Fallout Equestria: Insanity's Flight

Family Reading Time

Oftentimes, when people are miserable, they will want to make other people miserable, too. But it never helps.

Six Years Before The Destruction of The Cloud Layer

Venture and Crescent sitting in a tree…

“Shut up.”

K - I - S - S - I - N - G…

“Enough.”

First comes kidnapping…

“What?”

Then comes death threats…

“Hey!”

Then comes Stockholm-induced pity fucking!

“I hate you,” I muttered.

Oh you thin skinned little bitch, Koe drawled. I’m just professing your newfound romance through the majesty of song. Seriously, you get offended by everything. Unlike yours truly.

I sputtered at the accusation, “Bwha- roman- romance?! That’s just… utterly ridiculous!”

Don’t you know the immortal law of boning? If a mare willingly talks to you for more than what would be polite, she wants to bang you. Every stallion knows and understands this rule very well.

“That… doesn’t sound right.”

It is right.

“Not like it matters, seeing as how I would obviously have zero interest in anything like that,” I said.

Yeesh, when are you going to get over that? Maybe getting a little action will help you with that particular issue of-

“That’s definitely not right,” I interrupted bluntly.

Koe fell silent at that, but I wasn’t entirely sure if I should have relished that as a victory.

Muted, metallic scuffs rang out from beneath my hooves as I moved toward the maintenance wing. I winced slightly as I put too much pressure on my wounded leg. The bleeding had stopped, but magic bandages were significantly slower than potions. It would be a good while before the bullet hole healed completely. Until then, I’d have to make do with being hobbled.

The entire Stable seemed to have fallen quiet for the first time since the intruders had arrived. I was left alone with my thoughts, a fact that almost came within spitting distance of making me want Koe to interject again. My hatred of him was at least familiar, something I could compartmentalize and understand. Hatred was like sitting down with a familiar old book for me, the confusion I was feeling now was more like repeatedly smacking myself in the face with one.

Crescent Harmony.

Even just thinking about seeing her again made my stomach turn… but not in an entirely unpleasant way. Like getting bucked in the stomach right after stuffing yourself full to bursting with Fancy Buck Snack Cakes. It hurt, and you knew what was coming, but just a small part of you was looking forward to enjoying the flavor one more time.

I really needed to come up with more palatable metaphors.

What was I supposed to think? She was… kind? Sure. But had there ever been any shortage of ponies that had been ‘kind’ to me in the past, only to show that it had all been a lie? That mare in the Pit? Lemon Tart? Tender Heart? Fucking Koe?! All of them had shown me how much their ‘kindness’ had actually meant. How could I be expected to trust anypony again after all of this?

And yet I so desperately wanted to.

I was starved, aching for any form of companionship. That familiar hole in my heart screamed for the cure that lay right in front of me. Crescent had seen what I am, knew the depths of the horrors I inflicted on others. Yet still she sought to understand me, weaving such pleasant tales of what she could do to help me. But… why?

Starts with ‘D’ ends with ‘eath.’ Kinda rhymes with possum breath?

“But what if-”

It’s gruesome death… that’s what I was implying…

“Maybe she-”

… which is what you would give her if she weren't nice to you. Just spelling it out in case you didn’t pick up on that, because you’re kinda slow.

“Ok, granted. But it’s not like-”

Kid, the voice said with finality. Try and look at this through her eyes. She’s a doctor, obviously not some badass soldier, and was probably expecting to patch up a couple scrapes and boo-boos. Instead she shows up, finds a cadaver puppet show, then gets kidnapped by the fucking puppet master. What, exactly, were you expecting her to do? Act pompous and heroic in the face of her inevitable demise? Yeah no, that shit doesn’t happen in the real world. She’s gonna say whatever she has to in order to make sure she gets out of this with that pretty little head still on her shoulders.

“Y-you don’t know that,” I snapped unconvincingly. “She really seems like she wants to help me and-”

Oh yes, based off of your incredible resume in dealing maturely with stressful social situations. Obviously that’s the conclusion that any sane pony would come to, he said sarcastically. Hmm, let’s go down the list on how you’ve dealt with that in the past. Head caved in with a rock, impaled, drowned in radioactive water, fed to lizards, strangled… need I go on?

That comfortingly familiar anger flashed through me, “That wasn’t… all my fault, and you know it. Maybe if you actually stayed out of it for once in your Goddess-damned life, I could actually make a- a-”

A friend? he asked, devolving into a fit of giggles.

The corridor abruptly came to an end outside of the maintenance wing. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized how barren the halls had been. Not a single member of my family was anywhere to be found. It hadn’t been a bluff, the scavengers had rounded up every single one they could find.

Fucking bastards.

I unholstered my pistol and checked the safety. This Whiskey character had promised an exchange, but I’d be an idiot if I ignored what was plainly in front of me. This was a trap and I was walking right into it.

All for a bunch of fucking! Dolls!

I pressed a hoof against the sliding steel door, but found it locked. Did they want me to knock? I guess that would make sense. I’d lose any element of surprise that way. There was an air vent just a few meters away, one I knew led directly into the ductwork above the maintenance room. But would they be expecting that? They already knew I travelled through the vents from our earlier encounter.

All I knew for sure was that there were three guns pointed at that door, and time was running out for my family. I had to make a decision quickly.

This… Koe trailed off, genuine awe in his tone. Well shit, this I can say with absolute one hundred percent honesty I did not expect.

“What do you mean?” I asked as I drew the final lines on the ritual circle. I checked over the finished product, holding up the book levitating beside me to ensure the accuracy of the recreation. Satisfied, I nodded and turned to the next page of ‘O’rngth’kal,’ by Crafty Love. A… controversial figure in Equestrian history. When I discovered who the mare had been and, more importantly, what she’d discovered, I was shocked to find her works in a place like this. In a medical wing of all things. Although, I suppose, deep, ancient ponish magic would be a good last resort for a doctor of more… questionable moral standing. There was probably a reason it had been stored in the chief physician’s office behind a very conveniently unlocked safe.

Regardless, I’d perused the book before as I have to confess that I had grown a fondness for ritual magic. That as opposed to the more instantaneous thaumaturgical abilities that most unicorns displayed.

This area of study encompassed such depth and adaptability. A blast of energy or grand feat of levitation were all well and good, but they were so… limited. The only true variance between them were how efficient one was with their magical reserves, how much raw power they could draw upon. Which, of course, led one to better blow up a wall or lift a heavier rock. While grand, complex feats were certainly possible in this arena, the knowledge and raw power required to do so relegated such prowess almost entirely to the monarchy of old Equestria.

As opposed to memorizing specific aetheric flows and channeling lines, checks and safety precautions, and having access to a magical reserve on par with celestial god-beings, ritual magic allowed for preparation. Lines of the ritual circles represented how the magic would flow, like an electrical circuit. Transistors and capacitors were replaced with glyphs and typography intrinsically woven into the magic imbuing our world. Then, with the flip of a unicorn’s switch, the circuit is activated. Theoretically, given the time and components, the most basic of unicorns could cast spells that could bend the fabric of reality.

There were the more basic rituals like the poltergeist spell I’d used earlier, where the channeling lines of the sigil could be drawn in one’s mind, rather than creating a physical conduit for the magic. However, the more powerful spells were made significantly more trivial with some physical component. The catalysts of a ritual almost always required a circle. The other piece generally took form in an object like an ancient artifact somehow related to the ritual’s purpose, or maybe a personal belonging of the intended target. Sometimes it took the form of something some might call… uncouth.

You are DRIPPING with blood! Koe said incredulously.

I spared a glance at the sheen of red splattered across my body, “I wouldn’t say dripping, more like… dampened in blood.”

How does that make it any better? I mean, shit, I know I shouldn’t be one to talk, but this… I did not expect something like this from you.

