Act I - Chapter the First Impressions: Meet and Greet
Station 03S4. One of one hundred and seventeen functioning and populated Stations inside, and outside, of Equestria. Stations function as underground shelters, to be used in case of emergency. A war, for example. THE war, known as the war to end all wars, sometimes known as The Great War, ended life on the surface as everyone knew it. Before the world ended, however, the Metro Project began.
The Metro Project, headed by a Griffon named Gazar Kaganovich, led to the production and development of the Stations, and was conducted with utmost secrecy, hidden from the roving eyes of the Princesses, Griffins, and Zebras alike. It was to be a great connecting force, a way to end the war in a nonviolent way, as well as a fail-safe should the war end before its time. Before the Stations could be presented to the world leaders as a method of peace, however, the bombs fell. The bombs, enchanted to cause untold destruction, decimated any population that couldn't escape into the Metro in time. The resulting damage, both physical and sociological, crippled the unfinished Metro System, with surviving Stations becoming isolated from both each other and the surface. One of those Stations was 03S4, known by its citizens as Twilight Station, which I called home. Or, at least, I did before I accepted the Assignment that brought my world crashing down.
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BEEP
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BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-CRUNCH
Consciousness, for most people is a binary. You're awake, or you're asleep. For me, consciousness is a continuum of tiredness. In other news, I need a new alarm clock.
I casually flopped to the floor in a cocoon of blankets and feathers, one hoofed foreleg keeping my face from smashing against the bedside table. A voice in my ear caused me to stiffen.
"Mr. Trick, have you ever eaten another pony's liver?"
"Noooo..." my voice moaned from the pile of cloth.
"I find it goes great with fava beans and a nice chianti," the voice of Moon Light continued.
"Now, I'm sure you're attached to your liver, but it's time for breakfast. so GET YOUR SORRY ASS UP!"
Isn't it lovely how getting yelled at, combined with threats of losing vital organs, fills one with adrenaline? With that lovely pump of that "I don't wanna die" chemical, I was up and at 'em, limbs flying in any direction they thought would get me vertical. With one last twist, I got my legs under me and stood up... and hit the corner of the table with my nose. Now, for those of you who have never experienced this, its a lovely combination of "booped your nose" and a lightning bolt striking your face.
And with tears streaming from my amber eyes, I was ready to start my day.
"If I wasn't used to your antics by now, I might die of embarrassment," Moon Light sighed, shaking his head, black hair swishing back and forth.
Moon Light was a physical-therapist-gone-cannibal, with a strict, if flawed, set of morals and an attention to detail that rivaled our top Hunters. The thing that gave him away was his, quite frankly unhealthy, obsession with heads. Each head was removed from its body, cleaned, preserved, and hidden in Light's basement. Shit was spooky, yo. Bringing Light down was no easy task, but as evidenced by his current state, i.e. my roomie, we got him.
"We" refers to the organization known as The Task Force for the Neutralization of Dangerous Individuals and Monsters. Considering the lack of a convenient acronym, we're called The Hunters. Of course, the acronym sounds like "Defend Them," so...
Not quite sure where I was going with that, but I'm sure you got the idea.
"Hunters One, Three, Seven, and Thirteen, report to Head Quarters."
The gruff voice of the Leader of the Task force sounded through a hidden intercom system.
"Correction. Hunters One, Three, Seven, Thirteen, and Seventeen, report to Head Quarters."
I frowned at the last number. That was Redheart. Hailing from some backwater town, she was a nurse of impressive skill. She was who the rest of the Hunters were sent to if they were injured in the line of duty. Well, except the Captain. His name is Copper, but most everyone calls him "Spitfire," on account of a very entertaining night out on the town. Of course, to his face, he's "Captain." And in all my twenty years of duty, I've never seen him get wounded in combat. He's a scary pony, that's for sure.
I groaned lightly as I got myself on my hooves.
"♫To HQ we will go, to HQ we will go, high-ho the merrio, to HQ we will go.♪"
Light sang a little tune as he waited for me to get dressed.
