"This isn't Volgograd..."
The sun was about to rise over Voronezh: the night military patrols all over the city returned to their barracks, while the daytime ones were just exiting the barracks where they had stayed.
The patrols, here to uphold the law during the night, were instructed that night to shoot on sight a certain man: Grigor Stoyanovich, aka “The Crocodile”, a dangerous criminal that had been the top dog of the criminal world in the past, but, after failing to get elected, was now a simple runaway, a prisoner on the run from the firing squad; and now he was in Voronezh. It was imperative to find him before he fled.
Meanwhile, in an old house in the western part of the city, the young Grigor Stoyanovich was sleeping on his busted couch in the main room. Grigor was used to that kind of lifestyle, since he had always been a runaway from the law for his illegal activities, like the selling of drugs and his old racket of prostitution.
The sleep of the so-called “Crocodile” was interrupted by the noise of the door opening violently, and a familiar voice yelling, “Grigor ! Grigor ! Your life is in danger !”
Grigor slowly woke up, saw what time it was on the low-end wall clock, realized that was dawn, and sat on the coach, then he said: “It has been for months, if not years, Pyotor. What is it now ?”
Pyotor leant on the main wall with his arm, breathing for few minutes, then he said: “The authorities in Moscow know that you are here in Voronezh, and they have alerted the security forces.
We must leave before they find you !”
Grigor got up from the couch, put on some clothes from the pile in the middle of the room, dressed himself up very quickly with black trousers, military boots, a gray shirt, a black coat and said with a sneer on his face, “My only surprise is that the so-called “authorities” did not try to find me sooner. It is just as well... however, colleagues in Volgograd have sent word that the whole city is ready to rise in support of me if I join them there”
Pyotor said: “Alright then, we will go to Volgograd, right ?”
“Yes, so...help me to take with us some essential supplies and some other things.” Then Grigor started to place in the first box available all his most precious possessions, such as his golden watch, his little stash of Orthodox icons and his gun.
After ten minutes, everything was set up for the journey: a few clothes were put in the badly-repaired suitcase; the box was stuffed up with some old newspapers and closed, and Pyotor finished gassing up the car with an old canister. He said to the black-coated man, “My car is ready. It has plenty of fuel, so we won't have to stop in the middle of road and be hunted down by raging guards. If you hide in the trunk perhaps, we can slip past the guards of the gate.”
Grigor shrugged and said, “The trunk, Pyotor ? Isn't that the first place that guards always check ?”
Pyotor placed an arm behind his head, and said, “Yeah, is not so effective, but for now it's all we have, so, enter in the trunk, before a patrol can find us. We will eventually find a better way to escape from here.”
Grigor nodded, opened the trunk's door, and placed himself in, then Pytor turned on the car, and moved towards a potato farm in the southeast of Voronezh: maybe they could find something better to slip past the guards....
A few moments later, two little electrical blue spheres appeared near Grigor's house: in the spheres, it was possible to see the shape of a half-man, half-machine hybrid, with an arm shaped like a cannon, and the shape of a woman that had a some kind of helmet that covered her eyes and some assortment of cables that extended into the air.
When the vortices disappeared with an electrical sound, the two shapes finally revealed themselves: they were Sergei Molotov and Molly Ryan.
Sergei Molotov was a famous lieutenant under the rule of Grigor I of the Novaya Russia, and, later, a general under the rule of Grigor II. He had been a cyborg ever since an accident that happened during the attack on China, where Molotov was “infected” by the Time Machine built there and almost died. However, the artificial mind of Grigor II recognized in Sergei a very good and loyal general, so he gave him the implants to survive and keep on fighting for him.
But Sergei changed his colors after the attack on Cuba, where he got the order from his ruler to exterminate the whole population of Havana. Molotov was so disgusted by the order, that he changed flags after meeting the agent Molly Ryan, and fled to a part of the USA, who had previously been trying to fight back the mechanical menace through standard means. But with Molotov on their part, they could build their own Time Machine to try to erase Grigor Stoyanovich from the timeline.
The woman was Molly Ryan, a mysterious agent working for the United States during their darkest hour against Novaya Russia. She managed to convince Molotov to defect to her side, and she found a new way to fight the enemy, thanks to the treason of the cyborg: erase the enemy before it had even been born, through the Time Machine.
When Molotov finally regained awareness, he looked around him to find out where he was. However, it didn't take a long time for him to realize that he was already near the safehouse of Grigor, in Voronezh.
