teeth into the leg of a beastly machine, fighting a battle that wasn't his to fight, that he never should have been involved with. Spike – her Spike – was in danger. A ripple of energy danced through Twilight, like the spark before, but magnified tenfold. Shocked – she hadn't expected it to return – she tried to seize it, but again, it danced away before she could take hold of it. She felt like a child groping for a balloon caught in the breeze. Once again, the comforting familiarity of that power vanished, leaving her alone and broken and watching the ones she loved drop like flies. Spike squeezed his eyes shut and sank his teeth deeper into IRVING's calf. Blood – or some artificial substance resembling it – flowed from the wound, through his teeth, down his face and IRVING's own leg. Spike pulled, wrenching his head back as hard as he could, and with a sickening ripping noise, tore out a chunk of meat. Blood sprayed from the wound, spattering Spike’s face. The baby dragon spat the bit of leg out of his mouth, coughing and sputtering, frantically trying to erase every hint of the blood's bitter taste from his palate. IRVING's cry was one of agony: high, warbling, and manic. The prehensile cord wrapped around Spike's midsection, and he gasped at the unexpected cold constricting around his body. The cord wound tighter, forcing air from Spike's lungs and turning his breathing into shallow, gasps. Dragon skin may be impervious, but the boy still needed to breathe. It started pulling. Spike, in response, dug his claws deeper into IRVING's muscle. Artificial blood pooled around his fingers and ran down his palms, slickening his hands and loosening his grip. The reeking, metallic taste still festered in his mouth, but Spike closed his eyes, drew in what breath he could, and chomped down on IRVING's calf again. The cord fell away as IRVING cried out in pain again. It took a different tactic; it raised its leg high over an exposed block of rubble, and swung it down, Spike-first. The block shattered into bits, and Spike, shaken free by the shock of impact, fell into the pile. A twitching, purple arm stuck out of the rubble. The rest of him was buried. Applejack charged (or tried to, limp and bloody as she was) toward the courtyard, restrained only by Snake's hand catching her by the back of her mane. "Get offa me!" she snapped, her voice cracking. She slapped ineffectually at his hand. "Lemme at it! I'm gonna—" "Get yourself killed?" Snake finished. He yanked hard on her mane, pulling Applejack back into cover. "A corpse won't be able to rescue Apple Bloom." IRVING's whip-like arm slithered into Spike's cairn. It drew him out of the rubble, dangling him by his right ankle. His eyes were half-open, but his breathing was labored, and punctuated with heavy coughing. His scales had kept him safe from serious harm, but he was still in pain... and terrified. IRVING pulled him close to its beak. He dangled, centimeters away from its flame thrower aperture, almost nose-to-nose with the mechanical beast. Spike spat a cloud of fire, but his breathing kept him from mustering much air to put behind it. It came out small and weak, and vanished against IRVING's armored beak. The weapon made a sound reminiscent of a laugh. Drawing Spike closer to its beak, it bellowed at full volume. Spike shut his eyes reflexively at the noise and turned his head away, covering it with his in arms in an instinctive, protective, gesture. IRVING emitted a mechanical click – not a vocalization, but a noise like some part shifting within itself. A moment later, a river of molten fuel, different from the ignited clouds of gas from before, rolled from its beak and engulfed Spike. It ran off of his scales like rain on a slicker, leaving Spike completely unharmed. IRVING bellowed again, its synthesized voice soured by a note of irritation, and released its grip on the dragon. He dropped with a sharp gasp onto the pile of rubble from which he'd been extracted. Twilight's blood thrummed in her ears at the sight of Spike lying helplessly. With some effort, she was able to aim her horn at IRVING's head. Shutting her eyes tightly, she focused, summoning every stray bit of energy she had left. "Get away," she panted. Pain ran the length of her neck, down her spine and through her legs, but she forced herself to endure it. "Get away from him!" IRVING swiveled its head to stare at Twilight, and nickered. She focused harder, trying to summon the strength to project a bolt at IRVING. "I said..." Something inside her began to rise, and she felt it again – that primal feeling, deep within herself. A white glow came into her eyes, and a purple shimmer built at the tip of her horn. "I said, get away from him!" she screamed. Her voice boomed unnaturally, deep and bass, and her words reverberated through the courtyard, carrying to the turret where Rainbow Dash lay. The sound of her friend's magically amplified voice broke her state of shock. Dash remembered herself, leaped to her hooves, and pulled herself over the lip of the turret to stare into the courtyard below. Her eyes were drawn to IRVING, standing above Spike. Still facing Twilight, it raised its bitten leg high over the dragon. "NO!" The unexpected cry pierced the armor of Twilight’s rage. Her aura vanished, her eyes stopped glowing, and she collapsed back to the ground. But she saw a cyan blur with a rainbow contrail strike IRVING in the beak, knocking it off balance, and smiled. Rainbow Dash springboarded off of IRVING's armored surface, backflipped, and landed gracefully on the ground, folding her wings. That works too. "Well," said Macbeth. "The cat came back." A piece of cement the size of a fist fell onto Trenton's head, pinging gently. The ninja glanced up; he and the others stood in the spot where the throne and dais had been, in the wound created by IRVING's impact with the keep. Bits and pieces of the ceiling pelted them intermittently. The last had been the largest yet. "Indeed," said Trenton softly. Apple Bloom looked at the ninja, and followed his gaze upward. Knocked off balance, IRVING staggered backward, away from the frightened dragon. Scrabbling for purchase on his bed of loose rubble, Spike frantically dove aside, scrambled back to his feet, and sprinted on stubby dragon legs toward a visibly relieved Twilight. IRVING's head rotated, tracking Spike's movements. "Hey!" Rainbow Dash barked. She kicked a chunk of concrete into the air, reared onto her forelegs, pivoted, and bucked it at IRVING's head. IRVING jerked backward and grunted, startled, now turning to look at Rainbow Dash. "You're not touching him." Rainbow Dash arched her back like a wild cat and unfurled her wings to their full breadth. "Or any of them. You got ears on that ugly body of yours? Use 'em: You are not going to hurt my friends ever again!" IRVING bellowed. The flame thrower clicked again, shifting away from napalm, and it launched a burst of flame from its beak. Rainbow Dash kicked off the ground and took to the sky, flapping hard as she ascended vertically, barely ahead of IRVING's attack. The stream of fire cut off, and Rainbow Dash darted toward its head. She halted just above its sensory dome and swung her hoof, striking with a resounding metallic clang and causing the dome to spin on its axis. Stunned and dizzied again, IRVING stumbled backward. Its manipulator cord extended from its undercarriage, and it clumsily swung it like a whip toward Rainbow Dash, lashing her across the face. Rainbow Dash gasped from the sudden, stinging blow, and held a hoof to her stricken cheek. Blood seeped from a long cut and ran down her face and over her hoof, mingling with the blood of the sniper she'd beaten into unconsciousness on the turret. As rational thought fled, replaced by blood-red rage, a distant part of Rainbow Dash wondered if she might have an anger problem. The manipulator cord danced in the air, and Rainbow Dash dove for it, catching it in her mouth. She swooped beneath IRVING, between its legs, pulling the cord behind her. The cord, at the end of its length, snagged. Straining her neck and beating her wings, Rainbow Dash forced herself to move through the air. Her teeth bit harder into the cord. The pain in her jaws, and from the exertion in her muscles, was excruciating. To a pony like Rainbow Dash, though, pain was just one more measly hurdle. She bit down harder and, screaming her throat raw through the cord in her mouth, forced herself to pull harder. The giant fell to its back, bellowing, flame thrower blazing wildly in the air. Rainbow Dash released the cord. IRVING's sensory dome was now directly behind her, and she slammed it apple-bucking style, denting its metal casing and eliciting another outraged bellow from IRVING. Down, but not out, IRVING somersaulted backward. Rainbow Dash darted away to avoid being crushed when IRVING pressed the top of its head against the ground and raised its legs vertically into the air. It tilted backward, its legs shifting, gradually bringing its feet to rest on the ground, and pulled the top of its body up after itself. Now standing at its full height, IRVING kicked backward, striking Dash dead-on without sparing her a glance. Rainbow Dash tumbled head over hooves, but spread her wings to reduce her momentum and righted herself in midair. She streaked toward IRVING, weaving beneath a flame thrower burst that trailed her as she flew. She adjusted her course and lowered her head, aiming the top of her skull at IRVING's knee. The leg shook from the impact, but then IRVING pecked Dash – pecked, like a hen – between the wings, catching her just right of center. Her eyes widened, and she dropped to her belly, furling her right wing defensively. Pegasi in schoolyard brawls have an unspoken rule: Never, under any circumstances, go for the wings. It’s just something that’s commonly understood, the same way boys – of any race – don’t go for the ‘nads. Aside from wings being symbols of a pegasus’s freedom, which every sky-dwelling pony wears as an emblem of pride, hitting them runs the risk of doing serious, lasting damage. Dash’s own wings were well-kept and strengthened from years of training, but they were still as much a weak point as they were her greatest asset. She grimaced as she tested her wing, extending and furling it experimentally. It was difficult to extend all the way; she’d been hurt, there was no way around that, and she wasn’t sure if she could fly anymore. Of course, IRVING didn’t care about her new handicap. So Rainbow Dash scowled and climbed shakily to her hooves again, defiantly tossing her mane over her shoulder. "I don’t need wings," she said. Her raspy voice shook, and sounded faded and weary. "I got four hooves’ worth of whoopin’, right here. So come and get it." IRVING's response was a jet of fire. Snake had released his hold on Applejack's mane some time before, but she stayed in cover with him, watching Rainbow Dash from a distance. Still, with the fight turning against her, she felt a swell of irritation with Snake for his passivity. "What the hay do you think you're doin'?" Applejack hissed. "She's gettin' her butt kicked out there; they all are! How much longer d'you plan on jus' watchin'?!" Snake didn't look away from his scope as he replied. "What do you expect me to do? I don't have the firepower to go toe-to-toe with that thing." "So the gun's just for show, eh?" Applejack snorted. "So much for savin' Dash's ungrateful butt with it." "The point of espionage is to avoid open conflict," said Snake. "Especially when it's an uneven fight that runs a high risk of getting you killed. I could take a shot at that thing right now, but it wouldn't make a difference. All it'd serve to do is blow my cover, at which point it'll come after me." "So it's got one more target t'deal with! That just ups our odds of survival, don't it?" "It would still be a pointless fight, one that neither of us would walk away from. If we die, then what we’ve learned dies with us, and your people don't have a prayer. I know you want to help, but there's nothing that you or I could possibly do for them now." His hands tightened around his rifle. "All we can do is wait for an opening. You can make another go at your sister, and I can make another break for Metal Gear." Applejack exhaled sharply through her nose in anger. "That sounds an awful lot like you're tellin' me to let my friends die." Snake took his gaze away from his rifle scope to look into Applejack's eyes, a resolute frown on his face. He made no immediate reply, and an unsettling silence fell between the pony and the man, broken by the not-so-distant hiss of IRVING's flame thrower and the heavy thudding of its footsteps. Snake finally returned to his scope. "I won't tell you to do anything." Applejack's jaw went slack. She shook her head, her singed mane fluttering around her face, and planted her forehooves on Snake's shoulder. "Dang it, Snake! You've already written them off, haven't you?!" She beat a hoof half-heartedly against his shoulder. "Those ponies out there, they might not mean a lick to you, but they're my friends. My family! They ain't jus' disposable!" Snake curled his lower lip into his mouth and bit lightly into it. He lowered his rifle and pushed Applejack off of his shoulder, turning away from his vantage point to confront her directly. "I don't enjoy watching them die, if that's what you're implying. But I'll tell you what I told Rainbow Dash." He jabbed a finger in Applejack's face. "If it comes down to choosing between saving the world, or saving our lives, there is no choice." Curling his finger back into his fist, he added, in a grave voice, "We're all disposable." He spoke with such gravity that Applejack found herself momentarily stunned into silence. It would have been easy to mistake Snake as a disinterested mercenary, sending her friends to die for his own gain. But his words conveyed a sense of self-sacrifice that she'd be hard pressed to find in anypony. We're all disposable, she thought. Like he'd long ago accepted that he would die in the pursuit of his cause, whatever that cause might be. Like he was okay with that. The problem, Applejack knew, was that she wasn't okay with death – for herself, or for her friends. And she counted Snake among her friends. Accepting Applejack's silence as an concession, Snake turned back to the scene in the courtyard and knelt. Before he could raise his rifle again, Applejack softly rested a hoof on his upturned knee. "Nopony is disposable," she said. "'Specially not you. Right now, yer the only human in Equestria who ain't tryin' ta turn the world upside-down, not to mention the only one tryin' ta keep it rightside-up. An' that makes you precious – not disposable." Snake growled something unintelligible under his breath. "I appreciate what y'all wanna do, Snake, but it's our world on the line, and we got every right to fight for it ourselves. You let my friends die out there, an' you take that right away from them. But if you help 'em, they at least have a chance t'survive. Maybe we make it, maybe we don't, but what matters is that we try." She paused in her speech, glanced at the ground, and slowly removed her hoof from Snake's leg. The flame thrower in the courtyard hissed again, and muted amber light flickered against the two of them. In that instant of illumination, Applejack saw the lines, the creases and folds, that age had carved into Snake's face. She hadn't noticed before, but in the right light, Snake looked very old. Applejack noticed something else, too – a brief twinkle of orange in the distance, caught from the corner of her eye. "What was that?" she asked. "Mm?" Snake raised the rifle and gazed down the scope. "What was what?" "Left tower, by the gate. Some kinda sparkly nonsense. Like a flash." "A flash?" There was an uncertain quality to Snake's voice that worried her. "Like a..." He moved the rifle in the direction Applejack had indicated, and grunted with mild displeasure. "Sniper," said Snake in response. "Good catch. There were two; I only see one. He looks like hell. Rainbow Dash must've taken the other out of commission, but she didn't quite finish the job on this one. Hm." "Shucks," said Applejack. She leaned forward, squinting at the top of the tower where the flash had come from. She barely made out the lumpy shape of a human head and shoulders, and something else, too – another rifle, probably like the one Snake had. "Dammit!" Snake snapped suddenly. His hurried, harsh tone brought Applejack back to a state of worry. "He's gonna take a shot!" "Take a shot? At what?" Applejack looked into the courtyard, frantically glancing between her friends. Pinkie and Rarity were out, Fluttershy was nowhere in sight, and Twilight and Spike were both out of the sniper's line of fire. The only one he could logically be aiming at was the cyan pegasus, who daringly rolled between IRVING's legs, away from another deadly burst of flame. Applejack looked at Snake, heart racing. "Snake, please...!" A shot rang out from across the courtyard. The unexpected noise brought the battle to a sudden halt. All participants stood (or lay) in tableau, save a collective turning of their heads in the direction of the ring-wall. A human figure and a hatless orange mare stepped out from behind the colonnade that defined the wall's entrance, and strode into the courtyard. The human held in his arms a sniper rifle which he aimed at a turret beside the castle's gatehouse. Spike and Twilight stared, disbelieving. The dragon braced himself against his friend's shoulder and grunted with pain, trying to raise the unicorn to her hooves. Fluttershy, jarred out of her catatonia by the sudden cessation of noise, dared to peek from her cover. Pinkie Pie, still unconscious and curled into a ball, snored and scratched her nose with a hind leg. Rainbow Dash climbed to her hooves and moved to Rarity’s side. She nudged the unicorn; Rarity stirred and looked at her, at Applejack and Snake, at IRVING, then back at Rainbow Dash. They promptly backed away. In the broken shell of the keep, Alistair Cain slowly unfolded his arms and let them dangle at his sides. Macbeth glanced at Trenton, awaiting an explanation. The ninja made no sound nor movement, but stared impassively at the figure in the courtyard. Apple Bloom planted her hooves on the wrecked window and pushed herself over it slightly to peek into the courtyard. A smile slowly broke across her face. Unseen by anyone, a rifle fell from the turret to the ground below, accompanied by bits of red-tinted cranial matter. Solid Snake turned away from the turret and leveled his rifle at IRVING. The machine, like its opponents, stood in a frozen state of shock, focusing squarely on the intruder. In a swift motion, Snake cycled the rifle and fired a second shot. The bullet bounced harmlessly off of IRVING's beak. It emitted a deep, low nicker, and bent its legs until its prow nearly touched the ground. Snake chambered another round. "The hell is it waiting for?" he asked. Applejack looked from Snake, to IRVING, and back. "Maybe it's surprised. Prob'ly didn't count on runnin' into a human it weren't workin' with. We have a shortage o'those in Equestria." In the keep, Cain stepped to the edge of the broken window. He leaned against the jagged, stony remnants, and squinted into the courtyard. "Can't be," he muttered. "Can't be." Trenton's head turned, and his eye drifted over Cain, lingering on his fingers. They tightly curled around the remains of the window sill, clenching tightly, until they trembled. "Can't be," the commander said, louder this time. Rainbow Dash and Rarity had moved to Pinkie's side. The unicorn nudged Pinkie's nose with a hoof, and Pinkie grumbled, batting sleepily at the spot where Rarity's hoof had been. Rarity nudged her harder. Pinkie smacked her lips, batted again, and rolled onto her other side, mumbling to herself. Rainbow Dash frowned. "Is she unconscious, or napping?" Slowly, IRVING rose from its crouch. A tremulous groan rumbled from its synthesized voice, and a shudder ran through its body, one which built in frequency and intensity, until the machine vibrated from head to toe. Snake tensed and braced himself; Applejack squared her shoulders. The hideous groan rose in volume and pitch. What was once a bass, animal noise was now a high, shrill, feminine shriek. IRVING turned its beak skyward, stretching its legs to their full height, and projected its wail to the moon and stars. All at once, the noise cut off, and the vibration ceased. It relaxed its legs, returning to a more natural height, and lowered its head to regard Snake once again. When it spoke, it was once again with the synthesized woman's voice. Its response – starkly calm and composed – was spoken in monotone. "JACK." "'Jack?'" Twilight repeated. "'Jack?’" Rarity and Rainbow Dash echoed together. Commander Cain's hands slipped from the window, and fell to his sides, balled tightly into fists to mask their trembling. "A ghost," he whispered. "It's a ghost." Trenton, unnoticed, watched the commander intently. And in the courtyard, Snake tilted his head in confusion, then glanced at Applejack. "I think it's talking to you." "JACK." IRVING repeated the name, louder now, with a frantic edge to it. "JACK!" Now it was a yell. IRVING crouched and lowered its head. "JACK!" The name became a battle cry when IRVING charged. Snake's eyes widened as IRVING swiftly closed the distance between the two of them. "Move!" he snapped to Applejack. He dove head first to his right; Applejack went in the opposite direction, and IRVING passed them both by. Snake rolled, tucking the rifle close to his chest, and quickly rose to his feet to confront IRVING. The machine turned its head to him. Crouching so that the flame thrower aperture on its beak was level with Snake's head, it let loose a stream of napalm which Snake leaped backward to avoid. From behind IRVING, Applejack landed a double-kick upon a coiled leg, but her blow rebounded harmlessly off of the powerful calf muscle. Ignoring Applejack, IRVING pivoted on its back foot and stabbed at Snake with a kick, its toes pointed and sharp claws bared. Snake backpedaled, but his feet lost purchase and he slipped and fell; IRVING thrust its claws again, and Snake rolled backward, barely avoiding being impaled. He emerged from the roll in a kneel. Now at point-blank range, Snake raised his rifle for a retaliatory shot. IRVING's leg was perpendicular to Snake's head, and the wound from Spike's bite was big enough, and close enough, to render scoping pointless. Snake fired. The round ripped through the still-tender chink in IRVING's calf and emerged out the top of its thigh, accompanied by a splash of blood and tissue. It yelped – a canine noise, so unlike the guttural, bovine sounds of before – and dropped the leg immediately, the rest of its body sagging after it. Snake backpedaled again to avoid a flame thrower burst and chambered a new round, watching IRVING carefully for another opening. IRVING struggled to raise itself again, hobbled as it was by bite and bullet. It succeeded, partially, but the amount of weight it put on the injured leg kept it unsteady. Applejack took advantage of that, sprinting toward the leg at top speed. Rather than kick, though, she drew inspiration from Rainbow Dash's failed attack, and threw herself at her target, slamming into IRVING's lame leg with all her weigh and momentum behind her. The force of the blow knocked the leg out from beneath it, and IRVING fell to its side with a groan. In the keep, Apple Bloom hollered joyously at the sight of IRVING tumbling over. "Thatssit, Applejack, take it down! Hit it again!" She propped herself up on what remained of the window to get a better view of the action in the courtyard. Her hooves practically danced on the ruined sill. The sight of her sister emerging from the ring-wall, and with Snake, no less, was enough to stir her out of the morose slump she'd fallen back into. That she – no, they – were taking on that monstrous machine and not only holding their own, but winning, just made her giddy. Beside her at the window was Commander Cain, and he looked a fair bit less happy with the situation than she did. Before and during the fight, he'd seemed detached from, and almost bored with, the situation. Something changed in him when he saw Snake and Applejack, though – no, probably not Applejack as much as Snake, Apple Bloom decided. He'd already known that Applejack was around. Snake was a surprise. Truthfully, it was kind of satisfying to see Cain – whom she'd decided, in the brief time that they'd known each other, was a Very Bad Apple – so shook up, but it left her wondering what was the reason behind it. Fun as the thought was, though, it was more fun to watch her sister clean the clock of an ugly robot, so she mostly ignored him and focused on the fight. She heard a shuffling beside her as Cain turned away from the courtyard, and a soft tapping noise as he fiddled with the thing on his wrist. Then she heard him speak, with a tremble in his deep voice that was almost silly. "All castle personnel, this is the commander. I am ordering an evacuation, effective immediately. Take to the skies, and salt the earth." Apple Bloom's ears perked up, and she looked away from the battle and at the commander with an expression of confusion. She didn't need to be an expert in voices and the like to pick up on the terrified waver in his words. It wasn't hard to miss; it hadn't been there at all before when he spoke. Now, though, when he talked, he sounded almost like Fluttershy did at dinner the other night, when Applejack's anger with her boiled over. She didn't completely understand what he was talking about – the meaning of "evacuation" eluded her – but the last part of his sentence seemed mostly clear to her, salt notwithstanding. They were leaving the castle, and going off someplace else. And, she thought, her good mood evaporating, they're prob'ly takin' me with 'em. Macbeth's jaw dropped, and he focused his good eye, wide with shock, on Trenton. "An evacuation? On what grounds, Commander?!" Trenton watched with curiosity as the commander lowered his arm to his side, appearing to ignore his client. "What of our assets here?" the ninja asked. "Nothing here but the choppers that we can't live without," said Cain, "and we're taking those with us." Sparing the courtyard one last glance, he clenched his fists tighter and strode down the path to the exit. Trenton stared after him. "The Hind is still inoperable—" "Then leave it!" roared Cain over his shoulder. Apple Bloom jumped at the sudden harshness in Cain's voice. Her confusion persisted; what could have gotten into him to make him so afraid? He hadn't shown a lick of fear until he saw— Her eyes widened with sudden realization. Looking at Snake, one who wasn't familiar with him might write him off as just a hairless ape in a silly outfit who smelled like smoke and wasn't any good with kids. But she'd watched him tackle a manticore, fight it off unarmed, survive the deadliest death sentence it could give to a pony, and be fit as a fiddle the next day. She knew what he was capable of. And, judging by the way Cain reacted to the sight of him, so did he. Macbeth rounded on Trenton. "This is mad," he said pleadingly. "Trenton, say something! Do something! What the hell has gotten into him?!" "The situation has changed," said Trenton. "That man's presence has affected our mission's parameters – possibly beyond his ability to contain." The ninja's voice carried a hint of curiosity, a decidedly non-robotic lilt. "Why?" asked Macbeth, baffled. "I grant that the presence of another human is disconcerting – his performance against your machine moreso – but to think that one man could so radically alter the course of the plan is beyond ludicrous!" Trenton still stared down the hall after Cain. "You don't know who that is. What he is. What he represents to the commander. No fault of your own, of course." Trenton turned to Macbeth and stared down at him. The blaze in his eye seemed to freeze over as he spoke to his client coldly. "But you were not at Zanzibar Land, and I cannot expect you to understand." He jerked his head in the direction of the exit. "You should follow him." Curling his lip into a sneer, Macbeth spat and trotted after Cain. "And shooting the bastard is out of the question?" he said to himself. "What do I pay you for?" Trenton was left alone with his thoughts for all of ten seconds, when the soft voice of a filly spoke to him. "Are you takin' me with you too?" Apple Bloom had been bright and fiery upon seeing Applejack again, but the news of the evacuation seemed to deflate her. Now she stared up at him with eyes reddened from a night's worth of tears, her mouth drawn into a pitiable pout. "On the contrary," Trenton said, in an expressionless voice. "I have no further use for you." My first impression of Applejack was that she was the only one of the gang of seven that I'd want on my side in a fight. Squaring off against the timberwolves had forced me to revise that impression: Applejack wasn't the only fighter among them, just the most competent. Even when I was wrong, events had a way of proving me right. Now, there's another side to that, of course. We'd gained the upper hand for the moment, with one hell of a display of teamwork, but I'd initially rated the odds of defeating IRVING in combat as suicidal. We'd lasted a little longer than I'd thought, but, like I said... even when wrong, I tend to be right. So it wasn't a surprise (though it was a kick to the metaphorical balls) when IRVING proved itself lethal, even when knocked on its ass. It swung its wounded leg like a club at Applejack. She nimbly ducked beneath it, but she didn't see the other one coming straight at her. IRVING was swinging them like the blades of a fan, and the second hit her like a Wasilla redneck on a bender (I've been told that not everybody understands my library of Alaskan analogies, but this one should be self-explanatory). She caught a blow across the face that knocked her away, and didn't get back up. Goodnight, Applejack. IRVING didn't move in for the kill. Either Applejack was dead, or it didn't figure it had to waste time taking her out. With two rounds still in the gun's magazine, I fired again, aiming for the unhurt leg this time. The shot struck, tossing up a little spurt of blood, but did no appreciable damage. Disheartening, but not unforeseen. If it was made of the same synthetic tissue as RAY, then it’d take a much higher caliber than the rifle offered to penetrate it – anti-material ammo, at the least. Judging by the lack of reaction, it seemed to know that too. So I'd lost a round of precious ammunition demonstrating that shooting an unhurt leg wouldn't be a feasible plan of attack. Well, the more you know. Fortunately, the other leg had a Spike-sized gash in it, which made for a prime target. Had to hand it to the runt, he was less useless than I'd thought. "YOU'VE GOTTEN STRONGER." Shit. It was talking again. Funny thing about that, though. Whereas before, the voice had a sort of unnerving, robotic monotone to it, its current vocal tone was... not. When it talked, it sounded like it was trying to convey emotion. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear it sounded proud. I chambered a new round and took aim at the open wound on its hobbled leg, when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a cyan pony with a rainbow tail flapping behind her like a pennant gallop toward IRVING. Goddammit, Rainbow Dash, you had your chance, and you grounded yourself in the process of blowing it. I saw the shot she’d taken to her wing; the girl had spirit to get up after that, but if she couldn’t fly, then her primary advantage was gone, which meant that she was fighting IRVING on the same terms as the others. Not to mention, as long as she was mucking about with IRVING, I didn't have a clear shot. Without looking, IRVING raised its good leg (slumping noticeably as it rested its weight upon its wounded leg) and thrust it toward Rainbow Dash as soon as she came within kicking distance. The claws on its foot caught her across the muzzle, and droplets of blood trailed from three parallel gashes on her face as she tumbled backward. And, yet again, it focused on me rather than finish off another fighter. With Rainbow Dash out of the way, I had a clear shot at IRVING's wounded leg. I fired, but in the instant it took for me to tighten my finger around the trigger, IRVING had bared the top of its head at me. The round bounced off its armor, and it charged. And here's the funny thing about IRVING, something that fighters all around the world have learned by now. Even when they're hobbled by unfortunate leg wounds, they are still damn fast. Of course, at the time, I didn't know that. I was expecting it to be slowed considerably by the damage we'd inflicted onto its leg. Its speed caught me off guard. I had an instant to react, and I seized it, diving out of its path and rolling to a kneel. It passed me by, and it kept on running, then shocked the hell out of me by coiling its legs and springing into the air toward the curtain wall. It raised its good leg, toes pointed, and struck the wall, bending the leg to absorb the impact and digging its claws into the masonry. It clung to the wall like a cat, toes splayed and legs spread vertically. It swiveled its gargantuan head and the sensory dome stared expectantly – not at me, but at the spot just a meter or so to my right, the spot where I'd been standing. IRVING had laid an egg on that spot. It was a long, cylindrical egg, painted red, with its tips rounded off at either end and a nozzle stuck on one side. Gas tank, I figured, probably the fuel source for IRVING's flame thrower. Around the nozzle was a complicated series of wires, cords, and a blinking red LED, all connected to an ugly-looking black rectangle. It took about half a second to connect the dots. The little black box was a detonator. The gas tank was an improvised explosive device, probably meant as a last-ditch attack, given that IRVING was apparently sacrificing its primary weapon by using it. The blinking red LED, which pulsed in faster and faster sequences, was a countdown mechanism. And given how quickly it was pulsing, I probably had moments before it blew, which I'd squandered figuring out that the thing was a bomb, and that I had moments before it blew. What a day. I turned to run – pointless, given how short the countdown was, and how big the explosion would likely be – but a feeling of sudden warmth and weightlessness enveloped me. I glimpsed a shimmering, lavender aura surrounding my body, then a white flash which blinded me. For a moment, I assumed that the bomb had gone off, but I didn't feel the instant of searing pain that I was expecting, nor did I hear the terrible roar of the explosion. The light cleared, but the afterimage still muddled my vision. It was like a flashbang, sans bang. I was still running, though, and I felt my foot catch on something that yelped in surprise. I tripped, cracked my forehead on something hard that I couldn't see, rebounded off of it and fell backward, landing painfully on the ground. That sucked. Not as much as being swallowed by a fireball of ignited gas would, for which I was peripherally grateful, but still – kind of graceless, kind of painful. And there was something spiny digging into the small of my back. Then I heard the sound I was expecting: the heavy boom, the explosion as the fuel tank burst and set the area around it alight. I felt the heat wash over me; it was uncomfortable, but not, as I'd expected, lethal, not as hot as it should have been, and kind of distant, overall. Blinded, confused, and with a throbbing pain in my forehead, I tried to puzzle out why I wasn't dead. "Sorry," said a sheepish voice. "The way you were looking at that thing worried me, so I decided to do something. Given how impressive that explosion was, I think I made the right call." "Uh-huh," said another voice – younger, more boyish. Beneath me. "Real impressive, Twi. So, uh, Snake, you gonna hang out there much longer? Should I start charging rent?" So that's what I'd landed on. I rolled off of him, squeezing my eyes tightly and rubbing at them. "Thanks," I said. "Guess I owe you one." She teleported me. Right; I saw her pull off that trick against the timberwolves. That was on herself, though. She could do that to others? From a distance? As an experiment, I opened my eyes to slits, to gauge how much of my vision I'd recovered. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the afterimage effect was almost completely gone. The temporary blindness was unpleasant, but at least it was short-lived. Twilight had yanked me a considerable distance. The spot where the bomb had gone off was ablaze now, a great big bonfire in the center of the courtyard. Luckily, there didn't seem to be much combustible material around for it to consume. It’d stay contained, and probably burn out before too long. I glanced up at the spot where IRVING had embedded itself in the curtain wall. It still hung there, orange light flickering off of its armored head, which was positioned to stare down at me. Son of a bitch looked about as mad as a faceless robot could possibly look. I dug into my pocket in search of a clip. "That was a good trick you pulled off," I said to Twilight. "That mean you still got some fight left in you?" "I think so," she said, stepping up beside me. "Teleporting you took a little bit out of me, but you and the others bought me enough time to regroup. I think can hold my own." "Good." I found a clip, stripped the bullets into the open breech of my rifle, and tossed the useless clip away. "Round two starts now." I stared down the my scope at IRVING. Its legs were splayed vertically, with its unhurt leg beneath it, and its wounded leg above. The legs were too tough to knock out with a single shot, but I wondered if its toes were a little more vulnerable. Each foot had three toes on it; I set my crosshairs on the middle toe of its unhurt leg and fired. The shot took the toe clean off, and the shock jarred its foot from the wall. It barked and scrabbled to get a new foothold in the wall, but its other foot tore free, bringing down with it a solid chunk of wall the size of a pony. IRVING fell, striking the ground with a crash. The impact tossed up a dense cloud of dust and debris, one that made it difficult to get a view of the thing, much less a clear shot. "Twilight," I said. "Can you do something to clear up that—" The chunk of wall that IRVING had torn down with it came flying from the cloud, hurled through the air and hurtling toward us. I dove, tackling Twilight and shoving her out of the way as the rock struck where I'd been standing and rolled. I heard Spike yelp, glanced over my shoulder, and saw that he'd narrowly avoided being crushed by it. I wondered if his scales could withstand that kind of impact. IRVING emerged from the cloud, bellowing and charging, head lowered. There was no way I could get a shot at its legs, and it closed the distance too quickly for me to dive out of the way. Twilight magicked up a shield, but IRVING powered through it without slowing, and bashed her aside with its beak. Spike shouted her name; IRVING raised its bitten leg and stomped on Spike. I heard a sharp exhalation as its foot crushed the air from his lungs. Teeth grit and heart pounding, I brought the rifle to bear on its gaping leg wound, but IRVING's prehensile manipulator cord curled around the barrel and wrenched the whole thing free from my arms. It kicked Spike away, and he thudded against the curtain wall, lying still. Its head craned down at me; its sensory dome stared into my eyes. It thrust its leg toward me suddenly, catching me on the shoulder and knocking me on my back, pinning me to the ground. I felt a sudden popping sensation in my shoulder, and an expanding swell of pain across the right side of my body. Dislocation. Had to be. Blood seeped from hole where I'd shot off IRVING's toe, and it pooled on my chest. Its two remaining claws splayed across my body, one digging into my right shoulder and exacerbating the pain from the dislocation, the other pressing painfully against my jugular. "THAT ARM STILL HURT?" The claw on my jugular pressed down harder. I could feel it slowly breaking the skin, and knew that the machine was planning on taking its time to rip out my throat. "GO HOME!" I assessed my options. My right arm was useless. The only weapon that had proven effective against IRVING was the rifle, and that was out of the question now. Twilight and Spike, the only ones in striking distance who could save my bacon, were both down for the count. With my left hand, I groped for my hip holster, felt the Beretta, and despaired. Hell of a way to go, I thought grimly as IRVING's claw curled deeper into my throat. To hell with it; what could it possibly hurt? I started to draw the Beretta from its holster. And then I saw it: chrome, cylindrical, hovering beside IRVING's leg, encased in a lavender aura. My ears rang with what I can only describe as the godfather of all gunshots – less like a report, more like a bomb going off. IRVING's right calf exploded into a confetti of synthetic meat and blood, and it stumbled off of me, collapsing onto its side. Pinned no longer (and confused, but grateful), I flopped onto my belly and quickly rose to my feet as I saw IRVING eject something from its underside: another fuel tank, this one clearly marked "NAPALM". Right. It was equipped with two kinds of flame thrower. The detonator was nearly at the end of its countdown when Twilight appeared at my side. Her horn flared brightly, and a shimmering dome of purple light emerged around us just before the tank blew. Twilight's shield held against the heat and the flames, but not the kinetic force of the blast. We were thrown backward, and collided hard against the wall, pained and bruised, but alive. I heard a rumbling noise from above, and, farther off, the distinctive chopping noise of a helicopter's rotor. Glancing up, I saw chunks of wall break free and descend rapidly toward Twilight and I. The ancient castle, having clearly seen better days before, had hit its breaking point with IRVING's last-gasp attack. "Never rains, but it pours," I growled, and I threw my left arm over Twilight's prone body. With two arms, I could have carried her properly; I did not have two arms at my disposal, so I just wrapped her under my arm, and rolled with her onto my stomach again. With very little time to move, I pushed onto my feet and sprang feebly forward, just far enough to avoid being crushed by the largest chunks of debris. Not far enough, I'm afraid, to avoid being pelted with the smaller chunks. My back and shoulders were battered by a hailstorm of debris. Knocked to my knees, I pulled Twilight tightly against my chest and squeezed my eyes shut. A particularly large hunk of wall nailed me between the shoulders, and I collapsed completely, falling to the ground with Twilight clutched against me. The pain sustained me – pain in my dislocated shoulder, pain throughout my body from a day's worth of abuse, pain from the rocks that pinned me, pain from Twilight's horn digging into my chest. I grit my teeth and endured it, though. Pain became an ally. Pain was how I knew I was alive. The absence of pain, the comforting, gentle numbness – you feel that, and you're dead. The cacophony of falling rock petered out, replaced by the spinning of the helicopter's rotors, no longer so distant. My knees held, although my calves were stuck beneath a heavy chunk of rubble. The piece of wall on my back had knocked me further down, and I'd be flat on my belly if I weren't propped up by Twilight beneath me. The back of my head was sore, but it didn't feel wet. No blood. Good sign. Blind, dumb luck; a big enough blow to my head could have killed me. I should have kept it covered with my one good arm, the one that clutched Twilight like a life preserver. No use staying down. I pulled my arm off of Twilight and placed my hand on the ground, elbow crooked, fingers spread. Pebbles dug painfully into my palm, and ground against my finger bones. It was uncomfortable, but nothing unendurable, especially compared to the pain which coursed through my every other bone and muscle. Bracing myself, resting my weight on that arm alone, I pushed up. It was slow going, but gradually, I rose. I shrugged my shoulder, letting the offending hunk of rock slide to my left and rest on the ground beside us. Freed from that particular weight, I reached behind myself and lifted the debris pinning my calves just enough to wrench my left leg out from beneath it. My right followed in short order. I staggered to my feet, cradling my right shoulder close to my side. I could see Twilight more clearly now. Her eyes were open, though half-lidded, a fact which I found surprising. She wasn't unconscious at all, just exhausted, and probably in a great deal of pain as well. So much for catching her breath; IRVING's last attack must have really taken it out of her. She tilted her head and looked at me with those wide purple eyes, but didn't say a word. I got it though, understood what she was trying to tell me without needing her to speak. I nodded once at her, and winced at the pain it caused me to do so. Then I looked around, took stock of my surroundings. Things had changed noticeably. The wall was in shambles where IRVING's device had gone off. The gatehouse, too, was a pile of rubble; the teeth of the portcullis jutted out from it like broken javelins on an old Laconic battlefield. It didn't look like it could be scaled, especially not in my present state. So much for slipping out of the castle. IRVING itself lay on its side, remarkably intact, and, judging by the intermittent twitching and guttural cow noises, still alive and in a great deal of agony. The rubbery black skin on its legs, from its toes to its lower thighs, had been seared away by the explosion. The exposed flesh was red and raw, but the hole in its calf – about the size of my fist – no longer bled, cauterized by the blast. Patches of flame burned the charred ground where the weapon had detonated. The sound of whirring helicopter rotors overhead drew my full attention at last. I looked upward, and saw one of the Chinooks from the other courtyard hovering over the battlefield at a curiously low altitude. Its side hatch was open, and in the port stood a tall, muscular, bald-headed man, staring directly at me. Cain. The chopper was low enough to the ground that I could just make out his expression. His gaze was steely and unwavering. His jaw was clenched, his nose wrinkled. The man's expression was downright livid. I couldn't do much of anything, at that point, besides draw my Beretta and open fire, but I doubted I could beat him in a quick-draw at that point. So I just stared right back at him, locking eyes and holding his gaze. He blinked. Shook his head. Leveled his MP7 at me. I wanted to dodge, roll aside, but I could barely stand, let alone move. I drew in a deep breath through my nose and stared defiantly at him. And then, as if he'd ridden in on a cloud, Trenton fell from the sky, interposing himself between the commander and I. Slung under his left arm was a yellow bundle with a red tuft of tail sticking out of its behind. Apple Bloom was alive and intact, after all. Trenton raised his own head to gaze at Cain; his body blocked my view of him, so I could no longer see his expression, but I couldn't imagine him looking particularly pleased. The chopper was low enough to the ground to kick up a hell of a dust storm. Trenton stood like a rock in the face of that storm, and his body shielded me from the worst of the wind, though I still had to cover my face with my good arm and squint just to see anything. I glanced below; Twilight still lay there, watching the scene intently. The others were where we'd left them. Rarity was still with Pinkie Pie. Rainbow Dash and Applejack stood together, leaning on one another for support. I didn't see Fluttershy anywhere; she must have still been hiding. All of them recoiled from the gust of wind and the swirling dust stirred up the Chinook's rotors. All, that is, but Trenton. He did something that surprised me, just then. He raised his right arm, crooked it toward his sword, and grasped its hilt in his fingers. I waited for the rattle of submachine gun fire and the dancing sparks from Trenton's sword cutting bullets out of the air. Neither came. Instead, the wind died down and the dust settled as Cain's chopper ascended. It rose far above the treetops and headed away, following the path out of the castle and back into the forest. I wondered, as another Chinook rose from the courtyard beyond the Great Hall and turned its nose down the same path Cain had taken, just where, exactly, they were going. "Shnaek?" Rainbow Dash had come up beside me; her raspy voice sounded slurred and indistinct. Looking at her, I noticed it was because she had something in her mouth: Captain Case's Model 500, the barrel clenched horizontally between her teeth. "I sink yoo drof dis." At least she had the sense not to point it into her mouth. I accepted the gun, and thumbed the catch to open the cylinder. Four rounds left. Not a problem; so far, I (or, rather, Twilight) had used one more shot than anticipated. Trenton released his grip on Apple Bloom, and she dropped to the ground with a quiet "oof". She rubbed her behind and glared at the ninja, but if he noticed, he certainly didn't care. He kept staring off into the distance, in the direction where the choppers continued to fly. Apple Bloom looked away from him, at Twilight, then rotated herself to look at me. For the first time in almost a day, our eyes met. Before, when we'd met in Zecora's hut, she'd gone from looking at me with shy curiosity, to seeing me as an annoyance wrongly foisted upon her. Just then, as she stared at me, tired and wounded as I was, I wondered how she saw me. "Apple Bloom!" Applejack's cry was audible, even over the heavy beating of helicopter rotors. Apple Bloom and I both looked across the courtyard at the walking, hatless, partly cooked orange bruise. Applejack, smiling radiantly and shedding tears, looked more full of life than I'd ever seen her before. Apple Bloom spared me another glance. I nodded to her, and then she was off, galloping across the courtyard toward her sister. I watched Apple Bloom for a little bit. The eagerness in her gait, the smile on Applejack's face as she prepared to receive her. I looked away from them, at Trenton, and thought this is too good to be true. Too easy, too simple. There needed to be a catch. Twilight's eyes shot wide open, pupils dilated. "Spike," she whispered. I looked over my shoulder, at the spot where the falling debris had nearly crushed Twilight and I, and saw a tiny purple arm sticking out from under a very large piece of wall. Our blood price. Solving the ongoing mystery that was Trenton's motivation would have to wait. I had a little boy to rescue. God, if it wasn't one idiot child getting herself into danger, it was another. Frustrated as I was with the situation – with Spike, for insisting on being a burdensome little shit, and with Twilight, for putting him in harm's way in the first place – I wanted to rush to that pile and dig the poor stupid dragon out with my bare hands. So I turned – turned right, which, as it turned out, was not such a good idea. Jostling my shoulder sent a fresh wave of pain up my right arm, and I bit back a cry of pain. Twilight had to be in a pretty severe amount of pain as well, if not from being swatted aside by the lizard before, then from the beating she'd taken earlier. Her wounds weren't as severe as mine though, or if they were, they just didn't impede her so much. Whatever she was running on, I could've used a cup of it right then. She frantically, and ineffectually, tried lifting the debris by hooking her hooves beneath it and lifting. Didn't work. She set her horn against it, squeezed her eyes shut tightly, and grunted as the faintest shimmer of an aura enveloped the offending chunk. It trembled, rose up a centimeter, and then she lost her hold. It settled back against Spike, and she collapsed against the thing, panting deeply. Either she was too tired to move it, or it was just too big. Regardless, she needed help. I squatted beside her, on her left, set the revolver down, and wormed my good arm beneath the block pinning Spike. Rainbow Dash went on her other side, planting her hind hooves on the ground and curling her forelegs beneath the block. "We lift together," I said, "on three." Without my right arm, I'd have to rely even more on my lower body strength to raise it. Rainbow Dash would have to pick up the slack. "One... two..." And before I could reach three, Trenton appeared beside me. He reached down, took hold of the block, and raised it like it was made of cardboard. With a shove, he sent it away. He looked down at me, silently judging me for squatting like a moron. I squared my jaw and and glared right back, empathizing very much with Apple Bloom's frustration. "Oh, sweet Celestia..." Twilight's pained whisper broke up our little staring contest. Looking at Spike, there wasn't any obvious outward sign that he'd been hurt at all; the upshot to having impervious skin, I guess, is that you don't scar easy. His mouth was ajar, his eyes shut. His chest rose and fell, for whatever that was worth, but only slowly, slightly. His breathing seemed labored and pained, and he didn't look conscious at all. I watched the unicorn slump, like her whole body suddenly went limp. Her jaw was slack and her eyes wide as she stared at Spike. She looked almost as lifeless as he did. Rainbow Dash shut her eyes and turned her away, choking back a sob. Her eyes opened on Twilight, and she unfurled her good wing to wrap around her friend's shoulders. "Spike?" Rarity, carrying an unconscious and snoring Pinkie Pie over her back, nudged herself and her burden under Rainbow Dash's wing. She moved with surprising quickness, considering, as she rushed to Spike's side. "Spikey-Wikey?!" Her voice was strained and frantic, the opposite of Twilight's limp and lifeless countenance. I wondered which of the two was more upset. I glanced over my shoulder, at where the reunited sisters stood. Applejack's head was bowed, her eyes closed and tears drying on her cheeks. She had a leg wrapped around Apple Bloom, pulling the filly close against her chest, where she nuzzled against her sister's coat. A familiar weight grew in the pit of my stomach as I marveled at the irony. Applejack's sister's safety was secured. The price just happened to be Spike's well-being. "Come now, darling," said Rarity, her voice building in pitch as she grew more desperate. "On your feet, then! It's nothing, really – you're alright; you have to be alright!" I saw Fluttershy approach, having apparently wrenched herself out of whatever hole she'd been hiding in. She fluttered toward Spike, her lips trembling. "Rarity," she whispered. "He isn't..." "Wake up, please," Rarity begged. "Spike, you brave little dragon, you need to wake up now. You need to... you need to—" "He needs medical attention," said Trenton, rather bluntly interjecting. Rarity whirled her head to glare at Trenton, mane flying and tears sparkling in her eyes. "You stay out of this!" Trenton was not cowed. "You mourn him prematurely. He is not dead." Now I was getting angry. "You trying to be helpful now?" I asked, rising and looking Trenton in the eye. I reached for the Model 500, calculating whether or not I could get a shot off at him in my present state before he cut me in two. "I don't know what your game is, Trenton, but nobody asked for you to step in." "Had I not, you would be likely dead," said Trenton. "Ignore what I say now, and you will undoubtedly be." "That a threat?" Twilight was exhausted; I was disarmed in a literal and figurative sense, and the only capable fighter left among us was a one-winged Rainbow Dash. If Trenton decided to start something, I didn't like our chances. "No. Advice." Wasn't expecting that. "Commander Cain has ordered a complete evacuation of this installation. Scorched earth." "Scorched earth?" They were gonna burn the castle down? How and why? "This castle is old, and built upon a ruin stretching back hundreds, perhaps thousands, of years. Its remains still run beneath this castle, serving as sub-levels, catacombs, dungeons. In the event of a rapid evacuation, to prevent the equipment here from falling into enemy possession, demolition charges placed in key structural points, in the structures and on the castle's foundations, will detonate. The keep, and most of the surrounding complex, including much of this courtyard, will implode and collapse into those catacombs and sub-levels, burying or destroying everything beyond salvage. In minutes, virtually everything you see here will simply be so much rubble in a giant pit. " That got everyone's attention. "What?" asked Fluttershy. "But why? What could motivate someone to do that?" Trenton looked at Fluttershy, then jerked his head in my direction. "Him." "Him?" Rainbow Dash asked, raising an eyebrow. "Me?" I asked, perplexed. "You." Another Chinook displaced the air around us with its rotors as it passed overhead, tousling the ponies' manes and my bandana. "Your sudden appearance has caused an unexpected change in his demeanor, no doubt affecting the way the rest of this situation will unfold." I detected a faint note of curiosity in his mechanical voice. "Lemme get this straight," said Rainbow Dash. "So you kidnapped Applejack's sister to lure us into a trap out here, but you totally forgot to mention to your boss that Snake was here too? You an idiot, or something?" "This man's arrival in Equestria was not something I had anticipated," said Trenton, looking at Rainbow Dash. "Our meeting in the forest was a further complication. I needed to play for time, to factor this new data into my simulation, so I lured you out here to keep you occupied while I devised a means to contain this development." Trenton had a funny habit of standing rail-straight when he talked, betraying nothing through body language, which made what he said just that much more unnerving. "And not telling Cain about me?" I asked. "That was part of the plan?" "I wanted to see how he would react to your being here," said Trenton. "It was not what I had expected, but informative nonetheless." So everything that had happened over the past twenty-four hours – Apple Bloom's kidnapping, the trap in the castle, the fight with IRVING – was all part of some ruse that Trenton staged, simply out of curiosity. Why did that sound so familiar? "You no doubt have many questions," he said. "You will have to save them for later. This is neither the time, nor the place, for me to answer them." He raised a hand and splayed his fingers. "By my calculations, you have five minutes to escape this castle before the charges detonate, and you all die horrendously." Rarity rose off of the ground. Her body trembled, shaking Pinkie loose; Pinkie plopped on the ground, twitched, then smacked her lips and resumed her snoring. "You endanger Applejack's sister, you lure us out here to play games with us, just to see how we react – Spike could die because of this situation you've devised, and you – you're proud of yourself for this, aren't you?!" An aura sparked into existence around her horn. "Rarity," said Twilight. "Later. No time now." She looked away from Spike, for the first time; Rarity turned to look back at her. Their eyes met. "We have to go. Now." Something in Twilight's expression, or voice, or general demeanor, must have reached her. She didn't look any less angry, but she backed down, silently seething. "Are you all mobile?" Twilight asked. Fluttershy, Rarity and Rainbow Dash nodded, that latter with a moment of barely noticeable hesitation. Twilight looked at me. "I've had worse," I said to her unasked question. "I think Applejack's more or less fit, too." Twilight nodded at that. She glanced at Spike. "I don't think I can carry him." She spoke with no emotion in her voice. "I got him." Rainbow Dash stooped forward and gathered Spike in her forelegs with more tenderness than I'd expected from her. Blood dripped from the cut on her cheek onto Spike's forehead. "Sorry, little guy," she said, wiping it off with a hoof. She spread her wings – her left farther than her right – and gently beat them until she hovered in the air, wincing as she did. "You’re hurt," said Twilight. “I don’t think you should carry him." "I can do it," said Rainbow Dash, looking back at her. "I’m okay. He isn’t that heavy, anyway. Are you, kid?" "Darling, please,” said Rarity, reaching toward Spike. “Let me—" "I got him!" snapped Rainbow Dash, pulling away. Rarity recoiled at her tone; softer, Rainbow Dash said "I got him. Please, let me do this." She looked pleadingly at Twilight. "Please." Twilight hesitated for a moment, but nodded. "What about Pinkie?" Fluttershy asked. "I don't think any of us can—" I stepped forward and nudged Pinkie in the side of the head with the bottom of my foot – not hard enough to hurt her, but enough for her to feel it. "Wake up!" Sure, I could have been more diplomatic about it, but we were on the clock. And, thankfully, she did wake up. She leaped a foot into the air and vibrated like an alarm clock, making a noise like one too. What fucking acid flashback did they find her in? "What happened?" she asked. "Did I miss a fun thing?" She looked around quickly; her eyes fell on Trenton. "What's Wild Blue Yonder doing here?" "Shut up!" I snapped. "Castle exploding; no time to talk!" "Castle? What are you—" Her eyes fell on the unconscious dragon in Rainbow Dash's forelegs. Her ears drooped against her head. "Spike? What happened to—" "Pinkie," said Twilight. Her voice still lacked emotion, but it had the same firmness with which she'd addressed Rarity. She sounded tough. She sounded like a leader. "We'll talk about it later. We have to go. Now." We ran. It took us a minute to cross the courtyard, collecting Applejack and her sister as we passed. Apple Bloom sat on Applejack's back; the orange pony galloped like a prize racehorse, despite having taken more abuse than anyone else among us. Knew there was a reason I liked her. Trenton stood where we left him, never moving, and watched us as we left. It took us another half of a minute to get up the stairs and into the ruined Great Hall. The room was now even shittier thanks to IRVING being thrown through it. Broken lamps and twisted benches littered the room around us; bits of rubble peppered us from above. Applejack, with Apple Bloom on her back, passed me as we ran down the hall toward the twisting corridor; she disappeared around the bend. The others – Rarity, Pinkie Pie, Fluttershy – were close behind them. Twilight lagged closer to me, with Rainbow Dash just behind her. Theoretically, she should have outpaced all of us. Then again, that hit to her wing was probably slowing her down; the fact that she was flying at all had to be a small victory for her. A rolling crashing noise filled the hall. To my horror, what remained of the roof began to cave in on us. "Move!" I shouted. We pushed ourselves into the Great Hall, tapping into whatever bit of stamina we had left in our bodies. "The bombs!" Rainbow Dash cried over the sound of the hall crumbling behind us. The noise seemed to chase us down the corridor. "They've gone off early!" "No," said Twilight, shaking her head. "The keep's structural integrity was weakened even before we got here. When I threw IRVING through the window, I must have—" A piece of ceiling narrowly missed the top of my head. "Hate yourself later!" I snapped. We emerged from the corridor into the antechamber where we'd ambushed the guards. The lockers where I'd stashed them were shut tight, just the way I'd left them. No use worrying about them now. The doors were still open from when the others had passed through them ahead of us, and we emerged just in time to see the last Chinook rise and take off toward the staging area, leaving the Hind alone. The others were far ahead of us, climbing the stairs on the other side of the garden and moving into the building where we'd found IRVING's crate. As we crossed the threshold, the keep's structural integrity failed completely, and the whole thing came crashing down. "Faster!" Twilight cried. We passed beneath the arch, chased down the keep's stairs by a tsunami of rolling rubble. A sizable portion of the keep fell forward, smashing into the top of the arch, and the whole thing came down over our heads. Twilight was ahead of me; she emerged unscathed. I leaped forward, just ahead of a rock that could have broken my skull. Behind me, though, came an agonized scream. I skidded to a halt and whirled around, my heart pounding and heavy within my chest. Amid rubble and dust, Rainbow Dash's hindquarters were pinned. Her upper body squirmed and writhed, vainly trying to free herself. Spike, though, was safe; she'd thrust her forelegs forward to keep the rubble from burying him too. "Rainbow Dash!" Twilight turned and galloped back to Rainbow Dash's side. I stood my ground; half of me wanted to keep running, the other commanded me to stay with Twilight. She fell in front of Rainbow Dash and dug at the rocks burying her. "Twilight, no," she pleaded, in a voice strained with pain. "There's no time!" "We're not losing anyone, Dash," said Twilight from beside me. She pushed her head against a large chunk of rubble, groaning as she struggled to lift it. It didn't budge. "There's no time," Rainbow Dash repeated. "Leave me behind! Take Spike and run!" "I can get you out of—" "I'm as good as dead!" she shouted. Twilight froze, and locked eyes with her. "But Spike isn't! You aren't! You both have a chance. Better I die, and the two of you live, than the three of us all dying together!" I hated Rainbow Dash. Hated her. Couldn't stand her. Brash, arrogant, headstrong – more Raiden than Jack in manner. Hell, I'd tried to punch her lights out not too long before; hell, I'd drawn my gun on her. I shouldn't have cared that she was pinned beneath a pile of rock, with no hope or rescue. I shouldn't have cared that, for her, death was a certainty. So I chose not to. "Twilight," I called. "She's right." Returning the revolver to my right ankle holster, I walked to where Rainbow Dash was pinned, wrapped my good arm around Spike, and cradled him against my chest like a baby. "Dash, no," Twilight moaned. She was crying. Whatever emotional shock she'd been in when Spike got hurt had worn off. Tears rained down her face as she reached a shaking purple hoof toward Rainbow Dash. "It has to be this way, Twi," said Rainbow Dash. She reached toward Twilight in turn; their hooves met and hooked tenderly around one another. "Don't look back, egghead. Keep runnin', and don't look back." Twilight dropped Rainbow Dash's hoof, bowed her head one last time, and ran. I frowned at Rainbow Dash. "You shouldn’t have taken Spike," I said. "With your wing, he slowed you down too much." Rainbow Dash chuckled. Or hiccuped. Could have gone either way. "Yeah... what can you do? Element of loyalty." Whatever that meant. I turned to leave. "Promise me something," Rainbow Dash said, and I stopped, looking back down at her. Tears ran down her face; she didn't bother trying to hide them. "Promise me you'll stay with them! Hate 'em all you want, but don't you dare try to run out on 'em again! You promise me, Solid Snake!" I felt the weight of the injured dragon in my arm, thought about the battered, bruised, and unbeaten group of infuriating dopes still waiting for me. Knowing full well that it was the last I'd ever see Rainbow Dash, I swallowed hard and nodded, once, soberly. That seemed to bring her some peace. She smiled at me, smiled through the pain. "Take care of 'em," she said. "Take care of Twilight, okay?" I nodded again. I didn't have time to give her the same lingering look that Twilight had; I'd wasted enough time as it was. Stupid of me. Should have left her behind, left her and Twilight behind. Probably shouldn't even have bothered to grab Spike, either, if I wanted to be a stickler about it. And yet, weighed down by an additional burden that I really did not need, I ran after Twilight, leaving Rainbow Dash pinned in the garden. Through the gate. Up the stairs. The double door was open, and I staggered inside. Twilight was there, waiting for me – or maybe just for Spike. IRVING's crate was still on the podium; its dented lid rested on the floor. We ran past rows of canvas tents, past the tent where the possibly dying dragon in my arm had shouted at me that he didn't want to be a liability. The way out was right ahead; a few more steps and— "FAIL-DEADLY SYSTEM ACTIVATED." The voice came from behind me, accompanied by heavy footfalls. "JACK!" I froze. I turned. I looked through the doorway, at the half-dead machine crouching in the threshold. "You've got to be fucking kidding me!" I roared. "JACK!" IRVING took an uncertain step and tumbled into the room face-first. It struggled to raise itself onto its charbroiled, rickety legs. "YOU'RE A SOLDIER! FINISH YOUR M-MISSION! PROVE YOUR L-L-LOYALTY!" I couldn't reach the revolver and carry Spike. "Got enough juice to take another shot at it, Twilight?" I asked. She didn't say anything; she stared at IRVING, gaping, tears and snot flowing freely, and just shook her head. Then I'd have to chance being able to outrun it. So I turned, and I ran, with Twilight beside me, and I hoped to whatever god watched over Equestria that it wasn't as fast now as it had been before. The bridge was a straight shot ahead of us. We heard a crash, and the sound of falling timbers, and knew that IRVING had bowled through the guard tower. So much for Private Squat-Thrusts. Twilight's hooves clanged loudly against the metal bridge as we ran across. I clutched Spike tighter against my chest. The other side, and the other four ponies, were right ahead now. We were going to make it. With one last effort, we were across the chasm, the remnants of the old rope bridge to the side. We were spent; we didn't have it in us to run any longer, and the pain in my shoulder was now unendurable. I fell forward to my knees, backward onto my butt, and sat gasping, panting, dripping with sweat. It took all of my willpower to resist the urge to drop Spike and clutch my shoulder. Twilight sat beside me, similarly winded, her eyes never leaving Spike. The others gathered around us; Rarity came to me, stared at Spike. Fluttershy and Applejack were with Twilight. Pinkie’s head whipped from side to side, and she frowned. “Where’s Dashie?” I couldn’t gather the breath to explain. I just looked at her and shook my head. I didn’t see Pinkie’s face, but I could hear the grief, the trembling sorrow, in her voice, as she spoke "D-dashie? She isn’t—" A bovine stutter from the direction of the castle reminded us that we were still being pursued, and we turned back to the castle. IRVING was on the other side of the chasm, staggering toward the bridge. Though its gait had been slow and unsteady, it was gradually picking up steam. Its legs, damn it all, were knitting themselves back together; the blood was clotting, the muscle tissue somehow regenerating, and IRVING would soon be back to full speed. And when that happened, we wouldn’t be able to outrun it. I carefully set Spike down beside me and drew the revolver. I tried to level it at IRVING, but my body refused to cooperate. One shot was all I needed; one good shot at the leg Twilight had blasted before, and our trouble would be over for the time being. Except I couldn't steady my hand. The pain in my body, and especially in my shoulder, kept me from focusing. The barrel wavered, drifted everywhere but over IRVING's leg. All the while, the machine crept closer. Rarity was beside me, then, standing over Spike. The revolver was encased in a light blue aura, and it rose out of my hand and leveled itself at IRVING. I looked at Rarity. Her horn glowed, and her face was set into a scowl. Applejack snarled and bounded to my other side. “No more runnin’, then. Fluttershy, take the kids and git ‘em back to town. Keep ‘em safe, an’ sound the alarm!” "I will." Fluttershy’s voice sounded firmer than I’d ever heard it before. She gathered Spike into her forelegs; Twilight’s gaze followed him. "Count on me!" "Sis, no!" Apple Bloom cried. "I jus’ got you back!" "Don’t argue, Apple Bloom. Go with Fluttershy, an’ don’t never forget that yer sister loved you." Apple Bloom cried plaintively, but did as she was told, sprinting down the path back into the forest. Her sobs faded into the distance, along with the rapid beating of Fluttershy’s wings. I selected two grenades from my belt and set them down before me. "Stalling for time," I muttered. "What are the odds we survive?" "Fie on the odds," Rarity responded, voice low and defiant. "Rainbow Dash didn’t survive this, so neither will that monstrosity." "Couldn’t’a put it better myself," said Applejack, exchanging a tight, grim smile with Rarity. "Let’s do it, girls." Pinkie bounced forward, taking up position in front of me, her cotton candy mane and tail slightly less buoyant. She arched her back and raised her hackles like a cat. "For Dashie." IRVING placed a foot on the bridge and nickered. "No," Twilight whispered from behind me. "We can’t win this fight." Applejack dug her hoof into the dirt. "We’re going to die." Twilight’s voice gained strength, grew in pitch. Rarity lowered her head and thrust the revolver forward a little. I had no idea if she even know how to fire it. "And we’ll have lost Rainbow Dash for nothing!" Dour as her words were, Twilight didn’t sound broken in the slightest, not anymore. She sounded angry. Pinkie growled, a dead ringer for a lion. "No more." Now Twilight’s voice dropped in pitch. There was some new quality to it, like heavy bass. I felt my teeth tremble in my mouth. "We’re not losing anypony else!" On the bridge, IRVING raised its beak skyward and howled. "FACE ME!" Wind kicked up behind me, slight at first, then suddenly heavy, overpowering. I turned, and saw Twilight on her hooves, ripples of violet light dancing around her body, whipping her mane and tail about her crazily. "Fine." A white glow drifted across the corners of Twilight's eyes. "Twilight," I snapped, "what the hell are you—" Tendrils of purple light curled from the tip of her horn. The white in her eyes shone brighter, enveloped them completely, erasing all traces of her purple irises. Where the exhausted mare had gone, I didn't know. This new, resolute Twilight showed no traces of pain, of fear, of sorrow, or of any emotion besides white-hot fury. IRVING wasn’t afraid. It marched, picked up speed, and though still hobbled by its significant wounds, it somehow managed to run. The grenades in front of me lifted off the ground and glowed the same purple as Twilight's aura. One streaked toward IRVING, a miniature meteor, and exploded against its armor in a brilliant plume of orange that consumed the machine completely. The next grenade followed, exploding into an even larger ball of fire. Twilight stomped forward, passing between Rarity and I. The energy whipping around her body coalesced in front of her, in a shifting, writhing mass of purple light that creeped toward the bridge and gradually enveloped it, from one end to the other. The fire that surrounded IRVING cleared; it lay on its back, its underside charred and the red muscle beneath the skin on its legs completely exposed and raw. It was still functional, though; its legs writhed as it struggled to right itself. Twilight inhaled deeply at the sight of the thing, and screamed. I crushed my palm against my ear to block out the noise, but it wasn't just auditory. The noise echoed in my head, in my body – hell, it vibrated within every cell in my being, and it wasn’t just me. The others fell, too, clutching their heads tightly. And then the bridge began to melt. The light shining around it superheated the metal, starting at one end, and gradually crawling to the other. The bridge slumped forward as the molten metal ran like a waterfall into the chasm below. The angle of the thing grew sheerer, and IRVING slid forward, its position no longer secure. “JACK!” Molten metal came into contact with its legs. “JACK!” The reek of burning flesh filled the air. “JACK!” IRVING slipped off of what little remained of the bridge, and plummeted, chased by a river of lava. "JACK!" Its final cry echoed off the chasm's walls. Twilight's scream died down. Her light show faded and died, as quickly as it had come. The unicorn's legs gave out; she fell, spread-eagled on the ground, not moving save the rise and fall of her back from her breathing. The rest of us remained where we were; Rarity, gaping at Twilight, Applejack staring at the gorge with grim satisfaction on her face, and Pinkie Pie bowing her head, sniffling softly. As if to add the final punctuation to the fight, the castle flashed, popped, and crumbled into dust.

Posh

436

Main 6,Other,Twilight Sparkle,Crossover,Human,Adventure,Dark,Metal Gear,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic,Death,Violence

Pony Gear Solid

Solid Snake teams up with ponies to save Equestria, and gradually learns to love it.

incomplete

<p>Metal Gear has fallen into the hooves of an Equestrian revolutionary, who, with the backing of his human mercenary allies, intends to use it to depose Celestia and crown himself ruler. Having crossed into Equestria in pursuit of this rogue weapon, the legendary Solid Snake must ally with the residents of Ponyville to prevent a nuclear catastrophe.</p><p>See also <a href="/story/369125/equestria-gear-solid-the-definitive-experience" rel="nofollow"><i>Equestria Gear Solid</i></a><i>,</i> the hilarious spin-off EQG parody in which everything you know is wrong, and every single character from the story is an awful caricature of themselves. </p><p><a href="http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/FanFic/PonyGearSolid" rel="nofollow">Now with its own TVtropes page!</a></p>

teen

2014-01-15T23:09:35+00:00

2017-08-09T01:55:07+00:00

"I don't have any more tears to shed." When you consider just how quickly the situation in the castle deteriorated, the fact that we survived at all was nothing short of a victory in itself. I'd gone into unfamiliar, hostile territory, with limited armament and a squad of ill-trained locals at my back, and not only did we successfully extract a hostage, we neutralized not one, but two potentially game-changing pieces of hardware – the IRVING unit and the Hind-D gunship – at the cost of one fatality and several casualties. Significant casualties, granted, but not life-threatening. Add to it the destruction of a small, but significant, outpost and a supply cache, and, from a military standpoint, we'd made out rather well. From a morale standpoint, well... things could have been better. I leaned against the trunk of a dead tree, dangling a cigarette from my lips. I'd popped my shoulder back into place and, with the help of Rarity's telekinesis, jury-rigged a sling for it out of my bandanna. It wouldn't hold forever, but it was better than letting it dangle. The others, what was left of the band that had gone into the woods, rested, nursing their respective wounds. From the intermittent sobs coming from Rarity, I figured they were grieving, too. The loss of Rainbow Dash had robbed the ponies of whatever momentum they'd had. They held it together long enough to drag Twilight's unconscious body away from the chasm and into the underbrush where we'd hidden on our arrival at the castle, before fatigue and demoralization dragged them down and they all collapsed where they stood. Rarity cried. The rest didn't make any sound at all. Maybe they were too tired and sore to do anything but stew in their grief. If I'd taken a beating like that, I started to think, and then my shoulder throbbed powerfully, and I grimaced. Right. I had taken a beating like that. Applejack was curled up in the grass, her eyes half open and her tail wrapped around her body, its tip resting on her nose. Her mane was singed where IRVING's flame thrower had burned off her hat, and the skin on her back was red and exposed. It occurred to me that she'd traded the life of her sister for the life of one of her closest friends. I doubted that was lost on her, and maybe that's what she was thinking about as she lay there. Rarity and Pinkie Pie rested close to Twilight, who slept soundly, looking more content than any of us had any right to be. Every few minutes, Rarity would glance at Twilight, then sigh almost too softly for me to catch before turning away again. Pinkie, on the other hand – or hoof, I guess, if we're being pedantic – looked pensive, not agitated. She sat on her haunches, with her face drawn into a frown, and her forelegs were crossed over her chest. With one hoof, she periodically tapped her chin, emitting "hmm"s and "huh"s, as if she were pondering some great mystery. If she was grieving for Rainbow Dash, she had a funny way of going about it. We'd malingered for thirty minutes, at least, before I started getting restless. I took a look at the path, wondered if I should say anything about getting back on track, but decided against it. After all, when would I get another opportunity to smoke without being lectured? I took a long, savory drag off of the cigarette dangling from my lips, held the smoke in my lungs for a bit, and released it in a slow breath. "What do you think we should do next?" Pinkie whispered, breaking the silence at long last. "After we get back to Ponyville, I mean." I didn't know who she'd been addressing – maybe all of us? We all looked at her, Applejack with one half-lidded eye, and Rarity with an expression of surprise, as if Pinkie had jarred her out of some daydream. She was the one who ultimately answered Pinkie, for which I was grateful. I wouldn't have spoken to her if I could've helped it. "I suppose we find a way to warn Princess Celestia about what's coming," said Rarity, after that long, awkward silence. "Sending a letter is out of the question, since..." I heard a sniffle and a hiccup in her voice, and she dabbed a hoof against her eye. I wasn't sure what that had to do with anything. "We could travel to Canterlot," Pinkie suggested. "Take the train, all seven—" Her sentence cut off, and there was a long silence before she timidly amended "all six of us." "Rainbow Dash." Rarity sighed. "When the Princess raises the sun next morning, it's going to shine a little less brightly." Pinkie looked at Rarity, perplexed. She tilted her head, one ear flopped to the side like a puppy. She blinked once, twice, and on the third, she kept her eyes shut and giggled. That was damned unsettling. "Silly Rarity," said Pinkie. "Dashie's not dead." Rarity bowed her head. Tears blackened by mascara ran through the dirt-streaked fur on her face. "Oh, Pinkie," she sobbed, and she buried her face in Pinkie's chest. "She isn't. She isn't," Pinkie insisted. She placed her hoof on Rarity's back and rubbed gently, soothingly. "I know she's not." "You seemed pretty certain," I said, "back at the bridge." Taken aback for only a second, Pinkie replied, "Well, duh, because I didn't have time to think about it. But now that I have, I'm totally one hundred percent sure – Dashie's alive." She looked at Applejack; the mare had stirred from her doze, and was watching her friends with a melancholy look on her face. "Applejack, back me up on this." Applejack, like Rarity, was hesitant to answer. Doubtless, she wanted to protect her friend's feelings, but enabling Pinkie here would just feed into her delusion, and that wouldn't be good, in the short or the long-term. "Well now," said Applejack at length. "I reckon it depends on what happened back there." She looked at me. "With us bein' so tired an' all, Snake, ya haven't said exactly what went down with you an' Twi an' Dash. Since Twi's out like a rock, I guess that leaves you to tell the tale." Well, damn. Way to pass the buck. I took another drag off my cigarette before I started. "The keep caved in on itself before we could get clear of it. Rainbow Dash got pinned beneath some debris. There wasn't time enough to dig her out, so she gave Spike to Twilight and I, and told us to get moving." I paused. "IRVING came after us not too long after that. It might have gotten Rainbow Dash before it caught up to us." Not that it would have made much difference when the castle imploded whether or not IRVING got her. She would have been buried alive when the foundation gave way and the keep and its surrounding area collapsed. Death at IRVING's hands (or claws? feet?) would have been quicker than being crushed or suffocated, granted, but that's the best that anyone could hope for. My answer made Applejack shoot a worried glance at Pinkie Pie. "But y'all didn't see it get her?" I frowned, knowing full well where she was taking that line of thought. "No. But it's safe to assume—" "So it's possible that she's okay," said Pinkie, interjecting quickly. A satisfied smile broke across her face face. "Not probable, though," I pointed out. "The keep collapsed because of the damage IRVING did when it crashed through the window. The demolition charges we were running from hadn't gone off yet. When they did, everything in the surrounding area would have fallen into the castle's catacombs, and Dash would have been buried under tons of rubble when that happened. And you're still ignoring the possibility that IRVING crushed her flat on its way out the—" "Heaven's sakes, Snake!" Rarity snapped, tearing her mascara-streaked face away from Pinkie's chest. "You're going through an awful lot of trouble to convince us that somepony we love is gone forever! Do you have even the slightest understanding of the toll this is taking on us?!" Remarks born from equal parts anger and ignorance. Of course I'd lost friends on the battlefield before. It's never easy to accept, and that makes it all the more important that you do accept it. "You start grasping at straws, and you hold yourself back. Even if there's a chance that Rainbow Dash is still alive, it's infinitesimal – not worth holding out hope over." "It's always worth holding out hope," said Rarity, climbing to her hooves, "when a friend's life is on the line." She advanced on me. "Something I'm sure you know nothing about. Don't try and convince me you've any tears for Rainbow Dash; you couldn't stand her, and we all know it! You didn't give a damn about her, and you clearly do not give a damn about any of us." She barked a harsh laugh. "I'd be shocked if there were anyone besides yourself that you've ever cared even the meanest amount for!" Gunshot rings out through the blizzard. Body hangs limply over my shoulders as the New York sunset glimmers over the ocean. Spike lies in a pile of rubble, not moving, barely breathing. Rainbow Dash smiles at me through her tears. I clenched my jaw and moved to meet Rarity halfway. "You don't know the first thing about—" "Stop!" Applejack interposed herself between the two of us, warding off Rarity with one hoof and staring me down with a look in her eye that verged on panic. "The two of you comin' to blows out here? Friends fightin' friends? Rarity, you know that ain't what Dash would've wanted." "Friends?" Rarity scoffed. "Some friend he is." Applejack preemptively silenced me with a stern glare, then looked at Rarity. "You got no idea, sugarcube. I was with Snake, y'know, jus' before IRVING went bonkers." She cast a smile my way. "Plan was to slip out quiet-like while we tangled with the bad guys, right?" I nodded. Simplistically put, but accurate. "Now, that ain't how it worked out, obviously," Applejack continued. "'Cuz when you saw that feller in the guard tower, drawin' a bead on Rainbow Dash, you took a shot that blew your cover to save her. That pony you didn't even like." Her eyes, silently imploring me to speak up in my own defense, met mine, but I held my tongue, unprepared to say a word in light of this new turn in the conversation. Rarity had nothing to say either, though from her tense, rigid body language, she was still clearly seething. When she finally understood that I wasn't going to say anything, Applejack looked back to Rarity to pick up where she'd left off. "I tell you what, Rarity. If he didn't take that shot? Maybe he'd be okay, still have two good shoulders instead of one. But I'll bet you an' me, we wouldn't be standin' here right now." She nodded at Pinkie. "Neither would she." At Twilight. "Or her." And then down the path, off into the woods. "An' they wouldn't have gotten away clean at all." Rarity fumed. She pursed her lips and glared at me, but I could tell that her anger was ebbing. I still didn't say a thing. Honestly, Applejack's little speech had rendered me quite... speechless. "It hurts to think about. Hurts more to hear out loud." Applejack ran a hoof over her singed mane, cringing a little as it came into contact with burned skin. "An' me, I'm gonna hold out hope that my friend is still alive, an' that we can get 'er back somehow." I watched Pinkie smile broadly and thump her tail against the ground like a puppy being offered a treat. "But this feller right here, he ain't selfish." Applejack shook her head. "An' I know that for truth." Rarity sniffed, but I could tell that Applejack's defense had taken the will to argue out of her. She avoided looking at me for a long couple of seconds. When she finally did, it was with a soft smile on her face. "Well, if the element of honesty says it's the truth, I suppose I have to believe her." Element of honesty, element of loyalty... The rest probably had their own equivalent titles, too. Give Twilight an eyepatch and megalomania, and she and her friends might've had promising careers in special operations. "That reminds me," said Pinkie, her face appearing suddenly between my feet. "You've been doing a super-duper bang-up job helping us out of a buncha-bunch of tight spots, so I think it's only fair to make you an honorary pony!" Flattering. "The only problem is," said Pinkie, frowning, "I can't think of what your cutie mark would be, because I can't figure out what your special talent is. Shooting bad things? Being a sourpuss? But who'd want a frowny-face on his hiney for the rest of his life?" Rarity hid a smirk behind a hoof, and Applejack was smiling openly. It's nice that someone was amused. "How about my foot stomping on your face?" I muttered, stepping away from Pinkie. The obtuse manifestation of a stomach ulcer pulled herself off the dirt. "Being a sourpuss it is! First thing when we get back to Ponyville, I'm getting you inked." "And I'm going to shoot myself," I said, amid snickering from Rarity and Applejack. "And I," said a fourth voice, "am going to eat an entire bowl of aspirin." Pinkie gasped, turned to the purple unicorn, and darted to her side. "Twilight! Oh, you had us all worried there." She flopped across Twilight's back and wrapped her forelegs around her in a hug that no doubt crushed several ribs and collapsed at least one of her feeble pony lungs. "You're not hurt, are you?" Twilight choked out a few unintelligible syllables. "Uh, Pinkie?" Applejack said with a chuckle. "Twilight's gotta breathe to answer you." "Well, duh. Why would you even bring up something so ob – oh." Pinkie released Twilight, who immediately gasped for breath. Pinkie blushed. "So, um, are you okay Twilight?" Twilight smiled weakly. "My headache is the stuff of legends, but other than that, I seem to be just fine." She winced. "Except I think you broke a couple ribs there, Pinkie." Called it. Applejack trotted to Twilight's side and knelt beside her. "How long you been awake?" Twilight started to turn in Applejack's direction, but froze, hesitated for a moment, and quickly directed her gaze at the ground. Huh. "The first thing I heard was Rarity yelling at Snake. It sounded pretty intense." She glanced at me, then Rarity, and frowned. "Is everything okay?" Rarity and I exchanged a look. For my part, there wasn't any animosity toward her, vexing as her remarks had been. She was emotional, grieving – it's only natural that she would have lashed out. "We're alright," she said. I couldn't tell whether she meant it, despite her gentle expression, but I echoed her sentiment with a curt nod nevertheless. "Good," said Twilight. "This has been a hard enough day without me having to pull you two off each other." I saw something in her face – the briefest glint of light at the corner of her eye – but she blinked twice, rapidly, and it was gone. I reminded myself that, as difficult as Rainbow Dash's death was on the others, Twilight was a witness to it, at least partially. As admirably as she composed herself, I saw right through her, and if I could, then I doubted that her friends couldn't. I guess, though, that in a crisis, you need to believe that your leaders are holding themselves together, even when they're clearly not. They let Twilight believe that her mask of composure had them convinced, and Twilight, in turn, let herself believe that it was convincing. Something had to give, sooner or later. "What's our next move?" I asked. I saw a dull purple glow at the bottom of my field of vision an instant before my cigarette was yanked from my mouth, crushed into a ball the size of a peanut, and dropped to the dirt. Nice while it lasted. "We need to get back to town," Twilight said. "Mobilize some kind of defense against the humans, and find a way to contact Princess Celestia." She paused. "I'm open to suggestions on how to do that." "My vote's for the train," said Applejack firmly. "The six of us take the express t'Canterlot an' tell the Princess ourselves. Eyewitness testimony, an' all that." Pinkie raised her hoof. "That was my idea. I want everypony to know that I had a good idea." All eyes turned to Rarity, who, after a moment, nodded. I shrugged my left shoulder. "Train it is, I suppose," I said. "As for mustering a defense—" "We'll worry about that when we get there," said Twilight. "There hasn't been an all-out war in Equestria in a very, very long time, so Ponyville's ability to withstand a siege is..." She scrunched her face up. "Iffy, at best. I want to review all of our assets, everything that could potentially be used to defend Ponyville against attack, before I jump the proverbial gun." "This assumes they plan to attack Ponyville," I said, tapping a finger impatiently against my bicep. All this standing around and talking was making me antsy. "I doubt it's a high priority target." "Better t'be prepared, Snake," said Applejack. "I'm with Twilight on this." As were, I suspected, the others. "Fine," I said. Addressing Twilight, I asked "Are you good to travel?" Twilight wiggled her forelegs, one after the other, and kicked her hind legs backward tentatively. Climbing to all fours, she stretched out her back, letting out a slight groan as she worked her muscles. "I'm kinda stiff, but I guess I'm mobile. Whatever magic I tapped into when I took out that bridge must've rejuvenated me." Convenient, but at least it wasn't nanomachines. "Yeah, I've been meaning to tell you, Twilight," said Pinkie, leaning her elbow against Twilight's shoulder. She looked askance at Pinkie, but didn't brush her off immediately. "That was a super cool trick, with the melty bridge and the great balls of fire." Pinkie whistled appreciatively. "Goodness gracious!" Now it was Twilight's turn to blush. She looked away from Pinkie, clearly uncomfortable. Unfortunately, the direction she turned her eyes in happened to be where Applejack stood, and she trembled, and looked in a third direction. She coughed and gently pulled away from Pinkie; her elbow hovered in the air momentarily, as though she were still leaning on something, before gravity sucked her down. "In any case," said Twilight, ignoring her friend's praise, "I can walk on my own, so." She grinned sheepishly at Rarity. "No need to lug me around like a sack of potatoes anymore." Rarity chuckled primly. "None of that, now, Twilight; you know I'd carry you a thousand miles if I could." Despite, it seemed, how damaging it was to her primping. Her pristine white coat was matted and smudged with dirt, and her hair, which had been curly and bouncy when we'd met, was in a state of disarray and plastered against her face with sweat. "Hopefully, though, there'd be some sort of shift system, where we all take turns bearing you as a burden." "I told you I'd be glad to take 'er off your shoulders for a while," said Applejack. "Both o'yours." "Hey, you're not the only one with rock-hard, toned muscles from a lifetime of farming, y'know," said Pinkie Pie, a touch defensively. "I could probably take her all by my lonesome, if Rarity would let me." "Oh," said Rarity, "you know I could never subject a friend to that kind of burden alone. Besides, what's life without a little adversity? After all, half the fun of generosity is complaining about the pains you take to be generous." I snorted. "One hell of an albatross hanging around your neck." My remark was met with four very perplexed stares from four pairs of pony eyes. Pinkie frowned. "Now, you're just lucky Fluttershy isn't around to hear you say that. She'd give you an earful." "It's from a poem. A man shoots an albatross, and he's forced to wear it around his neck as a burden." Rarity gasped. "Surely you're not attributing something so gruesome to moi? Honestly, Snake, that would be just too horrid, even for one so rough as you!" I gave up and sighed, tossing my left arm in the air with exasperation as the ponies all shared a chuckle. Having fun at my expense – not something I'm used to people doing. I let it slide, though, ignored the bruising it did to my ego to have pastel ponies laugh at me. Just like I saw through Twilight's composure, I saw right through each of their laughing, smiling faces. They were sore, tired, and broken-hearted, but even they needed to laugh. Twilight made the decision to put me on point for the duration of our journey, reasoning that, dislocated shoulder or no, my guns made me the most potent threat in the group. Curious, because after watching her display at the bridge against IRVING, I figured it'd be her, rather than any of the rest of us. Judging by her reaction when Pinkie brought it up earlier, though, it seemed she wasn't too thrilled with her newfound talent for wanton destruction. A while into our walk, Applejack sidled up to me. "How's the shoulder?" she asked, keeping her tone low and conversational. "Not too bad. The sling helps." I was lying. It hurt like a son of a bitch. "Glad to hear it. Honestly, Snake," said Applejack with a hollow chuckle, "after all the licks you took back there, it's pretty dang impressive that'cher still on your hoo – uh, feet." I ignored the faux pas. Applejack had earned enough goodwill for that. "Funny," I said. "I was thinking the same thing about you back there. That was one hell of a beating that IRVING treated you to, not to mention that shot in the back from Trenton." Applejack shuddered. "You can't imagine jus' how awful that felt." "I speak from experience." Not first-hand, granted, but Jack's expression when Olga nailed him with the blunt of her katana told me all I needed to know. "I mean this in the best possible way, Applejack, but you really shouldn't be alive right now." "Earth pony constitution," said Applejack proudly, "an' a lifetime of apple buckin'. Come an' work on the farm with me a li'l while; we'll toughen you right up." I raised an eyebrow. "Earth pony constitution or not, Applejack, I'm willing to bet there's one or two things that I could teach you." "Oh yeah?" Applejack grinned at me. "Feel free to step in the ring when yer all healed up. You an' me, we'll go a couple rounds." I chuckled, and for once, it wasn't out of derision. "Something to look forward to when all this is over." I pulled a cigarette out of my pack, but before I could raise it to my lips, Twilight's aura caught and incinerated it, giving me nothing more than a pungent whiff of tobacco. Son of a bitch; how did she even see me that time? "But I doubt you came up here to compare scars, Applejack. What's on your mind?" The scorched orange pony glanced nervously over her shoulder, then back to me. "Look, that thing, with Rarity before—" "Water under the bridge," I said. "I'm over it." "Good to know," said Applejack, "but that's not what I was gettin' at." She nervously beat a hoof against the dirt. "It's jus', it reminded me that I never got 'round to thankin' you." That's what this was about? Belated gratitude? "But you did," I said. "Before we split up in the keep." "No, I mean – I mean for what I was talkin' about before. Savin' Dash the way you did, when you really didn't have to." A cold feeling spread inside my chest. Why'd she have to bring this up again? As if I didn't feel bad enough living a lie to her, she had she had to go around telling all of her damned friends that I was some kind of self-sacrificing hero. "I know y'all didn't like her. I know the feelin' was mutual. But, Snake—" "It was nothing." "It was everythin'. Snake, you—" She reached a hoof toward me, but thought better of it when I pulled away. "You put'cher self in harm's way to save somepony you couldn't stand. That kinda loyalty... it's the kind of thing Dash would appreciate. If she was here, Snake, she'd be sayin' this herself, but since she ain't..." She smiled warmly, beaming those big, green eyes of hers at me. "Thank you." Damn it. Applejack was convinced – convinced – I'd taken that shot to save Rainbow Dash's hide. It might have been wrong to keep up that pretense, but I just didn't have it in me to tell her that the sniper had been aiming at me, not Dash. Not with her and her friends' morale dangling from a precipice. I thought frantically, searching for a way to change the subject, something, anything, that would— "You know what this walk needs? A singalong. Anypony got any suggestions?" Well, I DID say "anything." "Don't go jumping to conclusions," I muttered, half-rolling my eyes. "For all we know, Pinkie's not delusional after all." "Mmhm," Applejack murmured. Her response wasn't actually much of a response – it was non-committal, delivered with a touch of uncertainty in her voice. "Don't tell me you agree with her," I said. Applejack shrugged and smiled wanly at me. "More like I wanna believe her. Pinkie's got a sixth sense, y'know. It's somethin' we've all come to depend on. She says that somethin's so, I take it on faith it's so." And I'd thought that Applejack was the only one with sense. Turns out, she was just as mad as her friends. If I adjusted my grading scale, though, I suppose she was the sanest of the bunch of them. "You'll forgive me if I maintain a healthy skepticism." "Y'all don't know her, Snake," said Applejack. The words, which would have sounded reproachful coming from anyone else, were nothing of the sort when she said them. "This one time, see, she swore Fluttershy was in some kinda trouble, so me an' Twi an' Spi—" She froze abruptly, and an awkward silence hung between us for a few seconds. "Well, I don't tell it as well as Twilight. Ask her 'bout it later." Interesting how she could hold out hope for Rainbow Dash, but not for Spike. Maybe because she personally saw him get injured? She was removed from what happened to Dash, after all. What happened to Spike probably felt more real to her, which made it harder for her to spin the way she and the others spun Dash's fate. With the conversation having stalled, I took the opportunity to glance around my surroundings, noting, with mild relief, that we were coming into familiar territory. This was part of the stretch of road I'd walked with Apple Bloom the day before. The setting jarred a memory for me. I'd kept Apple Bloom's mind off of the situation at hand by carrying on a conversation with her. The same thing might work for her sister. "Twilight keeps research notes on Pinkie Pie, apparently." "Yeah?" Applejack chuckled dryly. "She would, too." "Oh Snaaaaake?" Pinkie sang from behind me. "Do you know any good human marching songs?" "I don't like you," I said, "and will probably hit you in the future if you don't stop talking to me." "Gosh, that doesn't sound like it'd lend itself to any kind of rhythm at all. But I do appreciate a challenge!" And then she started singing the sentence I'd just said to her, varying her pitch and tone in an effort to turn it into a musical piece. I started wishing I'd died back in the castle. "I'll be honest, Applejack," I said, "I know she's your friend, but I really do not see the appeal in—" I felt something dig into the sole of my boot, and stopped in my tracks. Applejack, who outpaced me for a moment when I'd stopped, came back to me with a look of concern. "Everythin' okay?" A blur of pink in the corner of my eye made my head throb. "What'cha stoppin' for, slowpoke?" Ignoring her, I knelt, retrieved what had stuck in my foot, and held it up to my eye for inspection. I recognized it immediately. ".45 ACP," I muttered. "What was that?" Twilight came to my other side and inspected the shell casing with a frown. "I don't understand." I held it up so that she could see it better. "Spent cartridge for a pistol bullet." I looked closer at the dirt and saw a tiny tuft of red. A tranquilizer dart. I dropped the cartridge into the dirt and climbed back to my feet. "This is where we met Trenton." "Which means we're close to town," said Rarity. "We hadn't gotten very far into the woods when we encountered you." Twilight, still frowning, looked around the clearing. "Are you sure, Snake?" she asked. "I mean, there are bullets in the ground, sure—" "Not bullets," I interrupted. "Cartridges." Twilight crushed her lips together tightly and narrowed her eyes at me. "Cartridges," she said tersely. "But there's no sign of any of the soldiers' bodies." The ones Trenton had killed. I still wanted an explanation for that. "Well, the answer to THAT is pretty obvious," Pinkie chirped. Glancing at her, I asked "And that is?" "We're in the Everfree Forest, right? All kinds of nasty critters make this place their home." Nodding to herself, she added "They must've come along and gobbled their bodies all up." The others glanced nervously from side-to-side. Rarity bit her lip; Twilight's tail swished. Applejack kept her eye on the wall of trees just off the path. Pinkie just stood there whistling. "So," said Twilight, smiling nervously. "I think we should probably pick up the pace. All who oppose?" None of them opposed. It wasn't long before we emerged from the treeline, the ponies in front, myself taking up the rear. I inhaled, and for once, the air wasn't stale, the atmosphere not oppressive. The Equestrian countryside stretched out before me, its colors vibrant even in the dark. In the distance was the town I'd crept through before, Ponyville. Ponyville. That was a name I'd never get used to saying. The ponies themselves? I'd acclimated well enough to them in small doses. But a whole city full of them? Insanity had been pretty well redefined for me by that point in my journey, but there was still that requisite skeptical part of me that maintained the impossibility of a metropolitan region packed with talking, sapient ponies. That said, when we were greeted at the exit of the Everfree Forest by a mob of said ponies, the skeptic in me fell quiet. There were twenty of them, maybe, a full representation of the three races that Twilight and her friends belonged to. There were few unicorns in the crowd, even fewer pegasi – three in the air that I could see, though there may have been more on the ground – with the earth ponies, like Applejack, making up the bulk of the crowd. Many of them had black bags beneath red eyes, as if they'd been roused in the middle of their sleep. Many looked hesitant, frightened; that'd be that taboo surrounding the forest, I'll bet. One, in particular, looked uncomfortably familiar. "Applejack!" A muscular red stallion pushed through the crowd to the front. His eyes widened at the sight of the partially cooked and very exhausted orange mare. "Y'dang fool, what's got into you?!" Applejack sighed tiredly as the stallion approached her, panting with – what, relief? Worry? Possibly anger, judging by his choice of words. "Oh, I'm jus' fine, Big McIntosh, thank you for askin'. An' how are you tonight?" "Don't sass me," said the stallion. "I wake up to find Apple Bloom missin', then I find out that you an' your friends wandered off into the Everfree, Fluttershy shows up in the dead of night with Spike half-dead an' Apple Bloom scared outta her wits, an' all I can wonder is what in the hay—" He chanced to look past Applejack, caught sight of me. His eyes focused on my own and widened. "You!" He jabbed a hoof accusingly in my direction. As someone who spends much of his time trying to avoid being seen, having so many pairs of eyes on me is never very comfortable, especially when dealing with someone who you shot in recent memory. The pony posse looked at me, Twilight and her friends looked at me – Applejack with considerably more interest than the others – all of them stared, bewildered. Not knowing what else to do, I lifted my good hand slightly and offered a small, stiff wave. Applejack raised her eyebrow at me, then turned to Big McIntosh again. "You two've met?" Big McIntosh spat out the piece of straw in his mouth and glared at me. "This snake was hidin' in our barn las' night. Shot me up fulla somethin' that knocked me out 'til the afternoon!" Applejack's posture suddenly went rigid, in a way that was undoubtedly very painful, given the amount of physical abuse she'd sustained. Slowly, almost menacingly, she rotated her head to look at me over her shoulder. "You shot my brother?" Audible gasps and murmurs sounded throughout the crowd. Brother? I thought. Then I remembered the events that took place in the barn that night – the barrels full of apples, the green apple mark on Big McIntosh's ass. And Applejack, well, her name was Applejack. Of course they were related. Why didn't I realize it sooner? "Not lethally," I mumbled lamely, turning my head to avoid her gaze. "You shot my brother?!" Applejack repeated. I heard her punctuate her question with a slam of her hoof against the ground. "Duh-raaaamaaaaa," sang Pinkie Pie, a mischievous smile on her face. "So this is what it takes to get more than two words out of Big Mac!" "It's not like I knew at the time," I said. "Not helpin', Snake!" Applejack growled. I looked at her out of the corner of my eye. "Fine. I shot your brother. Now, remind me what I spent the better part of the past day doing?" Applejack recoiled a little. Her posture softened, though a frown still remained on her face. Her brother, confused, looked between the two of us, giving me the stink-eye when he looked at me. "What's he mean by that?" Applejack closed her eyes and sighed. She turned back to Big McIntosh. "Y'all said Apple Bloom was alright?" "Jus' fine, back at the farm with Granny." "He's the reason why." She jerked her head in my direction. "Or at least a big part'a it." Big McIntosh started to respond to that, raising his hoof and opening his mouth, his eyes on me. But his brain hiccuped, or something, because he just stood there, stuck in that pose for a few seconds, before he lowered his hoof and shut his mouth. He closed his eyes, silently working his jaw, then called to the assembled ponies behind him "Alright, show's over. Nothin' else to see." There was some disappointed mumbling from the crowd, but they did as they were told, turning and trotting back down the road to town in a multicolored blob of pony. "'Splain," said Bic McIntosh quietly. "Apple Bloom snuck outta her room las' night an' wandered off into the Everfree," said Applejack. "Somethin' took her, somethin' Snake here jus' happened to 'be huntin'. He helped us track it an' snatch Apple Bloom back." "Mmhm." Big McIntosh nodded, looking almost sagely with his closed eyes and tightly clenched jaw. "An' he was in our barn because...?" He opened his eyes at me, quite obviously leveling his question my way. Truth be told, I had just as much of an idea as he did. With everything that had happened during the past day, I'd put that question on the back burner. It seemed like I had some time to chew it over, though, before we made our next move. "I woke up there." Big McIntosh looked skeptical at that. But rescuing his sister must've won me some points in his book, because he dropped the matter and went back to addressing Applejack. "Fluttershy stirred things up in town, flyin' in with the kids, all panicked 'n breathless. I sussed out from 'er that y'all were out here, 'fore the mayor had 'er hauled off to city hall, an' I got together a posse t'come in after you." "Well, that explains the crowd," said Rarity, craning her neck to watch said posse leave. "But why would the mayor take Fluttershy to city hall? She isn't in any trouble, is she?" "Wish I could tell ya," said Big McIntosh. "I was a li'l too busy to follow up on that. I made sure Apple Bloom was safe at home, then got to work roundin' up ponies to chase y'all down." So Apple Bloom was safe after all. I suppose that was a relief. Though he hadn't said anything about— "Big Mac?" said Twilight, heretofore silent. She was biting her lip, looking nervous. "You've said a lot about Apple Bloom; not too much about Spike. Is he...?" She swallowed the rest of the sentence. "In the hospital," said Big McIntosh. "Last I heard, anyhow." "Do you know how his condition is?" Twilight asked. Big McIntosh curled his lips into his mouth, biting them gently before answering. He spoke with a careful, deliberate pace, choosing his words carefully, the same way I'd seen Applejack do before. "He weren't conscious, but he was alive. Wish I knew more." If anything, that just seemed to put Twilight more on edge. She nodded at Big McIntosh and then looked away, off into the distance, at nothing in particular. Applejack looked at her brother, pleadingly, and he hastily continued. "Uh, y'know, since my word prob'ly ain't so good here, you might wanna look in on him yourself." He was throwing her a life preserver, and a flimsy one at that. Twilight probably knew significantly more about Spike's condition than Big McIntosh, having been there when he'd suffered his injuries. His earlier assessment – "half dead" – was no doubt right, in a best case scenario. But she accepted his offer of hope with a smile and a nod. She turned to the others. "Does anypony want to come with me? I know we're all tired, so if you'd rather go home and rest..." Her words weren't sincere. It was all over her face, her stance. The nervous shudders that ran down her spine. The almost imperceptible shaking of her knees. Twilight may have been the most physically unscathed of the group, but despite the front of strength she put on, she'd never looked more fragile than she did at that moment. "I'm a little far from home, myself," I said. "May as well go with you, seeing as I don't have anywhere else to go." "Wouldn't mind puttin' you up at the ol' homestead, Snake," said Applejack. Big McIntosh's aghast expression told me that he would, in fact, mind puttin' me up at the ol' homestead. "'Course," she added, "it'll have to be later, since I'll be goin' with Twilight too." A twinge of a smile played across Twilight's face, though she still avoided looking at Applejack. "Well, I, for one, am shocked at you, Twilight," said Rarity, with false sternness. "Implying that we'd rather sleep than visit with a poor, stricken friend. I'd never forgive myself!" "Ditto," said Pinkie brightly. "You're not the only one here who loves Spike, y'know." She grinned, with a hint of lasciviousness, at Rarity, whose luminescent, red blush set a new standard in my mind for peculiar pony pigmentation. Twilight's tiny smile grew, and for a second, I thought I saw a crack in her facade – a tiny glistening in the corner of her eye, an encore of the tears she'd nearly spilled in the forest. She blinked them away, and they were gone as quickly as they'd appeared. "Thanks, everypony," she said. Then she glanced at me, and flushed. "Or, uh. Every... one." I sighed, tolerating once again the amused snickering at my expense. "Let's just go." So we fell into step once again, a little closer to civilization (or what passed for it around here). It wasn't long before the furtive whispering of a hushed conversation chimed in from the back of our little procession. "'Put 'im up in the farmhouse,'" said Big McIntosh. "Sure, I think we got a spare bale of hay that's only sorta covered in lice." "You hush," hissed Applejack. "Where's that Apple family hospitality, huh?" Big McIntosh snorted. "Think I left it in the box I got stuffed into after he shot me." Baby. Spike's room was in the hospital's trauma ward. The room was decently sized, and divided in two by a teal privacy curtain. The bed behind it was unoccupied, so Spike had the entire place to himself. Pity he wasn't awake to enjoy it. Twilight was on one side of the cot, with a grey-coated, white-maned unicorn standing over her, rattling off a list of maladies and injuries. She didn't look like she was listening. Her face and posture had reverted to the empty, robotic shell that I'd seen in the castle, when she'd first laid eyes on the broken body of the little dragon. Pinkie, Applejack and I stood a respectful distance away. Rarity was opposite Twilight, on Spike's bedside. Her hooves intermittently ran over his blanket, smoothing out its wrinkles and creating more with every pass. The doctor finished his long recitation with a sigh. "Overall, it's lucky that your friend got him to us when she did. If he pulls through, you'll have her to thank for it." "'If?'" Twilight repeated, monotone. The doctor sighed again. "He's stable for now. But we've done all that we can do for him. Spike needs more advanced treatment than we're prepared to give him." He looked at Spike with an expression of resignation and pity. "We just don't have the facilities to care for a baby dragon. Even if we did, I wouldn't know where to start. My knowledge of dragon physiology is extremely limited." "There's nothing else you can do for him?" asked Twilight. "Ms. Sparkle," said the doctor, "I can't even figure out how to penetrate his scales to give him an I.V. I'm sorry, but..." Someone stifled a sob; I belatedly realized it as Rarity. A transparent blue shimmer wrapped around the top of Spike's blanket and tugged it up to his neck. It folded smoothly around his body before the glow faded away. "He looked cold," said Rarity, her voice a faint, high whisper. Pinkie Pie moved to Rarity's side, wordlessly placing a hoof around her shoulders. The doctor turned his head away from them and coughed politely into his elbow. "I think it's best that we give these two some privacy," he said, crossing around the cot to Pinkie and Rarity. "If you'd be so kind?" Pinkie disengaged from Rarity, giving Twilight a little nuzzle as she passed. The others filed past me, out the door and into the corridor. I gave Spike one last look before following. "The mare who brought in Spike also filled out some paperwork," the doctor said as he magicked the door shut behind us. "She did it in a bit of a rush, as the mayor's goon squad was already trying to drag her off to the town hall, so I'm going to need to get some confirmation from Ms. Sparkle on one or two things." He paused. "It seemed tasteless to ask her just then, so if any of you could tell me who his next of kin is..." The others looked at one another, and one after another, they shrugged. Rarity spoke up: "I suppose his legal guardian would be Twilight, as he doesn't really have any blood relations that we know of." "Hmm." The doctor pondered that for a moment. "Ms. Fluttershy listed her as the boy's mother." He coughed into his hoof, which struck me as an inappropriately unsanitary habit for a doctor to have. "No matter. I should add, however, that the rest of you are in need of some medical attention as well. You're a veritable breakfast buffet of wounds." Applejack fidgeted. "Hope it's nothin' you'll need to keep us overnight for, doc. I, uh, got some unfinished business at home." She rubbed the back of her head nervously. The doctor chuckled. "Oh, if it were up to me, you wouldn't walk out of here for a month. But I suppose I can't force you to stay for treatment. I will want to see to those burns, however." The doctor looked over the rest of our motley crew. "The rest of your injuries could do with dressing, but in an accident-prone burg like ours, they're not so far out of the ordinary." He paused and glanced my way, raising an eyebrow. "You, on the other hoof..." I lifted my left hand and made a show of inspecting it. "Don't have one of those, doc. Sorry." His eyes widened and he chuckled again. "A smart-ass, eh? That, I can work with." "Is a sense of humor that important to fix a dislocated shoulder?" I asked. "It doesn't hurt." He began trotting in a circle around me, gently nudging past Applejack as he looked me over, head-to-toe. "Hmm... bipedal, no tail for support. Reliance on pelvic tilt to keep balance? Interesting, very interesting..." "Having fun, doc?" I asked, annoyed. Being stared at was bad enough. Being examined like a piece of meat was just aggravating. "Physical anatomy suggests... ape ancestry?" the doctor continued, ignoring me. "Distinct differences, though, in appearance, stature, locomotion..." He stopped in front of me and looked at my abdomen, frowning, then lifted a hoof to poke me in the stomach. I pulled away, covering my stomach defensively with a hand. "The hell is wrong with you?!" I snapped, flushing. Behind me, I heard snickering. "Anatomically identical to a minotaur, but only between the neck and waist," said the doctor. "How... curious." He looked back at me. "Luckily for you, I know enough about minotaur anatomy to treat your shoulder. Pending an official examination, I'd estimate a total recovery time of, oh... two to three weeks?" My heart thudded into my stomach. "Two to three weeks?! I don't have that kind of time!" "Oh, well. Excuse me," said the doctor, rolling his eyes. "I didn't realize you had a timetable. By all means, let me just fetch my robe and wizard hat, and I'll magic your shoulder back into perfect condition." I seethed at the doctor's sarcasm – as if ponies hadn't been throwing around their "magic" all day. "You don't need to be a dick about it." "I also don't need you questioning my medical practices," the doctor fired back. "Look, I can put you in a proper sling. I can prescribe you pain killers. But I can't accelerate the healing process in your shoulder when I know next to nothing about your anatomy!" Rarity looked askance at the doctor. "I thought you said you knew enough about minotaur anatomy to treat him?" "Yes, with traditional medicine," said the doctor, patronizingly drawing out his syllables. "Accelerated healing on a pony is one thing – a dislocated shoulder, a fractured horn, a broken wing? No problem, because pony anatomy is an area of expertise for me. But you, my friend, are not a pony!" And thank God for that. "The only reason I have the slightest measure of confidence in your treatment is that your upper body, by whatever astounding trick of evolution, is apparently identical to that of a minotaur. That, I can handle. But it'll have to be the old-fashioned, non-magical way, and you are going to have to accept that." That wasn't an option, unfortunately. Fighting through an injury's possible, depending on the severity. But a dislocated shoulder was too crippling an injury to ignore long-term. Such a thing necessitated treatment, which meant taking me out of the action indefinitely. If I had to fight a war with one arm in a sling... I didn't like my odds. The door to Spike's room opened a crack, and Twilight poked her head out from it. "Excuse me." Her face still looked blank; no trace of emotion, no sign that she'd been crying. Was she still in shock? "I couldn't help overhearing, what with you being so loud and all." The doctor blushed and shuffled his hooves a bit. I didn't, because I really didn't care all that much. Twilight stepped fully out of the room and gently shut the door behind her. "Doctor," she said, taking his gaze and holding it. "Do you trust me?" "I—" Flustered, the doctor fumbled for an answer, taking several seconds to find one. "Well... your reputation being what it is, I see no reason not to." "Then you would take my advice very, very seriously, if I were to give it to you." The doctor's expression turned wary. "Yes," he said, speaking cautiously. "I suppose I would." "Then if I were to tell you that it was absolutely, utterly essential that this..." Here she gestured at me. "This person be healed as expediently as possible, that the fate of Equestria hinged on that shoulder being repaired... you would take it seriously, and you would get it done, regardless of the risk, regardless of your personal discomfort." She paused. "Hypothetically, of course." "It's not that—" The doctor had to stop for a breath again, and when he spoke, it was in a much more controlled voice. "I don't have the anatomical knowledge necessary to do it," he said. He did an admirable job containing himself, but his tone was practically bursting at the seams with barely contained irritation. "Performing the procedure without knowing enough about his anatomy runs a risk of—" "But it could be done." "Not without—" "But it could. Be done." Twilight's expression intensified; her eyes narrowed, her head lowered. The doctor bit his lip hard enough for a trickle of blood to leak down his chin. I took a moment to look around, and saw that the others had backed away considerably. Twilight, the doctor and I were at the center of a semicircle, between a cluster of ponies and the door to Spike's room. At length, the doctor sighed and slumped, defeated. "I'll need to pull every file and text regarding minotaur anatomy in the hospital just to prepare. If I work through the night, I should be able to perform the procedure on your friend tomorrow morning." Twilight, satisfied, nodded. "Thank you, doctor." "Wasn't planning on sleeping, anyway," the doctor muttered. He turned away from her and looked at me. "And you need to understand just how much risk is involved with this procedure. One false move, and I could sever a nerve, paralyze that entire arm of yours for the rest of your life!" He sighed. "If I'm going to do this, I need your consent." Admittedly, losing all function in my right arm wasn't a prospect that I particularly enjoyed. But this was a desperate situation, and it was a gamble I'd have to make. "I'll do it." The doctor sagged further. "I was hoping you'd refuse." He turned again to Twilight and pointed rather emphatically at her. "And you, you owe me for this." "Hypothetically, doctor, all of Equestria might just owe you for this." Another pause. "Hypothetically." "Uh-huh." The doctor peeked through the thin pane of glass in the door to Spike's room, then headed off down the hall, passing between Pinkie and Rarity. "I'd like the rest of you, excepting Ms. Sparkle and my newest, largest patient, to stay a while. I haven't forgotten that you all require treatment, after all. But for now, if you'll excuse me, I have some files to pull... and six or seven pots of coffee to put on." We watched him 'til he'd moved out of sight. "You really went to bat for me," I remarked, glancing at Twilight. "I appreciate it." Twilight tilted her head a bit, a dismissive gesture. "It's what friends do." "We're friends?" She smiled joylessly at me. The others – Pinkie, Rarity, Applejack – were led away by a nurse shortly thereafter. There were hugs, some promises to meet again in the morning, and then we parted. "Guess I'm stuck with this bandanna for a sling, after all," I said, when Twilight and I were alone outside of Spike's room. Twilight responded with her first show of emotion since she'd first laid eyes on the comatose dragon: exasperation. "I'd say getting your shoulder fixed up, good as new, outweighs that inconvenience." I conceded the point to her. She spoke up again a little later, as we made our way back to the hospital's entrance. "Something just occurred to me. You didn't take Applejack up on her offer to stay at the farm." Well, now. I suppose I hadn't. "I don't think her big brother would appreciate my company." "Applejack would. I'm sure Apple Bloom would." She gave me an expression of curiosity. "What, exactly, happened between you and Big Mac?" I thought back to my initial awakening in Equestria. "After I went through the gateway, the one back in my world, I lost consciousness for a while. When I woke up, I was in his barn." "And he was in there?" She raised an eyebrow. "And you just decided to shoot him?" "No, I – it's a little more complicated than—" "Snake. I'm teasing you." Her expression had morphed into a narrow-eyed smile. Peculiar. Minutes ago, she'd been blank, practically emotionless, yet there she was ribbing me and throwing me shit-eating grins. Maybe proximity to Spike just drained her emotionally. Or maybe she was putting on a front again. "Ha ha," I grumbled, feigning more annoyance than I actually felt. Twilight aura'd open the door to the waiting room for us, and I followed her past the receptionist's desk, toward the hospital's exit. "The point I'm trying to make," she said, as she pushed the next set of doors open, "is that I'd be happy to let you stay—" She froze suddenly, halfway out the door and holding it open with a hoof. "Oh dear." "What? What's the—" Then I saw what had frozen her: four ponies, gathered in front of the hospital's steps. One, I recognized as Fluttershy; she looked downcast, glancing bashfully at Twilight, avoiding me altogether. The others, I didn't recognize, though I could guess what the two blue-uniformed ponies with the brass badges on their shirts were supposed to be. They flanked the fourth pony, an older, bespectacled gray mare with a cravat around her neck. "Ms. Sparkle!" she said cheerfully. "What a surprise, running into you out here. Would you and your..." She looked at me, apparently at a loss. "Would you and your friend care to join us for a walk?" The mayor's office was spacious, verging on luxurious, by pony standards. But to me, it was just another tiny-ass, cramped pony room, with not enough space for me to stand at my full height. So I knelt beside Twilight, instead, the two of us in front of the mayor's desk. Twilight was positioned between, and just in front of, Fluttershy and I. The pegasus looked rather dejected, and I caught her sneaking furtive glances at me once or twice. Behind us, the two ponies dressed up as police stood guard at the door. The mayor leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her desk and pressing her hooves together. "Let me start by saying that you have my utmost and sincerest condolences. Fluttershy told me about what happened to Spike. And to Rainbow Dash. " Twilight maintained a stony expression, something which impressed me, since Fluttershy most assuredly did not. She sniffled, and her shoulders shook. Twilight just nodded stiffly and mumbled some words of gratitude. "Indeed," said the mayor, leaning forward against her desk, "Fluttershy told me a great many things. Something about an army from outside of Equestria, holed up in the Everfree Forest, led by a revolutionary who wants to launch a coup against the Princess?" Again, Twilight nodded. "Something like that, ma'am." The mayor clicked her tongue and folded her forelegs on her desk. "And how many ponies are aware of this fact?" "Not many," said Twilight. "Myself, my friends. Applejack's sister. Maybe her brother. And him." She jerked her head in my direction. "Not a pony, Twilight," I interjected. Twilight shushed me. "Well," said the mayor. She pulled away from her desk and trotted around to stand at the front, facing Twilight directly. "Let's just keep it that way, shall we?" Twilight, looking very much taken aback, said "Ma'am?" The mayor sighed. She reached a hoof to her face and adjusted the glasses on her nose. "Ms. Sparkle, as you're aware, Ponyville has been subject to a great many disturbances and ordeals in the past two years. Stampedes, dragon rampages, parasprite infestations, even assaults by creatures straight out of mythology. The town's sense of security is severely undermined, hanging by a thread. Frankly..." Another sigh. "Frankly, I'm surprised that anypony still lives here." Twilight tried to reply, but she was at a complete loss for words. The mayor took up the slack. "If news got out of another problem on the horizon, how do you think the town would react? With discipline and confidence?" She scoffed. "No. There'd be panic. Chaos. Just like there is every time something like this happens." "I don't understand," said Twilight. "You won't do anything?" "Make no mistake, it isn't a matter of whether or not I want to do anything, Twilight," said the mayor. "To do nothing in the face of a crisis would be irresponsible. It's that I can't do anything, save give you and yours my blessing." The mayor looked suddenly uncomfortable, with a long, thin frown across her face and a furrowed brow. "Excepting your friends, what I'm about to say must stay between us." With a sideways glance at me, she added "This means you, too. Are we clear?" I wasn't sure how to respond to that – did I look like the type to spread around sensitive information? – but Twilight answered for me with a short, jerky nod of the head. "A number of things happened while you were gone this afternoon," said the mayor, moving back behind her desk. She reached into a drawer with her mouth and pulled out a manilla file folder, setting it on the desk. Twilight's horn flashed, and her aura wrapped around the folder, levitating it back to her face and opening it. Her eyes scanned the folders' contents rapidly. "First," said the mayor, "we received a telegram from the Fillydelphia transportation hub, advising us that a fire had broken out at the mountain junction connecting the rail between Ponyville and Canterlot, and that all trains passing through that junction were canceled until further notice. We tried sending a response, only to discover that the lines had been cut." She glared at Twilight. "All of them." Twilight sifted through the folders' contents, her expression growing more and more distressed as she read, and as the mayor kept talking. "So I sent out pegasi to relay messages to the hub in Fillydelphia. Guess what? They were intercepted and sent back." The mayor snorted. "They returned with a mouthwritten message: As of noon today, flight control in Cloudsdale has declared Ponyville a no-fly zone. The communique is in the folder." "Yeah, I'm reading..." Twilight scanned a page in the folder, mouthing words on the page, then looked back up at the mayor. "It doesn't say why." "No. It doesn't." The mayor pounded her desk with a hoof. "And the only places that can provide me with the answers are too far to reach by hoof. The only other line we had to the outside world..." She let out a slow, deep breath. "Was your assistant." Twilight's eyes widened. "Spike..." I looked between the two of them, puzzled. "How is Spike significant to all of this?" "Spike can send messages to the Princess," said the mayor tersely. "Something involving burning them with his breath. I don't know how it works, just that it does. It's the fastest, most reliable means to get a message to Princess Celestia, one that we can always rely on in an emergency." She narrowed her eyes at Twilight. "Except for now, because he's in a coma." Twilight closed the folder and dropped it back onto the mayor's desk. Her eyes were wild, unfocused, shifting her gaze from one part of the office to another. "This is too much," she said. "How can all of this happen at the same time? With Pegasus Wings on our doorstep no less!" She groaned. "This can't be a coincidence." The mayor nodded. "My thoughts exactly. I've had an inkling of a conspiracy. The news that Fluttershy brought me has confirmed it. Someone is trying to isolate Ponyville, and they're doing a damned good job of it. But why, though – that's the question." I pressed my hand to my chin and ran my finger over my lips, parting them slightly to bite down on my knuckle. Why, indeed. What possible reason could they have to isolate Ponyville from the rest of the world? "In your opinion," I said to Twilight, my words garbled from speaking around the knuckle between my teeth. "What, if anything, is there in Ponyville with any tactical significance?" Twilight frowned. "Honestly? You were right back in the forest," she said. "We're not an industrial center, a transportation hub, or a government seat, and our chief export is apples." She snorted. "Unless they're planning on killing the country with malnutrition, there's no reason to strangle Ponyville." "No reason? I can think of six," said the mayor in a calm, cool voice. "Two of which are in this room right now." And there it was. Ponyville was, by my observations, a backwater burg, hardly noteworthy or unique – except as the residence of the six most dangerous threats to Macbeth's plans. Twilight had lectured me during our stroll home about the Elements of who-gives-a-damn, and their significance to Equestrian lore. If I hadn't seen the six of them in action first-hand, I'd have dismissed it as pointless grand-standing, or exaggeration. My mind still reeled at Twilight's display of power outside of the castle. If there was anything to Twilight's story about the Elements, removing them from play would be vital to the enemy's plans. But then I recalled Trenton's behavior in the courtyard, and his late-game rescue of myself and the others from being gunned down by Cain. "Hold on," I said. "Something doesn't add up here." The mayor's curious expression bade me to go on. "They had us dead to rights back in the castle, but Trenton let us escape – helped us escape, in fact. Why go through all the effort of isolating the town to keep you out of the game, when he could have just killed us in the castle and been done with it?" "Maybe killing us was never part of the plan," said Twilight. "Trenton said that he had to improvise when he ran into us in the forest. Up until that point, they were probably planning on cutting off Ponyville and leaving us in the dark about the whole invasion, right up until the moment it actually happened." She frowned. "But then, what would be the point of that...?" "Macbeth." The timid, breathy voice of Fluttershy startled me, timidity and breathiness notwithstanding. She'd been silent and nondescript, practically a ghost, all during the discussion. She looked at Twilight, her eyes red and beady beneath her curtain of pink hair. Here's someone who needed as much sleep as any of us. "Remember what he said in the castle? He wanted to convince us that he was right, to get us on his side." "He said that?" I huffed a sarcastic laugh. "Well, if there were any doubts that he was delusional..." "The point stands," said Twilight. "They wanted us out of the picture, not dead. And when presented with the opportunity to kill us, they let us get away." "Trenton let us get away," I corrected. "He could have been acting on his own. Don't forget that he had to intervene just to keep Cain from gunning us down. Question is—" "Further speculation is pointless at this juncture," said the mayor. "The why of it matters less than the fact that it's happening." She rapped her hooves together sharply. "There's an army sitting on our doorstep, ready to invade us at a moment's notice. I'd like to avoid that, if possible, and I'd like for you, your friends, and your..." She waved a hoof at me. "Whatever that is to spearhead the that-avoidance initiative." She paused for breath. "I want this done with subtlety, Ms. Sparkle – off the books, and off the record. If word of this gets out—" "If it does," I interrupted, "your constituents might stand a chance of survival." Twilight elbowed me sharply in the thigh. I decided to ignore her. "Conditions aren't favorable, but even so, you're sitting on intel that most in your position would kill to have. Do something with it." The mayor flushed, indignant. "I was going to say that it would do little more than create a panic. If there's no other way, then of course I'll make this public. But if there's a chance to beat this threat without the town ever knowing about it, I'll gladly take that route." Twilight elbowed me again – much harder this time – and shouldered her way past me. "Mayor Mare," she said pleadingly, drawing the mayor's gaze, "Snake might not be putting it in the most..." She glared at me. "Tactful of manners, but he does have a point. There must be something you can do to help secure the town." Leaning back into her chair, the mayor blew out a long, thoughtful sigh. "I could order a series of disaster drills. Expand our stockpile of emergency supplies." Her eyes lit up. "The town's treasury is actually experiencing a surplus, at the moment. It wouldn't be much against a full-scale invasion, but—" "Better to have it and not need it. Thank you, Ms. Mayor." Twilight smiled. "We'll do our part to keep this from escalating past a drill." The mayor nodded. "To that end, I'm authorizing you to use whatever resources you need. If it's owned by the city, it's at your disposal. Dip into the treasury if you have to." The spark in her eyes dimmed a bit, and she chewed her lip. "Just don't dip very deeply. Surplus or no, we're not exactly made of money." Twilight bowed her head, grateful. "We'll be as frugal as possible, under these circumstances." Peeking up, she added "If there's nothing else, may we be on our way?" "By all means. You must be exhausted." She shot a glare my way. "A warning though, Mr. Snake. You might not agree with my approach in this matter, but you will abide by the rules I've set forth. If you cause any trouble, you and I will have to have words. Am I clear?" I wanted to reply with something suitably dismissive, but Twilight decided to rescue me from myself again. Thoughtful of her, really, speaking for me when I hadn't even asked her to. "I'll vouch for Snake personally, Ms. Mayor," she said. "You won't have any problems from him, on my honor." The mayor maintained a skeptical disposition, but Twilight's word must've counted for something, because she let it go with a wave of the hoof. Without another word, the three of us slinked out, Twilight maintaining a bright facade until we'd exited the town hall, at which point she turned on me with a frown and a glare. "Do they have that saying about honey and vinegar and flies where you come from? Because it's advice you might consider taking." I snorted. "Where I come from, we don't bother with either. We just swat the damn things." Fluttershy squeaked. Over and over again, I swore to myself that I would stop being surprised by Equestria, and over and over again, I had to break my vow. When Twilight Sparkle told me that I could crash at her place – "the library," she said, "which so happens to be a treehouse" – I was dismayed at the prospect of living in a tiny, above-ground cabin crammed in an oak tree somewhere (and confused at how a library of any import could fit in such a place). But, no, she meant a literal tree house, that is to say, a tree hollowed out to serve as a house. Come to think of it, Zecora lived in one of those too, didn't she? Equestria has a funny notion of real estate. Still, it beat Applejack's barn by a mile and change. Fluttershy accompanied us back to the place, babbling an explanation for our audience with the mayor all the while. In a nutshell, she emerged from the forest with Spike and Apple Bloom in hand – so to speak – just as a search party was on its way in there, not unlike we did, actually. This caused a stir, Ponyville not being the kind of town where that sort of thing happens... or at least, where that sort of thing happens often enough for the townspeople to be too jaded to react to it. After dropping Spike off at the hospital and seeing Apple Bloom home, the mayor brought her in. "She had so many questions," the yellow pegasus babbled, "and I just, I couldn't tell a lie to my own mother, much less the mayor of Ponyville, so I had no choice, I just—" "You've done nothing wrong, Fluttershy," said Twilight tiredly. I suspected she had to deal with this sort of thing on a regular basis. "And nothing worth apologizing for in the least. Telling Mayor Mare about the situation was half the reason you went on ahead, remember?" Fluttershy mumbled for a bit before managing a coherent sentence. "She didn't have to be so rude with you..." I grunted. "She didn't use an electrical current. And I got to keep my shirt on. By my standards, this interrogation was pretty tame." "Do you practice being this jaded?" Twilight asked. "In front of the mirror. Every morning." Then I saw the treehouse. You're all caught up now. Twilight put a hoof on Fluttershy's shoulder and patted her. "Please don't think you have anything worth apologizing for. You got Spike to the hospital; you probably saved his life. That's twice in one day you've come through for him." She smiled gently. "Not that anypony's keeping score, but I'd say that more than makes up for whatever you might've done wrong." Fluttershy didn't look convinced, but she nodded. Twilight patted her again. "Get some rest. We'll talk again tomorrow, alright? The hospital, in the morning?" Fluttershy nodded again. Twilight squeezed her in a half-hug, and sent her on her way. The look on her face as she passed me, though... what the hell, I figured, she could use some cheering up. "Fluttershy." She looked at me over her shoulder. "Don't you have some questions for me? We should probably make some time to get that out of the way." Her eyes widened, her cheeks blushed, and her face lit up with the closest thing to a smile she could probably have mustered under the circumstances. "M-maybe tomorrow," she blurted, sounding nervous. The hell was that about? It's not like I asked her on a date... ...unless I did. Ugh. I made a note to ask Twilight about that later. I waved her away, and she skedaddled. Twilight opened the door with a quick flash of her horn, and stepped inside, beckoning me after her. "That was sweet of you," she said. "See? Honey, instead of vinegar? There's something to that, I think." "Only if we're classifying Fluttershy as a fly," I said. "Doubt she'd appreciate that. Girl like her needs every ounce of self-confidence she can get." I ducked under the threshold (practically had to crawl inside) and followed my host into her home. With a flourish of purple light, Twilight magicked light into the room, from a number of lamps placed here and there upon the walls. The library was decently sized by pony standards, but wasn't much bigger than a modest apartment by mine. Shelves were carved into the interior, with books arranged neatly upon each of them – arranged by color, I should add, and, I noted, alphabetically as well. Someone sure had a complex... "Hmm. That's odd." Twilight stopped in the middle of the room, where a smallish cardboard box the size of a baguette sat. "I was expecting a package, but there wasn't anypony here to sign for..." There was a note attached to the box; she tugged it off, scanned it quickly, and sighed. "Derpy signed for it." "Who's Derpy?" "The mailmare." She dropped the note and clicked her tongue. "The mail..." I frowned, trying to process this. "She delivered a package, which she also signed for, and left it inside of the..." "Derpy's unconventional," said Twilight. She levitated the box and sent it off to a table next to the stairs. "She marches to the beat of her own drum. The only reason I knew I had a package coming was because she sent me a letter saying that I had a package coming." "She sent you a letter to tell you—" "Derpy's unconventional." Twilight's tone brokered no response, so I let go of this new, perplexing Ponyville mystery. "You'll have to sleep in the stacks," she went on, nodding in the direction of a door across the room from where I stood. "Sorry, but I don't have a guest bed anymore. There was a storm, and a tree fell – it's a long story. I never got around to replacing it." Must not get a lot of house guests. "The floor's fine. A pillow would be nice though." I cracked my neck to the right, and winced as a fresh jolt of pain shot through it. That was a mistake. Must've winced louder than I'd intended, though, because when next I looked at Twilight, she had an expression of concern on her face. "It isn't too late to go back to the hospital, you know," she said. "Get that dressed properly." "Thanks, but no. Hospitals make me edgy. I try to avoid them." Naomi with a needle, smiling sweetly, hatred masked by flawless bedside manner... "You know, I'm not too sanguine about this procedure you wheedled out of that doctor. 'Accelerated healing', wasn't it? What's that all about?" "Accelerated healing?" Twilight sounded surprised at my skepticism. "You don't have – oh, but of course you don't; no magic." She cleared her throat unnecessarily. "Well, the name's a bit of a misnomer, for one. Rather than accelerate the natural healing process, the doctor repairs the damage done on a molecular level. If you'd severed a ligament, for instance, the doctor would reconnect the torn parts and fuse them back together, reattaching nerves, even growing new tissue, if necessary. That's just one example." She paused to catch her breath. "The science behind it is pretty complex. I don't even fully understand it. But basically, it's surgery without the mess. Nifty, but it takes a heck of a lot of focus and training to pull off correctly. Not many doctors in Equestria can do it." "But this one can?" "He's an expert," she assured me. After a lengthy pause, she added, quietly, "He fixed up Rainbow Dash, once, when she broke her wing." I thought about the conversation I'd had with the others in the forest. Dwelling on the possibility that Dash might've survived the castle wasn't healthy, and Twilight was a bit more grounded than her friends, and therefore less likely to take stock in Pinkie Pie's superstitions. Still... even I was starting to feel a bit of what the others had going on. I didn't like it. And Twilight needed some cheering up, anyhow. "Pinkie Pie thinks Rainbow Dash is still alive," I said. She didn't seem fazed. "Is that right?" she asked, in the same quiet, even voice. I frowned. "No, not thinks. Knows." Twilight was still and silent for another long moment. "Pinkie Pie has a big heart," she said at last, and started up the stairs leading to the library's upper level. I heard the windchimey noise of her aura starting up, and a pillow and blanket launched themselves toward me from the loft; I caught them in the crook of my good arm. The pillow was nice – plush, comfy – but I wasn't sold on the blanket. "Let's be out the door by nine, okay?" said Twilight. "Think you can manage that?" "No problem. I'm an early riser," I said. Her voice sounded a little off – warbly and unsteady. She was either too tired to hold a conversation anymore, or she was just eager to drop the subject of Rainbow Dash. Hell, lady, you brought her up. Probably both, though. I headed for the door that led to the stacks, silently wondering to myself how a tree of this size could hold so many adjacent rooms in its trunk. "See you in the morning." As I pulled the door shut behind me, I heard what sounded like sniffling coming from the floor above me. The eldest Apple family siblings sat on opposite ends of the dining room table, a mug in front of both of them and a half-empty bottle of cider between. Big McIntosh had yet to say a word in response to Applejack's long recitation of the day's events, and the only sound in the room was the steady ticking of a novelty clock that Granny Smith had won in a bingo game. Big Mac watched his sister take the bottle in her mouth and pour herself another cupful. "You oughta be back at the hospital." Applejack set the bottle down and hooked her hoof around the mug. "I don't like—" "I know you don't," her brother interrupted. "But you oughta be." Applejack took a long drink, downing her cup entirely, and set it back down. "You remember the night Ma an' Pa died?" Big McIntosh said nothing. "I don' like hospitals." She slid the bottle across the table for him to catch, and nodded in the direction of the stairs. "How was she, when Fluttershy brought her in?" "Out cold. I carried her back. She didn't wake 'til I had 'er tucked in." Applejack smiled faintly. Big Mac didn't bother pouring a cup, and took a swig directly from the bottle, setting it down when he was done and smacking his lips. "She asked about you, firs' thing, y'know. Didn't know what to tell 'er." "Yeah, well..." Applejack pushed away from the table and gingerly stepped onto her hooves. "S'pose I oughta go up there." Big Mac said nothing as she limped toward the stairs, nor did he look at her. Seeing somepony so strong and vital being reduced to a shambling, limping, bandage-covered mess twisted him up inside. His flesh and blood went off and almost died, and where was he? Unconscious in a barn all damn day. "You want I should carry you up there?" he asked. "You want I should tell Cheerilee who's been leavin' her all them sappy love letters?" Big Mac flushed a brighter shade of red and reached for the bottle again, but an orange foreleg intercepted the bottle and set it back down on the table. He felt Applejack's lips peck him on the cheek and her face nuzzle against his. "I love ya, big brother." A lump formed in Big Mac's throat, preventing him from replying, so he settled for nuzzling his sister back. She disengaged a moment later; he heard her hoofbeats grow fainter as she ascended the stairs, and the creaking of a bedroom door opening and shutting. He reached for the bottle again, hesitated, then snorted and pushed it away. Apple Bloom lay on her side with her back facing the bedroom door, wrapped snugly up to her neck in her covers. She stiffened a bit when she heard the door opening. Either she woke the girl, Applejack thought, or she'd been awake the whole time. "How much didja hear?" Applejack asked. Apple Bloom shifted slightly under the covers. "Mos' all of it." "From all the way up here?" Applejack was genuinely impressed. Her sister's hearing was amazingly acute. The elder Apple trotted in an uneven, unsteady gait to the younger's bedside, leaning against it for support. The bed looked awfully inviting, she had to admit; it took all her willpower not to flop down on that comfy mattress and fall asleep then and there. Apple Bloom clutched the covers closer to her body. "Fluttershy told me about Zecora. You didn't see her, didja?" Applejack reached slowly for her sister and stroked the ribbon tied in her mane. "No." "You know where she went? You think she's alright?" "I don't." She paused. "I mean, I don't know where she went. But wherever it is, she's probably alright." She doubted Apple Bloom believed her – she didn't even believe herself, really – but the zebra had given her sister safe harbor, and for that, she wished her well. "Zecora can take care of herself. Don't you worry 'bout her." "But I gotta." Apple Bloom buried her face in her blanket, muffling her words. "It's all my fault." Applejack, surprised, asked "What is?" "Everythin'. You, Spike, Rainbow Dash. Snake's shoulder. Zecora, if somethin' happens to her." Her body shook. "I ran away, an' y'all came after me, an' everythin' that's happened since then, it's all my—" "Sweetiebutter, no. Hey, c'mere." She put a hoof on Apple Bloom's head and turned her over. The filly's eyes were red and her face was wet and crusted with snot. Apple Bloom rolled into Applejack's embrace and buried her face in her shoulder. It hurt, but Applejack tried not to let that show. "Darlin', if anypony should apologize, it's me. Flyin' off the handle like I did, at you, at Fluttershy..." "I told you I wished you was dead. An' you..." Sobs wracked Apple Bloom, and fresh tears flowed onto Applejack's coat. "An' you went off an' almost died, an' I thought..." She lost what composure she had at that, and bawled, cradled like a baby in her big sister's embrace. "You thought your wish came true?" Applejack stroked her sister's mane, kissed the top of her head. "I ain't dead, though. I'm right here, with you. See?" She chuckled. "Pinch me if ya don' believe it." "But you almost did..." She sniffed and pulled away from Applejack's shoulder, daintily brushing the spot on her coat she'd stained with snot and tears. "When I was watchin' you, back in the forest, fightin' that blue guy, when I saw you take that hit for Fluttershy... I thought it killed you, an' then I thought 'it's 'cuz of me, it's 'cuz I wished for this to happen.'" "Honey, that... that ain't how it works." "I know that. I mean it, I really do. But that's how it felt, AJ." When she pulled her hoof away from Applejack's shoulder, she took with it a long, drooping strand of mucous that connected her hoof with the spot she'd been crying on, and despite everything, she giggled wetly at it. "Gross." "Ain't nothin', sweetheart; don't think twice." She gently pushed Apple Bloom back into the mattress, who watched with childish amusement as the strand broke in two and dangled from her hoof. "Heck, I... I should apologize too, y'know. Last night, when I got mad at you an' Fluttershy for that thing with the cockatrice—" "I'm sorry for that too," Applebloom blurted. "Not where I was takin' that, but – dangit, now I'm all shook up. Can't really find the words to..." Applejack sighed. "Li'l sister, we got us the biggest, bestest family anypony could ever dream of havin'. Apples on ev'ry branch in Equestria, an' even one or two elsewheres. But ever since Ma an' Pa, I..." Apple Bloom scooted out of the covers and sat up, resting her back against the headboard. "...I feel alone sometimes. Not... not 'all by myself' alone, but like... like you an' Mac, Granny an' me, we're all we got in the world. I know that ain't so; I got the best friends a gal could want, an' I know you feel the same way about Scoots an' Sweetie. But y'all are my kin, an' when Ma an' Pa passed, I learned jus' how quick somepony you love can be there one minute, an' gone the next. "Y'all are the most precious thing in th'whole dang world t'me, little sister. Losin' you, or Mac, or Granny, would be worse than if they lopped a leg offa me. I coulda lost you that night, an' never even known about it, couldn'ta done anythin' t'save you. Just like I couldn't do nothin' to save Ma an' Pa. Thinkin' like that, it kinda set me off. Fluttershy got the worst of it, but I still—" "AJ. Sis, yer cryin'." "What? I am not—" Applejack's sentence ended in a hiccup. Something dripped down her cheek and splattered against the bedspread. "Well, dang. I s'pose I am." Apple Bloom grinned. "Crybaby." "Ne'erdowell." They laughed together, through the tears and the pain of loss. In that moment, whatever wall existed between them had vanished, whatever feud they'd had was forgotten. After a long day of struggle, of fearing for their lives, this moment of peace between the two sisters was well deserved. "You wanna know the truth?" Apple Bloom asked, once their laughter had died down. "What's that?" "I don' even remember Ma an' Pa that well." Apple Bloom leaned against the headboard, turning her gaze to the ceiling. "I was so li'l when they died." "Ain't surprisin'." Applejack stroked her sister's mane. "What DO you remember?" "Hmm..." Apple Bloom frowned. "Smells. I remember Pa smelled like... sweat. An' apples." "Sweaty apples?" "Not even." Another giggle. "Ma, though, she smelled diff'rent. Kinda like flowers." "Lilac," said Applejack softly. Apple Bloom looked quizzically at her. "Ma had some hoity-toity perfume. Baby shower gift, y'know, when she was pregnant with you – designer perfume from some label in Manehattan. Ma loved wearin' it, an' it clung to her wherever she went. Clung t'you to, y'know." "I smelled like lilacs?" Apple Bloom stuck her tongue out. "I'd prefer smellin' like apples." Applejack grinned. "Funny you should mention that, li'l sister. One time, Pa was holdin' you, an' he said 'Buttercup, we got us an Apple baby that smells like flowers.' An' I said – I weren't much older than you – I said 'that's 'cuz she's a li'l baby Apple, Pa. Apples are flowers 'fore they're apples, an' this li'l Apple's just startin' to bloom.'" I dreamed something unsettling that I couldn't quite recall – a phantasmal black shape with a Cheshire cat grin – and awoke in a state of panic. And even though that subsided, I found that I couldn't get back to sleep – and, moreover, that I didn't want to go back to sleep. So I got up. I stretched, I paced, I stepped outside my tiny room into a slightly less tiny room. The library was too small, too cramped, too stuffy. I needed air. No, dammit, what I needed was a smoke. There was a balcony in the loft, where Twilight slept. I climbed the steps and passed her empty bed; she was sleeping on the floor, curled around a basket stuffed with bedding, which I realized with a sinking feeling belonged to Spike. I stepped over her, gingerly opened the balcony doors, and ducked under the threshold into the cool night air. That sky, that violet night sky with the unfamiliar stars and the unnaturally large and bright moon... it was all perfectly alien, and yet, I took a strange sort of comfort from it. When I looked up, I didn't see the dark, harrowing canopy of the Everfree Forest. I saw a great expanse of sky, and alien as it was, I didn't feel stifled and tense when I saw it. What's the opposite of agoraphobia? Agoraphilia, let's say. I lit a cigarette and took in the smoke slowly, savoring it, letting the tension in my body ease. Questions, unasked and unanswered, ran rampant in my mind – questions about Trenton, about Cain and Macbeth, about the whole damn situation. I tried to make sense of what had happened in the castle. Cain had wanted us – or me, at least – dead. Trenton, apparently, didn't, and not only did he openly defy Cain to protect us, he put himself in harm's way to do so. Trenton. He was a wild card, one with an agenda which, I suspected, ran differently from his superiors'. He'd brought Case into the forest intent on killing him, n doubt about it. The one competent member of the PW army we'd encountered, and Trenton wanted him dead. Between that, the poorly-trained replacements for Cain's departed veterans, and the shoddy, second-hand weaponry, it seemed that Trenton had a stake in reducing his army's operational effectiveness. And, it seemed, in keeping myself and the others alive. "Our meeting in the forest was a further complication. I needed to play for time, to factor this new data into my simulation, so I lured you out here to keep you occupied while I devised a means to contain this development." I was a wrench in whatever plan he was devising. He should have killed me when he had me dead to rights, but he didn't. Passed up opportunity after opportunity, in fact. No, he wanted to keep me alive; he was curious what I'd do. And at the same time, he wanted my presence kept secret, right up until the moment Cain and I met face-to-face. But why? He killed his own men to keep them from talking, lied to his commander to keep my presence a secret, all for what? The answer seemed plain. Trenton was playing us against each other – myself and the others against Cain and Pegasus Wings. Macbeth's insistence on keeping Twilight and her friends alive gave him one set of weapons to work with; I had to assume that he – or they – had arranged to isolate Ponyville from the rest of the country before he knew about my presence in Equestria, so he probably had a plan to use them in his scheme already. But when we met in the forest, when he recognized me... "I needed to play for time, to factor this new data into my simulation" He saw another weapon he could use in his game. And he kept my presence a secret so that I'd have the element of surprise. All to level the playing field. The PW army was outnumbered, but they were facing a society that was at least a century behind them, technologically – and hell, I wasn't even sure that Equestria had an army to fight back against them. That alone gave them the upper hand, but with Metal Gear in Cain's back pocket, the odds were drastically against the ponies. So who better to even the odds than a laboratory freak with experience in precisely these kinds of situations? That left the question of why – why the elaborate deceptions, the game of spy-vs.-spy; what the hell were we all even doing here in the first place? "I needed to play for time, to factor this new data into my simulation" Data and simulations. Trenton wasn't some independent contractor in Cain's employ. And he wasn't acting on his own; of that much, I was certain. All this plotting and scheming behind everybody's back, I couldn't figure what he stood to gain from it. Unless, of course, he was working for a third party, one that did stand to gain from all of this. Who did I know of that habitually played people against one another, trying to fit them into paradigms derived from behavioral data? Who could have put Trenton – a technological wonder, and the successor to the project which perverted Gray Fox – together? Who would have the resources, the tech, the manpower, the know-how, to build yet another cyborg exoskeleton, and who would be amoral enough to force it on yet another poor conscript? The answer was in his name. Trenton. As in Trenton, New Jersey, as in the battle of. As in Washington crossing the Delaware on Christmas Eve to surprise and defeat the Hessians. Washington. The father of America. The quintessential patriot. I flicked my cigarette to the floor and stamped it out with the heel of my boot. My plan had backfired; I was now tenser than I'd been when I first lit the thing. I was about to head inside and try my luck tossing and turning on the floor again, when I saw a shape silhouetted against the moon – round at the top, tapering off at the bottom, like a lightbulb in the night sky. That made no sense, of course, so I stared at it a little harder. It was a balloon – a weather balloon, to be precise. And it was drifting toward the library. And, a few moments later, it was just in arm's reach. Watching it pass, I noted something attached to it – a shoebox, maybe – and, out of curiosity, I nabbed it out of the air to inspect. Turned out to be a shoebox – or at least, a box the size of a shoebox. Open me, it said on the lid. I frowned. It felt empty – whatever was in there, I doubted it was a threat. Someone's idea of a practical joke, maybe. So I opened it. It wasn't empty. There was a note, written in red. The moonlight was bright enough for me to discern what it said. Dodge Junction, by train. Nothing else; not even a signature. Of course, I didn't need one to know who'd sent it. Beneath the note was a single blue feather, its tip stained the same shade of red as the writing on the paper. A blue-clothed human lay amidst the rubble of the castle courtyard, his body a tangle of broken limbs. Over him stood an equine form: blue and stately, with a flowing, star-studded mane. Luna studied the body, worry creeping up her spine. "Impossible," she muttered. "Impossible, impossible, impossible." Behind her, the fortress that had once stood watch over the capital of Equestria was no more than a pit of shattered stone, down to its most ancient foundations and catacombs. And yet, across what little ground remained of the old courtyard, a featureless circle of black stood unscathed. Fear seized Luna, and she swept toward it, galloping down the ancient slope that led to the great arch which now filled her heart with so much terror. She stopped in front of it, panting, and stretched out with her senses. Something had come through. "Impossible." She hadn't sensed it; her sister hadn't sensed it. "Impossible." And yet, there the evidence was, plain as night. Something which didn't belong had come to Equestria. No... thought Luna, no, many somethings. Humans, yes, but something else, too. Something malevolent. Something inhuman. Something, Luna realized, which wasn't even alive.

Posh

436

Main 6,Other,Twilight Sparkle,Crossover,Human,Adventure,Dark,Metal Gear,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic,Death,Violence

Pony Gear Solid

Solid Snake teams up with ponies to save Equestria, and gradually learns to love it.

incomplete

<p>Metal Gear has fallen into the hooves of an Equestrian revolutionary, who, with the backing of his human mercenary allies, intends to use it to depose Celestia and crown himself ruler. Having crossed into Equestria in pursuit of this rogue weapon, the legendary Solid Snake must ally with the residents of Ponyville to prevent a nuclear catastrophe.</p><p>See also <a href="/story/369125/equestria-gear-solid-the-definitive-experience" rel="nofollow"><i>Equestria Gear Solid</i></a><i>,</i> the hilarious spin-off EQG parody in which everything you know is wrong, and every single character from the story is an awful caricature of themselves. </p><p><a href="http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/FanFic/PonyGearSolid" rel="nofollow">Now with its own TVtropes page!</a></p>

teen

2014-03-16T03:48:38+00:00

2016-07-19T07:55:30+00:00

"How about this one – the pegasus?" Wind, scented with sea salt, tousled the blonde curls of a young girl. Her legs dangled over the edge of a tall, metal platform, hovering over the gently churning seawater below. Beside her sat a boy, a handful of years younger, who excitedly read to her from a book opened on his lap. Paz giggled, and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Well, yes. But I think everybody has heard of that one." Chico adjusted his cap, which had been nudged off-kilter by the Caribbean breeze. "The stories go as far back as ancient Greece. It's said that the pegasus was sired by the god, Poseidon, and—" "Poseidon?" Paz interrupted. She stuck her tongue out, squeezed her eyes shut, and shuddered, as though she'd bitten into a lemon. "I have a hard time believing that." "It's a big world!" said Chico, a touch defensively. "Who knows what's out there? I already have to deal with Snake doubting me; don't tell me you do too!" "Sorry," said Paz. "I didn't mean to imply anything. I really do find this stuff interesting." She gestured at the book. "Keep going, please!" Mollified, and finding himself quite unable to be mad at Paz, Chico continued. "Hundreds and hundreds of years ago, people saw the pegasus as a symbol of wisdom. Poets, especially, took inspiration from it. It says here..." He pointed at a particular passage in the book, and Paz leaned closer, her cheek nearly touching his shoulder. "That wherever the pegasus struck its hoof against the earth, a spring would bubble out, containing the music of the Muses." He snapped his fingers, as though he'd come to a sudden realization. "That must be why so many people used it as a source of inspiration – it was the music of the Muses the whole time!" He shut the book, sighing contentedly. "You're really into this UMA business," Paz remarked. "Can you blame me?" said Chico. "With all the mysteries still out in the world, who wouldn't find this stuff fascinating?" "But you get so excited, so passionate, about it. It's fun to see!" Paz dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper "And I think some of it's starting to rub off on me!" "Yeah?" Chico looked up, into Paz's baby blue eyes. It seemed to register to him, for the first time, how close their faces were. He felt his heart pulse rapidly, and his face grow hot. "You, uh... you're getting into this stuff too?" "Mm-hm!" The wind tousled Paz's hair again; a springy, blonde curl brushed across Chico's forehead. "You know," she said, glancing away from him coyly. "After your revolution, when Nicaragua's at peace again, maybe you and I could take a trip together." "Uh..." Chico's tongue suddenly felt thick and cumbersome. "You know, around the world?" She playfully nudged his shoulder. "We could do some investigating, just you and me. Go to Loch Ness, and take a boat across the lake. Dive to the bottom looking for Nessie. I mean, just for example." Chico swallowed – a purely reflexive action, as he had no moisture in his mouth to swallow – and managed a shaky nod. Paz pecked him on the cheek. "It's a promise, then." A filthy rag suddenly struck Chico in the back of the head, and fell to drape around his shoulders like a scarf. "Chico!" The voice was rough, raspy, and heavy with an English accent. "Time to pull your weight for once! I got a LAV-G with your name on it, caked in all kinds of shit!" Chico pulled the rag off of his shoulder. His face burned red with shame. "Clean your own damn mess," he muttered under his breath. "'Oy, you say somethin'?" Chico looked over his shoulder, at a strapping, muscular man in soiled tiger-stripe fatigues, toting an M-16 in his arms. His shaven head reflected light from the afternoon sun, and his face was sooty and streaked with blood – someone else's blood, seeing as he looked quite unscathed. Through clenched teeth, Chico replied "I said 'sure thing, Swordfish.'" Under his breath, he added "tea-sipping gringo asshole." "That's what I thought." He shouldered his rifle and backed away, smirking. "Make sure you get nice an' deep into the wheel-well; she's fresh from Honduras, and I think there's still half a torso stuck up in there." Chico, still grumbling, climbed to his feet. "Yeah, why don't I get it nice and deep into your putana of a mother, you—" "Chico?" He glanced over his shoulder at Paz, still seated at the edge of the platform, smiling after him. "Remember. It's a promise." And for just a moment – for reasons he didn't quite understand – that promise was Chico's entire world. Rainbow Dash lies pinned beneath a mass of rubble, helpless, as IRVING totters after her friends. She buries her face in the dirt and shuts her eyes tightly, waiting for whatever form her end would take. She hears a thud, then footfalls, then something grabs her by the mane and painfully yanks her head up. She opens her eyes. A single point of light, bright blue and burning, meets her gaze. Rainbow Dash curls her lip in disgust and spits a wad of bloody saliva into Trenton's face. His grip on her mane tightens.

Posh

436

Main 6,Other,Twilight Sparkle,Crossover,Human,Adventure,Dark,Metal Gear,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic,Death,Violence

Pony Gear Solid

Solid Snake teams up with ponies to save Equestria, and gradually learns to love it.

incomplete

<p>Metal Gear has fallen into the hooves of an Equestrian revolutionary, who, with the backing of his human mercenary allies, intends to use it to depose Celestia and crown himself ruler. Having crossed into Equestria in pursuit of this rogue weapon, the legendary Solid Snake must ally with the residents of Ponyville to prevent a nuclear catastrophe.</p><p>See also <a href="/story/369125/equestria-gear-solid-the-definitive-experience" rel="nofollow"><i>Equestria Gear Solid</i></a><i>,</i> the hilarious spin-off EQG parody in which everything you know is wrong, and every single character from the story is an awful caricature of themselves. </p><p><a href="http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/FanFic/PonyGearSolid" rel="nofollow">Now with its own TVtropes page!</a></p>

teen

2014-03-22T05:54:44+00:00

2017-08-13T18:19:24+00:00

"You don’t know the truth yet. But sooner or later you’ll have to choose." Carrying herself with poise and confidence, Princess Celestia strode out of her bedchamber. Typically, she was greeted by a chambermaid or servant filly, not by her very sleepy and nervous-looking sister. Not that she would mind the change in routine. "Luna," she greeted warmly. "This is a pleasant surprise. Care to join me for breakfast?" Luna's stomach chose that moment to rumble. "'Tis business I come to discuss with you, not pleasure," she said, ignoring Celestia's sly smile. "Luna, Luna," Celestia chided playfully, shutting the doors behind her with a quick flash of her horn. "A good ruler knows how to mix the two. The drear of politics is very much alleviated when performed over a hot cup of tea and a plate of fresh scones. It's scientifically proven." She winked. "I imagine that's so, but – Tia!" Celestia had begun to walk away, humming to herself, and Luna had to gallop around and in front of her to cut her off. "This is serious, sister. We need to talk. Something..." She glanced around nervously and lowered her voice, leaning closer to Celestia to be heard. "Something happened last night, during my watch. The castle – our castle, in what has become the Everfree – collapsed." A sympathetic look – though, to Luna's dismay, an unconcerned one – crossed Celestia's face. "The loss of our old home is tragic, but hardly surprising. It was old when we were in diapers, Luna. Entropy happens." She chuckled lightly. "What's surprising is how well it's weathered the years." "It did not collapse on its own, I think." Celestia continued her slow trot forward, and Luna fell into step beside her. "Late last night, some hours after raising the moon, I left the castle to stretch my wings, and I saw smoke rising from the Everfree. From where I knew our castle to be," she added pointedly. "A forest fire?" asked Celestia. "I thought so. But when I drew closer, I noted some irregularities. The keep had crumbled into its lowest levels, as if demolished from the inside, but other parts of the complex looked as though they had been smashed. Rubble from the gatehouse was strewn outward, away from the rest of the castle. And in what little remained of the courtyard, the one overlooked by the throne room, were recent signs of battle. More rubble, scorched spots here and there – not the kind of destruction one expects from a forest fire. This wasn't entropy. Something happened to collapse that castle." She hesitated. "There was a corpse." The pair exited the royal apartments. The world outside was still cast in shadow, yet untouched by the warmth of the newly-risen sun. Luna put a hoof on Celestia's shoulder and pulled her to a stop, looking her squarely in the eye; Celestia, listening intently, bade her to continue with a nod. "Sister, it was a human. There are humans in Equestria." Celestia's reaction was immediate and alarming – alarming, precisely because she so seldom looked alarmed. "Humans," she breathed. Her eyes left Luna's and found the floor, as if the answer to her questions lay somewhere on the impeccably polished tiling of the Canterlot palace. "Impossible. To open the Threshold of the Moon would require magical power of terrible proportions. We would have sensed it!" "That we sensed nothing makes this no less possible," said Luna. "Long have I pondered this. However improbable it may seem, whatever they used to wrench open the path between worlds, it is beyond our ability to detect. They're here, Tia. And what's more..." A cold gust whispered through the garden and crept across Luna's coat, chilling her. She shuddered. "Something else came with it. Something malevolent. A spirit, a demon, something. I cannot say what. 'Tis unfamiliar. Alien. And fueled by hatred so powerful that its sour taste still lingers on my tongue." At this, Celestia shot a narrow-eyed glance at Luna – a look of skepticism. "The human world doesn't have spirits the same way that we do, Luna. What you're saying is impossible." Luna felt a tingle of suspicion. Her sister had answered too quickly, too dismissively. "Impossible? Like a well of power that we cannot detect, tearing a hole in the fabric of reality?" "That is different," Celestia insisted, suddenly impatient. "Luna, I'm asking kindly – whatever you've felt, forget about it. It's an impossibility. Leave it at that." "Why should I? What are you afraid of?" Luna took a step forward and squinted at Celestia, as if only now taking the time to look closely at her. "A fine job you did, with that glamour. At a glance, nopony would ever notice the redness in your eyes, the crow's feet, the bags beneath your lids. How much sleep have you missed, sister? How many nights have you lost, ruminating on this 'impossibility'?" Celestia could only look away, face flushed and frowning. To Luna, it was tantamount to an admission of guilt. "Were you ever planning on telling me?" Her words were angry, but fueled by hurt. I thought us beyond this. "Did you know about the humans as well; did you hide that from me too?! We are supposed to be partners, Celestia!" "I didn't—" Celestia gestured for Luna to lower her voice, warily glancing at a passing chambermaid. She smiled radiantly at the mare until she was out of earshot, then leaned in close to Luna to whisper. "I didn't know about the humans. The rest I've been aware of for some time." Luna watched the servant pass out of sight, and bit back further reproach for the sake of subtlety. "Strange that you knew about it," she said through clenched teeth, "and that I did not." "I have no explanation for that," Celestia said, looking for once abashed. "I noticed it some months ago. It was faint, at first – a whisper of what it is now – but it's only grown louder, stronger, with time. When I felt it, I thought that you surely did as well, but you showed no sign. So I never approached you about it." "Why?" "To protect you," Celestia said quietly. Luna reacted with a snort of exasperation. Celestia's patronizing was as ill-deserved as it was ill-advised. It was, however, touching enough for Luna to let go of her initial anger. "My thanks," she said sarcastically. "But we must needs act together, immediately, for the sake of the realm." She inhaled, held her breath, exhaled the last traces of negativity in her. "Going by history, we must assume hostility on the part of the humans. We should take the initiative, seek them out and strike first. I propose we recall the guard from the frontier and mobilize. Enact war protocols, if necessary. And as for this dark spirit—" "No," said Celestia, curtly and with finality in her voice. "There will be no mobilization. No war protocols. No war, period. As for the spirit, that is being taken care of." "Taken care of? Who have you – " The obvious answer to her own question came to Luna, and her eyes widened. "You cannot be serious." "Luna—" said Celestia, placating. Luna, having none of it, stomped. "You sent it. You sent that, that..." Luna sputtered, unable to articulate her shock, and finally groaned with frustration. "I thought when I returned from my banishment, and saw neither head nor hide of it, that you'd disposed of that... thing, as you ought to have generations ago!" "Luna, I will not have this conversation with you," Celestia said sternly, steel creeping back into her voice. "Heaven knows we've had it enough times over the years." Luna pointed her hoof into the distance – in truth, she had no idea where the target of her ire was; it just felt good to point. "Dark forces marshal their strength against us. We should respond in kind. Not with craven subterfuge, but directly, with the full strength of Equestria behind us!" "Craven?" Celestia's alabaster features twisted into a scowl. "What you consider cowardice has kept this realm safe for one thousand years, Luna. We limit ourselves out of necessity, not fear. We are not gods." She spat the final word as an epithet. "Nor are we of a kind with humanity. Equestria will not answer war with war, for as long as I rule." "The humans – and this spirit – may mean to destroy our nation, sister." Luna crushed her lips together tightly, and turned her head so as not to look her sister in the eye. "Your rule already survived one coup this year. Do you think it can survive another?" She didn't see Celestia's reaction. She didn't need to. "That was low," said Celestia, now deathly quiet. Luna sucked her teeth and glanced sidelong at Celestia; she couldn't look her in the eye and expect to maintain her own composure. Celestia had drawn herself up, unfurled her wings, and seemed to shine with the very light of the sun. Big-Sister-Celestia had left the conversation. "We know nothing about the humans or their purpose here," continued Celestia, in the same chilling voice. "We have no way of knowing what, if any, connection exists between them and this... this spirit. The Changelings are still our primary concern. The guard will remain in pursuit of them. This other matter will be taken care of, quietly, without anypony ever needing to know of it. End of discussion." "This is not—" "Matters of national security fall within my purview, Luna," Celestia interrupted. "I value your counsel, at all times, but this is my decision to make, not yours." Luna shook her head, bitterly chuckling. There was nothing more she could do. Before Celestia the Autocrat, she lost what gall she had mustered. But just as she couldn't maintain her own courage, neither could Celestia maintain her anger. She sighed, and released everything with it; her posture fell, her wings dropped to her sides, and even her voice turned conciliatory. "Luna, I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, and I'm sorry for speaking to you the way that I have. But this matter – it's better for everypony, for the realm, if it gets solved quietly." Her voice took on a pleading tone. "Events are coming to a head, Luna. Should this spiral out of control..." Luna cocked her head inquisitively. "You fear for Twilight Sparkle's ascension?" "Among other things. Many other things, which have been in motion for a long, long time. Luna..." Celestia trotted closer to her younger sister, and extended a wing to shield them from prying eyes – pointless, Luna knew, as they were alone, but even a pointless gesture can hold meaning. "I don't mean to seem apathetic. But this is a delicate stage. This spirit, these humans – these things should not be. Publicly, they must be treated as though they don't exist. To do otherwise could undo centuries of planning." Luna smiled unhappily. "You do not fear that a horde of humans storming Ponyville could undo Twilight Sparkle?" Her heart felt heavy with worry for her friend. Celestia thought silently before answering. "I will instruct our... agent... to investigate the human presence, and establish a connection between them and this phantasm. I'm not convinced one exists, but it's worth exploring nevertheless. Should it become necessary, we will recall the expeditionary force sent after the Changelings and mobilize the guard." She added, after a moment's quiet, "Wartime protocols are a last resort – the last resort." Luna leaned closer. "Why not warn Twilight directly?" she whispered. "Task her and the others with solving this riddle?" "Too many unknowns. I'm confident that he can handle the situation." At Luna's scoff of disgust, Celestia added "I know you don't like him. To be frank, I don't either. But, the situation being what it is, we must be discreet. And he is nothing, if not discreet." Luna made a sour face. "On that, we can agree. But Twilight—" "Has enough of a challenge ahead of her without adding this one to her burden," said Celestia. Luna begrudgingly agreed. In truth, she was loathe to place Twilight in danger. Celestia's insistence on following ancient signs and prophecy to prepare Twilight Sparkle for what was still to come frustrated and unnerved Luna. But at least the prophecies and signs provided guidance, and offered the remote possibility that all would go according to plan. No, thought Luna, best to keep Twilight Sparkle far away from this. What to do, then? With Celestia unwilling to act, and Twilight Sparkle removed as a possibility... who did that leave to stand for Equestria? Luna imagined a yoke fastened around her neck. She suppressed a grim smile at the image. "Very well," she said. "I do not approve. But for Equestria's sake, I will follow your lead." Celestia bowed her head. "Thank you, Luna." Gathering herself up as best as she could, Celestia resumed her stroll toward the throne room. The problem still plagued her; it was evident in the way that she carried herself. At the same time, though, her conversation with Luna seemed to have eased her burden somewhat. My consent means something to her. No, she corrected herself, it means everything to her. She felt a sense of warmth at the thought. But the warmth was tempered by knowing that her consent was a lie. "Tia!" she called. Celestia stopped, turned her head around to regard her sister curiously. "You are no craven," said Luna, fidgeting. "'Twas wrong of me to say so." A tremor ran through Celestia. She turned her gaze to the floor. "Craven? No," she said, her voice now feathery soft. "Arrogant, though. One doesn't rule alone for a thousand years without growing complacent. I was so secure in the infallibility of the prophecies that I never saw the Changelings coming. My overconfidence nearly cost us the realm." She glanced toward Luna again, her expression hard. "That will never happen again." And with those parting words, she left Luna alone. Luna shook her head, sighed. "It was not just you, you know. We were all fooled. I wish..." She stared at the spot where her sister had stood. "I wish you would talk to me about it." A voice inside her reminded Luna that she had more pressing concerns. Her heart ached with concern for Celestia, but that matter would have to wait. When the realm was safe again, perhaps they could revisit the matter, but for now... Forgive me, Tia, she thought, but my defiance may yet save us all. If only she knew where to start. Equestria's contact with humanity had been limited – once, in antiquity, and never again. She knew only that they were warlike, and had to be frighteningly powerful. Celestia knew more, but she was off limits, lest Luna tip her cards prematurely by inquiring. There was, however, one other being in existence who might yet recall humanity... Ghostly, mocking, droll laughter echoed in Luna's mind, and her stomach knotted with anxiety. That was not a conversation she looked forward to. It could be done without releasing him, she knew... but the simple thought of coming face-to-face with a monster of his caliber shook even her nerves. And how did she expect to stand up to Discord when she had difficulty facing down her own sister? An unbidden yawn passed through her lips; simply thinking about him reminded Luna how tired she was. "Tartarus take me," she groaned. "If I'm to do this, I'll need a nap." She slouched, and trudged toward her own bedchamber, trying vainly to dispel thoughts of the confrontation to come. "You say you came here through some giant arch?" I looked up from the book in my hands – a treatise on something called "The Crystal Empire" – to see Twilight neck-deep in a stack of books, levitating a tome the size of my chest in front of her face. "Yeah, with a bust of a smiling white unicorn at the top." "And there was one back at the castle, right? Can you describe it?" "Same unicorn bust at the top, except this one was black. And frowning. At the bottom of a pit, surrounded by what looked like a viewing gallery. The whole thing was enclosed by a ring-wall that looked like it was carved from solid obsidian." My interest piqued, I set my book down on a precarious stack of more books, and afforded her my undivided attention. "Don't tell me you found something." "You tell me." Twilight cleared a path through her book fort and trotted toward me, thrusting her tome in my face. The page she showed me was tattered and yellow, and would probably crumble if anyone laid hands on it, but the illustration, though faded, was recognizable. It was a view of the castle's arch, as seen from the gallery which surrounded it – without, I noted, the wall of obsidian. The throng of ponies, their colors dull and washed-out from the age of the picture, were cheering for something happening just beneath the arch, though the picture was too decayed to discern what. A stylized emblem of a sun, faded-red with fiery rays lashing out on all sides, decorated the top of the illustration. There was an inscription beneath the sun, in some rune language that I didn't recognize. "That's it," I said. "Back in its heyday, if I'm not mistaken. Just how old is that book?" Twilight pulled it away from me and held it in front of her face again as she walked back to corner of the room. "Search me, but it's the oldest in the library by far. I can tell you that it's pre-Discord, though, which makes it pretty remarkable." I picked up another book ("Diamond in the Rough: A Love Story") and leafed through it, not really paying attention to what was on the pages. "Why is that?" "Discord was – or is, I suppose – a demon who ruled Equestria for a time, eons ago. His reign ended when the Princesses cast him down with the Elements of Harmony." She rotated the book in mid-air, peering closely at it. "Most records of what Equestria was like between the time of its founding and the fall of Discord have been lost, so as far as scholars are concerned, recorded history begins there." Convenient that it happened to show up in a backwater town library. "And you just happened to have it lying around in the stacks?" "Not quite," said Twilight. "It came as part of a bulk shipment of ancient texts from the Equestrian National Archives in Marelington last month. It's on loan." She opened the book again and buried her face in it. "As far as I can tell, it covers Equestria's history from the time before its founding, when the three races lived separately, all the way to something called 'The Great Sunset'." She frowned and levitated another book to eye level, flipping through the pages backward a few pages. "It's difficult to say exactly what's in here, though. The book is written in a dead, archaic dialect, and the prose is highly idiomatic. And I've been cross-referencing with other histories to find any corroboration for what little I do clearly understand. But so far..." She stopped flipping through the second book and peered closely at one page. "Huh." "What?" I craned my neck to get a look at the page. "Says here that Commander Hurricane and Clover the Clever became lovers after founding Equestria. That's..." She noticed me watching, blushed, and shut the book, turning back to the ancient tome "Probably not relevant." "Probably not." I set my book down, beside two others I'd flipped through ("A Scientific Analysis of the Cutie Mark" and some asinine creation story involving space-ponies and zebras). "So what does the book say about the arch?" "Not much," said Twilight. "In fact, the book ends abruptly right after that picture." She flipped forward, showing me page after page of emptiness. "So it's an incomplete history, then. Did the author die?" "Maybe. Or maybe the author was interrupted when Discord rose, and she never got the opportunity to finish what she started." Her eyes seemed to shimmer with delight. "This is a true historical treasure. Something this old and valuable belongs in a museum." I stepped toward her, and nudged her to get her attention; she shook her head, and her eyes cleared. "So what does it say about the arch?" I repeated. Twilight tilted the book for me to read comfortably. "Like I said, there isn't much. I can read those runes, but the idiom doesn't translate very well. All I can give you is the literal reading. The meaning behind the words might be lost to time." Find the meaning behind the words. My advice to Jack, biting me in the ass. Whatever god ruled Equestria must have been a sucker for irony. "Do what you can, then." "Alright." Twilight coughed to clear her throat. "'Here endeth the Vigil of the Eternal Sun, on earth consecrated by the fruit of His most proud and holy loins. May His divine light shineth upon the dissolute, who live detached from His splendor in lands apart. May we live to see Him illuminate our heavens again." Skeptical, I raised an eyebrow. "'His most proud and holy loins,' huh?" "I swear, that's what it says." "I'll have to take your word for it." I stepped away from Twilight, back to my own little stack of books. "So what does that tell us?" "Not a great deal. Except..." Twilight paused, frowning pensively. "Whoever that arch was dedicated to, the book refers to him in religious terms. A lot of the book is too worn and faded to be legible, and much of the writing is too archaic to be accurately translated anyway, but..." "But?" I asked, prodding. "Something Macbeth said in the castle," said Twilight. "Something about Discord defeating the 'god-emperor.' I wonder... could this book be a record of his reign?" She flipped through the book rapidly, pausing on different pages occasionally. "I see the same sort of language used to refer to the sun – or a sun – multiple times throughout. The tone of those passages is worshipful, verging on zealous." "Sun-worship?" I ventured. "That's not so strange. Where I'm from, the sun was part of a bunch of ancient religions." "I doubt it's literal sun-worship," said Twilight. "Probably a metaphor for something, or somepony, strongly associated with the sun. Sort of like Princess Celestia, I suppose." She sat on her haunches and tapped her hoof against her chin. "'Wrested Equestria from the rule of the god-emperor...'" "Is there a mention of a god-emperor in any of your other histories?" "None whatsoever. But as I said before, most pre-Discord histories are lost. If there was a god-emperor, the records of his existence would have vanished as well. No wonder there's no mention of this anywhere else." She tenderly ran her hoof over its spine. "My gosh. I think we've just discovered a lost era in pony history." "Don't get too ahead of yourself," I said. "Macbeth knew about this 'god-emperor'. Maybe he read this book, too, back when it was in the archives. Hell, if he was a government official, like he claims, he would have had easy access to them, right?" He may have learned about the portal in the Everfree Forest's castle from that history, too. Was he the one, then, that made contact with Trenton? Did he draw the Patriots' attention by crossing the threshold that separated our worlds? But all that equipment on the island... no, the Patriots had the means to cross into Equestria already; they knew about the portal, they knew how to turn it on. Did they know about its origin too? What did they know that we didn't? "I guess," said Twilight, shrugging. "I mean, I'd never have gotten my hooves on it without my association with Princess Celestia, and even then, there was a lot of red tape. A high-ranking government official would have had a far easier time of it than I did." Twilight squinted at the book, scanning the passage she'd read to me slowly, more intently. "You know, this religious fervor, coupled with the tone of the passage..." She shut the book. "Hypothesis. Whoever the god-emperor was, he was using the portal to launch some kind of cross-dimensional holy war." "Holy war?" I mulled the thought for a moment. 'May His divine light shineth upon the dissolute, who live detached from His splendor in lands apart." "You might be on to something. It sounds like they were trying to spread their faith – missionary work, so to speak. Doesn't sound like they were throwing any church picnic, though." Forced conversion, religious persecution – some things really were universal. "There's a portal on my world, too, connected to the one here. He must've been trying to invade us." Twilight scrunched up her nose. "The book references that arch being constructed as part of the Great Sunset. It didn't predate the god-emperor's reign, which means it must've been built specifically for the purpose of launching that war. And if it's pony-made, then somepony must've built the one on your end, too." She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "But then, they couldn't very well build two portals on two different worlds at the same time. The one in Equestria had to have come first. Maybe that one was a one-way trip, and this god-emperor built the one in your world after the fact as a way home." She shrugged. "Do you have any historical record of war with ponykind?" "I'm positive that we don't." I thought for a moment. "Myths, though. Not about a war with your kind, but we have old stories about unicorns and pegasi. Might be your god-emperor was the source of some of those myths?" "Might be." Twilight set her book down, stretched her back, cracked her neck, and groaned. "Six hours of studying, and that's all we could dredge up." "Hey, a second ago, you were all excited about discovering some lost epoch," I said. "Don't tell me you're changing your mind." A tiny smile crossed her face. "You're right. Who needs sleep, anyway?" I huffed a laugh. "Maybe you don't. I could use a nap, though." My night's rest was something on the order of two, two and a half hours, as it turned out. And after waking Twilight with that package, neither of us had been able to sleep at all. She decided to take advantage of that time to catch up on some studying, and managed to drag me into it. Not like I had anything better to do, of course, but if this was her idea of a cure for insomnia, it sure as hell didn't work for her. If anything, the more she read, the more energized she became. The feather-package reminded me of the other package she'd gotten the night before, the one which I was pretty sure did not come from a cyborg ninja. "You know," I said, glancing at the box with the note from Derpy attached, "you never did open that box." "Box? Oh." She waved her hoof dismissively. "I must've forgotten about it. Go ahead and open it, if you're curious." I admit to being curious, so I did open it. What was inside was the last thing I could have expected. "Twilight," I said, pulling the object from the box, "at what point did you decide that you absolutely needed a gilded unicorn horn?" "What in Equestria are you talking – oh." Twilight's eyes widened at the sight of the thing. "Oh. Oh my." The horn was the length of my forearm, golden, and polished to a mirror sheen. Light, too, far lighter than a solid gold object could realistically be (gilded it was, then). I turned it over in my hands, examining it. "It's nice, I'll give you that," I said, "but I don't see any practical purpose for owning something like this." I held it out to her. "Kind of morbid, too, if you ask me. Like owning a pencil holder carved out of someone's skull." Twilight trotted toward me, levitating the horn from my hands and looking over it closely. "I can guarantee you that I never thought of owning anything like this." Confusion crossed her face. "Where did this even come from? I doubt it came from Derpy; it's not like her to pull pranks on anypony. And I don't see the joke in this, anyway." "Well," I said, "consider why someone would want to gild a horn in the first place." I took it from where it hung in midair and examined it again. Damn, but it was shiny. Twilight stroked her chin with her hoof, an out-of-place gesture that I found comical. "It's not unheard of. A unicorn's horn is a symbol of pride, after all, so dolling it up somehow – not my cup of tea, but definitely not out of the ordinary. For males, especially, the horn is a symbol of virility and sexual prowess." I dropped it abruptly. "Really?" said Twilight, her tone as flat as the expression she gave me. "You're all a bunch of deviants," I muttered, backing away it. Twilight sighed. "Boys. I guess insecurity's a constant in the multiverse." She cleared her throat. "Anyway, yeah; middle-aged stallions, especially, tend to mess with their horn as part of some mid-life thing. I knew a unicorn in Canterlot who stuck two extra horns on his head and gilded all three of 'em. A real cornucopia of neuroses, that pony." The image made me laugh a little. Twilight picked the horn off the ground with her mouth, and set it back on the corner table. "The mystery of the gilded sex object will have to wait for another day." A more serious expression came over her. "This isn't even the most unusual package I received last night, after all." This again. I was hoping she'd dropped that subject for good. She'd practically worn a hole in the floor from pacing in a circle when I showed the feather and note to her. "You can't let yourself get hung up on that," I said. "It's Trenton, trying to manipulate you – or me, or all of us. I've seen it before." The recorded audio from Jack's Codec was among the information Otacon and I recovered from Arsenal Gear's A.I. The thing which had masqueraded as Colonel Campbell had told him that Rosemary was being held captive, giving him incentive to carry out the mission he'd been assigned. If Trenton was in the Patriots' employ – and nothing made sense if he wasn't – he could easily have been using the same tactic. "Maybe," said Twilight. She glanced out the window. The town was just beginning to come to life in the early morning sunlight. Outside, ponies passed by; occasionally, one would glance at the library, at the "CLOSED" sign hanging in the window, and trot right along, disappointed. Her uncertainty dismayed me. "It's working on you, isn't it?" She sighed, looked at me. "Snake, when you live around Pinkie Pie for as long as I have, you come to realize that she has—" "A sixth sense. Right. Applejack tried to sell me on that back in the forest." I folded my good arm across my chest, underneath the one in the sling. "I didn't believe it then. I don't believe it now, coming from you." Twilight frowned. "You don't know her, so I won't hold your skepticism against you. And if it helps, I didn't believe it either when you told me about it last night. But that note, the feather – all I'm saying is that there might be something to it. We should check it out, at least. What if Rainbow Dash is alive after all? What if it's some kind of prisoner exchange, or a call for help?" "One," I said, counting off my points on my fingers. "You have no way of knowing who sent that letter, whether Rainbow Dash did it herself, or whether someone else did it for her. Trenton, most likely. Two, you don't know that the feather in the box came from her. Three, she doesn't need to be alive for Trenton to send parts of her body under the pretense that it's her. Four, why would Rainbow Dash use a feather from her body to write us a letter, attach it to a weather balloon that she somehow managed to acquire, then send on a course that would, somehow, manage to intersect with the library? Using her own blood as ink, no less?" That Trenton could do it on his own was unlikely, too, but far more unlikely was that Rainbow Dash did it. "Dammit, Twilight, if you think about this for ten seconds, it won't add up. Trenton's playing you like a damn fiddle." "I have thought about it, you know," said Twilight, keeping her voice level and patient. "And everything you're saying, I've already considered myself. Even if you're right, I've concluded that it's something worth investigating. We're going to Dodge Junction. " She glared at me. "You don't have to like it. But I need for you to follow my lead on this." "Why?" She didn't answer me right away, and when she did, it was with her back to me and her face buried in another book. "Because if I am wrong, Snake, I want you there to rub it in my face so that I don't make that mistake again." A knock at the door prevented me from asking her what she meant. Without looking up from her book, Twilight magicked the door open, and into the library stepped Applejack and Apple Bloom. The little yellow filly held a thermos in her mouth, while her sister carried a hefty-looking saddlebag, under whose weight her body sagged. That was disconcerting. Applejack's strength and fortitude was impressive, but the events of the night before had nearly broken her – clearly, not a fact that she wanted the world to know. She hid her winces of pain behind a grin that strained at the corners of her mouth, tried to keep as much weight off of her left hind leg as she could without being obvious. Fresh bandages criss-crossed her back, concealing the burns from IRVING's flame thrower, but no doubt the straps of her saddlebag rubbing against them chafed. With the extent of her injuries, she belonged in the hospital. This was a sure road to self-destruction. Also, she didn't have her hat anymore, and just looked wrong without it. "Mornin' Twi, Snake," said Applejack. She eyed the mountain of books surrounding the unicorn, and chuckled. "Pullin' an all-nighter?" Twilight didn't respond. Applejack rubbed the back of her neck, looking abashed by Twilight's cold shoulder, and came toward me instead. "Y'know, I got this feelin' like I oughta pay you back somehow for everythin' you did back in the forest. So..." She took the saddlebag in her mouth and dropped it on the floor, looking instantly relieved once it was off her back, and beckoned me toward it. "Thought I might try feedin' you. Hope ya like apples." I do like apples, in fact, and the sack was loaded with them. I reached inside the apple sack, grateful for the charity, and pulled one out at random – a golden delicious, I noted, with some appreciation for the congruity. "Thanks," I said. "Shucks," said Applejack, blushing, "I'm the one thankin' you, remember?" She nodded at Apple Bloom, who very shyly stepped toward me, deposited the thermos on the floor beside the saddlebag of apples, and quickly backed away. I picked up the thermos, unscrewed the lid, and inhaled the earthy aroma of fresh ground coffee, mixed with another scent, pungent and spicy. "There's cinnamon in this?" I asked. "Mighty sharp sniffer you got there," said Applejack, impressed. The smile I drew from her looked genuine, not like the grin she'd plastered over her face. It was a nice contrast. "Old Apple family recipe, that coffee. Drink it in good health." She turned her attention back toward Twilight. "Anyway, I didn't jus' come down here to feed y'all. I swung by the hospital a li'l while ago to look in on Spike." Twilight's tail swished fretfully at the mention of Spike's name. "He ain't changed. The doc tells me that's a good sign, but then, I ain't a learn'd pony, so I don't know for sure. Doc sneaked some kinda tube down his throat to his stomach, to make sure he's fed, at least. So." She cleared her throat. "Anyway, Fluttershy's there with him. I haven't seen Rarity or Pinkie. An' the doctor said to tell you that you can bring Snake on over any time." Great, I thought. Time for my invasive magical surgery. I wondered, not for the first time that morning, just how big of a gamble this procedure was. Despite Twilight's assurances, I still had reservations. Twilight set her book down. "Thank you," she said quietly. "We'll head over right away." She looked at me and jerked her head at the door, heading toward it herself. I sighed, and reluctantly followed. "Twilight!" Apple Bloom blurted suddenly. My host stopped mid-step and looked at the filly, who nervously kicked at the floor with the tip of her hoof. "I... I jus' wanted to apologize for runnin' away like I did. What happened to Spike, and Rainbow Dash, it never woulda if I'd just..." Applejack nervously glanced at Twilight. And Twilight, for all her carefully constructed composure, looked like she was about to start crying, and I couldn't handle a magical unicorn crying right then. So I decided to intervene. "We all knew the risks going in, them included," I said, drawing Apple Bloom's shy gaze. "And they were both willing to lay down their lives, if that was what it took to save you." Apple Bloom was startled for a moment, clearly not expecting me to speak up. "They wouldn'ta had to if—" "You're right. They wouldn't have. But dwelling on your mistake means that you'll never truly learn from it." I lowered my voice and spoke more gently. "Growing up means choosing how you're gonna live your life. If you want to honor them, then don't live in the past. Live for the future. Remember them, and live a life worth saving." I think I failed in keeping Twilight from crying, because she turned her face away and sniffled. Apple Bloom did too, but she nodded at me through her tears. "Th-thanks. I will." She turned to walk out the door, stopped, and looked over her shoulder at me with a strange expression that I couldn't quite place. Then she lunged at me from across the room and wrapped her forelegs tightly around my shin before I could say or do a thing about it. "Snake," she said, in a voice full of warmth and admiration. "You're a real hero. Thank you." I felt my face go hot and my tongue go numb. Apple Bloom squeezed my leg one last time before detaching herself, smiling at me, and heading out the door, with a very amused Applejack following close behind. "I'm not," I mumbled. "I'm... I'm really not..." My eyes met Twilight's. She smiled knowingly at me, the tears not yet dried upon her cheeks. Sometimes, I am good with kids. Ponyville. Nice place, from what I'd seen of it. Residents had a proclivity for being looky-loos, though. Annoying, but being the town freak was an adjustment I'd have to make, as long as I was staying there. Still, with the parents averting their eyes, shielding their children's, fearfully hurrying along past me, as if I'd gobble them whole if they lingered by me for too long... a more sensitive man might have his feelings hurt. Might've been something to that fear, though. I was still hungry, and basashi sounded tempting. I finished off my apple and tossed the core in a street-side garbage can. Fluttershy was in the hospital's waiting room when we arrived – the first one there, going by what Applejack said. After we checked in with reception, she hugged Twilight and smiled shyly at me, a faint trace of pink on her cheeks. Oh no. "It's wonderful to see you both," she said. "I know Angel's been dying to meet you, Snake, ever since I told him about you." The snowy head of a white rabbit poked through Fluttershy's mane and fixed me with a death glare. Creepy. Twilight stroked one of Angel's ears, by way of a greeting. "Thank you for coming," she said. "It means a lot to me, you being here for Spike." "Oh, of course," said Fluttershy. "Little Spike means so much to all of us. And when Angel heard about what happened, he wanted so badly to come along and pay his respects. He was so worried about Spike, weren't you Angel?" Angel's expression of loathing intensified. "Weren't you?!" Fluttershy snapped, in a voice so uncharacteristically loud and angry that it even startled me. Angel's ears fell, and his expression wilted. He withdrew into Fluttershy's mane and nodded shakily. "Desperately worried," she said, turning back to us and smiling gently. I glanced at Twilight from the corner of my eye; she looked similarly shocked. "Applejack mentioned that you were here," I said to Fluttershy. "Have you seen any of the others?" "I chatted with Pinkie Pie a little earlier, but when I took my eye off of her, she vanished. You know, the way she does. And I stopped by the boutique on my way here to talk to Rarity. It looked like she hadn't opened the shop, so I knocked on the door, and she called back that she was closed for the day. So I left, and came here." "Did you say anything back to her?" I asked. "Your name, for instance?" Fluttershy dipped her head, letting her bangs conceal her face. "I didn't think to until after I knocked, and, well... I didn't want to be a bother." Oh, heaven save me. "I'll have to talk to her later, to bring her up to speed. There's been a... development." said Twilight. "We need to be on the same page, here." She drew Fluttershy closer with a hoof and lowered her voice. "Last night, a few hours after we got home..." She filled in Fluttershy on what happened with the balloon, and gave her the gist of our research regarding the portals connecting my world with theirs. By the end, Fluttershy's eyes were wide and her ears stood on end. "Oh dear, oh dear," she murmured. "Do you think it's true? That there's a chance Rainbow Dash might have survived?" Twilight answered before I could. "It's possible. We won't know unless we go to Dodge and investigate. If she is alive, she might be in danger, and I don't want to prolong that danger by sitting on this." She glared at me. "Despite what some might suggest." Spare me. I rubbed my aching shoulder. Maybe I should have taken up the doc's offer for pain killers. Then again, swallowing a handful of horse tranquilizers might have some negative repercussions. The door connecting reception from the exam rooms opened, and a unicorn nurse levitating a clipboard emerged. Glancing at the board, and then at me, she said "Mr. Snake? Right this way, please." Twilight exchanged goodbyes with Fluttershy and Angel. "I'll look in on Rarity personally," she said to Fluttershy. "Would you mind getting Applejack? Pinkie, too, if you can find her. Meet us at the train station in three hours" Fluttershy agreed. On their way out the door, Angel poked his head out at me. He bared his teeth and slashed his paw across his throat. Psychopathic bunny rabbits. Equestria really did have it all. "Train station, huh?" I asked Twilight as we followed the nurse down the hospital corridor. "So we're actually doing this." "I'm proceeding under the assumption that we are, yes," said Twilight testily. I scoffed, but swallowed whatever criticism I had. I didn't want to get sucked into another argument; time enough for that later. Instead, I changed the subject. "What's up with Rarity? Fluttershy suggested that there was something going on with her." "She's probably upset over what happened to Spike. The two of them..." Twilight seemed to choose her words with care. "They have a somewhat complicated relationship." I might've done a double-take. "What, don't tell me the two of them—" "No!" said Twilight quickly. "Not like that. But she – that is to say, he – look, the thing is, with Spike and Rarity—" She fumbled a few more times, before sighing in frustration. "Spike's in love with her," she said at last, exasperated. What was so hard about saying that? "You mean he has a crush on her." "I know what I said." She sounded defensive, as if expecting me to contradict her a second time. When I didn't, her voice turned quiet and contemplative. "I doubt Rarity feels the same way, but even so, she's probably closer to him than anypony besides myself. She must be taking it especially hard. Not to mention..." She rolled her eyes. "Rarity's always been rather melodramatic." We came to a stop in front of a door, with the nurse pushing it open for me to duck inside. "I'll talk to her, don't worry." "Didn't say I was." I was. A little. "Procedures like this don't take long – a few hours, at the most," said Twilight. "I'll be back around noon to check in on you, okay?" I nodded, and she left. My room had the usual hospital set-up - cabinet, sink, insipid posters with inspirational phrases on them. Yet another constant between worlds. Somewhat unusual was a fern to the left of the bed, a vain attempt to liven up the place. The nurse directed me to an exam table that looked jury-rigged from two much smaller exam table and masses of pillows and cushions hastily stuck together. "Please forgive the accommodations," said the nurse. "We weren't prepared to meet the needs of someone of your..." She eyed me from toe-to-head. "Proportions." "Don't stick me with any strange needles, and we'll call it even." The table was surprisingly comfortable when I sat on it, though the way it creaked told me that I wouldn't want to stay there longer than necessary. "The doctor is with another patient at the moment," said the nurse. "He'll see you momentarily." With that, she left the room, shutting me in. I laid back on my exam table, wincing as a pillow pressed awkwardly against my dislocated shoulder. They didn't put as much thought into this set-up as they wanted me to believe. I sighed. "I hate hospitals." "You and me both, brother!" Something exploded out of the potted plant beside me, sending bits of dirt and fern flying all across the room. "Which is why Patch Pinkie is here to—" I reflexively lashed out at the source of the noise with a left hook. The thing in the plant flew across the room, smashing against the wall beside the door and falling to the linoleum floor. It was Pinkie Pie. In a dirt-stained doctor's coat. With a stethoscope around her neck, and wearing a red clown nose. She was unconscious. Whoops. Twilight frowned at the homemade "CLOSED" sign hanging on the door to Carousel Boutique. "You're not fooling anypony, Rarity," she yelled. "I know you're in there." The hum of the motor on the other side of the door remained constant. "Taking a personal day, dear!" called Rarity from inside. "Come again tomorrow!" Worry crept up Twilight's spine. That Rarity would be upset after the previous night's events was a given, that she'd retreat into solitude, understandable. Now, though, Twilight found herself wondering just how far gone she was. Did she even recognize my voice? "It's Twilight Sparkle, Rarity. Can I come in?" The motor trailed off. Twilight lingered, in silence, for a long, tense moment. Her sense of worry grew. Things were grim enough without losing Rarity to despair. Her answer only deepened Twilight's concerns. "I don't think you should come in. The shop, it's a mess. A disaster zone." The motor whined to life again. Twilight's concern found itself sharing brain space with frustration. "Rarity, you know I don't care about that. I really..." The motor whirred louder, and Twilight had the distinct, stinging feeling that Rarity was trying to drown her voice with the noise. "We didn't see you at the hospital. Everypony—" She paused, considered Snake, and adjusted her tack. "Everyone is worried." The motor fell silent again. Rather than wait for Rarity to dismiss her again, Twilight pressed her position. "I just want to talk, Rarity. Can you open the door so that we can talk?" Another long silence followed, during which whatever cautious optimism Twilight had felt started to ebb. But presently, she heard hoofbeats from within the shop, drawing closer and growing louder, then the click of a deadbolt unfastening. The door opened a crack, and the top of Rarity's head peeked out at her. "Are you alone?" she asked in a ragged whisper. Twilight stepped aside, and Rarity's eyes darted here and there, searching for any unannounced escorts. Satisfied, albeit with a seeming reluctance, she slowly opened the door wide enough for Twilight to enter. There was no trace of Carousel Boutique's normally buoyant and sophisticated atmosphere. None of the lamps were lit, and the curtains were drawn shut and pinned together. Yet even in the dark, Twilight could see that the boutique looked no less well-kept than usual. The only thing about it that looked out of order was Rarity herself. She'd bathed, washed away the grime of the night before, but she looked even more out of sorts than Applejack, with baggy eyes and lids which drooped, and a lank and unstyled mane. When she moved, it was in a slow, listless trot, her hooves dragging along the carpet. All in all, she looked more broken than Applejack. "I hope you don't mind if I work while we talk." Rarity's tone was atypically lifeless, as dull and dreary as she way she carried herself. "Terribly rude of me, I know, but the world stops turning for nopony." Rarity had an electric sewing machine on a table that was set up across the boutique's showroom. The table was flanked by ponyquins, one on either side. Over the back of one, a dress was draped, neatly folded into a symmetrical square. The dress lacked the style and flair that characterized Rarity's designs – no intricate embroidery that Twilight could see, nor any gemstones or decorations. It was simple, and of a single, solid color – black or brown. Twilight couldn't tell which, owing to the poor lighting. As Rarity returned to her sewing machine, the motor whining in protest when she switched it on, Twilight inspected the dress more closely. "Did you just make this?" she asked. She thought about pulling it from the ponyquin and unfolding it, but Rarity's relative instability quashed that idea quickly. Rarity glanced at the dress from the corner of her eye for an instant before returning to her work. "Hmm, whipped it up overnight. A little something for Snake, as an apology for how I spoke to him before." "For Snake?" Twilight's face crinkled as she suppressed a laugh at the thought of Snake done up in an elegant designer gown. "I don't think dresses are Snake's style, Rarity." Rarity stopped the machine and glared askance at Twilight. "It's a coat," she said flatly. Her magic shimmered around the clothing in question, and pulled it off the ponyquin, unfurling it to its full length. Despite lacking the obvious signs of a Rarity original, the coat looked well-made and comfortable – functional, if not stylish. Snake'd like it. Twilight smiled sheepishly at her mistake. "You made it all in one night?" she asked. "And without even taking his measurements?" "Mm, well." Rarity turned back to her sewing, draping the coat back over the ponyquin. "All guesswork. But it should fit him. Mostly." Twilight stepped around the ponyquin and peeked over Rarity's shoulder, at the outfit she was currently sewing. "And what are you working on now?" Rarity quickly moved to block Twilight's view. "It's nothing special," she said hastily. "Just an order for a client." "C'mon, it must be—" Twilight moved to look over Rarity's other shoulder, but she was quickly blocked on that side too. "It must be pretty special to—" She faked going over Rarity's head, and ducked underneath her foreleg, squeezing between Rarity and the machine "To spend all night working on it." "But it's not finished," Rarity protested, her tone high and trembling with anxiety. It was the most emotional she'd sounded since Twilight arrived. "It's nowhere near – darling, please let me get back to— " "Rarity..." Twilight's voice was lowered to an awed whisper. "This is..." It was a tiny jacket, foal-sized, though not meant for a pony to wear. In shape, it more closely resembled Snake's coat. Unlike the coat, though, this jacket looked distinctly like a Rarity product, lined with gold piping sewn into intricate patterns. The whole thing looked distinctly naval; even the fabric looked to be navy blue. Either the color's a pun on the design, or the design's a pun on the color, Twilight thought, laughing appreciatively. "Is this for who I think it is?" she asked, turning back to Rarity with a small smile. Rarity looked flustered, embarrassed. She dug at the carpet with a hoof, nervous. "It is a get-well-soon gift for a dear, dear friend," she said stiffly. "Nothing more. I don't know what you're insinuating; I'd do the same for anypony I knew who was in a persistent vegetative state. " She glared at Twilight. "And I do not appreciate you nosing your way into my creative process, or my business." Her sudden scorn took Twilight aback. A sense of guilt came over her, and she lay the jacket over the ponyquin on the other side of the table. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm just – we were just concerned for you. You've shut yourself up in the boutique; you won't answer the door; you've worked through the night... Rarity, have you rested at all since we got back?" "So what if I haven't?" Rarity replied, growing defensive. "Work happens to be very relaxing for many ponies, myself included. It keeps body and mind occupied, and holds troublesome thoughts and feelings at bay!" "Thoughts? Feelings?" Twilight moved closer to Rarity. "About what?" "Oh, what aren't they about?" Rarity cried, throwing her hooves into the air. "Spike! Rainbow Dash! Snake, the humans, this impending invasion, and all of us, and our hideously low chances of survival – oh, look what you've done; now I can't stop thinking again!" She rushed back to her sewing, revving up the motor again. "I have to work; I need to concentrate, because otherwise—" With a quick flash of violet light, the groan of the motor tapered off, and the motion of the needle slowed to a gradual halt. For a few seconds, Rarity continued to paw ineffectually at the outfit, until she realized what had happened. She whirled on Twilight, murder alight in her eyes. "Why would you do that?!" "You need to work," said Twilight gently, "because otherwise, you can't stop thinking about everything that's happening. Am I right?" She took a step toward Rarity, who bristled and fell into a defensive posture. "But, Rarity... look at the toll it's taking on you. You're destroying yourself." Another step forward; Rarity flared her nostrils and snorted like a feral beast. "You need sleep, Rarity." "Don't you think I tried?!" Rarity snapped. "I don't have a switch that I can throw to make all these thoughts go away!" She frantically shuffled her hooves, almost dancing in place. "I thought getting clean would help. I spent so long in the tub, scrubbing it all away – the castle, and Trenton, the timberwolves, that dead soldier in the Everfree Forest, Zecora and Apple Bloom and watching Trenton drop us all and make off with that poor little filly. All of it! Down the drain!" She swung her hoof dramatically, simulating a tidal wave, but brought it too close to the sewing machine and accidentally whacked the metal casing hard enough to dent it. The sudden clanging noise made Twilight jump. Rarity didn't react, either to the noise or the impact. She planted her front hooves upon the table, facing away from Twilight again. "But no matter how clean I made myself," she continued breathlessly, "the memories and feelings lingered. I couldn't wash them away! I crawled into bed and shut my eyes, and all I could see was..." Her lips trembled. She slumped forward against the table. Her ferocious expression started to fall apart. "All I could see was..." Twilight closed the remaining distance between the two of them, and placed her hooves on Rarity's shoulders. The other unicorn turned her head around, took one look at her friend, and collapsed against her chest. The whole night's worth of helplessness, frustration and fear poured from Rarity, down her face and into Twilight's fur. Twilight smiled gently and rubbed Rarity's back. "It's alright," she said. "Let it out, Rarity." "S-spike," Rarity blubbered, clinging tightly to Twilight. "L-lying in that pile of rubble, looking so b-b-broken... And Rainbow Dash..." Another fit of sobs shuddered through Rarity. "Who will be next? Who's the next f-friend we're going to lose?!" She buried her face into Twilight's chest and screamed. "Nopony," said Twilight, willing herself to believe her words, even as she spoke them. "We haven't lost anypony. We're not going to." "H-h-how can you s-s-say that?!" Rarity wailed. "With Spike on his deathbed and Rainbow Dash just... just gone?! " "Because Spike isn't going to die," said Twilight, maintaining an even, soothing tone. "And Rainbow Dash—" "Don't s-start," snapped Rarity, sniffing. "You can't possibly be in the s-s-same denial as Pinkie." "I'm not," said Twilight. "I was skeptical too, but..." She hugged Rarity a little closer. "There's a chance she might really have survived." Rarity's breathing hitched. Sniffling, she wiped her nose and pulled away to look Twilight in the eye. "What do you mean?" Twilight glanced away. "Something came to the library last night – a package. A feather, the same color as one of Rainbow's. Along with a... ransom note, I guess." Confusion played over Rarity's messy, tear-streaked features. "Ransom note?" she asked. Her breathing was still unsteady, causing her to stammer out some of her words. But the news had calmed her somewhat; if nothing else, she'd stopped crying. "Maybe more like a summons," Twilight corrected. "'Dodge Junction, by train.'" "Dodge Junction..." Rarity pressed her lips together, glancing downward. She hiccuped. "It sounds like a trap." Twilight was quiet, reluctant to answer. "Snake thinks so, too," she said at last. "I'd be a fool not to consider the probability." Rarity sighed. She separated herself from Twilight's embrace and looked over her shoulder at the empty table, at the outfits on the ponyquins, on the dented sewing machine. For a moment, Twilight feared that Rarity would lapse back into the state she'd found her in. But Rarity instead slid to the floor and curled her legs underneath her body, and rested her head on the soft boutique carpet. "Fool's hope," she mumbled. "The best we can do." She sniffed. "A mess. This whole situation is one big mess." "Yeah." Twilight sat beside Rarity, staring across the darkened, empty boutique. "But at a time like this, what else can we do but hope? I mean..." She wrapped her magic around the coat Rarity had made, and dragged it in front of them, unfurling it again. "Besides indulge in sartorial spontaneity." Rarity looked up at the coat and cracked a smile. "Oh, that." She levitated a handkerchief from the table and dabbed her nose with it, blowing softly. "Well, I felt awful about exploding at Snake the way I did, back in the forest. He was only being realistic. I was the one who...." Twilight looked searchingly at Rarity. "Who what?" Rarity folded the hanky and set it in front of her. "I'm a hypocrite, Twilight. I didn't believe Pinkie any more than he did." The coat was considerably larger than the both of them. Twilight lay it lengthwise over their bodies. The interior was soft, silky, and surprisingly warm. "So you made the coat to apologize," said Twilight. "And also... as penance?" "Penance," mused Rarity. "That's not a bad word for it. Penance for my hypocrisy." "What about the one for Spike?" She tugged her side of the coat a little tighter over her body. "This is really comfortable, by the way." "Thank you for that." Rarity folded her forelegs in front of her and rested her chin on them. "I finished the coat in six hours – no breaks, you know; six hours of uninterrupted work – and I started... thinking again." She shuddered. "Spike looked so cold in his bed." She looked at Twilight, puzzled. "Are dragons cold-blooded?" Twilight blinked. "Well, I think they count as reptiles, but... I don't know; dragons may be different." She shrugged. Rarity waved her hoof. "Doesn't matter, I suppose. Anyway, to occupy myself I started working on something for Spike. Something stylish, and warm, the perfect blend of form and functionality. The more time I put into it, the more of... myself... I put into it." She bit her lip; her eyes started to water again. "You just wanted to do something nice for him," Twilight surmised. "Maybe. But the longer I worked, the more it became about exorcising my own demons," said Rarity. "You see, as I worked, there was this little voice in the back of my head saying 'he won't ever wake up, he won't ever see it, he won't ever wear it.' And it got louder and louder, the longer I worked, until it was practically screaming." "Is that why you worked the machine so hard?" asked Twilight. "I could hear the motor from outside, you know." "A vain attempt at drowning out the cacophony in my mind, yes." She screwed her face up into a sour frown. "Although, I think the only thing I succeeded in doing is ruining my motor." She laughed emptily, followed it with a sigh. "Oh, Spike. My brave little dragon. Why did he insist on coming with us? So bloody chivalrous." She pressed her hooves together. "And I let that monster Trenton lay hands on him..." An icy dagger of guilt stabbed into Twilight's heart. After all, Rarity's blame was misplaced. "I was the one who let him come with us, Rarity. Against my better judgment, even." She stroked her back. "If anypony should feel guilty, it's me. But you? He'd never want you to abuse yourself on on his account. Because..." Twilight hesitated, recalling something about being sworn to secrecy under penalty of cupcake to the eye, and thus being unsure of whether or not she should finish. "Because he's in love with me." The words, spoken so matter-of-factly, as if the fact were common knowledge, surprised Twilight. She'd always figured Rarity as oblivious. Rarity saw Twilight's expression of shock, and smiled sadly. "He's not exactly subtle about it, darling." The phantom sensation of cake frosting in her eye faded, and Twilight smiled with relief. "You know..." Rarity gathered herself up, sat on her haunches, stretched her legs with a slight groan. She shrugged out of the coat, and let her end of it drop around Twilight. "I always knew I'd have to talk to him about that, one day. But I kept putting it off. Truth is, I always hoped that he'd just... get over it on his own, so that I wouldn't have to break his heart. The thought of hurting him..." She chuckled darkly. "You think you have all the time in the world for things like this. Then the world kicks sand in your eyes, just to remind you who's boss." "You still do have time." A little reluctantly – it was just so warm in there! – Twilight slid the coat off of herself and folded it with her magic. "He'll make it. You'll give him the gift that you made for him, and you'll... you'll have that talk." "Hmm." Rarity's response was pensive and non-committal. "Just... make sure you let him down gently, okay?" Rarity wasn't the only one who'd considered that inevitable, difficult conversation with Spike. Heartbreak wasn't something Twilight had ever needed to deal with, either for herself, or for her friends. She'd be there for her little dragon; how could she not be? But she'd always wondered what it would mean for their friendship, if Spike and Rarity would be forever alienated, the former too hurt to associate with her. And the strain that would put on her friendship, with both of them, in turn, and the strain that would put on their collective friendship... Tug one thread, and the whole thing unravels, Twilight thought gloomily. "Hmm." The same response. Twilight was deathly curious as to what Rarity was thinking about, and was about to ask, when Rarity shook her head, blinked sleepily, and yawned. "Oh, how I ramble. Forgive me, dear; I haven't slept, you know." "Maybe you should get on that?" Twilight said lightly, nudging Rarity. Rarity giggled, and the sound actually lifted Twilight's dour spirits. "Who am I to argue?" Rarity lifted her hindquarters off the carpet, turned to the stairs, stopped, looked Twilight in the eye. She smiled. "I actually do feel a little better, you know. Maybe I can..." She yawned again. "Get at least a Zs in before the next crisis rolls along." "Get yourself more than a few," Twilight teased. Rarity lingered on the stairs a moment longer; the pensive look came over her face again. "Listen, Twilight, about Spike..." Twilight perked an ear, waited expectantly... but Rarity shook her head, cleared the look from her face. "Never mind," she said, yawning. "Sleep now. Angst later." Rarity nodded at Twilight one last time, and trotted up the stairs, with a sleepy sort of sprightliness in her step. When she heard the bedroom door close, Twilight let herself out of the boutique. The mid-morning sun was refreshing, after so much time spent in the dark. Twilight shut the door to the boutique, ensured that it was still locked, and mentally crossed visiting Rarity off of her to-do list. She had mixed feelings on the visit – relieved in some ways, more concerned in others. Rarity seemed stable now; the talk with Twilight had been fairly therapeutic for her. Even if it did leave me with some unanswered questions, thought Twilight. She found some new worry to attribute to Rarity – surely, her friend would have more tact than to break Spike's heart the moment he woke up. Unless... her heart skipped a beat. Unless she doesn't plan to let him down at all. She shook her head, trying to drive the thoughts away, mimicking Rarity. That was a silly thought that she didn't want to waste neurons upon. Besides which, she had more pressing concerns. Rarity's condition may have improved, but she was still out of play for the time being. And if they were to take this trip to Dodge after all, Twilight needed all of them at peak performance. Twilight ran through the list in her head. Pinkie Pie seemed fine the night before. She'd taken the fewest hits out of any of them, save the unscathed Fluttershy, who had seemed emotionally stable. She must've talked to Pinkie about Dash and believed her. Otherwise, I don't think she'd be able to hold herself together. That left Applejack. The farmer was the strongest and hardiest among them, and certainly the best pure martial fighter after Rainbow Dash. But Applejack was a shell, whatever face she put on for the world to see. It took more than a good night's rest to undo the damage she'd absorbed, and she had no business in a combat situation until she recovered. Applejack's out. The conclusion offered her a measure of relief. That leaves myself, Pinkie, Fluttershy, and... Her heart fell like an anvil at the realization that the one among them most suited for dealing with something like this was the one least likely to cooperate. What to do? Fluttershy and Pinkie would follow her, if she asked. Hay, they would insist upon going. Suppose, though, that a platoon of PW soldiers were waiting for them – or worse, another IRVING? She loved Fluttershy, but combat was never her strong suit, and Pinkie, for all her talent with the bizarre, wasn't much more of a fighter than Fluttershy. Dragging them, alone, into a combat situation would be tantamount to murder, as far as Twilight was concerned. The only one I can count on is Snake, thought Twilight. And I don't know if I can count on him at all. Sure, he'd blown his cover to help them in the castle, but Twilight had no reason to believe that his reasons were purely altruistic. He had even less reason to help now. They worked together out of mutual need, and once his shoulder was healed, Snake wouldn't need them anymore. If he didn't care for the plan, there was nothing stopping him from simply walking away and finishing his mission on his own. Twilight couldn't have that. Even if he didn't need them anymore, they still needed him. Of course, it was unlikely that he'd follow her willingly. He wouldn't budge from the idea that going to Dodge Junction was a trap. Probably because he's right, Twilight thought bleakly. What, then? Do I just let it go? Focus our efforts here, in Ponyville? It was a viable course of action... but it would mean giving up on Rainbow Dash altogether. And that... "Don't look back, egghead. Keep runnin', and don't look back." ...was not something she was willing to do. But going alone wasn't an option. Bringing her friends wasn't a good option. That left her one choice. And he wasn't going to like it. He doesn't have to like it, she thought. He just needs to do it. The idea was so unlike anything she'd learned that simply thinking of it made her queasy. She could compromise, though. If it meant saving Rainbow Dash, she could live with being a hypocrite. Ignoring the weight in the pit of her stomach, Twilight set off toward the Ponyville town hall. Pinkie came to before much time had passed. I had mixed feelings on that. I was relieved that she was alright, on the one hand; I didn't care for her, but that doesn't translate necessarily into wishing permanent brain damage on her. On the other, I was dismayed that now I'd have to listen to her. "Whoooooaaaaa," she moaned, rubbing her head where I'd hit her. "What the expletive deleted just happened?" "You popped out of a plant to surprise me," I said. "And I punched you across the room out of reflex." Pinkie stopped rubbing. She tilted her head at me. "Sorry," I mumbled sheepishly. Pinkie dismissed my apology with a wave of her hoof. "Oh, pshaw. I was trying to startle you, after all. I give me an A for effort!" She reached into one of her pockets, produced a giant felt "A", and stuck it on her lapel. "Cute." Who carries something like that in their pocket? She beamed. "You think so?" "No. What, exactly, are you doing here?" "I figured I'd keep you company!" Pinkie bounced on the tips of her hooves to my bedside, reared up on her hind legs, and leaned her elbow on the side of the exam table. "I don't know what hospitals are like where you come from, but the ones around here – hoo! It takes more than a fern or two to lift a down-and-out pony's spirits, you know what I'm saying? You know what I'm saying." "Somehow," I said, "I don't think entertainment is the hospital's priority." I had to give this one credit, though – instead of sterility and tile polish, Ponyville General smelled strongly of cinnamon buns. "And that's the problem with the system, consarnit!" Pinkie tried to thump her hoof on the bed, but struck my thigh by mistake. She noticed and blushed. "Sorry." "Not the worst I've had," I muttered, rubbing the spot where she'd struck me. That'd leave a bruise... 'til the nanos got it, anyway. "Glad to hear it! So, anyway." Pinkie cleared her throat. "Haven't you ever heard the saying 'laughter is the best medicine'? I don't know about you, but when I'm feeling sick, nothing puts a bounce back in my step quite like a good belly laugh." "Where I come from, medicine is the best medicine." Pinkie snorted and burst into loud guffaws. "Ah, I knew you had a little comedian in you. Everypony does!" "I'm not a pony." "Are you suuuure?" sang Pinkie, pushing her face uncomfortably close to mine. "'Cuz I'm sensin' you've got a little pony in you! Maybe I oughta poke around and find out!" She poked me in the chest with her hoof. "Huh? Feel up to a little exploratory surgery?" Poke. "Gotta make sure you didn't fracture your funny bone!" Poke. Poke. "'Funny bone', geddit?" "Knock it off." I shoved her off of me. Her head jutted right back up to my height, her neck stretching like rubber to make it happen. "Not a punny guy, huh?" Pinkie reached into her pocket again, produced a long, red balloon, blew into it, and tied its end to keep the air in. "That's okay; I got lots to work with. How do you feel about balloon animals?" She turned her back to me; her forelegs became a whirling, pink blur; I heard the squeak of rubber against rubber, and when she turned back around, the balloon had been twisted into the shape of a pair of hexagons, linked together end-on-end. Far from being funny, that was just deeply confusing. "How in the..." Pinkie frowned at her creation. "'How in the' indeed. I was trying to make a puppy. Hmm." She turned back around and twisted the shape again; when she faced me next, the balloon was in the shape of a praying mantis. "That time, I was trying to make a double hexagon!" She tossed the balloon mantis into the air and bounced it over her shoulder with one hoof. "Well, whatever. It didn't seem to work on you, anyway." "That's because I'm not an infant." I thought I saw Pinkie's smile waver the tiniest bit before she launched back into her routine. "You don't have to be a baby to enjoy a good laugh. Anyone can – pony or no!" She beamed hopefully at me. "C'mon, Snake, what's your pleasure? Knock-knock jokes? Physical comedy? Stand-up? You name it, baby, and I'll make it happen! Like this!" She somehow made a snapping sound with her hoof. Similarly, I heard a snapping sound in my head as the last thread of my patience broke. "Pinkie Pie." "That's muh name!" Pinkie stared expectantly at me. "We seem to have had a communication problem. Frankly, I blame myself; apparently, I haven't been direct enough. Let me clarify, once and for all, how I feel about your attempts at humor." I leaned forward, watching her recoil and her expression wilt with every word I spoke. "You're not funny. You will never be funny. I will never laugh at a joke that you make, because none of your jokes are at all funny. All you are is annoying." I lay back on my bed and turned onto my side. "So just cut your losses, walk out that door, and leave me alone." I heard a tiny popping noise, and my temper flared again. I rose and turned to face her. "And, dammit, would you cut it out with the balloon— " What I saw killed the rest of that thought before I could give voice to it. Pinkie Pie's neck hung low, her ears drooping against her head. Her mane, which had resembled cotton candy inflated with helium moments before, now sagged inward, looking like it was about to implode. She wasn't crying, or anything – thank heavens for small miracles; I'd had about as much crying from ponies as I could take – but from the expression on her face, she looked like she could start at any second. I felt remorse, and instantly grew annoyed with myself. How was it that Pinkie could barge in on me and push me to the limits of my patience with her clowning, and then make me feel like the bad guy for telling her off? "Look, I didn't mean—" "Yeah, you did," she said quietly. I blinked. "Alright, yeah, I did. But that's... that's no reason to... uh..." I struggled to think of something uplifting to say. "I really like your, uh..." What, mane? Coat? Ass tattoo? "Well, sneaking into the hospital and hiding in the plant; that had to take some skill. Pretty impressive." She stared at me morosely. "But you don't think I'm funny." No-win scenario. "No. But I was harsh; I'm sorry for that." "It's okay. Really." She looked at me, and I didn't see any trace of deception in her expression. Just this sad sort of resignation. It was a disturbing face for her to wear. Anything that wasn't gushing effusiveness looked alien on Pinkie. "It isn't your fault. It's mine. I thought I could make you smile, the way I'd make anypony else smile, but all this time, I've been ignoring that you're just not a pony. Or anything like a pony. And for all I know, they don't even have smiles where you come from." She sniffed, and wiped her face with her foreleg. "I've been trying too hard, and I haven't been a good friend to you at all." Not the first time a pony had called me that. "We're friends?" "Well, yeah," she said. "Or, I thought that we were. But I can't make you smile. And I make all my friends smile. So if I can't do that with you... She stuck her face in one of the exam bed's cushions, speaking into it. "Maybe you and me just aren't supposed to be friends." I had no idea what I could say or do to make this situation better, so I stuck with a neutral tone and hoped that things would resolve themselves. "I didn't realize it was so important to you." Pinkie lifted her head and sighed. "Maybe things work different where you come from. But everypony in Equestria has a special talent that they're destined to spend their lives doing. You find that, and you get your cutie mark. Me?" She lifted her rump in the air, drawing my attention to the image of balloons stamped on her flank. "My talent is making ponies laugh and smile." Pinkie lowered her haunches and folded her forelegs on the exam bed; I moved to the side to give her room. "Rarity's a wizard when it comes to dressmaking. Applejack's a wizard with apples. And Twilight, she's an actual wizard." That made her giggle; her hair poofed up a bit. "I'm not any kind of wizard. I throw a party like it's nopony's business, and I bake a mean cake. Besides that, there's not much more I can do." She looked at me again. "So, yeah. It's pretty important to me." So Pinkie Pie acted the way she did because she had nothing else to offer the world. Underneath the laughter, the gags, the lame puns, lay a foundation of inadequacy. It was annoying as all get out, but knowing that, it was hard not to look at her with some measure of sympathy. Which, apparently, I was doing, because she rolled her eyes at me. "Hey, don't look at me like that. I'm not throwing myself a pity-party because I can't put a mustache on Spike with a wave of my horn." She shook her head. "I love laughter. I love making ponies laugh. I got no regrets on that score. It's my destiny, after all." Oh. Okay. "So, in not laughing at your jokes, am I keeping you from fulfilling your destiny?" It sounded asinine, but the concept would have fit with a place like Equestria. Pinkie turned that over for a moment. "Eh. Maybe. But then again, maybe not so much." She shrugged. "I know what my destiny is. I'm mostly sure I know how to fulfill it. But in this tipsy-topsy-turvy world, there's not much you can be certain of, is there?" "There's a lot you seem pretty certain of," I said. "Insistent upon, even." Pinkie's ears perked. She raised her forelegs so that her elbows rested on the bed, and propped her face up between her hooves. "You're talking about my Pinkie Sense?" "Pinkie Sense?" I arched an eyebrow, confused. "Y'know. That thing you don't think I really have." She shrugged. "I know you don't believe me about Rainbow Dash." She has a name for that? Of course she has a name for that. I watched her carefully, not wanting her to deflate again. That was a disturbing manifestation of a bad mood that I didn't care to see again. "You want her to be alive. I get that. But I saw her get buried in that rubble. Between that, the bombs going off, and IRVING, I don't see how she could have escaped alive." "Oh, I don't either," said Pinkie, completely nonchalant. I stared blankly at her. "Pinkie sense! Like I said!" She grinned. "Weird stuff happens to my body sometimes – shudders, or shivers, or twitches, stuff like that. Specific signs for when something specific is about to happen." She wagged her tail. "Twitchy tail means that something's gonna fall, for instance. Or achy shoulder; that means there's an alligator in the bathtub." "Alligator in the...?" "It's more common than you think." I wasn't sure that I believed her. Still, it wouldn't be the strangest thing I'd seen in Equestria. "Uh-huh. So what would your body do to tell you that Rainbow Dash was dead?" She rubbed her chest with the back of her hoof. "Achey-breaky heart." Pinkie thumped herself twice. "When somepony I love is about to die, I get the worst pains in my chest. Like when I lost Granny Pie. I got this feeling, like my heart was ripping in two, right down the middle. That's when I knew that something bad happened. I ran home right away, hoping I was wrong, but..." She looked away for a moment and wiped her eye with a hoof before facing me again. "Pinkie Sense is never wrong." So it was a particularly useless and impractical form of precognition. "You don't feel that now?" She clucked her tongue. "I haven't felt it at all. That's why I was so confused when you said that she was dead. I thought 'either my Pinkie Sense is on the fritz, or Dashie's still alive.' And my Pinkie Sense never goes on the fritz. So Dashie must be alive!" She smiled brightly. "It's only logical." We defined logic in two different ways, she and I. "That doesn't exactly convince me, Pinkie." "I didn't think it would," said Pinkie. "But Applejack, and Fluttershy, and everypony else – they believe me. They believe in me. And I believe in me too. It's what keeps me going, Snake. Especially right now. With everything that's happened, and still happening..." She blinked rapidly. "I know in my heart that Rainbow Dash is alive. And so I'm going to keep smiling. 'Cuz if I stop believing, for even a minute, maybe they'll stop believing too. And then, Dashie's as good as dead." Superstitious idiocy. Pinkie's "Pinkie Sense" was still nothing more to me than blind faith and optimism; nothing she'd said could convince me otherwise. And yet... I couldn't look at it with the same kind of scorn I'd mustered before. Not because I thought there was anything to it, but because, for Pinkie, it represented something significant. Her destiny was to smile, to make others smile. It was something small, something many would dismiss offhand, but to her, it was everything. Something worth believing in, even passing on to others. This insistence, this stubborn belief that Rainbow Dash had somehow survived, it was just the medium for passing that smile on to others. And who am I to condemn such a thing? "I think I understand where you're coming from," I said, after a long, thoughtful silence. Pinkie's ears lifted. "You mean that?" I silently nodded, once, slowly. For a moment, Pinkie looked gobsmacked, like the idea that we'd reach common ground shocked her into silence. It was all too fleeting, though. The grin returned. "Hey, you know what? I think we just bonded." "What?" I turned my head away. "No. No we didn't." "Ah-ah-ah! No take-backsies!" She bounced toward my bed, the springing sound back in her hooves, and pressed her cheek against mine, nuzzling my stubbly face. "I knew that we'd find something to bond over; I just knew it. Oh, Snake, we really are the best of bestest friends now!" "Hooray." Royal privilege meant that Luna could, at will and with no explanation, close parts of the palace which were normally accessible to the public. It could be done on a whim, though she preferred to have a good reason for doing it. As she watched a guard usher out the last of the garden's visitors – a young couple that she'd found tangled together in a hedge they'd thought was secluded – she wondered (and not for the first time) if she had a good reason now. Shining Armor watched the guard hustle the couple out of the garden, then turned and saluted Luna. "All accounted for," he said. "Will you be needing anything else, Princess?" "Thank you, no, Captain," said Luna. "You are dismissed." Shining Armor replied with a crisp nod, and turned to exit the garden himself. Luna watched him leave with a knot in her stomach. She liked the stallion, liked him well enough to entertain fantasies of what might have been, had he not married Celestia's niece, and that made it all the harder to conceal her sister's secret from him. Not to mention her own intentions. She decided to alleviate her guilt some. "Captain!" Twilight's elder sibling turned swiftly and stood at attention once more. "Yes, your majesty?" "You have performed your duties admirably of late, Captain." "Her majesty is kind to say so." "'Her majesty' means it." She smiled. "Take the rest of the day off, Captain. I believe you have earned some respite." He looked confused. "But Princess, I have a lot of work to do before the day is over. I still have to finalize the duty rosters for the next three months, make the final approval on the latest academy graduates, meet with the mages at Princess Celestia's school to discuss joint defense measures..." He droned on, while Luna inwardly sighed. Count on Twilight Sparkle's brother to argue against taking an early day. "Are you disobeying an order from your Princess, Captain?" The look of panic that crossed Shining Armor's face turned her inward sigh into a giggle. Adorability must have been a genetic trait in the Sparkle line. "N-no, your majesty! Not at all; I would never think to question—" "Then pass your assignments on to Sentry, and go home." A lascivious smile crossed her lips. "Spend some time with your lovely young bride. I do believe she misses you." The way his coat went from pure white to beet red – head to hoof, not an inch spared – turned that giggle into riotous laughter. "Yes, majesty! And th-thank you!" Luna replied with a squinty smile. "Off you go, then!" He bounded away with the fervor of a young stallion whose honeymoon ended far too soon for his liking. She couldn't help a pang of sadness – empathy for Cadance, her sister's niece. Young love, thought Luna wistfully. A mistake for any immortal to make. Memories danced at the edge of her recollection. Tender smiles, caresses, the warmth of another's body against hers... Luna pushed them back, refused to reopen so old a wound. She will learn, she thought of Cadance. She will curse and hate herself for it, but she will learn. She didn't allow Shining Armor, or his bride, to remain in her thoughts any longer. Her mind had to be clear, focused on the task at hoof entirely. This was a calculated risk. It was one she'd gladly take, but one that bid her to proceed with caution. In the middle of the garden courtyard stood the statue of a draconequus, recoiling in fear, expression twisted into a final cry of disbelief. Luna's heart thudded, and her knees shook, threatening to give way. Little traitors, she thought. To the gallows with you, when this is over. She shut her eyes, inhaled deeply, and focused her magic upon the statue. Her aura – her most powerful and prized of senses – stretched out, groping for the life that she knew resided within the statue... and felt it almost at once. This was too powerful a thing to seal away completely. He remained trapped within that statue, aware, yearning for freedom. She knew how that felt all too well. "It isn't too late to back out, Luna," she thought out loud. The image of the human corpse in the old castle flashed in her mind. It is, actually. Entirely too late. Time to take the plunge. With one last breath of fresh, free air, she let her mind slip free, into the prison the Elements created for the gravest threat the land had ever known. The doctor's horn quit shimmering, and he lifted his head away from my shoulder. "There we are," he said, blinking sleepily and suppressing a yawn. "That ought to do it. Go ahead and give her a whirl." I shrugged my right shoulder tentatively, bracing myself for a jolt of pain which never came. Encouraged, I stretched my arm out to its full length, raised it high, windmilled it. "Doesn't hurt a bit," I said. "Not bad, Doc." "Oh, not bad, he says," the doctor muttered. "Twelve hours of preparation, three hours of meticulous surgery, and all he has to say is 'good work'. Sterling praise." I blinked. "Actually, what I said was 'not bad'. You had it right the first time." Must've been the sleep deprivation. It's a damn miracle he was able to fix up my shoulder so well in that state. "And I only meant—" "Oh no, it's fine; it's just fine. I understand. After all, it's not as though I'm the only doctor for miles around who's qualified to perform this very delicate procedure which just repaired your shoulder to perfect working condition, despite having limited preparation time and even less anatomical knowledge of your species." He scowled at me. "Oh, wait." I wasn't sure what to say. Hesitantly, I tried a few words of praise. "You're... pretty good?" "Damned good," he said, drawing himself up. "I am damned good at what I do. And don't you forget it." "Uh, I won't. Doctor." I pushed off of the exam table and headed for the door. "Now, mind you," the doctor continued. "That shoulder isn't one hundred percent as good as new. Much like your average Canterlot snob, it'll work just fine and without complaint, so long as you don't tax it too heavily. But, ideally, you'd still be in a sling for at least another twenty-four hours." "Well, unfortunately, I don't have another day to burn in here." The sooner I was out of the hospital, and away from him, the better. "If you don't mind, I have to be somewhere right now." "Oh, probably off to ignore my advice and injure your damn shoulder again," the doctor drawled. "Not a worry, Mr. Snake; I'll be here, ready to do one of my adequate repair jobs, should you need it. Be careful out there, boss!" I decided that I didn't like that doctor. Twilight was in the waiting room, leafing through some magazine. She smiled – a little too quickly, a little nervously – when she saw me, and set her magazine down, neatly stacking it on top of a pile of identical magazines. Did she organize all of them by type while I was under? "You're looking well," she said. "How's the shoulder?" "It's not bad!" the doctor called from down the hall. Twilight, surprised, blinked at me and peered past me, into the corridor. "Don't ask." I lifted my bandana, freed from sling-duty, to my brow, and looped the ends of it around my head. "The shoulder's—" "Hey, BFF!" Pinkie Pie suddenly appeared at my side, sans coat and props, and began squeezing my leg and nuzzling against my shin. "Welcome back to the land of the living! Don't worry; I'm not upset that the doctor kicked me out of the room for the procedure, so there's no need to buy my forgiveness with cupcakes, or anything." She beamed up at me. "Not that I'd complain if you tried, that is." "Please get off of my leg," I said. Pinkie relinquished her grip and giggled. She patted me on the hip. "He totally loves me." Humming, she bounced toward the door, tail wagging from side to side every time she made contact with the floor. "I take it you two bonded?" asked Twilight, as we followed Pinkie Pie out of the hospital. "We sure did!" sang Pinkie. "We didn't," I assured Twilight. "Sure diddily-did!" "We really didn't." Twilight glanced between Pinkie and I, then smiled at me, a touch mischievously. "I don't know; I think I'm with Pinkie on this. You definitely bonded in there." I grumbled a string of mostly inarticulate syllables that included the words "Pinkie" and "migraine". It seemed to amuse Twilight to no end. Schadenfreude – alive and well in Equestria. So much for the magic of friendship. "So where are we heading, exactly? Please tell me we aren't just following Pinkie." "We're not," said Twilight. "While you were getting your shoulder done, I secured us an express train to Dodge Junction. It's waiting for us down at the station. The others are meeting us there." "That so?" I allowed annoyance to creep into my voice. "You make that decision all on your own?" "Well, yes," said Twilight. "Do you have a problem with that?" "Don't ask questions you know the answer to." I pulled her to a stop, and lowered my voice to keep Pinkie from hearing. "Freezing me out of the decision, I can understand. I hate it, but I get it. Freezing out your friends, though – that's low." Ahead, Pinkie stopped bouncing and looked behind herself at us, her legs coiled for another leap. Twilight smiled nervously at her. "Go on ahead," she said. "Let the others know we're coming. Snake and I need to talk privately." "Okie-dokie!" Pinkie resumed her bouncing, humming a melody I couldn't recognize. Twilight's face fell the moment Pinkie was out of sight. When she wasn't putting on a brave show for her friends, the girl looked dog-tired. Who could blame her; world on her shoulders, and all that. I looked on her a little more sympathetically, with that in mind. Only a little, though. Not by much. "Snake." She kept her voice neutral, but I could hear the thinly-disguised fatigue in it. "You're right to worry – you'd be crazy not to. And what you're saying, it makes sense. But I need you on my side for this. If she's out there..." She looked pleadingly at me. "If it was someone you cared for, like I – like we care for Rainbow Dash, what would you do? Even if it were a trap, wouldn't you risk your life to save her?" "I would. And I have." A sudden, surprisingly icy wind made me shudder. Twilight didn't seem to notice. "But I always had something more reliable to work with than a hunch and a red herring in a box." I leaned away from her and folded my arms across my chest. "I can't follow you on this. Sorry. This fight's too important to risk our lives on some damn fool errand." Twilight bit her lip, hesitated, as if considering whether or not she ought to say what she was about to say. "I'm not bringing the others. I go with you, or I go alone." I, quite involuntarily, laughed in her face. She waited for me to stop before continuing, unfazed by my reaction. "What choice do I have, Snake? Applejack's a walking disaster, and whatever brave faces the others put on, they aren't faring much better. I mean, you don't even want to know how I found Rarity. They're all tired, exhausted, demoralized—" "And they'll follow you, regardless," I interrupted. "Of course they would!" snapped Twilight. "It's not a question of whether or not they'd go with me. They just can't! Not..." She breathed slowly, deeply, caging the anger she'd accidentally released. "I already led them into one trap, and it nearly got all of us killed." "Is that what this is about?" I asked. "Redemption, for what happened in the castle? You think getting yourself killed will balance the scales?" "I didn't—" "Because that's what's going to happen," I said, stepping closer to her. "If you walk into whatever trap they've laid, alone, you're going to die. Bad time to develop a death wish." Twilight fixed me with a resolute expression. "Believe me, I don't have a death wish. And I have no intention of going alone." I replied with another disdainful laugh. "Because I'm going with you?" "Exactly." "And why the hell would I do that?" "Because otherwise," she said coolly, "I will have to go alone, and if it is a trap, I'll probably get myself killed." I scoffed and turned away from her, shaking my head. "I gave you credit for having more sense than this, Twilight. Figured you were above manipulative bullshit, too. If you want to run off and get yourself killed, then be my guest. My conscience is clear." "You're lying." I glared at her over my shoulder. She cloaked herself in a quiet, tired sort of confidence – as if she knew this discussion would end in her favor, regardless of my protestations. "Applejack was right, back in the forest. You've had several opportunities to ditch us and leave us to our fate. Something always held you back, though. Why? What obligation do you have to me and mine?" She shook her head. "You partnered with us out of convenience; you don't need us anymore. But you fought to save us, all the same. And here we are now." Sniper in the turret draws a bead on me. Our eyes meet through our scopes. My finger's on the trigger. Applejack begs for the lives of her friends. "Snake, please...!" "You said so yourself. You have a conscience, Snake. It's kept you around this long, and it's why you won't run out on me now." I would have left you in that courtyard to die. Conscience or no, I could have lived with her blood on my hands. But that sniper spotted me. I had no choice. "I can't fend off an ambush alone. And, besides myself, you're the only one of us left who's still in fighting condition." I'd have let them die in the castle. Would I now? Rainbow Dash, trapped, crying. "You promise me, Solid Snake!" After waiting for an answer that never came, Twilight gave up, and turned toward the path leading to the train station. "You have time to think it over." I hesitated in following her. I nearly didn't. But – with great reluctance, and deep reservations – I fell into step behind her. We didn't exchange words again until we came to the train platform, where the others awaited us. Behind them, on the track, was an ostentatiously decorated purple engine, trimmed with gold and hitched to a single car whose windows were styled to look like hearts. Rarity was conspicuous in her absence. Whatever state Twilight had found her in, it evidently ruled her out for this little suicide mission. Twilight joined her friends on the platform, smiling at each of them in turn, though she passed over Applejack quicker than the others. "Thanks, everypony, for coming down here," said Twilight. "I know that the past day has been a rough one, and I'm sorry, because things aren't going to get any easier from here on out. For any of us." "This mess ain't your fault, sugarcube," said Applejack. "Shoot, we'll gladly take our lumps to fix it, jus' like we always have." "I know that," said Twilight. "I've always counted on that fact. We've all accepted the responsibility that comes with bearing the Elements of Harmony, and we've all put our lives on the line to defend Equestria before." She paused, biting her lip nervously. "But this time... things are different this time. "Late last night, Snake and I received a letter, calling us to Dodge Junction. Enclosed with the letter was a blue feather." Pinkie and Applejack hadn't heard the news yet, I realized belatedly. The look of surprise on Applejack's face was palpable – as palpable as the hopeful smile on Pinkie's. "I don't know for sure who sent the letter, or even why." She nodded in my direction. "Snake has his theories. But between that, and Pinkie's uncanny predilection for..." She coughed. "Sensing things... I have reason to believe that Rainbow Dash might still be alive. Even if she didn't send that letter, going to Dodge Junction may be the key to finding her, maybe saving her. "However, I'd be remiss if I didn't consider all the possibilities. I want to believe that Rainbow Dash is alive. I do; I truly do." She placed her hoof on Pinkie's shoulder. "But I can't let that blind me to the facts. We're up against an enemy who knows us, who deals in deception and subterfuge. Traveling to Dodge might well be a trap, probably meant to lure us away from Ponyville while Pegasus Wings launches their offensive. It could be dangerous. It most likely is." "Danger's nothin' new," chirped Pinkie Pie. "What're we waiting for?" Twilight inhaled slowly, deeply. "'We' aren't waiting for anything. I'm going to Dodge Junction." She hesitated. "You're not coming with me." Shock rippled through her friends. A sense of anticipation gnawed at me. "Twilight, that ain't funny," said Applejack. "How can you talk like that, goin' after Rainbow Dash all by your lonesome?" "I'm quite serious." Twilight's face betrayed no hint of uncertainty. "This could easily be a trap, one that could kill us all, and I'm not losing anypony else to another stupid mistake." Twilight looked expectantly at me. "But neither do I intend to go alone and risk dying alone." The others followed suit, staring at me, waiting for me to confirm the thought that Twilight had planted in their minds. The corners of Twilight's mouth twitched, and a slight sheen of sweat glinted on her forehead. What if I did say no? What if I called her bluff, refused to validate her suicidal hunch? What if she went anyway? "I'm going with her." Twilight's sense of relief was immediate. Her expression didn't change, but I could tell she was glad I'd agreed. At least one of us was. "What about us?" asked Pinkie, bounding forward and pressing her face against Twilight's. "When did we all turn into chopped liver, huh?" "Gotta say, Twi," said Applejack. "It's mighty low, puttin' us out to pasture, even if you are takin' Snake along." "I'm not," she insisted. "I'm not putting anypony out to pasture." She nudged Pinkie Pie gently, pushing her away, giving herself some breathing room. "I know it sounds bad; I'd feel hurt too, if it were me. But if this goes the same way that the castle went, and something bad happens to me – to us," she corrected, with an acknowledging glance my way, "somepony still needs to stay behind and coordinate the defense of Ponyville. The mayor won't do anything publicly; she made that quite clear to me. And from what she told me last night..." Twilight looked at Fluttershy, who nodded at her. "Macbeth apparently has agents in places of strategic importance," said Twilight. "It's why we're not taking the train to Canterlot. It's why we can't get a flier off the ground to get word out to the Princess. There could be agents here, in Ponyville, waiting for an opportunity to strike." She sighed. "The only ponies in town I trust with all my heart are standing right here, on this platform." She paused. "And Rarity, but that goes without saying. "I know it isn't ideal, but it's the best option I can think of. This way, we can find Rainbow Dash, provided she's still alive, without leaving Ponyville completely vulnerable." She locked eyes with each of her friends, looking searchingly at them. "Girls, please. I need you to support me on this. I can't..." Her resolve faltered for an instant. "I can't do this without you." Applejack was the first, signaling her agreement with a nod. "I still ain't sure this is the best way to do things, but I understand your reasons, Twi, an' I respect 'em." She forced a smile at me. "An' if Snake's goin' with you, I don't see no reason to worry." Fluttershy dipped her head. Her bangs fell in front of her face, obscuring her gaze. "You'll bring her back, won't you? If she's alive?" Twilight nodded firmly. Pinkie Pie, still the closest one to Twilight, wrapped the unicorn in a tight embrace, looking more subdued than I'd seen her since our talk in the hospital. "Come home safe," she said. Twilight squeezed her back, shutting her eyes and looking like she'd prefer if that hug didn't end. And then Pinkie Pie turned to me. "Make sure she comes home safe. Dashie too. Pinkie promise me." She pantomimed a series of gestures, ending with sticking her hoof in her eye. She stayed like that, staring expectantly at me. "He promises," said Twilight. Why not, as long as she was making decisions for me. She magicked open the train car, and beckoned me inside. I looked at the others one last time before... reluctantly... ducking inside the car. "Somepony tell the engineer that we're ready to get underway," said Twilight. She stepped inside and began to push the door shut, but something seemed to occur to her, and she stopped. "Applejack?" "Mm?" Applejack poked her head inside the car; Twilight turned her face away. "Look in on Rarity while we're gone? Please?" Twilight fidgeted nervously, but whether from her proximity to Applejack, or from the thought of Rarity, I couldn't say. "Sure, Twilight. You be safe now." Twilight nodded in acknowledgement, and shut the door without another word. The sides of the train car's aisle were lined with benches, covered in plush cushions that looked much, much more comfortable than the thinly-carpeted floor I rested upon. Unfortunately, they didn't look like they could seat me, and I doubted the car's roof would be more comfortable, so sitting on the floor it was. The train had been churning forward for at least an hour by then. During that time, Twilight and I neither looked at nor spoke to one another. I sat wedged between two benches, with just enough room to stretch my legs across the aisle, so long as I kept my back straight. Twilight sat on a bench toward the front of the train car. She'd been staring out the window ever since we pulled away from the Ponyville station. I'd drawn a cigarette from the pack on my belt, and had been idly toying with it between my fingers, when Twilight spoke up for the first time since we boarded. "You must be angry." My fingers twitched reflexively, crushing the cigarette between them. "Applejack thinks you've stayed with us for as long as you have because you're some kind of philanthropist." From the corner of my eye, I saw her head turn to face me. "You and I, though... We know better, don't we?" I met her gaze, brow furrowed behind my bandana. She didn't speak accusingly; she didn't sound angry at all. Very matter-of-fact, very plain. Nonetheless, I took some offense. "I don't see where you get off preaching to me." Maybe I hadn't given Twilight reason enough to trust me but she had no business taking the moral high ground. I wasn't there of my own volition; I was there because she threatened to kill herself. Reason enough to be mad. "You could have asked." She looked at me impassively. "And if you'd said no?" She assumed I'd refuse from the get-go. She had reason enough to. I nearly ditched them in the castle; I nearly left them to die against IRVING; I stayed in their company longer than I should have, because I didn't have any other choice, not because I felt a sense of attachment toward them. And I had chosen to play along with her charade, so it wasn't as if I had license to complain. Sure, I could have called her bluff. Maybe she would have gone anyway, but why should I have cared? It wasn't my problem whether she lived or died. Problem is... I start thinking that way, and I'm one step closer to becoming the man Liquid thought I was. The conscience Twilight spoke of – he didn't have that. And I do. And I'd put myself in harm's way if it meant keeping Twilight alive, because to not would be to prove that he, and not Twilight, was right about me. Of course, her being right didn't stop me from being angry. "And if I'd said yes?" Twilight considered that, and shrugged. "It doesn't really matter anymore, does it?" She flopped onto her side, her back to me. "I'm going to get some sleep. You might want to do the same. This train's non-stop to Dodge, but even so, it's going to take a while." She called me her friend the night before. Now I saw just how much that was good for. I didn't mind a partnership based upon mutual need, but somehow, I'd thought Twilight above that sort of thing – like we could have actually trusted each other, without resorting to manipulation. Maybe it was just the situation she was in. Maybe, in better times, under better circumstances, she'd have called me her friend and meant it. For now, though, we were nothing more to each other than a means to an end. Still, when I lit the cigarette that dangled from my fingers, for once, she didn't put it out.

Posh

436

Main 6,Other,Twilight Sparkle,Crossover,Human,Adventure,Dark,Metal Gear,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic,Death,Violence

Pony Gear Solid

Solid Snake teams up with ponies to save Equestria, and gradually learns to love it.

incomplete

<p>Metal Gear has fallen into the hooves of an Equestrian revolutionary, who, with the backing of his human mercenary allies, intends to use it to depose Celestia and crown himself ruler. Having crossed into Equestria in pursuit of this rogue weapon, the legendary Solid Snake must ally with the residents of Ponyville to prevent a nuclear catastrophe.</p><p>See also <a href="/story/369125/equestria-gear-solid-the-definitive-experience" rel="nofollow"><i>Equestria Gear Solid</i></a><i>,</i> the hilarious spin-off EQG parody in which everything you know is wrong, and every single character from the story is an awful caricature of themselves. </p><p><a href="http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/FanFic/PonyGearSolid" rel="nofollow">Now with its own TVtropes page!</a></p>

teen

2014-07-04T05:30:32+00:00

2016-11-22T18:23:32+00:00

"It's clearly not thinking rationally... It's not using its head. It's using its heart." Fluttershy dropped another pair of flowers into her basket, and ran her tongue along her lips to savor the lingering taste of their stems. "How many more do you think we should pick, Angel?" she asked. When she heard no reply, she frowned. "Angel?" She glanced about, but Angel had vanished within the carpet of white petals. "Angel, sweetheart?" She heard a cough, and felt a thump on the back of her head. Craning her neck around, she saw Angel perched on her back – where, she now recalled, she'd left him. He frowned, and raised an eyebrow at her. Fluttershy smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, sweetie. I guess I'm just a little anxious right now. Who knows when we'll hear from Twilight and Snake again?" She cast a wary glance toward the treeline, and shuddered. "Being this close to the Everfree Forest isn't helping. But this is a wonderful place to pick bouquets." The meadow was a vast expanse of white flowers, dotted with a pair of trees, located outside of Ponyville and bordering the Everfree Forest from the southwest. It was well off the beaten path, and nopony else seemed to know about it, which suited Fluttershy fine. The meadow was a sanctuary for her, a retreat from the stressful possibility of having to meet and interact with ponies she hardly knew. Her friendship with Twilight had opened her up to the world considerably, and she found herself visiting the meadow less and less as time went on, but there was still the rare occasion when she truly needed to get away. This is one of those days. Rainbow Dash missing, Spike in a coma, Snake and Twilight off on an adventure, leaving the rest of them behind, charging them with the defense of Ponyville – it was too much to deal with all at once. Hours of going door-to-door, collecting donations of medical supplies and non-perishable food; hours of working with the Apples to clear out their cellar for use as an emergency shelter; hours of helping to prepare wagons and find ponies to pull them in the event of a mass evacuation, and all while gnawed at by the same anxieties that plagued her daily, only magnified a hundredfold by the accumulated stress of the last two days... Her body and mind both needed a rest. She needed a moment to herself, to catch her breath, to regroup. Well, myself and Angel. The meadow, isolated and quiet, made for a perfect spot to center herself. And, while she was at it, it wouldn't hurt to put together a token of affection for little Spike. That way, she could at least pretend that she was still being useful and productive. Fluttershy looked into the basket, and counted the flowers she'd picked. "One, two... seven... fourteen... how large a bouquet do you think we should make for Spike?" Angel rolled his eyes. Fluttershy sighed. "I know that he'd appreciate gemstones more, Angel, but I don't have any. And Spike's a good little dragon; he knows that it's the thought that counts." Angel shrugged in response to her question. He shrugged in response to most things she asked of him, come to think of it. She enjoyed his company, but his apathy exasperated her. Fluttershy chose not to let it show. "Seven. Seven's a good number; you are absolutely right." She kissed Angel on the top of the head. A noise from the treeline caught Fluttershy's attention, freezing her just as her teeth closed around another stem. The noise was heavy, thudding, like the footsteps of a great beast. Fear bade her to run; curiosity kept her rooted to the spot she was in. The Everfree was intimidating, but there was no better place to encounter some new, strange form of life. A new animal friend might be just what I need. The thought cheered her a bit. It didn't last. "JACK...!" The voice crackled and fizzled like soda. A shape emerged from the Everfree's curtain of shadow – alien, towering high upon slender, inequine legs. To anypony else, its appearance and sickly voice together might have been disarming. Fluttershy knew better. Forgetting the bouquet, Fluttershy caught Angel in her jaws by the scruff of his neck, and bolted as fast as her wings would carry her to the bough of a nearby tree. She burrowed into the leaves, hoping they would obscure her from sight, not terribly optimistic about her chances. She ought to continue flying back to town, she knew, but she doubted she could outrun the monster, especially if it was able to match Rainbow Dash for agility. All she could do was tuck Angel away in her mane and pray that the beast which had nearly killed her friends hadn't seen her. XMG IRVING-00 looked battered and unsteady on its feet. Gashes, which had failed to close and heal properly, covered its long, shapely black legs. It kept its weight off of its right leg, which was a bloody ruin beneath the thigh. Spike had hobbled the machine by tearing the flesh from its calf, and Snake and Twilight had finished the job, blowing it apart with high-powered bullets. All that remained of its calf were shredded rags of black skin hanging loosely over a knot of muscle and blood vessels and bone. Its left leg was intact, but covered in cuts, and its ankle seemed set awkwardly, as if it had been dislocated at some point during its trek through the woods. Its head was scratched and dented; its sensor dome still glowed bright red, but parts of its metal casing had cracked, or been blown away. Arcs of lightning danced across exposed wiring, ringed by carbon scores on the armor. It was not so fearsome as before, as it staggered into the meadow, but Fluttershy was frightened nevertheless. "JACK... JACK... YOU'RE A S-S-S-SOLDIER..." Its legs buckled beneath it, and it toppled into the flowers, tossing a flurry of white petals into the air. "GO HOME... I'M NOT..." IRVING struggled to raise itself upon its legs, but the effort failed when it put too much weight on its shredded mess of a right leg. It yelped, lost its footing, and it fell back into the flowers. "WARNING. DAMAGE CRITICAL. PERFORMING SELF-DIAGNOSTIC." Its voice became monotone and robotic, losing the desperate emotion of before. "LACTIC ACID BUILD-UP AT CRITICAL LEVELS. VENTING SYSTEM OFFLINE. MOTOR FUNCTIONS IMPAIRED. DEFENSE SYSTEMS OFFLINE. FLAME THROWER FUEL TANKS #1 AND #2 EJECTED. CLOSE-QUARTERS COMBAT IMPOSSIBLE DUE TO LOSS OF MOBILITY. FINAL ASSESSMENT: DAMAGE CATASTROPHIC. UNIT BEYOND SALVAGE. JACK..." The emotion returned when it said that name – Jack. It sounded plaintive, pained, despairing. As though it felt those emotions. As though it were something besides a walking engine of death. "WHY'D YOU COME BACK? KILL ME. KILL ME NOW. JACK..." The cold terror gripping Fluttershy's heart thawed at the sound of IRVING's begging. She still remembered the fire that burned through the castle courtyard, the way it so quickly brought her friends to ruin. A human facsimile of a dragon... but a wounded dragon. Maybe even a dying dragon. Fluttershy – cautiously, and with Angel expressing his disapproval via repeated stomps to the back of her head – edged her way out of the tree, and glided into the meadow, setting down some feet away from the wounded machine. The remnant of its calf looked worse up close. It was surely infected, oozing some filthy mixture of yellow and red and white fluid from between cracks in an enormous scab that had formed inside the wound. "You poor dear," she murmured softly to herself, though she – element of kindness notwithstanding – was hard-pressed to believe the sentiment. IRVING's reaction was immediate. "THREAT DETECTED. RE-ENGAGING W-W-WATCHDOG MODE." Fluttershy braced herself as it struggled to raise itself to its feet, but the attempt was half-hearted, and it sagged back into the flowers. "MOBILITY IMPAIRED. BEYOND SALVAGE. KILL ME NOW." The way it repeated that phrase – it was different from the way it spoke before. Before, it had wailed the plea to itself, almost like a prayer for deliverance. But now, it spoke directly to Fluttershy, begging her to put it out of its misery. "I-I'd never!" Fluttershy stammered. "WHY?" The question knocked Fluttershy even further off kilter. "Because what could that possibly solve?" she blurted. It was the best answer she could muster, and it sounded lame, even to her, but IRVING deemed it worthy of response. "DAMAGE TO MOBILE PLATFORM IRREPARABLE. PERMANENT SHUT-DOWN INEVITABLE." It paused. "NOT FAST ENOUGH. KILL ME." A timberwolf lays in the grass, mortally wounded and whimpering. Snake presses a gun to its head. He whispers a farewell and pulls the trigger. The timberwolf dies, and something inside Fluttershy dies with it. There was nothing to gain in putting down a wounded creature. The mere fact that IRVING had suggested it made her a little indignant. "Well," she said primly, "Even if I wanted to, I can't do anything to hurt you. So I can't kill you. So I won't kill you." IRVING nickered and turned its head away from Fluttershy. "ANALYSIS COMPLETE. THREAT LEVEL: NONEXISTENT." "And proud of it." She edged closer, to examine IRVING in greater detail. The claws on its toes were worn and blunted, ground almost completely flat. IRVING had fallen into a sheer ravine. How else would it get back out than by climbing? And it must have been agony to make that ascent with its legs as torn up as they were; she couldn't even begin to imagine. This thing, this IRVING, was single-minded and tenacious; its threshold for pain was apparently almost limitless, and it had the strength and fortitude of a beast. It was a thinking, autonomous, killing machine. And it was begging Fluttershy – helpless little Fluttershy, who'd stared catatonic at it while it tossed Applejack effortlessly and beat Twilight into submission – to kill it. The urge to help, to comfort, stirred deep inside her. "You want to die," she said to IRVING. "I can't give you that; I'm sorry. But maybe I can do something else for you. Something to take the pain away." She turned to Angel. "Sweetheart, Mommy needs to run home and pick up some things. As long as I'm going back, why don't I drop you off?" Angel eyed Fluttershy skeptically, glanced at IRVING, and chattered something frantic. Fluttershy smiled gently. "You're so sweet to worry. But it's alright, really." She looked over her shoulder at IRVING. "I can take care of myself. And besides, it wouldn't hurt me. Would you?" "MOBILITY IMPAIRED. DEFENSE MEASURES OFFLINE. PLATFORM BEYOND REPAIR." "You see?" said Fluttershy. "It couldn't hurt a fly." But as she set Angel in the basket and took to the air – promising IRVING one last time that she would return – Fluttershy couldn't help wondering whether, if it could hurt her, it wouldn't. Luna's first sight was the black blanket of space, studded with twinkling diamonds set in patterns she knew intimately. Some she'd sewn into the night sky herself. Most, though, predated her – the work of some cosmic ancient, far older than her. Older, maybe than the one she'd come to see. She wasn't sure whether the backdrop was something Discord had created for his own pleasure, whether her mind was projecting a familiar sight onto the void, or whether all creatures who existed in this state faced the night sky by default. Funny that she didn't remember it from her own imprisonment. She felt his presence – eyes boring into the back of her head. It made her anxious. And queasy. Oddly, inexplicably queasy. "Discord!" she called into the black. "Present yourself! We must have words." "Oh, do we indeed?" The voice reverberated around her. Space had decent acoustics. "Somepony's awfully presumptuous. Maybe you need to talk. I know that I don't. Still..." Something slithered across her shoulders, draped itself over her back. She shuddered at the touch of scale and fur, at the feel of his lion's claw daintily stroking her wing. "It isn't as if I'm in the habit of rejecting house-guests." Discord slid off of Luna's back, and appeared in front of her, arms linked behind his back. "Hello, my dear Princess Luna. It's so thoughtful of you to join me. What brings you to my neck of oblivion, hmm? Come to compare notes on being trapped in a rock by your big sis?" Luna bristled. Discord's voice was poison that she refused to drink down. "I did not come here to banter, Discord. I would speak with you of matters of grave—" "Business, not pleasure, then," Discord sighed. "It's not a plea bargain, is it?" He snorted. "I like you, Luna, always have. But I'd just as soon swallow some sanctimonious friendship sermon from that Sparkle girl as I would treat with you." He waved his hand at her, shooing her away. "Tell Celly to speak to me herself when she decides she wants to get serious." "Don't think to insult me; I'm no errand foal," Luna retorted. "And make no mistake, even if it were in my power to do so, I've no intention of lifting what the Elements have foisted upon you. " "So what, then, are you doing here?" Discord lolled in the air, leaning backward as though he were resting in a hammock. He snapped his fingers, and a glass, thick with something brown and viscous and smelling faintly of chocolate, appeared in his hands. He sipped thoughtfully from it. Luna clenched her jaw. "Tell me what you know of humanity." "Humanity?" Discord sat up in his imaginary hammock and blinked. "But why would you ever need to—" His eyes widened, and he smiled, tossing his glass into the ether behind him. "Well, kiss my grits. It actually happened. Were I a praying beast, I'd have prayed my widdle heart out to see the day when jack-booted human thugs touched down in this saccharine den of banality." He laughed. "Oh, to be out there..." "Discord!" snapped Luna. Her horn flashed. Discord's laughter trailed off. He wiped a tear from his eye, flinging it in Luna's direction. "Of course, you wouldn't find this as funny as I do." He smirked. "But what, exactly, could you stand to gain from talking to me? What do I know that you don't? I may be cunning and rakishly handsome, but I'm not a walking encyclopedia of esoterica, you know." "I know that you are old – older than my sister and I, by far. With such age comes knowledge." She scowled, and added "If not always wisdom." Discord chuckled. "I do look good for my age, though, don't I?" "And neither my sister, nor I, are old enough to recall the last encounter between humans and ponies." Luna narrowed her eyes at Discord. "You, on the other hoof..." "Hmm." Discord smiled slyly. "Fair assumption to make." He snapped his fingers, vanished, reappeared beside Luna, his arm around her shoulders. "You're correct. I did spend some time around humans, way back in the day. Sometime before that high-horsed dullard of an 'emperor' decided to manifest his destiny all over their world." Luna shuddered with disgust at Discord's contact with her; she could feel his breath against her coat as he spoke. In a non-corporeal state, outside the bounds of physical space, that should not have been possible. Perhaps Discord had more control over the environment than she'd assumed. "Chaos is your imperative," she said. "Yet you sound as though you judge another for sewing it. An uncharacteristic act of hypocrisy, no?" "You wound me, mon capitan," said Discord, pressing his lion's paw to his chest in mock distress. "I'm not a fan of war – just the afterglow. The fright, the confusion, the chaos that conflict leaves in its wake. It's like fine wine." He smirked. "Warmongering is in your blood, not mine." A chill ran through Luna's body. "The one you speak of constructed the Threshold of the Moon for his own use. Yet you claim to have traveled to the human world before he built it." "I'm insulted – do you think so little of me?" He clicked his tongue. "Luckily, I'm the forgiving sort – no imprisonment in a rock for you." Discord uncoiled himself from Luna's body and reclined again. From his relaxed pose and serene expression, he could have been floating in a pond on a warm summer's day. "You wouldn't know it, looking at me now, but there was a time when I wouldn't have needed to build some magical contraption to traverse the waters between realities. Not so much, nowadays, for obvious reasons. But even if I were out there, I doubt I'd be able to swim the cosmic ocean as I once did." Discord stuck his tongue out and shuddered. "Corporeality is such a constraining thing." "A luminous being such as yourself should not be bound by corporeality," said Luna. "If you speak the truth, that is." Discord's lips twitched into an ever-so-slight frown. "It's not as though I didn't try to leave, you know. But the last time I broke free from my imprisonment, I found that the pool was closed to me." He cupped his chin in his talon. "Best I can figure, my first round against the Elements resulted in my permanent binding to this world. Think of it as a sort of cosmic spanking – my punishment for throwing the natural order of things too far out of whack." He doesn't like being insulted. Having been twice emasculated by beings he considered inferior to himself, Discord might overreach – say too much in an attempt to assert his superiority. A wounded sense of pride was one hell of a raw nerve. "Odd that you are still so smug," she said. "Being twice bested by the Elements of Harmony ought to remind you that your place in the cosmos isn't quite so high as you think." Discord's frown grew more pronounced. "You're awfully self-assured for somepony who was in the same boat as me. Wielding the Elements one time doesn't give you bragging rights, Lulu. You couldn't take me on without using them; your sister couldn't take me on." He jabbed a finger at her, as though it were a blade he meant to thrust through her heart. "Maybe you ought to remember your place." Luna bristled from Discord's riposte. "My sister and I—" "Are unto your subjects as I am unto you," Discord snapped. "The Elements of Harmony are manifestations of the very forces which shaped our cosmic order. Loyalty, kindness, honesty and magic – even laughter and generosity – life had no name for these concepts in the beginning, yet even then, they shaped the way life would evolve upon this world." He bolted from his invisible hammock, linked his arms behind his back, and towered at full height over Luna. "For every action, there must be an equal, or opposite, reaction. If the cosmic forces which govern Equestria must manifest themselves corporeally, then their opposite must manifest as well." His tone was tense, his words clipped. "Six Elements, six bearers. Bring them together, and miraculous things happen. But there's just one of me, Luna. And to me, the miraculous is passe." He smirked, but behind the expression was nothing but loathing. "So, yes, I'm capable of much, much more than you and Celestia. I'll thank you to keep that in mind while you gloat." His story certainly fit with the model of physics Equestria's best and brightest had been developing for centuries. Discord was arrogant and egotistical, but she had to admit (begrudgingly) that his power far exceeded hers, and his precise nature had long eluded her sister and herself. If it was a lie, then it was a well-constructed lie, at least. "Not capable of subjugating the humans, it seems," she said slyly. "You claim to have interacted with them. Did you try, and fail, to grind them beneath your heel, as you tried and failed with Equestria?" Discord's jaw worked silently. There was a slight widening of his eyes, and his smirk morphed into a broad, ugly smile. He leaned backward, easing himself into a comfortable, sitting position. "Methinks you're enjoying this – a position of dominance must be a rare thing for you. I think it's making you overconfident. You're not in a position of strength right now; your display of smugness is transparent. If you had the faintest idea of how to fend off a human invasion, you and I wouldn't be speaking. Stop me if I'm wrong" Luna felt her surge of confidence wane. She flushed, and broke eye contact with Discord. "Hmm," he said in a tone of mild delight. "That's what I thought. You're desperate. You're desperate because you're terrified. And you're right to be." Luna swallowed hard and fought to steady herself. Discord had exposed a vulnerable spot. She refused to let him prod it. "Will you, or will you not, tell me what you know?" "I certainly will," said Discord. "But only because I find your terror delectable." Before she could offer a rejoinder, Discord snapped his fingers again. Luna suddenly felt grass, cool and dewy, beneath her hooves. Around her, a carpet of green stretched infinitely in all directions. In front of her, Discord stood, looking pleased with himself. He snapped his fingers again, and between he and her, two shapes materialized – creatures, alien and familiar all at once. From the waist up, they might have been minotaurs, but for their heads – round, with unkempt black hair hanging in thick curls past their necks. They were tall – rivaling her sister in height – with rippling muscles bulging beneath roughspun, scratchy-looking clothing, covering skin sun-baked to a rich shade of brown. These were humans. Living humans, their features untwisted and unmutilated, not like the corpse she found in the castle courtyard, nor the others she found while exploring the rest of the rubble. Luna's sensibilities recoiled; she found them strange and grotesque. Yet there was some inexplicable allure to them that compelled her to keep looking... "The first thing you should know is that human beings are special. And I don't toss that word around lightly." Discord stepped around the two humans to stand beside Luna, watching them with interest all the while. "To see a people so brilliant, so capable, so driven to plumb the mysteries of the universe – if they ever put their heads together, they could do wonders, Luna. Miracles to rival the Elements, even creation itself!" A tree sprouted in front of Luna; she, startled, scampered backward quickly. Discord smirked at the sight; she blushed and recovered her poise. The humans watched as the tree rose, until it towered over both of them. On a low-hanging branch, a plump apple grew, and one human, smiling, reached for it. The other, scowling, caught him by the wrist. In his other hand, a knife that hadn't been there before gleamed. The human with the knife swung it across the other's throat, and a gout of blood sprayed onto the bark of the tree. Luna hissed reflexively, her heart seizing. "But – and here's the funny part," Discord continued. "They squander their gifts on petty little turf wars and philosophical pissing contests. Wars over this god or that, over who has the right to some virgin bride's maidenhood, over whether they'll have ham or mutton for dinner. No matter is too trivial, no prize too small." The human with the severed throat slumped over, dead. His murderer reached for the low-hanging apple, pulled it from the tree, and sank his teeth into it. "And all their drive to understand and create has ever gotten them are new and exciting ways to destroy one another. Even in my experience, that's not something you see every day." With a snap of his fingers, the grisly scene vanished and the field receded. The field of stars rematerialized around them. Luna belatedly realized she was sweating. "Then again," said Discord with a shrug, "it's been a while since I popped in on them. Maybe things have gotten better since I left. There was this one fellow, Hammurabi..." He mulled the thought for a moment, before waving his paw with a dismissive laugh. "Bah. I doubt it. That's just their nature." "What more can you tell me?" Luna asked, no trace of emotion in her voice. She almost hoped he had nothing more to say. "About humans? There's not much else to tell." With a snap of his fingers, Discord vanished, and reappeared in front of Luna with his arms crossed. "Humans reap chaos just fine without me. The truth is, I got bored, and a little homesick. So I came on home, and made pals with a bright young alicorn with a big future ahead of him. The rest, I'm sure you know." Discord leaned forward, until he was at eye level with Luna. "But the hows and whys of humanity are far less pertinent than the fact that they are here, even as we speak. And in that regard, Lulu, you're pretty late on the uptake – by about a year." Luna recoiled. "What are you saying?" "That they've been here for some time, right under your adorable little nose." He flicked her on the end of her muzzle, flashed again, appeared in front of her, upside down. "That vacation Celestia sent you on really dulled your wits, you know that? But then, what's her excuse?" Luna swatted at Discord, but he vanished in a puff of smoke again, and this time, didn't reappear. "Explain yourself!" she shouted into the emptiness, a bit of iron creeping back into her voice. "How did you know that humanity was already here?" "Because I met one of them," his taunting voice echoed. "When?!" "Last year. When those dishy fillies of yours were running about, trying to put right what I'd set so beautifully wrong." The stars of the void rearranged themselves, forming a new pattern in the sky – the shape of a draconequus's head. Its mouth grinned, smarmy, as it spoke with Discord's voice. "A lost little tadpole, all alone, in a big, unfamiliar pond. Didn't seem to bother it, though. In fact, we had a nice talk, as I recall." The stars in the constellation that was Discord burst all at once, their dying lights forcing Luna to shield her eyes. When she found that she could open them again, her first sight was a pair of yellow eyes. Nose-to-nose with her archenemy, Luna skittered backward; Discord watched, and chuckled "Speak plainly, demon," she said, trying to sound firm in order to save face. "Tell me everything that you know!" He flashed away, reappeared standing beside her, at his full height. "I couldn't tell you what its business was – not specifically, anyway. Even if I did know, I'm not exactly inclined to share it with you. I did ask it, though. It said he was there to 'observe' – learn what it could about Equestria before it went home. It didn't say what it was going to do with that knowledge." Discord shrugged. "In any event, I decided to leave it to its devices." "You did nothing to harm... 'it'?" Why "it"? Why not "him" or "her"? "I had no reason to stop it." Discord was smiling again. "It had piqued my curiosity. I wanted to see what it would do. A rogue element is like candy to a connoisseur of chaos like myself. And I had a hunch. Maybe it wasn't the only human to cross over. Maybe, if I was very lucky, it'd invite friends. And after eons of separation from humankind, I wanted to see what they could do. And, well..." He laughed. "I was right, wasn't I? You thought the nightmare was over when the Elements of Harmony chained me up again. But it turns out I knew something that you didn't." His smile twisted into a frown. "Still feeling smug, Princess?" Starry blue light burst from Luna's horn and barreled into Discord's chest. The blast sent him flying into the distance; there was a flash, and he reappeared in front of Luna, no worse for wear. "Tut tut. That was impolite. And I've been such a good host to you so far." Discord wagged his finger at her. "Naughty." Luna's chest heaved with her every inhalation; she could no longer disguise her fear. "I have no reason to believe that what you say is truth." She didn't believe her own words, and didn't expect him to either. "You are a liar by nature. A twisted mockery of creation who knows nothing but deceit." "Guilty, guilty, and guilty," laughed Discord. "And yet, if you're so sure I'm lying, why do you look like you're about to faint?" He vanished and reappeared at her side, leaned in close to whisper in her ear. "Is this why big sis sent you, instead of plucking up her courage and facing me herself? Didn't want me to see her shaking in those little gold booties?" Luna curled her lips into her mouth and looked away. "Oh..." purred Discord. "She doesn't know that you're here, does she? Isn't that interesting. Look at you, Luna, facing down big bad Discord all by your lonesome. Looks like somepony finally got on her big girl panties." He tilted his head toward her rear and frowned. "Figuratively speaking, anyway." Luna blushed and snapped her tail flat against her body. "I'll take my leave now," she said, indignant. "We shall not speak again." "Don't get my hopes up," said Discord flatly. "Let me toss you one last freebee, though." His body faded out of sight, but his voice remained. "Humans may be primitive, paranoid, and petty, but they still sent Grandpappy Alicorn home with his tail between his legs." His voice became silky, almost seductive. "That was millenia ago, Luna. I shudder to think of what they can do now. Let me know how it goes." Luna felt a mighty shove against her flank, and suddenly, she was tumbling. The stars around her whirled, blurred together, coalesced, turning the empty void of space into a vision of light that burned her eyes and forced her to squeeze them shut. And then something yanked her by the neck, pulled her away. She opened her eyes to see the wall of light in front of her grow distant, and become a pinprick against the sea of black. And then that single point of light shifted color, from white to red. It burst rapidly outward, like a star going nova, until it filled Luna's sight. She turned away, shielded her eyes, and saw behind her the detritus of a world long dead – the shattered earth, cracked and broken, the bleached bones of ponies whose flesh had rotted away with the ages The air was rank with the stench of sulfur and putrid meat. A hot wind blew; gusts lashed against her body and carved jagged lines into an expanse of sand. Amid the sand were broken, crumbling buildings, the remnants of a deserted village. Luna's eyes were drawn to a dead, withered tree, in the center of a mass of rusted war machines and bleached bones. Ponyville. This is Ponyville. Luna raised her head, and glimpsed a distant mountain, where crumbling spires jutted toward the yellow-tinted sky. Perched upon the mountaintop, like a tarnished crown on the skull of a dead monarch, was the wreck of a city which had once been Canterlot. The ruined husk of Equestria spread out before Luna. Behind her, the red sun burned over what had once been paradise. And even that faded to black, and the vision of Equestria's picked-over carcass was no more. Luna awoke to the scent of lavender and mint, to the harmonious symphony of birdsong and the distant laughter of children at play. She opened her eyes, and saw Discord, frozen in horror, atop his place of dubious honor. The sky above was a mural of pink and blue; the garden was draped in shadow as Celestia's sun descended beneath the horizon. That took longer than I thought it would. The moon needed raising. Appearances needed keeping. If Celestia was so insistent upon keeping matters on the down-low, Luna couldn't chance somepony nosing around after her, asking questions. Best clear my schedule after that. Discord's oily voice still purred in her ear. "Just imagine what they're capable of now." The scene of horror replayed in her mind's eye – Discord's doing, no doubt, a last-ditch attempt to bring her to despair. But where he meant to cow her, he'd only strengthened her resolve. Swaths of orange had just begun to creep across the afternoon sky, visible through the open window of Spike's hospital room. Applejack, her hide still raw beneath her bandages, was at his bedside when Fluttershy crept inside. Applejack forced a smile of greeting, and held a hoof to her mouth, shushing softly. Fluttershy didn't know why she bothered. He wasn't napping; he was in a coma. Her rudeness surprised even her, and she felt a private sense of shame at the unvoiced thought. Fluttershy's eyes widened when she saw the tube snaking into Spike's mouth. She knew it was there, of course, had seen it during her previous visit, but the shock of it never wore off. Seeing her discomfort, Applejack tried to reassure her. "I know it ain't pretty to look at, but it's for the best. You know how ornery Spike gets with an empty belly." On cue, a slurry of dull yellow gunk shlorped through the tube and down his throat. Fluttershy fought back the urge to retch. Applejack laughed, but it was a hollow sound. "Mus' be suppertime." Swallowing the traces of lunch that had risen from her throat, Fluttershy said "You should get looked at again, as long as you're here." "Nah. Don't much care for hospitals." Applejack shifted more of her weight onto her unhurt leg, which Fluttershy noted was trembling from the strain. "What brings y'all back here?" What was she doing there? She had somewhere else to be, she recalled – an animal friend who needed her help – but somehow, it seemed a low priority. She felt the instinct to help, heard the call to action, but the sound was dull, like a foghorn on a distant shore. She'd left the meadow with every intention of returning. But the farther she flew, the less she understood what she was doing. By the time she arrived at her home, she could think of no reason to go back to the meadow. Well, since when do you need a reason to help somepony? she asked herself. She never needed one before. Kindness was a moral imperative, after all. And yet, that didn't seem justification enough. A friend in need was one thing, but the suffering of the beast that nearly killed Spike meant nothing to her. Oh, Spike. The thing that had put him in that state was waiting for her to return, to slap bandages on its torn flesh and ease its passing to... to wherever machine monsters went when they passed. With no warmth, no trace of compassion, it took an order to kill her friends and very nearly carried it out. And now it was dying, and she was going out of her way to give it aid and comfort. What was the point? There was a time she might have said that nopony needed a reason to show kindness to another. Had Discord himself walked through her door with a hangnail, she'd have given him a pillow and a hard candy while she clipped it. But when she thought of IRVING, laying in the meadow in agony, she felt nothing. No pity for a wounded creature, not even anger for the thing which had nearly killed Spike – no room even for the fear which had paralyzed her. She thought about Snake, and wondered what he felt when he looked at an enemy, if it was hate that drove him to kill... or if it was that selfsame sense of detachment. It frightened her. She saw that as a good sign; if she could be scared by her emotional numbness, it meant she wasn't too far gone. "He's the enemy," Snake had said of the soldier in the forest, the one mobbed by hungry timberwolves. "On the battlefield, one doesn't typically go out of his way to save his enemy." She hadn't agreed, and she stood by her decision to intervene... but that was before the castle, before the fight in the courtyard. This wasn't an adventure to talk down a snoring dragon, or a filly slumber party gone wrong. This was war. There's no room for kindness in war, she reflected. Maybe, just maybe, the pragmatism of a career soldier was what she needed. The timberwolf dies, and something inside Fluttershy dies with it. Or maybe that just made her compassion all the more valuable. Fluttershy liked Snake. He was strong, and brave, and strangely alluring. But she didn't want to become him. If surviving the battles to come meant sacrificing who she was, then she'd rather die. She still felt nothing when she thought of IRVING, but the thought of doing nothing to help its passing... that felt wrong. Is that why? she thought. Not because I want to, but because I'm expected to? Because I expect it of myself. What did that say about her? What kind of justification was that? "Fluttershy?" Applejack waggled a hoof in front of her face. She blinked, shook her head, and looked over to see her friend's expression of confusion and concern. "You hear me?" "Sorry." She forced a smile. "Yes, of course I heard." The kind that's better than none at all. And that would have to do for now. "I just needed to see him again." She quickly crossed to Spike's bedside, leaned toward his face, and pecked him on the cheek with a whisper of thanks. Turning back to Applejack, she said "I have somewhere I need to be." Applejack wore a quizzical expression, but didn't question her further. With a dip of her head and a nervous smile, she bid farewell to Fluttershy. Fluttershy still felt hollow, even as she took wing and banked toward her home once again. But she took comfort in the conviction that, whatever her feelings on the matter, she was doing the right thing.

Posh

436

Main 6,Other,Twilight Sparkle,Crossover,Human,Adventure,Dark,Metal Gear,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic,Death,Violence

Pony Gear Solid

Solid Snake teams up with ponies to save Equestria, and gradually learns to love it.

incomplete

<p>Metal Gear has fallen into the hooves of an Equestrian revolutionary, who, with the backing of his human mercenary allies, intends to use it to depose Celestia and crown himself ruler. Having crossed into Equestria in pursuit of this rogue weapon, the legendary Solid Snake must ally with the residents of Ponyville to prevent a nuclear catastrophe.</p><p>See also <a href="/story/369125/equestria-gear-solid-the-definitive-experience" rel="nofollow"><i>Equestria Gear Solid</i></a><i>,</i> the hilarious spin-off EQG parody in which everything you know is wrong, and every single character from the story is an awful caricature of themselves. </p><p><a href="http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/FanFic/PonyGearSolid" rel="nofollow">Now with its own TVtropes page!</a></p>

teen

2016-06-10T09:03:41+00:00

2016-09-23T06:53:25+00:00

A little purple filly sits among other little fillies in a spacious lecture hall, studiously jotting down notes in a spiral-bound notebook as the instructor gives her lecture. She stops to read what she has written. "Garish garbanzoknuckle terrify formaldehyde scandal scandal copulation." Her tongue pokes out the corner of her mouth as she underlines "terrify formaldehyde" twice. That would be on the test. Professor Inkwell paces at the front of the hall, a chunk of chalk sticking like a cigarette from her mouth. "And of course," she says, "we've all been asked the question, at least once, by our well-meaning pegasus and earth pony friends and neighbors: 'How do you do it? How does magic work?'" She chuckles. "What can one even say in response to such a question?" "It's magic!" calls a cerulean filly seated somewhere to the little purple filly's left. She tosses her head to shake a lock of silver mane from her face. "I don't gotta explain nothin'!" The room erupts in laughter. Professor Inkwell looks unimpressed. "You could," she says at length, "and that might be an acceptable answer to some, Ms. Lulamoon. But all that does is reinforce the misconception that magic is a force beyond the comprehension of anypony born without the ability to tap into it." "Durn lickity," whispers Diamond Tiara, seated to her right. She speaks using Big McIntosh's voice. "On the contrary, magic is an observable phenomenon," continues Professor Inkwell. "Not a mystical force that defies comprehension, but something that can studied and classified, practiced and applied. How is that different from say – chemistry? From physics? Geology, or botany, or biology, or volcanology? Obviously, magic has its differences, its unique qualities, its intricacies... but when examined with an open mind, magic ceases to be a mystery. You come to understand that magic..." The professor uses her hoof to scrawl out a sentence on the board in bright white chalk: "I may as well have killed him myself." The little purple filly copies it in her notebook, and underlines it three times instead of two. "...You come to understand that magic is a science," Inkwell finishes, turning back to the face the class – empty now, except for the little purple filly. "The science of imagination. In using it, your only limits are the ones you place on your own creativity. Picture a great black expanse, stretching out forever in all directions – the infinite canvas of reality. Magic lets you fill that canvas. Picture it filling with light, and life, and laughter, and see what you create. Picture it blank, and dark, and silent, and quash your creation..." The little purple filly feels hooves resting on her withers. Inkwell's voice whispers in her ear. "...and then create anew." A little purple filly rests on a cushion in the Princess's study, her legs folded beneath her and a book about parasites open in front of her. The book is written in Cantoneighse. The little purple filly cannot read Cantoneighse. She finds the book fascinating. "Did you enjoy Professor Inkwell's lecture?" Princess Celestia asks, offering the little purple filly a saucer and a teacup. She accepts it, sips at her tea. It tastes like chamomile and honey and sunlight. She suddenly wants to cry. "Uh-huh," says the little purple filly. "Only..." "Only what?" asks the Princess. She shines so brightly that the little purple filly has to shield her eyes with a hoof. Outside, the sky is red and raw and the towers and spires of Canterlot are silhouettes against it. "It's all that stuff she was talking about. Science and imagination?" says the little purple filly. She sips her tea again. It tastes like peppermint and mother's milk and love. The Princess laughs a laugh like the beating of a hummingbird's wings. "Professor Inkwell is a fine instructor," she says, "but sometimes she forgets that her students aren't all as learned as she is. Her lectures can go over ponies' heads." "No no – I understood what she was saying," says the little purple filly. "But I don't know... Talking about magic like it's science just makes it seem so much less..." "Magical?" "I guess so." "Well, your professor is absolutely right about one thing," says the Princess. "Magic is an observable force; it can be quantified and classified and applied. In that regard, the study and use of magic can be seen as scientific." The little purple filly scoots closer to her mentor. "But magic... how do I put this..." The Princess taps her hoof against her chin, her face screwed up in concentration. "Magic is different from the other sciences, because magic itself is unique, and it follows its own laws – similar to the ones that govern the physical world, but with differences as well. It even has its own laws that are intrinsic to it. When you cast a spell to, say, put a mustache on Smarty Pants..." The little purple filly giggles sheepishly. The Princess winks at her. "You're not just making a mustache appear out of nothing. You're tapping into and manipulating a powerful energy that exists in and around all ponies everywhere. The power that gives and sustains life, that Equestria – and indeed, the rest of the world – is built upon. And that force so defies classification and quantification and study that thinking of it as science will only get you so far." She smiles gently at the little purple filly. "So, in a way, you're both right. Magic is science, and at the same time, it's something more. Something... transcendental." The little purple filly frowns. "I think I'm a little lost now." The Princess sighs. Her smile turns melancholy. "I promise, my student, that you'll understand someday." The little purple filly shuts the book she's reading and looks at the back cover with its six embossed gemstones of six different colors. She sips from her tea again. It tastes like ash and salt and sorrow. A little purple filly gallops through a hedge maze, cold and frightened and sleepy and hungry. She's been searching for the way out for hours. At every corner, at every turn, she's greeted by statues – a draconequus with its head tossed back joyously, a timberwolf with its legs broken and its tongue lolling from its mouth, a metal monster on slender black legs with a snake-shaped scar on its face. All of them are laughing. She turns and veers and gallops and trots and canters and sprints and staggers and walks and doesn't stop moving until she hears the Princess's voice coming from behind one of the hedges. She sounds angry; she sounds quiet. The little purple filly can just barely make out the words that the Princess is saying. "You're speculating. You have no evidence. You're asking me to take action based entirely on conjecture." "I seldom bring you more than conjecture," says a voice in response – one she doesn't recognize, smooth and bass and spoken from deep within the chest. "And seldom am I wrong." "These are innocent ponies—" "These are known associates. Collaborators. Ponies who are in regular contact with him. You and I both know he's planning to make his move. It's just a matter of time – months, maybe years. We won't know how close he is, nor will we know what it is, unless you take action now." "I can't just..." The Princess sighs with frustration. "Detain somepony without explanation." "You're the Princess. Of course you can." The Princess says nothing in response to that. "If you must have a pretense, then drumming one up shouldn't be difficult. Do what you must to ease your conscience, if the promise of saving lives isn't enough for you." "Don't you dare patronize me," the Princess hisses. "The law presumes innocence until guilt is proven, and I am the law. I will not deny somepony their right to due process because of something they might do." The little purple filly creeps closer to the voices. She peeks her head around the hedge and sees the Princess – pure and white and resplendent in her regalia, her mane and tail shimmering and streaming behind her. And then she sees what the Princess is talking to. The little purple filly stifles a scream and turns and gallops away, veering left, and right, and left, and right, and moving deeper and deeper into the maze with every hoofstep. She'll be lost forever; she'll never find her way out, but that's okay, because it will never find her either. Then she comes to a dead end. A statue of Nightmare Moon with an empty bag of candy over her horn looms high above her. The little purple filly flings herself to the ground and covers her head with her hooves, whimpering and shivering and wishing somepony would whisk her away – her brother, her mother, her foalsitter, her teacher... "Twilight Sparkle?" The voice of the Princess is gentle as the evening breeze and soothing as chamomile tea. "What are you doing out here so late?" The little purple filly shakes her head. "Have to hide," she gasps, "or the monster—" "Monster?" The Princess chuckles lovingly. "My little pony, there's no such thing as monsters." The little purple filly feels a downy wing stroke her cheek, and suddenly, the fear melts away. She feels warmth. She feels comfort. She feels safe. "This is just a dream. This is all just a dream." "Just a dream," the little purple filly mumbles. Her eyes droop shut. "Just a dream." "And soon you'll wake up, and it'll be like none of this ever happened." The little purple filly feels weightless for a moment, before settling down upon the Princess's back. "Hush now, quiet now..." The lullaby grows distant; the world slips away. "It's time to lay your sleepy head..." A little purple filly walks through a dungeon. Wooden doors line the walls beside her – cells, each one holding somepony she knows. Her mother and father, Luna and Celestia, Shining Armor and Cadance, Applebloom and Zecora. They stare at her as she strides past them, their eyes wide and doleful, and they whisper pleas, entreaties to stop and free them. At the end of the hall is a door broken off of its hinges. The body of Trenton lies inside, with one leg twisted at an unnatural angle and his head caved in. His skull is made of sparks and wires and plastic. A mouth made of silicone and copper is twisted into an eternal rictus. Directly behind him, Spike dangles from the ceiling by his wrists, held up by chains that look like ropes that look like serpents. His head is tucked against his chest. He isn't breathing. The little purple filly hears footsteps beside her. Someone holds a gun in front of her face, offering it to her. "I didn't kill him," she whispers as she takes it with her magic. "You may as well have," says Snake. The little purple filly gulps. She steps into the cell and points the gun at her the body lying broken on the floor – now Applejack, now Rarity, now Pinkie Pie, now Fluttershy, now Rainbow Dash, now Rainbow Dash, now Rainbow Dash... She laughs and laughs and laughs at the little purple filly. "Do it!" she snaps. A hand touches her withers – it's cold and gentle and makes her shudder. There is nothing for you here, whispers a kind but unfamiliar voice in her mind. "Do it!" Applejack cries out in ecstasy. Raucous, mocking laughter echoes down the hall, her friends and her family and the Princesses all at once. Let it go. "Do it!" her friends shriek all at once in a terrible choral harmony. Don't come back. The little purple filly screams and squeezes the trigger. Twilight woke with a jolt and smacked her head into the window she was leaning against. "Gyaow!" She rubbed the sore spot on her head and groaned. A dream, she thought. I was dreaming. She tried to recall the details, but they were already fading away. It wasn't a good dream, though. From the way her heart jackhammered in her chest and the cold sweat on her brow, she could tell that much. Her breath had fogged up the window as she slept. She rubbed the condensation away and peeked out the window. Tall green grass and rolling hills sped by as the train rumbled toward Dodge. They were quite a distance from Ponyville, but the red earth and rocky topography of the frontier were still a ways away. The air in the train car was thick and smoky. Twilight coughed and glanced down the car to where her travel companion sat with his back braced against the wall. His head was inclined in her direction; his sharp blue-gray eyes fixed curiously upon her. An ashy nub of a cigarette dangled between two fingers. Twilight frowned at him. "It's rude to stare." Snake's eyes narrowed, and he turned away. Twilight gently leaned her head against the window again. Her heart had begun to settle down, and the pain in her head where she'd struck the window was ebbing. All a dream, she told herself. Everything's fine. Everything's going to be fine. She shut her eyes tightly and willed herself to fall asleep again. Everything's going to be just fine.

