From Fire To Equestria

by TheHoleyCheese

Rating: teen
Tags: Comedy, Adventure, Human
Length: 786

When I died in a tragic accident that was in no way my fault, I get to go to my own personal he- ahem- afterlife. Oh, and I get to bring some of my... friends, with me. Oh joy.

"Fire set free is a fearsome force- Destructive, merciless, always hungry. Given direction, it is much worse."
-Jeflin, Vastwood shaman

When I died in a tragic accident that was in no way my fault, I get to go to my own personal he- ahem- afterlife.
Oh, and I get to bring some of my… friends, with me.
Oh joy.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-02-01 00:40:18 UTC

Shit's gonna go down.

Never have a shady business deal at a dock, especially if you’re a fire elementalist. Why would anyone even think about doing something like that?

One, you’re out of your element so your vulnerable and an easy ambush.

Two, you’re dealing with guys who want these killing machines so they can kill more people.

Three, you know these guys really don't want to pay you because they're short on money.

Four, all three friends you asked to come said you were asking for an early grave.

Well before I continue let me tell you the moral of this story: listen to your friends, kids. Peer pressure can be good sometimes.

Now for the real story. It was a mild winter evening, or maybe it only felt mild because I was using a bit of my energy to make a concentrated flame instead of a flashlight like some ungifted individual. Sure it took a bit of focus to manipulate a flame, and a flashlight was easier, but it's fun to show off sometimes. Anyway, I was standing by a couple of crates that contained the merchandise I was delivering. A boat sounded its fog horn in the distance.

"Excuse me sir, but I'm afraid you’re not allowed down here."

I spun around to see a man wearing an indigo uniform and light metal armor. It was one of those fancy ungifted officers. They think they're the cream of the law-enforcing crop, but really they aren't a threat if you know how to deal with them. They’re really only around so that the ungifted citizens of our fine city don't worry about the police being prejudice against those who can't manipulate the world around them, also because the mayor doesn't have any power.

"I'm sorry officer, I was just staying after my shift for a quick smoke," I said as I extinguished my flame and pulled a used cigarette from my pocket. If you’re a fire specialist always keep a few of those on you. It's easy to get people to mistake that prevailing odor of smoke for burnt tobacco.

"Do I look stupid?" he asks. I try not to answer." I know a performer when I see one. A dock worker doesn't wear clothes like that, and they aren't fire elementalists."

I give him a guilty look, “Okay, sorry. You caught me.” Let’s see how smart this guy is, “I’ll leave then officer.”

“I don’t think so. You’re coming with me.”

Generally police officers can be either tricked in this city pretty easily, but this guy is an idiot. ‘Okay I’ll try to touch the hands that can shoot fireballs. I’m sure that it will end well.’

“Oops, sorry,” I say as he grabs my wrists.

“What about?”

“I’m sorry about your hands.”

The look of confusion on his face is priceless. Too bad I had to make into an expression of agony. In an instant his arms are ablaze. He starts screaming and shit, but I break his neck so he stays quiet.

“You handled that well.”

I spin around again a group of five standing behind me.

“Took you long enough, but I was willing to wait. I have everything here,” I say tapping the crates. Two men in suits step forwards; they must be the clients. One’s old and holds a fancy cane. The other looks like a younger version of the first; they’re obviously father and son. Neither are gifted if the guns they carry at their sides says anything. They’re using B-926 Neutralizers pistols. Only ungifted use those. I feel sick just looking at them. The other three consist of a woman with tattoos suggesting she grew up in the metal slums. Her lack of weaponry says she’s a pyro like me, but I doubt as skilled. Another is a pale man wearing a dark cloak. Can’t tell much from his appearance, but the way he seems unsteady might mean he’s on some kind of drugs. The last is a tan guy wearing a muscle shirt, blonde hair, and a briefcase. The way he leans to the water is a dead giveaway that he knows how to manipulate it.

“Well, let’s see what’s in these crates.”

“Money first,” I say. The fact that they’re armed and smart enough to be using opposite elementalists says they’re not fools. This makes me uneasy; I don’t like it when my associates make me uneasy.

“No, we don’t know if we can trust the likes of you,” that was the son.

The old man winces, “We want to be sure these are in prime condition before we give up this much money.”

“Fair enough,” I reply as I remove the padlock.