Of Mice and Stallions: Our Last Stand
Face your fears, I exhaled, glaring down the scope, They can't do anything...they can't kill me.
The sound of drunken thunder echoed off the walls of the valley, followed by the scurrying of lizards who used me as a nest.
I took note of my supplies sourly, Three weeks, that was three weeks of sunburns, lizards, drought, and waiting.
Being a sniper for the E.U.P Special Forces often had you doing strange and unbelievable things to make a single shot. I have taken a lot of lives, and always wondered if it was truly worth it.
Rarely was I ever told the total extent of my targets crimes, but I always assumed that Canterlot wouldn't send me to murder something. It was always a just cause... Right?
I packed up, sliding the rifle components into my tan and sand colored duffle bag and started off down the lonely desert highway towards my final objective: a long, cold bath.
The town looked like it was ripped out of a western film--one that had long since gone out of business. It was composed of a trio of wooden buildings that decorated the main street that was paved with sand, dirt, and...I don't even want to know what else.
I pushed my way into the cantina, the swinging doors so rusted they barely allowed me passage, the mare behind the bar looked up from scratching the red and brown sand from the bottom of a shot glass. She was taller than I was, and looked nearly identical to princess Luna, she only lacked the horn.
"Half moon inn," I whispered, taking in the scene. Sand washed in like waves on the beach, reaching with small yet determined tendrils to claw at the aged oak bar that served as the centerpiece of the room. The wall behind the bar was stuffed with old hats and other assorted souvenirs of the past thousand years. All of them had a story, I'm sure, but as to what they were I had no idea.
I followed the desert to the bar and gave the Luna replica a quick once over, Her right hand below the bar clutched cautiously at the trigger of a gun.
Shotgun probably, I mused noting that her hair color was also something wrong, where Luna's wild, blue locks flowed magically this mare's jet black, and moonlight white hair was well cared for and laid perfectly straight falling just past her shoulders.
I placed a worn bit on the bar and pointed to the bottle of green Zap Apple cider just behind her head.
Slowly, as if I was some animal she didn't trust, she took her hand off the gun with extreme care, "The whole thing?" she asked, turning to reach for the bottle.
I waited for the bottle to come to rest on the bar, "the whole thing's six bits."
I placed the extra coins on the bar and snatched the bottle and poured a shot into my personal glass.
I smelled the scents of the magic in the brew, relishing the rare find. They've been out of season for months now. The brew, the good stuff, didn't last long, and deteriorated at about the same pace as it's mother fruit if it wasn't properly bottled.
"I...heard the shot," she muttered as she opened the turn of the millennia cash register, "what were you hunting?"
I didn't hear her, I was too caught up in examining the glass of art I held. It was pure! Something like this would run hundreds back in Equestria, and more overseas. A lot more. Then my eyes were drawn to the glass itself, I always carried my own so I didn't run the risk of poison, or ruining the magic in the drink with inferior glassware. The icon of nightmare moon seemed to be shifted so her reflection didn't bounce from the moon quite the same way and the hairline cracks that covered the base where it had saved my life by taking C18 round for me were gone.
"I've never seen someone who could hold their liquor so well," she joked, trying to spark conversation.
I ignored her further, studying the drink, the scent was perfect. The green perfectly overpowered the other colors, driving them back, but not altogether destroying them all of the scents blended in a graceful dance that threatened to overpower my resolve.
It would be a sin to destroy such perfection, I decided, pouring the glass' contents back into the bottle. My weaker side pinned after the lost drink with a burning passion.
I unzipped my duffle and pushed the sealed bottle inside. I nodded to the rack of keys behind the confused owner.
Instantly she got me one, bringing the brass and silver key to the bar, "It's a bit a night, payment up front."
I placed two coins on the scarred wooden counter.
"You sure don't talk much, I hope you don't mind me asking but, are you a mute?"
I shook my head, grabbed the key and followed the well worn enchanted trail to my room.
The room was simple, a single bed, desk, and a painting of a buffalo and pony ranger shaking hands over the Orchard Valley.
I calmly paced to the bathroom, hoping that this rundown one man town actually had cold water, much less, indoor plumbing.
I pieced together my rifle before removing my sweat stained clothes and settling into the surprisingly luxurious cold water. I sat there relishing the sand and grime falling away and the relaxing of my overworked muscles.
I reached over my shoulder, just barely able to reach the base of my wing, this is going to hurt.
I set my jaw, and snapped the bone back into place.
I pulled on the faded green jacket and superstitiously ran my hand over the patches that covered my shoulders and arms. Honor, is there any honor in killing your enemies when they can't strike back? Being a sniper didn't go over well with my family.
My parents were proud when I signed up for the Wonderbolt reserves, just missing a perfect grade on the entrance exam.
