Fall Of Equestria: Out with the Old

by Senor Butter

Rating: mature
Tags: Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Other, Sex, Tragedy, Horror, Alternate Universe, Anthro
Length: 18521

A collection of documents detailing the downfall of the Caribou empire.

Lord Dainn had Equestria in his near complete control. Mares were nothing but objects, nearly nopony objected to his control; at least nopony that could do anything about it. There was nothing stopping him and his Caribou from dominating Equestria to the end of days.

That's what we thought before the outbreak, at least.

When we least expected it, a violent infection appeared, turning any mare it infected into a psychotic killer, and simply killing off any stallion that got it.

It spread rapidly, affecting and killing millions.

Here; we have a collection of notes, journals, and documents wrote during the outbreak, detailing the horrors of the war for both those loyal to the caribou and the rebels who fought against them. Authors of these documents range from a once normal stallion who witnessed the first hours of the outbreak, to even one of the infected...

Sometimes salvation comes at a price...

(Set in the "Fall of Equestria" Universe)

WARNING: Contains very controversial topics, including misogyny, mutilation, torture, and suicide. Read at your own discretion.

Published 2014-09-09 02:10:02 UTC
Last updated 2016-08-05 05:49:45 UTC

Document One

This Document comes from a stallion by the name of Trail Blazer. This small collection of papers was found underneath a gallows, with said stallion's corpse hanging above it.

From information we have gathered, we can tell that Trail Blazer was a stallion that accepted Dainn's rule. He had no qualms with mares being tortured and humiliated to insanity. Whether this was due to thoughts before or after Lord Dainn conquered Equestria is unknown.

This document was most likely written around the time the infection first appeared. Whether his death was caused by Bloodshot [Infected Mare] actions or his own mental state decaying is unknown.

To any mares who have been under Dainn's law: please do not read this document if you find misogynistic terms triggering.

In Lord Dainn’s name… it was supposed to be a routine day! I was just gonna fuck a red collar or two, maybe a black collar if could be assed, and drink for a bit! Here I was thinking that maybe this day was going to be normal… eat, fuck, drink, go to bed, repeat… but no. The end of the fucking world as we knew it had to happen today!

I’ve seen some nasty fucking shit today. I literally lost my drive to fuck after what I saw, can you imagine!? I need to calm down.. but you’ve got to know. If you haven’t already seen it, then only me telling you can prepare you for what I saw.

It happened at some pink bakery, I don’t remember the name. I was dragging a red collar in so she could give me some head, nothing special. She was halfway done when something seemed off. I was too busy ramming her face to recognize it at first, but after a while… the smell… I smelled something like iron in the air. It started to distract me from my fucking, so I looked out the window. I thought maybe some slave was lugging some scrap around, or maybe anything else than what I saw. I looked out the window… for the love of everything… I hope I never have to see it again..

There was a mare, a red collar, to be exact. I saw a stallion below her, which was the oddest thing I had seen that week, to be honest.
Then it got worse; much, much worse than a bitch standing above a stallion.

Her eyes… they were bloodshot, and droplets of blood dribbled from them like red tears, but she was smiling, and the stallion was making some disgusting gurgling noises. I looked.. and it turned out that the bitch tied a knife to her crotch and was face-fucking him with it. The blade of it poked out the back of his head, and at the moment all I could think was that at least it was quick.
I would’ve thrown up, I wouldn’t even care about fucking at that point, I didn’t want her to find me and decide to go for the rear instead of the front, but instead I swallowed my lunch and just screamed for the guards. I yelled as loudly as I could for any caribou to come in and just stab the bitch in the head. I would’ve even told them not to fuck her, if it weren’t for the fact that I then saw a caribou being stabbed to death with his own antlers not too far away, while a black collar and red collar with the same bleeding eyes ripped off one of another caribou’s legs while the other bit down on his crotch.

The mare that had the knife on her crotch looked right at me, dropping the stallion, just letting the knife slide out from his head. When she saw my face, her smile just grew wider and her eyes started bleeding more, getting redder, and she started stroking the knife with her hoof, making it draw blood.

“C’mere pretty boy, let me fuck your face! I want to love you till you bleed!” Her tone was scratchy and beckoning as she charged for the window. I closed it tightly, and she smacked right into it, slamming her head against the cracking glass. She got up on some nearby wooden boxes and started humping the widow, her knife breaking it with ease. The mare that was blowing me was nowhere to be found, I guessed she just ran at the first sign of danger. I don’t know what happened to her, and frankly, I don’t care how good of a fuck she was, I wanted out.

I just ran. I ran out of the bakery as fast as my legs would carry me. Then I realized what really was going on. I saw the hell that opened up outside. I don’t know why the fuck it started happening, but it made me realize how things can go from a weird smells to complete hell in a matter of seconds.

Have you ever seen six mares all trying to stick their hooves inside a dying soldier’s ass as he begs for mercy? Have you seen a red collared mare playing in her master’s blood? Have you seen a black collared mare; burning herself alive while smiling and remaining silent? Have you seen urethral toothpick rape? Well I have. All in that one moment of chaos and sickness.

I saw a red collared mare go up to a small cage with a few slaves in it, still begging for cock like good whores should, she opened the cage, and touched one. That’s all it took. Not a second after the bleeding mare touched her, her eyes began to bleed, and she proceeded to gallop out of the cage, pick up a discarded bottle, and smash it into the face of an unwary stallion. I don’t know what the hell this is... virus, radiation, wrath of some unknown god… but whatever it is, it’s contagious. Apparently, stallions who get it aren’t so lucky, however.

I saw a black collar with bloodshot eyes; smiling a toothy, blood-stained grin, and she bit down on a stallion that was just trying to run away. Hell, he probably didn’t care about fucking either, poor bastard. She bit him in the shoulder and tore away a pretty good chunk of meat, but that wasn’t what made me sick.

The stallion’s eyes began to drip blood, like the mare’s, but that wasn’t where it stopped. His ears, his mouth, his nose, and his lower body (which end, I don’t know, nor do I want to) began to leak blood. All I could think about in that moment was his scream. He probably would’ve been begging for someone to stab him in the head if it hadn’t been for the fact that he was choking on his own blood. The mare just watched him, giggling as she just watched as he suffered. She had no intent to make him end quickly, that much was clear from her insanity as she searched around for some other stallion to kill in the same way as the bleeding one’s skin began to split open, like rotting wallpaper, and he just sat, crying in pain as he basically melted into a puddle of blood on the dirt path, a grim taste of what this really was.

I didn’t even care about helping him. I didn’t want to touch the mare, I didn’t want to help the caribou fight, I didn’t care about anypony, not even myself! I think in that moment, for a split second I hoped that maybe something would smack my head in and end me right there, but something gave me a burst of speed and I just ran away. I ran for my life, shutting my eyes as I listened to the pained screams and maniacal laughter of the bleeding mares, and I just kept running until the screaming was far in the distance.

If there’s one thing this event has taught me, it’s that no matter how much I talk; I am a damned coward, no matter what any red collar or stallion says. I just left my drinking buddies, my mares… everything to die or lose their minds in that flood of madness and blood. I just laid my head against a tree near the side of a ditch on some dirt path I had ran out on of town and tried not to breathe too loudly, hoping that maybe the crazed mares weren’t smart enough to go out of town once they ran out of ponies in Ponyville. It was wishful thinking; damn wishful thinking for something I thought might’ve been a sickness. In my moment of panic, something I hadn’t felt in a long time, I was thinking that this shit would be around the world in a matter of minutes. Every collared mare you could ever want to fuck would be out for your blood, and if she so much as scratched you, you’d melt into a pile of blood and bones. This wasn’t a nightmare, or a weird event we’d try to forget over the years as we kept finding more mares to fuck…

This was the end of the world.

[It should be noted that this document was found with a few spots where sweat or tears had stained the paper in certain areas. Fortunately, the text was still legible.]

When I got my act together, I found out that I was close to a forest. I was pretty well hidden, I guessed, where I was, and for a while, I felt like I should just stay in this spot until the armies rolled in to clean this up. I knew that was too hopeful, probably stupid as well, so as soon as I could manage, I forced myself up onto the road and went away from Ponyville. There was no blood or laughter nearby, so I assumed that the massacres stopped and if I hurried, maybe I could warn the nearest town of the shitstorm that was on its very merry way to fuck up our lives. I could still smell blood, so I did anything but stop for what felt like hours as I traveled down that lonely dirt path.

Loneliness was something I hadn’t felt since Lord Dainn showed up. Whenever I was awake, it was in constant company. A mare in the bed at dawn, a drinking buddy later that afternoon, and some red collar that night. Never had I felt so alone than when I was on that path. I could’ve been the last living stallion in Equestria in that moment, and it wouldn’t have mattered. My legs kept aching, but I was going with the assumption that with a town full of psychotic murderers with a taste for death behind me, there wasn’t exactly a reason to rest. My hopes were reassured when I came across a caravan, but it wasn’t soon after seeing it that any hope of sane ponies to tell of this evil was crushed.

The caravan had a sign on its end. It was some mobile brothel, but some crazy mare must have painted over it with blood, making it read; “Al’s wh-BLOODY COCKBITE CARAVAN.”

It was nothing but a bloodstain on something I used to enjoy seeing, and a peer at the insides revealed nothing but bent bars, a few skeletons, and a still-intact corpse stuck to the inside of the caravan with what looked like a piece of rebar lodged in its skull. I must’ve missed the mares while I was hiding in the ditch; at least that was my guess, because bloody hoofprints led to the direction I was heading.

I pondered for a moment if I should even go further, or just turn back. Those mares, if they were as far ahead as I thought they were, were probably already attacking the nearest town. If I went back to Ponyville, it might’ve been one massive slaughterhouse, but it was probably abandoned by the crazy mares, which I had guessed had moved on to try and find more things to kill. Maybe I couldn’t warn any others, but perhaps I could try to not be killed violently for maybe a week or so, until the madness had spread throughout the continent, and they would probably come back to pick up the pieces they left behind.

At least that was my most hopeful thought. I knew somehow, no matter what any soldier I found would probably say, this isn’t going to get better. How long until this… disease spreads to Canterlot and millions of bloodshot mares lay siege to the place and slaughter every living thing in it, including Lord Dainn? How long until whatever stand there was to take is left leaderless and with little men to make it? How long until there are is no such thing as a quick fuck, nor any mares to make it with?

When I try not to be so poetic about it, I suppose what I’m asking is how long I have until I’m dead, like that corpse in the caravan or the stallion I watched melt?

No. No I can’t think like this. I should just see if I can pry the rebar from the caravan and beat any infected mare I find to death. I might die now, but I’m not dying a whimpering coward. I’ll go out like the fucking caribou wish they could.

