Acheron, Meet Equestria!

My day had finished early. As I had always done, I sat in front of my computer, keys clacking away. I could have done so much, but my leg had decided to act up again. The muscle behind the shin had cramped up quite badly a few days before, and I was still recovering. With a sigh, I returned to my typing.

I could have said that I was a famous writer, but then I would be lying. I love to write, to create worlds that allow me to escape the humdrum echoes of my life, but then I always come back. It can be fun to escape, but you always have something to return to. Me? I had nothing to return to. I would stay in those worlds for hours on end, and it would be incredible. Space ships, entire solar systems, science fiction always felt like my domain. I wrote as much as I could with that mindset, but, sometimes, it felt empty, which always unnerved me quite horridly.

That day, however, was a different day. My cell phone chimed with the familiar sound of Taio Cruz's dynamite, alerting me to the fact that someone was calling me. I lifted the phone to my head, making sure I knew the number.

“Hello- oh, hey. Yeah, no, I understand. Considering the time, I'm all down for an Airsoft practice battle. Yeah, I'll bring my air pistol. Yes, it's the CP99 compact. Yes, I'll be bringing enough BB's to fill an IED. No, I don't have any longer range airguns than it. Rated for 400 feet per second. Of course it would hurt, you dork! That's what it's supposed to do!” The guy on the other end clicked off. I sighed. He was an old friend, but I could not fault him for being exasperated. My airgun outdistanced most of his electric-style Airsoft armaments. The time for the practice match was the day after tomorrow. Not enough time to fully prepare, but at least to get a few... annoyances ready.

I stood in front of my cabinet. Sure, it had once held movies and video tapes – I used to be an old movie aficionado, but that is a story for another time – but now, it held my air pistol, and my model magazines. I liked to keep up to date with the current styles of painting my models. As I opened the door of the cabinet, White Dwarf magazines poured out onto the floor. Yet another mess due to the cabinet, but that was not as bad as the pickle jar incident before. That had reminded me never to leave a  jar of pickles inside the cabinet. With a quick motion, I lifted out my little air pistol and held it. It always felt wonderful to hold the little devil. It was like I held an actual handgun, it was that realistic. Even had realistic blowback. I turned to a green waterproof backpack that I had pilfered from my older brother's items. He usually did not entirely care about the backpack, as long as it was not ruined, or had holes. It was a surplus army backpack, designed for long campaigns and other purposes which I could not recall. I had already packed it partway with clothing and my small fireworks. I planned a little surprise for him involving fireworks and a little nighttime fun. There were six little bottles of steel BB's inside that cabinet; those went inside the backpack as well. The CP99 was laid carefully on top. I checked for anything else. I had six small CO2 canisters seated in a box on the bottom shelf.

“Last ones, I guess. Better use 'em now before they start to leak.” I tossed those in as well.” The pack was pretty well full, with most of the clothing I had brought. Some was the camouflage clothing I had bought from a surplus store when I was missing my pants at one job I worked at. At least, non-work pants. I stood there, staring at the place around me. I would be gone for three days. Bidding good-bye to my area, I stood looking at my display case, where my models sat. Each had been painstakingly painted for the Warhammer 40,000 tournaments I had entered in, but was never accepted into. Apparently they did not like my idea of attack, which is to launch my Deathstrike Tactical Missile Launcher on the second turn. It had always made me laugh. My carrying case was leaned up against the front pane of glass that guarded the front of the display. I opened it, making certain my paints were still inside. I needed something to do when I was not shooting BB's like a madman. I made sure unpainted models were contained within, along with my paints and brushes. I looked outside. The sky had darkened, which meant I had been packing for a little over six hours. Sighing, I set the backpack on top of my case and tromped down the back steps of the house to where my bedroom was. I was tired beyond belief, although I had done almost nothing that day. With a simple flop onto my pillow-top mattress, I was dead to the world.

The sun was streaming in through my window as 'Dynamite' woke me up. My phone alarm was definitely the most annoying thing I knew of. I stirred, sitting up. My glasses had fallen off my face, clattering underneath the bedside table. Replacing them onto my face, I took one look around the room. Sighing, I left for the upstairs.

