S'il vous plaît

Fallout Equestria: Anamneses

Chapter: one

S'il vous plaît

    Here we are.

At that the end.

Here we are.

Oh-so far from where we started.

Oh-so long ago.

Oh-so different from who we once were.

But here we are.

You and me.

Deathless in the very face of adversity.

We've had our throes.

Then our reconciliation.

Losses.

And our gains.

From start—to finish.

But where did we really start?And, is this really the finish?

    “I'd like to tell you a story. And it may very well be my last. I'll tell you while it is still fresh in my memory. It was a hard path, so excuse me if I'm slow telling it. Remember though, just because a story is hard, and maybe even—for you and me—painful to hear doesn't mean it shouldn't be told, for it can still teach a lesson, and as long as you stand fast there can be a happy ending, even if it bears the scars of the journey. Now if you'll allow me, I would like to make my journey your own. Not just my story, but also of those dear and dire to me. I don't know if it will give a lesson. I can't promise you will like it. And I don't know if it has a happy ending. But I will tell it nevertheless. It is up to you if you are to listen or not. So, where, oh, where do I start? Are you ready?”

    I nodded my head in solemn confirmation. The words had gripped me like a vice. I knew the story already, but now was my chance to hear it from who was actually telling it.

    Their story. Void of all the lies and contempt that will grow upon it like a mold as it travels through the mediums of others. Parts forgotten by a pony who has only 'heard the story'. Thoughts left out because they feel it is 'not important to the story'. No, the pony who posses the story, who has been through the hell—the fire, they... they don't forget. And I trust them, and them alone, to decide what is important, and what is just another bullet in the breeze.

    At this point we all had stories. Even I had one. But who would I tell? I'm not even sure I can bare to remember. It felt like the very anamneses of it would tear me apart. But it was my story, and I wouldn't give it up—I wouldn't give them up—for anything. Before them I was blind. I wish they were here. I remember us... The very Valkyries of the battlefield. Except it wasn't a battlefield in essence. And "Valkyrie" brings no conciliatory connotations to what happened out there.

    What I've realized is that just because a war is over doesn't mean the battles are done. Just because the bullets aren't flying doesn't mean you still aren't fighting. And just because you think it's over doesn't mean ponies will stop dying. There's no complete prominence for that.

    I remember what a pony once said. A pony whom I trusted. One of the few whom I trusted. As I stared helplessly through the glass, his voice over the radio syncing with his lips perfectly; talking calmly to his approaching fate: “You think that there will be some divine intervention? As if your loved ones will just forgive you for what you've done. That this is all worth something? An concept that is as a far-cry away as that divine intervention. That's not how 'forgiveness' works. You have to dig your own way back form hell. I can see it in your eyes. You live a lie long enough, it becomes reality. Look in my eyes and tell me what you see. You'll see a pony who has fought long and hard. You'll see a pony who is all but broken. A pony who has stood strong by his beliefs, even when he has lost trust in his own self. You'll see yourself. And I'm sorry I won't be here to see you make the right choice. Don't worry it'll be over before you know it. Goodbye.”

    That was the last thing that pony ever said. Those words carried as much weight as his own passing, and with I they made me truly realize something.

    I wonder, does a pony still suffer for their wrongs if they don't know they've wronged, or even if they didn't know it was wrong in the first place? If I don't know I have sinned, how do I repent for it?

    When that lie becomes truth, how do you unbind it. Can you ever see it as a lie again? Is it ever a lie again? Because if you see it as true, what makes it a lie? And well, if they never knew it was a lie, can you really punish them for that?

    How does one enact revenge on an idea or belief? Even if—that revenge doesn't sound very sweet. Then again, I've never been a very contemptuous pony, so how can I rationalize what the pony next to me is thinking or doing if I don't even understand their intent?

    I wonder if I'm going to have to dig my own way back from hell?

    I remember what Fulcrum said about Nazareth. That changed my understanding of just about everything that mattered in the light of that situation. And I still don't know what to think of it.

    He said: “Naz believes in an end. And to him, the ends justify the means. And the means, are by any necessary. Peace through absolute power. As vile as that statement rings, it has a aura of definite absolution to it. Almost as if, in the end, it's the right thing to do. Does that really make him evil? If that's what he truly believes, I'd be a hypocrite if I told him to stop fighting for it. If that's what a pony truly believes they should fight to the death for it. I'm not going to hold it against them. If it's against my beliefs, then I'll make my stand, but once again not hold it against them. I remember when somepony told me he was too far gone. Is there such a thing as too far gone? If there is, I can't believe in it. Because then... I would be fighting for nothing.”

    He let out a long sigh. One that has been held in and/or reiterated for longer than one dares to remember. His tired brass peered up at the bright light that shone on us. The small smile he held conflicted the emotions that lingered so much. That is, until I knew just what it was he was thinking.

    What he said next lies etched in my memory still.

