Fallout: Equestria - Homecoming

by MisterClacky

Rating: mature
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Original Character, Adventure, Crossover
Length: 48276

Stable 48 is a stable for scientists. With good intentions, they pave the way to hell.

Stability in the Stable was all about balancing the two Ps, Population and Productivity. Stable 48 was a small stable, as stables go, built to protect a hundred or so of the greatest biologists, botanists, and geneticists of their time.

It has been 180 years since the end of Equestria. Inside Stable 48, the residents struggle for survival. A cadre of scientists have a plan to increase food production. One more breakthrough and food will never be an issue again. But do the ends justify the means? After all, the road to hell is paved with good intentions...

---

Image courtesy of JetWave

Published 2012-03-16 20:04:01 UTC
Last updated 2012-09-30 02:36:41 UTC

Stable 48: Contagion

Fallout Equestria: Homecoming
Stable 48 - Contagion
By: Mister Clacky
(Mr_Clacky@yahoo.com)

000

Tell me what you eat, and I will tell you who you are.

000

Pause Playback

“Junior, show me what happened in the orchard before this.”

Her little mechanical servant gave a disgruntled chirp.

“Whaddaya mean ‘corrupted’?”

The metal insectoid gesticulated wildly with multiple appendages, animated sounds crackling out of it.

“C’mon, Junior! Just fix it!” Her hoof cracked against the desk’s hard surface. Her assistant visibly recoiled from the angered mare, hiding behind several of its limbs.

The mare reined in her anger, a look of concern pushing through her scowl. “I’m sorry Junior,” she cooed. “I just wanna know what happened here, to Dad. Can we find Dad?”

With a salute Junior disappeared back into the desk’s jagged hole.

New Cue Chosen

The frozen image of the security officer was replaced by a shadowed trio cautiously trotting down some indistinct hallway.

“That’s why you’re my number one assistant.” She rested her prosthetic hoof beside the monitor, leaning in. Her gaze wandered from the screen to her PipBuck. “Hey, Junior! Can you make this portable? I feel the need to go exploring.”

Resume Playback

000

Cider trotted down the eerie hallway, the emergency lighting casting an ominous red hue over the walls. Chief sounded more nervous than a long-tailed cat in a rockin’ chair factory. That ain’t like him at all. She held Betsy’s yoke in her mouth, sweeping her attention from side to side.

Lancet and Sprout flanked the worried mare, walking slightly behind. A strained silence hung in the air between the trio. Chief’s cryptic message had them all spooked.

Sprout broke the silence. “Should we really have left Tiny and Red back there?”

“Chief tol’ me to bring Stitches down to him, and they wanted to stay put. Ya coulda stayed, ya didn’t have to come.”

He inhaled audibly to make a rebuttal, but settled instead for a frustrated huff. “Do you think whatever the Chief wants has something to do with us being on emergency lighting? It’s giving me the creeps.”

“Dunno ‘til we get there.”

The trio hoofed the remaining distance to the lifts through the hushed halls of 48. The lift ferried them down into the depths of the Stable, the oppressive quietude weighing them down. Sprout shuffled nervously from hoof to hoof. The worry radiating off Cider was palpable.

Dr. Lancet screwed on a mirthless grin as the lift slowed. “Good news, the lifts still work.” The doors slid back silently in response to his words. The darkened halls of engineering managed to be more oppressive than the upper levels.

Cider activated her broadcaster. “Chief, we’re in engineering, where are ya?”

“A storage room, G43,” came the reply.

“Headin’ yer way, Chief.” Cider brought up a map of the level and planned a path to the storeroom.

They trotted down the deserted hallways, only the clapping of a dozen hooves and the jingling of medical implements in Lancet’s saddlebags reaching their ears. They passed another intersection when Cider and Sprout whirled around, staring down a long hall labeled “Reactor.”

“What’s got you two so jumpy?” Lancet asked, peering down the hall.

“Thought I saw sumthin’. Musta been a trick of the light.” She turned and trotted down her original course.

“Wait! Somepony was down there!” Sprout called, “Hold up! Aren’t we going to see who it was? It could be somepony who could open the orchard, or somepony lost.”

“Nope. Chief wants us to come straight to him. I ain’t gonna go galivantin’ around in the dark when there’s work to be done.” She took another step to leave.

“But.. What if they need help or something? What if its a lost foal?”

“I done tol’ ya, we ain’t gettin’ sidetracked. Ifn’ ya wanna check it out, fine, I didn’ ask ya ta come, I ain’t gonna make ya stay. But Me and Stitches is gonna go straight to the Chief.”

Sprout stood in indecision for a moment, then turned away. “Alright, I’ll catch up” He took off down the corridor. Cider huffed and cantered down the main hallway, Lancet trailing behind.

000

Chief sat in the storeroom, a lit blowtorch beside him and a large tin of lacquer thinner between him and the smoldering corpse. Five tightly focused utility lights stood upright in silent vigil around the remains. Their harsh beams framed it in a pentagram of light.

“Dammit, Zip! What the fuck happened to you?” He stared at the charred mass. He wanted to look away, to leave and bolt the door. He wanted to douse the thing with lacquer thinner and finish the burning. He needed her to be gone, to not be that twisted monster he had killed. But those were options he could only entertain in his mind. Duty dictated that he stay, that he investigate. Whatever happened to Zip Tie could be an isolated incident, or something more...

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of hooves approaching. He shifted, bringing the door into his direct view, the remains in his peripheral vision. Cider led Lancet into the room.

“Glad you could make it Doc, Cider.” He rose to his hooves.

“Yeah, what is it you... WHAT the WELL is THAT?” Lancet had noticed the deformed corpse in the halo of light.

“It wasZip Tie. As for what it is now... you tell me.”

000

Sprout slipped silently down the dim hallway. Ahead of him a trace of shadow teased his vision. Somepony was down here, and they looked small. The thought of some little pony stuck down here, in the dark, alone, locked apart from their parents stung him. Small, alone, frightened. He worried over the possibly imaginary foal he was chasing.

Engineering was a labyrinth, countless twists and turns coiled deep into the mechanical heart of the Stable. Deeper and deeper into the bowels he ventured. Tiny beads of sweat threatened to spill from his brow. He shook his head to clear it, sending stray droplets away from him in a gentle mist. I’m working myself up for nothing! Don’t let Kudzu’s rantings get you spooked! A thought dawned on him with a wave of comprehension. I’m stupid. Why am I sneaking around?

“It’s okay little one! Uncle Sprout just wants to find you so he can take you to your parents!” He yelled, his voice reverberating through the deserted halls. “Olly Olly Oxen Free!”

He jumped at the sound of a loud crash behind him. He wheeled quickly, a pipe lay across the floor behind him. He let out a relieved huff. “Little one, it’s alright, come out! Playtime is over! Come on now. I’m going to count to three!”

“One!” His voice cracked down the hall forcefully, rebounding down the corridor and back again.

“Two!” The echo in the hallway gave his voice an unnatural reverb. Only darkness and the slow death of the echo answered him.

“THREE!” A compact form impacted his neck. In a panic he reared and tossed the assailant away. The green mass somersaulted down the hall several feet.

He took a few frantic breathes, trying to calm himself. Appendages pushed themselves from the green ball of fur. The little colt lifted his head, “Ow! Why’dja do that for Mister?”

Sprout let escape a frustrated groan, then his tone softened. “I’m sorry, but you scared me. There is a state of emergency! You should be home!”

The little green colt tilted his head, “But you’re not home, why aren’tja home Mister?”

“That’s because I’m on an important mission for the Chief of Security.” He puffed out his chest and stood up straight. The little colts eyes widened with wonder.

“Wow, Mister. That sounds super duper exciting! Can I come on the mission too? I’ma super good hider and sneaker! And I’m the bestest bully buster in my class” The colt reared up and threw some adorably vicious blows at an imaginary bully.

Sprout crossed over to the little colt, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck and swinging him onto his back. The tiny colt straddled the small stallion. Sprout locked eyes with the young fighter over his shoulder, “Now hold on now, Killer. We’re going to take you to your parents, that’s the responsible thing to do.”

“My name’s not Killer, it’s Gizmo.”

“Well, I’m Sprout. Nice to meet you. Now, where are your parents.”

“Momma’s with Celestia. Daddy’s working, he fixes the generator!”

That put Gizmo’s dad further in engineering. Sprout started trotting down the hall toward the generator room. “So, your Momma’s with Celestia? My folks are too.”

“Yeah, it’s hard sometimes but Daddy loves me. I just wish he didn’t have to work so much.”

“I’ll tell you what, kiddo. If you ever get lonely, come to the orchard. I always used to play in the orchard. In fact, the old swing I hung up in the north quadrant is still there. It could be fun to sneak away sometimes and play again. What do ya say?”

“Really Mister Sprout?” Gizmo beamed, a smile split his face.

“Yes, really.” Sprout grinned, a little bounce infecting his trot.

Gizmo gripped his back tighter, trying not to fall off the good natured stallion.“Why didja come down here if there is a lockdown Mister Sprout?”

“Well, the Chief wanted to see us on the other side of engineering, so we were heading up that way when I thought I saw a little pony sneaking down the halls. So I decided to come check and found you.”

“So, there are others with ya?”

“You’re with me.” Sprout looked back over his shoulder, flashing his best smile. Gizmo tried to scowl, but the effect was diminished by his natural cuteness. Sprout turned his head back to where he was going, “Dr. Lancet and Foremare Cider Press went on ahead.”

“So you’re alone?”

“Well, no, you’re...” His sentence was cut short by a pained gasp. Fire shot down his flanks. His rear legs gave out and he sprawled to the cold metal floor. He whipped his head around to find the green colt still straddling him, coiling vines erupting from what was once his rear legs. The colt’s eyes bulged and rolled back in his skull as his mouth opened wide. The thin flesh of his cheeks frayed and separated as a viscous pus poured from the ever expanding maw. The cruel mouth continued to expand, unhinged, and velvety fronds erupted down the centerline of Gizmo’s muzzle. Tendrils writhed in the gaping void, the wet slurp of their grinding and twisting drowned out by the unnatural squeal of the creature.

Sprout tried to take his eyes off the abomination, to do anything but sit there in shock and pain. A few synapses managed to fire, and he started to try can crawl away from the dripping mass of evil behind him. the Gizmo-thing on his back lunged at him with its slavering, gaping jaws spread wide. He opened his mouth to scream as the maw snapped shut around his head, velvety fronds pushing their way down his throat and nose. The pain was indescribable as the twisting fronds sought entrance into the sacredness of his flesh. He pitched and shuddered as it took him, inch by inch, cell by cell, and then mercifully sank into blackness.

000

The mare slipped through the long abandoned hall. A fine layer of ash coated every exposed surface, tiny clouds of the stuff puffed up with each step. The light from her PipBuck cut through the inky darkness. Her small energy pistol rode in a shoulder holster. Junior skittered down the hall in front of her.

“You sure this is the right way?”

He trilled an indignant response.

“I do trust you!”

The pair rounded a corner, coming face to face with a bank of doors. The lifts were numbered. Junior hooted victoriously.

“Yeah, yeah. Good job. Now open them up.”

The tiny mechanical helper crossed several appendages. He huffed and sat, obstinately beeping a demand.

“I will not! Open the door!” She stomped a hoof, Junior sat unmoved. “Open it now,” She hissed.

She sighed. “Junior is awesome, and I should not have doubted him,” She monotoned. “There, now open the door.”

He sat unimpressed.

“Gah! FINE!” She took a step back and stood on her hind legs. Taking a deep breath, she began singing a jaunty little number.

“Junior is the bestest, of this we have no doubt. When I’m dumb or in trouble, he always helps me out! Jazzhooves!”

She stood there for a few beats, shaking her forehooves. Junior gave a contented whistle and climbed up to the control panel. He slipped his tail probe into a panel, the door slid obediently open. A half dozen thick cables dangled down the shaft. Well, that could be a problem.

“No lift, huh?” Junior shook himself in the negative. “Lovely.”

Her bionic hoof splayed out into a four-fingered claw. “Hold on.”

Junior entangled himself in her mane as she leapt into the shaft. Catching a cable in her claw, she began her descent.

000

Lancet stood over the twisted remains. “Well, that’s not a pony.”

“Really? I thought something seemed off about her,” Chief deadpanned. “Do you have any useful observations, Doc?”

Lancet fitted his right foreleg with a tall plastic sleeve past his cannon and ending above the knee. He cinched the thick article on his leg. “I won’t know any more than that until I get in there.”

“Doc, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I don’t know what that thing was, but it was weird and pissed off.” Chief continued to look past Lancet at the still mass behind him. “Her... It’s whole head... neck... thing... popped off and came after me while the rest of it burned.”

Lancet opened his medical bag and pulled out a fabric bundle. He rolled it open and glanced over the assortment of scalpels, probes, and other tools. He pulled out his longest blunt probe and slotted it into the metal ring at the base of the plastic sleeve near his hoof. He sat back on his haunches freeing his other hoof to hold the probe in position while he tightened the screw, locking the probe in place.

He looked over to Cider, who had been watching him tighten the screw with his lips. She looks a little flushed, she feeling alright?.He banished the distraction from his mind. “Cider, I need you to watch my flank. If Chief’s worries are right, and this thing so much as twitches, I want you to torch it.”

She seemed to snap to attention. She nodded a firm affirmative. “I got yer back, Stitches.”

He tested the security of the probe, satisfied it was firmly in place he folded it back along his cannon. He repeated the process, pulling a long sleeve over his left foreleg and affixing a long number seven handle with a hooked number twelve blade to his hoof. Folding the scalpel up, he donned a medical mask and a head mirror.

He moved beside the charred mass. With a jerk the head mirror swiveled into place. He gave the tangled mass a thorough visual inspection before swinging the scalpel into position. He began to poke and prod the corpse, ash tumbling to the ground. “A lot of this appears to be plant matter. I’m not a botanist, Chief.”

He shifted a few charred fronds out of the way with the blunted back of the curved blade. A thick vine sat exposed. The beak-like tip of scalpel pierced the vine with ease. With a steady hoof he drew the curved blade along the vine, splitting it. Instead of fibrous plant matter or sap, rivulets of thin blood seeped from the wound. Is this a vein or artery of some kind? Placing his right hoof on a large blackened mass, he shoved. Entwined tentacles and other less identifiable bits tumbled to the side, revealing a charred remnant of a bloodstained white flank. With quick, clean strokes, he flayed part of the flank below the plastic tie cutie mark. Pulling back the skin, he exposed the flesh underneath.

“What we have here is an anatomically correct pony leg. Muscle anatomy, tendon placement, bone structure, it’s all correct.” He peered discerningly through the head mirror. “There is only a very slight blue/green tinting to the flesh under the epidermal layer. The epidermis itself is a perfect imitation. You say it acted like Zip Tie, Chief?”

The Chief stared blankly at the bloodied pony haunch settled amidst the bed of charred plant matter. He shook himself, Doc was talking to him. “Pardon?”

“I asked if it acted like Zip Tie.”

“Yeah. Completely. She was working on something, humming that same tune. She... It talked to me, just like it knew me. Like it knew all about us.” His voice trailed off, a trace of some unnamed emotion skewing his voice.

Lancet nodded in acknowledgement, the timber of the Chief’s voice wasn’t lost on him. He’ll never admit it, but he is going to need some help getting over this when it’s all said and done. “Well Chief, this thing isn’t Zip Tie, and it wasn’t her when you ran into it.”

“Professor Kudzu was ranting something like that at the orchard. What’s going on?”

“That’s interesting. I was reviewing his audio logs in the brig. They were working on a way to replicate plants, make more food. Inject an apple with some goo, get a replicated goo apple. That’s the best guess I’ve got. Kudzu probably knows something. I’ll tell you this, I’m happy there’s a double bulkhead between us and the orchard if this is the kinda shit that went down there.” He scooted back from the thing and held his forelegs straight out in front of him. “Can you loosen these straps and pull these off Chief?”

Chief’s horn glowed as he removed the leg sleeves from Lancet’s outstretched forelegs. Lancet nodded his thanks. “Just throw them on it, I’ve got other tools. It is my professional opinion that we torch this creepy abomination.”

Chief nodded. “I agree.” He doused the remains with the lacquer thinner. “Betsy, you have the honors.”

000

Tumble was sprawled on his back staring at the red emergency light illuminating the small living quarters. His brother occupied the bunk below him. From the uncomfortable sounds of it, he was enjoying his own company.

“Are you seriously doing what I think you are doing down there?”

Fwap, fwap, moan.

“Cause that is totally uncool, bro.”

Fwap, fwap, fwap.

“We have a restroom.”

Fwap, fwap, grunt.

“Stop being an ass, Rough!”

All noise beneath him suddenly stopped. He sat for long moments, listening for some sign of his brother below. “Bro?” He rolled and crawled to the edge of his bunk. “Hey!”

He dangled his head over the side. His brother was curled in in the shadowy recesses of his bunk. Rough let out an orgasmic yell, a stream of warm fluid shooting across the room.

The stream hit him in the face. “Gah! You son of a bitch!”

“Hey! Don’t talk about Mom like that!” Rough chucked the squirt gun at his brother.

Tumble wiped his face and looked back and forth between the toy and his grinning brother. “You are a sick, sick stallion. You know that?”

“Whatever you say, Jerky Junk. Your own fault you’re gullible enough to fall for it again.” Rough adopted his most infuriating smirk.

“You should be nice to me, I’m injured. Why don’t you get me a drink.”

“Get it yourself.”

“C’mon big bro, I’m dying of thirst up here.” He tried to put on a pathetic face, but some combination of his inversion and the blood flowing to his head must have diminished its impact.

“Fuck that.”

Tumble plopped back in his bunk. “I’m just sayin’ you could show some sympathy for your poor little brother and his scalded sexer.”

Rough shifted on the bunk below, probably stretching back out. “What do you want? Kiss it, make it better?”

Tumble withheld a snicker, leaving only silence to answer him.

The bunk jumped violently as Rough bucked it from below. “Fuck that shit, I don’t know where it’s been.”

“You mean you don’t know who it’s been... in.”

A pair of chestnut hooves appeared on the side of his bunk and his brother pulled himself up to look him in the eyes. “Yeah, you’re right. But I can narrow it down. I know it ain’t been in no mares!”

Tumble kicked out at at his brother, a rear leg arcing toward his head. Rough ducked below the level of the bed and the kick sailed past. A pale blue aura wrapped around his hoof. Fuck.

With a quick magical tug, he was yanked from the bed. He plummeted to the floor in a heap. Rough was on him before he could recover and the chestnut dervish tumbled through their shared quarters. The roughhousing carried on for some time until Tumble impacted against a squat end table. Both brothers froze in abject terror.

The lamp on the little podium shuddered and fell.

“Laaaaamp!”

“Fuuuuuck!”

Two nearly identical magic auras flashed into existence under the fragile lamp, arresting its descent a hair’s breadth from the floor.

The pair gingerly placed the lamp reverently back in its place. Tumble could almost hear his mother chastising them. Sorry, Mom. He heaved a heavy sigh.

Rough helped him to his hooves. “You should be more careful lil’ brother.”

“You wanna know somethin’?”

“What?” He asked as he sauntered toward the fridge.

“My balls hurt.”

Rough chuckled and tossed him a bottle of cider. “Maybe you should get it looked at? By a doctor I mean. I sure as fuck don’t wanna see it.”

“Yeah, right. That’ll happen.” Tumble placed the cool bottle against his nether regions.

“First, you do not put that back in the fridge. Second, you could at least get something for the pain. If, ya know, you insist on being such a pussy about it.” Rough quirked an eyebrow, his concern endearing to his little brother.

“Medical won’t give us shit. They’ll just poke and prod, say it doesn’t look too bad, and send us on our way. They won’t waste a fuck on me.” He kicked idly at the lower bunk.

Rough pulled a bottle out for himself, taking a long drink while his brother continued to sulk. A half grin tugged at his lips as an idea formed. “I heard that one of the nurses got busted for sneaking out Med-X the other day.”

“So?” He didn’t bother to look over, preferring instead to keep kicking the bed.

Rough trotted over. “So she got busted with Med-X. What happens when somepony gets busted with contraband?”

“They spend a night in the brig?”

“And?”

“They get fined?”

“And?”

“Whatever they had gets sent to the contraband locker or contraband lab?”

“Precisely! So add it all up, brother of mine. What do we know?” Rough gave him an encouraging grin.

“That there is Med-X in the contraband lab. But how does that help me? We’re under lockdo...”

Rough punched him hard on the cutie mark.

“Right.”

The brothers donned their technician’s barding and quickly checked their tools. The door to their quarters proved no challenge at all, and they ventured out into engineering.

000

The mare stood on top of the lift contemplating her next move. She had two options: she could climb up to the doors just above her and come out in what Junior assured her was a science section, or she could pry open the emergency hatch on top of the lift and go into engineering.

“Whaddaya think?” Junior managed to convey a shrug. “Real helpful, little guy.”

She focused her attention on the images playing in the corner of her vision, hoping to draw inspiration from the past.

000

Rough walked quietly through the halls of engineering, his brother close behind. There was a maintenance hatch not far from their room. The maintenanceways were an intricate series of passages that allowed technicians to monitor and repair the miscellaneous systems of the Stable without disturbing any of the scientist’s precious cleanrooms. A technician with the right clearance, or a way to circumvent the need for clearance, could move through the Stable with impunity.

He slowed, ears cocked forward. He could just hear a faint scuffling ahead. He held out a hoof to stall his brother as he crept toward the intersection. Whatever the sound was, it seemed to be coming from the hallway to his right. He peered slowly around the corner, and recoiled at what he saw.

A coiling mass of vines was attacking somepony, or was it two ponies? He couldn’t tell. Splayed pony legs jerked and spasmed under the mass, vainly trying to escape. The fuck?

He backed slowly back down the hall and turned to his brother. “Back to the room, quick and quiet.”

“What’s up?” Tumble whispered back, confused but absorbing the need for caution from his brother’s seriousness.

Rough remained silent as he led his brother back the way they came. As they got to their quarters, he pointed at the lock. Tumble made quick work of it while Rough looked furtively about. The pair slipped into the safety of their quarters.

“Okay, what’s going on?” Tumble asked. Rough bustled past him, making his way to a metal topped desk. Manipulating several well hidden latches, the top popped open revealing a hidden compartment. Nestled in a bed of foam lay two silvered revolvers. Love and Peace were the pride and joy of the Stable’s first security chief, the brother’s ancestor. Rough levitated Love out of the foam, checked it was loaded, and passed the contraband firearm to Tumble.

“Okay, seriously. What the fuck is going on?” Tumble held the gun in front of him while Rough checked that Peace was loaded.

“Something was eating somepony down there. It looked like a monster from one of your dirty comics. The ones you read backwards.”

Tumble stood stunned for a moment. Recovering, he said, “Are you seriously expecting me to believe there was some horrible tentacle rape monster out there?”

Rough just stared back, his face stern.

“Well, fuck! What do we do? What about that pony?”

Rough fastened Peace’s holster to his barding, indicating Tumble should do the same. “First, we be thankful whoever that was, wasn’t us. Then we get the fuck out of here. I have no intention of being locked in this section with whatever the fuck that was. Same basic plan: we get into the maintenanceways, we take anything useful from the contraband lab, then we keep heading up.”

Tumble finished securing Love to his barding. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

000

Chief hit the lift button again. Nothing. He smacked it several more times in quick succession. Nothing.

“Chief, I don’t think the lifts are working.” Lancet offered.

“Really?” Chief poured incredulity into his voice. “Is that your professional opinion?”

Cider and Lancet stared at him in silence.

He heaved a frustrated sigh. With the lifts out of commision they would have to hoof it. Nothing for it. “Alright, we need to get back up to the orchard.”

“If’n ya don’t mind my askin’, don’t we have more important problems ta deal with?” Cider asked.

Chief trotted down the hall toward the nearest flight of stairs. “Listen. I don’t know what’s going on anymore than you do, but if Doc’s theories are correct, then the only ones who really know are in that orchard.”

They made their way up the first flight of stairs in silence, coming out a floor above Engineering in the lower science section. Lancet pulled in a reluctant breath and voiced what Chief was thinking. “But are they them?”

000

Rough and Tumble made their way through the cramped maintenanceways, their PipBuck lights providing the only illumination. They had managed to make their way to a seldom used access point as far away from whatever it was that Rough had seen as possible.

Rough is spooked. The thought echoed in Tumble’s mind. It was an alien thought, his brother didn’t get spooked. As far back as he could remember Rough had always handled problems head on, nothing could touch him. Dad used to joke that Mom pushed him out first so he could scare the Stable straight before his little brother showed up. Distracted, he didn’t notice Rough had stopped until he ran into him.

Rough scowled at him. “Watch it with that horn, I don’t swing that way.”

“Well, don’t just suddenly stop. Ass.”

“We’re here, in case you didn’t notice.” Rough unlatched the panel and gave it a shove, it didn’t budge. He slammed into it with more force, repeating a third time. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He levitated a gem-powered drill out of his saddlebags. Taking it into his mouth he pressed his weight against the tool, the whirling bit digging into the metal panel. He stowed the drill and peered through the neat hole. Inky blackness peered back at him. “Gimme your scope.”

Tumble pulled a short coil of wire out of his bags and passed it over. Rough slotted one end into his PipBuck and snaked the other through the hole. He stared at the screen as he manipulated the tiny camera, panning its tiny light over the tight space. A wide variety of beakers and glassware filed the little space. “Are you fucking kidding me! Somepony built a fucking cabinet over the access panel!”

“What now?”

Rough levitated out a small cutting wheel. He concentrated, spinning it at incredible speeds. “Now we cut this bitch!”

The rapidly spinning wheel cut into the wall with a shower of sparks, acrid smoke filled the maintenanceway. After a few minutes of work a small, square section of wall fell out, Tumble cradled it in his magic.

Rough reached into the blackness of the cabinet’s interior and pushed. The cabinet crashed down with a bang and the crystalline shattering of glassware. He grinned and looked over at his brother.

Tumble stood in slack-jawed awe. “What the Well! Don’t you think somepony will notice that?” He stared questioningly at Rough, who continued to grin. “You might’ve hidden the hole, but you just broke a shitload of... shit!”

“Who cares? They’ve got bigger things to worry about.” He shoved on the hidden door and it obediently popped open. “Besides, we’re in aren’t we?” His insufferable grin somehow managed to expand as he high-stepped into the darkened room.

“We’re in aren’t we? Derp de durr.” Tumble mocked under his breath as he followed.

The contraband lab was small, the majority dedicated to a climate controlled vault. Tumble stared at the massive steel door. The locked panel beside the door surrendered easily to his pick. Inside the small compartment sat a keypad. He grinned and slipped his electronic skeleton key over it. His own design, a cascade of red bars dripped down the screen, coalescing into recognizable letters, numbers, and symbols before flashing green. A dozen green characters flashed. K33P0U7A$$3$, funny. He placed his ear to the massive door and gave the combination lock a meticulously slow turn. There. He rotated it back the other way. There. Back again. And there. He wrenched the handle and pulled. “Open Says-a-me!”

The cool air of the vault struck them. Rough punched Tumble’s shoulder. “O-ho, Bro. That’s beautiful! Took you long enough.”

The pair began rifling through the contents of the vault. Rough focused on the contraband sitting in plain sight while Tumble plied his special talent to get at the more exotic drugs.

Tumble was on his third cabinet when he noticed his brother was being uncharacteristically quiet. “Hey, Rough? What you got? Anything good?” Silence. “I’ve got some stuff I’ve never even heard of before. You found the Med-X yet?” Silence. “You gonna say anything, asshole?”

The pain was sudden, a quick violation of his flesh as something pierced his hide. He yelped in pain and whirled, coming face to face with his grinning brother. A soothing coolness spread from the injury, taking the ache in his groin and all the other little dings and cuts from their rushed passage through the maintenanceways with them. He glanced back to see the syringe of Med-X still stuck in his rump. He yanked it free. “Thanks.”

“Think nothing of it little brother. Now back to looting!” He scooped up a pile of meds from the table and deposited them into his voluminous saddlebags.

Tumble was working on the fifth locker when an emergency broadcast blared through the Stable. “Attention all citizens. Under the authority of the Overmare, the Stable is now under a full lockdown. Do not attempt to leave your current location. All doors will be locked down for the duration of the current situation. Attention all citizens...”

The brothers shared a glance between them then dashed for the slowly closing door. Rough made it through, turning to shout encouragement. “Move your fat ass you lazy, mule-faced bastard!”

Tumble dove for the quickly shrinking openning. He almost made it. Almost. He screamed as the heavy vault door closed on his tail. He strained futilely against the door a few times before laying down pitifully.

Rough trotted over to examine the bloody pulp that was the end of Tumble’s tail. “Fuck. That looks like it hurts.”

The Med-X still running through his system took the edge off the pain, but Tumble’s glare still left much to be desired. “No shit.”

“I think I gotta cut it off.”

“Yeah right, pull the other one.”

“No, Bro. Seriously.” He levitated a large shard of glass.

“Fuck no! You’re not hacking off my tail with a hunk of broken glass!” He lunged against the restraining might of the heavy door, pain ignited in his tail and he collapsed, shuddering, to the floor. “Celestia’s shining shithole! Fuck!” He looked up at this brother with pitiful, moist eyes.

“Don’t pussy out on me. I’ll make it quick.”

It wasn’t quick. By the time Rough was finished Tumble was coated in a thin foam of sweat. He turned back to look at his mutilated tail. “Damn it! I look like some inbred draft pony!”

“No. You’re still boss, like me.” He pulled a small bandage from his saddlebag and crudely wrapped Tumble’s severed tail. “So, Bro. Can you get us out of here.”

“Out of here? No.” Tumble walked to the exit. “This level of lockdown is designed to keep ponies in. Interior access panels are powered down. I could probably power up a door with a spark battery in a pinch, but I don’t have one on me.”

“Shit. What the fuck we gonna do?”

“I dunno. Maybe use the maintenanceway to go around this door and go from there?”

“Dick.”

“Biggest in the Stable.” He gestured to the open maintenanceway. “Ladies first.”