My case and backpack were seated by the front door, along with a small box with a note attached. Picking it up, I read it as I opened the box.

“'I thought I would leave you something to eat before you go on your trip. Here you go. They're quite fresh.' I wonder what they are?” I opened the box to the delicious aroma of freshly baked oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. My mother rarely made them, but they were my favourite. Even though I was sure she had gone to work, I shouted inside the house anyways. “Thanks, Mom! I really appreciate this!” I checked my shirt. Something had torn it in the middle of the night. A simple black shirt was all it was, so I grabbed a shirt that was lying out on the nearby couch. It had a red atomic symbol, flanked by two yellow triangles, the symbol for my video channel. It made me smile every time I wore it. A horn honking from outside alerted me to the arrival of my transportation. I was in shorts, so I quickly threw on a black pair of pants from the day before, and my channel shirt, along with an olive tan GI cap, and bolted out the door with everything I was taking. The guy I usually did Airsoft with frowned at me.

“Every time you come with us, you always have more and more stuff! Seriously, dude! I don't know how you get so much!” I merely smiled.

“It's called sales, dude. It's how I got the CP99, and it's how I'll always get my stuff. Also, we're there for three days! I don't want to go stir-crazy!” I frowned at him, showing him the seriousness of my statement.

“Get in here, dude. We're not waiting all day.” With a sigh, I stepped in. Four others were inside, decked out in their gear for Airsoft. With a rumble, the vehicle – a Ford F-350 Crew Cab, if memory serves me correctly – sped off towards the small camp where we would be staying while practicing. Although, for some reason, I felt like I would not be doing much practicing.

The journey itself had been quite uneventful, although the fog that had rolled in felt like a foreboding of strange intent. The truck stopped, its engine shutting off. I turned to the guy who had invited me and smirked.

“And why, of all things, does this happen, hm?” He glared at me, silent as the grave. The driver turned to us, frowning.

“All right, crew. We're going to have to hoof it from here. Grab your gear and leave nothing behind. I'll try to get the truck started again and meet you there.” A grunt issued from one of the two seated behind me. One of them had fallen asleep, and the other had tossed a heavy hockey bag onto him.

“Okay, okay, I'm up! Stop throwing things onto me!” I stepped out, grabbing my gear from the bed of the truck. I looked around, trying to see through the fog. Nothing was visible. As the others debated to which way they should go, I struck out on my own. I did not think there was any sense in arguing with the nutcases that had brought me up here in a truck that barely worked. My box of cookies rattled softly from within my backpack, as I had decided to pack it in there when we had stopped at a gas station for a bathroom break. The camp did happen to be four hours away from where we all lived. I carried the backpack slung on one shoulder, with my case tightly gripped in my left hand. No matter what anyone told me then, that army within the case was worth more than their entire games collection combined, dependent on market value and changing demand. Their voices faded, although I simply assumed that it was due to them leaving the truck. If I had turned around, I would have noticed that the truck seemed to not be there, or anything. I was walking through a cloud of fog, as if the ground was made of it as well. Suddenly, my feet fell out from under me. My backpack flew off, my case still tightly clenched in my left hand. I looked down towards what I assumed was solid ground. Solid ground from what appeared to be a mile up, with me plummeting towards it. I would say I took it like a man and stayed stoic throughout the fall, but that would be someone who has no emotion. What I did, I am not afraid to admit.

I screamed like a little girl.

Far below, in the city I could see now, something was happening. Multicoloured blobs were being overtaken by a massive amount of black blobs. I silently cursed my horrible vision. I had been wearing a mask to prevent injury from any BB's that would have been flying, which meant I had been unable to wear my glasses. Tearing off the mask, I threw it away, still screaming. As fast as I could – which, in relative terms in a very, very fast wind current, is really slow – I put my glasses on. I could see clearly. Black... ponies with insectoid wings were splashing multi-coloured ponies with green goop.  I looked beyond them. The ground I was heading towards was paved with cobblestone. Now, I've fallen backfirst onto large stones before, and they hurt. I was also hurtling towards them like a kamikaze watermelon. I held onto my case with a death grip. If I was going to die, no one would get my Warhammer models. I closed my eyes and whistled the 'Reveille', a tune usually reserved for Remembrance Day, although I assumed that the moment was appropriate.