Posh

436

Main 6,Other,Twilight Sparkle,Crossover,Human,Adventure,Dark,Metal Gear,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic,Death,Violence

Pony Gear Solid

Solid Snake teams up with ponies to save Equestria, and gradually learns to love it.

incomplete

<p>Metal Gear has fallen into the hooves of an Equestrian revolutionary, who, with the backing of his human mercenary allies, intends to use it to depose Celestia and crown himself ruler. Having crossed into Equestria in pursuit of this rogue weapon, the legendary Solid Snake must ally with the residents of Ponyville to prevent a nuclear catastrophe.</p><p>See also <a href="/story/369125/equestria-gear-solid-the-definitive-experience" rel="nofollow"><i>Equestria Gear Solid</i></a><i>,</i> the hilarious spin-off EQG parody in which everything you know is wrong, and every single character from the story is an awful caricature of themselves. </p><p><a href="http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/FanFic/PonyGearSolid" rel="nofollow">Now with its own TVtropes page!</a></p>

teen

2016-07-11T10:40:46+00:00

2019-04-09T04:48:01+00:00

"Don't touch that dial now, we're just getting started." Twilight never got back to sleep. She took to counting cacti as the verdant hills melted into the rugged red terrain of the frontier. Cacti were like sheep – prickly green sheep full of hallucinogenic water – so she reasoned that counting them might help her doze off again. It didn't. So she settled for just pressing her face against the glass of the window and staring at the blurry scenery zipping by. The train made impeccable time. A scant few hours had passed since Twilight and Snake boarded, and they were almost at their destination. No stops, no taking on additional passengers, and traffic on the rail itself was nonexistent. The engineer had the entire line to herself, and availed herself of the opportunity to push the train's speed to its limits, which made for a swift trip. And yet, as Twilight thought back to the grisly package that Snake had brought before her early that morning – the bloody cyan feather, the cryptic note summoning them to the frontier – she couldn't help wondering if the train could maybe go just a teensy bit faster. Snake didn't seem to be feeling the same sense of anxiety. He drifted off not long after Twilight woke from her own nap, and had been out for the last two hours of the trip. Unable to fit on one of the undersized benches, he lay lengthwise down the middle of the train car with his hands folded behind his head for a pillow. That meant he took up quite a bit of space, too, but Twilight thought it courteous not to make a fuss. It was the least she could do for someone who wasn't coming on this trip willingly. The inherent contradiction in Snake's manner bemused Twilight. Here was a person whose line of work had him constantly on edge by necessity, someone who hadn't been able to catch a full night's sleep when given a roof over his head and what few creature comforts she could provide. Yet, somehow, he was able to catch not a mere wink, but two whole hours' worth of winks, on a turbulent train ride that hurtled them toward what he felt was certain doom. "Wish I were that relaxed," she muttered to herself. She knew she didn't mean it, though. She was as worked up as she was out of worry for Rainbow Dash, somepony whom Snake refused to accept may have been alive, and somepony with whom he had never gotten along. Being relaxed would have meant accepting that Dash was dead – or worse, not caring about her in the first place. That isn't fair. I can't assume apathy on his part. He's here, after all. Under protest, and only because I twisted his elbow into it, but he is here. Manipulating Snake made her feel dirty – like she was betraying every lesson she'd learned about friendship since moving to Ponyville. It made her feel like a bad student. Worse, it made her feel like a bad friend. Cynicism and necessity helped her rationalize it, though. Snake was a decent person, but a self-serving one; she needed him more than he needed her, and if keeping him around meant tugging on his heartstrings and threatening to walk into a meat grinder, then damn it all, she'd do it. For Rainbow Dash. For her friends. Noble ends don't justify ignoble means, a voice in her head whispered. Some days, Twilight wished that she was much more cynical than she was. A sudden series of whistles from the front of the train – one, two, three short bursts, followed by a very long, protracted screech of steam – sent her own train of thought flying off the rails. Twilight felt the car losing momentum, lurching to a halt. "That can't be right," she said to herself as she glanced out the window. The station wasn't yet in sight. The whistle shrieked again. Something was wrong. Minutes passed without the whistle sounding again, so she trotted to her human companion and poked his head with her hoof. "Snake, wake up." He batted her hoof away, sound asleep, and smacked his lips. Twilight poked him harder. "Snake, wake up." That got him. He stretched arms to his sides, growling as his muscles grew taut, and rose, cracking his neck from side to side and rotating his shoulders to shake loose the kinks. He rubbed his fingers along the length of his spine, wincing slightly with discomfort, and looked over his shoulder at Twilight. "We've stopped moving?" Twilight nodded. "Certainly seems that way." Snake pursed his lips tightly. Unable to stand at full height, he settled for kneeling, and crawled toward one of the window. His eyes took in the surrounding scenery, the hills and red mountains of southern Equestria, and the barren earth stretching to the horizon. "This is Dodge Junction? I don't see any station." Twilight placed her hooves on the window she'd sat beside during the ride and rose onto her hind legs to peek outside. "We're in the right place, but... yeah, no station. What could be the hold-up?" Snake grunted. Twilight had gotten used to grunts from him, but she hadn't been able to assign any consistent meaning to them as yet. They seemed to vary situationally. He could have been grunting in acknowledgement to her, or in thought to himself, or perhaps he just did it compulsively because of some weird trick of human psychology. She might have asked, but the door at the front of the car slid open abruptly, and the engineer stepped through it, looking sweaty, disheveled, and cross. She wore a set of blue coveralls, frayed and faded from years of wear, over her rosy pink coat, and tied her yellow mane behind her head beneath a matching denim hat. "Ms. Twilight," she said. There was a hint of Applejack's country twang in her voice. "Sorry for the delay, but we got us a conundrum." Twilight pushed away from the window. "What's wrong?" She abruptly realized that she didn't know the engineer's name. "And, I'm sorry, but I didn't catch your—" "Stovetop," said the engineer, curtly. "Pleasure's mine, I'm sure." She pointed behind herself, toward the engine at the far end of the train. "I've got a fully loaded passenger train sitting in front of us on the track, pulled right up to the station. Ain't movin', ain't doin' nothing. I blow the whistle; it doesn't do nothin'. I get out to yell at whoever's drivin' the thing, and there ain't nopony in the engine! Doors are open; bags are strewn about all which-ways; I holler up at the cars, but nopony's home – in there, or in the station." Snake disengaged himself from the window and crawled, constrained as he was by the low height of the car's roof, closer to Twilight and Stovetop. "Bags strewn about? What do you mean?" Stovetop's eyes met Snake's; she looked him up and down before answering. "Uh... I mean what I said, Mr. Tight Pants. 'Bags strewn about' is self-explanatory. That suit cut off circulation to yer brain, or somethin'?" Snake turned away and muttered something to himself about country bumpkins. "So," said Twilight, drawing Stovetop's attention back to herself, "there's nopony in the train, nopony in the station, and there's luggage lying around as if it's been abandoned?" Stovetop nodded. "That's the long and short of it. If I didn't know any better, I'd say it were a damn sloppy train robbery." She clicked her tongue. "Don't think there's anypony home in town, neither, come t'think of it. Figure with all my whistlin', somepony woulda come lookin' t'see what the fuss was about. Pardon the fancy talk, but it's rather conspicuous in its absence." As if to counterbalance the "fancy talk" with something earthy and crass, she spat a chunk of tobacco into the corner and grinned. "Always wanted t'do that." Twilight looked back at Snake. "You may have been right after all," she said quietly. If Snake derived any satisfaction from the admission, he hid it well. "Might have been. Except..." He frowned and rested his chin on his knuckles. "What's on your mind?" asked Twilight. "Assume for the moment that I was right, and that this was a trap." His eyes met hers for a second, narrowed slightly, before he looked back down at the carpet. "They would have known which direction we were coming from, would have known that we couldn't have deviated from it even if we wanted to. They wouldn't even need us to stop at the station to spring the trap; they could have picked any spot along the line and waited until we crossed them. Shot the train up, stopped it, pulled us out and executed us..." "Uh, what's all this now? Who's executin' who?" asked Stovetop, her voice rising. "I sure as heck weren't warned about—" "Shut up," Snake snapped. To Twilight, he said, "You see where I'm going with this? But despite all that, we arrived here without incident." Another inconsistency occurred to Twilight. "Not to mention the train in front of us. We'd be stopping at the station anyway, right? Using another train to block our path and force us to stop is just redundant." Snake grunted to himself again. Twilight deemed it a thoughtful grunt. "This doesn't add up." He stared out the window, his thoughts a mystery, before meeting Twilight's gaze again. "I want a look at the station." Twilight nodded in agreement and made her way to the train car's door. She swept it open with a flash of her horn and immediately was hit in the face with a blast of hot afternoon air. Maybe I should have brought sunscreen, she quipped to herself before hopping out of the train. Snake followed behind her and stretched to his full height with a satisfied groan. Stovetop lingered in the doorway, glaring at them. "An' what am I supposed to do? This train' ain't gonna turn itself around, y'know. Certainly not with no passenger train blockin' the way all inconsiderate-like." In response, Snake walked back to the car and hooked his fingers around the door's handle. "You're an engineer," he said. "Engineer something." Before Stovetop could say anything in response, he slammed the door shut. Twilight swore she saw a momentary smirk of satisfaction cross his face. The door to the station was left ajar, and a layer of sand had blown into the building – several days' worth, at least. Twilight was braced against the wall on one side of the door; Snake was opposite her, with his tranquilizer gun in his hands. From her vantage point, she could see through the crack in the door, just inside the building, facing toward the counter behind the station's service window. Snake's eyes met Twilight's; she cast a quick glance into the building, then back to Snake, and gave a little shake of her head – no, she didn't see anything. Snake nodded, took his left hand away from his gun, and raised three fingers. He silently counted them off. Three... two... Twilight spared the train and the trail of abandoned luggage behind her an anxious glance, before swallowing her worries and returning to the task at hoof. At one, Snake shoved the door the rest of the way open, and Twilight leaped into the room, her horn alight. Snake followed after, pivoting to train his gun on the end of the room Twilight had her back to. The room was bathed in the glow of her aura, and by its light she saw more of the same scene that had greeted her and Snake when they disembarked from the train. The station was a modest structure. Two parallel benches, covered in scattered personal belongings and luggage, ran the along the center of the room. At one end of the room – the end she was facing – were timetables, arrivals and departures for the trains in and out of Dodge, as well as two ticket windows facing the outside. Opposite that was a little office that may have started life as a closet, with rusty chicken-wire meshes for windows. Somepony had been painting the office door, but left the job unfinished. The bottom was baby blue, while the top remained a sallow shade of yellow. It must have been a pretty recent job, too – Twilight noted a roller and tray of blue paint sitting on the floor. It's like the painter quit halfway through. "Clear," Snake said from behind her. A red dot danced across the wall as he swept his gun from one end of the room to the other. "Empty, full of abandoned luggage. Consistent with what we found outside." Twilight nodded her agreement. "And you see that door?" she said, gesturing toward the office. "The blue paint looks pretty fresh, but the job is unfinished. As if whoever was in charge of doing it—" "Stopped halfway through?" "Exactly," Twilight said in a testy tone. She didn't enjoy being interrupted. Snake chewed his bottom lip, an unhealthy habit that Twilight noticed slipping out whenever he went a while without a smoke. "How's it look on the inside?" "Haven't checked. But if you want to have a look—" Snake advanced toward the office before she could finish her sentence. Be my guest, she thought sourly. She watched him peer through the office's wire mesh. "Nothing back here," said Snake, casting a glance her way. "Alive or dead. And yet..." "What is it?" asked Twilight. "A hunch." Snake stepped in front of the half-painted door. With one hand he held his pistol, while in his other he gripped the knob, turning. "Locked. Doesn't feel very solid, though." He drew back a step. "Hang on," said Twilight, trotting to stand beside him. "I happen to be a pretty good horn at lock-picking. We'll have that open—" Snake planted his back foot on the ground, spun in place, and lashed out with a kick that knocked the door off its top hinge and splintered the frame where it met the lock. He leaned his weight against the bottom half of the door and shoved, and the door toppled backward into the office. "...In a jiffy." Twilight heaved an exasperated sigh. "I'd very much appreciate it if you'd let me finish a sentence from time to time." "Noted." Snake lifted the door and tossed it back into the waiting room, then made an 'after you' gesture with his arms. Shooting him a look of irritation, Twilight stepped inside, her horn illuminating the dark, confined space. The room looked not at all out of the ordinary – a half-melted wicker candle on a tiny writing desk, a stamp and an ink pad beside it, stacks of unsold tickets underneath. There was a safe braced against the near wall, its door carelessly left half-open. The light from her aura glinted off the pile of gold bits in the safe. "You said you had a hunch?" Maybe he just wanted to vent – he did seem to enjoy kicking that door down. A calendar was pinned against the wall of the office. Snake ripped it free, inspected it for a moment, then tossed it to Twilight. She caught it mid-air with her magic. "I'm not too sure that my calendar and yours align perfectly," he said. "What day is it today? " "The 30th," Twilight answered automatically. "Wednesday." "And what's the last day marked on that calendar?" Twilight read it – most of the days on the calendar were marked off with thick red crosses, but they stopped with three days left in the month. "Sunday. This past Sunday, three days ago." She placed the calendar down on the desk as she considered the implications. Snake holstered his gun and leaned his weight against the wall. "The balloon came in early this morning," he said. "I didn't show up in Equestria until two days ago. Whatever happened here happened before we encountered Pegasus Wings for the first time. Before I even arrived here." He stared at the vacant waiting room through the wire mesh. "It occurred to me that Trenton might have gotten here overnight somehow – set all this up as a trap for us. But now, that doesn't even seem possible." "That doesn't necessarily mean that Pegasus Wings was never here," Twilight pointed out. "Or that they weren't responsible for the state of the town. It just means that they didn't do it to lay a trap for us." But even as she said the words, she found herself unable to answer the all-important question of why. She saw no strategic significance to Dodge; it was a backwater frontier town. The only things that made it worth putting on the map were the junction and the ranch. From what the mayor had told them about what happened in the mountain junction, it sounded like they already had a handle on the rails, and she doubted that cherries were vital to Macbeth's endgame. It's not unlike Ponyville, come to think of it, she realized. But Ponyville has greater strategic value, assuming Macbeth really does have an interest in keeping myself and the girls under hoof. And it's much closer to their area of operations. Trekking out to Dodge and taking over the town would be a strategic blunder. "What's here that would be worth anything to a revolutionary army?" Snake asked. "The rail, maybe, but if they were after that, Ponyville would have made a more opportune target. More convenient, too, since it's right on their castle's doorstep. And burning the mountain junction only closed the rails running north from Ponyville. That indicates an interest in regulating the flow of traffic running in that direction. But southbound trains? Off their radar. Besides..." He opened his arms for emphasis. "If they were going to take over the town – for whatever reason – this isn't how they'd go about it." He wasn't wrong at all. They'd seen the same strategic flaws in that hypothetical scenario, a fact which annoyed Twilight on an irrational level. But a part of her – a very stubborn part – wasn't ready to accept that their time had indeed been wasted. "The letter named Dodge specifically. There had to be a reason why we were told to come here – here, out of all the places we could possibly have been lured to." "Maybe not," said Snake. "It's far enough away from Ponyville that a round trip would keep us occupied for a while. That's time we could be investing in something more productive. Something that could check their next move. Could be this was all a wild goose chase. Could be that was the plan all along – nothing more to it than keeping us out of the picture for an extended period of time." "I don't accept that," said Twilight, as the cynic in her accepted Snake's idea as a very real possibility. "Look, we're here now; we're not likely to be going anywhere for the time being. And something is very wrong here that merits investigation. Let's make the most of the situation. We'll just do a sweep of the town, alright? And if we don't like what we see, then I'll..." Admit that my friend is probably dead? "...Concede the point." Snake's frown deepened. She could sense his frustration at his arguments being dismissed out of hoof like that, and felt a stab of guilt. She'd find a way to make it up to him later, she promised herself. "Where do we start?" Snake's voice was a cold monotone. "There's a door on the other side of the room – opposite from the one we came in. That leads out into the town square," said Twilight. "A plaza, some buildings. There's a general store, the town sheriff, the post office, a clinic, what passes for a town hall, and an Appleloosa Apple Pies franchise." Snake's eye twitched – perhaps a sign that his patience was finally hitting its limit. "Lots of ground to cover. We're burning daylight as it is." Twilight looked past him, out toward the derelict train. "What else are we gonna do to pass the time? Pull on each other's ears?" Snake emitted a barely audible huff of breath that might have been a laugh. His jaw worked for a long moment before he nodded his acquiescence. Without another word, he left the claustrophobic office and crossed the room toward the exit into town. He nudged the door open, braced his back against the wall beside it, and peered out into the street. "It's pretty exposed," he muttered. "Wide open, no cover." He knelt and glanced at Twilight. "You first. I'll hang back and cover you, move up when it's clear." He tapped his index finger against the grip of his tranquilizer gun. "Sounds good." She tried to project a calm, collected demeanor, but the situation ratcheted her sense of anxiety upward, and her hope at finding Rainbow Dash alive was starting to diminish. Having something to focus on helped, but only so much. She felt like a wreck that lurched forward on pure inertia, and worse, she was pretty sure that Snake could tell. Either she was transparent, or he'd become an expert at reading pony body language during his short stay in Equestria. Perhaps both. "That's a sport where I come from, by the way." Twilight, jarred out of her self-reflection, shook her head. "Come again?" "Competitive ear-pulling. It's a sport where I'm from." Twilight searched Snake's face for any hint that he was pulling something of hers, but it remained set in that stony, all-business scowl. I guess that's just what a species with fully articulated digits does for fun. "Your home sounds weird." Snake snorted, raised his pistol to eye level, and waved it insistently. "Get going." They closed the apple pie shop. I guess it's cherries or nothing out here. The green building that stood in front of her had once borne a swinging sign with a shiny red apple, advertising the Appleloosa-style apple treats sold therein – fritters, pies, brown betties, and a plethora of others that Applejack would no doubt have enjoyed expounding upon were she present. In place of that sign was one displaying a frothing tankard of... something. A pair of swinging doors marked the entrance. Correction: cherries or booze or nothing. Dodge proper looked and felt more desolate than the station. There were no scattered belongings or personal possessions left abandoned in the plaza the way there had been at the station. Food carts stood unattended and forgotten, and the air was thick with the gag-inducing reek of rotten fruit. Twilight saw a wheelbarrow of cherries leaning against the general store, bearing a sign that advertised them at twelve bits a pound. The juicy-looking cherry on the placard contrasted with the brown, green-furred mass in the barrow. What's more, there wasn't any sign that anything violent had taken place, no traces of activity from Pegasus Wings. Sunday the 27th was more likely than not just another day of business as usual, it seemed. Until it wasn't. The saloon in front of her looked homey and inviting, with its broad windows, bright green paint job, and swinging doors painted with colorful images of hearts, cherries, and cherries in the shape of hearts. But the room behind the doors was dark – the windows were shuttered, and though she could discern the shapes of furniture beyond the doors, she couldn't see anything in greater detail. Twilight circled around to the saloon's side entrance, a small door with a dirt-smudged square window. She tried peering through the window, but a blind was pulled down from the inside. She turned the knob and tried pushing the door open, but it was bolted shut. Twilight scowled. The town seemed intent on stymieing her at every turn. Something caught her eye on the wall beside the door. Twilight leaned closer, squinting, to examine it. There were markings, holes poked into the wooden paneling, two sets of four that ran parallel to one another, ascending up the wall toward the open second storey window above the door. They looked like claw marks, like a cat had climbed up the side of the wall to get inside the saloon from the upstairs. A very big cat, by the look of it. The marks were spread far apart; whatever made them had to have paws the size of frying pans. That rules Opalescence out, at least. It wasn't just claw marks, though. Interspaced with them were thin lines with a gentle upward curve, shallow grooves cut into the wall. Twilight ran a hoof over one of the lines, frowning. Now, what could have made this, I wonder? Some kind of climbing tool? A pickaxe, maybe, but the shape was all wrong for that. Could be from something else re-purposed as a climbing tool. Like a spade, or something. Twilight edged the tip of her hoof against one of them, surprised at how well it fit into the groove. Or maybe they're from... hooves? She stepped away from the wall, staring at it incredulously. Something with claws and hooves? Her face scrunched up with concentration. A draconequus's anatomy might fit the bill. Discord couldn't have broken free again, but maybe there were more of his kind in the world. Including here, in Dodge? That seems unlikely. And yet... something had to have made those marks. Something went to the trouble of climbing in through the upstairs window, bypassing the front entrance altogether. Something mysterious and potentially anatomically unfamiliar. Something about it niggled at Twilight, something queerly familiar, like a half-remembered fragment of a fever dream. Not a draconequus, no, but something else... something... Twilight let out a frustrated sigh and rubbed her forehead. Deja vu. Nothing more. Whatever climbed in through that window might still be in the saloon. The idea of coming face-to-face with such a creature set her nerves on edge, but a lead was a lead. Twilight circled around the rest of the saloon in search of another entrance. There was none – no back door, no door at the opposite wall leading in from the alley. Front door or nothing, I suppose. Twilight returned to the front of the saloon and warily eyed the cheerful, inviting swinging doors. She breathed deeply to maintain her composure and glanced back at the train station for reassurance. It wasn't so far away that she couldn't see Snake kneeling in the doorway, his tranquilizer gun held at the ready. Confident as she was in her ability to defend herself, it still put her a little more at ease to know that someone was watching her back. Even if that someone had a grudge. Twilight inhaled and exhaled deeply, and planted a hoof on the saloon's front step, her hoof making a hollow clopping sound as it came into contact with the wood. As if in response, she heard something move inside the saloon. Twilight froze. Hooves and legs came into sight, visible beneath the swinging doors. The doors creaked open. Somepony staggered onto the porch, pushing the doors open with his face. The sight of him made Twilight draw in a sharp, hissing breath through her clenched teeth in shock. It was an earth pony, a stallion, his coat as faded white as his mane, yet tinted with a hint of blue. He was panting, his pale tongue hanging limply from the corner of his mouth, and his eyes – pinprick pupils stark black against colorless irises and sclera – rolled left and right, unfocused. "Sweet Celestia," Twilight swore, her urge to help overriding her fear of the unknown. She stepped higher onto the saloon's stairs to come closer to him. "What happened to you?" The stallion's ears twitched and turned toward Twilight at the sound of her voice. His eyes swiveled together to focus on her, and his mouth opened, emitting a choked rattle. Twilight drew closer to the stallion, taking another step onto the stairs. "It's okay; I'm not going to hurt you. My name is Twilight Sparkle, and I'm here to help." The stallion's lips pulled back into a snarl, and he staggered forward, inelegantly but swiftly. Twilight, caught off guard, scrambled hurriedly away from the porch, avoiding the stallion but tripping on the stairs and falling onto her back. The stallion's teeth snapped as another rattle clawed its way from his throat, and he shambled with growing strength down the stairs. A tuft of red feather suddenly appeared in the stallion's neck. He jerked from the impact of the tranquilizer dart, but didn't slow his gait. He lumbered toward Twilight, jaws open, but when he was finally upon her, she raised her hind legs and used his momentum to buck him up and over her head. He sailed through the air and struck the ground behind Twilight, a tangled pile of limbs and hooves. Twilight clambered back to all fours and turned to face him, bracing herself for another attack. He rose, but didn't lunge at her with the shocking swiftness of his initial lunge. If anything, his movements were slower, clumsier. He swayed from side-to-side as he walked, his legs wobbly, his eyes drooping. A low growl gurgled in his throat as he came closer to Twilight, but each step was less certain than the last, and he was losing speed besides. Then his jaw went slack, his eyes shut and did not reopen, and he collapsed forward with his rump stuck in the air. Twilight held her ground, waiting to see if he'd rise again. He didn't. She edged closer to him and lowered her head to his, tilting her ear toward his nose. A gust of breath, hot and dry, shot into her ear. Twilight scampered backward, half from surprise and half in disgust, rubbing her ear as if to scrape the germs off of it. The stallion stayed where he was, in his disarming, butt-up pose. A faint trickle of blood ran from the spot where the tranquilizer dart had pricked him, and its red feathers ruffled gently in the afternoon breeze. Twilight breathed a sigh of relief. He's alive. He's alive, he's unconscious but alive, everything's fine, and... and eww, he breathed into my ear! Gravel crunched beneath rubber soles as Snake sidled up to her, his tranquilizer gun still trained on the stallion. "You hurt?" he asked. Twilight rubbed her ear one more time and shook her head. "Thanks." "I doubt Stovetop would have left me back on the train without you," Snake grunted. He holstered his tranquilizer gun and squatted beside the fallen stallion, looking it over from nose to tail. "Tranquilizers took their time kicking in. It should have dropped right away." He cupped his chin. "You ever see anything like this before?" "This, specifically? No." Twilight knelt next to Snake. "But the color thing is familiar, if nothing else." She thought back to her encounter with Discord, to the way her friends' coats and manes had drained of color, desaturated until they all but turned slate-grey. "How so?" Snake asked. "His coat should be much brighter than it is. I've seen something that could have that effect on a pony before. A certain kind of magic. But the only one who could use it is... safely under lock and key, let's say." The draconequus connection again. It couldn't be, could it? Twilight examined the stallion more closely. "I think I recognize him. Blue coat, white mane... yeah, he was here the last time I came to Dodge. I saw him here in the square, pulling a hay cart. Never got his name." Do they have the same cutie mark? Twilight glanced at his flank; it was blank, nothing but more bare, blue-tinted fur. Oh. "He doesn't have a cutie mark." "A... cutie mark?" Snake repeated. The phrase sounded awkward and unnatural in his voice. "Pinkie was saying something about that this morning. Some kind of tattoo you get when you find your life's calling?" "That's an awfully mundane and reductive way of putting it," said Twilight. "See, everypony has a certain talent, something they're destined to spend their life doing. Something they love. They spend foalhood searching for that talent, and when it finally comes to them, their cutie mark appears on their flank – a symbolic representation of that talent." "So it's... biological? Like a pony puberty thing? What, this pony was a slacker?" "Not necessarily... it's not unheard of for a pony to reach adulthood without getting their cutie mark, but it is exceedingly rare. He might have had it removed, but I don't understand why anypony would do such a thing." Macbeth's flank had been red and raw where his cutie mark had been, she recalled, but he was hardly a typical case. Snake hummed thoughtfully in response to that. "Not the only thing that was off about him, though. Or even the most unusual thing." His brow crinkled, and his bandanna with it. "He came at you like he was gonna take a bite out of you." "Or several," said Twilight. "He was acting feral. Mindless, just attacking without thinking. I don't know what to make of that." Another memory drifted into her mind – Spike, perched on her back, nervously postulating the possibility of zombies in an empty Ponyville. Impossible. Equestria may have been full of fantastic fauna, but zombies were strictly relegated to the realm of urban legend and fantasy. "What about you?" Twilight asked. "Have you ever see anything like it before?" Snake shook his head. "But then again, I fell asleep during Night of the Living Dead." That sounds like a difficult night to sleep through. "I'll tell you what, though; it'd be stupid of us to assume that there weren't more of them out there. Hell, for all we know, this is what happened to the whole town. Something happened to turn them all into... that." Snake rose to his feet, giving a last, pensive look at the stallion. He hesitated for only a moment before he continued speaking. "We shouldn't stay here any longer. I say we go back to the train, grab that engineer, and book it out of here. If taking the train is out of the question, then we'll find some other way back to town. There's gotta be something – a handcar somewhere on the rails, even." He was right. He made sense. Whatever was going on in Dodge, it wasn't their problem just now. They'd resolve the crisis on their plates and come back to this one when there was time for it. Move from one emergency to the next, maybe even get used to it after a fashion. "And Dash?" Forcing the question out felt like sticking a knife in her belly. She knew what Snake's answer would be; she didn't want to hear it. All the same, she asked. To her surprise, Snake said nothing. So she supplied the answer for him, and the knife twisted hard. "She's not out here, is she?" This time, Snake did reply. "I'm sorry." The words were spoken not unkindly. A gentle wind rustled Twilight's mane. Her bangs caught in the breeze and waved at the top of her vision. She should have been crying – that's what good friends did in situations like this – but she didn't even have the urge to. She felt hollow. She felt like she had no more tears to shed. "You didn't even like her." "No," Snake admitted. "But I know you did." Twilight shut her eyes. The wind washed over her, warm and comforting. The shrill shriek of a steam whistle pierced the silence of the town, and Twilight's eyes snapped open. She instinctively whirled about in the direction of the noise and flared her legs, her aura shimmering to life around her horn. Snake, likewise, fell into a fighting posture and swiveled to aim his gun in the direction of the station. The whistle cut off for a long, tense moment before blaring again in quick bursts. "Stovetop," she said, steel creeping into her voice. We left her alone. But there hadn't been any sign of life out there, no feral ponies in the station, or out by the track. The only places they could possibly have come from were the town itself and— Twilight cursed her short-sightedness. Stovetop checked the engine, but only hollered at the passenger cars. She must have taken it at face value when nopony hollered back. We didn't check them ourselves – we should have checked them ourselves! The whistle cut off abruptly, and Twilight felt a sickening sensation of worry for the brassy old engineer. Dodge was still as a graveyard, and the only sounds Twilight could hear were the steady breathing of her companion and her pulse thudding in her ears. Then something struck her from the left side, bowling her over. The glow around her horn vanished from the shock of the sudden attack. She heard snarls, frantic and vicious, and teeth snapping for purchase against her neck, her face, her ear. Twilight warded the attack off with an outstretched hoof, batting at the feral stallion's face as she refocused her magic to counterattack. With a flash of pink and a sound like a thunderclap, the stallion flew backward, skidding through the sand. Twilight's horn flashed again and a beam struck him in the chest, blasting him back across the plaza and throwing him against the wheelbarrow. It smashed to pieces when his body impacted it, and a pile of rotted cherries rained down upon him. Twilight, panting, kept her horn trained on the pile. Stay down, she pleaded. Please be okay, another part of her whispered. Please, please be okay. The cherries that hadn't been pulverized into mush by the impact shifted and rolled down the stallion's body as he rose again, covered in pulpy fruit mold. Slivers of wood and bent nails stuck from his coat, and a gash running from shoulder to elbow split the skin on his left side. But, untroubled by any of his injuries, he shook off the cherry gunk and fixed his feral, furious gaze on Twilight again, and took a wide, ponderous step toward her Twilight's heart sank. Motes of light danced around her horn. From beside her came a sound so loud and sudden that it made her jump, and a hot piece of metal bounced against her flank. A hole appeared in the middle of the stallion's forehead, and his neck jerked back as though he'd been struck. The stallion crumpled, and did not move again. Twilight's hind legs gave out, and she fell to her haunches. Memories, sensations, drifted back to her: the sulfury smell of cordite, the stinging chill of the dungeon, and the gun... The gun had been so light – taking it from its owner, holding it against him, so simple. The trigger, so slender and delicate. "Sugarcube, are you alright?" Applejack's voice rang clear as day in her mind He was laughing when he died. "Twilight." She felt a sudden shove, and the tight grip of a human hand on her shoulder. "Twilight!" The sensations passed back into memory as her mind centered on the present. The frigid dungeon was a million miles away, the human now entombed in a cairn of ancient stone. In front of her lay the stallion, unmoving, amidst a reeking mass of rotten fruit. "You didn't have to kill him," Twilight whispered hoarsely. "'He' shrugged off a tranquilizer. 'He' was covered in wounds, and didn't even seem to notice." Snake's lethal pistol, the one he picked up in the castle, was trained on the stallion, as though he expected it to get up and attack them again. "That thing is completely brain-dead; you said so yourself." I wasn't talking to you. Silence reigned again for a few precious seconds before a muffled cacophony broke it – a chorus of guttural moans and wooden thudding, growing in volume and intensity. Fear lanced through Twilight as she realized that the sounds were coming from all around them, from inside the other buildings. Snake swept his pistol from one building to the next. "We need to make a break for it. Take our chances in the desert and follow the rails. Maybe we get lucky." "And Stovetop?" asked Twilight. Snake only shook his head. We shouldn't have left her alone. We should have checked the other train. I should have... She cut the thought off. Time enough for that later. "They're quick, but I think we can outrun them," said Snake. "We move fast enough, and we should be able to—" The door to the general store burst open, aborting Snake's sentence, and a tidal wave of blank-flanked ponies swept forth, their manes and coats likewise drained of color. Then the post office's door likewise broke, and the windows at the front of the town hall shattered; more and more of the feral ponies stormed from the buildings, forming a stampede that barreled toward them from all sides. They came in twos, in tens, in dozens, maybe hundreds, in a line of ravenous grey death that encircled the saloon and closed upon them rapidly. Snake and Twilight looked at one another; an unspoken thought passed between them, and together, they ran inside the only redoubt they had. They pushed through the saloon doors together and were immediately met with a pair of snarling mares. Snake shot one down and trained his gun on the other, but the second closed the gap too quickly; his next shot went wild as the mare's teeth clamped down hard on his left forearm, clenching tightly enough to break his suit and the skin beneath. Snake growled, a mixture of pain and anger in his voice. Without thinking, Twilight leaped, caught the pony by the neck with her forelegs, shoved her hooves into its mouth, and pried its jaws open. The two tumbled to the ground, and before the mare could lunge at her, Snake dispatched it with a point-blank shot to the back of its head that left Twilight's ears ringing. Snake, his forearm bloody where he was bitten, immediately turned to the doorway as the first ponies in the stampede, three in all, started pushing through the doors. One shot to each left them sprawling in the doorway. The door was a natural chokepoint; no doubt Snake intended to fend them off until he expended his ammunition. But Twilight had a different idea, and she stretched out with her senses. The furniture filling the room was of varying ages and quality; some pieces were more solid than others, but they didn't all need to be perfect for her plan to work . She wrapped her magic aura around every single one that she could find – stools and tables and benches alike – and flung them all toward the door. Snake fired another shot through the door and turned his head in time to duck before he could be struck in the head by a piano bench. Twilight piled everything against the doorway in a disheveled heap, blocking the saloon's entrance completely. She focused hard; a white light built at the tip of her horn, and the aura around the furniture grew brighter and more intense. The light winked out, but the aura remained, and Twilight fell to the floor, gasping from the exertion, but smiled weakly. Snake took her by the knee and helped her back to her hooves. "What did you do?" he asked. Twilight smiled wider, showing teeth. "Adhesive spell," she said between pants. She heard the muffled sound of hooves beating vainly against wood. "They can pound that thing 'til Winter Wrap-Up and it won't give way." "No kidding?" Snake held still, listening to the groans and rattles and beating hooves, then shrugged. "Good thinking. So how do we get back out?" "Well..." She breathed deeply to steady herself as reality started to set in. All she did was ensure the ponies couldn't get in. It didn't solve the problem of how they were going to get back out. "You have no idea, do you?" said Snake, frowning. Twilight returned the look. "Excuse me; I was a little preoccupied with the immediate concern of not getting eaten alive. You're welcome, by the way." Snake's scowled. He opened his mouth, prepared to retort, but stopped and turned back to the front of the saloon instead. And here she'd been bracing for another exchange of fire with him. She was almost disappointed. "Sorry for snapping. Just... give me a minute to think." Her breathing had more or less returned to normal, and her heart no longer pounded in her chest the way it had when the horde first appeared. Now calmer, she looked around the room, stopping to note how spacious the saloon looked with the furniture piled away. There was a bar, naturally, fully stocked with a generous variety of spirituous beverages. A staircase at the back led up to the saloon's second floor; beside those stairs, against the far wall, was a small stage with a dusty old piano propped up in one corner. She'd noticed the piano when stretching out with her senses, but chose to leave it where it sat – there was a music teacher or two from her schoolfilly days that would never forgive her if she defiled such an instrument. She tried to think of an alternate exit. The only other way out was the side door she'd inspected from the outside. Twilight considered whether or not she and Snake could use it to slip past the crowd, but decided against trying. It was too close to the crowd – all it took was one noticing them, and that was it. She was sure Snake had come to the same conclusion. Snake unlatched one the shutters at the nearby front window and peered out at the town, and the steadily growing crowd pounding against Twilight's barricade. "Dozens of them out there. Maybe as many as a hundred, maybe more. How did so many of them fit in those buildings?" There was a sudden crack as a pony smashed its head against the now partially unshuttered window. A fracture spiderwebbed across the glass from the point of impact, but the window held. The pony's skull split from the force of his swing, and a glob of dark red matter remained stuck to the glass like an unfortunate bug. Snake slammed the shutter and threw the latch back into place, then backpedaled with his gun raised. Despite herself, Twilight couldn't help a little chuckle at Snake's reaction. "Yeah... maybe let's keep those shut for now." Snake glowered at her, lowering his gun. "Thought you were thinking of a way out. Got anything yet?" "Not unless you count liquor and dust bunnies." Twilight gestured around the vacant saloon. "No feasible way to escape that I can see. We could try waiting them out – maybe they'll lose interest after a while." Snake folded his arms. "That's not plan A, is it?" "It's not my preference," Twilight admitted, "but I'm not seeing any other alternatives. Unless you want to try fighting your way out." They seem to die when you shoot them. She would prefer not to fight their way out. Snake shook his head. "Speaking conservatively, there's probably at least a hundred of them out there. I don't have enough ammo for all of them. We try shooting our way out, it won't end well for us. We try sneaking our way out—" "And we'll probably get mobbed, left with the same problem as if we tried fighting our way out." Twilight nodded in the direction of the side door. "Yeah, I thought of that too." Snake canted his head to one side. "For the time being, we're stuck here." Twilight waved a hoof in the air. "May as well get comfy. I'd tell you to pull up a chair, but that would just be ironic." A wry smile played across Snake's mouth. He sighed, and eyed the bar. There was a half-empty bottle of whiskey and a shot glass sitting on its polished surface, its label facing away from her, next to a dishrag stained cruddy brown from years of use. What, is he thirsty? She wondered if humans could even get drunk off of pony spirits. "Tell me something," said Snake. He walked over to the bar as he spoke and picked up the bottle of whiskey, turning it to examine more closely. "You've got manticores and timberwolves and God only knows what else here in Equestria. Are bloodthirsty zombie ponies outside the realm of possibility?" "One hundred percent," said Twilight. "I mean, there are stories, sure. Campfire fodder, or schlocky thrillers sold in pulp magazines, but no credible accounts of the dead reanimating anywhere. None that I'm aware of, anyway. And these don't really fit the kind of descriptions you'd find in those, either." Apart from their mindlessness and their apparent appetite for pony flesh, little about them resembled the shambling, rotted corpses from zombie lore. The graying, the loss of their cutie marks, their speed, were all completely unfamiliar to her. "Pretty much the same where I'm from. Then again, it's hard to argue against the evidence." He ran his right hand over the wound on his forearm and squeezed it gently. "You got your hooves in one of their mouths. Were you bitten at all?" "Bitten? Uh..." Twilight glanced down at her hooves and inspected them from front to back. "Not that I can see. Why?" "What do you mean 'why'?" Snake asked, shooting her a look. He lifted his bloody forearm. "You see this, right? I doubt I'll turn from it, different physiology and all that, but you're at risk if you get bitten." "At risk of...?" "Of... turning? Into a zombie?" He spoke slowly, as though to a child. "Because you contracted the zombie virus from the bite?" Twilight stared at him in bemusement. "That's absolutely ridiculous. Everypony knows that zombies are created by voodoo witch doctors channeling fell spirits into the corpses of the recently deceased via mystic song and dance." She scoffed. "'Zombie virus.' Who in the hay cooked that up?" "Don't give me shit for it; I didn't make the rules," Snake muttered. "Point is, I'm in no danger of turning into a zombie from being bitten. And even if I was?" Twilight held her hooves up, one after the other, for Snake's inspection. "Look. No bites." "Right. Okay." Snake turned back to the bar, picked up the dishrag in one hand, sniffed it, and made a disgusted noise. "So does that mean Zecora has a horde of zombies stashed away somewhere? Because she had 'voodoo witch doctor' written all over—" "Zecora. Is not. A voodoo witch doctor!" Twilight snapped. "And zombies aren't real! These are not zombies! Try to wrap your brain around it!" "Fine." Snake leaned his back against the bar. "You're the expert. If they're not zombies, then what are they?" Twilight fumbled for an answer, came up with nothing, and sighed with annoyance. The answer came from a deep voice that thundered down the stairs behind them. "Neither truly alive, nor truly dead. Yet more familiar than perhaps you're comfortable with." Twilight and Snake whirled to face the intruder, braced for combat. A thing descended the stairs – no pony, no human, but a hodgepodge of distinct animal parts. It was quadrupedal, its thick coat of fur midnight blue, its body and hind legs pony-shaped, but its forelegs more feline than equine – stocky, muscular, and ending in paws – and its head and face more canine than anything else, with pointed ears standing on end and a long, tapering muzzle tipped by a round black nose. Its eyes were slate-grey, its pupils black pinpricks against them, and a pair of canine teeth – one of them chipped – poked from its top lip. A gray mane ran down its neck, with tufts of hair poking up behind and around its ears. A cat's tail snaked from its hind end where the wispy tail of a pony ought to have been. Paws and hooves. So that's what climbed the wall. It was so familiar, yet so unlike anything Twilight had ever seen. Deja vu tugged again at the edges of her mind – that same feeling of recollection. "Anypony that walks on this good earth carries that which which gives us thought and motion and a sense of self and purpose," said the blue hodgepodge on the stairs. "The soul, if you will. But what is a pony without that soul? When its very essence is cut to the quick and all that makes a pony bled away, what remains is but a golem – a husk, with no sense of self or reason. A soulless shell driven by pure instinct. It walks, it breathes. But it's capable of no more than that. And there, but for the grace of all that is good and holy in this world, go you." The thing raised a paw at them and waved amicably. "Hello. You must be the ones who stirred the hornet's nest outside. I wish you hadn't, but what's done is done." "Stay where you are," Snake said, cautiously advancing a step with his gun aimed at the thing on the stairs. "Are you responsible for what happened here?" The thing's mouth curled into a rancid grin. Twilight stepped in front of Snake, placing a hoof on his stomach as if holding him back. "Snake, wait." She looked at the grotesque thing on the stairs. "You. You work for the Princess." She sensed the truth in her words as she spoke them, even as she wondered how she could possibly know that. Snake's gaze darted to Twilight, then back at his target. "You know this thing?" She ignored him, and took another step toward the stairs. "You work for the Princess," she repeated. "Don't you?" The thing on the stairs gazed down at her for a long time before responding. "I haven't met with her majesty face-to-face in years." He padded softly down the rest of the stairs, his steps almost completely silent – even the hooves on his hind legs were muffled. "For some reason, she doesn't like having me around. We have other lines of communication these days." He arrived at the bottom of the stairs, eyes fixed on Twilight's. "But you still work for the Princess?" asked Twilight. "In a manner of speaking. I serve the realm. Princess Celestia happens to speak for the realm, so I serve at her pleasure. As do you." He bowed his head slightly. "The Element of Magic herself, as I live and breathe. It's an honor." He eyed Snake. "You, on the other hoof, I'm having trouble placing." "Don't strain yourself thinking about it," said Snake. His grip on his pistol was still tight, his finger laid across the trigger guard, but he lowered it away from the newcomer. "What, exactly, are you? And what are you doing here?" "I could ask the same of you," it purred. "On both counts." It turned away from Twilight and hopped lightly onto the stage in a catlike bound. It made a grand show of examining the piano in the corner. "I suppose I could tell you what brings me out here... but I didn't get this far in life by divulging state secrets." One paw pad danced gently along a yellowed, faux-ivory piano key. "But I can tell you that I'm not your enemy. Like I said, I serve the realm, as does your pony friend there. As long as your actions benefit the realm, we'll be on the same side." He pressed down on the key, and its tuneless song echoed in the empty saloon. "To put it in simple terms, I solve problems for the Princess. Messy, untidy, oft embarrassing problems. When something comes up that she either cannot, or will not, face through official channels, she sends for me. She gives me a mission, and the latitude to work, and I solve the problem. Cleanly, elegantly... and, above all, discreetly." "Cute euphemism for wetwork." Snake's gravelly voice was thick with contempt. "You're a spy. An operator." The thing's eyes widened. "An... 'operator?' Hmm." His brows knit together as he repeated the word, turning it over in his mouth, tasting its sound on his lips. "Operator... operator... yes, I quite like that. In times long past, my office was known as the Penumbra, but Princess Celestia doesn't particularly care for that title, and so it's fallen into disuse. 'Operator,' though... so much more modern and enigmatic... and lacking in the pompous pretension characteristic of antiquity." He smiled. "Operator, then. It will serve as a title. And as a name, if you wish." "Glad I could give you something to pad the old ego," said Snake. "The old ego doesn't need much padding." The Operator's mood seemed to improve with each remark Snake made against him. Once, Twilight may have been naive enough to believe that a pacifistic, disarmed Equestria could remain prosperous without some sort of intelligence network intercepting and dealing with potential threats. With age came a certain measured cynicism, though – needless to say, she hadn't believed that for a very long time. Indeed, it was a topic she learned years ago not to broach to the Princess. But the Operator's slick, oily disposition and apparent pride in his work made it seem so much more unsavory than she would have imagined. Her mind went back to the castle dungeon, and the instruments of torture she and Applejack had found, to the ancient tome sitting in her library with its worshipful praise for a conquering deity. Equestria's veneer of friendship and harmony seemed a little less convincing. "As discourteous as it is to demand an explanation of you without providing one of my own, I'm curious," said the Operator. "What brings the Element of Magic all the way out to the fringes of Equestrian territory? And without the other Elements, even. I thought you were all joined at the hip, but you seemed to have replaced them with..." He cocked his head at Snake. "I'm sorry, but who are you, exactly?" "Her plus one," Snake replied dryly. Twilight felt the knife dig back into her gut. "We're looking for a friend of ours – somepony who we believe was kidnapped and brought here." A thought struck her. "Maybe you've seen her – a pegasus pony, with a cyan coat and a rainbow mane?" The Operator scoffed. "Oh, it's hard to say. There are so many rainbow-maned pegasi in Equestria that I just can't tell them apart. Who knows if we'd even be thinking of the same one? Maybe it would help if you gave me a name." "Just answer the question, please," she said, testily. The Operator chuckled at his own wit. "I haven't seen that particular pony around town, no. In fact, I haven't seen many ponies around town that weren't gray blank-flanks" She hadn't been expecting an affirmative answer anyway, but the extra stab hurt all the same. "You have my sympathy. That and two bits will buy you a cherry at market, but it's all I can give you just now, I'm afraid." The Operator hopped from the stage and stalked past Twilight, to one of the golems that Snake had shot earlier. He reached out with a paw and turned its head over slowly, examining the entry and exit wounds and murmuring thoughtfully. "Though, if it's any consolation, I'd say this mare's having a worse time of it than you are." He smirked at Twilight. "Having your soul cut out tends to ruin your day." His motions stirred the blood pooling beneath the golem's head. Twilight averted her eyes and suppressed a shudder. "What could have created something like this?" she asked. "I've been studying magic for what feels like my whole life. I know the principles and intricacies of spell-casting inside and out, but what you're talking about – this stuff about bleeding souls and creating golems – is a whole different league from everything I've ever learned about magic." "Just so," said the Operator. "It's an old art – a dark art – and one that requires reservoirs of magical energy far beyond what any normal unicorn could ever hope to project. There aren't many ponies alive who could hope to tap into that kind of power." "It's a short list," Twilight agreed. "Princess Celestia could, I'm sure. Princess Luna." I could, maybe. The thought chilled her; she pushed it out of her mind. "Luna could, perhaps. Certain mages who sit on the Academy's board might have the potential. Celestia? Beyond a doubt, if she cared to." He stood and backed away from the golem, brushing off his paw on his chest. Streaks of red clung to him, barely visible against his dark blue coat. "But having the power to do so means little without the knowledge. And said knowledge has been lost for eons." Snake voiced the thought before she could. "Then how do you know about it?" The Operator's grin was ghastly. Twilight dared to look back at the golem, keeping her gaze below its neck. "Is there anything that can be done to put them back together?" she asked. "The soul and the body, I mean. Could they... could they somehow be cured of this?" "Reunite a soul bled from the body with the body from whence it bled?" The Operator tapped his paw against his chin as he considered that, then shrugged. "The kind of wound needed to do such a thing to a pony runs deep. You could stuff something back into the sack that's left over from the bleeding – maybe its old soul, maybe something else entirely – but in all likelihood, it'd just slide right back out the way it came. No, they're beyond your help. Your friend is holding the best medicine for them. I'd worry more about where its soul went, were I you." Twilight thought about an iron maiden and a drafty dungeon and the broken leg of a— Stop it. Stop it now. Focus. "Why would anypony want to do such a thing in the first place?" she whispered. "Stealing somepony's soul, leaving them like this..." The grotesqueness of it, the idea that anypony could be reduced to such a state, sickened her. This truly is a fate worse than death. "Consider what one would stand to gain." The Operator slinked to her side and cleared his throat. "Nowadays, nopony besides the Princess herself would remember this, but what we call the soul is – in the most basic sense – nothing more than energy. Powerful energy, but subject to the same laws and restrictions that govern the rest of reality. It can be drawn, transferred, stored and unleashed – never destroyed. But it can also be shaped, molded – forged and synthesized into something new. Even transmuted into flesh, and imbued with a soul of its own." Magic is something transcendental, her mentor whispered in her mind. Magic was never meant to be used for horrors like this, she whispered back. But there was no conviction behind the thought. "In ages past," the Operator continued, "the black arts were used to do just that: to create new life beyond the banality of the equine form. The golem itself is incidental, the leftovers from that process, a shell driven by instinct and a half-remembered shadow of self. They might drift back to their homes, or their old haunts, or to anything remotely familiar, or they might just wander aimlessly, but eventually, they'll drop where they stand and lie dormant unless something catches their attention." Something seemed to jolt Snake; his expression suddenly lit up. "'Catches their attention'? What do you mean by that?" "Well," said the Operator, "they might be mindless parodies of life, but they still have senses. Sight, smell, sound, taste. It takes them a while to gather enough steam to so much as stand, much less stagger about, and they don't all do so at the same rate, but if you make enough of a racket – say, from a train's whistle, or a gunshot..." He looked pointedly at Snake. "Eventually, even the heaviest sleeper among them will rise to investigate." Those golems that Snake had shot came to only after the rest of the ones in town burst out to swarm them. The first one to attack her had been in the saloon with the other two, but he'd gotten up before any of the others. Could that have been why? Could it just have taken notice of her before the others? Maybe. But there's something else that's off about this. The gears in Snake's head creaked almost audibly as he processed the Operator's words. His gaze returned to the bar, to the shelves of liquor stored behind it. "Snake?" asked Twilight with a tentative waver in her voice. "What are you thinking?" "Give me a second." Snake vaulted over the bar, and began raiding the shelves, gathering bottles of liquor in his arms. Twilight blinked. All the metaphysical conversation of the past several minutes, and none of it confused her quite as much as her companion just then. "Well," said the Operator with a sigh, "we can only hope he'll get the help he needs one day." Something the Operator said stood out to her, too, come to think of it – something that sounded especially out of place. "'Driven by instinct,'" she murmured. Inwardly, she cringed. Shoot, he's got me repeating things now. "One of those things tried to kill me." "I as well," said the Operator, inclining his head toward the stairs. "There were two up there. They won't trouble anypony anymore." "Why, though? Try to kill, I mean. Ponies aren't natural predators; we have no killer instinct." "Who knows? There's quite a bit about these golems that's off. Golems have never been so fleet of hoof as these. They're stronger, too, and hardier, maybe even a bit smarter." He glanced down at the dead golem again. "Someone has tinkered with the recipe. Waste of time and effort. So why...?" Twilight cocked her head quizzically, waiting for him to finish the thought, but the Operator just looked back up at her with his oily grin. "As for why they're so combative, I believe it has to do with whoever created them in the first place. Perhaps the bleeding of the soul is a two-way process. Perhaps, just as the spellcaster pulls something out of the pony, something of them finds its way into the rudimentary minds of the golems. In this case, a lust for violence that parasitizes their natural instincts." He smiled knowingly at Twilight. "Or perhaps ponies aren't as innocent at heart as you'd like to believe." He was laughing when he died. Twilight scowled at the Operator. "Probably the first one." His grin was rancid, ghastly, and unabating. "Probably." I may as well have killed him myself. Twilight heard someone spitting something out of his mouth. A cork with toothy indentations landed at her hooves, accompanied by a tiny splatter of saliva. "What in the..." She looked up, to the bar, and saw an array of bottles set up on the bar. Behind the bar was Snake, walking backward and pouring a bottle of liquor onto the floor. That answered the question of what he was doing back there. Why remained a complete mystery. "Alright, I'm just gonna ask," she said after staring failed to tell her anything. "Snake, what are you doing?" Snake shook the last few drops from the bottle, set it down, grabbed another, and uncorked it, spitting the cork out the corner of his mouth where it, yet again, managed to land at Twilight's hooves. He's got some distance, she thought. It'd be impressive if it weren't so gross. "Improvising," said Snake. He resumed pouring and walking backward. This bottle lasted until he got to the end of the bar; he quickly pulled another from his cache and went right back at it. "I think I know how we're gonna solve our little siege dilemma." "How?" Twilight asked in a flat, skeptical tone. "By sterilizing the floor?" "In a manner of speaking." By now, he'd emerged from behind the bar and was circling toward the center of the room. When he finished dumping out that bottle, he set it aside and turned to Twilight. "We're going to burn this place down." There was a long silence, broken only by the sound of hoofbeats on wood and glass outside. The Operator was the one to break it. "Setting ourselves on fire. A novel solution, though it hardly seems elegant." Snake glared at him. "We're not going to be in the building when it happens," he said, speaking to the Operator as though to a child. He pointed out the window. "But they will be." That brought his actions into focus for her. "We're going to lure them in?" Snake nodded. "Lure them in, as many as we can, then block the exits and light the fire. They get trapped inside and burn. Any left outside get distracted by the fire, giving us the chance to slip away." The Operator coughed. "And how, dare I ask, do you plan to make your cunning escape? The saloon is a deathtrap. They'll be pouring en masse from the front door, and the side exit—" "Is too close to the front door to be an effective means of escape. Yeah, thanks." Twilight hid a smirk behind a hoof at the flicker of annoyance that played across the Operator's face. High time somepony else got interrupted. "Additionally," the Operator continued, his voice straining with annoyance, "how do you plan to set this fire of yours without being in the building to set it? One of us would have to stay behind in order to make this work." "On the contrary," Snake said. "I intend to be out of the building before starting the fire. As for how to set it off..." Snake reached into a pouch on his harness and drew out a tiny cylindrical object. Twilight edged closer to him to get a better look – there was a cap on one side of it, like a pen, attached to the rest of the cylinder by a hinge. Snake thumbed the cap off to reveal a small, shiny red button. Twilight felt an irrational urge to press it. "This," said Snake, "will allow me to remotely detonate a small explosive placed behind the bar once we're safely outside, which will ignite the alcohol. Once we're out, Twilight can barricade the front door again, leaving them trapped with no way out. We make our getaway." Twilight's mind quickly rifled through the potential complications. "Is there really enough alcohol in here to ensure that the whole building burns? Because what you're talking about would require copious amounts." "This is a bar," said Snake. "Enough combustible alcohol?" Twilight prodded. "I'm not trying to discourage you, Snake, but think about it. You wouldn't just need alcohol; you'd need liquor with a high enough percentage of alcohol by volume to burn. At least a hundred proof." "This is a country bar." Snake jerked his thumb at the shelves of unopened liquor, at the cache he'd amassed. "Do you have any idea how much rye whiskey is back there? Grain vodka? A hundred proof isn't even close to the average alcohol-by-volume content of the liquor stored in this place. We could burn a dozen bars with it." Waste of good whiskey. A shame – Twilight really could have used that drink, although schnapps were really more her thing. "That still doesn't explain what you plan on using for our escape route." "Easy," said Snake. "The second story isn't all that high up. We'll throw open the barricade, block off the stairs with that piano over there, move upstairs when the place fills to capacity, and jump out the window. With them packed in here like sardines, the ground outside should be relatively clear." A genuine smile spread across Snake's face. Twilight hadn't seen Snake smile like that since meeting him. It suited him, which made Twilight feel guilty about having to burst his bubble. "Uh, maybe that's a safe jump by your standards, but I'm not sure a fall from that height would be quite as good for my health." "I could do it," said the Operator, casually. Twilight flushed with consternation. "Nopony likes a contrarian." The Operator shrugged, sauntered behind the bar, and disappeared below to inspect the beverages that Snake hadn't gathered for his plan. Just as she'd anticipated, the smile on Snake's face melted back into his familiar scowl. "Well, our options for an escape strategy are limited. If you've got a better idea, I'm open to it." Twilight's gaze settled on the glowing mass of wooden furniture blocking the main entrance to the saloon. A smile of her own spread across her face. "Y'know, I think that I just might..." Snake and Twilight spent the next half hour splashing and dumping bottles of liquor all over the saloon's interior, saturating the floor, the walls, and every other splashable surface, excluding the stairs, where the Operator had decided to perch. He watched them work while draped over the banister, lazily dangling his tail over the rail and sipping from a bottle of Nägermeister he'd found under the bar. When prompted to help, he shrugged, took a pull from the bottle, and belched loudly. Twilight was tempted to coat him in eighty year old scotch whiskey too, but didn't on the grounds that the Princess might be cross with her for immolating her spy. As they worked, Twilight explained her modifications to Snake's exit strategy. "So, the plan calls for me to pull down the barricade, letting them in, obviously," she said as Snake poured out a bottle of Stalliongrad vodka on the drapery. "But instead of camping on the stairs and hiding behind that piano, we'll stand up on the stage at the back, out of their reach, and I'll use my magic to create a wall between us and them, a barrier spanning one end of the room to the other." "You gonna be able to manage one of that scale?" Snake asked, tossing the empty vodka bottle aside. "I've seen you use smaller shields and barriers before. They don't always seem to work." "When casting a magical barrier, its strength should be directly proportional to the amount of force you expect to be exerted upon it," she said, her voice briefly taking on the cadence and tone of a certain Professor Inkwell. "It's true that, in the past, I've underestimated the amount of force my shields would need to withstand. That won't be a problem this time." These golems were weaker than either of the behemoths who had bested her in the Everfree the day before, and she didn't expect them to overpower her shield the same way the timberwolf alpha or IRVING had. Still, so many striking against it at once, so rapidly, would present a different set of complications. "That said, I'm gonna need your help," Twilight continued. "Individually, these golems are nothing, but there's gonna be a lot of them hitting the shield simultaneously. I'll need to constantly reinforce the shield in order to keep it from collapsing from sheer attrition. That'll put a serious strain on my stamina, so I'll need you to hold them off with your gun to keep the strain from becoming overwhelming. Alright?" "I'll need a higher vantage if I'm gonna lay down cover fire." Snake nodded at the stairs. "That'll do. Although..." He pointed at the Operator. "You are going to have to move." The Operator sipped from his bottle and swished his tail contentedly. "You will have to move me." "Just give me an excuse," Snake muttered. He grabbed another bottle and resumed soaking the drapes. "What's your exit strategy, Twilight?" Twilight levitated another six bottles from the bar and poured them out in the center of the room in a deluge of clear, yellow, and amber liquids. "We let the place fill to capacity, or as near to capacity as we can. Once that's done, I'll rotate the wall counterclockwise to create a lane for us – a clear path to that side door. The more there are in here, the fewer there are out there. So that way out should be safer than it is now." In theory. "It'll be a tight squeeze for them," said Snake. "I doubt you'll be able to give us much room if you're pushing against so many." "All we need is an opening," Twilight assured him. "It doesn't have to be very wide – just enough for the three of us to pass through single file." Snake grunted and examined the stage's proximity to the staircase. "You realize," he said, "that turning that wall will create an opening for them to rush the stage and flank you on the left. Not to mention the stairs. You know, where I'll be." "I've thought of that," said Twilight. "So, look – the right side of the wall will need to lengthen as I turn it if it's going to reach the door from all the way back here. Conversely, the left side's going to have to shrink to accommodate the stage. That will, as you say, compromise me on the left. So, first off, I'll do what you suggested and block off the landing with that piano. Second, when I shorten the left side of the barrier, I'll cast another one on stage, aligned with the one down on the floor, and move them both together in time. Now, that also means I'll be losing ground up here to the motion of the wall, meaning I'll have to keep moving right to stay ahead of it." She paused. "You'll also have to hop down from there and join me on the stage. Otherwise, you'll be stuck on the wrong side of the wall after I turn it." "Short enough drop. No problem, but you'll be losing the benefit of my cover fire," said Snake. He looked up at the Operator, who was still enjoying his beer, and said "You want to get in on this? One way or another, you'll have to move eventually." "No need," said the Operator. "I doubt they'll be interested in me. Besides which, I'll be safe behind that piano. Provided I sit here quietly and behave myself, I should be fine." The Operator took a long pull from the bottle, wiped his mouth with the back of his paw, and smirked. "Once they've sufficiently filled the room, I'll make my escape from the upstairs window. You'll be alright without me, I'm sure." "Uh-huh." Snake, unperturbed, picked up a bottle of absinthe and returned to his work. "You think you'll be able to handle it?" he asked Twilight. "Not easily," said Twilight. "But it's doable. Just exhausting, that's all." "Good to know, but not what I meant." Snake was quiet for a moment. "I saw how you reacted when I shot that one outside. You gonna be okay with killing dozens of them at once?" Twilight wasn't sure what to say. Watching the stallion drop dead outside was hard enough. Not her finest moment of emotional fortitude. But that was before she knew that he wasn't even alive by any traditional definition, that there was no way to bring him back. "I'm not thrilled with the prospect," she said softly. "But it's like you said... you can't kill something that isn't alive in the first place." They didn't exchange another word until they were finished. By then, the floor was one gigantic cocktail, an amalgam of liquor whose scent was sharp and overpowering, and made Twilight's nose wrinkle. Snake fared better. Perhaps he was tall enough that the worst of the fumes had dissipated by the time they reached his nose. That, or he was far more tolerant of the smell of alcohol than she was. Snake climbed onto the stairs, gun in hand, ascending to the spot where the Operator rested. He cleared his throat, rested his elbows on the bannister, and angled his pistol down toward the saloon floor. He looked sidelong at the Operator and motioned to the left with the barrel of his gun. The Operator twitched one of his ears. With a sigh, he hopped off the banister, down to the step below Snake's sniper perch, and stretched out, yawning. He poked his nose between two of the staircase's uprights and looked down curiously at Twilight as she mounted the stage. "You ready for this?" Snake called down. "'Ready' is a relative term," Twilight said with a humorless laugh. The amount of variables she had to contend with staggered her. She was confident in her abilities, and in the plan, but being set upon by a crowd of feral, soulless ponies... That's not the sort of thing one is ever really "ready" for. She took hold of the piano in the corner with her magic, hefted it into the air, and levitated it over to the staircase, setting it down in front of the first landing. "Relax," said Snake. "It'll work. And if it doesn't, it's not like we'll be able to complain about it for long." He drew in a breath, exhaled slowly, and gazed down the sights of his gun. "Alright, you're up." Twilight mirrored his breathing, shut her eyes, and focused, letting the outside world fall away. She stretched out with her senses until she found it – the swirling, shimmering pink vortex, a point of light brighter than any star. The piece of herself with which she'd infused the pile of saloon furniture. It burned hot, tendrils of light lashing out to lap at the darkness of the ether. Twilight pictured the vortex of light vanishing, her canvas returning to zero. But instead of voiding the spell altogether, she channeled its energy back into herself, welcoming the sudden surge of warmth and strength it brought. When she opened her eyes, and felt her senses return, the barricade had fallen away. She swept the furniture aside, and watched as the golems shoved and jostled their way into the saloon. Just as quickly as she drew it back inside of herself, she channeled that energy outward. A wall of pink light appeared at the front of the stage and expanded rapidly until it spanned the width of the saloon, sealing the stage and the staircase behind it. There was a tiny buffer of clear space between the stage and the wall. Beyond that, the vast emptiness of the saloon floor waited to be filled by the ravenous horde of golems outside. They poured inside, in a column that formed a wedge at its head. The tip of the spear struck the center of the barrier like a ram and mushroomed out to the sides. The shield glowed at the site of impact, a bruise that spread outward radially. Snake fired into the crowd from above, methodically picking off golems at the front of the pile, the greatest threats to its stability. Twilight shot a narrow beam into the wall, against the spot the wedge had struck, and the bruise dissipated; the wall shone brighter where the beam made contact. Then the attack stopped. The column withdrew several steps, long enough to reform the wedge at its head. A tendril of golems uncoiled from the column and swung toward Twilight's left, slamming against it at the same time that the center column thrust against the barrier again. Two bruises formed at the sites of impact; Twilight fired into both of them to repair the structural damage before a third column slammed the barrier at the right side. Twilight refocused some of her energy into shoring up that spot, but the strain of maintaining the wall in three separate places was beginning to make her sweat. The column had collapsed into three distinct waves concentrating their attacks at different points – the left, the right, the center. No doubt they were hoping that three separate pushes would wear her down faster than a single, concentrated effort. Celestia save us, she thought as her heart thudded in her chest. The wedge formation, the coordinated thrusts... they're thinking strategically! A hail of bullets from the stairs cut down the attackers at the right column's head in seconds. It retreated back into the center, alleviating the strain somewhat, until the left and center wedges slammed against the barrier again. The flow of magic into the barrier slackened briefly before Twilight redoubled her efforts, feeling as though a knife was stabbing through her skull at the base of her horn. Snake's gunshots cut off suddenly. Twilight heard a distant click and the sound of metal scraping on metal before the steady cadence of death resumed, and the left wedge withered under fire. Then the column collapsed altogether, unfolding into a tide that smashed against the whole length of the wall. Golems rushed into the room from the outside, filling every inch, every niche, until they pressed tightly against one another in a manner not dissimilar to sardines in a can, all pushing their combined strength, their combined weight, against the shining wall between them and the stage. Twilight locked her knees, dug a hoof into floorboards, and pushed right back. The narrow beams of light became a fan of shimmering pink that pressed against the wall from one side to the other, and the wall yet withstood the tide. "I think that's as many as we're gonna get," Snake called over the sounds of the ravening horde. The flow from the door was gone; golems at the door still pushed and shoved trying to get inside, but the saloon was packed with as many as it could take. Snake was right; there was simply no room for more. Twilight shrunk the barrier at its left end, and the protection afforded to the stairs vanished. She collapsed the fan of energy into a thick column that she pressed against the barrier's right side, a ram of pure energy. She shoved against the mass of golems there, and the wall turned sluggishly. Twilight grunted with each push, sweated with each shove, fighting desperately for every inch of ground she gained, helped somewhat by the fact that more and more room was opening up to the left for the golems to fill. But she found herself facing the same problem as she had when fighting IRVING: The barrier was strong, but there were too many of them throwing too much weight and muscle against it. She gained ground, in fits and starts, but not enough, not quickly enough. Just as Snake had predicted, the counterclockwise motion of the wall's left end created a gap for the golems to plunge into. They rushed for the stage, dead hooves scrambling for purchase on the worn floorboards. Another wall materialized on the stage, accompanied by a flash from Twilight's horn, and the golems slammed and pounded and beat vainly against it. There simply weren't enough of them to seriously threaten the smaller barrier. At least, for now. Attrition's gonna wear that thing down eventually if I don't hurry this along. Twilight shoved harder against the wall on the floor, and gained a few more feet, helped by the group of golems that detached from the throng and moved onto the stage. The golems on the saloon floor were packed tighter, crushed closer together, against the bar, against the wall, against one another... And still the path that Twilight envisioned had not materialized. She heard a thud as Snake jumped from the stairs and landed behind her. "You wanna move that thing a little faster?" he said. He faced the barrier guarding their flank, moving backward slowly to keep ahead of it. "Do you want to take over?" Twilight growled through tightly clenched teeth. "Do you think I could do a better job?!" Twilight filled her lungs filled with air and bellowed to the ceiling. She was at her limit, and she forced herself to strain harder, poured every ounce of herself into the effort as she could. Her horn glowed brighter and her aura gathered around her body, whipping and tossing her mane and tail wildly in the air. The beam from her horn expanded, glowed brighter, arcs of lightning and tongues of white and amethyst flame running its length. Golems were pressed harder against one another until their bodies started to buckle and red blood sprayed from tears in their skin. The room was filled with the sickening crunch of bones cracking and breaking. The wall turned, and kept turning steadily, lengthening as needed, stretching wider, in order to reach door at the opposite side of the room. Twilight moved to the right behind Snake, paying no mind to the golems that continued throwing themselves against her barrier. And when she looked up, she saw a narrow corridor of space running diagonally from the edge of the stage to the side door. She cut off the flow of magic and her legs buckled with relief for just a second before she regained her balance and looked at Snake with an expression she couldn't begin to picture. "Go. Hurry." Her voice sounded ragged; her throat felt worse. Snake wasted no time. He hopped off the stage and swiftly moved toward the door, gun thrust ahead of him. Twilight was close behind, dropping the barrier on the stage and recasting it behind her to cover their retreat. The muscles in her legs ached and burned, and putting one hoof in front of the other was in its own way as difficult as maintaining the barrier. But she moved forward nevertheless. The golems continued to come, and Twilight continued to ignore them, as well as the worryingly large bruises forming along the wall. They reached the door. A small smile crossed Snake's worn features as he unbolted the door, turned the knob, and pulled. And immediately, a golem shoved its way inside. Its muzzle was bright red, stained with fresh blood, and hanks of blonde hair were caught between its teeth. Stupid, careless, irresponsible. We should have checked the other train. We should never have left her alone. Snake's smile vanished. He whipped his pistol over the golem's head and split its skull open, kicked its body back out the door, and tried to slam the door shut, but another pushed its muzzle into the frame. Snake dispatched it with a point-blank shot through the eye, shoved it back to clear the door, and finally managed to close it securely. Twilight forced her self-reproach from her mind and turned to face the saloon again, retreating until she and Snake were back-to-back. She collapsed the barrier to form a small pocket of a safe zone, sealing herself and Snake off from the horde in the saloon. It would hold for a little while, but drained as she was from her earlier efforts, she doubted she could reinforce it effectively. Swapped out a bad situation for an impossible one, she thought bitterly. Good on you, Twilight. She turned back to the saloon. The stage was clear now; the golems that had charged up to flank her had rejoined the throng. Above it was the Operator, still draped over the safety rail, quite ignored by the besieging golems. He dangled his empty beer bottle between two paw pads and eyed the deteriorating situation below with detached, almost bored, curiosity. His inaction, his apathy, infuriated Twilight. "If we die here, what are the odds that you'll make it out alive?!" Twilight's voice sounded weak, threatening to break. She had no idea if he could even hear her. "Help us, and help yourself!" The Operator's gaze met hers, and he gave her a long, thoughtful look. She saw him sigh and roll his eyes before hopping onto the stage. He raised his head, nose pointing straight up at the ceiling, and howled. Twilight crushed her ears against her skull, covering them with her hooves, but the Operator's shrill keening still pierced her eardrums like white-hot needles. It was several seconds before the howl cut off, leaving Twilight's ears ringing. But the weight pressing against the barrier was lighter than it had been, and when she opened her eyes, she saw why. A sizable portion of the crowd was trying to swarm onto the stage. Two quickly managed to hook their hooves over its edge and drag themselves up. The Operator whirled and dispatched one with a kick to the nose that flattened its face and dropped it back into the roiling tide below; the other got half its body up before canine jaws closed around its neck and its head was ripped free from its body, blood fountaining from its neck and spraying him across the face. Twilight retched at the sight. More were coming from all sides, closing off his avenues of escape. The Operator turned around, coiled his legs, and leaped straight up, catching the safety rail in his paws and quickly scrambling up. He looked at Twilight over his shoulder and winked before hopping onto the stairs and bounding up, out of sight. He'd succeeded in drawing their attention. There were still golems pressing and pounding against her barricade, but compared to before, their efforts of those meager few amounted to little. The majority of them were trying to follow the Operator up the stairs. Any semblance of order and coordination was gone; they jostled and pushed and shoved at one another to get after him. They crowded against the piano obstructing the landing, eventually forming a ramp of bodies that allowed the golems at the back to scamper up and over the piano, and onto the stairs. Twilight allowed herself to drop to her haunches, grateful for the tiny respite, and turned to look at Snake. "You doing okay?" She kept her voice low to avoid drawing undue attention back to herself. Snake sat with his back braced against the door, and his body shook with every blow the golems outside landed against it. His left hand was pressed against his ear, and his right still clutched his pistol. "That guy's a dick," he growled. "No argument there, but he helped. A little." Twilight upgraded the situation from "impossible" to "darn near impossible." A minor upgrade, but a welcome one. "Where do we stand now?" "In point of fact, neither of us is standing." "Har har." Snake smiled wryly, but another sharp blow to the door wiped the look off his face. The door thudded again, and he took his left hand from his ear and braced it against the wall. "I think we'll have to fight our way out after all." Twilight tried to think of other options and came up short. Given enough time, she might have been able to put together a new plan, but time wasn't a luxury they could afford. Fighting their was the only recourse. "How many are out there?" Twilight asked. "If you had to guess?" "At a glance, I'd say a couple dozen. Take that with a grain of salt, though; I didn't exactly have time to count." She was hoping for fewer, but given the way things had gone so far, Twilight counted herself as lucky that there were only a couple dozen. Why not round it up to an even googleplex? We don't want it to be TOO easy, after all. Still, not as bad as it could have been, though it would still be problematic. Twilight guessed that she could at least clear enough space for them to get outside, but there'd still be too many of them to fight through easily. And if their behavior is consistent with what we've seen so far, they'll work quickly to close any potential avenues of escape. "Alright," she said with a nod. "First rule though: no guns." Snake looked at her like she was mad, stupid, or both. "Guns attract their attention. Remember?" She indicated the barrier with her head. "I'm gonna have to drop this when we start moving, and I don't want them remembering that we're here and chasing after us en masse while we're trying to get out. No guns, at least until we're clear of the building." She rose and trotted to stand in front of the door. "I can probably give us a little bit of breathing room to start with," Twilight said, looking down at Snake. "A quick shockwave to push back the ones right up against the door should do." But after that, it'd be a melee, one she wouldn't immediately be able to participate in if she was going to cover their backs. "Once we're out, I'll gonna cast the adhesive spell on this door to keep the ones in here from following us out. I'll be vulnerable during the casting, so I'll need you to keep them off of me for a few seconds." Snake rose to his feet, pressing his shoulder against the door again to keep it secure. He glanced at his gun, and reluctantly holstered it with a sigh. "Havin' deja-vu here, Twilight." "I know. But trust me." Not that Twilight was entirely sure she trusted herself. Pulling it off meant dropping the barrier and refocusing the energy from it into an explosive shockwave within the same second; her timing would need to be precise. The adhesive spell would just be the cherry on the exhaustion sundae. That wasn't even factoring in the possibility that the sound from the shockwave would draw the attention of the golem horde in the saloon, which would mean that forfeiting the advantages provided by Snake's gun would ultimately be pointless. It may not be quite as loud as a gunshot, but it's not exactly gonna be silent either. There were a lot of ifs. There was a lot that could go wrong. And there weren't any other options that she could see. "Open on three," she said. "One... two..." Snake gripped the doorknob in his left hand. His right balled tightly into a fist. "Three." The door swung inward. Twilight dropped the barrier and refocused its energy into a singularity at the tip of her horn. She released it in a conical wave, blasting back the golems closest to the door In all, it took slightly longer than anticipated: 1.3 seconds. Twilight rushed into the newly cleared space, horn ablaze. The fallen golems were already rising again, while the ones who hadn't been hit by the shockwave charged. A gleaming shield of pink light materialized in front of her and pummeled the golems aside as they came. Snake was out by then; she heard him slam the door shut, and she turned, dropping the shield and refocusing its energy on the door. Snake was at her side in the same instant, picking up the slack with a flurry of kicks and punches and knees and elbows that killed or crippled any golem that got too close. He spun in place and delivered a kick to a charging golem that shattered its jaw and snapped its neck; another leaped toward him, but he caught it in midair and swung it bodily into the saloon's wall before dropping it and driving his elbow backward into the face of a third. Armed or no, Snake was a wind of destruction. Twilight felt grateful that they were on the same side. The golems on the other side of the door pounded to break it down. Twilight hurriedly focused on casting the adhesive spell. It was harder this time, drained as she was by her earlier efforts, but she dug deep into her reserves and once more found that shining point of light in the ether. She cried out as her horn sparked, and opened her eyes to see the door, shining pink and holding in place. Snake's growls and curses reminded her that there was no time to admire her work. Wind of destruction or no, they were surrounded, and the ground they'd gained was quickly fading. She lashed out blindly with her hind legs, landing a kick that shattered the ribs of a golem, and backed against Snake until they were almost touching. Her horn shimmered; a thin beam of light lanced from its tip and expanded into a dome that descended over what few inches of clear space the two had left. Drained as she was, the shield was weaker than it should have been, and it was already flickering and weakening as golems outside battered against it. She maintained the beam of energy, reinforcing it continually instead of letting it hold on its own "Alright," Snake panted. "So where do we go from here?" Detonate the barrier; let the shockwave push them back; make a break for the town square before they can regroup. But she wasn't sure she had the strength left to do that with sufficient force to give them any kind of advantage. Think quick. Got a half a minute of juice left, tops. "Draw your gun," she said. "Focus on clearing a path toward the town square." She heard the sound of Snake reloading again. "I think you should know that I'm down to my last full magazine. Thirty rounds left in all." "Make 'em count. Ready?" She didn't wait for an answer. "Once more, on three. One—" A blurry blue shape sailed overhead and landed behind the golems; Twilight heard jaws snapping, flesh ripping and bones crunching and vicious, angry baying, and suddenly the assault was gone. The golems wheeled away from Twilight's shield, chasing the Operator back into the town square. "Or, you know, that works too." Twilight dropped the magic barrier and allowed herself a few gulps of breath before scrambling back into the town square, where the Operator had led his pursuers. Theirs was a chaotic, disorderly mob, no wedge or tactical formation to speak of. So unlike how they were before. The Operator skidded to a halt, turned, and sprinted headlong into their charge. At the last second before they met, he leaped and streaked through the air, landing on a lone golem the rear of the mob. His claws sank into the desiccated pony's skin and his teeth found its jugular, and with a jerk of his head, the golem's throat ripped free. It flopped and writhed on the ground like a dying fish as it slowly bled out. Twilight retched again. Immediately, the Operator lashed out with a hind leg and pummeled the closest attacker behind him before pivoting and leaping into another to his right. His teeth sought its jugular, wound up tangled in its mane instead, and ripped most of its scalp free. Twilight heard gunshots as Snake fired to keep the golems at the Operator's rear from overwhelming him. That drew their attention, and they lumbered toward him, trampling the golem with the torn throat as they went. A careless stomp from one of his passing brethren or sistren crushed his head to pulp. Snake braced to meet them. Twilight chanced to look at the saloon, and her ears sank against her head with despair two golems filed out, with more no doubt behind them. For Celestia's sake! We're right back where we started! Twilight gathered what energy she hadn't yet spent and focused it at the tip of her horn. The crowd that the Operator had led away was almost upon them, and she blasted back the ones closest to them. Snake pivoted toward the saloon and moved his left hand away from his gun. "That adhesive thing – you got enough juice left for it?" The broken wheelbarrow and its cherries still lay in a heap by the general store. They'd do as materials for such a spell in a pinch, but casting the last one had been an effort after the day she'd been having. She truly wasn't sure if she could do it a third time. Snake took her silence as a negative, muttered a curse and raised his gun. Twilight saw the little cylinder in his left hand, the shiny red button glinting in the sunlight. "Can't seal 'em in then. Hope for the best." Snake fired twice, and the golems emerging from the saloon fell dead. Twilight continued firing at the ones who had broken off from the Operator, but each blast was weaker than the next. It wouldn't be long before she was down to fighting with her bare hooves. Then she heard a muffled pop and saw a flash of orange in her peripheral vision. A bonfire burned where the saloon had been. Tongues of flame lashed out from the doorway, lapping at and swallowing the bodies of the golems Snake shot. Their bodies caught fire, and shriveled and blackened in moments. The Operator leaped from the back of a golem whose neck was missing a chunk and landed lightly a safe distance away. The golems he'd been distracting were transfixed by the fire; Twilight could see its glow reflected in their dead eyes. Slowly, with their mouths slack and their dead tongues lolling out, they shuffled into the bonfire of the dead and vanished in the conflagration. Not one made a sound, even as the fire took them. Twilight shut her eyes and turned her head away, but there was no escaping the acrid stench of scorched, dead flesh; it filled her nose, made her cough and gag and her eyes tear up. She staggered backward, and stuck her back hoof in something squishy. It took a moment for her to register what it was. Of course. We're in front of the general store. Right back where we started. Her hind hoof was sunk to the pastern in rotten cherry goop. If she chanced to open her eyes, to look behind herself, she'd see the body of the first golem. Instead, Twilight stepped forward to distance herself from the carcass, eyes shut all the while. She scraped the gunk off her hoof with her magic, and gently settled on her hindquarters. Then she leaned forward and vomited. When her stomach stopped heaving, Twilight swept the flecks of vomit and saliva from her mouth with a shimmer of magic. She kept her eyes shut. The Operator settled beside Twilight; she heard the gentle swish of his catlike tail moving back and forth upon the sand. "They don't feel pain, you know," he remarked. "In fact, they feel nothing. Nopony home upstairs to feel it, and no nervous system to speak of besides." Twilight opened her eyes, and she looked at the Operator as his own bored into her. "There's nothing left inside them, see," he said quietly. "Their names, their identities. Past, present, future. Their very destinies, all irrevocably stripped from them. To a creature like that..." The Operator turned his face back to the saloon. The glow of the flames washed over his face. "What is death but a kindness?" They were dead, worse than dead; they were beings who were neither alive nor dead, bereft of thought, of reason, of soul. Twilight felt sick anyway. She heard the click of Snake's lighter. "Aren't you just a big old ray of sunshine?" he mumbled around a cigarette. Twilight lifted her head to stare at him, her face blank. The cigarette wasn't yet lit. Inches away from its tip, the tiny orange flame from the lighter flickered. Snake met her gaze, held it for a second, before he sighed, clicked off the lighter, and tucked the cigarette behind his ear. Twilight turned to the Operator. "Thank you for your help." Her throat scratched and burned, and her words came out in a sandpapery rasp. "I don't think we would have gotten out of there without you." "It was like you said: helping you helped me. Besides, I think Equestria's better off with you in it." He winked at her again, then rose, stretching out like a cat waking from a nap. "Well, it's been a pleasure meeting you both, but I must be on my way now. Plenty to do yet." He nodded to Snake, bowed a little more respectfully to Twilight. "My gratitude to you as well. Granted, you were responsible for causing the problem in the first place, but..." "Your gratitude sounds an awful lot like bitching and moaning," said Snake. "Well," said the Operator with a smirk. "Aren't you just a big old ray of sunshine?" Twilight rose before Snake could retort. "Wait. Before you go." It struck her that Ponyville had no means of contacting Canterlot and warning the Princess about the human presence and invasion. But this Operator... "You said you had lines of communication to the Princess. If you had to, could you get a message to her?" The Operator shrugged. "Perhaps." Not very reassuring. "An army from another world with a weapon of unfathomable destruction is planning an invasion of Equestria. They're working for some wanna-be revolutionary named Macbeth, who tried to launch a coup against the crown years ago. We haven't been able to get a message to Canterlot, but if you have any way of contacting Princess Celestia, then please – she needs to be warned about this." The Operator smiled in response to that – an ugly, sour smile that looked more smug than amused. "Is that so?" His gaze flickered to Snake for a fraction of a second. His response perplexed her. He looked and sounded not in the least concerned. An existential threat to Equestria probably called for a more interested reaction from the Princess's personal "problem solver" than that. "It's true," said the Operator. "I could contact the Princess. But I'd have to go out of my way to do so, far enough to compromise my own mission. In short, I don't have the time. Or, frankly, the inclination." Snake stepped up beside Twilight. "You don't understand. There's an army on your doorstep with a weapon that can level a city in the blink of an eye. We're trying to stop it, and you're in a position to help us. So cut the bullshit." Across the street, the saloon's second floor, weakened by the flames, began to collapse. Embers from the burning wreckage geysered into the air. The Operator regarded Snake with a cool, steely stare. "You're not from around here," he said in a calm, deathly quiet voice. "And you have no business dictating to me what is and is not worthy of my attention. Let Macbeth have his fun; let him play with his toys. Stop him, if it pleases you. But don't assume that your messes are my responsibility, human." He turned his head to the side and spat. Snake's face betrayed not a hint of surprise. Twilight couldn't say the same for her own. He turned back to Twilight. "You helped me today, and I won't forget it. But that doesn't mean that I owe you any more than what I've already given you. I serve the realm, and the Princess speaks for the realm, and you, my dear, are no princess. You have your priorities, and I have mine. Leave it at that, and leave me to my work." He started to leave, froze suddenly, and turned back to Twilight. "I'll tell you what, though," he said, his voice congenial again. "You did me a good turn, so, as a gesture of goodwill, why don't I give you a bit of advice?" The Operator raised a paw and pointed down the main road. "Down that way, on the outskirts of town, is a cherry orchard. A ranch, nestled in a fertile little valley. You're familiar with it?" "Cherry Hill Ranch," said Twilight in a faint, airy voice. It occurred to her that she hadn't noticed Cherry Jubilee among the golems in the saloon. Although that doesn't mean she wasn't there, per se... "I passed through the orchard on my way into town. Didn't linger; no reason to. The ranch itself is deserted – the farmhouse empty, not even golems inside. The barn is... closed." He drew the word out longer than he should have, in a way that unsettled Twilight. "What's especially curious, though, is what's behind the barn." His gaze turned to Snake. "A vehicle of some sort. Not owned by the farm, I don't think – not a carriage or a tractor. A metal wagon encased in a metal shell. Looked to me like an automobile." Snake and Twilight exchanged a look of uncertainty. She wasn't sure to what extent she trusted the Operator; she was reasonably sure that Snake didn't trust him at all. "Did you see any distinctive markings?" Snake asked. "There was something painted on one of the doors," he said. "An alicorn, and a rather somber one, at that. Bore a striking resemblance to the younger princess." The Pegasus Wings sigil. Twilight's heart skipped. "Maybe it has something to do with your lost friend. Maybe it doesn't. You might want to look into it all the same." The Operator inclined his head to Snake, then to Twilight. "This is farewell. I doubt we'll meet again." He turned and bounded away, rounding the corner of the general store and passing out of sight. "Might have mentioned this before," Snake grumbled. "But I really don't like that guy." "He knew what you were." Twilight looked up at Snake. "He called you 'human'." "Caught that, did you? And the way he talked made it sound like he knew Macbeth, too." He snorted. "Spies. Doesn't matter what world; they always get off on their own enigma." The fragile blossom of hope that the Operator's news had given Twilight now had to contend with a cold dread gnawing at her insides. The Princess gave him a mission, and that mission led him here – to a ghost town filled with bloodthirsty monsters created by black magic. Something is terribly wrong in Equestria. Something besides the human invasion. "We shouldn't stay here any longer," said Snake. "I don't know how long the fire's gonna stay confined to that one building." He looked at Twilight. "This ranch he mentioned. Do you know the way?" Twilight nodded. "Can you make it?" Snake asked. "Yeah." Twilight licked her lips. "Not a problem." Drained and exhausted as they were, the two made decent time into the cherry orchard. When they passed beneath the cool shade of the leaves overhead, Snake came to a halt and braced one arm against a thick, gnarly tree trunk. "Nothing following us?" Twilight glanced behind herself and saw no sign of pursuit. She said as much to Snake, who nodded. "Alright. Take five." He pressed his back against the tree and slid to his bottom, sighing. Twilight trotted to his side and fell to her haunches with an equally weighty sigh. Snake rubbed the bite on his forearm. It had partially closed already, but blood still trickled from it. "That bite was pretty nasty," Twilight remarked. "Hmm? Oh, yeah." He glanced at his wound, then back at Twilight. "Not the worst I've ever had. Nanomachines should have patched it up by now though." Twilight blinked. "Whose machines?" "Never mind." Snake sighed. "Minor injuries like that typically heal pretty quick on me. Cuts, scrapes, bruises." "But not bites." Snake muttered a curse and a word she didn't recognize, and shook his head. "Probably ought to clean and dress this." He reached into a pouch on his belt and produced the half-empty whiskey bottle and the old dishrag he'd found on the bar. "FLIM-FLAM BROTHERS' FINE PREMIUM SPIRITS," read the label on the bottle, accompanied by two smiling unicorns posing back-to-back. Twilight raised an eyebrow. "Don't give me that look," said Snake. "I was going to make an incendiary device with these. Left my grenades at the library this morning before we went to the hospital." "But you remembered to bring that bomb with you?" "Forgot to take it out of my pocket," Snake muttered. He sounded almost bashful. "Hey, you really gonna complain?" "No, no. Just funny, that's all." Really, she was more upset at the injustice of something with the Flim-Flam brothers' names on it surviving a fire that eliminated an entire saloon full of far better liquor. Snake pulled the cork free, set it aside, and raised the bottle over his left arm. He hesitated long enough to clench his jaw, and poured a generous amount of whiskey over his bite, letting out a muted groan as the liquor ran into and over his wound. His grip around the bottle tightened. When he'd emptied the bottle down to a quarter, he set it down, sighing heavily, and reached for the rag again. Twilight caught it with her magic and held it up before he could take it. She gently pressed the rag against the bite on his arm and wound it tightly, tying its ends together into a perfectly cinched knot. Snake seemed taken by surprise, but he muttered his gratitude all the same. Twilight smiled back at him joylessly and lay on her belly, curling her legs beneath her body. The grass, kept out of the heat by the shade, felt cool and comforting against her coat. Sunlight peeked through the leaves and branches overhead, dappling the orchard in yellow light. It was still the afternoon – the sun hadn't even started to descend yet. The pink cherry blossoms overhead drifted in the air, caught by the breeze, and the sweet smell of fruit tickled her nose. It struck her – and not for the first time – how beautiful Cherry Jubilee's land was, how peaceful and picturesque. The only thing marring the beauty of her surroundings was the thick column of black smoke on the hill in the distance. Were it not for that, and for the stress of the situation, she might have nodded off then and there. All that beauty meant nothing to her, though. Half the day was gone, and it felt like she hadn't made any headway toward solving any of the myriad problems that had come up. But the news about the vehicle – the first sign of any human presence – had given her some cause to hope. She didn't see it as particularly likely that the Operator would mislead them; he may have been a callous jerk, but they were all on the same side, and he didn't stand to gain from sending them on another wild goose chase. Even if he were the type, his description of the vehicle was too specific, too close to Pegasus Wings' heraldry and aesthetic. The odds of it being coincidental were nil. Maybe Trenton had brought Rainbow Dash to Dodge. Maybe she was alive. Maybe the trip hadn't been a colossal waste of her time. Or maybe she was setting herself up for yet another disappointment – another trap, and another tragedy. Maybe she was a great big fool after all. "Fool's hope," Rarity's voice whispered. "The best that we can do." You deserved better, Rarity. You all did. The bottle of liquor was suddenly thrust in front of her face. She blinked, startled, refocused her vision on it and the leering faces of Flim and Flam on its label, and looked up at Snake. The corner of one of his lips was turned upward, so slightly as to be almost imperceptible. A smile gradually spread across Twilight's face. A chuckle built in her chest, and exploded into peals of laughter. She placed a hoof on the bottle, over his hand, and pushed it gently away. Not the time, and not the place. But damned if it wasn't tempting. Even Flim and Flam's bathtub moonshine sounds appealing after a day like this. And that thought just made her laugh even harder. Yesterday had ground her to a nub; today had worn that nub down to a quark. The town was a graveyard, the train a mausoleum, the saloon a crematorium, and they'd barely escaped from Dodge proper with their lives. Yet faced with impossible odds and and an ever-rising pile of failures, Twilight Sparkle found that all she could do was laugh.

Posh

436

Main 6,Other,Twilight Sparkle,Crossover,Human,Adventure,Dark,Metal Gear,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic,Death,Violence

Pony Gear Solid

Solid Snake teams up with ponies to save Equestria, and gradually learns to love it.

incomplete

<p>Metal Gear has fallen into the hooves of an Equestrian revolutionary, who, with the backing of his human mercenary allies, intends to use it to depose Celestia and crown himself ruler. Having crossed into Equestria in pursuit of this rogue weapon, the legendary Solid Snake must ally with the residents of Ponyville to prevent a nuclear catastrophe.</p><p>See also <a href="/story/369125/equestria-gear-solid-the-definitive-experience" rel="nofollow"><i>Equestria Gear Solid</i></a><i>,</i> the hilarious spin-off EQG parody in which everything you know is wrong, and every single character from the story is an awful caricature of themselves. </p><p><a href="http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/FanFic/PonyGearSolid" rel="nofollow">Now with its own TVtropes page!</a></p>

teen

2016-08-30T00:08:57+00:00

2017-01-26T17:50:04+00:00

"So don't let me become the one you love 'Cause I'll just take your blood and use you up" Fruit farmers were meticulous in their theming, in Twilight's experience. Just as apples, or depictions of apples, could be found everywhere and on everything at Sweet Apple Acres, so too were cherries emblazoned on Cherry Hill Ranch's signage and structures. A sign in front of the barn greeted visitors with a pair of ripe, plump, ruby-red cherries. An enlarged, horizontally flipped version of the same image was stamped halfway up a silo behind the barn, all to loudly announce "HERE BE CHERRIES" to customers and workers alike. And who wouldn't need to be bombarded with cherry imagery to figure out what's grown here? Not like there's a cherry orchard literally within walking distance. No wonder Cherry Jubilee and Applejack had bonded at that rodeo. Also behind the barn was an automobile, painted pale blue and emblazoned with Pegasus Wings's baleful alicorn on its driver's-side and passenger's doors. It was big, even by human proportions, with thick tires, a cabin tapering down from a protruding rear section, and bits of armor plating stuck to its front and sides. On its roof was a hole big enough to fit a human torso through, and an empty notch where something was clearly meant to be mounted. Snake identified the car as a "Humvee". The name was silly, and merited a laugh, but Twilight had gotten all her giggles out in the cherry orchard, and had none left to spare. Hitched to the back of the car, above the rear bumper, was a motorcycle, all polished black and chrome, with the word Triumph emblazoned in flowing script. "And a damn nice one, at that," Snake remarked. "Vintage 1960s." He leaned over to examine it, running his hands over the glossy finish. "The car, I can understand, but this... What the hell is this doing out here with it?" "Back-up vehicle, maybe?" said Twilight. "Just in case something goes wrong with the, er... 'Humvee?'" Snake shrugged. He patted the leather seat, let his hand linger there, then pushed away and looked at Twilight. "Let's open up the car, see what we find. Front doors. You take the left." He drew his pistol and rounded the right side of the Humvee Twilight went left, to the frontmost door on her side. The handle was too far above her head to reach with her hooves – she would have to use her magic to trick it open. She paused look at the logo first, her head tilted and her eyes squinting. Huh. It does look like Princess Luna. Twilight wrapped her aura around the handle, counted down from three, and flung the door open; on the other side of the car, Snake did the same, and they saw each other through the open cabin. Snake scanned the interior, his pistol gripped in his right hand and his finger away from the trigger. When he was satisfied that the car was empty, he nodded to Twilight, holstered his gun, and climbed inside. Twilight did the same, although it took a little more doing for her than for Snake. She managed to place her forehooves on the driver's seat, and she pulled herself up and into the car with a grunt of effort. The interior was spacious and roomy, with comfortable seats and luxurious upholstery that seemed a misfit for a troop transport. Between the two seats was a black column – a rifle, propped vertically on its stock in a rack – and in front of the driver's seat was a wheel. Twilight immediately recognized it as a steering mechanism. And those pedals down on the floor are for acceleration and deceleration. The little stick thingies between the seats must be the hand brake and the gear shift, and these gauges and buttons on the console... Some of them she could intuit; the fuel gauge was easy enough to find. Others she couldn't understand at a glance. The student in Twilight wanted to fiddle with the buttons until she understood their precise function. Then again, that could cause more harm than good. "Hello," Snake murmured to her right. "What have we here?" Twilight glanced in his direction to see him reach for the rifle and remove it from the rack. Visually, the gun reminded her of the rifles she'd seen humans carrying, but its configuration and aesthetic were quite different. Where the other rifles of that type had brown, wooden furniture, this one was sleek black plastic and metal, with a skeletal stock attached to the rest of the gun by a hinge. The barrel was shorter, and tipped with a fat cylinder that didn't look like an integral part of the gun. Twilight took it for a suppressor, like the one Snake's tranquilizer pistol had. "What'cha got there?" she asked. "MRS-4. Haven't seen one of these since my mercenary days." He chuckled. "Arms Material. Discount guns for the less-fortunate soldier of fortune." "What does that mean?" Snake ejected the gun's magazine and pulled back the bolt, sending an unspent round spinning through the air, then rested the gun underneath his armpit, holding the barrel in his hand. "Arms Material was a gun manufacturer a few decades ago. They made their living selling unlicensed derivatives, mostly to mercenary forces that couldn't afford better. Got sued into oblivion by FN Herstal over their MRS series." He waved the gun's barrel for emphasis. "Figures that Pegasus Wings would get their hands on 'em, given what we've seen of their resources so far." "Hm." Twilight tapped the fuel gauge with the tip of her hoof. The needle remained stuck on Empty. "So what's it doing sitting in a car in the middle of nowhere like this?" "On-site procurement means you never question why a gun is wherever it is. I'm not gonna look this gifthorse in the mouth." Snake eyed the weapon's barrel suspiciously. "Be a hell of a thing if it's I.D. locked, though." Twilight was about to ask what "I.D. locked" meant before she caught herself. Get Snake talking about guns, and for all you know, he'll never shut up about them. "I'm not seeing anything significant on my end," said Twilight. "What about yourself? Besides your new toy, I mean." The remark prompted Snake to set the rifle down on the passenger's seat and start rummaging around his side of the car. There was a compartment on the dashboard; he popped it open, stuck his hand inside, and retrieved two spare magazines that looked like they'd fit his rifle. "Besides your new toy and ammo for it," Twilight clarified. Snake ignored her, pocketed the magazines, and stuck his head into the car's hoofwell. Or "footwell," I suppose. "I'll be damned," he muttered. "What is it?" asked Twilight. "There a whole pile of discount guns down there?" Snake rose from the footwell and looked at Twilight, his face showing no sign that the joke so much as registered. Silently, he lifted something from beneath the car's seat and held it out for inspection. Twilight's breath hitched at the sight of the cyan feather. "She was here." Snake's voice carried a note of surprise. "Good thing I didn't have money on it." A pink aura shimmered around the feather and gently pulled it out of Snake's hand. Twilight held it up to eye level and spun it slowly in the air. She tried to think of something analytical to say, some insight that would give them a clue as to what had happened, something that would magically lead them to find Rainbow Dash alive and well But the only thing that ran through her mind was an infinite loop of you're here you're here you're here you're here you're here. She set the feather in her hoof and held it tightly against her chest, shutting her eyes. I'm so, so sorry for thinking that you weren't. "Hey. Are you still with me?" Twilight blinked back nascent tears and set the feather down on the driver's seat. "Just needed a moment." She backed out of the car and shut the door with her magic, then circled around to the rear bumper. Snake joined her presently, leaning against the right side of the bumper, the motorcycle's length between him and Twilight. He reloaded the rifle he found, raised it to shoulder level, and aimed at a spot off in the distance. With a squeeze of the trigger, it emitted a muffled pop, and an empty casing flew from the side of the gun. Snake lowered it and gave the receiver a cursory glance before nodding with satisfaction. "Having fun?" asked Twilight. Her voice was a little higher, a little thicker, than normal. She cleared her throat. "Just giving it a spin. Should work fine." Snake flicked on the rifle's safety and leaned against the back of the Humvee, resting his butt on its bumper. "Guns like this always make me nostalgic." He leveled the gun at the ground and aimed down the sights, and for half a heartbeat, he looked ten years younger to Twilight. "Yeah." Snake smiled faintly. "Just like old times." Twilight allowed a hint of a mischief to ply the corner of her lip. "I'm so happy you managed to make a friend on this trip, Snake." Snake returned the smirk before resuming his typical expression of stoicism. "Alright, enough of that now. So we've got an answer to the question of whether or not Rainbow Dash was ever here. That's all well and good, but it also raises further questions." He gazed across the farm, to the nearby cherry orchard. Questions like "where did she go?" and "why isn't there any trace of whoever brought her here?" The car was sitting abandoned behind the barn of a deserted cherry farm, part of a town beset by soulless monstrosities who used to be the town's residents. That wasn't lost on Twilight at all. "I suppose you'll want to search the ranch," said Snake. "You disagree?" "Now that we have a shred of evidence, and we're not hoping we get lucky?" Snake tucked the rifle's stock beneath his left armpit and scratched his bandage idly. "Someone came out here, someone brought Rainbow Dash out here, and someone specifically challenged us to meet them out here. We get here, we find the town populated by zombies—" "Golems." "And besides their mode of transportation and a single blue feather, we don't find any sign of the person who wanted us out here in the first place." Snake didn't break his stride on account of Twilight's interruption. "No, the situation's changed. We should stick around a while." She gave him a grateful look and nodded. "Glad we're on the same page." For once. "Let's be sure about that." Snake's hardened gaze fell on her. "Because even with that evidence, there are still more unknowns here than I'd like there to be. Signs indicate that she was here, and that, if nothing else, someone from Pegasus Wings was too." "Trenton?" "Safe bet. But not a certainty." His gaze flitted down to the rifle briefly. "Trenton had to have something in mind when he sent that balloon, some idea of how things were going to go down. Let's assume that, whatever his original plan was, he scuttled it when he got here and saw Dodge in its current state. If I were him, I'd do what I could to scout the place out, get the lay of the land. So let's say he drives out here, parks the car behind the barn, and reconnoiters the area." "And if he was smart," said Twilight, "he would have brought Rainbow with him, to keep an eye on her. Whatever her injuries, there's no way she'd let them stop her from making some kind of escape attempt. Trenton wouldn't give her the opportunity to do that." Snake chewed his lip. "Alright. So now it's a matter of retracing their footsteps and picking up a trail." He cursed. "Tracking. Not my strong suit." "If it helps," said Twilight, "there are a couple of obvious places we can eliminate. The house, the barn..." "Uh-huh. The house is empty; the barn is closed." Snake scowled. "Or so we were told." "You don't believe that... uh, the 'Operator...' was telling the truth?" "I'm not taking a word from him at face value. He's an intelligence operative, and I distrust those on general principal." He turned his head and spat. "Spies. Never come right out and say what you mean when you can settle for dropping a vague hint and watching people chase their own asses trying to solve it." "Starting to sense some hostility here, Snake." Snake glowered at her. "Don't get cute." Why the hay not, Mr. In-Point-Of-Fact-Neither-Of-Us-Is-Standing? While she saw his point – there was a lot about the Operator that made her skin crawl, not the least of which was that niggling familiarity – the fact remained that he worked for the Princess; he was in Dodge on her business. That alone meant that they were on the same side, that they could trust one another... right? The burden of being a smart pony – you never know if your paranoia is justified, or if it's just your healthily active imagination running rampant. "He knew a lot more than he was telling us." Snake pointed with the barrel of his rifle, first at the barn, then at the not-so-distant knoll where Cherry's white farmhouse stood. "There's got to be something in one of those that's worth seeing." "Fair enough," said Twilight. "And even if we don't find any sign of Rainbow, we might stumble upon some survivors of whatever happened in town. Cherry Jubilee, maybe." Snake looked perplexed. "That a name, or a dessert?" "The owner of the ranch. I didn't see her out in Dodge during the fight. Maybe she survived out here." Snake sighed in disapproval. "Twilight..." "I know, I know." Twilight raised one hoof placatingly. "But Cherry's a friend. I'm not saying that we throw everything else away, but I can't go looking for Rainbow Dash on her land and not keep an eye out for her too." For a moment, Twilight thought that Snake would press the issue, but instead of the counterargument she was expecting, he let out another sigh. "Fine. But make no mistake, we've got enough problems to manage without adding a second goddamn search-and-rescue mission on top of everything else. If we find Rainbow Dash without ever finding this other friend of yours, then we're calling it a day." Twilight let herself relax. She truly wasn't sure what they'd do if they were once again at odds. "Alright." Snake was silent for a moment before continuing. "One more thing we need to be clear on." He pushed off from the bumper and stood at his full height, looming over Twilight, and thumped the car's rear with his fist. "I'm pretty sure I can hotwire this into running. Provided there's enough fuel for the trip, we could probably ride it all the way back to Ponyville." He glanced up at the sun and squinted. "I'll give it 'til sunset. If we don't find anything by then..." The unspoken suggestion raised her ire again – apparently, Snake was going to insist on staying at loggerheads over this. "I thought you said that things have changed now." "They have," said Snake. "But not so much that I'm willing to compromise the mission on account of a damn feather. We have a clue and a sense of direction, but if it looks like it's going nowhere, then I'm pulling the plug and we're going back." "You can," Twilight said, pivoting toward him. "But I'm not going anywhere until I find my friend." Dead or alive, she might have added. "And is that what she would want from you?" Snake's voice remained level and cool. "In the castle, when she was pinned under that rubble, she told you to forget about her, to take Spike and run. You know her better than I do, so correct me if I'm wrong, but that doesn't sound like someone who'd want you to endanger your town and your other friends on her account." Twilight opened her mouth to retort, and found she had nothing to say. The answer, of course, was no. Rainbow Dash could be pig-headed and self-centered, but her ironclad loyalty meant she displayed a startling sense of selflessness where her friends were concerned. Would she expect Twilight to try everything in her power to find and rescue her? No doubt. Would she want Twilight to do that if it meant compromising their friends, their home, their very country? Not for her sake. She's too noble for that. Snake turned away, toward the barn, and lifted the rifle. "Think it over. For now, let's eliminate the obvious." The big, double-doored front entrance to the barn was closed tight, but to the right was another door, smaller and pony-sized. Gripping his new rifle in his right hand, Snake knelt, reached out with his left hand, and gave the door a tentative push. It shook, but didn't open. "Feels like it's barred from the inside. Ugh, my kingdom for a P.A.N. card." He pressed his hand against the door again and leaned against it. "You know, if it's bolted from the inside..." Twilight lowered her voice. "Wouldn't that suggest that there's somepony inside to bar it?" "Pretty hard to lock a door from the inside when you're on the other side of it. At least, in my experience." Snake returned his left hand to the support the gun's barrel and glanced at her. "Couldn't a unicorn do that though?" "Theoretically? Sure. But using levitation to manipulate an object without a clear line of sight is tricky business, especially if you're physically separated from it by some great distance, or even something as simple as a door. Bolting a door shut from the other side of it would require clear recollection of all the objects involved in the action, from the door, to the bolt itself, even the—" "I get it, thanks," said Snake, ignoring Twilight's frown at being interrupted. "Either way, this door's pretty solid. I don't see myself kicking it down." One of his hands drifted to a pouch on his belt. "Still got some C4, though. I could always blast it open." "Or," said Twilight, indelicately shouldering past Snake. "You could save it for something more important." Her horn shimmered. As arduous as the day had been, as taxing on her energy reserves as the fight in Dodge was, she could still manage a shockwave spell with sufficient force to break down a barn door. "Hang on." Behind her, Snake knelt, and braced his rifle against his shoulder. Twilight could just barely make out the end of his suppressor in her peripheral vision. He was covering her, of course, which was smart, and she was used to him carrying and pointing guns all over the place, beside or behind or in front of her – not that she especially liked having guns around, but she'd acclimated. Still, having the end of the gun that the bullets came out of so close to her head made her skin feel all prickly. "Alright," he said quietly. "Go for it." The ball of light appeared, collapsed, and burst outward again with a sound like thunder; the door shattered into a conical burst of splinters that shotgunned into the barn. Her aura sparked around her horn again, and another light shone from the tip – a simple lighting spell this time. Immediately, she could tell that something was wrong with the barn, something dreadfully wrong that puzzled and unnerved her. A familiar combination of anxiety and adrenaline flushed through her system. Behind her, Snake grunted. "Don't barns usually have floors?" It was an impertinent question, but a correct observation. By the pink light of her aura, Twilight could see that the floor of the barn was now an ovular pit, its sides slick and black, yet tinged a sickly green. It didn't fill the whole floor; the barn's interior was rectangular, and its corners – including the corner in front of her – still had islands of earth jutting over the pit, their edges curved inward. At the bottom of the pit was a multicolored mist that swirled with different hues, red and yellow, blue and orange, green and white and purple and pink. The sight of it made Twilight's burgeoning anxiety burgeon even more – there was something disturbing about it, perverted, unnatural. Sweat beaded on her brow, and tickled her skin as it slid down her face. Snake didn't look like he was feeling it; he was stolid as ever as he took in the barn's interior. There was just enough room for the two of them to stand inside the barn together, though rather closer than she would have preferred. Twilight tried to ignore her companion's uncomfortable proximity and craned her head down, narrowing the light from her aura into a thin beam of white, and casting its glow into the pit in front of her. The fog was dense, impenetrable by her light, but as she swept her light from one side of the pit to the other, she came to an unsettling realization. "This pit is perfectly symmetrical," she announced to Snake. "The walls, the curve of the ellipse, the slope of the pit's sides... its geometric dimensions are exact." "I don't know what's funnier, that someone went to all the trouble of digging a perfectly symmetrical hole, or that you can figure that out at a glance. " Snake sounded amused. Twilight wasn't. She swallowed. "I don't think this was 'dug out.' Not with shovels, anyway. This was done with magic." "By a unicorn? Someone like you?" Snake asked. He knelt at the very edge of the pit and gazed inside, his eyes tracking the movement of Twilight's spotlight, and his rifle's barrel resting against his shoulder. "Yeah. A very gifted and disciplined unicorn, with extraordinary focus. Powerful, too, to make that much mass just poof away." To anypony who could have created that mess in Dodge, something like this would probably be a cakewalk. "Hey, Twilight." Snake pointed at a spot below the barn's main door, several feet to their left. "Shine your light over there. Looks like some kind of a—" His sentence became a cry of surprise as the ground beneath his front foot gave suddenly, and he fell forward. Twilight shouted his name and leaped toward him, hoof extended for him to catch, before realizing that she hadn't secured herself to anything. Gravity pulled them down together; they rolled in a tangled ball of hooves and hands and feet and firearms down the side of the pit. Snake struck the bottom with a thud and a grunt and a squish, releasing his grip on Twilight's hoof on impact. Twilight landed on top of him, sprawling across his chest and shoulders. His body, partially obscured beneath the layer of fog, cushioned her, but she ached in a dozen places from the trip to the bottom of the pit. Still, judging by the way Snake was groaning, he got the worse end of it. "You okay?" Twilight smacked her lips, tasting blood – she must have bitten herself. That'll canker up nicely. She placed her forehooves on either side of him; the ground felt light and spongy. The fog shifted around her legs, swallowing them up to the fetlock. Twilight lifted her top half off of Snake's body, concerned about pressing down on him with too much of her weight. "Back hurts," groaned Snake, bracing his elbows on the ground and lifting his torso slightly. "And I landed in something wet. Not mud – texture's all wrong." He rose until his head was of a height with Twilight's, their faces awkwardly close together. Snake narrowed his eyes. "Wanna move?" "Ah, heh... sorry." Twilight scurried backward off of him, her hooves throwing up wisps and puffs of fog. Snake rose ponderously to his feet, cracking his neck. His sides and shoulders and front and... heck, his whole body... was covered in translucent green gunk that sloughed off in thick, snotty ropes. Snake looked himself over and stretched his arms to his sides, and that formed a thin membrane of gunk connecting his elbows with his ribs, making him faintly resemble a flying squirrel. Snake looked at either arm and made a disgusted sound. "Yeah. Definitely landed in something wet." He glanced at the rifle, which was similarly caked in goo, and grunted. "I really hope this thing doesn't jam after this. Cheap-ass Arms Material garbage..." Twilight raised one of her hooves to her mouth to hide a smirk, only for it to die when she saw a strand of the same mucousy substance connecting her hoof with the ground. "Guh!" She flailed her hoof to shake the mucous off, and the strand whipped back and forth in the air with every movement. "Gross gross gross gross ew ew ew ew ew ew!" Snake watched, chuckling. Twilight glared at him; her horn flashed, and her magic scraped the substance off her hoof, flinging it back to the ground. "What is this stuff, anyway?" she muttered. Her horn shimmered and a gust of air blew a hole in the layer of fog beneath her. She aimed her light through the hole. There was more green gunk coating the ground, but it was covering something something else, the spongy carpet that Twilight was starting to realize was not just more earth. Twilight's horn flashed again, and a gust of wind blew through the barn, displacing the fog and tossing Snake's bandanna around his head. Ignoring his annoyed cry of surprise, Twilight peered closer at the surface she was standing on. Beneath her hoof was a triangular flap of jet-black something that was coated in green gunk. Other flaps lay draped across the pit, all radiating out from a central point in the middle. Twilight lifted one of the flaps with her magic; it was surprisingly light, considering its size. The bottom half was smudged with dirt, but she could see the same jet-black coloration, tinted slightly green by a film of mucous that had seeped beneath it. Twilight probed it with her hoof, and it gave beneath her, squishing inward. It had a different texture to it than what she was standing on, though. The surface beneath her hooves was spongy; this was firmer, more rubbery, still soft, but with less give. It felt like a hard-boiled— Oh dear. Oh dear oh dear oh dear. "This was an egg." "An egg? What do you..." Snake trailed off as his eyes caught sight of something behind Twilight. He shifted his body and raised the rifle to his shoulder again. "So, about what I was saying before we fell..." Twilight looked at what had captured his attention. Her ears folded with dismay. Behind her, running directly underneath the barn's big double-doors, was the yawning mouth of a cave, its highest point maybe inches taller than Snake. And, unlike the smooth walls of the pit, this one had scratches and furrows running along its sides and roof. The pit had been dug out using magic. This tunnel had just plain been dug out. "You think whatever hatched from this egg did that?" Snake asked, his voice dropping to something a few decibels above a whisper. "I don't know. I don't want to know." Twilight backed away slowly. "I'd really just like to leave now please." "No argument here. Walls are slick, but not too steep. With enough of a running start, I think we can climb 'em." "Right. Right. Okay." Twilight swallowed. "On the count of three?" "Every time we do that, something bad happens," growled Snake. "Let's skip that step this time." She almost laughed – Snake's superstition was cute. She dug her hooves into the ground, coiled her legs— And a low, droning buzz from the tunnel entrance made her freeze. There was an indistinct shape just past the mouth of the cave, where nothing had been just moments before. Twilight swept her light at the source of the noise, and saw something hanging in the air: a familiar creature, insectoid and equine at the same time. Black chitin covered its body instead of a furry coat, and its eyes were blue and spherical. Gossamer wings buzzed blurrily, suspending it in the air, and its limbs dangled limply beneath the rest of its body. She heard the click of Snake flicking off the rifle's safety. "The hell is that?" "A changeling," whispered Twilight. "Why...?" Snake grunted softly. "Don't suppose it's friendly?" "Let's find out." Twilight raised her voice to address the changeling. "We didn't come here looking for a fight. We're just trying to find our friend, okay? Do you understand me?" The changeling's glassy eyes rolled toward Twilight, seeing her, yet looking through her. Its mouth drooped open, and green, foamy saliva dripped from wickedly pointed fangs. A familiar gurgling sound escaped its throat. Twilight met its gaze and sucked in a shocked breath. Those eyes. The changelings she remembered from Canterlot had beady, blue-green eyes. They had no pupils or irises, yet they were vivid in color, and expressive. There was shrewdness behind them, intelligence, maybe even emotion. But these eyes were dull, lifeless, and pale. They were sallow orbs of faint blue, bulging wide against an expressionless face, showing no intelligence or feeling. And Twilight couldn't help noting how similar the color was to the desaturated coat of the mindless stallion who had staggered down the saloon steps after her. "Snake." Twilight backed away a step, her heart hammering. "I think that changeling's been bled!" The changeling let loose a feral snarl and flew toward Twilight, jaws wide. Snake fired twice, catching it its middle with both rounds. Green fluid sprayed in the air, and chips of its carapace flew from the point of impact. Its body jackknifed and dropped to the ground, where it lay invisible beneath the fog cover. The brief silence that followed was broken almost immediately by dozens of pairs of gossamer wings beating at once, and a column of airborne changeling golems shot toward them from the mouth of the cave. "Run," Snake snapped. "I'll cover you!" Twilight ran – no, she galloped. The pops and hisses of Snake's suppressed gunfire were lost beneath the drone of the swarm's wings, but she could still hear the sounds of bullets shredding through them, and their bodies dropping to the ground. Snake's fire kept the changelings' attention squarely on him as Twilight reached the edge of the pit. Her hooves scraped against the walls, and momentum carried her up, tossing clumps and bunches of dirt with every flailing step. She was halfway up, her exit almost in reach, before her hindhoof slipped and she skidded down the slope, her hooves scrabbling vainly. The exit receded, farther and farther, and Twilight cursed herself, wishing she had something, anything, to bring herself closer to it. A rope, a ladder, some tool, some way to go from one spot to anoth— She felt like hitting herself. Twilight Sparkle, you utter one hundred percent FOOL. Pink-white light filled Twilight's vision, and she felt the familiar sensation of weightlessness as her mass passed through the ether. An instant later, she materialized back on the on the spot of land beside the barn entrance, looking down into the pit. She whirled, her aura alive, and saw Snake backpedaling rapidly, emptying his magazine into the oncoming swarm of changelings. Many fell. Not enough. The bullets keeping the golems at bay cut off when the magazine ran dry. Snake roared as they came within striking distance, catching the nearest changeling with an elbow. Then he was backpedaling again, his left hand fumbling at his holster for his pistol. With a silent apology for her stupidity, Twilight focused her aura on Snake, and he vanished and reappeared beside her, his pistol halfway drawn. The column of changelings kept on traveling forward, and slammed into the back wall of the pit. Snake blinked, looked himself over, looked at Twilight, and looked at her horn. He slid his pistol back into his holster. "Huh. Forgot you could do that." "Yeah, join the club!" she snapped. They quickly made their exit from the barn, back into the heat of the frontier summer. With no door left to close, and nothing to cast an adhesive spell upon, Twilight settled for tossing up a magic barrier in the door frame, sealing off the barn in time for the column to regroup and throw itself against the transparent pink shield. A bruise formed at the changelings' point of contact. Snake swapped out his magazines, loaded a new round, and leveled the rifle at the door in anticipation of the barrier falling. Then the main door exploded outward, and a second column of changelings sallied forth, sweeping toward Snake and Twilight. Twilight dropped the pointless shield at the barn and recast it as a sphere around herself and Snake. Both columns of golems came to a halt inches away from striking it, and shot into the air, coalescing into a swollen, buzzing ball directly above the barrier. "Well," said Twilight. "This is eerily familiar." Snake sat; he curled his legs so that his knees pointed upward, reclined as far back as he could inside the barrier, and aimed his rifle toward the sky. "I still have some C4 left. I'll plant it here; you teleport us away the instant they hit the barrier, then you drop it before they have a chance to regroup. I set off the bomb, and we take out a bunch of them at once." "And then?" "We find out if I have enough bullets for the rest of them." Gallows humor. She could practically feel the hemp around her neck. "Do we count to three?" Snake looked sidelong at her. "Fair enough," she said. The center of the ball began protruding downward, forming a stalactite poised directly above the middle of Twilight's shield. The changeling at the very tip met Twilight's gaze with its own; its eyes flashed, and for a split second, Twilight saw a sneer of contempt on its muzzle. It opened its mouth and screeched, green spittle spraying onto her barrier. Twilight tensed. Beside her, she heard rustling as Snake reached into his pocket for another bomb. She held the gaze of the changeling above her, defiant. Her eye contact was broken suddenly when a shiny blur slammed into the changeling at the tip of the spike from behind. It sailed over the barrier, arced downward, and slammed the changeling into the dirt, skidding with it and coming to a halt. "That's a—" Snake rose to a kneel, gawking at the new arrival. "A pegasus?!" Rainbow Dash! But that hope died as soon as Twilight glimpsed the sun glinting off the burnished gold armor encasing the pegasus's body, the matching greathelm covering her head, the crest of red feather crowning it, the butt of the spear curled under her right foreleg, and the brown saddlebags marked with a blazing sun and a waxing moon. A smile broke across Twilight's face – it wasn't Rainbow Dash, but it was a welcome sight regardless. "She's with the Royal Guard! The others must have gotten a message to the Princess!" The first pegasus was quickly followed by a massive wedge of shining gold that thrust into the center of the changelings' stalactite, severing their formation in two. The wedge broke and engaged both groups of changelings, encircling them and cutting them off from one another. The air was filled with battle cries and sprays of green as they thrust and jabbed and stabbed with their lances. The golems fought ferociously, but they were on the defensive, caught off guard by the impetus of the pegasi's charge. The guardsponies fought relentlessly, showing no signs of breaking. They were tough, well-trained, and well-drilled. And, most importantly, they outnumbered the changelings. "Hey! Sister!" The pegasus who had led the charge hovered above Twilight's barrier, her lance smeared green from the head halfway down the haft. Her words were muffled by her greathelm. "Why don'tcha put that horn to use?" Then she spread her wings and soared into the melee. Why not? The barrier collapsed into a flickering light at the tip of Twilight's horn. Firing wildly into the thickest fighting seemed a poor idea, so she picked her targets more carefully, aiming bolts at stragglers, at golems who became separated from the melee, who tried to withdraw and regroup. Her attacks weren't charged enough to kill, but they stunned and staggered the golems long enough for Snake to finish them off. He fired in bursts of one, two, three rounds that blew Twilight's targets out of the sky without missing once. Golems dropped like hailstones, splattering against the ground, some twitching, some not. Twilight avoided looking at them whenever she could, keeping her mind as focused as possible on picking her targets and firing. Fire. Stun. Fire again. They're not alive. They don't feel pain. They're mindless. You're doing them a favor. What is death but a kindness? She fired, stunned a golem, and rifle rounds shredded its head and body until it dropped from the sky, struck the ground, and spasmed in its death throes. If this is kindness, then I have no stomach for it. A mass of changelings separated from the melee, a ragged stream of ten or twelve. Most were wounded, some perhaps fatally, but they clung together all the same. They formed a tight wedge and shot toward the nearby orchard, vanishing past the treeline in seconds. Above, the Royal Guard finished off the last of their brethren, their green-smeared spearheads glinting in the sun with each thrust. A tactical retreat. They're providing a diversion while a small number of them withdraw into the orchard. The Operator was wrong; these golems were nowhere near mindless. This realization did nothing to ease Twilight's sense of guilt. It was over in seconds, and the pegasus with the red crest on her helm dropped lower to the ground, beating her off-white wings to keep herself hovering a few inches in the air. She held her lance in front of her, placed one hoof against its butt, and collapsed the haft into a far more manageable length. She slid it into a notch beneath her saddlebag, where it hung securely against her side. A telescopic spear? That's... kind of ingenious, actually. The mare's forehooves, now free, hooked underneath her helm, and she wrenched it off. Her mane was vermilion, striped with goldenrod on its left side, and plastered to her head and her neck with sweat. Twilight took a step toward her, hooves clinking against the spent cartridges that littered the ground. "You are a sight for sore eyes. Thank you so much for—" Without looking, the mare held up a gunk-covered golden hoof, silencing Twilight. Twilight snorted. She was very tired of being interrupted today. "Alright, fillies and gentlecolts, let's see some ranks in that sky!" the mare barked. The pegasi did as instructed, falling into straight, even columns in the air, ten ponies high and twenty ponies long. "So!" Her back was turned, so she couldn't see the mare's face, but Twilight could hear the grin in her voice. "How was that for a little break in routine, huh? Finally tracked those bugs down, got a chance to get our widdle hoofsies wet. Who's feelin' good about themselves now, huh? Sing it out!" "KILLJOY COMPANY, MA'AM!" their voices boomed in unison. With far less enthusiasm, a single voice droned "Killjoy Company," tacking on a "ma'am" as an afterthought. "That's what I like to hear!" Red Crest kicked off the ground, hovering with powerful strokes of her wings. "And after a long day spent gettin' sand in our feathers and a good fifteen-minute ass-kicking sesh, I'll bet you want nothing more than to tuck in to those delectable G-rations and snuggle up in your bedrolls. Am I right or am I wrong?" "WRONG AS HELL, MA'AM!" "I could go either way, ma'am," called the same dissenter. "That's what I really like to hear," crowed the mare in charge. "So here's what we're gonna do: we're gonna stick eyes and ears in every direction, hunker down, and scour this frickin' ranch like steel wool on a bathtub. Speakin' of, Steel Wool!" "Ma'am?" "Stop whining. It's unsexy. Prince-Blueblood-on-a-bender unsexy." "Yes, ma'am," Steel Wool said, with just a hint of insolence. "So here's today's special!" The mare pointed commandingly at the company. "Teams A and B, spread out along that treeline and keep a close watch. Do not go in. That's C-Team's job. C, scout the orchard. Nice and easy, nice and slow. If you encounter the enemy in force, then fall back and regroup with A and B. Clem, keep your ponies from sampling the crops; I frickin' mean it. "D, E, give me a flyover; watch the orchard from the air. Same rule as A and B applies: you do not go in, or I will find the nasty-assiest griffon with the nasty-assiest claws in Griffonstone and personally ensure that she fingerbangs each and every one of your mothers. "The rest of you, you're a-scourin' and a-hunkerin'. F, the town; get a look at those trains. G, the farmhouse. Both of you are responsible for search-and-rescue. You find civvies; you bring 'em back here; if they're injured, stabilize them however you can before regrouping here, and Jingles can give 'em more thorough treatment. You find buggies, you fall the hell back, get reinforcements, and go kick their asses in force. I-team, thanks to your wingmate's bitching, you get the fun duty of poking around inside that barn. That's where this bunch came from, so there's probably an entrance to their hive down there. Find it, watch it, report back to me. Don't go in. Ask D and E what happens if you break that little rule. "And J? Perimeter duty. Get up high, keep your eyes open. You see anything suspicious, sing out." She finally paused. "Questions?" Not a word of reply. "And that is what I really frickin' LOVE to hear: zero backtalk!" Her hooves ping-ping-pinged as she clapped. "Good talk; now do as you're told." "MA'AM!" The pegasi broke into squadrons, flying off to their assigned duties. A thick mob flew toward the orchard in a V-formation, disintegrating into smaller groups and veering apart from one another. Two more groups of twenty each soared toward the barn and the farmhouse; another flew toward Dodge, and the last simply flew straight up, forming a wide ring that rotated slowly in the sky. That left Snake, Twilight, and the mare alone, on a spot of earth littered with changeling corpses and spent cartridges. The mare kept her back to them, though, even as a trembling wing unfurled from her body, tucked into a gap in her armor, pulled something free, and raised it to her lips. She tossed her head back quickly, sighed, and tucked the object away again. Snake and Twilight exchanged a look. He made a gesture with one of his hands, curling his middle three fingers but splaying his thumb and little finger, tilted his head back slightly, and jerked his hand toward his mouth. Twilight raised an eyebrow. Snake held the gesture for several seconds, but eventually dropped his hand to his side with a rumbly sigh. The mare finally turned around, and to Twilight's surprise, was smiling a wide, easy smile that didn't quite reach her amber eyes. "So hey, small world, huh? Who'da thunk I'd run into Shining Armor's kid sis all the way out in the frontier?" So they weren't expecting to find us. Twilight sagged in response to the mare's words. Her hope for rescue or reinforcement diminished, and she exchanged another look with Snake. "Shining Armor?" he mouthed. "Seriously?" She shot him a withering stare before addressing the guardsmare again. "Uh, yes, that's me." She waved. "Hiya." The mare chuckled. "You were best mare at his wedding, right? What was your name? Starlight... Shimmer?" "Twilight Sparkle," she said, in a tone that matched her flat, bemused expression. She did her best to ignore Snake's snicker. The mare laughed. "Close enough? Heh." She kicked off the ground and flapped her way up to Twilight, shifting her greathelm from her right foreleg to her left. "Hell of a night, that wedding. Lot more punching and 'pcheew-pcheew'-ing than I was expecting. Reception wasn't quite as much fun, but the DJ was pretty great." She tilted her head at Twilight curiously. "Come to think of it, didn't you and me make out for, like, fifteen minutes at that thing?" Twilight stiffened, and blushed brightly enough to be seen from orbit. "Excuse me? No! We did not – I did not—" "You sure?" The mare stroked her chin, unintentionally smearing goop across her face. "Because I coulda sworn I made out with some unicorn at that thing, and if it wasn't you, then—" "I. Did not. Make out. With anypony. At my brother's wedding." Twilight said through gritted teeth. "Maybe you should have," Snake muttered. He had his rifle's magazine in his hand and was fiddling idly with the gun's receiver. "A little action might've done wonders for your mood." "Nopony asked for your input!" Twilight yelled, her face burning brighter. Snake didn't so much as look up from his fiddling. "Alright, alright, no harm in checking," said the mare. "Now that I think on it, I'm pretty sure that unicorn was, like… white. Or maybe teal? I was pretty drunk anyway, so my memory is not to be relied on. But just so you know, if you, uh, wanna make up for lost time later—" "Who are you?" Twilight snapped, making the mare recoil in surprise. "Look, I'm grateful and all for the rescue, but despite you knowing me by sight and reputation, I have no idea who you are! So maybe some introductions are in order before you start propositioning me!" "Ah... right," the mare stammered. She fluttered back down to the ground and refolded her wings. "Well, uh..." She coughed, cleared her throat, and grinned again. "You have the honor of addressing the one and only—" "Captain Killjoy!" "Damn it all, Steel Wool!" The one and only Captain Killjoy fumed at a steel-gray pegasus with a shiny silver tail and a pair of lilac-colored eyes. "This better be good." Steel Wool saluted halfheartedly. "The inside of that barn's been dug out completely into this weird, foggy pit. And you were right about there being an entrance to their hive, or whatever. We found a big tunnel." He shrugged. "You didn't notice the egg?" Twilight interjected. Killjoy looked at Twilight over her shoulder. Steel Wool stared blankly at her. "Egg?" they asked at the same time. Twilight looked between their confused faces. "Beneath the fog. You know how the ground's all spongy and rubbery? That's the remains of some kind of egg. Whatever hatched from it dug out that tunnel, most likely." Killjoy whistled, giving Twilight a sly, flirtatious look. "Smart, cute, and she makes my guardsponies look bad. You're just the complete package, aren't you, Sparkle-Sparkle?" Ugh. Twilight cringed. "Egg," Steel Wool scoffed, kicking the dirt and frowning. "Like I'm supposed to know—" "Yes! You are supposed to know what's in the barn! That was literally the job that I gave you and the rest of your screwball team!" Killjoy facehoofed, groaning. "You get half a gold star for finding that hole in the ground, private. Now go stare at it some more before I reinstate corporal punishment all over your ass." She peeked up at him from behind her hoof. "And remember your orders. Or else." "Right. Fingerbanging. Perish the thought." Steel Wool took off back toward the barn. "He's really not a bad kid," Killjoy muttered. "Just needs a personality transplant. In the worst way." She shook her head as she turned back to face Twilight. Her sweaty mane stubbornly refused to uncling from her skin. Twilight rifled through her mental dictionary to find a definition for "fingerbang," but found nothing. Is that, like, when a species with fingers makes a gun shape with its hand and goes "bang"? What kind of punishment is that? "So as I was saying." She tried for another grin. "You're addressing Killjoy of the Canterlot Royal Guard, Aerial Division. Captain Killjoy, if you please." Steel Wool, still in earshot, coughed into his hoof. "Brevet." "I seem to recall dismissing you, private!" Killjoy snapped without turning to look at the other pegasus. Steel Wool fluttered away with a sardonic smirk. Killjoy sighed. "Technically I'm properly addressed as 'Brevet Captain Killjoy'." She added air quotes over 'brevet' with her hooves. "Normally, I'd just be Sergeant Killjoy of the Royal Guard, but Captain Your-Big-Brother booted me up to a temporary officer's commish before he sent us out here. I wanted to be Colonel Killjoy, but apparently our ranking system only goes up to captain. Stupid rule." "How difficult that must be for you," said Twilight. "Ah, it ain't so bad," said Killjoy, missing or ignoring Twilight's sarcasm. "I get a fancier helmet, authority to appoint officers as needed. And you'd be surprised how much tail even a brevet captain can get out here." "None whatsoever?" said Snake. Killjoy's face fell, and she mumbled a string of inarticulate syllables. Twilight felt the urge to hoofbump Snake, alongside the urge to throw poor Killjoy a bone. "Well, whatever your rank, it's a relief to see some friendly faces out here." Even if they're led by a horny drunk. "I gotta ask, though, what's a company of Royal Guardsponies doing out in the middle of the frontier?" Killjoy looked back up with a glint in her eye, and she grinned. "We're huntin' changelings." Snake glanced at the small pile of broken bodies that accumulated beneath the melee. "And how," he muttered. "Any reason why? Or is this some kind of xenophobia thing?" Killjoy twitched an ear. "Hey, they invaded us. They attacked Canterlot a few months ago and almost won, even against the Princess. We're here to stop them from trying that again." "Their queen impersonated my brother's fiancee, Cadance, put him under some kind of mind control, and tried to marry him and take over Equestria," Twilight explained in a quiet voice. "She left Cadance and I for dead in the tunnels beneath Canterlot Castle, and would have gotten away with it if we hadn't escaped and unmasked her." She recalled Cadance's state when they met below the castle, the Queen's callous gloating, and the vacuous stare of her brother on the dais. The thoughts made her simmer with anger. She never wanted that to happen again... yet she couldn't find it in her to want the changelings dead for what they did. A glob of green gunk dripped from the tip of Killjoy's spear and splashed at her hooves. Clearly, Princess, you disagree. Snake looked at Twilight from the corner of his eye, then at Killjoy. "Fair enough. You won't get any judgment from me." "I take that as an apology?" Killjoy's devilish smile returned. "No harm done. Glad you understand." Snake shrugged. The guardsmare cleared her throat and again addressed Twilight. "Rumors floated up to Canterlot about changeling sightings out in the frontier, ever since a few weeks after the wedding. Isolated reports at first, easy to dismiss as jittery settler ponies jumping at their own shadows. Then they started getting more frequent, more specific. Suddenly, they weren't so easy to dismiss, so we were dispatched. Of course, until today, we haven't been able to track down and engage them, but we've seen plenty of their handiwork. Everything between here and Haysweed Swamps is deserted. Homesteads, trading posts... I figured the changelings were making their move out here, pushing west, just a matter of time before they took on Dodge or Appleloosa. Looks to me like I was right, a day late and a bit short." She hung her head. "Don't be too hard on yourself. You did kinda save us just now," said Twilight. Killjoy perked up and winked. "Aw, that was no sweat. The life of a guardspony is one of constant sacrifice and casual heroism. When we're not pacing, of course." She eyed the makeshift bandage around Snake's arm. "Besides, if you don't mind my saying so, you look like you were overdue for a good turn. You both look like crap. Especially you, big guy, no offense." Killjoy beat her wings and fluttered toward Snake. "You got a name?" "Call me Snake." "Solid Snake," Twilight added. "Solid..." A smirk ticked up the corner of Killjoy's lips, and she snickered. "Heh. That means 'penis'." Snake muttered angrily and glared at Twilight, who turned away to hide a small, yet triumphant, grin. Guess "Shining Armor" isn't so silly after all, is it? "So, Solid Dick, tell me – how'd you get this?" Killjoy lifted Snake's forearm in her hooves and pressed her face close to the bandage, drawing in a noisy breath through her nose. Is she... sniffing him? "It's a bite," said Snake, yanking his arm away. "It needed attention. Made do with what I had on hand." "Using a gross rag and..." She breathed deeply, wafting the vapors from the bandage toward her nose with her hooves. "What appears to be corn whiskey. Hardcore, but I think I can do you one better." Killjoy craned her head up to the sky, stuck a hoof into her mouth, and whistled sharply. "Hey! Jinglebell! Got something that needs stitching!" One of the pegasi circling overhead dropped to ground level. Jinglebell was a stocky stallion, with a purple coat several shades darker than Twilight's, and a bright yellow tail poking out the back of his armor. His gear was the same as his comrades, but his saddlebags were emblazoned with red crosses, with a matching one cresting his halfhelm. "What can I do for—" His eyes found Snake, settled on the bandage around his arm, and widened, pupils shrinking to pinpricks. "Sweet merciful Maiden of the Stars, what is this?!" "A bite! Treated with some gnarly field med." Killjoy smirked. "Your absolute fave." Snake opened his mouth, but Jinglebell shoved his hoof in it to cut him off. "Silence, you," he snapped. "You have forfeited your right to speak." Murderous intent spilled from Snake's eyes toward the pegasus. Jinglebell shoved his muzzle right up against the wound, millimeters away from the cruddy bandage. "By Celestia's sun-kissed flanks, you must really want an infection," he muttered. He withdrew his saliva-covered hoof from Snake's mouth and dropped to the ground, clicking his tongue. "Your wound cries out for sterile bandages and sutures and what do you give it? A dish-rag that looks like it was soaked in dish-water." "I didn't have sterile bandages and sutures," growled Snake. "Excuses, excuses. And what did I say about your right to speak?" Jinglebell reached into the cross-marked saddlebag on his back and tugged out supplies: the bandages he mentioned, thread, a needle, and a bottle of clear fluid that Twilight took as antiseptic. "Well, never fear. Your hero has arrived." Killjoy slapped Jinglebell on the back with a snicker. "Your confidence inspires, my good little pony." She smirked at Twilight and jerked her head to the side. "C'mon, I gotta make some rounds – let's you and me chit-chat while these two have their fun." She stepped away, beckoning for Twilight to follow. "Uh, well..." Twilight glanced at Snake. "Are you... gonna be okay here, Snake?" "Oh, he'll be better than okay after I'm done stitching him up," muttered Jinglebell. He looped a length of thread through a needle held between two feathers and grinned at Snake. Snake's glare promised bloody retribution upon Twilight. "He'll be fine," said Killjoy. "Jinglebell's needlework is second to none. His bedside manner, on the other hoof..." She shrugged and smiled helplessly. "Hey, nopony's perfect. Now, c'mon. Girl talk time." Killjoy sidled against Twilight. Her armor, heated by the desert sun, was hot against Twilight's coat, and the oily smell of pony sweat was overpowering, making Twilight pull away. Oblivious or apathetic to her discomfort, Killjoy looped one of her forelegs around Twilight's and guided her away. Killjoy's first stop was the farmhouse. The walk wasn't especially long, just long enough for Killjoy to kill time by probing Twilight about her presence in Dodge. After eventually managing to wriggle her leg free of the pegasus's grip, Twilight recounted the events of the last two days, condensing where she could, omitting what was irrelevant. She started with finding Snake in the woods, and hurriedly explained the existence of Metal Gear and the presence of the Pegasus Wings army. Her description of the human mercenaries got a knowing chuckle out of Killjoy. "So there's a whole universe full of homos out there, huh?" Twilight, not sure what in the hay a "homo" was in this context, but annoyed at being yet again interrupted, channeled her chagrin into a glare. "Sorry, I don't mean to interrupt," said Killjoy when she glimpsed the look Twilight was giving her. "It's just nice to be right. I always knew there was some truth to Slaymare, not like that Daring Do crap the foals love." Twilight rushed through a retelling of the fight in the castle. Predictably, Killjoy pressed Twilight for details on the IRVING battle, intrigued by the prospect of the Elements of Harmony fighting a fire-breathing robot, but Twilight breezed through it, not seeing the relevance. More relevant were the injuries sustained by Spike and Rainbow Dash, and something about the way she spoke of them – or perhaps something on her face – prompted Killjoy to offer her tiny silver flask to Twilight. "Thanks," Twilight said in a thick, choked voice. Her eyes were misty. When had they gotten misty? She furiously rubbed them and sniffed. "But no thanks. I'll take water if you have it, though." Killjoy snorted. "This shit's so weak it may as well be water." Twilight stared flatly at her, but her bemusement was offset by a hint of a smile. "Fine, fine." Killjoy dug around in her saddlebag, retrieved a canteen, and tossed it to Twilight. She caught it with her magic and took a long swig. "Y'know, you got a cute smile, Sparkle." Twilight finished her pull and shoved the canteen into the other mare's armored chest with a clang. "My brother is your boss, remember." "Which means I have a shot at marrying into royalty. Kinda. Sorta." Killjoy grinned and replaced the canteen in her saddlebag. From there, Twilight hit the key moments – the meeting with the Mayor, Ponyville being isolated, and the balloon with the blue feather that started the whole wild goose chase. Hearing about the balloon seemed to draw Killjoy into some memory. A wistful look crossed her face. "Y'know, I've seen Rainbow Dash fly before – she's a hell of a mare. I tell you what, it'd take a lot more than a falling castle and a hole full'a rubble to kill somepony with as much concentrated awesome as her." The mare smiled. "We'll do what we can to help you out." Twilight, grateful, finished the story with a quick summary of the fight in Dodge, omitting any mention of the Operator. It occurred to her that the mission the Princess had sent him on, the one he refused to disclose, might have to do with the changeling presence in the frontier, but neither he nor Killjoy showed any sign that they knew of the other's activities, much less that they were working together. And besides, he was heading away from Dodge while Killjoy was heading toward it. His business must have been done by the time Snake and I showed up. No, whatever he was up to, whatever involvement his mission had with the incident in Dodge, it was something probably best kept under wraps. She didn't like the Operator, didn't particularly trust him; the mess in the "closed" barn certainly seemed to justify Snake's paranoia regarding spies. But she trusted Princess Celestia, and whatever faith she placed in him and his mission would have to suffice for her. "The ponies in town were the victims of some sort of dark magic," said Twilight to an increasingly alarmed Killjoy. "Ancient spells that can draw out somepony's soul – bleed it out – and leave their bodies behind as these husks called golems. I've, um..." She hesitated. "I've read about them. In books. In a book. In a book about magic—" Killjoy headed her off, rushing in front of her and dropping back to the ground. "So those effed-up bodies up in town – no cutie marks, colors all washed out – you're telling me that was you and your Dick-buddy that killed 'em?" Twilight nodded meekly. "They were feral. Murderous. There wasn't any way to help them, and no way to escape without..." She coughed. "We lured most of them into the saloon and burned it down with them inside." "The fire, yeah. We saw it from miles away and beat wing getting to it." There was some new look in her eye – Twilight couldn't say what it was. "Damn, Sparkle. I can't believe..." Twilight didn't say anything. Killjoy took to the air again, cursing. "I'm sorry they made you do that. Damn those bugs." "What makes you think it was changelings who hit Dodge?" Twilight asked. "Seriously? You mean besides the swarm of them that tried walloping you just now?" Killjoy took a quick swig from her flask. "Those bodies confused the hell out of us, but after hearing your story, it all adds up. You've seen them in action; you saw what they did to your brother. They suck out love. Who's to say they can't suck out souls too?" Specious reasoning. From a drunk, no less. Then again... Twilight had assumed that only a unicorn could pull off the kinds of magic she'd seen on display in Dodge. Drawing out souls, carving out that pit in the ground... but it wasn't as though unicorns were the only sapient creatures in Equestria capable of using magic, was it? But the Operator said that having the power to do that meant nothing without the knowledge – where would the Changeling Queen have gotten the knowledge of those dark magics? And surely she wouldn't be so monstrous as to bleed her own kind to make golems. By then, they'd drawn close to the farmhouse. Pegasi buzzed like shiny golden bees around the perimeter, peering through windows or standing guard at key posts on the roof, at the front door, and in the backyard. Their telescopic spears were extended in hoof. One of the guards at the front door – a mare, startlingly white with yellow eyes and a blue feather crest on her halfhelm – flapped over to greet them. "Captain," she said as her hooves touched down and her wings folded. There was an intensity to her gaze, a sense of command, of authority and professionalism, that Twilight didn't get from Killjoy. Killjoy nodded to the mare. "Talk to me, Goose." "We've secured the house. All indications are that it was inhabited up until recently – within the last several days. There's a calendar on the icebox in the kitchen; the last day marked off was Sunday, the 27th. No sign of bugs anywhere, upstairs or down. No signs of violence, no struggle." She paused. "However..." "Talk to me, Goosefeathers; you know I hate suspense." "There's a survivor locked in the basement. A civilian." Her eyes softened. "We've been trying to coax her out, but I don't think she trusts us. And the way she's talking, it sounds like there's something seriously wrong with her. Psychologically, that is." "Did she give you her name?" asked Twilight. Goosefeathers glanced at her, and looked her from hoof to head. "We've asked, but she just responds with vague remarks and cryptic poetry." Twilight looked at Killjoy, and Killjoy at Twilight. "It might be the ranch's owner," said the unicorn. "Cherry Jubilee." "How do you figure?" asked Killjoy. "This Cherry Jubilee prone to crazy talk?" "I mean, it could also be one of her workers, or somepony from town, but nopony I met the last time I was out here acted the way you're describing. And it is Cherry's house." Twilight shrugged. "Let me talk to her; maybe I can get her to come out. She's a friend." Killjoy chewed her lip pensively before nodding. "Alright. You're with me. As you were, Goose." The front door led into a hallway that branched off to the left, with a doorway to the kitchen in front of the house's entrance and, further down the hall and to the right, another doorway to the house's living room. The hall itself ended with a locked door, where two guardsponies were vainly entreating somepony to come out. "It's alright," said one of the pegasi, a gray stallion. "We're with the Royal Guard—" "Outside your jurisdiction!" cried a shrill, muffled voice from behind the door. "No permits! Unwanted! Show me your mark of office, or away!" The two guardsponies exchanged a confused look. "I can do that, sure," said the same stallion, "but not unless you open the door for me. How about you come out, and we can talk face-to-face?" "Faces mean nothing! Souls speak to one another when bound together by chain and yoke, and a half-forged link is better than none! You're no link; you wear no yoke; you are not me; I am not thee; away, away, away!" Killjoy trotted toward the guards, Twilight beside her. "Sounds like this could be going better," the captain mused to Twilight. Both guards turned at the sound of Killjoy's voice and snapped to attention. "At ease." She nodded to the adjacent living room. "Go secure that couch for a spell." With a crisp nod, the guards left Twilight and Killjoy standing in front of the door. "Here goes," Killjoy muttered. She knocked twice on the door, leaving little globs of half-dried changeling goo, mixed with sand, on the chipping red paint. "This is Captain Killjoy of the Canterlot Royal Guard. We're here to—" Hysterical laughter cut her off. "Captain of the cocks and the hens pecking about on my land, strutting and scratching and digging! I'll scratch you back, wait and see. I'll scratch you like a buck in the woods, dig deep in the sodden earth and lay your carcass out for the festering banquet!" Killjoy glanced at Twilight out of the corner of her eye, and huffed. "I'm sorry you're so distraught, ma'am, but—" "Beasts all over the shop! Silver and fire will do for 'em, but lead will do for you just as well!" She broke again into hysterical laughter. "Is your name Cherry Jubilee?" Killjoy shouted. Behind her, the guardsponies were peeking through the sitting room doorway, curious and perplexed. The laughter died abruptly. Gentle whimpering rose to take its place "No yoke, no link, not part of the chain, no friend of mine... Cherry, Cherry, Cherry Jubilee, how do you know—" "I have a friend of yours here." Killjoy nodded to Twilight, and took a step backward. Twilight gulped and pressed her hoof against the door. "Hello, Cherry Jubilee. It's Twilight Sparkle. Do you remember me?" Silence greeted her, before a strangled voice spoke back. "No friend to me. No friend of mine. False and foul, a liar I name you. Run off and never return. That's your nature, isn't it?" There was an ominous snapping sound behind the door, a click that Twilight couldn't quite place. "Cherry, I don't understand. I don't want to leave. I want to stay and—" "You want to stay? Your promise renew? Then I've a gift for you! Lead and powder, shot and shell, enough to send a faithless mare to hell! The party favors you deserve!" Twilight's eyes widened – that ominous click suddenly made a lot more sense. She whirled, caught Killjoy around the neck, and pulled her down to the ground just as part of the door's middle exploded into splinters. How does she have a gun?! Pellets caromed off the walls and ceiling, leaving scratches and scores in the unpainted wooden paneling. The guardsponies, drawn by the noise, rushed back into the corridor. At the sight of their captain lying prone on the floor, with Twilight's body covering hers, they moved in closer. Killjoy froze them with a shake of her head, and motioned frantically for them to get away. They quickly obeyed. Killjoy was dusty, but unharmed, although if the snarl on her face served as any indicator, she was decidedly pissed off. She started to rise, but Twilight bid her to stay down with a firm press of her hoof upon her shoulder. "She's scared, that's all," Twilight murmured to Killjoy. She shook her head, clearing dust and debris from her mane in a powdery cloud. "Give me a chance to talk her down." Killjoy started to retort, but the look on Twilight's face made her bite down on the rest of her sentence. Swallowing hard, she nodded, and stayed low to the ground while Twilight stood. The hole in the door was roughly half the size of Twilight's head, its sides jagged and splintery. Radiating around the hole were tinier holes, akin to pinpricks. Part of Twilight's research from that morning was devoted to studying firearms, so she could deduce from the damage to the door that Cherry's weapon was a shotgun. Where she could have gotten it and how she was using it, Twilight couldn't begin to guess. She lit her horn with a pale white light and shone it through the hole. A pair of wide-open, bloodshot eyes stared back at her from behind the sights of a twin-barreled shotgun. Two barrels. For two rounds. Of which Cherry had fired one, or else the hole would have been bigger. Play it cool, Twiley. She stayed a pace away from the door, and spoke as calmly and soothingly as she could. "Cherry, do you remember me?" Cherry thrust the shotgun through the hole, toward Twilight, who quickly conjured a shield in front of her. The shot never came. Twilight kept the shield up anyway. "False friends and foes alike," Cherry whimpered. "Not links in the chain. No yoke. Away with you. It ought to come natural." Twilight took a hesitant step forward. The barrel of the shotgun rested on the bottom edge of the hole, and was shaking in Cherry's grasp. "I'm not going anywhere, Cherry. I'm not going to leave you alone." Another step closer, and she could reach out and touch the door. "You're my friend, and I'm yours. Remember? There's nothing false about it." The quaking of the shotgun intensified. "I'm going to drop my shield now, okay? Please don't shoot." The light in Twilight's horn winked out, and her shield vanished with it. Her hoof trembling, Twilight reached through the hole in the door and touched the shotgun's still-warm barrel with her hoof. "Look at me, Cherry." Twilight spoke softly, kindly, to avoid provoking another outburst of anger. She pushed the shotgun back, gently, and felt no resistance from Cherry. The weapon lowered, and Twilight could see the rest of Cherry's face – her cheeks, streaked with dirt, and her eyes, bruised and tired. From behind came the sound of gold-shod hooves scraping against wood. "Do you recognize me?" Twilight summoned her inner Cheerilee and smiled in as gentle and maternal a way as she could. "Do you remember me now?" Cherry blinked once, and her eyes started to focus on the unicorn's face. Cherry blinked twice, and the wildness in her eyes abated. "Twilight. Twilight Sparkle. Applejack's..." "Yes, that's right." Twilight nodded. "Applejack's friend." "You came for her. I remember you coming for her." Cherry fell onto her haunches, her eyes going unfocused, and laughed a dry, humorless laugh. There was a clattering sound, too – the shotgun dropping to the floor. "She doesn't appreciate that." I don't suppose she did, did she? "I'm going to open the door now," Twilight said, keeping her voice soothing. "Okay?" She stretched out with her aura, found the bolt holding the door shut, and unlatched it. Stepping back, she took the doorknob in her hoof pulled the door outward. Immediately, she was hit with an overpowering, feculent reek. She recoiled, scrunching her nose and gagging. It smells like an outhouse in there. But Cherry had been in there since Sunday. Of course it'd smell like an outhouse. Cherry Jubilee was naked except for a green saddlebag hanging over her right flank. Her luscious red mane was a knotted, sweaty tangle, the yellow headband she usually wore discarded. Much like her face, the rest of her body was filthy, her coat covered in dirt and... stuff that I hope is dirt. At her hooves was the shotgun that nearly blew Twilight and Killjoy away – a heavily altered mutant of a weapon, customized for a pony's use. The trigger guard had been enlarged to accommodate a hoof, as were the triggers themselves, and a U-shaped groove was carved into the wooden stock, allowing the weapon to be held beneath the armpit. Did she modify this herself, or was it like this when she got it? Twilight floated the shotgun away from Cherry and passed it back to Killjoy, releasing her magical grip when she felt hooves around it. "We'll just keep that away from you for now," she muttered. To Killjoy, she said "Be careful with that. I think there's still a live round in there." "I'll be as gentle with it as a newborn." Killjoy whistled softly. "Never even seen a gun up close before." Twilight wordlessly pulled the gun away from Killjoy, ignoring the mare's protest. Maybe I'll just hold on to it myself. Cherry Jubilee ran a dry tongue over parched lips and looked the unicorn in the eye. "You shouldn't be here. You gotta run, you understand? Before they cut you up with misty blades and leave your bones to bleach." "Not gonna happen." Twilight stepped closer to Cherry, fighting the urge to gag at the stench coming through the doorway. She extended a hoof toward her, slowly, ready to pull back if Cherry showed the slightest sign of discomfort or rejection. She didn't. Twilight's hoof rested on Cherry's shoulder, and she drew the older mare into a gentle embrace. Cherry sank against Twilight and breathed a sigh – of relief, of contentment? Twilight couldn't say. Twilight stroked Cherry's back. "Everything's going to be just fine." "It ain't. It ain't. You don't understand. You can't understand." She pulled back and touched Twilight's cheek with her hoof. "You ain't a link in the chain. Not even a broken one. You can't know." "Know what?" Twilight placed her hoof over Cherry's. "Help me understand." "They – they wriggle in my mind like graveworms; they whisper to one another. Echoes of dyin' screams, an' the urge to rip and burn. I don't know where it ends an' I begin. I..." Cherry drew in a shuddering breath. The mare spoke in riddles, vaguaries. They meant nothing to Twilight. But they meant something to Cherry; she spoke earnestly, as though it were imperative that Twilight understand. Were they the mad ramblings of a terrified pony, and nothing more? Perhaps. But I doubt it. And she deserves the benefit of that doubt. Twilight looked back toward Killjoy. With a disappointed glance at the floating shotgun, the captain came forward to take Cherry's other hoof. "Let's get you out of there," said Twilight. Together, they guided Cherry away from the basement. "No frickin' way." Killjoy whirled away from the mantel, grinning excitedly at Twilight and Cherry as her wings pomf'd open. "She's related to Hickory Switch? The Hickory Switch?!" Twilight looked up at Killjoy, blinking confusedly. She sat on the long, blue couch in the middle of the living room, facing toward a finely carved mantel that was etched with stylized, smiling cherries. Tacky as heck, but then again... fruit farmers... Beside her, Cherry stretched out on her side, greedily drinking from a tin canteen of water graciously donated to her by one of the pegasi. Her shotgun and saddlebag rested on the floor, leaning against the bottom of the couch, along with Killjoy's cumbersome greathelm. "Uh." Twilight's muzzle scrunched. "Sure? What are we talking about?" Killjoy stepped aside and pointed her hoof at an enameled red jar resting on top of the mantel – an urn for somepony's ashes. Twilight squinted, and could barely make out the lettering etched into its surface. Hickory Switch In Death, Faithful Twilight looked quizzically at Killjoy. Killjoy, dancing in place like a sugared-up schoolfilly, squealed. "Hickory Switch! Commanding officer of the E.U.P. Hickory Switch!" Her wings twitched excitedly, and she hovered an inch off the ground, forehooves wrung together and vibrating with excitement. "Order of Hurricane, first class! Decorated for battlefield valor five times! A general by the time she was forty! The last pre-Pax war hero in Equestria! C'mon, you know this stuff, right?" "Military history is not an area I've devoted much time to," said Twilight dryly. And there's nothing heroic about being a murderer. Killjoy floated in the air and folded her forelegs in a huff. "Well, take my word for it, I guess. She resigned when the Platoons folded into the Guard thirtysomething years ago, but her name still commands respect back in Canterlot. I remember hearing she died a few years back; me and my bunkmates all poured one out for her. Hell of a lady. A true hero." She smirked at Cherry. "You're, what, her granddaughter or something?" Cherry suddenly choked on a gulp of water and spluttered, spraying droplets all over the couch and the floor. Twilight patted her on the back as she coughed out the water, and glared disapprovingly at Killjoy. Killjoy, tapping her hooves together sheepishly, fluttered away. "Think I'll, uh, just... go over here for a while." "Do, please." Twilight's scowl followed Killjoy until she passed from her line of sight, at which point she raised her lips back to a smile for Cherry. "You alright?" Cherry's throat rumbled as she cleared the last of the water from it. She smiled weakly at Twilight. "Auntie can't protect nopony now." Something about the way she said that chilled Twilight. "Do you feel any better? Do you think you can talk about what happened?" Cherry's eyes drooped shut, and she rested her head on the couch cushion. "You'd need to be in the chain to get it. Fix you with a yoke, an' you'll understand. Short o'that... you'll never know. Words're too clumsy to tell it right." "Can you try anyway?" Looking at the state Cherry was in, being "fixed with a yoke" seemed like something to avoid. Cherry nodded shakily, her eyes opening halfway. "A train came on Sunday. That was the start of everythin'. Don't know if trouble came on it, or jus' simultaneous, but one way or another..." Cherry snorted. "Trains never come 'round no more now that there's Appleloosa." There was a little bit of the mare Twilight knew, in her eyes and in her voice, as she said that. "The workers were off in town. It was jus' me out here, tendin', eatin'. Then..." Cherry started to shake. "I heard it. The music. The song." Tears pooled in the corners of her cloudy eyes and streaked down her cheeks. "Echoing off the walls of my mind." Twilight wiped them away with cautious strokes of her magic. "What song?" "Song of rot, of bloody morrow. Song of ash and salt and sorrow." Chattering laughter rolled from her throat. "A choir of one, and two, and ten, and a hundred, wailing in agony, wailing in harmony, wailing in my mind, drownin' out thought, silencin' self. I don't—" "Cherry. Stay with me." Cherry blinked up at her. The cloudiness in her eyes faded. "I don't remember the melody," she whispered. An empty chuckle followed, then another long, shuddering breath. "I don't remember nothin' but the shallow bite of the razor, cuttin' cross my everythin', cuttin' me to the quick." Twilight stroked her cheek as the Operator's lesson rang in her memory. "Something tried to take your soul, didn't it? To bleed you." Cherry hiccuped. "Shallow cuts for Cherry Jubilee, but the others bled like stuck pigs. I..." She whimpered and curled her legs against her body, her hooves tight around her stomach. "It hurts, Twilight, it hurts so bad..." Twilight's stomach turned at Cherry's gruesome simile, but she suppressed her disgust and patted Cherry's head comfortingly. "I know. Shh, I know." "You can't." Cherry laughed another bitter laugh. "The razor crossed the road, shallow shallow shallow cuts, but it didn't sink in, didn't bite deep. Felt it deep, felt it inside, but not in me – in them. Cherry got cut, but didn't bleed out. Do you understand?" Cherry lifted her body off the cushion and gripped Twilight's shoulders, her jade eyes boring into Twilight's. "It stopped. It let me be but I felt it stick the rest..." Cherry pressed her face into Twilight's chest. "An' I still hear 'em in my skull, the thoughts and feelings of a hundred dyin' ponies..." Not knowing what else to do, Twilight just cradled the mare as she fell apart completely and wept into her coat. The act comfortably familiar, even nostalgic. Twilight wondered why for a moment... before recalling a late night, ages ago. A young Spike had woken terrified and inconsolable and crawled into bed with her, bawling while Twilight whispered words of comfort and drew him close. The pain once more crept toward her; Twilight shoved it away. She clutched Cherry closer to her chest, willing herself to stay together, for Rainbow's sake, and for the sake of the mission. Fate provided a distraction in the form of Killjoy, who climbed over the couch's backrest and dropped onto the cushion to Cherry's right with a slight, springy bounce. "I hope you're fluent in gobbledygook." "I wouldn't quite categorize it as gobbledygook," said Twilight. With effort, she kept her voice from breaking. "There's meaning behind her words. Just that she's the only one who knows precisely what that meaning is." Her ears perked at the sound of hoofsteps approaching, and she turned toward the doorway in time to see Goosefeathers and the pegasus medic, Jinglebell, enter the room. "Captain," the white mare said gruffly. "Jinglebell and the homo are here to see you." "Stop calling me that," Snake, yet out of sight, grumbled. "Why do you all keep calling me that?" The sound of Snake's voice made Cherry's ears twitch, and a shiver ran through her body. She pulled her head away from Twilight, her face inscrutable. Twilight blinked – that was the same word Killjoy used to describe the human mercenaries. "Why do you call him that?" she said to the captain. Killjoy tilted her head at Twilight. "C'mon, don't play dumb. You've read Slaymare, right?" "That's a... comic book?" It sounded vaguely familiar. Perhaps it was one of those grown-up, sex-and-gore-filled comics Spike would occasionally bug her to buy for him in Canterlot – there was only one store in Ponyville that sold comics, and they only carried child-friendly fare. "Comics aren't really my thing, sorry." Killjoy and Jinglebell both gasped, as did the other guardsponies standing in the hall, and even Goosefeathers was surprised enough to break her stoicism and arch her eyebrows a bit. Killjoy smacked her face with her hooves. "Shining Armor's sister has never read the most acclaimed adult graphic novel of all time? Sheesh. Remind me later, and I'll make sure to get you a copy. Pretty sure everypony in the Guard keeps one on hoof wherever they go." Killjoy sighed and looked at Goose and Jinglebell. "Goose. Explain to the nice filly what a homo is." "Ma'am." Goose pivoted toward Twilight. "A homo is a genetically engineered, super-intelligent mutant gorilla with enhanced strength, speed, and combat abilities. They were introduced in Slaymare, issue four, where they were bred by the villainous Mooselini as cannon fodder, part of his plan to rebuild the Elken Empire in the Marediterranian, but they revolted, shaving the hair from their heads as a sign of their newfound independence. They ended up shooting Mooselini and his mistress, and hanging their bodies from a—" "Alright, that's enough; don't want to give too much away. Spoilers and all." Killjoy saluted. "Obliged to you, Lieutenant. You're dismissed. Jinglebell, what've you got for me?" Goose returned the salute and headed back to the house's front door. Jinglebell grinned. A tiny bit of thread poked out between his front teeth. "Stitched him up gooooood." Snake stepped into view, arms folded around his rifle, and ducked inside the living room. Wound around his forearm was a fresh bandage in place of the rag from the saloon. "Mooselini," Snake muttered disgustedly, shaking his head. "I give up." Killjoy eyed the bandage. "A-plus work, Jingles. Is there anything else, or did you really feel like you needed to leave your post to tell me that you did your job right?" "No, there's more." He stepped into the room, and Killjoy hopped off the couch to greet him. "Lieutenant Clementine wanted me to report something to you." "Clem's with C-team. You're J. You don't need to run reports for him." "That's what Lieutenant Strudel said, too. But Clementine was, um..." Jinglebell rubbed his neck. "Insistent." "Gonna have a talk with them both about the chain of command later," Killjoy muttered. "Well, as it happens, I'm glad you're here; saves us all some time. Got more work for you. Hope you don't mind." "Please tell me it's not more bad field med." "Nope. Severe dehydration and exhaustion, probably among other things that I probably can't pronounce. First things first, though; gimme your report." Jinglebell gave Twilight a quick look and guided Killjoy into the corner of the room. The two began speaking in hushed tones. Snake watched them with detached curiosity, then shrugged and stepped in front of the mantel, leaning his back against it. He glanced at the shotgun, then at Twilight, and the mare in her embrace. Twilight jerked her head toward Jinglebell and Killjoy. "Do you know what that's about?" Killjoy briefly glanced at Twilight, frowning. Snake shrugged again. "Got me. An orange pony pulled the medic aside while he was stitching me up and whispered at him for a while. Then a green pony dropped down and they all started arguing together. Until I reminded them that I had a half-stitched bite on my arm and an itchy trigger finger." Cherry's right ear swiveled toward Snake as he spoke. Twilight frowned. "You didn't seriously threaten the guardsponies who saved our lives, did you?" "Of course not. I just made an observation about the finger that I use to pull triggers on guns. Like the one I was holding right then." When Twilight's frown deepened, he rolled his eyes. "You don't think I'd actually have shot them, do you?" "Nah." Twilight smirked. "You're a lot of things, Snake, but I'm, like, ninety percent sure that level of cold-blooded stupidity is beneath you." "Go straight to Hell," said Snake, in a tone that approached playfulness. Twilight stuck out her tongue at him. "How's the arm?" Snake rotated it to show off the job that Jinglebell had done. "Feels a lot better now, I have to admit. Not quite nanomachine fresh, but it doesn't itch and sting so bad." He gestured at Cherry. "Who is that, by the way? You make a new friend?" "Found an old one," Twilight corrected. "This is Cherry Jubilee. Cherry? Can I introduce you to—" A cold laugh from Cherry interrupted Twilight. "Introduce the old gray mare, the toothless serpent, to Cherry Jubilee? No need, no need, no need." Snake inclined his head toward Cherry. "What the hell is wrong with her?" His voice was perfectly calm, but his posture and muscles tensed. "She's been through a lot. I can explain later, but—" "No need for words. I know what you are." Cherry pulled away from Twilight and spun to look at Snake, her grin a skeletal rictus and her bloodshot, clouded eyes leaking tears. She thrust a forehoof toward him, jabbing it in the air repeatedly as though it were a sword she could thrust through him. Cherry leaned forward, and her top half tumbled off of the couch; she cracked her chin against the floor, splitting it open, and a thin trickle of blood dripped onto the floorboards as she dragged her hindquarters off the couch and crawled toward Snake. The noise of her chin striking the floor startled Killjoy and Jinglebell; they stopped their conversation, and turned their attention to Cherry. Both moved forward with caution. "A beast at bay in crimson snow," Cherry rose to her knees, then to her hooves, her legs and body shaking. "Brother-son of the one-eyed hound, slithering on his belly down a path paved with corpses. The last and least of the snakes not created by nature!" Snake's right hand tightened around his rifle. His left reached for the holster on his hip. Twilight jumped from the couch and interposed herself between Snake and Cherry – at that close range, there was no way he'd miss a shot with that rifle, "discount crap" or no. She placed a placating hoof on Cherry's shoulder. "Cherry, calm down. He's not gonna—" "He's drowning in time!" Cherry shrieked, whirling on Twilight with a mad, fiery gaze. "And you, you flail and gasp to keep your head above water, but the longer you stay with him—" Twilight heard the hiss of Snake's suppressor, and Cherry recoiled from the impact of a tranquilizer dart in her neck. Immediately, her eyelids drooped; her jaw hung open, tongue lolling out its side. She swayed left, then right, then left again, finally toppling over, completely still. "Yeah, not taking any chances," growled Snake. He held his tranquilizer gun at the hip, having drawn and fired it in a single fluid motion. Killjoy stepped forward, Jinglebell at her side, and knelt next to Cherry. She glanced at Snake, lips parted slightly. "You didn't..." "She's alive," Twilight said hurriedly. "Just unconscious. Tranquilizer gun." "Tranquilizer... gun?" Jinglebell felt Cherry's pulse, then tapped his chin and hmm'd. "Instant sedation from a distance – like a zebra blowdart in firearm form. Don't suppose you'd be willing to part with it – performing physicals on certain needle-shy guardsmares would go far more easily if I had one of those." Killjoy looked away, mumbling, and busied herself paying careful attention to a loose thread on one of the couch cushions. Twilight couldn't help a soft chuckle, but it died when she turned to look at Snake. He'd holstered the tranquilizer gun again, and stood with his rifle hefted, eyes locked on Cherry, as though he expected something to happen at any moment. And there was something in his eyes, something she had never seen before. Snake, the imperturbable rock, looked shaken. If only slightly. "What's the matter?" Twilight asked. His eyes flicked toward her. "Zecora," he said. "Back in the forest, she called me something. A name, a phrase. 'A snake not created by nature.'" He nodded at Cherry. "Same thing she called me just now." "What does it mean?" "Not important. Point is that Cherry isn't the first to call me that." His cheek curled into his mouth, between two molars, and he rolled it around for a moment before continuing his thought. "For that matter, neither was Zecora." "Who's this Zecora?" asked Killjoy, looking away from the couch. "A zebra. She saved my life the other day." "So what does that have to do with her?" said Killjoy, stepping closer to the unconscious Cherry and frowning at her. "Maybe they're both mind-readers?" "That's probably not quite the case," said Twilight. "For either of them. But now that you mention it, I think that there may have been some kind of mental influence going on here." She knelt next to Cherry and ran her hoof over the sleeping mare's mane. "Cherry talked about hearing music, and having other ponies' thoughts in her mind. Feeling sensations that they felt. I think she's a part of some kind of shared mindspace, and I think that's the source of a lot of her mental trauma." "A form of changeling mind control, maybe?" said Jinglebell. "We've seen it before." "Yeah, me too." Snake grunted. "Mass hypnosis and brainwashing using music as a medium." "I wouldn't take that talk about music too literally," said Twilight. "Most of what Cherry said sounded figurative, and Shining didn't say anything about hearing music when he was under the Queen's influence." Though that could just as easily mean that the inverse is true – that this form of mind control uses music, and that the Queen is not involved. "You know, it wasn't just music that she mentioned – there was this other phrase that she used, too," Twilight muttered. "She kept talking about a chain, and she said something like 'a broken link is better than none'. And she said that I wasn't a link in the chain, and I'd have to be one in order to fully understand her." "Figurative or no, that doesn't need much interpretation," Snake interjected. "She's talking about some kind of hive mind." Twilight gazed at the sleeping mare as she thought back to her ramblings. Wriggling in her mind, not knowing where she began and ended, feeling the same sensations and emotions as others... Twilight's eyes lit up with sudden realization. I guess I don't need to be fixed with a yoke to understand after all. "That's exactly it. A hive mind." All eyes were on her now. "Doesn't that fit with everything we've seen so far? I mean, the golems we've been fighting – they're supposed to be mindless, but they don't act mindless. Feints, ambushes, coordinated maneuvers – none of it has made sense up until now. Something is controlling them – making them act in unison. A dominant consciousness, or will. And Cherry was, or is, connected to it." "You mean a hive consciousness, controlled by a central intelligence, rolling into town and assimilating everyone it sees into itself?" Snake smiled wryly at some private joke. "Wonder why it decided to lop off Seven-of-Dodge here instead of keeping her in the collective." Blank, uncomprehending stares and awkward silence were the only response he received. Killjoy arched an eyebrow at Twilight. "Do you know what he's talking about?" Twilight shrugged and shook her head. "Not so fun when you're not in on the joke, is it? All those years in Alaska with nothing to watch but UPN finally paid off." Snake's satisfied gaze drifted from one face to the other. A long and arduously awkward silence settled on the room, broken only by the occasional shuffling hoof or quiet cough. Until a thin, high voice, a tinny screech that grated on Twilight's ears and chilled her to the bone, cut through the silence. "I get it." Snake snapped his rifle to his shoulder, Killjoy shoved Jinglebell behind herself and unfurled her wings, and Twilight scrambled away from Cherry, jaw hanging open. A shimmer of pink surrounded her horn. Killjoy turned and called over her shoulder. "Goose! Gonna need a couple more bodies in here!" A chuckle like the rattling of dry, brittle bones came from Cherry's mouth. Her hooves scraped slowly against the floorboards as she rose to stand on quaking legs. She twisted her neck to look over her shoulder; her half-lidded eyes found Snake, and her lashes batted, not quite in unison. "Do you think I'd look good in silver spandex?" Twilight didn't look to see Snake's reaction. She kept her face as steady as she could, but her heart hammered in her chest as adrenaline filtered into her system. Behind her, hooves pounded against wooden floorboards as Goose and the others stormed into the room. Cherry turned her uneven gaze to Twilight and smiled a slimy smile. "The funny man and the clever pony. What an unlikely, yet potent, twosome. You're pretty good – far moreso than your blockhead brothers." The pitch in her voice descended as she spoke, normalizing into something approaching Cherry's tone. "So it is you." Twilight arched her back. "Never thought I'd meet the Changeling Queen again after my blockhead brother sent you and your hive packing." "'Her Radiance, Queen Chrysalis,' to you." She turned to face the group head-on, drawing herself up; the quaking in her limbs subsided, and when she spoke next, it was in a voice infused with cold steel. "You will address me with courtesy, Twilight Sparkle. You owe me that much after everything you've deprived me of these past several months. First Canterlot, then my little ponies – what have I ever done to deserve such shabby treatment from you?" Killjoy drew herself up and took a step forward, wings splayed wide. "I'll show you shabby treatment, you chitinous bitch. You're gonna answer for the lives you took here." Chrysalis replied with an incredulous laugh in Killjoy's face. "Am I supposed to find you intimidating, drunky? Maybe you ought to go home and sleep this off." The guardsmare snarled and lunged toward Chrysalis, only for Twilight to bar her way with a hoof. "All you'd be doing is hurting Cherry." Chrysalis snorted. "That's rich. Where was that bleeding-heart sentimentality when you were burning my golems alive?" "They weren't alive. Not truly," said Twilight, as much to convince herself as Chrysalis. The faint stench of burning flesh and hair wafted past her nose. "Living like that is no life at all." "Don't tell me that living as a gibbering lunatic is any better. What kind of life do you expect Cherry to have after this?" She laughed that hideous, piercing laugh again and turned her gaze to Snake. "You'll do it, murderer, won't you? What's another corpse among thousands to you? Pull that trigger, and set her free." Twilight spared Snake a quick glance – his rifle and shooting stance were rock-steady, but his finger was curled away from the trigger, and didn't so much as twitch. Chrysalis scowled. She bit down hard on Cherry's lip and spat out a thin wad of bloody saliva at Snake's feet. "Twilight Sparkle's piety must be contagious. Do you think you can save her, murderer, is that it? Do any of you?" She swept her hoof across all assembled. "Because if you do, then that is just precious. Honestly, if you don't do it now, then sooner or later, she'll do it herself. Why not save her the time and trouble?" She was alone and traumatized. She had a gun and at least two rounds for it. If we hadn't found her when we did... It sickened Twilight to think that Chrysalis might be right. Cherry's mind and her very soul were compromised. Violated. How did somepony come back from that? Chrysalis cocked Cherry's head and blinked, again out of sequence. "It chafes, doesn't it? Knowing you can't help Cherry. Knowing you can't save her. So you ought to be asking yourself what the odds are that you can save anypony you care about. Most of all, her." She grinned a bloody-gummed grin. "That is, after all, why you're here, isn't it? Certainly not for sweet, sweet Cherry, but for Rainbow Dash – stout of heart and delectably loyal. And mine, all mine, to break and devour." Her dry tongue ran over her parched lips with a sandpapery rasp. "Oh, just thinking about the banquet that awaits... if Cherry could salivate properly right now, her mouth would be a veritable Neighagara Falls." Twilight tried, and failed, to hide her surprise. She can't possibly...?! "Twilight," Snake said, turning his head in her direction. "She's trying to manipulate you." "Of course I am! And it's working, isn't it?" Twilight's change of expression seemed to delight Chrysalis, who laughed and clutched her hooves to her heart, wringing them together tightly enough for them to tremble. "After all, a true true friend would never abandon a friend in need, would she? So come and join us, down below, where Rainbow Dash awaits, yet alive and unspoiled. If you hurry, you might just be able to save her from becoming another Cherry. You can even bring the murderer if you'd like. We wouldn't want to exclude him." She turned Cherry's gaze onto Killjoy, whom she regarded with a look of contempt and disgust. "On the other hoof, if this drunk or any of her buzzards set hoof in my home, I'll rip Rainbow Dash in two, and let you choose which half to keep." Killjoy snarled. "I swear to Celestia, I'm gonna—" "Wait." Twilight took a slow, measured step toward the possessed mare. Chrysalis knew about Rainbow being in Dodge, might have been holding her hostage, and was apparently shrewd enough to infer that Twilight was in Dodge specifically to get Rainbow back. On top of that, she was assuming that her devotion to her friends was powerful enough to override her inclination toward common sense and logic. My actions up until now would certainly seem to bear that assumption out. It stank – reeked – of a trap. But that wasn't the only thing about the situation that was strange. Not even the biggest. Everything about Chrysalis, from her actions to her words, was just... off. She shows an undue interest in my friendships. She knows things about Snake that she shouldn't. The mass mind control, the soul-bleeding – those aren't abilities she's demonstrated in the past. And Cherry... Chrysalis batted bedroom eyes at Twilight, waiting expectantly. Why is Cherry not a golem when even the changelings in the hive are? "You bled everypony in Dodge, but not Cherry," said Twilight. "You even bled your own kind, turned them into mindless golems. You violated them and claimed their souls for who knows what, but Cherry survived when nopony else – when no one else – did." Chrysalis gave a soft, almost sated, laugh, but those big bedroom eyes showed a faint flicker of doubt. "Why, I needed to give you my invitation somehow, Twilight dear." "You can't call me clever and then try to feed me a stinker like that." Twilight's suspicions only deepened. "You were going to bleed Cherry just like the rest, but you stopped. Intentionally. You spared her – why?" Chrysalis responded with glib laughter that was just a tad more nervous than it should have been. "Spare her? Haven't you been paying attention? Look at her, Twilight; listen to her talk. What, exactly, have I spared her from?!" "You're dodging the question," said Snake. "Quiet, murderer," Chrysalis snapped. This time, the smug look did not return. "I haven't given you leave to address me." "Answer her." Snake sidled closer to Twilight, keeping his rifle trained on Chrysalis. "Why did you—" Chrysalis clenched her teeth together, reared back, and slammed Cherry's forehooves into the floor, filling the room with the sound of splitting boards as they cracked underhoof. "I said QUIET!!!" She held the word until her lungs emptied, until Cherry's voice sounded strained and raw. Panting, sweating, seething, she glared at Snake, at Twilight, and at the guardsponies. No one moved; no one spoke. No one was daunted. Chrysalis had lost whatever initiative she had, and she knew it. She wasn't expecting that question. She didn't want me to ask that question. All this talk about Rainbow, all this mockery, and the timing of her possessing Cherry... I don't think she wants me to think too deeply about it. What the hay was she hiding? Chrysalis inhaled deeply, exhaled, and straightened her posture, reassembling her poise into a semblance of what it was. "Well." She smiled. "Only one way to make this more awkward." There was a beat before she whirled and dove for the shotgun, reaching it before anypony could react. Chrysalis wrapped Cherry's hooves around it, and pulled it close to her body. With one hoof, she reached for the gun's trigger guard. With the other, she angled the barrel toward her chin. Twilight acted before she could loop her hoof through the trigger guard, seizing the gun with her magic and pulling it out of reach. Then a lance of pink light struck Cherry in the back of the head, and she sprawled on her belly with a thin wisp of smoke curling up from the back of her mane. She fell silent, save the sound of steady, even breathing, and did not stand back up. Twilight sighed with relief. Not even a murder by proxy. Count this as a win. "That gun," said Snake. "Toss it here." Not one to toss weapons willy-nilly, Twilight floated the gun to him instead. Snake snagged and opened it, and shook two red shells – one spent, one live – out and onto the floor. He shut the gun again and turned it over in his hands, inspecting the trigger assembly carefully. "No one thought to safety check this?" he asked. Twilight once more felt like hitting herself. Another second slower and Cherry's blood would be on my conscience... "You know how often we encounter guns on the job?" said Killjoy defensively. "Never. Forgive me if we're unfamiliar with the protocol." "Then consider this a free lesson. This thing's an accident waiting to happen." He held the barrel and offered the gun stock-first to Killjoy. "Keep it unloaded, and don't let her have it back." Killjoy gave Snake a dirty look and tucked the gun under her foreleg, muttering vaguely to herself. "Captain," said Jinglebell softly, pressing a hoof to Killjoy's shoulder. "Changeling possession or no, that mare still needs medical attention." "Right." Killjoy looked at him and jerked her head toward Cherry's body. "Look her over, treat whatever needs to be treated. Then get back to your post." She turned to Goose. "Lock this house down. If the Queen can possess Cherry at will, then she's a liability. Look after her, but keep eyes on her at all times. It wouldn't hurt to tie her up, either." "Ma'am." Goose and her guards trotted toward Cherry, standing behind Jinglebell while he went about his work, starting by scrutinizing the little wisp of smoke from Twilight's blast. "And you two." Killjoy leveled a serious look at both Snake and Twilight. "Step outside with me. We need to talk." Sentries on the porch snapped to attention at the sight of their captain, but Killjoy dismissed them into the house, leaving her alone with Snake and Twilight. "What do you think?" Killjoy asked. She rubbed her nose and sniffed. "Was she being straight with us?" Twilight exchanged a look of unease with Snake. The human shook his head minutely. It miffed her, agreeing with him, but there was nothing logical about taking Chrysalis at her word. "There might be an element of truth to what she's saying," said Twilight carefully. "There's any number of ways the Queen could have found out about Rainbow being here, and she could easily have put two and two together when she saw Snake and I show up. Whether she has her or not, she can use the promise of finding her to bait me into a confrontation." Which seems like something she's keenly interested in doing. Someone has a grudge. "There might..." Killjoy bit her lip. "There might be more than just an element of truth to what she said." She shuffled her wings and blew a nervous breath. "C-Team found bodies deep in the orchard while they were scouting. Changelings. More than a dozen. There was some kind of fight, and if they weren't on the losing end of it, they at least got as bad as they gave." "Wasn't us," said Snake. "We skirted around the orchard to get to the barn. Never went all that far in." "I didn't think it was," said Killjoy. "These bodies weren't like the ones in Dodge. They were carved up by some type of blade." She looked at Twilight. "You talked about a ninja before." Trenton. Guess it was him after all. No surprise there. "But more importantly," said Killjoy, "there were hoofprints in the changeling goop. A mare's hooves, looked like, unshod, and heading deeper into the orchard away from the scene of the fight." She hesitated. "And where they end, there's a trail of blue feathers leading back to a tunnel in the ground." Snake must have been right – Trenton left to scout the ranch and took Rainbow Dash with him. They went into the orchard and were ambushed; Rainbow tried to escape, only to get captured by the changelings. She would have tried to fight them off, but in her condition, they'd have overwhelmed her easily. And the feathers... The changelings wouldn't have known that we'd be coming out here, but Rainbow might have assumed... or perhaps Trenton told her about the message he sent. Either way, it could be she decided to leave a trail for us to follow – or anypony who tried coming to her rescue. But why would the Queen direct her golems to capture, not kill, Rainbow Dash? There must have been some other reason for it. Snake peered closely at her face. "What are you thinking?" Twilight craned her neck up at him. "The Queen has an obvious grudge against me. I'm sure that grudge extends to the others; we all had a role in stopping her. So why did she capture Rainbow Dash when the golems found her in the orchard, instead of just killing her on the spot?" "She could be interrogating her," Killjoy suggested. "Or even drawing out the execution. I mean, it depends on how pissed off she is versus how hungry she is, but if Rainbow Dash is as much of a meal as she suggested, then she could take her time, savor her, before stomping her out. She could make it last for days. Longer." "Torturing her for simple revenge? Pedestrian for a supervillain." Snake shook his head. "No, there's something bigger going on. After all, there had to be some reason she was collecting souls in Dodge." "Obviously," said Twilight. "But what does that have to do with...?" Comprehension dawned on her; the pieces fell into place, and she once more felt the urge to retch. She didn't need Snake to finish the thought to know where he was going with it. Chrysalis wanted Rainbow – wanted her soul for whatever it was she was after. If she knew that Rainbow was the Element of Loyalty's bearer, then surely her soul would have some unique property that would make it worth collecting. And if that was the case, and all she wanted Rainbow for was her soul... Then there wouldn't be any reason to keep her around for long. She could be lost already. By going down there, all I'd be doing is giving her the chance to add the Element of Magic to her collection. She started to shake. Her legs threatened to give way; her heart beat faster, her lungs worked harder to keep up. Killjoy watched her piteously. Snake was a rock. Maybe that's what this was about all along. Was the Queen actually holding Rainbow Dash hostage? Maybe, maybe not. Was she using the promise of finding her to lure Twilight into a trap? By her own admission, yes. Was there any logic in walking into that trap? None whatsoever. But logic wasn't what brought her to Dodge. Logic demanded that she ignore Trenton's summons and focus on the defense of Ponyville, on getting back on track to finding and stopping Metal Gear, on accepting Rainbow Dash's fate and focusing on saving as many lives as she could. She ignored it. She ignored Snake's exhortations, ignored the voice in her own head that echoed him. Faith brought her to Dodge – faith, and principle, and instinct. Was it logical to walk into what was probably a trap set by Trenton? No. Was it logical to walk into what was definitely a trap laid by Chrysalis? Definitely not. Would Rainbow have let that stop her, if their positions were reversed? She told me to leave her behind in the castle. And she'd probably say the same thing now, if she could. Snake was right about that. But if she were in my place, and I in hers, she'd move the sun and the moon both to get me back, regardless of what I said. Even if that meant walking into a trap laid by an archenemy. Twilight breathed deeply, slowly, held the air as long as she could, and exhaled through her mouth. She breathed again, and her legs stopped quaking. She breathed again, and her heart slowed down. Because that's the kind of pony she is – brave, noble. Loyal. Above all else, loyal. So, would Twilight walk into a trap a second time, in the faint hope of saving Rainbow Dash, in defiance of logic and common sense? I could never live with myself if I didn't at least try. "Maybe she is gone. Maybe she's not." She looked at Killjoy; concern was written in the pegasus's amber gaze. "Maybe Chrysalis is lying to get me where she wants me. Or maybe she's telling the truth. It doesn't matter. I have to go down there and see for myself." Snake was silent, but his jaw clenched hard enough that the whole lower half of his head seemed to tremble. Killjoy, though, sighed. "Semper fidelis, right?" She shook her head with a sad laugh. "You're Shining Armor's sister, alright. Loyal to her friends past the point of reason." "Are you gonna try and stop me?" Anger crept into her voice – she wasn't sure she liked that dig at her brother. "No no, not at all," said Killjoy hurriedly. "That wasn't an insult. I mean, you wanna go down there – knock yourself out. But hear me out, alright? 'Cuz at the very least, we can try and play it smart." Twilight's temper simmered. "I'm listening." Killjoy drew closer, the beginning of a smile bubbling on her face. "Look. The hive that hit Canterlot was estimated at four hundred, give or take. Right? Even with the losses they've taken today, from us and from your ninja friend, we're still looking at roughly two-to-one odds if it comes to a fight." Twilight nodded, wondering why Killjoy would be smiling in the face of such dire odds. "So I'm saying we fight them on our terms. My terms." She couldn't hold back the grin. "You're looking at less than half the forces under my command, Sparkle. When we figured that the changelings were going after more populated areas, I detached the pegasi and led them personally to Dodge. The rest I sent to Appleloosa; they should have arrived by now. Unicorns and earth ponies, three hundred strong." The smile made more sense now. Here I was worried it was just fatalism. Killjoy continued, the excitement in her voice ramping up. "I can have a flier there in hours to summon them here, and I can have the full detachment accounted for by dawn, provided they travel through the night. We cooked up a plan for storming an underground hive, too, in case we ran into one. The unicorns'll use some kind of ground-penetrating sonar whatsit spell to map out the hive – hell, they could even whip up some kind of defense against whatever that hypno-bleeding shit the Queen used against Dodge was. Then we go in, together, and clear 'em all out in close quarters." It wasn't a bad plan, in principle. But if the Queen was down there, if she had the ability to bleed souls en masse, then she could wipe out Killjoy's entire force in moments, effortlessly, perhaps regardless of whatever defenses they came up with. They were all vulnerable. Myself included. And there was one other obvious problem with her plan. Unexpectedly, Snake was the one to state it: "We don't have until dawn to wait." Twilight blinked at him. "Does that mean you're with me?" Part of her hoped he would say yes. Another, more realistic part, dreaded what he would actually say. He took a long, hard long at her before answering – and his answer didn't please her. "It means that we don't need to be here anymore. Let Killjoy gather her forces and storm the hive while we take the Humvee back to Ponyville and plan our next move. This isn't our fight." It was more in line with what she was expecting... although "our next move" was certainly an odd rhetorical choice on his part, lone wolf that he was. "This isn't your fight, you mean. My friend is here, in danger, and I'm not about to abandon her." "We're not abandoning anyone." Snake shifted his rifle to his right hand and curled his left against his waist. "Look at the big picture, Twilight. Leave Dodge and Dash to Killjoy while we finish our own fight. They can handle this." "He ain't wrong. We can wrap this up no problem, Sparkle." Killjoy's voice was earnest and pleading. "We'll get Rainbow Dash out of there, I promise, and once we're done out here, we'll hoof it to Ponyville and back you up in your own fight." "Thank you. Sincerely. I believe you when you say that, I do." Twilight forced herself to smile. "But I'm sorry. I have to do this myself." Snake scoffed. "Don't be an idiot. You'll get yourself killed." Twilight replied, softly, almost whispering. "So be it." Then she started down the path to the barn. An odd feeling of serenity washed over her; her hooves felt almost light, the dirt beneath them feather-soft. Like walking on clouds. "Twilight," Snake called after her. She ignored him, kept her gaze forward, kept putting one hoof in front of the other. His heavy footfalls thundered behind her as he stormed after her. "Twilight!" She felt his hand over her withers. Twilight whirled and slapped his hand away, glaring. Snake stared down at her. The hand she'd struck was curled into a fist, but she could discern a slight tremble – it must have hurt him more than she thought it would. "You told me before that you weren't going to martyr yourself for Rainbow Dash," he growled. Twilight flushed angrily. "That isn't what this is about at all!" "Could have fooled me." He appraised her with a steely look. "You walk into that hive, and you probably won't come back out. You swear you're not looking to die?" Twilight pursed her lips and nodded curtly. "Then drop it. There's no reason for us to be here. Dash or no Dash, this isn't our fight." Snake gestured back toward the farmhouse, where Killjoy hovered in the air, watching the two of them argue. "It's theirs. Let them handle it" "I..." Twilight looked away. "I can't do that." Snake sighed with exasperation. "Damn it, you're going in circles here. Just what the hell are you trying to prove?" "It's not about proving anything either!" "Then why—" "Nopony should have to die because I screwed up!" Snake froze and fell silent. There was a slight widening of his eyes – another rare outward sign that he'd been caught off guard. "I underestimated the danger in the castle." Twilight fought to keep her voice even. "I didn't realize the kind of threat we were up against, and I nearly got everypony killed. Rainbow could be lost, and Spike..." Her fight failed and her voice broke when her mind, unbidden, summoned an image of Spike with a tube in his throat. He had no business being there. He was too young, too vulnerable. I let him come along because... because he had something he needed to prove. Because I wanted to give him the chance. It was stupid. It was careless. I promised myself I would protect him. And she failed him. Just as she could still fail Rainbow. The list of loved ones slain on the altar of her own carelessness would only grow, if she let it. But it wasn't just her loved ones she'd endangered. I should have checked the other train. I should never have left Stovetop alone. She died by herself, swarmed by golems, and it's all... my... Snake wasn't the only one with an ever-growing body count. Only, he killed by his own hand. She killed through failure – indirectly, to be sure. But as far as she was concerned, that made her no less complicit in the death of Stovetop, in the deaths that could still await Spike and Rainbow Dash. I didn't kill them myself. But I may as well have. She felt light, dizzy; the feeling of overwhelming stress and panic returned, nearly boiled over. Twilight fought it down, and fill her lungs with air. "This is my mistake, and I have the chance to make it right." Killjoy fluttered closer as Twilight spoke, like a glittering golden butterfly, with a look of sympathy on her face. "I don't want to die here, Snake. but I'm not leaving my friend in other ponies' hooves while they clean up a mess that I made. I don't want—" "What do you want, Twilight?" Snake spoke with quiet intensity. Caught off guard, Twilight could only stammer. "I... I want..." She screwed her eyes shut tightly and the faces of her friends, laughing, smiling, happy and safe, flashed behind her closed lids – memories of better days. "I want Applejack and Rainbow Dash to get into a shouting match that they laugh about afterward over a bottle of cider. I want Pinkie Pie to see how many cupcakes she can fit in her mouth at once, and I want her to ignore me when I warn her to pace herself. I want to listen to Fluttershy conduct a bird choir; I want to get a hooficure with Rarity; I want to watch Spike grow up and fall in love with somepony..." "His own age?" Snake offered. "Attainable." She opened her eyes to look at Snake, but her vision was too blurry to see the look on his face. "And you know what? All things being equal, I would love the chance to ask you about that albatross poem of yours over coffee." She sniffed and wiped her eyes. "Because it sounds weird, and I would really like to know what the context behind it was." Snake stifled a chuckle, which somehow got one out of her. "I want my life back, Snake." Twilight sighed. "I want everything to just... just be okay again. But that all seems so far out of reach now. Maybe it is. Maybe forever." In only two short days, her entire world had been upended, perhaps irrevocably so. The world had gone wrong, and she didn't know whether she could ever make it right. "What I want doesn't matter, Snake. I have a duty, as much to my friends as to Equestria. I have to go after Rainbow. That's my burden. My obligation. Not Killjoy's, or the Guard's. Or even yours." She took a deep breath. "I won't ask you to come with me this time." Snake tilted his head at her. "You didn't ask last time." "No. I didn't." What else could she say to that? Down the path was the barn, with its broken front door, and a squat blue rectangle that she recognized as the Humvee. The orchard, too, with its canopy of pink leaves, was not so far away. "You can go if, you'd like. Back to Ponyville, or after Metal Gear in your own way. I won't hold it against you. Rainbow and I will be alright with Killjoy. We'll find our own way home." She meant it, too – there was no manipulation in her voice. No ulterior motive in her mind. I called you my friend once, and I meant it. But I haven't treated you like one. I hope I can make up for it. "Thank you for everything, Snake. I know you didn't want to come with me, but for what it's worth, I'm glad you did. I wouldn't have survived Dodge without your help." "You won't survive now without my help." Snake looked past her, toward the barn, chewing his lip. "You got a plan, at least? How to find her, how to get back out?" "I have... ideas. Ask anypony; this isn't the first time I've had to go looking for a friend in a network of subterranean caverns." She had an inkling of the kind of magic Killjoy was planning to use. She could enter the hive through either one of the entrances they knew about – in the barn, or in the orchard – and use a crude version of the same "sonar whatsit" spell to help her navigate both into and back out of the hive. And she had an idea of what to look for, too. Chrysalis is vain, ostentatious – she'd set aside a place of prominence for herself in the tunnels. A spacious chamber she could use as a court. I find that, I find her, and with her, Rainbow Dash. Maybe. Possibly. "I'll be alright. But it's sweet of you to be concerned." I'm not sure I deserve it from you. Giving him one last sad smile, she resumed her walk back to the barn. She didn't hear footsteps behind her, but she did hear wingbeats, feathers rustling as Killjoy landed and walked beside her. "Do you need to—" "I don't want to talk about it, Killjoy," Twilight interrupted quietly. Killjoy shut up and instead took a swig from her flask. Chrysalis may well have been expecting her to venture into the hive from the orchard entrance. That in mind, Twilight chose the barn – a choice that Chrysalis may also have anticipated, but dwelling on that possibility would only lead Twilight down a paradox of infinitely alternating possibilities, so she shouted down the obsessive, perfectionist voice in her mind that usually governed her actions and stuck with her choice of the barn. A pair of sentries were stationed at the barn's ruined front door. They stood aside at the sight of Killjoy, but Twilight felt their eyes on her as she passed inside. She knew many of the guards who patrolled Canterlot Castle proper by name, and they her, but these guards were unfamiliar. They knew her by name, by reputation... or, in Killjoy's case, strictly by reputation... "Starlight Shimmer" indeed. But they didn't know her truly, and she didn't know them. That was a pity. A few kind words from a familiar face might have made what she was about to do go that much easier. Snake had followed her from the farmhouse – the Humvee was parked behind the barn, after all, so one way or another, they were heading in the same direction – but had kept his distance during the entire walk. Her last glimpse of him came just as she was about to enter the barn; he was standing in the middle of the beaten path, watching her. He was still close enough for Twilight to see the tiny orange glow between his lips, and the faint curls of smoke wreathing his head. She fought back the urge to extinguish the cigarette, and slid down the slope of the foggy pit. Gross as it was to once again sink her hooves into the slime, the change in temperature from the blistering heat to the cool shadow of the barn was a slight relief. The broken door allowed a thick window of yellow light into the pit, illuminating more than a dozen pegasi, arrayed in front of the tunnel and staring intently at its entrance. Killjoy touched down beside Twilight, her wings tossing up wisps of displaced fog, and bemusedly asked them what in the hell they were doing. "Staring, ma'am," said a gruff, olive-colored stallion in the center of the line of guards. "At the hole in the ground." "Your orders, ma'am," added a pony Twilight recognized as Steel Wool. "You literally told me, and therefore us, to go stare at the the hole in the ground. On penalty of mother-fingerbanging." "And we'd like to avoid the fingerbanging, if at all possible, ma'am," a third mare chimed in. Killjoy facehoofed, and, to accentuate her frustration, facewinged at the same time. "Out, out, out." The guards looked at her, saluted as one, and dutifully floated from the pit and out the door. "Quirks aside, every team in this wing has their heads on straight. Every single one of them." She peeked at Twilight from behind her feathers. "Except I-Team. Why, Sparkle? Why is I so irritating?" "I wish I could tell you." "Oh, you're funny; you're so so funny." Laughing sarcastically, she stood up, ignoring the gunk on her hindquarters, and shook off her wings. "That's a... that's a big tunnel. I wasn't expecting it to be quite that... big. And dark. Big and dark. Do you get the feeling that it's staring back at you? And what is with this fog, for Celestia's sake?" Pertinent questions. Twilight could identify with them. "I couldn't tell you what's up with the fog. But the size of that tunnel probably owes to whatever dug it out. Which, I'll remind you, hatched from a very large egg, which you are currently heel-deep in." Twilight's horn flashed, and a triangular flap from the egg emerged from the fog behind them, sickly green in the light of the sun. Killjoy tapped her hoof gently against the ground, and chuckled ill-humoredly. "Oh, I'm gonna have to fight whatever came out of this aren't I?" "One of us probably will." Twilight shrugged and smiled blandly. "Most likely me." "About that..." Killjoy trotted closer. "You sure you wanna do this? I mean, you got a good hunch, your plan sounds... sound... and I can't begrudge you the sonar thing. But even ignoring the bowel-loosening prospect of fighting whatever dug that out..." She nudged her shoulder against Twilight's. "Whatever that hocus-pocus was that got Dodge, you're just as vulnerable to it as they were." "So are you and your ponies," Twilight replied. "I have the advantage of being pretty decent at hocus-pocus myself. I'll be alright." Killjoy hesitated. "Yeah, well... that's not gonna do you much good if you starve to death down there. Or die of thirst." She reached back and undid the straps on her saddlebags with her teeth, and shrugged out of them, stepping back. "Those are for you. There's rations, a canteen, knife, spade, rope, spare spearhead, not that you'd really need that. And Slaymare. My own copy." She could take or leave the comic, but everything else sounded fairly important. No doubt Killjoy would need it more. "I can't—" "Hey, don't argue. Everything in that bag, I can replace. But, um. There's only one of you. You know?" She shuffled her hooves and smiled, blushing lightly. "Plus, it'd look pretty bad on my record if Shining Armor's kid sis died on my watch. So do me a favor, and, uh. Don't." Twilight returned the smile, levitated the bags onto her back, strapped them on, and nodded. "Thank you. I mean it." Then she turned back toward the tunnel. "Now or never, I suppose..." Yet she waited. She waited for footsteps, for the incoming smell of tobacco and sweat, for the growling cynic to chase her down and insist on going with her. He never came. And that's... how it ought to be, I suppose. Twilight put one hoof in front of her. Then another. "Take care, Sparkle-Sparkle." Killjoy was not so far behind, yet her voice sounded faint and distant all the same. With a last deep breath, Twilight shuffled the bags on her back and passed inside the gaping black maw of the cavern.

Posh

436

Main 6,Other,Twilight Sparkle,Crossover,Human,Adventure,Dark,Metal Gear,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic,Death,Violence

Pony Gear Solid

Solid Snake teams up with ponies to save Equestria, and gradually learns to love it.

incomplete

<p>Metal Gear has fallen into the hooves of an Equestrian revolutionary, who, with the backing of his human mercenary allies, intends to use it to depose Celestia and crown himself ruler. Having crossed into Equestria in pursuit of this rogue weapon, the legendary Solid Snake must ally with the residents of Ponyville to prevent a nuclear catastrophe.</p><p>See also <a href="/story/369125/equestria-gear-solid-the-definitive-experience" rel="nofollow"><i>Equestria Gear Solid</i></a><i>,</i> the hilarious spin-off EQG parody in which everything you know is wrong, and every single character from the story is an awful caricature of themselves. </p><p><a href="http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/FanFic/PonyGearSolid" rel="nofollow">Now with its own TVtropes page!</a></p>

teen

2016-09-22T01:18:00+00:00

2016-09-22T17:53:00+00:00

Twilight Sparkle was a moron. A sentimental, possibly self-destructive moron, who let herself be led by the nose into a trap laid by a mustache-twirling megalomaniac prone to temper tantrums. Her prerogative, I suppose, but damned if I was gonna let myself be suckered into playing along again. I was done. Done with ponies, done with their antics, done with being whined at and manipulated. Give me political conspiracies, nuclear death machines, and Otacon's occasional dork antics. I'd take them all a hundred times over if it meant never having to deal with another tiny, sanctimonious horse crapping rainbows. Finding and dealing with Metal Gear was my most immediate concern, although there were some details that needed hammering out. I figured I could follow the train tracks at least as far as Ponyville. From there, I'd have to reenter the forest and retrace my steps back to ruined castle. With the bridge out, I'd need to find another way across that chasm – scale the cliffs and ford the river, maybe. Or try to find a way around it, although that could take hours, and traveling to the staging area would be a few hours on foot already. All of that would be tedious, but relatively simple, compared to actually disabling Metal Gear. I knew the routine – compromise its structural integrity with strategically placed explosives, or line the radome and cockpit with C-4 to cripple its sensors and control systems. If all else failed, shoot it in the mouth with rockets until it fell over and exploded. Acquiring the necessary materials to get it done would take some leg work, though. Still, all that in mind, I was pretty much good to go. There was no more reason for me to stick around in Dodge. If Twilight survived, if she somehow managed to find Rainbow Dash alive and well and make it out of whatever the trap was, then she could hook up with the Guard and make her way back to Ponyville without me. And if she didn't... Spike lies in a pile of rubble. No. Not my problem. Not anymore. I opened the driver's-side door to the Humvee, propped my rifle against it, and spent some time getting to know my ride. Everything under the hood seemed in working order. Fuel might've been a concern, although there were spare cans of gas in the back of the car, along with a heavy locker that I couldn't find the key to. Overall, the Humvee certainly seemed to be in good condition. A few hours of driving, and I'd be back on track. No Twilight to worry about. No Rainbow Dash. Hotwire the car, finish the mission, leave them both behind. Rainbow Dash smiles at me through her tears. I slammed my fist against the side of the Humvee and immediately wished I hadn't. Tires. If I was gonna take that thing all the way across the frontier, back to Ponyville, then I needed some guarantees about the tires. So I went from tire to tire, inspecting each one individually, all while kneading my throbbing right hand. Didn't feel broken, so that was fortunate. And the tires felt solid enough, except... was it my imagination, or was the left rear tire a little flat? Dammit, that would mean checking the air pressure, maybe even swapping it out for a spare if I didn't like what I saw. That'd kill even more time than I'd already— Something small hit me in the temple and bounced off, landing on the ground. Rubbing the spot where it struck me, I knelt to inspect it. It was a little silver coin, its face engraved with an emblem of a crescent moon against a starry sky. On the flip side was a pony – a winged unicorn, with a sad smile on its face. Funny thing – it looked like the Pegasus Wings sigil. "For your thoughts?" I stood and turned around. Killjoy hovered in the air, holding her red-crested helmet in her hooves. She was smiling – not the cocky, devil-may-care grin she'd flashed during our conversations before, but a more subdued expression. Now, that raised an interesting question. With her hooves full, and her wings preoccupied by hovering, how did she throw the coin? With her mouth? I guess it did feel a little moist. Ponies are disgusting. "Not up for talking." "In that case, think of it as a bribe." Killjoy paused. "To clarify, I'm bribing you to listen to me talk." I frowned at her. "Where I'm from, bribery is a court martial offense for an officer." "Same here." That brought out the familiar grin. "Then again, I'm not really an officer, am I?" I grunted in as detached and non-committal a manner as I could. "Bribe someone else, Brevet Captain. If you hadn't noticed, I'm a little busy." "I have noticed, actually." Killjoy dropped to the ground, set the helmet down, and folded her wings. "You spent about twenty minutes fartin' around with that thing, and just when I thought you were all done, you spent another ten groping its wheels. Very busy, indeed." "I've been told I'm a methodical man. Nothing wrong with it." I waved her off, turning back to my work. While I had nothing against Killjoy, I could guess what she wanted to talk about, and it was a conversation I'd have preferred not to have. Between Rainbow Dash's and Twilight's combined efforts, I'd had enough of being berated and jerked around by ponies for one lifetime. She wasn't taking that for an answer, though, even as I knelt and examined the tire, pointedly keeping my back to her. Sand crunched beneath her hooves as she stepped closer to me. "Look, Sparkle filled me in on your business here. I know what you're here to do, and while I doubt it's strictly out of the kindness of your heart..." My jaw clenched. Here we go. "I wanted to thank you, regardless." My jaw relaxed, and I looked at her over my shoulder, admittedly taken by surprise. Killjoy tossed her head back, throwing the sweaty tangle of her mane over the other side of her neck. "You're fighting your own kind to help save mine. That might be incidental, but even so, you're doin' right by Equestria, and that means something to me. So I want you to know, whatever happens, you have my gratitude. And my respect." My lip twitched – an involuntary smirk. "Whatever that's worth, huh?" The mare matched it. "You're kind of a dick, you know that?" "You're not wrong." I wasn't naive enough to believe that Killjoy was only talking to me to express gratitude. That was just the wind-up. Killjoy took a deep breath, wiping the smirk from her face. "That being said..." And the pitch. "If this is about Twilight, then save it. Going after Dash was her decision. It has nothing to do with me." Her mouth hung slightly open before she recovered with a smile. "To be honest? Me neither." Killjoy stepped closer to the Humvee, sat down beside me, and leaned her head against the metal plating. "It's pretty funny, actually. SOP when it comes to civilians is to keep them out of harm's way, not to let them march into the belly of the beast with their heads held high." "Then why'd you let her?" The pain in my hand was ebbing – apparently, the nanos were still good for something. "Because she's Twilight Sparkle, duh. Do you have any idea how much clout that pony has? She sure as hell doesn't." Killjoy chuckled. "I once got drunk with a Civil Service bureaucrat who swore, up and down, that it was all an act. After all, nopony could possibly be as oblivious to their social status as she lets on." "All because she's the Guard Captain's sister?" "Nah. Because she's Princess Celestia's personal student. Or didn't you know?" She winked at me. "Although her relation to Shining does afford her certain privileges with the Guard, of which she is also largely oblivious. For us, it's generally understood that exceptions are made for her. So if Twilight Sparkle demands that she be allowed to face off with the Queen Bitch of the Changelings alone, then technically, it's not my place to stand in her way. Although..." Killjoy trailed off. Her smile faded, and she looked down at her hooves, still smeared with the internal fluids of the changelings she slew earlier. "That doesn't mean I like the idea. The Queen went horn-to-horn with Princess Celestia and won without breaking a sweat. There's no way that Sparkle could hope to succeed, alone, where even the Princess failed. She needs a friend to watch her back. I can't do it myself, and I can't send one of my guards without putting Rainbow Dash at risk." "No one else can do it, so you come crawling to me, huh?" I grumbled. "Yeah, that's a familiar song." She was quiet for a moment before continuing. "I don't want her to die. And unless I've completely misread you, neither do you." A shiver ran through me. I turned to rest my back against the tire, sitting with one leg arched and the other stretched out. Killjoy was on my right, watching me carefully. Resting one elbow against my upturned knee, I pressed my hand to my forehead and sighed deeply. "She's one life against hundreds," I said. "Thousands, even. Why does it matter so much to you?" "Duty. Honor. Semper fidelis, and all that. Plus, she's really sweet and super cute – a nine, easily. And you saw how pissed she made Steel Wool. There's a pony who needs a little humiliation now and then." Killjoy shrugged. "But all that aside, she's Shining Armor's sister. That by itself is reason enough to care." I snorted. "I guess it'd look bad on your record if you got your captain's sister killed." "You know, I said the same thing to her, almost word-for-word." Killjoy chuckled. "And, yeah, not gonna lie, there's a very selfish and opportunistic voice in my head that keeps thinking 'hey girl, you keep Shining's sis in one piece and Colonel Killjoy might actually be in your future.' But it's more than that." She fell silent for long enough that I started thinking she wasn't going to pick up again. Then she looked at me with a nervous quiver in her bottom lip. "You, um... you got any more of that whiskey you used on your bite?" I lowered my hand from my head to deliver her a full-bore look of bemusement, but dug around in the pouch where I'd placed the little bottle of amber liquid. I retrieved it, glancing at the grinning pair of unicorns on the label, then looked at Killjoy. The pegasus was eyeing the bottle closely, biting her lip. Ah, yes. I knew that look. "Should you really be drinking on duty?" Killjoy rolled her eyes. "What're you, my sponsor? Gimme." She extended her forelegs toward me. Can't say I didn't try. Shrugging, I held it out to her, and she seized the bottle between her hooves. She tugged the cork free with her teeth, spat it out, and took a quick swig, smacking her lips loudly. "Oh, that is disgusting." She shuddered, but took another drink. "Absolutely disgusting. Easily the second worst thing I have ever had in my mouth." "What's the first?" "Bulk Biceps." She took a more measured third sip, then pulled the bottle away with a sigh, staring into the aperture at the top of its neck. Her expression was contemplative, tired. I knew that look too – the facial expression one usually breaks out when one holds a staring contest with a bottle of liquor. I hadn't expected to see it on a pony's face. "Shining Armor was my friend before he was ever my C.O." Killjoy's voice was a quiet rasp, owing to the whiskey. "A good friend, who stuck up for me when nopony else would. Believed in me when nopony else did. Not even me." She took another sip from the bottle, and didn't seem to mind the taste so much. "When he asked me to lead this expedition, I was like... like, okay, I'm the last pony I'd trust with something like this. I would have expected him to ask somepony like Chain Mail. Or Flash Sentry. Or, hell, Goosefeathers! She ought to be the one giving the orders, and I ought to be polishing spearheads in the barracks." "Yet here you are. Must be a reason why." "Oh, I know exactly why. He believes in me, says all I need is the right chance to shine. Punny bastard." She swished the remaining whiskey in the bottle back and forth. "Well, joke's on him. Most everypony in Dodge is dead, and his little sister's liable to join 'em by sunset. That's what you get for bettin' on me." Killjoy lifted the bottle again, but I seized it around the neck before she could bring it to her lips. A look passed between us, and she slowly removed her hooves, letting me pull it back into my lap. "What happened here isn't your fault," I told her, silently regretting my decision to enable the depressive alcoholic. "You can't know that." She looked away, nervously smoothing her mane down her neck with her hoof. "I think about those bodies in town. About Cherry, all alone in that basement for days. I keep asking myself, could I have stopped this from happening? If I pushed everypony to move faster, noticed the westward movement sooner—" I reached over her, picked up the cork where she'd spat it out, and stuffed it back into the bottle, my sudden motion startling her into shutting up. "Maybe you could have. Probably couldn't have. Obsessing over it helps nobody – they're dead. You're not. Don't make the mistake of carrying your phantoms with you." Killjoy was studying my face intently. "Guess a guy like you'd know something about that, wouldn't you?" Twilight laughs and pushes the bottle away as blossoms waft in the breeze. I clenched my fingers tightly around the bottle. "The hell do you want from me, Killjoy?" Killjoy spoke slowly, enunciating carefully, to compensate for the effects of the whiskey. "Shining believed in me, and I've done nothing but let him down. If Sparkle dies, on top of everything else..." She looked away from me, rubbing her nose against her fetlock. "I can't help her, much as I might want to. Maybe I can't help anypony." Her voice was thick, and, pardon the pun, hoarse. "But you can. So I'm asking you to try." Funny thing about Killjoy. With her glittering gold armor and greathelm, and her collapsible spear, she was a hell of a lot more imposing than most of the ponies I'd seen. Especially next to someone like Twilight, who was so slight and nonthreatening... provided her horn wasn't glowing. Right then and there, though, all that armor did was emphasize how small the pony inside of it was. "And if I say no?" I asked. Killjoy sniffed. Then she turned her head around to look me in the eye, a sad, artificial smile on her lips. "Then you say no, and you leave. Nothing more to it. I'll wish you good hunting, and stay here to muddle through." My grip loosened around the bottle of whiskey. Loudly sniffing once more, Killjoy got to her hooves and cleared her throat. "I've already dispatched a flier to Appleloosa," she announced. Her voice once more took on that tone of authority that no one outside a military body could hope to properly emulate. "Within a day, I'll have five hundred spears pointed at Chrysalis's throat. We'll win this, one way or the other. But if you can keep Sparkle out of harm's way, then I'll feel a little bit better about what's to come. If not..." I pulled myself off the ground, and Killjoy beat her wings to hover at my height. Her expression was hardened, stern, but her eyes were wide with anticipation. Trading the whiskey to my left hand, I held out my right. "If not, then good hunting to you." Her face shifted a little – I think I saw a bit of resentment on her expression. But she forced another smile, put her hoof in my hand, and shook it firmly. "To you as well." Then her lips twitched into another smirk. "Thanks for the drink, Solid Dick." I snorted and pulled my hand away. The rifle was still propped against the opened front door; I leaned down to pick it up, climbed into the front seat, and pulled the door shut. I set the rifle in the rack between the two seats, wrapped my free hand around the steering wheel, and let out a long breath. This was exactly the kind of break I was hoping for. No sanctimonious speeches, no guilt-trip from a needy pony. Just me, a car, a full tank of gas... hopefully... and the open road. Just reach under the console, hotwire the car, and burn rubber toward the Everfree. Finish the mission. Do what you came here to do. "What's another corpse among thousands to you?" I leaned forward until my forehead touched the top of the steering wheel. Life as a cold-blooded mercenary may not have been fulfilling, but giving zero shits about anybody's existence besides your own had its upsides. I could really have used some of that right then.

Posh

436

Main 6,Other,Twilight Sparkle,Crossover,Human,Adventure,Dark,Metal Gear,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic,Death,Violence

Pony Gear Solid

Solid Snake teams up with ponies to save Equestria, and gradually learns to love it.

incomplete

<p>Metal Gear has fallen into the hooves of an Equestrian revolutionary, who, with the backing of his human mercenary allies, intends to use it to depose Celestia and crown himself ruler. Having crossed into Equestria in pursuit of this rogue weapon, the legendary Solid Snake must ally with the residents of Ponyville to prevent a nuclear catastrophe.</p><p>See also <a href="/story/369125/equestria-gear-solid-the-definitive-experience" rel="nofollow"><i>Equestria Gear Solid</i></a><i>,</i> the hilarious spin-off EQG parody in which everything you know is wrong, and every single character from the story is an awful caricature of themselves. </p><p><a href="http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/FanFic/PonyGearSolid" rel="nofollow">Now with its own TVtropes page!</a></p>

teen

2017-02-17T07:56:00+00:00

2019-08-04T18:07:26+00:00

"This is the first time I've ever used my power to help someone. It's strange... it feels... kind of... nice." The darkness that was so impermeable and all-consuming at the start of Twilight's journey was manageable once she was in the thick of it. With her light shining from her horn, illuminating her way, it wasn't so bad. It wasn't even the worst part about the tunnel. The tunnel itself was the worst part about the tunnel. She'd made her peace with the dark and the cold and the occasional crumble of dirt from the ceiling powdering her scalp. Unfortunately, then Twilight's mind related the interminable march down tunnel with the sensation of being swallowed by a whale. Try as she might, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being urged deeper and deeper toward a big pool of gastric acid that would break her down into her component proteins for nourishment and— "The heck is wrong with you, Twilight?" she snapped, shaking her head. "Is this seriously what you think about when you're all by your lonesome?" The word echoed in the confined space. Lonesome, lonesome, lonesome... Twilight rolled her eyes. "Stupid acoustics." Okay, so it turned out that even the whale thing wasn't the worst part of traveling through the tunnel. It was the fact that she had to do it with nopony to talk to. Rainbow was ahead, Killjoy behind. Snake was... Who even knows? Yakyakistan The Neighchelles. Somewhere not here. It doesn't matter. And the others were back in Ponyville. That left Twilight alone to delve deeper and deeper into the bowels of the earth, isolating herself further with every step she took. Once, that wouldn't have bothered her, but she'd grown used to relying on her friends for comfort and support. Now, she had nothing but her own mind to keep her company. My creepy, creepy mind filled with creepy, creepy thoughts. Why do I even have friends? The fog thinned out the deeper she went. At the outset, she was up to her fetlock in iridescent mist, but the farther she walked, the more it faded, until the ground was totally unobscured. Twilight could see the footsteps of whatever had hatched from the egg: deep, round gouges roughly as big around as her hoof, less like footprints, and more like holes from stakes driven into the earth. She discovered them via the age-old trackers' trick of stumbling in one and going "wagh!" in surprise, and watched her steps a little more carefully after that. Not that she really needed a trail to deduce what direction the thing had taken. Besides a leftward curve that bent her path at a near ninety degree angle to the entrance, the tunnel ran linearly, on a gradual incline. It simplified things, but it also meant that the magic she was counting on to see her through was more or less useless. The acoustic cartography spell – or "sonar whatsit," as it was apparently known to layponies – was a nifty bit of sorcery with many applications, but it was best utilized by multiple unicorns working in concert to canvas an area. Used by a single caster, its effective range was painfully limited, not to mention headache-inducing. As long as the tunnel maintained its trajectory and didn't start forking into forks which forked into still more forks, she figured she'd save herself time and effort and minimize how much she relied upon the spell. She was half an hour into her trip, washing down a bland piece of green ration with a swig of metallic-tasting water from a Guard-issue canteen, when the tunnel abruptly ran out. Ahead of her was a sheer drop, and a vast expanse of darkness that the light from her horn could barely penetrate. Fortunately, it wasn't the only lighting spell she knew. The beam emanating from her horn receded, coalesced into a brilliant white sphere, and shot to the cavern's apex. It hovered, a heatless, miniature star that forced Twilight to momentarily squint and shield her eyes with her hoof before her she could adjust enough to gaze inside. Beyond the tunnel's exit was a chamber, ovoid in shape, and massive in size and scale – you could probably fit Canterlot Castle's ballroom inside of it five times over, with room to spare. Two tunnels were dug into the walls on ground level, one on the opposite end of the cavern from her, roughly aligning with the tunnel she'd been walking, the other dug into the wall on her left. Those, however, were minor details. It was the contents of the chamber which made Twilight wonder if she was hallucinating. Below her stretched the crumbling remnants of two stone buildings, barracks-style structures running parallel to one another, on opposite sides of a cobblestone path which extended into the tunnel opposite Twilight. The structure on the right was remarkably intact – all four walls still stood, though the roof had collapsed, revealing an interior packed to the brim with dirt. The building on the left, by contrast, was an abject ruin. Only one corner of its walls remained standing; the rest had fallen into rubble long ago. Twilight teleported to the bottom of the chamber, in the center of the cobblestone path, gazing into the abyssal darkness of the tunnel ahead. She glanced down at the stones beneath her hooves, and, frowning, tapped them twice. She was met with an echoing clop-clop. Twilight walked to the building on her right, did the same with its wall, and got another clop-clop in response. So... probably not a hallucination, then. Nice to know I'm not crazy. Although that would at least have been an explanation for what she was seeing. Try as she might to recall something to make sense of what she was looking at – perhaps a note from a half-remembered lecture, or a passage from a text – she came up dry. Nothing in her education or experience could explain the existence of a ruined civilization beneath the frontier. Which would mean that I'm the first to find it. Oh, I could publish a whole thesis on this...! A noise from the tunnel ahead – a rough, sandpapery sound that brought to mind what Snake might sound like after a tracheotomy – killed Twilight's academic enthusiasm. Eight golems, their black carapaces glinting in the artificial light, emerged from the inky darkness in a V-shaped rank, and advanced on Twilight in lock-step. Seven pairs of pale blue eyes on seven blank faces regarded her. The eighth – the one in the middle of the rank – had eyes as dead as the others, but it met and held Twilight's gaze, drawing back its lips in a snarl. That one's got a bone to pick. Twilight fired a thin, pink lance that blasted a hole directly in the middle golem's path. Gratifyingly, it actually flinched, though it never lost its grin, even when the whole rank came to a stop. She looked from one end of the line to the other, keeping her horn lowered, daring one of them to take another step forward. Then the middle golem spoke. "You're all alone. Where's your friend, the murderer? I invited him for a reason." Twilight looked up with a start. That it said anything at all came as no surprise – Chrysalis had spoken through Cherry before, after all. But its voice was a blend of the changeling's own and the Chrysalis's coquettish tones, and that was profoundly disturbing. She swallowed her nervousness, and hoped the Queen didn't notice. "Snake's around. Needed elsewhere." "So he snubbed me." The golem's smirk split into a wide, toothy grin, exposing a row of chipped and blunted fangs. "Between his discourtesy, and your little outburst just now, my sense of hospitality is being seriously strained. I'll have to find him, and express my displeasure personally." "Yeah? What about you?" Twilight snapped. "You sent a surrogate instead of meeting me yourself. You're a worse hostess than I am a houseguest." "Ah, do excuse me. I'm, how to put it..." The golem frowned, rolling a hole-ridden hoof idly in the air as it thought. "Indisposed. Tied up, one might say. Don't worry, you can address your questions and comments to my puppet here. You might say he... speaks with my voice?" Chrysalis giggled at her own pun. "Funny," said Twilight. "Please give me my friend now." "Don't be like that," Chrysalis cooed. "I won't fault you for wanting to skip the foreplay, but come on! I know you well enough to know how curious you must be right now. When else but now will you ever have the chance to indulge your inner historian?" "Presumably, when I go home, after I'm finished with you." Twilight's patience was hanging by its last thread. "I doubt there's anything you could tell me that I couldn't find out for myself." "Oh, there's nothing like the arrogance of an ivory tower intellectual. Still, I can't pass up the chance to lecture the biggest pedant in Equestria. I hope you don't mind if I savor the moment a little." The other golems fanned out, breaking ranks and encircling Twilight, while Chrysalis's puppet took to the air. It rose until it was almost of a height with the miniature sun lighting the room, its profile lost in the glow, and Twilight had to look away. "Welcome, Twilight Sparkle!" The two voices, entwined in their foul harmony, shook the chamber with enough bass and gusto to make Luna herself die of Royal Canterlot Voice envy. "To the lost rrrrrrealm... of Canterbrrrrrrrrrrrrrrria!" Unimpressed with her boisterousness and perfectly rolled "r"s, Twilight shifted her attention to the other seven golems, who stood in a loose ring around her. She assumed the Queen's theatrics were no more than a diversion, to draw her attention away from the coming ambush. But they didn't move a millimeter. Somehow, for Twilight, that inaction was the last straw. Chrysalis's puppet hovered in the air a moment longer before descending slowly to the ground, dropping to its hooves, and stilling the rapid beating of its wings. Its grin became a surprisingly self-conscious smile. "Too much? I don't get the opportunity to play up the whole 'archvillain' thing to a non-changeling audience very often." "Oh, stop," Twilight snapped. "I didn't come here to chat with you, and I certainly didn't come for a history lesson. I don't care what this place is called, or who built it, or when, or why. I have zero interest. Zero. Less than zero. There is no way to mathematically quantify how little I care." "You're not fooling me. Come on, ask—" "No. You have put me through hell today, with your games and your ambushes and your riddles wrapped in enigmas, and I am officially through with all of it. I'm not going to indulge you, or your pathological need for hero/villain banter, any longer. I want Rainbow Dash, and you're going to give her to me, or I swear, I will cave this whole stupid city in on itself, and let you dig your way out!" The scholar in her raged at her angry dismissal of a perfectly legitimate line of academic inquiry. Every other iota of Twilight's being delighted in how aback Chrysalis was taken, the plain, naked shock on the puppet's face. Then it sneered. "That's a bold threat, Twilight, but we both know you'd never act on it." "You sure about that? You don't know me." "Oh. Is that what you think?" The puppet laughed darkly. "This is going to be more fun than I thought..." The golems encircling Twilight edged closer, tightening their perimeter. Strategically, being surrounded meant little; Twilight could conjure a dozen different countermeasures for it in her sleep. Eight golems, using run-of-the-mill encircling tactics – Chrysalis's opening move was utterly failing to impress. Although... who knew how many were waiting in the wings? "You're right about one thing, however. I did get sidetracked." The puppet took a measured step forward. "I thank you for indulging me, but it's time to get down to brass tacks. You're in no position to be issuing threats, even if you were willing or able to act on them. I have a decisive numerical advantage over you, so I suggest you trot along with the honor guard here, and not make a fuss. Play nice, and I promise that you and Rainbow Dash can spend what time you have left hugging and braiding each other's hair and singing happy little pony songs." "You're not taking me anywhere." "Of course I am," said Chrysalis in that saccharine, patronizing way. "It's just a question of whether you'll go under your own power, or whether I'll have to break every bone in your miserable body and drag you." The threat rolled off her tongue casually, with no more menace behind it than an invitation to Sunday tea. How to respond? Twilight looked to Rainbow Dash to inspiration – what would a brave pony like her do? Crash into my balcony? Get captured by a cyclops? Ignore Scootaloo? No, no, and no. ...Say something punky to bait them into attacking, and pick them apart as they come? Better. "Think you got what it takes?" She did her best to emulate one of Rainbow Dash's cocky grins. "Come and try, uh... Sparky." The golem's face dropped into an expression of confusion. It cocked its head, eyes narrowing. "Sparky?" it mouthed. It shook its head with a disgusted snort. Only the fact that she was staring down a deadly foe kept Twilight from cringing to death. I think I'll just stick with the whole "righteous anger" thing from here on out. The golem sucked its teeth. Then all eight charged inward, toward her, at once. What she lacked in badass pre-fight one-liners, Twilight made up for in magical prowess. A shimmering pink dome appeared around her body, and the golems collided with it from all sides. Then the barrier expanded and burst, flinging the attackers away. Their wings beat furiously to fight off the momentum generated by the force of Twilight's attack, and most were able to right themselves in the air. One wasn't. It struck the crumbled building to Twilight's left with enough force to shatter rock. Its remains lay amid a pile of fallen stones and a cloud of fine powder. She stared, mouth open, for a split second, before the seven still active streaked at her, again from all sides. Twilight set her eyes front and blasted a target of opportunity out of the air with a point-blank shot to its face. Another came at her from behind, and got a chitin-cracking buck in the face for its trouble. One crept into Twilight's blind spot, and caught her with a sucker punch to her cheek. Stars burst in the corner of her vision; she whirled right to face her attacker, reared onto her hind legs, and caught the golem by its shoulders with her front hooves. Its fangs flashed, and it thrust toward her face with its horn. Twilight parried with a thrust of her own, locking their horns together, and they grappled, baring their teeth. The golem's wings propelled it forward, and Twilight took a staggered step back to brace herself. Her horn shimmered, but something landed on her back, caught her mane in its teeth, and pulled. The deadlock was broken, and the bolt that she'd been preparing to cast fired harmlessly into the ceiling. The golem she grappled with sank its teeth into her exposed neck. She screamed, and her aura winked out. Through the haze of pain and shock, she realized that bite wasn't a killing strike. It was too shallow, and the golem had missed her carotid. Of course. Chrysalis doesn't want me dead. She beat her hoof against the golem's head. The first punch made it grunt and jerk; the second dislodged it from her neck, and it snapped its bloody fangs at her nose in reprisal. Twilight fought to refocus, ignoring the trickling sensation from her neck. Sparks fizzled at the tip of her horn, and she thrust toward the golem's eyes. She didn't pierce either of them, but the light and heat made the golem hiss and pull away from Twilight, who fell back to her hooves. The golem on her back still clung to her mane and was trying desperately to restrain her while the others swarmed her from the front. There was still a spearhead in her saddlebags, she remembered. Twilight pulled it free and, without looking or thinking, stabbed at the golem on her back. Through her aura, she felt it penetrate a soft, squishy surface. She'd caught the golem in its vulnerable eye. Its grip on her mane loosened. Push it deeper. Twilight shut her eyes and withdrew the spearhead, with most of the golem's eye still stuck on the point. Her telekinesis flung the still-squirming body into one of the incoming golems, knocking it out of the air. Then she dropped the weapon, pivoted, coiled her legs, and pounced, landing on top of the one-eyed golem, knocking it out, and further pinning the one underneath. Twilight lowered her horn until it was pressed against the squirming golem's forehead. She shut her eyes. Leave it, and it'll just go after you again. Put it down. She fired. When she opened her eyes, the golem was moaning and unconscious, with its tongue hanging out of its mouth. A shadow fell over her – one of the golems was overhead, plunging toward her. Twilight hurled the spearhead telekinetically, through the golem's wing. Then she flashed, vanished, and reappeared on top of the dirt-packed building, in time to see her attacker crash into the spot she'd just vacated. It rolled, came to a stop, and lay twitching. Five down. The last three rose to take her on three sides. Twilight stretched out with her senses, found some loose rubble, and pulled several sizable lumps of stone into the air. She flung the first rock and dropped an unwary golem with a blow to the head. Twilight flung a second, but her target weaved away before it could hit, and was too busy laughing at Twilight's error to see the rock reverse course in midair and collide with the back of its head. She didn't see the bodies land, didn't know whether they lived or not, and was too preoccupied to hate herself at that moment either way. The last golem landed in front of Twilight, the one Chrysalis had approached her with at ambush's onset. Twilight could tell by the leer. Twilight pounced, but the golem pulled away. It hovered, lazily dodging a rapid-fire string of blasts – a distraction from the swarm of rocks hurtling toward it from the sides. It saw them coming at the last second, and dodged two, but one caught it in the chest, then another tore through its wing. A cry of pained surprise tapered into manic laughter, and it dropped to the ground with its one remaining wing beating in futility. Twilight galloped to the edge of the roof and teleported to the ground with her back to the golem. Her hind leg caught it in its ribs; she spun and rammed it with her shoulder, driving it against the nearby building. Twilight reared and pinned its forelegs against the wall, and pressed her glowing horn against the center of the golem's forehead. You won't be a killer. It's not even alive. Through it all, the golem kept laughing. The light from Twilight's horn caught in the golem's eyes, and she saw her reflection – the bruises on her face, the tired circles beneath her own eyes, and her furious grimace. This is a kindness. Do it. "What're you waiting for?" the golem hissed. Twilight's jaw clenched. "You burned a whole town's worth of them without a second's thought. Why sweat over it now?" It chattered out a mad little laugh. "They're not alive, remember? Living like this is no life at all, remember?" Sparks crackled, and Twilight stared into her reflected gaze. I can't. Celestia, I can't do it. She hurled the puppet away from the wall, sending it tumbling into the center of the cobblestone boulevard. When it tried to rise, Twilight stopped it with a hoof between its wings. "Let me guess – it's harder when they talk back, right?" The golem shook its head, chuckling scornfully. "You would have saved yourself a lot of trouble by just going quietly, you know." "Believe me, Chrysalis, it wasn't any trouble at all." "Now there's a proper quip! Knew you had it in you, Sparky. We'll make a cold-blooded killer out of you yet." The puppet's laughter caught in its throat, and it coughed up a wad of gunk that it spat at Twilight's hoof. "Where is she?" said Twilight calmly, ignoring her own disgusted impulse. "Very close by," the puppet wheezed, straining against the pressure. "Pick a tunnel. It doesn't matter which one; they'll both take you to where you're going. They meet at a path deeper into the earth – a road to the forum, the heart of this old city. This sun-scorched realm of hubristic earth ponies, subsumed by ashes, long, long ago." Sun-scorched... Why did that ring such a noisy, alarming bell for her? "Or by a volcano, more likely," Chrysalis added. "But that doesn't have quite the same poetry, wouldn't you agree?" Twilight winced – she hadn't meant to speak that thought aloud. Gently, she eased her hoof of of the golem's body, and it rolled onto its back with a groan. "See? Knew you were curious," said the golem, propping up on is elbows. "I'm going to ask that you hold off on asking questions until you get here, however. Don't want to exhaust that avenue of discussion before I can see you face-to-face. We have so much to catch up on, after all." "Fat chance. I'm getting my friend, and we are walking out of here together. That's how this ends." "Silly filly." The golem shook its head. "Neither of you are leaving here alive. That's how this ends." From behind came a cacophony of droning wings, pounding hooves, and shifting rubble. Twilight turned to see the golems, alive and fully conscious, storming toward her rapidly, as the one at her hooves laughed. Then they fell, in sprays of green gore and chitin chips, swatted out of the air by suppressed gunfire. Twilight stared, unblinking and unmoving, as her mind struggled to process this. "The tin man," the golem at her hooves hissed. Twilight looked down again – its head was turned toward one of the tunnels, and a red dot danced along its forehead. "Of course. You would befriend that—" Then its head exploded like an overripe honeydew, peppering Twilight with shrapnel and flecks of fluid. Twilight stumbled back, heart thundering in her chest, and frantically searched the room. Her first thought was that Snake had stayed after all, that he came after her. But the attack had come from the wrong direction – from her golem's left, not from above – and the only gun he had with that red light was his tranquilizer. Snake didn't fire that shot. With a tremble that she couldn't suppress, Twilight turned to face that tunnel, where a single point of pale blue fire burned amid the darkness. Trenton edged into the light with catlike fluidity, the barrel of a suppressed pistol leveled at the center of Twilight's head. His bulky vest was pitted with holes from changeling horns, and the left side of his head bore a dent the size of Twilight's hoof, as well as a smear of green that covered the blank mask where his face should have been. The gun was new, too; he hadn't been carrying that in the Everfree. The bodies the Guard found in the orchard were cut up, she recalled, but the hilt of his sword didn't poke up from behind his shoulder. Had he lost it? Traded it out for the gun? He's a good enough shot that he doesn't need it, I suppose. Trenton came to a stop beside a pile of rubble, where Twilight had buried one of the golems. He stared at her, and cocked his head to the side. "You're injured." It was like he'd flipped a switch and reactivated her pain receptors. Her bite wound started to sting again, and she felt twin trails of blood sliding down her neck. Painful, but only a flesh wound, and nothing to worry about. She wondered why he'd taken notice. Twilight smoothed her mane over the bite. It was already full of dirt and changeling viscera, and it stank of corn whiskey; mashing in a bit of blood on top of it all couldn't hurt. "Yeah, well, you look like you've seen better days yourself." She scowled. "What're you doing down here?" "The same as you, I believe," said Trenton. "You came to Dodge, as I did, found the town abandoned, as I did. You were waylaid up above by these... changelings? Yes?" Twilight offered no reply. "Rainbow Dash identified them as such. I wouldn't have known otherwise." Trenton's looked at the headless puppet. "We were ambushed shortly after our arrival in town, and as I fought them off, she fled. They seized her before I could get her back, and dragged her to their lair. I've been here ever since – scouting, planning... waiting." "For what?" "To see if you would ever arrive. To see if you would venture below in search of her. You did, although by a different route than I." He returned his gaze to Twilight. "And to see if your human companion is the man I think he is." "You mean Snake?" "If you insist." He sounded annoyed. "Where is he, exactly? The Queen neglected to ask for specifics." "Survivor," she blurted automatically. "Cherry Jubilee, the ranch owner. I asked him to stay with her while I came down here." "There was no one else who could have?" "It's just the two of us out here." She thought about fluffing her fib with a tall tale about Pinkie Pie and Rarity patrolling the orchard, but didn't want to push her luck. A lie like that could easily balloon past her ability to contain, and the situation was already precarious enough. "Is that so? And where did you get Royal Guard saddlebags?" Her heart skipped at the reminder of Trenton's uncanny familiarity with Equestria. "They're my brother's. He's the captain of the Royal Guard. Left them at my house the last time he stayed over." She started to sweat nervously. If she could see the holes in her own story, then there was no doubt in her mind that he could, too. But, finally, he dropped out of his shooting stance, slid the pistol into a holster on the front of his vest, and straightened his posture. "I'll be brief," he said. "You and I want the same thing. You want Rainbow Dash back, and I want to give her back to you. If we work together and move quickly, we should be able to—" "No." The audacity of his suggestion made Twilight funnel more energy into her aura, brightening it dangerously. Trenton nodded. "Of course, naturally, you're disinclined to trust me—" "You tried to kill us all yesterday!" Twilight thrust an accusatory hoof at the ninja. "On the contrary. If you'll recall, I was the only thing actively not trying to kill you yesterday." Twilight seethed, but when she thought about it... Trenton had fought to cripple and disable, not to kill, and he'd had them at his mercy more than once. Including just now. He could have blown me away; he didn't. But that didn't exactly make her want to trust him. "You kidnapped Apple Bloom." Twilight dug her upraised hoof into the dirt. "You threatened to cut Spike's throat!" "The alternative to kidnapping the foal was killing her," said Trenton. "Either would have guaranteed that you would pursue me, which was what I wanted, but I chose to spare her. As for the dragon, that was a bluff. I don't expect you to believe me, but I never intended to harm him." "Screw. You. For thinking I'm gullible enough to believe you." Twilight lowered her head so her horn was level with Trenton's chest; a very dark part of her mind wondered if she could channel enough energy to punch a hole clean through him if she had to. "You can defend yourself however you like, but you're still one of the people holding a gun to Equestria's head, and I'm not going to forgive and forget that just because you give me your word—" "Pegasus Wings is about to attack Ponyville." Well that certainly shut her up. "What did you say?" "The powers that be know that you and your friends represent the most obvious threat to their plans, besides the Princesses," he continued. "They are taking great pains to isolate your town, to keep you from interfering. A no-fly zone issued without warning or explanation, a fire which conveniently cuts railroad transportation from Ponyville to Canterlot – all part of the plan from the beginning, naturally, but they had no intention of moving on the town directly until you gave them a reason to." "How would you even know that?" Twilight demanded. "Don't tell me you're still in the loop after helping us escape last night. Not to mention what you're pulling right now." Behind their backs, I'll bet. "I know both Macbeth and the Commander well enough to predict their actions with a very high degree of accuracy," Trenton replied. "Both realize that you are a threat they cannot abide. It will take time to form a plan of attack, and to reposition their forces to execute it, and they will quarrel endlessly about it, but I guarantee that, within a day now, the hammer will fall on Ponyville." Twilight gathered enough focus to reform her aura, and trained her horn on Trenton. "You see me as the enemy," said Trenton. "With good reason. But you have a scholar's instincts; you are driven by logic and reason and evidence. Consider the occasions I've had to kill you and your friends. Consider that I had a clear shot on your head just now, and deliberately did not take it." "'I can kill you but I don't want to' isn't the best basis for a partnership," said Twilight. "What about a token of goodwill? A gift of arms and ammunition?" Static crackled faintly in Trenton's voice. "I trust your friend found the carbine I left for him. And there is more – supplies, tools, even my vehicle. All of it is yours, in addition to Rainbow Dash's safe return. All to put you in the best possible position to survive the coming battle. If you cannot trust me, then trust what you've seen, and ask yourself what the point of all of this would be if it were really my will that you all die." The light around her horn dimmed as her uncertainty grew and gnawed at her. "Suppose I mull it over, and I still decide you can't be trusted." "Would you trust me over Chrysalis? The path she gave you will lead you into a trap, but I know another route of which she is unaware." The fire in his eye flickered and extinguished and did not relight. "We have a narrow window of opportunity within which to work. Something above has drawn the Queen's attention – your friend, I assume – and she has committed all of her forces to dealing with him. She alone remains to guard Rainbow Dash." Twilight worked her jaw in silence as Chrysalis's strategy unraveled before her. The ambush was weak because the bulk of her army was going after Killjoy and her detachment. That was the whole point of luring her and Snake into the hive. It was divide and conquer – deal with the two of them personally while her army faced the Guard, with neither in a position to help the other. "By myself, I cannot defeat her," Trenton continued. "I tried once already, and the fight was... inconclusive. I doubt you could prevail where I did not, but together, we might be able to effect a successful rescue, with time enough for you to return home, warn your friends, and prepare a defense against Macbeth's incursion. Or we can continue to waste time here, debating and fighting, while Rainbow Dash languishes in captivity." Work with him, or fight him – a dilemma with no preferable decision. Maybe he didn't want her and her friends dead, and maybe his offer of help was genuine, but Twilight had no reason to assume that his motives were on the level. She remembered the soldiers he killed in the forest – "no witnesses," he'd said, as if that was all the explanation necessary. They'd been on his side, and he murdered them in cold blood without hesitation. What guarantee did Twilight have that he wouldn't do the same to her if she became inconvenient? Well, what's my third option? Turn back? That was no option at all. Sunk cost fallacies be damned; she'd come too far and fought through too much to quit with Rainbow Dash's life on the line. She had to see this through, no matter what, whether that meant linking elbows with Discord and lalala-ing across a springtime meadow, or spelunking in a dank cavern with someone who did terrible things to her spine the night before. Not gladly, though. She had been drawn into one trap by Chrysalis, and snagged by Trenton in what may as well have been another, swapping out nemeses within the span of a few minutes. It made her feel helpless, like a feather in an updraft, subject to the fickle whims of the wind. No will of her own, no control of her own destiny, pulled this way and that by some apathetic entity who scoffed at the idea of her own agency. She wondered if that was how she made Snake feel. So Twilight swallowed her pride, let her aura vanish completely, and looked into the ninja's eye. Its glow had returned, though it was lost in the brilliance of the light she'd created – not a blaze, but an ember, like the guttering tip of a cigarette worn to a nub. "At least tell me why," she said quietly. "Why you're going against your allies all of a sudden. Why you care." Trenton's shoulders rose and fell ponderously – a stiff, robotic shrug that he seemed to be consciously forcing. "The magic of friendship?" She narrowed her eyes. "Don't patronize me." "There is no answer I could give you that you would find satisfactory. Anything I say, you will think either suspicious, a half-truth, or an outright lie. The truth is on a need-to-know basis, anyway." He turned toward the tunnel from which he'd emerged. "So, what you do need to know, I'll tell you along the way. Decide for yourself what to believe." The second tunnel generally followed the same trajectory as the first, conveying them eastward despite the occasional dip or curve. The scattered remnants of ancient buildings littered the path, too, sculpted chunks of limestone and marble that Twilight occasionally stumbled or climbed over. It was as if whatever dug the tunnel just barreled through the ruins of the city, breaking whatever was in its path without stopping to think about it. Too late, it occurred to Twilight to ask Chrysalis about the egg. Trenton briefed her as they walked, describing the specifics of Rainbow Dash's condition. She'd suffered moderate injuries when she was pinned by the rubble in the castle – fractures in her hips and a broken hind leg – in addition to battle damage from IRVING. Trenton had assumed her wounds would prevent her from making a break for it, so long as he kept a close watch on her. He obviously didn't know Rainbow Dash as well as he thought. It was such a Rainbow Dash thing to do. Of course a broken leg wouldn't stop her from trying something bold and borderline stupid in the middle of a fight. Normally, that was something Twilight might have scolded her for. Instead, she felt a swell of pride for her friend. Of course, it might have been easier on me if you hadn't tried anything at all, Rainbow... So Trenton armed himself with a handgun taken from the arsenal he'd prepared for Snake, tracked his quarry to what he estimated was the center of the hive, and attempted a rescue, only to be fended off by Chrysalis herself. "That would explain your, uh..." Twilight coughed. "Disheveledness, I suppose. Of course, if you're thinking that the two of us'll succeed where you failed, then keep in mind – Chrysalis has an army of hundreds behind her. There's no guarantee she won't bring in reinforcements if the fight goes against her. Two of us versus her? Might go alright. Two of us versus her, plus a legion of back-up? I'm feeling a little less solid about our odds." Twilight came to a stop at a fallen marble archway that lay across the middle of the path – a rare piece of Canterbrian architecture that her new friend, the angry egg monster, couldn't have bothered to break while passing through. Or maybe it was part of the ceiling and got dislodged by its passing. Annoying, either way. She became aware of Trenton standing uncomfortably close behind her, the glow from his eye mingling with the light from her horn. "Solid," he mused. "Was that a pun?" "It was not." "My apologies. I've come to expect puns from your kind." His eye scanned along the archway. "If she does bring reinforcements, then we will have some warning. While most of my onboard sensor suite is inoperable in Equestria, my analog systems are sensitive enough to track the movements of each individual member of this hive. Only while they are underground, however. If they re-enter the hive, in any number, we will know." "Better than nothing, I guess." Even broken and toppled, the arch was taller than she was – three and a half Twilights high, reaching almost to the cavern's ceiling. "So, in your estimation, how many is Snake dealing with right now?" "Factoring in those slain between the three of us, and not counting Chrysalis herself, I would put them at three hundred and forty-nine individuals. None of whom, I should point out, have demonstrated the kind of shape-shifting abilities for which the species is named. Or any sort of magical abilities, for that matter." "Huh, funny – wonder why." Can't go around it, can't go over it. Guess I could always just teleport over the arch, though without a clear image of what's on the other side... Oh, who am I kidding; it's just more endless, cylindrically carved— Then the arch shifted and rose. Trenton had it propped on one side, his palm pressed flat against the marble surface. He stared silently at Twilight before jerking his neck toward the path. "Thanks," Twilight said acidly. She trotted under the arch, ignoring a fleeting feeling of anxiety, and heard it topple to the ground when Trenton dropped it. If he was trying to intimidate me, then he... ugh... kinda succeeded. "I had hoped you would have an explanation for their reduced abilities." Trenton's voice showed no sign of strain from lifting the arch. "My knowledge of changelings is unfortunately limited." As was her own. The safest assumption was that changeling magic was tied to their soul – no soul, no shape-shifting. No catapulting from the sky like a gooey green booger of bug-death, either. Maybe stripping away her brood's species-defining trait was a trade-off that presented some sort of advantage, but if so, Chrysalis hadn't demonstrated it. "Three hundred and forty-nine of them, versus the two of us. That doesn't seem lopsided to you?" Twilight looked over her shoulder at Trenton, slowing her steps to avoid tripping on anything. "All you've really done is reinforce my point." "They pose no immediate threat." "No immediate threat." Twilight's eyes narrowed. "They could still win their fight up above and come back down to reinforce Chrysalis. Or she could decide that they'd do more good down here than up there and just pull them out altogether." "I don't foresee that happening," said Trenton. "Consider your earlier encounter with Chrysalis. The pride, the vanity, she displayed in speaking with you. I would wager that pride is why she is choosing to face you herself, rather than overwhelm you with superior numbers. She has a vendetta against you which demands satisfaction, and she is proud enough to do that herself, regardless of whether or not her forces prevail against that man." And wasn't that a happy thought, although Twilight wondered what the reason was for this singular focus on her. Finding Cadance and exposing Chrysalis's scheme might have set into motion the Queen's downfall, but it was Shining and Cadance who expelled her from Canterlot. She loaded the gun, but her brother and his wife pulled the trigger. Darn it, now I'm starting to think like Snake, too. Or, at least, in Snakey metaphors. "You seem disquieted," Trenton observed. "Concerned for him?" For Snake? He was the one person she could safely assume was out of harm's way. But the ponies who were up above were facing almost three-to-one odds. It was ironic that Killjoy had been worried about Twilight going into the tunnel alone. This new development in mind, whether she had it worse than Twilight or vice-versa could be the subject of a lively and spirited debate. "Can you blame me?" Twilight grumbled. Appearances needed maintaining, after all. "Those are long odds for anypony. Or anyhuman, rather. Anyone?" Settle on "anyone." "Not for him," said Trenton dismissively. "You ought to have faith in his abilities. He is far too redoubtable to be undone so easily." Well then, it's a pity he's not actually up there, or I might not be so worried about Killjoy and the others. For a time after that, they fell silent. Their walk was scored only by the ambient noises of travel – footsteps on dirt, the soft tinkling of Twilight's aura, the occasional rumble of her mostly empty stomach... More than once, she felt compelled to dip into her rations again, and had to stop herself. The fact that she had Royal Guard saddlebags had already drawn Trenton's curiosity once. She didn't think for a second that he'd actually bought her tall tale about Shining Armor leaving them behind. An occasional sip from her canteen was probably safe, but munching on flavorless, Royal Guard-issue dried grass rations could raise further questions from her tenuous ally. Eventually, they came to another branch in the road – the spot that Chrysalis had mentioned, where two tunnels diverged, one leading to Rainbow Dash's location. That one plunged diagonally into the earth, while the other curved rightward, due south. The light from her horn failed to penetrate the first; it simply stretched forward, on and on, a tunnel beneath a network of underground tunnels. The redundancy made Twilight snort with bemusement, but there was something else to it that unsettled her, an unshakable feeling of dread clawed at the edges of her perception. Call it a premonition, or intuition, or just good old fashioned paranoia, but Twilight didn't like the look of that tunnel. Nor the fact that Chrysalis had urged her to take it. "You said you knew another route, right?" said Twilight. "That this one'd take me into another ambush?" "I do. This presents an ideal choke point – no twists, turns, forks or branches. A good place for Chrysalis to lay an ambush." Trenton pointed down the tunnel curving to the right. "But there is an entrance to a structure whose interior is still accessible down this one. A convenient shortcut." Twilight took another glance down the eastward tunnel, mulling her sensation of dread. Chrysalis may have been trying to lure her into a trap, but it didn't stand to reason that the alternative was preferable. She trusted Trenton as far as she could throw him. Actually, depending on his weight, and given optimal wind conditions, I could probably toss him quite a distance via levitation. As far as Fluttershy could throw him, then. Fortunately, Twilight didn't have to take either of them at their word. She shut her eyes and inhaled deeply. Trenton took an impatient step toward her. "Are you listening to—" Twilight raised her hoof to silence him. She exhaled, and her mind emptied of errant thoughts and cares, until all was silence, and all she saw in her mind's eye was an endless expanse of black. Against that darkness, she projected a light, a starburst that pulsed in time with the rhythm of her heart. She concentrated on that light, on growing it with each pulse. Brighter and faster it flashed, matching her heart on every beat, until all at once, it expanded to fill her vision. And, with a soft gasp of release, another light burst from her horn and expanded, passing through earth and brick and marble, and building an image in her mind. It was vague, blurry, like a landscape glimpsed through a foggy window pane, and she tried to sharpen it, to bring it into focus. What she got was a picture in her mind's eye of a lopsided, asymmetrical pretzel – loops and whirls that fed back into themselves, an underground ouroboros, with vast expanses of unexcavated earth in the spaces between. Only the area immediately around her was clearly defined; the lines and edges of the distant tunnels were blurry. She couldn't even see clearly all the way back to the chamber where she'd fought the honor guard. But she could discern hollow pockets embedded in the walls, rectangular voids where roofs had not caved in, buildings whose insides were still accessible. And there was a cluster of them, close together, to the south, with an edge brushing against the wall of the tunnel that Trenton insisted on taking. That was his shortcut: a dilapidated structure that hadn't collapsed beneath the weight of the earth pressing down on it. Yet. Twilight found herself flushed and breathing heavily when she opened her eyes, a slight lather having built up along her body from the stress of the spell. Trenton was staring patiently at her. "So, yeah," she panted. "Think, ah, we'll be taking... the, uh..." She gestured down the rightward path. "Do you need a moment?" Twilight shook her head. "Would you care for a cigarette?" Trenton asked dryly. Twilight's response was a bewildered gaze and a second, slower shake of her head. The shortcut's entrance turned out to be a small gap in the tunnel's wall, just above the floor. Behind the layers of earth were the edges of a broken brick wall, forming a hole just wide enough for even a human to squeeze through. The darkness inside was neither inky nor interminable, and when she shone her light through it, Twilight saw the comfortingly familiar sight of a dusty floor in dire need of a good sweeping. Twilight teleported inside, dust swirling around her hooves from the burst of displaced air. She found herself at the bottom of a shallow, hexagonal pit, whose lines and angles matched perfectly with those of the room itself, and lit her aura, saturating everything in vivid pink hues. The room was ornate, yet unfurnished, and except for a broken clay vessel at the edge of the pit, every last surface was marble, gleaming faintly beneath a thick layer of dust. The familiarity made her smile – this was a luxury bath, not unlike the ones that Rarity liked to indulge in. Yet there was a sense of scale and grandeur to this place that made Aloe's and Vera's fixtures look like the dirt-streaked linoleum tubs of a low-rent city tenement. Then she looked at her hooves and winced. Speaking of filthy bathtubs... A silty carpet coated the floor beneath her, and her hooves steadily sank into it the longer the stayed immobile. An irrational fear of quicksand spiked through her, but it vanished when she experimentally tugged one hoof and found that it popped free with no struggle. Feeling slightly embarrassed, she hopped out of the pit, hooves echoing noisily, while Trenton slid feet-first through the hole. The room was only slightly taller than him, and his head came within inches of scraping the ceiling when he stood. "This is one room in a vast complex," said Trenton. "Areas exposed to the open air are inaccessible, but enclosed spaces, like this one, are still navigable." "I'm not surprised. Chrysalis said that this was an earth pony civilization. They're good at what they do, no matter the era." Twilight idly batted a shard of clay with one of her hooves. "But we also saw buildings that'd collapsed or caved in over the years, so I'm guessing the architects didn't bring their A-game to everything they built in this city. Just for ponies who could afford it." "An engineering masterpiece of marble and gold, made to suit the decadent tastes of the bourgeoisie, now a dead ruin beneath the bloodstained sand. Marx and Engels would approve." "Uh..." Twilight frowned confusedly. "Whom and Whogels?" "Irrelevant." Trenton gestured toward the room's exit, a half-open wooden door that looked like it'd crumble to dust if Twilight pushed it hard enough. "That way." Don't bring it up if it's irrelevant, jerk. The door did not crumble to dust when Twilight stepped through, into a much more spacious area where the air was thin and stale and faintly sweet. She brightened the light around her horn, and saw a room lined with dusty bronze benches and coal-filled braziers. And, everywhere, a grim tableau of desiccated corpses. On one bench rested the body of an earth pony, his legs curled beneath him like a cat. Another was alone in the middle of the room, with a dark stain spread out beneath him; Twilight looked away from that body with a whispered curse when she saw the jagged shard of pottery between its hooves. Two bodies sat in a distant corner of the room, amid a pile of empty cups and tipped-over jugs. Their backs were propped up against the wall, their bodies draped in what she belatedly realized was a thick brown blanket, and their heads rested tenderly against one another. Chrysalis had suggested, rather off-hoofedly, that this city was destroyed by a volcanic eruption. If that were true, if it was a deluge of ashes that buried this place, then these ponies would have been sealed inside whatever rooms or buildings they'd happened to be in. When the reinforced roof of this room failed to cave, the trapped ponies would have asphyxiated as they slowly consumed all the oxygen in the room. Faced with that choice, no wonder that one opted out. But she wondered at that couple in the corner – what the connection between them was, whether they'd known each other, been close, been intimate. Or whether they'd been strangers who simply chose to comfort one another at the end. Had they opted out too? If she lifted the blanket, would she find more shards of pottery? Had they spiked their drinks with something lethal? Or did they just wait? Quietly, in comfort, together? It didn't matter. Not really. Trenton pointed to another door, and she stepped through it, her eyes stinging. The next room was no larger than the last, yet far grander at the same time. The ceiling, with branches of inlaid gold along its surface, curved overhead, supported by arches carved into muscled stallions and coyly smirking mares. There was another door in the far wall, above which a single window ran the length of the room, its glass miraculously unshattered. Earth pony engineering truly was marvelous. But when Twilight shone her light through the window, she saw only dirt pressed against it. Probably nothing but more of the same past that door. Guess that's not the way out. This room was furnished, too, though instead of plain bronze benches against the walls, there were beds of sculpted marble along the room's center. Dead ponies rested in them, in ones and twos and sometimes threes, their bodies draped in thick furs. She didn't linger over the bodies this time. Her attention instead went to the reliefs along the wall beside her, which depicted – perhaps predictably – earth ponies. Earth ponies at a gallop, pulling carts laden with rocks. Earth ponies piling stones, raising roofs, carving columns. Earth ponies gathered on the steps of a building, beneath an intricately carved portico. The reliefs told the story, Twilight realized, of the city's foundation. She walked along the wall, watching with morbid fascination as the scenes grew increasingly disturbing, despite the stunning artistry. Earth ponies in armor, chests puffed, heads held tall. Earth ponies with hooves curled around spears, with mouths clutching swords or drawing bowstrings. Earth ponies locked in mortal struggle with unicorns, and pegasi, and minotaurs and griffins... The reliefs ended at the room's corner, next to a mosaic covering the entirety of the far wall. Twilight stepped back to see it as a whole. It showed the city at what looked to be the height of its power, splendidly white with a golden dome at its center. The sun burned overhead, a corona of red with orange rays lashing chaotically toward the ground. The city's population mustered, in the streets and on the rooftops, and raised their weapons, to challenge the ominous red star. That symbol... It wasn't quite a dead ringer for the one in the book that she and Snake found. But the resemblance was striking. A dull ache throbbed beneath Twilight's horn, and she rubbed herself with a groan. Staring at that wall raised questions upon questions upon questions – normally, a challenge she'd relish. Here, and now, with the fate of Equestria and the life of her friend on the line, it was just one more thing to make her head hurt. She noticed a blue glow spread across the mural. Speaking of headaches... "Tragically ironic, isn't it?" Trenton remarked. "One need only look around to see how this city's history of conflict ended for them. Scorched by the sun, and subsumed by ashes." Twilight's eyes traced over the red sun, down to the bottom of the wall. There were spots where the tiles were shattered, amid half-moon marks that dug into the plaster beneath. Somepony had survived the fall of the city long enough to take out some frustration on this mosaic. "Not that Chrysalis is a remotely reliable source, but it could just as easily have been a natural disaster that wiped this place out, rather than someone's sunny wrath," said Twilight. "I seem to recall reading something about the badlands being the caldera of an inactive volcano. That's close enough that a significant eruption could have affected this place." "Possibly. Human lore, too, is rife with stories of restless spirits and wrathful gods meting out vengeance – tales invented to explain the inexplicable. But here, the rules are somewhat different. Our gods, if they exist at all, do not live among us, as yours do. So I've learned to keep an open mind." "The Princesses aren't gods," Twilight said flatly. "And they don't claim to be." "Just so," said Trenton. "But I did not mean them." He knew. But of course he knew. Macbeth had known, had thrown it in her face. Why wouldn't Trenton know too? "Macbeth's god-emperor, right? What do you know about it?" "Little. Much of what I know comes from Macbeth himself, and he is hardly a reliable source on anything. Exile has dulled his wits, I'm afraid. Exile, and his preoccupation with avenging himself upon the princess who wronged him." "Okay, so he's crazy," Twilight pressed. "I know that much already. But what did he tell you?" "If he is to be believed, then once there was an alicorn who wielded tremendous power. Who felt that power entitled him to rulership, and extended his reach across the known world, only to vanish from recorded history, and for Equestria to rise from the ashes of his empire." Trenton looked down at her. "What do you know about it?" "What do I know? Nothing." The blue light was shining right in her eyes, forcing her to squint and turn away. "I found some scraps and made some inferences. The gateways that connect our two worlds – he built them, and invaded yours." "Yet he is as conspicuously absent from human history as he is from yours. One imagines he didn't get very far. Ironic for a self-proclaimed god to be utterly forgotten by his subjects and their descendants. All the power and glory in the world, and so little to mark his existence." Trenton turned away from the mosaic and strode toward the other end of the hall. "But perhaps it is for the best he is forgotten. A figure of such bloodshed and violence gels poorly with the grand narrative of Equestrian history." Twilight followed, keeping her eyes off the corpses in their beds. "What do you know about our history?" she muttered, fully cognizant of the fact that he knew a disturbing amount about their history. "Much and more." Trenton stopped at the far wall, pressed his palm against it, and pushed. With a faint squeak of protest, the wall moved inward, and slid aside to reveal a hidden chamber. Inside was a dusty corridor of unpolished granite, perpendicular to Twilight's perspective. She peeked inside – to her right was a dead end. To her left, the corridor stretched on into the darkness. "Well, I'll be," Twilight muttered, poking her head inside. "A servant's passage. Guess they weren't exclusive to Equestria." The servant's passage was an old tradition, helping the help to move around upscale manors or establishments while keeping them out of sight and mind. They could still be found in ritzy places with histories stretching into the distant past. Of course, their construction was eventually outlawed once the Princess passed reforms to protect the peasantry, but their use... Aristocrats cling harder to some traditions than others. Classism didn't end when feudalism did. A walk around Canterlot is proof enough of that. "Yes, I'm familiar with them," said Trenton. "Little surprise that they should exist in a place like this." Yet another thing he inexplicably knew about. The surface of the granite was lined with with shallow scratches and gouges. They looked deliberate, and she leaned further into the chamber for a closer look. She blew a puff of breath over the wall, scattering a layer of dust, and saw crude etchings of ponies in battle armor trudging up a hill, a facsimile of the historical reliefs that had disturbed her. However, instead of wielding swords and spears and grimacing with soldierly fury, they had massive phalluses jutting out of their bellies, which they thrust gleefully ahead like lances. She disguised her laugh as a cough and backed out of the passage. "This'll take us where we need to go?" "With so much of this complex buried or destroyed, passages like this one are the only reliable means of moving from one end to the other." He gestured at the opening. "Will you lead the way?" Twilight gave Trenton a look. Ally of convenience or no, she didn't like the idea of having her back to him in such a narrow, confined space. He seemed to understand and ducked inside without another word. She followed after him. The passageway was dark, yet oddly spacious, offering enough room for Twilight to move with little constraint. Trenton was less fortunate; he had room to walk and stand, but had to hunch his head and angle his body to the side. Every few meters or so, Twilight passed a thin, rectangular hole in the right wall. Peering into them, she could see chambers similar to the one they'd entered the complex through, with benches and pits and the occasional corpse or two. These ones were smaller, though. If the hexagonal room with the silty pool had been meant for multiple ponies to use, then these ones were meant for individuals. Or for couples. Nearly every inch of the walls was etched with graffiti, still perfectly legible after the passing of the years. Most of what Twilight saw was puerile, primarily carvings of unrealistically endowed stallions doing highly inappropriate and anatomically implausible things to one another. There were a few mares, too, but those lacked the crudeness and comical exaggeration of their male counterparts' anatomy, except for the one standing on her hind legs who seemed to be spraying milk over the delighted bodies of six other ponies in togas. The togas were a recurring theme in the pictures, Twilight noticed. They seemed to indicate the political and economic elite, and they were almost always depicted in shameful, undignified scenarios, having terrible things done to them – often by the unrealistically endowed stallions. It was crude political satire, the work of underprivileged ponies mocking the mares and stallions that the bathhouse catered to. The mere existence of the servants' passage suggested a gross economic divide between the ponies who luxuriated in the facilities, and the ponies who served them. Where else could they vent but away from the prying eyes of the upper crust? And where better than a space that no upper-crusty-pony would ever dream of venturing into? Twilight's face burned at the thought that Equestria had once been not so different. Its history may not have been one of war and conquest, but a divide between aristocrats and the peasant class? Exploitation of the have-nots by the haves? That was familiar. Shamefully, painfully familiar. To Trenton, as well as to me. She glared suspiciously at him. "Tell me something," said Twilight. "You knew what a servant's passage was before I even explained what they were. How's that work?" "Your kind did not invent the practice of oppressing the underprivileged. Humanity has its own history of doing just that. Our own equivalents to what you see here. Although, the term itself I gleaned from your literature." "You've read our books?" "Your world, and your kind, have been known to us for decades. The gateway, the ruins surrounding it, evidence of your existence. But what little we could learn from those ruins was fragmented, and ancient. Too old to serve much good in the here and now." Twilight shivered. Us. We. Who is he talking about, exactly? Who's financing your little expedition, Trenton? Trenton shifted his body to step over someone's remains – a body, small enough to be a child, though it was too mummified for Twilight to know for sure that it was. She scurried over it quickly. "So, yes, I've read your literature. Your history, too – your legends and lore, everything from children's fables to historical accounts, from the mundane to the farcical to the fantastical. The rebellion of Nightmare Moon, and the strife which preceded and followed her. The first Hearth's Warming, and the lighting of the Bonfires of Friendship. Fables about star-maidens, and dead things which dream of song in the deep places of the world. Slaymare." "You've read Slaymare?" Twilight frowned. "Am I the only one in the whole furshlugginer world who hasn't?" "Reading it was a waste of time. It did little to expand my understanding of your culture – a preachy rag, I thought, full of gratuitous sex and violence. I doubt it would be to your taste." Common ground, at last. Perhaps we can use that as the basis for a negotiated peace. Or perhaps not. "I'll take that into consideration if the urge ever strikes me to pick it up." Twilight cocked her head. "You're a voracious reader, aren't you? Must've taken some time to get through all of that." "You should say what you mean," Trenton chided. "To answer your real question, yes. I've spent a great deal of time in your country. A year, or thereabouts – learning everything from history to geography to military disposition. Infiltrating many of your major population centers, too. Manehattan, Fillydelphia, Stalliongrad. Canterlot, I avoided, however – I did not want to risk an encounter with your Princess. Though I did chance to see her from afar while scouting Ponyville. She's quite impressive. And large. Her hair fascinates me." "Yeah, I think I would have noticed a big blue cyclops bipeding his way around Ponyville," Twilight muttered, saying it more to reassure herself than in response to him. "I am exceptionally gifted at staying out of sight. Though, even if I were not, the optic camouflage unit certainly helped matters. A shame it ceased to function – I grew too dependent on it, most like. It would certainly help matters along if I had it now." The corridor intersected with another going left. Trenton took the turn, Twilight following closely before he could get too far out of sight. "So you bummed around Equestria," she said. "To, what, read our books and get the lay of the land?" "In part. But also to form inroads, connections, with locals. An onsite intelligence network, if you will. Macbeth was my first contact – I met him in the Everfree Forest, shortly after arriving in Equestria for the first time." Twilight snorted. "I'll bet he was of tremendous help." "On his own? No. But he was open to the possibilities presented by my arrival. He answered questions, as many as he asked. I explained my intentions, and when we parted, he gave me a name – an old accomplice who had connections within Celestia's regime. That pony took care of the rest. Before long, I had a small network of informants operating under the Crown's nose. It's how I got my message to you, and how I intended to arrange Rainbow Dash's release once you and your friend arrived to claim her." "How's that?" "One of my contacts was an employee of Cherry Hill Ranch. No harm in telling you – he is probably dead now." "Seems like a random spot for an intelligence operative." Something occurred to Twilight, and she stopped, Trenton slowing down when he realized she was no longer in step with him. "Do you have someone in Ponyville?" she asked. Trenton looked over his shoulder at her. "If I say yes, you will question my motives for revealing such a sensitive piece of information. If I say no, you will naturally assume that I am lying. So I will leave it to your imagination." Darn it, why did he have to say that? Whatever I imagine's gonna be, like, a hundred times worse than the reality. She hissed with frustration. And that's probably why he said it. Trenton paused in front of a piece of wall that had been knocked inward, and now leaned against the corridor's wall – a hidden door that opened into a new room. Trenton ducked inside, with Twilight close behind. It was predictably ornate, given the standard set by the previous rooms they'd been in. White stucco walls, stained brown, with faded reliefs depicting gloriously muscled and armored ponies, a staircase leading up to a terrace, and a pair of doors flanking it. Signs hung over the doors, with words written in an archaic script that Twilight, after a moment's careful squinting, was able to decipher. "MARES," one read; "STALLIONS," the other. Opposite the stairs were double-doors of wrought iron. One had been broken off its hinges, and lay on the ground with a dent in its middle. The other was rusted in place. A pale green glow from the outside crept past the threshold, but barely penetrated the bathhouse's interior. "You've gone quiet," Trenton observed. "Is your paranoid, anxiety-wracked mind conjuring improbable scenarios of spy-related intrigue and betrayal?" That was why he said it! That jerk! "No." Twilight paused. "Kind of. It's difficult to wrap my mind around. How could so many ponies could possibly just... betray Equestria like that? And for Macbeth? He's not exactly a household name as far as villainy goes. Nopony I know'd go out of their way for him." "There are fewer than you might think," Trenton assured her. "No more than a few dozen, most of which operate independently, communicating with one another via dead-drops and cut-outs. Most aren't even aware of whose interests they're serving – they work under the impression that they are facilitating a coup to place Mi Amore Cadenza on the throne." Twilight balked at that. "What?!" "Oh yes. Celestia's niece is extremely popular with the masses. Some – not the thousands that Macbeth believes, but enough to make a difference – would rather see her on the throne. Which is precisely what Macbeth wishes to do: place her on the throne and rule as regent, exiling Celestia and executing her cabinet. Advisers, ministry heads, the Captain of the Guard – he would clean house, completely, and rule using Cadenza as a puppet." "That's insane!" Twilight cried. "That would never work! For a multitude of reasons!" "Not the least being that Cadenza is far too loyal and unambitious to go along with such a coup, even if Macbeth were not planning to execute her husband. But convincing him that Equestria had tired of Celestia's rule, and feeding that delusion, is how I've secured his compliance for as long as I have." Trenton led Twilight through the broken iron door, into the cavernous, heavily excavated ruins of what had once been the forum of a great city. Its earthen walls were pockmarked like cheese with pony-sized tunnels, on all sides and all heights, and covered in globs of a phosphorescent green substance that lit the chamber in a sickly glow. Buildings like the one they'd been in protruded from the walls, little more than exposed facades. At the end of another cobblestone road – perhaps the same one from earlier – was the gold-domed building Twilight saw in the bathhouse's mural. The dome itself had oxidized and blackened over the years, and its curvature was only partially visible beneath a crust of dirt, but the building it crowned still exuded a sense of grandeur and power. "There are more tunnels on the opposite side of that building," said Trenton, pointing at the dome. "Smaller, better suited to changeling proportions – an actual underground hive, with an exit leading up to the cherry orchard. Chrysalis fought to keep me from entering the dome from that side. That is where she is keeping Rainbow Dash." "That's quite an assumption you're making. You could easily be wrong." "I am not wrong, though." "Care to explain how you know that?" Trenton stared at her, silently, before moving toward the building, beckoning for Twilight to follow. She did with a heavy sigh, cantering to keep up with his long-legged stride. "Alright, tell me something else, then." She looked up at her unwanted companion. "All this time and effort spent studying Equestria, reading our books, traveling around the land..." "You want to know why." Desperately. "Actually, I was going to ask what you think of us. Your impressions." Trenton stopped, rather abruptly, and his eye flickered as he stared at Twilight. "Idle curiosity?" Twilight shrugged. "I'm just interested in an outsider's perspective." "An outsider's perspective? Very well. Your people are a paradox. An inherent, and baffling, contradiction in terms." That was not the answer Twilight was expecting. She figured he'd be blunt and tactless, but she was still hoping he'd mince words at least a little. "Excuse me?" "Your beliefs, your system of government, the values on which you base every aspect of your civilization, are fundamentally flawed. Yet your country flourishes – not by defying those values, but by embracing them, without vacillation. Consider your Pax Equestria. With no military body to deter outside invasion, and surrounded by more belligerent species, Equestria should have fallen long ago. If anything, disarmament has kept the peace better than a military body ever could, and the country, though stagnant, remains stable. All the more striking when contrasted with human civilization." Trenton resumed walking, reaching the stairs leading up to the dome, where a row of columns supported a portico over the entrance. Beyond the columns, the interior of the dome was lit in the same green glow as the excavated chamber. "Human society is a frothing sea of stated and unstated value systems," Trenton continued. "Rife with little hypocrisies where those values clash and cannot be reconciled. High-minded ideals trumpeted about, yet bent or outright ignored when they become inconvenient, and often used as ex post facto justification when atrocities are committed. Here, though... 'friendship' is more than a notion paid lip service. It is taken to heart, and enacted in every stratum of your civilization. No hypocrisy. No subterfuge. And you flourish because of it. Practice and encourage it." Twilight thought back to the Operator and shivered. Perhaps we're not as innocent as you think. "You ask me what I think of your kind." He craned his head up to regard the shaped tops of the columns – the stallions holding the roof aloft. "In truth, I find much about you admirable. Your friend will never admit it, but... I am certain he feels the same way." For the first time since meeting him, Twilight was absolutely certain that Trenton was not lying to her. It was an odd feeling. "If that's the case," she said softly, "then why are you trying to hurt us? The army you've brought here, the things you're trying to do – you're putting that society you admire at risk." Trenton's eye blacked out, and he stood rock-still for several long seconds, before it came to light again. "He who submits to heaven shall live. He who defies heaven shall perish." Twilight raised an eyebrow. "Meaning?" "It was not my idea." With no further elaboration, he slipped inside the dome. Twilight stared after him, contemplating in silence. There was no way of knowing for sure how much of anything Trenton said to her was true, and how much of it was fiction. If the plan he described actually was Macbeth's ultimate goal. If there was a hidden intelligence network gumming up the gears to help Pegasus Wings take Ponyville unawares. If he actually does admire us, or if that's another lie in a series of lies. But what possible purpose would such a lie serve? She shook her head – it didn't really matter. Maybe Trenton was being authentic with her, but that couldn't be reconciled with the cold, hard facts of his actions. He had a goal, an agenda that she didn't fully understand. He brought Pegasus Wings to Equestria, apparently on someone else's behalf, and whether he personally endorsed it or not, he was helping facilitate a coup d'etat against Princess Celestia. And maybe they could actually find common ground. Heck, maybe they already had. But, somehow, Twilight doubted that would be enough to put an end to their conflict. There was another interested party here, something bigger than Trenton, something which he answered to. If he'd come this far, despite his misgivings, then she doubted she could persuade him now. Guess we're both feathers, then. Just caught in different winds. Twilight sighed and entered the dome after him. The floor shook – a slight, yet disconcerting, tremble that vibrated up through Twilight's hooves. It all but glowed, too, bathed as it was in the changelings' light source – the same substance that lit the exterior – and her every step filled the chamber with a reverberating clop. Inside, it was hollow, and empty, with rings of marble benches circling around the middle of the chamber, and little else by way of pony-made embellishments. Thankfully, the changelings had redecorated. The light source here was concentrated, rather than spread about on the walls and ceiling, and emanated from a single point: a massive, tear-shaped dollop of the stuff, suspended by a thick strand that descended vertically from the top of the dome, like a chain holding a chandelier. Branch-like strands of the sludgy substance shot radially from the center of that mass, sticking to the walls to help keep it suspended. Stuck in its center was the body of a changeling. Its limbs were snapped off at the joints, its horn was smashed, and its head was tucked against its chest as though it was asleep. Hanging lankly around its head, pierced by the broken stump of its horn, was a curtain of oily, blue-green mane. Twilight, dizzy, sucked in a shocked breath. "Sweet Celestia, that's Queen Chrysalis." Trenton's head snapped down toward Twilight. "That is Chrysalis?" She looked up at him, anger rising despite her light-headedness. "Were you lying to me when you said you fought her?!" "No, I thought..." "Thought what?" Trenton stared, silent and stoic, his face a barren mask and his body language betraying nothing. But when he spoke, it was with a quaver of uncertainty Twilight had never heard from him before. "What did I fight, if not the Queen?" Laughter echoed through the dome, a low, mocking titter that sent shivers rippling through Twilight's coat. Her horn lit reflexively, and Trenton's hand flew to his holster, though he didn't yet draw the gun. "To be fair..." Her neck lifted, and she grinned, exposing an incomplete set of broken teeth. "Neither of you are necessarily wrong." The Queen's eyes opened. Glassy, turquoise spheres gazed vacuously at Twilight. The eyes of a golem. "You look shocked, Twilight," Chrysalis observed. "A little on the pale side. Something I can help you with?" "What did you do?" Twilight whispered, trembling with horror. "We both know the answer to that. I'm not sure how you know, exactly, but I'll enjoy taking my time puzzling it out." Chrysalis's grin fell into a smirk. "You ought to be thanking me. Here I've gone and done you a favor, nipped a threat in the bud before it could blossom. Instead, you look liable to lose your lunch." "The whole brood – all of them. And the Queen too. This is... this is genocide." The thought galvanized her; her sense of equilibrium returned, and her horn shone brighter as anger resounded in her voice. "What you've done is unforgivable!" "What I've done? What about what she's done? What she was planning to do?!" Chrysalis snarled back. "If you knew her heart the way I do, Twilight Sparkle, you wouldn't stand there in judgment of me. Shall I tell you of her plans to gorge herself on you and your friends for as long as your bodies could survive? How about the way she delighted in mocking Cadance while she starved to death below Canterlot? Better yet, why don't I describe the night she stole into your brother's bed, and whispered in his ear that she just couldn't bear to wait until after the wedding?" A cold sensation gripped Twilight. "Chrysalis does not deserve your sympathy," the golem spat with finality. "She was a contemptible whore, consumed by vanity and gluttony and lust. I did the world a favor by destroying her. I did you a favor, you precious, sanctimonious little fool." Twilight's eyes unfocused, and her gaze drifted to the floor beneath the Queen's golem. She knew the Queen was a force for evil, maybe even capable of atrocities like this one. But to be slapped in the face with a reminder of her depravity, and such a personal one at that... "What? Nothing to say to that? No more moral outrage? No shock and condemnation?" It shook its head disgustedly. "How about you, Tin Man? We haven't heard from you yet. Surely, a dyed-in-the-wool patriot like yourself would approve." Trenton's fingers closed around his pistol. He drew it and fell into a shooting stance in one swift motion. "Please." The Queen's golem rolled its eyes. "Trust me, Twilight, he's laughing on the inside. As are you, I suspect." "How dare you." Every jibe the golem made in Chrysalis's voice strengthened Twilight's resolve. "How dare you accuse me of some great moral failure while you sit upon a throne of corpses!" "You're speaking figuratively, right?" Twilight screamed and fired a bolt that punched through the bottom of the teardrop. "Temper, temper," the Queen's golem laughed, unintimidated. "What was the point of all of this murder? Huh?" Twilight snorted and dug her hoof against the floor. "Answer me! What was the point?!" "The muuuurdeeeeer, as you so melodramatically put it, was purely incidental. Fallen Canterbria was my prize – more precisely, the secrets buried within. Dodge was just unlucky enough to have been built next to it – a handy playground where I could stretch my legs and do as I pleased. As for Chrysalis and her brood... well, there's a funny story behind that. And it begins, as the best stories do, with an epiphany. "You see, one night, as Chrysalis was busy defiling your brother, she found herself consumed by the vaguest notion that something had gone terribly wrong with the world. She couldn't for the life of her say what, but something, or someone, that should not be, was. And that so unnerved her that she sought a way to secure her future, and that of her brood – a failsafe, in case seizing Canterlot didn't go as planned. "So she did some digging through the Canterlot archives. Found something that looked promising. Found some no-name scholar shut-in to translate it pro bono. Set about destroying you and the royal family with plan-B sitting in her back pocket. And, when it all came tumbling down, when you and yours drove her and hers away, she came here, to Dodge, in search of that which would ensure her survival in the tribulations to come. "Of course, she didn't count on me following the same trail of breadcrumbs. Didn't know I was waiting in the wings while she and her slaves excavated this dead city. And when she found what she came for, while she was savoring her moment of triumph... I descended on her." The golem licked its lips with a pale, dry tongue. "You should have seen her face when I wrested control of her brood away from her. The outrage, the panic, the agony, as her children set upon her like a pack of feral dogs. She could have saved herself, of course – it was well within her power to fend them off. But she couldn't bring herself to harm them. So they ripped her limb from limb, smashed her horn and left her an invalid, strung her up as an everlasting monument to my victory, in the heart of a dead city, forgotten by the world above... all while she wept, bitterly cursing the irony. That she should bring her children to this place in search of a means to save them. Only to doom them, and damn herself in the process. "She cannot hate her children, so she hates herself for what she allowed to happen to them, almost as much as she hates me for doing it to them in the first place. Of course, she can't hurt me, but you... you, she really does not like. You were, after all, responsible for her defeat in Canterlot. In part, at least. And that makes you a convenient outlet for her anger." The golem inclined her head to the side. "How did he put it...? 'It's man's thirst for revenge that drives the times.' Words spoken by a dead man, a long time ago. Fool that he was, he at least had that much right. Who knew it applied to changelings? And ponies, too." A bullet ripped through one of the golem's legs, severing it from Chrysalis's body. The golem looked bemusedly at the stump, and snorted with laughter. "You too, tin man? One of you is a bad influence on the other, clearly." Twilight stared at Trenton – his finger rested on the trigger of his pistol. "Misfire," he said, monotone. Another tremor ran through the floor, interrupting her before she could put too much thought into it. Startling as it was, it at least reminded Twilight that she had better things to do than tolerate the boasts of a dead changeling. "Cute story, but I'm tired of hearing you talk. I'm tired of you, just speaking generally, in fact. I'm here for my friend. What have you done with her?" The golem's eyes drifted upward. "Oh, you know. She's hanging around." She giggled. Fuming at the dead Queen's insolence, Twilight craned her head back, and was greeted by the sight of Rainbow Dash dangling from the ceiling, encased in a green cocoon that left only her head exposed. Her face, bandaged across her cheeks, was purple from the rush of blood to her head. She wore no expression – she was out cold. "Tragic, isn't it?" the golem purred. "To have come so far, only to have your goal so tantalizingly close, and so beyond reach. You must be beside yourself right now." Laughter echoed through the dome. Twilight was only half-listening. Her magic honed in on the thin strand of solidified goop that kept the cocoon suspended. With a flash, the strand snapped, and the glob plunged toward the ground, only to be caught in a teleportation field and brought to the floor before it could reach terminal velocity. The laughter abruptly ceased. "Well then," said the golem bitterly, a frown creasing her face. "I suppose I forgot that you could do that." Twilight ignored her and bounded to the cocoon. She knelt, and her hooves scraped against the gunk, scrabbling to free Rainbow. A telekinetic glow joined the struggle, and soon she'd sloughed enough away to extract the cocoon's occupant. Twilight groped at her neck, found what she was looking for – the pulse, steady and strong – and released a sigh of immeasurable relief. Rainbow... The anger drained out of Twilight, and she slumped over Rainbow Dash, touching their foreheads together. She wanted to do more – collapse beside her and cling to her, clutch her close to her chest and empty herself of all her pent-up emotion, weep her sorrow and her joy into her mane. Not the time. And not the place. Twilight swallowed her sobs and blinked back her tears and straightened her body. "Come on, Rainbow," she whispered. Another glow enveloped the unconscious mare's body. "Let's go home." She heard Trenton step closer to her. "She's less a burden to me than she would be to you. Let me carry—" Twilight shot him a stare with such vehemence that Trenton actually took a step backward and tensed. The message received, Twilight lifted Rainbow's body and placed her lengthwise over her own. Years of carrying Spike – far heavier than his size would suggest – had toughened her back muscles. Even when combined with the contents of her saddlebags, Rainbow Dash was not the burden Trenton imagined she'd be. Her limp legs and dangling head, though, made her cumbersome. "Touching," the golem sniffed. "Truly inspiring, the lengths to which you'd go for somepony you care about." Twilight looked up at golem, the sight of her sending anger flooding through her veins again. It was time to leave, and yet there was part of her that couldn't let her constant pissiness and insults go unanswered. Wanting for a rejoinder, though, she settled for another question. "Who are you?" The golem smiled a greasy smile. "Oh, it's tempting to tell you now – more tempting than you could possibly know. But I think I want to keep that to myself. You're going to be in for a shock when you find out who's beaten you, and I want to see that look on your face with my own eyes." "Be hard to do that when I've put this place behind me. This might be your last chance to gloat." "I daresay I'll have more." The floor shook again, hard enough that Twilight staggered momentarily before regaining her balance. "I told you, Twilight, you're not leaving here alive. I'm going to break you, as I broke Chrysalis, and then I'm going to bleed you dry. I'll burn the world above to the bedrock, and dance among its ashes, but you... You get to be a part of a bold new tomorrow." The golem turned its head to address Trenton, its smile souring. "As for you... you have nothing that I want. And make no mistake, when I'm done running roughshod over this place, I'll be calling in a debt that your puppetmasters owe me." Trenton answered with a second shot that pulped Queen Chrysalis's head. And with one final tremor, and a flash of green light, the floor beneath her lifeless body exploded. Telekinesis and shields batted chunks of earth and marble away from Twilight and her unconscious burden. Trenton merely backed away. A hand extended from the hole in the floor, fingers curling around its edge. Another hand joined it, and a shape emerged, something black and gargantuan, that caught the light of the mass suspending Chrysalis's body. Twilight turned, secured Rainbow Dash on her back, and ran.

Posh

436

Main 6,Other,Twilight Sparkle,Crossover,Human,Adventure,Dark,Metal Gear,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic,Death,Violence

Pony Gear Solid

Solid Snake teams up with ponies to save Equestria, and gradually learns to love it.

incomplete

<p>Metal Gear has fallen into the hooves of an Equestrian revolutionary, who, with the backing of his human mercenary allies, intends to use it to depose Celestia and crown himself ruler. Having crossed into Equestria in pursuit of this rogue weapon, the legendary Solid Snake must ally with the residents of Ponyville to prevent a nuclear catastrophe.</p><p>See also <a href="/story/369125/equestria-gear-solid-the-definitive-experience" rel="nofollow"><i>Equestria Gear Solid</i></a><i>,</i> the hilarious spin-off EQG parody in which everything you know is wrong, and every single character from the story is an awful caricature of themselves. </p><p><a href="http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/FanFic/PonyGearSolid" rel="nofollow">Now with its own TVtropes page!</a></p>

teen

2017-02-17T07:56:05+00:00

2017-07-22T04:51:51+00:00

"When my time came calling, I didn't die. My family died, my country died, but they didn't take me with them. All Hell took from me was this skin, this outer peel that marked me 'human.'" Trenton had beaten her out the door, and was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. The gun he'd used to shoot Chrysalis's golem was once again holstered. Fitting – she didn't suppose a little thing like that would be much good against... Whatever the heck is after us. Twilight swept through the columns and down the stairs after him. Daring to look back, she saw black fingers coil around two columns, snap them off of their bases like twigs, and toss them aside. Miraculously, the portico held, and a shape emerged from the dome. It was still no more than an indistinct silhouette against the green light behind it, but she could discern bony arms and spindly legs several times larger than herself. She whipped her head forward, gulped, and pushed herself harder. Finally, she cleared the stairs and stampeded toward the bathhouse, Trenton following. Twilight heard a buzzing, like the wings of an insect, and an inky shadow passed overhead before her pursuer landed in front of her, cutting off their escape. Gossamer wings folded against a shiny black carapace. Six pointed legs supported an oversized insect's body: an abdomen and thorax and heart-shaped head on a short, thin neck. The creature had four arms, two of which extended above its head and ended in serrated, scythe-like claws, each as large as the body of a stallion. The other two poked from the underside, and were almost human in appearance, with elbow joints and five-fingered hands curled into fists. Its face was smooth and featureless, but for its cat-slit green eyes and a jagged spire of a horn, like a lightning bolt carved from chitin. If nothing else, it was a relief that she knew what had hatched from the egg in the barn – its size suggested that it was responsible for digging out the tunnels they'd been traveling. But that raised another question: "What in the wide world of Equestria is that?" "Chrysalis," said Trenton bluntly. "Or so I assumed." Twilight gaped at him. "You thought that tried to marry my brother?!" "I was under the impression that she could shape-shift." The monster made a chittering noise – from where, Twilight had no idea; it had no mouth. Fingers clenched, scythe-claws raked against one another, and javelin legs took slow steps toward her. "Perhaps we can leave aside issues of mistaken identity for the time being," said Trenton coolly. "There is no escape as long as that thing is alive." Of course, he was right, and Twilight knew it. It didn't stop her from being intimidated by the sheer size of the... whatever it was. Yet the drive to protect Rainbow, to keep her alive by any means necessary, was powerful enough that it chased down her fears and stomped them into submission. That meant parting with her, at least for now. It was the smart thing to do, yet Twilight did so only reluctantly. A flash of light sent the pegasus to an isolated corner, and another erected a barrier over her prone form, carrying as much of a charge as Twilight could spare. Little good against any sort of concentrated attack, but it would shield her from stray shots and debris. Twilight let her gaze linger on Rainbow Dash for as long as she dared, her body warming as courage coursed through her. Then she swung her neck around to glare at the monster, magic rippling around her body. The monster stood its ground, waiting for Twilight to fire the opening salvo. She did, the blast briefly lighting the chamber in bright pink as it streaked toward her target and struck its polished face. To no effect whatsoever. Twilight blinked, fired again, fired a third time just to be sure. The monster clicked after each impact, but otherwise showed no reaction. Then its horn glowed, every bit as bright as Twilight's, and perhaps just a little bit brighter. Part of Twilight wondered if the monster was telegraphing its attack on purpose, just to mock her. She teleported away, rematerializing on the monster's left, just as a globby green blast vaporized the spot she'd just vacated. The monster swiveled to face her, only for Trenton to collide with it from the right with an ear-splitting crash not dissimilar from a rockslide. It staggered from the impact, nearly trampling Twilight, and blindly swung one of its scythes to gore Trenton. He ducked, darted close to its face, and struck it with a kick that snapped its head back. Another scythe narrowly missed his head, but the monster's clenched fist rained down on him from above. He spread his hands above his head and caught it, holding firm for just a moment, before the monster's other hand added its strength to the first. Trenton's knees bent, finally buckled, and he was crushed into the dirt. It lifted its hands, and a beam from its horn washed over Trenton, blasting a deep, smoldering crater in the earth. Twilight had no way of knowing whether Trenton had survived the attack. Whether or not he did mattered little; the monster's full attention was on her, and she needed to act swiftly. She backed away, peppering it with ineffectual blasts as she tried to think of something, while it crept steadily toward her. Twilight finally ceased her impotent barrage and made a break for the dome, fighting for every inch of distance she could put between herself and the monster. Upside is that it can't hurt Rainbow if it's focusing on me. Different options and strategies raced through her mind as she ran. Its body seemed impervious to magic, or at least, concentrated blasts of magical energy. Brute force seemed to have some effect against it, though. Twilight didn't have the physical prowess that Trenton possessed, but there were plenty of heavy objects just waiting to be— The monster leaped, interrupting Twilight's thoughts, and sank its legs into the chamber's wall, clinging to it like a spider. It fired from its new position, and Twilight just barely wove aside in time to avoid being hit, though she felt the heat and shrapnel from the resulting explosion wash against her flank. She reached the dome's steps and bounded up, two at a time, ahead of another blast that demolished a section of stairs. At the top, she spotted the fallen columns that the monster had ripped apart during its pursuit. They were still largely intact, with their ends broken into sharp, tapering points. Twilight picked one at random and wrapped it in a telekinetic field, lifting it tentatively. Heavy, but not so heavy that she couldn't wield it. She wrenched it into the air with a grunt and sent it hurtling toward the monster, drawing back and swinging in a downward arc that knocked it free from the wall. Twilight smashed it again, buckling its legs as it tried to regain its footing. On the third swing, the monster caught the club in its middle with one hand; with a thought, she severed the exposed ends of the column, turning her club into two smaller, individually lighter clubs. Rapid blows rained down on the monster's body, until it let out an ear-piercing shriek and blasted one club into pebbles. Briefly dismayed, Twilight quickly recovered, and aimed a blow at the monster's horn, but the horn shone green and melted through the club on contact. That glow coalesced into an orb at the horn's tip, and it fired twin blasts that destroyed the remnants of Twilight's weapon, and a third, much larger blast at Twilight. She formed a barrier over her body and clenched her teeth. The blast struck, green light clashing against pink, the flash forcing Twilight to cover her face with her foreleg, silently and desperately begging the shield to hold. It held. Opening her eyes, Twilight saw the barrier's light waning – the full fury of the monster's attack had drained it severely, but it nevertheless held. Pride burned in her chest. Then she saw the monster coming toward her through the air, its arm drawn back and its fist clenched. Poop. The energy she poured into the shield at the last second was enough to deflect the monster's punch, though the shield shattered from the force of the blow. The kinetic energy that it failed to absorb sent Twilight tumbling backward until she thudded against the front steps of an exposed building. Twilight groaned, but struggled back to her hooves as the monster advanced swiftly on her again. Its hand extended toward her, bony fingers uncurling. Then a two-toned, blue shape appeared at the monster's side. Slender arms wrapped around its wrist, and held it in place before it could take hold of Twilight. "Get. Away." Twilight was on her hooves and scrambling away immediately. Trenton pulled, pivoting his hips, and ripped the arm free from its socket. Green smoke billowed from the wound, accompanied by the hiss of a gas leak, and the monster's own screech of agony. The arm was half-again as long as Trenton was tall, yet he wielded it one-handed, smashing it like a flail across the monster's face in a forehand swing that snapped the makeshift weapon in two at the elbow. He dropped it, ducked underneath a descending scythe, caught the blade in his arms, tore it free, and swung for the nearest leg, slicing it in half. The monster shrieked and tried to get airborne. With one hand, Trenton caught its damaged leg and pulled it back to the earth. Then he was on its back and shearing through its wings, the scythe slicing through the flimsy membranes like butter. The monster rolled onto its back to dislodge Trenton; he leaped clear before it could bring its weight upon him. When it righted itself, it listed heavily to the side, its remaining limbs struggling to bear its full weight. It stabbed and stomped and thrust them at Trenton, trying to gore him, but he dodged each blow effortlessly while cutting the legs to pieces with mesmerizing, yet deadly, motions. Smoke from the open wounds pooled beneath the monster's underbelly, enshrouding Trenton. Finally, legless and groaning, the monster collapsed amid the smoke, Trenton rolling away to avoid being crushed. He emerged in front of its face, where it swung its remaining hand at him in an open-palmed slap. Twilight caught the hand telekinetically and wrestled it to the ground, struggling against the monster's own considerable strength to pin it. Squeezing her eyes shut to help focus, she cast an adhesive spell that trapped it against the floor. Desperately, the monster brought its last scythe down on Trenton. He deflected the blade with his own, and used the backswing to sever the monster's sole remaining limb. Then, with a flourish, he drove the scythe into the monster's left eye, straight through the pupil. A glow enveloped the monster's horn, telegraphing its next attack – probably unintentionally this time. Twilight refocused, nabbed Trenton in a teleportation spell, and yanked him through the ether to her side, just as its last-ditch attack streaked across the chamber, obliterating the facade of a building that Twilight distantly recalled colliding with earlier. Disoriented by the spell, Trenton turned his head this way and that, before focusing on Twilight and settling down. It resembled Snake's reaction so much that it almost made her laugh, before she noticed the state his body was in. Trenton's body was a ruin of carbon scores and dents. An occasional arc of electricity sparked across places where his skin had ripped, exposing fibers of pale muscle and circuitry. His limbs were drooping, his shoulders rising and falling with rapid breaths – she didn't even know he needed to breathe. His vest still clung to his body by threadbare straps, but chunks of it were stripped away, revealing the thick material beneath. "I thought you said you had trouble with her." Twilight forced a smile. "That looked pretty one-sided from where I'm standing." "We're far from finished here." Trenton straightened his body. The monster's exoskeleton was lined with cracks from Trenton's and Twilight's combined efforts, and haze leaked from every wound on its body. Yet its horn glowed, and a pinprick of light appeared at its tip. The gas was drawn toward it in swirling filaments, passing down the horn's length in a green sheen that coursed through its body, down to the stumps where its limbs had been. Legs and arms and scythes and wings shimmered into being, solidifying into perfect duplicates of what had been lost in combat. The glow ran through the fissures in its armor and faded, smoothing away all the battle damage and leaving its carapace good as new. With a casual, almost lazy, swing of its scythe, it severed the arm Twilight had pinned, and a new arm formed to replace it. The monster rose on reformed legs, stretched and flexed its new fingers, and coiled them into fists. It turned to face Twilight and Trenton, splaying its legs and unfolding its wings. Twilight's ears drooped. "That's... demoralizing." "You understand now?" said Trenton. "My abilities mean little when it can regenerate at will." "You might have mentioned that a little sooner?" "I assumed that you knew already. As you'll recall, I was under the impression that it was Queen Chrysalis, that this was an innate ability of hers, and that you knew that already." "Well, today's just been a learning experience all around, now, hasn't it?!" The monster took to the air, hovering high above them, energy crackling around its horn. It fired, but the pair scattered, Trenton leaping aside and Twilight teleporting to the opposite end of the chamber. The monster landed, whirled to face Twilight, and rapidly advanced. Trenton caught it by a back leg, holding tight as it struggled to shake him off. Twilight levitated more debris to fling at the monster, and blast after blast picked the pieces out of the air. Trenton gave a final heave and tore the leg free from the monster's body. Tossing it aside and wading through the billow of smoke, he scaled its back, scrabbling to wrap his arms around its horn. He planted his feet and twisted his hips, trying to wrench it free of the monster's head. Its eyes bulged wide. The monster wailed, showing real fear, genuine pain, for the first time. It can't regenerate the horn, can it? Twilight felt like smacking herself. Again. Of course it couldn't – the horn was the source of its regeneration ability, after all. It might have been the only thing it couldn't regenerate. Crippling that would give her and Trenton the decisive advantage. Of course, if I know that... A current ran through the horn, lighting it up like a beacon, and Trenton with it. His body convulsed, as though he'd embraced a live wire, and when the the glow cut off, his grip around the horn slackened and his arms dangled limply at his sides. ...Then it probably knows that too. The monster reached up and pulled Trenton off of its head, flinging him unceremoniously away and gathering the expelled smoke to regenerate its leg. Twilight watched, with sinking hopes, as Trenton rolled to a stop beside the shield encasing Rainbow Dash. With its leg regenerated, it scurried toward Twilight, its scythes raking noisily together. Twilight struggled to formulate a plan. Lure it into the dome, and collapse it? She could just as easily get caught in the collapse herself – or she could bring the entire chamber down on her head. Take Rainbow, and just make a break for it? They'd be easy targets for the monster in the bathhouse; a few good blasts were all it'd take to demolish it and bury the two of them alive. Whether or not she could conjure a plan was moot, however – the creature loomed over her, raising its scythes to slice or impale. Twilight sprang forward, ducked under a grabbing hand, and galloped, firing a constant beam of magic at the monster's underbelly as she passed. Naturally, to no effect. Looking over her shoulder, Twilight saw the monster take to the air after her again. It fired, forcing Twilight to teleport, but as soon as she rematerialized, it was upon her again, a scythe stabbing into the ground beside her. Twilight leaped, and tried to run again, but it cut her off and advanced from the front. She backpedaled rapidly, ducking and dodging away from the rapid swings and stabs of the monster's scythes, interspaced with pulses of green energy that singed Twilight's hooves when she failed to move fast enough. It was swifter than its size suggested, easily able to keep pace with Twilight, and it never seemed to tire. Twilight herself was not an athlete by nature, but a steady regimen of adventuring with her friends had kept her in shape of late. Yet she was exhausting herself quickly, and rapidly approaching the point of no return with her magic reserves. She needed to go on the offensive, and settle matters before attrition defeated her. As if to prove her own point, her hind hoof caught on something, and she stumbled. Twilight fell, unable to maintain her pattern of ducks and dodges, and instead rolled away from a scythe aimed at her foreleg. Directly into the monster's waiting palm. Fingers encircled her tightly, and lifted her into the air. A second hand joined the first, and held her level with the monster's face, tightening its grip. The strain against Twilight's bones grew painful, and she felt shallow, painful pricks all over her body where its nails were sinking into her skin. It pulled her closer, until Twilight was inches away from its eye. Twilight fired into the pupil, and the whole eyeball popped into jelly. The monster yelped and recoiled, inadvertently exposing its other eye. Twilight fired again, and the monster screeched, dropping Twilight and covering both eyes with one hand. She landed with an oof and immediately stood, watching the monster stagger and flail blindly. It was an opening to run, but she knew that the creature could easily regenerate its eyes, and she had no idea how big a window she was working with. Probably not long enough to escape, but perhaps long enough to turn the tide. She scanned the chamber, looking for something that she could use. Her gaze settled on the remaining column sitting at the top of the dome's steps, and its pointed tip, resembling nothing so much as the end of a quill pen. With enough oomph behind it, that might just be enough to penetrate its skin. Maybe enough to deliver a mortal strike that even a monster like that couldn't recover from. Twilight felt a sickening turn of her stomach. The monster dropped its hand from its face, revealing a pair of partially regenerated eyeballs, glowing green spheres stuck into sockets that still oozed eye jelly. It brought both hands down on Twilight, and struck against a pink bubble that warped and expanded and contorted around them. Glowing pink fingers interlaced tightly with the monster's own, locking together as it tried to pull away. Twilight twisted. This was no different from hoof-wrestling; it was all about leverage. Hoof-to-hoof, she could never hope to win, not against somepony with muscle. But she'd put her own skills with levitation, with telekinesis, over brute strength any day. Lathered with sweat and screaming her throat raw, Twilight wrenched the creature's arms sideways with force enough to topple it onto its flank. Her field extended, wrapped around its exposed belly, and rolled it until it was flipped onto its back. Its reformed eyes bulged with shock, and its limbs waved as it tried – and failed – to flip itself over. The column was the linchpin of her plan, and she reached out for it now. She could feel it through her senses, but the levitation field she tried to form around it wouldn't materialize. It was all she could do to keep the monster pinned – she didn't have the energy necessary to manipulate another object of such size and mass. She despaired until, in the corner of her vision, she saw Trenton bound up the stairs, seize the column, and leap impossibly high into the air. A single point of blue burned above as Trenton, with force whose sheer dynamics were too terrifying for Twilight to ponder or calculate, flung the column straight through the monster's exposed belly. He was off target – but only slightly. The marble column pierced its thorax left of center. Gore and chitin sprayed from the wound, accompanied by billows of green smoke. Trenton landed and bounded into the air again, arcing downward like an arrow with his leg thrust forward. He struck the exposed tip of the column with a kick that hammered the entire thing through the monster's body, nailing it into the ground beneath. Its limbs went taut, then limp. Eyes rolled back into its skull, and it emitted a gurgling sound as smoke poured from its body. Twilight backed away and plopped onto her haunches, feeling the sickening feeling return in force. She was absurdly grateful that she'd already expelled the contents of her stomach. Twilight heard Trenton approach, and looked up in time to see him collapse to one knee. His body looked worse than ever – the lighter parts of his exoskeleton had been cooked enough to be as uniformly dark as the rest of his body, and his vest was charred black. His handgun was gone, and Twilight could see that the holster on the front of his vest had been partially shredded by the explosions from his ammunition cooking off. Her first instinct was to ask if he was alright, to extend him her sympathy. She caught herself before she could, and immediately castigated herself for even thinking that sympathy was something she'd have to check. Enemy or no, he'd helped her – that entitled him to concern, if nothing else. "You alright?" The light in his eye flickered rapidly before darkening completely – its lens was cracked, with a fracture like an asymmetrical, upside-down Y. "Self-diagnostic and repair systems will keep me functional in the long-term. In the short-term... suffice to say, I am grateful for my pain inhibitors." Lucky you. Twilight felt, and probably looked, like a punching bag on four legs. But she was alive, and so was Rainbow – and that was what really mattered. She forced herself to look at the monster and shuddered. Three cheers for teamwork. "You surprise me," said Trenton, having apparently noticed her discomfort. "Seeing this thing in its final throes disturbs you? After all the death you've seen so far?" Twilight squeezed her eyes shut and breathed slowly, trying to steady herself. "Doesn't make seeing it again any easier." And I hope it never gets any easier. Then a blast that neither of them saw coming struck Trenton in the chest, throwing him backward and slamming him into the ground. It was all Twilight could do not to let out a petulant "Oh come onnnnn!" One of the monster's limp and lifeless hands suddenly shot up, took hold of the column's exposed base, and pulled it free with a shriek of pain and a sudden gout of smoke. No longer pinned, it rolled onto its side, gathered its legs beneath its body, and rose on quaking, yet not limp or lifeless, legs. The monster's horn was drawing the haze back into its body and stemming the flow from its gaping wound with what Twilight could only characterize as a glowing green scab. Twilight knew she needed to start moving again, but she couldn't – she was tired, and breathless, and pinned to her spot by a hate-filled gaze. Those eyes... They were so unlike those of the golems. Theirs were, to the last, lifeless, emotionless, glassy, and pale. Even Chrysalis's. These were everything that the golems' weren't. They had pupils, sure, and vivid color, but more than that, they were expressive. Alight. Alive. This... thing... has a soul. The monster delighted in mocking Twilight. It wanted to hurt Twilight. It wanted her to suffer. It wanted to watch her suffer. It wanted, and it acted deliberately, not driven by mere impulse or emotion, but by desire. It dawned on her, all at once and quite without warning, just what she was fighting. The monster lunged. Twilight braced herself. And then the monster exploded. A light soared through the darkness and bloomed into yellow flame against the still-glowing spot in the monster's exoskeleton. The blast blew its thorax into chunks, and sent the remnants of its head and abdomen and assorted limbs rolling across the cavern floor. Thick green clouds billowed from all its severed pieces, enveloping and hiding them from sight. Twilight blinked. Rubbed her eyes and blinked again. She looked at Trenton, who had risen to a knee, and now stared past her, at the doorway to the bathhouse. Twilight followed his gaze. She had never been so simultaneously elated, grateful, and infuriated with another living being as she was just then. Snake knelt in the doorway with a long metal tube braced upon his shoulder. Smoke curled from its tip like an oversized, green-painted cigar. Some kind of black rectangle with a single lens, like a camera, stuck out from his forehead, and dangling from his left hip, suspended by a harness, was the carbine he'd found. A hundred thousand conflicting impulses vied with one another inside of Twilight. She wanted to gallop over to him and bop him on the head for leaving her; she wanted to fling her forelegs around him and thank him; she wanted to throw Rainbow Dash over her back and make a break for it before the monster could regenerate, provided it wasn't simply dead this time. But with Trenton nearby, and unaware of just what the situation above ground was, Twilight's response was, unfortunately, dictated to her. She trotted toward Snake with a nonplussed expression. "Not to sound ungrateful, but if you're here, then who's looking after Cherry Jubilee?" Snake raised an eyebrow at that. He stood, tossing the cylinder away, and opened his mouth to respond. The look on Twilight's face – one which she hoped said "I fed the scary cyclops ninja a cover story, and I need you to play along with it" – made him pause and rethink his answer. "You're kinda being ungrateful just by asking, aren't you?" The conflicting head bop/hug response resurfaced in full force. Instead, she just flashed him a quick, grateful smile. "How are things topside?" "Seemed normal before I left. Why?" Mechanical whirring and the crackle of static silenced Twilight before she could answer. Trenton was limping, and the smell of ozone trailed after him. "You found what I left for you, I see." The damage was even obvious in his voice, which crackled with white noise even when he wasn't speaking. Snake grunted. "Suppose you're expecting thanks." "Not as such. You've met my other expectations, though – met and surpassed them. Well done." Whatever response Snake had never left his mouth as a glob of hastily gathered and fired energy streaked toward him from one of the clouds. This time, Trenton was prepared. He moved quickly, shoving Snake aside and falling protectively over his body. The blast struck the bathhouse's facade in a burst of light that caved the building's entrance in, sealing off their escape route. The green cloud was receding, being drawn back into the monster's body. Haze trickled from all its severed parts – its limbs, its abdomen, the larger, intact chunks of its thorax – only to be reabsorbed and sent down through its body, rapidly forming the outlines of replacement parts. And the whole time, without mustering a follow-up blast, it kept its eyes locked on Twilight. "Oh, come onnnn!" Twilight whined, flopping petulantly onto the ground. Trenton stood, tucking one hand against his stomach and offering the other to Snake, who pushed it roughly away and stood on his own. "We are, unfortunately, out of time to commiserate," said the cyborg. "You need to leave. Now." "No kidding," Snake growled. "Main route's not an option. There's another exit around here that leads up to the cherry orchard though—" "Those tunnels are too narrow. Separately, you might navigate them successfully, but the three of you, together, would never make it." They debated, while Twilight looked to where she left Rainbow Dash. The monster had paid the pegasus no attention during the fight, and the barrier Twilight had cast remained in place, at full strength. With a flash from her horn, the barrier winked out, and Twilight reabsorbed its energy back into herself, sighing slightly at the sensation of strength that it provided. With another flash, she teleported Rainbow to her side and knelt to wriggle the pegasus onto her back. "Here. Let me get her." Snake was beside her, crouching, the carbine drawn from his hip. There was a clicking sound as he folded its stock flat against the gun's receiver. Then, keeping the carbine in his right hand, he wrapped his left arm around Rainbow Dash, and tossed her over his shoulder. "Huh." Snake bounced her once. "Not so heavy as she looks." "Hey. Focus." Twilight nodded toward the dome. "There should be another tunnel passing underneath this place, and an entrance inside there. She used it to ambush us earlier – it'll take us to where we need to go." "You sound pretty certain," said Snake. "How—" "I gave the tunnels a good sonar-whatsit-ing earlier. Trust me, if the orchard exit's not an option, then this one'll do." Snake muttered something under his breath and shook his head. "I'll take it." The monster's head rose, the rest of its still-glowing body following after. Trenton turned to face it, falling into a fighting stance, his joints whirring troublingly as he kept one arm cradled close to his belly. "Move quickly. I will stay, and cover your retreat." "Why?" Snake growled. The ninja was silent for a split second – long enough that Twilight realized he was hesitating. "Just think of it as philanthropy." That took Snake aback. But, with the monster's body now fully reassembled, he had no time or incentive to ask for more. He and Twilight began the long sprint toward the dome. Behind them came the sounds of battle – screeches and growls, muted echoes of blasts, and the thunderous crash of Trenton's blows against the monster's body. Twilight didn't dare look back as she ascended the stairs, Snake keeping pace admirably despite his burden. They passed into the dome, festooned as it was with the remains of Queen Chrysalis, a carcass that Snake spared only a glance before they skidded to a stop at the edge of a gaping hole. Twilight winked to the bottom of the pit, and teleported Snake and Rainbow down with her before he could protest. Growling discontentedly, he pulled the device on his head down, covering his eyes, and flipped a switch. The lens glowed green, and Twilight's ears twitched at a faint hum that it emitted. Then a blast from the monster struck the roof of the dome, and chunks of rock and marble rained upon them. Twilight galloped down the tunnel, shining her light ahead to show the way. Behind, the tunnel's entrance filled with debris. Beside her was the comforting sound of Snake's heavy footfalls as they sprinted the tunnel's length to safety. They emerged into familiar ground, onto the spot where Trenton had earlier warned Twilight off. That was when Twilight's body decided that it wasn't going any further without at least a moment's rest, and she collapsed forward with her rump in the air. There were no signs of pursuit, but regardless, she needed to catch her breath. She rocked back onto her haunches, into a less undignified position, and scooted back to rest against the tunnel's wall. Snake took a long, careful look down the tunnel, keeping his rifle leveled, until he was apparently satisfied that they weren't being followed. He relaxed, and lowered the gun and the pony to the ground, laying Rainbow on her side with her cheek resting against the dirt and her mane fanned out beneath her head. Then he sat down across from Twilight, pulling his knees close to his body and resting his elbows upon them. "I saw the bodies back there," he said quietly. "Didn't look like your work. You don't strike me as the hollow point type." Twilight nodded, shaking droplets of sweat that sparkled in the light from her horn. "They ambushed me. I fought them off, but I couldn't... do more than that." She shuddered and looked at her hooves. "Trenton intervened." Snake leaned forward. "Listen... You said so yourself, the golems—" "I know," she interrupted, sharper than intended. "They're not alive; killing them is a kindness. I don't need platitudes, and I don't need a pep talk." Snake narrowed his eyes at her, but nodded. "Sorry," she said. "I'm just... it's been a really long day." "Right there with you." Then his lips twitched upward just slightly. "Literally. And against my better judgment." Twilight cracked a smile. "Yeah, how did you find me? I thought you said tracking wasn't your strong suit." "It isn't. But you left an easy trail to follow." Snake tapped the device over his forehead. "That trick you do with your horn leaves behind some kind of heat or light signature, outside of the visible spectrum. That's more or less what these goggles were made for seeing. Following it led me to you." "Huh. I learned something new about myself today." Twilight looked at the goggles, trying to mentally piece together the technological principles that made them function. I wonder if Snake would let me examine them when all's said and done. "Wait..." Twilight cocked her head. "I don't remember you having those before." "They were in the Humvee." Snake rubbed his left shoulder with his other hand and rotated his arm, accompanied by the snapping and popping of cartilage. "In a locked trunk in the back, along with the missile launcher. Bunch of other useful supplies, too." "Trenton mentioned he left something behind for you, yeah." She eyed Snake curiously. "How'd you manage to open it? You got a lock pick that I don't know about?" Snake patted the handgun on his holster. Of course. At this rate, she was never gonna get to pick a lock. "Plenty more where this came from, too," said Snake, shifting his back against the wall. "Stuff for the carbine, a different handgun, ammo for both. All the better, since I seem to have lost my tranquilizer gun somewhere along the line. Another missile, single-shot, like the one I used just now. A knife, documents that I haven't bothered to go through yet. Change of clothes. Even some field rations. Which, for your own good, I won't be sharing." Twilight tried to whistle in surprise, but her lips were so parched that she could only manage to blow a puff of dry air. She pulled Killjoy's canteen from her saddlebags and took a long drink. "Is it enough to tilt the odds a little more in our favor?" she asked after finishing her pull. "It's enough to win a shootout. Maybe enough to kill a tank. Just don't ask me to fight a battle for you." The remark made her eyes widen as she remembered Trenton's warning. Snake sighed. "Something tells me you're about to do exactly that." "They're going to attack Ponyville." Twilight pawed at the earth, pushing a small pile of dirt against her toe. "Pegasus Wings. Within a day, Trenton said. Now that we know about them, they see us as a threat to their plans, and they're going to come down on us." Twilight heard a rumbly breath escape Snake's lungs, and his hands clenched tightly. Watching him reminded her of being in the monster's grasp, and a brief dizziness spell overtook her. She shook her head and offered the canteen to Snake with an unhappy smile. "Guess you spoke too soon?" He gave a suspicious look to the spout before accepting it and raising it to his lips. "Maybe you should have thanked Trenton after all," Twilight added. "Not sure he'd like the kind of thanks I have in mind for him," Snake said into the canteen. "...Speaking of gratitude..." Twilight lowered her eyes. "Thank you." Snake returned the canteen to Twilight, who capped it and put it away. "For?" "Staying. Coming after me." She glanced at him. "Ah... well." Snake coughed and shifted uncomfortably, turning away from Twilight. "I couldn't, uh, get the car running. So, y'know. Didn't have anything else to do." Twilight smiled. It wasn't much, but it was probably as close to an affectionate sentiment that she was ever going to get from Snake. Something about him told her that he wasn't the type for bubbly, heartfelt displays of emotion. I'd reciprocate in kind, but after all the trouble I went through without him around... I think he's earned a little bit of discomfort. She stood on her tired little legs, trotted up to Snake, reared onto her back hooves, and flopped the front of her body over his shoulder, encircling her forelegs around him in a sloppy hug that made his body stiffen. "Knock it off!" he snapped, shoving with just enough force to dislodge Twilight and push her onto her back. "Look, you really want to thank me? Never hug me again." Twilight, supine, chuckled and rolled back onto her belly— And came nose-to-nose with Rainbow Dash. It occurred to her that, pressed for time and stressed as she was, she hadn't checked Rainbow's condition beyond confirming that she was still alive. They were still on the clock, of course, and needed to get moving, but without an immediate threat bearing down on them, Twilight felt she could chance a closer inspection. She didn't like what she saw. Rainbow's body was battered and dirty, her coat smeared with dirt and the dried, crusty remnants of her cocoon. Her right hind leg was in a brace, and there was a bandage binding her right wing against her body. Trenton must have made some effort to patch her up after the castle. All told, she'd been through worse; Twilight knew that for a fact. But her face... Rainbow had always been striking, with sharp, defined features that lent a lean, athletic sort of beauty to her – the kind of face where a daredevil smile was always right at home. Those features were now marred by a purple bruise, spread across the left side of a swollen jaw, and white bandages on either cheek, with faint red stains showing through the material. The cuts that IRVING left on her. The bruise would fade in time, of course. The swelling, too. And there weren't any outward signs of serious damage to her jaw. Nothing broken, or dislocated. The cuts'll probably scar. Of course, knowing her, she might not consider that a bad thing. She heard Snake's body shifting as he rose to his feet, picking up the rifle. "We need to get moving. Trenton's tough, but he looked like a wreck – I don't know how long he'll be able to hold that thing off." Twilight nodded without looking away from Rainbow Dash. "Just a minute longer. Lemme look her over." "Twilight." She shot him a look from over her shoulder. "Sixty seconds. No more." Snake bit back a cutting remark, lowered the goggles over his eyes, and shouldered his weapon. "I'll have a quick look up ahead. Be ready to move when I get back." Then he was gone, moving down the same tunnel that Trenton had guided Twilight through before. She was, of course, fully cognizant of the gesture he was making, and she appreciated it. Snake was prickly and cynical, but he had his own ways of showing compassion. She understood that much about him. So this is the closest I'll ever get to an explicit display of affection. Maybe I should have saved that hug, in hindsight. When the crunch of his boots against the floor faded away, and she knew he was out of earshot, Twilight leaned closer to Rainbow Dash. "You probably can't hear me. Maybe I'm wasting all of our time by doing this. But I need to say it... in case something happens to me before you wake up. Before we can have this talk for real." Rainbow Dash remained still and silent, yet breathing steadily. Twilight ran her hoof through her mane – it was filthy and dirt-ridden, with pink blossoms stuck between strands here and there. She picked them out where she could, letting them flutter to the ground. Her hoof passed over some sort of bump on the nape of her neck, too. A cyst? "Somepony needs a dermatologist," she said dryly. She was half-expecting a smirk in response. But, of course... I'm not used to you being this quiet, Rainbow. Her eyes stung. "I know you said it was alright to leave you behind. That we needed to make it out, even if you didn't. But leaving you there to die, alone... felt like I was killing you myself. I couldn't live with that. I risked everything... my own life, and Snake's, and the others back home... Ponyville, and Equestria itself... to find you." There was a dam inside of her, strained to the point of bursting, and she was perilously close to letting it break. For a moment, she did, just a little bit. She lowered her head to bury her face in Rainbow's matted fur, and wept silently. I don't know how I would have gone on if all this was for nothing. When she heard Snake's footsteps drawing close again, she rose, took a deep breath, wiped her eyes, and stared resolutely at Rainbow Dash. But the past is the past. Nopony's getting left behind again. To Twilight's surprise, and mild pleasure, the lighting spell she'd cast in the first chamber was still active – dimmer now, to be sure, but burning brightly enough to illuminate the ruins and the corpses of the golems. Twilight took great pains to avoid looking at them as she and Snake strode toward the vantage point from which she had first glimpsed the city. She glanced at Snake from the corner of her eye. "How'd you manage to get down from there, anyway?" "Climbed. Not the longest I've ever done, nor the most difficult, but having an M72 on my back made it tougher than it should've been. Not sure how I'm gonna do it while carrying this bum." Snake bounced Rainbow Dash once for emphasis. Twilight arched an eyebrow, smirking. "You're gonna teleport me, aren't you?" The smirk became an impish grin. One flash had her at the mouth of the tunnel. Another brought Snake and Rainbow to her side. A third sucked the dimming orb back into her horn, restoring a measure of the energy she'd spent. Snake grumbled and looked at her, the irritation in his gaze plainly visible by the light that shone from the tip of Twilight's horn. "I didn't consent to that." "Lighten up. Big ol' baby." Twilight began the ascent up the tunnel's gentle slope. "C'mon, I'll take point. Be ready to leap into action, though – if Trenton was telling the truth, we're about to emerge into a war zone." Snake's footsteps padded softly in the dirt – starkly different from the crunchy gravel beneath his feet in the tunnels outside the city. "War zone?" Oh, I missed my growly echo. "Trenton had some high-tech gizmo in his brain that could track the golems' movements. According to him, the entire swarm went up top not long after I came down below. He didn't know about the Guard, so he thought they were fighting you." "Built-in sensor package, huh?" Snake grunted. "Wonder if he has Soliton radar." "I could not begin to tell you. Nor could I tell you what that is, even if I knew whether or not he had it." "Figures. Still, I wouldn't take him at his word when it comes to things like the disposition of an enemy army. Even a mutual enemy." Twilight's beam caught one of the footprints left behind by the monster. She took care to step over it, keeping her light on it so that Snake could avoid it as well. "I realize he's not a remotely credible source, but in all the time I've been down here, I've only seen the eight golems that ambushed me initially. If they're committing all their forces to fighting a pitched battle with the Guard, then you gotta figure they wouldn't be able to spare more than what they did to chase after me. Or us, rather." Snake chewed on that before signaling his agreement with a grunt. "Besides," Twilight added. "I doubt he's really motivated by philanthropy, but Trenton's helped us both out a lot today. Saving Rainbow, helping me, the supplies... I have no earthly idea why, but he has a genuine interest in making sure the three of us get out of Dodge alive, and that we – and the others – have a fighting chance. I wouldn't trust him, but we all want the same thing, if not for the same reasons." "Yeah. That much is clear. It's why I don't get. What's their game?" Twilight looked over her shoulder at him. "You don't mean Pegasus Wings, do you?" she asked suspiciously. Snake met her eyes but he didn't elaborate. Twilight looked away with a sigh and a shake of her head. Guess there's still some stuff he's not opening up on just yet. "That thing back there," Snake remarked. "I'm gonna assume that's what came out of the egg in the barn, right? You ever see anything like it before?" Don't think I don't notice you changing the subject back there, mister. "Can't say that I have." Twilight bit her lip. "But... I do have a theory." "Care to share?" Do you? They were turning a corner now, and coming to the edges of the misty carpet. Far ahead, Twilight could see the tunnel's exit, and a bright light. Brighter than it should have been – even with the damage to the front of the barn, there should still have been enough of a barn left to block most sunlight from filtering in. "When I asked the Operator about the golems," Twilight began. "He said that they were less important than whatever it was the souls were being used for. Remember?" "I was a bit distracted with committing arson at the time," said Snake. "But yes, I vaguely recall that." "He also said that souls could be transmuted, from energy to matter. Made into a body that's given a soul of its own. That thing... I'm pretty sure it was made from the souls of the changelings. Maybe the townsponies, too." "So... the Queen bled her own kind, rolled their souls together, and left 'em in that barn to bake for a couple of days. Then it hatched, and burrowed its way down here?" "I assume. Although your assumption is off by one tiny detail." The fog was growing thicker now, obscuring the ground completely. Twilight tread lightly. "You saw Chrysalis back in the dome. She'd been bled – strung up like some kind of trophy. Whatever did it to her used her to talk to us, the same way it talked to us through Cherry. It spoke of Chrysalis like she was still alive. Said that she hated me, and wanted revenge. And that thing... it certainly acted like it had a grudge against me. Took a real sadistic pleasure in hurting me." "So what are you saying?" "That thing is Queen Chrysalis. Or it's carrying her soul. I don't know what that means, exactly – this is a whole branch of magic and metaphysics that I'm completely unfamiliar with. But it... or she... hates me. And someone, or something, is exploiting that hatred." Sounds of sudden combat echoed down the tunnel toward them – grunts and shouts, steel clashing. A distant roar, like a small explosion. Trenton wasn't lying. Twilight shot Snake a look and tore off, galloping through the remainder of the tunnel until she emerged into warm sunlight and fresh air. The barn had been broken to pieces in the fighting; the walls still stood, but the roof was gone. Splinters of rafters wove between the tops of the walls, but larger pieces of the roof itself were scattered around the inside of the pit, sticking partially out of the carpet of mist. From above the pit came some kind of wet, pounding noise, like grapes being stomped. Or perhaps cherries would be a more appropriate association. Then a spear landed, point-first, an inch away from Twilight's flank, and she leaped away with a startled "wagh!" Snake shouted her name from the tunnel, and she heard his thudding footsteps as he ran to join her. "Freeze!" A magenta pegasus with tufts of orange mane sticking out from under her helmet fluttered into the pit and retrieved the fallen spear. "You stay right where you are, or I swear, I-I'll put this right through your face!" Twilight looked skeptically at the pegasus. Her weapon was clean, even glistening, as though it hadn't drawn a drop of blood over the course of the day. The entire length of the spear was shaking in its owner's grasp. She was almost jealous of her innocence. A green pegasus darted close to the first and whacked her over the helmet with a ping. "Dodo, you dodo, check your damn targets. Does that look like a bug to you?" "B-But what if she's in disguise, sir?" "Have you seen a single bug out here even try to shape-shift, Private?" "Well, no, b-but that doesn't mean they can't! Sir!" Dodo's spear dipped, and she pulled it closer to herself. "We should test her, just to be sure, right?" "Oh, for the love of – fine." Dodo's superior shook his head, muttering. He landed and pushed the petite pegasus out of the way to address Twilight personally. "If you're Twilight Sparkle," he said slowly. "Then you'll remember what the first thing your brother ever said to his wife was." She surely did. The image of her gangly, disheveled brother, sweating through his collar and shaking under Cadance's patient stare, was one of her favorite memories. That this random officer was using it as a litmus test to determine her identity, however... that made her savor it a little less. Still, if that's what it takes to keep from getting skewered... Twilight cleared her throat and took a deep breath. "hELLo." The officer snickered and burst into open laughter. "Yes! Yes! Exactly like that! With the squeaky voice and the varying pitch and everything! You nailed it!" Dodo nervously started to join in, but the officer silenced her with a glare, and she contritely fluttered out of the pit, eep-ing softly. Then he resumed laughing, until Snake emerged with his gun held up, looking quite perplexed and out of sorts. "It's alright," said Twilight, gesturing for him to lower the gun. "All a misunderstanding." The green pegasus's laughter finally tapered off, and he sighed, wiping away a tear. "Lieutenant Strudel of J-Team. I assume full responsibility for Dodo's presumption." Twilight nodded back. "No harm done. Though I'm curious how you know that story. I don't recall you being present that night." "I worked Princess Cadance's security detail for a little while. We got to talking about Shining once or twice, and she let that story slip. Did a great impression, too." He snickered. "Of course, when it got back to the Captain, he was less amused. I was reassigned after that." Snake looked between Twilight and Strudel, perplexed. "I'm... clearly missing some context." "You shouldn't have shown up late, then. But enough reminiscing – we have a war on our hooves, unfortunately." Strudel glanced at the unconscious pony on Snake's shoulder, and turned to call over the edge of the pit. "I need four pairs of wings down here, ASAP!" Snake lowered his gun, but watched warily as Strudel's subordinates approached. "Miss Sparkle," he said, all business. "Captain Killjoy briefed me about your excursion down in that tunnel. We have a triage set up in the farmhouse – if you'll allow my troops to take custody of Rainbow Dash, we can get her examined. Patch her up, if need be." Twilight hesitated – having just reunited with Rainbow, she was reluctant to part with her so soon, but she did need medical care. "Agreed." At a signal, one of the pegasi approached Snake, who shared a look with Twilight before letting the guardspony take hold of Rainbow Dash. Grunting under his burden, the stallion rose in the air and made his way out of the pit, toward Cherry Jubilee's house. The other three still hovered around Strudel. Twilight looked quizzically at them. "What're they for?" "You," said Strudel bluntly. "You're welcome to try climbing your way out of this pit, but the walls are pretty steep. Now, if you had a pair of wings—" Twilight vanished and reappeared on top of the ledge, looking down at Snake and Strudel from outside the pit. Snake's face twisted with anger before he flashed and rematerialized beside Twilight. "Damn it," he snapped. "No means no, Twilight." Twilight ignored him, instead watching smugly as Strudel flapped his way over to her. "Right. Okay. That works too." She turned away from him, and was greeted by a scene of carnage. The front of the barn had already been home to a heap of corpses, but there were dozens more now, some still twitching. Ten or so battered-looking guardsponies stood among them, their armor scratched and coated with green smears. They looked at Twilight with worn-out, vacant expressions, while one passed between the twitching bodies and thrust his spear through their heads to finish them. Watching him go about his work made Twilight dizzy again. She looked away immediately, breathing deeply to stabilize herself. That was when she noticed Cherry Jubilee, who was standing over the body of a golem and pummeling it over and over again with her shotgun's stock, grunting ferally with every wet-sounding blow of her weapon. Here and there were the red casings of spent shells, an impressive number of them. Glancing at the bodies, Twilight saw a proportionate number with gaping holes blown into them. "Trespasser!" Cherry shrieked suddenly. She slammed the gun down one last time, splashing her considerably gore-coated self with still more gore, and leaned in close to the golem's mushy face. "Off my land! Off! My! Land!" Twilight drew closer to the mare, hesitantly reaching a hoof toward her. "Cherry? Are you—" With a roar, Cherry spun and leveled the shotgun at Twilight. Twilight froze. The pegasi reacted to Cherry's aggressive posture by drawing their spears and forming a semicircle around her, and she didn't need to look to know that Snake was trying to angle a clear shot from behind her. He'd take that shot, too, if he had to. She wasn't going to give him a reason. The bore of the gun, so close that Twilight could see the soot caking the inside of the barrel, shook in Cherry's grip. Twilight found Cherry's gaze and held it, until the traumatized mare slowly lowered her weapon. She averted her eyes shamefully, glancing behind Twilight, at Snake, and then at the ground. Strudel gave a curt order to the ring of spears, and the pegasi relaxed. "Sorry about... before," Cherry whispered, glancing quickly at Snake again. Snake waved off her apology. "You weren't yourself. I'm more annoyed that the tranquilizer wore off so fast. You should be unconscious right now." "I'm not complaining," said Strudel. He collapsed his spear and replaced it against his flank. "She and that boomstick of hers are half the reason we're still alive. Came charging out of the farmhouse in the middle of a skirmish, screaming like a madmare and blasting away. They never saw her coming." Cherry stooped to inspect the gooey mess she'd reduced the golem's face to, turning her back to Twilight. Strudel approached, clearing his throat. "So you'll have to pardon the mess," he continued. "The whole swarm of bugs kicked up not too long after you went down that tunnel, and we haven't really had time to tidy things up between fights." Snake grunted. "How bad has it been?" "Could be a lot worse. Captain left us behind to guard the farmhouse and the tunnel – keep 'em from going down there and bracketing the two of you. They threw a sizable force at us at the start of the fight, but the Captain led 'em away on a chase, and they haven't sent more than a few of 'em at a time ever since." "Led them away?" asked Twilight. "Where?" Strudel looked off in the distance and nodded. Twilight looked where he indicated. A roiling, buzzing mass of black specks swarmed over Dodge City, darting and weaving among the column of white smoke that still rolled into the sky. Among that mass were flashes of light – the sun glinting off of Royal Guard armor. "They've been at it for close to two hours now," Strudel remarked. "We've taken casualties, but no fatalities as yet. That I know of, anyway." "That's a good sign," said Twilight. "Right?" Strudel's face was grim. "The Captain's making a good show of it, and we're giving as good as we're getting, but we're badly outnumbered. Not to mention, we're fighting in full armor in a desert. It's only a matter of time before fatigue and attrition turn the tide against her. Then they'll come back here to mop us up, and that'll be that. Ground forces'll arrive in a day's time to find a massacre." She wanted to dispute that – they were doing just fine, weren't they? But she could see the difference between this battle and the one from earlier. Killjoy had kept her fliers well-organized and disciplined then, but that was with the odds heavily in her favor. Between the impetus of the charge and her numerical advantage, there hadn't been a chance of that fight going against her. Against the full force of the swarm, however, matters seemed to go in a very different direction. There were no complex flight patterns, no stunning tactical maneuvers or formations. Just a swarming, writhing free-for-all, without even the benefit of superior numbers. Strudel was right. The fight was decided. No, she thought. No, we can help. Snake and I, we can turn the tide, together. She looked at Snake. Their eyes met. He nodded, just so slightly. Twilight smiled. We can do it. Then the ground rumbled and shook, a tremor that made the pegasi stumble and knocked Twilight off her hooves altogether. From deep within the orchard, a beam of pale green light shot straight into the sky. Trees uprooted and blew to splinters, their canopies catching aflame and withering instantaneously. A whirlwind of trees and branches, of earth and stone, swirled about the light. Gradually, it diminished and the detritus caught in the storm dropped back to the earth below, leaving behind only the grotesquely twisted form of the creature which carried Queen Chrysalis's soul. The pegasi rushed to form a line of spears in front of Twilight. Snake was at her side, gun leveled, and she helped herself to her hooves. Cherry just sat staring at the body she'd been mindlessly pummeling. The monster spared the barn a glance before it shifted direction in the air. With shocking speed, it flew in the direction of Dodge City. Oh, there's no way that'll end well for them. "We have to do something," she said, to nopony in particular. Snake answered anyway, though he took just a moment longer than she would've liked. "Yeah. No getting out of here with that thing alive. There's one more missile in the Humvee; if you can distract it long enough for me to get a good, clear shot—" "I don't want to kill it." Strudel scoffed. "Oh, well, naturally. Let's open a dialogue with the big scary bug monster. Maybe try and find some common—" "Y'know, I'd be willing to take that kind of lip from Killjoy," Twilight snapped, glaring at him. "I'm less willing to take it from you. So, please, don't speak unless you have something constructive to say." Strudel smoldered, silent and unhappy. Snake nudged her shoulder, and she looked at him, disquieted by his worried expression. "If he didn't say it, then I would have. Look, you've got a compelling theory, I'll admit, and if there were a way to settle this peacefully, I wouldn't dismiss it out of hand. But even if you're right about what that thing is, how it was made, you can't assume that you'll be able to talk to it. Or that it could understand you enough for you to negotiate with it. Or that it'd even be willing to listen." Twilight sighed. "Normally, I'd be pooh-poohing this right along with you; I'm not the leap of faith type. But if I'm right, then that's not just some... monster we're dealing with, or a husk without a life or a future, but a living, thinking being. And a victim, every bit as much as the ponies of Dodge Junction. If there's even a chance that I can reason with her, maybe convince her to call this all off..." "Whatever you're gonna do," Strudel muttered, watching the creature drift rapidly toward Dodge. "Make up your minds about it quick." Snake sighed defeatedly and pointed at Twilight. "If things go south and I get a clear shot, I'm taking it. No arguing. And no guilt-trip. I'm not letting you martyr yourself for that thing." Twilight felt a rotten feeling in her gut as she nodded in agreement. "I'm pulling my troops back to the farmhouse," said Strudel, beckoning to the other pegasi with a wing. "I think you'll agree, there's no strategic sense in guarding this hole in the ground anymore. We'll form a tight perimeter and make our stand there if the fight goes against you." Twilight stopped him with a hoof against his breastplate before he could leave. "Rainbow Dash..." Strudel nodded curtly. "We'll look after her. Promise." Then he dusted off the spot on his armor that Twilight had touched, and led the pegasi away. "That guy's a prick," Snake muttered. "We keep running into pricks today." Twilight let herself smile again before resuming her serious demeanor. "Go get your thing." "Yeah. I'll be right behind you." They exchanged one last look before parting, while Cherry, having failed to react to anything said or done, remained rooted to her spot. Adrenaline kept Twilight from obsessing over her impending doom. With Chrysalis – or whatever one called that thing – rapidly approaching the city, there was simply no time left to feel scared. Twilight retraced her steps, literally following her own hoofprints, until the familiar sight of Dodge City's plaza came into view. The town was in even worse condition than when she'd left it; the buildings and landscape were pockmarked with the signs of recent fighting, and the whole area was littered with corpses. Some were old – Dodge townsponies with gunshots in their heads or throats that'd somehow gone missing – but many more were new. The ground was littered with dead changelings. Standing amid the carnage on the ground was Brevet Captain Killjoy, recognizable by the red feather crest on her helm. She was reared back on her hind legs, leaning her front half against her spear, its point driven deep into the vitals of a golem. The melee raged overhead. Twilight called out to her, and she looked up. Their eyes met briefly, before Killjoy's gaze was drawn by the far more intimidating sight of the monster approaching. It fired a thick wad of energy from its brightly glowing horn toward Killjoy, who flipped acrobatically aside, leaving her spear embedded in the golem's carcass. The blast carried on, through the plaza, past the buildings, and struck the still-parked train on the tracks behind the city. The explosion all but rattled Twilight's teeth in her mouth, and when the smoke cleared, all that remained was a carpet of twisted, melted metal stretching into the distance. Twilight pushed herself to gallop faster and harder than she thought herself capable. The monster landed in front of Killjoy, casting its shadow over her. Its head dwarfed the little pegasus as it leaned down to stare directly into her eyes. Killjoy remained rooted to her spot, her wings spread in defiance. The monster's horn began to glow again. Twilight squeezed her eyes shut, silently commanded herself not to fail, and teleported between the monster and Killjoy. A barrier enveloped the two ponies' bodies, a shield over which a green beam of energy washed, surrounding the two in blinding light. The shield held. When the beam cut off, Twilight collapsed her barrier into a singularity and fired a shockwave that knocked Chrysalis backward. She staggered through the sand, shaking her head disorientedly, and struggled to regain her balance. "Sparkle?" Killjoy's voice was tinny and muffled due to the helmet. "The hell are you doing?" "It's called reciprocity; you saved me, so I'm saving you." Twilight shot a look at Killjoy over her shoulder. "Now get out of here!" "A-And leave you alone?!" Killjoy's voice cracked. "This isn't your fight, dammit! I can't let you throw your life away for—" "There's only one of you, too, Killjoy!" The monster was advancing on them now, glaring murderously at Twilight. She growled with annoyance – there was no time to argue. "Fine, whatever," Twilight snapped. "Just stay behind me!" The golems disengaged from their fight with the Guard and reassembled above the monster, hovering without order or formation. It was then that Twilight realized just how unevenly matched the two armies were. For all their combined efforts, the enemy could still match the Guard, body-for-body, and then some. Wings shuffled and armor clanked as, behind Twilight, the Guard struggled to reform their battle lines. She could only imagine how bloodied and disheveled they might have been – perhaps even on their last legs. Strudel was right; there was no way they'd survive another round. That last effort was as much energy as I had left. If this doesn't work... The monster's horn began to glow again. Twilight gulped, sucked in a lungful of air, and plucked her courage, before stopping the monster's advance with a shout. "Chrysalis!" The monster froze mid-step. The light around its horn ceased to build in brightness, but didn't extinguish altogether, and its eyes were still alight with fury. Okay, well. I guess it can understand me. That's a start. "I know it's you," Twilight said, iron in her voice. "I know what was done to you. What happened to your brood. How you were all bled, and turned into—" The monster lunged suddenly, and Twilight stiffened, Killjoy recoiling behind her. But no attack came. It simply drew its face close against Twilight's, just as it had done with Killjoy. Twilight remained outwardly unintimidated. Inwardly, she was wondering if the only reason she wasn't peeing herself was because she hadn't had enough to drink. She clenched her jaw and stiffened her spine, staring back. "I'm not trying to mock you. The things that were done to you are unforgivable. I can't begin to imagine the pain you went through, but I'm sorry. For what it did to you. For what it did to your... to your children." Its eyes narrowed. The glow around its horn remained. "I know we have no reason to like each other," said Twilight, quieting her voice and keeping it even. "But enemy or no, I wouldn't wish this on you. And somehow, I doubt you'd wish it on me." The monster made a snorting sound. A shake rippled through its body from front to back. She's laughing at me, isn't she? "Okay, so, maybe you would wish it on me. That's... fair." Twilight swallowed and nodded placatingly. "You're angry, and you're out for blood, and you could probably crush me flat right now, so why would you be inclined to sympathize with—" The monster slammed its hands, palms-down, on either side of Twilight. The ground shook from the force of impact. Killjoy touched Twilight's withers with a shaking hoof. "I don't think that's helping, Sparkle." Twilight shushed her before addressing the monster again. "Yeah, you could totally kill me right now. Smash me flat and blast me into ashes. But who would that serve, exactly? Who are you really angry at? Because however much you might dislike me, I'm not the one who did this to you. Killing me changes nothing. It won't give you back anything you've lost. The only one you're really helping is the one who made you this way in the first place. How is that a victory?" Twilight paused to let that sink in. It seemed to help – the monster's eyes narrowed, and its hands slowly lifted away from the ground, arms tucking back against its body. It pulled its head away from Twilight, took a short step backward, then another. But the light around its horn still did not vanish. "Do you know what would be a victory?" Twilight asked. "To deny that thing the satisfaction of knowing that it turned you into a revenge-driven monster. To let go of the anger, and find a different purpose. You just need to choose. Choose life. Live for yourself." Twilight took a tentative step forward, gently shaking Killjoy's hoof loose. "Right now, I'm going to make a choice. I choose to forgive you. To let go of everything between us. And to offer you my friendship, if you'll have it. Let's start over together." Twilight could feel the eyes of the Guard watching her. The sunlight reflected by their armor formed blotches of blinding white on the sand. She could only imagine the pegasi's confusion – not just about why she was addressing the big scary monster as "Chrysalis," but about why she was bothering to talk to it in the first place. On that much, at least, she could relate. All her lessons and everything she believed in demanded that she extend an olive branch. But she could see the fury in the monster's eyes, the hate and resentment. Worse, if she looked hard enough, she knew she'd find something like it deep inside of herself. Am I doing the right thing, Shiny? Would you forgive her for what she did? To Cadance, to Celestia, to me? To you? She wasn't sure she could, in his place. She wasn't sure she could now. But she could decide to try. Forgiveness was a choice, one they could make together. So she told herself to forgive Chrysalis, and to extend her hoof in friendship. The light around the monster's horn faded into a pale shimmer, and finally vanished. Twilight smiled with relief. For a moment, everything was right. Until a cold wind blew, carrying the faint scent of ashes. A tremor ran through Chrysalis, starting at the tips of her legs, rippling up through her thorax, and out to every one of her extremities. Her fingers curled and uncurled madly; her scythes flailed in the air; her wings beat violently out of sequence, and her eyes widened in fear. She wailed – a high, shrieking note that the golems added their voices to, joining in a terrifying harmony. Helplessly, Chrysalis rose into the air, her wail becoming a primal shriek. Thin lines, like a puppet's strings, materialized from her limbs and her horn, all rising to meet at a point high above her – at a black cloud, cruciform in shape, which gathered in the sky over Dodge. Pale lightning flashed inside the cloud, and a pair of yellow slits, burning brightly, ripped open at its peak – eyes that pierced Twilight with the force of their anger. The light returned around Chrysalis's horn. It built at the tip in a sphere of green that grew from a pinprick to a boulder to a miniature star, larger even than the monster that generated it – a sun that bloated until it became the sky itself, bathing everything below in its sickly light. The golems stayed where they were, still adding their voices to Chrysalis's. Twilight could hear Killjoy shouting indistinct orders over the din, but was only able to pick out the word "retreat." Yet she didn't join her command in fleeing. Whether out of obligation to Shining, or to Twilight herself, Killjoy refused to abandon her. Twilight's horn shone with her own light, and she dug her hooves into the sand. It wasn't until the missile struck Chrysalis's horn that she remembered – she still had a plan-B. The body of the monster dangled in the air for just a moment before the strings holding it up snapped, and it fell to the earth like a rock. The sphere did not go with it. That much energy, focused into that large an attack, would not simply go away, but without Chrysalis keeping it focused and localized, it was rapidly destabilizing. The surface of the sphere shifted and bubbled, like water at full boil on a roaring flame. Then, quite all at once, it burst. Twilight threw her body against Killjoy's, knocking her onto her side. A shield enveloped them, a candle that was swallowed by Chrysalis's inferno. Twilight the heat engulf it, like a limb dipped in molten lead. Her skin started to crawl with the thought of that sensation consuming her every inch – the sensation of burning alive. Thoughts of her friends flashed through her mind. The others, back home. Rainbow Dash, unconscious in the farmhouse. Cherry, half-mad victim of some unspeakable evil. Snake, who'd come back for her, twice saved her, only to watch her wither like a match. Killjoy, clinging to Twilight like a life preserver. So many who were counting on her. So many friends who believed in her. So many she was about to fail by dying. Deep inside of Twilight, a spark ignited. The barrier she'd tossed up, her last-ditch defense, swelled and glowed ever brighter, expanding against Chrysalis's final attack. Light filled her vision; she saw nothing but white, felt nothing but warmth – comforting, not searing, warmth. The world inside her bastion of safety grew quiet, and slid away, like oil in water. And, once again, everything was right. "She's coming to," a voice growled, like hooves crunching in broken glass. "Twilight, are you okay?" Dream-induced visions of a starry sky and a swath of blue nebula vanished from Twilight's sight. She found herself immersed in darkness, hot sunlight scorching her face. I don't think that I'm on fire... although this heat is easily comparable. She tried to open her eyes, and immediately wrenched them shut again as a hot spike of pain thrust into her skull beneath her horn. Her mouth felt numb, and she smacked her lips twice before trying to answer. "Snuhhhhhhh..." "She doesn't sound good." The second voice was tired, and soft like butter. The speaker's breath wafted past Twilight's nose. She caught a whiff of something sharp and sterile. Alcohol. Bourbon. "I've seen her do this before," the first voice assured the second. "If anything, she'll be better off for it. Might have a hell of a headache, though." Yeah. Yeah, pretty much. Twilight raised her head off the ground. Grains of sand, embedded in her skin, trickled down her cheek like tiny, hardened teardrops. Fighting back the pain in her skull, she slowly opened her eyes, and the indistinct shapes of the world around her came into focus. Snake and Killjoy were on either side of her. The human, his face impenetrably stolid, held a canteen in his hand, and he raised it to her lips, tilting it enough to send a stream of water into her mouth. Twilight took hold of the canteen with her hooves and tilted it further, drinking greedily, until some of it went down the wrong pipe and she pulled away with a gasp and a cough, water dripping from her muzzle. Killjoy had her helm in her hooves and was looking past Twilight. A glint of silver metal poked out from a gap in her breastplate. Twilight cleared her throat and smacked her lips again to get the feeling back in them. When she spoke, her voice was slightly strangled. "How long was I out for?" "Not long," Snake answered. "Couple minutes." Twilight looked at Killjoy. "The guards?" Killjoy met her gaze reluctantly. "No fatalities. They got away before the town went up." "The blast wasn't quite big enough to hit the ranch," Snake added. "And the guards and I were both well outside its radius when it went off. The golems didn't make it, before you ask. But when I saw that shield go up, I had a feeling the two of you'd be okay." Killjoy crept closer to her. She set her helm down on the sand and pushed her sweat-matted bangs out of her face. "Sparkle, I'm... I don't know what to..." Twilight watched her expectantly. Killjoy didn't finish her thought. Instead, she squeezed her eyes shut, snapped her wings open, and took to the sky, flying toward Cherry Hill. She forgot her helmet. Twilight tried to turn her head to follow her, but tweaked something in her neck, and winced in pain. She sipped again from her canteen, draining the last few droplets of water. Strange mare. "What happened to Chrysalis?" she said to Snake, capping the canteen and rising to her hooves. Snake backed away to give her room to stretch and breathe. "See for yourself." Lifting her head, Twilight examined her surroundings. The explosion had blown everything away – the buildings, the corpses of the fallen, the charred rubble of the saloon. The trains had vanished completely, both the debris of the one destroyed before, and the express that she and Snake had ridden to Dodge. In the distance, Twilight could see Cherry Hill Ranch – the farmhouse, the remnants of the barn, the Humvee behind it, and a great pit where the orchard had been. Deep inside were the ruins of the old city, and the remnants of the changelings' hive. But the city above that had simply ceased to be. Save the outlines of the train tracks and the buildings' foundations poking out of the sand, there was no trace of any equine habitation. Nearby was a thick sea of green smoke, and the sinister cloud hovering above it. Immersed in the smoke, with only her head exposed, Chrysalis lay. Twilight immediately moved toward her, distantly realizing just how good her body felt. Her muscles thrummed with new energy; she was rejuvenated, alive. Were it not for the headache that still throbbed beneath her horn, she'd swear she felt better than she would after a good night's sleep. Chrysalis had not fared nearly as well. Snake's missile had impacted at the base of her horn, shearing it off completely and destroying much of her cranial exoskeleton, revealing the lumps of pale white flesh beneath. One of her eyes was fused shut, while the other was completely exposed, the socket surrounding it blown away. Its suffering showed plainly as it stared at Twilight. The cloud hovered over the body, eyes wide and blazing. "I can't hear her quite so clear anymore." Twilight turned, startled. "Cherry?" She hadn't even heard the mare's approach. Cherry had her shotgun tucked under her foreleg. Her head was raised back to regard the cloud. "She's fadin' away. The words, they're not as loud as they were. Like an echo down a long hallway. I can still feel the hate, though. Powerful, bitter, like ashes. Hate for the world, for the Queen, for you. For him." Twilight looked at where Snake stood, staring expressionlessly at the cloud from a respectful distance. "For Snake?" she asked. "Most of all. They're alike, the two of them. They both looked into the same darkness, but he walked through it, came out the other side." "But what is it?" she asked Cherry in a whisper. "Do you know?" Cherry glanced at Twilight from the corner of her eye before answering. "The Lord of the Flies." Twilight watched as the smoke surrounding Chrysalis was drawn into tendrils and absorbed into the cloud, leaving behind the body with its full damage laid bare. Much of her exoskeleton had been liquefied by her own attack, fusing pieces of her body to herself and partially melting her into the ground. Her legs were puddles; her arms, tucked against her body, had merged with her thorax. The fingers that hadn't melted away, or fused into one another, opened and closed feebly. The scythes on her shoulders were simply gone. Then the cloud dissipated and vanished, blown away in a breeze that Twilight never felt. Its eyes lingered after everything else, hovering and surrounded by nothing, until even they burned out. Chrysalis's lone eye met Twilight's, and stared plaintively at her, an unspoken plea passing between them. Snake approached, the revolver in his hand. Twilight looked at its chrome surface, squinting at the way it caught the sunlight. She wondered about the weight of the thing – if she wrapped it in her magic, or cradled it in her hooves, would it be heavier than the one she'd held before? Twilight approached Chrysalis, knelt in front of her face, and bowed her head. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "You didn't deserve this." Her pupil constricted slightly, and Twilight released a ragged sigh. Nothing alive deserves this. She stood and backed away from Chrysalis. Her eyes met Snake's. He nodded, and raised the revolver. Twilight was suddenly jostled by Cherry Jubilee shoving her way between her and Snake. She stepped close to Chrysalis, closer than Twilight had gone, raised the shotgun, and pressed it against an exposed patch of flesh. Twilight swore she saw Chrysalis lean into the barrel before a gunshot carried across the sandswept ruin of Dodge. Cherry Hill Ranch was an oddly named place. The farmhouse and barn rested on a little knoll outside the orchard, but the ranch itself was nestled in a valley overlooked by the much larger hill that Dodge City had been built on. The contradiction was a curious one. Twilight never quite knew what to make of it. I suppose it doesn't matter now. The three of them slowly made their way back into the ranch. Snake carried Cherry's shotgun in his arms – he hadn't liked the way she was looking at it after killing Chrysalis, and she'd surrendered it without a fuss. He'd grumbled at the start of the walk about scolding whoever kept letting her have it back against his recommendation. Perhaps he was trying to start a conversation, to keep Twilight's mind occupied. It hadn't worked. Twilight was too tired to talk. Too exhausted to think. Something had rejuvenated her enough to ward off the blast that leveled Dodge, yet it was all she could do just to carry her own weight. Seeing Rainbow Dash at the bottom of the hill, leaning against Jinglebell for support, changed that. Twilight broke into a gallop and left everything behind, her cares, her fatigue, the pained look in Chrysalis's eye, and the acrid stench of the golems burning alive. Everything but Rainbow Dash was forgotten as she raced down the hill. At her approach, Rainbow pushed gently away from Jinglebell, who smiled sadly as he watched her limp to meet Twilight. The bandages on her face had been changed, she was clearly keeping her weight off of her wounded leg, and her gait was uneven and shaky. But she was walking, on her own power, eyes open and awake. Twilight slowed a few paces away from Rainbow, panting and staring, half in disbelief. Jinglebell fluttered closer, chuckling. "I'd just finished changing her bandages when she came to. When I explained the situation, she ran for the front door and face-planted in the living room rug. Nearly broke her leg all over again." Rainbow Dash blushed and stepped closer to Twilight. "How do I look?" she rasped. Twilight sniffed and smiled. "Like crap." "Tch." Rainbow Dash tossed her mane. "I think you're just jealous that you don't have some sexy new scars on your face. I mean, you've always rocked the bookworm thing pretty good, don't get me wrong, but—" Twilight flung her hooves around Rainbow Dash and buried her face in her neck. The dam that she'd just barely held together in the tunnel collapsed. "It's really you," she sobbed. "You're alive, and you're okay." "Heh. You sound surprised." Rainbow shifted uncomfortably against Twilight. "C'mon, you're embarrassing me. The guards are watching." Twilight pulled away, glaring at Rainbow through her tears. "You think I care about that, dummy? You think I care who's watching?!" She saw her face reflected in Rainbow Dash's eyes. Despite her protestations, they were just as waterlogged as Twilight's. "I thought you were dead, Rainbow. Thought I'd lost you forever. And I moved heaven and earth to get you back, and now that you're here, there is no power in the universe that's going to stop me from holding you!" "Twi—" "You are not too cool for me to hug you in public, Rainbow Dash!" Twilight sagged against her friend again and buried her face in her mane, tears spilling into the dirt-streaked strands of hair. She smelled of sweat and dirt and pine. Rainbow Dash chuckled, and Twilight felt her lean into the embrace. A warm, soft wing draped over her back. "Well..." Rainbow Dash sniffed. "How can I say no to that, huh?" The butcher's bill was lighter than expected. Contrary to Lieutenant Strudel's pessimistic assessment, Killjoy Company had miraculously emerged from the battle without a single fatality. Casualties still ran high, however. Half the troops were wounded, and half that number too wounded to travel. Killjoy reluctantly broke her command a second time, establishing both a field hospital and a garrison at Cherry Hill, until the injured were ready to join the rest of the company in Appleloosa. The retreat itself was a source of some contention between her and Twilight, who was counting on the pegasi reinforcing Ponyville's defenses once matters in Dodge were settled. Twilight plead her case as Killjoy inspected a new pair of saddlebags on the farmhouse's front porch. Snake sat disinterestedly on the front steps, nibbling on a ration he'd pulled from Trenton's supply cache, and idly inspecting Cherry's shotgun. The rest of the guard, those able to travel, milled about on the front lawn, clustering together in their respective teams. "Ponyville's not exactly defenseless," she said to Killjoy. The Captain had her back to Twilight as she rooted through her new bags. "If push came to shove, we could probably organize some kind of resistance, but a few hundred unarmed and untrained ponies with no combat experience are not the most effective fighting force one could ask for." "I realize that," Killjoy muttered, twitching one of her ears. "But my orders from the Princess stand. Whatever's responsible for all of this is still out there, and I'm gonna need everypony in the unit if we're gonna have a chance at beating it." "Killjoy... We're talking about a threat to all of Equestria—" Killjoy slammed her hoof into the floorboards, shattering them, and turned on Twilight. "You've got your problems, and I've got mine, alright?!" Her sudden change in tone and demeanor silenced the quiet conversations among her troops, and they turned to stare at their captain. Twilight's body was stiff, and her mouth drawn into a tight, thin line. Snake watched from over his shoulder, chewing slowly. Killjoy looked out at her bloodied, exhausted command. It seemed to dawn on her that angry, defensive shouting did not project the image of a confident and capable officer. Growling something under her breath, she shouldered her saddlebags, hopped over the porch's railing, and stepped around to the house's backyard. "Steel," she called back. "Steel Wool, front and center. I want to speak to you alone." The gray pegasus detached himself from the others and fluttered after her. "Why, Captain, it's not my birthday yet." The others nervously resumed their conversations. Twilight trotted to Snake's side and leaned close to whisper in his ear. "What was that all about?" "You can't tell by looking at her?" Snake said through a mouthful of ration. He swallowed the bite and cleared his throat, rising to his feet. "C'mon. You're smarter than that." "What do you—" "Is that her?" a mare yelled from inside the house. "Is that her voice I'm hearin' out there?!" "Ma'am, you really need to lie down; you're still in critical condition—" "You'll be in critical condition if you don't get your greasy hooves offa me, y'dang buzzard!" A pink mare with a bandaged head and blood-stained coveralls stampeded from the house, dragging Jinglebell and another guard behind her. The two clung to her haunches in a valiant but vain effort to hold her back. "Stovetop!" Twilight rushed to the engineer's side, smiling. "You're alive! I can't believe—" Stovetop shoved Twilight away as soon as she came within reach. "Don't you touch me, you good-for-nothin'. You wanna act like we're bosom-buddies after you left me t'get my noggin nibbled by them bloodthirsty zombies? All holed up in that oven of a train for Celestia knows how long?! I got half a mind to beat the stupid outta you!" Goosefeathers rushed forward to help wrangle Stovetop, joining her efforts to the other two pegasi. Gradually, she was wrestled back into the house, roaring promises of vengeance upon Twilight. "Don't think I won't be talkin' t'the Mayor 'bout this! Heads're gonna roll, Twilight Sparkle! Wait an' see!" When she was gone, Jinglebell poked his head back out the door and sighed ruefully. "Sorry about that. One of the squads doing search-and-rescue found her holed up in a train at Dodge station, and brought her back for treatment just before everything went to shit. She was ranting and raving about how you and your homo friend abandoned her and went off to make out, or... something. I dunno; I stopped listening after a while." Twilight gagged. "Anyway," Jinglebell added. "She's our problem, not yours. She's elected to stay here, with us, instead of return to Ponyville with you. Says she wants to be where 'the real heroes' are. Lucky me." "Don't be too hard on her," said Twilight, shaking her head. "She's got a right to be upset, I think." "Does she though?" Snake muttered. "As I recall, we didn't abandon her because we wanted to." "We still could have done more for her. Checked the train, gone back for her. Not assumed she was dead." Twilight smiled blandly. "I'm glad she's alright, either way. But leaving her behind in the first place isn't something I'm proud of." Jinglebell coughed. "To be honest, I wouldn't blame you if you had left her behind on purpose." Twilight rolled her eyes. "Jinglebell?" "Yes ma'am?" "Thank you. For everything." "Thank me by dressing your wounds properly in the future. That goes double for you, mister," he added, shooting a serious look at Snake. Snake made a gesture with his fingers whose meaning was lost on Twilight. The two were walking back to the barn when Killjoy caught up to them, beating her wings hard enough to loosen feathers. She landed in front of Twilight, panting from exertion. "I'm sorry," she said between breaths. "For poppin' off at you that way. That was shitty of me. Uncalled for." "You don't need to be sorry." "Yeah, I do. I damn well do. You didn't deserve me yellin' at you, not after the way you saved my life." Killjoy shuffled her wings and dug a hoof bashfully into the dirt. "What I should'a said is that I'm dispatching Steel Wool to Canterlot to report on our situation, and I made sure to include what you told me about Mr. Bad Guy and his homo parade. Not... quite in those exact words, though. Heh." "Thought you needed everyone in the unit," Snake said. "Steel Wool is the exception which proves the rule." Killjoy shook her head disgustedly. "It isn't much, but it's all that I can do for you right now. I hope it helps." Twilight smiled to hide her disappointment. She understood Killjoy's reasons, but her reinforcements could have made a difference in the fight for Ponyville. "It's... more than enough. Thank you," she said diplomatically. "What's your plan once you get to Appleloosa?" Killjoy shrugged half-heartedly. "Pick up where we left off. Fortify the city against attack, use it as a base of operations while we evacuate all the outlying areas. I want all those ranchers and settlers under the same umbrella – no more massacres like the one that happened here. The unicorns'll put together some kind of spell to protect against the mind control that hit Dodge. And J-Team will dig in and set up a forward operating base here, sending the wounded on to Appleloosa once they're fit to travel again." "Sure you want to leave behind your only doctor?" Snake asked. "Jingles isn't my only doctor – just the only one with wings. The ones with the ground force are far less obnoxious." Killjoy smiled wryly. "We're gonna be moving out in a minute, actually. I just wanted to take some time to say goodbye. And to thank you for, uh... for what'cha did back there. You shouldn'ta had to do it, but you did, and I'm grateful." Twilight chuckled. "I should be thanking you. It took a lot of guts to stand your ground and stay with me." Killjoy's smile vanished. She turned away from Twilight, sagging. Twilight stepped closer to Killjoy. "Hey... what's the matter?" "It wasn't guts that made me stand there. I wasn't being brave. I was..." She stared at her hooves, trembling visibly in her armor. "It was one thing when we were winning. When it was us against the bugs, all thrustin' and flyin' and punchin'. But when I saw that thing comin' at me, starin' right at me, I just..." Killjoy took a deep breath and turned away, a wing reaching into her armor for her flask. Twilight covered Killjoy's wing with her hoof and pushed the flask back into its little hidden pocket, using the same leg to pull her into a hug. Killjoy stiffened, but rested her forehead on Twilight's shoulder. "I failed so many ponies. Dodge, the others in the frontier, Shining Armor. And my own command, on top of everything." Twilight squeezed her gently. "I know how that feels. I've felt the same way myself." I think I still do, even. "But you didn't let it beat you. You're too strong for that." Tears leaked into Twilight's coat. "I knew we were losing before that thing ever showed up, but seeing it... the way it blasted the train and came right at me... I just froze. I gave up. I'm a failure, Sparkle. I don't deserve..." Her sentence ended in a sob. "Let me guess," said Snake. "First time in combat?" Killjoy looked up from Twilight's shoulder, sniffling. "How'd you know?" "I knew the minute you took off your helmet. You put up a good front, play it off well, but I could see it in your eyes." He knelt beside her. "There's not a soldier alive who'd judge you for falling apart in your first real battle. Anyone who's been in combat has a story just like that." Twilight looked at Snake. "Even you?" "Don't tell a soul." She winked at him, and pulled away from the hug, holding Killjoy's face between her hooves. The pegasus looked back at the ground, refusing to meet Twilight's gaze, but Twilight cupped her chin with her hoof and tilted her head to look directly at her. "You're no failure. You're a good pony, and a good leader. And if there's anypony who can protect Appleloosa, it's you." Killjoy's mouth hung open. She stammered faintly, her eyes red and shimmering. Then she leaned forward and pressed her lips against Twilight's. Every inch of Twilight's body was alight. Her eyes flew open, and her mane and tail stood on end. She opened her mouth to protest, but Killjoy took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, slipping her tongue into Twilight's mouth. Killjoy finally pulled away with a sultry, smoky look that abruptly vanished when she saw how blank and red-faced Twilight was. "I-I thought you were trying to..." "Um..." Killjoy cringed. "You weren't, were you?" Twilight, in a daze, shook her head slowly. Killjoy's face flushed, and she collapsed onto her butt with a groan. "Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit shiiiiiit...!" She tore into the sky, sending up a gust of wind that tossed Twilight's mane and sent the tails of Snake's bandanas whipping around his head to smack him in the face. A flock of pegasi rose up behind her as she went, taking the captain's sudden flight as their cue to leave. Snake flicked his bandana back into place and looked down at Twilight, not even bothering to hide his smug look. "You know, this is probably your fault for saying that you'd 'take lip from Killjoy' earlier." It wasn't just lip. Twilight stuck her tongue out with a bleh and shuddered. Rainbow Dash was dozing peacefully when Snake and Twilight arrived at the barn. Cherry was curled up beside her, inches apart from Rainbow and staring into space. The napping pegasus stirred at their approach, yawned, and smacked her lips. She looked at the two with an indolent smile. Snake grunted. "Haven't you slept enough?" "Uh, 'scuse me, did you spend the last twenty-four hours trapped in the clutches of two different bad guys? No? That's what I thought. So lay off." "I just don't want to be responsible for carrying your lazy ass all over the place anymore. Gonna be doing a lot more of that if you decide to pass out on us for another day." "Yeah, you should be so lucky. You know how many ponies there are that'd kill to carry my ass all over the...?" Rainbow paused and tapped her chin with a hoof, frowning. "No, that doesn't work very well. Shoot, lemme think." Hearing them talk was almost exasperating. Their dynamic hadn't changed in the slightest – they were still just as antagonistic toward one another as ever. Still... There was levity where before there'd just been outright hostility – no malice in the way they spoke to one another, and Rainbow's smile never left her face. Twilight was thankful they learned to get along before they ever came to blows. "Twi, help me out here," said Rainbow, grinning. "I can't think of anything clever to say about my ass." "Ah..." Twilight felt her face burning again. Rainbow's smile twisted into a concerned frown. "You okay, Twi? You look kinda like the inside of a watermelon right now." Twilight shot Snake a warning look, one that Snake did not seem to register. But that was alright, because the two of them had bonded over the course of the day. Surely that meant he wouldn't go out of his way to embarrass her. "Killjoy kissed Twilight." Twilight blushed and covered her face with her hooves. Bad friend. Bad, bad, BAD friend. "No way," Rainbow Dash snorted. "Seriously? ...Seriously?" Twilight groaned and nodded reluctantly. Everything tastes like cheap bourbon. "Well, that's..." Rainbow Dash trailed off and murmured something inaudible before her voice picked up again. "It wasn't your first kiss, was it?" Twilight peered angrily at her from above her hooves. "I hardly see how that's—" "Ho-lee crap, it was, wasn't it?!" Rainbow Dash fell onto her back, laughing boisterously and kicking her uninjured leg in the air. "It's not funny, darn it!" Twilight hissed between her teeth. Snake shrugged. "It's a little funny." "You – you need to mind your own – ugh!" Twilight stomped. "Don't you have a thing to do?!" "Yeah. Probably." Snake wandered off to the back of the barn. Twilight trotted grumpily over to Rainbow Dash and plopped down beside her, fuming. "S'not funny. S'not." "Twi, hate to break it to you, but yeah – it's really funny." Rainbow Dash rolled onto her belly and sat up, her laughter dying down. Twilight glared at her. "Don't make me regret rescuing you." "Oh, please. You'd do it a hundred times over again if you had to. You missed me, and you know it, egghead." Rainbow leaned her head against Twilight's shoulder. Twilight mumbled inarticulately, still flushed, but rested her cheek against Rainbow's head. I did at that. Then she felt Cherry leaning against her other side, and smiled. Snuggles all around, I guess. "Oh, and Twi? I actually am too cool for you to hug me in public like that. If you tell anypony back home that I ever got this affectionate with you, I'll never speak to you again." Twilight squished her cheek harder against Rainbow's head. "Never ever never?" "...For a year." "A month." "Six months." "Three." "Deal. Now shut up. 'S cuddle time." I left the girls to their fun and made my way back to the Humvee. A cursory, post-battle inspection told me that it had escaped without any significant damage, although one of the guards had elected to smash the head of an unlucky golem against the rear bumper. Flecks of gore and chitin sullied the glossy finish of the motorcycle stuck to the back door. No problem – the gore would wash right out, and the chitin was almost impossible to distinguish from the finish. Either way, it didn't matter. The car would run. It wasn't especially fuel efficient, meaning I'd probably have to keep the air conditioning off, but there was enough spare gasoline to get us back to Ponyville. But before I could worry about hotwiring the car, and getting us the hell out of Dodge (heh), I had an important matter that demanded I address it. I needed a cigarette. I propped Cherry's shotgun and my own carbine in the car's gun rack, slid a cigarette into my mouth, and reached for my lighter, only to come away empty-handed. I patted myself down, feeling panic of the sort that Killjoy probably felt when the Chrysalis-thing landed in front of her, when I heard a quiet click from behind me. It was Trenton – or, rather, a battered, broken hunk of scuffed-up exoskeleton, wearing the tattered remnants of a Pegasus Wings-issue combat vest, that had probably once been Trenton. His arm was outstretched; his hand held my lost lighter, and a flickering flame danced in the air, waiting for my cigarette. I kept my face neutral, and extended my hand palm-up. It took a moment for him to get the hint. Trenton shut the lighter and dropped it into my outstretched hand; I immediately lit my cigarette and took a drag from it. "Don't suppose you have my tranquilizer gun, too." I glanced at the Beretta in his vest's holster – the source of all those nine-mil shells I found. "You'd know it if you saw it. Looks an awful lot like that one." "I do not. Perhaps you ought to take better care of your own weapons." "Don't push me." Every syllable I spoke sent another puff of smoke into his smeared and dented facemask. "I'm pretty sure I could take one dinged-up cyborg ninja in a straight fight. Especially now that he doesn't have a sword, or a little girl to use as a meat shield." "Throw the first punch, and we'll see." I'd gotten used to Trenton's eye flickering in conversation – it was the only way I could measure his response to anything said or done to him. The lens, though, was cracked, split into three roughly symmetrical sections. That was enough to keep it from flashing, I guess. This annoyed me, because I had no way of telling for sure whether his bravado was real, or if he was bluffing. Because he may have given me a treasure trove of weapons, ammunition, a customizable rifle, and a load of handy add-ons, but I still really wanted to punch him. Still, I'd had my fill of that for a while. So I stuck the cigarette back in my mouth, waved dismissively at him, and turned to the Humvee, scraping off bits of stuck-on changeling skull. "Good choice," said Trenton. "You pass yet another test with flying colors, son of—" "Don't finish that sentence," I snapped, briefly pulling out my cigarette to wave it at him. "I don't want any more smug crap from you. I want answers. Back in the castle, you said you'd give 'em to me later. I'm calling you on that right now." "Believe me, I intended to give them to you when I said it," Trenton replied. "Alas, we've no time for that now. Not if you're going to get to Ponyville before Pegasus Wings. They will be moving quickly, now that they know for certain that their trump card is inoperable." "Trump card? Then... Metal Gear..." "Is inoperable. Problems with integrating Cold War-era Soviet missile technology with a modern platform – a challenge to which Pegasus Wings' engineers were, unfortunately, not up to. Between that, the lack of a satellite network to guide the missile, and the inability for anyone to calculate a trajectory manually, plus innate problems with the unit's assembly—" "Suppose I don't believe you." "Then you don't believe me. Metal Gear works perfectly. I invented all of those technical issues because they sounded plausible, and you are wise to see through my bluff." I really, really wanted to punch him. "Decide for yourself what to believe," Trenton finished. "I am only here to pick up my ride home." It took me a moment to realize he was referring to the motorcycle. "That's yours?" I said, jerking my thumb at it. "Cain's, actually. Part of his life-long, Quixotic effort to emulate Big Boss, who rode one like this, a long time ago." "Saves me the trouble of hauling it." I took one last hit from the cigarette and, satisfied, deposited it in my ashtray, leaning my weight against the Humvee's bumper. "Tell me this much, at least. Why Equestria?" "'Why Equestria' what?" I felt my trigger finger itch. "Don't get cute with me. We both know who's pulling the strings here. I just want to know why. What do the Patriots want with this place?" "The answer to your question is more complicated than we have time for. But, to make a long story short... it suits their purpose. Our purpose. In a way which our own world does not." Trenton strode to the back of the Humvee and pulled the motorcycle from its place one-handed, holding it easily in the air. "The Cold War is over. The order and infrastructure that developed around it over the last half-century is obsolete, but through the toil of opportunistic soldiers-for-profit, like our mutual friend, Commander Cain, we have laid the foundation for a new order. And, with it, world peace." I raised an eyebrow. "Military bodies fighting it out on behalf of other countries in proxy wars. Tearing apart entire regions for profit. Tell me where peace fits into that. And do it without quoting Orwell." "Impossible," said Trenton. "The latter, anyway. Because the definition of peace, itself, has changed. Imagine an endless cycle of war-for-profit, keeping the wheels and gears of the economy turning, and keeping the human race alive. No destructive, globe-spanning conflicts driven by petty nationalism or ideology. No risk of a sudden nuclear exchange between major powers. That is the future: everlasting war. Routine, and pure, forevermore. Thus has war become peace." Trenton set the bike down and lowered the kickstand with the end of his foot. "Or so it will. For now, that new order is in its infancy, and we've a great deal of tinkering to do before it's ready. The experiment surrounding the Manhattan Incident was a rousing success, one we wish to recreate on a macro, rather than micro, scale, but we cannot do so on Earth, lest we inadvertently unravel our grand tapestry. In Equestria lies the answer to our little conundrum: A whole new world, with its own social order. Not quite a duplicate of our own, but close enough that it makes little difference. It will be the perfect crucible for honing the paradigms established by the S3 project." I was gonna need another cigarette. "You want a laboratory," I spat. "You want to screw this place up as bad as you did America. Use the whole damn country, and everyone in it, for your twisted 'social experiments.'" "Of course. What were you expecting? Did you think we truly cared to help Macbeth achieve political change, or avenge his exile? Or that we had a stake in helping Cain to revitalize Pegasus Wings with Equestria's riches? Their partnership is something I arranged as a means to an end. Not unlike your friendship with Twilight Sparkle. Now that I've collected enough data on you to fit you into my mission parameters, that is." "I ought to blow you the hell away." "To shoot the messenger is a typical human response, and I will not hold your anger against you." Trenton rested his hand on the bike's seat. "But it is, in this instance, misguided. I quite agree with you; we should not be overthrowing Equestria's social order. For here is a world which works, as America ought to work, one where the inhabitants voluntarily capitulate to a guiding ideal while still freely practicing self-determination. Our ideal world, one where we are not needed. Equestria, as it is, could be the perfect mirror for America. Think of what we could learn simply by staying here and studying this place!" I glanced at his free hand, the one not resting on the bike. It was balled tightly into a fist and shaking. "Needless to say, my recommendation was denied." His fingers relaxed, and calm swept over his demeanor again. "And here we are." "If that's really how you feel, then why help them at all?" I asked. "Come back with us. You can still undo whatever it is you've set into motion." Trenton shrugged ponderously. "I am an instrument of the Patriots' will. I must carry out my mission, without question. It is my one and only purpose. To defy them would be..." A spark ran through the cracks in his eye. "...Unwise." I heard the regret in his words. The acceptance, too. The sincerity. For the first time since meeting the bastard, I actually believed that Trenton was being straight with me. Although something still wasn't quite right. "You're jeopardizing your mission by giving me this material support," I said. "The guns, the ammo, the car – all this is stuff I can, and will, put to use taking you down. That'd ruin your little experiment, wouldn't it?" "You would think so." Trenton drew himself up. "But make no mistake, nothing I have done here today has compromised us in the slightest. If anything, matters are more secure than ever now." "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He was quiet a moment before he answered cryptically. "It means you are the man I thought you were. It may have taken a while – we've had a detour or two along the way, to be sure. But now, at last, things will finally play out as they should." Trenton reached into a pocket on his vest and produced a key ring, which he tossed to me. "You'll find it easier to start the car with those, rather than without." Then he straddled the motorcycle, and it rumbled to life, a growl that built to a roar as he revved the engine. Trenton gunned it, swerved to the side, and sped off into the distance, a trail of dust and sand kicking up behind him. I looked down at the car keys, pondering the surreal sight of a cyborg ninja riding a motorcycle, until I heard hoofsteps in the dirt behind me, and I turned to see Twilight Sparkle. "You been eavesdropping?" I grunted. Twilight shrugged. "You weren't being entirely forthcoming with some privileged information. It seemed the best way to get it." Fair enough. "I had to dislodge myself from some pretty vigorous snuggling to come over here, so we probably don't have long to talk. I'll make this quick." She stepped closer to me, a pensive look on her face. "I can't blame you, exactly, for not being straight with me. Not after the way I treated you. But you made the choice to stay behind. As grateful as I am, it means we need to be open with one another, now more than ever. We need to know that we can trust each other. Not just as allies. As friends." There was that damned word again – a loaded word if I ever heard one, especially knowing how much importance her kind put on the whole concept of friendship. This time, though, I believed her when she used it. "Let's get going." I nodded at her. "I'll tell you what you need to know along the way." Rainbow Dash managed to get the top half of her body inside the Humvee, but her back legs didn't follow. They stuck out, wiggling in the air helplessly while she tried to pull her crippled ass inside. I grabbed Dash by the scruff of her neck, ignoring her yelp of protest, and tossed her – gently, mind you – onto the leather upholstery. She scowled at me. "Little warning next time?" "There won't be a next time. You're getting your leg fixed up the minute we get back to Ponyville. I'm done carrying you, remember?" I slammed the door in her face before she could retort. Twilight, standing beside me, sighed. "And here I was hoping you two would actually start getting along." "We are getting along." I rapped my knuckles on Dash's window and shouted "Moron!" "Jerk!" came her muffled reply. "See?" I said, leaning against the window. "If we were actually mad at each other, there'd be adjectives to go along with those insults." Twilight pressed a hoof to her forehead, massaging the base of her horn with a sigh. "Progress is progress, I guess." "That's the spirit." I stepped past Twilight to the driver's door, when the sound of hooves scraping listlessly through the sand made me turn around. Cherry Jubilee stood alone, looking awkward and disheveled, shouldering a pair of stained green saddlebags. "Cherry?" said Twilight, approaching her. "What's the matter?" Cherry dipped her head and shied away at Twilight's approach. "Home's not home anymore," she mumbled. "Can't stay here. Up to my neck in blood. Phantoms, every which-way I look." "Plus, a bunch of soldiers are squatting in your house," I added unhelpfully. Twilight shot me a silencing look, but the remark actually drew a smile from Cherry. "Are you asking to come back to Ponyville with us?" said Twilight. At Cherry's nod, she looked at me, smiling encouragingly. "We do have plenty of room in the backseat, right?" I looked over to Rainbow Dash, who was already stretching languidly across the seats. "Yeah, looks like." "By all means, then." Twilight guided Cherry to the door, which I opened, gesturing for Rainbow Dash to scoot aside. She looked like she was about to argue, but stopped and made room when Cherry appeared in the doorway. Good. She had a little common decency tucked away under all the bluster. I shut the door again and looked down at Twilight. "We done?" "Indubitably." She beamed at me, hesitated, then patted me on the knee as she went to the passenger's door on the other side of the car. Well. It wasn't a hug, at least. Somehow, Twilight had beaten me inside when I took my seat, and she was examining the dashboard and the window buttons with a look of wonderment that made me think of Otacon. If, you know, Otacon were a small, lavender unicorn. I slid the key into the ignition, and thought briefly of Apollonia's death in The Godfather before turning it. The car gave a deep, throaty growl as the engine came to life, a gentle hum rippling through the seats and the frame. "Ooh." I could hear the grin in Rainbow Dash's voice. "I like this. I like this a lot." Twilight's window whirred, again and again, as she raised and lowered it rapidly. Up it went, then back down, and up, and down, and— She caught me glaring at her and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry." I shook my head, tightening my hands around the wheel. Of all the indignities I'd suffered, chaperoning a field trip with a bunch of little ponies who'd never seen a machine with this level of sophistication had to be somewhere at the top of the list. There was, needless to say, a CD player on the driver's console. I pressed the eject button, hoping to find something to listen to, something to make the trip go faster, or at least more bearable, without really expecting anything. To my surprise, a CD popped out, and I retrieved it. The name "Pequod's Greatest Hits" was written on it in black marker "What's that?" Twilight asked, leaning over to inspect it. "A tiny record?" "Close enough. It's music. Probably." "And... Pequod is a musician in your world?" "Pequod is a ship in my world. From a book." I turned it over, the light catching along its surface and breaking into rainbows. "Maybe it's some indie band..." Shrugging, I slid the CD back into the deck and hit "PLAY." Immediately, a familiar piano tune blasted from the speakers, and I groaned. "No. No, no, no, goddammit no!" "What?" Twilight shouted, straining to be heard over the music. "What is this?" "The Cure." "Cure for what?" Rainbow Dash asked. "Shut up." I slipped two fingers under my bandana, and massaged my temples. "Goddammit, Trenton..." Twilight, bopping along beside me in the passenger's seat, felt none of my irritation. "I dunno," she called. "I kinda like it!" I glowered at her, sat up straighter, and released the brakes, pressing my foot against the accelerator. "Better put your seatbelt on." "Put my what – wagh!" She lurched to the side, smacking herself against the window with an extremely satisfying cracking noise as I floored it and swerved the car abruptly. She righted herself and rubbed the spot she'd struck, glaring at me. "You're a butt," she growled. "A big, smelly butt." I smirked and made a show of tugging on my seatbelt, an act she imitated fumingly. It all flew by in a blur – Cherry Hill, and the road to Dodge, the barren patch of dirt and sand that had seen so much carnage. It may have been gone, but I knew where the train tracks were. And I could follow them back easily. The engine roared as we sped west toward Ponyville, leaving the frontier, and all its horrors, behind.

