Chapter Four — Impressions

They say to keep your friends close and your enemies closer, but doing so will only leave everyone hurt.

When Zay-Oos the Slanderer had announced that there was to be an initiation to watch, I hadn't known what to expect. Frankly, I had not exactly paid that much attention to his words; my body was screaming in agony now, though at least being carried had alleviated some of that pain. The psychotic mares and stallions below me, though, weren’t taking care to be gentle. They seemed to revel in each squeak that came out of my mouth, just as they had done to their own comrades.

But, my pain-ladened mind reasoned, I was one of them now. Willing or not, this was my new path. A life carved on nothing but a whim alone, a massive risk, but one which at least gave me and Thorn some hope of survival—if I could pass this so-called initiation, at least. I guessed it would not be pretty. I did not want to think of the consequences if I failed.

At some point, I felt my body be dumped to the ground amidst a chorus of excited, half-insane cheers and whoops. Through blurred vision I watched, horrified and writhing against the chipped and cracked hooves that held me, as a massive syringe neared my face. At its tip a savage needle glinted in the light. It was easily longer than my muzzle and was roughly plunged into the bloodied, already blackened flesh of my bruised shoulder. I screamed, but the pain was not really so bad as I had imagined. When half of the syringe’s contents had been released into my hammered muscle, the needle was then torn out. Drops of bright, almost fluorescent green liquid fell from the end before it was then mercilessly forced back into my body, into my flank this time.

But, it quickly transpired, it was not such a horrific act as I had thought. As the ponies holding me stepped back to jab the meagre remnants of the liquid into Thorn’s battered body, I watched in pure awe as my flesh quite literally pieced itself together. The cuts which had littered my body disappeared almost immediately, and the bruising faded quite rapidly. Even the pus-filled, putrid hole just above my hoof began to fix itself, the muscle and skin stretching so as to cover the wound until all that was left was a large patch of white scar tissue. Against the red of my stained yellow coat, it was quite visible. But I did not worry about that now, for my pain was suddenly so much lesser. My body ached and groaned and I winced when I stood, but I could do so without falling immediately back to the ground. And that was good enough for now.

The crowd’s cheer became more joyous when I stood tall. Hooves clapped together loudly as Thorn was thrown down at my red hooves. The ponies then fell quiet and stood fidgeting as they waited for someone to move, to speak. It was a small filly who was then pushed forwards to my side, a rusting metal bucket carried around her neck. The wire dug into her skin, ripping it mercilessly slowly.

She trembled where she stood. Her eyes darted about wildly, from me to the crowd and then back again. She then raised a shaking hoof, pulled out a rag from the bucket and moved it closer to me slowly, warily. I did not move. She didn’t need to be put off any more than she already was, the poor thing.

Each gentle stroke of the water felt like heaven now. I sighed as it washed away the dirt and blood from my fur, a puddle of grime gathering below my aching hooves. A sigh escaped my lips, and I let my body relax a little; my eyes slipped shut for a moment before I came to my senses and then opened them once again. But the psychotic ponies weren’t paying me much attention now. No, their gaze was now focused on Zay-Oos, talking at the other end of whatever clearing we were in. He was standing atop a podium of sorts, with every pony around listening to him intently as if he were their god. I paid no attention to trying to hear his words and instead just pulled Thorn closer to my side, asking the little filly to help him too. She obliged almost instantly with a squeak and a fumbled response. I opened my mouth to tell her to calm down, my heart sinking at the sight of her. I would have calmed her, too, had a thought not struck me quite clearly.

These ponies were ruthless, but if I wanted to keep Thorn and myself safe I had to become one of them. I had to join their ranks and do so seamlessly, or they would abuse us just as they had this little filly and the mare from before. It was as such that I jerked my fore leg up quickly—once the filly was far enough from me to not be hit—and narrowed my eyes. I flared my nostrils once and made my ears fall back.

As expected, the filly whimpered a little before she slunk to my side, rag shaking in her little hoof when she resumed washing me down. I glanced back at her and forced my best snarl, but turned away quickly to let her finish her job. I had done enough, I hoped, to warn her to be wary. But, should she begin to doubt me, I wasn’t sure there would be anything I could do to keep my true nature a secret.