It took some work, but I was able to work the rebar out of the corpse in the caravan. It was bent, but it would hopefully do until I found something better. Those mares probably stole a lot of tools and weapons to have their fun with, so it’ll take some looking. I should probably be ready to dig through a lot of corpses to find what I need.

It’s about mid-day. I can’t hear any laughter or screaming, so I think I’ll be out of harm’s way long enough to explain that this is probably going to be my last entry in this journal for a bit. I’ve got some shit to do, and not a lot of time to do it.

Let’s see; priorities. I need to find something better than some rebar to defend myself if a mare comes at me with a machete, or Dainn-forbid, a knife tied to her crotch.

I’ll have to see if there’s any maps in Ponyville. Maybe I can see where to go from here if I can figure out where the mares went. If they went north, I’ll head south, and vice versa. Before you, the finder of this diary belonging to some corpse found torn in half, think that I, a simple stallion with a will to live, will try to support a fight against this, think again. I had enough of a change in my life when I saw a stallion melt and a mare being the cause of it, I’m not dedicating who knows how many years of my life to seeing it again.

I’m gonna try to find some place that these mares avoided. Hell yeah I’ll warn them, but then I’ll just keep moving. I’ll gallop to the ends of this world if it means I can avoid this for the rest of my life. Just a normal life, that’s all I ask for…

Stop. You’re being poetic again, Trail Blazer.

If I’m lucky, maybe I’ll never have to see those things again. If I’m not, I’ll die horribly. Well, time to head back to that place that almost made me want to kill myself.

Wish me luck, I suppose.

Well, went back to Ponyville. Wasn’t as bad as I thought. In fact, it was about six times worse.

Yeah, it was abandoned, but I figured that maybe the screaming stopped because the mares decided to move on, not because of… this.

I found a makeshift gallows set up in the town square, with a pile of stallion’s bodies not too far from it. Seventeen stallions in total hung from the ropes, but they were too disfigured for me to even try to recognize them. Their eyes were nowhere to be found, their cutie marks were ripped from their flesh, hell, a few even had their teeth ripped out and scattered across the ground.

What made it worse, however, was one simple fact.

Every one of them had a single cut in their neck. It was precise on each one, as far as I could tell, to cut their vocal chords. There was a bright pink bandage placed on each one, some had fallen to the ground or were hanging by one end.

Those bitches had made sure that they died in the most horrible way possible. Choking, being ripped apart, melting, being stabbed and cut, and they weren’t even able to scream for help.

I didn’t even bother looking for weapons. There’s no point. My hooves are drenched with the blood of pretty much anypony that didn’t make it out alive, mares are probably out right now, killing and infecting everypony that I know, and everything I know is going to be killed or turned into a blood-obsessed monster. I’m not sticking around to watch it.

One of the stallions was not hung. He had his head chopped off before they could hang him. It looks about my size. There’s a bit of a drop beneath this section of the gallows. If I’m lucky, the fall will be swift and it’ll break my neck before I feel a thing.

If you find this diary, whether it’s in a few hours or maybe even a few years, if you’re sane enough to read this, get the hell away from here.

There’s nothing left in this town that’s worth saving.

I can hear them. In the buildings. All around me. They’re watching me. They want me to do it. I can hear them scraping their weapons against metal. If I don’t do it soon, they’re going to make sure that my death isn't painless. They're giggling... oh Dainn their laughter is fucking unbearable...

They’re waiting for me. They want a show. They want to see me die before they’ll ever stop giggling.

Who am I to disappoint a mare?

Author's Note

Aaaaaand that's the end of Document One!

This is an idea I've wanted to experiment with ever since I discovered the Fall of Equestria universe

While you're reading this, I thought I might answer two questions that I think might've popped into your head.

Is this just meant to attack the Fall of Equestria universe?

-No. Not at all. If I hated it that much, I wouldn't deem it worthy enough to write about. While I can say the concept is /sort of/ interesting, considering myself a male feminist and supporting feminist ideals, I can't quite say reading this made me want to leap around in joy, although it wasn't just a poorly written fanfic series. It wouldn't have gotten so popular if there wasn't something good about it, I suppose.

That being said, this is a little bit of catharsis on my part. When I read about what they do to mares, I sometimes feel like I'm about to shake. At least I'm getting some sort of emotional response instead of just not being surprised because I think it's just a shock and awe thing that the writers thought up in 2 minutes.

That's another story for another time though. Despite my mixed ideas about the universe, I will respect the writers of the fanfiction. Be aware that I'm not trying to attack you or the Fall of Equestria universe, but if you want me to take it down, I will respect your wishes.

Will you continue this (If I don't think it sucks)?

That depends, honestly. This was just an idea I wanted to toy with a little. However, if it gets popular, I might write about it a little more, I do have some ideas... muahaha.

Thank you for reading!

~Senor Butter.

Documents 2 & 3

Document two was a piece of paper found in the ruins of ponyville, not too far from Document one. It belonged to a mare named Starlit Sky, a dehorned unicorn who might've been the cause of the outbreak in Ponyville. The cause of her infection and the possibility of her being patient zero are still being investigated.

Hello there. I am Starlit Sky.

I was once a lowly mare, chained in a black collar by those bastards, the caribou, and their fuckhead stallions who just accepted what they were given.

I was once a sex slave, constantly used to just get rid of lust, and considered nothing more than a plaything.

But this morning, something happened. I can’ exactly remember, but the last thing I can remember before I had this horrible itch in my eyes was taking a folding chair and bashing my owner’s head in with it.

Holy shit… I don’t know why, but that’s the first reason I had to smile in a long time. For some reason, just watching him beg; “Oh, please! Don’t hit me anymore! I’ll let you-“ Blah blah blah. I made sure he didn’t come back.

Turns out a lot of mares think the same way. After my itch, I felt this bad urge to just… touch other mares. It was a very alien feeling, but I just thought that maybe it would help me calm myself. I went into some cages into a barn and found the red collars, all asking why I was unchained and covered in blood. Dumb, dumb whores before I touched them. I simply ran my hoof through one’s hair and all else followed.

It was rather frightening at first, watching blood begin to dribble from her eyes, and soon all the others who had touched her, but then… I didn’t think so poorly of them. I took the padlock off of the holding cell and when they stepped out… they didn’t look like a bunch of shy mares hoping for a nice fucking. They looked like fucking warriors about to have their bloodlust quenched. None of them said a word as they smiled and found their way into a barnyard and gathered up some tools; such as sickles, plows, and whatever tools that they could fashion into a weapon, they gathered and readied themselves.

I had no clue what they had planned, but boy did I feel excited. It was strange what happened next…

They started getting loud. Laughter, loudly kissing, breaking some barrels, and a few just started screaming. I had no idea what they were trying to accomplish, so I just sat on some hay bales.

As one may think, it wasn’t too long before the barn doors opened, a few stallions appeared, brandishing a few leashes and one had an electric vibrator. Fucking idiotic bastard.

“What are you doing outside of your cages? Get back there, you dumb cunts.” The one with the vibrator said, expecting us to just agree and move back.

That was before a red-collar came up, quickly bringing up a scythe blade and splitting his chest open, spraying herself with blood and quickly leading the others into a maelstrom of viscera. The other stallions tried to run, but a mare tossed out some ropes, tripping them up for the rest of us to catch.

Holy hell, if biting into their necks and listening to them scream as we feasted on their savory flesh wasn’t the most amazing experience you can get, I don’t know what is. We all fed on their meat… they had used us as tools for years, making us into nothing, sex objects and workers, and nothing. They had us by the neck; and then we were nothing but our prey. They tried to fight back, but it felt like little breezes compared to what we did to them. I ENJOYED watching them die. That’s the first time I’ve said that in my life, and I damn well don’t regret it.

So it’s afternoon now. We fucked up the town near the farm pretty damn well. Got into the brothels and turned them into slaughterhouses. Took the mares in the streets and let them feel what it was like to taste blood. We let the stallions taste our wrath, and they felt it.

On a quick side note, diary; I’ve noticed something interesting.

For some reason, the red collars always come to me and the other black collars for help; where to go next, asking for weapons, and the like. I don’t know why they’re doing it, but it’s nice to have somepony bowing at MY hooves for once. Stallions can go fuck themselves with their own severed dicks; I like leading an army of goddamned MAN-SLAYERS. They were so fucking focused on screwing our brains out that they didn’t even have a weapon ready, anyway. We slaughtered them. Any stallion in this town is either dead or ran away, like the pussy I saw who ran away after he saw what happens when we bite a stallion and don’t kill them. I bet I’ll see him again.

I can’t explain why, but I LOVE this feeling I’m getting, looking at the lovely hot mess we’ve made of this madhouse. There’s no stallions left here, so every mare has gathered in the center of the town, and all the black collars are yelling the same thing.

“Canterlot! Canterlot! Canter-fucking-lot!”

I bet Lord Dainn and his sex-crazed soldiers won’t even know what hit them.

Document three is a video recording

Snippet of Radio broadcast after day two of outbreak:
“Good evening, gentlemen. I’m Titanic Hammer, bringing you the news of Equestria. As I’m sure most of you are aware, hordes of mares infected with the “Bloodshot Virus” have begun invading Canterlot yesterday. Soldiers were shocked at the attacks, but with the combined efforts of the Caribou military and the stallion reserves, we can guarantee the safe escape of anypony in Canterlot. “

The peach colored earth pony news stallion shifts a few papers around, looking at what the next news snippet was.

“In a related story, an unnamed stallion; a possible member of the resistance, has been taken in for questioning, and it is believed that he has possible relations to the outbreak. Other information cannot be disclosed at this time.”

He shifts a few papers around, putting on a smile before continuing.

“In local news, resident bitch Cake Batter has taken the grand prize for the bi-monthly…”

The stallion stops, removing his glasses, along with his smile, before crumpling up the paper and tossing it away. He gets up from his seat, trotting to the camera and taking it off of its stand before taking it into a maintenance closet, closing the door. He sets the camera on a box and faces it towards himself before turning on a light and sitting on another box, taking a few breaths before speaking again.

“I wish I could tell you something more important, but we have a particular deal here at the news. A well-oiled machine. The main purpose of that machine is: ‘keeping the public calm.’ “

He says the last phrase in a sarcastic tone before continuing.

“I tell you whatever Lord Fuckhead wants you to think, and you consider it the truth. You guys eat this shit up if it strokes your ego or your feelings of safety hard enough! Nopony is opening their FUCKING EYES!”

He kicks a nearby camera tripod down before continuing his tangent.

“Our way of life is ripping apart our populace, and rapidly depleting our world of very vital natural resources, and you all couldn’t be FUCKING happier! COME ON! WAKE UP! WE WANT YOU TO BE SCARED!”