I glanced briefly over the sigil I’d painted across the floor, nodding acceptably at its resemblance to the one I recalled from the book. A twisting, unnerving array of sweeping lines, cryptic, otherworldly symbols, and a smattering of old ponish phrases. The center of the circle was occupied by the donor’s torso, with the head, rear legs, and a single foreleg occupying spaces encircling it. I held the remaining leg aloft, using it as an impromptu paint brush to complete the circle.

“He did come here to kill me,” I said, shrugging and placing the leg in its indicated spot. “And it’s not like he’s using the body anymore.” I spared a look at the scavenger’s scorched face, its expression locked in eternal agony.

So mutilating a corpse with the intention of using it in some black magic, freaky blood ritual is… fine, according to your incredibly fucking twisted sense of morality?

I shrugged again, “‘No magic is inherently good or evil, regardless of the components required to enact it. It is only with what motivation it is created that deems the morality of the pursuit,’ Littlehoof, Moralizing Magic.”

Ain’t that the philosopher that Celestia had banished to the sun after that whole incident with those fillies…

“His crimes committed later in life do not diminish the logic in his reasoning,” I interrupted quickly.

So you are now using the moral compass drawn by a pedophile philosopher to justify your black magic, freaky blood ritual.

“... yes.”

And what is the noble goal you hope to accomplish by doing so?

“I’m going to take on the appearance of their dead friend, sneak inside the maintenance wing and… stab them all in the back.”

Brilliant, Koe said haughtily, rolling the ‘r’ in the word.

I cursed silently as the voice withdrew.

My attention fell back on the ritual circle and the spell I’d been envisioning. Taking on the form of another was changeling territory of magical capability, and for them it was as ingrained into their biology as breathing. So the question now became how did one teach a previously non-breathing creature to do so? How did one communicate to a fish what it was like for a bird to know how to fly? The answer, as I was beginning to learn was frustratingly often the case, was experience. However, being currently without the untold thousands of hours of research and practice such experience would require, I was presently forced down a more… direct route.

An old, dusty tome filled with spells I’d slap-dashedly translated with an old ponish to modern Equestrian dictionary. What could go wrong?

I laid down in the center of the circle, kneeling before the charred torso. My eyes closed and my horn targeted the inception point, the torn open rib cage and exposed, static heart. “Corporum… sanguisaniam,” I mumbled quietly. A pulsing ball of blue glowed brightly behind my eyelids. I peeled them open to see an undulating, blinding mass forming at the tip of my horn. With an echoing drip, it fell into the open chest cavity, filling it like a fleshy punch bowl. The energy roiled within the torso until the entire mass began to melt. The red of the remaining blood and blue of the magic swirled together into a deep, sparkling purple.

I cocked my head, having never actually seen the spell work before. The violet corpse and magic slurry began spreading out across the lines of the circle, picking up and liquifying each of the remaining body parts into the same brilliant, twinkling hue. The old ponish calligraphy began to emit vapor, the trails forming into copies of the words suspended in the air.

“Mortest,” a deep, resonant voice whispered. One of the words flashed as it was said.

“Pelliaz,” another said, the second word illuminating.

“Dolum,” said a third.

“Imperriasin,” said the last.

The vapor grew denser and splattered back to the floor like miniature rain clouds. Then all was quiet.

“Is… is that it?” I said dully. I turned back toward my body, trying to see if anything had changed and found nothing. “Well…” I re-envisioned the steps in my mind as I flipped through the dusty tome and messy sticky-note translations. “... well shit. I mean, I know I’m not the best artist, but come on. Isn’t this good enough?”

As if in response, a slithering tentacle formed from within the purple ichor and whipped around one of my legs. “Hey!” I shouted, pulling back. “What the-”

I was interrupted by another lashing around my neck, pulling tight and slamming me into the shallow pool. “Mmmph!” I cried in panic.

Oooo, I take it all back, Koe said excitedly. This is getting good.

Help me, Goddess-dammit, I thought panickedly.

What the fuck do you want me to do? he responded. Besides, you made your corpse soup bed. Lie in it.

More and more of the tendrils shot out of the pool and slapped around me. I continued struggling against the magical restraints, but it was becoming obvious how futile it was. A final strand covered my face, blocking my vision and cutting off what little air I had. The mass atop me kept pulling tighter, my bones cried out like they were about to snap. An unnerving warmth began to emanate from the cocoon, but it would be remiss of me to not admit that it was almost… comforting.

Did I really just kill myself with a corpse-fueled electric blanket? I really didn’t want that to be my final thought.

Just as my body felt as if I were about to shatter, the pressure began to ease off. The mass of tendrils melted away, dripping off my body and rejoining the pool. I blearily stood up, feeling a bit woozy. It felt like I was caked in mud. A solid, yet permeable layer plastered over my skin.

Koe shimmered into existence before me, whistling. Hot damn, kid. Kills me to say it, but you’re actually getting pretty good at this. He pursed his lips and pressed his hooves against his cheeks, bunching up the skin goofily, I’m so pwoud of my wittle necwomancer.

I cast a quick spell and a reflective surface appeared before me. The pony staring back looked just like the immolated scavenger I’d pulled out of the Medbay. The coat was an unrecognizable mash of blistering and charred flesh, the mane and coat having been all but burned away, and the face drooped like hot candle wax. The right side of the head had the eye melted shut. The left had most of the flesh burned away, including the eyelid, causing the eye to gape wide in a horrifying display.

“Well… there it is,” I said, gesturing with a scorched leg. My voice had changed as well, sounding just like the stallion I’d set ablaze. “Shit I’m ugly. Do me a favor and help me walk off a cliff if I ever end up looking like this.”

Don’t flatter yourself. Honestly, this is kind of an improvement, Koe answered. But… uh, how is looking like a flambéed corpse supposed to help?

“The spell makes you look exactly the way the catalyst did before they died,” I responded. “They wouldn’t exactly be fooled if he just rose from the dead looking perfectly fine.”

Oh, I get it, Koe sneered connivingly. You play it off like a miraculous, but horrifying survival. How deliciously deceitful.

“Exactly,” I mumbled, noticing how difficult it was to talk. As if the skin of my mouth had actually melted.

Well, I don’t see any way this could possibly go wrong. Let’s do it, candle-butt. Time’s a wastin’.

How did one properly portray somepony that had just been engulfed in a chemically-fueled blaze and walked away from it? I’d assume their voice would be raspy, the burns would doubtlessly have impaired muscle movement, breathing, talking… existing.

Oh and the pain, there would probably be a lot of pain. Who knew all this time I’d just been practicing for my acting debut?

“B-boss!” I croaked as loudly as the melted flesh around my mouth would allow. I slumped against the door, trying to cause even a faint thump through the metal. “H-help… me!”

I pounded several more times, becoming more fervent in my efforts. Wait, would I become more fervent? Maybe more disheartened and willing to accept death. I’d been close to death several times, I should have an answer for this. Context really was everything.

“H-help!” I cried again, throwing the entirety of my weight against the door in a final, desperate plea.

“Who the fuck is it?” I heard Whiskey’s muffled voice say from the other side.

Oh shit, what was his name? They’d said it a couple times. Copperhead? Crackhouse? What in the hell was-

Crosshair.

The name appeared vividly in my thoughts, followed very closely by a deluge of information that I would have had no way to provide.

Crosshair, thirty-one years old, stallion, the best riflepony this side of the Marejave (or so he tells everypony). He’d spent his entire life growing up in Hoofsprings. Helped put down a gecko infestation that nearly wiped out half the town about a decade back. The whole event gave him no small amount of notoriety amongst the populace. Although they probably wouldn’t have been so eager in heaping praise had they known he’d been pissing himself in a closet while his father, that he was supposed to be spotting for, had been abandoned and left to die. But dear old dad managed to take enough of the vermin with him to scare the horde off.

