The Lunar Spartans

Infection

Somewhere near Canterlot

Jackson kept screaming like a bitch and/or girl as he fled the mass of Solar Empire soldiers bearing down on him, each of them shouting and swearing after the Spartan and wielding mean looking swords.

He ran across fields, across fallen trees, through thick bushes, through some other forest thing. I have no idea. A forest living plant species thing. Oh, use your imagination.

Anyway, the Spartan nutter with the propensity to sing kept running, eventually running out of places to run and places for me to describe when he finally emerged onto a cliff.

There were rocks stained with bird shit, moss, more rocks, and-

You know what? Screw it. He came out onto a cliff and that’s that. There was nothing particularly special about this cliff. There were no unique rocks or things, just a cliff with a long drop to a pool of water some way away. Like, a hundred metres? I don’t know. A long fall, anyway.

Our intrepid sprinter stopped just shy of the cliff edge, the customary loose stones falling from the edge and falling to the pool of water below. Why they do that, I don’t know.

What I do know is that Jackson then saw Dawson sat against Graham way down next to the pool of water, his teammate reading a book. More pony porn, no doubt. It was just about the only thing he read in Equestria.

The ponies running behind Jackson came to a halt a dozen metres from him, swords at the ready, and slowly began pressing in on him, corralling the Spartan like a pig. That wore half a ton of armour. And carried two guns. And could sing.

Badly.

He looked between them, the drop, and Dawson, calculating and devising, and most likely getting entirely wrong, things inside his head.

Then, with a maniacal laugh straight out of a mad scientist’s mouth which, if the PacCan is anything to go by, he sort of was, said, ‘Gentlemen, ponies, readers, you will always remember this as the day that you almost caught Spartan ‘Hellfire’ Jack-‘

At that very specific moment, just as Jackson was about to say the last three letters of his name, the ground began shaking and quivering, like it was about to shake itself apart, and a large crack appeared in the ground that went right around Jackson, like it was specifically isolating him from the others.

Then, with an earth splitting crack, the earth spli-

It split-

The earth-

Goddammit.

Let’s try it without using the same words to describe different things.

The part of the poorly described cliff Jackson was standing on fell down, taking with it the poorly something or another Spartan with it.

Goddammit, not again.

Sigh sound effect.

The cliff broke apart, Jackson went down with it, the universe decided to interrupt his sentence.

Was that really so hard?

No, you’re just an idiot.

Shut up.

No, you.

‘While those two keep arguing, I went like this as I fell,’ Jackson said.

‘-son of a bitch!’ he yelled as he fell, partly finishing his previous sentence and starting a whole new one.

The ponies on top of the cliff watched him go, silently cursing themselves for being so slow and silently praising that the blue buffoon had more than likely fallen to his doom. They were so confident, that they didn’t even wait to watch him land in the pool of water or if he even resurfaced.

And so they went, signing ‘We’re off to see the wizard’ but replacing the word wizard with princess.

It didn’t sound as good.

At the bottom of the cliff

Dawson watched as Jackson kept falling, shutting A Night in Canterlot and throwing it into the back of Graham.

The Warthog’s armour was fully back in place, the result of a competent mechanic fixing the armour and not a blue buffoon doing shoddy spot welds and using cheap as hell glue, and gleamed in the midday sun.

There was an almighty splash as Jackson landed, throwing up a smallish plume of water and several swear words that echoed across the tranquil pond.

A few minutes later, a horrid mass of slimy blue metal hauled itself out of the water.

‘I hate the writer,’ Jackson said, swiping as much of the junk covering him off. ‘Why does he always do shit like this?’

‘You hit your head or something, boss?’ Dawson asked as Jackson shed most of the pond weed. ‘Cause I’ve no idea what you’re on about.’

‘Neither do I,’ Jackson said. ‘But I generally don’t pay it much attention.’

‘Okay then,’ Dawson said as the last of the pond stuff was gone and Jackson shook himself out like a dog, showering Dawson and Graham with water that wasn’t too clean. ‘Thanks.’

‘That’s what you get for abandoning your superior,’ Jackson said as he headed to Graham. ‘I had to fight off a hundred of them, all at once. Ran out of ammo for my assault rifle so I dropped it, same for my pistol. Had to kill the last fifty of them with my bare hands. Saxton Hale would be proud.’

‘Who?’ Dawson asked, jumping into the driver’s seat.

‘I have no idea,’ Jackson said.

‘Uh huh,’ Dawson said, powering the Warthog up. ‘So if you lost your assault rifle and pistol, why do you still have them?’

