The Psyche of a Freak

It's a strange thing, dying. You always hear these stories of how it feels, how you'd always tell that you're about to go down and you'd always be ready, no matter how sudden or brutal your end may be.

I can safely tell you with no level of uncertainty that this, pardon my French, is complete and utter crap.

Death is not something I enjoyed, wanted, or even expected. With good reason, mind you. I'm the most dangerous man on the Ark; every pull of the trigger would always kill some poor sod. If I had to go down, then it should've been of my own accord, not by the hands of some hooded, tattooed reprobate.

And yet that's exactly what happened - Some stupid little hoodlum shoots me in the middle of the street, and probably caved my head in. I mean, I didn't see him do it, exactly, all I recall is him creeping up and getting ready to cave my skull in with a rifle butt.

Let’s be honest, though, how else could that have ended? Maybe he took pity and anaesthetised me? No, I know for a fact that this lunatic murdered me. But, I digress. Back to the matter of actually dying.

Yeah, so death wasn’t as pleasant as it's cracked up to be. And then there’s all of the afterlife stuff. It’s a huge difference from what I expected; no clouds, no harps, no surplus of women or wine.

Alright, that last part’s just personal tastes. But still, nothing of the sort. My head was killing me, and I was lying face down on some dirt path.

Oh, and there was a voice. A loud southern one.

"What the hay are ya doin’, sleepin’ in mah orchard?!” She yelled at me. Maybe this wasn't the other side.

Wait, what the hell was she on about? Orchard? We haven't been able to create a single fruit bearing tree, let alone acres of the things. Naturally, I felt it appropriate to share my greater knowledge of the mores of the Ark with one of the many headcases I've had the misfortune of meeting today.

“Listen, you’re off your rocker if you think we’re in an orchard. I've yet to see a plant that hasn't been the result of biological engineering. And even then, the useless things die in a week!” I didn't even bother to look up. Why should I? If my comrades decided to leave me in some run down hellhole, I shouldn't deign to look at it. I’d rather my last sight not be of some rusted junk heap chained to our city, thank you very much.

“What? You- Mister, have you been drinkin’ or somethin’? Look around, yer surrounded by trees!” I could tell from her dogged persistence that she wouldn't leave me alone until I actually took a look

So I did.

And I hate to admit it, but the crazy lady was right.

In all of my life, I’d never seen much more than a few patches of grass and some dead shrubs. The only healthy plant life I’d seen was underwater, in some lab experiment, or just mould. But this, it was nothing like that. Trees, everywhere, all packed with ripe and juicy apples. Grass coated the ground, a scant few blossoms of every hue could be seen. It was like something out of a storybook.

“Okay, how and why are there plants everywhere?! There weren't plants this morning! What kind of- Oh. Nevermind, I see what’s going on,” I began, bringing my tirade to a grinding halt. It became painfully apparent just why I was under this delirium.

“I’m completely blitzed, I must be. I knew those knock-off painkillers were a bad idea…” I made a note to beat the ever loving shit out of the subordinate who smuggled them in, and then steal them all anyways. You never know, could be a great way to spend my day off.

“Probably. That, or yer the strangest stallion I've ever seen.”

Stallion? That’s… Hold on, was she flirting with me? I mean, sure, I'm a handsome devil, but stallion? Is that even flirting? Come to think of it, what if it's an insult? Was she saying I look like a horse?!

I figured it was time to see just who had the audacity to wake me up, call me strange, and may or may not have been coming on to me.

I spun around to face her, and in that moment, I seriously questioned just what was in those pills.

She..., She wasn't a person, exactly. At least, I don't think so. Four legs, no arms, mane, tail and a cute little hat. If not for the vibrancy, I'd say she was a horse. A far cry from what I expected, but I suppose that goes without saying.

"And what, pray tell, are you supposed to be?" I snapped, trying to keep cool in spite of my shock.

"Ah'm Applejack, and yer mighty rude for some pony who passed out on mah land." She snapped right back, looking thoroughly unamused with my stupor.

Hold on a tick. Pony?  I looked down at my body. And after seeing it for the first time after waking up, I yelled several things that would turn the air a lovely shade of blue. Why? Because once again, the farmer was right. Twice in one day I have been proven wrong. On the most bizarre of subjects, to boot. To be fair, it would at least explain the whole "stallion" thing.