    “I don't hate Naz. If anything, envy him. Some hills are steeper than others. What does it amount to if you 'almost' reached the top? Almost is horseshoes and hand-grenades. What I've realized, is that in the end—that end—it doesn't even make a shell of a difference when we are food for the worms. Even if that definite absolution rings out, it's meaningless. Even if all those forgive you for the road you've taken, even if your goal is achieved, and even if your peace reins and rains eternal, you can never forgive yourself. And if you have... You are already dead. Don't fall in, because here, it's metabolic. Moving your way up the food chain doesn't change that. Would you rather live, or would you rather survive?”

     Are we food for the worms?

     Are we already dead?

     I do not fear death. No—I fear life, and the very aspects of what it can do to a pony.

     Do you?

     I remember it. Oh, I remember all of it now. Well—I think I do. I remember how scared I was. As scared as I was, deep down, I guess it was fun in a way, even despite how scared I was.

    Call me crazy, I just might be.

    Red— that's all I could see. Red— that's all I could remember. Red— everything. Were my eyes open? Was I even alive?

    Those were the only thoughts which I could possess.

   Light laggardly began to filter in, almost painfully so. The red began to fill my vision again, but differently than before, for I could see past it this time. The red was, as a big surprise, blood (the most common red you'll ever see out here). And alongside the light the pain rolled in. Pain, another of the senses. Well, as they say, I guess that means I'm alive.

    Regaining the most basic voluntary movement; I blinked the stinging blood out of my eyes. A loud noise rung out. It sounded akin to an explosion, but muffled by my befogged senses. I was able to feel the percussion of it, shaking the room, and causing dust to unsettle around me.

    Realizing my body wasn't breathing on its own, I gasped for air. It took about a minute for my breathing to calm down and return to being an involuntary action, but it felt like much longer.

    My blurred vision finally focused. I was laying on a concrete floor. Actually, the whole building was composed of concrete. However that didn't serve as a bastion of its integrity. The building was rather dilapidated, and looked to give under itself. The lack of light filtering through the few windows indicated it was near night. The only illumination came from several lanterns along the walls, and the occasional flash from the aforesaid windows. I was in what looked to be a jail by the several cells in front of me. All the barred-doors were open, and the cells empty.

    Looking to the floor in front of me, there was a pony; a grey unicorn on the floor. There was a pool of blood around him. That and his absolute stillness signified that he was dead. I didn't know know he was, or why he was here.

    Several smaller reports sounded around me, which was more than likely gunfire. There was yelling too, but it was too muffled to discern. I didn't want to know much more than that. I decided it was time for me to leave, quickly.

    I began to push myself up on unsteady hooves. Upon doing so the pain in my head intensified along with the blurring of my vision. The little strength I had ran out in seconds, and I collapsed back onto the floor. Thanks to the pain in my head I really didn't feel it.

    “Looks like I'm not going anywhere,” my light voice echoed lightly around the room in the sudden silence. My voice was soft and unfamiliar to me.

    Reaching up with a hoof, I attempted to wipe the blood off of my face. Most of the blood soaked into the white fur of my forehoof, but more was still trickling down my head from above my horn.

    Where am I? “Val!” I called out on instinct. My voice faltered. Yelling like that hurt worse than I can really put words to. “Who's Val?” I mindlessly asked myself, as if I would get a proper response.

    Hoofsteps. I could hear them approaching. Who, I wondered with mixed curiosity and fear. The door at the other end of the room, without any semblance of a warning, blew inwards off its hinges. I did my best to hide under my hooves. A moment later several ponies rushed into the room, all adorning firearms and armor.

    One, a larger than average unicorn ruby mare, seeing I was alive, galloped to me. I tried to move, but needless to say, I didn't get very far. She threw her front hoof into my side, which flipped onto my back. She held me down by placing a hoof onto my chest, which would have winded me—if the aforementioned kick hadn't already done so.

    Levitating a rifle into my face she yelled; “Marshall, I got a live one.” Her voice hurt my head a lot more than my own.

    Yes, I was alive. Let's see, at this rate, how long that lasts.

    I looked to her eyes, then down the bore of her rifle, and back to her. It was a scary big gun (not that a small one wouldn't be if aimed at my face), and a fairly big mare (not that a small one wouldn't if she was stomping me).

    I tried to tell her that I was peaceable, but the pressure on my chest kept me from voicing anything, bar small gasps.

    I didn't struggle. If I wasn't a problem maybe they'd let me go. But the gun in my face wasn't very endorsing to that.

    Two others cordoned around me, the other (a small slate earth pony stallion) busted a window to fire out of.

    Another, an earth pony, entered hastily through the doorway. He wore armor similar to the rest. His however, was far more intricate. It seemed to be composed of small metal scales across his body, covered by segmented metal plates on his legs. All the metal had a strange blue sheen to it.

    He himself had light blue fur, which I came to know as sky blue (since I've never seen the sky, or at least I don't think I have). His mane was violet with several silver stripes.

    Obviously he was the leader of the others, even more so since he was regarded as "Marshall". Unless that was his name.

    He seemed to make an attempt at closing the door, only to find he was standing on it. He made his way over to us, waiving the other two off. They made their way to the windows, doing the same as the slate pony.

    He walked up to the pony on top of me, looking down at me with an abstruse look on his face.

    “You?” He said questioningly to the pony holding me down.