He pointed to the very weapons clipped to Jackson’s armour, somewhat waterlogged.

Jackson looked at them then threw them away into the pond.

‘I don’t,’ he said. ‘Like I said, I lost them.’

Dawson just rolled his eyes. ‘Get in. Lu-Lu has a mission for us of the utmost importance.’

In the New Lunar Republic headquarters

‘-and do you have any idea what it’ll take to rebuild everything?’ Luna yelled at Jackson who sat behind a desk, feet propped up in their usual place and doing their usual thing of marring the now less than immaculate mahogany surface. ‘Those rocks came directly from the moon itself! How do you expect me to get some more to make more of that delicious, highly inebriating, wonderfully aromatic nectar?’

‘You could throw a magical lasso around it and pull the moon closer,’ Jackson said. ‘You and the Solar Whore did it in comic number six.’

Luna opened her mouth to both question Jackson on his utterance and verbally abuse him for suggesting something so stupid in the first place.

Instead, she face hoofed and sighed, turning to the saner of Squealing Wombat.

‘Did he destroy that distillery on purpose, or was it an accident?’

Dawson shrugged. ‘Dunno. What happens in that guy’s head is a mystery unto itself. He missed the first shot because an explosion knocked him off course. Could have happened again.’

‘Which it did,’ Jackson said. ‘Stupid explosions and references.’

Both Luna and Dawson didn’t ask, having decided long ago that trying to devise the machinations behind Jackson’s words was beyond them both. They’d have better luck figuring out how to breathe in space, or how Discord Deliveries managed to post a huge profit despite hiring only two employees, both of them stoners and currently missing in action, last seen in the Crystal Empire.

They turned instead to the mission of utmost importance.

Tiberius had the sniffles.

Luna was fawning over the opossum, wiping away the smallest of snot that dripped from his cute little nose and instantly rushing to his side at the first hint of a cough, offering hot orange and lozenges to soothe his hardly sore throat.

‘All the stress has gotten to him,’ Luna said in a baby voice, wrapping a hoof around the opossum who chirped happily, cuddling up to his owner and gladly nibbling on a bug flavoured lozenge that she offered him. ‘My wittle Tibble-kins doesn’t like everypony shouting does he? No he doesn’t, do you my wittle baby!’

The opossum smiled and rolled onto his back, prompting the princess to gently rub his stomach.

Tiberius chirped again.

‘We’re not vets,’ Jackson said. ‘I’m pretty sure we’d do more harm than good if we tried to make him healthy again.’

‘Unless you want us to put him out of his misery,’ Dawson offered.

Jackson, Luna, and Tiberius all looked at him horrified.

‘You’d do that... to my little Tibble-kins?’ Luna whispered, her hoof now wrapping around Tiberius protectively.

‘Well, no,’ Dawson said. ‘I like the little guy too much. We think on the same wavelength.’

‘Oh, good,’ Luna said. ‘No, I don’t want you to treat him. I want you to get a special potion from deep in darkest Equestria. You have to go... to White Tail Woods!’

There was a dramatic clap of thunder from outside, despite the fact it was brilliant sunshine with not a cloud in the sky.

‘Really?’ Jackson said to the ceiling. ‘Dramatic thunder?’

When no one answered him, the conversation continued.

‘White Tail Woods?’ Dawson repeated, followed almost instantly by another clap of thunder.

‘Enough!’ Jackson yelled at the ceiling. ‘It’s just the name of a place.’

Again, no one answered him and Dawson and Luna sighed, shaking their heads.

‘Yes, yes, there,’ Luna said. ‘There’s a mysterious cult in the area who have access to powerful healing herbs. However, they are kind of crazy and have zombies patrolling the place, so...’

‘You’re risking Squealing Wombat to get Tiberius some medicine,’ Jackson finished for the Alicorn. ‘Alright, whereabouts in White Tail Woods?’

Once the thunder had passed, Dawson held up a hand and said, ‘Did you just say zombies?’

‘Yes,’ Luna said with a nod. ‘The dead reanimated. A walking corpse. That which moves but does not live.’

‘Yeah, I know what a zombie is,’ Dawson said. ‘What I meant is, did you say zombies? As in, we’re going up against the living dead?’

Luna nodded. ‘I said that, didn’t I?’

‘Yup,’ Jackson said.

Dawson stared at the pony. ‘Are you being totally fucking serious right now?’

‘Yup,’ Jackson said again before Luna could reply.

‘Zombies don’t exist,’ Dawson said. ‘They’re fictional.’