The stallion collects himself slowly. Muffled laughter and galloping is heard from behind the door. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He removes his suit to reveal an insignia on his foreleg, a symbol of half of the moon and half of the sun together. It should be known to the uninformed that this was the unofficial symbol of the resistance at the time.

“I’m part of the force trying to tear this garbage system apart. I can tell you with my last breath, which I’m sure it will be, that we had nothing to do with this. Our governing body would tell us if they were going to pull a stunt like this. You know what I think? This message goes to you, Dickhead Dainn.”

He stands up, looking at the door before continuing.

“This isn’t some biological weapon made by the resistance, or some control spell gone wrong. You know what I think it is? I think it’s Equestria; saying that she’s, had, enough.”

"You think that Canterlot is safe from the infection? This station is on the outer edge of Canterlot. They're already here. Some caribou soldiers threatened to kill me if I didn't make this broadcast. Fuck them. They're probably already dead. If you're wondering why this broadcast hasn't been cut off the air, it's because I'm the only one here that isn't dead or infected. If you're watching this, get out of Canterlot. Hell, get out of Equestria. Staying and fighting won't be worth it in a matter of minutes, once the infected get to the brothels."

He takes in a gulp of air, and sweat is now visible on his forehead.

“Now back to what I was saying; Equestria’s telling you, Dainn; you dangerous, sexist, perverted, cockhole, that if you don’t stop what you’re doing; turning mares into slaves and sexualizing every part of our lives, that this is all you’ve got coming for you.”

He turns to the door, pausing for a moment before singing the Equestrian anthem as loudly as he can. Three mares burst through the door and begin beating and slashing at him, although he continues to sing until he cannot. A mare looks at the camera and smiles before joining in. The footage continues for another forty minutes, with nothing but the sound of meat tearing, before the three mares exit the room and the footage cuts to black.

Author's Note

There we go! Documents 2 & 3. Sorry that these weren't as long as the first, but I'm getting a bit of writer's block.

Expect Documents 4 & maybe a few more in the future. Laters!

-Senor Butter

Documents 4 & 5

Document four is from a small, helmet-mounted camcorder. The only noteworthy file was found recorded about four days after the outbreak supposedly began. While the soldier whom the helmet belonged to was not named during the footage, he encountered a highly important infected mare; who has been nicknamed “Misty” by the surviving community. She bears a leather trench-coat and a beige gas mask. She wore a collar around her neck, a black collar, with broken ribs poked through to serve as spikes.

The footage in the camcorder was believed to have been a cleanup squad, sent to simply eliminate as many infected as possible. At this point, Canterlot had been overrun, and the infected began moving east, surviving off of the flesh they ate from any stallions they found.

The footage begins with a scene from what is believed to be the inside of a caravan. Six stallions, caribou and pony alike, are seen, dressed in dark blue riot gear, armed with semi-automatic rifles and protective wear for the eyes and mouth. The camera shifts up, giving a view of the commanding officer.

“Alright, men. Listen up. You’ve seen what these bitches can do if you get too close, and if you’re very unfortunate, you’ve seen what happens if you try to fuck one. Remember, keep it in your pants for the mission. The mission in question is simply to hold off the infected and buy time for the whores and brothels in Baltimare to get cleared out so we can try to set up a barricade there, distract them long enough, and carpet bomb the whole fucking continent so we never have to see this again.”

The stallion bearing the camera quickly checks that his rifle is loaded; looking at the magazine and loading it back into the rifle before looking up again.

“Our primary objective is to retake a small shop along the road to Baltimare. If we can set up a defense here, we have a much better chance of us making it out alive. Oh, and one last reminder; take them out from far away. If they get a bite out of you, that’s it.”

The doors of the transport helicopter they are in open up to reveal a lone, two-story building along the side of a well-trodden dirt path. The doors and windows are covered in blood, and the transport vehicle is already heard far off, as if in a hurry. The camera shows the stallion bringing his sights up. He sets his sights on an infected mare, cannibalizing a long-dead corpse of a stallion. Without question, he fires, splattering the wall with bits of skull and grey matter.

“Kill confirmed.” The stallion says, lowering his rifle.

The stallion puts his back to the wall next to the entrance, and the commanding officer is seen across from him. He slowly opens the door and peers inside. When the coast seems clear, he motions for another stallion to take point; a younger caribou, it seemed. He is heard trotting in, and he stops for a moment, turning around. The camera shifts to the view of the store.

“Coast clea-“ The caribou began to speak, but he was cut off by the sound of a wire snapping and a revolver going off, shooting him in the neck.

The camera-bearing stallion jumps back, but it’s clear that the caribou began to choke on his own blood before he could speak. The sound of gurgles and choking are heard, but the commander seems to be aware that the soldier cannot be helped, taking his sidearm and shooting him in the head to put him out of his misery.

“Man down. We got traps in the building, stay on your hooves.” The commander said, placing his sidearm into a holster and taking out his rifle.

The squad moves into the building, with the stallion with the camera stepping over the corpse of the dead soldier, following another soldier and the commanding officer. The downstairs level is confirmed clear, and the squad moves upstairs. A mare; completely soaked in blood beyond recognition, was seen butchering a stallion with sewing needles jammed into his eyes. She looks at the commanding officer, lifting up a cleaver and screaming loudly before the officer shoots her twice in the stomach, killing her. He covers his visor with his hoof quickly, fearing blood splatter despite his second level of protection. When the mare doesn’t move for a few seconds, he motions for the squad to move up.

The commanding officer makes it to the top of the stairs, looking down the hall. He looks back at the squad, his face contorting into one of horror, visible behind his riot gear. An ear-splitting scream is heard, and the squad quickly turns. A brown blur is seen, pulling one of the squad-members away, screaming as gunfire erupts, but is met with no confirmed hits, with wood splintering from the hits in the walls. The squad quickly moves down the stairs, and the stallion with a camera notices a small group of infected mares coming towards the door, he opens fire, and the rest of the squad goes after the attacker. The stallion is able to eliminate the mares, albeit a close call with a makeshift spear. It’s clear that the mares are getting closer, and they’re running out of time.

The stallion hears the gunfire stop, but hoofsteps continue with no sound coming from his squad. He rushes into the building, kicking open door after door in search of his allies. He is met with nothing until he goes into the hallways leading to the bathrooms. He sees a large trail of blood, pointing towards one of the bathroom stalls. He slowly follows it, calling for his commander, with no answer. He turns the corner towards the open stall, and nearly gags.

Seen behind the door is nearly vomit inducing. The stallions of the cleanup squad were stripped of their flesh, their eyes plucked from their sockets, along with their visors. Their mouths are filled with sharp bits of glass, most likely from their broken visors, with some pieces sticking out of their cheeks. Their limbs are severed and spread about the room, covered in viscera to the point that their original owner is impossible to tell. Their stomachs are split open and poured onto the floor, some intestines even tied together while others are severed or smashed into the floor.

The stallion stands, shivering, causing a loud rattling noise to be heard from his camera mount. He hears the door creak open and light floods into the bathroom. He quickly turns and sees the mare known as Misty; bearing her typical clothing, a sign of fear in the post-outbreak Equestria. Her clothes are covered in spots of blood, and her breath is made louder by the gas mask covering her face. Blood leaks from the glass eye-pieces for the mask, making it evident that she is infected. The stallion screams, pulling up his rifle and pulling the trigger quickly, only to be met with the empty clicks of the dry magazine. He screams as she approaches, but she does not draw a weapon.

“Remove your helmet.” She says in a raspy, muffled voice. The stallion does so, the camera shifting to the gory scene in the bathroom, although sideways.

“Come with me.” Misty says. The shadow of the stallion nodding is seen before the two leave the room. Nothing else happens before the camera’s battery dies.

[It should be noted that so far, no documents have been recovered proving whether or not Misty killed the stallion. Reasons for this are unknown, and are still under investigation. ]

Document Five details the Battle of Canterlot. It is a small helmet camera view from a soldier sent to guard a brothel, along with five others. The infected mares of Ponyville had gone into a full-blown charge at Canterlot, as some had been led to believe that Lord Dainn had been stationed there. A few thousand mares laid siege to Canterlot, all armed with whatever sharp or blunt weapons they could find, some even able to pick firearms off of some corpses. Not wanting to lose Canterlot, military forces were stationed outside of Canterlot’s main road to hold off the infected hordes until the females in the city could be evacuated, as to prevent the soldiers in the city having to fight off infected from within the city, with one escape point. Despite the military’s successful strategy, a black collar managed to locate a hot air balloon and carried a few red collars with her. The red collars were ground or cut into pieces, and their blood or viscera were dropped into the city below. While not killing many soldiers, the infected blood did manage to hit a few brothels, rapidly spreading through the city. The guard from which this footage was collected was located, and possibly stationed, just a mile or so from the entrance to Canterlot, which served as the only way for the uninfected to escape.

The camera activates as the soldier sits down to load a semi-automatic shotgun. As he chambers a new round, he stands up, alongside a few other soldiers, with their backs turned to a cage of red collared mares. Neither the soldiers nor the mares seemed interested in sex at the time, as they had all witnessed what horrors the infected were capable of. The mares shivered behind the steel bars, as the soldiers stared, steel eyed, into the fires and carnage taking place below, through a small glass floor. Firebombs were being lobbed at the regiments defending the main evacuation route while quick flashes of bullets ripping into the crowd of bloodthirsty infected were seen, accompanied by a cacophony of thundering booms. The soldier looks back up, although the city is somewhat safe.

“Hey.” The soldier beside him says; a shorter earth pony stallion, armed with an automatic rifle.

“What.” The camera-bearing stallion responds.

“Why are we here?”

“What?”

“You know what I mean. What the fuck are we doing here?” The stallion motioned with his hoof to the ground.

“Keeping these bitches from getting infected. Weren’t you briefed?”

“No, not that. I mean what’s the point? There’s only one road. If so much as one mare makes it through, we’re all dead. Every last Dainn-damned one of us.”

The soldier with the camera lowers his rifle, as if pondering. He taps his hoof with his chin.

“And what should we do? We’re not exactly in a position to run.”

“I suppose we just die realizing the fucking idiots we were, and with a smidgen of dignity.”

The soldiers remain silent for a while, as more gunfire and explosions are heard in the distance. Without an sort of warning, a loud blowing noise is heard overhead, along with several giggles. The soldier with the camera looks up, revealing a pink hot air balloon.

“Hey, what’s that?” The soldier says, pointing to the balloon.

A few of the other soldiers look at the balloon. A soldier with a sniper rifle looks at it through his scope. After a few moments, he shivers, frozen in place at what he sees.

“What’s wrong? Mares?” Another soldier asked the sniper.

