Equestria: Fabrication

by Aeluna

Rating: teen
Tags: Crossover, Dark, Alternate Universe
Length: 10106

Inspired by We Happy Few /// After the war against Yakyakistan, Equestria fell to ruin—but only a few months later everything is back to normal. And so long as ponies continue to top up on their Rainbow meds, things will stay that way.

Pinkie Pie never made it to Yakyakistan. The situation between Rutherford and the ponies was never diffused.

After two long years of war, Equestria is in ruins. Memories of the horrors faced during the fighting plague every survivor's mind. To fuel the bleakness, the country is a shell of its former self; a wasteland.

With the princesses missing, Discord—being the only creature with power great enough to take command—steps unwillingly up to the plate. His idea of fixing the country's problems? Forcing everypony to be happy and forget their worries.

But in a community of happy-go-lucky ponies, anyone who's not quite cheerful is the enemy.

Coverart is temporary. Credit to RiakaPepsiPony for the base.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2016-11-10 10:45:26 UTC

Prologue

It's all over.

The young mare paused as her eyes locked firmly on those of the young, scraggly yak before her whilst her body slouched slightly. He, too, frowned through his thick, knotted fur; as she looked around, she was surprised to see the exact same expression on the faces of every warrior on this battlefield. Both the ponies and the yaks stared up at the sky in complete and utter shock, unable to comprehend the joyous news that they had all just heard.

The mare joined both her comrades and her enemies in looking up and she waited quietly. In the silence of the battleground, not heard for three years, a rough voice then sounded.

"Yaks have taken care of pony princesses.

"Ponies have lost. Yaks have won."

A gasp resounded across the battlefield as ponies froze and whimpered, eyes widened and pupils the size of pinpricks. Simultaneously a low chorus of grunts came from the victorious yaks, though it was unenthusiastic at best; it was no surprise. The yaks, unlike their prince, had surely not wanted war—they were only playing their part in society and protecting their own. The young male before the mare, especially, seemed far from patriotic; in fact, his expression had hardly changed at all. There was relief, yes, but she could see no hint of real joy through his thick fur.

They were enemies, the yaks and her, but they weren't so different when it came to it.

"Yaks are kind. Yaks no take ponies' land. But ponies... Ponies remember yaks are stronger."

It was true, the mare supposed. She was, naturally, a powerful specimen of pony; she was an earth mare, after all. But even she—or anyone of her race, for that matter—was too weak to take on yaks in a hoof-to-hoof brawl. And even with the help of equine magic, the ponies had still lost.

Because the princesses had been... dealt with.

The mare whimpered and stepped backwards, unsure of what to do. The yak, however, acted first; with a somewhat shaky hoof he reached out to shake hers, a small smile visible under his matted fur. "War is over," he grunted with a glance up to the sky and a sigh. "We no fight more. We make peace... Uh, your name what?"

She gave a weak smile as she extended her own hoof to meet the yak's. It was puny in comparison. "Oh, Klip. Well, Klipspringer, but I like Klip more."

The yak scrunched up his muzzle and looked at her; a frown graced his face, though it was hard to see as he spoke. "Klip... sprin... ger," he repeated and scratched behind his ear with a furry hoof. He then gave a quiet chuckle. "Okay. Good luck... Pony. I go now, I go home."

Klip gave an unenthusiastic laugh, her heart heavy. She then gave the yak a short wave and turned around sluggishly, her eyes pointed towards home—and then she froze once again.

For Equestria, a once beautiful kingdom, was a wasteland.

Everything was gone.

It was a fact which had, when the war ended all those weeks ago, hit everypony hard. They had grieved for their country and for their princesses, lost to the chaos; they mourned over their fallen comrades and relatives, confused as to what they died for.

Because this new land wasn't worth all the death and bloodshed that had occurred over the years.

Klip was well aware of that fact. It was at times like these—which was, she realised with an utter lack of enthusiasm, all the time—that she could really appreciate just how futile and pointless life was. Her brother had died in the fighting, but for what? All that was left was the broken buildings, victims of the yaks' catapult bombardement over the years, that reminded the survivors of the wonderful world they had lost.

Why? Because the prince of Yakyakistan had a temper tantrum.

It was a well known fact that the Yaks were sticklers for detail, but the prince was an extreme case. Indeed, none of his soldiers had seemed to know why a missed detail was enough to start a war. Most had been more put out at the imperfection of his excuse as opposed to the supposed insult to their race and customs.

With a shake of her head, Klip rose slowly to her hooves and looked about groggily. It was a decent day, she supposed; though the dust was thick (as it always seemed to be) the sky was clear at least. Even better was the fact that the late autumn sun was reasonably not-cold (for to call it warm would have been slightly too generous). A slight breeze blew through admittedly, but if one was careful to shelter behind rubble—Faust knows it wasn't hard to find some, anyway—it wasn't too much of a hindrance.

As she began to make her way down the crumbling paved road of her village—no, her old village, for she could never call this bomb site home—she let her mind wander as it always did. She peered in through the window of old Mrs Clippy's house, let her ears droop more at the sight of the mare's skeletal remains which lay scattered about the lounge. A small meow made her keep moving on, though; she didn't tread any faster—she had all the time in the world, so what point was there in rushing?—but she made sure to get out of the vicinity before her allergies flared up.

That would just be the cherry on the cake.

The ownership of the next house that she peered into was hard to determine. A few years ago, it hard been a pleasant little cottage; now it was, quite literally, a graveyard. Of all the homes, it had the most well kept walls; Klip had, over days of meaningless and uninterested consideration, come to the conclusion that its relatively concealed nature had been a good way to hide the bodies of the dead so that, it a country already ravaged by war, there wasn't another blatantly obvious reminder of death. It looked like just a standard cottage on the outside; even if one knew the truth it made it easier to take than if the bodies had been buried in the cemetery.

