Chapters Altan Skai's home is not much. Its stone walls keep him and his possessions in close quarters, but he has made the desk, the paper, pens, pencils, erasers, and books work well with his thin cot, small bathroom, trashcan and radio. The desk he purchased for six hundred packs of tobacco leafs may be cramped, but at least it has drawers, which is where he keeps writings and pictures, as well as numerous magazines of questionable nature. The magazines are used strictly for references since the articles are -in his own opinion- absolute garbage. The books he has stacked on his desk are of much better quality, even though they are in languages that are not his own. But, as he has learned, writing letters or drawing pictures are great ways to exchange language lessons.
On the note of exchanges, he is not overly critical of his neighbors. Some are good. Some are bad. And those that are beyond bad usually don't last long when they get in front of him. Case in point: Today.
It had just been another day trying to get breakfast and stretch his legs from his small compartment of an abode when a gang tried to take his oatmeal. The whole incident is actually a real life example of an old Altain proverb: “Never get in between a griffin and their food. Ever.”
It is a proverb that his assailants never heard, and they paid dearly for it. Although, Skai did feel bad for the rock he had to us. It was just minding its own business when it got involved, and luck had been on his side since the resident peacekeepers managed to stop the fight before it spread, and now Skai is back home in his cell, etching another tally mark on his wall using what's left of his dull talon, his stomach tight and face twisted to a sour expression due to a lack of breakfast.
The tally marks that desecrate the stone walls stretch from the floor to the ceiling, and bleed out. The marks reach the tattered cot and bunch up at the solid metal door, and they circle the lone light bulb around the ceiling.
After adding the tally mark, Altan Skai huffs and stands back, staring at his work with dim, yellow eyes with his wings cuffed to his sides. His old, frail frame is covered in bandages that are tainted with streaks of red, and his grayed blue fur and golden tipped feathers are still covered in dirt and ruffled.
His distant gaze is brought back to reality when a trio of metallic bangs ring from his door, and a quick sideways glance shows him that an ibex guard is peeking in. The eyes are familiar, so the griffin eases himself on his cot, flashing a quick wave
“Gueten Morgen, Horn, ” says the griffin.
“Gueten Morgen, Skai, ” says the guard, Horn. “I heard you had another fight in the courtyard with some of the locals.”
Skai shrugs. “We can call it that.”
“Well because of your fight someone wants to speak with you.”
“I already spoke with the Warden.”
“It's not the Warden.”
“Then who is it?”
“I don't know. But you know the drill.”
Skai reluctantly slides off his cot, sighing, and patiently stares at his marked wall. Shortly after, two sets of hoofs and sets of clanking metal enter, followed by snaps and tight pinches on his limbs. He instantly feels the weight of the chains, and when another familiar ibex guard slides next to him and clamps a collar around his neck, Skai forces a smile.
“Wilkes,” says Skai.
“Skai,” says the leasher.
“How are the wife and kids?”
“Doing well. Comfy?”
“Always.”
“Good.”
And then one firm tug leads to Skai following the guards out.
Several minutes later, Skai finds himself sitting in a cold concrete room. His hind legs are cuffed to the floor, his wrists are anchored to the metal table, and his rump is resting on an admittedly comfortable cushion. Of course anything is better than his flimsy cot and the comfort of the cushion would have been better if the temperature was not so low. But Skai keeps his beak shut. He is used to this treatment and has reminded himself that if he can lay in snow for ten hours he can sit in a cold room for four.
Even though the room is bare, he still look around and taps the table with his dull talons. His digits are slightly bent and scars crisscross their surface like cracks on a glass, and his old bones ache from the cold, but he gives them no satisfaction of whining.
More slow minutes tick by.
Skai's only sense of time is determined by the clanking cooler next to him. Its several minutes of humming will break with the rattles and clanks, and a puff of cold air will blast on his back. His thinning fur and trapped feathers will ruffle in a pitiful attempt to keep him warm, his eyes will twitch slightly and his jaw will set, but he still keeps quiet.
There are twelve cycles of humming, clanking and puffing before the door opens and a fairly young ibex in a thick dark blue suit enters, carrying a saddlebag full of folders. There is a lightness in his steps, an easy smile on his face, and his gray-blue coat is something Skai was not expecting to see on an ibex. When the newcomer is at the table, he places the folders across from Skai, takes the time to line the edges together, and then he down, takes a long, happy breath and smiles at the imprisoned griffin.
“Hi,” says the ibex.
“Eh... Hi,” says Skai.
“Sprichst du Bernerese?”
“Ja,”
“I know. Silly question. Anyway, my name is Ozean, and I was wondering if you liked freedom?” says the goat.
Skai shrugs. “I don't know. I heard it was nice, though.”
“Oh, it is, and luckily for you I can give it to you, but before I do that, I'm curious as to how aggressive you think you are. On a scale of one to ten, how aggressive are you?”
“Zero.”
“Zero?”
“Zero.”
“Bashing your fallen opponent's head in with a rock until their brains pop out is zero?”
“When you put it that way you make it sound like a one. I really am a nice guy. A pacifist, actually.”
Ozean nods. “A pacifist with a knack for words and doodles and the occasional burst of overkill?”
“Mhm.”
“A coffee shop griffin, basically. You've done some executions before, haven't you?”
“Look,I don't want to be rude, but I'm a busy griffin. I'm getting paid eighteen tobacco leafs to make a picture for some guy. So, can we wrap up whatever this is, please?”
“Some guy?”
“Yeah, Rick. Cell block D. Very nice guy. I'd hate to keep him waiting.”
“Does Rick hospitalize whole gangs over the course of six months? Or is he a lonely sap who loves your erotica pictures?”
Skai's eyes narrow, and his talons dig into the table. “What do you know about the fights?”
Ozean hums and bobs his head this way and that, eyes rolled up in thought.
“Well,” he says, “nothing too much. I mean, I did offer those gangsters early releases if they managed to cripple or kill you, but that's about it.”
Skai's eye twitches, and a growl rumbles in his throat as he leans towards Ozean.
“Why?” asks Skai.
Ozean shrugs innocently. “Why not? I mean, you served in the Grabitel Division during the Altai-Bernese War and later went rogue to get some extra cash. Killed quite a bit to go nowhere, but, hey, look on the bright side, the blood lust is still there and because you impressed me you get to have your life sentenced reduced! Isn't that great?”
Skai's feathers ruffle in their clamps and his thinning fur bristles as he inhales and flexes his talons without taking his eyes off Ozean's insufferable smile.
“You're obviously a shadow. I don't deal with shadows,” says Skai.
“But I want you to be free,” says Ozean. “Don't you want to be free?”
“You're bullshitting me.”
Ozean shakes his head. “Nope. I'm being honest with you.”
"An 'honest' shadow put me here."
"And this shadow will get you out."
Skai taps the table with his talon. “I have been here for thirty years and now you want me free?”
Ozean scoffs lightly and leans towards Skai. “Come on, be fair. I am younger than you. I was actually born right after the War ended, so how can I get you out if I'm some kid in school or a new-blood in the government? It just doesn't work like that.”
“There's a catch.”
“Of course there is, and I know you can do it.”
Skai sinks into his pad, shaking his head.
“Find somebody else. I won't be your puppet,” he says.
“But being a puppet is fun,” says Ozean.
Skai cranes his neck to look over Ozean's shoulder. “Guards, I'm done!”
The door opens up and Horn and four guards enter. When they begin freeing Skai from the table Ozean sighs and shakes his head in theatrical disappointment as he steps away, leaving his folders on the table.
“I guess Arnica Camomile will die alone,” says Ozean.
Skai stiffens and the guards stop and look between the two.
“What?” says Skai, his voice heavy and his eyes hardening.
“It'll be tragic if Arnica dies alone. She is a very nice griffin and has aged very well,” says Ozean, coolly inspecting his hoof. “She's still healthy, still living in Corcus, which is still the same quiet, small village on the outskirts of Altai. But she is very much alone and living a sad, miserable life, but if you don't want to brighten her day then I can always send another griffin her way. Maybe they can explain why you chose to stay here instead of going back for her.”
Ozean moves to collect his belongings, but Skai's rocky expression crumbles to panic and he holds out his talons to Ozean, calling him and ignoring the pain of the jerking chain and the barking guards. But before anything more can be done, Ozean holds up his hoof and orders them to stand down, and he meets Skai's pleading eyes with a wolfish smile of his own.
“That was fast,” says Ozean.
“I will do what you want. Just don't hurt Arnica,” says Skai.
“Hurt her? Why would I do that? I mean, the other griffin might when he does your job, but-”
Skai lunges again, and the guards shout and tug him back, and Horn jabs the griffin in the side with a baton. Electric currents burn their way into Skai's veins and tighten his muscles, and he collapses, wheezing and glowering at Horn, all while Ozean calmly strolls to Skai's side.
“Altan Skai, look at me,” orders Ozean.
Skai snarls at Ozean, but remains wordless.
“Do you want to be free? Yes or no?” asks Ozean.
Skai swallows and hoarsely replies: “Yes.”
“Do you want to see Arnica again?”
Skai nods. “Yes.”
“You can have both, but the price of freedom is submission. You submit to me and complete the job and I promise you that you will be returned home,” says Ozean. “Do we have a deal?”
Skai takes a deep, ragged breath, then nods. “What do I have to do?”