Then I picked up dad’s rifle and everypony thought it had been me that had turned the tide. I tried to tell them, but they wouldn’t listen. I was a hero to them. After everything they’d been through, the town needed some hope. Who was I to take that away?

Wait… I? Why was I thinking like it was me? The spell obviously provided far more than I had initially foreseen. I could see glimpses of my host’s life.

“I-it’s Crosshair,” I wheezed weakly.

“Wh- what?” Whiskey answered. “What the fuck did you say?”

“Please, b-boss,” I said. “It hurts… it hurts so much.”

“Goddess-dammit,” he swore. “Get this door open now!”

The steel door slid open, revealing two very curious, yet weapons-readied ponies. I gained my first clear glimpse at Whiskey Stone, noting him to be an elderly stallion with a chestnut coat and a graying tan mane and beard. He wore old, yet well-cared for combat barding and had a double-barrel shotgun slung around his neck. A second pony stood beside him, his features hidden behind heavy plates of metal armor and a welding mask with a thick, blacked-out lens. The other pony also sported a huge, wicked looking machine gun welded onto his side and a belt of bullets slung across his chest.

That was going to make this complicated.

“Holy hell,” Whiskey breathed, taking in my scorched visage. “That… that really you, Crosshair? We thought… I mean the fire and-”

“H-help… me… Goddess-dammit,” I mumbled, then collapsed across the door’s threshold.

“Shit,” the older stallion growled. “Riveter, grab him while I lock the door. The psycho’s late.”

“What’re we gonna do with him, boss?” Riveter said numbly. “I mean… shit look at him. How is he still breathin’?”

“I don’t know, but I hired ‘im,” Whiskey said as he shut the door behind us. “If he’s still alive I gotta try and get ‘im home. I’ve lost too many people today. Don’t look good if I lose two scav teams in as many days. Gotta get as many of y’all out alive as I can.”

I was hoisted onto the metal-armored pony’s back and walked through the maintenance wing. It wasn’t a place I’d taken a lot of time to explore. These Stables were incredibly well built and almost none of the systems ever needed any sort of repair. Thus I never really had any need to come here. Still I’d taken the occasional trip as, like every part of the Stable, a collection of books pertaining to the location were found here. Repair guides, engineering textbooks, books on proper water filtration and the like were all stored on the shelves. Not the most engaging subjects, but I’d perused a few of the volumes before.

“Lay ‘im down in back,” I heard Whiskey say. “Don’t need ‘im wanderin’ into the crossfire.”

I was unceremoniously dumped on the floor. “Uh,” Riveter mumbled. “So… do ya want anythin’, Crosshair? Some water or… a blanket?”

“I think warmth is last fuckin’ thing he wants, you dumbass,” Whiskey snapped. “Put some water next to ‘im and cover the door. I’ll keep an eye on the ventilation grates.”

Haha, I was right! Not something I get to say very often.

Ok… plan time. I cracked open my eyes and surveyed my surroundings. The maintenance wing was pretty barren. It was a large, rectangular room, decorated with the various inner-workings of the Stable. Water and gas pipes lining the walls, blinking panels controlling life-support, and large, whirring machines controlling the ventilation systems. There were a few desks and a row of shelves with untouched boxes of tools and spare parts sitting on each. A small staircase led up to the door I’d been brought through, and I spied Riveter taking his post at the door.

Whiskey had his gaze turned toward the ceiling, his focused eyes locked onto the panels leading into the ventilation ducts. I subtly shuffled my rear leg, reassuring myself as I felt the shape of the 10mm buried beneath the disguise. I spied a large socket wrench on a shelf beside me, and the formulation of a plan began to sprout in my mind. If I could take out Whiskey without arousing any suspicion, then I could grab his shotgun and bring down Riveter before either of them even began to suspect what was going on.

I sent a tendril of magic snaking across the floor and watched as it slowly wrapped around the wrench. A slight scraping of metal rang out as it rose into the air and began floating toward me.

… but this is my chance.

Wait… what? I hadn’t thought that. Had I? I shook my head of the thought and dragged myself to my hooves, warily keeping out of sight of Whiskey. The older stallion still had his eyes locked onto the vents above, his back toward me. I took a careful step, then another.

… I need to prove myself. Everypony is talking behind my back, I just know it. They know I let dad die, that I hid like a coward. I’m… not… a-

I clenched my eyes and took a shuddering breath. Ignore it, I thought, this is just a side-effect of the ritual. Goddess-damn I needed another voice in my head like I needed a bullet in the… leg. I winced, staring down at the portion of my rear leg, currently encased in Crosshair’s skin, that still sported the bullet wound from earlier. Incredible how I could forget about something like that… also probably not a good sign that I couldn’t feel the pain anymore.

Deal with it later, I thought. I focused back on Whiskey, glaring daggers into the back of his head as I hefted the wrench in my magic. I stalked forward, wanting as much power in the swing as possible.

… why am I trying to hurt Whiskey? He’s a stubborn old bastard, but working with him will-

Stop, I thought harshly.

… but that’s why I’m here. I can’t hurt him. What’s going on? Why can’t I control my body? Who’s voice is that?

I could ask the same question, I thought back.

Wait a minute, I know you. You’re the psycho we’re after… you’re- controlling me? How? What happened? I remember… the Medbay. We were trying to… help Tumbler… and find you… but then-

Oh fuck, this isn’t good.

I honestly didn’t think this could get any better, Koe chimed in happily. I heard a rustling and crunching sound, like somepony was eating popcorn.

Who’s that? What’s going on? Crosshair, I guess, asked panickedly.

No way, you can hear me? Koe asked jovially. Kid, you have fucked up in the past, but this is just a whole new level. You didn’t just kill the bastard, you brought him back from the dead to watch you kill his friends! And I get to be a part of it! Best. Day. Ever.

Wait, what?! What in Tartarus is he talking about?! What does he mean brought back from the dead?! Crosshair screamed in my head.

Yeah… so here’s the thing… I thought awkwardly. We kind of killed you and… now I’m wearing your skin as a disguise.

What. The. Fuck? He said in disbelief.

That’s what I’m saying! Koe interjected as he devolved into a giggling fit.

Don’t take it the wrong way, I thought back quickly. It’s not like I just skinned you and stitched together an outfit, that wouldn’t have looked believable at all. I used a ritual that dissolved your body into aetheric energy that then formed a perfect magical shell of you. But I guess your… soul? Consciousness? I don’t know, I’m not a theologist or anything. But some part of you is still here. This is the first time I’ve ever used any remotely necromantic magic before and… I’m not making this sound any better, am I?

WHAT THE FUCK?! Crosshair repeated, despair riddling his tone. The newest voice to join the conference call that had become my mind began to… hyperventilate? Wait, why would a voice… er consciousness… soul? This was getting confusing. Regardless, why was he breathing, even more so panickedly? Perhaps the memory of, at least until quite recently, having a body was at play here. Would the sundered soul… er memory… whatever the fuck he was, possibly recall what his physical body would have experienced and was performing the action on pure reflex? If it were just a memory, perhaps the entity had just perfectly recreated Crosshair’s thought process and predicted what the most likely response would be to the situation. Or maybe-

Is this really the time for a philosophical rumination on the mechanics of your black magic, freaky blood ritual?! Koe said rather loudly, attempting to drown out the panic attack that Crosshair was currently experiencing. This was fun at first, but my lease didn’t say anything about a fucking roommate.

Oh I’m sorry, I thought back venomously, were you expecting me to drop everything and evict him?

That would be ideal, yes, Koe said simply.

You… two, Crosshair interjected, apparently regaining some of his faculties. You… killed me.

I’m so glad we’re all on the same page now, I responded sarcastically, and I’m real broken up about it, believe me. But in case you haven’t noticed, I’m a little busy. So if you could just hush up for a few minutes, then I’ll kill your friends and you can go back to being dead. Would that make everypony fucking happy?! Huh?!

