A (Somewhat) Brief Introduction: Part 2
“Until they become conscious they will never rebel, and until after they’ve rebelled
they cannot become conscious”
-George Orwell, 1984
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I ran out of that ‘educational’ indoctrination facility as if I was a bat out of hell. Revolver in hand, I didn’t care if there was anything behind me, I didn’t care if the cameras spotted me, and I most certainly didn’t care to stay in that godforsaken place any longer! The one thought going through my head right now? Run. Back to my family as quickly as I can. If any of them are still human.
I finally reached my destination, seeing a small road sign bearing the words Cedar Oak Lane and pointing to a sidestreet. There it is! I thought as I ran past the road sign and sped onto my own street. Once I was within 500 yards of my house, I slowed down and began to let my heartrate do the same. As I walked, I flicked open the cylinder of my weapon and fed in six rounds of 9mm.
I slowly approached my front door, and noticed that there were no lights on in the house. Concerned, I took my key out of my pack and unlocked the door. I tightened my grip on the gun, and took aim at my main hallway as I twirled round’ the door. Finding nothing, I stepped fully inside and began to look around. I was genuinely confused by this point, my parents were usually here around this time, and there were always a few lights on regardless of the time.
My train of thought left it’s station as I heard a faint beep sound break the silence. i glided slowly into the main room, and turned to the kitchen; to see the answering machine as the source of the beeping. I reached to press it, but hesitated. The Caller ID was one I didn’t recognize, and some fears which had been kept out of my head until now once again began circulating.
I breathed in deeply,and hit Play All. Static lasted for a few seconds before a familiar voice greeted me. “Fred?” The voice of my sister questioned, “If you’re hearing this, then I’ve got some bad news.” I began to chill. She can't mean- I thought before the message interrupted again. Mom and Dad are gone, they left a while ago, and they didn’t come back, I called them, and they said they never wanted to see you or me again!”
My jaw dropped. “I’m at the hideout, pleasepleaseplease be ok! And bring grandpa' box with you-
I turned it off.
I stood immobile for a good minute,trying to comprehend what I had just heard. They couldn't be gone. Dad’s a war vet and Mom does have quite some experience in martial arts. They would have fought back!
I stood, disbelieving, then I finally gave in.
There was no going back.
After the shock, came rage. A surge of adrenaline came upon me and my face began to contort. I wanted to scream, I wanted to hit a wall, I just wanted to end it all right now. But I knew none of those options would help me.
I put down rage, and exchanged it for fierce determination. I made a mad dash upstairs, averting my eyes so not to bring back the memories I can no longer bear. It was futile though, and as I opened my eyes, a wave of all forms of memories assaulted my senses. My thirteenth birthday, when Frank put dishwater in all the cups…
I smiled for a moment, but I knew I would never see such a thing for a millenium. I came into my bedroom and looked around. Posters of famous rock artists, AC/DC, Led Zepplin, Sum 41 and the like were strewn across the walls. I remembered those times, listening to awesome music, partying with friends, it was all too easy, and sedated me. Leaving me oblivious to the world in my own little circle of school, home and friends.
The memories relaxed, yet they stung. I cleared my head as I walked to my closet. Parting the doors, I gazed upon the coat had been given to me from my dad, after his father gave it to him. It was an East German officer’s uniform from the 50’s, one of their first models. I had always admired the ornate decorations, especially it’s epaulets.
I put it on, it felt heavy and more than a bit dusty, the latter and the former both more than likely true. “If only Dad could have seen me wear this..” I thought, as I pulled the gauntlets up to meet my hands. I also found some comfort in the uniform’s attached saber, a feature my father had a hard time keeping my little curious arse away from all the time. I often pretend to swing it when I was younger, thinking of what it would feel like in my hands.
With the uniform on, I went to fetch the next item I needed. My Grandfather’s “crate” was an old crate of military surplus weapons and ammunition he had brought after immigrating (illegally) to America at the end of his service in the Nationale Volksarmee. I ran back down the stairs, almost tripping over my trenchcoat-esque uniform a few times. I opened the door to the basement, and flicked the lights on. I found the aforementioned crate in the corner of the storage area in the back.