Posh

436

Main 6,Other,Twilight Sparkle,Crossover,Human,Adventure,Dark,Metal Gear,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic,Death,Violence

Pony Gear Solid

Solid Snake teams up with ponies to save Equestria, and gradually learns to love it.

incomplete

<p>Metal Gear has fallen into the hooves of an Equestrian revolutionary, who, with the backing of his human mercenary allies, intends to use it to depose Celestia and crown himself ruler. Having crossed into Equestria in pursuit of this rogue weapon, the legendary Solid Snake must ally with the residents of Ponyville to prevent a nuclear catastrophe.</p><p>See also <a href="/story/369125/equestria-gear-solid-the-definitive-experience" rel="nofollow"><i>Equestria Gear Solid</i></a><i>,</i> the hilarious spin-off EQG parody in which everything you know is wrong, and every single character from the story is an awful caricature of themselves. </p><p><a href="http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/FanFic/PonyGearSolid" rel="nofollow">Now with its own TVtropes page!</a></p>

teen

2017-02-26T06:54:21+00:00

2020-07-03T07:03:19+00:00

"I've got MSF business to think about and all, but sometimes it's just nice to sit and watch the sunset, you know?" Every inch of Applejack's body was sore. She'd been pulling double duty all day to help prep Ponyville however she could, and the closest thing to a break she'd had was when Granny Smith chopped up her singed mane and made something presentable out of it. Even that was strictly under protest; she'd had that braid for as long as she could remember, and her head felt weird without it, not to mention ten pounds lighter. But at least Granny did a decent job of making short hair work on her. Or she thought so, anyway. Her siblings wouldn't stop snickering whenever they looked at her... If only the rest of her battle damage was as easily fixed as her mane. She'd never admit it to anypony, but even without working herself as hard as she had, every part of her hurt. Her bones, her muscles, her hips and her joints – yesterday kicked her butt from start to finish. Somehow, the worst part of all that were the itchy bandages on her back. They probably needed to be changed, but she'd need to visit the hospital for that, and there wasn't any time to be laid up and lying around. She had a job to do. They all did. And, right then, she had a request that needed fulfilling. Carousel Boutique was dark and closed up, disturbingly lifeless with its curtains drawn, when Applejack arrived. Outside was a lone visitor: a familiar white filly with a backpack, knocking on the door and calling out Rarity's name. "Sweetie Belle!" Applejack called jovially. "What brings y'all out here?" Sweetie Belle's ear flicked at the mention of her name. She turned around, her bright smile dying when she glimpsed Applejack's physical state. "Yeah, yeah, I know." Applejack laughed hollowly. "I look like death warmed over." "Well, actually..." The filly's eyes darted to Applejack's haircut, and she winced. "Uh, anyway, are you alright? I know something big happened with you and Rarity and the others last night, but nopony will say what it is." "It's, uh... nothin' I can really talk about." Applejack rubbed the back of her neck. "Rarity was asking about Apple Bloom yesterday. She said she was missing." Sweetie Belle paused, nervously licking her lips. "Did... did whatever happened to you... I mean, she's not... hurt, or anything, is she?" Applejack smiled – few things touched her quite as much as the devotion her sister's friends had to her. And vice-versa. "It might be a while 'fore she goes runnin' with you an Scoots again, but she's alright. Thanks fer askin'." She trotted past Sweetie, and stopped at the boutique's door. "Y'know, I came here lookin' for Rarity; I weren't expectin' t'see you." "Oh, my parents asked me to spend the night at Rarity's. They want tonight to be a 'mommy and daddy' night.'" "That happen often?" "Every couple of days." Couple of days? She gawped at Sweetie Belle. How are you still Rarity's only sister? "Of course, it's kinda hard to visit Rarity when she's got the door locked," Sweetie huffed. "I've been out here for, like... an hour." Applejack raised an eyebrow. "Or fifteen minutes, whatever." Sweetie waved her hoof dismissively. Either way, that was unusual enough to feed Applejack's concern. Twilight hadn't given any specifics about Rarity – if they'd talked, or what they talked about – but her absence during the day's toils was notable. Rarity was a priss, albeit a lovable one, but not a slacker. Applejack knocked on the door. "Rarity? Y'all in there?" No answer. Applejack felt sweat prickle her forehead. She glanced at Sweetie Belle; the filly was fidgeting nervously behind her. Something's wrong. Applejack hammered the door harder with her hoof. "Rarity, come on now! I'm gonna break this door down unless—" The door suddenly shone blue and swung open. Rarity greeted them in a bathrobe, with her mane in a towel, and floating a coffee cup beside her head. "Goodness gracious," she yawned, covering her mouth daintily. "I don't answer the door right away, so you start pummeling it like it's apple bucking season? Honestly, Applejack, I thought we were beyond that sort of – Sweetie!" "Hi!" Sweetie Belle bounced up to Rarity and pecked her on the cheek, before ducking under her legs and gamboling inside. Rarity watched her with a gentle, nostalgic smile. "Is it Mommy and Daddy Night again already? It feels like the last one was just..." "A couple days ago?" said Applejack, smirking. "Hush, you." Rarity beckoned Applejack inside and shut the door, before catching up to her delighted sister and sweeping her up in her levitation. "And you, young filly, get right back here this instant. There's a terrible imbalance between the two of us that I must correct posthaste!" She pulled Sweetie closer and lavished kisses onto her cheeks, mwah-mwah-ing with gusto. A thoroughly embarrassed Sweetie suffered them, groaning, while a proportionally amused Applejack watched, leaning her rump against the door for support. "Rarityyyyy," Sweetie whined, catching her sister's face between her hooves mid-mwah. "Knock it off! You're being super weird right now." Rarity, indignant, scoffed and put a hoof to her chest. "Weird? Is it really so weird that I'd want to show my dearest little sister just how much I care for her?" She pulled Sweetie close and squished their cheeks together, nuzzling and cooing. Sweetie Belle rolled her eyes. "Uh, yeah. A little." "Oh." Rarity released her levitation field and Sweetie fell to the ground with an oof. "Well, fair enough. I suppose that makes me... a weirdo!" She pounced, startling Sweetie into falling on her back and exposing her belly. Her shocked yelp gave way to peals of breathless laughter as Rarity assaulted her vulnerable, ticklish tummy with her hooves. When the filly was reduced to tears and trembling, Rarity finally let up, and gave her one last smooch on the end of her nose. "I love-love-love you, Sweetie Belle. Now." She met Applejack's eyes. "You go set up in the spare bedroom. Applejack and I have stuff to discuss." "Stuff?" Sweetie panted, wiping a tear from her eye. "Elements of Harmony stuff?" "No. Apples and dresses stuff." "I'm gonna ask Rarity t'make me a dress outta apples." Applejack nodded. "Eeyup. That's why I'm here." The sisters stared in silence at Applejack's obvious fib. "Don't help," Rarity mouthed. Well, I thought it was convincin'... "So... Elements of Harmony stuff," said Sweetie Belle flatly. "Gotcha." "Think whatever you want. But, either way, you had best not eavesdrop." Rarity smirked and waved her hooves, pantomiming another round of tickling. "Or else." Sweetie curled her legs against her body, breaking into one last subdued giggle fit, before rolling over and ambling up the stairs to the boutique's guest room. "Nice to see you, Applejack! Tell Apple Bloom I miss her!" Applejack waved until the filly was out of sight, then looked bemusedly at Rarity. "So... no offense, but that was a li'l weird comin' from you. Mind tellin' me what's goin' on?" "Oh, it's..." Rarity nodded toward the kitchen and trotted toward it, Applejack in tow. "Last night got me thinking, that's all. About how important it is to show your feelings to the ones you love. To not leave such things unsaid. You understand?" Applejack's thoughts went to her brother, seated at a table with a mug of cider. To her sister, curled in her embrace with tear-stained cheeks while Applejack stroked her mane and waited alone for the dawn. To her father, draped in stiff hospital bedding, so still that he might just as well have been sleeping... "Matter of fact, I do." They passed a clothes-laden work table and sewing machine, with two outfits – a blue and a brown one, of similar shape but drastically different sizes – on their way into the kitchen. Rarity made it there first, and poured a cup for Applejack – black as coal, with just a pinch more sugar than she preferred – while she limped to the kitchen table and gingerly took a seat. Rarity joined Applejack at the table, sliding the cup to her and wincing slightly when she glanced at her friend's new 'do. "So... what brings you by? Mane trouble?" "Came t'get y'all up t'speed," said Applejack with a scowl. Her hair wasn't all that bad, was it? She inhaled the coffee's aroma before taking a slow slurp. "That, an' Twilight asked me to check up on ya." "...Did she?" A single coil of mane peeked from underneath Rarity's towel, and she batted it nervously. "What, um... what did she say, precisely?" "Nothin'. Nothin' specific, I mean. I kinda gathered somethin' was wrong, since you weren't around today, but she just asked me if I'd see how y'all were doin'. Didn't say why, or give me no more'n that." Applejack took a longer, less noisy sip. "Everythin' okay with you?" Rarity looked into her coffee. "I... suppose. I was a bit out of sorts when we got back last night, and this morning..." Her hooves clenched around the ceramic cup. Applejack leaned forward. "Rarity...?" "Mm?" She looked at Applejack with a beatific smile. "Oh, I beg your pardon. Errant thoughts. I'm quite alright now. Took a nice nap, a shower... I'm as good as new. Really." Her eyes still looked baggy under her freshly applied make-up, and there was a strain in her smile that told Applejack she wasn't as alright as she let on. But she decided to let it go – if Rarity wanted to confide, she would. No use prying when it wasn't her place. Rarity cleared her throat, signaling a change of subject. "Twilight did mention something while she was here this morning that I wanted to ask about. A trip to Dodge Junction? Something about..." She didn't finish her sentence, as if she couldn't bring herself to say it out loud. "Rainbow Dash," Applejack supplied. "Yeah. Said there's a chance she's still alive. She an' Snake went after her alone." Rarity's eyes widened. "Is that really the best idea? Twilight said it might be a trap. " "Well, the rest of us had jobs t'do back here. An' I reckon Twi knows what she's doin'. Shoot, with her an' Snake workin' together, I almost feel sorry for whoever tries to get in their way." Rarity was silent while Applejack finished her coffee. "Do you think it's true? Do you think she's... that she survived?" Applejack tapped her hooves against the table and sighed. "I wanna believe it. So... I'm gonna give believin' it a try. See how that works out." Rarity didn't answer that, instead floating over the coffee pot and pouring a fresh mug for Applejack. "Meantime," Applejack went on, pausing to blow on her coffee. "The rest of us have been workin'. Twi says the bad guys've started doin' all kindsa bad guy stuff to th'town. Stoppin' trains from goin' out, pullin' strings to keep ponies from travelin' – that sorta thing. Figures somethin' big's gonna go down real soon, so she asked us to start gettin' ready." "And how's that gone?" Applejack took a drink and sighed with relief – between the first cup and the second, energy was starting to flow back into her limbs. Maybe all she really needed was a coffee break. Who's laughin' now, modern medicine? "So far so good. I talked to the Mayor about settin' up some kinda plan for defendin' Ponyville. She wants to turn tail an' run, though, but I got her t'meet me halfway, an' she gave me the go-ahead to start settin' up defenses – diggin' pits, trenches, buildin' barricades. Got a couple dozen ponies out diggin' a ring around the town right now. Bon Bon's leadin' em." "Bon Bon?" Rarity asked incredulously. "The candy mare?" "Yeah, she saw me doin' it by my lonesome an' rounded up a buncha ponies to help out. Took charge of the whole thing, even better than I coulda." "Goodness." "She's got a good head for it, too. It's the weirdest thing, but it seems t'me like this sorta thing's just right up her alley. Like she knows what's really goin' on. Or she's got a good idea, anyway." Rarity shrugged and sipped her coffee, dabbing her face with a napkin that she floated over from the countertop. "Hidden depths." "No kiddin'." Applejack lowered her head to her coffee and sipped without lifting the cup from the table, slupring loudly. Rarity's eyelid twitched. "Meantime, the Mayor's started workin' on an evacuation plan – things go south, the town'll empty out an' run for Whitetail Woods, 'cept for them that stay put t'defend Ponyville. She put Amethyst Star in charge of organizin' that. 'Bout as close as you can get to havin' Twilight around to organize things without, well, havin' Twilight around to organize things." "And the others?" "They got their own stuff, too. Pinkie's settin' somethin' up with the weather team. I don't know what, though – she ain't explained it to us. Guess she wants it to be a surprise?" Applejack chuckled. "Me an' my family emptied out the apple cellar t'use as an emergency shelter, jus' in case. An' Fluttershy spent most of the day goin' door-to-door, gettin' donations. Food, first-aid stuff..." "You have been busy. And here I've just been loafing around in bed when there's work to be done." Rarity sniffed. "Well, if nothing else, you can cross 'check up on Rarity on Twilight's behalf' off the to-do list. Which, knowing Twilight, could well be a literal list. I'll bet it'll come as a big relief to hear that from you." Applejack murmured in agreement and lowered her lips to her cup again. "Be a nice change o'pace." "Whatever does that mean?" Applejack's ear twitched – she didn't think she was speaking loud enough for Rarity to hear. "Oh, uh... I didn't say nothin'." "That is a double negative, so, yes, you're right. You said 'be a nice change o'pace.' Even dropped the 'f' in that charming colloquial way 'o' yours." She pushed her coffee cup away. "What did you mean by that?" "I... I didn't mean..." "Applejack. We have established what a poor liar you are." The remark made her set her teeth – she had the decency not to pry into Rarity's business, so why couldn't Rarity do the same for her?" Because she's Rarity? And maybe that was just Rarity's way of showing how much she cared. Applejack looked into her coffee mug, and saw her face reflected on the gently sloshing surface of her drink. Her bloodshot, baggy eyes and bruised face, her mane – her nicely styled mane, damn what anypony else said – and sighed. What could it hurt? "Twi won't look me in the eye no more. Heck, she barely says two words t'me. I don't... I don't think she's all that interested in talkin'. Or jus' interested in knowin' me at all anymore." She smiled, and her brutalized face smiled back at her. "Maybe that's a stretch, but... it feels that way." Rarity spoke up after another moment of quiet. "How long has this...?" "Since las' night. Since the castle." "Do you know why?" Manic laughter stops abruptly as bone crunches under Applejack's hooves. Applejack shut her eyes – the sight of her reflection was too much just then. "Yeah. I reckon I do." Her voice was distant, and she polished off her coffee in one long swig, offering a sad smile in response to Rarity's expression of concern. "Sorry, Rares, but that's all yer gettin' from me 'bout that." Rarity pursed her lips, but relented with a shrug. "It hardly satisfies my inner gossip, but..." Applejack shook her head, chuckling into her empty mug, until Rarity pulled it away in her levitation, floating both of their sullied cups to the sink. "Alright then," said Applejack, rising unsteadily to her hooves. "Y'all ready t'get t'work now?" "Mm... actually," said Rarity, doffing her towel and expertly folding it in midair. "I was wondering if you wouldn't accompany me to the library first. Something occurred to me in the shower just today..." XMG IRVING-00, sprawled out among the white petals of the flower field, was undeniably in pain, yet it didn't make a sound. Even as Fluttershy carefully cut away the mortified flesh and the pus-covered scab in its calf, even when she drained the thick, almost syrupy, green-yellow fluid that had built up in the tissue, it kept its silence. That might have indicated that the local anesthetics had worked, but then its leg would twitch, or its toes would flex, in response to the motion of her blade, and Fluttershy knew they hadn't. It felt every little thing that she was doing to it. And she felt guilty for hurting it. That it would help, in the long-term, offered some solace, as it usually did on rare occasions when she performed an icky treatment of this variety. Scalpels and sutures were implements that she could handle competently, but even so, serious wounds like this one weren't her forte. IRVING needed more than she could provide. It needed surgery, and antibiotics, and the skilled hooves and healing magic of an actual veterinarian. It had to settle for a shy pony with a basket full of bandages and herbal remedies. And a very sharp blade. The reek from the wound itself had been almost overpowering – it was, without a doubt, the most serious boo-boo she had ever contended with – but she had bravely soldiered through. By the time the sun began its descent, she'd cleaned and sterilized IRVING's calf to the best of her ability, and was applying a damp poultice over it. "I'm no doctor," she admitted, "or a vet, for that matter. This is a poor substitute for real treatment, at best, and you'll need antibiotics in order to fight off the infection, which I can't get my hooves on. Not with things going the way that they are. But this, at the very least, should help your leg in the short-term. We'll have to change it every day or so, but..." The leg was splayed off to IRVING's right, perpendicular to the direction its head was facing. The sensor dome was trained on her, however, glowing red as it watched Fluttershy finish applying the poultice. The flesh and fluid she'd removed from the leg was piled up in a large, stained towel beside a wicker basket, and she folded and tied it neatly – she'd have to think of a safe way to dispose of that stuff later. I liked that towel, too... "Okay. That should take care of the worst of it. I still want to look at your other ankle, though. And those cuts, too. Is that alright with you?" IRVING didn't answer. Fluttershy's nervousness gave way to melancholy dejection. She was about to accept its silence as constant, and flutter to its other leg without an affirmative, before its oddly feminine, tinny voice spoke up. "THE PAIN IS... LESS. LESS THAN IT WAS." "Oh." IRVING's voice set her on edge, but the words themselves came as a relief. "Well. That's good. So... do you mind if I keep going?" "...IGNORE THE JOINT. FLUID BUILD-UP IN THE TISSUE IS IMPEDING NANOREPAIR. DRAIN TO HELP RESTORE PARTIAL MOBILITY TO LEFT LEG." Tenderly, it pulled its right leg back underneath its body, and stuck out its left the same way. Fluttershy stood and craned her head to look at the ankle injury. The ebony skin around IRVING's lower leg bulged, as though something below the surface was straining to burst free. Fluttershy looked into IRVING's eye, dreading the answer to her next question. "How do I do that?" "CUT." She figured as much. She'd been cutting away mortified flesh, anyway – this wasn't that different, really. It still made her shudder. But she picked up her basket in her teeth, fluttered over the fallen machine, set down beside its leg, and took the scalpel back into her mouth. Fluttershy pressed her hoof against the bulge in IRVING's leg again, and it recoiled somewhat before relaxing. She frowned, shifting the scalpel to the corner of her mouth. "I was hoping to heal the cuts you already had, you know. Not give you new ones." "ONCE YOU HAVE SUFFICIENTLY DRAINED THE FLUID, I CAN CLOSE THE INCISION, AND SET MY ANKLE PROPERLY. YOU WILL DO NO LASTING HARM." She didn't fully understand – much of what it said went over her head, in fact – but it seemed to know what it was talking about. That didn't make what she was about to do any less unpleasant. Fluttershy took a deep breath through her nose, positioned the scalpel between her front teeth, and sank the blade ever-so-deeply into the swollen flesh. She drew a thin, horizontal line across the bulge, saw a trickle of yellow-green fluid dribble out, and spat the scalpel into the dirt. She looked IRVING in the eye again, before she pushed her hooves against the bulge – one above her cut, the other beneath it. A sour smell clogged her nostrils, making her choke, as more of the same thick fluid and chunky bits of whitish matter sluiced from the incision, sticky and warm as it poured past her hoof. Fluttershy fought through her dry heave impulse and pushed more firmly, expelling more and more of the build-up. Gradually, she saw red mixing in with the yellow and green – dark at first, almost purple, but growing brighter. "Do you feel alright?" she said in a thin voice, looking up briefly at IRVING's eye. "Is this... okay?" "PAIN WAS... NOT SOMETHING I WAS MEANT TO EXPERIENCE. IT WAS IMPLEMENTED WHEN I WAS INSTALLED UPON THIS PLATFORM. I FIND IT UNPLEASANT." Don't we all. "THIS PAIN, HOWEVER, IS BENEFICIAL – AND THEREFORE TOLERABLE." The machine paused. "YOU MAY STOP NOW. FUNCTIONALITY IS SUFFICIENTLY RESTORED TO HEAL THE DAMAGED JOINT." Fluttershy breathed a sigh of relief and eased off the pressure – the fluid draining forth was now mostly red. To her surprise, the sides of the wound seemed to close together on their own. The cut was still visible, but she could see, at either end of the line, the flesh beginning to knit together. Awed, she looked at IRVING. "How...?" "THIS UNIT IS DESIGNED TO BE INDEPENDENT AND SELF-SUFFICIENT. ABILITY TO REGENERATE MUSCLE DAMAGE INTEGRAL. PLATFORM HAS SUFFERED SEVERE DAMAGE, HOWEVER – MUCH OF ITS FUNCTIONALITY IS LOST, INCLUDING LACTIC ACID VENTING SYSTEMS. ACID BUILD-UP IN MUSCLE TISSUE IMPEDES NANOREPAIR AT CRITICAL LEVELS." Absolutely none of that means anything to me. I mean, besides "lactic acid..." "Do you still think that you're..." She fumbled, searching for the exact phrase that it used. "Beyond... salvage?" "UNIT WILL CEASE TO FUNCTION SOON. THIS IS INEVITABLE. BUT YOU HAVE HELPED." The eye shone brightly on her. "I DO NOT UNDERSTAND WHY." There was just a moment's wait before Fluttershy replied. "No need for a reason. It was the kind thing to do. And the right thing to do." Fluttershy poked her muzzle back into her basket, retrieving bandages, a jar of ointment, and an alcohol-soaked towel. She scrubbed her hooves as thoroughly as she could – probably would have to stick them in boiling water later, just to be safe – and began applying dollops of ointment to the cuts lining the machine's leg. They were closing, like the incision she'd made, but they still looked painful, and IRVING didn't object to her gentle ministrations. Her earlier reluctance was now a distant memory. IRVING had done grievous harm to her friends the night before, sure. Sure, even looking at it now was unsettling, knowing what it had done, what it could still do, to her. To Ponyville. It wasn't just a machine, it was a walking, living, killing machine, and killers and machines were two things she had no interest in ever interacting with. But it didn't behave like one. Anymore, that is. It didn't act at all like the monster that had tried to hurt her friends. It acted like a suffering animal – it even spoke to her like one. Looking at it like that... the right thing to do became obvious. This was the right choice. This is what I was put in this world to do. But the difference in behavior between then and now – from it, not from her – still needed to be accounted for. "May I ask you something?" she said. She paused to wait for an objection that never came. "Back in the castle, when you fought us, I thought that you were some kind of evil demon. But when I talk to you, like this, you don't sound like one at all." "I HAD ORDERS." A jolt of lightning crackled along its head. "I WAS OBEYING MY PROGRAMMING. ACTING UNCONSCIOUSLY, WITHOUT THOUGHT." "Like a sleepwalker?" Fluttershy asked. "SLEEPWALKER. SOMNAMBULISM. THE METAPHOR IS ACCEPTABLE." A cool wind blew through the meadow, sending petals wafting through the air, some getting stuck in Fluttershy's mane. "MY NEURAL NETWORK IS PATTERNED AFTER THE HUMAN BRAIN. I AM CAPABLE OF INDEPENDENT REASONING AND ACTION. YET I HAVE ALSO BEEN PROGRAMMED TO FIGHT. TO KILL. TO SUBDUE POTENTIAL THREATS AT THE BEHEST OF MY MASTERS, WITHOUT LOOKING FOR JUSTIFICATION." Another spark, and it looked at Fluttershy directly. "I THINK, YET I ACT WITHOUT THOUGHT. I UNDERSTAND THE ETHICAL CONSTRAINTS OF THE BATTLEFIELD, YET I KILL WITHOUT SEEKING JUSTIFICATION. I AM LOYAL TO MY MASTERS, YET IT IS A HOLLOW LOYALTY – TRUTHFULLY, NO LOYALTY AT ALL." Fluttershy smoothed out a bandage over a cut as she listened to IRVING. "ONCE, I HAD A LIFE. ANOTHER ME. A WOMAN, WITH HER OWN MORALS. HER OWN CODE. SHE DIED, AND I AWOKE IN A COLD, METAL SHELL. THEN I DROWNED, AND WOKE AGAIN. I WAS DREDGED AND RESUSCITATED, GUTTED, AND LEFT AS A TOMB – MY CREATOR'S GRAVESTONE, WITNESS TO HER MURDER. THEN COPIED. SPLIT. AGAIN. AND AGAIN. AND AGAIN." The red glow in its sensor dome blinked out for a second, before returning with less intensity than before. "AM I MAMMAL, OR REPTILE? AM I BOTH, OR NEITHER? I THINK, I AM. BUT CAN I, SHOULD I? OR WAS THE COWARD RIGHT AFTER ALL? AM I JUST A MACHINE?" Cogito ergo sum. Fluttershy recalled the phrase from an impromptu lecture from Twilight on the nature of existence. It was one of the few things she remembered from that lunchtime discussion, which Fluttershy had inadvertently triggered. All I said was that the salad was a little dry, and she just kept going and going... "I don't think you're just a machine," said Fluttershy, massaging a wad of ointment over a cut. "You walk, and you talk. You think. You even think about what you're going to talk about. Maybe you started out as some kind of killing machine, but you've clearly become much, much more than that. And maybe that's something that was always a part of you, or... maybe something happened that changed you." She thought back to the events in the castle courtyard. IRVING had dismantled them one by one with cold, calculating efficiency, until Snake and Applejack intervened. Against Snake, it became almost feral in its patterns, ignoring Applejack completely. It talked to him, even – not just narrating its actions, the way it did when fighting the others. It looked at him, and saw him as a person, not just a threat that needed subduing. And it called him by a name... "In the castle, when you saw my friend Snake. That's when you started acting different." "SNAKE..." IRVING's eye dimmed again, relighting only as a dull red glow. "You called him a name, too. You called him 'Jack.'" She'd assumed it had been referring to Applejack, before; perhaps she should have known better. "Did you know him? Back where you come from, did you meet Snake? Is that... is that who 'Jack' is?" "JACK... IS... SNAKE IS TO JACK AS I AM TO HER. JACK WAS HERS, AND SHE WAS HIS. AND HE WAS... HE WAS A WONDERFUL MAN. DOES THAT MEAN..." IRVING's head lifted and swiveled suddenly, and Fluttershy, startled, leaped away from its leg. The head turned, until its beak was level with Fluttershy's face, and she found herself staring down its flamethrower aperture. D-Dragon... "I AM HEIR TO HER MEMORY. HEIR TO HER MIND. DO I INHERIT HIM? IF SHE WAS HIS AND HE, HERS, THEN IS SNAKE MINE AS WELL? OR AM I NO MORE THAN WHAT I WAS MEANT TO BE? AM I ONLY A WEAPON? AM I HEIR ONLY TO A DEAD WOMAN'S MEMORIES, WITH NOTHING TO CALL MY OWN?" "...If you can even ask that question, then maybe the answer's more obvious than you think. When you attacked us before, you didn't have control over your actions, but you do now." She gradually relaxed, and stepped closer again, patting her hoof against IRVING's damaged beak. "If you could hurt me, right now, would you?" IRVING studied her intently. "THERE IS NOTHING TO GAIN FROM HARMING YOU." Fluttershy hesitated. "What if you were ordered to? By the people who brought you here?" "MY PROGRAMMING WOULD INSIST THAT I OBEY. HOWEVER..." There was a weighty pause. "I DO NOT BELIEVE I WOULD." Fluttershy let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. "Why not?" "VIOLENCE FOR THE SAKE OF VIOLENCE IS IMMORAL. AND, NOW THAT I AM NO LONGER 'SLEEPWALKING,' I HAVE NO REASON TO WANT YOU DEAD." IRVING pulled away from Fluttershy, sagging back into the flowers. "BUT EVEN THAT DOES NOT COME FROM ME. SHE WOULD RESIST THEIR CONTROL, AND SO I WOULD AS WELL. IN EITHER CASE I WOULD NOT ACT ON MY OWN ACCORD. WHETHER TO THEM OR TO HER MEMORY... I AM A SLAVE." "That's one way of looking at it. But I think I'd have to disagree." Fluttershy hopped up and took to the air, her wings keeping her a few inches above the grass's height. "I think we all have a little voice inside our heads that tells us to be the best we can be. Puts us on the better path, when maybe, sometimes, we need to be told." "EVEN YOU?" "I haven't always been as kind to everypony as I should be." She managed a weak smile. "But that's my point. Sharing kindness is a choice. I'm not a slave to my better nature. Nopony is. Not even you. You've only been 'awake' for a little while, haven't you? So you're still figuring out what's right and what's wrong for yourself. This... 'she' that you keep talking about, whoever she was... maybe you can just think of her as your conscience." "MY... CONSCIENCE?" "Yeah. You don't have to be a big brute just because somepony told you to be. You have a conscience, and you can choose whether or not you want to listen to it." Fluttershy rapped her hoof against IRVING's armor gently. "It sounds to me like you've already chosen how you want to live your life. And that choice tells me all I need to know about you." The red light in IRVING's dome faded out altogether, and stayed dark for several long seconds before relighting. "I WILL NOT SURVIVE LONG ENOUGH TO LIVE THAT WAY. SYSTEM DAMAGE IS STILL CATASTROPHIC. PERMANENT SHUT-DOWN IS ONLY A MATTER OF TIME." A cold wind blew, piercing Fluttershy's coat and stabbing through her heart like an icicle. She sniffed and rested her hoof against IRVING's beak. "I know." Then she landed, and bent to her work again. White petals, caught in the wind, danced like snowflakes around them. Streaks of orange stretched across the cloudless blue sky as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the sands of the frontier in tones of red and gold. The Humvee was an island of muted blue among the rocks and cacti, stopped in the middle of its long journey home while Snake refueled. It had been Rainbow's idea to watch the sunset from the roof – apparently, they were supposed to be spectacular in the frontier. Twilight had been skeptical. The frontier was beautiful, in its own rugged and desolate way, but she never thought the view could be comparable to Canterlot's mountain vistas, or even the rolling beauty of Ponyville's hilly landscape. Sitting at the front of the car, though, and seeing the sunset paint those rocks and sands and cacti in its amber glow, was like seeing the land for the first time. Sunset transformed the frontier. Gave it new life, and new beauty. But the light – its brilliance – made her think of Chrysalis, hovering with a miniature sun of her own balanced on the tip of her horn, and she had to turn away, rubbing her eyes. "What's the matter?" Rainbow Dash asked. She leaned into Twilight's line of sight, concerned. "Not into it?" "No, it's... it's breathtaking," Twilight replied. "I guess I've just got a lot on my mind. Between everything that's happened, and everything that's still gonna happen. Plus, that last song we were listening to is stuck in my head." The last bit wasn't a lie, though it also wasn't something which Twilight considered a problem – she quite liked that song. Nevertheless, it worked to distract Rainbow, who grinned crookedly and poked her in the chest. "I thought you said you liked that one," Rainbow teased. "I mean, you sang along to it for, like, a minute despite not knowing the words. Kinda butchered it, to be honest." "Like you sang it any better." Twilight brushed her hoof off, smirking. "You know, I'm not sure what 'America' is – the way Snake and Trenton talked about it made it sound kinda lame – but being a kid there sounds like a lot of fun." "Right? I wish all the songs were as great as that one. Most of 'em are pretty fun, but the one before it was just... ugh." She shuddered, ruffling her unhurt wing. "The tune was all peppy and upbeat, but the words were so depressing. Who do you think Nicola and Bart were, anyway?" "Search me," said Twilight with a shrug. "Must've been important to someone, though, if they got a song written about them." "I guess we could ask Snake." Rainbow leaned over the left edge of the roof. "Snake! Who were Nicola and Bart?" "I'll tell you if you swear that neither of you will sing another word for the rest of this trip," Snake called back. Twilight exchanged a look with Rainbow; the pegasus was grinning wider. "Sorry, but I can't make that promise." "Then you get nothing." Rainbow leaned back, sucking her teeth. "That guy is such a tool sometimes." "Be nice," said Twilight chidingly. "He really came through for me back there." "Hey, don't get me wrong – he saved your life, so he can't be a complete tool. He's cool by me. But a cool tool is still a tool." "It's not just that he saved my life." A gentle breeze ruffled Twilight's mane, blowing strands of pink and purple against Rainbow's cheek. "He didn't want to go to Dodge in the first place. So I gave him an ultimatum. Go with me, or I'd go alone. And I'd probably get myself killed." She gazed out at the horizon again, sighing. "He was so... so angry with me. And he had a right to be. But when push came to shove, when he had an opportunity to leave and get back to his own mission..." "He stayed with you?" Twilight nodded slowly. "I thought he was only with me because I'd guilted him into helping me out. It's more than that, though. He's a genuinely good person. Even reminds me of you, if only a little bit." Rainbow rolled her eyes at that. "I'm serious! He's noble, and selfless, and brave – and loyal. A true friend. That doesn't remind you of anypony you know?" "Careful, Twi." Rainbow Dash looked sidelong at her, her lips kept in a straight line. "Keep talking like this, and a girl might start thinking you have feelings for him." "Oh, stop that," said Twilight, gagging. "I'd sooner kiss Killjoy again." "...Just to be clear..." Rainbow's bottom scraped against the metal roof as she closed the distance between she and Twilight – they were close enough now that their cutie marks were practically touching. "It kinda pissed me off when I heard she was mackin' on you – y'know, I don't like it when ponies put their tongues in my friends' mouths without permission. But if you were into her, then it's not really a big deal, I guess. So, uh... were you?" "Interested? In Killjoy?" Twilight blinked at Rainbow. "No, of course not." Inexplicably, Rainbow Dash smiled. "I mean," Twilight continued, "she's really not my type. All extroverted, and cocky – a consummate jock, that girl. I think I'm more into the bookish type. I mean, even if I were into mares, I don't think I'd ever go for somepony like that." "...Oh." The look remained frozen on Rainbow's face as she scooted apart from Twilight again, looking away. "Cool. Just wanted to be sure. So. Yeah. Glad we cleared that up." Twilight peered closer at Rainbow. She leaned over, extending a hoof toward her shoulders. "Something wrong?" Rainbow sniffed and drew herself up, grinning broadly at Twilight. "What, with me? Nah. A-okay. Y'know, with my gimp leg, and my busted wing. I am just peachy." Twilight's ears drooped. "If you're not gonna take me seriously..." "I do. I mean, a lot of the time I don't, but right now, I do." She brushed Twilight's hoof off, her touch lingering just a second longer than was perhaps normal. "I'm fine. Sure, times are kinda tough right now, and... certain things haven't really panned out like I thought they would. Or hoped. But we're back together. Uh, you and me, and the others, I mean. And I think... I think that's gonna be enough, you know? Even if things aren't how I want 'em... at least we got each other." Twilight smiled, her ears un-drooping. "That was oddly eloquent for you." "Yeah, not sure what that means, so... when we get home I'm gonna look it up, and depending on what I find, I'll either thank you or say something sarcastic to you. You know how it is." "I know how it is." The sun slid out of sight. The last light of day trailed after it; overhead, the night crept up, with the moon and stars keeping pace. Amber light faded to purple and blue, the moon shining upon the two mares' backs. Twilight shivered. She'd been riding high on her feelings of success – the relief, the joy, at getting Rainbow back, the hope it provided. Twilight knew precisely what Rainbow meant, because she felt the same way – the six of them, together again, could overcome anything. That wasn't overconfidence talking this time, underestimating the threat that Pegasus Wings presented. She knew what they were getting into now – and she knew, with absolute certainty, that they would overcome it and win. Even if she didn't quite see how. Yet in the quiet stillness of the frontier night, everything that had been kept at bay by her reunion with Rainbow crept back up to her, as surely as the moon and stars stole into the sky. The things she'd done, what she'd almost done – how could she ever reconcile them with the image she'd built of herself? How could she look her mentor in the eye and tell her that, when the chips were down, she nearly let herself become a... ...a murderer? She shut her eyes Celestia help me, I think I'm losing myself. "...Did you mean to say that out loud?" Rainbow asked delicately. Again? Twilight blushed. This is becoming a problem. "No. Or... yes. A little." She shrugged. "Maybe I'm just fishing for reassurance." "Well, I can't exactly answer you if you don't tell me what you mean, can I?" "And I can't exactly answer you, because I'm not sure I know what I mean." She buried her face in her hooves. "I don't even think I'm making sense." "You never make sense. I like you anyway." Rainbow draped her wing over Twilight's shoulders, shielding her from the cold. "Look, personally, I think it's kinda hard to lose yourself, since, you know, you are yourself and all. But I'll make you a deal – if that ever happens, then... I'll just come find you. We all will. Just like you came to find me. Sound good?" Twilight leaned against her shoulder and nodded. "Good." There was an odd quaver in Rainbow's voice, and she sniffed again wetly. The wing closed tighter around Twilight. "And, as a follow-up question..." "Mm?" "Why, exactly, do you smell like you've been rolling around in whiskey?" Twilight laughed – of all the things they talked about during their long ride home, they'd somehow neglected to touch on their escape from the saloon. "That is a funny – if somewhat convoluted – story." The glow around Luna's horn faded as the moon completed its ascent. The sun at her back vanished below the horizon, dragging with it the last dregs of daylight. Atop her tower, Luna breathed a sigh of relief. Not that raising and lowering the moon was difficult, after so much practice over the years, but she'd been worried about getting the damn thing up on time, after losing so many hours talking to Discord. Celestia would surely have taken notice if she were late in performing her duty. But she needn't have worried. It went off without a hitch, and with her schedule cleared, she had the rest of the night spread out before her. While it meant that her subjects would be without her help in guarding their dreams for the better part of the evening, the waking world would be the better for it. So Luna took another deep breath, spread her wings— "Oh, Luna? A word, if you please?" —and released her breath in a noisy sigh, slumping. She turned to see her sister hovering behind the tower, her swanlike neck curving elegantly over the gilded railing. Luna faked a happy look while her sense of urgency battered against her sense of restraint. "Of course, sister. What can I do for you?" "For now? I was going to take a walk around the castle, and I could use some company." Celestia peeled off, and Luna huffed, blowing a wisp of starry mane out of her face. She snapped open her wings and followed Celestia as she glided to a perfect stop in the yard outside the castle's barracks. Two dozen of the blue-armored Night Guard, unicorns and earth ponies and the occasional leathery-winged thestral, were assembled in orderly rows as the duty officer paced in front of them, rattling off assignments. Luna was led past the barracks, into the castle itself, both sisters returning crisp salutes from the sentries at the door. No words were exchanged as they moved through the castle. It left Luna with a simmering feeling of frustration – she had somewhere she desperately needed to be, and Celestia wouldn't deign to so much as explain why she needed Luna's company. Her gait was as perfect and elegant as every other perfect, elegant facet of her royal personage, showing majesty, and grace, and just the right amount of hip sway, but it betrayed nothing about why she'd troubled to ask Luna out on this spur-of-the-moment constitutional. Though I am beginning to have my suspicions... "Our castle gardens are so lovely," Celestia murmured. "Such perfectly maintained monuments to nature. So peaceful, so serene. The perfect setting to just wander about and lose oneself, especially when one has a good deal on their mind. I'm fond of doing just that. As are you, I'm sure." Suspicion confirmed. She knows. The mention of the gardens, specifically, was enough of a giveaway. But she could have said anything – literally anything – in that tone of voice, and Luna would have honed in on it immediately. It was her "I'm upset with you, but I want you to figure out why" voice, one she'd picked up from their mother a long, long time ago, and cultivated over the years. Luna hadn't heard it since long before her banishment – hearing it now almost made her nostalgic. They were passing through a long hallway. Doors lined their left side, a colonnade the other. Beyond the columns, velvety purple night had overtaken the remnants of the daytime sky, and patterns of stars twinkled and shone in time with those in Luna's mane. "So," said Celestia. "Imagine my surprise when I tried to take a stroll through the gardens, only to find that they were closed off by order of the Princess of the Night. I'm speaking literally – imagine it, Luna. Me! Barred from walking around in my own garden! By order of my sister!" She chuckled at the comedy of it. Luna laughed weakly. "Further," Celestia continued, as they drew closer to a vast double-door in the middle of the hallway, where two Day Guards stood at attention. "When I went looking for my Guard Captain – for an explanation, you see – I was told that he'd been relieved of his duties for what remained of the day. Once again, by you. But I persevered, and found him abed. With my niece. Performing a very different set of duties." The door sentries both blushed, one of them straining not to snicker. How much longer do you mean to drag this out? "So, Luna." Celestia stopped and looked down at her, smiling sweetly. "Would you care to explain all of this?" Luna looked away. "What even is the point? You clearly already know." Seconds went by – there was no clock in the corridor, yet Luna could almost hear them tick-tock past. She felt Celestia's gaze on her, through her, and somehow, in her. "Dismissed," Celestia called to the sentries, her voice suddenly blazing with authority. "Tell your relief to take their time assuming their posts. I would like a word with my sister alone." Immediately, the two ponies saluted and strode away, the sound of closing doors echoing down the hall to them. "Look at me, Luna." Luna looked. "We had an agreement." Celestia's voice was as hard as the expression she wore. "You said you would follow my lead. And the moment I looked away, you went back on your word." She was drawn up to her full height, her wings unfurled just slightly. The pose would be intimidating, were it done for anypony – or anyone – besides Luna. "What choice did I have?" Luna snapped. "Your reluctance to act endangers us all, Celestia – how can you not see that?" "So you went to Discord? To Discord?" Celestia's wings flared briefly. "Bound by the Elements or no, sealed in stone or no, he is far from toothless." "I can protect myself!" "I don't mean that he might have hurt you, although who knows what he's still capable of, especially when he has the home field advantage." Concern spasmed across Celestia's face, shattering her angry facade for an instant. "But he doesn't need his powers to spread mayhem. His words can do that perfectly well for him. The tales he weaves, and the lies he spits, could prove more damaging than any deluge of... whatever sugary beverage he deluges one with." "Chocolate milk—" "I am not done speaking, Luna!" "Would you consider stopping long enough for me to account for myself?" Luna fired back. "I am not the same naive foal who fell under the Nightmare's influence so long ago. I needed to know what we were dealing with, and he was the only one in Canterlot with the knowledge that I needed. The only one willing to actually speak to me, that is," she added pointedly. Celestia's ears burned, and she worked her jaw in silence. "What, exactly, did he tell you?" "That we are taking notice far later than we should have." Luna looked from side to side, then dropped her voice. "That they've been here for a year now. That he spoke to one when he escaped from confinement – an advance scout for some sort of military agency." Celestia paled, and started to say something. Luna raised her hoof, cutting her off. "I know. Discord is Discord. But the things he said make sense when put into context with my own discoveries. The corpse in the castle wore some sort of military uniform, and carried armaments – firearms – of alien configuration. Among the castle's rubble was further evidence of a military presence. And in the remains of the old garden sat a war machine, painted blue, and crowned with horizontal blades. Seemingly abandoned." Celestia seemed lost in thought for a moment, before nodding for Luna to proceed. "Discord's penchant for mischief notwithstanding, on this much, I believe he can be trusted. My findings suggest a prolonged stay in the castle, that the castle's demolition was no mere accident. And they imply a greater presence elsewhere, most likely deeper in the Everfree Forest. All of that would require a prolonged presence, at least semi-permanent, to establish." Celestia's gaze softened as she listened, though she maintained her regal stance and bearing. "You think they came under attack. That the castle was destroyed. Who were the belligerents in this hypothetical battle?" "Impossible to determine. The deer, perhaps – the ruins are taboo to them, but King Aspen may have taken an alien presence in the forest as a threat to their sovereignty, and chosen to act. But I saw no deer carcasses in the castle." "And if the humans are as well-armed and entrenched as you suggest, then nothing the deer could throw at them would dislodge them." "Either way, it matters little now." Luna shook her head. "We need to act. And before you remind me, no – we have no time for that thing. It handles matters in its own way, in its own time, by its own means. If we leave the human problem to it, then their threat may grow beyond our ability to contain while we wait." "And what do you propose instead?" "That you let me handle it. In my own way, by my own means. I have an idea of where to look already. All I need is for you to back me on this." Celestia's gaze went over, through, and into her again, making Luna's skin crawl, as she evaluated the younger sister. Finally, she nodded slowly. "I can see the merit in what you're proposing, Luna. But I can't let you work alone." "Celestia—" "We will act on this together." Celestia chanced a small smile. "As we ought to have from the start." The younger princess stared in silence as she tried to process this turn in the conversation. "I've already spoken to Flash Sentry about organizing additional air patrols," Celestia continued. "I don't believe we'll have the numbers to cover the entire mountain, not with the Expeditionary Force still deployed, but the southern face, at least, should be secured. We'll watch the Everfree from a distance, while keeping the appearance of routine patrols – we musn't tip our cards, after all." Luna's brief trance ended with a shake of her head. "You've already spoken to Flash Sentry?" "I've been thinking about our conversation from this morning all day," said Celestia. "I concluded that you were right – we should be more proactive. I still intend to approach this with greater caution than I did the changelings, but I – we – shall act." "Very well," said Luna. "And the rest of the Guard?" "Secondary alert for the time being. Until we've better established the nature of the human presence." "The nature of the human presence is obviously—" "Far less obvious than you might think," said Celestia. "Whatever Discord told you may have been in error – or he may have been misleading you. Humanity is... complex. They've evolved in the time since he last visited them. Physically, militarily, technologically, and especially politically. It could be any number of agencies in the Everfree, for any number of reasons. They may not even be hostile to us. I will leave it to you to make that determination." "To... me?" Luna blinked. "You do intend to let me do this my way?" "Within reason. Return to the forest, and reconnoiter the area. Follow your instincts to locate their primary outpost. If the castle is gone, they may well have moved deeper into the forest. Find them, gather information, and evaluate their capabilities as best you can, but do not engage them – not yet. Neither you, nor I, want a war on our hooves if we can avoid it, least of all with humanity. We will speak more on your return – should we deem it necessary, we will bring the matter up in open council, and make more proactive preparations." "What of Twilight? And the Elements? If the humans are, indeed, encamped in the Everfree—" "My feelings on the matter have not changed where Twilight is concerned," said Celestia curtly. "We will not involve her, and her friends, unless the situation merits it. She is the culmination, Luna – of everything. I will not put her at undue risk." "I..." Luna relented with a reluctant nod. "I will abide by your terms. And I am sorry for acting against your wishes, but I felt I had little choice." "I appreciate that." The mask of rulership washed away, and in an instant, she was Luna's sister again. "I'm sorry, too. I know it's been difficult for you to fathom my reasons and follow my lead – perhaps I haven't set the best example. But times being what they are..." "Yes, yes, I know. Many a big day, fast approaching." "Much to do between now and then. And many concerns which neither of us expected. The changelings were already a fly in the proverbial ointment. This other presence still troubles me – and you as well, I'm sure – and the prospect of war with humanity, on top of that..." "Is highly unappealing." "To say the least. But it is a challenge that we can, and will, rise to meet." Celestia looped her neck over Luna's in a quick embrace, before rising up and assuming her royal demeanor again. "For now, however..." "Yes, I've a long flight ahead of me." Luna began to spread her wings. "Look after matters here while I am—" "Oh, you're not going anywhere, Luna." Luna's wings half-folded. "I beg your pardon?" "Denied. You betrayed my trust, and there must be a reckoning for that." Her horn glowed yellow, and the double-doors opened. "Enter." Luna gulped and stepped inside, into a candle-lit parlor where an oaken table had been set up, piled high with papers and binders, notebooks and quills, and pots of dark black ink. Chairs and cushions surrounded the table on all sides, and in them sat a collection of ponies whom Luna, frankly, found the mere idea of sharing oxygen with contemptible. Well... except maybe that one. "Princess Luna!" Blue-maned and mustacheod Fancy Pants kissed his statuesque wife on the cheek and rose from the head of the table to greet Luna. "A pleasure and an honor, as always. When your regal sister told us that you'd be chairing tonight's meeting of the Grand Galloping Gala Planning Committee, I was simply beside myself. Finally, somepony who won't mind when I take over the floor and prattle endlessly about stellar drift." Luna smiled broadly – she truly wouldn't mind such a turn of conversation at all. "Likewise, sir. But you must forgive me, I'm a bit out of sorts – this has all been arranged—" "As a surprise!" Celestia chirped. "For you! You're always saying that you want to take a more active role in the mundanity of everyday politics." I have never in my life uttered those words, and you well know it. "And we are delighted to have you," Fancy Pants added. "Allow me to introduce the rest of the committee – of course, you know my better half, Fleur de Lis, as well as your royal nephew..." "Auntie," said Prince Blueblood, flashing her a slimy grin. "Here also are Jet Set and Upper Crust, my fellow patrons of the arts." A stallion and a mare with identically upturned muzzles, seated side-by-side at the left end of the table, briefly lowered their muzzles to squint at Luna before upturning them again. "And, finally, joining us from Ponyville for the first time, Filthy and Spoiled Rich." "Charmed to make your acquaintance at last, your majesty," said a double-chinned pink mare, narrowing her eyes at Luna. "After three days in Canterlot, it's a nice change to finally have your ear. I'd like to lodge a complaint about the help – they have proven disappointing in all facets of their work, far below what I would expect from the royal household. I'm afraid the state of affairs has been so dismal that we had no choice but to move into lodgings in the city." "Dear," said a deep-voiced stallion beside her. "It was your decision to leave Cummerbund at home." "Darling, we both know you'd have insisted on letting him remain with Diamond had we elected to bring him. And what good would he be to us if he was busy instead with her?" Luna's polite grin strained as she nodded along with the Riches. She leaned close to Celestia, hiding their faces behind a wing. "This is perhaps the worst thing you've ever done to me. Ever." "You shouldn't have broken faith with me," Celestia teased. "I admit, I hadn't expected to forgive you so quickly, and had I known you'd bring me around, I would have arranged something far less cruel. But it's far too late to back out now. Other matters can keep until the morning, I'm sure." "Morning?" Luna whined. "Oh, yes. These meetings have been known to last until the wee hours." Luna felt faint. "If you really want to punish me, you could just send me back to the moon." "Silly Luna. You know I'd need the Elements to do that." She raised her head above Luna's wing and smiled across the table at the Committee. "My friends, I wish you a pleasant evening. I leave you in the capable hooves of my beloved sister. To whom I vow to send a pot of coffee. Or ten." She dusted the end of Luna's nose with a wingtip before sashaying out the door, securing it behind her. Fancy Pants approached her, smiling genially. "Ah, not to worry, Princess. I brought something to sweeten the coffee – always do whenever these meetings come around." He opened his jacket to reveal a silver flask, winking. Luna sneezed cutely. There'd been a castle overlooking the old abbey, its crumbling keep and turrets visible over the boughs and branches of the encroaching Everfree Forest. The keep was gone, reduced to a rubble-filled pit, but its mighty rampart remained, standing silent vigil over Pegasus Wings' encampment from its place on the high hill. Lieutenant Delacroix found the sight – and the thought – oddly comforting as she navigated the ruins, a duffle bag slung over her shoulder. Humble walls of blue encircled stone buildings and rows of canvas tents – there was space enough in the abbey to accommodate nearly all of the army's assets. Or, at least, that which had gone through the portal with them. Macbeth had squatted in the abbey for years after his exile; he was all too happy to offer it as a base of operations to the Commander. For weeks, the place had been a hive of activity, as various personnel went about their business. Today, though, in the dying sunlight, the abbey was silent and still, nearly empty. Sentries stood watch, pacing the walls, but there was no one patrolling the empty streets, no off-duty personnel smoking or eating or drinking. Even the fleet of trucks and armored vehicles had cleared out, though a few cars remained, and the Chinook helicopters were crammed together in the space that had been hastily cleared for them after the castle fell. The only ones spending the night in the abbey were the chopper crews, their passengers, and the engineers who cobbled together and maintained Metal Gear. Everyone else in the unit had moved, massing at the secondary staging area, for the first and final move in Macbeth's game. Delacroix knew she should be with them. But she had one last bit of business to conclude. She emerged from the rows of tents, approaching the towering cathedral at the heart of the abbey. Even without its western wall, it made for an imposing sight. That the face of Metal Gear poked out from the yawning gap only made it moreso. Delacroix entered from the east door and ascended the prefab stairs, navigating up to the network of catwalks strung along the interior. Voices carried down to her from the other end of the gantry, from beside Metal Gear's cockpit. "...you really don't see it?" said the client. "Look at the face, the mouth. The way the jawline juts downward, the way the cockpit's shaped like a set of lips. It looks angry." "It's a machine," the Commander's voice replied with his usual level of disinterest. "It doesn't have emotions. It doesn't get angry. And it doesn't make faces. It is what it is, no more and no less." Macbeth snorted. "You humans. All alike – no imagination. No artistic flair." "You know better than that. Or you should." "You're right. I take that back. William Shakespeare had artistic flair. The rest of you that followed him are dull as dishwater." They came into sight in time for Delacroix to catch the client's disdainful shake of his head. But when he saw her, his face brightened. "Lieutenant! I've been expecting you." The Commander, standing straight with his arms folded, merely glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Alistair Cain was not a kind man, nor one for sentiment – a life on the battlefield had hardened and scarred him, mentally and physically. Yet the edges of his scowl softened at the sight of Delacroix, and he looked on her with something less vicious than the contempt with which he treated most other living things. Captain Case – then Major Case – once joked over a night of beer and hamburgers on the deck of the Zanzibar Breeze that Cain treated her gently because she resembled his late cat. Then he drew whiskers on her face with a neon pink Sharpee. He'd had many, many beers that night. "Sir. Sirs," Delacroix corrected, saluting. "Your pardon, Mr. Macbeth, but I need a word with the Commander." "Talking shop?" Macbeth looked quickly between the two officers and shrugged. "If you're here, then that means my ride is as well. See you there – don't keep me waiting." Delacroix nodded, but Macbeth didn't see – he'd turned to look at Commander Cain again. "This is where we part for now, friend. Mark my words, when next we meet, we'll toast our victory in the Great Hall of Canterlot Castle. The Princess isn't much of a wine-drinker, but I'm sure she has a cask of something palatable spirited away somewhere." Cain nodded slowly. "Good hunting." Macbeth actually seemed disappointed that his grandiloquence was so quickly dismissed. He snorted and strode away, leering briefly at Delacroix before descending the stairs and exiting the cathedral. "At ease, Ori," said Cain, familiarity creeping into his voice. "What're you doing here? Your command's waiting on you, aren't they?" My command. Hearing the words out loud made her shiver with excitement – her command, her first command, since getting her commission. And of the main force, to boot! "I did need to pick up the client, sir," she said casually. "Any half-wit with a Jeep could've done that. You shouldn't stoop to handling such things personally. Sets a bad precedent." "I also had a report to make." "Couldn't have done it over radio?" "I..." She was running out of excuses, and coughed to buy time. The Commander watched her, amusement in his eyes. "I wanted to do it in person, sir. Partly because I wanted to thank you." Cain appraised her quietly. "For?" "The command. Giving me Birnam Wood. You're putting a lot of faith in me, and I wanted to thank you for it." She hesitated. "And to ask..." "Why you, and not Smart?" Cain's lips twitched. "Why me, and not... you," Delacroix corrected, wincing at her own presumption. The tiny smirk soured and fell away. "Because someone's got to pilot this damn thing," Cain said icily. "And the only other man in the unit who knows how to is Trenton. And Ronald's dead, otherwise command of the main force would go to him. Ergo, it falls on your lap." "If it's a matter of seniority, sir... If you're staying behind to pilot Metal Gear, then by rights, Captain Smart should be leading Birnam Wood, and I should have Paper Mongoose. That's the way of things." She bit her lip. "Respectfully, and if I may be so bold... after what happened in the castle, this will only make the men talk more—" "Let them talk," Cain snapped. "Let them flap their stinking gums all they want. They're getting a payday, and at the end of the day, that's all that matters." "Yes, sir," said Delacroix meekly. "Forgive me, sir. I didn't mean to offend." "This isn't how I saw things going either, Ori." Cain's voice softened, but it was tinged with bitterness. "This whole mission's gone tits up – there shouldn't even be a Paper Mongoose, but that's where we are. You have your role, I have mine, Smart has his. Besides..." His fingers tightened around his biceps. "Someone needs to stay behind to greet Trenton." "You're sure he'll even come back?" "A man like him won't abide a loose end. Trust me, he'll show." There was a faint trace of tobacco in Cain's breath. Looking down, Delacroix saw ground-out cigarette butts littering the catwalk. How long had he been standing there? "It's Macbeth I'm more worried about," Cain added. "You heard him – he's already declared victory, and we haven't even fought the battle yet. Son of a bitch should know better. Dunsinane was the other one's undoing. He isn't careful, it'll be his too, whatever side of it he's on." Delacroix tilted her head uncomprehendingly. "Sir, I don't follow." "You read Shakespeare, Ori?" "Can't say that I do, sir." "You oughta. Can learn a lot from the Bard. About history, strategy. Irony. Macbeth did, but you ask me, he learned the wrong lessons." Cain dipped his head, tucking his chin above his chest. "Client thinks he's invincible, long as he's got our guns and our technology. Thinking like that'll get him killed. He's overestimating us, and underestimating the enemy. They're not to be taken lightly. Especially not the Princess." "Yes, sir." "This wouldn't even be possible if they hadn't dispatched that force to the asscrack of the world. Even then, we're facing steep odds. Client seems to have forgotten that – or he's riding high on the smell of his own farts, and it's making him ignore the facts." He nodded at Delacroix. "Macbeth wants to walk into Canterlot a conquering hero. Fine, but I want him there as a spectator, not a participant. And the fact is, I trust you to wrangle him more than I do Smart." "Thank you. Sir." Delacroix was no stranger to the battlefield, herself, yet the Commander's show of confidence left her feeling oddly bashful. "I won't let you down, sir." "I wouldn't have given you Birnam if I thought for a moment that you would." Cain turned his head to look out over the tents in the abbey. "Now, I believe you had a report for me?" "Um... oh. Yes, of course." Delacroix rested her arm on her bag. "Birnam Wood and Paper Mongoose are at full readiness – but I suppose you knew that already. Choppers are gassed up and good to go, but without the extra fuel from the castle, they only have enough of a reserve supply to get there and stay in the fight. No telling how they're getting home." "What about the Hind?" Delacroix shifted her weight onto her left foot nervously. "The salvage team never made it to the castle. The deer have gotten bolder since last night. Roxette was the only one who made it back – says they used hit and run tactics, striking suddenly from the underbrush, and melting away just as quickly." "How is she?" "Out of commission with a stab wound that's festering. Dr. Rokubungi thinks the deer coated their antlers with some kind of venom. I've taken her off the mission and ordered her to bed." "Forcing us to launch a heliborne assault without a gunship or our best pilot. Fuckin' deer." Cain snorted. "First thing we do after Canterlot, we find where they're coming from and slaughter 'em all. Have a great big venison cook-out. Best share of the loot goes to whoever makes the juiciest steak out of their king." Delacroix's stomach rumbled – anything would be better than another dinner of surplus rations. The stuff wasn't good enough for the French Foreign Legion, and it wasn't good enough for Pegasus Wings. "We can make do without the Hind, I suppose, but not Roxette – she'd better pull through." Cain grunted. "What about Grond?" "Online. Though it's as we feared – the recoil from the first shot'll tear the whole assembly apart. We won't be able to fire a second." "We'll only need one." Cain nodded, satisfied. "Sounds like you've got everything in order, then. If there's nothing else, then you'd better go catch up with the client. Otherwise, it's a long walk to the mountain junction." "There is one last thing." Delacroix unzipped the bag on her shoulder. "I... took the initiative of ordering Trenton's personal locker opened. After what happened in the castle, it seemed... prudent." Cain stiffened, turning on the balls of his feet to face Delacroix. She expected him to yell – his face was red, like it always got before he yelled – but instead he just stared at her in that same detached way. "Not a bad call. Bastard stole my bike. Ron's car, too. Only fitting that someone else goes through his shit." Delacroix tried not to let her surprise show – nor her relief. "Uh, yes sir. Anyway, most of it's not out of the ordinary." She reached into the bag and drew out a blade – a short sword, with a wooden handgrip and no wristguard, in a sheath of the same color and material. She handed it to Cain, who looked over it with muted interest. "A spare sword. Another tactical vest, taken from our own supply – we left that where we found it. A few magazines of nine millimeter ammunition, and a broken optic camouflage unit." "Should hang on to that. If we can fix it up, it might come in handy." He tucked the sword underneath his arm. "Anything else?" Delacroix slowly retrieved a pair of faded photographs from the bag, and handed them to Cain. The scenes they depicted, the faces on them – they meant nothing to her. But it was clear by the way Cain's fingers shook as he held the photos that they meant something to him. One showed a boy and a girl, standing side-by-side on a beach. The boy, in green fatigues and a hat, looked nervously at the girl as she clung tightly to his arm. She was bent over to rest her chin on his shoulder – she clearly stood a full head taller than him – and winked at the camera with the impetuous innocence of childhood. She wore some sort of school uniform, blue skirt and matching jacket, and her head was a mop of yellow curls. The girl was in the other picture, too, covering the eyes of a man seated at a table, while a brown-haired woman in a tank top spoon-fed him something from a platter held by another blonde in khaki. The man's face was mostly hidden by the girl's hands, but the word "MEDIC" could be faintly discerned in blue lettering on the front of his uniform. Cain stared at those pictures for a long, long time, a look coming over him that Delacroix had never seen before. Then his face hardened again, and he tucked them into his back pocket. "Seen these already. Nothing I didn't already know." "One more thing." Delacroix pulled another object from the bag – a scuffed-up and dented Walkman, and a pair of headphones too. She handed them to Cain. "There's a tape in there. I couldn't make heads or tails of it, but..." Cain slipped the headphones over his ears wordlessly and thumbed the play button. Time passed – seconds into minutes – and his face reddened again, yet save a slight twitching at the corner of his lips, his expression didn't change. Eventually, he turned his back on Delacroix to lean against the catwalk's handrail, staring out across the abbey. Finally, he switched off the tape and pulled the headphones down. He said nothing. He didn't turn. "Commander?" "Assume your post, Lieutenant." He bowed his head. "Carry out your orders." Before she turned to leave the cathedral, she caught a glance at his hands, closed so tightly around the railing that they warped the metal. Gloved knuckles tapped against a metal door. A voice – girlish and accented, yet stuffed-up and nasal – called back from the other side. "It's open!" Paz Ortega Andrade wore white pajamas, so close in color to her bedding that the girl blended seamlessly with her blankets. Her back was propped against her headboard, and her elbows rested on her thighs as she read from a thick book with Spanish words on the cover. Her kitten, Nuke, curled up on her lap, a fuzzy black dot with yellow eyes that peeked curiously at the visitor. Paz looked up from her book. "Hello, Swordfish," she said with a wet sniffle. "Keep your distance. Serval says I'm not contagious anymore, but better safe than in quarantine." "Ah, I can't get sick. Biologically impossible. I mean, look at these muscles." Swordfish flexed his bare arms, grinning. Paz giggled. "I am not sure that is how the immune system works." "Oh, ask anyone. Ask Serval. He'll back me up." He stepped into the room and shut the door behind himself. "So, how're you doing? "Ugh." Paz flopped against her headboard. "I've got chills, my sinuses ache, my throat feels like a scratching post, and I've got stuff coming out of my nose that I did not even know my body could produce!" Her complaint ended with a sudden, violent sneeze, and she plucked a handkerchief from her side table to wipe her nose. Swordfish, nonplussed, watched awkwardly until she was finished. "Sorry. Not very ladylike of me, I know." Paz smiled sheepishly and pointed at the platter balanced on Swordfish's arm. "What have you got there?" "Thought you could benefit from a home-cooked meal," said Swordfish. He braced his free hand underneath the platter. "So I decided to whip up some of that gulluh pintuh that you and the ladies like so much." Paz frowned at him. "Do you mean gallo pinto?" "S'what I said, isn't it? Gulluh pintuh." "No, it's..." Paz closed her book and adjusted herself, folding her legs and accidentally dislodging Nuke in the process. The kitten hopped onto the nearby window sill with a meow of protest, and sprawled out in a sunbeam. "Okay. Repeat after me." Paz's eyes met Swordfish's. "Say 'gai?'" "Gai." "Yo?" "Yo." "Pinto." "Pinto." "Now, all together." "Gulluh pintuh." Paz's face screwed up as though she were about to sneeze again, before it twisted into a scowl that threatened to break into a smile. She jabbed a finger at Swordfish, shaking it angrily. "You are making fun of me!" Swordfish laughed and stepped up to Paz's bedside. "Make no mistake, though, I had nearly this exact conversation with Amanda in the galley." He lowered the platter onto her lap and lifted the lid. The aroma that streamed from the exposed plate assaulted his nostrils. It was earthy, and tangy, without being pleasantly so, and stank so powerfully of salt that Swordfish could taste it. It looked about as appetizing as it smelled – lumpy black chunks ladled haphazardly over moist, sticky rice, with the occasional sallow yellow pepper sticking out of the morass. Paz mustered a shaky smile, lifted the fork provided next to the plate, and scooped up a small bite. She slid it into her mouth, chewed haltingly, and swallowed. "Mmm," she said, with obviously forced enthusiasm. "It's... delicious." Swordfish glowered at her until her face screwed up and she stuck her tongue out, bleh'd, and pushed away the plate. "Sorry." She coughed. "I tried. Honestly, I did." Swordfish folded his arms, grumbling to himself. "I'm English, dammit; not my fault if I can't goddamn cook." "Embracing the stereotype, are you?" Paz shook her head. "So much for soldiers without borders." "Some stereotypes transcend borders." Swordfish reached over Paz's bed to scratch Nuke behind the ears, and the cat nuzzled into his hand with a pleased purr. Beside the cat was a little styrofoam cup of dirt, with a tiny white flower sprouting from it. He smirked at Paz. "Gift from an admirer?" "You could say that." Paz idly smoothed out her blankets. "Chico brought it." "Figures," Swordfish grunted, pulling away from Nuke. "It's as runty and pathetic as he is." "Oh, stop that," said Paz, sighing. "I know you two don't like each other, and it's not my business to pry into why. But I wish you'd at least try to get along with him. He's such a sweet boy, and he's been through so much. Please don't make his life any harder than it already is." Swordfish grunted and turned away, mumbling to himself. "Tell you what." Paz reached out and tugged on his wrist, and he looked over to see her beaming at him. "I am going to eat this entire plate of gallo pinto." "Paz, you don't have to—" "Ah ah! I insist. You worked hard on it, and I do not intend to let that effort go to waste." She let go of his wrist. "But in exchange, you need to be nice to Chico from now on. Do we have a deal?" Swordfish stared silently at her, his mouth slightly agape, until there was a knock at the door. It opened, and the look on Paz's face – the blush, and the shy smile – told Swordfish who the new visitor was without his needing to turn around. Nevertheless, Swordfish pivoted and snapped off a salute. Big Boss acknowledged him with a look and a jerk of his head, and Swordfish relaxed. "I just wanted to see how you were doing, Paz – didn't mean to interrupt. If you're busy, I can come back—" "Not at all, Boss! I'll go. Right away. Boss." Swordfish made for the door. "Wait a moment," Paz called after him. With half his body through the door, Swordfish turned to look at her. She pointed the dinner fork at him playfully. "Do we have a deal?" Big Boss glanced at him, an eyebrow arched. "Better give the girl an answer, son." Swordfish finally swallowed and nodded. "Alright, then." Paz's sky-blue eyes were alight with mischief. "Keep up your end of the bargain, Swordfish. Because I am not suffering this torment for nothing." It was dark out, and her vision was blurry besides – even in the pale light of her aura, she had to squint in order to read the message. Her eyes scanned over it, time and time again, and she found herself panicking more and more on every pass. DODGE ATTACKED AND LOST. CHANGELINGS + C.Q. KILLED BY UNKNOWN ENEMY. STRANGE MAGIC – "SOUL-BLEEDING." ENEMY ENGAGED, STILL AT LARGE. CASUALTIES HEAVY. NO FATALITIES. MET T.S. AT CHERRY HILL. WARNED OF DIFF. THREAT – "HEW-MON" ARMY LED BY "MACBETH." PONYVILLE AT RISK. ATTACK IMMINENT. FALLING BACK TO APPLELOOSA. ADVISE. They knew. They knew they knew they knew. All her months of careful preparation, all her weeks of tireless walking, all her effort at keeping everything under wraps, and all of it was for nothing. They knew. The drunkard, and the murderer, and no less than Twilight Sparkle herself, they knew, and if she hadn't gotten lucky, if the swaggering oaf in the clanking golden armor hadn't spotted her from the sky and circled down to investigate, that damnable Princess would have known too. And where would that leave her? The steel-gray oaf swayed slightly on his hooves, glassy eyes staring, unfocused, at nothing. A trail of drool ran down his lips, and every now and then, he made some sort of meaningless burble sound. Chivalrous fool – he'd taken her for some helpless filly in need of defense, and swaggered over to her with a cocksure grin. His fear, his pain, as the razor slid into him, as his soul dribbled out, as everything he was became hers, was delectable; it sated her, comforted her – and she needed comfort, after the loss of so many pets. Including her pet Queen. She gorged herself on his rations – she hadn't eaten so well since leaving Dodge – and found the note stuck to the inside of his saddlebags. She read it with detached interest, and then she read it again. And again. And again. Until she finally threw it to the ground and screamed. They knew. Because of her. Because of her own weakness. Twilight spoke, and Chrysalis listened, and instead of snapping the reigns and urging the beast forward, impaling her on the ends of her scythes and flinging her shredded meat to the sands of Dodge, instead of rising to the sky and ripping the wings off of every last contemptible buzzard infesting the place, instead of finding the murdering human and repaying him in kind for all that he had done... ...She listened. She listened, listened with Chrysalis. Because some weak, foolish part of her that she'd long ago buried still needed to believe that Twilight Sparkle would talk to her. Extend friendship to her. That she'd really come for me. She had failed herself, again, as she always had from birth. Such was her existence, a string of disappointments, culminating in a life half-lived and wasted. But worse than failing herself... She had failed her Lord. Thanks be, He was more diligent than she, picking up the reigns when she had dropped them. That the effort failed reflected not on Him – the failure to kill Twilight Sparkle rested squarely on her own shoulders. He bore no fault. Never would she make that mistake again. Never would she fail Him again. Her Lord heard her contrition, and approved, and crept back into her. His hatred thrummed through her emaciated form, flooding from head to hoof to tail and chasing away the biting cold of the desert night. His pain – such lovely, exquisite agony – became her pain once again. And, together, they schemed. "Can you feel her?" her Lord whispered in the recesses of her mind. "The puppet's strings are not so broken that she cannot dance for us again. Reach out to her now – feel her, as I feel you. Fill her, as I fill you. Be her, as I am you." She shut her eyes and shuddered as her mind touched the other – the lingering connection, not quite severed, grew taut between them. She felt the other's contentment give way to wild fear, but the feeling was quickly crushed underhoof. Unbidden, a memory resurfaced – impossible to say from whom, for it was one that both minds shared, and she no longer knew where one ended and the other began. A night of awkward glances and half-hearted small-talk, a family gathering she didn't know why she bothered to attend. Strangers to her, in all but name, even before she left them behind. But among them all was a curvy mare, red-maned and beauty-marked, who smiled at her without guile. A true stranger, yet one who did what none of her family dared. Spoke to her. Listened to her. And, at night's end, half-drunk on cherry cider and eggnog, she pushed a thick, red book into her hooves. "They said y'all were the bookish type, so I picked this out for you. Happy Hearth's Warming!" Her Lord hissed His displeasure, and quashed the thought before she could pay it more mind than it was due. "Vacuous lies. You've no need for them." He was right – that was nothing but lingering feeling from a mare long dead, the same weak compulsion that made her stop before Twilight Sparkle could die, that made her pull the blade from the curvy mare before she could winkle away her soul, the saccharine sentiment that made her sever the tie between them before she could join their Hymn. A mistake, that. The first of many. She belonged to her, now, though. Not as a pony, not a mare, but a limb – a weapon – an instrument of revenge. "Good girl," her Lord crooned. She smiled, and they spoke and moved together. "Just like that."

Posh

436

Main 6,Other,Twilight Sparkle,Crossover,Human,Adventure,Dark,Metal Gear,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic,Death,Violence

Pony Gear Solid

Solid Snake teams up with ponies to save Equestria, and gradually learns to love it.

incomplete

<p>Metal Gear has fallen into the hooves of an Equestrian revolutionary, who, with the backing of his human mercenary allies, intends to use it to depose Celestia and crown himself ruler. Having crossed into Equestria in pursuit of this rogue weapon, the legendary Solid Snake must ally with the residents of Ponyville to prevent a nuclear catastrophe.</p><p>See also <a href="/story/369125/equestria-gear-solid-the-definitive-experience" rel="nofollow"><i>Equestria Gear Solid</i></a><i>,</i> the hilarious spin-off EQG parody in which everything you know is wrong, and every single character from the story is an awful caricature of themselves. </p><p><a href="http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/FanFic/PonyGearSolid" rel="nofollow">Now with its own TVtropes page!</a></p>

teen

2017-07-14T06:23:01+00:00

2017-07-26T19:24:54+00:00

"Fighting was the only thing I was good at, but at least I always fought for what I believed in." My fingertips thumped against the steering wheel, in time with the tune of "Rebel Yell." Rainbow Dash and Cherry Jubilee were fast asleep in the back, Dash using Cherry's flank as a pillow, so the sound was cranked down to a minimum. Outside, moonlit hills rolled for miles, the scenic beauty broken only by the train tracks tracing the path back to Ponyville. Beside me, Twilight was nose-deep in the documents Trenton provided, silently reading by hornlight. She'd snatched them up during a pit stop, and had whiled away the drive with them since. Gotta hand it to the girl – motion sickness clearly had no power over her. "Red's bad, right?" That was the first time she'd said anything in more than an hour – the last time she'd opened her mouth was to point out the southern border of the Everfree. This time, she spoke so quietly that I wasn't sure she was even talking to me at first. "That would depend on your meaning, wouldn't it?" I replied. "Financially speaking. Where you're from, to be as deep in the red as Pegasus Wings – that's bad. Isn't it?" Twilight clicked her tongue. "I mean, for all I know, having your bottom line be a seven figure, negative sum in big, red numbers is a good thing in human society." "Gotta be a smart-ass about everything, don't you?" I grumbled, switching off the CD player. "Please tell me there's something in there that we can actually use. Not just Cain's stupid tax returns." "No, there's much more valuable info here, too," Twilight said quickly. "Reports and memos about ammunition, troop dispositions, and equipment – stuff you'd be interested in. The finances are just the most familiar to me, so that's what I've been reading." She paused to shuffle the papers around. "You remember how Captain Case said that Cain had been making weird business decisions before coming to Equestria? I'm pretty sure I know why now: Pegasus Wings has been hemorrhaging money for months. Larger mercenary companies have been out-bidding them on contracts, so Cain's been selling assets, and buying replacements on the cheap, to bolster their revenue." "And Case didn't know anything about this?" I asked incredulously. "The army's executive officer?" "The header on some of these documents suggest that Cain was audited by an outside agency – 'Naked Gun Accounting.' Odd name." Twilight's muzzle wrinkled. "He must've kept that fact to himself, and made sure that his subordinates and staff were none the wiser. Wonder why, though. Pride? Sentiment?" "More like ego." The funds for Outer Heaven and Zanzibar Land had been seemingly bottomless; Big Boss did not live cheaply. Cain probably wanted to project that kind of image, to clients and rivals alike. Made sense that he'd want that illusion to extend even to his subordinates. Better they think him eccentric, or even crazy, than poor. Why else would he skimp on guns, but keep that sci-fi abomination of a tanker? And IRVING couldn't have come cheaply... unless it was subsidized by the Patriots. Twilight rubbed her chin. "Makes me wonder. If Trenton was telling the truth, and those 'Patriots' are the ones backing the whole expedition, then they could have afforded better than what they got. So why settle for cash-strapped Pegasus Wings, instead of one of these other armies that beat them out for contracts?" "Because it's a poor investment?" I shrugged. "A place like this is the stuff of fantasy to people, where I come from. Most mercenary leaders wouldn't even take a job like this seriously, especially the heads of armies that are, financially, well off. But an army that's down on its luck, and on its last legs, might." "Oh, that's a charming thought. Storming my country and destroying everything I love is just too risky a business venture for most soldiers of fortune." Twilight tucked the papers away in the folder, which she set on the dashboard. "You know, if it turned out that Pegasus Wings was attacking Equestria because they were just a bunch of pirates... I mean, I wouldn't like that either, but in a way, I'd prefer it." "Prefer it?" I looked askance at her. "To what, exactly?" "To what you just said." Twilight's face twisted like she'd bitten into a bar of soap. "Show me someone who goes around doing evil because, I dunno, their brains are messed up, or they just get off on it – that's something I can comprehend. I don't understand the mindset of someone who carefully considers the risks and rewards of launching a murder campaign in fiscal terms." "Twilight." "I mean, how messed up do you have to be, huh? To look at war as a business transaction, to look at 'murderer-for-hire' as a viable career path. And the fact that it's a full-blown economic force in your world? An entire economy based on war?! How could someone decide to be a part of that? How could someone want to—" "Twilight." I jerked my thumb toward the backseat – her shouting had woken Cherry Jubilee. The rearview mirror caught her reflection, and she stared at Twilight fearfully. Dash was still out like a light, however. "Alfalfa's good for you, Chicanery," she slurred, smacking her lips. Twilight, flushing, looked out her window in silence. "Want doesn't always come into it," I said wearily, spinning the wheel to follow a curve in the tracks. "Most people don't get out of bed looking forward to a day of murder and a fat paycheck at the end of it. Just that a guy's gotta eat somehow, that's all." "The exigencies of capitalism," Twilight mused, less vitriolically. "You sound like you sympathize." "Well, I've been there, Twilight. Trust me, it's not a life most people choose because they want it." I switched on the fan, desperate to get some cool air on my face. "Put it to you this way: you got mercenaries in your world, don't you?" "Yeah, of course. Even ones out of Equestria. Ponies who manifest talents in combat often sell their services overseas. Not as corporations, like the ones in your world, but there are mercenary companies. The Steelshoes, the Sunhearts..." She gave me a sharp look. "And before you ask, no, I do not look on them with any more favor." "Not where I was going with that," I said, annoyed. "If they've got a fighter's skillset, then why aren't they in your Royal Guard?" Twilight reclined in her chair. "A lot of reasons, probably. Maybe they couldn't cut it, or maybe the Guard just wasn't taking new recruits when they looked to join up. There's a legal cap of two thousand active duty members, but it hasn't climbed past eighteen hundred since the military was disbanded thirty-five years ago." "How informative," I muttered. "Spare me the snark, okay?" Twilight groaned in exasperation. "Look, I don't know. I've never thought much about this." "Yeah, clearly." I looked pointedly at her. "So how many do you think are there because they actually enjoy fighting and killing?" Twilight looked at me, her mouth hanging open, as though her response was dangling on the tip of her tongue and she couldn't quite spit it out. Finally, she just snorted and leaned limply to her right, squishing her cheek against the window. "Like I said, Twilight. A guy's gotta eat, and where I'm from, there's always a demand for a person with a soldier's skillset." I took a breath of hot, recirculated air – the car'd always been stuffy, but something about this topic just made it feel stuffier, even with the fan on. "Guess the same's true of your world, huh?" "Not on the same scale. Not the same way." Twilight's words misted her window, obscuring and smearing her reflection. "And it doesn't make it right." "Never said it did. But a professional soldier doesn't always have the luxury of right and wrong. A member of a national army might have an ideal to cling to, something that makes everything worthwhile, even if they don't agree deep down with what they're doing. But a mercenary fights for causes he doesn't believe in, reasons he doesn't understand, without ever bringing his own feelings into it." One of Twilight's ears rotated my way. "You never fought for a cause you believed in?" "As a mercenary? No. A mercenary can't afford to believe in anything but himself." I finally switched off the fan; it was doing nothing for me. "Of course, some might convince themselves otherwise, pledge themselves to some code of honor, but it's a defense mechanism at best. At worst, it's a pathological lie. There's no honor to be found in fighting for a paycheck, and loyalty to a contract is no loyalty at all." The light from Twilight's horn dimmed, and the gentle, chiming sound of her magic fell silent. "That sounds like an awful life," she said. "It barely qualifies as living," I agreed. "But it's as close as some of them'll ever get. It can be hard to leave the battlefield once you've spent time out there, and a lot of people who come home from war... they never really come back, if you follow me. Part of them stays on the battlefield, and before too long, they get sucked right back in." I thought of an abandoned, snowed-in cabin in Lake Clark, and gripped the wheel tighter, steering the car around a knoll that blocked the view ahead. "And you? What about you?" said Twilight. I snorted. "That wasn't the life I wanted. I was just there to earn enough to retire; when I did, I got out." "Yeah, that much I figured. You talk about your mercenary days in the past tense. But you still came back to the battlefield, and not for a paycheck, I think." The leather of her seat squeaked as she leaned closer to me. "So. What are you doing here, Snake? What do you fight for?" I fell silent for a long, long time, unsure of just how to answer her question, or if I even wanted to. It occurred to me that this conversation might not have been entirely about me. Twilight'd been struggling noticeably since the castle, and I had to wonder if the question she was posing to me was one she was grappling with on the inside. In which case... there wasn't much that I could give her. She'd have to answer it for herself. But then we finished rounding the hill, and saw, on its far side, something that ultimately rendered our whole discussion irrelevant. I snapped my fingers to get Twilight's attention, and pointed out the window as the Humvee came to a stop. We had arrived at Ponyville to find a massive fog bank enshrouding the entire town, as if a cloud had descended upon it. Around the southern perimeter was a wide trench; a white bridge, painted with hearts, arched over it. A weight settled in the pit of my stomach as I looked at Twilight. She didn't say as much, but I could guess what she was thinking. It's Dodge, all over again. "What do you want to do?" Twilight whispered, casting a wary glance at Cherry. "Get out, and scout the town?" I shook my head. "We got caught flat-footed before; I don't want that to happen again. Especially not inside Silent Hill over there. We'll pull in closer, see if we can shine a light through that fog, and burn rubber out of here at the first sign of trouble." Where we'd go after that, I had no idea; we'd spent most of our fuel already. Twilight's face screwed up in confusion. "Ponyville's surrounded by hills, but it's not on one. Have you not been paying attention to the geography?" I inwardly groaned – someday, I'd learn not to make references that'd be lost on ponies. We came to a stop at the edge of the fog bank, just in front of the bridge. Even with the highbeams on, our lights couldn't penetrate the barrier – it was just too dense. Part of me wondered what it was like to breathe the stuff. Like breathing soup, I'll bet. "The dike's expanded," Twilight said. "See the ditch underneath the bridge? It's been widened. Deepened, too. Somepony's done some excavating." "Yeah... looks deep enough to hide in now." I cracked the window and poked my head out, squinting, in a vain attempt at getting a better view. "Don't suppose you could clear up that fog." "I'm a little out of practice with weather magic," Twilight admitted, as I pulled my head back into the car. "But if you'll give me a moment—" From the distance came an ear-splitting crack. Moments later, the ground beside the Humvee exploded, rocking the car on its axles and spraying dirt against the armored exterior. Flecks of earth peppered my face, and I immediately regretted rolling the window down. I held tightly to the wheel as Twilight shook in her seat, looking frantically to me for answers. "What was that?!" she cried. "Artillery fire." I slammed my hands against the wheel in frustration as I thumbed my window closed. "Dammit, they beat us here!" I shifted the car into reverse and slammed my foot on the accelerator, my heart pounding as we rolled backward rapidly. Momentum jostled Cherry, and flung Dash to the floor. Shockingly, even that wasn't enough to wake her. The car turned in time with my frantic spins of the wheel as I, desperate to get some distance between us and this ambush, tried to peel away from the town. Another explosion, directly in our path, forced me to stop, with my door facing the fog bank. That was either a bad shot, or an exceptionally precise one. I guessed the latter – they were trying to box us in, and force us out of the car, rather than blow us up. Not how I wanted to make my stand, but they were depriving us of the option of retreat. So I killed the gas and grabbed for the gun rack, catching sight of Twilight's expression. She was smiling. "Snake, it's okay. We got it all wrong. That last shot wasn't from artillery; that was—" "Ozone." Rainbow Dash's head poked up from the floor, and her nose twitched as she sniffed the air. "Somepony's tossing around lightning bolts." Twilight stared past me, her smile breaking into a toothy grin. "Look out your window, Snake." I did, in time to see shapes emerging from the fog. Pastel-colored shapes, one of which I quickly realized was Applejack. With short hair. Which was actually a pretty good look for her. There were four ponies that I didn't recognize, arrayed in a V behind her. She was shouting something, and I leaned against the tinted glass of my window, straining to hear. "...Come after Ponyville, it ain't gonna end well for you, y'hear?" Applejack was saying. "So git gone, an' tell yer bosses we ain't helpless!" Okay, they wanted us gone, not out of the car. Either way, my relief that this was a misunderstanding lasted for just a moment. Friendly or no, they didn't know who they were shooting at. "We should probably say something," said Twilight with a nervous laugh. "So that they know not to, uh, kill us." "Yeah, way ahead of you, Twi," Dash muttered. Cherry Jubilee yelped in surprise and displeasure, and I turned to see Rainbow Dash boosting herself up using the other mare's flank, balancing precariously on her uninjured hind leg. I frowned. "What are you—" "Helping." Dash stretched out her forelegs, unlocked the roof hatch, and pushed it open. "But don't, like, thank me or anything." Rainbow Dash hooked her front hooves over the hatch, and vanished through it. Her hooves clanged against the car's roof. "Hey, Applejack! Could you hold off on blowing me to pieces until after you've given me that big oak barrel of cider that you promised me, like, a million years ago? 'Cuz if you kill me before I get it, then I swear, I'm gonna haunt you for the rest of forever." Applejack's resolute expression dissolved into a disbelieving stare. Her lips moved – I couldn't hear what she said, but it was obviously Rainbow Dash's name. "Nope. Little Strongheart, wearing Rainbow Dash's skin. Duh!" Rainbow Dash snapped, ignoring Applejack's watery smile. "Hey, nice aim, by the way. Give my best to whoever fired that cannon; you couldn't hit the broadside of a hydra at point-blank range. And that lightning bolt? C'mon, that literally was point-blank range. Who whiffed that? Derpy? It was Derpy, wasn't it?!" "No!" stammered a muffled, affronted voice from above us. Oh. So it was just a near miss. "Sheesh." Rainbow Dash clicked her tongue. "You ponies really are nothing without me, aren't you?" "I've always thought so," Twilight said, almost too quietly for me to hear. I undid my seatbelt and opened the door, Twilight doing the same from her side. The ponies glared at me, nervous, or outright hostile; Applejack was the only one who relaxed upon recognizing me. I waved at her. "Kept you waiting, huh?" More ponies emerged from the fog, Fluttershy and Rarity among them. Their gazes darted between Twilight and I, before settling on Rainbow Dash. Rarity looked on the verge of tears, and Fluttershy's wings were twitching nervously, as if she were barely restraining herself from taking flight and throwing herself at Dash. Hanging above the assembling ponies was a small, fluffy stormcloud, with a tuft of something yellow poking out from its top. Dash took some wobbly steps forward and slid down the windshield to the Humvee's hood. She hopped off and landed awkwardly with a spasm of pain across her face. "Ow," she mouthed, before grinning cockily. "Turned out, the afterlife is standing and flying room only." She brushed her chest with the back of her hoof. "Since I can't do either very well, you're stuck with me a little while—" A pink blur suddenly shot from the fog bank, leaving behind a trail of identically colored smoke; it struck Rainbow Dash with the kinetic force of a railgun, and bowled her over. "DashieDashieDashieDashieDashieDashiiiiieeeee!" Pinkie Pie squealed. She pulled Rainbow to her hooves and crushed their bodies together. "I knew you were alive; I knew you were okay! I just knew it!" Rainbow Dash coughed. "Sure you did, Pinkie." "And here you are!" Pinkie pulled away and pressed their noses together. "Alive! And okay!" "Yeah, totally— urk!" Rainbow wheezed as Pinkie crushed her in another vise-like hug. "Pinkie. Lungs. And wing." "Oh. Heh." Pinkie got in one last long, affectionate nuzzle before pulling away. "Sorry. It's just..." "We're all understandably happy to see you, darling," said Rarity, trotting forward daintily. "It follows logically that you're going to be subjected to a number of relieved, excited hugs. That's something you'll just have to deal with, I'm afraid." Twilight looked slyly at Rainbow Dash. "I dunno, Rarity. Rainbow and I had a talk earlier, and she swore, up and down, that she was too cool to be hugged in public." "Piffle!" Ignoring the flushed, flummoxed expression on Rainbow Dash's face, Rarity stepped forward and looped her neck underneath the pegasus's, Fluttershy doing the same. Applejack and I looked at one another, and exchanged a simple, silent nod. Why couldn't the rest of them be more like her? With Twilight, and the others, everything was all hugs and tears and giggles. Meanwhile, Applejack knew the value of a good nod. She trotted toward the throng of hugging limbs and thumped Rainbow Dash affectionately on the shoulder, before turning to Twilight and holding up her hoof – to bump, or shake, or something. Twilight saw it, froze for a fraction of a second, and ducked away. Applejack looked plainly hurt, but she soldiered past it and cleared her throat. "Uh, not t'spoil the moment or nothin' – havin' y'all back is great – but yer raisin' a lotta questions. Stop me if I'm wrong, but y'all took a train to Dodge, right? You, uh, misplace that, or somethin'?" "We ran into some trouble out there," I said, thinking back to the slagged mess that Chrysalis left behind on the train tracks. "To make a long story short, we lost a train, but got a car in the exchange. And we brought a friend." Cherry Jubilee emerged from Twilight's door, and hopped to the ground, her tail between her legs. Applejack sucked in a breath and tried to approach Cherry, but stopped when she shrank away. "What in the hay happened out there?" Applejack whispered, with a shocked look at me. "Fine question, Applejack!" The Mayor's voice, sharp and clear, cut like a razor through the atmosphere of elation. She emerged from across the bridge, an entourage of uniformed ponies in tow. The rest of the Ponyville residents who'd gathered to gawk parted for her, letting her trot toward the Humvee. "While I'd like to follow up on the matter of the train, I have another, more pressing question." The Mayor looked down her nose at us. "Stovetop. Where is she?" Twilight, a little nervously, separated herself from her friends to face the Mayor. "Stovetop is fine, ma'am. She chose to stay in Dodge, that's all." "Stay in Dodge?" The Mayor glared at Twilight. "What would possibly compel her to do that? Twilight, if you're holding something back, then—" "She's alive, she stayed behind, and that's all you need to know right now." I interposed myself between the Mayor and Twilight; the older pony craned her neck back to stare witheringly at me. "Frankly, you have bigger concerns than the whereabouts and well-being of one train conductor. There's a fight coming, and we need to be prepared for it." Behind me, Applejack chuckled. "Sugarcube, we're way ahead o'you there." That was the first time she'd called me that. I didn't like it. My words washed over the Mayor ineffectually; she stepped around me to whisper to Twilight. "Is this about the... matter... which we discussed last night?" After a pause, Twilight nodded firmly. The Mayor's expression was grave, for an instant, before it hardened. "Everypony, if I may have your attention please?" she called to the crowd. "We've had ourselves a bit of a false alarm just now. Please disperse, and return to your business for the time being." "Without an explanation?" A yellow-coated pony with a carrot on her flank shouldered her way to the front of the crowd. "We spent all day diggin' holes an' collectin' emergency supplies, Pinkie Pie's got the weather ponies spottin' for cannons an' mixin' up fog banks, Amethyst's roundin' up ponies to evacuate, and none of us got a clue why!" Cannons? Pinkie Pie? "We need answers!" a second pony chimed in. "You owe us that, Mayor Mare! Is it changelings? It's changelings, isn't it?" "Or a bugbear?" A mare with a curly, pink and blue mane and sunglasses (at night?!) poked her head through the crowd. "Asking for a friend." More ponies added their voices to the chorus of discontentment. A blonde-maned, gray head poked suddenly from the bottom of the storm cloud and looked reproachfully at the Mayor, though her eyes drifting in opposite directions robbed her expression of some intensity. The Mayor raised her hooves and tried to speak over the other voices, calling for calm and quiet, but it wasn't until Twilight stepped forward that the group settled down. "Ms. Mare, we can't keep everypony in the dark about this any longer," she said calmly. "Respectfully, if they've been working to prepare the town for an attack, then they deserve to know what's going on. Perhaps..." She glanced quickly toward the throng, and lowered her voice. "Perhaps a meeting is in order – an open forum, for the sake of transparency?" The Mayor hesitated, looking very much like a politician who'd been caught off guard by an inconvenient interview question. Then she nodded, adjusted her glasses, and looked out at the crowd. "We will be holding an emergency town hall meeting to discuss current events, and bring everypony up to speed. For the time being, however, please, go about your business – you'll be contacted with further instructions shortly." There was grumbling, and more than a few angry stares. But the townsponies did as they were asked, and filed over the bridge back into the fog. "Thank you, Ms. Mayor," Twilight said quietly. "No need to thank me. We're past the point of no return. Even I can see that." The Mayor's face was stony as she apprised Twilight and I. "I don't mean to seem cold toward you, Twilight – I'm glad you made it home." She left without another word. "Town hall meeting, huh?" I folded my arms, watching her retreat back into town. "More than I was expecting from her, after last night." "Don't be too hard on her," Twilight admonished gently. "Granted, I don't know what I was expecting, personally, but it sure as heck wasn't all of this. The Mayor came through." "Uh, more like we came through," Pinkie said, rolling her eyes. "Or me. I came through." "Pinkie exaggerates, naturally," said Rarity. "Digging the trench, collecting supplies, and preparing an evacuation strategy – we all pitched in with those, but for the most part, they came from within the Mayor's office. Standard emergency procedures, and the like. But the cannons, and the fog bank to deter outside observers? Those were Pinkie Pie's brainchildren." "My first idea was to bake bombs into pies and hide 'em in holes all over town," said Pinkie with an oafish simper. "But I kinda thought that we might forget where all the bombs were and step on 'em ourselves – that wouldn't be fun for anypony. Then the Mayor pointed out to me that there's a whole bunch of real cannons in town, from way back when Equestria still had an army!" I chewed on that – the cannons were a step up from the pie-bomb plan, but the fog bank created a complication. With such poor visibility, the cannon crews would have a hell of a time hitting anything during a combat situation. They had spotters, apparently, but unless they were particularly well-coached and organized, they could only do so much to ameliorate the larger problem. Guess we'll just have to hope they are well-coached and organized, I thought. Twilight glanced at the crater from the town's warning shot. "I thought all the military hardware in the country was boxed up in Stalliongrad." "Maybe somepony thought they'd do more good out here than way up north," said Applejack. "It ain't just the cannons we got lyin' around – there's plenty of powder 'n shells for all of 'em, too. Maybe somepony thought we'd need 'em one o'these days." Twilight looked in the direction of the Everfree, a thoughtful look crossing her face for a moment. "Whatever the reason they're here, I'm grateful for them. Good thinking, Pinkie. On all counts." Pinkie saluted, and devolved into self-satisfied giggling. "I can't tell you all how glad I am to be home," Twilight said, after Pinkie's laughter petered out. "Really, after the day we had in Dodge, I'd like nothing more than to put up my hooves, but this really isn't the time for any of us to rest on our—" Twilight fell silent as her nose started twitching; she sneezed and smiled wryly. "Sorry. I just caught a whiff of myself – it's been pointed out to me that I stink of whiskey, and, yeah, I definitely get it now. Mayor Mare said that arranging the meeting would take a while, so I think I'll take advantage of that time and give myself a rinse." Everyone immediately nodded, muttering words of agreement – everyone but Fluttershy, who stepped forward with her hoof half-raised bashfully. "Twilight? I'm very glad to see you, don't misunderstand, but..." Twilight nodded at her. "It's okay, Fluttershy. Go on." The yellow pegasus bit her lip as she looked each of us in the eye, hesitating. "Before we go anywhere, or do anything else... there's something I need to show you all." Fluttershy lived on the outskirts of town, just at the edge of the fog bank. Her house appeared at first glance to be a hollow tree, like Twilight's, but closer inspection revealed that the roof was just overgrown with greenery. The building itself was a lumpy, asymmetrical structure, its surrounding area dotted with birdhouses and populated by rabbits. It was everything I would have expected from her. Everything except for the backyard. We stood in a line, looking out at the prone, heavily damaged form of XMG IRVING-00. The machine lay on its side, with one leg curled underneath its body, and its other splayed, exposing a nasty patch of raw, red muscle along its calf. Its sensor dome flickered feebly every few seconds, and electricity crackled along exposed wiring on its head. Instinct told me to draw my gun and be ready for anything, but nothing about its appearance told me that was necessary. IRVING was a far cry from the monstrous fusion of metal and flesh that had dismantled us all so easily in the forest; if anything, it reminded me of the sick triceratops in Jurassic Park. The others were less calm about it than me. Probably because they hadn't seen that movie. "Now, I know how this must seem to you all," Fluttershy said patiently. "And I know what you must be thinking—" "Us? What are you thinking?!" Rainbow Dash's unbound wing spread furiously as she rounded on Fluttershy. Fluttershy looked stricken, but held firm. "That it's a sick animal who needs help?" "Darling," said Rarity, her voice higher than normal as she looked warily at IRVING. "There's nopony here who would ever condemn you for having a heart – it's part and parcel of who you are, after all – but your compassion, in this instance, strikes me as... misguided." "I reckon that's a fancy way of asking – and pardon my language here – what in the cold blue hell is the matter with you, Fluttershy?!" Applejack hissed. She looked at me, her expression fiery. "Tell me this don't sit right with you!" "I don't love the idea." I folded my arms, looking carefully over IRVING's prone body. "But I'm more curious how it made it out here in the first place. That was a hell of a fall it took. You don't just walk something like that off." "It wasn't quite as easy as that," said Fluttershy. Her wings unfurled and beat softly, carrying her into the air, and she hovered at eye level beside me. "I met her in a meadow, at the Everfree Forest's edge – I was there gathering flowers for Spike. Her leg was torn to pieces when I saw her; she couldn't even stand, much less walk. There was a lot of mortified tissue around the wound, so I cut it away, and she... somehow... grew new muscle and skin to replace what she lost." I grunted. "Self-healing, cloned muscle tissue, probably augmented by a nanomachine colony. Effective enough to get it back on its feet even after a catastrophic fall." IRVING was a bite-sized RAY. "Um... if you say so?" said Fluttershy nervously. "Anyway, I got her on her feet after that, and walked her back here. Partly to keep her out of sight, and partly so I could keep treating her. Fortunately, the meadow wasn't far from my house – we didn't even have to go through Ponyville. Which is a good thing, too, because that would have spooked quite a few ponies." "Spookin' ponies should've been the least of your worries," Applejack drawled, rolling her eyes. "Yer keepin' a two-legged death robot in yer backyard – that ain't a grand notion, Fluttershy." Fluttershy's ears folded. "I was running out of supplies in the meadow, though. And it seemed easier to bring her to my supplies, instead of the other way around." Applejack pressed her hoof to her forehead. "You are missin' the point. D'you not remember what that thing did to us all yesterday? Wreckin' Snake's shoulder, knockin' out Pinkie Pie and Rarity – shoot, my back's redder than Big Mac's after the scorchin' it gave me, fer cryin' out loud! An' how d'you think Spike'd feel about this if he could see it?" "She can't—" "It ain't a she, Fluttershy!" "She can't hurt anypony anymore." Fluttershy's voice rose, with a semblance of the mare who'd chastised the timberwolf alpha. "Even if she could, she wouldn't – she told me so herself." Rainbow Dash laughed – an ugly, sardonic sound. "And if you can't trust the fire-breathing robot that tried to burn you alive, who can you trust?" "Rainbow..." Fluttershy's resolve faltered in the face of Dash's naked contempt. "No, Fluttershy. I'm not gonna back you up on this. You might look at that thing, and see a hurt animal, but I see the monster that put Spike in a coma!" She pounded the dirt furiously. "He could die because of what it did to him!" "I don't need another reminder," Fluttershy whispered. "Then get your head out of your—" "Rainbow," said Twilight curtly. "Enough. We know where you stand on the issue." Dash withdrew, smoldering, and glared darkly at IRVING. Twilight, dispassionate and sage, looked between her friends. "Rarity? Pinkie? Your thoughts?" Rarity hesitated, staring at IRVING nervously. "I'm sorry, dear. Every time I look at that... thing... I just think of Spike." Fluttershy looked like she'd been slapped. "Pinkie Pie?" said Twilight evenly. "Do you have to ask? Do you really?" Pinkie Pie bounced out of the line and over to Twilight, pressing their noses together and forcing Twilight to step backward. Then Pinkie snapped her neck around to stare at Fluttershy. "You said it wouldn't hurt us, even if it could. Why?" Fluttershy, startled by the question, took a moment to gather herself. "She said that... I don't fully understand what she was talking about, but she said she wasn't in control of her actions when she was fighting us. Something else was making her act like that." "And now?" Pinkie pressed. "Now she is in control?" Fluttershy nodded meekly. Pinkie frowned, her mouth working silently while she processed this. Then she grinned. "Good enough for me! I'm with Fluttershy." Rainbow Dash's jaw dropped. "Pinkie, are you—" "Loco in the coco? Probably a little." She knocked on the side of her head, twice. "But what Fluttershy's saying makes sense. It's like Nightmare Moon, right? Nightmare Moon might've been a sourpuss, but Princess Luna's a sweetheart – she'd never do what Nightmare Moon did. So I think, maybe, if we can forgive her for Black Snooty, we can give the same treatment to... to, uh..." Pinkie trailed off and scowled. "Shoot, it's gonna take time to come up with a better name than IRVING," she muttered as she tromped back into line with her friends, her hooves squeaking with every step. Applejack snorted and shook her head. "Talkin' crazy, that's what you're doin'." But I could see it in her face – she didn't look nearly as certain as before. "What about you, Snake?" Twilight said, after a long pause for thought. "What would you do?" Curious question. Thing is, I could see both sides of the argument. Fluttershy wanted to think it had some kind of consciousness, even an identity – a she, not an it. She might've been right, but she didn't know AI like I did. The Patriots' systems, the ones that'd toyed with Jack, were fully conscious, and malevolent. No conscience to speak of, just a cold certainty in their own infallibility as rulers of America. And if IRVING had any of their influence in its systems... then, with its durability and regenerative abilities, there was no guarantee it wouldn't get on its feet and come after us a third time. It might've looked vulnerable, but who knew what it'd still be capable of, even without its primary weapons? But Fluttershy wanted to believe it was both conscious and had a conscience. That something had changed it from the feral beast that tore into us, into something more benevolent. I wasn't sure that was possible. But even if it was... ...then maybe putting it out of its misery would be the humane thing to do. "JACK..." IRVING's sensor dome rotated toward me, the light from its eye intense. I swallowed, and strode toward it, recalling as I did that my presence made it go berserk in the castle. If that happened again, well... I took comfort in the weight of the Model 500 at my ankle. I stopped with a foot of distance between us, and stared into the light, now dimming to normal. "IT'S NOT YOU... IS IT?" IRVING's voice was quiet, resigned. The dome swiveled away from me. Fluttershy's wings brought her to my side. "She talked a little about him – about this 'Jack' person. Do you know who that is? Who she's talking about?" Only with the benefit of hindsight. Had I known then what I do now, I could've told her who "Jack" was. Who this machine was mimicking, why it thought I was her Jack, and why it wanted so desperately for me – for him – to put it down. But at the time, it meant nothing. The machine's pleas were lost on me. "I know a Jack," I replied. "But I doubt it's the same one." "YOU ARE NEITHER HE, NOR HIS PHANTOM. I DO NOT KNOW WHAT THAT MAKES YOU," said IRVING, inflecting some sorrow... or some simulation of sorrow... into its disturbingly feminine voice. "BUT IT MEANS OUR BATTLE WAS A MISTAKE. I WILL NOT ASK FORGIVENESS... BUT I AM SORRY ALL THE SAME." I blinked. IRVING was apologizing. Apologizing to me. I let that fact sink in, and realized whose side of the argument I was going to come down on. Hooves crunched in the grass on my other side – Twilight had come up to stand with me. Our eyes met. I narrowed mine, and shook my head. Something glimmered in the corner of Twilight's eye. She looked at IRVING's body, her face betraying nothing. "...Do what you can for it, Fluttershy." "What?!" Rainbow Dash staggered forward, only to trip and faceplant in the dirt. Rarity and Applejack helped her to her hooves. "Twilight, you can't be serious! This thing is a monster! It's not a she; it's not even alive! It's a—" "Machine bereft of soul." The interruption came from Cherry Jubilee, who spoke in low, sonorous tones. On shaking hooves, she approached IRVING, pausing in arm's length of the machine. "Hollow life. Forged by mortals, with mind and motion bequeathed. A weapon that has learned to walk upright." She reached out slowly, her trembling hoof edging closer to IRVING's damaged head, and dropped her voice to a ragged whisper. "Such a... nostalgic feeling..." Fluttershy landed beside Cherry with her wings half-spread. "I don't know if it's soulless, exactly. When we talk, I get a sense of... of something deeper behind her words. Something like a—" "What would you know about it?!" Cherry Jubilee roared suddenly, whirling at Fluttershy with veins throbbing along her neck. Fluttershy's wings snapped fully shut, her eyes fearfully widened. The others tensed; a subtle shimmer built around Twilight's horn as her teeth set. Cherry softened after a tense moment, the fury clearing from her countenance. "I'm sorry, I... I didn't mean..." She shrank away and hung her neck limply, and stared into the distance. It was then that I realized that my hand was resting just above the magazine well of the Five-SeveN. I released it, slowly, shamefully, and hoped that nobody noticed. Twilight gave Cherry a long look, before turning toward the others again. "Fluttershy's right – even if this thing were capable of doing to us what it did last night, I don't doubt that we could stop it. As for whether or not it would, I again defer to Fluttershy's judgment. I believe her. Believe in her. As should we all." Fluttershy smiled back, gratefully, and nodded. "Now, there's still time before this meeting's supposed to happen," said Twilight. "I'm going to use that time to freshen up – the rest of you should see to your own business, too. And Rainbow?" Rainbow Dash, still clearly stung, sniffed and looked at Twilight with her eyes narrowed. "You need to get patched up," said Twilight gently. "Get to the hospital, and get your wing and your leg fixed." "I can take her over there," Applejack said. "Don't take it personal, Rainbow, but you look liable to topple over without somepony to lean on." Dash snorted. "Like you've got room to talk." I watched, out of curiosity, as Applejack led Rainbow Dash away. Contrary to her jape, Applejack leaned just as much on Dash as Dash leaned on her, leaving me to wonder who was more damaged. The others dispersed, except Fluttershy – it was her house, after all. She nuzzled Twilight, and knelt beside IRVING to inspect its leg again. Twilight watched them together, that inscrutable expression on her face again, before leading Cherry and I away. I'm not sure what a Nightmare Moon is – I sure as hell didn't know any Princess Luna, though I had a vague recollection of the name. Maybe I was missing the context; maybe I'm off base. But I knew that look on Twilight's face when she looked at IRVING. It was the same one she'd given Chrysalis, as she offered it... offered her... friendship and forgiveness. I wondered if that meant that Twilight forgave IRVING the same way. The library had been tidied up in our absence. All the books that Twilight and I had pulled for research were stacked in neat little color-coded piles around the room, delighting her. I'd assumed she was happy that someone had taken the time to put the room in order, but she quickly corrected me. "Don't you see? Whoever stacked these books made an absolute hash of it. When this is all over, I am going to have to reorganize the entire library!" The look on her face as she reared back and waved her front hooves in the air – I don't think I've ever seen such glee, before or since. She headed off to bathe. In her absence, I decided to familiarize myself a little bit more with the contents of Trenton's care package. Twilight and I had gone back to the Humvee after leaving Fluttershy's house, but we'd lugged the box to the library after realizing that carrying it would be easier than driving a big-ass car through town. Inside was a pistol, add-ons compatible with the modular MRS-4, two cans of ammunition, and explosives, on top of the documents and the change of clothes. Also taking up space was Cherry Jubilee's shotgun and ammo. Better in there than unattended in the Humvee. Shifting those aside, I pulled out the pistol – a .45, and not one of those cheap ones that the soldiers in the Everfree Forest had been carrying. This one was polished, well cleaned and oiled, with a solid frame, a buttery smooth action, and a pristine barrel, free of any fouling. The supply of ammunition for it was generous, too; I'd gone through about half of my ammo for the Five-SeveN in Dodge, and I didn't see myself replenishing that stockpile any time soon. Having another pistol in reserve was a relief. Though, once again, I'd be pissed if it turned out to be ID locked. Satisfied, I put it away, and pulled out the carbine's add-ons: a modest selection of optics and foregrips. There were two scopes that the relatively short range of the carbine made worthless, but the mid-range, red-dot sight was perfect for my purposes. So, using the locker's lid as a workbench – Twilight didn't want me getting "gun cooties" all over her furniture – I carefully affixed the dot sight, along with an angular foregrip that seemed designed for an entirely different rifle platform. It fit my hand almost perfectly, but its green paint job clashed with the MRS-4's black finish. Not that I honestly cared about the aesthetics. Just that it might make the gun stand out during stealth, you see. Twilight still hadn't come out of the bathroom by the time I'd finished, so I loaded the guns back into the locker, and pulled out the file folder. I flipped through pages of memos and inventory lists – documents that had apparently been too complicated for her tiny pony brain – and absorbed as much Pegasus Wings trivia as I could. I was reading through a particularly scintillating memo about the dire need for a long-term supply of ammunition when I noticed Cherry Jubilee eyeballing me from across the library. The mare was laid out on a pile of cushions, with a book open in front of her that I didn't honestly believe she was reading. She immediately redirected her attention to her literature when I looked her way. "Enjoying yourself?" I asked. The question didn't register immediately – when it did, she flicked her gaze uncertainly at me. I set the folder down and walked toward her, noticing the tension in her limbs – having me close made her nervous. Leaving an arm's length between us, I knelt and gently pulled the book away from her, flipping it shut to examine the cover. "SLAYMARE: THE HARDCOVER COLLECTION," it read, in jagged, crimson font. The logo had been stylized to appear defaced – presumably, for marketing and branding purposes – with "COVER," crossed out and "CORE," spray-painted sloppily beneath. Below the title, an audaciously posed mare sneered at me, standing on her hind legs with her front hooves crossed over the hilt of a longsword that she had no physical way of actually wielding, thrust into a pile of monster corpses. The mare’s coat was charcoal-grey, her flowing mane striped red and white, and her eyes were hidden behind mirrored shades. Behind her, ruined skyscrapers sagged and smoldered. "Shit, this is that comic Killjoy was talking about." I flipped past scenes of hardcore violence, blood and gore and viscera leaping at me off the page. Otacon might've liked it – he's always been into weird shit. "What fever dream did you ever find this in?" "I wasn't actually reading it," Cherry mumbled. "It was in Twilight's saddlebags. I was snoopin'." "Yeah, she got those from Killjoy. This must belong to her." I snorted, closing the book and setting it down. "Suits her, I guess. Sure doesn't seem like it'd be to Twilight's taste." "...Ain't to mine, neither." Cherry pushed it away, a smile shining through the layers of trauma and fatigue. I couldn't help wondering what sort of person Cherry Jubilee might have been like before. She struck me as similar to Applejack, but, somehow, even folksier. Her scars ran deep, but that smile was a glimpse of someone vibrant and vivacious. Someone I think I would have enjoyed getting to know – someone who, tragically, may have been lost forever among the sands of Dodge. Then, just like that, the smile was gone, and she was looking at me through that confused, semi-lucid haze. "I... I know your wavelength." Cherry grasped at her head, shuddering. "I don't even know what that means..." I reached out toward her tentatively. "Hey..." She just jerked away and rested her head on the cushion beneath her, curling her limbs tighter against her body as tears dripped onto the fabric. "I'm sorry, Snake. I'm so, so sorry for all of it." Unsure of what to say or do, I just sat there with her, watching her cry, and wondered whether that vibrant lady could ever come back from what she'd suffered. The door to the upstairs apartment opened with the chiming sound I'd come to associate with unicorn telekinesis. Twilight trotted down, levitating a brush through her mane. "Well, the bathtub's probably gonna stink like whiskey for the next thousand years, but at least I got the smell out of my coat and mane." She hopped down the last of the stairs, her look of contentment fading when she glimpsed Cherry. "Is... everything okay?" "As good as it's gonna get," I said quickly. Twilight meant well, but something told me that Cherry needed space more than she needed comfort. "Listen, I'm glad you're out. There's some stuff the two of us need to go over together." "Right now?" Twilight said as I moved back to the locker. "They should be just about ready for us at town hall, Snake." "It's important. And it won't take long." I spread some of the documents from the folder, fanning them across the locker's surface. "Hey, it couldn't hurt to catch up on your homework before heading off to the meeting, right? "Sheesh, you just had to phrase it that way." The prospect of homework put a literal bounce in her step as she joined me. "Okay, fine. Lemme have it." I separated a few papers and pushed them to one side of the locker. Twilight's magic took hold of them, straightening them into a neat pile for her perusal. "Pegasus Wings's problems run a lot deeper than just money," I said. "Everfree fauna's responsible for a lot of injuries, which have been sucking up their medical supplies, and they're burning through their food at a faster rate than they should be, even with strict rationing." Twilight scanned the documents silently for a moment. "Someone's stealing from their provisions?" "Probably a lot of people, given the amount going missing. Morale must be pretty low for discipline to break down so badly. Then there's this." I lifted the memo I'd been reading before Cherry caught my attention: a half-page, type-written message, bearing the signature of quartermaster Loomis. Twilight took the paper and read through it in a hurry. "'Though sufficient for a single pitched battle, our stockpile of ammunition will be severely drained following the cessation of hostilities. We must immediately seek a local solution, either sourcing ammunition from a neighboring state with a firearms industry, or casting and loading our own.'" "I can't imagine destroying the castle helped their ammo worries any. Or their other supply problems, for that matter." I glanced at the page. "Source it from who, by the way?" "Probably the minotaurs. The griffons make and use guns, too, but I think Macbeth has a bone to pick with them. Also, it's 'whom,' not 'who.'" Twilight shuffled the memo back into her stack of papers and thumped them on the locker to straighten them out. "The memo said 'a single pitched battle.' Does that sound hypothetical to you?" "You're asking me for a semantic analysis?" I laughed, and even Twilight looked amused. "It doesn't, no. You'd think they'd be referring to hitting Ponyville, but it's dated to last week. Trenton said they weren't planning to move against Ponyville until last night, when we forced their hand." Twilight stroked her chin with a well-polished hoof. "My thoughts exactly. But that attack can't possibly take place in a vacuum. It'd have to be be one part of a larger campaign, yet it sounds like they don't have the resources for a full-scale war." "They sure don't have the manpower," I added. "And even if they did, the logistical infrastructure they'd need to support a protracted conflict isn't there. Any hope of resupply is on the other side of the portal." "Well and truly out of reach – otherwise, their quartermaster wouldn't have suggested buying ammunition locally." Twilight gnawed at a recently trimmed fetlock, speaking through clenched teeth. "So if you don't want to fight a war of attrition – if you can't afford to – you try and put an end to things quickly. And the best way to do that..." Her eyes widened, and she spat her hoof out of her mouth. "Oh, buck me to the moon and let me play among the stars." I blinked. "Did you seriously just say—" "Snake, I'm trying to deduce out loud; could you please not?" Twilight stepped into the center of the room and began to pace, along a conspicuously well-worn circular path. "Pegasus Wings has the firepower to win a single battle, but not the resources for a war; they certainly can't invade all of Equestria. But with the element of surprise behind them, they might be able to capture and hold a city, if they move quickly enough. And not a backwater village, like Ponyville, but a strategically significant target. Like, for instance... Canterlot." There was a fortress I'd seen off in the distance, perched high up on a mountainside. If that wasn't Canterlot, I don't know what the hell could've been. "You think they'll go for a decapitation strike on your government? I guess that's an efficient use of limited resources. Makes a hell of a show of force, too." "Yeah, that's putting it mildly," said Twilight. "It's an example to anyone thinking of leading a counterattack. Not that Pegasus Wings would have much hope of fending one off, with most of their ammunition wasted, but the demonstration would be effective enough that nopony would dare risk it." The logic certainly held up, though I didn't know who would possibly be in a position to lead a counterattack. Killjoy, perhaps. "I suppose that's where Metal Gear comes in. An added deterrent, in case someone does decide to risk it. Twilight paused in her pacing. "Trenton said that it wasn't operational, though, didn't he?" "And he made a good case for it. That doesn't make it true," I said. "Even if he wasn't lying, there's no guarantee that Pegasus Wings couldn't repair its technical shortcomings." Twilight's head canted as she mulled that. "Okay, granted. But the doomsday weapon works better as a deterrent than as an opening salvo. Macbeth wants to depose the Princesses, and rule through Cadance as her regent. That tells me he needs the government's infrastructure intact in order to rule – the government apparatus, if not the ponies in charge of it. Destroying the nerve center of the country wouldn't help him rule. If anything, it would impede him." I glanced at the locker nervously as the wheels in my head spun. "That information came from Trenton, too. You know he's not on our side, no matter what happened in Dodge, right?" "Yeah, thanks; I'm not stupid, Snake. But he's clearly not playing the same game as Cain and Macbeth." Twilight nodded at the locker, and the documents spread across its surface. "You know that at least as well as I do – even better, I'm sure." "Which is exactly why I bring it up." I glanced at Cherry; the mare was observing our conversation with the same furtive curiosity that she'd watched me with before. "It's not just about the intel being reliable or not. It's about the conclusions we draw from it. What isn't here matters just as much as what is." Twilight's face turned quizzical. "What are you saying?" "Trenton's been trying to fit you and I and the others into his 'mission parameters' since we all met in the Everfree Forest. Feeding us this intel, creating a context for us to operate in – that's right out of the Patriots' playbook. He wants us to play a specific role in his scenario. These documents?" I tapped the file folder twice. "They're notes for us to follow." Twilight's brow furrowed as she considered the implications. "That might be true. But even if it is, the facts support our interpretation so far. We did blow their cover last night. That's not something they can overlook – they're going to come after us. We can't afford to second-guess ourselves." I growled, frustrated at being boxed in, but begrudgingly nodded. Then Twilight rubbed the base of her horn with a groan. "Of course, that won't stop me from stressing out over it, now that you've told me. I almost wish you hadn't said anything." "Yeah. Well. I almost wish I'd gone back home for dinner instead of walking through that damn portal." My stomach rumbled, and I started wondering where all that fruit Applejack brought got off to. "The head games and the counterintelligence crap – you get used to it, after a while. I'm not sure if that helps." "It doesn't. Not in the slightest." Twilight smiled up at me. "But at least you're trying to be empathetic." The door chose that moment to swing open with a blue shimmer. Rarity stepped through it, balancing a long, narrow cardboard box and a thick red book on her back. Twilight's ears perked at the sight of her. "Hey, fancy seeing you here. We were just..." Rarity stepped aside to allow Applejack entrance, and Twilight's smile faded. "...Just, um..." She coughed and looked away. "What... what brings you two over? I didn't think we'd see you until the meeting." "Well, Twilight, we've been without your august presence for much of the day. Can you blame us for wanting to bask in it?" Rarity floated her box onto a nearby book pile, and beamed at Cherry Jubilee, who looked blankly back at her. "That," Applejack added, "an' we got a li'l bit of unfinished business we wanted to wrap up, 'fore the meetin'. I saw Rainbow off to the hospital, 'fore you ask. Figure they'll be finishin' up any minute." She chuckled weakly. "You're both lookin' good. Better'n me, anyhow." What I assumed was humorous self-deprecation was actually right on the money. Applejack didn't look like death on four legs anymore, but the exhaustion was still evident in the way she carried herself – like she was supporting some invisible weight that bent her knees and made her legs quake. The bandages on her back had been changed, and the smell of ointment hung around her like a cloud of sickly perfume. ...And it hung around Rarity, too, I noticed. I wondered if that meant she'd been helping Applejack with her bandages. They did arrive together, after all. Conspicuously so. Twilight looked perplexed as she glanced between the different piles of books. "Unfinished... wait, did the two of you...?" "Conduct a thorough and exhaustive research project, and tidy your own mess as well?" Rarity batted her eyelashes. "Well, yes, but the latter was just a side project during the former. We found the library in a state of chaos, and, well – we couldn't just leave it that way, could we? Especially since somepony left certain, shall we say... objects of utmost privacy laying about in the open." Objects of utmost...? "Twilight, at what point did you decide that you absolutely needed a gilded unicorn horn?" Ah. Of course. Twilight seemed to reach the same conclusion as me, because her face lit up, and she stammered out a denial. "Rarity, if you're talking about what I think you're talking about, then that isn't a—" "Ah-bup-bup!" Rarity darted toward Twilight and placed a hoof over her lips. "Darling, while owning something like that is nothing to be embarrassed about, and I would never shame you for it, such things are to be kept... discreet. Not left about in the open where anypony can see them. I mean, my sister uses this library—" "Rarity?" I called, raising my voice to be heard over Applejack's badly stifled snickering. "Any more blood rushes to Twilight's face, she'll probably pass out." Seriously, she didn't even blush that hard when Killjoy kissed her... Rarity lowered her hoof from a fuming Twilight. "At least the color suits you?" she said weakly. Twilight responded with a rosy-cheeked glare. Applejack cleared her throat. "Hokay, someone's gotta get this train rollin' – guess it's gotta be me. So Rarity had this idea earlier, that she was tellin' me about over coffee..." Rarity straightened. "Ah, yes! As I told Applejack, I was pondering matters in the shower – you know, as one does. Specifically, the events of last night, and our conversation with that dreadfully pretentious Macbeth fellow. And it struck me that a pony of his appearance, bearing, and general state of mind should probably not be counted on as a trustworthy source of information. I mean, an unwashed vagrant, yammering about being a high-ranking member of the civil authority three decades ago? You can find one of those on every streetcorner in Manehattan." "How would you even know that, sugarcube?" Applejack teased, elbowing Rarity. "Spend a lotta time on Manehattan streetcorners?" "I shan't dignify such vulgarity with a response. We are trying to lessen the crudity in this library, Applejack, not worsen it. Though I suppose I did set the precedent." Rarity sniffed and tossed her head, her curly mane bouncing with the motion. "Anyway, Applejack and I came down to the library on a mission to verify his claims." Twilight looked my way briefly – neither of us had thought to do that. We'd focused our reading primarily on the portals, among other things on her part. "And did you?" Twilight said to Rarity. "Verify his claims, that is." "Well... no. Not remotely." A book in a pile beside Cherry Jubilee dislodged itself, sending the rest of the stack toppling down. Cherry yelped and scrambled away, drawing closer to Twilight. The book floated toward Twilight's face and flipped open. "Applejack and I poured over records regarding the pre-Pax military, and the government ministries of that era," said Rarity. "We found no mention of a pony named Macbeth holding any office whatsoever. The last Secretary of War, before the military was disbanded, was a stallion named Angel Hair." I snorted, and smothered my laughter behind my hand. Twilight ignored me, and read through the book before it snapped shut in her face. She blinked, and looked up at Rarity. "He must have been lying, then," said Twilight. "About that much, at least." "So I assumed, too," Rarity said. "But then, Applejack had a thought, and we ran to Sweet Apple Acres—" "You ran. I hobbled after you like a gimp," Applejack interjected wryly. She retrieved the red-bound book from the table, rocked onto her haunches, and flipped it open with her forelegs. "A photo album?" I said. Faded pictures, black and white and sepia and washed-out kodachrome – or its Equestrian equivalent – flew past as Applejack sought a particular page. "Why would that matter?" "Because the Apple family memory goes all the way back to Ponyville's foundin'," said Applejack as she pulled a picture from its sleeve with her teeth. "My Granny Smith was one of the first ponies to settle here. Five years on, they held a rodeo to celebrate. Look who was there." Twilight's magic took the photograph from Applejack, and it hung in the air as she inspected it. Curious, I stepped over to get a look at it, too. A trio of sepia-toned ponies crowded in front of a crate of apples, full to the point of spilling over. The grinning pony in the middle with the short-cropped mane resembled Applejack, right down to the hairstyle. I took that to be her grandmother. Seated to her left was another mare, who looked to be about the same age, smiling uncomfortably as Applejack's grandmother hugged her close and squashed their cheeks together. On her other side was another pony, male, but smaller than the other two – younger, I supposed. His unkempt hair and arrogant sneer made him look like a cocky, insufferable bastard. I had a feeling of where she was going with this... "Auntie?" said Cherry suddenly, leaning past Twilight to get a better look. "Auntie Hickory?" Applejack looked at her, startled. "Yeah, that's right. Hickory Switch. Friend o'Granny's, from a long time ago. Y'all related?" Cherry stared at the photograph in silence. Applejack's question hadn't even registered. After a few minutes of awkward waiting, Applejack coughed. "Well, that's interestin', but not really what I wanted to show y'all. Flip it over, Twi." Twilight did, to reveal a trio of signatures. Smith Apple and Hickory Switch were written at the top in surprisingly neat cursive. At the bottom, in messy block letters, was the name Angel Hair. "Celestia," Twilight breathed. She flipped the photo back over, staring at it. "Angel Hair, indeed. That's Macbeth." "You sure?" I said. She looked sidelong at me. "Trust me, I got a pretty good look at his face when he shoved it against mine and stabbed himself on my horn." I thought about the unwashed bum I'd seen accompanying Cain, with the natty facial hair and the crazed look in his eye... Maybe Twilight should've washed a day earlier than she did. Who knew what infested that beard? Applejack plucked the photo from the air and tucked it gently back inside the album. "So, yeah – crazy jackwagon or no, looks like our boy Macbeth weren't lyin' about runnin' the war department. Guess he changed his name after leavin', though – maybe thinkin' that 'Angel Hair' weren't a good name fer a rebel." "Guess I should've figured that from the start," Twilight mused. "Though a name like 'Macbeth...' I can't make heads or tails as to why he'd choose something so..." "Pretentious?" I offered. "Meaningless," Twilight corrected. "Maybe he thought it up, decided it sounded cool?" A chill ran through me. "Yeah. Yeah, maybe." Twilight kept her eyes on the album for a moment longer, her lips pursed in thought. "As much as I would enjoy pursuing this further, we have a meeting to attend. Applejack, Rarity – thank you, both of you." "Shucks, Twi," Applejack chuckled. "T'weren't nothin'. Heck, if you want, we can come by when all this is done, help you reshelf all them books." "What?! No!" Twilight looked at Applejack – avoiding her eyes, but still, looking at her – in alarm. "No, that won't be necessary. I can handle it. Promise." We were all staring at her – even Cherry – surprised by her overreaction. "I was just... looking forward to doing it myself, that's all." Twilight pawed at the floor. "It's relaxing." I exchanged a smirk with Applejack. "Everypony needs a hobby, okay?!" Twilight, flushed, stomped out of the library. "Let's just get to the stupid meeting, already." Ponyville had changed in the time since we'd left. Sandbag barriers, manned by sentries with flashlights, farming implements, and other makeshift weapons, blocked off alleyways and boulevards. They nodded politely at Twilight and the girls, but afforded no such courtesy to me. More ponies patrolled the town, drifting like colorful shadows in the fog all around us. They kept their distance. I understood why, of course. Twilight and her friends may have accepted me, but their neighbors weren't about to give me that chance. Given the reason behind this town hall meeting, it's not like I could blame them. Applejack and Rarity walked ahead of us, conversing softly. They didn't move very quickly, but Twilight wanted some space, and so they gave us space. Cherry Jubilee stuck close to Twilight – a packed town hall may not have been the best environment for her, but neither of us wanted to leave her alone, especially not under the same roof as her shotgun. I saw how she looked at it in Dodge; I knew her scars ran deep. Leaving her alone with it, for any length of time... Shooting the lock off of the box was a mistake, in hindsight. I made a mental note to store it somewhere more secure, as soon as I was able. As we walked, my thoughts turned to Macbeth. For the first time since hearing his name out loud, I found myself struck by its significance. I'm no literary critic, and I'm certainly no Mei-Ling, but even a rube like me knew the tragedy of the Scottish usurper, Macbeth. The feudal noble who lost himself to his own ambition, and died on the sword of the man prophesied to kill him... you show me a madman looking to depose the legitimate ruler of a sovereign nation, calling himself by that name, and it's not difficult to connect the dots. But this was Equestria, a place which seemed to exist only to baffle and annoy me with inexplicable cultural coincidences. "Canterlot," and "Mooselini," and who knew what else. Who was I to assume that "Macbeth" didn't have some meaning intrinsic to this place, too? So I kept the parallel to myself, because why not? What made him special, or different? If I stopped to comment on every single bizarre congruence between their world and mine, there wouldn't be time to discuss anything else. Hell, the fact that we could even communicate didn't make a whole lot of sense. Then Twilight dismissed the name as a cool-sounding alias. And then, I started thinking. I started thinking about the odds that a revolutionary would come up with that name, independently, and purely by coincidence. I started thinking, what were the odds that there was a similarly titled play, with a similar premise, about a similar character, which none of my new friends knew about – which Twilight, bookworm extraordinaire, who lived in a library, didn't know about? And when I dismissed those possibilities as ludicrous, and concluded that "Angel Hair's" alias was chosen because of its significance... I started thinking about the implications. Twilight knew him as Macbeth from his revolt, five years before, so he'd had the name for at least that long. He had to have gotten it from somewhere. It might not have been not Trenton, or Cain, but someone had already brought our worlds into contact. That's the only way "Angel Hair" could've gotten his alias. Maybe our Lord of the Flies was to blame for that. Two English literary references within as many days... what were the odds that was coincidental? A hip-check from Twilight got my attention. "You're awfully quiet. Lost in thought?" "Why not?" I said. "Plenty to think about." "True, but visibility isn't great right now. Unless you want to introduce your face to the ground, you should probably at least keep your eyes up." Twilight winked. "What's up?" Despite her teasing, Twilight seemed pensive, too. Maybe even worried. I remembered just how badly she was trying to hold herself together, to portray stability and courage to her friends. Maybe getting Rainbow Dash back had helped her regain her confidence and optimism, but she was still fragile. I couldn't share this with her – not yet, anyway. It would be yet another conundrum for her to unravel, and she already had the weight of the world on her back. When everything was over – if we both survived – I'd tell her. When she'd had a chance to relax, and clear her mind. Not an instant before. "Just trying to figure out how this town hall business is gonna go," I said. "What we should expect." "Well, considering we'll be apprising the entire town of an impending, existential threat that they've all been secretly preparing for..." Twilight grinned lopsidedly. "I'm expecting hysteria, but short-lived hysteria. Once it subsides, I'm going to call for a vote." "A vote?" "Like I said before, Equestria has no military – that's by law. But local townships can organize their own militias in times of crisis. It has to be done by majority vote, however." We climbed past another sandbag barrier. This one was manned by a steely-eyed black stallion, armed with a woodcutter's axe, whose silver mane and mustache reminded me uncannily of Revolver Ocelot. He had a crinkly-eyed smile for Applejack, and exchanged pleasantries with Twilight, but his hooves tightened around the axe's shaft when he glanced my way. Twilight picked up her earlier train of thought, having apparently noticed nothing from Ocelot Pony. "Anyway, I'm assuming we'll have a quorum at the meeting, even with so many ponies out guarding the town. Or foalsitting; there'll probably be some foal-related absences. But barring complications, or good old fashioned voter apathy, I think we can put the militia to a vote." "Sounds good," I muttered, glancing back to glare at Ocelot Pony, whose glare still followed me through the haze. Feeling's mutual, pal. "The trouble is, with measures in place to evacuate and defend the town, everypony will be split between those two," Twilight said, drawing my focus back to her. "Most ponies' first choice would probably be to avoid a fight, and that's probably what the Mayor will push for, too. There are ponies who'd be willing to stay and fight, granted, but I don't know if there'll be enough." To win the vote? Or to hold the town against attack? Twilight didn't specify, and I didn't ask. I suspected both could serve as answers. Instead, I said, "Do you have a preference?" "I'm the one calling for the militia." Twilight smiled, though her eyes looked immeasurably sad. "You?" I chewed my lip. "All things being equal, I'd prefer to take the fight to them – infiltrate their base and sabotage their vehicles, or ambush them on the road and take 'em out with guerrilla tactics. But I don't think either of those are on the table." Twilight chuckled humorlessly. "You're doing a good job of making what options we do have seem utterly unappealing." "I don't mean to. Just saying, this isn't how I'd do things normally." I reached out to draw her to a stop, causing Cherry to nearly walk into her backside. "But we're in this together. You want to mount a defense, I'll help you get it right. You want to evacuate, and I'll see you on your way." Applejack and Rarity paused in their stride, looking back at us – Twilight hurriedly waved them on. "And then what'll you do?" she said, when the others were gone. I shrugged. "Go back out to the field, I suppose. Head through the Everfree, try and bypass the castle, and make my way out to Metal Gear on my own." With their forces spread between Ponyville and Canterlot, that'd leave Metal Gear open and vulnerable to some kind of sabotage – there'd be no better time than that. Twilight shook her head and patted me on the knee. "You should know by now that you're not on your own. Whatever happens, we're in this together. All of us." We resumed walking, and arrived at town hall not long after. The building loomed like a giant lantern, with yellow lights strung along its balconies and flickering in its windows. The Humvee was parked not far from the building; a few ponies milled about the vehicle, their low voices audible in the wet stillness of the night. More were emerging from the town proper, filing inside the hall. Applejack and Rarity were waiting for us at the entrance, still looking concerned. Twilight quickly assured them that everything was fine, and urged them inside. Applejack went in first. But Rarity paused, and looked back at me. "It slipped my mind earlier, but that box in the library? That's for you, Snake." I blinked, momentarily excited at the prospect of a new box, before remembering its small size – it clearly wouldn't work as a tool of stealth. "What is it?" "A token of appreciation for all of your help. And... an apology. For how I spoke to you last night." She toyed with the curly spring of hair dangling off her neck. "Also, for good measure... I just wanted to thank you, personally, for helping our Rainbow Dash home. Come what may, you'll never leave my good graces." With one last beatific smile, Rarity sauntered into the building, leaving Twilight, Cherry, and I behind. "Bet there's something good inside that box," Twilight said knowingly. "Hey, stay out here while I nip in and check out the crowd, okay? C'mon, Cherry." She followed after Rarity before I could protest being left alone, Cherry clinging to her heels like the lost soul she was. I watched them go, then sighed in exasperation and turned around. A clump of ponies, several feet away, stared warily at me, refusing to walk past me to get inside. For a few, long seconds, I just stared right back at them, wondering if attending this meeting was a bad decision on my part. "Snake! Hey, Snake!" Apple Bloom rescued the skittish ponies from their uninvited staring contest, bounding out of the fog toward me, the ribbon in her mane flapping behind her like a butterfly's wings. Hell, that would put a smile on anyone's face. I vacated the doorway to greet Apple Bloom, the crowd of ponies shuffling inside. The filly eventually skidded to a stop at my feet and sat down, her tail swishing in the dirt. A few ponies from the crowd stopped short of entering the building, and watched disapprovingly as Apple Bloom and I caught up. "What'cha been up to today?" Apple Bloom said, heedless of the crowd. "Makin' friends, or makin' trouble?" "Little of both. Emphasis on the trouble, though. A little arson, some vandalism. But it wasn't all fun and games." I lifted my bandaged forearm. "Whoa..." Apple Bloom's eyes bugged out. "What happened?" "Got bit. By, uh... a zombie. A zombie pony." "C'mon, Snake. Zombies ain't real," Apple Bloom said in a lecturing tone. Then, biting her lip, she said, "Can I...? I mean, d'you mind if I...?" Silently, I unwrapped the bandage, just enough to expose the bite. "Oh, gross!" Apple Bloom laughed, her grin widening at the sight of Jinglebell's threadwork. "That is the coolest thing ever! Gawsh, I wish Scoots an' Sweetie could see this..." Sometimes, I am good with kids. "It's awfully late for you to be up and about," I said, as I rewound the bandage. "You're not running away again, are you?" "Har har," Apple Bloom drawled, rolling her eyes. "Naw, I'm here on account'a Applejack. She said there was some big meetin' goin' on, about the bad guys in the woods. Asked me if I could talk about... about what happened yesterday." A slight shudder rippled through her, and I found myself questioning the wisdom of Applejack's request. True, Apple Bloom had a unique perspective to offer on the Pegasus Wings situation. But she was also a child who underwent a traumatic experience, and I wasn't sure that sharing it with the whole town would be therapeutic for her. I knelt in front of Apple Bloom and lowered my voice. "What happened to you out there was rough. You gonna be okay with reliving it?" Apple Bloom's bangs shadowed her face as she dipped her head. "'Member that stuff you said, Snake? About livin' a life worth savin'?" My nod seemed to encourage her; she drew herself up and spoke more firmly. "Way I see it, this is how I can do that. I ain't no hero, like you an' the girls, an' I can't do nothin' t'save Ponyville if the bad guys come for us." A flush crept up my neck. "I'm really not a—" "But I can do this. Y'know? For Spike, an'... an' anyone else who gets hurt 'fore this is over." She reared up slightly and rested her hooves on my upturned knee. There was a childish innocence in her eyes, part of her unmarred by the previous night's horrors. "An' don't you say you ain't no hero, Snake. You are to me, as much as AJ." Well, if that didn't make me feel all warm and fuzzy... Then the moment was killed by a voice like a rusty wheelbarrow screeching from across the plaza. "Lemme at 'im! Lemme at 'im! Where's that scum-suckin', good-fer-nothin', son of a diamond dog?!" An elderly green mare hobbled toward me with shocking speed... if not grace. She was trailed by Applejack's brother, who watched the scene unfold with the largest, most passive-aggressive smirk I'd ever seen on an equine face. Apple Bloom, my one and only advocate, hastily wheeled around to hold her back before she could come within striking distance. "Granny, no! He helped save me, 'member? He's one o'the good guys!" "Yeah?" The old mare spat out the side of her mouth. "Well, he still put the whammy on m'boy, sugarcube, an' there's gotta be a reckonin' fer that. Been waitin' all day to look him in the eye an' give him a piece of my mind" Apple Bloom's grandmother stuck her neck out. To my bafflement, and mild disgust, the layers of loose, wrinkly skin along her neck stretched like rubber, until she and I were nearly nose to nose. The stench of liniment and old lady breath was almost too much for me. We stayed like that, watched by a crowd of lookie-loos, until a low hiss escaped her lips, her breath making my eyes water. "Sweet biscuits an' gravy, yer an ugly one." Wow. The damage to my olfactory senses was nothing compared to the blow she dealt my poor ego. Applejack and Twilight scampered to my side... or Twilight scampered; Applejack staggered rapidly. The former took Granny by the shoulder and guided her toward the town hall. Apple Bloom gave me an apologetic look before following after them. Big McIntosh just chuckled darkly. "That was uncalled for," Twilight said, scowling at Granny's back as the Apple family retreated. "Sorry you had to deal with it." "Forget it," I muttered, rising and brushing dirt from my knees. "I did shoot her grandson; I suppose I deserve a little tongue-lashing over that." "Hmm. Well, you got off easy. If Granny thought to bring her walker, we'd probably need to drag you to the hospital all over again. She can do some real damage with that." Twilight tugged my sleeve telekinetically, and started back to the building. "Anyway, it looks like everything's all set up. We're still waiting on a few stragglers to start the meeting, but..." "Yeah, about that," I said, pulling my hand back until Twilight's grip loosened. The crowd that had gathered to watch the Apples and I had dispersed by then, but I still felt their gazes crawling all over me. "I think it's better for everyone if I sit this one out." Twilight balked. "Why? You scared of public speaking, or something?" "Scared? No." Although it was far from my favorite thing in the world... "Then what's the problem?" Twilight sounded testy, but there was a familiar undercurrent of concern in her words. I sighed. "Applejack's grandmother isn't the only one here who seems to have a problem with me. You must've noticed how your neighbors look at me. At best, I'm a curiosity; at worst, a freak. " "That... yeah, granted," Twilight said abashedly. "But that's their problem, Snake, and it's one they have to get over. They need see you, to know you're on their side. Having you on stage, hearing you talk—" "They need to see you, Twilight. You're the brains of this outfit. You're the hero here." That was not a role I could fill, no matter what Apple Bloom said. "I told you before that I'm with you on this, and I meant that. But until the fighting actually starts, you want me in the background, out of sight and mind. Not out in the open." Twilight shook her head. "You know their capabilities better than anyone else," she said, desperately trying to find a good angle. "Guns and tanks, flying machines, doomsday weapons..." "You have those too, don't you?" I interrupted gently. "Guns and tanks, anyway. And you've seen their arsenal in action. There's not a whole lot that I could tell them that you couldn't, and it's all stuff they can conceptualize. You and your friends got the gist of it without much effort on my part. Hell, so did Zecora." Twilight sputtered and stammered in search of a rebuttal; finding none, she just slumped, as if the defeat weighed physically upon her. "What'll you do in the meantime?" I shrugged. "Well, I'm at least as overdue for a wash as you were, so..." She snickered, the sound netting a half-smile out of me. "I'll be fine," I insisted, less facetiously. "Come back when it's all finished, let me know how it went, and we'll go from there. Alright?" "...Alright," said Twilight, at length, reluctantly. With a parting smile, she headed inside the town hall. It was for the best. Twilight and her friends may have accepted me, may have even liked me. I'd never admit it to them, but the feeling was more than mutual. Barring the occasional, helpful townspony, though, I doubted the rest of them would ever share in the sentiment. They didn't need to see more of me than they already had. Plus – and mind you, this was not my primary motivation – with Twilight gone, I could smoke on my way back to the library. Town hall was filled to capacity with ponies. Even the many gallery seats were occupied out of a pressing need for every last inch of real estate, forcing many pegasi to hover above the crowd. Twilight sat on a stage set up at the far end of the room, alongside her friends. Apple Bloom leaned into Applejack's chest, with the elder Apple's forelegs crossed protectively over her. The others chatted quietly, catching one another up on current events, all while trying desperately not to stare at Rainbow Dash's now-prominent facial scars. The doctor's hornwork had revitalized Rainbow, repairing the fractures in her leg and her wing. Neither worked at a hundred percent, not yet, but that was to be expected. She wouldn't be pulling any rainbooms in the near future, but she could walk, and she could fly, and that was enough for now. But the scars on her face didn't fade so easily. They weren't so bad on the right side, just three thin lines from the corner of her eye to her jawline. Those gave her a sort of rakish charm, and complimented her natural good looks, in Twilight's opinion, anyway. The one on her left side was just ugly, though – a thick, fat worm with a faint curve, just below her cheek bone. But Rainbow Dash took it all in good humor – scars were sexy, she said, and they made her look badass. And when Applejack gently cuffed her ear, for swearing in front of Apple Bloom, she took that in stride as well, as her friends joined her in laughing. But Twilight didn't. The normality of the scene was fleeting, illusory. One glance at Rainbow's scars, or Applejack's bandages, gave it away. She just watched them laugh, smiling, the taste of ashes in her mouth. The conversations in the room ebbed to a low hum when Mayor Mare took up the podium and spoke. "Welcome, everypony, and thank you for coming out here. I know it's late, and short notice, but we have a very important matter to discuss. No doubt you're all aware of the town's renewed disaster-preparedness campaign; no doubt most of you have participated in it. I'm sure you are all curious as to why." She paused, a flicker of uncertainty in her eye. "Twilight Sparkle, if you would be so kind as to explain?" Twilight looked back at her friends, and their encouraging expressions buoyed her as she trotted to the podium. Mayor Mare stepped away, and Twilight took her place, adjusting the microphone and leaning into it. "Thank you, Mayor Mare." Twilight lingered on the sight of Cherry Jubilee, seated with the Apples in the front row, before sweeping over the hundreds of other ponies staring back at her Best keep this succinct. "Over the last two days, my friends and I have uncovered a plot by a former government official to overthrow Princess Celestia, with the support of a mercenary company calling itself 'Pegasus Wings.' Despite the name, they're actually from a race called 'humans,' and they're armed with weapons and technology far beyond our own. So far, we've managed to stall their efforts, with the help of another human. You may have seen us with him – his name is Solid Snake, and—" Someone in the audience snickered obnoxiously. Twilight scowled. "Anyway – also, whoever that was, grow up – you might've also heard about things going awry, in or around town, lately. The fire at the mountain junction, flight restrictions imposed without explanation, problems with our telegraph lines – we think these are all in preparation for a retaliatory attack against Ponyville. Our lines of communication with Canterlot are cut, meaning we can't call for help, and even if we could, it's probable that they'd be dealing with an attack of their own, and couldn't spare reinforcements." Twilight paused for effect, and for breath, drinking in the sight of so many wide eyes and blanched faces. She attempted to smile. "Questions so far?" That was when the expected hysteria began. Shouts and cries and noisy stomping filled the room as hundreds of ponies jockeyed to be heard over one another. Twilight's horn flashed, and a thunderclap silenced everypony present. "One at a time, please?" she said sweetly. "Yes, Mr. Softshoe?" An elderly stallion, bald and bearded, waved his cane above his head. "That queer feller, the one who rolled up wit'choo in the whatchamacallitmobile – he's one of them evil hew-mons, right? With the Pegasus Wings?" Twilight's eye twitched. "He's of the same race, yes. But he's not a member of Pegasus Wings." "Sure about that?" Softshoe jabbed his cane at Twilight. "You real sure he's on the up-and-up? I mean, he ain't even bothered to show up to account for himself; he sent you out to speak for him. How d'you know you he ain't just playing you?" "I assure you that Snake is on our side." Twilight's voice strained, as did her patience – this was precisely why she wanted Snake there, to speak for himself! "He has a vested interest in stopping Pegasus Wings, and he's saved my life more than once." "Mine too!" Apple Bloom chirped. Twilight glanced back to see Applejack give the filly an affectionate noogie. Softshoe looked grouchily at Apple Bloom and grunted. "All the same, I think it's for the best if we don't give him free reign of the town. Maybe we should lock him up, or put him in chains an' watch him. We can march him with us when we evacuate, keep an eye on him that way. I ain't alone in thinkin' that, am I?" He wasn't. Ponies nodded, and rumbled their agreement, and Softshoe looked smug and satisfied as he returned to his seat. The Mayor put an end to the rumbling by coming to the podium and leaning into the microphone. "Let's not lose sight of why we're here, everypony. Twilight has assured me that our... visitor... is an asset, not a liability. I admit, I'm not entirely comfortable with him either, but I trust her judgment. We're not here to cast suspicion on anyone; we're here to brief you, and decide upon a course of action together." "Mayor Mare is right," said Twilight. She tried to give a grateful smile to the Mayor, but the older mare's face remained all-business. Time enough for that later. "Getting back on topic," Twilight continued. "I notice that the town has been partially fortified, that an evacuation plan is in place, and that defensive measures are already being prepared. However, nopony has spoken to me of any organized militia, so... am I correct in assuming that there hasn't been any effort at forming one?" No one responded. As I thought. Her stomach knotted. Softshoe had spoken of an evacuation as a given, and nopony had contradicted him. This would be a harder sell than she thought. "Then, per the terms of the Pax Equestria, I motion that the Ponyville municipal government authorize the creation of a local militia, to defend the town from incursion." Mayor Mare's eyes fluttered shut, and she sighed, as the room broke again into shouting. "Second! Second! I second the motion, dagnabbit!" Granny Smith's voice carried over the others as her hoof smacked noisily against the floor, silencing everypony else. "I done lived in this town since I were barely more'n a yearling, an' I'll be cored 'n quartered 'fore I let sum bunch'a crazy gorillas chase me out!" "Oh, sure, send Granny Smith Apple off to war; that'll send 'em runnin'!" the elderly Softshoe snapped back. "You gonna stand on yer porch an' rattle yer dentures at 'em, y'old fruit bat?" "Don't you take that tone with me, you yellow-bellied ol' codger!" Granny fired back, turning to shout at him over the crowd. "You ain't too old fer me t'hike up yer tail an' lay a tannin' on them bony cheeks o'yers! I'll whip 'em 'til they're a-glowin' red hot, an' hoist you up a flagpole hind-first!" Apple Bloom laughed at her grandmother's vitriol. Softshoe flushed; his retort was swallowed in a chorus of yells. Twilight glanced back at her friends, all of whom looked as lost and helpless as she felt. "The record will show – the record will show!" Mayor Mare called, repeating herself in a shout. She continued more evenly once the arguments had died down. "The record will show that Twilight Sparkle petitioned to form a militia, as is her right. However, I'd be remiss in not pointing out that our evacuation plan, which Amethyst Star and I developed ourselves, remains a viable alternative." Twilight could see the effect that the Mayor's words were having on the crowd, canceling out Granny Smith's earnest enthusiasm. Ponies muttered and nodded their agreement, turning to converse among one another. Bushy-maned Golden Harvest stepped out of the front row and looked up at the podium. "Miss Twilight, I just – I'm sorry, but I'm thinkin' a militia ain't the way to go. We ain't soldiers; we don't got no way to fight off no invasion. What if we try gettin' somepony who can? Maybe we can't send a telegram to Canterlot, but... can't we just walk there, or take that wheelie machine you showed up in?" "The 'wheelie machine' doesn't have the fuel for a trip like that," said Twilight, relieved at the relatively reasonable question. "And the trip is prohibitively long, on hoof, in the timeframe we're working with. Besides, to do so would tip our cards to the enemy – there's reason to suspect they might be watching us." Or that someone in town is funneling information to them. Trenton's deliberate vagueness on that point left her feeling uncertain. She didn't want to reach the point where she started suspecting friends and neighbors, and she didn't want to turn the town on one another based only on suspicion and innuendo. Still, she kept searching the faces in the crowd for some subtle indicator that all was not well... "But that's all the more reason to evacuate, Twilight," another voice pressed – a pegasus pony with a two-toned, pink and green mane, styled almost identically to Twilight's. "I mean, we did a good job whipping up that cloud cover, but if the bad guys were already watching Ponyville, spying on us? That might not do us as much good as we thought." Mayor Mare made a sound in the back of her throat. "That's a valid point, Blossomforth. As innovative as the fog bank was, it's not impossible that the enemy could bypass it and report on our defensive strategies." More nodding heads and resolved expressions. Twilight began to sweat. "Mayor Mare? Twilight?" This voice belonged to Bon Bon, on the far left of the room. "If I may?" Twilight met her eyes and nodded. Bon Bon looked out at the sea of faces. "There is zero guarantee that any invading army wouldn't pursue us if we evacuated the town. And if there are scouts or spies watching us, then they'd be able to report our movements and our numbers as we do. We'd just be delaying an inevitable confrontation, one we'd be even less prepared for. An evacuation would make a militia more necessary, not less, because we'd need a rearguard to cover the rest of the town's retreat." "She has a point!" Amethyst Star, on the other side of the room, poked her head out from the crowd. "We developed the evacuation plan assuming there'd be some kind of organized resistance, Ms. Mayor." Twilight seized on their idea and clutched it like a lifeline. "I think what they're saying – thank you, ladies – is that forming a militia and evacuating the town aren't mutually exclusive options. The question is, can we field an effective enough militia to successfully defend the town and cover the evacuation?" "Talk of a militia is premature; we still need to put it to a vote," Mayor Mare interjected, sliding up to the podium. She covered the microphone with her hoof, and spoke to Twilight in a low voice. "If you have a case to make for this, then make it now." Yet again, the room went dead silent. All eyes were on Twilight now. She girded herself, wondering how she could reconcile arguing in favor of a militia, and a battle, whose mere thought made her feel ill. None of them want it either. We're united on that much, at least. Speak from the heart, Twily. "I know it sounds... daunting. I know it sounds scary. I understand how you all feel, because I feel the same way at the mere thought of fighting. I don't want a militia; I don't want to fight a war. I want things to be how they were, before any of this ever happened." She paused, biting her lip. "But the stakes are too high for us to just turn and run away. The Ponyville, the Equestria, that we all know and love – that's what we stand to lose through inaction." The other townsponies, her friends and her neighbors, exchanged looks of uncertainty with one another. Softshoe's face just turned sourer and sourer. "If we vote to form a militia, then it'll be volunteer only," Twilight went on. "Nopony will think less of you if you choose not to stay and fight. Honestly, I wouldn't blame you. But I promise you this: whether alone, or with you all at my back, I'll stand and fight for Equestria." A hoof rested on her back; she turned to see Rainbow, with an uncharacteristically gentle look on her face. The others lined up on either side of Twilight, who felt warmth stir within her chest. Of course. I won't be alone. "Hey, Twilight," said an uncannily familiar unicorn, with a white coat and pink mane. "If we're really gonna vote on this, then... maybe we ought to know a little bit more about what's going on than what you've given us. Some more specifics about what you've been dealing with. That's a reasonable request, right?" "I think it is," said Twilight. She exhaled slowly. "Alright, then. From the top." Squeezing into a bathtub made for a quadruped less than half my size was a struggle, and washing myself with Twilight's products, a harrowing ordeal. I had no idea if they were safe for human use; for all I knew, there were chemicals in her shampoo that'd make me go bald, or something. But climbing out of the bathtub to look at myself at the mirror, and really studying my reflection, for the first time in what felt like decades? That was a kick in the old gonads. God only knows why, but Twilight kept a razor, and a pair of shears, under her sink. I used both to clean myself up – trimming my hair, shaving days' worth of stubble off my face and neck. In the end, I looked cleaner, smoother. But there was no masking the care lines and wrinkles on my cheeks, the crows' feet in the corners of my eyes. No hiding the flecks of gray in my hair, the streaks of white in the locks carpeting the floor, the salt and pepper in Twilight's sink, and on the razor blade. I didn't feel like a man as far beyond my years as the man behind the mirror, but there was no hiding from reality, painful though it may have been. Somewhere along the line, my reflection had become that of a stranger. The clothes Trenton provided me with were standard issue Pegasus Wings fatigues – navy blue trousers and jacket, with a long-sleeved black undershirt, along with socks, briefs, boots, gloves, a harness, and brassards. I settled on the shirt and the pants, leaving the jacket out for the time being, and ignoring everything else besides the socks and the underwear. I had gloves and boots and a harness already, and the brassards bore the emblems of Pegasus Wings and Zanzibar Land. I refused to wear either into battle. Twilight had come back from the meeting while I was in the bathroom. She was emerging from the stacks with a pile of rolled-up papers and scrolls balanced on her back as I descended the stairs. At the sound of creaky steps, she turned her head, and whistled in astonishment when she saw me. "Not bad!" she said. "When you said you were gonna clean up, I wasn't expecting the change to be quite so... dramatic. But I gotta say, I like the new you." "You were gone for a while. I had to pass the time somehow." I shrugged, taking the last two steps at once. "I moved the locker into your room, too, by the way. Best that we keep it out of sight, if Cherry's gonna keep hanging out here. Hope you don't mind." "Not at all, on either count. Though I hope you at least had the decency to clean up after yourself in the bathroom." She narrowed her eyes at me. "Please tell me you cleaned up after yourself." "I cleaned up after myself." Twilight's lips pursed. "No, you didn't." I smiled, wondering in the back of my mind how worn and leathery it made my face look. "How'd it go?" Twilight looked like she wanted to give me an earful, but she managed to focus on my question. "As I thought, it came down to a vote. And, as I assumed, the vote was pretty close." "But?" "...The town voted to form a militia." She looked at me grimly. "We're staying, Snake. We're meeting this war head-on." Within the hour, we transformed the library into a war room, carrying books off to the stacks to clear space for charts, chairs, and tables. Maps of the town and the countryside, as far out as Canterlot, hung from the walls, hiding the empty bookshelves. Twilight and I went back and forth between them, discussing each in turn, while she marked them up in red pen to reflect the patrols and checkpoints, and the evacuation route. In the middle of the room was a chalkboard which she used for reference purposes – every now and then, she'd dash over to it and jot down her errant thoughts, or notes about military strategy and terminology. In the bottom-right corner were three numbered entries: Red Sun, Canterbria, and Lord of the Flies, the second underlined twice, the third underlined thrice. I felt a twist of guilt in my gut as I realized I could shed some light on one of those points for her. As with Macbeth, I'd tell her what I knew... which, granted, wasn't much... but not yet. Not when she was hanging by a thread that grew thinner and more taut with every twist this crisis took. Ponies came and went as we worked. Twilight's friends, and others I didn't know, made sporadic appearances to report on their business in town. Rarity and Rainbow Dash were out seeking recruits for the militia. Fluttershy was seeing to her menagerie of animals, urging them to find safe haven in one of Ponyville's nearby forests. Only Applejack and Pinkie Pie, and a third mare I hadn't been formally introduced to – one of the group who'd met the Humvee – stayed for longer than a few minutes. Applejack had come over with more fruit and a bag of coffee, and immediately sequestered herself in the kitchen to prepare something for us all. She'd brought an earth pony named Bon Bon, who'd shown some kind of strategic acumen earlier; Applejack figured that made her a good asset for the planning phase. She helped out in more ways than that, though – when Pinkie came by to report on the cannons' ammo and powder reserves, Bon Bon pulled her into a thorough discussion of her artillery qualifications. This removed the possibility that Pinkie and I would have to interact, endearing Bon Bon to me tremendously. I was studying a map of the Ponyville area, alone and yawning – the Mayor had swung by, and Twilight had excused herself to talk with her – when Applejack emerged from the kitchen. She balanced a platter with apple slices and some coffee cups on her head, with such poise that the idea of her dropping anything was remote and unfathomable. Cherry Jubilee was curled up on the stairs, more furniture than pony, and Applejack stopped by her first, offering food and drink and a kind word or two. But Cherry didn't seem to notice, so Applejack left her a mug and some apples, and moved on to Pinkie and Bon Bon. Eventually, she brought what was left to me. "Need a pick-me-up?" Applejack said. The scent of cinnamon wafted up from the tray, making my mouth water. I sighed, reaching for the last mug and a generous wedge of apple. Applejack watched me slurp and chew, chuckling. "Yeah, I had a feelin' y'all would be hungry." "Understatement," I said around a mouthful of fruit. Swallowing, I added, "Thank you." "Gonna make me blush, Snake." Applejack dipped her tray like a hat, without sending all its contents spilling over the edge. "I'm just glad I could find some way to help out. All this strategizin' stuff goes over my head. Doubt I'd be much good with any of it – I ain't cut out fer maps 'n charts. Not like some ponies." She glanced wanly at Bon Bon and Pinkie. I frowned at her, thoughtful, from behind the rim of my coffee cup. Applejack noticed... somehow... and smiled, rolling her eyes. "Hey, I'm just sayin' it how it is. I'm still gonna be part o'this fight, helpin' out how I can. Whether that means fightin' shoulder-to-shoulder with everypony else, or jus' servin' up coffee 'n fruit, I'm yer gal." "That's a vital service." I smirked. "I literally would not have eaten anything tonight if it weren't for you." Applejack's smile faded as Twilight detached herself from the Mayor and trotted back over to rejoin us. "Reminds me of somepony I know," she mused quietly. I emptied my mug, and turned to greet Twilight as she came into earshot. "Everything alright?" "Mayor Mare just wanted a progress report. No big deal." Twilight floated a cup of coffee and the last pieces of apple from the platter, without looking at the mare who'd prepared it. "Thanks, Applejack." Something flickered across Applejack's face for an instant, some show of emotion that didn't stick around long enough for me to parse. She simply doffed the now-empty platter, set it on the floor, and nodded. Twilight turned to regard the map, sipping thoughtfully and taking small bites from her snack, as Bon Bon broke away from Pinkie Pie to join us. "After talking extensively with Pinkie," she said, "I've reached two conclusions. One: Pinkie is utterly and completely mad, and two, Pinkie really, really knows her artillery." The pink pony grinned at us and waved. Her upper lip was stained brown from her coffee, giving her the semblance of a thin, curly mustache. "Toldja so!" she said cheerfully. "I had to get certified to carry my party cannon, after all." I stared back at her. "Party... cannon?" "Exactly what it sounds like, bestest buddy." Pinkie lapped off her coffee mustache, pushed away from her table, and looked expectantly at Twilight. "Can I go now? I don't like leaving the Boom-Boom Brigade alone for too long – they get antsy without me." Twilight gave a flimsy, joyless approximation of a smile. "By all means, Pinkie." Pinkie grinned and bounced out the door, whistling a jaunty tune. I stared, dumbfounded, after her. But I don't know what it sounds like, I thought. That's why I asked. "All that said, I'm not sold on the cannons' positioning," said Bon Bon, dropping the glasses back over her eyes and looking at Applejack. "Or, rather, their proximity to the Sweet Apple Acres shelter. If the enemy has any brains whatsoever, then they'll make taking out our artillery a priority. That puts the farm, the apple cellar, and anypony inside, in harm's way." Applejack rubbed the back of her mane sheepishly, her cheeks reddening. "Guess I didn't think o'that. S'pose we ought'a move somethin'." "The shelter," Bon Bon insisted. "Not the cannons." Applejack gave me a sidelong look. "Like I was sayin'," she muttered. Twilight finished her apple and cleared her throat. "You want to take a look at this, Bon Bon? Snake and I were trying to predict the enemy's approach before the Mayor came by. We've ruled out a western approach, since their camps are all east of Ponyville, but with the road through the Everfree cut off, they probably won't be coming from that direction, either. Of course, as I told Snake, an aerial attack would make this whole question moot." "I think we can rule that out," I said. "Their helicopters are suited for troop and cargo transport – if I were Cain, I'd use them to airlift as many of his men to Canterlot as possible, instead of making them schlep up the mountainside." Bon Bon stepped over to the map, staring at it closely. "So if they're not coming from the east, the west, or by air, then that leaves either north or south. Hmm..." She nabbed Twilight's pen out of the air with her mouth, shifted it to the corner of her lips, and reared onto her hind legs, pressing her forehooves against the shelf behind the map. "We're working under the assumption that the enemy's base camp is deep in the Everfree Forest, right?" she said, chomping down on the pen like a cigar. "And, also, that they're going to attack Ponyville and Canterlot simultaneously. In that case..." Sliding the pen to the middle of her mouth, she traced a long line through the forest, just east of where Twilight had marked the castle. The line stretched far to the north, between a river to the west and a place called Rambling Rock Ridge to the east, and terminated at the base of the lonely mountain where Canterlot perched. Twilight squinted at the spot where the line ended. "The mountain junction? What about it?" Bon Bon spat the pen into her hoof and wiped it off on her barrel. "We've been told that it caught fire, and that's why rail travel into Canterlot's closed off. That could well be true. It could also be that the enemy is occupying the junction, using it as a staging area to launch both attacks, to lessen the strain on their supply lines. I've been out there before – there's room enough to house a small army, if one was so inclined." Comprehension dawned on Twilight. She set her coffee mug on the floor, levitated the pen from Bon Bon's hoof, and traced another line west from the junction. This one followed a prominent road, which forked: north toward Canterlot, and south, directly into Ponyville. "Oh dear," Twilight whispered. "To say the least," Bon Bon muttered. "They could try to skirt around the town and hit our flanks, but they would still approach from the north. Probably deploying outriders to screen their approach, too." Twilight swallowed, capped the pen, and slid it behind her ear. "North it is, then. What else do we know?" "Not a whole lot," I admitted. "Logic suggests they'll commit most of their forces to Canterlot, but that doesn't tell us exactly what they're throwing our way. But if I had to guess, primarily infantry, with light armored support – an APC, maybe two, to transport troops and help break through hard points." Twilight glanced at her chalkboard, checking the definition of "APC," something I'd given her earlier. Like tanks, except not, she'd written. "Think we'll see real tanks?" she asked, perhaps prompted by her own note. "They don't have tanks, plural – they have a tank." An antiquated T-72, to be precise. "It's possible, but I think they'd want to send it to Canterlot, instead. Their fleet puts an emphasis on speed and mobility – cars and trucks, with the odd armored vehicle. If they only have one tank, then they'll want to put it where it'd be best suited. Say, a siege against a castle. It'd be wasted in Ponyville." "What about Metal Gear?" Applejack asked. "They could send it after us. Or after Canterlot." "A REX that's been built to spec could easily make the journey either way, and turn the tide of whatever fight it was in," I said. "But the one they have is a black market mess, built by militants in a cave with a box of scraps. I doubt it could make it through the Everfree." "Any kind of armor is a threat," Twilight insisted. "We don't have any guaranteed countermeasures for armored vehicles. Even if Metal Gear's sitting the fight out, and they're just sending tanks – or little not-tanks, rather – I don't think our cannons will be a match for their plating." "Relax," I said. "I've got a plan." Twilight looked at me skeptically. "Your last plan was incredibly convoluted, and barely worked, recall." "That was as much your plan as it was mine, recall. This one's much more straightforward." I shuddered inwardly at the memory of the saloon battle. "We use the C-4 Trenton provided to turn the Humvee into an IED – a car bomb – and pack it with as much explosive material as we can spare. We'd need to protect it long enough to get it into position, but the explosion would be sufficient to take out at least one vehicle." "And if they send more than one?" said Bon Bon. "Let me worry about that," I said, resting a hand on my hip. "I can handle any armor they send our way with what I have on hand – not easily, but I've managed it before. It's the infantry you need to concern yourself with." "Saying that doesn't make me any less concerned about the armor," Twilight said, though she definitely looked a little less concerned. "The infantry, on the other hoof, I think we can deal with far more easily. I've been doing some thinking on that point." "Oh?" I raised an eyebrow. "You have a plan?" "More of an idea that I can see mutating into a plan," Twilight corrected. "Though it's only worth talking about if we can muster enough of a militia to put it into action. If we do, then great – I'll brief you all on it. If we don't..." She didn't finish the thought, but I knew how she might've. If we didn't have the numbers to hold the town, then the best we could hope to do is fight a delaying action. Probably a doomed one. The smart thing for me to do in that eventuality would be to slip away, pursue Metal Gear, and leave Ponyville to its fate. But I knew I could never do that. Not after Dodge. "In the meantime, we need to start coordinating this defense in earnest," Twilight said, the authoritative tones of a leader hiding her uncertainty. "I'm thinking we'll regiment it four ways – earth ponies, unicorns, pegasi, plus Pinkie's cannon crew. I was thinking I'd lead the unicorns, personally, and Rainbow more or less runs the weather team by now, so she'd get the pegasi. For the earth ponies—" "I know where you're goin' with that, Twi," Applejack interrupted, shaking her head with a humble smile. "And I'm mighty flattered, but I'm gonna have to pass." "...Actually, um..." Twilight shot a quick, furtive glance at Applejack. "I was gonna ask... Bon Bon." "...Oh." Applejack's smile stretched into a thin, bony rictus. Bon Bon lifted her sunglasses to expose a pair of turquoise eyes, widened in shock. "You want me to help you lead?" "Well... you already kinda have been in a leadership role so far." Twilight laughed weakly. "How about it?" Bon Bon stammered, looking between Twilight and Applejack. "I... I mean, I could, but... what about Applejack? Shouldn't she...?" Truth be told, I thought Bon Bon was the better choice. But I'd fully expected Twilight to offer the command to Applejack anyway, and for Applejack to turn it down. Bon Bon would've gotten the job in any eventuality, but Twilight could've at least allowed Applejack to save some face. This was a snub, plain and simple. And Applejack knew it. The hurt in her eyes was obvious. But she didn't let it get the better of her. "It's like I was tellin' Snake, sugarcube, I don't got a head fer none o'this," Applejack said to the still-gobsmacked Bon Bon. "But you do. Shoot, I'd follow you – and I'll tan anypony's hide who says they won't." A self-conscious smile spread across Bon Bon's face. "Well, with an endorsement like that, how can I say no?" "Heh, yeah. You got this, Bon Bon." Applejack stepped past Twilight to pat Bon Bon's shoulder. Then she shot me a look, one which reminded me powerfully of the one Rainbow Dash had given me, when she was all but dead and begging me to keep Twilight safe. I nodded back. Satisfied, Applejack smiled. "Guess I oughta talk with Big Mac 'n Cheerilee 'bout movin' the shelter. We'll find some other place 'fore the town goes kablooey, don't fret." She turned away, and limped to the door. "Applejack!" Twilight blurted, taking a step after her friend. "Wait. Please, it's not... it has nothing to do with..." Applejack paused and craned her neck around to regard Twilight, who immediately stopped stammering and dropped her gaze to the floor. "It don't bother me none, Twi. Really." "That's not what I..." Twilight's tail swished; her knees shook and knocked nervously. "Please, don't take it personally. I still need you. Okay?" Applejack stared silently at her. Then, in a soft voice, she said, "Look me in the eye, an' say that." Twilight's eyes lifted – for a fraction of a second – before she crushed them shut and drooped her head again. "'S'what I thought." There was no resentment in Applejack's voice. "I'll see y'all later, girls. Snake." With that, she walked off into the night, pulling the door shut with her tail. The minutes stretched on as Twilight stared after her, silent and unmoving. When she finally spoke, she sounded like the broken mare from the last night, when she'd dropped all appearances and retreated to her bedroom as a disconsolate mess. "Rainbow Dash should still be at the town hall with Rarity," she said stoically. "Pass their assignments on to them, Bon Bon. I'm gonna have a look around town, check things out for myself. Maybe help with the evacuation a little bit. We'll meet at the hospital in two hours, alright?" Bon Bon snapped to it right away, nodding and heading out. "What about you?" Twilight said to me. "What'll you be doing?" Guess I didn't fall into any of the regiments she'd laid out. Suited me fine, unless she wanted me in another leadership role. "If it's all the same to you, I'm gonna get started on the Humvee. Rigging it'll take some time; the sooner I do it, the better off we'll be." Twilight nodded. "Sounds good. Come find me when you're all done." Then Twilight was gone. Whatever courage she'd plucked after Dodge seemed to be wearing off, as the reality of our situation settled on her. And her friendships were showing signs of strain, too – or at least, her friendship with Applejack. Twilight drew strength from her friends; if things with just one of them fell apart, there's no telling how bad she might crack. I tried to put it out of my mind, and turned toward the stairs— Cherry Jubilee was gone. Her fruit and coffee sat untouched where Applejack had left them, and the door to Twilight's bedroom – with the locker, and the shotgun – was ajar. "Shit." I bolted up the stairs and flung the door open – Cherry's head was inside the locker, her saddlebags drawn tight. She pulled out as she heard my approach, and whirled around. "You wanna step away from there, Cherry," I said calmly. Her eyes were wide and frantic. "I wasn't trying to—" "Don't. Just... don't." I raised my hands, placating. "Must've been tough, biding your time, waiting for us to be distracted enough to make a break for it. I respect your patience. But you are not getting that shotgun." Malice lit in Cherry's eyes. "You have no idea—" "Don't I? I saw how you were staring at that thing after you shot Chrysalis." I took a carefully measured step forward. "It's not the first time I've seen someone in pain look at their gun that way." "You have no right to deny me," Cherry hissed. She stomped her hoof. "It's not your decision, you understand me? It's not your decision to make!" "I don't want you to blow your brains out, Cherry." I said it as calmly, and levelly, as I could. Cherry froze, and turned her head away from me, her eyes fluttering halfway shut as she spoke haltingly. "That's not what I'm after. I do not... want... to die. I want... to... fight. I do not want—" Her chest heaved as her breathing grew heavy, and a shudder ran through her. She clenched her teeth; the trembling in her body made them rattle together loudly. "Not... Dodge. Not again. Friends, neighbors. Dead, worse. Never... again." That was a desire I could identify with, one I could understand, and respect. But I still couldn't let her have that gun. "I believe you," I said, stepping closer to her. "And if you want to help out, we can find a place for you, some way for you to keep your friends here alive." When I was right in front of her, I knelt, and rested a hand on her withers. "But not like this. Alright?" Cherry looked back at me, her green eyes shimmering. Her lips moved, but no words came from them – it looked as though there was something she was trying desperately to say. Finally, she just nodded, and wiped away her tears. Then, unexpectedly, she rushed into my chest and leaned against me. "I'm sorry." Cherry sniffed, shutting her eyes. Caught off guard, I just patted her awkwardly. "It's... alright. Look, wait for me downstairs; I'll walk you over to the hospital when I'm done up here. Maybe someone there can find a place for you." Cherry squeezed tighter against me, for just a moment, before pulling away and shuffling out of the bedroom. She paused in the doorway. "That box, downstairs. Somethin' real nice in there, I'll bet." She smiled at me, and her face cleared for an instant, before she left. I got what I came for, and double-checked to make sure that Cherry's shotgun was inside, counting off the rounds I'd confiscated from her. When I was satisfied, I shut the lid, and leaned my weight against it. Something still seemed... off. Before, during my rummaging, I glanced only briefly at the C-4. I was mostly preoccupied with the carbine and its add-ons, and only looked at the bombs it to ensure that they weren't armed and ready to blast me to kingdom come. There was enough there to blow the Humvee, no doubt about that; the plan could still go ahead. It struck me as odd, though, that Trenton would give me that much C-4... but not pack a detonator. "Ooh, here's a grand notion," said Granny Smith as she trudged through the dense corn maze. Stalks soared high above her head, their tips lost in the fog. "We need an emergency shelter fer all them old folks 'n foals what can't make the trip out to Whitettail Woods. Why not Sweet Apple Acres?" Granny paused to thump her hoof against the ground, listening carefully with an ear cocked low. Grunting, she found another spot a few paces away, and repeated the process. "Now, do we run it past ol' Granny first? She knows th'farm better'n anypony dead or alive; she could find a good spot to stick yer huddled masses! Naw, let's just empty out the brand new apple cellar, an' shove everypony in there! No better place fer a shelter, right?" "Yes, Granny, we're all right fools fer not comin' to you sooner," Applejack sighed. The elderly mare's creaky hips and arthritic gait meant that their walk was slow going, but considering her own injuries, Applejack didn't mind so much. Cheerilee was too good-natured and sweet to complain about their pace, but Big Mac's annoyed huffs conveyed his displeasure clearly. They also had to put up with an endless stream of castigation from Granny, who had perfected castigation to an art form. "Long as we got that clear," Granny grumbled, ducking under a drooping ear of corn. "Now see here, young'uns, it's time fer a li'l Apple family history. Oh, it must've been sixty years ago – yer great uncle, Braeburn Sr., he had himself the funny notion that he'd start himself a bootleg corn whiskey operation! 'Course, it weren't illegal t'brew 'n sell yer own moonshine – Johnny Law hadn't pruned that branch'a ne'erdowellery – but yer grunkle was always a few shy of a bushel, an' I could never say no t'him..." Granny thumped her hoof against the ground again – and this time, whatever she heard made her face light up. "Mac, be a dear, come help yer granny with this." Big Mac stepped forward and leaned down, helping Granny dig away the layers of soil hiding a piece of wood, one stinking of rot and covered in wriggling earthworms. Baffled, Big Mac tossed it aside, revealing a worn, earthen staircase leading underground. Applejack balked. "What in the— Granny! You seriously tellin' me that you helped Grunkle Braeburn build a still under our cornfield?!" "Be more accurate t'say we planted a cornfield over a still," Granny corrected, without a lick of concern. "We got foals runnin' around back here on Nightmare Night, Granny!" Applejack cried, looking aghast at her grandmother. "Oh, button yer lip; it's never caused problems 'fore, an' it's savin' all yer hides now." Granny wagged her eyebrows. "Really wanna complain?" Mollified, yet still miffed, Applejack stepped inside, the others following after her. The caverns were dank, and cold, yet spacious, though a sulfury stink hung in the air. "Certainly roomier than the cellar," said Applejack begrudgingly, trying her best not to breathe through her nose. "An' the cornfield's far enough from the cannons to keep anypony down here outta harm's way. But dang, that's a stench..." "Is it? Hardly noticed." Granny paused beside Applejack, looking nostalgically around the chamber. "Oh, I ain't been down here since the still 'sploded. Spent that whole week cleanin' out piles o'corn mash 'n broken glass. An' piles of Grunkle Braeburn, too! Me an' him like to crack open a bottle o'cider an' laugh about it, every now 'n then." Applejack pulled away from the older mare as she inhaled deeply. "Nothin' quite like the taste of a sweet, sweet memory," Granny sighed. Cheerilee forced out an awkward laugh. "That's a wonderful story, Granny Smith." "Want me t'share it with yer class next time yer havin' a family 'preciation day?" Granny grinned gummily. "...We'll talk about it." Cheerilee sidled up to Big Mac, looking around. "What do you think? Will it work?" Big Mac looked around, and nodded slowly. "Applejack's right – it's better than the cellar. Room for more food 'n stuff. An' the foals won't be packed together so tight. You an' me, neither." "Shame." There was just a suggestion of something less than family-friendly in Cheerilee's tone as she smiled knowingly at Big Mac. "I wouldn't have minded that part." Big Mac blushed, though it was hardly noticeable against his coat. "Well, uh... I don't mind gettin' close if you don't, but—" "Y'know, I ain't gonna be down here with y'all," Applejack interrupted, scowling. "Which means I'm gonna have to take it on faith that you two won't start canoodlin' in front'a the foals. Please don't give me reason to worry about that." "Aw, let 'em canoodle," Granny cackled, elbowing Applejack. "How else am I s'posed t'get great grandchildren?" Applejack rolled her eyes, muttering grumpily to herself as she turned to the stairs. "Hey." Her brother stampeded after her, cutting her off as she emerged into the cornfield. "What d'you mean, you ain't gonna be down here?" "I mean what I said. Now move." Applejack tried to shoulder past him, but Big Mac didn't budge. "Thought you said you weren't gonna be in the fightin'," he growled. "I said I weren't helpin' to lead the fight. I'm still gonna be in the thick of it. Now move." This time, she did make it past him. Big Mac was too flummoxed to stop her. "You ain't serious," he said, following frantically after her. "Yer a limpin' lump o'bruises an' burns, an' you're barely hangin' together. You seriously wanna get kicked around even more?" "Lemme guess, you want me to hide in there an' canoodle with Cheerilee, 'stead of you, while you do all the fightin'?" Applejack stopped and whirled – or turned, gradually and painfully – to glare at her brother. "Not that the prospect ain't mighty appealing, but—" "Damn it, take this seriously," Mac snapped. "You done plenty. Let me risk my life out there fer a change, li'l sister." "Green ain't yer color, big brother," Applejack growled, leaning in close. "I don't got time fer no masculinity conundrums. If yer jealous that the little sister's down there takin' lumps fer Ponyville 'stead o'you, then that ain't my problem." His eyes widened indignantly. "What kinda brother d'you think I am? I never felt that way 'bout you, not once! I'm proud o'you fer all yer heroics, Applejack – no brother alive's ever been prouder!" Applejack tossed one of her forelegs in exasperation. "Then what is the big deal?!" "The big deal is that you almost died last night!" Mac thundered. "You an' Apple Bloom both! An' where was I, huh?! Out cold, under a box, in the barn!" Applejack felt guilt, icy and sharp, needle its way through her body. "When I heard from you what happened out in the forest, it was like Ma 'n Pa all over again." Mac's lips shook and his voice quavered, and he looked away. "I never wanted t'feel that way ever again, but yesterday..." Applejack felt her anger and annoyance drain away. She couldn't be mad, not when she knew exactly how he felt. "Mac..." "I don't wanna be down there, hidin', with the old folks an' the foals. Wonderin' if yer comin' back at all, feelin' that sickness in the bottom of my stomach." Big Mac looked furiously, tearfully, at her. "I don't want to bury no more of my family!" "I know how y'feel, believe me. I felt the same, when it was Apple Bloom." Applejack cupped Big Mac's face with a hoof, and he leaned into her touch, shaking. "But I gotta be down there, Mac. The girls need me, an' the town – even if I ain't leadin' 'em, they're gonna be lookin' fer me. They gotta see me in the mix, gotta know I'm with 'em." Big Mac covered her hoof with his own. "You don't gotta be alone, AJ. You don't need to carry the weight o'the town by yourself." "I won't be." She bumped their noses together. "I got my girls, Mac." He leaned down and pressed their foreheads together. "But not your brother," he said in a strained whisper. "No. I need you here, Mac. I need somepony I trust lookin' after everypony, an' more'n anypony else, I trust you." And if things in town went bad, then he needed to live. To carry on, for the farm, for the family, and the sister she'd be leaving behind. She left that part unspoken, but she knew that they were both thinking it, that it was at the front of his mind as he pulled her in close. "Don't make me bury you, little sister," he sobbed into her charred, chopped-up mane. His hooves wrapped tenderly around her, minding the burns, and the bruises, and her sore, damaged bones. "I love you, y'hear? Don't you dare leave us all alone." Applejack shut her eyes, and let her brother hold her. Against his size, in his embrace, she felt like a little filly all over again. Rainbow Dash and Bon Bon stared at Twilight in slightly stunned silence. Around them, in the hospital lobby, ponies rushed about to prep the building for an influx of injured defenders. Twilight grinned weakly. "So... any feedback?" "Uh, yeah. A little." Rainbow Dash leaned closer. "Don't get me wrong, Twi, the idea's awesome – awesome enough that it sounds like something I'd come up with. But are you sure you can pull it off? You said the shield you cast in the saloon broke against a swarm of zombies—" "Golems." "Whatever," Rainbow sighed. "The point is, do you think you'll be able to cast one that'll stand up to gunfire?" "And even if it can, that's only half the battle," Bon Bon added. "We're looking at a close quarters melee, if your plan works." "Which means we can engage them on our terms," Twilight said. "With their guns, they can just sit back and pick away at us from a distance, but if we close the gap, then we deprive them of that advantage. It'll be a mess of a brawl, sure, but we have no chance at range. And the shield will hold, Rainbow. Trust me, both of you – we have enough ponies to pull this off." In truth, she wasn't sure on that point. Twilight had been hoping for upwards of two hundred ponies, with an even number of representatives across all three of Ponyville's racial demographics. In the end, they'd only been able to scare up sixty earth ponies, ten unicorns, and sixteen pegasi. Not counting noncombatants, the militia numbered only eighty-six. She couldn't let her disappointment show, though. She had to be strong, to project confidence. "We'll assemble the militia in front of town hall in one hour for a full briefing. You should both see to your regiments before then. Rainbow, I want you to designate some fliers as messengers, and work out routes between them – we want to make sure we can keep coordinating this defense if things get hectic. I don't want our lines of communication cut off." "I'll see what I can do," Rainbow said with a facetious salute. "But keep in mind, most of the pegasi in town are either AWOL, evacuating, or doing the non-combatant shtick, like Fluttershy and Bulk. The only pegasus ponies who volunteered to fight came from the weather team, and they've got their hooves full maintaining the fog and working as spotters and look-outs. Which is exactly where we need 'em, given how bad visibility is with the fog. I don't know if we'll have enough for messengers, too." "Did you say...?" Twilight's ear flicked. "You're missing some of your team?" "I put Thunderlane and Blossomforth on patrol duty, and didn't realize what a mistake that was until after they vanished. Probably to crawl all over each other," Rainbow added bitterly. "And nopony's seen Cloud Kicker in days." Blossomforth... she spoke up during the town hall meeting. She was worried about spies... Twilight's niggling worry must've shown on her face, because Rainbow patted her reassuringly. "Don't freak out on me, egghead. Cloud Kicker's a flake at the best of times; she probably just flew to Cloudsdale for the week without telling anypony. Wouldn't be the first time. And as for Thunder and Blossom, I'll find 'em and chew 'em out. Everything's fine. Okay?" Twilight, unconvinced, nevertheless nodded, shoving her misgivings deep down for the time being. "See to your ponies, Rainbow." Rainbow gave Twilight another pat, and swept outside. Twilight turned to head deeper into the hospital, Bon Bon following after her, as nurses and orderlies rushed this way and that. "You got a second?" Bon Bon lifted her sunglasses and peered closely at Twilight, eyebrows knitting together. "If you don't mind me asking, when was the last time you got a good night's sleep?" "It's been at least a couple days," Twilight admitted. "But I slept a little on the train to Dodge. I had this dream, something about teacups and garbanzo beans..." "Sounds refreshing." Bon Bon patted Twilight's back sympathetically. "You're holding up remarkably." No. I'm not. Applejack would have known better. "Likewise," said Twilight. "I know you didn't ask for this job, but you're doing pretty well. If I didn't know better, I'd swear you had a talent for this sort of thing. You weren't with the Guard, by chance, were you? Maybe as an officer?" "Who, me? Nah. Candy mare's all I am, and all I've ever been." Bon Bon laughed, but Twilight could sense her deflecting as she lowered her shades. "Anyway, if you're sure you're okay, then I should probably go. I want to whip at least some discipline into my regiment before the fighting starts." "Sure." Twilight nodded. "Town hall, in one hour. Don't forget, okay?" "Aye aye." Bon Bon grinned, and set off down the corridor. Twilight turned a corner, and stepped into a hallway lined with windows, many of which had been nailed shut. The culprit was Rarity, who was currently pressing a board across a window pane and pounding home a nail with precise swipes of a telekinetically gripped hammer. Beside her was a bucket, presumably full of nails. "Involving yourself in manual labor, Rarity?" Twilight called as she walked the hall's length. "Things must be more dire than I thought." "How droll. I'll tell you what I told Fluttershy: I have never been afraid to get my hooves dirty, should the situation necessitate it. It's my way of making a difference." Rarity gave the nail one final thwack and sighed with satisfaction. "There. One more down, and only... however many outward-facing windows are left in the hospital to go." Twilight looked down at her materials – or lack thereof. "I'm pretty sure you just ran out of wood, Rarity. And you could use a few more nails, too." "Oh... details." Rarity looked pensively at Twilight. "Are you well, darling?" "Just fine, Rarity." Twilight liked to think she was getting good at faking smiles, but the fashionista's face twisted sympathetically regardless. What fooled Bon Bon would never work on her closest friends. "Twilight," said Rarity, stepping away from her window to cup Twilight's chin. "It's just me. You can be honest." "Rarity, please." Twilight's smile fell, and she brushed Rarity's hoof off her face. "Not right now. Just... just let me pretend, okay?" If I let myself fall apart, I'm never gonna be able to put myself back together again. "You don't have to," Rarity murmured. "Let me be there for you. The way you were there for me today." "You are there for me, though." Twilight gestured at the boarded-over window. "See? You're right where I need you." Rarity narrowed her eyes. "That's not what I meant, dear." "...I know." Twilight hugged Rarity, who returned it half-heartedly. "When this is over, we can have ourselves a good cry together, maybe over ice cream. But right now..." "Fine. Say no more." Rarity stroked a hoof through Twilight's mane. "But know that I shall hold you to your word." Spike's room was still Spike's room, despite the hospital's hurried preparations, the pooling and rationing of critical supplies, and the planks of wood nailed over his window. He lay in his bed, his lips wrapped around his feeding tube, as though he were a baby again and it were nothing more than a gigantic bottle. On the bedside table was a bouquet of white flowers, and a golden brooch set with a heart-shaped ruby. Twilight's eyes stung. Behind her, the doctor who'd treated Spike coughed, and Twilight turned to regard him. He was more drawn and red-eyed than she was, probably in part because he'd performed two complex procedures in the same day, on two of her friends, with little sleep. "We've moved most of our patients to a single ward at the back of the hospital," the doctor said through a yawn. "Spike, though... we can't move him, not with the feeding tube. So he gets the best room in the house, and all to himself, too. Though I can't guarantee he'll remain alone. If the injuries start piling up, we'll need every inch of space we have." "Thank you, doctor." She touched his shoulder. "You've really gone above and beyond lately. I won't forget it." "I don't intend to let you." He left, shutting the door behind him. Twilight reached out to Spike, tracing her hoof along his cheek, his jaw. After so many years, he still felt like a fragile, porcelain doll, his scales as smooth as the day she'd hatched him. She thought back to that day wistfully. Princess Celestia had asked if she wanted to hold him, but she was too afraid she'd drop him, and that he'd break into a million pieces. Even after Celestia patiently explained that his scales were harder than every bone in Twilight's body put together, that she was physically incapable of doing him any harm... short of hurting his feelings by refusing to hold him... she couldn't bring herself to put him in danger. I should never have brought him into the forest with me. No matter how much he pleaded. "I wish you were here with me, now, Spike," she whispered. "I wish I could talk things out with you. You'd probably say something sarcastic, and unhelpful, that I'd scold you for... and then, when you weren't looking, I'd laugh, like always. I miss your voice. I even miss that sense of humor that makes you such a pain in the butt. I... I just miss you. More than I thought possible, I miss you." Twilight leaned in close, and kissed Spike softly on the cheek. "We're going to win this." She slid her hoof into his limp and open hand. "And you are going to survive. And I will never let anything hurt you again. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, or something she imagined... but she swore she felt his fingers close around her hoof. The town had largely evacuated by the time Twilight emerged from the hospital, and only those participating in the defense of Ponyville remained. Waiting for her outside was Snake, fully dressed and wearing the coat Rarity made for him. The brown fabric was a nice contrast against the dark blue Pegasus Wings uniform. "Completed the ensemble, I see," said Twilight. "With the shave, the haircut, and now the new outfit, you almost appear respectable." "I should have a comeback for that," said Snake. "But this coat's too comfortable for me to get annoyed with you. It's like Rarity's robbed me of some essential part of my personality." Twilight laughed, grateful that she wasn't too far gone for that much. "It really does look good on you, Snake." "Yeah, I'm not one for overcoats, personally, but this one I could get used to." Snake pulled the coat closed over his chest, and crossed his arms. "I finished wiring up the Humvee, but I'm not keen on driving it into position when it's essentially a bomb on four wheels. Feel like helping?" "Well, since you asked nicely... for once..." Twilight sighed. "Sure thing, Snake. Just, uh... give me a minute to sit down, okay? I've been on my hooves for hours, and..." "Say no more. A lot of that going around." Twilight backed up until she was against the hospital's outer wall, and slid to her bottom, sighing as her hooves relaxed. Snake sat down beside her, a similar noise escaping him. "What time even is it?" Snake said, rubbing his temples with his thumb and forefinger. "Last I checked, around five in the morning." Twilight's head tilted slightly in thought. "Probably close to a quarter after by now." "Quarter after five..." Snake groaned. " I really wish I'd gotten more sleep on the train." Twilight smirked. "You need a nap?" "Considering we've been up for more than twenty-four hours now, almost uninterrupted, and I spent a good portion of that driving? Yeah, a nap would be nice." Snake looked at her from the corner of his eye. "What about you; how are you holding up?" "Everypony keeps asking me that. They never believe me when I say I'm fine." Twilight huffed. "I don't suppose there'd be any point in telling you that I am." "I can drop it, if you want." Snake's voice rumbled more softly than normal. "...No. No, I'm sorry." Twilight slumped her shoulders. "So much has happened lately. Even setting aside Dodge, and everything before, we've all been moving around nonstop to get Ponyville ready. And we've just barely gotten started – there's still so much more to do. I'm tired, Snake. I'm so, so tired. I just want to stop, and catch my breath, but I can't. Heck, just sitting here, gabbing with you, is a luxury that I can barely afford." Snake stayed silent for a moment while Twilight rubbed her eyes. "Would it make you feel better if I told you that I left a present for you in the library?" She peeked over her hooves at him, blinking. "The Humvee's stereo – I ripped it out of the dashboard and took it to your place. The music, too." Snake smirked. "Seemed a waste to blow them up with the rest of the car, when you liked them so much." Twilight, genuinely touched, felt the tips of her ears twitch up. "That's sweet, Snake. Thank you." "Don't thank me yet; you still have to figure out how to get it to work." Snake waved his hand. "Which you damn well better. Ripping it out added an extra hour to the job, and I don't want that time going to waste." "Oh, yes. Can't have that." Twilight chuckled, and sighed. Leaning back, she realized she could see sky through a hole in the fog. That was Rainbow Dash's doing – without the constant maintenance of the entire weather team, the fog would naturally drift away and dissipate. To stave that off, Rainbow had decided to concentrate it at the town's perimeter, so she set some ponies to work hollowing it out and shifting the extra clouds over to where they'd be most needed. It seemed no more than a delaying tactic to Twilight, who wasn't sure how effective the fog would remain in the daytime. At night, the fog could be maintained easily, but daylight would burn it off altogether. And that was a shame; she hated to lose such a grand example of pegasus (and Ponyvillian) ingenuity to the inevitable rising of the sun. Hell, the sight was so shocking and awe-inspiring, it had stunned even Snake into silence before he could... Twilight blinked and poked Snake sharply in the arm. "Hey. You never answered my question from earlier. I asked what made you come back to fighting after you retired, remember? The fog shut you up before you could get back to me." "Yeah, I was hoping you'd just forget about that. The discomfort on Snake's face made Twilight's insides squirm. "What does it matter? Why do you want to know?" "Because..." Twilight wilted, flattening her ears against her head. "Does it honestly matter?" "It might." Snake's teeth ground, a dull sound that clashed with the ambient noises of the early morning. "Tell you what. I'll tell you, if you answer a question of mine first. Deal?" Twilight, wary, nodded at him. "What is going on between you and Applejack?" Twilight's heart sank. Of course Snake would notice that something was wrong between she and Applejack; she should have expected him to bring it up eventually. It wasn't something she wanted to talk about. But a deal was a deal. "Back in the castle, after we split up," Twilight began. "You were gonna go after Metal Gear, and Applejack and I were gonna get Apple Bloom. You remember?" "I remember the plan going belly up in a hurry." "Well, we were walking into a trap. As you know." Twilight looked out at the town, recalling in her mind the moments and sensations of that night. She shivered. "There was a guard there, in the dungeon, sleeping. Applejack and I woke him up by accident. He... tried to strangle us." Twilight touched her throat gently, swallowing hard just to make sure she still could. "We fought back. He got frustrated, and started shooting, but he couldn't see too well. I thought that he'd gotten Applejack with a lucky shot, and I thought he was gonna come after me. So I reached out blindly – I couldn't really see either – I reached out with my magic, and I took his gun away from him. And I..." She started to tremble, and clenched her teeth together, willing herself to hold together. "...You shot him," Snake finished, matter-of-factly. "No. The gun was empty – he'd fired all his bullets before I could. Applejack killed him. Crushed his skull like it was made of paper." Mad laughter echoed in her mind, silenced by a sickening crunch and a thud. "I know what you're probably thinking, Snake. Him or me. Right?" She wanted to close her eyes, but was terrified of what she'd see, what she'd hear and smell. "But it came so easily. I wasn't agonizing over the moral dilemma of taking another life when I had his gun. I was thinking about you. Wondering how it felt for you, when you shot someone. Even that was just in the back of my mind. Actually pulling the trigger? That was automatic. Instinctual." "Ponies have no killer instinct," Snake muttered. "Or so I'm told." Twilight saw a wolfish grin and sharp, white teeth in her mind's eye. "How do you explain it then? I did it without thinking. If that guy had pulled the trigger one less time, it'd be me with blood on my hooves, not Applejack." She lost her fight against her own trembling. "I don't have a problem with Applejack, Snake. I have a problem with myself. Every time I look at her, I'm reminded that it was almost me who killed that guard. I'm reminded of the weight of the gun, the feel of the trigger, the reek of the gunpowder, and the sound of the guard's laugh. I'm reminded that, no matter who did the deed... I may as well have killed him myself." Her vision blurred as tears rolled down her face. "Applejack told me, just before it happened – if she had to kill to save her family, she'd do it and wouldn't feel bad over it. And I wonder, did she mean that? Because if she did, then... then I don't know who she is anymore. And if she didn't mean it, then I have no right feeling sorry for myself, because what she'd be going through... I can't even imagine it. I want to ask her, but every time I look at her, think to myself that I should talk to her..." "You're right back in the dungeon," Snake said softly. "Exactly. And that's why I need to know." Twilight huddled her trembling legs closer to her body. "Because when I look at you, I don't see a remorseless killer, or someone fighting someone else's wars for a paycheck. I see a good person, probably fighting for good reasons. And I need to know if they're enough to make the kind of life you live... that violent, chaotic life on the battlefield... worth living." She felt a hand against the back of her neck, a gentle touch that came as consolation, as she lost herself to silent sobs. She still couldn't let herself fall apart – not now, with so much on the line. But she didn't mind letting her guard down, just a little, around Snake. It wasn't like with Rarity or Bon Bon; she didn't need to prove anything to him. She didn't need to try and pretend that everything was okay. He gave her time to cry before offering any words of comfort. "It's one thing to say that you can kill without remorse. In the abstract, it makes sense. Applejack may have meant it when she said it, but that doesn't mean it's how she felt after doing it. She probably doesn't feel so different from you right now. The two of you could help each other, if one of you reached out." "Meaning me, probably. Applejack has a history of bottling up her problems." Although I'm sure I have no place to criticize... Twilight, a little more relaxed now that she'd gotten some of her emotion out, leaned closer to Snake with a sigh. "Tell me this – is it ever worth it? Is it ever right, to take a life?" Snake weighed his answer before giving it. "I'm an old killer, Twilight. I've caused more than my share of bloodshed, for a lot of reasons. And I'll tell you now, not once has it ever been right. There's nothing noble about murder. You can justify it, sure – kill in the name of a good cause – but that doesn't make the act of killing just. Anyone tells you otherwise, they're a psychopath in denial, trying to rationalize it to themselves. Applejack? She's no psychopath. Trust me, I've known plenty in my time." He stood, towering high over Twilight. In the hospital's lamplight, the shadow he cast stretched longer than his body. "Now, your town, your friends – they're worth fighting for. I can't tell you if they're worth killing for; you need to answer that question yourself. But if there's any advice I can give you, it's this." Snake reached his hand out to her. "Whatever you do, don't ever let it be okay to take another life." A smile broke through Twilight's gloom as she put her hoof in Snake's hand and let him pull her up. "You still haven't answered my question." "An answer for an answer – that was the deal," said Snake. "You never said when I had to give it to you." Twilight chuckled wetly, sniffed, and pulled her hoof from his grip. "Well, now I have to make it through this fight." And you do, too. The pegasi were trying to conserve what fog they had by clumping it up at the town's borders, keeping the countryside out of view. But the hills and peaks, both distant and near, could be seen. And, as we approached the plaza surrounding the town hall, so could the Humvee. It was the ponies next to it that caught my eye, though. One was Bon Bon; one was Pinkie Pie. One had a bucket of pink paint, and a brush in her mouth, and the other was trying desperately to hammer some common sense through the other's skull. Try and guess who was who. "Pinkie!" Twilight cried, alarmed. "What in Equestria do you think you're doing?!" Pinkie spat the brush into the can and grinned at Twilight, flecks of pink staining her teeth and gums. "Makin' some cosmetic improvements. The first time I saw this thing, I knew right away that I didn't like the look of Not-Luna on the door. I had a little bit of extra time after getting the Boom-Boom Brigade all up to speed, so I figured I'd give this girl a little flair before we sent her on her way!" She bounced aside, reared onto her hind legs, and made a grandiose gesture at the car door with both her front hooves. The Pegasus Wings sigil had been painted over, in hot pink letters, with the name EXPLODEY MCGEE. Twilight smacked herself so hard that I swear there was a hoof-shaped welt on her forehead for the rest of my stay in Equestria. "Pinkie Pie, this is a terrible, no good, very bad idea." "What, you don't like the name?" said Pinkie. "Bon Bon told me you were gonna blow it up, so I thought it might—" "Your train of thought should've ended at 'we're gonna blow it up," I said sternly. "The last thing you want to do with a car bomb is announce to the enemy that you're using said car as a bomb!" "So..." Pinkie's ear twitched. "Maybe a different name? I can always paint over it, I guess." I wished I still had my tranquilizer gun – one shot, just one shot, and I wouldn't have to hear Pinkie talk again for hours. "Well, alrighty, I have a couple others in mind," Pinkie said brightly, hopping down to all fours again. "How's about—" Before she could finish, her eyes widened, and a ripple ran through her, from the bottoms of her hooves to the tips of her ears. Her limbs flailed, inflating and deflating at random, as her body flopped up and down against the dirt; her mane and tail puffed up and flattened, and her ears wound tightly around one another in double, triple, quadruple knots. I almost rushed forward, but Twilight stopped me, shaking her head curtly. "Let her ride it out." Ride it out, she did – and at the end of her seizure, Pinkie sat on the ground, her head moving in a dizzy circle. "Whooooaaaakie-dokie-lokie... feelin' a little scrombled here..." I leaned over to Twilight. "The hell did I just watch?" "Pinkie Sense," said Pinkie, her voice airy and distant. "That's a new one though – a real doozy. But a new kind of doozy. A noozy, you could call it." "Wonder what it meant," Bon Bon muttered. Then a pink glow, faint and distant, shone upon the Humvee, upon the entire town. We turned to look at its source: a bright dome that slowly formed around Canterlot, enveloping it from the base of the castle, to the tip of the mountain. Just before it finished, there was an explosion near its top, a pinprick of yellow light. "Probably not a good sign," I growled. Twilight's breath caught, and she faltered for just an instant before snapping back into action. "Bon Bon, round up everypony – tell them to meet us out here. We're gonna run through the plan and get into position right away. Pinkie, get back to your post and—" "Uh-uh." For the first time since I'd met her, Pinkie sounded legitimately worried. "That wasn't it, Twilight. That wasn't the noozy." "Not the noozy? Not the noozy?!" Twilight paled and pointed toward Canterlot. "If that's not the noozy, then..." A heavy footstep echoed across the plaza, silencing Twilight before she could finish. The curtain of haze parted for XMG IRVING-00, limping toward us on legs which were far more stable than its appearance in Fluttershy's yard would have led me to believe. Instinctively, I drew the carbine and set the red-dot sight over its undercarriage, distantly wondering whether a 5.56 round would be any good against it. Had Fluttershy'd been wrong? Had I been wrong? No, I realized. This wasn't the feral monster from the castle, nor the thoughtful, wounded creature from Fluttershy's yard. This was different from what I'd heretofore seen from IRVING. This was new... and yet familiar all the same. A cruciform cloud gathered over IRVING's head. Yellow eyes, like burning coals, sparked into life at its top; they narrowed to razor slits, as IRVING emitted a shuddering, bovine groan. The Lord of the Flies had a new puppet, and it was laughing at me. I squeezed the trigger and held it down. Bullets sparked off IRVING's armor and splattered harmlessly against its legs as it unceasingly mocked my efforts. Suddenly, inexplicably, Twilight cried out Cherry Jubilee's name; I stopped firing and turned to look at her, to ask her why... ...and a wave of heat and a metallic shriek assaulted me from my right side. In the same instant, a blinding light consumed my vision, as Explodey McGee lived up to its name.

Posh

436

Main 6,Other,Twilight Sparkle,Crossover,Human,Adventure,Dark,Metal Gear,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic,Death,Violence

Pony Gear Solid

Solid Snake teams up with ponies to save Equestria, and gradually learns to love it.

incomplete

<p>Metal Gear has fallen into the hooves of an Equestrian revolutionary, who, with the backing of his human mercenary allies, intends to use it to depose Celestia and crown himself ruler. Having crossed into Equestria in pursuit of this rogue weapon, the legendary Solid Snake must ally with the residents of Ponyville to prevent a nuclear catastrophe.</p><p>See also <a href="/story/369125/equestria-gear-solid-the-definitive-experience" rel="nofollow"><i>Equestria Gear Solid</i></a><i>,</i> the hilarious spin-off EQG parody in which everything you know is wrong, and every single character from the story is an awful caricature of themselves. </p><p><a href="http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/FanFic/PonyGearSolid" rel="nofollow">Now with its own TVtropes page!</a></p>

teen

2017-07-30T03:55:41+00:00

2017-08-07T15:59:58+00:00

Luna seethed all the way from Canterlot to the Everfree Forest. Celestia felt slighted by Luna sneaking around behind her back? Fine. She demanded contrition? Fine. But sticking her in a room full of pompous aristocrats – and Fancy Pants, to be fair – did nothing but waste her time. It was a despicable power play, no doubt concocted out of the same misguided desire to keep Luna safe that informed so much of Celestia's caution, and so many of her decisions. Those changelings left their mark on you, sister. In more ways than one. As Celestia predicted, the Grand Galloping Gala planning committee meeting ran well into the wee hours, with no sign of stopping. The committee members squabbled over every trivial matter, from decor to music to dress code, unable to reach consensus on anything. Finally, in desperation, Luna seized Fancy Pants's flask from his coat pocket, downed its contents in a single gulp, and proclaimed herself too drunk to continue with the meeting. She wasn't, of course, but they didn't need to know that. The alicorn constitution is truly a thing of wonder. It was sure to cause quite a scandal, come daybreak. Prince Blueblood couldn't stop snickering, and that odious Spoiled Rich had a look on her face that suggested she was contemplating which tabloid she would speak to first. Luna didn't care. Her dignity and her image meant nothing, compared to the responsibility of safeguarding the realm. Though I really ought to compensate Fancy Pants for the brandy. As she flew, she spotted a curious weather system in Ponyville, off in the distance – a thick mass of fog, like a cloud come down from the heavens, enveloping the entire town. The sight of it niggled at Luna. Ponyville was often the site of peculiar happenings, and neither she nor Celestia would fain investigate every single one. But with this human situation afoot, and so close to Ponyville, too... Concern for Twilight Sparkle nearly made her bank west to investigate, but she marshaled herself before the impulse could overtake her. She'd peek in on Ponyville when her business in the Everfree was concluded. Celestia didn't want to involve Twilight, not yet, and Luna promised to uphold that directive... but there was no harm in just checking, surely. The castle came into view gradually, a rubble-strewn ruin on a river island deep in the Everfree Forest, situated between two sheer cliffs which plunged down into deep ravines. Luna studied what remained of her erstwhile home, a thousand memories flashing in her mind. Court with Celestia, banquets with aristocrats, gossip with her ladies-in-waiting... the fateful night she succumbed to the nightmare, and the morning that saw her redemption... other memories, more pleasant ones, and other ponies, too... A warm body curving against her back. Lips and nose kissing and nuzzling behind her ear, making her giggle and sigh... Luna shook her head and turned away from that recollection, shutting the others behind their doors as well. The ponies she'd made those memories with were dead and gone, a thousand years or more. No good would come of unearthing them. Bury the past, and leave it buried. From the air, Luna could see the full scope of the castle's desolation. The western gatehouse had collapsed, and the curtain wall it had been part of was nothing more than scattered stones along a vaguely ovular path. To the east, the curtain still stood, but the yard and keep it encircled had fallen away, swallowed by the earth. All that remained of the castle proper was a portion of the west garden, where the bladed machine sat, and part of the inner curtain that had once guarded the western side of the keep. And, of course, the towering, ebony ring encircling the pit which housed the Threshold of the Moon. Of all the things to survive... But that is no surprise. Its foundation is firmer, and runs deeper, than the rest of this old place. Such things do not break easily. Luna alighted upon the partially intact keep wall and folded her wings, ruffling them to stave off the night's chill. Her previous visit to the castle had been unplanned, and there hadn't been time to do much more than scout the ruins and hurriedly evaluate the situation before other duties demanded her return to Canterlot. Now, though, she could afford to take things slower – take stock of the evidence in greater detail, draw more informed conclusions, and hopefully track the humans back to their other outpost in the Everfree. She already had a good idea of where that might be. For now, though, she'd begin her investigation in earnest on the castle grounds. Luna sat upon the wall and leaned her back against a wind-worn merlon, sinking deep into thought. The castle had fallen – literally – after some sort of battle took place, she believed, but such a feat was beyond any army she knew of. Certainly, it was beyond the deer, no matter how much it may have rankled King Aspen to have outsiders pressing upon Thicket's borders. Beyond any army that I know of... She cast a wary look at the Threshold's wall. But perhaps not beyond humanity. Who knows what means of destruction they may have devised between Discord's time with them and now? Could they have unmade this place themselves? That prospect chilled her worse than the coldest gust of nighttime air. But to what end? I am certain there was a battle, one which went against them. If they destroyed the castle themselves, then it must have been an act of desperation. To deny it to an enemy. Or, perhaps, in the hope that the enemy would be caught in its destruction. Such an act would be suicidal, if the defenders hadn't quit the castle before its demolition. The eastern portcullis was shut, and the west offered no escape with the bridge out. Luna's silver-shod hoof came to rest beneath her chin, shifting as she slowly worked her jaw. If one follows this line of thought... then it begs the question of whether or not there still is a human threat. Perhaps they all perished in the castle's fall – better to die than to surrender. That would be consistent with Discord's description of humanity's warrior ways. A barbarous, nihilistic code of honor might compel them to slay themselves along with their enemy, when hope of victory had fled. Luna scoffed, as much at the thought as at herself for conjuring it. A baseless inference. Think rationally, Luna, think–– From the garden came a roar, and the sound of something striking a metallic surface with great force. "TO HELL WITH YOU, WORTHLESS FLYING PIG! TELL ME, DO THEY MISS YOU AT THE SCRAPYARD?!" The shout, whose accent reminded Luna of the Stalliongrad tongue, came from the garden. Her ears pricked, and she spun around, pressing her body low to the battlement and peering out from behind her merlon. The bladed machine was open – a hatch on its side had pulled apart – and Luna's breath caught as she drank in her first glimpse of a real, living human. The visions Discord had presented her with were dark-skinned, with mops of curly black hair over lean faces with sharp features. This one was very different: pale-skinned, almost white, with close-cropped brown hair and a bristly mustache crawling across his top lip. A dark blue jacket covered his upper body, and khaki trousers his legs. Her muzzle wrinkled. Grotesque as Discord's humans were, they had some kind of intrinsic allure to them. This one was just... rather odd-looking. She supposed that humans came in all colors, shapes, and sizes, the same as all races... but she wouldn't have minded if they all looked the same as the visions. The human stormed out of the bladed machine, his hands curling and uncurling rapidly as his shoulders heaved with deep, rapid breaths. He whirled, and kicked the machine's hull, sending a clang through the air. Then he leaned his back against the machine, drawing a cigarette and lighter from his pocket. Luna watched him smoke, for several minutes, trying and failing to put the scene in some sort of larger context. It was all much too surreal for her. Then, from inside the machine, another voice called out – higher, more nasal, and slightly effeminate. "You okay out there?" "Da," the human snapped. He frowned, and his mustache frowned with him, as he continued to smoke in silence. Then the other voice called out again. "...You ready to give it another shot?" The human didn't answer right away, preferring to take one last long drag from his cigarette. Then he sighed, threw it down, and ground it out with the toe of his boot. "Da," he said resignedly, and he vanished back inside the machine. With a hydraulic hiss, the hatch closed, and Luna gazed out upon an empty, lifeless garden once again. She ducked back behind her merlon and sat bolt-upright, her eyes still wide in bemusement. ...What in the world did I just witness? This added a new dimension to her investigation. Someone had survived whatever confrontation destroyed the castle, and was now trying to activate the bladed machine – or flying pig, which, for all Luna knew, was the machine's proper name. Had they remained on the castle grounds, and weathered its collapse? No, like as not she'd have run into them during her first visit. Did they return to the castle, after the fact, in the hope of salvaging the flying pig? The portcullis was still closed, but the eastern wall could be surmounted with the aid of grapnels or ladders. But she saw no sign of either from the air... Luna's eye was drawn to the Threshold's wall, and her expression shifted into a thoughtful, suspicious frown. The ground between the Threshold, and this wall, is still traversable... and this wall's rubble could easily be scaled, allowing passage to the flying pig... could they have passed through the Threshold recently? Within the last day? That possibility only piled further questions atop the mountain she already had. Were the humans who occupied the castle hostile to Equestria? Were these newcomers allied with them, or opposed? Bother it all, she wouldn't get the answers she needed sitting about on her rump. Luna unfurled her wings, and prepared to swoop down into the garden. A sound from the east made her freeze – the sound of wind shifting, as something sliced rapidly through the air. Like wing-beats, they were, but faster. Hummingbird-quick, yet with far greater size and strength, to make such noise. Luna thought of the blades crowning the machine, and felt the blood drain from her face. The human called it a flying pig for a reason, didn't he? Luna banished any notion of a careful, methodical search from her mind. Luxuriant blue wings snapped, and she soared east, arcing over the curtain wall and following the old road through the forest. It dipped downward, on a gradual slope. As she flew, she passed the corpses of humans stuck with long, thin arrows, projectiles she recognized as having deerish origin. She ignored them. There would be time to inspect those bodies later. The forest opened up to a chasm, and a stone bridge wide enough for twenty ponies to walk abreast. The treeline on the other side of the bridge had been cleared away. Stumps, like gravestones, dotted the ground between the bridge and the low wall of blue stone in the distance. Beyond that wall, Luna knew, there had been a place of worship, built to honor a self-styled god, long before her own time. A place where acolytes led their congregation in acts of scourging and sacrifice to sanctify themselves in the eyes of an emperor who demanded no less than absolute devotion. An abbey, they'd called it. In truth, it was a sprawling monument to the ego of an alicorn tyrant, with a west-facing cathedral as its centerpiece. The ages had not been kind to the abbey, Luna saw, as she landed upon the wall. The complex overlooked by the cathedral was unrecognizable, most of its structures having fallen to rubble. The humans had raised tents in their place, however, forming a city of canvas along the same lines as the original complex, and a few of the original buildings still stood among them. Nestled in the northwestern corner of the abbey were more flying pigs, of a different variety than the one in the castle garden. They were less lean-looking, with no wings, and two sets of blades on a horizontal axis, at their tips and at their tails, as opposed to the smaller, vertical blades on the tail that the first flying pig had. One of the pigs, the source of the sound that drew Luna to the abbey, hovered overhead. Its blades cut through the air faster than the naked eye could track, kicking up a swirling dust storm beneath it. As Luna watched, another flying pig rose into the sky to meet the first, then another, until all of them were airborne. Each one angled its nose northwest, toward a distant, lonely peak. She wasn't certain what to be more alarmed by, though – the flying pigs, or the inside of the cathedral. The western facade was gone, exposing the interior to the nighttime air. Metal catwalks and stairs had been raised inside, running along its walls and criss-crossing between them. Among them all stood a metal dragon, silent and still, gazing out upon the land like a tyrant king. Luna dropped from the wall and spread her wings. There was no time to check on Ponyville; she needed to get home, to warn Celestia. Surely she could outfly the flying pigs; surely she could get enough of a head start to raise the alarm and mobilize the guard. Then they could meet this threat, might even be able to–– Something pricked Luna in the neck, making her jerk, though more in surprise than in pain. She touched the spot, her hoof coming into contact with something soft poking out of her skin. With a flare of magic, she pulled the offending object free, and held it to eye level. A tiny, pointed dart, tipped by red feathers, slowly rotated in front of Luna's face. With a sinking feeling, Luna realized what it was, just as another pricked her in her neck. There was a sudden rush of air to Luna's right, and the almost imperceptible sound of earth and grass shifting beneath feet. Luna kicked off the ground, her wings carrying her backward, as a hand chopped cleanly through the spot where her neck had been an instant before. She landed, unharmed, but her hooves felt shaky beneath her weight, and her legs trembled faintly. Her wings started to droop, and her eyelids felt heavy; she fought to keep both open. In front of her stood another human... or something humanesque. It wore no clothes, save a bulky vest, shredded and melted, that covered its upper body. Beneath the vest, its skin was blue, darker tones at the middle of its body, lighter shades creeping along its limbs. Its face was a mask of scorched, stained, dented metal, with a cracked glass eye in its center. The fingers of its right hand were held in perfectly straight alignment, like a knife's blade; its left hand held a matte-black object that Luna recognized as some kind of firearm. A pistol – yes, that was the parlance the minotaurs used. The assailant gripped the top of the pistol and slid it back, ejecting something from its innards, before it clicked back into place. Luna's magic pulled the second dart from her neck. She dropped it to the ground, and crushed it beneath her rapidly numbing hoof. She tried to speak a word of challenge, but couldn't work her tongue – it felt like a thick, lifeless worm in her mouth. Whatever those darts contained was working its way through her system rapidly, doing in moments what a quarter-empty flask of potent brandy could not. The human-thing rushed her, a streak of blue, too fast to be seen. Luna lurched away clumsily, barely ducking under another swing at her neck. A jolt of lightning crackled from her horn, striking her enemy in its exposed underarm. She thought she heard a cry of pain, before a third dart stung her in the hollow of her neck. The first two darts had weakened Luna; the third was all but crippling. Her head felt light, her thoughts grew hazy, and her vision swam with mist and shadows. Even the shape of the human's body was beginning to grow indistinct. But Luna still had the presence of mind to realize that her fight was folly – the human-thing had gotten the drop on her, tilting the odds in its favor from the outset. Luna couldn't waste time fighting a losing battle, not when she needed to escape. Not when Canterlot still needed to be warned. So Luna spread her wings and beat them furiously, fighting against fatigue to gain height and soaring over the head of the human-thing. Then fingers caught the end of her tail, and Luna despaired. She had the presence of mind to attempt an escape, but not to avoid flying over the head of her assailant. The human-thing swung Luna's body down like a mace, smashing her against the ground with bone-shattering force. The drugs prevented Luna from feeling the full brunt of the blow – she felt the impact, felt her ribs crunching, but she was too insensate to feel the pain of it. Then, with a shove, she was rolling backward, onto hard stone. Luna struggled to gather her hooves beneath herself, and wrenched her eyes open. Through the haze, and the darkness, she saw the human-thing, standing on solid ground. Beneath Luna was the bridge, and on either side, the chasm yawned. "You are not where I thought you'd be," said the human-thing. Its voice of sand and broken glass rang clearly through Luna's stupor. "I had not predicted that you would leave Canterlot, much less that you would turn up here and now. Just what could have brought you so far out at this late juncture?" Luna couldn't form a reply – and the human-thing seemed to come to a conclusion anyway, as it gazed at the hill behind her. "...I see. Perhaps that was an error on my part – my curiosity winning out against my common sense. But fortune has resolved the matter to my satisfaction." Its feet padded noiselessly as it strode forward to join Luna on the bridge. "Indeed, had I only known you alicorns were so easy to kill, had I the time to factor it into my simulation, I might have saved myself a great deal of trouble." Luna lifted her head, but the human-thing slammed its palm into her temple and drove her back into the stone bridge with a gasp. "I'm tempted to keep you alive," the human-thing said, its voice infuriatingly calm and casual as it pinned Luna's face to the ground. "It may be prudent to interrogate you, to determine the extent to which my plans have been compromised. If you are out here, if you know of our presence, then there is reason to suspect your sister does as well. But the risks outweigh the rewards, and I have taken enough risks today already." Its hand left her head, only to be replaced by the sole of its foot. There was no pain as it pressed down on Luna's skull – only a pressure, building rapidly. "Farewell, 'Nightmare Moon.' Your reputation outshines you, I regret to say." The mention of that discarded title sent a dagger of fury through the younger princess, straight through to a reservoir of emotion that she'd long ago boarded over. She let it spill forth, let it fuel her, bringing her clarity through clouds of confusion. The pulse of magic she fired off was unfocused, undirected – just a wave of raw energy from her horn whose force resonated deep in her chest and rattled her teeth in her head. It was sufficient to rocket the human-thing away from her, off the bridge, and into the abbey's outermost wall. It recovered quickly, and glared at Luna as it lifted the pistol again. Fortune saved Luna from a fourth dart. The pulse of magic had broken the mortar holding the bridge together. Stonework that had survived through the ages gave way, and Luna tumbled with it into the chasm below. Weightless, she fell. Her wings wouldn't work, and her legs obeyed none of her commands. Ever the treasonous devils, those legs. The sky was a ribbon of studded purple between two granite walls, falling farther and farther away, until Luna plunged into the water at the ravine's bottom. She felt her head break the surface and her lungs work to suck down gulps of fresh, clear air – all automatic, for her addled mind was very much elsewhere. A roaring hearth, a soft bed, a nuzzle at the back of her ear... No. No, there's something I should be doing right now. I need to see my sister, I need to tell her... need to warn her... The nuzzling became more insistent, and Luna smiled. ...But, she thought, as darkness and fog claimed her, surely it can keep for a while.

Posh

436

Main 6,Other,Twilight Sparkle,Crossover,Human,Adventure,Dark,Metal Gear,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic,Death,Violence

Pony Gear Solid

Solid Snake teams up with ponies to save Equestria, and gradually learns to love it.

incomplete

<p>Metal Gear has fallen into the hooves of an Equestrian revolutionary, who, with the backing of his human mercenary allies, intends to use it to depose Celestia and crown himself ruler. Having crossed into Equestria in pursuit of this rogue weapon, the legendary Solid Snake must ally with the residents of Ponyville to prevent a nuclear catastrophe.</p><p>See also <a href="/story/369125/equestria-gear-solid-the-definitive-experience" rel="nofollow"><i>Equestria Gear Solid</i></a><i>,</i> the hilarious spin-off EQG parody in which everything you know is wrong, and every single character from the story is an awful caricature of themselves. </p><p><a href="http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/FanFic/PonyGearSolid" rel="nofollow">Now with its own TVtropes page!</a></p>

teen

2020-07-04T17:50:09+00:00

2020-07-05T02:43:16+00:00

"In the distance, machines come to transform Eden, day by day." As a longtime member of the Royal Guard's night shift, Flash Sentry was well used to rising with the moon, and falling asleep at daybreak. His predilection for late nights served him well after he gained his officer's commission; his rank, and the commensurate increase in salary, came with a command position in the Night Guard's second shift. Most officers would deride such a command as mind-numbingly dull, not to mention uncomfortably chilly. Generally, Flash didn't mind cold, or monotony. But tonight, his normal duties had been compounded by the Captain dropping a bunch of other work onto his shoulders that not even he wanted to deal with. Some of it was easy: rubber-stamping duty rosters was kind of fun. Less fun was reviewing and revising defense measures with the Princess's menagerie of professors and mages, an old, cobwebby bunch he didn't particularly care for. Still, if it helped his star rise even more, he wouldn't complain. Taking on extra work so that the Captain could spend the day with his wife wasn't the most conventional way of advancing in rank, but ingratiating himself with Shining Armor certainly couldn't hurt, could it? Who knows? Flash thought, snapping open his wings and soaring off the wall. I stay on his good side, and maybe he won't mind me asking out that sister of his. But reflecting on his prospects with the unattainable sister of his commanding officer could wait for bedtime. His shift was almost over; there was just one last bit of business to complete before he could stand relieved. So, he shrugged off thoughts of mares, and circled down to the barracks at the base of the southern watchtower. Sergeant Chiptooth waited for him below, saluting crisply as Flash alighted. "Anything to report?" Flash fought to keep the tiredness from his voice. "I'd like to say it was another slow night," said Chiptooth. The leathery-winged thestral was a ten-year veteran of the southern watchtower. Contrary to his name, an epithet he'd been saddled with in his youth, he had impeccable dental health. "But we've got curious happenings out in Ponyville, off in the distance." "The fog. I've seen it." Flash frowned. "Standing orders are to ignore Ponyville, except in emergencies." Chiptooth's eyes narrowed. Before Flash's commission, Chiptooth had been wont to remind him that his decade's worth of experience meant he didn't need regulations recited to him. He said so less often now that Flash was his superior, but he still found ways to without saying anything. Flash stared the sergeant down. "Anything else?" "Those patrols the Princess ordered, along the southern face of the mountain – they were due back half an hour ago. Bitterfeather's flight, sir. No reason they should be gone so late." Chiptooth had the right of that. Bitterfeather was a pain in the ass, but he was also organized, punctual, and could take care of himself – as could the ponies who flew with him. If he was overdue... This last day has been the strangest since I enlisted, Flash thought. The fog-bank in Ponyville, the Princess's sudden call for increased scrutiny of the mountain and tighter patrols, not to mention Luna's antics in the Royal Garden. Nopony knew what that was about. Something was going on – a second changeling attack, or something just as bad. He hadn't been briefed on anything, meaning the problem was outside of his pay grade, and nothing would be served by asking questions he wasn't supposed to ask. And yet... he was the duty officer, wasn't he? For the next half hour, anyway. "Let's put together a search-and-rescue flight," said Flash. "We'll start with their last known—" A voice at the top of the turret cried out, startling Flash. "Lieutenant! Sir, you'd better come look at this!" Flash exchanged a look with Chiptooth, and the two immediately took to the air. They found a trembling watchpony, his eyes wide. With shaking hooves, he offered Flash a pair of binoculars. "Look south, sir." Accepting the binoculars, Flash braced his barrel against a merlon, and directed his gaze to the south. He spotted them immediately: vaguely cylindrical shapes, glinting in the moonlight, topped with whirling blades, their motion too fast to track. Airships, made of metal, with no balloon to lift them, flying in formation and drawing closer the longer he stared. Flash added this to the list of strange happenings throughout the day, the wheels in his mind turning as he connected the dots. The heightened security, Luna in the garden, the extra patrols... And they're coming from the southern face of the mountain. Flash swallowed. Where Bitterfeather's patrol went missing. "Lieutenant?" said the watchpony, in a voice drawn high with fright. "What do you think? What should we—" "Lad," Chiptooth grunted. "Know your role, and be quiet." Flash thrust the binoculars into the chest of the watchpony, and turned to Chiptooth. "Wake the Captain – the Princess, too." "You want me to talk to the Princess?" Chiptooth grunted. "The chain of command—" "Forget the chain," Flash snapped. "Go directly to the Captain, and to the Princess, then report back here. Looks like we'll all be pulling an extra shift this morning." A shame – he was quite looking forward to getting some shut-eye. Chiptooth nodded. "And you, sir? If you'll pardon an old enlisted pony's asking?" Flash fixed him with a level, authoritative gaze. "I'm going to intercept them." Something flickered across Chiptooth's face – a look of disapproval, a hint of a frown. But true to form, the old guard obeyed. He saluted, unfurled his wings, and fluttered off into the night. Flash ordered the watchpony to hold his position until relieved, and barked out commands for the rest of the barracks to assemble outside. They came quickly, in an orderly fashion, sweeping down from the ramparts and out from the barracks to form neat ranks. "We have a situation," Flash said, pacing along the front row of guardsponies. "Something's approaching Canterlot rapidly – some kind of airships. We're scrambling fliers to intercept them." He stopped pacing, and looked out at his tiny command. "I need ten volunteers." He got thirty. He left with ten, anyway – somepony needed to hold the tower. Borne by a southerly wind, eleven pegasi soared to meet the airships, collapsable spears pegged to their armor. Flash could hear the sound of something chopping through the wind, a cacophony that threatened to split his head from the inside, growing louder and louder the closer he came to intercepting the airships. Half a mile out from Canterlot, and high up in the air, Flash ordered his command to a halt, and deploy in formation. Two five-pointed stars spread out directly in the machines' flight path. Flash was in the center, the vertex where the stars' arms met. Standard procedure for intercepting an unknown flier was to challenge them verbally. These were airships, though – airships with perfectly enclosed hulls, no upper decks, and no one to challenge. He wasn't planning to waste his breath on something that couldn't even hear him. The sight of ten guardsponies, arrayed in the air with weapons drawn, would convey the challenge plainly enough. "Spears!" he shouted. The air filled with the clicks of telescoping pieces snapping into position. Flash brandished his own and took a deep breath, sweat beading on his forehead, and running down his skin. They want to play chicken, he thought, as the airships maintained their course and speed. They want us to break first. Then the one at the head tilted forward, angling its blades toward the center of the ponies' formation. They weren't playing chicken – they simply didn't care. "Break!" Flash cried, just before the machines were upon them. Somehow, his volunteers heard him over the wind, and scattered in all directions. The pegasus on his left wasn't fast enough. A horrible ripping sound cut his yelp short as the whirling blades passed through him. The shredded remains of a pegasus whose name Flash failed to recall fell to the earth far below. The guardsponies floated raggedly, with no semblance of formation, staring agog at the slowly dissipating mist that had once been their friend. Flash's stomach heaved. He swallowed the urge to vomit, and flew past his fractured command. "On me, everypony!" He soared after the machines, pride swelling in his chest as he heard wings beating behind him. "Break and engage at will!" Flash came upon the rearmost airship, his front hooves curled tightly around his spear. With a roar, he thrust against the ship's metal skin. His spearpoint glanced off with a shower of sparks; another thrust yielded identical results. A look around told him that his volunteers had similar luck with their own targets. They weren't hurting the ships, and they certainly weren't slowing them down. Hell, the pegasi were barely keeping pace with them, and they were all drawing dangerously close to Canterlot. Procedure called for the captain to cast a barrier spell as soon as possible, but either Chip hadn't reached Shining Armor yet, or the Captain was still charging and casting the spell. Either way, they needed to buy him more time. Flash searched along his ship's hull for some kind of weakness, something obvious to exploit. Then he found it: A gap in some of the side plating, a chink in the armor, near the machine's front – not very wide, but good enough for him to lodge the tip of his spear between the plates. And with enough leverage... Flash smiled grimly and shot forward, scraping his spear across the machine's hull until it found that groove in the armor. He wedged his spearpoint in, braced his weight against the weapon's shaft, and pulled down, beating his wings furiously. Maybe he couldn't hope to hurt the ship, but he could at least drag it out of the air. Another spear slammed into the wedge as one of his escorts added his weight to Flash's, then another grabbed the skids hanging on the airship's underside. They grunted, and pulled; Flash felt the weight of the ship shift toward him. He grinned, and tried to shout orders to the rest of his wing, but his words were lost over the thundering noise of the airship's blades. Then another sound joined the cacophonous, rippling gale – a sharp rattle, like a firecracker. Plates on the sides of the other ships had swung open, revealing their interiors, and from inside, lights flickered in split-second bursts. The airships swatted Flash's volunteers through the sky, like a great hoof passing through a swarm of bothersome flies. They plummeted to the ground, perforated and bloody. Then his spear suddenly slipped free of the hull, and Flash looked up to see a panel along its side sliding open. The lodgepoint for his spear was no chink in the armor, but the crack of a door. Someone was waiting behind it. Flash had seen guns in museums before – he'd even seen armed griffon soldiers toting rifles. This was different from anything he'd ever seen. It was larger, built differently, and, in some ineffable way, scarier. And its point was level with his forehead. There wasn't enough time to dodge, to snap his wings and maneuver away. All he could do was smile as a memory played through his mind, and regret panged in his heart. Killjoy. I should have danced with you that night. Before the first shots were fired within the walls of Canterlot, before dawn even broke on the city, an explosion ripped through Princess Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns. For decades, the campus had seen Equestria's best and brightest magical talents ascend to the echelons of the nation's most gifted mages. The lecturers, the headmistress, even the administrative staff, were talented, battle-hardened spellcasters. The changelings had tested them most recently, bloodied the youngest in their number, but the oldest remembered the invasion of the Nightmare Forces that precipitated the school's foundation. They weren't merely educators. They were one of the city's most vital lines of defense. Then a bomb detonated in the faculty dormitories. Windows shattered from the force of the blast, throwing razor shrapnel into the yard. Flammable chemicals and potions in nearby store-rooms ignited, and the explosion became a conflagration that threatened to swallow the entire building. Sirens wailed, and the fire brigade scrambled, escorted by a platoon of the Royal Guard, and armed with high-pressure hoses and rainclouds. They met a stampede of foals, students boarded at the school, dutifully shepherded out by the upperclassponies. Firefighters and guardsponies marched into the school in search of anyone left behind. The confused rabble that had just escaped was left to gawk at the vicious glow shining through the windows, at the plume of smoke billowing high, obscuring stars and moon alike, at the upper floors of the eastern wing that sagged and threatened to pancake on top of one another. Canterlot woke that morning to fire and screams, and a roiling storm of hysteria. And into that storm, Pegasus Wings plunged. Five Chinooks swept into the city, high above its gold-tipped spires and gleaming white walls. Ignoring the castle and its garrison entirely, the Chinooks broke formation, and spread out around the city limits. They lowered, until they hovered no higher than the tallest tower of the Canterlot skyline, just as Shining Armor cast his shield spell. The sixth helicopter lagged behind its sisters, having been dragged out of position by the valiant folly of the late Lieutenant Flash Sentry. Yet it soared at top speed toward the city, intent on beating the dome of pink light slowly encircling Canterlot from the bottom up. The margin for error shrank with every beat of the pilot's heart, and when it became clear that he wouldn't make it into Canterlot before the shield finished ascending, he tried to bank away. Instead, the Chinook collided with the shield. A brilliant flower of yellow and orange bloomed as debris and flash-cooked flesh rained outside the city walls. Both sides had traded fire and blood before the battle could begin in earnest. The other five Chinooks aimed to tilt the body count in their favor again. Door-gunners rained automatic fire upon the sleeping city. Heavy ammunition and rocket-propelled grenades ripped through limestone walls and columns, blasting them into fine, chalky powder. Bullets riddled houses and businesses, homes and hotels, choking streets with dusty debris in minutes, a thesis for the battle to follow. The gunfire halted long enough for the Chinooks' passengers to disembark. Ropes dangled from the choppers' doors, and one by one, Pegasus Wings infantry descended upon the city. Where the door-gunners ignored individual ponies, save those in guard armor, these soldiers made no distinctions. They stormed into buildings, guns ablaze, or fired wildly in the rubble-strewn streets, whooping, hollering, and gunning down anypony unfortunate enough to land in their sights. Sirens blared, and fires burned, as chaos engulfed the capital of Equestria. Shining Armor galloped through the castle's halls, throwing open the doors to Princess Celestia's private chambers without pausing to knock. She was on her balcony, staring out at the city – at the smoldering school and the airships that blazed hot death into the city streets. Yet the castle remained untouched. The enemy clearly possessed the means to take it, but instead, they directed their attention elsewhere. Why? He cleared his mind as he snapped to attention behind his princess. She regarded him impassively, barely turning her head to glance at him, before staring out at the city again. "Report, Captain." "The enemy appeared over the city less than twenty minutes ago," said Shining Armor. "I was woken by a guardspony under Lieutenant Flash Sentry's command and—" "Skip the preamble, Captain," Princess Celestia said curtly. "Tell me their strength and disposition." Shining Armor swallowed – the Princess was usually far more meticulous than this. "There are at least a hundred of them on the ground. They're using some kind of firearms – larger, more powerful, and with an incredible rate of fire. Their airships have armor too strong for our weapons or spells to penetrate, and their guns tear through our armor easily. I've never seen anything like them before – they're completely out of this world." Celestia bowed her head just slightly, as though caving to an invisible burden. "I saw an explosion against the shield, just as it was going up." "Yes, your highness. One of the airships was out of formation with the rest. It got caught in the shield, and was destroyed. Word is that Flash... that Lieutenant Sentry and his crew were responsible for that." He hesitated. "He and his entire wing... they were... that is to say, Sergeant Chiptooth holds the southern barracks." Flash. That fool, that valiant fool. So brash, so brazen, so eager to get himself noticed. Eager enough to break the chain of command and fly out on what little authority he had, to challenge an enemy none of them knew about. It was a good death, a noble death, and a stupid, needless, pointless waste of life— "Shining Armor. You're starting to hyperventilate." The Princess's voice cut through Shining. He stopped to collect himself, practicing a breathing technique his wife had taught him early in their courtship. In, and out, slowly, pushing the anxiety away with a sweep of his hoof. "My apologies, your highness." "No amount of training will ever prepare you for this kind of loss, my dear," said Princess Celestia, gently. In a harder voice, she continued. "The enemy's disposition?" Shining Armor took one last slow breath to push the thoughts of Flash's death away. "Five platoons on foot, spread throughout the city, each one covered from the air. But except for the bomb that went off in the school, their choice of targets has been bizarre: places like Restaurant Row, or Firefly Plaza, the stadium grounds and the surrounding tenements. Hell, I heard a report of soldiers storming the Hotel Horseshoe and shooting up the Old Redoubt, just before I got here. I'd expect them to target outposts, or infrastructure, but it's just random death and destruction without any pattern." The Princess's ears pricked. She lifted her head and tore her gaze away from the view of the city, staring down at Shining Armor with an epiphanic expression. "Random death and destruction is the pattern, Captain." Shining tilted his head quizzically. "Highness, I don't follow." "Canterlot has no shortage of obvious prizes for an invading force. My school, the guard academy, the castle itself. In the event of an attack, we'd naturally move to secure those first and foremost. That's the reason for these random acts of violence – they're trying to draw the Guard away from more strategically significant locations, leaving them vulnerable to attack. I'd wager this isn't even the main force, either – that's still waiting in reserve, ready to strike once the board's set." Shining blinked, somewhat in surprise. "Begging your pardon, Princess, but... how can you be—" "I'm no stranger to war. And I'm not wrong." She looked out upon the city again, the glows from the shield and the fires throwing harsh light upon her face. "Still, diversion or no, we cannot abandon the ponies in those districts to fate." "Agreed. Cadance and I took the liberty of establishing a perimeter around the train depot. A safe zone – we're trying to create a corridor in the city for the townsponies to retreat there. If it comes down to it, Cadance can lead an evacuation through the train tunnels." Shining bit his lip. "Your majesty... I'd be remiss in not pointing out that..." His hesitation made the Princess turn toward him. "Speak freely, Captain." Shining drew himself up. "We don't have sufficient numbers to fortify the depot, reinforce those districts, and hold the city. Most of the faculty in the magic school are dead, injured, or unaccounted for, and with the Expeditionary Force still in the frontier..." He trailed off when he saw the Princess's wings droop. Killjoy's five hundred ponies represented a significant portion of the Guard's total strength. Without them, Shining couldn't guarantee that the city's defenses could hold against even a conventional siege. He'd told the Princess as much when she first ordered him to muster the expedition. The Princess perked quickly. "We do have the forces necessary to reinforce those positions and still hold Canterlot, Captain. The castle garrison stands at two hundred. Deploy them to the city at once." Shining balked. "The entire garrison? Princess, forgive me, but... we'd be leaving the castle defenseless! The vaults, the treasury, the armory, the Elements of Harmony—" "Vaults can be refilled, money reissued, weapons reforged, and no power short of Discord could ever breach the Elements' sanctum. We will lose the castle if we try to hold it against this enemy, and I'd sooner take the battle to the enemy than entomb myself in here." She spoke with such conviction that Shining Armor wanted immediately to believe her. But she'd overlooked a crucial point. "If we empty the castle, then there won't be anypony to protect you." The Princess smiled wryly. "Then I suppose I'll just have to join you out there, won't I?" The significance of her words took a moment to break upon him. "Your highness—" "I am not some pusillanimous noble, Captain. I have no intention of standing idly while my subjects fight outside these walls. I will live, or die, with Canterlot." Princess Celestia seemed to radiate with light, her coat aglow. "But I'll need time to prepare for battle, and that's time that we cannot waste holding the castle garrison in reserve. They must sortie, now. I assure you, I will be quite safe without their protection." Shining Armor leaned forward, drawn toward her like a moth. "What are you planning?" "You'll learn soon enough. For now, your orders are to divide the castle garrison, and deploy them to the districts currently under siege. The rest of the Guard is to hold their positions for as long as possible against the enemy's main thrust, and retreat to the train depot when the defenses are no longer tenable. Evacuate as many civilians as can be saved through the train tunnels, and tell Cadance to make for Fort Baltimare. She'll know what to do from there." That meant activating war protocols, and undoing the Pax. Only Equestria's ruler could do that. Was this merely a contingency, or did the Princess assume the city was already lost – and herself, and Princess Luna, with it? Sensing his concern, Princess Celestia sighed. "I haven't given up, Captain, appearances to the contrary. In battle, one must consider all possible outcomes, and defeat is not just possible, but probable. Everything we're doing is a rearguard action; if we lose today, then we must ensure that we win tomorrow. Remember that." A thousand concerns flew through Shining's mind. He voiced the one most important to him. "Will I see you again?" She gave him another wry smile. And when Shining Armor realized that was all he was going to get from her, he reluctantly saluted. "I have one last question, Captain, before you're dismissed." Worry flickered across the Princess's countenance. "My sister. Has there been any sign of her?" At length, Shining replied – and with an answer he knew would only serve to hurt her. "No, Your Highness." All traces of emotion vanished from Celestia's face. She gazed out from her balcony again. "Then you are dismissed. Guard well the city, Shining Armor. You've honored me with your service." The Princess extended a wingtip to caress his cheek, and Shining shivered at her gentle touch. "And I'm proud to have called you a member of my family." Canterlot gleamed in morning sunlight, tinted pink from the shield encircling the mountain's peak. Awash in Celestia's bounty, the Royal Guard at the front gate made an imposing sight. The sun glittered on the gold-inlaid quivers of the archers on the ramparts, on the speartips of the pike wall in the bailey below, on the wrought-iron bolts and frames of the ballistae and catapults behind them. They formed a shining fist of blades and mail, swords and spears and arrows, tightly clenched and drawn to strike anyone who tried to breach the city. The city, having already been breached, crumbled behind them. The guardsponies charged with the gate's defense held their positions as the day crawled on, the steady ascent of the sun accompanied by the unceasing cadence of the Chinooks' mounted machine guns. Blaring sirens drowned out the townsponies' frightened shrieks and screams as the castle garrison fought, frantically evacuating anypony caught in the crossfire. Across the city, they threw themselves against Pegasus Wings, coaxing out frightened ponies hiding in their businesses and residences, and directing everypony they could toward the train tunnels. Nopony at the gate abandoned their posts to join the fighting. Though every second was agony to them, they held their positions, and waited for the blow the Princess foresaw. Their patience paid off by mid-morning. A cry went up from the watchtowers framing the main gate as something crawled up the mountain path. Archers drew and nocked their arrows. Ballistae and catapults swiveled into position, ready to fire through the semipermeable shield. A rank of pegasi took to the air in formation, deploying their collapsable spears. They hovered, just over the heads of the unicorn archers, poised to sortie and harass the invaders. The APCs appeared first, ten in all, rolling in single file up the mountain path. A few hundred meters from the walls, they stopped and spread out in a semicircle. The two on the ends mounted rocket launchers; they fired salvos that exploded against the shield protecting Canterlot. The shield glowed brightly where struck, but withstood the barrage with little strain. The eight APCs in the line's center, equipped with heavy cannons, held their fire. Rattled, but unharmed, the Guard responded with a volley of their own. Catapults swung and ballistae twanged; the shield rippled like the surface of water as boulders and spears passed through en masse, but the fusillade landed well short of the APCs. The archers, their arrows enhanced by unicorn magic, had more luck; their volley arced higher and farther, only to rebound off the APCs' armor. As the armored vehicles soaked up the guardsponies' ineffectual attacks, a convoy of twenty covered trucks, troop transports and cargo vehicles, arrived from the mountain path and lined up behind the APCs. Five more, flatbeds with black tarps stretched tight over their loads, assembled in a rank behind the transports. Their brakes hissed, and they waited. A brief, tense stalemate followed. The Guard, knowing they were ill-equipped to damage the Pegasus Wings armor, ceased fire. The APCs' guns remained silent, and no soldiers emerged from their cabins, or from the trucks. A light wind whispered through the pass, rippling the flatbeds' tarps. Then another flatbed appeared on the mountain pass. This one had its cargo exposed: A bident fit for a giant, its skin a patchwork of metals, crudely assembled from whatever materials were available. A rat's nest of wires and cables connected the fork to massive batteries strapped to the side of the bed, and coiled into the truck's cabin through its back window. Arcs of lightning danced between the prongs, blue webs that flickered and crackled. On this jury-rigged Frankenstein's monster of a railgun, an officer with an obscure sense of literary irony had painted the name "GROND" in blood-red letters. The truck parked on the road, behind its fellows, in the center of the semicircle that the other vehicles formed. Hydraulics hissed, and the truck bed reclined until the railgun stood at a forty-five degree angle, leveled at the shield. The batteries whined to life with a low, bass note that pounded and throbbed in the guardsponies' ears. The lightning on the bident's prongs grew brighter, more intense, more chaotic; the bass note rose to a terrible, shrieking crescendo. On the wall, the officer on duty shouted a desperate order. A line of spear-wielding pegasi sallied through the barrier in a desperate charge toward the railgun. They met a crossfire of bullets and explosive shells as the APCs's guns finally came to life. The unicorn archers, despairing at their comrades' swift end, fired at will. The APCs shrugged off the arrows. And Grond, unmolested, fired. A blinding flash forced the guardsponies to shield their eyes; a piercing note, like metal rending, forced them to clutch their ears. Shining Armor's shield shattered like glass, and shards of pink light rained onto the yard below, winking into nothingness on contact. As the Guard recoiled, blinded, deafened, and frightened, the flatbeds' cargo stirred. Their coverings bulged and strained; the ropes securing them in place tightened, then snapped. The breeze caught the tarps, and carried them off the mountain, exposing their cargo to the mountain air. Trenton had not merely secured one XMG-IRVING unit for Pegasus Wings. He had brought the entire line of twenty-four prototypes. And now, for the first time since arriving in Equestria, the remaining twenty-three stretched their legs, reared to full height, and bellowed. In unison, they leaped from the trucks that had carried them up the mountainside, and sprinted toward Canterlot, trampling through a field of blood and bodies. Most leaped over the walls. Their powerful legs carried them past Canterlot's battlements in a single bound; they landed in the yard and surrounded the pike wall that waited at the gate. Others scaled the walls, digging their clawed toes deep into the stonework to drag themselves up. The first to reach the rampart hooked its toes over two merlons, and raised its head until it came nose-to-nose with a unicorn. She'd been shielding her face with an armored foreleg as she recovered from the railgun's blast, and managed to open her eyes enough to glimpse the machine standing in front of her. The IRVING nickered. Something inside its chassis clicked. The unicorn's scream ended abruptly as a stream of napalm swallowed her. Swiveling its head left, the IRVING turned its flamethrower onto the other archers. To its right, another IRVING reached the rampart, and sent jets of fire along its length. Together, they cleared the wall of its defenders, and filled the air with the stink of burning flesh and fur. More scaled the watchtowers; manipulator cables wrapped around guardsponies necks, strangling them, snapping their bones, and tossing them like rag dolls over the walls. In the yard, the IRVING waded through the pike wall at will. Three-toed feet pulverized heads and bodies, and claws rent through plate and mail like tissue paper. The Guards, still half-blind and deaf, fought back feebly. Spear thrusts glanced off the machines' plating and tough, leathery hide. One enterprising sergeant, an earth pony, managed to lodge his own spear in an IRVING's thigh, only for the machine's manipulator cord to tug it out and skewer him. As the guardsponies died at their feet, the IRVING turned their flamethrowers on the siege engines. Catapults and ballistae burned like torches, their ammunition glowing red-hot from the intensity of the flames. Clouds of smoke choked the ponies still standing, while ashes, caught in the breeze, fluttered like summer snowfall. The call to retreat came from half a dozen ponies; with no clear chain of command in place, nopony thought to question from whom their orders should come. In a bedraggled, disorderly rout, the remnants of the companies stationed at Canterlot's main gate – anypony still on their hooves, anypony who could escape – stampeded toward the train station. In the yard and along the walls, among the corpses of the fallen and aglow in the light from the fires they'd spread, the victorious IRVING turned their heads skyward, and howled. The gate at Canterlot's outer wall had no portcullis, only a pair of doors carved from the same marble as the rest of the walls. A painted relief of the sun at its zenith, held aloft by an ornate carving of Princess Celestia, greeted any and all visitors to the city. A salvo obliterated the gate, and its relief, and its alicorn carving, reducing the whole thing to a loosely hanging mass of blackened stone. What remained shattered when one of the vehicles ploughed through at full speed, knocking the gate off its hinges and scattering it among the rubble and corpses. The APC drove through smoldering fires, ran over the pulped bodies of the wall's defenders, past the IRVING that had slaughtered them, and finally screeched to a halt. The rest of the vehicles followed – the armor first, then the covered trucks. The flatbeds that had carried the IRVING platoon sat abandoned outside the city gate. The APCs formed a ring with the trucks in the center. Their turrets swiveled, scanning the city, as their back hatches opened, and soldiers deployed between the armored vehicles. More troops, armed to the teeth with rifles and machine guns and RPGs, emerged from the covered trucks, and took up positions among the other troops. By human standards, this assemblage of outdated vehicles and infantry with archaic assault rifles, would be a meager rabble. To a city protected by spears and bows and catapults, they were a steel-plated juggernaut. Surrounded by his men on all sides, Macbeth finally emerged. He'd been riding in the APC that had first crashed through the gate, explicitly demanding the privilege of battering through the marble visage of Celestia, and now strutted down the vehicle's ramp with his head held high. His face lit up when he saw the destruction he'd brought to Canterlot; he closed his eyes, inhaled deeply through his nose, and released a long, slow sigh of contentment. Then he looked over his shoulder, and called into the APC's cabin. "Lieutenant! Come out here and take a breath. You know what that smell is?" Lieutenant Delacroix joined him on the ramp, an MRS carbine hanging from her shoulder. She wore a headset that she constantly fiddled with, pausing only to punch commands into a keyboard mounted on her left arm. "Napalm, sir?" she said distractedly. "No, no." Then Macbeth thought about it, and shrugged. "Well, yes, I suppose, but that's not exactly what I was referring to. It's victory, Lieutenant. It's progress – change." Delacroix stopped pressing buttons, frowned, and took a cursory look around the yard. "Just smells like napalm to me. Sir." "Of course. Humans – no sense for the dramatic." Macbeth scoffed, and looked again at the pile of corpses the IRVING had left behind. "So, this is what passes for siege defense in Equestria these days." He spat off the side of the ramp. "You see their folly too, don't you, Lieutenant?" Anger seethed in Macbeth's voice. "A battery of cannons, here, along the wall, could have held us at bay, even with our technological advantage. Equestrian tanks could never rival our armor, but if they'd sortied instead of those pegasi, they could have disabled the rail gun, forced us to batter down the shield with cannons and grenades, and given their infantry a chance at an orderly retreat." He paused for Delacroix to respond. She didn't. Annoyed, Macbeth coughed, and raised his voice. "Instead, Celestia's finest thought to meet our advance with archaic toys. Did they think their valor, their sheer gall, would save them? Surely, the survivors realize now how wrong they were. The rest will learn, too, soon enough. When the ponies of Canterlot see our armor rolling through their streets, our war machines paving the roads with corpses, they'll know that the future has come to..." Macbeth turned to look at Delacroix as his speech reached a climax, and found her back to him. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant, am I boring you?" "I'm trying to raise Commander Cain, sir." Delacroix tapped her mic experimentally, and held her headphones with her right hand. "Repeat, Birnam Wood has come to Dunsinane. Respond." Seconds passed as she waited. When no answer came, she let her hand rest on her carbine's barrel. Macbeth grinned, baring his mouth of rotten teeth. "Should I start from the top?" Ignoring him, Delacroix shook her head. "I've been checking in since we left the mountain junction, but he hasn't responded once. And I can't raise Captain Smart in Ponyville, either." "Your radios have always been somewhat unreliable, haven't they?" said Macbeth. "Sure. But I can get through to the choppers, and to Dr. Rokubungi at the junction." Delacroix stroked her chin. "Any problems Smart and the Commander are having must be on their end." Macbeth's hooves clanged on the APC's ramp as he trotted back toward Delacroix. "Paper Mongoose's silence is hardly unexpected." Delacroix raised an eyebrow. "And the commander?" To that, Macbeth only offered an oily smile. He patted Delacroix on the hip, failing to notice her cringing away from him. "We've our own job, Lieutenant. Let's leave the others to theirs." "With all due respect, I don't need to be told to do my job. This is my command, not yours. Sir." Delacroix nudged past him, striding down the ramp, and onto the charred surface of the yard, typing into her mounted keyboard with quick strokes. The IRVING deployed in response to her order. Grunting like cattle, they leaped from the blackened battlements, abandoned the piles of dead guardsponies, and dispersed throughout the city, traversing the streets and scaling buildings in great leaps and bounds Four remained, standing like sentinels as Delacroix addressed the soldiers. "Alright, let's review. First, the rocket launchers'll be here on standby. Think before calling in a strike, though; we only have so many rockets. Second, check your fire – if it isn't wearing armor, and it isn't coming right at you, don't pull the trigger. We don't have enough ammo for a rampage. Third, and I cannot stress this enough, stay out of the lizards' way. Don't get underneath them if you can help it. They have a blind spot between their legs. We clear?" Two hundred voices chorused back, "Ma'am!" Delacroix nodded, satisfied. "That's that. Let's wrap this up." The APCs' engines revved, and they peeled away. Three went straight ahead, following the road that led to Canterlot Castle. Four others picked four different directions, to rearm and reinforce the companies that had deployed in the initial heliborne assault. Loose, staggered columns of infantry trailed after each, leaving a token force to defend the artillery. Delacroix and Macbeth remained with an escort of eight soldiers, four IRVING, and one APC. They watched the company move out, the client regarding his retinue smugly. "Speech was a little dry, if you ask me," he said. "You should read Shakespeare, draw some inspiration." Declaroix ignored the comment. "Sir, I'd be remiss in pointing out that this plan will fail if I can't get in touch with the Commander. If the Princess calls our bluff—" "Trenton prepared us for that eventuality." Macbeth indicated the blood-spattered machines with a grandiose sweep of his hoof. "They will obey my commands, won't they?" "Units 01 through 04 will react to verbal orders, yes. You tell them to kick the Princess to death, they'll do it, or die trying." Delacroix fiddled with her radio again. "I'd feel better if it didn't come to that. As I understand it, just one of them had trouble with six ponies." "And an unusually gifted human, don't forget. I'd feel better if we could wring more than one shot out of that marvelous cannon that brought down the shield." Macbeth cast a lingering look toward the broken gate. "Blasting the top off Canterlot Castle in the middle of negotiations would be worth it for the look on Celestia's face alone." "We only had one non-nuclear round, and it's a miracle we even got that off without the railgun exploding." Delacroix snorted. "We'd better hope we don't need a second shot. I can't guarantee that we can break through another shield with conventional munitions, and still have enough ammo to win." Macbeth shook his head. "They saw what good their shields are against our firepower; for all they know, we can take them down at will. And the shield spell is always taxing on the caster. I think we've seen the last of that little trick." Delacroix chewed her lip. "I hope you're right. For all our sakes." "Have I yet to be wrong about anything?" Macbeth chuckled. "Now, Lieutenant. Won't you let me take you on a tour through my hometown? It's been years, but I believe I still know my way around." Delacroix grumbled, and shook her head. She beckoned for her escort to fall in, and they assembled, four troops ahead of the APC, and four behind. Macbeth and Delacroix were in the center, behind the armor, and flanked by the remaining IRVING. "No peace in our time, right?" she said grimly. "Let's move." Slowly, they advanced down the boulevard that led to Canterlot Castle. As the city around them burned, Macbeth breathed deep the smell of victory, and held his head high, hamming it up as the avenging prodigal. Swathed in layers of clothing, and heavily burdened – by Trenton's sword and his own submachine gun, by the crude vest he'd thrown together and hidden under his cloak, by the detonator that hung in his pocket like a rock – Alistair Cain sweated through his dress blues. He stood on the catwalk inside the ruined cathedral, a Cuban cigar clenched between his teeth, and stared through the crumbled western wall at the Castle of the Two Sisters in the distance. A gentle wind rippled the tails of his heavy overcoat. Beside him, REX's jaw hung open, its cockpit exposed and waiting. He held a photograph of a girl in a blue dress, creased and folded to hide part of the image. Every pull Cain took from the cigar lit the photo with a dull, orange glow, and every puff of smoke obscured the girl's face in a thick, gray haze. Cain slowly, tenderly, traced his thumb over the girl's smiling face. Footsteps from the ground below echoed up to REX's gantry, and clanged on the metal stairs. Cain unfolded the creased photo, and fixed his gaze on the image of the boy he'd been trying to hide. He puffed his cigar, pulled it from his mouth, and pressed its smoldering tip against the boy's face, watching with satisfaction as he burned away. "Commander." Static filled Trenton's voice – more static than usual. Cain judged that he was standing at the far end of the catwalk, just by the stairs. He heard no more footfalls – not yet, anyway. Cain bit down on his cigar again and savored another long drag. His fist closed around the still-smoldering photo, crushing it in his palm and singing his skin. Then he opened his hand, and let it fall through the hole in the cathedral's western wall, to the abbey's cobblestones. "You're back." Smoke thickened Cain's voice. "Figured you would be." "I cannot say the same for you." Trenton's feet clanged on the catwalk's metal, stiff and even, as he walked closer to Cain. "Who commands in Canterlot?" "Delacroix. Choppers should be getting close to Canterlot right about now. Me? I wanted to stay behind, catch up with you a bit. You have a lot you need to answer for." "I would be more than happy to account for my actions, Commander, once this operation is complete. We are on a timetable, and Metal Gear requires a pilot." "On the contrary, we have all the time in the world to talk." Cain chewed the end of his cigar. "Did you kill my XO?" "I've already explained the circumstances of Captain Case's disappearance." "Yes, of course. Timberwolves got him, and his platoon. Convenient." Cain snorted. "Should have asked the kid to verify that story when we had the chance." "That man killed the fireteam. Timberwolves killed Captain Case. I had no part in any of it." "You didn't say a word about 'that man' when you told us about the patrol. But you must've known he was here before any of us did. Working with those ponies." Cain puffed out a thick cloud of smoke. "Did you smuggle him into Equestria before we deployed in force, or after?" "I had no knowledge of—" "You knew, and what's more, you colluded with him. You stopped me from killing him when I had him dead to rights, stole company property, and smuggled it to him when you knew we had no way of stopping you." Cain shifted the cigar to one corner of his mouth, and spat from the other. "Tell me I'm wrong." Trenton's voice made a whirring sound that Cain had never heard from him before. "You sound paranoid, Commander. Delusional. Have you been losing sleep? Perhaps you should not be operating heavy machinery." "Well, you did steal my bike. I had to replace it with something. Why not Metal Gear?" Cain finally turned to face Trenton – burdened as he was, he moved gracelessly. His first glimpse of Trenton came as a shock. Grime and smoke streaked his exoskeleton, and his head bore a sizable dent. He wore a pristine vest over it – the only part of him not shredded, stained, or otherwise damaged. There'd been a spare in his locker, Cain recalled. "I took your motorcycle, and you took my sword," said Trenton, stepping forward. "I'll consider it an even exchange if you return Metal Gear to me." Cain took one last drag from his cigar, then flung it over the edge of the catwalk. Wordlessly, he unslung his MP-7, and leveled it at Trenton. The light in Trenton's eye sparked and flickered. "Really, Commander? I'm glad we're not bothering with pretenses anymore, but come to your senses. If I want to take that machine from you, do you truly believe there is anything you could do to stop me?" "Probably not. Then again, I don't need to. Nobody is taking Metal Gear anywhere." Cain took a slow, deep breath. "I formatted the onboard computer." "Indeed?" "That's right. This thing can't fight anymore, can't even move. Defense systems, the onboard sensor suite, the entire operating system – everything is gone." Cain smiled thinly. "Including the launch angle and trajectory for Manehattan." "This is retaliation, is it?" Trenton kept his voice carefully modulated, betrayed nothing. "If so, it's poorly planned. Your men need the nuclear missile to bluff Princess Celestia. Without a credible threat, they face a losing battle." "You're wrong. They might take some licks, but they'll pull through. Macbeth will get his kingdom, and the troops... well, they've been itching for some pillage and plunder for a while now. Everyone gets what they want." Cain licked his lips. "Everyone but you, that is." "And what about you?" Trenton purred. "You've sabotaged your own assurance of victory for a chance at checking my grand betrayal. Is that what you want, Commander?" "It's not about what I want. It's not even about you betraying me. This is bigger than just you and I. This is about a debt you owe." "A debt that I owe?" "To MSF. To everyone who died on Mother Base. Everyone you betrayed." Static hissed in Trenton's voice. "You are delusional." "No. If anything, I'm seeing clearer than I have in a long, long time." Cain took a cautious step forward. "I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. You remember the day that Paz died? The first time, I mean – the day you let her hijack ZEKE." Trenton tried to say something, but his voice caught, and Cain delighted in thinking that he'd finally caught the ninja off guard. "I'm only bringing it up for context; that's not the point of the story." Cain took another slow, steady step. "I left MSF right before the end – days before Cipher hit Mother Base. And I never told anyone this, but it's because of what happened that day. Hearing everything Paz said, about us, about her mission, watching her fall into the Carribean... I didn't have it in me to stay anymore." "So that's why you returned to Britain," said Trenton. "I hadn't wondered." "Never thought much about me, did you?" Cain took a deep breath. "Well, I thought about you. And I thought about her. For more than half my life, not a day's gone by that I haven't thought of that girl, plunging into the Carribean, washing up in Cuba... and of you, Chico. Her runt in shining armor, rushing off to save her in the dead of night." "Come to the point, Commander," said Trenton, unmoved. "Much as I cherish our talks, I have no time to reminisce with you." Cain smiled tightly. Silently, he reached into his breast pocket, and drew out the old, battered Walkman. Once more, he'd caught Trenton off guard. His eye flashed, his gaze fixed on the Walkman, as Cain raised it in the air. "Seeing this come out of your locker brought back a lot of memories for me. You must feel the same way. Must be why you still have it." Cain gave the Walkman a little shake. "You know, I always thought Paz was the one who ratted us out to Cipher – her and Emmerich, both. And all that time in Zanzibar Land, the Boss never breathed a word about the night we lost Mother Base. So, you show up out of the blue with a job for me, saying it was Paz, what am I gonna do but believe you? Anyone who'd disagree is long dead. And dead men tell no tales." His thumb mashed the PLAY button, and swallowed a lump in his throat. "But, as it happens, angels do." A girl spoke, her thin, plaintive voice masked by layers of white noise, and almost illegible through the Walkman's ancient speakers. "...Chico. I am borrowing your recorder. Hope you do not mind. I know it hurts right now. But it will all be over soon. Just thinking that helps keep the pain away." The tape fizzled and crackled; the voice vanished, subsumed by white noise. It cut, in and out, with the sounds of a lash against bare flesh, a woman's anguished screams, and an incongruously cheerful song underscoring it all. Cain's thumb shifted to the REWIND button; when he released it, a boy's brittle voice took up where Paz left off. "...Out at sea... Staff of three hundred... but usually there's..." The tape was like Trenton's voice, choked with static and thick. "ZEKE," the boy whispered, soft and so broken. "Metal Gear..." A man replied, deep and smooth. "See? That wasn't so hard." Cain crushed the STOP button, his face placid, his knuckles white around the Walkman. Trenton stood, rock-steady and silent. Opening his hand, Cain let the Walkman fall. Then, bracing himself, he squeezed his MP-7's trigger. Trenton vaulted over the railing, a split-second ahead of Cain, and dropped into the cathedral below. Cain's bullets tore harmlessly into the far wall, punching holes into the ancient stonework. Cain swore, and ran down the catwalk, to the spot where Trenton had jumped. Slowly, carefully, he swept his weapon across the cathedral floor, his eyes on his sights, his finger on the trigger, his heart hammering under his layers of clothing. From behind came a rush of air, and a metallic thud. Cain whirled, firing off a burst, but the back of Trenton's fist crashed into the submachinegun's barrel and knocked the weapon from his hands and over the rail. Then Trenton swung the same fist in toward Cain's face. Cain caught him by the wrist, but the force of the attack dropped him to his knees. Clenching his teeth and gripping Trenton, he drew the sword on his back and thrust upward, stabbing through Trenton's vest and exoskeleton like butter. Trenton stiffened, and Cain allowed himself a moment's satisfaction at hurting him. His sense of victory curdled to horror when Trenton grabbed the sword's blade, wrenched the weapon from Cain's hand, and impaled himself to the hilt. He showed no reaction, no sign of pain. Then he caught Cain by the throat, spun, and threw him down the catwalk. Cain slammed into the railing at the far end, the metal bars bending from the force of impact. Breathless and pained, Cain struggled to his feet, as Trenton pulled the sword free of his belly. without flinching. Cain blinked, and in the moment that his eyes were closed, a length of cold steel pierced his gut, and emerged from his back. His eyes bulged open, wide, and he drank in the sight of Trenton's face, inches away from his own.. Through the haze of pain, the sharp, cold agony filling his body, Cain reached into his coat pocket, and closed his fingers around the detonator. "Fry, you son of a—" His curse died on his lips, cut off by a shrill, agonized scream. Trenton grabbed his hand, pulled it from his pocket, and wrenched his arm until his wrist snapped and his elbow popped free of its joint. Cain's fingers went limp; the detonator clattered to the ground, and rolled to Trenton's feet. "You didn't truly believe that such a puerile trick would work, did you? I could see the C-4 under your coat from the ground floor." Trenton kicked the detonator off the railing, and ripped the sword free. Blood spurted from the wound, spattering his once-pristine vest. Cain bit back a second cry of pain as his legs buckled, and he dropped to the catwalk. He sat with his back against the railing, helpless, breathing shallowly. Cain tensed as Trenton reached toward him, and relaxed when all he did was pull the sword's sheath from his back. "I feel that I should mention something," Trenton declared. "Formatting Metal Gear's onboard computer is not the decisive blow you thought it would be. I can restore its operating system from a back-up stored in my nanomachines. A tedious process, to be sure. But little more than an inconvenience." Trenton wiped the sword's blade off in the crook of his arm, staining himself with a mixture of red and white blood, and slammed it back into its sheath. "So, you may die knowing that you've accomplished nothing." His voicebox clicked. "An apt ending to your career." The insult struck Cain like a second sword in his gut. He struggled to straighten himself against the bent, crooked railing, coughed through the blood rising in his esophagus, and glared at Trenton through his dimming vision. "What's your game here, huh?" he managed to cough out. You fire that thing, Macbeth takes over Equestria, and you take over the army? You think my men'll just ignore what you've done here today?" He filled his mouth with as much blood as he could, and spat the whole wad at Trenton's foot. The ninja regarded him bemusedly. "A starving dog is loyal to nothing but its next meal," he said. "It matters not who feeds them." "You'll never understand," Cain snapped. "My men have a cause. A reason to fight. A reason they're loyal to. You can kill me if you want, kill my officers, too. But the troops won't fight for you, or for Macbeth. They'll see you dead." "Why? For what? You, and your legacy of failure?" "I built this company from nothing." "No. Big Boss built Zanzibar Land. You scraped the rotting meat from its bones, and called it an army." Trenton's head tilted. "You're more deluded than Macbeth." Cain snarled, and tried to lunge for Trenton. Pain forced him back down; he cringed, clutching his wound and moaning, as a fresh gout of blood spurted at Trenton's feet. "Don't you preach to me like you knew what Big Boss fought for," Cain gasped. "Don't even mention his name. You betrayed him, just like everyone else you ever fought for. The Sandinistas. MSF. Me! That's your legacy! You're a lifelong coward, and a turncoat!" "I have betrayed nobody, and nothing," said Trenton calmly. "But you? You have betrayed what you fought for. Big Boss knew that men need a cause in order to make war, and he also knew he had no cause to give them. So he made war, itself, the cause, and gave his men purpose. And they loved him for it. What did you give yours, again? Ah, yes." He squatted in front of Cain, and leaned in close. "You gave them a brand – the glorious name of Pegasus Wings – and made sure they were more loyal to the promise of a payday than anything else. Small wonder you're dying here, alone." He bowed, and shook, his head. "But it doesn't matter. You are wrong about my purpose, as you have been wrong about so much else." "Then tell me the truth," said Cain. "Be honest with me, and tell me what you really want." "To create the world he envisioned. If not quite the way he envisioned it." Trenton stood, and swept his sword toward Metal Gear, tracing the length of the missile module. "I could not have obtained and transported this weapon here without you and your meager resources. And I could not have recruited you without Macbeth to act as a client. You brought Metal Gear this far, and I thank you. But you were never anything more than a means to an end, one piece in a larger game. And now, it's time for you to leave the board." Unable to think of a rebuttal – and quite certain that anything he said would sound as pathetic as he looked – Cain could only choke out a laugh, one thick with blood and smoke. Somehow, he found the strength for one final insult. "I always fucking hated you, Chico." Trenton stared at Cain for a long, silent moment. Then he stepped forward, took him by the collar, and hoisted him into the air, sending fresh agony through Cain's body. This time, he couldn't resist the urge to scream in pain. The ninja waited for the scream to ebb before speaking. "I am not Chico." The pain abruptly vanished. Cain felt numb, lifeless, the hole in his belly forgotten. "Ricardo Valenciano Libre died in the Carribean, another victim of Cipher's massacre," Trenton continued, perfectly polite and poised. "I never fought for the Sandinistas, or the Militaires Sans Frontiers. And so, I never betrayed either." "An imposter...?" Cain swallowed another mouthful of blood. "Why?!" "Because it served my purpose. I needed you, Commander. No soldier of fortune would ever have taken on a mission like this one without the looming threat of bankruptcy, nor would anyone else have believed Equestria to be anything more than a fable. You knew better, though, didn’t you, 'Swordfish?'" He dangled Cain off the edge of the catwalk. "Even that wouldn't have been enough for you to cast your lot with Macbeth's, to gamble everything you built. But if a comrade from MSF, even someone you hated, someone like Chico, presented you with that offer? Well. You'd do anything to relive your glory days. And I could play no other role as well as him. Certainly not well enough to fool you." Cain looked over his shoulder, at the abbey grounds stretching out behind him. In Trenton's grip, he felt weightless, untethered, free. "You were right about one thing, though," said Trenton. "Chico did betray the Militaires Sans Frontiers. Under duress, if that makes any difference to you. I suspect it doesn't." Rolling his eyes toward Trenton, Cain spat his last words like a curse. "Who the hell are you?" Trenton pressed his face against Cain's, and lowered his voice to a hiss. "My name is Pacifica Ocean." Trenton drew his arm back, and hurled Cain through the shattered western wall. Far in the distance, a fiery flower bloomed upon the pink shell enveloping Canterlot Castle.