Six weeks have passed since the conversation with Ozean.
Six.
Long.
Weeks.
Now Skai is in Ballen, Germaneigh, sitting at the Ballen International Zeppelin Port with only a light saddle bag and instructions to meet a “Jela” upon his arrival at his destination.
His frame had grown bigger over the course of his rehabilitation due to plentiful exercise and one cranky hag that would not stop feeding him his protein meals and bagels. However, even though Skai feels heavier, he still does not think he is heavy enough, so he has used his allowance to buy himself a small snack, which is comprised of: protein bars, bagels, chips, crackers, protein milk, bagels, more chips, cheese muffins, flavored water, bagels, cookies, bagels, and -just to be healthy- an apple. The apple tasted nasty, though, so it found its way to the garbage can very fast. But as grateful as he is for being able to buy the modest snack, he does not like the disgusted eyes on him. It is embarrassing. But he does not let that show and he would dare anybody to fight him if they mentioned him being a pig for enjoying something beyond prison grub.
Food aside, Skai has more reasons than just good zeppelin port food to be in a state of bliss and wonder, and that is the actual zeppelin itself. He remembers from his childhood how zeppelins were. They were big balloons with long baskets hanging underneath, decorated with nice furniture, operated by well dressed servants and passengers got complimentary warm clothes, blankets and hot drinks. They really were for rich griffins to use, but he was a lucky lad since his father worked in the zeppelin kitchen, so he got free rides. Skai even recalls a particular trip where he heard rumors of the Altain Imperial Government wanting to build flying cities based on zeppelin designs. That vision did not exactly come true, but from what Skai is seeing of the zeppelin now, it is becoming very close to reality.
No matter how much Skai wills it, no matter how much he demands it, his eyelids will not move, putting his yellow eyes in a permanent state of disbelief as he looks out the massive window of the Port. Outside is a titanic craft that dwarfs any zeppelin he has ever seen. Its elongated metal plated balloon sits snugly on top of a cabin that is six stories tall, its exterior is decorated with golden rays that explode from the nose, like the afternoon sun. Blue coats its body with a white stripe runs along its side, and each level has plenty of round windows to give the passengers a nice view of the sky. At its tail are four fins, with each crook having a long tube-like engine with pipes snaking along its side and disappearing into the lower levels of the craft.
A sudden, loud crackling overhead jolts Skai out of his trance, and his head snaps to the source, which is a collection of speakers attached to a pole in the middle of the main walkway, packed with ponies going about their business. As the voice leaves the intercom, Skai hears a couple of snickers and one quick look leads to him having a stare down with a young colt and filly.
“Attention, Flight 5137-Z will be boarding in thirty minutes ,” says a mare over the intercom in Germane.
The filly leans against a mare who is talking to a stallion and points at Skai while the colt keeps their evil smile on him as the translated message bellows out.
“Look at the ugly bird, mama,” says the filly in Equestrian. “He's scared of the big voice.”
The mare stops talking to the stallion, takes one look at Skai, then quietly chides the child and ushers the foals to a seat, leaving Skai to observe them with narrowed eyes and ruffled feathers. The mare reaches into her saddlebag, gives each of them a book and orders them to read, which they do with pouts weighing down their faces.
Meanwhile, Skai sniffs and looks around and realizes that there is a big circle around his bench. Ponies will be walking along and then suddenly make a long curve just to avoid bumping into him. Not wanting to think too much about it, he looks at his ticket.
Flug 5137-Z Sitz 33-2-A
He looks at the zeppelin and sees the flight number painted on the side. Looks at his ticket. Looks at a giant clock hanging above the gate to the zeppelin. Looks the flight number painted on the side. Looks at his ticket. Looks at a giant clock hanging above the gate to the zeppelin. And just for good measure: Looks at the flight number painted on the side. Looks at his ticket. Looks at a giant clock hanging above the gate to the zeppelin. Seeing plenty of time he looks over his shoulder to a row of gift shops with various books, magazines, shirts and overpriced disposable merchandise sitting in glass display cases.
After checking his money, he goes to the nearest gift shop and peeks inside the display case, watching the ponies in the reflection casting him uncomfortable looks. Some are less than graceful when they move to avoid him. Most are as discrete as a civilian can get, leading to another obvious shift in the tide of traffic.
“Can I help you with anything?” asks a bored stallion behind the counter in Germane.
Skai shakes his head, replying in the stallion’s language. “Just looking.”
Skai looks across the counter at a shelf fully stocked with white coffee mugs that have detailed paintings of cities, villages and natural scenery with a banner of their names underneath the pictures. He rummages through his brain's dusty memories, trying without much luck to remember what Arnica liked. Flowers keep coming to the front, but that flower turns into a new mess of its own.
What kind of flowers did she like?
What colors did she like?
Do the flowers she like even come in the colors she likes?
What if he gives her the wrong flowers and colors after being away for thirty years?
Does she even like coffee?
Who buys a coffee mug for their sweetheart after being gone for thirty years?
Why would ponies even sell coffee mugs if they have hoofs!?
“This is turning into prom night again,” grumbles Skai under his breath in his native language of Altain.
“I'm sorry, I did not catch that,” says the clerk.
Skai looks at the cups again and spots one with a field of flowers painted on its pale surface. He holds up his talon, wanting to point at the cup, but his insides twist into a knot and he quickly leaves, quietly excusing himself as he hurries back to his bench.
When he sits down he takes a long, deep breath and exhale to expel the sickness festering in him, and he stares at the clock again.
Four minutes have passed.
He drums his talons on the arm of his chair and wiggles his toes, looking at each and every equine walking by. All of them are mainly minding their own business as they scurry along like oblivious drones, and with boredom guiding him, he groans and slumps into his seat, rubbing his face and closing his eyes. With his eyes closed, every word sounds louder. Every differing language clearer. Every step its own special beat that is distinct and easy to hear.
“La 'ahtum mird alhusul ealayh algiam bih.”
“Viaggi sicuri? Che schifo!”
“Boo en usted, buen señor!”
“Whoever mentions Romaneia one more time is walking!” threatens an aggravated stallion.
Skai drags his palms across his face and barely tilts his head to see a group of four stallions hurrying through the crowd, carrying large saddles and wearing red shirts with patches made of a white “D” with a wing on its back in a black shield. He twists his head a bit to watch them until his neck complains, then he resumes his original, comfortable position and rubs his neck. As he rubs his neck he watches the attendants at the zepplin's gate, smiling and chatting without a care in their uniforms of lavender vests with gold buttons over an airy turquoise blouse and a white ascot tied around their necks. One is leaning against the podium. Her eyes have a slight red tint to them and her hoof is twitching. She has a bucket of water nearby, which Skai is certain she has used it liberally since her muzzle is soaked. The second is stiff and while she is talking and smiling, Skai notices a pinch of pain on her face and her habit of lightly lifting her hind leg. She also keeps looking at the clock, which drives him to look at it, as well.
Three minutes have passed. Twenty three minutes left until boarding.
“Ugly birdie,” says the filly from earlier.
Skai scowls and looks over his shoulder at the evil grin the foal has, and he flicks his eyes to the mare. She's now talking to another stallion. Her ear and tail flicks with her giggling, and Skai turns his attention back to the kid.
“How does it feel to be ugly?” asks the foal.
With a heavy sigh, Skai pulls out a thick book from his saddlebag and smacks the filly over the head with it. There is a BANG that no one seems to notice, a moment of quiet as the filly stares at him with wide eyes and drooped ears, and then her eyes water and she gallops away, sobbing: “Mama!”
Seconds later there is some chatter followed a horrified gasp, and Skai casually brings his book up, titled: Beginners Guide to Zebrican , and he quietly reads the introductory chapter.
Very soon after a shadow falls over him and a hoof pushes down the book to reveal a very, very pissed off mare.
“Excuse me. We need to talk,” says the mare.
Skai puts his book back up.
“I'm sorry, I do not speak Equestrian,” he says in perfect Equestrian.
The following conversation goes about as well as a bunny in a gas chamber, but Skai regrets nothing.
Several minutes later, Skai finds himself taking his seat in the zeppelin. The one-sided conversation took up the remainder of the time, and while the mare scolded and condemned him for whacking her child over the head with a book, he quietly wondered how many stallions she had to get drunk just to get laid. She is a good looking mare, but she strikes him as the controlling type, and unless something has changed, he is certain that her controlling nature is a turn off. In Skai's case, he would love to put her in her place over a counter, or on a bed, hell, even a bathroom would do just for the sake of breaking his thirty year dry spell, but all he could do was tease her by lifting his book up every time she pulled it down. It was amusing in its own way, even though her verbal onslaught drew a crowd, and like all things fun, the guards that were suspiciously on his side from the start had to come and ruin it by escorting her and her children away. Very far away.
While the family was being escorted away, the filly stuck her tongue at Skai, and he appropriately responded by waving farewell, but now that problem is gone and Skai is on the zeppelin, staring the seat he had been assigned to, which is a middle aisle seat and has left him with another dose of surprise.
The seat is surprisingly wide and well padded with the ability to recline, and a pair of dials sit on its arm, which a quick observation tells him that they connect with the light and the fan above him. The designers also somehow managed to fit a tray on a sliding platform, as well as put pockets for a pillow, blanket and reading material. Seeing such a luxurious site actually gives him pause, and he only moves when someone clears his throat.