I'd retained a few of my defining traits - a mercy which I was grateful for, however small it may be. Still gaunt, and all of my attire had remained the same, adjusted here and there to fit my new and unwanted body. Running a hoof along my body revealed that all my scars were still present, underneath my clothes. Jackboots were on my hindlegs, coming up just below the knee. To top it all off, I had kept my beloved mask, the fabric hugging at my face.

I might be a little horse, but I'm a sharp dressed one, so that much hasn't changed.

Looking at my hooves revealed I had a much more muted colour scheme than the farmhand; A faded blue, bordering on grey. No clue what colour my mane was, but it shouldn't matter too much. Always kept my head shaved anyways. For some reason, there was some weird little marks on my trousers - near my backside - depicting a minimalist, black and white mask. Just like the old Operative symbol.

“Uhh, mister? You've been touching’ and looking’ at yerself for a while, and unless ya answer me, ah’ll just throw ya offa mah land, ya indecent creep!!” She yelled, waving one foreleg in front of my face. How long was I touching myself?

Okay, that's something I shouldn't have to ask more than once in the same week.

“Indecent? That’s rich coming from someone wearing nothing but a hat!” I quipped, trying to get steady and failing miserably. I settled for sitting in front of her, trying to shoot as unpleasant a glare as I could manage from where I sat.

Not that unpleasant, given how she just started laughing at my display.

"Yer one to talk, ya look like ya work nine to five in a brothel!"

Oh, now that’s just rude. Mocking me, and calling me a gimp. As far as drug-induced figments of imagination go, this one wasn't my favourite.

“Hehe… Is that what happened then? Ya got drunk and did some freaky stuff on mah farm?” Amidst fits of laughter from the orange farmhand, I couldn't tell if she was being serious. I swear, if I knew how, I would've turned and galloped out of there long ago. I could've saved myself a lot of embarrassment

“No, maybe the peo-” I caught myself mid-tangent. They wouldn't call each other people, would they? I pondered for a bit before carrying on. “The ponies in this place might think that’s fair play, but not me. So, what inane question were you asking while I was busy, ummm…” I stopped again, trying to think of some way to say it without sounding obscene.

“Gropin’ yerself in front of a mare?” She suggested with a mirthful laugh. For that little transgression, I made a note to steal her hat before I left. “In any case, I asked what yer name is.”

Alright, something I could answer. That’s a first.

“Just call me Freak. That’s what they all do.” I stated bluntly, finally managing to stand up with great difficulty.

“Seriously? That’s... That's actually kinda sad. And it's yer real name?” A tone of incredulity crept into her voice.

“Nope, but that’s the one I've taken. Never too fond of my old one, anyhow.” I remarked, brushing an errant bit of dirt from my coat lapels. On a personal note, I should point out that I never tire of telling people my pseudonym. The varied levels of shock in each response was always expected, but never failed to amuse me.

"Huh. Well, Ah'm sorry ta hear that. Pretty unfortunate, ain't it?" The workhorse asked, worry overcoming her initial disbelief. That, I will admit, took the smug grin from my face in an instant. Why on earth was she concerned?

"Well, yeah, I suppose. I stopped caring about it." I was quickly growing tired of her worry. Quite frankly, it was a bit off-putting. "Well, whatever. I've kept you for long enough, ma'am. I'll just get out of your way."

It wasn't that I particularly cared about holding her up. I just wanted to get the hell out of that orchard, grab a meal and stiff drink, and seriously consider all of the choices leading up to this saccharine delusion.

That was where the idea fell flat, you see. Why? It's simple: I was broke, and had no idea how to walk.

"Now hold on, Ah might not get why yer so odd, or insensitive." That last part was punctuated with a light jab into my ribs. "But it'd be rude of me ta let ya go home without dinner!"

It was dinnertime? How long had I been blacked out?

Long enough to make the promise of a meal appealing, it seemed, as my response came as a fervent growl from my stomach. In spite of it's protests, I still had to question her friendliness. You know how the old maxim goes: "If it sounds too good to be true, it usually is."

"Wait, wait wait. You'd actually give up vital resources for some jackbooted sycophant who you've only just met?" I sputtered, trying to grasp the situation. It's in the interest of fairness that I say this: I don't think of myself as a sycophant; it's been my other "nickname" for a while now. Heaven forbid those ingrates I work with bothered to show any respect for a superior.

"Freak, yer mighty harsh on yerself. And it's not like ah'm gonna run outta food anytime soon, is it? C'mon, it's just a short trot away." She beamed, gesturing for me to follow her.