    “No, sir,” She responded, not taking her eyes off of me, “She was already like this when we came in. And he was already dead,” She explained, pointing her hoof at the dead pony a few feet away.

    This put all of her front weight on her other hoof, which, mind you, was still on my chest. All I could do was let out high pitch sound on account of. I wrapped my hooves around her leg, pushing upwards to try and relieve some of the pressure. But I had no strength left and I could barely breathe.

    I didn't do anything to this pony. Why was she doing this?

    “Oops,” she muttered, sounding decently sincere.

    “Cat, that's enough,” The Marshall said lightly pushing her off me. He looked up to the cells in the room. “I don't think this tiny injured mare is a threat.”

    The mare took her hoof off of me, notedly keeping her rifle trained on me. “Sorry sir, I hadn't realized.” Thank you.

    He sat down in front of me. “Secure the perimeter, Staff.” She nodded and moved away.

    He rolled me over with his hoof into a more dignified position: belly down. Obviously noticing the injury to my head, he began to examine it. His palpations were rather painful, but I remained still.

    “You—” he began to say, but was cut off by a streak of bullets that hailed through the window, blowing chunks out of the concrete wall on the opposing side. The loud sounds wrecking havoc my senses. I was already on the floor, so I just threw my hooves onto my head.

    The slate pony that was positioned in the window fell backwards, taking a few of them to his chest. He scrambled back to his hooves, and began to return fire to the unbeknown assailants (at least unknown to me). Apparently he was uninjured, or just did an over good job at ignoring it.

    The Marshall took a protective hoof off of his head. “You seem to have a pretty bad head injury. Now, I'm no doctorate, but it's obvious you're lucky to be alive. Let's try and keep it that way. But first I need to know you're going to behave.”

  His voice was even more of a testament that he was a leader. He spoke calmly, but with enough steel to let me know that when he spoke it was imperative to listen. One that was hard-bitten.

    I took my hooves off of my head, examining my options mentally. Truth was, I really didn't have any.

    I nodded my head quickly in response. He pause for a second, seeming to decide my credibility.

    “Why are you here? Who is this pony?” He asked, lifting the dead pony up slightly so I could see him.

    I opened my mouth to respond, but it took several moments to pull the words together, “I don't know why I'm here. I don't know that pony. O-or I don't think I know him.” I put a hoof to my head, but drew it away at the pain it caused.

    “That's probably for the better.“ He let the body slump back to the floor.

    He jerked a nod and turned his head around.

    “Cat,” he called out, “I need you back over here!”

    The large mare appeared next to him a moment later, from wherever she had went. He pulled a bag off of her back. Opening it, he began to search through its contents. “Let's get her right, then get outta here.”

    “Who is she?” She asked.

    “We'll find out later. All we know is she's not supposed to be here, and that's enough,” the Marshall responded.

    The mare’s magic locked around my head, tilting it back forcefully, and pulling me into a sitting position. The Marshall pulled a small bottle out of the bag.

“This is all I can do for now,” he said. Ripping the cork out with his teeth, he pulled me forward.

    Why did everypony have to be so forceful in moving me around?

    He tipped the bottle over, and the liquid inside emptied onto my head. He backed off, looking at me rather tentatively.

    I was rather nonplussed at my whole head being soaked for a reason I was unsure of. I blinking the liquid out of my eyes. My wet hair was draped over my face, so that really didn't work.

    An unanticipated pain shot through my skull, engendering from the wound upon it. I clutched my head in my hooves. Falling to the floor, I tried to block out the exterior sounds. Thankfully the pain faded, and was replaced with a numbness shortly thereafter. I let out a shaky sigh, letting my hooves fall from my head to the floor.

    What is happening?

    I forced myself back up into a sitting position, but was quickly overcome by another bout wooziness. Collapsing to the floor, again, I let out a long moan at the impact. The two ponies standing over me looked at each other.

    At least the bleeding stopped.

    The large mare took the bag, now looking through it herself. “Ah,” she uttered finding (or at least I assume) what she was looking for,

    “Here we are.” She levitated a large syringe out of the bag, a smug look on her face.

    Oh, no, no-no no, no! I tried to push myself backward, but succeeded in nothing but clacking my hooves off the concrete floor.

    I didn't like needles. I didn't want to be stabbed with needles. And I surely didn't want to be stabbed with needles by a mare who wanted to stab me with needles.

    There's also the fact I didn't know what the hay was in it, but that I didn't care about as nearly much. Maybe I'll get luck and it'll be morphine, or better yet, tranquilizer.

    She smiled at my foregoing reaction. “Hold still filly, this is for your own good. Hold her down will you? I don't want to end up bending this thing off inside her.”

    The Marshall approached me. I couldn't move, so I just cringed as he wrapped his hooves around me to hold me still. At least it seemed they didn't want me dead, but out here that's not always a good thing. I tried to kick out as the needle approached, but the Marshall was holding me so my hind legs were locked against my underbelly as to prevent such a thing. I didn't even bother trying to use my forehooves.

    I let out a long high-pitched sound in my displeasure. I wasn't about to put myself above whining, but it didn't accomplish much. The mare stabbed the hypodermic needle into my flank. I involuntarily twitched, but being held in place kept me from moving much more than that.