“You gonna move?” says a familiar stallion.
Skai quickly sits down, noting from his peripheral vision how it is the same stallion complaining about Romaneia. The complainer is an earth pony with orange fur, orange eyes, and his black mane is messy with a red stripe on the left side and a musket for a cutie mark. He pretends not to pay him or his group any mind by pulling out his book, but as the other three pass he spots a unicorn, a pegasus and another earth pony. All of them are still carrying their heavy bags and make their way to an area marked: Erste Klasse .
Envy immediately moves in when Skai watches the group enter the spacious, luxury area through a velvet curtain that shows just enough to tease the passengers with a bar, seats that might as well be beds, and a table. They are also greeted by a stewardess that offers them a bucket of champagne and giggles when the orange pony pecks her cheek. Skai's eyes narrow and when the curtain is shut he huffs and makes himself comfortable with his second class seat, and then tries to distract himself by reading his book. However, he is interrupted when a pair of ponies move next to him, chatting and putting up their bags in the most obnoxious way possible. The mare even manages to bump her flank against Skai's arm, and he glares at the couple, wanting to push them away. But he is already on the zeppelin and he does not want to press his luck with Ozean. Yet.
Skai tries reading again, but the mare bumps into him yet again, and he throws down his book and stares fire and brimstone at her. The mare -a unicorn with a burgundy coat, a curled mane of blue and purple, with purple eyes and a cutie mark of a needle surrounded by a swirling thread- sees this and offers an apologetic smile as she sits down.
“I'm sorry about that, dear. Are you our seat mate?” asks the mare.
Skai hates her already. “Yes. Just please stop bumping into me.”
“Oh, you won't have to worry about that. Me and my husband are all situated.”
“Hello!” says the stallion, a unicorn with a light gray coat, a white mane, blue eyes, and newspaper for a cutie mark.
Skai hates him, too.
“I'm Ribbon Wishes. What's your name?” asks the mare.
“Skai,” he says flatly, suddenly craving a drink.
“Oh, what a beautiful name.”
Skai ignores her and grabs the menu hanging on the side of his seat and flips through it, taking special interest in the alcohol section and snacks. He can tell by the flamboyant designs of the labels that ponies still don't know how to make good alcohol, but the cheese crackers look nice and alcohol is alcohol. He really needs some for what he has to do and is about to deal with, and he highly doubts he will have a hangover when he reaches his destination.
“We're with the Church of Solaria on a mission trip to Zebrica to spread the teaching of Celestia,” says Ribbon Wishes.
“That's nice,” says Skai with about as much enthusiasm as a corpse, keeping his eyes trained on the wimpy menu in a feeble attempt to find the manliest of sissy brands.
“Oh it is going to be so much fun! Bright writes for the Solaria Tribune and I work as a seamstress, so while I fix and make clothes for those poor dears he will be recording everything for the biggest story of his career!”
Sighing inwardly, Skai pulls down his tray and waves a stewardess over, an earth pony with the zeppelin uniform.
“Trikken bitte? ” asks Skai.
The mare uses her mouth to tip a pitcher of water into a cheap plastic cup sitting on a tray, only filling it half way before she carefully gives it to Skai. and Skai's hope for a drink dies on the spot. Any hope of a good mood is actually bludgeoned by disappointment, but some of the pain fades since he sees others drinking water and a simple lock on the cart. With that in mind, he flashes a smile and briefly raises his cup to the stewardess while mentally plotting ways to sneak into the first class chamber and steal some alcohol from there without getting kicked off.
“Vielen Dank,” says Skai.
The stewardess resumes pushing her cart without acknowledging his thanks, and Skai's brows raise as he inspects the water in the flimsy cup. One quick gulp later and he regrets his decision of not waiting. Prison shower water tasted better than the lukewarm liquid he just poisoned himself with, and to make matters worse, the words leaving the lips of the neighboring mare register in his ears.
Skai slowly turns to her, eye and talon twitching, really wanting to shove a pillow in her mouth to stop her constant stream of speech.
“-And so that is when we decided that blue would be better than red,” says Ribbon Wishes. “I think blue would look good on you, actually.” She looks at Bright and points at Skai. “What do you think? Would blue look good on him?”
“Blue would look smashing on him. Blue and white,” says Bright Wishes, smiling.
“Have you been talking this whole time?” asks Skai.
Ribbon Wishes looks at him and blinks obliviously while her husband nods and flashes a beta-male smile that would no doubt lead to his murder in Altai.
“Yes. Why?” says Ribbon Wishes.
Skai scoffs and slouches in his seat, shaking his head and grumbling quietly in his native tongue with the flimsy cup breaking in his talons. “Kairos help me.”
This simple phrase gives Ribbon Wishes all the permission she needed to resume talking. This time her one sided conversation is about fragrance and soap that she has brought for the needy, and Skai sinks lower into his seat and pulls out the complimentary pillow from the side of his chair and covers his face with it.
He is in for a long flight.
The descent from the clouds leaves Skai feeling as if of his organs are going to pop from his mouth. As Skai hurls into the complimentary puke bag, his ribs feel like they are going to snap and his vertebrae disconnect from how hard he is bending over. When he is done vomiting, the bag is at its limit with mushy crackers and cheap alcohol, and he wheezes for air, tying the bag good and tight, and then he look around without a clue where to put it. The passengers and attendants staring at him are not making things any easier, either, and the dozens of eyes on him put a very uncomfortable heat in his cheeks.
Skai swallows and triple ties his bag, trying to smile, but his lips barely twitch, and when a unicorn stewardess comes by and offers to take the bag, he gladly gives it to her. Once she has it, she grimaces and quickly walks away with the bag held a hoof's length away from her.
“I have never seen a griffin get sick from flying before,” says Ribbon Wishes.
“It has been a while since I have flown,” says Skai, his voice airy and his head feeling just as light.
Ribbon Wishes pats his leg. “Well, don't you worry. I won't tell anyone.”
Skai glares at her and she quickly retracts her hoof and looks away, biting her lip and flushing with embarrassment, all while Bright Wishes snickers.
“Oh, hush up, you,” scolds Ribbon Wishes quietly.
“Welcome to the Port Rays of Sun International Zeppelin Port. May your stay in Khomas be pleasant and memorable,” says a pleasant zebra mare wearing a blue vest above a green blouse with a red ascot around her neck and a sun pinned on her chest.
She came on a few minutes after they docked and after her greeting the group of travelers murmur in excitement, except for Skai. He is slouching in his seat and rubbing his heat.
“Would you like some water?” asks Ribbon Wishes.
Skai holds up a hand. “Please don't talk to me.”
The mare pouts and slouches in her seat, and Bright Wishes pats her on the shoulder.
“Its okay, honey, some people just have rotten souls,” says Bright Wishes.
Skai rolls his eyes, but remains quiet, and a few minutes later a bell dings and green signs flick on in the aisles, saying: “You are now free to move about your destination.”
Next to the words are cheap smiley faces that belong on children school papers. Nonetheless, the passengers leave in an orderly fashion, aisle by aisle, one by one, like loyal cogs snapping in place for the gears they are a part of. When it gets to Skai's section he stumbles a bit, but quickly regains his footing and carries on.
Ahead, he sees the zebra mare greeting each passenger with a smile and a brochure. He thinks nothing of it as she gives him his brochure, wishes him a great stay and gently ushers him toward the chilly, crowded tunnel. After exiting the tunnel -and wishing ponies would stop looking at him- he steps into a spacious lobby of souvenir shops, benches and mingling tourists.
Patrolling the lobby are zebras wearing armored vests with a basic sun stamped above their heart, and saddles with machine guns strapped to them. Underneath their vest are black and gray camouflage garment, and most of the soldiers are halfhearted in their patrol, but the obvious newbloods are alert and tense at the sight of the growing crowd. One pair of guards have the misfortune of having their pictures taken by tourists who have no idea when to use the flash, leaving both guards blinking and stumbling while lousy photographers trot away, happy as can be.
Poor photography aside, Skai goes directly to a souvenir shop, hoping to find something of value, but all he finds are cheap dolls, flags, shirts and more coffee mugs. One mug even says: 'I Survived the Dark Lands' with a stick-pony running away from stripped stick-ponies throwing sharp objects at it. It actually has a good size to it, so it can hold plenty of coffee. Or hot chocolate. Or orange juice. Does Arnica even like orange juice? Skai remembers something about her with orange juice and a coffee mug.
“How much for that coffee mug?” asks Skai in Equestrian, his talon tapping at its display.
The zebra behind the counter shrugs. “I don't know. How much do you have?”
“How much for the mug?”
“How much do you have?”
“I'm not telling you unless I get a price.”
“Price is subject to change.”
“Okay, you know what? Fuck you, you sudaltai novsh .”
The zebra scowls and Skai walks off, shaking his head in disbelief of the stupidity of the situation. He would have expected something like that from a griffin, but a zebra? He has a hard enough time processing that he is in a zepplinport inside a zebra nation, but now they have shysters, too? What has happened to the world?
As Skai goes through the zepplinport, fuming, he spots something he should have seen earlier. It is an obese zebra sitting at a cafe, eating a bowl of orange chips. The obese zebra is wearing a tropical shirt, has mostly black fur with white stripes, and a long mane somehow tied into a row of braids. Added on to the odd sight is that the zebra has a sign with Skai's name on it, resting against the table.
