Fallen

Delay of Game

Beep, beep, beep…

Out of all the alarm clocks in the state of Pennsylvania, the one that sat in the bedroom of Louis Bruckman in the fourth house down on Arlyne Avenue was undoubtedly the least effective. A snail crawling by would have registered more noise than the tiny Sony box that lay on a red stool next to Louis’s bed. Usually the boy had no trouble hearing it, attributing it to his so-called “super-hearing”, but his power failed him that Friday morning as the clock continued to beep incessantly for the next five minutes.

The boy pulled himself up from the covers as faint sunlight shone through the windows. He blindly hit a switch on the clock’s face. The radio came on, and Louis could barely hear a man talking about a band, he didn’t know which.

“…Lee coming out with their new album, Clockwork…”

He turned the dial. Static, a commercial about a new brand of laxative, more static, a snippet of a pop song Louis thought he recognized, and more static. He switched off the radio in disgust.

His eyes caught sight of the faint orange numbers on the clock face. 6:45.

“Shit,” he muttered to himself. Kicking away the beige covers, he exited his bedroom clad in nothing but his boxers, making a beeline for the hallway bathroom at the pace of a dazed sloth. Turning on the light, he allowed his eyes to focus and clear, gazing at the mirror in front of him.

Louis Bruckman was considered a nerd to many and a friend to few in the eyes of the typical high school caste system. He exemplified many nerdy qualities: good academic performance, little athletic skill, and so on. His hair was jet-black and short, his eyes hazel. He was small, light, and gangly, all factors uncommon for a sixteen-year-old. But he wasn’t the kind of kid who hated himself in the mirror and often didn’t strive to change anything about his appearance.

He washed, rinsed, spat, and brushed his teeth. A quick shower and comb later, he was dressing in a white T-shirt and a black Ecko hoodie with faded jeans. Throwing on a pair of Nikes, he sped down the stairs.

His mother was waiting for him. She did not look happy.

Mrs. Bruckman was like a tiger; elegant and stunning, but fierce. She even had the relaxed look of a tiger just as it is about to pounce. Louis immediately knew that she was anything but relaxed. The sun was barely shining and she looked like she had woken hours earlier; not a hair was out of place. Her green eyes were narrowed in unspoken frustration, drilling right into Louis’s own eyes.

“Uh…morning, Mom,” he said cautiously. “Why the face? Did I do something wrong?”

“Wrong?” Mrs. Bruckman snapped, the word cracking like a whip in the air. “Oh, I suppose if you call forgoing your English paper to play Xbox all night and then forgetting to turn it off, driving up the already high electric bill we have to pay…if you call that wrong, then yes, you did something very, very wrong.”

Louis was caught like a fly in a web. He cursed in his head. It was true. The other night, after abandoning all attempts to finish a nasty English paper on literature in the Industrial Revolution, he had promptly shut his computer off and plopped down in front of his downstairs Xbox, committing himself to Call of Duty rather than 1800s prose. But he had made the mistake of leaving behind evidence; specifically, the green broken circle on the black box that told Mrs. Bruckman that her son had been playing video games instead of working on homework.

“Oh…” Louis floundered, tucking his hands behind his back, his face red. “I, uh…I…”

“You what?” his mother interrupted. “Don’t tell me you were just ‘taking a break.’”

“But I was! I…”

“C’mon, Louis. I know you’re not stupid, so please don’t assume I am. You were up practically all night playing that thing. You know what this means.”

Louis nodded. It meant no Call of Duty for a week. Not too big a deal, but he had just been about to prestige.

“Yes, Mom.”

“Honestly, young man, if you pull a stunt like that again I’ll have that thing smashed and chucked out into the street before you can say otherwise. Now come on, it’s almost seven. You need some breakfast.”

The boy’s stomach growled. He craved a bowl of corn flakes. But something else caught his attention.

“Where’s Dad?”

“Had to go in early,” his mother said, no longer angry. “Something about a disturbance on South Loyalsock. Full deployment, he said.”

Louis understood. His father was a police officer. As he sat down with his bowl of cereal, a large dog trotted into the room and placed its front paws on the boy’s lap, its tongue hanging out and its brown eyes shining.

“Aw, Richter!” Louis exclaimed. “You know you’re too big to fit on my lap anymore, boy!” But he smiled and laughed as the dog tried to lick his face.

Richter was the family dog, a German shepherd that Mr. Bruckman had found abandoned on the side of a road when he was only a puppy. Mr. Bruckman had brought the poor animal home, where Louis had named him after his late grandfather. Richter had since grown to be a healthy, happy dog, and even found use occasionally with Mr. Bruckman in the police department.

“Louis!” Mrs. Bruckman shouted, causing the boy to jump and the dog to bark. “The time!”

He looked at the clock. 7:39.

Aw shit, he thought. The bus had left the stop four minutes ago. He would have to bike to school. Downing his corn flakes in one gulp (a particularly stupid thing to do, as he began to choke,) he gathered his things and remembered to turn off the Xbox in the living room, all the while trying to dislodge a soggy lump of corn flakes from his throat. Finally hacking the slobbery mess into the trash can, Louis headed for the door, narrowly avoiding stepping on Richter’s tail. Stepping into the musty garage, he opened the garage door and took his bike off the rack, an old dusty model with chipped paint and dry spikes.

Mrs. Bruckman stood in the doorway with Richter at her side.

“Bye, Louis!”

“Bye, Mom,” he called back. Pausing only to take down the kick stand, he sped off over the streets of his neighborhood to his school, Morris High.

Unaware of what the day held for him.

* * *

As she had predicted, Twilight Sparkle had gained no rest during the night. The hardwood floor made it impossible to get comfortable, and she awoke that morning and, hoping vainly that she had just been dreaming, examined her hands.

Five fingers, all 100% human.

She heard the sound of running water coming from upstairs. Careful not to wake her friends, she crept up the stairs, feeling the warm morning sunlight on her back.

The sound was coming from the bathroom adjacent to the empty bedroom, whose door was ajar. Twilight approached the bathroom and peered inside.

Standing there was Jet, washing his face with water from the sink, naked except for tight undergarments that went down to his knees. Twilight had to bite her tongue to keep from gasping. The strange pony-turned-human had not been lying about his scars. They were everywhere, all over his body. A lattice of white and black scars and bruises painted a morbid mural of injury across his entire form. Someone had cut him a hundred thousand times. No. More than that.

He seemed to stiffen, and Twilight pulled away. She heard the sound of water fade away.

“Curiosity may have killed the cat, Twilight Sparkle, but not the pony.”