Sergei ran to the door, only to see the inside of the house already lifeless and devoid of all things, as if it had been carted out for a transfer... he had arrived too late; he could no longer talk to Grigor and end this peacefully.
Molotov returned to his comrade, and said: “It seems that we have arrived too late: the safehouse is empty and cleared out. I wonder where is he?”
Molly smiled. “Did we arrived here to have a talk with him? I don't think so: we traveled back in time for kill him.”
Molotov casted a peeved gaze over the agent, and said, “Grigor wasn't and isn't a mad man: after all, his intent of rebuilding the state was and is noble and right, but his methods turned out to be wrong: he pointed the way to global domination with cybers.”
“Maybe. But now it's time to move on...” with that said, Molly and Molotov walked towards the gates of the city, looking for the guards.
Molly Ryan moved slowly towards a couple of tired soldiers carrying a machine gun, and asked, “Excuse me sir... are you the guards of this gate ?”
One of the soldiers stood, a bit upset in front of a woman wearing a metal helmet covering her face, and a man that seemed to be from the “Terminator” movies due to his... “implants”. The other soldier answered sarcastically, “No, we are here carrying a machine gun because we love doing it every day at dawn”, then he giggled.
Molly said offended, “You will be less inclined towards hilarity, once you know that you have let a criminal escape in a potato truck.”
The soldier answered, shocked, “Are you serious? It cannot be !”
“I'm dead serious. After all, I am an American agent coming from a future where Grigor, aka “Crocodile”, has left the command of a big army to a robot, and that robot is conquering the world."
“Just like an old sci-fi film, eh ? Well, I don't know where he is.”
Molotov spoke up, “He is in Volgograd. Now bring us to the commander of this garrison, and we will find a way to kill Grigor.”
“Why, you need an actual army to bring him down? How sucky are you?”
“Because he is going to cause a big uprising in the near cities, and I'm certain that you don't want to know how you die..."
The soldier nodded and escorted the two visitors to the Capitol, where the local Commander was stationed.
The local commander was on the verge of laughter. “So, Yuri, you say that a so-called “cyborg”, and a woman dressed with a strange helmet, claiming to come from the future, asked to hand over my command to them? Ahahah, Yuri, you are so funny!”
The soldier said, “I am serious, sir. If you wish to see them, I can carry them to you.” Then the soldier exited from the little bunker under the Capitol, only to see the cyborg again.
The hybrid said with an inpatient voice, “So, how long it will take ?”
The soldier answered, “Just follow me.”
The commander saw the soldier who came before enter again, but this time he was followed by two figure. One was an hybrid between a machine and a man, while the other “guest” was a woman, with her head covered by a strange helmet.
The hybrid spoke. “Good morning, commander, I'm Sergei Molotov, general of the future Russia, aka “Novaya Russia”, a nation who arose from a riot caused by Grigor Stoyanovich.
Now, I am guessing that you think we are here to speed up the process... well, no. Because Grigor died of old age and without sons, the command has passed into the “hands” of a robot, called “Grigor II”, who has launched a brutal campaign of expansion all over the world, killing millions.
Since it's an AI, anointed as his successor by the human Grigor, we need to find Grigor and capture him."
The woman interrupted, “Or kill him, if doesn’t change his mind.”
The commander scratched his chin a bit in doubt, then said, “I don't know... I'm not totally sure... but since I have never seen a cyborg, half-flesh and metal, in front of my eyes, and I'm certain that the medicine hasn't arrived yet, I can safely assume that you are telling the truth.”
Then the commander called a secretary, and told her to call Moscow about what was going on here. It was going to be a long month...
Three weeks later, the “Novaya Russia” dream was no more. The city of Volgograd was razed to ground by the outnumbered, but more skilful armies of Voronezh and the “old” Russia, who managed to kill off cybers, armed with lasers and high-potential rockets from the far future, using mostly bullet weapons and tank shells, even if, sometimes, the soldiers scavenged the corpses for some advanced technology brought by the enemy.
The only building still standing undamaged in the city was the Stoyanovich Mansion, not too far from the northern border of the city. Molotov said to his wounded companion, lying on top of the ruins of a building, “Don't worry: I will do my job in that Mansion, and I won't hesitate to kill him if he refuses to surrender.”
Molly replied, “I hope so. I don't want to come back home in a world where we are both dead, or where YOU are the wannabe conqueror.”
That said, Molly was carried in the arms of a Russian soldier off to a transport helicopter.