I was one of the psychopaths now. But that didn’t have to mean that I was just as insane as they were.

Right?

For a few minutes, the filly continued her work dutifully. She washed my blood-caked fur without complaint, barring the odd yelp she would make if I moved a little too quickly or sighed too loudly. When she did finish, she then returned the rag to the less-than-clean water and looked me over once more, a frown on her muzzle. When I snorted very, very slightly, she then stiffened and spun away. She shot to one of the psychopaths’ side, then trembling as she waited quietly for acknowledgement.

I didn’t know what happened to her after that. Almost immediately, she was engulfed by the crowds, and her occasional cries of pain as she was dragged off sent shudders down my spine. My heart burned with each one, but I could not help her. I was weak. I knew nothing about surviving out here in these lands so much more barbaric than I had imagined. I had to keep myself and Thorn safe in any way I could.

“Oi, Cunt!”

I gasped and stiffened. My hoof coiled protectively around Thorn and dragged him closer to me, my nostrils flared genuinely now. I looked about, my ears now pinned. It took a few moments for me to take note of the pony who had spoken, who now chuckled to himself. He was a short thing, his ears no higher than my muzzle, with a mane of dull blue and a light brown coat. His eyes, such a light grey that they almost seemed white, shone with demented joy. His teeth were rotted and yellowed and a vile smell brushed over my muzzle when he spoke next, nearly making me gag.

“The boss says you’re the newbie, right?” I nodded once, unwilling to open my mouth. To do so would let that poison into my lungs. He seemed satisfied with that, though. “What’s your name? We never got it, but the boss stuck you with me and mine, so I s’pose we’d better get to know you.”

I took a cautious step backwards and raised my muzzle higher into the air where it was less concentrated with the stench of the short pony’s breath. I then turned my head as far back as I could and bit out, with as much disdain as my unease could allow, “Klipspringer.”

“Bit of attitude, huh. That’s more like it. But, what did you say? Klipspringer?” The stallion snorted. “What a shit name.”

I snorted and returned my gaze to him. Once the foul smell had dissipated slightly, I then took a breath and said, “Klip. My name’s Klip. And if you want to find out what I got that name for, keep on mocking me.”

The stallion was taken aback for a moment and raised an eyebrow, his head cocked. “Well, well, Klip,” he said with a crack of his tail that sent shudders down my spine, “You’re in my gang now anyway. And the boss wants us to take a job for your initiation, so you’d best be ready.”

I looked down at myself, from the partly healed wounds to the still slightly reddened fur. “Do I look like I’m ready?”

The stallion snorted and held out a cracked hoof. I noted with horror the massive scar which ran across it. “That’s as good a fix as a mare like you’s gonna get, got it?” He eyed me slowly, reaching closer. I took his hoof slowly and shook once, genuinely surprised when he didn’t take that moment to attack me. “Good. So, there’s the weapons stash over there,”—he pointed towards one of the better looking shacks with a sneer—”and you’ll find yourself some armour there too. You’re gonna need it, promise, ‘cos we’ve got a fun day ahead of us.”

I swallowed deeply. “Fun?”

The stallion grinned. “Oh, the best,” he said, then turning away from me. “We’ll be waiting for you over by the cliff where the boss is now. If you get lost, just ask one of these cunts here for Swatter, yeah?” He paused and flicked his head back towards me, looking down at Thorn. “Oh, and you can leave your slave in the tent with the other ones.”

I snorted and let my head fall, almost immediately pawing slowly at the ground. I caught myself before I could let my new character slip, though, and then stood taller. “He’s coming with us,” I said, my voice suddenly low. Swatter grinned, looking more impressed than intimidated. But I carried on anyway. “I’m not letting some other… psycho use my slave.”