While Skai stares at him, puzzled, Ribbon and Bright Wishes brush past him, wishing him a good day, and pass the oversized zebra without delay. Another moment later, the obnoxious Romaneian crybaby and his group hurry past him, and the orange stallion meets up with a zebra stallion that has black spots as well as stripes. The spotted zebra is quick and jittery when he touches hoofs, and he hurries the group away. Once that odd group is gone, Skai sighs inwardly and approaches the table.
Skai coolly slides into the vacant seat across from the zebra, and the striped equine stops eating and looks up at the griffin, his eyes widening and his ears sinking.
“Jela?” asks Skai.
“Altan Skai?” asks the zebra shakily.
Skai snags a handful of chips and shoves them in his mouth, nodding as he chews, and really loving the cheesy taste to it.
“Equestrian or Zebrican?” asks Skai, his mouth full of delicious, cheese flavored chewed food.
Jela looks at Skai's talons as if they belong to a leper, and a couple of awkward seconds later he looks up, which lines up perfectly with Skai taking another handful of chips.
“You know Zebrican?” asks Jela.
“Not a lot,” replies Skai, his mouth once again full of chips.
“Then we will stick with Equestrian.”
Skai nods and takes more chips, and Jela scowls and pulls the bowl close to his chest.
“Man, why you gotta be eating my chips for?” says Jela.
“What? I'm hungry and you looked like you could spare some,” says Skai.
“Wow. Ozean not only did not say you would be a griffin, but he also did not say anything about you being an asshole.”
“I just got out of prison. Cut me some slack.”
“Prison? What did you do?”
“I killed people in a fit of rage when they didn't pass the chips.”
Jela's eyes and ears perk, and Skai stares at the zebra, stone cold and talons flexing. The zebra gulps and sweat trickles down his stripped face as Skai narrows his eyes. Seconds of silent contemplation of fight or flight options later, Skai suddenly grins and relaxes in his seat.
“I'm kidding. It was actually theft, but let's forget about me and get down to business. I don't want to be here any longer than I have to,” says Skai.
Jela sighs and climbs out of his seat, shaking. “Fine. Follow me.”
Jela escorts Skai through the zeppelinport with apparent tunnel vision, seeing as how he does a fantastic job of nudging travelers out of the way, while Skai keeps his eyes moving, watching every step and hearing every word of the passing crowd, all without bumping into anybody. They pass terminals, shops, kiosks, a help desk, and one area has a group of zebras and ponies alike crowded around a large dial radio, and giving out drinks while trying to listen in on the broadcast is a unicorn-zebra.
“This is not a civil war,” says a stallion over the radio. “Everypony is calling it a civil war, but that is a lie. It is civil unrest and the Congress and the President are handling it quite well.”
“This way,” says Jela.
He bumps Skai towards a bare area that has a fading and peeling mural of ponies and zebras of all ages planting a field of flowers with a bright sun shining down on them. After the two stop moving, Jela takes a quick look around, eyeballing passing equines with hostility, but once they are gone he looks at Skai.
“Before we go anywhere, there are two things you must know. One, when we leave Khomas we will be going into Hell,” says Jela. “Second, when you complete your contract I will take you back to Ozean and we will be free. So, no lolly gagging. No fooling around. In. Out. Done. Got it?”
“Got it. When do we go?” says Skai.
“Now,” says Jela.
“Now?”
“Yes. Now.”
“Why now?”
“What do you mean why now? I thought you wanted to be done as soon as possible!”
“Well, I figured we could grab something to eat first. A final dinner before our descent into Hell, if I'm going to believe your words. Plus, I need to buy a souvenir.”
“Oh, come on. Zepplin food is not that bad.”
Skai jiggles his bag of money. “I'm buying.”
Jela is silent for a moment, but it ends with a reluctant sigh and nod. “Okay, fine. We can get some food, but we are not getting souvenirs!”
“What am I supposed to do? Scoop dirt into a jar.”
“Yes.”
“... The gift is for a girl.”
“So? Sand is more personal and has lots of stories to it. Plus its free. But before we eat, I need to give you this.”
Jela hands his sign to Skai and motions him to open it up. After the old griffin opens it he pulls out a secured envelope and grimaces at the “From Love” scribbled on it with a heart surrounding the message. He tears open the envelope and pulls out black and white photos of a griffin about his age, definitely healthier build, sporting sunglasses and a smile for politicians. With a scrunched brow, Skai turns the picture over and finds a description of the griffin. The description pegs him at sixty with light red fur and feathers, gray plumage and blue eyes.
There is another picture, but this one is of a slender, black furred canine with ever watchful eyes, large ears, and a necklace of a crescent moon. The description behind the labels him as a jackal, thirty and green eyes.
The last picture in the stack is a pegasus stallion with a short mane and tail, wearing an armored vest with a long barreled rifle on his saddle. It describes him thirty, blue with spots of white along his hoof and back, and an orange mane with white streaks, and light blue eyes.
Beneath the descriptions of each photo are the names of the subjects: General Kilij Ilb, Ausar Jah and Royal Sentry.
“Your mission is to basically kill off the leadership of one the largest black-marketeers in the continent,” says Jela, bringing Skai out of his inspection. “All three are in Zebrica, but your main target, General Ilb, is attending a formal event at Harmony City very soon, so it'll make him an easy target. I'll explain more later, but for now we must get moving. Our window is closing fast.”
Jela hurries off, and Skai stuffs the pictures in his saddle and speed walks after the zebra, grumbling: “The things I do for people.”
“Citizens of Zebrica, this is your President speaking, and I have wonderful news,” says a stallion over the radio, though with the rattling of décor, loose tools and fluids coupled with the rushing hot wind, Skai is having some trouble hearing it. That, and the the squeaking and banging of metal and wood on the bumpy road adds some buzzing of anxiety to him, like bees crawling through his body. He is actually expecting his seat to fall out from underneath him and get crushed by the pipes and fat wheels of the motor wagon.
“We are getting close to Zebrica,” says Jela over the President, taking his hoof off of the steering orb on his dashboard to tap a compass, which is glued next to a bobblehead of a zebra mare in leafy dress. “The President makes a lot of radio talks and it gets into this country. Border towns like to listen in and loan him some help from time to time.”
“Also, I am pleased to announce that we have restored order to the Wheatlands,” continues the President. “The damage is minimal, the casualties are thankfully no more than a few bruises. I urge all citizens of the Wheatlands to return home. It is safe. Your President, your Congress, your army, we are all here for you and we will continue to fight for you and to restore order and prosperity to Zebrica.”
There is an applause with some static, and Skai looks out the window with heavy eyes in hopes of seeing the beautiful landscape that his book told him about. But, alas, he still sees an endless sea of sand colored grass bathed in the searing, blinding light of the sun. Just like it has been for the past six hours. There has not even been a cloud in sight for four hours and the last cloud they had should not even be considered a cloud since all it was was a strip of white. At this point Skai has determined that it is basically the most boring piece of land he has every seen, and it brings him to wonder if anybody has died of boredom in this part of the world.
“Are you bored?” asks Jela.
“I have seen better scenery in my prison cell,” says Skai.
“What are you talking about? This is beautiful! Just look at all the lovely grass, the open sky, the-”
Ba-Da-BUMP!
The vehicle suddenly jerks up and dips into the road, kicking up a cloud of dirt that blows inside the vehicle, and Skai curses and covers his beak with one hand while the other grips his door tight. The vehicle rattles, bobs, weaves and kicks up more dirt, shaking the loose objects to the point where the screws must surely be holding on. This also leads to the radio dropping out to pure silence. Then there is a snap and a shatter, and Skai whips his head towards the sound and his blood drains from his face when he sees a curved piece of wood shattering against the uneven dirt road.
“Something just came off this thing!” says Skai. He looks at Jela, who is laughing like a maniac and saying something in Zebrican too fast for him to pick up. “What are you laughing about? Your thing -whatever this thing is- is falling apart!”
“Relax, that was probably one of the pipe sleeves. Besides, you have nothing to worry about,” says Jela, grinning at Skai as he runs his free hoof along the cracked case of the dashboard. “This beauty was crafted in the finest factory in Khomas so it will run well.”
A thick jet of sparkling charcoal smoke belches out the exhaust pipe, forcing the vehicle forward with a burst of speed that pushes the pair into their seats. Though, while Skai feels the cold tendrils of death moving in to claim him, Jela continues laughing like an idiot that deserves death. Or the very least a good punch in the mouth.
“You are a funny griffin, you know that?” says Jela. “Every griffin I have seen have been serious. Like, this.”
Jela scowls at the rear-view mirror, which is cracked and held together by tape. This act brings Skai to frown in bemusement.
“But you?” continues Jela. “You are all.”
Jela opens his eyes and mouth wide and stiffens himself. Keeping his face frozen he switches between Skai and the road. After a few seconds of this nonsense, Skai points at the road, forcing himself to look away from his partner.
“Will you keep your eyes on the road?” says Skai.
“What are you worried about? The road is flat and its not like I am going to hit anypony or anything. There's nopony for miles!” says Jela, now stiffly looking at Skai with his hoof off the steering orb, either unknowing or uncaring that they are steadily veering into the grass.
“Don't do that! Just keep your eyes on the road. I do not want to die because of you!”