N-no, Crosshair stuttered. No no no no nonononononono…

Woah you ok there, slick? Koe asked as Crosshair devolved into manic mutterings. Believe you me, I know waking up to find you don’t have a body, and that you’re now eternally stuck inside this dipshit, is a pretty earth-shattering kick in the dick.

Hey!

I don’t… I don’t want to… die again, Crosshair finally stated shakily.

Ok, granted your first go around the whole death thing was pretty rough, I responded. My bad, that’s on me. But come on, the other side can’t be worse than staying inside my head. You don’t have a lot of options here.

There was… nothing, the stallion said. Just… darkness.

… what are you talking about? I asked after a few seconds.

I remember now, Crosshair continued. The fire, it was so hot. My skin felt like it was bubbling and melting away. I tried to scream… but my mouth melted shut… and my lungs inhaled the heat. My flesh sizzled, my organs began to boil, every waking moment was… agony.

He fell silent for a moment, but what he said next made me wish he’d stayed quiet.

But I would endure that pain for a thousand years rather than glance back into that void for another second.

Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy, Koe chanted, having apparently grown much more excited as to what our new guest had to say. You actually saw the other side? What was it like? Lakes of fire? Endless darkness? Eternal recompense for your life’s greatest sin in an ironic and endless loop? Or, dare I say, his voice grew far quieter and filled with reverence, breezy rap battles? He shuttered.

Screams, the traumatized ghost continued. There were so many screams. I can’t even begin to… words don’t-

Crosshair’s voice cracked slightly before he fell silent, leaving that heavy thought to thoroughly sour my desire to follow through on the casual murders he’d so rudely interrupted.

There was some kind of presence, he continued after a moment. Something that called to me, drew me nearer. I didn’t want to listen, there was something… wrong about it. Something unnatural, dark and… hateful. It wanted to swallow every damned soul in that void alongside me. I guess that’s why they were screaming.

Huh, Koe said after a moment. So god really is dead. Good to know, since we probably ain’t that far behind you.

I mean, I wouldn’t exactly call this guy a paragon of virtue, I thought defensively. Maybe he was seeing the more… brimstoney afterlife.

Uh-huh, Koe agreed sarcastically. Let’s go ahead and slap that heart of yours on the scale. You figure you can beat the feather?

Good point, I answered begrudgingly, and I have to say I’m impressed with the reference to Somnambula’s theory on the afterlife. I’ve actually been wanting to discuss all of that with somepony for a while now, but I never thought you were getting anything out of all this reading and…

Uh, kid, Koe said.

I ignored the voice, my innate curiosity running rampant over my thoughts.

… I’m curious how you felt her theories aligned with those propagated by the Church of Celestia. Seeing as how the princess herself never really put forward any claim that she had first hoof accounts of the afterlife. You’ll probably remember that the cardinals of her religion theorized that, being an equus-bound deity, there was certain knowledge that was too divine for mortal minds to comprehend so she…

Venture… he continued.

… had to keep most of her cosmic knowledge closed off from us for our protection. Even though the church itself was formed without Celestia’s direction, she also never tried to influence their teachings. With Crosshair here now being a primary source of information, I wonder if we could actually start hypothesizing some concrete theories on what the actual afterlife could look like. Especially after the death of the being past Equestrians unanimously agreed was their god. It really opens up a lot of avenues for…

No, no, Crosshair said dully, yet malevolently. Let’s let him figure it out for himself.

Do you know how many times this dumbass would have died if I ever did that? Koe responded. Venture, pay a-fucking-ttention!

What are you two going on abou-

Click-clack.

The sound of Whiskey’s double-barrel shotgun breaching and closing interrupted the tongue… er… thought lashing I was laying on my two cerebral sidekicks. Whiskey had turned around at some point, and the business end of the shotgun was pointed directly at my… er… our head.

“Why Crosshair,” the elderly stallion said with mock concern, “whenever were you plannin’ to let the rest o’ us know you were a unicorn? Have my old eyes just never been able to see it?” He glanced briefly toward the wrench still suspended in the air beside me, poised to strike.

“Uh,” I responded. Haha, taste the wicked edge of my rapier wit! I sheepishly hid the weapon behind me, grinning as wide as the melted mouth would allow. “H-how’s it goin’, boss? I was just… uh, you know? Looking for… leaks?”

The humor swiftly disappeared from Whiskey’s face. “Give it up, freak, I know it’s you,” he said gruffly. “Ya mind explainin’ why it is that you’re wearin’ my ex-employee’s skin? Can’t say I’m exactly sure how this fits into our agreement.”

My smile faltered, the jig was up. “Well they do say if you really want to get to know somepony, you should walk a mile in their shoes. I’m just… taking it a few steps further than that.”

Whiskey chuckled darkly. He took a step forward and pressed the barrel up against my face. “Now you listen and you listen good, you son of a bitch. If I had my way, I’d make sure ya suffered tenfold for every moment o’ hurt ya laid down on my lil girl. But seein’ as how I still got people alive here, I’ll just have to make due fillin’ your rotten corpse with buckshot.” His smile returned for a moment, “And I ain’t plannin’ on it just takin’ one shot. First I’ll blow off your legs, then put a couple o’ shells in your balls. And just when you’re beggin’ ol’ Whiskey to have mercy and end it all, then maybe I’ll shove the barrel right up your ass and-”

“This is getting a little… sexual,” I interrupted, surprising myself with the outburst. “No offense, but I’m not really comfortable with that.”

“Wh-what the f-” he began, faltering at my question.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” I continued, the spark of an idea beginning to form. “I’m not one to… what’s it called? Kink shame? Sorry I don’t really have a lot of experience with… this. And, for personal reasons I’d rather not share, I’d rather it stay that way.” The wrench slowly levitated from around my other side. A row of shelves hid the tool from view as I cautiously brought it up toward the ceiling.

“Ya really think now is an appropriate time to be mockin’ me, boy?” Whiskey said in disbelief. “Need I remind you of the twelve gauge enema I’ve got pointed right at your-”

“And there you go again,” I interrupted once more. “Can you please respect my boundaries here? I get it, you’re going to kill me in a grand and painful fashion, but I’m… not comfortable with the sexual idioms. Can you just keep your menacing speech away from anything like that?”

Whiskey stared at me for a moment, head cocked quizzically and his mouth slightly agape. “Ya really are a looney toon, ain’t ya?”

I grinned maniacally in response, trying to expose as much teeth as the flesh mask would allow, “I’m just trying to make sure we all respect each other’s needs and boundaries.” Then I started to cackle, letting the disconcerting giggles overwhelm the space, “D-do either of you *hehe* w-want to have a feelings circle?” I tilted my head back and let loose, choking out the laughs as my heart raced with the gravity of the situation. Any second he might get tired of my antics and start firing. I couldn’t push him too far, but I needed them both to be uncomfortable enough to pause. I needed a little more time.

I used my head’s new position to look back at the wrench, carefully positioning its jaw around one of the sprinkler heads up above.

Just keep letting them think you’re crazy, I thought.

Think? Koe interjected wryly.

Shut up.

Whiskey turned toward his armored companion, who was looking just as dumbstruck by my comments as he was. “Riveter, I don’t even wanna look at this psycho anymore.” He turned away, lowering his gun. “Just put him down like the rabid dog he is.”

“Uh, r-right boss,” the armored pony sputtered, shaking himself from his distracted stupor. He stalked toward me, his heavy metal armor ringing out with every step.

Whiskey backed away, shaking his head. “Just another lunatic,” he muttered. “Probably don’t even know what he’s done.”

Riveter soon stood in front of me, and I heard the bone-chilling sound of the machine-gun’s bolt. “Shit,” he said numbly, “Almost feel sorry for the bastard.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” I gasped, trying to recover from the outburst of laughter. “I made a bunch of new friends today. Didn’t I?”