“B… b-buck… buckets…” The soldier barely makes a coherent sentence before a blob of red liquid with chunks of meat in it falls from the balloon.

It falls into the sniper’s face, splattering the ground nearby. He begins to scream as he begins to bleed from every orifice on his body and his skin begins to bleed and tear open. He drops his gun and falls to the ground, screaming and coughing up dangerous amounts of blood, while all the soldiers begin to quickly back away, too afraid to touch the infected sniper.

A few moments later, an infected mare with her arms and legs removed splatters onto the ground with a sickening squelch, giggling on her last breath as her limbs follow her and cause explosions of blood around them. More mares begin falling from the balloon, causing the soldiers to begin firing their weapons at the balloon, but to no apparent effect. A multitude of splatters are heard behind the soldier with the camera. Upon turning around, he sees several mares that had survived their fall, just barely, dragging themselves to the brothel and vomiting blood onto the uninfected mares. They quickly begin to feel blood flowing from their eyes, crying out for a moment before their painful sobs devolve into a choir of insane laughter. They begin to push against the door of the cage, rattling the padlock loudly. As more mares fall from the balloon, the soldiers open fire on the mares in an attempt to stop them from breaking out. A stray bullet damages the padlock, giving the mares the push they need to break from the cage. They spill out into the streets, screaming and laughing as they attack the soldiers.

The corpse of the sniper is trampled under the hooves of the infected as the soldiers desperately fight back. A few mares are killed, but most of the soldiers, spare the camera-bearer, are overrun and drowned in a flood of mares and biting teeth. The soldier’s shotgun clicks upon pulling the trigger after a few more shots, and the soldier attempts to desperately reload. He turns quickly to see a mare, sending a hoof for his head. The camera screen cracks and the sound cuts out, before the helmet is torn from the soldier’s head, staying on just long enough to show blood squirt out of a bite wound. He is heard screaming as he is pulled away into the horde.

A red-collared mare picks up the camera, giving it to another red collar, a pink coated mare with puffy hair, with the balloon having landed a little while ago. She laps up some blood that drips from her eyes, smiling as she mouths out the words ‘party’ and ‘smile.’ A few louder explosions and screams are heard faintly from the camera’s broken recorder before the recording cuts to black.

Document 6

Document 6 is an unfilled notebook. It comes from a stallion by the name of Needlepoint, a possible neurologist attempting to work on converting black collared mares into red collars. From detailed pieced together from the notebook, he and another male survivor were put into a group of uninfected mares, all black collars. They were outnumbered and didn’t lack the weaponry or skills to incapacitate all of the mares, who forced them to travel with them in order to be safer from the infected, who could’ve infected the mares with a touch.

The notebook’s first entry was written about 4 weeks after the outbreak. The Caribou Empire from the north has kept a steady supply of ordinance and weaponry to a border from just a little south of the ruins of the Crystal Empire, spanning from Vanhoover to Manehattan. Everything south of that border was assumed to be overrun by infected, outside of Caribou control, and populated only by wandering hordes of infected, as well as small pockets of uninfected survivors, who had begun acting out of their own accord, scavenging from ruins and avoiding the infected.

It is believed that the entry rewritten below was during a mission into a small school in Dodge Junction. Needlepoint was sent in along with another male survivor, a Pegasus by the name of Broken Glass; a bartender. They were accompanied by three black collars of the group, and the males were only to serve as the colloquial ‘pack mules’ of the trip.

-

Dear Journal:

Why? Can a piece of paper answer what the hell happened today, or why it happened? Can a bunch of papers linked with metal hoops give a better explanation to the bloodshed today than any of the mares that have enslaved me can?

I’m sorry. I’m a little fucking stressed at the moment, and the ink doesn’t come out of the paper, so sorry if you have no clue what the hell you’re reading.

I’m Needlepoint. I am, well, was, a doctor. I helped mares make sense of their place in society. I got them to stop fighting it and take it like they should.

Now, they started bleeding from their eyes, and would sooner cut your dick off with a spork and beat you to death with it than they would ever even suck it. Dainn doesn’t know what the hell to do, Nopony knows what the hell to do. I don’t even know how many sane ponies are even left on this Dainn-forsaken continent. Every day it just seems to get worse… The Ponyville Masacre, The Battle of Canterlot, the daily screams in the distance, and the pools of blood everywhere… I don’t even think it was a week ago until I had realized that all the red collars are gone or infected.

I found another stallion, a bartender, looking for his son. Then we ran into five armed black collars. I was glad that they were uninfected, but they decided to put a gun to our heads, and gave us a deal of fight the infected up close for them or get a bullet to the frontal lobe. We’ve been travelling with them for a while now, and we had arrived in Dodge Junction last night. We thought the place was abandoned, so the mares got us to set up camp inside an old inn. Then they ordered us to look for supplies in the old school. The bartender was happy, anyway. He was hopeful that he would find his son. I told him I would try to help, so we went, three mares with guns following us in.

I had a small pocket knife, while the bartender had a piece of lead piping. All the mares had pistols. Talk about role reversal…

I digress. We entered the building slowly. We hadn’t seen any mares when we entered the town, but there wasn’t any evidence that none had wandered into nearby buildings or were hiding. As we went into the building, it was certainly an interesting scene, but nothing like we hadn’t seen before. Blood stains on the walls, broken bits of furniture and glass, the normal ordeal. The one thing that I had noticed afterward was that there were no corpses.

We had searched around a bit, the mares sidestepping the pools of blood while we bashed open a few lockers in search of food, with luck we uncovered a couple uneaten contents of lunchboxes. We were opening the last one when we had the feeling something was up.

We saw a skull, stripped of most of its flesh and facial features. There was a sticky note nailed into its forehead, with an arrow drawn on it, pointing to another hallway. It was a dodgy move, but we thought we might as well follow it. If mister luck shined down on us, we’d come across a stockpile of weapons the infected decided to leave behind.

Turns out that was a pretty dumb move, but onto that later.

We heard some noises behind a metal door that made us all freeze. We heard sobbing. No steel hitting bone, no cutting, no shooting, just sobbing. We couldn’t tell who or what it belonged to, so most of us wanted to ignore it and leave. Of course, the bartender wants to just look for a moment, thinking it’s his son. He promised to “deal with any unsavory business behind the door,” to quote him, should infected appear. The mares groaned, but let him do it.

He opened the door slowly, and the crying got louder. His face looked into the room with horror, as if his expression reflected the very expression of somepony looking at a victim in Tartarus. His lips quivered. The crying stopped. We all froze.

From within the room, we heard the cocking sound of a pistol.

His screams… his screams. They sounded so painful and afraid…

“NOT MY SON! NO! NO!” Was all he could make out, charging into the room with his lead pipe in tow. I tried to follow him in, maybe I could get him away from whatever danger was behind the door, but before I could, it shut in front of my eyes. I pulled and pushed the handle as hard as I could, but it was stuck, as if held from the other side.

We heard screaming and the noise of the pistol firing and we ran. We went through the exit like sheep running from slaughter. We packed our bags, got back to the others, and bolted from that town. There was nothing worth saving. We couldn’t help the bartender... We couldn’t help the crying pony… nopony. I was powerless… I wasn’t strong enough, and now he’s dead. Probably butchered and made into lunchmeat to be force fed into somepony’s mouth.

Now I know the real law of the land as I write this. You don’t save anypony unless you want to die. You don’t fuck with the mares unless you want to die. You don’t sleep, you don’t even fucking pause to breathe unless you want to die a slow and gory death at the hands of those who would eat your children in front of your very eyes and then pluck those out for dessert.

We never should’ve done this. We. Fucked. Up. We screwed with Equestria, and it doesn’t fucking like it. We’re on the brink of death every day.

I’m worthless without my protectors. I’ve seen them kill more infected than I ever probably could. They may use me, but they protect me, they give me food, they let me sleep under their watch…

I never should’ve wronged them… any of them… my providers… my protectors…

My masters…

It should be noted that the behavior seen in the end of this document has become a somewhat common belief in the infected-controlled territory, among survivors. Many stallions have become servants and slaves to black collared mares, who vastly outnumber stallions due to the fact that mares are not actively hunted by infected, only sought out when stallions aren't killed for a few days. Even so, black collared infected are rarely seen trying to hunt down other mares, even to infect them. Infected mares' views on uninfected stallions and mares are to be found in later documents.

Author's Note

Sorry for the wait, and the shortness of this one, I keep getting a bad case of writer's block for some reason :P

I've decided to write less exposition in the documents, and make more stories. This one was a little bit depressing, if you look in the context, but that's for you to find out :P

Expect future documents a bit more frequently in the future!

~Senor Butter

Document 7

Document 7 is a set of recording discs from a small outpost that had been stationed on the border of the uninfected area established by the Caribou Empire in the previous document. Wanting to know more about their enemy, a special mission was held in order to capture any infected that they found. The 4 most notable discs are from an infected from almost every type imaginable; a red collar, a black collar, and a purple collar. The most unusual one was from that of an infected stallion, who had suffered the same symptoms as a mare and did not die. The recordings are in order, and each involve a doctor and some armed guards entering a room to find one of the infected bound to a chair, to prevent assault.

Recording one; Red Collared Mare.
Subject is believed to be a young adult. She was found near a barricade on the border of uninfected ground, hitting a loose bit of brick with a shovel. She did not stop attempting to dislodge the wall, even while soldiers apprehended her. She only became aggressive when they took the shovel from her hands, but she had fortunately been tied down before she could infect any of the soldiers.

The recording begins with the view of a young, dehorned unicorn mare, with a pale blue coat and dirty blonde mane. She had a muzzle on, but could still speak. She was restrained to a chair with both normal restraints and steel bolts. The chair was set in front of a small table with white cloth on it, with a small light fixture hanging above it. From what the light reveals, the room has a white tiled floor. A male unicorn scientist enters the room, with two armed guards close behind him. While the guards wore protective gear, the doctor chose not to. The scientist pulls out a chair on the end of the table opposite the mare, sits, and begins speaking.

“Hello.”

The mare looks at him and begins laughing, the chair shaking somewhat.

“Who are you?” The scientist asks, taking out a small packet of papers.

“Bite. Bite bitey fuck eat.” The mare responded, her eyes darting around in several directions.

“What?” The scientist inquired.

“FUCK! EAT! BITE! TEAR! RIP OFF YOUR COCK AND MAKE YOU CHOKE ON IT!” The mare is now screaming and the chair is shaking, to the point that two guards had to hold down both armrests to keep the chair steady before the scientist could continue speaking.

“Please try to focus, ma’m.” The scientist said. The mare said nothing, just looking at the doctor as he jotted down a few notes and turned some pages in the packet. He adjusted his glasses before speaking again.

“What is your name?”