On which note, the church was gone as well. Shards of stained glass, decorated with murals of great feats of pony bravery, could be found littered among the pre-war graves; more than one long dead pony, lucky enough not to have seen the war in their time, had been unearthed and flung about, exposed to the elements so that their dusty bones could finally decompose properly.

The first night had been tough. Paranoia flared up in everypony; groups huddled together in shells of their former homes for warmth and protection from the ominous, horror-movie esque scene. But, after the initial dread of a zombie apocalypse and the like, the terror gave way for disinterest which, within a mare week, snowballed into a population of depressed equines.

But the world, not content with its torture of ponies, seemed unwilling to leave them to their moping. Because on that day, exactly three weeks after the war had ended, the Prince of Chaos himself appeared in the sky before them—or a projection of his face did, at least.

"Hello, ponies!" Discord's voice called out, overly happy. No pony would deny that he was just trying to mask his own terror and discontentedness. He had to, of course; he was the leader of the once glorious population of ragtag, gloomy survivors without the will to live. "I do hope you are making the most of this decent day! But I just wanted to say, don't you worry your pretty little faces-" Klip didn't miss the little sniffle which interrupted his speech there. "-because I've got everything under control!"

Klip frowned at that statement and, as she watched an elderly couple limp out from their remains of a home, she sent a shrug in their direction. They were equally perplexed, by the looks of it, but far from curious.

Curiosity didn't exist in a land of depression.

There was no time for Klip to consider that fact, however, as an earth shuddering boom sounded when Discord clicked his claws. She gasped as her mouth was jerked wide open—as were the muzzles of the elderly couple—and something small and bitter was forced down her throat by some unknown force. For just a moment, everything went slow; her breaths were tagged and stolen and her legs gave way as she fell to the floor, her vision black—and then, only a moment later, everything was back to normal.

But it wasn't normal. Everything appeared brighter and warmer than it had before and, though she wasn't aware of the fact, Klip didn't pick up on the point that the whole street was in a state of ruin. In her eyes, it looked just fine, though that wasn't to say she couldn't see the half torn down buildings; she just thought nothing of it. One thing she did think of, though, was how amazing the new telephone box emblazoned with the words, "Rainbow pill dispensary" looked.

Discord gave a short and much too loud chortle of laughter as he clapped his claws and paw together. His final words before his face vanished from the sky were, "I'll keep you safe until your princesses are back. In the meantime... Just keep taking rainbow pills. And I promise you, everything'll be just great!"

Artificial

The day was, as it always was in Equestria, beautiful. The sun bore down on the land and donated just the right amount of warmth, perfect for meaningful activities such as sunbathing or sleeping.

It was important for ponies to do so in order to maintain a functioning society. Because frankly, without joy in the world what was there?

Klip smiled and pressed her "happy face" to her muzzle. She then let out a breath of relief at the comfort of the mask—almost everypony wore one, and the happiness it donated was as good a reason as any to use it— before she glanced about her little village. As soon as her eyes landed on two ponies, the Teas—Cinnamon and Herbal—she waved as eagerly as she could and then leapt to her hooves. She all but bounced over to them and beamed even wider, nodding her head and saying loudly, "Lovely day for it!" She was not quite sure what "it" was, truth be told, but it was always a nice thing to say.

"Lovely day for it!" the couple repeated before they looked down at Klip's bulging saddlebags. Herbal Tea, the stallion of the household—though, with their son and daughter both away on an extended holiday, it was not a particularly lively family—cocked his head slightly and took a step closer; his mane fell in front of his eyes when he did so. As he then raised a hoof towards Klip, she had to hold back a yelp as a wave of déja-vu swept over her. A memory from the war morphed in her mind's eyes as he did so, a similar scene with a rather scraggier and much larger hoof which shook hers on a battlefield.

War? Battlefield? Klip laughed as she took a short step backwards and shook her head. What an imagination she had.

Instead of dwelling on that particularly horrible but vivid thought, she let her smile grow wider as she reached behind herself. She then clasped the offending bulge in her teeth and pulled it out of her saddlebags slowly, carefully; she was determined not to spoil them.

"Et voila!" she mumbled through her teeth as she stepped forwards and passed a plate of cookies to Cinnamon Tea. With a nod and a wave, she then walked around them slowly and opened the door to their cottage, passing inside with ease. Neither Tea made a fuss—and why would they? It wasn't as if Klip was a Mena, after all.

Truth be told, Klip felt sorry for the Menas. Named after Pinkamena, the famous mare who had returned home to a warring country from her quest to keep the yaks happy. She had—

What?

Klip shook her head quickly as she fell to her stomach just inside the lounge; a low moan escaped her lips and she flattened her ears against her head with her hooves. There were noises now; crying, screaming. It was torture.

There was nothing for it. With a moan and a whimper Klip unsteadily rose to her hooves and began to pat her saddlebags. Her pupils dilated and she then ripped the pack from her back; a moment later she pounced on it, throwing the flaps open before she shoved her muzzle inside. But, despite her efforts, she came out empty-mouthed; with a yelp, she hastened to stumble towards the Teas' kitchen counter. It looked wrong for some reason, though she couldn't quite place her hoof on it—but she didn't have time to think on it right now, anyway.

"Rainbow, rainbow..." she muttered under her breath when she crashed into the worktop. She recovered quickly and leapt up; with a groan she threw open the doors to the cupboards and rooted about maniacally. Cartons and packets from the shelves fell on the floor and burst open, but she did not so much as falter; she couldn't hear anything over the screams which rung in her pinned back ears. "No, no! Where is it?"

Klip gave a quiet yell when the last cupboard came up empty and quickly jumped back down to the floor. As she looked about quickly, she then gave another yell and galloped to the door—and promptly froze before she slammed it open.