“Just put him down already, Riveter,” Whiskey called. “We ain’t got time for this.”

“Hold on now,” I called, losing the laugh and becoming completely serious. This gave both of them a bit of pause. “Don’t you want to finish telling me how you’re gonna kill me?” I let the grin cover my entire face, letting the image sink into both stallion’s memories. “Or is it my turn now?” the wrench turned and broke off the sprinkler head.

In one of my incredibly rare moments of foresight, I had at one point tried to take stock of my supplies in the Stable. While the food was designed to be preserved for centuries, and feed a population of hundreds for that amount of time, water was something I was slightly concerned about. The primary source was a talisman that seemed to draw water from the surrounding air, purify, and then dilute it into a drinkable form. I’d often wondered what I’d do if this talisman ever failed, and I’d looked for a backup plan just in case.

This led me to the fire suppression system that I’d seen deployed around the entire stable. Probably not ideal to drink standing water that had been sitting around for two hundred years and never even meant to be drank, but if it came down to that or dying, it was a pretty easy choice. However, when I’d come across the source for this intricate sprinkler system, I was slightly disappointed to find that it would not solve my theoretical water crisis.

This was because the sprinkler system was filled with a rapidly expanding, fire-retardant foam. And this very foam filled the space in seconds.

“What the f-” Riveter shouted as he was doused in foam. The three of us were swiftly blinded by the bubbly blizzard.

“DON’T LET ‘IM GET AWAY!” Whiskey shouted panickedly. The sound of his shotgun firing followed soon after, causing several mounds of foam to explode into strangely joyous displays of raining bubbles. Heck if you took out the whole trying to kill me thing, one might think we were having a bubble, necromancy, and firearm themed birthday party.

I dived into the foam and began making my way away from the pair of scavengers. Riveter soon overcame his shock and began unloading his machine gun in a wild frenzy. The dull, cracking thumps of automatic gunfire echoed around the room, though somewhat dampened in the mass of foam. I could feel the bullets piercing the camouflage, narrowly missing me as I crawled forward.

Suddenly my leg jerked, the very same that had already been wounded (of fucking course), as a bullet slammed into it. I gritted my teeth, preparing for the inevitable rush of searing pain, but…

AHHH! Crosshair screamed inside my head. Wh-what the hell just happened?

… huh.

My body jerked as another bullet slammed into me.

FUCK! Crosshair cried again. Wh-why does that hurt? I thought I was supposed to be dead!

Well this is certainly a new development, Koe said thoughtfully. Dead body, body armor. Who’da thunk it?

I kept crawling through the foam. Just because Crosshair was, apparently, tanking every shot that came my way didn’t mean I had to keep tempting fate.

“Where are you, you son of a bitch!” Whiskey growled.

A hole appeared in the foam right next to my head, exposing me to the scavengers.

“There!” the elder stallion cried. He took aim and fired again, this time right at my head. I ducked, narrowly avoiding the hail of shrapnel when-

MY GODDESS-DAMNED EAR! Crosshair screamed, and I became acutely aware of my own ear popping out of the newly made hole in my… skin suit.

Is that really what I was wearing? I hadn’t thought about it that way. I’d cast a spell that liquified a pony’s corpse, made a suit of flesh armor, and yanked his damned, tormented soul back into the mortal plane to come along for the ride and watch this whole shit-show unfold.

All to protect a collection of mannequins that I called family.

This was really starting to sound like some wackadoo, serial-killer shit.

Uh, no doi? Why do you think I’m freaked out?

Well at least I’m cognizant of it, I thought indignantly.

Recognizing you have a problem is the first step toward-

Another shotgun blast interrupted that particular line of thinking. I ducked back into the foam, but soon came to the horrified realization that I was running out of places to hide. I’d only managed to set off the one sprinkler head, and that wasn’t nearly enough to fill the entire room. I glanced at my wounded leg, knowing there was another way to defend myself lurking just beneath Crosshair’s skin.

Hey, Crosshair, I began, trying to sound supportive. How you holding up, buddy?

Wh-what the fuck do you care? he responded through what sounded like gritted teeth.

Again, how does a disembodied voice even do that? He didn’t have teeth!

I ask because I’m… about to make it a lot worse.

Wh-what d’ya mea-he began, but was cut off when my magic surrounded the bullet hole in my… his… our… fuck it, in my leg and started yanking at the edges, trying to widen the hole.

AHHHHHH! Crosshair screamed. Y-you motherfu- AHHHHHH!

This really wasn’t part of the plan, I swear.

Strips of Crosshair’s bloody flesh dripped onto the floor, disappearing into the foam and leaving a subtle pink hue as it mixed with the white.

Well, you being in my head to begin with wasn’t part of the plan at all and-

JUST FUCKING HURRY UP YOU ASSHOLE! he screamed, starting to sound like he might be crying.

I was starting to feel kind of bad about this.

Finally, the hole was wide enough for me to slither a tendril of magic inside and yank out the pistol hidden beneath. It was covered in slippery, sickly purple gore. A horrifyingly pungent scent of rot wafted up from the wound, as if I’d just uncorked a bottle of milk that was about fifty years past its expiration date… and filled with the rotting remains of the cow it came from. I gagged at the smell, allowing the gun to slip from my grasp.

*BANG*

I felt my other rear leg jerk backwards.

FU-UH-UCK! Crosshair screamed pitifully.

Ok for realsies, that was an accident! I thought panickedly.

Was it though? I’m starting to think you’re enjoying this, you sick fuck.

I ignored the voice, picking up the pistol and trying to get a read on where my attackers were. I felt the foam being disturbed, and it seemed to be off to the right. Throwing caution to the wind. I blindly aimed in that direction and started firing. The sharp crack of the pistol drew forth a similar response from the scavengers. Though it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, it felt like hours passed as we continuously exchanged fire.

I saw a slight discoloration in the foam in front of me. I whipped the pistol about, pushed it as far forward as I could, and emptied the rest of the magazine. The sound of pinging metal resounded around the room, immediately followed by a high-pitched whizzing sound as the bullet ricocheted and-

OW-H-OOOWWW! Crosshair moaned as the bullet bit into my shoulder.

“This really isn’t our day,” I said aloud.

Just as the words left my mouth, a thick, metal-clad foreleg reached into the foam, yanked me out, and slammed me onto a dry patch of floor. I stared blearily up at the armored Riveter, a slight dent in his welder’s helmet where I’d just shot him.

“Nah,” he said, muffled slightly by the face mask. “It really ain’t.” The barrel of his machine gun pressed against my cheek. The skin where it made contact began to hiss quietly from the heat of the barrel, but I guess Crosshair didn’t notice in the face of the bucket of bullets peppered across his flesh.

“Enough is enough,” Whiskey growled beside us, trying to catch his breath. “I have had it with these li’l games o’ yours. This ends now!”

“I’m actually a fan of games, let’s keep playing games,” I said quickly, trying desperately to find yet another way out of this. “You guys like Dragon Pit? I think I got the board around here somewhere, let me just head to the rec room real quick and I’ll-”

“SHUT! UP!” Whiskey shouted before emptying one of his shotgun barrels into my foreleg.

Crosshair’s… flesh… shield (ew) blew apart in a shower of buckshot, exposing my real leg to the open air. The surviving strands of bloody gore melted into that same purple ichor that had dripped from the bullet wound. A few bits of the blast made it past Crosshair’s skin and bit into my own leg, sending a lance of burning pain up the limb.

I hissed through gritted teeth at the sensation.

Y-you don’t get to fuckin’ complain, Crosshair said weakly, apparently unphased at the loss of his own limb.

Suffering is relative, I thought back. Just because you’re in more pain doesn’t invalidate my own feelings.

F-fuck you.

Fair enough.

“Any last words?” Whiskey said darkly, cracking open his shotgun and taking an overly-dramatic amount of time reloading the barrels.