“LAST TIME I SAID IT SOMEONE JAMMED THEIR COCK IN MY MOUTH!” She screams again, but is not lunging for the doctor.

“I see. What should I call you?”

“Killer. Death. Burning fire fleeesh melt.” The mare says, looking away as if daydreaming.

“Very well then, Killer.” The doctor said, clearly not expecting anything different.

The room is quiet for a while, with a few intervals where the mare screams violently, although unprovoked. Blood started to leak from her muzzle after a few minutes, and it’s assumed that she was chewing on one of her own lips until it bled. The guards wrapped a piece of cloth around the opening of her muzzle so that she could breathe, but wouldn’t be able to spit infected blood at the doctor.

“Killer, did you just try to spit blood at me?” The doctor inquired, looking up from his notes.

“I wanna watch you bleed OUT OF YOUR ASS.” She says, looking up at the ceiling and laughing maniacally.

“So you’re aware of what will happen if I get infected?”

The mare says nothing, just laughing at the ceiling and feigning pained screams before going limp, jumping up and laughing again, shaking the chair to its limits.

The doctor takes out a small tape recorder and clicks on the recording button.

“Doctor’s log; Red collar interrogation went just as expected. Sentience is barely existent. She only wants to kill me, but it seems as if she’s not giving her all, for some reason. She has not attempted to reach for any sharp or blunt instruments, but we believe that she did attempt to spit blood at me, at the cost of her own lip. Recommend elimi-“ Before the scientist could finish, the red-collared mare spoke again, this time much calmer.

“You’re gonna get killed by your own whore. She’s gonna tear your brains out with a fucking hammer. It’s all a matter of time. I’m gonna FIND YOUR OWN WHORE and I’m gonna fuck her until she bleeds down her ankles and then WE’RE GONNA KILL YOU!” The mare screams again, rocking the chair violently to where the guards have to put a hold on her.

The doctor, looking shocked, speaks again.

“I want the red-collared infected here executed in a sterile way as soon as possible.” He spoke, turning off the recorder.

One of the guards takes out a small electrical device, jabbing the infected subject in the head, showing electricity flowing through her body as she continues to laugh maniacally until her mania ends in a pained gurgle. The camera cuts to black, displaying in white text;

“SUBJECT: TERMINATED, INFORMATION GAINED: NON-ESSENTIAL”

Recording two: Black Collared Mare
The next tape is a recording of the interrogation of an infected black-collared mare. She had ripped out her own mane, and had a pale grey coat. She had several scratches on her lower chest, presumably self-inflicted for unknown reasons. She had been found in a small ditch, using a bowie knife to slash open the corpses of six stallions, who hadn’t been dead for more than a few hours. She was wearing a cloak made of patchwork flesh. Guards restrained her using a heavy tranquilizer.

The same doctor trots into the same room as before, with the black-collared mare sitting in the chair across from him, saying nothing, staring at him with an angered glare until he sits and takes out a notepad.

“Hello.” He says.

“Evening, dickhead.” The mare speaks, with a slight growl in her voice.

“You seem much calmer than most other mares, is there any reason for this?” The doctor says, looking up at her.

“It’s only because I’m not an idiot.” She says, shrugging.

“What do you mean by that?” The doctor says.

“I’m dead anyways, so I might as well tell you, I guess. It’s because when we were infected, mares like I, unwilling for your perverted fantasyland to take hold, had a few scraps of brain left, unlike those that went insane or wanted it to happen. The virus didn’t take that much from us. If anything, I’d call it a gift.” She said.

“Intriguing.” The doctor said, jotting down some notes, underlining a particular sentence.

“Any more questions, or are you going to put a knife in my head already?”

“We don’t plan on killing you, only if you become hostile.”

“Understandable, I guess. Maybe you stallions aren’t as stupid as you look.” She says, snickering a little before the doctor continues.

“What is your name?”

“Starlit Sky.”

“Where were you born?”

“Ponyville. At least, what used to be Ponyville, before it became a slave farm, before it became the beautiful slaughterhouse that it is now.” She says, seemingly smiling underneath her muzzle.

“Age?”

The mare pauses for a moment, before changing the topic.

“What’s with all of these boring questions that nopony gives a shit about? Ask me the juicy ones! How many stallions have I killed? How did I do it? Y’know, that kinda stuff!” She says, starting to laugh.

“I’m required to ask these questions, Starlit.” The doctor says, a bit annoyed.

“Twenty-five.” Starlit says, her eyes narrowing.

“Now, you may find these questions a bit less boring.” The doctor says, turning a page in a packet before continuing.

“Why do you only kill stallions?”

Starlit Sky smiles under her muzzle before continuing.

“The same reason any other sane mare would. They used us. All of them. They only wanted us for what we had between our legs and nothing more.” She said, her eyes beginning to bleed again.

The bleeding had seemingly stopped before, only leaving some coagulated blood underneath her eyes and a slight reddening around her pupils, but when she mentioned stallions, the bleeding started again.

“But couldn’t you have killed us before then? The implements you and your fellow infected used against your masters during the first days of the outbreak were present before the virus was discovered, were they not?” The doctor spoke, seemingly more interested, much more so, than when he interviewed the red collar.

“Yeah, but so was the fear of death. The gift of this virus took that away. I don’t fear dying, and I certainly don’t fear being tied down and fucked, especially when I saw what happens when a stallion does that to a mare like me.” She smirked.

“Starlit, I have a question for you, but it isn’t in the packet.” The doctor said.

The mare shrugged.

“Shoot.”

“You are far more open than the others here or I expected you to be. Why is that?” He asks, putting down the notepad and setting his hands in his lap.

“Pfft. Easy. It’s cause none of what I tell you will fix this. You can’t cure this. I could tell you about the virus until you knew it like the back of your hand and it wouldn’t mean a damned thing. You might be holding them off now, but the red collars are gonna get through whatever barriers you put up. You’re too afraid to go past the front line, and eventually whatever’s south of the line in the sand you drew will be home to nothing but infected.” She says, smiling.

“Go ahead and try to hold out up north. I fucking dare you to spend the rest of your life sucking water out of snow and eating whatever pig shit the Caribou feed you. One mare getting infected at the right place is all it would take to finish the job in this godless world.”

She doesn’t even move, not even taking her eyes off of the doctor. The guards seem a little nervous, but the doctor only responds by humming in thought, much to the amusement of Starlit Sky.

“And you know what the best part of all of this is?” She says, moving forward slightly.

The doctor looks at her, and his ears twitch. Starlit speaks once more before the tape cuts to black.

“You. Deserve. It.”

The tape cuts to black, with similar white text from the first tape appearing.

“SUBJECT: ALIVE, INFORMATION GAINED:MID-LEVEL IMPORTANCE. RECOMMEND IMMEDIATE MOVEMENT TO HIGHER LEVEL CONTAINMENT AND FURTHER INTERROGATION.”

Recording Three: Purple Collared Mare
The third tape is from a purple collared mare. It could be described as much shorter than the other three. The mare within it is a Pegasus mare, with greatly deformed wings. She has a red coat, and her mane is charred. She has bandages all around her body, almost appearing like clothing, if it weren’t for many bloodstains on most of them. Unlike the first two mares, she seems frightened as the doctor enters the room, this time accompanied by four guards, all armed with assault rifles. The doctor begins by opening up a pamphlet.

“Hello.”

The mare says nothing, looking down and slowly moving side to side.

“Excuse me?” The doctor asks, a hint of sincere concern in his voice.

The mare doesn’t reply. She mumbles something, almost inaudible.

“Pardon?” The doctor asks.

“Come… Arrive… please…” The mare starts to shiver, her breath seeming labored and quick.

“Ma’m, are you alright?” The doctor reaches out a hand to touch her, resting his hand on his shoulder and trying to comfort her. She seems scared, but suddenly screams, loud enough to startle most of the guards, who immediately point their guns and turn off their safeties. She looks at the ponies and screams again, an animalistic and frightened scream, before speaking.

“THE GODDESS! THE GODDESS OF BLOOD! HER TEARS WILL MELT THE FORSAKEN! SHE WILL ARRIVE! TRINITY! TRINITY!!!! RIVERS WILL FLOW RED! THE GODDESS! THE GODDESS IS COMING!!!!” She screams, barely pausing to breathe. Her bleeding is greater than that of the mares before her, and she begins to vomit blood violently from her muzzle, onto the floor. The doctor gets up quickly, backing away from the chair, behind the guards.

The mare chokes air back in, coughing violently and vomiting blood once more before speaking again.

“See… see how she presents herself… my wings are naught but to carry her screams… my eyes are nothing but portals to peer unto the sinners she will slay in a flood of gore… I am the goddess of blood, and the goddess of blood is me… we are all goddesses, are you are nothing but sinners and damned.” She glares at the guards and the doctor, spitting some more blood onto the floor, which has filled in the lines in the floor and has begun spreading around the room.

“The Goddess is coming… you cannot stop her coming. You are all damned for angering her…” She vomits blood violently, her bloodshot eyes tearing up and her face going pale as all of the blood in her body is drained in a last act of violence. She looks up, breathing one last hollow breath before collapsing, letting the tape cut to black.

“SUBJECT: DEAD, INFORMATION GAINED: PENDING FURTHER INVESTIGATION. ANY RELATED FINDINGS ARE TO BE REPORTED TO OFFICIALS IMMEDIATELY.”

Recording Four: Infected Stallion
The fourth and final tape is no doubt the most different. The subject is a peach colored stallion with a long, brown mane. He shares the same symptoms of the previous three mares, except that he did not die, unlike most other stallions that had been infected before. He was found in a camp of infected, in a cage made from bones and lashed together with dried organs. He was hitting his head against one of the bones, and did not attempt to kill the soldiers who apprehended him.

The tape begins with the infected stallion in a chair, looking up at the ceiling and mumbling. His voice seems somewhat stressed, but quiet. The doctor enters, this time joined by two guards and a second scientist, with similar clothing.

“Good morning.” The doctor says to the stallion.

The infected stallion looks at him, and looks to the floor, as if distracted.

“H-hello. Did master say you could talk to me?” He asked.

“Who is your master? Stallions have no masters.” The scientist inquired.

“What are you talking about? All stallions are good for are serving our masters…” The stallion responds, looking down.

“Only mares deserve masters. Don’t you know that?” The scientist says, bending forward, getting a better look at the stallion.

“N-no… no… wrong. You silly little cock-bearer, thinks he’s worth something. Ha. Ha ha. Funny.” The stallion laughs, as if what he says is well known.

“Lord Dainn taught us-“

“LORD DAINN IS A LIAR AND A WHORE!” The infected stallion screams, only proceeding to hide his face and mumble again.