000

Cider trotted along behind the two stallions. The empty laboratories gave her the willies. The Stable was dead quiet, and it left her ill at ease. Gotta keep it t’gether. Chief killed it. Stitches got hoof deep in it. They’re countin’ on ya girl!

“I say, it’s trust well placed.”

“Of course it is! Cider here is the loyalest of friends and the most dependable of ponies!”

“Well said! They have you, and you have us. Betsy and I are here for you, Love.”

“Love!?”

“Ack! Don’t you go cryin’ on about that! It’s just an expression!”

“Settle down now.”

“What was that Cider?” Lancet looked back over his shoulder.

“‘Tweren’t nothin’.”

“If you say so. But if you need any...”

“Attention all citizens. Under the authority of the Overmare...”

“What the Well?” Lancet looked to Chief, confused.

“Damn it! She’s locking the whole Stable down! Stick together! Move!”

The three ponies bolted down the hall, their hooves thundering against the steel floor. They only made it past one set of doors before they found themselves trapped.

“Jus’ peachy.” Cider looked at her two companions, “Y’all got any bright ideas.”

“Hate to waste the fuel, but nothing for it.” Chief unstrapped the plasma cutter from his back and moved to the sealed door. He settled a heavy pair of goggles over his eyes and turned on the machine. “We cut our way through.”

000

Rough stood in the maintenanceway, a gate barring his path. “Unbe-fucking-lievable!”

“I didn’t even know there were gates in the here. How the fuck do we not know this shit?”

“The fuck if I know. Whaddaya think?” Rough flattened himself against the wall to allow his brother better access.

“No lock, no pad, no dice.” He sucked loudly on his teeth. “We’ll have to go back to the last access, get back into the halls. I can hack those doors. No point in trying to cut our way through.”

“Yeah. That would be like, seriously stupid. What kinda fucktards would waste their time like that?” Rough backtracked toward the last hidden access panel.

“Fucktards that aren’t as brilliant as us.” It wasn’t long before they came upon the latched panel. “Beautiful. This should put us in the hall.”

Rough nodded and unlatched it, silently sliding it aside with his magic. Acrid smoke seeped in from the hall. An incredibly bright light from the left caused shadows to dance in vivid contrast against the walls. The brothers slipped into the hall, the levitated door shading their eyes from the blinding light. Rough could make out Lancet and Cider chatting in the far corner, diverting their eyes from the light. He adjusted the panel to see more of the stallion working on the other side of the hall. Idiot. “What the fuck are you fucktards doing? Douse that torch before you fuck something up!”

Two of the three fucktards wheeled, the third turned off the plasma cutter and removed his thick goggles. Chief looked at them appraisingly. “What are you two doing? We are under lockdown.”

“No shit, Sherclop. But from the look of it, none of us give two shits about that, do we?” Rough took a step forward. He froze when Chief leveled a shotgun in his face. His eyes narrowed. “What’s the deal, Chief?”

“I don’t trust you. What were you doing in there? Where did you come from?”

“My momma’s pussy, that’s where I...” The slug impacted on the wall behind him. He ducked instinctively, pulling Peace from his side. He leveled the pistol as Chief racked another round into his shotgun. Tumble imposed himself between them before he could take the shot.

They stood tensely in a standoff. Rough and Chief both denied a clear shot by Tumble’s body. Cider started to shift, her mouth seeking the yoke of her battle saddle. Rough noticed her and swung his pistol toward her. “Not so fast, Firemuff. You don’t put ANYTHING in that pretty mouth unless I tell you to!”

“Whoa! Everypony calm the FUCK down!” Tumble stared down the barrel of the shotgun. “We got bigger problems.”

Lancet had a restraining hoof on Cider. She stared daggers into Rough, who kept his pistol trained on her head. Tumble locked eyes with Chief, both stallions unwavering. Chief repeated himself, “What were you doing in there? Where have you been?”

“We were down in engineering. There’s some creepy-ass shit going on down there. So we decided to bounce up outta there. We would have been fine without this lockdown blocking the maintenanceways. Now we’re here and you’re fucking pointing a piece in my face! That’s where we at!”

“What kind of ‘creepy-ass shit’?” Chief asked.

“The creepy-ass kind!” When that answer didn’t seem to assuage Chief, Tumble continued, “Some kinda viney, tentacley thing eating some poor soul. We got the fuck outta there before we could start a game of twenty questions!”

“If they weren’t them, they wouldn’t mention being anywhere near one of those things, right?” Lancet quipped.

“Unless they’re countin’ on us ta think that.” Cider’s brow furrowed. “It’s jes awfully suspicious.”

“Fuck you, too.” Rough met her gaze unflinchingly.

Chief cleared his throat loudly, bringing the assembled ponies’ attention back to him. He eyed the two newcomers in turn before continuing. “I don’t know if I trust you.”

“And I don’t fucking trust you! But I’ll tell you what I do know. I know you aren’t goin’ anywhere in this bitch trying to torch your way through doors. So hows about we all put our guns away?”

Chief pointed his shotgun toward the ceiling. “You first, Rough.”

Rough hesitated a moment, then holstered Peace.

“Good choice.” Chief stowed his shotgun. “I should confiscate those illegal firearms, but I suppose given the situation I’ll let you hold onto them... for now.”

Rough scowled. “You aren’t taking shit from us.”

Lancet cantered up, trying to move things on before the situation could heat back up. He looked to Tumble. “You said something about not cutting through the doors? In case you didn’t notice, they’re locked.”

Tumble stared at him in shock. “Fuck! Really? The doors are locked?”

“Oh, well shit!” Rough chimed in. The pair walked to the scorched door. “I sure wish I knew somepony who was good at unlocking things!”

Tumble looked over to his brother. “ I know right?” He pressed a button. “Damn it! It really is locked! What are we gonna do Rough?”

“It’s game over, Bro! Game over!”

Tumble levitated the electronic skeleton key over the pad. The readout flashed green and the door slid open. “We’re so screwed.”

Chief stared at Tumble, slackjawed. “What the Well is that.”

“My own design. You’re fucking welcome.”

“I’ll be confiscating that too when this is over.” Chief cantered up to the brothers at the door.

Tumble rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure you will. I can just build another.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Rough snorted. “Really? What ya gonna do? Confiscate his tools? Do you have any idea who you're talkin' to? Down in engineering? We're kind of a big deal.”

Chief fixed them with a withering stare. "You give me any reason, any at all, and I'll coldcock you and leave you behind."

Tumble grinned. "Coldcock? Is that when you fuck in the freezer? Cause the Cafeteria is five floors up and, frankly, I don’t swing that way."

"Hey, Lancet? Is that what you called it when you porked the tubby cafeteria lady? Coldcocking?" Rough chimed in.

"No, I think that’s 'stir the lard' or 'churn the butter,'" Tumble cracked.

Lancet bristled. “You had best shut up.”

Rough smiled with all the appeal of a shark. “Really? Cause we can keep it up. Can’t we brother?”

“You know it! All night long!”

“We ain't even started in on Rack yet.”

“But you have, haven’t ya?”

Rough nodded. “Yeah, I can see it in your eyes. You like bouncing off the walls of that foal chute, don’tcha.”

“Or do you spend your time teaching Pinion how to please her new Daddy?”

“Nah. Fuck’em and forget’em. Right, Lancey Boy?” Rough took a step toward the shaking doctor.

Cider stepped between them, leveling Betsy. She spoke around the yoke in her mouth. “Ya say one more word, I’ll roast you alive.”

“What happened to that whole ‘let’s work together’ thing, hmm?” Chief asked, trying to defuse the situation. He sat a hoof on Cider’s shoulder. “Let’s not do anything drastic, we do need that gizmo.”

Tumble caught his brother’s attention. “Chief’s right. Lay off, Rough. I think Cider is getting upset.”

“Why? You think she don’t know he mounts every Sally Sobstory that waves a flank at him?”

Lancet lost it. “You sons of a bitch!” He charged the pair, only to be yanked hard from behind by Chief’s magic. In a flash the larger security pony had him in a restraining headlock.

Rough looked past them, locking eyes with Cider. “See? He fights for them. You’re just not broken enough. Have a breakdown and get in line. Don’t hold your breath though. I think Golden Shower is in line for the next dicking.”

His face didn’t have time to fully change from smug grin to confused shock. Chief’s shotgun scythed through the air in a tight arch, the buttstock connecting with his skull with bone-rattling force. He collapsed to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut. The weapon flipped with the impact and leveled itself at Tumble’s shocked face.

Tumble knelt down beside his unconscious brother. “What the fuck?”

Chief locked eyes with the stunned stallion. “Just demonstrating what I meant by ‘coldcock.’ You two seemed to be having so much trouble with the word.” He pointed emphatically at the crumpled form of Rough for emphasis. “That’s a coldcocking. Now. Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” Venom dripped from his words as he stared down Tumble. The brash stallion withered under the intensity of Chief’s glare. Feeling Tumble was sufficiently cowed, he spoke over his shoulder to Lancet, “Doc, I don’t care if you have to piss on him, wake him up. We need to move.”

000

Lancet trailed behind the group as they walked through the corridors of 48. The air was still charged with distrust and animosity. Cider and Chief both walked in silence, assumably wrestling with their own demons. Rough and Tumble led the way, opening doors and joking amongst themselves. They had been whispering conspiratorially since the last door.

Tumble sat down gingerly in front of another door, fitting the device to panel beside it. For the first time Lancet noticed the crude bandage wrapping his tail. What did that idiot do to himself?

He approached the pair, announcing his presence by clearing his throat. Rough turned to face him, Tumble stayed focused on his work. Rouch raised an eyebrow, but stayed silent. Lancet indicated Tumble’s tail, “What happened there?”

Rough glared at him, “Change in fashion sense? The fuck do you care?”

Lancet stood impassive. “Listen, I don’t like you two. You don’t like me. Normally if you wanted to pass out from blood loss and stupidity, I’d let you. As it is, we need you.”

Rough looked over to his brother, a question on his face. Tumble sighed. “Fine, we got some time. This lock has probably been faulty for years and nopony knew. I’ll have to reprogram it before I can open it anyway.”

Lancet nodded and pulled out his doctor bag. He removed the crude bandage and examined the severed appendage. Crude amputation with some sharp implement. Hesitation marks above the amputation site. Shouldn’t be too hard to patch up. “So, how did it happen?” he asked as he hoofed through the contents of his bag. He ignored the lack of response as he found a syringe. He grabbed it in his teeth and popped the plastic top off with his tongue. He maneuvered the local anesthetic to the corner of his mouth.

“You’ll feel a slight pinch.” He injected it into Tumble’s tail, noting the peculiar lack of a wince on Tumble’s face. “Have you taken anything for the pain?”

Tumble grunted, but neither gave a direct answer.

Lancet’s eyes narrowed. “I won’t risk giving you a double dose of anything, so the local is all you get.” He continued on with his task in silence. After cleaning and stitching up the wound, he secured a proper bandage.

“There, all done. No need to thank me.”

Tumble sighed. “No, you’re right. Thanks.” He turned his head and levitated out a lukewarm bottle of cider. He twisted off the cap with his magic and offered it to Lancet. “I was saving this for later, but... peace?”

Lancet got over his shock relatively quickly and took the proffered drink. “I suppose so.” He took a tentative sip and to his amazement it tasted normal, good even. “Thanks.”

000

Lancet turned and walked back to the others. Rough looked at his brother quizzically, tilting his head to the side. Comprehension dawned across his face. He pointed discretely down to his nuts.

Tumble nodded, a grin threatening to break across his muzzle.

Rough managed to stifle his laughter, almost.

000

The door finally opened to Tumble’s efforts. Its hiss alerting the other three members of the group. Cider finished off the bottle of her namesake that Lancet had shared with the her and Chief.

Lancet was the first through the door, the brothers standing like sentinels beside it. Chief followed behind. “Took you long enough,” he quipped.

Lancet continued a ways down the hall until he heard a commotion behind him. He turned to see the brothers blocking Cider’s path.

“You know. I’ve been thinking we should charge for this.”

“You mean like a toll, brother?”

“Exactly, how about a toll kiss?”

Lancet took a few steps back toward them. He needn’t have bothered.

“Toll kiss, huh?” Cider fired up the Betsy’s pilot, the gentle fwoosh underscoring her words. “Betsy will be mor’n happy ta oblige. Otherwise, git out my way.”

The brothers parted quickly.

Lancet chuckled and moved down the hall, the rest of the group behind him. He rounded a corner and shrieked.

His tired band of compatriots charged up to him. Chief racked a round into the chamber of his shotgun. Cider had Betsy already warmed up. Rough and Tumble filed in closely behind.

At the far end of the hall, bathed in the sinister red of the emergency lighting, sat a massive arachnid abomination. It was easily larger than a hoof! Lancet recoiled in fear, backing into Cider, nearly scorching a very sensitive area in the process. His comrades' tension eased, their bodies coming out of their rigid alertness.

“A spider! Are you fucking kidding me?” Rough bowled his way through the group. “If you insist on being a screaming pussy, then do us all a favor and off yourself now. I don't intend to die because your balls haven't dropped.” He emphasized his point with a loud stomp. The wet crunch of the spider muted by the clap of his hoof on the floor.

Rough gave a savage twist of his hoof. Green-yellow ichor leaked from under his hoof, the spider's gangly legs splayed out around his steel shoe. “That's how a stallion solves a problem, bitches! Do you know what I am? I’m a force of nature! I'm not ... aaAAH!” Rough's painful scream reverberated off the walls.

All eyes darted down to Rough's hoof. The spider-thing's legs had bent unnaturally back on themselves, stabbing into his fetlock above the hoof. As the thing began metastasizing his cells into living plant, the spider-thing further penetrated his flesh. The taut skin of his foreleg danced as the ichor-fronds slithered their way up his leg, looking like a swarm of radroaches scuttling under sheer linen.

Cider was the first to shake the shock. Springing into action, she reached her head over her left shoulder, grabbing Mr. Splitter off her battlesaddle with her teeth. In one smooth motion she swung the axe, aiming to take the leg off at the shoulder and possibly saving Rough's life, if not the limb. Her aim was fouled by his writhing, and the axe took him high in the shoulder. Blood and a sticky sap leaked from the wound. Cider recoiled, giving up her grip on the axe, leaving it embedded in his shoulder.

Spurred by instinct, Rough's horn lit, the axe enveloped in a blue aura. He ripped the blade from his shoulder with a sickening squelch. The aura faded and the weapon clattered to the floor, the sound echoing off the still corridor.

The wicked crescent wound wept ichor and blood. Poisoned fronds churned in the back of the wound while the edges hardened into jagged bark and thorns. Rough's screams turned to whimpers as the wave of sub-dermal fronds spread up his neck to his face. A weak aura formed around his horn, an accompanying aura surrounded the pistol at his side. Peace swung toward his head, only to clatter to the floor as his magic failed him. He wailed as the fibrous vines drilled through his skull, sadistically assimilating bone and flesh but leaving his mind intact to comprehend the horror, the wrongness, of his very self being consumed by the malevolent plant. A swelling pressure built behinds his eyes, and with a wet pop the fronds burst from his sockets, tears and vitreous humorcascaded down his face. A few fronds slithered down his snout before invading his sinuses while the majority double back burrowing into the base of his horn, severing him from his sense of magic, making him well and truly blind.

He yelled, not a scream of pain, but a bellow of rage. The gaping maw in his chest adding a discordant note to the chorus of anger and sorrow that poured from the Rough-thing. A thunderous blast cracked the small group out of their stupor. The shotgun blast flayed flesh from its neck, revealing a coiling mass of vines writhing and reforming underneath.

“Light him up!” Chief yelled.

Cider responded with a short burst of flame. The gelatinous fluid clung to its legs. She went to correct her aim, when the vines took fire and burned brightly. The inferno raced along the flammable vines and ichor. The flora contagion was quickly turned to ash, cleansed by the flames. Rough tumbled forward, blood staining the floor where he fell. Pained, frantic gasps were pulled into his charred body. A doctor’s expertise was not needed to know his time was short.

“Br… Brother?” The injured pony croaked.

“I'm here, Brother.” Tumble responded, kneeling close to his brother's broken, charred body.

“It… fucking... hurts… ”

“I know,” Tumble's voice hitched, “It’ll be okay, I'm going to give you something for the pain.”

“I love you… Brother. I'm… sorry.”

“I love you, too.”

Bang.

Love swayed, smoking, in the air, surrounded my Tumble’s magic. The pistol dropped, joining its twin on the metal floor.

000

Junior beeped encouragement as the mare tried again to pry open the door to the reactor room. It turned out the lift car was too mangled for her to get into. She had managed to climb up the shaft to the door marked G. G level was the lower of two science sections. From there she had had the option to go up to F with the upper science section and the orchard, or down to engineering. Sure some creepy shit had happened down here, but engineering had to be full of loot!

And that is how she ended up at this door. This barred, no-lock, no-console door. She bucked it in frustration. “We didn't come all this way for a bag full of charred scrap! There's still power, there's still air, there’s probably still water! There has to be some sweet tech in there! Argh!”

“Are you sure you can’t just squeeze under it or something?”

Junior chirped a negative.

“Fuck this level then.”

000

Tumble stared at the red display, green digits materialized and the door slid open. The fresher air was a gift, clearing the scent of burnt flesh from nostrils. Somewhere behind him Cider was finishing the grizzly work of cremating Rough’s remains. Chief wouldn’t leave him be. Gotta make sure. Can’t leave any part of him.

Lancet walked up to him. “Hey, are you ok?”

“Fucking fantastic.”

“Yeah, dumb question. I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but if you need...”

“Save your fucking sympathy. I don’t need your sexual healing. So fuck off.”

Lancet looked at him, stunned. He stumbled over a few more words before walking back to where Cider was dousing Mr. Splitter in fire to sanitize it. She apparently wouldn’t leave the damn thing behind.

Tumble stared at the ceiling for a few long moments, blinking moisture from his eyes. Fucking smoke. He turned to the rest of the little party. “You waiting for an engraved invitation? The door’s fucking open.” They filed silently past him. He glanced over at the scattered remains of his brother. He quickly looked away, his gaze fell on the shining shapes of Love and Peace.

Chief called back to him, “Hey! Let’s stick together.”

He levitated the twin pistols to himself. “Yeah, I’m coming.”

000

Tiny Spartan stood with Redstrake flanking the orchard doors. Professor Kudzu's ranting had calmed somewhat, only the occasional nonsensical phrase drifted from the speaker. His eyes drifted over to Redstrake shifting nervously from hoof to hoof.

“So, big guy? They've sure been gone a long time, don'tcha think?”

Tiny shrugged.

“Think we should, uh, maybe go look for them?”

“Hmph.”

“So that's a 'no,' right?”

Tiny slowly turned his head and blinked. “No.”

“'No' we should go? Or 'no' we shouldn't go?”

He scowled in response to the overly talkative pony.

“Alright, fine. We'll stay here. In silence. Staring at the wall.” Redstrake sucked on his lips. “Yep, standing in silence. That's the ticket. Why my great, great, great, great, great grandmother was a champion 'Shhh' player. Why I bet I can...” Tiny tuned him out. He could see his gums still flapping away. There was a nice cadence to his continual droning, though. It was like listening to the ocean, or at least what he figured an ocean sounded like. It was at least similar to the big, old shell he had in his quarters. He still talking? He glanced over. Flap, flap, flap. Yep, still talking.

He shifted his massive bulk to the right. The auditory onslaught continued. Where's Cider to shut him up? He squinted down the hall, somepony was coming. He cleared his throat.

“...and I said, 'Oatmeal’? Are you crazy?”

Tiny grunted.

“What's that, big guy?” Redstrake glanced over to his huge companion.

Tiny gestured down the hall.

“Ya don't say?” He chuckled at his own joke and looked down long hall. “Ah! Finally, somepony to talk to!”

Tiny gave an indignant huff.

Redstrake ignored him and waved at the approaching figure. “Oh, don't go getting all emotional on me. Sprout's just so much more of a conversationalist.”

000

Three more doors surrendered to Tumble’s device before the quartet came into sight of the orchard bulkhead.

A trio of ponies waited for them at the orchard door. Cider was the first to call out, “Hey, fellas!” She threw a wave up and the three returned it.

Tumble ignored the reunion and focused his attention on the door. He slipped the machine over the door’s access panel, but it refused to light up. “Damn.”

Chief turned from the discussion of Sprout’s wild goose chase to hover over his shoulder. “Something wrong?”

“A shit-ton of things are wrong. This whole fucking situation is wrong.” Noticing the stern expression plastered on Chief’s face, he sighed and changed tack. “The professor or whoever fucked up this door. The reason you couldn’t use your access to force the door earlier is because the panel’s dead.”

“Dead? It’s lit up.”

“You’re right. The lights work so it must be fine.” Tumble deadpanned. He took Chief’s glare as an invitation to continue. “The lights work, so it still has power. Which is good. I’m guessing our dear professor got the cover off and started yanking wires at fucking random. Lucky bastard should be a scorch mark.”

“Can you get it open or not?”

“Who ya think you’re talkin’ to? I’ll have to do it manually, it will take a bit. But I’ll have it open.” Folding out a small keyboard, he got to work.

000

Chief stood before the assembled group. Tumble waiting by the door. He brought up his PipBuck. He first checked the PipTags, a screen full of names scrolled past, all shown as being in the orchard. I’ll be there soon, Goose, just be ok. He cleared his throat and activated his broadcaster. “Alright folks. Some crazy stuff has happened, and what’s behind these bulkheads is the source of it. We don’t know what we will find, but I want you all to be as prepared as possible. I’m deputizing you all.” He made a selection and the assembled ponies PipBucks beeped. “I’m sure you all remember how to use SATS and EFS from emergency training. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” He turned to face the bulkhead. “Open it.”

The bulkhead door cracked down the middle, hissing as the overpressure within bled out. Pressure normalized, the portal slid open. Curled inside lay the still form of Professor Kudzu, an empty syringe beside him. He stirred, the depressurization causing his ears to pop. He eyes tried to focus in the sparse red light. Forms started to coalesce out of the gloom. Alarm tried to push itself through the drug-induced calm.

“Stay back!” He scooted away from the encroaching forms. “Stay away from me!”

“Calm down, Professor,” soothed Chief, “It’s Chief Heads Up with Cider and some workers to check on the orchard. Dr. Lancet is here too. Will you let him help you?”

“NO! Stay back I said!” The chartreuse stallion flattened himself in the corner. “I don’t want to hurt you! I don’t want you to hurt me!”

“It’s alright Professor. Nopony wants to hurt you.”

“It’s not ponies I’m worried about. It’s the ponies that aren’t ponies! You don’t understand!”

“We do.” Lancet took a step forward and lowered himself to eye level with the paranoid professor. “We killed one of the things. And we’re going to take care of the rest. But we need you to focus! We need to know how bad it is on the other side of that door.”

“If you open that door, every living thing in there will try to kill you. It’s all of them, it’s everything.” His glazed eyes sharpened for a moment, his mind clear. “You can’t open this door. You’ll let it out! You will kill us all.”

Chief locked eyes with the frightened professor. His voice came out a deadly whisper, “Containment failed, Professor. Whatever is in there is out here too! It’s time to pony up!”

Kudzu’s eyes widened, comprehending the truth for the first time. “It’s out?” came the choked whisper.

Chief nodded.

The professor’s face sharpened with resolve. His horn lit and he pulled his saddlebags to himself. “There is something you need to know. This thing, it can replicate living tissue, but it isn’t necromantic, it can’t replicate dead cells. There is only one way to keep your mind and body your own.” He looked down at his open saddlebag, several syringes nestled within. He removed the plastic caps and held them, hidden, in his magic. His watery eyes held fast to Chief’s gaze. “One way.” The syringes launched from the bag, piercing his neck. He welcomed the darkness that took him.

000

The small group stood in shock over the professor’s still form.

Lancet broke the silence. “Great motivational technique, Chief. He’ll be a really cooperative source of information now.”

Chief pointedly ignored him. He’s wrong. It couldn’t have gotten everyone. Sunny’s safe, I know it. “Tumble, get this door open. Cider, warm up Betsy, we don’t know exactly what’s waiting for us.”

“Uhm, C-Chief?” Sprout stuttered.

“Make it quick.”

‘Well, it sure sounds like there’s something you’re not telling us. What happened down there?”

“Short answer: something was pretending to be Zip Tie and attacked me. Whatever it is originated from Tentation’s experiment. We killed it, and burned it.” Chief turned, giving Sprout his full attention.

Sprout faltered a bit under the focused stare. “Well, don’t you think we should be getting something to defend ourselves with? It’s dangerous, right? Everypony is freaking out about it.”

“I’m not arming civilians.”

“I’m not asking you to. You’re letting Cider lug Betsy around, let us arm ourselves. There’s a storage room on this level with spare tools. Let me go see what I can put together.”

After a few moments appraisal, Chief acquiesced. “Alright, but nopony goes anywhere alone. Take somepony with you.”

Sprout nodded. “How about it Lancet? No offense to Tiny or Red, but I think you’re the best available mind.”

“Alright. We’ll try to improvise some weapons. Don’t open that up until we’re back.” He gestured toward the remaining door then turned to Sprout. “Lead the way.”

Sprout turned and, grinning, lead him into the dark.

000

Tumble cursed from half inside the wall. Chief stood guard over him. Cider was in the center of the open door, Redstrake and Tiny flanking her. She nervously flicked Betsy’s yoke from side to side. Causing the flamethrower to jerk spastically around.

Betsy shook her head. “Something jus’ don’ feel right. I can sense it ‘n my hoses.”

“Relax, darling. I’m sure Stitches is fine. Tumble might be a dickend but he quite a dab hoof at opening anything he oughtn't. We’ll go fetch the dashing doctor soon,” Mr. Splitter soothed.

“I jus’ don’t like him out there on his own.”

“But he isn’t alone, love.”

“But Sprout was.” Cider turned and galloped down the hall.

000

“Cider? Cider!” Chief bellowed. “Fuck! Don’t open this door ‘til I get back!” He didn’t wait for an affirmative before chasing after the fleeing mare.

He charged after her, barely able to keep her fiery tail in his vision. Damn she’s fast. “Cider! Slow the fuck down!” The athletic farmer ignored him, continuing to barrel down the halls as fast as her hooves could carry her. He could barely see her tail disappear down another hall. He rounded the corner only to find an empty hall. “Damn.”

He manipulated his PipBuck, bringing up her PipTag. You can run... With her location now marked on his EFS, he kept a more subdued pace. Shotgun at the ready, he continued down the darkened halls.

Several minutes passed in silence before a scream pierced the still air. Chief found himself running toward the sound before his mind could start parsing it out. It wasn’t a mare’s scream, but who? He was getting closer. He could hear the sounds of an argument, the content of the yells were lost over the distance.

He skidded around a corner only to be confronted by a confusing scene. Sprout lay huddled against the wall, his eye starting to swell. Lancet was physically restraining Cider, although he doubted the small doctor could manage such a feat if Cider was willing to hurt him to get past. The mare in question wasn’t physically struggling much, but she continued to yell at the injured pony on the floor.

“What the Well is going on here!” Chief authoritarian voice scythed through the constrictive hall.

Sprout looked up at Chief through watery eyes. “She attacked me! Just ran up outta nowhere and bucked me in the face!”

“Only to protect Stitches! Sprout cain’t be trusted!”

“Can’t be trusted? We came here to try and get some weapons to kill whatever is in there! I’m on your side!”

“Where were ya, Sprout? Where did ya run off ta? Why didn’t ya come back?” Cider closed on the cowering pony, Lancet being drug along behind her. She glared daggers at the undersized worker, her face an impassive mask.

“Like I said before, you were right! It was just a trick of the light. After I wasted so much time chasing shadows I figured I’d just head back here. Honest.” He held his forelegs in front of him defensively, but the blow didn’t come.

“I’m watchin’ you.” She turned in Lancet’s grip, his grasp falling away as she trotted back down the toward the orchard. “I reckon Tumble almost has ‘er open by now, wouldn’t ya agree Chief?”

Chief sidestepped as Cider bustled past. He shuffled over to the side as Lancet and Sprout went by, keeping a mindful distance between him and the pair. The trot back to the orchard bulkhead was made in silence.

000

“Hey, Chief! Can I get a hoof in here? I need a non-fucktard’s assitance for a minute!”

Chief cantered over to Tumble, half hidden inside the wall. “What do ya need?”

Tumble shifted over giving Chief enough room to get his head in. A small lamp illuminated the stallion’s faces eerily in the dark access.

“Two things. First I need ya to get this wrench on that nut so I can tighten that bolt down.” Chief obliged, Tumble turning the bolt a quarter turn to the right.

Chief looked over to the technician suspiciously. “Number two?”

Tumble looked him in the eyes. “Listen. I saw you checking Sunny’s tag. I know we don’t see eye to eye. You’re a dick, I’m an ass. We just don’t go together. But you have always been fair to me and my bro.” He swallowed, a crack threatening to break in his voice. “If she’s not... her. I’ll take care of it. Nopony should have to kill family.”

Chief looked at Tumble appraisingly and nodded. The silent agreement made, he backed out of the tight access. Tumble scooted farther in.

“Hold on to your nuts.” Tumble called from inside the wall. A second passed then the orchard door split slowly open.

A concrete pad jutted into the orchard, beyond lay brown earth and rolling fields. The orchard was a cavernous space. Sheds and greenhouses peppered the view. Rows upon rows of apple trees dominated their vision, but many smaller fields of corn, wheat, and another myriad of crops stretched out before them. No sign of the scientists or security ponies could be found, the orchard ominously pristine.

Chief stepped past the entryway, letting his trained senses take in the still orchard. The smell of the fruit trees wafted on an artificial breeze, a normally calming smell corrupted by paranoia and suspicion. He eyed every inch exposed to him, no wayward scraps of cloth, no sign of a struggle in the loose dirt, and not a soul to be seen. He heard the clap of hoof on concrete as his companions followed him.

“Hey! Little help here?” Tumble called as he struggled to wiggle his way out of the access. “I’d rather not get bit in the ass while you dumbfucks twiddle your hooves!”