Molotov regarded the facade of the mansion: it was a very big mansion, its walls made of stone and its glasses colored. It was almost a pity to break one of the windows in order to enter into it.
But it wasn't time to think about the artistic damage that he might cause: he needed to act.
Sergei climbed the wall of the mansion, looked for a passage, then broke with his arm cannon one of the windows, which shattered into billions of colored pieces and caused some minor wounds over the flesh part of Molotov's body. But he didn't care about that, since he survived a direct hit from a rocket, and so the glass pieces had the same effect as a feather on his skin.
Molotov then climbed down the wall and moved towards the dungeons of the mansion. During the walk to the target, Sergei took a look at the things stored in the room where he was. The room was a quite big dining room, with a table that could fit ten people. On the walls, tapestries with various subjects improved the overall look of the already good-looking dining room.
The next room, without too much surprise, was the kitchen, which was surprisingly small for the needs of ten people. Molotov, at first, wondered how that could be, but soon that thought was taken over by his sense of duty. That sense forced him to touch the walls and the floor with his good hand to see if he could find hidden doors.. and he found one, on the floor, near the fridge.
After pulling away the heavy plate that covered the trapdoor to the dungeons, Molotov prepared himself for his speech to Grigor. It wasn’t going to be easy, especially because, in his youth, Molotov lacked the foresight to think something like, “I should get along with Western Europe, once I rule and they begin to show concerns about my leadership”.
When Sergei finally managed to open the trapdoor, he started to walk down the stairs. He could hear from below a series of beeps and the sound of supercomputers, and along with those mechanical noises, Molotov could hear the voice of the young Grigor. “Who is there ?”
Grigor was beaten... again, and quite badly too. Despite the number of followers ready to fight for him, despite the better, illegal laser weapons bought with criminal money and help coming from some kind of future robots, claiming that they were there to speed up his victory, he was beaten.
Grigor asked himself if he was doomed to be beaten, no matter the odds, no matter how hard he tried, no matter if he had the upper hand.
His thoughts were interrupted by a loud noise coming from above the ceiling: they had found the trapdoor that led to his bunker underneath the mansion!
Grigor immediately took his gun, and prepared it for firing: if he was going to die, he was going to die along with some pitiful enemy soldiers.
But he didn't expect what was coming for him: from the stairs, a hybrid between a machine and a man was coming down, an expression of annoyance on the fleshy part of his body.
Grigor screamed, “Who are you ? A failed experiment of the government, or a future cyborg come to save me?”
The cyborg spoke,“I am Sergei Molotov, your future lieutenant. I come from the future in order to warn you from a terrible event.”
Grigor sat down on the chair. “What is it ?”
Molotov said,“Listen carefully: I understand that you want to bring Russia to a new golden age, and that's good and right. But don't try and expand into the east, because you will find there a scientist offering you the power of the “cybers”, or rather AIs, like the ones that helped you until a few hours ago.
When you find the cybers, you will appoint as your successor a robot, and that robot, called “Grigor II”, will attempt world domination, trying to enslave everyone, and that's no good, because you will be seen as a dictator that started the machine's domination over all humanity. So, let me give you a chance: I will protect you, and let you rule Russia, but promise me that you won't try to expand its borders.”
Grigor defiantly smiled, and pointed the gun at Molotov, hoping to be a faster shooter than the cyborg. “My name might be tainted by blood... but I will still have some slaves to use as long as I live.”
Then Grigor shot Sergei, but the bullets bounced off the metal, bruising it a bit, but overall not doing any damage.
Then Molotov charged the cannon by moving his arm. His last words before shooting were, “I'm sorry to have to do this, but I will do this for everyone on Earth...”
A laser blast exited from the cannon, and was going to hit Grigor in the stomach... but something unforeseen happened.
Just slightly before that laser hit, the whole room trembled, the lights shut down suddenly with a very strong sound of electricity turning off violently, the radar dishes in the room started to bleep at random, and, finally, Grigor and Molotov were engulfed in two blue sparkling spheres.
Grigor screamed in surprise and in pain, since while the laser hit him, it didn't hit at full force, just enough for burn part of the skin. “What's going on, mixed bag of scum and metal ?”
Molotov answered with a panicking voice, “I have no idea !”
Then, a blinding light hit Grigor's eyes, causing him to faint due to the pain in his stomach and because of the light.
When Grigor regained awareness, the first thing that he did was slowly open his eyes, and see where he was.
When Grigor opened his eyes, he found himself at the base of a tree on a hill. When his vision finally adjusted, he saw that the tree was an apple tree, and that it wasn't the only one there: there was an entire orchard, spanning for kilometers and kilometers.