‘No, they’re pretty real alright,’ Luna and Jackson said in sync.

Luna said, ‘The Leader of the White Tail Wood-‘ Thunder clap. ‘-cult has found a way to resurrect the dead and bend them to her will. They patrol her base of operations and keep unwanted visitors out.’

Jackson said, ‘And I’ve faced them before.’

Dawson looked at Jackson flatly. ‘We met up and then enlisted together, then spent pretty much every waking moment fighting alongside each other. I think I’d know if you fought zombies before.’

‘I never said it was during our enlistment,’ Jackson countered. ‘It was when I was growing up on the family farm. A whole bunch of them suddenly appeared and assaulted the place.’

‘You grew up on a farm?’ Luna and Dawson said in sync.

Jackson nodded. ‘Yeah. We grew weed.’

‘That explains so much,’ Dawson said.

Luna nodded in agreement. ‘Well, there’s no farm in White Tail Woods-‘

Thunderbolt of lightning, very, very frightening.

‘-just zombies, a telepathic and clairvoyant leader, and the medicine to make my wittle Tiberius better again!’

She cuddled the ill opossum who chirped again, loving all the attention he was getting and held up a sign that only Jackson and Dawson could see that read ‘I should get ill more often.’

‘Yeah,’ Jackson said. ‘You should.’

Dawson’s hand went up again. ‘Telepathic and clairvoyant leader? Really?’

‘Yes,’ Luna said in her baby voice, still cuddling Tiberius. ‘She can read a pony’s mind and predict the future. Yes she can! Yes she can!’ She placed a small kiss on Tiberius’ head and squeezed him.

‘Maybe not for a while,’ his next sign read but it quickly changed to, ‘Then again...’ when another bug flavoured cough sweet was sent his way.

‘You’re dismissed,’ Luna said as Tiberius munched away on his sweet. ‘Go to your armoury and select whatever weapons you want and/or need.’

‘Yup,’ Jackson said, getting up. ‘I’m thinking pistols and swords for this outing. How about you, Dawson?’

‘Assault rifle, mate,’ he said, standing. ‘Zombies aren’t real, just people drugged up and walking around like them. I’ll start believing in zombies when I actually see one.’

‘Bad choice,’ Jackson said, leading Squealing Wombat out the door. ‘Zombies go down only when you chop their head off or put a well placed bullet through it. Assault rifle ain’t gonna do that.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Dawson said, reaching for the door handle. ‘We’ll see who’s right or not when we get to White Tail Woods.’

He gripped the handle as the thunder faded away and pulled the door open, revealing Twilight Sparkle carrying a basket full of hot orange, bug flavoured lozenges, and an assortment of sweets and drinks for ponies.

‘Hey, guys,’ she said, trotting past them and joining Luna in fawning over the poorly opossum.

Tiberius leaned back, lapping up the attention, and waved goodbye to Squealing Wombat who closed the door behind them.

‘Maybe we should become opossums,’ Jackson said as they headed for the armoury. ‘They get way more attention than wombats.’

‘Nah,’ Dawson said. ‘He’s only getting that kind of attention because he’s ill. I bet if we came down with something, Luna and Twilight would be by our side doing all they can to make us feel better.’

‘Test that hypothesis when we get back?’ Jackson suggested.

‘Test that hypothesis when we get back,’ Dawson confirmed. ‘But first we need to make a little detour...’

Inside Ponyville

Graham screeched through the town, Dawson power sliding the three ton, four wheel drive, all wheel steering monster past stalls and ponies with scant inches to spare, AC/DC blasting out of the twenty ten inch speakers he’d installed.

‘Shoot to thrill!’ Jackson belted out. ‘Play to kill! Too many women and too many pills! Shoot to thrill! Play to kill! I got my gun at the ready, gonna fire at will!’

He punctuated this with an extended burst from the Hog’s turret, peppering the facade of many a house with .50 cal rounds and sending a stream of brass arcing out over the panicked crowds.

‘Ready, Jackson?’ Dawson yelled over the music.

‘Ready, Dawson,’ Jackson yelled back, taking aim at one thing in particular.

Inside Ponyville close to but not quite near the Warthog

Pipsqueak the pony trotted out of his house, a spring in his step as he headed to his stall in Ponyville’s market.

He sold odds and ends, anything he could get his hooves on really, saving up his bits to buy a limited edition Squealing Wombat figurine set, the New Lunar Republic’s two best fighters and best hope for ending the tyranny of the other princess.

So far he was around three quarters of the way to his ultimate goal of fifty bits and would probably get the remaining money inside of three weeks.