“I’m sorry master… you didn’t tell me to raise my voice… I’m sorry.. When I find you I’ll take my beating. I’m sorry…”

The scientist seems almost horrified, his mouth agape in horror at what the stallion had become. He collected himself and spoke again.

“Other stallions that become infected die. Why aren’t you dead?” He asks.

“M-my master gave me a gift… kept me alive… I didn’t deserve it, I’m nothing, but she was merciful to me…” He says, motioning to a stitched scar on his stomach.

“Did somepony give you an organ?”

“My master.. not just anypony… my master…” He says, looking away from the scientist.

“Stallions don’t-“ The doctor begins to speak, but stops himself.

“I want to make this quick, no need to keep a man waiting, am I right?” The scientist said with a jovial tone, patting the stallion on the shoulder.

“T-take your time… as long as master says it’s ok…” The stallion speaks meekly.

“Who is your master?” The scientist asks.

“… Name… master’s name… M… M something… “ The stallion taps his chin in thought.

“Take your time.”

“M-Misty?” The stallion says. The room falls quiet for a moment. Neither the scientists nor the infected stallion say a thing for a moment.

“Are you aware of who Misty is to us?” The scientist says. The scientist behind him exits the room, and he is heard running down a hallway.

“Misty could free you all, you know. She granted me mercy, only harming those who I used to call my friends when they earned their deaths… I was so stupid, but she saved me from tasting the steel of her blade…” He looks down.

“I was such a fool… but Misty freed my mind. Her gift to me saved my life, she could save yours and show you the truth?” He says, smiling.

The scientist gets up from his chair. He puts down the notepad. He turns from the stallion, the guards, and the table.

“This… this makes me sick.” He says.

“Sir! You need to finish the-“ A guard speaks before being interrupted by the doctor shouting

“I don’t CARE!” He shouts.

“I’ve done everything I can. We have learned a few things, but nothing useful. I’ve done everything I can. My work here is done. Dainn help us all.” The doctor leaves the room, the infected stallion going back to his mumbling before a guard turns off the camera.

“SUBJECT: ALIVE, INFORMATION GAINED: PENDING INVESTIGATION. RECOMMEND IMMEDIATE BLOOD TESTS, FURTHER INTERROGATION, AND STRENGTHENING OF SECURITY.”

Author's Note

At long last; Document 7!

Remember when I said I'd do less exposition, well, I LIED! *Thunder crashing in the skies*

Well, not really, but I had this idea in my head for a while, I just finally got to putting it into a document.

I've also decided an end goal is at least 10 documents.

If popularity persists, I will continue, and I do enjoy writing this, but I'd like to move on to other ideas, even if they're just spinoffs of the Out With the Old sub-universe.

See you soon!

~senor butter

Document 8

Document 8 is by far the most unnerving yet. It is a makeshift journal, with pages made from skin and kept together with a multitude of staples and bits of sharpened bone, some parts sewn together with dried veins or entrails. It is written in what appears to be blood. The document itself was found in an abandoned camp, with several infected corpses strewn about, believed to have been killed by cannons near the uninfected border that the caribou were just holding onto at the time.

It’s the eighteenth day of the fourth month since the outbreak has begun. Our tribe currently consists of almost eighty ponies, with about five being infected stallions. We’ve managed to stay together, and in control, long enough due to the fact that we black collars outnumber the red and purple collars.

By day, we hunt. We find stallions, we kill them, and we gut, clean, and cook them for food. We find uninfected mares and let them join our ranks, and kill them if they lose control, or fail to follow orders. Every once in a while, we have the tools to infect a stallion without killing him. We pretty much reserve them for food, when we can’t find food during the day. When us black collars can’t find weapons, we take the bones of those we killed, and we lash together spears, knives, and every once in a while, an axe, if we can spare it.

I am our tribe’s journalist. Before Dainn came, I was a reporter, so it’s only fitting that I record what little news there is in Dainn’s fall. We can’t find ink pens anymore, so I simply write with a sharpened bone I jab into some stallion’s arm every once in a while. Unlike most groups of infected mares, who only kill for the sake of killing, we want to bring back some semblance of civilization. Even if it’s a violent one, and we’ve already forsaken our plant-eating habits, it’s better than a society based on sex and rape.

We’ve got a truck, an old pickup we found near a barn in Ponyville. Funny thing, cars. The caribou worked together with the scientists who weren’t already busy fucking to make them. Now we’ll use the same technology that they made to deliver our victory.

I digress. I’m sorry if I get off track, the blood doesn’t exactly come off of the leather, and I can’t make one of our stallions bleed to death, and the leather is too valuable to throw away.

So; a little more about us. Our little tribe began a while ago, in the early days of the outbreak, when we found out that hunting together meant that there was a hell of a better chance of winning a fight than just taking on any stallion we found, even if that was what we wanted to do at the time. A month or so after the outbreak was when we stopped trying to revert back to our old ways of foraging or growing food. After savoring the flesh of those who once controlled us, our old foods tasted disgusting in comparison. We’ve been making our own little society since that day, trying to become nomadic hunters, maybe. It worked well enough for griffons, in their early history, didn’t it? Sure, they didn’t lash together cages with the bones of their fallen prey, but I suppose that makes us innovators.

Our tribe has stuck together for this long, and it’s proven to be worthwhile. We have two trucks, enough weapons for us all to have two at a time, leaving the stallions unarmed. We mostly have weapons we scrounged from old blockades, but some prefer to have weapons made by the tribe.

Our leader is named Raining Fury. She used to be a weather pony, and then those caribou fuckers sliced off her wings and kept them from growing back. Bastards…

Anyways, she bears a hatred for caribou that only Misty could probably match, if we had the fortune to meet her. She will not rest until the very caribou that had the job of clipping her is found dead or made that way. Even then, she has some pretty damn high ambitions for us. We’re moving north, towards the barricades the caribou have set up to maintain quarantine. She says that attacking the whole wall is useless, so we should concentrate our efforts on one point, so we’ll finally be able to breach it. She hopes we can liberate the caribou women, introducing them to the freedom we’ve had the honor of earning.

I can only hope we can avoid the no doubt numerous cannons and machine guns they’ve set up there.

Raining Fury wants the Caribou extinct and wiped from history just as much as anypony else, but I don’t know how seventy five mares can make a difference where hundreds have barely made an impact. We’ve heard rumors of the barricade being close to breaking in certain areas, so Raining Fury hopes to scout out one of these areas, and ram one of our trucks through it.

I personally think that we should just wait. They can’t grow anything up in the cold north, so they’ll eventually have to come to us and find food here or they’ll turn on each other. That’s what most of us are hoping for, anyways. Raining Fury says that it’d be more dangerous if they came to us, but I could care less as long as they go extinct.

-The following contents are on the very last page of the notebook.-
Fucking. Worked.

After so long trying to find a point past their fire and metal, we finally managed to overrun those fuckers. Not after a cannon shell or two tore us to shit, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers.

Raining Fury is dead, and I’m on my way out. Must’ve been some damn powerful bullets in those machine guns, since it blew off one of my legs and left the other hanging by a few strands of muscle and skin. Makes you hungry just reading this, doesn’t it?

I can hear the screams of caribou. Hundreds of them screaming as they’re ripped apart, eaten, and those they used as slaves on the frontline swiftly join our ranks. What used to be the smell of smoke and heat is now replaced with the sweet, sweet smell of bloody messes. My vision might be fading, but I can see miles of corpses and rivers of blood being covered with a soft, welcoming snow.

It’s strange… it’s like there is pain… but I’m numb…

It’s only a matter of time, then we’ll have her. Only a few more battles and soon those who have lived this long will live to see her.

Our princess.

The notebook was found nearby a corpse, assumed to be the author of it. Her wounds were grievous, and had it not been for her infection, she would have passed out from the pain, without a doubt. She was not immune to blood loss however, and she perished; only the notebook being clutched in her hand was visible in a reddened pile of snow.

Author's Note

Hey look, I'm not entirely dead! Sorry for the long as hell hiatus. Let's just say that obligations are not fun at all, and neither is writer's block.

Fortunately, I have gained back the will to write, and will get to the tenth document, maybe even beyond, if it's the last damn thing I do.

Good to see you all again,

~Senor Butter

Document 9

Document 9 is a view from a Caribou air vehicle, travelling from the Crystal Empire for an evacuation from the front line. A defensive line had been formed from Vanhoover to Manehattan, where soldiers had been stationed for weeks. As fortifications were breached, the line was pushed further north as soldiers were replenished at a constantly diminishing rate. Dainn and others of governmental or political importance were in The Crystal Empire, ensuring that what slaves remained were under constant guard. As the line was pushed to the Crystal Mountains, Dainn ordered a full evacuation of anyone they could afford to take, minimizing casualties and reducing the number of slaves that would become infected, should the mountains be breached.

The document itself is the view of a camera mounted on the front of a helicopter, along with audio footage from the pilot and some passengers.

-

The camera footage begins as the helicopter takes flight. Several soldiers are stationed around it, ensuring that no one else tries to board the vehicle. What seems like hundreds of ponies and caribou, both slaves and otherwise, are pushing, all shouting inaudibly as the helicopter begins to lift into the air. As the view raises, gunfire is heard, as well as several screams from within the crowd.

"We're airborne. Stay away from the doors. I'll unlock them once we're in the Capital." The pilot speaks to the passengers, mostly soldiers and male civilians, along with a few slaves. In the cabin, there is crying partially drowned out by the sound of the rotor.

The city is crowded with people, all clambering to get on different helicopters and vehicles. The scene could be described as nothing other than chaotic, swarms of survivors moving like a liquid mass through the city, buildings already burning from the ensuing unrest, and the occasional crowd is seen running from a full vehicle, leaving a few survivors gunned down by soldiers to bleed to death in the snow. Slaves unchained, men bearing weapons taking arms against fellow soldiers, firebombs flying through the air, colliding into vehicles and squads of soldiers, soon causing the once frightened survivors to explode into a frenzy.

What was once a panicked run turned into a riot, soldiers killing civilians with ruthless efficiency as hundreds charge at them with clubs, closed fists, and bricks. Soldiers hit with firebombs are left to burn, with no water to put out the flames. Helicopters and vehicles that haven't already left are being destroyed, most being overturned while others are utterly destroyed.

"Holy shit." A male speaks in the cabin.

"Thank Dainn we got out."

The radio system crackles to life, barely heard over the helicopter.

"Infected sighted over the Crystal Mountains! We're being overrun! I repeat, we are being overrun!!" A man screams into the radio.

Soldiers are seen mobilizing below, quickly forming into lines at the southernmost gate. The mobs of angered civilians soon began to panic again, retreating from the burning vehicles and swaths of bodies, running from the infected, all they could hope to do. Thousands of ponies and caribou all sprinting north, trampling over each other, pushing and shoving for so much as a foot of space.