The first thing that Grigor thought was, “This isn't Voronezh... where am I?”
Then he tried to get up on his feet, but failed. He was too weak for getting up, and the fact that a laser had hit his stomach didn't improve the overall situation.
Since he was desperate, Grigor called for help, in the hope that a pious soul might help him, instead of trying to kill him.
After a time that seemed infinite, Grigor finally saw something moving... but it wasn't a man, or a human, for that matter: it was a small, white horse, with a horn on its little head.
Grigor sighed, and said “Why is my mind trying to trick me into believing that I am in a different place ? I'm still in my bunker in Volgograd, bleeding and dying.”
Then he put his head down, and he fell asleep. The last words that Grigor heard before sleep were, “Applebloom, look, htere is something under a tree, what is it? It seems like a hurt animal...”
Molotov didn't foresee this: after shooting his laser, the whole mansion seemed to collapse into the time vortex... but it wasn't a time vortex, since it should have happened only once when the time line was messed up enough, and hitting non-mortally Grigor with a laser wasn't such a big event...
After experiencing again the pain of time travel, Molotov looked around him, and saw something very... weird: a purple-colored equine with wings and horns was standing in front of him.
Molotov already knew that he wasn't in Volgograd anymore, nor in Voronezh, but the question still remained: what the hell happened ? Was Grigor II so “smart” as to sabotage everything by sapping the Time Machine in a weird way ? Either way, he needed to know where he was, so he tried to move away... but he was stopped by a feminine voice.
“Where are you going ?”
Author's Note
It will be appreciated by your part if you leave a comment about this story, over to some suggetsions for the deleplov of it.
When Grigor woke up, he was welcomed by a regular bleeping and the sound of a breather. He instantly recognized where he was: he was in a hospital. He had had a good rest, uninterrupted by anyone in days, and he wasn't in danger... at last.
Grigor opened his eyes, took off the breathing mask carelessly, and took a quick look of his surroundings. He was in the standard hospital room, but something seemed... wrong. The door didn't seemed designed for an adult man: it seemed, instead, made for kids not much older than eight, and above his bed there was a strange symbol, representing a waning moon merging with a sun: an odd combination that resembled some pottery artifact that Grigor had once received from an Italian criminal as a sign of surrender, years and years ago.
Then, Grigor tried to determine how much time had passed since he fell asleep, awaiting his death, but in vain. Obviously, he didn't have the spare time to see how long it had been since he was “killed” in Volgograd, nor when he had landed in the orchards... but maybe, since it was a near-death experience, he couldn't have done it anyway, even had he wanted to.
After some time, Grigor rotated his head and saw... a horse with a pink mane, tied in a bun and wearing a nurse cap?
No.
This can't be real.
This couldn't be: it had to be a hallucination caused by the painkillers, something non-existent.
The “Crocodile”, however, kept his calm, and said, “Good morning, nurse.”
The horse answered, to Grigor's surprise, “Good morning.”
“I'm suffering a hallucination caused, I suppose, by the painkillers... I'm seeing you as a horse. Any suggestions on how to make it pass?”
The horse neighed in dismay, and said, “What are you talking about ? I am a pony !”
Grigor frowned at the white equine, and said, “Weird. Where am I?”
“You are in the Ponyville General Hospital.”
Grigor punched the air, and said, “Damn. I'm quite far from Volgograd, right ?”
The horse with the pink mane looked askance at the man, and said, “Volgograd ? Sorry, never heard of it. You were found at the base of a tree in Sweet Apple Orchards, in Ponyville's outskirts.”
Grigor sighed in annoyance, and thought of punching himself on the arm, hoping to wake up, hoping not to see that white horse again. Grigor punched his left arm and... nothing happened.
Everything but the arm was still the same as before, nice and tidy.
The equine nurse said, “Alright, please, calm down, and let me ask a question. What are you? I've never seen anything like you in all my years...”
Grigor sighed, saying some pieces of gibberish at a low voice, preparing himself to speak with a talking horse from some foreign world.
The “Crocodile” spoke up with a calm voice, “I am Grigor Stoyanovich, aka “The Crocodile”. Once, I was a famous criminal amongst the various criminal organizations all over Russia, my home country. During my life as a criminal, I was always on the verge of death either because of traitors, or because of other mafias; however, I easily kept them at bay. The authorities always turned a blind eye to my actions... until I tried to get elected as Premier, and failed to do so.”