Swatter nodded once. “Good call,” he said, then standing where he was for only a second before trotting away with a bounce in his step. A few of the gathered psychos bit at his side as he passed. As if on reflex he then struck out at each one with a heavy-hoofed buck, only serving to anger even more of them. I hunched up by back and grabbed Thorn by the scruff of his neck before I then shot off towards the better-kept shack Swatter had told me to visit. There was no need to get involved in a petty brawl at this point; I wasn’t even properly healed, though at least I could walk.

The shack was dark and damp when I entered. The air fell heavily around me, an impenetrable coating against my dampened fur that made each movement stiff and troublesome. The sheer level of dishonesty, if one could assume such, that surrounded these goods… It was overwhelming. Nevertheless, though I felt guilt begin to trickle through me as I did so, I began to rummage around in the rusted and bloodstained pile of metal. Out of it, I managed to piece together a feeble set of armour which consisted of only a stiffened leather chestpiece and a spiked cage, of sorts, to rest on top of it. After a few more moments I then managed to pull out two small metal plates, but they were hardly big enough to cover my shoulders. Without heat to weld them, they were useless… but, I realised, maybe that was not actually the case. In fact, they could at least be passable as protection for someone of smaller stature. And it was as such that, with the help of some sort of sticky material that very nearly glued my muzzle to my forehoof as I used it, I was able to make a pitiful, but hopefully functional, set of body armour for Thorn as well.

Though I couldn’t help but feel proud for what I had created, I kept going in my search. Unsurprisingly, Thorn didn’t look all that impressed with my very makeshift attempt at protecting him, but I didn’t dwell on that and instead began to root through the pile once again. There was so much junk here: alarm clocks, some with missing hands; old microscopes with smashed up glass; rusted old boards with mazes of mostly intact wiring that made my head hurt to just look at them. A small, half torn foal’s book was also left abandoned in the pile which, as far as I could tell from the blurred state of the writing, was entitled “You’re SPECIAL”. Though it was a cute little thing and enough to keep Thorn distracted for a few minutes, there didn’t appear to be much else that could be considered to be useful. Hence, I began to take a few small, slow steps backwards, wondering where else I might find something, anything, that could pass as a half useful weapon. I needed more than just armour; I knew that at least. After seeing firsthoof what I had already, there was no doubt that I was more than a little unsuited to this environment. I was a foreigner, of sorts, in a land that wanted me dead. I needed protection.

That realisation wasn’t a new one, but it struck terror into my very soul and made me leap back towards the pile. To go outside with those ponies all around, with no way of properly protecting myself… It was a terror enough to make me dive back to the pile, scrabbling around quickly for a knife, or an axe, or—

I froze when my mouth clamped down around something long and pipelike. When I drew back, I yelped and dropped it immediately. It was an odd contraption, slightly damaged in places but otherwise looking in half good shape. At the end of its length, out of a large dark hole, a few long and brutal spikes had been added. It made me shudder as I lifted it from the floor, careful not to hit anything with it or the stiff length of wire which was joined to it; when I had it up to head height, I then began to fiddle with a strip of stiff material that came out of its half-rusted side. The second my hoof touched it, the leather-like flap tightened so quickly that it made me yelp and shoot away.

It was a few long moments before my frantically beating heart calmed slightly and I could pick it up again. When I did so I eyed the flap of material warily. Its function I could not fathom—or, I couldn't do so alone. It wasn't long before Thorn began to giggle, looking amazingly happy for our situation.

“It’s for your back, you know!” he said with a laugh before he hopped up and took it in his magic. Instantly, I scowled and tried to step back, only to find my path blocked; with my muzzle crumpled, I stood still as he floated the weapon closer and placed it down against my fur. The feel of the magical aura made me cringe and hiss slightly, but I otherwise didn’t react. Or, I should say, I didn’t react to Thorn’s magic specifically; I was much more disturbed by the way the leather strap had tightened almost immediately as if trying to weld itself onto my skin. When I tried to pry it away it eased off almost immediately—but when I gave a few small bucks and rears it didn’t so much as slip.

Unicorn magic, again. Why was that blasted race always trying to prove their superiority, to use the term loosely? What did they know about true strength? Intelligence and independence; fearlessness and friendship; charisma and care. They were truly what gave a mare authority and power, not the level of magic that they could wield alone.