Breathe, Klip! she thought whilst she took a deep breath in. She then plastered a smile on her muzzle and pushed on the door gently—just as Cinnamon Tea reached out to open it. The older mare flinched in shock before she smiled at Klip. Nevertheless, she wore a frown on her masked face; never a good sign. Nopony was ever unhappy—unless they were suspicious of something.

"L-lovely day for it!" Klip said, suddenly aware of how foolish she sounded. She laughed a little and forced as big of a grin as she could; after a moment's consideration, Cinnamon Tea returned her enthusiasm (but much more convincingly). Which of them was genuinely happiest, though, was actually hard to tell.

What was more realistic; artificial happiness or forced happiness?

What?

Klip kicked her foreleg with the rear as she scooted around Cinnamon Tea's side, fiding herself pressed up against Herbal Tea. He merely nodded and ruffled her forelock, however; with a barked out giggle, she zipped under his raised forehoof and shot off. She waved wildly as she did so and shouted back, "Excuse me!"

Once she was safely out of earshot, she let out a breath and slowled to a wobbly walk. She wiped her brow with a hoof and scrunched up her nose at the wet fur. When the noises in her ears returned once more, however, she began to shake and shot forwards as she whispered under her breath, "Where's the dispensor? Where is it?"

To her relief, the phone box which Discord had made to dispense the rainbow pills was close. It wasn't as if the thing had moved; it was in exactly the same spot that it had been for weeks. But her rainbow levels were depleting—she could feel it in the way that the world became duller and her distress grew greater. And without the benefits of the meds, she hardly could find it at all.

Klip all but fell into the phone box, the screams and shouts now accompanied by the unmistakable boom of an explosion. She yelped at the sounds and fumbled about as she smashed her hooves onto each of the machines buttons. She didn't care which of the flavours she got—anything would have settled her for a while, though admittedly the lime didn't give her any more than half a minute's relief.

But the machine only hissed and sparked and clunked as she waited impatiently, still smashing her hooves against the buttons and wailing. A moment later, a bright white light engulfed her vision and, as pain overwhelmed her body, she felt herself slip away from reality.

Meeting

Klip awoke with a groan and sat up slowly, her vision completely dark. Even when she opened her eyes she could see very little—or, more accurately, could see very little at first. Sadly, the almost blissful darkness was soon interrupted by a powerful yellow glow which made her yell and turn away with a cry of pain.

"Ow!" she yelled as she rolled over quickly. Before she had chance to stop herself, though, she felt the floor fall away from her side and she gave a yelp when she promptly fell down, landing with a thud on her underbelly. The pain raced through her body and made her cry out again. But she couldn't let herself falter; she leapt to her hooves immediately and snapped her eyes open. She then reared up and pawed at the air while she snorted as loudly as she could. "Get away from me!" She paused before a thought occurred to her and her body slouched slightly in horror whilst her nose scrunched up in disgust at the lightless surroundings. "Are you a Mena?"

The voice which spoke next, as opposed to being loud and angry, was surprisingly soft. "Hey, hey! Calm down already. I'm not gonna hurt you."

"So you are a Mena!" Klip hissed and she raised a hoof, fighting to see past the bright source of light to assess the individual. When she lunged, however, she found her attack halted and she fell to the ground. "Oi!"

The voice returned once more, this time accompanied by a gentle hoof which brushed Klip's forelock from her eyes. The light dimmed, too, so that she could see just who the stranger was when they spoke. "Okay, okay, keep calm. So maybe I'm a Mena, sure—" The speaker pressed their hooves down on Klip's back before she could react, "—but I'm not dangerous. And by the state of you, I'm no different to you either."

Klip gave a forced laugh and slowly pushed her company's hoof from her back so that she could stand. So often ponies underestimated the strength of her race. "If you took your rainbow, then sure! You would be just like me, it's true. But the point is, you're not on your meds... Which cannot be tolerated!"

There was a slight pause before a low sigh sounded and the light began to glare a little less brightly once again. It gave Klip just enough illumination to see without being blinded—but the sight which met her eyes was not worth looking for.

A unicorn stallion stood before her, tall in comparison. His face was marred with scars and cuts and his body was bruised and bloodied, but for all that he still seemed reasonably sane. And, in his bright yellow eyes, Klip could see the dull sparkle of something new, something that she couldn't quite place her hoof on at first, yet something that felt so incredibly familiar...

And then, in a wave of pain and terror, it hit her; this stallion before her, whose body was battered so much that he looked like a piñata, understood what she was going through. And, more than that, he remembered.

And so did she.

"These... these memories!" Klip gasped out as she suddenly collapsed back to the floor. Her chest heaved with each little breath and she quivered as the sounds from before—the screams, the blasts, the roars—all filled her mind once again. She kicked out wildly with her powerful rear legs and snorted and whinnied, biting at the air before her. But for all her struggles, she could not ease the pain which was trapped in those sounds... "What are these memories? They're not mine!"

"Easy there!" the stallion grunted whilst he jumped a little to avoid Klip's flailing limbs. Then, after a moment's cautious hesitation, he stepped forwards and stomped a hoof down on her shoulder.

Klip screamed as the genuine pain was added to her terror and she leapt to her hooves, gnashing her teeth and snorting. The stallion, however, didn't seem too put-out at her threats in the slightest; he merely floated a wooden stick—no, a club—over to his side and held it up warningly as he gave it a little wave. When Klip did not stop in her approach, he then rolled his eyes and prodded her chest with the weapon's dull end, just hard enough to knock her slightly off balance.

"Stop it, for buck's sake," the stallion snarled; his eyes flashed at her as she made a move to continue. When he flared his nostrils and began to paw at the ground, however, Klip's unresponsive mind finally began to interpret his intentions and, as her pupils dilated, she shot backwards. She couldn't fathom why she was so wary of this stallion all of a sudden; those ruthless, scarred eyes of his simply seemed to hold some great power over her. When he spoke again, she found herself suddenly trembling. "Face it, little pony. You're off your meds as well, which makes you a Mena just like me. And I'm betting you just want to run straight back up topside and find some pills and get rid of those screams, right?"