"You're going to be the best wingpony in the 'Bolts, just like your granddad," my father congratulated after the test.
We walked the halls, dad, me, and mom who's due date was any day now.
"Spitfire saw my performance on the rifle range and thought I should go into marksman training," I told them, they both came from a military background and held their Pegasus heritage tighter than a miser's purse.
"There's no honor in it, son." Dad warned, stopping the procession with a silent decree.
"But, you're such a great flier, why would you give that up to fight on the ground," Mom asked, much more interested in my reasoning than berating my consideration.
"Permission to speak freely," Spitfire requested, as she pushed her way into the conversation.
Father glared, but nodded.
"If it's his flight you're concerned about the Wonderbolts do have snipers on the team, but it's very, very hard to get in." Spitfire's stance relaxed a little the longer father let her explain. "I think your son is an excellent candidate for the trials, but this early in his career he would have to pass the physical tests and training for the Wonderbolts themselves and the sniper team."
"That will be all, Ma'am," father saluted and Spitfire turned and marched down the hall back to her office.
"Sleep on it, you don't have to decide right now," Mom reassured me, "make us proud, son."
"Oh, my..." the barkeeper gasped as I descended the marble stairs, "you're a Wonderbolt! I had no idea..."
"Kid, here's more than a standard issue Wonderbolt," Specter said as she burst through the door, "He's the best shot in all of Equestria. Saved a lot of lives with that rifle of his."
"Ended even more," I corrected shifting the rifle between my wings.
Specter waved me off, "He tries to deny it, but we all know he's the best."
"When? I haven't heard a word out of him," the barkeeper questioned, "the name's Evening by the way."
"Krunch?" Specter asked, ignoring the introduction.
"He's done." I answered, shifting the overweight jacket over my shoulders.
"What was it, three weeks you laid out there?" Specter asked, noting my sunburns and desperate need of a razor.
"Well, he definitely looks it, if you don't mind my saying so, sir." Evening commented, scratching the sand out of an empty glass.
My ears perked, twisting towards the windows Only one thing makes that sound...
Specter beat me to the punch, "Everyone down!"
We all hit the floor.
Thunder and lightening shattered the ghost town, seas of glass and fire flowed through into the bar.
Specter jerked her head towards the stairs.
I nodded, gripping my custom P-34/2.0.
"Go, go they're reloading," Specter ordered, hardly above a whisper.
I ran for the stairs, hooves gliding silently over the smoothed wooden floors, bits of glass, and other debris of varying sizes.
I braced my rifle against the remains of the table, "there you are."
Thunder echoed off of the empty buildings and one of the griffon officers fell out of the red, armored transport vehicle.
The ramp that served as the back side of the transport dropped, banging to the street and griffons poured out.
The rifle bucked against the table and three of the grey uniformed soldiers toppled to the dirt road.
"That's the ticket," I muttered, sliding the bolt back and sighting in on the tank.
I smiled, despite the desperate fight for survival, I always wondered if this works.
BANG!
The sound of wrenching metal nearly brought a tear to my eye, my ears rang like church bells, but I still took out two infantrymen before they saw me.
I crouched behind the overturned table and slid a fresh clip into my rifle, "great timing."
I noticed my dwindling ammo with disdain, "Great, just great."
"It was supposed to be a nice, quiet assassination of a visiting dignitary, but no. They had to bring a whole army with them," I rambled, wrestling with my jammed rifle, "...of course."
Gunfire erupted from the lobby, both inside and out as Specter and Evening held off the griffons. I retuned my focus to my surroundings, shattered furniture and shredded walls composed the bulk of the corpse of the hotel room.
Then I heard heavy boots on the fire escape behind me.
The griffon thundered into the room, shotgun blazing.
Scattershot shredded the wall behind me, missing my head by a fraction of an inch.
I returned fire, the bullet bit into his shoulder.
He threw my rifle across the room with a swipe of his hand and tossed his empty shotgun aside, "Let's settle this..." He drew a long, jagged blade, "...honorably."
"Where are you from, kid?" the recruit in line behind me asked as we took our plastic trays.
"The capitol," I answered, shuffling through the rows of industrialized tables and folding chairs towards the other sniper recruits.
"Canterlot? For real? Wow. You probably know the princess and everything." she gasped as she settled in the seat next to me.
I just rolled my eyes, "Cloudsdale. You know, 'the capitol of the skies'?"
She stopped, "I've honestly never heard that before."
"What are you training for," I asked, taking a bite of the "food" the kitchen here prepares.
"Field medicine, and officer's. What about you?"
"Marksman, and...whatever else Spitfire assigns me to do," I answered, not really thinking about it.