The only problem was that nopony really wanted to buy his stuff, especially those who supported the Solar Empire, but the little pinto colt persevered and kept selling his crap, ever hopeful to buy that figurine set.

He was halfway to his stall when the unthinkable happened: his heroes appeared.

Their car/jeep/monster came screeching around Sugarcube Corner, blasting out a heavy rock song so loudly, it rattled the teeth in Pipsqueak’s head.

‘-no help, no help from you!’ Pipsqueak heard Jackson singing. ‘Sound of the drums, beating in my heart! The thunder of guns tore me apart!’

Pipsqueak could see the Spartan move the turret mounted to the back of Graham (the model of which was another thirty bits and came with a fully working suspension and turret that actually moved!) and bring it to bear on his stand not twenty metres away.

‘You’ve been-‘ Jackson fired the turret and sent a hail of bullets downrange, shredding the simple wooden construction and the contents it held. ‘-thunderstruck!’

The Warthog did another power slide, coming ever closer to Pipsqueak, and he got an up close glimpse of his personal heroes.

‘Get wrecked, kid!’ Jackson yelled.

‘Yeah!’ Dawson added. ‘Hope Week would pass you over, bitch!’

And with that, they were gone.

Pipsqueak was rooted to the spot, the fact that Jackson and Dawson had destroyed his stand and everything in it overshadowed by the fact Jackson and Dawson had destroyed his stand and everything in it!

His heroes!

‘Best! Birthday! Ever!’ the colt shouted, jumping for joy.

Inside Ponyville, just past the destroyed cart and its ecstatic owner

‘Ready for the next stop?’ Dawson asked, turning the music down a smidgen.

‘Ready for the next stop,’ Jackson confirmed, reaching for what he’d need next.

Yet again, inside Ponyville but more towards the farms

Scootaloo was riding her scooter to the Crusader Clubhouse, a list of things she and the other Cutie Mark Crusaders could try and do to get their cutie marks tucked away in her saddle bags.

Among them was being sappers for the Solar Empire, being recon specialists for the Solar Empire, being soldiers for the Solar Empire, gardeners, and dozens more things they had yet to try.

It was beginning to get irksome that they’d tried so much but hadn’t yet found their innate talents, what made them special.

She casually did a three-sixty flip over a puddle then executed a five second backwards two-wheelie before returning to just riding her scooter normally.

It felt like her real talent was staring her right in the face, something she’d overlooked, something that came to her so naturally it was almost second nature.

Shrugging, the little filly began grinding her scooter along anything suitable including railings and fallen logs, barely looking at what she was doing or giving the actions much thought.

It took the roar of an engine, the ground trembling thump of over-cranked speakers playing guitars, and the warbling, ear splitting cries of something attempting to sing along with the song’s lyrics to snap her out of this haze.

She skidded to a halt, expertly doing a 180 as she did, and turned to watch in growing horror as Squealing Wombat’s Warthog came straight for her.

And like a deer caught in the headlights, she froze and watched as the hulking tusks that so reminded her of a puma came ever closer, flinching when they came to a halt a bare foot from her face.

The two occupants dismounted and stalked over to her, one of them carrying a box in their hands.

Scootaloo craned her neck up to meet their faceless faces and gulped in apprehension, doubly so when the one holding the package leant down towards her and said, ‘Happy birthday, Pipsqueak!’

‘Yeah, dude,’ the other said, Dawson if she remembered correctly. ‘We got the letters you sent in, saying how much you adore us and what we’re doing, so did Princess Luna, and all three of us decided to give you this as a present.’

Jackson held out his package and Scootaloo got a good look at it, seeing it was a figurine set of the two, complete with a model of Graham, and a letter signed by the two Spartans and Princess Luna with a small paw print that could have only come from Tiberius.

The message on the letter wished that NLR supporting weirdo Pipsqueak a happy birthday and extended an invitation to him to have a tour of the NLR’s headquarters, escorted around by Squealing Wombat, Luna, and Tiberius.

Scootaloo just stared at it slack jawed, not really wanting to accept anything from the NLR or from Those Two, but hesitantly accepted it lest the Spartans take offense and hurt her.

‘Keep up the good work, Pipsqueak,’ Dawson said. ‘Any supporter of the New Lunar Republic is a friend of ours. You have any problems, drop us a line and we’ll see about helping you out.’

‘Yup,’ Jackson said. ‘Be seeing ya, kid!’

And with that, they were gone, climbing back into Graham and taking off towards White Tail Woods.