“I'm going to die. I'm going to die, and there's no one who will know!” I fell faster, faster, farther into what felt like a pit of darkness.

That was, until the awful crunching noise, and the sound of absolute silence. Along my back, something sticky oozed. Something sticky, and scarily creepy. Voices around me startled me before I realized I could understand them.

“It landed on the changeling! Where did it even come from?” I sat up, the weird oozing feeling slipping off my back.

“Eww~. I'm never going to forget that feeling.” I turned around, and sure enough, underneath me was one of those black ponies, except it was more flat than I had assumed. “At least I landed on something soft and squishy.” I stood up. My case was fine, besides putting a near-permanent impression of the Warhammer 40,000 logo onto my torso. Something was off. Something was missing. A sharp whistling alerted me to something above me, falling fast. Looking up, my jaw dropped just before I was slammed into the ground, another of the black ponies landing on me, with my backpack on top. “Ah, there it is.” I rolled the dead corpse off of me, strapping my backpack on as I stood up. My Warhammer case in hand, I stared around. Everything looked at me with menacing eyes. I took the only option I could see that was realistic.

I ran like a scared dog. Right and left, up and down, I could still hear the buzzing behind me. The very sound of the changelings, as I had heard a pony call them, scared me. I would have crawled into some home and hidden, if it had occurred to me, but being chased by hundreds of changelings, not to mention the fact that I had killed one, and my bag had killed another, by accident, meant that I had no time to hide. Every group of pastel-coloured ponies that I passed glared at me.

“Save us! Come on!”

“Kinda busy right now!” Protecting my Warhammer, and running for my life, those were my priorities at that moment. I did not want to be caught unable to continue a group back at home that I had painstakingly worked hard to bring back together.

“Why would you ask that strange thing? It is probably something that lives with commoners! I refuse to be touched by that brute!” That stopped me in my tracks. I have never had the greatest opportunities in life; everything I have, I have worked hard for. Which explained my next outburst.

“Commoner?! Commoner?! Alright, who's the idiot who called me that?!” I turned around, only to be met with an overwhelming force of changeling to the face. I was sent flying, my backpack scattering away, although I still clutched the case with fear of destroying the models inside. As I hit the ground, I felt something grab the strap of the case and lift it away. In that moment, I snapped. Now, for context, I was very protective of my models. I worked hard to be able to have those models, and to have those... things take them from me? I sort of lost it. Well, all right, I really lost it. What issued from my mouth was no sane intelligence, but the sheer rage of a gamer scorned. That case contained the culmination of my collection, and they were taking it away, the one thing that I knew would keep me sane.

“Oh, they took your red case, did they? Serves you right, peasant!” I turned to the pony that had spoken, pure, unadulterated fury blazing in my eyes. I charged after the swarm, which, although I had not noticed it at the time, led me to a palace.

“What have you found- what are these? And this? These are very strange...” Something was messing with my models. That was the thought at the forefront of my mind. I had recovered my pack, and was currently sprinting through the palace, following the echoing voice. I turned a corner to see the absolute ugliest creature in the entirety of my life with my models floating beside it.

“Hey, I wanted the biped-” All eyes fell to the strange man standing in their doorway, me. Something about the scene made the rage subside as I sat down beside my Warhammer case and watched in silence as the ugly creature played with my models. It seemed to prefer the Leman Russ Demolisher I had forgotten to remove from the case; it was already fully painted. Eventually, I reached out toward my case, drawing it back toward me.

“If you are done playing with my tank, I would greatly appreciate it- put the Codex down! Now!” My Codex for my army, the Imperial Guard, was being mishandled by the ugly creature. Pages were almost torn out as it began to read it in earnest. “Either start treating my Codex with respect, or the models will be gone!” As I watched, tears welled up in the ugly creature's eyes. She scooted closer, levitating the Codex into my outstretched hand.