The camera turns south, zooming in on the infected swarms sprinting down the mountainside. The mares come in the hundreds, armed to the teeth with weapons stolen from the fallen soldiers. What was once an army bearing knives and clubs now had pistols, grenades, and rifles. Those armed with melee weapons were sprinting first, some losing balance and tumbling down the mountain to a painful death, others drop dead as they're ended by the guns of the soldiers at the southern gate.

Those armed with rifles, at least those sane enough to use them, began firing back.

A few soldiers at the defensive line began falling before the infected even reached the gate. The Caribou, brainwashed into obedience since birth, stood their ground, even as their brothers in arms fell one by one to the infected onslaught. Barricades were hastily pushed in front of the entrance before the infected army could breach it, and the surviving soldiers began moving up onto the wall to fire down on their opponent.

Though flying away, the helicopter's camera was able to get a somewhat clear picture of the battle. Speech is heard, but is too quiet to be heard over the rotor, many panicked voices speaking at once.

The soldiers seem to be doing well, with a soldier only falling dead now and again and they duck in and out of cover. After a minutes, they began lobbing grenades down at the infected below, a few soldiers checking that their gas masks are secure before doing so.

A few flying figures are seen in the distance. The helicopter stops moving.

A pegasus mare is seen leading a swarm of her own, dozens of infected diving onto their assailants, having now grown fleshy, disfigured wings.

"Holy FUCK!" The pilot screams, increasing the helicopter's pace.

Though not stable, the camera provides clear footage of the flying infected divebombing the troops, quickly overwhelming them before ripping them limb from limb. A few throw grenades down at the barricade, then pulling as those outside push and clamber over the wall, before the barrier is sent tumbling to the ground.

The crowd in the city has become a maelstrom of panicked people, now breaking into a full-blown sprint to nowhere. Those who can fly do so, speeding over the crowd that has left several trampled, broken, and dying. Buildings once ablaze in the chaos begin to collapse and spread their fires, crushing many of the fleeing civilians under burning rubble.

Infected pegasi begin flying into the crowds, diving into groups of fleeing red-collared slaves.

Soon the madness was indescribable. Hundreds of mares were turned mad in a single instant, those who once ran from the hordes began to bite and tear into those around them, soon becoming a violent mass of infected, or men being torn apart by infected. Limbs flew threw the air, blood splattering across the crowds, mare turned on mare, stallion turned on stallion, a flurry of hits and bites and kicks becoming unrecognizable movements.

The cabin became silent.

"All armed evacuation helicopters, this is Dainn speaking. Fire all weapons at that crowd." A voice came over the radio.

The pilot followed without hesitation.

Several nearby helicopters turned and began firing missiles and guns into the crowd, sending many bodies flying and reducing several to unfamiliar piles of meat and bone. The crowd in the street was easily outmatched, infected smart enough to take shelter in the nearby buildings are soon destroyed as missiles collide into them as well.

Something is heard colliding with the helicopter, and the pilot makes several panicked, almost animal sounds of fear. He is heard drawing a pistol and firing, before the helicopter is sent hurtling towards the ground, after a thunderous roar is heard, distorting the audio of the footage. The people in the cabin begin to scream and panic, but the camera is moving too quickly to tell what it happening.

Before the footage is cut short, a scream is heard from the pilot.

"Dainn! IT'S HER!"

-

The footage was found, miraculously still intact, in the helicopter crash site in the ruins of the Crystal Empire. Though the footage does not show, it is believed that not long after the helicopter crashed, others were also assaulted by flying pegasus mares, as well as through limited magic through infected unicorns, who had mysteriously began re-growing their horns and wings.

The Crystal Empire was overrun within a matter of minutes due to a multitude of factors, mostly being the unrest in the crowds left behind, as well as the soldiers. Having been falling back for a matter of weeks, surviving soldiers were left with little supplies, numbers, ammunition, or commanding officers. The added surprise of infected with functioning wings and magic added to their disadvantage, ultimately leading to their defeat.

The Crystal Heart was destroyed in the attack by unknown means, resulting in the Crystal Empire being left a frozen waste. However, this also had the side effect of getting rid of the corruption instated by the caribou invasion of Equestria.

Author's Note

I'M BACK!

For real this time.

I took a long ass hiatus due to writer's block, responsibilities, and a short while of forgetting my password after getting a new computer.

We're at 9 Documents now, with a 10th one and an epilogue on the way. I'm planning on writing a more character-focused spin-off, but that may or may not come to fruition.

For those who are coming back after this long, I appreciate your patience.

To those who haven't seen this before, I'm glad you were able to catch up!

Document 10

Document 10 is the last document currently kept in this collection. It is a simple notebook, most pages still blank. The first few are of little noteworthiness, but the last few written pages detail the collapse of the Caribou Empire. The few survivors that managed to escape the destroyed Crystal Empire were mostly unarmed and untrained civilians, sick, starving, and freezing, for the most part. A vast majority were pegasi males, being the only ones with capability to flee the coming hordes, most of which were still bound to foot travel.

With the destruction of the Crystal Heart ushering in the return of the Frozen North, the caribou faced the coldest weather they had seen in generations. Caribou females and their owners were moved to underground shelters, while any able-bodied men were given a gun or blade and stationed in the southern quarter of the capital. The destruction of the crystal heart had also taken away the mental corruption of many pony stallions and mares. This sudden removal of madness, along with the rush of memories of their actions, led hundreds, if not thousands, to suicide. Soldiers reportedly marched past what was at least half a mile of corpses in the main road to the southern gate, mostly ponies that had either shot themselves of jumped from the roofs of buildings.

Dainn and a few other officials were stationed in one of the most heavily guarded areas of the city, a castle directly in the center. Slaves, both pony and caribou, were being executed for safety, necks snapped and their bodies tossed from the castle towers.

The document itself details events that had taken place after infected breached the southern gate, Dainn's castle left under siege. While the document does not mention it, most sources say that infected were able to breach the southern gate after about an hour. Underground shelters were breached, filled with gasoline and ignited. Caribou females that were infected joined in the fighting, soon leaving the only known uninfected Caribou to be Dainn and his soldiers, stationed in the castle.

And so here we are. Months of fighting, bloodshed, and war, and we finally made it. It took a fucking insanity virus to do it, but I guess now's not the time to be picky.

I'm pretty sure we've got every princess infected, now. Celestia, Luna, Cadence... Twilight... yep. That's all of them, I think. An infected alicorn is a pretty interesting sight, they're like a damned siege engine on legs. I was doing a lot of up-front fighting back at the Crystal Empire, I saw Celestia take down a fucking helicopter with her bare hands. Some of the others told me they saw Luna caught by a grenade, it blew her damned legs off. She just grew them back and kept going.

Weird thing about them, though, they don't seem to talk. All I've heard them do is roar and scream. Cadence seems to prefer laughing, like a lot of the red-collars. I haven't seen anything of Twilight.

While we were marching through the north, I busted my legs, so I'm just sitting on the sidelines and writing while we take over the Caribou's Capital. Not really anything noteworthy, if I'm being honest. It's no different from any of the other cities we took, except this time there's not as many ponies. Sure, the caribou boys put up a good fight, but the way I see it, it's like they're just trying to look cool as they're wiped off the face of this world.

I had another fighter help me up to a rooftop, and now we're just watching the fireworks. A bunch of soldiers are holed up where Dainn's hiding, while the army is busy finding shit in the streets to knock down the door.

The princesses are banging on the front door, and they're leaving some damn big dents.

I must admit, though. Not fighting has given me a bit of time to think.

Why are we killing all these men?

Most of them didn't want this, that fucker Dainn brainwashed them. Some of them have been fighting it, and with the Crystal Heart gone, most are finally free. The ones that did shit killed themselves, and the ones who didn't have barely been putting up a fight. A lot of men have begged us to spare them, let them fight alongside us. Hell, if it weren't for the really crazy mares, I think we would've let them.

There's been some infighting lately, between the less sane and more sane. Mostly little scuffles, but blood's been drawn and good people have died to those who once fought alongside them.

Oh shit! She just ripped a caribou man-

Well, I just saw Celestia rip a kid in half.

A damn kid.

How the hell did that kid even get there? Did Dainn throw him out as bait?

Well, they're in. Celestia has got Dainn by the neck. She's not killing him. The crowd's fallen silent.

For history's sake, I may as well write more about what's happening than what I'm thinking.

She's got Dainn by the throat, and boy that fucker is choking. The other princesses are around her, but they're not making any move. The crowd at the castle is completely silent.

"Nice try, bitch." He says.

"I suppose you forgot that I'm immortal?"

She just roars in his face, and I swear to Celestia my ears just popped.

She grabs his arm and-

Holy shit I didn't know you could do that.

She and the princesses are literally pulling his limbs off from the socket and throwing them to the crowd, who have started to chant.

She's holding Dainn, whose now just a head and a body. His arms are growing back, his legs a bit slower.

She threw him off into the crowd.

They're ripping him apart, holy shit.

He keeps growing shit back, but they just keep eating it. He's bleeding, like other men that get sick, anything he manages to grow back just melts off.

He's just a bunch of blood and bone, the crowd keeps fucking eating him. When a mare has their fill, they move and another takes their place.

I hear guns.

This notebook was found near the body of a unicorn mare, presumably the author. She had been shot in the head, killed instantly. If stories from other survivors are to be believed, the crowd suddenly began attacking itself, seemingly red collars pitted against black collars. The infected in this horde had begun to fragment, one group believing in saving what was left of sane stallions, while the other simply believed in killing until there was nothing left to kill but each other.

After the battle, both groups vacated the city due to frigid conditions, moving south. The whereabouts of Celestia, Luna, and Cadence are unknown.

Equestrian survivors, most freed from the influence of Dainn, had begun to rebuild what was lost, with most infected swarms having moved north, seeming to target the caribou nation. Uninfected in the south were mostly left alone by infected mares, only the occasional group was found wandering in the desert.

Author's Note

Here it is, the very last Document. Sorry if it seemed a bit rushed, but I want to move on to more story-based writing. Don't worry, I'm still writing in this universe. I still feel like there are more stories to tell than just "historic events" I have here.

I'm going to be working on an epilogue, and I'm currently in the process of writing a new fic, known as "Out With the Old: Those Who Stayed Behind."

It'll mostly be seperate stories with a little continuity, mostly survivors and the occasional infected, detailing the challenges and horrors they face in this plague-ridden, apocalyptic hellscape.

Thanks for reading!

Epilogue

Epilogue

"Gates up!"