    “Its fine,” the pony holding me down said, “We need to get you moving, and we can't have you pass out with that head injury.”

    Feeling the fluid rush into my body, I went stiff as it felt like it was freezing my veins. As it began it began spread upward through my body, it got warmer and warmer. By the time I felt it reach my heart, it felt like I was on fire, with the inherent lack of being burned.

    The mare pulled the needle out, and the pony holding me down released.

    Energy returned to me. A lot of it. I stood up, shaking my wet mane out. “Thank you...” I said extending a hoof. He looked at my hoof for a moment seeming confused.

    “Oh, call me Fulcrum." He reached out and shook my hoof. “And your name?”

    I paused. My name? “I- I, don't know my name. I mean, I don't remember my name.” I brought my raised hoof to my head. “Who am I?”

    I was starting to get a really sick feeling, and it wasn't from my head injury. I didn't know who I was.

    Fulcrum looked at me dumbfounded. A look which was quickly broken by an explosion nearby that shook the building. We all fell to the floor in unison. I resumed taking refuge under my hooves.

“Hal,” Fulcrum called out, “why is there still this much hostile resistance?”

    “Sir!” the slate pony in the window yelled back, “She's still outside. More of them are coming from the east—a lot! There's some giant bitch launching grenades at us. They're rushing in from the south east. In my opinion: way too many to take on from here, we'd be routed in minutes.”

    “Give the Delcimir team the signal to open fire. We need to get back to them,” Fulcrum said back. “Are you coming with us?”

    It took me a few second before I realized he was talking to me. “Yes, if you'll allow me?” I asked. “But I don't even know who you are,” I hastily added.

    “Of course you can come,” He replied, “Just stay behind me on the way out. As for who I am; I'll tell you when we're the outta here. Just know we're here to help.”

    He turned and rushed over to the slate pony, helping him fire at whatever enemy they were fighting while talking to him, though I couldn't hear what he was saying from here.

    The slate pony pulled out a large pistol with his mouth, which turned out to be a flare gun when he fired it out the window into the sky.

    The large mare, who Fulcrum called Cat, turned to me, levitating pistol over. I just starred at it. “Take it,” she said impatiently after a few seconds.

    Remembering I was a unicorn, I attempted to take it in my own magic, but it faltered, and the pistol to fall to the floor. I just opted for holding it in my mouth; ready to fire. Because I totally know how to use this.

    Nopony seemed to care that I, a pony whom none of them knew, now had a firearm, but also willingly gave it to me. Surely I wouldn't stand a chance against any of them, but still... it didn't seem like a logical or smart thing to do.

    A loud gunshot sounded in the distance. Very loud, followed by a slow succession of them.

    “Alright Eagles!” Fulcrum yelled out, “we are leaving. Form up, Delcimir will cover us out.”

    Everypony in the room, bar him ran outside. “Kid!” He said to me, “Let's go. Stay close.”

    I swiftly and clumsily made my way over to him.

    “Can you run?” He asked, “I can carry you if not. I don't want to have you go down out in the open.”

    I nodded my head in confirmation that I could handle my own, deciding verbal communication with a hunk of metal in my mouth might cause confusion on his part.

    I really hope I could fire this thing. If it really came down to shooting somepony, I'm sure they could do it. Then again, why would they give me a gun if that was certain? Okay, over thinking it—Whatever my name was—it's time to stop thinking and go... wherever it was we were going.

    Fulcrum galloped out the door, and I followed quickly after remembering to do so.

    As I said it was nearing night outside, made even more so by the overbearing and eternal clouds that blotted out the sky. There were several buildings in this ‘town’, about ten from what I could see from here. The one we were in was the smallest. The largest, which appeared to be a warehouse or factory of sorts, was up in flames, and collapsing in parts as a result of.

    Now, why there was a factory/warehouse, then a jail adjacent to it, I had no clue. What I was doing in it, I had even less of a clue.

    My lack of perception while in thought led me to run (rather hardly) headlong into somepony while following Fulcrum, causing me to fall backwards onto my croup.

    “Ow!” I uttered, vocalizing my sudden pain. Looking up, I found it to not be a 'somepony' at all, but what I knew to be a griffin. I had unknowingly ran right into her backside.

    “Oh,” I said awkwardly.

    The large creature spun on me, looking rather confused. “You feeling me up, stalagmite?”

    I just sputtered; unable to conduct a proper response, the pistol not making my staggering any better. I don't know if I had seen a griffin before (the fact I knew what they looked like could mean yes), but I (of course) didn't remember, so I was rather addled from just running into one.

    She was obviously with Fulcrum (the armor helped to confirm that). There were four other ponies around me that I also failed to notice, one of which was Cat.

    “Who is this pony anyway, Marshall,” The griffin asked Fulcrum.

    “No,” Fulcrum responded, “We got a parrot, today.”

    I had no idea what that meant. At the least that seemed to mean they weren't taking me to torture or kill later.

