The Stick of Truth: Equestria

Somewhere in Washington

It was midnight and the man sitting in the office was tired, reading through a long memo, that seemed to be getting longer and longer with each line he read. The office the man was sitting in was very dark, illuminated only by a small desk-light, casting a small pool of over the large pile of papers spread over the desk, intermingled with a few fountain pens, a couple of paperweights and a letter opener, stylized in the shape of a pirates sword. The man sighed in annoyance, putting down the massive memo and leaning back against the padded chair he was sitting in. He was a fairly thickset man, with a large belly, bulging out over his lap. Dressed in a black suit, complete with white shirt and long, black tie, the man looked about as stiff as he was sitting. The man had grayish, white hair, slicked back with an almost ludicrous amount of hair gel, making the hairs look more like a rubber toupee. His single eye blinked down tiredly at the large stack of pages he had to read. The other eye was covered by a large eye-patch. The man sighed to himself again, looking around the office. It was one of the only places he could work in peace. Except...

The man looked down at his desk. Interspersed among the papers were a few pictures. One was of a red haired woman, sitting in a large rocking chair, smiling widely at the camera. Another was a picture of what appeared to be America, cut out of a regular map, with a few places marked in marker pen. But it was the third one that drew the mans attention. And anger. It was a photo of him on one of the most comprising missions he'd ever been on. In the photo, the man was standing on what looked like a wooden deck. He was wearing nothing but a rather ugly looking, see-through thong. His skin was pale and wrinkled, covered in old people marks, including spots and moles and lord knew what else. He had no idea which gobshite soldier had decided to take the picture. All he knew was, someone had taken the photo and it had turned up on his doorstep. The boys at the office had had a field day with that shit. And it was all over some foolish...fuckin...stick! The man clenched his teeth, his hands balling into fists. He had never felt such a fool in his entire life! And it was all because of that child. The damned Dragon-born! That silent Prick had slipped through his fingers so many times, then when he finally managed to track down the little swine, he slips through his fingers again, becoming the savior of that little speck of nothing in the mountains. A mere child had bested his entire army of specialists!

The telephone rang, snapping the old man out of his angry thoughts. His single eye widened in surprise. He looked up, eyeing the black receiver that was sitting on a ornate stool, half-hidden in the dark shadows behind the door. The man sighed. Who on Earth would be ringing him at this time of night. Especially when most of his colleges knew how busy he was these days. That incident in South-Park had not gone down well with his higher-ups. Not well at all. Secret Agents and members of the government's elite tend not to like it when a child with power over their farts beat them. It doesn't look very good on their record. The Man hauled himself to his feet with a great grunt of annoyance, feeling his age dragging him down. Maybe he was getting to old for this shit. Every time the man tried to get up these days, he had to be careful. Whenever he was around his colleges, he'd only have to cross his legs and someone would make a stupid joke about his balls rocking around like they had during that night in South-Park. The man sighed to himself as he stumbled over to the handset...then changed his mind. Whoever it was could wait until it was daylight to bother him. Instead of Picking up the handset, the man stumbled over to a small wall safe and opened it. Inside was a small bottle of whisky and a overlarge shot glass. Taking it out, the man stumbled back over to the phone, picking it up with a growl of annoyance.

"Yeah?" The mans voice, gravelly and dry from under use, ground out of the back of his throat. The man sighed, stretching whilst the voice on the other end of the phone rattled off the supposedly urgent news. The man froze in mid-stretch, his single eye snapping open in surprise. "What?" he demanded, pushing the phone a little closer to his head. "Are you sure?" he demanded, putting down the whiskey bottle. "What happened? At what location? And this has been verified?!" With each question that the man fired off, he was becoming more and more flustered. "Alright, Alright!" The man snapped angrily, putting the phone down with such force that he knocked the handset off the mini-table. Cursing, the man hurried back to his desk and pressed the small red button, hidden underneath his desk. Immediately, two men crashed into the room. Both were dressed in Black suits and sunglasses. One had grayish-black hair and pale skin, whilst the other had blackish-blue hair and Chocolate-Brown skin. "Quickly Jay, Zyon." The man barked angrily. "The dragon-born has disappeared. You know what to do!?" The pair of bodyguards exchanged looks which were largely obscured by the thick sunglasses. Then they both nodded, turning back to the man. "Well get going then!" The man shouted, banging his fist on the table so hard that he made the papers on his desk bounce. The Two bodyguards turned and dashed out of the room, leaving the gray-haired man alone. The man lent back, sighing. "Dragon-Born...When will you stop interfering in our plans?" he thought, closing his single eye.

