A Derpy Apocalypse: Perseverence

A doctor. A technician. Somebody who looks a bit smart. He looks at me; I blink. He looks almost terrified as I do it. He's holding a clipboard it looks like. The poor kid drops it and runs; it seems he's going to get someone. Surely, surely he wasn't just going to leave me alone after he knew I was alive.

It seems I've been awake for hours, but judging by what blur of a clock I can see in the white-silverish room, it's only been thirty minutes. How long have I been here? I look at the clock again, I can barely make it out. Four digits...one...five — Oh Celestia. Either this guy has a fetish with military time or I'm in some sort of compound. As weird as it is, I would prefer the fetish over being held hostage, or maybe it's all the same. Either way, it's 15:33 I think. Brilliant. I'd be hunting or cooking food about now, but no, I'm stuck in this Celestia-Forsaken amber box.

What's this? Oh, another lab coat geek just came in with the first one. He looks a bit superior actually. He sees me watching him, he looks fascinated, but blurred. From what I can tell, he's dark blue with thick square glasses, of course overlaid with an orange tint. The first one seems to be a...tan maybe? No...orange tint...um...pale sandish color, maybe. He has more of a...plane rectilinear — no — rectangular pair of glasses, and they're less thick.

They're both staring at me. Observing me. They're fixing to press a button on some compu — OH SHIT!

They must have pumped me with adrenaline. The amber is loosening now as I'm managing somehow to thrash around in the tight space. Crra-a-a-ackkk — SNAP! Suddenly, I've busted through the stuff. Must have not been amber.  I manage to put my hoof on the back wall, and kick out, tearing the amber stuff out with me. With a loud thud, I fall onto the ground.

Gah, those lights are bright.

It takes my eyes a bit of time to adjust, but I can see well enough to notice how terrified those poor kids are. My eyes clear up, and now I'm wondering what the heck is up with the room. Architecture like I've never seen, and technology that shouldn't exist.

"What year is it, kid?" I ask, looking at both of them and waiting on one to answer. They exchange looks and turn back to me, simultaneously answering,

"2031."

Twenty thirty one? What?! I recollect my thought after getting caught in a trance for a few seconds.

"Why am I here, and what idiot put you scrawny little techies in charge of me?" I ask. They look at each other again, the pale one nodding to the blue one.

"Uh..." he says in a shaky voice — Poor kid can barely speak to me. "You're here for research...you survived a certain virus developed by TwiCore Laboratories. Our boss is uh..." He stops.

"Your boss?" I echo, impatiently. The blue one looks over at the pale one. The pale one speaks up instinctively.

"Um, Princess Twilight Sparkle, ma'am," he says in the most pitifully-managed nerd voice I've heard in my bucking life. Oh, and he called me ma'am. I hate that. I might kill him — No, I'll just fuss at him. I'm seriously not in the bucking mood for this shit. Twilight died. Only Gunny called me ma'am. He was murdered.

"Is this some kind of joke?" I ask. "First, I wake up trapped in amber; second, I'm pumped with an unhealthy and uncomfortable amount of adrenaline; third, I'm being researched; and now you're calling me ma'am?! I hope you understand what shit I've been through, and let me tell you this, if anything, I can kill you. And I will if I need to. So for your well-being, I suggest you keep your bullshit to yourself, and tell me why I'm here and how to get out, and for CELESTIA'S SAKE, DO. NOT. CALL. ME. MA'AM!"

By the time I'd finished my rant, they were shaking and shivering. Of course, I was up in their faces like an angry big cheese reprimanding two timid flunkies.

"I'm sorry, but this is a level six compound, security is so high that even if we wanted to we couldn't escort—" the pale one began to say. I pinned him by his throat against a wall.

"Sand Dune!" the blue one yelped, lunging at me in a combative position.

This is when things get interesting.

I slap him off single-hoofedly; however, he had stuck some sort of thing in my skin that sent about 50,000 volts down my spine. That bucking hurt. I drop Sand Dune, or whatever the Hell his name is, and take the thing out of me. In frustration, I pick up a random sharp object from the table and throw it at the blue one.

Headshot. Or...eyeshot.

"Agghh!" he screams in agony. Blood is spewing and sprinkling onto the floor from his eye as he barely manages the strength to take the object out. The scalpel — as the tool's identity is now apparent — didn't cut his eye out, it's just hanging by one small thread. Unbeknownst to him, evidently, as he accidentally tears that out too, screaming more. Sand Dune runs up to him in fright. I almost feel sorry for him.