Jela shakes his head and calmly regains control of his vehicle. “And Ozean said you were supposed to be a tough bird. What I see is a griffin cub in an old body.”
Skai rests his head on his shaking palm. “Just keep driving.”
“Whatever you say, cub.”
Jela then hits his radio and it hums back to life, blaring the voice of the President again.
“Order will return to our nation,” says the President. “No adversary will keep us from our goal. No trial will keep us stalled. Those who wish to divide us will fail. Those who work to undermine me and the Congress will fail. Those who wish Zebrica to perish will be punished. I promise you, greatness is coming. From my heart, to yours, this is President Honeypot signing off.”
Another boring hour passes before Jela slows the vehicle down and turns off the radio. As this happens, Skai pulls out his Beginners Guide to Zebrican and skims the greetings section. Another minute later, the vehicle slows to a stop in front of a barricade. Said barricade is made up of a pair of brick towers surrounded by sand bags, rolls of barb wire and machine gun nests. In the towers are Gatling guns manned by zebras in brown armor and garment with radio packs on their backs. Hanging from the towers are flags with yellow backgrounds with foregrounds of a hollow four spoke, black sun flanked by a black plow and hammer, and next to each tower is a large vehicle.
These vehicles are elevated more than Jela's little steam powered contraption, and rather than having four wheels, they have a pair of treads in the back and four fat wheels up front. The front of the vehicle is covered in heavy gray metal plates, slits for a window, four exhaust pipes jerking up to the sky, and heavy doors with a ball-and-joint system connecting it to its back. The back end is where the treads are, and it is equivalent to a metal box. Like its front, heavy plates are bolted down and slits run along their sides, and thick pipes run along the sides and also end with their opening facing the sky. There are also turret nests with Gatling guns in it that are being manned by zebra soldiers.
Skai really wants to run away at this point. Run away and find something nice and cozy to snuggle up with. But he is able to get a leash on his fear and drag it back to where it belongs, despite the monster sized vehicles and the dozens of armored zebras with rifles on their saddles looking at them. How times have certainly changed during his sentence.
Jela stops the vehicle and he smiles at Skai as a zebra with a winged star on his vest approaches them.
“Relax. I got this,” says Jela.
Skai can only nod, and when the zebra is next to them, Jela smiles a big toothy smile and holds out his hoof.
“Good afternoon, Iklwa,” says Jela in Zebrican.
“Good afternoon, Jela,” says Iklwa in the same language while lightly pressing his hoof against Jela's.
And that is as much as Skai is able to understand before the two begin speaking too fast for him to understand. He watches their expressions in hopes of trying to gauge the direction of the conversation. From what he can tell from the tone and their features the conversation is going quite well. Jela is still happy and annoying, and Iklwa appears tired, but not wanting to gun them down in the vehicle. Though, Skai cannot say the same thing about the gunners since they are staring at them -specifically him- with their hoofs too close to the triggers for his liking. But, as quickly as the conversation starts with Jela and Iklwa, it ends with the latter walking to Skai's side.
Skai watches him carefully. His talons flex on his door handle and his eyes drift along Iklwa's body, finding an excellent weakness in his armor around his throat.
It seems that Iklwa's walk is taking longer than it should have, for each step is heavy, leading to his gear to tap against his armor with each step. The buzzing of the bugs and the light rustle of the grass makes the illusion of slowness all the more real to Skai, and when Iklwa is looking down on the old griffin, Skai puts on his best smile and loosens his talons, but he still keeps his muscles tense.
“Hello. It is nice to meet you,” says Skai, holding out his hand.
Iklwa's lips twitch and he reluctantly presses his hoof into Skai's palm, and as they shake, the zebra looks at Jela and says something Skai cannot understand. Jela replies, and Skai is not amused when the two share a laugh.
Iklwa pulls away and shouts at his soldiers, and the particularly fresh looking soldiers perk and gallop over with glowing eyes while the hardened ones carefully walk over like confused cats. Iklwa then turns and shouts at Skai, motioning him to get out.
“What's going on?” says Skai.
“He wants you to get out,” says Jela.
“I can see that, but why?”
“He wants to take your picture with the group.”
Skai balks at Jela. “What?”
“Pictures.” Jela gets out of the vehicle, trots to Skai's side and opens his door. “Come on, it will be fun.”
Skai reluctantly gets out of the vehicle and follows Jela to the group of soldiers with a dejected look weighing down his face.
“The last time I had my picture taken I was being sentenced to prison,” says Skai.
“And the last time I had my picture taken I was with a beautiful girl on the beach,” says Jela.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“No, but it makes me feel better.”
Skai rolls his eyes and stops moving when Jela puts his hoof on his chest, then Jela waves Iklwa over, who then orders his soldiers to crowd around Skai in the most uncomfortable way imaginable. Hot armor presses against him, sweat evaporates around him, stench of bad breath burns his nose, and the fact that so many stallions in armor carrying big guns are surrounding him and giggling like foals leaves him just more than unnerved. And the turrets aimed at them are not helping.
Once everyone is in position, a zebra gallops into view carrying a bulky box with a cylinder on the front, a lever on the side and a tripod on the bottom. He is quick to set it up, and when it is secured on the ground his face disappears behind the box and his hoof rests on the lever.
“Ushizi!” says the camera pony.
“Ushizi!” repeats the crowd.
There is a bright flash of light that blinds Skai, and he tries to blink away the blobs of colors floating around his eyes, but every blink seems to only push them around instead of breaking them. The zebra soldiers also stay crowded around him and chatter like clucking chickens as they bully each other to get a better view of him. The number of smiling faces is overwhelming and Skai's heart becomes fast and heavy, and his legs move him backwards on their own accord, but the soldiers still walk after him or circle around him, all asking and saying things he cannot understand. They only stop when Iklwa shouts and takes a few heavy and fast steps towards them, which drives the soldiers to gallop back to the barricade.
Iklwa yells something after them and stomps his hoof, and after snorting he turns to Jela and smiles thinly with his hoof held out. Jela meets his hoof and the two share their farewells, and then Jela guides Skai back to the vehicle. Once the two are back inside and buckled up, Jela starts forward and honks his horn at the soldiers. The soldiers cheer and wave, and Skai barely lifts his hand for a wave before resting his head on his hand, breathing a sigh of relief.
“We're in,” says Jela. “Iklwa put out the word to his friends that marked us as friendlies, so we won't be shot at by the government.”
“Good... Have they ever seen a griffin?” asks Skai, his eyes looking at the shrinking barricade through the door's mirror.
“No. There once was a small community of griffins in Zebrica, but they aren't around any more.”
“Why not?”
"They were cleaned out.”
Skai stares at Jela, mortified by the statement, but the fat zebra shows no sign of remorse or anything else except for relaxation.
“I think now is a good time to tell you about the people Ozean wants you to kill.”
“First on your target list is Royal Sentry. He is a pegasus from Equestria. He's thirty years old, and since he was unfortunately born in Equestria he had no idea how the outside world was before he was snatched by General Ilb.”
A twenty year old Royal Sentry has no idea how this happened. One moment he was talking to a gorgeous mare at a local bar who seemed to enjoy his amazing personality and good looks. The next he was face to face with a very ticked off stallion, nearly had his skeleton shattered by a barrage of hooves from said stallion’s gang and was dragged out the door by his tail. Now here he is, twirling in the air.
And landing in a conveniently placed mud puddle.
His sore face throbs and mud covers his battered blue and white spotted body with the surprisingly sticky and foul smelling junk. It brings him to question whether or not he actually landed in mud or something far more sinister. But mud or not, Royal Sentry still crawls out of the dirty puddle, coughing and sputtering and flapping his wings free of the mess.
He collapses to the ground a couple of paces later, holding his jaw and wincing while simultaneously bringing his tail close to him in the hopes of finding comfort. His whole body feels like it is populated with dozens of hearts beating at their own pace, and his bones all feel like they have been cracked to some extent, but his tail really feels loose. Just like his teeth.
“Oh man,” groans Royal Sentry. He looks at the door to the bar behind him, trying to hold back the tears of pain, shame and fear, and is really hoping the crazy stallion and his gang does not come charging out to stomp him to death.
“Do you need a hand?” says someone with a thick accent that Royal Sentry is unfamiliar with.
He turns his head to the source and sees talons extended towards him in a peaceful manner, and he looks to see standing in front of him a sturdy griffin with red fur and feathers, dark gray plumage and blue eyes wearing a nice jacket of silver and gold. Next to him is a slender, black furred canine with ever watchful gold eyes, large claws, and a necklace of a silver crescent moon. Flanking the two is a group of four ponies; two unicorns and two earth ponies, and the group has revolvers holstered on their hoofs.
Royal Sentry swallows blood and reluctantly extends his hoof, and his head feels like a loose ball when he is tugged up and he flashes an uneasy smile when the griffin holds his shoulders and inspects him at arms length.
“You're a foreigner, yes?” says the griffin.
“I'm just a tourist, man,” says Royal Sentry.
“A tourist?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh. Do you like Stallionopolis?”
“Not any more.”
“Yes, this country is the Wild West, but it is new, so it still has a toddler temper, if you know what I mean.”
The two exchange a chuckle and the griffin gives Royal Sentry a handkerchief, which he gladly presses against his bleeding lip. It stings a little, but the little piece of cloth brings a surprising comfort to him. What cancels it out are the guns strapped to the ponies, and the stern looks they are giving him.