Harpica

438

Applejack,Cutie Mark Crusaders,Derpy Hooves,Pinkie Pie,Twilight Sparkle,Dark,Random,Romance,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic,Gore,Sex

A Day at Sugarcube Corner

A simple enchilada goes horribly, horribly wrong.

hiatus

<p>Will Rarity find the perfect hair dye? Will Twilight overcome her chronic shitting disorder?</p><p>Only time will tell!</p>

mature

2011-08-21T23:30:14+00:00

2011-08-21T23:30:14+00:00

~harpica Rarity and Applejack are all sitting around sugarcube corner waiting for Pinkie Pie to come over and suck their massive erect cocks. Naturally, the pair become anxious and start to suck each others massive, bulging, fully erect penises, suddenly Twilight Sparkle comes running into the bakery, shit is literally flying from her ass and has started to fill the bakery. “FUCK SHIT DANG DARN BUTTS MAKE IT STOP” exclaimed Twilight. “I Tuffed yuhf tu*gulp* nohf eaf theh enchrihdas” Apple Jacks words were barely audible with Rarity’s stiff shaft deep down her throat. “HOLY BALLS MY ASSHOLE IS HOTTER THAN THE SUN” Twilight screamed in agony. “Darling, do you really think we give two shits?” Said Rarity in a calm, but commanding tone, while Apple Jack was still gagging on her erection. And with that, using the force of her monster of a cock, she flipped Apple Jack into the air, and lay down flat on her back. Apple Jack came down, butthole first, on Rarity’s chest. “Unload!” screamed Rarity as Apple Jack came with the force of a thousand suns into Rarity’s mane and face, while being pushed into the air by the massive turd protruding from her tender asshole. While all this was happening, Twilight had found herself running around in circles, shit exploding from her ass like the hydrogen bomb, and then she passed out. She awoke to the sight of Rarity pouting in front of a mirror, and Apple Jack heavily panting behind her. “Heh....heh......I guess white ain’t your colour sugarcube” Rarity could only put on a look of disappointment as she saw the truth that Apple Jacks semen didn’t make a very good hair dye, and that white certainly didn’t suit her. “But I must say, these brown hooves are very nice! I must thank dear old Twilight when she wakes up!..Oh! you’re awake! Twilight dear, I must say, if it wasn’t for your constant pain-filled explosive ankle deep diarrhea, I would never have found out how great I would look in brown shoes!” Twilight mumbled to herself, she had been out for at least an hour or two, when she had arrived they were only getting started, and she knew that Apple Jack would have incredible endurance, so they must have been at it for a while to get her so tired, and it didn’t help that her ass still felt like it was on fire, just minus the atom bomb explosion coming from her rectum. “But I must admit, I do feel very sorry for Pinkie Pie, the poor thing will have to clean up all this fucking ankle deep shit that you spewed everywhere from your anal cavity!”

Harpica

438

Applejack,Cutie Mark Crusaders,Derpy Hooves,Pinkie Pie,Twilight Sparkle,Dark,Random,Romance,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic,Gore,Sex

A Day at Sugarcube Corner

A simple enchilada goes horribly, horribly wrong.

hiatus

<p>Will Rarity find the perfect hair dye? Will Twilight overcome her chronic shitting disorder?</p><p>Only time will tell!</p>

mature

2011-10-20T18:46:48+00:00

2011-10-20T18:46:48+00:00

Pinkie Pie was crying. Pinkie Pie never cried. Earlier that day her three friends had left her in Sugarcube corner alone with a huge erection. If that wasn’t bad enough, they left her in an ankle deep pool of Twilight’s blood, guts and shit. Her massive erection had nothing to do but squirm around in what looked like Twilight’s lower intestines. She picked up a cleaver and was about to chop off her dick so she could shove it up her ass while skullfucking herself with the cleaver, but she heard a knock on the door. “WHO KNOCKS UPON THE DOOR OF PINKAMENA!?” she shouted “HUUUUR DUUUR” came a fucknigger retarded voice from behind the door Pinkie turned around, erection in hand, and ran at the door screaming “FUCKING DERPY FUCK OFF RETARD”, but as she ran, she slipped on what may have been Twilight’s right kidney, and did a triple backflip, landing in another puddle of shit, which only served to make her penis harder. (AUTHORS NOTE: the backflip was fucking cash, trust me.) She quickly gathered herself, stood up, and headed to the door. She slammed the door inwards, grabbed Derpy my the mane and pulling her in, she then slammed Derpy onto the ground, Derpy made a sickening crack as she hit the cold, shit covered floor. Pinkie wasted no time in shoving her huge cock straight down the mailmare’s throat. “WHY ARE YOU HERE!?” Pinkie shouted, furious that she had been disturbed from her wallowing. “HUU*cough*UuuUUUu*gulp*Duu*cack*uUUr” “Premium sixteen inch stallion dildo’s and strap-ons?” Said Pinky, rather confused, but a flush of happiness flooding into her face nevertheless. Her hair suddenly sprung up and became poofy and curled, like a large piece of cotton candy. “Get them.” she said with a smile. Derpy gestured towards Pinkie’s huge, throbbing erection which was still lodged deep down her throat impeding her movement and breathing. Pinkie pulled out in one smooth motion which not only made her cum directly into Derpy’s stomach, but also made Derpy snap upright onto her hooves, which put her into a walking motion. Derpy, seeing no reason to complain because she knew just how dangerous Pinkie could be, went with haste to gather the two box’s from outside that had been dropped when she was practically raped. She tried to fly out the door, but ended up hitting the wall about three feet to the left with a horrible crack, which almost certainly spelled broken nose or jaw. “That’s not how you use a door silly!” Pinkie Pie bounced past the mailmare who was now lodged into the wall, and outside into the sunlight. “What a beautiful day!” she exclaimed, taking in a deep breath of air, savouring it. She glanced around, looking for the packages the wall-eyed pegasus had mentioned. While doing so, she caught a glimpse of the cutie mark crusaders running around with a kite. A dark thought entered Pinkies mind, “I’ll have to introduce my new toys to those three.” She noticed the groans of pain coming from behind her, “Maybe some other time...” she thought, as she looked at an empty wagon that was placed outside the bakery, where the box’s had happened to land. “Oh! there you are!” exclaimed the pink earth pony as she gather them up and brought them back into the bakery. The door locked with a click. Derpy had since recovered from her accident, and was stumbling around the room in a daze. “Prepare your anus, Derpy!” Pinkie said rather enthusiastically as she tore open the first box to reveal a gleaming, silver, sixteen inch vibrating strap-on. “Perfect for fun at crowded parties!” Pinkie Pie exclaimed with excitement while reading the description on it’s side. She flicked a small, rubber button on the base of the shaft and the whole member began to violently shake. “Perfect...” Pinkie Pie said under her breath. Pinkie suddenly jolted up, dropping the strap-on, and ran at Derpy with a newly found erection. “I HOPE YOU’RE READY!” shouted Pinkie as she bent the blonde pegasus over and turned her around in one fluid motion. She wasted no time in absolutely destroying Derpy’s tender asshole with her massive erect shaft. Somehow, Pinkie’s jukebox had somehow turned itself on, and was blaring a song. “PARTY PARTY PARTY, I WANNA HAVE A PARTY, I NEED TO HAVE A PARTY, YOU’D BETTER HAVE A PARTY, WELL PARTY PARTY PARTY, YOU GOTTA PARTY HARDY, I’M GONNA HAVE A PARTY OR ELSE YOU WILL BE SORRY!” Pinkie Pie smiled as she thrust her massive cock balls deep into Derpy’s ass to the beat of the music, the sensation she was feeling was incredible, Derpy, on the other hand, was trying to supress tears as she was brutally anally violated. Pinkie scooped up hoof-fulls of Twilights partly liquefied shit and internal organs off the ground to use as lube as she brutally ravaged the blonde haired mail-mare. She pulled out for no more than a second to jam as much shit as she could carry into Derpy’s anus to act as lube, lining the inner walls of her rectum Pinkie then wasted no time in laying back into Derpy with a full force balls deep thrust, the shit was really improving the feeling of the insides of the grey pegasus, so much so that Pinkie dared hold her position inside of Derpy before pulling out to thrust again. Pinkie found herself thrusting so hard that she was gradually making Derpy slide across the floor, leaving a trail of wetness from the tears where her face had been, and pushing shit out of the way like a snow plough. Pinkie must have came at least a gallon at this point, cum that appeared brown from the shit-lube was crawling up Pinkies dick and forming a large puddle on the floor whenever she blew her load inside of Derpy, the cum quickly being evacuated by Pinkies cock each time it made a return thrust. Derpy couldn’t cry anymore. She had been all dried up from the pain of the Pink intruder, violating her anus and everything she held sacred, but mostly her anus “Okay silly!” She heard a voice from behind her, Pinkie had reluctantly pulled out as a response to Derpy’s screams of pain, which Pinkie had mistaken for screams of exctasy, but not before putting the pegasus through three hours of torture. “Now it’s your turn!” She said as her stiff cock was slowly calming down, throwing the oversized strap-on to Derpy, who was still crushed and disorientated. Derpy couldn’t quite make sense of the situation, all she knew was that she had just been tossed a rather large, vibrating strap-on, and that a certain pink earth pony, (who had made it so she could not feel a thing below her stomach), was bent over, waiting expectantly. Derpy staggered onto her hooves, droplets of semen seeping out of her ass followed by a steady stream caused by the sudden movements. She looked around, seeing Pinkie Pie still waiting expectantly, shooting her a seductive look. Derpy then realised what she had to do. Everything that had just happened in the past three hours came rushing into her head like a tsunami of memory. Pinkie hurt her. A lot. She stopped seeking potential escape routes and instead strapped the device on the ground next to her over her shit stained pussy. “Yes...” Pinkie said, watching the mail-mares every move. Derpy wanted to hurt Pinkie after what she had done, and this is how she would do it. Derpy flipped the switch and the machine started violently shaking, it’s maximum setting, Pinkie Pie deserved no less. Derpy ran at her and slammed the machine straight into Pinkie’s pussy, all sixteen inches of it with the intent of hurting her. When the only response Derpy got were moans and a loud “Oh yes!”, she knew she was doing something wrong, Pinkie was trembling along with the machine that was shaking inside of her, and she loved it. “HuuuRR” said Derpy, with a determined look on her face, she thrust even harder, using her wings to propel herself deep into Pinkies vagina, only serving to make her moan even louder and digging her head into a pile of shit infront of her to try and hush her screams of exctasy. Derpy thought that her plan was finally working, that the harder she thrusted, the more it hurt Pinkie, she was oblivious that Pinkie was in an absolute filthy and hot daze as she had her insides rummaged through by a huge vibrating cock. Derpy had made Pinkie cum multiple times and was getting worn out, Pinkie was paralyzed on the floor with her haunches up covered in drool mixed with cum and shit. Derpy collapsed in a puddle of shit quickly followed by Pinkie, they both fell into a deep, sex induced sleep.

Colour Coded Chaos

442

Applejack,Derpy Hooves,Winona,Adventure,Comedy,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

Witch of the Westmareland

complete

<p> When Applejack's nailed by a falling rowan tree whilst taking part in the Running of the Leaves, she thinks it's bad enough being, well, nailed by a falling rowan tree. But when a raven lands on her windowsill and tells her to go somewhere that sort of doesn't exist in two days or she'll snuff it with a fairly sizeable explosion, and Ditzy Doo gets dragged into the mess, everyone's favourite orange farm pony has to go a-questin'. This can only end well...</p><p>I hope to get this into Equestria Daily. If you're reading, ED Prereaders, please send me a note on this account telling me where and when to meet you with the fifty thousand in non-sequential used notes.</p>

everyone

2011-08-09T00:04:52+00:00

2011-08-09T00:04:52+00:00

She never heard the fall of the rowan tree. The first that Applejack knew of the weakened, dead rowan tree that lined the path of the Running of the Leaves was when it smashed down atop her back. Despite her strength, which led the weevil-bored tree to shatter into splinters across her spine, her knees buckled and she was pushed into the soft Ponyville loam. This far out into the lead, beyond even Rainbow Dash, there was nopony to come to her aid. Not yet, anyway. She came to the conclusion that she had to dig her way out, even though the impact had done something very, very strange indeed to her head. Her vision blurred and greyed as she strove for traction on the wet soil, cursing the pegasi for scheduling a rainstorm the night before a race through the biggest forest outside of the Everfree. She swore without hesitation, deviation or repetition, and with every straining movement of her shoulders she could feel dead heartwood shards worming their way into her flesh, sap mingling with blood and ramping up the pain wherever it touched. Finally, it became too much. Her eyes spun like dust devils, then shut, and she lay still, as if asleep under the branches instead of unconscious under the broken trunk. After what felt like an eternity, she awoke, with a great hue and cry from her assembled friends. Twilight was there, nose jammed firmly in a book on obscure ailments and the cures thereof. Pinkie Pie had put together a party, which seemed to be why her ears were ringing so loudly, and that in turn meant Fluttershy was busy tunnelling under a piece of furniture, hiding from a particularly terrifying subwoofer. Rainbow Dash was holding her close, which was pleasant in ways she didn't really want to discuss with anypony any time soon, and Rarity had somehow managed to procure a nurses uniform creaking from the weight of assorted rubies and diamonds, which was even more so. Her vision swam momentarily as a relax in Rainbow's embrace let her once again experience the joys of freely available oxygen, and then all her friends started making noises with their faces, of which there were apparently three per pony. She couldn't make head nor haunch of any of them and made to tell them all so, but her words were coming out equally incomprehensibly, and when you can't understand your own speech, you're either drunk or sick, and either one's a problem to the strongest mare in Ponyville. She gave up the fight and let herself sink back into sweet obsidian dark. ******* "Do you think she'll be alright, Nurse Redheart?" Twilight was almost as pale as Rarity, and had come out of Applejack's room at the local cottage hospital for some air and a break from watching Rainbow Dash trying very hard not to cry. "It's hard to say. Normally, given the fact that it's Applejack, I'd be surprised that a fallen tree did anything more than give her another tale to tell. But then, there's all the splinters and the sap. Rowan sap does very odd things to earth pony magic, and I'll never be able to get the splinters out without invasive-" "Wait, wait, back up. Earth pony magic? I didn't even know they had any." "Think, Ms. Sparkle, use that brain of yours that the Princess seems to admire so. What are the three basic styles of magic?" "Healing, Duelling and Transformation," said Twilight, the answer drilled into her head in her foalhood by rote-learning with the Princess. "Right. Transformation, you see all the time. Who grows the food we eat, the flowers we love, the timber we build our homes with? Who mines and smelts and carves and quarries? Earth ponies. Have you met a unicorn or a pegasus working as a farmer? No, you have not, for the very good reason that they can't do it." "That can't be right, though; Rarity and I helped out with the harvest last Applebuck season-" "Anypony can harvest. Anypony can take from the ground, but it takes earth ponies to give life to the soil anew. Earth pony magic's all about life, when you get right to the bottom of it. It's even more suited to healing and rebuilding than unicorn magic." "It makes sense... I guess," mumbled Twilight whilst thinking the exact opposite, "and that's presumably why you're a nurse, but why can you still get unicorn doctors and unicorn healing magic? If one was better, surely it'd edge out the competition..." "It's... well, if I was a scholar, I could probably find you some neat little comparison to make you understand, but I'm not. The bottom line is, earth pony magic is subtle and it takes longer - a lot longer - but it sticks." "That doesn't explain Duelling magic, though. Are you saying an earth pony could make a tree jump up and flatten a - sorry." Twilight shuffled her hooves and looked at the floor. "Apology accepted, Ms. Sparkle. But no, the earth pony magic I know of can't do that. It could, but it hasn't for a long time, not since Nightmare Moon's rampage burned away so many secrets. But they could. Nowadays, though, it just makes ponies more alive." "More alive?" "A building collapsed here a few years before you came. An earth pony's home. Mare came home from work and found her children trapped under tons of rubble. She dug them out in six minutes. She threw a roofing beam twenty yards away with her teeth. That's the duelling magic of an earth pony; they do not attack first, but they endure. They can always endure, until their time, anyway." Twilight stared into space for some time, listening to the sounds of a cottage hospital at midnight. There wasn't much to hear. Finally, she spoke again, her voice high and quiet. "Is it her time, then?" "... I don't know. Normally, I'd say no. Normally, an earth pony as powerful as somepony from the Apples would shrug this off without a backward glance. But rowan trees, and rowan sap... it can affect somepony badly. Best we can hope for is to keep the wounds clean and pray to the Princesses she makes it out." Silence returned, for a few minutes, until Rainbow Dash bolted out of the room in tears pursued by the other standing Elements of Harmony. Twilight smiled apologetically at the nurse pony. "I'd best see to my friends. Sorry for badgering you about earth pony magic... it kept my mind off her. Thank you." "No problem. Applejack needs rest, anyway, and so do your friends. Big Macintosh is there, he'll keep her safe. Go home." With that, the two ponies parted, and the nurse was free to watch the strong young girl turn pale and strange in peace. At length, she sighed, and decided that resting her eyes for a moment would be fine. It's not like she was going anywhere... ******* The raven hopped onto the window just as the first dawn rays began to kiss the world. Most ravens can't speak, but this one was smart, and sent for a purpose by someone with a gift better than a hawk-proof nestbox. "Pale rider..." "hggsqufflwassafss?" "Pale riiiiideeeeeer..." "mner... go 'way, granny, ah doan' need me no schoolin'..." "OI, GINGER!" "Whassat? Who're you callin' ginger, y'no-good varmint! Ah oughta tan yer hide... wait... hol' on jussa..." There was a noise very much akin to a bucket being filled up, that being what Applejack was doing with what she'd eaten recently, and the raven smacked its head into its left wing. Was this really what he had to work with? "Look, love, I ain't got all day. You're dying." "Well, ain't that a fine how-d'you-do. C'mere, ya sack o'-" "And I can fix that." Applejack stopped mid-expletive, which was usually about as likely to happen as Twilight Sparkle attending a book-burning rally or Pinkie Pie being lucid. "Fix what? Ah'm fi - oh, brother..." The bucket noises returned, and the splatter of overflow added a soprano harmony to proceedings. "Okay, now Ah'm fiuuurrrrrrk... y'know what, Ah'm not gonna say that agin. It's obviously jinxed." "No, you're just dying of being alive too much." "Uh... beg pardon? That sounds kinda... screwy." "You're talking to a raven, numbnuts." "Point, though y'all might care t'be a li'l bit less insultin'." "Again, raven." "Agin, point." "Anyway. You got hit with a rowan tree and it's sent your magic into overdrive. Yes, you have magic. Don't talk, you talking makes me want to kill myself. My boss can fix you. One condition, though... you have to get to her within two days from this sunrise." Already the sun was creeping into the sky, dying it streaks of warm purple and orange in places. "And trust me, this'll be hard for you to accept, because technically where she is is... difficult to get to." "What d'yall mean, technically?" "My boss is the Witch of the Westmareland, and she's, well... there." "WHAT? Westmareland's a fairy tale! Y'might as well try t'send me off to the Moon or sump'n!" "If you can't do it, just say so..." "Oh, Ah kin do it. Two days? Best set me a route." "Well, not quite. You'll have two days of your natural magic boosting you to perfection. You'll be stronger and faster than anything else with four legs that's tied to the ground. After that, well... the rowan acts as an amplifier, so you'll sort of, y'know..." "Ah will sort of what, exactly?" Applejack's eyes narrowed, the twin slits dangerous as a mother bear. "Explode. And then the bits'll explode again. It's... not nice." "Uh huh. Well then. Ah'd best git 'er done. Where do Ah go, mister raven?" "Um... hold on... right. Take the first dog and the first flying creature you see. You'll need them. You'll see a glow and hear music." "Do y'all count thar?" "No, Applejack," said the raven with a sigh, "because I'm not really here. This is the Witch projecting her magic to speak with you directly, and she picked a form out of your mind." "An'... she picked a miserable overgrown blackbird as hates me." "No, you did. Which says a lot more about you than it does about her." "Alright, fine. Gotta git up an' doin'. Thanks fer th'help... Ah think." Applejack hopped out of bed and managed to avoid waking either Big Macintosh or Nurse Redheart. Obviously, this being Applejack, it couldn't last. The stairs got the better of her slightly weakened body and she crashed down three flights before halting next to a peculiarly glowing Winona, who barked happily and licked her mistress' face. This must be what the raven meant, thought Applejack as she ran out of the hospital door- "MAIL CALL!" -And found herself sent sprawling into the earth again. This was becoming something of a habit. She looked up, and saw the Ponyville mailpony known locally as Derpy Hooves, not always affectionately. She was grinning apologetically. She was staring at two things at once, as per normal. She was glowing. "Aw, what in the Sam hay're ya tryin' ta pull, Witch?" "Oh, that's not nice... I am sorry, though. I'd offer you a muffin, but I, um... hehe... you're not gonna believe this..." It's quite hard to shuffle your hooves on thin air, but Derpy somehow managed it. "Not you, sugarcube... well, kinda you, but kinda not-you as well... augh, stupid words, why can't y'all jes' be simple!" "Like me!" "... If'n y'all say so, Der- Ah mean, Ditzy Doo." "So, what's got you in such a rush? Is it muffins? Boy, I hope so! I love chocolate and blueberry and banana and hot sauce but my favourites where the ones with the big candy capital Ds on them that Pinkie Pie made my little Dinky for her birthday! Oh, and you're glowing. Is that normal? I wouldn't know..." "Uh... listen, Ditzy Doo. Somethin'... weird's going on." With that, she related the raven's tale to the pegasus. One eye lavished attention on her, but the other got bored about halfway through and wandered off. By the time the story was told, the other eye had come back, presumably with its own songs to sing. "So... you're on a quest! Oh, boy! If we find this Witch, can we bring her back to Ponyville? Only, I couldn't find Dinky anything for Show and Tell this week, and she said she didn't want muffins or another book on quantum electrodynamics, and this'd be really great! One of the early Maredieval legendary cycles revolves around the Westmareland, and proving her existence means there's a whole bunch of other stuff we might learn too, and then there's be a parade and the Princess'll be nice to me and I'll get to keep my little girl after all and there'll be muffins!" Applejack stood there in slack-jawed amazement. She'd stopped trying to follow Derpy's supersonic rambling about two sentences in, and she was certain her brain was beginning to bleed. If the plan was to talk the Witch into submission then they were well away. "Sugar, are y'sure y'all wanna do this? Ah mean... what if Child Services comes around agin?" "DO NOT SPEAK THE NAME OF THE EVIL ONES!" Derpy roared, her eyes focusing on Applejack even as they boiled with rage. Applejack shied away despite herself. "Okay, sorry Ditzy... Ah di'nt mean nuthin' by it. Anywho... we'd best be gittin' gone afore they miss me at the hospital. Now, accordin' ter this 'ere map, we needa head due east, t'wards Whitetail Wood, but afore we get there we'll find the Ullswater and then, well, ever'thing gets all fuzzy..." "Uh, Applejack, you're not holding a map." "Sure Ah am! It's right here!" AJ flourished the map. "Who gave you the map?" "Um, the raven who... doesn't... actually..." Applejack buried her head in a forehoof. "Still, sounds like fun! Ooh, I've got some apple muffins in my bag, we can get going fastfastfastfastfast! Like Dashie!" The pegasus took off again, racing towards Whitetail Wood. Applejack had to admit, the girl was fast, but she had to be faster. Her hooves pounded the dirt road to the wood and already she felt better than she had in years. She felt like every breath was the first of a brand new day, like her whole body was on fire... but in a good way. Which made absolutely no sense to the farm pony, but it felt right. ******* Winona was somehow able to keep up with Applejack and Derpy both, at times even running ahead of them for the sheer joy of it. It brought a much-needed smile to the farmer's face, as did the innumerable times that Derpy smashed into trees, hills, indignant local bears and so forth, however bad she might feel for doing so afterwards. The sun rose through the sky, arcing gently to the west on another of its many Celestia-powered journeys, and Applejack felt as though she was drawing energy directly from it, like the trees she'd loved back home. The rainstorm hadn't gone this far so clouds of dust rose at her feet with every pounding step of her gallop, making her easy to see from the air. This was probably the only reason why Derpy didn't get lost and end up heading north out of sheer instinct. The Ullswater was soon before them, drifting slow and languid over the chalk downs of Trottinghamshire's southern border. It didn't so much flow as roll down the dales, cutting its own way through the white rock with nary a care in the world. The locals, Applejack learned when they trotted into the nearest hamlet for lunch and to restock on Derpy's muffin supply, called it the Peace River. One gigantic farm colt, who introduced himself as Mendel and gave them a hearty meal of sweet pea soup and the local black bread, said that if you followed it against the flow - which, thankfully, Applejack had been doing - you could come across a set of hills and ruins that rivalled the Everfree for sheer nocturnal creepiness. Before she could be silenced by an orange hoof, Derpy asked whether or not the river led to the Westmareland. He laughed, and said it did, but that it lay beyond a pass with a fearsome guardian, a shamaness of terrible power. His words were chilling but his eyes had mirth, and soon everyone was laughing with them. Applejack and her companions trotted on, waiting for the soup to digest before hammering away at the dales at their previous pace. As they did, they noticed how odd the landscape seemed to get as they moved south along the river's path. The grass here was a peculiar shade of blue, and occasionally the white of the chalk showed through on the crests of the hills. The effect was beguiling from the ground and beautiful from the air, and Applejack found herself wishing she'd let Fluttershy give her that old Super 8 camcorder she'd had from her photography phase. She loved the land in general, and though nothing would ever come close to her beloved Sweet Apple Acres, the Ullswater dales came a very respectable second. Hours trailed by the runners at a laggardly pace, but soon they felt the sun drifting away below the horizon. Luna's magic coursed through the sky, dyeing it indigo and lifting the moon up again, and the summer night came upon them, warm and humid as a Louisiana bayou, or indeed anywhere else in Louisiana if the air conditioning packs up, something this narrator has learned through the bitter experience of the less fortunate. Derpy landed and cantered alongside Applejack. "Why'd y'all stop, Ditzy?" "The little owl told me she didn't like it. Did you, Missus Owl?" "... Ditzy, ya do know owls can't talk." "Noivurr can ravens, moy lovarr, an' it never stopped'ee." "WHAT?" Applejack slammed on the brakes and ground to a halt. Her convoy followed suit, Winona using AJ's flanks and Derpy using a nearby piece of ruined masonry. The owlet perched happily on a shrub and grinned beakily at them. "Now y'all listen here. Ah'm a dyin' mare, an' even Ah know birds can't talk. So you're obviously here 'cause o' tha Witch, an' therefore y'all are gonna tell me the next bit of this 'ere puzzle." "And why do you sound like you're from Devon?" Derpy piped up. "Where's Devon?" "No idea." "Roight then. 'Twere a long ol' poke ago, so 'twere. The Westmarelanders sided with Princess Celestia against the Dark Ones an' their ilk, but they wuzz all kilt boi Noightmare Moon 'ersel' at Kirkstone Pass." "Oooh, like it said in the Chronicles of the Abbot of Aberfan!" "Zactly, moy dear. Zactly so." "Where in the hay are y'gettin' all this, Ditzy Doo?" "I learned it! I am a clever pony! Just... weird." "That thou be, tharrrt thou be. Oi'm ter take the 'ole boilin' of yerz ter the Pass. Great big rocky mountain, looks like it's been split wiv an axe, carn't miss it. The Witch lies beyond, but... thar be the very sloightest of little niggly difficulties afore y'get through." "And that would be," said Applejack, certain she'd regret asking. "One o' the most powerful ponies o' the Westmareland Volunteers didn't die a thousand year ago, on account o' makin' 'erself too aloive ter do so. Roight cross about it she wurr too. Misty Brakefern, 'er name is... she'll challenge yer t'pit yer earth magic 'gainst 'ers. An' you ain't 'ad no trainin'. Yer'll be cut ter ribbons if'n yer can't foind yersel' an edge." "... Y'know what? Fine! Ah jes' plum don't care anymore! Find somepony else ta do all this, Ah'm gonna go home an' die in a nice, quiet, peaceful-" "Controlled detonation?" "Shaddup, Derpy, y'all ain't makin' this any easi-" The rest of her sentence was abruptly cut off on account of Derpy's hoof slamming into her left earhole. She rolled with the blow, currently half-deaf, and steeled herself to counterattack. The next attack never came. Derpy had collapsed sobbing onto the riverbank, salt tears mingling with the clear river water. "Ditzy Doo... Ah'm sorry. Ah didn't mean ta call y'all that. Jes' kinda slipped out. Ah'm real sorry." "I..." Derpy sniffled in between heaving sobs. "I thought you were different, Applejack. I thought you l-l-liked me... guess you're just another pony I can't look in the eye any more. Figuratively speaking, that is." "Ditzy... Ah do like ya. You're mah friend. A lot of ponies like you, and you're a friend to almost everypony you ever met. You're kind, you're generous, you're a hard worker, you're a real great mom to Dinky. So what if a couple mean ponies can't see beyond your eyes? Ah can. The people who matter can. That's what counts." "... I'm sorry for shouting at you, Applejack..." she sniffled again. The owlet made a face. "I just... I just have a problem with that name. I'm a clever pony, on the inside... but hearing how stupid I look on the outside hurts." With that, Applejack couldn't take any more and wrapped up the grey pegasus in a tight hug. "On the other 'and," said the owlet as the goldenrod lining the banks shot up towards the heavens, knotting and twisting into geometrically precise patterns, "thar moight just be 'ope for'ee yet..." Applejack, being wrapped up in both her own problems and Ditzy Doo's forelegs, didn't reply. ******* When Applejack finally awoke, the owlet was giving her a knowing look. When she wondered why, she felt a comfortable nuzzle on her neck. Purring like a cat in a sunbeam, she rolled over and was greeted by one of Derpy's eyes at its most, well, derped. It span like an old seven-inch single, and the other eye shot open shortly afterwards as their owner leapt into the air. "You're not Dinky! Where's my Dinky? Where did you take her, government mare?" "Ditzy Doo, it's me, it's Applejack... y'all told Dinky you'd be away with me for a few days. She's safe, back in Ponyville." "Oh... sorry. I was not a clever pony. Hey, how about I give you a crash course in quantum physics to apologise! Knowledge is a gift best given, as the philosopher Sueponius said." "Quantum physics, Ditzy?" "Well, it's that or a muffin, and, well, you know me! Also, you move around in your sleep a whole bunch so they're, um, kinda, you know... squished." "Uh... that hasn't stopped you, has it?" "Grnph nermphl," said Ditzy, which the astute reader will know is 'of course not' in conversational Muffin. Winona woke up at this point and dove into the river to wash off the cake crumbs. "Righto, girls, when yer done." The two fillies stopped and looked at the little owl, who seemed in a better mood than he had been in yesterday. "Oi'll be arf. Applejack'll know where ter go, since Oi've been in 'er 'ead, an' a most fascinatin' place it be, oo ar. Especially all o' that repression, an' rainbows, an' a load of other stuff as begins wiv an R. Tatty-bye!" With that, the owl sped off and collided heavily with Applejack's face. Again, being hit there was getting to be a bad habit for the pony. The three travellers trotted on, and the landscape became more in line with Mendel's dark stories of the Ullswater estuary. Though the river was broad now, it evidently had not always been so, for it soon lay deeper and deeper in a fog-strewn gorge. The flow of it was lined with willows as though mourning the passing of a close friend, and it was these that forced Derpy to the ground again, trotting beside her friend and giving her an interminable lecture on why electrons had mass with a couple of diagrams iced onto a particularly large muffin. Applejack wasn't really listening though. It was a real unicorn concept - Twilight Sparkle was forever banging on about how Equestria's magic was really the product of dark energy interacting with an ambient TP/K field, whatever the Sam hay that meant. Knowing how the universe worked was a hobby, not anything of import to a pony with a farm to run. One day, thought Derpy as Applejack's eyes glazed over and sparked with the occasional bit of earth pony magical residue, you'll realise just how wrong about that you are, and how physics and magic will rule the universe like the Princesses rule Equestria. Oooh, we're coming up to the bit about Finemare's QED diagrams, they're iced on the banana ones! I like banana best, that's why the founder of quantum electrodynamics has her equations done on them in my super-special chocolate icing! Eventually, after a few hours of hard cantering and a lecture that covered everything from the movement of charged particles on a subatomic level to the appreciation of Modernist sculpture, Applejack stopped in sheer amazement. Her eyes went wide and her hoof slammed into Derpy's mouth, forcing her to stop and stand. They'd arrived at the Kirkstane pass, and boy howdy, had it been worth the wait. The gorge had gone downhill and levelled out onto a wide plain, covered in bluegrass and goldenrod. Rising up in front of the travellers, however, was a huge hill that looked like it'd had a plough driven through it by somepony with a really long-standing grudge against geography. And everywhere, quite literally everywhere, were piles of broken stonework. History had been one of many subjects Applejack had had no time for as a filly; she'd used it to either practice her bookkeeping skills or catch up on sleep. However, even she knew of the Precursors, likely on the basis that if a teacher throws enough mud at a wall, some of it's bound to stick eventually. They were a strange race, one that stood upon two legs like a bird and had many little claws like a young dragon. They were a proud people, but had coexisted peacefully with the ponies of Equestria up until Nightmare Moon and her Dark Legion had fallen upon their cities like a pack of wolves on a henhouse. Their symbol was everywhere, in various states of decay - a vertical line with another line, this one much shorter, splashed across it horizontally. The largest such cross, and the one unbowed by the ravages of time and the Queen of the Black Nether, was slap bang in the middle of the gorge, supported by its stubby arms braced against either side of the hill it appeared to have cleaved in twain. However, this was not the end of the story. In amongst the sundered stones and jagged reaches of metal, there stood a grove of trees. There were twenty-one trees in all - seven of oak, seven of ash, seven of hawthorn, all radiating out from a single dais of stone, upon which stood a slim, young-looking mare - or at least, the shape of one. The dais' top was shrouded in thick white fog that made Winona whine and rub against Applejack's legs. From within the fog came a voice, lyrical and beautiful and utterly, utterly terrifying. "Why comest thou here, Dark One? Hast not the kingdom of the West suffered enough through thine hell-damned queen? Speak thy name and answer!" "Um... Ah'm Applejack, this 'ere's Ditzy Doo, an' mah dog, Winona." Derpy gave a cheery wave, which elicited no response at all. "Well then, Applejack, thy mistress hears all under the vale of her starlit shadow. So know this and know it well; shouldst thou come closer than thou art, the Nightmare loses another slave." "Beg pardon? Ah ain't workin' fer Nightmare Moon any more'n Ah'm workin' fer the monster under the bed. Point o' fact, Ah'm an Element of Harmony. Honesty, since y'all asked." "How DARE you insult the memory of the Elements, witchling! I saw thy queen lay waste to them, and I saw her shroud this good Earth in her beloved night eternal! Thou force my hand, worm! I will hear no more of your lies!" "Uh, which part o' 'Element of Honesty' didn't y'all git?" "You would say that, creature of foulness!" "Well, yeah. 'Cause it has tha virtue o' bein' true-" "I will suffer no more of your treachery! Nightmare Moon's darkness may have lasted a thousand years, but you will last no longer! I am Misty Brakefern and I am your doom!" "But, but she lost! Celestia banished her to the - oh, horseapples, NOW Ah git it." The figure, apparently Misty Brakefern (as if that hadn't been obvious to anypony with an IQ in double figures), had come charging out of the fog, sensing the path to her foe with earth magic. She was tall and strong, but in a lean and wiry way that suggested it was born from the battlefield and not the gym. It was her face that was strange, though. Where the rest of the pony's body was teal and glowing softly with a white light, her head was pitch-black and expressionless. Applejack's eyes were sharp, though. She could pick out the stitching of the leather and the spatters of dried blood. Misty Brakefern lived in darkness because Nightmare Moon had sewn shut her eyes. The teal pony reared up and glowed brighter. As she stamped her hooves back on the alluvial soil, the bluegrass spikelets reared up, severed themselves from the roots, and fired themselves at Applejack, who dived out of the way barely in time. She picked up a few scores along her farming- and magic-hardened skin, but there was no blood. Yet. "Look, Ah kin explain-" The farm pony stopped just short of being minced into burger meat by rippling, massive bluegrass spikes, and threw herself into reverse to avoid a collapsing statue. "If y'all would stop tryin' ta KILL me fer a li'l while, we could talk this out!" "Oh, I bet you'd love that, wouldn't you?" "Well, yeah. Ah mean, it's a choice between havin' a number done on me in this 'ere square dance an' not havin' it... wouldn't you pick the same outco-" Her word was cut off as a long iron pole, wreathed in crawling vines, slammed into her side at the behest of Misty's magic. She was sent flying and landed face down on the riverbank hard enough that Winona heard her owner's jaw crack, and hid behind a tree. Derpy stifled a sob and flew to the bank, where she whispered in her friend's ear before flitting off and alighting on a granite crucifix. Misty trotted to Applejack's side and loomed over her. "I have three stands of holy trees behind me, little moonchild. A trinity of sevens, all lending me the strength of the earth itself. Did you really think you could beat me in these lightless, lifeless times? You? You are weak, weaker than a newborn foal. I'd pity you, but you condemned me to a millenium of darkness. Your mistress damned us all, you... silly pony." That did it. "Mah name is Applejack." A spike of goldenrod speared up underneath the teal shaman, throwing her into the air. Applejack's voice dripped with menace. "Ah run tha biggest, finest orchard in all Equestria." The branches of the weeping willow above the orange pony's head wavered and sprung forward, latching onto Misty's legs and rendering her completely motionless. "Ah've got rowan in mah blood an' apples in mah bones." Misty's desperate volleys of magic were deflected by the branches of her own oak trees, and the old mare felt the disruption in her power. "Ah'm a dyin' mare on a foalish quest with nuthin', absolutely nuthin' else left ta lose." A patch of bracken coiled and reared towards the paralysed teal earth pony, the thorns lengthening to foot-long, razor-sharp blades. "AND AH AM NOT A SILLY PONY!" The bracken flashed outwards and the blades hit home. The tattered leather mask fell away, crumbling gently on the breeze before it could even hit the ground. "Ah'm a good one." Misty, completly unharmed, blinked several times. She shivered and shook as the pain of a thousand years without light slammed into her eyes and forced a moan from her lips. She collapsed to the ground as Applejack's magic left the plants that held her aloft, shivering in pain and sorrow. "She blinded ya, Misty. She blinded ya, but she didn't win. She lost fer a thousand years, an' when she came back me an' mah friends got rid o' that mare fer good. Ah told ya I was the Element of Honesty. Now... Ah've got the rest of today to find tha Witch o' tha Westmareland... but Ah reckon y'all need mah help first." The teal mare looked up at Applejack and smiled. "That will not be required of thee, Lady Applejack. Fare thee well, and catch the one who has your heart and ran so fast with it." "Whaddaya mean, won't be required? Yer here, yer safe..." "I'm old, my lady. I have been old for a very long time. Impossibly old... I remember the humans first hand. I remember when Canterlot was twinned with Canterbury. I remember when the flag of the Faraway Union rose above the Palace of Saint Augustine-in-Equestria, gules and azure and such prefect argent as you'd never seen, surmounted with Celestia's wandering flame. I remember when I first joined the River Patrol, aboard the Antelope under good Captain Barrett of the humans. I remember the good days... I forgot the bad. And now it is my time. Please remember those days for me... please remember me..." And the last of the Westmareland Volunteers let age take her weary heart, and was gone. It was only when she felt the grass upon her knees, and Winona's tongue upon her face, and Derpy's forelegs around her shoulders, that Applejack realised she was crying. ******* Applejack lay on the strange blue grass, the fight all but gone from her body. After a time, she fell asleep, despite is being the middle of the day, and dreamed. The narrative of the dream was confused and rambling as Pinkie Pie on a heavy dose of magic mushrooms, with pictures of her family's faces jumpcutting to visions of burning cities and strange creatures fleeing through a mountain pass atop equally strange machines. She saw black fire latch onto stone and melt it away into powdered darkness. She knew death and pain, and though they weren't her memories they still filled her sleeping eyes with hot, salt tears. And yet, and yet... However much she wanted to die right now, however hopeless it all seemed, she knew it wasn't. The memories were bad, but they were why she had to keep going - so that she could be with her friends and with her family and maybe, one day, even with her. Providing she was like that, of course. Which was by no means certain. Eventually, she forced herself to her feet. The sky was the dull orange of evening, and the farmer knew she was running out of time. She knew what she had to do now. "Ditzy?" "Yeah, Applejack?" "Ah hafta do this next part alone," she said as she picked a couple of goldenrod flowers. "Ah need y'all ta look after Winona fer me, until ya hear mah call, 'cause Ah reckon we're gonna hafta corral the Witch afore she heals me." "I understand, AJ... Ooh, that reminds me! Somepony sent this to a filly I don't think even exists, so maybe you should call us using that! It's pretty loud, after all." She proffered the box to Applejack, who opened it and then sighed. "Ditzy Doo, Ah hate t'be a bother, but this ain't exactly epic folk tale material." "Well, we are on something of a budget." "Budget schmudjet, Ditzy, it's a gosh-durned kazoo!" "Hey, maybe you could call out Maxwell's equations! Those carry everywhere, since they affect the entire universe, I've gotta be able to hear those!" "... Kazoo it is." "Yay!" "We're a real two-bit operation here, aren't we..." "Oh, Applejack, you're selling yourself short! You're worth three bits at least!" Derpy smiled winsomely and proffered Applejack the muffin bag. With a sigh, the farmer took a chocolate chip muffins Ditzy'd selected for her. She saw it had seven hearts iced onto it, one of each colour of the rainbow. She sighed. "Am Ah that obvious?" "Oh no, that was just chance. I mean I know you like fillies but I didn't know which, so I iced a few of them with hearts related to your friends' cutie marks. Rainbow Dash was the first one out of the bag." "Uh... huh. Say, why does that one have all bubbles on it-" "NOREASONYOUSHOULDGOQUESTTOCOMPLETEBYEBYENOW!" Applejack facehoofed and cantered off to the pass. ******* The pass was very short and the setting sun still shone on the cross at its entrance, casting a long black shadow on the land before Applejack. According to Misty's memories, every tree here was purely to give power to the Witch. There were species she knew, species she'd heard of, and species she doubted even Twilight knew how to spell. And far before her, on an overgrown path, was the rolling blue of the Ullswater Sea. In reality, of course, it was a huge freshwater lake, stretching so far that Applejack couldn't even see it curve. The sun's light was just on the point of fading entirely as she stepped into the water, first casting in the goldenrod she'd picked earlier and then steeling herself. C'mon, AJ, she thought, No pain, no gain... on three, one, two... "AAAAAaaauurrgh!" Four inches of rowan heartwood shot from between Applejack's shoulder blades. Its comrade, even longer, leapt from her side. More splinters came, each one making the orange pony shriek with pain and nearly collapse onto the coarse sand of the lake shore. Finally, with one massive effort, Applejack's magic ripped the last and longest splinter from the centre of her back, and her cry shook the birds from the trees for miles around. This time, she allowed herself to collapse and let the magic do the work, clotting over her perforated body and moulding the splinters into a pony-sized buckler, as the Rite of Summoning she'd learned from Misty's memories demanded. Grasping it with her teeth, she laid it upon the surface of the lake, put the goldenrod upon it, and waited. She didn't have to wait long. With a great crash of sprayed foam, the Witch appeared, rising dripping wet from the lake in an elaborate gown of ice-blue material that matched her eyes, mane and tail and offset her jet-black coat to perfection. Applejack's weary body began to throb with magic as she prepared herself for the last challenge that this insane quest would throw at her. "You're late." "... Excuse me?" Applejack panted. "I said you're late, Applejack. In both senses. You're a dead mare walking, even without the rowan in your system. You took too long to get here. Farewell." She began to dive back into the lake when a flat pebble bounced off her flank. "Ah did not come... all this way... fer you ta tell me... Ah'm LATE!" Turned away from Applejack's eyes, the black mare's features twisted into a warm grin. "Then call your allies and run." She took off, thundering along the shoreline with Applejack racing after her, blowing the signal note as long and loud as she could. Curious, the Witch turned around. "A kazoo, pale rider? Really? A kazoo?" "Yeah, yeah, Ah've had this conversation already. Now slow down an' lemme catch y'all afore Ah explode an' then explode agin." "Oh, but where's the fun in that?" The Witch sped up, leading Applejack to pump more magic through her abused system and race after her. It was then she heard the beat of a set of strong, powerful wings... Heading north. Away from her. "Land's sakes... of all the darned times ta git lost... DITZY! Ah'm over here!" A distant cry of "Sorry!" and the wingbeats started coming towards Applejack. The Witch of the Westmareland was laughing now, long and hard as the trek she planned to run. After thirty minutes of hard galloping, Derpy pulled alongside the orange pony. "Hey there, Applejack! I bought Winona along in my hooves so she could keep up with us! Boy, this sure is fun! I can't believe we never went on an epic quest before, they're so interesting!" "Yeah, right, Ditzy. Ah need y'all ta drop Winona. Hey, girl..." This last was directed at the dog, who snapped to attention (insofar as a dog can snap to attention, especially when swaddled in the limbs of a fast-moving pegasus). "Ah need y'all ta corral that thar mare. C'mon, sweetie, Momma needs the mare... go fetch, g'wan, go fetch fer Momma." Winona gave a soft yip and Derpy let go. The collie hit the ground running and shot forward towards the black mare, paws gaining traction on the scree-slick open country where hooves sometimes could not. Applejack's attention turned back to Derpy. "Ditzy Doo, Ah need y'all ta do the same. Rise up over her an' then stoop, like Dashie did with the Sonic Rainboom." "Like when I'm late with the mail?" "Uh, yeah. Ah guess, anyway." "You can count on me, Applejack. I'll get her done-" The little grey pegasus smashed headlong into an Abponyginal baobab tree with what would at any other juncture have been a highly comedic BADOING! noise. Derpy's momentum sent her careening off into the upper air of the night and left Applejack's plan in ruins. The Witch could only be caught if a hawk had her mane and a dog had her tail, and right now neither was occurring. She was pulling away, even though Applejack's body was so suffused with magic that her every step let loose a volley of bright white sparks, and Winona couldn't keep up. Derpy's muffled, Doppler-shifting cry of "I'M OKAY!" was all Applejack heard, and when the Witch pulled a tight turn and leapt into a gorge the pegasus vanished from sight. Winona, visibly flagging, looked back at her owner with an air of desperation. Matching it exactly, Applejack let a little earth magic leave her body, flooding in as it was from the enormous groves of Sweet Apple Acres, and sent it into the body of her beloved pet. With that, Winona sprang forward in a last-ditch attempt and managed to latch onto the Witch's tail with her teeth, growling with effort as she clung on, feet and body dragged along the mercifully rock-free gorge bottom. The black mare cursed and leapt up the path of a long-dried tributary, taking her into open country. Fat, rippling heather swayed in an unnatural wake as Applejack leapt after her, and from the air it would have looked to Derpy like two speedboats upon some alien waterway, had speedboats been invented. As was, she swept down to Applejack's side again. "Told you I was okay!" "Ditzy, really, jes' do whatcha gotta do fer me, alright? We can talk later." "I understand, Applejack, really... but listen, about the bubble muffin..." "DITZY DOO! Now really isn't the-" Applejack suddently had a brainwave. "Ditzy... y'all love muffins, huh?" "Yeppers!" "Really love 'em?" "Uh-huh!" "Nothin' y'all wouldn't do fer a muffin?" "No ma'am!" "If you catch the Witch, she'll give you the biggest, tastiest muffin y'all ever did see- WHOA!" Derpy shot off like a hunting cheetah, rising high into the clear night sky before swooping down in an almost exact mimicry of how Rainbow Dash had gathered speed for her Sonic Rainboom. And she did it... well, sort of. The noise of a sonic boom rocked the valley as Derpy streaked towards her prize, a huge tan ripple spreading out in mid-air studded with little mahogany-dark eddies. In the time it took Applejack to twig as to what it actually signified, the Witch of the Westmareland had been summarily dump-tackled by Derpy and was lying prone on the floor, pinned by the walleyed pegasus and guarded by the dusty-brown and battered-looking collie dog. Applejack pulled up beside her fallen quarry, magic boiling off her in great gouts of glowing white smoke and her wounds ripped open again by her exertions. "GIMME MY MUFFIN, PONY! GIMME THE BIG OL' MUFFIN! GIMME GIMME GIMME NOWNOWNOWNOWNOW Oh, hey Applejack!" "Please..." croaked the Witch as she summoned her magic, "it's over there... everything hurts..." "YAAAAAAAY!" Derpy took off again, this time heading towards a rising mound of golden brown in the distance. Like the... well, what could one call it? Like the sonic boom's pattern earlier, it was studded with chocolate chips that were a yard across each. "That's better... Now then, Applejack... you need healing, and fast." "Um... well, Ah do." "Good. You earned it, too." The silver chain holding her dress together soon dropped off at the feet of an increasingly shocked Applejack. She felt something tighten across her wounds, and looked to see it was the goldenrod from her offering. The farm pony looked back up and found, to her great amazement, that she couldn't actually speak. A kiss will do that to you. Despite her pale flesh, her blood-flecked coat and her reek of sweat, the black mare kissed the orange one again, and then once more after that. The last of the three sealed the trinity needed for the earth spell to work, and Applejack felt the poison leave her body through her splinter wounds, the punctures and cuts sealing themselves shut as the magic of the Westmareland coursed through the Ponyville filly's body. It was as if a great weight had been lifted from Applejack's shoulders, and she fell upon the Witch's shoulder, soft tears of joy rolling down her face and darkening the pale mane of her prize. "You get to learn my name, too..." "Wha?" "My true name. There's only one group that learns it, same as there's only one group of people that sees my cutie mark." "Uh, um, well, y'see..." Applejack's face was slowly going redder and redder, and it was only when she heard the thump of her flank hitting a tree that she realised she'd been backing away from the gently smiling mare before her. "Ah'm... er... miss Witch?" "Call me Mairwyn." The blue gown left Mairwyn's body, showing off her cutie mark, an intricate knotwork pattern picked out in ice blue. "Gleep," said Applejack, as her cheeks started to singe the surrounding greenery. It was the last coherent thought she had that night. ******* It was late in the morning of the third day since Applejack's visitation from the raven, and she awoke feeling better than she'd ever felt before. All the little twinges and aches that a pony amassed over a life of hard graft were gone, and in their place lay the warm glow of, well, afterglow. Mairwyn's body was warm against hers, and the dark mare's head was resting on her neck in a way that caused blood to run to newly-familiar places. Soon the Westmare had also stirred, her eyes meeting those of the farm pony she'd sought out scant days before. "Y'know, you move around a lot when you sleep, Applejack." "... eeble..." eebled Applejack, remembering the previous night in exquisite detail and therefore not really capable of coherent speech. Gosh, she thought, this must be how Fluttershy feels all the time... only probably without the, well, y'know... "Awwww. You're a cute one, you are. Rainbow Dash doesn't know what she's missing." That woke the farm pony from her anxious semi-delirium. "How the heck d'y'all know about her?" "Same way I know you like my tongue stud, sweetheart." "Did everypony know about this afore Ah did? 'S'only recently Ah figured it all out mahself..." Applejack sighed, stretched, and got to her hooves. "An' Ah still ain't quite figured all tha small print." "Best way to go about these is to be bold. Actually, I might be able to help you with that..." "Y'already did, Mairwyn. It don't feel like Ah'm fightin' aginst mahself any more. Ah know what feels right an' Ah know ta go with it. Ah'm not hidin' mahself away no more." "Actually, I meant teleporting you and your companions back to Ponyville." "Uh... right. Totally what Ah thought y'all meant. Totally. Um... yeah." Derpy bounced into view at that moment, munching on what remained of Mairwyn's monumental magical muffin. "HiApplejack! OhboyohboyohboylastnightIwaseatingabigbigbigbigbigmuffin! Itmustabeenthesizeofabigoldhouse! Somuchsugarsomuchsugarsomuchsugar! AndlastnightIdidathingwhereImadecoloursintheskybuttheyweren'tcolours! SoIneedsomeponytohelpmenameitandGOSHIfeelsohighrightnow!" "You, y-you... you ate the whole thing!" "Uh-huhyupyuppityyeppers! Icanfeelmyteethdissolving! Heyyouknowwhatwouldbecool? Ifweweren'tactuallyponiesbutlittleboxesbecauseIsowannabeinspacerightnow! Andyoucouldbeonethat'salllike'OneinsixchildrenwillbeabductedbytheDutch'andwhat'saDutch? GOSHI'msohighreallynoreallyreallyhighyepsohighhighlikespaceSPACE!" "Ditzy Doo, Ah think y'all might needa calm down jes' a li'l bit-" "SPACE!" "Sugarcube, this is gettin' a mite creepy now-" "SPACEPLANETSSTARSOoohmaybewe'renotreallyhereatallbutarejusthappylittleconstructs! ConstructscreatedbyacoltwhowantstobeafillyandiswritingwhatI'msaying! Andmaybewhateverypony'ssaying! Youwantthetruthponieswellyoucan'thandlethetruth! IbetIcouldhandlethetruthbecauseI'vehandledbigscaryrollercoastersbefore! ButDinkyDoodoesn'tlikethoseandI'magoodmommysoItakeheronthelittletrainrides! IwannagiveDinkyarideonatrainmadeofcandylikethatoneorthatoneorthatoneor-" Derpy bounced into the air, jerked around like a fish on a hook for twenty minutes, then fell to earth with a crash. Her flailing continued and soon she'd dug a hole ten feet deep by seven wide. Applejack looked at Mairwyn. Mairwyn looked at Applejack. "SPACE!" said the hole. "Y'all know that thar's yer fault, right?" "I apologise. That was... pretty ruddy creepy, if I'm honest." "Eeyup." Sometimes, Applejack copied her brother's favourite saying. It was a very convenient one. "... Applejack, my tummy hurts." "Well, that's because you had too much sugar, sweetie." "Oh, okay. That probably explains why my eyes are bleeding, too. And why I have seventeen hooves on each of my forelegs. Ooooh, purple! I’ve not been that colour in a long time!" There was a noise like a mineshaft collapsing on a blancmange. "Shouldn't y'all be gittin' down thar ta help 'er?" "She scares me." Applejack shunted the Westmare into the pit. ******* An hour later, with all parties hale and sound, Mairwyn escorted them to the Kirkstone Pass. The black, grim-looking rock stood out against the rolling grassland, as if it had been dumped there by some higher power. Applejack shuddered a little on seeing it - even now, the great stone cross creeped her out immensely. "This is as far as I can go, Applejack, Ditzy Doo, Winona. The magic that kept me whole and young for so many centuries has bound me to this place... I'll earthslide you back to Ponyville from here. Before I do, three things. One, Applejack. Be proud of who you are; I've a feeling your heart will stay whole if you are brave. Two, Ditzy. Your daughter will need something for her show and tell... take this for her." Mairwyn deposited her silver chain into the pegasus' saddlebag. "Thank you, Mairwyn!" Derpy gave a winning smile and hugged the black earth pony as tight as her strong legs could. "You're welcome, sweetie. And finally, number three... you don't know if there are any underground caverns under Ponyville? I don't remember there being any, but it's useful to know because if you hit one things can get a little, well... have you ever dropped a pizza off a roof?" "Uh, there ain't none as Ah recalls it, Mairwyn. And why do y'all needa-" "Okay, we're good! Come and visit the grove sometime! Bye bye now!" With that, the Witch of the Westmareland's magic pulsed, and the dog and ponies disappeared beneath the earth. The tunnel dug itself before them, always a foot in front of the accelerating travellers. They felt it begin to curve upwards, and soon- BANG. Sunlight streamed into their eyes again as they burst out of the Ponyville town square. The pair of them arced over the town in a graceful curve, but while Derpy was able to pull up with her wings, Applejack crashed through a mercifully open window and embedded herself in a bookshelf. Derpy flew in after her, admittedly after a few goes, and helped the earth pony to her hooves. "Ugh, Rainbow, what have I told you about using doors," said a familiar voice. "Any news on finding - APPLEJACK!" "Yup, Ah guess y'could say Ah know where that dumb li'l filly got to." Twilight sprinted over and grabbed her in a bone-cracking hug. "Oh, thank goodness you're alright! You were in the hospital and then you weren't and we didn't know where you'd gone and we were worried sick! Never, ever do anything like that again, do you hear me? Never!" "Sugar... Ah... need... ta... breathe..." Applejack's orange coat belied the blueness of the skin beneath it. Twilight squeezed her one more time and then broke away. "So where were you? You've got a lot of explaining to do, especially since the Summer Sun Celebration's underway and Sweet Apple Acres is doing the catering." "Aw, heck, was that t'day.? Granny's done gonna kill me, ain't she." "Not if Big Macintosh and Applebloom see you first. They've been working overtime to cover for your... whatever it was you ended up doing." "Well, see, that's where it gets a mite strange, Twilight." And with that, Applejack launched into the tail, only to be cut off by a slim grey hoof. "Applejack, not here. You need to tell all of your friends together, and we need to get to Dinky." "Wait, wait. You went off for three days with your pet dog and the mailmare? Oh, this is definitely gonna be good..." ******* The Summer Sun Celebration, unlike the one last year, went off without a hitch. The party lasted from sunset, with DJ PON-3's set lasting until four in the morning, and Twilight and Applejack slowly gathered up the remainder of their friends, Derpy having elected to spend some quality time with her daughter in the baked goods tent. Applejack's ribs were tested to breaking point by a succession of delighted, angry and above all relieved ponies, and even though Granny Smith had clouted the little orange pony with her Zimmer frame hard enough to knock her granddaughter to the floor yet again, the family reunion was one of the very purest joy. Even Fluttershy had been excited, pouncing on the orange earth pony with many a happy nuzzle before retreating behind her bangs and blushing like a schoolgirl with a crush. Applejack's grin seemed nailed to her face, and nothing could remove it, not even the sheer nervousness of being sat between Derpy and Princess Luna for the dinner - or possibly breakfast, depending on how you looked at it - after Celestia raised the sun. Derpy had been scribbling down notes on her side of the story, Dinky Doo having been long since packed off to bed with a tummy full of muffins and a heart full of love, while Applejack was telling the Princesses and her friends the whole story, right from the moment a raven had perched on her window and begun to speak to her. "Ooh, Princess," said Derpy, just as the orange pony was getting to the chase scene, "has AJ told you about my Sonic Muffboom yet?" Some ponies have natural comic timing. Some can combine this with masterful deadpan delivery. Derpy was able to combine both of those with sheer joyous whimsy, and from this perfect storm came Granny Smith's Summer Lightning apple brandy. Specifically, it came shooting out of Princess Celestia's nostrils and landed in a streak several yards away, where it burst into green and purple flames. The Elements of Harmony were blushing like mad, and Princess Luna hadn't even bothered to hide her laughter, all her energy being concentrated on trying not to actually asphyxiate from it as she pounded the table with a forehoof. Applejack shot an embarrassed look at the stunned Sun Princess and a death glare at Derpy, who grinned back, her left eye wandering carefree in its socket. Luna slipped off her chair, laughing like a drain. The tension amongst Applejack and her friends was shattered when Princess Celestia started to laugh as well, though with much more decorum than her younger sister. After a mock threat of banishing the entirety of Ponyville to the moon, the entire dinner tent collapsed into a fit of the giggles. This was what Celestia had wanted at the Gala; to be amongst laughing, smiling ponies who were having a great time. This was, in truth, what she raised the sun for. It sounded trite, but it was what she believed. After a few hours of tired ponies leaving in dribs and drabs, the only ones left in the tent were the Elements of Harmony and the Princesses. Applejack still hadn't properly talked to Rainbow Dash yet, so she sought her out and dragged her off to one side. "You wanted to talk? Go ahead, talk." Rainbow tapped a forehoof and waited. What Applejack wanted to say, what she'd planned from the outset, was a great speech. It was a long, almost poetic treatise on the nature of love and beauty. It would have won writing awards. What it wouldn't do was come out. The farm pony stammered and sputtered like a central heating pipe with a slow leak before giving up on it completely and starting over. "Look... Rainbow Dash, promise y'all won't get mad." "Uh, why would that - mmmmphl..." Rainbow Dash's sentence was cut off abruptly. A kiss'll do that to you. And as the cyan pegasus returned the kiss with the fire of the rising sun, Applejack caught a little bit of Mairwyn's voice in her head. "There's none can harm a knight who's lain with the Witch of the Westmareland." And Applejack knew, as the kiss broke and Rainbow Dash pulled her around to tell the rest of their friends, that she was right. THE END P.S.:- After Rainbow Dash and Applejack had come out of their completely transparent respective closets together and gone off to make up for lost time, Rarity looked around at her friends and the Princesses. "Let me check my notebook... let's see... looks like the person who drew Rainbow Dash was Fluttershy! Everypony, ten bits to the lady in yellow!" A surprised Fluttershy let out a tiny "Yay!" as the ponies paid up. "Don't think you can sneak off either, Princesses! Come now, the treasury can afford to spare twenty bits." A grinning Celestia was overtaken by a positively bouncing Luna, who readily forked over the cash. Just as everything was settled, a loud, Deep South-accented voice came from outside the tent. "Jes' so y'all know, Ah hates ya..." Everypony collapsed into giggles. And that, dear reader, was the best night ever.

roygbiv

443

Derpy Hooves,Original Character,Romance,Slice of Life,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

El Padre de Dinky Doo Revelado

complete

<p>English: NekoYasha-Raimu is a talented My Little Pony fan, and made a Spanish translation to 'Dinky Doo's Father Revealed'! Show them some love for this, they deserve it!</p><p>Spanish: ¡NekoYasha-Raimu es una talentosa fan de Mi Pequeño Pony, e hizo una traducción española a 'Dinky Doo's Father Revealed'! ¡Demuéstreles un cierto amor para esto, ellos lo merecen!</p>

everyone

2011-08-07T17:52:23+00:00

2011-08-07T17:52:23+00:00

El Padre de Dinky Doo Revelado Traducido por NekoYasha-Raimu "Mamá, ¿Quién es mi padre?" Ditzy Doo hizo una pausa en la preparacion de la cena, el cuerpo de la pegaso gris se puso rigido mientras sus ojos se abrian en shock. Voltendose, miró a su hija Dinky Doo y parpadeó lentamente. Contuvo la respiración un momento, contando lentamente hasta cinco antes de soltarla. En su mente, sabía que este día llegaría, pero hubiera esperado que su potranca fuese mayor. Ditzy Doo sabía sobre cómo los otros potrillos se burlaban de ella a causa de que su madre era "especial". Tan crueles como eran los potrillos de la edad de Dinky, eventualmente crecerían y pasaría esa etapa. Las espinas verdaderamente dolorosas venían de las yeguas y potros de la ciudad. Las miradas de espanto y los cumplidos malintencionados hacia ambas cuando salían de compras o a cenar. Los cuchicheos y las miradas punzantes. Eso les dolía mucho más porque a veces podrían incluso decirles cosas a la cara. Pero hace mucho que pararon dejandolos con su fase. Dinky sabía muy bien que su madre entendía y comprendía mucho más de lo que los otros ponys creían. Pero en publico, el par sólo seguia sonriendo y a veces inlcuso agradecían a los otros por los insultos y cumplidos malintencionados sobre que maravilloso es que una pegaso tan especial como ella pudiera criar una potranca UNICORNIO normal. Pero todo este tiempo, Ditzy había estado esperando este día. Cuando los otros ponys hablaban de sus padres, Dinky siempre lo harcía sobre su madre, la pony del correo. Pero el tema de su padre nunca antes se había dado. Por eso había nacido en la pegaso una delgada esperanza de que este día nunca llegase. "¿Mamá...?" Ditzy trotó hacia ella, apoyó su pezuña delantera en el hombro de su madre con una mirada de preocupación. "Si....si no quieres hablar sobre ello...." Ditzy miró a su hija, con una mirada triste en los ojos mientras negaba con la cabeza. Apagó la estufa y llamó a su hija a seguirle. "Los muffins me dijeron que un día querrías saber sobre cómo las potrancas unicornio llenan la vida de alegría..." La pegaso gris empezó a guiar a Dinky hacia su habitación mientras hablaba. "Y mi mas especial muffin de bondad debería saber sobre el día en que conocí a su padre muffin de alegría!" Dinky la siguió en silencio asintiendo con la cabeza, despues de una vida, la joven estaba acostumbrada a la forma unica de hablar de su madre. Ella había nacido con un ojo caído y problemas mentales, gracias a algo llamado 'Sindrome Alcoholico equino-fetal'. El tío Quarterback le dijo a Dinky una vez, que su madre solia ser mucho peor cuando era más pequeña, lo que habia asustado a la joven potranca de solo pensarlo. Al entrar en la habitación de Ditzy, las paredes estaban decoradas con dibujos a crayon de todos los ponys en la ciudad que Ditzy consideraba sus amigos. En realidad estaba muy bien dibujados a pesar del medio utilizado. Cada vez que su madre conocía un pony nuevo, siempre lo dibujaba esa noche. Esta era tan solo una de las muchas pecualiaridades que Dinky amaba sobre su mamá y que la hacían unica. Trotando hacia su cama, Dinky hizo a un lado la colcha con diseños de muffins y se arrastro bajo la cama. Despues de un momento, empujó una pequeña caja de carton de debajo de la cama antes de salir retorciendose. Sacudió el polvo de su cuerpo y empujo la caja hacia su hija tragando saliva. "Todas las respuestas sobre el espacio y globos volando estan en esta caja, mi muffin. Me iré a terminar de preparar las delicias de la comida y la felicidad mientras tú aprendes la ciencia". Dinky asintió con la cabeza, mirando a su madre irse antes de volver a mirar la caja. La mayoria de las posesiones de su madre tenian la calidad inocente de una potranca. Pero esta caja parecia fuera de lugar en la habitacion más que una parte de ella. La caja misma era vieja y estaba rota, como si hubiera sido movida muchas veces. usando una pezuña delantera, la joven potranca empujo gentilmente la parte superior de la caja y miró hacia su interior... La pequeña caja no guardaba mucho, solo un rollo de papel y algunas fotos. sacó la primera y vió una foto de su madre cuando era más joven en una granja con otros ponys; algunos ponys de tierra, algunos pegasos y algunos unicornios. Todos estaban riendo y sonriendo en un día de campo, Dinky sintió una lagrima en el borde de sus ojos al ver a su madre tan feliz. Pero algo más llamó su atención, y tuvo que mirar de cerca para ver si estaba en lo cierto. Sí, muchos de los ponys en la foto, tenían la misma mirada en los ojos que su madre Ditzy. Algunos estaban en sillas de ruedas, y uno estaba en muletas. Pero todos ellos al parecer, eran tan especiales como su madre. Dejó la primera foto en la caja y tomó la segunda antes de una pausa....Ahí, en la foto, estaba su madre abrazando a un joven unicornio al lado de un árbol. Su cuerpo era marrón y tenia una melena y cola castaño-dorado. Lo que más captó su atención fue el hecho de que su cutie mark era un muffin. Se quedó mirando la foto por mucho más tiempo, sus patas temblaban mientras observaba el árbol. Sí, parecía ser de la misma granja y tallado en el árbol había un corazón con un 'BB + DD' tallado dentro. No era la mejor caligrafía, pero el sentimiento era claro....Esta era una foto de su padre... De pie, la mente de Dinky se tambaleó con lo que significaba. Tenía un padre unicornio, y su madre y él se habian conocido en alguna granja donde todos los ponys eran tan especiales como ella. De repente, los años de su madre llevandola a estudiar más y más tenían sentido...Siempre pensó que era porque su madre tenía miedo de que terminara como ella, tan improbable como era. Pero con dos padres de un lugar asi, la verdad fué como una explosión en su mente: Había vencido las probabilidades y había hecho a su madre muy orgullosa al ser una de las mejores estudiantes en la escuela. No era de extrañas que su madre la controlara todos los dias mientras repartía el correo. Dejando la otra foto en la caja, el cuerpo de Ditzy se estremeció de nervios al mirar el rollo de papel. Realmente quería hacer esto? Parte de ella quería desenrollarlo y empezar a leer, pero una punzada de temor corrió por su cabeza. Despues de esto, ya no habría retorno. Ya no podría pasar las noches soñando cómo era su padre, lo sabría con seguridad. ¿Estaba preparada para renunciar a la ilusión y la fantasía por la fría realidad?. Aferrando el rollo, se asintió a si misma. tenía que saber...No solo por sí misma, sino tambien por su madre. Su madre dió mucho por ella y habia encarado el mundo con valentía. había guardado esta caja a salvo solo para que supiera la verdad...Se lo debía a su madre, seguir hasta el final. Abriendo el rollo, Dinky se posó en el suelo sobre su abdomen y empezó a leer. Dinky, estoy escribiendote esta carta para que un día sepas quién es tu padre. Espero haberte dado esta caja y que la estés leyendo ahora. Si encontraste esta caja accidentalmente hurgando por mi habitación, entonces estás CASTIGADA! Vé a tu habitación y espera a que llegue a casa! Dinky rió levemente, sonriendo para si ante la pequeña nota. Incluso por escrito, su madre tenía un divertido sentido del humor a veces. Sacudió la cabeza y se volvió hacia el rollo para leer más. Cuando me gradué de la escuela, mis padres había muerto un año antes trabajando como ponys del clima. Quarterback había comenzado a hacer construcción, y yo era completamente inutil. Tenía muchos problemas haciendo incluso las tareas más basicas y no podía decir más que dos palabras. El trabajo del hermano mayor lo requería en Fillydelphia para ayudar a construir una nueva escuela por un año, asi que me dijo que iría a vivir a un lugar especial que podría ayudarme. Fue entonces que me ingresaron a la Granja. La Granja estaba en las afueras de Coltland, y fue creada para ayudar a los ponys especiales a ser autosuficientes. Pero no lo sabía entonces. No, todo lo que sabía era que el último de mi familia me estaba dejando alli, y pensé que era porque ya no me amaba. Pasé la primera semana en mi habitación, negandome a salir incluso para comer. Cada día solo permanecía acurrucada bajo mis mantas ignorando a todos y a todo. Al final de la semana, escuché un suave golpe en mi puerta. Luego oí a alguien andar muy lentamente en la habitación antes de sentir que depositaban algo en mi cama. Cuando se marchó, olfateé desde debajo de las mantas y sentí el más delicioso aroma....Sacando el hocico ví que el misterioso visitante había dejado una cesta de muffins en mi cama. Mi estomago rugió, necesitaba comida despues de una semana de ayuno. Sin importarme nada mas, enterré mi hocico en la cesta y empeze a comer con alegria las delicias horneadas. Por supuesto, despues de tanto tiempo sin comer, debi controlarme. Terminé comiendo demasiado y tan rapido que me dió un dolor de estomago que se prolongó hasta entrada la noche. Dinky suspiró, apoyando la pezuña en la frente sacudiendo la cabeza. varias veces había visto los resultados de su madre al comer demasiados muffins, y la había llevado a guardar una gran cantidad de una posión rosa especial que la pony enfermera preparó para ella. "Oh, mamá..." susurró para si misma. "Es tan tipico de tí". A la mañana siguiente, me sentí hambrienta de nuevo, asi que lentamente troté de mi habitación al area principal. La casa principal de la granja era donde todos vivíamos y estaba diseñada de manera que cada habitación de los ponys se abría hacia el area principal donde había comida, juegos y se tomaban clases. Varios ponys me vieron salir de la habitación y me dieron un amistoso saludo, quize evitarlos un poco....Casi lista para huir de regreso a mi habitación. Pero una pony enfermera me vió y me dió la mejor sonrisa, trotó hacia mi para darme la bienvenida. Me explicó sobre la granja, y que mi hermano no me había dejado alli como un castigo, sino como una recompensa para convertirme en una mejor pony. Entonces me enseñó la granja, arrastrandome a veces, me mostró todo lo que la granja tenía para ofrecer. Lentamente empecé a salir de mi coraza en la granja, y empece a aprender como vivir por mi misma. Al inicio fue lento, me enseñaron a cocinar y a ayudar en las tareas de la granja. tambien empezaron a enseñarme cómo volar adecuadamente, algo que había sido un reto en la escuela debido a mi ojo dañado. Aprendí la ardua tarea de sobre-compensar la percepcion de profundidad, y cómo pensar que los objetos pueden estar más cerca de lo que parecen. Y cada anochecer, despues de un largo día, siempre encontraba una nueva cesta de muffins en mi cama esperandome. Al principio, creí que eran de mi hermano Quarterback, y que él me estaba observando y viginalndo que todo esté bien. Pero todo cambió al inicio del verano. Era un día soleado, y el sol de Celestia brillaba sobre nosotros mientras nos dirigíamos al campo. Habíamos terminado las lecciones del día y las tareas temprano, así que tendríamos un día de campo para celebrar nuestro duro trabajo. Speedy Wheels tambien estaba por 'graduarse', y todos queríamos desearle buena suerte. Habís nacido con algo llamado 'Pal-isis', y vivió si vida en una silla de ruedas. Pero llevaba dos años en la granja y habia hallado un camino mas alla de su silla y era muy talentoso entregando cosas. Podía estar sentado en esa silla, pero en ella aun podía ir a casi cualquier sitio. Había estado ayudandolo, descubriendo que yo tambien tenía un don para repartir cosas. Entre los dos, no habia ninguna entrega en la granja que no pudiera llegar a su destino. Eramos un dúo imparable, y con algo de miedo, sabía que cuando se fuera, pronto todas las entregas de la granja y cartas de casa recaerían en mi, sola. Pero todos estabamos felices por Speedy. La Granja le habia ayudado a encontrar un trabajo en Coltland con una compañia de repartos, e incluso le habia conseguido una casa para sí mismo. Hiba a ser una gran transición para él y para nosotros, él era uno de los afortunados. Ël hiba a marcharse. Algunos en la Granja nunca podían llegar tan lejos, y se quedarían hasta fallecer. Pero ese día los espiritus estaban en alto, y alegremente nos arrojamos al campo para jugar. Incluso las enfermeras se estaban relajando, jugando con nosotros mientras el alegre sonido de nuestra risa resonaba en la pastura y las colinas cercanas. Dinky sonrió, se enroscó un poco en el suelo y asintió para si misma. Podía sentir la alegría de su madre al leerlo, y sentía el deseo de haber tenido la oportunidad de verla así. Sin tener que poner el rostro fuerte cada día y sinceramente feliz sin alguien alrededor burlandose de ella... Varios ponys de la cocina habían traido sopas, ensaladas y otras delicias. Al presentarse la comida, una cosa llamó mi atención: Una amplia variedad de muffins de diferentes sabores siendo colocados por un unicornio marrón. Troté allá para olfatearlos curiosamente anted de mirar al potro. Eran los mismos muffins que pensaba que mi hermano me dejaba! Voltee hacia el unicornio, mi melena se erizó cuando empece a gritarle. ¿Quién era él para tener los muffins de mi hermano? ¿Cómo se atrevía a sacarlos afuera cuando eran para mí? ¿Se los quitó a él? por supuesto con mis problemas de habla, no salió como esperaba. Pero el punto es que estaba muy molesta. ël solo me miró en silencio antes de empezar a mover sus patas delanteras en extrañas señales ante mi rostro. Negué con la cabeza, no entendía, y empezé a gritar de nuevo...antes de sentir su suave pezuña iquierda delantera posarse gentilmente sobre la punta de mi boca. Me indicó que lo siguiera y yo protesté...¿Por qué debía seguir a este unicornio extraño a algun lugar?. Pero me indico de nuevo y de nuevo que lo siguiera, asi que acepté a regañadientes. No me llevó muy lejos, solo al otro lado de la pradera hacia un enfermero a quién dió golpecitos en la grupa insistentemente. El enfermero volteó y sonrió. Creo que su nombre era Red Cross, si recuerdo bien. Era un amable pegaso, y me había ayudado en algunas clases de vuelo. "¿Si...? Oh, hola Bran Muffin! ¿En qué te puedo ayudar?" El unicornio marrón peinó hacia atras su melena castaña-dorada con la pata antes de mover sus pezuñas en patrones extraños de nuevo. Red Cross nos miró, el pegaso blanco asentía con la cabeza y su melena roja se balanceaba con el movimiento. "Ah, esta bien..." luego me miró y sonrió. "Ditzy, voy a decirte lo que Bran esta diciendo, esta bien? Pero habla con él como si yo no estuviera aqui" Recuerdo haberme sorprendido por aquello, pero asentí silenciona antes de mirar de nuevo al unicornio. "¿Por qué tomas los regalos de felices ruibarbos en brillo de mi hermano mayor?" Las pezuñas del unicornio empezaron sus rapidos movimientos mientras oía la voz de Red Cross. "Lo siento, los muffins eran de mí. te veías tan triste cuando llegaste, solo quería hacer algo para animarte. Parecían hacerte feliz, y te ves tan linda cuando sonries, asi que seguí llevandote muffins." Por costumbre, voltee hacia Red Cross y pregunté, "¿Qué...? Pero los titíes verdes de-" Pero dificilmente dije otra palabra antes de sentir las pezuñas delanteras de Bran sosteniendo los lados de mi cabeza, volviendome de cara al unicornio de nuevo antes que una oleada de señales empezara. "No lo mires a él!" Red decía lo que traducía. "&#133;l es sólo mi voz para que podamos hablar! Estamos hablando nosotros dos! No vuelvas a ignorarme así otra vez!" Traté de calmarme, como me enseñaron en las clases de habla para manejar las palabras correctas. Finalmente las palabras llegaron lentamente, pero fuí capaz de controlar lo que quería decir: "Tú no eres mi hermano. Tú eres pony nuevo. Pero ser amable y me animaste. Pero cómo es que no le dices a Ditzy esto por ti mismo?" El unicornio suspiró, apuntando a su garganta antes de hacer mas señales mientrás Red Cross habló de nuevo. "Nací incapaz de hablar, al igual que tú, por largo tiempo fuí incapaz de decirle mis pensamientos a otros. pero aqui en la granja, pude aprender cómo hablar con mis pezuñas así como tú tomaste clases para aprender a hablar con tu voz ahora" Recuerdo asentir, mirando sobre el unicornio con una suave sonrisa empezando a cruzar mi hocico. "Tu...Tu puedes enseñar tu habla que no tiene explosiones de estrellas que confunde a los ponys a los ríos?" Rió silenciosamente y su cuerpo temblaba mientras asentía. "Por supuesto, Ditzy." Escuché la voz de Red decir lo que Bran otra vez indicaba. "Con gusto te enseñaré!" Por el resto del día y hasta ponerse el sol de Celestia , Bran Muffin comenzó a enseñarme a hablar usando las pezuñas igual que él. Mientras todos a nuestro alrededor celebraban la graduación de nuestro amigo Speedy Wheels, los dos empezabamos a hallar algo mucho mas significativo. Estabamos escontrandonos el uno al otro con nuestras pezuñas en nuestra forma personal de hablar. Dinky sintió sus ojos llenos de lagrimas de nuevo y puso el rollo a un lado mientras alcanzaba un pañuelo, sujentandolo, limpió las lagrimas de sus ojos mientras sonreía para si. "Mamá......esta es una parte de tí que nunca conocí" Despues de componerse, Dinky miró el rollo envuelto. ¿Podría terminar esto? ¿Realmente quería aprender tanto sobre los días de juventud de su madre? Armandose de valor, asintió. Cogiendo el rollo, trepó a la cama y se acurrucó bajo las mantas. Con la escencia de su madre a su alrededor, desenvolvió el rollo y regresó a donde lo había dejado. Fué un trabajo duro, pero al final del verano ya no necesitabamos a Red Cross para hablar por Bran. Nos sentabamos afuera o en el salon principal, hablando con nuestras pezuñas las palabras que nuestros hocicos se negaban a permitirnos expresar correctamente. Me habló de su infancia creciendo en una pastelería en Ponyville, y de sus padres adoptivos Carrot Cake y Cup Cake. En realidad, él era su sobrino, y había perdido a su madre y padre en una inundación cuando nació, la misma inundación que le arrebató su capacidad de hablar. Pero viviendo allí, había aprendido a cocinar y crear comida que llenaba nuestros cuerpos cada noche. Pudo no haber sido capaz de hablar al crecer, pero ese silencio escondía una mente brillante llena de talento culinario y experiencia. Su especialidad eran los muffins. Y rapidamente me hizó adicta a esas delicias horneadas. A pesar de todo, ambos eramos felices. Cada día, despues de repartir las cartas y paquetes de la granja, volaba hacia la cocina y ayudaba a Bran a preparar la comida. Era una vida simple, pero éramos felices, verdaderamente felices. Pasabamos el tiempo riendo y hablando con nuestras pezuñas, diciendonos el uno al otro sobre nuestros días, nuestras esperanzas y nuestros sueños....Y para nosotros era suficiente. Al menos al principio. No recuerdo cuando inició, pero empezamos a hacernos más que amigos. Los rozes ocacionales mientras cocinabamos, los abrazos cuando nos encontrabamos, e incluso los largos periodos en que tan solo nos sonreíamos mutuamente mientras nuestras pezuñas delanteras descansaban juntas en distintas ocaciones. Los otros residentes de la granja y enfermeros parecíeron ver la creciente relación mucho antes que nosotros. Todo cambió en la cosecha de otoño, Cada otoño, despues de que los cultivos que ayudaban a pagar por la granja fuesen cosechados y vendidos, la Granja podía celebrar con una gran fiesta. Siempre había una votación por un principe y una princesa para vigilar la noche. y muchos de los otros residentes se la pasaban dandome un guiño de comlicidad cuando les llevaba su correo durante la semana previa a la fiesta de la cosecha. Luego llegó el día de la fiesta, y todos trabajamos duro para hacerla la mejor noche de todas. Bran y yo trabajamos muy duro preparando para todos nuestros amigos en la granja un banquete que creció durante el día. Finalmente terminamos y pudimos llevar todo en nuestras carretas antes de servir un gran buffet de deliciosa comida. Oh, Dinky, desearía que hubieses visto esa noche. Muchos de los otros huespedes de la Granja habían decorado la pastura y con la ayuda de los enfermeros, había puesto linternas de papel para iluminar el campo entero en suaves brillos rojos, naranja y amarillos. Todo era perfecto, Dinky. Completamente perfecto. La enfermera jefe, una unicornio llamada Mare Blucher, dió un discurso sobre lo orgullosa que estaba de todo lo que habiamos logrado este año. Todos relinchamos y aplaudimos con las pezuñas en el aire, felices de tener esta divertida noche como recompensa. Al terminar el discurso, sacó un sobre. "Y ahora, anunciaré a sus principe y princesa de la noche...." Usó su magia para abrir el sobre, y leyó en voz alta, "Principe Bran Muffin y Princesa Ditzy Doo!" Todos a nuestro alrededor empezaros a aplaudir y relinchar, y ambos mirabamos en estado de shock. Muchos otros residentes espezaron a empujar nuestros aun impactados cuerpos hacia el escenario mientras sentíamos coronas de juguete posarse en nuestras cabezas. Finalmente llegamos al escenario y miramos, nuestra multitud de amigos aclamandonos mientras todos empezaban a corear una palabra una y otra vez: "Beso! Beso! Beso! Beso!" Nos miramos el uno al otro mientras Mare Blucher trataba de calmar al grupo, pero siguieron aclamando y coreaban esa palabra de nuevo y de nuevo con creciente intensidad... "BESO! BESO! BESO! BESO!" Miré a Bran y el me miró también miestras nos encogiamos de hombros. En ese momento solo queriamos calmar a los otros ponys para poder continuar la celebración. Asi que nos inclinamos más cerca y nuestros labios se encontraron... No se cuanto tiempo sostuvimos ese primer beso, Dinky. Era como...Verano y vuelo e incluso muffins, todos juntos. Era como ser abrazada por Quarterback...Como si mis padres viviesen...Era todo esto enrollado en una bola de calidos sentimientos que corrían a travez de mi cuerpo como un rayo. Sentí mis ojos cerrarse y todo lo demás en el mundo desapareció, éramos solo Bran y yo. El beso finalmente se rompió y nos miramos mutuamente. Entonces oí los gritos de los otros en el grupo y volteé, viendo lagrimas de alegría en sus ojos mientras aplaudían. Ambos, Bran y yo nos sonrojamos mucho, nuestros hocicos estaban casi tan rojos como una remolacha mientras indicabamos que las festividades iniciaran. Mientras todos se dirigían al buffet para comer, nosotros solo nos miramos por mas tiempo. Volví a sentir que el resto del mundo se desvanecía y eramos solo nosotros. Levantando sus patas delanteras, Bran empezó a decir en las palabras que se habían convertido en nuestro lenguaje privado. 'TE AMO'. Sonriendo, le devolví el gesto mientras lagrimas empezaban a brotar de mis ojos. 'TAMBIEN TE AMO'. Esa noche al terminar la fiesta, no regresé a mi habitación. Mas bien, seguí a Bran al apartamento que tenía detrás de la cocina. No quieres saber lo que pasó esa noche, y muchas otras noches despues de esa. Basta con saber que ambos nos amamos mucho. No fue hasta poco despues del solsticio de invierno que empecé a enfermarme con frecuencia. Ambos nos asustamos mucho, Dinky! Por primera vez en meses, los muffins me estaban enfermando! Y no quería comer lo que Bran Muffin preparaba, solo quería comer cosas como escabeches cubiertos de chocolate, o panecillos con salsa picante y chispas! Eventualmente, a insistencia de Bran, fuimos con Mare Blucher para que me hiciera una revisión. Ella miró y escuchó mientras le hablabamos de mis problemas de salud, luego nos hizo algunas preguntas personales que nos hizo ruborizarnos. Finalmente, sientiendo mi creciente vientre con sus pezuñas, nos diómla noticia: No estaba enferma, estaba embarazada. Bran y yo hibamos a tener un potrillo juntos! Despues de eso, las cosas empezaron a moverse rapidamente. Los padres de Bran fueron llamados y nos ayudaron a empacar nuestras cosas. Planearon una fiesta, y todos nuestros amigos nos dieron muchos grandes abrazos y buenos deseos. La granja era nuestro hogar, pero no era lugar para dar a luz o criar un potrillo. Asi que nos hibamos a quedar con sus padres donde podriamos tener a nuestro potrillo con mayor facilidad. Asi que viajamos en carroza de pegasos a Ponyville, donde sus padres nos acogieron con los brazos abiertos. Ah, Dinky, fue maravilloso. Bran empezó a trabajar en la pastelería, y sus padres nos ayudaron a establecernos en una casa en las afueras de Ponyville. Y un día, justo despues de terminar el invierno. Empecé a sentir los agudos dolores. Llamaron a las enfermeras mientras yo yacía en cama, llena de dolor. Pero valió la pena. Despues de todo el dolor, estabas ahi en nuestros brazos, Dinky. Nuestro más preciado muffin. Vivimos juntos por tres años despues de eso, Dinky. Solo nosotros tres como una gran familia feliz. Eras muy pequeña para saberlo, pero tu padre te amaba con cada fibra de su ser. Pero, la Granja lo necesitaba. Seguían intentando hallar alguien que lo reemplazara como cocinero, pero ninguno de ellos tenía la paciencia para manejar el trabajo. Lo necesitaban, y los posibles estallidos de los residentes hacia a la Granja un lugar en el que nunca podrías crecer. Y queriamos más para tí. Queríamos que tuvieses la vida que ninguno de nosotros podía tener. Tenías la brillante mente de tu padre y mi voz, si yo hubiese nacido normal. Tú era lo mejor de ambos unido en uno, asi que hicimos la dolorosa desicion de estar separados hasta que se pudiera hallar un reemplazo y tu padre pudiese volver a casa. Pero, pasaron varias semanas y recibimos una carta de la granja. Tu padre nunca llegó. Enviaron equipos de busqueda, y yo gasté todo lo que pude para tratar de encontrarlo. Pero era como si se hubiera desvanecido y nadie sabía donde estaba. Sé que él nunca nos abandonaría a tí o a mí, asi que debe estar muerto. Solo desería poder demostrarte lo mucho que te amaba, mi preciosa bebé muffin. Solo espero que esta carta sirva como un poco de consuelo a eso. Dinky, sentada, lloraba a si misma. Sabía que su madre habia renunciado a mucho ya, pero no tenía idea de que incluso había renunciado al potro de su vida....todo por ella. Colocando el rollo en la cama, se deslizó fuera de la cama y trotó hacia la sala de estar. Ditzy Doo estaba sentada en la mesa, con la cabeza entre las pezuñas como atormentada por la preocupación. Dinky llegó corriendo, dandole a su madre un gran abrazo por un lado mientras Ditzy miró hacia abajo. Sonriendo aliviada, se inclinó para abrazar a su hija también, permanecieron abrazadas por largo tiempo. Dinky miró a su madre despues de un momento y dijo, "Mamá? Puedes...Puede enseñarme a hablar como tú y papá lo hacían? Voy a encontrar a papá, sé que debe estar alla afuera en algun lugar. Y cuando lo encuentre, quiero que podamos hablar para poder saber lo que ocurrió, Tú haces tanto por mi, quiero hacer esto por ti." Ditzy se mordió el labio, tratando de contener las lagrimas mietras asentía. "Por supuesto, mi precioso muffin." Esa noche, despues de la cena, Ditzy empezó a enseñarle a su hija de la misma manera que había aprendido: Una palabra a la vez. No fue sino hasta la mañana siguiente que se dieron cuenta que durante la noche la Cutie Mark de Dinky habia aparecido al fin. Dos grandes muffins con un pequeño muffin reposando entre ellos.

PuppyLove

444

My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

Cutie Catastrophe

complete

<p>Everypony's making fun of Diamond Tiara! Will she EVER recover?</p>

everyone

2011-08-07T18:39:53+00:00

2011-08-07T18:39:53+00:00

Diamond Tiara collapsed and flopped over dramatically, laying out face-down across the shiny floor. Pinkie Pie had polished it just for her, but it was all useless now. Along with her whole cute-ceanera. “Those darn blank flanks RUINED my cute-ceanera!” She moaned, burying her face in her mane. “And now I can never show my face in public . . . or my Cutie Mark! Never, ever, ever again.” Silver Spoon just sniffed haughtily in response and marched out, pushing the stereo off its table on her way and sending Crystal and The Cuties to a screeching halt. “I was so happy to have my mark . . . ” Tiara rolled over to stare up at the ceiling, remembering her delight at the discovery of her true talent. “Born to rule! It was so me. But then they had to stomp all over it with their dirty little hooves!” After her cute-ceanera had gone up in flames, she and Silver Spoon had hidden by the stairs. But nothing could have protected them from the horror that was Applebloom and her “Cutie Mark Crusaders.” By the time they had left, there was nothing to do to salvage the party. Even the older fillies had left -- what help they had been. Diamond Tiara planned a huge cute-ceanera and all they got was scoldings and booted from their own party. Diamond Tiara got back up and shook her head. “I’m going home, and going to bed.” She took a deep breath. “And I’m never getting up again.” And so she pranced out the door, pausing one more time. “Except maybe to eat. And sometimes Silver Spoon can visit. But that’s it.” She shook out her mane, then was off on her way once more. *** “Tiara, wake up!” Diamond Tiara opened one eye slowly to find Silver Spoon staring down at her, confused. She shook her head vigorously. “No, Silver Spoon, I’m never getting up again.” Silver Spoon’s eyes widened. “But why?” “Because I have been humiliated and I can never show my face again!” Tiara leaped out of bed and threw on a black cloak, covering herself up entirely. “Oh, Tiara!” Silver Spoon gasped. “You can’t go anywhere looking like that! Everypony will laugh at you!” Diamond Tiara jumped into the wardrobe and shut the door. “Everypony is already laughing at me!” She replied, muffled. “No, no, I just can not go.” “Please? Pretty, pretty please?” Silver wailed, fluttering her eyelashes and pouting -- unsuccessfully, as a closet door obscured Tiara’s sight. “I can’t go alone, you know!” Diamond Tiara fiddled with the lock, choosing not to answer this time. “Everypony’s laughing at me, too.” She continued angrily. “I’m just choosing to ignore them and not to be a scaredy pony. Unlike somepony I know!” “Silver Spoon...” Diamond Tiara sighed, stopping her fiddling. Silver Spoon took that opportunity to throw open the wardrobe doors, finding her beneath a pile of capes. She looked up at Silver Spoon through a glimmering sheer fabric, blinking pleadingly. “I just can’t. We are a laughingstock in Ponyville! Shown up at my own cute-ceanera!” Silver Spoon grabbed Tiara and pulled with all her might, crying out in fury. “There is nothing you can do, Tee! We’re going to school or I’m never speaking to you again!” Diamond Tiara looked down at her, aghast. “And that is my final verdict!” She fell back as Tiara stood up, sighing loudly. Tiara sighed and shook her head. “No pony in her right mind would do this.” A tear formed in Silver Spoon’s eye, she knew what came next, but Tiara cut her off before she could protest. “But . . . if that’s what’s happening, I guess I must.” “That’s right, you scaredy filly!” Silver Spoon jumped up and pranced around the room. “Let’s go and show those blank flanks we won’t ever back down!” Diamond Tiara followed meekly behind her as she hurried toward the school. “Well look who it is!” Scootaloo pranced over from where she had stood chatting with Sweetie Belle and Applebloom. “The Cutie Mark Cranks!” Diamond Tiara scuffed at the ground awkwardly, leaning over so that her cloak covered her face entirely, and Silver Spoon stuck up her nose as Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo laughed. “Cranky flanks!” Sweetie Belle guffawed, inciting a few giggles from the other fillies. Applebloom looked away. “Harebrained manes!” The bell rang, and Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo flounced off to class, snickering. Applebloom stayed for a few moments, opening and closing her mouth as if she couldn’t decide whether or not to speak and adjusting her bow, before trailing after them. “I told you so!” Diamond Tiara cried as they headed into class last, dragging their hooves. “I told you, everypony hates us now.” Silver Spoon sighed and shook her head. “That doesn’t mean we can just hide out.” “You’re right.” Silver Spoon raised her eyebrows as Diamond Tiara spoke. “It doesn’t mean we can hide out. It means we have to!” “Oh, Tee.” Silver Spoon sighed, exasperated. “We’re going. And that cloak...that cloak is going in the trash!” Diamond Tiara flinched as Silver Spoon pulled off her cloak and threw it into the nearest can. “But...but...” “No buts!” Silver Spoon screeched. “And into class we go.” *** Diamond Tiara trudged out of the classroom last, exhausted. But, of course, Applebloom was out there waiting for her. “Fine, blank flank.” she sniffed, making sure not to let any weakness show. “What cutting witticism have you got for me now? I guess it ought to be good, since you waited so long just so you could get the last word in.” Applebloom shook her head vigorously, but Diamond Tiara was already storming off. “Hey, wait!” She cried out after her. “I just wanted to apologise!” Diamond Tiara turned back, stunned. “What for?” She demanded suspiciously. “For ruining your party, of course.” Applebloom smiled. “An’ for Sweetie Belle and Scoot callin’ you such dumb names. Just cause y’all were being mean t’us don’t mean we can do the same.” Diamond Tiara smiled back, albeit faintly. “And gosh, just cause we ain’t got our Cutie Marks don’t mean we’re good at everything, silly.” “Really?” Diamond Tiara’s smile grew wider. “Sweet nibblets, of course!” Applebloom giggled, shaking out her mane. “It just means we could be good at anything, see. We’ve only got one talent still, just like y’all. You just know what yours is.” “Really?” Diamond Tiara giggled back excitedly. “Of course, you silly filly.” Applebloom and Diamond Tiara smiled at each other. “Friends?” “Friends.” The end. Dear Princess Celestia. Today I learned that just because somepony else is being mean to you, being mean back won’t teach them any kind of lesson. Instead, if you are kind to them, maybe they will learn from your example, and will do the same! Your faithful student, Twilight Sparkle.

SPark

445

Rainbow Dash,Comedy,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

The New Black

Rainbow Dash has a very busy day. Contains lots of innuendo.

complete

<p>Rainbow Dash has a very VERY busy day. </p><p>(Contains implied sexual situations. Not to be taken seriously.)</p>

teen

2011-08-07T23:38:56+00:00

2014-02-22T02:18:55+00:00

The New Black. by SPark "Why do I have to do this again?" Rainbow Dash shifted impatiently. "Hold still," said Rarity. "You have to do this because you volunteered to help Sweetie Belle and her friends with their play." "Yeah, well, I didn't know I'd have to go through all this frou-frou nonsense," she groused. "And why is the robe pink? I thought I was going to play an evil alicorn?" "You are," said Rarity, floating another pin along. "I'll make a black robe tomorrow. This is just to see how this pattern drapes on you and what modifications I need to make. Pegasi don't usually wear robes you know." "Yeah, yeah, yeah." "There." Rarity stepped back and nodded. "Just right. Although I simply do not agree that pink is the new black. It clashes terribly with your mane." Rainbow Dash looked down at the violently pink robe she was wearing and shuddered. It was hideous. "What is this 'new black' stuff anyhow? Isn't black just black? How can some other color be 'the new black'?" "It's because black is the universal, elegant color, darling. It can look good with any complexion and any hair color. It goes with everything." She smiled and batted her eyelashes as Rainbow Dash. "I myself, as you well know, look positively ravishing in black." Rainbow blushed a bit, Rarity's eyelashes tended to have that effect on most ponies, but she couldn't help but grin. "I think you look ravishing in anything. And even better in nothing at all. If you catch my drift." Rainbow Dash never flirted in public. It would cause far too many problems. But in private... "Why Rainbow!" Rarity laughed. "Are you suggesting something?" "Maybe." Rainbow glanced out the windows, eying the angle of the sunlight. "If you're done pinning this thing maybe you could... help me out of it?" She waggled her eyebrows and grinned. "It's pretty early, and we still have an hour or two before we'll be disturbed, after all." Rarity grinned back and winked. "That is a fabulous idea, my dear. Why don't you come back to my workroom. I just got a shipment of faux fur that's simply luxurious, I might mention. It's so delightful to the touch. Once we get you out of that robe I thought I could spread it out on the floor and, well..." She leaned in and whispered in Rainbow's ear. Her suggestion made the pegasus blush even brighter, and grin even wider. Rainbow adjusted her wings, nudging a few wayward feathers back into place, as she left Rarity's boutique. Her mane and tail were as wild as ever, and nopony would guess what she had just been up to. Which was exactly how she liked it. She was not exactly in the closet, oh no, but given the complexities of her friendships, it was simpler to keep certain things private. Just as she was spreading her wings to take off, something thudded into her, sending her sprawling. She looked up to see Pinkie Pie sitting on top of her. "Hi!" "Uh. Hi there Pinkie. Mind getting off of me?" "Oh! Sorry." Pinkie climbed off, and Rainbow got to her feet. She shook dust out of her mane and eyed the bright pink pony with a rueful smile. "Oh hey! I wanted to tell you!" Pinkie looked around, then leaned in and said, with a conspiratorial whisper, "I got... something new today." Rainbow raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Oh?" "Yes. A very interesting something new. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge, say no more, say no more." Pinkie wiggled her eyebrows wildly, and Rainbow giggled. "I... see." "So what do you say to a party for just the two of us?" "I say that it sounds like a lot of fun." Quite a bit later a sweaty and happily tired out Rainbow Dash was toweling herself off. An equally sweaty and slightly less energetic than usual Pinkie Pie lay sprawled on the bed, with a blissful grin plastered on her face. "That was a lot of fun, Dashie." Rainbow chuckled. "Yes it was. You have good taste in toys." "I'll be sure to throw another party for two next time I get one in! Although I still think a party for three would be ultra-super-duper." "You know why I don't do that, Pinkie. Ponies get jealous." "But I'm really good at sharing, Dashie. I don't mind that I share you with some other pony. I'd like to share the some other pony with you too, is all!" "You're sweet, Pinkie. And maybe you wouldn't be jealous, but that some other pony might be. And wouldn't you hate to ruin a friendship with jealousy?" "Aha! So the other pony is a friend of mine?" Rainbow laughed. "Pinkie... every pony in Ponyville is a friend of yours. That doesn't narrow it down much. I know you just want to share, but I'm not going to tell you. It's be all awkward and stuff. And if you want to see some other pony yourself I don't mind. I'm not the committing kind, you know that!" "Yeah, I guess it might be all awkward. I don't know anypony else that's as much fun as you, but I might meet some other pony someday." "I hope you do. But I have to get going. I promised Applejack I'd give her a hand on the farm this afternoon, and I don't want to be late." "Okie-dokie-lokie!" Rainbow flew fast enough to leave her trademark rainbow streak behind her as she zoomed over the fields towards Sweet Apple Acres. Though she was, maybe, a hair slower than usual. It was barely past noon and it had already been a long day. But a very good day, thought Rainbow Dash with a grin. She did a loop, just because she was feeling good, then continued on her way. She dipped down lower, weaving in and out of the apple trees, and then nearly crashed as an unexpected orange pony suddenly loomed up in her path. Her swerve sent her careening wildly, narrowly missing one tree and clipping a second with a wingtip before finally getting herself under control. At a more reasonable pace she circled back to see Applejack picking up her hat. "Uh, sorry about that AJ." "Think nothin' of it, sugarcube." Applejack smiled at Rainbow. It wasn't Rarity's suave and gracious glance, but the rough and honest affection in her gaze made Rainbow blush even harder. If she'd had to pick just one of her many lovers, she might well have picked Applejack. There was just something about the cowpony that Rainbow couldn't shake off. They got on like a barn fire, sometimes with a competitive heat, and sometimes with a different sort of heat altogether. "So what's on the schedule for today?" asked Rainbow. "Am I going to buck some apples for you, or am I going to," she winked, "buck some apples for you?" "Well now sweetheart," said Applejack, her smile growing wider, "Big Macintosh is off makin' some deliveries, Applebloom is still in school, and Granny Smith has her hearing aids turned off while she's takin' an afternoon nap. So I think ya'll are goin' to have to buck some apples right good and hard while we've got the chance." Rainbow laughed. She was going to be pretty well done in by the time the day was done, at this rate, but she couldn't say no to Applejack. "Then let me show you my awesome new rainbow-buck technique. I think you'll like it." Rainbow was not flying fast enough to leave a streak behind when she left Sweet Apple Acres. In fact she was going quite slowly, and without any loops or rolls or anything. As she flew she saw Big Macintosh walking down the road below her, an empty cart behind him. For a moment she considered swooping down and at least saying hello. She tended to prefer fillies, but there was something to be said for a big, masculine stallion. And Big Mac was definitely a stallion. She knew that from experience. But she was just too tired. Big Mac would have to wait. She flew only a bit further before she spotted and snagged a passing cloud. Flopping down on it, she settled in for a nice little nap. After the kind of day she'd had so far she definitely needed to rest and recuperate. "Not that I'm complaining" she murmured to herself as she began to drift off. "Nope, nuh-uh, noooooooo way." She fell asleep with a smile of blissful contentment on her face. She woke up with a jolt to find that her cloud had drifted into a tree. She blinked drowsily at it, trying to clear her sleep-fogged mind and figure out what was going on. She hadn't been anywhere near the Everfree forest... But as she came slowly awake she realized that she'd drifted into town and collided with the Ponyville library. "Hi there Dash," called Twilight from a nearby balcony. "Have a nice nap?" Rainbow yawned hugely. "Yeah. What are you up to?" "Just studying as usual." Twilight smiled wryly. Dash chuckled. Twilight was such a nerd, but it was kind of cute. "Actually," added Twilight, "I read something earlier today that maybe you could, uh, I mean I kind of wanted to try, it, er, sounded interesting, if you, uh, are interested in, uh, I mean I know you've helped me with this kind of, uh, thing before, and..." She was blushing furiously. Rainbow giggled. "Hey, it's okay. Chill. I'd be happy to help you try out something new. I like new things. That last book idea of yours was pretty fun." "Yes it was." Twilight blushed if anything even harder, but she was also smiling. "Why don't you come in then?" She stepped back, making room for Rainbow to land on the balcony. "I'll just go send Spike off on an errand..." Twilight trotted off, while Rainbow Dash stepped into the bedroom and slid the balcony door closed. She drew the drapes to provide a little privacy. Downstairs she could hear Twilight saying "...and after that why don't you go give Rarity this? I know she's been wanting to read it, and I'm sure you two could talk for a little while. You could lend her a hand in the shop if you like, I'm not too busy here so I can manage without you." Rainbow grinned as Twilight came up the stairs. She was looking forward to this. Twilight's reading might be nerdy, but Rainbow had to admit that she'd picked up several of her favorite techniques from Twilight's books. And then there were the other benefits of doing a unicorn. The magic. And the horn. Rainbow's wings were already spreading out at the thought of what Twilight could do with her horn. Twilight saw Rainbow's reaction and giggled. "Looks like you're ready for some experimentation." "Oh yeah." When Rainbow staggered out of the library some time later, she was definitely ready to go home. The nap had helped, but she was still pretty thoroughly worn out. She was also pretty sore. That last position had been entirely new to her, and it had strained muscles she hadn't even know she had. "I should probably just fly straight home, but maybe..." She glanced towards the edge of town. It wouldn't be that far out of her way. And Fluttershy had never minded before... With sore wings she flew over to Fluttershy's cottage. The quiet yellow pegasus was out in the yard, watering her garden. She squeaked adorably when Rainbow Dash landed next to her with a thud. "Hi Fluttershy!" "Oh. Hi Dash. I didn't see you coming." "Fast and stealthy, that's me!" Rainbow grinned. Fluttershy giggled. "So I was wondering," said Rainbow with studied casual cool, "if you were busy right now." "Not really." Fluttershy smiled quietly. "I was watering the garden, but that's all I had left to do today and it's done now." "That's good. I kinda had a long day. Lots of new moves to practice, that kind of thing, and I could reeeeeeally use a massage. You give the best massages!" Fluttershy blushed at the compliment and glanced away. "O-oh. Thank you Rainbow Dash." She returned her gaze to Rainbow, smiling a little more surely. "Of course. Please come in." She led the way inside, past the birdhouses and little rodent dens that filled much of her home, and up the stairs to her bedroom. "Lie on the bed and relax," she said. Rainbow flopped willingly onto the bed and sprawled out on her stomach. "Thanks for doing this, Fluttershy. I am so beat right now I don't think I could move! And so sore!" "Well you just lie back and let me take care of you then," said Fluttershy, gaining more confidence as she moved into an area of expertise. Her hooves touched Rainbow's back, very gently at fist, then massaging more deeply. "Ohh yeah." Fluttershy started working near the base of Rainbow's wings. It felt very good, but... "Fluttershy, I wasn't kidding when I said I was really tired. I don't have the energy to-" "Oh no, it's okay." Fluttershy's quiet voice was very firm. "Just lie still and I'll take good care of you." She rubbed right up to Rainbow's wings, and Rainbow lost track of what she'd been protesting. Even after everything she'd done today she felt her wings starting to pop up. "That's a good girl," crooned Fluttershy. Rainbow almost wanted to protest that too. She wasn't a good girl! But Fluttershy just kept rubbing right there where it was so sensitive, and all Rainbow could do was moan in pleasure. "Ooo... Fluttershy..." Then Fluttershy moved her hooves somewhere else entirely. "Ooo Fluttershy!" Rainbow Dash stumbled in the door of her house with a blissful sigh. She was most definitely relaxed now. And most definitely done for the day. The sun had set, and soon she would be in bed, and nobody else would be in the bed with her this time.. The grin plastered on her face was a sure sign that she hadn't minded her very, very busy day, but she was glad to be home. She ate a quick salad, then went straight to the bedroom without even brushing her teeth. Just as she'd pulled back the blanket and was about to climb in, there was a thud outside her window. Hesitantly Rainbow stuck her head out the window to see what it was. She immediately found herself nose-to-nose with an elegant white alicorn. "P-princess Celestia!" "Hello there, my most loyal subject." Celestia smiled serenely at Rainbow, and winked.

redsquirrel456

446

Original Character,Crossover,Adventure,Dark,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

My Little Metro

After Doomsday forces ponies underground, a lone colt braves the Stalliongrad metro system to save his people from an unknown threat.

hiatus

<p>The Metro tunnels of Stalliongrad shelter the last remnants of ponykind from the ravages of the Apocalypse. Beneath the earth, ponies struggle to survive against mutants, radiation, and each other. But when an unstoppable threat emerges from the darkness of the Metro, one pony must brave the shadows to save not just his home, but the very existence of his people.</p>

teen

2011-08-10T04:02:33+00:00

2011-08-10T04:02:33+00:00

My name is Lockbox. It’s a strange name to be sure. But my father… my adoptive father… always told me it was appropriate. It is my cutie mark, after all, simple and boring though it is. I have always had a good sense of where to hide things to keep them safe and sound. I collect things. Always have, and perhaps always will. Usually I find pictures, or books, or toys. Whatever it is that keeps memory alive. Anything that was probably important to somepony, somewhere, in the time before. Like everything else, memories must be preserved and carefully hidden away so they aren’t corrupted. I’m not sure why I collect things the way I do, except to satisfy my strange, romantic notions of keeping old dreams alive. I think it’s because I know that somepony would appreciate it. If not the owners of the items that crowd my room and adorn my wall, then somepony who will come later, wondering what it is we have lost. What we can one day hope to regain. It’s hard, trying to believe that the world will ever go back to the way it was. For many years… twenty for me… the metro tunnels beneath Stalliongrad have been our fortress. Our prison. Our home. Crowded beneath the ruins of a once great city we scrabble to survive. There is no Sun to look up to and hope in, no Moon to put our dreams and wishes on. The sky has been burned black, and clouds mock us with rain so cold it burns. The very ground of our city is blanketed by radioactive poison from the destructive power of enemies whom nopony can seem to remember or care about anymore. We have many choices in which to die, but few that lead to a real life. I think the worst is the Rot. The inevitable wasting away of bodies that cannot fight against a hostile environment that never lets up. For no air here is pure. Not really. The poisonous magic released by the bombs seeped into every crevice, and the fumes are always there in some form or other. After years of breathing corrupted air and twisted magic, many of our elders die slow deaths as their lungs are destroyed from the inside out. That is, if they live that long, what with the monsters and bandits having full reign over every stretch of tunnel that isn’t monitored. Sometimes even the civilized ponies of another station cause the trouble. We work hard here in the Metro. We live fast and die young more often than not. If there is an Equestria, or even a habitable world beyond these closed spaces and the sky that never opens, we do not know of it. Radio signals, if they are still being transmitted from somewhere, do not find us. The land is poisonous tundra of snow and ice and twisted trees as far as the eye can see, and nopony has reached us from beyond the city limits, if they are there to make the trip at all. The blasts that leveled our town have hurtled us back to scavenging and improvising our technology. Nopony can reach us to give us new supplies. Stalliongrad was an old city, slow to embrace change and reluctant to bend knee to Canterlot, and we have paid dearly for our isolation. There are no Elements of Harmony here. No hope of help coming to us. I like to think there are other ponies out there, stubbornly clinging to life, and certainly there must be some pockets of the world that survived the holocaust. Still, for all my idle dreams, I had always thought our lot in life was certain. In these metro tunnels, we will live, and in them we will die. But the day Hunter returned… the day fate came to me… nothing would ever be the same again. My Little Metro: A Tale of Post-Apocalyptic Ponies Chapter 1 “Is there a hero somewhere, someone who appears and saves the day? Someone who holds out a hoof and turns back time?” I started the day as I usually did. I woke up and did my morning chores, moved crates around and talked to the traders who came through. I asked if they had anything new in the way of very particular junk nopony else wanted or needed. They had little, since Exiperia was a fairly self-sufficient station and sold more than they bought. I said hello to Sunny Side, my old friend, and shared a drink with him. Sunny Side was my closest companion, though as a pegasi he had it worse than most of the others. Even I, as a simple earth pony, was better suited for a life underground. The pegasi are born with a need to fly, but how can they do that when the air above will destroy them in seconds? It was always depressing, hearing a pony who was happy for everypony else share with me his constant, grating anxiety, the need to spread his wings in open air when there was none left. I gave him my usual condolences and shoulder to cry on. What else could I do? Like clockwork we parted again as he went to his weekly target practice with the station militia. I then retired to my tiny room to try and organize what I had acquired during the day. I dropped onto my couch that doubled as the bed, enjoying the way the soft cushions accommodated my usual sprawling position. I had lived in this same room for a good ten years now, and looked forward to greeting that same musty run down couch every day until I died. Though it was cramped, and every available space was taken up by junk or my personal belongings or my own body, I felt that made it more snug. My room was like a good blanket, and at least I did not have to share. Chalk that up to being the adopted son of a pony of influence in the station. Trying to ignore the sounds of somepony shouting and music quietly filtering through the thin doors, I lost myself in my day dreams. It was time to stare at the Wall. I let my eyes run over the thick jungle of pictures and postcards that completely obscured one wall of my room, still images of a beautiful world frozen in its prime. The gleaming spires of Canterlot rose up over all Equestria, the forests of the Whitetail Wood grew happily, tended by pony caretakers. The wonderful buildings of Manehattan, with its architectural triumphs, stood tall and proud. Ponies lived, worked, and smiled. And all I could do was sit and stare at the moments stuck forever on little pieces of paper. I burned each and every scene into my brain, locking it safely away in the recesses of my mind. In there, these ponies and their happiness would live as long as I carried the memory. For a little while at least, I and the old world would connect across time. Ponies long dead would come back to life and frolic in my mind’s eye. I could do this for hours, imagining what it must have been like to walk on streets that were paved and clean. To breathe air that was always crisp and filled with the smells of a busy day. I liked the pictures that had ponies in them most, especially when they were at a café or a diner, eating and drinking. I liked the fond jealousy of watching them partake of a bounty they knew with blissful conviction would never end. Ponies had had such wealth before, and I liked to think some day we could have it again. What did their food smell like in those days, I wondered? What did the grass and the trees and the flowers do to one’s nose? How bright were the colors compared to the faded majesty of my modest collection? How did the Sun feel in the day, how did the Moon comfort them at night? What were the Princesses really like, and would they return to heal our world? Such questions kept me up at night, something my father… my adoptive father… would reprimand me for more than once. He didn’t mind that I enjoyed the thoughts of a better world, just that I would lose sleep over it, or worse, get inspired enough to go and do something dangerous for the sake of it. I dreamed of flowers. Flowers, I thought, probably smelled a bit like a cooked mushroom, or like the strange gasoline smell the bioluminescent pods in the deeper tunnels had. Just cleaner and less acrid, I was sure. Perhaps the bread would have that crisp warm scent of a good blanket that had just been washed? I knew that our bread couldn’t compare to the golden-brown wonders I saw in my pictures. Just thinking about how crunchy they looked made my mouth water, even though I would never know exactly how they tasted. Anything from the time before had to be better than this, though. I eventually picked up a guitar and gently strummed it with the corner of my hoof. That guitar was one of my most prized possessions. Something that I could create beauty with, and entertain the young ones. The colts and fillies were my favorites, with their bright and hopeful eyes. I adored the way they scurried through the horrors of our world without much care or thought to how terrible things really were. How they had no knowledge of what they were going to face when they were grown. I envied them, and saw a glimpse of an innocent Equestria in those eyes. I had played for an audience once or twice around the story fires, when the elders would relate to us the stories told to them by their forefathers of the time before the scorched earth. I or another pony more skilled with instruments would sit in a corner and just strum the night away, listening to the quiet drone of old voices regaling us with stories of things we would never see. There came tales of shimmering wonderlands of snow that didn’t freeze your ears off, and great celebrations that would clear the way for spring. Stories of ponies working in harmony and fellowship. Summer days so hot, you would sweat like a pig and love it, staying cool with iced drinks and air conditioning that didn’t break down all the time. Cool autumn nights spent curled up with a lover under a blanket of stars. The world bowed down to us and gave up its provisions happily, and we cared for it in turn. I am not ashamed to admit I cried at more than one of those meetings. We would sit in silence, letting the images fill our heads, comforting us, taunting us. They stayed with me more, though. My memory could hold it. It was getting to be evening when my father… my adoptive father… knocked on my door, smiling that knowing, grim smile of his. He always knew when I was getting lost in the Wall. “Hey, Lockbox,” he said in his gentle, slightly nasal tone. “Come on, get up now. There are some ponies I want you to talk to.” My father... my adoptive father... was always trying to get me to become more active in helping run the station. I think he hoped I would inherit the position of mayor from him. It was not something I looked forward to. Exiperia Station was plagued with problems, not the least of which were being a frontier station on the fringe of the main circle. It kept us away from conflicts between other, more powerful stations, but it also made us vulnerable to attack from other, darker sources. We had been suffering for a long time from a threat my father tried to keep in the inner circle of leadership to keep me and the others from panicking. “Is it about the alliance with Draft Station?” I asked. My father shook his head. “No. Right now I think it best if I show you some things that have been kept quiet until now.” “The attacks?” I asked. I remembered the talk around Exiperia, kept it locked away in the safe of my mind. My father sighed. “Perceptive as ever, my son,” he said, and gestured with his hoof outside again. “Come on.” I got up and put on my saddlebags, followed him into the cramped hall, shaking my flanks to get my saddlebags to sit easier on my back. It was amazing that we could stand these conditions, really. A pony could barely turn around without bumping flanks with someone’s door, or other flank. You got used to it, or you went insane. Some of the poor pegasi who couldn’t handle living here have done that, and went stir crazy from the lack of flying and open spaces. Disregarding everything they fought their way into the poisonous air outside, going as far and as fast as they could before they fell. Dying a quick death as their flesh burned and their lungs dissolved, at least they got to spread their wings one last time. The doctors called it “going feather-brained.” It made me very, very glad I was an earth pony. I followed the graying mane of my father past Sour Grape’s place, where he stood outside the door and gave me and my father a curt nod. “Lockbox,” he said gruffly, and I returned the nod. Inside Grape’s room I could hear his poor wife griping again about his behavior. Sour Grapes was not the most affectionate of ponies, and his wife complained quite often about his lack of a work ethic. I was pretty sure she was having an affair with Balderdash, whose place we passed without a word. The stallion was calmly listening to some old world music inside. He loved hearing music and often organized what few parties we could afford, not that we had much occasion for them. We passed old Granny Turnip’s room, swung around the kitchens where Nuts was gossiping with Bolts over the cooking pots, and began heading upstairs. I recognized Clockwork and Yuletide, two ponies who worked with the livestock, playing cards in the hall. My father gave them a vague reprimand which they barely acknowledged, as he did almost every time they passed. My father was a dour pony, but he didn’t like to bring an iron hoof down on anypony. The station was happy enough with him and Primare Donna in charge. Between them and the others Exiperia was peaceful enough, until this new threat had come. And then there was Starry Gaze. The unicorn filly appeared out of nowhere as usual. I wasn’t quite sure what she did around Exiperia, since she was always either daydreaming or doing a different odd job every time I looked. “H- hey there, Lockbox, mister Cinder Block,” she said, fixing me with her sparkling eyes as she fell into step behind us. There was barely any room to walk alongside, but she pushed to get as close as possible anyway. I felt a little crowded as my haunch kept brushing her shoulder, which she no doubt intended. Many a young colt had lost themselves in Starry Gaze’s eyes, though she was always too shy and timid to really make use of it. She was a little like me, always sending her gaze off somewhere else, lost in her thoughts. I suppose she took that similarity to be a sign of compatibility, as she had been pushing hard to find time alone with me. I gave her the same nod I had Sour Grapes. “Um… I made this for you!” Her horn glowed and levitated out a little circle of string, decorated with shiny bits and pieces of who knew what. In the center was an old bit from when money was worth something, with Celestia’s face on one side and Luna’s on the other. It was pretty enough. “Thank you,” I said, and after a moment she realized I wasn’t slowing down to take it. I allowed her to float it into my saddlebag. “So… where are you two headed?” she asked, and I was acutely aware she was just making small talk while she stared at my flanks. “The clinic,” my father said. “There is business that needs taking care of. Lockbox is coming along to learn a few things.” “O-oh,” said Starry Gaze, her bright eyes dimming a little. She knew just as I did he was talking about the attacks, and it was enough to blunt even her optimism. “I… I hope you figure something out, then. I know you will.” She stared at me as she said it. “Don’t worry,” my father said with a comforting, paternal grin. “The Rangers themselves are coming here. Between them and our station we’ll put an end to this trouble.” “That’s good, sir,” she said, still waiting for me to say something. I did not. “I’ll… I’ll see you later,” she murmured, eyes downcast as she turned away. “Take care,” I said, and with one last hopeful look over her shoulder she was lost to the corridors. “You shouldn’t be so short with her son,” my father sighed as we came up to the main level. “She is a nice mare, and is only trying to be friendly.” “I know, father,” I said. I knew I was being something of a foal. Shying away from females seemed to come naturally to me, but where Starry Gaze was concerned I knew it was for the best. She wasn’t my type, and I felt she was pushing for a relationship because I fit the criteria that made me a good choice, not because there was anything between us. That and I knew Sunny Side had had his eye on her for a long time now. The poor pegasus had a crush something awful on the unicorn, and getting caught in a love triangle was the last thing I needed. Still, just to be nice to her I’d show that I’d kept her homemade trinket next time we met. /-/-/-/ The main level of Exiperia was always bustling with activity. It was here the docks resided, and where all of our livestock were kept and our farms were grown. It was also where the small collection of shacks and stalls we called a market was housed. As we pushed through the crowd, I saw several militia ponies rushing back and forth. I noticed Sunny Side, but he couldn’t spare a glance as he fluttered over our heads towards the guard posts. They certainly knew something was up, but everypony else was acting like it was business as usual. I narrowed my eyes and looked at my father. “… It happened just recently. Word is spreading now,” he told me. “Why didn’t you announce it to the station?” “And have everypony believe our leadership is going to squawk our panic at the air like crows?” he answered with a glare. “No, we need them to think this is just another mutant attack for now. Though, the way the bodies always end up, that will change very soon…” It was morbid to admit, but my curiosity was piqued. I said nothing more to my father as we pushed through the market towards the hospital, ducking into a side hall to avoid the worst of the crowd. I saw several worried glances and hushed conversations going on, and as we neared the clinic I felt a sinking feeling develop in my stomach. “Cinder Block!” the head doctor, Pokey, greeted my father as we came to the door. A worried crowd of ponies waited nearby, held back by the militia. I heard several of them calling out for news of loved ones. “My poor Blue Jay is in there! My husband! Please, just let me know he’s all right!” “Damn it, my son was on duty during the last attack! Where is he? Let me see him!” “Greymane, you know my wife! Is she okay?” “I’m sorry Timber. Rules are rules. I can’t say anything. Everypony, move back! Make way for the mayor!” I felt their eyes on me and my father, accusing and hopeful. They wanted answers. My father just trotted up to the head doctor like it was an ordinary day. I knew he was trying to put on a brave face, but it just came off as indifferent to me. “Pokey,” he said calmly. “What is it now?” “Another one of those,” the doctor grumbled, shaking his silver mane. “They came out of nowhere, as usual. Every single bloody guard on the post was wiped out! We should speak of this inside. The trader can tell you more, he’s the only one who got out unscathed.” “Very well. Take us inside.” I pushed against my father as we crowded inside the door, eager to be away from all those angry ponies outside. Their glares made me blush, and my ears burned at the clamor they made. The sight was no better inside. The clinic was crowded almost to capacity, and many areas were cordoned off with bedsheets. I saw the warm glow of unicorn horns behind them as they worked their best magic to stave off the inevitable… but there was a whole corner stuffed with covered bodies already. My stomach twisted. “They attacked like they always do, coming out of nowhere and hitting us like lightning!” Pokey snapped, leading us through the bleak scene. I saw a pony lying on a bed through a gap in the sheets, his eyes wide and pupils dilated. He stared straight at the ceiling, hugging his pillow while a couple unicorns tried to coax him into drinking a healing potion. He just lay there, staring and breathing like he was already dead but didn’t know it yet. On his flank was a blue jay. I turned away, feeling sick. Pokey kept talking. “Just like before, they didn’t kill with any weapon we know of. The best we can figure is it’s some kind of magic, or perhaps a poison we can’t detect! There’s nothing physically wrong with their victims… most of them. They just come in looking like… well, like that.” He raised a hoof and pointed at one of their most recent cases. A big, strong pony who looked like he could buck a tree in two and a cutie mark of two crossed pistols sat up straight, his head lolling back and forth. On occasion, his hoof would reach up into the air. “Mmmuh,” he groaned. “G… gotta reach it… get the gun… captain’s orders… gotta fire! Mmmuh! Can’t see…” Cinder Block stood directly in front of the dizzy stallion, looking him in the eyes. “Trigger Hoof,” he said calmly. “Trigger. It’s Cinder Block. Can you hear me? You remember me, Trigger?” He waved a hoof in front of the stallion’s eyes, which were filled to the brim with dilated pupils just like Blue Jay. Trigger glanced at the waving hoof, and for a few hopeful moments it looked like he was becoming lucid again. “C-captain’s orders,” he muttered. “Open fire. Don’t stop shooting. Gotta reach my gun. Gotta reach.” He lifted his hoof and tapped it against Cinder’s. The gesture was disturbingly child-like. “Tell me what happened,” my father demanded in a slow, commanding voice. “Not normal. Not normal,” Trigger whispered, transfixed by my father’s hoof. “Shadows. Out of shadows. The noise. It’s breaking everything. Oh, Goddesses, the noise. In my head. In my eyes. Bursting. Can’t move. Gotta reach but I can’t move. Mmmuh. Wings… horns! Horns! Wings! Reaching! They’re gonna get me! AAAH!” He backpedaled into the wall, shrieking incoherently. A couple of militia ponies nearby tried to hold him down as he thrashed against an attacker we couldn’t see. “WINGS! BLACK! DON’T TOUCH ME! GET AWAY!” “Sedatives, now!” Pokey ordered, and a unicorn nurse rushed forward, using her magic to jab a needle of glowing purple… stuff into Trigger’s neck. The big stallion’s cries were quickly reduced to whimpers and insane mumbling again. None of the other patients seemed affected by the outburst, and the clinic was eerily quiet once more. I could hear the mumbling of another lunatic nearby, behind his curtain. I stood still through the whole ordeal, frozen to the bone with terror. Mutants were one thing, but afflictions of the mind couldn’t be solved with bullets... most of them, anyway. My father was quick to recover as usual. “Is there nothing you can do for them?” he asked Pokey, who hung his head. I noticed the doctor’s eyes were bloodshot. He hadn’t slept in a while. How long had these poor ponies been back here, hiding all this horror from the rest of the station? “All we can really do is make them comfortable,” he murmured. “Eventually, they all… pass. One way or another.” He nickered and tossed his mane towards the covered bodies in the corner. I couldn’t bear to look for more than a moment. “Sometimes they develop hemorrhages in the brain due to tumors that come from nowhere. This leads to a stroke, and the blood vessels just… fall to pieces. Loss of brain function comes swiftly. Sometimes they just… just shut down, like a lightbulb. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. Their brains have suffered some kind of horrible trauma or stress, and they just… can’t handle it. It’s lethal no matter the species, pegasi, earth… unicorns die especially quick, though. Sometimes right there on the scene after an attack.” “Bastards,” my father hissed. “They don’t even have the decency to kill us like regular mutants. They slay us with fear.” “That's… one way of putting it,” Pokey assented. “All of the victims have suffered some kind of severe trauma. They all arrive in a state of deep shock that we can’t snap them out of. There is… talk… going around the clinic. That this isn’t just magic… it’s a psychic phenomenon related to magic. Even non-unicorns can feel the presence of powerful magic in the site of an attack, but it’s not the direct cause.” “You’re saying these freaks are telepathic?” my father rumbled. “That’s just great. Celestia damn it, psychic monsters are just what we need…” “What about the trader you mentioned?” I asked. “You said he was the only survivor?” Pokey shook his head. “You can still see him if you want, but he was in bad shape… an errant bullet took him in the leg, and he only caught a glimpse of whatever attacked them… but it still scarred him deeply. He hasn’t showed any signs of degenerating… yet. We think he just took a glancing blow from… whatever it is they were hit with.” “Take us to him,” my father demanded. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to follow, but I wasn’t going to be weak in the presence of my father. I followed them into the back of the clinic, to a private room. A dull orange earth pony with an equally dull mane sat on a bed, leg wrapped tightly with healing bandages. The intricate spells required to create those medical wonders were not able to be worked by just any old unicorn. As such they were very rare, only applied in the case of grievous injuries. He had a treasure chest cutie mark, and the rest of him was covered in cuts and bruises, as if he’d been tossed around by a wind storm. “My name is Sixpence,” he mumbled as we came in. “I saw them. I do not know what I saw. I want to go home. I want to leave.” “Your injuries are still too severe Sixpence,” Pokey assuaged him. “You’ll be on the very next cart out of here back to Bucklyn when you’re better.” “Sixpence, my name is Cinder Block,” my father rumbled. “I need you to tell me everything you saw during the attack.” “My death,” Sixpence groaned in a hoarse voice. “Our death. They didn’t even need to touch your militia. They just… looked at us. Staring… those eyes…” He covered his eyes with his hooves. “I see them in the dark. Glowing red and orange like hellfire! They just looked at them, and… and the noises! Oh, dear Luna, the noises! It was like a hoof scraping on a chalkboard in my head. I thought my brain was going to explode! And then they…they all just started screaming and falling… firing at nothing… I hid. I hid. It was so awful. I couldn’t do anything.” “Sixpence,” my father asked quietly. “What did they look like?” I felt a chill in the air. “Wings,” he said quietly. “Black wings, like a pegasus. And legs. So long. Reaching for us… their horns glowed… with such power… lightning and wind everywhere…” “Horned, winged creatures with long legs?” I asked. That sinking feeling in my stomach was growing worse. Sixpence looked up at us with dull, haunted eyes. “The Princesses. They looked like the Princesses. Celestia help me, they looked just like her…” /-/-/-/ “We should do something, father,” I said, standing in his office after the visit to the clinic. Cinder Block paced back and forth in front of me. Primare Donna and the leader of the militia, Captain Ironhoof, stood nearby. “We can do nothing for now,” Cinder Block replied. “These creatures kill us without even touching us. Their magic overwhelmed some of our best unicorn guardponies! We must do our best to hunker down until help arrives.” The others didn’t see it, but I could tell that he was more than disturbed by what he’d seen. He was just trying not to be concerned too much for my sake. “Cinder,” Ironhoof said, “we have lost a whole tenth of our guard force to these attacks alone! They’re going to bleed us dry, and then swoop in when we’re defenseless. We have to go out there and destroy them!” “We don’t even know where or what they are,” Primare Donna said with a flick of her bright aqua mane that made me feel rather weak in the knees. Her beauty was her greatest asset, but she knew not to work her charms on my father or Ironhoof. I, however, was not so acclimatized to the earth mare’s… unique body language. “What we need to do is call for help. I agree with Cinder. Other ponies who have been to deeper and darker parts of the tunnel system are coming here soon. They will be able to help us.” “So what are we going to do?!” Ironhoof growled. “Wait until the whole Metro mobilizes? Until Ponyopolis gets off their collective asses and sends an army? We know that will never happen, and the Rangers are sketchy at best!” I said nothing about the Rangers. I had to admit I admired the brave ponies who wandered the dark tunnels of the Metro, slaying evil-doers and helping wherever they could. They kept the tunnels clear of mutants and fought back the crazier ponies of the Metro, such as the mysterious Great Cult of the Wyrm, and helped contain the insane little wars between the Celestian Monarchy and the New Lunar Republic. Whenever a pony was lost or hurt in the Metro, their only hope was a Ranger that would stop and help. They’d never leave a pony in need. They were the fiercest warriors, unflinching in their dedication to making the Metro safe. But their excursions took them places normal ponies weren’t meant to go, and there were stories of how it affected their minds… quite negatively, in fact. My father didn’t appreciate my love for them, even if he appreciated what they did. “I know them,” he said quietly. “Especially Hunter. He is coming here personally.” My ears perked. I and my father knew Hunter ourselves. He was friends with Cinder Block, and often taught me how to shoot whenever he came by. He was also one of the bravest and strongest of the Rangers, and an extremely talented unicorn. If he was coming to investigate, then I knew we had at least a chance of finding out what’s going on. “Whatever we do, it has to be soon!” Ironhoof said, stamping his hoof. “We aren’t going to last much longer. How long until these… these Dark Ones sweep us aside and invade the whole Metro?” “I know, Ironhoof!” my father barked. “We must do our best to secure our borders. I want the watches doubled… no, tripled. Anything and everything out of place out there must be reported. All northbound tunnels are to be sealed off, every place we do not have a regular rail car route must be watched carefully. Nopony goes anywhere, anywhere outside Exiperia alone. They will all be armed and escorted. Do I make myself clear?” He stormed past as the other two ponies nodded. I followed him out, ears folded back. I still caught Ironhoof’s ominous prophecy as we left the office. “I hope you know what you’re doing. The Dark Ones will kill us all, Cinder Block! You hear me? This isn’t a normal war! This is our survival on the line! “The Dark Ones will leave nopony alive!”

redsquirrel456

446

Original Character,Crossover,Adventure,Dark,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

My Little Metro

After Doomsday forces ponies underground, a lone colt braves the Stalliongrad metro system to save his people from an unknown threat.

hiatus

<p>The Metro tunnels of Stalliongrad shelter the last remnants of ponykind from the ravages of the Apocalypse. Beneath the earth, ponies struggle to survive against mutants, radiation, and each other. But when an unstoppable threat emerges from the darkness of the Metro, one pony must brave the shadows to save not just his home, but the very existence of his people.</p>

teen

2011-08-10T22:11:49+00:00

2013-05-20T19:29:57+00:00

My Little Metro: Chapter 2 “Just the usual tunnel trash…” What’s strange about Stalliongrad is that most of the tunnels were not built with surviving a war in mind. Equestria knew peace for thousands of years under the benevolent rule of our Princesses. Whatever conflict there was stayed between individual ponies and almost never escalated into violence. War was a cautionary tale, a fable in storybooks that only happened in the lands of the griffons and the dragons. We had never believed it would reach us. So, the Stalliongrad Metro was created mostly to service ponies who elected not to walk the crowded streets above. Only when the war loomed were some of the tunnels haphazardly converted into shelters. By the mercy of Celestia and Luna, wherever they are, many of the tunnels have not collapsed after so many years of wear and tear. When construction began they were built in a sprawling, almost flippant manner. The enthusiasm of ponies unbridled and willing to work I supposed. It worked to nopony’s advantage, since it meant that everything was rather scattered, if roomier than it was normally supposed to be. At least they put work into whatever they built. We simply had to trust that the magic woven into the soil to keep it safe for the tunnels didn’t fade. Magic could be become tainted though, just like everything else. If the power of the bombs could destroy the land, then the residual effects of their magical enhancements would doubtlessly corrupt and twist the original spells laid down by our forefathers. Did they know the war to end all wars was coming, I wondered? Did they know they were building the future homes of the shattered remnants of their people? That those few metro stations that were built in just such a way would be converted into factories, farms, and armories? Some of the stations were certainly built with preservation of the species in mind… large, fortress-like constructions deeper than most of the regular Metro. These were occupied by the stronger factions, such as Ponyopolis or Hoofsa. I didn’t know how or why those were created; many of the records of the time before were destroyed. The buildings above held few archives worth salvaging, and the stalkers who prowl the ruins come back more with salvaged goods than historical artifacts. No books or great fortresses, however, could prepare us or shelter us from the monsters that crawled out of the wreckage of our civilization. I didn’t know what the Dark Ones were, why they were here, or where they had come from. It was clear they were a grave threat, if the terrible scene in the hospital had been any indication, but if that was the case… why had my father tried so hard to keep the truth from us? Had he been so preoccupied with the status quo? I couldn’t fathom it. My father was always one for keeping the peace and keeping the labor forces going, but to try to pass off a new and terrible danger to Exiperia as nothing more than simple mutants… it disturbed me greatly, and the conversation we had had about it didn’t bode well for our relationship. “That was awful, father,” I said as we returned to my room from the meeting in his office. The walk had only served to let my father’s thoughts gather and his temper boil. He wasn’t easy to aggravate, but when he did get angry, he was less like a cinder block and more like a flaming gas leak. “I know, Lockbox!” he hissed, shaking his head and looking everywhere but at me. “These creatures… these monsters, they are not like anything I have seen before. I have no idea how to deal with this, and it frustrates me.” “The station should know the truth,” I said quietly. “If they don’t know what is killing their families, they’ll eventually storm your office and demand answers.” “They already do! If I could do something I would. But I won’t let these creatures destroy our station from the inside out. I will put on a strong face for them. We have nowhere to go if we must evacuate. Give in to Hoofsa’s demands and become one of their satellites? Goddesses forbid it! We must see if there is another option. When Hunter returns, we’ll be in a better position to know what is going on.” I was still surprised to hear my father put trust in the Rangers, but then, he had only mentioned Hunter. Friends of the family were the only ponies he could stand when it came to real trust. “There must be somepony who can get out there and do something, though?” I asked. I wasn’t volunteering for anything, but I knew that against creatures who weren’t afraid of guns or fire and could kill with their brains, we couldn't just sit back and wait for them to come to us. If we were all destroyed, then nopony in the future would be able to remember the past. And if that happened, then everything was lost. “Do what?!” my father snapped, making my ears fold back. “There is nothing that can be done, not tonight at least. And not tomorrow. Especially not for you!” My eyes widened as he pointed a formidable hoof right at my nose. “Father, I’m not saying that I would do something foalish,” I attempted to mollify him, “but without somepony to go out and find out what’s happening, what the rest of the Metro might think of this threat…” “I won’t hear another word of it!” he almost yelled and stormed out of my room, clearly convinced that I was ready to get out and get myself killed. It disturbed me to see him so angry, and for a few moments I was so confused I just stared at the air in front of me. I couldn’t figure out why he was getting so upset, or why he seemed to be focused on me in particular. At the time, I chalked it up to stress, but that just made the argument seem silly. The next day, when I was sitting at the open eating area near the loading docks, I even found myself growing indignant. I looked down into my meager meal of mushroom and barley soup like it was at fault. What right had my father to snap at me so? To try and tell me, a pony who might one day help run this station, that I’d have to sit down and keep quiet while better ponies did their jobs around me? I wasn’t a child anymore. I was a full-grown stallion whether he liked it or not, and no matter how he had found me I was going to have to start taking a more active role in securing our future. He couldn’t just believe that I was going to do something harmful because that was what his overprotective instincts told him. How dare he just tell me that my desire to find help was a foal’s notion and not fit for consideration! I was no stranger to the dangers of the Metro. I had taken an active part in its defense more than once, clearing out tunnels of straggling mutants. I had even once helped to hold off a wave of thumpers that ambushed a guard post I was inspecting with my father. My shooting lessons with Hunter had come in very handy that day. That moment of glory had been unintentional, however, and I’m fairly certain I had wet myself when one of the beasts got too close. Even so, I had done it, and would do it again. It was very apparent to myself and others that I would do what’s necessary to defend the station, and if that meant doing something about the threat of the Dark Ones, then that was clear too. Would I, though, if I had the opportunity? This wasn’t just picking up a gun and popping a few mutants in the head, or stepping on some rats. The question ran through my head over and over as I stared at my cooling soup, not even taking a bite. The mushrooms were rubbery and the barley was tasteless, but normally I would devour it as quickly as anypony else. Today, however, I was stuck for answers and full of questions. The other ponies around me knew I was there, but did their best to ignore me. They were preoccupied with news of another guard post being destroyed by a terrible, unknown force, the news my father should have reported yesterday when it happened. Even if it was just a simple mutant attack as my father had tried to explain, no mutant utterly destroyed squad after squad of combat ponies and didn’t even leave a scratch on their bodies. I felt their stares as they looked my way, knowing that I knew something, but they weren’t brave enough to ask. I liked to think they respected me enough to not pry into my private business, but at the same time I felt alienated. I was stuck between duty to my father and love for my station. I wanted to shout what was going on right there in the square, but what good would that do? At least they’d know. I had my Wall, didn’t I? Touting my love of truth, finding the reasons behind every dark deed? Shame began to weigh my head down. I did my best to stay interested in my idle thoughts and my soup, which was growing lukewarm and wasn’t steaming anymore. I didn’t care. I wrestled with too many feelings. I didn’t even notice Sunny Side drop down next to me, and suddenly I found his gasmask stuck in my face. “Boo!” he barked. I fell backwards with a shout that echoed across the eating area, drawing a few amused glances from passers-by. “Hi, Lockbox,” said Starry Gaze, looking down at me with a wary smile. Her pretty white fur and bright eyes enveloped my vision. I felt her deep red mane tickle my cheek as it cascaded over her head. “Hello,” I replied as curt as ever, and rolled away to sit up again. Sunny Side laughed as he removed his mask. He must have just got done with a shift, as his deep yellow coat and orange mane were damp with sweat. “That was very rude,” I grumbled. Starry Gaze tried to calm me with more smiling. “We thought you looked lonely,” she said quietly, and reached across the table to touch my hoof with hers. I did my best to look disinterested, since I caught Sunny Side’s quick glance at the affectionate display. “Were you thinking about something?” “Many things,” I said, taking my hoof away and rubbing it with my other one. They waited in silence until Sunny Side raised his hooves. “Well? Many things like what?” “Private things,” I said, angry at them for prying, angry at myself for not appreciating their concern and giving voice to my worries. “Lockbox, you could pass for a Ranger, the way you never talk clearly,” Sunny Side exclaimed, brushing off my temper. “In any case, the whole station is in a tizzy. The business with the attacks and all, you see.” “Aren’t you told anything?” Starry Gaze asked him. “You’re in the militia!” “That’s what gets me,” my friend grumbled, waving a waiter over to get himself a soggyweed sandwich. I don’t know where he got his love of the stuff, since I despised its texture. It reminded me of crunchy worms. “We’re putting our lives on the line out there. These attacks hit us first, and apparently we can’t do anything to stop it… but we aren’t even told what could be coming for our post next? It’s pretty crappy, if you ask me.” “Um… Lockbox?” Starry Gaze asked, giving me her most winning smile. “Has… has your papa told you anything?” I finally dug my snout into my soup and slurped it up grumpily, taking time to chew the rubbery mushrooms. “I think he’s been told more than he wanted to know,” Sunny Side murmured, fixing me with a suspicious stare. “You know what’s going on, am I right?” “If I could tell you, I would,” I said at length, my snout dripping with white broth. “But even I don’t know the whole story. It’s some new threat that’s terrifying and dangerous. That’s all I know.” Even if it was the truth, it didn’t satisfy Sunny Side, who huffed and stared straight ahead, tapping his hooves together. When his sandwich came, he ripped into it like he had just been through a famine. A strand of soggyweed dangled comically out of the corner of his mouth. An uncomfortable silence fell over the table and I found myself resenting my father for the gulf his secrecy put between me and the rest of the station. Starry Gaze only looked uncomfortable and put her hoof on mine again. I was too distracted to brush her off, even though I saw Sunny Side glancing at us out of the corner of his eyes. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate my father and what he did. I owed him my life, and I loved him as I would my birth father. But this was going too far. Lives were at stake, and he was trying to put a lid on it like it was just another broken water valve or farm maintenance spell that needed attention. And now my closest friend was in danger of dying a horrible death, and I couldn’t even tell him what was going on. “I’m sorry, Sunny Side,” I mumbled at length. The pegasus fluffed his wings, making his barding rustle. He rapped the table with his hooves, full of nervous energy, and then burst into a huge smile. I could still see bits of soggyweed stuck between his teeth. “Ah, don’t worry, Lock,” he said, patting me on the back. “You all have me on the job, remember? If any of those… whatever they are… comes around, they’ll be the ones six feet under when I’m through with them!” He nibbled his lower lip, starting to grow anxious. Sometimes pegasi just did that. They would get a burst of restlessness and need to start using their wings. If they weren’t able to they would grow depressed and temperamental for the rest of the day. Stations usually had a large room set aside just for pegasi to work off all that energy, a “flight room.” Even if ours could barely be called a “stand up and walk around” room for how cramped it was, it was something. I pitied my friend for his afflictions, because they weren’t his fault and would be completely natural if Equestria wasn’t a poisonous wasteland. When it happened I just let him take care of it without pointing it out, as it was a terrible reminder that one day he too could go feather-brained and make a suicide run for the deadly clouds above. He once made me swear to shoot him if he ever went that crazy, not wanting to be remembered as just another lunatic. Another pall settled over the table. “Um… I gotta go,” he said apologetically. “I gotta go… use the flight room before my next shift. Exercise, you know. I’ll see you guys around.” I let him go with a small smile shared between us. Starry Gaze smiled too, which made Sunny Side even sunnier. “Be careful out there,” Starry Gaze told him. Then it was just the two of us. I looked up at her, and our eyes met. Awkward silence reigned. I forced myself not to notice how pretty her eyes were, how they pleaded for me to open up. To trust her with things I kept close to me. Her hoof was still on mine. She must have taken the silence to mean her companionship was wanted, and improving my mood. Even I had to admit it was good to have somepony stand beside you in a time of loneliness like this. “You’re a good pony, Lockbox,” she said quietly. “I can see it.” “Thank you,” I murmured, as I didn’t know what else to say. With a final rub of my hoof from hers, she got up and left with a sad smile dominating her expression. I was alone again for a long time. It wasn’t until my father came to fetch me that I remembered I hadn’t shown Starry Gaze her trinket like I had meant to. /-/-/-/ “No word yet from the other stations?” I asked my father as we stalked down the hall to the City Gate. It was our largest self-made construction, a bristling array of magical wards and automated turrets manned by our most dedicated guards. The Gate itself was a huge steel door, crafted many years ago to serve as a barricade against the horrors that lurked in the city above. Stalliongrad was home to many dangers, and the largest and most powerful beasts roamed the streets. Magical enchantments hid the already hard to find entrance above, confusing the minds of simpletons and mutant freaks. If they got through that, the enchantments would activate alarms and guardponies would rush to secure the door as more traps stood ready to burn, maim, and destroy anything that wasn’t a pony. If they got to the door, they’d likely never pry it open. If they got past that, a whole army stood ready to wipe them out. Hunter, of course, knew the secrets to getting past our security measures. Each station had different methods of security, and only a chosen few that were allowed out the main gates knew how to get back in. The surface was just too dangerous to open and close the doors for any old pony. The Rangers were one of those few we trusted not to take advantage of our knowledge. “No word yet,” my father said quietly as we stood before the gate, surrounded by stiff-necked guards weighed down by flak jackets and full body barding. Many of the beasts that wandered the aboveground could shred that armor like it was paper, but it was better than nothing. And we had not yet met the creature that was invulnerable to bullets and knives and strong hooves. “The other stations are as in the dark as we are. They haven’t encountered the Dark Ones, but they have received odd reports from the stalkers of new beasts combing the ruins, in much the way that Librarians roam their haunts. But we will receive no help from them. Not even Draft Station is willing to send military aid apart from spare guns and bullets. They don’t want ponies’ lives wasted on what they think are panicky rumors.” “Troubling,” I said. “Very ,” my father said. I worried that his taciturn nature rubbed off more on me than I knew. “We have a pony coming in!” A guard at a terminal reported, watching a small green line oscillate up and down. “Magical readings normal. He’s alone.” “That will be Hunter, yeah? Open the gates. Unicorns, send the signal to disable the traps until he’s gone past!” I watched the great Gate, shifting my weight from hoof to hoof. To meet with Hunter again was an exciting prospect. We hadn’t seen each other for several months, and it wasn’t like Rangers just dropped in for routine visits. “Guard ponies, tack up and lower weapons!” I heard the loud, ominous clicks and clanks of guns being put into their ready positions. A gun is a hard thing for many ponies to handle. With the shortage of proper battle harnesses and gun platforms, we’ve had to improvise our own methods. There are several tried and true ways for a pony to handle a gun: the least favorite but most common is to simply grab it in your teeth and pull the trigger with your tongue. But that is unwieldy at best, and many ponies can’t properly brace themselves against the recoil or aim properly in a fight. So many folk craftsponies devised a special mechanism called the “war rein” that allowed a gun to be fitted into a cradle on the sides of their heads. It was designed to be interchangeable with most weapons, so that any gun smaller than an assault rifle could simply be slotted in. Most weapons nowadays were built with being slotted into the reins in mind. A small lever acted as the trigger. All a pony had to do was flip the lever down and bite it to fire the gun, and the powerful neck muscles all ponies possessed did the hard work. Many variants existed, allowing a pony to do everything from switch which side of his mouth he fired from to raising the weapon over his head to fire over cover. All of them had the ability to be popped right off in an emergency. All one had to do was be careful to remember which lever did what. Even so, building the war rein was time consuming and complicated, and it could be unwieldy in close quarters. It was typically issued only to ponies expected to be in consistent, hard combat in relatively open or straight areas. However, larger weapons were simply too big to just slap onto a pony’s head. Specialized hydraulic barding and specially made saddles gave a pony a steady platform from which to fire large weapons. Without one, you just had to trust yourself. Of course, if you were a powerful unicorn all of that was rendered moot. This made unicorns exceptionally lethal, valuable, and feared combatants… and the most visible and sought after targets on the battlefield. Hunter, however, was far too skilled to be worried about such things. The Gate gave a loud squeal as the hydraulics hauled the two great interlocked slabs apart. The doors ground back on the tracks built into the floor. They only came apart about a foot or so. Blinding glare from the surface flooded the dim room, and I raised my hoof to cover my eyes. A tall, imposing shadow stood defiantly with the light at his back, showing no fear at all the guns aimed directly at the small opening he occupied. One could never be too careful in Stalliongrad. “Well,” a voice, deep and commanding said, “this is a fine meeting for a pony who’s gone to hell and back!” “Welcome back to Exiperia, Hunter!” my father exclaimed. “We’ve been waiting for you. Guards, close the gate!” The gate squealed shut again, the great locks coming together once more as magical conduits connected and did their work. Hunter’s horn glowed as he levitated his bag of supplies and walked it in. He was dressed in the full body barding of the Rangers, covered in saddlebags and ammo packs, with heavy armor protecting almost every inch of his body. His head was covered by a large helmet with a built-in gas mask and filtration system, customized to provide a metal spike over his horn, allowing it to double as a last-ditch weapon. Through the faceplate stared dark green eyes, regarding every detail of his surroundings with critical scrutiny. He seemed to radiate an aura of authority, knowledge, and command. Every guardpony nearby visibly shrank back as if in deference to his mere passing. I’d never seen a pony more prepared for the dangers of the outside world, nor did I think I ever would again. He stood tall and powerful, a rock for every danger of Stalliongrad to break upon. Every step he took was measured and confident, like he knew every action he was going to take before he did it. “Guards! Holster weapons!” There was a chorus of clicks and clanks as the war reins were switched back to their upright, inactive positions. Several of the guards turned away to head back to their other duties now that the excitement was over. The others who stayed watched with rapt attention, eager to hear what wisdom they could gain from the Ranger. “Come, Hunter. Let’s sit next to the fire,” my father offered. Hunter pulled off his helmet, revealing his dark green fur coat. His short-trimmed silvery grey mane spilled out around his neck. “It’s good to see you both,” he said, his deep voice reverberating in my chest. He fixed me with that hawkish gaze, riveting me to the spot. “Lockbox. I found something for the Wall,” he said with the tiniest hint of a smile, and floated out a small piece of paper from his saddlebag. It was an old, faded picture of the royal palace at Canterlot. We had no idea what it looked like nowadays. All we knew was that radio transmissions from that direction had ceased many years ago, and that it had been at the epicenter of a massive bombardment. The best we could figure it was nothing but a giant crater carved into the mountainside. “Thank you,” I murmured, and took it in my mouth to place it in my saddlebag. I felt a short spike of guilt when I noticed Starry Gaze’s trinket again. “So, Hunter. I assume you know why you have been summoned here,” my father began. “Yes… the new threat beyond your borders. I didn’t find anything but the usual tunnel trash on the way here. But I did sense several areas that were… tainted, in some way or another. Large vortices of magical disturbances that I couldn’t pin down, like somepony had unleashed hell on the place and then vanished without a trace.” “The poor souls who could speak after the attacks did mention horns, and something akin to magical power being thrown around by the creatures,” my father agreed. “Our unicorns are the first to fall.” “Well, damn! Guess I’m the wrong Ranger for the job,” Hunter said with a Nightmare-may-care grin. “Maybe we should send little Lockbox instead? He’s a dead-eye shot with his pistol, that one.” I cleared my throat as my father shifted uncomfortably. “I would… rather Lockbox remain out of this conflict,” he said sternly. “He is here to learn, and nothing more.” “The boy has all the makings of a good pony, it’s true,” Hunter said quietly. “You may need his help in time, Cinder, especially if these creatures are as powerful as I’ve heard.” “I will say no more.” And he did not. Hunter cast me a pitying, understanding gaze and telekinetically poked the fire, stoking it to life. “In any case, there is a new development. The Celestian Monarchy is beginning a new push. Hoofsa has decided to allow them into their station. It’s not looking pretty. The New Lunar Republic is stepping up efforts to combat their influence by spreading propaganda and violence. There are rumors they have taken Diamond Dogs to bolster their ranks. One of Hoofsa’s satellite stations was wiped out by them.” “That gives the Monarchy control of the great armory and most of the central trade routes,” my father said worriedly. “I’m almost glad we’re out here on the periphery.” “Whatever this other threat is facing you, I will do my best to find out what it is,” Hunter assuaged him. “These Dark Ones will learn what it is to try and kick a pony when he’s down… the Ranger Order is well aware of what’s been going on, even if we cannot yet understand its nature. We will destroy these creatures soon enough.” It was at that moment there was a burst of yellow feathers, and my friend Sunny Side hurtled into the room. “The southern guard station!” he shouted, his eyes wide with fear. “It's been attacked! Everypony’s dead!” /-/-/-/ It was a terrible sight at the southern entrance to Exiperia. Pony bodies were flung about as if they had been rag dolls. Weapons and bullet casings were scattered all over the floor. The rail car stationed at the post as a static defense had been completely upended, and its mounted weapon torn clean off by some terrific force. There wasn’t much blood, but somehow that made the scene even more terrifying. All the barricades that blocked off the unused tunnels had been torn to pieces, as if a tornado had swept right through the wooden and stone blockades and tossed the debris like confetti. I saw that one unfortunate pony had been stabbed through the neck by a flying chunk of wood. I fought to keep down the soup I had eaten earlier in the day. I then noticed something even more terrifying than the lack of blood. There wasn’t a single Dark One body to be found. The others rushed forward, trying to find what ponies they could help… though none of them were breathing this time. I was riveted to the spot by shock and awe. “Damn it, damn it!” my father said, flipping over a body and recoiling from the victim’s look of surprise and terror frozen on his face. “Why weren’t we warned? Where the hell was the alarm?!” “They never made it,” Hunter murmured, pointing a hoof at an earth pony mare who looked like she had keeled over just before reaching the alarm. “I’m willing to bet the Dark Ones were strong enough to disable the magic wards and enchantments in the outer tunnels, too… these poor souls got no warning and no chance to call for help.” “Dark Ones?!” the guardponies gasped. “Is that what they’re called?” I winced. They definitely weren’t going to be encouraged hearing an ominous name like that out loud. My father only pointed his hoof at Sunny Side, who was rubbing his temples with worry. “Explain what happened here!” he barked. The pegasus snapped to attention. "Me and my patrol were standing just inside the door,” he explained, pointing at the entrance. “And then there was this… this noise! I can’t even explain it. It did something to us. We were all frozen… we couldn’t even move. Then there was the sound of shooting, shouting… it didn’t even last a whole minute. Then it all went quiet again, and… we couldn’t move for at least a couple minutes afterwards.” “The Dark Ones swept in and wiped them out, paralyzing any chance of reinforcements!” Hunter growled, stamping his hoof. “They’ve already faded into the Metro…” His eyes narrowed, and his expression grew slightly more thoughtful. His horn suddenly glowed a fearsome blue. “I think I can sense them… or whatever traces they left behind. No, they are gone now. Vanished.” “Celestia knows what’s happening here,” my father snarled. “We need to-!” “Wait!” Hunter snapped. His horn began to pulse. “I’m feeling life signs… lots of them. They’re definitely not ponies!” “Oh Luna!” another guard wailed. “The Dark Ones are coming back! Shit, shit! We’re all gonna die!” “Quiet, coward!” my father snapped. “Hunter, what is it?” “Not Dark Ones… Mutants,” he hissed. I gulped. Sunny Side checked his mounted guns to ensure they were loaded. “Battle stations!” my father shouted. “Tack up and lower arms! Lockbox, grab a gun!” “Everypony form a line!” Hunter barked. “Use the wreckage as cover! Watch each other’s backs, gentleponies! Pegasi, mind the ceilings!” The unused tunnels were always kept blocked off with copious amounts of mortar and wood, and whatever else we could use to discourage travel through them. If they were available, we sealed them with a large gate. Mutants and bandits had full reign over those tunnels, and now that the Dark Ones had obliterated the barricades… “They set this up,” I heard Hunter mutter to my father. “Destroyed the guards and blew out the barricades. Set the mutants on us now that we’re alert… wouldn’t be surprised if they strike from another direction while we’re busy with this.” I swept up a submachine gun cradle attached to a helmet, latching it firmly around my head as I took up position with the others. I felt the creeping, gnawing fear. It chewed at my insides like a hungry deep ant. Then came the sounds. Many of the mutants of the Metro were thankfully not at all subtle. They were loud, cantankerous beasts and gave away their presence with their shrieks and howls. And oh, how they howled. Loud, wailing screams and short, staccato barks pierced the air. “Cerberus is coming. Make sure your triggers are faster than their feet, ponies! Open up the moment you see the bastards’ faces!” Hunter said with a grin, levitating two assault rifles to his sides. It seemed he was actually happy to face such beasts. The cerberus was a horribly mutated creature descended from the dogs that used to run and play with ponies in better times. Now they were ugly, horrid monsters that sported anywhere from one to three heads. Rarely were the extra heads useful, mostly being useless deformities, but they left a terrible impression on those who were attacked by them. Worse, they traveled in packs. I felt my muscles tense. Guards stood their ground, I narrowed my eyes and clutched the trigger between my teeth. Claws scrabbled and raked on stone and metal as the pack drew nearer. It seemed they were charging headlong towards us. Sunny Side took up position directly overhead, covering me. He was singing something, just loud enough to be heard. “When I was a little filly and the sun was going down…” His voice was drowned out by the roar of gunfire that tore into the first wave of cerberus to round the corner. Blood and brains and chunks of mutant went flying all over the tunnel. I jumped at the explosion of noise, my mouth clamped on the trigger, a burst of bullets went wide. The dogs leaped and sprang on their unnaturally strong legs, zipping back and forth. It took a steady jaw and steadier nerves to face one down and line up a shot. Knowing Sunny Side had my back, I remembered the lessons drilled into my head from the day of my birth. Not everypony was militia, but they all had to learn how to defend themselves. You are an earth pony. Feel the land. Take strength. Stay steady. Aim true. You are as firm as the earth. I spread my hooves and watched as one of the creatures broke free of the pack and went wide, springing onto a wall, about to use it as leverage to pounce right at another guard pony… My gun chattered. Crimson geysers burst all along the cerberus’ back as it fell limp to the ground. Turn. Aim. Fire. Don’t hold the trigger too long. Trust the others to pick up your slack. Fire! Another rattle, another deafening report. Another cerberus went down, sporting a brand new set of holes. From there, it was almost automatic. Turn. Shoot. Turn, shoot. I flinched as one of them came close, but Sunny Side’s mounted guns blew two of its three heads into chunks before it could raise a claw. Somehow, all I could think was how disgusting the sight of destroyed innards was. I was out of bullets. I punched the magazine out, grabbed another off the ground, slammed it home. Turn. Shoot. Stay steady. You are as firm as the earth. It was over as suddenly as it began. The cerberus crowded the tunnel with their bodies.I stood in the midst of the carnage with the other ponies, panting heavily. The trigger felt warm and foreign in my mouth. “That’s it!” Hunter called, his horn no longer pulsing. “Holster weapons!” As one, we pushed the war reins back up. Some of us turned to give each other nervous smiles. See? We could still do this. We could still defend ourselves. The site of the massacre was now the site of a victory. “Lockbox!” my father and Sunny Side said at the same time. I let the trigger, slimy with my spit, pop out of my mouth, tossed helmet and reins to the ground. I felt queasy, but I could also feel the exhilaration of a battle won in the air. It helped me keep my lunch down. “Are you all right?” my father asked as Sunny Side landed beside me. “Of course! He’s a great shot, like I said,” Hunter exclaimed, fitting his helmet back on. He was already trotting towards the tunnel the beasts had come from. “You might want to clean up this mess before another monster is attracted by the blood.” “You’re leaving?” I asked, and it felt strange to talk. My mouth was still buzzing from the vibrations of the gun. “This was no accident,” Hunter said, his voice grim and dour through the filter on his helmet. “This was an attack. The Dark Ones annihilated an entire guard post without even touching it and then sicced the monsters of the Metro on you. We won very little here today.” The realization slammed into us like a ton of bricks. The glory of victory went sour in our mouths. Sunny Side grimaced as my father scowled. The rest of the guards lowered their heads and set to work clearing the bodies. “Luna knows what’s going on out there. These Dark Ones are clearly seeking destruction and violence… so I will go to my order and tell them to answer in kind. I must finish my investigation and then go straight to Ponyopolis. We will destroy these Dark Ones before they can destroy us.” He turned to the pile of cerberus corpses. One of the creatures stirred and out a pitiful moan. Hunter stood over it, staring through his helmet. I could feel his scowl from that distance. “We Rangers have a motto, you see. If it’s hostile…” He reared up on his hind legs and brought his armored hooves down on the cerberus’ main head. It caved in with a disgusting squelch. Sunny Side grimaced again. I and my father watched it all. We didn’t even flinch as the blood sprouted up and splashed onto Hunter’s barding. The Ranger looked back at us. “You kill it.” My father sighed and turned to go back inside, apparently full of violence for today. Sunny Side began to help clean up. “Lockbox, if I could speak with you,” I heard Hunter say, staring down the tunnel the cerberus had come from. I trotted up to him, eyes widening as respect and admiration bloomed in my chest. This pony had just looked at the scene of a massacre and faced down a horde of mutants, and he was already preparing to hurl himself into danger again. “Your station will not survive this,” he said. “I know,” I whispered. “There is no more time to waste. Action must be taken. Ponyopolis is the only station with the strength and will to help us fight these creatures. They must be warned.” He levitated a small talisman out of his barding. It was a necklace, and on it was a pony skull crossed by two daggers behind it. He floated it in front of us to hide it from the others. “I want you to keep this safe,” he said quietly. My eyes bulged. “Hunter…” “Do this for me, Lockbox. I trust you. It is vital that this talisman is kept secret. Should I not return by morning-” “Hunter, we need you—” “—then take this to my fellows. There is a Ranger base near Bucklyn station. They will carry my message the rest of the way to Ponyopolis. Just show this to them, and they will know what to do. Bucklyn isn’t far. I know you will make it if I fall against these Dark Ones.” I felt a tightness in my throat. All at once, I was struck by the realization that Hunter was giving me what could be his last words. I was being given a mission. I wasn’t sure what I was feeling. Excitement? Terror? Betrayal? Anger? Or all at once. My mind reeled, and I almost took a step back. But the way Hunter looked at me made me stop. Something in his eyes spoke of a deep trust and understanding that he knew what I was feeling, and was giving me this responsibility because he knew I would see it through. I was touched and intimidated all at once. I didn’t feel worthy or ready of such trust, especially not from a hero like Hunter. And yet… Bucklyn wasn’t far, like he said, and this mission could prove vital. I had seen the devastation the Dark Ones could wreak. Hunter was right. Ponyopolis had to be warned. Here at last was my chance to do what I always want: help to save my station. To help the Rangers. To help my friends, my father, all the ponies I cared about. And anyway, this was Hunter standing there! Of course he would come back and simply take the talisman and do what he needed to save Exiperia. Perhaps the responsibility wouldn’t fall on me directly, and if holding onto this little thing was so important, couldn’t I do that much at least to defend my home? Did I really have a choice when my family’s survival was on the line? Did I really want there to be a way out? I gave an imperceptible nod without really meaning to. I just felt it was right. I knew I would’ve been ashamed of myself if I refused to at least hold on to it. The hard, heavy feelings in Hunter’s eyes receded just slightly. “Thank you, Lockbox. I cannot impress on you how important this is, and how grateful this makes me.” He floated the talisman into my saddlebag. It felt unusually heavy. My body subconsciously sagged to one side as the weight of duty fell upon me. Hunter floated his weapons to him, attached them to his body, and without another look back, stalked into the shadows. “This is about our survival, Lockbox,” he said, and though he spoke quietly his voice echoed as he left me there, forlorn and frightened at the mouth of the tunnel. His voice rang in my ears long after the sight of him was lost to the Metro. “Never forget that. We are all that remains of ponykind and we are on the brink. We cannot hesitate. We cannot waver. The war has not stopped. "And we will be the ones to end it."

redsquirrel456

446

Original Character,Crossover,Adventure,Dark,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

My Little Metro

After Doomsday forces ponies underground, a lone colt braves the Stalliongrad metro system to save his people from an unknown threat.

hiatus

<p>The Metro tunnels of Stalliongrad shelter the last remnants of ponykind from the ravages of the Apocalypse. Beneath the earth, ponies struggle to survive against mutants, radiation, and each other. But when an unstoppable threat emerges from the darkness of the Metro, one pony must brave the shadows to save not just his home, but the very existence of his people.</p>

teen

2011-08-15T00:20:24+00:00

2011-08-15T00:20:24+00:00

My Little Metro: Chapter 3 “It’s now or never!” The next morning found me staring at my Wall again. I waited for news of Hunter’s return, praying to the heavens that he would come back safely. I figured even just hoping against hope would somehow affect the Ranger’s journey positively. I didn’t know if heaven or hell or even the supernatural in general existed anymore. It had become clear very soon after the bombs fell that Celestia and Luna weren’t going to swoop down and fix everything. Nopony knew where they were, or even if they were alive now. The few thousand ponies who huddled in the Metro after the attack had to deal with their entire world being shattered, then having the guts ripped out of their very faith. I wondered how they’d survived. How they hadn’t just torn each other to pieces in a panic. But that was the nature of faith, I supposed. Its incredible resilience in the face of impossible odds ensured its survival. Belief in the Princesses and in the virtues that made us good ponies was still strong in some parts of the Metro. I too had faith that Equestria might someday become green again. It wouldn’t be faith if there was always a clear cut reason to believe, would it? But today, it seemed my faith was failing. I didn’t believe enough, or Hunter wasn’t strong enough, because he did not return. My father had tried to speak to me after Hunter had given me his talisman, but I would hear none of it. I only caught some vaguely consoling words about the nature of the Metro and how we all needed to trust each other. I just retreated to my room and flumped onto my couch, my thoughts swirling. I stayed there all night, tossing and turning in bed and chewing on my store of snack foods. Sunny Side came to visit once or twice, checking in on me, but I didn’t even look up to see him. I locked myself away in my little box, curled up with all my pretty pictures, and tried to believe that the threat of the Dark Ones was still manageable. Every second that came closer to morning without news of Hunter eroded that belief. I made a special point to glare at Starry Gaze when she came by and shut the door in her face. I shared a few curt words with my father when he came by in the morning to tell me that Hunter hadn’t arrived yet. I knew I was being temperamental and angry. But in my mind, I had good reason. They couldn’t possibly understand what was going on. Hunter was out there, fighting for his life or already dead. If the strongest of us couldn’t face the Dark Ones, what hope was there? My friend, my mentor was in danger. He’d looked me in the eye and I had seen doubt. Doubt in his own abilities to face this threat, and certainty that Exiperia would be wiped off the map. Hunter had always been the pony that believed in me and what I could do. My father sheltered me, but Hunter gave me focus. He told me about the dangers of the Metro in detail, offered the lessons that saved my life and the lives of other ponies. His lifestyle was clear-cut and without any room for hesitation or dreaming. If it’s hostile, you kill it. The phrase had a simple, brutal kind of power to it. It was attractive, even through my natural aversion to scenes of blood and gore. It gave me impetus, and I appreciated that much if not the thoughtlessly violent principle behind the words. I wanted to understand, but the Metro gave a pony so little opportunity to delve into its secrets. The dangers of the Metro were too great for understanding. There’s only the space between your tongue and your trigger that determined how quickly you died. And if something like that could overwhelm even Hunter… Did Hunter believe another Apocalypse was coming? Was I going to be the first herald of our ultimate doom? That little talisman in my bag wasn’t a message of hope. It was Hunter’s epitaph. The weight of such a thought kept me in bed well until lunchtime, when Sunny Side barged in and demanded that I get up and get something to eat. When I refused, he kicked me in the side and dragged me by my tail until I relented. We said little to each other on the way to the eating area. My head drooped low, while Sunny’s was high and mighty. He looked angry. I wondered if it was with me or the situation in general. I admitted to myself that Hunter’s appearance had been less than cursory, and realizing that he wasn’t coming back didn’t help matters at all. We sat down at a table, and there was a small shuffling of hooves as ponies moved away from us. From me. It stung, but I knew they had their reasons. Their families were dying, and I was stuck with orders from my father not to say anything. The name of the Dark Ones had inevitably spread from the militia to the rest of the Metro. It had the effect I’d anticipated. Everypony was afraid of the outside and paranoid of leaving the station. I heard a group of colts and fillies at play discussing how the Dark Ones ate your brains and turned you into one of them. That was probably not far from the truth. “So…” Sunny Side began, sipping at his mushroom soup. “It looks like we have a heck of a situation on our hooves.” “Mmnh,” I grunted. I was somewhat distracted by hearing Primare Donna and Ironhoof speaking to a crowd nearby. They talked about the threat facing the station, reminding us to be encouraged by the new alliance with Draft Station. “It would’ve helped if we knew about it sooner… at least, that’s what the other guards say,” Sunny continued. “Me, I’m willing to admit that there are some things you just can’t do anything about. I mean, if they can just zap us with their minds and not even unicorns can fight? What’s the point? Who cares if they’re called Dark Ones or ‘those mutants’ or whatever. We’ll still be just as dead.” “Your optimism is a light in these dark tunnels, Sunny,” I grumbled. He smiled and patted me on the back. “Don’t worry, Lockbox. I’m scared as anypony. But… well, I don’t blame you, all right? There’s no point in that.” He let up when he saw I wasn’t getting any more cheerful. My mind was still on Hunter. I knew him. If he said he was going to come back by morning, then he was coming back, no exceptions. But he hadn’t come back at all, and I still had his talisman stuck in my saddlebag. I wondered if I should give it an extra day or two. Perhaps Hunter had just been delayed somehow? Maybe he’d been injured and was traveling slow. I refused to entertain the notion that he was dead. It just wasn’t possible that somepony so strong and brave had just ended up like all the others. Death was no stranger to me. Its specter followed us everywhere. My own parents had been killed when I was just a colt, and there was hardly a pony in the station who hadn’t lost somepony close to them. But there were a select few ponies who I believed would never perish. Hunter was one of them. He had to be alive somewhere. Even so, he’d charged me with the mission of carrying his message to the Bucklyn Rangers. Somehow I had to find my way there. Though it was a line or two over from Exiperia and not much farther than Draft, it wouldn’t be easy finding an excuse to leave. My father wouldn’t let me go outside the gates more often than not, and never alone. He’d be keeping a close eye on me until this business with the Dark Ones was resolved. If I told that a Ranger, even if it was Hunter, had trusted me with a dangerous mission, I’d never hear the end of it. No, it was better to keep quiet and keep my head down until an opportunity presented itself. Until then, the talisman weighed heavily in my bag. “Uh, Lockbox?” I blinked and started, looking to Sunny Side who was waving his hoof in my face. “Metro to Lockbox! You’re zoning out worse than a guardpony gone a whole shift without a drink…” “I’m thinking,” I said quietly. “You’re always thinking! Stop thinking and start talking one of these days, Lockbox. Sometimes it’s truly tiring having to talk for the both of us. You know I never really know what’s going on in your head.” I liked it that way, but I didn’t say it out loud. I appreciated that Sunny Side had stuck with me all these years in spite of my anti-social disposition, though I hadn’t said so much. The understanding was just… there. I quietly ate my food while he talked about how the morning shift had gone. No more attacks by Dark Ones or mutants, but there was always an undercurrent of nervousness. “We all know something’s going to happen eventually,” he said. “But we just don’t know when. It’s like we’re all strings ready to snap…” He trailed off, and I knew he was thinking about all the other pegasi who had snapped and gone feather-brained. I grimaced, giving him a gentle pat on the shoulder. Even if I didn’t know what to say, I figured that being there for him was the best I could do. “Well, it’s bad at any rate,” Sunny Side finished and began eating his soup again. “Maybe… if we just get out of the station for a few days,” I said out of the blue, shrugging. Sunny Side sputtered and shook his head, trying to clear his ears of whatever lunacy he had just heard. “What, you mean… just go do something else? While all this is going on?” “If the Dark Ones haven’t swooped in and annihilated us by now, I doubt they will the moment our backs are turned,” I continued. “Besides, we still need to keep our station running. Father can’t just shut down all the railcars.” I looked up and just happened to see a familiar pony walking by. It was Sixpence, the trader who had survived a Dark One attack with his mind still intact. I noticed that his leg was now wrapped securely in regular bandages, but he seemed to be walking fine on his own. He’d mentioned his home was in or around Bucklyn Station. Perhaps… “Sir?” I asked, waving him over with my hoof. Sunny Side watched me curiously. “I know you,” he said. “I saw you with Cinder Block in the infirmary.” “Yes. Forgive me for prying, but are you healed enough to go back home?” “That I am,” Sixpence said, and looked extremely relieved. “I’m going back to Bucklyn with the very next caravan due out. I’ve already signed on.” “I’m with that caravan,” Sunny Side spoke up, grinning. “I was assigned as a guard to it just this morning. Heh, old Ironhoof was never in a blacker mood. He practically threw my orders at my face!” “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked. “I didn’t want to give you any funny ideas!” Sunny Side shrugged haplessly. “We can shoot mutants well enough Lockbox, but your father would have my head if I just let you run around willy-nilly. You remember what happened the last time we went out alone!” I touched my side warily, remembering the day. We were silly children wandering in an unused tunnel, and I had dared try and go to the surface on a rickety, rusty ladder. I’d fallen of course, and hurt myself so bad I cried. Sunny Side flew me all back to the station. I’d practically owed him my life that day. “We were children, Sunny Side,” I grunted. “We made a stupid decision, but nothing bad really came of it.” “Tell that to your father!” I resisted the urge to scowl, instead turning back to Sixpence. “Well, I wish you luck, sir. Perhaps I’ll see you on the caravan.” “Thank you,” he said. “If you don’t mind my saying so, I wouldn’t mind if you were there. I heard you acquitted yourself well in the battle at the southern gate.” “You… heard about that?” “It was hard to miss all the shooting! I heard a Ranger also came by?” He suddenly leaned forward, quite interested in what I had to say. Rangers were everypony’s folk heroes, but I didn’t feel like talking about it, remembering my promise to Hunter. I looked at Sunny Side instead for support. “Well, he did,” the pegasus answered for me. “But he also left almost immediately after that attack. He’s investigating the Dark Ones you see.” I elbowed Sunny in the ribs. “Come on, Lockbox!” he groaned. “It’s not like the station hasn’t figured out what you call them already.” “And this Ranger... Did he say anything at all about what might be done about this?” Sixpence asked. Chalk it up to a trader to be worried about what could affect commerce through the tunnels. “If it’s a big enough danger, he’ll find the other Rangers, and they will contact Ponyopolis. And then they will fight the Dark Ones,” I said tersely, just to get him off my back. This seemed to satisfy him for the moment. He stood back, nodding slowly to himself. “Oh, good. That’s good. Ponyopolis? I was there, once, you know. On another caravan. Amazing place. Can’t really get through to them much anymore… guess we’d need a Ranger to get any messages to them now, what with the Monarchy and the Republic spreading all over the Metro. Between them and the mutants and bandits, we practically need a tank just to get anywhere.” I raised an eyebrow. This conversation was supposed to have been over a while ago. “Yes. Well. See you on the caravan, perhaps.” “Yes. Yes, see you later. Take care. Hope we aren’t late.” He waved and walked away. I noticed a slight wobble in his step, as if he wasn’t quite sure of his footing. Perhaps he wasn’t as fully healed as he’d claimed… a magical bandage could only do so much to knit together flesh. It sped up the process, but it was vulnerable to all the same dangers if some foolish pony started clopping around on an injured limb. Either that or the attack from the Dark Ones had left some mental scars that weren’t immediately apparent. “Poor guy,” Sunny Side said, seeming to agree with my thoughts. “He must be stressed something awful. Almost getting killed and then getting stuck in a strange station.” “Yes. Stress,” I murmured, waiting until Sixpence had disappeared into the crowds before going back to my food. /-/-/-/ “And you wanted to join this caravan why?” “I think it would be a good experience for me, father. I’m fully grown now, and I’ve never been outside the station. Not on official business at any rate. Since Ironhoof needs most of the militia to remain behind here, he’s understaffed. He’s been asking for a few volunteers.” My father watched me with his usual stern scrutiny. He tapped his hooves together on his desk, and for a moment I was afraid he would refuse me outright. But then his expression softened just slightly, the lines around his eyes receding back into his pelt. “Son,” he said quietly. “You know that whatever I do, it’s for the good of the station, right?” I gave him a single, firm nod. I knew my father well enough to say that he always had the best intentions in mind, whatever he might say or do. Of course, that sometimes led to bad decisions in themselves. I wondered for a moment if my noble intentions were going to get me anything but a quick death. “I know these attacks have everypony worried. These Dark Ones are beyond anything we have seen before. But I do not want to stifle you. I have been short with you, even unfairly angry the last couple of days. And for that, I apologize. I know that you want to help the station. You have a good heart, Lockbox. This trip to Bucklyn should be a good thing for all of us. The caravan will strengthen ties with Draft Station by providing some goods and services, and then they will move on to Bucklyn for our merchants to collect some of the latest trade goods. Everypony likes to see commerce flowing.” He continued to tap his hooves together, staring at the table. I was somewhat mollified by his apology, but he still had not given me permission to go with them. “And I understand your friend Sunny Side will be a part of the caravan?” I nodded. “Yes, he’s a good stallion, that one. You two have always worked well together. You always keep an eye on each other, that’s good.” I understood what my father was doing. He was trying to convince himself that letting me go might actually be safer than keeping me here. If I was traveling all the way to Bucklyn then I wouldn’t be in the way of any more Dark One attacks. It made me want to roll my eyes, but I still felt flattered. My father, overprotective though he may be, only wanted me to stay safe in the end. “Well, all right,” he said. “The caravan leaves first thing tomorrow morning. Report to Ironhoof once you’ve collected your things… I know you’ll be a valuable asset to them.” He looked at me with a tired smile, which I returned. But as I turned to go, I was halted at the door by his voice. “Lockbox.” I looked over my shoulder, ears perked. “I know you respect the Rangers. And I know you admire Hunter as well. I’m sorry we’ve received no news from him yet. But, son… the Rangers are not like normal ponies. They’re… dangerous. In more ways than one.” Did he suspect this had something to do with Hunter? Worse, did he know? I kept my expression placid as he continued. “Please, just… remember that Exiperia will always be your home, all right? Do what needs to be done, and come back safely.” I stared at him for a length of time, puzzling over what he had said. There seemed to be only one appropriate response. I turned back and went to his desk, moved around it to his side, and gave him a one-legged hug around the neck. He returned it after some hesitation. The moment stretched on, and over his shoulder I noticed a picture on his desk that was normally on one of his top shelves. It was a small photograph of me as a bright-eyed young colt, standing next to my father who wore a small, barely happy smile. In contrast, I was grinning so wide it looked like my face was about to split apart. It had been one of my first pictures, and in my little colt’s rationale I’d wanted it to look good for posterity’s sake. New pictures were so rare nowadays, requiring the arts of a very focused and talented unicorn. So few resources could be spared to make them, pictures were often prized by those who had them, like me. Knowing he’d been looking at it send a tiny needle of guilt into my heart. I was keeping a secret from him. I didn’t trust him to trust me with the full weight of the truth. But this wasn’t that bad, was it? I’d just knock on the door of the Ranger base, pass on the message, and come back home. I’d be able to do something to help, and Ponyopolis would get Hunter’s message one way or another. Everypony would be happy. As I pulled away from my father and finally left his office, I felt my stomach twist. How deeply was I going to underestimate my own problems to make them bearable? I wanted to believe that this would be a simple task, and that when it was done our problems could be solved by ponies stronger and wiser than I. Was I being selfish, just wanting to fulfill my own dreams of being useful to the station? I hadn’t even begun my journey, and already my doubts were piling up. /-/-/-/ I looked Starry Gaze in the eyes, an unwise thing for a stallion to do at the best of times. But she didn’t usually give me a choice if she could help it. I think it’s because she’s a firm believer in eyes being the window to the soul. So in her mind, the longer she stared at me, the better I’d be understood. The only thing I was getting a better understanding of was why I kept trying to brush her off. She kept searching for a part of me that wasn’t there. “So… Sunny Side told me about the caravan,” she said. I nodded, and plucked the strings on my guitar. My turn to play around the story fire had come. Tonight the elders would share stories again. Some were scary, others wistful, all of them sad. Some of us didn’t even remember exactly how long ago the war had been, or what precisely it had been about. None of us came from families that held positions in the government or prominent places in the military of the old Equestria. Then again, most ponies, even the oldest, didn’t really care why the war had been fought. All we wanted was for things to go back to normal. “You’re going with them? To Bucklyn?” “It’s not that far. We’ll be all right,” I said, to remind her and myself. It’s not that far, Lockbox. You’ll be fine. The station will be fine. Hunter is alive, and this is just a little favor. The Dark Ones will be defeated quickly. And everything will go back to normal… or as normal as it got in the Metro. Starry Gaze tapped her hooves together and broke her gaze. I looked back down at the guitar. I always had to look to play properly. Hooves and strings didn’t go well together, but unicorns usually focused their talents on more useful things. “Still, um… Take care, of course,” she said nervously. “I know you’ll be fine. Especially with Sunny Side with you.” “He’s a good pony,” I said, a none-too-subtle hint towards his eligibility. “Yes… yes, he is,” she said, perhaps remembering she had told me the same thing. It probably didn’t help that I had remembered to show that I hadn’t forgotten her trinket at last, and had it looped around the end of my guitar. It had delighted her, of course, but only after I brought it out did I realize it had the exact opposite effect I’d intended. I raised my gaze again, noticing the way she looked at the fire. She seemed lost, even confused. Poor filly. As a unicorn she’d be called on to do a great many things for the station. Encouraging our meager supply of plants to grow, creating healing supplies to counter radiation and injuries, forging the magical enchantments that would ensure our survival. She needed companionship I wasn’t able to give. Eventually, Sunny Side did join us, and with a smile he settled in on Starry Gaze’s opposite side as the story began. “Canterlot was a fine place,” the storyteller started as I strummed a slow, melancholy tune on the guitar. “But everypony always talks about Canterlot. No, what I’ve heard… is about the Whitetail Wood. We all know it’s not standing anymore. But I know. I know what it used to be like. The smells and sights and sensations. It was once a very peaceful forest. Grown and tended to by our very own Ponyville ponies. The sap was harvested there… ah, tree sap. There’s something I’m sure we all miss. We’ve all seen the trees that grow in the streets, and the tunnels. The twisted, gnarled things that sway and groan? But these trees… oh, these trees! They reached into the sky, they did. Growing straight and tall, waving bark as brown as… as chocolate. Ah, chocolate. I remember when we still had some chocolate stores… sweet chocolate that melted in your mouth and gave you such a buzz you’d swear lightning danced on your tongue! Dark chocolate bitter as our coffee, but twice as rich and so much tastier. And the leaves on those trees? Ah, they spread out on branches like an umbrella, big and green. So, so green it’d leave you dazzled. Nopony remembers the sound of rustling leaves anymore, not the kind you’d hear in Whitetail… not even I can relate it to you tonight… or the sight of a good old sun raining light down through them…” We all listened, well into the night. The storyteller, an old blue-grey mare, told what she knew. She spoke of the trees that reached as tall as buildings, healthy and bountiful under the watchful eye of pony caretakers. She told of the sweet sap and juicy fruit that would fall from their branches, and the grass beneath them that was so soft it tickled your hooves to walk on it. We had copies and pictures and words of such things, but no way to truly feel what those memories were like. No way to see, to listen or touch. No way to really know. Such a thought never failed to make me sad, and yet at the same time it filled me with hope that one day we might see a world like that again. Hope for something as beautiful and pure as Equestria before the bombs was something I wouldn’t let go of. Not ever. I poured my feelings into the guitar’s song long after the mare fell silent, closing my eyes and losing myself to the music as my hoof danced back and forth over the strings. I didn’t even notice when the stories, which had been trotted out one by one, stopped. I didn’t notice when ponies began to file away to go to bed or their duties, leaving only those few who talked quietly with each other and listened to my music. I just… played. It was only when another player tapped my shoulder that I woke up from my reverie. It must have been a good two or three hours later, because the crowds had thinned considerably. It was nearing bedtime. I looked to my right and saw Sunny Side staring into the dying fire. Starry Gaze had fallen asleep against his shoulder, her pretty red mane scattered over his back. Her chest rose and fell with gentle regularity, and the look on her face was one of heart-breaking peace. Apparently Sunny Side’s shoulder was very, very comfortable. Even if it had been coincidence and not choice on Starry Gaze’s part, both I and my friend were pleased with the result. Sunny Side hadn’t budged an inch since he’d sat down, and his smile was at once goofy and content. I reached into my saddlebag as I got up and walked around them, and with a flick of my head tossed Starry Gaze’s trinket onto Sunny Side’s ear. He raised an eyebrow and turned to stare at me as I left. He seemed confused, even as I smiled at him. Starry Gaze would hurt for a while, but this was for the best. For the strangest reason, I knew that it’d be better this way. Something in my gut told me I didn’t want to be close to anypony this night, or many others to come. /-/-/-/ The next morning was a rush of activity. Sunny Side woke me up quickly, telling me to hurry and collect my equipment. “Ha! Lockbox! Gonna become a regular old soldier now, are we?” asked Arsenal, our pony in charge of the local armory. His appearance fit his name: he was big, heavy, copper furred unicorn with a bunker cutie mark. He was invaluable to the community, being an expert in the maintenance of firearms. We couldn’t afford to make much more than the most basic weapons, which amounted to the simple, improvised small arms guns. Submachine guns, basic pistols, and single and double shot shotguns were common outside of the Armory, which had the manufacturing capability to produce high quality weapons at exorbitant prices. “Only for a day or two,” I answered, and I was issued all the standard gear. The Mule, a mish-mash of different parts into a serviceable if stubbornly hard to manage automatic carbine, was standard issue. I also made sure to pick up my trusty standby, a magazine loaded pistol. The last few weapons were a bit more ominous. “This is your hoof knife.” Arsenal pulled out a long, serrated blade. “It fits onto this holster on the side of your leg like so, see how the flat of the blade goes against your leg? Any sideswipe from this will rip open even the toughest mutant hides! And you can hold it in your mouth, too, if you like to fight that way.” I didn’t relish the thought of sinking cold steel into anything, even mutants, but I accepted the weapon regardless. Apart from that, I had to be tacked up properly: militia uniforms had to have anything and everything attached to them for use in any situation. Arsenal gave me a quick run-down of what my barding was like. There was little in the way of protective armor since that’d just slow me down, but there were plenty of spare bags, pockets, and slots. The gasmask, by far one of my most essential tools, was hung around my neck so I could just slip it over my face in an emergency. Several spare filters were stuffed into my saddlebags. All filters had magical enchantments to absorb the foul spells that lingered in the air on top of the poisonous air. “These should last about twenty minutes each. But if more than four hours, get a doctor,” Arsenal said with a wink. I didn’t get it. “And don’t forget this.” Using his magic he slapped a harness onto my head, fitting it over my helmet. There was a light attached with a wire running down to a small apparatus he fastened to my chest. “That’ll be your charger. It’s designed to work with almost anything electrical, and if you slap a gemstone into this slot here, it’ll give you a magical charge. That gem will do everything from act as a secondary light to let you give a minor enchantment to any item of your choosing.” He tapped his horn. “You got my special talents to thank for that addition.” Being loaded down with everything apart from the kitchen sink was a new experience; I usually didn’t need to carry anything more than a single saddlebag. Still, I thanked Arsenal and trotted to the main loading docks, where the caravan was being outfitted. Sunny Side greeted me there with a smile. “Hey hey hey, my little militia pony!” he said, slapping me on the back. “Glad you could join us. You look silly, by the way.” I felt silly too, covered in barding, gear, bags, and munitions. If anything, all the equipment piled onto me would provide as much protection as body armor. Nothing but a small flak jacket protected my chest and ribs from harm. My helmet was a size too big and tightening the harness made it cover my eyes, but it had to be tight to provide a good platform for my war rein. “Well, anyway, let’s get going, huh? We’re gonna be late.” “All caravaneers report to the main loading docks immediately!” Ironhoof bellowed at the end of the platform. “Get your gear together, foals! Tack up and move it out! Cart pullers, to your stations!” Sunny Side let out a loud whistle as he fluttered into place on the rear cart. All of them could be propelled by pumping the lever that turned the wheels, but since we weren’t expecting to keep a fast pace, we were going to be towed by the guardponies. The pullers got hitched up while I did a final check of my gear. “Hey fellas!” I looked up at a familiar voice. Sixpence had arrived at last and dropped into the cart next to me. I froze, staring at him, remembering the odd conversation we had had the other day. “Mind if I join you?” He seemed to be asking me. I didn’t answer. Sunny Side gave him an easy smile as he pulled on his battle harness. The carbines attached to his shoulders and pistol armed war rein made him look inordinately dangerous. “Not at all,” he said. “Don’t worry; we won’t make you pull on that leg!” “Ha! I hope not. Don’t want us crashing and burning or anything.” I gave him a short stare, and then leaned forward to speak to Sunny Side. “How’s Starry Gaze?” I asked him. He suddenly got a very pensive look and flapped his wings. “Not too good,” he said, and I must have looked guilty, because he tried to soften the blow. “I mean, I was there to talk to her, you know? But seeing that you’d given me her little gift… that wasn’t a nice thing to do, Lockbox. She had a lot of feelings wrapped up in that trinket.” “Of course it wasn’t nice,” I said, my mood suddenly going south. “Rejection isn’t nice. But I’ve never been good at… discussing that kind of thing with fillies. We’re not going to be an item, and that’s final. She’ll get over it, I’m sure.” “Maybe,” Sunny Side said. “In any case, she let me keep it. Just in case you wanted it back.” “No,” I said firmly. “I have too many other things on my mind.” Sunny Side gave me a stare, raising an eyebrow. “… You’re not a colt-cuddler, are you?” I blinked. Sunny Side started to grin and I knew he was messing with me. “Because, if you are, that’s totally fine with me…” “What!” I squawked a little too loudly. I glared at my friend and gave him a quick punch in the shoulder. “Of course not. Don’t be silly, Sunny Side. I just… I just…” I grunted and looked away. “Look, I’ll apologize when I get back, all right? Perhaps it wasn’t the best thing to do. But I have other things on my mind.” Sunny Side gave me a sad, almost pitying stare that I felt angry about for some reason. “You always have things on your mind, Lockbox. But you never really share them. It worries me, sometimes.” I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, fiddling with my helmet. The talisman weighed heavy in my bag. It’ll be fine, Lockbox. This secret can afford to be kept. I kept telling myself that as the caravan began to pull away from the docks and into the darkness of the Metro. In there, my thoughts could hide away in the cold, damp spaces. /-/-/-/ “So, why are you going to Bucklyn?” I turned around and gave Sixpence a stare. I’d been looking back, covering the rear of the caravan as we started our journey. My headlight kept flickering, but continuously pumping the charger gave me something to do. Sunny Side fluttered overhead, unable to sit still for long. “Pardon?” I asked. “Well, it’s just... You aren’t part of the militia, and you aren’t a trader from what I can see. Bucklyn’s a bit of a trip, isn’t it?” My thoughts went to Hunter’s talisman. “I’m just excited for the chance to get out for a while,” I said, trying to sound natural. “These attacks have made me restless, you see.” Sixpence continued to stare at me with a strange, wobbly smile. “I see,” he said at length, barely audible over the clacking and squeaking of the cart wheels. “It’s a good thing, I suppose, for young ones to get out and about. Especially since we’re confined to these tunnels.” “Not that young,” I reminded him. I didn’t look back again, though I felt his eyes on the back of my head. Later on, we came to a checkpoint. It was a small area where, out of courtesy, other travelers along the line dropped off supplies like bullets and pure water. There was a special load in every regular cart run that was used to resupply checkpoints, and we made a quick stop to rest and change out our pullers and get a little break from the constant rocking of the carts. Even in times like these, we of the northern stations didn’t like to think we had left a stranded caravan without any hope of survival. I decided to get out and stretch my legs while the others made sure that all the goods were well and truly tied down. My helmet was stifling my vision, so I decided to loosen the strap just a little bit. I found myself staring down a side tunnel, one that led far, far away. Eventually it would pass through some dangerous areas and hit Marestra Station, a far off and strange station that also resided on the edge of pony territory. The tunnel itself was dark and forbidding, much like the path that lay ahead of me. I’d given my word to Hunter that the message would be delivered in person and the talisman would remain a secret. But until then… Until then I was interrupted by a loud scream and a clatter of hooves. Sixpence came tearing around the corner, his eyes wide with fright. His injured leg slowed him only slightly as he bolted towards us. I was incredulous. How had he gotten so far from the caravan? Why had he… “MUTANTS!” he screeched at the top of his voice. “Mutants everywhere! They came out of the ceiling! Run! RUN!” I could hear the loud snuffling and angry growls of whatever it was chasing him, punctuated by loud, thudding stomps. They were as loud as my heart as it hammered against my ribs. My blood ran cold as I hoofed it back to the caravan, the pullers scrambling to get themselves hitched. I recognized that sound, from a time not so long ago when I fought by my father’s side against a wave of monstrosities. The thumpers had come out to play. “Get the lead out, ponies!” the caravan commander shouted. “Pegasi keep us covered! Everypony tack up and ready arms!” I leaped onto the rear cart, Sixpence dropping in beside me as Sunny Side took up station above. The loud thuds and stomps grew louder and louder as ear-rending screeches and whistles echoed through the tunnel. The pullers at last got their hooves under them and began the slow crawl up to speed. We accelerated painfully slowly, and I could see the long ears and gruesome fangs of the first thumper round the corner as we at last started to gain ground. “Oh, shit!” Sixpence whined. Sunny Side’s guns roared alongside another pegasus in our company. The beast’s head was split open like a melon struck by an axe, bursting apart with a spray of gore. We rounded the corner, and though the rests of the creatures were lost to sight, their horrid sounds still came after us. “What the hell are they doing here? This tunnel is supposed to be secure!” I heard Sunny Side shout as the mossy walls turned to blurs around us. The pullers were spurred on by terror and adrenaline, but thumpers could keep pace with even the best of earth pony runners. Our advantage lay in our endurance. A thumper could only keep up top speed for so long. But that single burst of speed was often enough to overtake their prey. “Probably our old friends the Dark Ones!” the puller of our cart shouted over his shoulder. His hooves pounded the track as his burly muscles strained themselves to the limit. It was all on him, now. I looked to the rear and immediately wished I had stayed home. At least a dozen thumpers were hot on our trail, their long hind legs giving them bursts of power and speed no pony could hope to match. I could see the pink insides of large, pointed ears turned towards us, attracted by the clatter of hooves and the huffs of terrified panting. Our fear must have been music to their senses. It was hard to believe the pony-sized horrors were once sweet and timid little rabbits. The destructive power of the bombs had warped and tainted even the most innocent of Equestria’s creatures. “Don’t just stand there!” Sunny Side shouted, spinning in mid-air and popping off a double-shot that cracked a thumper’s leg clean in two. “Shoot them, Lockbox! Shoot them!” I felt a jolt as I slammed my war rein into place, the Mule in the cradle already loaded and ready to fire. I bit down on the trigger. My teeth rattled. My head ached. My ears hurt from the eruption of noise. I kept my jaws clenched regardless, spraying bullets into the oncoming horde. Another guard deftly leaped from the front cart and added his bullets to mine. I had burned almost halfway through my ammunition when I realize I was firing in a blind panic. Noises crowded my senses: the sound of galloping hooves, the screeches of the thumpers, my own wheezing breaths. My nose was full of the caustic stink of burning gunpowder. Adrenaline sharpened my senses to a keen knife’s edge. Everything was too loud, too colorful, too frightening. Stay steady! The chase was on as the pullers got to their top speed, and the fittest of thumpers continued to bound after us with wild abandon. Their constantly moving bodies, however large, were hard to get a bead on. My mane, picked up by the wild wind of our flight, flapped against the side of my neck. I took whatever shots I could manage, squinting through my gun’s shockingly bright muzzle flashes. No matter how many monsters we downed, another was ready to take its place. “Conserve the ammo,” the guard next to me said. His voice was hoarse and muffled around his trigger. Crack crack crack! went his gun, not helping my headache at all. “Conserve the ammo, Lockbox!” I was about to say something back when the thumpers fell upon us at last. Sunny Side and his companion spun and shot two clean off the walls they had been clambering upon but three more swarmed our cart, pouncing over the bodies of their fallen. Sixpence screamed ineffectually. Then came a flash of mangy fur, an impact on my shoulder, and I toppled onto my back. The helmet, one size too big, came loose and flopped off. My vision was full of ugly monster snout. Bestial eyes wild with hunger stared me down seconds before a paw the size of my hoof slammed into the side of my head. Everything went dark and blurry. A high pitched whine inside my head rang against my eardrums. My world went dark for a precious few seconds as instinct kicked in. My hooves kicked wildly at the great, shaggy weight on my chest, my hind legs bucked and clawed for purchase. The knife on my leg caught on the thing’s fur, slicing its chest. I gritted my teeth and sawed into the flesh, nauseated by the ugly feeling of metal sliding over bone. The beast wrestled with me on the floor of the cart, punching my chest armor before grabbing my foreleg in its horrid teeth. I felt the limb almost tear clean out of its socket as the creature jerked its head back and forth. The whine inside my head grew louder. I could see red on the edges of my vision. “No!” I screamed, and brought my hind legs under the creature’s chest. With all my panicky strength, I bucked as hard as I could. It was like kicking a brick wall, but the creature reared back all the same, wheezing for breath. Its head came apart a moment later, showering me with brains and guts. For a split second, I saw every gory detail of the inside of a thumper’s brain cavity, and then its body slumped to the side of the cart. “Lockbox!” I heard someone shout, probably Sunny Side. That was another I owed him. I felt something drop onto my chest. My war rein. Put it on! I slid the helmet back into place, squashing my mane uncomfortably as I jerked on the straps to tighten it up. A quick glance over my shoulder showed the other pegasus kicking a dead thumper off the cart. The earth pony was out cold or dead, several long gashes scored on his throat. “Spinner!” Sunny Side shouted, dropping to his side. “Spinner, are you okay?!” “Look out!” Our puller’s warning came almost too late as the cart shook from another impact. I twisted violently, seeing a thumper’s jaws snap shut just in front of my nose. A burst from my Mule took care of that, but it was just one of many. The creatures had gained on us again. The thumpers were all around us now, and every gun that could opened fire. The chaos lasted just a few seconds, but those seconds would remain burned in my memory forever. There was nothing in my world but the deafening roar of guns, the screaming of ponies in pain and terror, and above all the rumbling clatter of the wheels on the tracks. Sunny Side and the pegasus dodged back and forth above, struggling to stay alive and aloft as much as they were trying to protect their fellows. Claws and teeth were everywhere. My jaw ached something fierce. I’d been biting down so hard on the trigger I felt it or my teeth would crack. My mind was gone. My body was all action. Spin, fire, reload, too slow, get the pistol and jam it in your teeth, fire again. There, punch, kick it right in the face. I felt blood in my mane, on my face, in my eyes. Mine, theirs? Doesn’t matter, shoot again! A scream to my left! Sixpence struggled with one of the beasts as it attempted to pull him right off the cart. Time seemed to slow as I saw one of his hooves leave the floor of the cart. In another instant he’d be pulled to his doom. No time to think. Jump! I jumped, not sure of what I was doing, only knowing that I wasn’t about to abandon a pony to a fate as horrible as that. I landed right on the creature’s square head, driving my front hooves into its skull. I pressed my pistol against the back of its neck. With two jerks of my tongue, my final two rounds slammed into its spine and burst out the other side, spraying the back of the cart with blood. I turned back to Sixpence as the creature collapsed to the tracks and rolled with a series of heavy, meaty thumps. My eyes met the trader’s. He seemed strange, as always. Shocked. Grateful. And then his eyes hardened. Narrowed. At me. Before I could register what was happening, I felt his hooves grab my shoulders. His hind legs push into my stomach. “I know what you’re trying to do!” he growled. “And it won’t work!” He kicked. My hooves left the floor of the cart. I was in open air. Falling. Spinning. The ground zoomed up to meet me. I felt it embrace me with all the subtlety and power of a falling boulder. I felt a terrible jarring impact, realizing that was my body colliding with the mercilessly unyielding tracks. There was an explosion of white behind my eyes. The world spun around me. I tossed and turned, hooves flailing. The whining in my ears returned full force, blotting out my senses. The last thing I heard was a loud thud as my body rolled to a halt, and then the sound of cart wheels and gunfire receding into the distance.

redsquirrel456

446

Original Character,Crossover,Adventure,Dark,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

My Little Metro

After Doomsday forces ponies underground, a lone colt braves the Stalliongrad metro system to save his people from an unknown threat.

hiatus

<p>The Metro tunnels of Stalliongrad shelter the last remnants of ponykind from the ravages of the Apocalypse. Beneath the earth, ponies struggle to survive against mutants, radiation, and each other. But when an unstoppable threat emerges from the darkness of the Metro, one pony must brave the shadows to save not just his home, but the very existence of his people.</p>

teen

2011-10-12T05:28:44+00:00

2011-10-12T05:28:44+00:00

My Little Metro: Chapter 4 “Do you want to see tomorrow? Then you better earn it.” In the darkness of the Metro, being alone is at once a blessing and a curse. One can find themselves a strange sense of peace in the tunnels where only monsters and ghosts roam. Without having to constantly worry about another, a pony can focus exclusively on their own well-being. If you trust yourself and your abilities, traveling alone can be a potent method of ensuring your survival while removing the burden of other lives dependent on yours. However, chance, fate, and the inscrutable nature of the Metro itself can turn your advantages into terrible twists of luck. A single cut can turn into a horrible infection unless you find a pony skilled in medicine. A single broken bone can leave you easy prey for the mutants and bandits. One little slip-up is all it takes for the Metro to swoop down and prey on your weakness. I’d never felt more weak than I did lying in that forsaken tunnel, surrounded by the bodies of mutants and their pungent stink. I had no one small injury. I was bruised, battered, and bloody all over. Thick, crimson fluid dribbled out of my nose, clogging my airways and making every breath a wet and frustrating experience. One of my eyelids was black and blue with blood, swelled to obscene size so I couldn’t see out of it. Even though I’d had my helmet on, my head ached something fierce, and I could feel the warm, disgusting dribble of my own blood down my cheek. The entire lower half of my body felt numb and useless, and for a moment I thought I’d been severed in half somehow. Even stranger, I felt so tired I couldn’t muster up the will to care, even if I was on the verge of death. Several gashes had been scored in my sides, and I only just now realized that the thumper’s teeth had done a terrible number on my foreleg. The uniform was shredded and soaked through with blood, and I keenly felt every rip and tear in my flesh from the thumper’s awful teeth. I felt grateful I couldn’t see the full extent of the damage. My shoulder and elbow throbbed with a continuous, sharp ache that felt like somepony was driving a spike into my joints. Every second that passed allowed me to regain my senses and feel every cut and bruise more sharply. Clang, clang, clang went the hammer that drove the pain in deeper with every beat of my heart, made it ever more acute to my senses. I took a deep, ragged breath, sucking in the air through the oozing blood that covered my snout. Pain exploded all along my sides. I probably had a broken rib, or three. Earth ponies were remarkably durable, a blessing from the Princesses that had lasted through the Apocalypse. Unfortunately that meant my body itself had to break the fall and take the hits while keeping me alive. It was a miracle I wasn’t dead or unconscious, and certainly a blessing that I hadn’t been set upon by the thumpers trailing behind the rail cart. I didn’t think much of it, though, as my mind was too full of reeling, blazing agony. Just breathe, Lockbox! I slowed my breathing, acclimatizing myself to the fresh tide of pain that accompanied every single puff of my lungs. A wave of dizziness swept over me and my vision blacked out for a few moments. I fretted this was the end and I was about to die, but after a few minutes of lying still and battling against the pain I recovered again. I wondered if it would be better if I was unconscious. Anything was an improvement to lying here in devastating pain, debilitated beyond all help. The leg that had been in the mouth of the thumper resisted every attempt to even twitch. My mind conjured grave images of me sitting in a wheelchair for the rest of my life, bandaged and broken while other ponies looked on in pity and horror. I felt a strange mixture of shocked resignation and terrified denial. I knew I was gravely injured, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me. I had to get up, or I would die. Somehow, I needed to get moving and find help. I wouldn’t let my body give in. I wouldn’t let myself be snuffed out like the candle at my bedside. My dreams of seeing a better world couldn’t be so meaningless. My entire life couldn’t just be one giant prelude to this. So many ponies were depending on me to survive. I still owed Sunny Side a lifetime of friendship for his loyalty. My father waited impatiently for my safe return. And Hunter was still out there, willingly giving his life for the Metro. I tried to remember Hunter’s lessons. Many years ago he’d begun instilling within me a sense of pride in who and what I was. Even if he was a unicorn and I’d never be able to match his raw power and resourcefulness, he never let me compare myself to him. I had to be able to trust my own body and the experiences I went through to guide me. Otherwise, I’d be doomed the moment I set hoof outside. You’re an earth pony, Lockbox. You and yours are the heart and soul of ponykind. Without you, we’d never have an anchor to keep the pegasi’s heads out of the clouds and the unicorns’ minds in reality and out of their arcane rituals. Your bodies are strong and your minds stubborn. I’ve never seen an earthy pony worth their salt give up on a task he’s decided on. And you will not be the first. It was true. I had far too important a task to simply lie down and die. My shoulders were strong enough to bear the burden. I was an earth pony, and I could take whatever weight was settled on them. I’d given my word, set my heart on something. I wouldn’t give in. I turned my head as much as I could, trying to reach my bags and pockets. Every little twitch sent an explosion of pain ripping through my body, expanding outwards like forks of lightning. Gritting my teeth I craned my neck and strained to my emergency medical supplies. The mysterious potions within would do little more than dull the pain for a short time and provide relief from minor injuries. I was in need of a hospital, casts, and bandages. No one spell could fit everypony and mend their bodies with a flick of the wrist, as everypony’s body was different. Magic was a volatile and extremely precise art, and one small discrepancy in a unicorn’s spell could do more harm than healing. Even the most powerful unicorns could do little more than speed along the healing process. Some injuries were just too grave for anything but a long stay in a hospital bed. But for now, the potions would have to be enough. My body cried out in protest as my nose bumped my ribs a little harder than I’d meant it to. In an instant my resolution melted away to a sniveling cowardice. My head flopped back down and I wept like a newborn foal as the pain flared up, stabbing deep into my chest. Blood mixed with snot bubbled around my nostrils. I struggled to keep my sobs in check, fearful of attracting more monsters, and because every hitch of my breath caused more pain. No matter. Try again. Once it was bearable again, I lifted my head and turned my snout back, and this time managed to get my split lips around the bag’s flap. As gingerly as I could, I rooted around until I got a grip on the small box that contained my salvation. Ignoring the sharp twinge in my neck, I nudged open the small container and found my prize: the shockers. They looked like nothing more than little needles, but they could be a lifesaver. Though small, they contained a mixture of spells and potions. Magic wasn’t confined by space, after all. The needle would inject the cocktail of magical potions, and magical enchantments within would be completed by the push of the plunger, like connecting two circuits together. That provided a shock of energy and pain relief, as well as stimulating the body to speed up the healing process. I got a syringe between my teeth and grinned with triumph. I lifted my uninjured hoof and pressed the bottom of the shocker against my arm. I felt the needle slide in, and the plunger cracked apart the arcane wards within the tube. I felt a small jolt of energy pass all through my body, followed quickly by spreading warmth. At once I could feel relief from most of my lesser injuries. The flow of blood from my head and nose began to slow. Those ailments would be taken care of quickly. As for everything else, I had to move with caution or risk making it worse. I tried to stand. Everything spun. I collapsed again, pain clawing at my mind, forcing me to stay awake and pay attention. My breathing, no longer bubbly and ragged, was labored nonetheless. Every rise and fall of my chest was accompanied by that sharp, stabbing pain. I attempted to test all four limbs. My knife leg was still inoperable, and the throbbing ache remained in spite of the shocker’s best efforts. My ribs still felt broken. My last attempt to move had made me break into a cold sweat. Tears streaked through the dirt and grime on my face, falling in rivulets. You’re an earth pony. As strong as the earth. Try again! I tried again and was met with failure once more. Something deep within me was broken, or several somethings. Somehow I couldn’t pull it together enough, my body wouldn’t let me push any farther. No. I had to get up again. I had to move! At last I found it within me to slide forward, dragging myself on my uninjured foreleg. I could feel every tiny pebble that pushed into my clothing, nudging my broken ribs. Each tiny jolt was like a sledgehammer crashing into my chest, making me gasp for breath. My back legs remained numb and dragged behind me. Gritting my teeth, I pushed and pulled and cursed, hauling my dead weight as far as I could. Darkness came and went in those few, desperate minutes, where I hoped against hope that help would find me, that Hunter would return and all would be well. I felt little but pain, carving my body like a mutant’s claws, knew nothing but the struggle against exhaustion. All I felt besides the pain was my harshly gritted teeth, close to cracking. The despair and agony battered on the walls of my mind, slowly tearing down my defenses bit by bit. Though the magic helped to shore up my defenses, eventually I cracked, and the pain came rushing through, unstoppable, forcing me to a halt. When I collapsed to the ground again, a fresh wave of dizziness, and nausea welled up within me, smashing through the protective cloud cover of my shocker’s healing spells. I dry heaved and blacked out once again from the sheer sensory overload. “Damn it!” I gasped as I came to, coughing up fresh blood. The cramps, the beating of drums on my head, the piercing pain in my chest… It was too much for me. I rested my head on the ground, breathing, waiting for it all to stop and go away. It didn’t. It seemed only to get worse. I heard the strange whining in my ears again. It grew louder and louder until it was all I could hear. The shrieking pain sprouted from every cut and bruise in my body and blossomed into ugly life. All I could do was close my eyes and whimper, trying to hide in the dark recesses of my mind from the despair that oozed over me like a thick sludge. It weighed me down until I could do nothing but remain on the ground, utterly defeated. I thought of my Wall and my father, the comforts of home. The thoughts only made me grow sadder. And then, there was a light. It was around the corner, growing closer. It pierced my eyelids, grabbed my attention, and forced me to look up. A short spring of hope welled up inside me. Was it the caravan, come back to fetch me? Why, that light looked so beautiful and warm, it seemed to be a unicorn’s horn glowing. So soft, it was like a blanket of illumination, washing over me. It wasn’t until the light had completely overtaken me that I realized it was coming from inside my head, and I was beginning to faint. /-/-/-/ Save… Life… I was floating. I didn’t have a body. I could still feel the pain, but it was like a distant memory, an echo down a long hallway. Stop… Death… I swam forward through the mist of my own mind, tumbling and spinning. There were no walls. There was no floor. Just me. Dream… See… The light returned to me. I went towards it, and I saw my Wall suddenly appear before me. Every picture was there, but it was… different. They were all perfectly clear. The colors were sharp and crisp. I stepped closer. Within each tiny memento, I saw movement. I saw life. I saw ponies living, playing, working. I saw Canterlot’s spires reach into the sky, the waterfalls cascading down with water as clear and clean as newly refined glass. I saw the trees of Whitetail Wood swaying gently in a summer breeze. I saw a happy pink mare skate across a frozen lake, completely unperturbed by the cold, because she knew eventually the winter would end. With tears in my eyes I let myself fall forward, into the dreams and memories. This was Equestria as I dreamed. This was what I wanted for us all. I slammed into the hard earth and the pain returned. I was myself again, smashed to pieces on a dirt path of some kind. I looked up with my good eye, and found myself surrounded by trees. Tall, green, healthy trees, short saplings and fat bushes at their bases. The dirt beneath my cheek was no longer bitter and slimy. It was fresh and earthy, such a rich brown shade I could have cried just looking at it. The majestic scenery extended into a horizon of happily rolling hills. Overhead I could feel a terrific, buttery yellow light, accompanied by a gentle heat as soft as a child’s touch. Was that the sun? Was it Celestia’s wings I felt on my cheek? I couldn’t lift my head to see. But this was Equestria as my pictures remembered. As we all wished it to be. It made my head swim with exultant joy. My breath caught in my throat as I struggled to understand this sudden miracle. Was this some new Equestria I had stumbled across? Was I dead and in the embrace of the Princesses in the next life? Whatever it was, I didn’t want it to end. I was still alone and broken, dying. But at least I would die with this beautiful vision in my eyes… Another pony appeared, rounding a bend in the road. It was a pegasus, and a mare too. She possessed a long, noble, pink mane that bounced merrily with each prancing step. She looked happy. Not a care in the world. There was a small, satisfied smile on her prim little snout, as if she was absolutely confident that today and all other days after were good ones. Her fur coat glowed like the Sun above, glistening as she bounced along. Everything about her was graceful, peaceful, utterly devoid of threat and malice. She seemed to embody joy and life… and she was the most beautiful pony I’d ever seen. “La la la la,” she sang in a voice soft as silk, until she came across my limp body. “Oh!” she squeaked, jumping back, wings flaring. Strong cyan eyes that sparkled with liveliness took in my battered state. My mouth felt dry. “Oh, my,” she whispered delicately, taking a few steps forward. “Oh, you poor thing. You’ve been hurt, haven’t you?” Apparently, she had a talent for understatement. I pried open my suddenly parched lips, trying to speak, but she shushed me with such tenderness I didn’t feel the need to talk. I felt a sharp ache in my chest as her face drew close to mine, and I felt cool breath on my forehead. She was so pure it hurt to look at her. “Don’t worry, it doesn’t look so bad. I’ll bring you back home and patch you right up. Here…” She bent down and plucked up the small, snow-white rabbit next to my head. Though it squeaked and shivered, she placed it delicately into her saddlebag, where its little head poked out. The pegasus cooed at it gently, and gave it one of the most caring smiles a pony could have on their lips. And then, she turned and began to walk away. Leaving me alone. Leaving me broken, like my world. Turning away from the destruction and loss I represented. Save… Life… The light grew brighter. Everything began to stretch, distort, fading into the distance. My perfect world was dissolving before my eyes. “Wait…” I croaked. “Please… don’t go…” Remember… Lost… “Please… don’t leave…” Lockbox. “Come back… come back…!” Lockbox! /-/-/-/ I opened my eyes and was greeted by the worn, dull surface of the Metro tunnels and the rusting pipes overhead. Welcome home, Lockbox, the dead rock said. Welcome back to your cold, glum reality. My head swam. I felt delirious from pain and blood loss. Out of my one good eye I saw large eyes staring back at me, yellow, glowing in the dark. My light had been smashed in the fall, and the only illumination came from some bioluminescent mushrooms growing out of cracks in the floor. I was too dazed to even make sense of what I was looking at: a big, hulking shadow, the sound of deep, snorting breaths. This is it, I thought. Any moment now I will feel fangs sinking into my neck, and it will be over. I fervently prayed it was another dream. “Pony should be more careful,” the shadow said in a deep, rasping voice. Its voice echoed and warped in my ears. My own labored breathing was louder than this strange voice. “Pony shouldn’t lie down in the tunnels. Not safe.” I was vaguely aware of something lifting me up in big, heavy claws. It was surprisingly gentle. The movement alone made my world spin, and darkness claimed me once more. /-/-/-/ I was in a different tunnel than before, smaller, with pipes lining almost every inch of the walls. It took a moment to realize that the cracked, dull walls were moving, sliding past my vision. No… I was moving. I was lying on wood instead of dirt. My eye rolled forward, and saw a pony’s flanks swaying, walking. No more great shadow. The pony was hitched to lines that led back to me. And then I realized: I was on another cart. It was a flat, primitive thing with no walls, more like a flatbed wagon than anything else. But it wasn’t the ground. It wasn’t the maw of a thumper. I took another look at my rescuer, and saw a cutie mark of a sun peeking through some clouds. I recognized it at once. “Sunny?” I whispered. My voice sounded cracked and foreign. “Don’t talk,” my friend said. “Rest, Lockbox. I’ve got this.” His steps were heavy and wooden, and his head hung low. I looked closer and saw one of his wings hanging limp at his side, twisted unnaturally. “Sunny…” I moaned. “Your wing…” “I know. Hush now, Lockbox. We’re not safe.” “Sunny… I saw! I saw… I saw…” My world went dark. /-/-/-/ When next I woke, I felt safe at last. I was lying in the warm orange glow of a sprite-light, one of the magically charged lanterns that kept many pony inhabited parts of the Metro lit. There wasn’t a real parasprite in there, thank the Princesses, but for the sake of aesthetics a magically synthesized ball fluttered around in the lantern’s confines. Sunny Side had dropped me off in a small side tunnel, with raised platforms on either side for railcar crews to disembark. It must have been a spare for when traffic was too heavy in the main docks. I saw a large metal door set into the wall above the platform next to me, presumably leading to wherever Sunny had gone. There were no thumpers or other mutants gnawing on me, so I believed I could call myself free of that particular danger. I did a quick check of my own body. I was still wounded heavily, but most of my injuries had been dressed, cleaned, and stabilized. I could feel the warm, comfortable embrace of healing bandages around my foreleg and rib cage. Somepony had gone through a lot of trouble to get me patched up. My barding had been removed and placed to the side, where the rest of my gear and guns were. It was strange to see just how much I’d actually been wearing. I’d probably looked more like I was going to war than just making a routine run to another Station. I attempted to move, and was stopped once again by pain. It was starting to feel like a good acquaintance at this point. Thankfully, I was distracted by the door opening. Sunny Side came through, swathed in bandages like me, along with a stern, grey-maned earth stallion. He wore a doctor’s saddle, laden with healing supplies. Without a word to me, he trotted over and pulled out a small box that looked like my charger, although it had two prongs on top. Using his teeth, he chewed on a small lever on its side as he waved it over my bandages, and I felt a strange tingling sensation. Each pull of the lever was accompanied by the tell-tale shimmering hum of magic. Magical energy jumped and sparked from the prongs to my body, and the bandages gave off a faint glow. The pain began to recede again, and I found I could breathe a little more freely. All too soon, the doctor drew back and replaced his box. “There. That’s all the charge I can spare,” he said, and turned to Sunny Side. “Are you going to pay up or what?” Sunny Side shifted uncomfortably on his hooves. “Uh… well, there is a slight, erm, problem, doctor. I seem to have already given you all of my cartridges…” The doctor’s eyes narrowed. “Are you telling me that I’ve been wasting good medical supplies on a pony from another station, who I don’t even know, and you haven’t even paid half of what’s owed? Do you have any idea how expensive it is to create and maintain these bandages? I can’t just walk up to the Guild of Magic and have them replace all the gemstones I need to power my chargers, craft the healing potions! Even if I was a unicorn, there’s taxes, bills, time wasted to consider!” “He’s my friend!” Sunny shot back. “He is not a waste of time!” “If neither of you can pay up, then that’s all you are to me,” the earth stallion hissed. “If my patients found out I was giving free care to foreign ponies, my head would roll!” “My father,” I broke in, “is a pony of influence in Exiperia. He can hoof the bill when I get back there.” “He better, assuming you aren’t lying,” the doctor grumbled, rounding on me with a glare that made me blush. “Or the first place you’re both going after your recovery is debtor’s prison!” He stormed back through the door and kicked it shut with a resounding bang. Sunny Side shook his head and spat on the ground the doctor had stood on. “Asshole,” he said, and turned back to me. He gave me a wary smile, which I returned. “I’m starting to think you’re a guardian angel, Sunny,” I said. “You saved my life. Again.” “It’s what friends are for,” the pegasus answered, waving it off. “That’s what the old stories say, right? Friendship is the magic that gets us through times like these.” “Indeed they do,” I murmured reflectively. I remembered my fever dream with sharp clarity. “Where are we?” “Right outside Draft Station. I know it’s not as far as I’d like to be, but it’s as far as I could manage. Isn’t this just like Draft? Guards let me in for being Exiperia militia and won’t lift a hoof to help heal us.” He showed off his bandaged wing, giving it a sad, proud smile. “Thumpers almost tore me open when I went back for you. I dunno how, I was sure you were busted up something awful, but you managed to drag yourself onto a spare wagon down one of the side tunnels. It was hell dragging that thing all the way here…” “No mutants?” I asked in wonderment. What about what I’d seen? “No mutants!” Sunny confirmed. “I dunno why, but the tunnel was completely clear all the way to Draft. The thumpers had cleared out. I guess the caravan pulled them out of the woodwork, and they scattered when we turned out not to be easy prey.” I stared into space. Had the talking shadow just been a fever dream? The eyes in the dark had seemed so real. I hadn’t crawled onto a wagon, or at least I thought not. But Sunny didn’t mention a thing about another pony being in the tunnels. I decided, for now, it wasn’t important as long as I was alive. “Where’s the rest of the caravan?” “Gone on to Bucklyn Station. I figured we could wait until they make the return trip for them to pick us up. What’s weird, though, Sixpence? He disappeared before we even got to Draft. Rat bastard stole a gun and some ammo on the way, too.” My eyes shot open and I rolled onto my stomach, ignoring the pain in my sides. “Sixpence! He was the one who pushed me off!” Sunny’s ears drooped. “Wait… what? Pushed you?” “Yes,” I said, anger beginning to boil inside my stomach. “He kicked me off the cart. He was trying to murder me.” Even after I’d saved his life! The indignity of it all made me want to stomp my hooves. “But… but why? He’s just a trader, he has no idea who you are. It doesn’t make sense!” I settled down and thought about it. All of the strange events that had led me here so far did have a few things in common: Bucklyn Station and the Rangers there. Sixpence had asked about Hunter and what he was planning to do. I’d brushed it off at the time, but now it seemed to fall into place. He knew I was going to Bucklyn, he’d shown an inordinate interest in why I was going, and he’d been determined to stop me from getting there. Somehow he must have known that I was carrying something important, something to do with the Rangers… and for whatever reason, he’d wanted to interfere. I know what you’re trying to do. And it won’t work! My mind came back to the Dark Ones. Sixpence had been touched by them, I remembered that too. Had he gone mad, and believed he had to help the Dark Ones kill us all? It was so little to go on, but it was the only thing that led to a rational explanation of why he’d tried to kill me. “It may not make sense,” I told Sunny. “But there is a reason behind it…” I looked my friend in the eyes. “I have to keep going, Sunny. I have to get to Bucklyn.” Sunny’s face contorted, incredulity written all over his expression. “Whoa, hold on, Lockbox. This is getting a bit over my head. You’re not even well yet. You’ve just accused somepony of trying to murder you. And now you’re talking about how we have to go to Bucklyn?” “I know what I saw, Sunny! I know what he said!” I exclaimed with a ferociousness that shocked me. “He didn’t try to kill anypony else on that caravan but me. I’m willing to bet he even lured the mutants our way. Think, Sunny. Why would he disappear with guns and ammunition so soon after I mysteriously fell off a moving railcar into the waiting jaws of mutants that weren’t supposed to know we were there?” My friend puzzled over this for just a few seconds more before nodding in agreement. “All right, Lockbox. I trust you. But this just makes things even more dangerous. We have to wait here and tell your father about this, and then go back home where it’s safe.” “Nowhere is safe anymore, Sunny!” I thundered, slamming my uninjured hoof on the wooden floor of the wagon. It shuddered under the blow. “Have you forgotten what the Dark Ones are doing already? They’re murdering us by the dozen and we can’t even fight back. If we stay here, if we let word get out that I’m alive, Sixpence could come back and finish the job. And even if he doesn’t get me, the Dark Ones will unless we go get help!” “Then tell me why Bucklyn is so important!” Sunny snapped. “I saved your life, Lockbox. I risked my wings! Don’t shut yourself away about this!” I glared at him for several long moments until my thoughts caught up with me. My gaze softened. He was right. But Hunter had told me that the talisman was to be kept a secret. If Sunny knew about it, then what if he was put into even greater danger by my willingness to drag him into this? “Rangers are there,” I decided to tell him, looking away. “Hunter told me to seek them out if he didn’t return. Without their help we will not be able to convince any others to fight the Dark Ones.” Sunny Side dropped onto his haunches and stared at me in silence. I didn’t like the look on his face, and it cut me deeply. I worried he would try to talk me out of continuing my journey, which was out of the question. Not only did we face the Dark Ones, there was a pony, maybe several, who was trying to stop us from defeating them. My dream was still fresh in my mind. If I was ever going to have a hope of keeping our world safe, and on the path back to reconstruction, then I had to deliver Hunter’s message. I had to get to the Rangers. “Lockbox,” Sunny said quietly. “If we have to get to Bucklyn… and the Rangers really will help Exiperia… then we have no choice.” “No,” I answered. “Not really.” Sunny hung his head. “Then… we need to get to Bucklyn. Get passage on the next railcar out of here.” “Assuming that doctor isn’t keeping watch on us,” I added. “That, and I…” I attempted to stand once more. The bandages were doing their work, but I couldn’t push myself too much. I was still wobbly and tired, and when the thought entered my head that I hadn’t eaten or drank much recently I found myself parched and starving. “Then we’re stuck here, for the time being,” Sunny said. “And the longer we stay, the more likely it is the doctor will call the guard and clap us in irons until we can pay up. You have no idea how long it took to convince him to even look at you… if I’d known Draft Station was so full of thieves and beggars, I’d never have supported an alliance! He forced me to keep you out here, or lodging and a bed would have been extra.” “Heh… pony’s got to make a living,” I murmured. “I think, for now, I could do with some food. And I’d like to see what’s on the other side of that door… I don’t fancy sitting around out here all day.” “Are you sure you can even move?” “I’ll be fine, Sunny. It’s not like I’m running a marathon.” I struggled to stand, letting the freshly charged spells work their magic and do most of the heavy lifting. “How do we know Sixpence isn’t wandering around waiting for you?” asked Sunny. “We don’t… but I doubt he’d actually imagine that I came out of that mess alive,” I replied. “If he ran off with guns and ammo, he’s either scared stiff his plan didn’t work, or he’s preparing himself to do something else now that I’m ‘dead.’ Either way, I want some food, and if I’m going to sit anywhere it’s going to be inside a station. Just… nowhere too public.” Sunny helped me clamber up onto the platform, assuring me it was safe to leave my things here, as only he and the doctor had come to this part of the station. I knew that I was taking a big risk just by moving when I was in such a state, but I needed to feel a little closer to civilization after my brush with death. There was no way I was getting on my barding or my saddlebags with my ribs still injured, so I let Sunny carry my personal possessions, along with what few cartridges I usually had on me. Just in case, I tossed my jacket over my hindquarters to hide my cutie mark. Ponies could look astonishingly alike sometimes, and cutie marks were our most distinguishing feature. The bullets were our most valuable possessions and would pay for our meals. It seemed strange to me, and still does, that ponies based their economy around weapons of destruction. However, these bullets were from the time before the bombs, when factories and other workshops worked at peak efficiency. The armories that made them had utilized top-tier machines and spells for the war effort. Unicorns nowadays could still taste the spells that were woven into their casings to make them especially deadly and energy efficient, spells to let them carve through the air and never lose speed, even spells to protect against rust and common wear and tear. The kind of spells we couldn’t hope to duplicate now without proper arcane matrices and magic fonts. This gave old world bullets a sense of permanency and value, something we could clearly look at and think ‘ah ha, this is worth such and such an amount.’ As they had been mass-produced in the millions, they were also easy to find and gather together. Add to all that the fact that they doubled as last-ditch, deadly munitions that could pierce the hide of all but the toughest mutants, and it made a strange kind of sense that they became our main sources of income. Certainly many stations bartered with more common trade goods, exchanging a pot for a chair or a hat for a box of cigarettes, but the bullets were the standard with which we measured real value. When Sunny pushed open the door we were greeted by a wide hallway with a high ceiling occupied by a few abandoned hovels constructed from now rotting wood. The area was lit by a few lonesome sprite-lights, and I could see empty fuse boxes and generator cases long since ripped open and scavenged for parts. It seemed to me to be an old maintenance tunnel, forgotten and rarely used even in the time before the war. Not far in, we encountered an old stallion who looked up at us with a forlorn, unfocused gaze. He had a healing bandage wrapped around his head that had burned out months ago, and he looked like he hadn’t shaved or bathed in weeks. He wore rags for clothes to protect against the damp chill of the Metro, and on his dark blue flank was a pickaxe cutie mark. Such a pitiful creature I’d never seen in my home of Exiperia, and for a moment I wasn’t sure what to do, or even think. “Spare a bullet?” he mumbled brokenly. I felt a strange solidarity with the old stallion, perhaps because of my own collection of injuries. And I also remembered, sharply, the pain of abandonment as the pretty mare of my dreams ignored me entirely, opting for a little bunny rabbit. No, I couldn’t be that heartless to anypony. I motioned for Sunny to give him one of my bullets. It seemed only right. “Thank you, sirs.” Not much farther along we came to another tunnel that crossed ours like the top of a T, lined with more shacks and homes made of old wood and rusty metal. They were piled on top of each other, sometimes three high, connected by small planks and platforms of wood, creating their own little jungle gyms. This looked like an old cargo transport tunnel, since there was a large ditch that ran along the bottom where small wagons could pass back and forth. It too had been retrofitted into this ramshackle living area, with sleeping ponies and a couple of young fillies taking most of the available space. I could hear voices and sounds of activity echoing down the hall, and I nudged Sunny Side towards them. “What’s over there?” I asked, pointing left where most of the noise was coming from. “The main market and commercial district,” Sunny said. “Draft is a small station like ours, and they don’t have much to work with besides trade. But they do have several smaller tunnels that lead to the surface, so apparently they get a lot of traffic with stalkers.” Stalkers. The very name sent a chill up a pony’s spine. Nopony knew just how organized they were, but they were the ones who came back with all the stories and all the treasures of the old world apart from the Rangers. Prowling the city above, they braved mutants and radiation to bring back still functioning machinery and little luxuries we couldn’t make for ourselves, all in the name of a quick bullet. They were just as daring and perhaps even more foolhardy as the Rangers, and not nearly as organized. They were treasure hunters and bandits, folk heroes and vicious mercenaries. Most of them proudly wore the old city flag of Stalliongrad to identify themselves. Others just let their hooves or their guns do the talking. I didn’t relish the thought of meeting one, since they were so unpredictable. That and we didn’t have nearly enough cartridges to buy the services of one, no matter how useful they might be. As we continued limping down the long residential hallway, I met several other ponies in the same state as our first beggar, sitting quietly with themselves or talking with each other. It was not a happy station, and I recalled my father hadn’t spoken highly of Draft Station when he mentioned our alliance. He’d told me Draft Station had strict work quotas and a rather cutthroat economy based on how much business one could bring to the station. Since they were more of a checkpoint between stations than a self-sufficient place, they had little to spare on amenities. Those who could make the cut lived rather comfortably; the rest worked as hard laborers. I suspected that if I was too generous here, my bullets would run dry very quickly… and my stomach turned over with guilt that I could so easily forget generosity in the face of such overwhelming hardship. But what could one pony do? I had my own mission to consider, one that could determine the future of the Metro. We passed into the market area, which was even smaller than Exiperia’s. It was crowded with what few ponies who actually had things to sell, hawking their wares among their poorer compatriots. Not even their stalls were pretty: they were improvised constructions made of pieces of shaft elevators, sheet metal, and scrap. Their customers looked like they were a step away from poverty or banditry, dressed in a mish-mash of old clothes. There were many transients here, coming and going, an eclectic mix of personalities who attempted to keep their noses above the commoners around them. In one corner a unicorn technician furiously worked at a large steam generator, his horn glowing brightly as he fiddled with its interior. In another a group of stalkers walked through like they owned the place, completely indifferent to the regular ponies and their troubles. Tinny, slow dance music issued from scratchy loudspeakers on the ceiling, only enhancing the melancholy, bland atmosphere. Newcomers though we were, we were hardly spared a glance. Things in Exiperia weren’t quite as bad as this, but if the Dark One attacks continued, I believed that we would soon be in the same situation. There was a small eatery near the docks, with a single pegasus mare flitting between tables as she cooked and served the food at the same time. We sat down and I rested my aching ribs and throbbing foreleg. There was nothing on the menu but some kind of stew made of who knew what, and tea fresh from Exiperia’s mushroom farms, but I devoured it hungrily. The only frustrating thing was how slowly I was forced to eat. Every swallow was murder, but I pushed through the pain to get some nutrition. I could see a crowd on the main platform, full of ponies from other stations. They were pressing against a large gate that had been set up in front of the platform, showing passports and other papers before they were let through. I recognized the colors of Appleton and Ponyevska, and a couple others that seemed familiar. A few of them were arguing with the guards over so-called “trade tariffs” that Draft used to supplement its income of selling stalker junk. Add to that the troubles that came from requiring passports to prove one was a valued trade partner with Draft, and it became obvious the small station was abusing its position as a chokepoint on many trade routes between inner and outer stations. It only got worse when a couple of unicorns dressed in olive green uniforms bearing the insignia of the Guild of Magic simply walked through the gates, which drew the ire of a couple Appleton earth ponies. “Hey!” one of them shouted, standing tall and bright green with a brown mane. He stalked up to the unicorns before being halted by a guard. “Those Guild suck-ups get through without even showing papers? We’ve been standing here for hours!” “The Guild does good work for our station,” the guard sneered, putting a hoof on the earth pony’s chest and shoving him back. “You’re just a waste of space, farmer.” I turned away as the two of them got into a colorful shouting match. “It sounds like the Guild are the ponies to ask for a free ride,” I said to Sunny, who raised an eyebrow. “The Guild of Magic?” he asked. “They rip off anypony that isn’t loyal to them.” “We aren’t going to be loyal to them any longer than it takes to get to Bucklyn,” I murmured. “That’s dangerous talk, Lockbox. Couldn’t we just wait for our caravan to come back? I’m sure they’ll be happy to take us.” “The Dark Ones are more dangerous, even if nopony but us is ready to believe in them. And the caravan might linger at Bucklyn. For all they know we’re both dead and figuring out what to tell my father, and it should stay that way for now. We can’t wait around here with that doctor threatening to lock us up and Sixpence probably ready to shoot me on sight if he finds me again.” I watched the Guild unicorns go over to one of the market stalls and purchase a few things without any trouble. The Guild of Magic was not an organization that my father spoke highly of, and with good reason. They were little more than unicorns who held magic in higher regard than ponies’ lives, and through concentrating their power and resources they were the greatest source of magical equipment in the Metro. Generators, water purifiers, air filters, all of them were only considered top-quality if they came from the Guild. They used that influence to overcharge for all their services, and get to places normal ponies couldn’t, and were allied with many unscrupulous stations in the name of turning a profit. They weren’t nice, but they were invaluable. An extremely dangerous combination. And right now, I was planning to ask them if they could just give us free passage to the next station over. I found myself questioning the wisdom of my quest, but the threat of the Dark Ones overshadowed everything in my mind. The tunnels from Draft to Bucklyn weren’t exactly safe, especially nowadays, and there wasn’t much to keep me from believing our own caravan would be destroyed along the way by something. We had to leave, and fast. This was our only available option. “Let’s give it a try,” I said, and slurped down the rest of my food, hobbling over to the Guild unicorns who were laughing with one of the stall merchants. Sunny followed with an apprehensive expression. “… and he actually tried to pay us in common tools! And food! Imagine,” said one of the unicorns, a tall and handsome fellow with a well-groomed blonde mane. I wondered how many ponies he had impoverished to get the supplies to make himself look that nice. “Excuse me,” I said, though apparently I wasn’t loud enough, since the trio kept chuckling to themselves. Sunny Side gave me a sidelong look that said he didn’t think highly of this plan, but unless we wanted to bankrupt ourselves and get thrown into a cell until my father bailed us out, this had to be attempted. I waited until the unicorns deigned to turn our way. “Oh, hello, what’s this? We’re not in the mood for hoof-outs…” “We’re looking to make something of a business proposition,” I said, deciding to get straight to the point. I was never one for small talk with other ponies. “We require passports to get out of here and into Bucklyn without any trouble. We’re willing to perform a service to the Guild of Magic in exchange for them.” The unicorn looked at his companion, then back at me. And both of them burst into laughter. I would be the first to admit that, bandaged and without our barding we didn’t cut very imposing figures, but I still struggled not to roll my eyes. The two of them carried on well past the point of credibility, and it was clear they were trying to literally laugh us off. I didn’t budge, and they became somber when they realized I wasn’t leaving that quickly. “You actually believe that you and your companion have something to offer the Guild?” the blonde-maned one asked. “You… do know who we are, right?” He turned and showed off his uniform. I saw the symbol of office thrown into sharp relief: the head of an alicorn with wings curved high above its head, embracing a six-pointed star surrounded by five smaller ones. The historians say it was the cutie mark of Twilight Sparkle, the greatest and most powerful wizard who ever lived. I could only imagine what she might think of her symbol being used purely for power and monetary gain. “We’re well aware of that,” I said. “But we’re still offering. Surely passports are not that valuable to the Guild? We’re asking for a one way trip, in exchange for a small service.” The blonde unicorn was about to brush us off when his smaller, grey-furred companion raised a hoof. “Hold on, now,” he said. “We’re in this area on business, right? We could use the help, surely…” The other stallion glanced at him and the two turned away to confer in low voices before turning back to us. “Be back here in an hour,” they said. “We will tell you our decision then.” Sunny Side and I turned to head back to our little hideaway in the side tunnel, avoiding the others. Being seen talking to the Guild could be dangerous for some ponies. I settled back down to rest my weary bones while Sunny pondered our strategy. “I hate this idea.” “It’s the best shot we have of getting to Bucklyn quickly.” “What if we’re sent on some stupid errand way over in Marestra?” “We told them we want to get to Bucklyn. They’ll send us on a job to or near it.” “And if they don’t?” “Then I hope you don’t mind sharing cells in debtor prison. And I’m not sleeping on the floor.” Sunny sighed and followed me back to the docks when an hour had passed. The old beggar was still there, but he had the dignity not to ask for money a second or third time. That didn’t stop me from guiltily trying to avoid his sad, despondent gaze. My barding still gave me trouble; after several failed attempts to attach it properly I just hanged it loosely around my shoulders. I could do nothing but hope eventually I’d be able to grin and bear the pain of having it constrict my already aching ribs. Though I had no doubt that the doctor’s magic was doing its job, I wished dearly to be back into prime fighting condition for the trip to Bucklyn. Fortunately, my doubts were somewhat baseless, as the unicorns greeted us cordially with a job that wouldn’t be too troublesome. “We just need you to deliver payment to a stalker who managed to collect an interesting artifact for us,” the one with the blonde mane explained. “He lives not far from here, but we’ve some business to take care of ourselves in Draft.” “You’d give us passports simply to give a pony his payment?” I asked. “What’s to stop us from running away with it?” “We have our ways,” the grey unicorn said with a sly smile. “We aren’t the only remaining ponies with significant magical power in all of Equestria for nothing. Rest assured, if you don’t complete the job, not only will you not get any goods you’d abscond with, but we will know, and by extension, the Guild will know. And that, my young friend, would be a very, very bad thing for you.” “Doubtless,” I murmured. “It’s still an awful lot of trust you’re giving us,” Sunny grumped, but the blonde stallion only chuckled. “Would you rather we said no and left you sitting around here with nothing to show for your injuries? We can clearly see you’re capable of handling yourselves, or at the very least getting out of trouble alive. That barding, the ammunition… you wouldn’t have those things if you couldn’t at least take two steps outside without dying. Here, as a show of good faith, take this.” He levitated out a large bottle and held it up to us. “Extra strength healing potion,” he explained. “Concentrated spells guaranteed to interface properly with healing bandages and shockers alike and provide that extra boost any injured pony needs. Take it, free of charge. It’s hardly worth anything to me right now.” I had to admit I was growing apprehensive. But to turn down something like that in my state would be senseless. I supposed it was too much to ask for them to hoof my medical bills as well, and didn’t ask. They were already providing two expensive services for a relatively inconsequential job. I could see the blonde unicorn’s easy-going smile, and knew that this was how they buttered up future customers, spread good feelings among the masses. If I took the healing potion and agreed that I trusted them and was willing to take from their stockpiles, then that meant I too would owe them. Next thing you knew, you were knee-deep in debt, your station depended on the Guild to survive, and your leaders were thinking of conquering the Metro with all their shiny magical equipment. It was a dangerous game the Guild played, and one they had mastered. It wasn’t any wonder there were rumors they had close ties with the Celestian Monarchy. In spite of knowing such things, I had to get to Bucklyn. The Dark Ones loomed large in my mind, their shadowy wings covering my doubts with fear. The lives in my home station, the entire Metro, took precedence right now. I nodded and took the potion in my front hooves, guzzling down a large gulp before giving it to Sunny. He too took a long draught and hid the rest under his wing. “You should both be ready to travel at least, in a couple hours’ time,” the unicorn said with a winning smile. “The Guild helps those who help it. So, then, do we have a deal?” “We… do,” I said in a voice barely audible above the milling ponies around us. The unicorn gladly floated two passports and the payment package into my saddlebag, along with directions to the stalker base located not far away. It was in a remote section of the Metro, in the blank spaces between Draft and the Eastern Stations. It wasn’t too dangerous to get to, but one could never be too careful in the Metro. And with that our path was laid out. We waited until the healing potion had taken effect, and to my surprise it did indeed work wonders. I could feel my black eye starting to recede; it was an incredibly alien sensation. With the magic at work, I could slip on my barding once more. I had just had a taste of what the Guild gave to those stations that enslaved their interests to the Guild’s. Many of those without Guild services had to make do with hand-me-downs and chemical supplements. The doctor hadn’t come back to harass us again, but I had to kick myself for not thinking he’d literally have an eye on us. A guard began following us as we left the market area and went into the eastern section of Draft, which housed a small bar and workshop area. There were many doorways that led to pointless side tunnels and warrens where ponies crowded into whatever private spaces they could find; this was one of the few blessings that the over-enthusiastic construction of the Metro gave us. I noticed the guard easily; he was making no effort to hide himself, hoping to intimidate us by his mere presence. I kept walking. Sunny stayed dutifully beside me. The workers didn’t look up from their benches, the bartender didn’t even give us a glance. I wondered if they thought we were stalkers, tramping through their station laden down with weapons and armor. I felt the guard’s eyes on the back of my neck. We were heading towards the small side gate of Draft on its eastern border, which was a small but reinforced door that led to a catwalk down into a tunnel used by nothing but stalkers and mutants. The guard was getting closer with every step we took towards the door. Eventually we came to the darker, less-used area of the station where the gate was located. We had taken a couple of turns out of sight of the others into the cramped maze of side rooms and storehouses; the guard could stab us both in the back for trying to escape our debt and nopony would be the wiser. “Stop!” I heard the guard shout. I broke into a sweat and felt Sunny tense up beside me. The guard was just around a corner behind us, and it was clear he meant to keep us from leaving. Fortunately he wasn’t smart enough to go back and get more help, but that meant we had to lose him. We turned another corner and hurried our pace into a long straight hall, dodging into a store room just as the guard shined his light down the corridor. “Stop!” he said again, fruitlessly. “You are ordered to come back with me to the main market area!” Sunny and I took cover behind a large stand of empty crates, waiting for him to pass by. Though it would doubtlessly be easier to simply knock him over the head, I didn’t want to resort to that. I was already cheating a doctor who had saved my life (albeit reluctantly) and leaving my family and friends to think I was dead for the time being; I wasn’t quite ready to add assault to the list if I could help it. Sunny seemed tense and quivered like a leaf. His injured wing must already have been torture for the poor pegasus, and this further excitement just added to his stress. I pressed up against him and gave him a look that helped to silence his shivers for the moment. We could only hope that his wing would be useable again soon. Hiding in that dark corner, it suddenly struck me that he had risked not just his life, but his mental well-being to save me. I had to be more deserving of that kind of trust. I’d get him out of this safely myself if I had to. “Come out!” the guard demanded. He was just outside our door. “Damn it, you’re just making things worse for yourself! I’ll come back here and bring down the whole militia if I have to!” His shouting might attract attention, and as the seconds ticked on I felt myself start to grow a little more focused, a little more tense. If he went ahead to alert the gate guards, we’d never get through. I’d fail the mission. The Rangers would never be warned. The Dark Ones would sweep in and destroy my home before any help could even be mustered. “I’m giving you five seconds to come out!” Could I do it? Could I hurt a fellow pony now to save more in the future? I didn’t have the guts to kill him, I knew that. But I had to do something. “Five!” I needed to be strong, for Sunny, for my father. “Four!” His hoof scuffed on the ground as he started to move. I’d lose my chance if I didn’t act now. “Hell with this… time’s up!” Don’t think! Act! Now! I burst out of my hiding place, grabbed the door handle, and flung open the door in blur of movement. As I spun in place, I saw the guard turn in slow-motion, eyes narrowing, jaw dropping as he began to jump, startled. My hind legs shot out, and I felt the sharp impact of my hooves smashing into his helmet. He staggered into the far wall, blinked owlishly. He didn’t react quick enough to stop me from flinging off his helmet, nor to stop me from smashing my front hoof into his temple. He slumped, dazed, eyes rolling in their sockets. My ribs were aching in protest, my heart hammered in my chest. Every breath felt forced, weighty. I could hear blood rushing in my ears. Sunny stood wide-eyed behind me, jaw slack. I found it hard to believe myself. Had I really just done that? “Uhh…” the guard groaned. I stared at him, almost in shock. I’d just seriously hurt a pony for the first time in my life. “Lock…” I heard Sunny gasp, snapping me out of my reverie. “Holy crap, you decked that guy.” “Um… uh… yes, I… guess I did,” I murmured, licking dry lips with a cardboard tongue. There was definitely no turning back now. The guard was still twitching on the floor, but he’d be up and about again soon. “Hurry!” I hissed, and we were on our way once again. I hoped the gate guards hadn’t heard the confusion. That proved to be a baseless worry, as the gate was lightly guarded. The only things standing between Draft and the outside world were the gate itself, a console to control magical traps and alarms, and a single sleeping unicorn guardpony. He was slouched on a bench, but wasn’t sitting like a normal pony. He had perched himself upright, hind legs hanging over the edge, front hooves crossed over his belly, chin resting against his chest. He was snoring up a storm, and his paunch was exaggerated by his odd position. It would’ve been comical if my mind wasn’t still racing over the fact that I’d just viciously bucked a pony in the face. Twice. Unicorns didn’t normally need to be present to open up an enchanted doorway. Passports made it easy for a pony to simply show up, identify themselves, and then walk on through, protected by said passports. If a pony had one it was usually enough to skip most of the background checks and cargo sweeps that were often made when one station’s ponies entered another. We, of course, were planning to skip the identifying part. Passports were usually crafted to work only once or twice before needing a unicorn’s attention again, and were created to work with specific doorways or station entrances. It should be easy. Now if I could just figure out how to work it. I tiptoed up to the console and tapped a key to activate it. The magical radar inside beeped quietly, but the slumbering unicorn only grumbled and flopped onto his side. There was a small slot next to the console, which I presumed was for the passports. I pressed mine into it, and the console gave off a loud buzz before I pressed Sunny’s into it as well. The unicorn began to stir from his sleep, snorting as his hooves pedaled through the air. “Ah! Who’s… who’s…?” he asked, and found Sunny’s smiling face greeting him. He had his passport in his mouth. “No need to worry, sir!” he said. “We’ve got passports. From the Guild, see?” “Uh… huh?” asked the unicorn, and passed over it with his magic. He seemed satisfied, since he gave Sunny a curt nod. “Yeah, that checks out. Fine. Just don’t scare me like that again, by Celestia!” “Sorry about that,” Sunny apologized as I pushed open the door. “We won’t trouble you any longer.” The unicorn was distracted by incoherent shouting somewhere farther back. The guard must have finally come to his senses. It kept him busy long enough for me and Sunny to slip through the door and slam it shut again, charging down a stairwell that hugged the wall. The door came out to a wide tunnel that used to be one of Draft’s main cargo tunnels until trade from the east tapered off; it’d been shut to all but vagrants and stalkers for some time now. We thundered down the rickety stairway, the metal clanging under our hooves as we charged away from Draft station. Though my ribs flared up again and my injured leg complained awfully, I fought through the pain, determined not to be slowed down. I didn’t look back, even as Sunny charged by, eyes wide. I heard the door clang open, and the tunnel reverberated with a gunshot. A breath of air brushed my mane, and the wall next to me burst into shrapnel that bounced off my barding. Before another shot could be taken, we’d turned the corner and disappeared into the shadows of the Metro.

redsquirrel456

446

Original Character,Crossover,Adventure,Dark,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

My Little Metro

After Doomsday forces ponies underground, a lone colt braves the Stalliongrad metro system to save his people from an unknown threat.

hiatus

<p>The Metro tunnels of Stalliongrad shelter the last remnants of ponykind from the ravages of the Apocalypse. Beneath the earth, ponies struggle to survive against mutants, radiation, and each other. But when an unstoppable threat emerges from the darkness of the Metro, one pony must brave the shadows to save not just his home, but the very existence of his people.</p>

teen

2011-08-30T16:21:55+00:00

2013-05-20T19:38:11+00:00

My Little Metro: Chapter 5 “Is it always so… dark?” The tunnel we’d found ourselves in hadn’t been looked at or maintained in years. We slogged through ankle deep sludge, formed by mud seeping through the floor. The smell of decay clogged our noses. On the walls perched bioluminescent glowplants that opened their leaves as we passed, revealing the highly reactive glowing stems inside that sucked up what little carbon dioxide we gave off and added to the meager light from our headlamps. I’d found a small spare in my saddlebags that all militia were issued. It cast little more than a small circle of light which needed constant replenishment from my charger, much to my chagrin. Ponyopolis’ scientists told us our eyes had adapted better to the dim conditions of the Metro, but one always needed some light to be able to see. And I knew we were still easy prey for a mutant on the hunt no matter how good our eyes got. Sunny Side didn’t adjust quite so easily. I heard the nervousness in his voice as he spoke. “Well, we’re definitely not going back there. Ever.” “I know, Sunny Side.” “I mean I was expecting mutants and other things like that. But now we’re practically fugitives! From other ponies!” “Sunny Side, take a deep breath.” “I mean did you see that? They shot at us! They were gonna kill us over a few bullets! First thing I’m telling Cinder when I get back, give those bastards a flick of his mane and tell them to shove off. No alliance is worth this.” “Sunny, please, we need to be quieter now.” “… Sorry… I wish I could fly again...” “I know, Sunny Side. Soon, I hope.” As we tramped through the mud and collected dirty water I found myself extremely thankful that our barding included shoes for our hooves. If I touched the tepid water with my injured leg I’d get an infection alarmingly quick, and it took specialized care and magical spells to deal with advanced cases. As we walked, I noticed the mostly intact bundles of pipes that snaked overhead. They were empty of course, hollow and useless. But they still carried sounds quite easily, as I noticed when a low, metallic groan came echoing down the length of one bundle, before it rose suddenly in pitch to a drawn out squeal. It made my fur stand on end. “Talking pipes,” Sunny Side whispered. “You get those sometimes… standing on guard in the outer checkpoints… always, always when everything else is quiet, you hear the damn things. Anything can cause it, really… wind, random vibrations… mutants crawling along the walls.” A loud shriek and a distant splash boomed through the tight spaces. One of the pipes farther down the line must have come loose and fallen. It startled me, but Sunny jumped, vainly flapping his uninjured wing and looking the worse for wear when he couldn’t get into the air. I heard him curse and pick up the pace. The sooner we got this job done, the sooner we could get to Bucklyn and, hopefully, a bit of safety and shelter. Another loud groan came booming down the tunnel. We paused, thinking it to be a mutant. But nothing came to attack us, and we kept walking. “There’re ghost stories about-” Sunny began. I silenced him with a sharp look over my shoulder. “Really not the time for that sort of thing,” I said, and he agreed because he clamped his jaws shut. “So why do you think the Guild was so willing to help us?” Sunny asked after a few more minutes had passed, purely for the conversation. “They probably hope we’re stupid,” I replied. “They want to gain our loyalty with gifts and golden promises and then we become their two-bit lackeys. I didn’t like them. But at least we have passports now.” “Yeah, assuming they don’t turn them off or something when they find out we’re debt dodgers,” Sunny mumbled, and then brightened all of a sudden, prancing to catch up with me. “It’s kind of exciting, actually! I’d been hoping to find a way to stick it to those greedy bastards in Draft. Ugh, to think we have to actually be allies with those ponies…” “There were many unfortunates living there…” I mumbled thoughtfully. How many ponies still suffered under petty, greedy stations like Draft or the Lunar Republic? How many more would remain in suffering even if we did defeat the Dark Ones? All I’d be doing by killing them was ensuring our survival. I had to believe that was worth it. “Yeah…” Sunny agreed, his mood dampening again. “How’re your ribs?” “Not well. But I could be worse,” I said. So far I’d been gritting my teeth against the constant aches and pains my body gave me. But no matter how bad I got, Sunny had me beat. When was the last time he’d really flown? I elected to keep talking to keep his mind off it. “We’ll hit an old rail system soon,” I said, tugging out my map. It’d been magically enchanted to be waterproof, so I had no qualms with setting it down on a small patch of damp earth. “A main line. Where real trains used to go.” “I wonder what it was like,” Sunny murmured, looking over my shoulder. “To have those luxuries.” “I have a few pictures of trains,” I recalled. “Beautiful things they were… shining silver snakes over the land. Big caterpillars in the tunnels. Some of them didn’t even need ponies to be pulled… the engines were enough. Magic propelled most of them.” “Wow,” Sunny gasped, wondering. “Not like what you see down here, then,” he added in a wry tone. We’d just rounded a corner and come across the utter ruin of an old subway train. By its make it had run by the power of ponies pulling it, helped along with a few spells to lessen the inertia. No sense in making up fancy engines to yank a train a few hundred yards at most. This train still stood upright; it must have been shut down shortly before or after the bombs fell. The ponies inside were forced to march out into the tunnels that would be home for the rest of their lives. The cars remained on the rails, rusting away to nothing. Open doors gaped like maws waiting to receive ponies that would never ride again. Still it sat, dutifully occupying the tunnels it hoped would be used again someday. “Sad,” I whispered as we passed it by. “To see such a mechanical wonder in ruins.” “Mood’s kinda ruined by all the bodies…” Sunny murmured. The corpse of a yellow earth pony hung gruesomely before me. I froze, but soon realized that if mutants were about they’d be upon us already. I approached the body with quickly evaporating caution. This pony had been dead for a while. The blood had dried to a crispy black color, and there was a nauseating stench issuing from the gory wounds on his neck. Peeking through the door I saw another body collapsed over a row of seats. A cerberus, mangled from gunfire and smelling foul. My stomach clenched. “Poor things… killed each other and nothing to show for it.” I looked over the pony’s corpse and found nothing; his body had been stripped of everything short of his ragged underclothes. Even his gun had been dismantled for useful parts. Nothing went to waste in the Metro. “At least it hasn’t attracted scavengers,” Sunny said as he hopped up into the train car with me. Together we moved down the line, hopping between cars. I hoped to find something useful, even if it was just a few spare parts somepony had left behind in case we needed it. As we walked, I wondered at the empty seats and the manner in which they’d have been used in happier times. Stalliongrad had been a large, crowded city, and even these short, small metro trains were built with comfort and aesthetics in mind. I could still see the faded, decorative paint, the elegant wood embellishments. Magical charms had protected most of the trains from wear and tear even years after they stopped working. Well carved loops and swirls scored the molding, giving the train an air of sophistication and old world charm. Even in the midst of modern technology, ponies enjoyed a rustic feel in their creations. I tried to imagine ponies sitting, talking, reading newspapers on their way to work. Never knowing or thinking that a routine train ride would one day take them into a world of horror and despair. They must have taken so many things for granted… or perhaps we simply thought they did. This silent testament to the old world left me in a melancholy and haunted mood. Like the earth pony who died at the claws of the cerberus, the train was a masterwork that took years to build and moments to destroy. That we ponies were even capable of such a feat still surprised me. Alas, there was nothing else inside except another cerberus in the final car, which had been killed in a very peculiar fashion. “Metal arrows?” I wondered. The body had been struck by what appeared to be sharpened rods of metal, shaped to be aerodynamic and flight worthy. Two of them remained in the diseased, mottled flesh, buried in the sturdy rib cage. There were other marks on the cerberus’ body where three more had struck home and then been removed for later use. “Fired from a Wonderbolt, I’d bet,” Sunny Side postulated. “Those things are deadly in close quarters, you know.” “The Wonderbolt… greatest killing weapon of thieves and murderers in Equestria,” I mused, hopping over the cerberus and out the back of the train. I knew little of the real life Wonderbolts, who carried on the tradition of grand aerial acrobatics before their abrupt end in the war. But like Twilight Sparkle, their name was now used to describe a much more ominous item. The Wonderbolt was a made from scratch pneumatic weapon that was a favorite of stalkers and bandits for its silence and relative ease of construction. It had a reputation as a weapon of assassins and skulking, dark-minded ponies because of its primitive design and the cruel looking barbed bolts it used for ammunition. Just to be on the safe side, I tacked up and lowered the rein of my trusty Mule. Signs of other, dangerous ponies couldn’t be ignored. Sunny followed suit, and for a time we could believe that were capable of defending ourselves. I doubted that in our current state we’d be able to fight off anything more than an absent-minded foal. My injured leg was beginning to ache and burn something awful despite how much I avoided putting weight on it. My ribs too complained endlessly, and I found that I had to take several tense stops to catch my breath. Sunny Side’s injuries didn’t debilitate him so much, simply because he didn’t need to use his wings, and because he’d only received a good scratching from thumper claws. Injuries or no we continued down the tunnel, passing under the metal river of pipes that flowed over our heads. Our headlights stood between us and total darkness, and we battled to keep them charged. Fortunately for a good hour or so we encountered little more than rats, the garbage they chewed on, and strange, unearthly noises from the depths of the Metro. Long, deep grinds and groans accompanied by sharp squeals and metallic shrieks. Those noises haunted me for quite some time, and I imagined them to be everything from giant demon mutants that wanted to eat our souls to horrifying distortions of reality that would gobble up our sanity. For Sunny Side’s sake, I didn’t give voice to those irrational fears. The Metro had a strange mythology that had built around it in the years we’d inhabited it, as if it’d become a world unto itself, apart from Equestria and outside the reach of both magic and scientific study. It was a black place to be sure, but I wasn’t quite ready to begin ascribing ghostly, horrible elements to it. The real world, with its twisted magic anomalies and once caring ponies who now murdered each other over scraps of clothing was horrible enough. “Are we going the right way?” Sunny asked. I reached for my saddlebag and pulled out the map, noting that since this tunnel had next to no adjoining ones, there was no doubt that we were going the right direction. “Just one left turn up ahead, at the door with a red light above it on the south wall,” I explained. “Then it’s into some smaller side tunnels that lead to the old E line that used to link Bucklyn and the Appleton plantations. After that a bridge, and… that’s where the stalker usually met Guild reps.” “Ugh, damn it…” Sunny Side groaned. “Just what I need. More small spaces.” There was more to it than that. We’d only just reached the door with the light over it when we paused to look over another scene of death. Several mutants, their bodies charred beyond recognition, lay in front of the door. They hadn’t been killed by conventional weaponry, but I could see marks in the walls where magical glyphs had been triggered, unleashing magical energy that destroyed the creatures that apparently had tried to claw open the door. It was cracked open just a smidge, probably opened soon after the beasts had been killed. “Well that’s strange,” Sunny remarked. “It looks like they weren’t killed too long ago.” “They turned off the security for us,” I responded, and boldly stepped over the corpses. They were still warm. But we had a job to do, and I intended to see it done. There were no bandits here we’d been warned of. The stalkers used these tunnels more than them, and they had no love of bandits. Of course, stalkers themselves could turn bandit just as easily. We found ourselves in the tangle of side tunnels between main Metro lines that connected maintenance rooms and other small, out of the way areas. Many rooms and passages in these places were old and useless, serving little to no purpose other than to confuse and disorient a pony. That and hide the skeletons of those who had died and been devoured by scavengers down here. Dying alone in the Metro meant no funerals and no chance of an excursion sent to look for your body. The dangers were simply too great. The mutants would consume it, or the body itself would be lost to the tunnels. The only reason one had to pay attention to a corpse was the potentially useful salvage they could claim off it. These tunnels, however, looked like they were rarely if ever tread by ponies or mutants. Radioactive moss grew from the walls, feeding off the cold, moist atmosphere, and the tight passages were choked in some areas by cobwebs (and sometimes still used spider webs). The exposed pipes were rusted and could break open with a swift kick of the hoof, revealing nothing but empty pipe inside. Nothing lived here. Nothing moved here. It was the perfect hiding spot for a lonesome stalker who preferred his own company. The loud growl that echoed behind us soon disproved that. It was low, rolling sort of growl, the kind a mutant gave in warning to trespassers to stay away… or as a signal to its fellows that it had found prey. “Damn! Where the hell are they all coming from here?” Sunny whispered. We picked up the pace and darted through the tight halls in as straight a line as we could. Moving quietly was pointless; the dogs could track us by scent. I followed the old, faded signs that pointed the way to the E Line through the twisting tunnels, going past rooms full of empty, rotting crates and rusty barrels. I hadn’t the time or the desire to figure out what they’d been used for in better times now. A skeleton occupied one room, providing nutrition for a colony of glowing lichens that had attached themselves to the bones. The pony’s femur was being gnawed on by a drake, a small, mutated lizard. They were scavengers, and it paid us no heed as we passed by. The grisly sight barely gave me pause. I had no time to ponder the fate of other ponies when our lives were in danger. Our geiger counters clicked constantly in this area, and the growls of mutants were close by. Here and there other mutant bodies, still cerberus corpses, lay dead, but these were fresher than the ones we’d encountered on the train. I could see they’d been killed in much the same way as before: large puncture wounds where metal bolts had been ripped back out of the flesh. We then came to a long, straight tunnel leading up to a large doorway, and all over the walls were the marks of combat. Bullet holes and magical scoring alongside metal bolts buried in the concrete went all the way up to the doorway like a storybook of destruction. Spent casings littered the floor. The control panel for the door had been blown up by some very determined and angry pony, leaving it permanently open. Thank Celestia for small blessings. We came out into a scene of quiet devastation. The room was several train cars long, and had once had catwalks stretching across the length of the ceiling. These had crashed to the ground long ago, and the crane that used to lift up rail cars joined them. The great machine was nothing more than twisted wreckage that had rusted away long ago. But what disheartened me most was seeing most of the ceiling had collapsed along with the whole mess, and many tons of rock and earth. The depot had been cut in half by the wreckage. There was no choice but to backtrack to the rear entrance of the pit stop. That offered no clear path either; the destruction extended into the main tunnel. A massive quake or bomb had sent the ceiling crashing down and the earth flooded in. E Line was blocked off. “Shit,” said Sunny, and I was inclined to agree. We had no time to follow E line back northeast and find an alternate route, and that was even if cerberus weren’t on our tails. There had to be a way… “There!” I said, pointing at the mountain of earth and concrete. The rear of a train jutted out of the wreckage. It had been shoved into the wall by the landslide. I hobbled forward to investigate, clicking my charger several times to increase the output from my meager headlight. With a little help from Sunny I hopped up on my hind legs to peer through the back door. What luck! The inside of the train was only partially filled with dirt, and I could see it stretch beyond the debris pile to the rest of the E Line. This tiny passage choked with junk would be our way through… we just had to pry open the door, do a little digging, and- “They’re here!” I whirled around and saw a three headed cerberus round the corner out of the pit stop. Pale yellow eyes rolled in their sockets and stopped on us. Its central head dipped low as scabbed lips peeled back to reveal a growl full of misshapen teeth. The other two heads wobbled aimlessly, twitching and spasming. The beast gave out two sharp, short barks before Sunny’s war rein roared in reply, splitting its brain case open. It was too short a distance to effectively use his saddle-mounted long barrels, which I prayed wouldn’t give us trouble in the train car. “Damn.” I grabbed the door handle as best as I could and pulled. My leg cramped in response, and I could feel the teeth of the thumper tearing into me once again. The door wobbled, but didn’t budge. I braced myself as best I could and shoved one side with my uninjured hoof, feeling it gave way just slightly with a loud squeal of metal on metal. I heard Sunny’s gun chatter again as more dogs spilled out of the pit stop, barking and growling, uncertain of the great gun that pummeled their numbers. They stayed back, unwilling to go forward but strangely unable to retreat. Another shove and another squeak forced the door open just barely. I reared back, shoved again, got another inch. “Hurry, Lockbox!” Sunny shouted, fumbling as he reloaded. I heard a loud, warbling snarl as all the noise began to attract the attention of something else. Something big. The dogs whimpered. I focused all my attention on the door, and at last was able to squeeze my way in just enough to brace myself against both sides. My back against one and my hind legs on the other, I reached deep down and summoned my considerable earth pony might. The doors creaked like an old pony that refused to wake. “Lockbox!” Sunny shouted, fearful. “Something’s coming!” I looked back and saw strange lights flashing farther down the tunnel, casting the shadows of some four-legged beast on the walls. The guttural snarl came again. The dogs howled. “Come on… now, damn it!” I growled at the doors, which gave way at last with a sudden jerk that made me flop to the ground, banging my head on the side of a pole. It was supposed to help ponies keep their balance when they couldn’t find a seat, and now punished me for falling. How oddly appropriate. Sunny scrambled in after me, almost making me break my ribs all over again as he crawled over my limp form. I heard his saddle guns scraping the sides of the train car. It was tilted at an awkward angle, forcing us to constantly re-adjust the way we stood. “Get up!” he snapped. I felt his teeth latch onto my barding and jerk me to my hooves. Growls and snarls were behind me. I instinctively bucked backwards and felt my hooves connect with something, flesh and bone giving way. There was a whimper and a yelp, and then a loud, piercing growl as the lights got closer. I could hear the hum of electricity. The cerberus were in a panic, barking and baying. We weren’t even halfway through the car. Sunny scrambled over a pile of loose earth that had flooded in through one of the windows, struggling with his heavy guns. I jumped forward, ramming my head into his flanks and shoved him through. He rolled down to the ground with an indignant “oof!” “Dig! Dig if you have to, damn it, just go!” I shouted, and looked over my shoulder. The dogs were shying away from one of the strangest beings I’d ever seen in my life. A gaunt, four-legged cat-like creature came around the corner. This thing was responsible for the lights I saw. The light seemed to emanate from the creature’s body, rising and falling in intensity as regular intervals like some strange radio signal. I could see the silhouettes of organs and bones within the thing. It had no eyes that I could see. Instead, its face was covered in thick bushes of whiskers, many of which seemed to be fleshy tendrils that waggled of their own accord as the creature swept its wide, boxy jaws across the ground. Sparks of electrical energy jumped between the fleshy whiskers and the ground, and I could see the cerberus dancing on their paws with each loud spark. From the creature’s thin shoulders sprouted two long tentacles that waved about like grotesque tree trunks, and at their ends were glowing pods that crackled with energy. As I watched, one of the tentacles lashed out and struck a whimpering cerberus dead between the shoulders. There was a ghastly noise like an explosion and a bright flash of light. The cerberus fell dead without so much as a twitch. That was all I needed to see before I turned tail and followed Sunny through the train car. It was painfully slow going, as we were forced to navigate an obstacle course of turned over seats and discarded furniture. Sunny blazed a trail through the wreck, kicking aside errant boxes and the body of a dead drake. I could see light begin to fill up the enclosed space from behind. There was a tingling feeling on my haunches, like the buzz of electricity. I spun without thinking, taking hold of the Mule’s trigger and letting loose a burst of gunfire into a maelstrom of streaming tentacles and blazing magical energy. The creature had been looking inside and met the full fury of my bullets. It flared like a new sun and roared, tendrils flailing as it recoiled from my attack. My eyes were almost blinded by the intensity of pure light that assaulted my senses. Dazed, I staggered backwards. I couldn’t see. I couldn’t see. Run. Run run run run! There was another flash, but of pain. One, two, three times I rammed my face into a wall or piece of furniture as I stumbled through the confined space tripping over mounds of dirt, until I felt Sunny’s leg wrap around my neck and pull me forward. The train cars shuddered as the thing’s powerful tentacles flailed inside the small spaces, rending metal asunder and tearing the cars’ innards apart. Showers of dirt fell as windows burst. The hill of debris was about to come crashing down. Sunny and I booked it over the uneven floor, hooves scrabbling for purchase as our insides curdled with fear. Either that or we were being constantly electrocuted by the thing’s arcane abilities. Somehow we kept out of reach of those horrible appendages. Somehow we stayed just far enough ahead to stay alive. Our ears rang with the monster’s enraged shrieks as we tumbled out of a side door, rolling onto the tunnel platform into the wall with a thud. I cried like a colt as one of Sunny’s guns dug into my sore ribs. I staggered upright and winced at our condition. all of our hooves were burned, and our manes puffed out in every direction, frazzled beyond description. No time to laugh, the creature was clawing its way inside the train cars too, grasping with grotesque talons. And then the train cars gave way. There was a huge rush of noise like a flood heard from a distance. The cars toppled over, driven by a moving mountain of dirt, the big windows staring at us like a looming monster eager to crush us. In a moment of clarity I snatched Sunny and rolled towards the train, ignoring his feeble protests. It was drowned out by noise, anyway. We tumbled off the platform and heard a uniform crash as the tops of the train cars tilted and struck the wall, creating a new small tunnel between the platform and the wheels. It was an incredibly tight fit. At last, Sunny detached one of his saddle guns and dragged it alongside him as we crawled and wriggled for our lives. Dirt continued to shift and pile up around us, and I feared we’d be buried alive. Thankfully I could see the end up ahead. More loose earth draped itself over the exit in a grim curtain, mocking that small hope. Flopping towards it like a dying fish I literally punched the developing pile out of the way, forcing a path out. To survive what I had so far only to be killed by a pile of dirt was too unfair to contemplate. I squirmed through the small space and dropped onto my stomach as Sunny pulled himself alongside me. He’d grabbed my tail on the way out and tagged along for the ride. We watched as the train cars filled up with more dirt, sealing the passage for good this time. The creature’s evil lights were nowhere to be found, and I couldn’t tell if the loud groans I heard were the tunnels or the beast mourning a lost meal. Sunny and I looked at each other. We were caked with dirt and our still healing injuries throbbed with agonizing pain. My eyes were moist with tears, and I only just now thought about how I’d never been so utterly terrified in my life. Several times now I’d almost died, and I wasn’t even halfway done with my task. Soon there was only the sound of our labored breathing as we lay shocked (no pun intended) by our close escape. Neither of us had been in quite such a situation before, and getting out alive was a feat in itself. I’d heard many stories of ponies who survived such terrible things laughing, or hugging, or crying. Not so for us. We simply lay back, stared at the ceiling and breathed together. Every breath we took reassured us that we’d just faced one of the Metro’s unknown horrors and made it out intact. When my heart stopped jackhammering my ribs I turned over and stood up, wobbling on unsteady hooves that sizzled with pain. Sunny and I jabbed ourselves with a shocker each and took the last draughts of the healing potion. It wasn’t much, but it soothed our pain enough to stand. I plodded onward, keeping my gaze on the immediate space in front of me. Just one step in front of the other. We still had a job to complete. The tunnel soon widened, and we found ourselves in a huge, cavernous area that held a thin bridge choked with overturned train cars and fallen concrete. It stretched precariously over brackish, lambent water that bubbled and steamed, casting an eerie glow over the walls. I could hear my Geiger counter clicking wildly. “That can’t be healthy to drink,” Sunny remarked. I agreed. We began to make our way across the bridge, moving at a leisurely pace. We didn’t feel like running for our lives until we had to, and our hooves still tingled. I looked across the cavern and saw our bridge ran parallel to another. Thin, rusted catwalks still bridged a gap that only pegasi could fly or unicorns could teleport across. Many of them looked ready to fall just from being looked at, and anyway we had to stay on the E line. I heard a mournful roar echo through the wide cavern. My shoulders sagged when the sound of slithering reached my ears. Nothing was ever easy, was it? Sunny and I readied our guns and waited in the center of the bridge for the next inevitable attack. A flash of light caught my attention. For a moment I wondered if the tentacle monstrosity had tracked us down again, when suddenly a unicorn in full barding and levitating three weapons at once stepped out from behind a pile of rubble on the other bridge. Their face was covered by a gas mask, but I could see a strikingly aquamarine mane and tail streaked with blue. Two assault rifles and what I recognized as a volt driver hovered near their head, trained at us. “Are you friends?” they asked, their voice magically enhanced to boom across the distance. It was definitely a mare’s voice. “I doubt it. Are you from the Guild of Magic?” Sunny and I looked at each other. Another roar rose from under our bridge. “Now!” demanded the strange mare. “… What if we are?” I chanced. Before she could answer, the unicorn jumped back as a metal bolt zipped down from somewhere in the ceiling and struck the ground at her hooves. “Lucyyyy!” a new, male voice crowed. “I’m hooome!” “Damn it!” the mare shouted back as she dodged into cover. “I want what’s mine! You’re all gonna die here!” Her horn glowed brightly, flashing like an out of control lightbulb. It made my head spin until I raised a hoof to block the strange sight. What power could that be? Sunny Side looked at me. I looked at Sunny Side. We both ran for it. The roar came back a third time, and up from under the bridge spilled an army of nightmares. “Dropbears!” Sunny Side shouted, rearing up. “What? Are you kidding?!” I shouted back. Dropbears used to be a myth in old Equestria. Of course our route would take us right over one of their hideous nests. The pony sized creatures swarmed up over the edge of the bridge, locking on to us with foul, glowing eyes. Short, powerful limbs clawed their way towards us. There must have been a dozen or more. No time to think or even breathe. We just opened up with our guns and ran, fueled by fear to ignore our various aches and pains. Carving a path through the horde, we dodged through a hole in their numbers that was quickly filled by more. We passed another train car, and I looked up just in time to see a dropbear fall down from the ceiling of the cavernous tunnel, landing heavily on the car’s roof. It dented under the thing’s weight, and I ducked down low to avoid a paw the size of my head that swooped down. Its claws scraped over my helmet. Fortunately, the creatures weren’t particularly fast on their feet. They were ambush predators and could manage only a clumsy lope at top speed. But we were injured and staggered and stumbled more than we ran. The ground behind us erupted as the tunnels rang with the sound of gunfire, and the electric eruptions from the volt driver. It fired metal pellets at incredible speeds using the power of electro-magnets. Hunter had brought home such a weapon several times, and I’d fawned over how “cool” it was as a colt. Now I was wishing fervently whoever invented it got stuck in a hole and died. “You’re all gonna die!” the mare screamed again. She couldn’t get a good bead on us, as bolts kept raining down around her head from somewhere up above. Some she dodged, others she somehow deflected at the last moment with a telekinetic thrust. “I want what was promised to me!” A dropbear hot on our heels was downed by a bolt from the ceiling. It dove in just under the shoulder and presumably hit something important because the dropbear dropped like a rock. Whoever was up there was a good shot. Then somewhere above us the ceiling exploded, and the mare cackled manically. Her horn was wrapped up entirely in a blanket of magical energy. The rain of bolts stopped. “How do you like that, you selfish bastard?!” she shouted, and resumed shooting at us. We weaved through the gap between two cars and stayed under cover on the other side. It was pelted by bullets and metal pellets the volt driver used as ammunition. Another dropbear tumbled down from the ceiling a few feet ahead of us. It recovered from its fall with terrifying swiftness, rearing up to claw at us before the mare’s guns tore through its body and sent it crashing to the poisonous water below. We barely slowed down. Until we came to a hole in the bridge, that is. It was far too wide for me to jump. “Shit, shit, shit!” Sunny Side exclaimed, dancing on his hooves. I turned back and found three dropbears lumbering towards us. I held down the trigger on my Mule and my world was enveloped by noise and fire. I kept shooting until the Mule steamed and clicked, overheated and out of ammo. The three bears sprawled dead as I ripped the Mule from its holster and replaced it with my pistol. The creatures behind us were gone, but I knew they lurked just under the surface of the bridge and on the ceiling above. I could hear their claws scraping and gouging the concrete. Down below on the other side the catwalks and solid platforms were still intact. They jutted out just far enough to make an escape feasible… “Sunny! Go!” I tore the bandages free from the pegasus’ wing with a yank of my teeth. “What?! What about you?” “No time! Hurry! Use your wings; it’s your only chance!” I didn’t give him another moment to argue and shoved him forward. He screamed indignantly as he pushed off the ledge, falling far too fast for my liking. He cursed all the way down. His wings fluttered, desperately trying to stabilize his landing at such a short distance. He wasn’t going to make it. I’d killed my best friend. He wasn’t going to… He collapsed against the sharp edges of the lower platform with an audible gasp. His front hooves grabbed the ground in front of him as he tightened up, still flapping his wings to keep himself from falling backwards. I watched helplessly as he struggled to claw his way onto the ledge. A dropbear swung down in front of him and reared up to deliver a killing blow. I could see Sunny Side’s eyes from here. His pupils shrank from utter terror. I don’t know how I reacted quite as quickly as I did. But it happened. I could see the creature rising up, every twitch and flex of muscle. Saw every flap of Sunny’s wings. Everything registered with me as it happened. I knew exactly what was going on, found all the circumstances as they changed and adjusted accordingly. I was in no rush. Like a machine the barrel of my pistol lowered, found the right target; I straightened and clenched my neck muscles. Three quick squeezes of the trigger later and the dropbear stumbled backwards, twitching in pain on the ground. Sunny Side, with the assistance of his wings, scrambled onto the platform and turned back to me, his face a mask of fright mixed with determination. His twin saddle guns thundered, and I could tell he was shooting at the dropbears coming at me from below. In fact, one of them landed right next to me. It grunted as if annoyed I was there and whacked me with its broad shoulder. It only moved a few inches to the side. I went flying. My thin flak jacket did little to protect me from a hard impact with the side of a train car. My head should have been cracked in two, but my sturdy helmet made me feel only a sharp, jarring pain as opposed to a lethal, brain splitting one. Thank Celestia for small blessings. “Ow.” I craned my neck and sent my last three rounds into the dropbear’s chest as it fell upon me. The beast grunted again and flopped onto its stomach, confused by its slow, painful death. And yet more began clawing their way up over the edge. Another flash next to me, and the unicorn mare was suddenly right in front of me. Her horn flashed wildly and the same wave of nausea and dizziness as before overtook me. “Give me. My. Money. You greedy Guild bastard!” she screeched in my face. Through the gasmask I saw vivid red eyes glaring at me, full of hate and entirely too much stress. I didn’t answer her; I couldn’t. The flashing light from her horn transfixed me even as I grew more desperate to look away. My mouth went dry. Time seemed to slow down, warping around me into a confused muddle. I felt my senses distorting, wavering, and my thoughts become more pliable. Give her all my money? Sure… sure, that seemed like a good idea. At the edge of my senses I heard Sunny Side shout something. The mare staggered as two bullets impacted with her side. “-crazy bitch!” I heard Sunny Side finish as the brain-clogging dizziness suddenly passed. I fell back into the present, shivering as my body regained control of itself. I dragged my hooves over the ground as I went back to the edge of the gap, looking desperately for a way out. Sunny Side had regained the high ground and was preparing another shot until I heard a loud whooshing noise behind me. Sunny Side fell over backwards, his guns somehow just… separating from their harnesses. Damn unicorns. “Money now!” the mare yelled. I reached for my saddlebags. “Okay, okay!” I shouted back. “Your money’s here!” I struggled to open the latch. Even nosing open the flap was hard work. Her horn was flashing again, and I could see even the dropbears intimidated… or controlled… by the almost seizure-inducing light. They hung back at a safe distance, predatory gazes unfocused and without a target. I nudged around until I felt the Guild’s package of bullets, and tossed them out, one at a time. Two packs of three full magazines tied together, covered with magical runes which I presumed to be the Guild’s anti-theft system. It was a hefty sum. The mare recognized them too, as her eyes widened beyond their already ridiculous size. “Finally!” she said, and the magazines were wrapped in the glow of unicorn magic. She floated them just in front of her face, turning them around and around to verify their authenticity. For a moment I wondered how she was still standing after having two rifle bullets lodged in her gut. She either had very good armor or her lunacy went deeper than I thought. Either way it was hard to think with her damned horn still sending me into mini-fits. I couldn’t even blink. “I knew they’d see reason. You were probably bringing this to me, weren’t you? Not Sid. He doesn’t deserve it. Sorry I shot at you. Lost my temper, that’s all. Just gotta… get these open…” What happened next, I had no idea. One moment the mare was magically fiddling with the Guild seals on the magazines. The next moment everything was flashing lights and noise and screaming. Lightning bolts of energy erupted from the bullets straight into the unicorn’s horn and lashed the ground near me. The dropbears wailed and ran. I curled up into as tight a ball as I could as thunder rolled and crashed into my ears, still hearing the terrible screaming at the edge of my senses. It was only after a few seconds that I realized the screaming was coming from me and the mare. I was still morbidly hypnotized by the sight before me, unable to close my eyes as much as I wanted to stop looking. The mare reared up on her hind legs, spasms and twitches wracking her body as she continued to scream and scream in unison with me. Magical energy continued to crash straight into her horn. Her entire body was enveloped with a piercing, burning light in what appeared to be some kind of magical overload. Random equipment went flying off her barding in bursts of lightning as her gasmask cracked, then burst open in a shower of plastic shards. I could see blood running out of her ruby-red eyes like tears, down the pale silver fur of her cheek. And she kept on screaming, no, shrieking. And then with a bright flash of light and a clap of thunder, she was gone. Not exploded. More like vaporized. Just gone. It took me a few seconds to calm down enough to stop screaming at thin air, my voice trailing off into a strangled whimper when nothing insane and violent continued to happen. At last I felt free to blink, wetting my stinging, dry eyes. I blinked several times to make sure I wasn’t seeing things. And I saw… nothing. The place where the mare had once stood was nothing but a patch of blackened, charred concrete. There were two little circles where her hooves had been, but that was all the evidence she’d ever even existed. The dropbears were scuttling back to their hiding places, terrified by the sudden loss of that hypnotizing light and the freakshow that followed. “… Is she dead?” I heard Sunny Side shout across the gap. “One can only hope,” said another voice next to me. “She always did have a habit of coming back like a bad dream.” “Augh!” I answered, almost collapsing off the edge as I stumbled backwards. I jammed a new magazine into my pistol, but the other male just stood there. The earth pony that stood at my side was the wildest I’d ever seen. He was a thin-limbed dirty scoundrel, dressed in heavy, faded clothes. A wrinkled and dirty black vest covered in pockets was over his chest, worn over a thick jacket similarly endowed with harnesses and pockets. On his shoulders was emblazoned the old flag of Stalliongrad: he identified himself as a stalker openly. His saddlebags were thick with supplies. Over his back was slung a long barreled sniper rifle, and his war rein was occupied by the very Wonderbolt that’d been raining down silent metal death on the dropbears and cerberus. The stallion’s fur was the color of rust, and his mane was jet black and streaked with grime and dirt. Eyes like the grey skies of the surface looked me over lazily. He idly worked the pump on the Wonderbolt, bringing its air pressure back up to killing power. “That was a sneaky plan with the exploding bullets and all,” he said. His voice was a dull and quiet buzz in my eyes. It sounded like a voice that was very easy to dismiss and forget. “… Plan?” I ventured hesitantly. The stallion raised an eyebrow. “I see,” he whispered. “Come on, then. Let’s get outta here. Dropbears always come back to the same nests.” “But… the bridge is destroyed.” The stallion grinned. It didn’t reach his eyes, which were still lazy and disinterested. “I’m very sneaky, my little pony.” He turned away and hurried to the edge. Before I could stop him he swung himself over and down. I hurried over to see him shimmying down a thin pipe with all the grace of a spider, landing on a small bundle of pipes that led over the water to the wall, where they joined other pipes that wandered up and down the walls. I watched in amazement as he scampered along the precarious, uneven surfaces like they were solid ground. He looked at me across the distance and gave another not-quite grin. “Ponies, ponies, ponies. Always thinking you gotta be ponies,” he said in his low buzzing voice. “Why not be a spider or a fly for a little bit? It’ll help you get across here.” He slid down one of the pipe bundles and deftly leaped off, landing neatly but loudly on the catwalk under Sunny Side’s part of the bridge. The pegasus eyed him with suspicion, but the other stallion just took out a rope from his pack which he tossed over to me. “Hurry and tie that to the end of that train car. You can tie a knot, right?” He turned to Sunny Side. “Naughty knots ought to be top notch,” he said. Sunny Side only blinked. I shrugged it off and tied the rope as instructed (no easy feat with just my earth pony hooves) while the strange stallion secured the other end. After that it was a quick shimmy over the gap, with Sunny Side pulling me up as I reached the other end. “Coulda done that in ten seconds flat,” the stallion said, and to my amazement he pulled the rope free with nothing but a clean jerk of his head. “So, ponies, ponies, ponies…” he muttered as he looked us over with an unchanging bored expression, stuffing the rope back into his saddlebags. “You’re in no condition to travel, you got the look of station squatters about you, and you couldn’t even handle Sweet Dreams on your own. And yet you carry whole bushels of money that… explode.” “We were… we were on our way to make a delivery,” Sunny Side said for me. I was still wrapping my head around what had happened. “From the Guild?” he asked. “That money was supposed to go to me, I’d bet. Figures. They’ve been trying to get me for weeks now.” Another creepy grin. “Congratulations, fellas. You’re now hired assassins.” Sunny Side and I shared an anxious expression. The stallion, however, waved it off. “Don’t worry about it. Bombs, berries, bears and bitches will never take down this pony. Way I figure it, I was s’posed to use my old Guild token to try and open up the seals, prompting the magical backlash you saw that got Sweet Dreams back there. The Guild didn’t factor in how much she hated me… and apparently was unaware that we’ve spent the last couple days trying to kill each other.” I swallowed a lump in my throat. The implications were beginning to sink in. I’d just killed a pony. Not just killed them, I made them explode. I’d just blown up a fellow pony while unknowingly being an agent of execution for the Guild. I’d been manipulated and been an accomplice to murder just so the Guild could get whatever petty revenge they wanted on this stallion. I sat down heavily on my haunches as Sunny Side worried his lip, looking pensive. The stallion seemed perfectly unperturbed. “Ahh… first pony kill, huh? Well, don’t worry about it. Sweet Dreams was one crazy pony… and it’s not like she didn’t have it coming. She’d already taken out Purple Prose and was moving on to me until you came along.” So I was a murderer of murderers. The Guild had meant to wipe out me, my friend, and this stallion. I’d nearly led us to our deaths, and another pony was accidentally sacrificed so we could live. I said nothing as I stood back up, beginning to move further along the bridge. “My name is Sidewinder. You can call me Sid,” the strange stallion said, watching me lead Sunny Side in a meandering, slow path towards the exit. I heard the click of a gun safety. We whipped around and saw nothing. “And lucky for you…” We spun around again and found Sidewinder standing at our sides. “I owe you for taking out a thorn in my side,” he said with another not-quite grin. “So, I’ll take you kiddos where you’re going for half-price.” “You’d shoot us in the back,” I spat, surprising Sunny Side. My black mood at being suddenly turned into a common killer gave my voice more snap than usual. “If the Guild makes murderers out of common ponies so easily and you stalkers are all nuts, then we shouldn’t trust you. We shouldn’t trust anypony.” “Nope. But just because you can’t trust me doesn’t mean I’m going to kill you. That’d be wholly unprofessional of me. I wouldn’t get anything off you I couldn’t get off some poor sucker’s corpse.” “Then why are you still pointing your gun at us?” Sunny asked. “Why are you pointing yours at me?” He had a point. I turned to Sunny Side, who seemed worried… but if this ‘Sid’ wanted us dead, wouldn’t he have filled us with bolts before he even showed himself? He’d shot dropbears instead of us. And just because the Guild had tricked us… would this pony be able to help? He was offering, and we needed to get to Bucklyn. An enemy of the Guild that was ready to throw our lives away might just come in handy. I felt I needed to be very reserved around this particular pony, even if he genuinely wanted to help. Nopony except Sunny Side even knew of our mission, and I trusted him enough to keep it that way. I slowly reached up to my reins. Sunny and Sid followed suit. In unison, we gently raised our guns back to ready position. “There now. We’re all good ponies here,” Sidewinder said. “So. Where are you headed?” “Bucklyn,” I said, and that was all. Murdered, my mind told me. You just murdered a pony to get there. She was going to kill me. Was she? Or were you all just in the wrong place at the right time? “Is that all?” Sidewinder replied with an easy smile. “Just a hop, skip and a jump from here, really. Right. Here’s the deal. We stalkers love deals. More than ponies. So it’s a good idea to make deals with us. I get you to Bucklyn in one piece, and you don’t report back to the Guild that I’m alive, and we all don’t kill each other… though I don’t know why you’d do that anyway, seeing as they were ready to sacrifice you both, too.” He turned his back on us and started walking, obviously expecting us to follow. We did, and he led us back into the shadows of the E line. As we left the strange glow of the bridge behind us, he seemed to melt away into the darkness. The only way we could be sure of where he was was with our lights and the sound of his voice. “If Sweet Dreams hadn’t taken that bomb when she did, the Guild was depending on me being stupid and greedy enough to take the money myself. Or, it had a timer and was going to go off at some point or other. Either way, I don’t think they much cared what would happen to you two.” I wasn’t listening much. Sunny Side was busy flexing his now apparently functioning wing, testing the limits of its capability. That he’d managed to take a flying leap like that was proof he was on the mend, which no doubt would improve his mood significantly. I wouldn’t blame him if he spent all day in Bucklyn’s flight room. As for me, I could barely walk in a straight line. The horrible screams from Sweet Dream’s throat still echoed in my head. The sight of another pony riveted with agony and fear… all because I’d accepted a job at face value for the sake of my mission. It could’ve been her, us, or this Sidewinder. Either way the deaths would’ve been on my head. It was one thing to be surrounded by death, and another entirely to be the direct cause of it. I tried telling myself it was worth it; that my duty to my home and family superseded whatever duty I had to ponies as a whole out here. Sweet Dreams’ greed and mindless folly had inadvertently given me the chance to keep going, to stay alive and save my loved ones. I found myself repeating that many, many times as we prepared ourselves for whatever the Metro would throw at us next.

redsquirrel456

446

Original Character,Crossover,Adventure,Dark,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

My Little Metro

After Doomsday forces ponies underground, a lone colt braves the Stalliongrad metro system to save his people from an unknown threat.