“Would an ‘I’m sorry’ make any difference at this point?” I asked.

The older stallion sneered, “I almost respect the effort, but no.” He whipped the shotgun upward, closing it with a practiced ease that lent a certain finality to the discussion.

My heartbeat, once waylaid to the furthest part of my consciousness, drummed against my ears like a marching band. That familiar, ever present fear for survival kicked in. I didn't want to die, especially not like this. No living thing really wants to die, it’s instinct. But in my case, was that really for the best?

After everything I’d been through, the triviality of it was almost fitting. I hadn’t been a good pony, not even close. I’d tried to do good, and that had only ever made things go from kind of fucked up, to apocalyptically fucked up. My whole life pointed to the fact that I’d never been meant to do anything great, the world would have been better off if I’d just never set hoof on it. Maybe some are born for greatness and heroism, others for banality, and others still meant to be the antagonists of somepony else’s story. Maybe that’s just how the game of life worked.

Maybe it was just a run of bad luck.

Or maybe the game was rigged from the start, Koe said.

Stop talking, I’m trying to think happy thoughts.

“Say your prayers, motherfucker,” Whiskey hissed. Pressing the shotgun against my cheek.

“Mother… fucker?” I said quietly to myself. “... ew.”

An alarm started to blare from the loudspeakers. The loud, piercing note instantly drew all of our attention to the source. In almost comical unison, we cocked our heads and glanced back at each other.

“What is this?” Whiskey asked, adding more pressure to the barrel pressed against my face.

“I really wish I could tell you,” I answered quickly. “Then I’d know if this was good for me or not.”

The elder stallion glanced at Riveter, “Get out there and find out what’s goin’ on, I’ll finish up here.”

“You got it, Boss,” Riveter said before working the action on his machine gun and moving toward the exit.

He got about ten paces away before the sound of snapping wood made him pause. Slowly the armored stallion turned and stared directly behind us.

“What in the hell’re you doin’, son?” Whiskey asked.

“Th-th-the m-m-m-” Riveter stuttered, his armor rattling as he started to shake. Fear infused his tone as he pointed a hoof in the direction he was staring. “M-m-mannequins.”

“Wha-” Whiskey began, then followed Riveter’s gaze. The pressure from the gun slackened, and I was able to look over as well.

For the first time since I’d arrived, I finally laid eyes on my adopted family again. There was an industrial wood chipper in the Stable, probably left here to break down any old or useless items down into a form that could be more easily used in a recycling spell. It lay at the back of maintenance, and that was apparently where these two had stored everypony. Dozens of painted, white statues were lined up along the far wall. Their colors and cutiemarks all aligning with the ponies locked away in my memories.

Whether my creation of these things was from my own loneliness or a desire to repent for the taking of the lives they represented, I wasn’t entirely sure. In the back of my mind I knew they weren’t really alive. Maybe I should be relieved because of that, but that could just be how all insane ponies behave. Pretend the hallucinations are real, because it’s easier than coming to terms with why our minds created them in the first place. I don’t know, I didn’t much like reading about psychology. It made me… uncomfortable.

What made me infinitely more uncomfortable was seeing the self-made physical manifestations of my delusions looking right at us.

The mannequins had broken free of their wooden stands. The sloppy paint jobs I’d given them were now streaked through with glowing blue lines. I recognized the patterns as some kind of enchantment, and the basic premise of its purpose was becoming frighteningly clear. The group walked in unison, their limbs moving in a disconcertingly unnatural way. Like a group of marionettes held by a professional, but possibly drunk puppetmaster. Almost pony-like, but just different enough to be uncanny.

Whiskey swiftly redirected his shotgun at the advancing group of mannequins. “Wh-what in Tartarus is this, freak?” he stuttered.

“So you two are seeing this too?” I answered, keeping my eyes locked on the advancing force. “That’s good, for a second there I thought I was going crazy.”

… bruh.

Whiskey never took his eyes off the mannequins, instead letting out a snarl before unloading both barrels into them.

The mannequin I had painted like Pike took the brunt of the buckshot. Chunks of him blew apart in a shower of splinters and ripped fabric. My heart sank and I had to suppress a wild urge to lash out at Whiskey, trying to convince myself that I wasn’t really watching my brother die again.

I’m not incredibly persuasive.

“Stop!” I said desperately as the deep maroon statue blew apart. I struggled against the older stallion, but a swift strike from the butt of his shotgun corrected that behavior. Crosshair seemed to absorb most of the blow, but it was still enough to knock my skull and get my vision swimming.

Other than that, Whiskey ignored me. “What’n the hell’re you waitin’ for?” he shouted at Riveter. “Shoot these fuckin’ things.”

That seemed to snap the armored pony out of his stupor as he shook himself off and levelled the machine gun. The rapid barrage of bullets tore through the advancing line, the swift flashes of light briefly illuminating the carnage befalling my family like a horrifying stop-motion animation.

“No,” I croaked pitifully, trying to clear the fog in my head. I could only watch as the mannequins were torn apart.

This place had been my sanctuary, the books my distraction, but these ponies had been my salvation. It was all well enough to lock myself away. To protect the remnants of my mind from the toxic relationship the wasteland and I shared. One I knew would only have us destroy each other. But that wasn’t enough. Between the shadows of my past and Koe’s constant jeering, what little remained of myself had been unwinding at a blistering pace. The books had just been a band-aid on a gaping wound in my mind, stemming the bleeding but doing little toward its healing. I needed comfort, I needed understanding, I needed shoulders to cry on and ears to listen.

I needed forgiveness.

I knew they were just mannequins, I knew they weren’t really the ponies I’d murdered so ruthlessly, I knew they couldn’t actually absolve me of the crimes I’d committed.

But Goddess-dammit, they were my fucking mannequins!

I swept a leg under Whiskey, catching the older stallion off-guard and toppling him to the ground. He smacked into the steel floor with a grunt and I swung myself on top of him and brought my hooves down in a hammering cascade of blows.

“Fuck you!” I screamed. “You don’t get to hurt my friends, my family!”

“What’n the- fuckin’- Riveter!” Whiskey cried. “Get this psycho offa me!”

The armored stallion was oddly quiet at the request, so much so that I stopped my barrage and spared a glance toward him. Once again, he was staring at the advancing line, obviously frozen by the sight before him. Whiskey used the opportunity to wiggle out from beneath me and bring his shotgun to bear. One of his eyes was closed and bleeding, the flesh beginning to swell beneath. A pained grimace spread across his face.

“Say goodnight, freak.”

“Eraser Deployment System, activated. Witnesses found. Elimination protocols… active. We are sorry, but this is for the greater good,” a robotic, yet oddly-lifelike voice said.

Then Whiskey disintegrated.

The stallion flashed a blinding, bright blue. So bright in fact that I had to shield my eyes. A second later, the silhouette that had been Whiskey turned a deep grey, then tumbled into glowing ash, a soft ‘whumph’ sounding as his shotgun landed neatly on top of the pile.

… what? Koe deadpanned.

Silence reigned. I could even make out the muffled, panicked breathing coming from the armored stallion to my right. Riveter never took his eyes off the mannequins, not even as his final ally became an incredibly annoying cleanup issue for later.

“Where did I leave the vacuum?” I asked to nopony in particular.

That apparently absurd comment seemed to break Riveter from his shell-shocked trance. “What did you say?”

“The vacuum,” I repeated. “You know, weird sucky thing. I gotta get this cleaned up. If anypony walks through these ashes, they’re gonna get everywhere. I also might forget. I find it’s best to get any cleaning out of the way while it’s fresh in your mind.”

“You… I-” Riveter stammered, but was cut off by somepony behind me.

“Witness disposed of,” the voice said. “Scanning… witness not found in Stable registry. Possible intruder. Creation of cover story for death… unnecessary.”