Jet’s voice was calm, almost amused. Feeling guilty, the purpled-haired girl stood in the open doorway to the bathroom, looking sheepish.

“I’m sorry, Jet…it’s just…”

“You have many questions,” he finished, staring at the wall in front of him. “Understandable. Last night was too rushed, too abrupt to offer a full explanation. However, if you give me a minute, I shall tell you anything you need to know.”

Twilight hesitated, then nodded. Jet gave her a small gesture, a quick wave of his hand, indicating that she should wait outside. She closed the door and sat with her back against the wall, dozing as dusty sunlight streamed through the grimy windows of the house.

A few minutes later, Jet emerged, wearing a black T-shirt and the jeans he had worn the previous night. Other than his hoodie, these seemed to be the only clothes he had. He sat down next to Twilight and sighed.

“First and foremost, I suppose I should say, welcome to Earth.”

Twilight did not laugh. “This place…it’s so…different.”

“Yes,” he replied nonchalantly. “You get used to it. You’re not the first ponies to arrive here.”

“Really?”

“Yes. The Princess’s spell ripped a hole in time, Twilight. That’s why, even though we were transported at the same time, I arrived here several months before you did. As it turned out, so did many other ponies.”

“Where are those ponies?”

“Dead.”

Heavy silence. Twilight’s heartbeat grew loud in her human ears. “D-dead?”

“Some couldn’t handle it,” Jet said, staring into space, his red eyes narrowed. “Some died because of the spell, because their bodies had…changed…so much that they…couldn’t go on.” He paused, coughed, and continued. “Some ran away. Some died in accidents. Some…opted out.”

Dark, horrible thoughts gripped Twilight’s mind, and she shook her head. “But…what about us?”

“You’re different. Princess Celestia had told us about you, Twilight, and about your friends. I mean, you’ve beaten Discord before!”

“The last time somepony said that to us, we wound up here,” the unicorn-girl moaned.

Jet pattered her on the back, smiling gently. “Here is not so bad. At least, not yet.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The scarred man’s eyes narrowed further. “I will not labor under the delusion that Discord will never find us on Earth. Indeed, some of his agents were transported here when the teleportation spell broke. You saw Equestria, Twilight. You saw what was left of it.”

She had. She had seen so many things. Fields of fire…Ponyville in ruins…dark, ominous clouds…mares and stallions, fillies and colts, lying dead in the dirt, their blood mixing with the rain…

“But…Equestria…”

“Listen to me, Twilight,” Jet growled, looking angry. “Equestria is gone. There’s nothing left there.”

“But there was resistance! Chief Thunderhooves and Little Strongheart, the Wonderbolts…”

She trailed off, for she saw the look in Jet’s eyes that convinced her that going on was pointless. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she sank into Jet’s chest. He comforted her, looking quite grave.

“Our world may be gone, Twilight Sparkle, but we are not gone. We will carry on in this world. The lives of so many ponies depend on us. All of us.” He paused, and for a brief moment something happened to his eyes, but whatever it was, Twilight did not see it fast enough. He shook his head, as if trying to dislodge something from his hair.

“It’s alright to be upset, Twilight,” he said. “I don’t blame you one bit. After everything that’s happened…”

Suddenly his voice changed abruptly, dropping an octave, and he began to cough. Twilight, not sure of what to do, kicked him in the stomach. He let out a rasping cough, and his eyes rolled. After a moment, he returned to normal.

“Sorry. Look, what’s said has been said. We can only keep calm and carry…”

“HEY!”

Rainbow Dash’s voice broke through the silence of the morning, and made Twilight and Jet jump. When they collected themselves, they prepared to go and see what the problem was, only to have the problem smash through the door and into them.

“OUCH!” Twilight exclaimed, seeing stars and rubbing her stomach. “What in Equestria…”

Then she saw Rainbow Dash.

Blue, rainbow-haired, winged, pegasus Rainbow Dash.

“Dash?!”

“I know, right?!” she exclaimed, sounding positively ecstatic. “Ooh, baby, I got ‘em back! I got my wings back! No more walking or running or…”

“Dash! What happened?!”

“I dunno!” the pegasus proclaimed, zooming around the room. “I just woke up and I was back to normal. I feel great! Hey, whoa, you’re big, Twilight, when’d you get so big?”

It was true. Rainbow Dash was now half the height that human Twilight Sparkle was. She seemed diminutive in stature, though large in ecstatic attitude. As Jet recovered, having taken the worst of Dash’s unintended body-slam, the other girls appeared in the smashed-in doorway, carrying with them…

“Fluttershy?!”

There, in the arms of human Applejack and Rarity, was Fluttershy, fully pegasus, and completely terrified. Rarity and Applejack were having difficulty holding her, as she shivered and squirmed like a snake.

“Fluttershy, it’s OK!” Applejack said reassuringly, though her eyes were unsure. “You’re back t’normal! You’re OK!”

“No I’m not!” the pegasus shouted, twisting out of their arms and landing in a heap on the ground. “Everything’s so…so…big…and I’m…”

“Easy, there, sugarcube. Nobody’s gonna hurt you.”

“Yeah, you got your wings back, dude!” Dash said, careening across the sparse bedroom. “This is great!”

“It’s not great!”

“STOP!”

Jet’s voice sent Rainbow Dash crashing into a wall, and when she came to her eyes were askew.

Twilight tensed. The look in Rainbow Dash’s eyes was strikingly familiar. She knew she had seen it before. Eyes at different angles, one pointing up, one pointing down. It was gone in an instant, but Twilight couldn’t get over it. She felt like she had just seen a similar gesture not too long ago, but Jet’s words drowned out her thoughts.

“Rainbow Dash, Fluttershy, you’ve nothing to worry about. Pegasi are always the first to change back. Why that is, I don’t know. But the spell always wears off pegasi first.”

“Then what?” Pinkie Pie beamed.

“Then it’s the unicorns. Then the earth ponies. After that the spell starts to wear off completely. As in, one second you’re here, the next…gone.”

“So why did Princess Celestia send us here if we’re not gonna stay here?” Rainbow Dash asked, rubbing the sore spot where she had crashed into the wall.

“The spell was never meant to be permanent. Eventually the magic will wear off, but in the meantime, we’ve got ponies to save.”

He turned to Pinkie Pie. “Alright, Pinkie, you’re going to tell us where the next pony will appear.”

“I am?” she said, her eyes widening. “How? I have no clue!”

“Do you have a pet?”

All the pony-humans cocked their eyebrows in surprise, but Pinkie Pie answered immediately.

“Yep!”

“What’s its name?”

“Gummy, of course!”