I daresay that whole walk was the most infuriating thing that I've had to wither, and this is coming from a man who once used the phrase: "I've killed you twice, already! Take a hint, you god-damned psychopath!"

That madness? Pales in comparison to learning to walk again, on an empty stomach with a splitting headache. But, it was through no small level of effort that I accomplished it, within ten minutes I'd gotten a nice, steady canter going. And it was by that time that some huge red eyesore had come into view.

"There it is, Sweet Apple Acres! Ah mean, it's all Sweet Apple Acres, but there's the homestead!" There was a notable tone of pride in her voice. What, did she build it or something? Not the best thing I'd seen, but it looked welcoming nonetheless.

"Yeah, it's very..." I searched for anything I could say that wouldn't warrant a punch in the mouth. "...red?"

That was beyond stupid. I could've lied through my teeth, made up some nonsense about the structural appeal or choice of lumber, but no. I had to state the obvious

"Yes, Freak. It's red." She deliberated each syllable, proving that I had successfully made a fool of myself. The grin on Applejack's face was fleeting as she stopped me dead in my tracks.

"Listen, ah know it's probably innocent, but could ya... take off yer mask?" It was odd to see her this abashed about something, especially when she was so cocksure not five minutes ago. "It's just... Ah think mah family will have the same assumption that ah did about it, and it'd be a might awkward over dinner."

I couldn't argue with that, so I removed my balaclava with all haste. A quick brush against my head and face confirmed three things: My mane was shaved, I had a huge bump on my forehead, and my Glasgow smile was still there. That was enough to make her blanch, recoiling at the sight.

"Oh, come on. It's not that bad! Some ponies think the shaved head thing looks good!" I protested, rightly offended at her response.

"No, it ain't that. What the hay happened to yer mouth?" She asked, regaining some degree of composure.

"What, the scar? Well, I-" My hoof was over my mouth before I could say another word. The circumstances of how I'd received my lovely grin were a touch brutal, and it would probably ruin her family's appetite long before any mask would. I opted to just obfuscate the truth. Something I'm quite partial to, and pretty damned good at.

"Oh, you know. Work-related injury." I half-lied. Technically, it was a work injury. I'd had a run in with a Resistance member a few years back, and the twisted git thought it'd be clever to slice me up. Actually, looking back. That might've been the same one that killed me. Must've been quite satisfying to finish the job, I guess.

My semi-honest excuse seemed to convince her for the time being, as she shrugged.

"Alright, ya may as well put it back on." I couldn't argue with that, either, so I slipped it back over my head, taking care to keep away from the lump on my forehead. For whatever reason, my balaclava had a neat little hole to allow the protrusive thing through. Weird, right?

So, on we carried, not another word uttered. It seems my marks are something of a conversation killer, no? Not like it mattered, we were only two or three minutes from her home. With a sigh, she swung the door open, and we were greeted by what can only be described as a veritable monolith of a pony, and a minute little filly with a bow behind him.

"Where've ya been, sis? We've been worried sick!" The youth asked, bounding up to Applejack in an instant. The big red fellow behind her simply nodded in agreement. Before the orange mare could actually answer, the tyke turned her attention to me.

"And who's he? Looks pretty strange, if ya ask me." Again, the big guy just nodded wordlessly. If this is how the whole dinner was gonna play out, I might just end up saying something stupid.

"Well, ah found him in the west orchard a while ago, figured he needed a quick meal and some place to rest his head." Yep, she put it be- Wait, back up for a moment. Rest my head? She never mentioned giving me lodgings. Once this meal was over, I made a note to decline her offer, it wasn't as though I needed proper bedding to have a good night's sleep.

"Yeah, and he has a name, you know. It's Freak." I rolled my eyes as I gave my name to the duo. The little yellow filly looked a bit shocked before chuckling awkwardly. If the stallion cared, he didn't show it as much as his siblings.

"Ah, of course, ah almost forgot," Applejack began, pointing a hoof to the younger pony. "This is mah baby sister Apple Bloom," I could've sworn I heard her mutter something about not being a baby, but I'm not too certain.

"And this is mah brother, Big Macintosh." Of course, he would be called "Big", wouldn't he?

"Eeyup." He nodded. At that point, I honestly thought he was mute, so it took quite a bit of effort not to put my surprise into words.

"Well, now introductions are outta the way, why dontcha come in?"

From what I assume was a living room, I heard a fourth voice call out.