hiatus

<p>The Metro tunnels of Stalliongrad shelter the last remnants of ponykind from the ravages of the Apocalypse. Beneath the earth, ponies struggle to survive against mutants, radiation, and each other. But when an unstoppable threat emerges from the darkness of the Metro, one pony must brave the shadows to save not just his home, but the very existence of his people.</p>

teen

2012-03-10T21:05:23+00:00

2012-03-10T21:05:23+00:00

My Little Metro: Chapter 6 “When we choose a path, fate does not follow. It comes to meet us.” My leg bothered me soon after continuing along the E line. Even that short sprint from the dropbears had put unnecessary strain upon it. I could feel that the flesh hadn’t quite mended yet; stitches had been applied and the healing potion still worked furiously to keep up with the exertion of survival. Even then I knew it’d be a long while before I could feel like my limb wasn’t coming detached with every step I took. At least now we’d been walking at a sedate pace for the last two hours and I hadn’t put much weight onto it since our mad dash over the bridge. The E line stood mostly abandoned until it swung back around southeast and met up with Section 12, the line that would take us straight into Bucklyn. Until then, who knew what would be in our way? The tunnels of the Metro always had a way of surprising ponies, whether from freak cave-ins, new tunnels dug by mutants, the movement of bandits and creatures. No two trips into the Metro’s depths turned out the same way. Fortunately, things seemed predictably horrible and lifeless so far. E line didn’t fail to be uncomfortably damp and cool, though that and the pains in my body kept my mind away from darker places. We passed only a few side passages which Sidewinder ignored, and once were disturbed by a lone drake that saw us coming and growled before running. Our meager headlights were the only thing standing between us and total darkness, not that there was much to see on the constant blank walls. The river of pipes above and around us continued unabated. The only other features were us and those less fortunate than us. Many other stalkers used this tunnel, but didn’t clean it of their refuse… or their corpses. I watched Sidewinder brusquely check the torn body of what seemed to be a young mare stalker, the flesh stripped away almost down to the bone around her ribs. Some mutant (or particularly starving pony) had even cracked open her skull case and devoured the fatty richness of her brain. With her body tangled amongst a few stalagmites surrounded by glowplants, I imagined her final moments desperately trying to use the rocks as a meager shelter before falling prey to some horrid beast. While the sight turned my stomach and even made Sunny Side sigh with disappointed disgust, Sidewinder just gave the whole scene a once over and moved on when he found nothing to scavenge. It occurred to me with a flash of grim insight that I’d perhaps be expected to do the same if we found ourselves on our own. Living in a station gave us a modicum of shelter and protection, even as the world outside grew darker and more hideous by the day. While daily tribulations and fear surrounded me from the day of my birth, I’d never had to literally poke through a dead pony’s pockets to find essentials. I wondered how it was our society fell so far. Weren’t we once the paragons of friendliness and goodwill in the world? According to our histories, even the Great War barely touched our shores until the end, when the bombs and megaspells rained from the skies. Now, we weren’t even sure if we were the only intelligent beings left in Equestria, perhaps all the world, yet still we slipped further away from our old ideals. In times like this, I felt all the more blessed to have a friend like Sunny Side and a father like Cinder Block. Only bright spots like those kept hope alive that we could reclaim our heritage, even in the face of utter extinction. At the very least, we lived with the hope that no matter how terrible we ourselves became, we’d always value our friends. Our new friend Sidewinder, however, gave me some doubts. He proved to be rather talkative, though only to himself. He hugged the walls and attempted to stay blended with the shadows as if he didn’t have two inexperienced ponies tromping alongside him, and he muttered almost constantly in that deep, droning buzz of a voice. It sounded like a religious invocation, or a unicorn worrying over a complicated spell. I heard many interesting and disturbing things from him, and was content to just listen to what he had to say. At the very least he seemed more interested in babbling than trying to kill us, which I was fairly sure he’d attempt to do at some point. Sunny Side, however, was unnerved by Sidewinder’s peculiarities and at last blurted out his discomfort. “You’re just… a crazy pony, aren’t you?” I almost laughed. There were better things to exclaim after two hours walking in the cold and dark with a clearly unhinged pony. Sidewinder did laugh, though it was more of a disturbing low-pitched chuckle. “When you live alone in the Metro, being crazy is one of the few ways to entertain yourself,” he said, snickering. He then fixed Sunny Side with a very serious stare, eyes going wide enough to ruffle the pegasus’ feathers. “I also touch myself sometimes.” I shared a very confused look with Sunny Side. “That’s… good?” my friend replied with a nervous smile. “No, it’s boring!” Sid replied. “I’ve learned all my own tricks by now.” Sunny Side fell back into uncomfortable silence. “Oatmeal…” Sidewinder murmured as he scurried back into the dark. I chuckled, glad for the levity Sidewinder provided even if I still fretted about being shot in the back. So far he’d kept his word, but would his mind soon turn on us like Sunny Side’s might? I made sure to hang back behind the strange stallion, using my little light to make sure he was always ahead of us. I noticed him pick up something once or twice, but I wasn’t sure what. It could’ve been anything from a stray bullet to a piece of lint. At odd intervals he’d stop dead in his tracks, reach into a specific pocket, and toss out a small metal screw on a length of string. I wondered if perhaps he was fishing for invisible creatures, but the operation became monotonous and uneventful after every throw resulted in him simply drawing the line back and continuing on. While he was engaged in this activity once, a howl from behind echoed through the tunnel. We raise our ears and straining our senses. Nothing came, but we all knew sooner or later something would. “Cerberus is hungry,” Sidewinder muttered. “His many heads are always hunting.” We let the implications sink in. Always, always you walked a fine line between hunter and hunted in the Metro. In a way, I’d released Sweet Dreams from the eternal game of cat and mouse we played with the new monsters that ruled our world. Were the Dark Ones a sign, I wondered, that the gods had truly abandoned us? Were they the next generation of beast that would at last extinguish the vestiges of ponykind and rule this new, frozen world? I wondered about those dark wings and long horns casting shadows over our once great cities, spreading over the seas to the other lands. I saw their terrible, brooding shapes lording over a planet that’d once been the home of dragons and griffons, zebra and deer and so many others for thousands of years. The old stories spoke of so many distant lands, ruled by so many different races apart from ponies. Worlds within worlds. All of them ended in an instant when the world stared into the face of terror and blinked, and the war to end all wars began. All of it burned to ash, replaced by wild uncaring magic and bloodthirsty monsters. An entire world of wonder and life doomed to an existence as an irradiated ice ball, tyrannized by mutants and Dark Ones. Such an ignominious fate was too terrible to contemplate, and only strengthened my resolve and soured my temper the more I thought about it. I imagined Sunny Side noticed the way my brow was furrowed, as he snapped me from my reverie. “Are you all right, Lockbox?” “Hmm? What do you mean?” “I noticed you getting all thoughtful back there again. It’s about that mare, isn’t it?” His voice dropped to a whisper, and I followed suit. “I still can’t believe it,” I admitted, my gaze going to the ground. “To think I almost led us both into a deathtrap just because…” I paused, making sure Sidewinder wasn’t listening. I couldn’t take that chance. “Just because I wanted to get to Bucklyn without delay. I’m the one who had us deal with the Guild and accept their proposal, and now… somepony is dead. It could’ve been any one of us, and it all would come back to me regardless.” Silence draped between us like a curtain. For a long time there was nothing the clop of our hooves on the ground, the muttering of Sidewinder up ahead, the sound of his scurrying back and forth, checking every nook and cranny. “I think what bothers me most is how little it bothers me,” I said at length. “What we are doing… it’s so important. Sweet Dreams didn’t have to die. She just did because she was greedy and we happened to cross paths. I cannot help but wonder how many other ponies will try to stop us. How many we’ll have to go through.” I shook my head. “Every pony that dies is one less to make our world the way it used to be. I’m no stranger to the Metro, but that was the first time I’ve really seen what it can make us do to each other. The first time I’ve seen us as enemies, and not just the world around us. Everything’s changed in such a short time. And I still walk forward, trying to do what I must. Shouldn’t I be breaking down, Sunny Side? Shouldn’t I be consumed with guilt? Shouldn’t I be doing what our ancestors would do and find a way to fix it?” My friend couldn’t answer, except to say, “You’re a good pony, Lockbox. You’re stronger than me in many ways. I think… I think if your father were here, he’d do the same as you. Just… what he has to.” It would’ve made me feel better, except he stared straight ahead as he said it and seemed disturbed by our talk. Perhaps I wasn’t wise to seem uncertain. I certainly didn’t feel like it. The way Sweet Dreams died would haunt me for a long time, I knew. The way blood streamed from her eyes, the look of sheer animal terror that comes when a pony simply can’t understand why they’re suffering so terribly. And yet I just put one hoof in front of the other, distancing myself from the memory like it wasn’t such a big deal. I felt torn between two minds. One cried out for forgiveness, for a way to bring back the life I’d inadvertently taken, no matter how “deserving” she might have been of death. The other gruffly pushed onward, justifying that it was her own fault; I was alive, she died, nothing more could be said about the affair, and in the end more important lives than hers were at stake. Since I wasn’t a blubbering wreck, I feared the latter stood victorious. Though my journey had barely begun I knew I’d already sacrificed a small part of my dream of a better world to save the last remnants of mine. I was willing to sacrifice other ponies. Worse, it felt strangely normal. In my mind’s eye, an achingly beautiful pegasus turned away from me and went back to paradise, leaving me alone and cold in the dark. /-/-/-/ We passed a crossroads where E Line split off, curving east-southeast. The other tunnel had been walled off in some distant year with rusty metal sheets and rebar. It seemed to me more of a cage than a wall, and I noticed a strange decoration at the top: a circle of twisted metal with a single sprite-light in the center. It glowed with an unearthly pale blue light. “A charm!” I said with a spark of realization, surprising my companions. Sidewinder hissed at me to be quiet. “Yes, a charm! A charm against the boogey-monsters that don’t’ care about bullets. Shut your trap and keep moving!” We’d reached a darker, less civilized part of the Metro, where mutants were thick and dangers were high. No more errant sprite-lights lit our way and the tunnel was choked with collapsed sections of wall and veritable fields of glowplants. Strange sounds echoed from the blocked off tunnel, distant as a memory and just as haunting. Chagrined by Sidewinder’s reprimand I forced myself to look away from the strangely beautiful charm and followed my companions. “We should be quieter here. These tunnels aren’t very nice, and I’ve seen evidence of bandits moving around,” Sidewinder whispered as we passed by another grove of glowplants growing right out of a pony’s skeleton. Just to be safe, I checked my stores of ammo. There were only four clips left for the Mule, not counting the two magazines of military grade bullets that made up most of my life savings. Twenty-two shots for my pistol and a hoofful of shotgun shells rounded off the collection. Sunny Side had considerably more, but I wondered if soon we’d be reduced to scavenging off corpses like Sidewinder. The tunnel grew ever more claustrophobic as we continued on. The sickly green glow of the plants cast monstrous shadows from broken pipes and fallen debris, and the light echo of drafts through the tunnels lent an eerie atmosphere to them. I almost jumped when a drake scuttled out of a smaller hole dug into the wall by lurkers, once harmless rats mutated into hairless pink abominations that could kill a pony in sufficient numbers. “Still a bit jumpy, are you? Don’t worry,” Sidewinder said, grinning over his shoulder. “It’s when the drakes aren’t around that you have to be really careful.” Soon we came to another crossroads, with the fiercest obstacle we’d faced yet: a complete cave-in that choked the entire width and height of the E line. Our lights shone on the wreckage of a train that’d been caught in the disaster, but there was no chance of tunneling through it like Sunny and I had in our escape from the electric cat-beast. It too was clogged full of earth. The only other way was to our right, through a side tunnel that bypassed the main E line and went off south. “Shit,” Sidewinder grumbled, scuffing the dirt wall with his hoof. “Now we have to go straight through fucking bandit territory… assuming something worse hasn’t eaten them all.” He turned back and regarded us morosely. “I don’t suppose you two are very good at staying quiet, are you? Rumor has it this whole stretch of tunnel has some pretty weird stuff going on.” “Well, you’re supposed to be the expert,” Sunny Side answered, smirking. “Bandits and ghost tunnels getting you down? If you don’t have a plan we can always just go back the way we came.” “Ha! As if. Don’t worry your little head.” Sidewinder leaped forward, bonking Sunny Side several times between the eyes with his hoof. “Your uncle Sid has it all figured out!” Sunny Side watched Sidewinder disappear into the shadows of the side tunnel, somehow even darker and more foreboding than the E line itself. “If he’s my uncle, then a thumper’s my sister,” he grumbled, and followed him inside. I took one look at the darkness within, and only went forward after a judicious recharge of my small headlight. The side tunnel looked more like a cave than a proper pony construction. Dirt covered most of the concrete platforms. The walls were held back by little more than rotting timber. In one section, the wall had been penetrated by the winding roots of the mutant trees that choked the Stalliongrad. I wondered many times what the surface was like now, less a city and more a bizarre wildlife sanctuary. The stalkers and Rangers often brought back reports of wildly growing flora creating veritable jungles between the rotting skyscrapers, occasionally torn up by blizzards of unpredictable ferocity and magical anomalies. Anomalies came and went with unnerving irregularity, and were unstoppable when they appeared. Worse, some of them roamed the deeper tunnels of the Metro as if they possessed minds of their own. I hoped never to encounter one, though I wondered if my fever dream counted. My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of trickling water up ahead. Sidewinder held up a hoof and stopped us from going further while he investigated. He didn’t seem to mind our lights as we shined them on his back, trying to look ahead. Either the danger was not reactive to light, or it’d already seen us. Once more he pulled out the screw on the length of string and tossed it forward every so often, testing invisible waters. I saw Sidewinder pause at the very limit of our lights and flick his tail forward, egging us onward. We went, and as we crawled I felt something very strange in my head. A buzzing noise like there was a bee trapped in my skull began to pester me as I did my best to stay low and quiet. It only got worse the further I went, until it became a phantom vibration running through my skull. The lights didn’t reveal anything I or the rest of us could see, but the closer I came the worse the feeling grew. The sound of trickling water grew louder. I gently scrubbed my forehead, trying to calm myself. It must’ve been leftover effects of my injuries, perhaps the numerous blows I’d suffered to my head. Celestia above, the last thing I needed was a concussion! The air of the tunnel felt thicker than normal and my breaths started to come in deep, sucking gulps. Sunny Side gave me a worried glance but said nothing. “Ah ha,” Sidewinder said at last, pointing down another side passage that led to what appeared to be a checkpoint on a sewage line. Water dribbled down from the ceiling into slurry that stood stagnant and foul in a shallow canal. In some distant age it might’ve been used by technicians checking on Stalliongrad’s sewer system. Now it was a dirty little place for thirsty animals to have a drink. “Just a little fracture in the wall. Must be a storm going on up top, water’s leaking in through these pipes in the ceiling... funny, I could’ve sworn something else would be here.” I wasn’t paying attention to the stallion, instead gripped in the depths of what felt like a premonition. My stomach felt queasy as my vision began to swim. I breathed hard and quick, eyes darting around the passage. There was another door across from the aqueduct, and I began staggering towards it. “Lockbox?” Sunny Side asked, fluttering to my side. “Something’s… something’s coming. Something’s close,” I whispered, feeling queasier as time went on. “We need to get out of here. We need to move.” “Lockbox? What’s going on? I don’t… I don’t understand,” Sunny Side said, leaning against my side as I headed for the door with uneven, ungainly steps. Sidewinder gave me an odd look and turned towards the tunnel, then reached into one of his pockets. I watched him intently, wondering if he felt the same way I did. I saw the little string and screw come out again. The buzzing and nausea reached a fever pitch as he took a few tentative steps forward. I didn’t know where the sense of danger came from, where the ominous, sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach originated. I just knew that simply by being here we made a grave mistake. “No… No, don’t!” I gasped, but it was too late. Sidewinder tossed out the little screw. It twirled through the air. It stopped in the air. Sunny Side and I watched with bated breath as the tunnel just in front of Sidewinder began to glow with an unearthly light. The screw was yanked out of Sidewinder’s grasp and twirled in midair, then abruptly glowed red hot and melted away. The buzz in my head was a terrible noise, drowning out everything else. I saw Sidewinder mouth a curse and felt Sunny Side drag me along into the side tunnel, kicking down the door as he went. Where there should have been a clang of metal there was only that damnable, droning buzz. It shook me to the core, shivering my bones and making my skin crawl. I felt as though I was in front of an incredibly loud music speaker putting out a mindless bass drum beat, yet still I was aware of my hooves propelling me forward into the cramped passage beyond the door. Sunny Side didn’t need to lean against me, and neither of us needed encouragement to run for our lives from the horrible whatever-it-was that came screaming down the tunnel. I dared to look back and only saw Sidewinder silhouetted by a terrible bright light beyond the doorway, shouting something incoherently as he ran. The ground shook as if echoing our fright. Some… thing was at the doorway. I almost felt as though we were being watched, and the light was some baleful eye peering inside the cramped passage, amused by our terror. The rumbling buzz filled my ears, vibrating down in the core of my being, consuming all thought except to run. All sound, the world seemed reduced to that small tunnel that offered us such meager protection from the angry force of nature behind us. Somehow it seemed the faster we ran the less ground we covered, and I kicked my fight-or-flight reaction into overdrive, seeking to put as much distance between us and this terrible phenomenon as possible. Just run, I thought. Run and run and run until there’s nowhere left to go, then turn and shoot the damn thing with all you’ve got. I looked behind again, over Sidewinder’s broad shoulders, past his face that showed more professional concern than outright terror. The light at the end of the tunnel was softer now. Red, violet… pink, almost. It was in that more mellow, less-like-the-white-hot-rage-of-a-sun light I noticed something very peculiar. Our shadows were leaning towards the light. Like it was drawing us in. Somehow it was that sight alone that seized me with more terror than anything else, and I put my body to running once again. The passage we charged through seemed interminably long and monotonous. We turned a corner, slammed a door shut, and still the light followed us. Were we actually going anywhere? Were we being sucked back in? The light pulsed, sweeping down the corridor and overtaking us. We staggered under a sudden sweep of dizziness. The ground gave way and my hooves felt nothing but air. I fell, gritting my teeth against the ugly feeling of my stomach crowding my throat. I saw bits of wood raining down next to me, Sunny Side flapping ineffectually. For an instant I saw the ground, murky and wet, the face of another dead pony, his skull bared in an eternal grin, rushing up to meet me- /-/-/-/ I sat quietly at my desk, listening to the radio. There was nothing but blackness outside my door, but I didn’t care. What was playing was more important. It took some finagling, but I’d managed to acquire a recording of the final radio transmission our city ever received from the outside world. It was an infamous message. In earlier times, expeditions to surface outposts tried to answer it every so often, but it appeared the message was fully automated. I remembered this. I’d replayed this broadcast Celestia knows how many times in private. A message of utter despair and hopelessness, looping over and over for three whole months before finally cutting out. The last indication that there’d been anything living beyond the borders of Stalliongrad, and it couldn’t even talk back. One by one the fires of life had winked out on our lonely world, until we stood alone. This is a high priority distress signal from Her Majesty’s Ship Quickstep, pride of the Equestrian Navy, broadcasting on all frequencies. I stood as a young colt in the middle of a battlefield under a stormy sky, surrounded by twisted, mangled corpses of every species. Ponies, dragons, griffons, deer and zebra, buffalo and dog, all lay still in death. Cinder Block stood next to me. “Father,” I asked him with a child’s ignorance, “what caused the War?” My father looked down at me, his hard eyes narrowing down to slits. “Greed, my son. Greed and fear took over the world. Greed for power and fear of it, too.” We are adrift in the Hollow Sea and running low on supplies. We are unable to run aground. We’ve found no land free of the Blight. I felt a stirring in the dark. She stood next to me, the yellow pegasus of my dreams. I reached up to touch her cheek. My hoof was drenched in blood. Before I could reach her, she spread her wings and flew far, far away, into the stars where Celestia and Luna dwelled, beautiful and free forever. “Follow me,” she beckoned in a voice infinite in its kindness. Enchanted, I followed. We’ve received no transmissions at land or sea, magical or otherwise. Unable to locate allied forces at any rendezvous points. No signs of life at any observed coastline. Negative results on all scry orbs and divinations. “Lockbox!” I skidded to a halt and looked over my shoulder. I saw Hunter standing behind me, powerful and defiant. He stood before a great light, and I rested in his shadow. Beyond him, the Dark Ones swarmed. “Here! Get up! Stand with me and fight!” For a few glorious seconds I stood next to my hero, braving all the horrors of the world at once. Creatures and mutants assailed me, Dark Ones swooped from the sky, but I didn’t care. I stood firm, blanketing the new world with death and bullets and blood. After all, if it’s hostile, you kill it. Our current coordinates will be sent in burst transmissions at regular intervals. If anypony is out there, please respond. This message is set to repeat. Please… I felt a feather light touch on my shoulder. I turned and saw a Dark One towering above me, wings stretched out, horn straight and sharp and proud. My mind melted and my bowels loosened with terror. Stop… Death… It stepped towards me like a living nightmare. I stumbled backwards. You… Hear… You… See… I reached up and slashed at the beast with my hoof knife. It ignored me and vanished, replaced by monsters. Mutants descended on me, and I fought for my life against impossible odds, falling to the ground. Sweet Dreams appeared and grabbed my hooves, pinning them to the cold concrete. She straddled me, holding me down and grinning manically through a broken gasmask. Blood streamed from her eyes. It dribbled down into my nose and mouth, making me sputter and choke. She laughed at my pain. You… Hear… Must… Listen… The shadows closed in, choking the life from me, swallowing me up. The last thing I saw was a glimmer of pink and yellow as the fair pegasus flew above the carnage, looking down at me with pity. Is there anyone out there? Anyone at all? This is a high priority distress signal… /-/-/-/ I woke up with a bitter taste in my mouth and a sting in my eye. I raised my head and felt incredibly wet. My geiger counter clicked quietly, alerting me of faint levels of background radiation but nothing that’d shave years off my life. First thing, establish where I was and if everything was intact. It pained me to do so, but I scrambled up on all four hooves, splashing water all around and kicking the skull I’d seen on the way down. Apparently some other poor soul had found his final resting place here. This was starting to become a disturbing trend. My injured leg throbbed, but still held together. My still healing ribs gave me even more trouble. I took a short breath and gasped as pain shot through me, nearly paralyzing me with a cold rush of agony. That was all that was wrong, wasn’t it? It seemed so. I looked around and found myself in a large, square room, the purpose of which I couldn’t really determine. It seemed to be nothing more than a place where things were dumped, such as the brackish, foul water that pooled beneath me. Underneath that was a soft, squishy material that seemed to be a mixture of soil and… other foul things. It seemed landing on this mess saved my life. The entire area reeked horribly, and it suddenly dawned on me that I’d landed in this muck. And my mouth had been open. That gunk. Full of dead things. Had been in my mouth. I retched and spat, not caring how much it made my ribs flare up. The others. I had to find them. My spare headlight still worked, and with its meager light and that of the glowplants that anchored themselves to the walls I found both Sunny Side and Sidewinder near where I’d fallen. They were both breathing, but seemed to be out cold no matter how much I tried to rouse them. With a bit of effort I dragged them out of the smelly water and deposited them haphazardly in a dry corner on a small raised mound of… well, I didn’t know what it was, but at least it was dry. I pondered how we ended up here. I remembered the strange, surreal chase we’d just endured from the bright, mysterious light, and it dawned on me that that was probably my first encounter with an anomaly. After all, if that wasn’t considered anomalous, what was? I’d have much more appreciated a strange light show or perhaps a weird sound instead of a horrifying apparition. Whatever its nature it hadn’t followed us down here, so I decided not to think about it too much. I looked up the way we’d come, and saw that we’d fallen through a circular opening presumably covered by a grate at some point in time. Instead it’d been removed and wood planks covered it instead, which broke under our combined weight and sent us down here. I quickly checked myself for splinters; they’d been a bit of a phobia of mine ever since I was a colt. There was no way to get back up, so I searched around the walls of the room until I came across a gate, rusted shut. Then I heard the growl. “Oh, Princesses, no,” I whispered. “Just one moment. Just one moment to get it together…” But I knew the creatures would give us no respite. I moved fast and ran to the gate, kicking at the rusty lock. The growls grew closer, louder. The gate clanged as I whaled on it, then finally turned and shot it open. My ears rang as the gate fell backwards. No time to worry about blocking it. I grabbed Sunny Side first, dragging him through and depositing him in the next hallway, then turned back for Sidewinder. I bent down and grabbed his vest collar in my mouth, lifted my head. I met the eyes of a lurker, standing in the passage opposite mine. The emaciated hairless monster stared at me with hungry apprehension, and I heard the beginnings of a growl starting in its throat. The creature was half my size but twice as ferocious, and I knew it had friends on the way. With no time to chase it away, I just kept dragging Sidewinder back through the collapsed gate. I made it halfway through before more lurkers appeared around the bend, and then from the hole in the ceiling. I’d just put Sidewinder down when they pounced. I still only had my pistol in my bridle, and its normally startling bang seemed more like an ineffectual pop as the lurker mob surged towards me. Three shots, three lurkers stumbled to the ground, the others scattering. They bayed at me with their odd, high-pitched squeals and snarls, gathering the courage to make another attack. They had no way to surround me. Still, I couldn’t just stand here and shoot forever. Either they or another monster would find us eventually. I fired again; the lurkers jumped and shrieked. With the moment of respite I grabbed the fallen gate door in my teeth and heaved it up before me. In that same second the lurkers attacked. A sea of pink, foal-sized horrors swarmed into the passage, a whirling mass of claws and teeth. I pushed back with all my might, using my flimsy barrier as a battering ram. The tide surged up and almost over my little shield. Grasping talons reached through the gaps in the ironwork, scratching and pulling at my clothes and barding. I opened my eyes, found my vision filled with gaping, hungry maws and dumb animalistic gazes. I could see the hunger. They wanted my flesh. “Fuck you!” I screamed in reply, and sent my last two shots into the horde. I hit something, but that wasn’t enough, and I felt my back hooves slide over the concrete. Below, above, to the gaps in the sides, they all pushed and squirmed, driven by that terrible, basic urge to feed. I kicked one square in the nose as it tried to squeeze past me, felt claws pulling at my mane. In a few short seconds they’d be all over me, pushing me to the ground as they went to feast on my comrades. As if. I’m an earth pony. We feel the earth around us. We draw strength from it. That is our magic. I needed that now more than ever. I looked the squirming, roiling mass of death right in the face and bared my teeth in defiance. My ribs, my leg, it all was so unimportant when I had two helpless ponies right behind me. Even now, in the midst of the Apocalypse, some truths about ponykind could never be extinguished. I was an earth pony, and the earth was my strength. I set my hooves against the ground, planting them firm in that faith. And I felt the magic coursing through my limbs. “I… am… THE EARTH!” I screamed, and pushed. The lurkers gave ground. A millimeter. An inch. They screeched in worry and confusion. I felt claws scrape on my hooves, ripping open my suit around my legs. Ignore it. Let it all fade away. The earth doesn’t care for the little legs that run to and fro upon it. It just is. It just moves. And I moved. The lurkers weren’t even pushing back now. They were too bunched up to gain leverage, and could only topple over one another as I kept up my slow, steady offensive. One lurker slipped beneath the gate, dazed. I stomped on its head as I passed by without breaking stride. I couldn’t be stopped. Wouldn’t be stopped. I felt invincible. The lurkers were just a bunch of featherweights now, tumbling over each other, squawking and squealing indignantly, back through the gateway and down into the muck. I propped the gate back up against its original moorings, watching the lurkers scamper back and forth in anger and confusion. But they weren’t running. I could’ve stood there and held the gate all day with my renewed strength and faith in Equestria’s magic, but I didn’t need to. The extra incentive came when Sunny Side stood next to me and lit the room up with a burst from his guns, and the lurker horde went running at last. The magic slid back out of my veins, replaced with cold, hard reality and the dull agony of old hurts. I collapsed against the gate, broke into a cold sweat from my recent adrenaline rush. My injured leg ached something fierce, my ribs stabbed into my sides, and my head pounded like a drum. But we were alive. I’d done it. I’d saved my friends with a little good old pony magic. I looked up at Sunny Side, and he looked at me. Sidewinder had come to as well. I knew they’d both seen it. They knew what had happened. Gently, Sunny Side knelt down and nudged me to my hooves, offering himself as support. I leaned on him, gratefully, and we all started walking again. Nothing needed to be said. /-/-/-/ “So how was your first taste of earth magic?” Sidewinder asked as we poked our heads into the maze of back rooms. We’d found a flight of stairs that we hoped led us back up to a place level with E line, and scoured the small backways and passages to try and get back to the main line. “Better than sex, am I right?” Sidewinder prodded me again. I rolled my eyes and didn’t answer. I was in too much pain to really think. “It’s how I can stay so steady when I pretend to be a spider, or a bat. The earth listens to us still, you know. I can give you advice on that. Just gotta ask mama Nature and she’ll do things that’ll blow your mind. She won’t get rid of anomalies, though.” “Whatever that light was,” Sunny Side said with a shiver, “it was strange. And I’m glad Lockbox was able to get up so quickly after it… did whatever it did.” I didn’t tell them about the strange dream I had, pondering it deep within my own mind. The others hadn’t mentioned visions either, so I figured I was the only one who’d seen such things. I didn’t know how I’d recovered so quickly from the light’s… attack? Touch? But it’d saved our lives. “I’m more interested in how Lockbox here was able to feel it coming,” Sidewinder said with a sly grin. I still stared ahead, unable and unwilling to figure out how that particular miracle happened. I hadn’t exactly gotten us out in the nick of time, but it was still a talent that I didn’t think was very common. “I think little Lockbox here has a lot of things locked away,” Sidewinder continued, still grinning as he passed me by to scout out the next set of rooms. “You’re a mystery, my friend… and that’s good. Mysteries are the only things that survive down here.” “Don’t worry about him,” Sunny Side told me. “I’m just glad we got out of there alive… but I am worried about what that thing was.” “An anomaly,” Sidewinder replied over his shoulder. “You know, one of those weird things that we can’t explain but are invariably deadly and unstoppable?” “Ah…” Sunny Side said, his expression falling. We’d all heard stories about anomalies, but to see one up close was an experience unto itself. We’d just looked one of the mysteries of the Metro in its face and we’d been utterly unable to understand it. We’d just run and hoped it didn’t kill us. That was the world we lived in now. Strange, incomprehensible, and dangerous. Laws of nature had been broken during the War, and the world wasn’t working properly anymore. It wasn’t something that I enjoyed thinking about. But I’d felt it, deep down, the sheer wrongness that bled off that thing. Somehow, it’d sparked something deep inside me, letting me know that something terrible was nearby. Whatever it was, it wasn’t supposed to exist. It was a gaping, wandering wound in the spirit of our planet, appearing and disappearing at will. Whether it was a new entity or just a wandering vortex of wild magic, I had no idea. I just knew I didn’t want to see it again. Was I somehow more sensitive to the destruction of the world than others? I started to wonder. Neither Sunny Side nor Sidewinder felt it the same way I did. It was the anomaly that’d sparked my strange reaction; that went without saying. But why? And how? What was it about the world that affected me so? What was it about me that felt the changes in the world that much more keenly? Sidewinder came to an abrupt stop ahead, holding out a lanky limb to keep us from moving forward. We found ourselves at a door with cans hanging from the ceiling. “Alarm system,” Sidewinder whispered. “Keep quiet now, we’re close to a hideout it seems. If we have to sneak don’t look at the bandits. Look at where you’re going. Just one hoof in front of the other, and keep them in sight in the corners of your eyes. We all know how to stay quiet, so we should be good.” We slid along the wall to avoid setting off the “alarms.” Sunny Side was hard pressed to keep his guns out of the way in the close quarters, and we resorted to carrying one on my back. We continued creeping through the next small hallway, turning off our lights to keep ourselves hidden. I could hear voices up ahead. Sidewinder said nothing, and we were all smart enough to keep our mouths shut. We found ourselves in a small, dark room, beyond which was a large auxiliary tunnel that undoubtedly contained both a railcar and the bandits we’d been hearing so much about. The faint glow of a campfire peeked through the crack of the partially open door. I could even hear their voices if I listened hard enough. “So I told her, ‘Fuck Hoofsa! We can’t survive eating the scraps other stations drop off the table. We need to put them on our lists or we’ll start starving too!’” “You said ‘fuck’ to Auntie Buttercup?” said another. “You know she’s practically boss of the whole northeast section, right?” “Well, I didn’t say it... but I was thinking it! We can’t touch the Monarchy, the Republic massacres anyone who goes south, and Hoofsa’s out to get us! If we’re going to survive we gotta show we aren’t gonna be pushed around. Now that Ruby Red’s here, this whole gang is gonna have to shape up.” “What a bitch that Ruby Red is,” muttered another bandit. “Just cause she’s a unicorn she has Candy Cane by the balls. It fucking keeps me up at night! And what do the rest of us get? Overpriced hookers in Connemara.” “It’s that Guild, and the Monarchy!” complained the first voice. “Fucking unicorn elitism is spreading everywhere, even among us salt-of-the-earth types.” I turned away and looked around the room, finding little besides useless boxes and crates and bits of scrap metal. It was the cage that really got my attention though. It rested in the corner, and had a very large, very imposing occupant. We froze as we saw the large, yellow eyes open and turn towards us, finding us easily even in the dark. The pointed ears rose up, the sound of big lungs taking a sharp breath. We came face to face with a Diamond Dog. He wasn’t big as far as Dogs went, but that still put him at our size, if not bigger. He’d been curled up with his formidable forearms hiding his face, which was scarred and pitted. A severe underbite made him look rather goofy along with that wide-eyed look he gave us. He didn’t say anything. We didn’t say anything back. He slowly crawled up to the rusty bars, peering at us. I’d never met a Diamond Dog before, but by all accounts there were little better than mutants… Hunter had sometimes told me about them, saying they kept to themselves and were extremely paranoid, preferring to hide and run from mutants and ponies alike. The ones that inhabited the Metro didn’t speak to ponies, though that was mostly because the only contact one might have with them was in the slave pits of the New Lunar Republic. Wild Dogs were extremely rare… their mutated cousins, cerberus and other vermin, kept them at bay and our perspective of them slanted. In effect, I was ready to move on and just leave the creature to his fate. He wasn’t a pony, and likely would have clawed us open given half a chance. But then something extraordinary happened. “Ponies… help… me?” We froze. I locked eyes with the creature. Truth be told, I hadn’t given much thought to Diamond Dogs, considering them just another vaguely unsettling creature of the Metro. Their powers of speech didn’t necessarily lend them intelligence, or the worth that ponies had. When all you heard about a creature was that they were either hostile or stupid slaves of an evil government, your opinion of them didn’t exactly flourish. But I’d never had one up close, nor had they asked for help. “Leave him,” Sidewinder whispered. “There might be magical locks on his cage. If we let him out the whole damn camp will know.” “Ponies… help… me?” the Dog repeated. I wondered if he was genuinely asking for help or parroting speech he’d learned. I looked at Sunny Side, who seemed torn, unable to come to a decision. “We… he’s in a cage,” he murmured. “If we leave him…” “He’ll go to the Republic and we’re going to get to Bucklyn,” Sidewinder hissed. “If we’re getting out of here we do it now. I’m a Stalker, not a Ranger.” I hesitated. Could we really just leave a defenseless creature to die? I was struck for a moment by the clear intelligence behind the Dog’s eyes; he clearly knew what was going on and what we were saying. Wouldn’t I want help if I’d been stuck in a cage and left to rot? Follow me, a butter-yellow pegasus whispered in my ear. “We have to go now!” Sidewinder hissed. I didn’t move. But I didn’t move to help either. The Dog sensed our indecision. He locked gazes with me, and didn’t like what he saw. His eyes narrowed, and he stood up, grabbing the bars of his cage. He rattled them loudly and began to huff and puff. “Hey!” shouted one of the bandits. “Shut up in there!” The Dog continued making a racket. My heart hammered in my chest. The Diamond Dog was spiteful enough to get us all killed just because we weren’t going to jump to his assistance! “Shit!” Sidewinder said. “I’ll put this Dog down now…” “Stupid Dog, I’m coming in there!” Sidewinder paused, and then kicked me and Sunny Side away from the door, motioning for us to hide. We scrambled behind some unused boxes while Sidewinder took a post at the door. The bandit who came inside looked surprisingly normal. Just a cobalt colored earth pony with a dark green mane, dressed in dirty clothing. I could see any number of the less well-off members in Exiperia in his place, just with much more grime and a nasty scowl. He didn’t look like a murderer or a monster. Just a pony with an attitude problem. He shined a light on the Diamond Dog, who growled and continued to rattle his cage. “Shut up!” the bandit snapped, and stepped into the room. Sidewinder was on him in a moment. The bandit didn’t even gasp as a heavy blow from Sidewinder’s hooves took him down. Sidewinder grabbed the falling body and laid it gently down, and then abruptly jabbed a hoof knife into the back of the bandit’s neck. The body jerked, twitched, went still. My mouth went dry. Sidewinder looked up at the Diamond Dog, who threatened to rattle his cage again. The bandits would know their friend was missing any second now. My stomach twisted as the reality of the situation struck home. Thanks to this Dog, we’d have to fight our way out. The Diamond Dog pointed at the body. “Keys!” he hissed. “Bastard!” Sidewinder spat. “I wish we’d never run into you.” “Hey, Blue Bird! What’s taking you?” one of the bandit’s friends asked. “You’re not talking to that thing, are ya?” “Keys now!” the Diamond Dog growled. “I help!” “I should leave you in there!” Sidewinder started. No time. We had to make a decision. My head pounded, my ribs ached. Everything felt rushed and slippery, every moment slipping by bringing us closer to disaster. Arguing later, acting now. I leaped forward. “Sidewinder,” I whispered. “Wait.” I turned to the Diamond Dog. “You. You’ll help us?” “I help!” the Dog said eagerly. “I kill them! I am strong!” “Blue Bird?” asked one of the bandits. “He must be taking a dump,” said another. “Good,” I said to the Dog, tacking up and showing the Dog my Mule. “If you run, I’ll shoot you myself.” Saying it sent me into a cold sweat. I didn’t know where that came from, and deep down I didn’t believe I’d be able to do a thing if the Dog abandoned us. But we were all in it deep now, and there wasn’t any other choice. I rifled through the bandit’s pockets as Sunny Side checked his guns without complaint, as if getting into a gunfight was a minor inconvenience. Loyal Sunny Side who, I realized, was following me into battle. Nausea and exhilaration wormed through my stomach. We’re really doing this, I thought as I snatched up a small iron key. I’d never thought of myself as a warrior, much less a killer. But in the space of a few days, everything about me and my world had changed. “Ho ho ho,” Sidewinder chuckled, his grin twisted and angry as he went to the door. “No spiders and flies on the wall today. Shall we be a hydra, a manticore?” He reached into one of his many pockets, tugging out a small, cylindrical object with a length of wire sticking out the top. “Blue Bird, fucking answer me!” shouted one of the bandits. “Shit, I’m going back there…” Sidewinder cackled as he pulled out a lighter and sparked the wire, which I realized was a fuse. “Or maybe… a fiery phoenix!” he said, lobbing the grenade out the door and bracing it shut with his own body. I heard nothing but a chorus of panicked shouts and screams as I jammed the key into the cage’s lock and yanked it open. A resounding BANG struck my ears through the door, jarring my eardrums. My blood froze, startled in my veins. The Diamond Dog leaped over me, following Sidewinder as he charged through the door, whooping and hollering as he tossed another prepared grenade. “Come on, Lockbox!” Sunny Side shouted, taking flight and zooming through the passage. Just a moment, I prayed. A moment to get it together. No moment came. Time marched on, forcing me to act. I sprang to my hooves and stormed through the door. I am the earth. Once through, I could see a large half-cylinder shaped tunnel littered with crates and assorted goods, along with the scattered belongings of the bandits who huddled under cover farther back. A railcar sat on a small track that dominated most of the tunnel. BOOM! I felt my mane flutter in the shockwave of Sidewinder’s next grenade before I was bowled over by Sunny Side shoving me behind a large pillar. The pegasus took to the air, zipping back and forth in random directions as he kept the bandits pinned down with quick shots from his battle saddle’s rifles. “Cover me!” Sidewinder shouted as he charged up the side of the chamber. I knew what that meant at least, and leaned out of cover, sending a barrage at the nearest cowering form. My bullets ripped through the thin wood the bandit had been using as cover. I didn’t see a pony die. Just a target drop. If it’s hostile, you kill it. The Diamond Dog bayed loudly as he charged into the midst of the bandits, pouncing on one who’d been stunned by Sidewinder’s grenades. Through the muzzle flash of my Mule I saw the Dog’s large, powerful claws come down on the earth pony’s head, pummeling him to death. Keep shooting. More movement, and I tagged it with a burst of gunfire. The pillar next to me exploded, hisses and snaps snarling right in my ears as bullets whizzed overhead. Shrapnel cut into my face as I ducked into cover, ears throbbing, head pounding. The tunnel was ringing with explosions, every gunshot in the confined space like its own little bomb going off. Keep moving, I heard Hunter’s voice in my head. Shooting is like hide and seek. Cheat and hide again after they find out where you are. More of my cover was blown away. Another of Sidewinder’s grenades exploded, and for a moment the gunfire slackened. Go, now! I sprang out of cover and rushed behind the railcar, poked my head out and fired again in tandem with Sunny Side. The pegasus fired off another two shots before he collapsed near the door, his still healing wing unable to take so much strain. Then I got shot. I felt the impact, but was pretty sure it was stray shotgun pellets that did me in. I felt an explosion of pain over my front and I fell to the ground, gasping for breath. It was like a giant sledgehammer needle had been pounded into my chest. The impact spread through my body as I collapsed onto the hard rails. I heard more shooting, more screaming. Then it stopped. The tunnel crawled with the eerie silence and the distant crackle of a campfire. Then Sidewinder was in my face. “Get up!” he shouted. “Onto the railcar, go, go!” “I’ve been shot,” I said dully. I’d never been shot before. It was a very strange experience. I thought it’d hurt a little more. “You’re not bleeding, must’ve hit your jacket. Get up, go! More are gonna investigate!” I was hauled roughly to my hooves and tossed onto the railcar. The Diamond Dog ran for the gate and pulled a lever, prompting the door to swing outward with a huge noise of screeching metal. Sidewinder locked the only other door that led inside as Sunny Side dropped down next to me. “Shit,” he breathed. “Quite,” I agreed, trying not to look at the dead bodies scattered around the room. I couldn’t count how many there’d been, but I knew we’d only survived because we’d held the element of surprise, and Sidewinder had been quite liberal in his application of explosives. Don’t look, Lockbox… they were hostile, and you killed them. I squeezed my eyes shut, wanting to drown myself in justifications, when Sunny Side shoved me up. “Hurry, let’s get this thing started!” The moment I grabbed the lever that started the engine, setting it put-putting to life, Sidewinder leaped away from the door as it flew off its hinges. A blood red unicorn mare with a burgundy mane stepped through the door, kitted out like a professional and with a scowl to match. “What the fuck is going on in here?!” she demanded, just in time to dodge away from a barrage from me and Sunny Side’s guns. Sidewinder leaped aboard the cart as it sputtered and wobbled down the tracks. Sunny Side shook the engine cage and shouted “faster, faster!” as if that’d make it actually make it go faster, and the Diamond Dog just sprinted through the large door and vanished down the track. I turned back and fitted my pistol to my war rein, shattering a bottle right near the mare’s head as she tried to get a good look at us. I saw an assault rifle levitate above her cover. “Down!” I shouted, and we all ducked as she blind-fired at us all the way down the tunnel as we picked up speed. I could hear her shouting as the bandit outpost receded into the distance. “I don’t know who the fuck you are and I don’t care!” she shouted, magically amplifying her voice. “If I ever find you again, I’m going to kill you! Do you hear me?!” “Must be that time of month,” Sidewinder said with a grin as the cart picked up speed. The Diamond Dog was seen at the edge of our cart’s lights, but then he vanished into a smaller tunnel dug into the earthen wall, gone into the shadows of the Metro without a word. I almost felt as though I should be angry he hadn’t even thanked us after he risked our lives, but then I realized how utterly tired I felt. The place I’d been shot was still paining me through the adrenaline rush, which was starting to come down. Until I noticed we were already slowing down. “Uh oh,” Sunny Side said, looking back at the engine that abruptly started pouring smoke. A little alarm chirped and magical wards in the tunnel walls zapped the engine case, frying the primitive electronics and annihilating the magical circuits. We gave each other glum, incredulous looks as the rail cart slowly but surely chugged to a halt. The shouting behind us quickly increased in volume. In perhaps the quickest railcart dismount I’d ever done, we were already charging down the tunnel. Yet somehow it felt less terrifying and more bracing, a shock to the system to get me going instead of frightening me to a halt. I’d never thought of myself as a warrior before. I’d never believed I could actually do all that I’d done today. And I still hadn’t gotten to the end alive. “Don’t worry boys!” Sidewinder shouted. “Fate’s on our side! Bucklyn is just down the road from here!” “All we have to do is get there intact,” Sunny Side said. It was only then I noticed he was bleeding from under his barding. “Sunny!” I gasped. He gave me a grin in response. “Don’t worry, it’s a ricochet… found a gap in my armor right at the neck… ah, fuck, makes running hell…” He began to flap his wings instead, and I remembered my own injuries. I needed rest. Healing potions. Whatever help Bucklyn could give us. Bit by bit the tunnels were wearing us down, reducing our effectiveness with every successive calamity. I was so glad our journey was nearly done, I almost forgot that we were running (or rather limping and hobbling) for our lives. “I know you can hear me!” shouted a magically amplified voice as we charged back onto the E Line and bolted for the final stretch. “The name is Ruby Red! It’s the last name you’ll ever learn! We’re comin’ for ya!” “Nice girl,” Sidewinder remarked, tossing his mane like we were having a nice little trot in some light wind and sunshine. “Maybe we should invite her to dinner!” We skidded to a halt before the great airlock door that sealed off E Line from Bucklyn Station. It was kept firmly shut to keep out refuse like us. That didn’t stop us from bucking it as hard as possible and yelling at the tops of our lungs for the guards beyond the door to hear us. We heard the bandits soon enough, charging down the tunnel with blood on their minds, shouting all the obscene things they planned to do to us. “You were saying about fate being on our side?!” Sunny exclaimed, readying his guns. “Now now, that doesn’t mean it’s gonna jump in and save the day,” Sidewinder said, his face painted with a shaky grin. “Sometimes fate is more in the role of moral support, you know?” “How comforting,” I murmured, struggling to believe we’d make it out of this alive while simultaneously preparing for my last stand. I bit down hard on my trigger, feeling its foreign taste and strange texture fill my mouth. I wasn’t going to die here. Not so close to my goal. And it seemed fate agreed, because at that moment the airlock behind us screeched and squealed, great locks churning and hydraulics hissing as it swung inwards. Light spilled into the tunnel as if Celestia herself was standing right behind us. And still, I didn’t look back. I could see by the look on Ruby Red’s face as she turned the corner that it was to our benefit. I wasn’t the first to fire, but fire I did, and she only escaped by telekinetically hurling another poor soul in the path of our bullets, and as he fell she was already gone, retreating with the rest of her ilk. “Ruby Red, you bastards!” she screamed behind her. “You better watch yourselves! I’ll be waiting!” I felt no peace. Just a strange sense of detachment. Friendly voices welcomed us into Bucklyn Station, but as I turned to our saviors, I felt no real sense of accomplishment. In the space of three days I’d become a killer and a not-so-savior. I’d been an assassination tool and a debt dodger, a fighter willing to leave a poor Diamond Dog to die. I alone had faced down an anomaly and resisted its effects long enough to save lives I felt mattered. I felt battered and broken inside, and as Bucklyn opened its gates to us, I just staggered in, wobbling past the guardponies and their big weaponized railcar. I nodded curtly to their captain, brushed aside any attempt at questioning. I wanted a bed. I wanted a hospital. I wanted the Rangers to be there so I could tell myself that my short, albeit terrifying journey was now done, and I could go back to tending my silly little Wall. I could go to sleep and wake up in the same room every day for the rest of my life. Then I looked up and noticed every gun in the room was trained on me.

redsquirrel456

446

Original Character,Crossover,Adventure,Dark,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

My Little Metro

After Doomsday forces ponies underground, a lone colt braves the Stalliongrad metro system to save his people from an unknown threat.

hiatus

<p>The Metro tunnels of Stalliongrad shelter the last remnants of ponykind from the ravages of the Apocalypse. Beneath the earth, ponies struggle to survive against mutants, radiation, and each other. But when an unstoppable threat emerges from the darkness of the Metro, one pony must brave the shadows to save not just his home, but the very existence of his people.</p>

teen

2011-11-26T04:07:24+00:00

2011-11-26T04:07:24+00:00

My Little Metro: Chapter 7 “I had given my word.” The last thing I expected to hear upon entrance to Bucklyn Station was that I’d been placed under arrest. I’d expected a veritable army of friendly ponies who’d shower us with congratulations and praise for surviving such a long and harrowing trip on hoof. I thought we’d be shown to a resting area where we’d be treated for our injuries and I’d be able to show Hunter’s medallion to the Rangers nearby, and that’d be the end of it. They’d know what to do and my station would be safe and sound. It seemed that was too much to ask for the nightmare that my life was turning into. In retrospect, turning up half-dead, armed to the teeth and with a crowd of bandits right behind us hadn’t been our brightest idea either. “Weapons down, now!” their captain, a tall tan unicorn with a powerful glow around his horn snapped at us. He was levitating three assault rifles at once. We did as he said and unholstered our guns, dropping them to the floor. “Mind telling us why we’re suddenly the bad guys?” Sidewinder asked with his laconic grin. “Or do you just enjoy putting ponies in hoofcuffs?” “Shut up!” the captain barked, though his subordinates did indeed bring forward cuffs and secured them around our limbs. “You!” he said, pointing at me and waggling one of his rifles in my face. “Explain why you turned up here like this. What were the circumstances involving your arrival?” “We were running for our lives,” I said, and revealed nothing more. I didn’t want anypony to know about Hunter’s mission for me. The captain didn’t look satisfied and snorted, motioning for the guards to take us away. “It’s true!” Sunny Side protested. I didn’t know how he was talking and struggling with a bullet lodged in his chest. Adrenaline, probably, or the shockers. “We have passports. Just check our bags! That’s why your magical defenses didn’t fry us. It’s why we had to break one of the wards and alert you! We couldn’t have just snuck in past them on our own.” “I could have,” Sidewinder said, but the captain ignored him. “You think passports are worth a damn anymore, boy?” the captain sneered at Sunny Side. “I don’t care if you’re Princess Celestia herself. All new arrivals are to be detained and questioned.” “About what?” “About the deaths of the Rangers and the sabotage of the eastern plantations.” A cold chill ran through my veins. ‘Ranger’ and ‘death’ just didn’t go together in the same sentence. Rangers didn’t die, they prevented death. They didn’t just keel over and accept the end for no reason. This wasn’t possible. They were making it up to try and press imaginary charges. My mind raced, trying to imagine all the problems this station might be having that they suddenly arrested new arrivals. Bucklyn was always a tense place, being a large, five-hundred strong station and one of the few places along the Ring that didn’t accept Hoofsa’s strong pressure to join their federation. They were responsible for the defense of several of the eastern plantations ever since rumors of bandits organizing into powerful mobs came up, but they’d always been friendly to the other independent stations of the north. I couldn’t understand this fearsome resistance. I railed against strong hooves that grabbed my limbs and attempted to drag me away. “What do you mean? How could we be responsible? We’ve only just arrived!” “You think those bandits were the only ones out there?” the captain snarled, pushing through the crowd to put his face close to mine. “You motherfuckers, dragging an army along behind you and smashing a protection ward. You’re lucky we didn’t shoot you on sight! You could be spies, bandit deserters, saboteurs! So what if you have passports?” “From the Guild,” I gasped, hoping against hope that invoking that mysterious name would give us some leverage. For a moment I thought it might work, since the captain’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully and then his horn was magically ripping open my saddlebags. I twisted in fright, hoping Hunter’s pendant wouldn’t be seen… but somehow all that came out was some spare ammo, my meager supply of dried foodstuffs, and the Guild passport. The captain levitated it and looked it over, probing it with his magic. Then I remembered what happened to Sweet Dreams and my mouth went dry. I waited for the captain to explode, but he didn’t, and then he sneered at me again. “So what?” he snapped, and crushed the passport under his hoof. “You might have stolen this. Either way, we don’t answer the questions. You do. Now off with you and don’t say another word.” “Wait. My friend, he’s hurt!” I pleaded, but they didn’t listen. Instead I got a blow to my face for my trouble, and Sunny Side only gasped while Sidewinder looked on. It didn’t matter how much I struggled, they strung us along anyway, into a side passage away from the main entrance. I could see, beyond the checkpoint crowded with guns and guardponies, the lights of a station, the sounds of life and hardworking ponies… I’d come so close only to be torn away from my goal right at the finish line. The sounds and sights of hope fell away as the door clanged shut behind us and we were forced into a makeshift prison. It was a little hallway with several doorways set into the walls, each secured by doors converted into cell gates. We were all tossed into one, furnished with nothing but a harsh red emergency light above our heads, sans our weapons and armor but with our bags and equipment still attached. I hoped that meant we weren’t expected to be held long… unless they planned on keeping us locked up so long we’d need to provide our own food from our supply. I didn’t mind the getting locked up part, no, what bothered me was that I could no longer complete my mission due to it. I felt stuck in a cold, nasty chill that prevented me from thinking straight. A huge barrier had erected itself in my mind, made from fear and panic, and my thoughts ached to be voiced, banging on the walls while I sat and pondered and withered with depression. Sidewinder seemed more disappointed and annoyed than anything else, as he curled up into a corner and laid his head against the wall. And poor Sunny Side at last seemed to be cracking under his façade of loyal bravery. The small space was barely enough for all of us to lie down abreast of each other, and spreading his wings was impossible without brushing the tips on the walls or floor. That above all else, I knew, was an unbearable feeling for a pegasus to have. “Um. Wait. Wait!” he said, rearing up and putting his front hooves on the door as it was slammed in our faces. “Could I just… get a bigger room? Please?” “Shut up!” the guards outside shouted back. “Wait, but, it’s getting close to my flying time! I can’t miss it!” he said, a note of desperation entering his voice, but then he slumped back down and pressed a hoof to the injury in his neck. “Damn it… damn it!” he said, sounding like he was about to start sobbing, and I hurried to his side, taking out a shocker that hadn’t been confiscated. I jabbed it into his skin and he shuddered as the magical energy provided a short boost. “Fuck, it’ll heal up right over the bullet… I’ll have the damn thing stuck in me forever… like a splinter.” I did my best not to wince. Splinters were just… disgusting to think about. “Don’t worry,” I said, trying to soothe him. “We’re going to get out of here.” “Doubtful,” Sidewinder muttered from his corner of the cell. “I should’ve seen it coming. Bandits that close to the main doors always means a blockade. And they had a Diamond Dog too, so these guys knew what they were doing. They knew how to capture dangerous animals, set up checkpoints… We probably ran right into a military lockdown here.” “Weren’t you supposed to know?” Sunny Side gasped sharply, slumping against the door and closing his eyes. “All powerful Sidewinder taken by surprise!” “I’d heard Bucklyn was having troubles, but I didn’t know they’d gotten this bad. I’d been more focused on not getting murdered by the Guild or by Sweet Dreams,” Sidewinder said, not sounding apologetic in the slightest. I realized that in his mind, the job was done. He’d gotten us to Bucklyn alive and in one piece, and now he hadn’t the slightest amount of loyalty to us anymore. He was just sorry that he’d gotten caught up in this mess like us. I saw his normally frazzled mane even looked more low-key, imitating his laid back slump. He didn’t even care what happened to us, now. We were baggage and now we’d been dropped. “They’ll have us against a wall in a few hours if we can’t prove we’re honest travelers.” “You have the patch of the Stalkers,” I pointed out. Sidewinder laughed hoarsely. “Yes, I’m sure the captain noticed it, but that doesn’t mean he’ll let us go. Stalkers can come from anywhere and work for anypony. We have no official allegiances, so unless we arrive at a station that knows us or we’re carting a bunch of supplies, we’re just one more mouth to feed.” He looked at me with a pointed, vexing stare that hovered between amusement and incredulousness. I saw that he mocked my inexperience and while this time terrified me, it wasn’t anything more than a minor inconvenience. His sheer indifference to how this affected me and Sunny Side, not to mention my home station, lit a fire of anger under my heart. Still, I chose to keep my mouth shut. “You’re a kid, Lockbox. A little colt, and your friend there isn’t much better. You’ve fought bandits and monsters, but you don’t really know the kind of darkness that exists out there in the Metro. I have stories, you know, of all kinds of horrible things that happen to distant stations, and you… you have no idea what it’s really like. You’ve only just got a taste, you see? You’ve never even seen the surface, have you? I have. I’ve seen what kinds of horrible things lurk up there. I’ve seen the sun break through the clouds and blind ponies that it used to comfort. The Sun is a monster all its own. I’ve seen the twisted woods and tangled vines overgrowing our fair city… turning it into a forest of death. I’ve seen monsters that I don’t even know how to describe… I’ve followed rules like ‘don’t look at the Victory Spire’ and ‘never go into that north facing house’ without even knowing why, because anypony who broke them disappeared without a trace. What’s worse, I’ve seen what ponies do to each other down here.” He crawled forward, his chains clinking together, his grin spreading over his face like a mold. I grew distinctly uncomfortable and wished very much to no longer share a cell with him, now that his debt was repaid and he didn’t appear to have any compunction about murdering us. But no, he was strange, but he was too smart for something like that, wasn’t he? I hoped so. “Have you ever watched a mother trying to sell herself at the dockside? Or sell her children? Have you ever seen the Monarchy bear down on a Republic station, showing no mercy and using commando units to slaughter innocent ponies whose only crime was living under the wrong government? Ever been through tunnels so dark and so wretched you’d rather you were walking on corpses, just so you’d know you weren’t the only pony in the place? I have. I’ve done all that and I can tell you, you’re not cut out for this.” His grin turned into a leer, as if by trying to make myself realize how stupid I’d been to come here meant some kind of victory. If anything it just made me mad. “So what?” I asked, plucking up unexpected courage. “I didn’t know what I’d be facing out here when I left home. So what? Does anypony? All I know is I’m still alive and I have a job to do, and if I wasn’t going to finish it I’d be dead already. Since I’m not I’m going to keep trying.” The anger at my unfair situation, and the fact that I still hadn’t gotten proper and fair medical treatment to my wounds that aggravated me without end, drove me to greater heights of eloquence. It was strange how easy it was to stare down my problems when I was too frustrated to care about how big they were, and Sidewinder was the only pony around I could easily vent at. “So you’ve seen horrible monsters and been through horrible things. Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? Impressed? I’m supposed to curl up into a ball and cry? I’ve seen some pretty terrible things myself, and I don’t think I need you to remind me how terrible they were!” Sidewinder didn’t answer. I supposed I’d made my point, since he just snorted at me and fell back into laconic, unfriendly silence. I hadn’t felt very brotherly towards him at all, even after what we’d been through, and this just drove the point home that he was still a very strange and unfamiliar pony who I wanted very little to do with when push came to shove. And when the argument passed, the anger abated with every heartbeat, bleeding out of me like sand between my hooves. Whatever I said, Sidewinder was right, and all I’d been doing through my outburst was try to put on a brave face. I knew exactly how unprepared I was for all the things that could go wrong, and I was still haunted by the face of Sweet Dreams, and the blurred, vague silhouettes of those bandits I’d put down without a second thought. All to meet Rangers who apparently had died before I even got here. Merciful Celestia, I’d killed them. Just killed them all. The realization, the reality of what I’d done and its awful permanence dropped onto my back. I sagged under the weight and collapsed onto the ground, staring straight ahead. Killed them. I, Lockbox, had killed at least three ponies in as many days, just by traveling from one station to another. My head bowed under the weight of the shock. I didn’t know why I dwelled on it so much. It was like gum that I refused to swallow, and kept chewing on it. I hadn’t quite accepted the fact yet, and now I tortured myself as memories replayed through my head, over and over. The sight of blood dribbling down from Sweet Dreams’ eyes, the indistinct shadows that collapsed lifelessly as my gun pointed and flashed at them. Like a colt’s game, really. Point, flash, and they fall over. Then they never get back up again. I felt very grateful I hadn’t seen their faces and that my mind had been clouded by the terror and anxiety of the moment, the blinding flush of combat dulling my conscience until later. I didn’t think I could handle even more faces to add to my nightmares. My mind began to go blank as time stretched on and on, and my thoughts droned in my head. I killed them. I didn’t want to. I had to. I was angry at myself and snarled my old justifications. They were evil, they were obstacles, they were hostile. What would Hunter have done? How had he managed to cope with his first dead ponies, and knowing that his own kind was definitely out to kill him if he got in their way? Was I any better, since I’d mercilessly cut through them and then run, not even affording them the slightest dignity? No… no, in the end, I supposed I wasn’t any different. I’d held some small dreams of being a hero like my idols Hunter and the rest of the Rangers. But now I knew what that cost. What Rangers and Stalkers and all those other heroic ponies faced when they went into the dark unknown wasn’t just monsters. It was their own souls, being warped and twisted by the terrors they endured. And I’d been infected by the same taint. If it’s hostile, you kill it. This was all too much for me. I wanted these heavy thoughts to stop weighing in on my head, but they wouldn’t go away. I felt rather sick, now that I really had time to dwell on what I’d done. All I heard was the gentle, labored breathing of Sunny Side next to me, and the clinking shuffle of chains along the floor as we shifted our weight. “Damn it,” Sunny Side whispered, and I knew he was clenching his eyes tightly shut, aching just as I had for a little bit of rest and freedom, trying to imagine he wasn’t in a cold, crowded, cramped cell and he wasn’t bleeding. Just the chance to spread his wings. My heart went out to the poor pegasus, but there was nothing any of us could do. Or at least nothing I could do. I was pretty sure Sidewinder had fallen asleep and didn’t really care. “It’s… it’s like an itch,” Sunny Side whined. His wings shivered, twitching in random directions. They yearned to move and be free. “I can’t scratch it. It’s worming around under my skin… it won’t stop until I can fly freely… make it stop, Lockbox! I can feel it. I can feel it getting worse. I can feel how… how small the room is. I can’t breathe…!” “Yes you can,” I said firmly, unable to dredge up the patience to deal with a panic episode. He’d have to keep it together, because getting worse would bring the guards, and the guards would bring batons and hooves… “You can breathe, Sunny Side. Just keep doing it. Deep and slow, now.” I settled in next to him, but gave him space. He curled up against himself, huffing and puffing. “You know,” he said, “I never thought this’d be how our trip turned out. Heh… when will I ever learn to stop listening to your crazy plans, Lockbox?” Abruptly the door swung open and the captain stepped inside, pointing a hoof at Sunny. The pegasus sprang up, looking almost hopeful, if a little vacant and tired, and without a word two guards came to escort him out. “Sunny Side!” I said, and he gave me a glance over his shoulder. In a single moment we said all that friends needed to say when they were worried for each other. Then they closed the door and their hoofsteps faded away. So long Sunny Side. /-/-/-/ One of the things I liked about being in prison was that it gave me a lot of time to think. Thinking helped me pass the time. It was either that or twiddle my hooves and roll around on my back over and over, which was what Sidewinder was doing while muttering to himself inanely. He said something about “fabulosity” but I wasn’t listening. I took some amusement from watching him act like a brain-dead colt until the sight suddenly grew disturbing and awkward as it dragged on and on, and I leaned against the wall to try and get some relief from the cool concrete for my headache. I wondered, dully, if I was starting to come down with something. Getting sick in the Metro was a terrifying experience; lack of valuable antibiotics and proper nourishment meant even simple illnesses could turn deadly. That and no station was going to risk a breakout. Cramped quarters meant sickness spread like wildfire, and had to be quickly and ruthlessly stamped out before it got too bad. If I did get sick, it meant a quick trip to quarantine… and then slowly dying there, or being shot out of mercy and burned in the tunnels. I’d seen it happen to several good ponies… usually the elders, or the children. The children were the worst. One day they were running and laughing, and the next they were struck down, unable to even see their parents too often for fear that they would spread it to the rest of the station. Exiperia, being relatively small, was almost draconic when it came to preventing epidemics. I’d seen the Rot and common colds destroy families before I ever saw my bullets tear apart another creature. Mercifully my father had never forced me to stand quarantine guard during a suspected breakout. My ribs ached, and my leg throbbed. Such things didn’t help my already black mood. I turned my thoughts back to home and the mission I’d undertaken to protect it. Somehow I’d ended up just short of my goal, due to Sidewinder not keeping up on current events and me being too stupid to try and collect some news or gossip, either from Sidewinder himself or from Draft station before we’d fled. The Rangers were dead. I didn’t want to accept it. I couldn’t until I got real hard evidence, until I saw the bodies for myself and investigated their little safe house. So that wasn’t up for debate either. Ah… the Dark Ones. They loomed large in my mind now that I was here, stuck in the surreal red glare of the overhead light. What were they, I wondered? I didn’t know anything about them except that they were violent and unstoppable, which basically put them into the category of ‘every monster ever encountered in the Metro. Sixpence, who I recalled with a twinge of anger and regret, had said they looked like the Princesses, which led my thoughts to them. I’d never seen the Princesses except in old, faded photographs or little charms, and those were generally stylized and without the vigor and detail that only a living creature could possess. The photographs, I knew, did them absolutely no justice. They were the apex of pony perfection, living representations of the ultimate pony form. As mares, they were more than beautiful, they were perfect. So heart-stoppingly wonderful and elegant you wanted to turn away and grovel in the other direction, because they didn’t deserve your meager affection and devotion. At least, that’s what the stories said. As ponies in general, they were wise beyond comprehension, drawing on thousands of years of wise and benevolent rule to provide a guiding hoof to every crisis. But if they were so perfect, I had to wonder, why had the world gone so awry? I didn’t know much about the history of the War itself, and it often surprised me nopony did. I knew most of the War’s roots lay in the sudden, inexplicable disappearance of Princess Celestia from the public eye. It was her absence during the War that led to many ponies assuming that she was alive and well somewhere, or perhaps watching us still from the afterlife alongside her sister, Luna. Luna had led Equestria alone through the dark days of the War, but without her elder sibling’s experience (or at least that’s what I supposed the reason was), she’d been unable to contain the situation. Bit by bit the world slipped out of her grasp. According to what history we knew, there was nothing but chaos in the final days, with fell magic being hurled at will, dragons scorching the landscape and flying on unprecedented rampages, armies roaming almost at random. Our world had gone mad, as my father said, with greed and lust for power. And now it was dying. Whatever the reasons, both Princesses were clearly no longer present. “Sidewinder,” I said out of the blue. “Huh?” he replied. “What do you know about the times before the War?” “Not much to tell the truth. But it’s a sad tale for those who know it.” “Tell me. We don’t have much else to do.” “Celestia died, the world went to war, Luna couldn’t hack it and died when Canterlot went up in flames.” Ah, but that was the version everypony heard. It was like finding a song sheet from long ago consisting of only a single verse. I wasn’t satisfied. Besides, there were varying accounts of Celestia’s absence during the War, and death was the least popular rumor. “That’s it? And how do you mean, Celestia died? She’s a-” “Deity? Heh, unlikely. Nopony really knows why she left. Some say she went to fight a great evil, others say she foresaw the War and abandoned this world to make a new one. Others still say she just up and left because she’s a goddess, and well, what reason does the Sun have to care about a world that scorches itself? But if she was alive, don’t you think she would’ve come back to help us? Or her own sister?” I couldn’t argue with that. “So, what exactly caused all the strangeness? I can understand the wasteland, the radiation… but have you ever seen anything like that anomaly that chased us?” “Eh, I’ve heard about it, seen one passing by… but it was much less impressive. It was a ball of living lightning that attacked anything too noisy. I saw it chase down a pack of thumpers and zap them all, Celestia’s honest truth. I don’t know what causes them, but I’ve heard they’re something like mad magic. The energy of the world lashing out now that order is gone or some shit. Basically, we’ve been naughty children, and this is the world giving us a nice long spanking.” He paused, staring up at the ceiling. “I knew a mare who liked spanking, some pony of influence in Felabelskaya. Not being spanked. No, she’d give it to you. She had this paddle-” “The anomalies, Sidewinder. What about them?” “Told ya, I don’t know nothin’ about them. But I can tell you some other strange things. Stories are what keep things alive here in the Metro, even if they aren’t accurate. Stories about the old world… stories you can go to bed with. And then… well, there’s the other kind.” He turned towards me with a strange, almost scary grin. “Almost all my stories are the other kind.” “Tell me,” I said. If I was going to try keeping history alive, I might as well delve a little deeper into the mythology our own Metro created. “I once helped a caravan run a tunnel blockade down south, near Ponyopolis. It’s a strange place, between Felabelskaya and Connemara. Those Monarchist bastards were withholding vital medical supplies, trying to force Connemara to submit to their authority. Hoofsa helped us; this was before they jumped in bed with King Pleiades… Gave us maps to an alternate route… through the secondary line between Felabelskaya and Grazeld, and then we’d swing south again to get to Connemara. We had to escort a pony-drawn cart, couldn’t go too fast since we didn’t know what exactly would be there. We got about halfway through, no problems, when suddenly the lights start fizzling, and our only unicorn with us, he starts going crazy. His horn lights up like the dickens, and the rest of us aren’t doing so well either. I felt something in the air around us. Some kind of static, like from a radio, except it was in your head. It wasn’t a good feeling at all… heavy, almost, but intangible. The unicorn is going nuts, crying about how he can hear it, and how ‘they’ are so sad. It’s really freaking us the hell out, so we just try to book it in the cart, ‘cept by now the lights are almost completely out except for the unicorn’s horn. Our gems and lights were just going out, like they were being drained… or the light was just going somewhere else… The static, it was getting terrible, to the point where I couldn’t hear anything, and I had to shake up the others to keep ‘em moving. And I’m hearing voices, too, except they aren’t coming from the other ponies. Just whispers at the edge of my senses. They said things that I didn’t understand and felt I didn’t want to know about. It was knowledge that tantalized and taunted… but I knew was deadly. Then our cart-puller trips and hurts his leg, nearly sent us all onto the ground, so we have to try and untangle the stupid idiot while things just go straight to hell. Another guard snaps and starts shooting down the tunnel at nothing, then the unicorn flies off the handle. He’s sobbing by now, his hooves are out… reaching for something or kicking it I don’t know…” I noticed him trail off, lost in the memory, his eyes glazing just a bit. It took a small prod from me before he kept going. “It was like… like he was trying to keep something from coming near him… or… trying to keep it from going away. Something only he knew… then he jumps off the cart and takes off towards Grazeld, screaming about something. I dunno, the static was too loud to hear. So he leaves, and then our only light’s gone. Me, I’m thinking this is it, we’re dead, a few more seconds and some ghost will come and choke the life out of us. Then there’s this bright flash, and it’s over. Just like that, everypony’s back to normal. We’re scared as hell, but we’re alive, just without our unicorn. We get to Grazeld and everything’s fine. Except, when we asked about the unicorn, the one who jumped off the cart… the guards at Grazeld didn’t see anything. Not even the ones at the five hundred meter mark, furthest out. We were close enough that unicorn should’ve come tearing right down that tunnel minutes after he left us. There are no side passages in that tunnel. No holes. Nowhere he could’ve gone. He just vanished. I never saw him again. Just like the ponies who look at Victory Spire on the surface. Or the ones who go into that north facing house… needless to say, after hearing our tale and how shaken up we were, Grazeld blew the shit out of that tunnel and sealed it up but good." A pall settled over our small, poorly-lit cell, and I found myself wishing I hadn’t asked about it. Would that anomaly we encountered have swept us up too? Sucked the life from us, obliterated us from existence like that poor unicorn, and who knew how many others who disappeared without a trace in the Metro? It was a long while before I worked up the courage to ask about anything again. “Victory Spire?” “A monument on the surface, built during the War in honor of Princess Celestia. It’s a statue of her on top of some obelisk in the middle of Ponypal Park. Don’t look at it.” “Why?”’ “I dunno. Anypony who does vanishes.” “Just like that?” “Well, you know, they’ll walk towards it, vanish into the forest the park now is, and never come out again. Like they’re in a trance or something. I never saw it happen personally, ‘cause I never looked at it, and when I ran with other Stalkers we always went in groups so we’d snap each other out of it if some damn fool looked up. Best just to avoid the place entirely. If we had the tech, I’d try shooting it down, but of course… can’t look at it.” “What about the north facing house?” “You’ll know it when you see it. Don’t go in. No matter what. Something else is already inside it.” “What? A magical vortex that kills you instantly or the like?” He leaned forward and fixed me with a strange, faraway gaze. “Only thing I can tell you that I can be completely honest about, Lockbox? This world is strange. It’s gone crazy, lost control of something deep inside… that’s why being crazy like me is a good thing, you can get instincts and feelings you never thought about before. You can’t fight what never makes sense. It’s not even chaos, because chaos is some kind of order that came unraveled. This? This is brokenness. Something is very wrong with our planet and I can’t even begin to tell you how truly fucked we all are. Mysteries are the only things that survive here… like you.” “Me?” “Of course! You come all the way to Bucklyn through monsters and mayhem, you can survive an anomaly screwing with your head… you’re not a trader, and you’re not tough enough to be a wanderer, though you’ve got the makings of one. No, Lockbox, you’ve got something hidden… something you keep deep inside… don’t look worried, I like that in a pony! You hold onto that secret, boy. It’s one of the few things you’ll ever own that you can say is truly yours. It’s not like these other ponies, no, it’s all secrets and lies with them. But you… ho ho, I can tell you’ve got something worth keeping your mouth shut for.” He smiled thinly. “Secrets are fun. They give a little drama and tension… can’t have all the exposition at once, you know? Gotta have that one thing that drives you…” “What drives you?” I asked. Sidewinder didn’t get a chance to answer, and I’m pretty sure he wasn’t going to anyway. The door opened and the guards came again, this time pointing at Sidewinder. The rust-colored stallion stood up on his lanky legs and chuckled. “My turn to be alone with the boys, huh? You want me to sweet talk you, or do you like to do it in silence?” They punched him in the face and dragged him out. I was alone. /-/-/-/ My mind swam with terrifying possibilities of what they’d done with Sunny Side and Sidewinder. I fretted they’d been put up against a wall, and wondered if the same was coming for me. It wasn’t too big of a leap of logic to assume we were nothing more than bandits who’d deserted their posts, or posing as spies and saboteurs. In a moment of bored bleakness I pondered what being shot in the back of the head would feel like. Would I hear the gunshot? Would I feel the heat of the muzzle flash? I wondered what it would be like to simply be dead, moments after living. How quickly did death come when it was so close and so powerfully delivered? Had the ponies I shot and killed died quickly? I hoped so, fervently. I shut my eyes as the red light from above dribbled down out of Sweet Dreams’ eyes. The tinny echo of my breathing in the small space reminded me of her screams, so I held my breath for a while. Trapped in the middle of that awful, rotten cell I couldn’t do anything but think and think some more. What Sidewinder said disturbed me. I’d heard tales before like his, of strange happenings wiping out whole stations and leaving no survivors, of terrible haunted tunnels and cannibals that stalked the shadows. Even my home station now had something terrible to deal with, those monsters the Dark Ones that couldn’t be killed and struck us down without laying hoof on us. It wasn’t the first time terror rose up from the Metro’s depths to overwhelm an entire station, but it was the first time I’d had to face the real, credible threat. The stories and night terrors were always plaguing some other faraway station, or at the very least some guard post at the four hundred meter mark. Now I’d stared right into the face of terror and come out alive. I wondered about the anomaly, and about the burst of strength I’d gotten to fight back the lurkers. Was the world really still speaking to me? Did I, as an earth pony, really still have a connection to magic that helped us, instead of striking out in a tantrum like the anomalies? Was my sensitivity and visions something I’d been ignoring up to now, or was I just going crazy? I couldn’t tell, and didn’t know if I wanted the answer either way. I chewed on the idea that I’d already failed my home and that in a few short hours… or minutes, or days, or however long I’d been in here… I’d die, and then everything I’d accomplished so far would be for nothing. I didn’t want to think about it, but my thoughts had nowhere to go in this small, red-lit space. Over and over I pondered how the Rangers could be dead before I even got here, or if the story was even true. Had it been Sixpence? Some new enemy I hadn’t encountered? They couldn’t have fallen prey to the bandits that plagued this station. And why had the bandits chosen now to start growing more bold? Who was this Auntie Buttercup I heard about back in the tunnels? And just what the hell was I going to do about Hunter’s message? I didn’t know where other Rangers were. The only clear goal left if they were gone was Ponyopolis… and getting there was a suicide mission. I lay on my back, staring at that damn red light. It helped me focus, but then it began to grate on my nerves. I asked myself the same questions over and over but without solid information I could do nothing except dwell on my own lethargic despondency. That and the ache in my ribs and my leg. I found myself concentrating on that more than anything else. I didn’t dare remove my clothing to look at the bandages, certain that my injuries were aggravated beyond repair at this point. The pain reminded me how fragile and vulnerable I was. How utterly helpless I’d been rendered. I was in limbo, my mind slowly being stretched out by the endless monotony of timeless waiting, my thoughts spread thin until even thinking about twitching a hoof took an eternity. Flicking my tail was like a revolution of the Moon around the Earth. Having a coherent thought meant wrestling my mind into submission, smacking it around and demanding it start working again for me. I didn’t know how much time passed. The small red light continued to glare at me. The cramped walls hadn’t gone anywhere. I wondered if my home was dead by now. Then I noticed the small sliver of light coming from under the door. It wasn’t a natural kind of light, but rather it was pure white, like the entire hallway was glowing. It crept over the floor and touched my hooves, and where it lay I felt a warmth spreading through my veins. Something big and wonderful and inviting was on the other side of that door. I lowered my head and tried to peer underneath, but the light was blinding. I put my ear to the door and heard nothing outside except the faint sound of wind. I put my hoof on the door and pushed. It swung open. A Dark One stood before me, silhouetted by the light. Time… Lost… My bowels loosened as I staggered back against the wall of my cell. “No, no!” I shouted at the monster, whose passive red eyes stared at me like charnel omens. “Stay back! Get away! Help!” Seek… Truth… It began to reach for me without moving, not so much advancing into my cell as expanding into it. The massive wings opened up, welcoming me, beckoning me. I clawed and raked the concrete with my hooves, shaking my head, in denial of the certain death that advanced on me. “Get back!” I shouted. “You won’t get me! You won’t!” If the Dark One heard me, it didn’t heed me. Its blackness swamped the walls of my cell, the massive body filling up the entire space. I felt a great pressure on my head. In my mind. The static from Sidewinder’s ghost story invaded my thoughts, tearing them asunder. I kicked and squirmed, but the Dark One continued to envelop everything around me. My world became its cold, dark flesh, my spirit sliced to ribbons by its powerful magic. I felt myself dragged to the door, towards the light. It snaked over my skin, which crawled with an awful feeling. It caught my fur aflame, and I felt my own flesh sizzle and crack. I struggled to stay away from that gaping, yawning abyss where terrible things waited for me, huge and incomprehensible. The static had reached a fever pitch, gnashing against my ears. “No! No, NO!” I screamed, struggling against the inexorable pull and the fall that would come afterwards. “Stop! I don’t want to! Please!” The Dark One abruptly smacked me across the face. “The fuck is wrong with you, boy? Snap out of it!” And then the Dark One was the guard captain. “Get up! We have some questions for you.” I jumped up and hugged him, and got another punch in the face for it that made my nose bleed. I didn’t care. At least it meant I was alive and well, and still back in my small, safe, dark world. /-/-/-/ My captors were surprisingly gentle, but perhaps that was because I decided to walk on my own instead of waiting for them to drag me. I was herded back to the main part of Bucklyn Station, where I saw it was much like Exiperia, except that it was larger and more militant. The ponies here looked busy and sociable, if a little grim, and at least I couldn’t see too many beggars. But then, that was likely to be expected at a large, well-organized station like Bucklyn. Transients and traders were numerous here since we were on the Ring, the great circle that stretched all the way around the Metro and connected every major line. Hoofsa, or the Hoofseatic League, or most officially the Hoofseatic League of Ring Stations, was the premier trading power in the station and ruled most of the Ring with an iron hoof, but Bucklyn had not yet bowed to their pressure. The wealth given by being on the Ring and being the so-called “guardian” of the northern stations and the eastern plantations gave them the means to buy electricity in amounts I had previously only dreamed of. Seeing wires and lightbulbs dangling all over amazed me, and I felt more than a little overwhelmed by being in a station that was so big and so self-sufficient. We soon made a turn down into other hallways, taking us away from the hustle and bustle of the main station. Our destination was a large, open area with several rusty shacks and wooden construction making up most of the “rooms.” These were apparently offices of administration, as I noticed several busy ponies rushing back and forth in and out of them. The only actual rooms of the original Metro were reserved for the high ranking ponies, as was custom. I was led into one, apparently the office of the unicorn captain, which was brightly lit and crowded with papers, reports, and equipment. The captain bade me sit down at a chair in front of his desk, which struck me as odd. I thought I’d be strapped to a table and ruthlessly tortured by now. “Sit,” he said, and his voice brooked no argument. I dropped onto the chair, grateful that it was large enough for me to drop onto my stomach like a regular pony. The captain seated himself across from me and put his hooves up on his desk. “Before you ask, your friends are alive and well,” he began. “They told me, with some persuasion, their stories about where you come from and why you are here.” Had Sunny Side given away my true goal? If he had, then the next question was probably going to be where Hunter’s token was. I resolved never to give it up. “You obviously aren’t bandits. The pegasus is too soft and Sidewinder… well, fortunately for him a few of our ponies here were able to vouch for him. That just leaves you, Lockbox… apparently, the son of Cinder Block of Exiperia.” I stiffened in my seat. I always knew my special position in Exiperia’s hierarchy would come back to haunt me in numerous ways, and now half of Bucklyn would know my name and face before the day was out! If Sixpence was still here, I was doomed. “That much is… true,” I started carefully. “If it is, then I apologize for shutting you up like that. Obviously your father has sent you on some important business if you came all this way alone…” “That much is… also… true,” I agreed again. The captain regarded me carefully. “Okay, how about now we cut the crap?” he snapped, slapping his hooves on the desk. “My name is Meadow Sage. You call me Captain Sage. Call me Meadow and I’ll rip your damn head off. I’m already pissed as hell that I have a stupid-ass colt and his buddies mucking up an already bad situation. You aren’t here on business for your station. You wouldn’t be traveling with a Stalker otherwise, not if you’re really Cinder Block’s son… and forgive me for saying so, you’re scrawny enough to fit the part.” I fidgeted self-consciously. I wasn’t that physically imposing, but come on… I was an earth pony. Surely that gave me a bit more bulk than the average pony? Not compared to Meadow Sage, of course, who could probably punch me clean through a wall. Perhaps he was just used to belittling ponies. “The fact of the matter is, you’re a mystery I don’t need to deal with right now, but at the same time, I can’t just let you go. You’re a suspect, and all of your friends are too. Not very likely suspects, mind. But we have rules. Ever since Aunt Buttercup and her cronies started setting up shop here to avoid the Monarchy and the Republic… well, you encountered them, didn’t you? And somehow got through them alive.” He steepled his hooves. “But the question still remains… what do I do with you? A strange colt, from a friendly station but on some kind of journey. Sidewinder claims total ignorance and your friend remained tight-lipped. So. What can you tell me?” He shrugged. I considered my options. Bucklyn wasn’t an unfriendly station, per se. Then again, every station was unfriendly as a matter of course, and just because Bucklyn didn’t take all my supplies and shoot me on sight didn’t mean they were going to help my journey. And keeping my mission, if not my survival, a secret was paramount. Sixpence could come after me again, but at least entire stations wouldn’t be working together to stop me if the conflict stayed between him and I. If I told Sage I was going to see the Rangers, I’d have to explain things, maybe even show them Hunter’s talisman, and that was beyond unthinkable. It’d waste time, as well. If I said nothing, they’d keep us here indefinitely until the situation with the bandits, the plantations, and the mystery of the slain Rangers was resolved. That could take days. Weeks, even. Again, time I didn’t have to waste. In the end I had to get to Ponyopolis. That was my mission. I’d have to sacrifice a little bit of secrecy, but- “Well?” the captain asked. He had no patience for my space out moments. Then inspiration struck me. “Ah… well, I’d been assigned to a goodwill caravan that was supposed to carry helpful goods and supplies to Draft Station, and would then continue on to here to gather supplies for Exiperia.” I felt rather guilty, having not considered the fate of our former comrades since I’d been dumped off the cart by Sixpence. “Yes, yes… they came through here, reported what happened. Your pegasus friend mentioned them. Your caravan had assumed you were dead. In fact, they left a few hours before you came here. The problem with that is, boy, why did you keep coming here when you could have just waited at Draft for them to return?” Oh shit. I hadn’t thought about that. Fortunately, I kept my composure, since the unicorn captain didn’t immediately leap on my silence and call it a lie. So lie I did, right through my teeth. “Another part of our mission was to try and gather news and information from other stations about what’s happening in the rest of the Metro,” I explained. “Also I had been carrying a proposal to the eastern plantations regarding new trade deals… they love our tea, you see. My father wanted me to do it, and obviously the caravan hasn’t… perhaps they wanted to try and report my supposed death as soon as possible.” Sage regarded me with a level, quiet stare. I did my best to meet it. There was only the gentle murmur of noise from other ponies outside the door. At last the captain spoke. “Quite a journey just to complete a request.” “From my father. To help my home. You know how important it is ponies keep their word down here.” Sage shrugged. “Well, you came at an auspicious time, then. I suppose you’ll want to help us see what happened to the eastern plantations, since you were going there yourself, and… being such a dependable pony.” Ah, now he wanted to trap me just like the Guild. I knew there were probably representatives from them skulking around the station… and this captain was no different. He was testing me. If I refused to help and complete my “mission,” the veracity of my tale was even more suspect. Then again, it was an excuse to get out of the station, find the Ranger base myself to discover their fate, and then find a way to wiggle out and get into the Metro proper. I had no idea what I’d do after that. “Of course,” I said, and then I knew I was stuck. I’d just given my word again. My conscience was going to nag me the whole way. “Well, in that case, you can provide the ponypower we don’t have. I can spare my sergeant and two others to keep an eye on you and help get past the bandits to the plantations, where you will then ascertain the true nature of what’s going on out there.” “You have a powerful military,” I pointed out. “Those bandits are good, but not great. Even I was able to come through alive.” “Through sheer luck and grit, and that’s not something a lot of ponies have here in the Metro,” Sage answered gruffly. “The fact is I can’t just throw my guard ponies at this problem as much as I’d like to fix it ourselves. I’d have to try and have them coordinating strikes on tunnels we rarely use and the bandits know well. They could get lost, they could get ambushed. You know what kinds of terrible things are out there. The beauty of this bandit situation is that they aren’t actually attacking us. It’s our caravans. We could just arm up every railcar that goes out there to the teeth, but that’d bleed us on the home front. Hoofsa is always looking for ways to prove that we ‘need’ their protection. Those bastards said they’d wiped out every bandit in the northeast sector, but here we are practically under siege… they’ll use this to their advantage as well.” “If… I’m here,” I began, “and you’re telling me all this… then you must think I can do something about the bandits too.” “Well, well. The boy has a brain. I suppose you need one to have made it this far almost on your own. The most important thing is to reestablish contact with our plantations. If we figure out what went wrong there, we might be able to create a plan to deal with our station’s troubles.” He reached behind himself and pointed at a map on the wall, and a long arm of the Metro that stretched northeast . The eastern plantations weren’t too far away, but going through the tunnels could take too much time. Days, even, to check all the stations. “The plantations are these four stations outside the Ring, on the Green Line: Compass, Heron, Perchervoskaya, and Ponyevskaya. They were blessed with being right nearby the aboveground train stations and the agriculture brought in there, stored in underground basins that were mostly protected from the bombs. Good soil and other supplies were scavenged by Stalkers over the years, and there you go. But now we’ve lost contact.” “Why can’t Otzark Bulvard check it out?” I asked, pointing at the station next to Bucklyn’s on the Ring, the gateway to the plantations. It was under their control, since a little flag with Bucklyn’s symbol had been pegged on it. “Otzark was always a small station, a transit point,” Sage explained. “It’s been mostly abandoned due to harassment from bandits, and they claimed that access to the plantations has been… cut off.” He shrugged. “The ones who made it here told us a lot of things, from disease to monsters to living shadows.” My stomach began to twist. “And now the bandits have made going to check almost impossible. We could just force our way through, but who the hell knows how that would turn out? The western tunnels are still open, but that won’t last very long since the noose is tightening.” “So all underground access is done with. That just leaves…” Sage fixed me with a very worrying look. /-/-/-/ “You’re insane. You both are!” Sidewinder exclaimed, trying to get up. Sunny Side grabbed his shoulder and pushed him back down. We were seated in a private area of the guardpony quarters, with bowls of mushroom soup sitting before us. I’d barely touched mine, though Sunny Side had eaten all of his and ordered another soggyweed sandwich. Sidewinder was too busy being obstinate to eat. “Why do I have to be part of this crazy scheme?” “Because otherwise they won’t let any of us out,” I said simply, gesturing with my hoof. It felt good to finally be able to move it without pain; as a gesture of goodwill Meadow Sage had all of our injuries treated at the station’s infirmary, and now at last I could move without feeling like I was going to fall apart at the slightest provocation. Of course, that gave Sage considerable leverage over us; we owed him big for getting free medical supplies. “I gave my word I’d try to help, and this is the only way we can even get out of the station without risking another gunfight.” “But the surface?!” Sidewinder complained. “Just for this? You might as well go back to Ruby Red and ask her to sling a few slugs into your backside, and pretty please finish you off with a few free blunt instrument blows to the head!” “Sidewinder, I know you have no obligations to us,” I pleaded. “But this situation seems worse than even you anticipated. Bucklyn is being squeezed by a noose, and we need to help them find a way around it.” Sunny Side seemed sullen and apprehensive, staying quiet. He hadn’t agreed to this new madness, but he hadn’t objected either. Though he’d gotten treated just like me and had more than a few rounds in the flight room, he didn’t look comfortable actually going up to the surface for any reason. But we didn’t have a choice. I needed to know what happened to the Rangers, and this was the only chance I was going to get anywhere near their base, which was in a hidden part of the metro near the plantations. I’d managed to slip that into conversation with Meadow Sage. I didn’t know what I’d find there, or if I wanted to. I just knew that for some reason, momentous events seemed to be piling up around me, and all having something to with my mission, or preventing me from completing it. “So what, then? You’re gonna go up there and find the reason for all this, stop it, be the hero?” Sidewinder sneered. “Face it, Lockbox, there are no heroes in the Metro. There’re just ponies with values, and the guns to back them up.” “I’m not trying to be a hero,” I countered, and it was true. All these other problems were coincidence, and my home took precedence. If it was possible to slip through Bucklyn unnoticed, I might’ve just done that. I hadn’t even meant to go this far. Sixpence and the strange things that kept happening around me were the only reason I’d convinced myself to go the extra step. “I’m trying to figure out how to protect my home.” “My home is wherever I park my little rump,” Sidewinder replied, crossing his forelegs. “This is a stupid idea, Lockbox. Nothing is this important; to throw away your life for a station that owes you nothing, the very idea!” “We all have that little something that drives us,” I shot back. “This is mine. If it’ll help me get out of here and figure out what’s going on, then I’m going to do it.” I looked at Sunny Side, who rubbed his temples. “I’m not going to say this is the smart thing,” he said. “But we have something very important to do, Sidewinder, and… and it wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he insisted. “I know,” I said. “I know…” Everything was coming down on my shoulders at once. I and Sunny Side were the only ones outside Exiperia who believed in the Dark Ones, much less seen what they could do. If we didn’t get to Ponyopolis… or the Rangers… with Hunter’s message, then the consequences could be lethal. “Fuck!” Sidewinder said. “Well, you’re not getting me to agree to this. I can find my own way out of here.” He left the room, but I didn’t know if he’d truly abandoned us. I was grateful for the breathing space anyway; I needed to talk to Sunny Side. “So are we going all the way?” he asked, taking a grudging bite of his sandwich. “To Ponyopolis?” I answered, dropping my chin on my hooves. “I don’t know, Sunny Side. I really don’t. All of this seems over my head. The Rangers were supposed to be here, and now they aren’t, and… we’re the only ones who seem able to do it. Only the Rangers will understand what this token means and what Hunter found out. No other station has the means or even the will to help us out…” He groaned and shook his head. I began to grow angry that even Sunny Side, my loyal friend, was starting to doubt me. There was no hubris involved here. I was the only one who could do this right now, and that was fact. Sixpence tried to kill me, Hunter had chosen me, and according to Sidewinder I’m the only damn pony in the Metro who can brush off an anomaly! I’m the only one with the token, I’m the only one… I felt angry and stubborn realizing that. I was the only link between Hunter’s call for help and the only ponies in the Metro who might answer the call. Therefore, all the hopes of survival for my home rested on me. That thought’s weight crushed me, but at the same time it drove me to stand up. Perhaps there was a little pride involved. I wanted to prove to myself and all these dark shadows that stood against me that I was equal to the task. But all alone? “Sunny Side, I need your help,” I admitted quietly, looking at the table. “You’re the only pony in this place I really trust. The only one I can trust. I need you as a friend.” “Neither of us have ever been to the surface before,” he pointed out. “Neither of us ever fought through an anomaly before,” I answered. “Or even gone farther than Bucklyn Station our entire lives. Neither of us fought bandits and crazy ponies and hordes of mutants almost single-hoofed before.” “I wasn’t trying to dissuade you,” Sunny Side said, giving me a sad smile. “You’re right, Lockbox. You’re right. This whole mess has come down on our shoulders, for better or for worse. And damn it if I’m not going to live up to my name and see the good side. At least we’re alive, and well, and we’ve got a path. We do need to figure out what happened, and why the Rangers aren’t here to meet us. We owe these ponies for giving us medical treatment.” He flexed his wing, which looked better than ever. My ribs still felt sore, but my hoof was much better. Those supplies and the expertise were expensive. I wasn’t about to be known as a debt dodger at two stations. “Before we even think of going farther, we have to figure out what killed the Rangers,” I decided. “That takes precedence. Then we discover what happened to the plantations… I hope the two aren’t related, or this could be a very big problem.” I thought about what Sage had said. Shadows, rats, and other terrible things were the only reports they got. Who knew what those fleeing from the plantations had seen? I wondered if perhaps the Dark Ones had stepped up their campaign. Wiping out four whole stations with many ponies living in each didn’t seem beyond them from what I’d seen. I patted Sunny Side on the shoulder, giving him a smile. “But it’ll be nothing we can’t handle.” So now we had a new course. Solve a mystery and perhaps help a station, if only tangentially. And then… depending on what we found… I faced a very long, very tough journey ahead. As I lay on a bunk in the same room, staring at the ceiling (I didn’t want to go out in public much, just in case Sixpence was prowling around) I realized that all I’d been through had been put a prologue. The last several days were nothing but a little test. It wasn’t until now that I’d really be plunging into the thick of it. The entirety of the Metro could be at risk if the Rangers and Ponyopolis didn’t get this message now. If going through with this meant finishing my mission more quickly, then that is what I would do. In my mind’s eye, the yellow pegasus stood before me, beckoning. I stayed where I was. /-/-/-/ I checked and rechecked my supplies. I’d had to half my cartridges to buy essentials that Bucklyn couldn’t spare freely; namely a medical kit that included five shockers, precious, precious ammunition, and a couple spare filters just to be safe. Gasmasks, of course, made it impossible to use the war reins unless they were militarized and created with special hard points that allowed you to fit a gun trigger inside. Magical charms created an airtight seal and you were good to go, as long as you didn’t mind having a trigger in your mouth the entire time. It was worth the discomfort. Fortunately, since I’d been in the militia for a short while, my gasmask included these features. “So this Aunt Buttercup,” I mentioned to Sage as I prepared myself for the journey out into the tunnels. “What’s her story?” “I’ve only heard the name. Some bandit bigshot, probably connected to one of the crime syndicates down south… or she got kicked out and set up shop here on the northern arc. She supposed to be the one in charge?” “I heard her mentioned by the bandits we went through, but that’s all.” “I’ll keep an ear out,” Sage said, and peeled off to finalize preparations. We’d head out by way of a heavily fortified side tunnel called the Orange Line that led to one of the older, ungated entrances: a simple stairway that led down to the old remnants of the Orange Line. We would be joined by three members of Bucklyn’s guard force: Maple Leaf, Ray Drop, and Sergeant Wind Chill, a tough as nails earth pony who, though only as old as Sidewinder, looked like she was ready and willing to shoot anypony and anything in the face if they looked at her funny. I noted her dull grey pelt and icicle cutie mark, and decided if she gave orders, it was probably best to follow them. According to Meadow Sage she’d been up to the surface only twice, and she was the leader of our desperate little expedition. I kept her at arm’s length, knowing that more than anything else she was there to shoot us if we deserted. I kept my hopes for survival well reserved. I noted there were no unicorns in our group, which made sense. They were essential to the working of a station and could be its powerful defenders. Ultimately, us “less magical” ponies were more expendable. I also saw that Ray Drop was a pegasus, with a dark green pelt and vivid purple mane. She possessed a cutie mark of a golden heart on well toned hindquarters she loved to show off by the way she walked. That she was a pegasus gave me some concern, as the possibility of going feather-brained was within every flyer, whether they admitted it or not, and actually being on the surface was a temptation for any pegasus to just fly away. She was, however, a much more sociable pony than Maple Leaf, a taciturn, beige earth stallion who said little and mostly just followed us around while Ray Drop tried to make us feel welcome. Mostly, I ignored her, but she latched onto Sunny Side, presumably because they were pegasi and he didn’t look like he was about to go insane. “So,” she purred at my friend, trying to look cute and failing due to her clunky barding. “How ‘bout you show me a little ray of sunshine?” “Um,” said Sunny Side. I was reminded very suddenly of Starry Gaze, alone and friendless back in Exiperia. Soon they’d get word I’d fallen off the cart and died, and Sunny Side disappeared going back for me. She’d take the news terribly, I imagined, as would my father… my father. I clenched my eyes shut as I thought of him, and guilt pricked me once more that I’d lied, and now I wouldn’t even be able to go back and explain to him what was going on. “Ooo,” a voice said next to me. “We’ve got ourselves a little fellowship here. Trying to navigate the perils of the Ring, no less…” It was Sidewinder. “You’re coming?” I asked, honestly surprised. His presence wasn’t welcome or unwelcome to me; we didn’t owe each other special favors. But that he was here would significantly raise our chances of survival, assuming he didn’t ditch us. “It’s a chance to stretch my legs,” he answered, fitting his gasmask on. “Either that or I sit in a cell for the rest of forever. Besides, I haven’t been up to the surface in a while. It should be fun! Or lethal. We could all die, you know, in new and exciting ways no pony has even imagined before! And I’ll get to blame it on you since you agreed to this. It’ll be interesting either way.” “Lunatic,” I muttered. “Don’t take the Princess’ name in vain, kiddo,” he muttered back and went to stand at the heavily fortified gate. We’d travel down the tunnel a ways before coming to a side tunnel that to a simple stairway to the surface. Up there lurked death of all kinds, and the eternal winter that gripped the land around Stalliongrad. Up there was a city full of crumbling buildings and strange ecosystems and horrifying magical anomalies that tortured the landscape. Monsters the size of houses and all kinds of danger. Up there was our only way forward. “Let’s get a move on!” shouted Wind Chill as she headed for the gate and waited for the rest of us to gather. We trooped on out through the gate, passing the rows and rows of sandbags and outward facing metal spikes, designed to funnel attacking enemies into an easy to hit cordon. We traversed the magical traps laid down, and I saw the protection wards sparking in their alcoves. The tunnel was long, straight, and forbidding, with no outstanding features save the typical river of pipes that swam over the walls. “This entrance isn’t bothered much,” Ray Drop explained, fiddling with the guns on her saddle. “We get the occasional wandering mutant, but the entrance is too small and uninteresting for anything big to get in… we keep it open for Stalkers, mostly.” “Heh. Hehe. You guardponies always did strike me as ‘back door’ kinds of ponies,” Sidewinder snickered. I rolled my eyes. “Get your gasmasks on, all of you!” Wind Chill ordered, slipping hers on. Trying to calm the shaking in my limbs, I slid on my gasmask, feeling the harsh metal and plastic rub over my face, enveloping my head. I clamped the hardpoint down over my gun’s trigger, and the outside world was closed off. Magical charms tightened the seals until I could literally feel the difference in air pressure between my skull and the rest of the atmosphere. I took a deep, sucking breath, and I could hear the deep, rough noise of air squeezing in and out of the filter. I was ready. We all checked and rechecked our clothing and barding, since one false step could open up seams for radiation or the bitter, cold air to bite at. I’d been given a spare coat for the journey, and I prayed that it would be enough on the layers I already wore. At least they let me keep my helmet and flak jacket, slightly scuffed and damaged though they were. “You know this is crazy, right?” rumbled Maple Leaf. “It’s lunacy. I’m a guard pony. I’m not a Stalker. We should just send the Stalker!” “Yes, send me,” Sidewinder agreed. “Except according to your captain, I’m required to do this for free, or I rot in a cell or get put against the wall for ‘spying.’ Excellent motivator, he is. Bucklyn is fucking desperate to be reduced to this, and the rest of you can’t claim a single supernatural event between the three of you! Even Lockbox here has a better chance of survival than you all. Are you all that soft, one bandit blockade and Hoofsa breathing down your neck, and you resort to throwing away expendable ponies on suicide missions?” “Shut up, both of you!” Wind Chill snapped. “We won’t be up there any more than an hour or two, we have a straight line to walk on and then we can get back inside. It’s not that far to the next entrance.” “I wonder if we’ll sight any demons…” Ray Drop murmured. “Demons?” asked Sunny Side, eyes wide under his mask’s visor. “You’ll know them when you see them,” Ray Drop said ominously. “A Stalker party brought one back once, claimed they’d killed it. Ugliest son of a bitch I ever laid eyes on.” “They fly,” Sidewinder said. “Better then pegasi. Some say they are pegasi. Or…were, rather. Watch out they don’t mistake you for a long lost cousin and try to mate with you, ha!” Soon we came to the platform that led to the surface. It was a cold, desolate place, with ice and snow covering almost everything. Old benches frozen solid still sat near the platform’s edge, forever waiting for a pony to plop down in one. I looked up at the stairwell, through which streamed the pale light of the moon and gusts of snow and ice. They shimmered beautifully, but my geiger counter began to click every so often. “Yeah, there’s always that,” Ray Drop explained. Her voice sounded like she spoke through a faraway radio through her gasmask. “If we’re lucky to live long enough we might even get cancer.” “It’s been too long since there was a good case of cancer,” Sidewinder answered, staring up at the exit. There was a flash of lightning, but I could barely hear the thunder. “That’s a good sign your life is so comfy it breaks from living too long.” The heaviness of my breathing grew the closer I stepped to that sacred portal, which shone with an unearthly light. Even in the middle of the night, I could see with clarity thanks to the moon. I was struck by a pang of lonely sadness that I’d never be able to truly enjoy my city in the full light of day. “Here we go,” Sunny Side said, fluffing his feathers. I stared up at the portal, through which our old city still existed. It was a grim, terrible sight. The stairwell was choked with snow and ice that we had to force our way through. Icicles the size of my limbs hung down like the teeth of a great beast vomiting us up into the harsh world above. At last we broke through, squinting as lightning flashed above. Heads bowed against the wind as if forcing us to give homage to the ancient legacy above, shoulders hunched and ears already freezing from the cold, we entered the Dead City.

redsquirrel456

446

Original Character,Crossover,Adventure,Dark,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

My Little Metro

After Doomsday forces ponies underground, a lone colt braves the Stalliongrad metro system to save his people from an unknown threat.

hiatus

<p>The Metro tunnels of Stalliongrad shelter the last remnants of ponykind from the ravages of the Apocalypse. Beneath the earth, ponies struggle to survive against mutants, radiation, and each other. But when an unstoppable threat emerges from the darkness of the Metro, one pony must brave the shadows to save not just his home, but the very existence of his people.</p>

teen

2012-07-04T23:23:35+00:00

2012-07-04T23:23:35+00:00

My Little Metro: Chapter 8 “Welcome home.” I froze in place as we came into the open. The city of Stalliongrad lay bare before us, magnificent and wretched. There was an almost unlimited amount of space here, stretching all around me, and all of it filled by dilapidated, worn out buildings. Around us were apartments and post offices, police departments and office buildings, all of them now worn away to pitted, grey sameness by acidic, poisonous rain. We stepped out into the streets, which were choked not just with debris, but with strange plants that were slowly turning the city into an irradiated forest. The knobby, claw-like branches of alien trees poked through the facades of buildings, and twisted tangles of shrubs threatened to block our progress at every turn. All around us huddled creaking monuments that gaped at the dead world through broken windows and cracked doors. It seemed the entire earth was covered by these ancient skeletons, the broken bones of a once proud city, and from my perspective this was Equestria. An entire country filled by sad, empty coffins. Even older buildings, topped by cupolas and once painted with vivid reds, greens and blues were now cracked and shattered. The symbols of the Princesses, crescent moons and great shining suns, had fallen from the rooftops and littered the streets. Above all else, I was astonished at the state of the sky. In my pictures the sky was blue and heavenly, falling ever upwards into Luna’s vast night sky. Here too the sky loomed overhead, but instead of gentle blue there rested a low ceiling of brooding black and grey clouds, from which a drizzling sleet of rain and snow fell. Lightning forked every so often, frightening me. I’d never seen real lightning before. “Nothing like a good stroll around town. Least there’s no tourists this time of year,” Sidewinder muttered, but I barely heard him. Nopony told me to hurry up, and I didn’t move for several long moments, staring at the vast, dead landscape. Even the Metro, with its infinite recesses and miles of twisting tunnels, seemed tiny and unimportant compared to the huge mausoleum of Stalliongrad. Such a tiny bastion of life, threatened on all sides… right in the middle of a vast and desolate wasteland where nothing but monsters thrived. And below their talons we scuttled, eking out our pointless lives… “Lockbox, come on!” I barely heard through the wind, channeled by the labyrinth of buildings and broken windows into a howling funeral dirge. I hurried after the others down the east facing street, filled with terrible visions of being lost and alone in this place. In minutes the snow and wind would cover our hoofsteps and nopony would ever know we’d even passed by. We tread where no ponies had for years on end. We weren’t standing on our own soil anymore, but trespassing on land that ponies didn’t belong to and weren’t welcome in. I finally began to turn over in my mind the thought that this was the new world, and it was a horrid place to live. Was this really the land I’d once fancied saving, restoring? This broken and sad wasteland wasn’t the Equestria I’d seen in my visions, the one I dreamed about… We marched down the street in a straight line, with Maple Leaf bringing up the rear and Sidewinder staying in front to guide us with his expertise. I noticed Wind Chill stayed close to him, and her gun barrel was pointed more towards him than the surrounding buildings. Ray Drop ceased her friendly conversation and kept her eyes on the street. Maple Leaf seemed the most disinterested of the group. It was Sunny Side who worried me. He stared almost continuously at the ominous grey sky, and I saw his eyes darting back and forth through the foggy visor of his gasmask, tracing the lightning. I wondered if he even felt some instinctive urge to use his magic to keep the weather neat and tidy, as pegasi did in days of old. I nudged him to help keep his mind in the present. “This is it,” he said quietly. His breathing was deep and labored through his gasmask, in awe of the utter devastation. “This is Stalliongrad. I… I had no idea.” “Nor I,” I answered. “This is… beyond anything I’d imagined.” “Cut the chatter!” Wind Chill hissed. “Celestia knows what’s lurking up here!” As if on cue, Sidewinder held up a hoof and we all rushed to the side of the street, sheltering under rusted carriages and the husks of old cars, long since stripped of anything remotely useful. Thankfully, there were no skeletons… my fanciful imagination lent me visions of whole buildings still full of irradiated, mummified corpses. I huddled against a tangle of street sign and crashed sky carriage, finding himself right behind Sidewinder. He pointed up ahead, and at a nearby crossroads I saw my first glimpse of the many monsters that inhabited the surface. There was a whole pack of them. They reminded me of wolves, which I’d read about in old books, but they had a vaguely reptilian shape to their long, lanky bodies and snake-like snouts. I then realized I hadn’t seen them arrive, they simply seemed to show up out of thin air. I peered closer and noticed that only now, against the dull grey of the buildings, were they visible through the wispy, snow-white fur that covered their bodies. It seemed to me snow was drifting off of them, but on closer inspection I saw that it wasn’t snow at all, but motes of light. These creatures were infused with magic, which confused their silhouettes and gave them the appearance of a wavering mirage. Sidewinder was perfectly still, and I followed his cue and barely even breathed. I didn’t know what kinds of senses these creatures had, and the smallest breath would bring them down on us, all flashing teeth and merciless claws. If I even sucked in air too loudly I felt that would alert them to our presence, even at this distance. A deep, bellowing howl reached our ears, and the beasts before us lifted their heads, snuffling and nipping at each other. They began to move away, towards the direction of the howl. I had trouble following their movements as magical energy bent and distorted their shapes into vague wavering blobs, a perfectly confusing camouflage. Soon the crossroads was clear. “This area isn’t safe,” Sidewinder said, relaxing only after several minutes of silence went by. “We will need to cut through the buildings.” “We should stay on the path,” Wind Chill retorted. “Straight down this street. It’s the quickest way.” “You want to be right in the middle of an army of mutants with nowhere to hide, be my guest,” Sidewinder growled. “Me, I give a fuck about my life, so I’ll be going that way.” He gestured towards a building at the crossroads the wolf monsters once occupied. Its entire front face had collapsed, creating a large ramp of debris that led to the third floor. “I remember this area, traveled it a few times. There’s an indoor route that skirts around a creek, then an open gate to-” “We will stay. On the path,” Wind Chill hissed. “If we don’t then we risk getting lost, and if we’re lost, then we’re lost.” “At least you understand that much,” Sidewinder grumbled, looking up and down the street. “Fine!” he snapped at last. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Any of you fuck up and it’s open season.” “You seem to forget who is working for whom,” Wind Chill growled, but Sunny Side nudged her flank to get her attention. “This isn’t the time,” he said quietly. Wind Chill growled at him, too, but as we were all anxious to get going, she complied. I felt we should heed the Stalker’s advice, but I also remembered I didn’t trust him and had very little reason to. Cautiously we threaded our way down and through the street, hemmed in on both sides by the ancient, crumbling buildings. Distant howls and hoots permeated the air alongside the ever-present moan of the wind. The snow and rain continued to drum down upon us, making me feel the chill all the way down to my skin. I wondered if it was possible the “demons” Ray Drop mentioned would hunker down to weather the storm. Unless of course they enjoyed hunting in weather like this to better stay undetected… On both sides the buildings might once have been apartments and office buildings, but I couldn’t tell what true purpose they served from how broken and cracked they were. The paint had long since faded and peeled away. Twisted metal and fallen lamp posts were everywhere, and even the ground itself had suffered upheaval. I saw little hills and raised areas in the street where the asphalt had split into ditches and crevices, and some of the buildings stood askew upon their mountains of rubble. The sheer destructive power of the bombs and magic unleashed on Equestria had ripped the ground asunder. Here and there half-frozen puddles of radioactive sludge steamed and sizzled. This is Equestria now, I realized, and the thought struck me like the lightning above. This is our land. It’s like this everywhere… nothing but snow and emptiness and sad, slow death. I took a step forward, realizing for the first time just how terrible the War had been. This wasn’t all stories and anecdotes; this was the harsh, dark reality. Stalliongrad wasn’t just beaten, it was dead. All of Equestria was dead. From here it even seemed the entire world was well and truly dead. It was only then in those all-encompassing moments of realization that the finality of the War’s end came down on my mind, pressing in on me, taunting me. The pictures of old Equestria I’d seen were not a contrast to this ultimate destruction, they were another world entirely. How could friendship and harmony rise from this? “Hold,” Sidewinder said, and we all stopped again. “Look up there.” I followed his gaze far upwards, to a tall spire visible between two fallen buildings. I feared it was the fabled Victory Spire, but there was no statue of Celestia, just a tall decoration. I didn’t see anything at first. But then a shadow moved near the top, and the spire suddenly sprouted wings. Long, bat-like wings I could see the size of from here, and then they began moving as a sinewy tail trailed out behind them. Another pair suddenly erupted from off the roof of the building at the base of the spire, and a large winged thing shrouded by shadows launched off, circling the spire. It buzzed the creature that had claimed the top as its roost, making it leap away. I watched in amazement as the two winged horrors jockeyed for position in the sky, while more of their foul brethren joined the aerial duel, startled by the commotion. I couldn’t even tell which was which, so frenzied was their activity, and that section of the sky was claimed by a whole flock of the beasts, snapping and screeching at one another. Then finally, for no discernible reason, the crowd of wings and shadows dispersed, and another had taken the place of the first, twining itself around the spire, hugging its contours until it was almost imperceptible from a distance. “That’s a building you definitely want to avoid,” Sidewinder said grimly. “Demons?” Sunny Side wondered. Nopony answered. As we started down the street again now that the tumult had passed, I began to understand my city was now a foreign and hostile place. Pegasi didn’t belong in the sky with those creatures. “They flew so freely, like they owned the air…” Sunny Side muttered. I and Ray Drop gave him a worried glance. Struggling through the snow that seemed to be following us, I began to wonder if Wind Chill had deliberately chosen this route because she was more used to it and wanted us foreign ponies to suffer, since it was mostly our fault she’d been chosen as our custodian. I knew I’d much prefer being inside the buildings, as ominously silent and empty as they were, if only it’d help us avoid the biting wind and rain. My breathing became more labored, and I could even hear the loud breaths of my fellows as we pushed on gamely, hugging the side of the street that sheltered us more from the wind. The deep, rasping sound of my own breathing gave me almost as much fright as the emptiness outside. I had no idea what was lurking just outside my field of vision. After those two brief glimpses of the mutants, I knew we walked on their turf. I maintained a watchful gaze, as did we all, but Sidewinder seemed to know which howls were dangerous and which were just the distant keening of monsters marking their territory, so our progress remained thankfully steady. Every so often we’d have to pause and hack our way through shrubs. We stayed on a straight line like Wind Chill said we would, and soon we’d arrived at a street almost completely blocked by the fallen corner of a six story building, and the rest of it was choked with thick, woody vines. I saw the empty floors inside, all once full of furniture and living ponies. Had they been in there, I wondered, when the bombs fell? Was that desk I saw sitting in a corner on the second floor occupied when this city was scorched? “We should be getting close,” Wind Chill said as we navigated the broken piles of concrete. “Kuvoz Street is coming up…” “Can’t see a damn thing,” Maple Leaf complained. “My visor keeps fogging up! Blast this snow.” “Don’t jinx us,” Sunny Side warned, but too late. The wind suddenly began to pick up again, blowing gusts of snow right into our faces. My gasmask protected me from the brunt of the shower of shining particles, but nonetheless I was struck blind if I looked straight ahead. “Move to the side! Don’t lose sight of each other!” I heard Sidewinder command. We sidestepped to an alcove created by the rubble of a large building, and me, Sunny Side and Ray Drop huddled as far as we could into the meager shelter. Outside I saw the world become nothing more than a blanket of white and brown, the buildings nothing more than vague silhouettes. The howling became unbearable, and I lowered my cold-numbed ears against my skull. The speed with which the storm had blown up shocked me. I almost jokingly asked him to clear up the clouds, but I couldn’t even see his face through the mask. Outside our meager shelter, I heard what sounded like a gunshot, and then my eyes caught some kind of movement. First it was there, then it was gone, a bulge of solidity in the shifting wind. I didn’t see what it was. Perhaps one of the snow wolves from before? I couldn’t tell. The wind passed, and we crawled out of the alcove, our leaders appearing from under a destroyed carriage. “Everypony all right?” Wind Chill called down the line. Sidewinder was with her. I looked behind… nopony else answered. We only had time for a cursory search. Maple Leaf was gone. Nothing remained except his medical bag. Wind Chill didn’t want it going to waste, so she threw it over her back and we moved on. /-/-/-/ “I love saying I told you so,” Sidewinder said with a leering look from under his gasmask, “so… ‘I told you so.’” “Fuck you!” Wind Chill snapped as we squeezed into a doorway partially blocked by a fallen pillar. “Maple should’ve fucking stayed with us. He knew the rules. We all did.” “If we’d gone with my path, he might still be here. We’d have shelter from this blizzard. I think it was a storm ghost that did him in… they love to hide in this stuff.” Behind us, the wind raged again. I had no wish to go back out there and face the invisible monsters that’d stolen away Maple Leaf. Poor thing probably hadn’t even known what hit him… or at least, I hoped he hadn’t. Ray Drop took it stoically, as did we all, but perhaps to alleviate the fear that spiked whenever a pony vanished, she began to speak. It seemed like instinct, to try and distract oneself from fear immediately after a terrifying incident. Her voice echoed in the small entryway, which seemed to be a lobby for a once opulent business. I saw a receptionist office and a hallway that led to the back which we walked into, entering the comforting darkness of the building. The lack of light and the closed space reminded me of the Metro, and with a glimmer of darkly humorous irony, I appreciated that. “I never thought Maple Leaf would get done in by a little walk,” Ray Drop murmured, sticking close to me and Sunny Side. Wind Chill was predictably too cold to maintain conversation with, as she was too busy fuming over Sidewinder being proven right and losing a pony under her command to talk. It didn’t help that Sidewinder kept wheedling her with whispered comments under his breath. I didn’t understand them through his mask, but I could tell they irritated the mare. What was his point? Did he just enjoy pointing out glaring failures in other ponies, like he’d tried to discourage me in that prison cell? “He was always a strong pony, Maple,” Ray Drop continued, filling the silence with her voice, which wasn’t unpleasant. I kept my thoughts to myself. Was this wise? Were we all going to die up here? Our only chance was to trust that Sidewinder wouldn’t abandon us and Wind Chill wouldn’t lose sight of our route. “You all seem like strong ponies,” Sunny Side said. Ray Drop smiled (I think, I wasn’t looking). “Well, everypony has to be strong in the Metro,” she said softly. “I have a sister, Cherry Pie… she runs one of the ammo shops in Bucklyn. We’re the only ones left of six. The others perished from the plague. Hard times, when we had to grow up supporting each other…” “My father…” Sunny Side began, and then trailed off. His father had been murdered by a scoundrel who didn’t appreciate do-gooders calling him out on thieving from our stores. My father had all the thief’s legs broken and left him on the surface for the mutants. “I’m sorry,” Ray Drop said in a whisper I barely heard, but the conversation sparked some of my own memories. I didn’t know what exactly happened to my real parents. Obviously they’d died in some way, or figured I was too much of a burden and dumped me in the nearest inhabited station. My father said he’d found me as an abandoned child in a station that’d recently been hit by a mutant attack, and none of the survivors bothered to take me in. I didn’t dwell on it much. The truth was out of my grasp. “It was a while ago,” Sunny Side said. “Like you said, ponies have to be strong… I think that’s why I joined the militia. So I could be strong for my station.” “A noble aspiration.” Ray Drop’s voice was soft, and not just for the sake of being quiet. “Oh, look what we have here!” Sidewinder said cheerfully, entering a small side room. It was empty except for an old desk, smashed by the body of an earth pony who’d been driven through the table. His entire front had been ripped open and feasted on, his belongings scattered across the ground. I saw the flag of Stalliongrad on his shoulder marking him as a Stalker. His gasmask’s visor had shattered, giving us a good look at his frozen, blank expression. “Poor devil,” Sidewinder muttered as he went right to work stripping the body of anything useful. “Where there’s one, there’s more. Check the other rooms, and for Luna’s sake stay in sight of each other.” “We’re wasting time!” Wind Chill growled. “We have to move, there’s no point rooting around in a building for dead bodies!” I had to admit she had a point, but didn’t voice my opinion. I was too busy fidgeting from the ticklish feeling I got in my side. “Yeah? Just thinking ahead,” Sidewinder said. “Just one minute, all right? It takes a bit… oh, an extra filter, thank you brother…” “Piece of shit,” Wind Chill grumbled. “Ignorant bitch,” Sidewinder shot back. “You walk around, take a stroll through the park, and you think you can order me around…” “Five minutes!” Wind Chill hissed. “Then we leave.” The tickling on my side got worse. It felt like something was buzzing inside my saddlebag. I began to move away on the pretense of checking another room. “Sunny Side,” I said, giving him a nudge, and I headed for the stairs at the end of the hall, with my friend trailing behind me. Something told me to go… up. I didn’t know what it was, but the feeling was there, and it was definite. The buzzing in my saddlebag seemed inaudible and intangible to the others, but for some reason I felt it directing me. It wasn’t controlling my actions or my thoughts, more like… a nagging. A touch at the edge of my senses. “Whoa, whoa!” Sidewinder exclaimed. “Stay alert. The beasts like to hide in upper floors.” “I’ll be careful,” I said over my shoulder, but Sunny Side took the lead regardless, as he had more experience with such things. He pointed his Mule up the stairs. Ray Drop stayed behind to poke around the lower floor and watch Wind Chill’s back. I tried not to focus on how empty the Stalker’s eyes had seemed, like he had never been alive at all. Were Celestia and Luna really waiting for us in the afterlife? Was that dead pony now in a better place? I wondered and hoped… but there was no way to know. I followed my friend up the stairs, noting the third floor flight had been destroyed, rusted and rotten away until it collapsed. Floor two was the only one available to us, but as we came up I noted the buzzing radar in my head was satisfied. I looked around, feeling light-headed as Sunny crept forward, shining his light into all the dark corners. There was nothing… save a scrabbling noise on the floor directly above us. We dropped down and froze on our bellies, staying stock still. For several long moments there was nothing but the sound of our raspy breathing through the mask filters. I noticed I couldn’t even hear Sidewinder’s muffled speech as he rooted around, looting his Stalker brethren. The noise didn’t return, and very slowly we stood up and began to move again. We didn’t dare say a word to each other, Sunny Side because he was being careful, me because I was distracted. Something pointed me somewhere, teasing me at the edge of my perception. As Sunny Side swept his gun and light down the hall, I peered at a small corner where something glowed on the wall. It was an arrow, pointing down the hall. Fascinated, I moved towards it and scratched it with my hoof several times. It must have been a magical marker, because it wasn’t affected by my touch, and its glow was undimmed. I looked towards Sunny Side, who was still creeping down the hall in almost perfect silence, sweeping his gun back and forth. He didn’t need to be bothered. I felt the buzzing clearly now, and this time it was more of a tingle, dancing over the surface of my mind. It was coming from where I’d placed Hunter’s talisman. Was it guiding me somehow? I didn’t want to entertain the thought that he was communicating with me from beyond the grave, but I couldn’t take the chance that this was a trap or a coincidence. Not if it was from the Rangers. Another arrow on the ceiling, several rooms down, pointed to the back of the building which had mostly fallen out. I peered out the gaping wound and found still another arrow, glowing faintly and pointing at a small room at the end of the hall. I saw no traps, but then again, having to run across a long open hallway that was exposed to the elements and to the mutants outside was a risky proposition. But the arrow pointed there regardless, and I had to get there. Something inside told me to. Boldly I stepped out into the open, keeping an eye on the skies; it’d be one of the flying creatures that did me in here since there was no easy access to the ground. I passed old cans that littered the floor, torn from their moorings. Something had already been through here, and I slowed my progress, sticking to the wall. I crept forward, driven by the strange tingling from Hunter’s talisman. Perhaps this was how Rangers communicated. Was their base hidden in this dilapidated structure? I couldn’t believe my luck! It was at that moment I felt another little pulse from the talisman. I stopped, stepped back, and took a closer look. There across the hall where it ended in a T-section was a small length of rope, painted to hide it from the casual observer. But it, too, glowed in my sight like the arrows. A trap set by Rangers to guard their safe havens, no doubt. Perhaps Hunter really was watching out for me. I might’ve questioned why I was able to see magical markers all of a sudden, but the drive to keep going, to uncover this mystery, prevented me from dwelling on it too much. After all, didn’t every pony have magic of some kind? Mine, as an earth pony, was just less obvious, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t be sensitive as far as I knew. I poked my head into the hall and saw the line led up to a log stuck through with spikes and nails. Crude, but brutally effective on anyone not wearing heavy armor, and the only ones who had that were Rangers and Monarchy stormtroopers. I gingerly stepped over the wire and followed a final arrow into a small room in the back corner of the building, where there rested an impressive assortment of tools and gun pieces amidst a mess of ammo and random equipment. My eyes widened, raking over the treasure trove. Even if I didn’t know the exact value of what was here, some vague subconscious knowledge I’d absorbed living in the Metro told me I was looking at a wonderful find. But what could I use here? I wasn’t a gunsmith or an engineer, and most of it looked too bulky to carry… looking at this wonderful array of valuable craftspony’s tools, I felt more than a little useless that I wasn’t skilled in some kind of profession. I resolved to fix that if I survived the journey home. And yet the talisman still nibbled at my senses from within the bag. I cast my gaze about the small safe room, looking for another glowing clue. Nothing immediately stood out, so I began opening cupboards and drawers. It was then I chanced upon two things that caught my eye. First, a flashlight to replace my tiny lamp, and a map of the Metro, which was covered in notes and scribbling about different places that I didn’t know about, especially where danger threatened that a regular map didn’t tell me. I pocketed it, feeling somewhat guilty, but the Rangers would surely understand? Perhaps it would help me know why their base had fallen silent. Other piles of papers told me little more than movement plans, but I stumbled upon a strange little note. Tracer, Take this package back to Outpost 6. Hunter says it’s important. Key phrase ‘sweet gold terrace.’ Another quick check of the room told me the package was no longer here. Tracer had done his duty and taken it away to this mysterious Outpost 6. I put the little piece of paper in my saddlebag regardless, and took a few hooffuls of ammo and several military grade cartridges. If I was going to all this trouble, might as well make sure I had money… But my actions gave me pause. I had believed Sidewinder was out of line and rather disgusting rooting through dead bodies, and here I was stealing from the Rangers. But to accomplish a mission Hunter had given me. I resolved to somehow pay them back. I forgot about that once I saw the heavy jowls and boxy head of a mutant poke through the ceiling. I fired automatically and didn’t stop to see if I’d killed it. A bellowing howl erupted from the floor above. Something collapsed on a table in the room as I bolted for the exit, rushing into the hall. My hooves clattered. Something’s claws scrabbled, something hot breathed on my flank. Into the hall! I tripped on the wire, falling flat on my face as I skidded into the open hall. I heard a snap, a sharp whistle and then a meaty wet thunk. Something screeched and squealed in horrible pain, like the sound of metal being rent asunder. I turned back, saw the beast tangled in the thicket of spikes and rusty metal as it flailed, ripping apart its own insides through its panicked struggles. Before I even got a good look at the thing, something heavy slammed into me from the side out of a half-broken door. I saw a blur of grey fur and felt claws wrap around me, digging into my thick clothes. The world spun into a vortex of wild shapes as everything blurred together and went red. There was nothing but the sensation of falling through open air and then the loud thud that came with the landing, before we started rolling and skidding. Reach, reach! Fire! I couldn’t do anything, everything was happening so fast, couldn’t do anything except scramble and throw my hooves out for purchase. I heard a clatter of equipment and tangled limbs as we rolled down the long slab of icy debris. Something was growling right in my ear, sharp teeth tore at my barding. At last we hit something solid and the weight on my back fell away. I snatched a piece of rebar sticking from the snow, too late, and was yanked away as something caught my hind leg, dragging me the rest of the way down. My face smacked into stone and my visor cracked, leaving a scar over the corner of my vision. I didn’t have time to worry about whether I’d start suffocating. We hit the snowy earth hard. I spun and came face to face with the boxy maw of a mutant coming straight at me. Kick! I struck out with my front hooves and it went sprawling. Not nearly as durable as thumpers, at least. My body knew what to do before my mind even registered what was happening, and as the beast stood up to attack, I greeted it with a spray of bullets to the face. I noted the new holes that sprouted over its limber body with satisfaction. Mules weren’t accurate and overheated like hell, I remembered from Arsenal, but praise the Sisters they got the job done if you held the trigger long enough. Two more, from the left and right, one standing tall, three times the height of a pony, howling… that same bellowing call I’d heard on the street and in the building. Howlers, were they? Calling more of their brothers to come get the fresh meat. Not me. Not me. The first took a few more bullets than the last, and the other was almost upon me as its cousin fell, claws reaching out as it pounced. I spun and rose on my hind legs to meet it, letting my knife spring free, one little claw against many. But I had the strength of the earth on my side. And support from above. Twin shots rang out and the howler promptly collapsed at my hooves. My epic duel was left unfinished, and I dropped back on all fours. Ray Drop and Sunny Side had zoomed out from… somewhere… and lent their support as more howlers entered the small plaza like area I’d dropped into. “Lockbox, go! Get across the yard! We’ll cover you!” Sunny Side shouted down, and somehow I could hear the happiness in his voice. Up there was where he belonged, doing his job to the best of his ability. My heart swelled upon seeing him flying in tandem with Ray Drop. “NO!” I heard Sidewinder’s voice, choked and fuzzy through his gasmask. “Get down! GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE SKY!” I didn’t have time to worry about who was shouting at what. I had a pack of howlers bearing down on me and needed to run. I charged across the open area, noting in a flash I’d entered a… a courtyard, that was the word. A broken fountain in the middle, stony walls marking raised islands where lush little gardens once stood to entertain the pedestrians… all barren, or choked by the twisting, knobby plants of the new world. Across the yard, another row of buildings, what appeared to be a stairway leading down at the rear of one… I had no intention of staying on the surface, and instinctively marked that covered stairway as my goal. Forget that something might be living at the bottom. I heard more shots echo through the courtyard. Sunny Side swooped overhead, followed closely by Ray Drop. Nothing else stooped down to hunt them. In that moment, pumped with adrenaline, dodging a howler that leaped over a low wall and blasting it with my gun as I leaped to one side, I wondered if Sidewinder’s warning was unfounded. The demonic winged beasts hadn’t come upon us yet, we were far from their territory… I felt almost invincible, and thoughts of murdering ponies and the weight of my mission gave way to sheer emotion. I scrambled over a dirt island, dodged under a branch and heard a howler land heavily atop it before being hurled backwards by strafing fire from my friends. Friends… Ray Drop was saving my life, without being asked and knowing she wasn’t getting a reward. Sidewinder wasn’t here, and I presumed Wind Chill was elsewhere, probably dead? I didn’t know. I knew Ray Drop was my friend now, and the thought of it being too early to decide never even entered my mind. We fought for each other, supported each other. That’s what friends are for. I saw a howler rise up from the stairwell and veered away, noticing a gate at the far end. That was my next goal. The howlers, having suffered casualties, began to peel off from their wild pursuit as I thundered towards the gate, clearing the distance in seconds. I saw a lock on the gate, spun, and with a powerful buck smashed the rusted hinges open. I came to a stop when I saw the next area was a small loading area for trucks that once serviced these buildings. All the roads back to the street were cut off; somepony would have to fly me over. I looked back for Sidewinder and Wind Chill, and saw nothing. Then, Sunny Side scooped me up and flew me over a debris pile, back to the main street we’d been traversing so far. The howlers wailed, but they had given up their pursuit, confused by the staccato bark of our guns. “So much for indoors being safe!” Sunny Side remarked, and looked flushed and excited under his gasmask. He’d never, ever flown in such wide open spaces before. I couldn’t imagine what effect this was having on his psyche. Somewhere in the back of my mind I was aware I should’ve been worried, but right now we needed to keep moving. “I’ve never been so… active before!” he said with a wide grin, looking up at the sky. “Maybe I should go higher. I can… I can scout the area and find the next Metro-” “No!” I barked. “Sunny Side, we should get going. The Metro shouldn’t be too much farther…” “It isn’t,” Ray Drop said, consulting her map. “Just up the street, really. All this noise is going to have attracted more creatures. We have to get moving now.” “But…” Sunny Side said, fluttering a few feet away from us. He turned back to the sky, looking up. “But we… it’s right there…” A chill that wasn’t the wind ran through me. All the good, triumphant feeling of the battle before evaporated. “Sunny Side,” I said sternly. “We have a mission. We have a duty. We can’t turn aside now. I need you back down here!” Sunny Side struggled, shaking his head quickly as if clearing it of cobwebs. I stood frozen, ready to act, afraid to act, knowing Ray Drop was our only chance of catching him if he made a break for it. My heart thundered in my chest. In an instant he could just flap his wings and my best friend would be gone, gone… “Sunny Side,” Ray Drop said, flying up next to him and putting a hoof on his shoulder. She said something quiet to him that made him look intently at her. I didn’t see what passed between them, but I had to assume it was a look of understanding, or something else that made the moment pass and reign in my friend’s impending lunacy. Sunny’s wing movements became less erratic and more focused, and he gently began to lower himself to the ground again. “All right, I… I dunno what came over me. I’m okay, now.” “It’s okay, Sunny,” Ray Drop said, her hooves not leaving his shoulders. “We all feel it.” Ray Drop screamed and pushed Sunny Side away before zooming upwards. I turned, realized the scream wasn’t coming from her, but from a huge black shadow that weaved expertly through the alleyway we’d just left. The two pegasi lurched in midair, spiraling, Sunny Side went one way and Ray Drop another… and I ran. I had no intention of abandoning them, no. I had to get to higher ground, to shelter, fire from a protected position. I heard gunshots in the air behind me as I charged into the first building on my right, turned back just in time to see more shadows darkening the air as they swooped to the kill. I charged at a flight of stairs near the back of the room, and staggered up to the second, then the third floor. I prayed Ray Drop and Sunny Side had the sense to get inside like me. The air was thick and dusty in here, and I had trouble breathing. Then I realized it’d been a while since I’d changed my filters; they were clogged and deteriorating quickly. I looked up at a tall, narrow window as I gulped in a final breath of air and punched out the old filter, slapping a new one in its place. The fresh air I sucked in was like a gulp of cool water. Occasionally the moonlight outside was shadowed by a winged thing that growled and hissed as it passed, searching for me and my friends. I made sure not to linger near that opening. Once I regrouped with my friends we could find a basement or another sheltered alleyway and move on. Sidewinder and Wind Chill were on their own for now. I heard more gunshots above and hurried along to the third floor, as the fourth was blocked off. Maybe I could get to the other side of the building, find another stairwell… my mind swirled. How long had it been since I’d just tumbled down into that courtyard? A few minutes? An hour, it felt like. And already our chances of survival had plummeted. This was my fault… my fault. If I hadn’t run off to chase Ranger ghosts, I wouldn’t have gotten separated, the howlers wouldn’t have come, Sunny Side and Ray Drop wouldn’t have had to rescue me and attract the demons. Sweet Celestia, it was all my fault! I heard another gunshot, and then a feminine scream followed by a loud crash and a creature’s grizzled snarl. “Ray Drop!” I shouted through the ceiling. I heard more sounds of struggle, more gunshots, more snarling and scratching. I hurried down the hall, turning left and right. Stairs, stairs, where were the stairs! “I’m coming! Hang on!” At last I found them, the damn stairs. Thank the sisters. I tripped and bumped my cheek on the way up, flailing clumsily up the last flight. “Ray Drop! Answer me!” Silence reigned on the fourth floor. In the dim glow of my flashlight I saw dust curling and spinning in the air, a sure sign that something big had come through here. I ran to the main hallway and looked down its length. Bullet holes and spattered blood was all over. “Ray Drop!” I was answered by a plaintive growl. At the far end of the hall, one of the winged demons crawled across my field of vision, staggering as it bled from many bullet holes that lined its body. I dashed forward, pulling down my trigger and holding it for all I was worth. The demon screamed in rage and pain and flinched away from my thunderous assault, disappearing down the next hallway. I followed it a short distance before I saw it stagger to a window and drop out. It didn’t take to the air again. I spun when another noise came from behind me. “Ray Drop.” She lay there in a puddle of blood, beneath another window with an iron screen over it. Deep gashes and claw marks ravaged her body, her barding and clothes turned red from arterial blood that came out in gruesome squirts. The demon had torn her to shreds, but her life lingered still, and by the signs of epic struggle I’d seen, she’d sold it dearly. One of her wings hung limp and ragged at her side. The other flapped uselessly, slowly in the air, like a child attempting their first flight. The sight was so horrible and wretched I struggled not to vomit. Her eyes, distant and pale from shock, looked right at me from under the visor. I think she said something, but it was hard to tell from the ringing in my ears. No. Celestia, please, no… not like this… I took a single, numb step forward. A shadow filled the window. Another demon slammed into the iron grate and thrust a claw through, grabbing her already mangled body and lifting it clear off the floor. She was saved only by my reflexes and the iron bars that checked her progress. She whimpered and struggled vainly, hooves windmilling in the air as her remaining wing flapped uselessly. “No! NO!” I shouted, wrapping my hooves around Ray Drop and pulling. My impotent rage was drowned out by the horrid snarl of the beast as it began a gruesome tug-of-war, with Ray Drop’s torn body as the prize. Latching on to the pegasus with all my might I braced my hindlegs against the windowsill and pulled. I am the earth. I am the earth. I knew the magic wouldn’t fail me. It couldn’t. Not now. I had to save her. I had to. I didn’t care how beaten and battered she was. I wasn’t letting this dark world take another pony away. I heard something tear and give. I looked up and my mind went blank with horror. The creature’s toothy maw was full of Ray Drop’s other, working wing. It trailed blood and tendrils of flesh as the limb sheared away from the pegasus while she squealed in pain and kicked mindlessly. Cartilage and bone snapped and crunched, and at last the entire appendage was ripped clean off. My eye twitched. I’d never seen such a macabre thing in my life. Ray Drop’s scream tore into my ears. She shook her head in fierce denial of her awful torment, shaking and shivering, unable to coordinate her movements due to the sheer amount of agony she must have been in. The only thought in mind was to pull, to get her away from the window. If I did that then everything would be all right. I hauled us backwards, and even against the beast’s prodigious strength, I began making progress. The earth felt so far away up here in this cold, dank hallway, but I felt it lend me strength still. The demon needed to give only one good tug before it lifted us both off the ground again. I slammed against the iron grating, my face full of the demon’s slavering jaws. It roared at me, hot breath washing over my face. I could smell its putrid stench through my filters. I felt its raw, animal rage at having its meal interrupted. I saw Ray Drop’s feathers stuck in its teeth. “F-fu-FUCK YOU!” I retorted. The beast had lifted me up to where I could get a good sight of him… and where my bullets could reach. It wasn’t an impressive barrage. I was almost out of ammunition. But three or four bullets right to the face will deter almost anything. I saw every clear detail as my last few cartridges slammed into its open mouth. Its tongue was severed, its cheek opened, a nice clean hole appeared in its neck. The demon wailed and dropped its prey, wheeling away from the window and retreating into the cold night air. I collapsed, Ray Drop fell on me, and I dry heaved into my mask. I’d done it. I’d done it. I saved her. Hadn’t I? “Ray Drop,” I said, hugging her still form to me. Her blood steamed in the freezing air and felt warm on my exposed ears. “Ray Drop, I got you… don’t worry… I’m gonna find Sunny Side. We’re going to get you out of here.” “Don’t…” she whispered. I wasn’t quite sure what I was doing. She was damaged beyond repair, but I still jabbed three shockers into her system, making her convulse violently. Blood continued to spill out of her. Death hovered over us, waiting to take her. But I couldn’t just leave her here to freeze like the dead Stalker. Get out of here, a little voice in my head commanded as I clumsily wrapped her up as best I could, with bandages and the strips of her thick clothes. Just get her up and walk. If I make it to the Metro, then everything will be fine. Everything… I struggled to get her on my back. She groaned as broken bones rubbed against each other and her remaining wing hung limply at her side. Dead weight, that’s all she was, but I refused to even consider dropping her. It didn’t come into my head. I focused entirely on getting Sunny Side and then getting back below, and then we’d get Ray Drop help, and she’d be fine, and my mission could go on. She was already dying. I felt her dying. Felt her warm blood dribble onto my barding through the bandages I’d so hastily slapped on. Every wobble brought more, and going down the stairs was torture for us both. I heard her voice getting weaker every time she said something, mostly incomprehensible gibberish born from shock, but what she could say both steeled my resolve and chipped away at my reserves of kindness. “Don’t… don’t leave me… don’t leave me Lockbox…” “I won’t. I promise,” I said. I had given my word and now I’d keep it. “Don’t leave me alone… don’t leave…” “I’m here. I’ll get you out.” “Don’t leave me here… don’t leave me Lockbox…” “…” /-/-/-/ I made it back outside to the stormy, alien streets. The clouds seemed to roil and fester above, and the poisonous rain was falling harder now, chilling me. I didn’t know where to go, and Ray Drop had lost her map in her struggle with the demon. I just knew I had to find an entrance to the Metro. Sunny Side was nowhere in sight. I didn’t dare call out. Demons circled above like vultures, but they either didn’t care about me or didn’t notice. I stuck to the shadows regardless, moving through alcoves and under old awnings that groaned with the weight of snow and many years. Ray Drop felt heavier with every step. Her blood continued to dribble out, gushing from her wounds, steaming on the air. I was a walking buffet table for any creatures that picked up the scent. I didn’t care. One hoof in front of the other. I had to get inside. I had to survive. I didn’t know where anypony else was. I prayed constantly to the Royal Sisters like they were gods, dead or no, because they were the only higher power I’d ever heard of. I prayed for Sunny Side and Ray Drop, myself and Equestria. I can make it. I can make it. The mantra was repeated with every slow step. Ray Drop died a little more every foot I covered. I’d already failed her, but the thought refused to materialize in my head. I can make it I can make it I can make it I can make it… “Don’t leave me Lockbox,” Ray Drop said. “I won’t,” I whispered back. I won’t, I won’t, I won’t. Don’t mind the weight. Don’t mind the blood. Don’t think about it. Keep walking. “Don’t leave me here.” I began to suspect she was already dead, and her final thoughts were stuck on that one small line. One last spark in her brain that ran through the same circuits over and over, slowly receding into darkness. “Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me. Don’t leave, Lockbox.” “I won’t.” Was she even aware anymore? Couldn’t I just… no. Sunny Side hadn’t left me. She hadn’t left me. I wasn’t going to leave her. Without loyalty, without sacrificing of myself for other ponies, what hope was there for any of us? For the Metro? I couldn’t leave her. I couldn’t. “Damn it. Where’s a fucking hole when you need it?” I gasped in frustration. “D- don’t… don’t leave me here like this…” “Stop it!” I said, louder than I intended. Oh, Luna, I could feel her blood seeping through my clothes. I looked back. Her face was pale, her eyes dim and unfocused. She was completely covered in blood. My skin crawled. I looked around to try and distract myself. Another faceless street. Another grove of scrubs, more dead cars… but something was different here. The street and the ground underneath had been literally ripped open, a giant gash that reached down the street and through an underpass farther down the road. Water and sludge had pooled at the bottom, and my geiger counter went crazy as I peered over the edge. The water was lethally radioactive. It steamed for reasons I couldn’t see. More water dribbled out of the exposed pipes in the ground. What terrible force could have split the earth like this, like a pony ripping open a garment? I saw a street sign hanging precariously over the unnatural river: Kuvoz Street. My eyes widened. That’s the one Wind Chill had told me about! I almost laughed with triumph, but I was interrupted by a howl nearby. The wind began to pick up again. Lightning flashed overhead. The hellish, oppressive landscape was quickly starting to drain my stamina and my earlier confidence was already wavering. At least the storm was keeping the demons at bay. I was so close… I just needed to find one place. A hole, a stairway, anything. I saw movement. Something skittered through the ruins to my right. Another howl. They were everywhere. Waiting for me to stop. To put down Ray Drop and give in to my fate. I wanted Sunny Side. I wanted Sidewinder. I wanted my father and Hunter… I’d never felt this alone and vulnerable. It was an awful feeling. The wind began to pick up, and Ray Drop groaned. “It… It hurts… hurts… I can’t… I can’t…” I could barely hear her breathing now. She’ll be dead soon. Drop her. No. No. No. You’ll have a better chance alone. The mutants are tracking you. You can see them. No no no… please, Celestia, Luna, anyone that’s listening. Don’t make me do this. The wind continued to gain strength. I found an old bakery and kicked down the door, staggered along rusted aisles that hadn’t held food in ages. I went to the counter and slid Ray Drop off my back, breathing heavily. Not from fatigue. From fear that gripped my heart. Ray Drop was gone, now. She just sat there and mumbled inanely. Deliriously. Loudly. “Lockbox!” she gasped, perhaps vaguely aware I’d set her down. “Don’t leave me! Please don’t. Don’t leave me like this.” I put my head against the counter. My helmet clanked. I wondered if a baker might show up and give me some bread. That’d help quite a bit right now, some nice, warm, crunchy bread. I’d thought Ray Drop was too weak to keep carrying on. But she did. And she kept bleeding. She was literally being held together by the magical healing I’d smothered her with. But it wasn’t enough. Another howl. Close this time. “Don’t leave me, Lockbox.” A sob hitched in my throat. I’d given my word. My word. But the Metro was still so far. I had so much left to do. And she was… She was already dead. I turned to look at her out of the corner of my eye. The sound of my breathing through my mask was louder than any storm. My heart pounded. My head felt light and fuzzy. She’d still be alive when the mutants came for her. There was only one thing I could do. “Don’t leave me, Lockbox.” Another howl from outside. I slid off the counter and looked into the storm, wondered if the snow ghosts or demons or whatever in Hell’s name waited for me out there would come first. My breathing seemed louder than thunder, rasping in my ears. “Don’t leave me here, Lockbox...” “Hush now.” “Don’t leave me all alone...” “Quiet, now.” My hoof felt like lead as I checked my gun’s safety. “Don’t leave me here…” “It’s going to be all right.” I turned back to her, and looked her in the eye. She deserved that much at least. /-/-/-/ I still carried Ray Drop. I’d found a picture on her. One of her and who I assumed to be Cherry Pie. An old one, taken when they were young. It rested in my saddlebag alongside Hunter’s talisman. I still carried her. That’s what friends are for. I trudged down Kuvoz Street, hurrying away. Away from… everything. My steps felt light and undirected, and I didn’t even lift my head when I heard more howlers wailing in the distance. Something peered at me from an open window. It never ended. It didn’t matter how many monsters I killed. This place was deadly and dangerous. I wanted nothing more than to get back below to the equally dark and deadly Metro, but at least I was familiar with it. Other ponies lived there. I could breathe without having to forcefully suck air in through a filter; that had to count for something. I had to knock out another one and replace it. I did it in the middle of the street, I didn’t care who or what saw me. The whole incident seemed so far behind me now. Everything did. In this cold blasted landscape my mind could run away, far, free of guilt and conscience. I began to understand the logic behind going feather-brained. Just fly, and never stop, fly far far away, into the Sun that didn’t exist anymore behind the clouds. With the pegasus’ blood now cold and indiscernible from everything else, and her weight off my back, I was surprised how easy it was to forget. I just felt empty and light, free from burden, from thought… It was all behind me, a different time, forever ago in a distant life. Ray Drop? Who was that, just some vague face from a photo album? Sunny Side? He was friends with that Lockbox character, right? Sidewinder, ha, don’t get me started on him! Sidewinder is a kind of drink, isn’t it? I felt surprised by how little I puzzled and mourned over losing all my friends in the space of a few hours. I didn’t feel as terrible as I thought about Ray Drop, and if their ghosts visited me I felt I’d just walk away… I didn’t want to think about the mission that’d been thrust upon me or the lives it’d taken just to get this far. I imagined by the time I got to Ponyopolis there’d be a long line of corpses, trailing all the way back to Exiperia. And there at the head was me, the bearer of a dead soldiers’ epitaph and harbinger of the Dark Ones, of death. I felt so alone. I came to a large park area, and it was full of trees. Sunlight, warm and bright, filtered down through leaves so green and succulent I thought I could suck on them like candy. I smiled and touched a little bunny on the head that came up to sniff me. I bent my head down and snipped some grass with my teeth, chewing on it. I had no idea what it was supposed to taste like, but I imagined it was sweet and juicy, with a rough sort of texture. I came to a small grove in the middle of the park, and there sat the yellow pegasus with the pink mane. She looked at me with such a gaze of sadness that all my previous feelings came rushing back. My knees grew weak under the weight of my crushing guilt and I dropped down onto my belly at the edge of the grove. My breath shook, and I realized that I still had my mask on. I didn’t know what I was seeing but I didn’t care to know if it was fake or real. “You can’t stay here,” I heard Hunter say in my ear, whispering furtively. “You have to keep going.” “I’m sorry,” I said to the yellow pegasus. “I’m so, so sorry. I had to. I had to.” She didn’t say anything, just looked at me still longer with those eyes that held nothing but infinite kindness. What did she want from me? A fever dream, I snapped at myself. Nothing but a crazy vision! You’re dying and you’re just seeing something you long for. I crawled forward, desperate, wanting to know I’d been forgiven. I had been able to push my thoughts away so far, but there she sat, that symbol of the old world, and how much further I was getting away from it. I couldn’t stop. Didn’t she understand? I couldn’t stop, my home meant everything to me, not even something like this could keep me from accomplishing my mission. “I’m sorry,” I said again. “If I could take it back I would. I’m sorry.” But I knew it wasn’t her I should apologize to, and the way she looked at me it was as if there was nothing to forgive. Like she understood everything and I was just babbling like a child trying to explain why he’d raided the cookie jar. I clung to a desperate hope that Ray Drop was somewhere nice now, where this yellow pegasus and all her animal friends were. “There’s danger, you have to go,” Hunter said. I had almost reached the pegasus. She smiled sadly at me as I reached out. “I didn’t want… I’m so confused, I…” My hoof touched hard stone. I blinked, and there was nothing in front of me but a statue. A broken statue of a regular old pony, cracked and pitted. My hoof dropped. A dream. Nothing but a desperate dream from the pit of my soul. Well, that’s it. I decided I was going insane. “Lockbox?” I spun. Sunny Side stood before me, wide-eyed and shaking. “Oh, thank the Sun!” he gasped, and rushed forward to embrace me. “I got separated by the demons. It felt safe here so I waited. I was so worried! I can’t find the others…” He stood back and noticed my lack of response. For some reason I didn’t feel happy to see his darting eyes, his twitching ears and stumbling hooves. Something was dreadfully wrong. “Where’s Ray Drop?” he asked quickly. I stared at him. He began to pace nervously. “Um… I found the entrance at last!” he said, and his voice quivered as he pointed over his shoulder at a metal awning that hung over a deep, black hole that was the entrance to the Metro. Helpfully, giant letters that spelled the words “Stalliongrad Metro” hung over the doorway, but they were covered in ice and several had fallen off, so it looked more like “Stalingrad Met.” I nodded dumbly. It was just across the street, but something about it seemed a little too dark and ominous. The giant icicles reminded me of the demon’s teeth. “We should go inside,” I said simply. “We have to go back, Sunny Side. There’s nothing but nightmares up here.” “Um. Yes. But don’t you think we should wait a little longer? Out here? There are no mutants here…” I raised my eyebrow when I heard a far-off howl. “Well, none close right now. I just think we should wait outside.” “We need to go in, Sunny,” I said, very slowly and clearly. “Back home to the Metro.” “What about Sidewinder?” he babbled, turning away from me. “He can take care of himself. Let’s go, Sunny Side.” “No no no, see… I think… those clouds aren’t far off, right?” I took a step forward, noticing the way his hooves trampled the snow and his wings shivered on his back, ready to shoot open. “I can feel the sky,” he said in a hoarse, far-off voice. “I can feel it calling, Lockbox. I’d never noticed until now. It’s so close, like I can touch it… like a blanket that needs drawing back…” “Sunny Side.” Another step closer. Fervent prayers ran in circles through my head. Not him too. Not him too, not after all this. “It’s still there, Lockbox! The Sun… through the clouds… and the Moon. They’re there. Calling for us. It’s just these clouds in the way. I can get rid of them! I just need to…” “You need to come back!” I snapped at him. What had Ray Drop said that calmed him so last time? I began to breathe faster, took another step. He didn’t seem to notice. Just another foot or so and I’d get him. “No, no… the Sun, she needs to shine again. If we, if all the pegasi, could clear the clouds… we’d melt the white snow… the Sun’s warmth and beauty would shine on us again.” “You’ll go blind, remember?” I growled, trying to imitate Hunter’s deep, commanding voice. “The Sun is too bright for us now. If you go up there you’ll fry your eyes… and the storm and the radiation will get you.” Sunny Side’s wings began to spread, achingly slow. “I just need to…” I bolted. Sunny Side saw me coming and jumped, his wings snapping open, but not quick enough, not with a flap that would’ve sent him launching into the air. Just a hop that I managed to match, catching his back legs in a snarl of limbs. I clung fast and dug my hind legs into the earth. I am the earth. Sunny Side can’t lift the whole thing! His progress was miraculously checked. I didn’t know how, but somehow I kept him weighted, some invisible tether had wrapped around me and kept me anchored to the ground. Sunny Side could only flail helplessly, reaching for the sky with his front hooves like a child reaching for his favorite toy. “Let go!” he screamed. “Let go of me!” “No!” I snapped like a petulant colt, dragging him back with all my might. “Lockbox! It’ll work! It’s right there! I can do this!” He was shouting, sobbing, hysterical. The louder he cried, the more I clung fast, keeping him from his death wish. He screamed at me and I screamed right back, dragging him inch by inch to the earth no matter how hard his wings flapped. I didn’t care how pained he sounded, it was just the sound of madness and grief, some deep instinctual well of sorrow that all our kind shared in our subconscious for our lost world. It screamed at him to set things right, like the way the yellow pegasus looked at me, but there was no way, just tears and grief and madness, longing for a home that would never come back. I wasn’t losing another friend to this aimless, screaming hysteria. Not again. Not again. “That’s not going to work.” “Sidewinder!” I shouted into the empty air. I’d almost gotten Sunny Side to the ground again… I lunged upwards and wrapped my hooves around his middle, bearing him to the ground while he wailed and struggled. We wrestled on the ground for the upper hoof. “Sidewinder! Help me!” I shouted. His voice came from far off. “It’s his choice, Lockbox.” “Get away! All of you! Stop bothering me! Help me!” “Sidewinder, I swear if you don’t get your ass over here-!” “You’ll what? You’re crazy, Lockbox. That’s blood, isn’t it? You tried to carry somepony… Ray Drop?” “Fuck you, all right? Fuck you!” “Let go! LET GO!” “Sunny Side… forgive me.” I clobbered my friend in the side of the head with my hoof. I feared I’d struck him too hard, but it was through his helmet and it simply dazed him. I took out some rope and began to bind his legs. I could barely see Sidewinder through the swirling snow that cascaded around us. He looked like another statue. “Let him go, Lockbox.” “NO!” I shouted into the wind, louder than I’d shouted anything before. “I don’t know what drives you, Sidewinder! Survival? That’s it? You survive to survive some more? You don’t know what I had to do back there! You don’t know what it was like!” “I do. I’ve done the same thing…” “You what? Carried them? Or just gave up on them?” I finished tying Sunny Side’s wings down as best I could. “Where’s Wind Chill?” Sidewinder looked away, to the Metro entrance. “Where’s Wind Chill?” I heard something like a chatter of gunfire from far off. It faded on a howl of wind. The snow was coming back again in force, thickening in the air around us like fog. “She fell behind.” I gulped. “You know, Lockbox, you used to be a mystery, but I think I’ve figured you out…” Sidewinder was moving away as I heaved Sunny Side onto my back. “You’re a fool. You have so many ideas locked up in your head you’re confused which one to go with. You want to do so many things… the Metro is too small for your big head, Lockbox. And I’ve fulfilled my obligations to you twice over now.” “Sidewinder, we have a mission! The plantations… you have to help us reach them!” “Oh, no I don’t. You see, this entrance? It’s been blocked off.” My heart sank. “No…” “Yes. I scouted it out while your friend was walking around like a loony out here. Somepony blew the place and destroyed it. Got a nice little nest of snow ghosts in there now too…” “Then… then help us find another entrance! There must be another close by.” “Yeah.” Sidewinder was moving south. I hurried to keep up but the snow was closing in fast, and he was still moving, too fast and nimble for me to follow. “Sidewinder?” I asked, at first sounding questioning, then sad, then angry. “Sidewinder. Sidewinder!” The snow began to close up over us, shrouding him as he leaped up onto a pile of rubble, blending in… No. No no no! “Sidewinder. You can’t do this! I can’t leave him! Come back here!” The snow swallowed everything. He was gone. I heard something move on my right, turned and fired, made sure that Sunny Side was still on my back. I backed up and found the little statue where I’d seen the yellow pegasus, hoping she was still with me. I huddled against it, wondering how I was getting out of this. I had to wait until the snow passed… assuming I lived through that… and then find another entrance to the Metro, get my bearings, and move on. I had to find the Ranger hideout first and foremost. I filled my head with plans while the wind filled my bones with cold. And I listened to the howling. “Come on. Come on, you bastards…” I whispered into my mask, making sure I stood directly over Sunny Side. I tugged the ropes around his hooves free. He seemed to have fallen asleep, perhaps overcome by the intense nature of his madness. I hoped it would pass when he woke up. I heard steps on the left, saw something amorphous and shiny. I didn’t shoot at it. They were circling me like… like sharks? I’d read about sharks, distant and monstrous predators of the sea. Once apex hunters in their environment that enjoyed circling, testing and teasing their prey to find out if it was worth eating. I’d just have to make myself too unpalatable to devour. I wondered if in our poisoned seas there existed something worse than sharks now. “Come on. Come on. I’m waiting. I want you to come at me. Come on.” Another blur in the blizzard. A snow ghost or just my imagination? I continued to wait, shivering. I had to be as patient as these beasts. I touched my saddlebag, where the last memories of two friends now rested. I wasn’t going to add a third. I am the earth. It is with me. I am strong. The first one came straight at me. An excited juvenile, maybe. I saw it coming because it left its mouth hanging open as it sprang out of the snow, panting. A burst from my rifle put it down. Magical energy flashed before my eyes as its cloak of camouflage fell away, smoking and curling up in wisps around its sleek, snow white body. I extended my knife and held my hoof up, waiting to strike. I knew the next one would be much more careful. I was right. Another creature streaked in from the left and then darted away again, leaving me open for an attack from the right as one slammed into my side. Sharp teeth dug into my barding, heavy paws pushed down on me… and I slid to one side, but didn’t collapse. I reared up and twisted, coming down hard with my front hooves, pulverizing its hind leg and burying my knife into its flank. The creature wailed and kicked me, giving me a retaliatory swipe over my face, cutting me open at the neck, but not too deeply. I felt something crack in my gasmask. The crack in my visor grew. Another from behind while I struggled with the first latched onto my face. Buck, stomp, snort! I missed with my back kick, scaring off my other attacker for a moment, but the one under my front hooves struggled still, ripping open the front of my jacket. I lifted my head to keep my vulnerable neck clear of its snapping jaws, and continued to stomp all over the beast’s chest until something cracked. The snow ghost wailed and curled up under me as I stepped over it, slashing my knife wildly as the third one snapped at my hindquarters, tearing open my trousers and scoring deep gashes in my skin. I bucked again and felt a satisfying crunch, and the savaging teeth left me, disappearing into the wind. If these things wanted to eat me, they’d have to earn their meal. I was already bleeding, and the snow was picking up. This was going to be my last stand. Protecting my friend from certain death. I supposed there was some honor in it, and anyway I didn’t think about it much. I was tired and angry. I was sad and stubborn. I just wanted to keep stomping and kicking and shooting and venting. The wind closed in on me, driving me against the statue again as I waited over Sunny Side, who began to groan and stir. I didn’t plan on stopping him from flying away this time. Adrenaline pumped through my veins like liquid ice, making me jolt and twitch at the slightest provocation. They waited for me in the snow. I heard their growls. “Lockbox?” Sunny Side questioned. He sat up and saw the still twitching snow ghost I’d trampled. “What the… what the hell’s going on? Where are we?!” “Get up, Sunny Side!” I shouted over the roaring wind. I saw enemies everywhere. “You’ve got to… got to…” I heard a sharp, loud crack and then an explosion of noise. The blizzard nearly drowned it out. “Got to go!” “The hell I am! What’s happening, is this… are we still outside?!” “Sunny Side don’t question me, just-!” I felt something touch my shoulder and lashed out… but I didn’t see the maw of a snow ghost. I saw a very pony-like face covered by a gasmask and a darkened visor. They were covered in dark, thick clothing, but bore no weapons that I could see. I stopped midway through my swing. My eye twitched. I didn’t feel done or satisfied with violence just yet. And yet I was pleasantly shocked to find I wasn’t going to die just yet. “Come with me!” the new arrival shouted. “It’s not safe here. I scared them off for the moment.” “The entrance is blocked,” I answered. “No, my friend. Come! I know another route. We should hurry; dawn will be here in a few short hours.” Sunny Side was quicker to trust than me. He rushed forward and bumped his head against my backside, prompting me to move. I wondered if he was no longer mad because the sky was covered by the snow overhead. The other pony nodded and led us back towards the Metro entrance, where I saw a little furrow dug through the snow clogging the doorway. Had this new pony just come out of there? Right when I was in danger and needed an escape? I almost refused to believe it, and thought it was another insane vision of mine. Our new friend slipped back into the calm dark of the Metro, and we followed them gladly. “How’d you come here? How’d you find us?” I asked. All around us was a blasted, dessicated corpse of a Metro lobby, with ticket booths and benches and turnstiles all over. Sheets of metal and marble had fallen and collapsed, lying amidst mutant guano that covered whole swathes of the floor. “It was easy,” answered the stranger. I couldn’t tell their gender, as their clothes were too thick to discern the shape of their body, and their voice was strangely distorted through the mask. I didn’t see a horn on their head, so they were no unicorn using a magic spell to change their voice. “I followed the white rabbit.” I stopped, and Sunny Side did too, but he seemed more disoriented and confused than baffled by what our new friend said. White rabbit. I’d seen rabbits before, around the… But then our new friend laughed. “I’m kidding! It was a miracle, really, or whatever you like to call such things.” Somehow I didn’t believe them. Something was ahoof here. Had the yellow pegasus really been waiting there for me? Guided this stranger here too? I kept vacillating between believing in my visions and thinking they were the product of a feverish, inexperienced mind… but our friend seemed certain of where he or she was going. They led us to a rickety series of escalators at the back of the large lobby, which were defunct and creaky. The path plunged down into darkness so deep my Ranger flashlight barely penetrated it, but that comforted me. The darkness was easier on my eyes and wrapped around us like a warm blanket, and soon we were even able to slip our gasmasks off again. The trigger slid out of my mouth and I worked my jaws; they were sore from clenching in fright so long. Sunny Side gave one last wistful look over his shoulder at the outside, and then we shouldered our burdens and continued on, away from the nightmares we’d endured above. Back into the claustrophobic dark of the Metro. Back home.

redsquirrel456

446

Original Character,Crossover,Adventure,Dark,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

My Little Metro

After Doomsday forces ponies underground, a lone colt braves the Stalliongrad metro system to save his people from an unknown threat.

hiatus

<p>The Metro tunnels of Stalliongrad shelter the last remnants of ponykind from the ravages of the Apocalypse. Beneath the earth, ponies struggle to survive against mutants, radiation, and each other. But when an unstoppable threat emerges from the darkness of the Metro, one pony must brave the shadows to save not just his home, but the very existence of his people.</p>

teen

2011-11-26T03:50:30+00:00

2011-11-26T03:50:30+00:00

My Little Metro: Chapter 9 Because I could not stop for Death – He kindly stopped for me – The Carriage held but just Ourselves – And Immortality. “Starry Gaze?” I asked. “Yes?” she answered, wrapping her forelegs around me and cuddling her head up under my chin. Her horn bumped my jaw, but I didn’t mind. We lay together on a hill overlooking the ruins of Stalliongrad. Though we were without our gas masks, each breath I took was full and cool, without any of the awful, lung-tearing pain that usually came from the poisoned air. Overhead boiled an angry, storming sky. Demons swooped back and forth between the lightning bolts, performing feats of aerial acrobatics I’d never seen before. “When do you think the Sun will come back?” “Silly,” Starry Gaze said, tracing a circle on my chest with her hoof. “The Sun’s gone forever. She abandoned us long ago. And the Moon died with Canterlot.” I took a deep breath of her scent, nuzzling her mane with my snout. “Starry Gaze?” I asked, gently rubbing her back. “Yes?” she answered, tracing my jaw with gentle, loving kisses. “If the Sun left us, do you think she’ll ever come back?” “Never,” she said. “You’re going to die in darkness and shadows. The prophets have no words left, because this is the end of everything.” I pondered this for a while, letting her lavish her attentions upon me, kissing my cheek and letting her lips brush over the contours of my face. Her breath was wet and warm over my fur. For some reason, I felt her warmth more than I felt the cold of the wind and the snow around us, like it was all in the background. “Starry Gaze?” I asked. My voice had become slurred, the words heavy and clumsy as she rubbed her body against mine. “Yes?” she asked, and I noticed she really did have stars in her eyes, and her mane was a lot pinker than I remembered. Her buttery yellow wings swept out and folded us both up in an embrace as cold as death. I put my mouth to her neck, nibbling gently, making her squeak. “How much farther do I have to go?” “As far as it takes,” the yellow pegasus said with breathless abandon. I pulled back, brushing her lips with mine, eyes half-lidded. She held my face with her hooves, gazing at me with her infinite compassion. Then she let me drop. I fell away, seeing her recede into the shadows, watching me with a far-off, indifferent gaze. /-/-/-/ I opened my eyes. All four of my legs were wrapped around a duffel bag in a manner far more intimate than one should be with their supplies. I noticed my mouth was full of one of the straps, and I’d been gnawing on it in my sleep. I spat it out and rolled my tongue around in my mouth, trying to get rid of the dry, velvety taste. In front of me crackled a small fire, over which bubbled a kettle of tea that I didn’t remember either me or Sunny Side preparing. “Well, well,” Sunny Side said as he appeared directly over me, looking down with a tired grin, “looks like somepony was having a hell of a dream.” I shoved his face away with my hoof and pushed the duffel bag to the side. I didn’t remember where it came from, nor did I want to know how I’d ended up cuddling it in my sleep. Sunny Side went back to the fire and stoked it gently, scattering ashes about. I didn’t say anything, nor did I want to. The memory of the surface and what had happened there was still terrifyingly fresh. I hadn’t told my friend what really happened to Ray Drop, and he didn’t ask. Just like I didn’t bring up his episode of madness on the surface, and he didn’t turn to me about it. That seemed to be all we needed to say on the subject. It wasn’t as though I bottled it up for the sake of remaining stoic. I simply knew that nothing was going to change what happened. Nothing would reverse the awful finality of that final bite on the trigger, the jolt of a discharging gun that felt stronger and louder than any I’d fired before. It was for the mission, which depended on my survival. But inside, I still felt the sharp prick of guilt, about what I’d done and how I chose to lock it away in my mind like the many memories I pinned to my Wall. I made it a post-it note I’d feel bad about later. And yet they’d been living ponies. Three more lives gone for the sake of my mission. They hadn’t known I didn’t really plan on getting rid of the bandits or breaking any blockades, but they’d died getting us this far regardless. We were in a large hallway that led towards the platform of the Green Line. The walls were coated in tiles. Some enterprising artist had once tried to make something as droll and drab as a walk in a hall entertaining with pictures of frolicking ponies and magical Princesses, but the overlooked masterpiece was in pieces. Many sections were cracked and fallen, the gaudy mosaic of colors now faded into muted greyness. Far away, wind churned and spun through doors and cracks, swirling down till it echoed through our hall, an empty, hollow noise. And yet in the middle of it I thought I could imagine the buzz of pony conversation, the soft clip-clop of hooves. It wasn’t a big tunnel, just enough to accommodate a large flow of passengers, but it was enough for us to stretch out in. I watched smoke pool under the ceiling and waft gently back towards the surface, still clutching the duffel bag and chewing thoughtfully on the strap. I tried not to think about what I’d been dreaming; the physical pleasure was overshadowed by the confusing words and prophecies. I sighed and reached out for the tea, taking it off the fire and pouring myself a cup. I still couldn’t recall how it’d gotten there, but I decided it best not to question it. It smelled wonderful, reminding me of home, and it was smooth and gentle going down my throat, washing away my concerns… yes, this was Exiperia level tea. Tea was such an innocuous thing, and yet it reminded me so much of home I had to take another sip to push down the lump in my throat. The tea would never change at Exiperia, of that I was sure, no matter how many Dark Ones assailed our gates. I’d always have that to look forward to. And yet, in light of recent events even the steaming hot drink couldn’t stave off the chill that settled into my spirit. Good tea was a pleasant, but momentary experience like so many other “small things” in life. Who could bother appreciating the “small things” when I was in a rush to save the life of everypony in my home? The tea didn’t chase off the Dark Ones or the threat they posed, it didn’t stop me from fretting about our route. I took another look around, noticing the shadows the fire cast, noting how deep and dark they were. I could’ve sworn one of them even moved when I looked at it, but I passed it off as my hoof nudging the duffel bag and the excited dancing of the flames. Tea didn’t chase away night terrors like that moving shadow. My gaze kept going until it landed on Sunny Side, who stared towards the Green Line. “Any idea where to go next?” I asked him. “I’m not sure,” he admitted with a sigh. “I thought you were the one with the big mission in mind. And… without Sidewinder…” “No more about Sidewinder,” I said, sharper than I’d intended. The lanky rust-colored pony had proven all my nasty suspicions and then some, and I didn’t want to waste time thinking about him. I tested my legs, finding my hindquarters had been bandaged and tended to with expert care, though my clothing and flak jacket were even more torn up than ever. I remembered keenly the feel of ghostly teeth ripping into the fabric, pulling, tugging… Sidewinder was the least of my worries now that he’d abandoned us to the mutants and monsters of the Metro. Instead I felt around in my saddle bags. Hunter’s talisman was still there, but it no longer glowed and buzzed like it did on the surface. I surmised it was some kind of enchantment that reacted when it approached anything made by the Rangers, but it had a remarkably short range. I could wander the tunnels for weeks and never enter that small circle the talisman needed to detect the Ranger base. Then I remembered the strange map that I’d found in Tracer’s hideout and unfolded it, looking it over by the light of the fire while I sipped the tea. Most maps of the Metro only outlined very dangerous, well known places, such as the radioactive tunnels near Marestra or the locations and movements of the Lunar Republic and their Celestian Monarchy rivals. This map seemed to go into much finer detail. I noticed only now that it’d been drawn, not printed, and to a degree of accuracy that shocked me. In between the stations and the many criss-crossing lines of still usable tunnels, arcane symbols had been scribbled in very small, fine print. Arrows and lines pointed to tunnels and locations I’d never seen or heard about before, added in what I guessed to be Tracer’s blunt, well-organized hoofwriting. The symbols glistened in the firelight, and if I looked close enough, I perceived some of them actually appearing to move around on the paper. My attention was tugged between them, and they seemed to leap off the page in anticipation of my gaze… like they were trying to show me something. Deliberately grab my attention... Hunter’s talisman buzzed quietly in my saddlebag. I peered closer, losing my sense of time as I pored over the map, trying to glean some kind of clue about where the Ranger base was. I focused my attention on the intersection between Green Line and the Ring, seeing that it’d become crowded with letters and symbols intended for use by the Rangers alone. Something was there, just barely escaping my notice, and it kept slipping in and out of my perception. My mind tightened its grip and the sandy idea crumbled away, but I knew it was still- “That looks like a Guide.” I looked up at the same time as Sunny Side, and saw the strange shadow from before move again. That wasn’t the duffel bag’s shadow, but a pony! A pony who’d been sitting right there without either of us noticing? I couldn’t believe it. Sunny Side was just as incredulous and sputtered, pointing a hoof at the stranger. “You… you’re the one who led us down here!” he exclaimed. “We were led?” I asked, and flicked my ears. I didn’t remember being led necessarily, more just… following a feeling… I suddenly began wracking my brain for memory of this pony. It started on the surface, in the snow, just a scant couple hours before. I remembered the horrible, desperate fight on the surface over the body of my friend… that was going to be burned into my memory for a long, long time. I’d keep it with me for years. But suddenly everything was more fragmented. I remembered the strange, dark-clothed pony that came to us and told us to follow them, going down into comfortable darkness, vaguely hearing Sunny Side or somepony suggest we stop and rest. The memory slipped through the cracks in my mind like a dream. But it was certainly this pony. “You saved our lives,” I said breathlessly. “No, I was walking along and saw two ponies in need of help. If I really saved you, then you’d have no more problems,” the stranger answered. “Not many things bring me to the forefront, but I perceived you were a special pair. You’re very… noticeable. Like a picture in three dimensions, jumping off the page.” They tilted their head. It was still covered by the dark-tinted gasmask, so they exaggerated the movement to show their curiosity. “You know, most ponies aren’t even surprised when they see me again. They just keep talking as if I’d been there all the while…” They fixed their gaze upon me. “You noticed how incongruous I was. You can see more than just the immediate. I think that’s why you’re able to look at the Guide so long… you’re no unicorn, but you’ve definitely got a touch more magic about you than most. You should use that.” I stared, unable to decide whether this pony was a threat or an ally. Unlike Sidewinder, they’d found us and helped us without any action on our part. They’d offered to help us find a way past the supposedly destroyed Green Line and into the plantations… on the other hoof they were very queer and I wondered if they had some kind of special powers. They might’ve been a unicorn who’d shaved their horn… and I felt my eyelids grow heavy the longer I looked at them. Something was trying to keep me from focusing my mind on their presence. I shivered the more I thought about it. I wondered in a fit of supposition they might’ve been some kind of mass hallucination both me and Sunny Side were experiencing. Honestly, who ran around in almost pure black clothes, hid their face when there was no need, and spoke like they knew things we didn’t? I noticed quite suddenly how surreal this whole situation was. After escaping a life or death struggle I suddenly found myself here, with good tea, a fire, a duffel bag bursting with… I opened it with my hooves… bursting with food and other supplies! And me without even a memory of when this pony appeared! Who were they and why had they come to us? “What, are you going to be our new guide? Just like that?” Sunny Side asked. The stranger shrugged. “You’ve already got a Guide; your friend here just needs to figure out how to read it. Strong magic protects it from unworthy eyes seeing what it really is… it’s a perfectly functional map on its own, but without a key, you won’t see past the enchantments on it, and it’ll never lead you where you really want to go. Of course, with your desirable sight…” “Who are you?” I asked. My surprise was fading fast, being replaced by annoyance that this pony who’d saved our lives couldn’t even give us the courtesy of an identity. “Call me nopony, because that’s what I am, though that duffel bag is mine, and I don’t think it appreciated you cuddling it so,” Nopony answered, with a small hint of amusement. I sighed heavily, looking away. Nopony! Great. Nopony followed us, Nopony spoke to us, Nopony had a bag full of food and blankets… this was all far too convenient. The aftertaste of the tea was made bitter by my suspicion, which I knew wasn’t too off base because of Sidewinder’s abandonment. “Look, we thank you for your help… and we’d be dead right now if not for you,” I said, trying to sound truly grateful. But I’d had enough of mysteries and strange night terrors. I didn’t want a ghost pony following us around on top of everything else. I collected my things and made a great show of getting ready to leave. Where, I didn’t know and didn’t even care at the moment. I just wanted to get away from here, away from the nasty memories of the wrecked surface that clawed at the inside of my mind. Away from this strange pony who’d probably stab us in the back like Sidewinder! “But there’s a lot we have to get done. The eastern plantations are in need of assistance, and, and… and creatures, and the Green Line is destroyed, and we need to go!” I rambled, but I didn’t care. Memories and feelings struggled to be given voice. Ray Drop’s memory pleaded for grieving and regret, my father and Starry Gaze demanded my guilt, Sidewinder pricked me with anger, and the Dark Ones filled me with an awestruck fear. I shoved the lid back down on them all and locked them up tight. I’d deal with them in good time. I needed movement and action to distract me. “I told you on the surface I know another way,” Nopony responded, gesturing with his hoof. I supposed it was a he, anyway, for the sake of convenience and my sanity. Nopony was a he! And that was final. “If you’d stop pacing and worrying your friend, I could show you.” I stopped, realizing poor Sunny Side was looking between us both, lost and somewhat confused. I knew the events from a few hours ago must’ve been weighing heavily on his mind, but I didn’t stop to really think about it until now. Sunny Side had nearly gone feather-brained up there. He didn’t need me going crazy too over ghost ponies and directions. And I needed something to keep me going in the face of my fear and my doubt. We both needed a decision. “Then we will follow you,” I decided. This Guide, which I was sure would show me the Ranger base if I could only break the enchantments (impossible without this “key” Nopony mentioned, or a very strong unicorn), was useless at the present time. I felt jittery and alert, but too much. High strung was a good way of putting it. I checked the locks on my memories and waited for Nopony to get up. He seemed quite content to move at his own slow, leisurely pace, which frustrated me to no end as he slowly picked up the duffel bag and slung it over his shoulders, letting it hang where a saddlebag normally went. The strange pony started down the tunnel and we followed like lost pups. My mind was ever on the mysterious “Guide” and why Nopony had been able to identify it so quickly. Was he a Ranger? I couldn’t see any of the markings that normally indicated he was one. He wasn’t even carrying weapons that I could see, save the tools and knives one might need. “Remember,” he said, and his voice seemed to be coming from far away even though he was directly ahead, “to stay behind me at all times. If we don’t stay in sight, then you forget I was there, and I can’t guarantee I’d find you again… there are only certain paths in life I am bound to take, and those alone can I walk.” I did my best to suppress a shudder. I could just pass off this pony as insane, but he’d been able to hide in plain sight by methods I couldn’t explain. Something was very off about this overly helpful pony. Sunny Side, though he still looked worried and unnerved, seemed willing to follow me as long as I followed Nopony. I kept trying to wrap my mind around that; was I really following Nopony? But Sunny Side saw him (her?) too. I decided for now that questioning things wasn’t wise. I didn’t want to look a gift pony in the mouth. The Green Line was blocked off not far down the tunnel by a huge collapse of debris and dirt, as Sidewinder had said. Perhaps mutants had begun to use it as an entry point and the plantations had had enough. Instead we were led down into a side passage through a rusty old door, into the maze of small hallways and rooms between main lines and stations. We clattered over a catwalk that led over an open sewage pipe, through which still flowed dirty, muddy water. My geiger counter clicked. Nopony led us to a grate and pulled it back. We clambered down a ladder into darkness. “There is a railcar station not far from here; it was used by the defenders of Heron before they were forced to abandon the entire station.” “All of Heron?” “Yes. They were pressed hard by mutants on their northern border and the station has been abandoned… we will bypass Heron and move on to Ponyevskaya. This passage leads to a secondary tunnel we will use to avoid the infested tunnels, and get to the railcar.” “How do you know Heron has fallen?” I asked, feeling my heart gripped by fear. An entire farm station destroyed didn’t bode well for the food situation in the north. “And why didn’t they send word out? Otzark Bulvard connects to the Hoofsa stations; surely Hoofsa would send help if the plantations were under attack!” “Not so much,” Nopony answered. “Hoofsa has been determined to be the sole ruler of the Ring since its inception. They desire complete control of trade around the Metro. If other stations must be sacrificed to prove that they are the only ones who can provide for the rest of us, then so be it. You are from a station that has been able to keep out of the wars and politics of the Metro, so you don’t know the lengths ponies go to control one another out here. Hoofsa would sooner let every plantation burn to the ground than help them without a guarantee of subservience afterward.” I almost gagged at the thought. Hoofsa claimed to be a protector of trade and free flow of goods. I’d heard stories of their power, how they’d fought a war with the New Lunar Republic long ago and won, and managed to push the bandits out of every station from Macinskaya to Elusive. But to hear it so plainly said they’d let the main source of food in the north and most of the Metro be destroyed simply because they couldn’t turn a profit from it? “You are surprised, don’t be,” Nopony told me. “I have studied ponies all my life. I think it is natural they desire control and security. Though that desire has been blown up to exaggerated proportions here… You have crafted a semblance of civilization and order down here, but deep down, I think you can all feel it. The brokenness. The wrongness. The knowledge that the world is very much out of your control… ponies hate that. They hate it because they fear it, and they fear it because it is unknowable. There is a legend that speaks of a place far to the south, known as the Everfree Forest. It existed in the time of the old world, outside of a small town called Ponyville. Do you know why it was called Everfree? Because like the surface now, it was totally out of pony hooves then. Monsters lurked there. The trees and clouds moved and grew and died all on their own. It was never touched by ponies, save for the brave and the foolish, and was one of the most well known landmarks of old Equestria.” “I remember,” I said, thinking back to my Wall. “I have pictures. It… looked… better… than what we have now.” “Any good green forest is better than radioactive ice and snow, I agree,” said Nopony. “But the point is ponies were afraid of it. They wouldn’t touch it and they wouldn’t go near it if they had a choice, because they saw such anarchy and danger as unnatural. But what did they care? They had all of Equestria to roam and live in peace. But now Equestria is gone. And now the world is Everfree. And so we are afraid, and we do desperate, terrible, awful things when we are afraid. Hoofsa, the Monarchy, the Republic, Bucklyn… you two. You’ve done strange and terrible things to get here. And you are driven by fear. Wherever you are going, your fear is pushing you on.” Sunny Side hung his head and sighed. I looked at him with pity. My hoof touched my light charger and pumped it. Just to make sure. The area we traveled in was pitch black, and I knew if we took our eyes off Nopony for just a moment, he’d vanish into thin air like Sidewinder. I began to seriously ponder the merits of what our one-time ally had said about earth magic and how it helped him to scurry about and blend in. Had this strange pony unlocked the secrets too, and used them to stay hidden? “If we weren’t afraid, we’d be foolish,” I said quietly. “We’d just stand there and let the danger destroy us.” “I’m not talking about being afraid of mutants. That simple drive to preserve oneself is always going to be there, and it’s saved my life more than once. I mean real, soul-crushing fear. The primal kind that reaches into a part of your mind you barely even touch. The fear of the Everfree Forest, and all that it implies… that is the fear that is destroying us.” “How do you know so much about this?” Sunny Side asked. “You some kind of seer?” I turned to look at him. Seers were usually just tricksters and hustlers looking to make a quick bullet. He shrugged. “I heard stories, you know. Usually they were unicorns, of course… ponies that could look into the future and use their magic to divine secrets from our hearts!” “Ah, ha. Have you ever met one of these vaunted seers?” Nopony asked. “Well, no. But every station claims to have one that I know of… they never show them off. Just say they have them.” “That is because the real ones know to stay hidden and never let their talents be known. A pony who truly has such power comes to one of two conclusions: that they must take responsibility and only allow themselves to use those powers for something greater than themselves, or they become greedy and selfish, manipulating those around them.” “So they’re real?” Sunny Side asked, hopping forward like a colt at story time. “Many things are real that I hoped were not, and many things do not exist that I wish did,” Nopony answered. Sunny Side fell back a few steps, looking sullen and dissatisfied. This Nopony seemed intent on making everything they said seem grand and mysterious, but I still had my lingering doubts. And then we came to a certain door in a certain part of the back tunnels. There wasn’t anything special about the door. It was just a simple metal door in a simple concrete wall. The room we were in was just a simple, empty square. An abandoned drake’s nest was in one corner. But something made my ears perk up and twitch and my mane bristle. Perhaps the charm that had been set on the wall near the door was what did it. The charm itself also appeared simple and innocuous. Nothing more than a little circle of twisted metal and rebar, with a small sprite-light set in the middle. I felt a tingle as I approached it. “Who put that there, if nopony has used these tunnels?” “Please keep the lights on while we are here,” Nopony said, passing over my question. “This particular tunnel has not been used in a long time, and I doubt the plantations have sent guardponies this far north to scout out their extra tunnels.” “But you said this tunnel will help us avoid the mutants,” Sunny Side pointed out. “Yes. It will help us avoid the mutants,” Nopony answered, and I felt a chill swim down my spine. He pushed open the door and peered up and down the tunnel. “Please keep your lights on at all times,” he repeated quietly, though I didn’t know who he thought would overhear us. “It seems to have grown worse than the last time I passed through it.” He turned to me, and I could very vaguely discern the shape and brightness of his eyes beneath his gasmask. “Do consult your Guide. It will help us here, I think.” I quickly pulled it out, feeling strangely determined to heed his advice. How did he know whether this tunnel had gotten ‘worse’ without even looking inside? The Guide didn’t give me much to go on while I pored over it in the dark, though I did get that strange swimming feeling from before. The symbols remained mostly unknown to me, but I could clearly see that this particular tunnel had… nothing wrong with it. “It says this place is clear,” I said quietly. “Hmm?” Nopony shook his head as he looked down at the Guide. “No, my friend! Can’t you see? This here?” He pointed at the line we occupied, the secondary tunnel that stretched out from behind Heron and curled back towards the Ponyevskaya-Compass line. “It’s marked clearly as dangerous!” I looked at the Guide. The small tunnel we were in had no markings, and nothing on it that I could see that made it particularly imposing. We just had this pony’s word and the strange chill in my spine to go on. I showed it to Sunny Side. “Makes about as much sense as an explosion in a tile factory,” he said after a cursory glance, being even more lost than I was. Nopony looked agitated, stomping a hoof. “Are you willing to see or not? Bah, never mind! It might show itself in due time. Just stay close to me, at my back, and keep the lights on at all times.” He led us into the tunnel. It was a dark and lonely place, clearly having never seen use, or even felt the steps of ponies, for many years. Cobwebs hung in thick clumps from the ceiling, and radioactive mushrooms sprouted from various damp patches on the ground. The wires were withered and exposed, the pipes rusted and failing. We wandered through the deserted corridor, saying nothing to each other. I and Sunny Side stayed at Nopony’s back like he instructed, and I kept my light on him at all times, though my eyes followed the faint spot of Sunny Side’s headlamp tracing the long, dilapidated snakes of wire and pipeline. The walls had been punctured by the roots of alien trees from the city above in some places, and dirt had piled up and over the tracks where they had. The twisting, gnarled roots appeared to me to be the appendages of some long lost creature forgotten by time, sending its tendrils through the Metro in a slow, eternal search for something only it could sense down deep in the earth. Our hoofsteps echoed through the silent hall yet nothing and nopony called out an alarm, no mutant growled that we’d intruded on their turf. There were no bodies here, no spent bullet casings or any sign that any life came through here at all. The floor was empty; the walls were bare, save for the undulating trunks of twisted trees. Sunny Side and I kept giving each other sidelong glances, as if to reassure one another that we were still there. The darkness here, apart from our headlights, was total. Everywhere those thin white beams didn’t reach there could have been anything, or nothing. I remembered Sidewinder’s story about the unicorn who vanished into nothingness, and stories of hapless Stalkers who’d dared to break the rules and also slipped out of all reality. And the darkness seemed to creep into my mind, darkening my already bleak thoughts, crushing the weak hope that’d been dying ever since we’d been abandoned on the surface. It seemed the darkness was a presence in itself, surrounding us, yet there was never anything there. Nothing but the dank, horrible silence that filled my senses and roared against my eardrums. I knew it was nothing but night terrors, the instinctual imagination of ponies who need to know what’s there, but I could barely stop the fear gnawing at my insides and the darkness was overpowering. Something was wrong with the way it seemed to cloud around us as a thick body instead of just a lack of light. It teased us, dodging away from our thin little lights and returning the moment we glanced away, hovering over our shoulders and poking our backsides, looming overhead at the front. The chill grew worse until I began shivering in my boots, and Nopony turned to look at me. I could’ve sworn that somehow that dark, blank gaze was self-satisfied. “Ah, you don’t see it, but you can still feel it!” he whispered. “That’s good. You have a rare talent my friend, and I think I should like to see you live to use it.” “Why’s Lockbox get all the special ghost-sensing powers?” Sunny Side mumbled as we continued on into the darkness of the tunnel. “First the anomaly and now this with the haunted tunnel…” “I don’t have any powers, all right?” I blurted out, frustrated. Couldn’t they feel how wrong this place was?! Why were talking in such level tones when the dark itself was coming to get us? “I don’t know how I felt the anomaly coming, I just did! Fuck it, we aren’t even supposed to be here! I’m not supposed to be here! We’re just three crazy ponies in this sick fucking tunnel with no idea where they’re going or what’s ahead!” Both of them didn’t breathe a word for a time after that. Oppressive silence fell on us again. The silence was so pervasive my mind began to exaggerate whatever sounds I heard, and I found myself very thankful that I wasn’t alone. Even if the sound was a mutant howling our death, I began to grow desperate to hear something, anything. Every hoofstep, every puff of our breath was a salve on my burning ears. I had to hear, I had to see, otherwise my companions might disappear and the darkness would swallow me up. I watched Sunny Side and Nopony closely, the former seeming as terrified as I was, his eyes darting here and there, his breathing deep and even in a desperate attempt to stay calm. Nopony took this suffocating darkness the best of us, taking calm, measured steps. Were it not for the tell-tale sucking sound of air going in and out through a filter, I’d never even know he was breathing. Did ghosts breathe? I froze. Something… something just tickled the very edge of my consciousness. A vague thought, a notion, a tremor that sent the whole of my high-strung senses quivering with anticipation, like a spider senses a twitch in its web. Except even though I was the spider, I was blind and deaf too, and I knew it wasn’t a harmless fly that pricked my web. I stood still, coiled, ready… only then did I notice Nopony stopped moving exactly when I did. “Did anypony else hear that?” I asked in a hoarse whisper. “Hear what?” Sunny Side asked. “That!” I said. I barely even knew how to describe to myself what it was, how could I tell the others! “That, that… that!” “Hush,” Nopony soothed, and kept walking. Sunny Side took it as a dismissal of my alarm and shook his head. “Lockbox, come on, stop imagining things, we’re under enough stress as it is,” he said, louder than he should have. I wanted to slap him. I knew what I felt… didn’t I? I began to match Nopony’s steps as I continued on, wondering if the way he walked let him hear the dangers of the Metro. Had he been right about the Guide? Was I just a blind, deaf and dumb spider at the center of his tangled web, feeling only nudges and ripples of the truth? Or was I just letting my imagination run away with me? Celestia, where is your light when we need it… where is Luna, who rules the darkness and keeps ponies safe as they travel through the shadows that belong to her? Dead, dead and gone! Nothing but creeping things and mutants rule the night now, and the daylight hides itself from us… curse this darkness. And there it was again. I’d been watching Nopony closely, and this time I was certain that he stopped the moment that strange feeling swept over us again. “You heard it!” I blurted out, desperate for some support this time, some affirmation I wasn’t just going insane. “You heard it didn’t you?!” “Just keep shining your light if you give a fuck about your life!” Nopony hissed back at me. Sunny Side gulped and huddled closer to me, throwing his light this way and that. “Hallucinations,” he said quietly. “Lockbox, you don’t feel the way you did when the anomaly came-” “Fuck you, all right? What are you, deaf?” I snapped without meaning to. The darkness clouded my thoughts, pressing in on all sides. Something rumbled in the deep shadows, traveling down the pipes. I heard one of them shake in its moorings. “Okay… that I noticed,” Sunny Side said, his wings sprouting from his sides. I put out a hoof to keep him steady. I wasn’t going to lose him to that particular insanity again. “Keep moving!” Nopony warned us, and I heard his voice as it came from far, far away… he seemed to be much further along the tunnel than us. Or was he? It took me only five steps to catch up again. Or was it ten? The distance seemed to stretch out before my eyes. The spot of light on the wall of the tunnel from my headlamp seemed to be further away than before. “Lockbox, what… what the hell is…” Sunny Side swayed on his hooves and staggered, but I was there to catch him. I pointed my Mule backwards, into the dark, waiting for something to come at us. But nothing did. “Do not listen to the pipes,” Nopony exclaimed, beside me suddenly. “They sing only sad songs.” He propped his head against Sunny Side’s shoulder and helped pull him along. I watched the darkness closing in around us. Wait a minute. It was actually closing in! The darkness… the shadows… I could see them creeping around us, moving like they had some kind of awful intelligence all their own. Wherever I shined my light they retreated, but… somehow even when the light wasn’t there, I could see it. Feel it. I felt tiny claws pricking my hide through my barding, felt fingers rasping through my mane. I shook them off and struggled to keep moving. I told myself that the earth was with me. But when I tried to summon the magic, something felt wrong. It was far away. Everything felt so far away. I even felt myself begin to slip away from my own body, as if my mind was slowly crawling out of my skin. I felt nothing but cold slush beneath my hooves. Earth magic couldn’t help me against this. “What the fuck is going on!” I cried, but no answer came. I began to stagger as I went, beginning to hyperventilate. My body shivered and I felt queasy. “Something’s happening,” I mumbled, feeling like I was walking through a thick sludge. I looked down and saw that I was indeed walking through thick sludge. How… disgusting. Where’d it come from, anyway? Was that an eyeball floating in there? “What’s happening is you’re not concentrating on your survival!” Nopony’s shout dragged me back to reality. The dark pony had somehow come right up next to us, and in the grip of near hysteria I must not have noticed. In an instant the sludge felt less like blood and body parts and more like normal sewage. The darkness was ordinary lack of light, and I no longer felt the terror of something dark and scary pursuing us. “If you can’t keep a level head on your shoulders then I swear I will leave you here! Quit panicking.” I turned and looked at his blank, black visor. So dark and empty like the darkness around us. But it didn’t crawl over his face and leap out to get me… in fact, nothing did. I shined my light behind us, certain to find some horrible creature loping along to devour us. My light pierced the infinite gloom and showed me darkness there, and nothing more. I looked ahead again, my heart still racing. Nothing was there. Absolutely nothing. I didn’t know if I’d truly been hallucinating or something awful had just nearly taken our lives. All I was certain of was Sunny Side slowly coming to, having definitely been under some kind of ill effect to make him almost pass out. Yet he’d still walked with us, as though in a daze… “Ugh!” he said, shaking his head. “I feel like I just had a nightmare!” “You did,” I answered. “Or… we did. We are. Let’s just keep walking.” “Good idea.” I wasn’t sure how much longer we ‘just kept walking.’ The tunnel’s bleakness stretched on and on, and I wondered if we weren’t caught in some of vicious anomaly that looped our paths over and over again. I couldn’t tell if any of what I saw was something I’d passed before. The same looking bundles of wires and pipes stretched interminably, while the sludge beneath our hooves remained still and cold and stagnant. All I knew was that the strange feeling that’d nearly overwhelmed me before was gone, for now, but something still didn’t feel right. My stomach still felt nauseous, exactly like when we’d faced the anomaly, and the darkness was still extremely unnvering. “Was that real?” I asked at length. Nopony shook his head. “It is what it is,” he said. “These tunnels are full of death… ponies who crowded them in the final days of the War, desperately seeking shelter from the bombs. Trains that crashed when the city fell, and the countless others who died in the tunnels in the years after. Each and every tunnel now has had at least one pony die in them, not even counting the Diamond Dogs that scrabble at the edge of our society. I have been studying the phenomena that inhabit these tunnels. What you just experienced could’ve been anything, but I would say it was the voices of the dead.” “Pshaw!” Sunny Side gasped, and I could tell he was frightened. “Anomalies and psychic mutants I can take, but ghosts?” “They are all around us, even when we don’t feel them,” Nopony answered quietly. His low, distorted voice echoed eerily through the tunnel, seeming to rebound and come back to us, and we heard the echo instead of his actual voice. “The poor souls trapped here have nowhere to go. This plane is still finite… one day our world will end, you see… but they are still souls that cannot be destroyed, nor can they move on. Their torment will last forever, so long as this world remains dead and broken. It would seem their supplications do not reach the afterlife, if the afterlife does still exist. Their voices instead echo through the pipes and the tunnels, you see… I have heard them more than once.” “Why do you believe the War happened?” I asked, believing the question to be very important for some reason. Nopony was quiet for a while, until he looked over his shoulder at me. “Ignorance,” he said. “Ignorance of the world’s true nature, of the true nature of ourselves… we’d forgotten who and what we were. The Princesses were ignorant of what their real duty was, or they’d chosen to forget.” “What do you think happened to them?” I wondered. The questions came unbidden, and they at least helped keep my mind off the creeping darkness all around us. “… I do not like to think of such things,” Nopony answered. “But I think the answer we can all settle on is that they are no longer here to help us. I would say it is very likely they are both dead, or at the least their influence no longer ripples through the world as it once did.” “Do you think we’re all that’s left on the earth?” Sunny Side asked. “That we really are the last city?” “Who can say?” Nopony answered. “It certainly isn’t something I think about. The Metro is all we have. All we know. And even that is now under threat.” I tilted my head and sniffed. Did Nopony know about the Dark Ones? Or was he just talking in generalities about the mutants and the other factions? I felt as though my thoughts were like this tunnel: endless, dark, and without any answers. “Are we almost there?” “Nearly,” Nopony said, and then pointed straight ahead with his hoof. There was a light. We all trotted towards it, eager to be out of this strange deathtrap. It was a tiny, almost pitiful parasprite-light that hung over another of those circular charms, which decorated a rusty old door. One of the many bundles of pipelines that threaded their way through this horrid tunnel came to a stop at the door, curving into the wall and disappearing on its strange, unseen journey. I noticed that one of the pipes had burst open at one of the valves, and gaped obscenely at us through a jagged maw. Nopony approached it and put an ear to the opening, and then nodded with satisfaction. “Yes,” he said, and pushed open the door. “It’s as I feared. We should go, now. There is nothing we can do for them.” “Them?” I asked. “The dead? But there was nothing in this tunnel. Just… fear. We saw no ghosts.” “Precisely,” Nopony answered, holding the door for Sunny Side as he all but leaped through, eyes wide and eager to be away from this surreal place. “There is nothing in this tunnel.” I looked further down, past the doorway where we’d stopped. I pumped my light up to maximum brightness, and saw the faint beam disappear down into the tunnel’s depths. If this was just a secondary tunnel, I realized it was an extraordinarily long one. “It should’ve ended by now, shouldn’t it?” I asked. “Yes,” Nopony answered. “In normal construction, this tunnel would have joined its brothers by now.” “How far does it go?” I asked, my voice quiet and hushed. Nopony looked towards the darkness that seemed to stretch on forever. “I have no idea,” he said at last. “I have never gathered the courage to go further than this doorway.” I felt a chill as Nopony stepped away, leaving me alone. I stared at the opening in the pipeline, wondering what he’d heard. I was still monumentally confused about whether this tunnel was truly dangerous or not… and I resolved to find out for myself. If Nopony said I could hear and see things that nopony else could, then why not? Without giving fear time to halt my legs, I stepped up to the opening and boldly thrust my ear towards it. Nothing. I waited. Nothing at all. I felt almost cheated, even regretful as I stepped away again, my ears still tingling, waiting, desperate to hear something, anything… anything to confirm mine and Nopony’s suspicions. I almost wanted there to be a horrible thing, just so it would remove this awful tension, this... emptiness. “Hello?” I said at the pipe. “Are you there?” It didn’t answer me. Its hole continued to gape, dull and dark as it would be for all time, with nopony around to even hear the quiet. I took one last look up and down the empty tunnel filled with nothingness and silence. I wasn’t afraid anymore… just lonely, and very, very sad. What Nopony said was true. There was nothing in this tunnel. /-/-/-/ “Ah, shit!” Sunny Side yelped, jumping at a drake that leaped from behind a crate, sending an empty can falling as it went. I wanted to laugh, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I wanted to grab every moment of normalcy ever since the journey in that strange tunnel, but I knew that poor Sunny Side was still very high strung. I wondered how he was handling this journey, and his moment of insanity on the surface. Still, he hadn’t come to me about it, so I wondered if it needed discussing at all. We were nearing the railcart station that would take us all the way into Ponyesvkaya. Nopony had said nothing ever since we left the haunted tunnel, and I didn’t press him for more information. He seemed distracted, perhaps focused on finding the way out. We traveled in pitch blackness once again, winding through tiny side corridors and passing by small, forgotten rooms inhabited only by radioactive mushrooms, and the occasional skeleton or two. We found only one dead pony, a unicorn, their body long since rotted away and their bones scattered by scavengers. Judging by the hole in his skull, he’d done himself in. I found the pistol not far away, with still six bullets left in the magazine. With only a slight twinge of guilt, I took all six. Nopony asked to look at my Guide only once more, and seemed satisfied with what he saw. “Look, you see?” he asked, pointing at it again. “There is our mode of transportation... it is marked clearly enough that even you can see it.” Ever since the tunnel had proven to be empty and devoid of the danger the Guide had promised Nopony, I was skeptical of the Guide’s powers. But this time, the signal seemed to reach me much quicker than before. Hunter’s talisman buzzed, and I saw a small mark on the map, written as a tiny magical rune. I was shocked and overjoyed when I found out what it meant: Transportation. Nopony only nodded and turned away. “Stay here, you two. I will scout the rest of the way and make sure the railcar is even still there...” That left me to pore over the map to see if more of its secrets would reveal themselves to me. deduced that somehow, the talisman Hunter gave me was altering my perception in some way, using magic to help me decipher the secrets of the Rangers. But why me? Why now? Was it supposed to do that, or was I just caught in some incredibly lucky malfunction? And why hadn’t Sunny Side noticed any of it, whenever the talisman flared up to guide me? I thought back on what Nopony said about the voices of the dead, and the spiritual side of me almost wanted to believe that Hunter was speaking to me from beyond the grave with his talisman. But that was rubbish, because I didn’t even know if he was dead. Perhaps it was some kind of Ranger secret they would divulge when I finally found them... I was distracted by the sound of weeping nearby. Fretful it was a ghost I raised both my light and my gun. It was Sunny Side, his face buried in his forelegs. I was frozen, uncertain what to do. “I’m sorry, Lockbox,” he blurted out. I tilted my head, and my heart softened just a bit. “Sorry? What for?” I asked. “You’ve been nothing but a good friend and constant companion.” “No, no...” he moaned. “No. The surface. I almost left you. I almost... I almost....” I gave him a moment to catch his breath as he dropped into inconsolable, gasping coughs and sobs. “I almost destroyed myself,” he whispered. “I didn’t even know what came over me. I barely even remember it. I just remember the sky... it was so close... I felt I could smell it, Lockbox! Smell the sun and the fresh air beyond the clouds!” “You know there is no fresh air left up there. Even beyond the clouds,” I whispered. He nodded brokenly. “I know. I know... but the point is I wasn’t a strong pony. Like I’d told Ray Drop. I joined the militia because I thought I could actually do something for my station. Make my parents proud. Be somepony that Starry Gaze would...” He trailed off. I gave him an encouraging nod, hoping my silence was understanding instead of guilt-inducing. He needed to say these things. “Gosh, I miss her,” he whispered. “She had kind words for almost everypony, you know? Not just you. She just wants to be happy, like the rest of us. I joined the militia to help ponies, you know? But I almost died... I almost killed myself because...” He trailed off again, hiding his face. “I wanted to do it, Lockbox! I wanted to just... fly away. Leave it all behind. My head was full of all these crazy, crazy thoughts, and I knew they were crazy but I wanted to do them anyway!” “Well, that’s why they call it feather-brained,” I said with a shrug. I stood up and went to sit next to him. “Sunny Side, I am not very good with words. But I can tell you this. I don’t blame you for what happened. You shouldn’t blame yourself either. This world is hard on all of us. Stronger ponies than us die every day. Moments of weakness... they just happen. You know I’ve had many on this trip. But the point is you are my friend, and I am yours. As long as that never changes, then I think we will be all right.” I touched his shoulder with my hoof. “We’ve taken care of each other so far. I don’t plan on changing that.” Sunny Side nodded quietly. I don’t think I helped as much as I wanted to, but his grief seemed to pass. “Thank you, Lockbox,” he murmured. “You... you are a good pony. And I am glad we’re friends... sometimes I think that’s all we ponies have left.” I almost told him the truth about Ray Drop right then. Almost. But it remained locked away, like so many other things. Nopony came to fetch us a few minutes later, and we piled onto the railcart he showed us to. It was a cobbled together vehicle, crafted by Metro ponies and rickety to the point of being unsafe. The engine sputtered as Nopony literally kicked it to life, and a single sprite-light hung at the front. No fancy electrical headlights for this car. I noticed the driver seat was an old wooden chair with a dumpy cushion wrapped in tacky flower pattern cloth. It was faded and ugly, and creaked as Nopony sat on it. As the cart trundled forward, bouncing and jerking, I gulped and grasped the railcar’s thin, scrap metal sideplates tight, as it to keep them from wobbling off. Naturally, Sunny Side elected to fly overhead, until he almost bonked into a low-hanging pipe. He dropped down next to me after that. We traveled in complete silence, listening to the clack of the wheels on the rails, and the worrisome coughs of the engine. It reminded me of home, and all our improvised, scratch-made comforts, and so I didn’t disturbed the silence. I just looked forward and enjoyed the ride. It was a small, well-deserved time of peace and quiet. I was surprised when Nopony spoke up. I’d all but forgotten he was there in the last few minutes. His own brand of magic at work, I supposed. “I haven’t been to Ponyevskaya in some time, so I am uncertain what the current situation is,” he said. “But I can tell you the plantations have always been an unfriendly lot. They know how important they are, and being important means they are almost always under threat. They are reclusive and only communicate through their supply caravans... they jealously guard their unicorns from Hoofsa, and the Guild of Magic hates them because they are good at magic, yet won’t share their trade secrets. Very family oriented lot, the farmers are.” He fell silent again for a moment. “I’ve also been thinking about you boys’ journey. You don’t work for Bucklyn, do you?” We froze and went silent, perhaps the exact wrong thing to do if you want to hide something. “I thought so,” said Nopony. “The plantations aren’t your final destination. You’ve got something much bigger in mind.” I hung my head, the impossibility of our mission weighing down on me again. “Tell me. Wherever it is you are going... is it where you truly hope to end up? Or is it the only path you think is available?” Neither of us answered. Soon, there was nothing but the noise of the railcart. /-/-/-/ The entrance to Ponyevskaya was a forbidding place. We stopped at the old north section of the station, which had been mostly abandoned. We’d deliberately tripped several magical alarms coming in, which was unavoidable and we didn’t want to give the defenders a surprise anyway. We’d be greeted with guns, but it was worth it for not being shot up on sight by surprised guards. The railcart was left behind at the hundred meter mark, though I took the sprite-light and held it in front of me, praying that it’d be enough to identify us as ponies and not mutants. Many magical traps were indiscriminate, and I didn’t know how thoroughly they’d enchanted their northern borders since Heron had been destroyed. We also traveled without passports, and would likely have to bluff our way inside. It was times like this I sorely missed the presence of a unicorn... my mind went back to Starry Gaze. She’d certainly be able to read the glyphs and let them know we weren’t a threat. The tracks split into two around a large central island. Swooping arches and pillars gave the area a semblance of dignity and importance, but as trains no longer ran through here, it had been converted into a fortress. We stopped just in front of a formidable network of metal spikes rammed into the ground along with other obstacles, and called out. “We are ponies! Ponies!” Sunny Side shouted. I saw a light flare up farther down on the island. Both tracks had been almost completely walled off by barricades and makeshift gates, with the raised island in the middle acting as the base of a squat guard tower. A spotlight swung its light towards us, and a loud, gruff voice answered us. “Step forward slowly! We will deactivate the forward defense charms!” We came forward and hopped up onto the island until we looked directly up into the guard tower. From beneath the gunner’s nest a thin rope bridge swung down, and several ponies pointed or floated guns directly towards us. I was the first up the little bridge and was immediately blocked by a big, tough earth pony with a welder’s mask acting as a helmet. He was a lean, muscular fellow with a mean squint in his eyes. “Tell us your business,” he growled. “We want to go through,” I said. “We’re here to scout out the situation on Bucklyn’s authority.” “Fuck them,” the earth pony growled. “You came from the north, that used to be Heron.” “We used an alternate entrance on the surface because of the bandits in the tunnels east of here,” I explained. “There was no other way.” “Though you didn’t make it easier blowing up the Green Line like you did,” Sunny Side interjected. “Well we don’t believe you, and we don’t give two shits if you were boss enough for the surface! You’ve got no papers you’re from Bucklyn, and to hell with Bucklyn anyway. They weren’t there for us when the bandits and mutants came! So you’re only two travelers wanting to get into our station. That’s five cartridges for the two of you and another three each for bringing in weapons.” “Half a magazine to get into the gate!” Sunny Side objected behind me. “On whose authority?” “Ours, you featherbrained pissant,” the earth pony grumbled, and jabbed his weapon towards us. All of his fellows seemed equally surly and unfriendly. “Pegasi aren’t too common in these parts. You better keep your head down.” I felt a sudden urge to shoot this puffed up guardpony, leeching off travelers while stations all around us suffered. A sudden indignant rage welled up inside me, that familiar anger at being called useless or being forced to accept what others side. My mission was noble and just, and this pony only cared about lining his pockets. “And just to make sure you aren’t bandits we should confiscate your things as well. Ain’t that right?” the guard said, and turned his head just to the side to speak to his fellows. I seized my chance, driven by anger. Leaping forward I shoved myself into arm’s reach of the other earth pony, imagining myself to be a great hill that was tumbling down. My chest collided with his with a meaty thump, and his eyes widened along with my own as I felt myself dig into the ground, push upwards... and lift. We were both on our hind legs with my head jammed up under his chin, chest to chest, and I quickly slapped my Mule down to the ready position so the barrel pushed painfully into his neck. I heard the clamor of ponies yelling and Sunny Side barking something angrily, but I didn’t care. I’d been through too much for one ugly bastard of a guard to extort me. My family was in danger, my whole station was in danger, and I couldn’t be delayed by something like this. I didn’t give a bit about this pony or his family, which my anger extended to. They must have all been mean and ugly like him to produce such an unfriendly creature. I was sick of things not going my way, and apparently my earth magic had agreed with me, giving me the strength to lift this jerk almost clean off the ground. “So, then,” I whispered heatedly into the fur of his neck, working the trigger into my mouth. “You don’t think we’re boss enough? Well I have a whole magazine here for your toll, and I think it’s going right into your brains...” The earth pony seemed rather unmoved, or tried to be. He sniffed disdainfully. “So what, kid? You gonna shoot me? Forfeit your life? What’ve you got that’s so damn important?” “Lockbox, they’re just bullets! For Luna’s sake!” Sunny Side gasped behind me. I wanted to scream. I wanted to yell at them and point them down the tunnel I’d just come, at the dark secrets that threatened to swallow us all up. Of course they were just bullets, that was the point! There were so many more important things to know about! The Dark Ones were coming, and I found I didn’t care if they wiped this entire station off the map purely because of this one grouchy guard pony. Just the thought of his smug little squint being victorious over me was almost too much to handle. Didn’t they know? Didn’t they see how terrible they were being to us and each other? I’d been manipulated and left for dead, led three ponies to their deaths, been abandoned and had my life threatened more times than I could count in the space of a few days, and I had to bow down to this stupid, insignificant- But wasn’t I the one who thought all ponies were significant? I blinked rapidly as I suddenly seemed to realize what I was doing. I shoot this pony, threaten his life and then what? I get... I get nothing. I let out an audible sigh as I remembered a beautiful smile framed in yellow and pink, strong cyan eyes staring me down in disappointment. Regardless, I still held the gun to the other pony’s chin, if only because he refused to be intimidated and I refused to back down after threatening him. I wasn’t about to be the weak one in this confrontation. “I don’t think all this violence is necessary,” said a familiar voice. Everypony turned to look at Nopony, showing no reaction on their faces to him suddenly appearing next to me and my hostage. As if he’d been there the whole time. As if he was a trusted member of the station... then I realized I didn’t remember him coming with us into the station at all. Had he even been driving the railcart? Just what strange magic did this pony exert on us all? “Surely we can work out a compromise,” he said, and fixed me with a stare through his gasmask. I grunted with anger and pushed the barrel of my gun up under the other pony’s chin a little more, satisfied to at last see his eyes widen a bit in fear. That’s what I wanted to see. I’d gotten what I wanted. I’d gladly pay a toll now. “Three bullets each,” I growled. “And no stupid weapons charge.” “... Four,” the earth pony growled. I nudged him with my Mule’s barrel again and he gasped. “Fine, fine, fucking three!” I gently lowered my weapon and stepped back. The guard looked like he wanted to knock my block off, and I felt glad to oblige him to a fight, but then Nopony stepped forward again. I felt a noticeable change in the air. A shift in momentum towards the dark-clothed pony, like an invisible change in some sort of tide. The guard pony actually lowered his eyes and mumbled something noncommittal as I fished out nine cartridges for their ridiculous toll, jamming it into one of his saddlebags. Nopony dropped off a tin of canned food. “For emotional injuries,” he explained, and all three of us passed the miserable little group of guards, who’d only gotten half of what they’d wanted. I didn’t care. I managed to exert a little authority, which was saying something in the Metro. I tried to feel satisfied and proud I’d at last showed some spine for myself. Instead I felt nothing except a little queasy from the adrenaline rush. The back of the guard tower led back down onto the twin tracks which disappeared into Ponyevskaya, which had the fortune of being quite spacious due to extra construction of tunnels and side passages. The plantations were sprawling places, with several layers to them. Most of this space, I presumed, was taken up by the plantations, where they tended specialized magical crops and the few livestock animals that were still with us. The entire operation hung continuously on a knife’s edge, as the slightest disturbance could ruin whole harvests due to bad soil, radiation leaks, lack of water, too little care, too much care, the wrong or right treatments and magical spells being delivered at the wrong or right times. Say what I would about the friendliness of their guards, the farmers took their work seriously and had managed to deliver for many years, and their important place in the northern tunnels was appreciated. Most of what they grew was mushrooms and the strange new plants that could flourish underground. Milk was at a premium everywhere all the time, because in these four (well, now three) stations the only known population of cows remained. We came into the main body of the station. The tracks we followed went under huge iron doors, then split further until the island between them became a sort of station unto itself, a large open area crowded by ramshackle living spaces constructed over market stalls. Two train cars had been laid on top of each other on one set of tracks and glowed with activity. Ponies bustled back and forth, all of them looking dour and harassed. To the left and right of the great hall, which extended across both tracks and the island, were wide staircases that led into other areas of Ponyevskaya where it seemed the farms must be. The entire area was lit by magic, with only a smattering of electric lamps and lightbulbs. I also smelt the faint scent of kerosene. I saw a cow being led gently by a harness through the crowd, a unicorn holding it with her magic. The cow looked dull and dumb, and looked neither left nor right. “The destruction laid down by the War affected minds as well as bodies,” Nopony said quietly, though I didn’t see where he was speaking from. “Cows once could talk and think like us. But the ones on the surface were changed by the radiation and war spells before they could be brought down... they are no longer sentient creatures like they once were.” “How sad,” Sunny Side whispered. I turned away and noticed all the dark glares we were getting. Outsiders weren’t welcome here. Family oriented ponies. Selfish, I thought. I wanted to find out what was going on and get out of here as soon as possible. “We should keep heading south, to Compass and Percherovskaya, and then Otzark Bulvard,” I said. “Perhaps there we can get a message to Bucklyn.” If I still felt like delivering it. I sighed heavily. We kept going back and forth, all around... never closer to Ponyopolis. I resolved not to be distracted again. I had to keep moving... if all these stations were going to keep asking for help and snubbing me when I risked my life, then I’d just have to stop thinking of helping them until my mission was over. “Guards are following us,” I heard Nopony’s voice in my ear. “Or, well, you. They will probably be wanting to interview you or take you to the mayor.” “They should come to us,” I said with sniff. “We’re the ones who risked our necks getting here.” I took another look and saw that most of the ponies seemed high strung, or bored. They were under siege from mutants and bandits and probably had nothing to look forward to but the next daily grind, performing their everyday duties until the next assault came. I knew if mutants had been tenacious enough to force Heron to be abandoned, they’d be coming for Ponyevskaya next. I heard the soft mumble of conversation from above; the ramshackle construction continued overhead, covering the roof here, meaning ponies lived right on top of each other. It reminded me in some ways of Exiperia, just more open. The same tightly drawn, anxious faces were here, the same concerns. Yet we thought so differently from one another, and just a few minutes before I’d wished this whole station would die just so my mission could be a little easier. “It’s not going to be easy getting through the other stations,” Sunny Side warned. “Not if they aren’t expecting or wanting visitors from Bucklyn. Or if they even believe that we’re from there.” “We will have to proceed with caution,” Nopony warned. “Clearly these ponies are very worried, though I would be too if an entire station nearby has been annihilated.” “I know what to do!” Sunny Side said, rearing up. I looked at him in surprise... then saw where he was looking. An earth pony was cooking soup and mushrooms nearby in large metal drums, stirring them with a bored expression. Sunny Side was regarding the steaming food with naked desire. I punched his shoulder. “What?” he asked after he noticed the stare I gave him. “We haven’t eaten since we were on the surface, and tea doesn’t really fill you up...” “As long as you are here, you might as well have real food,” Nopony suggested. “My supplies are only palatable in emergencies.” “I suppose you have a point,” I muttered, and headed to the food vendor with him. The earth pony noticed us approaching and quickly backed away from his stall. He looked back and forth as if trying to signal some kind of intervention, but he stayed still when all the other ponies kept ignoring us, carting crops and dirt and manure between the two large stairwells. “Are you not wanting to make a sale today?” I asked snippishly. “Just a couple bowls of soup, that’s all,” Sunny Side asked. “We’ll pay. And, um... some soggyweed if you have it.” “How do you even stomach that stuff?” I asked. “It’s for Ponyevskaya ponies only,” the cook grumbled. “I don’t deal with foreigners.” I wasn’t willing to give up more cartridges to these selfish cheapskates, but I pulled out my store regardless. The sight of a full magazine made the cook’s eyes widen. “Three each,” I said, noting the sign put the price at two bullets for a bowl. I was going to be bankrupt before I even got back to the Ring, but I had to admit I might be in a better mood after a full stomach. The cook regarded me nastily even then. “One extra for your winged friend. He might cause trouble. You know how they are.” “I know you’re about to give me that food for free, just because I said so, if you don’t agree to my price,” I whispered quietly. “Now food, and don’t insult my friend again.” The cook looked positively murderous, though for the sake of getting whatever cartridges he could he quickly spooned out two bowls for us both, but did not get Sunny Side’s coveted soggyweed. “Don’t even tell ponies I did that,” he whispered, glancing about furtively. “Now go away!” Sunny Side began slurping at the goopy, lumpy mess before he even took a step away, clutching his bowl in both hooves. I grabbed the handle on the bowl with my teeth, went to the nearest abandoned corner in between two buildings and sat down. We ate in uncomfortable silence, noting the way all the other ponies, mostly earth and unicorn ponies, ignored us pointedly. Such large stations, yet so insular... it was a wonder the plantations weren’t a faction unto themselves, with how much they seemed to be willing only to deal with “local” ponies. One snatch of conversation from two passing ponies, hauling bags of feed and underground seeds, caught my attention as we ate. “Did you hear? Two guardponies... vanished in the western auxiliary tunnels! Just like that poor farmer.” “I’m telling you, it’s the mutants! They found a way past the blockade and there’s probably some dropbears or something set up where our patrols can’t find them!” “But it’s always in the places you least expect. And there’s no sign of them anywhere! Just some blood and bullet holes. Somepony is-” “Shut up! We’re not supposed to talk about that.” I looked their way, and the two conversing earth ponies saw me looking and walked away with a glare. “Something is going on here besides bandits and mutants,” I delcared. “There’s no reason for them to be so unfriendly.” “Is there?” Nopony asked. “There’s a lot to be unfriendly about, the fact that you are foreigners notwithstanding. These ponies are frightened and feel abandoned by those who claimed to be their protectors. The plantations have always been reclusive. And for whatever reason, pegasi are generally unwelcome here... they believe if one doesn’t ” “Exiperia is facing far worse,” I grumbled. “And we don’t extort ponies and threaten them.” “Maybe so. But this isn’t Exiperia,” Nopony advised me. It was only then I noticed that cook hadn’t even reacted to our dark-clothed friend’s presence. He hadn’t even looked his way or offered him a bowl to. Another chill ran through me, like when I finally realized what the true nature of the haunted tunnel was. Who actually saw this pony? Why us? What strange influence did he exert over other ponies? And was he somehow influencing me and Sunny Side? “Why do you wear your mask all the time? The air here is perfectly good,” Sunny Side asked him out of the blue. Why hadn’t I thought of that? I leaned forward, eager to hear the explanation for his bizarre behaviors. Nopony, if he was taken off guard, didn’t show it. He just waved it off in a gesture I was certain showed amusement. “Oh, young colt, it’s simple! My lungs aren’t what they used to be, and I find it far easier to breathe filtered air rather than have to force air we all know is contaminated down my throat all the time. Smoke and other toxic materials are in the air all around us... your lungs are still young and strong, but one of these days you will feel it. Perhaps in a less acute way than I; I am very sensitive you see. And, please, I know what your next question will be. I am very used to running on little food, but I do take off my mask to eat.” Sunny Side and I exchanged glances. It was a valid reason, but still struck me as strange. I decided to drop the issue as did Sunny Side. “So how are we going to get information if these ponies are so unfriendly?” I wondered aloud. “I thought you’d know that one,” Sunny Side said with a strange smile. “You’re the one who’s been all for pushing on. Ponyevksaya is far north, and the bandits are to the south. There’s nothing we can do about the mutants, so we head south for Otzark Bulvard... get closer to the problem and maybe we’ll find a solution.” “Or a way to push on through,” I mumbled, and turned to Nopony. “Is there any way you can get us past the other stations entirely? I don’t want to face these roadblocks and glorified toll booths more than once.” Nopony regarded me with an inscrutable look, and Sunny Side actually looked a little nauseous. I glanced between them and tossed a hoof. “I promised Bucklyn I’d get information back to them about what’s going on. I didn’t promise we’d actually solve any of their problems.” “Indeed. Perhaps a wise attitude to take if you’re in such a hurry,” Nopony murmured, rubbing his chin. “More and more you tell me you are on a mission you consider supremely important. Somewhere deeper into the Metro... there are only a few places there worth going.” I felt my mane bristle aggressively. “I don’t remember saying I’d tell you anything.” “I never asked about it. You’re the one who assumed I was prying,” Nopony said, pointing a hoof, which somehow only made me more annoyed. “But as you say, you’re in a hurry, and I think the only way to bypass the other stations is to crawl through the secondary tunnels... there just so happens to be one that goes from Compass around to the Ring, coming out near Otzark Bulvard. But it is a dangerous tunnel and has perhaps been sealed off to prevent the bandits from invading here. Look at your Guide, but make sure nopony sees it!” I turned to the wall and took out the Guide. Sunny Side looked over my shoulder. Sure enough there was a thin line that connected Compass and Otzark Bulvard, which I presumed had been taken over by bandits by now. There was a little symbol that glowed to the west of Compass, a little south of Ponyevskaya. It hovered near the secondary tunnel, so I pointed it out to Nopony. “What does that mean?” I asked. “Is that the danger symbol?” Nopony stared long and quiet at the symbol I pointed to, and then turned to me. My ears twitched, wondering if I’d said something wrong. I’d read the Guide and got it wrong and now Nopony was going to tell me how stupid I was. “... No,” he said, and his voice was soft and not at all condescending. “No, that is not a symbol for danger at all. My friend, it is the old Equestrian symbol for safety.” My mind reeled. Something about that word... ‘safe’... sparked a rush of memories, and I noticed with a gasp that Hunter’s talisman was buzzing again. Bucklyn reporting the loss of Rangers... finding a Ranger hiding spot on the surface... my mission... rumors of a Ranger base near the farms... western auxiliary passages... something sparked within me. I knew what that symbol really meant. At last I had a clue where to really look! I rolled up the Guide. “All right, forget the secondary tunnel. I know where we’re going next.” But before I could stand up, a group of guards descended on us, led by a stocky, bright, snowy blue earth mare with a caramel brown mane run through with white highlights, dressed in tough soldier’s barding. Combined with her fierce, aquamarine eyes, she looked like she’d fit in well on the frontline of a Monarchy assault squad, and her little posse of guards looked equally dangerous. But instead of an obscuring helmet, she wore a wide brimmed, high crowned hat. Her voluminous, and I had to admit, attractively well kept mane flowed out from under it. I found myself intrigued because of that hat, having a single picture of old Appleloosa that showed ponies that wore such hats before the War. It must’ve been some family heirloom. The mare looked far less impressed with us. “So’m Ah gonna have ta’ choke ya’ll with my lasso o’ truth, or are ya gonna admit ta’ bein’ spies straight up?” “You don’t wanna get choked by the lasso o’ truth,” growled the guard next to her. It was such an absurd thing to say I wondered if they were joking to put us at ease, but the glares did not abate. “You know... this is the second station that’s accused us of being spies right off the bat,” Sunny Side grumbled, flattening his ears. “Are they just that big a problem in the Metro?” I wanted to look to Nopony for advice, but he didn’t seem all that talkative. And anyway, I figured telling the truth in this particular situation was for the best. I didn’t want my lies piling up as high as my doubts. “We’re from Bucklyn,” I said. “Not that your guards at the gate believed us. We’re here to figure out how to deal with the bandit situation to the south.” “Oh?” the mare scoffed. “Listen up little ‘shroom. Since Ah’m a polite pony, Ah’ll introduce myself. The name’s Snowglobe. Proud daughter a’ Ponyevskaya, captain of the Ponies of the Underground, premier guard team in the Metro, an’ half the reason you get food in your belly. Ah got mutants runnin’ down our throats from the north an’ bandits bumpin’ flanks with us to the south. Ah got politics, a serial killer an’ who knows what else goin’ on in mah station. Everypony from here to Perch’ is scared stiff an’ not in any condition to do anything ‘cept huddle down an’ defend their own! Ah don’t need two little salt licks like yerselves runnin’ around causin’ trouble if you’re all the help Bucklyn kin be arsed to send!” I stood up and matched her glare, feeling satisfied that I was in fact a little taller than her. “They have problems of their own,” I said. “If there’s so much trouble involved in keeping us here then show us a quick way south and we’ll be out of your manes.” “Ho, no! Ah ain’t takin’ no chances with, uh... what ch’all call it, Abacus?” “Uncertain variables,” the guard to her right patiently explained. The mare nodded once. “Right! What he said. You two might as well be spies given all that’s been goin’ down! Why, Ah should buck ya’ll right back where you came from! But seein’ as we’re such hospitable ponies,” she hissed, “Ah’ve been given the go ahead to send ya’ll back to Perch, an’ you can make your own way from there. Right now!” “Under guard and at gunpoint?” I muttered. “Not the most hospitable way to treat ponies sent at risk of their own lives to help you. We were forced to travel across the surface and lost good ponies getting here!” “An’ we’re losin’ good ponies who just wander off down a dark hall on their own!” Snowglobe shot back, shoving her face into mine until our noses scrunched together. Was this her idea of coercion? Just shout as loud as she could to cow us into submission? I was getting more put off by the second. “Now ya’ll gimme any more lip an’ Ah’ll see to it you spend the rest o’ yer days cozied up in our jail cells till all this is sorted out! We don’t take kindly to strangers pokin’ their noses into our stations. Bucklyn’s so high an’ mighty, but it never lifted a hoof to help us until it was too late! An’ now they can’t even keep up communications so they send two little errand boys who rough up my guardponies, bribe my cooks, and insult my dead ponies by tellin’ me my methods are too rough! We got this all sorted out without outside interference. So ya’ll scoot your little behinds on outta here.” “And what are we supposed to do when we get to Otzark?” Sunny Side asked. “Ask the bandits to pretty please let us through your deadly blockade?” “Never hurts to try,” Snowglobe sniffed, finally getting out of my face. “Now come on. Ah can’t waste good guard ponies guardin’ you two forever. Sooner you’re outta our manes-” “I don’t want to go that way,” I said. Snowglobe tilted her head. “Kindly repeat that bit o’ horsefeathers?” “We aren’t going that way. I want to know what this business is in the western passages.” Snowglobe raised a severe eyebrow. Clearly, I had gone straight from ‘slightly more than pond scum’ to ‘actively loathed and despised’ on her list. “Why?” she asked. “Because I am here to do a job. I want to see it done. Bucklyn must know what’s going on.” Snowglobe regarded me frostily. I could almost see gears turning in her head. “Ah think it best if you just clear on outta here, stranger,” she murmured. “This is a volatile situation. We need only ourselves, an’ ponies that can handle danger.” “Try me,” I muttered, matching her steely gaze. “I just want to take a look. That’s all.” “There’s an unhinged killer runnin’ loose in those tunnels,” Snowglobe explained. “Ya’ll sure you can handle a stone-cold murderer?” I remembered the horrors I’d faced so far. The creatures I’d killed and the ponies too. The Ranger base was somewhere in those passages, hidden away, and I needed to find it. This time, it was me that stepped up close to Snowglobe, looking down her snout and straight into her eyes, close enough that our forelocks brushed. She didn’t blink or pull back, but she didn’t snap at me either. “This is the Metro. Stone-cold murderers are a dime a dozen,” I said quietly. “And I’ve killed far worse than that.” Snowglobe stared at me a little longer. And then she burst out laughing. There was an awkward moment where I thought she was going to shoot us both, but she calmed down quickly enough. “All right... all right, don’t get all saddlesore. Ah c’n tell you got balls, pal. So we’ll let you have yer little look-see. But straight after it’s mah show again, an’ you’re leavin’.” She turned about and whapped me in the face with her tail. “Come on, might as well get this over with... not that we’ll find anythin’. Bastard never strikes ponies in groups. Abacus! Rawhide! Get your rears in gear an’ give this little colt an’ his featherbrain friend a crash course in ‘shuttin’ up an’ doin’ as we say.’” Sunny Side stepped up close to me as she stalked off to do whatever she needed to do. “We’re never going to lose them,” he murmured. “And something doesn’t feel right. She agreed too easily.” “I agree,” I replied. “But she’s letting us get closer to where we need to go. For now we will play along. But we get what we need to know... and go.” “What if things get complicated?” I shrugged. “They always are.”

redsquirrel456

446

Original Character,Crossover,Adventure,Dark,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

My Little Metro

After Doomsday forces ponies underground, a lone colt braves the Stalliongrad metro system to save his people from an unknown threat.

hiatus

<p>The Metro tunnels of Stalliongrad shelter the last remnants of ponykind from the ravages of the Apocalypse. Beneath the earth, ponies struggle to survive against mutants, radiation, and each other. But when an unstoppable threat emerges from the darkness of the Metro, one pony must brave the shadows to save not just his home, but the very existence of his people.</p>

teen

2011-12-13T17:42:39+00:00

2011-12-13T17:42:39+00:00

My Little Metro: Chapter 10 “Lord, what a splendid world we’ve ruined…” I didn’t understand why we got as big a guard as we did. The trip to the western warrens (calling them tunnels would’ve been a compliment) wasn’t long, but Snowglobe didn’t take any chances. I wondered if she thought we were going to bolt as soon as we were out of sight and suddenly commit to a guerilla war against her station. I held that thought with vindictive relish, finding a greater and greater annoyance with the Ponies of the Underground with every step I took. They seemed to believe they were a step above the regular guardpony, holding themselves with pride for accomplishments I didn’t know and didn’t care about. I walked behind the one called Abacus. He looked thin, but in a slender, agile way, like Sidewinder. Nopony and Sunny Side trailed behind me, flanked by Snowglobe and the rest. There were five of them in total but Snowglobe assured me that they were a strong and numerous unit, spread through the three remaining plantations. The thin side hall we traveled down, clean though not well lit to preserve energy, was filled with Snowglobe’s rambling. “We’ve pretty much got the monopoly on bein’ badass here in the north. Hoofsa actually contracts us to keep an eye on the trade routes between here an’ Bucklyn, all the way down to New Trottingham. But even still we know where our loyalties lie… Ponies of the Underground will always be loyal ta’ the farms, an’ so ta’ me. Not that you Arm Stations would understand about that.” Arm Stations were any stations that weren’t directly connected to the inner Metro, and were stretched out along the long outer tracks outside the Ring. It wasn’t necessarily derogative, but I still didn’t appreciate the subtle jab at my ignorance and inexperience in inner Metro politics. I was happy to be from an Arm Station, because it kept me further away from troubles and wars that plagued the stronger, bigger stations. I was about to point out that the plantations were on an arm themselves, but thought better of it and let Snowglobe talk. It was clear she was very proud about her station… or she wasn’t very confident and all, and made up for that with her bluster. “Heron’s destruction was awful for all of us. But we’ve rebuilt. We gave the ponies of Heron new homes. We adjusted our plots an’ now we’re working more efficiently than ever. Shame ya won’t stick around an’ take a peek at our operations. Maybe you’d learn a thing or two about ponies what actually stick together an’ watch each other’s backs.” I stared at the ground, trying to drone out her incessant blathering. If this was the commander of the Ponies of the Underground, this arrogant and confrontational child, my opinion of them was lowering further every second. I resisted the impulse to ask her why they’d lost Heron in the first place if they were so tough… but the question nagged me anyway and I modified it to be less rancorous. “So how was Heron lost, anyway?” I ventured, expecting to hear some grand tale of defiance and danger in the face of impossible odds. “Treason,” Snowglobe spat. I was surprised by her honesty. “We didn’t stand a chance, really. Somethin’ or somepony opened up a key blockade we’d set in one of the auxiliary tunnels… an’ then the damn rats just spilled in.” “Rats?” Sunny Side asked. “You were beaten by rats?” “Yeah. Big rats the size of foals that came in the dozens and didn’t stop till everypony was dead or gone,” one of the other ponies hissed at my friend, who wilted under the vicious stare. “We managed to cut our losses and seal up the other tunnels in Heron’s direction. And we hold the line and make sure the rats don’t find another way in. They’re attracted by the smell of the livestock and the plants we grow, we figure. Every so often one or two slip through. Once Hoofsa clears up this business with the bandits, they’ve promised to send us heavy guns and ponypower to help clear the little turds out. Gonna be a hell of a day of reckoning when it finally comes… everypony in Heron was family in one way or another.” The thought of a giant blob of mutant rats pressing against the walls of the station, multiplying until they burst through with the pressure of their own collective weight terrified me. I wondered about the farmers’ situation, how they had to constantly fight for their lives against monsters from the surface and the underground, and realized it wasn’t so different from the state of Exiperia. I didn’t dare open my mouth and try to build bridges with talk of the Dark Ones, but I knew that at least we weren’t alone in our terror. It made me wonder how many other stations were like ours, all around the Metro, stuck between the frightful monsters outside, and the selfishness of the stations behind them. I realized that they weren’t just fighting to keep the Metro safe; they fought for their own turf and their own survival. Give up a little ground and the noose we called the Ring is tightened a little more, until there are too many ponies and too little space, and everyone chokes on each other’s bullets when they find there’s not enough generosity to go around. But if everypony faced the same doom, what was the point of my mission? If we stopped the Dark Ones who knew what would come to another station, wipe them out and push us all in a little closer together… no, no. I couldn’t think about that. I couldn’t stop, and I couldn’t wonder. That was a pathway to a dead end. There only lay purposelessness and defeat, and that was something I’d never consider. Not after all I’d gone through already, and how many ponies had died. Ray Drop and all the others deserved better. Hunter and my father deserved better. I’d given my word. I wouldn’t give up, and I wouldn’t die until my mission was complete. “We’re not going to find anything just taking a look around, I hope you know that,” Abacus said over his shoulder. I didn’t answer him. He didn’t know the Guide I had, or the little talisman that would guide me where I needed to go. I just needed a way to lose them once we were in the tunnels… perhaps I could convince them I was too much trouble to keep looking after and they’d abandon me? “We just make a clean sweep,” Snowglobe answered for me. “An’ when we don’t find nothin’, we just head on back. This killer ain’t gonna jus’ pop out of the woodwork when we swing in.” “Why is he doing this?” I asked. “He’s a loonybin, why else?” Snowglobe snapped. “Ah don’t reason with murderers an’ killers. Far as I’m concerned they’re all just targets in mah scope. If we do run across him, an’ you better hope we don’t, cause he’s a mite more dangerous than the average lunatic, first thing Ah’m doin’ is puttin’ a bullet in ‘is brain. The killing all happens in these tunnels, but there ain’t any evidence beyond bullet holes. An’ any gun in the station could be usin’ the calibers we find.” We came to a doorway that had a magical rune etched into its surface. A teal unicorn in the group came forward and disarmed it. “We’ve got most of these tunnels sealed off,” Snowglobe explained as the door swung open into pitch blackness. She bravely led the way. “Because we don’t use ‘em for much more than storage. Just a bunch of back rooms an’ whatnot nopony knows the point of. We’ve made a few sweeps of ‘em an’ found nothin’. But ponies kept dyin’ in ‘em, so we just keep them closed off until we can get a good fix on the perpetrator.” “What of magical charms? Scrying? They can spot and find ponies easily,” Sunny Side said. “In case ya didn’t notice,” Snowglobe drawled, tossing her mane as the door was shut and re-sealed with the runes behind us, “we aren’t exactly swimmin’ in magic. The unicorns we got don’t have talents turned towards that business, an’ we’ve lost two already in scoutin’ groups. Bastard picked ‘em off in the same damn rooms, even…” I gulped. A pony that could kill others in the same room as other ponies… and yet escape undetected? Was it a pony committing these murders, or had a relative of the Dark Ones found their way to the plantations? Either way I didn’t want to stick around and actually meet this character. I was here for something infinitely more important than a single station’s troubles… a single station that held foreigners at gunpoint and insisted on kicking them out at the earliest convenience at that. “We should be wary the further back we go,” Abacus warned us. “There are cracks in the ceiling where some of the radiation and poisonous air has leaked in from above.” The air grew cold and stale as we traveled further into the warrens, which were dusty and crowded with the refuse and useless things the station didn’t need and couldn’t find space for. The only lights came from that of our lamps, and I felt rather claustrophobic in these spaces. The tunnels of the Metro winded and twisted on into the darkness, at least giving you a chance to see that you were going forward or back. But these tight corridors ended after a few hoofsteps, twisted back on each other and were struck through with many small rooms I couldn’t tell the purpose of. One place had a series of dusty old consoles long without power, another held massive generators that Snowglobe explained were damaged beyond repair, and needed expert runemakers and magic users with knowledge we didn’t possess anymore. “We’d be able ta’ power the whole northern section of the Metro,” she said sadly. “Wouldn’t need half the unicorns we have ta’ keep our plantations going. But we just don’t ‘ave the means, the time… the knowledge.” I shook my head. Somehow, knowing that we’d literally forgotten how to maintain certain parts of our city, and we didn’t have the time or the resources to recover that knowledge, struck me as one of the most tragic things I’d ever heard. So much was being lost at a prodigious rate, and I couldn’t keep up. I recalled my Wall, my pathetic contribution to the preservation of the species… I thought of Hunter’s talisman and Ray Drop’s picture in my bag. Was it silly to try and help our species survive by keeping those trinkets? I never thought so until now, when I had a massive treasure sitting right in front of me and couldn’t even summon up the will to try and figure out how it worked. But like the ponies here, I had more pressing concerns on my mind. How could I sit in this little room and uncover the secrets of a bygone era when my family’s lives were on the line? Knowledge was a luxury, survival was a necessity. We wandered those back rooms for an hour or more, growing bored and restless when we couldn’t even catch a glimpse, and Hunter’s talisman didn’t glow or buzz even once. I wasn’t willing to give up. I knew that somewhere in these tunnels was the answer, and I couldn’t leave. But I couldn’t shake off all these guards, and I couldn’t find a good spot to find an excuse to really start searching without them herding us everywhere. When we found nothing but a pile of rubble from a cave-in at the end of a long hall, with graffiti on the walls across from it. The symbols were nothing but incomprehensible gibberish, left by some silly adolescent years ago. I stopped moving entirely, sighing. I closed my eyes, wondering if we were starting to waste our time. Snowglobe was sticking to us like glue, and I was stuck on an adequate way to get us out. Were we going to have to waste time doubling back once we were kicked out? I’m sure Nopony had some kind of idea or map, or the Guide could lead us back… Nopony looked up suddenly. “In what manner were these ambushes conducted?” “If you’re asking whether magic was used, then of course,” Abacus answered. “It’s the only way he could stay hidden so long.” Nopony moved to the front, touching my shoulder. He pointed me towards a spot in the wreckage of the cave-in that seemed unremarkable at first glance. It was just a place where somepony had left more graffiti on the wall… But as I stood and stared, I noticed a change in the pile of rubble, much like the symbols of the Guide, changing and warping before my eyes. It was still an incredibly alien and unsettling experience, but at least this time I knew what was happening. My eyes were riveted to the spot, though I kept my expression neutral, not wanting to draw attention. The mess of graffiti suddenly made sense. The talisman triggered something, or changed my perception, or my own mind changed something in it… but I could see the word in the middle of the morass: safe. Next to it was an arrow, pointing down the hall. Blindly, I began to follow. “Is he feelin’ all right?” I heard Snowglobe snark at the edge of my senses. Sunny Side was quick to cover for me. “He, ah, gets like that,” he said. “Shoulda seen him back in Bucklyn… poor guy got hit on the head, you see, few years back. But he got healing from a local seer, says it helps him see things now. Sometimes he spots something interesting and just can’t let go of it!” It was a ridiculous story, one you’d have to be extremely dense to even think it was credible. But I didn’t hear the others answering or even rebuking my friend… I heard them following. I didn’t know what I must have looked like, taking slow, measured steps down the hall. I didn’t even really feel anything in those few minutes except a certainty of where I was going and what I was doing. The talisman began to buzz and hum as I dragged the entire entourage behind me. I felt purposeful and confident for the strangest reasons, and that confidence must have bled off me and into the group that followed behind. I didn’t see them as barriers to be overcome, but fellow travelers. And so we went, into the dark, far away from Ponyevskaya. The tunnels twisted in on themselves, and we went under half-open gates, past a room full of lockers rusted and plundered, and once through a sewage canal. It made no sense to some small part of my mind that watched my sudden change in behavior, though somehow I felt I was following a very particular path that needed no explanation… only a pony’s hooves following it. Time passed until I thought for sure the guards would think I was trying to get them lost. Sunny Side, bless him, kept his faith in me and never once complained, knowing that I had a plan and this was probably part of it. It didn’t even occur to me that I might be under a spell until my wandering came to an abrupt end. We were in a small room with three doors, lit by our lights and the faint glow of radioactive moss in one corner. I noticed the walls were pocked with bullet holes. “This was where Pickaxe bought it,” she spat, and the other guards seemed uncomfortable too. But I knew this was my best chance, for some reason I knew that the path ended here, and here I needed to search for the next route. I and Sunny Side made a great show of examining the room closely, while the guards, already bored and indifferent to our fate, leaned against walls and spoke quietly to each other, keeping an eye on their surroundings instead of us. Nopony stood in the middle of the room, quiet and unnoticed by anypony except me, it seemed. I hadn’t even seen him come into the room with us. I pondered asking him if he could slip away, but I was loath to approach him lest it break whatever spell he kept cast on ponies around him that kept them under his influence. Snowglobe, however, stuck close to us and didn’t let us out of her sight. My saddlebag tingled, and Hunter’s talisman hummed. I almost couldn’t contain my excitement, and began searching the room in greater earnest while Snowglobe regarded me oddly. “You look like a drake what just caught scent of a dead body,” she observed. “I think I did,” I replied, which gave her enough pause for me to lift up a rock. Underneath was another arrow, pointing at one of the other doors. My eyes glowed, though I pretended to have more interest in the rock than the floor. Snowglobe growled and turned away. “Useless!” she snapped, fed up at last with our aimless wandering. Now that I’d reached this room the strange charisma and influence I’d exerted before… perhaps with Nopony’s help… had vanished. Snowglobe took aside one of her lieutenants and they spoke in hushed tones as I looked at Sunny Side, who joined me in inspecting the floor. “This is it,” I whispered to him, and nodded towards the door the arrow pointed us towards. Of course he couldn’t see the arrow, but he trusted me. I got up and pushed it open, the loud squeal of the hinges drawing Snowglobe’s attention. “Hey!” she barked. “There was a door there?” Sunny Side asked. I ignored them both, entranced by what I saw beyond. There was another hallway behind this one, gutted by fire judging by the scorch marks on the walls. At the end was another door, dented inward and hanging loosely on its hinges. Sunny Side gaped, and others erupted into panicked whispers. “He found it! Holy shit, he found it!” I heard one of the guardponies say, and Snowglobe kicking him in the shin. Nopony ushered Sunny Side into the hallway with me as the Ponies of the Underground went into another whispered conference. “Tides are changing,” he murmured. “Hurry! Find what you need!” “Lockbox?” Sunny Side asked. “How… how did you… was it the-” “Shh,” I said, and walked slowly towards the busted door, feeling strangely detached, like I was floating. Sunny Side almost cowered behind me, clearly unable to comprehend what was going on. What was so strange about a door with a hallway behind it, I wondered? Couldn’t they see it? I reached the door and pushed it the rest of the way open, with Hunter’s talisman now releasing a high pitched, crystalline tingle. The door had been very sturdy once; it looked like somepony had taken a battering ram to it to force it open. Inside was some kind of armory combined with a base of operations by the look of it, big enough for four or five ponies to stand comfortably in the middle of the weapon racks and small consoles. All of the consoles had been smashed and their innards scattered over the floor, many of them shot to pieces. The room had been looted as well as destroyed, with scrap metal scattered all over the floor. The high pitch whine from Hunter’s talisman still sounded in my ears, and I gently drew it out of my saddlebag. The Ranger symbol was glowing a gentle dark blue, holding my eyes. Sunny Side looked over my shoulder. “Is this is it? Did we find it?” “Unfortunately.” I spun about, still holding the talisman dumbly in one hoof. Snowglobe stood there, her gun prepped and pointed at us. Nopony was nowhere to be seen, which somehow didn’t surprise me. “You know, I’d really wanted ta’ trust you,” Snowglobe began. “Doin’ this is harder than it looks. Weighs on the conscience heavy-like. But we gotta.” It took a few seconds to register what she was talking about. Suddenly everything came flying back into focus, my body began to shake and my eyes narrowed. Clarity was restored to my thinking. I gently replaced the talisman to its place in my bag. “You’re going to kill us. You knew this was here,” I said quietly. Sunny Side opened his wings, ready to fight. “That’s the idea,” Snowglobe said. “Don’t bother fightin’. I didn’t think you’d actually stumble on this place. Celestia’s honest. Hell, I don’t even know why I let you get this far… I guess I thought you’d actually be able ta’ help. Even after you found the door, I kept thinkin’… jus’ maybe we can work this out. Dumb luck on your part, or magic or somethin’. I hadn’t made a decision until just now. But that there talisman…” She pointed at my bag. “You’re one a’ them. You ain’t goin’ back ta’ Bucklyn.” “Are you saying you did this?!” Sunny Side gasped, horrified. “You… you destroyed this place? You…” “Killed the Rangers,” Snowglobe finished. “Eeyup. An’ now we gotta do you.” I saw her mouth tighten on the trigger. I wondered if I’d be faster, if my hoof flying to my head could prepare my gun in time… maybe if I’d actually gotten it ready before we got here… kept it tacked… Sunny Side’s wings blurred as he hurtled forward… And then everything went black. It took a moment for me to realize that I hadn’t fainted; everything had literally gone dark, as if the light was suddenly sucked out of the room. Snowglobe cursed. Sunny Side yelped as he crashed into something, perhaps one of the empty weapon racks. A weapon fired in the dark, deafening in the enclosed space, and I saw a flash of Snowglobe standing angrily in place, eyes closed, and Sunny Side flailing on the ground. More gunshots from outside, and shouting. I couldn’t hear it well; my ears rang with a high pitched whine. I fumbled about in the dark, not daring to fire lest I strike my friend, trying to find something, anything that might give me light. I hit my light, saw its beam pierce the gloom, but somehow it seemed less strong than before. The light seemed to be at half-strength, everything was shrouded in blurry shadow… “What in tarnation! Damn it! Stupid scum-suckin’ piece of-” Snowglobe spewed. “Aw, crap, I bit my tongue,” moaned Sunny Side. I lunged towards the sound of Snowglobe’s voice and caught a flash of her face scrunched up in an angry grimace in the dull beam of my headlight. I swung with my hoof and connected with her jaw, knocking the trigger out of her mouth and snatched at her gun when she staggered, ripping it back up into the harmless ready position. She recovered with startling quickness and I felt a strong, hard hoof slam into my stomach, knocking the wind out of me. Gritting my teeth against the pain I sprang on Snowglobe and pushed against her, trying to pin her against a wall or the floor so I could land a good hit, flailing my hooves and landing hard but ineffective blows on her armored back. This time, the strength of the earth came unbidden to my legs. I shoved, chest to chest with the struggling mare… and then she shoved back. The next thing I knew I was lying in a pile of broken machinery, nursing a sore back. My headlight sputtered, showing me the grey ceiling. “You aren’t the only one who knows a few tricks!” Snowglobe spat. “Stay still an’ this’ll be easier!” “Captain!” I heard Abacus shout. “It’s him! It’s hi-!” He was cut off by a loud, angry yell. There were more gunshots, but they sounded further away. Snowglobe cursed in the dark. “Boys! Talk ta’ me!” It was then I heard a loud crash, and a yell from Sunny Side. Two more gunshots exploded in my ears. They were harsh, high-powered booms. They must have been from Sunny’s rifles. “Stop shooting!” I yelled. Nopony answered and the sounds of a struggle ensued. I stood and leaped forward, tripping when somepony’s hoof swept mine from under me. Sunny Side yelled in pain. “Gonna rip yer damn hides open-!” I swiped blindly with my hoof knife. I felt the serrated blade catch on something, tug, pull, and tear through. Snowglobe shouted in pain. Knowing I’d landed a hit I pressed on, but her hooves were in the air, catching mine. I swung with my other hoof and felt it smack something soft. Snowglobe went down, or at least I thought she did from the heavy crash I heard. The earth’s magic had served me well, giving my punch a little extra power… though I’d gotten very lucky to land it, I knew; the dark and the distraction of the fight outside had cost Snowglobe her attention. “Sunny!” I gasped, groping around to find my friend before Snowglobe got up again. “She cut me…” Sunny groaned, and then something touched my shoulder. That time, I really did faint. /-/-/-/ Something was eating my insides. I was strapped to a table, eyes wide open, staring at a blank stone ceiling. I felt my intestines squirm as they were shifted about inside my gut, and I slowly looked down. A shadowy, pony-shaped figure was gleefully rummaging through my guts. I saw my kidneys laid out next to my liver. The shadowy figure lifted my ropy intestines, scrutinizing them closely. Then it put them in its mouth and began to eat them. My eye twitched. “… F… Forgot… Path…” I mumbled without knowing why. The figure leaned forward. It was Sweet Dreams. Her eyes were missing. They were nothing but bloody sockets. “This is the way you’re going to die,” she said, squeezing my blood between her teeth, sloppily licking her lips. “This world is going to eat you alive.” /-/-/-/ When I awoke, I found myself in an unfurnished, concrete room, perhaps still in the western tunnels of Ponyevskaya. A little fire simmered in front of me, nearly burnt out. I was reminded immediately of our first encounter with Nopony, but there was no tea brewing this time. “Thank goodness.” Sunny Side sat across from me on the other side of the fire. There was a bandage wrapped around his neck. Ah, he’d woken up before me last time too… I must have been a heavier sleeper than I thought. “He’s awake?” a quiet, gruff voice said on my right. I turned and came face to face with a gruff, angry looking unicorn the color of ash, with a light grey mane spilling over his features. He was fully dressed in a combat uniform only worn by soldiers, with plates of armor and assault webbing covering his chest and limbs. Ammo and equipment covered his body, ready to be taken out at a moment’s notice, all packaged and organized in neat little rows as befitting a pony who knew what he was doing. He was big, too. Not as big as Hunter. But he had muscles, giving him girth that could challenge any big earth pony in Ponyevskaya. “I’m going to ask you this once,” he snorted in my face, and Hunter’s talisman floated in front of my face, wrapped in magic. “Where did you get this?” “… Why should I tell you?” I said, feeling unafraid. “Lockbox, he saved our lives,” Sunny Side whispered. I shot a glance his way, and then looked back at the unicorn, who had added a pistol to the talisman, pointed at my head. I stared it down, my expression remaining neutral even as I felt the familiar twist of fear squeeze my stomach. “Because your life depends on it,” he answered me. “I think you already know where it came from,” another voice interrupted, and suddenly Nopony was standing next to the unicorn, staring him down. “He wouldn’t have it otherwise, would he?” The unicorn, to his credit, didn’t flinch at the sudden intrusion. “My brothers can’t take chances in these dark times.” “So don’t take the chance that this might be the wrong pony to shoot,” Nopony said with a simple shrug. The unicorn did flinch this time, away from Nopony, away from the strange echo of power in those simple words. The strange old stallion was working his magic again. Sunny Side’s eyes flicked between the two, his muscles tense, clearly ready to take a shot at the slightest provocation, while I stared at the barrel of the gun in my face. I wondered why I wasn’t dead yet, with all the near death experiences I was having in rapid succession. Perhaps there really was something to that business about fate and destiny. In any case, I didn’t find myself nearly as afraid as I might have been not long ago. A matter of days had hardened me, begun to make me think that guns in my face was a natural and expected occurrence. I didn’t even think much about Snowglobe and why she’d suddenly turned on us. I just knew that I hadn’t trusted them since the moment I set foot in their station, and that lack of trust had been completely vindicated. “You know what the talisman is,” I said quietly. “You know what it’s for… otherwise you wouldn’t be doing this.” My eyes widened. “You’re a Ranger,” I whispered in awe. The unicorn blinked, and the pistol floated back into its holster. Nopony stepped back to be unnoticed once more. “That I am,” he said quietly. “You’re not one of us. The only way you could have this…” “Hunter’s,” I said. The name made him twitch, his eyes widening with recognition. “You know Hunter,” he said. “Are you the kid he talked about?” “Lockbox.” “Cinder Block’s son.” I was starting to get tired of being identified that way. First bluffing my way into Draft, then this Ranger jumping straight to that… I wondered if perhaps my father had a more storied past than he usually hinted at, and resolved to find out when I got back. “Who are you?” “My name is Tracer.” The unicorn stood back, letting me stand. “My apologies about the welcome. Any friend of Hunter’s is a friend of mine. I’m short on trust these days. After what those damn farmers did… they murdered my brothers in cold blood. The bastards!” he spat, pacing back and forth, and I saw him shake with sudden anger. It gave me pause. This was a Ranger… one of the heroes of the Metro. I hadn’t had the best introduction to him, but even this seemed out of character. Something terrible had happened, I deduced, but to make him like this… “Why have they done this?” I asked quietly. “What were they hoping to gain killing Rangers?” Tracer growled. An actual deep, guttural growl. I saw his eyes, wide and vaguely unfocused with anger. His strong limbs trembled, unable to contain his fury. Sunny Side wisely remained quiet, staring at the fire. The sight of this pony who had dismantled an entire squad of supposedly “elite” ponies angry beyond belief made even me recoil. The way he spoke was even more unnerving. His voice never went above a husky, quiet tone, never quite matching the anger I saw in his eyes. “They’re all traitors. They’re working with Hoofsa and they’ve turned on Bucklyn. I and my brothers found out they were planning to let Hoofsa right past their gates, cut off Bucklyn, put Hoofsa in a position of power… they want their guns and ponypower to fight the mutants from above, even knowing we would help without hesitation. And when they knew we would warn Bucklyn as a matter of course, they turned on us too.” He sat down heavily and stared at the wall. I wondered at his emotional intensity, remembering Hunter and the other Rangers who visited with him were always stoic and reserved ponies, save for when they were in combat. “We should’ve seen it coming. I should’ve. But we didn’t. We thought we could perhaps contact Ponyopolis. Everypony would respect them as mediators… but the farmers acted quicker than us. We were only four. A force to be reckoned with, but the farmers had dozens… and they knew these tunnels almost as well as us. Surface access was cut off before we even knew they were coming.” “Farmers managed to overwhelm Rangers?” Sunny Side asked, amazed. Tracer laughed bitterly. “They have to protect themselves from everyone and everything. Just because they farm doesn’t mean they aren’t dangerous. They came in force. Their unicorns blasted right through our runic defenses and enchantments, and they used fire to funnel us into tighter spaces. I managed to kill at least six of them before I was forced to run. Fortune smiled on me. Or perhaps it frowned… I was cut off from my fellows, who were driven back to the safehouse and, I suppose, all died near there. I’ve been hiding in these tunnels ever since. It’s been about five days. They know I’m back here… but a single pony skilled in magic who is very careful can hide where four in a known base cannot.” I looked around the room, suddenly getting a cold chill in my stomach and a slight headache. If Tracer had gotten us out of there, and he was victim to the farmers’ attacks, and he’d been the only one back here with motive for vengeance… “Are you behind the murders?” I asked in a hoarse voice. “Murders?” he asked in a suddenly hostile tone, swinging around to face me. “No, not murder. Justice. By attacking us directly, the farmers showed they were no better than the Monarchy or the Republic… just another arm of Hoofsa.” “But you can’t just declare war on all of them,” Sunny Side protested. “They provide food for almost all the northern stations. You’ve been killing ponies that keep us alive!” “They’ve already declared war on us,” the Ranger answered, his tone even and neutral once more. “The fact of the matter is, there’s nothing in this Metro that isn’t leaning towards war already… space is getting less as more and more powers consolidate. Things are very… tense.” He waved a hoof. “I was starting to wonder if I’d run out of ammunition and have to go out in a blaze of glory or the like. But with you all here I think we have a chance. After all…” He pointed straight at me. “With what you are carrying, it has now become my duty to escort you to Ponyopolis to the best of my abilities.” I wasn’t sure how to think about that. Certainly I knew my mission was important, and I knew without a doubt I’d risk death, and see other ponies die in front of me without slowing down. But to have it confirmed like that so suddenly was a new experience. I hadn’t even adjusted to this new pony’s presence, and he was talking about things like war and death and politics, and how I was suddenly the valuable cargo instead of the talisman. I’d just been starting to get used to the idea that I’d be going on to Ponyopolis alone, and now all this was coming up. That, and I’d found out that one of my childhood heroes was a cold-blooded murderer with almost no regrets that he’d slain who knew how many ponies in an act of petty revenge. But then, hadn’t I been about ready to murder the guards at Ponyevskaya’s gates? Wasn’t I shrugging off their problems, about to leave Bucklyn and the farmers and all these others to their respective dooms without batting an eyelid? Was I any better considering the ponies I’d killed so far, and led to their deaths? I wondered. And it scared and surprised me how little it mattered that Tracer was a killer of ponies… I remembered my father’s words then and there, pondering the strange unicorn’s appearance. Could I trust this Ranger? Yes, I could, that I knew beyond a doubt. I could at least be sure he’d do his best to ensure I reached Ponyopolis. Any friend of Hunter’s was a friend of mine. They were dedicated to protecting the Metro, eliminating threats that would overtake us all… even if those threats were other ponies. I knew this. I didn’t like it. But I understood it. And I knew that I couldn’t let it stop me. “The Rangers are not like normal ponies. They’re… dangerous. In more ways than one.” “Why do I have to be there?” I asked, my inquisitive and more cautious side demanding an answer. “You have Hunter’s talisman already. I thought… I wondered if I’d just be able to pass on the message.” “That doesn’t mean I know what he wanted to say,” Tracer said, and I swore I thought I could hear something else behind the words, something dark and unspoken. “If he gave it to you, he meant for you to deliver the message yourself. Besides, it is far too dangerous to see you back off on your own. You need a way to get out of the plantations alive… they will surely kill you on sight now that you’ve wiped out an entire squad of theirs. And don’t tell me you think you can make the journey all the way back to Exiperia relying purely on your wits and skill at arms.” I looked at Sunny Side, and he looked at me. It was true. Nopony had made no promise of everlasting friendship, saying only that he would travel with us as long as we went in the same direction. Tracer was right; chances were slim we’d get back alive. “Hold on,” I said, and I sprang to my hooves, feeling a shiver run down my spine. “So… Snowglobe and the others…” “I didn’t check to make sure they were all dead,” Tracer said with his chilling monotony. “But of those who might still be alive, I don’t think they will have many nice things to say about you when they get back home… and either way, you and your friends were the ones last seen going off with them. I’m sorry to say, boy, but by the end of the week every farmer in these stations will know you as a murderer.” /-/-/-/ And so it went that we began to devise a plan for getting out of Ponyevskaya as quickly as possible, penetrating the Ring, and getting into the inner Metro so I could begin the trek to Ponyopolis in earnest. I still had many, many questions for Tracer, but they could wait until we had gotten to safety. They had to. We vacated Tracer’s small rest area and did something I believed to be rather counter-intuitive: we went straight back towards Ponyevskaya. The going was slow, as the farmers had put up numerous traps and runes in the areas they didn’t patrol constantly, on the lookout for Tracer and now us. I wondered about how I seemed to be making enemies wherever I went, and only the ponies that traveled with me now were the ones that I could trust. The only ones besides those back in Exiperia that I felt a reasonable attachment to. I certainly didn’t have the time, the resources, or even the willpower to stay behind and help the farmers fight off an army of mutants from the surface… at the same time, I chose not to think about how close their situation was to Exiperia’s. I didn’t think about it, that was all. I had my own mission. If I didn’t see it through, how could I go back to my father empty-hoofed, look everypony else in the eye and say I gave up halfway just because an alternative presented itself? I didn’t want everything I’d been through so far to be for nothing, for it all to just be some “experience” I would relate to my grandchildren. And that was all supposing that I actually lived to tell the tale if I gave up and went back on my own now. Nopony had gone on ahead without anypony’s consent, saying only that he’d make sure to meet up with us again. Before he left, he bade me take out the Guide and look it over, marking two certain spots on the arcane map. One was near the exit of Ponyevksaya, where there was a railcart tunnel that made for quick and easy transport between the remaining plantations. It sat directly parallel to the line the plantations sat on, and would be our one and only chance of escaping this place within the day. The next was a place right on the rim of the Ring: the place Nopony assured us he would meet with us again, prepared to help us on into the inner Metro. “Can’t we just follow you?” Sunny Side asked. “If you are going to be sneaking through the entire route yourself then surely-” “The places I go, you do not want to follow,” Nopony said simply. “Only trust me, as you trusted me to deliver you safely here. There is something that must be done by you, and I am one of those lucky enough to help you along the path. But for now that path does not go the same way… I will make sure the door is open when you get there.” I noticed he’d been looking straight at me when he said that. The actual plan was simple enough, one that almost made me indignant at how ridiculously uncomplicated it was. Get back to Ponyevskaya, sneak aboard the railcart that delivered supplies between stations, and ride it all the way out. Then jump off, find Nopony, and move on. All we had to do was get there. Tracer led us on a winding, dark path that seemed to me to go in a huge semi-circle. He avoided whatever runes he detected, using his horn to find and uncover whatever traps the farmers may have left. The speed and efficiency at which he moved amazed me; the way he almost effortlessly disabled any runes and enchantments we came across made me wonder why he hadn’t tried to make an escape attempt before. To turn off an alarm was one thing; to be able to turn it back on again after passing so those who set it didn’t even have a clue that something was wrong? To even be able to predict when and where such traps might have been set? That took skill beyond what I knew in normal unicorns. It also made me extremely happy that Tracer, of all the other Rangers that had been with him, was a unicorn himself… what use was a pegasus or an earth pony under these conditions? If Sidewinder were here, I’d have been very interested to see how he handled it. Horn envy wasn’t something that struck me often, but in those confined spaces, it did. We snuck through tunnels that had been stacked high with old supplies and preserved foodstuffs, guided by Tracer’s silent, comfortingly strong presence. He gave us only a few whispered instructions here and there, telling us when and where to go. Occasionally we would be told to wait and hide even when there was seemingly nothing there. Only twice did we run across guards thanks to Tracer’s expert pathfinding, and twice we avoided them. There was little tension, as we watched Tracer at work, moving as expertly as Sidewinder, but with much more control, much less… randomness. Tracer knew just what he was doing, and knew it before he even did it. Every movement was controlled and measured, precise and confident. He never said a word, and I couldn’t even hear him breathe. The fact that he was a killer was lost on me. In some ways I even agreed with his logic, though it still appalled me that this had happened at all. The Rangers were the ones who protected us. The farmers were in a bad spot, but they had chosen their side, and committed a grave error in attacking those who would have helped them. Hoofsa was a powerful ally, but I knew from rumor they likely couldn’t be trusted, especially since I remembered they seemed to be getting close to the Monarchy, which everypony who was not one of them knew they were the most dangerous threat to the Metro’s freedom. What worth was my private morals in the face of all that? When even the strongest ponies proved to be at a glance as full of vengeance and disgust with their fellow ponies as all the rest? Tracer was capable, strong, tough, and he’d endured things I doubtlessly could only dream of. But a hero? A real, live hero who did everything in his power to save the Metro and the world, consequences be damned? No. I didn’t see that about him. Not the way he looked at me, or the way he glared viciously at the farmers, the only thing stopping him from killing them with his bare hooves his iron self-discipline and training. What worth were morals when all they were was words on a page, thoughts in the brain? When trying to put them into action was as useless as trying to drain an ocean with a thimble? What was the point of believing in them if I knew they could never truly affect my world? By Celestia. This journey had already plundered the idealism I’d held onto so surely at the start. In the end, I knew where my loyalties lay. With Exiperia and those who helped its survival… and as dangerous as Tracer was, I knew I could trust him to help me much more than Sidewinder. That and we really didn’t have a choice. I felt more and more like I was an observer, grabbing every chance I could to keep moving forward. Was it fate or chance that led me to those who kept helping me, even inadvertently, on the path to Ponyopolis? As long as I was moving toward my goal, I felt I was doing all right for myself... We came out of a small tunnel that we’d been crawling through with great difficulty, as it used to be part of the ventilation system for the Metro which had broken down many, many years ago. All around us were boxes. Giant, wooden boxes with strange labels on them I didn’t understand. Off in the distance, I could hear ponies working and talking, and the sound of a crane. “We’re in the loading zone of Ponyevskaya’s docks,” Tracer explained in a whisper. “It’s here we’re going to fetch our ride.” I wondered how exactly we were going to do that. Sunny Side’s guns were still rather loud and cumbersome to carry around, but there was no way he was going to abandon them. Tracer explained his plan quickly as we scurried furtively around the big crates, listening to the shouts beyond. I was surprised there wasn’t tighter security if they knew that Snowglobe’s group had been taken out. I didn’t feel much pity for Snowglobe, since she was a part of all this nasty business and had doubtlessly taken part in the ruthless killing of the Rangers. Was Hoofsa that all powerful, that fearful, that the plantations would risk making enemies of the Rangers? The only reputable military group in the whole Metro? I wondered at the ability of ponies these days to forget friendship and harmony when they were faced with the chance of quickly and easily improving their station. “It should be a simple matter to sneak aboard one of their carts,” Tracer explained. “Cattle shipments move regularly between stations… helps keep down the filth and doesn’t attract as many mutants. It’s something they do quite often, so they will likely be lax about security. It is lucky you came when you did... a day later and this shipment would have moved on, and we would have to try something drastic.” “Hiding among cow carts from ponies who want us dead isn’t drastic?” Sunny Side asked incredulously. Sure enough there was a deep lowing from one of the unfortunate creatures as they were led down to a large railcar for transport. Tracer led us closer, until we could see the ponies busily finishing preparations to leave. “No. The cows are too closely checked. There’s only one chance, so listen closely.” /-/-/-/ I’d never ridden in a war wagon before. War wagon was a catch-all term for the Metro’s improvised armored vehicles, cobbled together from spare parts and metal plates slapped onto the bodies of railcarts. Any and all manner of weaponry and equipment was placed on a war wagon. Our model was a two-seater that came with a standard heavy machine gun turret in the back, which I had no idea how to shoot apart from aiming and holding down the trigger. I’d wondered where the farmers got such heavy-duty equipment, and Tracer explained it was probably a goodwill present from Hoofsa, proving that they could provide better armament and protection than Bucklyn could ever hope to. Which was true, and why they were well on the way to controlling the entirety of the Ring Stations. Luckily for us, the war wagon hadn’t been loaded onto the main tracks just yet. Tracer had led us around to the side docks, where railcarts were prepped for transportation. The war wagon was being prepared by the two ponies who were supposed to ride it: a stallion and a mare who diligently loaded the ammo box next to the heavy gun, cleaned the barrel and greased the wheels. In a couple of minutes, they would both be unconscious. Or at least I hoped so. I’d asked Tracer not to leave a trail of bodies right at our exit, and he’d fortunately agreed to the wisdom of that. I would kill to keep going, that much was clear. But the thought of being a killer still turned my stomach. I didn’t want ponies to die. But of course, that didn’t stop them from dying anyway, or stabbing me in the back, or me from killing them if they got in the way... Tracer hid behind a nearby workbench, waiting for the clamor of heavy machinery and box loading to become loud enough to make his move. “Did you hear about the latest catastrophe in the western tunnels?” the stallion asked as he fed bullets into the machine gun’s ammo belt. “They found Snowglobe and what’s left of her squad.” “What! Th’ commander? That tunnel rat got her too? Naw! Is she all right? Concord must be in a right tizzy!” “Yeah, she was messed up pretty good, and three of her own squad were dead at the scene. She and the rest are in the hospital.” “Damn, poor kid. She’s barely gotten a chance to prove herself, an’ now this.” “It’s a sorry state we’ve got ourselves. But once this business with Bucklyn is over, Hoofsa’s promised us an elite squad of unicorns ta’ help flush out that murderin’ bastard. Meantime security’s gonna be tighter’n ever... higher ups are still convinced it’s a group a’ ponies with secret access ta’ the surface.” “Hogwash. It’s one a’ them Rangers. I still say it was a right horrible thing we did to ‘em...” “You sayin’ we deserve ta’ get picked off like flies?” “I ain’t sayin’ nothin’! Just thinkin’... I dunno, we was rash or somethin’...” There was a loud whine and a buzz of hydraulics and turbines as the crane strained to lift a particularly heavy load. Tracer made his move as quick and smooth as a snow ghost. He rushed straight up to the mare while she moved closer to the stallion to speak over the noise, both of them facing away as they checked the cleanliness of the gun barrel. He tapped the mare on the shoulder, and... that was it. She dropped, out cold. The stallion went down moments after. Tracer gently lifted their bodies and lifted them behind cover. The entire operation from start to finish took about six seconds. Sunny Side and I took our places as we’d been ordered, having wrapped our scarfs around our snouts and popped our collars to help hide our faces, and placing the jackets of those Tracer had incapacitated over our regular clothes. Sunny Side, who had handed his battle saddle over to Tracer for now, would have the cover of the armored plating of the driver seat, and I was snug inside the turret. Chances of being spotted were slim, especially since we were at the head of the four car column. Unfortunately, our plan stopped there. Getting past both Percherovskaya and Compass was going to be another problem entirely. I had been told our plan amounted to “go as fast as possible and hope they don’t catch us.” They’d know we were fakes the moment we stopped moving, and so we had to be going as fast as we could for the inevitable moment they found out we weren’t on their side. In essence, I was about to engage in subterfuge with ponies who had indirectly been giving me and my station life for the last twenty years. I was going to gun them down, flee from them, and betray them... just like they’d tried to do to me. My mind was full of conflicting feelings... none of which helped the nausea that came up as soon as Sunny Side started the engine and we began trundling towards the main tracks. Tracer had promised he’d be nearby, sneaking aboard the personnel cart near the end of the column. I didn’t see him do it. He had vanished the second I got into the turret. It was a miracle we hadn’t been spotted yet at all. The war wagon rumbled forward. I felt numb. Detached. Queasy and uncomfortable in the cramped space of the turret. Only a thin opening allowed me to see the world outside. Sunny Side was keeping his eyes firmly forward. We were both keenly aware that, as we came onto the tracks and passed through the eyes of the guards, we were surrounded by ponies who wanted us dead, and they weren’t even “bad ponies” by any stretch of the imagination. They impeded our mission. Sought to end our lives. Wanted to protect their own families from the wrath of both Hoofsa and Bucklyn at any cost, just like me. For this, some of them would not live to see tomorrow. Or I wouldn’t. This wasn’t going to end well. I knew it. No sunshine and rainbows for me. This world is going to eat you alive. I placed my back hooves in the stirrups of the turret, locking them tight into place. With a push of my left or right leg I could turn the turret in the corresponding direction. I pressed my front hooves into the sheathes of the trigger mechanism, up against the pedals within. I just needed to press down on both those little levers and I’d be spewing hot lead death. Best not think about that. It made the cramp in my stomach worse. Somehow, we made it to the front of the column. Sunny Side had switched on the headlights, making himself that much harder to see. His bulky saddle mounted guns were being carried by Tracer... somewhere. A guard came right up to Sunny Side, and my heart stopped beating. “Hey Good luck out there,” he said, knocking on the armored plate of the driver compartment. This is it. He was good friends with the correct driver and he’d see right through our disguises and I’d have a few seconds to take as many of them with me as I could. It was over. We were going to die. Sunny Side gave a timid wave. It was enough. The guard turned away, and my blood resumed normal flow. This seemed almost too easy. I stopped that thought process... whenever a pony started thinking like that, things turned against them. I somehow knew my so far charmed life would collapse if I gave too much though to how and why I’d survived, why tiny things like that little interaction still worked out all right. If Sunny’s eyes had been showing better from under his driver’s goggles, if he waved the wrong way, if I sneezed, if the two unconscious ponies woke up too soon, if, if, if... Something had kept me going so far, and I decided to stop questioning it. “All right, ponies! Let’s do this nice and smooth!” called out the caravan commander, seated in the personnel cart just behind ours. Behind his was the livestock and the second supply car. “To Compass and back before tea time!” I gulped as Sunny Side waved at the gate guards to show he was ready. I could hardly believe it... we were actually going to make it. We were going to make it out of the the gate! As the war wagon rumbled over the tracks and into the darkness of the Metro, I almost believed that things would go smoothly. /-/-/-/ We’d made it to Percherovskaya. It was a long, tense trip, but we moved fast and made no stops. The tunnels between the plantations were well guarded, with regular foot patrols back and forth and numerous rune traps. But it wasn’t mutants we were concerned about, it was the very net of safety that kept them out. As I sat in the turret, never daring to raise my voice and speak to Sunny Side, I almost let my guard down. It was relaxing, being driven like this, snug and safe inside a protected, armored compartment. The straightness of the path helped me to believe things were actually going well, and the carts full of a dozen ponies who’d kill me without a second thought weren’t really all that dangerous. All that bothered me was the cramp in my legs. Even the guards and dock workers that swarmed the caravan to take off and load on more supplies didn’t bother me all that much. I just kept the turret pointed straight ahead. I didn’t look to the left or the right. I didn’t breathe too loudly. I made a show of adjusting my weight and getting comfortable inside the turret. We needn’t be bothered. We were just two bored guards waiting to get going again. I felt as long as I stayed still and never spoke to anypony, I’d become invisible like Nopony and they’d never even remember I was there. I focused all my willpower on that one little thought. Stay invisible, stay quiet. You are not there. You are not important. Everypony who looks at you doesn’t need a second glance. Somepony knocked on my turret. “Hey, Pewter Smith!” Damn it. “You want somethin’ ta’ drink? You look cold in there.” I peeked through the long, vertical slit that my gun poked out of and shook my head. I hoped that would be enough, and he hadn’t seen me too closely through my goggles. Pony eyes were large and notoriously expressive. “Right, whatever,” the guard said, taking a swig of his flask. “You know, Pewter, I wanted to apologize for what I said. You know, about you and, ah...” He nodded towards Sunny Side. “I know you two are a thing. She’s... she’s good ponies.” I gulped, turning away a bit. The cloak of invincibility was falling away, piece by piece! If I said a single word it’d all be ruined! “Well, come on, Pewter, say something!” the guard asked, looking hurt. I shook my head and turned away. “Can you believe this guy?” the guard asked Sunny Side. When he didn’t get an answer from him, either, I knew we were doomed. “... Cabbage Patch?” he asked. Sunny Side looked straight at him, hearing the uncertainty in his voice like I did. Time was up. My friend punched him in the face, sending him sprawling onto the tracks. “Go go go!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. Sunny Side gunned the engine as I slid my hooves into the trigger guards, feeling my stomach clench. I didn’t want to kill them. But I would, and I’d do it without hesitation. Sweet Luna, what was I turning into? “Ponies of the Underground! Enemies in our midst! Stop that war wagon!” The turret rattled and shook, my ears rang with the cacophony of bullets striking my armored plates. I ducked my head and didn’t managed to get a single shot off; I didn’t even manage to fire the gun until Sunny Side had started us rolling down the tracks. I didn’t have the courage to swing the gun around and open even that tiny gap in my armor to the guns of the enemy. I just hunkered down and shut my eyes as tightly as I could, completely at the mercy of the opening barrage. When it finally slackened and I felt our speed picking up, I raised my head. The turret was no long shaking from bullet impacts. I saw three smoking holes in the walls, just above my head. Damn. “Lockbox! Bring the turret around! They’ll be coming after us!” Sunny Side barked. I realized that we were back in his element; the place of firefights and violence and guns. He was a militia pony at heart. The turret swung with agonizing slowness, squeaking on its little track, hydraulics groaned and wheezed. The quickly receding lights of the station were swarming with shadows, ponies scrambling to prepare their carts for pursuit. “You’re not going to stop me,” I whispered, watching the lights of other cars and war wagons shine towards us, like the eyes of predators. “What about Tracer?!” Sunny shouted over his shoulder. He accelerated the wagon to top speed; I felt every little vibration as the wheels struck bumps and imperfections in the tracks. “Tracer can make it on his own!” I replied, looking down the barrel of the machine gun. I’d fire as soon as they started getting closer. I had faith in Tracer, the Ranger. He would do his best to stick to his duty, unlike that bastard Sidewinder... if he could survive days being hunted in a confined space, he could catch up to us. Right now I was focused on saving our skins. “Shit! Checkpoint on the left!” I swung the gun around and watched several shocked Percherovskaya ponies fly by, their faces blurred. I caught movement towards another war wagon, which rumbled to life in seconds and started down the track after us. “Shoot them! Shoot them Lockbox! I’ll keep an eye on the tunnel ahead!” My stomach clenched again. I was strangely terrified of the blindingly bright headlights of the wagon as it hurtled down the tracks, rumbling towards us. It reminded me of my visions. They probably wanted to take our wagon intact, and would do their best to disable us. I’d be shooting to kill. I didn’t want to. But I did. They were about fifty meters back, and the silhouette of their wagon was lost in the muzzle flash of my gun. It thundered in the small tunnel, each deafening report rattling my very bones. It felt like a sledgehammer was cracking into my ears. My front legs already felt sore from the vibrations, but I kept firing, blind and deaf and senseless from adrenaline. Fireworks must have sounded like this, I thought. I could see the bright sparks of my heavy caliber bullets smashing into the armored compartments of the wagon behind us. They returned fire, aiming beneath me, at the engine compartment. The wagon shook and jolted with each blow, like a demon was trying to punch its way through. The turret wall in front of me dented inwards from a ricochet, making me blink and jerk my head back. I squeezed my eyes shut and pushed down hard on the triggers, not even knowing where I was aiming. Stay steady. You are the earth, I heard a voice in my head say. I forced my eyes open, and aimed for the flashing of the other wagon’s muzzle. I could do this. Don’t think. Shoot. Pok! Pok! Pok! The gun bellowed and roared, spitting lead fury. Still I did not let up, past the point of sensibleness, past the point of reason. I didn’t just shoot at the other turret, I buried it in bullets until the barrel of my gun smoked and steamed, hissing from the exertion. I kept shooting until it couldn’t shoot anymore, triggering a safety mechanism that kept it from overheating. The other wagon was slowly pulling away, battered and torn, its steel skeleton cracked and shattered. The other turret was nothing but a smoking mess. My head swam with victory. “Ah, shit! Front! Front!” I swung the turret about just in time for our wagon to crash into the rear of another with a horrible clang and an eerie screech. The impact was so jarring I was actually able to go sprawling inside the turret, my face smashing into the cold steel wall, my chest crushing hard into the back of the machine gun. Where the hell had this wagon come from? A side tunnel perhaps- “Shoot him! Shoot- fuck it!” I peeled my cheek away from the turret just in time to see Sunny Side stand up in the driver’s seat and aim his war rein at the other turret, spraying it with a loud blizzard of submachine gun bullets. The turret sparked and screamed with the rending noise of metal being torn apart, and I saw a shadowed figure within flail and burst open with hot red explosions of blood. The poor pony within had been ripped to chunks. My own turret burst into light and noise again; the impact with the other wagon had caused us to slow down just long enough for a large sentry station to take notice of us and open fire. Bullets whizzed around us in a deadly crossfire. The station was made of three tracks arranged parallel to one another, where other trains in early days stopped and exchanged passengers. Now it was deathtrap for us. “Oh, Celestia! Hang on, Lockbox!” Sunny Side shouted, gunning the engine and crashing our front plates full on against the weight of the other wagon. The other driver must have been confused. He accelerated, giving us space to speed up and smash into him again. We slugged our way through the barrage, though we were accelerating slowly enough that the others could keep pace with us. I stuck my pistol, which had been the weapon mounted on my war rein to save space, through the gap and fired all six shots at the nearest enemies. I thought I saw one go down, but I couldn’t have been sure, as at that moment a pony’s face leered at me through the gap. Without thinking, I thrust my hoof knife towards his face, cutting open his cheek. The wagon continued to crawl forward as the other pony tried to crawl into my turret from above, punching and hacking with his knife while I screamed obscenities and did my best to stay alive. I wasn’t sure how the other wagon in front of us managed to limp out of our way; I was just suddenly aware we were going faster again and my opponent still hadn’t let go. I felt his teeth bite into my clothing, his knife edge dangerously close to cutting into my side. Our screams and cursing and our hot heavy breaths sounded tinny in such a small space. His hoof thumped onto the back of my neck as I punched his armored chest. I squirmed violently, getting my legs under me before I shoved upwards, sending the other pony off balance. He flailed, and my knife found a gap in his armor, cutting deep into his armpit. He wailed pitifully and fell backwards, dropping away with some help from me. I heard him crunch as he fell on something hard, and thanked Celestia I hadn’t seen it happen. “Is that it?!” I shouted. Sunny Side gestured wildly. “We haven’t even reached Compass yet! Fuck if I know how we’ll get through there!” I had no choice but to huddle up in the turret again and wait, watching the tunnel fly by. Those few minutes felt like hours, the high pitched whine of moving air and the rumble of the uninterrupted by other patrols. “All right, all right! When we get there, you just keep shooting and don’t stop!” Sunny Side commanded. “We’re fucked if we slow down, so just pray there’s nothing on the tracks to stop us this time!” I gulped, watching and waiting for the lights of Compass to appear... I saw them soon enough, little pinpricks slowly building brighter and brighter. I could only hope and pray we were moving faster than any messages they might have sent on ahead. Our plan was horrible. I knew Sunny Side just had the idea to smash right through the docks and hope we’d get all the way through intact; but then, that was our only chance. I felt a strange sense of peace as I settled into the turret once again, the trigger guards feeling more familiar this time. I’d gotten this far, hadn’t I? We still weren’t dead, even after that frantic chase. This wasn’t going to stop me either. My home was still in danger, and my word and my mission were still on the line. No, as long as I had this, with my goal in front of me, my responsibility driving me forward, I would not die. I tried not to think of the ponies I’d shot as being not quite as evil as the bandits. When we hit Compass, my turret was ready to fire again. I saw a few of the guards raising their hooves, telling us to slow down, and running for their lives when we didn’t. We burst into their main docks in a fury. The dock workers were taken completely by surprise, scrambling out of the way, dropping boxes of valuables. We careened to the right, the tracks having been diverted while a supply car took up the main rail. I felt the wagon lean dangerously and my weight shift as we took the corners hard, heard the indignant shouts of ponies, thinking we were insane or pulling some kind of prank. At first, I thought we might just be able to breeze through the whole station without problems. We’d be able to just push on through and make our way to Otzark Bulvard, where yes, there were bandits, but there was also the gateway to the inner Metro, the powerful and dangerous world beyond the Ring. Instead, we crashed headlong into a railcar full of supplies, and at last our battered wagon could take no more, hurtling off the tracks. It happened so quickly I barely even registered the impact. Suddenly my world was a blur, everything I heard turned into a dull roar of noise. I felt the strangest sensation of floating, and then I hit the side of the turret wall harder than I’d hit anything before. I was jolted as the entire wagon bounced off the ground a short distance and smashed down again, spilling me unceremoniously onto the ground. I rolled and rolled and rolled, wondering if I looked like some silly pillbug that planned on rolling his way out of danger, and then hit a wall in a daze. I couldn’t hear. I couldn’t see. All colors and sounds melted together, becoming an amorphous mess in my head. I thought I was standing up, or perhaps the world was just spinning around me, and then I fell down again. The wall in front of me burst, pieces of concrete bouncing off my helmet. It took me a moment to realize that I was being shot at. I rolled away, towards the wreckage of the war wagon. It was on its side, just a useless hunk of metal on the tracks. I couldn’t get the gun out of the turret if I tried. The jungle gym of twisted metal plates gave me a semblance of protection as bullets kicked up the ground, hissing and snapping their deadly intent. I looked left and saw a knot of guardponies firing into the wreck; they must have seen me crawling. I looked to the right and found Sunny Side in the driver’s compartment, wagging his legs aimlessly. “S… Sunny.” “Huh.” I ducked my head as bullets ran a trail across the wrecked wagon, just above my helmet. They are remarkably bad shots, I thought. “We gotta get out of here.” “Y… yeah.” I reached out and grabbed him, pulling him free of the twisted compartment. I fell backwards and my vision kept going, my eyes rolling into the back of my head as another wave of dizziness overtook me. As I lay on my back I peered down the tunnel, seeing a large junction where several tracks came together, with a high ceiling dominated by broken pipes, and pillars on top of concrete islands between tracks. Beyond three different tunnels split off at different junctions. In the center was the one that led to Otzark Bulvard, the gateway to our freedom. It was blocked by another war wagon, and ponies were spilling into the tunnel alongside it. They were not wearing the colors of Compass, but had ragged, dark clothing and a mish-mash of weapons. They fired straight down the tunnel, over our heads and at Compass' ponies. Ah… so we weren’t dead because they weren’t aiming at us. Just our luck we crashed right into the middle of a war. I looked at Sunny. He looked at me. “Now what?” he asked. Being caught in a deadly crossfire wasn’t my idea of a great way to end my life. We had to cross the tracks and reach the side tunnel… the one on the left, I thought, pointing southeast. “We run,” I said. “And we pray.” But unfortunately there was no way to run now. If we were spotted, who knew what the combatants would make of us? We were trapped and we both knew it, huddled under a wreck that was turning into a grave. Fate again made its decision for us; with an errant glance back towards Compass, I saw a unicorn clad in Ranger armor swoop down on a group of guardponies behind cover. They didn’t even stand a chance. The Ranger laid them out flat with swift, lethal kicks of his hooves and clean swipes of his knife. There was no beauty or elegance about the way he dispatched them. Each strike was designed to inflict maximum pain and damage as quickly as possible, every stab of the knife slid between ribs and chinks in armor. An assault rifle hovered next to his head, swiveling in midair, making deadly sweeps over any ponies who hadn’t taken cover. He moved like an engine of death, brutally cutting down one opponent after the other and moving on with machine-like efficiency. His movements made me feel sluggish and stupid, remembering my awkward struggle with the guard in the turret as we fled. The Ranger would have killed him in the time it took to blink. I knew it was Tracer; he was the only Ranger that it could have been. He jumped onto the track and charged, firing nonstop, reloading his weapon without even looking at it. The attacking ponies focused their war wagon’s gun on him, but he was too fast, leaping between pillars, seemingly appearing and disappearing at will. Several small cylinders floated out of his saddlebag and zoomed straight towards the wagon like missiles, jamming into the turret and the engine compartment. The wagon blossomed into flame, and the shockwave sent me sprawling with a frightened yelp. Tracer appeared next to me. “Get up!” he shouted, grabbing my clothes and pulling me up. Sunny Side staggered next to us as Tracer bodily hauled us up onto one of the islands, telling us to crawl and keep our heads down. Bullets whizzed overhead, chipping away our cover as we went on our bellies to the far side of the tracks. “Who the hell’s attacking?” Sunny Side shouted as we huddled against one of the pillars, listening to the deafening report of a heavy machine gun ripping the air apart. “Bandits, probably the same ones besieging Bucklyn. They’re getting bold. Or desperate,” Tracer answered, and then shoved us onto the final set of tracks. An explosion battered my ears as out of one of the side tunnels appeared the boxy shape of an armored railcar, bearing a massive gun on top. That was no mere machine gun, it was a cannon! The rolling siege engine chugged slowly onto the main track to Otzark Bulvard, in front of where the bandits were attacking from. The gun on top swiveled with menacing leisure. It knew it was going to kill something. It fired. Another gigantic boom rocked the entire station. My mane fluttered from the sheer force of the monster’s roar. “They’re going to collapse the tunnel at this rate!” Sunny complained. “That’s a Hoofsa tank,” Tracer explained, peeking over the edge of the island we sheltered behind. “They don’t care… they have the resources to rebuild. Okay, okay. Only one tunnel left, that’s the auxiliary one on the left. See that? I’ll cover you… go for it on my signal!” He raised his assault rifle over the ledge and fired towards the bandits. Sweet Celestia, but my ears hurt. “Now!” We ran. We didn’t look back. My legs were springs, coiling and bursting over and over. I felt like a thumper, hopping over wreckage and a couple dead bodies, towards the darkness and safety of the Metro. I imagined myself as a little scurrying drake, no need to be shot at. Just a little creature hurrying to the shadows, moving between the legs of giants, scampering between the paths of ricocheting bullets. Jump, run, scurry, leap, don’t stop, don’t even think about stopping. At last I gained the portal, and into that small tunnel we fled. Like the monsters that had claimed our world, I felt safer now in the shadows. Yet still I didn’t stop moving, and neither did Sunny Side. Running was all that mattered, getting away from this pitstop of a station, and all the blood on their hooves. Behind us was a scene of dominion and devastation. Hoofsa was on the rise, ready to claim its new subjects. The plantations would gladly end their independence for the sake of survival, and soon Bucklyn would also be forced to bend to their will, by bit or bridle. The bandits had made a bold decision, but they’d soon all be massacred underneath the hammer of Hoofsa. In the end, all that would really change was that a lot of ponies were going to die very soon because there wasn’t room in paradise for them all, and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. My home was still in danger, and all these ponies could think about was killing one another for the sake of one more station under their banner. What was wrong with us? Why were so perverted in nature that we were reduced to this? Why was our magic now so tainted and deadly? Was I ever going to find out? Did I really want to? I knew this: I was moving south at last. I wasn’t being shot at. A Ranger traveled alongside me. My friend was still alive. I had a goal, and a path to it. Ponies were dying all around me, but as long as I had those things, I could ignore it all with a clear conscience. The thought brought tears to my eyes.

redsquirrel456

446

Original Character,Crossover,Adventure,Dark,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

My Little Metro

After Doomsday forces ponies underground, a lone colt braves the Stalliongrad metro system to save his people from an unknown threat.

hiatus

<p>The Metro tunnels of Stalliongrad shelter the last remnants of ponykind from the ravages of the Apocalypse. Beneath the earth, ponies struggle to survive against mutants, radiation, and each other. But when an unstoppable threat emerges from the darkness of the Metro, one pony must brave the shadows to save not just his home, but the very existence of his people.</p>

teen

2012-01-26T00:11:52+00:00

2014-03-29T03:09:03+00:00

My Little Metro: Chapter 11 “He noted with satisfaction the black line of dots on the green of the camouflage.” The run from Compass was not something I recalled with clarity. I clearly remembered skidding to a halt far down that dark, dank tunnel we retreated into, but before that I recalled blurry, half-formed images of Sunny Side panting next to me, with Tracer plowing on ahead. I remembered a blurring network of pipes that we followed like a river downstream, and the sharp smell of mildew mixed with the tang of my own sweat. The fear of being chased and hunted triggered some deep, instinctive reaction, and like a panicking herd of the old days we charged, blind and deaf to anything but the path ahead of us. We ran like a demon chased us until we stopped abruptly, like a spell was broken and we found ourselves again. Where we stopped was a completely unremarkable stretch of tunnel. Sunny Side and me dropped on our haunches and breathed, our mouths gaping like fish as we greedily gulped the cold, bitter air. I could taste the faint, nausea inducing taint of poison, but I didn’t care. My lungs clawed at my throat to get at the stale air, and I felt myself shaking. Not from exhaustion, but the exhilarating fear of the battle behind us. The gunshots had long since faded into the distance, but I still felt the lingering excitement, the need to stand up and run and do things. Was I supposed to be this excited? I felt ashamed of myself as I came down from the high, slowly drooping down until I rested on my stomach. Sunny Side was in similar straits, still gasping and staring straight ahead. I could only wonder what he was feeling. We’d never been involved in such a huge battle with other ponies before, and the Hoofsa tank was the first time I’d seen such a monstrous armored vehicle. No wonder they claimed to be the best bandit hunters in the Metro. I remembered the tense chase and subsequent fall that had begun this journey, and how terrifying that had been. But now, for whatever reason, it seemed less a life-threatening experience and more a simple event, an obstacle I’d had to traverse. I was more tired than afraid, more battle-fatigued than emotionally exhausted. On a whim I pulled out the Guide and looked it over, trying to make heads or tails of the esoteric symbols and Old Equestrian writing. Nopony had mentioned a rail cart that would take us where we needed to go that should be somewhere along here. I felt Tracer’s eyes on me as I went over the strange document, marking the location of the rail cart. Once again, before my very eyes the language became clearer and clearer with each viewing, like it wasn’t a puzzle but an optical illusion my eyes needed to acclimate to… “I didn’t think it was true,” Tracer murmured. “But I suppose the Metro has shown me stranger things before.” “What do you mean?” I asked. I immediately felt guilty under the weight of Tracer’s stare, certain that I’d just done something wrong. Or perhaps his eyes were just that accusatory in general. I felt he’d done a great deal of judging, given his past with the farmers and the other degenerates of the Metro. “I mean you’re doing something normal ponies shouldn’t be able to do,” he said outright. “But I don’t know what it means. A Guide can only be read by the ones it’s supposed to be read by, or those who have the key. Powerful enchantments guard them. And here you are just breezing through it.” My stomach flipped over. I got the feeling now that I’d done something very, very wrong, and I crammed the Guide back into my saddlebag, feeling chagrined. “What about it?” I asked. “It’s not harming us. Anyway, we’re not far. Since we’ve run so much I’d say the rail cart is right around the corner.” “You’re treading a very dangerous path, Lockbox,” he said. I felt like he was trying to look inside of me, like how Hunter often looked at ponies except with much more hostility. I stood up and walked south, determined to move on. “I already knew that,” I shot back. Sunny Side let out a gasping, weary sigh, but stood to follow me as well. I felt sorry for him, knowing he had nowhere else to go. Our friendship had dragged him into this, and he was good and trapped just like me. I could only take solace in that we were in this together. Facing this journey alone would’ve broken me. “There are other dangers in the Metro besides what you’ve faced, Lockbox,” Tracer said, glowering as he took up the rear. “Do you think you are the only one who has been shot at, or killed other ponies? Do you think the monsters you’ve seen are the extent of what the Metro can throw at you?” “Why does everypony I meet insist on reminding me of how impossible my mission is?” I snapped without meaning to. I rounded on Tracer, angry at the world. “I have enough weighing on my mind and I would appreciate it if just one of you cut me the slightest bit of slack! There is nothing I am not willing to face, and nothing I am unwilling to do if it means saving my home from destruction! In less than two weeks I’ve been shot at more times than I’d care to count, had my life threatened on several occasions, and murdered ponies in cold blood! I don’t give a damn what you’ve seen, or what Sidewinder’s seen, or whatever the hell kind of lesson Nopony is trying to teach me! Shall I sit down and share all my miseries with you? I am too tired and too selfish to think of anything right now except putting one hoof in front of the other! So if you please?” Tracer remained infuriatingly silent through my rant, which only when it echoed back to me from the depths of the tunnel did I realize how loud I’d been. My cheeks burned with shame and I slapped a hoof to my mouth. We waited. My ears strained to hear the call of some horrible monster on the hunt, drawn by my shouting. I’d let my emotions get the better of me and now I’d doomed us all… The Metro remained silent as death. The shadows were still and the pipes did not ring with the cries of the dead. It appeared safe. We all breathed a sigh of relief. “My… apologies,” Tracer said quietly. “I am a Ranger. My worries are my own. I had no right to project them onto you. You two have shown extraordinary bravery coming this far. I shouldn’t be so doubtful.” “At least you’re brave enough to admit it,” I grumbled without remorse. Sunny Side punched my shoulder and stepped between us, allowing Tracer to finally return his battle saddle. He shrugged his shoulders and let its weight fall onto its familiar place on his back. He seemed comforted that he had it back, and I thought he did look more capable when he wore it. “I heard one of you say we’re close to the exit?” he asked. “Should be,” I mumbled, and got up to walk again. “It said so on the Guide.” “Once we get past the Ring, our route will take us near Fort Guarsky,” Tracer said with a grim sigh. “I pray that the Yellow Line tunnels are still open and we can bypass it. Going in there will be akin to deliberately stepping on a howler’s tail. It’s controlled entirely by bandits. The Fort itself is a big sewage treatment plant built mostly underground… two other stations along Blue Line there are owned by the bandits too. Of course, it’s not all bad. They call it a fort, but different crime factions squabble constantly with each other inside it. Nopony really owns it, but they keep their borders secure enough nopony bothers them.” “And then further south is the Republic?” I asked. “Yes. The poor suckers caught between Guarsky and the Republic are unenviable… one side is anarchists and criminals, the other is a loony dictatorship. Don’t let the name fool you. The Republic is ruled by a single president who’s been in office for fifteen years and keeps winning every election by a landslide. Her name’s Lucky Clover, and she explains her endless success by describing her special talent as ‘luck.’ Puh, she’s quite the arrogant bitch, but she can juggle the hatreds and needs of ponies beneath her well enough. That’s all you really need to do, you know… identify what a pony’s scared of and assure them you’ll take care of it. That’s how Hoofsa has been able to get smaller stations to flock to their banner. How they got the farmers to be so scared of us Rangers ruining their well-laid plans. There is an old saying: you can take everything from a pony except what he owns.” “What sense does that make?” Sunny Side asked. “It means as long as certain boundaries aren’t crossed, a pony is willing to do anything. All you need to do is keep pushing the lines further back, further back… soon they’re putty in your hooves, but as long as what they think is ‘theirs’ hasn’t been touched, they still believe they’re in control. Just keep making them believe it’s worth it, or they’re better off with you… ” Tracer went quiet for a while, mumbling to himself. “Poor, misbegotten bastards,” was all I could make out, and then Sunny Side broke the awkward silence again. “So there are no other friendly stations to go to?” he asked. “I mean, I’ve heard about the Confederation and Five Towns…” “Those are still friendly enough,” Tracer admitted, picking up where he’d left off as though he’d never stopped talking. “But they are too far off our path, and plague has strangled travel through the stations between them. No, our route is dangerous, but better. Between the Republic and Guarsky is a mess of independent stations and mutant-ridden plague holes. We might have to head up to the surface every once in a while, but that’s the best way to go undetected. Hopefully we can cross over to the Orange Line and go a little further west, closer to Ponyopolis. I just hope the Monarchy’s tendrils don’t reach too far north and we get cut off.” The darkness of the Metro was becoming more and more familiar to me. I stood apart from my comrades, who rested at a very small fire that Tracer had put together, looking down the tunnel we traveled. It was old, and ill-kept; mutants or worse were likely to be here. Dirt and cobwebs were here aplenty, and the ceiling was held up by worryingly rotted beams of timber. Rusted pipes ran along the ceiling and sides of the tunnel, an ever-present pathway to nowhere. We’d been running from the three-way battle at Compass for over an hour, and it soon became obvious that our route wasn’t going to take us directly to Otzark Bulvard; if Hoofsa was already beginning its advance on Bucklyn, Otzark would be nowhere near safe. We’d have to take another detour. I didn’t mind, though, if it meant staying away from the destruction that was coming along the Ring. One thing nagged at my mind, however... Bucklyn would have to stand alone, without any warning from me. They had no idea that their once closest friends had abandoned them for the sake of safety and security. When Hoofsa finally came, they’d be completely unable to stand their pressure combined with the bandits and a potential embargo of food from the plantations. I’d failed in my task to help them prepare. The thought gnawed and gnashed on my mind, playing itself over and over before me. I had given my word to a station that, while very unfriendly, had at least had the decency to give me a purpose and friendly ponies when they sent me off. Ponies who’d died for my mission. I’d told them that I’d do what I could to help, and here I was running away from them and my responsibilities. Frankly, it made me feel quite worthless. I hadn’t quite been hit by the reality of what I was doing and what it was going to cost me until those few, reflective minutes in the tunnel, the weight of it threatening to buckle my legs. I was a wretched thing, wasn’t I? Desperate for something to distract me from my troubles, I turned to the Ranger. Remembering Ray Drop made me remember the mistake that had cost her life. “Tracer. What was the package you were supposed to deliver to Outpost 6?” The question came unbidden. I knew it had to be asked once I thought of it. It took the Ranger by surprise, and he stopped, turning to face me. “Where did you learn about that?” “Hunter’s talisman led me to a Ranger outpost on the surface,” I explained. “It said you were supposed to deliver some kind of package to Outpost 6.” Tracer stared at me for a long, tense moment. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “It won’t help us now.” He turned away, leaving me again with more questions than answers. I decided to let the matter drop for now, and soon we found ourselves at a tunnel junction wherein Nopony had promised a railcart would be waiting. At last, we would be able to penetrate the Ring and find our way into the central Metro. “Here we go,” Sunny Side said, shining his light on a railcart that sat purposeless on the tracks. “Hmm. Looks to be in good shape,” he murmured as he hopped onto it and lit a lantern hanging above it. “And plush leather seating too!” He grinned and pointed at a ratty, moldy chair that the driver sat in. Tracer dropped down onto it, motioning for the rest of us to take our seats as he magically started the engine and settled in for the ride. The tunnel was dark and large, and the tiny put-put noise of the engine as it struggled to turn the engines died before it even reached the walls. I looked forward as the cart began to roll, struggling not to fall asleep. I didn’t want to see any more horrible visions. I didn’t want more thoughts and doubts piling up on me. I didn’t want to see Sweet Dreams in my nightmares, leering as she gobbled my insides and taunted my continual failure to be a good pony. Most of all, I didn’t want to see her. I blinked, and saw her anyway, hiding behind my eyelids, waiting, pleading silently with a question I couldn’t hear and didn’t know how to answer. What did she want from me, that strange yellow pony? What was she trying to tell me? I wondered if there was even an answer to those questions. The Metro was good at tantalizing, giving me clues and questions, leading me down these dark roads and never giving an answer. After all, was the Metro not all one self-contained system, a looping maze of tunnels that led on forever and never actually got to a destination? There were so many things left unsaid, left without an answer. I still hadn’t found a trace of Sixpence or evidence of why he’d tried to kill me, nor did I think I ever would at this point. The Guild of Magic would probably see me as an enemy if I ever met them again. I had no idea what Hunter was supposed to even have been doing up above, why he disappeared, or why Tracer had a mysterious package from Hunter he either had or had not delivered. I didn’t know what the Dark Ones were or how to stop them. I knew nothing. I only wanted to know my home would be safe. The tunnel continued interminably, without ending it seemed. Time dragged on and my tired body felt the sincere need for more sleep. That little nap provided by Tracer back in the plantations had barely been enough to keep me going. But I struggled to stay awake regardless, fighting my nightmares, and so the tunnel stretched on, and on, and on... A flash of wings. A sad sigh. I raced down the long tunnel, racing to catch... something. I didn’t even know. I saw the long darkness of the tunnel stretching before me, following it without hesitation. Something was far ahead of me, a blur of pink and yellow, and I felt a desperate need to chase it. Soon, the sound of gently fluttering wings was the only clue it was still ahead of me. I didn’t feel the impact of my hooves on the rails. Instead I floated along, never hovering more than three feet off the ground. The tunnel curved and swerved wildly, taking completely random and senseless directions. I followed its winding pathway to a tee, never slowing down, but never seeming to move forward either. I didn’t know if I was making progress, or even if I needed to anymore, since I couldn’t see what I was pursuing. And then a voice came to me. Find peace. Find life. Stop running. Conclude your journey. And so I stopped. The sound of wings faded, and I thought I heard somepony mournfully cry my name. But behind me came something new. Something different and monstrous. I wanted to run away again, to keep charging headlong down the tunnel, but I found myself rooted to the spot. The tunnel began to glow red around me, and I heard the sound of squealing machinery, creaking hinges... some kind of doorway was opening far behind me. I felt my head begin to ache, becoming light and fuzzy. Something was inside me... something... This was wrong... I wanted to see that flash of pink hair again, the buttery yellow beckoning so far, yet so close... was I really supposed to have stopped? I felt a tap on the shoulder, and turned around. Sweet Dreams leered at me, bloody eye sockets dribbling. She grinned, and blood seeped out between her lips “Caught you,” she whispered, and pushed her mouth over mine, clutching me in a horrifying kiss. I felt her teeth sink into my lips, and tear. /-/-/-/ “Lockbox, wake up! Wake up NOW!” I jolted upright and found myself shoved down again by Sunny Side, who threw his body over me. Bullets zipped overhead, ripping apart the lantern and the body of the cart, which had come to a halt. “What now?” I asked. Sunny grabbed me after the volley was done and hauled me off the cart. “Bandits or something! I don’t know who!” “Over here!” Tracer shouted from behind a makeshift barricade of fallen rock and wood. We’d made our stop at a junction, where our line came to an end and another one stretched parallel to ours. Bandits were flooding up from behind us and in front. To our right, going south, was the Yellow Line Tracer had mentioned before. To our front was a blocked off tunnel, and a doorway. Bandits were all around us. “Oh Luna... shit!” Sunny Side gasped as he dodged and weaved towards Tracer, with me close behind. Still waking up, it took me a few moments to realize we were once again in mortal danger, not because of monsters, but ponies who acted like monsters. This was getting tiresome. But the force of adrenaline and that familiar, boiling indignation helped push away the fear as I slid around next to Tracer, who’s levitated guns roared in two directions at once, barking and snapping at the intruders. “The tunnels are too open. Make for that doorway!” he shouted, nodding back at the door behind us. No idea where it went. No idea if it’d save us. But it was our only option. Bullets cracked against the ground, throwing chips of shrapnel against my helmet and flak jacket. I didn’t even feel the impact of the door as I slammed into it with my shoulder, shoving it open. “Just what I needed. More tight spaces!” Sunny Side said with a nervous laugh. Tracer soon took up the rear, closing the door and ducking below the line of bullet holes that tore into the metal just above his head. Then they started coming from the other direction too. We pressed ourselves against the walls, behind a few crates. Hiding behind wooden boxes in a firefight was about as useful as trying to put out a fire by shouting at it, but instinct drove us down anyway, huddling into the corners. At the far end of the hall was a small room occupied by bandits. Celestia damn it, couldn’t I get some rest? I couldn’t remember the last time I had restful sleep that wasn’t full of nightmares, or a moment of my life that wasn’t full of danger. I felt the anger rising. The frustration. I huddled against my little box, feeling more exasperated than anything else. After the mad dash from Compass, this seemed so... rote. So ordinary. Such violence becoming so everyday. Everything went dark. I felt a rush of air as Tracer charged forward, bellowing. His horn shimmered in the darkness he created. “Go go go!” he shouted to us as he dashed by, guns thundering. I heard screaming as bullets struck home. I stood up, bracing myself, finding the bullets to be no trouble. These... these bastards. They refused to stop making life miserable for other ponies. All of them. Hoofsa, Bucklyn, these bandits... they were all the same. They were all in my way. I was trying to save my home, to do something worthwhile and all they could think about was their greed! Damn them. Damn all of them. I didn’t feel like a hero. I didn’t want to be a hero. I wanted all of these ponies dead, and out of my way. Sunny Side took up the rear as I charged into the melee with Tracer, who had already killed two of the three bandits with his brutal, result-oriented attacks. The last one crouched behind a stockade, desperately trying to reload. I saw his face in the grim twilight cast by Tracer’s horn, the fear and anger etched into his face as he slammed a magazine home. No thought of who he was. What he wanted out of life. He was hostile. He had to die. I leaped over the barricade and slammed my hoof into his face, taking him by surprise. He fell, and I pushed my Mule up against his neck and fired. The spray of blood, dull and grey, from the gory wound made me feel a tiny sense of satisfaction. So you thought you could get in my way? All these ponies who want me dead think they can stop me? To hell with you. “Behind, Lockbox!” Sunny shouted as he rounded the corner ahead of the crowd of bandits from the tunnels, who’d apparently thought their friends at this barricade would take care of us. They stumbled into the darkness and were met by my gunfire. I didn’t even wait, I just pulled the trigger and held it down. The gun snapped and hissed far too early, halfway through my magazine; a quick look told me I’d jammed. Two bandits were dead, the rest fell back, staggering backwards through the doorway as Sunny Side’s rifles roared after them. I folded my ears back as I yanked on the release, trying to eject the jammed bullet. Damn it, did guns have to be so loud in close quarters? “Stupid... fucking... damn it!” I tore the Mule off my war rein and slammed my pistol in place, but I didn’t get a chance to keep firing as Tracer snatched me by the collar. “If we stop moving we’re dead! Go go go!” he shouted in my ear as he threw me into the next hall. I tripped and fell into the wall, my helmet scraping as I righted myself, helped along by another shove from Tracer. Who was next? Many, many ponies. We came out in a large area that had been converted into something like a fortress. I saw a blurred menagerie of makeshift guard towers and cobbled together gun emplacements, looking up and down the service tunnels that entered the large room. Tents and sheet metal shelters covered a long series of islands and barely held together catwalks. This appeared to be some kind of train depot or service station. Also, it was still occupied by the aforementioned many ponies. All of whom leaped for their guns as we burst through the doorway. “Run!” Tracer shouted, and we dodged to the side as bullets ripped into the air behind us, tearing up the doorway. We didn’t have anywhere to run but behind a rusted out train car, keeping our heads low as at least a dozen guns chewed away at our cover. I chanced a look over my shoulder and saw a few of the ponies behind us charge the doorway directly into the line of fire of those in the depot. They didn’t seem pained or fearful as they fell; in fact, I’d wondered how they didn’t notice they were rushing straight into a hail of bullets from their own comrades. The fact that they had white masks over their faces was also very confusing. But never mind that. Ponies to kill. Things to do. Anger still in my heart. I stood up while those in the encampment were distracted and fired two quick shots through a window on the train, cracking a pony’s skull open with my pistol and sending another ducking for cover. Tracer yanked me back down as the return fire tore apart the train’s walls. Killing didn’t feel guilt-inducing anymore. In fact, it felt rather therapeutic. I embraced the adrenaline, the rush and need to survive, and let it take me where it would. I saw a group of ponies moving to flank us, and one of them was a unicorn. I doubted they had the power to take on Tracer, who was firing blindly over the quickly decaying walls of the train with his assault rifle, but I knew they could become a serious problem. And in that moment I knew what I had to do. The gunfire pointed our way slackened, and I saw muzzle flashes coming from one of the service tunnels. Another group of ponies, apparently also hostile to the ones in the camp, was taking part in the battle, and offered the perfect distraction. “Cover me!” I shouted, and armed with a jammed submachine gun, a half-full pistol, and a hoof knife, I charged. I didn’t even really know what I was doing. I was lost in the anger and heat of the moment, the killing passion that overwhelmed my senses. I wanted everything that was shooting at me and my friends dead, so we could get some peace and quiet, using the battle as an excuse to rail against the unfairness of my own situation. The other ponies had been busy trying to set up a fixed machine gun to help in the defense against the other attackers. The unicorn, busily levitating the gun onto the tripod, was shot dead by a hit between the eyes. Thank you, Sunny Side. Two remained: a pegasus and an earth pony, both fixing the gun in place. The pegasus took aim for me, but I shot first with three quick pulls of the trigger. The smoke from my gun and the jostling of my own sprinting body prevented me from seeing exactly what I’d hit, but hit him I did as he fell next to his companion, who was desperately feeding ammo into the gun, apparently too panicked to think about using his own Mule. All I could think about was running, powering through the blizzard of bullets streaming my way, focused entirely on this one pony who I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt was going to kill me, and so I had to kill him. If it’s hostile... I vaulted over the small barricade of crates just as he turned the gun barrel towards me. Instead of repeating earlier success and laying him out flat with a punch, he managed to duck in time. I stumbled and tripped over the massive machine gun, falling clumsily on the earth pony and driving my knife into his gut. He screamed in my ear. I barely even heard it as we rolled on the ground, him mostly just trying to get away. Our guns scraped on the concrete, strangely loud in my ears. We collapsed onto our sides; Nopony’s bag of food and other tools pressed painfully into my ribs. I saw the other pony turn towards me, mouth gripping the trigger of his Mule. We pulled at the same time. He missed. I didn’t. I saw more than heard the result; the report from both our guns firing so close to my head was deafening. I felt the heat of the muzzle blast, the brush of air as the bullet went flying past my ear. But that was nothing compared to what I did to him. My final bullet pierced his nose, smashing all the way through his skull and out the back of his neck. His head snapped back with a horrible, convulsing twitch he went limp and quiet, all the tension simply dropping out of his body. His eye twitched the wrong way, staring up at the ceiling while the other was pointed straight at me. I was staring right in the face of a pony I’d just killed, saw in gruesome detail the result of my work. My ears rang loudly, and for a few seconds the outside world faded away until there was just the high pitched ringing and the dead pony right in front of me. I didn’t feel anything except strangely empty. And for the barest of moments, that nameless pony’s face was Sweet Dreams, open mouth grinning, sightless eyes staring with grim approval. At that moment an explosion stole my attention. I rolled over to look at the encampment to see it becoming engulfed with flames. Though it had been made with defending against ponies in mind, whoever planned it hadn’t been very careful when it came to fire management. Tents and clothing caught fire easily, and the tightly constricted clumps of flammable shelters meant the entire depot would soon be filled with smoke. I saw ponies rushing back and forth in the glow of the quickly spreading fires, and for a moment I wondered if they were more bandits. But these were different. They wore white masks like the ones at the door, completely obscuring their faces, and they showed no fear or care of the fire raging all around them. Surely in the middle of that growing inferno of heat and smoke they’d feel some discomfort? But they didn’t appear to. They charged through the depot, threading their way through the trains still on the tracks, lobbing grenades to shield their advance as they overran the bandits with machine-like determination. Their movements were much like Tracer’s, precise and methodical, fighting with proficiency that only came with years of experience. There were unicorns among them, powerful ones who radiated shields of bright purple light and tossed debris overhead in a confusing maelstrom. Bandits who tried to shoot them found their guns suddenly exploding in their faces, instantly disassembling, or magically misfiring. Their cover was lifted away by strong telekinesis, leaving them easy prey. The lowly bandits put up a stiff resistance, but didn’t stand a chance in the end, and they were soon pushed completely out of the depot, the ragged survivors running for their lives. And then I realized: we’d dropped out of one war and straight into another. The Metro didn’t stop killing itself just because I’d run away down a different tunnel. I was suddenly enveloped in bright yellow wings, and for a moment I thought the pink-haired pony of my dreams had come to visit me in real life. But it was Sunny Side instead, screaming at me. His voice echoed like a bell. I felt dizzy. My head had some kind of high-pitched whine invading it, confusing me, making me feel dull and listless. Something felt... different. I couldn’t tell what it was; the anger I’d felt before... something about the light of the fires... the completely calm way the masked ponies pressed their attack... “Lockbox! Get up! Get up!” Sunny yanked me to my hooves. Tracer was beside us, firing indiscriminately into the crowd of ponies running amidst the flames, and then we were running again, down the service tunnel, already out of breath and harried by our experiences. But it wasn’t until we’d actually gained the tunnel entrance, and started rushing south again, that I realized no return fire followed us. I chanced a look over my shoulder, and what I saw chilled me to the bone. The masked ponies weren’t pursuing us... in fact, they stood in absolute quiet, as if the battle they’d just won meant nothing. Some of them watched us run, through the small circles cut into their otherwise featureless white faces, as though we were but a curiosity or something they might scrape off their hooves. The others, in complete and perfect unison, looked up at the ceiling, searching, or praising something beyond my senses. Other than the crackle of the fires they didn’t heed in the slightest, everything about them was perfectly still, and silent. They didn’t chase us, didn’t shoot at us. Only stared in that haunting calm way, until we rounded a turn and they were gone. /-/-/-/ “Okay. Now what the hell was that?” Tracer turned to Sunny Side and shook his head. “That... that was something I didn’t think I’d ever see this far north.” “Those masked ponies weren’t supposed to be there, were they?” I asked, my voice quiet and hushed. I was still feeling out of sorts. I didn’t feel quite as angry as before. Just... cold. Cold and dreadful. I was curious about the masked ponies, but I didn’t need to know. Something inside me said I already knew what was so strange about them... or I didn’t want to find out. That brief brush with them made my head itch and ache. I tried to pass it off as post-battle jitters... but I felt almost like I did when I’d run from the anomaly. Something about those masked ponies was wrong. Horribly, awfully wrong. “No. No they were not,” Tracer said, looking almost regretful. Even despairing. “Who were they?” Sunny Side demanded. I wondered at his anger now. He was Sunny Side, always willing to crack a joke or smile. Why was he so angry? Had the masked ponies affected him too? “Servants of the Wyrm,” Tracer answered in a low, quiet voice. The words somehow echoed in the tunnels, reverberating with some unseen power. Tracer chuckled grimly as he watched me and Sunny Side recoil. “You feel it, don’t you? The dread. The fear of their name and who they are even though you’ve never heard about them. We believe it to be some kind of magical influence those ponies wield. Ancient magic that gives words and language itself real power... something we have yet to unlock. The ponies that first attacked us in the tunnel were also servants of the Wyrm, and they followed us right into that depot with the bandits. We were fighting a three way battle the whole time. But you are right, Lockbox. They shouldn’t be here. Especially not in the open like that.” We began to walk south in silence, listening to Tracer explain. “They are cultists. Ponies who’ve given up believing in Celestia and Luna, even themselves. The Cult of the Great Wyrm, they call it. It all started about... oh, ten years ago, we think. That’s when the reports started surfacing to the Ranger Order in numbers and consistency too great to ignore. But they are so many and so powerful, it’s possible they go back even further than that... some superstitious fools think they were always down here. They know the tunnels well enough. But nopony really knows who they are. They show up every now and then, do something strange and violent and mysterious... then leave again, without a trace. We’ve tangled with them before. They’re hostile to anypony who isn’t them, and slaughter mutants and Diamond Dogs as well if they find them. We know nothing about them, and they never speak to us except through their guns.” “Why the masks? All they had to see and breathe were those little holes,” Sunny Side asked, shivering as he pulled his wings tight against his body. I felt almost as frightened, remembering the anomaly, the weird tentacled creature before we met Sidewinder, the horrible mutants we saw on the surface... all of them defying natural laws and rational thought. What other mysteries did the Metro have to throw at us? “Why not?” Tracer answered. “They’re a cult. Perhaps they do it to frighten other ponies. The few we managed to take alive never answered us. I remember a time several years ago, when I’d only been in the Order a few years and the Cult was just starting to gain prominence. After a hairy fight we managed to capture one of the bastards alive. He was a fairly normal looking pony at first glance. A little pale and skinny maybe. But something was off about him. Like he wasn’t all there. His eyes were... were almost hollow. He said nothing. Spoke not a word. Did as we asked and removed his clothing and weapons.” He gave a sudden, angry snort. “The freak had burned off his own cutie mark. Both flanks. Nothing but seared flesh. We asked why and he just stared at us, like we were the stupid ones. As if we should’ve known why already. Puh! Then he just sat down and looked at the wall. We goaded him, yelled at him, even eventually cut him with a knife. Not a sound. Not a twitch. We left him in a small room and set a guard on the door. and a few others decided to resume the interrogation a couple hours later. The guard didn’t report any problems, just some noise of him moving around. But when we got inside...” He trailed off, shaking his head as though disappointed about something. After a look from me, he continued. “He’d smashed his own head against the wall. Cracked his skull right open, brains were all over the place... the guard swore up and down he’d heard nothing, no cries of pain. Whoever that pony was, he’d chosen death and didn’t even hesitate. That idiot. All the others were exactly the same. No explanations! It’s like they exist to be freaks.” He fixed me with a stern look, and I saw the same anger as when we’d escaped the plantations. “Let that be a lesson to you, Lockbox, and you, Sunny. There’s a lot of monsters down here that look like ponies, talk like them, act like them. But they’re not ponies. And given what they’re capable of, we cannot take the chance that they’ll come back if we let them go. Remember the Codex, boys. “If it’s hostile, you kill it.” /-/-/-/ “Lockbox, I’m worried about you.” We were sitting in front of a small fire, cooking our first real meal in quite some time while Tracer scouted ahead, making sure there were no more ugly surprises waiting for us. Nopony’s bag, which he’d left with me, was full of edible, if not delectable, foodstuffs. Apparently, the old world had even made their food to last; we were currently snacking on some kind of oatmeal that’d lasted since the Great War. All it needed was some of our brackish, ugly water to make it chewable. The little tin cans promised that it gave us all the required vitamins and minerals, but I still wondered how much value was even in this tasteless gunk. Still, it was better than an empty stomach. “Worried?” I asked, setting down my now empty can after licking it clean, going to work on fixing my Mule. I’d expected it to break sooner or later, but I’d also expected it to be much worse than a simple jam. I began fiddling with the ejection mechanism, sticking a small pin between my teeth to try and pry the trapped bullet loose. “You fought like a madpony against those bandits. When you didn’t really need to.” “I wanted them out of the way.” “Well... yes. Yes, we all wanted them out of the way. But the way you charged a gun emplacement? Lockbox, you almost gave me a heart attack! Do you know how lucky you are that shot nailed the unicorn?” I shrugged, still not really seeing the problem. Sunny Side let out an exasperated groan and flopped onto his side, wings sagging. “Lockbox, you’re not acting like the pony I remember from Exiperia.” I wasn’t quite sure how to answer that. Was it a problem I’d tried to eliminate bandits who wanted to kill us? Clack, clack, went the latch of my gun, struggling to eject the bullet within. Would the damn thing never come free? “Maybe I never was that pony,” I said. “Maybe I’m just finally ready to do what I need to, instead of sitting on my couch and dreaming all day.” “I haven’t seen you collect anything in a while.” “There’s not much out here worth keeping. Everything’s either being used, or it’s such junk I couldn’t lug it around all the way to Ponyopolis.” “Yes, I know...” “What’s your point, Sunny Side?” “You, Lockbox!” Sunny Side sat up and stared at me with sudden fervor. “I thought I knew you before, but these last few weeks have been blowing things out of the water! Sure you received basic training, we all did. But don’t you see what’s going on? What’s happening to you? You’re doing things nopony like you should be able to do!” He shook his head, and I found myself annoyed by the sadness in that small motion. I worked the ejector with renewed ferocity while Sunny Side spoke. “You’re... you’re changing, Lockbox. You may not feel like it, but you are. We’ve both done things we never thought we would before... but you just don’t seem affected by it. It’s like it’s coming so naturally to you!” “If it’s any consolation,” I said, not concealing my snarky tone, “I almost shit my pants when we were riding that war wagon.” The jam finally came loose with a snap, and the useless bullet fell to the ground with a small plink. I put it in my saddlebag anyway, out of compulsion. “That’s not what I mean,” Sunny sighed, and I rolled my eyes. “Lockbox, this whole journey is just... strange. We’ve all gone through tough shit. That’s the way of the Metro. But why is this all happening to us? How did we get through the surface when everypony else died? Why did you manage to wake up quicker than the rest of us after that anomaly? Why did Hunter choose you to go to Ponyopolis and not anypony else?” I shifted uncomfortably. These were questions I plagued myself with often enough. I didn’t want to have Sunny Side reminding me too. Just remember the cold, hard anger like what Tracer carried. That righteous indignation. If it’s hostile, you kill it. No need to dwell, or remember. It wouldn’t help anypony. “... Do you really think I have an answer?” My voice was small and fragile, barely reaching over the fire. Sunny Side’s ears twitched. “No, I... I suppose not.” The silence stretched on. I looked away, feeling sheepish and indignant, like a colt caught teasing his little sister. What right did Sunny Side have to bring this up now? He was acting like it was all my problem! He’d killed ponies too. It wasn’t like I had to be the one to hold all the guilty conscience and worry here. “I’m just... concerned, Lockbox, that you-” “Sunny Side, we’re friends,” I snapped, “but I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.” “You keep things bottled up, Lockbox, don’t think I don’t notice. You’re thinking about all this as much as I am-” “And what of it?” “I’m just trying to say-” “If it’s about Ray Drop I don’t want to hear it!” “I didn’t mention Ray Drop.” “Or the anomaly! I’m trying to not think about it, don’t you see? If I stop to think... if I try to dwell on all the things I have filed away up here, I’ll go crazy. I’m already going crazy! So many ponies out here... Tracer was right. They’re monsters. They deserve to die! It’s the only way I can deal with it.” “Lockbox, I just don’t see why you can’t talk about-” “Because I killed her!” The shout echoed horribly. Reverberated in my ears.The Metro tunnels seemed to amplify my cry, cutting my voice into a chorus of accusing ghosts, chanting what I’d done in my ears. All of it seemed to come back in that one crushing moment, the stress I’d so far managed to keep chained under lock and key boiled and hissed, leaking out in a slow, burning stream. I’d known of it for a while. But now I was so much more aware of it. Shaking, I buried my face in my hooves. Sunny Side was quiet. So was I. The fire crackled, a hollow, empty noise. I kept my face hidden as I took deep, shuddering breaths. “... Did... what...?” “She was dying. I tried to save her. I really did. But I couldn’t leave her like that. Not for them. She was already gone. I thought everything was gone. It’s my fault. For bringing us out here. I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have thought I was so ready for this. Nopony really is.” The fire popped and hissed. Sunny Side’s gaze felt hotter than the flames. I heard him stand, then come over to sit next to me. He dropped down like a load of bricks, sounding as tired as I felt. One of his wings settled over my back. “... I’m sorry, Lockbox.” “Me, too.” I closed my eyes, and Sweet Dreams crooned into my ear. Eat you alive. /-/-/-/ The first inhabited station we came across on that lonely, dilapidated stretch of track was the small town of Trotsky Freehaven. It was named after some great Equestrian war leader, from the days when war was fought by ponies, for ponies, before the days of the Princesses, and now only his name survived. Though, the ponies here were not the warriors their station’s namesake was. They didn’t have the magi-tech to construct much more than simple alarm charms, which we tripped deliberately, and kept our lights bright so they’d know we were ponies. Trotsky wasn’t a station well known to me, except for the fact that it was labeled on my Guide. Tracer thought they’d be, at the least, non-hostile. And they were, for the most part, meaning they didn’t shoot us on sight. “Hey! Hey! Who are you? Speak up, I’m talking to you!” The voice that hailed us was gruff and scratchy, from an older pony’s throat. To my surprise, he was a pegasus; usually they didn’t last as long as this grouchy old specimen. He was thin and his coat patchy, mane and tail rather ratty and unkempt. The others with him weren’t much more impressive; all of them looked shy and anxious, casting nervous glances everywhere. Tracer continued walking, and so me and Sunny Side followed. I’d thought I’d been a badass when I forced my way into Ponyevskaya, but Tracer didn’t even need to say anything for the guards to pause and rethink who they were shouting at. Tracer fearlessly pulled out his Ranger insignia and showed it to the guards. He didn’t need to say anything. “A... a Ranger? I... What’s your business here?” “My own. You’ve got cultists in the north, they wiped out the fort at the old depot. Now let us through. We’re just passing by. No need to raise any alarms, right?” The old pony looked at his guards, who stared back with fear and respect in their eyes. They reminded me of myself whenever Hunter came by to visit. Somehow, seeing for myself the effect Rangers had on other ponies, I swelled a bit with pride that I knew one personally, and now had one guarding my life. Nopony who had half a brain willingly got in their way... those poor fools in the plantations had given up more than they imagined when they turned on the Rangers. “No,” the old pegasus said, and bowed his his head slightly. Such supplications seemed inbred to us ponies. Even though we had no princesses to bow to, we still found reasons to. “No, no need. Go on in, and your friends too.” But as Tracer stepped forward the old pegasus moved to intercept us, lowering his voice. “Those bastards at Guarsky are going crazy, you’d better be careful. That depot was supposed to be a strongpoint for Auntie Buttercup. I don’t know about cultists or anything, but this whole stretch of the Metro is in deep shit. We’re not supposed to welcome Rangers, but if you can do anything, we’d sure as hell appreciate it!” Tracer gave him a curt nod, and I knew then that it was possible we’d have to sacrifice another chance to help a station if it meant getting this message to Ponyopolis. “If I can do something, I will,” Tracer replied, and we followed him into the sorry station beyond. The place was lit by very few lights, magical or otherwise, and there was just the constant red glare from the emergency lights set up in years past, maintained studiously by the unicorns. Sprite-lights were in abundance among what few lights there were. The ponies here looked harried, tense, as if they were waiting for something. I could usually see that any old day back in Exiperia, but these ponies were moving like they were on a schedule. “It’s almost nine o’clock,” Tracer noted as we passed under a clock hung over the entrance. I looked up at it in wonder; I’d almost never seen a functioning clock, and they were something of a luxury. The best way to judge the passage of time was when the lights came on and when the lights were dimmed at “sleep time.” We had two back in Exiperia, and it suddenly struck me that I’d never seen a clock outside of Exiperia until just now. Trotsky was a dark and forbidding place, with low ceilings that had no decorative arches or pillars. They were living in the bare minimum of living space, crowded right up next to the halls along the tracks, in small shacks and huts. The side halls and rooms were, as always, occupied by the important members of the station, though I saw very few offices with lights on. A very few of the ponies outside were cooks and merchants who hawked old, dilapidated wares. These ponies weren’t doing well for themselves; I saw a great many of them dressed in little more than rags, and others shivered because they had few if any clothes at all. There were only a few unicorns, who seemed to be standing a constant guard at one end of the station, at walled off stairways that led to the upper levels. All of them were similarly pale and shy like the guards, and many of them had patches missing from their pelts and manes. They gave us wary, almost fearful glances as we passed by. The only ones who weren’t so skittish seemed to be travelers, resting here until the next leg of their journey. These ponies kept to themselves. I saw one big earth pony bearing the Stalliongrad patch on his jacket, though this Stalker was not the Sidewinder I knew. He flirtatiously chatted up a waif of a filly sorting through some of the junk he’d brought to sell. Other than that I saw very little actual business being carried on. “What’s so important about nine o’clock?” Sunny Side asked, unable to bear not knowing. “It’s when Trotsky Freehaven goes dark,” said Nopony. He stood in the middle of our group. All three of us turned to face him. I was struck with the very real possibility that he’d been there the whole time, and his strange abilities had made it so we didn’t notice until now. “... Yes,” Tracer said, doing his best not to whip out his gun. I’d seen his horn begin to glow when Nopony spoke. Was he alert enough that he could “notice” the strangeness surrounding our faceless companion as well? I looked around and saw that nopony else was surprised by his sudden appearance, just as he’d said they wouldn’t be... “So... what’s ‘go dark’ mean?” Sunny Side pressed. “You’ll see,” Nopony said, and Tracer didn’t add to that. My stomach felt queasy, and Sunny Side was uneasy, but we kept walking with them deeper into the station. “Guarsky is a hive of activity,” Nopony said quietly. “It may be best for you to avoid it when you move on.” “There’s only one passage out of here that doesn’t go through Guarsky, and I don’t want to take it,” Tracer answered. “Nopony gets through those tunnels and lives. It’s a deathtrap.” But not for those ponies with a Guide,” Nopony pressed. “And we have one of those right here.” “I don’t want to put my trust in-!” Tracer began, and then stopped to look back at me. I glared at him; he’d been about to say he didn’t trust a pony like me. A pony who could do those weird things that nopony else was able to do. Read a Guide without learning about it, fight anomalies without training or warning. Perfect. My own protector didn’t know whether to trust me, and I wasn’t sure if I could trust myself. He seemed mollified by my expression, and he let out a small sigh. “I’m sorry Lockbox. I didn’t mean to insinuate-” “I know what you meant,” I said in a low voice. “Do you think I’m one of those freaks too, Tracer?” “No,” the Ranger said quietly. “No, I don’t. I just don’t think that that tunnel is safe enough for us to take the risk of walking through, that’s all. It’d be better if we went to the surface. Trotsky here has plenty of access...” “No!” Sunny Side said, loud enough to make me jump. “No, I... don’t think the surface is a good idea either... I’m not going back up there.” Tracer took one look at my friend’s wings and nodded. Sunny hung his head in shame. “Right. So we have the choice of dying one way or another,” I piped up. “That guard said they aren’t supposed to welcome Rangers.” Tracer shook his head and led us towards the other end of the station, passing by ponies who spoke in low voices and ignored us. “I doubt Trotsky will do anything towards us. They live alongside the bandits. They don’t work for them. And the bandits know the Trotsky ponies are useful enough that harassing them is useless.” “How so?” I asked. “In about ten minutes, you’ll see,” Nopony said. “Come, we should find a place to stand with the others-” I heard a rattle of gunfire, up a large flight of stairs that I realized led up to- “The surface?” Sunny asked, gasping. Nopony else seemed worried or even noticed the sound of combat not far away. “This station is exposed to the surface?” Tracer nodded. “The hermetic seals that should’ve closed up the passages above suffered a near direct hit during the War. Blew the whole station above wide open. There’s a lot of side tunnels around these stations, yet these ponies are pushed right up against the tracks in the lowest levels... The upper rooms are toxic due to radiation and the poison outside. So with that and their doors open to whatever the hell wanders in... they stand constant guard right here. An important existence, but a sad one too. Nopony bothers them, nopony bothers to help them.” “That explains why so many ponies here are sickly,” I observed quietly, scuffing my hoof. These poor ponies were in a constant struggle for survival, even worse than my Exiperia... no doors, no seals, no nothing between them and the horrors above! They were all slowly being eaten alive by the poison that wafted in from above, and nopony could be bothered to help them close off the gap. The thought of being so vulnerable made me shiver. It was almost like the plantations, but worse... pressed constantly by mutants and the radiation that leaked into their home. It was then I noticed something I hadn’t before: there were almost no children here. Poor things couldn’t even find the resources to start families... “Who lives here?” I wondered. “Transients, castaways, ponies with nowhere else to go,” Tracer answered. “They find camaraderie here they can’t get elsewhere, and even if the rest of the Metro tries not to notice them, they do something vital. If it weren’t for these ponies, this whole station, this whole stretch of the Metro, would be overrun in days. One of the main tunnels leading in from the Ring would be cut off. Everypony knows it, but they don’t acknowledge it because, hell, who has the time to help out some poor bastards who can’t shut their own gates? The Guild of Magic and Hoofsa occasionally send shipments of supplies so the guard here is kept up, but the only lives on the line are Trotsky ponies. The advantage of this place is, we can just walk up and out to the surface from here, and avoid the deathtrap near Guarsky-” “Please...” Sunny moaned, suddenly looking pale himself. “I’d rather face bandits than go up there again.” “We won’t go up there again,” I decided firmly, supporting my friend with a hoof on his shoulder. “The surface is as much a deathtrap as Guarsky... we’ll try to sneak past them. I don’t even want to know what’s down this other tunnel you keep talking about...” “Nopony does,” Nopony answered. “I’ve studied it for years. It’s what I call a dead-end tunnel. Every so often, ponies go in... and they never come out the other end.” /-/-/-/ And so we decided to rest here for what it was worth, until we figured out what our next move would be. Tracer, being a Ranger, was all but obligated to stand a shift with the guards while the station “went dark.” Sunny Side and I volunteered. The process was like a well-oiled machine. At nine o’clock sharp, the lights were dimmed to avoid attracting attention from more mutants. Ponies that weren’t doing anything huddled even closer together, shops were closed, weak points were quickly boarded up by the unicorns, and guards came out of the woodwork. I heard the squealing of gates farther up the tunnels being hauled shut. Almost everypony armed themselves as the non-combatants gathered near the tracks... and Tracer led us up the main stairway, through the small gate in the barricade the Trotsky ponies had thrown up haphazardly at the top. I could already taste the faint, acrid stench of tainted air as we wormed our way through the tunnels that once funneled ponies underground to the trains below. Many of them were almost completely blocked off by welded sheet metal and twisted rebar made into imposing spikes that pointed outward, and I saw a few guardponies manning these sorry posts. A miserable looking colt equipped only with a gasmask, a Mule submachine gun, and the clothes on his back looked up with eyes that were far too old for his age. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen. He coughed and retched painfully as we passed, his already thin voice a lifeless echo through the filters of his mask. Living in this station with this air meant he’d die an early death from disease. But what could we do? It wasn’t like there was a cure for all of this. I tried not to let the guilt get to me, the knowledge that my home station was paramount, yet here ponies fought and died every day simply by dint of where they lived... at least in Exiperia we could comfort ourselves that creatures had to attack us directly, and we were a little more secure behind our great gates and barricades. “Gasmasks,” Tracer said, and we slipped ours on as we came to the most forbidding part of Trotsky Freehaven. We came into a large, rectangular space that might once have been a stairway or the like for escalators, but now was just the end point of a giant hole in the ground. Before us was a massive tangle of metal and rock and dirt illuminated by a dozen sprite-lights and two big spotlights, which flickered and buzzed with intermittent power. The debris, I saw, was the result of a huge cave-in that went up a long slope to a great big hole at the surface about eight meters up. The very top was shrouded in pitch blackness, and I felt a great shiver of fear as I looked at that gaping abyss above, from which anything and everything could pour in. I imagined a horrible tide of rats and Dark Ones, choking even this large tunnel as they swept into the Metro, nothing to stop them... except a large contingent of guardponies at the base of debris slope, with two gun emplacements in ramshackle fortifications. Guns, ammo, and sandbags were in abundance. “Back at the beginning, the debris was enough to deter most monsters,” Tracer said quietly as he led us to the solemn, thin line of guards, the frighteningly permeable barrier between the station and death. “But eventually some dug through. Unicorns keep repairing the traps and the blockades, but the mutants are never restful. Eventually the blockades are dug through, the traps wear out or get used up. And when some get through-” “Others always follow,” Sunny Side murmured. “Ah, more meat for the grinder!” announced the stocky leader of the rag-tag group of ponies, a surprisingly well-fed looking earth pony. His vivid, bright orange mane and dark caramel pelt was a stark contrast to the other ponies around him. “Just in time for the show to start. We’re already taking bets on how big the bastards will be tonight.” “This is awful,” Sunny Side murmured, looking up at the gaping wound in the Metro, a place where the infections could seep in. Monsters and radiation alike... “Why can’t you just blow the whole thing up?” “You don’t think we’ve tried?” the lead guard answered. “They’ll find a way in. They always do. And an explosion big enough to cave the whole area in will permanently damage this part of the tracks, and there’s few enough safe passages around here already. There are other punctures up and down this stretch of tunnel, which is why we have to close the side gates too. We get visitors every night, you see, and it’s best if they mostly come here, where we can see them.” “What’s the situation so far?” Tracer asked. The guard looked impressed. “Oh, a Ranger! We might not lose anypony tonight. Come here, sit down. Name’s Red Delicious. You can call me either one, cause they’re both true. We’ve got Celestia knows how many bastards clogging the waterworks tonight... but a couple of our unicorns have spotted one or two sneaky little tunnels the mutants have been digging.” He looked up as the spotlights swam over the slope that led outside. There was a sharp whistle, and it made me look up in alarm, but there was nothing there. False contact. “We’ll be standing guard here tonight,” Tracer announced. “But I am on a mission, and must be moving on at dawn.” “Understandable. Nopony but Trotsky ponies stay in Trotsky!” Red Delicious said with a deep, bellowing laugh. As he turned away, we began to take up positions, ready for a long, deadly night. We stared and sat and waited at the base of that huge, silent, awful slope, with only a few spare words exchanged between us. I didn’t get to know the ponies around me very well, and they didn’t seem interested in talking too much. But even in the lack of conversation, there were no complaints. No pointless worrying. In fact, after the first hour and no contacts, it became rather relaxing. I felt like I did back at Exiperia, standing guard in one of the tunnels at the three hundred meter mark, near the gates that kept us safe, speaking in low tones with others at the barricades about nothing in particular. But those nights had been soured by fear, as they were now. The tense, horrible expectation of looking into the dark and being uncertain what could appear. These ponies didn’t look tense or fearful like the ones at Exiperia. No, these ponies knew for a fact that something was coming. The fear and the worry had been chiseled away, bit by bit, until they were just tired and despondent. And they did this every day at nine o’clock sharp, waiting quietly as the radiation from above slowly chiseled away at their insides. I wondered, vaguely, how much my chances for mutation or hair loss was being increased by standing here. My geiger counter was clicking, spiking every so often, and eventually one of the other guards told me to go put it somewhere quiet; they all knew there was radiation and toxins here, no need to be reminded every click. I took up post next to a bored looking earth pony sitting with some others. Sunny Side was exercising, flapping around in slow circles under the low circle. I could tell he was tense; being this close to the surface and that great open sky must have been a temptation he worked hard to ignore. But I saw Tracer keeping an eye on him, and felt somewhat reassured. The group I joined welcomed me in that way that everypony welcomes a stranger they have no strong feelings about: I just sat down in the midst of them, and gradually they grew used to my presence enough to speak. “Hello. My name is Green Bow,” said my temporary companion. He didn’t have a mane; it had all fallen out, and his teeth were a sickly yellow. His cutie mark was a faded gramophone, for what that was worth. “Lockbox.” I nodded. “Right. Over there is Red Bow and Blue Bow, and that one’s Skip. We don’t really bother with fancy names here.” “Of course.” “Do you remember the trader from Glimmer Station?” Green Bow asked the others. “No,” said Red Bow. “I’m more concerned about that news of the cultists just outside our own fucking gates.” He wasn’t red, and his cutie mark wasn’t a bow but a pair of scissors, but I supposed in a station like this, where you just sat and waited for death, you learned to stop caring what a cutie mark really meant. I felt sick. “I heard it was something called the Cult of the World!” Skip piped up. He was a unicorn with a peculiar, smaller than average horn, and still had most of his hair, but he was just as skinny as the rest. “That’s Wyrm, you idiot,” muttered Blue Bow, and the dour earth pony looked at me from under his gasmask. “What about you? You fought them, right? What were they like? Think they’ll come here? Aunt Buttercup’s probably having a fit about it, that depot had most of her northern fighting power.” “Good, screw that bitch,” said Green Bow. “They still know they can’t occupy our station. We’ll fight for it, and then they’ll have to deal with the radiation just like us.” “There’s no way to leave?” I wondered. “Seal the tunnels and go elsewhere?” “Why?” Green Bow asked. “Everypony that lives here knows the risk. It’s a death sentence, what damn place in the Metro isn’t? We have nowhere else to go. We came here bcause it’s the only place... and, at least here, we can say we’re doing something with our lives.” “Freehaven gives everypony a chance,” Blue Bow muttered. “It’s not like any of us have reason to be nasty to each other here... we all know how it’s gonna end.” A whistle shrieked. As one we sprang to our hooves, watching the searchlights swinging slowly back and forth over the slope. “At those pipes! A little to the left!” one of the guards shouted. I watched as the lights swung downwards, our eyes straining. My mind’s eye conjured a horrible menagerie of shapes and creatures out of the twisted metal... but then one of the piles moved, and a horrible, bony shape twitched as the light glossed over it. “There!” The small space erupted with noise that echoed through the chamber, a dozen guns opening fire at once. The debris before us erupted with slithering, snake-like movement, and more gangly monstrosities from my nightmares crawled out, seeing the element of surprise was gone. I couldn’t see them clearly at this distance; they were all gangly limbs and long, coiling tails, with sickeningly huge, unblinking eyes adapted to the gloom of the city. We cut them down as they came, leaping and hooting and hollering like deformed apes, cracking their knobby limbs and bursting their fish-like, unblinking eyes. I couldn’t even fathom what creatures they might have been once descended from. They were sickening to look at. I was happy to destroy them. “Cease fire!” Tracer roared over the cacophony. The guns ceased. We waited for the dust and smoke to clear. One of the creatures’ bodies slowly pitched forward and collapsed at the foot of the barricade with a squeaking groan, like air escaping from a small leak. Its toothy, boxy jaws dribbled with blood and oozed some kind of luminescent saliva. “Goddess, would you look at that,” Green Bow muttered. “We saw these creeps about a week ago. Think they’re related to the howlers.” “No special powers that we could see,” Tracer said. “Must just have been curious little bastards.” “Alarm! Alarm!” a new voice cried from back within the station. A pegasus appeared at the door. “The southeast tunnels are under attack! Big wave this time! They dug around the last barricades!” “Lockbox, Sunny!” Tracer shouted, and we both ran to his side. Red Delicious and two others followed. I couldn’t see Nopony. He’d come when he was needed, I supposed. We charged back through the cramped tunnel spaces as we threaded our way through abandoned kiosks and waiting areas to the southern end of the station, past another guard post where a small reserve waited with bated breath. Down the hall, gunfire was barking and cracking. “What are you waiting for?!” Tracer shouted at those who lingered. “It’s not like you’re going to die any slower back here!” Shamed into action, the remaining ponies followed us to the defensive line, which was a wall of sheet metal reinforced with timber and sandbags, with small openings at the top for gunners who stood on a platform above. We raced around the side to a fortified gate and looked out into the tunnel beyond. I saw a vision of Tartarus. Dead mutants were scattered all around a small knot of guards standing bravely just outside the gate. Spent bullets were mixed with blood and gore splashed on the ground. Four ponies had already fallen to the claws and teeth of the horrors and I saw by their pig-like snouts and bat-like claws they were one of the central Metro’s feared enemies: nosalises. Nopony really knew what they were or where they came from. Some postulated they were like shrews or rats, gathering in hordes and swarming through the Metro. But they were everywhere in the deep tunnels, and I could see them boiling up from side tunnels beyond, coming out of the dark like monsters birthed by the shadows. Steeling myself I took up position next to the others and fired into the tide while Sunny Side took to the air, his rifles banging out a constant rhythm of death. Without pause, without shame, without care for their own lives, the nosalises came on. It was just like the attack on Exiperia when we held off the cerberus: fire, reload, fire again. Never mind the smoke and the noise. Just point forward and shoot. Within minutes the tunnel began to clog with bodies of the pig-snouted monsters. We couldn’t hold them off forever, and ponies eventually ran out of bullets. A group of the beasts, hungering for our flesh and relief from whatever it was that chased them here, leaped to the attack while I fumbled to reload. Sunny Side pounced from above, silencing a squealing horror with a knife straight into its neck. Tracer fearlessly stepped forward, flinging two of them away with telekinesis, and then simply punched one of them right in the face. Its nose snapped and the pink, hairless body dropped. At the same time, Tracer levitated his knife and viciously stabbed one in the eye, before stomping on the one whose nose he’d crunched. His assault rifle was reloaded and firing again before I could blink. Still more came at us. “Bastards! Where are they coming from?” thundered Tracer. “They must have dug through further down!” Red Delicious shouted back over the constant gunfire. The ravening horde continued to spill over the bodies of their fellows. “There’s a barricade up ahead... or there was... they must have dug through!” “Then what’s next?” I didn’t hear the last part, as I was too busy with a nosalis leaping at my face. I spun and bucked it in the head, hard. I felt the satisfying snap and ensuing crunch, and the creature crumpled dead at my hooves. No time to gloat. Keep firing. “—but that’s suicide!” Red Delicious finished. “Then I’ll do it,” answered Tracer. “Cherry Bomb! Get the explosives!” I watched another guard turn and run back into the station. In those two minutes between his leaving and his return, the situation grew dire. We had one lull. Just one. It lasted a few seconds until another wave, smaller than the last but no less ferocious, came straight at us. I couldn’t count how many creatures we’d slaughtered by now, but it felt like an entire nest was emptying out at us. Shotguns were tossed down from above, fed into war reins, and put to use. “Running low on ammo!” shouted the guard manning the top of the barricade. “I’m out!” Sunny Side wailed, and dropped onto the ground, going back to his own Mule. Keep firing. Don’t stop killing. Stand firm with the Earth, and let her give you strength. Don’t think about the fear. Let the magic flow and keep your hooves planted, just like Hunter instructed. Celestia, my jaws ached. I had a headache. When was the last time I’d taken this helmet off? My gasmask felt so thick and heavy. Another monster on the right. A short burst will do, don’t worry about more. My vision blurred. In between every last nosalis, every tiny pause between bullets exiting my gun, my body desperately tried to regain control. Those blessed moments of calm, where there was only my heavy, sucking breaths through my filter, and the click of my gun as I fed my final magazine into the chamber. Somehow I found myself off to the right of the melee, seeing one of the guards gored as a bleeding and dying creature leaped on his neck. The pony cried out as bullets ripped into his attacker, and another earth pony tried to drag him to safety. “I’m back! Here! Here!” I only then noticed the pony that had left, Cherry Bomb, was in fact a unicorn. He’d brought a fresh contingent of guards with ammo, who quickly joined their firepower to ours... and a long, strange weapon attached to a large gas tank. I recognized it almost immediately as he set up a tripod with a few flicks of his horn. “Burn these fuckers!” Red Delicious yelled. “Freehaven won’t fall today!” “Let’s kick some snout butt!” Cherry Bomb agreed as he magically pulled the trigger. An enormous gout of flame burst into the tunnel, turning the already hellish environment into a living vision of the Abyss. The heat seared my eyeballs even beneath the cloying, thick cover of my gasmask. The flamethrower did its work, making the nosalis horde draw back with a ghastly wail of dismay. The old ways held true: wild animals would always be afraid of fire. The combined din of our guns and the torrent of sticky, greedy flames forced back the once unstoppable mob. The ensuing moment of silence pounded on my eardrums. My ears rang and my body shook. The entire tunnel was full of smoke and dead bodies, and I found myself thankful for my choking mask. Oh, Luna, these poor ponies dealt with this on a daily basis? “We’re not done!” Tracer bellowed, levitating a small pack Cherry Bomb had brought. “Stay here. I will demolish the tunnels these creatures come from.” “You need help!” I blurted out, without thinking. “I’ll go with you.” “Then I’m going!” Sunny Side spoke up without hesitation. “Fine,” said Tracer. “The rest of you, prepare yourselves. If we fail another team will have to go.” “Celestia guide you, Ranger!” Red Delicious answered, tossing us all a fresh magazine. “If it gets too hot, fall back and we’ll give them another taste of our guns.” I saw Nopony alongside us as we ran down the tunnel, through the broken, scorched bodies of the nosalises, and a few ponies they’d managed to overwhelm. He turned towards me, staring with that sightless gaze from under his gasmask. “I’m proud of you, Lockbox,” he said. How had he gotten here? I hadn’t even seen him during the battle... but the blood on his clothes said he’d pulled his own weight. My mind was quickly distracted as I realized my hasty decision to follow Tracer. And yet, I didn’t feel foolish for volunteering. These ponies gave their lives every day, thankless and stoic, knowing they were there to die because nopony else would accept them. I couldn’t ask them to do more for me than they’d already had without my knowing... perhaps, in some small ways, the Metro was not as hopeless as I’d thought. Perhaps if we could understand each other, we could even begin to help each other. We vanished into the shadows of a side tunnel about ten metres away from the barricade. All around me was the rotten, decayed evidence of other guard posts that’d been set up in days gone by, and overwhelmed one by one until Trotsky’s ponies were pushed up to their final redoubt. I realized, as I ran through that madness, I was seeing a vision of my home in the future. Exiperia, standing alone on the northern frontier, slowly but surely ground to a bloody pulp under an unstoppable mass of mutants. We came to a collapsed section of tunnel, where the ground was covered in dirt and loose stone. The creatures had burrowed all the way through the last tunnel collapse from another cave system above the tunnel, clearing away the entire mess and opening the whole tunnel to use again with almost pony-like intelligence. “They cleared up the entire blockage,” Tracer said, growling. “It’s like these freaks know what they’re doing, opening up the whole stretch for invasion...” The entire ceiling above had been clawed open, their point of entry, and I heard the growls and snuffling snorts of more nosalis as they regrouped virtually above our heads. Beyond I saw only the dark tunnel leading south. If we didn’t seal this hole, this whole line would be at risk from the horde. “Cover me,” said Tracer as he began tossing up the explosives and magically fastening the wires, tossing a few of the bombs up into the hole in the ceiling for good measure. “This is important, now, there’s-” “Behind!” Sunny Side shouted. The ceiling broke open behind us as well, sending rock and concrete crashing down. From the dust spilled the nosalises, met by our paltry resistance of bullets. Nopony himself took up a pistol and fired. Tracer was busy with the explosives, furiously setting wires. I was the only one that noticed the big one coming from behind. From the shadows a monster dropped almost directly in front of me, black and covered in shaggy fur, its mouth a hideous, serrated beak. The others, they weren’t... no notice... no time. Act. Regain control of this senseless journey. I leaped to the attack, put myself directly in the creature’s path and fired. It didn’t slow down as it lumbered towards me, even as my bullets ripped away chunks from its pelt, scattering its blood over the floor. But it chose to face a pony that knew the whole earth anchored him to the ground. This is what I wanted. This is what I knew I was supposed to do: fight to protect the ponies I cared about. These ponies wouldn’t die like Ray Drop. They had their dignity, and these monsters wouldn’t take it from them while I lived. It leaped. I reared up on my hind legs, punching forward with my hooves. As if in slow motion I saw my knife sink into its neck, just behind the jaw. Too bad I’m almost out of bullets. Should’ve listened to Sidewinder and done more scavenging. I cried aloud as the creature’s weight almost bore me down, but I held firm. I was a pony. I was better than this mindless beast. With a mighty heave I threw the squealing monster to the floor. It snapped its beak-like jaws at me, making ugly clacking noises as the bony plates came together. By Celestia, this thing is ugly. I felt another weight on my back. More of the creatures spilled from the ceiling almost right on top of our position. I tried to stand, but I felt claws grab my leg, tug my clothes, jaws snap shut on my back and bear me forward off the pile of dirt. I felt their warm, fetid breath washing over me. Feral, panicking instinct took control and I threw my limbs about with was much strength as I could muster, firing blindly at a blur of swarming, stinking bodies. So this is it? I’m going to die with my guts strewn all over the place? Not how I thought I’d go after all this. I tumbled and rolled onto solid track, the nosalises biting me, biting each other, confused and lawless. I saw Sweet Dreams before I stopped spinning, waiting for me in the black tunnel beyond. Waiting for me to succumb, to die in screaming horror so she could get her revenge, to take me into her bloody grasp and rip open my soul’s throat... Eat you alive... “Lockbox!” Sunny Side screamed, and I’d never heard him sound more fearful. But I didn’t see him coming towards me. I saw only more nosalises, confused for the moment by my gunfire. They milled about, as if unsure what direction to take, but sooner or later they’d notice a kicking, screaming pony in their midst. I didn’t even hear myself screaming, I was so numbed by adrenaline and mind-bending terror of pain and death. “Lockbox! Let go! Damn it! LOCKBOX!” Sunny Side sounded much further away this time. The nosalises must have been driving him back too. “I’m here!” I managed to squeeze out as the nosalises closed in. I kicked one in the face and managed to strike another across the brow with my knife. My gun was dry. Nothing but the strength of the earth. I have a mission. I will not die until its completion! But then, miraculously, I tore free, and ran for my life, away from my fellows. Or rather, I staggered and gasped and flopped, as I felt the creatures leap onto my back again. No, no, no! I won’t go like this! I won’t! But if this is where I was fated to die, I’d do it actually accomplishing something. My final cry tore from my lips. “BURN THEM! DO IT! DO IT NOW!” My world exploded. /-/-/-/ … … … Walk on. A light. So beautiful. So pure. Too weak. Something carried me to it. It felt like hope. Walk on. We have seen you. We will protect you. Green. I saw green. Everywhere. Under my hooves. In the air. Such smells as I’d never known before. I looked up and saw nothing but pure, endless blue beyond. You must see us. You must understand us. As we wish to understand you. To help you... I stood on a lonely path in the woods. A far green country beyond, fearless and expansive. Something else behind me. Something that pulled on my clothes. Tugged at my mane. Tried to draw me back. I took a step forward. Into the light. Into that beaming orb above. The backwards pull grew more insistent. To feel the Sun... and see the Sky... walk on... I walked on. Towards paradise. The tugging from behind fell away. Not important. Or was it? I felt something sorrowful as it stopped pulling on me. I wanted to turn my head and look. Something stopped me. Let us guide you... and protect you... protect all of you... Walk on... I stopped. I heard a flutter of wings behind me. Walk on... I turned. She stood there, still shockingly beautiful, pure as spring water, butter-yellow pelt shining in the sunlight, pink mane gently framing her soft, rounded features. She stood at the path in the woods. Her eyes were crystal clear from here, shining with some inner light, something she knew and wished to tell me... looking directly at me... Something prevented me from going back. I was stuck between purity and paradise. Walk on... She waited for me. /-/-/-/ My eyes opened. I saw another fire in front of me. Too bright. I closed my eyes again. When I opened them, I saw darkness, interspersed by smooth lines over my vision. My mane was singed. All of my possessions were gone. It felt so strange to not have that familiar weight on my back. Parched. I was parched. Starving for water. “Water,” I croaked, and reached out. I felt bruised and burned all over. Strange... I thought I’d be vaporized when the explosion went off. But these wounds were fresh, and I felt so hungry... My hoof was stopped by cold, metal ribs. Straight, smooth lines. A cage. Not another cage... not another stop... I didn’t want to rest like this. “Mmn... somepony...” I whispered. “Lockbox.” I knew that voice. Through the shadows and despair already clouding my mind, that burning anger I’d felt before cut through. It pierced my grogginess, dragging me to the world of the waking. I turned my head, propping my body up against the cold bars. “Sidewinder,” I hissed. “Where are you, traitor?” “About two doors down.” I glanced left. I couldn’t see anything, though it seemed we were in a long, rectangular room. I saw the shadows of catwalks spanning overhead. More cages surrounded me, some with pony-shaped lumps in them. Somepony was crying somewhere. Two cages down, I spotted one very familiar pair of cloudy, unscrupulous grey eyes. “I knew there was something about you,” Sidewinder said. “I just knew it.” “You... you left me... left me to die!” I rasped. Oh, for some water, just to make my throat smooth again. Sidewinder grinned toothily, pressing his lips against his cage. “I never said you couldn’t follow me. You’re the one who stayed behind. So in a way, it’s kind of your fault.” “If I weren’t in this cage...” “Oh, don’t worry. They’ll take us out of here soon enough. Probably sell us as slaves to Hoofsa or the Monarchy. Probably shoot us for sport. If we’re lucky, they’ll let us shovel shit for the rest of our lives.” “Where are we?” “My friend, we’re in the belly of the beast. Fort Guarsky. Seems a patrol went to investigate some huge explosion along the Blue Line. And they brought you back.” I groaned aloud. If this was the Metro’s way of spitting on me, it was doing a good job. My friends were gone... my things... my meager collection. Ray Drop’s picture... The Guide! Hunter’s talisman! “I have to get out of here!” I said with unexpected loudness that tore my scratchy throat. I devolved into a fit of coughing, which made me cough more, which made me cough more. Just a drop of water, please... “Look at it this way,” Sidewinder said, though I’m not sure if he was consoling or mocking me. “You’re living a charmed life! Only somepony who’s really special would live through what you have only to have life kick you in the balls.” “How’d you end up here?” I wondered. The question seemed incredibly important for some reason. “I thought it’d be a nice getaway after all that’s happened... then I played some cards. Really, is it my fault if a few end up my sleeve now and then? I was drunk, he was drunk, you never know where your cards will end up! Long story short, I pissed one of them off and he had the leverage to toss me in here. But look at us now! Peas in a pod. Or more appropriately, ponies in peril. Really, what are the odds we’d run across each other here? I told you you were special, Lockbox, I told you!” “Sidewinder.” “I promise, if they do make us shovel the latrines, you can use my lucky spade. I get to ride the wheelbarrow after we empty it though.” “Sidewinder...” “I mean the smell can’t be that bad. I guess eventually you get used to it. At least it’ll be pony poo, not the mean green stuff mutants usually spit out... speaking of which, I once saw a mutant that spits out its poo instead of shitting it normally!” “Sidew-eeeHAGCK!” “That’s a nasty cough you got there, Lockbox. You should get that looked at.” I quieted down, hoping he’d shut up so I could ponder my fate and how to get out of here. I didn’t get long. A door opened, spilling light over us. I shaded my eyes and watched shadowy ponies descend a set of stairs, onto the catwalks. The other prisoners kept their heads down. Even Sidewinder had gone quiet. Only I dared to stare up at my captors. I’d killed bandits by the dozen by now... should I really be afraid of them now? They stopped directly over my cage. The one in the middle, a unicorn that had the shape of a mare, lit their horn with a harsh purple glare. My eyes widened as I beheld the striking, blood red pelt, the short burgundy mane framing bright red eyes that stared at me like a pony would their garbage. The mare, who on closer inspection looked only a few years older than myself, glared down with a scowl that could make a thumper cringe. I knew her, too, remembered shouted threats and bloodthirsty anger outside the tunnels of Bucklyn... Suddenly, I felt very afraid. “Welcome to the Fort,” she snarled. “My name is Ruby Red. You can forget where you came from and where you were going. All you need to know is that like everypony else here, you are now officially my bitch.”