“Who won the Battle of the Everfree Forest during Princess Celestia’s first year of reign?”

“Nopony won it was a draw!”

“Name the first pony that comes to your mind.”

“Big Macintosh.”

At this, they did a double-take, but neither Jet nor Pinkie seemed to notice.

“What day is it today, Pinkie?”

“Tuesday.”

“Where will the next pony arrive?”

“41.256654, -76.916029, on 745 Nicely Avenue at the corner of Chestnut Street and Bennett Street.”

She gasped. Everybody gasped. Jet remained calm, a thin smile playing on his lips. Pinkie Pie began to shudder.

“Well, that’s in then,” Jet said in a low voice. “The next pony to arrive will be at 41.256654, -76.916029, on 745 Nicely Avenue at the corner of Chestnut Street and Bennett Street. That pony will be Big Macintosh.”

He turned around and headed for the doorway, but bumped into Spike, who was yawning and rubbing his eyes.

“What’d I miss?”

* * *

Morris High School, named after famed merchant Robert Morris, was a fairly new school built on Nicely Avenue in the middle of Montoursville. It faced competition mainly from Montoursville High, the local school; Williamsport Academy, which was just down the road; and St. Xavier, a Catholic private school up in Wilkes-Barre. Louis had found interest in Morris, though. St. Xavier was expensive, too expensive for the Bruckmans’ liking.  Montoursville High was an option, but Louis, aiming for a career in computer science, found the curricula too broad and underwhelming. But then there was Morris; public and full of science courses and electives that Louis wanted.

He pulled up to the redbrick building on the corner of Chestnut Street and locked his bike at the rack, picking up his backpack and walking up to the glass doors. Pushing them open, he stepped into a large atrium adorned on either side with trophies and pictures. He looked forward and was dazzled by a huge banner of black and gold. The lettering read: GO BULLS! TRAMPLE THEM WOLVES!

He smiled. The big game against the Williamsport Wolves was tonight.

The first bell had not yet rung, so Louis made his way through a sea of students to his locker. The long row of gray metal cabinets stretched almost endlessly down the hall, some open, most closed, and all looking beat-up. Louis spotted his locker, number 234, but noticed a gaggle of students doubled over in laughter around it. He muscled his way through the guffawing crowd until his locker was in full view.

It was still the same beat-up locker as ever, but there was something different. Something about the name plate, the one he had added to his locker. His name was Louis Bruckman, not…

“Louis Fucksmen.”

The name was written on a torn piece of notebook paper and had been crudely taped over Louis’s magnetic name plate. Underneath it was a badly-drawn picture of a stick figure with glasses apparently engaged in sexual intercourse with another stick figure.

“Like it, Buttman?” sneered a voice behind him. He wheeled around.

A hulking boy stood towering over Louis, flanked on either side by equally-brutish cronies. He had muddy-brown hair cut military-style and the faintest shadow of a beard. He was huge, at least two feet taller than Louis, and had muscles that were just barely contained in his letter jacket. A black-and-gold cap covered his head and his feet were clad in expensive athletic shoes. Louis knew exactly who this behemoth was.

Brandon “Bull” Johnson. Star quarterback and team captain of the Morris Bulls. Top player in the state, third in the country.

Complete asshole.

“Weren’t content with just calling me ‘Buttman’, huh, Brandon?” Louis said, undeterred by the bully’s size. “Like making gay jokes, do you?”

“Yeah, I do, Buttman, I do,” Brandon laughed. “Especially when it comes to little fags like you.”

“Fags like me? Says the guy who drops the soap in the communal showers…on purpose.”

The crowd stood stunned in silence, some covering their mouths to keep from laughing, others because they knew Louis was asking for a death wish.

“You got some balls talkin’ to me like that, Bruckman,” the burly senior growled, his haughtiness replaced with low fury.

“You would know,” Louis snapped, still undaunted. “You seem to be very familiar with many guys’ balls.”

A few on the crowd’s edge decided to bolt. A bloodbath was coming. No one talked this way to Bull Johnson, especially not some punk-ass little nerd. And yet Louis was fed up with Brandon. The guy never let up; he seemed to have it out with anyone whose brain was larger than a pea (because that was about the size of his own.) Usually allowing his fists to do the talking, rather than his mouth, he became the bane of the Morris weakling subculture. Nobody messed with him, nobody got in his way, and nobody mouthed off to him.

“You’re dead, shithead,” the burly quarterback sneered, clenching his fists, his face red as a beet.

“Aw, is big ol’ Bull getting angry?” Louis taunted, trying to maintain the illusion that he was not frightened. “What’s the matter? Did you break up with your boyfriend or something? Or are you embarrassed that your balls are the size of peas ‘cause of all the steroids you’ve been shooting up?”

Louis should have seen the punch coming, but he had been caught up in the enjoyment of watching Brandon turn red. Too late, he realized a ham-sized fist was slicing through the air on a collision course with his head. The blow connected with a sickening thud, and Louis saw stars. Finally, when the haze cleared, he realized he was on the ground, bleeding from his nose. Someone was yelling shrilly, but the voice was too high to be a teacher’s. It was a female voice, and it was not happy.

“…for the last damn time, Brandon! Stop beating up people!”

“The dickhead mouthed me, Holly! I had to…”

“You had to what? Make an ass of yourself? Goddamn it, you have no control!”

“Fine, Holly, Jesus. Get off my ass.”

“Get out of here, Bull.”

As Louis’s vision cleared, he saw the hulking form of Brandon Johnson skulk away, muttering insults under his breath. Louis knew who his savior was. Other than the teachers, only one student at Morris High could curb the raging tempest that was Bull Johnson.

That student now stood over Louis as the first bell rang. She was stunningly pretty, with straight blond hair and deep-blue eyes. Her skin was tan and smooth, her form enviable. She wore a navy-blue shirt and a fawn-colored North Face jacket, with low shorts and leggings covering her ankles. Her lips nearly covered her immaculate white teeth. She was beautiful in every sense of the word, and right now she was concerned about the huddled mass on the ground that was Louis Bruckman.

“Louis? Are you alright?” she asked, helping the boy to his feet. Louis looked clearly at the girl and almost smiled. His savior was none other than Holly Patterson, captain of the Morris cheerleading squad and (current) girlfriend of Mr. Brandon Johnson. Also one of Louis’s senior friends, and indeed one of his only friends.

“Yeah,” the boy replied, wiping blood from his mouth. His nose wasn’t broken, but it would take a while before the bleeding stopped. Such was the power of Bull Johnson’s fists.

“Thanks, Holly,” he continued. “I’d have been part of the floor right now if it hadn’t been for you.”