Slowly I turned around, finding the surviving mannequins not ten feet away from us. A blue glow surrounded the splinters of those that had been destroyed. They zipped across the room, meeting with their fellows and beginning to reconstruct themselves until the entire ensemble stood before us once again. Not dissimilar to the repair spell I’d used to reconstruct Pike earlier.

‘Pike’ reformed first, then took a step forward. “Scanning, two more witnesses detected.”

“F-fuck you!” Riveter shouted, bringing his machinegun to bear once again. He only got a few shots off before a dozen beams of blue light engulfed him. The more reflective pieces of his metal armor dispersed some of the shots, but those that hit melted through the dull steel like butter. The molten metal began warping and dripping inward onto the flesh beneath

Riveter shrieked.

The stallion fell to the ground, futilely trying to rip the armor off, but the steel swiftly began fusing to his skin. Another stream of deadly light crashed into the thrashing scavenger, further melting his armor into a horrifying cocoon of molten slag. As the welder’s helmet liquefied, I got one clear look at the terrified stallion’s pleading gaze begging for help, but by that point the metal had dripped onto his mouth and his screams were cut off.

One final beam contacted his flesh, and he mercifully joined Whiskey as another pile of dust on the floor.

The silence that followed wasn’t allowed quite the same dramatic length of time as the last. I turned back toward the mannequins, wide-eyed and unable to move.

Kid, Koe said, a drip of worry in his voice.

“Scanning,” ‘Pike’ said again, his gaze still locked onto Riveter’s ash pile. “Witness not found in Stable registry. Possible intruder. Creation of cover story for death… unnecessary.”

I took one hesitant step forward.

KID, Koe repeated, this time more urgently. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!

I couldn’t help myself. For so long I’d agonized over my final day with Pike. The sacrifice he’d so unflinchingly given, and the promises I’d made because of it. He’d died thinking that I would be roaming the wasteland, wiping out evil and protecting the innocent. He wanted to see my dream realized, and had given his life in return for me protecting thousands of others.

Pike died to make me a hero, and that very dream had died alongside every innocent life I’d taken.

It was one thing to be around the mannequin, playing pretend as we had that one glorious, blessed day. But seeing that same rust red of his coat on an actual moving, speaking pony brought every ounce of guilt crashing against me, battering my better judgement into submission and driving me forward.

“P-Pike,” I stuttered breathily, feeling just like that helpless colt again. “P-Pike… it’s me, Venture.”

My brother whipped toward me. “Scanning,” it repeated.

“Pike I-” the words caught in my throat, a stinging at the corner of my eye threatening tears. “I-I’m so sorry.” An icicle had been rammed into my heart, wrenching back and forth at every moment I was in his presence. There was so much I needed to say. So much I needed him to hear. The world fell away as I shakily stepped forward, bringing me right up to my brother. The crashing wave of emotion urged me to throw my hooves around him and hug as tightly as I could.

“I’m so sorry, big brother,” I sobbed, the tears starting to pour freely. “I’m so sorry. I failed you, I failed everypony. You sacrificed yourself so I could help others. I promised to be good, I promised you I’d be a hero, but- but I-” I wept against his chest. “I- I tr- tried so hard. I wanted to keep my promise. I wanted to be the hero you thought I could be, but-” I buried my face against the felt of his chest. “I-I’m sorry, p-please forgive me.”

“Witness detected,” ‘Pike’ said.

VENTURE! Koe screamed. HE’S GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU!

I didn’t move at first, letting that thought clash with the tempest in my heart, “... I know.”

My vision exploded in a flash of blue light. A wash of searing heat danced across my skin. I readied myself, finally feeling like I was ready to face this final judgement, letting Pike have the justice he sorely deserved. Even as far removed as this was, it would have to be enough to satisfy my conscience.

Thank Celestia, Crosshair said in a breathy sigh of relief.

It felt like something slipped off the top of my brain. Like a headache numbing in the wake of an ice pack laid across your skull. The heat dissipated and the flesh armor that had been Crosshair crumbled into a powdery ash, finally giving the torched, resurrected, and bullet-ridden scavenger the sweet release of death. At least until he enters that void again, that won’t be great.

But I was still alive.

Goddess-dammit.

Ok, that was fun. But this is happening now, Koe said.

What are you talking ab- I began, but was cut off when my body started to move on its own. I released my brother from the embrace and turned back toward the entrance, trudging through the piles of fire-foam.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING! I shouted… mentally.

Saving your sorry ass, what does it look like?

You… don’t… control me! I snapped, pulling against the sensation. You… can’t-

Did you forget already? Your emotional low points give me more control, Koe said, sounding oddly analytical. Turns out trying to commit suicide by hugging a magic robot you’ve got painted up like your shish-kebabed older brother whilst staring down a DJ PON-3 rave’s worth of death lasers is PRETTY FUCKING LOW!

“Scanning,” ‘Pike’ said, looking me over.

“I- but- but Pike-”

IT’S! A! FUCKING! MANNEQUIN! ONE THAT IS TRYING TO KILL YOU, DIPSHIT!

“You’re-” I gasped, feeling a small bit of reason return to me, “you’re right. Goddess-dammit, you’re right.”

No doi.

I took back control from Koe. For what seemed to be one of rare moments in our beleaguered, lifelong partnership, we actually agreed upon our course of action. My legs moved unsteadily at first, but soon moved into a slow gallop toward the exit.

Then I realized just how difficult the foam was to move through. It felt like wading through very watery mud, and the subtle stinging at my wounds didn’t exactly settle my mind about the chemical’s toxicity.

“Stable resident detected,” ‘Pike’ said. “Overmare Venture Forth identified.”

Pfft, Overmare, Koe giggled.

Shut it, I thought back. Wait, maybe this means they won’t attack me. I mean I am the… Overmare.

Teehee

Quiet. This might be good. Whatever may have set them off may not effect-

“Cover story for Overmare’s disappearance, ratified. Prime directive takes precedence over any individual resident’s survival. Apologies, Overmare Venture. Continuing with elimination protocols.”

Well shit.

A piercing beam of blue flashed across my shoulder, forcing me to dive into the foam as I had just minutes before. I zig-zagged through the camouflage, trying to break the line of sight of the… Celestia-almighty I guess they weren’t mannequins. So what did I call them? Kill-bots? Eh, too basic. Fashion-flambee-ers? Too hard to spell.

Designer disintegrators? Koe suggested.

That’s… pretty good.

Dee-dees for short.

I shook my head, Stop having good ideas, I want to keep hating you.

And that shake of the head narrowly saved my skin as the next beam flashed eerily close. But I was nowhere near where I'd first entered the foam. It was almost like… like they didn’t need to see me.

Double shit.

Abandoning my plan of hiding, I sprinted forward. Or at least sprinted as well as I could.

It wasn’t impossible to move, but very annoying. Like getting stuck in a pile of pillows and blankets once you’ve tangled yourself up in them while you slept. Except my inability to escape this pile of pillows meant being disintegrated. I started to pick up speed, the entrance so tantalizingly close.

Another cascade of beams blasted in front of me, singeing the ends of my mane and wreaking with the scent of burning ozone. The resulting smoke stung my eye, but I could still barely see the outline of the exit. The power was out, but I could just make out the emergency release mounted like a bulkhead wheel on the steel door.

“Please stop resisting, Overmare,” ‘Pike' called from behind me. “Your death will be significantly less painful if you do.”

“Tempting offer,” I wheezed as I threw my hooves around the emergency release and heaved. “But… I’m afraid… I’m gonna have to… pass.” With a creak the wheel spun free, sliding open the door and freeing me from the confines of the maintenance wing.

I tumbled outside, allowing myself a quick sigh of relief before I continued my grand escape toward-

“Scanning,” another of the dee-dees said to my right.