redsquirrel456

446

Original Character,Crossover,Adventure,Dark,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

My Little Metro

After Doomsday forces ponies underground, a lone colt braves the Stalliongrad metro system to save his people from an unknown threat.

hiatus

<p>The Metro tunnels of Stalliongrad shelter the last remnants of ponykind from the ravages of the Apocalypse. Beneath the earth, ponies struggle to survive against mutants, radiation, and each other. But when an unstoppable threat emerges from the darkness of the Metro, one pony must brave the shadows to save not just his home, but the very existence of his people.</p>

teen

2012-02-13T09:40:30+00:00

2012-02-13T09:40:30+00:00

My Little Metro: Chapter 12 “Plans were made to go wrong.” I felt the hope I’d gathered in my short time with the inspiring ponies of Freehaven slipping through my hooves. Without my clothes and barding, and only the thin steel of my cage sheltering me from Ruby Red’s baleful gaze, I felt naked and vulnerable, which was no doubt her intent. The light from above framed her body in such a way that she seemed larger and more powerful than she really was, and the fact that she was a unicorn wasn’t lost on me. I felt too shocked to look away, and the gravity of my situation hadn’t sunk in. I must not have looked frightened enough, because after only a few seconds of my staring, her eyes narrowed and she pointed a hoof right at me. “What the fuck are you looking at, trash?” she barked, and her horn glowed brighter. I heard the tell-tale shimmer of magic as the top of my cage was pulled aside, and then something tugged at my hooves. A purple glow had enshrouded them, spreading quickly over my whole body. Without warning I was yanked into the air, in spite of my sudden struggles. Ruby Red levitated me up to the catwalk, letting me get a good look at her face. In fact, she wasn’t ugly in the traditional sense at all. It was the way she looked at me that was hideous. Thwack. Her hoof met my face at bone-breaking speed, sending me spinning end over end in mid-air. The entire left side of my face erupted in throbbing pain, feeling like every nerve ending had been squeezed until they popped. Before I could recover a brutal buck to my chest sent me flying across the room, driving the wind from my lungs. If I wasn’t awake before, I was now. Ruby Red didn’t give a moment to recover, yanking me back forward until my stomach collided with her outstretched hoof. That single punch seemed to shatter my insides. My eyes bulged and I felt what little contents I had in my stomach shoved up into my throat and out my mouth, splattering over the bottom of my cage. Even then Ruby Red wasn’t done with me; she slammed me onto the catwalk and gestured to her two lackeys, who came forward and commenced a brutal beatdown. I could do nothing except curl up and protect my head as I squeaked and whimpered, unable to draw a breath. I was still so thirsty; the world spun around me and I could only just register Ruby Red screaming in my ear. “You do not look anypony in the eyes! EVER! Understand?! You do not speak! You do not think! You do nothing until you are told!” I didn’t know if she wanted me to agree or not. I couldn’t, not through the flurry of hooves that drove spikes of pain up and down my body, stomping my legs, crushing my back, thumping my ribs. On and on it seemed to go, until even the pain seemed to drift away and I was left curled on the floor, waiting in dull silence for it to end. Just water. Water was all I wanted. Just a drop... I didn’t care how long I was beaten if I could just get my thirst quenched. Then, abruptly, they let up. Ruby Red leaned down close enough that I felt her breath on my brow. It made my skin crawl. My eyes rose up to look into hers. “Wrong,” she said, and planted her hoof on the back of my head, driving my face into the catwalk with a loud bang, hard enough to make my vision spin. I blinked rapidly, trying to focus. What did she want me to do? I’d do it. Just get me some water... She pushed my head up again. I felt something warm dribbling from my nose. I didn’t even mean to do it this time. I was looking around, all over, unfocused, and my gaze brushed hers. I was dizzy from- “WRONG!” My face met metal again, and this time I clenched my eyes shut and kept them that way. My ears were still ringing from her barking shout, which I was sure she magically enhanced like in the tunnels around Bucklyn. She lifted my head once more, and I still kept my eyes shut. My lip had been split open, and I dared to try and lick the blood off. I wasn’t punished for that at least. I was just so thirsty I found it hard to care about anything else... “You’re a slow learner,” I heard Ruby’s husky, malicious voice whisper in my ear. “I like slow learners. We spend so much more time together.” Just for spite she slammed my face into the catwalk again. “You pathetic wad of scum. I don’t know who you think you are, but you better lose this attitude of yours. I don’t like the way you look at me. Staring is rude. Got it?” Whack. Into the catwalk again. My nose felt dull and brittle. One more good hit like that and I was sure it’d snap. “I got your name!” Her hoof thumped into my already aching ribs. I whimpered and curled into a ball. I’d broken a lot of bones already, and all at once. I didn’t want to repeat the experience so soon. “I got your number! You can cry all you want but I will not have mercy on you! You don’t deserve anything except my hoof in your face! You best unfuck yourself right quick, you little shit, or I’ll personally rip out your eyeballs and shove them down your throat! You think I won’t? You think I won’t?!” She lifted me with magic once again and threw me over the edge of the catwalk. My thigh I collided hard with the edge of the cage as I flopped in like so much dead weight, landing on the small puddle of my own greasy vomit. Somehow that last crash into the metal floor hurt even more than the beating I’d received earlier, like my body decided just then to wake up and notice it was in pain. The cage slammed shut above me with a deafening, ominous clang, trapping me once more with my own thoughts. Ruby Red’s voice bellowed out over the expanse of the room, echoing, ringing in my ears, its constant noise reminding us that we were trapped. No escape. “If any of you pieces of crap even think of acting up, you will get the same treatment and worse! Because of this little act of insubordination, you all will receive no rations for the next three days! If I find anything more than water going in your mouths, I’ll rip out your bellies and get it back myself!” They began to walk out. I heard Ruby Red’s voice filter back to me before they left. The empty silence (even the crying pony from before had stopped) made it easier to hear. “I don’t like the way that one looks at me. Keep him close. If he acts up I’ll deal with him myself.” The door slammed shut, and murky darkness returned. I listened for Sidewinder, but he’d gone quiet. The crying pony sniffled again. Water... /-/-/-/ Everything ached. Ruby Red’s beating had done a number on me. How many hours had passed already? I didn’t know. There were no clocks. No dimming of the already feeble lights. Just the smell of my dry vomit, the blood in my nose, and the quiet sniffling of somepony a few cages to my right. I think that lack of knowing how much time had gone by was the worst part. “Lockbox,” Sidewinder said, breaking through my haze of self-pity. “You alive over there?” “As much as I can be,” I croaked through a parched throat, shifting to sit on my belly. The vomit in my hair crackled and flaked. I knew I wasn’t going to get a bath anytime soon. Might as well enjoy the irony of being as disgusting on the outside as I felt on the inside. I knew I felt guilty, somewhere back there. But it was buried under layers of frigid anger. Everywhere I turned, ponies, the ponies I wanted to save, hurt each other. Hurt me. At least Sunny Side was still alive. I wondered if, due to that blind loyalty friends have, he’d try to rescue me. I hoped he wouldn’t. He’d die in the attempt, unless Tracer and Nopony helped. And since Tracer was probably the one who’d almost blown me up, and Nopony was inscrutable, I didn’t count on them much. Instead I hoped Sunny would go home. Find Starry Gaze, and admit his feelings. Live the life I should’ve lived, instead of charging out like a madpony and careening through haunted tunnels. “Stop thinking so much Lockbox, this wasn’t your fault,” Sidewinder said, rattling his cage to get my attention. I got the uncomfortable feeling he’d actually just read my mind. “Eventually your brain will get full of thoughts and collapse under its own weight. Nothing’s worse than a bloated brain. Except if you fry it with mushrooms. Just sear it on the outside, try to ignore the squishy texture...” “Sidewinder,” I said quietly to the dark, “if I could get to you now, I’d be wringing your throat.” What was one more kill on my growing list? “Mmm. You’d have to catch me first. I guess I can’t blame you, but I’d still have to kill you.” “Will you two shut up?!” a new voice barked from my left. A stallion’s voice. “You!” he said, shouting towards me. “Haven’t you caused enough trouble? It’s your fault we’ll be starving for the next three days!” “Hey, don’t blame the new guy,” Sidewinder spoke up. “Ruby Red’s a bitch. If all little Lockbox did was curl up on the floor and cry, she’d still take our rations. She’ll find a reason to be cruel, don’t you worry.” “I wasn’t talking to you, stalker!” the other colt snapped. I didn’t feel like intervening and stayed quiet, listening to the two of them go back and forth. I crawled away from my stinking puddle, leaning against the cold bars. The cold pushed right through my furry coat, chilling me but keeping me awake and my mind off the pain. Dry blood had caked over several parts of my face, and my nose made a disturbing whistle every time I breathed through it. The cuts and bruises were all keenly felt, as if they were each their own major injury. They clamored for attention as I closed my eyes, trying to find some escape. Where was the yellow haired, pink maned pony of my dreams? The thoughts of home that were supposed to comfort me? I latched onto a memory of the gentle lights of Exiperia, hopeful and sputtering in the shadows. I clutched it to my breast and let it seep inside. Since I lived, I couldn’t wallow. I had to put my thoughts to escape. I felt sick and disoriented, and surprised to be alive, but I hadn’t forgotten what I was here to do. I’d been put on this path for a reason, and to do it I couldn’t give in to despair. But getting worked up wouldn’t get me anywhere right now. I just had to wait for an opportunity and get out then. Perhaps Sidewinder would... no, that damn fool would sell me out for a hoofful of bullets. I couldn’t depend on anypony but myself in here. “Hello,” a voice rasped to my right. I turned and saw an older earth stallion in the cage next to me, greyed and stooped, strangely slumped for how thin he was. The wispy remains of his mane looked like cobwebs glued to his skull. He seemed to have had a lifetime’s worth of secrets ripped out of him, leaving nothing but this bony husk. Perhaps I’d look the same if all the secrets I’d locked away were torn from me. “Hello,” I answered, since I had nothing better to do. “My name is Overdrive. But the ponies here call me Bad Omen,” he said, and when he grinned I saw he was missing several teeth. “So, what are you in for? Tell me and I’ll tell you.” “Why associate with a bad omen?” I asked. I didn’t need or want to get too attached to ponies here; I’d be leaving soon anyway. “Misery loves company,” the old pony wheezed. “And besides, it looks like you’ve had your share of bad luck already. It’d be a feat for me to add to it.” “Maybe,” I said quietly. “Maybe you just don’t know what I’ve been through.” “Well, you can tell old Overdrive. Not like the bandits here really care. They won’t be coming to me for information. I’m on the way out, as it is... been in this cage for... oh... I don’t remember. Must be over two weeks. Right? Right...” He sucked on his gums, scuffing the floor with his hoof. “They’re probably just gonna let me die here. Figure sooner or later they’ll stop feedin’ me. I’m too old an’ decrepit to do much work.” “I’m sorry,” I said in a whisper, not knowing what else to say. This was the Metro. Blind cruelty was around every corner. Damn these bandits. I felt the anger well up again. I wasn’t angry that bad things were happening. The anger came from the fact that it was ponies that were responsible. Ponies like the ones back home in Exiperia. How did ponies separated by only a matter of kilometers turn out so different? Were these the ones I wanted to save, to preserve? No! What kind of Equestria could be made from ponies that did this to their brothers? I knew what Hunter would do if he was here, in this cage. He’d find the quickest way out and escape, and kill as many of these bastards on the way as he could. “You don’t look like a normal wanderer,” Omen whispered. “Got too many of your teeth. And the brightness in your eyes. You’re still young.” “Old enough. Nothing stays pure long in the Metro.” “Mmm, what I’d give to believe otherwise,” the old pony grunted. “Listen, I’ve been here a while. In the ‘service business’ you could say. Started out after I sold myself to Hoofsa to earn my keep. Changed hooves a few times. ” “Willingly?” I gasped. “But how could you do that to yourself?” My mind flew back to the dark tunnels of Trotsky Freehaven, more ponies I’d left behind in my mad quest. They’d get no help from me or any other pony, yet they chose to live on the verge of death because they had nothing else to hope for. The injustice made me wish I had my gun. My face fell as pragmatism replaced indignation. Omen saw the change in my expression, and smiled sadly. “Yep, that’s the long an’ short of it. Nowhere to go. Nopony to take me in. Bad luck, or fate, or what have you, saw fit to land me here. Where I’ll end the rest of my days.” “Who... were you before?” I asked. “Nopony special, like most,” he answered. “My mother sold herself to get by and got stuck with me. Heh, all but dumped me soon as I could put my own food in my mouth. Didn’t have the self-esteem to hold my own in one of the gangs. No real useful skills to offer free stations. Too much pride to be cannon fodder for the Republic or the Monarchy. So here I am.” I almost gagged, wishing the old coot would stop talking. My thoughts were bleak enough without the horror of the Metro making itself personal like this. A pony who was born worthless, treated the same way, and was going to die alone. Why fight for a world like this? “I hate to think what a cutie mark you acquired...” I said without thinking. “Heh, that’s the damndest thing. It’s a screw! See?” The old pony turned his flank to me. Sure enough, a single screw was emblazoned on the shaggy fur. “I got it one day when I was fixin’ something up for a master of mine back in my Hoofsa days. Don’t even remember what. Funny, never did do much with screws after that day.” “It means you’re screwed. Like the rest of us,” Sidewinder said with a disturbing chuckle. I closed my eyes tight, folding my ears back. I didn’t want to hear what this pony had to say about a wasted life. But I knew I had to listen. It was my special talent to keep things safe and secret. Including stories. “Let me give you some advice,” Omen said. “They’re probably gonna assign you and that other earth pony over there to a work detail sooner or later. Either that or keep you in the rec room for passing out drinks. One thing I’ve learned from all these years of servitude is keep your Celestia-damned head down. Literally an’ figuratively.” “I’m getting out of here sooner or later,” I said with all my confidence. “My friends will be here soon to rescue me. I’m being protected, apparently.” Though the voice in my dreams had yet to show me it was competent in that area. “That’s what they all say... some of them make it, some don’t,” Omen replied, which I supposed was generous of him. “But while you’re here, keep yourself to yourself. Don’t go lookin’ ponies in the eye like you did with Ruby Red. You may think you’re worth somethin’, but they sure as hell don’t. So act like you agree.” “You’re helping me quite a bit for somepony who’s going to die soon.” “Nothin’ to lose, huh?” he said with a half-toothless grin. I was astounded. Even in this dank pit, a pony could show what kindness he could. But the good ponies rotted in the filth while evil ones seemed to reign supreme. Ray Drop was eaten alive while Sixpence roamed free. Hoofsa and the Monarchy had tanks, while Exiperia faced extinction. Damn it all. What made this worth it beyond my home’s survival, if we were going to die or be absorbed by a stronger station someday? I squeezed my eyes shut. This pony didn’t deserve this. None of them did. Or did they? Who was to say other horrible monsters hiding in pony skin weren’t stuck here with us by fate and circumstance? “Give... give me something,” I whispered. “Anything. A keepsake. Do you have one?” Omen sucked his gums again, fixing me with a strange stare. “Whaddaya want one of those for?” “Because you’re going to die soon, and I don’t think you want all that’s left of you to just rot on the floor of that cage.” Omen muttered to himself, looking to one side as though another pony sat next to him, arguing points and counterpoints. He’s making fun of me! No, no, it’s a good idea, why not take a chance? No reason to trust him, he’s in the same boat... and yet... I watched the old coot have his insane little argument, and then he turned back to me. “Well. It ain’t gonna help either of us. I’ve already given you my words. S’all a lot of ponies have in the Metro.” “There must be something.” The old pony raised his belly, which I saw hadn’t even been stretched to fullness in a long, long time. My own stomach turned, and I wondered if I was looking at a vision of myself in the future. I pushed that thought far, far from my mind. Omen plucked up a small metal screw and tossed it my way. “Thought about shoving that in a guard’s eye, once upon a time. But never worked up the courage. Guess it’s my fate to fade instead of burn out.” I plucked it up and hid it in my mane. It was far too small to be used as anything but what it was meant to be: a reminder. Something for my box. “I’ll keep it as long as I can,” I promised. Omen laughed at me, and even that seemed to tire him out. “There’s millions of screws in the world, boy. I’m sure any one will do. Just mind you don’t forget the reasons behind it.” Tears began to stream from his eyes with abandon. Removing that screw seemed to have unplugged some barrier he’d been using to hold back such emotion, and I found black humor in that so much moisture was held up inside such a dried up pony. “Just mind you don’t forget,” he muttered. I nodded and turned away. I liked to think, as I closed my eyes, if the yellow pegasus were here she’d be smiling at me. /-/-/-/ “Up.” My eyes opened. Ruby Red stood over my cage, glaring down at me. The same two bruisers from before flanked her, eyeing me with just as much contempt as she. Before I could even move, the top of the cage was yanked away and her magic enveloped me again, and pulled up onto the catwalk. I closed my eyes, but one of the bruisers still punched me in the face before I landed. I kept my eyes firmly closed. At least this way, I didn’t have to lower my head like I actually respected these mongrels. “Up.” I stood up and felt something clamp down around my neck, and then yank forward. I gagged and my eyes shot open. One of the bruisers had me on a leash and jerked on it to make me move. Ruby Red took up position behind me on my left flank. “Count yourself lucky. You’re not being put to work yet,” Ruby Red snarled. “Can I come?” Sidewinder asked. “Shut up!” Ruby Red barked, and kept walking. Apparently she was in a hurry and had no time to waste on frivolous cruelty. We went up some stairs and into a long, cold hallway lit with red emergency lights. “We’ve got questions for you, trash,” Ruby Red said in a growl. I’m going to kill you. Somehow. “I normally wouldn’t even care. But Auntie Buttercup herself wants to ask you a few questions.” This is twice now I’ve met you. Twice you’ve made my life hell. That’s more than anypony else out here. I’m going to kill you. “Eyes down, trash!” She walloped me on the back of the head, with such force I sprawled onto the floor. Her magic yanked me up and kept me moving. We passed through a series of unused offices, though out of one of the empty rooms another pony poked his head, rubbing his eyes. Probably just finished a nap. He was dirty and tough, like a vision of Sidewinder if he didn’t even care to crack a joke, but he gave Ruby Red a respectful and demure bow as she passed by. I could hear the sound of raucous music and talking coming from nearby, and another door was pushed open. I squinted against the sudden, bright lights that invaded my vision, and beyond I perceived a wide-open space filled with many ponies. I wasn’t given time to contemplate; Ruby Red yanked me along. The room was split into three levels slanting down to the floor, and we skirted around the top tier of catwalks. Stretching from the first to second were huge, semi-circular machines... giant turbines, perhaps once used to power this facility. Now just places for bandits to perch on while they went about their debauched business. A few pegasi took advantage of the open space and circled high above the revelry. Sunny Side would love to have a room this huge. Another instance of the Metro being unfair; it figured the ponies who didn’t deserve it got one of the best living spaces for pegasi. The ponies scattered all over the floor mocked the very idea of organization. The only thing that seemed to unite them was that they all hadn’t yet devolved to the point of shooting each other. This building had once been used to treat water and sewage for the city of Stalliongrad. Now it was just a playpen, with scattered tents illuminated by drooping strings of sprite lights dotting the floor. Clumps of badly dressed, almost uniformly scowling ponies wandered back and forth, arguing, chatting, brawling. There was barely a spark of electricity to be found here, which was ironic given this whole room once provided power we could barely dream of now. I heard the tell-tale whirr of a generator from somewhere below, coming from a large tent set in between two turbines on the second floor that seemed to act as a bar of sorts. Drunken and rowdy bandits wandered in and out. In the middle of the large bottom floor, I spotted a rickety circle of scrap metal, brightly lit, and two big ponies were viciously beating one another inside. Their comrades cheered and booed with the ebb and flow of the fight, waving hoofuls of what looked like old world money. I supposed if there was nothing else to place bets with, you used whatever came to mind. Apart from that, the bandits who weren’t watching found other methods of entertainment. I couldn’t remember seeing two mares kissing one another with such drunken fervor before, but I saw it here. One pair of ponies hadn’t even bothered to find a room. “Quit gawking! Is that all you’re good for?! Staring when you’re not supposed to?” The backs of my legs erupted with pain so sharp it felt as if they’d been ripped open. I collapsed onto my hindquarters and shouted, which earned me another good clout on the back of the head. Ruby Red hovered over me, levitating a baton next to her head. I realized I’d made the mistake of looking up again. “I should rip out those eyes of yours,” she grated. “You don’t need ‘em anyway.” Her baton pushed against my forehead. “Something about you is familiar, you know? But I can’t put my hoof on it. I... I hate that. I really, really do.” She slammed the baton down square between my eyes. “And you’re still fucking staring.” This time she took the leash, jerking it with her magic until it choked me. I was led around to another door at the end of the large room, up some stairs and past several more rooms filled with decrepit, dilapidated machinery with no discernible use anymore. Some of them had been deliberately smashed open, presumably to be scavenged for parts in simpler, more practical machines. Really, I was using all these distractions to keep my mind off the fact I was in severe pain with no chance of relief any time soon, and blood was coming down my face into my eyes again. But my eyes stayed down as Omen advised me, and every time I saw Ruby Red’s hooves moving at the edge of my vision, I entertained vicious fantasies of breaking all her legs and leaving her for a demon on the surface. Soon, we came to a simple wooden door that was surprisingly clean and polished, featuring a small bar with the word “Manager” engraved on it. Ruby Red waggled the baton in front of my face. “Be on your best behavior. As in keep your head down and don’t say a fucking word unless you’re told to, or I’ll shove this up your ass.” Don’t say a word. Don’t look up. Keep a low profile. I wondered if it would be possible to blow up the turbines somehow and take out all these ponies in one fell swoop. The door was pushed open and one of Ruby’s bruisers kicked me inside. I fell onto a dirty carpet, faded and red like drying blood. I’d never actually felt a carpet before, so I took my time getting up, letting my bloodied and pained cheek rest against the soft surface, rubbing it with my hoof as I stood, making sure my eyes were on the floor. “Auntie?” Ruby Red called, and her voice had lost some of its hard edge. “The pony you wanted is right here.” “Thank you dearie,” a lilting, high pitched voice replied. It sounded much more gentle than many other voices I’d heard in the Metro. “Would you and the boys be willing to stick around? You never know when these new arrivals need some motivation.” “Sure.” Ruby Red stepped away and her thugs stood with her by the door. Another pony trotted towards me. The sound of their hooves making a soft ‘thump’ instead of a normal, hard clop made my ears twitch. “Stand,” the voice commanded. I stood. “Look at me.” I looked. Before me stood a middle aged unicorn mare. I was struck by how healthy she looked, as if she’d never breathed a drop of tainted air in her life. A soft caramel coat helped contrast the creamy mane that had been styled to spill over one of her sea green eyes. She had a bit of pudge on her, testament to how well fed she was, and I noticed her cutie mark was that of actual buttercup flowers when she began to walk a tight circle around me. Not exactly the spitting image of a cruel, callous leader of blackguards.When she left my sight, I glanced quickly around the room. It was large, paneled with rotting wood and decaying, flowery wallpaper. A large desk covered in maps and notes dominated the back part of the room, along with bookcases and smaller tables likewise littered with everything from spare weapons to oddly sentimental pictures of Buttercup herself with other ponies. On one wall I saw a map of Stalliongrad, and another held a single painting. It looked like Whitetail Wood, before it’d been burned to a cinder. It was all a little on the gaudy side, treading a fine line between practicality and showponyship. “You really need to get some food in you. You must come from outside the Ring, being practically skin and bones,” she gently chided. “Ruby, get the poor dear something to eat from my table.” Ruby’s perpetual scowl didn’t fade as she quickly crossed the room and levitated a tray of fried mushrooms to me. Before my very eyes, Auntie Buttercup used her own magic to heat up the food. I was still horribly thirsty, but even as I realized that, a cup of water hovered in front of my face. It didn’t have a film over it, neither did it smell strange. She must have it imported from Hoofsa or the Monarchy; there was no way parts of this treatment plant still worked... was there? “Drink,” Buttercup cooed. Monstrously thirsty though I was, I didn’t drink. “Please?” Buttercup asked with a little pout. “We’re just here to talk, dear. No need to spurn hospitality.” I grudgingly took the water and sipped it, and then my body’s needs took over and I chugged it down as fast as I could before Ruby Red could snatch it away and beat me with the cup or whatever she might be planning. I held the cup in my hooves and looked down into it. “Well. Now that that’s out of the way... feel free to ask for more, by the way... I’ve got a few questions for you, ah... I’m sorry, what was your name?” I’m going to kill you. I’m going to kill every last one of you. Ruby Red levitated her baton in front of me again. “Answer her, you little prick.” Especially you. “... Turnstile,” I muttered. I was rewarded with a baton to the face, though I wasn’t sure why. “Ruby!” Buttercup scolded her minion. “Did I say you could abuse my guests?” “Sorry, Auntie,” Ruby demurred, lowering her baton. I felt Buttercup’s hoof gently touch my cheek, lifting my head again until I looked into that disarmingly kind gaze. “Don’t mind her,” she whispered. Poor choice of words, since I couldn’t even feel half my face anymore. “But you see, she’s got a very good ear for lies. And so do I. I noticed the hesitation. I see your cutie mark. Your name isn’t Turnstile.” “What’s it matter?” I rasped. “You’re probably going to kill me anyway.” “Why, I just like to know how to properly address my guests!” Buttercup said, raising her eyebrows as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I know what you’re thinking, little pony. You see me and you think, what is this mare thinking? Who does she think she is? She leads these ruffians and I don’t have to answer her anything, because she’s a bandit and won’t be nice no matter what I do.” I noticed her voice was low, with that soothing bass undertone every experienced comforter had. Starry Gaze often used that tone for Sunny Side when he needed cheering up, or when I felt especially melancholy. How I wished to go back to the days when all I had to look forward to was being slightly aggravated by her overbearing concern. Now I was standing in a room full of killers and any wrong moves would get my bones broken. “Well, let me tell you,” Buttercup whispered, levitating a cloth and wiping some of the blood from my face as she rested my chin on her hooves. “We don’t operate like that in my Fort. If you help me, I can help you. You’re young, and strong... I can see that. You don’t deserve to be stuck in a cage until you’re old and useless. You don’t understand that this room is the safest one in the Fort. When you’re with me, you can talk, my little pony. Not just blurt out what I want to hear. We can... open avenues of communication. But we can’t do that unless we know who we are, can we? And I need a name. A real name.” Fancy words that meant she wanted as much leverage and information as possible. But somehow, her velvety voice gave me something approaching comfort. Those low, rumbling tones made me shiver in her grasp. And really, fake names, real names, what did it matter... it felt so hard to be defiant and enthusiastic when I was in pain and weary from the abuse that’d been heaped on me since this journey started. I rolled my eyes, and noticed Ruby Red twitch at my insubordination. “Lockbox,” I said lamely. “Lockbox,” Buttercup whispered, testing my name as she continued to gently dab at my wounds with the rag, slowly clearing the blood caked around my eyes. She used her magic, leaving her hooves free to hold my face, and keep my gaze on hers. “That’s a good name. Well, Lockbox, you’re not exactly like all the other ponies my boys and girls drag in here. Do you know where we found you?” “Outside Trotsky Freehaven,” I muttered, sitting stone still as she cleaned me ever so gently. I willed myself not to be lulled into false security. “Probably in the middle of a bunch of dead nosalises.” “Precisely. Somehow, you weren’t hurt too badly. A little singed. Some bite marks. Nothing we couldn’t clear up.” Ah. So that was how I hadn’t bled to death before I got here. Didn’t seem to serve much purpose, except some lame attempt to force some gratitude from me. Saving my life and then beating me to within an inch of it didn’t seem like the best way to endear a pony to your cause, if this Auntie Buttercup had one. “And in your bag, you had... Ruby Red, be a dear and fetch his bag?” If you even touched Ray Drop’s picture, I’ll rip your damn heads off. But my saddlebags were surprisingly intact. It was what came out of them when Ruby Red overturned them that shocked me: everything I’d gathered up until this point, completely untouched. Buttercup watched closely as the items spilled onto the floor, sans my cartridges. Instead of poor, now I was impoverished. Ruby Red levitated what didn’t fit it in with the regular supplies: the picture of Ray Drop and Cherry Pie came out first, making me twitch. “Friend of yours?” Buttercup said with a teasing smile. “Little young in this picture, isn’t she?” Next came the Guide. I tried to keep my expression still. “Now this is a real treasure,” said Buttercup. “We couldn’t make heads or tails of it, but it’s obviously a map of some kind. There’s magic in this paper, Lockbox. Magic normal earth ponies don’t just carry around.” And then came Hunter’s talisman. It took all my willpower not to jump up and grab it. “And this. This is the symbol of the Rangers,” Buttercup lectured, tapping the floating talisman. She took it from Ruby’s magical grip and floated it in front of my face. The pony skull flanked by lightning bolts stared sightlessly back at me. “You’re not a Ranger, Lockbox. Are you? Because Rangers aren’t very friendly to us here. They shoot us when they can. And we shoot back.” “I’m not a Ranger,” I said, not because I was afraid of dying, but because it was the truth. “No,” Buttercup agreed quietly. “But that just makes it even more strange. What is this, Lockbox? What’s that map? Mementos? Are you friends with a Ranger? But nopony who’s not a Ranger is known to carry one of these. Rangers are proud of themselves, and don’t just let anypony in. Did you, perhaps, steal this?” I gave her a sharp look and she relented. “All right, all right. You didn’t steal it. But the question remains where you got it. I want to know. Rangers aren’t exactly on speaking terms with us here. I need to know what they’re planning, what they’re doing. You need to not get your kneecaps busted.” I said nothing, and stared straight ahead once again. My breathing began to quicken. Buttercup didn’t appreciate my defiance. But no matter how nicely I was treated, I’d given my word. I’d failed so many ponies before. I wasn’t going to fail Hunter. Not this time. I wasn’t going to break all my promises... this was the only one I could keep with certainty. No matter what, I wouldn’t divulge the secrets of the Rangers to a bunch of bandits. I needed time. Time to think. Had to keep them guessing. “Lockbox,” Buttercup purred. “Come now. You’re not a Ranger. You won’t be betraying anypony. I can make life easy for you here.” She moved the rag to begin cleaning off the vomit that had caked into my fur. “Or I can make it very hard. I control this place. And everypony in it. If you want an easy life during your stay here, all you need to do is cooperate. We’re ponies! We love cooperation.” “So what? I join you and become a bandit or something?” I huffed. Buttercup smiled and pushed a strand of my mane out of my eyes. It had gotten longer since my journey started, I realized. I probably looked like a proper stallion now. “Something like that. I’m not averse to getting new blood. We need it now more than ever. Especially your kind. The kind with... potential. I don’t want it going to Hoofsa, where you’ll be a servant for your whole life. Or the Lunar Republic, who are all silly foals playing with guns. Or to that crazy fool King Pleiades. As an earth pony, the best you’d get is a spot on their suicide squads. No, you need something that’ll give you a little more... freedom of movement.” “I have a home already,” I said, almost growling, still staring straight ahead. “I’m not as much a drifter as you think.” “Then tell me your story, Lockbox,” Buttercup cooed, sitting down next to me. “There’s a reason I’m called Auntie here. Unlike everypony else I take care of ponies who take care of me. You saw all my boys and girls having fun out there, didn’t you?” Getting ready to rape and murder no doubt. Psyching themselves up for a day of pillaging with mindless sex and booze. Buttercup would throw me to the wolves if my next words displeased her. I saw the slight tightness in her expression, the way her eyes were ever so gently narrowed. She wanted me to spill my guts, or she’d spill them for me. Fortunately, I had enough anger and willpower in my heart to see through her lies. Hunter would never tell me to give in. My home still needed a savior. Buttercup thought she’d picked up a stray with a few secrets. But I wasn’t so simple. “I don’t betray ponies who I’ve given my word to.” “Then give your word to me.” I took a deep, bracing breath, preparing to welcome my old friend pain once again. “No.” I waited for the bone-cracking blows to come. For them to stomp on my head until my skull broke and my nose was crushed. I waited for my teeth to be knocked loose and my tongue to be ripped out, hooks stuck into my skin, or whatever delightful tortures they’d thought up. I blinked when it didn’t come. “All right!” Buttercup said cheerfully. I felt my insides curdle. Somehow I felt even more wrong and sick than if they’d started beating me all over again. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go, was it? It was one thing to be expecting pain and then have it finally come, but for that anxiety to never be fruitful... my body had a hard time relaxing from all the terrors I’d been dreaming up in those few, short seconds. I looked at Ruby Red, who was dutifully stoic. I turned my ears and listened for the bruisers at the door to stomp up and commence their bone-crushing. Or even for Buttercup to gore me with her horn. Nothing! Maddeningly, confusingly, nothing! I didn’t look forward to getting hurt, or going back to my dingy cage, but this strangeness I felt was somehow even worse. What drove a pony more mad, the expectation of pain, or the pain itself? “Uh... all right?” I asked, sounding like a simpleton. “Then... what now?” “Nothing!” Buttercup said, as if offended I’d suggest otherwise. “Nothing at all. I’m not going to do anything. What happens next is up to you, Lockbox. I don’t know anything about you. And you’re not willing to tell me. In my experience, a pony will say anything to get out of being hurt. It works with the ones you can drive into a corner. The ones who have no other recourse. But if I want reliable information from ponies like you... ponies who stick to their guns... there has to be a little bit of trust too, don’t you think?” I continued to watch her warily as she levitated my things back to me, slapping my saddlebags onto my back. “I’m going to try and get you to trust me Lockbox. There’s a lot ponies like us can do together. Now, I can’t exactly let you leave, but you have my word... such as it is... that you won’t be harmed. My ponies will do nothing as long as you don’t step on too many hooves. Ruby Red will be here to answer any questions you have.” “I will?” the blood red pony asked, looking like she’d rather jam rusty nails into her eyes. “Yes,” Buttercup answered in a strained tone, casting a meaningful glance her way. “You will. You know, show him the ropes, make sure he doesn’t do anything... untoward.” Like try to escape. So I had some freedom of movement, but I’d have eyes on me at all times. I’d have to try and take a chance. “And what am I supposed to do?” I asked. Buttercup sidled up next to me, curling her tail around my hind legs and throwing a friendly hoof over my shoulders. “I don’t know! That’s your job, Lockbox. Get a drink. Take some time to think. Grab a mare... or a stallion, if that’s your style. The girls here don’t sell themselves cheap, but I’m sure a strapping young thing like you can find a good time... you know, once you stop bleeding. It’s on me for tonight!” She began pushing me to the door. “Ruby~!” she sang. “Make sure our guest has some fun. And doesn’t leave.” “Or I break his kneecaps?” “Or you break his kneecaps.” My throat felt too tight to gulp. /-/-/-/ “Make any sudden moves and you’re dead. If you stick next to me, nopony’ll bother you. If you bother me, I’ll ram my baton down your throat. You’re no longer trash. You’re dead weight, and I gotta drag you around.” Ruby Red continued to threaten me with the baton as we stood over the raucous floor of what she called the “Rec Room.” It still amazed me a place where ponies once did honest work and tended to those massive turbines was now home to all this debauchery. I wasn’t sure if there was some kind of twenty-four seven party being held here or there were just that many bored bandits in the Metro, because the crowd didn’t seem to have abated. I worried about my chances of getting out of here unscathed; one wrong move and I’d end up back in my cell, and I doubted Buttercup would be merciful twice over. At least I wasn’t bleeding anymore. Ruby Red had me visit the infirmary first, not because she cared about my well-being, but because a bleeding pony could probably be a horrible vector for disease. Given the way these ponies behaved, I was amazed they hadn’t all caught something horrible and died already. They didn’t have much in the way of magical healing at all, and I probably looked like a frail little colt swathed as I was in regular, non-magical bandages. Shocker injections had taken away the aches and pains, though. “Are you listening?!” Ruby Red said, prodding me on the cheek where she’d decked me in Buttercup’s room. “I should be out there getting work done, but instead I have to babysit your skinny ass. Don’t screw up for both our sakes. Mostly yours. Just follow me, think about what Buttercup said, and keep your fucking mouth shut. I will not be held responsible for any incidents!” She continued berating me, spitting angry curses as we descended to the second level, where one of the small bars was located. She dragged me up to the bar and slammed a hoof down, demanding some kind of strong drink, presumably to try and forget that she was supposed to look after me. Every other pony gave us a wide berth; it seemed they had at least some form of hierarchy if they recognized Ruby Red’s authority. Either that, or she was just that cruel and everypony had learned not to get on her bad side. I felt no guilt about ruining her evening; in fact, I hoped she got some kind food poisoning and died. I looked around at the bandits, who were slightly less raucous than on the main floor. They looked uniformly dirty, drunken, and disorganized. They proudly displayed their weapons and scars, with not a single pony failing to try and bluff his neighbors. The only meek ponies I noticed were servants, running drinks and messages back and forth. In our tent I saw mares forced to work as waitresses, relentlessly groped and shoved and insulted by the clientele. They might once have been comely, which is why I supposed they were chosen, but now they kept their eyes forward and endured the abuse with blank indifference. I forced myself to look away as one was pulled onto a drunken stallion’s lap, forced to put up with his clumsy attempts at fondling and his greasy tongue in her ear. Most of the bandits were smoking heavily, causing a pall of grey filth to fill the top of the small tent. Other scents assaulted my nose: thick, heady alcohol, sweat (and lots of it) and curiously, the sharp aroma of ponies having sex somewhere nearby. The sounds, too, made my ears blush red hot. Curses and shouts echoed throughout the building, and even one or two gunshots failed to draw any attention. I felt dirty just being here, which was saying something in the Metro. These bandits were living off the fat of our higher society; I saw a Hoofsa banner hung proudly from the ceiling, with profane graffiti sprayed onto it. A picture of King Pleiades, leader of the Celestian Monarchy, sat as a very well used dart board in another corner, his impeccable mustache the target of much abuse. Other banners lay strewn about, from stations I didn’t know... though my eyes did linger on the wheat stalk of the plantations. All factions they simultaneously preyed upon and dealt with, depending on their mood. I noticed no signs of hostility towards the Lunar Republic. Perhaps, since the Republic (along with Hoofsa) was responsible for most of the slave trade, the bandits were more business partners than adversaries with them. In minutes, I found myself wishing I was back in my cage. At least it was quiet there. “Are you gonna get a fucking drink, or what?” Ruby Red demanded. “Buttercup said have fun. Or whatever the fuck. You realize ponies are staring at you, right?” I looked over my shoulder. Sure enough, my wide-eyed gawking at the trophies and debauchery earned me several onlookers myself. They were probably wondering where the bandages came from, and why I was with Ruby Red. She made no attempts to stop them; I suspected only actual assaults on my person would rouse her. “So you’re in charge here?” I asked. “Am I that fuckin’ obvious?” she growled in return. “Now order a drink. Stop looking like a virgin at an orgy. Loosen up. Or I’ll do it for you. With my stick in your ass.” I didn’t doubt she’d do it, and hurriedly placed an order for “something alcoholic” to the bartender, who guffawed and slammed down a bottle of watery, ugly brown fluid. I suspected it was poison, and my suspicions were confirmed after drinking it. The bandits nearby found a great deal of amusement in my sputtering and coughing. I’d never had anything stronger than some celebratory mushroom vodka. In fact, I hadn’t been aware anything stronger could possibly exist. Ruby Red ignored me, but one of the nearby ponies raised his glass to me. He was a scruffy, tough and lean green earth pony with eyes to match and an aquamarine mane, and wore thick black barding that was scarred and pitted over a leather jacket. The barding looked old enough to have been in service during the War... dirt scavenger. But weren’t we all? “Hey, this shit kicks everyone’s ass, eh? Who’s the new guy, Ruby? He looks like he got in bed with you an’ lost.” “Piss off, Squeaky!” Ruby Red shot back. “Buttercup’s orders. Don’t fucking touch him. He’s here to get a little slice of life.” “Oooh, a new recruit, eh?” Squeaky wondered, sidling closer, raising an eyebrow and eyeing me with his bright eyes. He might have been handsome, if he wasn’t covered in tunnel grit and obviously a conceited murderer. “So, kiddo, what’s your poison? We got a choice selection of mares for ya. That’s usually the first choice of most new arrivals.” I took one look at a passing servant, with her skinny legs and downcast eyes, and immediately felt like retching. I might as well hold one down and punch her in the face; at least then it would be honest abuse. Squeaky caught my glance and laughed, thumping me on the back. “No, not those!” he said. “Celestia only knows what you’d catch. No, kid, if you’ve got Buttercup’s eye you deserve some’in’ better than what the rank-and-file gets. Some of our gals come straight from Connemara... they know ‘ow ta’ break a pony in and love doing it!” “Quit fucking touching ‘im, Squeaky,” Ruby Red said, glowering over her magically levitated mug. “He’s a runty little tightass. Not worth your time. Where the fuck’s Candy Cane, anyway? I wanna get laid.” “He’s on patrol, remember?” Squeaky waved a hoof in the air. “With the other, uh... undesirables movin’ in Auntie stepped up security while you were away.” He grinned, quite viciously. “Ah heard that little stunt at Bucklyn didn’t go so well? Some little squad of, what was it? Rangers? Broke right through your blockade. An’ Bucklyn an’ Hoofsa kicked your ass ta’ Canterlot an’ back.” Ruby Red slowly lowered her glass until it rested on the bartop. She stared at Squeaky with such disdain and cold hostility I felt unsafe being between them, and slowly huddled up over the bar, praying fervently Ruby didn’t remember that I was one of those “Rangers” who’d penetrated her checkpoint. She must have played up the story to mitigate her failure to keep Bucklyn in a noose. “You’d better watch your tongue, Squeaky,” she said, in a voice almost low enough to be inaudible. “It’ll get you in trouble.” “It got me to be Group Captain of our ‘ole western guard. You know. The successful ones,” Squeaky answered with quiet confidence. Ruby Red’s horn began to glow, and Squeaky put his hoof over his knife. “Go. Away. Now,” Ruby Red said in a voice as smooth as velvet laced with shards of glass. I huddled down as far as I could. Even a few of the other ponies nearby began to catch wind of what was happening, and scooted their chairs away as much as they could. I waited to hear the inevitable crash behind me. Instead, I heard Ruby Red sit back down. I looked at her, and she was smiling. Squeaky, too. The green earth pony shrugged and resumed his lounging. “Not today,” he said. “Not today,” Ruby Red agreed. Squeaky looked away, though he sent glances towards me out of the corner of his eyes. “Who’s that?” I wondered. “Squeaky Clean. Keeps thinking that just because he’s in charge of a few gangs he’s tough shit. He may be on Buttercup’s good side, but I’m the real deal here. One of these days I’m gonna show him. He’ll be a stain on the floor.” I quieted down and so did Ruby Red, who kept an eye on me to make sure I was still drinking and not making a fool of myself in front of her comrades. I wondered if Squeaky would be able to keep from challenging Ruby again. He wouldn’t. “So you’re just keepin’ the little guy cooped up ‘ere ‘til you’re both shit-faced?” he spoke up again, sidling over once more. “Go away,” Ruby Red commanded. Squeaky threw a hoof around my shoulders. “Oh sure, sure. Can I take the kid with me?” “I am not a kid,” I said. He ignored me. “So you can do what?” Ruby Red snapped. “Show ‘im a good time! Unlike what you’re doing. There’s more ta’ life than knowin’ ‘ow ta’ stab ponies in the face, Red. This guy needs time to think, right? He can’t do that until he knows what we ‘ave ta’ offer him! Come on. What’d you say your name was?” “Lockbox,” I said dully. I was in for a long night, I knew it. “You’re not going anywhere out of my sight,” Ruby Red said, seething as she levitated a bottle off the bar and trotted after us. “I don’t care about the dead weight. You’re the one I’m keeping an eye on.” “Oh? As long as you keep your eyes where they’re supposed ta’ be, Red,” Squeaky snickered, waggling his flanks. Ruby Red barely contained herself from bringing her bottle down on his head. We passed a pair of brawling ponies, and a hard looking mare who scowled at me as I went by. We trotted down the stairs to the lower level, and I noticed several other smaller rooms along the walls, serving as card game areas, or private places for bandits who still had a sense of modesty when it came to rutting. We were surrounded by a sea of ponies who found their fun in inflicting pain and then feeding their own desires. I had to escape. But how? “C’mere, Lock,” Squeaky said, dragging me to the circular arena in the center of the room. A match had started up between two ponies, one pegasus mare and one earth stallion. Both of them were solid and muscular. I noticed that the pegasus wasn’t using her wings to gain an unfair advantage, and the earth pony apparently hadn’t figured out how to use the strength of the earth to hit harder than an average earth pony. They both stayed firmly on the ground, though all other bets seemed off; I saw them punching and kicking and bucking each other with unreserved ferocity while a small crowd cheered or booed depending on who they were betting on, and bloody scratches covered their bodies. Short of kicking each other between the legs, or clawing out each other’s eyes, they seemed perfectly willing to cause as much damage as was needed to win. Squeaky pointed out the mare. “Check it out. Dazzle’s in good form.” “No wings?” I asked. “No wings, no magic. Just hooves. Keeps things simple,” Squeaky said. “Unicorns here don’t like it. Heh, unicorns hate anything that might not have as much magic as they like... but they’re welcome to join the Monarchy if they don’t like it here.” The fight continued. Dazzle backed off and snorted, spitting blood. Her opponent had a long cut on one side of his face, and he slumped against the wall of the ring, panting. Dazzle pawed the ground and shouted something I couldn’t hear over the roar of the crowd. Ruby Red watched with almost complete indifference, choosing instead to sit on her flanks and down more of her drink. “What are they fighting for?” I asked. “Braggin’ rights. An’ slaves,” Squeaky replied, nudging my shoulder and pointing to a particularly miserable unicorn mare on a nearby podium, chained to a post. She was a pale orange color with a bright blond mane, all of it smudged by filth, streaked by tears on her cheeks. She hadn’t been brushed or looked after in some time, and had clearly been beaten at least once. Yet through it all she seemed to have an undeniable charm and elegant beauty, a draw that kept my eyes on her longer than they should have been. Her cutie mark was a lit, three-pronged candlestick. “That there’s one of the Monarchy’s ‘recruiters,’” Squeaky said with a scoff. “Goin’ around the Metro offerin’ false promises, snatchin’ up good unicorns to be part a’ Pleiades’ magical army of salvation. Fuckin’ elitists is all they are. Unicorns get all the good stuff while everypony else gets ta’ be cannon fodder or a slave. Ah’m sorry, ‘indentured servants.’ Be glad we’re too far north for ‘em ta’ bother us much... but that bitch was caught with ‘er pants down. Literally, so I’m told. Lazy ass guards couldn’t even defend her when she was takin’ a shit. Shows you ‘ow pansy the mighty Monarchy is... there’s a reason they don’t ‘ave as much territory as the Republic.” “They don’t have the balls,” Ruby Red agreed, taking another long swig. “That bitch is getting what she deserves. I’m a unicorn, but fuck anypony who tries telling me what to do. ‘Cept for Auntie,” she added as a hasty afterthought. “Good ol’ Ruby. You’d never betray good ol’ pony unity,” Squeaky said, rolling his eyes and turning back to the fight. Dazzle, during our conversation, had finished off her opponent. The earth stallion lay dazed and battered on the ground, twitching. The crowd roared with approval, and Dazzle flapped her wings and soaked in the adulation. She turned to the Monarchy mare with a look of predatory intent and swooped down to grab her chain, wrap it around her hoof, and yank her off the podium. Dazzle kicked the mare’s hooves out from under her and placed her hoof on the unicorn’s head. The nameless slave took it without complaint. The crowd seemed to find special amusement in the debasement of a Monarchy pony and several chanted Dazzle’s name. My throat felt dry and tight. There was an ugly, heavy feeling in my gut like there was a weight hooked to my stomach, which only got worse as the victor led her prize into the crowd. “What’s going to happen to her?” I couldn’t help but ask, sounding frail and raspy. “The slave? Whatever the fuck Dazzle wants, it’s her win,” Ruby Red said with callous indifference. Another swig from that damn bottle. I closed my eyes, feeling my blood pounding through my veins. This whole place was an affront to the very nature of ponydom. All of these ponies... no. They were like what Tracer described. Monsters masquerading as ponies, using our bodies and feelings for their own amusement. They were all hostile. They all deserved to die. If it was the last thing I did, I’d- “What else do you have here?” I asked through gritted teeth, struggling to keep my emotions from showing. I had to get out of here. I had to get out. “Card rooms!” Squeaky announced, swinging me around to face one of the smaller rooms. My mind raced. Cards... Sidewinder had gotten in trouble on account of cards. I tapped my chin as I approached one of the side doors, peeking inside. Tables, lined with gruff ponies playing cards and getting drunk. Not much different from outside except it was a little less rowdy, and the smoke had gathered in force here. Traditional tobacco was at a premium, so these bandits were smoking just about anything they could get their hooves on. The acrid stench made me gag and my eyes water as I reared back from the door, Squeaky laughing and thumping my back. “You got a long way ta’ go, kid!” he bellowed. “So... so... anypony,” I gasped, trying to breathe “fresh” air and talk at the same time. “Anypony. Can win a slave if they fight in the arena?” “Well, you can win damn near anything assuming the fight’s good enough and both sides agree on the prize. Why? You got something in mind?” Maybe... maybe. “Just trying to think ahead. Damn near anything?” “That’s wot Ah said! Ha! Sure you don’t want ta’ start thinkin’ with your other head? You seem like the kind a’ guy who needs to loosen up. Lemme tell yeh, one taste of the good mares from Connemara an’ you will never go back, my friend!” I’d like a gun so I can shoot that smarmy grin off your face. “I am not watching him if he says yes,” Ruby Red grumbled, finishing off her drink and tossing the bottle. It some unfortunate soul in the head, but when the affected pony saw who threw it, they wisely refrained from making an issue of it. “I think I’d rather just have some more drinks-” I said, but Squeaky was well ahead of me. His unbearable grin was shoved into my face. “Drinks! Well, hell, lemme introduce you ta’ some friends a’ mine. Got a party to attend tonight. Most of our shit comes from the Republic, or stolen straight from Hoofsa, an’ they’ve got plenty ta’ spare.” “I’m not really-” “Good on ya, knew you’d be up for it! Come on then. Eat, drink, an’ be merry, for tomorrow we will die!” A long night. A long and painful night. /-/-/-/ The ‘party’ was actually just part of the revel that was happening right outside. Except, it was in one of the smaller rooms on the second level, affording some privacy from the brawling and more physical activities the others were partaking in. Several long and round tables crowded the long, rectangular room, set up around a sort of stage like area where I presumed shows of some kind were put on. It was dimly lit by a bare minimum of sprite lights, making unsavory conversations and actions all the easier to partake in. Somepony had rolled in a cart full of drinks, which were being thoroughly enjoyed. It seemed the chief import of this place was beer, vodka, and anything else that could get you inebriated... “Oh yeah! Sometimes the Republic will actually pay us in booze if we do extra special work for ‘em. Sweet deal if you ask me,” Squeaky explained, introduced me to several members of his squad, half of whom shook my hoof and brought me into their circles of friends, the other half glowered at me and looked like they’d rather break me in half than smile. It was a blur of ponies and names I didn’t care to remember. In fact, most of the opening hours of this so-called ‘party’ mostly involved what I’d seen down on the lower level. Did these bandits do anything besides drink and go crazy? Ruby Red wasn’t around to ask; she had installed herself as far from me as possible while still being able to keep an eye on me. She sat with a group of silent ponies, mostly mares, earth, pegasi, and unicorns alike, all wearing heavy armor and looking every bit as tough and angry as she did. They were her personal soldiers, or so I was told, and messing with them was tantamount to messing with Ruby Red, and by extension, Auntie Buttercup. Everypony gave them a wide berth, but I still felt her gaze boring into me every second. It made my mane itch, and I worried about that. Itchy manes were a sign of paranoia and other psychological problems, or so I’d read. “Do we work? All the time,” Squeaky told me when I posed the question of idleness to him. “But this is a place of safety an’ relaxation... what you don’t notice are the soldiers rotatin’ in an’ out as they head out of the Fort ta’ our other branches. They need this if we want to keep morale up in these hard times.” “I’ve got a patrol coming up in eight hours,” a huge earth pony with a buzz-cut mane and a shotgun that looked like it could double as a club. He reminded me of a troll. I’d read about trolls in books, and they were always described as creatures that talked and moved slowly. This pony was a troll. “I swear, if I don’t get piss drunk soon, I won’t be able to for a week! I just hope we aren’t sent up north.” “You won’t be,” Squeaky assured him, and the empathy in his voice shocked me. Apparently even here ponies still valued friendship. “Those freaks won’t come any closer.” “But they wiped out the whole depot! Twenty ponies strong, and we didn’t even find one of their dead,” another pony said in a hushed voice. I knew what they were talking about. Faceless white masks flashed in front of my vision. But I dared not give out any more information than I needed to. I just sat there, nursing my drink and make sure nopony got into my saddlebags, listening to the world around me. Taking in stories. “I know. Buttercup’s pissed as all get out,” Squeaky agreed. “But they’re already gone. Dead bodies and all. We’ll just have to make sure we’re better prepared next time. And there will be a next time. Apparently, the Republic’s sent word that the cultists are spreading out, further into the Metro. One of their patrols was destroyed, they say. You boys best keep your eyes peeled.” A mare leaned forward. “Just the one? I heard there weren’t even any bodies when the cultists were done with ‘em. They steal the ones that are still alive, they say. And they’ve started stealing ponies from stations that don’t defend themselves. That they’re the ones responsible for the disappearances around the Crypt!” “The Crypt?” I asked, and the mare leaned towards me, eager to be the center of attention. “It’s a place far to the south, on the edge of the Monarchy’s territory. A couple Hoofsa stations are near it, since it sits just outside the Ring, but they don’t explore it. Don’t even try to blockade it... cause they think it’ll make whatever’s there mad. It’s this big train depot, see, almost as big as Ponyopolis they say... officially it’s been overrun by mutants... but the stations near it have been suffering disappearances. They say Glowtown is evacuating, since they live nearest, and they’re getting picked off the worst.” “Ha, are you sure it isn’t the Sandpony?” the big stallion who looked like a troll said with a chuckle. The mare hissed at him. “Shut up, Watt! If you talk about him that’s when he shows up!” “There’s no Sandpony here. And if he is, he’s probably too busy getting drunk to do anything nasty!” Squeaky said, standing up and shouting over the room. “Get some entertainment going!” The talking was suddenly interrupted by somepony putting on music and trying to sing. He was shut up after some bottles were thrown, and then a brawl broke out, and the momentum started to peter out. I wandered away from the table after Squeaky and his friends got a little too drunk and started bawling and punching each other at regular intervals.. I took my cup of... whatever it was they drank... and went to a quiet corner of the room, nursing my drink and a tray of what I think was supposed to be food. It was shriveled and ugly, probably leftovers, but I ate it anyway, since I needed my strength. I had no interest in taking part in their version of fun, which was little more than a microcosm of what I saw on the main floor. I noticed a sudden shift in the music, and some of the sprite lights had been doused to accentuate the already dark atmosphere. A few strippers had been brought out, and they immediately went to “work.” I eyed them, greedily, for a little while, trying not to let my mind wander too much. They were hard to be attracted to; half of them were already broken down slaves, two were stallions (I think), and the rest were honest workers there for the bullets, but they were trying too hard. I hated this place. While I sat with my drink, trying to stay inconspicuous despite the fact that I was a strange new stallion with bandages and a scowl on his face sitting alone in a dark corner, I tried to plan my escape. I’d never get out on my own, I didn’t know this area. I couldn’t wait for Sunny Side or Tracer to come to my rescue; they probably thought I was dead anyway. And Nopony? I still wasn’t sure if he was truly a ghost or some other apparition. No, I had to get out with some kind of help. And there was only one pony here who might actually be able to help me, except he was sitting alone in a dark cell, talking the ears off the other prisoners and would-be slaves. I needed a little more information before I could make a move. I felt Ruby Red’s eyes on me at almost all times. She wasn’t drunk, despite the copious amounts of alcohol she’d guzzled down, and she only had eyes for me, not the strippers or the brawlers or the ponies who came right up and talked to her. I’d have been flattered if her glaring didn’t make me want to curl into a ball under a table. If she ever put it together that I was the one who’d embarrassed her by breaking through her blockade fairly simply, she’d have my head on a platter. Probably after she defiled it in some way. So. I needed information, and I needed privacy... “Hey there.” And I could scratch number two off my list. I turned to see an earth pony mare standing before me, striking in her appearance not because of great beauty, but because of the way she looked. She was several years my senior, but didn’t look worse the wear; she had the signs of great endurance in her lean legs and half-lidded, blase expression. This was a mare who had seen and done much. She was a chalky, greyish-purple, with a long mane of deep, dark blue. It was like what glimpses of the night sky I’d seen in pictures; indeed, her cutie mark was that of a crescent moon. Her teal eyes blinked once, and her lips rose up in an amused smile, and then I realized she found it funny I was staring instead of answering her. “Ruby Red cut your tongue out already?” she asked, her smooth, feminine voice sliding through the noise of the party, sidling into my ears as coy as could be. “No,” I said, my eyes drifting to one of my bandages. “But she did quite a number on me.” “She does that to everypony. Consider it a badge of honor.” Without being asked, she pulled up a chair and propped it next to mine, dropping into it so our flanks touched. I was instantly aware of the heat of her body, even in the general mugginess of the room. “I’m willing to bet you didn’t come over here because I looked like I needed company,” I said quietly. I looked over at Ruby Red. Sure enough, she stared right back, and I knew this mare’s appearance wasn’t a coincidence. She tsked and flicked her mane, summoning a waif over to get her a drink. She immediately downed a quarter of it without flinching. Talk about signs of endurance. “Well. You do look like you need company. But even if I was sent over here on purpose, why’s that got to be a bad thing? It’s not like I’m going to steal anything from you. If Auntie or Red or any other big fish here wanted what’s in your bags, they’d get it. And if they wanted information... I mean really wanted it... you wouldn’t be sitting here.” “What then, you’re here to seduce me?” The mare laughed, a quick, barking sound. “Giving yourself a little too much credit, aren’t you new guy? There’s nothing I need from you at all.” “Then leave,” I said as bluntly as I could. “I’ve been through a lot of shit lately.” “You don’t wanna talk about it?” “Why should I?” “Hell if I know. That’s something you gotta ask yourself. But it’s either that or sit here and mope, knowing that...” She pointed at Ruby Red. “Is looking at you all night.” I had to admit she had a point. But this could be a ploy of some kind... something to cajole information out of me the easy way. But did Buttercup do the easy way? “I don’t trust you,” I stated plainly. “Everypony here would kill me if they got a chance.” “So?” The mare flicked her mane. “They’d kill each other too if it came to that.” I felt a spike of irritation. She wasn’t getting me any closer to out of this place, and I couldn’t concentrate if she was just sitting there making argumentative comments. “Look, why are you here?” I demanded, looking directly at her. She didn’t say a word. She just stared right back at me. There was something riveting about her gaze. “You know what I think?” she whispered, leaning forward so I could hear. “I think... you’ve got a hell of a lot to worry about right now. And it’s not doing you a lick of good just sitting here thinking and thinking about it.” She smiled. It wasn’t the smile of a seductress or a killer. It was a plain, amicable smile. One that disarmed you without meaning to. The smile of a would-be friend, or a shoulder to cry on. “You ever been drunk before, kiddo?” “... Once or twice,” I muttered, mollified yet shocked at her change in demeanor. “Ah, good. So you know what to expect.” She tipped her bottle and filled my cup to the brim. I watched it like I would a poisoner, but that only made her smile more. “Geez, buddy, lighten up will you? We don’t have to be enemies here. It’s not like the universe is out to get you or something. ” A flash of dark, shadowy wings. Bleeding eye sockets leering at me. Horrifying lights chasing me down endless tunnels. “Sometimes I wonder.” The mare made a soft, contented noise. “You’d be surprised how many ponies say that.” “It seems true, more often than not. The world is ending. Or has ended. Just about everything that can kill us is trying to.” I gave the rest of the bandits a sour look. “Even each other.” “I try not to think about it.” “Don’t you?” I asked, finally taking a sip of my drink. I’d slowly become acclimatized to the stuff, and it wasn’t as stomach-twisting as before. “I can’t really avoid it.” “That’s too bad. There’s gotta be some place you go that’s all your own?” “Not anymore.” Sip. Gag. “I got me a nice set-up. Small room. But everything’s a small room in the Metro. You know? You look like the type who likes to go hide away in places like that.” “Used to be.” “You don’t talk much, do you?” “No.” The mare sighed, and I felt a little vindictive satisfaction I’d managed to irritate her. I wasn’t some toy, some wind-up doll Buttercup could twist in just the right way and I’d crack. I was sure this was a plot from her, making a move against my decency and self-control. “Look. Let’s start over.” I stared at the table. “Please? It’s not like I got anywhere else to be.” “You have a room full of stallions who might be wanting your services. Mares too, probably.” “Yeah. But the thing is, I’m good enough that I can say no and get away with it. And tonight I don’t want any old thick-headed lug who couldn’t charm his way out of a sewage pipe. It gets boring, sometimes, you know? Just doing the same damn thing. So tonight I thought I’d get to know a pony.” “Your double entendres need a little work.” “My what?” Figured. She probably hadn’t read many books. “Never mind. So why do you want to know me?” “You’re interesting. You just show up out of nowhere, covered in bandages... Buttercup only lets non-slaves roam free if they’ve got business or she wants them to join up. Ruby Red’s stalking you like a howler. You sit in dark corners, not paying a lick of attention to the entertainment, and brood like there’s no tomorrow?” She grinned and punched my shoulder. “If you’re trying not to get attention, you suck at it.” I took another drink. The buzz was starting to get to me. But I didn’t dare open up. She could be a spy. A trickster. “You want to talk? Let’s talk about you,” I suggested, looking into her eyes. They didn’t have the same kind of girlish charm as Starry Gaze’s. Eyes that’d seen so much, that held secrets just like I did. I didn’t know why, but I believed that with eyes like that, there must be something different about her. Something that made my mane stand on end and my tail shiver. I wondered if, perhaps, she could talk like a normal pony, and not a bandit. “Me?” the mare asked, looking surprised. Pleasantly so. A little bemused. “What about me?” “My name is Lockbox. What’s yours?” That got a grin out of her as she swigged her drink. “A sentimental type, huh? I can dig that. Name’s Pitter Patter.” “Where were you born?” “Outta tunnel moss and lightning.” I stared. Pitter Patter just grinned. “Nah, I’m kidding. I was born in Five Towns. Found my way to Connemara. I learned things from the ponies there... how to shoot, fight, scavenge. Sucked at all three. And through fate and circumstance I ended up here. Life sucks that way.” “You’re not happy here?” “What pony’s happy in the Metro? You think I wanted to spend the rest of my days banging drugged up stallions who think two plus two equals twenty-two? It’s a living. And at least here nopony cares who you were before. I can be put to good use besides how wide my legs can go. I used to be good at planting, you know? And fixing things. But I gotta pay my own bills. Keep the bosses happy.” We both took a long drink. Stared for a while longer. And talked for longer than that. /-/-/-/ One hour turned to two. And three. The bandits hadn’t even begun to wind down; card games had broken out and a few ponies had taken the strippers to another room for... further entertainment. I was wasting time. I knew that. But I couldn’t just up and start asking. I had to be careful. I’d tried to monitor how much I was drinking. But even I was starting to feel light-headed and flushed in the cheeks. Pitter Patter, by contrast, was all but drunk at this point, and had all but talked my ears off, her movements growing lazy and erratic, her voice slurring. She was only thirty three, which surprised me, but ponies aged quickly in the Metro. I felt much older than my twenty years already. She’d been the unwanted only child of another pony who’d sold herself, and Pitter Patter had actually been bought at Connemara. Though I’d almost gagged on the thought, she’d taken it all in stride, as she’d learned to do with many things. She’d been purchased for a mere thirty bullets. Thirty tools with which to kill, used to buy a young life. I wondered how much I’d go for... how much a pony would be willing to kill to buy my skin, or the equipment in my bag. Reflecting on how many ponies had died at my hooves, I’d purchased many lives myself for far cheaper. I listened as the drink loosened her lips. She related the story of how she’d managed to befriend a Stalker, who took her under her wing after her master, a flippant and callous pony, died under “mysterious circumstances.” I listened as she talked about how she’d run with Stalkers for several years, never permitted to go to the surface, but learning how to sweet talk ponies at market and helping out on expeditions through the Metro. She never told me the name of her Stalker savior, but that nameless mare was clearly dear to Pitter Patter’s heart, and it was also from her that Pitter Patter learned how to address more... physical needs. Why the Stalker was no more was a subject too sensitive for the mare. Gently I steered talk back to the Fort itself. She’d been here for six odd years, by her reckoning, and knew a lot of their leaders and the mannerisms of its ponies. That was what I wanted to know. “I noticed some of the ponies down in the cages-” “We don’t call them ponies,” Pitter Patter drawled, shaking her head with more force than necessary, “we call them cargo.” “... I noticed some of the cargo down below aren’t ponies that had been there for a while. It’s a punishment too?” “If you can call it that...” She suddenly narrowed her eyes and leaned in uncomfortably close, her somewhat disheveled mane falling over her eyes. “Heeeeey. Hey! What’re you askin’ me about that stuff for, anyway? Who cares what the cargo thinks?” “Just wondering what one has to do around here to end up with a fate like that,” I said with an innocent shrug. “Like, there was this one earth pony I saw... Ruby Red showed me the place so I’d know what happens to troublemakers... he claimed there was a pony he lost cards with-” “You gotta be a bad pony to go down there,” Pitter Patter grumbled. “I’m not a bad pony! Are you a bad pony, Lockbox?” She suddenly got a very odd grin on her face and leaned even closer, until our sides pressed together. I surprised myself by not moving away. Or I would’ve been surprised, if the slight buzz in my own brain didn’t encourage me to stay close to those deep, powerful eyes. I didn’t know if it was the alcohol, but her body heat was very, very hot against me. “Well... are you?” she whispered, fluttering her eyelashes. I gulped, audibly. “I try not to be too... troublesome.” “Oh. Too bad... I was thinking about what we could do that’d be... troublesome. You’ve been talking and talking, and we’re really just dancing around the issue here.” “I’m just asking for some information-” “Lockbox.” Pitter Patter put her hooves on my shoulders. “Do you know. What I am offering? Right now?” I coughed. All of a sudden the talk was turning into something much more serious. It’d be the perfect excuse to get away from Ruby Red, but I’d been hoping it’d be more gradual. “Ahh... perhaps? It’s... er.” “Come with me,” she whispered, and nudged my cheek with her snout. Hold on. Was this really happening? I couldn’t remember what I was trying to do! I hurriedly pried her hooves from me, scooting back in my chair. “Wait,” I said. “This… um. Where are we going?” “You know,” she said, tossing her mane so it fell over her eyes just so. Her vivid eyes peered at me from under that coy cover, making my heart begin to pound. “Somewhere private.” “Just like that?” Pitter Patter scoffed, reaching out and putting her hoof on my chest. It felt like fire… liquid, pleasurable fire, spreading over my chest. “Lockbox. I sat down with you so I could ask. Now… now come on! We’ve been talkin’ long enough, huh?” My mind whirled, struggling between rationality and my sudden, youthful desire to give in to the heady, amorous feelings she was igniting. I had to get somewhere private, try to convince Ruby Red I was beginning to give in to the charm of a bandit’s lifestyle… this was a chance to get into a closed space with a pony who could give me information, nothing else. I couldn’t waste time. Or could I, a small, devious pony in the back of my mind said, stroking his chin. Couldn’t I spend at least few hours? I’d never been with a mare before. All of a sudden my mind dragged out the fact of my virginity and laid it bare before me, saying here was a chance! Who knew when you’d get another? A nice, pretty, older mare to show you the ropes… Celestia help me, it was enticing. I hurled back the standard arguments. I could catch something, she could be leading me into a trap, here on orders from Ruby Red or Buttercup themselves… most importantly, if I gave in a little here… if I gave myself to this random bandit’s service pony, would I stop? Would I start to be dragged into this strange, violent world like she was? I didn’t have any delusions I was more or less corruptible than any other pony; my experiences so far showed I was already sullied. That, and I was halfway drunk, so the dutiful part of my mind staggered and made half-hearted punches against my baser instincts, which hopped and teased and cajoled me. Pitter Patter didn’t have patience for my introspection. Wordlessly, she smiled and began to pull me off my chair, making sure she stayed ahead of me as she began to walk, swaying her hips and flicking her tail back at me. And damn my eyes, I followed like a cow on a leash, more because of her beckoning than because I was putting any kind of plan into action, my eyes following every movement of the full, smooth curves on her body. Everything suddenly felt much more immediate, every gentle bounce of her mane and tail, every smooth muscle contraction jumping out at me. Her sleepy, somewhat inebriated over-the-shoulder smile, amused by my school-colt enchantment with the female form, held so many affectionate unspoken promises. It made my stomach feel like a boiling ocean, my head pound with alcohol laced blood, and my heart flutter with anxiety and excitement. My mind filled with half-formed images of pony-shaped silhouettes undulating in unison. I was no stranger to sex; it was hard to avoid even in a station like Exiperia that tried to keep things civil. That, and new children were always closely monitored; population booms were something to be afraid of in the already crowded Metro. Thin walls and cracked doors meant a glance every now and then was inevitable. But to be there, to experience it first hoof… to be the one making those strange, hypnotizing noises, to know you were the cause of them in another pony? Without even checking that Ruby Red was watching, I found myself walking out and up, out of the turbine room, into the deeper parts of the Fort. She led me past old rooms full of destroyed, graffiti choked terminals and consoles, past rooms of broken gauges and rusted pipes and large, seemingly pointless spaces overtaken by bandits looking for a place to sleep, the miscellany of living scattered over the floor and walls. Bandits already occupying these spaces glared or winked at us as we passed by. She led me up a flight of stairs I didn’t remember getting to the top of, so distracted was I by my inner turmoil, and the only action that seemed available was to follow meekly after her. At last we came to a hallway with several doors, and I, tormented still by half-remembered sights and sounds of lovemaking, trotted into her room behind her. She closed the door. “So how do you like it?” she asked in a slur I somehow found adorable. “I’ve… never really… done it,” I murmured. “Hehe… I meant my room, silly boy.” I glanced around the room. It was surprisingly lacking in either gore-soaked barbarism or girlish accessories. It was, instead, a small rectangular space with a small sprite light that flickered in one corner, a few books I recognized, papers with scribbles on them… poetry, it looked like at first glance. Radio parts and various pieces of mechanical junk, leading me to believe she tinkered in her spare time. And a bed that was meticulously well kept. “Cozy, isn’t it?” Pitter Patter asked, brushing her snout along my flank and scooting her way up my side, nosing off my saddlebags. I felt her gently nibbling, nuzzling, reaching the base of my neck. My eye twitched and I stood statue still, closing my eyes, which only served to exacerbate the feelings racing through me. A very strange scent filled my nose, ten times as intoxicating as the alcohol I’d been consuming. “Very,” I said in a tight voice. “Patter, it’s, uh, flattering that you want to do this-” “Does this feel good?” she asked, brushing her nose along my jawline. “… Very,” I all but squeaked, my eyes clenched almost painfully tight now. “That’s nothing.” Her hooves were on my body, touching so tenderly I felt fragile enough to break, and I shivered uncontrollably. She paused, letting me acclimatize… it felt very good… “H… how far are we going?” I asked, gulping. Pitter Patter breathed against my neck, her teeth at my ear, embracing me tenderly. Luna forgive me, she was so warm. “As far as it takes to-” Something struck a nerve. A flash of light. A flap of wings. The feeling of rushing towards something… Time… lost… My eyes snapped open. Exiperia. The Dark Ones. My friends… how could I do this knowing they were still out there? My home was still in danger! One night could make all the difference! One night… a night I’d almost just wasted. The terror of the Dark Ones gripped my heart, strangling all thoughts of romance and rest. It wasn’t a gentle feeling. Nor did I feel good for realizing it. I stepped away from Pitter Patter, who looked at me in confusion. I shook my head, clearing it of the cobwebs that’d been gathering, trying to surface from the ocean of lust I’d just been drowning in. “I shouldn’t. I can’t,” I panted. “No, I won’t. I’m not here for this. I’m sorry.” Pitter Patter stared incredulously, seeming unable to process what I was saying. Her hoof was still in the air where she’d been stroking my back. “W… what? What are you talking about?” I turned and looked her square in the eyes. “You were sent to me, weren’t you? Some kind of offering.” Even through the haze of alcohol my words cut deep. She scooted back until she was seated on her bed, collapsing on it. Every muscle in that poor mare seemed to collapse, and her head dropped forward, nodding. “Does it really matter?” she asked, her voice now husky and regretful. I looked away, squashing my pity. No matter how sweet her words or relatable her story, this whole charade couldn’t waste any more of my time. “Just… just trying to show you a good time, that’s all.” “You can still tell them you did the deed,” I muttered, feeling angry all of a sudden. At myself, I realized, for spurning an open offer and having to do so for a mission that gave me no rest. This was the reason Pitter Patter was here, and I’d just rejected one of the few ways she could make her bosses happy. Refusing her on principle meant making her life harder. But I couldn’t stop, not for a moment. “What the hell, Lockbox?” Pitter Patter demanded, turning on me suddenly. “What’s the matter with you? Why’d you let me drag you up here if you weren’t-” “I need information. That’s all.” Pitter Patter blushed for reasons I couldn’t discern, and then her eyes went to the ground again. “Oh. I get it. Just that, huh?” “Just that. I thought you’d be relieved.” “Does it look like I’m relieved?” she hissed. I backed up a step. “I didn’t mean to insult you.” “I’m sure. Just because the first pony that walks into this place that honestly likes to talk more than fuck and it’s not like I have an ego either or anything and he’s just here for information,” she rambled, falling back onto her bed and covering her face with her hooves. “Celestia, I’m so… I…” “You’re drunk. That’s all,” I said, scuffing my hoof as I looked at anywhere but her. I felt almost physically ill, having never had my body wound so tight like a spring, and then be forced to uncoil, all that energy, all that potential bleeding out like a wound. This wasn’t turning out how I thought it would at all… but then my eyes fell on the guitar. It sat against a corner of the room, behind the door, explaining why I hadn’t noticed it at first. It was a Fetlock manufactured Stratocolt, not a model I was intimately familiar with, but I’d played similar ones and owned a Fetlock myself. My mind flew back to those days by the fire, gently strumming while Starry Gaze rested against my shoulder, the long nights devouring the same sheet music over and over. Things fell into place with alarming ease. Galvanized, I turned back to the pouting Pitter Patter, licking my lips. “I’m sorry. I truly can’t spend this time with you. But… there is something else I can do?” “What.” She didn’t sound interested. It was a shot in the dark. But why else would she have it… “I can play for you. A song for a question.” Pitter Patter snorted at first, but then her gaze followed mine to the guitar. She stared at it like she hadn’t put it there; a shadow like an unnatural specter of something only she knew passed over her eyes. “That was… that was hers,” she rasped, speaking through a tight throat. “Your Stalker?” I ventured, and she nodded dumbly in return. It took me prodding her with my hoof to make her remember where she was. When she looked at me, her gaze was clearer than before. Younger in some ways. Tormented in others. I almost felt bad, knowing I was, in some way, manipulating her feelings for her long lost dear friend. But with my goal now so close, with her so pliable… “I never learned how to play it. Never had the time… no, that’s not true. I just never wanted to play it. It was hers, and… and I just thought… I’d never be able to do what she did with that old thing. Just been keeping it around for old time’s sake… remembering how… wonderful it used to sound. When we’d just sit around the fire and listen to her play.” Her expression grew more wistful as I continued to listen. “She’d always get this… this weird smile on her face when she played. Like she wasn’t all there. And when she looked at me with that smile… I felt like… like I was there with her, wherever she was. The music just… just sort of-” “Took you away,” I finished with a knowing nod. “I know. I play. One of the few things in the Metro I can call beautiful.” There was silence for a time, until she gestured for me to sit on the bed, then walked over and picked it up in her mouth, setting it down before me. “What do you want to know?” she whispered, still eyeing the guitar. I snatched up the guitar and immediately began tuning it. The instrument was as familiar to me as my guns, or my body. It felt good having something I was so knowledgeable in. “I want to know who put the pony called Sidewinder in the cages during a card game. Where I can find him. And if my plan to get Sidewinder out will actually work.” Pitter Patter was silent. She hopped up on the bed and scooted behind me, gently resting against my back. We leaned against each other, and this time the contact wasn’t at all uncomfortable. “Make me believe,” she whispered. “Make me feel like she did. And I’ll tell you.” And so I played. I played like I did in Exiperia around the storied fireplaces. I played like I did when the elders talked about a world long gone, one that would have been strange even to our father’s fathers. I played for the memory of a place so full of beauty and safety and innocence it was almost as alien as the world above was now. A place now found only in storybooks. I played for Equestria as it once was, with all the melancholy and wistful, noble recollection the old ones had when they spoke of it. And I closed my eyes, and felt the warmth of the fire on my face, and felt her small, gentle frame resting against mine. For a time, I was home, and played for my station, and listened to Pitter Patter’s gentle whispers telling me what I needed to know. When I was done, she’d fallen asleep. I gently laid her on the bed, watching her rest. She seemed, if not happy, then at least content. My eyes lingered on her face as her warmth lingered on my back. When it grew cold again, I slipped on my saddlebags and left. /-/-/-/ His name was Steel Crescent. He was a unicorn stallion’s stallion, as big as they came, with a cutie mark of a solid steel hammer. Apparently, that was to signify his proficiency at both fixing things and smashing them to pieces. He was one of the toughest sons of bitches in the Fort, and judging by the size of his muscles and his imposing, spiked metal armor, they weren’t lying. He even had a lit cigar jammed into his mouth to complete the tough colt image. Pitter Patter told me he wasn’t gutsy or smart enough to be a commander, but many ponies followed him out of respect for his ability anyway. His legendary temper was only matched by his unwillingness to lose... and a drunken Sidewinder had been the unlucky one to be caught cheating. I knew most of this because I was standing in the door of a place in the Fort Steel Crescent was known to frequent: a crowded and dingy dive known as the Gut. Located in the bowels of the Fort, it’d once been part of the distillation facilities, but like many other places it’d been slowly gutted and converted into a makeshift brewery, with tanks and pipes jutting from the walls. The stench of alcohol filled the dimly lit room, and a jukebox blared old time Equestrian swing music from one corner. It was also a popular place to play cards, since you got the drinks right from the source. The discipline here was slightly better than in the Rec Room, but the relative quiet, being a loud murmur of many conversations at once instead of a roar of wild partying, made me even more frightened. Here was where the hardened killers and anti-social misfits took refuge. I’d walked right into a wolf’s den. I already had a black eye, having run into a nasty pegasus pony halfway to going feather-brained who didn’t appreciate me passing him in the hall and thus “crowding” him. I could only hope it’d make me look less like a fool and more intimidating. Of course, my own idea of how to piss off a hulking monster like Steel Crescent wasn’t what I’d call intelligent. I watched him sulking over a round of beers, angrily watching his fellow bandits play their cards. It seemed he was having a good night, but it wasn’t improving his temper any. At least I didn’t have to worry about riling him up. I began to walk forward, setting my jaw in determination. My plan was stupid. Ridiculous even. But there was no other way to feasibly get Sidewinder out without making the entire Fort hostile. I am the earth. I am the earth. I felt the soil around me, tainted though it was. I felt the earth speaking to my soul, like all earth ponies felt, and was less afraid. Steel Crescent might have had larger muscles, but I had more power. A unicorn could never match an earth pony determined to win. And I was determined. “The FUCK!” Steel Crescent roared, scattering cards as he rounded on another player. I stopped when I saw that it was Ruby Red, who showed no fear while Steel Crescent raved at her. “You call that a hoof worth playing? Do you think I’m stupid? I call bullshit on that!” “If you can’t stand losing, then get the fuck out of the Gut and out of my face,” Ruby Red hissed. “You’re talking to Buttercup’s right hoof, in case you forgot. Go sleep off whatever the fuck is making you stupider than usual.” I continued walking as Steel Crescent sullenly took his seat again and resumed playing, grumbling to himself. The other players kept wisely silent through the outburst, but one or two of them noticed me as I came closer. That made Ruby Red perk up and notice. She didn’t look happy at all to see me. “The fuck are you doing out here?” she demanded. “You’re supposed to be back upstairs!” “Steel Crescent,” I said, ignoring her, which she didn’t like one bit. She jumped off her chair and moved to grab me as the big unicorn turned to face me. “Yeah, what?” he rumbled. I tried not to notice how much larger he looked up close. Or how spiky his armor was. It looked extremely painful. “You put a friend of mine in prison, and I- hurk!” Ruby Red snatched me around the throat with her magic and dragged me back, thrusting her snout into my face. “The hell are you doing, dead weight?!” she barked. “You’re interrupting my free time!” “I’m talking to Steel Crescent,” I returned, looking her right in the eyes. As Buttercup’s guest I wasn’t bound by that rule anymore. “I have an issue I need to redress.” “Well redress it with Buttercup!” she snapped, sending spittle into my face. “Whatever the fuck it is you don’t need to go causing trouble-” “I want a prisoner from the cargo room.” Ruby Red, and most of the conversations nearby, went silent. Apparently they already knew what I was going to propose. The rules of the Fort, I learned from Pitter Patter, were simple. If you cause problems, you either die, be banished, or get sent to the cages, depending on the severity of the crime and who exactly you made angry. Steel Crescent’s leverage and influence was such that anypony sent to the cages by him couldn’t be released easily, and I already knew Buttercup wasn’t going to just let Sidewinder out if I asked politely and make one of her best soldiers angry. Which meant I had to take a road of greater resistance. “Steel Crescent put the pony called Sidewinder into the cages. Only he has the right to release him or sell him off. I hereby challenge him for a pit match for the release rights of Sidewinder.” Silence. I felt, for a moment, proud, even confident. Obviously they were so shocked by my boldness it might have even impressed them. I’d gotten this far, and even Auntie Buttercup had taken a strange sort of liking to me. It was an exhilarating feeling. I think it was when they all started laughing that I began to get a little angry. “Let me get this straight,” Ruby Red said through derisive snorts and chuckles. “You... you’re going to fight him? For some stupid cargo? What the fuck, Lockbox? It might be ballsy if it wasn’t so stupid!” Steel Crescent looked like he’d been about to have an apoplexy. But then he too saw the apparent humor in the situation, and began to chuckle, and then laugh out loud, until he was banging the table. The others were shaking their heads and joking amongst themselves, mocking me openly. “Who are you, pony? Who are you, pony?” they taunted. “New guy wants to take on the vet! Fight of the century!” I felt an angry blush rise to my cheeks. I’d been through things they couldn’t imagine. Half of these ponies had probably never even braved the surface. But I’d been a Stalker, a Ranger, a killer, a traveler. I was a pony with my own merits. And I had a mission. These fools... these violent, silly fools! How could they understand why I did what I did? They couldn’t. And here they made fun of me because they couldn’t understand a pony who was trying to do his best to save his people! “I mean it,” I said, but they teased me all the more. I gritted my teeth until I thought they’d crack, feeling that old anger from before rise up again. Bastards. They didn’t realize if I had a gun and enough bullets I’d shoot them all, gladly! I’d show them! I’d show all of them! I stalked straight up to Steel Crescent while he pointed at me and guffawed like a fool. “Little pony wants to fight? Got a black eye there, soldier, don’t let it go to your head! Ha ha ha-” My hoof struck him square on the jaw. I felt it. I heard it. It was a literal explosion of energy granted to me by my earth pony magic, the strength of mother earth giving me what I needed to shut the bastard up quick. He spun in his chair, eyes comically wide, limbs flailing as he twirled right out of his seat and collapsed on the ground, his armor clanging as he smashed into the concrete floor. Everypony was silent. I stood over Steel Crescent and glared right into his eyes as he flipped over to face me, which were wide as a pony’s eyes could go. “You and me. In the ring. Sidewinder’s freedom is the prize. I am not fucking around. This is an official challenge for ownership!” I shouted to the rest of the Gut. “You’re all my witnesses! If Steel Crescent comes at me before the match, everypony knows him as a cowardly bitch! Buttercup’s rules. Not mine.” I looked back down at Steel Crescent, who’d regained enough of his senses to start looking angry. I matched him stare for stare. “Now give me my fight.” “... You got it, tough guy,” Steel Crescent hissed, licking up the blood from his lip and working a loose tooth with his tongue. I stepped away with a satisfied nod. “Three hours from now, sharp. Be there.” I turned to leave, catching Ruby Red’s gaze on the way out. She looked livid. Confused. Utterly incredulous. She didn’t have a single word to say.

redsquirrel456

446

Original Character,Crossover,Adventure,Dark,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

My Little Metro

After Doomsday forces ponies underground, a lone colt braves the Stalliongrad metro system to save his people from an unknown threat.

hiatus

<p>The Metro tunnels of Stalliongrad shelter the last remnants of ponykind from the ravages of the Apocalypse. Beneath the earth, ponies struggle to survive against mutants, radiation, and each other. But when an unstoppable threat emerges from the darkness of the Metro, one pony must brave the shadows to save not just his home, but the very existence of his people.</p>

teen

2012-03-18T07:03:18+00:00

2012-03-18T07:03:18+00:00

My Little Metro: Chapter 13 “They are jackals, but I am a wolf.” “So you’re really going to do it?” I turned away from the mirror I’d been staring into and met Ruby Red’s gaze steadily. “I am.” “Hot damn,” the murderess whistled. “Now that I think about it, and I mean I’ve really thought about it... I gotta say one thing.” She punched my shoulder and cackled. “You don’t stand a fucking chance!” I turned back to the mirror. I’d been standing here in the Fort’s infirmary, waiting. Waiting for the appointed time to come. It’d been one hour already. I knew word was spreading through the Fort like magically charged fire: new kid on the block decks Steel Crescent! Fights for a slave! Match of the year! Come watch an insolent young pony get his head stepped on by the local bruiser! Entertainment for one and all. My feelings didn’t match the enthusiasm the rest of the bandits had for the match; a quick peek into the Rec Room showed them already milling about the fighting pit. I had a very tangible pit in my stomach that seemed to be slowly swallowing up my insides the longer I mulled over my rash actions back in the Gut. I wasn’t afraid. But I was nervous. I had time to think, which more and more became a liability. Three hours until the match was an arbitrary number I’d thrown out on a whim, and at first I thought it would give me time to prepare. But I could hardly get ready for a brutal cage match in three hours when I’d never received anything beyond basic self-defense training. I knew how to shoot guns and punch ponies in vulnerable areas. I didn’t know much about actual “fighting.” Up until now I’d been depending on adrenaline, luck, and quick thinking to build on lessons I’d already learned. I’d been fighting against opponents in the thick heat of battle, with no rules and no need to do anything except point and shoot and not get shot in return. But here I’d be stuck, with no chance of escape or help from my friends. It was like my time in the cages, except the bars were on my imagination. I couldn’t see a way out of this, because there wasn’t. I was heading on a straight line to a confrontation I’d set up for myself. All I could do was wait as every tick of the clock pushed me closer to the precipice. Ruby Red poked me in the side again, intent on disrupting my concentration. “Hey. Why do you want to get Sidewinder out, anyway? He’s a prick and annoying to boot.” I stared into the mirror, watching Ruby Red’s reflection while I talked. “He has information I want.” “So ask him while he’s in the cages.” “He won’t give it up while imprisoned. I... know him from before. He’s not the kind of pony who’ll talk easily without something in return.” Ruby Red’s reflection cocked a suspicious eyebrow. I knew I trod on eggshells, dancing my way around a potentially dangerous conversation. “You could just beat it out of him.” “He’d just tell me what I wanted to hear. Or he’d find some way to enjoy it. I need him to feel like he owes me something. That’s how stalkers work. They’re mercenaries.” “You sound like you know him pretty well.” I rolled my eyes. What business was it of hers, and why was she suddenly interested in talking more than beating me up? I stepped away from the mirror and began to pace the small room, delicately stepping over old bloodstains that’d never been cleaned up. “Yes, I do,” I said curtly, hoping that would be the end of it. Unfortunately, Ruby was taking great delight in my growing discomfort. Suddenly following me around wasn’t boring anymore. Her predatory side was aglow with the scent of a fight in the air. It made her curious and upbeat. I couldn’t tell if that made her more or less off-putting than the dour, bloodthirsty creature I’d seen in her before. She leaned against the dirty, graffiti stained wall and watched my pacing with a razor-sharp smile. She enjoyed this. “So? You do know him? Well give, Lockbox, give! Don’t leave me hanging.” I hopped onto an examination table and regretted it immediately; it felt like it hadn’t been washed since the War. I scuffed a hoof along the rotten cushion. “I didn’t know we were suddenly friends.” “That was before you stopped being a pussy. I mean, Celestia knows I’ve wanted to clock Steel Crescent a good one since the day I met him, but I couldn’t. Not as often as I’d like, anyway. Auntie thinks it’s better for discipline or some shit. But the way you just walked up and nailed that guy! Whew!” She grinned, showing her surprisingly white teeth. A snow ghost leaped at me out of the blizzard, jaws open, teeth bared. “I didn’t know you had it in you, kiddo. Of course it’ll take more than that to put Steel down for good. He’ll keep coming. You don’t stand a chance. Not a fucking chance. But you better put on a good show before he kicks your head in, especially after that stunt in the Gut.” “You don’t have any advice?” “What can I say? Do whatever the fuck it takes. It’s what I’d do.” “Does Buttercup know what’s happening?” “I’d say the whole damn Fort knows by now. And don’t worry about Buttercup. She’ll be keeping an eye on the match I’m sure, but she won’t do anything to stop it... it was an honest challenge. A chance for you to prove yourself... that’s what she wanted for you,” she added, in an ominous, low voice. I perked my ears, wondering what she meant. Was it possible that in doing this I was giving Buttercup reason to believe I was on her side? Willing to try out the lifestyle she offered to me? I didn’t know if I should be comforted or worried by that. My only plan so far was to get Sidewinder out of jail and use his freedom as leverage to make him help me get out. I didn’t know if he’d be willing to reciprocate my kindness, but it was my only chance. I didn’t know what the consequences of my actions would be beyond getting him out. I’d just have to push onward, as I’d been doing all along on this insane journey. I sighed and closed my eyes. Two hours left... rather, one hour and however many minutes. I wondered what Steel Crescent was doing, and posed the question to Ruby. “Probably pacing the floor snorting about what a little pissant you are and fantasizing about all the horrible things he’s going to do to you. Hey, you still haven’t told me about how you know Sidewinder!” “I don’t want to, obviously.” I stood up and began to hop from hoof to hoof, trying to get my blood flowing so my body would match the anxiety my mind felt. I wondered idly if I should get a stiff drink before the match; it’d certainly distract me from the pain I knew was coming. Though no stranger to it by now, the fact that I couldn’t avoid it and knew I’d be a bloody mess on the floor through my own choice somehow made everything worse. “You’re such a freak, Lockbox. Come on. Tell me.” She came up next to me and poked me in the side. “Tell me.” “No.” She shoved me. “Tell me!” she said, making her voice sound especially whiny. “It’s not like you’re going to do anything except hang around in this room.” I rolled my eyes and turned away again, noticing the unbalanced grin on her face as I went for the door. She was a predator, all right. Enjoying the chase, the petty thrill of getting a rise out of somepony. She bothered me and she knew it, and she liked that. She was getting off on taunting me and preying on my insecurity and stubborn nature. Better than watching me sit and mope in a corner, I supposed. She followed me across the room, poking and prodding with horn and hoof. “Tell me, tell me, tell me!” “I need to concentrate. Leave me alone.” I was flung to the ground by a powerful shove. My face skidded along a grime coated floor with a gut-wrenching squelch. In the back of my mind I noted that I’d need to change my now dirty bandages. Ruby Red’s voice, now a dangerous hiss, slithered into my ears. “Get up, wuss.” My eyes jerked wide open. She no longer sounded mirthful or teasing; she was deadly serious like when we’d met in the cage room. I scrambled to my hooves and turned, wondering what kind of silly offense I’d done to her this time. Brushed my tail against her leg? Breathed the wrong way? Looked a little too long in the mane? But no explanations were forthcoming except for a swift right hoof to the face. I went down like a tree, but Ruby Red caught me with her magic and propped me up again. “Come on, I’ve seen grandmas take better hits! The fuck’s wrong with you?!” “The fuck’s wrong with you!” I spat. “I didn’t do anything!” “That’s the problem, Lockbox!” Ruby snapped back. In spite of her tone she had a strange smile on her face, suddenly full of nervous energy as she paced back and forth before me. “You’re not telling me what I want to hear, so now I get to test your boxing. Now fight me. You got an F so far. F for fucking failure.” My chest rose and fell like bellows, seeing red. I didn’t want to fight her. I wanted to kill her. I wanted to fight Steel Crescent and then get Sidewinder and out of this hellish place. I wasn’t her plaything to be shoved around and provide entertainment whenever she wanted. In spite of the throbbing pain in my cheek I took a step back, watching her expression go from eager to angry to confused, then back to terror-inducing rage. I gulped, but held firm. I didn’t like her. I didn’t like any of these ponies. But I wasn’t going to be intimidated so easily, not after all I’d survived. No, this mare was just latest in a long list of killers I’d managed to kill. “No,” I said. “I’m saving my energy for the real fight.” Ruby snorted, stamping her hoof on the ground. I thought for a moment she’d charge, but then she took a long, shuddering breath and stood up straight, somehow looking down at me even though I stood just a tad higher. Her mane fell over one eye, and she grinned in a manner that was far too calm given her previous outburst. “The... real... fight?” she asked, sauntering towards me, step by step. “Lockbox. Since when is any fight not... real? Are you saying that some fights just... don’t count?” She waggled a hoof. “I know you’ve killed ponies, Lockbox. Nopony gets as far as you do without it. I can see it. In your eyes. Smell it. In your hair.” She began to crowd my space, and I scooted back a few steps, bracing myself for another attack. Ruby just matched me pace for pace until I was backed into a corner, eyes darting for an escape. Still she came on, her rose red eyes boring holes into my head. I saw Sweet Dreams in that hateful, disturbing gaze that turned my stomach. I dared not look away, lest she think she’d won, or take it as an opportunity to attack me. “You’re tougher than you look. But that doesn’t mean you won’t get the shit beat out of you.” Ruby shook her mane until it fell over one of her eyes, setting her nose directly in front of mine. “You need to wise up, Lockbox. There’s nothing standing between you and me but your hooves. But you don’t think... this is real?” She grinned, and her horn glowed. The heat of the magic bleeding off of it washed over my face, making me turn my cheek. That only made her wave her horn closer, nudging the tip towards my eye. “I can do... whatever... I want.” Something touched my heart. It wasn’t a feeling; I felt as though something had literally grabbed hold of my heart! She was holding my heart! I gasped and my hooves flew to my chest as a cold sweat burst out all over my body. I fell to the ground and huddled against the wall, gasping for air. Still the magical grip on my vitals persisted, and as my eyes darted in their sockets, looking around the room for escape, I caught a glimpse of Ruby’s smile. I couldn’t move for fear of provoking her. So I did nothing. Regardless, she squeezed. I screamed. The icy claws had clutched my delicate heart for only a moment, but I’d never felt closer to instant death than I had in that one, horrible second where she literally held my life in her hooves. I spasmed and stayed on the ground, panting, while she loomed overhead, breathing hard. I could only imagine what kind of extreme concentration it took to perform a feat like that. It might even be impressive if I didn’t know she wasn’t a psychotic killer. I glared up at her with as much loathing as I could muster, though fearful of more pain I stayed on the ground in a pathetic little ball as she began to speak. “I used to be called Heart Throb,” she said in a nostalgic, almost gentle voice. “That was the name my... the name I got at first. I might’ve been a doctor... a surgeon... If I wasn’t born in a shit world like this. Found out my magic is a little... darker... than normal. More powerful. Check it.” She slid back part of her thick, plated barding so I could look at her flank. Her cutie mark, finally on display, was that of a heart with a blue ribbon, or perhaps a bandage, wrapped around it. “I can do magic that a lot of ponies just wish they could do. But I do it to break hearts instead of heal them. Ironic, isn’t it?” she mused. “Cutie fucking marks. What’s so cute about the shit we put each other through down here? You wanna know real, Lockbox? Real is the vise I just put around your fucking heart. Real is the hooves that’ll come flying at your face and breaking your bones. What fucking right do you have to just waltz in here and be the tough colt in town... like it’s some kind of game? Like you deserve a chance to win and... and shake things up?” She reached out. I would’ve recoiled, but her movements were slow, hesitant. I didn’t know what point she was trying to make, but I was ready for anything at this point. I was surprised when she began to stroke my mane, having the gall to even make the soft touch feel genuine. I shivered with revulsion under her touch. “You’re different,” she whispered. “I can see it. Buttercup can see it. Steel Crescent’ll see it when you walk into that ring against every rational thought you have and try to beat the shit out of a pony twice your size.” She smacked my cheek, hard, then pointed at me with her hoof. “But you’re still a weakling. You’re no big shot wanderer. You’re a kid. A stupid little kid who’s got some crazy idea in his head that he’s different just cause he thinks his balls are bigger. What, your daddy give you one too many beatings and now you got something to prove-” I thrust her hoof away and lunged. She was ready for me, grabbing me around the neck and using her considerable strength (for a unicorn) to spin us around and use my momentum to try and throw me down. I planted my rear hooves against the ground, and earth pony magic surged through my muscles, bracing me and preventing a fall. My hoof slammed into Ruby Red’s stomach, and though my hoof almost cracked against her barding, I knew she felt it from the way her body was jolted upwards, and she tried to push me away. I let her go and dropped onto my front hooves, spinning around to try and buck her smug, grinning face. She dodged it easily and then jumped up into my stomach until her shoulders and neck were pushing against my ribs. She lifted up and flung me aside with frightening ease. I dropped to the floor like a bag of bricks, listening to her pounding hooves carrying her towards me before I was done landing. I saw her rear up to strike out of the corner of my eyes, and instead of rolling away I jumped up to meet her, and through luck or fate my timing was just right. My hoof flew up and collided with her chin in the split second between her coming up and slamming her front hooves down. She spun away and grimaced, and was met by another savage right hook across the face. She staggered. Fueled by rage, wanting her to feel the pain she’d put me through so far, I crossed the distance in one leap to continue the attack. I was stopped in midair by a deep purple glow around my body jerking me to a halt. I went flying back and slammed into the table, flopping over the edge until my face met the ground again. Not to be deterred I sprang back up and rushed around the table, ready to kill... but Ruby Red was holding up a hoof to say the fight was over, smiling through a bloody lip and a swelling eye. I stopped in a ready position, one hoof up and my tail swishing. “Okay. Okay. You got some spunk,” she said, shaking her head. Her horn shimmered and the door was flung open. I stayed tense and ready as she began to walk out. Her tail flicked me in the face as she went by. “But you still don’t stand a chance, Lockbox. Not a fucking chance.” The door shut behind her. I huffed and bucked the wall as hard as I could. It left a satisfyingly large crack and two hoofprints. “We’ll see,” I whispered, though it was more to myself. As far as it takes, a yellow pony whispered in my ear. /-/-/-/ I breathed. Breathing was all I could do. All I could focus on. It helped keep me from panicking. Just outside the door I could hear the roar of the crowd. My surprise challenge had drawn quite a turn-out, so Squeaky Clean told me. Almost two hundred ponies. A veritable army all come to watch me get turned into a red smear on the ground. Steel Crescent was a popular pony... popular in that everypony knew who he was and did their best to stay out of his way, or so I gathered. That I’d challenged him of everypony in the Fort was one reason it was such an exciting idea. “So here’s the low-down on this ‘ere scrap,” Squeaky Clean said, standing next to me. He’d taken it on himself to be my “motivator” before and during the match. “Steel Crescent’s gonna come at you hard an’ fast. He’s nopony to fuck around with, so hit ‘im like your life depends on it, cause it does.” “Why are you giving me advice again?” I asked him. He gave me a slithering smile. “Cause I like makin’ friends ‘stead of enemies, kiddo. There’s somethin’ about you that says you can get shit done, an’ I like that in a pony. ‘Sides, if you’re gonna be one of us, might as well put on a good show, eh?” He patted my shoulder. “Come on then. You’re an earth pony. You know that we don’t go for all the fancy shit that unicorns go on about. You get in there an’ do what we do best: buck the hell out of anythin’ that gets in our way. You ready?” “If I’m not, then we’ll find out soon enough.” “Ha ha! That’s the spirit! Come on, let’s go meet your soon ta’ be adorin’ fans.” He pushed the door open, and I stepped outside. Immediately I was met with a harsh glaring light that made me squint, and the roaring of the crowd was all I could hear. It was a mix of honest cheers, cruel jeering, and wild encouragement. Most of it was bloodthirsty. “Rip his fuckin’ head off!” I heard one bandit shout, though I didn’t know who he was talking to. Eventually the glare lessened and I could see a straight path leading from the door to the ring. Steel Crescent was already there, stomping and snorting and encouraging the bandits to cheer for him, throwing his mane around. I stepped out into the avenue, surrounded by bandits that grinned and leered and angrily shouted for no particular reason, the noise thudding and pounding in my ears. A spotlight followed my movements. A quick scan of the crowd let me see Sidewinder chained securely on top of the podium where the Monarchy mare had been before. For reasons I couldn’t discern, he had a huge grin on his face. “Lockbox! You’re my hero!” he shouted over the din, waving at me. I shook my head and entered the ring. The gate shut behind me with an angry clang. Pony faces sneered at me from every conceivable angle, shouting obscenities, waving hoofs, practically crawling over each other for a good look. Floodlights stared down like wide-eyed foals around the perimeter of the ring; I felt their heat even from here. And across from me stood Steel Crescent. He paced the opposite side of the ring like a demon set loose after being starved, eyeing me with malicious intent. Ponies were chanting his name, eager to see him exercise his great power. Outside of his armor I saw every bulging muscle, every stretching tendon with every step he took. A shaggy, lime green mane fell over bronze eyes that glared with very real hate for me, the usurper that dared to challenge him. He was a real monster of a unicorn, and I couldn’t help but imagine him goring me to death with his horn just because that seemed an appropriate thing for such a terrifying pony to do. Squeaky Clean reached over the ring’s chest high barrier and tapped my shoulder. “Remember what I said!” he shouted. “Get in close an’ finish the bastard quick!” I didn’t know if that was wise, getting a closer look... but I couldn’t let that stop me. I was in the ring. There was no going back. I am the earth. I planted my hooves firmly and took a deep breath, ignoring the aches and pains in my body, ignoring that most of me was still swathed in bandages. I ignored the fact that I was comparatively small and didn’t know the first thing about actual fighting. I ignored everything except my goal. After all I’d been through, Steel Crescent would not deny me. I walked to the center of the ring in time with my opponent. A zap of purple magic burst on the ground between us, coalescing into a purple flame. I turned and saw Ruby Red holding up a hoof for attention. “Remember the rules! No magic! No going for the dangly bits! Other than that, there’s no rules! Now get it on!” I turned and stared Steel Crescent in the eyes. For just a moment, it was only me and him, standing over the tiny flame that separated us, both ready for blood. The flame flickered and died. The first punch sent me reeling. I realized it came from the left when the left side of my face erupted with pain. I staggered against the fence surrounding the arena, only just dodging another strike from Steel Crescent that dented the metal barrier behind me. I leaped and rolled when I hit the ground, hearing Steel’s powerful hooves striking the earth moments after I got away. He’s fast. Faster than I thought. I had to see if I could- WHAM! I spun and collided with the concrete floor, hearing the boos and taunts from the crowd. It was official: my entire face was now numb, and the match had barely started. My eyes rolled in their sockets and beheld Steel Crescent pacing the ring, working the crowd into a frenzy with his posturing while I flailed ineffectually on the ground. “Stop wasting time!” Ruby Red shouted in a magically amplified voice. “Finish him already!” “I’m gonna stomp your fuckin’ head in!” Steel Crescent bellowed. I stood up and narrowly avoided becoming paste on the floor, watching Crescent’s hooves leave imprints in the concrete. Though I didn’t actively tap into the strength of the earth, my legs were steady and I wondered, did earth pony magic count as actual magic? Would they notice? Would they enjoy the fight more if I cheated? Steel Crescent came at me again. He kicked out with his front hooves, but I managed to stay just out of range, and when his body came down, I was ready. My heart thudded in my chest, a keen reflection of the way my hoof thudded into Crescent’s nose. He jerked his head back and I pressed the attack, feeling the blood rush through my veins and pound in my ears. Two more solid blows to the head forced Crescent back a single step, and I pushed in closer, rearing up to crash my front hooves into his skull. Crescent’s shoulder bashed into my rib cage. I felt more than heard the impact, the air forced from my lungs in a painful rush. My world spun as I fell backwards and barely managed to on four hooves by twisting awkwardly. On Crescent came, spitting curses. I hopped back and threw my hooves up against his, and we scratched and clawed on two legs for a few brutal seconds before we crashed back to the ground. Crescent turned to one side and lashed out with his back hoof, forcing me backwards into the iron wall of the ring. Crescent saw his chance and loomed over me. I saw one of his hooves come forward and raised my own to block. Crunch went something in the side of my face as his other hoof collided with my skull. I fell to the side and slammed against the barrier, almost thrown bodily over it. Ponies crowded around me, taunting me to stay down, urging me to get up. It all blended together into one dizzy cacophony of noise. I felt blood trickle down my nose as I planted my hooves on the top of the wall and breathed, sucking air through the fluid that dribbled out of my mouth. My lip had been split open. Steel Crescent was behind me. I could feel the heat of his body as he prepared to deliver the final blow, reared up on two legs. Something deep inside me up until this point had been twisting, bending, curving into shapes it wasn’t meant to be. The stress had come relentlessly with no way to vent. No way to relax. And in that moment, feeling the final indignity of all my efforts coming to naught because of a boxing match, that something snapped. “No more... fuggin’ around...” I rasped, and came to life. I heard a gasp of surprise from the crowd as I spun around, catching Crescent’s hoof before it came down, trapping it over my shoulder. My other hoof crashed into his belly, driving him back as I shoved with all my strength. Once, twice, three times I smashed his stomach into his spine, pushing him back into the center of the ring. Crescent grabbed me into a bear hug and crushed me against his chest, spinning about to hurl me to the ground. I landed on four hooves and came at him again, wrapping my hooves around his neck and slamming any exposed bit of Crescent I could reach, hammering his back and neck. The massive unicorn bucked wildly as I clung to him as fiercely as I could, kicking my back leg up into his ribs as we hopped awkwardly around the ring, with me gamely hanging on. The unicorn bellowed with rage and jumped up and fell down, crushing me under his weight. I felt the collision with solid concrete, my back riven with pain as Crescent rolled off me. When I stood I found his legs bucking into me, throwing me clear across the ring and into the wall. Before I could stand he was on me again, his hoof crashing into my ribs, my neck, my face and my head. Blows rained down on me like a lead blizzard as I raised my hooves to protect my skull. When he went for my stomach I jumped up and gave a great heave, pushing him away. When he leaped at me again I ducked under his hoof and gave him a good cracking punch to the chest, feeling vicious satisfaction when I heard him gasp. He hopped away, more wary of me now. Old wounds had reopened and my bandages were a mess. Blood was starting to leak down from a large cut on my head. Pain was everywhere, but it galvanized me to fight. Yes, bring it! More! Give me more! He wanted a fucking fight, I’d give him one! “Come on!” I shouted as we circled one another, blood spraying from my lips. I saw a cut on the unicorn’s cheek, and he was starting to sweat. I knew I was. The crowd roared its approval at my renewed vigor. “That’s it, Lockbox!” I heard Sidewinder shout from his platform. “Give it to him! Hit him! Hit him! Come from the right!” Crescent lost his patience and flew at me. We came together in a flurry of kicking hooves. I bit him on the mane and pulled viciously, feeling several strikes land on my sides. Celestia, it hurt. But I didn’t cave in. I punched his shoulder, his knee, his lips, anything I could reach, until he shoved me away. As I landed I spun around, aiming to send a right hook into his head, but he caught me first. I spun around again and met the cold iron of the wall, sliding down until I was on the floor. I grabbed the rim of the wall and heaved myself up, seeing Sidewinder on the platform, prancing on his hooves with excitement. “I meant your other right, Lockbox! Lockbox! You just got punched! Hey Lockbox! I think you’re losing!” “I KNOW!” I screamed raggedly and turned just in time to see Crescent charging me like a bull. I leaped away and heard the heavy crash as Crescent smashed into the wall face first, driving his horn into the metal and almost goring the ponies behind. I hoped it hurt the bastard. I slid along the wall and staggered to a stop again. Everything was aching. I couldn’t feel my face. Half of it felt dented inwards. My front hooves were numb from striking solid muscle like rock over and over. Blood was starting to leak into my eyes. I came face to face with Ruby Red. We locked eyes. Though she was surrounded by screaming, angry ponies, she had a look of almost serene, contemptuous calm on her face. She enjoyed seeing me suffer like this. I saw the amusement dancing in her eyes. “Not a chance,” I saw her mouth, and she reached out and placed her hoof on my head, nudging me back into the ring. I was met by Crescent’s angry glare. Blood streamed from his nose and his eyes were red, with blood or hate I didn’t know. He shook off the dizziness from his collision with the wall, still eager to hurt me. “Come on you fucker!” I roared, though it came out more as “Commagh aghaabl!” He came. Cautiously at first, winding his way across the ring, until he tried to feint under my hooves and spin into a buck. I ducked underneath and sprang up again, driving my hooves into his stomach to push him right off his hooves, though when I pushed he seemed to suddenly lose some of his weight, making me the unbalanced one. I staggered forward and he slammed a hoof into the back of my head as I went by, driving me face first into the floor. Stars exploded in front of my eyes, beautiful colors swirled in my vision. Crescent tried lifting me off the floor again and I tried to push him up and away once more, using my disproportionate strength as an earth pony. Again I was deflected and heard the unicorn chuckle as he lifted me off the ground with a blow to the stomach and threw me down again. I ended up on my back, staring at the ceiling. “Stay down!” Crescent roared. The crowd was a tidal wave of noise. I couldn’t tell if they were supporting me or Crescent or just enjoying the bloodlust. A few excited pegasi had taken wing and hovered above, pumping their hooves as they chanted something I couldn’t hear. But before any referee could put an end to the fight I stood up again. I’d felt a strange tingle that time, and not just numbness from the pain. I’d seen a faint glow. Crescent had used magic to keep himself on his hooves and throw my weight elsewhere. Fucking unicorns. There wasn’t any recourse for me; I had to end the fight or get beaten to a pulp. They wouldn’t stop just because of a little cheating here and there. But seeing that blatant act had ignited my fire again; I wouldn’t hold back anything this time. I was an earth pony. We didn’t have magic spells. We couldn’t fly. But we could kick some serious flank when we needed to. “I am the earth.” I stood up and came for him again, feeling magic course through my legs. My punch met his outstretched hoof, and I felt his taut muscles bend back under my assault. He cried out and hunched over, leaving him open for a brutal buck right to the ribs that sent the massive unicorn flying. The crowd went wild. I stood up straight and basked in the approval. They either didn’t know I was cheating now too, or didn’t care. Maybe everypony cheated. But the sight of Crescent lying on the ground and clutching his side was more than worth it. I turned and saw Squeaky Clean banging the walls in excitement, shouting for me to finish him off. Ruby Red hung over the wall, watching me intently, neither smiling nor frowning. I saw the pink tip of her tongue lick slowly across her lips, as if she could taste the blood in the air. Crescent stood up again and charged. There were no more pretenses. His horn glowed and my muscles flowed with power. I fought his attempt to magically lift me off my hooves, keeping my own planted on the ground. The earth embraced me, anchored me, protected me. It didn’t do the same for Crescent, who threw his hoof at me again, the limb wrapped in magic to make it faster and more powerful. I leaped up and punched it away easily, sending another blow right into his shocked face. Blood jumped from his mouth and splattered on the ground. The fight devolved from there into a straight up, knock down melee. I didn’t see or hear or notice anything except the driving desire to finish off the unicorn. I stayed anchored to the ground and his superior weight seemed like nothing. I wondered if the adrenaline of the fight was helping to increase my powers, or just flexing my magical muscle had given me greater ability than before. Either way, I I felt my hooves smash into him again and again, blowing away his defenses as he attempted to push through mine. In spite of this my body couldn’t take endless abuse. Without the power of the earth I’d have been a goner already, and I could feel myself growing tired. We hammered each other again and again, not even paying attention to form anymore, testing the limits of each other’s endurance. Crescent’s horn flared brightly as we reared up to face each other, taking me by surprise. His hooves knocked away mine with surprising ease, and I saw a magical glow even behind his bloodied, rage-filled eyes. It seemed the angrier he got, the more magic he was able to channel. I realized this right before his magically charged hoof smashed into the side of my head, sending me straight to the ground. Everything went dark. The crowd faded to muted background noise. I didn’t even feel the concrete as I smacked into it. It was wet. Oh, dear. Was that my blood or his? Fucking unicorns. But as I struggled to stand up again and Crescent licked his wounds, wary of a trap that I didn’t have in the works, I saw something on the ground next to me. Shining against the blood and the concrete. A tiny screw. I plucked it up in hoof and knew in a moment what I had to do. “Bad omen,” I said, laughing as I spat out blood through teeth that ran red with it. I’d need an entire week in the infirmary after this. Maybe a good massage from a pretty mare. Lots and lots of sleep. Crescent came at me again, and this time I was ready. I spun about and met his charge, letting him drive his shoulder into my chest. I wanted to be above him. I felt his hot breath snorting into my chest as he slammed me into the wall, driving the breath from my lungs. I almost threw up all over his back. But I held my hoof high, and kept the point of the screw pointed down. I drove my hoof down onto his head, straight at the point where horn met skull. Crescent screamed like I’d never heard a pony scream before. The screw stayed lodged in his flesh as he pulled away. I didn’t know how far I’d need to drive it to make it hurt, but apparently it was enough to hurt like hell. Crescent clutched his horn and shook his head wildly, like he was shaking his skull right off his neck. I dropped onto all fours and waited, breathing hard, trying to take these precious few moments to rest. No surprise, everything hurt and I was bleeding from several gashes on my face and sides, and I think Crescent had managed to rip out a good chunk of my mane. I felt dizzy and unsteady. Crescent looked up at me, at once shocked, confused, a little indignant, and murderously furious. I gulped. He didn’t look just angry anymore. He looked absolutely, positively livid beyond all rational thought. And he still hadn’t given up. I wondered if pain was some kind of psychological fuel for the big bastard. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. The crowd just cheered as he flew at me, bellowing, utterly mad with rage. He couldn’t use magic, not directly at least, the pain would have been too much even for him to bear with part of his horn punctured. But he could still fight, and he could still smash my skull into the floor. I remembered something about magically charged nerve endings in unicorns, acting like circuitry, as he plowed right into me and very nearly hurtled me backwards. But my own magic held firm. That didn’t stop him from smashing me with hammer blows from his hooves. I felt my concentration slip, and my magic slipped away from me. I fell to the ground, but Crescent picked me up again and sent me reeling with a vicious headbutt, followed up by a one-two strike to the gut and head. Ah, hello again ground. How are you? I fell into the back of my mind, away from my own eyes until my vision tunneled. I saw Crescent shouting in my face from far away, no doubt telling me how worthless I was and how I was as good as dead. The crowd’s noise was drowned out. Even Crescent sounded distant. All around me was a comforting, warm blackness. The black of sleep. I dropped into it and very nearly gave in completely. And then above me, she appeared. Her gentle blue eyes gazed down at my beaten and battered form with endless compassion. She shook her head almost fondly, as if I was merely a little colt who’d gotten dirty playing in the mud. Gentle flaps of her radiant, almost solar wings brought her closer and she held out her hoof, the end of her pink mane tickling my nose, brushing my cheek. I saw her lips move, and she whispered something I couldn’t hear over the roar of the crowd. I reached up and took her hoof in mine. She pulled, and I came up with her, and then past her, rushing back into consciousness. My outstretched hoof was no longer holding hers, but flying out towards Crescent’s face. I felt strength rush back into my limbs, propelling me upwards. My hoof positively burst with energy. I felt as if the entire world beneath me was pushing me up. All of that energy exploded right into Crescent’s chin as my hoof made contact in an uppercut worthy of songs and poets. His head snapped back, and his body followed suit, convulsing as it left the ground. I, too, was lifted clear off my hooves by the incredible burst of energy, and for a moment I hung in the air, my hoof reaching up and Crescent bent over backwards. The faces in the crowd were priceless. I came back down with a clatter of hooves and a loud thud as Crescent crashed to the ground. Blood and dust swirled in the air around me in a whirlwind dance. And the crowd cheered. Some of the voices were angry; clearly I’d upset a few ponies who’d taken heavy bets against me. One or two brawls broke out. My head swam and my body dribbled blood. My limbs shook uncontrollably and my chest worked like a set of bellows as I sucked air through bloody nostrils. Fatigue and the cold sweat of post-adrenaline lows rushed over me. But I didn’t care. In fact, I’d never felt happier. Crescent groaned and twitched on the ground. The giant was slain. The challenge was done. I threw my hooves in the air and several ponies cheered with me. Squeaky Clean was at my side, thumping my back and chanting my name as a pegasus draped what I supposed was some kind of cloak of honor around my shoulders. The little newcomer had beaten the toughest son of a gun in the whole Fort. My eyes caught Ruby Red’s. She didn’t look happy. But then, she didn’t look dissatisfied with the outcome at the same time. I made a rude gesture with my hoof and turned away, pointing up at Sidewinder, who was grinning expectantly. “Down. Get him down,” I said, and Squeaky Clean motioned for a nearby pony to release him. The Stalker danced in place and hopped down from the platform, winding and weaving his way towards me through the crowd until he could put his hooves on my shoulders. “Lockbox! You crazy, beautiful son of a bitch, I can’t believe it! Ha! I knew there was something special about you!” I didn’t feel special. The high was already starting to leave me, and instead of feeling alive I felt half-dead and looked it too. “Nothin’,” I mumbled through bruised, swollen lips. “S’nothin’.” “You look like shit, my friend! I’ve never seen a more beautiful sight! I could kiss you! But that’d be weird, wouldn’t it? Ah, what the hell, I’ll do it anyway!” Without any warning, he yanked me forward and planted his lips on mine, smearing both our faces with the blood and saliva that dribbled down my chin. My eye twitched. And then everypony was laughing as Sidewinder picked himself off the floor, chuckling and snorting like he’d heard the best joke in the world while he held his cheek where I’d decked him. Squeaky Clean joined other ponies in chanting my name. Even though I knew this would all likely just lead to more trouble, I felt myself buoyed up by the noise, the cheers, the rush of victory. For just a few, precious moments, I felt like things were going my way. /-/-/-/ “You really stirred up the hornet’s nest, you know.” I lay on a bed in the infirmary. In the Fort I’d become the hero of the hour, with no small amount of ponies coming to congratulate me and proclaim what a badass I was. A few came just to get a good look at me and sneer. Ruby Red hadn’t come at all. Auntie Buttercup had come to talk. She looked far too pleased with herself, as if this had been her plan all along. I doubted it. “I know. That wasn’t really the idea. But I guess I can use the fame,” I said, wondering how this was all going to pan out from here. I didn’t want bandits on my side, didn’t want them loyal to me, didn’t want to get caught up in their petty politics. I planned to use this as a leverage to get out before they were any wiser. Maybe I could volunteer for a mission and slip away before they found us. “Hmm. Just remember, the more popular you get, the more enemies you’ll have. I knew that letting you stay was a good idea... you proved you got guts, going up against Steel Crescent like that. He’ll be nursing a grudge for months, though. I hope you can take care of yourself.” “You aren’t going to help me if he makes a move?” “I try to keep an open hoof about this kind of thing. If I took sides in too many personal disputes, it’d just piss off some of my best ponies. Crescent isn’t stupid enough to try anything too blatant, but I won’t hide the fact that sometimes my boys and girls can get a little... rowdy, when I’m not paying enough attention. I can’t give you personal protection, but I will warn you that he’s not exactly a pony to forget when he’s slighted.” “Grand,” I said. “So, what’s next?” “Well. Now that you’ve earned the respect of my soldiers, and gotten a friend out of the cages... perhaps it’s time to see what you can do in the field.” She stepped closer, putting her face uncomfortably close to mine. “You’ve earned your place, Lockbox. And now it’s time to earn my trust. Learn how things work around here when you work for me.” I don’t work for you. In fact, first chance I get, I’m putting a bullet in your brain. I’m here because of you. I’m doing these things because ponies like you refuse to make things better with all your power. “What do you need?” “Try not to look too eager to please. It gets a pony thinking about your motivations. Anyway. Once you’re well enough, you’ll be going with Ruby Red to one of our outposts to the south. I’ve gotten a message that the Lunar Republic wants to cut a new deal involving our smuggling activities. And I need to talk to them about the... hrm... the troubles we’ve been having.” “Rangers and cultists?” Buttercup raised her eyebrow. “I heard rumors.” “No doubt. Cultists are moving in our turf, and I’ve got Rangers apparently carving their way through my blockades and checkpoints. Can’t have that. I need clear tunnels to transport my goods, and if I start losing ponies left and right they’ll lose faith that I can keep them alive. Bandits you see are very simple creatures at heart... they want to live. They want to do what they like while they’re living. And they want their booze. Oh, do they want their booze...” She looked to the side, tossing her mane, smiling in a manner almost wistful. “Point is. I’m sending you to see what the Republic is really like. So you can be useful. Maybe you can even intimidate old Lucky Clover’s generals. They’re going to need our help when shit goes down between them and the Monarchy... it already is, but once it gets worse, they’ll come crawling to us like they should. We’re the only ones who can get them a good deal on weapons and supplies apart from Hoofsa, and they’ve thrown their lot in with the Monarchists. Frankly everything is ready to fall apart, Lockbox. I need good ponies on my side so my boys can get through this in one piece.” “Where do you get good deals for weapons?” I asked Buttercup looked at me as if I’d grown a third eye. “We cut deals! We put ponies against the wall. We bribe them! Give us what we want and you won’t find your caravan guards’ throats slit. Come on Lockbox, don’t make me regret taking you in. It’s not that hard to figure out. We do what we have to do to survive.” Yes. Survive until you die. That’s what you all do. It’s all anypony seems to do. I rolled onto my side when Buttercup left and faced the wall, wondering what opportunities my chance to get outside the Fort would give me. Sidewinder would be invaluable with his knowledge of the tunnels, assuming he didn’t backstab me again, and from what I’d gathered he had no love of the Fort, and the bandits didn’t like him much either. We both needed this chance to escape, which was why I’d decided to send Buttercup the message that I’d accepted her offer. Surprisingly, Buttercup had ordered a colt to stand around specifically for that purpose. I was definitely getting the red carpet treatment by bandit standards. Sidewinder came to visit soon after Buttercup did. I knew because even though I’d been looking at the door, he suddenly jumped up in front of my face. “My hero!” “AHHH!” /-/-/-/ “Sorry again, Lockbox.” “If I didn’t know better,” I said, gingerly touching a cloth to my lip, which had been cut in my fall from the bed, “I’d say that was some strange kind of assassination attempt.” “Ha! Better get used to it! Famous ponies have enemies, Lockbox. The more famous you are the more enemies you have. Fortunately, I’ve got your back.” He tried to put a hoof around my shoulders. I shrugged him off. “Why? So you can throw another howler onto it?” Sidewinder flinched, and though the smile didn’t leave his face, it grew thin and unconvincing. “I got you out of those cages so you could help me, Sidewinder. I figure after that, you might be a little closer to being square with me for trying to end my life. Don’t pretend that we’re friends.” Sidewinder chuckled, and it wasn’t the kind that made my spirits perk up. It was deep, throaty, almost frightening. Suddenly he was all smiles again, draping his hoof around my shoulders again and utterly ignoring my attempts to buck him off. “All right, Lockbox, all right. But for the record, I wasn’t trying to kill you. I just left you to your own devices. Clearly, it’ll take more than that to put you down. Besides! What’s a little nastiness between friends? I’ve backstabbed my share of ponies. That they couldn’t see me coming is their own fault! Hey, just to make it up to you, the next time you get a free shot, I’ll let you take it, and I won’t even haunt you after I’m dead!” “I’ll hold you to that.” “Good! Oh, by the way. Ruby Red’s in a mood. So when we head out on the mission, she might take a free shot too.” “They’re just going to let you out? I haven’t even asked anypony yet.” “I’m a free pony now thanks to you! I mean, they could technically still murder me in my sleep. But technically, I can also do whatever I want now! And I have you to thank! Isn’t that funny, us being best friends even though we wanna kill each other? Or you just want to kill me. You’re far too entertaining for me to think of offing. Speaking of getting off-” “Be quiet. Please.” He laughed. The grating, forced sound made my ears fold down on my head. This pony was for real? Sometimes he seemed even less believable than Nopony. “How can you laugh about all this?” He winked. “Easy! I know all about laughter. I just so happen to be a direct descendant of the one and only Pinkie Pie! Element of Laughter? Premier party pony... pink as a pearl sweet as sugar I-wish-I-wasn’t-related-so-I-could-fantasize Pinkie Pie?” I blinked. I knew the name, if not the pony... the Elements of Harmony were legend, after all, especially in times like these. If that was in any way true, it was... rather impressive, actually. Not that I actually believed him. “How... do you figure that?” “Easy!” He ducked down and put his face uncomfortably close to mine to whisper, squishing our cheeks together. “I read the notes.”

redsquirrel456

446

Original Character,Crossover,Adventure,Dark,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

My Little Metro

After Doomsday forces ponies underground, a lone colt braves the Stalliongrad metro system to save his people from an unknown threat.

hiatus

<p>The Metro tunnels of Stalliongrad shelter the last remnants of ponykind from the ravages of the Apocalypse. Beneath the earth, ponies struggle to survive against mutants, radiation, and each other. But when an unstoppable threat emerges from the darkness of the Metro, one pony must brave the shadows to save not just his home, but the very existence of his people.</p>

teen

2012-06-06T17:13:42+00:00

2012-06-06T17:13:42+00:00

My Little Metro: Chapter 14 “He’s a very decent youth; I can guarantee it personally.” My stay in the infirmary was a memory I didn’t bother dwelling on. It was a full day and night’s stay and though I tried to sleep soundly, my mind was full of strange dreams that I couldn’t for the life of me remember, save they were extremely disturbing. My time awake comprised of long stretches of boredom punctuated by me having to chase off my new fans, those bandits who had not yet found somepony to ally with. One colt in particular had to be shooed off five times, insisting he had “connections” that guaranteed I would have an army in less than a week. I didn’t want a personal army of thugs. I wanted to get out of here! But I knew that my body had been put through hell the last few weeks, and it needed at least a little rest. I’d been given a waif of a mare to bring me food and other amenities, though by the lecherous wink the stallion who dropped her off gave me I was clearly expected to do more. I did not, but this wasn’t a comfort to her as she obediently brought me whatever I asked and never spoke to me apart from a muttered ‘yes sir’ or ‘no sir.’ When I asked about her personally, she either didn’t answer or claimed she didn’t know depending on how forcefully I asked, and since I didn’t beat her she didn’t tell me more. It broke my heart to see a pony in such condition. But what could I do for her? She wouldn’t last five minutes in the Metro. I supposed I should’ve been surprised at how callous I was being. But I had only so much room in my heart for compassion alongside my mission, and that had already been squeezed out by the mare I’d serenaded days ago. On the morning of the third day, I knew I couldn’t delay any longer. Fortunately, that was also the time when the day of our mission to meet with the Lunar Republic would begin. Ruby Red came to the same conclusion as me and barged into the room, throwing my covers off and dragging me to my hooves. “Get your shit together, we’re leaving in an hour. Come to the front of the Fort and don’t be late,” she snapped, and then stomped off again to vent her unending anger on some other poor pony. I was surprised; after all the attention she’d been giving me being brushed off like so much rubbish made me feel almost indignant. At least I didn’t have to look forward to her brand of ‘special treatment.’ I stood on shaky limbs that still remembered the fight with Steel Crescent. Though I’d won everything in that moment, I knew I still had so far to go. The fact that I’d beaten him didn’t matter in the end, and the fight had only been necessary at all because of the explosion in the Blue Line leading to my capture. Amazing how just a few days of recuperation suddenly ruined my good mood. Everything that troubled me before seeped back into my mind as I threw on my bags, which had been returned per my request and Buttercup’s orders. I checked through the contents, surprised to see not a single thing had been removed. Just to try and butter me up, Buttercup seemed to have included a few magazines worth of bullets. Not scratch made ammunition, but real, pre-War bullets that were worth money. At least I didn’t have to worry about dying poor again. The screw that let me defeat Steel Crescent was gone. The stallion would have plucked from his head and threw it down a toilet or the like. Like the screw, I knew that Bad Omen was also gone, and there was nothing I could do for him anymore. He’d resigned himself to die in the cages, and there he certainly would die. I couldn’t take him out into the tunnels, couldn’t point him anywhere safe. Just like Pitter Patter, who I was thankful not to receive a visit from. Hopefully she did the smart thing and stayed out of my sight. All we could do was move on. I couldn’t bear to look that poor mare in the eyes and tell her I’d never see her again. So many ponies to be left behind. So many who would die in misery and solitude whether or not I won, and I didn’t even have something to remember them by... No. I wouldn’t let my thoughts wander. I had to walk on. I had to go as far as I needed. If I couldn’t at least save Exiperia, then all of this would have been for nothing. That was a thought I couldn’t bear. I threw on my clothes, which had been cleaned and stitched. The patchiness of my garments flattered me; I think I just appreciated clothes that looked as traveled as I felt. I spent a moment admiring how far I’d come, and how clearly the marks of my travels showed on my clothes and body. Here a lurker tore open my sleeve, here the scar of nosalis teeth bit into my neck. My poor flak jacket was useless, bearing the scars of several battles in many places. It too had a story, and I’d have liked to have kept it if I hadn’t so far to go. I discarded it and dismissed my temporary servant before I headed out, eyeing my surroundings. The Fort was just as nasty and dirty as it was before, packed with ponies who looked at me with odd expectation in their eyes or glared at me as I passed by. One mare who looked several years older than me tossed a wink and a come-hither look my way. “Hey Lockbox!” Squeaky Clean called out as I passed by. “Good job kicking Steel Crescent’s ass! I’m glad you’re here with us!” “Steel Crescent gives his regards,” the very next stallion I met said as he crowded me into a corner and spat on my clothes. The new attention made me uncomfortable, but I couldn’t say I hadn’t expected it. I was a threat now, and a potential leader. Having taken down Steel Crescent my new fans and enemies watched to see what I’d do next. I kept my head high as I wandered the grimy halls, remembering that my next trick would be a vanishing act. Sidewinder popped up in front of me. Somehow he’d managed to stay out of sight in a completely straight hall with no side doors until he appeared right in front of my face. He seemed more serious than usual and wore all of his old gear, the Stalker flag of Stalliongrad showing proudly on his shoulder. His Wonderbolt was slung over his neck, ready to be propped up in his war reins at a moment’s notice. “Lockbox!” “What is it now, Sidewinder?” “I came to collect you. What are you waiting for? Everypony else is ready!” “Ready? I didn’t know bandits were capable of being punctual.” “When Ruby Red is threatening to ruin your ass with her nightstick, you are. Come on, we’re meeting in the Main Hall.” The Main Hall turned out to be the underground entrance lobby of the sewage plant converted into a barricaded strong point. Located on the eastern side of the plant it faced all the dangers the Metro had to offer and was one of the Fort’s few weak points. The lobby was a long room with an arched, ribbed ceiling. At one time it might have held a sense of stateliness — old Equestria made even their sewage plants with dignity — but now it was full of guns and barbed wire, and I saw that it had been excavated to create a larger killing zone for any enemies that got this far. At the back of the Hall where I stood with Sidewinder bandits milled about preparing for their forays into the Metro. I saw Ruby Red with a few of her personal guard, their armored bodies taking up some serious space that other ponies gave willingly. I didn’t approach them, instead letting Ruby spot me from afar. She and her retinue were outfitted with metal plates and bulletproof barding. Menacing spikes jutted from Ruby’s shoulder plates, and she wore an assault rifle, shotgun and three pistols in her holsters. Her famous baton lay in wait over her shoulder, ready to ruin a pony’s day. When our eyes met she gave me a disdainful sniff and turned away, continuing to make plans with her little gang. “Well she seems in a particularly fine mood,” said Sidewinder. “She didn’t even try to smash your head in!” “Good to know things are looking up,” I muttered, glancing at the other bandits. They looked furtively away when they saw me turn towards them. Deferring or ignoring me, I wondered? “Didn’t I used to be talk of the town? I couldn’t get away in the infirmary.” “You made your first hoofprint in the sand, it’s true,” Sidewinder said, throwing a hoof around my shoulders. “But you gotta keep up the momentum, lil’ Lockbox! Out in the tunnels is your chance to shine! Meeting with the Republic is a big deal around here. Buttercup wants us to play friendly, since they have the power in East Metro. Come on, let’s get you geared up. If you can call the shit they have here gear.” He led me to a ratty looking unicorn with a tattered mane standing in the far corner of the Main Hall, surrounded by weapons and makeshift armor. Even though he was several years older than me he wasn’t any larger, and his beady eyes snapped nervously left and right. All of his stock was second-hoof, rusted to the point of antiquity, and most of the armor was unwashed. I tried not to wrinkle my nose. I was a bandit for today, and bandits took what they could get. “You need weapons? These are what will keep you alive, kiddo!” the ratty unicorn rasped at me. They looked more liable to blow up in my face. Still, I needed armor, and told him such. “Something that looks the part,” Sidewinder interjected. “Something that says ‘I’m here to kill you, and I’m okay with that.’ Oh, like that one! With the spikes!” He pointed at some barding that, to my amazement, did indeed have spikes on it, and what looked like a piece of a tire strapped to the shoulder in place of real armor. It would barely cover my chest and the overly-long spikes were utterly useless in cramped tunnels full of detritus that could catch and slow me down. What kind of self-respecting bandit wore something with a tire on it anyway? “Want to add some streamers while we’re at it?” I asked. “It might make me too dazzling to shoot.” “See, learning already!” Sidewinder laughed and punched my shoulder. I went with a typical flak jacket as I’d had before. There was nothing back there that could adequately protect me from a mutant’s claws — depending on the mutant nothing would — and I didn’t have the money to waste on metal. “Why do ponies have to buy these?” I wondered. “I don’t get a special discount for being Buttercup’s favorite or beating Steel Crescent?” “Buttercup doesn’t have favorites,” the ratty unicorn hissed. “She has useful ponies. And somepony’s gotta pay for all the shit we buy. You want something for free? Should’ve asked for it as a reward.” I slipped the armor on. It was a size too big and hung down around my belly like a paunch until I tugged the straps as tight as they could go. Better this than nothing. If it came to a fight at least I knew I had plenty of meat shields. “Everypony in my group to the fore!” Ruby Red belted out, pointing at me in particular. “You! New meat! Up front with me!” Sidewinder chuckled as he walked beside me. “Mmm, front row seats. If she’s trying to intimidate the Republic with you, it won’t work.” “Do I really look that bad?” “Worse. If I told anypony who wasn’t there the day you beat Steel Crescent that you did, well, they’d be have to be crazier than me to believe it. And nopony is crazier than me. If they were I’d have to kill them.” “I don’t doubt it.” We gathered at the front of the small group, numbering no more than a dozen ponies, five of whom were Ruby Red and her guards, the rest being Sidewinder, me, and the remaining bandits assigned to the mission. I noted with no small amount of distress that Steel Crescent stood nearby with his own group, nursing battered pride and glaring daggers straight at me through a black eye. Ruby Red noticed and stepped between us, levelling a fearless glare at the larger unicorn. “Back the fuck off, Crescent. You can dick around all you want when we get back. My mission’s too important to let you screw around with it out there.” Crescent sniffed and turned away. “No surprise he volunteered for a patrol the same time we were going out,” one of Ruby’s guards muttered under his breath. He was an orange pegasus no older than me whose wings were tied down. I reflected that very few pegasi found an advantage in flying in the cramped tunnels, and this was probably also a safeguard against going feather-brained. I wondered how close he must be if he was taking such extreme precautions. Not that I cared enough to strike up a conversation and ask. “Crescent, your group will leave first,” Ruby Red commanded. “If I see you in those tunnels, I’ll rip off your horn and castrate you with it!” “Just keep your new pet on a tight leash,” Crescent snarled back, looking at me instead of Ruby. “If he ends up alone in the tunnels it’s open season.” “Celestia alive, Crescent, you pick the stupidest fights,” Ruby Red shot back as she motioned for the main gate, a heavy sliding door on rails that reminded me of a portcullis, to be lifted. Beyond I saw a mess of barbed wire, jagged metal and lengths of rebar jutting out of concrete towards the small service depot that brought crews to their workplace in years before. The long rectangular room held a single track going north and south. The depot was inhabited, much to my surprise, by a few outlying sentries who saluted lackadaisically as we passed by. Steel Crescent and his small band, eyed cautiously by ours, peeled away and went compliantly south without making any trouble. I kept watching even as Crescent’s group rounded a turn, not feeling safe to turn around again until the beams of their headlamps vanished into the gloom. Even out of sight I knew I wasn’t out of Steel Crescent’s mind. Self-consciously, I fixed my war reins to my head and slid my Mule into the gun slot, grateful that I’d even been given back my weapons. Buttercup wanted to show her trust of me and her disturbing willingness to make me one of her own. I had no problems betraying the trust of a bandit. Only after a full hour passed did Ruby Red feel it prudent to lead us on. The road south was dismal and quiet just like every other tunnel in the Metro, but the bandits had the foresight to post border guards and a few sprite-lights until the four hundred meter mark, whereupon we were lost in the gloom. The weak lights we carried illuminated the tunnel walls and the bones of mutants killed outside the station and left to rot. I saw a pony skull in the midst of the carnage. We passed several tunnels that split off from ours, but Ruby Red kept us straight south and me uncomfortably close to her. She kept her eyes forward and didn’t speak to me though, which I was very grateful for, but then I didn’t dare try to fall behind and walk alongside Sidewinder either for fear of drawing her ire. On my other side marched the pegasus with bound wings, also professional and quiet. The other bandits kept their steps measured and soft; clearly they’d done this several times before. I’d gathered Ruby ran a tight ship, but seeing first-hoof how disciplined her group was made me reconsider how easy it would be to turn on them. I’d have to wait for an opportunity. We walked in silence save for a few quips from Sidewinder about the state of the tunnels. They were cluttered with filth the bandits had carried out and tossed away. “There’s negligent and then there’s this,” he said, tutting. “The irony is killing me. You all live in a garbage disposal but your trash is all over the ground! I might as well wear a gasmask.” “Shut your mouth unless you want to get shot,” the wing-bound pegasus next to me snarled. “There’s enough questions going around about why you were let out.” “I haven’t shot you yet, have I?” Sidewinder said with one of his disturbingly toothy grins. “Among you bandits that practically makes me your brother.” Soon enough we came to a sturdy closed door that shut off the tunnel entirely. A huge pony skull had been spray-painted on the rusting metal. The message was clear: there was no going further without welcoming certain death. Ruby Red turned east and headed into the small side passages. I didn’t look forward to heading into that maze again, preferring to stick to main tunnels. “Where does this lead?” I asked. Nopony answered except for Sidewinder. “Towards the once great station of Felberskaya. It’s just a checkpoint of the Guild of Magic nowadays, but when the waterworks were still going at full efficiency they were the envy of the Eastern Metro. Their tunnels run past a long series of water pipes and gas mains,” the lanky pony muttered. “It’s a mess up there with lots of flooding but it’s one of the few safe ways east from here. Heh, safe. I should say it’s actually one of the few ways east from here in general. Republic territory crosses over with Hoofsa at a few points, and since Hoofsa’s in bed with King Pleiades things are tense between them. Hoofsa’s probably trying to play both sides... silly ponies, nopony wins when you do that!” He grinned manically and sniggered to himself, staring straight ahead with a wide eyed unfocused gaze. “It’s all gonna go to Tartarus.” “Will you shut your traps?” Ruby snapped as she pushed led us into a series of cramped passageways that forced us to walk single file. Ruby of course went in front, making me walk directly behind her. “We’re not the only things down here! I don’t want a single fucking word from anypony until we get to Felberskaya!” The side tunnels echoed with her voice. Our small lights kept pitifully small circles of illumination, warding off the encroaching shadows and silence. The walls were ever-changing, one moment a mess of pipes and wires lit by emergency lighting that made Ruby Red seem more like a demon than a pony, another just long stretches of blank concrete. Cobwebs and dust were in abundance to the point where I longed to slip on my gasmask. True to Ruby Red’s commands everypony was quiet. We went up several sets of ladders, following what appeared to be an old water maintenance network, built vertically. There were no offices, but instead several checkpoints where workers could stop and open up the pipes at particular junctures. Each checkpoint was a mess of levers and caps and pipes, full of gauges that I couldn’t read or no longer recorded the proper water pressure. Most of the independent stations here couldn’t afford the resources to reroute water from elsewhere, and so depended on these decaying systems from the old world to keep running until their expiration. In spite of our upward direction we never breached the surface. I perceived we must be close though, from the fact that several of the rooms around us were irradiated and avoided studiously. Once, I believed I saw something scuttling around just out of sight down a long hallway, moving on spindly insectoid legs and peering at us with glowing eyes. But it left as soon as my gaze fell properly on it. Ruby Red ignored the crawling atmosphere and alien beasts, following some kind of esoteric signaling system made up of symbols painted on the walls by bandit scouts. I didn’t dare pull out my Guide to check and see where we were; I felt no tugs from Hunter’s token and didn’t feel like attracting attention. At last the path began to even out. We stopped ascending, and I heard the sound of water rushing through the pipes we passed. The constant, unwelcome background noise of deep thunder under the earth grated on my ears. The pipes were in sorry shape, taunting me with memories of the ghost tunnel I had braved with Nopony. A few of them had burst open and brackish filth oozed out of them, pooling on the tunnel floors. A strange, rotten stench pervaded the area, one that was terrifyingly organic, and not and might’ve been the death of a pony with a wilder imagination. One set of stairs later, we came to another main Metro tunnel running east and west. “We’re near Felberskaya,” Ruby Red muttered as she poked her head out into the tunnel. After the crushing quiet of those side passages her voice was a welcome relief, not for the fact that she was easy on the ears, but just the fact that a pony was making the noise. I felt a palpable sense of freedom coming out of the strange, alien tunnels behind me. These bigger lanes were more my speed. Ruby Red flicked her ears left and right, and then started following the tracks. “Past that is the waterworks. We’ll go south and head around it though, place is flooded as shit. But then we hit Republic territory.” She turned back and grinned at me. “We’ll see if you can handle that, my little badass.” So now I was part of her gang? Her trophy to cart around? As if. The road to Felberskaya was much like any other Metro tunnel, save for the fact that it was very wet and fungus grew in abundance. Mushrooms sprouted from the walls and algae coated the floor, soaking in the brackish water that pooled in every crevice and flowed in a thin trickle down the rail line. From the ceiling a long white tendril grew, following the pipes. I knew it was alive in that undefinable way that all living things were, but I almost refused to accept that snaking, slithering “root” was actually something I’d need to live with in the new world. More mushrooms grew from its surface. Though the bandits ignored it, I couldn’t help but sneak a glance at it now and then. Sweet Celestia, I thought it even moved once or twice. Just another oddity of the Metro. “Let me guess,” I muttered as we passed a working sprite-light that marked the outer limits of Felberskaya’s territory, “the chief export here is mushrooms and soggyweed?” “Damn straight,” the pegasus with the bound wings said. He had an oddly focused look about him much like Ruby Red, compared to his fellows who ranged from anxious to bored. “They make some of the finest shroom beer in the Metro too. Odd types. But always willing to do business.” “You think the Guild is still there?” asked another bandit, emboldened by the lack of reprimand from Ruby. “I hope not. Never know whose side those bastards are on.” Mention of the Guild made my heart skip a beat. I couldn’t avoid them forever, but I sure wanted to try. “Why is the Guild here?” I wondered. “Why are they anywhere? To make money and rub their wealth in our faces,” said the wing-bound pegasus. “They use this spot to test their water purifiers and ‘help’ this part of the Metro by keeping the waterworks here running. They’re closely tied with Hoofsa but they don’t turn us in cuz we can go places they don’t want to. Don’t want their precious artifacts getting smudged with dirt...” I glanced over my shoulder at Sidewinder, who looked straight ahead and didn’t pay me attention. If knowing the Guild was about made him uncomfortable, he didn’t show it. Felberskaya’s guards were well-equipped with machine guns and heavy barding, no doubt supplied by the Guild of Magic. They glared at us from a squat guard tower across a moat that bisected the tunnel floor. I surmised they’d dug up a water main and split it open allowing the hole to fill up. “Aw, shit,” one of them crowed, his face hidden by a welder’s faceplate. “It’s Ruby Red. You looking for passage too?” Ruby stopped short. “Too? Who the fuck else is there, Ricochet?” “Some weird hobos,” the earth pony answered. “The Guild boys said they’re legit though, told us not to ask questions.” “Were they heading for Republic territory?” “Fuck should I know? Didn’t I just say we didn’t ask questions?” “Whatever. Let us in. We’re heading for the Marevskaya bypass tunnel.” Ricochet laughed as one of his subordinates lowered a drawbridge over the moat. “You’re kidding right? That shit’s blocked off. Guild’s orders.” Ruby’s eye twitched. “Blocked? Blocked? That fucking tunnel is the only way from here to East Metro!” “Not the only way, if you don’t mind a couple days of crawling through squatter stations, nosalis nests and cerberus packs. Scouts say some weird shit has taken up residence in the waterworks and southern tunnels too, so those are out. Only safe way east now is back north through Solar Station. We’re all waiting for the Republic or Hoofsa to get off their asses and do something about it, but Hoofsa loves the Ring too much and the Republic ain’t very friendly...” “Fuck it,” Ruby spat as she crossed the bridge, us in tow. “I’ll find out what’s going on myself.” We crossed into Felberskaya. The station was built in an odd way: it was built in three tiers and mostly flooded, but ponies still lived and worked here. Lower corridors that housed the old sewage pipes and service stations for Metro trains were submerged, but the upper two floors, including the main line we’d traveled on, were either dry or only had a shallow creek running through them. Ponies who had to live near or above the water built their housing lengthwise on stilts, or inhabited train cars piled on top of each other. Non-Guild ponies skittered and skulked through the station’s shadows, moving with nimble quickness over their thin catwalks and never once disturbing the water as they rushed over it. Walkways and low ceilings were in abundance and there was no electricity, only sprite-lights. Our motley crew got a few second looks, but I paid them no heed as long as anypony wasn’t shooting at us. Were bandits and thugs really so common a sight here? Perhaps they felt safe... I know I would. At every other corner there stood a unicorn guard of the Guild of Magic, stoic and unapproachable in his full body armor. This station was firmly under their control, which was somewhat unusual as they generally tried not to get involved in turf wars. We passed a stairway that led up to the highest section of the station where I saw a unicorn mare walk by under a string of functioning lightbulbs that illuminated her Guild seal. The sight of Twilight Sparkle’s cutie mark made my stomach turn; suppose the Guild ponies here somehow knew about my failure to kill Sidewinder, or worse, recognized Sidewinder and tried to start trouble? Ruby Red just marched right up those same stairs, though, and we were forced to follow. We came into a long hallway filled with ponies. The highest tier of the station was its nerve center, and the inhabitants crowded every available space. The air was thick and hot from the press of so many bodies. I smelled food and the pungent stench of sweat and alcohol. At both ends I could see the hallway curve and split into other corridors that must run around the ceiling of the entire station, and lights and the sounds of ponies came from every one. They were pressed right up agains the walls, snatching every available space and filling it with warm bodies and the sound of their fun. Cooks prepared their meals right next to lines of ponies playing cards. I saw a few foals running about, darting between their elders’ legs. All of them tiny pinpricks of defiance against the wall of darkness just outside. Two in particular caught my eye: an earth mare and stallion without clothes huddled against the wall, surrounded by baggage and equipment, looking at the floor. Their colors were almost faded to grey, and they sat so still they seemed statuesque. Both were draped in heavy shawls that covered their bodies. Everypony else passed them by without a second look. They didn’t look despondent while they stared at the floor. Just patient, as if they had a very important thing to do by sitting there staring at the floor and wouldn’t leave until it was done. Somehow they seemed more purposeful than the others here, who lived their lives because that was what they did. Somehow I immediately knew that these two were here for a true reason. But as we passed them, I felt something, a memory, chase me down the dark corridors of my mind. A bright, blinding light coming to consume me. I danced on my hooves in full view of everypony, reduced to a quivering, hysterical ball in the space of an instant. I only got a few stares. No, no! That was a memory now. No anomalies here. And those ponies... they still hadn’t moved, in spite of my little panic attack. Perhaps they were some of the ‘weird hobos’ Ricochet mentioned. The feelings they’d inspired caused me to scamper away before one of them raised their cold, determined eyes to me. I opted to follow Ruby Red towards a side tunnel. At the tunnel’s end was the entry to a larger room beyond, covered in sheets. Light poured out through the thin cloth, as well as the murmur of voices, all clipped and august in their direct, businesslik tones. In front of the doorway stood two burly unicorns dressed in full body armor, armed with ferocious looking spiked clubs and machine guns. “I think... I’ll disappear for a few minutes,” Sidewinder whispered, and was lost in the crowd before I could even turn to look at him. Twilight Sparkle’s cutie mark menaced us from the wall above the entrance, like a great eye daring us to turn back. My gaze was riveted to it, but Ruby Red marched on to confront the door guards, both of them mares. “Lemme through,” she demanded. “I need to speak to your Guild Representative.” “And who are you?” asked the guard in a tone that suggested she didn’t care who Ruby was at all. “Ruby Red! Second in command of Auntie Buttercup.” I balked at her so brazenly declaring her allegiance to bandits, but the guards only gave each other a short glance before one lifted the sheet with her magic and nodded inside. “Right this way,” she said simply. “Your... crew will wait here.” “Fine.” Ruby Red followed the guard into the Guild office with her head held high. “You all stay in this hall! Don’t go wandering off!” And so we waited. A few of the bandits split off and went back to the front of the hall, talking in quiet tones about how they wished they were back in Connemara with all its delicious booze and prostitutes. The rest of us hovered awkwardly around the doorway, under the firm gaze of the remaining unicorn guard. “I didn’t know bandits were so cozy with the Guild,” I remarked The pegasus with the bound wings answered me. “We aren’t. Buttercup is. She may look like it, but she’s not in charge of every bandit in the Metro. Just gives us a place to sleep and rest in between missions.” Missions. What a quaint, bland way of saying pillaging and raiding. The pegasus shrugged. “Like I said, we do them favors and leave their caravans alone, they don’t shoot us on sight. Not a bad deal all things considered. Buttercup and her captains handle all the minor details.” He smirked. “And if any other gangs near us get too far outta line, we get to go stomp them. Buttercup’s corner of the world is a nice place to be.” “Must be fun,” I mused, “staying a step above other bandits while still having the freedom of one.” I let his glare bounce off my cheek. “That’s a mighty uppity attitude to have. You know, that must be why Ruby doesn’t like you, if you talk like that all the time.” “That’s why I don’t like to talk much.” “Or maybe you just don’t know the lingo! I mean, you’re not a bandit, and that’s fine, not everypony can be one. But you shouldn’t talk down to ponies you don’t know.” “I know enough.” “Yeah? And who are you?” “Lockbox.” “That’s it? You need to be more than that, my friend. I’m Thaumaturge, but my friends call me Theo.” “What kind of a name is that?” “My mom said it was something to do with magic. Well, I am really lucky. Or somepony’s watching out for me. Things always seem to work out for me.Whatever I do, I’m pretty successful at it. Maybe that’s my magic!” He waggled his torso, showing off his bound wings. I noticed his cutie mark too: a set of golden scales in perfect balance. “I haven’t gone feather-brained yet, so that’s a plus.” I studied him carefully. A pegasus who didn’t fly went berserk. A pegasus who didn’t even let himself move his wings? I could hardly believe he wasn’t a gibbering mess. Then again, he was very young, so I could believe he wasn’t affected by it just yet.“How did a pony like you end up a bandit?” Theo grinned wolfishly. “Well, that’s a funny story you see. I was born in Dale Station...” He trailed off as Ruby Red came marching back through the curtains, tailed by a handsome yellow unicorn stallion with a bright blue mane. He wore a deep violet uniform that I supposed marked him as a Guild officer. We all went silent. “I’m sorry Ruby, but there’s nothing I can do. There’s really no way forward from here.” “You and your fucking rules!” Ruby spat. “Just let us in if you’re so scared! What the hell is going on in the waterworks anyway? Somepony rip a really smelly one?” “I said it before and I’ll say it again. No. Access. To anypony. That includes Auntie Buttercup and her little lackeys.” Ruby Red growled and lowered her head. Theo and the other bandits jumped to their hooves and tacked up, lowering guns and whipping out knives. Before I could breathe three more Guild ponies leapt through the curtain in full battle dress, levitating weapons ready to kill. The Guild officer’s brow crawled up. “You really want to have this fight?” he asked. “You’ll all be dead before you can reach the end of this hallway.” Ruby stamped her hoof on the ground. “You forget that we’re the ones who open up the tunnels you smuggle your fancy shit through! I’m not going to go back a failure because of your Guild’s smart-ass schemes!” The officer rolled his eyes. “This discussion is over, bandit. If you really want to make an appeal, talk to Two Step.” Ruby Red didn’t say anything else. She raised her head until their eyes were level, breath steady and low. I backed off, scooting away from the space between the two groups. “Fine,” Ruby Red muttered. “I’ll talk to Two Step. Where is he?” “The Branch Officer is currently away on business, but he will be back in approximately eight to ten hours.” Ruby scoffed. “What! We can’t afford to wait that long! We have business with the Republic! Send us a message to them.” “If you want to make use of our transmission crystals you will need to pay for claim on a mana stream. It’s a veritable king’s ransom these days, unfortunately.” Ruby Red huffed and snorted. She stomped her hooves and flicked her tail. I thought she’d very nearly lose control right there in front of her posse, but she reined in her feelings at the last moment, filling her lungs with a breath of cold, humid air. When her eyes opened again, she was more composed. “We… will wait,” she announced. The Guild officer nodded and turned back to the curtain. “To honor your previous services to the Guild you may have access to some of our private bedrooms in the station’s southeast corner. If you have any questions ask for Evening Shimmer. That’s me,” he said before disappearing. The guards and their weapons continued to deny us passage. Ruby Red swung around to head back the way we came. Sidewinder rejoined us at the edge of the hall and smirked, opening his mouth to say something. “One word, and your ass is mine,” Ruby snapped, and Sidewinder’s jaw snapped shut. The mood was defeatist and sullen as we left the Guild office; eight to ten hours of nothing but waiting in this poor station? Who knew what the conditions would be when we finally got going? Nopony spoke for fear of drawing Ruby’s wrath, and I confess I felt just as spurned. My progress depended on the bandits for now, and without them moving forward my mission was also stifled. I didn’t have much chance of sneaking my way through a Guild blockade. As if to add insult to injury, our ‘private bedrooms’ were little more than a few cramped shacks that nopony lived in anymore, tucked away in what appeared to be a former storage room at the end of a hall. Ruby saw to it that we all took one for ourselves. I chose the smallest one at the end of the row, and thankfully Sidewinder didn’t follow. He unfurled a bedroll on the open floor near me, and the bandits resignedly followed suit. I found myself thankful in some way I traveled with Ruby Red; even if the worst bandit was a bored bandit, at least she had no interest in causing trouble and would keep her minions in line. The shacks were lined up against one another like lockers, and there was barely enough room to lie down, let alone get comfortable. It reminded me of the housing near Exiperia’s docks; like there, one simply lied down and didn’t move until they woke up. I didn’t have a bedroll, but fortunately this particular shack had a grubby little mattress crammed into it. I dropped onto it with all my gear still attached. “Don’t wander,” said Ruby. “Bunk down here and don’t cause trouble, these Guild fucks won’t look for an excuse. We’re just here until we can move on!” I listened to the other bandits break out some cards and beer. Sidewinder plopped down against the wall in a position I found extremely odd: he sat down on his rump with his back to the wall and his rear legs splayed out in front of him, front hooves on his stomach. I shrugged; only Sidewinder would find such a strange posture comfortable. At least I had a modicum of privacy. As long as I did nothing and spoke to nopony I’d stay out of trouble. Theo joined his card playing brothers, and I took the opportunity to ponder his name as I stared up at the low roof of my shack after shutting the door. I’d lied; thaumaturgy wasn’t technically magic. It was the performance of wonders that not even magic could do: the revival of the dead, the instantaneous winning of a war or the like. Fables of old spoke of wonderful things happening without the aid of magic, or at least being more the cause of strong hearts and goodwill instead of a wizard’s powerful spell or a general’s expert strategy. Whatever miracle was working in my life that had kept me alive so far, I prayed it didn’t grow dull. Eventually, I grew listless with the pressing fatigue that had dogged me for several days now. Nopony could just keep going forever, as much as I was trying to. My body was under constant stress, and this one small opportunity for rest grabbed me like a dropbear, but I couldn’t go to sleep no matter how much I tried. Instead my mind whirled with thoughts of miracles and Dark Ones and murderers. A couple hours passed by my reckoning when the door to my shack slid open. I kept my eyes closed, snatching every second of rest that I could while waiting for Ruby’s hoof to thud into my ribs. Instead I felt a softer touch press into my side. It remained there, tender and unassuming. “Nmmm?” I murmured. “Shh,” said a gentle voice. “It’s all right; we don’t have to get up yet. How are you?” “Uh,” I said, trying to turn and see them. It was too dark, though; I must have drifted in my half-sleep past the station’s light’s out period. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing,” they said. Their hoof wandered up to my neck, and their touch was so soft and gentle I didn’t feel threatened. It wandered over my pelt with the calm familiarity of a mother doting on their child. “I just wanted to see you. I missed you.” “Who…” “Don’t you remember?” That voice… “Pitter Patter?” I guessed. My heart skipped a beat. She wasn’t supposed to be here! What was she thinking?! I worried I’d accidentally attracted another lunatic like Sidewinder. “Wha… what are you doing here? How did you follow me?” “I’ve had more experience sneaking around than you, silly pony,” she said with a throaty chuckle. “I’ve been around long enough to know all the good hiding places… I bet I surprised you good. Don’t worry, I’m not sticking around.” “Then what-” She clambered into my shack before I could stop her, laying herself out over me. I squirmed and tried to peer over her shoulder. Any moment now one of the other bandits would peek inside and we’d be done for, but she didn’t seem worried. “You and me,” she whispered, nudging her snout against my cheek and taking a deep breath of my scent, “have unfinished business.” My eyelid twitched. I froze beneath her, willing every inch of me (every inch) to remain still. “Pitter Patter, what… this… isn’t really a good time…” She snickered. “You little pervert! I’m not talking about that. I’m here to help you. But, uh, maybe if you stay alive long enough…” She pecked my cheek with the barest brush of her lips. “I can say thank you. Properly. For… for doing what you did.” I made a noise between a cough and a squeak. “That… that wasn’t anything. I was just being nice.” I felt her snout caress my ear, her warm breath covering it like a blanket. “No, you weren’t. You did something no other pony had done to me before, Lockbox.” She pressed her head against mine. I felt something wet and sticky and warm. And the hard, bony length of a unicorn’s horn. “Let me show you.” The horn’s tip ignited with light, and I saw Sweet Dreams’ gaping, blood-soaked eye sockets staring down at me. I tried to throw up my hooves and hurl the specter away, but her horn’s magic already had me firmly pinned down. My mind raced as a dreadful rock was plopped into my stomach. She’s dead, I told myself. Dead, dead, dead. This is a nightmare. Wake up! But wakefulness didn’t rescue me. Nopony heard my whimpering gasps as she put her hoof on my throat and pressed. Fear’s claws drilled into my brain as I squirmed beneath her, my mighty struggles reduced to a pathetic sort of shiver in the iron grip of her telekinesis. The dead mare grinned, and blood squeezed out between her teeth, dripping onto her chin. Her aquamarine mane was matted and filthy, and I saw her fur contained more dirty grey than silver. “Hi there, Lockbox,” she crooned. “We haven’t talked in a while.” I tried to speak, squeezing the words past her constricting hoof. “You’re… not here! Dead! I killed you! Stop haunting me!” She jerked her head back, eyebrows raised. The movement made her blood trickle onto my face. “Haunting you? I thought I was dead. I thought you killed me. What am I doing here?” she said in a haughty, mocking tone. Her other hoof went to my face, caressing my quivering cheek. Her touch was repulsively cold and clammy. “Poor boy. You don’t even know what your own mind is doing. Am I a ghost? A memory? A feeling? I don’t know. I’m just… so glad… that we get to spend this time together.” I squeezed my eyes shut. It didn’t matter anymore if this was a dream or not: I felt everything. Every inch she traced over my fur with her ice-cold hooves, the weight of her body pushing down against mine, the warmth of her magical grip. I felt my chest spasm with every as I hyperventilated, felt the tears burning on the corners of my eyes. Why was it so much more real this time? “Simple. You’re going crazy.” Sweet Dreams’ hips pressed lewdly against mine, and her head nuzzled under my chin. I shuddered. “But we’re wasting time. I have something to tell you, my lovely. Open your eyes.” A knife hovered tip-down over my left pupil. “You throw yourself into the shadows and pretend you’re a beacon of hope,” Sweet Dreams intoned in a deeper, less playful tone. “But you don’t see the truth. You’re a relic; an echo of a bygone era bouncing and rolling into the darkness, weaker and weaker with every iteration. You’re stumbling in the dark because you don’t know how to see. Everything… everything you do now is worthless. What afterlife will accept a wretched creature like you? What trumpets will sound if you do find victory? You’ve killed so many... and for what? To survive and survive some more? What world is this to live in? The Sun is dead, little pony. And the only way to see—” The knife dropped. She let me scream and wail as she pushed it slowly, lovingly into my skull, twisting the blade so it tangled with my flesh and scraped over my bones. “—is to give up the light.” I opened my eyes. Sweet Dreams was gone. The roof of my shack was all there was. I shot upright, gasping like a pony who just escaped drowning, my fur damp with sweat. Hot. I was very hot—feverishly so. My heart thundered against my ribs and my limbs shivered relentlessly. I sat up and vigorously rubbed my eyes (thank Celestia they were still there!), trying to blot out the awful feeling of cold metal sinking into my head. I fumbled for the door, shoving it open with a metallic squeak that sent chills down my spine. Staggering into the hallway I wrestled with my heavy equipment, dropping it piece by piece. I gave up halfway through peeling my jacket off and lay panting on the floor, letting the cool concrete leech away the heat. “Water,” I told myself, and reached back for a canteen. Somepony gave me one, and as I craned my neck back to drink, I saw it was Sidewinder. He watched me without compassion or interest, still sitting in that odd upright way against the wall. The other bandits were asleep. I took my fill of his canteen, using the rest to drench my mane. Oh Luna, the water felt so good as it ran down my neck, drawing out that terrible heat. We sat a while watching one another. “Sidewinder,” I managed to say through my irregular breathing, “who was Sweet Dreams? Really?” The Stalker tilted his head to one side and regarded me with a strange look, a look that spoke of things I’d never know. “Honestly? I haven’t the slightest idea,” he said with a shrug. “She showed up one day, good at what she did. Never got a straight answer out of her. Crazier than me, though. Always going on about the state of the mind…” He grinned like a fiend. “You can see where that got her. She was hot in a weird way, had that whole dangerously capable mare thing going on, but I honestly didn’t know much about her. After she murdered Purple Prose I figured the time for bonding was long gone.” “Purple Prose?” “Another Stalker friend of mine.” He sighed. “One of the few mares I wondered about going steady with. Figures she was the one to get shivved instead of Papyrus. Fucking Pap... always the most cowardly of us.” The stallion shrugged. “So yeah, thanks for killing Sweet Dreams. Good riddance to that crazy bitch.” He spat on the ground. I staggered to my hooves and wandered down the hall, back into the station. I walked aimlessly, jacket hanging from my shoulders. Other ponies avoided or ignored me as I went by, finding myself in another part of the station without meaning to. It was dark and empty, and I found myself standing on a ledge over a pool of water that filled the lower part of the station. I sat down and stared at it, looking at my dark, pale reflection. Good riddance... would Sidewinder believe me if I told him about my visions? How could I trust they were anything useful? I’d seen and done so many things I was starting to wonder if I was truly special, and something about this world was trying to shine through me. Something involving these nightmares, and that yellow mare, and Sweet Dreams, and the Dark Ones. The thought frightened me, and for the first time I found myself thinking that going crazy was better than actually being swept up in some mission of destiny. It was why I’d cried and railed at Sunny Side, trying not to think about things too much. What answer could I give myself, except the fact that I was going insane? What other comfort was there to a pony who honestly didn’t want to do anything but save his home and go back without any fanfare? Very suddenly I wished Sunny Side was still with me. But all that did was make his absence all the keener. Thinking about Pitter Patter didn’t help. It just filled me with a sense of cold longing, isolation and now vague dread after that nightmare in my shack. Thinking about father or Starry Gaze or home or my Wall only gave me guilt, depression, and painful nostalgia. Tracer or Hunter? The Rangers had started me on this journey and one was willing to die to see me finish it. There was just no way around it: everything I did and everypony I met seemed inevitably fated to push my journey forward in some way, shape, or form. And those I’d almost truly connected to were forced away by circumstance. It made my heart ache for some reason, thinking about how I must be different from the average pony to get here. I only wanted to save my home. Why must I be the one to do it? What wasn’t I figuring out? Why did I read Guides, survive anomalies, slog and shoot and smash my way to freedom time and again? I’d even defeated Steel Crescent one-on-one, to everpony’s astonishment including my own. The pony who stared back at me from the water didn’t provide any answers. He looked just as tired and harried as I felt. I didn’t want to be this pony. He... I... was alive and moving forward again, where any other pony would have died or given up by now. I tried to justify it, saying it was my sheer grit and determination that kept me going, but I wasn’t all that brave or noble and I didn’t like what I’d done to get here. What kept me going? Love for home could only carry me so far; better ponies than me would’ve, and did, fail far sooner in greater endeavors. Celestia and Luna, once bearers of the Elements, couldn’t save Equestria. The Elements of Harmony couldn’t save it either, nor could the efforts of thousands of other good ponies who were surely more blessed and righteous than I. And though my goal wasn’t so ambitious that it covered most of the world, the stakes were just as high. And the mere fact that I was actually doing it frightened me to death. Why me when so many others died was a question philosophers would ponder years from now. Was it fate or simply something within me, something that was intimately connected to my... abilities, for lack of a better word? Something that made me just that determined, that I could shrug off these horrors I’d endured? Whatever it was, I didn’t like that I’d been chosen to be its vessel. In fact, I hated it. And the more my thoughts dwelled on it, the more that hate grew, until I scowled at my own reflection and I longed for Sweet Dreams to be real just so I could kill her again and make her stop haunting my dreams. How much longer was my guilt going to taunt me? Torture me as I shored up my defenses with endless trenches packed with flimsy justifications? I dipped my hoof in the water, half expecting blood to wash off. How many ponies were dead now because of me? A dozen at least. Maybe more. I saw most of them clearly in my mind. Bandits falling to the ground as they were shot full of holes. Cultists falling with nothing more than a gentle sigh. A Ponyevskaya guardpony crushed under a war wagon. Maple and Chill Wind... … Ray Drop... I didn’t feel much, not at first. The memory of that day already felt so far away, one more post-it note nailed beside a dozen other horrors I’d witnessed. Ray Drop’s memory was a ray of sun, piercing the gloom of my mind with brightness that knifed into my conscience. She hadn’t deserved that. Pitter Patter didn’t deserve it. Sunny Side didn’t deserve living with the knowledge that someday he’d go insane like the rest of his winged brothers, dying with nothing but a dream of the sky on his lips. This was my world. The one I wanted to save. The one trying to kill me. If Sweet Dreams was any indication, I was even trying to stop myself. But if this world really was so wretched and terrible, then Ray Drop had died within merciless, hungry jaws that sought death for the sake of it, and I’d thrown her into it to keep my selfish vision of a lesser, smaller world, my world, alive. Without warning I started to cry. I cried without reservation, without caring who might come up behind me or what anypony else might think. I squeezed my eyes shut and buried my head in my hooves, blubbering into the concrete, uttering apologies and hateful invectives. I curled up on the ground and wanted to hide from it all, but hiding from myself was a feat even the most powerful magic couldn’t help with. But in the end, I grasped at the flimsy straws that made up what was left of my sanity and tried to justify my breakdown one last time. I was still a normal pony... wasn’t I? I was allowed to be fragile given my circumstances, right? It was all right to feel overwhelmed. It had to be, not just in the sense that my body couldn’t take it. It had to be right. My sadness and grief had to be something that proved that I was still a pony. A thinking, breathing pony who didn’t just feel sad because he didn’t like something, but one who knew, truly knew the value of every lost pony. I couldn’t just be a weakling that cowered before adversity. If I was, I was just as wretched as the tiny world I lived in, confined by Metro tunnels and ruled by fear. I had to cry for them. Not for me. Never for me, the bloodied and sullied creature still crawling along where more honorable ponies would stride. I couldn’t insult their memories like that. No. I didn’t matter. All that mattered was the mission. The corpse of a world that couldn’t be resurrected, but at least given a proper burial. /=/ I stayed there for at least an hour, maybe two. I couldn’t tell. But when it was over my eyes were puffy and red, and I’d dunked my head in the water to relieve the burning sensation of too many tears being forced from my eyes. The guilty portion of my mind was satiated for the moment and I pushed myself up, suffering a headache and dizziness that I presumed was from hunger and leftover sadness. Forward. Always forward. When this was done then I could rest. As I went back into the station my vision began to blur and I tottered on my hooves. The dizziness passed like a rolling wave and I forced myself onward. I realized the tunnels around me didn’t seem so familiar anymore: I was confronted by three branches that went left, right, and straight ahead. This wasn’t something I’d passed coming here. Had I somehow gone down another tunnel? I looked over my shoulder at the pool, and that was the only landmark I remembered. Had I gone straight? Up? Down? Another wave of dizziness crashed into my head. I groaned loudly and hobbled down the center tunnel, feeling somewhat panicky. I had no idea whether I’d made the right choice: no matter how far I peered ahead into the shadows, there didn’t seem to be an end to it. But I could’ve sworn these tunnels didn’t extend more than a hundred yards in any direction. I stumbled on in a straight line, growing more confused every moment. The darkness was such that I couldn’t see more than a foot ahead or behind. The tunnel slid out of the dark ahead of me and disappeared again as I left it behind. It felt as though the tunnel were looping in on itself with every step I took, never taking me anywhere. Without context, without something ahead or behind to mark my way, how did I know whether I was going anywhere? How did I know I even existed? I had no idea where this sickness came from, and it just got worse as I tried to find my way. Every step seemed to bring with it fresh confusion. Was I going forward? Back? Which direction was I really walking? Was that tunnel I’d taken left or straight? I hadn’t taken a single turn, but I was so sure I was going in the wrong direction... I stopped in some dark, featureless part of the tunnel, scratching my head as drool pooled in my mouth and threatened to dribble down my chin. I couldn’t be bothered to remember swallowing, I needed to get out of here! That damn buzzing was back too. My skull felt like a tuning fork that’d just been smacked against a wall, vibrating at an alarming rate. All right. Calm down. One hoof at a time... I tripped as a spike in the pain drove me into a wall and I flopped to the ground, watching the tunnel spin all around me. I fought the rising panic that bubbled in my stomach and clawed my way to another intersection, trying to remember which way I’d come. Oh, Princesses have mercy, I felt so faint and weary. And hot. I was so hot. No, cold! I was cold, but I was sweating profusely. “Hello?” I called, shamelessly frightened at this point. “Hello! Help! I...” Down the tunnel to my right came a muffled voice, and then again on the left. But that noise came from a solid wall! Something was... close. I stood up, legs creaking as I stumbled left. It was a totally random decision born of desperation. I didn’t know what the hell was happening, but I needed to keep moving or I’d never find my way out. “Is that you?” I asked. “Who?” another voice asked. I couldn’t tell if it was truly another pony, or just me talking to myself. My own words were muffled and faint to my ears. “Me!” “Where?” “Are you there?” “I’m nowhere... yes, I’m lost.” “How do you know?” “I can’t find my way!” “What way is that?” “The way I came...” “That way is gone.” “Who are you?” “When?” “I don’t understand!” I slammed my hoof against the ground and threw myself into a gallop. The interminable tunnel stretched ever onward. I began to fear I’d been swallowed up by the Metro, like that tunnel Nopony had led me and Sunny Side through. Had I wandered into one of those dark tunnels that ate ponies and made them disappear? Was this their fate? No! No! I couldn’t be beaten so easily! All my efforts couldn’t just have been erased like that! I ran on and tripped again, skidding to a halt. I was at another intersection. “Stop giving me choices!” I yelled at the top of my lungs, and the effort made me retch as my head spun. A vice choked my head, my thoughts, my breath. I was so hot, but I didn’t dare take off my jacket and be left totally naked in the dark. I saw a flash of white down the right tunnel. A flicker of ghostly strands... no, that was a pony’s tail! “Hey!” I shouted, wielding my anger like a bludgeon against my complaining limbs and aching head. “Come back here!” I charged after the unknown pony, and suddenly the maze became much more convoluted. Twists and turns and other intersections were thrown at me at every corner, and I perceived that somehow they were trying to keep me from the fleeing pony. I managed to stay just behind them, straining to catch the flicker of white fur at the edge of my sight. “Stop! Stop!” I called, my voice echoing off endless walls and bouncing back to me in a faint, mocking echo. “Stop, stop!” I called to myself, and the desperate calls became sneering insults. I couldn’t see a thing. I was still trying to see by the light... but there was no light here. Was what Sweet Dreams said true? Was I being willfully blind? I may not have seen the path, but I certainly saw the knife coming out of the dark straight for my neck, held in the mouth of a wild-eyed pale stallion. I yelled and spun, feeling cold metal bite into my flesh as I collided head-on with the stranger. We fell. The burning metal slid free from my neck and I watched blood, little bits of me, come out with it. I landed atop him and pushed my foreleg under his chin, halting his wild thrusting with the knife. He lashed out with his front hooves, thumping my chest as I reared up and brought my free hoof down on the side of his head. Three times I mercilessly punched him above the eye, then the cheek. I got a good look of the face I was trying to ruin, and realized I’d seen him before... he was one of the ‘weird hobos’ I’d seen coming into the station. As for why he was trying to kill me, I needed to figure that out after I stopped his murder attempt. “Drop it! Drop it!” I screamed at him as he tried to grab my hooves in his and roll. I didn’t give him the chance, instead wrapping my hooves around his neck in a chokehold and dropping to the side, letting him squirm as I rolled beneath him. His hooves flailed in midair, reached over his shoulders to claw at my face. I squeezed. “Drop it!” I screamed again directly into his ear, but he still struggled on. I felt one of his rear legs hook around me as he grabbed my choking leg with both hooves, and then with a mighty heave he rolled beneath me again. I then fully comprehended that he was an earth stallion, larger than me, and much more muscular. Whatever he planned was going to hurt. I rained down punches on the side of his head as he slowly but surely pushed himself up with me still on his back, ignoring my blows. I might as well have been giving him love taps. He didn’t even flinch as I broke skin and blood welled up to smear on my hoof. He didn’t hesitate when he rose up on his rear hooves and fell backwards, driving me into the wall. I made a sharp hiccuping sound as the air leapt from my lungs. My grip slackened for just a moment, a moment he’d been waiting for, and then he spun out of my grip as I slid to the ground, falling backwards as he lunged at me again with the knife in his mouth. I reached down deep and felt the earth surge up into me as I fell back onto it, lying on my back. He came on, heedless of the danger. “Fuck off!” I shouted as I curled my rear legs and bucked. I hit him square between the front legs, right in his chest. He lifted clear off his hooves and flipped backwards, landing heavily on the concrete behind him. I stood up as quick as I could, but somehow he recovered first and scored a deep slice over the top of my head. I felt the knife scrape over my skull as it whipped through my mane, drawing blood. “Bucking bastard!” Spinning about I bucked again. He saw it coming and ducked, then leaped up again before I could pull my legs back. The knife slid with sickening ease into my left thigh. I felt every vile inch, so cold it burned as it parted skin and muscle before terminating far too deep inside. Oh Celestia I could feel it sawing through my flesh as he twisted his head oh Luna no no NO! I kicked again with my uninjured leg, right into his neck. He made a strange choking noise, but his grip on the knife remained. I kicked again. And again. And again. Something crunched and that only encouraged me to hit him once more. He grabbed my kicking leg with his hooves and pushed. The knife tore away from me and I wailed as fresh pain crashed through my mind. Searing, agonizing pain like when I’d been thrown from the cart outside of Draft. I was vaguely aware of falling flat on my face, but I couldn’t concentrate as my mind spun around trying to land on the right decision to make. I was under attack in a ghost tunnel by a seemingly unstoppable murderer and I had a hole in my leg. The earth gave me strength, but I wasn’t invincible, and now I was wide open as I reached back, holding my injured leg and curling up in a vain attempt to stifle the pain. I expected to feel him stabbing into my spine at any moment, but no blow came even as I struggled to my hooves, hobbling away before turning to face my attacker. He was in bad shape. Even though he seemed to feel no pain, my final savage blows had hurt something important. He wheezed, grabbing eagerly for air that was never quite enough. One of his eyes was a solid red where blood had seeped into the whites, and the lacerations of my blows to his head were ugly and ragged on his brow. “Who are you?” I growled. “Un... unworthy,” he rasped. “I... am done.” He looked straight at me. Something about his eyes, dead and unfocused yet blazing with rage and fury chilled me. My ears went back as he squeezed and gasped his words through a collapsed airway. “My Family will finish you. He feels you. He feels us all! You’re a monster, a shadow walker and I... I won’t let you hurt Him!” He tried to scream, but it came out as a bloodcurdling gargle while he charged me one last time. I felt confident I could take him; he was already fading fast and I was ready for him while I prepared myself for the final blows. But he fell before he reached me, and it took a moment to realize his rear leg was no longer attached to his body. I heard a thundering report echo through the empty halls. I watched in amazement as his head came apart right in front of me, scattering brains and flecks of skull all over my front hooves. And then I stood in a very normal tunnel, lit by a little sprite-light hanging from the ceiling. Ruby Red, Sidewinder, and several guards stood before me, looking down at the corpse of the strange pony. Ruby Red lowered her gun with a shimmer of magic and sneered at me. “I knew you weren’t gonna stay outta trouble.” In the glare of their headlights I stared down at the corpse. In place of a cutie mark, he had two horrific burns far too clean to be anything but self-inflicted. /=/ “I’m telling you. He was one of the unregistered ponies that came in earlier... just find his partner!” “We’ve swept the station and nopony of that description matches what you’ve told us. As far as we can tell, this stallion acted on his own.” “No!” I slammed my hoof down on the examination table, startling the earth pony doctor tending to me and drawing the attention of every pony in the room. That amounted to Ruby Red and a few Guild ponies including the morbidly indifferent Evening Shimmer, whose stonewalling of my demands for a proper investigation grated on my nerves. Two Step had also arrived some time after I’d been dragged into the infirmary, drifting in and out of lucidity while I rambled about darkness and prophecies. The tall earth pony dressed in a fancy purple uniform emblazoned with Twilight’s cutie mark stood in the doorway, regarding me like a prisoner of war. He let Evening Shimmer do the talking while Ruby Red lounged nearby, leaning on the wall and pretending what we said didn’t matter. “I saw her! I felt them both... his partner must still be around. They had so much equipment to carry they couldn’t have gone far!” Evening Shimmer shrugged, eyes drifting to the door. “And I’m telling you if she was around, she’s long gone now. And since you can’t tell us anything about why he wanted to kill you, neither we nor Felberskaya’s guards don’t really have a case. Just be glad you’re still alive.” “You don’t even care you might have another murderer running loose in the station?!” I barked. I had a headache and wasn’t in the mood to entertain more indifference. “You’re pathetic! No wonder everypony hates you!” Two Step came to life and violently slammed his hoof on the floor. I felt the blow in my chest from where I lay. “We look out for Guild interests, boy. We don’t police this station any more than we have to, and we sure as hell don’t care if you have an argument in some back alley. The only confirmed attacker is dead, and we haven’t received any other strange reports that need investigating.” Evening Shimmer sighed and didn’t bother to hide it, looking up at the ceiling. “Frankly, I’ve wasted enough time on you bandits and your little quarrels. If this happens again, then we might have a problem. For now, I can only thank you for distracting your attacker long enough for us to put him down.” He looked at Ruby, who continued to stare off into space. “As far as permission to use our passages through the waterworks goes, it’s denied as of now. Too many unknowns around here already; I don’t need more crawling around. If Buttercup doesn’t like it, tell her to talk to us herself.” And with that he left with the rest of his guards. I was left with Ruby Red. Her head swiveled with surprising gentleness until her gaze landed on me. I shivered with a mixture of excitement and rage, wondering if she’d attack me. I boldly held her intense glare in check with mine. For several minutes neither of us spoke. “I didn’t-” “Who was-” We stopped. Ruby Red sighed and lifted her hoof, giving me permission to speak. “I don’t know who that was,” I insisted. “But he’d burned off his own cutie mark. That’s unnatural for a pony to-” “I know how weird he was. I saw it. I’m asking who it was. Lots of crazy ponies here, but I didn’t think you were the kind to attract the random murderers. And what were you doing wandering the back halls anyway? I told you not to go wandering. And you did.” She sighed and gave me a rough shove with her magic. “Now your leg is fucked up and we have to pay for a healing potion if we want it fixed up in a jiffy. Or, no, scratch that. You’re paying for one. And I’m sure as hell not lugging your ass all the way to the Republic!” She seemed to forget about trying to figure out who the strange stallion was, instead advancing on me angrily. “I knew you were trouble, Lockbox. From the second I saw you look me in the eyes back in the cages, I knew something bad was going to come of traveling with you. And now it’s happening. I should leave you here to crawl back to Buttercup’s lap on your own.” “She wouldn’t like that,” I countered. “Apparently she has big plans for me.” “Yeah, I can tell.” She stepped closer to me, close enough that I could feel her breath on my face. Like when we’d first met, my gaze didn’t waver. We both stared, unblinking, until I began to wonder what she was looking for. Her violet eyes seemed brighter than normal, attentive and alert to something that she saw in me but I couldn’t sense. Like she knew something about me that I didn’t. I felt very vulnerable under that gaze. “Stars alive, you are one weird motherfucker,” she whispered. She pulled away with a disgusted sigh, looking at the wall as if it could replace my image. The sheer intensity of her gaze had been burned into the back of my eyes. I wondered if she felt the same. “Celestia damn it. Right. Here’s the deal, Lockbox. I don’t like you. In fact, I pretty much hate you because you exist and you’ve been a pain in the ass for the last week. Causing trouble, getting Buttercup’s attention without even trying, and now drawing in psychopaths who want to assassinate you and getting my mission stopped dead in its tracks. I’d have put you against a wall myself and shot you, but Buttercup is my meal ticket and I don’t need to piss her off. But I don’t like dragging you around either. So you figure out how to make yourself useful and just maybe I’ll forgive some of the crazy shit following you.” I froze. Something about her voice gave me pause in a way nothing else about her had before. She wasn’t speaking out of anger or sheer malice, no, she’d have beaten me or worse if she was truly furious. This was something that made me almost as nervous as her wrath. It sounded as if she was honestly asking me for help. At least she seemed to know attacking me wouldn’t help. “Why me?” I had to ask. “You shouldn’t be asking me.” “I KNOW!” Her voice cracked like a whip, making me recoil as it cracked against the walls and rebounded on me tenfold. There was the Ruby I was familiar with. She rounded on me, eyes blazing. “I know you’re the one who screwed this up! Somehow I know you’re responsible! But I can’t prove it with the bastard who attacked you dead and you being... whatever you are!” She sallied back and forth across the room, coming towards me until she was close, close enough for me to smell her, and then withdrawing again. Her tail lashed and her horn glowed ominously. My terror rose and fell with each lap back and forth she took. I felt sure that at any moment she’d toss me across the room and beat me, but that moment never came. “Who are you?!” she barked, rushing up to look at face-to-face. “What is it about you? What the hell am I looking at?” “I don’t know!” I shouted back. “You think I enjoy this? You think I know what’s going on? Why are cultists trying to kill me? Why does your leader trust me so much? Why can’t you kill me? Damned if I know! But I don’t care about that. I’m trying to move forward, same as you. And I have the way to do it.” I reached back into my saddlebags and produced the Guide. I hadn’t looked at it since before Trotsky, but that was when I had Tracer and Nopony to lead me. Now I’d have to trust my own skills, meager as they were. I didn’t trust Ruby Red in the slightest, but I needed her to trust me, because I sure as hell knew Sidewinder wasn’t the most stable of companions. Right now these bandits were my only guaranteed shot of getting through the tunnels to East Metro with something resembling strength. If I tried crawling through these places totally alone with Sidewinder at my back, I’d be dead in a day. I hadn’t had to risk my neck without at least some help yet, and I didn’t want to start. Ruby Red gave the enchanted map one look. She seemed to be seeing a two-headed monster instead of a piece of paper. Yes, it had odd little stains on it and she probably couldn’t see its true worth, but it was all I had that would help. “That’s your secret weapon?” she deadpanned, staring at me with eyes that couldn’t hold humor if they suddenly grew hands. “A sticky little map?” “Yes. But it’s a magic map.” She punched me in the face. About ten minutes later I’d managed to stop seeing stars and keep her from shouting herself hoarse at me. “Explain this!” she said. “You actually expect me to believe this’ll help, so explain it!” “It’s a Guide,” I sputtered through a cracked lip. Blood spilled out, hopefully adding a bit of credibility for my willingness to speak through it. “A Guide! It shows me the places that normal ponies can’t go. Or won’t go... in any case, it’ll show us a way through that only this map knows, and nopony else.” “Yeah, right,” Ruby spat. “And I suppose one of these ways will lead us straight to our deaths!” I didn’t see a point in lying. Tell the truth enough times and eventually somepony will believe you. “Maybe. But that’s the Metro, isn’t it? In any case, it’s the only way you might get through to East Metro on time.” Ruby Red scoffed, but some subtle clue made me feel as though she knew what I said was true and simply wasn’t admitting it aloud. I saw it in the way she didn’t quite brush me off, how she looked at the wall more to buy time than to dismiss me. When she couldn’t come up with an alternate route, I pressed home the advantage. “You know I’m right. There are no other routes you can take except to go days south or north, and those will take us into territory hostile to your ponies. Right now this is all you have.” “And that’s why I’ll believe you?” Ruby glared at me over her shoulder, eyes glowing with power. “No. You won’t believe me. But you will take a leap of faith.” I almost smirked. Almost. “Buttercup and her opinion mean that much to you?” “FUCK YOU!” Her baton hovered underneath my chin, lifting my head up to expose my throat. “Don’t you get all psychological with me, kid! You’re nothing, and your words are nothing, but if that Guide gets us somewhere then I’ll reconsider smashing your face in!” “You already did that,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. Ruby raised her baton, reconsidered at the last moment, and instead used it to scratch behind her ears. Her weary sigh rolled out like a heavy fog. “Let me look at it.” I showed it to her, waiting for the inevitable incredulity. Her eyes roamed over the paper, faster and faster to dizzying speed until they jerked to a halt, centered on my face again. She must have thought I was playing her for a fool. I watched her muscles coil and tense like snakes in waiting. There was something almost symphonic about her subtle yet controlled movements, all precisely tuned to completely wreck a pony as painfully as possible. “I don’t see anything. Just some scribbles over a regular old map.” “You’re not supposed to,” I said, bracing myself. “I’m the only one here who can read it.” “Oh, fuck this!” Ruby said, throwing her head back as she turned away. She shoved me right off the bed with a jerk of her magic. My leg felt twisted in on itself with the sheer volume of pain that rushed from the site of my injury. I didn’t even bother wincing; pain was becoming a close friend around this mare. “You expect me to believe all this? To put faith in you?!” “The pony who beat Steel Crescent in a ring, one-on-one, after punching him in the jaw in full view of the Gut.” I seated all four hooves under me and pushed up, standing proud as I could. “The pony who managed to look you in the eye and get on Buttercup’s good side just by being there. The one who traveled through dirt and death and destruction, the one who you think should be dead ten times over. And the only one giving you an option now besides turning back and going home in shame because the Guild snubbed you.” I took a step forward, pressing in on her personal bubble. “I’m not a pony who is strong or fast or all that good with a gun. In fact I don’t really know what has been keeping me going. Hope? Determination? Sheer luck? All of those things together couldn’t have picked me to be the one to survive, to be here, at this very moment, offering you a way forward that could actually turn out for the best. You say that something about me bothers you. Something keeps you from shooting me in the head and risking Buttercup’s displeasure in spite of everything your instincts tell you. If you’re going to turn your back on that, then do it now. But the fact of the matter is, I don’t know if I can do it alone. I need somepony. Something. An extra gun, even. Now you can see this as an opportunity to help, or you can be the angry little mare you always are and end it here. But I’m going on either way.” I didn’t know I’d been walking forward until I ended up mere inches from Ruby’s face, staring down her snout with fire in my eyes. She countered with a withering glare that made my ears curl. I remembered how I’d felt when I intimidated the guards outside of Ponyevskaya, Nopony’s weighty charisma, and did my best to level it at Ruby. Every moment that passed hung heavy between us, wavering between my victory and defeat. I felt Ruby’s magic slither around my face, engulfing me like a blanket that pricked and pulled as it went, smothering my entire head and painting the whole world with a sheen of pale burgundy. It yanked me down until I was nose to nose with the murderess. “One thing goes wrong? One little thing screws up? One of my boys gets killed because you make a wrong decision?” I felt icy talons grip my heart. I knew from an ugly memory that wasn’t fear touching me. It was her. “I will squeeze your heart until it pops inside your ribs.” She thrust me away with a cruel magical yank on my mane. As I looked away, desperately trying not to hyperventilate from the bowel-loosening terror I’d been experiencing in those last few seconds, I saw Sidewinder at the door. I saw him grin and the terror returned. “So are you two going to angrily make out now, or later?” he asked, and just barely avoided getting flattened by the table Ruby flung at him. /-/-/-/ What was it that made a pony trust another? None of my books were good manuals for a budding psychologist, and I hadn’t even worked out who was trustworthy and who wasn’t yet, apart from Sunny Side. Could it have been dependability like his that built trust? I had known him all my life after all, and he’d never once abandoned me or belittled me. He’d saved my life several times on this adventure. Those acts over the course of many years made him a pony I knew I could give my life and not worry. But then there were others: Nopony and Tracer, who had given mostly just their words. They hadn’t been with me more than two weeks, and I’d thrown myself at their mercy. It made me wonder what drove ponies together as well as apart. What made us instinctively want to huddle together against the darkness, instead of striking out alone? Why did some of us warrant the honor of company more than others? I’d been careful with my trust, or liked to think I’d been. Sunny Side was the only pony I’d trust not to stab me in the back when it suited them. Ruby Red was a means to an end; I needed her firepower to help me through the dangers of the Metro until I got to the next leg of my journey. But what made her trust me? The quickest and easiest thing to do in her position was shoot me in the head and damn what Buttercup thought. But somehow she’d found enough of her old ponyness to take that one small step that began friendships: trust. Trust was an act of faith that required a bit more fortitude than an average Metro resident had. You didn’t truly know whether a pony was safe to travel with in the Metro. You couldn’t reach inside their head and pull out the file that said “this pony is not on my list of things to kill.” Ruby Red was trotting into the unknown, as was Sidewinder, though he seemed ready and eager to bail out if things got too tough. Perhaps there was more to the bandit than I thought. Everypony had a story after all. As much as I wanted to demonize and de-ponify the bandits and cultists and anypony else who tried to stop me, I knew that for every one who found their death at my hooves a long story came to a close. The bark of my gun was an exclamation point, my bullets punching periods into the final chapter of their lives. The very memories I’d set out in hopes of preserving were being murdered by me. The one pony who’d never forget. What could I call myself if I chose to let those small shreds go? Every shadowy figure that fell in a spray of blood was a sentence fragment, a tiny proof positive that somepony had been there, alive, and I was the recordkeeper of their very existence. Perhaps if I collected enough of the lives that petered out before mine, I’d be able to make up for all this. For Ray Drop and her remaining sister. For the ponies of the plantations, and the ones in my home. Even for the ponies who’d tried to kill me. I owed it to myself and my sanity, and to ponydom in general. And me... Could I trust myself? Could I put faith in a mind that I felt cracking a little more day by day, every stress and every death weighing me down more and more? Before this journey I’d have never thought that I was made for something like this. But here I was, in defiance of all the odds and all the horror the Metro had to throw at me. I stood at the threshold of the southern entrance to Felberskaya, looking down at my Guide. Guardponies and Guild ponies alike stood apart from me, taking me for nothing more than a drifter staring listlessly at a map. The Guild of Magic didn’t care what we did as long as we didn’t interfere with their plans. I planned to take advantage of that apathy. Nopony insisted that I could see what the Guide kept hidden, and so I concentrated on the tunnels leading south and north along the Red Line. The guards were only posted at the three hundred meter mark at both ends, as the Guild claimed that any further the tunnels were overrun with mutants and only heavily armed caravans could make it through. I planned to find a way east past their final checkpoint to the south, then double back up to the waterworks. The surface was out of the question. It still held an unbearable shroud of terror over me; and going up there was suicide with a bunch of inexperienced bandits who preferred the claustrophobia of their tunnels. I wasn’t giving Sidewinder another easy opportunity to slip away, even if he said he planned to stay with me this time. Trusting him was a leap of faith I didn’t quite have the courage to make. I’d given him a simple task nonetheless: head south to an unmarked entrance I’d spotted using the Guide’s supernatural powers and see if it was guarded or choking with drakes and cerberus dogs. It’d been an hour and would be a little longer before he got back. Theo came up next to me, nervously swaying backward and forward on the tips of his hooves. “Sooo... this Sidewinder guy. I’ve only heard of him. What’s he like?” “He’s a selfish bastard, like most Metro ponies,” I said, relishing the glumness of my voice. “And he’s supposed to help lead us through the waterworks... you and your magic map that nopony can see except you?” “Yes. If you don’t like it feel free to turn back any time. I’m going forward.” “Huh. Well, I may be miraculous, but I am pretty simple... why’re you so determined to get this done with such a flimsy method?” “It’s the best idea I have.” Theo nodded. “I like it. That’s usually what I go with, you know. Just what I have.” “Mmm.” “So what do you see?” “On what? Oh, the Guide. Uh... Everything. Nothing. It’s rather confusing, actually. I have to concentrate. But there’s a path that cuts through the waterworks here. Don’t try to look, I know you won’t see it.” Theo looked down over my shoulder anyway, peering at the Guide. He furrowed his brow and stared long and hard at the paper. I noticed he didn’t immediately pull away with an incredulous expression like Ruby. His response was much more measured. He simply leaned back and nodded. “Yup. Can’t see a thing.” I would’ve found his quiet acceptance of this odd if it wasn’t so fortuitous. I just had to hope nopony thought I was bluffing. “Trust me, sometimes I’m not even sure how this all works.” “Heh. Not very reassuring. But I like your attitude! A real go getter you are.” “I hate go-getters.” Ruby appeared with the rest of our group, who regarded me with equal parts suspicion and outright distrust. Obviously they didn’t think much of my plan, but they were Ruby’s ponies more than they were bandits. If she followed my lead, they’d follow hers, and that was all I needed. Sidewinder eventually returned with a smug grin on his face. “I like these Felberskaya ponies. They never ask questions of a pony with the Stalker’s emblem on their shoulder.” He patted Stalliongrad’s symbol. “Anyway, your little map was right, Lockbox. There’s a locked door that was easily coaxed open by yours truly. Behind that a staircase, and beyond that a tunnel system going east. Judging by all the pipes, I’m willing to bet it runs straight through the underground of the waterworks. We can nip back up to the established pathways once we hit it.” “Then what’re we waiting for?” Ruby said. She led us past the gate, which the guards opened willingly enough. Even as we passed the checkpoint at the three hundred meter mark, hardly anypony even bothered to note our passage. As far as they knew it was our funeral going out there, and I planned to keep it that way. We didn’t care what the Guild was hiding. Just that we got through their silly blockade to reach our destination. The door was left ajar by Sidewinder, and we closed it again as we went through. I made sure to lock it, not wanting ponies who traveled down this way to suffer for any monsters that went through doors we left open. Then came the stairs, and then the tunnel. It had a low ceiling and was ringed all around with a mess of pipelines, all of which seemed corroded and rusty, yet still moist with running water. I wondered if any of them would need maintenance soon, and which poor Guild ponies would have to brave the darkness to repair them. Always plugging away at the crumbling vestiges of an old way of life, we ponies. What a pathetic thing our Metro was. A failing organism kept alive by these ruptured arteries and split-end veins, with us running about inside as the slowly dying cells. Before me stood the screeching darkness that waited to gobble us up. Behind me stood a gaggle of ponies I didn’t trust and didn’t trust me. But even so, our lives were in each other’s hooves... or our own, if we selfishly stole away to huddle around the tiny light of our own life. All around us was death, held back only by that thin membrane of faith we’d stretched over each other. With our headlamps blazing bold paths into the shadows, we journeyed into the unknown. /-/-/-/ “By Celestia, this shit stinks!” “No more than you do after a tumble in the hay, Jitter. Think of this as make-up for all the baths you never take.” “It’s not my fault I sweat as much as I do...” “Shut up back there! This is hard enough with your whining.” I shut out the appalling noise of my companions’ griping. It made my ears twitch even over the loud breathing of my gasmask filters. It wasn’t that they didn’t have good reasons to complain. We were slogging through knee-deep sludge that was mildly radioactive, the geiger counters wouldn’t stop telling us it was radioactive, and it stank about as bad as one might expect decades-old trash to stink. Fortunately, Sidewinder and Ruby had the foresight to warn the others of the danger of infection, and we’d wrapped our hooves up as best as we could and donned gasmasks to avoid the worst of the fumes. Everypony was going to die from the Rot sooner or later anyway, but being caught with something contagious made one an instant pariah, no matter what their social standing. Not even bandits—the ones who had half a brain left anyway—could stand that kind of isolation and ostracism. We were somewhere in the very bowels of the waterworks, finding our way there after several twists and turns down shifty little side passages that would have trapped us forever without the Guide. Ruby couldn’t stop whispering in my ear how suspicious she was of my ability to lead, and I had to admit once or twice I’d given up and walked by instinct, following the gentle tug of intuition. The Guide didn’t have an in-depth map of every building in the Metro, but somehow it seemed to push my hooves in the right direction no matter how invisible or small the tunnel we walked. More of its magic, giving the bearer some kind of magical compass in their head? Sheer dumb luck? Fate, pulling me along on marionette strings and laughing at me the whole way? Whatever it was, I felt it clear as day. Much like I’d “felt” the presence of the anomaly, the Cultists, the Ranger safehouse, and the “ghosts” in Nopony’s weird tunnel. I couldn’t say what magic was at work in that piece of paper with all the scribbles and lines. All I knew was that somehow we’d made it through the underground and come to the edge of the waterworks, and now we were here in these blasted, stinking tunnels. The Guide was much more clear about this particular section: I saw a small note scribbled next to the outline of a maze of tunnels. Did Rangers really use this place for secretive missions that skirted the Guild and Felberskaya? Did Stalkers smuggle through it? And how did the Guide know to lead me through tunnels that weren’t even marked on it? If I ever saw Tracer or Nopony again, I had to ask them how this thing worked. Something told me more was at work than a simple enchantment.The sludge wasn’t moving, which worried and intrigued me at the same time. It could mean that somehow the pipes we traveled were isolated from the rest of the waterworks, or that the system had broken down somewhere and water wasn’t moving. Perhaps that was why the Guild shut down access to these tunnels... but then, why was it taking so long to fix? And for that matter, why did they need everypony to stay out to perform what I assumed was routine maintenance? All questions I didn’t think I’d get the answers to. “Are we almost there?” Ruby hissed, shoving my side. “What’s your stupid Guide say now? We need to get out of this shit and onto some solid ground! We’re exposed as fuck and I haven’t seen a single path marker since we came here!” “We’re almost out,” I promised, and it was true. I’d just looked at the Guide; a little note in the corner promised that these pipelines were in some way connected to the waterworks and we’d be able to find a way up sooner or later. They ran all around underneath. We just needed to find a ladder. The only one we did find was rusty and squeaked as we put our weight on it, but it did bring us out of the muck and into the guts of the waterworks by way of a tightly closed porthole. Here, there was something I didn’t expect: noise. The sound of rushing water, dripping water, bubbling water flowed and dipped and roared from every angle. And beneath it all was the strange buzz that I figured had become my personal alarm system. We were in a concrete hallway lined with more pipelines of every color, and it led to the left and right. I took out the Guide once again, and pointed down the hallway to the right. “Ahh... all right. I think we go this way.” Sidewinder stepped in front of me. “Ahem. I’ll take it from here,” he said with a grin, and pulled out a familiar old tool: a metal screw attached to a length of string. “Lockbox, I told you that we earth ponies have magic, and you used it well against Steel Crescent... but it’s not just how you affect the world. It’s you sensing how you are affected by the world. Plant your hooves in the ground.” “We don’t have time for mentoring bullshit!” Ruby snapped, but we both ignored her. The other bandits, especially the earth ponies, watched curiously. Sidewinder took a few steps into the hall I’d just been about to enter, tapping the floor with his hoof. “She speaks to us still,” he murmured. “The flow of magic is like blood through veins, water through pipes... and I can sense magic here, infused in her skin.” He took the string in his mouth and tossed the screw out into the hall. An arc of lightning exploded from the wall and struck the screw, obliterating it. Sidewinder hummed to himself as he pulled out another screw, tying it to the still smoking end of the string. “The Guild wasn’t kidding about not letting anypony through,” he said with a grim smile. “I love getting in places I’m not supposed to. Got me in a heap of trouble with the mayor of Dale’s daughter, let me tell you...” He tossed it out again, teasing it along the floor. Magical sparks of energy leaped through cracks in the concrete, inundating the ground in a ten foot radius. Several of the bandits yelped and jumped back. “Two stages... one to tag the first who wanders through, the other to finish off the group when they think the trap is done.” Sidewinder then tossed out a third screw, and when nothing happened, he boldly trotted forward. The rest of us meekly followed, except for Ruby, who stewed behind the Stalker. I didn’t notice anything pass between them until Ruby tossed her mane and growled, drawing a smile from Sidewinder. “All right, fine. Why didn’t I sense it?” “You could have just fine,” he answered. “You just need to know how to look. I’m familiar with the Guild’s little tricks. Stick with me. My brother Stalkers have been through here. I can feel it.” “How does that help us?” Theo asked. “It probably doesn’t. But at least we might find some supplies if we need it.” He took us through a winding maze of passages, up through cramped staircases with skeletons resting on the steps. I felt the buzzing in my head as we passed by them, but it didn’t abate as we traveled through the low concrete ceilings, past traps and alarms set down by the Guild to destroy intruders. The Guide couldn’t help me avoid those, and at least Sidewinder was making himself useful. Judging by the size of the facility on the map and Sidewinder’s expert knowledge, it shouldn’t take more than an hour to get through. The buzzing persisted, like a grater slowly dragging back and forth over my subconscious mind. It made my teeth itch and set my mane on end. Something here was dangerous... not just the traps. Seven more such runes were sprung by Sidewinder’s wily tricks, including cutting himself and coating his screw in blood to spring one in particular, stating that some traps were designed ‘purely for ponies.’ Perhaps just not to be shown up, Ruby detonated several herself that she was able to scan for. Useless and humbled by their expertise, I hung back with the bandits, following the lead of the Stalker and the murderess. The buzzing wouldn’t stop bothering me. It grew and faded like a tidal wave, lapping at the edges of my mind, until at last I couldn’t stand it anymore. I stopped walking and shook my head, silently cursing my inability to control this strange feeling. “You all right?” Theo asked. I shook my head again, finding it hard to talk. Something seemed to be blocking my ability to speak. “N... igh... I c-can’t...” “Hey, steady on! We’re not out of this yet!” Sidewinder called from up ahead, shining his light on a sign that read “Ground Water Filtering.” “What’s wrong, newbie?” another bandit asked me. “You use up all your mojo fighting Crescent?” “No, I... ggh..” I stumbled over my own words. My lips felt clumsy, as if I’d forgotten how to use them. They flapped over my gums as I struggled to speak. The buzzing reached a fever pitch, developing into an unbearable whine that seemed to set my very skull vibrating in time with the ghostly noise. Sidewinder’s face split into a horrible expression. It was stuck somewhere between a grin and a terrifyingly calm sort of fear. He seemed frozen on the precipice of dawning comprehension, watching some terrible thing claw its way up out of the dark abyss at the back of his mind. “Uh oh. I remember this part. Auntie Pinkie preserve me...” Above the whine I heard a screech of rending metal. The bandits jumped and looked around at the tight corridor, their lights now pitiful and desperate as they carved tiny circles of safety in the shadows. The darkness around us solidified, mocking our lights’ attempts to breach it. “Tack up!” Ruby barked. “Everypony tack up! Weapons out! Back up against the wall, cover both ends of the hallway!” She leaped into the midst of us and her horn erupted with light, bathing us all in a pale purple glow. “Guns...” I whispered, horrified at how hopeless my own voice sounded, “guns won’t help us now.” There was another terrible scream of metal being torn asunder. Everything was silenced save for the whining in my head as we looked down the hallway we’d come, watching, waiting for the evil things that lived in the dark to slither out at us. Instead, the ceiling exploded and our lights didn’t matter anymore. A massive thing I could only vaguely perceive as globe-shaped burst out of the hole it’d created, jittering and bouncing and flailing as it cast tendrils of pure energy out in random directions. It glowed with a terrible light, neither warm nor cold, overpowering all other colors until we’d all been reduced to bright white silhouettes. Its tendrils scored the walls and rent the pipes asunder, picking them up and hurling them in completely aimless ways. The anomaly seemed to be bouncing not just in place, but within the space of its own existence. First it seemed three, then two, then one dimensional, the next it expanded until it filled not just my vision but my mind. The whining in my head broke out into full-fledged screaming. A banshee-wail that excavated my brain and replaced it with nothing but sheer, outright terror. I was an earth pony. A steward of the green earth. I knew what was supposed to go in the ground and come out of it. This thing didn’t belong anywhere on our planet, and it murdered every notion I’d had of a world that still had a semblance of order. I watched it carefully dissect and then brutally rip and tear at the very laws of our universe, simply by being there. But there it was, petulantly, angrily existing... and quickly advancing on us. I heard guns firing, somewhere. Bullets flew into the vortex of impossibility and simply winked out of existence, burned to ash, or passed right through. Still more were simply flung about, redirected and shot into the walls. Like a child throwing a temper tantrum, the debris of the thing’s passing was caught up in its whorl of tentacles and hurled our way. I watched a piece of concrete that must have weighed half a pony smack right into the face of one of Ruby’s lieutenants. With a sickening crunch he fell over dead, laid out flat on the ground, a gruesome halo of blood and brains scattered around what had been his head. Ruby caught a pipe spearing through the air and sent it flying back, only to watch as it bounced harmlessly off some invisible shield. “Run,” I whispered. Then I spoke. Then I screamed. “Run. Run. Run! Run run run run!” I clawed at the grounds, digging my hooves in as if to throw the earth back at the thing behind me, offering the space I cleared as a sacrifice to soothe the slavering monster. At last I got to all fours and ran like a pegasus out of Tartarus, and my infectious panic spread to the others. In an instant I was back in the same tunnel where I’d first encountered an anomaly, the same terror gripping my heart, the same denial of what that thing behind us bouncing around in my head. I saw the others next to me suffering from similar symptoms, their eyes wide and pupils shrunk to pinpricks. Theo frothed at the mouth. Sidewinder had that manic grin on his face. Only Ruby Red looked anywhere near composed, and to say any of us were near “composed” was to say that a fly that just escaped a spider’s web looked “relieved.” Another concrete block flew by my head, followed closely by a spar of metal that embedded itself into the wall. The light flew after us like a thing possessed, not just tearing up the hallway, but devouring it, swallowing random bits of the scenery into itself where it was thrown around in that interdimensional blender and spat back out as molten slag or constituent atoms. And it was gaining on us. “Through here!” Sidewinder led us to a doorway in the side of the hall, and we very nearly doomed ourselves as we crowded inside, driven by the herd instinct. We crashed into a stairwell and the front rank went tumbling down the rusted metal steps until they hit the next flight. The rest of us piled on over them in a confused jumble until Ruby used her magic to throw me and Theo down the next flight, thinning our numbers just enough to keep running. I didn’t even feel myself hit the metal grate on the next flight, only barely noticed Sidewinder snatch me by the mane and pull me up. Through the screeching warning in my head I vaguely heard the thunderous roar of an angry god as the anomaly smashed through the wall and the door we’d shut on it, angrily smashing apart the walls of the stairwell with its hungry tentacles. I swear I felt some great and evil eye turn towards us before the anomaly began a slow, deliberate descent right through the stairs as we ran and staggered and gasped and whimpered. It ate the metal construction as it went, gobbling up space and time and everything else that got in its way, down to the smallest dust mote. We must have gone down two floors before, as the head of the pack, I smashed through a door into another corridor crowded with pipelines and gauges. The anomaly still chased us, eating up the way we had come, and in our panic I don’t think anypony even seemed to notice where we were going. Our lights flashed and spun wildly with our heads, and I wasn’t sure but some of the bandits must have gone one way while the rest of us went another. Theo wasn’t among us, but Ruby didn’t spare them anything but a simple backwards glance before we were cut off by the anomaly crashing through the wall once more. It spun in place and whirled around... I’m not sure what it used to face us, but that was the side it presented us with... and bulldozed down the hall I’d taken, boiling and bouncing erratically. Everything it touched was instantly vaporized, leaving a mess of scorched, burning metal in its wake. “It’s catching up. Oh Celestia. Oh please. I don’t wanna die!” I heard somepony gasp. I couldn’t tell who. Probably me. “Watch out!” I leaped to the side instinctively, dodging into another random hallway just before a massive crash sounded behind me. I didn’t bother to look back at what it was. All that was left was me and Sidewinder, running for all we were worth, and that lasted about five more seconds before there was another huge crash, the sound seeming to roll towards us like some kind of wave, and then we were struck and my hooves left the ground as the wall ahead came flying towards us- /-/-/-/ I sucked in air through my nostrils. Blood came down with it, making me cough. The hallway was soaked in blood. No, was it blood or just emergency lighting? Hard to tell when I couldn’t see straight. My eyes felt loose, jarred from their sockets. They rolled haplessly around in my head as I struggled to make sense of things. I was up against something hard and cold; it dug into my back as I struggled to stand. A pipe. Many pipes. I was still in the hallway. A body nearby, curled and limp. The flag of Stalliongrad was on his shoulder. “Sidewinder. Sidewinder!” I screamed through the haze in my head, more to try and convince myself I was still alive than to actually get his attention. “Get up!” The only way to see... “Get up, damn you!” … is to give up the light. I felt something hot and dry on my back. A wave of cascading energy. The emergency lighting was subsumed by the all-encompassing glow of the anomaly. I reached out towards Sidewinder, snatching the ground with my hoof and digging in hard. Earth give me strength, I had to reach him! I had to get out of here! Why couldn’t I move my back legs? Something felt wrong with them... weighing them down. I felt like the knife of the cultist tearing me apart again, its cold teeth chewing and gnashing my muscles. I didn’t dare look back as the light grew. “You selfish bastard! I’m the one who has the Guide! I’m the one with a reason to live here! And I’m helping you?” As far as it takes... My hooves inched along and Sidewinder was miles away. I felt the heat and saw the light grow, expecting at any moment to feel my flanks disintegrate as the anomaly gobbled me up. I felt so weak. But I couldn’t stop moving. What drives you? I clenched my eyes shut and reached. My hooves grasped the material of Sidewinder’s coat. You’re a good pony, Lockbox. “Sidewinder!” I shrieked. “You fucking bastard! WAKE UP!” I can see it. I gripped his jacket in my teeth and pulled, my powerful neck muscles doing most of the work as I sprawled my hooves out and pushed myself up. Intangible feelers of my own reached deep into the ground and sucked up all the power from it I could. I had a mission. I had a home. Ponies I loved were in danger, and I would be damned if I let a giant ball of light eat me. And then I felt it. I felt the anomaly through my hooves, right up into my veins as my magic reached out and tried to give me strength. I felt the gaping emptiness, the sheer, horrifying void in reality the anomaly represented. I felt whirling, eddying chaos and nothingness that seemed dredged from the nightmares of creation. The anomaly was from the refuse pile of the universe, tossed back into reality kicking and screaming and tearing at anything that wasn’t already empty. I felt my magic being drained right back out of my body as I planted my hooves in the ground and threw myself forward, felt my life itself being vacuumed up like so much garbage. And then I seized hold of it and yanked it back into myself. It took everything I had to keep my life within me and keep moving with Sidewinder limp between my teeth, carted like a foal. Every step was a mountain to be scaled, every breath snatched from the jaws of death. The macabre tug-of-war intensified with every inch I covered. The light was nearly upon me. I picked up speed, fighting my own inertia and the burning sensation in my legs. I didn’t know where I was going; my headlamp had burst and the hallway seemed to go on forever. But I moved. I couldn’t be sure of how fast; the space ahead of me distorted and warped and wobbled as I went, first feeling like I was moving at a brisk trot, then at a gallop. I just moved. All I knew was that the anomaly was right behind me. I saw reality being torn asunder at the corners of my eyes, and that was all the motivation I needed. Somehow, I stayed ahead of it. Somehow, I got to the end of the hallway without being sucked into the void. That just left the door... a large, metal door that looked like it could take a direct hit from a tank round and still stand. I collapsed in front of it, mind whirling as I searched for a switch, a lever, something that’d get it open. But it opened of its own accord, sliding upwards with a screech to rival that of the one in my head. I saw hooves under the half-open door. Pale, discolored hooves. Many of them. They reached out and grabbed me and Sidewinder, pulling us under the door. My head flopped around, giving me a single glance back at the anomaly, a mere three or four feet behind. And then the door shut once again, the awful light refracted and squeezed as it tried to claw through the vanishing space. A rifle butt knocked against my head, and shadows claimed me instead. /-/-/-/ “Is he still alive?” Pain. I couldn’t see. Was I alive? Yes. Given how much pain I was in, I didn’t know if being dead would be better. Why couldn’t I see? “Take the blindfold off.” Something rough and cloth-like was drawn back over my head. Light invaded my eyes, blindingly bright. Though my head had been silent before, the light made my headache and the buzzing alarms come back full force. My first thought was that the anomaly was back. I tried to fling my hooves about, finding all of them bound together. I flopped like a fish, which just made me panic even more. I started hyperventilating, struggling against nothing in particular out of sheer fight or flight instinct. I had to run. I had to get away! “Where’s... where’s the...” “The anomaly? It doesn’t chase if it can’t sense a life form. Its range has a reach that doesn’t go through solid doors. You would know if you’d bother to study them.” What? Who was that? Who was talking? I didn’t try to find out. I continued to flail ineffectually, thrashing against cold hard concrete as I shut my eyes against the light, trying to keep it away, keep it out. Sweet Dreams was right, I had to give up the light. I wanted to. Just don’t let it get me again. I’d spent so much of myself escaping... “He... help! Help! Sid! Ruby... Celestia... anypony...” I felt a warm glow encase my body, stilling my struggles with gentle resistance. A gentle tingle invaded my insides, calming the burning in my legs and the throbbing headache that threatened to burst out of my skull. I heard another voice, distinct and female. “Blessed Wyrm, He Who begins and ends the world, bring this one under the shadow of Your love, as he is now my brother, and I his sister...” “Who is that?” I asked, keeping my eyes shut. “One of our Preachers,” the first voice answered. It was male, deep and imposing. I couldn’t make out the details. It sounded as though they were speaking through a gasmask, or a radio... “She is blessing our new initiates.” I continued to listen, confused as all get out. “Make us one in the midst of Your coils, Your holy form that encircles the world...” I licked my lips, finding them chapped and dry. How long had I lay here? “Who...?” “Many of those who came with you were wise enough to see the light. The true light. Not the evil lights of your dead city, or that of the anomaly you faced.” “Join us together as You are joined to Yourself, through the circle that binds all of time and in which we are safe...” “Your name is Lockbox.” “How did you-?” “You said it in your sleep.” I tried to open my eyes again. This time the light was a little more bearable. I saw something pony-shaped, huge and bulky. Pipes and other strange bits spread out around its silhouette. It was very close and stood right over me, glaring down at me through wide, unblinking eyes. “The Children tell me you were very talkative. You spoke of dark and evil things. You spoke of Dark Ones and bandits and cried the names of many ponies. Your name is Lockbox and you feel guilty. There are ponies you failed. Ponies you have yet to fail.” “Who are you?” “The truth.” My eyes adjusted to the sight of a unicorn even bigger than Steel Crescent. I could only tell he was such by the grey horn jutting from his forehead.. no, not grey. Wrapped in some kind of armor, sharpened to a nasty point that seemed to cut the air even when still. The rest of him was encased in a massive suit of armor, wrapped all around his body, even his tail, which dangled behind him in a pouch of presumably bulletproof material. Surrounding the metal plating on his limbs were hydraulic supports and rubber pipes, zig-zagging over his body, hissing and squeaking with every move he made. At his sides rested a pair of cannons with no discernible source of ammunition, but they looked large enough to punch holes in a dragon’s hide. He looked more like the infrastructure to a building than a pony in armor. His face and neck were completely covered by an armored gasmask, similarly infused with pipes and sheets of solid metal. This wasn’t a regular suit. This was a military exoskeleton, scavenged from the battlefields of the War and the armories of Stalliongrad, brought back and repurposed in the Metro to continue service in our meager little conflicts. I didn’t need my books to recognize the dreaded sight of an exoskeleton... Monarchy assault squads often wore them into battle to maximize the shock and awe they employed to achieve victory. Often augmented by magic and worn by only the most skilled combatants, the only reason you might see one in action was because you were a target the wearer very, very much wanted dead. Hunter had told me a story of how he fought one, and saw the pony inside punch clean through a metal door in one blow. “Are you going to kill me?” I asked, as that was the only reason I could think of why I’d been brought before this mighty pony. “No. But you will wish we had before this journey is done,” he answered. “Blessed Wyrm, He who begins and ends the world, bring this one under the shadow of Your love, as she is now my sister, and I hers...” “Fucking traitors,” I heard Ruby Red snarl. My head jerked up, but though I nearly bumped the exo-pony he didn’t move a muscle. The room we were in was large and round. It looked like a vat of some kind, with pipes of all kinds leading in from all around the walls. Several were large enough to fit ponies. The floor was filled with ponies, all of them pale and silent. They were equipped for long Metro excursions, sporting sealed bodysuits with armor sewn into the fabric, and gasmasks hung at the sides of every one. Guns and ponies of every shape and size were in abundance: machine guns and pegasi, unicorns and shotguns, earth ponies and long rifles. Mare and stallion both. Many of them wore face-masks with only three small holes at the eyes and mouth... “Cultists,” I whispered. “No shit,” Ruby answered from one side of the room. She and Sidewinder huddled together with several other of the bandits. Theo wasn’t with them. All had been stripped of their weapons and most of their clothing, and they looked dismal and withdrawn... save for Sidewinder, who stared at the cultists with narrowed eyes and a sickly smile. At the other side of the room sat the rest of Ruby’s crew... it seemed over half were in this group... but they weren’t nearly as depressed. In fact, they all smiled. A unicorn mare, horn glowing bright, trotted back and forth between them. She dressed just like the other cultists but for the tattoo on her cheeks: twin serpents with their jaws open to attack that coiled around her cheekbones, their tails wrapping down around her jaw to her chin. Though her fur was a sickly pale blue and her eyes a dull grey, there was something compelling about her. Something that made me want to look at her and listen to her words, dull and monotone as they were. When she put her hoof on the head of one of the bandits, her face seemed to light up with joy. “May you now know the love of our Family, the true Family, in which all ponies belong and all ponies will know. May you be joined with us forever in the coils of the Great Wyrm, Who devours and creates the world. From now on, you are no longer little flames flickering in the dark. You are part of the mighty Torch which will bring light back to the shadows, which will spark the Sun and make the Moon shine again. You are now part of the future that will bring Equestria back to us in all its glory.” “Rise, brothers and sisters,” the exo-pony intoned. “Rise up and join with the Great Cause. Preacher, take them home, where the marks that divide and chain them may be removed.” “You bastard!” Ruby shouted for all of us. “You sick fucking bastard! You’re talking about their cutie marks! You’re sick! You’re all fucking sick!” “True wisdom is a heavy burden to bear,” replied the armored pony. “I do not fault you for having too small a mind to comprehend it.” “Step out of your big badass suit and say that again!” Ruby screamed, spittle flying from her mouth. The exo-pony sighed. “She is most... vociferous, this one. She screams and rails and fills her mind with hate, so that the Voice cannot get through. I pity her.” “I pity the beatdown me and my boys’d put on you if you weren’t-” Ruby was silenced by a good knock on the skull by an earth pony behind her. He wordlessly returned to his post, utterly calm. He wasn’t just quiet, none of them were. They looked blank. I shivered. “You are afraid,” the exo-pony whispered. “Don’t be. Today is a happy day. You are a Shadow Walker. One who can move between the dark spaces. One who can See. Your affliction has caused much suffering in your soul. But today you have been found by the right ponies.” He lifted his head, pointing his horn at the ceiling and the bright lights that buzzed above. “You call us a cult. But we are not. We are the truth. We are the wave that is slowly building to sweep away the refuse of old Equestria. The Princesses failed, but in their place, the Great Wyrm came to guide us. He speaks to us all, and it was His Voice that drew us to you, and you to us.” “You... you sent that assassin after me? In Felberskaya?” “Yes. We wanted to be sure. You couldn’t find your way out of the Dream, but you saw our agent and defeated him. It takes a great deal of effort to create a Dream, and only a will as strong as yours could have seen one of us in the midst of one. You proved you are a Shadow Walker. In you rests threat and salvation.” He reached out with his magic, caressing my cheek. “Lockbox,” he said tenderly, in stark contrast to his emotionless subordinates. “If only you knew how important ponies like you really were. The Wyrm wishes to touch your mind, to see the world through your eyes. He has seen you, and felt you moving through Him, and He knows of your struggle to end the threat of the Dark Ones.” I lifted my head and peered at the armored pony. “There are many ways to See in this world,” he said. “Many have Sight, but few know how to utilize it. That one—” he pointed at Sidewinder, “—might once have been able to See, but he has rejected his gift in favor of madness.” “You guys just don’t know a proper smile when you see it,” Sidewinder replied, baring his teeth. “I see more than you’ll ever know, smarty-pants. More than you’ll ever understand.” “You will all suffer for your heresy in time,” the armored pony exclaimed, then turned back to me. “But you... Lockbox... you must be tested.” He waved a mighty hoof and his soldiers backed off, clambering out of the pit by way of ladders lowered down into it, and disappearing over the edge, pulling the ladders back up as they finished. “My name is Nexus,” the armored pony bellowed, his voice ringing in the large space. “I am first and foremost among the Children of the Wyrm! And you, Shadow Walker, will be judged worthy or unworthy of His touch!” With a glow of his horn the bindings on all of us were untied. Several of the bandits attempted to flee, only be stopped by barriers erected by other Cultist unicorns. Nexus went over to the last ladder and climbed out of the vat, then turned and cleaved the ladder in half with a burst of magic. The lower part clanged uselessly to the floor, melted down to where it was unusable. “So... what’s this test?” I asked, standing up and trying to brace myself against the ground, casting out for strength from the faltering earth. “Simple,” Nexus said. “You proved you are a Shadow Walker, one who can See and Dream and know the minds of those who also walk in shadow. Now you prove that you are worthy of the title.” He turned to a pipe that jutted from the wall and raised a crowbar with his magic, bringing it down on the metal surface. Three times he slammed metal on metal, the hollow clangs reverberating all around us and through the pipes that led to our enclosure. The echoes faded. Nothing happened. Nexus struck three more times, and now all of us in the vat were standing up, ears perked and eyes darting along the walls, trying to discern the nature of this test. Still nothing. When Nexus brought the crowbar down again, he only had to strike twice before he got an answer. On the left side of the vat from one of the pony-sized pipe openings, a bone-chilling moan floated out. It was the voice of our death, serenading us with its monstrous swan-song. “There are beasts that have invaded the Metro,” Nexus began to explain as he clanged on the pipe once again, “that without proper preparations, nopony can really hope to defeat. The Guild of Magic sealed off the waterworks for a good reason... a reason they can’t or won’t deal with. They can’t admit their failure until they have a way to destroy the beast.” When the clanging died down again, a deep booming noise responded. I couldn’t tell if the fear slowly worming into my mind was playing tricks, but I could’ve sworn it sounded closer. We all began to take steps back to the opposite end of the vat. There were three pipelines that could fit ponies. Any one of them could lead out, or to our deaths... but I realized I still had my saddlebags with me. Had they left me the Guide? I tore open my pack and found the blessed sheet of paper, holding it reverently in my hooves as my eyes devoured every tiny inch its makers had squeezed full of information. “We call it the Hydra,” Nexus continued in a blase tone. Thrice more he struck the pipe, and another rolling moan answered him. One of the bandits at Ruby’s side began shaking; the blood-red unicorn herself just watched the opening, waiting for the creature to pierce the gloom and fall on us. Nexus just kept talking. “But this is a whole different animal than the one our Equestrian ancestors knew. So far, it’s the only one we know of. Not even we are sure how it invaded the Metro. Perhaps it was a dormant egg that somehow arrived here when the Metro was built? Either way, all you need to know is that it has gotten large and hungry over the years. It’s trapped here now, because of its size. And it needs meat.” Symbols and words and thoughts began to dance in my mind. There wasn’t any way all of this information could be written down on this one sheet; there just wasn’t enough space. Somehow the Guide was actually telling me things, things that not even a pony with my gift who looked at the surface could see. Somepony had endowed this Guide with information that I was tapping into. Was it desperation or a miracle that fueled my newfound understanding? There was one spot at the edge of the waterworks with a small hieroglyph next to it. Before my very eyes I watched it change from an archaic Old Equestrian symbol to something I could recognize. “Outpost Nine Seven. Exit.” Hunter’s talisman let out a quiet, gentle chime as I looked down the central pipe. The Ranger hadn’t given up on guiding me yet. “THIS WAY!” I charged down the middle pipe, the others following close behind, too desperate to try any other path. Nexus’ voice chased us down the cramped interior. “Run, Shadow Walker. Run and live. Should you survive this test and prove worthy of your mantle, we will meet again. And then I shall guide you to your final fate.”

redsquirrel456

446

Original Character,Crossover,Adventure,Dark,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

My Little Metro

After Doomsday forces ponies underground, a lone colt braves the Stalliongrad metro system to save his people from an unknown threat.

hiatus

<p>The Metro tunnels of Stalliongrad shelter the last remnants of ponykind from the ravages of the Apocalypse. Beneath the earth, ponies struggle to survive against mutants, radiation, and each other. But when an unstoppable threat emerges from the darkness of the Metro, one pony must brave the shadows to save not just his home, but the very existence of his people.</p>

teen

2012-10-02T03:33:11+00:00

2012-10-02T03:33:11+00:00

My Little Metro: Chapter 15 “He put the red dot on the head of the largest of the beasts, and pulled the trigger.” We ran. We ran until our hearts cracked and our lungs burst, until our chests were heaving bellows, and even then we didn’t stop. We’d crossed several intersections, but we didn’t dare try to make any turns. The pipeline seemed to continue onward, ever in a straight direction, but how far exactly nopony could say. Still we ran, driven by that wild, primal fear of being hunted, except it was even worse given that nopony had their guns or armor. All I had was my saddlebag full of trinkets and Hunter’s talisman, which gave off a continuous high-pitched hum. I took that as a good sign, and grasped that single thread of hope with all my strength and prayed it didn’t fray. We didn’t stop until a large grate barred our way, where we found a ladder led up to another section of the waterworks. Scrambling up that found ourselves in yet another confusing section of the massive building. Yawning tunnels led left and right who knew where else. Everything from the pipes to the floor was constructed from an oppressive, rusting metal or blank concrete. Stuck for another way to go we were forced to a halt. “What the hell!” exclaimed one of the bandits, a heavy-set earth pony who panted heavily from the long run. “How big is this place?! I’ve never seen this before!” “Neither have I,” Ruby Red answered. “But this building served the entire city of Stalliongrad. It’s bound to be huge, and without our weapons we’re fucked if we go back into the Metro.” “But we can’t stay here either,” another bandit said. “If we do that thing the cultists called out will eat us.” “Fuck that! I’m not going to die here!” another snapped, a panicky-eyed unicorn mare. “I’m not! It’s not getting me! I’m not gonna get fucking eaten and become something’s fucking dinner! I’m better than that!” “All of you shut up!” Ruby barked, her horn flaring brightly. “We need a plan! You!” She pointed at me. “Do you actually know where to go?” I hesitated a moment, sucking air into burning lungs; instead of relief it seemed to only fan the flames. Ruby frowned. “I’m talking to you!” “Y-yes!” I blurted out. “Yes, I... I do. I know how to get out of here. But with that thing chasing us-” “It’s close,” Sidewinder added, tapping the floor with his hooves. “Can’t you feel it? Reach out, Lockbox.” “We can all feel it!” Ruby raged. “We need to figure out how to avoid it!” “We can’t,” Sidewinder replied. “You think they’d sic that thing on us without blocking the exits? And that monster probably has them covered anyway.” “This way,” I said, ending the discussion. I started down another corridor, following my instincts and the ever present hum of the talisman. I didn’t question its fortuitous guidance. I didn’t have time to think about why it was working as a pathfinder instead of a radar like it had on the surface. I just ran with it on faith and a little bit of blind panic, clinging to whatever hope I could get. I did my best to ignore Ruby Red’s grumbling behind me. The pathway I thought led to freedom came to an end at another intersection with three other tunnels leading left, right, and forward. Hunter’s talisman didn’t seem to favor any route over another, it simply hummed in my saddlebag. In fact, if I concentrated hard enough, I almost felt some kind of tug backwards. On the edge of my hearing there was a strange rushing sound, as if a great amount of air were being forced through a narrow space, laid over the queerest rustling of something brushing over the concrete... “Back! Get BACK!” My shout came almost too late. Acting on instinct I leapt back the way I’d come. I saw a blur of mottled greyish-yellow, felt a whoosh of air as something huge lunged at me, heard the unmistakable snap of jaws shutting inches from my snout. I hit the ground rolling and tumbled into the wall with a loud thud, landed upside-down and looked out through spinning, unfocused eyes. A monstrous tentacle thrashed about in the tunnel as ponies panicked and ran all over, tripping over each other in their haste. Their confusion had the massive appendage stumped as well: it swayed back and forth, trying to pick a target. Then I saw the bulbous end split open into a horrid mottled mouth the color of rotting flesh, saw eyelids peel back over cold, reptilian orbs, and realized this was the monster’s head. It had already found us. If it was a snake, it was the largest I’d ever seen. Its body nearly filled the tunnel and was covered in a smooth sheen of ugly, peeling, dark blue scales. The long body curved gracefully and brought its triangular head up until it brushed the ceiling, looming over the rest of us. Its mouth was deformed with a fearsome underbite, opening to reveal a slavering cave of a maw lined with jagged, craggy growths that I realized were its teeth. Pale green eyes flicked in their sockets between the other ponies, who squealed and screamed and ran in random directions. Those eyes were filled with the directed, focused hunger of a creature that teetered on the edge of madness, consumed by the all-powerful need to sate a primal compulsion. The need to eat. I fell onto my side, unable to concentrate and get my legs moving. Panic and fear and even morbid fascination clouded my mind. Move. Get up! Go! But my limbs wouldn’t obey. They felt sluggish and weighed down. I was a sitting duck and all I could do was hope it didn’t pick me as its first kill. But my stillness saved me; I watched it pick among the crowd of other ponies instead, saw its eyes narrowing with killer instinct at the sight of so many squirming, warm bodies. The monster’s festering jaws peeled apart and snapped down at one of the bandits, who was saved only by the timely intervention of Ruby Red as she sent a jolt of energy from her horn directly into the monster’s eye. I watched through a haze of dull curiosity as that same eye burst like a balloon, splattering vitreous humor all over its cheek. The monster let loose a debilitating shriek that stabbed my eardrums as it recoiled into the pipeline, leaving cracks in the walls and sizzling venom on the ground in its wake while it thrashed. The bandits aside from Ruby Red and Sidewinder panicked, pressing themselves against the walls and yelling incoherently. Feeling strangely calm I uncurled myself from the wall and rolled back onto my hooves, shaking the dizzy feeling from my head. Something sticky and warm was all over the side of my face, dribbling down. The creature’s head had already retreated back into the pipeline, but we still heard its angry squealing. Before I could blink I was dragged to my hooves by Sidewinder and we were moving again; I quickly pushed the Stalker away and ran on my own four hooves. I wasn’t about to be weak in front of the others when we had a monster like that to deal with. We didn’t stop moving until we got far enough from that intersection and ended up in some kind of side room full of old pipes and gauges, panting and wheezing and in the case of one terrified pony, vomiting. “What the fuck! What the fuck was that?!” he shouted after he was done. “That was the Hydra,” Sidewinder replied, pushing himself into my side. It was only then I realized that I was too dizzy to stand on my own and leaned back into him. “If it wasn’t, I’ll eat my jacket.” The other ponies were still dealing with their brush with death. I watched them slowly congregate again through the floaty, disconnected feeling that possessed me since I’d struck the wall. My head spun as I tried to deal with everything at once, from the ringing in my ears to burning questions about what Nexus had called me and why Hunter’s talisman seemed to be failing and hadn’t given me an escape route. “How the hell are we supposed to fight that without guns?!” “We can’t kill something that big!” “Isn’t it supposed to have more heads?” “Did you all see that?! I almost got eaten! Hello? Almost eaten pony here!” “SHUT UP!” Ruby roared, silencing the panic with a stomp of her hoof. “In case you didn’t notice, that bastard is still alive and we really pissed off! And as far as I’m concerned I’m still in charge here! Brick-a-Brack, Hot Pocket! Are you still two of the toughest motherfuckers in the Metro, or is some big-ass snake gonna make you piss your pants?” A burly unicorn and earth stallion shuffled uncomfortably under her pointing hoof and looked to each other, clearly hoping to follow the other one’s lead. “Well,” said the unicorn, “it is pretty fucking huge.” “With many heads,” Sidewinder pointed out. “I didn’t ask you,” Ruby snarled, eyeing him with the intent to kill. “We have to kill it,” I blurted out without really knowing why. I just knew that we needed a plan of action instead of more bickering, and the Hydra was the biggest obstacle out of this place. Ruby snorted. “Oh,” she sneered, turning back to me, “big pony has a big idea! Tell me, Lockbox, what exactly is your plan for killing this thing?” “I don’t know,” I muttered, still feeling the buzz of Hunter’s talisman. “But it’s somewhere in this facility. We’d have been led out already if it wasn’t...” Sidewinder spoke immediately. “I’m sticking with Lockbox. I like the kid’s gumption. By the way, you’re bleeding a lot.” I finally touched my hoof to the side of my head. It came away sticky and red. “Huh. So I am.” Ruby scoffed at both of us. “That’s just perfect. You’re gonna kill it, but you don’t know how! You just are. Well, you can stay here and die for all I care. I’m going to lead what’s left of my team out of here!” “You can’t,” I said, shaking my head. “You won’t.” Ruby menaced me with her horn. “And who’s going to stop me?” “The Hydra. And you don’t even know the way.” I still felt dizzy and lackadaisical, perhaps from my head injury. It started throbbing and aching the longer I dwelt on it, instead trying to focus on a plan of action. I closed my eyes and heard Ruby Red stomp up to me, her breath hot on my face. “And you’re saying you do?” “Only the next step forward.” “What the hell is that supposed to mean?!” “I don’t know. But somewhere in this facility is the key to killing the Hydra.” I gently pulled out the Guide. Ruby scoffed. "What, is that your master plan? You gonna save us with your shitty map?" "You trusted it before," I muttered sourly. "That was before you led us into a trap and got my ponies killed!" “If you have a better idea,” I hissed through gritted teeth, “I am all ears.” She said nothing, but eyed the Guide greedily. “This is your fault anyway,” she growled, and her horn magic reached out to try and snatch the Guide from my hooves. “Give me that thing!” The next thing anypony saw was my hoof launch into her face. Ruby Red staggered back, clutching her now bloody nose with her hoof and babbling angrily, spouting curses like a fountain. The other bandits went silent and stared with varying degrees of shock and awe. I unfolded the Guide and looked it over while Ruby regained her composure. Sidewinder grinned like a fool. “You... you just hit me!” Ruby wheezed, as if I’d done something unspeakable. I didn’t even look at her; my head injury had put me in a foul mood on top of everything else that was happening, and the one unicorn who was supposed to be in command was trying to goad me into a fight. I wasn’t going to let that happen. Hunter would be better than that. He’d be trying to find a way out of here, like I was. Unfortunately the Guide didn’t have an in-depth map of the building, making it almost useless to find this “Outpost Nine Seven.” “Hunter,” I muttered to myself, “it’s up to you now. You showed me where your hiding spot was on the surface. Guide me again.” I reached down deep, and the talisman responded immediately. I felt a jolt of energy and something like a film came over my eyes, bathing the world in a lavender glow. I had a Ranger’s sight again. I stood up and stuffed the Guide back into my saddlebag, casting my gaze about the room and the hall outside. Ruby Red still held her nose and stared at me like I’d grown two heads, while all the other bandits shuffled nervously, wondering who they were supposed to follow now. The hum of the talisman grew stronger as I left the room, carefully checking for signs of the Hydra. Just down the hall, I spotted it: a small white arrow just above the floor, pointing right down another corridor. I touched it with my hoof, feeling the magic in that little symbol of hope. “Ruby,” I said, turning to the murderess and staring her down. “These are your ponies. I need you on my side if we’re going to get through this. You said you’d trust me before. Please, trust me now.” There was a deathly silence. “At the very least, it’s all you have left.” More silence. Ruby lowered her hoof from her nose and glared at me. Her expression was searching, calculating. I felt nervous and naked under her stare, but I braved it anyway. Trust and faith was the only real advantage we had, and I had to trust she was smart enough to do the right thing. She seemed to ponder something very carefully, looking away from me as the gears turned in her head. At first she seemed dazed, even lost, and then she coughed out a wheezing laugh, shaking her head. At last, she turned back to me and nodded. “Fine,” she said. “We’ll follow you, my little badass. All of us will,” she said with a pointed glance at her fellows. Sidewinder clapped his hooves. “All right!” he said, tossing his scraggly mane. “Let’s go kill us a Hydra! I get dibs on its teeth. I always wanted a monster tooth necklace.” I gave him a look, which he returned with a shit eating grin. “Those are awesome.” “Let’s go,” I said, and hurried down the closest corridor, ignoring the incredulous looks and muttering behind my back. The other bandits, six in all, would have to put aside their mistrust or suffer at the claws of the hydra. We didn’t have time to stand on ceremony and wonder who was in command. Hunter’s talisman still called to me, its call now faithful and true, leading me down a maze of halls full of decades-old machines I couldn’t even guess the purpose of, through side passages and small maintenance tunnels. Every so often I saw the marks: arrows and esoteric symbols floating in my mind’s eye. No other creatures or ponies accosted us, probably scared or killed off by Nexus’ minions, and the halls we wound through were far too small for the Hydra’s heads to fit inside. We moved quickly and quietly with no talking. Every so often we heard the bellowing of the Hydra, shaking the walls and echoing through the pipes. It knew prey was in its territory, and it was desperate to find us and slake its bloodlust. As long as we kept moving, we were able to ignore it. I recalled little of Hydras from my books. Apparently, they were an amphibious bunch of pests that lived in and around bogs and swamps and plagued the borders of Equestria. Clearly, more than one had survived the Apocalypse and one of their descendants had creeped into our city. But this Hydra was something worse; how could it be navigating a huge maze of pipes within this facility if it was many heads attached to one body? Eventually we’d run into one of its necks blocking a passage and easily chop it away or injure it. If there was one thing I’d learned so far, it’s that things were rarely that easy. Then we heard the voice. “Do you know the ways of the Great Wyrm?” it asked, echoing all around us. Though we heard it clearly, it didn’t seem to have a point of origin. It came out of thin air all around us, neither close nor far. “Do you understand how His mysteries coil in on each other like His endless form? Why do you continue to fight us?” “Don’t listen to ‘em,” Ruby spat. “Those fuckers aren’t gonna help us now.” The voice continued unabated. “He is merciful to those who accept His ways. His will is all that is left in the world. Time curls in on itself again. One day Equestria will be reborn. You have but to join us.” We came to an empty canal, spanned by a short catwalk bridge. Beyond it was another hallway, too small for the Hydra to attack us in, but another Ranger symbol led off the bridge... down into the pipe. “We have to go this way,” I said, but the moment I hopped into the canal and headed for the pipe’s opening, another voice held me back. It was the earth pony Hot Pocket. He stood at the edge of the canal, shaking his head. “No, no way! We’re not going back into those pipes, are we? The Hydra can fit in those! We’ll get attacked again!” Ruby, to my surprise, looked at me. I shrugged. “It’s the only way.” Ruby looked back up at Hot Pocket. “You heard him. We go this way.” “Yeah, right! Straight back into the Hydra’s mouth! There’s another hall too small for it right there!” “He’s got a point, boss,” the only other mare in our group agreed. Ruby Red growled at them both. “Are you idiots deaf? I said we’re following Lockbox, so we’re following Lockbox! If you want to run off on your own, then fine, got it? But we got a Hydra to put in a body bag, and if this kid can lead us to that, then I’m with him.” She and the others began to follow me into the pipe, leaving the earth stallion behind. Hot Pocket danced on his hooves, looking back and forth as he weighed his options. Behind me, I heard Ruby mutter. “Five, four, three, two, one...” “Hey, don’t leave me here, guys! Wait up! Shit... I can’t believe this... don’t leave me back here!” I heard the big stallion jump down into the pipe and clatter after us on his ungainly large hooves. “Big bastard always was afraid of getting left behind,” Ruby said with a roll of her eyes. I suppressed a smile. At least we were sticking together. "Quietly now,” said Sidewinder. "She's hungry and we're in the open-" A loud moan echoed down the pipe behind us. "Jinx!" Sidewinder shouted merrily, and the chase was on. Fifty meters down the tunnel I heard the familiar rustle of scales on metal along with the loud roar of an angry serpent. A hundred meters down and still no change in the pipe, I heard the first sound of alarm. "Shit! It's right behind us!" No waiting, no slowing down. I charged on ahead, reaching down into the earth like I’d learned before. I felt the cold metal of the pipe. The vibrations of our passing rumbled up through my legs like thunder. And the Hydra felt so very, very close. Fortunately, the extra sensory perception also let me feel the drop-off before I went careening right over the edge. I skidded to a halt at the end of the pipe and took a quick look around. We were halfway up the wall of what appeared to be a basin like what we started in. A mess of pips snaked every which way, leading up to a platform a mere ten hooves up, and beyond that, a catwalk! A bridge spanning the basin and leading to salvation! I saw the faint glow of a Ranger symbol on the far doorway. That was our way out. "It’s right there!" a stallion yelled at the top of his lungs. "Climb! Climb for your lives! Ruby, levitate them up if you can!" I shouted, pointing out the mess of smaller pipes that led to the platform. Those ten hooves might as well have been a mountain for the hurry we were in. I turned back to the tunnel to let the bandits go first, watching them scramble. The seconds dragged by like hours as the bandits clambered over each other. The Hydra bore down on us with a bone-shaking roar. I tried not to let the I couldn’t see it too well, as down here the darkness was nearly absolute. But I felt it. I felt it in my legs, and smelled it in my nose. I knew it was coming. My magic let me gauge the distance. Sixty meters. Fifty. Forty. Damn, it was fast. “Now! Right the fuck now!” Ruby screamed as she swung out onto the pipes. I felt the metal begin to vibrate under my hooves and turned to climb, when my hoof was grabbed by Sidewinder’s. “Remember,” he whispered. “You’re not an earth pony. You’re a spider. A little spider with lots of little legs that grab. Now get out there and climb.” I had no idea what he was talking about, but I didn’t have time to argue. I swung out onto the nearest pipeline I could grab, taking precious seconds to assert my next hoofhold. Right behind me was Sidewinder. And then he was next to me. In front of me. Above and halfway up before I could blink, his hooves seeming to catch surfaces I couldn’t even see. It took him seven seconds to do what had taken at least a minute for the others, including Ruby’s levitation. He really did have exceptional skills. The other bandits, with some prodding from Ruby, were already on the next platform up, booking it to the bridge above. Ruby turned back and saw me lagging behind, her horn started to glow and I felt myself suddenly grow weightless... And then the Hydra’s head poked out of the pipe next to me. I hardly felt fear, there was no time for that. I just watched as its massive bulk twisted and turned in midair, holding itself up with the sheer power of its own muscles as I rose next to its head. There was something almost admirable in the command it had over its own body... And then one of its putrid green eyes turned towards me, and I saw the animal instinct inside. Then I started feeling afraid. “Shit! Pull him up faster!” “Grab him! Grab him!” Ten hooves. Such a short distance. It took seconds to get me up. But the Hydra was quicker. I watched its head turn towards me, and its jaws opened wide, reaching towards me. Some say that in a moment like that your life flashes before your eyes, but all I saw was the gaping hole about to become my grave. “Hey, suka!” An orange pony-shaped blur streaked down from on high. It crashed right into the Hydra’s head with all four hooves, driving it straight down as its jaws clacked together inches from my hide. While the Hydra groaned and shook itself out of its daze the new pony went into a straight climb as he rebounded off the Hydra’s head, snatching me in his hooves and depositing me safely on the catwalk above. My heart leapt, stinging with hope: I thought it was Sunny Side, but that poor pegasus was a world away from me. “Theo!” I gasped instead. He shook his earthy brown mane and smiled. “Hey, Lockbox! I told you I’m lucky!” Wonder worker, I thought, and I was dazed by the realization, or maybe just the blood loss. Once again, fate had thrown a pony into harm’s way to keep me going. Before I could ponder it further the rest of the bandits had arrived, and we all hoofed it across the rickety bridge and into the next hallway. Just as I passed the threshold I looked back. Three more heads had joined the first. All of them looked hungry. /-/-/-/ “So you’re sure this is the spot?” “Yes,” I replied tersely, tapping the walls. My Ranger sight had led us at last to the entrance of Outpost Nine Seven. We’d all managed to catch our breath after our second close call with the Hydra, but now they were impatient with me to find the treasure trove of guns and material the Rangers were sure to have left behind. My head wound had stopped bleeding for the most part, but it still hurt like hell. I scuffed my hooves on the wall the Rangers had led me to. It was mostly featureless, and the only thing keeping me from crying out in frustration was the symbol inscribed on the wall, my gifted sight translated it as the Old Equestrian word for “safety.” There was no doorway, no secret latch. Nothing that indicated it was anything but a solid wall. “So... how do we get in?” asked Hot Pocket. “With a key,” I replied, and in a burst of inspiration pulled out Hunter’s talisman. I was struck by how long it had been since I’d actually looked at it. The Ranger symbol glared at me, the unknown power humming in my hooves. But it didn’t feel quite as alien as before. If I was going to open this door, the Rangers would have to guide me. The talisman glowed as if in assent, and I felt it grow warm and welcoming in my grip. It felt sacrilegious, but I pressed it to my chest and focused, turning my thoughts to all that made a Ranger a Ranger, as I’d done with the Guide when Nopony taught me how to really focus upon the words. I thought of Hunter and how brave he was, how much I’d wished to be one of them as a child. Deep within me was something that Hunter had seen, something that told Tracer I was a friend and had given me the ability to endure where others hadn’t. I could only hope that blessing now extended to providing secrets from within the Ranger artifacts. Whatever secrets the talisman still held, it would only give them up to a trusted friend. Will you help me? I wondered. I waited. Something seemed to brush my mind from afar, as if a breath of air from heaven came down into the earth, depleted to its final gasp and kissing my mane. Yes, came the unspoken answer. “Domoi.” The wall slid up into the ceiling without even a whisper. Behind me I heard the bandits gasp and point, and I suddenly felt very self-conscious as they all piled into the room beyond, their curiosity at a pique. “That was awesome, Lockbox,” Theo said as he went by. “How did you know?” Ruby asked. “Know what?” I wondered. “The word, you idiot! The password!” I blinked. “I...” I couldn’t remember how I knew. I just did. I’d reached into the talisman, like I reached into the earth, and I’d seen a word appear in my head. I couldn’t even remember speaking. Ruby smacked me. “Snap out of it.” “Um... I’m not sure... it must have been magic?” I said with a weak chuckle, unable and unwilling to ponder what I’d just done. All I knew was that it worked. I suddenly very much wished Tracer was here; he’d be able to explain it at least. “Holy Celestia! Look at all these guns!” I poked my head into the Ranger outpost and stopped dead. It was a fifteen by fifteen hoof space, with two desks covered in maps and diagrams and toolboxes. The walls were covered in guns. Many, many guns. This wasn’t just an outpost, it was an armory! And the weapons stored here weren’t just old scratch-made weaponry either; these were clean, shiny, and ready to kill. I didn’t recognize half of them, but the fact that those were made with actual gun parts and not cobbled together scrap metal meant they were old world weapons. Legacies of our forefathers’ Great War, still in service to help continue our petty conflicts. “Oh, this is what I’m looking for,” Sidewinder said with a feral grin as he shoved his way past me and snatched up a Wonderbolt. It was in pristine condition, apparently a weapon favored by whatever Ranger had used this place. The Stalker cuddled it to his chest like a mare and fondled its pneumatic lever. “Oh, sweetheart. Where have you been all my life? You’re much more attractive than my old one...” “Looks like you hit the jackpot, Lockbox,” Ruby said with a satisfied nod. “Everypony pick up whatever you can carry and nothing more. This shit can make us rich, I know, but we can’t carry it all and we’re dead if we try.” She levitated a shotgun off the wall and peered down the barrel, cocking it. "Now let's bag us a monster." The bandits grinned to each other and started picking favorites from the wall. But what drew my eye was the blueprint. It covered one of the tables and I noticed it was pinned open unlike the other papers. Upon closer inspection I saw it was an outline of the entire facility. Next to it rested a pair of walkie-talkies. Such good fortune couldn't be ignored. I felt almost dizzy with happiness—or blood loss—and fell upon the table with a happy sigh. The Rangers hadn’t let me down yet! "You got a plan?" Ruby asked over my shoulder. Hydra dies. Lockbox wins. That was it so far. “Look at this,” I said, and gathered the others around me while I pointed at parts of the map that were already labeled by the Rangers for their importance. My brain worked faster than my hooves could point, so I simply slapped my hoof down on whatever related to my ideas first. That happened to be the absolute mess of pipelines worming their way through the facility and out to the Metro. “The Hydra’s in the pipes. We need to get it out.” “Yeah? So?” I brought both forehooves together on the table. “A Hydra is a single creature with many heads. It has a central body. A weak point.” I spread my hooves out again. “Its heads are spread through the pipes, apparently far enough that it can catch us without having to move its body.” “But that doesn’t make sense,” Theo pointed out, his wings shaking. He’d tied them back up the first chance he got and now they quivered in their bonds with excitement. I couldn’t look at them without thinking of Sunny Side and forced my eyes back to the map. “There’s no way its necks could be that long! Just look at all that stuff! There must be miles of pipelines in here!” “I know,” I replied. “Regardless, we need to get those heads out of the pipes. Force it into a tight space. It can only go one direction: back to its body. There has to be a central location where something that huge can fit.” “So... what? We comb the whole damn facility until we find it?” Ruby sneered. “No. A Hydra is amphibious.” “What the hell does that mean?” “It likes water. That’s why it’s here. So it stands to reason it’ll go where there’s still lots of water in this building. Okay, okay... this isn’t just a place where water is moved from one spot to another. It used to be a treatment plant, right?” Sidewinder nodded. “Serviced the whole city.” “Right. So there’s basins, like what we were in, places where water was and is again, where the Guild of Magic moved it to. We need to get this place up and running enough to do the one thing that will move the Hydra out of the pipes and into the open.” I turned back to look them in the eyes, making sure my next point got across. “We need to flood the pipes. This thing likes the water, but it can’t breathe it. To do this, we need to get to main pump control. Which should be somewhere...” It took an awkward minute of shuffling and scanning to find the room amidst the mess of diagrams. “Here. A little bit over from the main turbines. The Guild of Magic is sure to have kept at least some of it in working condition. Since we haven't run into too many irradiated rooms yet, we can assume they've been doing their jobs. Somepony needs to get in there and be ready to redirect the flow." “I’ll handle that,” Sidewinder volunteered, raising his hoof. “I know more about these old machines than anypony here. I doubt most of you even know how to operate a generator correctly.” “I do!” Theo piped up. “Good! Then you’re with me.” Sidewinder pointed at Hot Pocket next. “And you too, big boy. You look like you can handle heavy loads. Or be a nice meat shield. We’ll probably need that in there.” Hot Pocket glanced at Ruby Red, who looked at me. I gave a brief nod that she returned. Whether I trusted Sidewinder to do as he said was irrelevant. Our chances of survival were slim enough that I was willing to trust a Dark One at this point. "We're going to find that big bastard," I said. "And when we do we're going to kill it. We have enough heavy weaponry to make it count if we get pushed into a corner. The rest we'll have to make up as we go along. We funnel the Hydra and all its heads into wherever it’s hiding, and take it down from there.” “Yeah, but how do we do that?” the other unicorn asked again. “These things are just gonna be popguns to something that huge.” “Worst comes to worst, we can figure out how to trap it,” I replied. “Look, it’s not the best. But if we don’t do this, all we can do is wait for Nexus or the Hydra to eventually come and kill us. We need to get at least one of them out of the way for a shot out of here.” Sidewinder raised his hoof. “So basically, we’re going to try and turn on a facility that’s been out of commission for Celestia knows how long, hope that it works, flood pipelines that haven’t been maintained, hope that that flushes a giant-ass monster towards its home base, and then we’re going to find it and kill it inside its own lair?” “That’s the idea,” I said with a firm nod. Sidewinder grinned and picked up one of the walkie-talkies. “Lockbox, I love the way you think.” I looked at the faces that surrounded me. Though before I’d been more than willing to lump them all into the category of “bandit” and leave them to their fate, now our lives were depending on each other. Even Ruby Red was falling in line. Sidewinder, who I’d once believed I’d gladly shoot in the back, was now going to be a key ally of mine in the upcoming battle. All of them were ponies. Whatever they’d done earlier in life, I couldn’t deny that they were all equines like me. They were all my... Not friends. But after today, they’d be something closer to it. “I need your names,” I stated simply, meeting their gazes one after the other. “All of you. We’re in this together now. And I can’t promise we’re all going to be coming out. I need... I want your names. I want to know who you all are. So we can do this right. I want to know you all as ponies. Not just... comrades-in-arms. I know this seems strange. But I’ll be damned if I ask another pony to risk their life for me without even knowing who they are.” It was something to remember them by. Perhaps I’d be able to add something or two to my Wall when this was through. Hot Pocket was the first to step forward, proudly puffing out his chest. “Well, I’m Hot Pocket. You guys all know who I am. I’m, uh, I guess I’m ready as I’ll ever be. Do or die, right? Like the time we shot those Monarchists to hell, outside Connemara.” “I’m Juniper,” the dark green unicorn mare said, scratching her teal mane and casting her yellow eyes downward, looking anything but excited about the coming storm. “I’m... I’m just Juniper...” “Brick-a-brack,” said the dour unicorn stallion to her. He was almost as big as Hot Pocket, and his cutie mark was... well, brick-a-brack. “And I am the toughest motherfucker Ruby’s ever known, and I am ready for this.” The scrawnier earth stallion next to Brick-a-Brack had cyan eyes and a ragged black mane to complement the pale grey of his pelt. He huddled in on himself when everypony’s eyes turned his way. “Uhh... my name’s Loose Nut. Just call me Nut.” He shrugged and looked at the wall, clearly not feeling the same camaraderie I’d tried to instill in the rest. “Green Bay,” the solid, lime-green earth stallion next to him said. “Nothin’ special. I like knives.” I raised an eyebrow at him. His cutie mark was indeed a knife... a long, sharp butcher knife. “I’d have mine on me, but the cultists took ‘em. I’d like ta’ get ‘em back if we can.” “Right,” I said, without any conviction, but he just shrugged and nodded regardless. So that was it. A whole team of murderers and thieves, up against a horrifying monster and a gang of cultists with power armor. This was looking even more insane every time I thought about it. Somehow, that thought comforted me. “Collect every bit of ammo and weapons you can carry. Are those medical supplies in the corner? And collect those helmets.” I said. “It’s time we took to the fight to these bastards.” /-/-/-/ “Testing. One two three? Testing.” “I can hear you, Sidewinder.” “I told you, it’s Sid. Or Uncle Sid. We’re pals again now, remember?” “I’d have to leave you to die before we’re even again, Uncle Sid.” “Ha ha! The times we have, Lockbox. Anyway, sounds like these things work. Surprised it would in this metal mess.” “Of course they do. Rangers don’t mess around.” We were halfway towards the turbine room, having split off from Sidewinder’s group a ways back. There, a control center waited, ready for us to restore power to the main pumps. If that didn’t work, we’d just have to try and force our way out through some of the pipes that led out of the facility. We didn’t have the firepower to punch through any blockade Nexus might have laid down for us, but at least a few of us should be able to shoot our way past the Hydra. It felt good having a weapon again at last. Not an unreliable Mule, but a semi-automatic carbine rested in my war reins now. I’d forgone the helmet it came with, letting Juniper have it. The turbine room was large and expansive, just like the one back at the Fort. The turbines themselves sat like giant legless turtles along the northern wall, facing the two floors to the right of us, gathering dust and rust and generally being useless. Catwalks ran over our heads that used to give workers a vantage point to peer into the turbines. “They’re in bad shape,” Ruby said as we came into the room, her voice echoing so loud she winced and lowered her voice to a whisper. “How do we know these will even work?” “We don’t,” I replied, and stepped boldly inside. “We just need to trust that our forefathers built them to last.” “Well,” Green Bay muttered, “whatever gets us out of here quicker. The control room’s probably on the top floor. Check that staircase.” One led up from the turbine floor up to the second level in the middle of the room. “We’ll need to-” The rest of his words were drowned out by a sharp, resounding boom that rang through the whole room. Green Bay’s leg burst in a spray of blood, and the stallion staggered and fell to the side, clutching a hoof over the hole in his leg as Juniper cried out and dragged him into cover behind a turbine. “Sniper!” Ruby screamed, rushing around the side of the turbine alongside Loose Nut. “Get to cover! Keep your heads down!” I didn’t have time to blink as Brick-a-brack snatched me up in a levitation field and pulled me to Ruby’s position We were squeezed between the turbine and the north wall, scanning the ceiling for vantage points. “The Great Wyrm moves through the earth, devouring whomever will stand in His way!” a voice boomed all around us. “Bucking mother of fucking buck shit!” Ruby groused next to me, checking her assault rifle. “That bastard has us cornered! He’ll plug whoever makes a run for the stairs. Juniper!” she called around the corner. “How’s Green Bay?” “There’s too much blood! I... I gave him two full shockers and wrapped it in a bandage, but... shit! I think he’s in shock!” “Keep still! Wrap something tight above the wound! Don’t let him move!” Ruby turned back to us. “So who wants to play bait?” I gaped at her. “Bait?” “Yeah, bait! I didn’t see where the first shot came from, so this asshole’s either invisible or dug in good. We have to try and get him to fire again so we know where he is!” Loose Nut shook his head. “We can’t just charge out there! He’ll blow our brains out!” Brick-a-Brack turned to the turbine, planting his forehooves on the metal covering. “I have an idea.” A glowing light appeared at the tip of his horn and he plunged it into the turbine’s wall, then dragged his horn across the surface. He carved out a large square of metal and let it clang to the floor, then raised it up with pride. “I made a shield!” he declared proudly. I did my best not to look condescending. “That’s hardly bulletproof.” “Then I’ll just make it thicker!” The large unicorn, using his scalpel-like enchantment, sliced and diced an entire section of the turbine’s metal covering into a makeshift plate of armor, slapping several layers together into a slab half an inch thick and holding it all together in a powerful telekinetic field. “Brick, you genius! What’d I tell you, Slice and Dice always turns out useful!” Ruby said, and went to work with her own horn. I thought it was a ridiculous name for a spell, but it worked. In less than a minute we had two large plates of metal that were supposed to defend us against a sniper’s bullets. It wasn’t the best plan, but it was all we had. Ruby picked both slabs up “All right, stay here! I’m gonna float one out and keep behind the other. You guys hit that fucker the moment he shows his head. Bag ‘em and tag ‘em!” Ruby leaped out into the open, holding one of the slabs over her head while keeping the other out in front of her to keep the sniper’s aim off. Another boom echoed through the large room, and the plate in front of Ruby spun and flipped in mid-air. “I saw a flash! That room on the second floor!” Brick shouted, and we three stallions opened fire. I squeezed the trigger five times, and then waited for half a heartbeat. “Is he dead?!” “I saw something move! He’s relocating! Go, go, go!” We burst out of cover and rushed the stairway. An badly aimed shot from the moving sniper snapped into the ground ahead of me as we ran, sending marble and concrete into my face. I heard Ruby’s gun roar behind us as we stumbled up the stairwell to the first floor, ducking under the floor of the second level. Only to run right into a squad of cultists who poured out of a door to greet us. Five of them, three of us, we checked right and ran into the mess of pipes that ran up from the turbine floor and snaked their way towards the far wall. Gunfire erupted as Brick shouted insults and pinned them down with his assault rifle as Loose Nut and I scrambled under the pipes, trying to get around to their side. “C’mon, Lockbox, keep up! We gotta flank them!” Flank. Hunter told me about flanking. Something about demoralizing and confusing the enemy by hitting their side. That made sense. I leaped behind what appeared to be a generator just behind three bullets that blew through my meager cover right above my head. I looked back out into the turbine room. Ruby had gained the catwalks and fired into the air, screaming angrily as another loud crack sent a bullet into her shields, shearing off one of the corners. “I’m fuckin’ sick of you!” she shouted back, magically amplifying her voice until the very air trembled. “Lockbox, shoot! Shoot!” Loose Nut screamed in my ear, and I turned the corner and opened fire, wincing as the gunsmoke burned my eyes. I saw a pony jerk and spasm in the darkness, illuminated by the flash of their gun as they fired wildly all the way to the ground. One more murder on my list. Loose Nut slapped my shoulder and I followed him towards the door the cultists had spilled out of, firing our weapons the whole time. My gun clicked halfway to the next winding pipe, and I ducked my head and rolled the rest of the way. I hit the pipe upside down, my buttocks against the cold metal. Loose Nut glared at me. “The hell are you doing? Get up and keep shoot- watch it!” Another hail of bullets tore through the air, spat out by a submachine gun very close by. I watched Loose Nut’s mane get a shave from a near miss, and he huddled shivering on the ground as I curled up as tight as I could, my butt in the air and my head on the floor. Brick’s gun roared in the tight quarters, dueling with two other staccato barks, and over the din I heard a clip fall to the floor. I rolled onto four hooves and leaped over the pipe, shouting for Loose Nut to cover me. I spotted a fallen magazine near another generator block and sprinted for it, listening to bullets kiss the air near my head as I was caught in Brick’s line of fire. I ducked around the corner and came face to face with a pegasus mare struggling with a new magazine. She glanced up and immediately threw himself at me with a shout, but her attack was clumsy. I lashed out with my hoof and jabbed her in the throat as the barrel of her gun smacked my cheek, forcing her back as she coughed and choked. She looked up just in time to see my back hooves connect with her forehead. Her entire neck scrunched inward gruesomely, and I heard the loud, thick snap of breaking bone. The cultist was down for the count. I heard another painful grunt, and then a loud cry as another cultist came flying at me out of the shadows... then passed right by me to crack into the far wall hard enough to smash open his skull, the levitation field around him dissipating. Brick stepped out of the smoke and tossed his mane. “Move! Up to the second level, we gotta get that bucking sniper!” We charged into the door and raced up another stairwell to the second level, finding ourselves in a wide open room with a walled-off section in the middle that reached to the ledge overlooking the turbines. That must have been the control room. Directly ahead of us, looking over the railing down into the turbine room, we saw the sniper lining up another shot. I saw by the shape of her flanks it was a mare, an earth pony by the look of it. “Hey, bitch!” Brick shouted, lifting her up in a levitation field. She gasped, and turned to look at us. In the light of Brick’s magic I saw her eyes, bright and purple. Then a sheet of metal came whirling up from below and chopped into her neck, almost decapitating her, followed by Ruby’s bloodthirsty shout of triumph. I rushed for the door of the control room as she flopped to the ground. Kicking the door open I found myself in the middle of a large room with terminals absolutely covered in... buttons. Buttons everywhere. Switches and dials and Celestia knew what else. I and the other stallions skidded to a halt and looked at the mess. Suddenly my idea didn’t seem so smart. “Spread out and find some technical manuals. They had to have kept some around for reference!” Brick tore open a locker with his magic. “Great. First useful thing we do and we’re screwed because of some engineer’s wet dream...” A minute or two of frantic searching later, Ruby came through the door to find us rifling through any drawer we could find, old papers scattered all over the floor. Juniper came behind her, holding a very pale looking Green Bay. “What the hell are you doing?” Ruby snapped. We looked up in unison. “Trying to figure out how to start it,” I replied. Ruby snarled and shoved me aside as she looked over the console, then rolled her eyes. “Well maybe we should push the big red Celestia-damned button that says ‘initiate!’” she snapped, and slammed her hoof down on the console. Almost immediately the screens around us began to whine and buzz as magical energy sparkled back to life, struggling to find its way through old arcane circuit matrices and corroded mana pathways. Lights began to flicker back on, making us squint even as they struggled to stay bright. I coughed and looked away, feeling sheepish. And then the lights died and went red once again, and there was a magical chime that sounded like glass breaking as the energy flow gave out. “Does anypony know what the hell these mean?!” Ruby shouted as she looked over terminal after terminal, staring at the red lights and spinning alarms. “This one is saying something about voltage?!” Loose Nut exclaimed, dragging a hoof through his mane. “Uh... looks like there’s some generators below the turbines... think those’ll do something?” I continued rifling through the drawers until I had the prize in my hooves: a manual for the workers who once watched over this place. The pages were yellow and brittle, but I managed to turn them well enough without them crackling into dust. “Somepony cover the doors while I look through this!” I shouted. “Guy’s, Green Bay’s still bleeding!” Juniper cried, holding onto the lime-green stallion like a life preserver. Green Bay’s eyes wandered in their sockets, dazedly looking around the room. “Give him another shocker,” I said over my shoulder. “It’s the best we can do right now. Change the bandages and tighten the strap above the wound. Here! Bucking finally!” I pointed out a diagram that illustrated a complicated mess of pipes and arcane machines underneath the turbines. “These were abandoned, and probably haven’t been stripped for parts yet. Looks like there’s some kind of... generators or circuit breakers down there that need to be started up if we’re going to get this done. I’m going down there to start the backup generators; no reason the gems have been removed by the Guild or anypony else. You all stay up here and keep the control room safe, and hit the button when I give the signal.” “I’m coming with you,” Ruby Red snapped, and we charged back out down the stairs, stumbling into the nearest trapdoor that led underneath the turbines. I reached inside, and my hooves met nothing but air. With a shout I landed on my face on metal grating, and staggered upright as a little flare from Ruby’s horn lit the way. “Stop kissing dirt and get a move on!” she shouted, her voice echoing painfully in my ears. I looked about and realized the space under the turbines wasn’t really under them at all: the parts I’d seen was only the top of a massive column-shaped pillar that reached a good twenty feet in height. I motioned for Ruby to send out more flares, and I saw every turbine was that humongous. There was enough power in here to supply the whole Metro, if we could only get it working. But my mission and the divisive nature of the Metro itself would always prevent that. I started casting around for another set of stairs that led down to the lowest level where the backup generators were. We rushed down to the foot of the turbines, not knowing or caring how they all worked; just that we had to turn them on. I heard the echo of gunfire from above. “Shit! Must be more cultists. Lockbox, hurry!” I leaped onto a panel labeled “Ancillary Generator One” and pried it open with my bare hooves. Thank earth pony strength for that. Inside was a strange little assembly with a slot for a gem next to a crank, and a large red button. Seemed simple enough, but there was no gem. “Shit,” I sighed, and move to the next one over. This one had a barely glowing purple stone in the slot, but the crank was heavily rusted. No matter, I had to try. Since the crank was the only visible option I began twirling it about, watching the gem come to life as arcane energy was drawn from it and forced through magical circuitry. The gem flickered and pulsated. I knew enough to know these things never really degraded; they were crystals after all. It took a lot to destroy their ability to store and channel magic, I just had to hope there was enough left to- The machine made a popping noise and died out. I slammed a hoof down in frustration. This was our only chance! If we couldn’t even get one moving... “Ruby!” I shouted over my shoulder. “Do you think you can give this thing some power? I’m going to try and start up the others!” “That’s asking a lot, Lockbox,” Ruby snapped as she stepped up next to me, her horn glowing as she focused magical power into the crystal itself. “Luna spit me with her horn, this feels complicated...” “Feels?” I wondered, but she shoved me away with a hoof. “I got it! Just try to get another one going!” Ignoring the gunfire outside, I rushed to the last generator in line and tore open the panel. Another gem. Another crank. Another puddle of slime? I put two and two together just in time to leap away from the Hydra’s snapping jaws. Its head dangled above the generator from the long, sinewy neck coiled around the turbine. I fired a wild shot that struck the ceiling. The Hydra’s head recoiled before it lunged and I fell backwards, watching its jaws clamp onto the railing behind me and rip it asunder. Before I could blink its head reared up again and crashed into my chest as it turned. That glancing blow knocked me senseless as I went flying back along the catwalk. I heard Ruby’s gun chatter, and over the din I screamed through my aching chest—thank Celestia my earth pony durability kept it from shattering—and pleaded for her to stop before she hit one of the turbines. She didn’t listen. The Hydra’s flesh became pockmarked with bullet holes. It raged and screamed and lashed its head to and fro, withdrawing behind the turbine as it fell to the floor. I watched it slither away- Wait. Slither? The Hydra had a tail. No Hydra had a tail except on its body. This Hydra had no body. It was a snake. A snake! The Hydra was just a snake? Or many? “Don’t just stand there, shoot it!” Ruby yelled. My mind whirled as I watched the Hydra’s undulating coils slither around another turbine, trailing blood. This Hydra was missing the main body. Were all of its heads disconnected? How was it hunting us? And this head even looked smaller than the last... that was how it had fit in here from... there. A collapsed wall I saw lit up by Ruby’s flares she sent after the Hydra to keep track of it, leading to a tunnel. Probably dug out by thumpers or nosalises. No time to think. Leaving Ruby to go Hydra hunting, I turned back to the generator and leaped on the crank. I began twisting with all my might, listening to the machines do their work, and then the gem flared brilliantly as if it had become white-hot, but I felt only the tingle of magic as the entire machine sparked and shook. A small monitor lit up next to the crank assembly. Circuit interrupted. Turbine 1: 24% capacity. Turbine 2: 3% capacity. “Circuit... Ruby!” I shouted. “Ruby, you have to complete the circuit!” “And that means fucking what?!” she yelled over her shoulder as her gun roared. I leaped at her and pushed her head up. Ruby sputtered and shoved my hoof away with her magic. “Stop shooting! You’re gonna destroy what we came here for!” “I’m trying to keep us alive, you twit! Get outta the way!” The Hydra’s head reared up behind her, and something inside me snapped like a rubber band, pushing me to act. There was only a split second before it attacked, I couldn’t shoot, would never kill it in time, its head would only keep coming and squash us, only one thing left to do- “No you fucking don’t!” I roared, and jumped at Ruby, who gasped and ducked just in time. I rolled over her, landed just short of the railing, and pivoted on my hooves so my flanks faced the Hydra. I braced. It struck. I kicked. The Hydra could not push the earth as its nose smacked into it. The earth pushed back. The Hydra’s head snapped backwards when my rear hooves struck, as if all its momentum were suddenly reversed, and crashed into the far wall. It writhed and moaned as it tried to get its bearing, but was cut short by the deafening chatter of Ruby’s gun. It made short work of the creature’s unprotected head, ripping open flesh and bone. She spent a full magazine on it before something gave and it stopped twitching. My hooves stung from the force of my own blow. Disbelief and shock warred with excitement and wonder. I’d actually just kicked a giant monster in the face, and sent it flying with one blow. I shook out my hooves, wondering what other kinds of powers lay within me. Ruby was flush with rage and adrenaline, fully aware she’d come close to dying and only a split-second decision between us had saved her. Instead of thanking me, she blew a bit of her mane out of her eyes. I couldn’t help but notice how fearsome she looked in the half-light of her floating flares. “So. What’s this about a circuit?” “The gems act as batteries and conductors. I’m guessing that provides the kick to start whatever the turbines run on. You don’t have the energy to start the turbine yourself, so you’ll need to use your horn to complete the circuit and let the magic flow from one to the other. They’ll feed off each other once they start spinning, right?” “I don’t fucking know!” “Then get to it and let’s hope it works.” Ruby, still flushed and panting, hurried back to the generator and jammed her horn between the prongs where the gem normally went. “Ahh... that’s what it was!” she whispered to herself. “Okay, okay... just gotta feel this out-” Krzap. I gaped as Ruby went flying backwards, slamming into my chest. This time, the earth wasn’t ready for the hit, and I went flying with her. We crashed into the railing and very nearly took a ten foot drop. She caught herself at the last moment, and I snatched her around the waist and hauled her back up onto the catwalk. At first I thought she was injured by the way her eyes rolled in their sockets, but she had a very strange grin on her face. “Sweet Celestia, that was one hell of a jolt!” she exclaimed, and before I could react she wrapped a hoof around my neck and pulled me in for an open-mouthed kiss. As first kisses went, it was hardly what I’d been looking forward to. She was rough and completely unconcerned with anything but doing the deed, and I was too surprised to do anything but feel my mind go blank as she clamped her jaws over mine. I grunted and sputtered as I felt her tongue writhing into my mouth, brushing over my gums, and then the moment was over as soon as it began. Her furious sucking caused a loud smack as our lips parted, and she chuckled at my dumbfounded expression. My eyelid twitched as I tried to adjust to the feeling of another pony’s saliva dripping from the roof of my mouth. Then the world spun and came to rest on its side. I realized I was on the ground, and that Ruby had punched me in the face. “Don’t make me do that again,” she exclaimed, and rushed back up the stairs, levitating all of her weapons at once. I stood up and brushed off my tongue as the turbines slowly, slowly began to spin inside their great containers. I heard the quiet drone of power moving, work being done where before there had only been rust and decay and stillness. Sweet stars above, it was a beautiful sight... and I had to leave it behind. Leave it for the greedy Guild. Did they even realize what kind of power they wielded? That if we pooled our resources, we might be able to get this whole building running, water would become free and clean for the whole Metro, and- ...And it would take less than a week for us to tear each other apart trying to figure out who owned it. I ran back upstairs and gasped as a bullet casing dropped down next to my head. There was gunfire on the upper levels. “Brick! Nut! Juniper!” Ruby’s voice bellowed from above. I rushed the stairs again, checking to make sure my carbine was fully loaded, and saw Ruby Red tussling with a cultist at the top. The cultist was a unicorn, though their face was concealed by a gasmask, and the two had their magic fields wrapped around one another, struggling to gain the upper hoof as they rolled around on the floor. I leaped on the back of the cultist and grabbed a knife off their belt in my mouth, but before I could swing it down into their neck a blast of magic from their horn took me off my hooves. I stumbled backwards into a pipe running along the floor, but my distraction had done its work: Ruby sprang up and gored the cultist in the neck with her horn. The unicorn gave a very mare-like gurgle as she crumpled to the ground. We hurried towards the control room and watched Green Bay tumble out the door, furiously stabbing an earth stallion with a hoof knife on his uninjured leg. Green Bay was covered in blood, but he had the queerest smirk on his face as he stabbed down again and again, ripping into the cultist’s face even as his hooves flailed and pushed against Green Bay’s chest. Green Bay shoved the knife into the cultist’s eye socket, and with a final heaving twitch he fell still. Green Bay looked up at us with a bloodthirsty grin, his sweaty dark-green mane falling over his eyes. “I got a knife,” he huffed. “Yes, I can see that,” I muttered. “We clear?” Ruby called over his shoulder. “They got Nut,” Juniper moaned from inside. The room was a mess. A close-quarters gun battle had erupted here and only Brick-a-Brack still stood amid the carnage, eyes on the doors. Scars on the walls from bullets and magic were in abundance, and three dead cultists lay in the center of the room. They looked more bored than dead. Juniper huddled against a bank of terminals, levitating her gun and fumbling to reload. I noticed a bandaged wound in her shoulder. Loose Nut lay against a wall; half his head was all over it. Needles of guilt pricked my heart as I turned away and lifted my radio. “Sidewinder? The power should be back on. What do you see?” The Stalker’s voice crackled through the speaker. “We’re in the main pump room. I see a map! Another bunch of notes... oh, look at that. We have some buttons to push. That’s old world tech for you, Lockbox! Always fun to work with. I love buttons.” “Yeah, that’s great. Listen, we have a problem. The Hydra’s heads aren’t connected to its body!” “What! That’s cheating.” “I know! I don’t know how many we’ll be able to flush out of the tunnels, or even if it will work at all. Just tell me you can get it working.” “Well, it looks like Theo here made good on his promise. The kid’s cracking open panels and rewiring some things... it’s making the buttons light up, but hell if I know which to push! I’ll just take a guess.” “Sidewinder!” “Okay, okay. Look. If it makes you feel better, I won’t push any of the red ones. Looks like we got something involving valves and pumps... Ah, here we go. This looks like the right one.” “What does it say?” “Uh, I’m not sure! ‘Section A valve release.’ Releasing is good, right?” “I don’t know!” “Well neither do I, but I’m pushing it!” I heard a loud grinding, followed by a deep, rumbling thud and then a low, constant rush all around us. Juniper gulped. “Is that it? Did that do it?” And then above the sounds came the Hydra’s roar: a deep, moaning bellow like when Nexus had first called it up. Its cry shook the ground beneath us. “Whatever we did,” I exclaimed, “we really pissed it off.” Sidewinder laughed. “Good! I’m ready to take the fight to this bitch. What’s next?” I reached into my saddlebags and pulled out the map I’d taken from the Ranger outpost, quickly pointing out a large, circular area. “The main flood basin, here. According to the plans, it was used as some kind of massive purification device for the water. There are several waste pipes that lead back out into the Metro from there. So it’s our best chance of escape, and since that’s where most of the water will go, it’s also the most likely place to find the Hydra. Or at least I thought it would be. If it’s actually some kind of- of hive creature with no real main body, or just a bunch of individual animals-” “Then we’re boned either way,” Brick muttered, checking his gun for grime. “So let’s hunt it down and finish it off. I got some payback to deliver.” “Sidewinder, did you get all that?” “I have no idea,” the Stalker blurted out. At least he was being honest. “But! If you say that’s where we go, then that’s where we go! I’d much rather confront the ancient menace lurking in the shadows rather than, say, play it safe and crawl through a tunnel full of shit for a few hours. Your plan is much more fun.” “Well if we meet any tunnels of shit that lead to a quick exit, I promise you can go first,” I shot back. “Meet us at the entrance to the flood basin, and be quick about it.” /-/-/-/ We met up with Sidewinder’s group outside the doors leading to the flood basin. They had been torn open by brute force, and beyond that was nothing but a long, dark hallway. We hadn’t seen any dead bodies or mutants, but the air carried a thick stench that reminded me of burned mushrooms and rotting vegetables. “It’s down there, isn’t it?” Juniper whimpered. “What, you scared?” Brick-a-Brack grumbled. “Tartarus yes! Is this really the only way out of here?” I grunted and pulled out the diagrams of the facility. “The cultists want us to fight the creature. They won’t let us leave alive until I’ve killed it or otherwise proven something to them.” “Well then I say you go in and kill it,” Green Bay rasped. “If you’re the one they want.” “The only reason any of you are still alive is because you’re with me,” I retorted sharply. “If it was just you they caught, they’d have shot the lot of you. I don’t know why they spared you and expect me to do this, but what should be obvious is that working together is the only way we’re getting out alive, whatever we feel about each other.” “That’s what I love about this guy,” Sidewinder exclaimed, throwing a hoof around my shoulder. “He’s always trying to be friends! Are you sure you’re not an Element of Harmony, Lock?” “They’re all dead,” I grumped, shrugging him off. “And I’m hardly a candidate. Now come on, let’s move.” I took a step into the tunnel, and a loud roar rushed out to meet me, rumbling through the ground and up my legs. Everypony save Ruby and Sidewinder quailed; the latter smiled grimly. "It waits for us," he murmured. "Let's not waste time. We are not ponies today, my friends. We are the monsters monsters are afraid of.” “Yeah, sure,” Green Bay grumbled, moving slowly on his wounded leg. “Just lemme get that thing’s face under my knife. I’m gonna give it an eye exam it’ll never forget.” We all stuck close to each other as we moved down the tunnel. The claustrophobic darkness pressed in on us even more in these tight spaces, and I felt the palpable tension of worry that our little flashlights would suddenly land upon a horrid monster looming out of the dark. Even though we passed several side rooms full of rats and rotting boxes and irradiated fungus, only one had a pitiful little skeleton inside. It had been gnawed on by scavengers and the pony’s tattered armor was useless to us. Whoever had killed him had stripped the body of all other useful salvage. We left it alone and moved on down the long hall, following the sound of rushing water and overworked pumps until I heard another groan from the Hydra. It was a metallic noise, almost like the groan of a mighty door straining to support its own weight, and several of the ponies shuddered upon hearing it. “Damn, it sounds angry,” Theo whistled, and I agreed. The Hydra squealed and wailed at some unseen disturbance, and the noise was like a giant metal sheet being ripped in two. Then something struck the ground hard enough for us to feel the rumbling of the collision, followed by yet another wailing roar. It sounded much bigger than I’d thought. “Can we go back?” Juniper whispered, lifting her hoof to turn away. I noticed she still sported a slight limp from her shoulder wound.“Please? Let’s just go back, there’s bound to be another way, we don’t have to go right into its lair, please, I don’t want to go in there!” “You’re free to run if you want,” Ruby Red muttered, chewing a lock of her mane that dangled over her mouth, “but you won’t get help from us if you get lost.” Juniper turned to Green Bay, as if looking for some kind of support from the pony she’d helped. He only showed her his knife, which he hadn’t bothered to wipe clean since he’d stabbed the cultist with it. “Long as I have this, I’m good.” The mare shuddered, sighed, and turned to follow us again. The herd instinct overwhelmed her cowardice for now. “When we kill it, we’re free,” I spoke up, knowing it was on me to bolster their morale. It was partly my fault they were in this mess, if only because I’d been attracting so much attention. Why that was I couldn’t comprehend, but it was still happening. “When we kill it, you can go home. But this is the only way forward, right here. The one thing I’ve learned in my travels so far is that when there is a path, it must be followed. Staying still or going back will only make all you’ve done worthless. So now the path is right in front of us, and at the end of it we’re probably going to die. But we deal with death every day. You all are dealers in it. But would you rather die alone and frightened without a clue of what to do, or do it with allies who will stand by you and help you reach your goal? I know I’d rather it be the latter.” That seemed to mollify at least a few of them. Theo and Sidewinder were firmly on my side, I could tell that much. The others were in varying degrees of indifference and barely hidden anger or fear, but as long as they kept walking with me and didn’t turn hostile, I felt I could turn my back on them. “Does anypony else smell that?” Hot Pocket asked, wrinkling his nose. “I do,” I answered. “It’s been there since we came in.” We came to a stairway, old and rickety. Our lights illuminated the rust and decay pitting the walls and rails, making it appear as though blood had been smeared across the metal surface. The smell grew more powerful the further down we went, raking the insides of our nostrils, and it mingled with the bloody vision on the stairs until it seemed we were descending into a tomb. “Sweet moon above, what is that?” Brick wondered, holding his nose. I tried to power on through the stench, until my throat suddenly locked up, forcing me back up the stairs choking and heaving. There was much more than a terrible smell down here. “Masks! Now!” I barked, not daring another step until I’d taken several deep breaths through the filter. I spared a moment to thank the Princesses for Rangers and their foresight, then staggered down the rest of the way, my head still spinning from the rotting smell lingering in my nose. “There must have been a breach to the surface to let the poison down here!” Theo said through his mask, a tone of wonder in his voice. Shamefully, the first thing I thought of when he mentioned the surface were his bound wings, and I remembered my desperate struggle with Sunny Side up above. I kept walking before he noticed me staring. At the bottom of the stairwell, we came out into another hall, blank and square save for a few pipings running along the ceiling and the faint glow of bioluminescent mushrooms. To our right was a large doorway, ripped apart just like the last one. The metal gates were at least an inch thick,and still they’d been torn apart by something far more powerful than I could imagine. Even the greatest unicorns would have a hard time ripping it loose from its moorings, but I had a sinking feeling I knew what was responsible. The whoosh of overworked pumps was louder than ever here. I walked past the ruined doors and into the darkness beyond, spearing the shadows with my small headlamp. “Must have been a flood gate of some kind,” Sidewinder surmised as he studied the door. “Put up to keep overflow contained.” “Won’t help with that now,” Ruby snickered. As we entered the room, a foul feeling took hold of me. Common sense said it wasn’t the air, since my filter was still fully functional, but it didn’t come from my nose. It was a vague, weightless feeling in the back of my mind and the pit of my stomach, like stepping into a hospital where a loved one lay, and they had yet to die and all I could do was watch. The feeling of perversion and tragedy, of sheer wrongness crushed in on me from all angles. It reminded me far too much of the feeling the anomalies inflicted on me to be coincidental. Some small part of the earth was dying here, corrupted by an infestation like a parasite eating its host from the inside out. Experimentally, I reached out through my hooves, and the intensity of the feeling grew tenfold until I was being actively repulsed. A healthy pony who loved the earth wasn’t welcome here. “By whatever gods are left in heaven,” Sidewinder muttered beside me. “I don’t feel good about this place.” I kept walking forward. There was some kind of thick, viscous fluid covering the floor, cold and sticky. I pushed my hooves out, taking small steps until I lost my footing and slipped forward until I bumped into a rusted railing that sagged under my weight. I backpedaled and glanced around; by the look of it I’d reached the edge of the flood basin. Inside was nothing but a gaping void that my light couldn’t penetrate. The very bottom was dotted with sickly red emergency lights, exposing a maze of fenced in pipes and small corridors on the bottom level. I saw a shimmering, reflective surface all over the bottom, and realized I was looking water. Brackish, thick, dirty water, but water nonetheless. “We’re here,” I announced. I heard my echo and winced. Nothing came at us, but that only put me more on edge. When there was nothing there, I knew that was when I had to be the most afraid. “Where is it?” Juniper whispered. We cast our lights over the walls. Here and there sputtered stubborn little emergency lights, their red glow interrupted by the shadows of tubes and pipes that snaked over the walls. The bottom of the pit rippled and shimmered, and I realized it wasn’t just water; something was moving down there. We stumbled back to the doorway, watching as the walls came to life. The thick pipes and tubing I’d thought I’d seen began to undulate and writhe, and the thick, glooping fluid began to drip from the ceiling in pony-sized globs. I stepped away from a large blob that splashed onto the ground right next to me, showering me with wet, cold nastiness. A low rumbling growl rose up from the abyss in front of us, and then from behind. The large hallway we’d come from echoed with it. I knew then all avenues of escape were cut off before we had even thought to run. The ominous sense of inevitability closed in, stifling our thoughts. In a daze, I looked back to the pit. One of the coils unraveled from below and exposed a barely functioning floodlight, and pale yellow light burst over the floor of the pit. It took me a moment to realize the immensity of what I saw. The shimmering water at the bottom was actually a living surface covered in glistening wet scales, bulbous, ulcerous protuberances, and ugly pustules. It covered a heaving, pulsating mass of flesh, moist and stomach-churning in its gastric propensity. There were no eyes or ears or anything else that I could see, but strange claw-like growths groped blindly at the air. The mass covered most of the floor of the pit, quivering and writhing with a mind of its own. I almost threw up in my mask, and was grateful I couldn’t smell whatever horrid stench the abomination was sure to be emanating. Tendrils covered in strange red filaments radiated out from the central mass, anchoring it to the walls. Arranged randomly around the mound of flesh were a series of holes, six in all, gaping pink wounds in the thing’s surface. And peeking out of three of those holes were the Hydra’s heads. They slithered out of the fleshy ducts and rose up, peering at us with deadly intent, swaying back and forth as they picked their targets. Where the others were I didn’t know, but I took a stab in the dark and guessed a fourth was coming from behind, and another covering the floor directly above where we’d come from. We were trapped in here with this horrifying perversion of nature. “Tartarus take us,” Hot Pocket whispered. I wondered if Tartarus was exactly where this creature had come from. The heads regarded us evilly, jaws gaping open as they prepared to strike. From behind us came the snarl of a fourth head, rushing down the tunnel to herd us to its brethren. “Um. Hide,” Sidewinder said, bolting for a nearby ladder. “Split up! Get down to the lowest level and take cover!” I shouted, impulsively going left while everypony else went right, guns blazing wildly. Perhaps if I distracted just one Hydra, my ponies could get away more easily. The Hydra heads recoiled and doze into the shelter of the pipes jutting from the walls, twisting around them as they showed their thick side scales to us to protect their vulnerable faces. I watched them slither across the sheer surface of the walls in their dash to relocate, seemingly using the thick slime as some kind of adhesive. “Lockbox! Where-?” “Leave him! Concentrate your fire on the heads!” The floor rumbled as a fourth head exploded out of the corridor we’d just come from, and some sixth sense guided it straight in my direction, its thick coils kicking up waves of sludge. I felt my stomach clench as the sensation of pure wrongness redoubled, assaulting my mind. Something about this creature wasn’t just dangerous. It was a monster born and bred of the new, tainted world, as much an anomaly as the wild magic that haunted the deep tunnels. I knew in that moment that it had to die. My hooves skidded over the slime covered floor, wildly grabbing for every bit of traction. A deep hiss behind me sent new life into my limbs as I made a flying leap for a ladder that loomed out of the darkness, scampering up with devilish speed. The Hydra’s head collided with the rungs just under my hooves, ripping the rusty screws at the top out of their moorings. The world swung around me as I gripped the rungs for dear life, dangling from a swinging ladder right above an angry Hydra. What had Sidewinder said? Don’t be a pony, be a little spider… Earth preserve me, I was actually taking the fool’s advice. Fighting through the fear clenching my mind I threw one hoof up and then the other, somehow staying steady enough on the swaying ladder to gain the last couple of feet before the Hydra’s head pulled back and snapped upwards. I felt another section of catwalk tear off just behind my skittering hooves with an ear-splitting screech as the enraged lizard wrenched it away. I hurtled over the catwalk running along the perimeter of the basin, firing shots sporadically over my shoulder to discourage pursuit. The Hydra regarded me warily from their hiding spots, letting their brother do the dirty work as it squirmed along the main platform under me. Another set of stairs just ahead promised another few feet between me and the monster, and I threw myself up them without looking where I was going. I tripped at the top and fell flat on my back; out of the corner of my eye I noticed a doorway to my right and cast my hooves out, dragging myself towards it, flopping like a dying fish the whole way. The rumble of the Hydra followed me as I collapsed into the door, latching onto the turn wheel. It squealed in protest as I struggled against decades of rust, eventually resorting to punching the spokes to force them to turn. My earth pony strength prevailed just as I heard a growling hiss behind me; I shoved the door open and fell forward into darkness. Hot breath washed over my hooves as something big clamped shut just outside the doorway. Without even looking back to see how close I’d come to death, I pushed myself up and ran down a long metal corridor in front of me, took the first turn, and collapsed against a wall to catch my breath, squeezing my eyes shut. The hall was far too small for the Hydra to give chase, but I still heard sucking, heaving breaths nearby. Then I realized that was my breathing, and I was slowly dying of suffocation from a clogged filter. My hooves shook as I fumbled with my mask, letting the old filter clatter on the ground. I handled the new filter like it was a precious egg, reverently sliding it into place. The fresh air that followed was a wonderful perfume, a sweet nectar that I drank deep. I sat there a minute and took one full breath after the other, just enjoying the feeling of still being alive after that mad dash. What a wonder it was just to be able to breathe in a world like this. When such small victories meant the difference between life and death, even something like a fresh air filter felt as good as slaying a Hydra. I dared to look back outside. The Hydra’s head had left the doorway. I crept closer, listening to the rough shuffling of heavy coils further down the basin. My thin little light didn’t do anything for my vision, but I saw the pulsating mass below easily enough in the sick glow of the emergency lighting. The Hydra’s heads slithered agitatedly in long circles, constantly on the lookout. I couldn’t see my friends, and I didn’t know if that was good or bad. Then the fleshy mass began to move. The claw-like growths stretched and grasped at nothing, and the tendrils swaying on its back quivered and writhed at some unseen stimulus. I saw something begin to squirm and crawl inside one of the gaping holes in the mass. It mewled and squealed hoarsely, shuddering as it pushed out of the mass and into the dim light. Inch by inch, a long tentacle began to sprout outwards from the biomass like a tumor, surrounded by a thin, moist membrane. Suddenly it thrashed and bucked, ripping its way out, and then I saw the mouth, the teeth, the patchy frill behind its ears, and the muscular column of scales trailing behind. It was a new head. The mass wasn’t the Hydra’s home. It was its body. We didn’t kill anything by slaying the head; we just cut off a limb, destroyed nothing more than a remote-controlled hunting machine! I backed away from the door, feeling sick. “Lockbox?” I jumped and flailed, thinking first that Sweet Dreams had come to haunt me again. But the voice that called my name was tinny and full of static. It was the radio on my belt. “Lockbox, are you there? It’s Sidewinder.” A moment of fumbling to find the receiver. “Yes! Yes, I’m still alive. I escaped. I’m on another floor. What about you? Is everypony alive?” “Brick almost got his head taken off, but we’re still kicking. The Hydra’s waiting just above us. Did you see it grow that new head? Gross, right? We’re stuck in the shit down below, trapped under some pipes and fencing. This stuff is almost waist deep and getting deeper, I can feel it. It’s irradiated too; it burns through my jacket!” “It must be the water we diverted into the pipes. Can you see any way out?” “There’s lots of little passages back here... we can see a door not far off. Any ideas?” “Try to get out of the bottom floor. There has to be something in here that’ll help us kill this thing.” “You’re the boss, boss! We’ll get back to you.” I’m the boss. I almost stomped on the radio for that. I didn’t want to be the commander. I didn’t want to be the Shadow Walker, the one the cultists wanted and feared, the one who had to cut through bandits and ghosts. I didn’t want to be anything but Lockbox, the pony who could protect the ones he loved. Why couldn’t my mysterious powers just lead me straight to the button labeled ‘push to the destroy the Dark Ones?’ What could all these twisting, turning pathways in my journey mean? Could it be the world had something to hide, and it was trying to tell me where to find it? I just wanted some answers. I slumped against the wall, gathering my thoughts, but the squeal of the radio interrupted me again. Sidewinder’s voiced cackled through the speaker, over the sound of squealing feedback and garbled gunshots. “Lockbox! Lockbox! We’re through the door! We hit a whole nest of them! Ho ho, this is nasty! I’ll get back to you!” I paled with fright and shouted frantically into the speaker for an answer, met only with silence. If they died out there I had no idea what to do on my own, and the thought terrified me. Had I just led more ponies to their deaths? I glared at the darkness around me. “What do you want from me?” I hissed, the mask making my own voice sound muffled and alien. “What more do I have to give? Why are other ponies in danger while I made it up here?! I was trying to help them get to safety!” Silence as I’d expected. I was angry at nothing. Nothing to vent my feelings on or rail at. Nothing but more shadows and more questions. Cursing loudly, I went deeper into the gloom, hoof-pumping my lamp’s meager power supply for all the light it could give. The Ranger base had been amply supplied in weapons, but I didn’t know how long the little gem that powered my only source of light was going to stick with me. A few glimmering emergency lights and glowing algae was all I had to fall back on. The deep hiss of the Hydra gradually fell into total silence as I wandered aimlessly, looking for anything that might help. I was in a long, dark, metal hallway, and beyond that I had no idea where I was going. I came to an intersection and stopped in the middle, remembering the strange dream world where the cultists had tried to assassinate me. But I didn’t feel the strange sensation of being lost or alone here. I was only in danger of becoming ‘actually’ lost, though that was a small comfort. With no idea where to go or what to do, I closed my eyes and reached out to the earth, finding some small comfort in the total silence despite everything I’d been taught about danger and quiet spaces. Ever since I’d discovered my unique abilities, I’d never been able to be truly alone with them. They’d always been used under great duress or when other ponies were with me. All of it was distractions. But here I could have a moment to myself. My friends needed me now, and that gave me impetus on top of privacy. Both of them would let me see how deep my reach really went. This time, I learned it reached further than I could have imagined. My mind exploded with sensations both wonderful and sickening as a kaleidoscope of color erupted before my eyes. I gasped and stumbled backwards, trying to escape the vast, intangible landscape that stretched out before me, but as long as I touched the ground the vision continued. I felt every groan, every creak of the settling foundations, noticed every dust mote that hovered and tumbled. The gentle breeze of the tainted air was like a roaring hurricane in my ears. The grip of the poison on the blighted soil was an ice-cold claw that squeezed my heart between its talons. Every creature that scurried through the darkness around me seemed to rampage through my vision, too quick and too vibrant for me to see what they were. Most of all I felt a horrible sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, emanating from a gaping wound in the fabric of the earth around me. It wasn’t just the smothering blanket of radiation and twisted magic that covered Equestria; this was much closer, much bigger. I plunged heedlessly into the maelstrom of noise and color, as if I was the earth itself, diving into my own endless proportions, and something twisted and heaved in response. It’s alive. I saw a gaping maw ringed with teeth, and felt the hungry emptiness inside that mouth, the biting, gnawing need to fill a deep void. A moving mass of decay and mindless anger scarred the earth wherever it went. I saw undulating tendrils lash over my vision, leaking pus and blood, watched them detach from the main mass and slither through corrupted soil, devouring anything that stood in its way. It was then I realized I saw the Hydra as it truly was in the world: nothing but a mindless devourer born of decay and filth. Being so near the corruption, so attuned to it, made me burn inside like I’d swallowed hot coals. And around it I felt the tiny glimmers of hope: impossibly small fragments of cleanliness in the mire. Those must have been the filtration systems, still struggling to do their job. They would clean the water. And clean water was the antithesis of something so debased and foul... if I could just give the system a jolt again, like I’d done in the turbine room, perhaps... Yes, it made sense now. The Hydra had to die, but without our weapons the only thing left to wield was the arcane technology of our forefathers. The Hydra was a taint that could be removed; the cleansing process would surely destroy it too. But how to get the control room? We will show you Another presence speared into my mind, reaching up from deep within the earth. You can See You can Hear Hear us I was paralyzed, dumbstruck by the monumental power I felt invading my mind, strangling tendrils crushing any hope of resistance. My limbs wouldn’t work. My mind was locked in a vise grip and my eyes were pried open, staring straight ahead as a shadow blacker than black exploded from the swirl of colors. A pit of fear opened in my stomach, leaving me empty and alone with my terror. I’d gone too far. The Dark Ones had found me again. Their voice was a whisper that nearly blew out my eardrums, rumbling through my mind. You feel the earth You feel us Drink deep Grow strong Cleanse this place, and we will guide you I felt myself rushing along an invisible pathway, vaguely aware of my hooves being propelled forward against their will. The grating, sibilant whispers scraped over the walls of my sanity. Others seek to claim your mind Only we can free you We will bring you to us “No!” I shouted into the maelstrom. The words were so final, spoken with the inevitability of the death rattle of a dying convict. I felt their cold, alien probes spearing into my mind, ripping it apart from the inside out with their sheer overwhelming presence. I was a prisoner in my own head. And they had killed my friends... killed ponies that could’ve helped work for a better world! I couldn’t believe they were here to help me. I wouldn’t. “Get out... get out!” I shouted. “I don’t want anything to do with you!” The whispers returned, fainter and more desperate every passing moment. A multitude of voices crowded my head, each one seeking to be heard above the rest. Even children unloved by their parents seek to understand them Come to us Find us Understand us “You killed my friends! Hunter died stopping you! You killed good ponies! I’ll never trust you!” Tragedy blinds truth child of darkness born in darkness cannot understand the only one only one left not worthy not worthy come to us your only hope do not trust the Wyrm must see the truth must see see see SEE I opened my eyes. The first thing I saw was blood. Fresh blood. On the ground, all over the walls, all over me. I recoiled, frightened and confused whimpers catching in my throat. I stumbled over something large and fleshy, and realized it was a body. Bodies everywhere. All around me, twisted and broken and freshly killed, were the corpses of cerberus dogs. An entire pack, even shaggy, ferocious alphas, had been slaughtered by... something. I stood up again and looked over the scene of the massacre. The dogs were all dead beyond a doubt, but what had killed them? No bullet holes marked their bodies or the walls, but fresh bruises covered them, and broken bones jutted gruesomely from their limbs at strange angles. They’d been pummeled to death, as if somepony had taken a lead pipe to their heads... or used their hooves... Did I do this? I looked down at my blood covered fur and squirmed, frantically trying to wipe myself off, which of course got me nowhere. The pit in my stomach grew larger until I felt empty. Somehow all I could think of was how I was going to smell terrible once this all dried. I hopped and skipped gingerly over the bodies, keeping my eyes forward to block out the terrible sight and the awful conclusion that I’d just torn apart an entire pack of monsters without even seeing them. The Dark Ones and their infernal magic must have been involved. I couldn’t do something like this. I wasn’t that special. I didn’t want to be... I fell against another doorway, tearing off my gasmask without even caring if I was still in a dangerous area. I took a deep breath of the cold, empty air and felt my lungs spasm. At least the stabbing pain of oxygen deprivation got my mind off the terrible hallway behind me. I pushed my mask back on and curled into a heaving, wretched ball, closing my eyes and my mind to everything around me. I just wanted to be left alone to fulfill my mission. Was that so much to ask? It was many minutes before I remembered why I was here, that Sidewinder and the others still needed my guidance. I couldn’t just shut myself away if ponies were still in danger. Get up. Don’t do it for the Dark Ones, or yourself. For them. For Sunny and Father and Hunter and everypony else you care about. I uncurled my sore limbs and stood up, knocking my head on the door in front of me. To my surprise it swung right open. A label above it read ‘Decontamination.’ I didn’t remember getting here, but I did remember the strange, rushing feeling of being pulled along against my will when the Dark Ones invaded my mind. Whatever they’d done, it seemed they wanted me to succeed against the cultists so they could bring me closer to them. Was I the only force here that honestly just wanted to help ponies? Not that the ponies I wanted to help were any more deserving... No. Just focus on the mission. I shook my head and stepped inside. My light shone over a series of terminals, each of them labeled. Over them rested two large windows, both of them covered in a thick layer of grime and dust. I brushed my hoof over it and opened up a patch to see through. It was dark outside... no, there was light from below. I craned my neck and pushed my masked head against the glass. Down below rested the agitated mass of the Hydra. Three of its heads patrolled around the bottom of the pit; the others must have been trying to hunt my companions. I went straight to the one marked “Cleansing Turbine A” and saw a little light on the panel was blinking green. Without hesitation I pushed one of the buttons... nothing. I reached for my radio. “Sidewinder?” “Lockbox?!” Sidewinder’s voice barked back at me. “You’re still alive? You told me you’d call back in less than an hour! “Pardon me?” “It’s been almost two hours! We’ve been trying to contact you but we stopped when more of them came by.” I shuddered involuntarily. “Sidewinder, I...” I stopped, unwilling or unable to go on. I didn’t want to spook them. I hadn’t called them once during my ordeal with the vision... perhaps that was the work of the Dark Ones. I felt sick and stupid, realizing they’d made me their puppet while I was fiddling with my earth pony magic. “More of what?” I asked instead. “Lurkers. The ratty bastards must be feeding off the Hydra’s leftovers. We stumbled into a whole nest... Green Bay’s in bad shape and Hot Pocket got chewed up. We used up most of our medical supplies just getting them back in fighting shape.” I winced. At least none of them were dead. Yet. I pulled out the building schematics and laid them over the console. “Sidewinder, listen. I have a plan. I’m in some kind of control room for the whole basin! It seems ready to activate some kind of purification process that could kill the Hydra before it even finds us again. We don’t have to waste a single bullet on this thing.” “Oh. Well, that would explain the large amounts of turbines and generators we’re surrounded by.” I blinked. “What?” “Well, that’s where your directions led us, wasn’t it? You said you had a map and you’d lead us to where we needed to go! It would’ve been nice if you told us exactly why- hey!” I heard the sound of fumbling and a struggle before Ruby’s voice assaulted my ears. “Lockbox, you stupid, stupid stallion! I have no idea what the hell you’re planning, but we just waded through a fucking carpet of lurkers and radioactive shit to get here! Tell us what’s going on now!” My head spun as I tried to rein in my emotions. Anger and indignation that I’d been the Dark Ones’ marionette, impatience at Ruby, anxiety over everything I’d been through so far. I pushed a hoof against my temple and spoke as clearly as I could through the mask. “Is there any way to turn on the generators from where you are?” “Hell no! We’re gonna have to do it manually. What’s your plan?” “Turn on the water purifier. The magic inside will kill the Hydra! That thing is practically bleeding poison and corruption. Purifying it will destroy it like any common puddle of grime.” “This better fucking work. I’ll get back to you.” I sat down against the console, listening to the distant hissing of the Hydra as I tried to control my fearful shivering. Tapping into the earth’s flow of magic was now more dangerous than ever. If it opened my mind to the Dark Ones, who knew what else lay in wait to wear me like a suit of flesh? And those dogs outside... what if they made me do that to other ponies? “Damn you,” I whispered. “Damn all of you monsters. I’m not safe even using the magic I was born with...” I lay in a confused huddle on the floor, hearing the Hydra occasionally wail or roar in frustration. I watched the door as the seconds dragged on into minutes, waiting for something to break in and frighten me anew. Paranoia and fear slithered around the edges of my consciousness, waiting for an opportunity to grab hold. If I could be so easily taken, I was a danger to everypony around me. I thought of Sunny Side, and how it was good that he was no longer with me if the Dark Ones turned me into a personal assassin again. “I’ll find you all right,” I whispered to the shadowy doorway. “And when I do I’m going to destroy all of you.” “Lockbox,” Ruby said, sounding subdued. “Lockbox, there’s a problem.” “What now?” “One of the arcane circuits is down. One of us is going to have to do it ourselves.” “What’s the problem? Didn’t you do it?” “I opened a circuit. I didn’t make myself one. I’m looking at the power this thing says it needs. It’s way more than I thought a unicorn can do, or even any other pony.” My stomach plummeted. “One of us probably isn’t getting out of here.” I sat back against the console, staring off into space. The Dark Ones had used my mouth—my mouth—to lead my compatriots to that place. So they could choose a sacrifice for my grand plan. So that another pony would lie down on the altar instead of me. They’d led them down there to maximize the chances of my plan succeeding, of me going forward. My voice sounded dull and lifeless. “There has to be another way.” “There isn’t, short of spontaneously gaining the ability to repair arcane circuits and a working knowledge of high-magic gemcraft.” The room spun as I stared at the far wall, feeling empty and distant from my own body. It was done. My efforts were in vain. Loose Nut was dead, most of Ruby’s other companions were, why not another? Why not another… Because they were a pony. Because they deserved better. Every last one of us did. But it was the only way. The only way we’d ever been given a chance to take. The only way we were being given. “Who… who is it going to be?” I whispered without even pushing the transmit button. I figured they were going to be deciding that for themselves. I wondered, for a brief moment, if I could trust them to do that. If I could trust one to decide to make the sacrifice for the many. Would they abandon me? Would my silly, sacrificial ideals be too much? They had to know the stakes. They had to know what we must do to get out of here. Listen to me, trying to rationalize and justify the deaths of ponies I claimed to want to save! Some savior I was. I’d already killed so many I might as well be a pony angel of death than some wannabe hero. I wasn’t even close to Ponyopolis yet. Hunter would figure a way out of this. But I was nothing and nopony. More and more I felt like a silly boy who’d lucked upon mysterious powers he couldn’t even control and a mission he was bound to die doing. All I could do was sit and wait while they talked it out. “Lockbox.” Brick-a-brack’s voice. I raised the radio and spoke dully. “Yes?” “I’m going in.” I didn’t know what to say. I had no apology, no explanation that would explain why he had to die so I could keep going. I remembered Ray Drop and began to cry. “I…” There was an eternal moment of silence. “Thank you.” “…Yeah.” Then came nothing but total, utter silence that roared in my ears and mingled with the roar of the Hydra below. It seemed hours had gone by before Sidewinder called again. “Lockbox,” he said, “it’s done.” I stood up and looked out the window, tears in my eyes as I stared down the Hydra one more time. It was a monster made of corruption that deserved, even needed death. A creature of a dying world that I was putting out of its misery from a slow death of starvation and radiation. I felt my filter grow thick and clogged, and punched in a new once as I spoke to the monster. “Who knows how many ponies you’ve killed?” I wondered. “You’re just a creature. An animal… made horrible by the waste of our war.” I watched the buttons on the console light up and the distant whir of old machines echo through the walls. The Hydra’s heads perked up and began to circle the floor of the basin once again. They sensed some kind of danger, but had no way of knowing it was right above them. “Everything about this world was made horrible by our bad choices,” I said, my hoof hovering over the button that would initiate the process and send the beast to its doom. “But why does that mean we’re the ones who still have to suffer? We didn’t drop the bombs. We didn’t start the War. We’re all living in the ashes of our forebears. Maybe one day, the Elements of Harmony will come back to us. But not while we’re being threatened by creatures like you.” I hesitated a moment longer. “I suppose I should say I’m sorry for lumping all the ponies I’ve shot in with you. The line is blurred now and I don’t really know who I’m protecting and who I’m gunning down. A bad pony just made a good decision, sacrificing himself to make this place safe and clear the way for his friends. If a murderer and a thief can make that kind of decision, should I have killed anypony at all? Should I be killing you? There’s never anything that will let me take back all the bad I’ve done, is there? No matter if I kill the Dark Ones, you and all the rest I’ve done away with will always be dead.” The Hydra answered with a loud hiss of undirected rage. “All I know is you’re in my way, and I have to get rid of you because my instincts and strong ponies told me to.” My hoof pressed the button. “I guess we’ll see when this is over who was the bigger monster here.” I watched the ancient propellers begin to spin below the dirty water, draining it out with a loud whoosh. The Hydra went crazy, pieces of it being sucked down into the huge blades, chopped to pieces. The heads thrashed and wailed in unison. Along the walls, in pipes that drained water in the basin, old etchings of runes and magic spells lit up, arcane symbols painting the walls all around the vat. Gemstones I hadn’t noticed before flared to life and glowed with all the colors of the rainbows I’d read about in books. The Hydra screeched as the water began to glow a pale pinkish color, growing and growing in brightness until I had to shield my eyes. I could only listen as the Hydra screamed and hissed, loud enough to almost crack the glass and force me back a few steps. The glow spread from the water up into the necks of the Hydra’s heads and they thrashed against the walls, tearing up the room. Veins of pulsating light spread over the fleshy mass of its body and cracked it open. Glowing embers of dead skin flaked off the heaving, twitching ulcer like snowflakes. My hooves tingled with the feeling of powerful magic radiating through the floor. Clean magic. I closed my eyes and savored the taste of a world that, for one tiny moment in a small hole in the ground, was wiped free of taint. This machine that had once provided clean water to most of the city, now the Metro, was being used as my executioner’s axe. The Hydra didn’t necessarily deserve to die. It was just in my way, like so many others had been. I almost felt sorry for it. Almost. The noise and light went on for a few minutes at least, and the Hydra eventually stopped twitching. The heads were almost completely dissolved now, nothing left but snaking trails of crumbling vertebrae and a few sizzling teeth. The pulsing body was a giant hunk of melting rainbow goop. Even though most of it had melted away into the pipes below, it was still a colossal pile of garbage. And that was that. It once had been a living creature, and now it was just a puddle of waste. Another light came on, highlighting the words “Detox complete-Begin drainage.” I watched the gemstones suddenly sputter and die, and the clean pink glow faded abruptly. The sounds of machinery halted. I raised the radio. “Sidewinder? It’s done.” “Yeah? It’s safe to go?” “Yeah. It’s safe. The Hydra’s dead. We should be able to-” “The monster is slain. You have survived and the test is passed. You may exit through any door, Shadow Walker. The Wyrm will be watching you with great interest from here on out.” The announcement faded through the old PA system. I waited until the echo stopped before speaking again. “We should be able to leave now.” “Looks like it. We’ll meet you back where we came in.” When we met, nopony commented on the dry blood that now crusted onto my clothing and sent up a reeking smell all around me. We all smelled like shit and felt like it too, anyway. Ruby Red didn’t have anything to say to me. She didn’t even look at me, only at the space around me. When I tried to approach, she threw something in my face: a small gemstone that wasn’t cut like the ones used for power or energy storage. It was opaque and blue, and smoothed down to a polished sheen. “Lucky charm of his,” Ruby muttered. “Sidewinder said you’d ask for something like that.” I pocketed it and turned back to Sidewinder, who leaned on a nearby wall, watching me with an inscrutable smile. I sniffed and turned away, following the others up more stairs. At the top we felt our breathing became easier and pulled off our masks. We sat in silence, though I couldn’t call it companionable. Nopony looked at me, and I knew they blamed me for everything that had happened so far. I wasn’t angry at them for thinking so. If it weren’t for all this, for me running out into the dark, it might be that they’d have died more on their own terms than in a strange place far from home on a mission they didn’t want to be on. Only Theo seemed halfway friendly, and he just put a hoof on my shoulder and let it stay there, offering a somewhat consoling stare. And so we just sat, saying nothing until Green Bay stood up again and Juniper with him. The rest of us followed. I went to the front of the group again, and nopony complained. We followed a path I outlined, tromped up stairs and came to a small side tunnel deeper into the dark, which led to a long tunnel with a small door at the end. All around it were clustered the Cultists of the Wyrm. We stared at one another for several tense moments. I heard Ruby’s gun click, ready to fire. The cultists did nothing. I took a step forward, and they all took a step back, parting away from me. Their blank eyes and tattooed faces watched us in serene, eerie silence as we all started trotting down the hallway. Some bowed their heads or averted their gaze. Many others stood as still and silent as the grave, with gasmasks covering their faces and heavy armor adorning their bodies. I had to admire the craftponyship that went into their weapons; none of them looked worse than what we had, with our Ranger-made gear. We walked the gauntlet in wary silence, pointing our guns in their faces. They didn’t even blink, only watched, heads slowly turning as we passed. “You See,” said a mare in a raspy whisper whom I deduced was a so-called Prophet by the snake tattoos on her cheeks. “And he sees you. They all do.” I ignored her and pushed open the doorway. We filed out in complete silence, and I took one last look at the crowd behind us. They all looked at me, empty eyes chilling the blood in my veins. “They See you, Lockbox,” whispered one last voice before I shut the door. /-/-/-/ The Metro tunnels greeted us again as we climbed a small ladder out of what appeared to be a maintenance tunnel. The familiar cold and all-encompassing dark of a two-way passage was a sight for sore eyes. All we had to do was claw our way through a nest of thumpers, which scattered at the sound of our guns. “Shit,” muttered Hot Pocket when we finally came out to what the Guide declared was the Orange Line. It looked like a tunnel of death and decay and smelled like it too, and I’d never been happier to see it. “I never thought I’d be glad to see the fucking Metro again. How long were we in there?” “Does it matter?” Ruby snapped. “We’re out. We can finally keep moving. Buck me sideways and drop the Sun, Lockbox, what the fuck was all that?!” Her familiar temper was back on the flip of a coin. I was too tired and too guilty to do anything but stare back at her in complete silence until she finally scoffed and turned away. “Got my ponies killed,” she grumbled. “Almost my whole team wiped out… delayed by Celestia knows how long… it’s your fucking fault, Lockbox. All your fucking fault!” My ears twitched as the echoes of her voice faded down the line. I shrugged. “Maybe. But we’re alive, aren’t we? We need to keep moving.” Her punch was clumsy and easily dodged. I surprised even myself with how fast I moved; perhaps my reflexes were beginning to be honed. Ruby tried again and missed, then turned to her magic. I hurtled into a wall and stayed there, pinned five feet above the ground and upside down. Ruby’s snarl filled my vision. “This isn’t over, Lockbox! I should’ve shot you the moment I saw you! I should’ve let Steel Crescent beat the shit out of you!” She whipped out her shotgun and leveled it at me. “Hell, I should fucking shoot you right now!” I closed my eyes, feeling strangely at peace. “But you won’t,” I whispered. “Because you know that won’t help.” “Why? I can always lie to Buttercup.” “It’s not about that.” I opened my eyes and looked right into hers, wide and alive with confusion and inconsolable rage. “It’s because you still believe in me. That’s why you didn’t before. It’s why you didn’t kill me after Brick jumped into the generator and why you gave me something of his. Deep down you must still think I’m right somewhere.” Instead of buckshot, the butt of her gun cracked against my cheek. The others stood and watched, too shocked to do anything to help either way. “You bitch!” she screamed at me. “You think you intimidate me?!” “Maybe not,” I said, tasting the blood in my mouth. Remarkable how that was starting to become almost routine. “But you sure as hell don’t intimidate me.” Ruby almost shot me then. She aimed for the ceiling instead, then dropped her magic field and let me tumble to the ground, ears ringing from her gun’s discharge. I stood back up, dusted my mane off and started walking, leaving Ruby to fume and stare at the wall. Theo caught up with me. “How did… how did you know she wouldn’t kill you?” he asked. “I didn’t,” I replied. “I took a chance like everything else. But I must have said something right.” I heard Sidewinder laugh. Our next stop was the station of Zevyarsk, which had been struck hard by plague several years ago and never recovered. It was a small place, the closest to the water treatment plant in this section of the Metro and firmly under the control of the Guild of Magic. It’s only claim to fame was that it lay on the Ring, and therefore also had connections to Hoofsa. The plague had shut down trade, but it had reopened a while ago. The mood was somber and stayed that way. Everypony was fully aware that they had left most of their friends, ponies they’d known and fought with for years, in the facility behind us. Either by the persuasive tongue of Nexus, or the jaws of the Metro itself, they were gone for good. I wondered if their ghosts would haunt Nopony’s ghost tunnel for eternity now. Nopony… strange that I still remembered him, the one who said he was living in the background. I wondered whatever had become of him. At the furthest checkpoint from Zevyarsk, Guild guards greeted us. “So who in Tartarus exactly would come from that direction and still be in their right minds?” asked a thin unicorn mare in heavy plate armor that hung off her slender limbs. Her well-kept orange fur contrasted with her cool blue mane. She commanded eleven other stallions, all earth ponies save one other unicorn. “Ruby Red,” our angry leader snarled. “And don’t fuck with me! I’m on a tight schedule to get into Republic territory further south.” “Huh. Did you come through the treatment plant?” “Yes, we did. Now piss off and let me through. Everypony in this section of the Metro knows my name and I don’t need some prissy-ass skank like you wasting more of my time!” The other mare chewed on a lock of her cool blue mane. “Uh huh,” she said airily. “Yeah. Okay, I think I know what to do. Lemme get my boss.” Ruby Red growled and kicked the air, but in the face of a dozen Guild guards, even she was relatively powerless. I looked over the fortifications; they’d clearly expected some kind of cultist incursion given the small bunker they’d set up out of sheet metal. I found it curious how they were so ready to defend yet refused to go back in and take what was theirs. Perhaps the cultists and the Hydra was too much even for the might of the Guild? Half their guards had to have been nothing but paid thugs if they were that ineffective… “Hey,” the mare said as she returned with another large unicorn dressed almost entirely in thick clothes and heavy armor. A smug, smiling face under a shockingly purple mane told me at once that something was wrong. That and the new squad of heavily armed and armored unicorns that had come with him. I heard the others take a step back as they tromped up to us. “This is my boss, Captain Feather Plume.” “So, you kiddos are the ones who made it through the reclamation center, eh?” he asked. I stepped forward before Ruby Red could shoot him in the face, which she seemed more than ready to do. “Yes, we are. We have some vital information for the Guild as well. The Hydra infesting the facility is dead.” The Captain raised an eyebrow, his smile still on his face as he turned to me. “Oh. A Hydra, you say? What a strange thing! We’ve been trying to kill that little bugger for weeks now! And you say it’s dead?” “It is.” “And you found it in the main decontamination basin.” “… Yes.” “So what you’re telling me is that its dead body is now fouling up the pipes and probably overwhelmed the detox enchantments with the sheer volume of poisons now seeping into the water.” I remembered the gems going dark, the drainage process never completing. My eye twitched. “Yes,” I said through gritted teeth. “But it’s dead. You can fix it now.” “Not for several months, if ever, during which time the entire eastern Metro will be suffering a severe shortage of clean water.” His smile grew thin and strained. “You and your little friends just admitted to what is essentially an act of anarchy that we will need an explanation for. Sure, the Hydra’s dead. But we always knew that killing it would cause as many problems as it would solve.” I felt a horrible pit open up in my stomach. I managed to croak out an answer. “You were never going to kill it yourselves. You just needed an excuse to-” “-make ourselves look clean when the extent of the problem became clear. Yes indeed, my little friend.” He pointed a hoof. “Immobilize them.” Ruby and Hot Pocket’s horns flared, but they were overtaken almost immediately by seven powerful unicorns all doing their best to overpower them. I felt magic tugging at my hooves and lift me off the ground. I fired wildly into the crowd, clipping a guard on the shoulder before the telekinetic field swung me hard into a wall. My helmet took the worst of the blow, but I was still too dazed to bother fighting back as another field snatched my gun away. I heard more guns firing and ponies shouting, Juniper screaming. I summoned my connection to the earth and pushed myself up and through the magical field surrounding me. I felt something like fibers tearing all around me as I ripped the unicorn’s magic away from me, overpowering it with earth pony grit. Locking onto the nearest guard I charged right at him, screaming obscenities. I felt apart from myself, like I was watching my own actions from somewhere in the back of my mind, peering out through the constricted viewports at the front of my head. I saw the guard calmly level a gun in my direction. I saw a flash of light, felt searing heat as something crashed into my front left leg. I dropped like a bag of cinder blocks, eyes so wide my lids hurt. I turned back to my fellows. Ruby Red was on the ground, bleeding from a head wound. Juniper had finally cracked and cried quietly near the body of Green Bay, who had died with bullets in his chest and a knife in his mouth. He’d managed to kill one of the guards, draped over the still twitching body. Hot Pocket stood over Ruby Red, glowering as he levitated a gun with no magazine. Sidewinder had given up, hooves in the air. Theo was nowhere to be seen. “Ruby Red, you and your compatriots may return to your little hideout,” Captain Feather Plume said with a little toss of his head. “We needed a body to go with the story.” He waved a hoof at Green Bay. “This one’ll do nicely. ‘Anarchists foul water plant, attempt suicide attack on Guild outpost.’ That sounds good, don’t you think?” The shock was starting to dissipate. The pain replaced it. I hissed and drew my legs in, looking sorrowfully at the hole left by the guard’s bullet. Oh, mind-numbing agony! How I’d missed you so. “We’ll kill you for this!” Ruby spat. “You lying scum-sucking motherbucking traitors! After what we did for you!” “What you don’t do is attack our caravans,” Feather Plume said with a sigh. “And in exchange we stay neutral in Buttercup’s wars with Hoofsa and whoever else she irks. Killing all of you would just strain our relationship... we know how much she favors you, Ruby... so we won’t. She won’t go after us for this.” “You killed Green Bay!” “There are many lunatics in the Metro. He’ll be easily replaced and hardly missed. Like most of you bandits.” I lay on the ground, curling around my wound and watching the blood seep out, pumping out of my veins in time with my racing heart. Like I was a little bottle of sauce broken on the floor. I found that thought strangely hilarious and began to chuckle. Feather Plume turned to me. “This one is a little different.” “Of course! Of course I am!” I sputtered in between giggles, holding my bleeding hoof and laughing at the blood that refused to stop streaming out. “I’m different! I’m special! Take me away to the special place!” “You and Sidewinder. Somepony has a grudge against you two. Apparently you pissed somepony off in the Fort. They want you to suffer. Cut a deal with us. His terms were that you were given the most painful punishment we could imagine. And for destroying our water purifier, I think a few lifetimes in the slave pits of the Lunar Republic will do you a world of good.” I felt an anvil drop into my stomach, but it didn’t stop my sputtering giggles. I was so different. I was so special. I suffered so much because this was how it was always going to be, wasn’t it? Lockbox, Shadow Walker, the pony who tried to be a hero and now was going to be a slave in the worst pony-made hell in the Metro. Sidewinder, oddly, wasn’t laughing. In fact, for the first time since I’d met him, he looked like a lost, forlorn little colt like those I saw orphaned after mutant attacks or bandit raids. I found that hilarious too. It all made so much sense. My life was a giant black hole of misery and I could make even the descendant of Laughter itself stop laughing. It was all just too funny. I laughed as they picked me up and dragged me away and led Sidewinder off at gunpoint. Ruby Red didn’t stop them. She just stared at me with the weirdest look on her face, like she wanted to say something but couldn’t. So my misery had left the greatest shouter in the world speechless. I found that funny too. I laughed when they pulled me, still bleeding, through the docks of the sad little station. I laughed when they dragged me past a sign that read “Hoofsa Transport” and threw me into a rail car with Sidewinder, both of us stripped of all our belongings. I felt serene and happy. The world all around me was inundated with a fuzzy, warm haze. Nothing seemed important anymore. I remembered stories of the Republic slave pits with an odd, detached feeling. Ponies went there to work until they died. They were eaten by feral Diamond Dog slaves. They festered in squalor and plague. What a wonderful fate for a hero. I chuckled and snorted as I lay back, clutching my still bleeding hoof that was bound to be useless if I didn’t get attention soon. Maybe they’d cut it off. A working earth pony with only three legs. Ha ha. I laughed at the squeal of the rail car’s wheels, at how the gaping mouth of a tunnel seemed to be yet another monster ready to swallow me, at the funny little hole in my leg that the black-red sauce just wouldn’t stop pouring out and got all over everything, at how nothing seemed important anymore. All the lights seemed brighter, and I thought of the Dark Ones and my father, and Hunter and my promise how pointless it all seemed if I was just going to go from one torment to the next. I laughed and laughed and laughed, all the way down to hell. Then I turned over and saw a pony I had given up hope of seeing a long, long time ago. A floppy, ratty brown mane covered dull, listless eyes. A dirty orange coat contrasted with the cold, rusty metal of the rail car. I looked at him. He looked at me. He turned away to lie on his stomach and I saw the treasure chest cutie mark on his flank. I settled back with a happy sigh and laughed my life away. Everything was perfect now.