“Don’t think for one second that I approve of what you did to Brandon any more than what he did to you, Louis,” Holly snapped, dropping her sympathy. “You know how high-strung he is. If you keep egging him on there’ll be a day when no one’s around to save you.”

“Yeah, yeah, but somebody’s got to put that jackass in his place.”

Holly almost smiled. “Why do you think I hang around him?”

“Are you attracted to his single-digit IQ? Or maybe his ability to fart the national anthem?” Louis quipped.

The girl let loose a quick laugh. “Something like that. Look, I’ll do my best to keep him off you and everyone else, but you’ve got to stop baiting him. He’ll kill you for it.”

She dropped her voice low, even though the bustle of students trying to make it to class was loud enough for them to not be overheard. “Besides, you don’t wanna be in a full body cast for tonight’s game. You know we have practice after school today, right?”

Louis’s eyes lit up and he almost slapped his head. “Damn, nearly forgot! You’re right!”

He was on the cheerleading team. He had wished he had brought a camera when he told the cheer coordinator that he, a boy, wanted to join; her expression had been priceless. Nevertheless, he was admitted, primarily because there was only one position available that, coincidentally, was the only position Louis wanted.

Mascot.

Bully, the much-beloved, unimaginatively-named mascot of the Morris Bulls, was without a doubt one of the most revered figures on campus. Bringing spirit and humor to games, pep rallies, and school life in general, Bully never ceased to bring a smile to Morris students and boost the school’s morale. The mascot’s identity was always kept secret, but that made it all the more interesting, as students would have polls to guess who the student in the Bully suit was.

Being gangly and nonathletic, few would’ve thought Louis Bruckman would be the man behind the mask. Then again, for a while few thought Bully would return at all. Three years before Louis had started high school, a pep rally had gone terribly wrong. The then-mascot, Sophie Horowitz, had managed to catch on fire during a particularly dangerous stunt. She had spent half a week in the hospital, and the costume had been completely destroyed. Not wanting to risk anyone else’s safety, the school board had effectively suspended Bully, ridding Morris High of their beloved mascot. But this was a mistake; no incentive to show spirit led to a drop in school morale, which in turn led to a four year slump in Bulls football. With the arrival of Brandon Johnson, however, students had lobbied that the mascot be reinstated, in order to incite the crowds further while watching the all-star quarterback play. The board had confided, a new costume was made, and tryouts had been held.

This had all happened during Louis’s freshman year, and he seized the opportunity to dress as Bully and finally do something at Morris that didn’t involve staring at a computer. Ms. Foster, the cheer coordinator, had taken a liking to his spunk, his spontaneity, and his sense of well-being. A few days later, Louis Bruckman had become Bully, and from then on into his sophomore year he loved every minute of it.

The second bell rang, breaking his thoughts.

“Crap!” he exclaimed. Holly was gone. The halls were almost empty. He gathered his things and made his way to his first class, History.

Louis’s History teacher, Ms. Applewhite, was without a doubt the oldest and quite possibly the strictest teacher in school. Her hair was white and trussed up in a tight bun. She had tight lips, tight jowls, beady eyes, and always dressed in a gray cardigan and faded beige stockings. Every day she came to school in a beat-up jalopy that looked like it would have been out of date in the 1940s. But she was no sweet, grandmotherly old lady; on the contrary, her mannerisms were like those of a vulture and her personality was relentlessly authoritarian.

“Mister Bruckman,” she said in a fluttering, aristocratic voice just as Louis sat down. “Explain why you exhibit the nerve to enter my classroom late?”

He looked at his watch. 8:32. Two minutes late. Any other teacher would have passed it off as nothing. Not Ms. Applewhite.

“I…” Louis began, but was cut off by his centenarian teacher.

“No excuses! You children disgust me with your lack of morals and your deplorable sense of incivility! Your excuses grow more pathetic by the day, yet you still believe me foolish enough to fall for such subterfuges! In my day, discipline came from the crack of a whip and the cry of the wrongdoer! But no, you must all…”

She rambled on, unaware that no one was listening. Louis was used to this; it wasn’t the first time Ms. Applewhite had asked a question and rebuked the answerer before he even got an answer out. A few students looked at Louis sympathetically, and he could tell they were thinking the exact same thing. There was one boy seated in the back in particular who was trying to keep from giggling: Jason Miller, a dark-haired, dark-skinned boy wearing a Daft Punk T-shirt and a Phillies cap, who was Louis’s best friend. Finally, after a few minutes had passed, the old woman’s rant had reached its end.

“…and if you are late to my class once again, Mister Bruckman, you can be rest assured that you will regret it!”

Oooh, I’m totally scared of a post-menopausal bitch, Louis thought to himself. But he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut. The old teacher finally took a breath and began the lesson.

“As you all have read, or should I say I assume you have read, one of the most appalling and memorable acts of racial violence in the Southern Hemisphere occurred thirty years ago, in the summer of 1979…”

* * *

“But how do you know for sure?”

“I don’t. That’s the beauty of the whole thing. The Princess just told us that…”

“That what? Jet, you okay?”

“I’m fine. The Princess just told us that Pinkie Pie would guide the way to those who had been lost. I guess this is what she meant.”

They were standing in front of a large brick building. Emblazoned in bronze lettering over the main doors were the words MORRIS HIGH SCHOOL. A few passersby were looking at them oddly, no doubt because of their strange attire and appearance. Jet had slipped back into his hoodie, even though it was humid out, and had guided the pony-girls to the location with a strange black object that he had called a ‘cell phone.’

“Humans use them all the time,” he had explained. “For communication, and to find where they are.”

The object had led them to the building they now stood in front of. Jet addressed them all.

“This is a school building.”

“Good observation, Captain Obvious,” said a voice overhead. Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy were in a tree above them, hiding. Though she had returned to normal, Rainbow Dash was still unable to fly much. Jet had made it very clear that the two pegasi couldn’t let themselves be seen by other humans, which is why Rainbow Dash sulked in the tree, twiddling her hooves and toying with branches.

“Hey, it’s not my fault you changed back. I dunno what went wrong,” Jet said, scratching himself. He then shook his head and focused. “The rest of you look well enough to fit in as students here. I’ll stay with you, and Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy will keep watch.

“Here,” he said to the pegasi, tossing them each another black device. “This is…”

“…a walkie-talkie,” Fluttershy finished, observing the device.

“We’re ponies, Jet. Not savages. Remember?”

Jet fumed silently, then shook his head again. “Alright. We’ve got to wait here until Big Macintosh arrives. I don’t know what he looks like, but he should be…”

“Well, I know what he looks like!” AJ piped up. “He’s m’brother!”