Klip shrunk a little and, to her own disgust, whimpered quietly. "What's so wrong with that?" she whispered with her ears held back and her tail clamped. "A little rainbow never did anyone any harm. And... And with just a few pills, I won't have these awful... thoughts. Hallucinations. Dear Discord, I'm hearing things!"

The stallion snorted. "Dear Discord... I so love that saying. It's his fault that the kingdom's in this mess."

"Mess?" Klip frowned, still far back from the stallion, and scratched her chin with the tip of her hoof as she pondered that statement. "What are you talking about? The world's not a mess... It's beautiful."

"That's just the rainbow's influence," the stallion butted in with a shake of his head. "The world is a bombsite, and living on meds to forget that fact isn't gonna fix anything. Somepony needs to go find Discord, give him a reality check... But only a Mena could do that, and far as I know, I'm the only one 'round these parts."

Klip nodded curtly with a small scowl upon her muzzle. "Good riddance."

"You're infuriating, you know that?" the stallion said, turning tail so that he faced away from Klip. "You passed out by the pill dispensor. It was jammed, but somepony's fixed it up by now I'll bet. But I didn't wanna leave you there for any of your high-as-buck friends to come an' give you a beating for being a Mena, so I brought you down here. And that's that."

Klip narrowed her eyes and stood up slowly before she took a slow step towards the stallion. "Why... Why would they do that to me?"

"You were a Mena, you foal. You skipped your meds an' passed out. You ought to know that's not looked on kindly topside... You were one o' the ones who beat my brother to death the other day, after all."

"But he was off his meds," Klip said with a smile, feeling triumphant for the slightest moment before she realised the weakness of her argument. "Oh. When I... It sounds different said out loud, doesn't it?"

The stallion nodded quickly and then began to walk away. He then clambered onto a bed nestled in the corner of the room—what even was this place?—and lay his head down. "Exactly. Now listen, I'm not gonna stop you going back up topside and taking all the rainbow meds your simple little heart desires, and all the ponies up there'll forgive you. But I'm done talking, so before you skip on out all chirpy, just think about it—because I promise you, fake happiness isn't really being happy."

Klip looked about herself and then smiled a little as she noticed the ledge she had fallen from. It was simple, a mere dresser with a duvet draped on top, but it would do. As she climbed up slowly, though, she couldn't help but wonder about what he had just said. "So, you know what really being happy is?"

"Not in the slightest. But for now, I'm close to being free, and that's good enough for me."

Klip sighed as she nestled under the covers. A moment later, however, a thought occurred to her. "And if I take my meds and come back to kill you?"

There was silence at first, followed up by a disinterested grunt. "Then I'm dead, aren't I? We've all gotta die at some point—and if I'm gonna go, my bed's a nice, warm place to do it."

"Oh."

Klip lay quietly after that, curling into a ball under the thick cover. It was peculiar, really; back in the village, she had not once felt cold—but now, she could feel the chill beginning to creep under her skin. She could smell the dust and the decay and, in the dim light of the torch, could imagine the state of the outside world based solely upon the state of the scavenged materials in the hideout. And the voices and the noises... They were so loud, so crystal clear, that she couldn't help but wonder what horrors had been taken from her mind that she ought to remember.

And so, with her hooves pressed over her ears and her eyes squeezed tightly together, she lay still and prayed for some form of respite.

Scavenging

When she awoke from her slumber, Klip was unpleasantly surprised to find the stallion gone. His bed, tatty thing that it was—nothing like her own heavenly, king-sized model—was made neatly, to give him his due. In the corner of the room, a torch had been lit to, she presumed, give her some light; with him gone for now, she couldn't think of any other reasonable explanation as to why he would keep the room illuminated otherwise.

She hopped down from her bed carefully, well aware that a heavy fall could be rather painful—alas, one of the few things that Rainbow couldn't fix. When she found herself to be alright, though, she grinned rather triumphantly at the successful landing and then slowly turned around to face the stallion's simple dresser. As she pushed the duvet from her sight, she then glanced about quickly before opening the first draw slowly. It scraped on the old wood as she did so; she winced at the noise and stiifened up but, to her relief, no angry stallion came running. So, with more determination, she pulled it open the whole way.

To Klip's disappointment, there was little to be found inside other than a small piece of paper and a photograph. She folded them up quickly and hid them between the wall and the frog of her hoof, keeping a hold of them with her innate equine magic. She then slid the draw shut quickly and opened her mouth to open the next when a low rattling noise sounded.

She gasped and stiffened up momentarily before she crouched low and slunk into the shadows which the torch didn't quite kill. She held her breath as natural light then flooded into the bunker. The stallion soon appeared when his head poked inside and he hopped down from outside, using wooden crates as makeshift stairs. When he reached the bottom, he looked about slowly with fallen ears until his gaze landed on Klip, at which point his expression grew slightly happier—which she took as her cue to escape.

She shot forwards, springing off with powerful hindquaters before she smashed into the stallion's side and sent him stumbling. She leapt from each crate two at a time until, with a look backwards and a snort she hissed, "I can look after myself, thank you!" Then, without a second's hesitation, she bounced up into the light of the day and shot away from the hole in the ground. The stallion's weak attempt at wrapping her hoof in magic did little to slow her.

Her hooves slammed against the ground with each step that she took. The surface was uneven and treacherous; one misplaced hoof could leave her with a broken fetlock. Rainbow couldn't heal injuries, after all.

She had to get back home, had to take her meds. That thought rung true in her ears as she fled; with each stride she thrust her neck forwards as if doing so would make her run faster. She kept her eyes focused on the ground the entire time, cautiously placing each hoof down. It was unfortunate, she realised, that she only had her strength and senses to rely on; unicorns or pegasi would have had much less trouble. But then again, their bones were more fragile, so it was perhaps a difficult claim to make.