    The griffin looked back down at me. “Fine then, at least wait 'till were outta here before you start touching me.” She turned and began firing her carbine over the cover we were now behind. “Uh, okay.” I responded stupidly to her back end that was now facing me again.

    Crawling up to the short brick wall we were behind, I slowly and cautiously peeked over it. About sixty feet away there was a similar wall. Probably opposing walls to a structure that once stood here. A pony stuck his head out from the wall. I was about to tell the griffin, before he began firing at me. I just stared mindlessly, as opposed to ducking, which I should have done. I was too confused for movement. Why was this pony shooting at me?

    The pony took refuge back behind the wall when the griffin fired a few rounds his way. Little did he (and even I) know, he was less than safe. A moment later an inch diameter hole was blown in the wall right at the point he was behind, and the wall of the building nearby was painted with (obviously his) blood. A lot, I might add.

    I was appalled to say the least, but not nearly as much as I felt I should be. I didn't even want to know what he looked like back there.

    A few moments after the wall was hit a shot sounded behind us, very loud. Its echo resounding around the landscape. Distant, and not at all like a gunshot from the griffin next to me sounded.

    I assumed those were the ponies (or whatever else they could be) they, we, (I didn't know if I was with them now or what) whatever, signaled with the flare. Either way, right now I was rather low on give-a-damn.

    Another pony popped up from behind the wall and began firing at me, just as the last had done. I just glared at her.

    The slate pony next toe pulled my down behind the wall as several began to strike very close.

    “Keep your head down,” He ordered loud enough for me to hear, somehow sounding irrefutably calm.

    His eyes widened suddenly. He, grabbed me again and dove onto the ground. A large portion of the wall we were behind blew into pebbles.

    “Ouch,” I whined out.

    “Will someone please off that pony?” He yelled.

    “You're welcome to try your hoof at it. She won't hold still!” Cat yelled back.

    The slate pony's (I'd have to ask for a name later) only response was an annoyed snarl. He pulled his rifle off of his side. He rolled to the gap blown in the wall. Dropping his rifle out of his mouth, he began firing it with his hooves.

    I was still lying on the ground, in shock from the explosion. Best leave it to the professionals. The wall was being volleyed at from the other side, throwing small chunks of it about.

    "McKnight, get over here!" Fulcrum called out, but nopony responded. "Where is that furry bastard?" Fulcrum asked nopony in particular.

    A moment later a brown and sand colored pony rolled over the wall and landed next to me. Lucky it was only the pony Fulcrum was calling for. What was he even doing over there? How did he even make it over here uninjured?

    "Bringing the peace the East, Marshall," he said to Fulcrum to get his attention.

    "McKnight, I need you to pull out to our far flank. Cover us out. We need to keep from being routed. Take Auld with you," Fulcrum ordered. The pony broke into a sprint towards the hill. A forest green stallion followed him.

    "And try and drop that mare who's shelling our asses!" the slate pony called after him, covering his head from raining debris with one hoof.

    Another grenade struck the wall nearby. The pony behind it didn't even see it coming. She was thrown sheer back several feet onto the ground. The dull orange mare began rolling around, clutching her hooves to her chest. I slid back from her on instinct.

    “Somepony get her!” Fulcrum yelled. A blond mare ran to her. Grabbing her by the collar of her armor, where a handle was for just such a purpose, she dragged her behind the wall with her mouth.

    Everypony would take a few shots over the wall, then quickly return to cover. They were also constantly moving from their previous positions before firing again.

    I, of course, did none of that. No, I stayed glued to the ground where the slate pony had pulled me. I in no way felt safe, but I felt in less danger being down here, surrounded by ponies like Fulcrum and Cat, who clearly knew what they were doing.

    “Get going, they're moving our way!” Fulcrum announced, “Let's not be here when they arrive.” He waived his hoof towards the hill. The blond mare pulled the other injured mare onto her back and made her way past Fulcrum.

    “Get up!” The slate pony pulled me onto my hooves. He pointed towards Fulcrum, “Go!”

    I began to move,

But was tackled by him again. “Get down!” He yelled, as another grenade blew another chunk out of the wall nearby.

    “Ow, again.”

    He pulled me back to my hooves, “Get up. Go!” He yelled again.

    I hurried over to Fulcrum as he began to gallop towards the hill behind us with the snipers (Delcimir I'm assuming) on it. The hill rose about a hundred feet above the buildings.

    The snipers shots continued to ring out as we hurried our way in between the buildings, moving quickly but cautiously. A door busted outward as we passed a small (also burning) building.

    A pony, dark from ash, came running through the doorway, stumbling and seeming very disoriented. He was coughing and sputtering from the fire and smoke that was pouring out behind him.

    Before he could even acknowledge our presence, all five parties I was with opened fire. The pony dropped, now severely perforated.

    I didn't even have any notion to fire. I need to focus, do what I have to, to survive, for what that's worth.

    I stuck as close as I could to Fulcrum without the risk of tripping on his hooves. He was the only pony I have had anything resembling intelligent conversation with, even if it had only been a short few sentences of confusion. He helped me—probably saved me—so I was sticking close to him.

    There were some dead ponies here and there as we made our way through. None of which appeared to be Fulcrums ponies. All of them seemed older, and had even older equipment.