“I... I have never seen anything like this before. What are those?” A smile crossed my face, a similar impish grin that always crossed my face when asked to explain what the Imperial Guard were. This was going to be fun.

After several hours, the ugly creature – she had let me know her name, which was Queen Chrysalis... she was the one who had instigated the strange invasion outside, apparently – had wonder-filled eyes at the knowledge of Warhammer 40,000 I had mentioned. Funny how my slightly obsessive nature can help sometimes. Without warning, a bright flash of incandescent light – though more like a dome – expanded out from two ponies near the back of the room. Without thinking, I put myself between Chrysalis and the dome. Her... subjects, the changelings, I could see them being blasted away as I watched out the window. Cheering as they flew away, some eyes glared up at me. I shrank back from the window, looking at the now four ponies looking at me. One seemed really, really happy – that would be the black changeling queen, Chrysalis – one was absolutely confused – a white pony with wings and a horn, and a sun on her flank – while two others stared me down.

“W-What did I do?” I backed towards the window, staring down at the cobblestone below. There was not a dog's chance in hell that I would be able to land on something squishy and soft. I sighed. Fear began to creep into my mind, although a smile crept across my face. I have that annoying habit. I smile when I am scared out of my wits.

“Why are you with her, the Queen of the Changelings!? You're probably helping her out!” Six others had joined the shouting at me. With a quiet nod, Chrysalis had levitated my case to her back and was silently making an exit with it. With a tear in my eye, I mentally waved a goodbye to my glorious Warhammer case that had only one working latch. I turned back to my tormentors with fear in my eyes, but that same, impish, retarded grin that I always flashed when I was afraid stayed on my lips. The large white pony had joined in on the anger, staring me down. I felt like a midget at that moment, although, if it had not been by a window, it could have been a lot worse.

“It fell out the window! Somepony catch it!” Somepony. Great. My inner Grammar Nazi had awoken, and fuel just kept being added.

“Everypony, look out below!” I was still smiling as I fell out the window, although, if I had been paying attention, I would have noticed the rather large cabbage cart below me a few seconds before. I crashed, and it began to rain cabbage. Painful, painful cabbage, along with a pony screaming. For some reason, it seemed very familiar, although I could not place it at that point.

“My cabbages!” I chuckled at that as I stood up and brushed myself off. My pants had torn on one of the legs. Something liquid dripped off the side of my head. I felt where it was, to have my hand come away with blood.

“Must have hit my head pretty hard. I'm... going to go find someplace to sleep.” With that, I stumbled through, although it should have been a fact that I stumbled into more walls than open doorways. Eventually, though, an opportunity presented itself. I saw an empty basement, with what appeared to be a cot, and a lantern hanging from the ceiling, through an open window. Without a second thought, I tossed my backpack in, slithering in after it, although getting stuck twice could not be considered 'slithering in.' A ladder led to a second floor, although the room appeared rather sparse, it was all I needed. The cot... it was almost my size, too, and pillow-top. It was heavenly. I was dead to the world in less than a minute.

Morning came earlier than expected when I felt something prodding my forehead. As I awoke, Chrysalis was standing above me, staring down. I looked behind her. A table was set up, along with my models... and my paints.

“Darn, it's too early-” My phone. It was in my pocket, and of all things to go off, 'Dynamite' was playing. My 10:00 am alarm. “Scratch that.” I stood up, albeit shakily. Chrysalis sat expectantly beside the table, staring down at the models.

“Could you show me more about this 'Imperium of Man?' Could there be a changeling force?” At that, I rubbed my forehead. A mirror hung in front of the cot I had slept in. I stared at myself. I was a mess. My face was a veritable maze of scratches and minor cuts, while my hair was cut very, very short by someone highly inept. At least he had been bandaged properly.

“Did you do this?” Chrysalis nodded. I did not understand what was going on. Crossing my fingers mentally, I hoped it was all a cheese-induced nightmare like they usually were.

Oh, how wrong I would find myself to be.