"Maverick! Cover it up, stop the bleeding!" Dune says in a shaky, panicky voice.

"It's not a fatal wound — eeck — call a superior!" Maverick replies, baring with the pain. Surprisingly enough, he dealt very well with it. Of course, now I had to worry about the geeky one running around and telling the upper-bodies. I'm assuming I must be important enough not to kill, but I'm still not planning on taking chances.

I reach for another object to stop him as he's running to the door; however, it seems that the superiors were already there as the door opened before I could get my hooves on something. The kid falls down on his face as he realizes it — and they're pretty pissed.

These guys look serious, too. About one and a half meters tall, fancy purple and magenta uniforms under a rope-strapped armor casing with a six-point star made of what looks like titanium on top of a metal chest plate. They have helmets on — pretty streamline; Small and cozy, but strong and flexible. They're reinforced with titanium plates and held together with smooth and tightly wound straps fixating across the mane and under the neck. There seems to be an attached pair of tactical goggles with an atmospheric purification unit.

...

A gas mask.

These guys do not look friendly — not at all. In addition to all of the armor and intimidating facial features, a few of them have chipped ears and cybernetically-engineered wings. Oh yeah, and they also have mounted .30 caliber automatic saddle-rifles deployed on their right side, with what looks like a sort of EMP cannon on the left.

Huh. So those exist now. It's kinda funny how science fiction eventually becomes science. Who knows, maybe soon I'll just fly up into space and be abducted by aliens who blow up Equestria.

...

That wasn't a foreshadowing.

Anyway, in the midst of all of this: a stallion on the ground moaning and gasping from a bleeding eye socket, a panicking lab-geek with a bloody snout almost hyperventilating, and a whole Super-Swat at the doorstep, a well dressed purple mare with a rather lengthy horn and a large wing span walks in on her hindlegs. I thought only I did that. Wait — Are those human boots? Holy shit, she's anthropomorphic. Why would she need that?

Oh, and she's wearing a bucking crown.

"Derpy," she says, alive and well.

"Twilight," I reply. She grins.

"Good to see you awake again, I didn't want to wait the extra day to force you out anyway, come with me," she said. — Not sure what that was supposed to mean — Twi then turned her head to look at the guards. "help those kids up, and get that one a bandage." She looked back at me, as I had approached her.

"You have a lot of catching up to do."

Well it's a bucking military compound I was held hostage in. Fancy that. As I'm led through these, quite presentable hallways, I'm looking through huge doors and at ponies everywhere. Paramedics, doctors, technicians, scientists, etcetera, etcetera. Eventually we approach a long curved corridor which is lined with white tile flooring and — thank Celestia — windows held in by steel frame. And holy shit.

The inside looks very clean, organized, alive. But the outside?

Oh no.

The outside is a Hell Hole. A well-blended mix of industry and corrosion. It's like Manehattan became a fifty-mile-wide greenhouse with excessive fertilizer. Wait, this is Manehattan, isn't it? Yes, those buildings — unmistakeable. Once a beautiful aura of clouds and stars, a majestic glowing city of business and unemployment, poverty and richness all the same. But now, it's none of that. It's just a big slap of shit on the map that didn't even take the time to look like it digested right in the first place. It's pitiful. I just hope they're rebuilding with all of this fancy stuff they got.

Oh, we're still walking.

The building's gotten a bit old by now. A bit...eh...redundant perhaps? It seems to be the same pattern. A white, suspended ceiling held together by pale, silvery, metal frames, white walls and purple linings covered in scuff marks here and there, and white-tiled floors with a few red stains here and there. The ceiling is lined with circular bright lights...fluorescent I think they're called? Anyway, same for the walls. Fluorescent light, door, fluorescent light, door. I notice a few ponies rushing around getting to a certain room. One of the ponies bump into Twilight and I, he turns back to see Twilight.

"I'm sorry, Miss Sparkle, there's an emerge—" he starts choking mid speech as I realize that Twilight has just stabbed him. No, she gutted him, his intestines are hanging out, blood all over her hoof and suit. He falls over, eyes dilated and straining. A small puddle of blood slowly fills the floor. Why the Hell did she do that?

"No explanation necessary," she stated, showing no emotion. She turned to face another employee who was rushing. "What seems to be the issue?" she asks. The employee stops, panting.

"Subject 163, is free from their bed," she spits out, almost slurring a few words from the speed and panic of the situation, "they're still in their room, but that door isn't holding long for one of his type!" Twilights emotionless, bloodstained face turned suddenly concerned as she looked in the direction of the subject.

"Shit." she barely uttered as she began to run in that direction.