It was a matter of seconds, however, until Klip came to the realisation that she had no clue where she was. The landscape was like nothing that she remembered, and then there were the buildings...

As she glanced to her right to look at one of the closest houses—though to call it as such was a rather great stretch of the truth—she felt her heart ache. She could understand why she felt so hurt, so empty at the sight of the derelict shell of a home, but it strung a chord in her chest nevertheless. She struggled to contain the whimper which tried to break through her lips at the sight—but a moment later, she came to her senses and snorted, cracking her tail against her side by means of a scolding. Her shoulder stung at the impact, but Klip didn't regret the action; she was being weak and stupid and depressed.

Depression was not allowed in Equestria. Those who were depressed were Menas. And she... she was no Mena.

She was not a Mena.

Whatever the truth of the matter, though, she was hungry, a fact of which she became actutely aware when her stomach growled lowly. But, where there had been bountiful meadows of grass and flowers and trees yesterday on which one could snack, there were now only scrappy weeds and lifeless, rotting tree trunks. She scrunched up her nose in disgust and then looked about, horrified when she realised that the entirety of the landscape seemed to be the same overgrown, untended bombsite.

Bombsite... Klip shuddered at the mere thought of the word and lowered her head slightly when a nauseous feeling—surely psychological—rose in her throat. These thoughts... These awful, awful thoughts that she kept having...

They couldn't be real, could they? The screams and the pain... Had that truly happened?

Klip shook her head quickly so that her mint-green mane flew about her muzzle. She then stood to attention and focused her gaze on the row of destroyed houses; though they were unhealthy specimens, they surely had some food to help her make it through the day. Or, even better, some Rainbow. It took little more persuasion than that thought alone to encourage her.

She ran faster this time and took much less care in her steps than she had before. She stumbled about dangerously and was sent falling more than once in her haste; she hardly faltered each time she slipped, however, her eyes wide and focused on the houses. Her heart now pounded full of life in her chest so that it could fuel her muscles to let her gallop harder, faster. She was so caught up in her desperate fantasies of watching this horrific reality fall away, in fact, that she hardly noticed when her forehoof fell down at the edge of a small crevice; her body tilted and she gave a yell when she then plummetted forwards, her chest taking the brunt of the impact before her muzzle smashed into the cold ground. The pain was immediate and there was no way that she could have avoided the need to cry out and scream, her hoof crushed beneath the own weight of her body at an awkward angle; when she shakily rose to a standing position, she hardly had to let her hoof brush the floor before she gasped once again.

The houses were close by now, but Klip's enthusiasm had all but dissipated. Nevertheless, she could see the dark storm clouds gathering in the sky pushed by teams of oh-so-happy pegasi and was well aware that she couldn't stay outside, exposed as she was. And so, with tears which streamed down her face and splashed the rock-solid ground, she began to lamely hobble forwards. Each hop jolted her elevated hoof and made her gasp and groan, but when the laughter of the pegasi as they danced atop the storm clouds sounded she was well aware that she had no time to stop to lick her wounds.

The droplets of water splashed down slowly, at first. As they trickled down Klip's side she shivered and hopped forwards slightly quicker with her tail draped over her back, the only protection she could give herself from the rain. It was a particularly feeble attempt at keeping dry, but it was the best she could do.

When she finally reached the closest of the crumbling houses, Klip let out a breath as she scampered clumsily inside and fell to the floor whilst she heaved and gasped for breath. There had been no issues with finding the front door to get inside; not when the entire walls had been blown apart—no, not that. They had simply fallen into a state of disrepair, that was all.

That was all.

Klip scrunched up her muzzle in disgust as she looked about and took a gander at all the unpleasant little details of the residence. Rocks and debris lay forgotten—or, she guessed, ignored—on the floor of what was surely once the lounge area. The sheltered side of the room where she now rested was little better; soot from the burning fire which could be found at the edge covered each inch of the floor and junk, be it scraps of metal to empty tubs and packets, littered the cold tiles. Even more disturbing, though, were the messages written in a deep, bold red on the wall. The words themselves weren't so horrific, though they sent frustration to her core—"it's not a lovely day" was something no healthy rainbow user ever wanted to hear or see—but rather the ink was offputting. She couldn't quite place why, though it felt as if it was staring her right in the face.

And then, in front of her very eyes, an image flashed. It was vivid but so fleeting; she didn't have time to process the scene before it was gone. And, no matter how much she strained and no matter how much her heart warned her that she had missed something so important, that brief vision refused to resurface.

Klip snarled slightly and rubbed her eyes with her good hoof, teeth gritted. When she at last accepted that it was inevitable, however, she thinned her eyes, held her breath and unsteadily rose to her aching three hooves. The injured brushed across the rocks and made her yelp; with yet more tears gushing from her eyes as she whined and groaned, she hopped towards the long-broken refrigerator and pulled it open slowly, painfully, with her mouth.

There was little to be found in the fridge, and even less that was truly edible. Drawn by the smell, though, Klip was well aware of the fact that something was surely delightful; when she lowered her head down to the just warm cooking fire, above which a saucepan was hovered, she sighed at the smell and grabbed a ladle with her hoof. She took care in scooping out only the thick parts of the stew and was even more aware of the fact that it needed to be cooled. But once it was an edible heat? Well, she merely scoffed it down in one mouthful.

It was far from restaurant quality, though she had expected that. This was surely the house of one of those pesky non-compatible ponies who couldn't stomach their Rainbow—Wailers, they were usually called—so she hadn't been hoping for fine dining. Hence, the fact that none of the ingredients tasted particularly rotten was quite the pleasant surprise.