Chief glanced back. Tumble had managed to get himself half out of the wall, the compromising position reminiscent of a certain white mare... He shook his head violently to clear it. “Red, get him out of there.”

“Will do, Chief! I’m on it, I’ll have in out in two shakes of a...”

A withering glare from Cider paused Redstrake mid-ramble. He began extricating Tumble in silence. “Gah! Watch your hooves you nut-groping ass ranger!” Almost in silence.

Lancet and Cider joined Chief out past the bulkhead. They stood, still as statues, for several long minutes. The stillness only interrupted by Tumble’s cursing as he was finally freed. Tumble sauntered up to the intent trio, Redstrake and Sprout behind. Tiny Spartan stood in the bulkhead, a crease of worry marring his normally stoic contenance.

Tumble paused a moment and snorted. “Looks like fucking trees to me.”

Chief kept his eyes on the orchard. Where are you Goose. “Zip looked just like a fucking pony too. Keep your eyes peeled and your guard up, we don’t know...”

His speech was interrupted by a yellow streak impacting his neck. “Unca’ Uppity!” the mare sobbed into his mane. He wrapped a leg around the panicked mare, and she collapsed into the embrace. The group stood in shocked silence as Sunny wept.

Chief tried to console her, whispering encouraging words. “It’s ok Goose, I’m here. It’s alright...”

The tide of emotion receded and the butter pegasus broke off the embrace. She blinked a few stray tears away, her face turning serious. “We’ve gotta get out of here! This whole place isn’t what it seems!”

Questions poured out the group. “What do you mean? Where is everypony? Why are you here? What happened?”

Cider took a few steps away from the group, staring intently at the trees while her friends assaulted the flustered mare with questions. Something had been bugging her, something she couldn’t put a hoof on. The epiphany hit her with all the subtlety of a bucked apple tree. “Hush it!” she bellowed.

The assembled ponies ceased their questioning and turned to the farmer. Lancet stepped up beside her, trying to trace her line of sight. Nothing seemed out of place to him. “What is it?”

“It’s the trees. Look at the canopy, they shouldn’t be all tangled up like that.”

The huddled ponies gazed out on the expansive orchard. Innumerable trees spread out as far as they could see, all inexplicably entwined. They stood, mouths agape, as the gravity of the situation dawned on them. “New plan, we lock this place back up and find some way to...”

Chief’s plan was interrupted by a wet wrenching sound behind them. The ponies turned to witness the horror behind them. Tiny Spartan stood rooted in the airlock, his enormous bulk bloating as sinuous cords roiled beneath his skin. He stared at them, his face his usual impassive mask. No pain, no fear, only apathy was carved into his face as he swelled like a sinister balloon, blocking their only escape.

000

The bulbous abomination blocking the exit screamed. The reverberating note shattered the veneer of tranquility over the orchard. Answering shrieks resounded throughout the orchard.

Cider took Betsy’s yoke in her mouth and bathed the exit in a stream of sticky, liquid fire. Tiny sizzled and popped like a pine log full of sap. It writhed in the flames, in the throes of death, but it’s flaming pyre still denied them an escape.

Chief stood protectively between Sunny and the immolated husk, shotgun at the ready. Tumble drew Love and Peace and stood with him, leveling the pistols at the thrashing form in front of them. Lancet turned away from the blaze toward the now ominous orchard. Sprout stood beside him, shying away from the furnace Cider was liberally dousing with another jet of flame.

Redstrake bolted.

000

Redstrake knew he talked too much, too fast. It wasn’t his fault, he just thought fast. When Tiny swelled up like an evil quiche his mind went into overdrive. Is that what happened to Zip Tie? Had to be. Was Tiny one of them the whole time? Unlikely, he would have tried to take me when we were alone! Would I know if he infected me? No... yes... maybe? I’m me, dammit! No, he had to change later. When? Who?

He looked around, Cider was hosing down the thing a second time. Chief was protecting Sunny. Lancet was looking out into the orchard. Sprout was staring fearfully at the flames. Of course.

He turned and galloped into the orchard. He’d worked there his whole life, there were countless places he could hole up. He couldn’t get through those flames, and staying with the group was death. It’s safer to only trust myself.

He barreled along the outskirts of the apple trees, a golden field called to him in the distance. I’ll run through the wheat field and get a sickle from the shed. Then I can defend myself.

He thought he heard yelling behind him, but he pressed on.

000

Sunny cowered behind her uncle, his strong presence calming her. The monster was horrifying, but they all had been. She had borne witness to the whole outbreak from high in the rafters. Dozens of lives ended, consumed.

She saw Redstrake run away. She stood transfixed by indecision. He had made it a fair distance away before her mind broke free. She spread her wings and took off after him.

“Red! Stop! It’s all bad in there!” She flew low and fast, skirting the edge of the orchard. She didn’t get much practice flying for speed, but she was still faster than him. She focused on his fleeing red form and urged herself to overtake him.

It was her focus that almost cost her her life. A blur of motion swept into her peripheral vision as a nearby tree thrust a long, gnarled branch at her. She tucked in a wing and threw herself into a roll, dodging the impaling attack. She skidded across the packed earth, spinning out of control. She screamed as a wing wrenched against itself. Her momentum finally bled off and she came to rest well within the confines of the rows of apple trees. Branches lanced down, blocking her path back to the relative safety of the clearing. She clawed her way to her hooves as more seeking limbs slapped down where she had been. She galloped down the row. In the distance she could just make out the shiny aluminum form of a fuel shed, of safety.

It was close. Somewhere behind her she heard gunshots and a stallion’s yell. She put it out of mind as she sprinted toward the shed.

It was so close.

000

Tumble saw a golden blur streak off in his peripheral vision, Sunny chasing after the cowardly Redstrake. Oh yeah, fly off, that’s fucking brilliant.

“Chief!” he yelled, his voice drowned out in the confusion around the bulkhead. “I got her!”

He galloped after her. She was faster than he expected, streaking off toward the fleeing form of Redstrake. She suddenly dove to the right and crashed heavily into the ground. He lowered his head and charged after her, pistols drawn.

As he closed on the scene of her crash, he noticed the trees swaying vigorously. He dug in his hooves and skidded to a stop as a branch whipped past his face. He backpedalled and blasted the attacking tree. The bullet dug into the wood; the tree didn’t seem to care.

“Fuck!”

He turned back toward the relative safety of the group. Where once stood a small band of ponies now burned a raging firestorm.

“Fuck!”

The trees slashed and stretched for him. Well, at least they’re rooted in place. A scream echoed across the fields. Tumble glanced toward the pained voice. He squinted, just able to pick out a writhing red form under an unbucked section of apples in the distance. Dumb bastard. That’s a lot of red though. The red mass seemed to be moving now. It snaked toward him, bouncing. It wasn’t a single something, but a mass of somethings. His confusion was quickly replaced with concern as the realization they were coming his way finally dawned on him. Shit!

Behind him was a wall of fire, to his left the massive steel and concrete wall of the orchard, to his right pony-eating trees, and in front of him quickly moving red somethings that most likely wanted to eat him as well.

He yelled and charged into the treeline.

000

Lancet stared at the trees, movement drawing his attention. A single apple had fallen from a tree at the edge of the grove, then another. Soon apples were raining out of the trees. he cocked his head, curious.

“Cider? Chief? Something’s going on over here!”

One of the apples shifted. It’s red skin split as a long, spindly appendage lanced out of its side. Five more legs spread out from it. It raised itself up as it split nearly in two. It’s disjointed jaw flapped open and a barbed serpentine tongue slithered out. The other fallen apples started to shiver and transform.

He backed up in horror as the tiny horde advanced toward him. Bumping into Cider pulled him back into the moment. “CIDER! Burn them NOW!”

The tawny mare turned from the bulkhead. “What’re ya hollarin’...” she mumbled past the control yoke. Her eyes went wide for a moment then she swept Betsy in an arc before her, isolating the group from the orchard with a wall of flame.

000

I’m fucked.

Tumble latched the shed door behind him, but he doubted it would hold long. As if in answer to that premonition, a heavy impact caused the door to shiver.

He reached into the bag of stolen contraband and pulled out a tin. He popped a Party-time Mint-al. His mind raced, his stream of consciousness becoming a raging torrent. A multitude of plans, schemes, and strategies coalesced in his mind. He played each to its conclusion. He picked through them all, a plan formed and ready.

I’m fucked.

But I am not going out like a bitch.

The banging was coming from all sides. A few exploratory fronds had found their way underneath the dented door. He levitated the bag of contraband drugs in front of him, and with a swift motion emptied it. As they fell toward the ground he activated SATS. The time manipulation spell froze his perception.

He regarded the multitude of drugs suspended in time before him. He started targeting a selection with his telekinesis. Hydra regeneration might slow down the spread. Med-X for pain. Cateye? Why the hell not. Hey, distilled Dash on a timer collar! Oh, and MindBuff Telekinesis strengthener. What’s this? He targetted an oddly shaped cylinder, a unicorn with a stylized octopus on his head was pictured. Octomind, magical multitasking enhancer. Apply directly to your horn!

He released SATS, the untargeted medicines clattering to the ground. He injected the Hydra and Med-X then set the timer on the Dash collar to three minutes. He downed Cateye with the chalky MindBuff. Ick, nasty stuff. He looked at the the odd cylinder, a hole in the bottom was covered by a thin membrane. Insert horn here, well, that’s easy. He slipped the cylinder over his horn. Nothing happened. Well, fuck! The banging picked up in its intensity. He started to look around for a weapon when the cylinder fanned out like a blooming flower. A high pitched whirring was the only warning before pain stabbed into the base of his horn. An octet of tiny drills burrowed into his horn, locking the fanned out ring in place. An icy chill seemed to seep from the base of his horn into his mind. He latched the Dash collar around his neck and pushed a button. The world slowed.

He took in his surroundings thoroughly for the first time. He was in a tool shed. Neatly ordered shelves held an assortment of small tools. But what drew his drug-altered attention were the half dozen tools hung with care around the now dented and deformed shed.

He wrapped the implements in a vivid blue aura, lifting them from their racks. Love and Peace joined them in a cloud around him. He gripped the drawstrings on the sextet of improvised weapons and with a rip they flared to life. Sharpened chains sped around the saws’ long bars. The roar was deafening in the tiny shed.

Let’s dance.

Author's Note:

All hail Kkat, crafter of the sandbox we play in.

I want to thank Mysecsha for being my Alpha reader, sounding board, and general entertainer.

And then I need to thank my volunteer beta readers: FallingSnow, MelonHunter42, and all the others who stopped in from the FoE community to give it a quick look-see.

Stable 48: Cautery

Stable 48: Cautery

Fallout Equestria: Homecoming
Chapter 4 - Cautery
By: Mister Clacky
Mr_Clacky@yahoo.com

Against such abominations, we organize our defenses on the principle that one strong and able mind can shield the many.

000

“I’m lost.” Gizmo looked up with big, sad eyes. “I need ta get out, can ya help me? Pretty please?” His lower lip quivered pitifully.

Tink locked eyes with the colt. It couldn’t be a day older than what it was in the recordings she’d just watched. A few beads of sweat formed at her temples. Junior hissed at the colt from his perch atop her head.

The mention of her dad snapped her from her frozen state. “Don’t you dare talk about my dad, you fucking monster!” In a blur of motion she drew her pistol and sighted it on the foal. “‘Tay back!” She started to slowly back toward the room’s closed exit.

The colt froze, fear and confusion apparent on his face. “But...” His eyes misted with unshed tears, his voice quavered. “But... I need help! I’m all alone, Miss. I don’t wanna be all alone anymore! Please don’t leave me... don’t be mean. Don’t leave me like the others did!”

She continued to back away from the foal as he started to cry. It began as a sniffle, then a pained squeak. Gizmo’s small form was wracked by violent sobs by the time her flank encountered the reassuring cold of the far wall. Junior skittered down her neck, across her back, and over to the door panel. She kept the diminutive colt locked in her vision as Junior hacked the door.

“I... I... I just wanna live, Miss.” He stomped angrily.

Tink stood, face impassive, as the foal blubbered in front of her. With a soft hiss the door slid open, the red light of the hallway spilled in. She backed through the doorway as the colt shuddered with sobs, then with something more sinister. It was hypnotic, seeing it in front of her. His foalish cries shifted to pained wails as his colt fascade cracked and sickly vines pushed themselves through the weeping gashes in his flesh.

A shrill exclamation startled her back to the moment. She wheeled out the door, pivoting on her hind legs and clearing the doorway. She felt a subtle lightening on her back when Junior vaulted from his perch to the exterior panel to force the door closed. Staring down the hall she took a hesitant step back, then another.

The emergency lights down the hall were busted out. The occasional glint of broken glass down the inky hallway the only hint of light. Her lips parted and she tried to force words past her suddenly dry throat. What was that? She tried to ask Junior as the door to her father’s room slid shut. She took several more steps back when the banging started, whatever Gizmo had become was slamming itself bodily against the heavy door. Still she stared into the blackness of the hall, something large shifted deep in the shadows. Surely, a trick of the darkness. Another step back. That delusion shattered when a low, reverberating growl echoed out of the black. The rumbling calmed the thrashing in the room. She stood frozen, the tomblike silence hanging heavily in the air.

Clack, clack, scrape.

The sound of heavy hooffalls on steel and a horn scratched across a blackboard.

Clack, clack, scrape.

Shards of broken glass ground under hoof. The sickly sweet stench of overripe fruits wafted down the hall, it smelled like death.

Clack, clack, scrape.

The blood in her veins ran cold, Junior’s trills of warning falling on deaf ears. Stepping from the darkness into the harsh red emergency lighting came an old white stallion. He held his head low, staring off to his left. He turned his head as he took another step forward.

Clack, clack, scrape.

It focused on her with mismatched eyes. Its head was deformed; the two halves didn’t match up. In the back of her mind it reminded her of a foal’s puzzle cube turned only halfway. Thick strands of sap dribbled from its mouth. The viscous liquid frothed at the corners of its lips, little clouds of spittle hanging in the air with each labored huff. It growled low.

Clack, clack, scrape.

Junior buzzed and hooted urgently but she remained transfixed. The abomination reared, its long torso splitting, the near skeletal limbs it had been dragging flared out in a deadly bloom. It settled on its four hind legs, the other four flailed around the maw in its chest. It’s grotesque head tilted quizzically, seeming to truly see her for the first time. The lips on its vaguely pony-like face peeled back in a mockery of a smile. With a roar, it charged.

A wailing screech ripped her back to the present. Junior hurled himself at the charging abomination, impacting its deformed face. Pointed legs dug into its pseudoflesh, latching him in place as he brought his tail into play. The long, pointed probe plunged into yielding flesh. It thrashed under him, less in pain than agitation. Large swatches of its face hung limply, flayed from the bone by the automaton's scissoring pincers.

It bucked and grunted, Tink all but forgotten. A lancing thrust of Junior's tail found its way past the bony ridge protecting its eye and impaled the sensitive organ. Angry and pained the monster slammed its head against the wall. A shrill cry and a shower of sparks accentuated the the heavy thud of the impact. It reared back for another blow, Junior clinging feebly on.

Tink turned and fled into the red lit hall.

Thud.

Roar.

...

Clack, clack, scrape.

000

Gizmo pulled himself together. Skin and green fur knitted itself back together. What little of his ghastlier form couldn’t be withdrawn back into his colt form fell away. Those discarded bits formed themselves into smaller, more basic forms and skittered off into the darkened corners of the room.

Himself again, he stormed around the quarter’s small livingroom. He yelled, and screamed, and threw things in the throes of a mighty tantrum.

“Not fair! Not fair!” He headbutted the wall to punctuate each iteration. “NOT FAIR! OW!” Rubbing his head, he backpedaled from the wall and sat heavily on his haunches. With a huff, he collapsed. He lay on the floor, wrapped up in himself, rocking back and forth. She got in, but it’s gonna eat her. It’s just a mean old stupid head, if it eats her, I can’t find out how she got in! He shuddered, ten years he’d spent locked in this tomb with that feral cannibal. There used to be more smart survivors, they used to communicate. Then it started eating its own, the knowledge of all the individuals it had assimilated lost. There was no telling how many other intelligent individuals remained. We could have been free by now if it wasn’t for Him!

Tantrum spent, Gizmo lay motionless on the floor. The gears in his mind started turning. It will eat her. Maybe her toy knows the way out? If I can catch it, I can take it apart, figure out how it works. Then I can just take its memories and get out of here.

Gizmo smiled a predatory smile. That was the key, he could take what he needed from the little robot. It wouldn’t be hard, he was good with gizmos.

He made his way over to the far wall and yanked free a ventilation cover. He stretched his neck into the ductwork, his shoulders catching the edge of the opening. He grunted and flattened himself. His body popped and contorted, elongating as he slithered into the pitch black shaft.

000

Tink pulled up from her headlong gallop. She found herself deeper in the residential section. Red emergency lights played across the halls. She stopped, her ragged gasps the only sound in the still hallway. Inhaling deeply, she forced herself to slow her breathing. Head clearing, she struggled to get her bearings.

The hall was familiar, but that meant little. The whole Stable was a labyrinth of nearly identical hallways. For all she knew, she could be in any residential hallway in Stable 48. The doors were all wide open, whatever treasures or horrors inside concealed in shadow. Her ears swiveled about, trying to hear any sound in the crushing silence. Did I lose it?

She looked at her map. In her haste, she had taken a wrong fork and ended up farther from the central lifts. She didn’t relish the idea of blazing a trail through unexplored residential sections, but it beat turning around and running into Gizmo or that thing with the fucked face. Fuckedface. Images of Junior’s attempt to slow the thing came unbidden to her mind. She paged through several screens on her PipBuck. No sign of him, I hope he’s ok.

000

Stillness reigned over the hall. A few splatters of some unidentifiable liquid and the dying echoes of a distant roar were the only indicators that something had passed. That, and the metal form crumpled on the floor. A leg jerked, then stilled.

Sensors: Online
Optics: Online
Motivators: Online
Structural Diagnostic Initiated
...
..
.
Diagnostic: Complete

Damage: Prolateral Surface: Limb 1,3,7
Damage: Metasoma: Segment 4,5,6
Analyzing
....
..
.
Analysis: Complete
Mobility: 86% Efficiency
Power: 62% Capacity

Prioritizing Objectives

Primary Objective: Protect Asset Alpha

Tracking
...
..
.
Signal Found: Plotting Course

Junior untangled his limbs and righted himself. He gave a doglike shake of his body from head to tail before skittering across the hard, metallic floor. His sensors placed Tink somewhere deeper in the residential section. He approached a covered vent near the floor and peered within, cycling his vision.

Optics: VisLight
Optics: ThermalO
Optics: ImagInts

The image intensifier turned his vision a palette of blues. The ducting dropped several feet before leveling out. He wrenched the vent cover from the wall and dropped into the inky blackness. He landed with a crash at the bottom of the short drop, the ringing clang reverberating through the twists and turns of the ventilation system. Focusing on Tink’s elusive signal, he worked his way through the labyrinthine ducts. He scampered to the ceiling, clinging to its smooth surface to avoid a long drop. A few moments later he pulled himself up into a vertical shaft. He froze as his optics beheld the organic above him.

Alert!

Organism Not Recognized
Analyzing
...
..
.
Analysis Complete
Partial Matches Found

Arachnid (46%)
Insecta (31%)
Malacostraca (21%)
Psilotopsida (9%)

Error!

Organism Registers Flora
Organism Registers Fauna
Organism Registers Aggressive

Thinking
...
..
.

Deactivating Lawn Care Protocols
Classifying: Arachnid
Organism Tagged: “Funky Spider”

Subroutine “DADDY FUCKING HATES SPIDERS!” Initiated

IF {NumLegs>4} THEN {Eliminate}

Targeting
...
..
.
Target Acquired: Funky Spider

Protective covers slid back from his pincers’ razor sharp edges, the sound of blade on whetstone slashed through the silence. The spider began a slow turn as Junior shrieked and charged. His pincers scissored through three twiglike legs before gravity added its say in the battle. Unbalanced by the loss of three limbs, the heavy spider collapsed on Junior, sending the pair tumbling down the airshaft.

The tangled freefall soon terminated in a wet slap as the pair struck bottom. Junior rolled to his legs and hissed. Ichor dripped from him. The shattered, gooey husk lay motionless beneath him. He bellowed a high-pitched squeal of victory. He moved forward and gleefully drove his tail probe down repeatedly into one of the meatier bits of squashed spider.

Danger!

Carapace Breach!

Junior dove away, rolling across the vent’s floor. He twisted and scraped himself across any clean surface he could reach. The viscous ichor coalesced into thin vines the pushed and prodded against the seams in his metal plating. He continued to writhe as the mutilated spider twitched and spasmed. The thing’s five upturned legs scythed through the air. The thrashing limbs collided, then calmed. The legs’ tips meshed together. With a series of sickening cracks the five legged abomination freed itself of its prior form. With deliberate slowness it lowered itself onto the broken arachnoid body and began assimilating the remains. It thickened around the joining of its five legs, new velvety tentacles sprouted and unfurled from its bulging underside.

Analyzing Target
...
..
.
Target most likely failed experiment observed In Stable 48 records

Tagging: Hederaceous Horror
Recordings suggest organism is flammable
Subroutine “Daddy Needs A Light” Initiated

It’s cannibalism complete, the five-legged horror trudged toward him. Junior's mouth parts struck against themselves repeatedly until a spark ignited the concentrated flow of butane, the thin tongue of blue flame illuminating the tight vent. His vision blued out for a moment before he toggled it back to VisLight. His tail darted into the flame, the ichor coating it catching fire instantly with a scream. Thick burning globules dripped onto his back, lighting the mutating plant matter ablaze.

The five-legged horror recoiled from him. It pitched backward, staggering away. Junior easily overtook it, his bladed pincers making easy work of its rearmost limbs. Several underslung vines lashed out toward him, entangling him. A few quick jabs of the flaming brand at the end of his tail set the beast to burning. It pitched and writhed trying to pull itself apart and free of the flames. What bits escaped the pyre met a quick end to Junior’s butane-fueled breath.

Target Incinerated

Saving Subroutine “Kill It With Fire”
Prioritizing
...
..
.
Primary Objective: Protect Asset Alpha

Junior skittered through the vent, leaving the smouldering carcass of the thing behind. A blip showed Tink’s position above him, he continued down, a plan forming in his mind.

000

She hadn’t noticed it before. Perhaps she was too preoccupied with the Stable’s logs, or escaping from malevolent plant doppelgangers of long dead ponies, but the whole level stank. The sticky sweet smell of rot permeated the stale air. It may have been a trick of her mind, but she could swear she could taste the decay if she breathed through her mouth.

A loud clang reverberated through the halls. She froze, the echo fading. It sounded close, but it was impossible to tell distance or direction. She stood motionless, barely daring to breathe. The frantic movements of her ears trying to catch and pinpoint the source of the noise were the only visible sign of her mounting anxiety. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of her face as she poured every ounce of concentration into her hearing. Long moments passed, nothing. A few moments more, still nothing. An involuntary sigh stole past her lips as her shoulders slumped in relief.

Clack, clack, scrape.

She wheeled, the telltale sound of Fuckedface’s sinister gait echoed toward her. She stared a moment down the path she had come, there was no sign of it in the darkness. The red emergency light shone above her, she backed away a few steps and turned to look down the long unexplored hallway. Too long. The emergency lighting in this section had fared better, the hall stretched out in crimson-hued brilliance. Her hooves carried her down the hall as quietly as she was able while her mind churned. It will see me, the hall’s too long, it’s too close.

Clack, clack, scrape.

It was closer this time. She couldn’t bring herself to glance back, instead throwing herself into the nearest room. Red light spilled into the darkened room from the hall, illuminating the glowing panel near the door. Digits unfolded from her mechanical hoof and she grasped the panel tightly. With a wrenching twist the panel cover pulled away. She dove into the tangle of wires. C’mon Tink, this is foal’s play. Find it, find it, FIND IT!

She pushed another mass of entwined wires away to reveal a thick green cable. She buried her muzzle in the panel and took hold of it. She strained against it, bracing herself against the wall and pulling with all of her strength. The tension suddenly lessened and the cable pulled free. Locking the cable in a knuckle of a cybernetic finger, she bit down hard on its end and pulled. Her tongue tingled as she stripped away the insulation with her teeth.

Clack, clack, scrape.

She could hear it again, tracking her with the same doggedness as before. A steady, plodding hunt. She threaded the exposed cable into a port on her PipBuck. Metal fingers danced over the device as she hacked the system. With a muted hiss the door slid closed, leaving her in the dark. The PipBuck’s screen cast a sickly green hue across her features, it’s light giving the room some semblance of form. She sat in the dim light, trying to listen for any sounds in the hallway. She strained futilely to hear the rustle of its bulk, the scrape of its shriveled limbs on steel. She settled to her haunches, the silence in the room both comforting and worrisome. The thick retractable door proved to be too well insulated to allow her to hear the beast. For all she knew, Fuckedface could be lurking right outside the door, or he could have passed by. Nothing to do but wait it out a while and hope it moved on.

She faced the interior of the room. Surely if there was something lurking in here it would have attacked by now, right? She navigated a few menus on her still tethered PipBuck and managed to bring up the lights.

She was standing in somepony’s living quarters, although she expected that much from the residential section. The charred metal skeleton of a small sofa sat in the middle of the room. No indestructible couch for you, I guess. Ash thickly coated every exposed surface. She walked the perimeter of the room, rectangular protrusions on the far wall drawing her attention. She ran a hoof over one such protrusion, wiping away the concealing layer of ash. It was a picture of a deep chestnut stallion, several shades darker than her own coat, standing in an orchard. A vibrant green mane and bushy beard wrapped his head. The muscular stallion was dressed in some oddly patterned red and black shirt. The crisscrossing stripes formed a simple tartan plaid. If it wasn’t for a few ponies milling about in Stable 48 jumpsuits in the background, the photo could have been from a time before the war.

She stared at the pony in the photo, his warm, genuine smile pulling at something inside her. She pulled out a scrap of fabric and moved on to the next frame. It wasn’t a picture, but a framed certificate. “This Certificate of Accomplishment is hereby awarded to Prof. Crosscut for his contributions to the betterment of Stable life.” Overmare Bureau Carrot’s signature was scrawled at the bottom. Mounted in the frame below was a newsclipping. Its headline read “Prof. Crosscut Receives Award for Development of Extruderboard.” She skimmed the article. Apparently, he had invented a method of producing fully synthetic, fireproof wood through the combination of several manufacturable chemicals. Individually the chemicals were inert, but combined they reacted to form a kind of hard foam with the basic characteristics of natural wood. According to the article, the invention would allow for a more relaxed recycling policy on paper and more orchard space devoted to food production.

She cleaned off several more awards and articles, her original sense of curiosity waning. Sure, she needed to kill time before venturing back out into the halls, but how many awards could one pony get? She glanced down the wall of frames, at the far end was a far larger case. Curiosity reignited, she sauntered over to the glass enclosure. She tapped lightly on the glass. Seems intact.

She wiped off the small plaque affixed to the front of the case. "Awarded to Crosscut. 1st Place. 179th Annual Lumberpony Competition" She ran her rag over the large decorative frame beside the case. It contained another article, this one detailing his victory. Scrawled over the newsprint in heavy letters was a short note. “Congratulations, Uncle. You better get that shirt sized for me, cause I’m gonna win our bet next year. XOXO, Cider.”

She blinked her suddenly moist eyes a few times and with a quick exhalation turned to the case. She wiped it down and peered inside. Nestled on a large, folded piece of plaid fabric sat a single-bit ax. The head shone in the dim room, the well-used blade worked meticulously into a mirror finish. She rose on her hind legs and stared at it. “Ooo. What’s your name?”

She popped out her fingers and worked them into a seam. “That’s a good name.”

She jerked once, then pulled the reinforced glass free of the front of the case. The glass, discarded, clattered to the floor. Gently she removed the axe and folded shirt. She nosed open her saddlebag and gently placed the shirt within. She wrapped a bionic fist around the axe’s haft and swung it experimentally in a tight arc. She reared up and rained blows upon an imaginary opponent, getting a feel for the well balanced blade and comfortable weight.

“Enough fooling around, Uncle Hew. We have work to do.”

000

Junior landed on the fire-darkened floor of the lower residential level with a hushed clang. The main lifts were just ahead, and beside them stood the reinforced bulkhead to the armory. The massive reinforced door loomed ahead of him. He skittered toward it, ash of a dozen unidentifiable things kicked up in his trail. His legs found purchase on the wall as he climbed up, marring a fire-blackened shadow of a pony who died beating on this very door. The control panel gave off a muted glow. He slotted his tail into the panel and forced the lock. A few moments later the door obediently open.

His sensors took in the far room. Rows of weapons lined the walls. Or what had been weapons. Scorchmarks along the ventilation ducts proved the Overmare’s cleansing had bypassed the imposing armory door. Junior made his way past the racks of slag and heat-mangled metal.

Scanning
...
..
.
Scanning Complete

Contents Destroyed
Secondary Storage Area Detected.

Junior picked his way through the debris to a warped metal desk. The nameplate was dusted over, but the relief of the lettering kept it discernable. It read, “Security Chief Heads Up.” He shifted some debris under the desk and laid a pincer beside the safe’s large dial. With his other pincer he slowly advanced the tumbler forward until he picked up an inaudible click deep within the mechanism. A few minutes later the safe yielded its contents.

The contents sat immaculately, untouched by the firestorm or the horrors shambling about the Stable. Documents and photographs flew as he rifled through the contents. At the center of the paper maelstrom sat a small holdout laser pistol and a few small energy cells. The pistol’s finish was a riot of colors swirling around. Etched into the slide were the simple words, “Tie-Die.”

Junior dove ravenously on the energy cells. With quick, efficient motions he drained two of the small cells. He was reaching for a third when a voice called down to him from above.

“Bad toy! You shouldn’t be stealing other pony’s things!”