"Hold yer horses, I wanna see the young feller 'fore we let 'em in." This one sounded a lot older, and when she did actually come out from what I could only assume was a living room, she looked even older than she sounded.

"Ya look like a real fruitcake, pardner." The mare stated quite casually, treating me to an offhanded insult.

"Oh really? Well you like a right old-" Before I could respond in kind, I felt a hoof force it's way into my mouth. It looked like she and Apple Bloom were the only ones who hadn't clocked what I was about to call her.

"Freak! This is Granny Smith, show some more respect!" Applejack chided me for my remark. If her foreleg wasn't clasped across my muzzle, I would have had no problem with explaining why that simply wouldn't work.

Besides, she started it!

When she deigned to let go of my face, I put on my best forced smile and feigned kindness.

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Smith." I chimed through gritted teeth. It was passable enough that no-one tried to throw me out for nearly insulting the old girl.

"Well, what're ya doin' out in the cold? Come on in!" Thank heavens for that, all this non-existent niceness was wearing my patience thin. I waltzed in without another word - mainly because I knew the ones I had left were just a little spiteful.

That whole affair was actually quite pleasant, I must admit. A hearty three courses of soups, pastries and whatnot, followed up with a plethora of apple themed desserts. My whole life, sans the past few hours, had been nothing but living on the breadline. My supplies for the week would be a canteen of water and two or three MREs.

But this was nothing like that. I wasn't just allowed to eat until I was satiated, I was encouraged to do so. The meal had ended as quick as it had began, or at least that's how it felt. In reality, it had lasted for over an hour.

But wait, there's more! It wasn't just the food that was lovely; I ended up having a nice discussion with the Apple family (Yeah, that's seriously the family name. What a shock.). Turns out they all have some interesting stories: how Granny was one of the founders of Ponyville (No clue what that is), how they can actually grow rainbow coloured apples, all sorts of things. And I was actually sort of nice about it, too.

They weren't even bothered by my mask, I just made something up about it being a fashion accessory. I think they bought it, or they were humouring my blatant lies. Either way, nopony cares about it, so I win!

But, as all good things, the conversation and meal drew to a close. Apple Bloom went to bed fairly early (School night, probably.), Granny had dozed off in her chair, and Mac was taking care of dishes. Just me and Applejack were left at the table, so it was as good a time as any to ask what she meant earlier.

"Hey, Applejack? You know how you said something about lodgings earlier, what were you getting at, exactly?" As I got to my hooves, I noticed that the fine dining had given me a bit of padding to my belly. Not that I minded, exactly, but it still gave me an odd gait.

"We got a spare room upstairs, ah figured ya could stay there while ya get yer bearings." That's what I was afraid of. I might not care too much for common etiquette, but I had a few issues with staying at someone else's place. Never really known why, it just makes me a bit uncomfortable.

"Yeah... No. Not gonna happen." I was adamant in my refusal, and much to my chagrin, she was adamant in her offer.

"Well where the heck are ya gonna stay? On the streets?" Oh believe me, sister, I've slept in the streets out of habit. It's actually not bad once you overcome the initial fear of being shot. However, the streets weren't feasible, mainly because I hadn't a clue where they were. Nor the town, come to think of it.

So, I needed an option. I scanned the room while I racked my brains. By some fortunate happenstance, I glanced out the window, and raised a hoof towards the barn I spotted.

"What about that? Looks pretty cosy, and I'd be out of the way." She must've thought I was joking, with how she just chuckled and shook her head. I kept a taciturn expression, making it apparent that I was dead serious.

"...Yer kidding, right? You'll be freezing!"

"I couldn't care less, so if it's alright by you, I shall sojourn to my chambers." I gave a little flourish to my statement as I trotted out the door before she could object, and making my way towards the barn. The sun had almost completely set by then, coating the sky in a range of reds, purples and golds. It was surprisingly nice.

Contrary to what she had said, it's actually quite nice in here. I've hung my gear on a nearby hook, and nestled down in a pile of hay. Even found a quill, so I decided to get to jot down a couple things.

So, here I am, scrawling down the events of today on some scrap paper. I really can't say why, it just feels right, y'know? Tomorrow, I'll probably be on a hospital gurney, back in the usual hellhole. But at least I'll have this one fleeting memory before I return. In any case, I am well and truly knackered, so I'll end it here.

Hope this doesn't become a habitual thing. People will think I'm crazy if they read this.