Jet did a double-take. “Really? Why didn’t you mention this before?”

“I…I dunno…I kinda thought y’knew…”

“Of course I knew!” Jet said suddenly, surprising everybody. “How could I forget Big Macintosh? He’s the red one, right ? The big red one that hardly talks?”

Spike approached Jet warily. “Uhhh…you okay, buddy?”

“Okay?” Jet’s eyes narrowed, and his tone went from giddy to near-terrifying. “Of course I’m not okay, you scaled idiot! I’m stuck here in this form for who-knows-how-long, while you…”

“Excuse me!”

They all whirled around and saw a large balding man in a tweed overcoat. His mustache bristled as he eyed the group suspiciously.

“Do you all have some business here?”

“Yes, sir!” Jet answered, acting as though he had not just lashed out at Spike. “We’re students, sir!”

“Students? I’ve never seen any one of you on campus before!”

“We’re new! Transfer students from…uh…” He lowered his voice. “Blast, what other countries in this world are there?” His eyes brightened, and he straightened up. “The Republic of Ivory Coast!”

Now it wasn’t just the man that gave him an odd look. Everybody was looking at him like he was mentally ill. The man approached. He had to be a teacher at the school.

“The Republic of Ivory Coast? Do you think I’m that stupid? You’re from Williamsport, aren’t you? Here to pull some idiotic prank before the game tonight?”

“Game? What game?” Pinkie proclaimed, bouncing to the front. “Can I play?”

“Listen, sir…”

“You are trespassing on school grounds! Get out of here before I call the police.”

Jet calmly approached the man, who in turn huffed his way over to the boyish-looking pony-turned-human. “Sir…”

“Don’t sir me, young man! If you and your cohorts aren’t off the property in the next minute, I’m going to…”

POW!

The poor man never saw Jet’s fist coming. It connected perfectly with the tubby teacher’s jaw, and he went down like a sack of flour. Everyone else was too shocked to say anything as Jet dragged the teacher’s limp body into the bushes.

“Was anyone watching?” he asked, not looking at any of them.

They all looked around. The streets were clear for the moment.

“Good,” he said, nursing his hand. “I didn’t want to do that, but the human was asking too many questions.”

He shivered. “I didn’t want to…”

“You said that already,” Applejack noted.

“Yeah,” he piped up. “Yeah, okay. Let’s get going…”

As soon as he turned around, his foot caught the edge of the concrete sidewalk and he fell flat on his face. He cried out, but refused aid. Dusting himself off, he pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his face.

“We’ll split up. Twilight and Applejack, you come with me. Spike, find a spot outside the building with Pinkie Pie and Rarity. Stay there and stay hidden. Rainbow Dash, Fluttershy, you go with Spike.”

“No way, bucko,” the blue pegasus snorted from the tree. “I don’t take orders from you.”

“Fine,” Jet snarled. “Do what you want. See how long you last.”

The way he had said this, the manner in which he had spoken, was so utterly evil that it made everyone cower in fear. When Jet stared at the tree with his crimson eyes, Rainbow Dash gulped and nodded. She would go with Spike.

“Alright,” he breathed, calming himself. “Let’s go. We don’t know when Big Macintosh will arrive, so let’s try to blend in. Shouldn’t be too hard, right?”

Why he was asking this question to them, they had no clue. He seemed as unconfident as he did confident. There was something not right about him.

“Let’s go, then.”

And he turned around and fell on his face. Again.

* * *

As he entered the cafeteria for lunch, Louis spotted three familiar students sitting together at a table, alone. One of them waved to him. He smiled and made his way over.

These were Louis’s friends, all of them smart, all of them nonathletic, and all of them blessed with a keen sense of tolerance. Louis sat down next to Jason. Across the table were Adam Horowitz, a tall, fair-haired boy who was the younger brother of Sophie Horowitz; and Rachel Murphy, a freckly, glasses-wearing girl that still had braces. These four made up the group collectively known as the ‘Nerd Herd’, a name invented by Derrick Ball (one of Brandon’s buddies) that had stuck ever since.

“And, with the arrival of Mister Louis Bruckman,” Jason said, mimicking a sports announcer, “the fifty-seventh lunch meeting of the Nerd Herd can now begin!”

“Hey, c’mon, man,” Louis grumbled, slipping a potato wedge into his mouth. “Why you gotta keep calling us by that?”

“Eh, you know what they say, Louie. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.”

“Jace is right, LJ,” Adam said, absent-mindedly toying with a fringe on his shirt. He was the only person to call him ‘LJ’, as Louis’s middle name was John. Louis ended the conversation with a flick of his hand and dove into his pizza.

“We didn’t see you this morning, Louis,” Rachel said, her blouse ruffling. “Where were you?”

“Getting my ass kicked by Bull,” he replied.

Jason whistled. “That would explain your apparent absence of beauty today? And the blood on your sweatshirt, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah. Well, yes to the last part. I was up last night trying to prestige in CoD.”

“And?”

“Tac-Nuke on Skidrow, 32-7 kill/death ratio. Course, that was before I hit the hay. But my mom found out and banned me from playing this week.”

Jason put on a fake sad face and began rubbing his fingers together. “Aw, let me play you the world’s smallest violin. Now what was up with Bull?”

Louis drew a breath, making sure to swallow his Coke first. “The usual. ‘Hey, Buttman, I hear your mom’s a whore.’ You know, crap like that. We had words, next thing you know, I was on the ground, being rescued by Holly.”

“Holly? As in…As in Holly Patterson?” Adam asked, suddenly interested. It was no secret that he had a crush on the cheerleader.

“Yes, Adam, Holly Patterson. But keep it in your pants. Anyway, so she helped me up and I was late to History. Applewhite gave me a hard time.”

Even Rachel grimaced. Jason laughed. “Yeah, you should have seen her. Man, that ol’ bitch is gonna keel over any day now. Why put up with her shit? I don’t.”

“Yeah, seriously, Louis,” Adam chimed in.

“Oh, come on,” Rachel interrupted, looking slightly hurt. “Why do you guys always hate on her? She’s not so bad, she’s a genius when it comes to history…”

“Well, if you love her so much, why don’t you marry her?” Louis said with mock scorn. Suddenly, tears erupted in Rachel’s eyes as she gathered her things and stormed out of the cafeteria.

“Dude,” Jason said without a hint of humor in his voice. “Not cool. Did you hear what Sean Moon said about her during Lorenzo’s class?”

“No, what?”