Junior lept from the shallow safe and searched the ceiling. Protruding from a vent hung the inverted head of Gizmo. It slithered out of the vent, a tangled body of vines suspending him in the air. Thin ichor oozed from innumerable small cuts and abrasions caused by forcing its way through the vents. With a wet slap it dropped, landing in a heap. A discordant chorus of screams, grunts, and whimpers pushed its way through Gizmo’s throat as he withdrew his snake’s tail and pushed out his colt legs.

Junior raised his tail probe threateningly and clicked his pincers. He hissed and hooted at the shuddering mass as it slowly reformed itself into a simile of the little green colt.

Subroutine “Kill It With Fire” Initiated

A blue tongue of flame lanced out of his mouth, for a moment. Junior struck his mouth parts together frantically, spilling a stream of sparks across the floor.

Butane Canister: 0%
Formulating Alternate Tactics
...

Initiate Program “He That Fights And Runs Away”

Junior backpedaled under the desk before slinking into the debris. The metallic scorpion hoped to lose himself in the twisted wreckage.

Gizmo watched him disappear under the desk. “I’ll play with you, little toy. I’ma super good hider and seeker.”

000

Damn persistent. Tink hunkered behind a small planter filled with artificial flowers. She had wandered into some kinda communal room. Benches littered the space. Multihued plants were covered in ash, but otherwise unscathed by the firestorm that had been Overmare Bureau Carrot’s solution to the spreading infection.

On the far side of the room skulked the massive form of Fuckedface. Her seemingly unshakable pursuer. The juggernaut continued to trudge after her, always managing to stumble back on her trail whenever she managed to lose him.

She grabbed a fistful of flowers and dirt from the nearest planter. Persistent, but stupid. She tossed the clump down a far corridor.

Fuckedface turned toward the noise.

Clack, clack, scrape.

He trudged down the hall after the thud.

Tink quietly crept down the corridor nearest her, hoping to lose it. The lifts! She’d stumbled back to them. She considered them a moment. She could probably climb up, but it wouldn’t be a quiet ascent. Fuckedface was too close. If he found her while she was climbing, there would be no running. She needed to handle him first.

She glanced around. A set of double doors stood across from the shaft, ‘Stores’ written across them. That looks promising.

She pushed on the heavy doors and they slowly creaked open. The sprawling room stretched out. Pallets of charred goods stood in neat little rows. Parked amongst the rows sat a soot-blackened machine. She trotted up and ran her hoof over it. Her gaze darted between it and the lift doors beyond. I can fix this. I can use this. She smiled. I have a plan.

000

A long white labcoat grazed the floor as the lanky stallion walked into the burned out quarters. A comfortable looking couch sat in the middle of the room. Hoofprints and other, less identifiable, tracks stood out on the grimy floor. The room reeked of panic and struggle.

The stallion paused, looking past the entryway into the oppressive gloom. Something stirred in the shadows, a shadow weaving within the shadows. A wicked grin split his face.

“My, my. What do we have here?” He sauntered up to the dark recess. With a hiss the camouflaged, mossy spider charged. With a leap it landed on the stallion’s exposed leg, quickly driving its fangs and legs into his flesh.

The stallion lifted his leg and observed the thing trying to assimilate his flesh. “Hmm... where did you come from?” A splintery lance erupted from the stallion’s cannon and impaled the struggling spider. It thrashed on its skewer. “More importantly, little thing, what have you seen? What have you heard? What do you know?”

The spider lashed out with flailing appendages. Thin fronds bursted from his leg, entangling the spider’s flailing limbs and pulling it, struggling, within him. He pointed his muzzle toward the ceiling and screwed his eyes tight. A moan verging on pleasure escaped his taut lips as he sifted through the lower form’s memories.

An intruder. More importantly, a way out.

“Exquisite.”

000

An outsider to pony society might think the earth ponies drew the short straw. After all, the pegasi had power over the weather, their inherent magic letting them fly and manipulate clouds in amazing ways. Unicorns had magic that let them alter the very fabric of reality with proper study and application.

Earth ponies grew things.

Not a particularly useful magical gift in a barren wasteland.

But there was an often overlooked aspect embodied by earth ponies: ingenuity. Long before balefire scoured all but the hardiest life from the surface of the planet, before the ministries, before even the Princesses, earth ponies survived on their ingenuity. Earth ponies grew the food for all Equestria. They were the unsung savants of labor. The plow, the train, the assembly line, all inventions of practicality imagined in the minds of earth ponies.

Sure, it was a unicorn who first stored energy in a crystal matrix to be used later. Portable power sources opened a new age of technological innovation. And, yes, it was a pegasus who first observed that spent gems regained their charge when struck with lightning. But it was an earth pony who invented the first electric generator.

A technological revolution was spurred on from that first generator. Coal-fired power plants, an energy grid, robotics, cybernetics, a hundred fields and thousands of innovations stemmed from that one stroke of earth pony ingenuity.

Tink lay buried in the innards of the machine, checking connections and ensuring a sufficient charge. This machine was another stroke of earth pony ingenuity. Before it was designed, ponies had to move heavy loads around Equestria’s warehouses by the strength of their backs. Grueling, tiring, inefficient work. Then a clever earth pony thought, “what if we put the merchandise on wooden frames, then we could make some kind of cart that could slip in and let us push them around easier.” Thus the pallet came to be, and with it the pallet jack. A forked cart that could be easily slipped under the pallet, then used to lift the weight. But the work was still tough. Then another clever earth pony thought, “what if we took a motorized cart and put forks on the front of it? Anypony, even the old and weak, could move things around then.”

And so the forklift was invented. A peculiar sight to those unfamiliar with them. A pony would walk in from behind, straddling a bench that supported their barrel and stomach. After bracing their hind legs in place, their front legs were free to manipulate the pedals that controlled the right and left front wheels. The independent drive wheels made it nimble enough to navigate tight aisles. A simple yoke system, similar to a battlesaddle, allowed the operator to move the forks up and down, and side to side.

Checks complete, Tink turned the key in the ignition. The display lit up. 24. Twenty four percent power is enough for what I need. She pulled a spool of thin wire from her saddlebag and tied it to a sturdy shelf mounted on the wall.

A skittering sound from deeper in the storeroom caused her to wheel around. She swept her PipLight over the ruined goods. “Just my imaginati...” She scowled, “Fuck that, I’m not that lucky.” She turned her head over her shoulder and adjusted Uncle Hew’s position on her back. Satisfied the ax would be ready if needed, she struck off deeper into the black.

Shoulda cleared the room first. She wound through the ruined rows of destroyed goods, shining her light on an conspicuous patch of darkness. She continued working her way down the row, eyes darting from void to void. Whatever made the noise was being coy, or didn’t exist. The aisle ended, running into a wall with a few stacked barrels. Curious, she pushed on the barrel. Damn that’s heavy. She ran her real hoof over it, the fur on her fetlock turned sooty as she revealed its blue color and label. The stamped plate read, “XTRDR-BRD B.” Six barrels in all; three blue, three red. She reached toward a red barrel.

Crash.

She whirled again at the sound. Definitely not my imagination. She started following the wall, it was only a short way before she found herself in a corner. A bristleless metal broom sat on the floor, the dust around its handle fanned out, disturbed by its falling. With a scowl she shone her light along the wall. Some kind of workstation was up ahead. Multiple different molds were scattered about. The machine itself consisted of a series of tubes and nozzles. Tracking the hoses back to their source brought her two a pair of metal barrels. One sat overturned, its contents long spilt and burned. She gave the other a solid push, still full. The red barrel read “XTRDR-BRD A”

Hmm... I wonder...

Scrape.

Frustrated, she turned again toward the sound. Again she pushed through the black, searching for the noise’s origin. She was sweeping her light down another aisle when a thought hit her like a freight train. What the fuck am I doing? I don’t want to find anything in here. She started backing away, back the way she came, back to the forklift, to her plan. The beam reflected off a bright metallic surface. Squinting, she stared at the oddly shiny metal bit amongst the grime.

It moved toward her. Unconsciously her PipLight tracked up, revealing a dark brown, almost black, foreleg. The heavyset mare stepped fully into the light, glinting prosthetic hoof a counterpoint to her dark, earthy coloring. The mare raised her foreleg and pointed straight at Tink.

“Dumb question: you aren’t friendly, are you?”

The prosthetic clattered to the ground as the mare began to violently shake. Skin grew taut as a rippling mass seemed to be trying to push its way through her skin.

“Yeah, didn’t think so.” She grabbed Uncle Hew and weighed her options. The mare seemed to bloat, swelling past her already substantial size. With a wet pop her stomach split, dropping a trio of long, writhing masses on the floor. Shrill screeches echoed off the walls from the cruel mouths quickly forming on the beastly things. Her skin began to run like hot wax, the viscous fluid coalescing into a multitude of varying abominations. The small horde skittered, slithered, and slunk toward her, leaving the shiny metal hoof behind.

Tink’s eyes darted quickly between the approaching swarm and her poor Uncle Hew. “Plan?” Uncle Hew stayed silent. “No? Well, shit.” She bit down on his haft and galloped back the way she’d come, the mass of genetically engineered, malevolent death keeping pace. She passed the massive extruder, sparing it a quick glance as she fled. A small smirk twisted the corners of her lips around Uncle Hew’s handle. “Ah hava ghlan!”

She poured on extra speed as she neared the corner. The menagerie lost ground, but gained it back as she skidded around the end of the aisle. Ahead of her was her goal, six barrels; three red, three blue, standing in two stacks. She twisted her neck back and buried Hew’s head in the top quarter of the middle red barrel. A little of the contents burbled out as she wrenched the ax head back out. The pursuing things slowed, massing for the attack. She reared up and swung Uncle Hew as high as she could, putting a good sized hole in the top of the highest barrel. A high pitch scream rang out from behind her. A strike low on the top barrel released a gout of chemicals, the stream jetting out and forming a pool behind her. A quick strike near the bottom of the middle barrel sent a second stream to join the first. Some of the charging things were pushed back but the majority pushed through the gunk. Tink quickly backpedaled. Another swing connected with the top of a blue barrel. She released the ax and focused her attention on the group of sticky enemies closing in. Fingers popped out of her metal hoof and were buried in the lower third of the barrel with a powerful punch. She tightened her grip and twisted, releasing the sweet-smelling XTRDR-BRD B. It splattered harmlessly against her foreleg, but reacted violently when it struck the closest pursuer. When A met B they reacted, expanding dramatically and quickly hardening. A couple more punches and the horde was encased in the synthetic lumber.

“Wood-aya think of that, Bitches!” she yelled at the motionless mass of synthetic wood encasing the beasties. “Get it, Uncle Hew? WOOD-aya... wood... extruderboard...”

He didn’t reply.

“You’re no fun.” She looked up at the ax buried in the top of the barrel, stuck fast when the chemical on the blade had first met the contents of the blue barrel. “Oh, you probably want out. Don’t you.”

He didn’t reply

000

The Overmare’s office was just as he remembered it, for quantities of “he.” The stallion looked around, eyes taking in several heavily charred areas. The remains of Bureau Carrot’s chair sat in a corner behind the desk, ash was scattered heavily around. Smaller scorch marks were scattered around. A monitor built into the far side of the desk cast a sickly greenish hue on the back wall.

He walked up to the desk, rearing up he placed his forelegs on the sturdy metal workspace. He traced his hoof across the smooth surface, delighting in the coolness of it. The hole in it’s center called to him, he prodded the smooth edges. A heavy impact from above with a wedgelike implement, an ax perhaps?

He walked around the desk, scrutinizing the area behind. He’d always suspected there was a passage out of the Overmare’s office, but again he found no sign. Nothing but to wait.

The wrecked chair squealed as it was pulled across the floor on melted wheels. The stallion sat, sending up a cloud of ash. He scooted up and placed his forelegs on the desk. A smile of anticipation split his face and he folded his hooves up under his chin.

I’ve waited ten years, what’s a bit more?

000

It turned out extruderboard was rather hard to get off an ax head. The difficulty getting Uncle Hew clean did, however, put Tink’s mind at ease. Confident the frozen horde would stay trapped, she made her way quickly but quietly back to the forklift. On her way she spotted a short length of pipe. Perfect.

She nearly pranced the rest of the distance back. Her spool of wire still sat on the short shelf she’d tied it to. All she needed now was...

Clack, clack, scrape.

“You don’t give up, do you? Couldn’t give me five more minutes...” she whispered to herself. She quickly grabbed her length of pipe and moved back to the waiting forklift. Cybernetic fingers splayed out from her hoof and wrapped around one of the pillars holding up the protective grating above the vehicle operator’s couch. She gritted her teeth and wrenched her body to the right. With a pop and a wet squelch her cybernetic hoof separated from her fetlock. Lubricating fluids dripped from the now exposed flange. A small green indicator light on the abandoned prosthetic lit, matching a similar light buried deep in the inner workings of the interface still attached to her leg. She focused her thoughts on moving her phantom hoof, a digit twitched.

Clack, clack, scrape.

She grabbed a finger with her teeth and focused on opening her fist. It obediently loosened its grip on the crossmember and dropped. Placing the pipe across the pedals, she slipped the crab-like cybernetic on top. She quickly threw a bit of wire around it and shifted her grip on the pipe to get her fingers around an exposed section of frame. She gave an experimental squeeze and nodded in satisfaction.

The lumbering monster would be on her soon. It was time to put her plan into action. She staggered out of the storeroom, trying to regain her familiarity with a three-legged gait. Alone in the dim corridor she swiveled her ears. The moments stretched out endlessly, the only sound the ever increasing thudding of blood in her ears. I know I heard it. Panic started to seep in. Where is it? It does not need to learn new tricks now. Maybe I should...

Clack, clack, scrape.

Her head nearly beat her ears as she whipped her neck around to track the sound. Down the corridor stood her pursuer in a pool of red emergency lighting. The harsh light muddied the greens and blues of the beast. The splotches of House Call’s white coat shone blood red.

“Hey, Fuckedface!”

It turned, neck twisting at an unnatural angle. A low growl rumbled out of it as it moved toward her, readying itself to pounce. Any thought of stealth was quickly defeated by the scraping if the short, shriveled legs dangling from its chest. Long vines unwound from its back as it trudged forward, a long trail of drool hanging from the lips gorily smeared across its face.

“Come on! What ya waitin’ for, ya overgrown daisy!” She took a few steps back as she pulled Uncle Hew off her back. She loosed an unintelligible string of curses around Uncle Hew’s handle, goading Fuckedface closer.

Its lips curled back revealing wicked triangular teeth. With a snarl it leapt forward, a flurry of lashing tentacles and gnashing teeth. Tink backpedaled quickly, batting aside a viney appendage that got too close for comfort. She ducked a wide slash and rolled to the right as another vine slapped whiplike against her previous location. It roared its frustration and charged.

She had barely recovered her hooves as it barreled toward her. It bore down on her, a stiff tentacle held out lancelike before it. She threw herself to the right again, raising her right foreleg defensively in desperation. It reacted instantly to the impact, tiny thorns sprouting from the site seeking to pierce and absorb. The stinging barbs failed to pierce the metal flange cupping the hoofless limb.

Fuckedface rammed into the frame of the lift door, tentacles bracing it above the shaft. It twisted back toward her, the greater mouth in its chest spreading with a wet rip.

She made a fist.

In the storeroom, her cyberhoof closed. The tightening grip forced the pipe to press down on both pedals sending the five ton machine rocketing forward. Fuckedface bellowed as it was impaled by one of the forks before the massive machine pushed him, wailing, into the black.

Tink opened her fist as the forklift disappeared over the ledge. She cautiously staggered up to the lift doors and peered into the shaft she had descended what felt like years ago. She grabbed at the thin dangling wire. She fished up her hoof, luckily the knot had held. She splayed out the fingers for a firm base and lined up her truncated limb. Taking a deep, soothing breath she pushed against it with all her weight. The splined shaft slotted into the receiver. There was a brief moment when nothing happened, then her leg caught fire. Magically charged crystal matrices flared to life, their thaumic fields attuning to her ambient magical pulse, and in the process overstimulating all the nerves in her lower leg. She screamed through clenched teeth.

The pain dulled to a throb and she rolled the newly reconnected device through a series of stretches designed to check her full range of motion. Satisfied, she trotted back to the lift door and pulled open the panel. The door slid obediently closed.

000

A shape in the darkness twitched. The split-faced monstrosity lay stunned in the wreckage of a lift, pinned under the forklift. Awareness trickled through its mangled form, disparate bits of consciousness weaving back together. A unifying thought echoed through its disjointed mind, hunger.

Sinewy vines struggled to free themselves from the crushing weight of the machine. With a violent burst it strained against the weight. The lift wobbled slightly. Spent, the beast relented allowing the lift to settle. Surge. Slack. Surge. Slack. With each repetition the machine swayed a little more. Surge. Slack. Surge. Slack. With a thunderous crash that rang through the shaft the forklift teetered and fell, freeing the pulverized plant-beast.

Fuckedface crawled through the twisted scrap, reabsorbing and dominating those bits of himself that had been severed. It gorged itself, revelling in the carnal pleasure of eating. Fueled by its grisly feast, its broken body knitted back together. Similar, but not the same. It maintained its grim visage, the marred faces of its first two victims. Behind a serpentine neck lay a bulbous, bulging abdomen. Eight legs again sprouted from the spiderlike body, each terminating not in a hoof, but a mass of velvety fronds.

Whole, it looked up and loosed an angry bellow. It placed a limb against the wall, the seeking tendrils finding purchase on the vertical surface. It roared again and chased the echo upwards.

With remarkable swiftness it scaled the walls. It clung suspended beside the closed door to the upper residential section. Holding tight with six legs, it reared back and pummeled the sealed door. The heavy strikes thudded futilely. Frustrated, the beast climbed down a level. Clinging to the ceiling, Fuckedface skittered inverted into D level.

000

Junior hung motionless from the underside of a desk drawer. Gizmo continued to hurl wreckage haphazardly as he tore through the room. The colt’s earlier bravado evaporated as the search continued, quickly descending to the level of a juvenile tantrum.

“Come OUT! I’m tired of this game!” Gizmo flipped a damaged end table. “It won’t hurt, I promise!”

Junior stayed motionless.

“Darnit! You’re making me mad you mean... stupid... meaney stupidhead!” Gizmo stomped angrily, hoof catching the lip of some debris and causing it to rebound into his face. “GAH!” He gently rubbed his snout, tears welling in his eyes.

He sniffled, a tear streaking down his face. “I don’t wanna be here anymore. It’s scary and I’m lonely. The ones that can’t talk wanna eat me, and the ones who can wanna do worse!” With a huff he crumpled to the floor. He shook with sobs for several long moments. Spent, he looked up through misted eyes. His gaze locked on the shiny metallic scorpion clinging to the desk’s bottom.

Slowly, cautiously he crept closer. “It’s okay,” he cooed, “I won’t hurt you.”

Junior scanned around him, searching for a convenient place to lose himself.

Gizmo stopped a few steps away and settled to the floor. “I didn’t wanna be a monster. We were in class, and Tune asked me to sneak out with her. I followed her. She wanted to show me something. Then... she...” He wiped at his eyes. “I don’t wanna be afraid anymore. I don’t wanna hurt ponies. I just wanna be free!”

Junior skittered a hairsbreadth forward coming half out of the shadow of the desk. The emergency lights glinted off his metallic skin. He made another tentative move forward scanning the surroundings.

“You... you’re gonna help me? Really? Thank you!” Gizmo rose and started to step forward. Junior quickly backpedaled, hiding mostly under the desk while gazing upward.

“Where ya going? We need to get ou...” A lance of plant matter impaled colt through the neck, green ichor splattered across the desk and floor. His little body contorted and writhed as he was hauled upward.

Fuckedface clung to the ceiling, a thick corded vine protruding from its back. Viscous fluid dribbled down as the skin of its back grew taut and split. Its bloated abdomen peeled back revealing rows and rows of thornlike teeth. Slowly the vine reeled green foal up toward the slavering maw.

Gizmo kicked and struggled. Keening wails bursted past his lips. Thin fronds enwrapped the thick vine, scrabbling and scratching at it. He looked up to see the beast’s mismatched face descending toward him. Its crooked mouth unhinged and spread impossibly wide. The damp, rotten stink of its breath washed over the struggling colt. He screamed in defiance as the jaws clamped around his head. A multitude of tentacles erupted from Fuckedface’s back, engulfing the smaller abomination’s convulsing form. With a ripping tear Gizmo’s head was wrenched from his body.

Below, Junior scurried through the wreckage. With a laser rifle energy cell on his back, he disappeared back into the vents.

000

The door to the Overmare’s office loomed in front of her. Her dash through the atrium had been uneventful. There was no telling how long Fuckedface would be out, she needed to escape while she had the chance. This whole trip was a wash. She looked over her shoulder at Uncle Hew as she neared the door. Well... not a total wash...

She stopped at the door. Didn’t I leave this open? The panel by the door glowed green, she raised a hoof and hoped that meant it hadn’t locked. A relieved sigh escaped her lips as the door slid obediently open.

“Ah, I’ve been waiting for you.” The reclining stallion behind the desk sat up. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

“Princess fuck my asshole,” she swore, “you can’t be serious.”

“Well... errr... Princess Asshole was it?” He gave a smug grin. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? You have something I want.”

Tink glared at him as he steepled his hooves below his chin. The stallion radiated smugness. Her mind raced, trying to absorb the implications of the stallion’s appearance. No other options springing to the forefront of her mind, she decided to stall. “Oh?” She looked him over. A name tag hung from his lab coat. Professor Tentation.

“Indeed. The fact you’re in here proves it.” He tapped meaningfully on the recessed monitor. “I’ve been watching. You’re a smart pony, so why don’t we get down to business. How did you get in?”

“Magic?”

A scowl broke his previously jovial mask. “Let’s not make jokes little lady.”

“Awww... but I’m really funny.”

“How did you get past the security lockout?”

“Secret password.”

The stallion’s scowl deepened, a low growl bubbling up from his throat.

“It’s ‘fuck you you stupid plant bastard’ all lowercase, no spaces.”

With a bellow of rage he stomped heavily on the metal desk, the ringing clash reverberating off the walls. “I grow tired of your insolence!”

“I get that a lot.” She reached over her shoulder and grabbed hold of Uncle Hew. “It turns out I’m pretty tired of running and hiding, so let’s cut the bullshit.” With an unexpected burst she charged the short distance between them and buried the ax in his shoulder. Blue-green ichor seeped from the wound. The stallion looked calmly down at the wound and back to her. She wrenched the weapon free.

The seeping fluid congealed into a wispy hanging moss that soon covered his leg. “A shame, it would have been so much easier for you if you had just told me. But I will pull it from you memories soon enough.” He grunted as cruel thorns pushed their way through the skin on his legs and neck. His face remained disturbingly the same, his confident smirk still twisting at the corners of his mouth.

Fighting was a losing proposition, and she knew it. It was also her only option. One way in, one way out. Luck wouldn’t stay on her side, and undoubtedly it was luck that she had gone so far in this deathtrap without waking too many of the forgotten monstrosities that lurked within. She steeled herself against the certainty that this was her last chance for freedom. For life.

Tentation leapt over the desk, murder in his eyes.

Tink reared up and brought Uncle Hew around in a sweeping arc. The flat of the blade impacted the stallion’s body with a dull thud, sending him careening into the wall. She pressed the attack, raining more cleaving blows on his back and neck. She screamed as she wailed away. He stilled.

Fire. She needed fire. She bucked her saddlebag off, spilling the contents across the floor. Won’t stay stunned long, need fire! Scrap electronics, a coffee mug, a decent stash of caps, a flannel shirt, a precious few potions, a bottle of Wild Pegasus... She darted over to the shirt and quickly secured it around Uncle Hew’s head. She looked to chase the bottle of booze when a rush of movement blurred in her peripheral vision. She twisted and brought up her ax defensively. The hacked and twisted bulk of the stallion-thing crashed into the upraised weapon, sending her rolling across the room.

“Nopony stands between me and what I want! Nopony!” Spittle trailed from his lips as a riot of writhing vines and fronds knitted his hide back together. “You will suffer, I would have made it quick before, but not now.”

She tried to move, to flee, but her body wouldn’t respond. All she could manage were a few strained gasps to try get air back in her lungs. He stalked toward her, eyes full of menace. His jaw distended impossibly, tongue lolling out the side.

She opened her mouth. A scream pierced the air, high and angry.

Tentation turned away from her, toward the door. Toward a tiny, battered mechanical scorpion in the doorway. It screeched again, pincers open wide, tail upright. Junior stabbed down, tail probe piercing the hard plastic shell of the energy cartridge on his back. Current coursed out of the cell, arcing over his body and between his scissoring pincers. In a burst of unexpected speed, Junior crossed the gap and leapt upon the confused monstrosity. Electricity surged over him, singeing Tentation’s thorny hide. Tentation bucked wildly trying to dislodge his attacker. Razor sharp blades flayed the velvety fronds knitting together his ax wounds. Ichor and viscera popped and sizzled as it dribbled on the robot’s crackling carapace. With a sucking pop and a wailing scream from the flailing abomination, Junior pulled himself into the wound.

Air in her lungs again, Tink pulled herself to her hooves. She grabbed the extruderboard shaft of her ax in her teeth and scooped up the whiskey bottle in her cybernetic claw. She turned back to the now thrashing and smoking beast. With two metal fingers around the base, she squeezed with the other two. The top of the bottle shattered, splashing the shirt-wrapped ax head in high proof alcohol. Whipping her neck down, she brought the weapon down on Tentation’s back where smoke poured out from beneath the surface. The hidden flames licked up the whiskey-soaked fabric. She brought the flaming ax down thrice more before the thrashing stilled completely, fire slowly spreading.

She let the flames scour Uncle Hew clean of any lingering infected bits. Her eyes were wet, either from the acrid smoke or something else. She turned to leave.

The smoldering remains twitched.

She scowled and raised her ax again.

Out from the corpse crawled a metallic, smoking form. It made it a short distance away from the growing pyre before collapsing. A simple, melodic two notes trilled from it. “Ta-daa!”

000

She stepped out into the cavern, never before had a damp, dark cave felt so welcoming. The heavy door closed behind her, locking in whatever horrors still roamed the depths of Stable 48.

She turned, Junior’s mangled form shifting on her withers. The thick stable door had kept 48 sealed for ten years. It would hold them in again. Wouldn’t it? She struggled through the cave, the wet chill sucking her reserves. A shaft of light pierced the darkness in front of her.

“Hold on, buddy. Almost out,” she whispered. Junior remained immobile as she scrabbled up an incline at the mouth of the cave. With a final heave she pulled herself out and into the diffuse sunlight. She sprawled out on her belly and stared up at the overcast sky, drinking in the bigness of it. She heaved a tired sigh. Couldn’t you spare a shaft of light through the clouds, you stingy bastard. I’ve had a rough day.

“Junior?” A weak trill answered her. “Plug in and get me an uplink, then you can take a nice rest. You’ve earned it.”

She lifted her foreleg behind her as best she could. He dragged himself across her back and onto her cybernetic hoof. She stood frozen as he pulled himself up her cannon. The legs that still worked struggled to move his light frame. He slotted his tail into her prosthetic and embraced her limb, for all the world looking like an eclectic piece of jewelry again. She looked to her PipBuck and watched as several screens flashed by, the result of Junior’s wireless manipulation. Finally the screen she needed appeared on the screen. “Rest easy, now. I’ll take care of the rest.”

A single line of text materialized on the screen

Prism Technologies. Blazing a Brighter Trail.

Clawed digits danced across her PipBuck, navigating menus until she reached her intended destination.

LEO A-1/A-12: Error: Access Denied
LEO B-1/B-12: Limited Access Granted
LEO C-1/C-12: Error: Access Denied
LEO D-1/D-12: Error: Access Denied
L1: Error: No Response
L3: Error: Access Denied
L4: Error: No Response
L5: Error: Access Denied
LUNASTN: Error: No Response
PRISMHQ: Error: Access Denied

Prism GeoSatNet: Access Granted

Make A Selection

GeoSynch
Communications

She pursed her lips and entered a command.

Starfall

Command Not Recognized

She muttered a moment, then tried again.

Starfall: Passphrase: MISERERE NOBIS

Access granted
Starfall Error: Insufficient Assets
The following assets are available:

LEO B-8 (Error: Loading Malfunction)
LEO B-11 (Error: Targeting Offline)

LEO B-8

LEO B8a: Expended
LEO B8b: Available
LEO B8c: Malfunction
LEO B8d: Unavailable
LEO B8e: Unavailable
LEO B8f: Expended

LEO B8b

Coordinates?

41.51, 87.39

Confirm Coordinates

41.51, 87.39

Confirm: Independent Bombardment - Coordinates 41.51, 87.39.
Volley: 1(B8b) (Y/N)

Y

Confirmed: Payload Delivery in 14:57
Thank You for using Prism Technologies. Have a nice day.
Connection Terminated

000

Tink sat on a hill a goodly distance away from her father’s childhood home. Junior clung to her leg; he remained jacked in, but he refused to rest. She looked down at him and he gave a feeble wave and a light-hearted whistle. The counter on her PipBuck reached zero, and a silver streak parted the clouds.

“Take a letter.”

Dear Daddy,

It’s just like they always say in this town: if he pulls a knife, you pull a gun. If he pulls some kind of genetic horror plant monster, you pull an orbital kinetic penetrator. Even if it’s the only one you’ve got... That’s the Buckago way!

I reopened your old mess, Dad, but I cleaned it up. Set me back years on my other project, but it was the only way to be sure. I’ve got some more loose ends to tie up, and I’ve got a plan. I’m going to set it right, fix things for good this time. I miss you Daddy, I’ll be home soon.

Love,
Tink

Author’s Notes:

Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry. I could go into detail on how life conspired to delay this chapter repeatedly, but I won’t inflict that on you. Instead I will just thank those of you who have stayed on board. That out of the way, time for thank yous!

All hail Kkat for creating the sandbox we play in.

I always want to thank Mysecsha for being there as a sounding board and for keeping up my spirits when life happened.

I want to thank the FoE community for being generally awesome. Seriously, you guys rock.

I guess that’s all for now. Stay tuned for the start of the second arc! And again, thank you for sticking with me. I hope you enjoy, and I love comments.