    We were about to pull around a corner when a volley of bullets streaked past. The pony at the head of our pack, a tan mare, fell forward. A loud ping of metal on metal emitted from a bullet slamming into her helmet. She rolled over shoulder from the inertia of the fall. Landing on her side, she came to a stop.

    Everypony pressed themselves against the wall, pulling me along. Everypony paused, waiting for her to get back up. "Is she dead?" the griffin yelled. "Is she?" she asked again when nopony answered. She began moving, squirming in attempt to get up.

   The griffin was about to make a run to her, but pulled back when several bullets bullets forced him back. I looked around past her. The pony that fired was slowly approaching, holding a rifle in her magic. The unicorn began firing at me, but the griffin pulled me back behind her.

    When the unicorn stopped to reload, the griffin took around the corner and attempted to fire at the approaching pony, but her carbine failed to fire. She pulled the bolt back, but it locked in place. The unicorn was trying to reload quickly, but her rushing was only making the process slower. The pony was only several feet away.

    Seeing the griffin’s gun was jammed, and everypony else was dealing with their own targets, I moved next to the griffin and fired my pistol. Somehow I had forgotten about the concept of recoil, and the fact that guns have it. I was effectively knocked back onto my ass.

    Luckily, even with my lack of aiming the bullet struck the gun that the unicorn was levitating next to her. The bullet exploded against the steel of the gun, throwing it out of her magic. A piece of shrapnel from the bullet tore into the pony, staggering her.

    I blinked in slight shock, starring at the pony for some unseen or obscene reason. I did that?

    The griffin, reacting faster than I could even think, yanked the pistol out of my mouth with her talons. She aimed the weapon and pulled the trigger in one motion. A small hole appeared in the pony's neck. She dropped like a rock. Dead enough to be dead instantly.

    She jammed the pistol back into my mouth, and began to work at fixing her own firearm. I could see the problem. A round was wedged between the bolt and the breech, keeping it from locking forward.

    Deciding to try and help, I attempted to use my magic to pull it out. I'm not sure how I did, it was as if it just happened. The bullet flew out of the weapon, and continued with enough force to carry it into my face.

     The griffin looked up at me with an amused smirk. Reaching down, she picked up the slightly dented round. She tucked the bullet behind my ear for some reason.

    Nodding her head and patting me on the back before continuing over to the injured pony. The talons weren't all that comforting, but the principal was that I helped, and it was appreciated.

    She picked the injured pony up in her talons and took off into the night sky.

    I smiled. I can use magic. I'm a unicorn and all, but... Any semblance of what I was thinking was ousted when a high pitch whistle emitted from behind me. A large projectile that I could guess was a rocket of sorts, roared in front of my face, blowing through the corner of the wall in front of me, and continuing to the adjacent building.

    I dropped to the ground when a chunk of wall in front of my face was blown off, then promptly hid under my forehooves when the building the rocket sailed into exploded, lighting the area for a moment in a bright flash.

    Fulcrum rushed up to me. “All hooves on deck, kid!” He yelled, “They're on us!” He wrapped his left hoof around my right, which was still covering my head from the raining debris. He hoisted me onto my hooves.

    “They?” I asked weakly. He didn't respond to my question, Instead he shoved me around the corner as more gunfire erupted in our direction.

    “Its time to go,” He said pushing me toward the hill where everypony else was congregating. I hauled it as fast as my legs would allow, jumping over the dead pony that the griffin shot. Surprisingly, I seemed to be outrunning Fulcrum.

    I wasn't staying here. That much was obvious. Even if I didn't know who any of these ponies were, they weren't trying to kill me, and those ‘others’ were. Even if it was because I was with Fulcrum, they didn't seem like they were very nice—gunfire and grenades a complete testament to that. Besides it's too late to try up and try and switch which group I was following.

    It was a straight run to the hill from here. About a hundred meters from the edge of the last two buildings ahead of me. A small (from this distance) flash lit from the hill. In an instant, a very, very quick instant (instantly quick?) something whispered by my ear. In its trail it brought a light gust of air. A second later a loud report echoed from the hill, reverberating throughout the landscape.

    I ducked not breaking my pace. Looking back I could see the bullet, as it were, struck the body I had jumped over. I quickly looked away when I saw what the bullet did to her body. Okay, dead pony is dead, thanks for making sure of that.

    I was glad they weren't shooting at me, even though the bullet came close enough to make me question that.

    Cat exited the last building and dropped in stride with me, following close behind. I had no clue why she was in there, but I didn't care to ask. There were only a few ponies who hadn't made it to the hill yet. Those who had were in the process of making their way up it.

    Turning my head, I looked for Fulcrum. I could see him and the slate pony a good distance behind us. As soon as I caught sight of them, the slate pony went down.

    Fulcrum skidded to a halt, turned around, and made his way back to him. Fulcrum began to pull him up, but the pony stumbled. He had taken a round to his right hind leg.

    I don't know why, but turned around and ran back, firing the pistol I had blindly. I stopped next to them.

