The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.
~ G.K. Chesterton
“Go, go, go!” six soldiers, the American flag emblazoned on their armored right shoulders showing proudly as they charged ahead, vaulting over rubble and stepping around half-transformed bodies or colorful corpses. Each of them took up a defensive position behind a piece of standing rubble, weapons sweeping over the ruined city as the thunderous applause of firearms, bombs and magic sounded in the background.
“Charlie Four-Three and Four-Four, check right. Four-Five and Six, left. Four-Two, how’s the prisoner?” one of the soldiers with an officer’s pips on the Heads-Up IFF called over the tight-beam comms.
“Still out, Captain,” he radioed back.
Charlie Four-One nodded, a green acknowledgement light blinking in his team’s HUDs.
“Right’s clear, proceed?”
“Ditto, left.”
“Copy, eyes forward. We’ll head west along Delancey ‘til we hit Kenmare.” Lights went green.
As one, the group moved forward, save for one, Charlie 4-2, who hefted an unconscious blue pegasus over his shoulder, holding his MA17 in one hand. 4-1 held point, the other four forming a box around 4-2 and the detained pony. The former eight-lane was in ruin, storefronts littering the street with bricks clinking as Charlie Four slinked along the dust-choked city. Each of the soldiers held a certain sorrow as they looked at what was left of this part of Manhattan, each with their own kind of feeling.
4-3’s foot stepped on an aluminum sign, the red hanzi scratched and scorched. “Damn,” she whispered softly, shaking her head.
It took them twelve minutes to weave through the cluster of cars, most smashed beyond recognition, some left to rust. By that time, the pony began to awaken, groaning through her hood before 4-5 stuck a hypodermic needle filled with horse sedatives into her neck. The body tensed up momentarily, before succumbing to the chemical slumber.
The team released the breaths they had sucked in, sighing in relief. Then they heard it: giggling.
4-3 and 4-4 all but yanked open the dust-coated doors of a ruined McDonald’s, and ushered the others inside, pulling it closed behind them, being very careful not to disturb the coating too much. 4-2 and 4-5 rushed to the bathrooms, Six opening the one with the door facing away from the windows overlooking the street. One and Three stood in the eating area and watched the doors and windows as Four and Six went into the kitchen for a better vantage.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” a familiar voice squealed with laughter as it looked around the street.
Everyone inside stayed as quiet as possible, hoping and praying to whomever they worshiped that the damned voice would go away. Yes, they could have just killed the enemy patrol with ease, but they likely had their precious Serum with them, and nobody was willing to take any chances with that in the mix.
“Ooh,” the bubbly voice exclaimed. “Are we playing Hide and Seek? I love this game!”
Hearing that, One’s suspicions were confirmed; Laughter was here. “Two, Five, copy?” Both of them blinked their lights. “I need you to lure Laughter by using Loyalty. Five, got another hypo?”
“Yessir,” the team’s medic growled.
Pinkie Pie limped from car to car, searching the ragged and often scorched interiors for the human soldiers she had seen from before. She looks around a little more, then limps over to an overturned SEMI. Gently placing one hoof on the roof of a car leaned against the belly of the massive trailer, she hauled herself up, wincing as her injured hind leg scraped against the jagged metal.
As soon as she reached the top, she rested for a couple seconds before sighing sadly. Pinkie stared out at the broken and shattered city, the height given to her by the overturned truck letting her peek over a McDonald’s and in turn, at the massive pink dome visible over the horizon. Most of New York City had been destroyed by the Americans when the Bureau’s conversion parties marched on the monument to civilization. The dome may only have been passing through Kentucky, but it was large enough to be seen for hundreds of miles.
Pinkie let out a sad laugh, bubbly still, despite how she felt. She wished that she could laugh without being forced to sound happy all the time, but there was another time for that later.
With a loud, joyous whoop that was supposed to be a startled yelp, Pinkie fell forward from her porch, landing headfirst in a garbage can that was filled with rotting refuse. When she pulled herself from the trash, she shook her head, sending wriggling white specks everywhere. Try as she might, the vomit that boiled in her belly would not come. Pinkie shivered in disgust, cheerily chanting “Ew!” as she attempted to dislodge all of the offending maggots from her now ashen mane.
She stopped when she heard the rhythmic tapping of glass, the same sound from before she fell off of the truck. Internally she grumbled as her face twisted up into a smile against her will. Pinkie had to force her own body to approach the source of the sound cautiously, as her hooves wanted to carry her forward with wanton abandon. She knew firsthand, for Pinkie knew that that was the true turn of phrase, how dangerous a surprised human could be.
When she passed the cab of the SEMI, she heard it again and saw movement from within the McDonald’s. Both Pinkie and the Façade known colloquially as Laughter hoped that it was a human, though for different reasons. She nudged open the first door, the glass coated in dust and ash, and walked through the shattered second door. When she heard a whimper from off to her right, she all but rushed to find it, limping more noticeably than before.
Pinkie wanted to gasp in pain, but Laughter wouldn’t let her, and Laughter was in control. Unable to notice anything about her surroundings, blinded by the pain of her wounded leg dragging along the gritty floor, Laughter threw Pinkie into the bathroom door, leaving her leaned against the wall. She heard the racking of a bolt, a sound she was by now familiar with, and the Façade broke.
“Dashie?!” her face twisted in abject horror as she saw the Bearer of Loyalty’s pleading eyes, begging for Pinkie to run.
Then everything faded to black.