“Called her a lesbian,” Adam answered. “She got all upset. That was a low blow, LJ.”

“Sorry, guys, I mean, how was I…?”

“Forget it, Louie,” Jason said, patting his knee in mock sympathy. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to make it up to her somehow. So, what should we talk about?”

“There’s a new iPad coming out…”

“Did you hear about what happened in Montana?”

“Damn it, Jersey Shore got renewed for another season. Swear to God…”

“How many Final Fantasies are there? I mean, Jesus Christ, isn’t it supposed to be Final…”

“We could talk about the game tonight,” Louis interrupted. His friends looked at him oddly.

“What, like jocks?” Adam replied. “No way. I could give a shit about football.”

“It is an important game, though,” Louis argued. “I mean, Williamsport’s pretty good, and there’re gonna be scouts there, looking at Bull…”

“Can’t wait ‘til he gets his ‘roid ass to college.”

Louis ignored Jason’s comment. “Yeah, and besides, if we win tonight it’ll be the longest winning streak in Morris history!”

Adam scoffed. “Big whoop. It’s not like we get anything out of it. If we win, Brandon goes to Alabama or Penn State or wherever, and we stay in the playoffs. It doesn’t mean anything to us!”

“It means something to me,” Louis said quietly. Jason and Adam exchanged looks. Only the Nerd Herd and the cheerleading squad knew that Louis was the mascot.

“I’m not asking you to love it, Adam, but at least support it for my sake.” He lowered his voice, an unnecessary action what with all the noise in the cafeteria.

“Tell me the truth. Are you being cynical, or are you still mad about what happened to your sister?”

Adam’s face went red. Few ever talked about what happened to Sophie Horowitz, and even fewer talked about it to her brother’s face. It was a very uncomfortable subject.

“Listen, Louis,” he began, addressing him by his first name, something he usually did when he was in a bad mood. “I like you. I like the fact that you’re Bully. But what happened to my sister could happen to you, too. All because of this stupid hype of these stupid sports! Did she really need to jump a bike through a ring of fire? No! She could have just as easily done cartwheels and breakdancing! It would have pleased the crowd, and she wouldn’t have to have skin grafts afterwards! That’s why I don’t like football, okay! Now leave me alone!”

He got up and stomped away as the bell rung. Louis and Jason were left frozen in their seats.

“Two in one period,” Jason commented humorlessly. “That’s like a new record for you, Louie.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Louis snapped.

They ate in silence, or at least, as silently as they could given the ruckus around them, and Louis was about to finish the last of the pizza when a very odd-looking group approached his table.

The group consisted of one boy and two girls, and they were the weirdest-looking people Louis had ever seen. They couldn’t have been students here; Louis had never seen them before. The boy wore a dirty gray hoodie and black jeans, but the hood hung limply behind him. He had red eyes and brown hair, and his entire face was covered in scars, as if somebody had decided to use his face as a carving board. There was something really weird about him, but Louis couldn’t but his finger on it.

The girls looked sort of normal. One was tall and had black hair with purple highlights, and she wore a mauve-colored jacket over a purple skirt. The other looked like a cowgirl. She wore a cattleman’s hat, a plaid shirt, and cargo pants, and her hair, tied in a ponytail, was the color of straw. She looked pretty good, and Louis wondered what two girls like that were doing in the company of a freak like this guy.

“Hi!” said the freak as he sat down. “My name’s Jet! What’s yours?”

The guy was creeping Louis out with his wide smile, scarred face, and red eyes, but he answered. “Louis. This is Jason.”

“Hello,” Jason said uneasily.

“We’re new here,” Jet said a little too quickly. “We didn’t know where to go for lunch, right, girls?”

The girls nodded uneasily. They seemed to trust this weirdo, but also seemed out-of-place, uncomfortable in the cafeteria.

“Again, my name’s Dirk.”

“Dirk? I thought you said your name was Jet.”

“I did. Why, what did you think I said?”

“…”

“Well?”

“…nevermind.”

“Well, okay then!” Jet exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “So, anything weird going on here?”

* * *

Louis made it through the rest of the school day without further incident, except for last period when someone threw a water bottle at his head. Soaked and humiliated, he breathed a sigh of relief when the final bell rang. He picked up his backpack and walked out of the building through the side exit, making his way across the parking lot to the football field. He passed Rachel on the way over, noticing her as she climbed into her mother’s car, but they sped off before Louis could talk to her. Feeling guilty, he shook off the last drips of water from his head and walked down a flight of stairs, cutting across the baseball field and ending up at the top of Morris Stadium. As he went, he bumped into a small boy in a purple T-shirt, and he only did a double-take because the boy appeared to have green hair.

The cheerleaders were already down on the track, some dressed, others not. The football team was also present, clad in black and gold, occupying most of the field. Louis usually kept out of sight of the players in fear of discovery and subsequent torment. He pulled his hood over his head and trotted down the stone steps.

“Hey, it’s Bruckman!”

Aw, son of a...but then he realized that it wasn’t a player who had called out. It was a cheerleader, pointing in his direction and signaling the coordinator. Ms. Foster, a muscular woman with black hair and raven-like eyes, looked up and blew her whistle. Louis hurried downward.

“About time you got your butt down here, Bruckman,” she growled.

“Sorry, ma’am,” Louis replied.

“Stow your sorrys, Bruckman! What with all the hype and attention the game tonight will be receiving, we’re running our warm-ups with realistic conditions. You know what that means.”

He did. Realistic conditions meant that Louis had to suit up now and practice with the cheerleaders, as opposed to suiting up right before the game started. Not his favorite thing to do, but he didn’t complain.

“Get going, Louis,” Ms. Foster said in a tone slightly less hostile. “The suit box is in locker four. New combination is 3-24-2. Get suited up then head back out here.”

Louis nodded and headed for the locker rooms on the far side of the field, drawing a few eyes as he went. Brandon Johnson, player number 12, pointed and said something, but Louis couldn’t hear and didn’t care what. Arriving at the locker rooms, he secured his backpack in a spare locker and went to locker four.

A cardboard box lay inside. Louis entered the combination, opened the door, and took the box out, opening it. Inside was a massive pile of fabric, plastic, and mesh. The Bully mascot costume. Smiling, Louis dressed down to nothing but his undershirt and shorts, stowing his clothes, phone, and wallet in his backpack. He then began to suit up.