    Cat, who had also came back, skidded to a halt on her belly next to us. “Quick, throw him on.” She commanded levelly. Fulcrum and I quickly placed him on her back.

    Cat stood and began galloping to the hill. I looked back. I could see the ponies approaching. They were nearing the edge of the buildings, but seemed more than hesitant to pass out into the open. Anypony brainless enough to expose themselves for too long was picked off by the snipers.

    Theses ponies however, seemed more coordinated and in better condition (physically and equipment wise) than the others that were already within the town beforehoof.

    “Go!” Fulcrum yelled, snapping me out of my inopportune examination of the ponies who were trying to kill us.

    I fired a round from my pistol blindly at them out of sheer reaction, knocking me back onto my flank.

    Fulcrum gave me a mixed look of surprise and confusion before yelling, “I'm the last one out, so go!”

    I turned back to the hill, breaking into full on gallop. We were out in the open, but the snipers were doing a wonderful job at stopping them from getting well aimed shots off at us.

    I finally made it to the base of the hill. Running up the incline of it put a lot of strain on my legs, so I put everything into my gallop to keep from losing speed. Nearing the crest of the hill, I turned to check on Fulcrum. He had just reached the base of the hill.

    “Don't stop! Go!” He yelled up to me.

    Several bullets impacted him. I was amazed to see the bullets bounce off of his armored back. They didn't shatter or flatten, just bounce off. He didn't even seem to notice. I didn't have any protection, so I didn't want to think what those rounds would do if they hit me. Even those ones that bounced off Fulcrum were still probably carrying enough force to kill me.

    He tripped on a rock. It was about as majestic as that.

    Several impacts around me reconciled my attention. I however didn't turn back around. I was about to go back down to him, for what help it would be, when I was grabbed by Cat.

    She beckoned my up the hill. “Go, I got him.”

    I didn't argue. I continued my gallop to the top of the hill.

    The gunshots from the snipers were painfully loud being this close and directly in front of them. I still couldn't see them.

    Just a few more feet.

    My energy was now rapidly degrading, and the pain in my head quickly returning. I poured what I could into a final dash up the remaining incline. I reached the top, taking note to be sure I wasn't I front of anypony's barrel.

    There was several large rocks at the peak scattered about in small groups. It seems the snipers had taken them up as cover. I couldn't see them, just the barrels of their large rifles. The muzzle flash carried out several feet upon every shot, throwing quite a bit of dirt and sand out.

    Running to one of the large rocks that didn't have a sniper on or behind it, I mounted it, rolled across my back, and fell off onto the ground behind it.

The sand did what it could to cushion my impact, but the granular consistency made for a rather painful landing. However impacting sharp rocks was better than sharp (or even not for any matter) bullets impacting me.

    I laid there; my head in the dirt with my forehooves covering it. I rather enjoyed the taste of the sandy dirt (dirty sand). This place is safe. Another explosion nearby caused me to curl up tighter.

    "Where in the hay am I?" I asked myself.

    I heard several sets of hooves rapidly approaching. One, the almost distinct sound of Cat. Hopefully that meant she returned with Fulcrum. I couldn't bring myself to check.

     I slowly raised my head from the ground. The slate pony that was injured was sitting right next to me behind the rock. I hadn't even noticed him. Leaned up against the rock, his blackleg was still bleeding freely. Apparently Cat had set him down here, then made her way to Fulcrum.

    “Hay,” he said with a smile. He looked rather happy spite his current situation. Was he laughing at me?

    I opened my mouth to respond, but couldn't find words. Another loud shot from one of the nearby snipers split the air with a report. My reaction was to once again bury my head in the dirt.

    The slate pony chuckled. I looked up to see what was funny enough to laugh at in this kind of situation. And, ‘it’ of course turned out to be me.

    “I'm Learious. Eagles call me Lear.” He extended a hoof out to me. I reached up and clopped my hoof into his, quickly returning it to my head with my other, but keeping my head itself level. I winced slightly at the pain it caused. I spit the pistol I've been carrying onto the ground.

    “I don't know who I am.” I responded meekly.

    “Yeah, I heard that.” He said sounding exasperated, “that must suck.”

    “I don't know,” I returned, “So I don't know if it does.”

    “Right.” He said back, laughing lightly again. “Looks like we have an optimist, or maybe even better a realist.”

    Why was he acting so strange? Now that I think about it, he was probably in shock.

    Lear finally realized his hoof was still up, and he lowered it quickly. He winced in pain as he tried to shift his body around. The wound on his back leg was fairly big. After some hesitation I decided I was going to help. I don't know why, I just felt like I needed to help all of a sudden. I did owe him.

     Regaining some strength, I pushed myself into a sitting position.

    “Do you have any medical supplies with you? Or at the very least pliers?” A asked.

    He paused for a second, as if to make sure I was talking to him.

    “Why?”

    “You've been shot,” I explained, trying to remain calm.

    He looked around, as if this was some new rare form of information.

    “I've been shot,” He said, with the thickest undertone of sarcasm.

    He stopped himself, finally putting on a serious face. “Yeah, both of.” He turned his back to me, and uncoupled his bag; letting it slide from his armored back. He turned back to face me with it in his mouth.