It was covered in cobwebs and dust, which I spent a good amount of time getting off of it. Finally, I lifted the lid, and looked inside and couldn't help but mentally quote George Takei.
Oh My.. I thought as my retinas darted around,scanning it’s contents. Inside was a stack of Mauser K98k bolt-action rifles, as well as many a small heap of 7.92x57mm ammunition. I quit staring at it though, and began the arduous task of hauling the bloody thing up the stairs, each step being even more of a pain-in-the-ass then the last.
I put it down in the middle of the hall, and then returned to my house’s landline phone.
I dialed the number of another good friend of mine, whose father had also come from the DDR;
and waited for what seemed like an eternity, my worry increasing with every second not answered. To my relief, a somewhat angry, but nethertheless reassuring voice came up on the other end.
“I swear to god,if you’re another one of those animals, Ill come to your house and cut off your-!.”
“It’s me, John, I said, my voice seeming to give him some hope. Meet me at the hideout in thirty, I never thought I’d see the day, but it’s time.” I said.
“Time for what?” He asked.
“To send that xenophobic white bitch’s plot back to hell!”
A (Somewhat) Brief Introduction: Part 1
“Never believe anything in politics until it has been officially denied”
- Chancellor Otto von Bismarck
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*Government officials are still wondering what approach to take to the newly arrived nation of..what is this? Equestria! Exclaimed a news anchor on NBC. Although the newly emerged power’s head- sorry, heads of state have promised not to intervene, rumors are flying in the washington area,of a-”
Czzch! The TV sputtered as I turned the old piece off. I made a mental note never to trust televised media with anything but a simple story again. The Conversion Bureau ‘coming to life’ stories had all but gone viral when Equestria appeared upon the blue of what was a large expanse of the Pacific, carrying the ponies we all know in it’s wake.
Apeshit would be much too soft a term for the way America reacted, the Government wanted them out, the fandom wanted them in, and most people had no idea what to make of the situation. Eventually, after a few weeks things became stable once again, and Americans got their first look at the Principality’s heads of state. Princesses Luna and Celestia were undeniably talented at public speaking, and soothed any fear the US may have had.
Then, out of a supposedly pacified nations came a flurry of rumors assaulting the Princesses, saying that their “private life” was far from their stated peaceful agenda towards the United States and especially humanity as a whole. These comments were ignored and almost universally shunned in order to maintain stable relations. No matter the suppression however, two more storied filled the place of every one fallen.
One of the most prominent, being the possible idea that the Equestria introduced to us was not the one we knew, the theory was more mocked then attacked,and spawned the modified phrase “Hide yo kids, hide yo Wife, everybody's gettin’ ponified!” I chuckled at the creative usage of the ‘Bed Intruder’ song on YouTube. I was no stranger to the Conversion Bureau on FimFiction, and my cynicism led me to wonder about what was to come.
My name is Frederick Palaiologos, and this is how my life changed forever.
It was a special, or at least specially unfortunate day today, the starting of my 8th grade SOL testing period. I groaned at the thought, but at least I was prepared for them. I went through my usual routine, hauling my scrawny arse out of bed, getting dressed, and finally heading downstairs.
“Welcome back to the land of the living sleeping beauty, thought you wouldn't be up till’ Christmas Time.” My dad smirked as I walked down the hallway. He was probably the nicest guy you could ask for as a parent. He did drink sometimes though, but he never got drunk nor drank too much; and it didn’t make him abusive nor alcoholic. He was able to work from home, and we were able to do some crazy thing when we had some time off.
Despite being tired, I found the energy to smile back, as a always did; even when he made a over-the-top corny joke. I grabbed my Science, English and History binders and shoved them into my backpack in no particular order. Dad must have noticed my uncertain look, and asked me “you alright Fred? Mom and I can’t have you stressed out before the tests.”