Scootaloo jumped when a crack of thunder suddenly echoed across the countryside and looked around to see if Derpy was messing around with clouds again but soon remembered that the Pegasus was missing, last seen heading towards the Crystal Empire with Spike on her back.

She shrugged then dropped the box and letter into the puddle she’d jumped over and resumed heading to the clubhouse, hoping to put this vile incident behind her.

‘Worst birthday ever,’ she muttered under her breath.

Outskirts of Ponyville

Dawson dialled the music down again to a more acceptable level as Jackson dumped himself into the passenger seat.

‘Nice to meet the fans, isn’t it?’ Jackson said.

‘And wipe out the livelihood of someone plotting to hurt us,’ Dawson said. ‘Pipsqueak looked ecstatic to see us and get his present.’

Jackson laughed. ‘Yup, and Scootaloo was mortified to see us destroy her stand. We thoroughly fucked up her birthday.’

Dawson laughed as well. ‘Yeah, that orange filly was waving her hoof at us angri-‘

He stopped midsentence, realising they’d fucked up the wrong pony’s birthday.

‘Son of a bitch,’ he said, as did Jackson upon reaching the same conclusion.

The Warthog executed a handbrake turn and sped back towards Ponyville.

Outskirts of Ponyville. Again.

After much profuse apologising to the real Pipsqueak, paying for a new stand, and giving him the sodden but still pristine limited edition figurine set, as well as getting a photograph with the star struck colt, they hurried after the real Scootaloo and demolished her scooter, as well as burning the Crusader Clubhouse to the ground without bothering to get the three fillies out first.

Now they were really speeding towards White Tail Woods – crack of thunder – ready to complete Luna’s mission and get medicine to cure the New Lunar Republic’s beloved mascot.

Dawson looked at his teammate, and the two swords clamped to his back, and said, ‘You really believe we’ll see zombies, don’t you?’

‘Yup,’ Jackson said, checking one of his two pistols. ‘Fought ‘em before, gonna fight ‘em again. Gonna win again as well.’

The saner member of Squealing Wombat just shook his head, guiding Graham to his next destination.

‘Back in black, I hit the sack,’ Jackson sang, the speakers still playing AC/DC. ‘I been too long, I’m glad to be back. Yes I am. Let loose from the noose, that’s kept me hanging about.’

Ahead of them, dark clouds began forming, right over White Tail Woods.

Crack, went the thunder and Jackson looked up to the sky.

‘Is that going to be a recurring thing?’ he said. ‘Two peals of thunder if it is.’

Two peals of thunder echoed across the land.

‘Dammit,’ Jackson muttered.

Somewhere in White Tail Woods

Thunderbolt!

Jackson sighed as Dawson eased the Hog to a halt just before a sign that read ‘Keep Out’ sitting on a post set into the ground, an assortment of teeth decorating it.

‘Charming,’ Dawson observed, climbing from the driver’s seat and setting boots on ground.

‘Promising,’ Jackson countered. ‘It means we’re on the right path.’

‘Or the wrong one,’ Dawson said as the two of them walked past the danger sign and entered the grounds of the cult.

Jackson didn’t draw any of his four weapons but Dawson drew one of his two guns, the assault rifle, and they pressed on, passing by more danger signs that had ever increasing numbers of teeth on them until they reached one that was just a pile of teeth, the keep out sign sitting on top.

It did little to faze the Spartans and they kept going.

Dawson looked at Jackson and saw he was shaking a little, an unusual thing for him.

‘What’s the matter mate?’ he said.

‘Song system error,’ Jackson replied. ‘Have too many to choose from for this particular scenario.’

He began shaking some more, twitching too.

‘If there’s something strange in your neighbourhood, who ya gonna it’s close to midnight and something evil’s lurking in the tell me who’s watching- who’s watching I ain’t afraid because this is- this is- this- ERROR.’

Dawson sighed and smacked Jackson across the back of the head. Hard.

‘Recalibrating,’ Jackson said. ‘Recalibration complete. Shutting down song selection system.’

‘Better?’ Dawson asked.

‘Much,’ Jackson said. ‘And girlish scream in T-minus six seconds.’

‘Why are you going to scream like a girl?’ Dawson asked.

‘I’m not,’ Jackson said. ‘You are.’

‘I’m not-‘ Dawson began to say when something behind him placed a hoof on his back, bringing forth a girlish scream.

‘Six seconds,’ Jackson said as Dawson wheeled around and aimed his assault rifle at whatever had touched him. ‘Told ya.’