Stable 48: Triage

Fallout Equestria: Homecoming
Stable 48 - Triage
By: Mister Clacky
(Mr_Clacky@yahoo.com)

Because all the sick do not recover, therefore medicine is not an art.

000

In the dusty confines of a long abandoned office, a young mare approached a bank of monitors recessed into a massive crescent desk. She lifted her foreleg. A ripple ran through the metal cuff above her fetlock, eight spindly legs uncoiled themselves as her assistant sprang to life. With an eager chirp it leapt to the desk below. It skittered through a jagged hole in the old top. A few minutes passed before the monitors blinked to life.

“Good work, Junior. Let’s see what happened here.”

Video Playback Initiated
Audio on

A stallion stalked through a well lit room, slinking toward a darkened corner. Something indiscernible bobbed around in his mouth as he mumbled.

“Junior, see if you can enhance the audio.” An acknowledging chirp sounded from inside the huge desk. A few moments passed and the clarity and volume increased. She grinned.

The stallion was still skulking across the room. He mumbled to himself, “The brave hero brandishes his blade...”

000

...The sun reflects off his silver coat like polished steel, his burgundy mane falling down his neck like a river of blood. A few light scars crisscross his hide as sinuous muscles dance below his skin. A red heart, stitched up the middle with crossed blades beneath, adorn his flank, speaking to his natural talent for survival in the face of fatal injury or inescapable danger. Before the massive stallion lurks a mutated abomination. The chitinous beast covered in thick, sharp hairs. Its eight spindly legs meet at the sternum, its bloated abdomen trailed behind. The monstrous arachnid contemplates the hero for long moments with its compact, alien eyes and then charges. The massive insect clacks its slavering, venomous mandibles as it barrels down on the hero, a tender morsel to be paralyzed and dragged back to its hungering brood.

The stallion nearly falters, hypnotized by the glittering fangs of the radioactive mutation, but he regains his composure and hefts his sturdy weapon. With a great bound the hero leaps into the air; his mouth-held blade lances through the felspider, impaling it upon the gray earth. With a powerful twist and a great flow of greenish ichor, the beast's struggles cease.

The mighty warrior takes a few panting breaths, the adrenaline rush diminishes, and the hammering of battle creeps from his mind. He rears astride the corpse of his foe, turns his muzzle to the heavens, and bellows a warrior's cry.

“VICTORY!”

000

“... is… mine… EWWW!”

Dr. Lancet stared cross-eyed at the small brown spider impaled on his scalpel. He gripped the scalpel at the farthest point from the tiny arachnid, his lips pushed as far as possible away from his face. Why can’t they get these damnable spiders under control? He crossed Stable 48's immaculate infirmary, over which he held dominion as the Stable’s Head of Medicine. Daintily, he flailed one front hoof as he tried to strike the pedal to open the trash can. He locked his gaze on the murderous, dead bug. It could have been playing possum, waiting for a moment of distraction to pull itself off the scalpel and pounce on his…

“I reckon that has got to be the most emasculatin’ sight I ever did see.”

Startled, he stomped down with his lifted foreleg, causing the trash bin to finally snap open. Violently. It closed just as quickly, and he leapt back with a yelp. The scalpel tumbled from his mouth, clattering on the tile floor.

A braying laugh cracked the antiseptic atmosphere in the little medical bay as the doctor composed himself.

“How long have you been there?” A slight coloring of his neck betrayed the stoic mask he wore.

“Since about ‘He rears astride the corpse.’” She mimiced his victory pose for a moment before descending into fits of laughter again. The tawny mare restrained herself to a few strained giggles as she crossed toward him. She lowered her head to retrieve the scalpel, her tight braid tumbled forward, its vivid candy red muted by the harsh clinical light.

His blush nearly suppressed, his tone shifted to the professional. “Miss Cider Press, to what do I owe the honor of this visit? You’re not bleeding, no lacerations or contusions. Hmm... Of course! A neurological disorder! But which? Dementia? Possible. Aphasia? More likely. But then again, with that accent, who'd notice?” He arched an eyebrow. As the stable's doctor, it was his sacred duty to ask the hard questions.

She scraped the spider off the scalpel and spat the soiled instrument onto a nearby table. “Oh, 'Miss' and a mouthful o' big words, I musta put ya in a right foul mood. I can get the spider out of the bin and chase ya a bit, ifn' ya like? I betcha I can make ya eat it.” She glanced toward the waste bin before taking a threatening step toward the good doctor. Her eyes glinted with challenge.

He heaved a sigh of resignation. His caustic personality, built up as a result of being a stallion with a heart on his ass and all the ridicule and bullying that implied, didn’t daunt the mare. It hadn’t helped matters that he was small for a stallion, built more delicately than other stallions, or that this Apple family amazon had taken it upon herself to fight his battles for him growing up. Once she moved to the orchard and he to medical, the bullying escalated again. But then most bullies will pick a new target the first time one of them comes in for a routine dental procedure and wakes up his chest wired up and a bloody heart in a jar beside him. Even the twin terrors of 48, Rough and Tumble, gave him a wide berth after that.

He gestured toward a nearby chair before rolling onto the examination table. “So, why are you here, Ci'? Shouldn't you be at the orchard? Or is all that talk about Apple family work ethic only applicable to the ones with actual apples on their flanks?” He glanced pointedly at the wooden cider press on her flank. Instead of a satisfying glare he was rewarded only with a frustrated huff as she ignored the chair and settled to her haunches.

A pregnant pause hung in the air before she spoke. “They done run me off. Those eggheads commandeered the orchard to 'proceed to phase three of the trial,'” she ended with a fair imitation of Professor Tentation, “I git they gotta up production, but there hasn't been an advance in productivity since Professor Arboriculture, Celestia rest his soul, bred up them zap apples that bear fruit five times a year.”

Cider's shoulders sagged and her head drooped. Verbal jabs aside, Cider was his oldest friend, and he could read her like a book. It was a simple book. She only existed in two states: working or worried. He brought up his schedule on his PipBuck, the hightech wristlet that all stable ponies received when they came of age. The PipBuck had a slew of functions, from inventory management, to chronometer, to combat aides, although those could only be activated by the Security Chief Heads Up or the Overmare.

His shift was nearly over. Dr. House Call would be in any minute. He rolled back off the examination table. “Well, as much as I would like to stay in here and sulk with you, my shift has concluded and I must 'git me some vittles. Wouldn' y'all like t'company me?'”

She scowled at his mutilation of her accent, but a scowl beat a grimace any day. She stood and walked toward the door, “Well, I reckon I don't have much else to do.” She raised her snout in the air and glared down it through half lidded eyes, taking on a ridiculous air of superiority. “And, for your information good sir, 'y'all' is a shortening of 'you all' and as such should only be directed at a group, not an individual.”

“Aw, shucks. I didn’ wanna turn ya all sour, marm.” He adopted his dopiest grin.

She tried to keep her stern look in place, but a grin threatened to ruin it. A half-giggle forced its way out of her. A few moments more and neither of them could contain their laughter.

Cider wiped away a few stray tears, a final few chuckles dying in her voice. “Thanks,” she said, catching her breath, “I needed that.” She walked over to him and punched him hard in the shoulder. “Let’s get them vittles.”

Lancet bit his lip, trying to keep a straight face and not reveal any of the pain throbbing through his playfully abused shoulder. “Ladies first,” he said, gesturing toward the door. She didn’t see him shaking out his foreleg as he hobbled along behind her.

000

The dingy, gray halls of the Stable seemed even gloomier coming from the impeccable brightness of the infirmary. There had, from time to time, been the odd request to brighten the mood with a mural or something. Each time the request was denied: time wasted beautifying could be better spent doing anything else. Several turns and dreary hallways later the doctor and foremare arrived at the most important room in the Stable, the cafeteria. The comforting smell of fresh baked cornbread assailed them. Lancet stopped in the doorway, taking a moment to close his eyes and let his nose indulge in the ecstasy of piping hot bread and fresh fruits and vegetables. Some wise pony had realized long ago that the morale boost of a good meal can overcome any obstacle. The Stable may have had all the aesthetics of a tomb but the comfort division took great pains to make sure the dining was first rate.

“In or out, Doc. Pick one.” A quick horn prod from the olive-coated, green-maned Security Chief brought him back to reality. Chief Heads Up tilted his mirrored glasses back on his face and looked down at the tiny doctor. The Chief was tall and lithe, but the security barding he wore made him bulkier. Lancet abashedly made his way to the counter. The Chief fell in line behind him. “So, what's up, Doc?”

“Nothing exciting in medical. Not since your boys waylaid Splice.” Lancet’s attention stayed focused on the mare behind the counter. She finished serving Cider and looked to him, smiling, “Afternoon Molly, I’ll take apple juice, beans n' cornbread, and a slice of carrot cake.” She rang up his charge with a prosthetic hoof. His PipBuck confirmed the payment.

The Chief snorted, anger threatening to crack his calm fascade, “He lays a hoof on his family again and you won't be able to stitch him up for lack of pieces.” His scowl softened. “Cornbread and coffee, please.”

Lancet let out a low whistle. “Coffee? Big spender today, what's the occasion?” The Chief ignored the query and trotted past the two, coffee and cornbread levitated in front of him. Coffee was labor intensive, grown in very limited quantities, and was considered a luxury item. In short, it was buckin' expensive.

The trio made their way to a table on the far side of the room. The Chief sat with his back to the wall and a view of the door. His companions arrayed themselves across from him. He looked at the pair and sighed. He lowered his voice conspiratorially and leaned in. “It's this new trial in the orchard. I wouldn't think much of it, except Tentation himself came to my office and asked me to put additional security around the orchards for the duration. He also suggested they wear their riot gear. When I asked why, he gave me some song-and-dance about ‘precautionary measures’.” He leaned in closer and asked, “You remember the Diamond Dog Fiasco?” Lancet nodded, memories of mutilated security ponies and charred feral dogs pressed on his mind. Cider shook her head. The Chief fixed his attention on her and continued, “Tentation gets the idea to clone diamond dogs from the gene vault in that rotten egghead of his. He wants to use them for excavation to expand the Stable. Good idea, except he accelerates their growth to the point they leave the vats fully grown with no language or social skills. He releases a dozen adult diamond dogs with nothing in their heads but predatory instinct. Did he ask for extra security then? No. Has he asked for additional security for any of his subsequent, lesser mishaps? No. But he asks for additional security now? In riot gear? It doesn't add up.”

He paused and took a drink of his coffee. Cider interrupted the silence, her voice laced with doubt. “Maybe he done learned his lesson and just wants to make sure we's all safe.”

He lowered his coffee mug. “You don't believe that any more than I do. See, I went to the Overmare with my concerns. You know what she did? She ordered me to arrange the security and stop asking questions.”

Overmare Bureau Carrot had never been one for secrecy. Uncomfortable questions started to form in the minds of the two listening ponies but were dispelled by the crash of serving trays clattering across the tiled floor. Two unicorn stallions loomed over a trio of orchard workers across the way.

The infamous Rough and Tumble were twin unicorn stallions from the engineering department. They were big for unicorns, and identical from their ice-blue manes to their chestnut coats. Only their eyes and flanks distinguished them. Green eyes and a grinding wheel added up to Rough. Blue eyes and a lockpick meant Tumble. The worst of the bullies of Stable 48, they had always been bigger than most everypony else, and they didn't hesitate to use their magic to make life miserable for those around them. Lancet had been their primary target as a colt - and as an adult - at least until the whole heart-in-a-jar thing.

Rough fit the trio of workers with a menacing glare. “This is an engineering table. You mudponies need to move your flanks.”

The expressions of the worker trio ranged from anger to indifference to fear. The diminutive orange stallion seethed. The smallest stallion in the Stable, Sprout got singled out a lot. If looks could kill, the two bullies would have been immolated under that gaze. Unfortunately, the Stable’s scientific community gave precedence to food production over eye lasers, and Sprout had taken innumerable beatings because of that oversight. The small stallion looked even more diminutive next to the massive mound of pony beside him. Tiny Spartan could have been said to have a personality to match his apple tree cutie mark: the red coated, green maned stallion was stoic to the extreme. He just couldn't be moved, physically or emotionally. He appraised the two bullies with half-lidded, apathetic eyes. The cowering mare of the group looked to be trying to hide within herself. Sunny Showers was, to use Rough and Tumble speak, a freak of pony genetics: a one in a million shot. She was born a pegasus to earth pony parents, a secret family connection buried deep in her genes brought to the fore. Wanting their daughter to have a pegasus name, they searched the archives for weather-related words and came up with Sunny Showers. Even the most lackwitted of 48’s bullies could put her name and coloration together for a hurtful jab. Rough and Tumble elevated it to an art form.

“How about it Golden, why don't we go somewhere and live up to your namesake.” Rough sneered.

“Yeah, I could use a shower, Golden,” Tumble quipped.

Sunny half sobbed, half squeaked a response.

“What was that? You think being with Tumble would be dirty?” Rough took an intimidating step closer, his sneer turned into a lusty leer. “Well, you can get dirty with him, and then I'll clean you all up.” He slowly traced his tongue over his lips.

“Ain't ya gonna do something Chief?” Cider's voice snapped the two stallions out of their observations and back to their table.

“My hooves are tied.” The Chief let out a resigned sigh. “There is no law against being an insufferable ass. Unless they lay hooves on somepony, there is nothing I can do. As much as I would like to give them a fifty thousand volt lesson in manners, letting personal feelings into my line of work is a slippery slope.”

“Y'all broke four of Splice’s ribs and he needed mor'n a hundred stitches! You saying that wasn't 'cause of 'personal feelings'!” Cider's voice rose to a screaming whisper.

“Splice's wife had been to medical with black eyes, busted ribs, and little round burns for months. We all knew what was going on, but she wouldn't turn the bastard in. When his daughter came in with a broken leg, she DID say who hurt her. We went to apprehend him, he resisted, we subdued him. Vigorously. All by the book and legal. If they get physical, I'll haul them down to the brig to cool their hooves, if they just keep acting like asses. I. Cannot. Act!” Chief hissed the words out, trying to restrain them to conversational levels.

“She’s your niece!”

“And I’m the Chief of Security! As much as I would like to give both of those rancid manure piles an electric suppository, I can’t play favorites!”

“Well I'm not gonna let those two trot all over my workers.” She stood and turned toward the two technicians. “Hey! Why don'tcha come over here and spout off. I'll hornfuck you both with each other's horns!”

The twins looked over from their prey. Tumble smirked. “Someone torque your gears, Cider? I could help ya unwind. The way you say it, it sounds so violent.” Tumble fixed her with a nauseating look. “I can show you how gentle a hornfucking can be.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“If'n you get within hooves’ reach, I'll break your face.” Her flinty eyes blazed with anger and indignation.

“Come, don't come, come, don't come. Isn't that just like a mare.” Rough sauntered to his right as he talked, subtly splitting himself off from his brother. His eyes traveled unsubtly to her flanks. “I think she really does want you to come, Tumble.”

“Yeah, I'ma comin' Cider.” Tumble reared up and thrust vulgarly in her direction, a semblance of an orgasmic expression plastered on his face. “I'ma comin' Cider. I'ma comin' Cider! I'ma COMin' CIDER!”

The problem with exposing oneself to a mare is that you’re exposing your junk to everypony. Lancet grabbed the Chief's half-full mug of piping hot coffee and hurled it in a flat arc at Tumble's exposed danglybits. Some of the liquid was lost along the trajectory, but a goodly portion of it stayed in the mug until it impacted low on Tumble's stomach. The scalding liquid cascaded over his stallionhood. He howled in pain and crumbled to the floor. Every stallion in the cafeteria cringed.

Rough rushed over to his whimpering brother. His horn sparked to life, and a pale blue aura surrounded a nearby chair. “I'm going to beat you into paste for that, Lancet!” Cider imposed herself between the enraged twin and the smirking doctor.

000

Pause Playback
Rewind
Resume Playback

“I’ma Comin’ Cider! aaAAHH!” The unicorn stallion on the monitor yelped in pain.

The palomino mare broke into fits of laughter. “Way to go, Dad!”

Pause Playback
Rewind
Resume Playback (Frame by Frame)

She laughed as the bully’s face contorted in anguished pain. She froze the playback on one particularly hilarious face and nickered, “Oh, shoot.” A tear rolled down her cheek as she finally stifled the last few giggles. “Enough of that.” She resumed the playback.

000

“FREEZE!”

The room fell silent, only the static crackle of Chief's Persuader filling the air. Chief Heads Up strode across the room, fixing Rough with a withering stare. “Put down the chair, son.” Rough hesitated a moment, staring into angry eyes that begged him to resist. He dropped the chair from his magical grip. The briefest flash of disappointment marred the Chief’s features before his authoritative countenance reestablished itself. “Good. Now take your brother somewhere and cool off. You boys start any more trouble and you will be spending the night in the brig.”

“Maybe you should come by the infirmary,” Lancet chipped in with a smirk.

Chief rounded on him with a glare. “Why? You aren't going to be there.”

“Come again?”

“They instigated a scene, said some nasty things and made some crude gestures. You assaulted another pony with a scalding hot liquid. Coffee. My coffee. My incredibly expensive, perfectly warming, blissfully caffeinated, once a month on my salary, coffee.” Lancet’s ears drooped, and he sagged to his haunches under his friend's furious glare. “Now, will you be coming quietly, Doc? Or do I need to persuade you.” The Chief’s prod crackled for emphasis.

The smaller stallion glanced at the sparking stun stick, “Persuader” lovingly engraved on its length. “I think I'll come along quietly. See you tomorrow Cider.”

As the Chief started to direct him out of the room, a straw colored pegasus blocked the path. Her hooves crossed nervously, her body tensed, gratitude warring with bashfulness. “I… um… I just wanted to say… um… thanks.” In a flash she had the startled doctor wrapped in a timid embrace. He blinked in surprise. When his eyes opened again the only sign she had been there was a rapidly dissipating trail of gold.

The Chief prodded him with Persuader. The electric tingle caused his leg to spasm slightly. A low setting. Thank Celestia for small miracles. He glanced back to see the Chief’s angry scowl replaced by… an even angrier scowl. The unnaturally loud click of Persuader being turned to a higher setting snapped him fully back into the moment. Lancet took the hint and made his way down to the brig without further delay.

000

The brig was a dreary place, which made it like any other place in the Stable. Gray metal walls, a simple bed, sanitation facilities, a vending machine for meals, oh yeah, and thick metal bars.

Chief cleared his throat, obviously preparing to go into some well rehearsed speech. “Resident 175, Lancet, known alias “Stitches,” Head Physician. You have been found in violation of Stable law, in particular you are in violation of Statute 565.060, and are guilty of assault in the second degree. Given your lack of prior disciplinary action, your sentence is twenty four hours in the brig. Please present your PipBuck.” He complied and the Chief connected their PipBucks. The speech continued, “All communication and entertainment functionality of your PipBuck will be locked. Your PipBuck will only be able to receive emergency broadcasts or interface with the vending machine on the wall of the cell.” He gestured toward the box in the wall to the left. “At the end of your sentence a member of Security will release you.” He disconnected the PipBucks.

“Hey Chief, I really am sorry about the coffee.”

Chief snorted. “Me too. But it was worth it. I appreciate you and Cider sticking up for my little Goose. Sunny’s had it rough. She needs friends to have her back.” A grin spread across his face.

“Then why don't you let ...”

“Not gonna happen. Can't mix personal feelings and work. Enjoy your twenty four hour vacation.” He turned and started to walk away.

Lancet called out after him, uncertainty tinging his words.“Hey, Chief? Can you send somepony to my quarters and have them tell Rack and Pinion that they’re welcome to stay, but I won’t be back tonight?”

Chief waved in agreement. “I’ll swing by myself. All my folks are in the orchard keeping an eye on whatever Tentation is cooking up.” He started to turn again, but paused. “Listen, I believe you have honorable intentions. But it doesn’t look right for you to be letting Splice’s wife and foal stay with you. He can’t get within two rooms of either of them without an alarm being triggered.”

“Rack is suffering from unipolar depression and post traumatic stress. She...”

Chief cut him off with a glare.

Lancet took a breath. “Look. She’s scared. She doesn’t feel safe at home. But she won’t do normal therapy. If I let them stay, I can keep an eye on her and Pinion. And maybe I can get them to open up. They may not believe it, but they need help, and it’s my job to help ponies. Besides, where else can they go?”

“You’re preaching to the choir, Doc. I believe you. It doesn’t change the fact that there are rumors going around. She isn’t Molasses. For one, she’s still married.”

“You’re right, she isn’t Molly. Molly suffered from Bulimia Nervosa and depression, and I didn’t catch it until she ran her hoof through a grinder. If I had been there for her from the start, she wouldn’t have hurt herself. I’m not going to let Rack hurt herself or Pinion because I failed to act. If ponies want to talk, they can fucking talk. I’m going to help who I can, and if it pisses ponies off, they can...”

“Whoa there Doc. Don’t burst a vessel, I’ll tell her.” He turned to leave a third time. “Just saying,” he mumbled, the door closing behind him.

000

“How long have I been stuck here?” Lancet asked nopony in particular. He glanced at his PipBuck which helpfully displayed a countdown timer for his incarceration. 23:14:52. Forty five minutes? I’m going to lose it!

His eyes drifted from the ceiling (130 tiles) to the floor (also 130 tiles) to the walls (solid concrete, no tiles) to the bars of his cell (24 bars). Bored, bored, bored... Vending machine! He trotted over to the wall mounted machine. Surplus bread, water… at five times the cost. They really stick it to you down here. Another option caught his attention. His brain couldn't keep up with his hoof as he hammered the button down. Sin-Thetic Cigarettes, putting the Sin in Synthetic.

He ripped the package open and inhaled the wonderful fragrance of the luxurious smokes he held in his hooves. An air of bliss surrounded him as he prepared to indulge in his not-so-secret vice. He hadn’t had a smoke since before his shift. He tapped the pack of coffin nails against his shoulder and then lipped out one of the delectable little cigarettes.

He looked around the vending machine for something to light his cigarette, except no such tool existed. Buck me…

000

Sunny sprawled out, concealed, in the boughs of her favorite tree. It had been easy enough to convince the security ponies she needed into the orchard. Officer Mallomare was a real softy. Besides, being nice to her was a good way to get on her Unca’ Uppity’s good side. The Chief’s good side was very tiny, so any chance to get closer to it was jumped on by security.

The sweet, clean scent of apples filled her nostrils, soothing her. She drew in a deep breath of the calming aroma and blew the heavy breath out between her lips. I hugged him. A hot blush stood out beneath her pale coat.

Her thoughts wandered back to the cafeteria and the warmth of Dr. Lancet’s neck, the sound of his surprised gasp, the safety she felt. I should have kissed him…

“Thank you,” she says, gazing up into his warm, kind eyes. They soften as he looks down to her, he tips her head up gently with a hoof, his eyes start to close as he leans in. She quivers slightly in anticipation before his lips meet hers. The taste of him is clean, the movement of his lips strong yet nimble. The kiss deepens, their tongues …

“No!” she yelled at herself, the actual sound more like the falling of a leaf, “I could never do something like that with Miss Press around and Unca’ Uppity standing right there! Although if they weren’t …” Her mind started to wander again before a quick shake cleared her mind. The din of some commotion drifted to her tree from across the orchard, pulling her fully from her thoughts.

“What’s going on over there?” she wondered aloud. She floated up above the trees, trying to get a better view of the goings on across the way.

000

20:17:24, I'm going to die in here. The door across from the cell opened and a dark green mare with a graying orange mane and a bundle of carrots as a cutie mark entered the room. A small pair of reading glasses sat low on her snout, slightly obscuring her hazel eyes. He straightened his posture by instinct. “Overmare! What brings you down to the brig?” he asked conversationally, beads of sweat threatening to break out across his face.

“You bring me here, Doctor Lancet.” She fixed him with a unblinking gaze. “You see, when the Head of Medicine takes to scalding other stallion's genitals during his lunch break, that is a problem for me. Do you get so little work that you feel you must create injuries?”

“No ma'am, I get plenty of work down in the infirmary. But Rough and Tumble's antics are unacceptable, and they needed to be brought down a peg. Security won't act unless it comes to blows, so I handled it.”

“And you think that resorting to violence is the answer? As a doctor, I thought you took an oath to do no harm?” She stalked up to the bars of the cell, her eyes unblinking, “It is bad for morale and undermines Stable security when ponies 'handle' problems themselves.”

Well, two options, smile and nod or… He crossed the cell and met her gaze, their faces separated by scant inches and a few thick bars. “With all due respect, ma'am, I would say it is more damaging to morale to allow bullies like Rough and Tumble to get away with harassing any pony they damn well please.” A bit of an edge crept into his voice, the subject striking close to home. “As a doctor, and a victim, I can tell you that those two are inflicting very real wounds on the ponies they torture. Sunny's confidence is shot, and those two can smell the blood in the water. They are going to drive her to hurt herself or somepony else. They are out of control and need to be reeled in. If Stable law isn't going to protect ponies from them, then I will.”

She looked at him and sighed, her eyes softened. “Doctor Lancet, I understand your frustration, and I hear you. I'll see what I can do, just promise me that there won't be a repeat of the jar incident.”

“On one condition.” Her ears perked up and her gaze sharpened. “Nothing too hard, I just want access to the archives while I'm in here. As you said, I am the Head of Medicine, and I shouldn't be wasting my time twiddling my hooves. I can catch up on paperwork.” He flashed her his best smile.

“Alright.” She connected her PipBuck to his and unlocked it. “I expect no complaints about being behind after this.” She quirked an eyebrow at him and he nodded in agreement. “Very well then, use your time wisely. Don't make this a common occurance.” With that, she turned and left without further comment.

Victory is mine! All his paperwork was caught up, time to play Apples Vs. Zombies! He tried to start up a new game only to be denied. Damn it, she must have only unlocked archive access. “Cheating bitch!” Well hell. There must be something interesting in here.

000

Lancet paged through several archive entries on his PipBuck hoping to find something interesting enough to serve as a diversion. A thought dawned on him. Cider had mentioned some kind of trial in the orchard, and Chief had been all worried about it too! Something like that would have to be interesting. He dove into the archives with the vigor of the bored. Victory! Project Regrowth. Head researcher: Professor Tentation, Lead Assistant: Professor Kudzu. Lancet tried to open Professor Tentation’s log, but was locked out. Figures. He may not be able to access the logs of another division head, but that wouldn’t stop him from getting into Professor Kudzu’s notes. A few moments, and his passcode as the Head of Medicine, later and he had Professor Kudzu’s audio logs.

Entry one of Project Regrowth, Professor Kudzu’s log. Today I was assigned to Professor Tentation’s new project. Few have his gusto or flair for science, it will be an honor working with him. The goal of the project is to genetically engineer a plant with higher productivity than the current assortment of crops. I meet Professor Tentation and the rest of the team tomorrow.

Entry two of Project Regrowth, Professor Kudzu’s log, one day from previous entry. Today was our first day on the project. Professor Tentation gave a rousing speech on the fruits of our work feeding the Stable for decades after our own lives end. It was so moving in fact, I will even forgive the pun! So many ideas, even the youngest technicians got into the spirit!

Lancet’s face fell. Ugh, this isn’t very interesting at all! But I’ve already counted all the tiles, so I guess it will have to do.

000

Cider sat in her quarters with two others--a few close friends gathered around a squat table. She’d made tea to distract herself from her worries. She served the gathered couple and herself and took a seat.

“Thank ya kindly for comin’ over today. I was gonna spend it with Stitches, but he done got hisself hauled down to the brig.” She huffed, frustration evident in her voice.

“I say, from what you have told us, it was quite chivalrous of him to swoop in to your rescue,” observed the monocled, mustachioed guest to her left.

“Not that you needed the help, honey,” quipped the husky lady to her right.

“Darn tootin’. I can handle myself. I don’t need no scrawny, pegasus-hugging sawbones comin’ to my rescue!” Indignation rose in Cider’s voice.

The moment hung awkwardly in the air a moment before Mr. Splitter broke the silence, “Now, Dear, what was the lad supposed to do, eh? Shove the lass away when she only wanted to express her innocent gratitude? Perish the thought!”

“Innocent gratitude? The trollop ‘as probably been eyin’ the good doctor, circlin’ like a buzzard, waitin’ for just such an opportunity.” Betsy fixed Mr. Splitter with a heated stare. “An’ you got the gall t’say its innocent gratitude!” She turns her attention to Cider, “Now look ‘ere Missy! Ain’t no point in wallowin’ around in pity. You gotta be honest with yerself and figure out why yer upset.”

“I ain’t gotta do no such thing!” Cider stood in a huff and turned to leave.

As she passed out of the room she could hear Betsy whisper to Mr. Splitter, “Yep, cause there ain’t nothin’ gonna go wrong if you keep hidin’ from yerself.”

He turned toward her reassuringly. “I’m sure she will figure it out, Love. All we can do is be here for her.”

000

Lancet sprawled on the uncomfortable cot. It had to be the brainchild of some deranged, ancient designer whose goal was creating the most uncomfortable sleeping contraption in existence. The mattress was just thick enough to allow a pony to realize how miserable of a job it was doing in softening the stiff steel webbing under it. The whole thing was too thin. Even Sprout couldn't have fit himself completely on the tiny cot. His legs jutted off the side. He tried to roll to a more comfortable position and failed. His legs splayed in the air, he continued listening.

Entry three of Project Regrowth, Professor Kudzu’s log, fourteen days from previous entry. First failure. I guess banana corn doesn’t sound like such a bright idea in hindsight. It seemed like such a good idea though! One banana corn tree could produce the same amount of grain as a hundred square foot plot of traditional corn. A shame the growth acceleration couldn’t be slowed after the tree reached maturity. We don’t have time to grown new trees in the traditional sense, we need a new strategy.

Entry four of Project Regrowth, Professor Kudzu’s log, five days from previous entry. I don’t know why it took me so long to think of it, it’s right in my name! A parasite! Hmm… that is a little depressing actually… nevertheless the idea is brilliant! We don’t need to grow a whole new plant, we just need to develop a plant that can increase production while living off existing crops! I’ll present my idea to the group and start working with my namesake on the morrow!