“How do you know that?” I snapped, and the little colt yelped almost immediately, his eyes suddenly watery. Instantly I realised my mistake and let my ears fall before I hastened to stutter, “Hey, hey, I didn't mean it that way!” Thorn glanced up cautiously and frowned. I couldn’t help but sigh when I continued, “I just don't like magic. As in, I loathe magic.”

“I’m sorry…”

Oh, shoot! I grumbled and placed my head in my hooves, shaking it frantically. “Don't worry about it,” I eventually managed to force out, though the fact that I had just given him permission, albeit indirectly, to use his magic made a most unpleasant taste form in my mouth. “I’m…” I gulped and then said, with my teeth gritted, “I’m just overreacting.”

Thorn nodded slowly but shrunk back a little further. Poor thing; it wasn't his fault that an innate part of who he was as a pony was so despicable. He didn't know better. But, though a part of me felt oh-so-eager to lecture him about the many reasons why his magic shouldn't be used, I tried to push it from my mind. I hoped he would be able to realise that himself, without my intervention. With that possibility in mind, I instead began to fiddle again with the strap which now clung to my side ever so tightly, fighting the urge to grimace.

“You didn’t answer me, though,” I continued whilst I tapped my hoof on the floor lightly. I then raised an eyebrow and waited without a word, a fake smile plastered upon my mostly healed face. After a few moments of trepidation he then reluctantly gave in, but his voice was shaky at best.

“Oh, one of the explorers used to use these sort of things. Someone in the griffon team. I...I used to watch some of their meetings.” He blushed and smiled, but then looked back down at his hooves. “The strap holds the thing in place ‘cos, y’know, griffons and pegasi and earth ponies can’t hold them all that easily in their mouths. Then there’s that big wire that goes right up to your muzzle, and when you bite your teeth together it’ll send a shock down the wire and makes the thing fire.”

“You don’t say,” I whispered, rubbing my cheek against the small wire. It was cool against my skin and made me shudder. I then shook my head and returned my attention to the hoard beside me, suddenly finding a new enthusiasm for the task at hoof. Of course, it wasn’t actually hard; that bit was to come later on. Whatever the case, with a picture of what I was now after in my mind, it wasn’t nearly so tricky to find a smaller variant for Thorn. It looker weaker than the one I had found for myself; the hollow pipe at the end was under half the length and a lot less impressive, based solely on the bands which held it together.

That was alright, though. The thing, whatever it was called, looked as if it would hold together, and it was with that hope in mind that I placed it down behind his shoulders. The strap—I couldn't find one for him to hold with his magic, but it was not as if I was particularly bothered by that—clamped down around his withers. There was no wire on this particular build. There was a small lever on the bottom, though. After a few attempts at wrapping his magic around the trigger, the first of which seemed to miss the mark, he then grinned and stood up taller, ears suddenly pricked. I managed to hide my grimace that time, taking a few deep breaths before I returned my attention to him and trotted to his side.

“You ready, kiddo?” I asked, trying to smile—but then my mind flashed back to mother and my eyes widened and my body slumped. My heart thudded heavily in my chest and my nostrils flared as it suddenly became hard to breathe. It was only the small hoof on my shoulder that snapped me from my thoughts.

“Klip?” Thorn whispered, looking up at me with shining eyes. “Are you alright?”

I stood taller and nodded. I couldn't show weakness; I was not a feeble mare. I could look after myself. I didn't need other ponies.

I hadn't exactly been making true of that claim these last few days though, had I?

“‘Course,” I bit back, though Thorn didn't pick up on the bitterness in my voice. That was probably for the best. “Let’s go.”

Thorn didn't say anything but nodded, looking suddenly too eager for the situation. He was a colt who'd gotten a new toy. It didn’t matter that this toy was a destructive tool capable of sheer annihilation—though somehow, I got the feeling that he wouldn’t be in this mood for long.