My eyes grew wide with horror as I spared a glance in the voice’s direction. The entire right hallway was filled to the brim with the mannequins. The one in front was a charcoal black with a silver mane. Trim, that last stallion I’d killed in the Pit. Stuck a needle of Rage through his eye and then slit his throat. To his left was one painted a light tan with a smattering of feathers glued to its body, the griffin whose name I never got. Drowned him in a bubble of radioactive water. Behind him was a brown earth pony with a cyan mane, a mother whose skull I crushed on my first night in the Pit.

My stomach sank as another stepped into view, this one a bright yellow with a splash of green trailing down its head. A pony who had shown me more kindness in three days than I had known in my entire life. Lemon Drop began to glow, the rest following in unison as the line of dee-dees began glowing with that deadly, blue light.

Every single pony I’d ever done harm was staring me down, preparing to turn me into a pile of smoldering ash.

You know I appreciate a good ironic twist as much as the next guy, but this is a bit much.

I sighed, “Shut the fuck up Koe.”

I probably should have asked myself why a library needed so many mannequins. I mean yeah, there were a few fashion magazines, some guidebooks on fashion theory, and, of course, a copy of ‘Dazzling Diamond Diva: The Rise of Equestria’s Premier Fashionista,’ by Rarity. But teaching only a Stable population’s worth of ponies on the finer points of fashion? That would take what? Three? Maybe four mannequins?

Why had I never questioned the presence of dozens?

I wonder if this is what a rave was like? Koe asked bemusedly as I ducked a trio of lasers. The piercing whine of the beams echoed through the hall, the scent of ozone now the only scent in the air. They cut into the wall, leaving scorched patterns criss-crossing across the metal.

What?! I asked panickedly.

You know, a rave. Dark rooms, psychedelic drugs, lots of lasers and light effects. Music like smashing electric trashcan lids together.

Is this really the time?!

Uhn-ts uhn-ts uhn-ts, he began, trying to mimic some kind of electronic music. Braaap, bowowowow, wub wub wub.

“Shut up!” I screamed aloud, diving around another corner just as the hallway behind me burst into a shower of sparks and molten slag.

Ugh, fine, Koe said. So what’s the plan here, chief? We keep running until their little magic batteries die or what?

“I… I don’t know,” I said, feeling out of breath. “Might just be fucked for real this time.”

Oh come on, we’ve gotten out of tighter scrapes than this.

“I don’t even know what’s causing this!” I snapped back.

Well let’s see, you’re here, the ‘powder’ gangers are back there. So who does that leave that may have sent the army of the dead after you?

“What?” I asked.

‘Powder’ gangers, Koe answered. You know, because they got disintegrated and it's funny because it's an incredibly subtle reference to-

“Not that,” I interrupted, diving into an alcove as another burst of magical death beams fired past me, then continued my mad dash. “Are you trying to say that-”

Your favorite little kidnap victim that you happened to leave alone in the one place that controls everything, may have wanted a distraction to get away? Koe said mockingly. No, I’d never imply that.

“I… but-”

Are you really surprised about ponies trying to betray you at this point? Dude, that’s kind of sad.

“Dammit, you’re right,” I said, gritting my teeth and biting back the hurt. Of course it happened again. Why wouldn’t it? Especially seeing as how we met because I… kidnapped her and killed most of her companions. Wow, I really had been desperate for a friend. “But if we’re going to correct that little mistake, we need to get away from these things first.”

Well, seeing as how we’ve already defiled one corpse today, if you’re willing to go for one more I might have an idea.

I sighed, “We’re already going to Tartarus in a hoof basket, anyway. So, why not?”

That’s the spirit. Hang a left up here.

I followed Koe’s instructions and listened intently to his plan. I wound my way back through the Stable’s metal hallways until we reached an area that was starting to get pretty familiar.

“The medical wing?”

Do you know of another place we left a corpse today?

“Well there is-”

TODAY! I said today! Sheesh.

“Yeah,” I responded matter of factly. “We killed Tumbler today. She’s probably still in the entrance hall.”

Oh Goddess, that’s right. I completely forgot about that. Jeez, today feels like it’s been drawn out for like… two years.

“Time flies when you’re being a total piece of shit.”

I ducked inside the medical wing, spying the trail of burnt flesh from where I’d dragged Crosshair out just hours ago. My attention turned toward the other corpse in the room, a mare that had tried to rescue him. What had her name been? North Star? Not really important, but one should try to keep track of their murder victims to some degree.

Should I start a file?

That would actually be helpful, yeah.

A shuffling from outside the door marked the army of dee-dees arriving. We couldn’t even lock the door anymore since the scavengers had sawed their way in here. I had to move quickly.

My horn burst to light as I targeted the mare on the floor. A circle, one far simpler than the one I’d used to wear Crosshair’s skin, burst into existence around her. The aetheric lines glowed brightly as I pictured the spell. Then, with a final injection of power, it shattered into a cascade of shimmering blue shards. All save for seven glowing lines that attached themselves to the corpse. One to each limb, two on the back, and a final on the head. The lines trailed upward toward the ceiling, pulling taught, and then lifted the mare along with them until she appeared to be standing.

I ducked behind one of the counters, trying to look as innocuous as possible, then held out my hooves. Two cross shaped symbols appeared on my frogs, each trailing a collection of shimmering strands to the ground. I hoisted my hooves upward, and found the mare’s corpse following my movements exactly.

I always wondered what use a marionette spell would have. Now we know, corpse puppet shows!

That probably wasn’t the original intention.

And yet here we are.

The metal door slammed open and one of the dee-dees strolled inside. Its eyes locked onto the mare and glowed menacingly.

Surprising as it may sound, I did have some experience with this spell. I’d used it to try and animate the very mannequins that were trying to hunt me down and kill me. If only I’d known what they were capable of.

When I was younger, after first arriving in the Stable, I’d tried to use them to take my mind off… well everything. The marionette spell had allowed me to suspend disbelief to an extent, watching my creations walk around the Stable and conversing with them as if it weren’t an incredibly creepy and somewhat sad exercise to retain my sanity.

Who knew that playing pretend for so long would actually come in handy. Though the mare’s corpse was somewhat floppier than I was used to controlling, the movement I imbued her with was a convincing enough facsimile of a pony running that it immediately drew the dee-dees attention. I directed the mare through the crowd and out the door.

Say, what if they’re advanced enough to recognize that isn’t you?

… you’re only bringing this worry up now because…?

Eh, I mostly just wanted to see you play with another corpse. It really says something about how deep into the shit you’ve fallen when you don’t even bat an eye when I suggested it.

I hate you… so much.

I know.

The dee-dees stared after the galloping marionette for a moment, then collectively opened fire and disintegrated the corpse.

“Overmare neutralized. Proper explanation for Overmare’s disappearance delivered to the administration terminal. Elimination protocol… concluded. Continuing with prime directive.

With that, the dee-dees began to file out of the medical wing. All except for one, this one painted the light blue of Tender Heart… Grandma.

My breath caught in my throat as she looked around the medical wing. My heart hammered so loudly I was convinced that’s what tipped her off. However, instead of walking toward me, she approached the bookshelf at the back of the medical wing.

“Scanning,” the dee-dee said. “One volume unaccounted for. ‘O’rngth’kal,’ by Crafty Love.”

The book where I’d found the spell to use Crosshair’s body.

“This volume’s survival creates an acceptable control group for the prime directive. Continuing with the Eraser Deployment System.”

Oh right, that thing I’d seen listed on the administrator terminal next to the Protocol X shutdown. I guess I was finally going to find out what that was all about.

The dee-dee fired its laser in a quick line across each book shelf. After the longest second of my life, the entire shelf burst into blue flame, disintegrating every single book in the blink of an eye.

I slapped a hoof over my mouth to keep myself from screaming. In a moment, my curiosity morphed into pure terror. Eraser Deployment System. What did one do with erasers? A knife twisted in my guts and tears threatened to burst free from my eye.

Please, anything but this.