Douche-Bag was in a world of pain. The silent Pony ached all over. What had happened to him last night? The Stallion blearily opened his eyes, taking in the bizarre scene in front of him. He was in what appeared to be a dank hallway, hewn out of what appeared to be green, slimy rock. A dim, greenish light was hovering over the whole corridor, illuminating...Douche-Bag blinked. Creatures that looked like ponies were scurrying about, all covered in what appeared to be a black carapace. The creatures legs were covered in what appeared holes, though there seemed to be holes, though the creatures seemed to have no trouble walking about, without their legs collapsing under them. The creatures all had long black fangs, slanted, acid green eyes and they were all hissing. Douche-Bag blinked. He was definitely not in his own bed where had fallen asleep. Nor was he in the comfortable sleeping position that he had fallen asleep in. The silent Pony was hanging in the air, his four hooves suspended and held tight against the wall by some form of greenish gunk. The stuff was looped around his neck and tail, holding the silent Stallions body tight against the slimy wall. Something was hurting. Something around his...Douche-Bag looked down. What the hell had happened to him last night? The trapped Stallion closed his eyes, trying hard to think about what had happened to him last night.

He'd been walking back to his house with that Mint-green Unicorn, Lyra-Heartstrings. He'd arrived at the house...to find the place glowing with balloons, party lights and practically hopping with loud, upbeat music. That mad party Pony, Pinkie-Pie, had somehow gotten her hooves on a large sub-woofer speaker and what appeared to be several pounds of cakes and other pastries. Most of his friends had been there, with a few other guests, namely ponies that he'd seen around Ponyville. They'd partied for a bit, with Douche-Bag and his friends mainly hogging the buffet. Then at around Midnight, the rest of the ponies had buggered off, leaving Douche-Bag and his main group of friends to clean up the mess. They'd said he should just go to bed and leave them to clean up the mess. He'd stumbled up to bed, crawled under the covers and drifted off to bed....until a green light had shone through the window. Something had scrambled into the room, chattering like a mad insect, grabbed the Stallion before he could react and knocked him out...that might explain what he was doing here..

"You awake?" asked a male voice. Douche-Bag turned his head in surprise. Another Stallion was hanging on the wall beside him, glued to the wall by the same, sticky green substance. The other Stallion was big and muscly with a coat of bright red fur and a mane of bright, fiery orange. His green eyes showed no sign of panic or fear at his predicament. They simply shone with a soft glow. The Stallion was watching Douche-Bag quietly. "Names Big Mac." The red Stallion said calmly. He spoke with a southern accent, rather like a cowboy. Douche-Bag blinked, keeping his silence. "Got caught too huh?" the Red stallion asked blandly, tilting his head. "those're called Changelings." He nodded his head at one of the black creatures as it skittered past. "No idea what the varmints want though." The stallion pulled at his gloopy bonds, but the slime held his hooves tight. "Been stuck here for the best part'a four hours." The southern Stallion snorted. Any further attempts at this strange one-word, one-sided conversation was silenced as a group of four changelings. They were carrying a large, square shaped object between them. From what Douche-Bag could see from his position, the object was a large cube, constructed of a green, crystal-like substance. Attached to the thing was a large, stretchy thing that looked like a ribbed tube, with a thick narrow end. The Changelings all chattered for a second before they moved in, brandishing the two hose-like-objects at the two captive stallions. "Ah Buck!" Big-Macintosh groaned angrily.

Douche-Bag was no stranger to having a foreign something shoved up his anus. The last time had been an alien probe in the shape of a giant black dildo. Now THAT was bearable. This tube that the Changelings had decided to shove up his backside was far worse. It was cold, slimy and far, far to big. It pounded harder and harder, the slimy tip pounding against his insides. Douche-Bag, true to his attitude, kept his mouth shut, despite the large amount of pain his unprepared anus and backside were giving him. Big-Macintosh on the other hoof, opened his mouth and began howling with pain. Whatever the Changelings were doing to the their anuses was causing both the Stallions on untold amount of pain, the slimy hoses pounding the two, their bodies held tight by the slimy restraints. Douche-Bag knew what he had too do. Despite the massive, slimy thing pounding his insides, Douche-Bag tensed up as best he could. He gathered his power, trying to focus on what he had to do and trying very hard to ignore the slimy thing inside him. Big-Macs moaning wasn't helping, which was growing louder and louder as they tortured the poor, southern Stallion. Then...suddenly...

"PHRAAPAHPPPPP!"