    I took the bag and began to search through it, basically dumping it on the ground in my search. I found the pliers close to the top, along with many other tools and mechanical parts. I figured had an aptitude for that kind of work, but I left it to assumption. Now wasn't the time for unhelpful questions.

    Even if I only knew his name, he seemed nice enough, and he helped me. Time to return the favor. And maybe helping some of these ponies would pay off when it came time for them to decide what to do with me.

    Finding the medical supplies, which were unwisely at the bottom, I placed the bag aside. Opening the metal container, I grabbed the first antiseptic I saw, placing it on the ground next to me.

    I took a moment to clear my head. Focusing slightly, but not too much, I grabbed the pliers and antiseptic in my magic.

    Pouring the antiseptic over the pliers, I looked back up to Lear. He didn't seem very happy with what I was about to do, but he knew the reality of the situation. He laid down stretching out his leg towards me. Pain already present on his face.

    I examined his leg quickly. “It's a large round by the wound, but at the distance it was fired it lost most of its velocity before it hit you. It didn't have enough inertia to carry all the way through. Although it does look like it tumbled around a good bit, maybe bounced off your bone. It might take me awhile to find.”

    Yeah, I knew that, but where's my name?

    He looked back at me, confusion written across his face.

    “Okay.” He responded, placing his head back onto the ground. He bit down on the cloth mesh armor on his foreleg that came out underneath the segmented metal.

    “Okay,” I said, hesitating slightly. “Okay,” I reiterated, pushing the hesitation away. Placing one of my hooves on his lower leg, and the other on the upper part of his leg to hold it still. I lowered myself in preparation.

    “Okay,” I said one more time to reassure myself. I dove the pliers into the wound quickly but carefully, and began my search for the hunk of metal that was somewhere within it. Lear inhaled sharply, gritting his teeth on the fiber. I began moving the pliers around, focusing on feeling for metal. I didn't like fishing around in this pony's leg for a bullet, but it needed to be removed or it would probably cause septicemia from the lead composition of the bullet, which, as my brain was telling me, was not fun.

    Finally after several agonizing (on mine, but even more so, Lear's part) seconds I felt the pliers connect with a solid object, one that has no business being in a pony's leg. I prodded it a few times to be sure. Once I was sure it was the bullet, I pulled the pliers back a little. Gripping the bullet with the tips of the pliers, I slowly wiggled it, attempting to ease the bullet out. I'd've liked to just yank it out, but that could just cause me to lose my grip, and or possibly pull something unwanted with it.

    "Who are you?" he asked through his teeth.

    "Who am I?" I asked back.

    Lear started laughing through his clamped teeth as I worked the pliers around in is leg. I found myself lightly joining him in his laughter. It was strained and weird in its entirety, but it was laughter; the best of all medicine. If only it could heal a bullet wound.

    After several more seconds of wiggling it around, it came free of his leg.

    “Yeah!” I said aloud, bringing the object up to my face. It was malformed and bloodied, but it was what I was looking for. It was actually copper, so lead poisoning wasn't an issue, but it was still important that it was out.

   It was hard to tell from it being misshapen, but I guessed it was around a .30 caliber, or maybe a little smaller, possibly a 7 mm. Either way that didn't matter much. I figured Lear would want to see it now that it's out.

    “Oh,” I muttered, realizing he had dropped into unconsciousness. I'm guessing it wasn't just the bullet wound that put him out. He had just been in a firefight, and I had no clue how long it had lasted. I was only in it for a few minutes and I felt exhausted.

    The wound was bleeding even worse now. I wasn't surprised, what with me digging around in it and whatnot. It was probably going to need stitches. I however didn't think I could do that very well. Plus it wasn't needed right now anyways.

    I used some blood-coagulant on the wound to clot the blood and slow the bleeding. I then wrapped it in gauze. Tight enough to keep it closed and keep from bleeding, but loose enough to not to stop the vital flow of blood to the limb.

    By now I had become aware of the lack of gunfire altogether. Had we killed them all? By ‘we’, I of course meant Fulcrum and his ponies. I forced everything back into Lear's bag. Most didn't fit very well, so I left it open. He had it packed so he could fit everything with maximum efficiency. I left the bullet on top in case he wanted it.

    Cat rushed over from behind us, not bothering to keep her head low behind the cover. She looked Lear over for a few seconds.

    “You?” She said questioningly.

     I nodded in response. The pain in my skull was spiking, making my communication and thought processes sluggish.

    “Good job. And thanks,” She said before continuing off to do whatever.

    I raised myself on all four legs, peering over the rock. It was dark, so visibility was low. I could see several of Fulcrums ponies around me. Although I have to say, their armor did well at blending into many different backgrounds. They were all still, silently and intently watching the burning buildings.

    I heard a pony approaching from behind. Listening to the distinct sounds I figured it to be Fulcrum.

    Lear, now awake, pushed himself of the ground, shaking his head lazily. Fulcrum moved over to support him with his shoulder. He turned his head to face me.

    “We're going to have a bit of a discussion. We can't wait long. Join us?"

    I nodded. "Here," he said, "Help me carry him."