Asepsis

My name is Vinyl Scratch. You’ve probably heard of me. Savant of the Underground.  Spinstress of the Night. The Blue Lightning. Quite possibly, the most kickass mare of all Equestria. You probably know all about me. The press and the media have covered me for my achievements in the EDM community. But, I won’t go any further into that. I’m a humble mare. Here’s the tale nobody knows: The Eventide of Equestria.

I don’t know how it started. The government officials had more explanations than plotholes, if you know what I mean. They ranged from mundane to implausible: A virus. A disease. A biological weapon. A failed experiment. An alien race. An errant timber wolf bite. A princess.

What I do know, however, is that over 96% of Equestria had fallen to it within the first week, to what became known as the Catalyst. Zombies. The Infected. The Undead. They’ve been called all of those things. At first, no one believed it. And why would we? The deceased, rising? Spreading their curse, consuming the flesh of the living?

Sounds more like the latest horror play than anything. The kind of thing that frightens young mares into the comforting grasp of their coltfriends.

I don’t know how long it’s been since the apocalypse, for that’s the only acceptable term for this, started. The princesses have gone into hiding, the elements have disbanded, and the cities have become barren and empty. The dead stumble along the roads; their discordant moans near constant, and those who have survived have become feral, only slightly above that which hunts them.

Still. Life’s not so bad, after all.

The lone mare shut the leather bound journal, capped her ink vial and dried her quill. She flicked her vibrant blue hair over her shoulder and moved the three things into the weathered brown saddlebag that she had thrown into the corner of the small, barricaded room that she was in. Through a crack in the boarded window, a small ray of light shone through, and she could see dust swirling lazily in the air. As ever, the persistent moans of the dead called to her as she blew out a small candle she had used to illuminate her writing.  The smell of burnt twine permeated the air, and she sat, her eyes slowly shutting as she rocked side to side, finally succumbing to the exhaustion of her journey.

A blood-curdling scream. The sound of banging. Her ragged gasps as she ran in the darkness. On a dark, moonless night such as this, the very air seemed pitch black. Panting to her left. The mare she had met only an hour before was near exhaustion. She stopped, gasping and leaning against a grungy brick wall as she sobbed to herself. Vinyl called back, urging her on. “We’re near! We have to keep moving!” They weren’t near their destination.  She knew deep within that their only hope was ages away.  The other mare knew this too, and at Vinyl’s words, she let out a long pitiful moan. Behind her, a zombie rounded the corner.  Vinyl stepped back, a choked scream dying at her lips. The other mare tried to move, but she stepped too late, for as soon as she lifted her hoof, the zombie had already wrapped it’s legs around the mare’s hind legs. She stumbled forward, and the zombie sunk its teeth into the mare’s leg.

Her eyes snapped open. She sighed, shaking her head. She had long ago come to terms with the dream, and felt no guilt. Dust floated in front of her, and for once, she felt normal again, her mind calming in the silence.

Silence.

Shit.

She scrambled up, levitating her saddlebags towards her as the window to her left shattered and a colt in black fatigues leapt in, spinning to face her, a scoped sub machine gun strapped to his shoulder and next to his face. A swirling crimson aura surrounded the trigger, and she let the saddlebag fall to the ground, halfway across the small room. A Republican Hunter.

The Republic. After the princesses had disappeared, a radical sector of the Equestrian guard had declared themselves autonomous. “Freedom For the Masses.” Was their motto.  Good on paper, but in truth, utter bullshit. Quickly rising in power, they operated from within the floodgate systems of Equestria.

She had met their leader only once.  Blueblood. The Catalyst had changed him. Viciousness, cruelty, and corruption: he became their embodiment. He pulled the political strings of the Republic, and the unfortunate ponies under him danced like marionettes, for fear of slaughter. Some even whispered that he had caused the event.

She slayed three of his hunters, the reconnaissance ponies that roamed the untouched rubble of society. He had offered her a position of power. An influential mantle, one from which she would operate as one of the highest military commanders in his horde.  And she had almost accepted. Tired, hungry, desperate: Three things that she had been at the time.  She had almost accepted until a colt had shown her the stark reality of the Republic. Guards patrolled the society, flaying at the helpless ponies that had become nothing more than herd animals. Forced to cultivate food and manufacture weapons, they had become little more than slaves. But the one thing that struck her most was –

A boot to the face, which shocked her out of her memories. The world turned black as she spiraled downwards, darkness creeping into her vision.