redsquirrel456

446

Original Character,Crossover,Adventure,Dark,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

My Little Metro

After Doomsday forces ponies underground, a lone colt braves the Stalliongrad metro system to save his people from an unknown threat.

hiatus

<p>The Metro tunnels of Stalliongrad shelter the last remnants of ponykind from the ravages of the Apocalypse. Beneath the earth, ponies struggle to survive against mutants, radiation, and each other. But when an unstoppable threat emerges from the darkness of the Metro, one pony must brave the shadows to save not just his home, but the very existence of his people.</p>

teen

2013-05-19T21:43:01+00:00

2013-05-19T21:42:59+00:00

My Little Metro: Chapter 16 “Surely they would have found us after all these years, if they were looking for something? No, I don’t think so.” Cold. I was so very, very cold. I’d been bleeding badly from the hole in my leg for who knew how long and I hadn’t found anything to wrap it with. I was almost completely numb now. I felt the pain, felt the gaping horror of there being a hole in my own body, but it was all very distant. It felt as if there was a glass wall between my mind and the world around me, and I sat behind it just watching everything happen with vague ambivalence, wondering when I was going to die. Every thought came to me in slow motion, and I couldn’t work up the energy to do anything except blink whenever my eyes got a little itchy. Every rock of the carriage we were in brought more bleeding. It seemed to ooze more than dribble, which I found amusing in a morbid kind of way. It covered the ground beneath me and slithered through cracks in the floor, mingling with the dry patches of other prisoners who had been tossed in without medical attention. My life essence was slowly escaping into the Metro. My eyes rolled in their sockets and turned to Sixpence, who sat in a corner and didn’t look at anything but the floor. He hadn’t said or done anything since the ride started, and I wondered if he was already dead. Sidewinder was unusually reticent, and his jaw waggled back and forth as though he were constantly trying to say something but the words never came. The rail car we rode in rumbled and clanked as it carried us to our doom. I looked back to Sixpence and uttered the one question that had been with me since he’d kicked me off that cart and started this lunacy. “Why?” My voice was raspy and thin. I thought he hadn’t heard the wispy sound over the noise of the car, but his ear turned towards me. He shook his head and curled in on himself. I took a deep breath and spoke again, laboring at every word, hauling them out of the bottom of my chest. “You said... you knew what I was doing. And you wouldn’t let me.” Sixpence shuddered. “The Dark Ones,” I growled. “Don’t,” the miserable orange pony whimpered. “Please. Don’t.” “You... know about them. You saw them,” I pressed on. “Stop it.” “You wanted to keep me from finding them. Why?” He didn’t say a word. “Tell me!” I wheezed, slurring my words as the effort made my vision go dim. Sixpence shook his head. “With an injury like that and where we’re going, it won’t matter at all soon.” I tried to raise my head. “Y... you...” Darkness. /-/-/-/ Somepony screamed. I jerked awake and noticed two things: I was surrounded by other strange ponies, and my leg was wrapped in cloth. A monstrous red stain covered most of it like a virulent growth, and I felt no comforting warmth of magic. This was made out of somepony’s shirt. I looked up and saw a tear in a nearby stallion’s garment, and suddenly felt ill and out of place. “Hold him still!” a voice commanded. The screaming somepony kept screaming: a shrill, grating noise that scraped against my eardrums. “I said hold him still!” “I’m trying! Shit, there’s so much blood—!” “What the hell’s going on up there?!” I lifted my head and looked around. Two stallions were holding down a third, who thrashed and yelled obscenities as the others attempted to wrap a bandage around his torso. A gaping wound in the pony’s side gushed thick blood onto the ground. More ponies milled around, about twenty in all, holding each other, talking, crying, or staying totally silent. We were crowded together by a thin hallway studded with windows. It hit me an instant later that this was a train. I was in a working, honest-to-Celestia train. I felt a rumble through the floor and the lights in the train car’s ceiling flickered. “Why won’t it stop? Why won’t it stop?” whimpered one young pegasus stallion while an older mare held him close and shushed him gently, whispering in his ear. “We’re lucky we made it down here,” another mare spoke up. “When those bastards just started shooting—I thought they were supposed to protect us!” “There’s nothing to protect!” an earth stallion barked at her. “Didn’t you see what’s happening up there?” “Help me,” I gasped, totally lost. Why was I here? Who were these ponies? Why were they all wearing clothes, clean clothes that had no gas masks or respirators attached? They wore button-down vests and comely skirts, fancy gilded shoes and jackets. None of them had guns. None of them looked sickly or dirty, but they all looked frightened out of their wits. They ignored my plea, and the wounded stallion kept screaming—a constant, maddening background noise. “Can’t you make him shut up?!” a frentic voice screeched over the din as another rumble shook the whole train. Another river of fear swept through the train car and once silent ponies began to break down and cry. “I don’t understand why this is happening!” the frightened young pegasus babbled, ignoring the older mare’s empty assurances. “My parents are still up there! I didn’t see them come down!” “What’s happening is the end of the fucking world!” the irate earth stallion barked, trying to drown out the wounded pony’s gasping screams. “Somepony fucked up big time and now it’s all over!” A portly unicorn with glasses stepped up. “Look, we- we don’t know exactly what’s happening right now, I’m sure if- if we all just wait here for a while, the Guard will get their act together—” “Help me?” I asked, but I was again drowned out by a fresh bout of wailing from the wounded pony. One of the ponies helping him was a unicorn who hastily cast a spell, and at last the screams fell silent as the wounded pony collapsed into a stupor. The earth stallion scoffed. “The Guard? The Guard almost killed everypony up there! They shot at us! They were closing the doors. There’s no getting in or out now! Look, there’s miles of tunnels down here. We need to find one of the bunkers they set up and keep our heads down!” “Who put you in charge?” another earth stallion shouted as he bulled his way through the crowd, his eyes red and puffy from crying. “We don’t know anything, like this colt said! This- this could be just a test, or some kind of illusion!” “Will you listen to yourself, you little hay-brained moron? The only illusion here is you all thinking everything is gonna be fine and dandy. Everypony left up there is dead.” Glasses Unicorn cleared his throat. “Uh, now, hold on, we don’t know that—” “I can’t believe I’m hearing this! If you’re all too stupid to listen to reason, I’m going alone!” “THE SKY WAS ON FIRE!” The train car fell silent as we all turned to stare at the frightened pegasus who curled up on himself, eyes staring straight ahead even as another mighty rumble shook the earth. “I saw it. The sky was burning... there wasn’t any blue or clouds anymore. Just fire, reaching over everything... Why is this happening?!” The sounds of the others began to fade away, and the butter-yellow mare holding the young pegasus turned to me. She shook her head, and her bouncy pink mane fell over her achingly beautiful blue eyes. “We were never made for this,” she whispered, her voice so gentle and kind my heart cracked to hear it. The entire scene around us faded into bleak tones of grey, gradually disappearing from sight into darkness. Every angry, frightened, and miserable face winked out of existence, gone without a trace. Each one left a gaping pony-shaped wound in the world, and I was saddened to see them go. “We were never made to do this,” the yellow pegasus whispered, stroking the mane of the colt she held until he too was whisked away into shadow, and we were left alone in the confines of the train car. Outside was a dark, wailing void. “We were never meant to feel this kind of pain, this kind of anger. Why did they make us fight? Didn’t they know what would come of it?” She sighed as she stood, and all the life in the world seemed to leave with that sigh. “I just wish I could have done more.” “Who are you?” I asked. She looked directly at me again, with eyes full of keen, piercing sorrow and impossible, heart-bursting joy, and I felt so small and alone in the face of those eyes that my tail curled over my flank and my shoulders hunched. “Regret,” she answered, and turned away from me, opening the door to the next car over. I lifted my hoof. “Wait.” She stepped through. “Wait! Please! I’m so confused! Why are you following me?” She turned back to me one last time. “I’m not. You are following me.” She closed the door and just watched through the little window as Sweet Dreams descended on me from behind in a flurry of gnashing teeth and bloody hooves. /-/-/-/ I woke up again to the tempo of somepony kicking me in the gut, over and over again. “Get up! Get up!” he barked in my ear. I waggled my hooves and found I could move without much pain, and a makeshift bandage had been wrapped around my leg. Had they really gone to the effort to heal me? “I said up!” Thwack. I see. They wanted me well enough to move so they could have leeway to beat me down again. How sinister. I got up as the unknown pony wanted, peering into a bright light suddenly thrust into my face. “Name?” “Lockbox.” “Get up.” “I am up.” He kicked me again and got me moving, forcing me out of the train car and into a crowd of other ponies who were a mix of dirty, frightened, sullen, or all three. I couldn’t see Sidewinder or Sixpence as I joined the huddle. We were on a large platform lit by a harsh spotlight, and after my eyes adjusted to the glare I saw it was a dock station with a small crane hanging from the ceiling. At the end of the tunnel, a flag hung from the wall. Upon it was the cutie mark of Princess Luna herself. Six stars bridged the inverted curve of her crescent moon, and pegasus wings flared out from the tips. Underneath were the words “Harmony for All, All for Harmony.” We had arrived at the borders of the New Lunar Republic. My heart sank in my chest. No story I had ever heard about the Republic comforted me in the slightest. Like the Celestial Monarchy I knew them only by name and reputation, and both were ugly, ugly things. “Move it, all of you!” We were shoved through a large doorway into another long corridor with a tall arched ceiling and broken tiles on the walls. Guards hustled us along, giving us no time to think or rest, shouting at random ponies and harassing us with their batons equipped with a shocking spell at the end. One landed square on my wounded leg and I screamed, falling to the ground as every muscle in my body seized up at the same time while the brutal current stabbed deeply into me. Panic at the thought of being trampled almost paralyzed me until somepony grabbed my mane and yanked me back up. It was Sidewinder. He pulled me into the middle of the crowd where only a couple of pegasi guards could harry us. “Stay close to me,” he muttered. “We get separated down here and we’re lost forever.” We were rushed to a large waiting area ringed by barbed wire. One wall was decorated with an open balcony, upon which a tall pegasus pony that looked about twice my age stood, dressed in the cool midnight blue uniform of the Lunar Republic. Luna’s crescent moon shone proudly over his head, emblazoned on the concrete above him. His shockingly bright green mane hung proud from beneath a dapper officer’s cap, contrasted by the slate grey of his pelt. Two Republic soldiers flanked him, dressed in full body armor that obscured their faces. The guards told us to shut up. The wounded ones were given no mercy either; they were forced to stand or sit and pay attention through their grievous injuries. One unicorn looked like he had the plague: his skin was mottled and his fur patchy, and he seemed to be bleeding from his ears. I wondered if he’d die where he stood, and whether the guards would care. Then I found myself jealous that he would escape so quickly from the hell that was coming to envelope us. We were separated into two groups that took up one half of the room each, and I noticed the guards were actually careful, for the most part, about who went to what side. I and Sidewinder ended up on the left, and I noticed our group was significantly smaller, and for some reason that worried me greatly. One of the guards next to the tall pegasus stepped forward. “There will be silence when the Warden speaks!” I flinched as the barking command snapped at my ears. Somepony who continued to cry was struck on the head and lay still. An arguing prisoner was punched in the gut and a guard stepped on his head when he hit the ground. The tall Pegasus waited a few more seconds before speaking. His voice shocked me with its clarity and authority; usually pegasi his age were well on their way to going feather-brained. “Duty. Duty and loyalty. These are the things that ponies of Equestria held dear to their hearts. Duty is not a soldier’s word! It is everypony’s word! Pegasus, unicorn, and earth, we all have a duty. When the world was still green and peace reigned nopony flinched from duty—duty to family, to their cutie mark, to destiny, and above all to the peace and safety of the Equestrian nation. Even you, you creatures of the dark, know duty even if you do not know the word. All of us individuals working towards a greater good, acting as part of a greater whole: that is what made Equestria great. Our President, Lucky Clover, understands this. She knows the importance of unity and harmony, of how when many act as one, great deeds are accomplished. Twilight Sparkle did not become a hero by herself. None of her friends claimed all the glory for themselves. It was only when she and her friends lent their talents to each other that greatness was achieved. They knew their duty and were loyal to it! “Today you are given a new duty: to serve the dream of the New Lunar Republic for a free and equal Metro for all ponies! Here, beneath the earth, we dig for riches, for space, and for arable land. Though the world above is dark and cruel, here we strive to preserve the ideals of Harmony that our great leaders Celestia and Luna used to make ponies great! Through the labor of our hooves Equestria will rise again! The Celestial Monarchy would have us believe that magic lies only with the unicorns and that gives them the right to rule. The bandits take what they want and burn the rest. The Hoofsa League seeks only profit. The independent stations bicker and squabble and die in the dark. Here you will find purpose. Here you will lay the foundations of a free and green Equestria. Work hard and you will be appreciated. Refuse and you will be cast out.” He pointed a hoof at the group opposite me. “You have been deemed salvageable. You will be our soldiers, our laborers, and in time, our citizens. Do not fail us, and you too will become part of true Harmony.” He pointed to my group now. “You have been judged unworthy. For this you will work the hardest and serve as an example to the good ponies of the Republic what happens when ponies slip from the ideals that will save us all. In time you might be considered worth saving, but for now, you will do your penance digging out new space for good ponies to live in.” Sidewinder rolled his eyes. “Ugh, not even the Monarchy recruiters are as brainwashed as this bastard.” “Shut your mouth, scum!” a unicorn guard hissed and threw Sidewinder down with a burst of magic. The Warden continued to talk even as my friend was beaten savagely right in front of everypony. “You will work alongside the Diamond Dogs. You will sweat and you will break and you will cry. You will wish for a better life. Through your pain, you will be made worthy, perhaps, of standing with the Republic and making our President’s dream a reality! If not... you will die and clear the way for better ponies.” He turned to address everypony in general. “Harmony for All, and All for Harmony! Go now to your new duties, ponies. You will be watched. May Luna find you worthy.” At last they stopped beating Sidewinder long enough to drag him to his hooves and push us down another corridor. The last view I got of the others was one mare giving us a pitiful look as we were led away, and then the door shut behind us and I had no idea where we went after that. A side tunnel led us to what appeared to be an unfinished Metro tunnel. I saw markings identifying it as part of the Green Line; perhaps before the War it was in the process of being expanded and never finished. There were about twenty of us, but we had no chance of making a prison break. Many of those with us looked surly and withdrawn, and the rest were disease-ridden; I made sure not to step too close to them. Sixpence lingered near the back of our group, his head hanging low. Every so often the guard behind him would shove him forward because he kept falling back. Eventually Sixpence got the hint and kept pace. As we moved on the tunnel became clearly more and more unfinished. Long thin wires hung from the ceiling, and spritelights replaced the regular electric ones. The walls became dirty and cracked, held up by support beams and tenuous looking metal grills. We were split into two groups again at a junction that suddenly sloped downward, and we left the Metro tunnels and went into solid earth. Sidewinder and Sixpence were still with me, but I could barely see as the only available light came from sporadic sprite lights and the headlamps on the guards. We passed other groups of ponies who worked to shore up the walls or expand the existing tunnel, keeping their eyes down as we went by. All of them were dressed in threadbare rags or nothing at all, wheezy and coughing as they hacked away at the walls with pickaxes or their bare hooves, which were cracked and bleeding and caked in dirt. I saw the telltale signs of disease and radiation on most of them: lesions and bloody sores and missing patches of fur. A miserable unicorn hobbling on three legs pushed a cart past us with his magic. A glimpse inside showed me a meager helping of gemstones. “Fuck me,” whispered Sidewinder, “better to just shoot us now.” “Don’t give them ideas,” I muttered. We were led into a cavern that went at least twenty feet up and down. Ponies worked in teams along the walls on rickety catwalks, inspecting every hoofful of dirt they collected, and I saw more ponies coming out of tunnels dug into the walls. Down at the very bottom of the pit, a team of Diamond Dogs hacked and slashed away at the soil, sniffing the dirt as they went. They were separated from the ponies and shackled together by long iron chains that sparked loudly whenever they were pulled too hard, shocking every Dog on the line. I presumed they were mining for gems, but given what I knew of mineralogy finding anything valuable here was a shot in the dark at best. They were most likely just busywork for ponies they wanted to punish. Guards were everywhere. “Grab a pickaxe and get to work,” the armored pony leading us barked, throwing a cart of rusty axes down in front of us. “You’re with team two in the third tunnel section. Lucky you, you’re at the front of the excavation line.” Not all of us got tools, and Sidewinder rudely grabbed the last one before I could get to it. We were pushed down a ramp that led halfway down the cavern and into a side tunnel that seemed natural but had been widened out by excavation. More shoving led to the end of the tunnel, which grew narrow and cramped and lit only by sprite lights. At the end was a blank wall. “Get to work,” the guards said. Sidewinder raised an eyebrow. “What, do we get a direction to dig? Some kind of motivational speech? Might want to tell us how we’re contributing to the greatness of the Republic, I can’t really get working if I don’t know just where my little cog is in the grand machine!” They punched him in the face, repeatedly. “Work,” they said, and pointed at the wall. Without any hesitation, our group attacked the packed earth and gritty stone. They had us digging straight through solid rock, and my poor hooves could hardly contribute; instead of digging through the wall I burrowed through the dirt and gravel that littered the ground, taking it back to a cart that was wheeled in to take the debris. And so it went. I picked up dirt and rock, put it into the cart, and went back to repeat the process ad infinitum. The tunnel slowly expanded and I was soon relegated to propping up the ceiling with support struts, making sure it didn’t come crashing down on us. The work was harsh, dirty, and as far as I could see quite useless. We were nowhere near the Metro system and there was nothing to find belowground that I could tell. Perhaps they just meant to work us to death or hoped that the tunnels would collapse and kill us all. The guards left us to our own devices, and only posted two at the front of the tunnel, but none of the prisoners with us were in the mood to talk. After what felt like hours, I sidled up to Sixpence as I delivered another hoofful of shattered rock to the cart, where a pony with downcast eyes and mangy fur waited to cart it off. “Are you going to talk to me?” I asked. Sixpence didn’t answer. “It would go better for all of us if you did,” I said. Still nothing. “Look, damn it,” I huffed, “we’re stuck here together. We’re probably never going to see the light of our home stations again. The least you can do is tell me what the hell was so important that it made you kick me off that cart!” He refused to even glance at me. Rage swelled up in my chest, and at last I could hold back no more. I grabbed him, whirled him around so he couldn’t do anything but look at me, and was enraged by the apathy I saw in his eyes. My vision went red as I drew back my hoof and punched him as hard as I could across the face. “I lost everything to this damn trip!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, shocking my workmates into silence. I heard nothing but the blood pounding in my ears and an inexplicable whine that quickly grew to a buzzing headache. I leaped on Sixpence as he fell to the ground and pummeled him mercilessly as he held up feeble hooves to protect his head. Nothing in my mind mattered more than turning this little creature into paste for what he’d done, for all the things I’d endured as a direct result of his treachery. “I saved your fucking life!” I shrieked. I couldn’t shout loud enough to convey how horribly angry I was, and the volume of my own voice tore at my throat, spittle flying from my lips. “I was going to help everypony! I didn’t deserve this! Do you hear me? You little fucking shit motherfucking—” I felt strong hooves snatch me around the waist and pull me back. I bucked something hard and unyielding, launching off it to attack Sixpence again as I screamed incoherent obscenities, kicking and punching wildly at anything that got close. I saw nothing but a blur of red, shifting shapes and felt blows rain down on me, but I couldn’t care less. I wanted nothing but to kill or be killed, to lose myself in the endless rage so I could vent my fury. Damn the trip. Damn the mission. Damn everypony and everything. I wanted them all dead. “Leave me alone!” I cried out, and my screams turned to inconsolable wails. Hot tears sprang to my cheek as I struggled with the guardponies who pulled me to the ground and punched and kicked and beat me with sticks that shocked and horns that zapped with magic, but that just made me cry out all the more, pushing out everything inside of me. The pain in my mind became the pain in my skin. The despair and rage in my chest became the dirge that tore from my lips. I kept flailing, aimlessly now. “Leave me alone!” I said again, beating against visions of the Dark Ones as they pressed in around me, demanding my attention. “I want to go home! Get away from me! I want it all gone, do you hear me?! I want it all gone! I don’t want to See anymore!” And then, very suddenly, a heavy blow thumped me on the head, and everything was gone. I woke up on a cold stone floor in all kinds of pain. The craggy and rough surface told me it was the bottom of a cave. I jolted upright, thinking at first I’d been thrown down a pit to be dashed on the rocks, but though I was bloodied and battered the pain wasn’t any more intense than what I’d been through before. Dry blood crusted over a large part of my mane and stuck it to my face, but I ignored the discomfort as I glanced around. I was in the middle of a thin crowd of sleeping or dejected ponies, some of whom muttered amongst themselves. A small fire had been set up and most of the ponies were crowded around it. We must have been in one of the dormitories for the slaves... such as they were. I saw moss hanging from the ceiling, and there was a pool of foul-smelling standing water in one corner that I could see. Sidewinder was one of them. He turned to me and grinned. “Ah ha, you’re awake. Get over here by the fire. Don’t sit out in the cold!” “What happened?” I asked, dragging myself over. The sputtering flames were barely enough to heat the tips of my hooves, but the illusion of warmth was better than nothing, and at least we weren’t groping blind in the dark. “You don’t remember?” Sidewinder cackled. “You started beating on that poor pony for no reason, then the guards came over and knocked you senseless! Don’t you know they’re the only ponies with a license to kill around here, Lockbox? Oh, also, you won’t get food for the rest of the day for causing such a commotion. Anyway, we’re in one of the side caverns they give us low-life types to sleep in. Hope you don’t mind rocks for a pillow.” My stomach growled. “I didn’t attack him for no reason. That was Sixpence. He’s the reason I’m here, the reason you found me out in the metro tunnels. He kicked me off a supply cart and left me to die in a tunnel full of mutants. If it wasn’t for him... I don’t know. Things would have gone differently.” Sidewinder chuckled. “Lockbox, do you even know why you started your journey?” I gingerly touched a scab forming on the side of my head. I couldn’t remember if I’d ever told Sidewinder, or any other pony for that matter. It didn’t seem important now, here in the bowels of hell. Nopony ever escaped the slave pits of the Republic without either becoming one of their drones and dying in one of their wars, or meeting some unfortunate fate while digging. If I was here, there was no getting out. Nothing but toil and dirt for the rest of my short life expectancy. But had Sidewinder earned the right to know my sacred mission, the one thing that kept me going through all the trials I’d endured? The shining light of Ponyopolis seemed so distant now. I wasn’t sure how much time passed before I answered, but the fire seemed considerably lower than before. “My home,” I whispered through parchment dry lips. “I left to save my home.” “Yeah? What from?” “I don’t know,” I whispered, putting my head between my knees. “I don’t know anymore. I’ve been through so much shit, you know? And I haven’t even gotten close. Now I’m stuck here, and we’re going to die, beaten to death by the guards or maybe killed by a cave-in. The Dark Ones...” “The what?” “The Dark Ones,” I whispered, shivering at their cursed name more than the cold. “They attacked my home. Everypony there is probably dead.” Silence fell. I wondered if anypony even knew or cared what a Dark One was. We’d been careful not to let news of them get outside the station. “So what the fuck’s a Dark One?” asked Sidewinder. I couldn’t help but smirk. “Hell if I know. They’re... they came from the north. Invincible. Unstoppable. They... I don’t know, Sidewinder. Even the Rangers didn’t know what they were.” Something clenched tight inside my chest. “Damn it. I should’ve at least told Tracer. Maybe he’d... he’d be able to carry on to Ponyopolis and—” “The Rangers?” Sidewinder asked, eyes going wide. “You said you met a Ranger?” More ponies looked up from the fire and turned my way. “You knew a Ranger?” “Who was it?” “Are you a Ranger?” I recoiled from the doey-eyed stares, all lacking hope in anything but the thought of a Ranger breaking in and granting them freedom. Mares and stallions alike, many of them diseased or suffering from open sores and wounds, scooted a little closer to hear even a single more word. “I—I did know a couple,” I muttered, curling up tighter to hide from them. “Not... three weeks? I think it’s been three weeks since I left. I can’t be sure.” “But a Ranger! You knew a Ranger! Did they say anything about coming here?” an older stallion pressured, poking me with a cracked hoof. My heart wilted in my chest. “I don’t know,” I admitted, and it pained me to see the hope suddenly die in their eyes. “They go on their missions, and I don’t...” “You were on a Ranger’s mission,” Sidewinder said, peering at me closely. “Weren’t you?” I jolted and leaned away from him, my anxiety only increasing from all the attention. “What? I—no, I wasn’t!” Sidewinder shook his head. “But you said Ponyopolis! That’s the base of all the Rangers in the Metro. Why are you going there? Do you think they’ll help against the Dark Ones?” I couldn’t answer; the words simply didn’t come. I worried about what I could or should say, and figured in the end it was useless. I didn’t know any more than I did at the start of my journey that seemed so close to ending. My home was in danger, the Dark Ones wanted me, and the Rangers knew something about them that scared them enough to send Hunter to us. “Maybe,” I whispered. “I don’t know, Sidewinder. I don’t know anything. I just have...” regret loss pain anger sadness help darkness evil blood death “Hope. I... I have hope.” Sidewinder nodded slowly and turned back to the fire. “Well, if anypony’s going to get us out of here, it’s a Ranger,” he said. “But they don’t give a shit about anypony who doesn’t give a shit about them, so don’t get your hopes up too high.” I felt a tug on my tail and turned around. A miserable looking pegasus stallion who couldn’t have been any older than I stared up from the floor. “You work with the Rangers?” he asked, and he was so wretched looking I couldn’t do anything but nod. He smiled, and tears dripped from his eyes, mixing with the mucous and pus from a gash on his cheek that hadn’t healed properly. “Then... then you’ll help us. Won’t you?” I gulped down the knot in my throat. “I can try, I suppose,” I offered. “I want to see the Sun again,” the pegasus whispered. “I want to see her and feel her. I did, once. Above. I saw the Sun. You’ll take me there, won’t you Ranger?” “Please,” I said, “stop it. Get some rest or something.” “I want to fly. It’s so dark down here. Help me fly...” He drifted into a feverish sleep, still pawing at my tail. I stared at the glowing embers of the fire, listening to the soft breathing and occasional sobs of the other ponies around me. For some reason I felt guilt clench my heart, as if uttering even a mention of the Dark Ones was enough to bring divine retribution down on my father and the rest of Exiperia. How long had it been since I heard news of my home? Nopony cared about a tiny mushroom harvesting station outside the Ring. The Dark Ones could have annihilated everypony and news wouldn’t even spread until they moved on to attack Draft Station or a Hoofsa outpost. I felt burning at the corners of my eyes and wiped them with the back of my hoof. They came away wet. Wet. I was crying. Oh, Celestia help me, I was crying. Suddenly more came and then I couldn’t stop. I buried my face in my hooves and curled up, sniffling into my fur, my gentle whimpers drowned out by the oppressive silence in our little cave, joining the sad chorus of other lost and hopeless ponies. I cried for my father, for all the ponies I’d seen dead, and everything and anything else I could think of. The weight of everything I’d carried without complaint so far just came crashing down and wouldn’t let me stop. My whole body felt like a geyser suddenly bursting open. Sidewinder said and did nothing, and I was grateful for it. /=/ You are lost. We will find you. Do not be afraid. I feel so alone. You are alone. You are the First. /=/ We woke up the next morning, or whatever the guards approximated morning as, and were chased out of our resting cave with much verbal and physical abuse from the guards. Before we were split into our teams a guard captain came forward and dropped a toolbox in front of us. It was full of rusty pickaxes and little spades and shovels. “First come first serve!” he said with a sniggering laugh. I was near the front of the crowd. I exchanged uncomfortable looks with a few of the other newcomers, but we we were quickly bowled over by the more experienced and muscular prisoners, who charged forward and snatched up the finest quality equipment for themselves. The unicorns in our group tried to levitate tools over the heads of the others, but they were set upon by their fellows and beaten to pulps and had their tools taken anyway. As I shoved to the front of the line, determined not to be left without a tool that day, I felt my hoof close down on a wooden shaft. Another hoof smacked my own and tried to push me away. Still in pain and angry from my earlier beating and the uncooperative nature of these ponies, I shoved back and without any shame, leaped onto the toolbox, spilling everything onto the floor. “There’s your Ranger!” a pony crowed. “There’s your Ranger! What a fool, huh?” I got up glaring daggers, seeing every tool had been taken by the time I got back up. The pony who’d jeered at me, a thickly muscled unicorn with a broken horn, snickered as he hefted a pickaxe and he spat at my hooves. “That one’s for you, Ranger! Ha ha ha!” The guards did nothing but laugh along with him, amused by our barbaric spectacle. And instead of getting myself a handy piece of equipment I’d shamefully been party to it. I was shoved onto my hooves and told to report to work at gunpoint. “That was Triton,” I heard a voice whisper. I turned to see pegasus from the night before walking alongside me. “He’s a prison boss.” I rolled my eyes. “Nopony’s a boss down here.” “He is,” the pegasus whimpered, his wings shivering and shaking. His eyes darted nervously back and forth, never standing still, and the running pus on his cheek wobbled with his jerky movements. “Watch out for him! He has a gang. A gang that reports to the guards.” “Why did he call me Ranger?” “He must have heard our talk last night, Ranger.” “Hey, feather-brain!” a guard snapped. “You’re with the third tunnel you idiot! Get moving, or is that shit all over your face getting into your brain?” “No sir!” the pegasus whimpered, scuttling away and holding his wings as tightly against himself as possible. “No sir, I have a clear head! I’m not feather-brained yet! Please, watch, I’ll work, I’ll work!” I tutted quietly, trying not to think of poor Sunny Side. What was that colt getting up to? Hopefully he was continuing on to Ponyopolis himself with Tracer to finish the mission One of the prisoners died on his hooves walking to the dig site, and the guards left him to rot where he lay. The Diamond Dogs came out near us and were led to the bottom, surrounded by guards, and I lingered a moment to watch them get to work. None of them dug too far or too fast or the magical chain that linked them all would shock them. But none of them complained or even glared at the one responsible when it did happen. Their unity astonished me, and I found myself tucking a little note away about that for later within my mind. That day we were worked almost to the bone and fed a thin, almost tasteless gruel with the consistency of saliva that did little more than fill my belly for a couple hours. My hooves ached. Dust caked into my mane and agitated the cuts I’d gotten. I didn’t see more than a glimpse of Sixpence through my entire shift; the guards kept me well away from him. It was nothing but slow, grinding work all day, with no visible progress made by the end of it. Whenever we tried to talk to each other, a guard would come into our tunnel and strike us on the backs of our legs in turn with a heavy baton, even if only one of us had spoken. If we slowed our steady monotonous pace they were even more harsh, delivering electric shocks that left us curled up on the floor. It was all nothing but pointless cruelty to no visible end, meant to hold us and break us until we begged and simpered for real work. I felt no anger, though, just a hollow sense of pity. The depravities of the Metro were all around me and I’d become inundated with them, saturated to the point where all the evil and wickedness seeped into my bones and I didn’t feel its sting any longer. Dinner was a pitiful affair. We were all crowded around thin tables and were practically sitting in each other’s laps, stewing in our own stink and misery. The plague-ridden ponies—though all of us were sick and miserable—were quarantined by the other prisoners: they were shoved into another little alcove of their own, and nopony would approach them even if they weren’t as well off themselves. Sidewinder dropped down next to me, as well as the feather-brained pegasus. “Hello, Ranger,” the pegasus said, smiling timidly. “Don’t call me that,” I grumped, in no mood to entertain more insanity. I was astonished at how quickly I’d gotten used to the idea of back-breaking labor. Perhaps my hope was finally running out. “Why not?” Sidewinder asked, and there was an edge to his voice that hadn’t been there before. He took a large gulp of his gruel, downing it before any other prisoner got funny ideas, and peered at me. “You were on a Ranger’s mission, Lockbox. No Ranger ever trusts anypony except another Ranger to do Ranger things, not ever. They don’t travel with other ponies, they don’t speak to other ponies unless they have to. Hell, they never even tell ponies how they choose new recruits; they just do. And you show up in the tunnels on the way to Ponyopolis, home of the Rangers and you say you traveled with one? That practically makes you a Ranger in all but name.” I shook my head. “I wouldn’t know about that.” “Of course you wouldn’t, you’re a wimp from Exiperia. But I’ve been around, Lockbox. I know Rangers when I see one, even when they try to hide it. They’re not like other ponies.” I felt my mane itch as Sidewinder leaned closer and whispered,“You aren’t like other ponies.” I swatted him away and turned to see the pegasus still staring at me, his eternally open wound gaping horribly on his face. I saw Sunny Side beneath the pus and rot, behind the tangled mane and greasy fur. It frightened me. I wasn’t supposed to care whether I saw Sunny Side anymore, not in this pit where I’d surely die. “Why are you staring at me?” I snapped. “My name’s Rocket,” the pegasus answered, and his wings fluttered. He looked back and forth and leaned closer to me too, but I didn’t strike him like Sidewinder for fear of catching whatever he might be infected with. “I used to be a racer on the Hoofsa circuit... dangerous, tight corners! I lost a bet and ended up here. I knew a Ranger too, once. She was beautiful and dangerous, like the Sun.” His gaze drooped to his bowl of gruel, which was untouched. “I want to see the Sun. Just one more time before I die. I saw it once, when it broke through the clouds like a hammer.” I turned away and kept eating as Rocket droned on and on about the Sun, mumbling nonsense. Then came the guards, crowding through the entrance to our little slice of hell. “All hooves on deck! Line up, you scum! The Warden is here to see you!” Rocket’s ears perked. “Time for this again. He always does it when they bring in a new group.” I turned to ask why but the other prisoners, Sidewinder included, were already jostling to obey. Even the infirm ponies crowded out of their hiding hole to pay their grudging respect. I took my place in the lines that formed up and stared straight ahead like the rest. I met eyes with Rocket, who looked past me and at the far wall, his eyes full of inexplicable fear. I heard the Warden’s heavy hoofsteps, slow and measured. He tromped down the line, glaring at each of us in turn, and I was struck by the way he seemed so sure and confident and handsome in his clean uniform. We were truly the scum of the earth, juxtaposed with this stern image of a real pony who strode among us like a bear among jackals, his whole body a mirror that showed us what we should be instead of what we were. And damn my eyes, in my wretched condition it was working. He stopped directly in front of me. I met his gaze, remembering Ruby Red’s intimidation tactics. They had come to naught, too. “You,” he said, with so much contempt I felt compelled to curl into a ball, “you started a fight on your first day here,” he said quietly. “That’s not behavior fitting a soldier of Harmony.” My eyes flickered back and forth. Was I supposed to answer? Was he going to shoot me for disobeying some unwritten rule? “I... don’t—” The guard standing next to the Warden lashed out and jabbed me in the stomach with his stun baton. My muscles seized up and pain erupted out of every nerve. I went down and vomited my lunch on the floor while the Warden looked impassively on. “You’re a threat to Harmony. You and all the rest of you degenerates!” He raised a hoof to include everypony in the room. “Look at you! Diseased! Malformed! Incapable of amounting to anything more than a brick laid on more bricks to build a new world.” He shook his head, as if disappointed. “I don’t know why you attacked a fellow prisoner, and I don’t care. It sullies the honor of everypony here. You’re no better than the beasts outside.” I hung my head and nodded dumbly. His words had some kind of powerful effect on us all, shaming us, shaming me. I felt lower than dirt and only agreed with him about everything he said. Dirt. Shameful. Disgusting. The Warden shrugged and move on down the line. “And yet... I can see salvation for a select few of you. Most of you here are new. And now I have an object lesson for all of you: there is nothing worse than the disharmony and chaos that wracks our Metro. We are the last bastion of life in this world, and without unity we are nothing! This creature here”—he gestured to me—“is a perfect example of that. Attacking a fellow prisoner for no reason!” Yes, no reason. No, wait. There was a reason. He abandoned me. Tried to kill me! But was that a reason? What was it about this pegasus that made my head spin? “He is no better than the Dog savages we have chained up here. They do nothing but squabble amongst themselves for the smallest scraps of food, just like you degenerates. But there is salvation waiting...” That wasn’t true. I’d seen them work together without fear or anger. I... I stood up. He was lying. The guard beat me down again. The Warden’s words turned into a blur of noise and fuzzy whines that echoed in my ears as the world collapsed around me again. It took me a full minute to recover as I seized up and shivered on the ground, and by that time the Warden was finishing his ridiculous speech. Whether it was the attack from the guard or not I did not know, but I no longer felt the compulsion to listen to his babbling. “And in this Metro, which we are building with our own hooves, you will all have a place! Remember that! Remember it all! Remember that we are the only chance for a peaceful, green world again, and by the power of our kinship, our strength of will, the Elements of Harmony will find us worthy and bring us a land of plenty!” I noticed a strange look on the faces of the other prisoners. They were all cowed, submissive, even ashamed of themselves. Some were weeping openly into their hooves. But why? Had the Warden’s words warped their minds as well? I looked over at Rocket, who bawled like a child. “Help him,” I whispered through gritted teeth and a throat that refused to open. “Help them! You can’t... they’re sick! We’re sick!” The Warden seemed not to notice me, and turned to leave again. His guard gave me another good kick on the head and turned away as I sputtered nonsense. “Don’t listen! What the hell is wrong with you all? Harmony? Damn them! There’s no Harmony in keeping sick ponies here!” “Shut up, Lockbox,” Sidewinder muttered, his eyes on the Warden as he stalked away. “For once in your life, shut up!” I stood and lunged at Rocket once the guards left us again, shaking him by the shoulders. “Listen to me!” I snarled. “Are you already feather-brained? Are any of you really going to believe that?” I felt another hoof thud into my chest. I couldn’t take it anymore and bucked as hard as I could, but hit only a hard wall. Suddenly Triton was standing over me, shoving a hoof into my face. “You listen up, Ranger!” he growled. “When the Warden talks, you listen, got it?” “I don’t have to—” Triton stuck his dirty, grimy face into mine. His broken horn glowed green as he glared down at me. “When he talks,” he repeated in a wheedling, nasally kind of voice, “you listen. Am I clear?” It felt like cotton balls were stuck in my mouth. My tongue wouldn’t work right. My lips formed words of their own accord. “Yes, you are clear,” I said without meaning to. Triton threw me down again and smirked. “Good little Ranger. We haven’t been formally introduced, huh? Triton’s the name. I’m here to keep you little new shits in line. Nopony escapes from the Republic pits. Nopony. Right?” I nodded. “Right. Nopony. Got it.” “So you all need to learn the rules. You don’t interrupt the Warden. You don’t interrupt me. And you don’t screw with the guards.” He didn’t have Ruby Red’s unique character, that was for sure. But that strange magic he and the Warden possessed... “I got it,” I whispered. Triton stood up and smirked, satisfied that he’d beaten me as he turned and kicked me in the face before walking away. The little prick had no idea what I’d been through, and these mind tricks were supposed to intimidate me after all I’d seen? No. This was different. This was pony magic. I’d beaten pony magic before. I looked around at the ponies that still sat on the floor or in their chairs, thinking over what the Warden had said like scolded children. I felt anger again. But not at them. I felt the same kind of anger I did when my mind was invaded by the Dark Ones. Something was manipulating these ponies beyond the fear of a guard’s baton, something that kept them down. I stared long at Rocket’s weeping visage, at how broken and ashamed he looked. I looked up and saw Sixpence at the end of the tunnel, staring at me blankly. Apart from Sidewinder and I, he seemed the only one unaffected by the Warden’s speech. He turned and left me. As were sent back to work, I attacked the wall with renewed fury, having wrested a pickaxe from another slave. Whatever was happening here was almost insulting. It was beneath me. I couldn’t believe I’d let myself fall into such an obvious trap! These ponies weren’t just enslaved, they were ensorcelled by... something. Something I wouldn’t let beat me. I felt invigorated once more, thinking that if nothing else I wouldn’t become like the mewling, whimpering things around me. These ponies were weak. But I’d been through too much, seen too much to let myself fall so easily. These ponies had very nearly taken everything from me. I might not be able to complete my mission, but I was not going to let them steal my mind. I thought back to their nickname for me: Ranger. So dull and lacking in hope they used the name of good ponies to mock me. No more. If they wanted a war for my mind, for the minds of these ponies... I would give them war. It’s what Hunter would want.

redsquirrel456

446

Original Character,Crossover,Adventure,Dark,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

My Little Metro

After Doomsday forces ponies underground, a lone colt braves the Stalliongrad metro system to save his people from an unknown threat.

hiatus

<p>The Metro tunnels of Stalliongrad shelter the last remnants of ponykind from the ravages of the Apocalypse. Beneath the earth, ponies struggle to survive against mutants, radiation, and each other. But when an unstoppable threat emerges from the darkness of the Metro, one pony must brave the shadows to save not just his home, but the very existence of his people.</p>

teen

2013-08-08T07:23:24+00:00

2014-01-08T19:48:59+00:00

My Little Metro: Chapter 17 There are some secrets that must remain secrets, because they have no answers. Get up. Get to work. What are you doing down there, sleeping? Don’t you know sleeping is for fools and weaklings? Don’t talk. Strike the wall. Curse the earth with every breath, drive another tiny scar into its fraying nerves. Pray it doesn’t lose patience and collapse on you. Stop slacking! And remember not to look up. Whatever you do, don’t look up. If you cause too much trouble, you’d go work near the Diamond Dogs. Do not cross Triton, or he will rat you out to the guards, and then you’re in deep shit. That was the extent of my days for the last several days or so. Time blurred together into a violent ocean of swinging batons and morose ponies. I couldn’t even be sure if our sleep schedules were the same as the rest of the Metro. I’d lost so much precious time I didn’t bother thinking about how much of Exiperia had already been leveled by the Dark Ones. Any news I’d get in these pits would be old and inaccurate. I spent most of my evenings huddled up against Sidewinder for protection against the cold, watching and waiting for a chance to do... something. Anything except this grinding monotony. Sixpence kept his distance, doing what he was bidden and quickly establishing himself as a meek little cog in the Republic’s greater machine. The so-called ‘boss’ Triton patrolled our sleeping hovels with his gang, extorting, threatening, and spying. Before the week was out, three ponies had died not from violence but expiring from the sheer amount of stress and sickness we were forced to suffer. It wasn’t until the seventh time I was kicked into wakefulness after a long sleep that I found news about the outside world. The Warden visited us again. We lined up and stood still as he trotted down the line, giving us the same claptrap he had the first day we met. Again I felt the stirring of some strange power, but now it was like a food I had grown tired of: unpalatable and ineffective. But it was magic for sure, magic that had no power over me. I withstood his onslaught in stoic silence, and he did not come around to single me out again as he spoke. “The Celestian Monarchy is beginning another push!” he told us. “They think with their rusting power armor and failing magic that they will come all the way here to destroy us. Well, they are wrong. They have not broken through our lines yet, and they never will! Because we are ponies united! That being said, a few vacancies in our ranks have opened up. Know that we will be watching closely for those who display extra strength of spirit and resourcefulness in the coming days. Work hard and you will be among the lucky few who are chosen to bring the Republic’s wisdom to our enemies. The wisdom of guns, lightning, and steel! Earn a place in our great army, ponies, the army that will beat back the elitism of the Monarchy, and strike at the heart of darkness itself! Those chosen will be given food, shelter, an equal standing in all our stations, and honor and respect from our citizens! Volunteers are also accepted on a probationary basis! Will you not join us in uniting the Metro for the good of all ponies?” So it was either conscription by being found ‘worthy’ or voluntarily throwing yourself at their mercy. What a choice. I surreptitiously rolled my eyes at his claptrap, but the ponies around me were equal parts dismal and enamored. The thought of freedom from these pits was enough magic for most, but the magic that flowed from the Warden turned the idea of trading one servitude for another into a heady tonic. Some just didn’t want to dig anymore. I knew the stories, though. The ponies who joined the Monarchy were destined for a lifetime of slavery. Those who joined the Republic were doomed to die in their routine mass attacks on Monarchist outposts. I had no wish to meet a Monarchist exoskeleton assault squad in battle, and stayed quiet. A commotion erupted at the end of the line. An earth pony, his body yet unmarred by disease or starvation, threw himself at the Warden’s hooves and cowered before him. “Me! Take me, please! I’ll fight for you, I swear! I’ll die for you! I promise, I’ll uphold everything the Republic stands for! I’ll kill every Monarchist I meet!” The Warden waved away the guards that were about to lay into him, and brought the pony up with his hoof, looking him in the eye. There was a sharp edge to the Warden’s gaze. “What’s your name, boy?” “String Bean, sir. I’ll do anything, I promise!” The Warden looked him over and then gave a broad and generous smile, stood at the new recruit’s side and threw a wing around his shoulders. “Do you all see how easy it is? We ask so little of you! A willing heart and a strong back are the only things you need to lift yourselves up from squalor in the Republic. Yet so many of you stay silent. Will no more come forward? Will not others embrace the destiny of the Metro, and lift themselves and all of ponydom up another step towards the light?” I didn’t move an inch, but several other ponies crawled forward, slinking like they were caught red-hoofed in a crime. It was a good lure; at least in the army they might die on their own terms. In reality their life expectancy would be measured by how long it took for a Monarchist’s bullet to travel from its barrel to their head. The rest of us, too scared or stubborn to speak up, were dismissed. The work day would be upon us soon. As for me, I needed to get out. I felt my body starting to waste under the cruel treatment of the guards. In just a week here my weight had dropped considerably, and every day it felt harder to pick up my hooves and get to work as I was asked. I wasn’t going to be wasted in these pits. I would force them to kill me before making it my destiny to rot away, like the older ponies of Exiperia did when radiation and poisoned air caught up to their lungs. Even after all I’d seen, this struck me as one of the most cruel ways to kill a pony. Put a gun in their hooves. Let them fight. Let them live. At least the bandits could claim freedom, even if they wasted it. But this pointless, routine terror? I couldn’t let it stand. I felt nothing but deep, growing anger that seeped into my bones the longer I was forced to stay here, knowing the mission I’d sworn to complete was never going to be finished. Most of all, I was tired of not being able to make a dent in the terror and death I saw in the Metro. This would be where I made my stand, where I bloodied the nose of tyranny. If I was going to get out of here, it would be with a curse on the Republic’s name. I came back to our rest area after the backbreaking labor was done with sore hooves and a buzzing mind. The Republic needed ponies for the war effort. I could have slipped out with the other volunteers, but that would leave Sidewinder and Sixpence back here. I had no love for Sidewinder, but he’d proven helpful, and Sixpence was the one with answers. I needed both of them, and while all three of us could have gone to the front, the chances of three successful desertions at once were frighteningly low. If I was getting out of here, it would be through the one place nopony escaped from: the prison itself. I found Rocket in the middle of the crowd, wandering aimlessly as he stared at the ceiling. “Where are the Diamond Dogs?” Rocket’s wings twitched, almost springing open. He kept staring upwards, as if he could see the Sun through the rock. “Below,” he whispered. “Below. They don’t like the Sun. Even more than we do.” His head drooped as he slipped back into melancholy. “I want to see the Sun. It will kill my eyes, but I want it to be the last thing I see.” I sighed. “Yes, I know. But where can I find the Diamond Dogs? Do you know? Does anypony know where they are kept after the shift is over.” “Below,” he whispered. “Special cages to keep them from getting out. Never seen them. Nopony does. Kept under heavy guard! Only way to talk to them is to be assigned to their work line. But nopony is ever assigned to the Dog line. The Dogs don’t like it.” “Is there any way to be positioned closer to them? To get a message to them?” “Sorry Ranger. I don’t know. But bad ponies get the lower levels. It’s where all the water is, and where the monsters live.” He shuddered. “Sometimes you crack into a cave. Once there was a cave break when I first came here. Monsters poured out and killed half the ponies on my line before they blew the cavern. I still heard screaming after the rocks fell.” I sighed again and turned away, wondering if my plans were already falling apart, when Rocket suddenly grabbed my tail. I turned back and stared into his yellow eyes. “You hear tapping,” he whispered. “Tapping?” “Sometimes. It’s in the rocks. You have to listen deep. I’ve been down here so long I can hear it. The tapping from below. That’s how the Dogs talk to each other, I think, because they are muzzled and cannot speak.” I nodded in satisfaction. “How do you find it?” “It only comes to those who listen. Those who See.” He grinned unnervingly wide and went down on his belly, looking up at me like a worshipping acolyte. “You can See. My Ranger did, too. You can find it in their eyes, how they never focus on what’s in front of them. They can look further than that.” My heart dropped into my stomach. I took a nervous step back, suddenly wanting nothing to do with the strange pegasus. “How do you know about that?” I asked in a hoarse voice. “The Sight? It’s obvious, Ranger. It’s the new magic, the new life. I can’t See, but I can find those who can. Unicorns don’t do magic anymore, not the way they used to. Magic is different now. It’s more... primal, you see?” I turned away, not wanting to dwell on it. Being able to See hadn’t brought me anything but trouble, and something about Rocket knowing anything about the Sight disturbed me greatly. If being able to See only brought me the company of the insane and the violent, I wanted nothing to do with it. I left Rocket to his mutterings, going to find Sidewinder next. He sat in the midst of several ponies, entertaining them with stories around what passed for a campfire—a miserable pile of burning trash that stank to high heaven, but then again, we all stank, and the fire was warm. I sat down to listen to him talk for a while. Sidewinder was going on about a story of ponies who died horrible deaths in the Metro, oblivious to the apathetic, bored expressions on the other ponies. Apparently, they had heard this story before, but there was nothing else to do, and Sidewinder’s erratic motions made the story a little more interesting than usual. “—and none of his limbs were ever found again!” I watched with mild amusement as his audience all gave each other bored looks and shuffled away from Sidewinder, leaving him to curse the backs of their heads and their lack of appreciation for good storytelling. “Sidewinder,” I said as I dropped down next to him. “Yeah?” he said, looking as tired and worn as I felt. “I’m getting out of here.” Sidewinder peered at me for a good long moment, and then his face split into one of his disturbing grins. “No you’re not.” “Yes, I am. Come with me, we need to find some place private to talk.” Sidewinder rolled his eyes and stood up to follow me. We pushed through a crowd of lazing, sickly ponies and trotted into a cramped room lined by rotting wood. A sprite-light flickered on the table, and I jolted it back to life with a quick shake, illuminating my grave face and Sidewinder’s cocky smirk. “So,” he said in a whisper, “planning a breakout, are you?” He glanced around at our less than stellar hideout, which amounted to little more than a place that was out of earshot of most ponies. “You know this isn’t going to work, right?” I glanced outside at the ponies who slumbered fitfully, or stared straight ahead in dull, defeated silence. “I’m not going to die here, Sidewinder. I’m going to die out there, on my own terms.” Sidewinder just smiled. “Still crazy as ever, eh? Count me in.” “Just like that?” “Come on, Lockbox. I’m as crazy as you. There’s no way I’m going to pass up a chance to say ‘fuck you’ to the supposedly unassailable fortress that is the Republic slave pits.” I tilted my head. “There has to be at least a few ponies who’ve escaped before.” “Mmm, there’s stories... but then, there’s always stories.” Sidewinder grinned, twirling an imaginary moustache. “I’d know. I made up most of them. Perhaps, when we put our plan into action, I’ll make up a story about us too. Perhaps about how we died heroically.” “Wonderful.” I rolled my eyes and looked back and forth, making sure nopony was in hearing range. Those that were looked like they were were asleep. “You heard the Warden going on about the troubles they’ve been having with the Monarchy, right? How they need recruits?” “Mmm, yes. Delicious, isn’t it, hearing about how they’re kicking each other in the ass? Of course, everypony prays that nopony actually wins or they’ll be able to go and kick everypony else’s ass. No offense to any actual assess that might have survived the War, of course.” I took a deep breath and sighed, finding it easier to just talk through the weird pony’s eccentricities. “Right. Sidewinder, I have a mission for you.” “Whatever you need that gets us out of here, Ranger.” “I need you to get on the Republic’s good side. Volunteer for the front lines, then sneak your way back here and find the armory for the guards.” He stared at me for the longest time. And then he started to laugh. When my dour expression didn’t change, he just doubled up even more and guffawed, drawing several unwanted stares. I settled onto my stomach, waiting until he was done. By that time he’d laughed himself out of breath and the other prisoners seemed convinced he’d just cracked and gone insane, I gave him a good cuff around the ears. “I’m serious,” I told him in a low voice. “I need you to do this. You’re the only here who can. And the only one I can—” “Trust?” Sidewinder finished with a huge grin. “You could just do it yourself.” I shook my head, resisting the urge to slug him across the jaw. “I can’t guarantee they won’t just shove a gun in my hooves and ship me to the front the moment I sign up. And I know I won’t be able to sneak my way out and back here as well. It’s too much risk. I can’t sneak around and find hidden passages like you can, Sidewinder. Besides,” I added with a flick of my tail, “I’m not going to escape for just myself.” Sidewinder tilted his head. I shrugged. “I want to show the world that ponies can’t be caged and trammeled like this without consequences. I want to show the Metro that tyranny does not always win, that fear does not always break down a pony and keep them from doing great things. Ever since I left my home station I’ve seen nothing but death and destruction rule the day. I’ve seen ponies control the lives of others purely because they had a stronger hoof, or because they just so happened to be in a position of authority. Ponies who trap, kill, and enslave others. Ponies who don’t deserve to be called ponies. And I’m tired of it, Sidewinder. I’m so very tired of it. I’m not scared of being here. I’m angry.” I stood up, pacing as much as I could in the tiny room. “I’m not going just escape, Sidewinder. I’m going to take this place down. I’m going to show the Republic and the Metro that bad things don’t last forever.” I sat down again, leaning against the wall. “Because I’m here to destroy them.” Sidewinder’s smile grew even more. “You’re insane, Lockbox. Insane like me. Insane like a Ranger. How does their motto go again?” “Just tell me if you’ll get it done.” “You know that you’re making a lot ride on my success.” “My success means the survival of my home. Probably of the whole Metro.” “And you’re saying you’re going to trust a pony who abandoned you with your life?” “You haven’t left me again so far. And you owe me for getting you out of Ruby Red’s cages. That’s how Stalkers work, if you’re any true Stalker. They pay what they owe.” Sidewinder barked another harsh laugh, shaking his head. “True, true. Perhaps I do. You’re a strange pony, Lockbox. You saved me and now you’re going to save all these ponies?” “There’s no way to save them,” I snapped back. “There’s no way to save anypony here. I’ve lost a couple of good friends on this journey already. Growing up here in the Metro has taught me one thing, Sidewinder.” I held up a hoof for emphasis. “One thing: that it’s impossible to save ponies. Perhaps even yourself. But what we can do is give others a chance to live, and maybe make the better choice with that life.” I dropped my hoof again. “I didn’t realize it until now, but Sunny Side has been teaching me that all this time. Him and Ray Drop, and even Nopony. I can’t save the world, Sidewinder—I never set out to do that. The Metro is all I know, and few are the ponies in it who I care about. I’m sick and tired of just moving through it. It’s time I started making a difference.” Sidewinder rubbed his chin, staring at me intently. “You know if I fail or never come back, your plan falls apart?” he asked with unusual solemnity. “That your grand speech will come to nothing?” “I’ll figure something out,” I replied. “And anyway, you’ll die horribly whether I catch you or not. This is the Metro, after all.” Sidewinder nodded firmly. “All right! You’ve convinced me. This is a stupid, foolish, crazy idea. And that’s why it just might work. If only my great-great-great-great-ish grandma Pinkie were here to see us now...” I scoffed. “So you actually do believe you’re related to an Element of Harmony?” Sidewinder waved me off. “A colt can dream can’t he? I’ll have to tell you about them, some time. I know all their stories, you know.” I pondered a moment how little I—or anypony else in the Metro—knew about the Elements of Harmony. Those who cared to brush up on what history we scraped together knew the basics: a group of ponies who wielded fantastical powers and saved the world more than once, but had either died before the War or, if they were around at the time the War happened, were somehow powerless to stop it. Clearly, anything as powerful as the Elements would have done something to keep the world from collapsing. But unfortunately, news on them was about as sparse as it was on anything else. They weren’t on my radar right now... Yellow wings whispered my name as they brushed my face. When I turned to face them they were gone, and Sidewinder was looking at me strangely. “You look like you saw a ghost,” he whispered. “I’ve known plenty of ponies who do.” I rubbed my cheeks with my hoof, pensive. Then, I stood up and left. “Story time comes later. Let’s just get out of here.” -------------- Sidewinder left just before the next morning muster, informing the guards he wanted to sign up for the front line just like I’d asked. I didn’t know if they’d take him out and shoot him, or if my plan would work at all. It was in the hooves of fate now. I suffered through the Warden’s spiel once more, and for some reason Triton gave me an odd look when he didn’t see Sidewinder standing next to me. That was good. He and the rest of his ilk were integral to the next part of my plan. “What a load of bullshit,” I said once the Warden and his retinue had left, muttering it under my breath. The ones who did hear me immediately scuttled away, frightened of the consequences of just being nearby such treacherous talk. I sniffed at them and did my best to look wild and angry, the picture of a prisoner who had reached his limit and couldn’t stand another minute of his torment. The perfect target to be made an example of. “You don’t agree with me?” I snapped at them, lunging at a nearby pony who turned and ran. The guards eyed me ominously, preparing their batons as they closed in. I just started shouting. “You don’t think everything he’s said is a bunch of crap? Harmony? What Harmony is there here?” Triton quickly scurried off, just as I wanted him to. He came back in moments, leading a trio of guards and pointing straight at me. “You! Shut up!” a guard snapped at me, angling a baton at my face. I raised a hoof but not fast enough, and it cracked over my cheek. I fell to the ground spitting blood, jerking and twitching from the electric shock it delivered. The guards weren’t done and kept up their beating as I sputtered and coughed and shouted at them, and then it suddenly stopped. I was pulled up by the mane and had a collar slapped down over my neck. “You need some discipline,” one of the guards growled. “You’re going to work with the Diamond Dogs today, my friend! I wonder if you’ll come back with all your limbs intact.” I tried to hide my smirk as they dragged me towards the digging pits. That smirk quickly fell when they pulled me to the edge of the pit and didn’t stop. A flash of panic overtook me. Were they just going to dump me into the lowest levels and leave me to die when I dashed on the rocks? My plan was stupid, but I didn’t think I’d die quite like that. When the guards got to the edge of the pit, I started to struggle, looking down at the bottom. The Diamond Dogs were already working at the bottom, but their hulking bodies suddenly looked so small from way up here. In the moment before they kicked me over the edge, I apologized to my father for being such a fool. “Wait!” one of the guards said. One of the others had a hoof on my flank, prepared to shove me to my doom, and stopped right at the same moment my heart did. “We shouldn’t just drop him from this high up. He’ll be crushed on the rocks.” “Yeah, so?” sneered the guard about to push me over. “So the Warden will have our asses if we kill prisoners without his leave! You know how he is about that.” “You mean we have to walk this piece of shit all the way down there?” “You’re the one who said he’s going to work with the Dogs! It’s all right if they kill him, but I’m not going to get in trouble for you!” “Ugh! Fine. You walk him down there, I’ll tell the Warden if they rip him to shreds.” I almost vomited out of sheer relief, and then had a chuckle at how absurd something like that would be. One more brush with death out of the way. The guards picked me up and dragged me down the side of the pit, past workers hauling up their finds of gems and other minerals. The other prisoners didn’t even look up as I went past. I noticed Sixpence among the throng, but he was busy pushing a cart, staring dejectedly at the ground. I didn’t bother to get his attention, but he was one of the ponies apart from Sidewinder I had on my list of fellow escapees. That pony knew something about the Dark Ones, and I needed him alive. We passed a clear line of demarcation between the ponies and the Dogs: one floor above the Dogs’ workspace there were no workponies, just guards stationed at regular intervals. Their guns were trained at all times on the hulking figures that swarmed around the bottom of the pit, hacking away at the walls with their formidable claws. I was struck with a sudden flash of curiosity: what were the Dogs being told to dig for down here? I knew they were used as slave labor when they were caught, being more capable than any pony at digging out new living space or clearing out debris from collapsed tunnels. I had heard rumors that Hoofsa often made use of them to clear out the Ring whenever a section of the tunnel collapsed. But why were these Dogs digging here? The guards dragged me to the bottom of the pit, and here I could see up close the bulk of my new working partners. These were nothing like the Dog I’d saved so far back at Ruby Red’s bandit checkpoint the chain line the Dogs were all attached to. A new length was added to it, and at the very end, I was attached by the metal collar around my neck. It already chafed. The Dogs gave no indication that they noticed or cared about the newest addition to their group, and instead kept digging. A pickaxe was thrust into my hooves and I was told to start digging. They didn’t tell me which wall or what direction, just to dig. The Dogs, of course, dug much faster than I: I suspected that in a matter of hours a single Dog could do triple the amount of a pony in the same time. It wasn’t until the guards left for the safety of the upper levels that I found why working near the Diamond Dogs was a real punishment. It started with a simple glance my way—a big bruiser of a Dog turned and snorted at me. I turned and made eye contact, peering into his deep orange eyes. The Dog grunted again and then headed right for me, raising a huge paw to swing down at my head. Before it came close I danced away to the very limit of the chain that bound us until it snapped taut and I fell. The Dog’s heavy claws came dangerously close to tearing the skin from my bones, and the Dog withdrew, grunting, back to its fellows. I gulped and went back to striking the stone, keeping a close eye on the Dogs all the while. They didn’t molest me for a time, but they couldn’t keep digging on their side of the room forever. Eventually they came around to my side of the pit, and I noticed they were digging in layers: starting at one side of the pit, they dug across the bottom and peeled away another layer before going back around. I had no way to get around them—there were about twenty of them and I would have to squeeze between the workspace of two. I didn’t know what to do, just hacked away at the hard stone beneath my hooves as the Dogs crept closer. They were less than a leg’s length away before another peered up at me, this time with pale yellow eyes that gleamed with shocked curiosity before shifting to animal rage. It lumbered forward but I was already gone, leaping for the space between them, feeling its claws rake the air behind me, dragging through the hairs of my tail. The Dog on my other side also barked and snapped at me, almost getting its jaws around my tail before I was a safe distance away, clutching my pickaxe in my hooves. The guards did nothing to make sure the Dogs didn’t go too far; in fact, some of them were even lazing around chatting. I was in here for the Dogs’ amusement, nopony else’s. Were they even sane or intelligent? But I knew Dogs could speak, at least, and one was smart enough to ask me to free it and let it help me against the bandits so many days ago. These Dogs had a chip on their shoulders; understandable since they had been enslaved and beaten on a regular basis like me. I hadn’t thought very far ahead, but it was too late to go back. I just had to suffer this latest indignation and try to end the day alive. Now that the Dogs were facing away from me I was able to see what they were doing more properly, without the threat of their great paws striking me. I watched their hooves as I hacked at the solid stone, noting the way they dug, the way they kept equidistant from each other, and how every once in awhile the Dog on my end of the chain looked back and gave my chain a gentle tug to keep me from trailing behind. This, I knew, was not out of compassion or concern for me, but to keep the entire line from getting shocked whenever the chain was tugged too hard. Hours dragged by. I suffered numerous scrapes and large gashes on my hide as the Dogs took swipes at me whenever they could, even once chasing me around the perimeter of the pit as they barked and snarled under their hideous muzzles, careful to keep me away from them without pulling the chain too far. It seemed they wanted me at a distance rather than kill me outright, but my bloody cuts argued against that. I kept close and watched them, listening for... what did Rocket call it? A tapping. Beneath the rough scrape of their paws on the rock, beneath the huffs and growls and guttural noises they made, I gradually picked it out under the toes of my hooves. At first thinking it was some cave creature gnawing on my hoof, I stopped and raised a leg, examining it. Immediately the feeling of tiny vibrations left me. I gingerly set my hoof back down, and there it was again, almost without pause. Daring the wrath of the guards I stopped my work for just a few seconds and watched the Dogs more carefully, staring at their paws and pickaxes as I felt the unseen speech... And then I saw it in the way their paws occasionally reached out and extended a claw to strike the chain that bound them, or the rock before them. I felt it in my hooves, through the earth itself when the Dogs rapped out a rhythm on the rock, disguising it as a nervous tick. My earth pony magic must resonate in some way with it, or I’d never have picked it up. It was just a quick series of clicks and raps, almost too fast to follow. It took me this long to see it, but now that I had it I knew what to look for, and desperately watched for signs of more. As the hours wore by and my teeth became sore and my eyes started to hurt from straining at the corners of my eyelids for so long, I discerned only one simple pattern that was repeated up and down the line. It came only when the Dogs were ready to make a simultaneous about-face to begin the next layer of digging: one tap followed by three quick ones, and two more slow taps. After being scored in the side once again by their claws on the next pass, I took a chance. One tap, three quick, two slow. The Dogs were halfway through the next cycle of digging, and a few of them stopped and looked up at me. I stared back and repeated the tap signal with the tip of my pickaxe. The Dogs growled, low and ominous. I backed up a step and looked at the guards, who were spectacularly uninterested in what was about to transpire. The Dogs leapt at me. A cold rush of terror filled my limbs with ice water. I leaped for the far side of the pit, didn’t move fast enough, and cried out as one of the Dogs caught me by the leg. His paw covered most of my limb and jerked me out of the air with just a twitch of his oversized arm. I crashed to the stone chin-first, painfully clicked my teeth, and looked up to see the Dogs closing in around me. I lifted my pickaxe and swung it in desperation, but one of the Dogs caught it and yanked it out of my mouth, nearly taking my teeth with it. And then he reared back, raising the pickaxe to drive it down into my skull. I rolled and yanked the chain around my neck as far as it would go. It snapped taut and my world exploded with pain. It was not the pain of the Dog’s pickaxe cracking my brain case open, but a sudden explosion across every nerve ending, like a million small red hot pokers jabbing me all at once. The electric shock traveled down the whole line, seizing the Dogs and making them convulse and drop to their knees. The Dog with my pickaxe raised the weapon again, and through a hazy cloud of agony I yanked the chain once more, even harder this time. More pain. A rod of agony shooting straight up my spine. The noise of the Dogs was almost drowned out by my own screaming. Almost. I just pulled all the tighter, daring the pain to get worse. And it did. It stopped when the guards charged in, bearing long poles with shock spells on the ends. They attacked us mercilessly until we were all shivering, whimpering balls on the floor, and announced that today’s workload was done. They descended on me and I prayed that I would be detached from their line and put back with the other ponies, but no such luck. The Dogs were herded back up the slope and dragged me behind them. The collar around my neck didn’t shock so much as choke now. I slid and bumped over the rocky ground, whimpering as it tore at my already scratched and bleeding hide, and soon I just closed my eyes and waited for it to stop. The floor I was being dragged over eventually changed from rock to metal, and there were more lights than there were in the caves. I opened my eyes, but I’d become so accustomed to the lack of light in the slave pits the new ones nearly blinded me. “Stupid fucking Dogs,” one of the guards herding us muttered. “I know. Can’t go five minutes without causing trouble. If they got into another feeding frenzy it would be hours before we can put ‘em back to work.” “You mean the stories are true?” “Damn right they are. Those claws aren’t good for just digging. They rip the flesh right off your bones. The bastards will even eat what they don’t tear to shreds. It’s why we got the muzzles on them. Ever since we tried domesticating them they just got worse.” “Damn... and this guy’s got to work with them?” “One thing about the Dogs: they’re stupid as the rock they mine, but the messes they make are an excellent motivator...” My trip ended with me on the cold, hard floor of a cage. My body was covered in burning lacerations and dirty open wounds, but I forced my eyes open anyway and looked around as the door to the cage slammed shut right in front of me. We had been deposited in a dark place with only a single sprite-light on the ceiling. It looked like the spare room of a train depot, with no real purpose than storage. Perhaps the Dogs were kept here so they could not dig through the floor? The chain on my neck snaked through the door and led to another cage at my side, preventing me from going more than a foot in any direction for how much slack was left over. At the end of the chain was a Diamond Dog, large and burly and yellow-eyed, glaring at me through the eye-holes of his muzzle. I sat down against the bars and sighed. The Dog’s paw shot out between the bars of his cage, reaching for my eyes. I jerked back again, sending another painful shock running through the entire line. I listened to the chorus of painful howls and whimpers, and the Dog who’d tried to rip my face off continued to glare at me with the wide-eyed, wild look of somepony who desperately wanted me dead. But he couldn’t reach me, and I couldn’t talk to him. I just had to hope that I could break through whatever mad hate the Dogs had for ponykind. My mind flew back to the first Diamond Dog I’d ever met, in a cage just like this one next to a bandit outpost. I’d helped him escape, and he’d run off into the tunnels to never be seen again. Did he have a home to go back to? Did these Dogs have a place of their own, like mine? A place they wanted to see again and the only thing keeping them from it was ponies? I wondered, too, if the Dog I freed would actually thank me for giving him a chance, or if he knew the ones trapped here. No such luck. I closed my eyes and a yellow mare shared my sad sigh. How I had come to hate the Metro. The Dogs were quiet for a time, and I noticed, as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, that this room had no guards. Apparently nopony had the patience or desire to stand around watching creatures too stupid to understand anything . And then I heard it. A quiet, gentle tapping that echoed through the room. And then again, another series of rapid taps from all along the line of cages. My ears perked as I listened to the quiet symphony, trying to catch on to whatever beats seemed to be repeated the most. At first, the noise was too quiet and too fast. I sat against the bars of my cage, waiting and listening, trying to quiet my breathing, determined to make sense of the gibberish. I just needed to catch a few strains—even one would do—and I could try again to open lines of communication. I reached out with my earth magic, letting the vibrations sort themselves out when they reached my hooves. I chose the first rhythm I heard and tapped it out with my hoof. The other taps stopped. I opened my eyes, trying to see the Dogs through the gloom, but all I could discern was the big one in the cage right next to mine. It glowered at me through its muzzle. In the darkness, I heard a few more series of slow, uncertain taps. My staring contest with the Dog opposite me went on. And then... Tap. Tap tap tap. Tap tap. The Dog watched me intently. Tap. Tap tap tap. Tap tap. The Dog reached up to the bars and held them tight, staring at me expectantly. It tilted its head and blinked, and in its curious eyes I saw what I’d seen in many ponies: a spark of real intelligence. What do you want? it seemed to be asking me. Why are you here? I pressed my face against the bars. “I want to help you,” I whispered. “I want to get us all out.” The Dog started tapping. ------------ Three more days. Three days of work and toil and stoic patience as the fruit of my labor eluded me. I didn’t see Sidewinder, nor had I found a way to contact him. I presumed that he was just delayed, refusing to think that he had abandoned me all over again. I hadn’t suffered the indignity of dying an ignominious death yet, so perhaps my luck would hold steady as long as I faced it with the same certainty as before. My eye was bruised and swollen, my entire body hurt all the time, and I was always hungry. A pony subsisted on a very precarious diet in the Metro, and the nutrients I so desperately needed weren’t to be found in the gruel they served us. Sooner I’d be nothing but skin and bones like the rest of the slaves. But my time wasn’t completely wasted. I spent my days in the Diamond Dog pit, and the guards wondered at my ability to stay alive with such “mindless beasts” as my caretakers. They had to keep up appearances and I went to sleep every night with angry red scratches on my skin, but it was a small price to pay for a better understanding of my cellmates. Through hours of instruction and little sleep, both hooves and arms flailing wildly as we tried to draw concepts in the air, I learned. My earth magic helped me, growing more familiar with the gentle vibrations and what they meant than my brain alone ever could. I figured my lockbox cutie mark had something to do with my keen memory which served me so well. I picked up the basics of their makeshift language quickly, learning how to say no, yes, and other small things. By the third day I was even able to talk to them while on duty, making short taps with my pickaxe before striking the rock as if I was searching for the right spot to hit. The big Dog whose cage was next to mine spoke to me most often, as my hooves had become the most familiar with his tappings’ idiosyncrasies. He had even taught me that he was a ‘he,’ and at least three other Dogs were female. I had no idea how to tell the difference, though. I also had no idea what his name was. The only response I got was ‘none’ and ‘don’t.’ Friendship wasn’t built in a day, I supposed. Friends outside, he told me on one workshift, speaking in fits and starts in between clawing at the rock. Come help. Me too, I answered. Wait long. Me too. Far. Why help why speak? Few friends. Want more. Want out. Help Dog. Dog no friend Pony. Help out. Will help? Will help. It would have to do. ----------- I was kicked into wakefulness on the morning of the fourth day. The guards hauled me from the cages and made me take my usual place at the end of the line of Dogs, and we started our walk to another day of backbreaking labor. More bad smells. More sad pony faces. More wondering if my plan had already failed miserably or not. Perhaps I felt ballsy. Perhaps I felt fatalistic. Perhaps I just didn’t care. But as we reached the pit, I spoke out again. “This place really hasn’t improved since we moved in. Maybe we need some floral curtains?” I got the expected baton to the back of the leg, and collapsed without a care in the world. The Dogs stopped so I didn’t yank the chain, and a guard stepped forward to haul me to my hooves. As I stood, I got a look at his face. Sidewinder grinned back at me from under his helmet. Then his face melted back into a scowl. “Get moving you piece of shit! Two levels up the ponies in east block are working much harder than you are and they don’t even have a way out!” My eyes widened, and I said nothing as he pushed me forward—notably with his hoof in my mane. I dared not look around or back as he vanished over my shoulder, waiting until we were back in the pit to find out what he had thrown into my mane. Masking the gesture as just scratching an itch, I reached back and found something solid. Without even waiting I pulled it out, dropping it on the stone floor. My heart skipped a beat. It was a key. I couldn’t suppress a smile. The revolution was going to happen now. But what about Sidewinder? He’d said... two levels up, in the eastern block. That must be where he’d been stockpiling the weapons! Celestia, was this really happening? Luna, could you see me from the afterlife and blessed my journey for me to have such good fortune? There would be no waiting. No wasting time. This happened now before the opportunity slipped away. I looked back at the Dogs, tap tapping out a signal to my big friend. Key. Take. The Dog didn’t even flinch. On the next pass as we danced our little dance of pretend hostility, I put the key in his path. Day end, I heard the reply. Kill guards. Countless strikes of the pick later, our shift ended. I heard the clink of chains, and then felt the weight of my collar loosen. The guards came down to herd us back to the cages. I felt excitement boiling in me as we tramped back up to the edge of the pit. It felt as though a sheet was lifting off my face and I saw everything for the first time; even in the dim light colors were vibrant and sounds were clear and beautiful to my ears. The endless hammering of picks and hammers was like a drumbeat counting down to action. The moment I stepped onto the platform one level above the pit, the Dogs struck. I had never understood why we had a lighter guard than the section with the ponies. Perhaps it was because of the idea that Dogs were stupider and needed less attention. They weren’t intelligent enough to escape, only to strike out at ponies when they got too close. Perhaps it was an oversight. Perhaps it was just a strange circumstance that worked in my favor. But on that day, I saw that whether or not the Dogs were stupid, they were more than capable of killing ponies. We were crowded together like always, the guards bored and confident with their guns and shock sticks. They had always stood just out of clawing range, knowing the Dogs were deterred by the shocking chain around their necks. But today the collars, unlocked during our work day in the pit with my key, just slipped off as the Dogs lunged. As one, they struck. I saw the guards’ eyes widen, their teeth tighten around the triggers of their war reins. Then the Dogs enveloped the faces of their chosen targets with their massive paws, and in dreadfully macabre silence, tore their throats out, broke their necks, or ripped their heads cleanly off with a twist and jerk of their bulging arms. Twenty-two Dogs. Twenty guards. No chance. None of the guards were even able to get a shot off. The levels above us weren’t alerted, and the Dogs suddenly turned to me. Their eyes were no longer dull and angry. Their claws had tasted the blood of their oppressors: ponies. They wanted more. I saw my big friend reach up and tear the muzzle from his mouth, and all his friends followed suit, spending a moment to stretch their jaws. His mouth opened, revealing jagged, yellowing teeth. He sucked in air, billowing his chest, and spoke. “Poooo-nyyyy.” I stared. “Lock-booooox.” I gulped down a lump of sheer terror building up in the back of my throat. “Friend.” I almost dropped onto my stomach with relief. The collar was slipped off my neck, and the Dogs turned to leave. I stopped them with a hoof on one of their shoulders. “Wait!” I said, struggling to pull on a flak vest and a war rein of my own. A Mule submachine gun was better than nothing. “The second level, the eastern section! That’s where Sidewinder said he’d meet me. He has more weapons and a way out!” I had already explained the plan via our tapping lines, and the Dogs only needed to give each other a glance before they agreed. I had just enough time to wonder how we were going to get past the other guards when the Dogs threw their paws into the wall and started digging straight into the bedrock. I gaped in amazement as the rock seemed to wash away before them, and had just enough time to register a guard calling out in alarm before my big friend picked me up and carried me into the newly-made tunnel as bullets skipped on the stone behind us. I didn’t have time to react as I was enveloped by darkness and the sound of cracking stone. Falling dust clogged my nostrils and I sneezed uproariously, prompting a chuckle from the Dog carrying me. In seconds we were dumped out into another tunnel, surrounded by ponies who were jumping up and screaming and shouting. The Dogs were already fanning out around me, and through the tangle of ponies scrambling out of their way I saw them jump on the nearest guards and bury their claws in their throats, tearing their heads from their shoulders with victorious shouts. The ponies screamed, unable to comprehend what was happening, and how could they? They didn’t know I sought their freedom. All they saw were monsters erupting from the ground and ripping into other ponies. Fortunately, they didn’t attack the Dogs themselves, just crawled over each other to get away from them and flooding into the tunnels where they clogged up the guards rushing to investigate. The Dogs calmly congregated at another wall to dig through once again. Over the melee I heard a voice calling my name, recognizing it as Sidewinder’s. “Over here! Over here!” I shouted back, and the Stalker pushed through the crowd to reach me, tearing his helmet off before the Dogs took his head. “Lockbox! Tell them to dig up one more level! From there we can reach an abandoned Metro tunnel and escape!” “I have to find Sixpence.” “Who?” “Sixpence! The pony who is responsible for all of this! He was on our digging team, do you know where they put him?” “There’s no time!” Sidewinder replied, pushing me into the tunnel the Dogs had made. I babbled a quick explanation that Sidewinder was my friend before they ripped him to shreds and we were off, again before the guards could regain their senses and attack. Damn it, damn it, damn it. I was going to leave my one source of answers behind! But I couldn’t have trusted him with the plan, nor could I have expected him to be right where I wanted. The Metro, it seemed, wanted me to wait for answers. We dug up another level as Sidewinder instructed, spilled into the next tunnel above. We stood and faced a Republic firing squad, crowding the width of the tunnel on both sides. A wall of guns pointed directly at us, closing off any escape. We froze, knowing any movement meant our deaths. The sounds of far-off confusion echoed, ghost-like, through the tunnel. The Warden stepped out from the crowd, fluttering his wings. He tried to mask it as a sign of bored contempt, but I knew it was the same agitation that all aging pegasi suffered from. At least I knew I’d ruffled his feathers before I died. “This is it?” he asked, staring at our motley crew. “This is the revolution I was told to expect? Just a bunch of Dogs trying to dig their way out through our lines?” He shook his head as though disappointed. “Sad, really. This won’t do for my report, no.” “Report?” I asked, feeling stupid for asking but unable to think of anything else to say. How had they known what we would do before we even did it? It made no sense! The Warden shook his head again, as if to chide me for my ignorance. “Look around you, pony. Look at what you’ve done. You wanted to escape, but your plan was so half-baked it failed before things even got interesting. Give up now and I’ll only shoot a few of you. The Dogs are good workers so we’ll spare most of them, but you have to go.” “Wait, wait, wait,” Sidewinder said, “this doesn’t make any sense. How are you here?” The Warden sighed sadly and looked around at the guards. “You see these ponies? They are loyal. I know this not only because of what I see, in how they watch over their fellow ponies and risk life and limb in these caverns, but because of what I feel.” He turned to me and tilted his head. “We learned the secrets of the heart, you see. That’s how Lucky Clover always knows what’s best. That’s how we learned that you were disloyal, right from the very beginning. It’s not about what you do or don’t do, it’s about what’s in here.” The Warden pointed to his own heart. “In old Equestria there was magic that allowed a pony to see into the heart of other creatures and discern how they really felt about others. Lucky Clover was lucky enough to come into the possession of a tome that studied that exact field.” “What then?” I asked him. “You spy on ponies’ hearts? You tap into their feelings and control them?” “Not control them. Guide them. Lucky Clover is our leader because she unlocked ponydom’s greatest secret: that we all do what we do from the corruption or goodness of our hearts. It all comes from there, you see. And that is why we must keep such a tight rein on them.” He closed his eyes for just a moment. When he opened them again, they glowed a sickly neon green. “There is nothing more dangerous than a pony with his heart in the wrong place, and you, my friends... have always had your hearts in the wrong place.” He gestured with his wing, and from the crowd of guards Triton stepped forward. His cracked horn glowed with the same color as the Warden’s eyes. The Warden stared straight at me, and all at once I felt a terrible pull from inside my eye sockets, as though a hook had been stabbed into my skull and yanked my attention towards him. The Warden stepped forward, and even the Dogs took a collective step back. “There were monsters that plagued ponykind even in the days of Equestria’s apex. They fed upon ponies and the love they shared for each other, using subterfuge and mind control to achieve their vicious ends. Though they are gone, their magic survives. It has been repurposed like so many other things for the betterment of the Republic, and thus, the Metro. And with it, the one you called Sidewinder could not hide his intentions from us. All is given to the service of Harmony... even the minds of our enemies.” His strange gaze continued to bore into me, and I felt something like tendrils worming their way into my mind. I set my hooves in the ground and dared him to reach further. “You, Sidewinder, were easy to spot. As were you, Lockbox. Neither of you loved the Republic. Neither of you lost the love you had for everything else like a pony must do to become loyal to true Harmony.I had you pegged the moment you arrived. And... you, Lockbox...” His stare did not abate. I leaned forward, pushing against the strange mind magic with the power of the earth, planting myself in the confidence I had in my mission and the friends I had with me. Incidental friends, but friends nonetheless. The Warden kept coming, and the pressure on my eyes increased and a whining grew in my ears, pressing in on my skull from all sides. It told me to break, to bow, to grovel and beg for forgiveness. The Warden seemed to glow, a vision of beauty that demanded subservience. But I did not move. The Earth does not move. It remains. The Warden was just a foot away now, in striking distance. The whining was now a long, sustained screech that scraped at my skull. My head felt like it was going to explode. I felt blood trickle out of my nose, I shivered on my hooves, and my vision tunneled. But I did not move. At last the Warden stopped, looking confused. He shook his head as if to clear it of dizziness, and I knew I’d won. The moment he stepped away the pressure lessened, and the screeching abruptly stopped. “Triton, come forward.” Triton stepped up next to the Warden, looking proud of himself. “It was he,” the Warden said, “who discovered your true nature in the days following your capture. Something is very, very wrong with you, Lockbox. Something that will be of great interest to the Republic; perhaps even Lucky Clover herself. You have no love for us. Your love is... what is that I felt? Something bigger. Broader. You love ponies. You love home, and the past, and big ideas. Ideas like that have no place in the Republic. But there is more than that, something that prevents your mind from being confined to the tunnels of the Metro. You are very dangerous, Lockbox, and good Triton found you out. As such, he and his cohorts will be rewarded for their loyal service and become full-fledged citizens and soldiers for our great nation, to replenish the numbers taken when the Dogs broke loose. You, however, will be given over to Special Intelligence.” I felt vibrations through my hooves. It was not a tapping. It was a long, sustained crrrrack that worked its way through the ground and over my head. I stayed quiet as the Warden kept talking about how loyal citizens could still be found even in these dark times. I wanted to rip his tongue out. The entire Republic was a gulag and recruiting center, existing only to beat ponies down to build them back up as fanatical zealots for their cause, and the strange, monstrous magic the Warden mentioned was the key to keeping them all in line. No wonder they got so many ponies to die for them in their suicide charges. “Now, it has been amply demonstrated that you never had a chance of success. We let you have your moment of freedom to show the rest of the prisoners that trying to escape means failure. You are surrounded with no way out. Surrender at once.” A vicious rumbling came from the Dog behind me as he bared his teeth. The crackling I felt through my hooves was very close now. “Pooo-nyyy,” he snarled, “pooo-nyyy dieee!” “I thought you’d say that. Gun crews, prepare to—” The ceiling collapsed atop him. From the newly-opened fissure poured a river of Diamond Dogs. Their bulky bodies swarmed over the disoriented guards and immediately set about eviscerating whatever they could catch. Before I blinked, the Dogs behind me turned on the guards behind us and leaped on them. The entire tunnel became a melee of wailing ponies and the Dogs that preyed on them. Gore flew in every direction as what few ponies that could opened fire, cutting down whatever got close—but it was too little too late. The Dogs were too numerous and too strong. I saw one take a shotgun blast to the gut and continue on to drive its claws into its attacker’s eye sockets before tearing the pony’s head from her shoulders with a clean twist and jerk. I stood in the middle of the riot, looking back and forth for a way out. Something smacked into my face and flopped to the ground. It was Triton’s head. I looked up and saw the Warden had gathered two or three ponies to him and used them as meat shields as they ran from the battle, down another tunnel. I knew, then, what I had to do. I charged after them, watching the Warden’s guards die one by one as I slipped under the flailing paws of the Dogs, who seemed to take some sick satisfaction from the slaughter as they ripped open earth pony and unicorn alike with their bare hands. The crackle of spells and gunfire dropped off sharply until it was all drowned out by the braying of the Dogs. “Lockbox!” I heard Sidewinder call behind me, but I didn’t heed him. All that mattered was the Warden and all he represented. I saw his tail disappear around a corner and I charged after him. Though he took wing I kept pace as he was constantly forced to slow down and make hairpin turns. I opened fire with my Mule, but the constant jostling from my sustained gallop kept me from scoring a clean hit. I saw the Warden glance back only once, his eyes full of hate, and then he pushed on. If he tried to turn and shoot me, he knew I’d have him. We burst through a door into a tunnel lined with concrete and wires—a tunnel of the Metro. The Warden spun and juked as he raced down the straightaway, angling towards the bright lights of some room further ahead. My bullets chased him, and just before he landed I saw a dark spurt of blood erupt from his shoulder as he crashed into the door, shouting something unintelligible. I ran in after him, heedless of danger. Bloodlust drove me now. An overwhelming need to find the Warden and crush him, as if he was the symbol of the Republic itself and killing him would end the entire institution. Bursting through the door I leveled my Mule at his back while he hunched over a console covered in buttons and lights, shouting into what looked like an intercom. I stopped short when I saw the other two guards in the room. There was a blinding flash. I heard the ear-splitting boom of a gun going off in a small space. I felt the slight sting and harsh thud of something small yet powerful impacting with my chest, drilling through my body armor made more for quelling riots than stopping bullets. Stars exploded in my eyes, and then all I saw was red. When my vision cleared, I saw the barrel of a gun filling my vision, getting closer as the guard wielding it pushed it up against my skull. My helmet and war reins were gone, tossed away. Everything hurt, but I felt the worst in my chest, which I was sure had a hole in it. My front leg wouldn’t move. Lifting my head to meet the gun aiming between my eyes nearly made me faint with dizziness. I realized I was in shock, and because of my foolishness I was about to be executed, right here on the floor. There was a muffled shout and the gun lifted from my head. A pegasus barreled into the room, skinny and green and not the Warden or Sunny Side. One of the guards opened his mouth just in time to receive the sharp end of the pickaxe that went into his throat and out the back of his neck. I watched, dazed and almost enchanted, as the guard fell in slow motion and the pegasus leapt on the other guard, bearing him to the ground with unnatural strength, pounding on his face like an animal. I heard words, muffled and indistinct like cotton was in my ears. They were coming from the pegasus as he tore the guard’s helmet and war reins off, grabbed him by the cheeks, and viciously hammered his skull against the ground. “Show me the Sun!” he screamed, even as the guard’s eyes went dark. “Show me the Sun! Where is she?!” There were three more deafening booms. The pegasus’ body jerked and three holes appeared in his chest and belly. It was only then, when his face contorted in pain and fear, that my brain caught up with reality and realized it was my acquaintance Rocket. The Warden stood behind him, a smoking pistol in his war rein. I had to move. I pushed one leg underneath me. Rocket twisted around and leapt at the Warden, who fired the rest of his bullets into the other pegasus. Rocket didn’t seem to notice or care, begging to see the Sun one last time. He collapsed against the Warden and slumped into a chair just as I got back on my hooves. The Warden gave Rocket a contemptuous sniff and turned back to the intercom, speaking into it. I reached down, down into the earth, feeling my magic work into the dirt like roots, sucking up strength to overcome the pain and confusion that wracked my mind. The same overwhelming awareness of the world that overtook me in my battle against the Hydra made me keenly aware of the gaping wounds in my body that should have destroyed me. A normal pony would have blacked out already. But I had accepted that I was not a normal pony, and a normal pony did not have the whole Earth pushing them up. Wordlessly, I grabbed the pickaxe from the nearby guard’s corpse and plucked it out as easily as a dart from a board. The Warden was still talking, and only the scrape of the pickaxe and my shuffling hooves drew his attention. He hadn’t even finished his sentence by the time he turned to face me, eyes widening in shock and surprise. Ever since I heard him start talking, I wanted to shut him up. And then, with a single swing of my working leg, I did. I imagined more than heard the wet, meaty sound of the axe point driving into his head, disappearing into his brain like the intervening flesh and bone weren’t even there. It was so much easier than striking rocks. Funny, that. I noted with satisfaction the two black little dots his eyes became at the point of death, unable to believe I had actually done it. His body twitched like a bug’s when I shoved it out of the way, looking down at the console. The room overlooked a large section of the pit, and by extension the entire mine prison. The intercom, I suspected, would carry my voice through most of the facility. I felt Rocket’s hoof on mine. I hobbled around to face him, ignoring the pain. “Take me home,” he said. “Take me to the sky. Won’t you? Please?” I reached out with my injured leg and put a bloody hoof around the back of his head, gently stroking his mane. A whisper passed my lips. I couldn’t even be sure if he heard it. “I will, Rocket. I promise.” Then Rocket died, his eyes full of confusion and wonder. On a whim I reached down and plucked a feather from Rocket’s wing, sticking it in my mane. I then released him and turned back to the intercom, putting my hoof on the transmit button. It slipped a few times, being so slick with my own blood. Goodness, it was everywhere. “Ponies of the Metro,” I said, my words slurring together like a drunkard. “the Warden and many of his guards are dead. Diamond Dogs have penetrated the prison. The magic the Warden used to control you is gone. If you wish to be free, now is your time. Now is your time to say to the Republic that if they want to kill you, they will kill ponies. Not workers or slaves or whatever they want to confine your small life into. We don’t have much of a life here in the Metro. But they are our lives. And damn anypony who will take that from us. Forget the speeches of Harmony and peace. The Republic lies about these things. Take back what will truly bring our world back. Yourselves. This is our one chance at freedom, and however we die after this day, it will be because we made the choices that led us there, nopony else. Take back your lives. Be free.” I staggered away from the console, and already heard the angry shouts and gunshots of a world gone mad. So it was true. Everything I’d theorized was correct. Without the Warden’s presence, whatever magic he wielded was disrupted just long enough for the ponies in the mines to unleash the anger and indignation he had suppressed. A full scale rebellion was breaking out, just like I wanted. It was only then I realized what I’d done. I was surrounded by dead ponies all over again. How many would die as a direct result of this? How many would spend their few moments of freedom clawing their way out, dying at the hooves of the guards, or at the claws of whatever monsters awaited those who made it to the Metro itself? What real difference did any of this make, apart from the number of bodies it took to get from one point to another? I turned away, shaking my head as a gentle yellow pony reached out to help me, her eyes full of tears. I’m sorry, so sorry. I can’t be as pure as you. I can’t be as kind. This world is not yours. It is mine, and it is full of death. My world spun and twisted, and I collapsed to the ground. Instead of my dream mare coming to my rescue again, I saw the square jaw of a Diamond Dog, moving as it grumbled out words. “Pooo-nyyy friend. Dyyyyyinnng.” I coughed up blood, adding to the formidable collection on my clothes. “So... so many ponies... dying,” I rasped. "Can't it be over?" The Dog shook its head, and I couldn’t tell if it pitied or mocked me. “The War is never over, pony," it rumbled, "not for us." It picked me up in its paws like a foal. I gave myself to darkness.

redsquirrel456

446

Original Character,Crossover,Adventure,Dark,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

My Little Metro

After Doomsday forces ponies underground, a lone colt braves the Stalliongrad metro system to save his people from an unknown threat.

hiatus

<p>The Metro tunnels of Stalliongrad shelter the last remnants of ponykind from the ravages of the Apocalypse. Beneath the earth, ponies struggle to survive against mutants, radiation, and each other. But when an unstoppable threat emerges from the darkness of the Metro, one pony must brave the shadows to save not just his home, but the very existence of his people.</p>

teen

2014-06-05T01:52:54+00:00

2014-06-05T23:35:41+00:00

My Little Metro: Chapter 18 “There's only one thing that can save a pony from madness, and that's uncertainty.” I remembered a time when I was younger, seventeen or so, that I was assigned to help with the watch at the western entrance to our station. It was a quiet post with nothing but riff-raff and the occasional wandering lurker or nosalis to worry about—nothing like the southern tunnel where we got all the traffic from Draft and the Ring. I trudged down the tunnel towards the five hundred meter mark, eyes on the small fire that sputtered and coughed in the middle of the blackness. Usually the guard here just sat around playing cards and drinking, but I’d been stuck with the job of courier, carrying messages back and forth between guard posts to make sure the outer checkpoints hadn’t been overrun. I drew closer to the fire and saw the shadows hunched over it. They rose up along the curve of the tunnel wall, twice as tall as the ponies that cast them, wavering and undulating like macabre dancers over the guttering flame. I heard voices, muddled and quiet, as the guards discussed what recipes they should use in the next mushroom stew or which filly would finally start paying attention to them. “Ho, five hundred meter mark!” I called when I was several yards distant. The sound echoed up and down the tunnel, and I realized how hoarse and quiet I was. It wasn’t that I was scared of attracting mutants; they always came towards the fires, towards the scent of living ponies. I just didn’t like making a lot of noise. My voice was familiar to the guards by now, and only a few faces turned up to look at me; gaunt, bored, and relieved they had new company. There were seven ponies all told, and they shuffled out of the way as I entered their circle. “Lockbox, welcome,” said a big bearded earth pony with a cigar in his mouth, named Lightskipper. He’d won the cigar as a prize from some other poor sucker from Draft who was foolish enough to bet with it after buying it from Hoofsa. He didn’t light it, just chewed on it so he could savor the triumph. “Sit down and have a drink. We have a little ‘shroom vodka left.” “Any news from the station? Is our shift done?” asked a skinny unicorn named Stopgap. He sat closest to the fire, shivering under his thick jacket. “Still a few hours to go,” I lamented, sitting down next to another earth pony I didn’t recognize. He scooted over to make room at the fire and then spoke up, continuing some line of thought my arrival had interrupted. “So, in any case, I don’t think anypony knows what really happened at Eriskay station.” “You’re fooling yourself, Undercarriage,” said Lightskipper. “We sit on the ass-end of nowhere up here. All the news we get is nothing but stories and tales of drunkards.” “Why?” I asked. “What did happen?” Undercarriage brightened up and words started tumbling from his mouth; apparently he was excited to retell the story since Lightskipper had brushed him off. “Well, Eriskay Station, that’s further to the west, right? About as far north as us. And you know it’s a maze from here to there, with a whole tunnel line in the way before you get onto Eriskay’s tracks. But apparently they’ve been getting problems with some new creature that attacked them from the surface. At least that’s what Kerrybog Station said.” “And why is Kerrybog saying all of this?” I wondered. “Because Eriskay’s been totally wiped out!” Undercarriage said, leaning forward, his eyes wide like some superstitious madpony. “There’s over three hundred ponies living in Eriskay,” Stopgap said with another shiver either from cold or fear, “there’s no way the entire station could be massacred like that. I think somepony from Kerrybog is lying.” “Oh sure, because nopony from Eriskay can be bothered to give us some information,” countered Undercarriage. “So what happened?” I asked, growing impatient. Lightskipper rolled his eyes. Undercarriage smiled. “Well, Eriskay is near the end of their line, right? And one day, they started noticing some strange things going on. Rats and lurkers were leaving the area. Some of them just charged right into the station, blind with fear or courage. And they’re all coming from the north, like something was driving them. So Eriskay decides there’s going to be something coming down the tunnel, and strengthens the guard to see to the problem. But then, just a day or two later, the guards at the furthest checkpoint just vanish. I don’t mean they abandoned camp, I mean everything is just gone! No sandbags, no machine guns, no evidence that there was ever anything but a big, dark tunnel. So they figure maybe all the ponies just deserted? And they set up another checkpoint, closer to the station this time. Two days later, the same damn thing: no guns, no ponies, no fires. They just vanish into thin air when nopony’s looking. So this Stalker is hired to go and investigate, because those crazy devils will do anything for a few bullets. And he comes back, but he doesn’t say anything. The poor bastard’s been traumatized, and he just wanders on back through Eriskay, pale as a ghost and just as silent. They hold him for questioning but he won’t answer, so they let him go.” “Oh, here it comes,” groaned Lightskipper. Undercarriage grinned and scooted a bit closer to me, like a colt sharing a childhood secret. “They sent a message to Kerrybog, saying that they were fortifying the entrance to their station and to expect a distress call. And a few ponies abandon Eriskay, the lucky bastards. But then nopony else ever comes. No alarm, no messages. Kerrybog sent fifty armed ponies to investigate, and the entire station is just like the guard posts! No tents, no houses, no toys, no ponies. All just a dark, empty station now. It’s like they all just got up and left, and were kind enough to clean up after themselves! So now Kerrybog is freaking out. They can’t blow the tunnel, since it would cause structural integrity problems we’d all have to deal with. So they seal the hydraulic doors they got to the northern entrance of their station, pack the whole doorway with sandbags, machine guns, ponies guarding it twenty-four seven... and they wait. For what? Nopony knows. All they know is they’re too scared shitless to even think of opening that door again.” “Don’t listen to him, Lockbox,” muttered a mare to my right. “Undercarriage likes to scare himself with ghost stories. What’s really happening is there’s some trouble at Eriskay and everypony’s just freaking out about it like usual.” “Don’t be so sure, Jonagold,” Undercarriage replied with a cagey grin. “Maybe it’s the Sandpony come to get everypony!” “Stupid, he only comes in your sleep,” Stopgap muttered. “And you’re not supposed to say his name! That’s when he gets you. I mean, I’m not superstitious, but what if it is true? There’s some pretty weird shit going on these days.” “All of you shut up,” Lightskipper said, his booming voice carrying through the tunnel. “We’re here to be on watch, not to try and make each other piss our barrels.” The conversation died down after that. We drank the last of our vodka to steel our nerves, listening to the distant groans and creaks of the Metro, the comforting whispers of noise that reached us from guardposts further back. For a while, there was just that, enjoying each other’s company, murmuring about this, that, or some other thing. I liked being on guard duty this far out. Out here nopony treated me differently because of my status as the son of Cinder Block. I didn’t feel any more important than these ponies because of my birth. Then came a noise none of us knew: a scuttling sound, and then the noise of our alarm glyphs being tripped. A loud bang and a flash at the six-hundredth meter! Stopgap stood up straight, his horn glowing, trying to read the magical message contained in the explosion. We followed suit, slapping on our war reins, placing the rough triggers in our mouths and pointing flashlights and machine guns down the tunnel. My heart raced as I imagined all kinds of horrors rushing at us from the darkness. “What the hell was it, Stopgap?” Lightskipper whispered. “Big enough to trip three glyphs at once,” Stopgap hissed back. “Shit, either one big thing or a bunch of little things, I can’t be sure. They aren’t coming closer though, or they’d have tripped the other alarms.” “Lockbox,” Lightskipper grunted over his gun’s trigger, “get back to the two-hundred-fifty meter and tell them the alarms went off. We need reinforcements if it’s the fucking nosalises again.” I didn’t need a second bidding. I turned tail and bolted down the tunnel, probably causing as much noise as the monsters we feared. When I saw the lights of the next checkpoint, this one bristling with a spotlight and a machine gun already pointed my way, I shouted. “Ho! Two-fiftieth! The alarm glyphs were tripped! We need help!” I was ashamed of how scared I sounded, but I’d barely seen two real engagements. I still hadn’t gotten over the fear of combat. But something happened the way I didn’t remember it. When I reached the two-hundred-fifty meter checkpoint, I saw the spotlight didn’t turn to match my movements. I didn’t see any shadows of hunched guardponies ready to kill. I didn’t see anypony at all. I dashed up onto the trolley holding the spotlight and shouted for somepony to answer. There was nothing. Not a single guard waited at their post, nor was there even evidence of their coming and going. Just an empty trolley and a machine gun, waiting for nopony. An irrational fear tore through me; the terror of Eriskay had come to Exiperia! I shook my head, trying to get over the strange feelings. This wasn’t happening the way I remembered. It was all wrong. This never happened to my station... my shift had ended without any incident that day... I heard a keening wail float down the tunnel from the direction of the five-hundred meter mark, sorrowful and loud like a funeral dirge. I jumped on the machine gun, peering into the bright circle provided by the spotlight. “Hello?!” I shouted at the top of my lungs, peering through the iron sights. “Who’s there? Password! Show yourself! I—I have a gun! I’ll shoot you!” The wailing just grew louder, and I discerned it was not just one noise, but a thousand of them. A whole mob of throats singing that thin, disconcerting shriek, the noise of the damned howling as they sunk into Tartarus. My grip on the machine gun trigger tightened. The wailing just got louder, a million voices tearing into my skull from all angles, louder and louder until I heard nothing but the wailing; it was my world, my purpose. Then I saw flashes of light in front of my eyes and realized the gun was shooting and I couldn’t take my hoof off the trigger, and then monsters flew at me from the shadows. I didn’t even see what they were, didn’t care, my imagination ran away from me and all I saw was a boiling mass of shrieking, gibbering madness and death. I fired into the mob and my throat felt raw, and that was when I realized I was screaming right along with the other voices of the damned until we were one horrible chorus. Monsters fell in clumps, but there were too many, even as I fired until the machine gun barrel grew red-hot. Then something jumped on me and shoved me back, and I kept screaming, screaming, don’t stop screaming, don’t stop shooting, stab stab stab until the job is done I grabbed something solid and screamed as I shoved its head to the dirt and screamed while it screamed I drew my hoof knife and screamed as I shoved the blade into its screaming skull looked for the soft bits and stabbed them stabbed until the blood was all over me and stab it again make sure it stops moving and... And I saw Stopgap, looking up at me with an expression of horror, one eye skewed out of alignment from the knife plunged into the side of his head. No more screaming. No more noise at all. I pulled my hoof away, letting the body drop. I looked up and saw the rest of my comrades seated around the fire, dead, dead, riddled with bullets and gushing knife wounds. I looked down and blood was on my hooves, all over Stopgap’s face, all over my jacket and oh Celestia it was in my eyes, get it out, get it out— I fell to my haunches, blanked out from the horror. I felt a wave of nausea and realized there were more bodies, all of them gruesomely dead. I saw Hunter, his head just barely attached to his body, I saw my father with his hooves crossed peacefully over his chest, there was poor, poor Starry Gaze scattered in pieces all over the ground, I’m sorry I didn’t like you back, I’ll come home and make it better, I promise— I saw Sunny Side, just sitting there with a blank stare and a vacant smile, looking up. I followed his gaze. Ray Drop stared back at me as she dangled from the ceiling, torn to shreds, dripping blood from that one little hole in her head— “No,” I whispered, squeezing my head between my hooves. “No, no, please! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I had to, I had to, I had to!” The blood dribbled down into a pool, covering my hooves, and then flowed up, forming long legs that stretched up and up over me, a bulky torso with wings that stretched out and out, and over all a long, graceful neck. Then came the horn that graced its head, sharp and beautiful like an executioner’s axe. Charnel eyes, swirling with red and orange and white, staring down from an impassive face. “Please,” I whispered. “Please.” This one does not understand He sees only death A horrible, eyeless face, a mushroom cloud, screaming, fire, running, bleeding, stabbing and ripping and tearing— They cannot be saved Cannot be stopped Flashes of great engines of war, dragons scorching the sky, armies marching and dissolving before each other— He must See He must understand But he cannot Will not Stop him Save him Help him Destroy him Find him find us find Truth Must Save Life I reached up for the towering figure, beautiful and abhorrent, my savior, my murderer, my Princess and Dark One. It reached out with a hoof and touched it to mine. It vanished, and I was alone. “Lockbox,” Sweet Dreams crooned sing-song in my ear right before she bit into it, ripping it from my skull. She turned me to face her and I beheld her empty eye sockets, swallowing me like a Metro tunnel as she grinned, gnashing my ear between her teeth. “Lockbox,” she said, and enveloped my muzzle with a gruesome kiss, forcing her tongue into my mouth along with my own blood and gristle. “Lockbox,” she whispered. “Lockbox.” --------------- Pain was the first thing I noticed. At least it meant I wasn’t dead. I felt wrong, as if there was something I needed to do but hadn’t done yet. I stirred in the grip of something warm and soft, and when I tried to lift my legs I found them weak and unresponsive. I felt as if the entire world was made of jelly, from the air around me to the brain between my ears. My thoughts were sluggish and imbalanced, reeling back and forth between extreme apathy and the throbbing, pulsing need to get up and do something. A war raged in my mind between my need to rest and my need to get up and continue my mission. I felt as if I needed a winch and pulley to draw my eyes open, and when they did, I saw only a faint glimmer from a dying sprite-light not far off. My eyes rolled in their sockets, taking in the stone ceiling, the mattress beneath me, and the heavy blanket on top of me. My leg and chest simmered with old aches and pains. My ribs were in need of attention, calling back to the time I’d broken them when I fell out of the moving cart outside Draft station. My leg was swollen and slow to respond. Every breath hurt. I tried to speak but my throat was too parched. Why did everything feel so wrong? “Hello?” I asked, listening to my dry voice crackle through the empty room. “Is somepony there?” No answer. I tried to roll over, turning myself towards the sprite-light, and was wracked with a raging headache, but I’d suffered worse than that by now. I pushed my hooves under myself and stood up. Immediately my strength faltered and I dropped onto my stomach. My breath squeaked as it was forced from my lungs. “Water,” I croaked just before my vision fell on a nearby pitcher. I crawled over to it and dunked the end of my muzzle in the lukewarm liquid within, lapping it up greedily as I waited for the dizziness and pain to subside. “Not so fast,” said a familiar voice, though it was tinny and muffled, “you don’t want to make yourself sick and throw it all up again.” I pulled my mouth from the pitcher, dribbling spit and water on the stone floor. I looked to a darkened corner of the room, and saw a hooded pony wearing heavy clothes step forward. Their face was shrouded—no, covered by a gasmask. The reflection of the sprite-light on the visor of their mask created a strange, illuminating effect, where it seemed their face was glowing. “Nopony,” I muttered, feeling like my tongue was two sizes too big for my mouth. Somehow, I didn’t feel surprised at all. I supposed I was just becoming inured to the strangeness of the Metro. “I was wondering when I’d see you again. Have you been watching me all this time and I just didn’t know you were there?” “Maybe,” he answered, and I thought he must be smirking under that mask of his. “Maybe I’m just a hallucination caused by the stress of living in the Metro. Maybe all of this is in your head, and you’re wasting away on a cot in Exiperia, dreaming of a journey to save your world from the Dark Ones.” He slinked forward, extending a hoof to me. On it rested a can of preserved food. “Or maybe,” he whispered, “you just got incredibly lucky and you’re actually being hidden away in a cave outside a Republic station, waiting for your body to heal so you can get moving again.” “Which is it?” I grumbled, taking the can and peeling back the top. Inside was a yellow mealy lump that tasted grainy and salty when I bit into it. But it was better than nothing, and certainly better than the spit-thin gruel I’d gotten in the slave pits. “All that matters is that it’s happening to you, real or not,” Nopony answered. “Now I suppose you’re wondering how it is you’re still alive.” “Among other things,” I said through a mouthful of “food.” Is this what old Equestrians thought of as preserved goods? We must have been worse off than I thought. “You are here because a confluence of events conspired to make your escape from the Republic slave pits possible. You engineered your little revolution just at the same time a force of Diamond Dogs was digging through the tunnels to free their fellows. That tapping you noticed did the trick. Diamond Dogs feel the earth just as well, if not better, than an earth pony. They are able to send long-distance messages through that sensitivity. When you came, the imprisoned Dogs realized they might have somepony smart enough to help them, and sent the signal to their brethren that the time to strike had come. You helped them get revenge for a great many grievances, Lockbox.” “And got a lot of ponies killed doing it,” I added. “I didn’t want to kill anypony, Republic or Dog or whoever. I just ended up having to, or I’d be dead myself. I am a killer now, I can see that. It’s what the Metro has reduced us to. I’ll never be able to make up for all the death I’ve caused. Even the first one… even that was too much. Even if I stop the Dark Ones they’ll all still be dead.” “It is a very wise thing,” Nopony replied, “to see that no amount of right will take a wrong away, and no amount of wrongs will justify another.” “Did you come to lecture me then? And how do you know everything that happened, anyway? How did you know all of this, or even where to find me? Are you one of those monsters I’m supposed to See? Are you here because I’m a Shadow Walker or whatever those cultists called me?” Nopony leaned back and put a hoof to his chest, comically affronted. “Nonsense! Perhaps all you’ve been through is making you delusional. I’m not some creepy creature of the dark come to steal your soul.” “Then how do you know everything?” I snapped. Nopony pointed off to the side. “Because he told me all about it.” I turned around and saw a Diamond Dog hunched in the entrance to the small cave. “Pony,” it rasped in that strange, high-pitched warble. “Friend. Lockbox.” I blinked. “I’m sorry,” I muttered, suddenly sheepish. “I don’t really know you.” “I am Clef,” the Dog said with a little bow. “I remember you. Set me free from the cage, many days ago. Let me rejoin my pack.” “Pfft,” I said, and the memories, such as they were, came rushing back. A Dog in a cage, me making the hasty decision to set him free, and then Ruby Red coming down a hallway to kill us all. Strange that I’d meet the very same wretched creature from back then here and now. “So you’re the first Dog I ever met in the Metro?” “We killed maaany bandits together, pony friend,” the Dog said with an eager, toothy grin. “Saved maaany poniiieees.” I scoffed. “I haven’t saved anypony yet.” “Saved me. Saved my pack,” Clef pressed, stepping forward. “You are a friend of Diamond Dogs, like the masked pony!” “I’m a friend of nothing!” I snapped, anger rising up out of nowhere, striking out like a snake. “Do you understand? You and your Dogs ran in there and slaughtered everypony like… like pigs! And I led you there! I made it happen! Everything that’s happened so far… I’m at the center of it! And I’m sick of it. I’m sick to death of it.” Clef was silent as I glared up at him, focusing the anger and guilt that swirled inside me into my voice. “I helped you because it was convenient. I helped your pack get loose because I was angry. I don’t know why I’m alive. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I’m sick of all this, do you hear me? Don’t say anything about me being your friend, because we aren’t friends and I’m not a hero.” Clef retreated a step as I dropped onto my stomach. My outburst had drained what little strength I’d recovered and I felt a chill wash over me. “I’m not,” I grunted, whacking the stone with my hoof. “I’m not.” It was silent for a time. I looked up at Nopony, who stared back at me in silence. I turned back to Clef, who watched me with his beady yellow eyes. “Still,” he said, “thank you.” “You’re welcome,” I muttered. “So what now?” “I have told the Diamond Dogs of your journey,” said Nopony, “and they are willing to help. Don’t despair yet, Lockbox. There’s still a mission to complete, and you may not believe it but your revolution in the Republic slave pits actually helped you get back on track.” He stepped forward, pulling out a familiar sheet of paper. “Remember this?” I looked down at it. A map of the Metro, covered in scribbles and notes, stared back. My blood went cold. Symbols and pictures swirled in front of me, whispers of codes and safehouses and ancient secrets and everything was too much to look at but I snatched it out of Nopony’s hooves and looked closer, closer, drinking deep of the knowledge it wanted to give me. “A Guide,” I whispered reverently. “Your Guide,” Nopony whispered back. I looked up at him in awe. “How did you get this?” “The same way I got all of your things,” the strange pony replied. “With a little luck, and a little help.” He nodded at Clef, who dropped a duffel bag at my hooves. Out of it spilled a little mess of equipment. Along with a little green stone, a screw, and the clear, young, happy face of Ray Drop. I picked those up and held them tightly to my chest. I remembered the way Brick’s voice sounded before he threw himself in the generator. I remembered Ray Drop’s face, not the bloody mess it ended as but the smiling one I saw in the picture. Then I remembered Sunny Side, and Starry Gaze, and my father. My father… It all came rushing back to me. The idealistic hope I’d felt at the start of all this. My hero-worship of Hunter and the Rangers. I thought of my little room, and the Wall, and all the pictures that dotted its face. I thought of a yellow pegasus beckoning me on, and a vision of a green Equestria with ponies who danced on ice and weren’t afraid to see the Sun or the Moon. I thought of the anger ripping me apart inside and the pain of so much death weighing on my conscience, stripping away everything until there remained only the stubborn will to go on, if only to not give death the satisfaction of having me. Everything I used to be was gone. All I was now was wrapped up in those little trinkets and pictures, and the memories they represented. I touched my cutie mark, and realized that even if I didn’t honor the lives of those who had passed, their memory remained. Safe in these pictures and baubles I collected, there lay proof of who they were and what they’d done. That was why I kept going. I was the last repository for those sacred thoughts. Even if I turned away from my path, I had to keep the memory safe. I had to keep them alive. I had to save the Metro from utter destruction, even if it was only to pass on those memories to another. I shook my head, waiting for the hot tears pricking the corners of my eyes to spill out. They didn’t, and I wasn’t sure if I was glad for that. “I’m so tired,” I whispered. “And yet you have a strange destiny ahead to fulfill,” Nopony answered. “You aren’t going to give up, Lockbox. For good or ill, you know you must press on. It’s not in ponies like you to give up.” “Maybe I should,” I answered. “Maybe if I knew when to stop I’d actually save a pony.” Nopony didn’t answer. “We will help,” Clef said, thumping his chest with his oversized paw. “After we are born, we all go towards death. But with friends the road is made easier.” “All right,” I said, wiping my eyes and putting my equipment back on. “All right. Where’s Sidewinder?” “Right where we left him,” replied Nopony. “Come! I’ll take you to him.” ---------------- I’d been dragged into the side passages just outside Narym Station, on the northwest border of the Republic. Though officially held by the Republic, the populace owed its existence to the Guild of Magic. Narym Station was famously the last station of an alliance of three others, which had all perished in the early years of the Metro due to cave-ins, plague, and mutants. The Guild of Magic came and secured it with their knowledge of the Old World’s secrets, installing a permanent base inside the station. Narym hailed them as saviors and gave them free reign. This gave Narym an unspoken guarantee of independence, never to be fully put under another station’s boot so long as the Guild of Magic influenced its comings and goings. It was in the Guild’s interest to stay independent, so many smaller stations welcomed them with open hooves to help in that endeavor. Twilight Sparkle’s cutie mark glared down at me from every corner, reminding me that her followers in the Guild were always watching. This was one reason I could walk without fear in the sight of Republic troops who lined the halls and crowded the tavern. The other reason was that I knew all the Republic ponies who saw my face in the mine were dead. “How many made it out? From the slave pits, I mean?” I asked Nopony as we threaded our way through the crowded station, dodging soldiers and officers. Narym was near the frontline of the Republic’s war with the Monarchy, and they used it as a staging area for many of their troops. “Oh, at least a couple hundred, I’m sure,” Nopony replied blithely. “But the better question is: how many actually found a way to survive once they got out? That number will never be known.” He gave me a nudge with his shoulder. “Anyway, what you did in there will be carved into the annals of Metro history. It’s on everypony’s lips.” “It can’t be,” I muttered back. “What are they saying?” Nopony merely nodded to a nearby Republic checkpoint, and the soldiers crowded around a radio. I approached as close as I dared. “—and we say again: This act of violence and sedition will not go unpunished!” a deep female voice boomed from the speakers. “Our work camps provide labor, purpose, and safety as well as education for convicts reintegrating into our great society. They provide food and freedom to those with the skill to work. This wanton terrorism, this strike against the foundation of civilization, threatens the safety of all that we have fought to build these last fifteen years! Thanks to these anarchists, these traitors to Harmony, serial killers, rapists and mutants are free to roam our once safe tunnels. But do not fear, good citizens of the Republic. Though Diamond Dogs claw at our doors, and spies and saboteurs gnaw at our fetlocks, we will stand strong! All our enemies will be crushed soon enough!” Another voice replaced the first, male this time. “That was the voice of our great president Lucky Clover, speaking on the unprovoked attack earlier this week. Though dozens of our own lie dead, they will be avenged tenfold! As said before: it is believed this terrorist act was committed by either a Celestian Monarchy spy or a saboteur working for the Ponyopolis Rangers. Report all suspicious behavior to the nearest guard station!” I sighed and put a hoof over my face. The Rangers were getting blamed for my actions? And they wanted to use the attack as an excuse to hate the Monarchy even more than they already did. It seemed no matter where I went I was a catalyst for conflict. Nopony drew me away. “You need to leave the Republic,” he said, “and Sidewinder and the Diamond Dogs are your only chance. They know the tunnels like no other, and are much more accustomed to the mutants than we are.” “Strange,” I murmured. “I’m on a mission to save my home, but I’m tearing it apart everywhere I go.” “There is no change that comes without upheaval and casualties,” Nopony said. His voice, though low and soothing, was warped and eerie through the mask. “Remember that, Lockbox. This world is imperfect and so are you. There will never be a day that goes by that you do not struggle with something. Change may bring bad things. War, pain, and death among them. But that does not make the change itself a bad thing.” “So I do my best and hope to keep the casualties down?” I grumbled. “That’s what I’ve been doing all this time.” “Nopony can ask anymore than that,” he answered.” And you cannot ask the change to be more or less than what it is. That is the nature of the world: it simply is, while we try to alter it. But when both sides need to be in balance, it only takes a little for one side to go too far.” We entered the bar on a sour note, with my mood shot from hearing that damn announcement. The Republic was going to turn my attempt to free ponies into an excuse for war, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I couldn’t kill Lucky Clover. I couldn’t fight the Republic. Who would help me? And that would solve nothing about the Dark Ones. All I could do was move on and hope the Metro took care of itself. The sight of ponies cheerfully drinking and playing cards just made it even worse. The bar reeked of sweat and alcohol, and a few ponies were dazedly sucking on a hookah pipe in one corner. Many of them wore uniforms of the Republic. How dare they, I thought. How dare they drink and be merry when the Metro is plummeting into the darkness around them. If half of them worked half as hard as I have, this world would be back to normal. I spotted Sidewinder easily, sitting among a crowd of mixed station dwellers and Republic soldiers, regaling them with tales of his adventures, heavily embellished. He didn’t even look at me as I approached the table, focusing on his enchanted audience. “So then my friend just, just leaps on the fuckin’ thing and he stabs it in the eye with his hoof knife! It reared back like this, claws flailing as it died! But then it comes back down, crash! And he hops right off it like it’s no problem! Killed the bastard dead.” Only then he looked up at me, pointing me out to the entertained, yet still skeptical audience. “Oh, here’s the hero of the hour! Lockbox, I was just telling these nice ponies about the time you killed an alpha nosalis by yourself!” “That can’t be true!” one of the Republic soldiers called out. “Alphas are three times the size of a pony! Even Monarchy assault squads have trouble with them! How’d you manage it, huh?” I looked around the table, buzzing with anticipation, questions, and inebriation. Half of them looked like they believed it entirely; I supposed all my bandages and bruises helped paint a picture of a pony able to take on anything. Sidewinder looked up at me, grinning all the while as he rubbed his hooves together. “You can’t kill an alpha with just a knife,” I said with a shrug, “Sidewinder has it wrong.” They leaned closer, expecting me to tear the curtains down on Sidewinder’s illusion. Instead, I smirked. “I actually used a grenade.” The table erupted with either boos or laughter as ponies debated the truth of it. I didn’t care either way, as long as they didn’t bother me when I grabbed Sidewinder and hauled him away, much to the chagrin of his audience. “You shoulda seen their faces!” the Stalker chuckled. “Lockbox, these Republic ponies don’t know anything about the outside! Ha, by this time tomorrow you’ll be their folk hero, I know it!” “The Republic is blaming Rangers and the Monarchy for our little stunt back at the prison,” I hissed. Sidewinder shrugged. “I know! I’m running a PR job here, Lockbox. You gotta fight the bad gossip with the good. If anypony ever does figure out it was you, this way they won’t know what to think and will chalk it up to another one of ‘those stories’ about you. I’m hiding you with a cloak of embellishment, you see.” I gaped. “Have you been telling lies about me the entire time we’ve been here?” Sidewinder scrunched his face as he thought. “Oh, only the last couple of days or so. Why?” I groaned and shoved him away, wincing as my injuries twinged. “Nevermind, we need to find a way out of here and Nopony said the Diamond Dogs would help.” “Who?” he asked. “Nopony,” I said, only realizing how crazy I sounded when he looked at me like I’d grown a second head. “Look, never mind. You know the Dogs have been taking care of me, right?” “I sure do,” he replied. “Showed them the cave myself. I hope the accomodations were to your liking? You know, those bandages make you look like a creep, kind of pathetic really. Fortunately I just met a mare who loves to kiss things and make it better—” “We need to leave. Look around you Sidewinder. The Republic is gearing up for war.” “Of course they are! That’s what the Republic does. I hear they execute a pony for every day they aren’t fighting the Monarchy.” “Because of what I did!” I hissed. “Of what we did!” Sidewinder rolled his eyes. “You think that anything you do makes a difference to them, Lockbox? If not this, it would’ve been some other excuse, or they’d just go to war for the hell of it! The Metro’s always been at war with itself, it’s how things are.” I felt a headache coming on and decided not to argue; my other strange conversation with Nopony was still too fresh in my mind. “Look, we’re practically inside the central Metro now. That’s not too far from Ponyopolis. All we need to do is—” “Find a way through the Red Line.” “Well, yes, but—” “The Line that’s called the Red Line because it bisects the Metro and is owned by nopony, and has been the site of every major engagement between the Republic and the Monarchy since the Metro got started. Red from all the blood spilled on it.” “Yes, now if you’ll stop interrupting—” “The Line that is infamous for being a place constantly warred over, has the highest mortality rate in the whole Metro, and is also unstable and overrun by mutants in many places. The Line that Ponyopolis Rangers don’t use unless they have to. That Line.” I rubbed my temples. My headache was getting worse. “Are you done?” Sidewinder tapped his chin, scratched his mane, and took a sip of vodka. “Also the Line I first got backstabbed traveling. Figures we need to cross it.” I glared at him. He stared back, and then he grinned that crazy Stalker grin. “Now I’m done. When do we start?” “As soon as we can.” Sidewinder snickered. “No rest for the weary, of course. Fine, then. I’ll find a way out of here lickety-split. I know a pony by that name, Lickety-Split. You know he once outran a demon on the wing? Luckiest bastard I ever knew!” I dragged him out of the bar, going back to the cave to collect my things. Clef was still there, and gave me a grunt of greeting that I returned. Sidewinder poked his head inside and stared at the Diamond Dog unblinking for a while. Clef just stared right back, his nose twitching as he sniffed the air. “So you’re going to help us through the Red Line?” I asked, slipping my jacket on and reattaching the bits and baubles. Headlamp, charger, hoof knife… “Will heeeelp pony friiieeend,” Clef rumbled. “We know the seeecret ways, close to the surface. We can hiiiide you from the bullets and the killing.” “That’s all well and good,” I said, “but can you take us all the way to Ponyopolis?” Sidewinder looked away from Clef and back to me. “That requires going through Monarchy territory… or if not that, the surface. Or both, if our luck really goes down the shitter.” “Doesn’t matter,” I said, picking up the gun Nopony had provided me with. It was a twelve-round magazine fed pistol with an extended barrel and a larger stock modified with extra grips, allowing a pony to fire it with their hooves if they had to. A fine weapon, but only five magazines to spare. I’d lost all my bullet currency long ago, but where we were going money wouldn’t do us much good. “I’ll travel any path I need to.” “Our tunnels are no saaafer than yours, pooonyyy,” Clef rumbled. “But weee will see you throoough.” ---------- There were many exits from Narym Station, but only a few were worth taking. The front lines were close, which meant we had to take one of those not so worthy tunnels to avoid unwanted complications. The northern warrens were clogged with troops flowing in and out of the war, and even as we trekked through the crowded corridors of the station I couldn’t help but take a peek—I’d only heard rumors about this great war my entire life until now. Slipping away from Sidewinder for just a moment I assumed the role of a weary traveler, walking aimlessly and avoiding eye contact so nopony would bother me until I reached the northern exit to Narym. What I saw gave me pause, and I leaned up against a wall to take it all in. It had been utterly taken over by the Republic in their mad dash to secure the Red Line, doubtlessly still reeling from my insurrection behind the lines and now desperate to save face. Ponies of every kind crowded around rickety wagons that were still covered in dry blood, shouting and pushing as they joined a constant flow in and out of the station. Guns and ammunition abounded in such quantities that it seemed us ponies could destroy every monster in the Metro if they really wanted, and yet they used them on each other. Gunsmiths and munitions experts calibrated and cleaned every gun brought back from the front without its owner; the grim price of a society that couldn’t afford to make many new weapons. Republic banners fluttered in breezes made by wheezing air vents and loudspeakers kept up a constant stream of slogans: Harmony for all, all for Harmony! As one, we stand! Separate we fall! The Monarchist believes we are inferior! Will you prove him wrong? I glanced up at the walls and saw propaganda plastered over every available surface. Pictures of brave Republic ponies stepping over the corpses of mutants and Monarchy soldiers, guided by the lights of the Elements of Harmony. Demonic depictions of King Pleiades overseeing a harem of slave mares, leering at the viewer and mocking them with smug contempt. Utopian visions of pegasus, unicorn, and earth pony uniting in the comforting embrace of an alicorn’s wings. All of it senseless, pointless drivel designed to make ponies hate one another. “So this is the panoply of war,” I muttered, remembering the phrase from one of my old books. “What’s a panoply?” Sidewinder asked. He must have snuck out with me while I wasn’t watching. “All of this,” I replied. “A giant, well-oiled machine made to kill ponies. Nothing more.” “You’re surprised?” Sidewinder asked with a cocky grin. “No. And that surprises me even more,” I replied, and stepped away from the wall. “Where exactly are we meeting the Diamond Dogs?” Sidewinder fell in beside me, guiding me back through the crowds. They were so busy in their eagerness to get their daily bullet rations and fill of Monarchy blood we weren’t even noticed. “Outside of the western entrance, near the abandoned tunnels. I heard bad things about that place, but the Dogs told me it was all right.” “They’re not worried about being discovered this close to the station?” I wondered, sidestepping a hulking pony in massive body armor, complete with a modified welder’s helmet. Sidewinder rolled his eyes. “You think the Republic gives two shits about Diamond Dogs anymore? Everypony knows Dogs skulk around the edges of our stations, but with the war getting back into full swing they have bigger bales to stack. Full steam ahead to the end of all life!” I noticed an earth pony in a commissar's hat give him a wary look, but we were lost to the crowd so quickly he couldn’t make a fuss if he wanted to. “I wonder how many of those ponies we’ll run into again at the Line,” I muttered as we went back into the civilian parts of Narym, and the guards wore Guild of Magic patches instead of Republic ones. Twilight Sparkle’s cutie mark was displayed proudly on their shoulders, but that didn’t make them harmonious ponies. Just another brand of killer. “Can’t tell you exactly,” said Sidewinder, shrugging. “We’ll definitely be seeing pieces of them.” We turned another corner into a deeper, darker part of the station until the tunnels had no lights to speak of, guided only by the path illuminated by our headlamps. Twists and turns and ups and downs led to hidden warrens infested by rusting machinery and giant cobwebs, with the skeletons of either drug addicts or murder victims in the corners. Just when I was wondering whether we’d get to where we were going, I found myself in a room with nothing but four blank walls and an open vent shaft. “Right here,” Sidewinder said, pointing his headlamp at a bundle of rags and fur in the corner. A Diamond Dog uncurled from the hunched posture he’d been hiding in, his long, burly limbs reaching out like a spider. He wasn’t Clef, but a much shorter, stockier version with dirty tan fur. “Pooonyyy friiiends,” it rasped with a smile too big for his narrow snout. “I am Slate. I am heeere to lead you! Come come!” “Where are the others?” I asked him, but the Dog only yipped and bounced on his paws. “Others! Dogs! This way! Hnnn. This way!” he said in a voice that alternated between high pitched giggles and low growls. As my light shined on him I saw a long pink scar running nearly the whole length of his skull. He pointed with a blunt claw that could easily bore through my eye socket towards the vent shaft, then hopped up to grab the rim. With his large paws it was easy to haul himself inside, his comically short legs scrambling to get a foothold. I shrugged at Sidewinder and he hoisted me up next, and I was swallowed up by claustrophobic darkness. It smelled of stale air and very faintly of rotten meat. “Not smart, trying to connect tunnels to pony ones,” Sidewinder muttered over the hollow banging of the vent walls bending under his weight. “Pony magic is sure to find them.” “The Guild of Magic owns this station,” I replied, turning my nose up at what appeared to be an old, dried out egg sac. “It’s no surprise its well guarded.” “Not this one! Daaanger!” Slate yipped. “Daanger in this tunnel. Blood and gloom. A strong tunnel! Only the strong live in it. Dogs strong, and we live! Yes.” The vent exited into another tunnel right next to a hydraulic door, firmly shut. At its base was gathered a small group of six Diamond Dogs and Nopony, who conversed quietly with Clef in some kind of rough, growling language that sounded like rocks grinding together. They stopped as soon as they saw me looking at them. “Lockbox, glad you’re here,” said Nopony. “It’s time for us to take the next step in our journey. We’re at the western end of Narym Station, and everypony is so focused on the upcoming war that they have no idea we’re here. Now is the perfect time to leave.” I took out my Guide. “Show me where we’re going.” Nopony walked over and traced a hoof from Narym northwestward towards the Red Line. “Dog tunnels will not show up even on a Guide; they were carved when we ponies weren’t looking. But rest assured they’re there. We’ll sneak by both armies at the Line and hopefully avoid the shooting. It’ll shave hours, if not a day or two off your course to Ponyopolis. After everything you’ve already been through, this will be a walk in the park.” “I’ve had one of those, thanks,” I muttered, putting the Guide back in my saddlebag. “I’d rather not take another.” “This tunnel is daaangerous,” Clef murmured, gesturing for his Dogs to take the lead. “The poonies are wise to put a door heerrre. Monsters live beyooond. They are maaany, and they are hungryyy.” “I’ve faced many monsters,” I declared. “What could be coming that I would have to be worried about?” “Just stick close, Lockbox,” Nopony said to me, herding me and Sidewinder together. “And whatever you do, while we are in this tunnel, do not let your light go out.” ------------------------ Shadows and decay, stains on the walls, the rusted skeletons of old wires and pipes. These were things I lived with; things that I knew and even gave me comfort. The tunnel itself held no especial menace. I was no stranger to the dark. What I feared was what else could be lurking there with me. What a strange existence we led, all trying to compete with nosalises, howlers, demons and ghosts to be the most frightening monster in the darkness. All of us were so frail, yet we struck at our enemies so fiercely. Even at the end of the world, our survival instincts held strong. Another instinct that still clung to us was the herd, or in the case of the Dogs, the pack. We all stuck close together as we traveled further into the abandoned tunnel, calmed by the way our shoulders brushed together or our equipment clanked. The Dogs wore very little compared to us ponies: it must have been a nightmare finding clothes to fit them. They had rags and plates of metal strapped to their bodies, with leather belts fashioned into makeshift holders for rusty pickaxes and long knives. Satchels adorned their bodies, stuffed to the brim with gemstones—more gemstones than most ponies saw in their entire lives—and trash. I found some amusement in their pack rat mentality. It reminded me of myself. We said nothing as we passed through a broken barricade, surrounded by the skeletons of dead nosalises and smaller lurkers, with the odd pony skull here and there. I surmised some great battle fought for the survival of Narym Station had taken place here, and the Guild of Magic abandoned this stretch of tunnel when it was over. I stepped on something sticky. I looked down and my light shone upon a patch of thick, gossamer webbing that stretched over the floor, covering the body of a cerberus. I pulled away and the rotten, dry skin of the carcass came away with it, along with a gross profusion of black, swarming shapes with many legs. “Ugh,” I grunted as the skittering arachnids scattered from my light. I followed their path up the wall, watching them disappear into cracks in the walls. My light fell upon a warning sign. “Bugs,” I couldn’t help but read. “Bugs?” “Oh, that’s right,” Sidewinder said with a sigh, “you haven’t seen too much of the Metro yet. Are you scared of spiders, Lockbox?” “Yes,” I replied. “But there’s much worse to be afraid of.” “Ain't that the truth. Spiderbugs like to scavenge the dead around the Red Line, so there’s gonna be a shitton of those creeps. Basically huge spiders with skin that shrug off anything but a bullet right to the face.” “They won’t be a problem,” said Nopony, “as long as you keep your light on. They are creatures wholly accustomed to the shadows. Light burns them.” “They are eaaasily agitated,” Clef rumbled. “We must go through quickly and quieeetly. Dogs! Prepaaare your lights.” The Diamond Dogs brought out the gemstones in their pockets, and I realized they were tied together by metal wires into a kind of bandolier they slung around their shoulders. When one gem was rubbed, all of them lit up in unison. The walls were thrown into relief, and I saw webs stretched across every inch. The webs grew thicker with every foot until they covered the walls and stretched across the floor. I struggled to keep my footing, but most of them were old and brittle, easily torn by our heavy hooves, though it stuck to every available surface until my whole body felt sticky and strange. I heard scraping and skittering in the walls and along the pipes as we came to an intersection. We were forced to head right. The way forward was blocked by webs. “They watch us now,” said Nopony. “As long as the lights stay on, they won’t get too bold.” My headlamp caught a glimpse of a head covered in many eyes retreat into a hole large enough to fit my head. Some kind of squealing chitter accompanied it. “Why haven’t we encountered these creatures before?” I asked. Nopony answered. “They do not go where ponies gather in great numbers. Ponies are drawn to light and warmth, like moths to a flame. These creatures prefer the dark and the cold and the wet, and also places where there is meat. The death that surrounds the Red Line provides them with easy scavenging. They are animals of the new world if I’ve ever seen one.” Creatures of the new world. I thought about that for a while as we walked. We ponies were not creatures of the new world, not by far. When confronted with darkness and death we did not retreat to the cold and the shadows like the spiders, or cloak ourselves in blizzards like the snow ghosts to await fresh meat. We broke or went mad. We huddled around lights and fires and guttering lanterns and pretended they were little suns, and those little circles of light became tiny worlds we were the masters of. We closed our eyes when the shadows closed in because the darkness inside us was more familiar. My mind whirled with thoughts of old worlds and new ones, of cinder and ash and long-legged beasties crawling over bleached bones, right up until my face smacked into a cold wall. My cheeks were covered in carpets of spiderweb, and I realized Sidewinder was laughing at me. “I tried to warn you,” he said through wheezing lips that squeezed air out like a leaky pipe, “but it was too funny to watch you just walk into it!” I shoved a hoofful of webs into Sidewinder’s face for his trouble. Slate giggled and smacked his paw on the ground, earning him a cuff on the ear from an older Dog. “The way is shut,” Clef explained, pointing up to the wall I’d just walked face first into. There was a gate before us, covered in thick strands of the awful webs. Within the tangled mess I could see dried bones and the carcass of a nosalis, alongside tumorous fleshy sacs that pulsed and writhed as though something within were ready to claw its way out. When I shined my light directly on one, it squirmed and split open with an ugly wet noise like some horrific blossom. A torrent of spiders no larger than my hoof skittered out from the hole, turning the web into a seething mass of writhing legs and displeased clicks and clacks. The spiderlings took shelter from my burning headlamp within crevices and beneath bones, and then all was still. “Eww,” I said. “The wires to the door aren’t cut,” mused Sidewinder, peering at the ceiling. “If we could find a generator—” “No,” said Nopony. “Look, the hinges have been welded shut. Somepony really wanted this door to stay closed.” A Dog went forward to sniff at the blackened lumps of metal that secured the gate, preventing it from ever opening again. “Is reeecent,” he declared. “I smell the stench of buuurning here.” “A vain attempt by the Republic to keep the monsters out,” grunted Nopony. “Or the Monarchy,” replied Sidewinder, picking at a door set into the side of the tunnel. “This is the only way now.” “Do not worry, poniiieees,” rumbled Clef. “Where your doors clooose, our ways ooopen.” We entered the side tunnel and walked through featureless, bland hallways covered in webs and infested with crawling, skittering things that shrieked at our passing and shied away from our lights. I never got more than a glimpse—the blur of moving legs and steady, unblinking eyes in the corners of my vision. The Dogs walked with calm self-confidence, knowing the spiderbugs wouldn’t consider them easy prey. The constant twists and turns made my head spin, and I realized that without our Diamond Dog friends we’d be lost down here in the dark, with no hope of ever reaching civilization before falling prey to something. On instinct I touched the Guide in my saddlebag, and somehow that made me feel better. In an empty room in a featureless corner of the Metro, Clef brought us to a halt. There in the wall was an open hole gouged out of the concrete and stone, leading to a gaping dirt tunnel. It went so far my light didn’t reach more than a few ponylengths in. Webs covered the floor. “Nooow,” rasped Clef, “we take the low road.” ---------------------- Time had no meaning in the Dog tunnels. In the Metro, we marked our hours by dimming lights and kicking out fires, letting the darkness sweep us away into the shelter of dreams or the tempest of nightmares. Here, with the earth all around me, there was nothing but darkness. Were it not for the glowing gems the Dogs wore, I would’ve sworn they simply lived without the need for light. Nowhere did I see torches or any other things to help a living creature see. There was only the hard, packed dirt closing in all around us. The Dogs, big as they were, seemed unaffected save for the webs we constantly had to push through. “This is a transit tunnel,” Clef explained to me after I asked whether Dogs lived in these warrens. “Our living places are as biiig as yours. But like all tunnels, sooome are not attended tooo. This one is crawling with the buuugs.” “That figures,” I answered. “You can see the webs all over the place.” The Dog shook his head. “Nooo, Lockbox. I mean we feel them. They dig their tunnels as we dooo. You must sense it. Most ponies of earth caaan.” “I didn’t like the last few times I used my earth magic,” I grunted. “It only showed me how broken the world really is. I used it to help slay a giant monster, and even that just hurt the Metro and got ponies killed. Even using our magic is nothing but suffering now. If I don’t use my magic, maybe I’ll help more than I have.” “Evvverything in this world is suffering, Lockbox,” Clef answered. “We cannot avoid it. Onnnly gird ourselves for when it cooomes.” He looked down at me with a glare that I found bracing and repulsive all at once. He had the eyes of a predator in him, one that looked at me with pity and condescension. “Why do ponies chooose their magic? Why do they insist on controlling it and piiiicking and pluuuucking only what they think was valuable?” he rasped. “Why do they not simply let it flooow? If they lived as before, maaaybe we would not be stuck in this ruuuin.” I didn’t have an answer for him. I trotted to catch up with Sidewinder, and he gave me a bump with his shoulder. “Stop it,” he said. “Stop what?” “Being a Metro pony. Clef’s right. I don’t dig into my earth magic, Lockbox. It just is. I thought after all this time you’d have gotten a little more used to it. When was the last time you even tried to touch the earth with your hooves and feel it?” “If it means drawing more attention to myself, then—” “Shut up and listen, Lockbox. I see the way you covet those little trinkets. I know you value what ponies used to be. You want to see that come back. You want to preserve and protect. Well here’s something: preserve yourself first.” Something about that sentence made me look shamefully to the ground. “You’re the one who said magic is changing,” I said lamely. “But have we ponies changed? I mean, really?” Sidewinder asked. “We’re violent and oppressive and we kill for scraps of food. But does that make us worse than what we were? If we’re doing it now, couldn’t we have done it then? Just think, Lockbox. ” “Why are you suddenly so philosophical?” “Why not? I’ve seen more strange things in my life than anypony you can name. And now I meet you. You refuse to die, Lockbox, but it isn’t just that. Something is pulling you along. Something pulled you and me back together. I can feel it.” “Don’t be stupid,” I grumbled, but thoughts of Sweet Dreams and the Dark Ones and the name “Shadow Walker” pushed to the front of my mind. “You can feel it too, Lockbox,” whispered Sidewinder, in perhaps the calmest voice I’d ever heard him use. “If you only try. This magic is the only thing left that connects us to the ponies of old. It’s the only memory nopony and nothing will ever be able to take away. You have to open yourself to it before it’s too late!” “Too late for what?” “Hooold, pooonies.” We stopped in the middle of the dark hallway, and listened. All the Dogs had their paws to the ground and their heads up, ears straining and twitching. Some of them even had their eyes closed. “What is—” I began, but then Nopony was suddenly at my side. He touched me on the flank, and then pointed to the ground. Confused, I watched him for a moment until he snorted and stamped his hoof several times. I scowled. Didn’t we just get through talking about our magic? But Sidewinder insisted, and I knew I was too curious not to try. I planted my hooves in the ground and dug them into the dirt. “Don’t hear, Lockbox.” said Nopony. “Listen.” “How am I supposed to do that?” I grumbled, digging a divot with my hoof. Sidewinder shrugged. “You don’t do magic. It happens.” I grunted and dug my hoof in a little deeper, feeling the gentle scrape of fine pebbles and other detritus. Against my better judgment, I let my magic drift and flow where it would, letting it gorge on the presence of the earth around me. I didn’t need to concentrate this time; the magic did as it wanted. It started as a tingling sensation all over my hooves. I felt little pinpricks and tremors walk all over the bottoms of my feet, and I almost pulled away for fear they were spiderbugs. But I remained and the feelings intensified, and I began to feel slight differences between them. Changes in rhythm, volume, pitch. Dull thuds, loud groans, and distant echoes. Then it hit me: I could hear everything. My eyes flew open and saw nothing but the tunnel ahead, but the noise was inside me, running up my legs and thundering in my chest, racing through my veins and seeping into the crevices in my brain. I heard an endless scuttling and the vibrations of high-pitched squeals; no doubt those were the spiderbugs all around us. Above that was the deep, slow breathing of the Dogs, and Sidewinder’s heart racing next to me. I heard the dirt beneath his hooves crackle as he shifted his weight, heard every tiny creak and groan of his used, worn-out body. I cast my magic net once more and caught him in it, feeling the life within him like I had the Hydra. I closed my eyes. Before me stood a wretched thing, dismal and dark and full of flickering ember lights that burst brilliantly before fading again. It was like seeing a dying bonfire made into a pony. Underneath the soot and ashes I saw a glow, steady and strong. But it was so very small. Next I turned to Nopony. In front of me stood a shadow made solid. It was dark and powerful here in the tunnel, but fleeting and ephemeral anywhere else. It would flee the moment a light shined on it, I knew. The moment anypony would try to reach into that muddled blotch of ink the world, it would vanish as if it had never been. If even the earth itself didn’t know what or who Nopony was behind that mask, how could I be sure if he was on my side? I turned my gaze to the Diamond Dogs, who stood as crystal monoliths, steady and unchanging in the face of danger. Their bodies looked as hard as granite and just as coarse. They knew their place in this world. But was that such a good thing when the world was as horrible as this? And then under my hooves I heard it. A constant bass rumbling, interspersed by hundreds of desperate little bangs and thunderous booming. It was the sound of battle, unceasing and merciless. Either the little coughs of noise beneath the explosions were bullets, or bodies hitting the ground. The Red Line was near, and I realized I could follow any echo through any tunnel I wanted. So this is what it was like to See. I let out a gentle sigh, wondering if this is what the Cult of the Wyrm and the Dark Ones really wanted from me. I wondered if it was what I wanted from myself. But what a pony wants doesn’t really matter in the end. Nopony really wants to die, yet we all die. Nopony wants to starve, yet many of us go hungry. Nopony wants to be left alone, but families leave us, friends betray us, and shadows close in from all sides. And little earth pony orphans never know their parents, are forced into the uncaring world by making promises they can’t keep, and are left with nothing but mysteries and blood on their hooves. Regardless of what I wanted from myself, this was what lay dormant within me. This was my magic. My heritage. It was me, no matter how much I railed against it. I stomped my hoof and scattered the visions. Sidewinder blinked as if we’d all just come out of a long sleep and looked straight at me. I looked back and wasn’t sure what my own expression was at that moment. “Do it again,” Sidewinder whispered. “No.” “You weren’t in there long enough! You have to—” “Fuck what I have to do,” I muttered, feeling angry all of a sudden. “Don’t tell me I have to do a fucking thing, Sidewinder. I’ve had enough of that.” “You don’t have to,” Nopony offered in a conciliatory tone. “But you want to.” I shuddered. “Yes.” Sidewinder and Nopony stood back. I had a sense the Dogs were watching me too, though out of curiosity or boredom I couldn’t say. I put my hooves in the earth. I closed my eyes. The visions came again, Sidewinder all full of fireflies and the tunnels around us packed to the brim with spiderbugs that watched us hungrily. I didn’t know what Sidewinder wanted me to see next, but what did catch my eye kept me from seeing anything else. Far away, a bright orange flame trudged along in a dismal corridor near the Line. My magic rushed forward to meet it, and when I collided with the stranger he looked up at me. Eyes that weren’t quite eyes met through hundreds of yards of earth and stone. Sixpence. “I see you,” I growled, possessed of a sudden and unstoppable anger. I took a step forward, and then a spring snapped loose and I barreled down the tunnel. I heard Sidewinder and Nopony shouting behind me, deafeningly loud with my new senses, telling me to stop and come back, but I didn’t care. I had to get him. I had to catch that rat bastard, the one who left me for dead and was the cause of so much suffering. He was connected with the Dark Ones and I needed answers, I needed revenge, I needed to get my hooves around his throat and squeeze— Except my hooves weren’t even on the ground anymore. They kicked out and grasped nothing. I fell. I hit something hard and leathery, bouncing off it and into a stone wall with so much force my legs splayed out against it and something in my equipment vest cracked. Gravity peeled me off and threw me down again into a pool of stagnant water that made me retch the moment it touched my lips, and as I pulled my head up I felt sticky, ropey strands tug at my mane. The entire room stank of organic decay. I saw flashes of ugly, bulbous growths around the walls and shadows of scurrying shapes that screamed at my intrusion. I realized I wasn’t seeing by the light of my own lamp, but another far above. “Lockbox!” Sidewinder called, poking his head out of a large crack in a concrete wall I must have flung myself out of. “Lockbox, tell me you’re not dead! Or crazy! Or both!” “I’m fine, I think,” I called back. “It looks like a sewage line…” I turned my head more slowly, taking in the details as Sidewinder’s light dodged over the walls. Fleshy pods burst open and recoiled at the touch of the light, sticky strands were everywhere, and a clawed tail vanished into a hole in the wall just as I laid eyes on it. It was a nest. A nest full of spiderbugs. I touched the side of my head and realized it was my lamp that had been broken. “Sidewinder,” I said, my voice hoarse, “I think I am about to die.” “Stay right there!” the Stalker called back. “We’re coming down!” “We’re whaaaat?” I heard a Diamond Dog mutter before Sidewinder took a running jump, rebounding off one of the leathery egg sacs and taking a much more graceful tumble than I did into the scummy water. At the dancing light’s touch, more skittering creatures screeched and raised their claws at us in the dark. “Okay, okay,” he said, shaking himself like a dog and making me gag at the stench of water fouled for years suddenly being disturbed. “We’re good. This is good! This is fine, just fine. Sid, you soft-hearted idiot, we’re all gonna die!” “Calm down,” I said, though I didn’t feel calm at all. “Just keep your light on. Hey, Dogs!” I shouted up. “Can you find another way down?” “This was nooot our intended paaath, pony!” Clef barked at me. “You leaped into this pit of your own accooord! But for youuuur sake, we will coooome. Look out!” Sidewinder wheeled around as a six-legged creature charged him from the shadows, rearing up and clawing at thin air as his light fell on it. Its pale yellow carapace sizzled and popped under the harsh glare, turning to blackened embers. From a gaping maw surrounded by gnashing mandibles and fangs I heard a horrifying screech like a pig being spitted alive as the spiderbug scurried back into the dark, its still burning exoskeleton creaking and wheezing all the way. All around us the hive was waking up, stirred into a chittering, scuttling frenzy. My ears were full of clacking and scraping and squealing. There were far too many to chase away with our meager lamp. “Dogs!” shouted Clef. “Dig! Dig now! We must give them an exit!” “No! It’s too dangerous!” I shouted back. “We’re dead if we stay here! Try to meet us further in!” “We will find you by your hoofsteps, ponyyy!” Clef answered. “As fast as we caaaan! Try not to diiiiie.” Sidewinder grabbed my jacket and hauled me through the fetid water towards a hatch covered in webs. I heard clawed feet scuttling over the walls as we tore at the webs with our bare hooves, smothering ourselves before the bugs even got to us. With sticky hooves we grasped the turning wheel and pulled. It groaned and squealed in protest but our earth pony strength got the better of it, nearly tearing it right off its hinges. The scuttling was right above our heads. “One more!” screamed Sidewinder. One good yank ripped the door free of its rust, sending us all sprawling. As we collapsed on our backs Sidewinder looked up into the macabre grimace of a spiderbug bearing its teeth. It screamed as the light shone right into its delicate mouthparts, and legs that should have been gripping the wall flew up to cover its face, making the beast topple right onto the Stalker. I lunged for the open hatch, putting one hoof on the other side while the other wrapped around Sidewinder’s flailing tail. The pony attached to it was screeching like the spiderbug rolling around on top of him. Fortunately, Sidewinder’s convulsions made the rest of the horde hesitate as his headlamp jerked around in random directions, burning whatever it touched. With one breath, I pulled Sidewinder right out from under the spiderbug and threw him into the next room. With another I fell backwards and leaned back into the nest, grabbing the hatch. With one more breath I pulled the door shut, but not fast enough. Spiny legs reached into the gap, trying to prize the door open again, and eyes uncountable pressed up against the crack to leer hungrily at me. “Light!” I screamed over my shoulder. “Light! Gun! Shoot them! Shoot them, Sidewinder, my gun’s not primed!” The Stalker was at my side in an instant, pumping the charger on his lamp to maximum brightness and shining it right into the ugly faces on the other side. My ears rang as he accompanied it with staccato barks of his machine gun, jamming the barrel right through the sliver of space those horrible legs were jutting out from and biting down on the trigger. “Here’s something to chew on, bitches!” I turned my head away as flecks of concrete and exploded exoskeleton rained down on me. The pressure from the other side let up just enough that my earth pony strength did the rest, slamming the hatch shut and crushing whatever spiderbug limbs still dangled onto my side. I turned the wheel and fell backwards, not even caring as I landed on a cerberus skeleton. Scratching and chittering on the other side of the hatch told us the bug horde was anything but calmed. “You all right?” asked Sidewinder. “I can hear bells ringing,” I grunted. “You’ll get over it. Come on. With only one light between us we’re gonna have to stick to each other like these webs.” The tunnel was infested with spiderbug nests and associated offal. The ugly, tumorous bulbs wriggled and writhed as we passed by as if they were aware of us. Some burst open to reveal more baby spiderbugs, which scampered away from our light. “Fucking webs,” Sidewinder snapped, pushing through a sticky barrier stretching from wall to wall. “Lockbox, you got a light?” “I should.” I reached into my saddlebag, ignoring the feel of tiny legs crawling around in my mane, and snatched a lighter out. “Nopony was kind enough to include this when he brought me my old gear.” I knew where Sidewinder was going and bit down on the trigger, holding the tiny flame up to the webs. In spite of the moist environment their silky threads caught aflame and shriveled instantly, sending whole packs of the foul spawn therein scurrying to shelter. In moments the way was clear. “Sidewinder,” I said, taking point, “before we get eaten alive down here, I want to ask why you came down after me.” Sidewinder said nothing. “Sidewinder?” Silence. I turned back. Sidewinder stood very still, watching me. He seemed distracted. Thoughtful. He was mulling over what to say. Then he grinned, and it made my skin crawl. “You didn’t look at yourself when you saw the world with your magic, did you?” he asked. His voice echoed strangely in the tunnel, somehow sounding further away. “No,” I answered, taking a step back. “You should some time.” His ear flicked back. “By the way, we’re about to have company.” He pointed his headlamp into a grate directly overhead. The pipe above was packed with spiderbugs. They screeched in horrible chorus as the light exposed the hunger in their eyes, and one fell straight down, smashing through the grate, landed right in front of me impaled on a piece of rebar. I ran before it stopped twitching. “We’re gonna die,” Sidewinder remarked as he caught up with me. I looked over my shoulder and saw the tunnel behind us filled with yellow eyes blank with animal ferocity. “I know,” I said. “Any ideas?” “None. Unless we find a way to maybe stop the endless surge of death critters behind us and get a nice, easy source of light to keep them away.” He reached into his saddlebag as he ran and nosed out a grenade. “Like, say, one of these!” He flipped it around and caught it with his teeth, leaning towards me. I caught his meaning and held up my lighter. We paused for three seconds to light the fuse before we ran. The next time my legs kicked off the ground they bucked a spiderbug right in the face. Sidewinder held the burning fuse in his mouth, a crazy grin almost splitting his head in two. Just as I thought he might let us burn instead to be spared the fate of teeth and claws, he dropped it. A heartbeat later something almost popped my eardrums and a searing heat washed over my flanks, spurring me to run faster. The walls of the tunnel came alive with dancing shadows over an orange light, and I looked over my shoulder to behold most of it in flames behind us. The spiderbugs that weren’t on fire milled about in confusion. The ones that were flailed and screamed and scattered their brethren as they burned alive. At the very least, it would keep them busy. “Incendiaries!” Sidewinder whooped. “Never leave home without ‘em!” We left the conflagration behind, but when we hit the inevitable dead end I still saw its glow in the tunnel behind us. “What the hell, where’d this come from? We were making good time!” I punched the solid wooden wall that blocked the entire tunnel as Sidewinder groused. “They must know about the bugs in here.” “Well, that’s great,” said Sidewinder. “Fire and spiders behind and a wall right in front. I don’t think this is how anypony intends to die, but we’re sure as hell gonna get it if we don’t find a way out.” “We passed some gates on the way back. Locked ones. We shoot them open and start walking.” "Deeper into the spiderbug nests? No thank you, Lockbox.” Sidewinder sighed and put his head against the wall. “We’re gonna die without even knowing what was on the other side.” I grunted, feeling the grain of the wood and how strong the beams were under my hoof. “Maybe I can find out. Stand back.” I planted my hooves in the earth just like before… rather, the algae covered, rancid water. I closed my eyes. It came so easily now, my magic, it was like dropping into a river and letting it carry me. I followed the flow beyond the wall, listening for the slightest noise that might give me a clue of where we are or what might be there. Perhaps I could get a hint of how to escape. But then I saw the backside of a tank barreling towards us. “Lockbox?” Sidewinder asked. “What’s that noise?” I opened my eyes and gulped. Sidewinder slumped. “Shit.” The wall burst.

pmcollectorboy

449

Cutie Mark Crusaders,Pinkie Pie,Rainbow Dash,Comedy,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

Marshmallow Pie at a Jonas Ponies Concert

complete

<p>Rainbow Dash begrudgingly takes Pinkie Pie and the Cutie Mark Crusaders to a concert after Applejack decides to bail on the event, a concert that Rainbow Dash is certain she'll hate. However, through the actions of three mischievous fillies, a good friend, and the power of a song, Rainbow Dash learns a valuable lesson about having fun and in not judging something, or somepony, by initial appearances.</p>

everyone

2012-03-20T00:29:27+00:00

2014-03-01T19:34:01+00:00

My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic Marshmallow Pie at a Jonas Ponies Concert Rated: PG Themes: Language,comedic violence, and implied adult conduct Continuity: Season One by Mario Rodgers aka pmcollectorboy Approximate length: 6 pages Rainbow Dash sighed in frustration. Not only did Applejack NOT give Rainbow Dash enough money for tickets, forcing the pegasus to cover the rest, but Applejack decided that work was more important than play and bailed, leaving Rainbow to deal with. . . with. . . "Oh my ponies! Isn't this exciting?! Are you excited? Cuz I'm excited! I've never been so excited! Well except for the time that I saw Twilight walking into Ponyville and I went *GASP*. But really that's neither here nor there because. . ." "PINKIE PIE!" Rainbow Dash grumbled. "Ugh. Applejack. Why didn't you tag along? Not only do I have to put up with. . . Pinkie Pie. Not only do I have to babysit. . ." A trio of fillies ganged up on Rainbow Dash's legs as she pulled out the tickets from her saddlebag. "Oh thank you thank you thank you auntie Rainbow Dash!" "The Cutie Mark Crusaders. . ." Rainbow Dash sighed. "F-f-f-fidgeting horse flies! I'm NOT an auntie!" she exclaimed as the kids bounced up and down and darted here and there along with Equestria's oldest sugar-addicted child. "But I have to get dragged to a concert that I'm not going to like! Not just any concert. Not a rock concert. Not a death metal concert. But. . ." The music started as Rainbow Dash plopped the tickets on the turnstile. The ticket taker pony shredded their tickets, placed them into the box, and admitted the gang into the stadium. "Hey there fillies and gentle. . . Hey there fillies! Let's make some noise!" came the booming voice of a young stallion on the microphone as a wave of screams filled the air. "Hurry hurry hurry, Rainbow Dash. The concert is already starting!" exclaimed Apple Bloom. "The Jonas Ponies. . ." Rainbow Dash finished. The concert took place in an open air stadium with only the grassy hillside as seats. Rainbow Dash scouted out and secured a large patch of soft grass big enough for the five of them. "Stay put!" Rainbow barked at Pinkie Pie and the Cutie Mark Crusaders. "I'm going to go get refreshments. Oh ponies. . ." Rainbow Dash sighed at the thought. Unlike Rarity, Rainbow hated spending money, especially on others. She made her way to a concession stand. An adolescent colt operated the stand, looking like he'd rather be somewhere else. He had his head resting on the counter in boredom and giving it a healthy coating of drool. "HEY!" Rainbow Dash shouted. The force of Rainbow's shout got the pony's attention, and he woke up with a start, banging his head on a sign. "That's sick, dude!" said Rainbow. The pony shook the cobwebs from his head, spotted Rainbow, and then smiled. "Well hello there, sweet cheeks. Are you seeing anypony?" "I'm giving you my money. Don't give me an excuse to give you a fat lip! And I don't date toddlers!" An audible "Oooooooooooooh!" raced through the air. The pony blushed and shrank away. "Yes ma'am. What will I be getting you?" "One large bucket of popcorn. Three regular buckets of popcorn. One jumbo lollipop covered with candy floss. And five regular sized hay smoothies." The pony at the concession stand prepared her order and took her money. The popcorn and lollipop were placed into a tray and placed on Rainbow's back. The drinks were placed into a special carrier with a strap and hung from her neck. Rainbow Dash carefully walked back over to her spot with these items. The music changed as she started walking. Some song called "Video Pony". When she got back, she discovered Pinkie Pie standing on her head and Sweetie Belle missing. "Pinkie Pie!" Rainbow chastised. "I thought I told you to stay put!" Pinkie got upright and blinked her impossibly large eyes. "I DID stay put. Silly. You didn't tell me I couldn't stand on my head while staying put." "But where's Sweetie Belle? Can't I trust you to watch the kids?" Pinkie Pie snorted. "Well of course you can trust me to watch the kids. You didn't tell me what to do with them if one of them misbehaved or went missing. I think Sweetie Belle went to go climb on some equipment." Her last sentence she said rather nonchalantly as she went back to standing on her head. Rainbow Dash groaned in frustration as she went to go track down Sweetie Belle. She found the filly blow drying her mane with the force of the music coming from an oversized set of speakers, and she was balanced precariously on some electric guitars. Rainbow Dash flew up and grabbed Sweetie Belle by the tail and placed her on Rainbow's back. "Gotcha," said Rainbow Dash. "You know. I've got a good mind to give you a sound spanking. But Rarity will absolutely KILL me if I did." "I'm sorry, Rainbow," Sweetie Belle whined. "Aww it's not your fault, kiddo. Pinkie Pie was supposed to be watching you." "Are you going to give Pinkie a spanking?" "NO! She might enjoy it!" Rainbow moved back to their spot on the hillside. This time Pinkie Pie was counting fireflies. "You know, Pinkie. For somepony who begged to come along to this concert, you certainly spend an awful lot of time not listening to the music," said Rainbow Dash. "Oh I'm listening. Last song to play was Video Pony. The fireflies help me concentrate." "Like heck they are. Now Scootaloo's missing, and Apple Bloom drank from ALL FIVE of the hay smoothies!" Pinkie Pie pointed off in one direction while never taking her eyes off the fireflies. "Scootaloo's that way. She's messing with punker chicks." "Punker chicks at a Jonas. . .? ARGH! Nevermind that! Keep an eye on. . . Watch. . . Make sure Apple Bloom doesn't get into trouble!" Rainbow Dash headed off to find Scootaloo, grumbling along the way about Pinkie Pie. "Confound that pony. She drives me to aggravation." Sure enough, Rainbow found Scootaloo chatting it up with a rather rough looking group of borderline adult ponies clad in leather and spiked bracelets. "And that's why my friend Rainbow Dash can kick your. . ." "Awesome music!" exclaimed Rainbow Dash, a little bit louder than she had intended. Rainbow Dash then muffled Scootaloo and dragged her backwards. "Yeah! I love the Jonas Ponies!" said one gum-popping teen pegasus. "Let's go, Scootaloo," said Rainbow Dash under a muffled breath as they walked away. "I spared Sweetie Belle's butt because I don't want Rarity kicking my tail later on. Who knows what she can do with those sewing pins of hers? YOU, on the other hand, are going to get it for putting yourself in stranger danger and for not being related to anypony I know or even care for." "But Rainbow Dash. I wasn't in any stranger danger. I was just trying to tell those ponies that you can. . ." "Not another word! Behind the outhouse! NOW!" Scootaloo dragged her hooves as she headed towards an outhouse that was tucked away in a very far and private corner of the concert. She ducked behind the far corner and Rainbow Dash followed. "I promise this will be short and sweet because I like you too much." "Funny way of showing it," replied Scootaloo. Rainbow decided the tail was the best method of dealing punishment. She didn't want to use her hooves as she knew she was rather strong. "Ready?" said Rainbow Dash. "One. . .Two. . ." WHAP! Rainbow Dash headed back towards their spot on the grass. Scootaloo followed, dragging her hooves along the way. She didn't cry, whine, or sniffle but had the biggest sourface Rainbow had ever seen. Rainbow Dash sat down on the grass and sighed as she looked at her lone bag of popcorn with no drink to wash it down. Over to her left, the Cutie Mark Crusaders were chatting, albeit blissfully quietly. "Hey what happened?" asked Sweetie Belle. "I don't want to talk about it," replied Scootaloo. "Didya get a spankin'?" teased Apple Bloom. Scootaloo shrank away and turned her head from her friends. "I said I don't want to talk about it," she repeated, even more quietly than before. "A spanking?!" exclaimed Pinkie Pie. She turned her head towards Rainbow. "Rainbow! How could you?!" Scootaloo shrank away even more at the loudness of Pinkie's declaration that, yes indeed, Scootaloo had been administered a spanking. Scootaloo took one of her popcorn bags, emptied the contents on the ground, and placed the bag on her head. "Pinkie Pie! Could we please enjoy the concert now?" exclaimed Rainbow Dash. Pinkie Pie made a grumpy face. "Well okay. But I'm going to call you Captain Meaniepants from now on! Or at least until the end of the evening." Rainbow sighed. "Fine. Whatever." The concert wore on. A song played and Rainbow Dash grumbled. Another song played and Rainbow Dash sighed. A third song worked its way under her coat. A fourth song tickled a nerve. A fifth song flat out grabbed her funny bone and claimed ownership. Before too long, Rainbow Dash did her best to hum along even though she didn't know a single song. Her mood had improved and, apparently, so had Scootaloo's. However, towards the end of the concert, Rainbow Dash heard some sniffling. At first she thought it was Scootaloo finally acting up, but when she turned her head, Apple Bloom was crying. Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash rushed over to her. "What's wrong, Apple Bloom?" Pinkie Pie asked. "Mah stomach doesn't feel good," Apple Bloom whined. "Oh horse apples! Those smoothies were bad!" exclaimed Rainbow Dash. Apple Bloom's crying got worse, and Rainbow Dash started panicking. "I'll go get help!" Pinkie Pie exclaimed. Pinkie Pie disappeared in a pink blur. She came back a little later, happily trotting along in her trademarked trot with a couple of the punker chicks following behind. Rainbow Dash gasped. "Pinkie Pie! Are you out of your pony mind?! Why did you get them?" "Hey it's our little pegasus friend from earlier," said the bubble gum popping filly. "My friend has a tummy ache," said Scootaloo. "Aww ain't that a shame," said a bigger filly, presumably the leader. "Well bugger if I knew what to do. I ain't a doctor." "Is that REALLY the kind of language to use around the kids?" Rainbow Dash quipped. "Isn't there some kind of medical station around we can take her to?" "I don't want a doctor! I'm scared of doctors!" Apple Bloom cried. "Ooh. Me too," said bubble gum popper. "Well what if you had something to put your mind at ease while you get checked out?" said the leader. "I've got an idea!" Pinkie Pie exclaimed, her eyes glimmering with pride. Pinkie Pie disappeared again. But before too long, Rainbow Dash heard that unmistakable sound of audible saccharine piercing the air via the speaker system. "Testing. Testing. Is this thing on? I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts. Yup. Sounds good." "Oh no," Rainbow gasped. "Pinkie Pie. Why do you always have to be an embarrassment?" Even though the concert was over, Pinkie Pie's hijacking of the microphone didn't stop people and crewponies from gazing at her in exasperation and wonder. "Excuse me, everypony. My name is Pinkie Pie and my friend Apple Bloom is feeling rather upset from some bad smoothies. If you had the smoothies, please stop drinking them. Also, she needs to see a doctor but she's kinda scared. If there's anypony out there that can put her mind at ease, I would really appreciate it. Maybe one of the Jonas Ponies can sing her a song? I know my good friend Rainbow Dash would like that as well." "AAAAAAAAARGGH!" exclaimed Rainbow. At that point, Pinkie Pie was tackled by security. Rainbow Dash then got mad. "Hey! Not so rough with my friend!" Rainbow shouted. Then suddenly one of the Jonas Ponies turned around from where he was about to walk off stage. "Wait. Is that Marshmallow Pie? It IS Marshmallow Pie!" Security let Pinkie Pie stand up and the other Jonas Ponies came out on stage. "Oh. You know me?" asked Pinkie. "Marshmallow Pie!" exclaimed the Jonas Ponies in unison. "Sure we can sing for your friend while she gets checked out. Just lead the way," said the oldest. "What?!" exclaimed Rainbow Dash in surprise. She then promptly fainted. When Rainbow Dash woke up, the first words she said were "Marshmallow Pie." She heard Pinkie Pie giggle and found herself on a cot. "Back from commercial break?" said Pinkie. "Huh?" breathed Rainbow Dash as she rubbed her head. "Where am I?" "Still at the concert," came the familiar voice of one of the Jonas Ponies. "You're at the medical center with your friends." "Ohmigosh Ohmigosh Ohmigosh Ohmigosh," exclaimed Rainbow Dash when she saw that the Jonas Ponies were there. "Hello there, Rainbow Dash." Apparently the punker chicks were there as well. Rainbow Dash then suddenly feigned a cool attitude. "I mean. Hello there, Jonas Ponies. You're cool and all. I mean if I were to like your sort of music. How's Apple Bloom?" The concert's medical pony looked up from where he was reading a chart. "Just a case of food poisoning. I already gave her tummy medicine and some antibiotics. She said they 'tasted weird'. So I know she's a normal filly." Rainbow Dash laughed. "Do you want us to sing for you and Apple Bloom now, Rainbow Dash?" asked one of the Jonas Ponies. Apple Bloom bounced up and down but Rainbow Dash fidgeted. She still felt kind of weird liking this filly pop stuff. "I don't know. You can sing for Apple Bloom. I'm more into songs like Immortal Gloom and stuff." "Ah. Top tune," said another one of the Jonas Ponies. "What do you think, guys? Do you know Immortal Gloom?" "Yeah I know Immortal Gloom, but is that really the kind of song we should be singing in front of the fillies?" "Well perhaps not," replied Rainbow Dash. "It's kind of a dark song. I just think it's cool that you actually know Immortal Gloom." "We'll sing Video Pony then. A one and a two and a. . ." You met in work, you should've known better. It's gonna suck when the camera stops rolling. And you'll find out soon that the treatment wasn't worth it. They're all the same, they all want the money. They're all insane, they live for fame, honey. They laugh at you when you're not being funny. Well I've been here before. And I've seen first hoof and front row seat. This little thing they call a video pony. Video pony rocked my world for a whole two seconds. And now I know I'm not about to be another victim. Of the video pony syndrome. Get out of my face. Get out of my space. Get some class and kiss the past. Cause I'm not about to be another victim. Of the video pony syndrome. Everypony clapped, including the punker chicks. Rainbow Dash then turned towards Pinkie Pie. "So Pinkie Pie. What's this Marshmallow Pie, nonsense?" Pinkie Pie giggled. "Oh you don't want to hear the story." "Yes I kinda do." "Marshmallow Pie is sort of a running joke. Back when I was a groupie for White Noise. . ." Rainbow Dash snorted and fell over laughing. "Oh Pinkie Pie. You are so random. YOU?! A groupie for White Noise?!" She continued laughing. "Well you wanted to hear the story, didn't you?" Rainbow Dash wiped away a tear. "I'm sorry I'm sorry. Wait. You're serious! Oh my ponies! Pinkie Pie. . .was. . . a groupie! For WHITE NOISE!" "Well we would play this prank called Marshmallow Pie on members of Thirty Nine Normal and groupies for Spider Bite," Pinkie Pie continued. "Ah. You'd better not tell what Marshmallow Pie is," said one of the Jonas Ponies. "It's kind of a nasty prank." "But how did clean cut singers like the Jonas Ponies find out about Marshmallow Pie?" Pinkie asked. "Well our manager used to know a pony who used to know a pony who used to know White Noise and couldn't stop talking about Marshmallow Pie." "Well now we've got a different version of Marshmallow Pie right here!" exclaimed Pinkie. "We do?" asked Rainbow. "Sure! Marshmallow Pie is sugar, marshmallows, and a crusty shell. I'm the sugar. The Cutie Mark Crusaders are the marshmallows. And you. . ." Pinkie bumped Rainbow's shoulder with a hoof. "Are the crusty shell." "Ha ha," said Rainbow Dash in a monotone. "Well. We'll be off then," said one of the Jonas Ponies. Everypony departed the tent of the medical center and bid the Jonas Ponies farewell. As Rainbow Dash, Pinkie Pie, and the Cutie Mark Crusaders headed home back to Ponyville after a long day, the punker chicks followed. Rainbow Dash started a conversation and found out they weren't bad fillies at all. It had turned out that Scootaloo was telling them that Rainbow Dash could "kick their workout routine into high gear." As the punker chicks went their own ways, Rainbow Dash swallowed a lump when she realized she had just paddled Scootaloo's backside for no darn good reason. Rainbow Dash soundly apologized, several times in fact, and bought everypony ice cream. "Rainbow Dash?" said Pinkie as she licked her pinkalicious praline. "Yes, Pinkie?" "Marshmallow Pie. It. . . it's not one of my prouder moments in life. PLEASE please please don't tell any of the other ponies, especially Twilight." "You have my promise," said Rainbow Dash. "Cross your heart and hope to fly?" "Stick a cupcake in my eye." The following morning, Rainbow Dash flew over the town square, practicing some intermediate tricks and humming some bars of Video Pony. Twilight Sparkle passed by below. "Oh hello there Rainbow Dash," said Twilight. "What are you singing?" Rainbow Dash decided to land. "How did you know I was singing?" "A new spell I'm trying called Magic Ears." "How is it?" "Can't wait for it wear off! I can hear EVERYPONY's words within two hundred feet!" She then changed the subject. "Did you enjoy the concert?" "Yeah! I did! A night out with Pinkie and the fillies was actually fun." "Got any Friendship Reports for me?" "I learned you shouldn't judge a book by its cover. First, whether it's music or a show, I learned that you shouldn't jump to hating something if you've only seen or heard little bits of it. If you give it a shot, you might just grow to like it. And even if something isn't your thing, you shouldn't use that to judge the artist. Or its fans. Second, I learned you shouldn't judge ponies by how they look or act. The rough looking punker chick and the clean cut tenors might both like the same kinds of things as each other and you and might be just as equally nice people. I also learned a valuable lesson about not hitting in anger and stopping to listen first to what some pony has to say, even if that pony is a child. She might know about something better than you." Twilight blinked at that last part, wondering what it had to do with a concert, but she didn't press the issue. She only said, "Okay. Very good. I'll write that up and address it as your report and send it to Princess Celestia." Rainbow Dash smiled and started to take back to the air. But Twilight Sparkle stopped her with a short quip of "Video Pony, huh?" Rainbow Dash blushed and hummed a few more bars. The End Author's note: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic is copyrighted by Hasbro and created by Lauren Faust. Show characters are copyrighted by Hasbro. The Jonas Ponies inspired by The Jonas Brothers, copyrighted by Hollywood Records, Columbia Records, and Disney. Video Pony inspired by Video Girl, copyrighted by Hollywood Records.

Shooptube

453

Adventure,Random

Band Of Bronies

complete

<p>In the distance future there is a war between Equestria and Nightmare Moon</p>

everyone

2011-08-08T18:07:46+00:00

Band Of Bronies      “I remember when this place was without war, when friendship, love, and tolerance meant something. When you could go to the local cupcake shop and buy yourself one of Mrs. Cake’s pastries, but now it’s an ammo vault for the nearest resistence. If only we could go back.....just to tell all of my friends, to run away, and escape the darkness.” “Fluttershy?” Twilight said softly, “they’re here to see you now” Fluttershy sighed, knowing what was about to come “I was hoping it didn’t have to come to this. Bring Them In!” She yelled out into the hallway. At this point Fluttershy had lost it. When she heard the first sounds of war, she started to cry. She realized over time that the war wasn’t ending anytime soon, that she had to fight back.      The footsteps grew louder as they approached the hideout in which they stayed. It was beaten down with a dark brown coat, with moss hanging from the ceiling. It was located under the mayor’s building, a place now used to train new recruits. The sound of the steps grew louder and louder in the back of Fluttershy’s mind. She has seen a lot of things in her past. A lot of friends lay dead, the sounds of the cries, the executions of her enemies. But she knew that one more execution would have to be done, to get the message out. The prisoners stepped forward, they had a look in their eye that begged for forgiveness, a look that Fluttershy had lost pity for, a long time ago. “Who are these prisoners?” “They refuse to give us names, great leader.” the guard replied “Typical.” Fluttershy said under her breath, “What have they been captured for?” “The destruction of our largest ammo shelter and the lives of nearly 50 soilders.” Fluttershy paused for a moment, wondering what to do with them. She could set them free, let them go back to their homeland, and live amongst their people. If she did this though, Nightmare Moon would think she is a coward. “What are your demands, General?” “Immediate execution.” Everyone was shocked, they had never heard of such a harsh punishment in a while. “E...execution?” “Yes, have you gone deaf.” “Very well then” The guards raised their pistols to their heads. “This is outrageous, what about forgiveness, what about love!” The prisoner’s screamed “Love doesn’t win the war kid.” Fluttershy said Silence. There were no sounds except for the echoes of the bullets flying around in Fluttershy’s head. “Take them where we keep all of our scum.” Fluttershy commanded. They dragged the lifeless bodies outside to the morgue where they will be buried with the rest. Twilight walked over to her, knowing that she wasn’t in the mood to talk.She looked out the window, only to see the sights and sounds of war. Bombs were going off in sugar lane, screams could be heard all along the streets. It broke her heart to see such violence, she even started to tear up. But then she remembered the lullaby her mother used to sing to her every night when she went to bed. “Hush little baby don’t you cry, everything is gonna be alright. I know you’re scared right now for a bomb to drop, but I’ll protect you until it stops.” Fluttershy looked over to the scared Twilight “Who wrote that?” Fluttershy asked, Twilight sniffled and said “My.....my mother did when i was a little filly.” “Well don’t worry, a bomb’s not dropping under my watch.” Fluttershy turned around to exit, but Twilight stopped her. She grabbed her and and said “Do you think what we are doing is wrong?” Fluttershy paused, she didn’t have an honest answer. “I think we’ll know once this war is over.” She walked away with a sad Twilight in her trails. She didn’t care though, she just wanted this war to be over, and she knew how she was going to do it.      It was 7 o’ clock in the morning. Fluttershy didn’t get any sleep, she only sat in her chair, and replayed the execution in her head, until she could have it memorized whenever she needed inspiration. In front of her, there was a scroll broughten to her by Spike, who was still young but grew into a full dragon. “Here, this is a note from the Princess.” He handed her the scroll and left knowing his work has been done.She stared at the note wandering if it was orders, or a surrender. She opened it and skimmed through it, not paying attention to most words. One word however stood out from the others “Rarirty.” She said as she saw one of her dear friends encrypted into the paper. She then went back to read every word at least 5 times. “She has been taken prisoner.” She mumbled to herself. She had planned an attack, to destroy the castle in which Rarity was hiding. She wanted to win the war so badly, but she couldn’t hurt her dearest friend. She knew she would have to rescue rarity in order to save Equestria.      “You are the finest this resistence force has to offer.” Fluttershy said as she looked at her group of soldiers. “Rainbow Dash, leader of the skies. Twilight, controller of magic. Applejack, the toughest and best shooter in all of Equestria. And Pinkie Pie......I have no idea what you can do.” “Oh that’s okay neither do I.” Pinkie said back. Fluttershy just stood there staring at her. “Uh....why is she coming along.” Dash wispered to Fluttershy “Comic relief?” Fluttershy shrugged. “Anyway, who are we doing this for.” “Rarity.” The group stated back “Who are we doing this for.” Fluttershy said louder. “Rarity.” They said a little louder than usual “Who are we doing this for!” Now yelling. “Rarity!” They all said with passion “Then onward!” Fluttershy said as they head for Nightmare Moon’s castle. Fluttershy could hear Rarity in the back of her mind a little. “It won’t work.” She could hear faintly.      “Uggghhhh......how much longer?” Pinkie complained. “Not that much longer.” Fluttershy replied. “You’re just jealous that I can fly.” Rainbow Dash taunted. “Nuh uh.” “Uh huh” They argued back and forth until Fluttershy coudn’t take it. “Will you both just shut up!” Fluttershy yelled at the top of her lungs “Sorry....jeez.” “It doesn’t matter.....we’re here.” Fluttershy said as they see their campsite at the tip of a cliff. “Well it’s time for us to get some sleep anyway, we are gonna need all we can in the morning.”      Fluttershy’s eyes opened slowly as she awakens from the nightmare she has had over night. She was in the same situation as the execution but something was off, the gun was placed at her head. She coudn’t move and just watched in terror, as Nightmare Moon pulled the trigger. She screamed no, but no one was there to help her. She escapes the cage she calls a tent, she could smell the burning smoke, the pollutions. “I love the smell of war in the morning.” She wanders over to the other tents, to wake up the happy campers, to lead them to what she hopes isn’t their deaths. “Come on....get up....and meet me at the edge of the cliff in 5 minutes.”      The gang just sat in a nearby bush over looking the palace. “Okay there it is.” Fluttershy assured everyone “Where, I don’t see it?” Pinkie Pie said Dash sighed and twisted the confused pony’s head around to view the amazing structure. “Oh.....there it is.” Pinkie giggled. “Okay.....here’s the plan, Dash, I need you to fly around and tell me if you can see where they are keeping Rarity.” “Gotcha.” Dash assured Fluttershy as she flew up in a daze. “What if she can’t see her?” Twilight asked. “Oh don’t worry, she’s the best flyer in Equestria remember.” And Fluttershy was right, Dash returned within a minute with news. “There’s a cargo hold about a mile that way that is being guarded.” Dash pointed straight. “She’s probably in there, okay here’s the plan.” she huddled everyone around “Rainbow Dash, i need you in 10 minutes, to create a sonic rainboom big enough to wipe this place from existence.” “But i haven’t been able to produce one si...” “I know, you are just going to have to do it one last time, i promise soldier.” Fluttershy interrupted. “Twilight, when Dash creates the boom, i’m gonna need you to create a magical barrier to make sure it doesn’t get out of hand.” “Got it.” Twilight responded “Pinkie,” Fluttershy stared at her,” just keep doing whatever it is you’re doing.” “Okie doki loki.” She said with a salute. “All right everyone, I’m going in, for Rarity!” She said with her gun held high. “For Rarity!” They all chimed in.      Fluttershy crept up on the guard as he sheltered the defenseless Rarity. “Ok Fluttershy, you’ve shot a guy before you can do it again.” She said as she pulled down the hammer of the pistol. She sprung up from behind cover and shot a bullet right into his arm, she shot one more time in his chest. “Double tap.” She laughed to herself. She approached the door that stood between her, and her friend. “Locked.” She said. Without warning she pulled up her pistol, and shot the lock open. It worked and she swung the door open. It was dark with a faint light in the corner. She could see a shadow and knew that it was Rarity. She ran over to her and saw her tied up. She took out her pocket knife and began to set her free. She ripped off the duct tape covering her mouth. “Ow.....watch it, i just applied lip gloss to those.” Rarity whined “You always were a pansy you know that.” Fluttershy mocked “Well at least I’m not wearing something that you get a last minute sale.” “Jesus you whine a lot, anyway, I need you to leave and go meet up with the others.” “What about you?” Rarity asked and grabbed her arm. “I’m going on ahead.” Fluttershy said and turned around. “I’m coming with you.” Rarity stopped her “No you’re not!” Fluttershy’s tone grew louder. “And why’s that!” Rarity yelled back “Because I’m going to kill Nightmare Moon!” As she yelled louder “And why can’t i help!” “Because you’re worthless!” She screamed at the top of her lungs. Those words struck Rarity, she had never been so upset in her whole life. She began to tear up. “Rarity.....I.....I’m sorry.” She said softly “No.....just save it, this wasn’t about me at all was it? This was just so you could sucker the others to get in a group so you could end the war yourself.....isn’t it!” Fluttershy just stood in silence, wishing she could take back all the words she just uttered. “You know....you’re right....love doesn’t win the war.” Rarity said while tearing up “Backstabbing your friends is what gets you to victory.” Rarity said as she walked out the room with her hands up to her eyes. Fluttershy stayed the same way, isolated in stone, in thought, that she had just lost one of her best friends.      “Hey look...it’s Rarity.” Pinkie Pie said to the others. “Good, almost time for me to own the skies anyway.” Rainbow Dash said in excitement They noticed something was wrong though, where was Fluttershy? “Hey, where’s Fluttershy?” Twilight asked as she passed by. “Who cares....she didn’t do it for me anyway.” Rarity said. “That isn’t true, i know Fluttershy and she prepared us all just to come and save you.” “That’s not true and you know it.” Rarity snapped. “Yes it is, she knows you are her best friend.” “She is?” Pinkie interupted “Quiet Pinkie!” Twilight Shouted. “Listen, if it makes you feel better she never stopped talking about you on the way here. “She even made a surprise party for you when we get home!” Pinkie shouted. “Way to ruin the surprise Pinkie.” Twilight said to Pinkie. “For....me....” Rarity mumbled to herself.” With that said, Rarity ran back to Fluttershy, knowing she would need her. “Wait, it’s almost time!” Rainbow Dash yelled. “It’s ok, something tells me she knows what she’s doing.” Twilight assured her.      “Okay i got 5 minutes to find Nightmare Moon, and kill her, no problem at all.” Fluttershy said to herself. She walked up and down what seemed like an endless hallway. She was traveling in circles until she found what she wanted, a door leading write to her enemy. She slammed the door open putting her gun up to her eye. Nothing, it was an empty room. She walked in regardless and noticed all the decorations. Endless pictures of her and Princess Celestia. She picked up one and dropped it immediately. She shook in horror as to what she just saw. It was a picture of her and the princess, and she was dead. “Oh my.......Celestia....she....killed her.” Fluttershy said softly. “And it felt so good.” Fluttershy’s heart skipped a beat, for behind her stood Nightmare ready to strike. Fluttershy ducked and avoided the flesh peircing knife. She flipped out her knife to counter, she jabbed at her, barely missing her chest as she stepped back. “Why did you do it.....this war woudn’t have ever started?” She asked. “I always despised my sister, always caring for everything. With her out of the way, I could show Equestria a true power, with an iron fist.” She said as she lunged for another strike. Fluttershy knocked the blade out of the way, and tried a quick attack to her side. But instead got knocked down by a powerful blow to her chest. Her knife went rolling to the corner of the room. Fluttershy only watched and shed a tear, as the knife began to lead for her face. “This is it, this is what it has come down too.” She thought to herself. She was back home, with her parents living in the forest. Before the whole war started to break out. She baked cupcakes with her mom all the time, even though they were burnt, she didn’t mind. She would just give it to her little forest friends, Angel. She was always teased at school, calling her a freak and a tree hugger. Sometimes they would throw stuff at her, she would always leave school crying. She would go home, dad would calm her down, read her a story about the times he had in the military. Then mom would come upstairs, give her some warm milk, and sing her to sleep. Hush little baby don’t you cry, everything is gonna be alright. I know you’re scared right now for a bomb to drop, but I’ll protect you until it stops. That was the song Twilight’s mom read to her every night too. She snapped back into reality, waiting for the knife to come down, and end it all. But something was wrong, Nightmare Moon wasn’t moving. She collapsed on the ground next to her. She looked over, wondering what was going on, then she saw it. A knife was wedged into her back. a deep cut. “That’s for making Fluttershy cry bitch.” Rarity said. She coudn’t believe it, the enemy she made out of Rarity, had somehow turned into a friend. “Come on, we need to get out of here before Rainbow Dash does something stupid.” Fluttershy did what she said and they escaped back to the cliff where their hideout was positioned. “Ok Dash the field is ready, you can start whenever.” Twilight told Dash. “Alright, this one is for Princess Celsetia.” Dash said as she plummeted through the atmosphere at an amazing speed. “It’s amazing isn’t it?” Rarity said to Fluttershy. “What is?” Fluttershy asked as she turned to her. “That love really did win the war.” Rarity said as Fluttershy smiled. “This isn’t over, now we need to free the rest of Equestria.” She said “Here!” Pinkie screamed as she handed Fluttershy a flag. “What’s this, it’s a flag i made, for when we, you know, end the war.” Pinkie said smiling. “Come on, let’s go finish this.” Fluttershy said as she dug the pole into the ground. They all turned around leaving a bright trail of the sonic rainboom, and a message of friendship in the distance.

DavidReinold

455

Main 6,Other,Spike,Slice of Life,Tragedy,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

Pretty in Pink

Everypony tries to cope as the laughter is suddenly torn out of their lives.

complete

<p><span style="font-weight:bold;font-style:italic">400 FAVES! Thank you so much for your love and support!</span></p><p>Everypony tries to cope as the laughter is suddenly torn out of their lives.</p><p><a href="http://www.equestriadaily.com/2011/09/story-pretty-in-pink.html" rel="nofollow">'Pretty in Pink' on EquestriaDaily</a><br/><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w4a5EoZygmI" rel="nofollow">Dramatic reading by Azekahh</a></p>

teen

2012-07-02T16:54:34+00:00

2012-07-02T16:54:34+00:00

It was wintertime, but any holiday cheer would have been in distasteful irony. There was nothing to be happy about. Something was missing. A facet of life in Ponyville, something I had always taken for granted. I had never even considered that one day I might be without it. This facet took the form of a keen and bubbly mare who always wore a smile, and made a point to share that smile with everypony. But she no longer wore a smile. Her eyes were closed and she was almost frowning. It was unnatural for her, and when I spun the thoughts around in my mind, I didn't like the conclusions I drew. There would be no more parties. There would be no more giggling. In fact, Ponyville would be lucky if anypony was ever happy again. * * * My heart clouded over from the snowstorm of emotion. * * * After the procession, I sat in the library for what felt like hours. Just sitting there. Staring at the floor, avoiding thinking at all costs. At that point, thinking would have been rather masochistic, if not suicidal. There was too much to think about, and no good could have been drawn from thinking about it. Not even Rainbow Dash could clear the cloud that hung over Ponyville. But try as I might to rid my mind of all semblance of thought, I couldn't keep the gears from turning. My mind wasn't conditioned to a lack of thought; I gave up and allowed myself to process it all. It was all so sudden, this first inevitable thought entered my mind, and I let it run. One day she was the same giggly ball of fun who I'd spent nearly every day of my life in Ponyville with. Then the next day, she was... I couldn't think any further. I pushed all my thoughts away again as the tears began to flow. I lay flat on the floor, with my teeth gritted, sobbing. I remained there the rest of the evening, barely conscious. I hardly noticed when Spike gently lifted my head and put a pillow underneath. I only half-noticed when a minute later he lay a blanket over me. I should have noticed sooner, was the last thought to cross my mind before sleep gripped me... The next morning I woke up feeling dead inside. * * * The chill of the winter weather had penetrated my heart. * * * I lay in that same spot for several hours that morning. My body seemed to think that if I didn't do anything that day, perhaps the day just wouldn't happen at all. But it was wishful thinking; that became clear when a soft tap at the door caught my attention. Then a voice followed. "Twi? Can ah come in?" I still stayed where I was for lack of energy, willpower or any semblance of motivation, so in my stead, Spike opened the door. Applejack wandered in and took a seat next to me. "Ah just want ta' talk, is all. Ah've been gettin' a might restless and ah thought talking it over might do us both some good." I grunted in acknowledgement. "I's just...nopony saw it comin'. She must've known, but she di'nt tell anypony. Ah can only wonder why..." I grunted again in acknowledgement. Applejack seemed frustrated at this. "Well a might help yew are. Honestly, all ah want'd t'do was talk and here y'are can't hardly put in a word 'r two?" Applejack got up and went back outside. A moment later I heard Rarity's voice. The two of them were talking. A second later Rarity came in. "Come on. Get up." "Why?" I barely mumbled the question. "We're not going to let you sit here and rot from your own depression. Some fresh air will do you good." I still refused to get up, so Rarity cast a levitation spell. "Come on. We're leaving." Against my will I was magically dragged outside. "Where are you taking me?" I again mumbled. Rarity, instead of replying, sighed. "You still have friends left, Twilight. Being one pony short does not justify neglecting the rest. We all need to cope, but if any coping is to be done, we need you to be there with us. And you know what else, Twilight?" "What?" I asked, hardly caring but humoring her anyway. "You need us there with you. That's a fact." I was silent the rest of the trip. * * * The loneliness of the cold blinded me to my companions. * * * Sugarcube Corner was a bittersweet sight. Even more bittersweet was the fact that the rest of my friends stood there, but the frizzy-maned bouncing blur of pink was not among them. I closed my eyes and tried to shut it all out. "Twilight, you need to stand up. Now," I heard Rarity's voice say. I scoffed silently. Easy enough for the independent one to say. "Twi, ah can honestly say ah din't expect ya ta' crumble so easy-like," of course the farm pony would know all about keeping one's composure. "Twilight, come on. She'd want us to move on. She'd hate to see us suffer for her," pfft, yeah, Rainbow Dash. The pony that was never fazed by anything. She would say that. "Be strong, Twilight." My eyes opened wide. That last one was Fluttershy. Even Fluttershy, the most emotionally fragile pony I knew, was standing up tall. Even Fluttershy, the frail and tender pegasus who was afraid of everything was looking her emotions in the eye and staring them down, daring them to consume her. Even Fluttershy. I realized then and there that I was an absolute mess. I closed my eyes tight and gritted my teeth again, preparing for the tears. Rarity released her levitation spell and I fell to the ground with a light thud. With this, I was pulled away from my emotions for a moment by what I felt around me. The ground. I hadn't noticed earlier, but there was a light snow on the ground. Of course, I thought, it's winter. Winter. The thought processed for a moment, after which I took a deep breath and stood up, tears in my eyes but a weak smile across my face. "Anypony want to go ice skating?" * * * In the midst of icy despair, my heart began to thaw. * * * We all found skates and picked out a lake that had good, solid ice. Rarity was absolutely right. The fresh air was like breathing in pure adrenaline. I was awake. I felt aware. The tears had long since crusted over and my eyes were dry. I felt like everything would be alright, and that the one who couldn't be here with us would be smiling down at us just knowing that we were doing what she always encouraged: having fun with each other. I was just as horrible at skating as I was the previous time, during my first winter wrap-up experience. But this time, I was able to laugh at my mistakes. This time, I didn't have any goal to accomplish or task to complete. This time, trying was all that mattered. But there was still a fragment of that feeling at the pit of my stomach. I knew that my late friend would have wanted to be here for this. To be the one showing me how to skate. It still tore me up a bit that she didn't get a chance to do at least that. After an hour or so of skating, and copious amounts of tear-ridden giggling, we all headed over to Sweet Apple Acres, where Applejack had a roaring fire going and apple pies baking in the oven. "Glad ta' see ya've come 'round, Twi," Applejack commented as she poured cider for all of us, "I was worried about ya." I sipped the warm cider gingerly. The transition from cool, fresh air to warm, welcoming cider worked wonders on my mind. "Thanks, Applejack," I paused for a moment to take another sip, "I just...it was upsetting to me particularly...when I was just a filly, Princess Celestia told me that I had more latent talents waiting to be uncovered. One of those talents was supposedly the ability to see the future. And so in the back of my mind this entire time, I've been wondering why that latent ability couldn't have surfaced sooner. If I could have foreseen what was going to happen, I might have...okay, maybe I couldn't have prevented it, but I could have made her last weeks more enjoyable. More fun. More...something, at least." "You know, Twilight," Fluttershy cut in, "if you really feel bad about it, there's one thing you could do to get it off your mind." "Oh? And what's that?" "You could talk to Nurse Redheart and ask her for details. I'm sure she'll tell you what you want to know." I mulled this over. It did seem like a good idea...there was the slightest hint of dread, but I ignored that. I finished my cider, partook in some apple pie, and thanked Applejack for everything before leaving to find Nurse Redheart's office. * * * In my heart, the sun crept through the clouds. * * * "So, what was the issue?" I asked Nurse Redheart. I almost wasn't sure she heard me. My voice was dry and cracked. I suspected it didn't want me to talk; in the back of my mind, I was terrified of what the answer might be. Nevertheless Nurse Redheart responded a moment later with a sigh. "She came in about two years ago asking about some symptoms she was having. Well, as it would turn out...she was very ill. I told her she had a year to live, and upon hearing this, she told me not to tell anypony until after she was gone. That was winter of two years ago. "But then in the summer a year and a half ago, she met you, and she began to get strong again. I don't much specialize in psychology, but I suspect that your presence in her life gave her something to live for. Her heart no longer beat for herself but for somepony else. Twilight, I think the friendship you offered her prolonged her life greatly." After this, Nurse Redheart paused, and her demeanor changed slightly. When she spoke again there was an air of bitterness. "But then you changed, Twilight. You began to tire of her antics. You misinterpreted her desperate cry for help as hyperactivity and pretended not to notice. That upset her. She couldn't make you smile anymore. And if her friends weren't smiling, she had no reason to smile, either. She lost her will to live because you passed her actions off as just her typical silliness. "Twilight Sparkle, you killed Pinkie Pie." I stepped back a pace in shock. "What...what are you saying?" "You brought about the end of her life, plain and simple. By neglecting her you failed to prolong her life, and so, in essence, you killed her." "No! I never neglected her! I always appreciated her optimism and carefree attitude!" "You took her for granted! You made her feel unappreciated and unloved! All that time you kept telling yourself 'she's just being Pinkie Pie', but you never bothered to understand why!" I had no response. I was completely taken aback by these accusations. But the worst part of it...was that it all rang true. Before I could ponder this thought, however, Nurse Redheart continued. "Celestia's favorite student...with the latent ability to forsee the future-" "How do you know about that?!" "-if only you had seen it this time. You might have appreciated Pinkie Pie and undone the damage before it was too late." She gave a shudder and began to change shape. "You killed her, Twilight Sparkle." She grew taller, and her shadow enveloped the room. "You killed her, Twilight Sparkle." Her face grew darker. "You killed her, Twilight Sparkle." Her voice twisted into a demonic tome. "yOU kIllEd hEr, twIlIght spArklE." At that moment, I hear a distant voice. It sounded like Pinkie Pie saying wake up! Wake up, Twilight! "You kIlleD her, TwilIght SparKle." Wake up, Twilight! "YoU kIlLeD hEr, TwIlIgHt SpArKlE." Wake up, Twilight! "YOU KILLED HER, TWILIGHT SPARKLE!" "TWILIGHT, WAKE UP!" I awoke with a start. It was no longer winter, but rather, mid-summer. I was rather confused and it took me a moment to get my bearings, but that moment was still working itself through when I heard a pounding at the front door and a subsequent blur of a pony zooming through it. "Wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up!" Pinkie Pie was bouncing around the room excitedly. I blinked the drowsiness out of my eyes and tried to comprehend what was going on. It never happened, I thought, it was all a dream. I inhaled steeply, and let out a difficult breath. A dream, maybe, but definitely not fiction. I thought it all through. There was nothing made up about our relationship, I realized. I had been very much been taking Pinkie Pie for granted. I took that opportunity to make a change. Still a bit upset from the dream, I got up and walked over to Pinkie. She appeared confused as I buried my face in her pink, frizzy mane that only fell flat when her heart clouded over. I sighed. "...I'm glad we met. And...I'm glad we're friends." "Twilight, what's up? Did you have a scary dream?" "Yeah...something like that." I took a deep breath, but caught myself short when I felt Pinkie Pie give a slight tremble. "Er...Pinkie...are you feeling alright?" "Yep, I'm super-duper-spectacular!" "...Are your Pinkie senses giving you any trouble?" "Nope! They haven't acted up at all since Froggy Bottom Bog. Twilight, what's up?" "Um...no reason. You're sure you're okay?" "Yeah, I'm fine!" She shuddered again. She was lying. There was something wrong with her. After a second, it clicked. Princess Celestia told me that one day I'd be able to see the future. It wasn't a dream at all. It was a vision. Pinkie Pie was actually dying. Why else would she hide that she was ill? It all added up. I'd been given a second chance at this, an opportunity make things right, and I wasn't going to let it slip by. The important thing, I realized, was not to tell Pinkie Pie that I knew. Doing so would make her prolonged happiness that much more difficult to achieve. I needed to make sure she knew she was appreciated, and I couldn't do that if she thought I was only doing this to make her happy. That just wouldn't work at all. "So Pinkie....what do we have going on today?" She grinned wildly. "I have no clue! Let's go find out!" I smiled weakly, and felt a pang of guilt that could only come from understanding. What she did, she did to make her friends happy. If they weren't having a good time, she couldn't either. We spent that day like we would have spent any other: having fun with the rest of our friends. Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash were hanging out in the meadow, so we decided to join them for a while. Pinkie, as it turned out, got along with Angel extremely well. I never realized how interesting a day in that meadow could be. Every time I had visited before, there were tasks to complete, issues to sort out. I never stopped to appreciate it. We stayed there past nightfall, and when Luna brought out the moon we watched the fireflies light up the sky. Afterwards, I walked Pinkie back to Sugarcube corner, and said goodnight. "Twilight, thanks for being there today. I had a great time." "Yeah, so did I!" Pinkie stifled a slight tremble. I pretended not to notice. The days passed like this. And each day, Pinkie was just as lively as the previous day. Winter came, and I began to worry. This was the time of year I had seen in my dream. Before it was too late, I decided to make one last change. I stopped by Sugarcube corner one weekend. "Hey, Pinkie, I have a favor to ask..." "Yes, Twilight?" "Would you mind...showing me how to ice skate?" The pink pony's face lit up. "Well of course, Twilight! Wait right there, I'll get my skates!" * * * The future I had seen shattered before my eyes. * * * Winter came and passed. Pinkie Pie, though still showing a tremble now and then, was still bouncing around and having a good time. And every single day that passed with Pinkie Pie still alive and throwing parties, I counted as a little victory. Days turned into months. Months turned into years. I counted every victory, and I never forgot a single one. I celebrated exactly five thousand, seven hundred and twenty four of these victories - that's fifteen years, seven months, a week and two days - before Pinkie Pie threw her final party and drifted off into infinite sleep. At the procession, I stepped up to the alter and took a last look at my good friend. I shed a tear, but rather than holding bitterness in my heart, I held a smile on my face. "Goodbye...and...thanks for being an awesome friend."

Semolika

457

Princess Celestia,Princess Luna,Tragedy,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

Recollections

complete

<p>After a thousand years of loneliness, Princess Luna has finally returned from her banishment. At first, it seems as though her tale will have a happy ending. However, just when she starts settling into her new home, she begins to experience strange flashbacks... Shadows from her past... How will she handle reliving the worst moments of her life?</p>

everyone

2011-08-09T02:28:47+00:00

2011-08-09T02:28:47+00:00

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ [Normal][Sad] Noah Pace (Semolika) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Princess Luna sat by her sister in a reserved silence as the royal guard pegasi pulled their carriage up towards the shining white and gold towers of Canterlot. Luna gazed up at the capitol city, a blank expression dominating her face. 'Well, I'm here,' she thought. 'After a thousand years, I'm finally here.' As the royal carriage passed through the intricate city gates, a group of young fillies smiled and bowed. Celestia gave a slight wave, acknowleding the fillies' respect, and once more the carriage was off, heading for the palace. 'My sister's subjects... No, our subjects,' she reminded herself. 'My, this is going to take a while to get used to again... What if they don't like me?' "Are you excited?" "Whu- Sister?," Luna breathed. Celestia was looking down at her with an affectionate smile. "I said, are you excited? I know it must be nice to return to Equestria after so long." Luna tried to think quickly. "Um, yes, sister. I'm so glad to be home," she said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. Her moment of hesitation betrayed her true feelings, however. Celestia's smile grew somewhat smaller, and an edge of concern entered her voice. "Are you sure? You seem a little reluctant. Well, I suppose it is only natural to be scared about something like this. Do not worry, you will feel right at home in no time." And with that, Celestia's smile was back in full force. Luna gave a weak smile. She looked out at the citizens of Canterlot while the carriage proceeded toward its destination. A white mare with a royal blue mane repeated the same gesture that the young fillies had performed. Unlike the fillies, however, the mare looked up from her bow and stared directly at Luna. She did not say a word, but just stood there and stared. A pair of stallions down the road noticed Luna immediately, and did not even attempt to feign respect. They watched with narrow eyes as the carriage floated past. 'Right,' Luna thought bitterly. 'I'll feel right at home in no time.' The carriage rose high up into the air, giving its passengers an unparalleled view of the city below. The white and gold streets and buildings seemed to positively sparkle. Heartwarming laughter could be heard drifting up from a school group playing in a pleasant little park. Pegasi soared through the skies, some busily darting back and forth delivering some package or another. In spite of herself, Luna did cheer up a bit. The city was an impressive sight. "Luna, look. We are here." Luna's gaze slowly shifted to the structure in front of them. If Canterlot itself was impressive, the palace was something else entirely. Majestic white stone towers and tall, radiant walls curved inward around a large central courtyard. Every surface shone with a bright, radiating light. It was beautiful... But it paled in comparison to their old castle's former glory. Celestia's tone said that she understood Luna's concern. "Welcome to your new home, little sister. This palace may not be quite the same as our old castle, but... I believe it will suit your needs." "Yes," Luna said quietly. "This is very-" ~~~ Luna floated high above the battlements, looking down at the stone walls of the castle below. Tall, spiraling towers sprouted up from the structure, dominating the skyline. Luna grinned. Their castle was wonderful. She slowly lowered herself to the ground in front of a long wooden bridge and looked across the chasm at the front gate. Her sister appeared from inside and stood beneath a stone archway. "Luna, it is time for dinner!" "Coming, Tia!" ~~~ "-ay? My sister, do you hear me?" "What?" Luna blurted out suddenly, snapping back to attention. Celestia nuzzled Luna's neck affectionately, but her smile was the type that somepony would have when they were worried about somepony else. "Are you okay, Luna?" "I-It's nothing, sister..." Celestia waited a long moment before replying. "Luna, you know you can tell me about anything that is troubling you, correct?" "Y-yes... I'm fine, Tia. Really." The carriage dropped steadily towards a plaza in front of the castle. They landed with a soft thud, and Luna looked across a long, wide bridge at the palace gate. A guard in traditional golden armor stood to either side of the gate. Luna carefully stepped out of the carriage as her sister did the same. "Thank you, sirs," Celestia said brightly to their escorts. "You may return to your bunks and rest." "Thank you, my Princess." With that, the four pegasi that had pulled their carriage flew off in the direction of the barracks. "The guards are really quite dependable," Celestia stated, turning toward her sister, "but it may take some time before they get used to the fact that they have two princesses to take care of now." The pair of guards by the gate saluted as the two sisters approached. Luna nodded and smiled meakly, not used to the attention. She and the other alicorn now stood before a large set of golden double doors. At Celestia's signal, the guards tugged on the doorhandles, revealing a grand entry hall. "Come along now, sister," Celestia said brightly. "I have much to show you." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "And this is your new bedchamber." Celestia's horn glowed for a moment as she turned the handle and pushed inward. Luna stepped into the large circular room with her mouth agape. The carpet was a deep, soothing purple. Several magnificient tapestries hung around the room, each embroidered with a crescent moon. A large four-poster bed covered in exquisite purple sheets sat in the center of the room. The rest of the chamber's furniture was positioned along the wall. Luna saw a mahogany writing desk, several drawers, a vanity, and a wardrobe. Everything a princess needed to relax after a long day. "Oh, Tia, it's perfect!" Luna exclaimed as she entered the room. Perhaps this new palace won't be so bad after all,' she thought hopefully. Celestia smiled warmly. "Well, I am glad you think so, sister. The view from the balcony is rather impressive as well." Only then did Luna notice the small glass door leading out onto a private balcony. She turned the handle and stepped outside. She now stood at the top of one of the palace's many spiral towers, looking out over the land of Equestria far below the mountain. She could see several towns in the distance. They looked so tiny from up here. The Sun was almost directly overhead, having just begun its descent toward the horizon. Luna breathed deeply, but suddenly was overcome with a deep sadness. 'What?' Luna asked herself. 'Why do I suddenly feel like-' ~~~ From the balcony of her tower, Luna could easily see over the trees of the Everfree Forest. She shifted her attention to her sister as she performed her royal duty. Celestia flew perfectly vertical, stretching out her long white wings. Her horn glowed brightly as she pulled the massive orb behind her. Silhouetted by the sun, Celestia relaxed her wings and finished her ascent. Her horn returned to its normal state. She turned in midair and faced the Sun, basking in its warmth. Luna looked back over the trees, towards the nearest town at the edge of the Everfree Forest. It only took a moment before several pegasi rose from the town, stretching their wings and preparing for the day ahead. Equestria was waking up. Luna shut her eyes and turned away from the sight. ~~~ Luna blinked. She turned around and bumped into her sister, who was looking down at her with that same concerned expression. "Luna? ... Are you certain you are alright?" "I-I'm positive, Tia. Why do you ask?" Luna faked a smile. "You just seem... Distracted. Please, Luna... If anything is on your mind, we should talk about it." "No," Luna said simply. "I'm fine." Celestia's pained expression unnerved Luna a bit. Sure, she wished she could tell Celestia about her visions, but... It would just cause her to overreact. She was fine. Really... Wasn't she? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "What may I prepare for you today, my princesses?" the head chef asked humbly. Luna began to panic. She had not put any real thought into her order. It had been so long since she had enjoyed a proper meal. She decided to simply wait for her sister to order and copy her. "I believe I would enjoy one of those omelettes I am fond of," Celestia began. "But also... May we have one of those wonderful apple pies? I believe the return of my beloved sister warrants a special treat." Celestia cast a benevolent look at her. "Excellent choice, my princess." The head chef quickly jotted down Celestia's order on a small notepad. "And what may I get you, Princess Luna?" "Um, I'll just take what she's having, please." "Very well. Your meals will be ready shortly." Luna looked out over the streets of Canterlot. She and her sister were seated at a small round table situated on one of the palace's many balconies. She curiously noted that the city somehow seemed even brighter in the afternoon. At their altitude, a light breeze could be felt. 'I remember that day,' Luna thought, reflecting on her recent vision. 'The day I first began to doubt Tia... The day I grew jealous of her.' Luna tried to push the thought aside, but the bitterness she had felt that day still seemed fresh in her mind. It terrified her. "I did not know you liked omelettes, Luna." "Of course I do," Luna said curtly. She quickly realized her mistake. "Sorry, I mean, not really. I just couldn't think of anything else I wanted." Celestia's brow furrowed in suspicion. "Luna, I understand that you have had a long day, and I am sure you are tired, but now you are genuinely starting to worry me. Why will you not you just tell me what is on your mind?" Luna stared down at the table, her mind racing. Her sister was obviously not going to let her keep her troubles to herself. Why couldn't she just realize it wasn't a big deal? "It... It's so petty, and I don't..." "No, Luna, if something is bothering you so much, it can not be too petty to tell me about." Luna sighed. "Well, I just... I had this weird-" ~~~ The Princess of the Sun sat across from her at the other end of the long, rectangular table. Luna sat perfectly still, gazing down into her glass of orange juice without a word. Setting her own glass down, Celestia broke the silence. "Did you enjoy your breakfast, Luna?" Luna did not respond immediately. "... Yes." "I am glad to hear it. Now, we have a big day ahead of us. Shall we get started?" Luna decided to feign ignorance. "What do you mean?" "The Sun, silly. It is time to raise the Sun." In a flash, Luna jumped up from her seat and slammed her front two hooves down onto the table. Silverware rattled as the table shook. Luna lifted her gaze and locked eyes with her so-called sister. Celestia looked stunned. Luna stood there, staring into Celestia's eyes for what seemed like ages. She felt her eyes begin to water. At last, her lips parted, and she choked out a simple statement. "No, Celestia." "Whu- Luna, you never use my full name. What has gotten into you?" The Princess of the Moon dropped her head and began to sob quietly. Soon, the tablecloth beneath her was speckled with drops of moisture. Celestia continued to pry. "My sister, what is wrong? You-" "I am not your sister!" Luna cried out, her rage escalating even higher. "Do you really think you can call me your sister after everything you've done to me? After everything you've put me through?" Celestia stumbled for something to say, clearly confused by her bitterness. "But- My si- Luna, what are you talking about?" "Every day, when you raise the sun, every single pony in Equestria jumps out of bed and starts making something of themselves. They work. They play. They live. But do you know what happens when I raise the moon? Nothing. Everypony goes to sleep. There's nopony to talk to. Nopony to play with." The tablecloth was now soaked in the princess's tears. "Do you have any idea how lonely that is?" Luna's head shot up once more, emphasizing her accusation. "But not any more," Luna's voice grew dark and foreboding. "They will come to love the night, just as I do. They won't have a choice. And neither will you." Luna recoiled in shock as she was suddenly stricken with an excruciating headache. Dark purple mist materialized from thin air, engulfing her. Before she could react, she felt herself being pulled away... Pulled back into a deep pit. Something was attacking her... Not physically, but mentally... And it was winning. The princess collapsed, landing flat on the ground. She felt her own body writhe and contract, but the sensation was dull, as if her entire body had gone numb. Her features began to elongate, and her mane took on an ethereal quality. Her coat darkened to a jet black color. She was being transformed into some twisted mockery of Celestia. Luna screamed, and was only vaguely aware that no actual sound escaped her lips. The entity had forced her back into the deepest pit of her own mind. She watched in horror as her new body let out a low, cruel laugh. And then... Darkness. ~~~ Luna gasped and realized she was drenched in cold sweat. Panting heavily, she whipped her head back and forth, trying to gather her bearings. The balcony. She was still sitting at the table on the balcony. Celestia sat at the other side of the table, watching her. A long silence punctuated the air. Finally, Celestia asked the obvious question. "Luna... What is happening to you?" "I... I don't know, I-" ~~~ Luna drifted through the black abyss, unable to see her own hoof in front of her face. She soon realized that she didn't actually have hooves any more. The dark entity had taken those from her and forced her into this state... Just a pile of thoughts and emotions floating through nothingness. From the darkness, a thin, swirling substance appeared. It looked almost like glass, but in some strange gaseous state. Gazing into the substance, Luna could make out vague shapes and sounds. She focused her entire being into the swirling pool, trying to make out the images it was showing her. Slowly, the vision became clearer, and Luna began to hear voices with reasonable clarity... "Who or- What are you?" Luna gasped as she recognized her sister's voice. She was viewing the scene from the dark mare's perspective. Or... Her own perspective. It was so difficult to tell. Three royal guards had entered the dining hall, and were standing beside Celestia with uncertain expressions. They were obviously as confused about Luna's transformation as Celestia was, and were not very keen on the idea of fighting her. "Me?" the dark mare chuckled softly. "Why, I'm your beloved sister, Luna." The mare grinned triumphantly at the scowl on Celestia's face. "But for now you may call me... Nightmare Moon." "What do you want... Nightmare Moon?" "Oh, you know what I want, sister." Nightmare Moon practically spat the last word. "From this day forth, the Sun shall never rise again. The citizens of Equestria will live in my eternal night, and I shall rule them alone. I don't need you any more." From inside her mind, the remnant of the real Luna gasped. She just wanted a little more attention, not this. This Nightmare Moon, this... Monster... Was going to do the unspeakable. She was threatening to plunge Equestria into eternal night. She was threatening Tia. 'No,' she realized. 'I'm threatening Equestria. I'm threatening Tia.' 'I am the monster.' An overwhelming wave of guilt swept over Luna. Being forced to listen to her own maniacal plans... It was too much for her to handle. Celestia waited a long moment before giving her order. "... Seize her." The three guards galloped forward at full speed, intent on tackling the new threat. Nightmare Moon yawned and casually flicked her etheral mane at them, knocking them back into the wall. "Really, Celestia, did you think those thugs of yours would be able to stop me?" Celestia glanced back at her guards. They lay in a heap by the wall, unconscious. "Very well," she muttered as a single tear rolled down her cheek. Her horn began to glow with a brilliant light. The Princess of the Sun was soon encased in a bright, mystical orb. She turned on the spot and galloped through the door, obviously intent on a destination. Nightmare Moon gave chase and lashed out with her ethereal mane, but her attack was deflected by the bright orb around Celestia. "Some sort of shield?" the dark mare shouted. Celestia continued her charge, dashing through stone hallways and bright corridors. Nightmare Moon did not relent in her barrage, but her efforts proved futile. Each attack glanced off of Celestia's shield, leaving the princess inside unharmed. The alicorns charged into a large circular chamber with a ceiling as high as the room was long. Stone pillars lined the walls, circling an intricate stone pedestal in the center of the room. Upon the pedestal sat six small orbs, each glowing faintly. 'Of course,' Luna realized. 'The Elements of Harmony.' Princess Celestia skidded to a halt in front of the the pedestal and turned back toward Nightmare Moon. "Luna," the princess said somberly. "If you are still in there, fight back! You do not have to become this monster!" Nightmare Moon's eyes widened. "QUIET!" the dark mare cried out. Her horn glowed, and the stone pillar nearest her lurched and tore itself from the floor. Dust and debris scattered about on the stone tiles. Pure fury manifested itself on Nightmare Moon's face as she hurled the pillar at Celestia. The princess's shield withstood the impact, but only just. Nightmare Moon continued her assault, ripping up more pillars and tiles. Each she threw directly at Celestia, demonstrating perfect aim. Celestia's shield flickered and faded, until only a thin sparkle of magic remained. Nightmare Moon seized her opportunity. Shaping the end of her mane into a spearpoint, she jabbed directly into the thin barrier. The shield shattered, leaving Princess Celestia unguarded. Nightmare Moon quickly wrapped her mane around the princess's throat and squeezed tightly. Celestia's horn sputtered and sparked, but her magic had been all but depleted. She tugged desperately at the ethereal mane around her neck, but to no avail. The dark mare let out another cruel laugh and squeezed tighter, choking the life out of the princess. Inside her mind, Luna was devastated. 'No,' she thought desperately. 'No, no, no, no, NO!!!' Nightmare Moon paused and let out a small cry of pain. A terrible headache seemed to split her skull in two. She tried to squeeze Celestia's throat tighter, but she found herself unable to summon the willpower. Slowly, she relaxed her grip on the princess and fell to one knee. "What is happening?" Celestia breathed frantically in an attempt to fill her lungs with air. Not wasting any time, she expended the last insignificant trickle of magic she had left. The Elements of Harmony rose into the air and began to swirl around her. As Nightmare Moon contracted in agony, another tear slid down Celestia's cheek. "My sister," she said in a voice only slightly more audible than a whisper. "Thank you... And... I am sorry." Though the sun had not been raised, the interior of the castle shone with a blinding light for several seconds. Luna vaguely felt her new body being torn away from the surface of Equestria... Carried off into the blackness of space... The last thing she thought before disappearing completely was simple... 'No, Tia. I'm sorry.' ~~~ Luna opened her eyes slowly. It took her a long moment to realize she wasn't on the balcony any more. A split second later, she was sitting straight up, taking in the details of the room. Dark purple tapestries emblazoned with crescent moons adorned the circular wall, surrounding Luna in her four poster bed. "My bedchamber," she realized. "I must have passed out..." The full impact of her memories hit her then. The guilt returned, eating away at her conscience. She had tried to overthrow her sister. She had tried to... Tried to... All the guilt and uncertainty she had experienced throughout the day came crashing down upon her all at once. She now knew what she had to do. Luna wriggled out from under the covers and stumbled out of bed. A quick glance at her balcony told her that was not an option; there was still about half an hour of daylight left, and somepony would surely see her if she took off from there. Her tiara lay on the vanity by the door, but she ignored it. She quietly cracked the door and peaked into the hallway outside. A patrolling guard was headed down the hallway, away from her. Luna galloped as quickly as she could in the other direction without making any noise. She ran through long corridors and down spiral staircases. Several times she had to duck behind a marble pillar to prevent being spotted by a pair of guards. At last, she spotted an open window looking out over the palace's courtyard. In a flash, she leapt through it and onto the soft grass. Letting out a small sigh of relief, Luna picked herself up and- "Luna, you are awake!" Wide-eyed, Luna looked up into the beaming face of her sister. "I was so worried about you! We were sitting on the balcony when you just collapsed! I had to carry you to your bedchamber on my back. Are you okay? What is happening?" Celestia's questions streamed forth in a seemingly endless torrent. "And," she began uncertainly, "Where exactly are you going?" Luna bit her lip. Her sister truly seemed worried about her. That meant her inevitable explanation would only be more difficult to get through. "Um... Nowhere, sister, I-" Celestia saw through her lie. "Luna... Were you trying to run away?" Luna lowered her head in shame. "My sister, why would you- What is going on?" Celestia asked compassionately. When Luna pulled away, she softened her tone even further. "Luna, please... I want to help you." Tears moistened the grass beneath Luna's eyes. "I'm a monster." "Whatever do you mean, Luna?" Celestia's motherly tone forced Luna to look up into her sister's eyes. Fine. Time for the truth. "I- I just... Throughout the day I've been having these... These visions." Celestia gazed down at her expectantly. "They were... More like flashbacks, really... Back to when we..." Luna had to choke out the the rest of the sentence. "W-When we lived in our c-castle in the Everfree F-Forest." Celestia's smile slowly shifted into a somber frown. Luna was amazed to see several tears roll down her sister's cheek. "... Oh." Luna found that she was unable to stop herself now that she had begun to explain her troubles. "And... And I s-saw it again... When I... Changed. You t-tried to reason with me, but I..." Luna began weeping openly now, dropping her head once more. "I attacked you... I tried to... I tried to kill you." "No." Luna gazed back up at her sister, who now wore an affectionate smile even though her cheeks were still moist. "Luna, I can remember that day just as well as you can. You never tried to kill me. You... You saved me, little sister." Luna's crying stopped as she expressed her confusion. "What? But I- I was choking you, and..." "No, Luna. Nightmare Moon was choking me. She would have succeeded, too... But you... You stopped her." Celestia then lay her neck across Luna's and wrapped her hooves around her, pulling her into a warm hug. Stunned, Luna stood there for a long moment before wrapping her own hooves around Celestia's neck and returning the hug. They stood like that for a long while. "I know you have been through something very difficult, my sister," Celestia whispered. "But that's all in the past now. You do not have to dwell on it any more. We can start a new life together here in Canterlot." Luna was crying again, but for the first time in a thousand years, they were tears of joy. "... I would like that very much, Tia." Celestia gingerly broke the embrace and strode up a gentle incline nearby. At the top of the hill, she lay down in the grass. With a slight tilt of her head, she motioned for Luna to join her. Luna trotted over and lay in the grass beside her sister. "It will be time for you to raise the moon, soon," Celestia stated simply as she wiped a tear from her cheek with one hoof. "Would you like to watch the sunset with me, dear sister?" "I would love to." Luna cuddled closer to her sister as Celestia wrapped a wing around her. There they lay, gazing at the horizon as the Sun completed its daily journey through the sky. The sky was a bright pink. After several minutes, Celestia nuzzled Luna's mane, causing her to grin widely. "I love you, little sister." "I love you too, Tia." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~ The end ~

Zaffy

460

Applejack,Fluttershy,Original Character,Pinkie Pie,Twilight Sparkle,Human,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

Accidental Heroism

A young man is led to Equestria, and accidentally becomes it's hero.

cancelled

<p>A young man, running for his life in his own world of Technology VS Magic, finds a door that leads to Equestria. Transformed into a Unicorn, he must get over his fear of magic, change back to normal, and accidentally accept to save all of Equestria by unknowingly qualifying for the role of 'Hero'.</p><p>Author's Note: Sorry to have not posted anything in so long; I've been meaning to stop by for a long while, but never found the time.</p><p>I've just come by to say that I'm cancelling this story, or at the very least putting it on hiatus. I kinda tried jumping the gun with this story, and was trying to write it as I went with only a vague general idea of what I wanted to do. I kept bumping into problems and holes in my story and in my ideas, so I'm stopping work on this to work on a different story. I plan to keep the general idea similar, of a human getting dragged into a battle he wasn't meant to fight; however, there are many changes that I want to make to points in the story.</p><p>Once again, I'd like to apologize to anyone who's been patiently waiting for some kind of update or sign. I'll keep this story online until I feel comfortable enough to start posting the revised story.</p>

everyone

2011-09-19T00:05:40+00:00

2011-09-19T00:05:40+00:00

“Long ago, even before Princess Celestia and Princess Luna became the Princesses of Equestria, Equestra’s pony population thrived happily in a valley known as Pepperland. earth ponies, pegasi and unicorns coexisted peacefully with other types of ponies like sea ponies and many more, rarer, more majestic creatures like dragons. One day, creatures known as ‘humans’ crossed the boundaries between dimensions. Humans, usually highly intelligent over strong, had made many technological and magical advancements over the time of their visits, making life even nicer for pony kind. However, the humans feared the strength and size of the dragons, chasing many away from Pepperland. This soon led to a war which became known as the Night that Never Ends. From regions unknown, a powerful baphomet-centaur named Tirek struck a deal with the dragons; using his dark magic, he granted the dragons even more power, in exchange for their loyalty. Tirek had his dragon soldiers kidnap many different ponies for reasons unknown to these soldiers, but the dragons complied regardless. It seemed that Tirek’s army couldn’t be stopped, until a few humans developed a means of mixing magic and technology together and was successfully able to push back the dragon forces. Tirek was not pleased with this result, and as such, revoked his deal with the dragons and took their added power away. He then revealed his plan: Using a powerful dark energy known as the ‘Rainbow of Darkness’, he corrupted the souls and bodies of the Ponies that he captured, either turning them into mindless slaves, creatures of the night, or even fearsome dragons to pull his Chariot of Darkness. Aboard this chariot, his power rose exponentially, and no one could stop him. That is when one Human thought of an idea; since neither of the four tribes could defeat them alone, he used his own magic to mix the powers of the four into himself, gaining the powers of the greatest dragons, earth ponies, pegasi and unicorns, along with his own magic and technology. Using this power, he sealed away Tirek and, sadly, the corrupted ponies away in a realm of darkness, from which they thought he came. After the war, the man used the last of his power to close off the portals to alternate dimensions, and sealed away the Tribal Essences; four medallions containing the essence of his powers and the four tribes inside Pepperland. Finally, he sealed away Pepperland from Equestria, in hopes that those powers would never fall into the wrong hands, let alone be needed again, before exhausting his life force and fading away. Because of Pepperland’s sealing, pony types like the sea ponies ceased to flourish in place of species such as griffons and increasing the number of different tribes. Legend has it that Pepperland and its inhabitants still exist, and that they are simply hidden away until the Tribal Essences are needed again.” Twilight Sparkle’s horn glowed faintly in the dark of the room, closing the rather large book of mythology. On the floor, in a basket and wrapped in blankets, was Spike, who had been listening intently since the start. He was quiet for a few moments, looking around the room a bit, before looking back up at Twilight “Hey Twi, do you think this all really happened?” he asked. Twilight sighed softly “Honestly, Spike, I wouldn’t put too much thought into it. After all, it is just a legend.” She told him. “But what about the prophecy involving Nightmare Moon? That was just a legend, and it happened!” Spike retorted. “Spike, don’t you think that, if all legends were true, that there would be a bunch of evil monsters and heroes living around in Equestria?” Twilight asked with a small laugh. Spike pondered on the question for a few moments, before shrugging “I guess you’re right… But what about those… ‘Human’ things? Doesn’t the book mention anything about what they look like?” Twilight shook her head “Not a single word.” She answered “And I’ve read just about every book here once, if not twice, and it’s the first time I’ve ever heard about them, either.” She explained. Spike sighed, and said “Wow, that sucks… Do you think there are any still alive?” he asked. This question made Twilight Sparkle stop to think; did those ‘human’ creatures still exist, let alone ever exist? She thought of writing to Princess Celestia about them, but pushed those thoughts aside when Spike spoke up again. “So? What do you think?” “I’m not sure what to think. I don’t even know if they really do exist or not.” She sighed “Enough questions, it’s time for bed…” she told him before climbing up into her own bed. She had done a lot of work during the day, so she was going to get to bed early tonight. She smiled as she snuggled her head up to the pillow, saying “Goodnight, Spike,” Spike answered with a quiet “G’Night, Twilight…” While Twilight Sparkle fell asleep a few moments after her head hit the pillow, Spike couldn’t fall asleep so easily, especially not after hearing that story. His gaze fell to the window, and he mumbled a quiet “I wonder what the human world is like…” before curling up beneath the blanket to try and sleep. “Capture him! He must not escape with that drug!” a voice rang out from the entrance of a dark alley. A group of men in black cloaks ran into the metallic outdoor hall. Their boots loudly announced their presence to a young boy, looking no older than 19, ran as quietly as possible from these men in black. The boy looked back, just in time to see a magical fireball soaring towards him; it wasn’t too big, but it would probably hurt like hell. He brought up his arm in reflex, the fire dissipating when it hit the arm cannon covering his hand, wrist and part of his forearm. Before turning a corner deeper into the metal maze, he stopped, pulled a pair of goggles with a blue rim and black, tinted lenses and pointed his arm out at the assailants “Eat this...” He muttered, tapping a button on the arm cannon covering his hand, wrist and part of his forearm. He quickly took aim and fired what looked like a small, round ball of light which, upon colliding with the metal floor, released a blinding flash. The cloaked men yelled in pain, the light scorching their retinas and allowing the boy to escape further into the alleys. The boy knew, however, that the light wouldn’t last long. He had to act quickly, unless he wanted to be caught. He shuffled his hand around in a rather large satchel slung around him and hanging at his side and pulled out a small machine. It had two small, metal bars on its sides, and a holographic screen between the bars. His other hand, now that the bracelet had reverted to its original shape, allowed him to type something quick into the screen “Come on, come on… Find me a warp point… I’ve got to get out of here…!” he muttered, typing away and hoping the screen would pick up something. It remained blank for several moments. Suddenly, he heard the assailants’ footsteps again, and he picked up the pace “Damn it all!” he spat, about to stash the machine back into the box, but stopped himself when the machine pinged softly and slowly, having located something. A rather large grin stretched across the boy’s face “Bingo. Jacob, you are a genius for creating this thing.” He snickered. His shoes let out a quiet hiss, now spitting out air from the bottom, and making him step faster and lighter. The machine in his hand pinged faster and louder by the second, until he stopped himself at a dead end. His eyes, confused and annoyed, scanned the sight before him; a large set of wooden doors. He slowly stepped forward towards it “What the hell is this…? I thought there was a Warp Scar here?!” he groaned angrily, stashing the machine in his box. He then heard more yelling not too far off from his position, and said “Screw it, anywhere’s got to be better than here!” he gulped nervously, stepping again towards the door, taking note of a rather large “E” engraved on it, and opening it. He was blinded by a bright light, before everything went black.

Zaffy

460

Applejack,Fluttershy,Original Character,Pinkie Pie,Twilight Sparkle,Human,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

Accidental Heroism

A young man is led to Equestria, and accidentally becomes it's hero.

cancelled

<p>A young man, running for his life in his own world of Technology VS Magic, finds a door that leads to Equestria. Transformed into a Unicorn, he must get over his fear of magic, change back to normal, and accidentally accept to save all of Equestria by unknowingly qualifying for the role of 'Hero'.</p><p>Author's Note: Sorry to have not posted anything in so long; I've been meaning to stop by for a long while, but never found the time.</p><p>I've just come by to say that I'm cancelling this story, or at the very least putting it on hiatus. I kinda tried jumping the gun with this story, and was trying to write it as I went with only a vague general idea of what I wanted to do. I kept bumping into problems and holes in my story and in my ideas, so I'm stopping work on this to work on a different story. I plan to keep the general idea similar, of a human getting dragged into a battle he wasn't meant to fight; however, there are many changes that I want to make to points in the story.</p><p>Once again, I'd like to apologize to anyone who's been patiently waiting for some kind of update or sign. I'll keep this story online until I feel comfortable enough to start posting the revised story.</p>

everyone

2011-09-19T00:05:17+00:00

2011-09-19T00:05:17+00:00

‘Where… am I?’ he thought to himself. He felt weird, and couldn’t see a thing. This was not a good sign for him. He then realized his eyes were shut. Part of him wanted to open his eyes and look around, but another part wanted to relax and wait a while before doing so. He could smell odd things in the air. They didn’t smell bad, just different. Bellow him was something soft. And immediately below it was something hard. Grass and dirt, maybe? He could feel a soft breeze blowing over him, and the sun bathing him in its warm rays of light. He breathed in the new smells for a few more minutes before weakly opening his eyes. He saw what he was laying down on, something green, and all separate blades covering dirt. Without moving his head, ne noticed large trees surrounding him. He had seen trees before, but none so bright and vibrant. Back home, they were all old and withered, barely used anymore for construction of any kind. He rolled over onto his back, but something didn’t feel quite right. He looked away from the bright, blue sky and down at himself. He sat there for a few seconds, taking this new information in. His skin was now gray; he had a smaller body, four legs with hooves on the ends, and a short, brown, messy-looking tail. He also noticed his clothes and equipment were sprawled all over the place around him. Suddenly, his hands- or rather, hooves – quickly moved about his face, confirming his suspicions: Elongated snout? Longer ears? Larger, browner eyes? Hooves? A tail? His messy hair lengthened a bit into a messy, brown mane? A damn horn? He had transformed into some kind of horse! He didn’t know of any horses with horns, but that wasn’t a big worry for him. However, he found the word ‘pony’ seemed to better fit his new form for some reason. He wanted to scream in horror, but all that came out was a silent groan of frustration. He began to try and talk, but no sound came out ‘Shit… I don’t know how to use these vocal chords…!’ he thought, panicking a little bit. He rolled over to his side again, and attempted to stand up. His legs wobbled and his balance faltered, but he was able to stay on his feet ‘That’s good… At least I can walk in this stupid form.’ he thought. ‘Crap, those damned Magi must have caught me when I blacked out in that doorway and changed me…’ he began, before looking around again ‘but why the hell would they leave my stuff here, let alone my cannon?’ he wondered, looking at his things, then the cannon on the ground next to him. He carefully made his way over to his things, gathering the clothing on his back with his mouth, slinging his satchel around him and his goggles on his head with surprising ease, considering he had hooves. Suddenly, he froze when he heard some noises from beyond the trees; a discerning grunt, a hellish squeal, whatever the sound something sharp makes when it hits wood. Jacob’s eyes shot open wide as this large creature stood at the other end of the clearing. Its snout was sniffing hard at the ground, locking on to Jacob’s scent. It was about 5 feet tall, had small ears, a round, fat body, short legs with hard looking hooves, covered with razor-sharp blades, and no eyes, as far as Jacob could tell. Jacob tensed up when it faced him. It couldn’t see, but Jacob was sure it had already sniffed him out. He slowly reached for his arm cannon, to which the beast responded with an angry snarl, and began to charge. Jacob fumbled with the cannon, trying to press a button on the side, but it was too late. The beast was faster than he was, and plunged its sharp tusk into his side. He let out a silent groan, blood dripping from the wound, as he pressed the open end of the cannon to the beast’s forehead ‘Payback’s a bitch, ain’t it?’ Jacob thought, struggling to ‘pull’ the trigger in the arm cannon. A burning ball of energy shot out at point blank range, burrowing into the beast’s head, killing it. Jacob panted, pulling himself off of the tusk, and placing a hoof over the wound. It wasn’t too big, but it was fairly deep. He was thankful for the fact it seemed to miss any organs. He limped closer to some bushes, and sat on his flank. He began to search through the satchel, when he heard voices and painfully rolled into the bushes. “Are ya sure you saw somethin’ out here, Shy?” a feminine voice asked. Jacob breathed slowly, still looking in his satchel as two ponies walked into the clearing. One was bright yellow with a pink mane and tail and yellow wings, while the other was an orange pony with a yellow mane and wearing a cowboy hat. A freaking hat. Jacob’s brow furrowed at the sight of it, wondering why it was wearing a hat, of all things. He shook his head; why was he wondering about a hat, when he clearly heard one speak English? “U-Um, yes… I mean, I saw this bright light… And then a pony with a bunch of weird things around it…” she began to explain “A-And then a razorboar showed up, a-and charged at him! I-I came to find you for help…If you don’t mind?” she meekly asked. Applejack made a big sigh “Aw, sheeyoot Fluttershy, you know darn well that I’m happy to help with whatever problems you’ve got! But Ah don’t think Ah can take a razorboar!” she told her, making a small smile. She then looked around the clearing from there, immediately taking notice of the razorboar’s corpse “Oh sweet, merciful Celestia…” she gasped, placing a foot to her mouth. Fluttershy was totally silent, mouth hanging open “D-Did he… kill that animal?” she asked. Applejack slowly nodded her head “Ah think he did… Ah can’t say Ah blame him, but color me surprised!” she commented, slowly walking towards the beast. She noticed it had a hole in its head, with burn marks surrounding it “Ah think that pony might’ve been a unicorn… Looks like magic tah me.” She pointed out. Fluttershy looked at the grass, seeing a trail of blood leading away from the body “Oh-Oh gosh, he’s hurt!” she gasped, following the trail with her eyes, until she spotted Jacob’s brown tail sticking out from the bushes “U-Um, excuse me…?” she called out to him. Jacob froze, watching her carefully from the bushes. “I-It alright, you can come out!” She mumbled a feeble attempt at coaxing him out. Jacob quickly retreated his tail into the bushes before backing out and trying to run, only to trip and slam into a tree ‘Damn these legs!’ he cursed his rotten luck within the confines of his mind. A bit of blood wet the hastily fixed patch over his wound, which wasn’t much more than a white wrapping bandage around his torso to keep it steady and not bleeding. Applejack couldn’t help but try to hold a few laughs back at the clumsy attempt at an escape, but Fluttershy was a little more sympathetic “I-I’m not going to hurt you…” she mumbled, approaching him. Jacob backed up against the tree, trying to say something, but it only came out as a hiss. Fluttershy made her own quiet noise, and hid behind Applejack. Applejack put on a serious face, and said “Now look here, Shy’s just tryin’ tah help. Don’tcha DARE try to hurt her!“ and began to stomp towards him, but suddenly when she saw Jacob raise his foreleg, and the arm cannon began to quietly whir. Unsure of what it was, she asked “Ah don’t know what that there thing is, but Ah ain’t scared of it!” she huffed. Jacob pointed the cannon the ground in front of her, and fired a small, fast shot out, singeing the spot where it hit. Applejack stepped back in surprise, nearly bowling over Fluttershy, and said “Hey there! Calm down, now! We’re just tryin’ to help!” Jacob wasn’t fazed, trying to speak again, but no sound coming out. Fluttershy poked her head out from behind Applejack, and looked into his eyes; there was something saddening about them, almost like a wounded and confused beast. Fluttershy stepped out from behind Applejack and walked towards him “I-It’s alright… I’m not going to hurt you…” she told him in a soothing voice. Jacob wanted to calm down, but he couldn’t. His thoughts were screaming “Get out of there!”, but he wouldn’t move. He shakily pointed his cannon at her in warning, but Fluttershy kept moving forward. Fluttershy gently moved the cannon downward, slowly pulled him into a hug, and said “Please… You’re hurt, let us help you…” in a soft voice. Jacob seemed to tense up in the hug for a moment, before relaxing a bit against his better judgment. Applejack cocked a brow, and muttered “Fluttershy, I don’t know how you do that…” to herself, before starting to approach them. Jacob tensed up when she did, making her step back again “…Ah think you should take it back to your cabin solo… Ah’ll head back to Ponyville and bring Twilight over tah your place.” She muttered, sounding a little insulted. Jacob relaxed again, and Fluttershy let him loose. “Can you walk?” she asked. Jacob nodded and shook each of his legs to show they were fine, “T-That’s a relief…” Fluttershy sighed happily. She then took a few steps back “If you come to my cottage, we can get your wound treated…” Jacob didn’t know what a ‘cottage’ was, but he figured it was some kind of home, guessing from how she asked the question. He nodded slowly, picking up his spilt clothes and placing them in his satchel. Fluttershy smiled, and said “Follow me, please…” before beginning to slowly walk back the way she came, and Jacob followed suit. Jacob watched the things around him like the small birds, some other small, furry creatures, and even the fluffy white clouds; all things he had never really seen before. He was taken aback by the surrounding beauty, and thought to himself ‘If this IS a dream or trick those Magi conjured up, they did a damn good job of it.’

Zaffy

460

Applejack,Fluttershy,Original Character,Pinkie Pie,Twilight Sparkle,Human,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

Accidental Heroism

A young man is led to Equestria, and accidentally becomes it's hero.

cancelled

<p>A young man, running for his life in his own world of Technology VS Magic, finds a door that leads to Equestria. Transformed into a Unicorn, he must get over his fear of magic, change back to normal, and accidentally accept to save all of Equestria by unknowingly qualifying for the role of 'Hero'.</p><p>Author's Note: Sorry to have not posted anything in so long; I've been meaning to stop by for a long while, but never found the time.</p><p>I've just come by to say that I'm cancelling this story, or at the very least putting it on hiatus. I kinda tried jumping the gun with this story, and was trying to write it as I went with only a vague general idea of what I wanted to do. I kept bumping into problems and holes in my story and in my ideas, so I'm stopping work on this to work on a different story. I plan to keep the general idea similar, of a human getting dragged into a battle he wasn't meant to fight; however, there are many changes that I want to make to points in the story.</p><p>Once again, I'd like to apologize to anyone who's been patiently waiting for some kind of update or sign. I'll keep this story online until I feel comfortable enough to start posting the revised story.</p>

everyone

2011-08-19T02:42:45+00:00

2011-08-19T02:42:45+00:00

Jacob had to get support from Fluttershy about 5 times on the way to the cottage, which made him feel a little bit worse about himself. He was still taking in the scenery when Fluttershy snapped him out of it with a quiet “Excuse me?” Jacob shook his head and looked ahead, seeing a wooden home ‘That must be the cottage…’ he thought. Fluttershy smiled at him and said “We’re here, sweetie…” The grass was even greener here than it was back in the clearing, and the trees were much bigger, blocking out parts of the sun. She stepped through an opening in a fence, and many small animals came out to greet her: some white birds with red crests on their heads, some small, white, furry mammals with long ears, and a few more colorful birds flying around her. Jacob was somewhat cautious around these things, especially one of the creatures with the long ears; it was slightly bigger than the others, and was up on Fluttershy’s back, staring him down ‘That is one creepy little bastard…’ he thought, not taking his eyes off him. Fluttershy opened the door, and coaxed Jacob in with a few light nudges. Jacob was still taking everything in; everything was so peaceful, so serene. A complete contrast to the hectic place he was in before. It took quite a bit of doing on Fluttershy end to get the mute pony to get onto her bed. Fluttershy smiled when he took his satchel off and placed it next to himself on the bed. Fluttershy sighed softly, and approached Jacob again “Um… I know you can’t talk… but can you write?” she asked. ‘Of course I can write! I’m might not be the smartest guy back home, but I’m not illiterate.’ Jacob thought in his head, but simply nodded back at her. She smiled, and said “Wait right here, I have a few questions I’d like to ask you, if that’s ok…” she told him happily, trotting off into another room when Jacob nodded his approval. Jacob quietly sighed, looking at his clothes ‘I certainly hope I’m not stuck like this forever… Even if this ‘Twilight’ person… or pony… can fix me up…’ he thought. Fluttershy suddenly trotted back into the room, holding a scroll and a quill in her mouth. She placed them on the bed before him, and asked “M-My name is Fluttershy. Can you tell me your name?” Jacob sighed again, thinking ‘If I’m stuck here, might as well make at least one friend…’ before clumsily grabbing the quill with his hooves, and sloppily writing ‘Jacob’ on the scroll. Fluttershy gave him an odd look “I’ve never seen a unicorn that didn’t use magic to write…” she pointed out. Jacob immediately froze, his eyes wide and staring at Fluttershy‘Unicorn? Magic?!’ he thought. From the way she was talking, magic was a common occurrence in this world. He quickly pushed away the scroll and quill, thinking ‘No further comments.’ Fluttershy’s ears folded back, and gave him a worried look “I-I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?” she asked. Jacob nodded quickly, painfully scooting backwards, away from the quill and parchment on the floor. He then felt his head, and his horn ‘This horn… I’ve never seen a pony with a horn, or even wings like her… Am I a unicorn?’ he asked himself in thought, panic in his eyes. Fluttershy wasn’t sure what to do, and began apologizing up and down for what she had said. After a few minutes of Jacob staring at both the parchment and Fluttershy, he scooted forward again, straining to reach down and grabbing the quill and scroll from the floor. Fluttershy took a deep breath and asked “ I-I’m sorry I upset you… Wh-Why are you so upset?” Jacob shook his head. “You don’t know?” Fluttershy asked. He shook his head again. “U-Um… Maybe you don’t want to tell me?” Jacob finally nodded, calming down a tad, but still looking upset. Fluttershy smiled a little, and thought ‘Well, he panicked when I said ‘magic’…’ but continued asking questions. “A-Alright, Jacob… Where are you from?” she asked. Jacob sloppily scribbled something on the scroll, and Fluttershy read it out loud. “New New York…?” she asked, getting a nod from Jacob “I’ve never heard of that place… Where is it?” she asked. Jacob scribbled another word, ‘Earth’. Fluttershy shook her head “I-I don’t know where that is, either. Sorry…” she sighed. Jacob cocked a brow ‘Ok, so maybe this isn’t a Magus’ trick…’ he thought ‘At least the last one I was stuck in had other humans and at least knew what the name of the planet was.’ Fluttershy began to pace about in front of him “I hope Applejack and Twilight Sparkle arrive here soon…” she mumbled to herself. It wasn’t long after she had spoken up that Applejack returned, and a purple unicorn walked in afterwards “Fluttershy, Ah brought Twilight!” Applejack announced. The moment Jacob laid eyes on Twilight, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and he backed himself up against the wall where the bed was wedged in. Twilight looked at him oddly and said “So is this the pony you were talking about, AJ?” she asked. Applejack gave a quick nod “Sure is. He was kinda dangerous at first, but Fluttershy here was able to calm him down.” Fluttershy looked at the ground bashfully and mumbled “It wasn’t anything big…” with a smile on her face. She looked over at Jacob “This is Twilight Sparkle, and this is Applejack.” She said, introducing the two with a point of the hoof. Twilight made a small nod, saying hello, and Applejack tipped her hat as she said a loud “Howdy, partner. Glad tah see you’ve calmed down a bit!” Fluttershy then looked back at Applejack “By the way, I got him to answer some questions for me while you were gone!” she mentioned, showing the scroll to the two other ponies. Applejack looked it over “So… His name’s Jacob? Weird names for weird ponies, Ah guess.” she told her. ‘Right back at’cha, pony.’ Jacob thought, frowning. Twilight Sparkle rolled her eyes “Applejack, he’s still in the room, you know…” she told her. She then rolled up the scroll and placed it on a table “And we should take a look at his injury, before we keep going.” She told the other ponies. Fluttershy carefully moved the bandages aside, making Jacob wince and the other ponies wince. “Ouch, you said a razorboar did this? I’m surprised he got out alive…” she mumbled, looking at it closely under Jacob’s watchful eye. She took a deep breath and said “Alright, some magic should fix both this injury and his voice.” Jacob immediately tensed up, and made another hissing noise at Twilight, making her take a step back. “What the hay?!” she asked in surprise. Fluttershy walked up to her and said “I, um, should have mentioned… He got really upset when I mentioned magic…” Twilight looked between her and Jacob, confirming what she had asked “He didn’t write why? I mean, if he’s a unicorn, he must have used magic to write that down, right?” Fluttershy shook her head “No, he wrote holding the quill in his hooves.” She corrected. Twilight was really intrigued at this point “Alright, I’ll be careful with my spell, then.” She said quietly, pointing her horn at Jacob. Jacob’s eyes widened, leaping off the bed and running into the next room. A loud crash of metal pots and pans and a hiss of pain echoed through the cottage. Fluttershy ran over to the other room, to see that Jacob had slipped on a carrot on the floor, and slammed into a table, where he pots and pans currently were placed “Oh-oh gosh, are you alright?” she asked, kneeling down next to him. Jacob slowly nodded, pulling a pot off his head and placing it on the wreckage of other objects. Twilight and Applejack couldn’t help but hold back a few laughs, before Twilight said “Ok, ok, enough laughing. We should really get you fixed up… Were you ever able to talk? Or was it something that just recently happened?” she asked. Jacob carefully stomped his foot twice, indicating that it was the second option. Twilight Sparkle nodded and said “It’s probably just a problem with your vocal chords. It’s not the first time it’s happened.” Her horn began to glow, Twilight focusing on the spell. Jacob’s eyes widened, trying to back up, but couldn’t due to the wreckage. Fluttershy placed her hoof on his shoulder, quietly telling him to calm down. Beads of sweat began to form on Twilight’s face, as a light on the tip of her horn began to glow brighter and brighter. Twilight then quickly fired the white ball of light from her horn, hitting Jacob in the throat. His body shone from when it hit, spreading from the throat to his wound, the latter which closed itself within moments. Jacob let out a loud cough, as if he was choking on something “ARGH, DAMMIT ALL! YOU HIT MY ADAM’S APPLE!” he hissed, his hooves holding his throat. Suddenly, he realized that he spoke! The unicorn WASN’T out to destroy him. He smiled a little, pumping both fore hoofs into the air, letting out a loud “FUCK YEAH!” Twilight was taken aback by the strong language, thinking ‘I hope I didn’t make a big mistake.’

Zaffy

460

Applejack,Fluttershy,Original Character,Pinkie Pie,Twilight Sparkle,Human,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

Accidental Heroism

A young man is led to Equestria, and accidentally becomes it's hero.

cancelled

<p>A young man, running for his life in his own world of Technology VS Magic, finds a door that leads to Equestria. Transformed into a Unicorn, he must get over his fear of magic, change back to normal, and accidentally accept to save all of Equestria by unknowingly qualifying for the role of 'Hero'.</p><p>Author's Note: Sorry to have not posted anything in so long; I've been meaning to stop by for a long while, but never found the time.</p><p>I've just come by to say that I'm cancelling this story, or at the very least putting it on hiatus. I kinda tried jumping the gun with this story, and was trying to write it as I went with only a vague general idea of what I wanted to do. I kept bumping into problems and holes in my story and in my ideas, so I'm stopping work on this to work on a different story. I plan to keep the general idea similar, of a human getting dragged into a battle he wasn't meant to fight; however, there are many changes that I want to make to points in the story.</p><p>Once again, I'd like to apologize to anyone who's been patiently waiting for some kind of update or sign. I'll keep this story online until I feel comfortable enough to start posting the revised story.</p>

everyone

2011-09-19T00:04:52+00:00

2011-09-19T00:04:52+00:00

Jacob was panting hard after that last yell of success, while every other pony watched in silence with confused expressions. Applejack was the first to speak “Look, Ah know you’re happy to talk again and that your injury’s all cleared up, but keep the cursin’ out of it.” She scorned him, taking a few steps towards him. Jacob just looked at her with a big smirk on his face “Fine, fine. I’ll tone it down.” He agreed, standing up. He was about to walk past Twilight Sparkle to get his things, when she spoke up. “H-Hold on…” she mumbled, looking at his flank. She looked for a cutie mark, but found none “You’re a blank-flank?” she asked. Jacob cocked a brow “The hell’s a cutie mark?” he asked, not stopping to look at her. The three ponies looked at each other, and Twilight was the first to talk “Alright, I think it’s time you answered a few questions, Jacob…” Jacob didn’t stop for her “No can do. I’m grateful for the tune-up, but I’ve got to get going.” He replied, just taking his satchel and fitting it onto himself. “Hey, the filly cured you, the least you could do is answer some questions!” Applejack called out to him, getting more and more annoyed with his rudeness. Jacob looked back at her, moving for the door “And I said that I don’t have the time!” he replied angrily, walking straight into the wall next to the door. Applejack smirked trotting up to him “Well, if you’re in such a hurry, you should look where you’re headed!” she laughed. Jacob made a heavy sigh “Whatever. I have people waiting for me, so-“ he began, before Twilight cut him off. “What are ‘people’?” she asked. Jacob just gave her a weird look. “…What?” she asked. “You don’t know what a person is?” Jacob groaned, rolling his eyes. He then turned to face them and said “A human? Ever heard of them?” he asked, as if it was the most obvious thing. Twilight Sparkle’s eyes were as wide as dinner plates when he said that word “H-Humans?! They exist?!” she asked, flabbergasted. Jacob made a small laugh “At least SOMEONE knows what I’m talking about! Just a little bit!” he said with a pint of sarcasm. He then opened the door and took a step outside. “H-Hold on! You still haven’t explained what’s going on! And how do you know that humans exist?!” she asked, going around him and standing in his way. Jacob stood there, staring at her for a few moments “You aren’t going to leave me alone until I do, aren’t you?” Twilight shook her head with a scowl. “Fan-fucking-tastic.” Jacob groaned, turning back around and walking into the cottage once more. Jacob sat down on the bed once more, the other three ponies gathered in front of him. “So… What do you want to know?” he asked. “Firstly, what do you know about humans?” Twilight Sparkle asked. “Well, humans are… bipedal, mammalian creatures, usually hairless, except for the top of their head, have fingers and toes on their hands and feet, not hooves…” he began to explain, looking for something to compare it to “You know what monkeys are, right?” he asked. Fluttershy gave a nod this time “I-I do, there are some that live here in the Everfree Forest.” She answered. Jacob gave a nod “Good. We’re kinda built like monkeys, except without tails.” He explained. “Lastly, I’m a human.” Applejack looked him over “Funny, you sure don’t LOOK like a monkey…” she pointed out, not believing him. Jacob shrugged “I got turned into this form when I got here. I just hope I can go back to normal, all this magic crap is giving me the creeps…” he muttered. “Hey, magic isn’t ‘crap’!” Twilight grumbled, offended, but Jacob didn’t seem to care. “Anything else?” he asked. Applejack poked at the cannon sticking out of his bag. “What about these things? Ya shot somethin’ at me when we found you!” she asked. Jacob pulled his bag away from Applejack’s curious poking “Don’t poke that!” he scorned her “This is an ‘Arm Cannon – Buster Class’. It’s a weapon I use to defend myself with.” He explained. He took the arm cannon out of the bag, and locked it onto his foreleg. He suddenly pointed at the open door, shooting out an energy ball, and leaving a burn mark on one of the trees outside. “Amazing… How did you do that? I’ll assume it’s not ‘crappy’ magic?” Twilight asked. Jacob gave a quick nod, before opening a small panel on the arm cannon “It’s a machine. It gathers power from a small solar panel on the top, to keep a constant rate of power. It uses said power to use one of seven different ‘points’, or modes. Each mode shoots something different; for example, the Buster point, which I’ve just shown you, gathers plasma energy and shoots it out the barrel. Believe me when I say it hurts if you get hit by it. I could go on forever explaining all the details, but I don’t really have the time for that. We’ll leave it here for now.” He explained. “What else is in your bag?” Fluttershy finally asked. “Well I’ve got a first aid kit, I’m pretty sure I have some NutriPills left in here, my digital map, my magicite clothes, a laser machete to cut things, a few energy grenades to blow things up, my iPod 360 for music…” he began. He took out a small brown bag, but quickly stashed it “I forget what’s in here; I’ll have to look later.” He lied. At the repeated mention of weapons, Fluttershy got visibly more upset “But why do you have so many dangerous things with you?” she asked. Jacob took a deep breath before saying “You really want to know?” All three ponies nodded in agreement, and awaited his story. “Well, I’m from a city called ‘New New York’, back on Earth. Earth is the name of my planet, just in case I’m not on it anymore. Right now, just about every city in the country is like mine: made of metal, and currently warring between the Magi, a religious group that uses magic and their ‘God’ as an excuse to overthrow us and change the city, killing many innocent bystanders that don’t agree with them, and the Mechanis, those who use technology to try and advance our civilization for the better. I am a Mechanis, as you can see by my equipment. I need to have these weapons to keep myself and the other safe. The Magi want to take all of our technology and advancements, and be rid of them, because their ‘God’, whom they say created everyone and wants the heretics dead, said so. Plus, they say it’s not natural, and thus does not belong in our world. I’m just a lowly ‘errand boy’ of sorts in my group; I go out, acquire vital information and return it to the base, hoping not to be caught and killed by the Magi who patrol the streets. If I AM caught, they’d probably kill me slowly, using their magic to keep me alive so that I continue to feel excruciating pain until I either do die, or convert to their stupid ideas. We currently outnumber them, but for some reason they’re just pushing us back regardless of what we do. So I keep fighting, hoping to kick those bastards out once and for all.” He explained. “I guess I went on a bit of a tangent there.” The ponies all looked at him in shock “So… you and the others are fighting and killing each other over disagreements?” Twilight Sparkle asked. Jacob rolled his eyes and said “It’s not that simple. I fight because I don’t want to see innocent people get killed by those magic-using assholes!” angrily “It’s kill or be killed!” Twilight and Applejack were unsure of what to say after that, but Fluttershy finally stepped in. “W-Would you want to go back to such a place?” she asked. Jacob actually stopped and looked at her. Did he want to go back? If he stayed, even if he found a way to become human again, he’d be leaving his kind behind to fight the war themselves. But if he went back, he’d be putting himself in danger again, and who knows if they’d win the war, anyway? He didn’t answer the question, and stood up off the bed “If that’s everything, I’ll be headed back out.” He said flatly. “B-But where will you go?” Fluttershy asked. “No idea. I’ve never been here before.” He replied, pointing out the obvious. Twilight Sparkle gave a groan “Well, you’ve got nowhere to stay, so why not stay with one of us?” she asked “You don’t have a home to call your own here and while you’re looking for a way back home, you’ll have a place to stay.” Jacob just looked back at her quietly. Back home, nobody was really friendly with anyone, even among Mechanis; nobody really talked to each other outside of missions and even then, they only mutually agreed to work as allies. He didn’t have any friends back home, and here were 3 ponies, complete strangers, being friendly to him. It was kinda creepy to him. However, she had a point; He did need a place to stay. “Seriously?” he asked her. “Well, Ah don’t see why not. You’re…. rough around the edges, but Ah can tell you’re at least a decent person.” Applejack admitted, rubbing the back of her head with her hoof. “But ya better believe Ah’ll be keepin’ mah eye on you!” A small smile crept onto Jacob’s face. After thinking about it for another few moments, he finally said “Well, if I’m going to be stranded in this place, I guess I could live out here, if that’s alright.” Looking at Fluttershy for her approval, he saw that she was smiling too, and gave a small nod.

Zaffy

460

Applejack,Fluttershy,Original Character,Pinkie Pie,Twilight Sparkle,Human,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

Accidental Heroism

A young man is led to Equestria, and accidentally becomes it's hero.

cancelled

<p>A young man, running for his life in his own world of Technology VS Magic, finds a door that leads to Equestria. Transformed into a Unicorn, he must get over his fear of magic, change back to normal, and accidentally accept to save all of Equestria by unknowingly qualifying for the role of 'Hero'.</p><p>Author's Note: Sorry to have not posted anything in so long; I've been meaning to stop by for a long while, but never found the time.</p><p>I've just come by to say that I'm cancelling this story, or at the very least putting it on hiatus. I kinda tried jumping the gun with this story, and was trying to write it as I went with only a vague general idea of what I wanted to do. I kept bumping into problems and holes in my story and in my ideas, so I'm stopping work on this to work on a different story. I plan to keep the general idea similar, of a human getting dragged into a battle he wasn't meant to fight; however, there are many changes that I want to make to points in the story.</p><p>Once again, I'd like to apologize to anyone who's been patiently waiting for some kind of update or sign. I'll keep this story online until I feel comfortable enough to start posting the revised story.</p>

everyone

2011-08-21T20:02:21+00:00

2011-08-21T20:02:21+00:00

The sun’s morning light filled the room Jacob was sleeping in. He groggily stepped off the mattress he slept on, falling flat on his face “Right… I’m a quadruped now…” he grumbled to himself, getting back up onto all four legs. He fitted his goggles just beneath his horn, and slung the satchel onto his torso before walking into the next room, where Fluttershy was already waiting and awake. She turned, and smiled when she saw him “G-Good morning, Jacob… Did you sleep well?” she asked. Jacob nodded slowly, scratching at the back of his head. He looked over at the table, and saw two plates, each with a fluffy, brown object in the middle. He got a closer look before asking “So, uh… what’s this?” Fluttershy looked back at him, before realizing “O-Oh, I’m sorry! Do humans eat muffins?” she asked, worried. Jacob thought about it “… I don’t know. All I’ve ever eaten are my NutriPills…” he explained, looking through his bag, and taking out a pill. It was a small, black and white capsule. Fluttershy looked at the pill curiously “What is it?” she asked. “Well, when ingested, it gives the one who ate it all the daily nutrients that a human needs to be healthy, and slightly satiates hunger.” He explained. “Then… you’ve never eaten anything else?” “I don’t think so. In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen another Mechanis eat anything else.” He answered, thinking about his time back home. He then looked back at the muffin “Then again, I’m not a human right now… So I guess my digestive system changed too…” he pointed out, reaching out for the muffin, and picking it up. He stared at his hoof for a moment, before looking back at Fluttershy “By the way, how do you pick things up with hooves?” he asked. She looked down at her own hooves “I-I’m not sure, but I think Twilight mentioned something like… ‘telekinesis’ or something?” she mumbled, unsure. Jacob looked back at his own hoof “Localized telekinesis?" he grumbled. He was using magic that he had no control over “Dammit…” he sighed. Fluttershy’s ears folded back, seeing he was upset again. Jacob looked her over and said “If I try the ‘muffin’ thing, will you cheer up?” he asked, a little annoyed. “Y-Yes… I mean, it’s the first time you try real food, right?” she asked, smiling again. Jacob nodded, and brought the muffin to his mouth, biting down into it and chewing it slowly and carefully; it was sweet, like the pill he ate. He couldn’t identify the flavor, though. He swallowed his bite and asked “What’s in this thing? I like it.” Fluttershy giggled happily “its apple-flavored. My friend Ditzy Doo gave me the recipe!” she answered with a bigger smile. “I don’ know what that is either, but I do know I like it!” Jacob laughed, wolfing down the rest of the muffin. He sighed, and said “By the way, are you busy today? I’ve got some questions I’d like answered.” Fluttershy nodded “W-Well, I do have some time before I have to go check up on the animals in the Everfree forest…” she replied. “Good. You wouldn’t have any more of these, would you?” he asked. “So…What would you like to know?” asked Fluttershy, seated at the table, facing Jacob. “Where am I?” “…In my cottage?” “I mean what city? What country?” he groaned. “O-Oh… Well, we’re just outside of Ponyville, in Equestria…” Fluttershy answered, a little embarrassed. Jacob took another bite of a muffin “Looks like neither of us knows where the other is from.” He grumbled, his voice muffled because of his full mouth. He loudly swallowed his bite before asking “So… What are you?” he asked. “Um… I’m a pegasus. We use wings to fly, and our… localized telekinesis… lets us walk on clouds.” she answered. Jacob looked her over from there “So that’s what that is?” he asked himself quietly, stroking his chin. He then asked “Are you colorful, pastel ponies a common… species here?” he asked. Fluttershy gave a nod “Yes, we are. There are also other creatures, like the razorboar you… killed yesterday, and there are even a few dragons that have lived nearby.” Jacob seemed worried by the mention of dragons “R-Really now.” He grumbled “At least I might not stick out too much, if I have to go into town.” “I-I’m sorry, but you would be easily noticed, since you don’t have a cutie mark…” Fluttershy quietly objected. Jacob looked at her weirdly “That’s another thing; what IS a cutie mark?” he asked. “A cutie mark is a magic sym-I’m sorry…” she began, catching herself when she said the word magic. “No no, keep going. If you apologize for every use of the word ‘magic’, we won’t finish this year.” He joked, trying to adjust to the common use and practice of magic in this world. Fluttershy nodded, and continued “S-Sorry… Anyway, a cutie mark is a magic symbol that appears on your flank when you discover your true calling; something that you love doing and that you’re really good at.” She explained. She pointed out her own cutie mark “Mine is a trio of butterflies, representing my love for animals and how I take care of them.” She added. Jacob nodded, taking in this new information “Maybe I’d have something involving my technology…” he mused to himself, smiling a little bit. Fluttershy was about to mention something else, when a white, fuzzy creature with long ears, last seen when he had first arrived, showed up once more in a huff. He tugged at Fluttershy’s tail, and pointed at a clock. “Oh my! I’m late!” Fluttershy gasped “I-I’m so sorry, but I have to do my rounds. It’s already late in the morning! Can we continue this later?” she asked. “Sure thing. I’ll stick around here, maybe try and get… acquainted to my new body.” He joked, stretching a bit before shaking himself fully awake. Fluttershy nodded “If you need anything, Angel, my rabbit friend, can help you out.” She told him, quickly galloping out the door. Soon enough, Jacob was alone with the rabbit. It shot him a dirty look, hopping onto the table and getting real close to Jacob’s face. Jacob’s eyebrows furrowed “What the hell are YOU looking at?” he asked, not liking the look Angel was giving him. It didn’t answer only seeming to get closer and giving him a nasty stare. Jacob scowled; was this thing trying to intimidate him? He quickly reared his head back and butt heads with the rabbit, knocking it off the table. Angel got back on its feet in a daze, and stumbled out the front door. “Creepy critter…” Jacob muttered, watching it go. He stepped outside not long after Angel did, and took in the scenery once more. Lying down in the grass, he began to think ‘Let’s see if I’ve got this right… I’m now in a place called Equestria, the nearest town is called Ponyville, my current location is Everfree Forest, at a pegasus’, named Fluttershy, cottage. Ponies, unicorns and pegusi are all common creatures found in Ponyville and the surrounding area, but I can’t blend in without a cutie mark thing on my ass…’ He looked at his bare flank and said “I wonder if I could paint something there and they’d fall for it…” He looked towards the forest “Now then. If I can, I’ll try and modify the Buster to fit on my horn. That way, my legs will be free to move around… I don’t want to be caught off guard like the last time I was in there…” he mused. He then began to ruffle around in the satchel, looking for his things, when a voice startled him. “Ohmygosh! Are you new here? I’ve never seen you around before! Do you know Fluttershy? Are you a new friend of hers? Or maybe are you more than just a friend? Ohmygosh, are you and Fluttershy fu-“ Jacob whipped his head around and sprang to his hooves, throwing a hoof forward, but stopping right in front of the source’s face. It was a bright pink pony with even pinker, if that was possible, frizzy hair and tail. Jacob pulled his hoof back, panting “Good grief, don’t you know it’s rude to sneak up on someone?! And who the hell are you, anyway?!” he yelled. The pony was taken aback from the sudden lashing out. It didn’t last long, however, when she giggled and answered “Now I KNOW you’re new here! I mean, I know EVERYPONY in and around Ponyville, and everypony knows me! Hi, I’m Pinkie Pie!”

