Terminal Leave

It's just a crazy world we live in

And I'm out of my mind

You pray tomorrow but you’re leaving today

An evil one is coming and he's knocking your door

‘Cause today's the day you'll pay

-Ozzy Osbourne, “Facing Hell”

The middle of a Tuesday afternoon was still a slow time for bars, even though the world was ending. There were only two other souls with Chuck in his favorite haunt, and one of them was a pony who had just come in.

Amongst the suburbs of the skeleton of a city that Charlotte had become, Ross's Sports Bar was one of the few establishments still graced with visitors at all. With the magical radiation already making the east side uninhabitable, most just decided to pull up stakes and move further inland. The die-hards, however, saw fit just to make the trip across the river to Belmont, where Ross's had sat for the past twenty years. Belmont wasn't quite on the ragged edge, but people weren't exactly taking out leases there, either. Whether passing through or staying a while to shake their fist at the Barrier, folks still got thirsty, though.

The pony reared up onto his hind legs and placed his forehooves on the edge of the counter. The clacking jarred Chuck, seated on the stool just next to the stallion, from his pleasantly dark mood. He glowered sidelong at the pony, who was just a plain brown earth-pony with a dark brown mane, girt with travel saddlebags on his back. He was an adult, but didn't have a cutie mark. Newfoal, then.

Even on two legs, the pony was still barely able to see over the counter to lock eyes with Ross. Pretty much any human without a green HLF brassard on his or her left arm had gotten used to the sight of ponies here and there, but there were still some havens to be had for those still walking on two legs. Ponies weren't unwelcome in most places, but they had a tendency to just... stay away. Even the ones who had once been human.

"Water?" guessed Ross. The old man had learned that ponies usually never asked for anything harder than a Dr. Pepper.

"Cape Cod straight, please," replied the pony in a deep voice. If Chuck had still had his eyes closed he would have figured a human had just spoken. Ponies and newfoals usually had a certain lightness in their voice, annoyingly upbeat, like they were expecting good news later that day.

This one didn't. He'd also ordered a Cape Cod. Ross just grinned and knocked on the counter once, turning to mix the pony his drink.

"Charles Thompson," stated the pony.

Since Chuck was on his third or fourth whiskey sour, the fact that the pony knew his name wasn't quite as surprising as it probably should have been. In fact, in his haze of bitterness and resignation, he could only decide that, shit, it figured.

"Whaddaya want," the man slurred, not looking over to the pony. He had been drinking rather fast, and the stupor he was after was only beginning to show up.

"I heard about your wife," said the stallion. "I'm here to help." Ross leaned across the counter and set the drink on the stool next to the pony for easy access. A straw stuck thoughtfully out over the rim of the tumbler. The pony nodded his thanks and took a long sip, draining half the tumbler in one go.

"There's only one kind of help I want," said Chuck, "and ponies ain't of a mind to give it."

The stallion was unfazed. "I think you'd be surprised. Revenge, right?"

Chuck's eyes widened a bit, and the pony gave a satisfied nod upon seeing it. "The guy who did it got converted. His name is now Rockheart and he's with the Palace Watch in Canterlot." He craned his neck around and nosed through a saddlebag, producing a slip of folded paper in his mouth, which he then proffered to Chuck.

The man plucked the note from the stallion's mouth and read it.

"There's a pony on the inside who can help you, a member of the Sanctum Watch. The days and hours on that note are when he's on shift. Catch him at the uniform office and tell him your name is Helium. He'll give you a disguise."

Chuck grumbled and put the note in his shirt pocket. So he'd have to get converted before he could have it out with this Rockheart guy. "How do you know all this?" he asked.

"I was in the same PER chapter as your wife," said the pony. "I was there when it happened. The guy was Railroad, so it wasn't hard to track him back to the Conversion Bureau his team was working. Right before the Charlotte bureaus closed up, he got his hooves and didn't look back. To be honest, you were harder to find than he was."

Chuck looked down at his drink and ground his teeth. Hatred was beginning to stick to him like old sweat. His wife was killed so this asshole could escort twelve, maybe fifteen extra ponies to Equestria. There was no excuse he could ever accept for that. Joan had only been trying to help; even before she'd converted and joined the PER, she would never have hurt a fly. Killing ponies to stay human? The Railroad was no better than the HLF.

"Oh, two pieces of advice," added the stallion. Chuck looked over again and saw that the tumbler on the stool was now empty, the pony turning to leave. "First, avoid letting a Bureau or the PER ponify you. Going pony that way'll strip your desire for revenge right off. Get your hands on some modified potion, code-named 'Foam,' and use that. Both PER encampments and the remnants of the government keep some stashed away for... emergencies. I think you can figure out who keeps theirs less guarded. Second, you might want to hurry. You're not the only one about to go after this guy."

"The hell does that mean?" asked Chuck.

The pony just shook his head with a small smile and left the bar.

*          *          *

It was night in Canterlot, and the moon had been sent on its way.

Luna, Princess of Equestria, was in her study examining some of the map revisions which had taken place during her exile when she heard a single, gentle knock on the door. She raised her head just in time to see a leaf of paper scoot through the gap in the bottom.

She stood and slipped away from her desk with silent grace, moving to the door and opening it slowly. She poked her head out into the hall, looking down either end and seeing nopony. There was only the blue-white moonlight coming in through the windows and the paper at her hooves.

She brought herself back into the study and shut the door. The Goddess of the Moon picked up the paper in the soft blue-violet of her magic, brought it up to her eyes, and read what was written there.