“Relax, they are friendly. They would not hurt a fly. They just look mean because they are tired,” says the griffin. He points at the canine. “He is mean, though, but it is cultural for him to be mean.”
“I hate it here,” says the canine.
The griffin scoffs and waves him off, and then he turns to Royal Sentry and holds out his hand.
“I am Kajil Ilb. What is your name?” says the griffin.
“Royal Sentry,” replies the pegasus.
“Oh, that's a handsome name. Tell me, why come out here? This country is not nearly as developed as the more popular countries, and you look like you are more into Prench or Germane mares.”
“I just wanted to see all of the world before going to any of those academies. Be a kid just a little bit longer, you know?”
Kajil Ilb nods sympathetically and pats Royal Sentry's shoulder. “Oh, yes. I know. I know. Trust me.”
Royal Sentry sighs and looks away. “But I guess this was a sign for me to go back to Equestria, so it was nice meeting you and you're, um-” He looks at the armed ponies “-posse. But I'm going to go now.”
Royal Sentry tries to leave, but Kajil Ilb tightens his grip on his shoulder, bringing him to wince from the pain assaulting his sore bones and muscles.
“You are going to cut your vacation short because of some bully?” says Kajil Ilb.
“I almost died for flirting with a mare! I think that's good enough reason to run,” says Royal Sentry, his voice and legs quivering.
“Well, Royal Sentry, let me tell you a secret. You must not run, for you getting pummeled and us meeting here was destiny."
Royal Sentry blinks, his mind at a loss of function. "Destiny?"
Kajil Ilb nods. "Yes. Destiny. You and I are here for a purpose, and I think my purpose is here to help you. Come, let's see if I can take care of this misunderstanding for you. I have some business to take care of here, anyway.”
Royal Sentry tries to back up. “Oh, you don't have to. You can just do your business and I'll take the next boat back to Equestria.”
“No. No-no-no. I insist. I insist.” Kajil Ilb digs his talons into Royal Sentry's shoulder while offering an innocent smile. “Come. I'll make things right for you. You will see.”
“Eh...”
And that is as much as Royal Sentry says before Kajil Ilb halfway drags him back into the bar with the posse following him. The stench of sweat, alcohol and cheap cologne immediately punches his sinuses, and his pupils shrink to tiny dots when he sees the gang of stallions at the bar. The mare he had talked to earlier is also with them, but unlike the rest of the high energy stallions who are jovial with one another, she is sulking on her stool, nursing her drink. The bartender is sharing her gloom, but he is occupying himself with cleaning a cup. However, when he sees Kajil Ilb standing at the entrance with his gang and Royal Sentry, his body locks up as his wide eyes focus on the griffin.
“Did you see him, though?” says the leader of the group. “I mean, come on! He's a pegasus and he's all whimpy like a unicorn!”
“Those Equestrian pegasi are an embarrassment to our race,” says the pegasus of the group.
The group laughs and talks over each other in agreement, but they stop one by one when Kajil Ilb clears his throat. Then, like a perfectly rehearsed troupe they turn to look at the griffin and his group. The bartender, meanwhile, is inching towards the door, and the mare shrinks in her stool, ears drooping and a low, scared whine leaving her sealed lips.
“Excuse me,” says Kajil Ilb. “I believe you hurt my friend over a simple understanding.”
Kajil Ilb places his hand on Royal Sentry's shoulder and flashes a thin smile, and the pony sizes up the griffin, finishing with an unimpressed scoff.
“What do you want? An apology?” says the stallion. He turns back to his drink, shaking his head while his friends chuckle. “Give me a break.”
Kajil Ilb taps his shoulder again and the stallion turns around with a growl.
“What?” he says.
“I do want an apology,” says Kajil Ilb.
“Oh, you want an apology?”
“Yes, I want an apology. I want an apology. Is that too much to ask for?”
“Well, your scumbag friend tried to make off with my mare, so do me a favor and fuck off.”
In a flash of movement that Royal Sentry has never seen before, Kajil Ilb grabs the pony by his mane, pulls a revolver out from his jacket, shoves it in his mouth and pulls the trigger. Blood, bone and brain splatter on the bartender and the collection of bottles, and Royal Sentry shrieks and leaps back as the griffin's gang unloads on the group of patrons. The gang is ruthlessly gunned down in a barrage of flashes and explosive gunfire, including the mare, and when all calms down, seven bodies collapse to the floor, soaking in blood while bullet casings roll and gunpowder stinks the air. The bartender is nowhere to be seen.
Royal Sentry's ears are ringing at this point and he is too frozen to move, despite his wings at full length and muscles wound tight. When Kajil Ilb turns around he has speckles of blood all over his face. He leans towards the canine and speaks to him in a language Royal Sentry cannot understand. The canine nods, nudges a couple of others in the group, and the trio take off towards a stairwell near the back.
Kajil Ilb then approaches Royal Sentry, but despite how much the pegasus wants to move, he is still locked in place. Even his lungs become petrified when the griffin stands in front of him and uses his talon to wipe off a bubble of sweat crawling down his forehead. There are three more blasts from upstairs, screams of pain and another blast that silences it, bringing Kajil Ilb to smile and pat a corpse-stiff Royal Sentry on the shoulder like a comforting friend.
“You look a little sick," says Kajil Ilb. "Do you want some pizza? Kids love pizza.”
“Royal Sentry has been stuck with General Ilb ever since and became one of his best guys. Now, you get to kill him.”
“Next you have Ausar Jah. He is Kajil Ilb's right paw and has been with him for a very, very long time. He is a jackal from the Kingdom of Sahel, thirties or forties, something like that. Anyway, he is not like the pony. He was born in the rough, that much we know.”
A very young Ausar Jah walks down a blue hallway with streaks of white and light blue pulsing through it. Beams of light poke through the windows, illuminating the floating dust in vibrant glitters of red, green, yellow and blue. Behind him is a group of dead ponies laying pools of blood and with more splashed along the wall and their weapons of pistols, rifles and shotguns laying next to them. Streaks and dots of red cover Ausar Jah's slender, black furred body, his golden eyes are dilated and his large claws make rhythmic taps while he leaves a trail of bloody paw prints.
“Min huna!” shouts someone down the hall.
Ausar Jah runs towards the source, and when an earth pony stallion rounds the corner wearing clawed boots he leaps and tackles the pony to the ground. His teeth easily sink into his neck and the stallion gurgles and thrashes as blood gushes out of the holes. Another earth pony comes out with a pistol in his mouth and Ausar Jah spins to his feet and slashes the stallion’s face, forcing the gun change course and barely miss him.
Ausar Jah's ears ring and he stabs the pony in the neck with his claws and pushes him back into a group of other ponies. Blood flows from the gashes on his victim's face and neck, and when he pulls his claws out the pony crumbles to the ground, gagging and pressing his hoof against his open throat.
The ponies Ausar Jah knocked over scramble to their hoofs, and one of them, armed with clawed boots like the first one, yells and brings his hoofs up. When the hoofs come down Ausar Jah gets on his hind legs, blocks the descent, and headbutts the pony in the muzzle. The pony yelps and stumbles back and Ausar Jah leaps over him, tackles another pony to the ground, rolls next to another one and slashes his hind leg.
The pony with the slashed leg cries out in pain and buckles, dropping the pistol he was carrying, and Ausar Jah slams his face to the ground and gives him a hard press, leading to a sickly crack and loss of movement. He then turns to the pony he tackled and slams his paw into his gut. The pony grunts, then screams and tries pushing him off as he drags his claws across his stomach, leaving three large, flowing gashes.
Blood quickly covers the floor, and Ausar Jah is jerked by a very uncomfortable punch to his shoulder. He looks at his shoulder and sees absolutely nothing, and when the punch returns there is again nothing but a force that pushes him back. He looks up at the remaining pony and sees a pistol in his mouth. The pony is pale and shaking, and he pulls the trigger three more times, blinding Ausar Jah with flashes of colorful powder and hitting him with annoying punches.
The jackal's fur bristles, and with a low, vicious growl he stalks towards the pony. Said pony fires off two more shots into Ausar Jah, pushing him back just barely a couple of steps, and then his gun clicks.
Click.
Click. Click.
The pony's eyes widen and his life leaves his eyes as Ausar Jah's bloodied fangs are exposed in a vicious grin.
Click.
Click. Click.
Ausar Jah coils his body, and the pony drops his gun and holds out his hoof.
“Aitazar!” begs the pony.
And that is the last thing he says before he is tackled by Ausar Jah and the pony's scream is the last thing heard from the compound.
When Ausar Jah exits the building a few minutes later the purple sunlight burns his eyes and sand rubs against his coat, sticking to him like fine sugar. However, as the seconds move on by, the purple sun peels away to the colors of orange and yellow, and the sugar colored sand changes to tan sand that actually starts to sting him a little bit.
Ausar Jah keeps walking, though. His steps are quick, yet heavy, and hot pockets of pain begin to grow all over his body. Especially his chest and shoulder. But despite the pain he keeps his eye on the prize.
A red and gray griffin barely in his twenties is sitting patiently on a throne made of crates of muskets, ammo and powder with a proud smile and sunglasses, holding the barrel of a musket with its stock pressed into the sand. Blood is over his face and at his feet are half a dozen dead ponies, all with various fatal wounds and their blood dark red seas on the the sand. Ausar Jah can't help but admire this look. It seems fitting for the griffin.