He started with the main bodysuit, a brown, muscular body that made his own form look twice as big. Zipping up the back, he threw on a Morris jersey (number 00) and a pair of mesh shorts over his suit. Already sweat began to form on his brow, and Louis knew that by the night’s end he would stink worse than a skunk rolled in manure. He then pulled on the foot ‘hooves,’ plastic shoes that clacked loudly on the ground. Next he slipped his hands into a pair of black, three-fingered gloves, twiddling his thumbs in order to test them out. Finally, all that remained in the box was the head. It was twice as big as Louis’s head and sported yellow horns and dark mesh eyeholes. It was brown like the rest of the suit and had clenched teeth to add to the illusion of a ‘raging bull.’ It was a bit more comical than intended, but it never failed to make people smile or cheer (unless of course they were for the opposing team.)

He smiled and lifted the head over his own. It was dark, smelly, and slightly claustrophobic, but it felt good to Louis, almost as though he had become a whole new being. He flashed some poses in front of a wall mirror, practicing his best moves. A giggle in the doorway drew his attention. Holly Patterson stood there, looking luscious in her cheerleader outfit.

“I don’t think I can look at you in that get-up and not laugh, Louis,” she said.

“Is that an insult, or are you just saying that?” he replied, his words slightly muffled by the mask. The girl came over and playfully punched his furry arm.

“You know I mean well, Louis. You’re a great Bully.”

“Is Foster waiting for me?”

“The others are taking a water break. I’d say about five minutes.”

Louis smiled. Holly echoed it unknowingly. “I guess tonight you gotta cheer your little bull heart out, huh?”

Without waiting for an answer, she giggled slightly and turned around, heading out the door. Louis was left standing there in his costume, struck dumb.

“Yeah,” he said dreamily. “I guess so.”

* * *

“Status report.”

“What?”

“How’d your patrol go?”

“That’s what you’re calling it now? A patrol? We were out there for hours, Jet, and we didn’t see anything!”

“I’m hungry!”

“Muzzle it, Pinkie. We’ve got more important things to deal with right now.”

“What’s more important than food?”

“Our lives.”

“We’ll lose our lives if we don’t get food!”

“Stop this!” Jet interrupted. The heat of the evening sun made him sweat profusely, even when he had removed his hoodie and thrown it in the bushes outside of the school. It was later, much later, and the school had emptied. The teacher that Jet had knocked unconscious had yet to be discovered. They were all in the school parking lot, discussing the day, Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy listening in the trees above.

“Well, we didn’t see anything, either!” the pegasi said together. “And, if I may mention, these humans are not very nice to the animals around here,” Fluttershy interjected.

“Oh, cry me a river, you spineless foal!” Jet snapped, warranting looks of outrage all around.

“That was completely uncalled for, Jet!” Rarity exclaimed.

“Oh…I’m so sorry…I don’t know what came over me…”

“It’s okay,” Fluttershy said, smiling. “I know how you feel.”

“Okay, listen up. It’s evening, and still no Big Macintosh.”

“You really like to state the obvious, don’t you?”

Jet looked like he wanted to climb up the tree and rip Dash’s wings from her body, but he composed himself and brushed off the pegasus’s comment.

“He’s got to appear tonight. Here.”

“Are you sure?” Pinkie Pie chimed in, adjusting her pink sweatshirt. “What if I was wrong?”

“You weren’t wrong,” Jet answered. “Look, there’s still some time left, so let’s…”

“I want to play a game!”

Jet whirled around, eyes wide. He stared at Pinkie Pie, who had just spoken and was now shivering.

“What did you just say?!”

“I’m hu…”

“Game…you mentioned a game before…”

His attention turned to the many cars that were parked on the far side of the parking lot. Students, hollering and laughing, wearing spirit gear, were heading towards the football field.

“Prepare yourselves,” Jet said, his eyes narrowing. “I know where Big Macintosh will be.”

* * *

In a few hours’ time, the stadium had filled to capacity with fans, news people, security, and students. The annual Morris-WA rivalry match was one of the most anticipated games of the season. The rivalry was fairly new but not at all light. Fans from all over Pennsylvania (and even some from out of state) came to watch it, eager to see what kind of juicy action would unfold. But more importantly were the scouts and coaches, the collegiate officials that would be observing Brandon Johnson, who had still not announced where he would be committing himself to. Louis stood on the field, waving a flag emblazoned with the word BULLS in gold letters. The cheerleaders were holding up a banner that depicted a frightened wolf cowering at the sight of a huge black bull. The clock was ticking down. The crowd was rumbling. Behind the banner, the football team eagerly waited to punch through.

The clock dropped down to zero.

The football team burst through the banner as a wall of sound greeted them. The stadium roared its approval, nearly drowning out the marching band as they played the school fight song. Louis ran alongside them, holding the flag high like a soldier in battle. A few cheers and many boos escaped the crowd as the rival team, clad in maroon and blue, entered the field. Soon afterward, the game was underway.

Louis jumped, dived, somersaulted, danced, tumbled, backflipped, and spun for two straight quarters. This was the one time he appreciated his puniness; his lightweight form made him more agile and limber, allowing him to perform stunts that surely no one on the football team could perform. On occasion he had to participate in cheering with the cheerleaders themselves, but for the most part he was independent. Every time the Bulls scored, he would hoist the giant flag and charge along the track. He even hung around the team itself, weaving in and out of players on the sidelines and interacting with a few. Some high-fived him, some patted him on the back, some gave him fist bumps, but most of them ignored him. He then took his antics into the stands, miming funny actions that drew laughter and applause from the crowd during timeouts and breaks.

At one point, he saw the freakshow again. This time, he was surrounded by many other girls, each seemingly uncomfortable with her situation. The green-haired boy from earlier was also with him, and when Louis approached, in full mascot gear, they looked at him as if he were the weird one. But it didn’t matter. Not even Freakshow and his harem could dampen his spirits.

Finally the buzzer rang for halftime. The score was Morris 17, Williamsport 14. Louis high-fived the players as they piled into the locker room, even snatching one from the unsuspecting Brandon Johnson, before heading back to a secret alcove underneath the stands.

Jason was waiting for him there, wearing a black-and-gold MorphSuit he had recently purchased and holding two cups in his hands.

“Hey, Bully,” he said, grinning slyly. “Nice outfit.”

“Likewise,” Louis replied, pulling off the bull mask. His hair was plastered to his head and his brow was thick with sweat. Even in the cold autumn air, he still felt like a bonfire had been lit under his shirt.

“Got this for you, man,” Jason said, giving him a cup of Gatorade. Louis greedily grabbed it, muttered thanks, and downed it in three seconds.

“Hey, hey, slow down!” the spandex-clad boy said, grasping the mascot’s arm. “You’re gonna choke if you drink it too fast!”

Heeding his friend’s advice, he dropped the empty cup and sat down on the grass. The stadium rumbled above him. They would not be seen here.