"So...you any good," She asked, tapping the recruit badge on my shoulder.
"Spitfire seems to think so. But my mom and dad think it's... a waste of talent."
"Don't let them boss you around, snipers are among the hardest units to get into here, believe me, I've tried." She paused long enough to drain the contents of her glass, "My friends call me Specter."
"Blaze," I answered, shaking her steady hand.
We continued the meal in silence for a short while before she spoke again.
"Who are you siding with?"
"...I'm sorry?" I pushed my clean tray aside, deciding it would be best to never find out what I had just eaten
She looked at me like I was an idiot, "the annual Wonderbolts' Tournament."
"I didn't think recruits got a choice," I said, shocked that they wouldn't tell me these things. Then again it is Spitfire we're talking about here...
"Blue still needs a sniper, and I just thought that if you didn't have a team yet, you might join ours." Specter pointed across the mess hall to her waving friend.
Which side of the field do you have?" I needed a map of the terrain before I could make any helpful contributions to either team.
"Oh," Specter pulled me into a lethal hug, "I knew you would help us, I just knew it!"
My days became fueled by the competition, Specter's dreams of winning soon became my own. I had logged hundreds of hours on both the flight and shooting ranges and managed both obstacle courses. My final was coming up in a week, then they would announce whether or not I made it into the Wonderbolts at all, much less, the marksman team.
I filled my days with training and my nights with studying the playing field, as the competition and the grade loomed ever closer my efforts doubled. I had to win, for me, for Spitfire, for mom and dad, but most of all I had to win for Specter.
I stumbled, grasping at the edges of breath and consciousness, one hand holding my chest together and the other grasping the shattered banister.
"Kid!" Specter's voice came through like a light shining through the blackest night.
I shouted as my legs gave out and I tumbled down the marble stairs leaving a long trail of blood and broken feathers.
I gasped for air, clutching on to every scrap of life I could, but it was too late.
"Kid, Kid," Specter dropped to her knees, "you're going to be okay. Just stay with me, okay?" She pressed a folded towel into my wound, barely able to keep it from sliding off.
I choked on the fluid in my throat, trying to speak.
"No. Don't give me any of that coward talk, not now!" Specter lifted me onto her shoulder as we made our way towards the long tunnel of colored light.... .... .... ....
I told you this would happen, son. But did you listen, no. You deliberately disobeyed me!
"What do you want me to say," my eight year old self demanded.
Get yourself upstairs, and get cleaned up for dinner, right now.
My father always scared me, he seemed to go from murderously angry to normal in a second. It was enough to shake up anyone.
I pulled myself up the old, creaking staircase heedless of the stream of blood dripping down.
It stuck to my shoes, but I just kept marching. It was the only thing I could do, besides I couldn't disappoint dad.
Blood filled my shoes to the point I couldn't stand it, my hands were soaked from the red river on the railing, bodies ones I recognized screamed at me, grabbing at my legs and clothes, trying to drag me down into my grave.
Finally I crested the staircase, older, stronger, and ready to receive my Wonderbolt's jacket. The audience fell silent as I took the coat from Spitfire's steady hands.
I turned to face my family, and watched my father walk out of the ceremony cursing my name and threatening my life. Mom also left, taking my new sister with her, the last time I would ever see them.
Clouds filled the skies as everyone slowly filed out of the building, following the examples of those that should have been the most proud.
Sticky red droplets pattered off of the empty chairs, the stage, and me. Left all alone clutching the remains of what I had worked so hard for, everything was gone and the only thing I could see were the corpses of targets resting in the seats and the blood slowly filling the room.
I couldn't move, everyone I ever killed stared at me with their cold, lifeless eyes. Blood draining from every opening.
"No more of this, be gone fell demons! " Luna's decree fell upon deaf ears, the princess stood her ground between me and them buying me time to wake up and kill the nightmare.
"It wasn't my fault..." the jacket fell in hopeless shreds leaving the necklace.
"Heed my words! This one is not for you, be gone!"
She was just a little girl, couldn't be more than five or six, she was in the wrong place. I shot her father, but the bullet carried through embedding itself in her chest. She died on the streets, holding hands with her killer.
"I told her I was sorry! She wasn't supposed to be there!" I shouted at the enclosing horde of bodies.
Luna powered a spell, one that would end the nightmare, "Be gone or suffer my wrath!"
"No. Luna, don't!" I protested, "I deserve this.... All of it."
" very well. Fight on, my little soldier, till next we meet." Luna ordered with a perfect salute, "I wish you peace in this new life..."
They grabbed at me wherever they could, scratching and biting any and all exposed flesh. They ripped me apart, and then I died. Alone, in a dream I couldn't wake up from. Alone and cold away from home.