“You do not look so good,” says griffin, whom he knows as Kajil Ilb.
“But the job is done,” says Ausar Jah.
Kajil Ilb chuckles and tosses him a bag of gold coins. “That it is, my friend. That it is. And that is your reward, as promised.”
Ausar Jah picks up the back of coins and slips it into a pouch strapped to his upper front leg, his breathing and eyes getting heavier, and the vibrant colors fading from his colorful world.
As he puts his reward away, Kajil Ilb hops off the throne and approaches the jackal with a proud and eager smile.
“You are too good to be a drifter,” says Kajil Ilb. “You should come with me permanently. Destiny put our paths together and I know you and I were meant to be. Plus you get good money, good food, good houses.” He winks and clicks his tongue lewdly. “Good tail.”
“You have nothing,” says Ausar Jah bluntly.
“But I will have something very soon.” Kaji Ilb waves towards the throne of arms and ammo. “For what you see is the beginning of a kingdom, and I know it will grant you what you desire.”
Ausar Jah frowns at the muskets, grunting from both skepticism and an increasingly annoying pain and cold creeping into his body. The sun also seems to be getting brighter in the center while dimmer on the edges. Somehow. He hates that. It doesn't seem natural.
“You won't get far. Ballistics are no good. You're better with traditional weapons or drugs,” says Ausar Jah.
“Ah, but you see these muskets are the seeds of greater things to come.” Kajil Ilb pulls the jackal in close for a half hug and lightly punches him in his shot chest, causing said jackal to grunt and recoil from pain. Not that the griffin notices. “Stick with me. We will go places.”
Ausar Jah wants to say something, but realizes that the cold feeling has spread all over his body, and he looks down at al the blood leaking from the holes shot into him, and he looks up at Kajil Ilb, whimpering with ears drooped, body shaking and eyes wide and dimming.
“Oh,” says Ausar Jah. And then he collapses into a heap at Kajil Ilb's feet.
Kajil Ilb looks down at the jackal, clicks his tongue and seethes quietly as he scans the area and runs his talons through his plumage.
“Well then,” says Kajil Ilb. “Stay put. I'll grab some drugs!”
Ausar Jah groans weakly, then blacks out.
“Ausar Jar is not to be fooled around with, all right? He does not like to die, so when you find him you'll have to overkill him. Got it? Good.”
Skai's eyes skim his translation book thoroughly as Jela takes him down the four lane road leading to a distant city. No word is left unread, no line skipped, no page missed. Every word read is spoken into his mind, mimicking the voice of Jela. The radio is also helping him gauge how Zebrican is structured in a more relaxed environment. Though, admittedly it is difficult for him to figure out what the musicians are trying to say in the songs played since the music is comprised of techno-thumping beats and fast talkers. He can only really pick up words and information when the radio hosts do their chatting session. So far it has been a lot of talks about weather, celebrity weddings and divorces, food, and President Honeypot being an awesome guy.
“And we're here!” says Jela.
Skai looks up from his book and sees a sign welcoming them to Harmony City. The sign is made of brick with bright paint and is surrounded by vibrant flowers. In the distance is a circle of towering spires made of brick and steel. The windows shine like hundreds of little stars and a disk of smog floats overhead.
When the pair reach the city the streets become cramped with motor wagons of all shapes and sizes spewing glittering, dirty steam and zebras wiggling their way through the crowded sidewalks. Tents with homemade goods, food or harvested crop line the sidewalks and merchants shout at paserbys, hoping their frantic yelling will get them a sale. In between the bizarre towers of brick and steel are squatty buildings made of wood or brick, or sometimes both, and plastered on their walls are posters of various events. But what surprises Skai the most are the zebras wearing suits and the fact that the crowd looks like they are brain dead. No life in their eyes whatsoever. Every step is rehearsed like obedient pets for a show.
“General Ilb will be making a public speech very soon at the Royal Crest Hotel,” says Jela. “Luckily the spot I chose gives you a clear shot of him.”
Skai nods and continues to look around the city. The roads and sidewalks seem to be okay, and a construction crew they are passing appears busy with their massive bulldozing machine pushing debris away from a crumbled building.
Near the construction site is a long building with a billboard on top of it and three doors each with an insignia painted on it. One is of a lion's head with a pair of spears crossing over each other behind it; the other is a swooping eagle; and the last is a shark biting an anchor. The billboard above the building depicts a zebra stallion with gray armor stabbing skeletal pony with the South Zebrican flag attached to a sharp pole. Money and food spills from the stabbed pony and behind the soldier is a vibrant field whereas the ground around the pony is decaying. Underneath the picture are Zebrican words, but Skai knows what it says.
PATRIOTS!END THE DISEASE!
Skai then hears a lot of terrified screaming and someone roughly shouting, and he looks towards the commotion and sees a tube of a vehicle pulled off to the side with a stocky metal plated vehicle with four fat wheels and a tank of water guarding it. A zebra wearing armor is manning its Gatling gun and two other zebras in armor with rifles on their saddles stand in front of a line of civilians with condemning gazes. The civilian zebras are sprayed with a hose by a third soldier, and they shout and sputter as the stream of pressurized water beats their faces.
When the water stops, they are forced to stand still, shivering and whimpering as dirty water drips from their baking bodies. The other two soldiers inspect each zebra carefully, but when they only get dirty water flowing to their hooves and terrified eyes staring at them they wave them back to the bus.
As the zebras are herded back to the vehicle the light turns green and Jela continues forward, ignoring the scene while Skai puts his eyes back in the book. He tries to keep his eyes on the page, but he cannot help but glance at the mirror, watching the bus gradually disappear from view.
“Is that normal?” asks Skai.
“What is?” asks Jela.
“The spraying.”
“Oh, that? That's very normal. The rebels paint themselves as zebras, sneak inside areas and do rebel stuff, so now zebras spray each other to see if they are ponies in disguise,” says Jela.
Jela turns into an alley and slows down drastically to where Skai can hear the garbage crunch under the tires despite the traffic outside. As the vehicle glides through the alley, Skai looks around, his talons flexing and eyes taking in everything that they can. From the stained brick to the graffiti covered dumpster, old newspapers and spilled garbage, and a wooden door with a rusted handle, nothing escapes him.
“By the way, we're here,” says Jela.
“Here?” says Skai, looking over his shoulder and down the alley, half expecting to see someone come out of the wall and chew on their necks until they pop.
“Yes. You go up top, shoot General Ilb and we go home. Easy job.”
Skai looks at Jela critically. “Right. Let me just use an air gun to ruffle his feathers.”
Jela forces a dull laugh and wiggles his way to the backseat. There, he uses his mouth to pull on a strap that lifts up the cushion to reveal a slender rifle with a wooden body, a long barrel, a scope and a muffler. Next to it is a box of ammunition holding twenty rounds of sharp, silver bullets with red tips.
Seeing this, Skai's eyes widen and he recoils in his seat slightly, and this time Jela's smile is genuine as he nods and points at the weapon.
“Here's your air gun,” says Jela. “General Ilb will take the stage in twenty minutes. Make sure his brains are all over the wall for best effect.”
“You had a rifle in the backseat the entire time?” says Skai.
“No~ I just made a wish to the gun fairy for a sniper rifle to appear in the seat cushions of my wagon.”
Skai growls inwardly and he snatches the rifle after he climbs out of his seat. He puts the rifle on the hood of the vehicle and quickly loads up the ammunition and screws the muffler on the barrel. When all is said and done, he looks at Jela and frowns when he sees the zebra is sitting in the driver's seat doing absolutely nothing.
“Are you coming up?” asks Skai.
“I'm your getaway driver,” replies Jela.
Skai hesitates. “Right... Keep the engine running.”
“No problem. Happy hunting.”
Skai grunts and checks the door, finding its handle to be loose. He furrows his brows and bashes the door with the butt of the rifle. The handle shatters and its pieces scatter on the pavement, and when he pushes the door open its rusted hinges squeak and the wood groans as it glides along the dirty floor. Thick, stale air rolls out and he coughs and covers his beak in a pitiful attempt to save his sense of smell. He's certain there are bodies in the building. Maybe a whole mass grave of gutted victims. No place should smell as bad as this particular place is without corpses being around.
“Shiv , it stinks!” says Skai, risking his nose so he can sling the rifle across his back.
“Having trouble, cub?” teases Jela.
Skai glares at Jela. “This cub will kick your ass if you push it.”
Jela holds up his hoof and looks down, still smiling. “Sure thing, cub.”
A growl rumbles in Skai's throat and he takes a step inside, feeling a thick layer of poisoned dust cling to him already, but he stops when Jela calls him.
“Aren't you going to fly?” asks Jela.
“I forgot how to,” replies Skai.
He then rushes inside and disappears into the dusty abyss.
Skai pushes open the door of the topmost floor and takes the time to close it before making his way towards his destination.
Just like the rest of the place, this floor is dark and dusty. His paws slip on the layer of dust and his talons put extra effort into grabbing the floor. There is a labyrinth of wooden beams, metal pillars and dry wall, too. Most are rotted and crumbling with mold lining them, but there are a few that are sturdy. Old lights and wire also hang from the ceiling and the missing windows allow the chilly, howling wind to push old paper across the floor.