Entry five of Project Regrowth, Professor Kudzu’s log, forty seven days from previous entry. It has been too long since I sat down and recorded one of these. It’s not like all this isn’t in my notes, but still these logs help me think. But I’ve just been so busy! The original idea didn’t bear fruit, literally and figuratively. We’ve decided to think smaller. It was Tentation’s idea, engineer them at the cellular level.

Entry six of Project Regrowth, Professor Kudzu’s log, eight days from previous entry. Mixed success. We have engineered a bacterial culture that when exposed to plant cells will absorb and mimic those cells. We prepared one hundred grams of the bacteria and applied it to an apple of the same mass. The bacteria perfectly absorbed and replicated the apple! And we were left with one apple that was not an apple. Further work must be done.

“That’s the big plan? Turn goo into apples? Science is gross!” He paused the logs, considering them for a moment. Still more interesting than recounting the tiles. He cued up the next log.

000

Rack stood in Dr. Lancet's living room listening to her daughter play in the bedroom. The tapioca mare absentmindedly folded the thin blanket that was left haphazardly on the plush couch the doctor had been spending his nights on. That task accomplished, she cast her eyes around the room looking for something else to busy herself with.

It was strange for her to not be working. After her husband had been arrested, her life had gone into flux. Her boss had given her time off from working the storeroom to be with her daughter while things shook out in engineering. Splice was a senior technician. Working in engineering and not running into him would be difficult at best for her.

She shook her head, tossing her raven mane to and fro. Don't dwell on that! Dr. Lancet says to stay positive! She cleared her mind with a deep breath. She grabbed a duster from the tiny utility closet. So armed, she set herself to dispersing the fine layer of dust that had accrued on the various nicknacks scattered around the living compartment.

A disused shelf in the corner had been tempting her since Dr. Lancet had left for his shift in the infirmary. It wouldn't be polite to snoop. But it isn't snooping if I'm dusting. She nodded in agreement with herself and cantered over to the lonely little shelf.

A few framed pictures and old texts sat on the shelf. She examined the photos as she dusted. The largest one was of a small colt and two adult ponies. It looked to be taken in the infirmary. The chocolaty stallion with the head mirror must have been Lancet’s father, Dr. Sutures. The snow-white mare beside him blended into her lab coat. Professor Alabaster had been a prominent researcher under Professor Arboriculture. The sullen little silver colt had to be a young Dr. Lancet. One of his forelegs was encased in plaster. She squinted at the white limb. She could just make out one large name written across the barren white cast. Cider.

More photos were strewn across the shelf. Each had a taciturn Lancet of varying age and a cast of other ponies throughout the years. Tucked in the back was a photo that bucked the trend. She picked up the picture of the smiling young Lancet and smiled back. Little Lancet was sprawled out, grinning. He was tangled up with a little red-maned filly. She had him pinned down, his ear in her teeth. From the expressions on their faces and their quizzically cocked heads it was easy to imagine their roughhousing had been interrupted by a call of “Look this way.”

She raised a hoof to her chest. They’re so adorable!

A knock at the door brought her out of her thoughts. She replaced the photo and made her way to the door. “Coming.” She hit the release and the door slid silently open.

“Afternoon Mrs. Rack, mind it I come in?”

“Afternoon Chief. I’m sure Dr. Lancet wouldn’t mind. Please come in.” She stepped out of the doorway and gestured inside.

Chief glanced about the room as he entered, his eyes coming to rest on the overstuffed couch. “Well, I’ll be, Doc still has that couch. Only comfortable couch in the Stable.” He noticed the confusion on her face. “It used to be my couch, then I lost it to his Mom.”

“Can I get you something? A glass of tea or…?” She started to make her was to Lancet’s small kitchen.

“That would be lovely, thank you. Doc sent me up to let you know he won’t be back tonight. He got in a spot of trouble with those bullies from engineering.”

“Oh, I hope he wasn’t hurt.” She bustled back into the room, a tray of tea balanced on her back.

“He’s fine, he’s just cooling his hooves in the brig.” He took the proffered cup of tea and let the conversation drift.

000

Lancet sat chewing on his Sin-Thetic Cigarette, getting very little satisfaction but enough precious nicotine to combat his mounting headache. He continued listening to the project logs.

Entry seven of Project Regrowth, Professor Kudzu’s log, thirty nine days from previous entry. Failure. More than a month of failure. Spirits are getting low. We have not be able to progress past our previous breakthrough. The agony of being so close and yet so far is unbearable. We’ve had only one minor victory. By using a virus as the base cell instead of a bacteria, we’ve been able to increase the rate of absorption and mimicry by several orders of magnitude. Professor Tentation says he has a new plan he’s been working on, but he is being cryptic about it. I guess we learn tomorrow.

Entry eight of Project Regrowth, Professor Kudzu’s log, one day from previous entry. I don’t know who is crazier, Professor Tentation for doing it, or the rest of us for not burning all his research and having the Overmare bring him up on recklessness charges. The bastard has been working with Killing Joke in his home lab. KILLING JOKE! The single most dangerous, magical, and malevolent plant to ever exist. But it worked, by Celestia it worked. He repeated the apple mimicry test, with the expected results, but when he cut a slice from the apple, it regenerated itself. We were left with a nice slice of apple and a whole apple! He produced a sauce pan, some synth-butter and synth-amon with the intention of a celebratory meal. Except the slice burst into flames when it hit pan. I suggested more work needed to be done, but he insisted it was safe. He went so far as to try a bite raw. I guess his bravo is contagious, we are moving forward.

Entry nine of Project Regrowth, Professor Kudzu’s log, one day from previous entry. Professor Tentation is a pony possessed, throwing himself into his work. It is inspiring, the zeal with which he works, the passion. We completed the second trial today. After exposing a dwarf apple tree in the lab to a small quantity of the virus, the tree was absorbed and replicated in short order. When an apple was removed from the tree, the tree replaced it almost instantly. Prof. Tentation has acquired access to the orchard. We move to phase three tomorrow.

“Well, that was … interesting.” Lancet sat alone in his cell, contemplating for a moment. “Yes, there can be no doubt. I am more bored now than before.” He tossed himself onto the uncomfortable cot in the corner and tried to force himself to sleep. Maybe he could at least find something interesting in his dreams.

000

Chief’s PipBuck blared and flashed crimson. He muted the alert and glanced at the warning scrolling over the screen. Emergency: Biological Contamination (Orchard). Emergency: Intruder Alert (Orchard). He acknowledged the alert, banishing it to side of his PipBuck screen.

“If you will pardon me a moment.” He excused himself to the corner and dialed up the frequency of the security contingent stationed below. “Major Solver, It’s Chief. SitRep, go.” Nothing. “Major Solver, Chief. Report.” Nothing. “Security squad at orchard, respond.” Nothing. “Any officer this net, respond.” Nothing.

Every officer he had was down at the orchard. The whole situation had him on edge. He’d put everyone down there. Now he couldn’t raise anyone from security. That isn’t ominous at all. “Mrs. Rack, I would advise you to stay in quarters until this is all sorted out. No need to be alarmed, but until I figure out what this is all about, its probably safest you and Pinion stay put.” Rack nodded in agreement, scooping up little Pinion in her forelegs.

Chief rounded the corner and quickened his pace to a trot. A trotting officer is in a hurry, a galloping officer inspires panic. He brought up his officer’s PipTags on his PipBuck. Their markers dotted his Eyes Forward Sparkle.

“All in the orchard,” he mumbled to himself, “but why aren’t they responding.”

He made his way through the twisting corridors of 48 to the central lifts. A lift ferried him down to Level F. He moved down abandoned hallways, passing by several laboratories. The ponies within undoubtedly staying safely put until the emergency was lifted.

He approached the large reinforced bulkhead to the orchard. Being the source of 48’s food, the orchard had its own environmental systems and an airlock separating it from the rest of the Stable. He entered an access code into the panel beside the heavy door and waited. Nothing. He broadcast his security override. Still nothing. He was getting rather frustrated with nothing.

Out of ideas, he bucked the massive door. His hooves clanging ineffectually off the mammoth construction. “Who’s there?” asked the small intercom alongside the bulkhead.

Well, that was something anyway. “This is Chief Heads Up. I need the bulkhead opened, now.”

“I can’t let you do that, Chief.” The speaker’s voice cracked. “Nopony here but the dead.”

“Who is this?”

“Professor Kudzu, at least I think I’m Professor Kudzu. I might not be.” He giggled. “Are you sure you’re Chief Heads Up? I don’t know if I can trust you. I don’t know if you can trust me, either.”

Wonderful. I finally get someone to answer me and he’s cracked. “Listen, Professor. I know my officers are in there, I can read their PipTags, I need you to open this door!”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Chief, they aren’t them anymore, they’re something else.”

“What are you talking about Professor?”

“They were them, then it got them, now they aren’t them! They’re it!” Kudzu broke into peals of maniacal laughter. “Celestia help us. Its getting the last laugh after all, the food is eating us!”

000

Chief took his hoof off the intercom. He grumbled to himself. They were in there, but something must have happened to shake Prof. Kudzu that bad. Nothing for it. He accessed his PipBuck and upgraded the emergency alert to a level one lockdown.

He cantered back to the central lifts. A plan slowly coalescing in his mind. Get to the armory on D level. Load up. Round up some help. Crack that door.

The lift ferried him speedily up from the lower levels. The armory was connected to the main security hub on Level D. He hurried past the empty desks and stared into the retina scanner at the back of the room. The armory door slid open with a faint whump. Rows of neatly cataloged equipment stood in silent vigil before him. He made his way past the few remaining suits of heavy riot barding. It was impressive and reassuring to the civilians, but it was hard to react in. Chief wanted to be able to move so he skipped armor entirely, instead directing his attention to the rows of weapons.

He pulled a pump action Prism Projectiles Model 12 off the rack. Rotating it in the grip of his magic, he alternatingly loaded flechettes and slugs. He chambered a round with a satisfying clack. He tossed a few boxes of ammunition into his saddlebags, his PipBuck’s inventory management system organizing them for easy access. He secured the armory and made his way to Cider’s quarters. If there was anypony who could round up a posse in a hurry from outside of security, it would be her.

He approached the door to Cider’s residence. He banged impatiently on the metal door, the clang of hoof on steel reverberating down the empty hall. A few moments passed. He raised his hoof to knock again when the steel portal opened. Her face warred between confusion and aggravation.

She schooled her features. “Howdy Chief. Cain’t say ya was the pony I woulda expected, but what can I do fer ya?”

“I need you to round up some ponies to help me investigate what’s going on in the orchard.”

“And just what is goin’ on in my orchard?” She hadn’t been in the best of moods to start with, a lockdown and some unknown problem in the orchard didn’t improve her attitude. “An’ what’s with the shotgun?”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t need you to round up ponies to help find out.” Some of his frustration slipped into his voice. “The shotgun is because, again, I don’t know what is going on in the orchard.”

They locked eyes for a moment before Cider responded, “Alrighty then. You gonna provide arms for the rest of us?”

“It is against protocol to arm civilians without the approval of the Overmare.”

“Your point?”

“Would you rather find out what is going on in your orchard, or wait for authorization to come down through channels?”

“Alrighty then.” She sent a quick message via her PipBuck. “Meet you at the lift?”

“That will be fine.”

As he turned to leave he heard Cider call out to her back room. “Mr. Splitter, Betsy, we got work to do.”

000

Cider gazed at the lovingly maintained tools in front of her. She slipped a pair of large cylindrical fuel tanks into the right side of the battle saddle, securing them with a lacy metal band. She connected the fuel hoses and checked the pilot.

After a final check, she shrugged on the battle saddle mounted flamethrower, cinching it in place. She grabbed the nearby fire axe, a twirling mustache and monocle painted carefully on the head, a miniature bow tie secured to the haft. She stowed it back over her shoulder

She gave herself a quick shake to make sure nothing would shift and headed toward the central lifts.

000

Chief stood by the central lifts. Three other stallions shuffled around him. Tiny Spartan, Sprout, and Redstrake looked nervously about. They had answered the call from Cider, but Chief had yet to let them in on the big emergency.

Chief heard the reverberating clap of heavy hooves striking metal echoing down the empty halls. Cider rounded the corner, a massive flamethrower on her back.

“What the Well are you doing with that!” Chief gaped at the giant civilian weapons violation on her back.

“Ya said ya weren’t gonna arm us, so I brought some backup.”

“Where did you even get that thing?”

“Standard issue. I keep it in quarters after somepony got a bit too playful with her.” She scowled pointedly at Redstrake. He quailed a bit under her gaze.

“But... how? Why? You really think it is a good idea to lug a flamethrower around the Stable?” The irrationality of it was starting to wear away his veneer of calm.

“Ya said yerself, ain’t been no contact with yer fellas. Ya wouldn’t be packin’ that scattergun if ya didn’t think there was somethin’ off. If somethin’ is goin’ bad wrong down there, I intend to have a plan B.” Indeed, scrawled on the side of the offending weapon in bold block letters was “Fire is Always Plan B.”

“Fine.” He turned and smacked the down arrow with a bit more force than was strictly required. “It isn’t worth fighting over. We are going down to the brig to get Dr. Lancet, then you all will accompany him back up to medical to get whatever supplies he needs. I’ll meet you at the orchard once I get a technician to crack the door.”

000

Bored. Lancet stared at the ceiling, chewing ineffectively on a cigarette. He held his hooves in front of his face. I’ve got you now Box! Now I shall crush you! He brought his hooves together with a clap.

“What have I been reduced to?” he cried to nopony in particular. “What kind of cruel monster would trap a mind of my caliber in a place like this? Its worse than a sensory deprivation tank in here! At least in the tank it is dark and a comfortable temperature!”

He took a deep breath to continue ranting when the door opened.

“Come on Doc, vacation’s over,” Chief announced as he strode into the brig.

“Really?” He rolled off the cot and trotted toward the bars. “What’s the catch?”

“Something happened in the orchard. Professor Kudzu’s lost it and barricaded himself in the airlock.” Chief’s voice tightened with frustration. “I don’t know what’s going on in there, but we’re going to find out.”

“Alright then.” Lancet adopted a suitably serious mien. The unlit, gnawed cigarette dangling from his lips detracted slightly from his stern countenance.

Chief entered a command and the barred door slid silently open. With a tilt of his head he indicated the door and the two stallions made their way out of the brig.

000

Cider waited in silence with the rest of the makeshift security detail outside the brig. Chief had gone to get Dr. Lancet, and had instructed the ragtag little group to wait here. No civilians in the brig, he says. He’s got us steppin’ ‘n fetchin’ like our heads is on fire and our asses is catching, but we cain’t go in the damn brig ‘cause of regulations. Before her mind could wander too far toward the image of Chief’s mane on fire, the door opened.

Chief and Lancet stepped out into the hall. A look of recognition and affection crossed Lancet’s face. A gentle smile crept across his lips as he looked at her with half lidded eyes.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” he said, crossing the distance between them. He lowered his head, lips pursed and optimistic. He leaned in, eyes smiling.

Cider shook her head. “What do ya think yer doin’?” The motion of her head caused the flamethrower to track left and right. He futilely tried to track the darting pilot, jabbing his still unlit cigarette at it vainly.

“I’m trying to get Madam LeCrisp to light my cigarette. But you’re making it difficult.”

“Her name is BETSY!” She stomped before stepping forward menacingly. The flustered doctor took a step back. “And ya ain’t got no right gettin’ all familiar with anot...”

“Hold it!” Chief stepped out from the group of confused stallions watching the little altercation. He fixed Lancet with a confused stare that tried to be stern. “You knew she had that thing!”

“She has a name, you know.” Lancet deadpanned.

The Chief’s eye twitched as he resisted the urge to facehoof. “You know what, I need air. Head up to medical and get whatever supplies you might need for emergency first aid. We don’t know what happened, so bring anything you think might possibly be needed. I’m going to head down to engineering and round up a technician or something to crack the orchard bulkhead.”

He trotted down the hall to the lifts without further delay, leaving the group behind. Cider took a few steps forward. “Y’all heard him, let’s get to it.”

She started toward the lifts, the rest of the group falling in line behind her. After a few moments Lancet trotted up beside her, a manipulative grin trying to hold fast on his face.

“So…”

“No.”

“But…

“No.”

“I really need…”

“Not happenin’.”

“I’m a doctor, I know…”

“Stitches, I ain’t lettin’ ya light one of them killthroats offa Betsy.” She turned to look him square in the eyes. “Sometimes I wonder ‘bout ya. Sometimes ya seem so smart, and then sometimes I cain’t help but think that if yer brains was dynamite, ya couldn’t blow yer nose.”

His falsified smile evaporated, replaced by his usual mien. “Was worth a shot.”

000

Chief trotted through the familiar halls of engineering. His folks had both been technicians, and he remembered all the nooks and crannies he had scampered through as a colt. The decision to go into security had been a point of contention between him and his father, but mom had eventually patched things up.

He had a knack for noticing things: a crossed wire, a frayed cord, the way a pony’s eyes would go to their left if they were making things up. Useful to a tech, invaluable to a security stallion.

The mechanical smell of engineering brought back memories of childhood games and experiments. He still tinkered from time to time. Persuader was a fine case. Standard issue stun sticks used a relatively small gem for power and had two settings. Early in his career he had had the unfortunate task of trying to subdue Tiny Spartan’s father. Two settings were not enough to faze the ornery drunk. While he was on desk duty with a wired jaw, he tinkered with his stun stick. The result was a heavily reinforced weapon that ran off a plasma rifle’s energy cell. Persuader had eight additional settings. A rampaging, vat-grown diamond dog rated about six to reduce to a twitching, smoking heap.

He rounded a corner only to be presented with a shapely white flank swaying before him, a pale yellow tail bouncing merrily from side to side. A pair of interlocked plastic ties adorned the well-rounded hindquarters of the mare half buried in an access panel. Why do those always remind me of hoofcuffs? He shook his head before he allowed his mind to wander again.

He cleared his throat loudly before speaking, “Zippy? You do realize we’re on lockdown, right?”

The startled technician banged her head as she tried to quickly remove herself from the tiny compartment. Once free she sat down hard on her well cushioned posterior, the tools on her tech barding jingling. She rubbed the back of her head, worrying over a growing knot. “What’s the big idea, Heady? Sneaking up on a mare like that.”

“I was hardly sneaking.” He took a step back as she took a step toward him.

A look of hurt washed over her face. “Aww, now don’t be like that. I learned my lesson.” She settled to her haunches and raised her right foreleg, the left placed over her chest. “No touching, fondling, or groping any stallion without permission, regardless of how hunky they look in uniform. Oh, and always use a safe word.” She grinned wickedly. “See, I’m a fine upstanding young mare, so what do you say?” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively, a mischievous glint in her baby blues. “I know a nice secluded spot we could have some fun in.” Her voice turning singsong at the last.

“I’m not here for fun, I’m here for business,” he said flatly. The mare deflated slightly. “I need something to crack the orchard bulkhead or a technician who can. One of the professors screwed with the lock, and now none of the overrides work.” Zip Tie brightened.

“What a delicious coincidence! I’m a technician! And I know just what you need.” She winked. He moved out of the way as she bustled past him before she could ‘nonchalantly’ rub any part of herself against him. “I would be happy to get you up.” She put a hoof to her lips, feigning a slip of the tongue. “Get you set up, that is.”

Lacking better options, he followed the lascivious mare deeper into engineering.

000

Fast Forward

“Yada, yada, blah, blah, blah.” The two ponies on the screen ran casually through the halls of engineering. “Boring, get back to Dad!” Their playful banter was fun for the first few minutes, but the constant innuendos soon got tiring. The security pony on the screen trailed behind the white mare. What was his name? Major Head? The mare chuckled to herself. Her tiny mechanical companion crawled out from the hole in the desk and spread itself out above the monitors.

The pair had made it to a store room. They seemed to be talking for a moment, and then General Erection started picking his way through the jumbled equipment. Her eyes drooped as she watched the super speed ponies on the screen. They were talking, Sergeant Schlong was trying to free a plasma cutter from a pile of disused equipment. She slowly closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. Her mechanical companion skittered off the bank of monitors and climbed up her neck onto her head. Perched across her forelock, the little machine used its long, insectile legs to massage her scalp. “Thanks,” she sighed to the mechano-bug. It chirped a happy response.

She opened her eyes and looked back at the screen. She jerked forward violently, spilling the micro-masseur back onto the desk.

”WHAT the BUCK is THAT? Dad never... I mean... what... is that... it can’t... FUCK!”

Rewind
Resume Playback

000

Zip Tie motioned Chief into the dim storeroom. The lights flickered and cast harsh shadows across the walls. There was an impressively varied amount of junk strewn around the room. He picked his way through the piles of scrap.

“Damn, you really let this room go,” he said. Zip snorted. “Well, not you directly I’m sure, but you technicians in general.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, we don’t consider walking around chatting with ponies to be a full day’s work down here.” Her former cheerfulness forgotten, he had apparently struck a nerve.

He continued pushing through piles of scrap and forgotten tools, avoiding eye contact. They had been friends growing up, maybe more than that for a while, but she took his abandonment of engineering personally. A pony doesn’t get to be the head of security without some psychology training, and it seemed to him that she tried to fill the hole with any stallion that showed her an ounce of affection. He knew the flirting and the physicality were a mask, and he hated being the cause of it. Maybe I should send her Dr. Lancet’s way. He collects broken mares.

In the deafening silence, he couldn’t bring himself to look back at her. Then he spotted it, a yellow box with some leads and knobs, the plasma cutter he was looking for. “I think I see it!” He started pulling at it, trying to free it from pile.

With a giggle and a muted click, the room descended into darkness.

“We don’t have time for your horny bullshit, Zip!” His mounting frustration finally broke through his calm veneer. He lit up a flashlight spell, casting a concentrated beam of light onto the buried cutter. He huffed. “Listen, I know we didn’t end things on good terms, and I’m sorry about that. I know you feel like I abandoned you, but what you’re doing isn’t healthy. I think you should really see someone about whatever it is you’re feeling. Dr. Lancet is really rather good at...”

A wet squelch interrupted him. A slurping gurgle underscored by a sound like ripping canvas and rustling leaves.

“Zippy? You alright?” She was no longer behind him. He slunk around the mounds of debris, casting the light in a tight pattern around the room. “No more games, Zip. Zip?” Only jagged, dancing shadows answered him.

He rounded another pile of debris when the beam washed over her face. She grinned at him, her head cocked quizzically. “Zip?” She lifted her head, surpassing her normal height. The long serpentine neck gliding toward him, her body shuffling obediently behind her. With an unnatural rasping the long neck recoiled on itself, tensing to strike.

A wet hacking sound drew his attention, and the beam of light tracked down to her body. Zip’s once white coat was split down the center of her chest, a gaping hole sucking and popping as something within the dripping maw writhed like a nest of snakes. What could have been ribs, or teeth, or something else ringed the hole beneath flayed tatters of skin and fur. A terribly familiar scream snapped his attention back to her head. Zippy’s pretty face was contorted in pain. Her scream carried on unnaturally as the flesh peeled away from her skull, velvety fronds unfurling around a thorny gullet. Blues, reds, and greens danced within the thing Zip Tie had become. It stood still a moment, its innards writhing in counterpoint to its stillness. Then with a reverberating roar it barreled through the clutter toward him.

Years of training took over. The shotgun leapt from his back in a strong magical grip. He loosed a hail of flechettes, the cloud of metal darts burying themselves into the thing’s maw. It stalled its charge. Chief racked a slug into the chamber.

The moment hung in time, slowed by the adrenaline coursing through him. He lined up the shotgun with what had been Zippy’s head. The thing spat out a long, viny tentacle. The tentacle struck the weapon as he concentrated on pulling the trigger. The shot went wide, the weapon wrenched from his magical grasp. Three more tentacles exploded from the thing, streaking like harpoons toward him. He dove to the right, behind a large pile of scrap.

The thing bellowed its rage and withdrew the tentacles back into itself. It shuffled after him, the additional weight over its forelegs seeming to unbalance it.

Chief pulled Persuader off his side and cracked it past its highest setting, the weapon would completely discharge itself with one pull of the trigger. The memory of the shotgun fresh in his mind, he tossed Persuader in among the scrap that was his cover. He continued backing down the narrow path between the junk heaps.

The thing rounded the corner and bellowed. It took a few steps toward him and lashed out with its viny appendages. Chief’s magical aura surrounded a large sheet of scrap metal and pulled it in front of himself. The tentacles rebound with a clang, leaving a quartet of dents in his improvised shield. It pulled its appendages back toward itself, the serpentine forms folding back on themselves ready to strike.

It moved cautiously closer, baby blue eyes staring, unblinking, from the mass of fronds. His lip trembled. “Goodbye, Zippy.”

He enveloped Persuader in his magic, the modified stun stick lying in the junk at the thing’s hooves. With a quick motion he jammed the electrodes into the thing that was Zip Tie and pulled the trigger. A crackling surge of energy coursed through the thing. Ichor popped and sizzled for a few moments before the beast took flame. The thing thrashed as the flames consumed it. The fire lapped at it hungrily, the shambling corpse a quickly diminishing pyre.

It screamed, a discordant chorus of agony. The body of the thing danced in the flames. He approached it slowly. Fire raced up the thrashing neck, but suddenly the vines unwound themselves, freeing the slithering form from the burning corpse.

“Fuck!”

It slithered toward him, building up speed. He backpedaled, eyes sweeping for anything to put between himself and the charging abomination.

The thing hurled itself at him, maw outstreched, fronds ready to pierce his flesh and consume him.

A reverberating clang rung out in the little room as the thing impacted on the dented sheet of steel. “I said no hanky panky!” He hurled the shield and the still-writhing form wrapped around it back into the slowly burning pyre. He pinned the thrashing form in the fire under his twice improvised shield.

It ceased struggling after a few minutes. Soon a charred mass was all that remained of the thing. Of Zip Tie. He took a deep breath. “No,” he said under his breath, “that wasn’t Zippy. It couldn’t have been.” He tried to clear his head with a quick shake. Whatever it was, it burned readily. The melted and cracked remains of Persuader sat nestled in the remains. He walked the long way around and collected his shotgun. He shined his light on the entryway and flipped the switch, the harsh fluorescence exposing the grizzly aftermath of the battle.

He brought up his PipBuck. Schooling his voice, he opened the channel. “Cider, It’s Chief. Send Doc down to engineering. Scratch that. You bring him down here. I need him to see something. And don’t take that thing off, I think we’re moving on to plan B.”

Duty attended to, he allowed himself a little shake as the adrenaline wore off. Shit. What else can go wrong.

Then the lights faded out, the red glow of the emergency lamps flickered to life.

Author's Note:

Hello hypothetical reader, if your reading this, congratulation! You are no longer hypothetical! And that, my non-hypothetical friend, is the first step to being awesome.

I'm a fan of constructive criticism, it is my foremost goal in life to generally not suck (that's the second step to awesomeness right there, concerted effort to not suck). So load up your critic cannons and sight me up.

Which brings me to the third step of awesomeness, write a review! I've spent a good deal of time writing what (I hope) has been a decent diversion for you, I hope you will share your thoughts. I don't expect a 1,000 word analysis from every reader, and don't feel obligated to rack your brain for something to post if nothing jumped out. But, if anything does stick with you, from a long detailed analysis to a simple “There was something about [this part] that made me feel [emotion]” I would love to know so I can improve. And if you want to get really brutal but don't want to do that in a public place, shoot me an email at Mr_Clacky@yahoo.com.

Thanks again all you non-hypothetical, potentially awesome readers.

And I can’t finish without throwing out some thanks!

All hail Kkat, crafter of the sandbox we play in.

I want to thank Mysecsha (Read ‘Wild Sky Yonder’ NOW!) for being my sounding board, and my pretty, pretty princess. He helped me turn this from a rambling, tense-confused, mess into a semi-coherent, functional story.

I also want to thank Drakmire (of ‘Lacuna’ fame) for issuing a grammatical beatdown. I learned about correct attribution tags and how ellipsis really work! If you read this and think ‘dang, this author sounds like he knows his stuff’ it was probably Drak.

And then I need to thank my volunteer beta readers: ErrantIndy, FallingSnow57, and all the others who stopped in from the FoE community to give it a quick look-see.

Stable 48: Quarantine

Fallout Equestria: Homecoming
Chapter 3 - Quarantine
By: Mister Clacky
(Mr_Clacky@yahoo.com)

“Are you trying to escape? Ha ha ha ha ha! Things have changed since the last time you left the building. What's going on out there will make you wish you were back in here”

000

“Goose! Goose!” Chief struggled against Lancet’s restraining hoof. The dancing arc of flames confined him to the cement pad.

Tiny Spartan lay popping and hissing in the flames behind him, his bulk blocking their way out of the orchard. He’d been so distracted by the now blazing behemoth he hadn’t noticed when three of their group had fled into the orchard. I let her run off, I failed.

“Let me go, Doc! I have to go!”

“She’s gone. She’ll either find a way to survive or she won’t, but you can’t make it! If the fire doesn’t kill you, those apple things will.”

Chief continued to struggle. “Fuck that, Doc! Let me GO!” A magic aura surrounded his horn and a telekinetic shove sent Lancet sprawling back several feet. Chief leveled his shotgun at the doctor’s recovering form. “Stand. Aside.”

The two stallions glared at each other, stubborn obligation locking them in stalemate. Dammit Doc. Just move!

A roaring chorus bellowed off in the distance. Chief looked out into the orchard, jaw dropping as the sickening sound washed over him. The blow snapped his jaw closed with a loud clap. His shotgun clattered to the ground. Lancet stood balanced on his hind legs in front of him, his right foreleg raised.

“STAY! PUT!” Lancet brought the heavy blow down. Chief crumpled into blackness.

000

Tumble stood in the quickly deforming shed. The drugs coursing through his system distorting the world around him. Everything was a shade of blue, and it all happened so slowly. He turned his head to casually observe a deep navy branch lance through the side of the shed, with a thought the nearest saw cartwheeled to intercept the offending limb. Ichor and wood chips splattered across the shed, the severed limb crashed down and writhed on the floor.