The slimy hose that the Changelings had been using to torture Douche-Bag split apart like a torn sheet of wet paper as Douche-Bag let loose his dragonshout. The main part of the Violating-Machine exploded, shattering into a million pieces of glittering green crystal. The Changelings scattered, hissing and chattering at the top of their voices. Douche-Bag felt the telltale rumbles he'd been hoping for. The wall around him began to crack and splinter. The goop holding Douche-Bags hooves stretched as the rock cracked, lowering the silent Stallion to the floor. The goop seemed somehow connected to the wall, as it slipped off Douche-Bags hooves like oil. Douche-Bag stretched, shaking his body to clear the horrible feeling of the cold slime still lodged up his ass. That was when it happened. There was a loud beeping noise, a strange feeling of rubbing inside him and a large Ariel, tipped with a small bulb, glowing red and beeping. Douche-Bag blinked. He'd been wondering where his alien probe had been. During his time as an abductee to the alien invaders of South-Par, the experiments had resulted in one of their probes being lodged deep into his sphincter. Douche-Bag blinked. He'd known he could summon the probe, though he'd seriously doubted whether he'd be able to find a compatible probe here. A cough brought the Silent Stallion out of his thoughts. Bic-Macintosh was still restrained against the wall, the violating hose resting just below his spread asshole. He was eyeing Douche-Bag rather sternly from his restrained position.

"Not ta be rude pardner." the Crimson Stallion said coolly. "But could ya help me out here?" The bound Stallion tilted his head, indicating the route opposite the way the Changelings had fled. "Ah heard tha' the webbing ah'm stuck in can be killed off through some form'a nexus, somewhere down there." The Stallion looked down at Douche-Bag, who stared back blandly. The Crimson Stallion blinked, his blank stare mimicking Douche-Bags for a few minutes. "So...ah wouldn' mind bein' let down from here." The Crimson Stallion prompted. Douche-Bag turned and stared down the corridor. He was in a disadvantageous position. He had no weapons. No Bow or arrows. He didn't even have any more firecrackers to launch his flame attacks. Despite what most people thought, Douche-Bag didn't have the ability to pull the attacks he needed from anywhere. He just happened to be lucky that his robes and various pieces of armor had very, very deep pockets. But...It wasn't right to just leave the red Stallion behind. He might stand a better chance at getting out of the hive with Big-Macintosh backing him up. Douche-Bag made his decision...and set off down the corridor that Big-Mac had mentioned. "Take your time pardner!" the captive Stallion called out as Douche-Bag continued on his way. "I ain't goin anywhere!" Douche-Bag would've smirked if he hadn't been preoccupied with the immediate situation. He was a Pony, not a Changeling. He'd be spotted and locked up again in the matter of minutes and he was sure his ass couldn't take another pounding from one of those infernal machines.

Douche-Bags hoof collided with something hard. Lying on the floor was a Changeling, barely stirring, a large bruise forming on its head. The thing had obviously been trampled by the other Changelings in their mad rush to escape Douche-Bag's Dragonshout. The chitinous armor, a black carapace like piece covering the majority of the Changelings body had been knocked loose. Douche-Bag blinked. The Changeling was about his size....and had largely the same build....Douche-Bag reached out with a hoof, gently poking and prodding at the crunchy armor. Douche-Bag felt elation rising inside him. He really was a lucky boy after all.

Douche-Bag felt ridiculous. His new armor that the Changeling had generously provided was covering his fur, which he had coated with a thick spraying of mud and gravel. He knew he looked stupid. Close up, if any Changeling took an interest in him, his disguise would be ruined. Still, Douche-Bag hoped the Changeling armor and gooey covering were enough to fool a Changeling from afar...till he clobbered them. It took some getting used to. The Changelings darted about, moving speedily through the tunnels. Douche-Bag had to make do with clomping along behind the various groups, clobbering one or two of the more inquisitive ones, until he finally saw it. The Nexus that Big-Mac had talked about. The Nexus turned out to be a large pile of glowing ooze, in the center of a large, domed chamber. Several glowing veins of the ooze spiked into the ground, branching off down the differing tunnels. Douche-Bag supposed that the veins of ooze kept the gooey restraints alive and sticky, holding the captives to the wall. The only question was...which vein should Douche-Bag destroy to free Big-Mac. It would certainly be easy. There were only a few Changelings in the room and they were easy to beat. A thrown rock here, a conk on the head there and he was alone, standing in front of the Nexus. How to operate it? On an Impulse, the Silent Stallion stuck his hooves into the mass of cold slime.

The effect was instantaneous. Immediately, Douche-Bag was flying, ghost-like, through the various corridors. It was like being on a hyper version of google Earth. Douche-Bag just had to think of something and he would be transported to that place in the hive. He glided through various corridors, some with various ponies stuck in compromising positions all along the walls, a very nasty room filled with various meats and sacks of food that might've passed for a parlor and, to Douche-Bags slight disgust, a large room, where several Changelings were mating with each other, spraying their reproductive seed all over the place. Douche-Bag knew he was running out of time. If he wasn't quick, a Changeling might find him and attempt to recapture him. He quickly thought of the red Stallion and glided towards the spot where Big-Macintosh was being held. The captive Stallion's expression of neutral calm had not shifted. He was simply staring into space, looking quite bored. Douche-Bag reached out with his mind. But the push was too aggressive. The violator hose that had been sitting below the red Stallion jerked upwards, penetrating the unprepared Stallion's backside, hard. Big-Mac jerked, his expression of neutral calm changing into a gasp of pain and surprise. Damn! Douche-Bag tried again, this time, trying to get the slimy bonds to peel apart. Instead, the violator hose's tip spread lightly and resumed penetrating the large, red Stallion. Big-Mac jerked and cried out. Douche-Bag felt a bite of impatience. The surge of frustration cost Big-Mac again as the hose attacked the poor Stallion's anus again.Douche-Bag narrowed his eyes and he tried again.