Leaving the shack put an immediate damper on the mood, unsurprisingly. Even after the time we had spent in there—it had surely been at least quarter of an hour, but maybe it had been longer—the psychotic ponies were still bickering, even if some of their number had thankfully dispersed to fight elsewhere. It was a struggle to manoeuvre around the sheer number left but, if nothing else, I managed to draw only a little attention to myself. One thing that didn’t go unnoticed, though, was my momentary unsteadiness when I heard the words, “I’m sure one of those damn slaves’ll be a good enough ride. Or we’ll cut his dick off, right mares?” But, given that only one heavy hoof struck out at me as I passed, I probably got off that one lightly.

It was hard to keep track of Thorn amidst the mob, but we managed to make it past at least mostly uninjured. Aware that I had probably taken my sweet time by now, I threw him up onto my back and ascended into a gentle trot, my eyes kept peeled for Swatter. He would be with a group, if what he’d said earlier was any indication; that assumption was proven to be correct when I rounded the corner of Zay-Oos’ podium to find a small band of ponies waiting most impatiently. They snorted and ground their teeth together as I approached. One I was especially careful to stand clear of; the way she brushed the side of her weapon with a feather was especially unsettling.

Swatter stepped forwards from the middle. Out of all of them—us—he was easily the best equipped, though that didn’t mean much when Thorn’s weapon was held together with bands.

“What’s that thing doing here, Cunt?” he snapped, nodding at Thorn quickly. I took a step back momentarily before I stiffened and caught myself, standing taller.

“He’s my slave,” I countered with a small crack of my tail. “There’s no way I’m leaving my slave here. I’d lose him, thank you very much.”

The pegasus mare stepped forwards, closer to me, but I held my ground. She then opened her wing and began to trail her dusty feathers over our bodies; a moment later, she snagged the weapon from Thorn’s back and threw it behind her. The other four ponies leapt on it like wolves over a scrap of giant roach meat.

“Don’t be an idiot,” she hissed, slapping my cheek with a feather. Somehow, it stung almost instantly. “You don’t give a slave a fucking gun!”

I yelped and let my ears fall before I raised my hoof to nurse my stinging cheek. At the ponies’ displeased scowls, I quickly reconsidered that and let it fall down. Then, though it made me feel so guilty to do so, I let my rear legs bend so that Thorn was sent tumbling from my back. I spun on him, rear leg raised should the psychos get too near, and forced an explosive snort. When he whimpered—oh, Celestia, that was a genuine one—I then grabbed his mane in my teeth and shakily dragged him back around.

“He’s not staying here,” I repeated. Could these ponies hear the drumming of my heart? “And unless you wanna fight over it, that’s how it’s gonna be.”

Oh, no.

The pegasus smirked. “Sounds like a plan to me,” she snapped back, her wings then flapping as she slowly began to walk a circle around us. I watched her warily, wishing I actually had some clue as to how the weapon on my side worked. Just as she began to toy with the small lever on the bottom of hers, though, Swatter jumped in front and let his hoof connect with her neck.

“For fuck’s sake, Poison!” he shouted, “Get your bloody feather away from that trigger! If you try’n kill every damn newbie we get, Zay-Oos’ll just kill us instead. We’ve got a job to do, and unless you’re planning on dying on it, then just quit it already! Or I’ll kill you myself and make things a whole lot easier.”

Poison huffed and let her head fall, taking a reluctant step back. “Shut the fuck up,” she said, her bright purple eyes suddenly losing their colour and becoming cold. She then turned to me and said, through gritted teeth, “Keep that cunt of yours close, or believe me when I say I’ll butcher him.”

Though quite evidently wary of me again, Thorn whimpered and hid behind my leg all the same. I tried not to react, other than to send a scowl his way. It was the harshest I could manage.

“Well, we’re wasting time,” I said, my voice colder than I liked. How my mother would have hated—no! No, Klip. Don’t think on that.

Swatter nodded once. “Even the newbie gets it better than you, Poison,” he said with a chortle, then turned to the rest of his group. In order he pointed at each and said, “We’re all gonna have to get along nicely, or I swear Zay-Oos will kill us. I don’t trust that scum. So please, for once just save the killing for when we’re actually on the job?”

Killing. Of course. What other sort of job would these ponies take?