I shouldn't stay here. I need to find Sunny.

He turned his attention to the front of the shed. With a snort he enveloped the door and the wall in a magic aura and pushed. The wall exploded forward powered by his drug-induced might, crushing the things that had assembled beyond. He trotted from the destroyed shed, a cloud of whirling death in tow. His pace ate up the distance unnaturally, the shattered building disappearing behind him far faster than his drug-addled mind could comprehend for a mere trot.

Watching the infected trees reaction was like watching a spoon move through jello. The six roaring saws made quick work of the striking branches while Love and Peace kept the apple abominations at bay. The bullets didn't keep them down, but it slowed them down enough for him to easily pass them by.

The trees screamed as he cut his way through them. He paused to think on the surrealness of it all. How do they scream? They have no mouths, and yet they scream. Perhaps they...

Pain.

Pain brought him back to the moment. He looked down at this foreleg. Velvety fronds struggled to consume his hoof, to assimilate him. It seemed so much slower than when Rough had suffered a similar injury. Is the Hydra regeneration fighting it, or does it just seem slower? Probably a bit of both. How did it get me? He lifted his foreleg up, separating what was once his hoof from the root that jutted up from the soil. Clever.

The floating chainsaws intercepted several more scything branches, Love and Peace barked a few more times. He absentmindedly levitated up fresh ammunition for the pistols as he regarded his leg again. The infection had made it up his cannon. Can't have that. The saw roared through the meat of his shoulder, bogging down a bit when it hit the bone. Regardless, soon the infected limb tumbled to the ground amid a fount of red, pony blood. The rushing stream petered out as the medical cocktail flowing through his system stemmed the bleeding.

He adjusted his stance and bounded through the orchard. The loss of the limb pushing the urgency of the situation back into his drug-altered mind. Ahead of him loomed Sunny's shed, surrounded on all sides by the plant-things. The crashing of their bodies against the shed drowned out the screams of the panicked mare inside. He spurred himself on, revving up the saws and bursting through a particularly thick web of branches. Woody splinters peppered his hide as the chainsaws spat out streams of gory chaff. A final lunge sent him careening into the small clearing. A procession of bullets wound their way to his smoking pistols as he swept the scything blades through the ghastly menagerie before him.

“Calvary's here! Come on!” He stared a moment at the shed, the seconds seeming to stretch out forever.

“Fuck this! I'm comin' in!” He wrapped the front of the shed in his magic and wrenched it from the building. The metal sheeting cartwheeled into an encroaching tree at ballistic speed. Inside the three-quarter shed huddled a small pegasus mare, showing up a soft blue-green in his altered vision. A far cry from the inky navy of the plant multitudes. He glanced to the rafters and tin roof, a plan forming in his mind. A half grin cracked his lips, letting a long string of drool leak out. Sunny looked to still be in shock, her face still slowly contorting from surprise to recognition, a scream forming in her mouth.

“Quiet, Bitch! I'm about to be BRILLIANT!”

Snatching Sunny up in his magical embrace, he ripped a goodly portion of the roof from the shed. Bringing it parallel to the ground, he pointed the triangular structure down the row toward the exit. After cramming Sunny into the relative safety of the mangled roof, Tumble barreled down the row at a three-legged gallop with the metal roof parting the monsters like a massive plow.

“Chugga, Chugga! Choo! Choo! Motherfuckers!”

Sunny clung screaming onto a rafter near the center of the improvised ram. I'm doing a good thing, Brother. He stumbled, the lapse in concentration causing him to lose control of a saw which flew in a flat arc off into the orchard. The ringing impacts on tin, Sunny's screams, the swinging and stabbing of the infected branches all seemed to speed up. He pushed on.

000

Sunny sat in the claustrophobic confines of the shed. Just outside the thin metal walls of her sanctuary the horrors of the orchard threw themselves at the tiny structure. Dents had already appeared in several places and the door itself barely held. Through it all they screamed an otherworldly scream. A hundred voices in a sickly, discordant chorus. She sobbed. I'm going to die here. I was safe, Doctor Lancet and Unca' Uppity would have protected me. But now I'm going to die.

A baritone roar overpowered the chorus outside, loud pops punctuating the change. The screams died away, the mechanical roar idling down to a muted rumble. Over the din she could hear a voice call out.

“Cavryear! Gmon!”

What?

“FFuggit! Ammgummin!!”

The battered front of the shed became enveloped in a vivid blue aura before being ripped away. Her mind struggled to process what she saw in front of her. It was Tumble, or so she thought. Her eyes scanned him from the hooves up. Only three hooves, he was missing his right foreleg. The wound oozed thick congealed blood. Around his neck was a tight collar, so tight it seemed to cut into his neck. Some digits ticked by on a small screen, but she couldn't make them out. Around the collar the muscles were corded and taut, the veins popped out and danced under his skin. Her eyes locked onto the collar until a thick, dribbling mass slowly dropped through her vision. The long string of drool descended from his foaming mouth. A strange device was attached to his horn. Its eight segmented fingers formed something akin to a dish around his horn, or maybe it was more of a flower. However, it was his eyes that chilled her to the bone. Bloodshot and bulging from their sockets they focused, quivering, on a point above her. She opened her mouth to scream but was quickly silenced.

“Klah, bith! Ahmbadabe BILLINT!” Spittle and foam spattered the ground as he yelled.

Her whole body tingled as his magic surrounded her. She saw a fair portion of the roof be ripped away before she was crammed, screaming, into it. The pistols continued their steady barking as he turned and started galloping.

“Fugga! Fugga! WOO WOO! muhfuggersh!” The chainsaws roared in response.

He's drugged out of his mind! I'm still going to die! He's gonna drag me off cavepony style and ravage... The heavy impacts of Celestia-knows-what on the improvised ram pulled her from her dazed stupor. She focused her mind and did the only thing she could. She wrapped herself around a rafter and screamed incoherently.

The charge was a blur of sounds and motion, but suddenly the artificial sunlight seemed to burn brighter. Through tear-obscured eyes she could see the edge of the orchard passing behind Tumble as he charged into the clearing. Through the layer of foam she could almost make out a smug grin on his lips as he secured his saddlebags around her. As a pegasus, she was uniquely qualified to pick up on the transition from being magically suspended to being tossed. She screamed, more.

000

The Dash had nearly run its course. The last few trees had moved far too quickly for the speed enhancer to still be working at full efficiency. But it had worked long enough. He had lost another saw, leaving him with four still suspended about him. And sawing through the thickest of the things had left him splattered. Well, I can't cut my skin off, but at least the drugs are holding up.

An arc of fire burned around the concrete pad, keeping him back. Burning apple-things fueled it around most of its circumference. Past a low burning section he could just make out a blue-green form with a large mechanical contraption on its back. That must be Cider.Behind her lurked a blue-black shape. The fuck you do! Calculations danced through his head and he smirked. He quickly wrapped his saddlebags around Sunny then galloped forward a few steps. With a flick of his horn he sent the roof careening, with its cargo screaming, through the flames. The metal mass struck the inky pony and sent it bouncing hard into the wall. The improvised missile deflected off and landed spanning the flames.

“Sunny-side up AND picked up the spare! WOOOO!”

He could see movement heading toward Sunny as she climbed out of the wreckage, but his focus shifted to the crumpled, black mass Cider was heading toward. She was shouting something, but he couldn't make it out. Regardless, she was getting way too close to it.

“NOPE!” He wrapped his magic around the struggling pony and pulled him screaming across the concrete. Cider was waving wildly and yelling, but he paid her no mind as he dragged the flailing thing into the flames.

It blazed with unnatural vigor. “He's on FIRE!” It thrashed and screamed as he tossed it into the entangled canopy of the orchard. The flames raced across the infected branches as the whole orchard screamed in pain.

Tumble gave a triumphant yell, “BOOMSHAKALAKA!”

He wobbled on his hooves a moment and collapsed. It started as a chuckle and quickly became a full on laugh. The few weapons that remained suspended crashed to the ground. Somehow the pain still seemed distant. Med-X is good shit. He rolled onto his back and looked toward the massive sun lamps suspended from the high ceiling. The crawling sensation seemed to move faster over his back as the chips and splinters that splattered him ate their way past the last of the Hydra regeneration. He tilted his head back to look toward the exit.

Standing behind a low section in the protective fire stood Cider. This close he could see her mouth moving, but couldn't make out the words. It was all gibberish to him, but the serious look on her face made him chuckle. “Why so serious?” he asked. She tilted her head, saying something animatedly. “Hey, can you spare a light?” She still seemed confused, and the smoke must have been getting in her eyes.

“Aww, come on!” He flailed his remaining legs excitedly. “You know. Fwoosh!”

She nodded, taking Betsy's yoke in her mouth.

Heading your way, brother. You bring the beer, I've got the BBQ.

Betsy sang him off.

000

Chief held a slightly singed Sunny in his forelegs, shielding her from Cider putting Tumble down. He tightened his grip on his niece and sent a silent thank you to the stallion, wherever he was. I hope you come out the other side of the Well in paradise.

The orchard screeched in pain. The piercing cries echoed through the cavernous space. Cider turned from her grisly task and trudged over to him. Chief turned to the busted roof in the flames and flattened it as well as he could with his magic. Sweeping Sunny onto his back, he turned to Lancet and Cider. “It's going to be hot, but there's nothing for it. Just move as quick as you can across.” He galloped across the heated tin, his hooves sizzling as he charged through the bulkhead.

Darting through the airlock, Chief whirred around the corner. Lancet followed quickly behind, passing behind him into the hall. Cider trotted across the tin sheeting, ignoring the unavoidable injury to her hooves. Once past the flames she turned and looked back sadly on the firestorm behind her.

“Come on. No time to mourn the trees; we need to keep moving.”

She slowly turned her head and stared daggers into Chief. She kept him locked in her withering gaze as she cantered toward him. She stopped, bringing her face inches from his own. The biting smell of fuel and smoke emanated from her. Bloodshot eyes bore into his before she spoke, “There's a lot more in there to mourn than trees, Chief.”

His retort died in his throat as she turned and walked toward Lancet. A slow, deep breath cleared his mind and restored his calm. We can't waste time fighting, and she's right. Damn it all. He cleared his head with a final shake and brought his attention back to the control panel. He pressed a button to seal the orchard back up, but the door refused to comply.

He cursed under his breath. “I don't suppose any of you have recently discovered a hidden talent for electronics?”

Lancet took his hoof from Cider's shoulder and took a few steps over. “What's the problem? Didn't Tumble fix it?”

“No. He forced it with his thingamajig.”

“Excuse me...”

“So what? We can't seal it up?”

“Excuse me...”

“I can't. I don't know enough to hack this door even if I had the tools. I could probably do it with his whatsit, it looked pretty automated...”

“Umm... Unca' Uppity? Dr. Lancet?”

“Well, I doubt he'll give it to you, considering.”

“That's a mite inconsiderate, Stitches. He jus' saved us.”

“Miss Cider Press? Umm...”

“Maybe we can barricade it with something. Or weld something over...”

“STOP FUSSING AND LISTEN!” Sunny yelled, causing the arguing trio to turn her way.

“Now, Goose.” Chief spoke placatingly, “We need to focus on closing this door and...”

He didn't get a chance to finish as a yellow hoof buried itself in his chest. Sunny stood before him, wings flared and steely eyed. “Don’t you ‘Goose’ me! I was in there, Uncle. I saw the first infected tree crack in half and take Apple Snap's legs when he bucked it. I saw the scientists run, and I saw them get caught. I saw the security ponies charge in, they were my friends too!” More tears threatened to follow the tracts down her cheeks. Chief moved to put a reassuring hoof on her shoulder, but she slapped it away. “I saw... I saw Problem Solver waving them off, but he wasn't looking at Tentation, and he...”

Her eyes blazed with more than just the reflection from the burning orchard. She took a breath. “I understand as well as you what’s going on. And I’ve been trying to tell you that I HAVE TUMBLE’S SADDLEBAG!” She turned her head and gripped the saddlebag Tumble had strapped on her and spilled the contents on the floor. Nestled in the drugs sat Tumble's skeleton key.

They stood in silence as Sunny fought to rein in her emotions. Silently, Chief levitated Tumble’s invention over the keypad and pressed some buttons experimentally. After a few tries the door hissed shut. He tucked the key into his saddlebags and turned to the ponies behind him. He appraised each one again. A doctor who doesn't get flustered when the shit hits the fan, a farm mare who is willing to do the dirty work that has to get done, and a pegasus with more backbone than she lets on. Not the worst squad I could put together. He was about to say something stirring and motivational when Lancet broke the silence.

“Cider”

“Hmm?”

“Can I have a light now?”

000

The mare halted her prosthetic hoof just short of knocking on the heavy bulkhead door to the orchard. The quartet of ponies continued to talk in the corner of her vision, but she paid them no mind. “Dad was standing right here, Junior. Somehow coping with all that.”

Junior beeped a half-hearted response.

She turned to look at the insectoid machine perched on her withers. His pincers and tail sagged wearily and his eyes were slow to focus in on her. “Awww. You must be plum tuckered, lil' fella,” She drawled, chuckling. She offered her leg to him. “You've been off the charger for a long time, and doing a lot of hackin’ to boot. Plug in for a spell.”

He shook himself from side to side and whistled.

Her affected accent dropped in agitation. “I am not helpless without you!”

He waved his pincers as emphatically as he could and tutted sternly.

“I will not apologize for raising my voice! You are my assistant and you will plug into my hoof and charge when I tell you to!”

A high pitched mechanical whine answered her.

“You are too tired!”

Whine.

“Are too!”

Whine.

“Are too!”

Whine.

“Ugh! Fine!” She popped the energy cell out of her laser pistol. “Here! I hope you like it, cause it's our last one!”

He squealed victoriously as he munched on the cell, opening its protective casing in a few enthusiastic chomps, then jamming in his tail probe with an electric pop. A few moments later he tossed the spent cell away and scuttled to the crown of her head.

She sighed. “So, the creepiest shit I have ever seen could be behind door number one. Do we crack it?”

He tugged on her ear, rather hard.

“OW!” She turned her head, which did nothing to bring the offending machine nestled in her forelock into view. “I get it, geez. This place sucks. No cool loot and a genetic monster plant that eats ponies. This place is a total bust.”

Junior hopped excitedly.

“Hey! Cut it out!” She swatted ineffectually at him. “I'm serious! We have no more energy cells, so conserve. And... hey. Hey! Compound eyes down here! If we do run into anything, you have to kill it. I’m countin’ on you.” She glared up at him, he offered a crisp salute. “Yeah, yeah. Let's just get what we came for and leave.”

She turned from the massive door and headed off in search of another stairwell. The group in the recording trotted down the same hall.

000

The boys chatted by another locked door. Cider looked between them and the shuddering mare sequestered off in the corner. From the looks of it Sunny was still recovering from her uncharacteristic outburst. Cider sauntered towards her. If Chief's soft cursing was any indication, it would be a while before that particular door opened. A perfect opportunity.

Sunny looked up as Cider's hoofsteps announced her presence. Her eyes still glistened with unshed tears, but they only threatened to trace down her cheeks. Cider smiled at the shaken mare who answered with a half grin of her own. From out of a pocket on the front of her battle saddle, Cider pulled an oddly pristine white kerchief. Wordlessly she sat in front of the smaller pegasus and cupped her chin in a hoof. With the other she began to maternally scrub at the tear stains and grime.

“Umm... Miss Press...”

“Shhh.” Cider cooed. Sunny wasn't nearly young enough for this kind of treatment. Truth be told, Cider wasn't quite old enough, either. But Sunny was the youngest of her workers, and that made her the baby of the family. Stable life dictated small families, but deep in her soul she had always yearned for a big one. The orchard workers all became hers by proxy. She was Foremare and Momma, even to the ones who were technically her elders.

She sighed, looking at her progress. “I've gone 'n done it now. Reckon I gotta finish, cain't leave ya with just a spot of clean.”

She continued scrubbing. Sunny for her part didn't protest. Task completed, she backed up a pace to admire her work. “There, all better?”

Sunny paused a moment weighing the words, then smiled. “Yes, I think so. Thank you.”

Cider started to say more when the hissing of a nearby door stole her attention.

000

“Chief, we need to go by my quarters.” Lancet stood beside the Chief while he worked.

“Not happening.”

“I have supplies there that we can use. It would be a waste not to take advantage of those resources.”

“This has nothing to do with ‘resources.’ We both know it.” Chief huffed and turned back to the device as it flashed green.

Lancet continued pressing his argument as the emergency door opened. “It's a detour we need to make.”

“Listen, Doc, I appreciate you want to go by your quarters, but that's three doors I don't have to crack if we skip it. We need to get to the Overmare's office. Your stuff can wait.”

“You think it's about my stuff?” He poured incredulity into his voice. “Sunny's wing is badly sprained. I have supplies in my quarters to reduce the swelling and properly immobilize it.”

“We will be going by medical, it can wait.” He turned and trotted down the hall toward the next sealed door.

“I didn't know you had cross-trained as a medic, Chief. But if that is your informed medical decision...”

“Stow it, Doc. We have more important...”

Silver hooves spun him around to face the stern doctor. Lancet's words spilled out in a harsh whisper. “More important? I seem to remember having to hold you back from diving through FIRE to get to her, now you’re willing to let her suffer in silence when relief is just three doors down?”

“She's tough, she can handle it until we get to medical. And I’m making it a point to ignore the fact you assaulted a security officer” He turned and fitted the device over the panel for door to the stairwell.

“Assaulted! I saved you from getting yourself killed!”

“I can save myself, and Goose can handle a little sprain!”

“Just because she can handle it doesn't mean we should inflict it on her.”

“Get off your high horse, Doc.” Chief whirled and gave Lancet his full attention. “We both know you just want to check on Rack and Pinion. We all have ponies we want to check on. I'd like to go to each of the families of my officers and be sure they’re safe. I'm sure Cider has more workers she’d like to check on. We all have friends and family locked somewhere in here, but we don't know if they are themselves. Each door we open could be full of death. We need to get to the Overmare's office and come up with a plan to beat this thing. The fewer doors we open, the less chance we have of running into something that can kill us before we can fix this.”

The two stallions stubbornly locked eyes in silence. The hooffalls of Cider and Sunny rang through the tense air, snapping their attention from each other.

“What's this pissin' contest about?” Cider asked with her usual tact.

“I’ll make it simple Chief, either we get supplies from my quarters, or you don’t have a doctor.” He sat down stubbornly.

“Be serious, Doc.” Chief gave a dismissive wave. “What are you planning to do, stand here until you die. This key requires a unicorn to use, and that means me. You can’t go anywhere without me leading the way, so stow it. We’re moving.”

Lancet’s eyes narrowed. “Chief, as the Head of Medicine, I order you to escort us to my quarters for supplies before continuing to the Overmare’s office.”

Chief smirked. “Nice try, Doc. We’re under a state of emergency, that gives me override authority to make decisions in the best interest of security. You’re overridden.” He scowled and took a menacing step forward. “When this lock is popped, you will march yourself up those stairs and obey my orders.” He punctuated his words with strong jabs to Lancet’s chest.

In a swift motion Lancet brought his right foreleg up and locked Chief’s hoof in his pastern. A quick twist forced Chief’s joint back against itself, locking it painfully.

Straining, Chief swept up his shotgun and leveled it at the doctor. Lancet released him.

A soft fwoosh cut through the silence hanging between the two stallions like a knife. “Chief, I reckon the stress is gettin’ to ya, maybe you better take some breaths, calm yerself.”

Chief backpedaled a few steps and lined up his weapon with Cider. She snatched up Betsy’s yoke. Both ponies managed to bring their weapons to bear at the same moment. Shotgun and flamethrower pointed menacingly at friends.

“Whoa!” Lancet raised his forelegs between the two ponies. “Whoa! Let’s use our words.. Everypony calm down.”

“Sunny, get behind me.” Chief backed away. “What happened with you and Sprout, Doc?”

“Me and... What are you talking ab...”

“You know damn well what I’m talking about!” Chief bellowed. “He led you off! Cider ran after you! You were alone with him! And now you want us to follow you on some detour? No.” He tried to sweep his shotgun from Cider to Lancet. But Cider kept herself interposed between them. “Get out of the way, Cider. I don’t want you hurt.”

She stood steadfast.

“Think about it, Cider! Have you ever seen him move like that? Doc doesn’t know how to do something like that!”

Lancet cocked his head. “What? You mean the joint lock thing? I learned it from some magazines! Some kinda zebra fighting technique. I studied it to improve my balance during surgery!”

“A likely story. I think Spout got you! Cider, listen, you tried but you didn’t get to him fast enough! HE’S NOT DOC! You have to light him up!”

She hesitated only a moment. “Nah hattnin’. Unny, git.”

A strangled yelp pushed past his lips as the fire cut into his foreleg. The intensely focused pilot light seared through fur, skin, and muscle. The burning stink of cooking pony flesh wafted through the hall. Cider hopped to the side, shocked, as Lancet held out his smoldering cannon to Chief. He hissed out a few words through clenched teeth, “See... I’m me...”

Sunny swooped in and cradled Lancet’s injured leg while Cider recovered. “Are you two done?” Supporting his foreleg with a hoof, she searched through Tumble’s saddlebag. It was mostly filled with exotic contraband, not a single healing potion to be found. She grimaced as she continued to search, giving the bag her full attention while Lancet withdrew his hoof from her’s and staggered over to Chief.

“Chief, I won’t make it to medical on this leg. Luckily I have the supplies I need to treat this severe burn in my quarters.” Lancet fixed him with steady eyes. “Would you be so kind as to open the way?”

The stairwell door slid open as the forgotten device finished its task. Chief’s face was an impassive mask as he answered, “Nothing for it, then. Let’s go.”

000

The display on the key turned green and another door whisked open. Chief moved wordlessly to the next one. Beyond it would be the door to Lancet’s quarters. Part of him still fumed at having his authority overridden. Can’t dwell on that. We make this detour then back on track.

Behind him Cider was busy lending a shoulder for Lancet to steady himself against while Sunny fluttered about heaping concern and encouragement on the struggling doctor.

He snorted in time to the familiar hissing of the door sliding open. He groaned inwardly as he heard Sunny continuing to smother Lancet with well-meaning praise. ‘You’re doing so good, Dr. Lancet.’ ‘You’re being so brave, Dr. Lancet.’ ‘Not much farther, Dr. Lancet.’ If she pours it on any thicker he’s gonna drown. Looks like me and Doc are gonna have to have a friendly chat about age appropriate relationships.

They approached Lancet’s door, the doctor taking a position in front of the door with girls standing a few paces back. The residential lock gave up easier than the ones in the hallway proper. The door opened on a mare and foal curled up on an overstuffed sofa. They blinked their eyes owlishly as the light from the hall washed across them. Lancet hobbled in only to be tackled be a pink bullet from the couch.

“Docta Lanthet!” The pink growth on Lancet’s neck giggled excitedly.

Rack rushed over and collected her daughter from around the doctor’s neck. “Now, Pinion, don’t pounce on the poor stallion. Can’t you see he’s hurt.”

Pinion looked down, her brown and grey mane tumbling over her face. “Oh no! Docta Lanthet! You’ve got an owwie?” Her pale blue eyes started misting up, her lower lip quivering slightly. “Are you okay?”

Lancet gave the foal a reassuring smile. “I’m fine, I just need some doctor stuff from the back.” He glanced to Cider. “Why don’t you play with Cider?”

The group of ponies made their way into Lancet’s relatively large quarters. Lancet and Sunny went to the back room to gather the supplies needed to treat the burn and the sprained wing. Pinion lead Cider off into a corner to show her her toys. Rack returned to the sofa and took a seat. Without much to do while waiting for Lancet to finish, Chief joined her at a respectable distance. He heaved a troubled sigh as he sank into the familiar old couch.

“Credit for your thoughts?”

He turned to Rack, a gentle smile cracked her face. It was hard to believe he had been here talking with her not too long ago when he first got called away. Before their little world started to come crashing down. He lowered his voice to a strained whisper. “Rack, I’m going to be straight with you, cause there isn’t time to explain everything and you wouldn’t believe half of it. Something is seriously wrong out there. Ponies aren’t themselves. You and Pinion are going to come with us, and we are going to keep a close eye on you.”

“Close eye? What’s going on, Chief?” She looked at him coolly.

“Some experiment went really wrong. Tentation made... something. It’s been pretending to be ponies, and attacking others. I’m pretty sure the four of us are clean, but I’m not positive. And I don’t know anything about what’s happened to you while I’ve been gone. I hope you’re you, but I’ll be watching.”

Rack looked him in the eyes and stood. “Well then. I’d better get some things together.” With that she turned and walked to the back room.

Chief allowed himself a moment of relaxation as he swept the room with his gaze. Lancet was binding Sunny’s sprained wing so she would still have some movement if she needed it. He could see Rack’s hindquarters through the doorway to Lancet’s room, she seemed to be packing away a few keepsakes in a saddlebag. Cider was waving an ax menacingly over Pinion.

What?

His head twisted back so he could fully grasp what he was seeing. Cider bounced around her blackened, monacled ax and spoke in a ridiculously accented baritone while Pinion held two dolls in her forehooves. He smiled as he watched Cider play with the filly. Damn, she’s got grit. Facing down all that and still being herself.

He watched them for some time until Lancet trotted over. “We’re squared away Chief.”

He nodded and stood. “Alright, listen up. Plan’s still the same. We make it up to the Overmare’s office and take stock of the situation. It’s the safest place and we will have access to the Stable’s monitoring systems. We don’t know how far this thing has spread, but we know it is out of the Orchard...”

The assembled ponies turned to the open door and the green colt framed within.

“Can I come with you guys? I’m lost...”

Rack took a few steps toward the lost foal, smiling a motherly smile. “Sure you can... umm... ?”

“Gizmo.”

000

Junior whistled as they walked into Dr. Lancet’s quarters. The fire had caused just as much damage here as the rest of the Stable. The little shelf of photos was covered in ash and melted blobs of plastic. The spartan furnishing were caked in dust and morphed by heat, except for the plush couch in the center.

“What is that thing made of?”

She cantered forward and gave the indestructible couch a swift kick. Ash swirled up in a cloud, exposing the resilient covering. She poked it a few more times experimentally.

“Hmmm... Junior! Jump on the couch!”

Junior hooted questioningly.

“You heard me, jump on the couch. If it tries to eat you, we know it’s dangerous.”

Junior crossed his pincers and pouted. With a quick nod of her head the little robot found itself careening toward the possibly evil couch. He landed in a puff of dust. Panicked, he righted himself and scurried up the back of the sofa.

The mare chuckled, as he hopped angrily. “You’re so brave, Junior.”

“Anyway, stop screwing around and come over here. I need a hoof with this safe.”

Junior continued to pout.

“I’m not singing the song again. We both know you were the best choice to test the couch for traps. Come help me.”

With a whistling sigh he scurried over. He slipped his tail probe into the electronic lock and hacked it. The safe yawned open, displaying its bounty.

“Lemme see!” she dove ravenously into the contents of the safe, only to be gravely disappointed. “Dammit! What is this shit? A half dozen hoof-to-hoof combat manuals!” She pulled the magazines out, revealing a small box. “Ooo... Now this is promising.” Splaying her prosthetic hoof’s digits, she pried the top off. Nestled in soft fabric sat a quartet of glossy orbs. “Memory orbs... and I don’t have a recollector. Perfect.”

“Well, Junior: not the haul I’d hoped. Some magazines and some memory orbs I can’t view.” She plopped on the oversized couch, sinking in. “And apparently the most awesome couch in the wasteland. Shame we can’t drag it topside. Close the door, Junior. We can watch the rest here.”

Junior closed the door and rejoined her on the couch, circling three times clockwise before collapsing beside her.

000

The group made steady progress through the halls of the Stable. Lancet stayed to the rear of the group as the mares talked and kept watchful eyes on the foals. There was a tenseness about them, an undercurrent of distrust. Chief lead the way, stopping at another closed door. This one lead to a stairwell that would take them to the cafeteria and the infirmary.

The familiar red of Tumble’s device turned green and the door obediently slid open like the many before. Chief looked up lazily and started. Shotgun spinning off his back, he called out to the shadowed forms. Cider drew up defensively behind, the rest of the group forming up behind the two armed ponies with the foals protected in the middle.

Two ponies walked out of the shadows and under the red emergency lights. The old white stallion spoke, “Security Chief Heads Up, I’m glad to see you. Perhaps you could enlighten me as to why Nurse Inkblot and I have been locked in this stairwell for hours?”

The brown and white unicorn mare stepped around him. “I’m sure what Dr. House Call meant was, ‘Thank you for showing up.’”

“I’m quite aware of what I meant, Nurse.”

“And I’m quite aware that you asked me to help you sound less like a pretentious ass.” The old doctor colored a bit. Inkblot took a breath. “Forgive me, that was unkind and unnecessary. We’ve just been cooped up together long enough to get on each other’s nerves and... Chief? Why are you still pointing a gun at us?”

“How long have you been here?”

House Call responded, “Since the damn doors closed. I was on my way to the infirmary when the first warning went out, since somepony got himself locked in the brig. After rounding up a few things and Nurse Inkblot here, we started heading up. We didn’t want to get stuck anywhere so we took the stairs.” He snorted a half-laugh. “Lot of good that did us with this damn lockdown.”

“Hey, Doc?” Both Lancet’s and House Call’s ears perked. “Any test we can do?”

“We could set them on fire.”

All eyes but Chief’s turned to him incredulously.

“I’m serious. It proved I’m not an imposter. Of course I don’t have enough burn salve to go around.” Lancet looked around in thought. “I suppose we could peel back the dermal layer. When I examined Zip Tie’s flank, there was discoloration of the subdermal layers.”

“What the Well are you talking about, setting us on fire and flaying off our skin? What’s going on?” House Call started to stomp down the stairs but an indication from Chief’s shotgun was enough to have him pull up short.