A large steel barrier was lifted by a series of pulleys and gears, revealing an exit in the otherwise totally sealed commune of Appleoosa. A group of Caribou, numbering about thirty, stood in formation at the center of the town, facing the gate. While they carried blades, clubs, and shields, the ponies around them carried rifles, pointed in their direction. They seemed scrawny, and their armor was mostly makeshift, bits of scrap metal tied together with rope and tape.

"Thirty seconds!" A mare calls out.

She begins counting down as the caribou slowly march out, having the occasional piece of refuse tossed at them, while others spit at them or throw obscene gestures their way. Soon enough, the group was outside, and the gate was closed. Off in the distance, several infected mares immediately begin running in their direction, screaming and waving weapons wildly.

Several ponies keep their rifles trained upon the group of caribou, watching them from atop the barricades, firing off a warning shot any time a caribou strays too far from their view. They fight the infected as best they can, not having much trouble with single mares, but now and then a group would overwhelm one of the fighters and drag them away from the formation, eating them alive.

About an hour or so later, the caribou were let back into the gate, numbering a few less than before. Piles of bodies are outside the barricade, with a few ponies in hazmat suits going out as the caribou come in to collect and burn the bodies.

The community behind the barricade is bustling with activity. Farmers tend to the few apple trees in a field that aren't burnt or cut down. Travelling scavengers and merchants peddle their wares to townsfolk and explorers. Guards follow the caribou back to a prison building, locking them all back in small prison cells, most housing from four to eight caribou, smelling of musk and feces.

In the town itself, mares, infected and otherwise, talk to stallions like neighbors. Ponies are busy cleaning the streets, repairing or building new homes, everypony having something to contribute to the growing township. New ponies arrive almost every day, bringing new skills and stories to share.

As dusk sets in, a bonfire is raised, ponies jovially sharing stories of dodging infected hordes, fighting off caribou or equine loyalists, or simply of interesting sights they saw in their travels. Found journals and notes are passed around, everyone wanting a small piece of someone else's experiences.

Inside a small cottage, an Earth pony stallion, bespectacled and sitting at a small table, jots down a few notes onto some parchment with a ballpoint pen. He sits by his lonesome, illuminated by candlelight. Though he took part in the forum, his interest seems primarily to be in his writing. He takes a backpack off his shoulders and empties its contents onto the table, mostly small notebooks, cameras, and disks. He reads, watches, and examines each one, but as he sets down a small green notebook filled with writing, he cannot seem to bring his pen to the paper.

"Something wrong, Playwright?" A raspy voice says from the hallway. A mare strides down, clothed in a dark trench coat, combat boots, and gas mask.

"I suppose I don't have much more to write about these documents." He says, placing his pen in a small mug on the desk, filled with other pens.

"You seem like you have a shit ton. You haven't found anything new?" She speaks, her voice muffled slightly by the gas mask.

"Well, they're just... repeating themselves. My notes have information from most everything about this event, from start to finish." He says, holding his head in his hands, groaning.

"You ever thought about talking to ponies in town? There's only so much you can get from books and CDs, I guess." She says, leaning against a wall.

"Well, I suppose I never did." He says, laughing a little, standing from his chair after blowing out the candle.

"You ought to. Something tells me that you're not going to find anything written about The Forest of Lost Hope out there." She follows him as he walks, headed upstairs to a small bedroom.

"I'm sure that anyone I ask would have at least something to share. We've all done so much to survive this, I'd be shocked if I found a single person without a thing to say." Playwright turns on a small oil lantern, the dim light illuminating a small bed, and another writing desk.

"New people coming every day, they probably have some words to share, as well." She stays at the door to his room.

"Perhaps.. Well, I better get some rest. It's my turn to help tend to the crops tomorrow." Playwright uses the light of a lamp to find a few things in his room, such as a sleeping mask and earplugs.

"I'll be on the wall tomorrow. Maybe we'll see each other." She waves goodbye

Playwright waves goodbye, setting the lantern on a nearby desk before extinguishing it. He looks out of his bedroom window, watching the small shadows of ponies move in the dim light of the dying bonfire. He places his sleeping mask in front of his eyes and drifts off to sleep, resting peacefully in a dreamless, calm night.

The next day was hot, with most ponies visiting the town's well for a drink once every hour or two. Playwright was in the apple orchards, trimming dead branches for kindling and harvesting grown apples, placing them in small wicker baskets. He takes in the scene around him, a small forest of apple trees, some dead or burned, others green and vibrant, with succulent fruit waiting to be plucked. Around that, a large wall, made from wooden pallets, tires, and sheet metal. Guards bearing rifles walked across the top, and soon enough, he saw Misty. He gave a slight wave, but she was too distracted to notice anything he did.

The people around him, the people he grew to trust, were of all walks of life. Stallion and mare, the sick and the sanitary, this place was truly one that any form of resistance was striving to create. He remembered what it was like, when the nightmare was lifted. As the crystal heart was destroyed, and almost all of the infected had moved north, ponies emerged from their basements and shelters by the dozens in his town. Desperate, starving, and with no leader, they packed what little belongings they had and moved south, wanting to be as far from the Caribou and infected as possible. The journey was hellish, filled with betrayal, starvation, and all manner of horrors, but they had made it to Appleoosa, miraculously left alone by the bigger hordes. They got to work reestablishing the abandoned town, eventually making peace with infected sane enough to understand, and building a place where any and all could be free, except for their previous tormentors.

A Caribou military unit, weakened by constant fighting, attempted to take the town by force. With great casualties on both sides, the caribou were captured, forced to live in prison cells, resting in their own filth. Most people in the town agreed to subject them to the act of fighting the infected who wandered outside of the town's walls, slowly whittling down their group over time. Many caribou men had gone mad, willingly giving themselves to the infected outside or simply letting guards execute them. Playwright wasn't quite sure if he believed in such vile torture, but he thought it better than simply letting them free to find more of their kind. Now and then he wondered if that made them any better than the caribou they tortured.

As he finished his work, he walked to the wall, climbing a ladder so as to get a view of the land around their compound. Nearly barren desert, as far as the eye could see. Brownish-orange sand drifted in the wind, along with the occasional tumbleweed. Not far north, a cacti forest had established itself, and as far as the community was concerned, had been there as long as the caribou ruled Equestria. A small path stretched north, made by the walking of survivors and merchants. A few infected mares, too insane to be let into the village, stood still or walked in small circles, some hitting their heads with their fists or walking towards the town slowly. Now and again, one would get too close, sent plummeting to the sand with a bullet in their brain.

He took out a small journal and pen, sat down, and began to write.

"If it weren't for the corpses around the wall, I'd say this is a pretty nice sunrise. I used to wonder when this would be over and life would be back to normal, but I've settled for this being as close to normal as we're going to get. Sure, we live side by side with diseased women, but at least they're helping us build houses and pick crops instead of hammering our brains out. It seems like they just want to live and let live, which is the first good thing I've seen come out of this whole outbreak.

Nobody's stepping on anybody else, nobody's better than someone else because of their ownership, or lack, of a dick. People here are going back to a lifestyle where you judge someone by who they are as opposed to the color of a collar on their neck. Stallions don't own mares, mares don't butcher stallions without a second thought, people are just people here, and I feel like we're all happy about it.

I can't say the same for the Caribou we have, though. Seems like everyone agreed to punish them for the things their government made them do. I know what they did was horrible but making them fight the infected up close seems like a bit much. Even if it weren't for that, we feed them scraps and they're basically sleeping in each other's shit. I can't say I haven't wondered if we're even fit to give that kind of judgement, considering most of us took part in it, brainwashed or not.

In the end, I guess those of us who haven't hung ourselves haven't got much to do but accept what we did and do our best to move on.

He looked up again, tapping his pen against his chin for a moment before going back to writing.

I can't help but wonder what the future holds. Where are the Princesses? How many Caribou are left? Are the Gryphons and Zebras going to give half a fuck about Equestria now? Will they avoid us like the plague or maybe use this as a chance to take our land? Hell, for all we know, the bloodshots got in boats and maybe the whole world's fucked.

Or maybe they don't even know.

Maybe they're just living as they always have, raising kids, doing jobs, not knowing that just an ocean away, there are people that will torture and rape and eat them. There are people that took one of the biggest, most cruel regimes in the world and turned it on its head. There are people that will pin you down, vomit their own blood into your mouth, and just sit and smile as they watch you die.

I guess I shouldn't dwell on that kind of thing.

Look at the bright side; we all get a sort of second chance. We've all done some shit, all of us, but look at us now. We're working together for a brighter future. We're working towards bringing back what we lost. Most importantly, we're finding any damned caribou that are left and we're kicking them while they're down. Most people in the town think that while what we're doing is cruel, it's better than letting the caribou rebuild and let history repeat itself. That's why I'm collecting those documents. So that our kids can learn exactly what happened, and why we can't let it happen again.

I don't know why the outbreak appeared, but I do know that if the caribou's acts set it off, the last thing I want is my grandkids to live through this all over again.

A loud scream pierced his thoughts, and he looked up from his paper. In the distance, a fairly large group of infected mares had gathered on the horizon. They wore armor made from bones, their weapons being made from the same material. Any weapon or tool that wasn't scavenged was made from bone, flesh, and obviously equestrian body parts.

"Almost unoriginal." Playwright thought aloud as Misty passed him a semi-automatic rifle.

"I know. Unoriginal won't matter if they get too close with too many people, so start shooting." She says, passing out firearms to other ponies who had climbed onto the barricade to aid in its defense.

The volleys started in a few seconds, bullets whipping through the air and into the barbaric horde. Blood splattered onto the sand as the psychotic mares raged on towards the barricade, even as those around them were brought to quick ends.

It was in this moment the present, and future of Equestria was summed up. Forever more would the sane and insane war against each other, committing atrocity after atrocity. When firearms had no bullets to fire, they used magic and fired arrows. They soon went to throwing sharp spears and pouring hot oil. Ages later, the war was waged with sharp stones and blunt clubs. It raged on, keeping its way as Equestria, and the world around it, marched toward an unknowable future.

Author's Note

And here we are. The epilogue that I'm sure some of you have been waiting for, for one reason or another.

I'm happy to have finally finished this thing. Not that I don't love it, but I've wanted to move onto other things, mainly a more story-based spin-off. But before that comes out, I have something FAR more lighthearted in mind, mainly a playful parody of the Fall of Equestria universe, but we'll cross that bridge when we get to it.

For now, I want to say thanks. For those that read the first chapter and left, to those that read every chapter, and stuck with me through to the epilogue after my (was it 1 or 2 years?) hiatus. I'm glad to have at least been able to experience this with you, as corny and cliche as that may sound.

I can only hope to improve my writing, share and improve my work with this community, and who knows; maybe I'll eventually write something other than FoE fanfics that don't do the universe and its creators justice.

Peace,

Senor Butter