Prologue: Death of a Crusader
"Ponies falling ill do to mysterious illness..."
AppleJack and Macintosh stared at the T.V. screen that was depicting very ill ponies in hospital beds. It was gruesome how sick they were, they wanted to look away, but they couldn't. It was too fascinating.
The news had been advertising this new development for weeks, it was the only thing it would ever show anymore. Every day more ponies fell sick, and every day a pony died.
"Mac, you think this illness will spread to Ponyville?" AppleJack asked him fretfully, this was a serious disease! Ponies were dying everyday from it. So far it had only infected Manehattan, but she knew eventually it would spread to Ponyville. She'd only asked Macintosh for reassurance, comfort, a lie. The whole of Manehattan was infected and there was no stopping the spread. Even Babs and her family were boarding a train today so none of them would get the sickness.
"I couldn't tell ya AppleJack, they may find a cure," he lied, he knew as well as she did the illness was going to come. He wouldn't admit, but he was scared. Scared for AppleJack, Apple Bloom, Granny Smith, Babs...and everyone else. The sickness was like no other, coming as quickly and quietly as the day shifted to night. There was no stopping it. Just like there was no stopping the day turning into night, but the sun always came back right? So maybe the remedy would come? Did that even make sense thought Mac, no probably not. All Mac knew was the illness was going to come, and he didn't know if they would ever find a cure.
Later that day, Babs Seed came, but not the way they expected.
"Are they still talking about that uhh- duhzeeze?" Apple Bloom walked in the living room looking worried. "I'm scared for Babs, what if she doesn't get here in time? What if she get's infected? What if-"
Apple Jack butted in."Apple Bloom, Shut up! Don't talk nonsense like that, Babs will be perfectly fine-"
Suddenly Granny Smith burst through the doors, her eyes were glazed with fright. "They're here," she whispered hoarsely, barely even audible.
Babs, the smell of death, scared eyes, a stretcher. That's what you would have encountered if you were at Sweet Apple Acres that unfortunate night.