Klip gave a short snort at her pleasure—to be pleased with fresh food, of all things—and turned on the spot, licking her lips as she did so. Her hoof throbbed painfully, but it was surely nothing a doctor couldn't fix; hence, when a more confident grin spread across her muzzle, she hopped over to the old, dust-covered cabinets and began to pull them open, one at a time.

Wailers or not, they surely had some Rainbow lying about. It wasn't as if they didn't want to take it, after all.

With each opened cupboard, Klip felt her frustration rise. The things were barren, not even containing the slightest hint of edible food. When she opened up the last, the sight of a single rotten potato almost seemed like a relief from the sheer emptiness—but it still wasn't enough to contain her groan at the fruitless task, nor enough to prevent her search. But that endeavour, it seemed, would be easier said than done; for a pony without wings or magic, the prospect of climbing to the top floor—the stairs had long fallen down—was an immense and challenging one. But Klip was not the sort to give up at a minor set back, nor was she one to rely on others. She was independent and strong and incredibly proud of her heritage and race; even if it was only to prove to herself that earth ponies weren't weak, she would make the treacherous climb.

With a gulp and a glance back at her cutie mark—a hedge in the shape of a hoof print through which an eagle flew—Klip willed herself not to tremble. Then, after she touched her injured hoof to the ground and squeaked at the pain which arose, she began to hop towards the fallen down wall. Somehow, she had to jump from the pathetic remnants of the wall, only a metre or so high, up to the next floor—all with only three working hooves. It was a horrific prospect and the rewards were probably not worth it, but she couldn't stop now.

With a snort, Klip jumped awkwardly up to the highest portion of standing wall. It was a thin beam on which to stand and hardly felt stable but, at the end of the day, it was the best that she had. She then placed her good forehoof gently against a thin outcrop from the wall which must have once made up a portion of the stairs and took a deep breath in. She then focused her gaze on a crumbling section of half-fallen floor and leapt.

For a moment, she felt free as she soared through the air, almost like a pegasus. But she had no magic to keep her up; she only had her strength. So, as the ledge drew closer, she opened her mouth and readied her good hoof. A breath's time later, she clamped her jaw around the outcrop and gripped on with her hoof just as her injured leg smashed against the wall. She choked back the natural urge to scream whilst tears filled her eyes and then, still with her teeth tightly clamped around the thin floor, she began to pull herself up. Her rear legs kicked out through the air for any extra elevation and, after a moment's struggling, she just about managed to get at the right angle to kick off from the wall. The force swung her body around so that she could pull herself the extra few inches before she then gasped and heaved, springing off with her now aching and bruised rear legs when the unstable ledge fell away beneath her.

For a moment, Klip could hardly move. Her body burned and she had only the will power to curl up in a ball and cry. But doing so got her nowhere; not long after, she unsteadily rose to her hooves and tripped over to a motheaten old sofa which sat in the corner, partially exposed to the elements under the hole-ridden roof. As she then got comfy, she felt the paper from earlier fall from her grip to land on the mossy floorboards on which the seat sat.

Frowning, Klip lowered her head slowly as she shifted about. With her hoof draped over the edge of the sofa to let it rest, she then poked the picture and paper with her muzzle and lifted it into her lap. What she saw made her frown grow larger.

The first item was a scrappy message, half ruined by the damp. It was only a few sentences long and written in a hastened scrawl; red splotches obscured a few of the letters, though not enough to prevent it from being legible.

"Hey kiddo," she read aloud, the sound of her own voice soothing over the roar of the rain. "I know you're a stallion now, but I'm not gonna be around anymore to look after the old gal. I'm not dead, don't worry. Whatever the case, and whatever you do with your life, I'm proud of you and want you to know that I'll come home one day. Until then, just keep your spirits up and you'll make it. I know..."

With a frown, Klip turned the crisp scrap over but to no avail; there was nothing else to be read. She huffed slightly and folded the letter back up inside her hoof, then pulling the next piece to her side. It was an old photo, or so it appeared from its condition. Months of being folded into four could do that to a picture, a fact of which Klip knew well; poor little Loop Hole, before she went on vacation, had been so distraught when she found the picture of her old cat ruined. The officials had sent her on holiday to improve her mood, even, though she must have been incredibly down to not have returned yet after so many weeks. Nevertheless, it was funny how little things could matter so much, especially to a filly, but nopony had expected her to even go off her joy because of it. It was almost as if she'd had a traumatic past...

Klip shook her head quickly when the screams from earlier began to resurface once again. The sound of them... They were such genuine cries, it wasn't so hard to imagine that they had come from a war zone.

She gave a small, forced smile. The power of imagination was so incredible, she thought to herself—but when she took a closer look at the stolen photo, she felt her heart drop right out of her chest.

Arranged in neat lines of about ten, though she didn't take the liberty of counting each individual, ponies of both genders and all colours stood tall, each wearing the same bland uniform as their companions. Upon each pony's chest a large, bronze-coloured badge in the shape of the sun glinted in the light; the swords and bayonets at their sides were even more eye-catching. At first, she tried to smile at the sight when she noted each pony's grin; a second later, she came to the realisation that no one was being genuine. The smiles were too large, too fake; not a single eye shone with true delight.

Just like the ponies of Equestria. Sure, their beams were hardly forced, but their eyes... There was no sparkle to be found.

She snorted and stomped her good hoof down on the photo, more than willing to push it away, when she froze in her actions and a breath caught in her throat. As she then moved back slightly, oh so slowly, she felt her world fall apart around her.

A young mare, maybe twenty-five or so, stood tall a little way off from the others at the edge of the row. There was no forced grin was on her muzzle; rather she wore a look of disgust. Her light yellow coat was slightly bloodied—not unlike her companions', in fact—and her pale green mane had lost its shine and volume. She was no different to the others, not really, but Klip knew for a fact that she was so much different.