‘Shut up,’ Dawson muttered, levelling his rifle at a pony with a gormless expression on their face, looking somewhat ragged and malnourished, their skin sunken and sallow. ‘Okay, pony. You got five seconds to tell me why you snuck up on me like that or I’m gonna fill you full of holes.’

The pony just looked at Dawson and groaned, hoof reaching out to touch him again.

‘Three seconds,’ Dawson warned. ‘Two seconds. One. Okay, you asked for this.’

He drilled a neat burst through the pony’s chest, right where their heart would be.

Now usually, this would drop the pony or make them look at the new hole on their body before keeling over.

However, because this isn’t a normal situation but a Squealing Wombat mission, the pony did neither of those things and kept reaching out for Dawson. There wasn’t even any blood dripping from the wound.

‘The fuck?’ Dawson said, staring in disbelief at the wound that should have killed the pony. ‘Why isn’t it dying?’

‘Zombie,’ Jackson said. ‘No heartbeat, no pulse, no life to kill. Try again if you don’t believe me.’

Dawson didn’t believe him and shot the pony again, this time on the other side of their chest in case their heart was in the wrong place.

He got the same results.

‘No fucking way,’ Dawson said. ‘Not possible.’

‘Is possible,’ Jackson said, drawing one of his swords. ‘That right there is a genuine, certified, zombiefied zombie pony. And the only way to incapacitate them is like this.’

He brought his sword down in one fell swoop and parted flesh, bone, and head from flesh, bone and body.

The head dropped, as did the body, and rolled towards Dawson’s feet, somehow still moving its jaw and looking up at him with cloudy eyes.

‘See?’ Jackson said, skewering the pony’s head with his sword and bringing it up to eye level. ‘Zombie pony.’

Dawson looked on with shock as the head kept going, well past the point that a normal decapitated head would have stopped thinking and being alive.

‘It’s still going,’ he said. ‘You made it into a headless horse and it still goes.’

‘Yup,’ Jackson said, flinging the head off into the distance. ‘Zombies exists and you brought the wrong weapons to deal with them.’

‘So I did,’ Dawson said.

From all around them came a sudden collective groan, cutting through the dense fog that I just suddenly decided to place into the scene, cutting visibility down to a few dozen metres.

The Spartans huddled up, pressing their backs against each other and watching warily as dozens upon dozens of stiffly walking, ragged looking, zombiefied zombies appeared out of the fog, all of them groaning and heading for the Spartans.

‘Oh, this takes me back,’ Jackson said. ‘Long nights on the farm, picking off zombies with a sword and pistol. Good times. Good times. Best birthday ever that was. What more could a ten year old want than to kill zombies alongside his porn star sister on a marijuana farm?’

Dawson blinked.

‘We’ll circle back around to that one at a later date,’ he said. ‘Right now, though, I wanna focus on the zombies surrounding us.’

‘Yes, that would be a good idea,’ a voice boomed across the field. ‘For these zombies will be ya’ll doom.’

A cloaked figure appeared through a gap in the zombies, walking towards Squealing Wombat at a leisurely pace.

They squinted through the haze at them, seeing a cowboy hat perched atop their head and their hair done up in a pony tail.

‘Do these ponies have to always use pony related puns?’ Jackson asked Dawson as both turned their attention to the figure.

‘Apparently,’ Dawson said.

‘So, ya’ll are the latest bunch of folk come to try and take me down?’ the figure said. ‘Ah figured Princess Luna would have sent somepony more competent to do it.’

‘We’re plenty competent, thank you very much,’ Dawson said.

‘Yeah,’ Jackson added. ‘We’ve got a thirty percent success rate. It’s just that this story has only focused on our successes.’

‘What in tarnation are ya’ll talking about?’ the pony said. ‘What story? This here is real life, ya Loony. Ain’t no story being written except ya downfall and death. Ah’ve seen it mahself.’

‘I have no idea,’ Jackson said, readying a sword and pistol after giving Dawson a sword to replace his assault rifle. ‘But if you think we’re gonna lose here, you’ve got another thing coming Applejack.’

The pony froze. ‘How did ya know it was me?’

‘Yeah, how did you?’ Dawson added.

Jackson looked at Dawson. ‘Seriously? How many ponies do you know of that wear a cowboy hat, have their mane tied into a ponytail and speak in that ridiculous accent? Besides, she’d the only one of the Mane Six not mentioned yet. What with being a background pony and all that.’

‘What the...?’ Dawson began saying before deciding against it. ‘You know what? Shark Week. So what if it is Applejack, we’re still gonna get that medicine.’