“It’s a long story and we don’t have time to go into details. Tentation cooked up some kinda parasite. It takes over the host’s body and uses it to get close to other ponies to infect. Sprout was with us for a long time, a perfect imitation. We didn’t even know. Luckily, the imposters burn.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m the only security pony still alive. The trees in the orchard tried to eat us. And a pony I loved sprouted vines and tried to kill me. I am dead serious.”

House Call pondered him for a moment. “As serious as you may be, you are not burning me or Inkblot. And I surely won’t allow him...” A hoof was pointed angrily in Lancet’s direction. “...to perform an invasive procedure in a stairwell without proper...”

“Hold your horses, Call.” Lancet went up a few steps. “I actually agree with you.”

Dr. Call raised an eyebrow.

“We are, what, two doors from the infirmary? Cider can keep an eye on them while Chief cracks the last few doors. Then we’ll have all the tools in the infirmary to make testing as painless as possible.”

Chief nodded. “Sounds like a plan. Watch ’em Cider, I’ll get the doors open.” He went to work on the next keypad. The device lit up and the red symbols started turning green. A few minutes passed as it made slow progress hacking the door.

“That’s an interesting device you have there, Chief.”

He turned to see Inkblot standing near him. Cider stood nearby keeping her eyes on the nurse and the doctor, the latter of which had started an argument over the bandaging of Sunny’s wing. He looked back to Inkblot, her interest clearly piqued.

“It’s a contraband hacking tool Tumble built, Inky. I just slip it on, give it a little magic nudge, and it does the rest on its own. Ingenious really.”

“I’m surprised Tumble parted with it, I can’t imagine him or his brother giving up anything without smashing if first out of spite. How’d you pull it off?”

“They’re dead.”

She went to put a hoof on his shoulder but he recoiled with a glare. She sighed and withdrew her hoof. “Right, I might not be me. Well, once we prove I am me, if you need to talk, that’s what I’m here for.” She smiled conspiratorially. “It’s why I have this bitchin’ bat on my flank.”

“I always thought it was two pegasi holding a bell.”

“Well, that’s not the strangest response I’ve gotten.”

Chief inquired with a quirked brow.

“That would be ‘a six legged pony with a purple polka dotted mane and shooting stars coming out of its eyes who flies air all over the world to hide magic sparkly eggs.’”

“What nutjob said that?” he asked with a chuckle.

Inkblot pointed to the younger doctor arguing in the corner.

“No kidding? Hmm...” Further musing were cut off by the opening of the door. “Alright, everypony. Let’s keep moving.”

Most of their little group moved up toward the next door, but the two doctors continued arguing about Sunny’s wing. The pegasus in question cowered in the corner.

Chief trotted between them. “Doc, Doc, Goose,” interrupted Chief, looking first to Lancet then to House Call, “come on. You can argue later.”

“Chief, you’re her uncle, you should be more concerned. That wing should be completely immobilized.” House Call pointed angrily at Lancet. “Even an idiot of his caliber should know that.”

“She needs to be able to use the wing in a pinch, Dr. Call here isn’t familiar with all the things we’ve seen.”

“Both of you stow it.”

“But...”

“Doc.” The both looked at him. “Lancet, if you drop it, I’ll give you a light.”

“You’ve had a light this whole time?”

Chief levitated out the blowtorch he had swiped from the storage room down on G level. With a click he lit it, the focused blue flame burning bright at the tip. Lancet smiled, the absentmindedly gnawed cigarette dancing at the corner of his mouth.

The leafy green spider dropped on Chief’s face and sank its fangs into his eye.

000

The burning torch started falling when Chief’s magic vanished. Lancet lunged forward, cigarette dropping from his mouth as he clamped his teeth around the top of the blowtorch. Torch in mouth, he brought the thick tank around in a wide arc, catching Chief in the head. The olive unicorn crumpled to the ground, the spider smeared across his face. I fucking HATE spiders!

He straddled Chief’s prone form and adjusted the torch in his mouth. He laid his weight across Chief’s neck. Velvety fronds were already spreading out from the wound, trying to bury themselves in his flesh. Lancet brought the flame down on the smeared, twitching remains of the spider. The infected remains and seeking fronds burned brightly, the searing pain causing Chief to writhe and buck.

“‘old ‘im!” Lancet yelled around the blowtorch.

Heavy hoofbeats sounded as Cider added her strength to restraining him. Lancet seared the flesh around the wound, pouring more fire on while Chief thrashed and screamed.

“‘octor, sssed’tive!”

“I don’t take...” Call was interrupted by a strong shove as Nurse Inkblot barreled past.

“Right away, Doctor.” She levitated several vials out of his bag while they continued to hold him down. “Don’t have a general, have to go with a local,” she said as she jabbed a syringe near the wound. “Should we apply some potion to...”

He sat the torch aside. “No. We don’t know how it would affect the plant. We can’t give him anything regenerative until we are sure all the infection has been burned away. Get the infirmary door open, Nurse.”

She nodded and disappeared up the stairs.

Chief was still struggling, but his strength wasn’t holding up. A soft fluttering gave a moment’s warning before Sunny lighted nearby. “Unca’ Uppity?” Her voice calmed him somewhat. “Stop fighting, ok?” She stroked the back of his neck tenderly. “Dr. Lancet is gonna help you, but you need to stop.”

He stopped struggling. Lancet pushed himself up, allowing Chief a few easier breaths. The air whistled through the side of his ruined face. Sunny stood over him, speaking softly while looking down with misty eyes.

“Infirmary’s open!”

“Good, prep surgery! Cider, help me get him there.”

She nodded and hunkered down next to him. They managed to get him straddled across Cider’s back with the unmarred side of his face resting on her shoulder. He mumbled deliriously as the trio got him up the stairs. The door to the infirmary was open on their right, the hall continued off into the distance with a few branching passages. An emergency door loomed closed far down the hall.

It was a tight fit in the small infirmary. Once inside, Lancet began barking orders. “Nurse, you’re assisting. I’ll need a basic surgery kit and a cautery kit. Rack, I want you to get in that closet over there and find a PI-20-20M Ocular implant. Sunny, talk to him. With all the trauma, I won’t risk a general anesthetic, keep him calm. Cider, if... if he goes weird, do what you need to do.”

“Dr. Lancet! What the Well do you think you are doing! You burned half his face off! Are you ma...”

“Dr. House Call, I do not have time to argue. This is the shit we’ve been dealing with all day. Get a good look, ‘cause it doesn’t get more serious. If he’s lucky, I burned it all and he won’t be slowly turned into a murderous plant monster. Now, as the director of medical, I must observe that only one of us has seen this infection in action before, and that’s me. It would be downright irresponsible to assign the Chief of Security a to a physician who wasn’t familiar with the morphology and progression of his disease, wouldn’t you say, doctor? Ergo, I’m attending, and you are going to take the foals out into the hall so I can work!”

“Listen here...”

“NOW, DOCTOR!”

Cowed, Call gathered up the foals. “Come along, little ones. Let’s wait outside.”

Inkblot returned levitating a roll of canvas and a black case. Lancet nodded to her and administered the local around the wound. The lights above him burned bright as he peered at the charred flesh. “Cautery tool, then push IV fluids.”

Inkblot pulled the tool from the case and passed it to Lancet. He reared up and walked closer to the table. Forelegs braced wide for support, he moved the cauter in his lips. He pressed the red hot tip into an discolored splinter. The offending fragment popped and burned. Just like Zip Tie. It’s still alive and dangerous, but the massive trauma to the larger organism stunned it. The fragments aren’t trying to infect him, yet.

The last few splinters of the thing smoldered to nothingness under the heat of the cauter. “Wound’s clean. Flush, please.” Inkblot flushed the wound with a saline solution. He looked at his relatively clean field and grimaced. “Alright, I’m going to excise the burned tissue then take the eye. Rack, open the container and lay out the cybernetic.” He spared a moment to look at the tearful pegasus holding his good friend’s hoof in hers. “You’re doing just great, Sunny. Keep talking to him. It’s gonna get dicey even with the local when I go in for the eye. Be strong for him, I know you’re strong. He needs that.” He smiled at her a moment before turning back to Inkblot. “I need a surgical sleeve and a scalpel.” He balanced on his hind legs and held out his right foreleg. She slipped the blue sleeve up past his cannon and attached the pivoting blade to his hoof.

He took a deep breath and started cutting.

000

Cider stood back watching the surgery unfold. Dr. Lancet was in the thick of it now. Rack had finished laying out the cybernetic eye and joined her.

“I hope he makes it.”

“It’d be damn rude it you didn’t”

Rack was taken aback. She sputtered a moment before settling into silence.

Chief spasmed a bit on the table as Lancet removed the last of the eye. He piled more encouragement on the demure pegasus whereto Cider started cursing under her breath.

“What was that, Cider?” Rack asked.

Cider turned to the older mare. “I just don't think he should be talkin' all sugary ta her when he's been shackin' up wit' you!”

“Shacking up? Shacking up! Is that what you think? You think I'm some kind of harlot?”

“I know yer a married mare staying with a single stallion!”

“How dare you! How dare you think Dr. Lancet has been anything but a gentlecolt. He’s spent his nights on the couch so that Pinion and I could have his bed. He’s a good stallion, and you should be ashamed for thinking otherwise.”

Cider backpedaled, “Whoa, I didn’a mean ta...”

“Yes, I am still a married mare, and I haven’t broken any of my vows. How dare you... and to think I thought you were perfect for him... you... you suspicious, jealous HARPY!"

“Quiet! Both of you!” Lancet looked up with cold fury from the bloody surgical field in front of him. “If either of you say one more word, I’ll toss you out!”

The pair stood in silence.

000

Dr. House Call brooded as the foals played. It should be me in there, I’ve forgotten more about medicine than he’ll ever know! He huffed and brought his attention back to the foals. The filly was trying to teach the colt some nursery rhyme.

“From the top!” she exclaimed. Gizmo shuffled in front of her ready to give the motions another attempt. “Thunthine, thunthine, ladybugth awake! Clap your hooveth and do a little thake!” Pinion burst into a fit of giggles as GIzmo shook his flank with particular gusto.

Their antics warmed him a bit. If there was one thing he was undeniably better than that upstart Lancet at, it was handling foals. A ghost of a smile threatened to break on his face when hooffalls behind him drew his attention. Out of the red of the emergency lights walked a stallion. House Call crouched defensively on creaky knees as it approached. “Who’s there?”

“That you House Call? It’s Splice, from engineering.”

Pinion froze at the sound of her father’s voice, quivering a bit in place. Gizmo stood protectively nearby.

Picking up his pace when he saw his daughter, Splice soon found himself with a hoof firmly in his chest. He snorted menacingly. “Move, old timer. I’m going to see my daughter.”

“The Well you are, son.”

“Doctor Call, you best get out of...”

A firm thrust of a hoof in his throat quieted his protests. “Look here, son, you are not getting near those foals until I give you a once over. There are things going on in here, and I won’t have you getting near them if you aren’t you.”

Splice massaged his throat a moment, contemplating the situation. He decided to humor the old doctor. “Fine, but be quick about it.”

Call took a step back and pulled a small, rubber mallet from his saddlebag. Lifting Splice’s foreleg, he gave the knee a quick hit. Satisfied with the results, he repeated the process on the other foreleg. “Mmmhmm...”

Scrounging in his bag again he pulled out a tongue depressor. “Open wide and say ‘ahhh.’ That’s a good lad.” Splice rolled his eyes as he complied. The old doctor poked around his mouth for a time before tossing the used depressor back into his bag. He pulled a small scope out and peered intently in both ears.

“Is this really necessary, doctor?”

“Yes, hold still.” Call removed the scope and placed it back in the bag. A moment later he pulled out a stethoscope. “Alright, let’s give you a listen, shall we.”

Call breathed a hot breath on the metal disc before placing it against Splice’s chest. “Deep breaths, please.”

Splice complied. His chest expanding with each full breath.

Dr. House Call straightened and with a nod turned to stow his tools. Splice took that as an invitation and took a few steps toward his daughter and her little protector. He shared a meaningful glance with the colt as Call pulled his head back from his medical bag.

“Looks like you’re right as rai...”

The impact sent the old stallion sprawling hard to the floor, legs splayed out. Heavy pressure held him in place as he started to struggle. He felt Splice’s wheezing breath on the back of his neck, the weight of him making breathing difficult.

“What are you...” He tried to yell before a sharp, burning pain stabbed into his neck. The piercing vine severed his vocal cords, causing the rest of his question to be lost in a deflating hiss. Splice leaned over him, pressing their cheeks together. It could have almost been an affectionate nuzzle, if House Calls face wasn’t so contorted in anguished pain. The flesh of their faces ran like hot wax, dripping and melding together. One eye bulged, bloodshot and full of fear, the other gazed out calmly. both wheeling orbs locked on the two foals huddled together.

Gizmo grabbed Pinion’s hoof and dragged her urgently away. “Come on, we gotta get outta here!” She reluctantly followed, leaving the horror behind.

Splice smiled and stood, the as yet unassimilated legs of Dr. House Call dragging below him as he trotted back into the bloody red glow of the hallway.

000

Lancet twisted the lense in place, finishing the cybernetic installation. The door whizzed open and a pink filly stumbled in.

Pinion sagged to her haunches, crying. “Daddy drug off Dr. House Call! He was scary! Gizmo ran away!”

Lancet looked to Cider. She nodded and galloped off into the hall.

Rack swept up the sobbing foal and shushed her, humming softly.

“Nurse, pull a gene-neutral skin graft.” Lancet focused back on the task at hoof. “Once we...”

Rack’s soft humming faded into a pained wheeze. Her panicked eyes rolled down to look at the filly sobbing into her neck. Where before Pinion’s body shook with wracking sobs, now her body quaked from the writhing of something inside.

The filly’s back parted with a rip, soft fronds unfurling. Rack was frozen in place, either by fear or disbelief. A velvety stalk trailed the side of her muzzle gingerly, almost lovingly, carrying with it a single tear. It then reversed itself and pierced the soft flesh of her eye. A wheezing scream tried to push itself past her alien throat. The group stood transfixed.

An explosive bark startled them from their frozen states. Rack’s head disappeared in a red mist. Chief’s magic fluctuated as he tried to rack another round.

Lancet scrabbled around the table and threw open a cabinet. “Nurse! Cauter!” He fumbled with the cap on a large bottle. “Stick it! Now!”

Inkblot thrust the cauter into the thing devouring Rack. A small flame burned where the cauter seared a path. It screamed, thrashing viney appendages, its attention turned.

“Not so fast!” Lancet tossed the open bottle towards the thing. The liquid splashed over it, burning blue when it splattered against the tiny flame. He kicked the wall as mother and daughter burned in the corner.

Lancet screwed his eyes shut against the image. Cursing inwardly he pushed his feelings down and locked them away. With a fresh veneer of professionalism in place he turned back to Inkblot. “Nurse... we need to finish the graft. Chief, lay down.”

000

“I couldn’t find no sign of...” The words died in Cider’s throat. A smouldering husk sat to the side of the room. “Stitches... what happened?”

Lancet finished securing the last of the graft and looked up. “Nurse, bandage the site please.” He folded the scalpel along his cannon and walked heavily around toward her. “Cider... Ci’. Pinion... wasn’t. She attacked Rack after you left. You didn’t find Gizmo or Dr. Call?”

She failed to swallow the dryness in her mouth. She shook her head. She felt a hoof raise her head. She opened her eyes to see a yellow face looking back to her. Sunny wrapped her in a tight hug.

“Dammit!” Everypony turned to look at the source of the outburst. Chief stood wobbling near the table. “What the Well did you do to my eye?”

Lancet turned to him with dead eyes. “What’s wrong, Chief?” He moved toward the wobbling stallion, pulling a small flashlight from a nearby counter and shining it into Chief’s eyes.

“What’s wrong is that my right eye sees in color and the left sees in blue! It’s... ughh... I’m gonna be sick...”

“No you’re not, close your eye.” Lancet held his chin and examined the cybernetic. “There’s your problem.”

“Ya, Doc?”

“I’m a doctor, not a mechanic.” He fitted a patch over the cybernetic. “Your other eye work fine?”

Chief blinked his good eye owlishly. “Yeah, nothing for it, I guess. Thanks, Doc.”

Cider pulled herself from Sunny’s embrace. There would be time to hurt later, or there wouldn’t. Either way, they needed to keep moving. “What’s the plan?”

“We go up. It’s a straight shot now.”

Chief staggered by her, leading the way to the stairs that would put them at the Overmare’s door.

000

It was a slow and tedious climb up several flights of stairs before they arrived at the Overmare’s office. Mercifully, the thing that had attacked House Call was nowhere to be found.

Chief affixed the key onto the keypad and with a hiss the door to the Overmare’s office slid open. The beleaguered party staggered in. Bureau Carrot sat reclining behind her massive desk.

“Overmare,” Chief began, “we need to...”

She sat motionless in her overstuffed chair, her head hanging back at an unnatural angle. A long slash gaped across her neck. Her underside was stained red with the bulk of her life’s blood, a dark dried red. A few of her words hung softly in the air before a muted click left the room in silence. The door slid closed behind them.

A different mare’s voice floated over the speakers as the recording repeated.

“Hello! My name is Scootaloo. You probably know me (since I am pretty famous) for my awesome performances at events like last year’s GALLoPS, or maybe just as the founder of Red Racer.

A pop in the silence denoted a hard cut as a new baritone voice poured out.

“And I’m Nature Prism, founder and CEO of Prism Consolidated Industries. We will be partnering with Stable-Tec for the construction of the stables within our wonderful city. If you are listening to this recording, then congratulations are in order. You have been selected as the Overmare of Stable 48, or have been selected as her replacement in the event of her incapacitation or death.

If you are familiar with Stable-Tec designs, you may have noticed some differences in the design of this facility. This isn’t Fillydelphia or Hoofington, this is the City of Broad Withers, we do things our own way. Now you may be wondering why there is only room for a hundred fifty ponies in here. Well, that’s so we could fit in all the science stuff you’ll need. The behavior of magical radiation isn’t my forte, but the lab folks tell me that after twenty years or so it shouldn’t be strong enough to strip the flesh from your bones. That’s why we put all our best geneticists, biologists, and botanists in your Stable. It is also why you have an oversized orchard and extensive laboratory space. The most thorough catalog of genetic material we could compile is at your hooftips. All you need to do is splice ‘em together so they can survive once the radiation levels go down. You are the best chance of a bright future for Equestria.

Now the lab folks tell me due to the small size of the Stable if a prolonged stay is required, you run the risk of inbreeding. Don’t do it, it makes you stupid. You are sitting on top of a massive repository of genetic material from the best and brightest of our time. If your family tree isn’t going to fork otherwise, squirt some genius DNA in her hoo-ha and call it good. Better for everypony that way.

We’ve given you the tools to rebuild. There are contamination suits and survival gear located in the chamber accessible from your office. You are the future, don’t fuck it up more.”

Another hard cut was followed by the familiar voice of Overmare Bureau Carrot.

If you are hearing this, our blunder hasn’t yet killed you. Or that you aren’t you and talking to you is pointless. We should have listened to you, Mr. Prism. We should have followed our instructions. Instead we decided on isolation. The second Overmare decided we would say inside, focus on living the best we could here. We could have been helping ponies on the outside, instead we squandered generations merely surviving. Now our tinkering with life has caught up with us. There is life in the Wasteland, and it must be protected from out taint. If you are from the outside, leave the way you came and seal this tomb back up. There is nothing but death and ash here. I’ve made sure of that. I’ve set the whole place to burn: no loot, no riches, just charred remains and a chance at contracting the most deadly plague history has ever seen.

I’ve watched the only pony I ever loved be devoured. I won’t suffer this life anymore. I’m leaving this world to find my House beyond the Well. Goodbye.

The group stood in silence a moment, stunned.

“Umm... Chief. What ya reckon she means by ‘set the place to burn.’”

Chief approached her desk and peered over the side. All but one monitor showed locations within the Stable, many of those were places he was happy he wasn’t. But the center monitor showed readings from the air monitors throughout the Stable. They were tracking the alarming increase in the levels of ethane gas. The lower levels of the Stable were already at alarmingly high levels.

With a telekinetic shove he rolled Bureau Carrot, chair and all, into the corner of the room. Now behind the desk, he paged through several screens. He didn’t like what he saw.

“She’s rigged the whole Stable. Once the ethane level gets high enough, all the the doors and internal vents will pop. Then it is just a matter of overloading individual terminals. Whole place goes up in a firestorm.”

“What can we do?”

“Nothing.”

“Whaddaya mean, nothin’?’

“She set it up on her authorization. We would need three section heads to override her. And we only have Doc and I.”

“So after all this, we’re all just gonna die here.”

“I don’t think so. Ethane isn’t being pumped in here, and that message makes me think she wants this room intact. Act as a deterrent to keep anypony from the outside from getting nosey.”

“We’ve gotta go back down, get who we can out!”

“No time, we’ve got five, maybe ten minutes before she goes.”

“So, what, we just leave?”

“Nope.” He levitated his shotgun around and then pulled the blowtorch from his saddlebag. “First we make sure we’re all still ourselves. Considering my recent makeover, I think I’m clean, but I’ll go first anyway.” Lighting the torch, he ran it along his shoulder, the intense flame parted the skin like a plastic refuse bag. The stink of burning pony flesh wafted through the closed room. He hissed between his teeth as he pulled the flame away from himself.

He walked around the desk toward the group, shotgun and blowtorch floating in front of him. Cider, I’m gonna need you to take off Betsy and...”

With a pop Betsy’s pilot lit and Cider swept her head in line with the nozzle. The flame licked hungrily at her neck. She winced as she slowly rolled her neck in the flames. “That good enough for ya, Chief?”

Lancet’s cigarette tumbled to the ground as his mouth flopped open from the shock of their sudden self-mutilation. “What the Well are you idiots doing?”

“Making sure.”

“I have locals, ya know?” He rummaged in his bag for a vial and several syringes. “I’m not about to let you do that to Sunny... and Inkblot. Or me for that matter. Nurse, if you would be so kind as to inject me in the withers and perform the test.”

“Hold on, I’m not giving her the torch, she hasn’t been tested yet.”

“For fuck’s sake!” Lancet drew a dose of painkiller from the vial and moved to Inkblot’s flank. “You’ll feel a little pinch,” he said, just before injecting her.

“What happened to the withers, Doctor?” She asked with a smirk.

“Chief needs a marked target.” He stepped aside and nodded to the olive unicorn. “Well, Have at her. Just don’t make it any harder to guess.”

Chief ran the flame along her flank above the cutie mark. She grimaced. “There, satisfied?”

Satisfied, Chief allowed her to take the blowtorch and Lancet surrendered the vial and two syringes.

Under Chief’s watchful eye she administered the test to both Lancet and Sunny with negative results. She nodded as she concluded Sunny’s test, Chief let out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“That’s everypony. Let’s find that chamber.”

“What about her?” Sunny asked, eyes locked on the corpse in the corner.

“She’s dead, Sunny.” Chief’s voice grew softer. “She’s already gone, Kudzu said it couldn’t take over dead tissue.”

“But what if she wasn’t her when...”

“You think she would set the Stable to burn and then off herself if she was one of those things?” A slight tint of incredulity flavored his words.

“I don’t know, but...”

“Alright. Cider, hit her.”

Cider took the yoke in her mouth and sent a truncated blast of liquid fire at the corpse. Betsy sputtered, but the flame struck true. The Overmare’s corpse screamed and danced in the flames.

“Fuck! Hit her again!” Chief pushed Sunny away from the crescent desk and the thing beyond.

“I’m out!”

The writhing form wreathed in flames shuddered and flailed. Fire consumed its upper half, but its hind legs kicked out, unraveling at the hips. Dozens of small fronds burst from the sides of the legs, the weeping wound at the hip stretching and morphing into deformed mandibles. The two centipede-things skittered across the floor.

Chief took a step back, watching the desk. He heard a yelp to his right, he turned in time to see Inkblot sprawled on the ground, the thing attached to her face, smothering her screams. She looked at him with pleading eyes. He ended her suffering with a slug to the head. She slumped over the thing, pinning it even as it absorbed her. Chief swept up the blowtorch and set the animated leg ablaze.

“‘ook out!”

A loud crack rang out, followed by a fizzling pop and the silencing of the Overmare’s voice. He wheeled to see Cider’s ax pinning the other thing to the large desk. The monocled blade half buried in the metal top. He whipped the torch around and set fire to the struggling monstrosity.

Cider released her grip on Mr. Splitter’s haft and turned a knob to pull fuel from a small tertiary tank. She grimaced as the motion pulled the burn on her neck taut. With two quick streams of flame the last of the Overmare’s legacy went up in smoke.

The Stable rumbled.

000

Two stallions sat in a tin shack, the glow of several monitors bathing them in sickly light. The junior of the two paused as his eyes locked in on an anomaly. “Hey, Stake, what's this light mean?”

“Umm... something tripped Monitor #3”

“And that means?”

“Wake the Boss.”

000

The heavy metal bulkhead locked into place, sealing them from the Overmare’s office and the horrors that were roasting inside. Chief looked at the little band of survivors, a grin threatened to break across his muzzle.

The four ponies stood in the pool of light by the entrance, the cavernous room stretched off into inky blackness. He concentrated on a flashlight spell, its bright beam splashing against the near wall.

He trotted forward, sweeping the beam over the room. It was a thin corridor that stretched off into the distance. The beam paused as it washed over several lockers, then continued on a path up to the ceiling. Light fixtures hung intermittently down the corridor.

“Look for a switch, if there are fixtures then there...”

The hanging lights sputtered to life, illuminating the corridor.

“Should be a switch, right?” Sunny called from the behind him.

“Yeah. Good job, Goose.” He motioned for them to follow and approached the lockers.

The butt of his shotgun worked marvelously to bash open the combination locks. Inside each locker hung a blue environmental suit, their bubble helmets glinting in the light. “Alright, suit up ponies.”

“I don’t reckon that’s happenin’, Chief,” Cider drawled.

“Why not?”

She nosed Betsy’s yoke in response.

“Fair enough.” Chief turned to Lancet, but he was already half in a suit. “You’re up, Sunny.”

She eyed the suits suspiciously. “There’s no place for my wings.”

“It’s a stallion size suit, it will fit over your wings.”

“But... No. I’m not wearing it. I’m not going to be bound up like that.”

“Goose, put on the suit.”

“No.”

“Put on the suit.”

“Couldn’t ya just cut a couple holes fer the wings?”

Sunny brightened at the idea.

“No. What use is an environmental suit if you cut holes in it? Put on the suit.”

“I don’t wanna!” She crossed her forelegs, pouting.

“Dammit, Goose! That isn’t going to work on me. Put on the suit!”

She looked up at him with big, sad eyes.

He scowled so deep his eyebrows nearly touched. “I will put you in this suit if I have to.”

Sunny sat heavily and turned up her nose. The picture of juvenile resistance.

Lancet trotted up, his face backlit inside the bubble helmet. “It isn’t so bad, the helmet nice.”

Cider chuckled. “Stitches, ya look ridiculous.”

“He does not, he looks well protected,” Chief said with a cross glance at Cider.

“Fine, ya look ridiculously protected.”

“It’s a great helmet. You’re just jealous. Like Rack...” Lancet turned and trudged down the hall away from them.

Chief heaved a heavy sigh. “Goose. We just survived a horrible thing. I almost lost you. When you took off into the orchard... I’ve never been so scared. We don’t know what’s out there, Goose. It may be sunshine and rainbows, but we just don’t know. Put on the suit, Goose. For me. Because I love you, and if I lost you to something that could’ve been prevented by you wearing this suit... I’d never forgive myself.”

Sunny wrapped her forelegs around her usually stoic uncle. “Ok, Unca’ Uppity. I’ll wear the ugly suit.”

He kissed her tenderly on the forehead. “Thank you.”

It took a little work to get her all in, but they eventually accomplished the task. A clear section on the left cannon left her PipBuck visible, and several of the readouts were automatically displayed on a HUD inside her bubble helmet.

As well equipped as they could manage, they moved to the far end of the corridor. After removing several thick crossbars, and with a strong buck from Cider, the old door yielded to them. They staggered out into the darkness, their PipLights the only illumination. They were in a cave, The heavily reinforced door closed behind them, blending seamlessly into the cave wall. To their right was a heavy, cog-like door, ‘48’ painted across it in big block letters.

The small group moved away from the massive door. The cave lightened in the distance and they moved toward the dim light. “Listen. We don’t know what’s out here, but we’ve survived worse. As long as we stick together, work together, and look out for each other, we’ll be alright. There’s nothing for it, but to do it, as my Pappy used to say. Keep alert and keep your heads down, we don’t know what to expec …”

The retort of a rifle sounded in the distance.

000

The security unicorn on the monitor slumped to the ground, a fair portion of his head rolling back into the cavern.

Playback Complete

000

The mare reclining in Lancet’s old quarters brought a hoof up to her mouth. Those two words floated in her vision, Playback Complete. She shook her head then pulled herself off the battered old couch.

“Junior, take a letter.”

Junior straightened up and appeared to give her his utmost attention. The mare cleared her throat and started to dictate to her metal assistant.

“Dear Daddy,

“Hey, it’s Tink. I haven’t recorded one of these for a while, sorry. I went to 48 today. South Side’s always been the meanest part of Buckago, I guess that’s true underground too. I never knew how hard it was for you in here, what you and the rest went through. I can see why you didn’t talk about it. I-I just saw Chief die... I didn’t put it together before. He’s the one Mom would talk about from time to time. I’m sorry I never knew him. To die like that after all you did to try and save him? And you didn’t give up after... through it all you didn’t give up. That’s what I learned here, Daddy. When the wasteland shits in your oatm...”

A loud gasp behind her cause her to wheel around.

“You just said a bad word! To your DADDY!”

Junior hissed threateningly at the little green colt.

The colt cocked his head quizzically at the little robot, then looked up at her with apologetic eyes. “Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you. I'm Gizmo.”

Author's Note:

All hail Kkat, crafter of the sandbox we play in.

I want to thank Mysecsha for being my Alpha reader, sounding board, and general entertainer. Also my distraction, scapegoat, and pretty, pretty princess.

I also want to thank Wirepony for giving it the beta brushies.