“So, Louie, how’re you feelin’? Exciting game so far, huh?”

Louis nodded. “Yeah, it has been. Just I’ve got this itch down below and I’ve got no way of scratching it.”

“Whaddaya mean you can’t scratch it? ‘Course you can!”

“Well, yeah I can now, but what would it look like out there, Jace? Honestly, what comes to mind with that image?”

The spandex-clad boy thought for a moment, then grimaced. “A dude in a bull suit pretending to whack off?”

“Among other things, yes.” Louis said, taking off his glove, unzipping his suit slightly, and reaching down his pants to relieve himself of the itch.

Jason shrugged his shoulders, taking a sip from his cup. “At least you’re not the Wolves’ mascot. Remember how he got trucked by Davis?”

Now it was Louis who grimaced. It had happened during the first quarter; Patrick Davis, the Morris halfback, had veered off the field to avoid being tackled…right into the opposing team’s mascot. The impact had been so brutal that it had knocked the mascot’s head (the foam one) clean off and rendered the poor guy inside unconscious. He had had the wind knocked out of him, and had to sit the rest of the game out.

“I guess the Herd was too much for the dog!” Jason quipped, thrusting his spandex fist into the air.

“Hey, man, don’t talk like that,” the costumed boy scolded. Louis had a special respect for other team’s mascots and had even formed friendships with a few of them.

Jason shrugged again. “Least he went out with a bang. Adam’s playin’ in the band again, d’you hear?”

Louis listened and picked up the faint sounds of a marching band show. “What instrument does he play again?”

“Snare drum,” his friend replied. “C’mon, man, you should know that!”

“Whatever.”

Jason stood up and downed the rest of his drink. “By the way, Adam’s dad is letting him use his car for the weekend. He says he can drive us to see a movie or go somewhere tomorrow, if we want. You wanna come?”

He nodded immediately. Jason smiled. “Well, okay then. I’ll tell him after the game.”

With that he pulled his MorphSuit mask over his face and went back to the stands. Louis sat there for a little while longer, stewing and thinking, before replacing the bull head on him and heading back out.

Everything went to hell in the second half.

* * *

“Keep your eyes peeled.”

“What?”

“I said, keep your eyes…”

“Is that him?”

“Nah, that’s a human.”

“Oh…but he’s red.”

“Probably ate too many beets!”

Twilight said nothing as her pony friends chatted with Jet. She felt claustrophobic, surrounded by aliens, none of whom she knew or cared to know.

And then there had been the minotaur.

At first, Twilight thought that somehow Iron Will, the minotaur that had drastically changed Fluttershy’s personality a few months back, had come through the portal. But she eventually realized that this was not Iron Will; this minotaur’s skin was brown, and he never seemed to blink. He also wore strange clothing with numbers and colors that matched the colors of the people on the green field that everyone around them seemed to be cheering at. When asked, Jet had answered, but over the roar of the crowd, Twilight heard him say something that sounded like ‘Math Scott.’ She didn’t know who or what Math Scott was, nor did she particularly care.

Still, she sat uncomfortably, watching the meaningless game unfold, until a flickering light down by the minotaur began to draw her attention.

Jet saw it, too, and he stood up, causing the others to stand up as well.

The scarred human smiled.

“He’s here.”

* * *

Everything had been going so well until the light appeared.

Louis, now up to his balls in sweat, had not waned in cheering ability, but even he became distracted when a soft iridescent light formed out of thin air in front of him. He regarded it with real quizzicality, not pantomimed confusion that he so often did in his role as Bully. The light grew and intensified, and, though it was shining bright, Louis appeared to be the only person who noticed it.

“Stand back, human.”

He whirled around and saw Scarface walking with his mobile brothel. They weren’t allowed to be on the track during the game. He raised his fake hooves and tried to get them to back off.

“Stand back, or you will be hurt.”

Louis almost laughed, but his laugh caught in his throat when the light grew so intense that he could feel its heat through the fur of his costume. He swiveled around, and even the black mesh and near-total darkness of the mascot head couldn’t keep him from going temporarily blind. The light had drawn the attentions of many others now. Someone was yelling, but it wasn’t coming from the crowd. The game had stopped. The light was brighter than the sun, and for Louis, closing his eyes made no difference. It was as if someone had taken the world’s largest block of magnesium and set fire to it. Louis was going blind.

Then, from its depths, a horrible cry of something neither man nor beast, and out of the shining light burst a figure that would be forever ingrained into Louis’s mind.

His initial reaction was one of shock and pain, as the figure rammed into him at full speed, knocking his mascot head off and rendering him breathless. As Holly and a few of the cheerleaders went to his aid, he noticed that the light was gone, and that he was covered in blood. He checked himself, but he wasn’t bleeding.

“BROTHER!”

He turned around. The cowgirl had rushed to the figure, whose body was now motionless and bleeding on the track. With the mascot head gone and the light faded, Louis got a good look at the thing that had crashed into him.

It was huge, a giant, and it had skin so red that its blood was difficult to discern from its regular body. It wore no shirt but wore torn jeans, and its chest was a mosaic of chiseled muscle. A short tuft of yellow hair protruded from its rump, and a large dark hole, circled with dark red blood, stood out in its back. Something had gone through it. Something had punctured its lungs.

Then Louis saw its head.

Whatever this thing was, it wasn’t human. The plaid girl had turned it over, revealing the other side of the wound. The thing coughed and snorted. Its head was big and sloped, and, like the rest of its body, red. Its eyes were lime-green, but bloodshot. A scruffy mane of tawny hair lay atop its head, matted and stained with its own blood.

It was a horse-man. Louis rubbed his eyes, getting the thing’s blood on his face, and looked again. There was no mistaking it. This thing was completely red, had a tail, and had the head of a horse. But otherwise, it was human. Its hands were red and yellow, as were its feet.

A horse-man.

The cowgirl was crying, caressing the thing’s hair, examining the wound. Her companions were silent, unsure of what to do. Everyone was silent. Two thousand people, and not a single one spoke.

Then the cowgirl said two words that made no sense to Louis.

“B-Big Mac?”

The thing looked at her, and, coughing up blood, reached up with its arm and touched her face. Then its arm went limp, and it coughed again. Its green eyes gave away its fear, and it spoke in a low, raspy voice.

“W-what am I, AJ?”

The strain of these four words was too much for the impossible freak, and it closed its eyes, drifting into unconsciousness.

The only sound permeated the silence of the stadium was the soft melody of tears, coming from a blonde girl in a cowboy hat that wept for her dying freak of a brother.