Grigor noticed that the equine kept on listening to him, though she did a emit a small whinny of doubt upon hearing the words, “elected as Premier”. It seemed as if she didn't know what a “Premier” was... maybe there weren't any elections here at all, and some king or emperor controlled the place.
“Then I began to reject the state, and tried to form my own nation. It didn't end well: after a long retreat from the major cities and some failed coups, I was attacked in Volgograd and beaten for good. I was going to be killed... but instead, I got teleported to the base of that tree back at the orchards. I don't know what happened. Now, about you... who are you ?”
The nurse kept its mouth hanging for a good minute before speaking. “Your story is.... interesting, I have to say. My name is Nurse Redheart. As you can see, I work here in the hospital, taking care of the wounded and the ill ponies of this town. That's all I have to say about me, since I don't think that anything else in my life would interest you.”
Grigor answered, “I understand, my dear nurse. Now, about my wound... what's the damage?”
Redheart blushed. “Oh, I forgot! Give me a minute...”
The white equine was just about to exit when she was stopped by a little horse. Grigor remembered her as that pony he glimpsed before blacking out. On its face, puppy eyes gazed at the nurse.
The two equines shared a little talk with each other before the small horse finally entered. It said, “Hi, Mister! I'm Sweetie Belle!”
Grigor watched Sweetie Belle for a while, then said, “I recognize you - you found me earlier on the base of that tree. I hope I didn't interrupt anything important.”
Sweetie Belle blushed and said, “No, you didn't interrupt anything. And besides, how many times do you find a mythological being at the base of a tree ?”
Grigor widened his eyes. “Mythological being? Really?”
Sweetie Belle said innocently, “Yes, your race is a myth here: members of a civilization theorized by some ponies as the creators of this world. Other ponies think that your race is very inclined towards war, but I don't believe it, as I feel that you're quite gentle.”
Grigor sardonically smiled and said, “Well, the ones that say that we are inclined to fight are quite right... but don't worry! I don't hurt anyone, as long as they don't stop me from realizing my objectives.”
Meanwhile-
Molotov was surprised by the place in which he found himself. A circular library? Occupied by a purple horse with a horn and wings? Sergei already knew that he wasn't in Volgograd anymore... or on Earth, for the matter. He was in a whole new dimension. But where?
Molotov asked, “I am Sergei Molotov, general of Novaya Russia. Who are you? Where am I?”
The equine spoke. “I am Princess Twilight Sparkle, but you can call me Twilight Sparkle. You are in the nation of Equestria, ruled by Princess Celestia and Princess Luna, two goddesses. One raises the warm Sun, and the other raises the Moon.”
Sergei thought about this. A rather elaborate absolute diarchy, ruling through divine right: the God-Rulers responsible for the daily happiness of their subjects... it was an idea more typical of primitive societies. But Molotov wanted to avoid conflicts right now, and accepted the description. He said, “Alright, Twilight, can you tell me why I am here ?”
“I tried to do a summoning spell...”
Molotov showed unabashed surprise. “SUMMONING SPELL? How could that be ?”
Twilight placed one of her hooves on her face. “Oh, right, I forgot that in most of the mythologies concerning other worlds, humans don't use magic, and consider it something impossible... anyway, I somehow called you here by that particular means. But then, you humans shouldn't have half your body replaced by a machine... ”
Molotov showed even more surprise. She could use magic, and the humanity here was a myth...
He asked, “I get it... but why did you summon a mythical creature? What's the big threat that pushed you to call from the fogs of legends me, this “fantastic” creature?”
Twilight lowered her head, and said dramatically, “I have read, in a book of prophecies, about the arrival of a new “enemy” into this land... this “enemy” isn't a flesh being, but a strange mass of inanimate objects, powered only by the will to conquer. The only way to beat it, says the book, is to summon an intelligent bipedal being only known from the legends. And after some long hard research on the topic, I found you “Humans”! I channeled the summoning spell to summon you... and now, here we are.”
Molotov saw in the description of the “enemy” a familiar opponent: Grigor II, an AI that , he remembered, was for all intents and purposes, powered by lithium and violence.
But he also knew that it wasn't likely that Grigor II was in Equestria.
He said: “I don't know who you're talking about... but since I am stuck here, I will do my best for you and your kind.”
Twilight bowed her head and said, “Your help is appreciated. If you wish, we can talk about my and your history downstairs.”
Molotov accepted gladly. After a year of near-constant war, it was a relief to relax and talk with someone, even if that “someone” was a talking colored equine.