“ I’m fine Dad.” I reply, saying in firmly enough that he accepts it as true. After eating a light breakfast, I head out my door and get on my bike. My neighborhood is in suburban northern Virginia, so one can expect that it’s about as close to your stereotypical 50’s classic Suburbia image as you can get; and unfortunately this happens to be true. I got on the rocky, unpaved woods path near my house soon enough.
The woods here are actually relaxing for a place so full of people, and I take the time to look at my surroundings. cutting through the woods, is a line of electric towers, woods on either side and a small footbridge over a stream providing a relaxing vibe to the area. After a brief woodland adventure, I return to the main road that heads to my school. I bike past the local plant nursery and playgrounds I went to when I was little, the places bringing back a few memories as they always do.
The road is a relatively new two-lane, bearing shops, restaurants, neighborhoods and offices alike. It also presents the rather interesting sight of three separate schools right next to each other, the second and third quite literally. Impromptu sports games pop up when the middle and high schoolers are both out on their individual sports fields, and students from both schools often climb over the fence; exchanging various trinkets and bragging about often inflated achievements.
I finally reach the familiar gravel of my own schools, the aforementioned third. The words Northern Run Middle emblazoned above the building’s main doors. I rush in, narrowly avoiding passersby as I finally come to a halt at the bike rack, dismounting and stowing it within. I sling by pack over my shoulder and walk with the others into the front doors. I walk in, and experience a sight that confuses me to no end.
“The hell?!” I say out loud unintentionally, drawing the attention of every sodding person near me- or perhaps not. Not completely people, but I also draw the attention of the rather sizable population of ponies. I look around into the four-hooved crowds and my blood runs cold when recognize people I know among them. Particularly one of my best friends, Alex Michaels.
“A-Alex?” I almost choke, the apparent human-turned-pony nodding in conformation. “What-” I sputter, “How?” “Haven’t you heard Frederick? He says with an eyebrow raised, “The Bureau, of course! Everypony’s doing it!” I start shaking my head in disbelief, probing him for more information, praying it’s not what I think it is. “The Conversion Bureau,silly!” The cream-colored pony-Alex replies, his usual sarcastic side dissipated. I was unsure of what to believe by this point, he never spoke like this.
Thankfully the bell rang,and ponies and humans both went to class as if nothing had ever changed. I tried to maintain calm, but my sorry effort of a poker face was failing fast. My fingers tapped upon my backpack’s straps like mad as I tried to go to my locker and resume my normal routine. I take out my history binder, and headed for 2nd period. After sitting down, I relaxed myself for the sake of not looking like a fool for the entire class.
We had a substitute today, who said his name was Mr. Davidson and repeatedly told us to quiet down, the command working only to a limited extent. My math teacher last year described the event as “verbal diarrhea” which I always found a few laughs in. The somewhat return to normalcy calms me, down, but only slightly. After a lecture on the World Trade Center 9/11 attacks and their aftermath, I raise my hand, eliciting a slight groan from the teacher.
“Yes, Mr..?” “Palagos, sir” I reply, not giving him the mouthful of my real last name, “May I please use the facilities?” I ask. He reluctantly accepts, and snaps at me to make it quick. I thank him hurriedly and step out into the hallway. At the end of it, though, I see something that makes my senses spiral out of hand gain. At the hallways end, my school’s police officer, who I had come to know as Carlos; was looking for something in my locker.
Oh nonononono! I think as I back behind a row of lockers on my right. He finishes searching a few seconds later, closes my locker, and goes on his way. I slowly follow, only stopping to open my locker when I’m satisfied he’s out of sight and earshot. My mouth gapes ajar when I find what he was really doing. He wasn’t searching for anything, he was inserting something. I look inside, and nestled in one one of the panels is a sight I don't know what to make of.
A Standard service revolver, and a small pack of 9mm rounds. Attached to the grip is a note containing a single word. Go. I hesitate for a second, as what I do here could decide a much larger situation, I decide to take the weapon and ammunition, holstering the gun in my right pocket and pulling all possible clothing over it. I make my way down the right stairwell, and reach the bottom ending where I began this entire episode.
With no one looking, I slip into the side door into the morning’s light.