‘That’s all ya came for?’ Applejack said. ‘Medicine?’

‘Well, yeah,’ Jackson said. ‘Tiberius has a little cold and Luna sent us to get something to help him.’

‘Oh,’ Applejack said. ‘If that’s all ya’ll are coming for- Wait. What do ya’ll mean, background pony?’

Jackson shrugged. ‘I have no idea.’

‘And how did you become a telepath and clairvoyant anyway?’ Dawson asked, confused. ‘You’re an Earth pony, not a unicorn or an Alicorn.’

‘Strange things happen to a mare when she’s sucking off an Alicorn’s horn while a Pegasus eats them out,’ she said. ‘Ask Rainbow Dash if ya don’t believe me.’

‘I’d rather not,’ Dawson said.

‘Why?’ Applejack said. ‘Ya read through all of Luna’s porn in three days and keep rereading it. Ya’ll must be well acclimatised to hearing about pony on pony action by now.’

‘For the love of-‘ Dawson muttered. ‘I replace every-

‘-mention of the word pony with an appropriate human term,’ the farmer turned cult leader said. ‘Ah know. Ah read ya mind.’

She turned to Jackson. ‘Now to read ya’ll mind.’

‘Oh, this should be interesting,’ Dawson said, watching with some amusement as Applejack’s calm and serene expression slowly became more panicked and bewildered, her pupils expanding and contracting with each breath.

‘What in tarnation?’ the mare screamed. ‘How could ya’ll even think of something like that? Why would- How could- Ah did not need to see- By Celestia’s beard, attack mah zombies! Get those two outta here!’

‘Now we’re talking,’ Jackson said, readying his weapons.

‘Yeah, you mother humpers!’ Dawson added. ‘For the New Lunar Republic! Bring it on!’

The zombies began their slow march towards the Spartans, hooves getting caught in the marshy soil of White Tail Woods – boom – and Applejack stood behind them, urging the slow walking corpses on in Spanish for some reason.

‘Soy un pendejo púrpuras que gusta tomar aceite!’ the farmer yelled. ‘Mi cola es muy grande. Y mi gusta frotar mi cola. Y quiero oler mi cola e también besar, a mi cola!’

Dawson and Jackson took a break from waiting for the zombies to come with striking distance of their swords and just looked at Applejack.

‘Is she...?’ Dawson began to say.

‘Insulting herself in Spanish?’ Jackson finished. ‘Yup. Wonder what this is a reference to.’

Dawson began inching his head around to ask Jackson what he meant by that but decided against it.

‘Shark Week is to be assumed,’ he muttered to himself.

Applejack kept insulting herself in Spanish and after several agonisingly slow minutes, her zombie army was now halfway to Squealing Wombat and shuffling ever closer.

Jackson sighed. ‘Fuck it, let’s just get that medicine and go.’

Dawson sighed. ‘Yeah. This is way too boring.

Jackson nodded and aimed his pistol at Applejack, saying, ‘Repent, motherfucker!’ and firing just the once, downing her with a headshot.

The mare dropped like a sack of potatoes and was lost in the mist, her hold over White Tail Woods – and yet another crack of thunder – was finally broken, the zombies following suit and falling to the floor.

Squealing Wombat shrugged and went off in search of the medicine to make Tiberius better.

In the New Lunar Republic’s headquarters

Jackson rummaged through the sack he carried, producing bottle after bottle of herbs, powders, liquids and leaves, and passing them over to Twilight Sparkle for her to examine and determine which was a cure all to make Tiberius healthy again.

The opossum himself was curled up next to Luna, asleep atop a cushion with a silk blanket keeping him warm, merrily purring away as the Alicorn stroked his back.

‘No, no, no,’ Twilight said as she went through the vials. ‘Wart remover, hair loss inducer, hair growth inducer, orgasm enhancer-‘

She paused, looked at Luna who nodded, and she tucked it away into the nearby bedside cabinet.

Jackson and Dawson shuddered then sneezed simultaneously, wiping the snot from their noses away with the back of their hands.

‘Anything?’ Jackson asked, sounding bunged up. His eyes were red raw, his noses was red as well, and he was sweating a little too, so was Dawson.

They had intentionally made themselves sick by spending a full night in the nude in one of the freezers located in the kitchens, emerging earlier that morning with a fever and runny noses, to see if either Alicorn would show them any sympathy.

So far, it wasn’t working.

‘No,’ Twilight said, going through the vials quickly, taking out ones that had bedroom applications and discarding the ones that didn’t. ‘Over a hundred vials filed with herbal remedies and not one of them helps Tiberius! I’m starting to think Applejack didn’t have anything to do with animals in the first place. Most of this stuff looks like it belongs in a brothel.’