In the other part of the city, Grigor had been receiving only good news ever since he had woken up in this hospital run by equines. He had been treated almost as if he were a normal citizen, instead of being ignored like a pile of unwanted trash or worshipped like a glass statue. Furthermore, he was going to be dismissed tomorrow.
During the day, Grigor met two quite kind horses, Nurse Redheart and Sweetie Belle, who helped Grigor to understand where he was, and in exchange, he told them some tales and traditions from his world.
It was five o'clock, and the visiting times had just ended. Grigor said good bye to Sweetie Belle and asked if he could check if his possessions found on him at the base of the tree were still intact. There was his gun, two magazines for the said gun, his coat, his now-unusable shirt, his trousers, his portable icon and his official cape with the Golden Novaya Cross emblazoned on it.
He looked closely at each possession, and thought about what they meant for him: his gun, an old semi-automatic sidearm, was in perfect condition, despite what it had seen on the battlefield and out of it. His cape was a bit dirty due to the terrain it had been through, but it wasn't anything serious.
The most damaged item was the icon: the face of the Madonna had been gravely damaged and was now almost unrecognizable. The planks that had made the two parts of the icon had fallen off and broken into four pieces - indeed, an artistic and religious loss.
Grigor cried briefly for it, but soon regained composure, and started to think about his future life outside the hospital. First, deconsecrate the icon, then sell the raw materials for some money. Use the money to pay for food. Then, squat in an abandoned house, and try to find a legal work within the town. It wasn't a complicated plan, even if he was a mythological freak in the eyes of the inhabitants. The prospect of finding a decent job was something that he waited years for: he had always been beyond the reach of the law, and to return within in it, for once, would be something new. After all, being in danger for most of your life causes you to see what others regard as the most mundane things as pieces of Heaven.
When Grigor finished thinking about these things, he found himself without anything to do, so he tried to go back to sleep on the comfortable hospital bed.
Meanwhile, Molotov was describing his past as soldier, not without some horrified expressions from Twilight, who swung between being amazed and shocked. Surely those conquering wars, carried out by Grigor Stoyanovich and his robotic successor, were simply beyond the imagination of ponyfolk, who had never seen full-scale war. The fact that the humanity could come to do the same tasks as the ponies could, substituting magic for technology, was also something incredible.
When Sergei Molotov ended his tale, Twilight raised some questions. “So... the humans aren't united under the same ruler, but they are divided in various nations not bonded with each other ?”
Molotov said, “Well, yes. While you are ruled by a diarchy of physical goddesses; we are shattered and ruled men who either were chosen by the people... or they chose themselves.”
Twilight said, “And this divisions brought war... so, to me, the goal of Grigor II seems just. Unite a shattered world under one leader...”
“But it wants to kill everyone who is opposed to it ! I know that you are used to your benevolent leader Princess Celestia, but I'm certain that somewhere in the past, someplace, a tyrant had to have existed, even here!”
Twilight said. “Well, alright, King Sombra. But he was a particular case, since he subjugated the Crystal Empire alone, without an army behind him, thanks to a regime of pure terror...”
Molotov giggled. “If Sombra would be a man, I'm certain he'd be just another leader between the very worst and the average. Anyway, do you have other questions?”
Twilight said, "No, that's enough for today. If you wish, there's something to eat in the kitchen... though I don't know if you can eat what I have. It's mostly hay, grass and carrots.”
Molotov slowly did a gesture of “no problem” with the arm cannon and said, “If it's edible, it's fine for me.”
Then the cyborg entered in the kitchen. Only to be welcomed by a familiar sight lying over the floor.
“Molly ? Why are you here ?”
The agent placed her helmet back on the head, shook her head and said, “I have no idea, as you can guess. Perhaps, since YOU are the one near that purple horse with impossible appendages, you can tell me.”
“We are in the nation of Equestria, ruled by two queens claiming to be goddesses.”
Molly got up, and sat on the table, which creaked under her weight. “Typical sign that the society isn't very developed. I don't know if we can still continue with our mission of finding the flesh Grigor.”
“Molly, a question, since it might be important... did you arrive here through something similar to a time vortex ? Because when I tried to kill Grigor, we both got engulfed by two electrical spheres. If you had arrived here by the same means, well... we might have still a job to do.”
Molly Ryan said with a chuckle. “Yes, I arrived through an electrical vortex. And yes, I think we still have a lot to do, but for now, let me make some formalities with our host...”