She looked up slowly and glanced about before her eyes then landed on a cracked wall mirror in the corner With a wince, she hopped slowly over and hooked the photo behind the corner of the reflective glass. She then stepped back, straightened her hoof without quite placing it down and stood as tall as she could, letting her own muzzle scrunch up.

Lo, she was no different from the mare in the photo.

Klip gasped as her body slouched and she snatched the picture back quickly, putting it back in her hoof. Whilst she did so, out of the corner of her eye, a particular rounded tub caught her attention at last. And, when she hopped over and plucked the lid off, it was indeed filled with just what she needed; Rainbow, and the chocolate flavour to boot.

As her ears pricked forwards and her mouth opened, however, she faltered; with a glance back at the scrap of paper and the photo, she then took a slow step backwards and eyed the pills slowly.

The stallion's words from before rung in her mind over the muffled screams in her head. Was she genuinely happy on her meds?

Klip groaned and hung her head, her eyes still focused on the little box. It belonged to a Wailer; they wouldn't mind if she took it. And yet, though it never had done so before, her heart burned at the thought of taking one of the little brown pills.

Sighing, she stumbled over to the sofa once again and shivered while she glanced up at the night sky. It was bleak and dismal and still obscured by the torrents of rain and yet, somehow, it seemed almost important that she look at it. But her eyes couldn't withstand the barrage of depressing sights and so, with a body that burned with pain, she curled up into a ball, draped her damp tail over her back and let her mind wander as she tried to find some warmth.

Insanity

When Klip awoke, the sky was still pouring out its guts relentlessly. It was peculiar, really; whenever it had rained back in the village, all she had wanted to do was run outside with her pink wellingtons on to jump in the puddles with her neighbours. Now, she just wanted to cry.

But was this pain so bad? She couldn't quite decide whether this curse was such a hindrance; pain was natural and perfectly normal, so what right did she have to ignore it? Pain meant suffering and loss and, at times, sacrifice. Surely it was everypony's duty to this respect and mourn for those who had given up so much.

For those who had died.

Klip groaned and pushed herself slowly off of the bed with her good hoof and winced as the injured was moved ever-so-slightly by her doing so. She took a moment to catch her breath before she then slowly began to step closer towards the edge. There was nothing else for her up here, except for maybe the rainbow; after a moment's consideration she gritted her teeth and stashed the small pot in her tail before she then crouched down low and took a glance about. The stallion's words still sounded in her mind, slightly obscured by the quiet but undeniably present screams and explosions.

When she saw nopony who could be of any threat, Klip took a few slow, deep breaths and began to shuffle forwards. She kept her injured leg close to her chest when she then made the short but risky leap; her working foreleg was able to grab the weak remains of the wall and she just about managed to get her rearlegs to touch the brick at the same time, thus saving the wounded limb from being crushed once again. Her success was short-lived, however, when the wall instead began to crumble away beneath her weight; a moment later, despite her best efforts, she felt the brick slip and she plummeted down.

Klip hissed as she fell but swivelled in midair, using her powerful rear legs to spin herself around before her three working hooves then smashed into the floor below with such a force that a shudder went through her bones and made her cry out in pain. She didn't have time to hang around, though, in pain or not; with tears threatening to fall she then stood as tall as she could and limped slowly from the house.

She was, however, still lost. She had never visited these parts before—not that she remembered, at least—and so couldn't even fathom a guess as to which direction she ought to head. She had no wings or unicorn magic, either, so could not elevate herself through any means to get a better look at the landscape. And so, with her head then low, her ears drooped and her tail clamped to her flanks, she inched forwards across the uneven landscape. Her stomach growled as she walked, but the thought of a detour to find food was unpleasant.

"Buck off!"

Klip yelped and spun around most unceremoniously, stumbling on the uneven and overgrown ground as she did so. A larger pegasus mare, whose feathers were completely missing and whose coat was matted and clearly ridden with mites, galloped forwards. She flapped wildly as she did so and tossed her head with snorts and barks; a moment later, she hurled a stone in Klip's direction. It struck just below her shoulder and made her scream; she backed up lamely, unable to run, and looked about wildly. She heaved as she stumbled backwards, her gaze kept pinned with terror on the mare before her who was, without a doubt, a Wailer. And an angry one at that.

But, despite the mare before her's insanity and lack of injury, Klip was well aware that she still had an advantage over her; magic. She still had her earth pony strength whereas the pegasus Wailer was completely grounded, only able to rely on her desperation to fuel her attacks. And so, with only a moment's hesitation, Klip picked up the nearest rock, leapt up into the air with a wince—it was going to hurt—and then lobbed her makeshift projectile towards the Wailer. She was no master at aim, but the rock made its mark nevertheless when it collided with the mare's foreleg and made her fall to the ground just as Klip, too, landed. She screamed and fell to her underbelly at the impact but quickly struggled back up to her agonising hooves, aware that her foe was down. And, before the Wailer could hobble off of the ground, Klip limped backwards and gave one good, strong buck to the mare's head. Her heavy hooves and powerful blow snuffed out the insane light in the pegasus' eyes; they also made Klip yelp and fight to bite back yet another scream.

No. She would not cry out; she had more important matters to attend to. One was her suddenly dry throat—despite the torrential rain which soaked her, she was parched—and the other was, in a word, survival. She wasn't sure where she was or how she had gotten here, and probably should have asked the stallion before she ran out on him, but she knew that it would be a reasonably long walk before she could return to the village. Hence, she needed supplies—and though the thought was grim, something that only a Mena would ever consider (she was not a Mena), the now-dead pony before her had to have something.

With a scrunched up muzzle and a now-shivering body, Klip lowered her head to begin the inspection of the Wailer. A look inside each of her hooves proved fruitless, but once she lifted up the bony wing she was quite surprised and pleased to find the folded-up hood of a raincoat. It wouldn't do much good, truthfully, but it would at least keep her mane and face dry. The Wailer's rotten carrot was left forgotten, though.