‘How can you –cough, cough- tell?’ Dawson asked.

‘A lot of these things cure STIs,’ Twilight said. ‘Others, well, they make the experience more pleasurable for the client.’

‘Which we will have to test,’ Luna purred, wrapping her wing around the younger Alicorn and pulling her close. ‘Maybe they can help you break my record.’

Twilight blushed a little and the Spartans made gagging noises which quickly turned to coughs and sneezes.

Soon after, Twilight went through the entire sack Jackson had produced but found nothing that could help Tiberius, who had woken up and perched himself on Twilight’s head, holding up a sign that read, ‘Too bad you guys are ill.’

Jackson and Dawson mouthed thanks at the opossum, who looked healthy, then shivered, sneezing again.

Luna glanced at them and said, ‘You’re dismissed. If you didn’t find any medicine to help him, I think it might be best to let Tibble-kins get better all on his own. Besides, he seems to be feeling much better now.’

The opossum in question used his tail to hang from Twilight’s horn, swinging lazily from side to side as the purple mare giggled, moving her head to make Tiberius swing further.

He chirped and held up a sign that said, ‘Whee!’

‘If you’re... If you’re...’ Dawson tried to say but an urgent need to sneeze appeared, releasing itself in a massive expulsion of snot that collided with the magic health bubble surrounding Luna and Twilight, going no further.

‘Good thing you cast that, Twilight,’ Luna said. ‘I wouldn’t want to catch whatever it is they’ve got.’

‘Bloody bubbles,’ Jackson muttered under his breath.

‘If you’re sure,’ Dawson said, completing his sentence without sneezing.

‘I’m sure, Spartan,’ Luna said. ‘Now please. Go put some clothes on. Both of you. I do not wish to stare at your naked forms a second longer than I have to.’

Jackson objected, pointing at Luna and Twilight, and said, ‘But you’re both naked! You hardly ever wear clothes.’

‘Ah, but I like seeing my little Twilli like this,’ Luna said. ‘You? Not so much.’

‘Bollocks,’ Jackson muttered, sneezing afterwards. ‘Well, come on Dawson. Let’s go sleep in an oven for the night, see if that’ll counteract a night in a freezer.’

‘Doubt it,’ Dawson said as he and Jackson turned to leave, padding barefoot out of the princess’s room and giving them a clear look at their flabby arses.

Back in White Tai- THUNDER!

The area was still, silent, the fog I’d added into the zombie scene still lingering, when something began moving in the mood setting fog.

Applejack clumsily rose from the floor, hoof going to head where Jackson’s bullet had entered.

There was a small hole there, quickly healing thanks to her regenerative abilities, yet another side effect of sucking Twilight Sparkle’s horn off while Rainbow Dash ate the Alicorn princess out, resulting in a massive blast of magic that imbued the orange background pony with some mystical abilities and ideas of leaving the farm behind to start a brothel in the woods surrounding Ponyville.

But despite being in business for well over six months, she still only had the two workers, Caramel and Rainbow Dash, and seeing as how they’d both been the town’s bicycle for the best part of a year before being hired by Applejack and everypony was looking for something new to ride, business was slow.

Still, that hadn’t stopped Twilight Sparkle from renting one or the other for a day or two at a time three of four times a month. Though she was a Loony now, and not around to pay anything.

Applejack had seen her leaving thanks to her clairvoyant powers but the loss had still stung, and she was still thinking of a way to make her business boom again. Well, actually make enough money to support her and her alone since Big Macintosh had run off to the NLR as well once war broke out and Apple Bloom had gone to live with Rarity, and Granny Smith had died from smoking too much Cloudsdale Weed.

The farmer/cult leader sat down and called upon her clairvoyant powers to see what her future might hold though was confused to see a whale falling through the sky.

‘What in tarnation?’ she said, looking up only to freeze upon seeing the exact same whale from her vision come plummeting down towards her at an incredibly high speed.

‘Oh, son of a-‘

The whale touched down with a ground shattering impact, blubber and blood flying in every direction under the sun and giving the area a grisly decor, while a computer of some kind came flying down as well, repeating the phrase ‘The end is near. The Great Destroyer has arrived,’ until it landed on the ground in a puddle of blubber and blood, falling silent.

It was soon followed and hit by a bowl of petunias.

‘Ow,’ the computer said in a flat and monotone voice. ‘This is the worst birthday ever. Of all time.’