His final attempt was gentle, almost like he was attempting to plead with the slimy ropes, willing the to gently open like the petals of a flower. Slowly, with a noise like wet pieces of flesh unzipping, Big-Macintosh was dropped onto the ground. The big Stallion looked a little unsteady however, with his strength probably drained from the continued probing of his anus. Douche-Bag was an experienced enough warrior to recognize when someone needed a buddy to help them out of tight situations. Douche-Bag was about to pull out of the Nexus, when he thought of something. He had complete access to the whole of the hive. What if he...As soon as the thought occurred to him, Douche-Bag knew it had happened. The walls around the hive began to change color, turning from the dark, healthy green to a infectious yellow to a dark brown. The walls and floor were crackling and crumbling, like bad skin. Douche-Bag blinked. If the Changelings were so powerful, why did they have something like the nexus, which could destroy their entire hive with a single thought. The entire hive was shaking and rumbling like mad. Douche-Bag knew he and Big-Mac would have to get out quick, or risk being buried in a large pile of dead changelings and slimy hive pieces. With a feeling of, admittedly undeserved cheerfulness, Douche-Bag pulled out of the nexus and turned to leave.

"PONY!" Douche-Bag stopped dead as the large group of Changelings rushed into the room. There were about fifteen of them, all armored and brandishing swords and spears made from a combination of sharpened rocks and sticky resin. Douche-Bag rolled his eyes, slipping off the Changeling armor. He'd never been the best at hand...hoof-to-hoof combat, with his chosen profession being that of a mage. However, he supposed now was as good a time as any to learn. The silent Stallion cricked his neck and the rest of his joints as the Changeling soldiers rushed him. He just hoped he didn't take to many hits. He didn't want to walk back to Ponyville with only three legs....

It was all under fifteen minutes when Douche-Bag finally returned to the corridor where Big-Macintosh was leaning against the wall, still trying to recover from his enforced anal probing. Douche-Bag wasn't surprised when the large Stallion's eyes widened in surprise and he back up a little bit. Douche-Bag was covered in greenish liquids. Changelings were more like cockroaches. The harder you tried to put them down, the stronger they fought, getting back up again and again. By the time Douche-Bag had finished with his attackers in the Nexus chamber, the silent Stallion had been coated in a thick downpour of greenish, foul smelling Changeling blood. Douche-Bag could still feel the foul smelling liquid running through his fur like oil and sticking to every scrap of skin. He was tired. Douche-Bag was actually tired. It was a disturbing feeling. Douche-Bag had had some trying battles before but to actually feel drained like, something had leeched out the willingness to fight from the silent Stallion. Douche-Bag just wanted to go home. But he knew that Big-Mac would need help to escape, so his own discomfort took a back seat.

"Thanks for doin' this pardner." Gasped Big-Mac, as Douche-Bag supported him down the corridor. As it turned out, the pair had been trapped right by the entrance as they had only made one small turn before the tunnel gave way to a midnight black sky. The hive was beginning to crumble at last and the pair hastened their retreat from the hive. "Listen Pardner." Big-Mac gasped as the pair finally escaped the tunnel, strips of the hive falling all around them. "If you're ever near Sweet-Apple-Acres, feel free to stop by to see ol' Big-Mac OK?" Big-Mac was brandishing a small piece of paper. It was a miniature photo of Big-Mac himself. Douche-Bag was about to take it, when there was a loud cracking noise. Douche-Bag looked up. The hive had been a large building, covered in slimy, green and black goop. But the goop had been hardened and forced to crumble apart by the Nexus's self destruct option. Now, a large piece had detached itself from the highest level of the building and was falling towards the two Stallions. There wasn't even enough time to push Big-Mac out of the way. The slab of hardened goop hit the ground with a hard crash. The slab of hardened shit shattered, spraying the two Stallions with brown splinters. Douche-Bag just had time to register a large piece of the slab flying at him, before the thing smashed into him, knocking both him and Big-Mac to the ground. As his vision began to fade, Douche-Bag supposed it wasn't to bad. He'd survived a falling spaceship before. Being hit by a slab of stone was nothing....