With gritted teeth, Klip slowly began to walk forwards again, her heart suddenly pounding harder. It wasn't that she was particularly hurt by the prospect of just having killed another pony; no, that sort of thing didn't get to her. What did get to her, though, were the screams that had once again amplified in volume, now blaring in her ears. She couldn't hear the roar of the rain anymore, though she took little consolation in that particular fact.

She wandered on quietly for longer than she wanted to think, her tail dragging through the muddy puddles in a most repulsive way. Her hooves cried out each time that she placed them down and her body trembled with each rush of wind, but she could not hear anything at all; nothing that was truthfully there, at least. The screams drowned them out continually—for a while. And then, when she pulled herself into the ravaged garden of what was once (probably) a farmhouse, she collapsed muzzle first in the mud and simply lay there. A moment later, before she could drown most unceremoniously, she rolled over into her back so that her damp, but not quite sodden, underbelly was exposed. She then whimpered quietly before she burst into tears, quivering as she wiped her eyes with a muddy, bloodied hoof. The cries in her mind died out as she did so; the deafening crack of thunder then made her jump and she shot inside as fast as her half-ruined legs could carry her through the bog.

Why was she being so stupid? Klip shook her head and pinned her ears as she crawled over to a nearby couch, upon which she promptly fell onto. She kept her hooves over her ears and winced at each new roar; she couldn't quite understand why. Thunderstorms were fun, normally; exciting, even! But now, for whatever reason, she felt predated upon by the noise.

Klip grumbled and took a few slow breaths as she ran her hooves through her sodden mane. She winced at the little knots and whimpered when the strands tugged at her neck; she quickly abandoned that endeavour and instead pushed herself unwillingly off of the couch, landing with a muffled whine before she began to make her way towards the half-decent kitchen. There was nothing to be found there, however, and so she lamely began to tread towards the stairs—and would have done so had a small scrap of paper, pinned to the wall with a knife, not caught her attention first. After a glance around to check that nothing was going to attack her, she then limped forwards to read the hastily scribbled note. It was with a sinking feeling that she realised the words were scrawled in a sickening shade of red—and the “ink” was still somewhat damp.

The Stripes are here and I’m trapped. If anyone finds this, please help. I’ll make it worth your while. My name is Buckshot, I’m a dappled grey with a Chineighs Lantern cutie mark. Hurry, please!

Klip frowned and rubbed her chin with a hoof before she glanced at the ground and lowered herself down. It was hard to see through the darkness—the thick cloud cover was something of a hindrance—but, lo, there was no denying that something had happened here; a little way away from the note, the wooden floor was scratched and damaged from hooves which had tried to find some grip. Small smears of red could be discerned on the floor, too, which led towards the back door of the half fallen down house. Klip could only be glad, now, that it was dark; if she had seen this in the daytime, she would surely have retched a little.

Killing the Wailer was one thing, but smears of blood of a reluctant and terrified victim… It made her shudder and, a thought which made her feel somewhat unnerved, made her feel an overwhelming sense of déja-vu.

Maybe the stallion had been right in his words. Her past, her life before the pills… Everything was blurred and long forgotten, concealed by the blissful influence of the vast quantity of Rainbow that she had taken. She was no Mena, nor was she a Wailer, but she couldn’t help but feel a sense of duty to remember who she was, what she had been through—and if she had to stay off Rainbow for just a few days? Well, maybe it was worth the sacrifice.

But right now, she had more pressing matters to attend to, even more pressing than the stranger’s note. She was filthy, coated in mud and blood after only a few short hours outside. And she was in no mood to go on a dangerous rescue mission looking like this—though, injured as she was, going on any mission at all seemed foolish. But that thought did not put her off as she began to climb the stairs slowly, wincing with each little movement of her legs, and let her mind wander to thoughts of adventure. In the village, she had been content with her quiet and simple little life—but out here, something in her just screamed for a little excitement.

What was wrong with her? Klip grumbled and cracked her tail by her head in some odd form of self-punishment and shook her head quickly. “Stupid mare,” she then hissed to herself when she began to hop forwards, headed in the direction of the bathroom (it was easy to find when the walls were all broken down). “Be realistic, Klip; this isn’t a game.”

She was silent for a moment before she guffawed and flicked her tail, eyes suddenly alight with somewhat-insane and desperate glee despite the pain-fuelled tears which glistened in them. She then limped forwards slightly faster, smiling to herself for whatever reason—something about her words just struck a chord in her, though why she could not tell—and sat down in front of the bathroom mirror which lay in pieces on the floor. The screams returned as she looked into her fractured image and she laughed again, eyes the size of pinpricks as her tears suddenly began to fall in torrents. Her giggles were high pitched and uncontrollable; her glee was an angry, hate-driven pleasure which sent spasms throughout her body and made her twitch.

“This isn’t a game!” she cried, chortling and snorting all the while. She stumbled up to her hooves and gave a loud whinny before she then repeated, in as loud a voice as she could muster, “This isn’t a game!”

The rain roared louder in response to her shouts and she threw her head back in a cackle before she dragged herself over to the shower, the pain which laced each step making her only squeal and shout louder. She did not once stop her laughing as she fumbled for the on button; when she found it, she slammed her hoof onto it heavily and then snorted, her tears falling thick and fast now.

It was a few moments before the water gurgled in the pipes and slowly began to flow. At first, it was nothing but a grimy trickle of mud and dirt; a few seconds later a massive spurt of ice-cold water shot from the shower head. It drenched an already soaked Klip to the skin and made her cry out as she scampered backwards; when she fell on her rump with a yelp, she then felt her world settle slightly and she looked around herself in puzzlement.

After a few deep breaths, Klip  shuffled slightly closer to the freezing water, wincing when she reached it, and began to coax the filth from her fur and coat and mane. She shivered violently as she wept, with only one thought plaguing her mind; what had happened to her before the meds?