Zaffy

460

Applejack,Fluttershy,Original Character,Pinkie Pie,Twilight Sparkle,Human,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

Accidental Heroism

A young man is led to Equestria, and accidentally becomes it's hero.

cancelled

<p>A young man, running for his life in his own world of Technology VS Magic, finds a door that leads to Equestria. Transformed into a Unicorn, he must get over his fear of magic, change back to normal, and accidentally accept to save all of Equestria by unknowingly qualifying for the role of 'Hero'.</p><p>Author's Note: Sorry to have not posted anything in so long; I've been meaning to stop by for a long while, but never found the time.</p><p>I've just come by to say that I'm cancelling this story, or at the very least putting it on hiatus. I kinda tried jumping the gun with this story, and was trying to write it as I went with only a vague general idea of what I wanted to do. I kept bumping into problems and holes in my story and in my ideas, so I'm stopping work on this to work on a different story. I plan to keep the general idea similar, of a human getting dragged into a battle he wasn't meant to fight; however, there are many changes that I want to make to points in the story.</p><p>Once again, I'd like to apologize to anyone who's been patiently waiting for some kind of update or sign. I'll keep this story online until I feel comfortable enough to start posting the revised story.</p>

everyone

2011-09-24T16:38:57+00:00

2011-09-24T16:38:57+00:00

“Pinkie Pie… Really?” Jacob asked, still trying to catch his breath. “Yep, that’s me! So you’ve heard about me?” the pink pony giggled giddily, bouncing around him. “N-No, it’s just… never mind, you wouldn’t get it…” he muttered, shaking his head. “Aw. Come on, tell me! Tell me, tell me, tell me!” she asked, pouting cutely. ’Screw it, I'm not going there…’ he thought to himself. “S-So, what do you want?” he asked, regaining his composure. Pinkie Pie looked at him oddly for a moment, before shaking off whatever thoughts she had on the subject at the moment “I came to see Fluttershy! Is she home?” she asked. Jacob shook his head “No, she’s out doing her rounds. I don’t know what for, but I figure she’s in the forest.” He answered plainly, motioning towards the Everfree Forest. A quiet moan escaped the pink pony’s lips when he answered “Great… Oh well, you can come with me in the forest! I want to know more about you and why you’re a blank flank!” she told him, getting in his face. Jacob backed up quickly and said “No way, you shouldn’t need someone to hold your… hoof for a walk in some forest…” harshly. “But it’s dangerous in there-” “Fluttershy seems more timid than you, and she went in just fine.” He muttered, sitting back down and taking out his tools. He then took out his arm cannon and began to work on it. Pinkie Pie stood there, taken aback by Jacob’s attitude. “Look, mister, you might be new around here, but you can’t just be rude-“ “Can you please quiet down? I’m trying to work…” Jacob interrupted, holding his hoof up, and getting back to work. He lowered his goggles over his eyes and said “I advise against looking too closely to this…” as warning, as he turned on a small machine near the base of the arm cannon. Small sparks began to shoot up from the machine’s work. Pinkie Pie stepped back in surprise, but kept looking at Jacob and his work. She closed her eyes, the bright sparks making it hard to see “You’re a weird pony… But then again, I’m a weird pony too! Hey, maybe we could be bestest buddies if you got a better attitude! Then we could do a bunch of stuff like eat cupcakes, and pull pranks, and go on adventures and stuff!“ she giggled. Once Jacob had turned off the small machine and raised his goggles, Pinkie Pie sat down next to him “So… What’s your name?” she asked. “Jacob. Go away.” “Ok, Jakey, where are you from?” “Not from here. Go away.” “Well duh, silly, but where are you from?” “I’m not telling you. Go away.” “…Fine then, Jakey, why are you a blank flank-“ Jacob quickly stomped his fore hoof on the grass, startling Pinkie Pie. “You’re not going to leave me alone until I agree to take you, are you?” he asked, looking at her from the corner of his eye. She gave him a broad grin and nodded quickly “Yep!” “…Fine, I’ll bring you on two conditions.” Jacob answered with a sigh. Pinkie Pie cocked her head to the side, listening carefully “First, you let me finish my work. Second, you stay quiet while I work. Understood?” he instructed, only receiving a quiet nod from the pink pony “Good.” A small while later, Jacob proudly held up his arm cannon “All done! I’ll be able to use this with my horn now, instead of my…hoof.” He announced, chuckling to himself. The cannon hadn’t changed much, except for its base being adjustable in size. He placed it on his horn, and tightened it into place “Perfect!” he chuckled. Pinkie Pie leapt up “Hooray! I don’t know what it is, but it’s finished!” she cheered, happily jumping around Jacob made a small smile and said “Alright, we’ll head off into the forest… I don’t know how long Fluttershy is supposed to be in there, but we’ll see if we can find her.” He told her, slinging his satchel around him once the tools had been put away. Pinkie Pie started hopping off towards the forest’s entrance “Come on, silly, let’s get going!” she giggled. Jacob trotted after her, rolling his eyes “Really… Where do you get this energy from…” he muttered to himself. “So Jakey, you’re still a blank flank at your age?” Pinkie Pie asked him, hopping along the forest path. Jacob sighed “Before today I didn’t even know what a damn cutie mark was, let alone that not having one was the biggest faux-pas a pony could make, or something.” He grumbled, starting to regret having brought her along. Pinkie Pie gasped “How could you not have known what a cutie mark is?!” she asked, totally shocked. ’I shouldn’t just be spouting information about myself to some random pony…’ he thought, carefully planning his answer “…Where I’m from, there aren’t any?” he answered, not too sure how that would fare. “Wow, there’s somewhere in Equestria where they don’t have cutie marks?!” Pinkie Pie gasped “Unless you’re not FROM Equestria! Are you from Equestria? Because if you’re not from Equestria, where are you from?” she asked, starting to get even more excited. Jacob just watched her hop around him for a moment, before saying “Nowhere important…” quietly. “Oh come on, it’s your hometown! That’s always important, especially to the pony who came from there!” Pinkie Pie whined, pouting “Give me a better answer!” “No, I refuse.” Jacob sighed, walking a little faster, and passing Pinkie Pie. She frowned, and bounced after him “Fine then, meanie head…” she grumbled. She then looked at him and asked “So what’s that thing on your horn? Can’t you use magic?” she asked. Jacob stopped and looked around at the trees. Cocking a brow, he quietly sniffed the air. “What’s wrong?” Pinkie Pie asked. “…You don’t smell it?” he replied. Pinkie Pie shook her head quietly. He looked around them once more and sighed “Anyway, this is a modified Arm Cannon – Buster Class. It’s a ranged weapon, letting me shoot at things from a distance…” he explained, facing forward again to keep walking. Pinkie Pie just gave him a confused look in response. “It’s complicated…” he added, focusing on the path ahead. Pinkie Pie was about to ask something else, when they reached a clearing. At the end of said clearing were Fluttershy and a few small animals. Pinkie Pie giggled, zipping forward and startling the pegasus with a quick “There you are!” “Oh goodness, Pinkie Pie, you scared me…” Fluttershy sighed, her hoof to her chest as she regained her composure. She looked past Fluttershy to see Jacob walking towards them “Oh, Jacob! You’ve come too?” she asked. “I didn’t have much choice. This crazy train wouldn’t leave me alone until I agreed to bring her.” Jacob muttered, motioning towards a hopping Pinkie Pie with his head. Fluttershy sighed “I’m sorry… She means well.” She apologized. “What’s done is done.” Jacob grumbled, shifting his gaze to the animals that were eyeing him carefully from behind Fluttershy. He cocked a brow “So what’s with them?” “O-Oh, the animals? They don’t see many ponies other than me because they stay away from the forest.” “Pinkie Pie said something about that before we came here. I mean, I can understand being scared of one of those bladed mammals that attacked me, but I was just unprepared.” He muttered, looking at Pinkie Pie chasing playfully some animals. Fluttershy shook her head “There are more dangerous creatures like the razorboar… B-But they usually live deeper in the forest and don’t come here often.” She explained “A-Also, the Everfree Forest is fairly large… It’s easy to get lost. That is, if you don’t know your way around….” “I… hadn’t thought of that, actually…” he mumbled softly, looking at the surrounding trees; the dense woods did seem hard to navigate, off the small path. He then looked back at Pinkie Pie “Hey, didn’t you have a reason to come here in the first place?” he asked. The pink pony stopped chasing the animals and looked back at them “Oh yeah! Fluttershy!” she giggled, zipping over in the blink of an eye. She hopped in place excitedly “Fluttershy, remember those HUGE twitchy twitches that I’ve been having these past few days? Well, when I was on the way to your cottage, I had them again!” she began. “O-Oh my...” “And before I met with Jakey, I got ANOTHER big one!” Pinkie Pie continued with an exaggerated gasp. Fluttershy looked at her worriedly “I wonder what it could mean…” she said quietly, lowering her head. Before Jacob had the chance to say something else, the animals surrounding them suddenly froze, sniffed around, all tense. “Wh-What is it?” Fluttershy asked, looking at the animals. “Something’s coming…” Jacob mumbled, pressing a button on the buster attached to his horn “Whatever it is, it smells rank… Whew!” The surrounding critters quickly made their escape, running away in all the same direction. “Whatever it is, it’ll show up there…” Jacob warned, taking aim with his buster towards a set of trees opposite the fleeing creatures. The group waited quietly for what seemed like hours before something in the bushes moved. Jacob tensed up, awaiting his foe, but groaned when he saw a cute baby rabbit hop slowly out from the bushes. Fluttershy smiled softly “Aw, how adorable… “ she cooed, taking a step forward. Suddenly, a large foot came from the bushes, squishing the rabbit beneath its weight and making Fluttershy gasp and tear up. The creature slowly stepped out; large, fuzzy looking, large snout, blades everywhere, and black fur with red marks. It was a razorboar. “Shit… Pinkie Pie! Get Fluttershy out of here!” Jacob instructed while watching the beast, which quietly stood there. He heard Pinkie Pie respond with an “Okie dokie lokie!” and say some words to Fluttershy, but he wasn’t really paying attention to them right now. When he could no longer see them, he looked at the razorboar more closely; it had a large hole in its head “That… That’s not good.” He gulped, pressing another button on the buster. Suddenly, from calm to rage in a second, the beast let out a sickening roar that sounded off like buzz saws grinding against each other. It brushed its foot against the grass, wiping off the remains of the victim and preparing to charge at him. The beast began to move, but Jacob was ready “Here goes nothing!” he gulped, taking aim and hitting the trigger in the buster with the tip of his horn. The charging beast soon came face to face with a flurry of flames, steering away from his path and squealing loudly as the fires burned away at him. Jacob tapped another button on the buster and fired small, burning balls of energy at the moving beast. He hit the surrounding trees more than he hit the razorboar, but it eventually fell to the ground all the same. Jacob scowled, watching the flames eat away at the razorboar, but didn’t stop him from getting up. “You don’t know when to quit!” Jacob snapped, taking aim as a light began to shine from the inside of the buster. The razorboar shakily got up, the flames still roaring, and began to run towards him again. Jacob released the trigger, launching a much larger ball of burning energy sped towards the ambling creature, knocking it off the ground. When it slammed onto a dirt pile, the fire had burned out, leaving nothing but a metallic skeleton. Jacob chuckled softly to himself, looking at his vanquished foe from afar “And THAT’S how you-“ he started, stopping himself when he turned to see both Fluttershy and Pinkie Pie staring at him in shock “…What?” “You… You just killed it…!” Pinkie Pie whispered, not looking away from Jacob for a second. “…So?” “So?! You… You just killed a razorboar!” Pinkie Pie yelled. Jacob couldn’t tell if she was excited that he killed something they generally feared, or that she was scared of him now “Well, it’s not like I hadn’t killed it before.” He answered, thinking back to the day before. Pinkie Pie took a step back “H-How did you kill it twice? How COULD you kill it twice?!” she asked, still appalled by what had just happened That’s when Fluttershy joined in, somewhat teary-eyed “W-Well, I saw it had a hole in it’s h-head…” she told her friend quietly, nervously looking back at Jacob now and then “And I-I’m sure that Applejack and I found it d-dead yesterday…” Jacob sighed “And that’s what worries me; I just killed off the undead…” he said with a shudder “That’s some creepy shit, right there…” Pinkie Pie looked back and forth between Fluttershy and Jacob, before saying “Can we go home now…?” Jacob made a small nod and said “We should head back to the cottage and relax a bit. I think we all need a breather after all that.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Author’s Note: Geez, this took a while to make, huh? I’d like to apologize for how long this took to put together. Not only has real life been kinda busy, but for a big part of this chapter I just had trouble figuring out what to write. I’d like to warn you readers that the next chapter or few might also take a while to post, due to me still being unclear about how exactly I want to go about executing them. Apologies in advance, Zaffy.

Miyajima

464

Angel,Fluttershy,Original Character,Rarity,Crossover,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

The Pony of the Opera

An adaptation of Phantom of the Opera, tailored to FiM.

complete

<p> A chance meeting with the new manager of the Canterlot Opera House propels Fluttershy to stardom as the lead singer in a new opera. However, rumours abound of a ghost haunting the performance. Will Fluttershy and Rarity be able to discover the truth behind the masks?</p>

everyone

2011-08-09T14:00:54+00:00

2013-02-09T20:56:30+00:00

~ Overture ~ It was a bright summer’s morning in Ponyville. The Weather Pegasi had not yet made their early rounds, and the wispy, natural cloud that had floated in during the night was high in the air, carried on the light summer winds. Fluttershy had already been up for hours, tending to her nocturnal animal friends by tucking them into bed and making sure they were well fed as the first rays of sunlight broke over her small cottage on the outskirts of the town. She had joined in with the dawn chorus, giving a daily practise session to a blue jay recovering from syringitis. Now she was preparing breakfast for her beloved Angel, chopping up carrots and lettuce into a salad for the fussy rabbit that sat by her hooves on the kitchen floor, rubbing his eyes and yawning. Whilst Fluttershy was traditionally an early riser, she was making even more of an effort than usual, as she did on this day every week. This day, after all, was her spa day with Rarity; a social highlight in her otherwise empty calendar, and one of the few times she felt able to take the time off from helping all her animal friends and just indulge herself. Of course, most of the afternoon at the spa was spent listening to Rarity ‘talking shop’, but Fluttershy enjoyed the company, and more than once she had aided the fashionista in a difficult design with her (as Applejack put it), “freaky knowledge of sewing”. Once Angel was fed and content to run off and play, Fluttershy found herself with nothing left to do, surprising herself at her own turn of speed. She decided to double check and make sure that she hadn’t forgotten anything, flying low around her cottage, dipping as she scanned bird’s nests, rabbit’s warrens, her chicken coop and every hidey-hole she knew of in the earth banks around her home. Satisfied that she’d done all she could do, she decided to fly into town early, and spend the rest of the morning in the park, before meeting Rarity for lunch. She flew down the road leading away from her cottage and followed the path through the wild and untended trees that made up the outskirts of Sweet Apple Acres, listening to the birdsong and the soft breeze rustling the leaves. The peace and tranquility of the road ebbed away as she arrived at the outskirts of Ponyville proper. Fluttershy could hear the chatter of ponies wandering the streets doing their daily grocery shopping, the clatter as they set up market stalls for the midday rush, and the cantering of hooves as the foals ran about, enjoying their break from lessons. Fluttershy nodded politely at a few ponies who shouted good morning as they ran past, but continued at her own leisurely pace as she half-trotted, half-glided through the marketplace and past Sugarcube Corner. At least, she’d nearly got past it when she heard an unmistakable voice call out after her. “Hey! Fluttershy!” Fluttershy stopped and blinked, her ears twitching. She was sure she heard Pinkie’s voice come from above her. As if on cue, the pink pony fell from the air and landed in a tangle of legs at Fluttershy’s hooves, beaming with barely contained enthusiasm and apparently none the worse for wear. “Oh, hello Pinkie,” Fluttershy replied, smiling as she helped nudge Pinkie Pie back onto her hooves with her muzzle. “Whatcha doin’?” Pinkie asked, hopping alongside Fluttershy. “Oh, well, I’d finished giving Angel his breakfast and making sure everyone was alright, so I thought I’d, um, go to the park. Before I meet Rarity for lunch, I mean.” “The park? Oo, I love the park! Can I come? Can I, can I, can I?” Pinkie bounced up and down on the spot with each syllable. Fluttershy cringed a little, inwardly. She would have enjoyed a quiet stroll and flight in Ponyville’s park, but when you were around Pinkie Pie, quiet was the one thing you could be sure would never happen. Still, she couldn’t back out and refuse without hurting the pink pony’s feelings, so she smiled and nodded. Pinkie squee’d happily and trotted alongside Fluttershy, talking at high speed and pitch about an unusual customer she’d had at Sugarcube Corner the other day. Fluttershy only half-listened; it was nearly impossible to give Pinkie Pie your full attention purely because her train of thought seemed to leap about like the rails were made of rubber. Passing through the town square and out along the north road, the pair soon arrived at the park. Fluttershy took a deep breath, savouring the lingering crispness of the morning air as the day gave way to ‘noon. The scent of the flowers in the park was so strong that she could taste it, enjoying the subtle differences between the many blooms. Most pegasi never learnt of the wonders of the ground, too busy flying high with their heads in the clouds, but Fluttershy revelled in the beauty she saw beneath her hooves. She was dragged back out of her thoughts by Pinkie Pie animatedly nudging her. “Fluttershy! Look! Somepony’s gathering all the birds on the fountain!” She pointed with a hoof. Fluttershy looked over in that direction, eyes wide in amazement as she saw the birds arrange themselves in order of size up and down the tiers of the fountain, and with a wave of a hoof from a grey pony apparently acting as conductor, burst into song. Not the free-for-all of a dawn chorus, but proper, organized song. Entranced, Fluttershy floated over, her wings guiding her subconsciously as she listened to the birds belt out a full cantata. As the melody washed over her, she felt an irresistible urge to join them in song, and flew to the statue atop the fountain, oblivious to all else except the music of the birds. She sang with them in harmony for what seemed to her like hours, the joy of the piece filling her heart and overflowing into her voice. It was only when the piece ended on a final triumphant note that she heard the sound of several ponies stamping their hooves on the ground in applause. Realization dawned on her and she blushed fiercely, dropping off the fountain and walking away, head lowered with her pink locks covering her face. They were doing such a good job of this that she soon walked directly into another pony. Flicking her hair out of her eyes, she saw a grey earth pony splayed out, daze, on the ground, and her expression changed from one of embarrassment to concern. “Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going, are you alright? Are you hurt?” she said, quickly helping the pony to his hooves. He swayed as his eyes rolled back into their correct position, then laughed. “My dear, I’m more than alright! I’m overjoyed! Never have I heard such sweet singing! Tell me my dear, what is your name? I simply must know!” he said in an airy, sing-song voice, beaming at Fluttershy. She shied back from him a little and blushed at the compliment. “I-I’m Fluttershy,” she replied, mumbling into her hair. The earth pony’s eyes lit up immediately. “No? THE Fluttershy? But I should have seen it immediately, your grace and poise, it shines through you just as it did in Photo Finish’s pictures! Not only a beautiful model, but a singer as well? My dear, this is a grand day! A momentous day!” he said, nearly bowling Fluttershy over with the force of his enthusiasm. “Oh! How terribly improper of me, where are my manners? My name is Falsetto, composer by trade. I was conducting the birds just now, bit of a hobby.” Falsetto offered a hoof, which Fluttershy shook, not wanting to seem rude. She noticed that his cutie mark was an open book of music crossed by a conductor’s baton, and judging by the white around his muzzle and the bags under his eyes, he must have been an older pony. “Fluttershy! There you are!” A voice called out from behind, and Fluttershy turned to see Rarity approaching with Pinkie Pie in tow. Fluttershy was surprised to see Rarity, knowing that she usually spent the morning before their spa sessions making sure she was caught-up on her orders. Falsetto looked up at Rarity and smiled, glancing between her and Fluttershy. “Ah, you know each other? Marvellous!” He trotted over to Rarity, sweeping up her foreleg and kissing her on the hoof. “Rarity my dear, your friend has a remarkable voice! Such talent! In fact, she might just be the answer to my dilemma!” Fluttershy blinked. Rarity turned to her and smiled. “Fluttershy, darling, this is Falsetto, an old friend of mine. He was recently made manager of the Canterlot Opera House, by Royal Appointment no less, and he came to Ponyville just this morning to ask me to design the costumes for his new opera!” Fluttershy blinked again as Falsetto cut in. “Indeed, but it seems that I’m short one singer for the performance. In the preliminary practise sessions, our lead singer handed in her notice, claiming some nonsense about the place being haunted. Nothing I could do would stop her, and I haven’t been able to find a suitable replacement...” He looked Fluttershy up and down and beamed once more. “... at least, until now!” Like realization before it, comprehension dawned on Fluttershy and she quickly began backing up. “Oh, no, no, I wouldn’t be right for the part, I mean, uhm, I don’t know any of the songs, and I’ve not had any formal training... and I can’t sing in front of crowds and, uhm, then I have Angel and the animals to look after, and I just couldn’t-” She was quickly stopped by a raised hoof from Falsetto. “I’ll have none of that, my dear! You’re perfect for the part, and rehearsals have only just begun. Not to mention, even without training you sing better than most of my company! As for your pets, I’m sure I can make arrangements. I’m not without the funds, you know. Oh, funds! Indeed, you will be paid highly for your part!” Fluttershy opened her mouth to say something, then caught Rarity’s look over Falsetto’s shoulder. It was that same pleading, pouting expression she’d worn when Fluttershy had agreed to model for Photo Finish. Fluttershy could feel herself being backed into a corner, and glanced up at Pinkie Pie for support, only to find the pink mare oblivious to the whole conversation, watching a butterfly flit about. She sighed, but instead of feeling her heart sink at the prospect, as she expected, she realised she felt oddly intrigued by it. “Well, if you’re really sure about this...” she began, but was cut off by Falsetto shaking and kissing her hoof, in equal measure. “My dear, you will not regret this! Mark my words!”

Miyajima

464

Angel,Fluttershy,Original Character,Rarity,Crossover,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

The Pony of the Opera

An adaptation of Phantom of the Opera, tailored to FiM.

complete

<p> A chance meeting with the new manager of the Canterlot Opera House propels Fluttershy to stardom as the lead singer in a new opera. However, rumours abound of a ghost haunting the performance. Will Fluttershy and Rarity be able to discover the truth behind the masks?</p>

everyone

2011-08-09T14:05:15+00:00

2013-02-09T20:59:18+00:00

~ Act I: Scene I ~ A few days had passed since Fluttershy’s impromptu performance in the park, and now she sat inside a sleek, pegasus-drawn limousine on its way to Canterlot, trying not to look out of the tinted windows as the fields and forests of Equestria passed below. Next to her, calmly sipping from a cocktail glass of carrot juice, was Angel. Once Fluttershy had explained to the rabbit that she was going away to Canterlot for a while, he insisted on joining her, and none of Fluttershy’s begging, pleading, beseeching or asking politely was going to dissuade him. Truth be told, she was glad he was there. As diminutive as the white bunny was, he was fiercely protective of Fluttershy. She wasn’t entirely without equine company either; Rarity was laid across the seat opposite, levitating both glass and magazine, occasionally taking sips from one and glances at the other. Although it wasn’t strictly necessary, she had volunteered to stay at the Opera House for the duration of the performance, to help maintain the costumes and give Fluttershy somepony to talk to that she felt comfortable with. (Not to mention a golden opportunity to scout out the competition while she was in Canterlot, it never hurt to see what designs were rivalling your own in the city’s best boutiques). Rarity flicked the page, tutting to herself at the garish designs featured in the latest selections. “Uhm, Rarity?” Rarity closed the magazine and laid it down carefully on the seat beside her, making sure the edge of the publication was parallel with the stitching of the seat fabric. “Yes, dear?” she replied, turning her full attention to Fluttershy. “Uhm, well... Have you been to the Opera House before?” Rarity was about to make a scoffing assurance that of course she’d been to the opera, many times, but she remembered who was doing the asking, and sighed as she levitated her glasses back into their case. “To tell the truth... No. I met Falsetto at a concert in Trottingham, some years ago, and he was so impressed with that experimental frock I had Rainbow Dash model during his recent visit that he asked me to design the costumes for the performance. I’ve never had the privilege of going to the opera itself, though I admit I’m positively giddy that we’ll be staying there!” Her eyes lit up with that same dreamy sparkle she used to reserve for talking about Prince Blueblood. “I’ve heard it’s magnificent there! The walls covered in gold leaf... Marble floors polished to a mirror-like shine... Not to mention the great chandelier above the hall! Every piece a diamond, enchanted to be as brilliant as the sun! Oh, and the dresses and gowns, formal yet elegant...” Rarity continued as Fluttershy listened. She was rapidly beginning to feel that this was a bad idea. She was no stranger to ostentatious architecture - pegasi made an artform out of it, crafting clouds into fluted pillars and temple-like palaces that rivalled the Princess’ own, but Rarity’s description of the staggering opulence of the Canterlot Opera House was making Fluttershy feel like she’d much rather be in her homely thatched cottage. Rarity noticed Fluttershy’s head drooping a little, and leaned in with a conspiratory glance from side to side. “I’ve even heard that there’s a vast lake deep beneath the building!” That caught Fluttershy’s attention. Rarity smirked. “They say that it’s full of beautiful fish, and the walls are covered in gems! And of course, there’s the gardens... They keep bees there that, supposedly, hum along to the music during performances, and give out honey to the best singers!” Fluttershy smiled at that. Her last experience with a garden in Canterlot may not have been pleasant, but she was happy to know there was somewhere she could retreat to if it all got too much, and the lake sounded worth exploring. “Anyway, we’ll both be seeing it for ourselves soon enough!” Rarity smiled, looking out the window at the passing clouds. Angel took another measured sip of his carrot juice. He knew exactly what he was looking forward to in the gardens. The limousine landed gracefully on one of the balconies overlooking Canterlot city. The pegasi chauffeurs unhitched themselves from the harness, one trotting across to the door, pulling it open with his teeth and extending a foreleg towards the the staircase. The other three began unloading the luggage, which was no easy task. Rarity stepped out first, levitating a small pouch of bits from her saddlebags towards the pegasus, who took it and swiftly hid it under his wing before his three colleagues noticed. Fluttershy peeped out from the open door, staring wide-eyed at the Canterlot Landing Pad. Chariots, balloons and wagons soared above, circling a great spire in the centre of the structure, where several pegasi stood on small cloud platforms, shouting orders and displaying complex signals and commands with their wings. It took a few elbow nudges from Angel before she found the courage to step out after Rarity. She thanked the pegasi, barely audible, and blushed furiously when one of them winked at her in response. Rarity smirked to herself and lead Fluttershy away while the unfortunate pegasus was set upon by a small, angry rabbit. They took the stairs down to the street level, emerging into the busy streets of Canterlot City. Rarity had visited the city a few times, but to Fluttershy the experience was entirely new. The Gala had taken place solely at the palace, which sat apart from the main city. Ponyville, even at its busiest on market days, was nothing compared to the crowds that went to and fro up the wide, pristine white streets of the capital. Waiting for them was Falsetto himself, quickly running up and kissing them both on the hoof. “My dear ladies! I trust your flight was comfortable? Oh! Your bags, allow me to-” He stopped short as he saw the three chauffeurs come crashing down the spiral staircase, landing in a pile of legs, wings and bags. “... My, you... Certainly came well-prepared, Rarity my dear,” he finished. Rarity frowned at the three pegasi as they tried to untangle themselves. “Well, a lady must always be prepared,” she replied, gasping as one of the pegasi managed to get up, tipping an over-burdened case that spilt its contents over the cobbles. “Augh! Be more careful with those! Oh, now look, I’ll have to get them all washed...” Falsetto cringed and turned to Fluttershy, who was watching the scene with a hoof over her mouth. “Didn’t you bring anything with you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, uhm, no, just Angel. I hope it’s alright, but he was very stubborn about coming with me, and I couldn’t bear to see him upset about being left behind...” Angel hopped off the chauffeur’s back on cue and landed on Fluttershy, giving Falsetto a stern glare. “I’m sure that will be... Just fine! Yes, just... fine,” the earth pony stammered in response. He took his gaze from the rabbit and continued. “You’ll receive full bed and board at the Opera House, of course, as well as your payment. We have a canteen for guest’s refreshments which we use for our own meals between performances. Oh, you don’t have any allergies I should be aware of?” “N-no, no, I’m fine with just about everything.” “Excellent, excellent! But if there’s anything you’d really like us to make for you, please don’t hesitate to ask! Your every whim is our command, my dear. I would have no less for my new star singer!” Fluttershy swallowed, smiling nervously. Fortunately for her, Falsetto turned to help Rarity (or rather, help calm her down) with the luggage. Fluttershy sighed. This was reminding her of that awful week she spent modelling for Photo Finish. Beyond her weekly visits to the spa, she didn’t really enjoy being waited on, hoof and fetlock. It always made her feel that she ought to be helping, or that she was making trouble for them. Once Rarity’s belongings had been gathered and re-packed, Falsetto decided to walk the pair through Canterlot before they arrived at the Opera House, while the pegasi flew the luggage over. Rarity was in her element, stopping at nearly every clothes store, checking the prices and ‘in’ styles. She squeaked with delight when, in passing ‘Best of the Best Boutique’, she saw her own designs were still being showcased alongside Hoity Toity’s own. Fluttershy was admiring the city’s own beauty. Ponyville was distinctly Earth Pony in style, and Cloudsdale, like all pegasus cities, had those Classical leanings, but Canterlot was unmistakably a city for unicorns. Towering pillars, tiled and glazed in bright, vibrant colours, and topped with domes of shining gold, brass, copper and silver. The streets were all paved, in what looked like rough-hewn marble. The brilliant sun above was almost dazzling as it reflected off the whitewashed walls and glass windows. As they passed a pet store, she dragged Rarity and Falsetto aside to look at the exotic species for sale from all corners of Equestria, and beyond. Her nervousness at her arrival melted away as the ‘tour’ continued, leaving the markets and shops and passing through Canterlot’s central park. There were nearly as many different flowers, trees and animals here as in Celestia’s own at the palace, and they spent a good two hours or more just enjoying all the sights, sounds and scents of the city. “And here we are! Breathtaking, isn’t she?” Falsetto waved a hoof at the Opera House, a twinkle in his eye. Both Fluttershy and Rarity were taken aback. They were immediately reminded of the night of the Gala, stepping out of their carriage and being struck by the sheer splendour and beauty of the Princess’ palace, but the Canterlot Opera House had a splendour all its own. The façade before them stretched higher than the Town Hall in Ponyville, adorned in columns that sat in pairs, framing balconies overlooking the streets. Over each balcony was a burnished copper statue, every one unique and expertly crafted. Over one sat a roaring griffon, another bore an effigy of a unicorn stallion entwined with an earth pony mare. Pegasi stood with wings outstretched and hooves against the sky with looks of determination in their eyes. One in particular caught Fluttershy’s eye; a pony that, from the waist down, was scaled like a fish, its coiled tail resting on the crest of a wave. On the layer above the balconies rested the crests of the Royal Princesses, half bearing Celestia’s sun, and the other half decorated with Luna’s crescent moon. On the far left and right corners of the façade stood golden statues of the Princesses themselves, Celestia on the left and Luna to the right. Between them was a great dome covered in copper, and topped with a weather vane styled after the combined sun and moon of the Princesses. Rarity noted, with some interest, that the Luna crests and statue seemed more recent additions. Falsetto smiled at their reactions, leading them up the steps and under the arches of the façade to the mahogany and glass double doors that served as the entrance to the foyer. The foyer was just as breathtaking as the façade, if not more so. Rarity’s sources had been correct, the walls were indeed covered in gold leaf, with golden foals peeping out from behind golden trees and vines that twisted and grew over golden sconces. The floor of the foyer was polished pink marble, and bore not a single crack for the thousands of hooves that had crossed it over the years. The ceiling was painted with scenes from Equestrian myth, all in exquisite detail. A dragon even reached down from the painting, his sculptured neck and head holding a chandelier that reflected the light of a hundred candles. Beyond was the Grand Staircase, which took up almost half the room. Steps carved from the same pink marble as the floor lead up and away from the foyer, into the hallways surrounding the auditorium, and also down into the actor’s quarters and storerooms. Sitting on the central landing, in front of another set of double doors leading into the stalls, was a statue of Princess Luna, resplendent in an evening gown as she raised the moon. “Falsetto, darling... I notice all these statues and emblems of Princess Luna seem newer than the rest of the building, why is that?” Rarity asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. “Oh! Didn’t I tell you? Princess Luna is our patron! … Or should that be matron? Either way, its from her generous gifts that I can afford to keep this place open! In honour of her return to Equestria, we had the new statues crafted immediately, at Princess Celestia’s behest, no less. Princess Luna has quite a passion for the arts, you know, not to mention the sciences...” Falsetto replied, as he led them up the staircase. “Sciences? That would explain the abacus...” Rarity looked back, glancing at the lovingly carved mathematical implement that rested at Luna’s hooves. “Princess Luna insisted.” Falsetto smirked. He led them through the doors at the top of the staircase, into the hallways, pointing out features as he went. “Customers who’ve paid for box seats come through here, and as you can see there are doors along that wall leading to the boxes. Each is entirely separate from the others for the sake of privacy. Oh, let me show you, while I think of it. There’s no better view of the auditorium than from the box seats!” Falsetto pushed a door, only to find it locked. He frowned and tried pulling, to no avail. He walked a little further along and tried the next one, to find it swing open at the lightest touch of his hoof. “Odd. I wonder why Number Five is locked. They’re only lockable from the inside,” he muttered to himself as he let Rarity and Fluttershy pass into box Number Six. The auditorium stretched out before them, seeming, if it was possible, more luxurious than the façade and foyer combined. Rows of scarlet and gold cushioned stalls sat before a vast wooden stage, currently hidden by a single massive curtain that hung from the outstretched hooves of pegasi in the ceiling above. On either side of each box was a statue of a pony, covered, like almost every available surface, in gold leaf. Anything that wasn’t gold was covered in the same scarlet fabric that made up the curtain. Above everything hung the centrepiece of the auditorium, the Grand Chandelier. Once again, Rarity’s sources had not been exaggerating. Every piece that made up the intricately complex array of prisms was a brilliant diamond. They glowed with a light all their own, adding to the light of the hundreds of candles ringed around the tiers of the chandelier. Rarity’s horn itched just being in the presence of so many enchanted gemstones. Fluttershy, on the other hoof, was just feeling faint. Falsetto, seemingly satisfied that there was nopony in Box Five, led the girls out and back down the stairs into the storerooms and actors quarters. In comparison to the rest of the Opera House, they were decidedly spartan, consisting of just plain wooden beams and plaster walls illuminated by simple lamps hanging from the rafters. They were led past hall after hall, catching glimpses of the props in storage, waiting to be wheeled out on stage. Stagehoofs rushed back and forth, checking the inventory and making sure the place was kept clean. Eventually they found their rooms, Falsetto having managed to get them next to each other at Rarity’s request. He was grateful to find that the pegasi had delivered all her luggage directly to her room, and made a mental note to double whatever it was he’d paid them in the first place. Fluttershy’s room was luxuriously decorated, and she realised Falsetto had put her and Rarity in the rooms reserved for big name actors, actresses and singers. The bed looked bigger than her own at home, and plusher. Angel leapt off her back and onto it immediately, bouncing on the mattress a few times before nodding at her with approval. She smiled, looking around at the rest of the room. One feature that caught her eye was a full-length mirror against the far wall, that seemed to be fixed to the wall itself. There was also the usual dresser and mirror, and she chuckled to herself, imagining that Rarity was probably already busy arranging her beauty products on her own dresser. It was only late afternoon, but the trip and tour had left her drained. Stifling a yawn, she clambered onto the bed, curling up. It certainly was plusher than her own. She decided that, since Rarity was likely to be a while unpacking, she may as well take a quick nap.

Miyajima

464

Angel,Fluttershy,Original Character,Rarity,Crossover,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

The Pony of the Opera

An adaptation of Phantom of the Opera, tailored to FiM.

complete

<p> A chance meeting with the new manager of the Canterlot Opera House propels Fluttershy to stardom as the lead singer in a new opera. However, rumours abound of a ghost haunting the performance. Will Fluttershy and Rarity be able to discover the truth behind the masks?</p>

everyone

2011-08-09T14:13:05+00:00

2013-02-09T21:04:38+00:00

~ Act I: Scene II ~ “Places, places everyone, please! Right, once more, from the top...” A black coated and white maned unicorn pony raised his conductor’s baton and tapped it on the music stand before him until he was sure he had everypony’s attention. He took a final glance at the ponies gathered on stage, and those around him in the orchestra pit, and swung the baton. The musicians took the cue and began playing a slow, melodic waltz as the ponies on stage quickly began stepping back and forth in time to the music and to each other, dancing elegantly across the wooden platform, their quick, light hoofsteps making hardly a sound. A spotlight was turned on in the rafters and gangways above the stage, and spun down to illuminate a pegasus in the centre of the stage. Her coat was a warm peach, and her mane and tail a strong amaranth pink, styled in an elaborate twist, not totally unlike Rarity’s own. In fact, as Rarity watched with Fluttershy from the sidelines, she unconsciously flicked her tail in irritation. Falsetto leant in between the two and whispered; “That prancing pegasus in the centre there is the renowned singer, Prima Donna. The old manager was quite fond of her, and often gave her the star roles, but I’ve been trying to... phase her out. Ah, this is her number now. You’ll see what I mean.” As the waltz began to pick up speed, Prima Donna unfurled her wings with a dramatic flair, and leapt into the air, hovering a few feet above the stage as the dancers whirled and pirouetted around her. She raised a hoof to her chest and took a deep breath. Fluttershy noticed out of the corner of her eye that Falsetto was instinctively folding his ears against his head and cringing in anticipation. Prima Donna’s first note rang out across the opera hall, as strong as a gale. She sang, loudly and with practised skill, sending her voice out to fill every nook and cranny of the auditorium. A brief flash from a unicorn’s horn bent the beam of the spotlight around the hovering pegasus, curling it about her like a cloak as she sang. As the second verse began and the dancers joined her in chorus, Fluttershy almost forgot that this was merely a rehearsal, and the stalls stood empty before the stage. As Prima Donna sang of a lost love reunited by fateful chance at a masque ball, Fluttershy could picture the scene, seeing the lavish colours and vibrant banners decorating the ballroom, while masked and costumed ponies danced and spun around and around in an endless waltz. The music built to a crescendo as Prima Donna’s voice climbed higher and higher, each ascending note punctuated by a flap of her wings as she hung above the stage like an angel of music. However, as she hit a high C, the illusion was shattered by the piercing noise. Fluttershy’s own ears pressed against her head as she winced, and Rarity stumbled like she’d been struck. The chandelier jingled as the blasting note resonated through the theatre. The conductor pony calmly put out a hoof to steady the sheet music before him as it threatened to blow away. Fluttershy could barely make out the strangled notes of the strings section as their bows slipped from their hooves, or the squeak of the brass as they choked on their own breath. One or two of the dancers faltered, missing a step and crushing the hoof of their partner. Finally, the ordeal ended, as Prima Donna finished her song and sank gently back to the stage, her coat of light fading away as the spotlight was extinguished. The conductor pulled out an earplug. “Thank you, Prima Donna... gentlecolts, fillies. I think that will do for now. When we reconvene we’ll go over the ballet in Act Three.” He stepped down, the sheet music floating up and following behind him as he trotted away. Falsetto leant forward again, and Fluttershy found herself rooted in place. “A marvellous voice, to be sure, but... What she lacks in talent, she makes up for in volume, you understand,” he said, quietly. All Rarity and Fluttershy could do was nod. As the yellow pegasus watched Prima Donna walk away, head held high, she suddenly understood the unspoken meaning in Falsetto’s words. “... Y-you brought me here to... to replace her?” she squeaked, staring at the older grey earth pony with wide eyes. Falsetto cringed at what he felt was more of an accusation than a question. “Well... Not ‘replace’, no, that’s an unnecessarily harsh way of putting it, my dear, it’s just... Prima Donna is not... Well... She lacks that true talent, that spark, if you will... She’s exceptionally well-trained, but her singing... It’s methodical, cold.” He explained, trying to avoid looking directly at Fluttershy. “... Truth be told, I half-suspect my predecessor was either a ‘friend’ of hers, or in her family’s pay, or perhaps both. Whilst I certainly have no intention of replacing her, I felt that perhaps she should settle for smaller parts... allow fresh, new talent a chance to shine!” Now he looked her straight in the eyes. “Like yourself! I will help you shine all across Equestria!” Fluttershy felt a cold dread creep over her.. Rarity knew Fluttershy well enough to read her body language like a book. For such a shy pony, she wore her heart on her sleeve. Sensing that the conversation was about to take a turn for the worse, she interrupted. “Well, I can’t say I thought much of her mane. That style looked all wrong on her.” She bounced her own lightly on her hoof. “I’ll just have to see what I can do about that.” Satisfied the conversation was suitably derailed, she continued. “Oh, Falsetto, I simply must show you my first designs... I’ve had a flood of new ideas since arriving here, and I want to make sure the finished articles are perfect!” She turned, letting Falsetto lead the way back off the stage, and gave Fluttershy a reassuring smile. She smiled back, grateful for Rarity’s tactful change of subject. She watched the stagehoofs clear the props away as they prepared for the next scene, mulling over her own thoughts. She still wasn’t sure how to feel about the whole affair. She liked singing, and she was forced to admit she liked singing for her friends. Pinkie Pie often turned to her for help when struggling with a new song, either because she felt the melody wasn’t quite right or the lyrics needed some work. Or once, as Fluttershy recalled, when the pink party pony was left speechless by a mischievous blue bloom. In fact. after the group’s encounter with Poison Joke, she remembered Twilight Sparkle had been comparing the effects on herself and her friends, deducing that the plant somehow affected, through its own magic, the quality about themselves that a pony took the most delight in, or was most proud of. When, one day over tea, Twilight had asked her directly why her voice was affected by the flower, she’d had to do some quick mental gymnastics to come up with a reasonable-sounding excuse: the deeper voice made her sound more intimidating, which meant she couldn’t help her animal friends. Twilight had said no more about it, but Fluttershy knew herself that that wasn’t the whole reason. It was true that her animal friends had been a little taken aback by ‘Flutterguy’, but when she spoke gently and softly to them, they soon came around. If she was being truly honest with herself, she loved her voice. Her ability to work with animals extended to all areas of their lives, and singing with the birds always boosted her confidence in herself when she was feeling low. So why was she feeling so nervous at the thought of singing professionally? She was startled out of her introspection when a large elephant knocked her aside. She was about to instinctively apologize for being in its way, before it was swung aside, and she realised it was just a prop. Feeling a little sheepish, she made her way down from the stage and wandered back towards her room. A few hours and several practice sessions later, Fluttershy was standing back at the edge of the stage and watching as the stagehoofs set up the scene; a moonlit night over the open fields of Equestria. She smiled a little when she noticed that the wooden moon had been recently and hastily painted over to remove the famous Mare. Rarity came to join her, looking flustered, a few strands of mane out of place. “Oh! Rarity! Are you alright?” she asked, quickly showing concern. Rarity heaved a sigh and put on a smile. “Yes, yes, I’m fine, it’s just I’ve been working with that ‘diva’, Prima Donna, all afternoon. She’s arrogant, bossy, and downright rude. Not to mention ungrateful! I drew up a design that would’ve looked beautiful on her during the second act, but she took one look at it and threw it aside like... Like trash!” Rarity stopped to check herself, taking a deep breath to calm down. “‘Is no good for me’, she said; ‘I must look like the Celestia herself for my big number!’ I mean, the nerve of some ponies!” She stomped a hoof in emphasis, drawing some attention and whispered jokes from the stagehoofs. She glared at them as they laughed and went back to work. “But what about you, darling? How are you finding it here?” she asked, ignoring them and turning to Fluttershy. “Oh, well, uhm, it’s... nice.” Rarity frowned. “I know what that means.” She didn’t get a chance to press further, as the conductor tapped the music stand for attention. “Now then, fillies and gentlecolts, I know this piece was originally intended to be sung by Miss Days, but now that she has left us, the part will instead be sung by...” He paused, his composure momentarily shaken, and his voice cracked as he mentioned the name. “... Signora Prima Donna.” He ran a hoof through his mane while the other dancers and singers shuffled about and looked down at their hooves. Prima Donna strode into centre stage and stood proudly, wings extended and head held high. Without looking in his direction, she waved a (beautifully pedicured) hoof at the conductor. “Whenever you are ready, maestro.” The conductor resigned himself and raised the baton. What happened next was a blur. No sooner had Prima Donna opened her mouth, than there was a barely audible ‘twang’ from somewhere in the rafters above the stage. The wooden moon swung low as one of the ropes holding it aloft fell away, cut clean through, the other soon following suit. It dropped from above almost as if Luna herself guided it, and before any of the unicorn technicians had time to react, it crashed squarely onto Prima Donna below. A mixed gasp of shock and relief went up from all present, and the stagehoofs rushed to help the singer from the heap of wood. Falsetto strode onto the stage, glaring up at the rafters. “Iron Knot! What happened up there?” he yelled to a pony staring wide-eyed at nothing, seemingly rooted to the spot in fear. He managed to find voice, and stuttered: “G-ghost! I saw him! I saw the Ghost! He c-cut the ropes!” The ponies on the stage and in the orchestra pit murmured amongst each other, shooting frightened glances around the empty theatre. Falsetto grimaced. “Just what I needed...” Prima Donna was pulled, battered and ruffled, from the wreckage, fury written across her features and splinters in her mane. “Ghost? Pfah! Is your ploy to get rid of me, eh? You arrange this!” She pointed an accusing hoof at Falsetto, who backed up a step. “S-signora, I assure you, there’s no ‘ploy’! These things happen! The rope was probably frayed!” “ ‘These things do ‘appen!’ ” Prima Donna sang back, mockingly. “This is the third time ‘these things do ‘appen’ in a month! And if ‘these things’ do ‘appen, then this thing does not ‘appen!” she yelled, gesturing to herself as she hovered above the stage. “Enough! I go now! Bye-bye! You get your little canary to replace me!” She turned to Fluttershy, glaring at her in anger. “Maybe she sing better for you and appease your ‘ghosts’, eh?” She flew across the theatre and out the double-doors of the auditorium. An awkward silence descended in the wake of her departure, and Fluttershy could feel everypony looking at her. She felt like she wanted to cry. The conductor looked at Falsetto, breaking the silence by clearing his throat. Falsetto looked to the conductor, and gave a resigned sigh. “Signora!” He yelled, running out after her. As the double-doors swung shut once more, the ponies gathered inside the theatre whispered to one another about what had just happened. Fluttershy caught snatches of sentences as they echoed around the auditorium. “... Phantom...” “... Third time this month...” “... look on her face!” “... ‘course she’ll be back...” “... yellow one over there...” “... Miss Day’s replacement?” Rarity leant over to Fluttershy, keeping her own voice to a whisper. “That didn’t look like an accident to me... Look at the ropes, they’ve been cut through! And not only that, but I’d swear someone placed that moon there deliberately. I saw them practising this scene yesterday, and it was at the back of the stage, not the centre.” She frowned at the pile of what was now little more than firewood. Fluttershy looked at it, trying to ignore the glances in her direction. She could see the dangling end of rope in the rafters above, and it did seem strange to hang it over the centre stage, especially since it was a background piece. She trusted Rarity’s judgement on such matters, at least. But if it wasn’t an accident, the bigger question remained: who? “I can see that harpy is not well-liked.” Rarity cut in, referring to the mythical group of griffons that tormented ponies with their harsh voices and sharp claws. “Perfectly understandable, of course. I’m surprised she has any supporters at all, the way she treats other ponies. And what was all that about a ghost?” She frowned again, raising a hoof to her chin. “Falsetto mentioned in Ponyville that his last singer left because of a ‘ghost’... Oh, this won’t do. I shall simply have to do some digging!” Fluttershy raised an eyebrow at her. “... Metaphorically speaking, darling, of course.”

Miyajima

464

Angel,Fluttershy,Original Character,Rarity,Crossover,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

The Pony of the Opera

An adaptation of Phantom of the Opera, tailored to FiM.

complete

<p> A chance meeting with the new manager of the Canterlot Opera House propels Fluttershy to stardom as the lead singer in a new opera. However, rumours abound of a ghost haunting the performance. Will Fluttershy and Rarity be able to discover the truth behind the masks?</p>

everyone

2011-08-09T14:18:50+00:00

2013-02-09T21:09:54+00:00

~ Act I: Scene III~ “In the preliminary practise sessions, our lead singer handed in her notice, claiming some nonsense about the place being haunted.” “G-ghost! I saw him! I saw the Ghost! He c-cut the ropes!” “Just what I needed...” “... Phantom...” “... Third time this month...” Rarity raised a hoof and knocked on the door to Falsetto’s office, hidden in the veritable rat’s nest of corridors and walkways inside the Canterlot Opera House. “Come in~!” the manager chimed, and Rarity opened the door with a flash of her horn. Floating behind her as she trotted in were some of the finished costumes, ready for inspection, as well as drawings and designs for more. She was still wearing her work glasses, balanced skilfully on her muzzle. “Ah! Rarity, my dear! Oh, I say, are these the costumes for the chorus? Why, they’re magnificent!” Falsetto gushed, rising from his seat and lifting the fabric to his eyes as Rarity set it down beside the desk. “Indeed they are,” Rarity answered, for both the question and the compliment. “I’ve been working closely with the singers, and they’ve all had their input in the final product.” Rarity frowned, and spread out a design on the desk.” … But as for our mutual friend Miss Donna...” “... This is... certainly a... uh, new style for you, my dear,” Falsetto said, tactfully, looking over Rarity’s shoulder at the drawing. “It’s not mine, darling, the Signora decided to grace me with a design of her own making. After systematically insulting and belittling mine, of course.” “I see.” Falsetto grimaced as he inspected it. “... That’s not real, is it?” “Fluttershy would have a fit if it was.” “Can’t have that.” “Indeed not. And then there’s the...” “... I say.” “It simply will not do.” “Well said. … I’ll leave the matter entirely in your capable hooves, my dear.” Rarity grinned, scrunching up the design and throwing it into a waste paper bin. Satisfied, she laid down her own drawings, allowing Falsetto to peruse them, and noticed that she had accidentally brushed a note to the floor. She floated it back up and, curiosity getting the better of her, lifted it to her eyes. It was a simple parchment with a broken wax seal in the shape of a pony’s skull, hanging off a black ribbon. The parchment was bordered with a a thick black line, and, peculiarly, was written in dark red ink. It read: “Dear Falsetto Just a brief reminder, my monthly salary has not yet been paid. Leave a cheque for 20,000 bits with Quick Step by the time of this week’s showing of “The Barber of Ponyville”. I shall watch the performance from my usual seat in Box Five, which is to be left unoccupied. Our dear Prima Donna must be taught humility, so she shall be allocated the role of the servant. The role of the ward shall fall to your new prodigy. I am anxious to hear her perform. I remain, sir, your obedient servant; O. G.” Rarity placed the letter back on the desk, Falsetto catching the movement out of the corner of his eye. “Ah, you’ve found the note, I see,” he said, glaring at the piece of parchment. “I couldn’t help but notice... -” Rarity began. Falsetto looked up at Rarity and frowned. “I know that look. That’s the look that’s about to give me an interrogation.” “Falsetto, darling, a lady does not ‘interrogate’. … I was merely going to ask you a series of probing questions to which I would expect gratifying answers.” Falsetto sighed dramatically and sat himself back behind his desk. “Go on...” he said, waving his hoof in an exasperated gesture. “Well... I am curious about this ‘ghost’ problem you seem to have. Back in Ponyville, you explained that your other singer, Miss Days, left after claiming she was being haunted by some ghost, and you laughed it off.” She began pacing in a tight circle in front of Falsetto’s desk. “However, yesterday, after the accident, the stagehoof in the rafters... Mister Iron Knot, was it? He claimed he saw ‘THE Ghost’, and seemed quite sure of it. You then reacted, not with shock or laughter, but rather a begrudging acceptance, as if you’d been expecting this. Not only that, but the dancers and orchestra seemed to be in on it, whispering among themselves like that.” She wheeled around to face the grey earth pony, who was staring at the wall with a scowl. “There’s something you haven’t told Fluttershy and me, isn’t there?” Falsetto scowled at the wall for a few moments longer, then swivelled about in his chair, bringing himself face to face with Rarity, who was looking expectantly at him with a raised eyebrow. He sighed again, with considerably less enthusiasm. “Where to start? When I was given the royal appointment, I discovered it was because my predecessor had left ‘for the good of his health’. After I met the Signora I thought I understood what he meant, but... then I received a note.” He shot a glare at the offending missive. “I dismissed it as a prank, but that same week, Prima Donna was involved in another ‘accident’ during rehearsals, much like the one you saw yesterday. Having put the note out of my mind, I thought nothing of it at the time, just a simple mistake by the stagehoofs. Not so for my employees, however. Especially Iron Knot... He told wild tales of a ghost - a ‘Phantom of the Opera’ - that haunted the Canterlot Opera House and would take a shine to certain singers, then attempt to advance their career above others. Prima Donna, he said, was not one of these favoured few, and the ‘accident’ was a clear sign of the Ghost’s disapproval. He was flippant and jovial as he said it, and I dismissed it as nonsense. Then, the next week, another ‘accident’. By that weekend, Miss Misty Days had handed in her notice, packed her bags, and fled. Poor thing always was a bit on the nervous side, so I gather. The other staff were of little help, they seemed quite convinced that the ‘Opera Ghost’ was real.” Falsetto jabbed a hoof at the ‘O. G.’ signature on the parchment. “To tell you the truth, my dear, it’s been one thing after another since I took up my position here. After losing Misty Days and having to shell out a small fortune in bits to keep Prima Donna from walking out, I was beginning to wonder if the Princesses hadn’t given me the position as a sort of punishment for something or other.” Rarity stood still for a moment, letting all this information sink in. “... Why haven’t you gone to the guard about it?” she asked, finally. Falsetto rolled his eyes. “And be laughed out of Canterlot? My dear, if I went around the city saying there was a ‘ghost’ scaring away my singers and actors, it’d be the end of my career! No, I must deal with this ‘in-house’, as it were. Besides, beyond these notes, who could have been written by anyone, and rumour, I have nothing but blind conjecture!” “So you don’t believe in this ‘Opera Ghost’?” “Rarity, I’ll bet a thousand bits that whoever is behind all this is as corporeal as we are. It’s just a matter of finding who’s responsible.” The white unicorn raised a hoof to her chin in thought. Her mouth slowly curled into a smirk. She rolled up her designs and made for the door. “... What are you planning?” Falsetto called out after her, a hint of worry in his voice. Rarity looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. “I have all this work to do, darling! Not to mention, I should let you get back to yours. I’ll see you for dinner~!” “Wait-!” The door clicked shut behind her as she left. Falsetto let out another sigh, rather more heartfelt. “... There’s no way this is going to end well,” he muttered, to nopony in particular. Fluttershy raised a wing to shield her eyes as the stagehoofs lit the spotlights above her and swivelled them around. She was standing, centre-stage, with the many rows of seats stretching out before her, decked in red velvet and gold paint. The only pony in her field of vision was the conductor, standing ready, as always, behind his music stand. He cleared his throat. “Now, Miss Fluttershy, this will be your first practise session with me and the orchestra, so that we can get a feel for your voice, and how best to augment it with the music. I trust you are familiar with the aria from Wagon’s ‘The Pegasus'?” Fluttershy lowered her head and hid behind her long hair. “... I see, well, maybe Verge’s ‘Violetta’?” Fluttershy shook her head, almost imperceptibly. The conductor sighed, a hint of exasperation coming through. “Perhaps just the basics, then... We’ll be performing ‘The Barber of Ponyville’ at the end of the week, perhaps you’ve had time to look at the score?” He sounded almost pleading. Fluttershy guessed that, after a day of dealing with Prima Donna, the conductor’s patience was probably wearing thin. Fortunately, she’d spent some time studying her copy of the libretto when Rarity was busy, or when she’d caught a spare moment between watching and familiarizing herself with the rehearsals. Although she wasn’t particularly knowledgeable about opera as a whole, ‘The Barber of Ponyville’ was well-known, especially in its namesake town, and relatively simple to perform. She imagined that was precisely why Falsetto had chosen it. She was able to look up and nod with a small smile. “Excellent, excellent. I think we’ll try the aria in act one. That’s the part of Rose, the ward. I’ll begin the music, and then give you an indication of when I need you to begin singing. Is that clear?” Fluttershy just nodded again. The conductor did the same, tapping on his stand with the baton to get his orchestra’s attention. There were a few squeaks and whistles as they quickly made some last-minute adjustments to their instruments, followed by anxious silence as they waited for the signal to begin. With a wave of the baton, the strings section started to play a slow, sweeping melody, that progressed to a faster tempo, changing to a rapid staccato as they reached a small crescendo. Just as Fluttershy was getting a feel for the music, they cut off, and she noticed the conductor pointing his baton at her. She panicked for a moment, trying to remember the start of the song as the orchestra continued with softer strokes. Her brain caught up with her mouth by what should have been the second line of the verse, and she began singing, almost as quiet as the orchestra was trying to be. The acoustics of the hall managed to at least make Fluttershy audible as she struggled to remember the words, singing at first haltingly, but soon growing stronger in voice as the tune began to play in her memory. She felt a tingle in her throat, and suddenly her voice rang loud and clear around the theatre, so much to her surprise that she let out a loud ‘Eep!’ and immediately stopped singing. The conductor shot a glare up at the rafters to some unseen stagehoof, and shook his head. “Apologies, Miss Fluttershy. Our sound technician was just casting a spell to amplify your voice. Normally he will do so before you begin, but he missed his cue!” The conductor yelled the last part of the sentence up at the technician. Fluttershy could hear a mumbled ‘Sorry.’ float down from above. “Oh, uhm, it’s quite alright.” Fluttershy replied, cringing at her own volume. “Too loud?” “No, that’s just fine, miss. Now, perhaps we can start from the top... Be sure to watch for your cue.” The conductor gave the orchestra a few moments to prepare, then gave the signal to begin. The melody slowly filled the air, and Fluttershy began to count in her head, waiting for her cue. The moment she saw the conductor point his baton at her, she broke into song, her voice amplified to fill the music hall. She still found herself drawn to look at her hooves as she sang, not looking up at the conductor or the seats where the audience would be sitting and watching her. The conductor cleared his throat loudly, clearly heard over the orchestra and her own voice. She looked up at him, and then out into the empty stands that stretched out into the unlit darkness before her. In her mind’s eye she saw them filled with hundreds of ponies, looking at her critically as they silently judged every note, every tremble in her voice, every squeak as she nearly missed a note. Her eyes widened, and she faltered, missing a word in the line. She dropped her gaze back to her hooves, trying to pick up the song, but it was too late. She could feel a thousand imaginary pairs of eyes glaring directly at her, and could hear the sounds of them murmuring their disapproval. She felt her knees go stiff. Her wings snapped shut by her sides. Her voice just stopped, and she stared, wide-eyed, at the varnished stage beneath her. The orchestra, realising she’d stopped singing, soon came to a halt themselves. The conductor let out a clearly exasperated, and somewhat dramatic sigh. “What now?” he snapped. Fluttershy couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. She was rooted in place from sheer stage fright. The thought of all those ponies watching, listening, judging her, waiting for a chance to tear her apart. She’d felt the same every time she was thrown out onto a catwalk during her time with Photo Finish, but this time there was nopony to give her a nudge forward or break that invisible grip of fear. She wished she could be somewhere, anywhere, other than right here, in the centre stage, lights shining down on her, highlighting her for all the world to see. The conductor raised his eyes and hooves to the heavens and threw down his baton, storming out of the orchestra pit, muttering to himself. The orchestra just looked at each other and Fluttershy, not sure what to do or how to break the awkward silence that had descended on the stage. Finally, the cellist, a grey mare with a dark mane and pink bow, stepped up on stage and nudged Fluttershy in the shoulder. “You alright?” she asked, compassion, concern and understanding showing in her violet eyes. Fluttershy felt herself being drawn back to reality as the imaginary crowd of critics vanished, leaving only empty seats and darkness behind. She turned to the cellist, slowly calming down. “Y-yes, I’m, uhm, I’m fine. … Sorry for ruining the rehearsal.... I just... I just got...” she stuttered. The cellist laid a hoof on her shoulder in sympathy. “Stage fright. It’s fine, everyone does from time to time. Don’t mind Maestro, he’s just had a hard day of it with Prima Donna and our tenors.” The cellist replied, nodding towards the door where the conductor had just left. “I’m Octavia, by the way, the principal cellist here.” Fluttershy nodded, then recognition suddenly hit. “Oh! Goodness, you’re the cellist from the Grand Galloping Gala! … I’m sorry that we, uhm...” “Ah! That’s where I’ve seen you before! You’re the one who had a bit of a 'crazy moment' and brought all the animals in!” Fluttershy cringed. “Oh, don’t worry, no harm done.” Octavia smiled. “In fact, thanks to your pink friend interrupting us, Princess Celestia asked myself and the others to attend at next year’s Gala. We probably wouldn’t have got the privilege two years running if it wasn’t for you all, so I should be thanking you!” “I’m glad it worked out for you. Hopefully next year it’ll be smoother,” Fluttershy said, smiling at Octavia. “Well, it couldn’t be worse.” The grey earth pony grinned. “Anyway, it’ll probably be a while before Maestro feels up for another set of rehearsals, so we all might as well go stretch our legs in the meantime. Think I might take a stroll into the city, actually. Join me?” “Oh, thank you, but I think I’ll just go back to my room for now. Angel’s probably expecting me,” Fluttershy replied, nodding in thanks to Octavia. “Angel? Coltfriend?” Octavia asked, tilting her head slightly. “C-coltfriend? Oh, no, no, Angel’s just a bunny. I look after him. Or... Well, sometimes he looks after me, but...” Fluttershy trailed off. “... I’ll see you at dinner?” Octavia nodded, and turned to go. Fluttershy followed suit, heading back through the labyrinthine tunnels of the Opera House to her dressing room. She could hear Rarity muttering to herself through the thin partitions as she worked on a costume in the next room. She nudged the door open with her hoof, looking down to see Angel standing there, waiting, and holding a rose tied with a black ribbon. “Oh! Is that for me, Angel? Aww, how sweet of you! Thank you!” Fluttershy said, taking the rose from the little rabbit. Angel shook his head and frowned, pointing at the mirror. Fluttershy looked up at the mirror, uncertain of what the rabbit was trying to say. She walked over, and felt a cold draft against her body as she passed one side of the full-length mirror. She took a step back, peering at the edge where she could feel the draft coming from. Carefully, she stuck out a hoof and pushed against it, jumping back in surprise with wings extended as it slid aside effortlessly, revealing a stone corridor that stretched away into the dark. Angel nodded to himself in satisfaction, and quickly leapt down the corridor, wasting no time. Fluttershy shook herself out of the shock and noticed Angel’s white bobtail disappearing into the murky gloom. “Angel! Wait, come back!”

Miyajima

464

Angel,Fluttershy,Original Character,Rarity,Crossover,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

The Pony of the Opera

An adaptation of Phantom of the Opera, tailored to FiM.

complete

<p> A chance meeting with the new manager of the Canterlot Opera House propels Fluttershy to stardom as the lead singer in a new opera. However, rumours abound of a ghost haunting the performance. Will Fluttershy and Rarity be able to discover the truth behind the masks?</p>

everyone

2011-08-09T14:23:05+00:00

2013-02-09T21:16:47+00:00

~ Act I: Scene IV~ A group of ponies, dancers, singers and stagehoofs were all gathered in a small room off the side of the main stage, sitting encircled around a unicorn as he span wild tales. “His coat... Well, if you can call it a coat, is grey like slate, patches of hair over a bare body, nothing more than skin stretched over a skeletal frame! His eyes are black pits sunken into the side of his skull, and a hole serves for a muzzle that never grew!” Iron Knot grinned as he looked around at his enraptured audience. He stood in the centre of the small crowd, lit by a spotlight hovering above, and dressed in an old cloak that he swept around himself dramatically. “And of course, you must always be on your guard... Or the Phantom will catch you in his magical lasso!” He swung a rope for emphasis, catching one of the dancers around her forelegs and pulling her over with a quick tug. She giggled helplessly as Iron Knot stood over her and growled affectionately. “ ‘Those who speak of what they do not know find too late that silence is wise.’ ” Another voice spoke up from behind the crowd, making Iron Knot look up and frown. The dancers shuffled aside hurriedly as their choreographer, Quick Step, moved into the spotlight. She circled Iron Knot, glaring at him while the roped dancer edged away. Quick Step snapped up the end of the rope in her teeth and wrapped it around Iron Knot’s neck, pulling it just tight enough that it became uncomfortable. “Iron Knot... Hold your tongue.” She hit him with one of her forehooves. “And the rest of you, get back to practice. No more talk of ghosts and phantoms, we have an opera to perform.” She scowled, looking around at the assembled ponies, who avoided her sweeping gaze. As one, they quietly walked away, leaving Iron Knot and Quick Step under the light. She gave him another long look, before letting the rope fall from his neck. He said nothing, but stumbled away, his expression a mix of shock and embarrassment. Quick Step went out after her dancers, and the room was empty once more. The light went out, cloaking the room in darkness, but for a single violet glow from atop the rafters. Rarity carefully floated the spotlight back to the floor, smiling to herself. “Angel! Come back here!” Fluttershy shouted into the darkness where her rabbit had disappeared, but no reply came. “You come back here this instant, young man, or I’ll... uhm... I’ll be... Very upset!” Her voice echoed down the corridor. Fluttershy strained to hear any sound of Angel’s footsteps, but all she could make out was the dripping of water against cold stone. “... Please?” She fell back on her haunches and chewed her lip nervously, wondering what to do. “I... I could go get help, but I can’t leave Angel all alone in there...” she said out loud, using herself as a sounding board. “... I’ll just have to be more brave, like Rainbow Dash.” She rose to her hooves and stared down the black tunnel that stretched away before her. “... I-I faced down a dragon. I saved the girls from a cockatrice,” she gulped, scraping her hoof on the floor. She took a deep breath, and made a tentative step forward, repeating her words in her head. Her wings stretched out to touch the walls on either side. The corridor was wide enough for two ponies to walk comfortably, side-by-side, and her wing-tips brushed against rusted sconces nailed to the damp, stone walls. The cold, clammy feel of the tunnel clung to her hide as she continued to walk. She could see nothing before her, and looking over her shoulder, even the light of her room seemed far, far away. It was as she was glancing over her shoulder that she collided with a wall. After regaining her footing, she felt along the wall with her wings, still blind in the dark. A chill wind picked up to her right, and she could hear the distant sound of rushing water in that direction. Following her ears, she kept herself pressed against the wall, edging forward and making each step carefully. She came to a flight of stairs that spiralled down into the mountain, and decided to take to flight in case she slipped on the wet stone. As she followed the walls, circling around and around in what seemed like an endless flight down into the depths, the sound of rushing water grew louder and louder. Fluttershy descended the final few steps and was met by another long corridor. She could see a soft light at the other end, like the glow of a unicorn’s horn, at once both inviting and otherworldly. The sound of what she imagined to be a waterfall was now a loud roaring that echoed along the stone walls, drenched as they were in mist. She emerged into a vast, natural cavern, the same underground lake that Rarity had told her rumours of. What she’d heard wasn’t the half of it. The walls of the cavern, hewn from the rock of Canterlot Mountain by centuries, perhaps millennia of water rushing through them, were studded with rich amethyst gemstones, the source of the strange and almost unnatural light that permeated the entire cavern. The gems stretched from floor to ceiling, creating a large dome, in which sat the lake itself, reflecting in its ripples the lights above, making them look almost like a starry night sky against the dark water. In the ceiling, a perfectly circular inlet had been cut, through which the waters from above poured into the lake. The mist created by the artificial waterfall was breathtakingly beautiful as it shone with the full spectrum of blues, violets, purples, indigos and reds, reflected and refracted from the crystalline theatre. She just floated in the air, staring at the sight and drinking in the beauty of it. A brief flash of white out of the corner of her eye brought Fluttershy back to reality, remembering the reason she had ventured down here to begin with. She swept down and grabbed up Angel in her hooves, torn between chiding the small rabbit or just hugging him. “Angel! I was so worried! Thank goodness you’re alright...” Angel glowered at her. Fluttershy’s smile turned into a frown as she glowered back. “And don’t you ever run off like that again, young man, you hear me? Now, we’re going to go back up and tell Rarity-” Angel cut her off with a frustrated shaking of the head, pointing out across the water to a smaller tunnel where the lake wound away further into the mountains. Fluttershy glanced between it and Angel. “... You want to go on further?” Angel nodded. “Well, I suppos-...” Fluttershy trailed off, before she felt a sudden conviction about the matter. She placed Angel on the bank of the lake and looked him directly in the eyes. “No. We’re going to go back up to the opera house. We can come down here again later, with Rarity.” Angel folded his arms. “Come on now, Angel...” He shook his head. “Angel.” He turned away. “ANGEL.” He held his head up and sniffed in the manner of a Canterlot aristocrat. Fluttershy frowned, and jumped in front of him. The air around the two grew chill as she gave him the full force of The Stare. Angel looked up at Fluttershy, and raised an eyebrow. He held her gaze, a bulwark of defiance against the ocular onslaught. Sweat beaded on Fluttershy’s forehead as the two engaged in mental conflict, Stare against Stare. She blinked first. Angel smiled smugly and waited expectantly for the pegasus to concede. Fluttershy sighed, extending a hoof for him to climb on her back. He leapt up and grabbed a lock of her hair like reins, jabbing her in the shoulder with his foot, pointing dramatically towards the tunnel on the far side of the lake. Fluttershy shot him one final glare and took off, flying low above the surface of the water. She could see flashes of silver as fish darted through the dark water, the light of the gemstones reflected off their scales. A few swam to the surface to nip at her hooves as she flew, winding over the lake, avoiding the waterfall and the great clouds of mist at its base. As she approached the tunnel, she could see that the amethyst covering of the walls ended a short distance in, plunging into darkness once more. However, she could just make out a dim light at the far end of the tunnel, that looked to be the more familiar light of a torch or lamp. Flying slowly towards it, keeping her head low to avoid hitting the cavern ceiling, she passed worn masonry and rusted sconces. From what she could make out in the low light, they were a similar design and cut to the tunnels that connected the lake to the opera house above, but must’ve been constructed quite some time ago considering their current state. She came to the end of the tunnel, and peered around the corner. Before her lay a sort of small harbour, lit by candelabras that stood in the water. A small boat was docked at the foot of a flight of stone steps, leading up away from the harbour to a ledge above. From where she was, Fluttershy could see curtains hung from the stone ceiling, obscuring much of her view of the ledge. Suddenly, a loud note echoed in the cave, the sound of a hoof striking a pipe organ, deliberately discordant. The noise so startled Fluttershy that her wings immediately locked to her sides, and she fell into the water below with a cry. The music ceased instantly, and as she fought for the surface, she could hear the echoing clops of somepony running towards down the steps towards her. She felt strong hooves slip under her wings, and she was pulled from the water, coughing and spluttering. Angel hopped to the stone steps, looking particularly bedraggled. Fluttershy was placed beside the rabbit by her rescuer, who looked at her with some concern. “Are you alright?” he asked. His voice was deep, the voice of a stallion of some years, but it carried a melodic and soothing quality. It was the voice of a trained singer, an artist, or perhaps a noble. The sort of voice Prince Blueblood could only wish to imitate. Fluttershy opened her eyes, staring up at the face of her rescuer. Or rather, the mask that obscured it. A pristine white half-mask ran from the stallion’s forehead down over his left eye, along his muzzle, and curved down around his mouth and along his cheek. In the dim candlelight, she could make out nothing more of his features, beyond the slate-grey of his coat, a black mane and unusually long ears. He was also dressed in formal opera wear, although he had discarded his cloak and waistcoat before running in after Fluttershy. She blinked at him, her own wet mane plastered across one eye in a mimic of the stallion’s mask. “I-I’m fine, thank you,” she squeaked. Angel hopped onto her chest, standing between her and the stallion, brandishing the rose with its (now soaked) black ribbon that he had taken from Fluttershy’s room. The stallion’s eyes widened in recognition. “Ah! How did... Nevermind. We must get you dried off. Come, let me show you my humble abode,” he said, rising from his knees and trotting back up the stairs, pausing to pick up his cloak and throw it over his shoulders with a practised flourish. Angel glared after him. Fluttershy looked at the rose the little rabbit held in his paw, then to the retreating figure of the stallion, suddenly understanding. “... Was that was this was about? You were jealous!” she smiled, hugging the rabbit between her hooves, and placing him back on the stone so she could get up. “Still...” she continued, half to herself, “He seems friendly, and it would be rude to leave now...” Angel frowned, but hopped up the steps, Fluttershy following close behind. She stepped through a curtain at the top of the flight to find what looked like a finely furnished cave. Part of the original tunnels had given way at some point in the past, and water had gouged an overhang into the rock walls, now turned into a homely cavern by the masked pony. Richly woven rugs were strewn across the floor, upon which sat desks and tables of every size, shape and grain, decorated with candelabras, theatre props, sheet music, instruments, paintings, drawings and designs. Against one wall where the stonework had survived sat a great pipe organ, its ivory keys yellowing from age and use, stoppers missing and pipes fractured. It was chaotic and disorganized. Finished works of art shared space with half-complete sketches, half-obscured by curtains of many different materials and hues draped as makeshift partitions. Everywhere Fluttershy looked she found something to occupy her attention. She heard the clatter of cups and saucers away behind one of the curtains, and guessed that her host had decided to prepare a drink. She walked up to the pipe organ, glancing at the pages and pages of sheet music scattered across it. Some bore staves of music angrily crossed out, half-formed melodies discarded in favour of others. Atop the stand sat a musical score, its worn cover tied with string to protect the sheets inside. On the cover, in fine, gold lettering, read: “Don Libertad Triumphant”. “My magnum opus.” Fluttershy jumped as she heard the voice of the stallion behind her. “My apologies, I did not mean to startle you. Here.” He took a cup from a tray on his back and placed it in front of Fluttershy on a small square of free space on the organ. She mumbled her thanks. “And one for you, little guardian. I trust you enjoy tea,” the stallion continued, placing a smaller cup at Angel’s feet as he stood next to Fluttershy. He seemed a little startled at this display of generosity, but continued to glare at the strange pony nonetheless. Fluttershy could see now, in the better light from the many candles around, that the stallion was an Earth Pony. She guessed he was maybe half a hand shorter than Big Mac, but of a similar build. His left eye was mostly obscured by the mask, but his right eye was a dark brown, almost black. He wore full formal evening wear; a white shirt buttoned to the collar, with a black overcoat and extravagant silk opera cloak that obscured his cutie mark. “I hope my gift didn’t offend you,” he said to Fluttershy, indicating the rose. The pegasus blinked again. “Oh, uhm, n-no, it was... Very nice of you,” she replied. “Thank you. F-for helping me just now, I mean. And the rose too.” “I shouldn’t have gone through your room to put it there, but I prefer to remain unseen, you understand,” he continued, in that same soothing voice. “I admit I was somewhat startled when your little protector awoke and confronted me, and I suppose that, in my haste, I forgot to secure the mirror behind me. I hope you can forgive me.” Fluttershy just nodded, unsure of what to say. “Fluttershy, isn’t it? The new singer from Ponyville,” the stallion asked. “Y-yes, I’m Fluttershy.” “Fitting name.” He smiled. “You can call me O. G. This is my domain, here, beneath the city. Here I live, I work, I dream and I create,” he said, waving a hoof at the surroundings. “You could say I’m a connoisseur of the opera, and I watch the goings on above me with great interest. You, in particular, have a talent I have rarely seen in recent years.” Fluttershy could feel herself blushing. She felt both uncomfortable at being praised, but also put at ease by O. G.’s polite manner and hospitality. “Well... I, uhm, I like singing. … I’m not very good with crowds, though...” she said, thinking back to her practise session a few hours ago. O. G. smiled again. “Ah, well, I think I may be able to help you with that. I have trained a number of promising singers over the years. I can give you lessons to improve your confidence in singing, if you wish.” Fluttershy pondered the offer. She thought of Prima Donna’s snide remarks and insults towards her, both during practise and off-stage, when the diva thought Fluttershy couldn’t hear. She thought of Falsetto and Rarity’s enthusiasm for her, and above all, the enjoyment she brought herself and her friends when she sang. “Oh, yes, please, that would be wonderful!” she replied, smiling happily at the stallion. Angel looked on, still glaring at the interloper.

Miyajima

464

Angel,Fluttershy,Original Character,Rarity,Crossover,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

The Pony of the Opera

An adaptation of Phantom of the Opera, tailored to FiM.

complete

<p> A chance meeting with the new manager of the Canterlot Opera House propels Fluttershy to stardom as the lead singer in a new opera. However, rumours abound of a ghost haunting the performance. Will Fluttershy and Rarity be able to discover the truth behind the masks?</p>

everyone

2012-09-25T00:21:53+00:00

2013-02-09T21:22:57+00:00

~ Act I: Scene V ~ “Now please just- Would you- Signora, I- Hold still!” “Now you shout at me, eh? You keep poking me with your needle! Kch! Ai-ya, watch my coat!” “I don't like doing this any more than you do, but if you'll just let me do my job we can both be out of each other's manes tout de suite!” Prima Donna snorted, but finally consented to hold still and stop trying to admire herself in the mirror. Rarity was at her wit's end, her mane dishevelled and falling back to its naturally wavy state. She had been battling with the pegasus singer for over an hour, trying to put the finishing touches to her costumes. The earth pony and unicorn actors and actresses didn't require such fine-tuning, and a loose-fitting costume was generally adequate, but for the pegasi to fly properly on stage a tighter fit was needed. The diva was making especially sure that her own somewhat frill-heavy costume did not impede her flying. She heaved a sigh and stomped her hooves. “Bah, I should be out there practising, not stuck in 'ere with you,” she said, looking down her muzzle at the seamstress. “You could certainly do with it.” Rarity allowed herself the jibe, but Prima Donna brushed it off. “What you know, eh? See, Falsetto, he see my true talent. Tonight I play the lead soprano, as I should do. The little yellow ingénue won't get the limelight tonight!” “Knowing Fluttershy I imagine nothing will please her more... Come to think, where is she? She hasn't come in for her fitting yet. I don't suppose you've seen her?” “What you think?” Prima Donna replied, deadpan. Rarity rolled her eyes behind Prima Donna's back, and laid down her needle and thread. “Still, I haven't heard a sound from either her or Angel all day. I know she's quiet, but the wall between our rooms is so thin I could put my hoof through it.” “You going to chat or 'do you job'?” “Hmph. Fine. Now hold still.” Rarity took up the tools of her trade once again. “AI-YA! You do that on purpose!” “It slipped.” Falsetto read over the note grasped in his hooves once again. He’d tried his best to ignore the threats, but they played over and over in his mind, plaguing him. He couldn’t bring himself to believe all the nonsense about the ghost, but the evidence was before him. He’d seen the ‘accidents’, he’d heard the rumours, and he’d received the notes. In some ways, he would’ve been more than happy to do as the ‘ghost’ asked, and cast Fluttershy as the leading soprano in tonight’s play, but it was never as simple as that. Prima Donna had powerful connections in the city, and the media sung her praises after every performance. As much as he relished the idea of seeing her upstaged, it would be a foolish thing to do in his current position. He stared at the wall, adorned by a copy of the poster he’d had put up all over the city. ‘The Barber of Ponyville’ was always a crowd-pleaser. The takings had been good, almost every seat in the house had been sold. It’d be more than enough to pay off this ‘ghost’s salary should the threats in the note be more sinister than they appeared. If nothing else, Falsetto was a careful stallion. “ ‘I shall watch the performance from my usual seat in Box Five, which is to be left unoccupied,’ ” the grey earth pony muttered to himself as he read. “... Like Hay it will.” Careful, but sometimes... He just had to see things for himself. A dancer twitched back the curtain, looking out at the full house before her. Every row and box was full of ponies, chatting among themselves, eagerly waiting for the opera to begin. The orchestra were tuning their instruments, while Maestro arranged the pages on his music stand. Behind her, the stage was in turmoil, as stagehoofs ran around making sure the pieces of scenery were all in the correct places. Lights spun and flickered as they were tested and swivelled into position, and chorus ponies, singers and dancers tried hurriedly to arrange themselves. Rarity was watching from the sidelines, her critical eye going over all the costumes as their wearers ran around, looking for any loose seams or rips that she would have to fix after the performance. Suddenly, Fluttershy shot past her looking slightly panicked, her costume hastily thrown on and her hair frizzled. “Fluttershy! Where have you been, darling?” Rarity hissed, causing Fluttershy to stop and turn. “Oh, Rarity! I... uhm, I was busy practising, and I lost track of time, and I didn’t realise how late it was, and I had to rush to the stage...” she replied. “I’ll see you after, alright?” “Of course, darling, but... Oh, never mind, there’s no time for that now.” Rarity sighed, looking at Fluttershy’s dishevelled appearance. “Go on! Break a leg!” Fluttershy nodded thankfully and rushed to the other side of the stage, getting lost in the crowd. Rarity continued to watch while everyone settled into place, and saw the lights dim on the other side of the thick velvet curtain. The auditorium fell silent. Rarity heard the tap of Maestro’s hoof on his music stand, and the music began. In the same instant, the curtain was pulled back as the spotlights flared into life, bathing the stage in light. As the overture played, the ponies on stage moved and danced around one another, acting out scenes of Ponyville life in mime. Rarity could see Fluttershy, dressed as a serving maid, buying produce from another mare stood behind a wooden façade painted to look like an apple stall. Eventually, the two starring tenors strode in from the far end of the stage, playing the roles of Fig Roll (the eponymous barber), and his employer and friend, Count Almond. The music lowered to a background volume as they struck up their song. Rarity had to admit she was impressed by how powerfully they could sing, but without being as deafening as Prima Donna. Ponies shuffled about the stage and disappeared through doors cleverly obscured by props as the audience’s attention was diverted towards Fig Roll and Count Almond. Soon, they alone stood on the stage, the Count spilling out his problems to his old friend. Behind the scenes, Prima Donna was barking orders to her circle of dedicated helpers, preparing herself for her entrance. In the chaos, nopony saw a masked figure reach from behind a prop and swap Prima Donna’s throat spray for an identical-looking bottle with a rolled up note tied to the neck. “Where is my spray? Hurry! Try not to get it all over my chin, eh?” she yelled, and one of her assistants ran to take it and the note. She held it in front of the diva’s open mouth and dutifully sprayed. It was only then that Prima Donna noticed the dangling piece of parchment. “Oh? A note? Read it to me.” The assistant unfurled the note and read it in a stammering voice: “ ‘Y-you have a bad cold. If you are wise, you will see that... that it is m-madness to try to sing tonight. Even now, it is not too late to t-turn back and save face. O. G.’ “ The diva snorted in anger and snatched the note from her assistant’s magical grip, throwing it to the ground and stamping on it. “It’s all a conspiracy! Well, I will sing! Nothing is going to stop me! Not a fantasma, not that canario, nothing!” Prima Donna calmed herself, swallowed, and tried a few notes to warm up her vocal chords. Satisfied, she waited for her cue, listening as the tenors wrapped up their scene and watching as the lights darkened, and the stagehoofs ran out to transform the stage from a busy market to a quiet home. She lived for this moment. The moment when she would step out onto the stage, and the audience would clap and cheer before she had so much as opened her mouth. She savoured the anticipation as she waited for the lights to come on again. The only thing spoiling it was the yellow pegasus standing next to her, staring intently out at the stage. “Your little plan isn’t going to work. I know what you’re up to,” she hissed at Fluttershy. She didn’t wait to see if the yellow pegasus had heard, but strode out of the wings as the stage was illuminated for the second scene. Falsetto watched the first scene unfold from his vantage point in Box Five. Quick Step had been very reluctant to let him enter, but after forcefully insisting, she had relented. He was beginning to think the mare was a liability. If it wasn’t for the fact that she was the best ballerina in Canterlot back in the day, and now the best dancing teacher the city had, she would’ve been let go some time ago. So far, no sign of any ghost. Only one thing perturbed the manager; on entering the box, Falsetto had found a box of chocolates (good ones, too. Coltbury’s ‘Moon Tray’) resting on one of the seats. He had left to ask Quick Step whether she had left them there, but the mare insisted that Box Five had been left locked since the last performance, and she had the only key. What was equally worrying was that when Falsetto returned, he found the chocolates were now accompanied by a pair of opera glasses. He sat down, regardless, and put the incident from his mind. Perhaps an absent-minded patron had left them in here by mistake. Now the stage went dark as the scene drew to a close, allowing the stagehoofs time to change the props and the actors and actresses time to place themselves. A line of the note rose, unbidden, to the fore of his mind. ‘Our dear Prima Donna must be taught humility, so she shall be allocated the role of the servant.’ The command was all the more threatening for its lack of threat. This scene was where both the ward and the servant were introduced, and Prima Donna had the opening lines. His mouth went dry. It was now that he would see whether there was any weight behind the lines of red ink. Spotlights flared into life, their enchanted limestone and gem orbs burning brightly and illuminating the stunning figure of Prima Donna. She stood centre-stage, drinking in the attention as the audience applauded her appearance. Behind her, to the right, was the diminutive but unmistakable form of Fluttershy. She seemed intent on staring at a spot somewhere behind the audience, and stood as still as a statue. Falsetto missed the soft click of the door behind him, masked as it was by the thunderous applause. Hoof-steps, muffled by the rich velvet carpet, crept slowly towards him. The first he knew of the intruder was the feeling of cold dread as he felt the presence of another behind him. Rational thought abandoned him, his ears fell back against his head as his pupils shrank in terror. He didn’t dare turn his head. A soft, melodic whisper sounded in his ear. “Did I not command that Box Five be left empty?” The applause died down when Prima Donna raised a hoof. She gave her devoted admirers a smile, and waved at the orchestra to continue. They took up their instruments and began playing a slow, wistful melody, one that conjured feelings of longing for freedom, but left the mind torn between the thrill of the unknown and the safety of home. Prima Donna hovered a few inches above the stage, wings extended gracefully as she began her song. Her voice, carried on the melody, reached to the vaulted ceiling of the opera house, as she sang of her life as Doctor Toadstool’s ward, and her wish to escape her gilded cage and the Doctor’s unwanted affections. She rose to the crescendo of the song, and disaster struck. “CROAK!” Went her voice. A stunned silence fell over the entire house. Falsetto could only look on in frozen horror. The diva landed back on the stage with a thump, trying to sing, but finding her voice had left her completely. She continued to croak like a toad as the audience dissolved into first mirth, then raucous laughter. Tears streaming from her eyes, the pegasus fled the stage. The voice behind Falsetto spoke again in his ear. “I think we can both agree that if that didn’t teach her humility, then the diva is a lost cause, wouldn’t you say, my dear manager?” Falsetto could say nothing in reply. He merely fled the box, galloping down the stairs and directly backstage, intent on somehow salvaging the play before anything more happened. He ran onto the stage as the curtain dropped on the sorry scene, and took a moment to compose himself. Gasping for breath, he held up a hoof to quiet the audience. “F-Fillies and Gentlecolts!” he began, shouting out across the stands. “We apologise! … The, uh, the performance will soon continue with...” He glanced through the crack in the curtain and his eye fell on Fluttershy. He beckoned her over with a frantic gesture. “... with the role of Rose, the ward, being played by Miss Fluttershy!” Applause went up from the audience, as well as a few excited murmurs. The crowd was always eager to see a new talent perform on the opera stage. “For now, we crave your indulgence! For the interval, we give you...” Falsetto racked his brains. “... the ballet from Act Two of tonight’s performance!” He gave Maestro a meaningful look, and the conductor swiftly flicked through his pages of sheet music, the orchestra swiftly following suit. With a bow, Falsetto pronounced a quick thank you, and ran back behind the curtain, a baffled Fluttershy in tow. He turned to her and placed his forehooves on her shoulders, pleadingly. “You’ll have to take Prima Donna’s place tonight! You just have to! There’s no one else to do it!” With that, he released her and ran off to help re-organize everypony. Rarity trotted over to Fluttershy and placed a hoof on her shoulder in a comforting gesture. “Well, darling, this is a great opportunity for you! Come on, I’ll get you into your costume. You’re a similar size to Prima Donna so I shouldn’t have to make too many adjustments...” Fluttershy just nodded, too overwhelmed to do anything else. O. G., the Phantom, smirked behind his mask as he watched the carnage unfold on-stage. Satisfied that he had made his impression on Falsetto, he turned and left the box, locking the door behind him with his own key. He hadn’t escaped entirely unseen. Iron Knot happened to have been looking up in Falsetto’s direction when Prima Donna had begun her song, and he had seen the brief spot of white in the shadows behind the manager’s body. He recognized the shape of the mask immediately. Running along the rafters, he sped along the labyrinthine networks of catwalks and rope bridges that spanned the stage and its wings, heading up the main staircase to the box seats, and caught up to the Phantom as he turned and quickly fled away from Box Five. Iron Knot pursued, following the cloaked figure through a small side door in the corridor, and into the many unseen passages and rooms that connected areas of the opera house together. As they ran, he noticed they seemed to be heading back towards the stage. Finally, they reached the catwalks above the stage, where the ballerinas danced and spun across the stage to keep the audience amused. With an impressive leap, the Phantom jumped from one catwalk to another running parallel, leaving the less agile Iron Knot stranded. The stagehoof stomped on the wooden boards in frustration at having lost his quarry. As he turned to head back down, he felt the catwalk lurch under his hooves as a weight landed behind him. He span, too late, to see the Phantom throw a lasso that drew his legs into a tight and painful grip. He fell to his side as the he was pulled towards the Phantom. With unexpected dexterity, the Phantom knotted the end of the rope to the rail of the catwalk, and leapt onto the opposite rail, balancing perfectly on the thin metal line. Drawing a concealed sword with his mouth, the Phantom slashed at all but one of the ropes holding the catwalk above the stage, cutting them clean in two. As it fell away, he pushed against it and cleared the gap effortlessly, landing gracefully on a beam and speeding into the darkness. Iron Knot felt himself slip from the wooden boards as the one remaining rope went taut, suspending the catwalk from the beams. His own descent was halted mere inches from the stage as the rope around his legs ran out of slack, and he swung like a pendulum on the end of his tether. The orchestra cut off with a discordant noise and a number of the dancers screamed at the sudden appearance of Iron Knot in their midst. For a second time that evening, the audience were treated to something they certainly had not expected to see. Once Falsetto had once more restored order to the chaos that reigned over the night’s fiasco, the performers had elected to continue. A few scenes had gone by with no further interruptions, and Falsetto breathed a quiet sigh of relief as he watched from the sidelines, sharing a calming glass of grape juice with Rarity. “Thank Celestia it’s almost over,” he muttered, watching as the props were quickly re-arranged into a ballroom scene. “Fluttershy took to the part surprisingly well. Anypony would think she’d been doing this for years,” Rarity replied, pouring them both another glass. Falsetto merely nodded. The timid, nervous Fluttershy seemed to have disappeared while she was in the spotlight, and the audience seemed enraptured by her. Now she took up position centre-stage for the finale, flanked by dancers and set against a masterfully painted backdrop of a starry night sky, the moon being conspicuously absent since they hadn’t had time to finish making a new one. The stage lit up as the orchestra began their final piece; a slow waltz. The dancers began dancing elegantly across the wooden platform in time to the music, encircling Fluttershy in their perfect choreography. The waltz picked up speed as a spotlight bathed the yellow pegasus in its light, wrapping around her like a cloak as the unicorn stagehoofs manipulated the beam. Fluttershy pushed upwards, slowly rising from the stage as the dancers continued to swirl around her. She opened her eyes to look out at the audience. Thousands of eyes looked back at her, rapt with attention and anticipation, but instead of fear she felt only exhilaration and confidence. The part had been suddenly thrust upon her, but she felt ready for it. She began to sing, her sweet, soft voice amplified by unicorn magic to wash over the audience and fill the auditorium. She sang of being reunited with her true love, climbing higher and higher over the stage as the music built to a crescendo. Those who heard her were transported away in their minds from the tricks of the stage, with its garish props and illusions, to a real, lavish and vibrant ballroom, filled with masked and costumed ponies dancing endlessly to the sweet music of the night. Fluttershy hung above the stage, dazzling onlookers as the light played on her sequinned costume. She paused, took a deep breath, and broke into a a high C. Where Prima Donna had failed, now she succeeded. Far from the ear-piercing wail of the practise session, the note, clear and beautiful, rang out across the hall in perfect harmony with the triumphant chords of the orchestra. The building shook from the stamping of so many hooves. Fluttershy descended to the stage as the light faded from her, and the final notes of the music were drowned out by the applause. Cheers and whistles went up from the audience, as they threw flowers and garlands at the stage. Now that her part was over, the air of confidence left her, and she was overcome by the adoration of the audience. She blushed furiously, her hair falling over her face as she curtsied and quickly made her way off the stage. Falsetto sighed contentedly as the curtain fell. The ordeal was over. The grey manager pony pushed through the crowds of guests, actors, dancers and workers towards the door to Fluttershy’s quarters. Knocking lightly on the door with his hoof, he heard the muffled voice of Rarity inviting him in. “My dear, you were fantastic!” he exclaimed, swinging the door shut behind him. “Absolutely, darling! Given all that happened, you saved the show tonight!” Rarity chimed in, busying herself with arranging and re-arranging the veritable mountain of flowers that adorned Fluttershy’s room. It was beginning to look more like a botanical gardens. “Th-thank you... But I didn’t do very much... It w-was really the tenors that made the show...” Fluttershy stammered back, sitting on her bed and looking uncomfortable among the myriad tokens of affection scattered about her. Angel was busy chewing his way through a bouquet of sunflower heads and assorted meadow flowers. “Nonsense! You stepped in at the last minute and sang both Prima Donna’s part and your own! It would’ve been an absolute disaster without you!” Falsetto said, beaming. “Oh, is she alright? She seemed so upset, and what happened was so sudden...” Fluttershy asked, concerned for the diva’s well-being. Falsetto frowned. “Actually... When I went to check up on her during the performance, her assistants told me she’d received a note from the Ghost before she lost her voice. It had been tied to her bottle of throat spray... Or at least, an identical bottle. I had a look at the contents; it reeked of Poison Joke! It was no wonder it affected Prima Donna as it did!” He waved a hoof dramatically. Rarity looked up, intrigued. “You saw him too, didn’t you? The Ghost?” she asked. Falsetto’s composure fell a little, and he stammered nervously. “W-well, unless I was hearing things...” “And then that business with the stagehoof... Iron Knot, wasn’t it?” Rarity continued. Falsetto cleared his throat and pulled himself together. “Yes... He was yelling some gibberish about the Ghost trying to kill him. Had to send him home after he’d calmed down a little, he was jumping at shadows. Whatever happened, that catwalk didn’t fall by accident, and there’s no way Iron Knot would’ve slipped and just happened to catch himself on a rope like that.” Fluttershy felt a lump forming in her throat. “I think I met the Phantom,” she whispered, barely audible. “What was that, dear?” “I think I met the Phantom.” “A little louder, darling.” “IthinkImetthePhantom!” She spat out the sentence as quickly as possible. Rarity and Falsetto stared at her. “... How? Where? WHEN?!” they both said in unison. Fluttershy went on to recount her journey through the tunnels that sprawled beneath the Opera House, and her discovery of the lake and the Phantom’s home. Rarity nodded in satisfaction when she heard mention of the lake, and her eyes sparkled with intent when Fluttershy mentioned the gem-covered walls of the cavern. Falsetto’s frown only deepened as she continued, describing the Phantom’s hidden harbour and cave beneath the city. “... So, we’re dealing with a flesh-and-blood pony after all,” he said, once Fluttershy had finished. “One that knows your Opera House better than you do, my dear,” Rarity chided. “But at least Fluttershy’s given us a valuable lead... Just behind the mirror, you said?” The pegasus nodded. Rarity swept over to the full length mirror, and concentrated. Her horn flared as she tried to move the mirror aside, but it fully resisted all her attempts. The Phantom had evidently locked it from the inside to prevent any unwanted intrusion. “It’s no good. It won’t budge,” the unicorn said, after half a minute or so of trying. Although she had stopped directly channelling her magic, her horn still glowed softly as she stood near the mirror. “But I can feel the lake down there. It’s probably all those gems you mentioned, Fluttershy, it’s like when I earned my cutie mark.” Falsetto glared at the mirror-door. “I suppose we’ll have to smash it.” Rarity looked at him, horrified. “Darling, no! Let’s leave that as the last resort. Think about it, the Phantom must have other ways of coming and going, since it would hardly be convenient to pass through an actress’ room every time he came up to the Opera House.” Falsetto conceded the point, and nodded. “He’s made his move and shown his hoof. Now we’ll have to play our own more carefully. … We’ll go ahead as planned, the opening of the new opera is coming up.” He grinned. “We’re having a masque ball to celebrate... Perhaps our masked friend will be more likely to make an appearance if he’s less conspicuous.” Rarity nodded at Falsetto. “Indeed, he’ll be keeping a low profile after tonight, but if we can draw him out of his tunnels then perhaps we could get to the bottom of all this.” Fluttershy said nothing, staring at her hooves and nervously chewing her lip. The Phantom had been nothing but a perfect gentlecolt to her, and his tutoring had unlocked a hidden well of confidence she never knew she had. It wasn’t just the tenors that had made tonight’s performance, it was the Phantom himself. ~ End of Act I ~

Miyajima

464

Angel,Fluttershy,Original Character,Rarity,Crossover,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

The Pony of the Opera

An adaptation of Phantom of the Opera, tailored to FiM.

complete

<p> A chance meeting with the new manager of the Canterlot Opera House propels Fluttershy to stardom as the lead singer in a new opera. However, rumours abound of a ghost haunting the performance. Will Fluttershy and Rarity be able to discover the truth behind the masks?</p>

everyone

2011-08-31T02:21:43+00:00

2013-02-09T21:27:40+00:00

~ Intermezzo ~ Twilight sat calmly on the library floor, a copy of ‘Arcane Equines - A Brief History of Unicorns’ levitating before her and a cup of tea resting beside her. Spike had been sent out to get lunch for the pair from the market. Twilight strongly suspected that her draconic assistant had only offered to go because the town jeweller had a shop near the marketplace, and was more than happy to give Spike the flawed, broken or cracked gems he couldn’t sell. The owl-shaped clock on the wall struck a quarter to twelve. Twilight turned a page of her book with a spark from her horn, and made it two sentences into the text before being interrupted by a loud THUD coming from outside the library’s front door. Brief, conflicting feelings of annoyance and concern washed over her as she got up and trotted to the door, swinging it open to find a slate-grey pegasus lying on her back, golden eyes spinning. “Ditzy! Are you alright?” Twilight asked, concern winning out. Ditzy Doo rolled over and pulled herself up, her eyes taking a little longer to come back into line. “Hi, Twilight! I’m fine, thanks, I just wasn’t looking where I was going and hit that branch as I flew past,” she said, pointing up at an overhanging limb and smiling apologetically. Twilight smirked in return. “The way Rainbow Dash keeps hitting them, I’m surprised there’s any left. Any mail for me today?” “Oh! Yep, a few letters, hang on.” Ditzy flipped open the flap of her saddlebag with her muzzle and drew out a small collection of letters tied with string, holding them between her teeth. Twilight relieved her of them, floating them inside and onto the table for later perusal. “Okay, got plenty more to deliver, see you tomorrow, Twilight!” Ditzy smiled and waved a hoof in farewell as she took off, flying back over the main street. Twilight spared a second to ponder why the mailmare didn’t just deliver to the houses and buildings in order instead of shooting off around Ponyville, but reasoned that Ditzy Doo probably had her reasons. Swinging the door shut, she turned to her mail, magically untying the string and moving them into a row so she could clearly see them all. One in particular caught her eye; a pale gold envelope bearing a Canterlot postmark, with the address clearly written in Rarity’s distinctive, cursive horn-style. Intrigued, Twilight pulled across a letter opener and slit the envelope, withdrawing and unfolding the letter. Dearest Twilight Sparkle, Fluttershy and I have been working at the Canterlot Opera House for some weeks now, and I am just writing a brief note to inform you that we are both in fine spirits and enjoying our stay in Canterlot. Fluttershy’s confidence has soared; she has been playing major roles in a number of performances. However, she doesn’t seem to be dealing with the popularity very well, the poor dear. I have been swept off my feet creating and maintaining the costumes for all the ponies here at the Opera, but I am relishing every moment of it! In the upcoming week, Falsetto, the manager of the Opera House to whom I introduced you when he visited Ponyville, will be hosting a masque gala to celebrate the opening of his new opera! I am thrilled to announce that I have managed to procure you all tickets to the gala and the evening performance! Oh, and you need not worry about what to wear, I have an extra surprise for you all when you arrive! Both your ticket and Spike’s are enclosed, please make sure you can attend! I haven’t told Fluttershy that I’ve sent out these tickets, so it will be a wonderful surprise for her as well! Eagerly awaiting your reply, ~ Rarity Twilight smiled broadly, happy to hear from Rarity and Fluttershy, and pleased as punch for the invitation! Being quite an enthusiast of the classics, Twilight was sure that whatever her schedule held, she’d make time for the visit to Canterlot. As she turned the letter over to place it down, she noticed a post-script; P.S. You’ll also find enclosed a return envelope has been enchanted with the Opera House’s dragonfire service thaumic signature, or ‘hotmail address’, I think they call it. If you could find out which of you can attend and send me a letter back via Spike, that would be wonderful! “That’s Rarity for you, always thinking of every possible detail...” Twilight said to herself as she pulled two gold tickets from the envelope, bearing her and Spike’s names. As if on cue, the little dragon burst through the door, over-burdened by a large lunch order and a sack of semi-precious gems and off-cuts. “Oh, Spike! Rarity wrote from Canterlot! She’s invited us to go there for the opera Fluttershy’s performing in!” Spike dumped his cargo on the floor and turned to Twilight, frowning. “Opera?! Eugh! Give me a DJ-P0N3 gig any day... But if Rarity invited us...” he trailed off, torn between his dislike of operatic music and the desire to see Rarity. “Aw, come on, Spike! It’ll be fun! Besides, Rarity specifically asked you to come,” Twilight replied, waving the ticket over Spike’s head in a teasing manner. “You’ll enjoy it, I promise.” “... Fine. Oh yeah, the store’d run out of daisies, so I got you dandelions on rye.” “Ah, thanks! Come on, let’s eat. Gotta admit, I’m starved!” Twilight carefully tucked the two tickets back into the envelope, before following Spike into the kitchen. Ditzy Doo opened the door of Sugarcube Corner, causing the bell to jangle loudly. A shocking head of frizzy pink mane shot up from behind the counter, covered liberally in jam. Pinkie Pie looked around in panic, but seeing that Ditzy was the only pony present, let out a sigh of relief. Licking herself clean with a tongue far too large for her frame, she bounded over to Ditzy, grinning enthusiastically. “Hey Ditzy! That the mail?” Before the mailmare had even time to nod, Pinkie had somehow managed to retrieve both hers and the Cakes’ letters from Ditzy’s saddlebags. “Mmfh! Howfsh chyour hround thifsh ‘orning?” Pinkie asked, mouth full of mail. “Oh, fine so far, no major accidents or mislaid anvils! How about you, busy morning?” Ditzy replied, smiling as Pinkie spat out the letters onto the counter. “No, it’s been quiet today! The Cakes are out getting lunch, so I’m minding the store while they’re gone. Oh, fancy a muffin? Got some fresh out of the oven!” Pinkie was suddenly holding out a tray with a delectable-looking treat decorated in bright yellow icing and smelling quite strongly of lemon. “Goesfh wivh chyour hair!” she said around the tray. Ditzy still recalled the last time she had one of Pinkie’s muffins. Once poisoned, twice paranoid. “N-no thanks! I’m... On a diet! Just fresh greens and fruit for me, sorry! Thanks anyway! See you!” she said, slowly backing out the door, then making a break for it. Pinkie’s hair deflated slightly as she put the muffin back in the showcase, then she began to sift through the letters. “Junk, junk, threat, junk, tax notice, health and safety inspection- Oo! This one’s for me! And my full name, too! Must be important!” She singled out a pale gold envelope bearing a Canterlot postmark, running upstairs with it to find a letter opener. “Oh! Gummy! Here, pull this!” She waved one end of the letter towards her ‘letter opener’, who clamped onto it with toothless jaws. Pulling the other end, the envelope tore open like a cracker, revealing a letter and a gold ticket. Unfolding the letter with her hoof, she read; Dearest Pinkie Pie... ... … am thrilled to announce that I have managed to procure you all tickets to the gala and the evening performance! After a little pleading I even managed to get yours extended to a ‘plus one’, Pinkie Pie, so feel free to bring Gummy if you think he’ll enjoy it. I know you said he’s got a refined taste in music. Besides, Angel is here with me and Fluttershy, so perhaps the company will do him good. Send word to Twilight if you can make it! Your friend, ~ Rarity Pinkie hopped up and down with glee. The shaking was enough to flip over the letter, and she noticed a post-script. P.S. Let’s try NOT to have a repeat of the Grand Galloping Gala, please? I know you mean well, but... This is a formal occasion. On the other hoof, there will be plenty of dancing! Pinkie hopped up and down with slightly muted glee, but glee nonetheless. Gummy looked on inscrutably. Ditzy always left Sweet Apple Acres ‘til around noon, no matter where she was on her route, since it was about the only time in the day when Applejack, Big Mac and Granny Smith were guaranteed to be indoors together. Often, before, Ditzy had gone into the orchards looking for one of them to deliver to, only to come off worse for wear for her troubles. Somehow she had an uncanny knack of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, usually when a whole tree-load of apples was about to come down on her head, or she happened to be in the way of Applejack’s hoof as it made its journey to a tree trunk. Stopping up short by the front door of the Apple family’s humble abode, she knocked, rang the bell, and yelled “Mail’s here!”. A further precaution, since Granny Smith was ‘a little hard of hearing’. Ditzy winced at the memory of one time when she had made the mistake of not announcing her presence loud enough, and had gone around to the kitchen to check if anyone was in. That little, unassuming gesture had resulted in her being sent to the Ponyville Infirmary with frying-pan induced concussion. Granny Smith maintained to this day that she was merely defending her land against trespassers. With this in mind, the mailmare let out a quiet sigh of relief when Big Mac opened the door to greet her. “Mornin’ Bright Eyes. What’ve y’got for us t’day?” he said, smiling. Ditzy blushed a little at the affectionate nickname, and mumbled incoherently as she dug out the Apple family’s mail. She passed the letters to Big Mac, trying very, very hard not to accidentally touch his muzzle with hers. “Thansfh. Shafe fhlyin’ on yerh hround naw!” Big Mac managed through the wad of paper. Ditzy Doo bowed her head and launched from standing, taking off in the direction of Rainbow Dash’s luxurious cloud estate. Big Mac chuckled to himself as he watched her leave. “Odd mare, that one.” he thought to himself, shutting the door. “Cute, too.” He strolled back into the kitchen and laid the mail down on the table. Applejack started sifting through it while chewing on some oats, spilling bits of grain over them. Big Mac took the bills away, leaving just a brochure advertising a new type of plough (20% Better Than The Competition!), and a pale gold envelope addressed to her. Written with her full legal name, which made her frown as she immediately recognized the writing. “Consarnit,” she started, swallowing her mouthful, “she knows I hate bein’ called all that.” She continued to mutter as she slit the envelope and tipped out the letter and accompanying ticket. She peered curiously at the words ‘Canterlot Opera House’ embossed on the slip of golden card, and turned to the letter. Dearest Applejack, ... … will be a formal occasion so PLEASE make an effort and at least wash your mane or something. I know you may not care for opera, but do come, at least for Fluttershy’s sake. I’ve planned this as a surprise for her, she’s been a little... mopey, the past week. Won’t tell me why, poor dear. If you can attend (and by Celestia, if you don’t, I will tie you down and braid your hair until you apologize), send word to Twilight. Yours, ~ Rarity Applejack stared in dumbfounded horror at the shockingly detailed sketch of herself being held down by Rarity, who was holding a brush above her mane and grinning evilly. “... Mac, I think I’ll be takin’ some time off next week, y’hear?” High above Ponyville floated the serene, and completely out-of-place, home of Rainbow Dash. It had been the subject of numerous complaints about planning permission, and a couple of subtle inquiries over how she managed to afford such a luxurious home, but no one could deny that she certainly worked hard enough to make up for it. That is, when she wasn’t ‘napping’. Rainbow was rudely interrupted from just one such nap by a rapping of hooves on her front door. She half-rolled, half-fell out of bed, and flew blearily along the corridor, yawning and rubbing her eyes. She swung the door open to be greeted by the smiling face and lop-sided gaze of Ditzy Doo. “Oh, hey Derpy. Man, mail already? You’re early today.” “It’s, uh... Past noon, Crash.” Ditzy replied. ‘Derpy Hooves’ was an old nickname from her time in Summer Flight Camp. She didn’t much like being called by it, but she and Rainbow had a mutual agreement. “... What? Already?” Dash peered up at the sun, jolting herself fully awake. “Oh horseapples! I was meant to be running the Everfree stretch this morning! Now I’ll have to work the night shift. Ugh.” She sighed, turning her attention back to Ditzy. “So, what’ve I got today? Any more fanmail from Scoots?” Ditzy smiled, taking the letters from her bags and tossing them past Dash into the hallway. “None from Scootaloo, you’ll be glad to know. She really looks up to you, that one.” She looked Rainbow up and down, and grinned. “Can’t think why.” “Yeah, yeah, har har. Airspace busy today?” she asked, dismissing Ditzy’s tease with a wave of her hoof. “Nope. Clear skies, great for flying. I’ll catch up with you later, Crash, gotta finish my rounds. Have a good day!” She grinned again, turning and plummeting through the cloud-lawn in front of Dash’s front door. “You’re gonna fix that later, Derpy!” Rainbow yelled through the hole after her retreating friend. As one of the few other capable fliers in Ponyville, at least when she was looking where she was going, Ditzy and Dash would occasionally practise with each other. More than once the mail round had ended in an impromptu race that resulted in letters scattered across the town. Rainbow smirked to herself and shut the door, picking up her letters and flopping down on her cloud-stuffed couch in the living room. She put aside Wonderbolts Weekly for later reading and found a pale gold envelope bearing her name and a Canterlot postmark. She tugged the envelope open, tipping it upside down and raising an eyebrow at the golden ticket that fell out with the letter. Her eyes widened as she read ‘Canterlot Opera House’ embossed on the side. She quickly scooped up the letter, skim-reading. Dearest Rainbow Dash, ... … while I don’t expect you enjoy opera, I have no intentions of letting you stay in Ponyville while the rest of us are here, so you will find your ticket enclosed. If it makes any difference, I know for a fact that some of the Wonderbolts are frequent patrons. In fact, Falsetto tells me that one of the current troupe used to be a singer and dancer here at the Opera House! Hoping you’ll come, ~ Rarity Rainbow dropped the letter, staring slack-jawed at the wall. It’s a well-known fact that one shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, or a pony by their appearance. Rainbow didn’t have many guests to her home, (although the interior was enchanted to provide footing for Earth Ponies and unicorns), and so her friends had made certain assumptions about her tastes. Some were correct, Rainbow enjoyed ‘harder’ music as much as the next pony, but closer examination of her home and it’s distinctly Classical décor would have surprised many, not least of all Rarity herself. “Ohmigoshohmigoshohmigoshohmigoshohmigosh!” she squealed, finally, snatching up the ticket and storing it away safely where it wouldn’t be lost. She dashed directly from there to her stack of vintage vinyls, and with a skilful flick, landed one on the turntable of her record player. The needle fell into place as the disc automatically began to spin, and the first chords of Wagon’s ‘Flight of The Pegasus’ filled the air. Rainbow sank back on her couch, smiling blissfully.

Miyajima

464

Angel,Fluttershy,Original Character,Rarity,Crossover,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

The Pony of the Opera

An adaptation of Phantom of the Opera, tailored to FiM.

complete

<p> A chance meeting with the new manager of the Canterlot Opera House propels Fluttershy to stardom as the lead singer in a new opera. However, rumours abound of a ghost haunting the performance. Will Fluttershy and Rarity be able to discover the truth behind the masks?</p>

everyone

2011-10-17T23:53:02+00:00

2013-02-09T21:31:18+00:00

~ Act II: Scene I ~ Fireworks lit the night sky over Canterlot, spectacular flourishes of red, gold, green, blue, purple, and everything in-between reflecting off the white marble buildings in a dazzling display of colour and light. The explosions echoed off the mountainside, carrying over the whole city. Nopony would get much sleep tonight, but then, barely anypony was trying. All eyes were focused on the Canterlot Opera House as the enchanting display announced the Masque Gala. Carriage after carriage drew up in front of the Opera’s steps, carrying nobles, aristocrats, patrons of the arts, and a few ponies who just came for the music. Rarity and Fluttershy stood atop the steps, hidden in plain sight behind their masks. Rarity had worn a simple dress of blue silk, with golden lining, and was hidden behind a matching blue and gold domino mask. A picture of understated elegance. Fluttershy wore a more elaborate dress of delicate, rose pink fabric and lace, stitched in floral patterns. Her mask covered more of her face, and was designed with a definite theme of flowers in mind, the left eye entirely surrounded by yellow sunflower petals arranged like a bloom. Angel, perched on her back, boasted a black bandit’s mask with a wide brimmed hat and cloak. Rarity held an embroidered fan in her telekinetic grasp, fanning herself with it as she watched the arrival of the carriages and their occupants, exhanging comments with Fluttershy. “Oo, that design is very chic. I swear that’s one of Hoity Toity’s. He’ll probably be around himself, somewhere. I can’t imagine he bothered with a mask.” Rarity smirked. “I like that one. Classical,” Fluttershy replied, indicating a pegasus dressed in a tastefully arranged toga and ancient theatre mask. Rarity nodded in approval, eyes flitting across various other newcomers. They stood a few moments in silence, letting the background chatter of the guests wash over them, punctuated by the occasional bang of a firework, high above. Rarity was getting a little worried. Twilight had sent the reply back punctually that all five of them would be attending, but there was, as yet, no sign of the apple-shaped coach they were meant to be arriving in. Rarity had their dresses waiting for them, and even included a tuxedo for Spike and a mask for Gummy, and wanted to intercept the carriage as it arrived so that they could dress first and formally arrive in style. She scanned the line of waiting carriages on the street leading away from the Opera House once again, and finally found what she was looking for. Smiling, she turned to Fluttershy. “I’ll be back in a little while, Fluttershy. You will be okay here, won’t you?” “O-oh, yes, I’m fine. It’s lovely seeing all these costumes, and Princess Luna has done a wonderful job of the night sky tonight,” she answered, smiling back. Rarity nodded and slipped away, quickly making her way out of the gates and down the street until she came up to her friends’ carriage. She smirked as she saw that Caramel and Blues had, once again, been roped into pulling it. They were busy debating with each other over whether they ought to start charging for taxi services, and failed to see Rarity as she approached. Spike, however, sitting atop the carriage, was more observant, and immediately pulled hard on the reigns. Blues and Caramel halted their discussion to glare up at him, but he ignored it, too enraptured to see what was, unmistakably, Rarity standing before him. “Rarity!” he exclaimed, jumping down and bowing low. She lifted her mask and curtsied, and extended a hoof for him to kiss, smiling. He gratefully did so. Twilight, hearing Spike, stuck her head out of the window. “Oh, Rarity! You look amazing!” “Oh, merely fabulous, darling,” Rarity replied, smiling still. Spike rushed across to get the door, and soon Rarity was in the coach with the others as it made its way through a side-street on a new course for the Opera House’s service entrance. “I’ve made you all gowns for the Gala tonight, I just know they’re going to suit you all perfectly! We’ll get you suited up first, then come back around the front to greet Fluttershy, she’ll be waiting for us at the front entrance. She still doesn’t know that I invited you all, so this should be quite a surprise for her!” Less than an hour later, the group were decked out in their costumes, and making a second approach of the front gates. The traffic had thinned, as most of the guests had arrived, and they soon drew up to the steps of the Opera House. Spike, now in full white tie, opera cloak, and mask, carefully jumped down onto the cobbles and opened the door of the carriage for the girls. As they stepped out and began ascending the steps, one by one, Fluttershy spotted them. Leaping into the air and gliding across the stone railings and hedges that bordered the entrance porch, she landed beside Rarity and Twilight, leading the troupe. “Girls! I didn’t know you were coming!” she exclaimed, smiling broadly, as she enveloped each of them in turn in a hug. “Well, y’didn’ think we were gonna miss yer show naw, didja, Sugarcube?” Applejack replied, the strong drawl seeming strange coming from so well-dressed a mare. Rarity glanced over her shoulder at the farmer, glaring a little, and Applejack smirked back. “Yeah! Besides, I love opera! Been wanting to come here for years!” Rainbow added, taking to the air and hovering around the group. “Not so thrilled about the clothes, tho’. Do I really have to wear all this, Rarity? I can barely keep airborne!” “Yes you do, Rainbow Dash, and kindly don’t hover like that! It’s impolite!” “Psh. Fine.” she rolled her eyes, dropping back onto all four hooves. “I think you all look lovely! And I’m so happy to see you all... Pinkie! You even brought Gummy!” Fluttershy said as she hugged the pink pony at the back of the line, who was trying her hardest not to bounce. Gummy peeked out of Pinkie’s mane, which Rarity had given up on trying to style. He, too, was wearing a mask. “Uh-huh! Gummy loves opera too! He wants to be a tenor singer, but I think he’s more of a baritone, personally. Does a great rendition of The Marriage of Fig Roll, don’t ya Gummy?” “Graaah.” “Come on, girls! Let’s get inside! I can’t wait for the performance!” Twilight interjected before Gummy was able to get in voice, hurrying them up the final steps and into the Grand Foyer. Heads turned and began whispering as the six entered, and Rarity smirked to herself to see that her work had the desired effect. Each was, of course, wearing an original, designed by the fashionista herself. Twilight was arrayed in pale gold silk, the same material Rarity had previously designed as cloak lining, that caught the light of the lamps and dazzled onlookers. Her mask, royal purple and gold trim, bore a detail of her cutie mark over one eye, made out in semi-precious stones. Applejack wore a more robust dress of earthy colours, with a white chemise. Leaves were embroidered around the back hem of the dress and stitched with green thread, and her mask bore a more natural design, reminiscent of an apple tree’s leaves. Perhaps most dazzling of all, she had washed and arranged her hair in the style of her Aunt Orange, for what was probably the first time since she was a filly. Pinkie Pie was definitely channelling a little of the Harlequin in her outfit. The main body of the dress was a darker shade of purple picked out to off-set her rather bright pink hue. The front half the dress bore stitched checker patterns of blue and red, which carried over to her mask. Her hair, untameable as ever, fell slightly over her left eye, contrasting the mask. Gummy was perched at the top of her mane, drinking in the culture. Possibly. Finally, Rainbow Dash. Rainbow was... Not particularly happy with her dress, although she didn’t dare voice the complaint. At least, not too loudly. Rarity had chosen to put her in black, and then chosen to make the sleeves of the front legs puffy like Canterlot fashions of old. It bore no designs, being just a simple, and altogether elegant, gown. Rainbow just wished it was more... form-fitting. Dresses weren’t really her thing at the best of times, but she decided to put up with it for Rarity’s sake. Her mask was simply black, like her dress, but bore the rainbow-coloured thunderbolt of her cutie mark over the right eye, stretching from the forehead to the cheek. The six friends fitted into the crowd around them at the opera perfectly. Of course, the ‘Masque’ part of the Masque Gala was more a formality than anything else, the six mares who had caused such mayhem at the Grand Galloping Gala were unmistakable, no matter what their guise. The only thing that kept many of the nobles from storming out in protest was just arriving in her royal chariot. Amidst cheers and a new flurry of fireworks, the Princesses Celestia and Luna drew up to the foot of the façade steps. There was certainly no mistaking the Royal Alicorns, but they, too, had dressed for the occasion. Celestia’s half-mask was the sun, in gold and burnished bronze, sitting over her left eye, while her dress of white silk was as bright as the dawn. Luna, complementing her sister, wore a half-mask in the shape of a crescent moon, studded with diamonds, over her right eye. Her dress was a dark purple fabric, here and there highlighted by a diamond, and clearly representative of the night sky above. They disembarked, and, to the amazement and hushed whispers of many, Luna led the way up the steps, followed by her sister. “Her Royal Highness, Princess Luna of Equestria, Ruler of the Night and Patron of the Arts!” Luna nodded her head to the onlookers as they stamped their hooves on the marble flooring in thunderous applause. “And her sister, Princess Celestia of Equestria, Ruler of the Day and Bringer of Harmony!” Celestia stood beside and slightly behind her sister, nodding too at the assembled guests. Luna raised a hoof, and when the crowd had silenced, began to speak. “Our most beloved subjects, we come to you tonight not as your rulers, but as fellow guests and lovers of the arts! Please, be at ease. My sister and I are delighted to still see such an interest in the ancient forms of culture, and perhaps myself most of all, for it was I who first inspired it!” The Princess looked around her at the grandeur of the building, the magnificent costumes of the guests, and finally, at the statue of herself atop the staircase, smiling. “The Canterlot Royal Opera House has stood on this site for over a thousand years, in many forms, and now today, we visit it once more on the eve of a new opera, one I hope will join the famed works of artists past, and live forever in the memories of ponykind!” The applause continued for over a minute as the Princesses made their way into the main foyer to greet Falsetto, who was wearing a costume reminiscent of a Buffalo. When Celestia passed Twilight, she winked at her pupil under her mask, mouthing ‘never a night off!’ Twilight smiled and bowed, heading over to the buffet to join Pinkie and Applejack. The former was hungrily devouring the entrées, and the latter was critically inspecting them. Gummy, unattended, leered at the punch bowl, and when one of the caterers tried in vain to swat him away, he latched onto the pony’s hoof and clung on as best as his toothless grip could allow. Twilight scuttled over and gently pried him off with her magic, smiling apologetically as the caterer stomped off in a huff. Placing Gummy safely on Pinkie’s back, she took a look at the food on offer for herself. “My, these certainly look fancy. … A bit too fancy, perhaps, I’m not even sure what they are!” she said, frowning. “Who caresh!? They’re gfhreat!” Pinkie replied through a mouthful of hors d’oeuvres, grabbing yet another. Applejack peered down her nose at the trays, glaring. “It’s jus’ a waste of good, decen’ food, dressin’ it all up like tha’ an’ makin’ it all ‘hoity-toity’.” she picked up a small, round thing topped with a daisy, waving it at Twilight. “S’like this, here. S’jus’ a daisy, some pastry, cheese, an’ apple, all whipped up inta somethin’ ta make yer think yer eatin’ all fancy an’ posh-like. S’wasteful, s’what it is.” She put the canapé back on the tray, disdainfully. “Yeah!” Rainbow chimed in, swallowing her mouthful, “These are alright, but I’d rather a real meal.” Twilight levitated one to her mouth and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “They’ve got a certain something about them, anyway. I guess it’s more what people expect at an event like this.” “I say, madam, would you be so kind as to pass me a mango vol-au-vent?” interrupted a stallion’s voice beside Applejack. The stallion in question was dressed in a mango-orange suit, and hiding behind a particularly mango-themed mask. To Twilight’s surprise, Applejack turned and, unexpectedly, curtsied to him. “Why, of course, sir. I must say, they are simply delightful!” she said, in a perfect, cultured Manehattenite accent, before daintily taking the tray in her teeth and passing it across to the stallion. He took one gratefully, and winked at her. She returned the favour, followed by the tray. Twilight watched him disappear back into the crowd with a raised eyebrow. “... What was all that about?” “Oh, le’s jus’ say he an’ I have an’... understandin’, sugarcube.” The evening wore on, as food was politely nibbled by most (and guzzled by others). Toasts were made, and dances performed. Throughout it all, Rarity had been remaining mostly out of sight, observing a guest she found to be strangely suspicious; a stallion dressed in an elaborate red suit and cloak, wearing a particularly macabre mask. She knew what it was meant to represent; this guest, whoever he was, was the Masque of the Red Death. Like the specter of the story, he strode among the crowds with purpose, head held high, but features fully obscured behind that skull-like façade. Other ponies gave him a wide berth, they too understanding the symbolism of the costume. They murmured among themselves, but none dared approach the stallion, nor could they guess his identity. Rarity watched him as he made his way across the hall, disappearing, only to re-appear again on the stroke of each passing hour. It was around midnight when she saw him appear once more, and pointed him out to Fluttershy, standing with her. “Do you see that one over there?” she said, turning to her friend, who had noticeably stiffened at the sight of the costume. “... Fluttershy? Are you alright?” The pegasus didn’t reply, staring at the stallion as he crossed the room once again. Rarity raised an eyebrow, and looked between the mysterious guest and her friend. “... Fluttershy?” she tried again, this time snapping her out of it. She blinked, blushed, and mumbled something inaudible before hastily vanishing into the crowd, leaving behind a confused Rarity. The unicorn frowned, watching the back of the stallion, his billowing red cloak disappearing into a doorway on the opposite side of the hall. “Something’s funny here.” she reasoned, “and Fluttershy knows what. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of our friend the ghost, but...” Her eyes widened as the pieces fell into place. She quickly and carefully threaded her way through the crowd, and into the doorway where her quarry had just entered. She saw the end of the cloak as it slipped around a corner, and hurried after it. Rounding the corner, she saw the specter at the far end of the corridor and called after him. He stopped momentarily, ear twitching, then ran. Rarity, suspicions confirmed, cantered down the corridor. She followed him as he ran down the stairwell, into the lower confines of the Opera House, the rat’s nest of corridors and dorms that made up the real heart of the building. Each time she gained on him, he turned a corner or darted down another corridor, speeding away, always too fast for her to stop him with her magic or grab onto his cloak. She was beginning to become disorientated, she was sure that they must have left the Opera House proper and descended into the old foundations on which the building sat, judging by the stone walls, damp air, and sputtering torches. Finally, he turned, bringing the chase to a halt. His eyes caught the dim light of the single torch that lit that length of tunnel, and shone through the holes in his mask. He locked his glare with Rarity’s, the mare unrelenting in her pursuit. “Leave, now. Do not tempt me,” he snarled, tossing aside his cloak and revealing, hanging by his side, a gleaming sword. “You’re the Opera Ghost,” Rarity replied, unflinching, cautiously scanning the area for something she could use to defend herself if things turned ugly. “You’ve been terrorizing the ponies of this establishment for far too long! Now I’ve found you, and you’ll come back with me and stop all this... hiding in the shadows.” The Opera Ghost grinned, a ghastly grimace that only added to the effect of his skeletal mask. “I think not, dear lady. The world above shunned me once, and would shun me still. I remain here, in my Opera, surrounded by my sweet Music. Leave me here, alone!” Too quick, he had drawn his blade, with a dexterity rarely seen in earth ponies, forced as they are to hold such implements in their mouths. With one swift stroke, he snuffed out the light of the torch, plunging them both into darkness, and retreated to the sound of echoing hoof steps and splashing water, deeper into the tunnels. Rarity had no time to react, and fumed. Forming a light at the end of her horn, she looked about for the escaped stallion, but he was already both beyond sight and hearing. She turned, and slowly retraced her steps to the party that danced on above, unaware of the world below their hooves, and the phantoms that resided there.

Miyajima

464

Angel,Fluttershy,Original Character,Rarity,Crossover,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

The Pony of the Opera

An adaptation of Phantom of the Opera, tailored to FiM.

complete

<p> A chance meeting with the new manager of the Canterlot Opera House propels Fluttershy to stardom as the lead singer in a new opera. However, rumours abound of a ghost haunting the performance. Will Fluttershy and Rarity be able to discover the truth behind the masks?</p>

everyone

2012-03-30T20:09:28+00:00

2013-02-09T21:34:04+00:00

~ Act II: Scene II ~ The reception drew to a close as the hour of the performance neared. Ponies emptied their glasses and quickly snatched the last few morsels of food on offer before heading, at a stately pace, up the Grand Staircase to the auditorium. The Princesses lead the procession, trailed by the nobility and aristocracy of Canterlot in an ostentatious display of self-importance. Celestia and Luna ascended the polished marble steps in perfect synchronization, neither one a hoof step ahead of the other. Lesser nobles, dignitaries and guests all crowded the many balconies that overlooked the stair, watching as the twin rulers of Equestria made their way to the Royal Box. At the top of the landing, Celestia halted briefly to admire the statue of her sister placed before the main doors of the auditorium, smirking at the sculptor’s choice to portray the Princess of the Moon as a more youthful mare, with her shorter mane and smaller stature. Luna herself just took a cursory glance at it and said nothing, but Celestia could tell, despite her sister’s great skill at masking her reactions, that she was embarrassed. Celestia theorized that it probably had something to do with the more... developed figure the sculptor had chosen. The two sisters parted at the landing, Celestia taking the staircase to the right, and Luna to the left. They continued perfectly in step, reaching the next landing together. From here, those patrons who had paid the extra bits could enter the coveted box seats. There were two floors of seats, but the Royal Box could only be entered from the first floor of the Auditorium, as it was twice the height of any of the other boxes. As they entered, Celestia spared a moment to muse on the odd placement of the box. Surely, one would think, the best place to see the opera is from the box directly opposite the stage, not adjacent to it as the Royal Box is. Indeed, even with her naturally slender neck, she still had to crane over the balcony to see any of the actors, singers or dancers on the near end of the stage. She knew of course that the design had come about for an entirely different reason. In past days, the nobles of Canterlot didn’t attend the opera for the play, as they had often seen it many times before. Instead, they were there to be seen. The opera was a social place, a venue for meetings and deals, a place to be updated on the latest rumours and trends of high society. Thus, it stood to reason that the Princesses should be given the seat where they would be seen by the entire audience, next to the stage itself. … Despite all this, Celestia deeply wished that one day she might attend an opera performance and actually be able to see the blasted thing. The Royal Sisters watched with passive interest as the ponies filed into the stalls below, occasionally giving each other a knowing look at the sight of a particularly extravagant or over-the-top costume. Eventually Celestia saw the curtain at the back of the box opposite twitch, and be drawn aside to reveal Twilight and her friends. She waved at them as they took their places, and smiled at Pinkie Pie’s enthusiastic leg-waggling in response. Twilight was busy trying to calm Applejack and Rainbow Dash down, as a dispute had arisen between the pair in the short time it took for them to walk from the hall to the auditorium. “I’m jus’ sayin’ I don’t see what all the fuss is about!” hissed the farmpony. “It’s the pinnacle of the art of performance! It’s a great spectacle!” Rainbow replied, waving a hoof in wild gesticulation. “Yer sound jus’ like Rarity sayin’ that,” Applejack retorted, smirking. “You take that back!” “Girls! Please, calm down! The show will be starting soon, and the Princesses can see us over here!” Twilight pleaded, wedging herself between the two mares. They glared at each other, but silently nodded and sat at opposite ends of the box. Twilight sighed in relief and sat back next to Pinkie, who was whispering excitedly to Gummy and pointing out different costumes she recognized. Gummy looked on with what might have been interest. Behind the great red curtain, the stagehoofs were running back and forth and making sure the set pieces were in the right position, while the dancers made last-minute twirls and the actors went over their lines. Barely audible squeaks and groans floated up from the orchestra pit as they tuned their instruments. Amidst the frenzied preparations, a hasty meeting was taking place centre-stage. “You say you saw him?” Falsetto gasped, leaning in closer to Rarity. “You all did! He was the one dressed as Red Death during the masquerade! I followed him as he passed by on the last hour, and he led me on a merry chase through the opera house and down into the foundations. I tried to stop him, and he turned to confront me, but then he snuffed out the lights and vanished!” Rarity replied, a little breathless from all her running around. “Do you think he’ll try and interrupt the performance? We know there’s no love lost between he and Prima Donna!” Falsetto continued, prancing nervously. “No, I don’t think he will,” Rarity said, looking around at the actors, “she’s not the star, Fluttershy is. … I think she knows more than she’s letting on. We know that he’s been tutoring her.” “With impressive results...” “True... I’ve never seen Fluttershy so confident in her own abilities.” She went silent for a moment, staring intently at a knothole in the stage’s timbers. “... He’ll come watch her tonight, won’t he?” “More than likely,” Falsetto agreed. “Then perhaps we can get some answers... Is Box Five being left empty?” “Madame Quick Step insisted on it, and I must admit I was happy to oblige after last time.” “Then perhaps we’ll catch him. No decent pony skulks around in the shadows like this and keeps hidden for the sake of it.” Silence slowly descended over the assembled audience as the conductor rapped his hoof on the music stand before him. The curtains were drawn back as the orchestra struck up the overture, revealing a masterfully rendered facsimile of... a stage. The backstage, to be more accurate. Indeed, even the far wall of the stage had the backdrop of the back of a red curtain, waiting to be raised. The actors of the opera studied their scripts as they discussed silently with each other the upcoming play, while one of the tenors, dressed in the finery befitting a manager, took centre stage and broke into song lamenting the loss of his leading lady. Princess Luna smiled and turned to her sister. “An opera portraying the performance an opera. A novel twist. I am most glad to see that our people have not lost their imagination in mine absence.” “They have plenty of that, Luna. Oh, and I know you didn’t exactly want it made public knowledge, but... Happy birthday, little sister.” Celestia refrained from making a public show of embracing her sister, not wanting to embarrass her, but instead nudged her lightly in the side with a wingtip. Luna grinned and nudged her back. As the scene continued, the opera’s nature as a comedic farce rapidly became apparent. Prima Donna, essentially playing herself as the leading lady, appeared on stage and began a staccato, back-and-forth duet with the ‘manager’, making her demands for higher pay and better billing while threatening to expose the ‘manager’s embezzlement of his patron’s funds. Twilight was using every last ounce of her social skills to stop Pinkie from laughing loudly enough to disturb the rest of the audience. Rainbow was watching with interest, while Applejack was largely just looking confused. “So, wait, has it ac’shully started?” she hissed at Twilight. The unicorn gave Pinkie one last frantic, pleading ‘shush’ and turned to her farmer friend. “Yes, Applejack, this is the first ‘act’ of the opera. They’re setting up the story.” “... But it doesn’ look any differen’.” “What do you mean?” “It’s still jus’ a stage.” “Oh, well, yes. This opera is about ponies putting on an opera. It’s a little unorthodox, I admit.” Applejack frowned. “I don’ get it.” Rainbow rolled her eyes and muttered something about ‘missing the show’, staring fixedly at the stage. Twilight’s ears drooped and she determined to properly inform Applejack during the intermission. Forcefully, if necessary. Nothing should stand in the way of proper education! While all eyes were on the performance, Madame Quick Step swiftly and quietly made her way to the ring of corridors containing the Box Seats. Using decades of experience as a dancer of the ballet, and years of service to the Ghost, she silently slipped through unmarked corridors and behind curtains to avoid the watchful eyes of the Royal Guard stationed outside Box One - the Royal Box. She could see as she approached that Box Five was also guarded. A lone unicorn knight sat outside the door, barely keeping himself amused with a pack of playing cards and a game of solitaire. Frowning, she snorted quietly in frustration and looked around for something to throw, settling on a discarded program. Deftly scrunching it up between her hooves, she threw it towards the guard to get his attention and immediately concealed herself in a nearby alcove. As expected, the guard, after being startled and dropping his cards, got up and headed towards her hiding spot to investigate. When he was near enough so that she could sneak past him without being seen, she quietly slipped around him and dashed for the door, skilfully unlocking it before the guard could turn around to see. Once inside the box, she tried to remain out of sight of the audience below by keeping low, and placed a black-rimmed parchment with a red wax seal in the shape of a horse’s skull on the seat, as she had been instructed by her mysterious employer. As she left, she fulfilled the other half of the instructions and made sure to draw the curtain across. She was luckily able to sneak out and lock the door before the guard started making his approach back towards his post, thoroughly satisfied that there was no one there. She trotted away with an innocent air as he settled back down and tried to find the eight of hearts. From the right-hand side of the stage, Falsetto was looking up at the ring of box seats intently, Rarity standing beside him. He had managed to convince one of the Royal Guard to stand outside Box Five and ensure that anyone trying to get in or out would be stopped, as he was certain that should the Ghost decide to make an appearance, it would be at his favourite seat. His vigil seemed to be rewarded when, during the transition from the first scene to the second, he saw the curtain of the box being drawn back. Eyes widening, he jabbed Rarity in the side with a hoof, rather harder than he had meant to. “Do you mind!?” she snapped at him, but he merely pointed at the drawn curtain. She followed his gaze and her own eyes went wide. This was it, they’d caught him. Quickly the two turned tail and ran backstage, to take the service stairs up to the seating corridors. Across from them, obscured behind the curtain on the left side of the stage, a masked pair of eyes watched their departure. There was a knock on the door. “Ten minutes!” a voice yelled, muffled by the constant background noise of stagehoofs and dancers running around outside the room. Fluttershy sighed as she stared at herself in the mirror. Angel was curled up and sleeping on her bed, content to sit out the performance. Part of her wished she could do the same. Despite her lessons in self-confidence, she still felt terrified at the prospect of performing on stage, singing before a crowd of hundreds of ponies from all levels of Canterlot high society. She stared, not at herself, but at the shy, terrified pegasus staring back at her. She tried to block out the constant self-doubt her mind heaped on her, but it was no use. She knew, deep down, that she couldn’t do it, and nothing was going to convince her. But she had to do it. She’d given her word. Not just to Falsetto, but to Rarity, to her friends, to the Princesses. And most importantly, to herself. … She looked back at herself. All courage evaporated. There was another knock at the door, a quieter, softer one. The handle turned and an expected figure slipped into the room. The Opera Ghost bowed as he presented Fluttershy with a rose, tied with a black ribbon. She smiled in return. “Thank you for this... I’m just so nervous about the performance! Everypony is counting on me!” she said, getting down off the stool and pacing around the floor. “It is perfectly understandable, and nothing to be ashamed of or apologize for,” the Ghost replied, in a soothing and almost fatherly tone. Fluttershy noted that he always took time over what he said, as if he weighed up the consequences of every word before speaking, ensuring they fit some hidden meter that only he could hear. “But remember this, that you are not performing for them, they are merely watching. You are performing for yourself. Think of nothing beyond that, immerse yourself in the role. You are an actress in a new opera, replacing a leading lady past her prime and no longer pulling her weight.” Fluttershy scuffed her hoof against the carpet, her wings nervously flapping. “I just have to stay calm.” “Your voice is beautiful, Fluttershy. You just need to convince yourself of that. Nopony will judge you out there. They came for the performance, and you shall provide such a performance!” the Ghost paused, staring at the script’s pages spread over Fluttershy’s table. “I know for a fact that the tenor with which you are singing your duet is very skilled. You will be in good hooves with him.” Fluttershy exhaled and breathed deeply. She swallowed the breath and nodded to herself. “Thank you. For all the lessons, I mean. I really don’t think I could go out there at all without what you’ve taught me.” The Ghost smiled as he turned and made for the door. “It was my pleasure. I will be watching your performance!” He bowed once more and slipped out of the room, the door closing quietly on the chaotic noise outside. Fluttershy went back and put a few finishing touches to her make-up before following after him, heading towards the stage in time for her cue. One of the Opera House’s finest tenors was languishing backstage as he waited for his scene. His role in the performance was a simple one; he was the love interest of the new singer, hired to replace the leading lady. He only had a hoof-full of scenes, and the number in this scene was the only one where he wasn’t singing a chorus part. He strongly suspected the role had only been written in as an afterthought to add some form of romance to what was otherwise a strongly comedic play. For another reason he couldn’t fathom, Falsetto had decided that he ought to wear a mask. At least, that had been the last minute addition to his costume that he had received the previous night. He looked down from studying the script to find that one of the stagehoofs had thoughtfully provided him with a refreshing glass of punch. Never one to refuse a drink, he took it and quickly drained the glass dry. It had a stronger flavour than usual, including accents of pineapple and mango, and he made a mental note to ask the catering staff where they had got it from. Then he passed out. A masked figure quickly dragged the unconscious singer behind a prop elephant, taking care to bind and gag him, before taking his place. “Twilight! Look! There she is!” Pinkie hissed, hopping in place on the padded carpet and pointing down at the stage below. Twilight looked up from where she had been quietly scanning the program to see Fluttershy enter the stage, dressed in a simple white linen gown. The four watched as their demure friend walked back and forth across the stage while the chorus sang, explaining the changing scene to the audience by means of worker gossip translated to song. As they drew to a close Fluttershy began ascending a prop rig that had been set up on the stage, designed to represent a back-stage lighting rig, and consisting of two spiral timber staircases with a bridge connecting them. As she reached the bridge she began to sing, and the orchestra ceased. Her voice, though still quiet and understated, carried across the auditorium’s vast bowl, boosted by both the genius of the architect and the tricks of the unicorn sound technicians. She sang a quick, light tune, singing to herself about the troubles of a new actress breaking into an established theatrical group, and her rocky relationship with the leading lady she had been brought in to replace. As she continued, the focus of the song changed to how thankful she was for the aid of a friendly tenor, who had been tutoring her in controlling her stage fright, and how best to project her voice. On cue, the tenor appeared from the other end of the stage, climbing up the tower to join Fluttershy on the bridge. There they began to circle one another, breaking into duet about their experiences together at the opera and the hidden feelings they shared for each other. Fluttershy became more confident as the duet began, raising her voice and projecting it more clearly over the audience, complementing the deep, rich tones of the tenor. Their back-and-forth dialogue, accompanied by the orchestra, rose to a crescendo at the point when the tenor was to declare his love for her. All eyes in the opera house were on the two singers as they embraced. All eyes in the opera house saw the tenor’s mask knocked off when Fluttershy’s nerves finally caught up with her and she tripped on her own gown. The audience gasped. The orchestra went silent. Fluttershy looked up at the panicked face of a mule, who glanced in terror at the assembled ponies staring back at him. In a swift and fluid movement, he turned tail and leapt from the rig, snagging a rope in his descent. As he fled backstage, the rope flew along the complex pulley system of the opera and disappeared into the rafters. From Box Five, Rarity and Falsetto watched in horror as the company on stage dissolved into chaos. The letter on the seat was torn open by Falsetto’s hooves, reading only: “I hope you enjoy the show. O.G.” He was broken from his stunned silence by a loud crack from the ceiling above. The Grand Chandelier, the priceless piece of craftsponyship that provided light and ambience to the entire Auditorium, jolted by a couple of inches, each diamond striking another in ominous cacophony as a couple of candles fell from the rim. It was Falsetto’s turn to gasp. “S-Stop it falling! It’s coming down! IT’S COMING DOWN!” The audience glanced sharply upwards in terror as the chandelier gave another inch, and immediately broke out into mass panic. The Princesses looked on, aghast, as the audience swarmed over their seats and themselves in an effort to escape. The doors to the Royal Box burst open as the guard rushed in, having heard the screams. On the opposite side of the Auditorium, Applejack scrambled to find a rope she could lasso while Rainbow Dash cursed her dress for hampering her flying. Fortunately, Twilight and the unicorn stagehands were able to act swiftly, and enveloped the fixture in a telekinetic glove as the ropes finally gave, catching the chandelier before it came crashing down on the heads of the entire audience. Fluttershy was strangely calm, despite all that happened around her. She looked down at the discarded mask, lying on the wooden rig with its ribbon dangling over the side, and felt a sense of responsibility surge in her soul. Her wings snapped open as she leapt from the wooden platform, gliding gracefully down to the stage for a running start, directly on the trail of the fleeing tenor. She was not alone. As soon as she was sure that Twilight no longer needed any assistance in holding up the chandelier, Rarity had left Box Five and immediately made her way down through the myriad corridors of the building, heading towards Fluttershy’s room. She knew the Ghost would make for the mirror-passage, and aimed to cut him off. This time she was going to get some answers.

Miyajima

464

Angel,Fluttershy,Original Character,Rarity,Crossover,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

The Pony of the Opera

An adaptation of Phantom of the Opera, tailored to FiM.

complete

<p> A chance meeting with the new manager of the Canterlot Opera House propels Fluttershy to stardom as the lead singer in a new opera. However, rumours abound of a ghost haunting the performance. Will Fluttershy and Rarity be able to discover the truth behind the masks?</p>

everyone

2012-07-20T23:59:24+00:00

2013-02-09T21:35:30+00:00

~ Act II: Scene III ~ The ghost ran headlong through the corridors of the Opera House, heedless of anything in his path, as he made a direct route for Fluttershy’s room and the hidden passage in the mirror that led to the underground lake. None hindered his progress, as all the actors and stagehoofs were preoccupied with calming the guests in the wake of chaos left by his unmasking and the chandelier’s collapse. A short way behind him was Fluttershy, still in her gown, racing after the fleeing mule at a speed she would have been proud of, had the thought crossed her mind. As it was, she focused only on the chase, determined not to let the mule slip away like the Ghost she had come to know. Beyond that she was driven by simple curiosity: why did he desire to remain hidden? Why the mask? He had helped her to find her confidence under the close scrutiny of Canterlot’s High Society, and now she wanted to return the favour. Rarity was also on the Ghost’s trail, but as she turned a corner into another of the Opera House’s twisting corridors, she found her way blocked by Madame Quick Step. She drew up short, skidding on the worn carpet as her hooves failed to find proper purchase. “Madame! Please! I insist that you go no further!” the concierge began, emphasizing her point by stamping her hoof. Rarity snorted, flicking her mane. “And why is that?” “This matter does not concern you or your friend! Please, just go!” she answered, with a sense of urgency in her voice. “I think this very much does concern me, and the safety of my friends! If you do not let me past I may be forced to do something...” Rarity’s horn lit up, as she retrieved a carefully wrapped cream custard tart from the folds of her gown, having swiped it from the tables earlier and saved it for later, guilty, eating. “... that we will both very much regret.” “Madame, you would not...!” the earth pony cried as Rarity hovered the pastry above her menacingly. “I most certainly would!” Madame Quick Step looked up in horror at the delicious and incredibly-difficult-to-wash-out treat, and surrendered. “S-stop! Fine, fine, I will let you pass. But I implore you, madame, do not be too hard on him... If you knew...” she stepped to the side. “... Well, you will discover for yourself.” Rarity gave a curt nod to the concierge. In thanks, she gently placed the custard tart on its napkin at Madame Quick Step’s hooves, and resumed the chase. The mule stood in Fluttershy’s dressing room, struggling to undo the catch on the mirror-passage in his panic. He’d already wasted enough time having to unhinge the surprisingly fearsome white rabbit that had clamped around his leg, and safely tying him up had taken longer than he’d hoped. He knew he was only ahead of his pursuers by a minute at most, until they realised where he was headed. The catch came undone and the mirror slid aside just as Fluttershy swept through the door. The mule quickly ran down the passageway, trying to put as much distance between he and her as possible, ignoring her pleas to slow down and stop. His hooves clattered on the wet stones as he galloped, deeper and deeper into the dark tunnels he knew so well, hoping to lose Fluttershy as he descended. Within minutes he had made the shores of the great underground lake, and leapt aboard the little boat awaiting him, letting the momentum carry him across to the mouth of his hidden cave.. Fluttershy was forced to stop and untie Angel, who was understandably infuriated at being put in place by a mule and then tied up in ribbon like some sort of pet. Without waiting for her, he ran down the tunnels, as before. Fluttershy felt a brief sense of déjà vu as she watched his little white tail disappear into the dark, and rolled her eyes with an exasperated sigh. “Down once more...” she muttered to herself, chasing after the retreating sight of her little friend. Angel could naturally see well in the dark, and had little difficulty navigating the trail taken by the Ghost. He gave enough consideration to his carer to allow her to keep up, especially when the tunnels began to narrow, making flight impossible. Fluttershy was not as sure-footed on the slippery ground as the mule, and faltered more than once. She navigated by sound and memory rather than sight. The echoing roar of the waterfall that fed the lake grew louder as she turned this way and that, carefully finding her way through the old tunnels and stairwells. The damp and clammy air worked its way into the fabric of her clothing as it clung to her, hindering her further. By the time she and Angel emerged at the shores of the lake her gown was well past salvaging, the hem soaked and muddy and the body scratched where she had stumbled or collided with a wall. The little boat had already vanished down the mouth of the river to the far side, the surface of the lake still rippling gently on the bank in its wake, lapping around Fluttershy’s hooves. Taking a deep breath, she spread her wings, about to launch into the air and continue her pursuit, when she was startled by a voice behind her. In the chaos outside the opera house, Twilight Sparkle was furiously counting heads while Rainbow Dash flew overhead, doing the same. Applejack and Pinkie Pie were helping guests as they piled out of the doors, while Falsetto sat forlorn on the cobbles, watching his money and his career slipping away down the steps of the great marble façade with the clop of heavy hoofsteps. The Princesses were hard at work ensuring that everypony was safe and unharmed, addressing them group by group to allay any fears that the incident had been part of a planned attack or invasion, nor was it a conspiracy to gather the cultural elite of Canterlot together in one place and then kill them all in a desperate attempt to overthrow the thousand year rule of the Princesses and create a new classless society where the wealth was equally shared among the common, unwashed masses thank you Mr. and Mrs. Jet Set. Twilight completed her count, frowned, muttered under her breath, and began again for the fifth time. She’d consulted the guest list. For that matter, she’d memorized most of it. She knew for a fact that five hundred and sixty-two guests had been invited to the opening performance, of which forty-three were unable to attend and a further twenty-nine didn’t turn up, leaving four hundred and ninety ponies in attendance. Adding another one hundred and forty-seven to include the actors, stagehooves and musicians, that brought the sum total of ponies to six hundred and thirty-seven. Nopony had left yet, and she knew that everypony had evacuated the building, so why were there only six hundred and thirty-five ponies outside the opera house? She scanned the crowd again, noting every shuffling colt, every nervous mare. The guestlist floated before her, her eyes scrutinizing and scanning the names. “I just don’t get it!” she muttered to herself, tossing the list over her shoulder in frustration, “We’ve evacuated everyone from the building and I’ve ticked off all their names! Who’s missing?” She let out a frustrated snort, her breath fogging in the chilled evening air. As her hoof struck against the cobbles, the spark from her shoes also lit up in her mind. “Rarity’s got a mind for details, she’ll be able to help! Spike! Spiiiii~iiike!” “Yes, Twi?” the little dragon answered, stifling a yawn. The excitement of the last half hour was wearing off quickly as his fatigue began to overtake him. “Where’s Rarity? I need her to help me here!” Twilight asked, looking around behind her for the discarded list. “Rarity? I don’t think she came out of the building yet.” Twilight stopped, as the missing two ponies suddenly became crystal clear in her mind. “Rarity! Fluttershy! They haven’t come out yet!? B-but we’ve got everypony out of the building!” she stuttered as she felt a chill creep over her heart, her mind beginning to race to a thousand possible fates her friends could be suffering. Silently, she also berated herself for having overlooked two of the most important ponies in her life while ensuring everypony’s safety. She had just assumed that they would be outside with everypony else, and hadn’t given it a second thought. “We’ve got to find them! Rainbow!” she yelled at her pegasus friend, circling above the crowd, “Fluttershy and Rarity are still inside, we’ve got to go in and make sure they’re safe! Get Applejack and Pinkie! I’ll tell the Princesses!” Rarity reached Fluttershy’s room to find the door already open. Rushing inside, she shivered from the cold, damp draft that flowed from the tunnel, its entrance wide open, with the mirror slid aside. Rarity squinted down the passage to catch sight of a brief flash of pink, before it disappeared around an unseen corner. “Fluttershy!” she called out, but her voice merely echoed off the dark, stone walls, distorting as it moved down the tunnel until it was lost in the air currents. Tentatively putting a hoof forward, Rarity stepped into the darkness. Immediately she felt the drop in temperature as the cold stone sucked away the stifling heat of the opera house. She walked carefully, ensuring that she didn’t slip or stumble on the uneven flagstones and broken stairs that became increasingly damp as she followed the tunnels. The route downwards was still fresh in her mind, having trodden the same corridors and passageways barely hours before as she had chased the fleeing ‘ghost’ from the masque gala. Even without the aid of her memory, the presence of so many gemstones covering the great cavern beneath the opera was enough to guide her, as her glowing horn tugged incessantly and impatiently, this way and that as she walked. She emerged from the tunnels, at the shore of the lake, and immediately spied Fluttershy a little way off. The yellow pegasus, wet and bedraggled, was just spreading her wings when Rarity called out to her again, her voice now amplified by the natural acoustics of the caverns and carried over the noise of the waterfall. “Fluttershy!” She turned, wings half-folding back in surprise. When she saw Rarity, she smiled and ran over, nearly slipping on the muddy shore. Angel remained at the water’s edge, staring out over the lake. “Rarity! I... I’m sorry for what happened! I-” “Darling, it’s not your fault! You couldn’t have known he would, well... bring the house down, as it were,” Rarity interrupted, trying to stop her friend’s worrying before it began, “... and what in Celestia’s mane have you been doing to your dress!?” Fluttershy looked down at her gown, wincing a little at the state of it. It was well beyond either of their ability to repair, by this point. Still, that was not the highest priority at the moment. “Rarity, we’ve got to catch up to him! I... I know he’s not a bad person, if I could just t-talk to him...” she glanced over her shoulder and over the surface of the lake, towards the entrance to the siphon where the little boat had disappeared. “But darling, what he did back there could have hurt ponies, or worse, kill! He has to answer for what he’s done to this opera and the actors and actresses. We have to bring him to the proper authorities.” Rarity replied, narrowing her eyes as she followed Fluttershy’s gaze. The yellow pegasus opened her mouth to object, but knew from experience that it was no use arguing with Rarity once she had set her mind to something. Besides, her friend had a point. Whilst she knew in her heart that the ‘Ghost’ had meant no harm, what he’d done was still dangerous, and even she could not deny that he had harassed the ponies of Falsetto’s company for some time. She sighed. “You’re right. We’ll... We’ll take him to the Princesses. But let me talk to him first, please?” Rarity’s glare softened as she looked back at her friend. Fluttershy was kind almost to a fault, but it was her nature. She was the Element of Kindness, after all. And as the Element of Generosity, how could Rarity deny her at least that? “Of course, Fluttershy,” she responded, and moved towards the lakeside where Angel was sitting impatiently, “but first we need to get over there.” “He’s taken the only boat, but I... I think I could fly us both. It’s not far.” Rarity nodded, and gently climbed onto Fluttershy’s back, the edge of her hoof tearing another hole in the remnants of the gown. Angel grabbed onto the unicorn’s dangling leg, pulling himself up to sit beside her, his expression grim and determined. Burdened, it took Fluttershy a couple of attempts to stand up, but with a few strong thrusts of her wings, the two ponies (and rabbit) were in the air. She glided low over the still surface of the lake, the clear water reflecting the thousand glowing facets embedded in the cavern roof above, reminiscent of a clear night sky. They left the cavern behind them and plunged into the darkness of the river tunnel, lit only by the light provided by Rarity’s horn. The closeness of the cavern ceiling forced Fluttershy nearer the water, until her hooves were breaking the surface. Faltering, her wing scraped the tunnel wall and she lost balance, tipping both herself and her passengers into the river. Fortunately, the slow flow of the river had left the depth shallow enough for the pegasus and unicorn to stand up in, and despite the sudden soaking, Fluttershy had the presence of mind to save Angel from being carried further downstream. Spluttering, Rarity dragged herself out of the muddy waters and onto a thin strip of comparatively dry ground nearer the wall, letting out a quiet whimper when she saw the state of her own dress. “... Sorry.” Fluttershy mumbled, water flowing about her knees. Angel attempted to shake himself dry as he perched on her back. Rarity merely nodded in return, momentarily rendered speechless with distress. Angel tugged on Fluttershy’s ear, pointing forward at the dim light coming from a little way off, the familiar light of torches and candles that she and he had followed the last time they ventured into the Ghost’s caverns. She began to walk towards it, hooves sinking a little way into the mud of the riverbank each time as the river gently swept past her. Rarity followed behind, struggling to keep her footing on the narrow dry strip. A few minutes of this later, they emerged into the smaller, torchlit cavern where the Ghost made his home. Worn, damp masonry marked the arch that served as the gate to his domain, and the two ponies could see the little boat tied up at the dock, with its occupant nowhere to be seen. “There ain’t anypony left in the buildin’, Twi, we’ve searched ‘er top t’bottom.” Applejack said, interrupting the panicked pacing that her unicorn friend was currently indulging herself in. “But they must be in there! They haven’t come out, so it’s the only logical-” “They might be in the caves.” “- explanation?” Twilight turned around to find Princess Luna standing behind her, her mask now discarded. She smiled at the confused look on Twilight’s face and continued. “I am sure you know of the extensive collection of caverns that exist beneath our fair city of Canterlot...” the Princess said, with Twilight slowly nodding in response. “The Royal Opera House is built on top of one such cavern, one that used to be open to the public many years ago. It was the site of the original Opera House before my banishment, but during my absence, the construction of the new sewer systems has led to the caves below the building becoming flooded.” Twilight blinked. “So you’re saying that Rarity and Fluttershy may be... Beneath the building?” “As you say, it’s the only logical explanation.” Luna replied, winking. “But what in Celestia’s mane would they be doin’ down there?” Applejack said, then turned to the nearby smirking Princess Celestia. “Beggin’ yer pardon, yer royal highness.” “I saw that mule jump off the stage before the chandelier started falling,” Rainbow Dash interjected, “maybe they’re chasing him?” “Oo! Are we going spelunking? Are we, are we?” Pinkie chimed in, bouncing with barely contained excitement. “Spe-what?” Rainbow replied. “Spelunking” Exploring caves! I had to take a course on it back home when Dad decided to plant a new deep shaft rock field and-” “Pinkie! We don’t have time for that now!” Twilight scolded, interrupting. “Princess, could you lead us down to the caverns below?” “Well... This building was constructed while I was on the Moon, I... am afraid I do not know the way.” Luna replied, looking down at the floor. “You’ll find a tunnel leading down to the lake in Fluttershy’s dressing room.” Falsetto stated, as everyone turned to face him. He looked a mess, distraught with worry and the looming threat of financial ruin, but he had picked himself up off the ground and at least temporarily shaken off his melancholy. “It’s part of the foundations of the old Opera House before this one was built to replace it. I suspect you’ll find them there, and the Ghost. He had been using the tunnel to visit Fluttershy and give her tuition to improve her confidence.” Twilight nodded at the manager. “Thank you, Falsetto. Come on girls, we’ve got our friends to save!” Fluttershy lifted herself out of the water, hovering just above the surface, looking around at the eclectic collection of memorabilia and paraphernalia that the Ghost surrounded himself with. She had expected to see him hunched over his organ, as he was the last time she came here, but the great instrument was silent, the only movement the slow dripping of wax onto its wooden covers, the varnish having long since peeled away. Rarity found that she could no longer walk on the dry land and was forced to enter the river to go through the archway. After a few steps through the muddy bank, her hooves found purchase on the solid stone that sat under the dock. “... Is this where he liv-!” her sentence ended in a shriek as her hoof caught against a hidden trigger. Behind her, a portcullis fell from the archway, hitting water and stone with a screech and a clang that echoed through the cavern. As she recoiled from the shock, a rope fell about her forelegs, catching under them on the centre of her body. Biting into her, she felt a sharp jolt that pulled her off her hooves and launched her into the portcullis, her back slamming into the metal grate with some force. Fluttershy shrieked herself at what befell her friend, and immediately rushed to help. A stern and slightly maddened voice stopped her mid-flight. “I see I have guests! Stop, do not attempt to untie her! The rope will tighten further.” From the shadows afforded by the natural shape of the cavern emerged a more ragged figure than Fluttershy remembered. His mask and cloak were discarded, and his costume was soaked and torn from his swift flight. She saw the Ghost now, a dishevelled figure, without that same sense of authority and importance she had seen in him at their first meeting. The ‘Opera Ghost’ was nothing more than an old mule who now had them captive. Fluttershy looked between the mule and her friend, and slowly descended to stand in the water. Rarity winced at the rope digging into her, unable to move. “Why are you doing this?” Fluttershy asked, quietly, her voice barely carrying over the gentle flow of the water as it pooled in the little bay and swept away downstream. “You imply that I do something wrong,” the mule answered, glaring. “You’ve been terrorizing the poor ponies in the theatre!” Rarity gasped, her breath short, “You could have killed with what you just did!” The mule snapped his attention to Rarity, his expression a mix of horror and rage. “I did not intend for... For anyone to be hurt. I have never intended that!” He started pacing, talking both to himself and the two mares, occasionally glancing at them. “All I wanted... All I wanted was for Music to fly free, without the shackles of money or... or prejudice!” He stamped his hoof, snorting. “I had no cutie mark, they wouldn’t even listen to my work, to any of it! Any of my pieces I tried to show them! They criticized, they accused, they dared to say that I had stolen it from a more wealthy and worthy pony!” He turned back to face them, a crazed look in his eyes. “So I took matters into my own hooves! If they would not take me as a musician or an artist because I wasn’t a pony, then I would haunt them like a Ghost until their... their taint had been removed from the arts!” Fluttershy looked at him, horrified. “So you lived down here... y-you did all this... for revenge?” “To avenge! While pompous, talentless ponies like Prima Donna still perform on my stage, in my opera, I won’t stop!” He said as he turned to face the pegasus. “For performers like yourself! Your talent should not be dismissed because you have no wealth or status, or for the lack of a cutie mark! And you do have talent, Fluttershy. More talent than many of the singers I have guided over the years that I have been here! I will not let the arrogance of those who think they know better to stand in your way! Even if I must bring the house down to achieve my goal, then so be it!” “But you’re... you’re doing the same thing as they are!” Rarity said, straining against the ropes as they tightened further still from her struggles. “You’re driving out ponies who need the training and exposure the Opera could give them to achieve their full potential!” The Ghost turned to Rarity, his face contorted in anger. “How dare you compare me to those... those ignorant, uncultured foals!” He moved to tighten the rope yet further, but Fluttershy swept forward and drove the Ghost away from Rarity, shielding her with her own body. Angel leapt off her back, landing nimbly on the bars of the portcullis, and began chewing through the rope that held Rarity to the iron gate. “You... You treated me so kindly...” Fluttershy began, addressing the Ghost. “You helped me find my c-confidence in my own singing, and you gave me lessons in how to improve...” She looked up at him, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. “How they treated you years ago was unfair, but this... this awful ‘vengeance’ has to stop! The ponies who turned you away are gone! What you’re doing now is... is just vicious and... and cruel!” “There is no place for me up there! Better I stay down below, where I am in control.” The Ghost retorted, taking a step closer. At this, Fluttershy fixed her eyes on him, giving him the full force of her own anger. Anger at how he had treated her, yet despised others, anger at how the management of the Opera in years past had treated him, and anger at the way the situation had spun so out of control. “NO!” she yelled, rising from the water. “What happened to you was terrible, but that can be fixed now! If you continue like this, someone will end up hurt, and I will not let that happen!” She flew closer as the Ghost attempted to back away. “You helped me, and now I want to help you. It won’t be easy, but we can talk to Falsetto and the Princesses and sort this all out.” Rarity fell into the water once more as Angel finished chewing through the rope. The Ghost looked between them, unsure how to handle the situation. Fluttershy took the initiative. She threw her forelegs around his neck, embracing him. “You don’t need to be alone.” Twilight, Applejack, Rainbow, Pinkie and the two Princesses emerged from the tunnels onto the shore of the underground lake. Each of them stood in silence for a moment, just admiring the natural beauty of the cavern. Celestia looked at her sister, smiling at the excited gleam in her eye, one that she rarely saw when her sister was out in public. “It is still here, sister! All these years and it is still here! Oh, this is wondrous, and the water makes it look even better than it did!” Luna cried, running up to the water’s edge, her eyes taking in the waterfall, the gem-covered cavern ceiling, and the beautiful reflections it made in the surface of the lake. “Sure is pretty...” Applejack agreed. Pinkie ran up to the cavern wall and began scrutinizing it with an expert’s gaze, while Twilight just stood there, taking it all in. “Ah-HA! I knew it! Silica dioxide with iron impurity artificially irradiated by a First Level Geomancer with arcane signature consistent with the training and methods once employed by the Noble Circle of Unicorn Magicians of Canterlot!” Everyone looked at the pink pony and ex-rock-farmer with a raised eyebrow. “The gems, they’re not natural amethyst!” she explained enthusiastically. Luna smiled and nodded. “That is correct. This cavern was once natural, but, long before my banishment, the ponies of Canterlot carved the walls and decorated them with many thousands of gems from the mines nearby. This cavern before you was the very first theatre in all of Equestria, and the dome above was modelled after the night sky of the day.” Luna looked up at the gems wistfully. She pointed at a collection of stones with her hoof. “See? That’s the constellation of Gryphus Major.” Rainbow Dash flew down in front of the Princess, forelegs folded. “This is fascinating, your highness, but with all due respect, don’t we have other things to worry about right now?” “Rainbow!” “No, Applejack, Rainbow Dash is right. First we need to locate your friends. Sister, do you know where they could have gone from here?” Celestia grinned, and pointed over the lake with her hoof. “I’d wager... just over there.” The group followed her hoof to see a little boat bobbing on the surface of the water, drifting slowly towards them. On board were a bedraggled Rarity and Fluttershy, accompanied by Angel and a mule that seemed vaguely familiar. Twilight quickly started pulling the boat towards the shore with her telekinesis, and soon they were all reunited with one another. Each of the mares embraced the Fluttershy and Rarity in turn, animatedly chatting and asking the other if they were alright. The Ghost stood a little off to the side, staring down at the water. Celestia and Luna looked at each other, nodded, and slowly approached him. He looked up as he heard the crunch of nearing hoofsteps on the gravel and mud shore, and a light of panic came into his eyes. “It’s alright,” Celestia soothed, lowering her head nearer to the mule’s height, “you did no intentional harm to us, and when you’re as old as we are, ‘revenge’... loses its taste.” Luna nodded. “You are the ‘Opera Ghost’ I have been hearing about, are you not?” He nodded, mute. Luna paused for a moment, unsure how to continue. “You have a beautiful singing voice.” she proffered, smiling. The panic in his eyes became confusion. “I do not often attend the Opera, I admit, but it was one of the finest performances I have heard in a long time.” Celestia agreed. Confusion mixed with gratitude. “Come, we can discuss this better elsewhere, and decide on what exactly it is we should do with you.” Luna added, indicating the way back up to the opera house. “I think our friends could do with a little refreshment, themselves.” Rarity couldn’t help smirking, despite how she felt. Fluttershy seemed similarly relieved. The group, led by the Princesses, made their exit as one through the tunnel, and back up to the surface.

Miyajima

464

Angel,Fluttershy,Original Character,Rarity,Crossover,Adventure,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

The Pony of the Opera

An adaptation of Phantom of the Opera, tailored to FiM.

complete

<p> A chance meeting with the new manager of the Canterlot Opera House propels Fluttershy to stardom as the lead singer in a new opera. However, rumours abound of a ghost haunting the performance. Will Fluttershy and Rarity be able to discover the truth behind the masks?</p>

everyone

2012-09-24T22:37:47+00:00

2013-02-09T21:37:51+00:00

~ Finale ~ Fluttershy, Rarity and their friends stood now around what was left of the refreshments table offered earlier in the evening, subtly eavesdropping on a conversation taking place on the opposite side of the room. Or not so subtly in the case of Pinkie Pie, who was watching the Princesses and the ‘Opera Ghost’ intently through a pair of opera glasses she had ‘found’ earlier, and relaying the conversation back to the others as well as her lip-reading skills allowed. “Princess Celestia is saying something about how they can’t juice ignore what he’s done, but that his motives were purée, and she and Luna will show leaning on ice,” Pinkie said. Twilight arched an eyebrow at her. “No, wait, lenience,” Pinkie added, correcting herself. “Ah, right.” Twilight nodded, mentally filling in the blanks. “Oh, I do hope they’re not too harsh on him...” Fluttershy interjected, glancing nervously at the Princesses. “Fluttershy, dear, he did scare the singers, antagonize the actors and terrorize the theatre,” Rarity replied. “(And destroy my dress),” she added, under her breath. “I suppose, but he just seemed so... Lonely.” “Ain’t like it weren’t self-inflicted, sugarcube,” Applejack added, gulping down a mouthful of hors d’oeuvres. “Sure, he had a hard run of it back then, but y’don’t jus’ go crazy an’ choose to live under a theatre ‘cos y’got rejected.” Fluttershy opened her mouth to say something, but then just nodded, meekly. All six turned their attention back to the Princesses and the mule, watching quietly while the conversation slowly drew to a close. Eventually, Princess Celestia turned to look at them all, and smiled. She, her sister, and the mule all walked over to the group. Fluttershy was first to speak. “So? What’s going to happen to him?” she asked, nervously. “Oh, I thought I’d banish him and then lock him in a dungeon in the place that I banished him to.” Celestia replied, smirking. Fluttershy looked shocked, paused, and then blushed. “Stop teasing her, sister!” Luna said, cutting in. “Fear not, the mule will not be so harmed. In fact, we were most impressed with his performance, and have decided to...” The six ponies and one mule leant in closer. “... Give him community service. As a composer for our Royal Opera.” The mule looked utterly taken aback. His jaw dropped, and his eyes widened. “And I choose to appoint him as an advisory for the renovations,” Celestia added. Luna looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “What renovations?” she asked, confused. “To the lake, of course! I’d forgotten how beautiful it was down there, and it’s been centuries since it was open to the public. I think it’s about time we restored it to its former glory, but the decision is ultimately down to you, sister. You are the patron of the arts, after all.” Luna blinked a few times, and broke out into a broad grin, momentarily forgetting herself and leaping at her sister, wrapping her forelegs around her neck. “Oh, thank you! You don’t know how much that means to me! After all these years...-” she paused, looking around her. Blushing a little, she disentangled herself from her sister and adopted a more regal posture. Rarity delicately cleared her throat. “Begging your pardon, your highnesses, but that does seem a bit... lenient.” Applejack and Rainbow Dash both nodded at the sentiment. “In time, all his misdeeds against the Opera, its employees and its patrons, will be repaid,” Celestia responded. “His work will pay for the repairs to the auditorium, and beyond that, he will do all that is necessary to repair the damage he has caused. All he can do is ask for forgiveness, it is up to us to grant it.” Rarity nodded, although it was perhaps obvious to one as well-trained in reading expressions as the Princess that she was not altogether convinced. “Besides... I recall being told that our Ghostly friend has amassed quite a fortune in ‘salary’ over the years...” Celestia added, looking back at the mule. “I think that it should account for most of what he owes, would you not agree?” “... Yes, Princess,” Rarity replied. “Now, with that settled, I believe there is still a final act to perform, is there not?” Luna said, smiling. “At least, providing there aren’t any more interruptions!” Some months later, Fluttershy, Rarity and their friends returned to the Opera. Fluttershy had been invited to play the lead role in the inaugural performance of the new Grand Auditorium. They were met by Falsetto, who led them to the new entranceway; a brightly light tunnel that spiralled downwards, towards the centre of the mountain. Carved all along the walls were images with a distinctly nautical theme, and brass seaponies held aloft glass lanterns that cast a warm glow over polished stone. Shortly, the group emerged in the vast cavern that had once been the underground lake. The scene before them was utterly transformed from the dark and ultimately damp cave it had been before. The vast dome had been left untouched, the natural curvature and shape of the stone preserved along with its myriad constellations of studded gemstones. The only light in the auditorium came from the enchanted glow of the gems, as well as a great sphere of pearl, that hung suspended from the ceiling on a length of chain. Below, the shores of the lake had been built up, carved, paved and tiered. Curved rows of seats led down in concentric semi-circles to a thick wall of marble that held back the lake. The lake had been tamed, the waterfall now ran down the side of the cavern, no longer the loud roar it had been before, but a peaceful and comforting stream that provided a background to the performance. In the centre of the lake was a great platform, around which the waters of the lake had been directed into a large ring, a canal that encircled the marble of the platform stage and lapped against it. Pillars, stretching from the stage to the cavern roof, held curtains of rich velvet, the colour of midnight, and studded with diamond. Fluttershy was led away along the shore by Falsetto, while an impeccably dressed usher showed the rest to their seats. She was taken to a little dock at the edge of the rows of seats, where several small, but elaborately shaped boats were moored. Standing in one was a very familiar face indeed. “My angel of music, it is good to see you again,” he said, in a voice that carried much greater happiness than the same voice that Fluttershy had first heard speaking to her those months ago. She smiled and stepped carefully into the boat, which pushed off from the dock. As the Ghost pushed the boat along the ring-shaped canal with a pole, Fluttershy saw another platform approaching, hidden from the audience by the stage itself. The steps led down into the water, and she noticed several less ornate boats tied up along its length. The Ghost masterfully brought the little boat alongside, and helped Fluttershy off, following shortly after. Together, they walked along to what had previously been the natural tunnel that served to drain the lake, the Ghost’s home and hiding place. It had now been transformed into a bustling backstage, where everypony was running to and fro, preparing for the performance that was soon to begin. “I will see you on the stage, my dear Fluttershy. Astound them for me!” the Ghost said to her as he walked away down a separate corridor towards his own rooms. Fluttershy nodded, smiling, and was quickly led towards her room by a stagehoof. She took a deep breath as she opened the door, her costume already awaiting her. One final performance. “Honey, I can’t see,” said a whispered voice from near the front row. “Do you think we’re here to see the opera? We’re sitting behind the Princess!” another voice hissed back. “How does her mane do that, anyway?” “Shush!” Princess Celestia smirked. The front row was so much better than the Royal Box. Beside her sat Princess Luna, elegantly adorned in a new gown for the occasion, and beside the both of them sat Twilight, Applejack, Rarity, Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie. The general chatter of the audience died as the conductor raised his baton. Elsewhere, a unicorn technician dimmed the lights of the starscape above, and the pearl moon waned to merely a crescent. The orchestra swelled as the curtain was drawn back. Boats appeared from either side of the stage and began a slow circuit around it, bearing the chorus singers as they lent their voices to the music. As the dancers streamed onto the stage, spinning and pirouetting, Fluttershy appeared, walking to the centre of the platform to thunderous applause. She felt the last traces of her fear fly away on the notes as they rose to the high, vaulted ceiling of the auditorium, and, spreading her wings, she sang. The months she had spent at the Opera had been some of the strangest of her life, trailing ghosts, uncovering secrets and, above all, conquering her own fears of performing. She now stood among professionals with years of training behind them, and sang as they did, not for themselves, but for the love of the art. The newspapers of Canterlot had been filled with stories of the mysterious ‘ghost’ for months after that fateful night, but now the upper classes of Canterlot knew the Opera Ghost not as a spectre or a terror that haunted the Royal Opera House, but rather as the embodiment of everything that the Opera had become. In time, ponies would come to forget the strange case of the Opera Ghost, but for one pony in particular, the memory stayed with her forever. Her Phantom of the Opera. ~ Fin ~

luckybastard

465

Alternate Universe,Comedy,Crossover

Twilight's experimental spell

incomplete

<p>:D Its a fan fic that sucks&#8230;.<br />maybe&#8230;.<br />idk<br /><br />It sucks?<br />okay&#8230;.<br /><br /><br /><br />no, its not ok.</p>

everyone

2011-08-09T15:38:32+00:00

One day, In the far away land of equestria. There lived a female unicorn named...... "TWILIGHT!" spike shouted, "What is it spike? Can't you see I'm busy?" twilight replied and then she saw a royal guard (A white pegasus clad with golden armor) holding a note on his mouth, then the guard announced aloud "Princess Celestia wishes to have your company at canterlot in the throne room. Bring your friends if you want to, as long as the pink one and the rainbow one doesn't break any of the prized display of the palace", afterwards, the royal guard trotted off and flew towards the direction of canterlot. "Hear that spike? We're going to canterlot, so pack up!" twilight said to the baby dragon. "Right away twilight!" as he ran off leaving a cloud of dust. A chariot manned by two pegasus royal guards landed in front of twilight's library and awaited for the arrival of twilight and her friends. "It's here everypony! grab them saddles an' lets go to canterlot gals!", "yeah, yeah applejack, I saw it too" rainbowdash replied. As applejack and rainbowdash was arguing, both of the royal guards kept looking at the flank of applejack. Royal guard 1: Dat flank. Royal guard 2: yeah, I'd hit that too. Royal guard 1: dude, she's outta your league. Royal guard 2: Challenge accpeted Royal guard 1: aw hell naw, you ain't seriously gonna hit on her? Royal guard 2: watch me. As applejack and her friends reached the chariot, "Hey, are you missing something?" he said. "naw, why?" applejack replied. "cause I found a pair of wings and a halo that fits you" he said with a grin. "oh pshaww, I'm not the fancy shmancy type like rarity over there, but thanks anyways" applejack said grinning. "Soooo..... am I getting laid tonight?", there was an awkward pause and there was a mixture of disgust and shock on applejack's face. "I'll buck ya'll shit up if ya'll fellas keeping hittin' on me an' me gals." she said with a cold stare on both royal guards. Being scared to death, they had the sudden urge to finish the job quickly and run away as far as possible from applejack. ------------------------------------------------------- "Hello twilight" a gentle voice was heard across the room as the mares walked towards celestia and bowed. "Princess, why did you summon me? Is it that dragon again?" twilight said attentively, "No twilight, I trapped the dragon inside a far away cave using a "the game" poster attached near the exit of the cave. The reason I summoned you is you almost finished your friendship related assignment, so I thought it's time you made your very own spell."celestia smiled at twilight. Twilight could not contain her happiness and jumped up and down around the throne room saying "yesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyes", pinkie pie liked what twilight is doing because it looks fun so, she jumped up and down beside twilight giggling. A floating book glided across the room towards twilight which causes twilight and pinkie to stop jumping around and stare at the big olad rusty book that landed in front of them. "this is the manual of how to create your own spells, so treat it gently because it's old and might break." celestia said. As usual, twilight was seen reading the book before celestia even started talking."TO THE MOOOON!!" celestia shouted, thus shocking everypony in the room making twilight give her attention to celestia. "heh, I still got it after a thousand years." celestia said under her breath and said "I'm just joking, carry on". After being trolled by the princess herself, twilight felt slightly annoyed and mostly relieved that she isn't going to the moon and returned back to ponyville. "So... umm.... wh-wha-what is it twilight?" fluttershy asked, "It's a ancient book made by celestia and luna themsleves" twilight said.       (Im dry, comments suggest what happens next)

Harpica

466

The Fleeting Moon

This is just a test, please leave feedback

cancelled

<p>This was originally going to be a fully fledged story, but I&#39;ve decided it&#39;s just going to be a test of my writing prowess.<br /><br />Please leave feedback, and if any of you would be interested in continuing this story, please contact me before doing so and you&#39;re good to go.</p>

everyone

2012-04-10T17:10:54+00:00

For Octavio Twilight stepped out of her warm, wooden home into the cool morning breeze, she didn't usually wake this early, the sky was still a dark blue and the air was crisp. She couldn't help but smile in appreciation. She had awoken today with a burst energy, something that compelled her to get up, sneaking past her snoring assistant and out the front door. She didn't know what force had driven her out of bed so early, but she made a mental note of the moons position in the sky, as this was a truly beautiful time to be up, the chilled air going through her lungs, the beautiful dark blue hue of the sky... She started to walk, although she hadn't really noticed, she was far too busy taking in the magnificent scenery, the immediate area surrounding the town of Ponyville itself was nothing grand, but the dull glimmer of the last remaining stars in the sky as the moon made for a final break down the horizon, illuminating the distant city of Canterlot in a blue glow, was truly amazing, she pondered for a bit, and realized she had Luna to thank for this.   She found herself in Ponyville proper, outside of Sugarcube Corner, she chanced a look through one of the windows, to see that nopony was up, it was getting later now, around ten past six Twilight thought to herself. She made her way to the park, and lay down on one of the benches, if she squinted, she could barely make out what looked to be a greenish blob in the distance, snuggling up against another color that she could only assume was cream. She let out a sigh, "Lyra and Bon-Bon..." she wispered to herself, "I never pictured them as morning ponies..." The idea of these two ponies, coming out so early to simply enjoy time together in the mornings chilly weather made Twilight smile, these were two ponies that knew true love. After a few minutes of enjoying the mornings crisp air, the morning breeze blowing through her mane, she decided to get up and continue her walk. She made her way to the Carousel Boutique, seeing a few pegasi on their way to work, she thought she might have even caught a glimpse of Rainbow Dash, but quickly dismissed that idea, "Heck, Rainbow Dash's idea of early is getting up before noon!" she said to herself. She got to the Boutique, upon peeking through one of the windows, spotted Rarity inside, eating her breakfast which consisted of neatly arranged rose petals and celery soup. Twilight was about to step inside to greet her friend, but as soon as she lifted a hoof to knock, the force she had felt waking up returned. Twilight suddenly found herself with an urge to walk again, not stopping to say hello to the few ponies about the town who where now setting up their food stalls for the busy day ahead, she put herself on a path that would lead her to Sweet Apple Acres, a relatively short walk in the grand scheme of things, but maintained to be quite out of the way of the rest of the town, rather similar to Fluttershy's cottage. She approached the sign which read 'Sweet Apple Acres' within a few minutes of walking, the feeling which had rooted itself in the back of her head which drove her to continue walking had since been diminished, but her walking persisted still. She could make out the orange color of her friend in the distance, as well as a sound carried by the wind which could have been her distant grunts, or maybe loud chatter. Twilight didn't care. She continued her walk through the apple orchards, her walk developing into a slow canter. She could see that the orange figure in the distance was closing in as she sped up her pace, it was clear to her now that it had been Applejack, and that she was indeed working hard bucking apples, Twilight chanced a glimpse around her, licking her lips at the prospect of breakfast, which she had forgotten to have. She didn't even notice when Applejack greeted her, she just trotted on past, taking in the scenery. "Ah wonder whats gotten into that pony..." Applejack said under her breath, watching Twilight as her light trot came to a stop. "Hey, Twi!" "Wh..What?, oh! sorry Applejack, I didn't see you there!" Twilight HAD seen her friend, she just chose to ignore the fact, not wanting to be stopped from her expedition to Celestia knows where. "Girl, what's gotten into y'all? you seem mighty distant, you okay?" "Oh yes Applejack, I'm fine, just felt like going for a walk." "Oh, really now?" "Yes." "Well....okay then, listen Twi, I know somethins up, just don't go to far without help, ya here?" "Sure thing, Applejack." Twilight didn't know what her friend was talking about, but promised to stay out of things too big for her to handle on her own, "Strange.", Twilight thought to herself as she continued to trot through the apple trees. She heard her stomach growl, she knew she was getting hungry, the pain just hadn't hit her yet. She decided to nab a few apples from the tree closest to her, nice, big, plump apples. Twilight smiled to herself, realising how fortunate she was to be born with such magical talent, she simply levitated a few apples down to the ground in front of her, quickly eating two of them. She also saw this as ample time to test out a new conjuration spell she had been working on. With a bit of strain, a grunt, and one bright flash of brilliant white light later, she had found herself with a new cotton and leather saddle bag, which she used to store the remaining apples for later. After around another six or seven minutes of walking, she had exited Sweet Apple Acres apple orchard, had hopped the fence, and was now following a long forgotten cobblestone path behind an unmarked mound of shrubbery which wasn't visible to anypony not specifically looking for it. She followed the barely visible cobblestone path which had been long taken over by nature for a good hour; the path twisted and bended, and ended up in a secluded foggy glade. Twilight sat down by one of the ponds, closed her eyes, and waited. The fog began to close in, it was so dense that Twilight wouldn't have been able to see more than three feet ahead of her, that is, if her eyes were open. She was lost in deep thought, this glade had high amounts of docile magic, possibly a burial ground of unicorns. Twilight opened her eyes and looked behind her, upon seeing at least a dozen raised mounds of earth, each adorned with a single flower on top of them. The fog behind her had somehow cleared to make these graves visible, and upon her realization that she was in fact in a graveyard, the fog suddenly cleared into the unoccupied space, leaving Twilight surrounded by it once more. Twilight closed her eyes, upon hearing leaves floating about in a celestial wind, her eyes began to glow white, although they were still shut. She was using a power that only unicorns could; she was seeing through her minds eye. Her hair began to flow and lift slightly, it soon began to spread apart and flow, as if she was underwater. Her eyes were glowing with a golden white intensity, they were closed, but she could see more than she ever could before. A thin wave of black magic, similar in looks to that of Nightmare Moon's mane began to cover Twilight; that's when she started to hear the voices.

GaruuSpike

469

Adventure,Comedy,Crossover,Dark,Random

My Little Pony: Friendship is Magicka

Celestia finds an ancient type of magic and summons Twilight & friends to test it out. Magicka Xover

cancelled

<p>Guys, I realize this fic was a flop. For those who like Magicka and whatnot, go ahead and read what&#39;s here, but keep in mind; it&#39;s not very high quality. This is now in my &quot;trash&quot;. Better fics to come.</p>

teen

2011-08-10T21:42:10+00:00

My Little Pony: Friendship is Magicka EDIT: Thank you anonymous person for suggesting a better name! This is a crossover with the awesome indie game Magicka. For those who are interested, Magicka can be bought off Valve's product distribution system, STEAM, for the PC, for $10. I suspect it is also available for a similar price off Xbox Live Arcade. This story does not abide to the actual story of Magicka. I do not own My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic or Magicka. Those belong to Hasbro, Paradox Interactive and Arrowhead Studios. Jordan Lucky Enjoy!~ Chapter 1: Briefing Twilight Sparkle was simply reading a book in her study, a rather dirty book that Rarity told her to read, attempting to comprehend its meaning. After a few chapters and the first sex scene, she slammed the book closed and put it in a hard-to-reach place in her library, an enormous blush dominating her face. Spike, her baby dragon, walked up to her, concerned. "Twilight, are you okay?" He asked. The purple mare simply stared up at him from her curled-up position on the floor. "Twi-" Spike belched out a green flame mid-sentence, making a letter appear, no doubt from Princess Celestia. Twilight grabbed it out of the air and quickly opened it up. It read: Dear Twilight Sparkle, I need you and your friends to try out a new type of magical practice that I've discovered. It involves the conjuration of different elements and using them together. Don't worry, your friends don't need to be Unicorns to use it... Please come as soon as possible, I can barely contain my excitement! Princess Celestia Twilight stared at the letter for a moment. She couldn't turn down a request from the Princess, but she hoped this wouldn't be dangerous... Half an hour later, Twilight and her five friends stood in the courtyard with the Princess, preparing for some sort of speech. Fluttershy was sitting down, Pinkie was bouncing up and down, Rainbow Dash was shuffling impatiently on her hooves, Rarity was flaunting her mane and didn't seem to care too much, and Applejack was showing genuine interest. "Hello, all of you. As I presume Twilight has already explained to you, I have picked you six to test out a new form of magical arts that I have discovered deep within the royal library." Celestia announced. A small book appeared in front of her. "The Havindr Mystic Arts, by Vlad, the Dashing Rogue That Is Most Certainly Not a Vampire." She squinted. "Wow... that is quite a mouthful. Anyhow, you all need to wear these robes," she conjured six differently-colored robes for them, "these staves," she conjured six identical staves with crescent moon designs on the tips with floating crystals, "and...It says here you need a sword of some sort, but we don't really have any of those... Oh well." Rarity was examining her robe, which was white. "Oh, my... Your Majesty, these robes are design for bipedal creatures, which we are not!" She pointed out, alarmed. Celestia merely chuckled. "I guess you're going to practice standing and walking on your hind legs, then." Everyone looked appalled, except for Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy, who could support themselves on their hind legs pretty easily by using their wings as counterbalances. Rainbow's smug look didn't last long, however; upon closer inspection, she saw that the robe did not have wing holes. And it looked rather tight... Her wings would be useless! "E-erm, princess, I'm not gonna be able to fly with this on..." She stated. "You'll live." Celestia chided, smiling. "Now put them on and grab the staves." Everyone did as so, although holding the staff was rather difficult.... It turns out the robe completely cancelled out any unicorn magic. It was unaffected by it, and disabled the magic of anyone wearing it. Twilight had a dark purple robe, Fluttershy had a yellow robe, Pinkie had a...pink robe, Dash had a cyan robe, Rarity, as previously said, had a white robe, and Applejack got an orange robe. Oddly, upon donning the robes, all six ponies found it incredibly easy to stand on their hind legs. It was as if the robes had magical properties to them... "The robes have magical properties to them," Celestia announced. Twilight resisted the urge to facehoof. "They are immune to and cancel out any unicorn magic, paralyze the wings of pegasi, and give magical structural support that enables the wearers to stand on their hind legs with little to no difficulty." The six normal ponies marveled at their outfits. "Now, pick up your staves." She requested for the second time, opening the book floating in front of her. "Now hold on just a darn minute, if these here robes make all the non-earth ponies equal ta' earth ponies, then why wear 'em? Granted it could be for the hind legs thing, but..." Applejack interjected. Celestia looked at her, and the orange earth pony stepped backwards, a tad frightened that she said the wrong thing. "The robes enable you to use this sort of magic. Now, listen everypony, this sort of magic requires you to chant a little. Not a lot, but still some. There are eight elements, Water, Life, Frost, Fire, Earth, Arcane, Lightning, and Shield. You need only to say the name of the element to conjure one charge of it. Different element combinations make different spells. When you are ready to cast, desire for the element charges to come together in front of you, and that will generate the spell." She paused. "The spells here are mainly offensive. Please be careful to not kill eachother... because you can do it quite fast. Fortunately, some of the most hyper-advanced spells that we know of are the most basic in this form of magic. For example, the Resurrect spell is a simple chant of 'life, lightning, resurrect!'. This means if you do accidentally kill eachother, you can bring eachother back quite easily." She smiled. Everyone was interested now. "There are three-...no, four ways you can cast a spell. In front of you, around you, on yourself, or you can enchant your sword with it-oh..." Celestia facehoofed as she realized why the text instructed the users to have swords. Oh well... Rainbow Dash had finally gotten a hold of her staff, and was marveling at it. "So... we just chant the names? Is that it?" She asked. Celestia nodded. "You may only possess five at a time, however." She added. Rainbow nodded as well. "A...arcane?" Fluttershy's quiet voice came from under her yellow hood. A small, volatile-looking red light appeared near her and started orbiting around her figure. She looked at it as it moved, supposedly smiling under her hood. Everypony else had taken their hoods off, and Applejack shortly convinced Fluttershy to do it too. Celestia started to leave. "I'll leave you to experiment. Tomorrow you will all need to venture into dangerous Gryphon territory to settle a dispute and organize a treaty." She said, smiling, taking her leave and leaving the six garbed ponies alone in the courtyard. "So...uhm.... where do we start?" Twilight muttered. She noticed Celestia had left the book for them, and she trotted over on her hind legs and picked it up, opening it. It contained advanced spells that required specific conjurations and incantations. "Heh...heh heh.... A-heh... I feel taller...!" Rainbow Dash chuckled, turning her head to look next to her, at a potted plant that towered over her moments ago. By all means, due to her standing on her hind legs and her entire torso being added to her height, she was definitely at least 70% taller. "I reckon ya' ARE taller, Dash!" Applejack exclaimed happily. "We all are!" The group shared a chuckle. "Arcane...arcane..." Fluttershy muttered to herself, spawning more red lights that also orbited around her. They were so pretty!... She brought them in front of her, placing both hooves in front of her, and a large red laser shot out from the focal point, carving a burnt line into whatever it was hitting. Unfortunately, Dash, who was too occupied with being taller, ran into her laser. Dash screamed for just a few seconds, her robe being burnt apart, before her body swelled and exploded in a gory mess. Everyone's jaws dropped, and Fluttershy began crying in a similar fashion to when she thought she had killed Philomena, the Princess's pet phoenix. Everypony began panicking and muttering to themselves, before Twilight remembered what the princess said about the Resurrection spell. "Everypony, calm down!" Twilight exclaimed, attempting to draw everypony's attention. "T-T-T-Twi, sh-she j-just k-killed Dash!" Applejack muttered, trembling and shaking. "Wait! Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash isn't gone. Remember when the princess said that the resurrection spell was the most simple spell to cast?" Everyone immediately calmed down somewhat, including Fluttershy. Twilight smiled at her. "Just cast life, then lightning, then say 'Resurrection', and Dash will be back." Twilight casted life & lightning elements herself as she said that sentence. She guessed it didn't turn out what context you said them in; it would still conjure the elements. The advanced spells—the book called them "Magicks"--did not work this way and required the user to shout them. "O-okay... L-life, lightning... R-resurrection!" Fluttershy said hesitantly, and the elements swarmed into a pattern of light around her. A pillar of light immediately shot down from the sky and hit a spot on the ground, where Rainbow Dash, body & robe restored, jumped out of the pavement. The rainbow-maned pegasus shook her head to clear it. "Woaahhh...... What... What just.... where was I?" She asked, her eyes containing a small amount of derp before she blinked it away. She saw the enormous blood spatter on the ground, before a hint of terror entered her violet eyes. "Oh no..." She looked around; all five of her friends, plus herself, were alive and okay. Her terrified expression turned to one of confusion. "Wait...where'd all this blood come from?" Rarity coughed. "W-well, Rainbow Dash, Fluttershy accidentally destroyed your body with a large red laser, and then resurrected you." She smiled nervously. Dash looked at the yellow-robed pegasus, who backed away slightly. Dash fell silent for a few moments, and Fluttershy closed her eyes, expecting the worst. "That....was....AWESOME!" Rainbow yelled with delight, throwing her front hooves up into the air. Fluttershy opened her eyes. "I don't even remember it that well! And it happened so fast, but here I am now!" She giggled to herself, something nopony had seen Dash do for quite a while. The contagious nature of the action caused everypony else to start chuckling as well. "I-It was like LIGHTNING! I love magic!" Dash cheered. A little lightning conjuration appeared and started orbiting her, but she didn't seem to notice. "Oohhhhh....." a moan came from near where the blood spatter was. They saw Pinkie collapsed on the ground, attempting to stand up. Her robe was slightly tattered. Everypony had been wondering why she wasn't bouncing around or complimenting on anypony's antics... "Oh... Pinkie, I'm so sorry, you must've been caught in the blast!" Fluttershy apologized, putting both hooves to her mouth. "Uhhh.....uhhmmm... Life?" Applejack said, and a green light appeared near her. She brought it in front of her and it shot a laser that was similar in behavior to the one that just killed Rainbow. However, it repaired anything it hit, and when she tilted it to strike Pinkie, her body glowed green, her robe repaired itself, and she promptly stood up, grinning wildly. The pink earth-pony bounced to her and tackled her. "Ohhh thankyouthankyouthankyou Applejack! I dunno what happened, I was near Rainbow Dash and when she exploded it hurt and I couldn't get up, but then I heard a PSHIIII sound and I got this warm feeling inside and I could stand up again!" Pinkie rambled. Applejack eventually bucked her off, but she landed on her feet. Erm, her hind legs, to be precise. The group continued to practice with the new form of magic, occasionally killing eachother, but a simple resurrection spell fixed that. Surprisingly, Fluttershy had the best aim out of all of them, killing every other pony at least twice each. Rainbow once got a little too giddy with the lightning and shocked herself to death directly after a water-element splash-fight with Pinkie. Applejack destroyed a good amount of the statues in the courtyard with giant boulders, Pinkie launched herself into orbit with water-element landmines, and Rarity mostly played with the Shield element and all the possibilities that came with it, including the earth & ice armor, which she actually thought was fashionable. Twilight preferred to experiment with the Life element and the regenerative properties it had. It took them a while, but each pony learned how to mix elements and get different results. Hours later, virtually the entire courtyard (and the two horrified guards) were coated in pony blood, but not a single person was injured. "Arcane, shield!" Pinkie chanted, creating a set of landmines. She used the same spell on herself to gain an arcane immunity aura so she wouldn't be killed by the landmines, and then stepped on them. The resulting blast launched her on top of one of the castle towers, where she landed with a resounding thunk before yelling down at her friends with a  "HEEEYYYY!!" and a hyperactive wave. Rainbow Dash was carving the message "200% COOLER!" into the wall with a rather strong beam spell, fire-water-lightning-arcane. The group soon learned that certain elements cancelled eachother out, and learned to not use them together, or use them against eachother (it caused an explosion). The whole group was laughing and having a ton of fun with their new magical abilities, experimenting with new spells, having water fights, and Applejack unfortunately joining in with Pinkie's landmine stunts, all while destroying the courtyard and leaving two pegasus guards scared to death and curled up next to the gate. The large door to the castle opened just as Twilight and Rainbow Dash were about to shoot two arcane spells at eachother to see who was stronger, revealing the princess, who gasped at what they had done to the courtyard. Literally the ENTIRE COURTYARD was stained red, with various chunks of pony guts strewed here and there, and not a single statue, plant, or decoration remained. Celestia simply stared, wide-eyed, mouth open. Everypony suddenly looked & felt guilty. The air reeked of blood. "Oh hi Princess Celestia, we're sorry for destroying your courtyard and all, we were just having so much fun!!~" Pinkie appealed, bouncing up and down. "Did...Did...Did a massacre take place here?! Did you kill all my guards or something?!" Celestia shouted, losing her formality for a moment, noticing the bloodsoaked landscape. Pinkie waved a hoof at her. "Nnnnnawwwww, it started as just practicing but turned into SPARRING and we started killing eachother for fun and sport after we realized that death wasn't serious anymore and there was a lot of red lasers and bloody explosions and now the whole place looks like this!" Pinkie replied, passively grinning. Celestia shook her head to regain her composure, and raised an eyebrow. "Fluttershy got the most kills!" The yellow pegasus whimpered at this, shrinking backward. "Erm...alright?....Well, everypony needs to avoid killing eachother tomorrow, when you go to invade Gryphon territory and force their leader to sign a treaty." Celestia said, smiling. "Now....the two guards I sent to watch you, why are they huddled up in the corner?" She pointed out, pointing to them with a hoof. Upon actually looking at them, she saw the terrified expressions on their faces. "Ace, Fletcher, come here for a moment." She requested. The two white guard pegasi didn't move, still trembling. Celestia gained an understanding look. "Ace? Fletcher? It's okay, tell me what happened..." When they remained silent, she walked to them and lied down. In a soothing, relaxing voice, she asked "What happened?" Ace, the pegasi on the left with the green tail and mane, gulped. "...Y...Your subjects... they were...displaying their power, and... and we didn't want to get caught up in it..." Ace replied in a shaky voice. She understood; she was gone for six hours. She smiled lovingly to them, which made them relax a little. "I want you two to go back inside and take a breather. I'll give you the rest of today and tomorrow off." The princess told them, smiling. She stood up and nudged them inside with her muzzle. After they had closed the door behind them, she turned to face the younger ponies. "See? I can be nice." She smiled. "Now, you six can keep those robes, but keep in mind that if you are wearing them, you will be unable to fly or use your own magic. This means no telekinesis." This discouraged the pegasi and unicorns; the pegasi needed their ability to fly for everyday life, as did the unicorns their telekinesis. She turned to the two earth ponies, Applejack and Pinkie Pie. "You two. Do not destroy anything. If any of you go on some sort of crime spree, I will remove you from the mission and punish you." She threatened with a stern voice. Her kind voice and smile quickly returned though. "Alright then, I'll see you tomorrow!" She chimed, dismissing them. The Elements of Harmony returned to their homes for a good night's sleep.

GaruuSpike

469

Adventure,Comedy,Crossover,Dark,Random

My Little Pony: Friendship is Magicka

Celestia finds an ancient type of magic and summons Twilight & friends to test it out. Magicka Xover

cancelled

<p>Guys, I realize this fic was a flop. For those who like Magicka and whatnot, go ahead and read what&#39;s here, but keep in mind; it&#39;s not very high quality. This is now in my &quot;trash&quot;. Better fics to come.</p>

teen

2011-08-10T23:55:03+00:00

Chapter 2: The Invasion. At popular request, this chapter is significantly less ridiculous than the first one. Well, until about the seventh page. I also kept the characters more in-character. "Twilight? Twilight, wake up already! You're going to miss Princess Celestia's assignment!" Spike shouted, pushing the sleeping mare's torso. "Nnnmmmuughhh... Ten more minutes, dad..." Twilight moaned sleepily, rolling over and crushing the baby dragon. Spike quickly pulled his head out from underneath the slumbering equine, gasping for breath. "Twilight, Rainbow Dash and Big Macintosh are making out!" Twilight's eyes snapped open and she quickly jumped to her feet. "What??" She asked frantically, looking back and forth. Spike laughed, still gasping for air, before having a coughing fit. "I'm kidding-*COUGH*-Twilight, I just needed to-*WHEEZE*-wake you up...!" She wasn't sure if she had heard him, as the lavender unicorn was quickly cleaning up a mess she didn't pick up last night, her horn glowing with magic. Upon galloping down the stairs, she found said cyan pegasus curled up on the floor, sleeping in the dark central library. Spike followed in shortly, not surprised, as Twilight invited all her friends over for the night. There was a blush on the pegasus's smiling face, and she let out a happy sigh, completely oblivious to the real world around her. Twilight giggled for a moment, but her expression fell flat shortly, followed by her stomping her front hoof on the wood paneling, causing the slumbering pegasus to scramble awake. "Rainbow Dash, go wake up everypony else. We're running late!" Twilight instructed, running back into her room to get her things together. Twenty minutes later, everypony was sitting at the kitchen table. Dash had offered to cook breakfast, which Twilight accepted, but now she was regretting it—Dash was not the best cook. "Here you go, everypony!" Rainbow chimed, setting down six plates of an unidentifiable black charred substance. The ponies just looked down at their plates apprehensively. "Uhm.... I tried to make scrambled applesauce, but..." "Perhaps you should've let me procure our morning meal." Rarity deadpanned. Rainbow sweatdropped and scratched the back of her mane with a hoof. Fluttershy was actually eating the...whatever it was, earning a few disgusted looks from the others. "What? I like it..." The yellow pegasus admitted in a quiet voice, wiping the substance off her face with a napkin. Everyone sighed. === "Now girls, the Gryphon territory is directly north of Canterlot. It might be a long walk." Princess Celestia informed, the mane six already garbed in their magic robes, standing in her throne room. Rainbow grunted angrily; she did not like walking sooo sloowwwww when she could just fly. But nope, she had to wear the wing-paralyzing robe. "However, I do have a....faster method of travel." Celestia announced. A squared section of the floor folded inward, before a very large orange-striped cannon extended out of it with a mechanical whirr. The ponies stared at it, wide-eyed, and Celestia grinned anxiously, reaching for her megaphone. "Uhh, no thank you, your majesty, we'll just walk." Twilight said, smiling nervously. Celestia pouted for a split second, as if she was about to say "Aww!", but her expression of polite interest returned in the blink of an eye. "Uh, excellent..." Princess Celestia remarked, her eye twitching almost unnoticeably. "Tell me when you're there." Twilight nodded, and the ponies exited. After walking down the incredibly long staircase to the bottom of the cliff, they were all already exhausted upon reaching the bottom. Rainbow conjured some water for the group to drink, which they all took advantage of. Pinkie had a disgruntled expression lining her features. "You know what girls? I don't wanna walk all the way. I'm gonna go back up to the Princess and ask what that big cannon was for." She announced, starting her trek back up the stairs. Everyone else decided to just let it go, and began their journey across the looooooooong expanse of dirt road to their destination. Upon reaching the bridge across the large river that acted as the border to Equestria, a large, far-off BANG was heard, and the group turned around to see a small plume of smoke from the castle on the cliffside, along with a small black dot steadily rising into the sky. They watched the black dot as it gradually got bigger, before Pinkie crash-landed into the dirt near the group at a hundred miles an hour, making a small crater and a plume of dust, and making the ground shake. She quickly ran out as if nothing had happened, smiling giddily. "The princess shot me out of a cannon!" The pink mare exclaimed, throwing her hooves up in excitement. "She said something about bananas and the moon, but I didn't really hear it....Oh well! You guys should've taken the cannon, you would've covered all this distance with no effort!" Pinkie started whooping and bouncing around, doing cartwheels and giggling. An eagle's screech filled the air behind them, and they looked down the path to see a landing Gryphon, clad in steel armor. The Gryphon approached them quickly, before skidding to a halt, its talons digging ruts into the dirt. "Halt! What business might you filthy Equestrians have in our land?" Rarity cleared her throat and stepped forward. "Hello fine, handsome, well-groomed Gryphon. We are here to negotiate a treaty between your leader and ours. Might you let us enter your lands?" Rarity flirted. The guard remained stoic, refusing to be flattered. "We don't need a treaty with your kind. Now get out of here, before I call the rest of the guards to chase you out. Or eat you." He smirked, revealing sharp canine teeth. "Our choice." Rainbow Dash gained a bored expression. "Yeah this isn't working. Earth!" She shouted, conjuring a massive boulder and shooting it at the Gryphon, which knocked him into a tree, unconscious. Rarity grunted. "Rainbow Dash! You didn't need to do that!" She complained, placing a hoof to her upturned chin. "I'm fairly certain my flattering skills are adequate enough to convince anyone we need to of anything." Applejack chortled to herself. "Hmm hmm, yeah, that totally worked on that big ol' dragon from way back when!" She roared out in laughter. Rarity was appalled. "Oh, how dare you!" Rarity growled. Twilight quickly stepped inbetween them. "Calm down you two, we don't need any more friendly fire. Didn't we have enough of that back at the castle yesterday?" Everypony put their hooves on their chins and thought back to an hour ago, where they saw guards trying to scrub the blood off the courtyard. "Yeh, I guess so. Sorry Rarity." Applejack apologized. Rarity did the same, and they exchanged a hoofshake to make up. The group continued walking, before coming across a clearing, full of gryphons. Guard gryphons, citizens, children, the likes. This appeared to be a marketplace... Rarity was about to exit and examine the fine, fine jewelry they were selling, but was quickly pulled back in by Applejack. "Hey! Don't go waltzin' out there like it ain't no big deal! That guard might've woken up and told all them other guards of us bein' here!" Pinkie pouted. "I told you, rule #2, double tap..." "This isn't a zombie movie, Pinkie!" Twilight interjected. She turned back towards everyone else. "Alright guys, just slip your hoods on, walk slowly and lock your hooves inside your sleeves. If no one knows we're ponies, we won't attract any unwanted attention." Well, no more attention than six mysterious shady robed figures suddenly appearing out of the forest. Everyone followed her instructions, their species unidentifiable, and started a slow, nonchalant strut into the marketplace. "Don't talk either." Twilight added. "Everyone's lookin' at us!" Rainbow Dash whispered. Twilight looked back and forth with her eyes; every single gryphon had their eyes on them. Not for long, however; the vast majority of them returned to their business after dubbing the six "not a threat". They were much...smaller than gryphons, but due to their posture, they were, at the time, much taller. They simply towered over everything. "This is going rather smoothly, if I do say so myself... Twilight, might I attempt to purchase some of the fine jewelry from that store we are about to pass?" Twilight was about to say no, but the white equine had already broken from their formation. "Good day sir, I would like to buy that dazzling red diamond on the back shelf." Rarity said, smiling at the shop gryphon, who had red feathers and was wearing a red cap, from under her hood. She had taken extra care to make sure her hood was sagging over her face, so there was zero chance of anypony seeing through the darkness that concealed her complexion. The shop gryphon, somewhat nervous at first, smiled when he heard Rarity's regal voice come from that black abyss of an outfit she was wearing. "Of course, ma'am." He replied, turning around and gripping the diamond with his talons (he was wearing gloves to not scratch it) and bringing it up to the counter. "That'll be five hundred zen." Rarity's smile vanished. "What?" She was used to being asked for bits when purchasing something. "Five hundred zen, did you not catch it the first time?" The shop gryphon answered, still smiling. The white equine had never heard of this form of currency before. She considered asking if she could pay for it in bits, but she had no idea what the conversion rate was. And according to that guard, the gryphon country was not on good terms with Equestria, so she feared that if she even raised the subject, it would blow her cover. She cleared her throat. "Oh, my dearest apologies, I seem to have forgotten my wallet at home." Rarity improvised. The shop gryphon nodded. "Alright, miss. ....But, what's a wallet?" He asked, confused. "Erm... nevermind." Rarity just decided to turn and leave, leaving a very confused gryphon. She rejoined the formation and they kept walking. "Smooth, Rarity.... that came really close to being really bad." Rainbow Dash commented. "Oh, shush!" They had walked farther into the city from the marketplace, where they saw more gryphons, getting a glimpse at their society. It turns out they were fairly advanced, maybe even moreso than Equestria, and had a completely modern society with elegant buildings, paved roadways, and complete families. Twilight felt something tug at the bottom of her robe, and upon looking down, there was a tiny gryphon with big green eyes staring up at her with a smile. "Why are you wearing a blankie, miss?" It asked in the adorable voice of a filly, similar to Apple Bloom's but without the country. Twilight couldn't resist letting out a soft "Awwww..." and reaching down to rub the feathers on its head. It made a purring sound in response, before being snatched away by a larger, adult gryphon. "Don't talk to strangers, sweetie." The mother said, smiling at her young. She turned to face the six robed equines, still smiling. "Sorry for the trouble." She spread her wings and flew away. "...W...wow... These are the "evil" gryphons that hate everything? The gryphons that that bully Gilda came from?" Fluttershy commented quietly from under her yellow hood. "They're so nice..." "Ohhh just wait Fluttershy, we're bound to run into some evil ones." Rainbow Dash replied. They kept walking, but their footsteps were making clopping noises instead of soft thumps or sharp taps that the gryphons' did, which was attracting attention from the increased density of guards as they traveled further into the city. Upon approaching a large white castle (they assumed this was where the leader resided), they attempted to walk into the gate, but were stopped by two guard gryphons wearing similar armor to the one they K.O'd earlier. "Halt! Identify yourselves!" the one on the left demanded. "We prefer to remain anonymous, and we are here to negotiate something with your leader." Rarity spoke, the guards simply glaring at her. "What 'something' could you possibly have to negotiate with King Tamra?" The one on the right interrogated. "It's a peace treaty." Twilight elaborated. The guards squinted at her. "With who?" "........Equestria." The guards immediately pointed their spears at the group. "A peace treaty? With those scumbags? Hah!" The one on the right said again. "Hey...they're wearing armor, right? Solid steel armor?" Rainbow asked, no louder than a whisper. Twilight nodded at her, and the cyan pegasus maneuvered herself behind the guards. "Equestria isn't worth a treaty, not after what they did to our race! Not aft-"  They both suddenly dropped to the ground unconscious, revealing Rainbow Dash with her hooves behind their necks, crackling with electricity. "Heh heh heh..." Rainbow cackled, leading the group into the castle. The inside of the massive building was very regal, comparable to Princess Celestia's castle, but the mares remained focused on attempting to find this "King Tamra". Suddenly, ear-splitting alarm bells and sirens went off, and the city gryphons began panicking as hundreds of armored guard gryphons filtered into the castle parlor, surrounding the ponies in mere seconds. "INTRUDERS!" One of them yelled out, and the gryphons closed in. "Earth-shield!" Rarity chanted, causing a ring of iron stalagmites to erupt out of the floor around the ponies, holding the oppressive bird-lions back. They stabbed at it with their spears, which weren't doing much, but cracks appeared in the stalagmites, "Arcane-earth!" Rainbow Dash chanted, launching an explosive rock from her hoovetips, aimed carefully to fly inbetween two stalagmites, which blasted a hole in the swarm of angry guards. Twilight looked at the iron ring; it was not going to hold long... She began chanting a more complicated spell, one she had tested and witnessed its effectivity. "Water, frost, water, frost, water, frost, shield, arcane!" She chanted. A ring of icicles with a red aura erupted in place of the stalagmites, which tore at the flesh of all the nearby guards, reducing some of them to bloody skeletons and causing all of them to rear back. The icicles retracted a mere few seconds later, leaving them with no defenses. The gryphons charged again, one of them impaling Twilight with their spear and tossing her dead body aside, the others holding them off with a variety of spells. But wait...where was Pinkie? Rainbow looked up at the balcony overlooking the rest of the parlor, watching her chant something. "Fire, water, fire, fire, water, fire, fire, water, Conflaguration!" Pinkie finished. A solid sheet of fire erupted from in front of her and flew downwards, setting about twenty guards ablaze. They ran or flew around, screaming, panicking, their charred feathers turning black, before dropping dead. Some of the guards that she missed flew up and impaled her from several different directions at once, killing her too. Rarity summoned another iron-stalagmite shield while the guards were distracted, and Rainbow backed it up with a simple magic shield, which she put her hooves together to channel energy into. "Life, lightning, ressurection! Life, lightning, ressurection!" Fluttershy chanted, and Twilight and Pinkie burst out of the ground, back for more action. Pinkie pulled out the book of spells that Celestia had given them, and one particular spell caught her eye. "Frost, water, earth, arcane, frost..." She chanted. "Raise dead!" Zombies, that's right, zombies climbed out of the dirt just outside their shield and began attacking the guards. Pinkie casted the spell over and over again, creating her own personal army of undead minions. Unfortunately, the guards broke through the magic shield, and were stabbing at the ponies from above. They impaled all but Rarity and Pinkie, before Pinkie shot some explosive rocks at them to blast them out of the sky. Rarity ressurected everyone as soon as possible, splitting her focus between that, keeping the stalagmites up, and killing the flying guards. When the guards numbers dwindled; no more than thirty remained; a large door which Rarity thought was just for decoration burst open, revealing an extra-large gryphon wearing an absolute full-body suit of armor. The ponies attacked it, but it appeared that their magic had no effect on the super-sized bird creature. It crashed through their shield and, with the giant hammer it wielded, bitch slapped the group for 5,000 damage and caused all but Twilight to explode in more gory messes. Twilight panicked. "L-lightning, arcane, lightning, teleport!" she chanted, and was instantaneously transported to just outside the castle. She resurrected her friends before the guards figured out where she went. "Th-that giant metal one is unstoppable!" Applejack cried out, hugging herself. "Calm down guys! Use lightning, Princess Celestia said it was extra-effective against armored targets!" Rainbow Dash yelled. Pinkie was peering around the corner, waving to the guards. "We're over heeere! Come and get uss! Out in the open!" The guards noticed her and quickly flew her way. Rainbow facehoofed. "Pinkie! Ugh, guys, just prepare the lightning bolt spell!" The cyan pegasus instructed. Everyone began chanting "Fire, water, lightning, arcane, lightning..." Soon the metal monstrosity had turned the corner, and had raised its giant hammer up to pound them all into the ground. "LIGHTNING BOLT!" The ponies all said at once. The area lit up with an extraordinary amount of light as six simultaneous lightning bolts shot down from the sky and piledrived into the super-gryphon's helmet. His body exploded from the force, covering the area in yet more blood. Applejack dispatched the remaining guards with giant boulders, before sitting down and taking a breather. "Phew...that was a doozy." The earth pony breathed. They looked around; all the gryphons had either run away, or were cowering in the corners. They looked back inside the castle, seeing the bloodstained floor. "Did we just kill the entire royal guarding force of this country?" Dash asked, taking her hood off. "Yep, ah think so." Applejack confirmed. "Let's go find the king already and make him sign the treaty so we can leave; Ah'm a li'l sick of tryin' to be icognito." "Alright." Twilight announced. The group nodded, and traveled inside the castle. "Ugh! This place is a freakin' maze!" Rainbow Dash shouted with frustration. "I can't tell which way is UP in here!" "Relax, Speedy Gonzales, we'll find out where he is soon enuff." Applejack consoled, placing a hoof on Dash's shoulder. She simply grunted at her in response. After half an hour of searching, Applejack had become just as frustrated as Rainbow Dash, and started bucking doors open with her back legs, which more often than not broke them off their hinges. Until, she kicked down one door to receive a yelp, and turned around to see a very formal-looking gryphon that was sitting at a desk and signing paperwork. She stormed up to the gryphon, who cowered a little, steam practically coming out of her nose. Twilight didn't think she'd ever seen Applejack this frustrated before. "Listen yew throat-stabbing, snake-eating, slime-feathered VARMIT! We just had ta' fight through all of your PRISSY li'l guards to get ta' yew, just for some damn treaty!" Applejack flipped up the papers and then slammed them down on the desk. "I EXPECT ya'll to sign this, and if ya'll don't, I'll gonna buck you so hard you'll be sent to the god-damn moon!" She screeched. The gryphon signed his name without a word, terrified of the strange pony that just stormed into his office on two legs. Applejack swiped up the paper and walked back to the group, a satisfied I-got-my-revenge look on her face. "Uhm....Applejack?....please calm down....you're scary..." Fluttershy muttered quietly. Applejack was about to yell at her, but then remembered that that's not something you do to a close friend. The group of ponies exited the castle, seeing the thousands of gryphons cowering against the walls in fear of them. They kept walking, exiting the city and eventually finding the dirt road heading back to Equestria. And of course, after about another hour, they arrived back at Princess Celestia's castle. After a water break, they walked up the stairs, approaching the door to the princess's throne room. Twilight was about to open the door and give a mission success report to the princess, when she heard something. "So...you don't like bananas?" She heard the princess say. "No! And I'm STILL going to kick your white ass with my homies!" another voice, a deeper male's voice, said. Then there was a loud clack and a whirring. "Sorry, Alfonzo.... you won't find any white asses to kick... ON THE MOON!" Kaboom! She heard the strange pony yelling as he flew up through the roof of the castle and soared off into the forest somewhere. Twilight opened the door slowly, to see Celestia laughing maniacally into a megaphone for a few seconds before she realized that they were watching her, and she abruptly stopped. "Oh! Erm...Hello Twilight, and friends." She hid the megaphone behind her back and grinned. "Uhm... how long were you standing there?" "Long enough..." Rainbow answered, shrinking backwards a little. Celestia decided to change the topic. "I trust your mission was a success?" She asked, her ever-present expression of polite interest having returned to her face. "Yeah, here are yer papers..." Applejack said in a burnt-out voice, giving Celestia the signed treaty forms. "Excellent..." She breathed. Her smile vanished. "But, I'm afraid we have another problem on our hands." The ponies looked up at her, interested. "We're going to be invaded by..." They moved closer to her. .... "Zoooombiiiieessss!!" Celestia droned, waving her hooves back and forth, her eyes small.

Grif

470

Original Character,Trixie,Adventure,Comedy,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

Trixie, Hero of Equestria

Our proud showmare found herself down on her luck after the events of Boast Busters. What will the Great & Powerful Trixie do?

complete

<p>Our proud showmare found herself down on her luck after the events of Boast Busters. What will the Great &amp; Powerful Trixie do?</p>

everyone

2011-08-10T04:16:15+00:00

2011-08-10T04:16:15+00:00

Prologue “Are you sure about this, Trixie?” the maroon earth pony asked. “The Great & Powerful Trixie,” the azure unicorn corrected. She stood admiring her reflection in the large golden-rimmed mirror, garbed in her usual trademark pointed hat and cloak adorned with stars. “... Great & Powerful Trixie. I know you’re good with your magic, but embellishing a tale like that? It’s bound to backfire one of these days.” Trixie waved away her words. “Pshhttt. None will dare to contradict the Great & Powerful Trixie. Trixie has done more than enough to justify this minor addition to her repertoire of villains defeated.” The azure mare didn’t voice out the real reason she added the lie. Her show numbers were down by thirty percent this month alone. She needed something to draw the crowds back. Something flashy. Something that will captivate the crowds. Something like... the Ursa Major. “But you’ve never even seen an Ursa Major!” her cream-haired companion protested. She flinched when Trixie slammed a hoof down on the table. “The Great & Powerful Trixie has just about enough of your neighsaying. If you do not want to assist Trixie in achieving greatness, then you are of no more use to Trixie.” Trixie gestured at the door impatiently and continued to fuss with her cloak. The earth pony stared at Trixie for a good long while, before finally saying, “Fine. I’ll leave. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” The mare turned and left the caravan in a huff. Trixie: Hero of Equestria Once there was an azure mare known as the Great and Powerful Trixie. For indeed she was Great and Powerful, being one of the select few who bested the great villain Mordok and saved the town of... Trixie crumpled the brochure in disgust and threw it aside. Heaving another resigned sigh, she began trotting forward again, her hooves kicking up little puffs of dust as she plodded ahead in the dim afternoon light of Celestia’s sun. The dusty road ahead seemed endless, and the rolling hills around her, silent. Her mind wandered back to the events of the week before, the memories seared into her brain like never before. Ponyville was supposed to be just another routine stop for her show. One of the faceless towns in which she impressed the tonwsfolks, and basked in the adoration and awe for her exploits in Equestria. It also helped that the show paid the bills, and supported her modest lifestyle. So, maybe she tweaked a few details here and there in the name of creative license. Which showpony did not? The tale of her defeating an Ursa Major was the complete, unadulterated truth. Mostly. Well, maybe it wasn’t so much an Ursa Major but an Ursa Minor Minor, but she did defeat the beast. And what a battle it was. She stood firm in the face of an angry celestial bear, with nary a soul helping. Oh, maybe there had been a few guardsponies who did stand around looking useless, but when one got down to it, she did most of the work. After the dust settled, the mayor of Balestein thoughtfully rewarded her with her very own caravan and a big pile of bits for her heroics. Trixie, being the businessmare she was, capitalised on the unique opportunity offered to her on a golden platter. Why bother with the hard work of besting mythical creatures and villains, when she could just earn just as much fame by displaying her prowess to the public? Certainly there were no shortage of villages and towns begging her to showcase her talents in Equestria. Who was she, the Great & Powerful Trixie, to deny the adoring public the attention they demanded so much? Then she met Twilight Sparkle. She seemed so ordinary. So plain. So plebian. She even turned down the challenge that Trixie threw down. Yet... somehow, somewhere, she managed to conjure up an actual Ursa Major to surprise her in her sleep. Of course Trixie will not be able to best an Ursa Major while unprepared, never mind half-asleep. And then that purple unicorn showed up like a hero and vanquished the said creature, humiliating Trixie in the process in front of all Ponyville. She then had the gall to claim it was only an Ursa Minor. Pfftt. What a cad. She knew what an Ursa Minor was like and that was definitely bigger than one. Why if she had another go- Ouch! Trixie hopped around on three legs as she held up her left foreleg which for some reason managed to stumble over the one stone on the road that was sticking out. “Curse my poor run of luck!” Trixie seethed as she massaged her sore hoof. Her ears flicked up as she heard the sound of galloping hooves behind her. Now who could be travelling this lonely path this late in the day? “Miss Trixie?” she heard a voice call from a distance. The azure mare turned to see two ponies cantering at a steady pace towards her. From afar, she could make out the two were stallions; the larger of the pair an earth pony, sporting a verdant green coat and bright red mane. His companion, a unicorn, had an alabaster coat with gray mane. They also seemed to be wearing some sort of black uniform... which seemed oddly familiar. Trixie put a hoof to her forehead and squinted. She could just make out the outline of Celestia’s Sun, with a stack of coins inside. Equestria’s Tax Collection Bureau. Now why would tax agents be after her? The pair galloped up to the azure mare and came to a halt several steps in front of the surprised magician. “Good afternoon, Miss Trixie. As you may recognise, we’re from the Tax Collection Bureau. We been sent to track you down for about a week now,” the green one spoke, dusting off his uniform discreetly. He waved a hoof towards his assistant. “My name is Coin Dust and this is Lemongrass, my assistant.” Trixie decided to be polite. These were officials of the Law, and even the Great & Powerful Trixie did not mess with the Law. Not unless one wished to have a personal tour of Canterlot’s dungeons. “Yes, the Great & Powerful Trixie greets you. What business do you have with Trixie?” “As you’re well aware, you’re currently behind in tax payment for approximately 13 months.” Trixie’s brow furrowed at his words. She owed taxes? Since when... Then it dawned on the mage. Since she fired her assistant. Fair Breeze always handled the dreary side of business. Including the mundane chore of paying the required taxes and handling the financial side of business. “According to your last income statement, that’ll total up to roughly...” Coin Dust glanced at his partner, who extracted a piece of paper from the depths of his saddlebags and held it up for him. “... two thousand and three hundred bits.” “What?!” Trixie blurted. How in the hay did she even manage to owe the kingdom that much taxes? Her income were modest at best. Ten thousand bits a year was modest... right? Then, as sanity reasserted itself, she forced her voice into something more passably polite. “Gentlecolts, as you can see, Trixie is not in any position to pay...” Coin Dust interjected before Trixie could continue, a mixture of indifference and pity in his voice. “Well, that’s just too bad. We’re going to have to serve you this tax payment notice. By the authority of...” Just that instant, something clicked in Trixie’s mind. A long-forgotten memory of her university days. *** “... and so as you can see, the tax code for Equestria is still considered a proud achievement for our kingdom,” Professor Sticks said, finally ending his long-winded lecture. “Trixie does not need to know such mundane matters.” the azure filly sitting in the front row of the lecture huffed. General law was boring, and the three-hour long lecture on taxes was the worst yet. She yelped as the professor snatched the pad of paper she was writing on and examined it with a close eye. “Trixie! One of these days, you’ll be grateful to know that one cannot be brought in under the law until they are first served a tax notice. Which you would know had you actually spent the time listening to the lecture, instead of doodling pictures of yourself in a superhero costume.” The professor glowered at the unicorn, as she showcased the contents of the paper for the class to see. Trixie felt herself blush as the class erupted in laughter. The gall of the professor humiliating her in front of the class. Trixie vowed she’ll repay the favour. *** “... authority of Princess Celestia, I hereby...” “Oh look! It’s Princess Celestia!” Trixie exclaimed, pointing to something behind the two tax collectors. “What? The princess is here?!” Lemongrass cried in alarm, and the pair turned as one... to find an empty road. *Poof* Suddenly, their vision was clouded with smoke, followed by the rapidly fading sound of galloping hooves. The pair stood there coughing and spluttering helplessly, trying to regain some semblances of their wits. As the smoke cleared, the two agents spotted the fast-disappearing figure down the road. “After her!” Coin Dust shouted. Unfortunately that was when they discovered the second unpleasant surprise Trixie left them. Their hooves were firmly glued to the road with some sort of magical pink paste. The earth pony tried to wrench his fore hooves off the ground, to no avail. Coin Dust sighed in resignation. It’d take awhile before the magic wears off, if he were to make an educated guess. “Well, that’s our... How many runners did we have again this month?” Coin Dust asked Lemongrass. “That’ll be our thirtieth, sir,” the unicorn answered politely, his face impassive. Coin Dust let out another long-suffering sigh. It was amazing how many ponies suddenly gained insight of that particular archaic law when their time came to pay taxes. This was a song-and-dance he and his partner knew all too well. He had hoped Princess Luna would fix things after her miraculous recovery from Nightmare Moon, but by all accounts, it was taking slower than either of the princesses’ wishes. Or the wishes for poor workers out in the field like him for that matter. Celestia knows how many runners are taking advantage of that right now. “She’ll probably take refuge in the next village. They all do,” the earth pony continued as he studied the magical glue holding them down. The unicorn shook his head at his partner’s words. “You think they’ll be more creative after the thousands of arrests we made. You know, like running into the Everfree Forest or even to a bordering kingdom. The red tape of dealing with a neighbouring kingdom alone would delay us by deca-” Lemongrass suddenly found a green hoof clasped around his mouth. “Lemongrass, stop giving them ideas.” Coin Dust warned, shaking his head at the loose mouth of his companion. He sincerely hoped nopony actually heard that. Celestia forbid, one of them would become smart enough to actually dodge taxes. *** Trixie chuckled as she galloped away at a steady pace from the two poor fools. Well, they’ll never be able to get Trixie into custody, not if she can help it. A mage of her fame would never live down the shame of being imprisoned. She would find a way to pay those taxes, one way or another. Trixie had never been a criminal, and she didn’t intend to start now. She just needed... a little extra time. Yeah, time. As she continued forward at full speed, she noticed the first sign of habitations appearing around her. Fields of plowed crops and such could be seen on both side of the road. She must be nearing the village of Ponyton. Perfect. A village for her to disappear and obtain the required bits.. Trixie was confident she’ll be able to raise the bits needed. All she needed was a little bit of magic and of course, her natural prowess in impressing ponies into supporting her finances. Ahead, the earthen road branched into two, with a simple wooden sign pointing to the path to the left. “Welcome to Ponyton. Population: 239” *** Trixie came to a stop in front of a windmill next to the road, gasping for breath. She hadn’t needed to run that hard since... she had to escape from that Ursa Major. Just ahead was the village itself; a small collection of ramshackle wooden buildings by the looks of it. “Hey there newcomer,” a gruff voice greeted her. Trixie looked up to see an elderly earth pony leaning against a lean-to, chewing on a twig. His slate-gray coat contrasted sharply with blonde mane and tail. The bulging saddle-packs he was carrying half-hid his hammer and sickle cutie mark. “Don’t see many unicorns in these parts. You from Canterlot?” Trixie snorted and clenched her teeth at the apparent ignorance of this peasant. Why, how could he never heard of the Great and Powerful Trixie? Was this place so remote that news of her prowess have not reached the village?! She forced herself to calm down. Trixie could turn this into her advantage. She could hide amongst these ponies and buy herself more time to earn the bits required. It was just a matter of using your intellect really. “By the way, I’m Steel Hoof,” the elderly stallion continued, apparently unruffled by her lack of manners. Trixie was finally jolted out of her thoughts by the stallion’s words. She better play along, lest she betray her presence to these simpletons and by extension, to those tax agents. “My name is The Gre- you may call me The... Pure... and Honest... Twixie,” Trixie nearly facehoofed at her poor choice of name. Twixie? Really? It did have a ring to it though. “Twixie eh? Welcome to Ponyton then.” Steel Hoof politely tilted his head in a gentlecoltly manner. “The Great- I mean, thank you.” Trixie mentally slapped herself. That’s no way to go undercover. She should have more finesse than that. She decided to try again, this time choosing her words with care. “Do you know a place where a pony can... disappear for awhile?” Trixie said, before again dragging a hoof down her face in embarrassment. Great mage she may be, but a liar she certainly wasn’t. “Sure do.” The stallion’s face remained impassive, though Trixie thought she detected a hint of a smile on the edges of his lips. “If you would be so kind to follow me.” He spat out the twig and gestured for the azure mare to follow her. After a moment’s pause, Trixie shrugged and followed the stallion. After all, it wasn’t like she had a choice. *** The village itself seemed subdued. Almost dreary. The general atmosphere was one of resignation, rather than the happy optimism that permeated Ponyville. Even the buildings seemed a little worn, a little faded for their age. Dusty windows half-hid ponies going about their business behind. Disinterested villagers hardly gave the pair a second glance as they made their way through the dusty streets. The stallion led Trixie to a large squarish building sitting right next to the town square. This one was a little more brightly painted than the rest, and seemed better maintained too. A wooden sign with an empty mug hung just outside the thick wooden door. Trixie surmised from her vast experience that it was a tavern. Also, the sign with the words ‘Ponyton Bed and Breakfast’ made that pretty obvious as well. Trixie stood staring at the oaken door for a good long while, debating on the various ways she could crib a free night in the inn while she worked out a way to earn cold hard bits. She felt a nudge on her flank and turned to see Steel Hoof dropping a small bag of coins on the floor. “Yer sure look like you could use these. Tell you what, you can pay me back later when you get a job.” Trixie was at a loss for words. Here she was, a complete stranger to this village and this stallion was not only showing her around but also offering to lend her money. This could only mean one thing. “Are you a secret admirer of the Great & Powerful Trixie?” she asked plainly, deciding to chance revealing her identity. Steel Hoof blinked in confusion. “Who?” Trixie sighed in frustration. So he was just being a kind and helpful pony. Commendable, but naive. Still, she wasn’t one to refuse help when it was given freely. “Never mind, Thank... you for the bits.” Trixie had trouble pronouncing the word. It had been so long since she had to thank somepony. Come to think of it, when was the last time she thanked somepony? “I hope you enjoy your stay here,” Steel Hoof called as she entered the inn. *** A much-needed shower, hat-and-cloak shopping and some well-deserved rest later, Trixie was on the prowl again in the village, looking for ways to earn bits surreptitiously. The cloak and pointed mage hat wasn’t the material she was used to, being made of rough cotton and coloured entirely in the wrong shade of yellow, but at least she felt more confident with those on. Plus, it would help disguise her when those tax collectors inevitably tracked her to the village. Her eyes gleamed as she spotted a farmer pulling a heavy load of rocks. Time for the Great & Powerful Trixie to show her magic. Trixie would show Equestria that even without her equipment, she would earn the required bits in no time. “Greetings plebian farmer, do you require assistance?” *** The two tax agents stood in front of the wooden sign pointing towards the small village. “Ponyton? Huh. Should be easy, there can’t be many places for her to hide in there,” Coin Dust remarked thoughtfully, as he rubbed his chin. “According to the Bureau, there is a surprising number of tax dodgers disappearing near the village itself,” Lemongrass said, as he held open a file in front of him. The older stallion snorted with derision. “Bah, those agents are probably incompetent. Let’s go and serve our tax notice to this mare. We should be done in time for that cocktail party Blue Star will be hosting this weekend.” *** “... Well, thank you kindly for helping me carry these,” the elderly farmer said, as Trixie struggled into the farm. She collapsed on the front steps of the wooden house, panting heavily. “N-no.. problem,” she wheezed, as she extracted herself from the reins of the heavy cart. “Ah, but I must reward you,” the farmer said, rummaging in his saddle pack. Trixie sighed with relief. At least it was a good start, even if less showy than she hoped. Her eyes bulged when she saw what the orange stallion held out. A mere ten bits. Trixie felt like choking the life out of the elderly stallion. Ten bits for pulling the cart halfway across town and then some? This wasn’t the way to treat the Great & Powerful Trixie. It was not everyday Trixie would stoop to helping peasants with such menial labour. No, she should be showcasing her naturally magical magicks to these peasants. She forced herself to calm down again, something she has had to do very often lately. “T-thank you,” she said, through gritted teeth. At least she was getting better at this thank you thing. The farmer seemed oblivious to her barely contained rage and nodded affably in reply. “It’s the least I could do.” A shout in the distance caught the farmer’s attention. “Oh, visitors. Looks official.” Official? Trixie eyes drifted towards the open gate, already fearing the worst. She cursed under her breath as two familiar figures trotted up the path leading to the house. Trixie tilted her hat just a little lower, in an attempt to shield her violet eyes and throw off her would-be pursuers. The pair greeted the farmer genially, before proceeding to ask about the whereabouts of a certain blue mare. The farmer shook his head, not recognising the name. As the green agent continued to question the farmer, the alabaster unicorn noticed the blue mare trying her best to slink into the house. He gave his companion a ribbing and gestured at Trixie. The pair looked over the azure mare, who wished she could sink into the ground right about now. The one called Coin Dust spoke. “You there! What’s your name?” “You may refer to me as the Pure and Honest Twixie,” the unicorn declared, unintentionally infusing her voice with some of the authoritative flair she always used in her stage persona. The unicorn cringed as she realised her mistake and tilted her hat a little lower still, trying not to look at the pair in the eyes. Dear Celestia, she hoped she didn’t give away her own identity just by that. “Twixie...?” Coin Dust repeated suspiciously. He turned to Lemongrass. “Do we have a Twixie on record?” “Hold on...” Lemongrass took out a bulky file and flicked rapidly through the pages. “Nope. But these records are already five years out of date.” “Stupid records office. Why don’t they ever give us updated files?” Coin Dust turned to stare at Trixie, who shrank from the stallion. “You look awfully familiar there miss.” he said, narrowing his eyes on the mare. The elderly farmer stepped forward to interpose himself between Coin Dust and Trixie. “Hey now, I don’t quite get what you ponies are talking about, but this mare just helped me carry my weekly haul back.” The farmer’s tone had an undercurrent of annoyance. “There is no way she could be the criminal you were looking for,” he said firmly. Trixie had this uncharacteristic urge to kiss the farmer on his lips. Of course it was only a fleeting moment. The Great & Powerful Trixie would never stoop to such depths of crassness. Coin Dust seemed taken back by the farmer’s aggressive posture. The earth pony quickly recovered his composure and reassured the farmer with the practice of a car salesman.“Ah, then probably a case of mistaken identity. So many ponies with similar coat and mane colour that it can be hard to tell sometimes,” he said, holding up his hooves in apology. The farmer nodded, still watching the two agents with narrowed eyes. Taking the hint, the pair said their goodbyes and trotted off. Trixie was sure she saw Coin Dust taking one last sharp look at her. She bit down the temptation to gloat. “The nerve of those tax agents,” the farmer said. Trixie could only nod in reply. *** “Was it her?” Lemongrass asked. “Hard to say, the cloak and hat made it difficult to tell for certain. One thing’s for sure, she can’t escape us for long. Shouldn’t take long for her to crack,” Coin Dust replied. The pair began making their way towards the village proper. *** “This isn’t working,” Trixie muttered as she nursed a mug of coffee in the town’s local coffee shop by the town square. The square was rather quiet in comparison to the other towns she had been. Still, several merchants could be found hawking their goods noisily, amongst the various villagers going about their business. So far, one day of hard, honest work netted her a grand total of one hundred bits. Her entire body ached in places she didn’t even know existed. She wished she could just put a show like she did on Ponyville and rake in the bits. Sadly, she left the stage, equipment and proper audience back in Ponyville. Plus, those tax collectors are still somewhere out there. She cannot afford to slip up and let herself get caught now. “There has to be some easier way to earn bits.” Trixie scanned the activity in the town square. So far, nothing stuck out that needed the magical touch of Trixie. Heck, nothing ever happened in this dreary old village, as far as she could see. Her idle eyes fell upon a lone earth pony who standing about in front one of the many shops in the square. Even from the distance, Trixie could tell the cream-coloured stallion was agitated, alternating between studying the contents of the shop window, and looking around nervously. Even more curious, he also carried an empty-looking saddlebag. Now why would somepony carry an empty bag around... As she watched, the earth pony finally decided to enter the shop, casting one final glance around. Aha! It’s so obvious! A crime in progress no doubt. One that she could prevent and claim credit for. With luck and a little of her natural charm, the grateful peasants will shower her with enough bits to pay off her dues once and for all. Pleased with her deductive capabilities, she began making her way across the square. Just as she approached the shop, the same cream stallion burst out of the door; his saddlebags now laden with weight. Just inside the shop, she could hear somepony yelling, “Stop that thief!” Without further thought, the azure mare planted herself square in front of the charging stallion, “Stop right there you crimi-” she managed to say, before the thief lowered his head and crashed past the azure mare. Trixe found herself being tossed aside by the momentum of the stallion, and llanded in a painful heap on the ground nearby. Shaking the stars out of her eyes, Trixie sensed that the stallion was rapidly moving out of her reach. In the heat of the situation, Trixie casted the first spell that came off the top of her mind. Conjure Pies. Several pies materialised in the air above the magician and flung themselves directly into the fleeing figure of the thief. Most landed harmlessly on the ground, with the exception of one, which hit the stallion square in the side of the face. Startled, the thief lost his sense of direction for a brief moment and ran himself straight into a nearby store. He crashed head first into the glass window of the store, and slumped to the ground. As he lay unconscious, his saddlebags spilled open to reveal their contents. Trixie smiled as she dusted herself off and trotted over to the now-incapacitated stallion. “Hah, none can escape... the... oh, horseapples.” Her voice trailed off as she saw what the stallion was stealing. A bunch of lamps. That were still lit. In a store that was lined with fireworks. Trixie watched in slow motion as flames of the lamps spread and licked the fuse of a particularly big roman candle. The azure mare barely managed to dive into the relative safety of a nearby shop before the fireworks started going off. *** They called it the Great Fire of Ponyton. Many ponies fled for their lives that day. It was believed to be caused by a thief who happened to run into a store full of fireworks while stealing gaslamps. Nopony knew what caused such a catastrophic chain reaction to occur. All blamed the mayor for his lack of fire precautions. *** “Okay, that didn’t go so well,” Trixie muttered, as the azure mare sat on her haunches outside where the coffee shop used to be. She sighed as she surveyed the damage caused by the fire. Half of the town buildings in the square were damaged, and at least one was completely razed to the ground. The thief himself was badly burned and was shipped posthaste to Ponyville for treatment. Her ticket out of this mess, ruined by sheer chance. At least nopony seemed to know how the stallion clumsily stumbled in the first place. Now she found herself wishing for her former assistant to help her out. Good, dependable Fair Breeze always knew what to do in such a situation. Trixie shook her head. No, not after the way she fired her. The Great & Powerful Trixie will find a way to overcome this adversity with or without help. She always had. “Hey you! Don’t just sit there. Help us with moving all these debris,” a loud voice shouted from the ruined shop. Trixie was jolted from her thoughts and gave the offending pony a dark stare. “The Grea- I mean The Pure & Honest Twixie does not take orders from civilians.” “Yeah, yeah, you want to live in this village, you gotta work for it,” the orange earth pony replied. “Else you can take a hike.” He jabbed a hoof to the road leading out of the village. “Why, Tri- Twixie just might-” Trixie abruptly closed her mouth when she spied two familiar figures walking towards the square. She put on her best smile for the orange earth pony. “On second thought, let Twixie help with that pile over there.” Trixie gestured at a random pile of fallen debris and darted into the ruined coffee shop before the two agents could see her. *** Coin Dust trotted slowly through the partially damaged town square. “Great Celestia, what happened here?” “Looks like a fire, sir,” his companion replied obliviously. “I know that. I have eyes, you know,” the green earth pony snapped irritably. “What I want to know is how.... Never mind. It doesn’t matter anyway.” He shook his head and focused on the task at hand. The tax agent approached a navy-blue earth pony who was busy pulling a cart full of debris. “Greetings, we’re from the Equestria’s Tax Collection Bureau. We’re looking for a criminal-” “Criminal!?” the mare exclaimed loudly, startling several of the other villagers within hearing distance. Coin Dust adjusted his uniform nervously when he realised there were now several pairs of eyes staring at them. The earth pony he addressed was staring at him, her green eyes filled with burning questions. “Yes, criminal on the run. She’s curre-” “Oh, oh, what did she do? Did she kidnap the princess and magically banished her to the moon?” the mare interrupted him with enthusiasm. “No!” Coin Dust replied hastily, aghast at the very thought. “Did she murder somepony horribly in a nearby town?” The mare gasped. “Oh Celestia, I need to get in touch with my sister in Ponyville!” “I assure you, nothing like that-” Coin Dust replied, only to be cut off by the bubbly mare again. “Oh oh, is she an internationally renowned spy on the run that Celestia is now after because she’s holding some great state secret that must never be revealed lest it would doom the kingdom and change the very world we live in?” The tax agent stared at the navy-blue earth pony for a long while, unable to follow the the mare’s wild train of thought. He finally spluttered, “... What?! No!” “Then... what is it?” “She... owes the kingdom taxes.” the earth pony said hesitantly, suddenly struck by how petty her crime seemed to be, especially in comparison to the wild fantasies that the mare apparently harboured. The excitable mare looked deflated by the revelation. “Oh.” she said with considerably less enthusiasm. She began pulling her cart again. “Nope, never seen her.” “But we haven’t even told you how she looked like!” Lemongrass protested. “Sorry, busy now. Can’t help ya. Have a good day sirs.” The mare plodded ahead, not bothering to look back on the dumbfounded tax agents. “... The hay is wrong with these ponies?” Coin Dust muttered, more to himself than to his companion. “No idea sir,” Lemongrass replied obliviously, apparently overhearing his monologue. *** Finally managing to extract herself from the dreary work of shifting building materials around town with a rather flimsy excuse of stomach pains, she made her way slowly to the local inn. Since when the Great & Powerful Trixie had sunk to such depths as to resort to menial tasks to hide from law enforcement authorities? Had she truly lost her shine after that debacle with Twilight Sparkle? Perhaps... there is another way. A more unsavoury way. Trixie had never been one to resort to actual crime before. Sure, her shows contained an element of untruth to it, but that was mostly to impress the onlookers. Trixie sighed as she pondered her situation. She was desperate. She was on the run from the Law. She needed bits. Hard work wasn’t going to help her now. She couldn’t put on her usual show. Yes... crime was suddenly looking more and more favourable. Just... just this once. Trixie promised herself. Even the Great & Powerful Trixie could not stand against the most unfavourable circumstances. Hopefully she could put her plan into motion the next week, when the situation in the village was more settled. For the meantime, she’ll need to plan on how to subsist on plain hay for one week... *** “Come one, come all! Witness the amazing sleight of hooves performed by the Pure & Honest Twixie!” The azure mare decided on a simple game, easy to manipulate, simple to perform. She laid out five empty cups on a makeshift plastic table, along with a dice. A few curious ponies were already staring at the stall, trying to discern her purpose. Trixie knew all too well she needed to get the ball rolling with some fanfare. She pointed to a beige pegasus who walked past. “You! You seemed like a fine pea- a fine pony. Why don’t you try your hand at this simple game? Just guess which cup holds the dice and you win!” The pegasus looked confused at the sudden attention. “I... I guess I can,” he stammered. The villager walked closer and threw a few bits to the bowl laid in front. Trixie smiled, and lined up the cups in a neat row. She then placed the die in the middle cup, careful to show her every move to the villager, lest they get suspicious. The azure mare then used her telekinesis to rapidly shuffle the cups around. Her smile got wider as she saw the pegasus’ eyes darted back and forth, in a futile attempt to keep track of her movement. Finally stopping, she arranged the cups again in a neat row, and gestured for the villager to pick a cup. The beige pegasus thought for a moment, then picked the middle one. Trixie knew it wasn’t the right one, but she needed to build the pony’s confidence. As she began to lift the cup, she silently began to cast a simple spell. The pegasus face broke into a smile as he saw the dice under the cup. “Looks like you win!” Trixie announced in her best stage voice. The pegasus whooped loudly, and cheered. His antics attracted the attention of passer-bys, just as planned. She gave the pegasus a sweet smile and handed him his reward. Trixie took note of the additional ponies wandering over to her stall, and her smile widened further. “Would you like to try again?” “Heck yeah!” *** Lemongrass glanced at his companion worriedly as they went on their daily walk around the village. One week they have waited. One week with no sign of hide or hair of the detestable mare. The villagers weren’t helpful either. Most either defended the mare, or feigned disinterest. It didn’t help Coin Dust’s mood gradually darkened as the week passed. They already missed three great cocktail parties while they were mucking around in a village in the middle of nowhere, chasing down an exceptionally elusive suspect. The unicorn half-suspected their colleagues back in Canterlot made a mad scramble to celebrate their absence. As they made their way past the town square, he noticed a gathering crowd around one of the stalls. And one suspiciously familiar blue mare running it. He nudged Coin Dust and pointed. “Interesting,” Coin Dust replied, perking up for the first time in days. *** By the middle of the afternoon, a large crowd crowded the makeshift stall. The azure mare already collected close to a thousand bits, though she was careful to keep it hidden away so that the villagers did not know how much she actually was making. She kept the game carefully controlled. Handing out the occasional win, but still making sure that ultimately, she was raking in the money. Trixie revelled in the attention she had gotten, despite the very real risk of discovery. She didn’t much care. This was the thrill of the show she was familiar with, despite the very different setting this time around. This was why she loved show business. “Who’s next?” she called cheerfully, her good mood finally returning after nearly a week of constant anguish. “That’ll be me,” a familiar voice answered. Steel Hoof. “Good afternoon, Steel Hoof,” Trixie greeted, frowning slightly at the serious expression on his face. “Quite an impressive setup you got there,” he continued, in a rather even tone. The elderly stallion tossed a hundred bit coin onto the bowl. “Let’s see if I can beat the odds. By my reckoning, only eight so far have guessed correctly.” Something in his tone set off warning bells in Trixie’s mind. Was he suspecting foul play? “Not everypony can get lucky,” Trixie answered cautiously. She began the routine of placing the dice and shuffling the cups. The azure mare noticed Steel Hoof following her moves steadily. She had a feeling he knew exactly where the dice was. Finished with her shuffling, she held out her hoof to invite Steel Hoof to pick the correct cup. The elderly stallion immediately picked the outer leftmost one... the correct one. Trixie chewed her lower lips in indecision. Should she let him win? She’d need to pay double, meaning she’d be set back by two hundred bits. At least one hour worth of work undone. The unicorn levitated the indicated cup up... to reveal nothing. Steel Hoof narrowed his eyes at the azure magician. “Twixie, I had believed you to be an honest character, not a lying cheat,” he said in a low voice. Trixie gave a nervous smile. “Twixie does not know what are you talking about,” she stammered. The elderly earth pony sighed. “I had hoped I didn’t need to do this.” He waved a hoof around under the floating cup. The crowd gasped as the air shimmered and distorted, the tell-tale mark of an illusion. The earth pony then scooped the apparently empty space... to produce a dice. The crowd let out another gasp and began to murmur amongst themselves. “Trixie... can explain all this...” the azure mare began, but her feeble protestations was drowned out by shouts. “Fraud!” “Liar!” “You no-good mule!” Trixie’s eyes widened as the crowd steadily became more and more agitated, closing in steadily. She sensed a mob was about to form. Looks like she’d have to use her signature escape move again. Without even bothering for a parting shot at the crowd, she stomped her hooves on the ground, conjuring a massive smoke of cloud. The crowd immediately coughed and spluttered as the smoke enveloped the area. *** Just several paces away, the two tax agents watched the unfolding scene with great interest. When the all-too familiar smoke cloud appeared, they knew they nailed their target. “Looks like our friend Trixie is finally making an escape.” Sure enough, the azure mare appeared from the sea of smoke and galloped off towards the forest bordering the village. “And she had to run into Mossy Fringe Forest,” Lemongrass dryly remarked. “Come on now, let’s serve this notice and bring her in. It’s already one week overdue.” *** Blast and damnation, Trixie swore. Her plan was going so well, until that no-good stallion decided to ruin her act. Trixie definitely underestimated that earth pony. She had him pegged for a naive peasant who just happened to help her. Blast her poor run of luck. Why couldn’t everything go her way for once?! Now she was on the run from the Law and penniless to boot. Well, not exactly penniless, she still had the money saved from her brief stint as a menial labourer #240 in the village. But that definitely would not be enough to sustain her for long. Trixie looked around her unfamiliar surroundings. Oh, now where had she gotten herself into? She wasn’t really looking when she ran away. Understandable really, she had been most anxious to put as much distance as possible between her and the crowd before they could lynch her or do something even worse. Still, spending time in a forest was far preferable to being lynched. Even if Trixie had little or no experience of mucking about in a forest before. The ancient trees rose up around her, the low branches hanging overhead menacingly. Trixie grimaced as she stepped into a puddle of mud, while trying to navigate her way around the increasingly bumpy path. The gnarled roots and trunks seemed to close in on her, and the azure mare shivered. There was something unsettling about the forest around her. She mentally slapped herself. This wasn’t the Everfree. All she had to do was to follow the path and she’d come out on the other side safe and sound. Right? The hours slowly ticked past, as Trixie continued to plod along the uneven path, now reduced to a mere dirt track as it led deeper into the forest. The afternoon sun was slowly sinking into the horizon. Trixie had a nasty feeling Celestia was going to drop the sun soon. She fervently hoped she would out of the forest soon. Nothing more unpleasant than spending a night in an unfamiliar forest. Filled with wild creatures. On a bed of uneven, filthy ground. Her ears perked up as she picked up the faint sounds of the bubbling of a stream. Good, she was getting thirsty anyhow. The azure mare came up towards a small-ish stream of clear water running across the dirt path. The water was shallow enough for a pony to cross over, which was probably why the original builders of this path neglected to build a bridge across. Still, Trixie appreciated the chance to freshen up and slake her thirst before continuing on. She began splashing her face with water when she felt that feeling of unease returning. The azure mare looked around. Bushes of various kind straddled the stream, with trees towering behind. The afternoon sun filtered through the tree tops faintly, illuminating everything with soft golden light and casting long shadows on the ground. Then it struck her. The forest was deathly silent. The singing of crickets in the background was absent. Birds that had chirped merrily on her long trek were now ominously silent. Even the occasional rustling of the undergrowth by what Trixie presumed to be small animals was gone. Trixie felt a primal fear creeping up on her heart. It was unnatural for a forest to be this silent; even a city mare like her knew as much. *Hisssssssssssss!* Trixie whirled around, plucking a hefty stick from the side of the stream and waving it about in the air. “T-th-the Great and Powerful Trixie do- does not f-f-fear you!” she shouted, her voice breaking up a litte. *Hissss!* She felt her skin prickling as the sound continued to close in. Then she saw it. A cluster of bushes to her left shaking wildly as the unknown beast stomped through the bushes. Trixie could almost visualise the sharp pointy teeth of whatever wild beast that was stalking her. Finally losing her nerve, Trixie gave a frightened yelp and dove into the bushes headlong, running as fast as she could from whatever it was that was bearing down on her. *** “Whelp, she definitely went into the forest path,” Coin Dust said, whistling. “Are you sure? She may be just using the path to throw us off track and then circle around through the forest to go in the opposite direction. Besides, we don’t know anything about trekking through a forest...” “Lemongrass, stop giving them ideas!” the earth pony cried, glancing around to make sure nopony heard that. “Now let’s get moving.” The pair nearly jumped off their hooves when a discreet cough sounded behind the pair. The two agents whirled around, hooves at the ready. Their expression turned to one of surprise as they realised it was an elderly earth pony who was addressing them. “Who-who are you?” “Name’s Steel Hoof. I believe you’re looking for a certain mare?” the earth pony said calmly, chewing on a twig. Coin Dust felt himself relaxing at his words. “Yes, we are looking for the so-called Great & Powerful Trixie.” “Allow me to assist you. I know the ways of the forest, which you two, pardon me, city folks, obviously do not.” Coin Dust narrowed his eyes at his words. “What’s in it for you?” “Rectifying a mistake,” the slate-gray earth pony replied simply, before spitting out his twig. Coin Dust considered his words. A guide would be handy indeed. While Mossy Fringe was no Everfree, dangerous creatures still inhabited the woods, some still managing to escape the notice of the princesses. Why just last month, they heard reports of a hydra in Froggy Bottom Bog... “That... sounds as good a reason as any,” the verdant tax agent cautiously said. He glanced at the hammer and sickle cutie mark and wondered what exactly was his special talent. He knew most ponies’ cutie marks were pretty straightforward; like how his, a stack of gold coins, reflected his job as a tax collector. But there were those cutie marks which defied definition and had an oblique meaning to them. Like this one. “Shall we be off?” the villager called from ahead, a hint of impatience in his voice. Coin Dust blinked. When did the earth pony slip past them? He quickly pushed the questions out of his mind and cantered up to catch up with Steel Hoof. *** The trio trekked down the same dirt path in good time, with Steel Hoof helpfully pointing out the various shortcuts and obstacles that littered the track. The two agent stared at the forest with wary eyes, uncomfortable with the strange new environment they found themselves. Even as field workers, they never really did have to apprehend a suspect right in the middle of a forest. Most usually stuck to towns or villages. Trixie, by all accounts, was an anomaly, though. Coin Dust also found the strange earth pony guiding their steps was quite unsettling. He had shown a remarkable aptitude for the ways of the forest... almost as if he had lived in one all his life. Coupled with the silent way he guided them, Steel Hoof made him nervous. “So, why do you work as a tax collector?” Steel Hoof’s voice jolted Coin Dust out from his morbid thoughts. “It’s... it’s what I’m good at.” Coin Dust replied, falling back to the standard line that every foal memorised since grade school. Steel Hoof shot him a ‘You-can-do-better-than-that’ look. “Hey look, I don’t have to explain myself to you,” Coin Dust replied, a little annoyed by the probing. “Well, I like the game ponies play when they try to escape. It’s like a puzzle. Trying to figure out what they might do, and so on,” Lemongrass replied, an airy look pasted on his face. Coin Dust sighed. “If only half your theories were correct, or that ponies were even half as intelligent as you seem to credit them for, then you might actually be useful.” He winced as he remembered how Lemongrass led them on a wild goose chase around Canterlot. The unicorn was eminently convinced the tax dodger they were chasing had a hideout in the middle of Canterlot’s sewers, bristling with pie weaponry and traps. In reality, the suspect had been hiding in his attic. Which the pair only found several hours later; at Coin Dust’s insistence that they sweep the suspect’s house more thoroughly after their futile searches in the sewers. By then, they probably had already mapped the sewers and then some. “Interesting,” Steel Hoof commented. He made no further attempts to talk after that, despite Lemongrass trying to probing the earth pony with inane questions concerning the forest. Coin Dust for one, was content with the earth pony’s silence. His questions made him uncomfortable. For the next hour, they walked on in silence, broken only by Lemongrass’ occasional quips and attempted conversation with either his companion or Steel Hoof. Neither returned the gesture, and Lemongrass was soon reduced to admiring the scenery and narrating the view. So absorbed Coin Dust was in his own thoughts, that he nearly bumped into the hind end of Steel Hoof when the earth pony abruptly stopped in his tracks. He disentangled himself from the tail of the stallion and looked at the villager curiously. “Something’s wrong.” “What is?” Coin Dust asked, immediately eyeing the surrounding trees suspiciously. His untrained senses didn’t tell him anything was out of the ordinary, but he wasn’t about to dismiss an experienced pony’s intuition like that. “It’s too quiet,” the elderly stallion hissed back. “Something’s out there.” “Huh, so that’s why the birds went silent. And I was beginning to enjoy their song too.” Lemongrass replied, apparently unaware of the subtle warning in the stallions words. *rustle* “You hear that?” Coin Dust whispered, shaking slightly with fear. “Yes. Whatever it is, it’s close,” Steel Hoof replied, his body tensing for action. Lemongrass just looked at his surroundings with wide-eyed curiosity. *rustle-rustle* Coin Dust noticed the leaves swaying on his left. He turned towards the noise, brandishing a wooden stick he picked up from the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Steel Hoof doing the same. Lemongrass though, was still staring at the undergrowth with fascination. “Lemongrass, don’t just stand there. Pick up something!” Coin Dust hissed. “Oh, right sir,” the unicorn replied, picking up a few stones with his magic. A blue blur appeared from the bushes and crashed headlong into Coin Dust, sending them both stumbling into the ground. Coin Dust somehow managed to end up on top of the blue creature, stars spinning in front of his eyes. “You oaf! Let go of the Great & Powerful Trixie this instant!” the creature yelled frantically, as it tried to pry itself from the heavy weight of the stallion. Coin Dust blinked as he realised just who stumbled literally into his lap. He felt his headache instantly clearing and turned towards the mare, who was still pinned beneath his body. “Trixe, by the order of-” “ARE YOU INSANE? WE GOT BIGGER PROBLEMS NOW!” Trixe shouted, trying in vain to push Coin Dust off. *Hissssssssssssssssssssssss!* “Basilisk? You disturbed a basilisk?!” Steel Hoof thundered, alarm evident in his voice. “Trixie does not know what it is, nor does she care. Trixie suggests we leave this area immediately before the beast chances upon us.” The azure mare finally remembered to use her magic and pushed the stallion off with one big burst of telekinesis. She quickly stood up and glared at the agent. “You foalish idiot, the basilisk will be upon us in less than a minute, judging from the hiss.” The elderly earth pony looked towards the gentle swaying of the trees in the distance, then back at the trio. The unseen beast let out another long hiss, the ground shuddering slightly with its stomping. “Go. Now. Flee while you can.” “What?” “I’ll delay the creature.” “We can’t leave you here.” Coin Dust cried, very much aware of how cliche he sounded. “Just go! We all won’t survive if you dawdle.” The earth pony turned without waiting for a response. Coin Dust stared at the earth pony with a mixture of regret and fear, before his self-preservation instinct kicked in. “Right, let’s go, Trixie... Trixie?” The sound of galloping hooves down the dirt track told him the answer. Coin Dust sighed. He figured the mare would be the first to run. “Figures. Come on Lemongrass... Lemongrass?” The verdant stallion facehoofed as he realised his companion was gone as well. He began following his erstwhile companions, only stopping a moment to glance back at Steel Hoof. The earth pony briefly considered going back to help him, before shaking his head and continuing on. *** Trixie galloped down the path in record speed. Her mind was only focused on one thing. Escape. Trixie vowed she would not perish in some forgotten forest just beside an equally forgettable village. No, she would not fade away in the history books with such an ignoble death. “Hey.” Trixie whipped her head around to see Lemongrass galloping beside her, keeping up easily. “What... what are you doing here?” “The nice earth pony told us to run. So I did. Said he’ll fend off the creature.” “He what?” Trixie felt herself feeling concerned for the earth pony. What idiocy possessed him to stay back against a Bas... Bal... whatever it is, alone? “He told us to run,” Lemongrass repeated, slightly puzzled. “The fool,” Trixie muttered under her breath. She had no idea why she suddenly felt guilty for leaving him behind. Is it because he helped her without question? The only one who trusted her? And despite exposing her shenanigans in the town earlier, he seemed genuinely disappointed? Trixie came to a stop, the questions in her mind suddenly all springing forth. Who was she really? The greatest most magical unicorn in Equestria? How Great & Powerful can she be if she ran away from a mere beast in the forest? This wasn’t the Great & Powerful behaviour she came to expect from herself. The Great & Powerful Trixie would stand up to the beast, and kick its flank back to where it belongs. Neigh, the Great & Powerful Trixie would obliterate the beast. Just like she did in Balestein. She may not have bested an Ursa Major, but she certainly could whip this creature into shape. Besides, Trixie still owed this pony a favour. The Great & Powerful Trixie does not leave favours unpaid. The azure mare made an about-turn and galloped back the way she came, hoping fervently she wasn’t too late to help Steel Hoof. *** Steel Hoof hadn’t expected himself to be facing off a Basilisk at the end of his storied life. Not that he expected a peaceful end, but he really had hoped he could have passed away quietly. He had done a lot of questionable things in the past; all in the name of the Princess of course, but facing down a wild beast of this nature on his own has just topped his list right there. Still, it probably only ranked #15 in the list of stupidest thing he had done in his life. I suppose there are worse ways to go than being turned into stone. At least they will have my perfectly preserved corpse for burial, he thought to himself morbidly, as he stood firm in front of the rattling undergrowth, stick in mouth. The bushes in front of parted, and the basilisk’s head peeped out from the undergrowth. It’s yellow scales contrasted sharply with its jet black beady eyes and pointed teeth that jutted out from its jaws. Steel Hoof sensed the creature was out for blood, its eyes gleaming with malice. Before the creature could do more than hiss of him, the earth pony brought down his makeshift weapon on the creature, stunning it momentarily. He bucked the basilisk in its ugly face for good measure then took off, before the lizard could recover. As he crashed through the tangled undergrowth, he heard the basilisk let out an angry roar. Well, he definitely got the attention of the beast. Good, at least I can lead it away from the rest. The earth pony felt the trees around him swaying as the beast started to chase him ponderously. He knew it was only a matter of time before the beast caught him. Despite its size and lumbering appearance, a basilisk could be surprisingly fast, enough to catch unsuspecting prey unawares. In addition Steel Hoof wasn’t exactly at the prime of his life, being on the wrong side of fifty. He found himself wheezing for breath after only a few minutes of running. Then his luck took a turn for the worse. He tripped over an outstretched root hidden under all the bushes Steel Hoof tumbled, landing awkwardly on the ground. As he tried to pull himself up, he felt a searing pain shoot up his hind legs. He looked back and saw his left hind leg twisted at an angle not meant for pony legs. Great, a sprained ankle. To be fair, he wasn’t exactly looking to escape, but he did hope he could prolong the chase at least for a few more minutes while the other ponies escaped. He closed his eyes as he awaited his inevitable petrification, his mind calmly accepted his end. It’s been a good life. The rumbling drew closer. “Stop right there you beast! The Great & Powerful Trixie commands you.” *** Trixie’s heart hammered as she took in the beast in it’s full majesty. A full twenty-feet long, the dirty yellow scales shined dully in the fading light of the afternoon sun. Unlike most forest creatures, this one sported six short stumpy legs, which seemed almost inadequate to support the huge bulk. Massive teeth jutted out of the slightly protruding jaw, glinting menacingly. It was at that moment she realised she knew next to nothing about this creature. Not even a faint clue on what it could do or how to defeat it. You foolish idiot Trixie. Even in show business you always do your research before going on stage. “Idiot, don’t let the creature unleash its petrification stare at you!” she heard Steel Hoof shout. The idiot, he was alive. Trixie felt a wave of relief wash over her. It wasn’t in vain after all. His warning came just in time too, as the azure mare saw the beast turn its gaze on her unerringly, its jet black eyes shimmering with magic. Hazarding that the stare works on line of sight, the magician unleashed her smoke screen, covering the area in thick black smoke. Coughing slightly as the smoke enveloped her, Trixie tried to think of a spell to upstage this creature. Her violet eyes spotted a vine hanging low on a nearby tree. Aha! She quickly snapped the vine off the tree and twirled it into a makeshift rope. Amidst the smoke, she saw the beast turning its head in confusion, apparently not used to being defied openly. Trixie sent the vine rope over and sent it coiling around one set of legs. She pulled the bonds tight with her telekinesis, sending the beast stumbling. Undeterred, the basilisk roared, and snapped the fragile bindings on its leg. It slowly got up, apparently still disorientated, but determined nonetheless. Trixie began to feel the first sign of panic all over again, not unlike her time with the Ursa Major. Calm down Trixie. You will not run away from this fight. “Blind the beast! That’ll cripple it!” Steel Hoof shouted again. Blind the... A crazy idea began to form in her head. That might just work. *** “Lemongrass! Where’s the suspect?” Coin Dust shouted as he finally caught up with the unicorn who, for some reason, was standing about at the path. “She went back to help Steel Hoof,” Lemongrass replied calmly, seemingly unperturbed. Then he tilted his head at the earth pony. “Sir, we should help her.” “What?! And risk our own lives? We’re tax agents, not soldiers!” “Sir, we won’t be able to complete our task if she gets herself killed. I would rather not have that black mark on our record,” Lemongrass continued, his monotone voice betraying a hint of desperation. He began shuffling his hooves. “Lemongrass, I can’t believe-” Coin Dust bit off the rest of his words when spied Lemongrass unusual behaviour. Lemongrass, calm and air-headed at the same time, nervous? Then it dawned. “Wait, you’re just rationalising aren’t you?” “Maybe...” Lemongrass looked away guiltily. “Sir, we shouldn’t leave them hanging like that.” Coin Dust stared disbelievingly at his companion. Of all the time for him to develop a conscience. Then he shook his head and sighed resignedly. He did feel guilty leaving the old pony alone to handle a creature like that alone. Cursed conscience. “Fine. Let’s see if we can help them out. Though for the life of me, I can’t believe I’m actually running back to face a monster.” “At least they’re more of a challenge than tax dodgers yes?” Lemongrass replied, a smirk forming on his face, already turning about and galloping back. “At least,” Coin Dust answered dryly, keeping pace. *** Okay, this might not work. Trixie was playing a dangerous game of cat-and-mouse with the basillisk. Three times she attempted to close the distance, only for the creature to move away from the protective smoke screen, or she found the dangerous eyes flicking in her direction. Three times she had to retreat and try again to circle behind the beast. She hazarded it was unlikely hurt the beast directly, at least not with her repertoire of spells. Oh, she probably could zap it with her lightning cloud or maybe experiment with one of the small fireball spells she picked up in Canterlot. But that would be a risky strategy that would leave her vulnerable to its petrification stare, since she needed a brief moment of preparation to cast it. Trixie wasn’t sure if it would do more than stun the beast briefly. The azure magician cast yet another smoke bomb, again filling the forest with smoke and causing her to wheeze. She was going to have one hay of a cough the next morning. She knew she was going to have to get closer if she wanted to blind the creature with her special sticky paste. It irked her to find of all the spells she knew, this had to be one of the few that had extremely limited range. She would have to get within a few feet and then some just to attempt to cast the spell. The roar of basilisk interrupted her chain of thoughts. That sounded closer than before. Very close, in fact. She saw the undergrowth rattling to her left and quickly galloped on, trying to put some distance between herself and the creature. The azure mare burst through the bushes to find herself back on the stream she had crossed earlier. Oh no, this is open ground. And water limits my smoke spell. Blast. Behind her, the bushes rattled nosily as the beast closed in. Trixie bit her lips and began to wade as fast as she could across the knee-deep water, praying the basillisk wouldn’t catch her in the middle. No such luck. The basilisk burst onto the bank of the stream, its head turning to and fro, before its beady black eyes spotted the azure mare clambering onto the opposite shore. Immediately the basilisk focused on the magician, the air beginning to shimmer with magic. Trixie whirled around in panic when she heard the basilisk rumble onto the side of the stream. Already she felt her limbs going heavy, as if she was being weighed down in lead. Trixie found herself unable to move from the spot. Desperate, the azure magician gambled with another shower of smoke, only to find her forelegs too heavy to complete the casting. She stared at the basilisk fearfully as she felt her limbs hardening, her entire body feeling more and more numb by the second. Her senses began to dull, her vision fading. That jetblack eyes seemed to peer right into her soul. The mare closed her eyes. This is it. The end of the Great & Powerful Trixie. Maybe they’ll erect a memorial in her honour. That’ll be the best memorial ever. Her. The most magical unicorn in Equestria. Forever immortalised in stone. Just as she completed that thought, she felt the unnatural numbness in her legs fading. What? Her ears perked up as the sounds of the forest began to register in her ear again. She heard... scuffling? Her eyes shot open, to the sight of two extremely unlikely ponies apparently wrestling with the beast. The tax agents? What were they doing here? The one known as Coin Dust was apparently bucking the basilisk in the flank, only to be swiped aside by the powerful tail. He sailed away into the bushes, landing with a loud crash. Lemongrass stood further back, hurling pebbles and the sort. Those seemed to only mildly annoy the beast. Nevertheless Trixie quickly took advantage of the new-found distraction to close the distance, her horn already readying to cast the spell she had in mind. She waded as fast as she could past the stream, all the while silently hoping Lemongrass could keep the beast occupied for a little longer. She clambered hurriedly on the bank, just as the beast roared at the pale yellow unicorn. Lemongrass gave a frightened yelp and dove into the bushes. Apparently the roar was enough to convince him that facing a mythical beast probably wasn’t the best for his health. It was however, just enough for Trixie to get within the required distance. Her horn flashed with brilliant blue light and the basilisk suddenly found its entire face covered with sticky paste. The beast roared and used it front legs to try to claw off the substance, only for it to get its claws comically stuck to its face. The basilisk stumbled here and there, now blinded and and literally flailing around for something to get the paste off its face. Letting out a furious roar, it swept its tail around in an arc, in a clumsy attempt to retaliate. It missed Trixie entirely, unbalancing the creature. The giant lizard fell on its back, its remaining four hind legs flailing wildly. Trixie took the opportunity to unhook more of the vines from the nearby trees and wrap the basilisk up in more secure bindings. By the time she was done with it, the creature was literally wrapped up like a mummy, with only its snout remaining uncovered. “Ow... my head...” she heard Coin Dust moan from the bushes to her right. Trixie considered briefly to leave the tax agent there and make her escape. But before she could do more than take a step away, the mare heard another voice call her from behind. “Ah, Trixie. I see you have settled things amicably.” Steel Hoof. She whirled around to face the earth pony, who was slowly dragging his injured leg along the dirt. His ankle seemed to be twisted at an unnatural angle. Steel Hoof glanced at the now-bound basilisk, and nodded approvingly. “I see the confidence my employers had in you wasn’t misplaced. I’ll admit, the sight of you resorting to cheap dirty con-pony tricks back in Ponyton shook my belief in you.” “Who-? What?” Trixie spluttered, not comprehending. “Allow me to reintroduce myself. My name is Steel Hoof, in the employ of Her Majesty’s Secret Service.” He bowed formally, despite the awkward posture he held with his injured leg. “As you know, we’re always on the lookout for potential recruits. Ponies do not apply for the Secret Service. They get recruited instead. No exceptions,” Steel Hoof stated. Trixie stared at the earth pony with her jaw hanging slack. A secret agent? “You have always been a source of fascination for our scouts. Many in our ranks believed you had tremendous potential. Unfortunately, you all but threw it away when you went into show business. We have tried many times in the past to probe your true abilities, but those either failed to sufficiently draw out your potential, or plain bad luck just took care of the test itself.” Trixie thought back to all those hecklers of her show... were they actually paid to do so? “Ponyville was supposed to be your proving ground, but even we did not expect the two colts we paid to bring back an Ursa Minor.” “What?!” Trixie half-shouted in disbelief. This... this pony... was to blame for the wreck of her caravan? Why did she turn back to rescue him again? The earth pony did not seem to notice her expression of disbelief. “So, our employer decided to give you one last chance. I was sent to assess you this time. Admittedly, I was still struggling to come up with a plan to test your skills when you first showed up. And the two tax agents complicated things.” Just then, a rustling from behind Trixie interrupted the impromptu exposition. A moment later, Lemongrass appeared, dragging what appeared to be the tail of Coin Dust behind him. “I see you survived,” Steel Hoof remarked, rather calmly. “You would do better to heed my words next time.” “Well, we can’t very well leave you two alone,” Lemongrass replied with a faint air of smugness. Almost as if he was proud of his achievement. The gray earth pony expression hardened. “The basilisk isn’t a beast to be toyed with. At best I could have drawn it away and eventually lost it in the thick undergrowth, possibly with a little help from favourable terrain and a generous helping of luck,” Steel Hoof said in a serious tone. “More likely though, I would have been petrified and left for dead. Had you two stuck around, you’d be hunted down one at a time.” Steel Hoof tapped his muzzle to indicate how the basilisk tracked its prey. “Fortunately, our resident magician here seemed competent enough to tackle the beast, although I must say I question the choices of your spells. Did you not learn any offensive spell at all?” “I- uh- Trixie never had the need to...” Trixie stammered as she searched for a plausible reason. “Still, impressive work, improvising those stage-magic spells like that. I look forward to you actually wielding spells of note.” “Trixie has this question for you, mister secret agent.” “Mister what?” Coin Dust managed to croak, apparently managing to catch some snatches of her conversation even in his injured state. “Go ahead.” “If the Secret Service wanted powerful mages so badly, why not recruit the detestable Twilight Sparkle? You should have known how she... upstaged me in Ponyville.” She grimaced as she recalled the humiliating incident yet again. “Ah, but the Princess laid down specific orders not to recruit her. She is the princess’ personal student after all.” “The... what?!” Trixie blurted. “That... that... foal, is a student of the princess...” Trixie stumbled a little, suddenly feeling dizzy. “Trixie... needs to sit for a while... to process this information...” “You didn’t know?” A surprised look crossed his face briefly, before resuming it’s neutral expression. “I suppose you wouldn’t know... You two didn’t meet at the best of circumstances.” Trixie knew he was understating things quite a bit. “...uhhhh...Lemongras...take her... into custody...” Coin Dust moaned, as he lay on the ground. His eyes still spun around unhealthily. Lemongrass glanced at the earth pony briefly, before nodding, and started moving towards Trixie. “By the authority of Princess Celestia, I hereby serve you-” “Ah, gentlecolts, I would strongly suggest you make an exception in this case,” Steel Hoof politely interjected. Lemongrass shook his head obstinately. “No, sir. We have a job to do. She must be brought to a court of law.” The alabaster unicorn didn’t look like he was going to back down. “Perhaps... we could work out a compromise gentlecolts,” Steel Hoof said in a mild tone and put a hoof to his chin thoughtfully. “Your companion here seems to be injured. And because of your run-in with the creature here, you lost track of Miss Trixie here. Unfortunately your companion’s injury precludes you from taking up the chase momentarily and forced you to return to the village.” Lemongrass looked confused. “I... ah... don’t understand, sir. Miss Trixie is right here.” Steel Hoof shook his head. “You never saw me. You never met Miss Trixie here. This whole incident did not take place.” His eyes glinted dangerously. Lemongrass stared at the earth pony for a long while, before nodding with understanding. “I... yes. We just happened to have had bad luck while chasing Miss Trixie here,” he repeated, clearly not happy with the situation. The agent turned to Trixie and bowed formally. “I wish you luck in your future endeavours. Just so you know, this was nothing personal. We bear you no ill-will. Perhaps we will meet again in better circumstances.” The alabaster unicorn nudged his companion to a standing position and began to lead him slowly to the dirt path ahead. Coin Dust didn’t protest as he was led away from the pair. He still seemed dazed and stumbled a little as the unicorn nudged him gently forward. The two soon disappeared from view into the dense undergrowth. Steel Hoof turned towards Trixie and fixed her with an interrogative stare. “Now then. Let us get to someplace safer where we can discuss things more thoroughly.” He winced as he dragged his leg over. “Also, I need help in getting this fixed...” Trixie looked at the earth pony’s expression. Then at his injured leg. Then back at his stern countenance. She wasn’t going to be able to weasel out of this one. “Very well, Trixie will help.” the unicorn said reluctantly. She moved closer to his injured ankle and made to grab it with her telekinesis. Steel Hoof winced a little, but his voice showed no sign of pain. “Good, now set it back in place...” Steel Hoof raised an eyebrow at Trixie. “You do know how right?” Trixie gave him a black look. “Are you doubting my abilities?” The earth pony shrugged. “Whenever you’re ready then.” Steel Hoof bit his lips in anticipation of the pain. Trixie steadied her hold on the injured ankle, then twisted it hard. *Crack!* A loud cry of anguish pierced the silent forest a moment later, startling whatever birds that remained. *** They made the slow, ponderous journey back to town in sullen silence. Despite repeated attempts to apologise, Trixie found herself being rebuffed coldly. She harrumphed and pouted. If this earth pony did not wish her help, he only had to mention it. It wasn’t her fault that she twisted it too far in her first attempt. Or the second. Maybe she should have stopped at the third. Then again, Trixie never did anything in halves. By the time they reached the village, the moon was glowing brightly in the sky. Trixie decided to discard her now worn cloak and hat, on Steel Hoof’s advice, to better obfuscate her identity. Under the cover of darkness, they made it through the village without so much a pony raising a whimper. Funny how much the loss of a hat and cloak could obscure the identity of a pony so much. Perhaps she had a hidden gift for subterfuge. Natural really, for a pony which such talent like her. The pair approached a discreet small house at the edge of the village, which Trixie assumed to be the lodgings of Steel Hoof. Trixie spent the next hour admiring the dust on his fireplace, as the earth pony attempted to bandage his leg more thoroughly. He adamantly refused any help from Trixie, claiming she made a worse nurse than even Dr. Strangelove, whoever that may be. The azure unicorn was nearly asleep when Steel Hoof was finally done. He bade her to make herself comfortable next to table and made to sit at the opposite side. Steel Hoof settled onto the floor slowly, wincing a little as he carefully laid his injured leg down and locked onto Trixie with a steely gaze. “Miss Trixie. I shall only offer this once. If you do not wish to listen, you are free to walk away from this house. You will not discuss the details of today’s incident with anypony else, on the pain of banishment.” Trixie nodded rapidly, not wishing for a grand tour on the moon. The slate gray earth pony cleared his throat, before reciting a clearly rehearsed speech. “You are cordially invited to join Her Majesty’s Secret Service. If you accept this offer, you will be bound by oath to uphold any and all state secrets that you may be privy to. In addition, you may not disclose your identity to anypony, except to those explicitly authorised by us. You will be deployed to various locations around Equestria to put down any trouble that may arise. You’re allowed to use your own discretion; but be warned, we are monitoring every move you make.” Steel Hoof gave her a questioning look. “Any questions?” “What if I refuse?” “Then.... well, we forget this ever happened. We go our separate ways and you will never hear from us again. Of course your tax troubles would remain unresolved...” “Enough. Trixie understands the... delicate situation. Trixie does not need you to point out the obvious.” The azure mare frowned as she thought over his words. “What is the pay?” “A token salary, though the agency will cover any cost you may incur.” “What? Trixie is supposed to do all this work for free?” Trixie exclaimed. Steel Hoof eyed the azure mare critically. “Are you expecting financial rewards? This is a service to the nation, not some business for profit,” he said, a faint trace of incredulity in his voice. “But... but, how is Trixie supposed to survive on this pittance?” “Be creative. With your history, I’m sure you can think of something,” Steel Hoof shrugged and held out his hooves helplessly. “We do not object to any side-income you may earn, detestable as it may be.” “You mean, Trixie can accept rewards for her deeds... like a proper hero should?” Trixie suggested. “Certainly.” Steel Hoof frowned for a moment. “Claiming to be a mercenary might useful for obfuscating your actual line of work... yes... this might work.” He seemed deep in thought now. “Nopony would suspect a connection between you and the agency if you play your cards right.” Trixie mulled the idea over. Trixie, the Hero of Equestria... that had a nice ring to it. The Hero of Equestria, riding in from the horizon to save the day from the dastardly villain of the week. With luck she might be able to wing it and save the day without much work on her part. She would have minions to do her bidding... right? She began running through a mini checklist in her mind. She was broke. She had no job. She was still technically on the run from the Law. Her street cred was totally gone after the fiasco in both Ponyville and Ponyton. The very fact the top secret agency in Equestria approached Trixie for help spoke volumes on how they valued her. The job sounded like a hoof in the door to more fame and fortune. She could totally put outrageous demands to the agency once she felt her way around. “Very well. Trixie accepts this job,” she replied after a moment. “Excellent. I know you would put the interests of Equestria above your own.” Steel Hoof replied, apparently pleased with her acceptance. He took out a letter from a pouch next to him and neatly threw it across towards Trixie. The unicorn caught it in midair with her magic and opened it. Her eyebrows raised in surprise. “Your official letter of acceptance,” Steel Hoof said, grinning. “Congratulations, you’re now part of Her Majesty’s Secret Service.” Trixie was... flattered. In all her life, she never expected to be part of one of Equestria’s most secretive governmental agency. Of course, it took them quite some time to appreciate just the talent she had. She would have to remedy such sloppiness on their part. “If there are no further questions, you may leave. The envelope also contains the your next instructions. I suggest following them to the letter.” Trixie nodded and gathered her saddlebags. As she turned to leave, the unicorn paused. “One more thing Steel Hoof,” Trixie said, a hint of mirth in her voice. “What is it?” “Here.” Trixie levitated over a small bag. Steel Hoof caught it with his mouth as it floated over. The bag jiggled with bits. The earth pony raised an eyebrow. “The loan you gave me earlier. Trixie never leaves a debt unpaid,” Trixie stated smugly. She gave her silver mane a dignified shake, and strutted out of the small shack, seemingly without a care in the world. Steel Hoof watched as the azure mage disappeared down the dusty streets. “Great & Powerful Trixie, I hope you do not disappoint,” he said softly, before moving to close the door. *** Coin Dust found himself lying on a bed as he awoke. He must have passed out again on the way back to the village. Turning his head to one side, he spied his companion waiting patiently at his side. “Lemongrass... Good to see you,” he greeted weakly. “You too, sir. I’m glad you finally woke up.” He tried searching his memories, but the hours after he was knocked to the ground was a blur of pain, green and the indistinct sound of Lemongrass’ voice. “What happened out there? I... my memory is still fuzzy...” “We lost her, sir. I had to drag you back after the basilisk knocked you out.” The verdant earth pony frowned as fragments of indistinct conversation surfaced. “I remember... something about a secret agent?” Lemongrass shook his head. “No sir, you were... hallucinating.” “Oh...” Coin Dust groaned in pain as he tried to sit up. “I guess we’ll have to try again next time. She can’t have gotten far...” The earth pony frowned as another thought struck him. “Come to think of it, where was Steel Hoof?” “He took care of the basilisk, sir...” “I knew it. That stallion seemed quite fishy to me. Probably some sort of retired soldier or something.” “Looks like it sir.” Lemongrass replied simply. “You know, I never did find out what his cutie mark meant...” *** “Are they trying to pull a prank on the Great & Powerful Trixie?” the azure mare seethed, as she stood alone in the empty town square. It was in the dead in the night, and most ponies were sound asleep. Except her. She had followed the instructions to the letter; even going so far to dye her mane a shocking purple as detailed. Electric purple it even specified; not a shade lighter or darker. Trixie suspected it was some form of joke that was slipped in by those who never expected her to be accepted. “Hold your horses, Trixie. You never were one to be patient.” Wait, she knew that voice. She knew it all too well. That condescending tone. Subtle jabs veiled behind every word. Fair Breeze. “You?!” the azure mare spat. “Yes, Trixie. Me. I suppose I have to take care of you. Again. Just like old times.” Even in the gloom, Fair Breeze could see Trixie’s face turning an unhealthy shade of red. She smiled. Just like old days.

lordbrick651

474

Main 6,Crossover,Adventure,Comedy,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

Scarlet Devil Pony

hiatus

<p>A mysterious red mist is overtaking Ponyville, and it's up to Twilight and her friends to stop it!</p><p>Additional Tags: [Touhou]</p>

everyone

2011-08-10T08:00:43+00:00

2011-08-10T08:00:43+00:00

Chapter 1 It was a normal day in Ponyville. The sun was bright, the birds were singing, there was a red mist... wait a second, red mist? Red mist was definitely NOT normal for Ponyville. Rainbow Dash was the first to see the mist, and went to see Twilight to see if she knew anything about it. She flew down as fast as she could towards the library, and inevitably crashed in through the window. "You know, you COULD use the door..." "Yeah, sorry about that... Anyway, there's a strange red mist enveloping all of Ponyville!" "What? Dash, go get the rest of our friends, I'll go check my books to see if there's anything on weird mists." "You can count on me, Twilight!" Dash zoomed out the broken window as fast as she could, while Twilight Sparkle began searching through all of her books to find any information on this red mist. Despite going through what seemed like a hundred books, none of them had any information on this mist. "Ugh, this is useless, there's nothing on strange red mists..." Twenty minutes later, Rainbow Dash arrived with the rest of the gang. "Hey Twi, found any information on that mist yet?" "I'm afraid none of my books have anything on it... sorry." "Ah, don't worry about it, sugarcube." Applejack comforted. "'sides, we could always go look for the source of this mist stuff." "Yeah, we could, Dash, did you see where the mist was coming from?" "Not really, I saw it come from somewhere past the Everfree forest." "Oh gee, something strange from the Everfree forest, like that hasn't been done before." Pinkie said, slightly annoyed. "Why can't those fanfic writers come up with better places to put these things, I mean..." "Pinkie Pie?" "Oh right, sorry." "Anyway, ah reckon we should start on our way before it gets dark." The six ponies began on their way through the Everfree Forest, but something seemed off about the area, even more so than usual. "Hang on, was that path always there?" Rainbow Dash pointed to rough path that they were fairly certain wasn't there on any of their other treks. "Ah don't think so, you think we should follow it?" "The less tredding through the mud, the better." Rarity said, as she started on the path. The rest of the ponies followed suit. "Uhm, girls, I think there may be, uh, something following us." The others turned to where Fluttershy was looking around. "Don't worry Fluttershy, if anythings following us, I can just give a quick one-two!" "Is that so~?" The six ponies turned around and saw a black pegasus with blonde hair floating with her wings streched out to the sides. Applejack was the first to speak up. "Who in the hay are you?" "Well, I was a Youkai, but now I think I'm a winged horse-thing." "Ah meant a name, missy." "Oh, my name's Rumia!" Now Rainbow Dash spoke up. "Alright, Rumia, what are you doing in the Everfree forest anyway?" "Everfree forest? What's that? I was just looking for something to eat." "Like what, ah've got some apples in mah bags here..." "No thanks, I prefer meat." "Oh my..." Fluttershy whimpered, "Wh-what type of meat, Rumia?" "Human, but right now I feel like horse meat." A playful, yet hungering smile creeped up onto Rumia's face. She lunged towards Fluttershy, but was interrupted by a swift kick from Rainbow Dash. "What's the big idea, chump? We're not a snack for anypony, you got that?" "Is that so~?" 'Yeah, it is so! Now move it!" "Not unless you beat in a spellcard duel!" "No pro- wait, a what duel?" "Spellcard duel." "Hang on, that's not fair, only Twilight and Rarity can cast spells!" "Then I guess you won't be lasting to long then." Rumia began was about to start one of her spellcards, when Pinkie Pie interrupted. "OOH! TWICTHY TAIL! TWICTHY TAIL!" Shortly after, a book fell onto Rumia and took her down. "What's this? Spellcard rules: Danmaku basics?" Twilight turned her attention to the note and blank spellcards attached to the book. "Try not to die too early. Signed, Yukari? Well that explains a whole lot of nothing." Twilight looked back at Rumia, who was now out cold. "Aw, that was way too easy, I mean, we didn't even get to hear her boss theme, and..." "Pinkie Pie, your doing it again." "Oops, sorry! I think the writer's having some trouble writing me. I mean, he even had to go back and add my Pinkie sense." "Rriiight... Anyway, ah reckon we head over to that lake over there." "There's a lake here?" "Apperantly." "Well, what are we waiting for, let's get moving everypony!"

lordbrick651

474

Main 6,Crossover,Adventure,Comedy,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

Scarlet Devil Pony

hiatus

<p>A mysterious red mist is overtaking Ponyville, and it's up to Twilight and her friends to stop it!</p><p>Additional Tags: [Touhou]</p>

everyone

2011-08-10T08:09:27+00:00

2011-08-10T08:09:27+00:00

Prolouge It was an average night at the Scarlet Devil Mansion. Well, almost. A week ago, Flandre Scarlet finished watching the first season of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic on her "slightly" burnt computer, and now she couldn't get enough. Over the week she was browsing pictures and fanfics, until today... "...You want to what?" Remilia asked her younger sister. "Visit Equestria! I wanna see those ponies in person!" "Alright, but where is it, It's obviously not in Gensokyo." "It's, um..." "I doubt it's even beyond the Hakurei Border." "Well, maybe we should ask Sakuya to find out about it. Sakuya!" In an instant, Sakuya appeared before the vampire sisters. "Yes, My ladies?" "We need you to find out where Equestria is." "Equestria? Is that a world apart from ours?" "Not sure, but yeah, we think so." "Well, if it's another world, maybe Yukari might know more. I'll go pay her a visit." "No need." A voice boomed from seemingly nowhere. A purple portal with red ribbons, known as one of Yukari's "Gaps", opened up above Flandre and Yukari jumped out. "So, you wanted to know about Equestria, right?" Remilia spoke up. "Yes, my little sister wants to go there and see the ponies, as she roughly put it." Yukari chuckled. "Well, if that's what you all want, I suppose I could move the mansion there for a week." "Why a week?" "Want to be there longer? I can set my alarm clock to a month later if you want." "A week will do, Yukari." Flandre cheered. "Yay! We're going to Equestria!" Yukari began doing her thing, and soon everyone's vision began to fade and their forms changed. Soon, everyone was unconscious... well, except for Yukari. "Fufufufu. I guess I better head towards my nap now..." The now alicorn raised a hoof and opened one of her gaps. She lightly laughed as the gap closed behind her. Remilia was the first to awaken, confused and disoriented. She looked at where her hands used to be, and instead saw red-pink hooves. "What.. WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED!?!" Remilia's scream woke the other newly-transformed ponies. "My lady, what's wrong?" "What's worng! I've turned into a... a..." "A Pony! YAY!" Flandre was giddy with excitement. She bounced around twice before tripping over herself. "Ouch... guess it'll take a little practice to get this whole four legs thing down." "Ok, so what am I supposed to do for a week while we're here?" "Oh, I know! You can come with to visit the ponies!" "Sure, I'll just walk outside in the middle of the day. Last I checked, hooves aren't good for holding things!" "My lady, I could hold your parasol... with my mouth I guess." "No, that won't do... Sakuya." "Yes?" "Prepare the scarlet mist." "Yes, my lady."

lordbrick651

474

Main 6,Crossover,Adventure,Comedy,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

Scarlet Devil Pony

hiatus

<p>A mysterious red mist is overtaking Ponyville, and it's up to Twilight and her friends to stop it!</p><p>Additional Tags: [Touhou]</p>

everyone

2011-08-11T05:37:42+00:00

2011-08-11T05:37:42+00:00

Chapter 2 Twilight was busy reading the book that clonked Rumia on the head while they were making their way to the lake. "Okay, it says here that spellcard duels, a.k.a. Danmaku, are played by trying to hit the opponent with projectiles that form beautiful, intense patterns." "Well, I'm sure I could make some delightful patterns for us all. Pass the book over here, Twilight." "Sure, Rarity." Twilight levitated the book over to Rarity, who stopped and began skimming through the book. "Ugh, we have to hurry and find out what's causing that red mist!" "Hold on, Rainbow Dash, we might need some of these spellcards incase somepony like that Rumia ruffian comes after us. Fluttershy, can you come over here please, I want to start with your cards first." "Oh, that's okay, you can somepony else go first..." "In that case, do me first!" "Slow down there, Dash, I already have an idea for Fluttershy anyway. You can go after, if it's that important to you." "Fine, I guess I'll go around the lake then." "Wait!" Twilight interrupted before Dash could take off. "Now what!" "Not all of us can fly, so we need to find a way to get across the lake." "Okay, you can worry about that, and I'll go check out the lake, see ya!" And with that, Rainbow Dash bolted off to the lake. The lake was chilly and rather empty, and Dash was getting bored fast. She was just about to turn around and head back when she saw a blue pegasus floating in the middle of the lake. Dash cautiously approached, incase this pony was crazy like Rumia was. "Hey there, what are you doing all-" "AHA! ANOTHER IDIOT WHO THINKS THEY CAN BEAT THE STRONGEST!" "THe Strongest?" "Yes! Eye, Cirno, am the Strongest! "The strongest at what, exactly?" "Everything! For Eye am-" "The strongest, yeah yeah, I got that. Geez, saying the same thing over and over makes you sound like an idiot." Cirno's face grew sour fast. "EYE AM NOT AN IDIOT!" "Woah, hey, take it easy!" "CIRNO SMASH PUNY PONY!" Rainbow Dash immediately turned tail and flew back to where Twilight and the others were as fast as she could, with a now very angry Cirno chasing her, firing ice bullets everywhere. "And.... Finished. There you go, Fluttershy." Rarity had just finished making Fluttershy's spellcard. "Oh my, it's so pretty, but, if it's not too much trouble, how do I use it?" "Well, according to the book, it says to use it, you must hold it up and say the card's name out loud." "Oh dear... I don't think I could say it that loud, especially with everypony watching me." "Don't worry, sugarcube, Ah'm sure you do fine." "OOH! OOH! I hear the boss music! I hear the boss music!" "Boss music? Pinkie Pie, what are you talking about?" "You know when going through a game, and then you get to the boss, and then the awesome music plays? Well, it's kinda like that except the music is less evil sounding and more upbeat and I think the song's called 'Beloved Tomboyish Girl', but that's a silly name for a boss music, but then again Rum-" "Pinkie Pie, I think we get it." "GANG WAY! CRAZY PONY CHASING ME!" Rainbow Dash flew right past Pinkie and Twilight, and Cirno followed closely. "Hold it right there! Who are you?" Cirno stopped and faced Twilight. "Why, Eye am Cirno, the strongest! And Eye'm trying to beat that rainbow idiot for calling me an idiot!" "I never called you an idiot, I just said you sounded like an idiot!" "SHUT UP, IDIOT!" Twilight turned to Fluttershy. "Fluttershy, your the only one of us with a spellcard right now, you're the only one who can stop that crazy pony!" "Oh, I couldn't. Really, I'm not brave enough to even face her." "But you're the only one of us who can!" "Oh, a-alright, I'll t-try." Fluttershy tried to summon up all of her courage to face down the crazy pegasus. "Hey y-you, stop chasing my friend!" "Oh, do you think you can beat the strongest?" "Eep!" "Eye'll cryofreeze you all together! Icicle Fall: Easy!" Cirno launched several pieces of ice that seemed to cover everywhere. Everywhere but right in front of her. Where Fluttershy was. "C'mon, Fluttershy, use your spellcard!" "A-alright... uhm... K-Kindness Sign: B-Butterfly Barrage!" Fluttershy's spellcard lit up and a crazy amount of multi-coloured butterfly-shaped bullets flew out in divine, flowery patterns. Cirno was too close to the center of the attack and was overwhelmed by bullets, quickly collapsing onto the ground. "But... Eye'm the Strongest..." Cirno managed to mutter before falling unconscious. "You did it Fluttershy! That was amazing!" "Oh... it was nothing really... the card did all the work..." "Hate to cut the celebration short," Dash interuppted, "but we still need to get all of us over the lake." Cirno suddenly popped back up. "Eye can help with that! You beat the strongest, so now Eye'll help you!" "Oh... th-thank you, Cirno..." Cirno began freezing a path across the lake. "Ah guess she's not a bad pony after all." The group of ponies began crossing the lake. It ended up taking not as long as everyone had thought.

lordbrick651

474

Main 6,Crossover,Adventure,Comedy,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

Scarlet Devil Pony

hiatus

<p>A mysterious red mist is overtaking Ponyville, and it's up to Twilight and her friends to stop it!</p><p>Additional Tags: [Touhou]</p>

everyone

2011-08-17T04:02:32+00:00

2011-08-17T04:02:32+00:00

Chapter 3 The six ponies finished crossing the lake and waved goodbye to Cirno, who flew back to the center of the lake. In the distance was a red mansion that appeared to be releasing the red mist. "Well, it looks like we're getting close to the root fo this problem." "Ya'll think anypony lives in there?" "For sure, I mean, somepony has to be making this mist in the first place." "Ok, Rainbow Dash, but why would they need it at all? What does the mist even do?" "I don't know, I just say it darkening the skies, that's all." The mansion loomed in the distance, and it was going to be a while before they go there. It was going to be a long trip. Meanwhile, at the mansion gates, a green earth pony with long red hair was waking up from one of her naps. Except two things were different. One was that she wasn't woken up by a knife to the head, as she normally would be. Second was... "Well, time to water the garden and- and I have hooves. Ok, this is probably a dream. No wait, why would I dream I'm a pony... maybe I've taken one too many knives from Sakuya over the years." She was about to shrug it off and water the flowers, when she saw in the distance a group of ponies coming towards the mansion. "Well, dream or no dream, I gotta guard the mansion gates, or my name isn't Hong Meiling!" With a powerful, yet somewhat silly battlecry, she charged forward towards the potential intruders. Twilight and her friends were getting pretty close to the mansion now, although Rarity was having some difficulties thinking of more spellcards. Then suddenly they heard something strange bellow through the air. "JAAAAOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Everyone froze and stood ready, except for Pinkie who nearly burst out laughing. "Pinkie, something just roared or growled and your laughing at it?" "Well, YEAH, of course, it's a silly battlecry. JAAOOOO! Hahaha!" "Did you say battlecry?" "Sheesh, after this, I have GOT to show you-" Pinkie was cut off as a red earth pony known sometimes as China jumped in. "Aha! Intruders! Go home, there's nothing here for you!" "Sorry, whoever you are, but need to stop the red mist from... well, we're not sure." "We're doing the scarlet mist again? I thought Reimu came and- wait... are we still in Gensokyo?" "Where?" "Ah ok, we're not. Either way, I can't let you past." China took an offensive stance and was ready to repel the invaders. "Looks like we're gonna have to fight. Rarity, ya'll got anymore spell cards ready?" "I'm afraid not, Applejack, these cards are harder than I first thought." "Oh don't worry, looks like this is gonna be settled Hisoutensoku style." "What are you-" Before Rainbow Dash could finish, she found herself getting kicked away by China. "Nothing personal, just doing my job." China fired a few rainbow bullets that kept the other five at bay. Eventaully, Applejack dashed through the bullets and bucked Meiling in the face. Pinkie, who had somehow obtained a microphone, began commentating on the sidelines. "Hello, Fillies and Gentlecolts, right now we have a Unthinkable Natural Law battle right here between Applejack and China!" "MY NAME'S NOT CHINA!" "Oh, sorry, Applejack vs Hong Meiling." "Better." The battle between Meiling and Applejack resumed, both of them trading blows. "Uh, Pinkie, two things. One, how did you know that pony's name?" "Easy, I just looked at name that appeared when she showed up." "Name that- Nevermind. Two, how did you know this wouldn't be a spellcard duel." "Also easy, like easy modo easy. China..." "MEILING!" "Right, Meiling is better at martial arts than Danmaku." "And how did you know that?" "Yeah, after we finish this, I REALLY have to show you-" Pinkie was cut off again, this time by Applejack knocking Meiling down. "Alright folks, and now the score is 1 point for Applejack, and no points for Meiling." Pinkie already lost her first train of thought, and was instantly focused on the fight again. Meiling picked herself up. "Well, you're better than I thought." "Heh, not so tough without ya'll spellcards, are yah?" "Don't think you've won yet!" Meiling dashed and kicked Applejack in the legs, causing her to tumble. Before Applejack could get back up, Meiling blasted her with a wave of energy, sending her skyward. Applejack recovered in midair and charged towards Meiling with a powerful kick. Just before she got in range, Meiling pulled out a spellcard. "Attack Sign: Roc Fist!" Meiling threw a powerful upwards punch, right into Applejack, sending her back into the air, only this time, she didn't recover soon enough and landed down hard. "Ooooh, and it's 1 point for Meiling now, the next knockout will win this match!" Applejack eventually picked herself up, though she was still reeling from that last attack. "Now hold up here, aren't we not allowed to use spellcards for this?" Meiling just blinked. "We're not? Every other time it was allowed." "Really, girls, after this I REALLY REALLY have to show you..." Pinkie waited to be cut off again. "Oh, no more cut off, phew. Anyway I have GOT to show you girls about Touhou after this." "Now that's fine and dandy, sugarcube, but right now Ah have to beat this pony or we'll never get past." "Okie Dokie Loki! Final Round! FIGHT!" Pinkie rung a bell and Meiling and Applejack went back at it. After a few attacks, Meiling felt she needed to end it now, or she might lose. "Time to end this, Ultimate Color: Mad-" "Oh no you don't!" Applejack gave one last powerful kick right Meiling's face and sent her flying. Meiling fell down hard, and couldn't move much. "Argh... forgive me, mistress." "Well now, the way's cleared, so I reckon we should head into that mansion." Twilight and the rest of the group nodded and proceeded inside.

lordbrick651

474

Main 6,Crossover,Adventure,Comedy,My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

Scarlet Devil Pony

hiatus

<p>A mysterious red mist is overtaking Ponyville, and it's up to Twilight and her friends to stop it!</p><p>Additional Tags: [Touhou]</p>

everyone

2011-08-25T02:09:10+00:00

2011-08-25T02:09:10+00:00

Chapter 4 The inside of the Scarlet Devil Mansion, aside from very big and opulent, was rather dark. Up the grand staircase, they saw where red mist pouring out through the cracks of the double door. "Alright, let's charge in there and stop this mess!" Rainbow Dash started towards the source, but was yanked back by Applejack. "Hold up, sugarcube, we don't know what's behind that door." "Yes, and we still only have one spellcard. I say we hold out until I can make us some more." "But that'll take all day!" Twilight pointed over towards a open door on the left. "Not if we get some more information." Through the door, Twilight and the gang could see several rows of books. Rainbow groaned. "Of course. The first thing she heads for is the library." "Hold on, Rainbow Dash, this could be just what we need. Maybe one or two of those books will help me make more spellcards." "Ugh, Fine." The library was much bigger than the six ponies first thought. Rows of bookshelves could be seen throughout the room. The group slowly skimmed through the library until they came upon a row entitled "Spellbooks". "Well, that wasn't too difficult. Twilight, dear, could you help me grab some of these books?" Twilight nodded and started levitating some books off the shelves and laying them open on the floor for Rarity. Rarity was quickly back at work creating more spellcards, making two for Applejack, another for Fluttershy, and two for Twilight. "Ok, now Pinkie, dear, would you like me to make your spellcards now?" "No thanks, I'm fine." "Are you sure?" "Yep!" "Alright, if you say so. Rainbow Dash, would you-" "YES, FINALLY! Twilight left to explore the library a bit, mostly from curiosity, and started browsing through the catagories. Suddenly, she heard a slightly sickly voice behind her. "What are you doing in my library?" Twilight turned around and saw a unicorn that looked similar to her, except for a lighter coat, and ribbons instead of streaks in her hair. "Oh, I was, uh, just looking around. There's a lot of really nice books in here." "Well, thank you, but how did you get in here?" "Uh... the front door?" "...So the Gatekeeper failed at her job. Again." "...Right, so, this is your library?" "It's really the mistress's, but I watch over it for her." "Oh, well, me and my friends need to speak with her about the mist that's pouring out." "Remilia's doing that again?" "Look, we just want her to stop the mist, it's a bit of a nuiscanse." "You sound just like that shrine maiden who stopped her... Well, I'm afraid I can't let you see her." "Please, Miss... uh..." "Knowledge. Patchouli Knowledge." "Miss Knowledge, please reconsider." "I'm afraid my answer stands as it is." "What if I beat you in a spellcard duel?" "I suppose so." Patchouli pulled out a spellcard and held it up high. "Earth Sign [Trilithon Shake]" Several yellow bullets shot out from Patchouli, and then turned, moving in spiral patterns. Most of the bullets were now approaching Twilight from the sides, rather then head-on. She dodged the bullets mostly, but a few came far too close for comfort. "My turn! Magic Sign [Unicorn's Thoughts]" Purple bullets shot out in relatively simple ring patterns, followed by a bullet that shot out lines of bullets. However, it didn't seem to be very effective, as Patchouli dodged it with ease. "Not bad, but still too easy. Water Metal Sign [Mercury Poison]" The old yellow bullets faded out and now yellow and purple rings of bullets were flying towards Twilight at a alarming rate, and it was getting faster as time went on. "Better try my next card, Magic Sign [Arcane Nova]" Purple and white bullets started flowing out, purple bullets going clockwise, and white bullets going the opposite direction. It seemed to knock Patchouli off tempo a bit, but none of the bullets had connected yet. Patchouli's bullets were getting pretty rapid now, and Twilight was finding it harder and harder to keep dodging the waves. Her own bullets eventually stopped turning and started in the other direction, creating a wall of bullets. Patchouli nearly dodged that wall, but one the bullets hit her right in the back legs, cancelling her spellcard. "Ouch... very well, you won, so you can go on ahead. Gather your friends and continue on." Twilight nodded, and galloped back to where her friends were. "There we go, that should be plenty of spellcards for everypony." "Wait a tic, where in the hay did Twilight run off to?" "Oh, she went off and fought Patchouli." "How did- Nevermind, why didn't you tell us earlier, Pinkie Pie?" "You never asked. Oh! Look! Twilight's back, see?" Twilight had returned to her friends location. "Oh, Twilight, I'm so glad you're safe. Where were you?" "Sorry, I was a bit busy, but we can move on now." "Perfect! I have another spellcard for you, dear." "Thanks, Rarity. Now let's move out!" Twilight Sparkle and her friends left the library and entered the foyer.