The group grumbled, but that was supposedly good enough for Swatter. He nodded once and banged his hoof down on the ground, before he then looked to me and grinned with a large, yellowed smile. “You haven’t got any bullets, you foal,” he said, eyes alight with humour. I whimpered and my ears fell as my lips parted ever so slightly; to my surprise, though, Swatter didn’t prepare to punish me. Instead, he took a quick look down at my weapon and then nodded, yelling back to his cronies, “Wrangler! Point three-o-eight, go!”

A large unicorn stallion with dark green fur jumped to attention and threw his hoof into the saddlebag which rested across his back. After only a few moments he then brought it back out. The small box which he had held was sent flying through the air towards Swatter, who then caught it between his teeth with well practiced ease. When he came closer to me, I held my breath and took them from him quickly.

“These are bullets, got it?” he said with a quick gesture. Once again I noted the hideous white scar which stuck out painfully obviously against his light brown fur. “So, pull back this bit here—” He tapped the top of my weapon quickly, though seemed careful enough at least not to handle it too hard, “—and then put the magazine in there.” He laughed as I let my ears fall further and scrunched up my muzzle. “This little box here,” he explained, much to his comrades’ amusement. They laughed loudly, and he did not even attempt to stop them so much as join in with them.

The psychotic laughing seemed to be a habit out here.

“So, put the little box in the hole at the top, yeah,” he said, his words drawn out and slow. I huffed but did not retaliate any more than that; I couldn’t afford to miss any tips. “Then ya close it again and press this little button at the top. Go on, try it.”

I hesitated but obliged at Swatter’s scowl, doing as he said until a small red dot flickered in front of my eyes, a few metres away. I paused, then glancing to him for some instruction; he grinned and whispered quietly in my ear, “Bite.”

When I did so, the weapon retaliated with an explosive cry, and one of the flawlessly formed bullets burst from the tip. It screamed and wailed as it shot mercilessly through the air, heading right towards Poison. She yelped and immediately tried to shoot away. It clipped her wing as she did so, but she was otherwise unharmed—and, all of a sudden, seemingly less loathing of me. In fact, she was actually grinning at me now.

They were psychopaths, the lot of them. But I was too stunned, lying on the ground with a suddenly stinging rump from the shock of it all, to really notice.

“Nice one,” Swatter said as he thumped his hoof down on my back and almost knocked me muzzle-first into the dirt. He then reached down and heaved me up to my hooves before he touched the button on the top of the gun surprisingly gently. “Your shot’s shit, but you hit Poison so I’m not gon’ complain too much.”

The pegasus gritted her teeth and trotted closer. “You won’t be saying that tonight though, will ya?” She snapped her teeth against his neck so that a few droplets of blood beaded there, then turned away and folded her wings to her side. “But for a crap shot, Cunt, that was pretty good. Now ya just need to hope for that luck out in the field.”

I laughed slowly, nodding with a stolen peek down to the gun. I rose my hoof slowly and touched it ever so tenderly, brushing along its length as if with a feather. When I reached the small button on its back I faltered before I pressed down on it, watching the little red dot that appeared with amazement. It moved as I did, and even my breathing made it rise and fall. But, when I closed one eye and relaxed my body and held my breath, it froze in place.

I looked down at Thorn, smiling slightly. He only frowned, though, and pointed forwards—and it was then that I realised Swatter and Poison and Wrangler and the other three ponies who I was yet to learn the names of had all gone. By now, they were a at least one hundred metres away, maybe more.

“Oh, Faust,” I whispered, then bending my neck down low before I gestured for Thorn to climb up. He did so reluctantly at my quick, frustrated snort. I then shot off, my eyes not leaving the rest of the group even once. I didn’t need to lose them again.

Level Up!
New Perks: Infiltrator
When life gets tough, sometimes the best thing to do is to blend in with the crowds. Lies made whilst infiltrating are ten percent more likely to be believed.

Author's Note

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Also, many thanks to Dagger of Winter, Word Worthy, kalash93 and AShadowOfCygnus for prereading and editing this chapter!