As Skai walks through the floor, his eyes and ears search for any signs of trouble. Besides, the obvious building might collapse any minute type of trouble. He does not see any fresh prints on the floor or any signs of old furniture and equipment being moved around, which is a nice feeling for him. That said, he still searches the entire floor with great haste before he gets to his spot. An open room with a single table and chair in the center facing a beautiful tower in the distance. The tower has a trio of stars surrounding a crown on its roof, its corners are covered by golden rounded covers, and its polished windows glisten in the sunlight like crystals.
Skai sets up his rifle with quick, fluid motions, sits in the chair and peeks through the scope. Surprisingly the position is perfectly lined up with a long room that is crowded with zebras wearing suits and dresses, talking and drinking as waiters in tuxedos carry trays of food and drinks. He also spots armed guards, a single podium with blue curtains behind it, and a zebra stallion wearing a brown uniform with a white undershirt, red cuffs, various medals and a sun on his collar. He is watching everybody and refusing every offer of a drink.
Skai decides to ignore him and put his attention to the podium.
“Drink, sir?” asks a waiter to a zebra stallion in a brown uniform.
The uniformed zebra, Major Xolani, waves off the waiter, and thankfully he leaves immediately. With the waiter gone -just like the other ten he dismissed- the Major watches the crowd go about their business with his old, but hardened blue eyes. They are smiling and laughing with their fancy drinks and outfits, uncaring of the plight that is just beyond the walls of the building.
He is honestly glad that none of the aristocrats are talking to him. Maybe they are too distracted with their hubris feeding each other, or maybe his large build is intimidating. His large size is partially due to his long service, and partially due to genetics that only the blind can miss. If his bulky frame doesn't do it, then the light green color beneath his black stripes should be a dead give away of what he is. Thankfully he had just enough of the right genes to keep him safe from the military's purge. However, while he has survived that event, many more like him were not so lucky and are either working dead end jobs or buried.
“I'm surprised you're here,” says a stallion next to Major Xolani.
The Major glances to his side and grunts at an old, frail zebra with a short mane. He is wearing a crisp blue suit and his smile is disgusting.
“I promised my wife I would go,” says Major Xolani.
“That's nice. How's she doing?” asks the zebra, called Senator Themba.
“She's still alive.”
“Any signs of her improving?”
Major Xolani stares at Senator Themba with the silence of an airborne disease, and the Senator awkwardly clears his throat and steps back.
“Right. Well, I have to introduce our guest of honor.” The Senator points at a passing waitress. “Please, have something to eat or drink. It isn't healthy to starve yourself.”
Skai keeps his breathing steady and his ears open as he watches the scene across the way. So far he hears nothing that indicates danger and the old zebra that spoke with the commanding officer has now taken the podium. Said zebra is now talking and Skai wishes he would hurry up just so he can put a bullet in Kajil Ilb and go home. It is not too much to ask for!
“He is a retired General of the Altain Imperial Army and he has done a lot of work into helping the children of our great nation,” says Senator Themba. “Please, welcome General Kajil Ilb.”
The floor and dishes is rattled by the applause of the crowd, and Kajil Ilb walks out from behind the curtain, wearing a bright red suit and smiling and nodding to the crowd. Senator Themba steps away from the podium and extends his hoof, which taken by Kajil Ilb's hand and he brings the zebra in for a hug. The crowd chuckles, and Kajil Ilb pulls away to pat Senator Themba on the shoulder with a warm smile before he takes the podium. As he adjusts the microphone the Senator sits next to Major Xolani and grumbles to himself as he brushes the wrinkles off of his suit.
“I would like to thank Senator Themba for the kind introduction and good food,” says Kajil Ilb, pointing his palm at the Senator.
Said zebra quickly looks up and flashes a smile and playful wave, and when the griffin looks away to address the crowd his frown returns.
“Oh, what a lovely crowd,” says Kajil Ilb. “Very, very lovely crowd. Good food, good people. It's nice. It's nice. I like it.”
Skai adjusts his scope as he expels unnecessary air from his lungs. The visual blurs for a moment, but nothing a quick tweaking can't fix to give him a clear sight of his target.
Down in the alley, Jela hums and bobs his head in tune with the music playing from his radio, just waiting for the finale. Though, his antics grind to a halt when a large vehicle with a long trailer made of wood pulls to a stop next to him. The back opens up and a group of fifteen zebras armed with rifle-saddles and pistols strapped to their hoofs hop out, and a dozen rush inside while three aim their weapons at Jela.
“Oh, shit,” says Jela, his hoofs slowly raising and his heart banging wildly against his ribs. “Uh, I think there's been a misunderstanding.”
The zebras silently stare at him. Their bodies tense and their eyes focused, and Jela starts trembling and his mouth goes dry as his eyes frantically dart between each zebra. Then the passenger door opens and the vehicle shakes from someone sliding inside, and when Jela turns with a start, he screams at who he sees.
“Oh, shit! Oh, man. There has definitely been a mix up!” says Jela, now hyperventilating with tears filling up his eyes. However, his antics hold no sway over Ausar Jah, who is looking right at him with a hunger for blood in his eyes.
“Drive,” orders Ausar Jah.
“I love smiles,” says Kajil Ilb. “Smiles and kids. I love it. I love it. It is because I love kids that I am donating a generous sum of fifteen million bits to the Orphan Sanctuary Fund.”
The crowd stomps the floor in applause and-
Skai watches Kajil Ilb enthusiastically speaking crowd, and when his crosshairs line up perfectly with the target's forehead he squeezes the trigger and...
Click.
Nothing.
“It is important that we look after the future of the children,” says Kajil Ilb. “Our choices now dictate their destinies. We may not think of it, but every action we do ripples and changes others. We change enough lives we change the future. So... So...”
Kajil Ilb balls his hand into a fist, presses his fist into his beak and takes a deep breath. Then he exhales explosively and grips the podium tighter.
“We must now make a choice,” says Kajil Ilb. “I made my choices and I will not take them back for anything. Nothing. Nothing will sway me, convince me otherwise. Will you find it in your hearts to chose a child over your next possession? Will you change the future for the better?”
Skai looks at his rifle and takes a deep, long inhale as he squeezes his rifle tight with hot blood pulsing through his veins.
“That son of a bitch,” says Skai.
Right as those words leave, there is a series of echoes as the door is kicked open and a dozen sets of hoofs rush in with shouts accompanying them. The voices spread out and Skai instantly runs towards one of the worn walls and presses his back against it while bringing his useless weapon towards his chest. He sucks down air and forces his heart to slow down and his furiously swearing mind to shut up as he listens to the steps.
The attackers are not very discrete. Their steps are heavy, their gear rattles and they do not know how to keep quiet. Not that he is complaining since he knows exactly where his killers are going to be.
Speaking of which, he hears one just around the corner. They are breathing heavily and their gear is really shaking, and when the zebra rounds the corner he strikes.
Skai swings the rifle stock against the zebra's head, and with a loud crack and a gushing wound the zebra staggers into the adjacent wall. Skai then discards the useless weapon, grabs the zebra by his weapon and throws him to the ground. The griffin then clambers on top of him and the zebra screams and thrashes as he bleeds all over the floor. Others shout and run, and Skai presses the zebra's head into the floor, yanks out the pistol strapped to his hoof and shoots him through the ear. The zebra stop squirming and Skai snaps his pistol up and fires off three more rounds to a zebra rounding a corner down the walkway. All three rounds strike his target in the chest, dropping him instantly, but before he can fire off another salvo a burst of bullets rip apart the wall and strike him in the arm.
Skai curses and collapses, and firing blindly through the wall until his revolver clicks empty. The bullets punch holes in the wall, and the zebras shout in their native tongue as they scamper like scared rats.
Breathing heavily, Skai crawls to the other fallen zebra and tries to unfasten the rifle on his saddle, but with his hand bloody and shaking and the straps and mechanics keeping it locked good in place he chooses to grab the pistol instead.
With a pistol in one hand, Skai pulls on the dead zebra, using the corpse as a meat shield when he is shot at. Blood squirts up from the corpse and he fires off a few more rounds at the assailant. Most miss, but one strikes the zebra in the head, splashing the wall with red as he crumbles. Skai then scrambles to his feet and slides towards a slab of drywall, panting and shaking as he checks his stolen pistol. Only to find that it has one bullet left.
“Really?” scoffs Skai.
A sharp, hot knife suddenly rips through his hind leg, and he screams and drops to the floor, growling as the dirty floor scrapes his open wound. He bites his tongue and grips the wall for support as he pushes himself up with blood covering his arm and leg. Each motion brings a tearing pain into him and each hole feels like a mouth wanting to close.
A pair of zebras runs towards Skai, yelling at him. Not caring what they are trying to say, he puts the last bullet in one's head and throws the empty pistol at the other one. The zebra holds up his hoof to block the pistol, and Skai takes the opportunity to push him into the flimsy wall. The two are covered in dust and splinters upon impact and he stabs his talons into the zebra's throat. His target gurgles and blood soaks the griffin's hand and arm, and after he throws the zebra's limp body away he turns to see seven guns pointed at him.
Skai glares at them, panting with sweat and blood dripping to the floor.
He really wants to keep fighting. He can see and smell the fear in their shaking bodies. Even though they can kill him now, they all back up when he takes a step forward, and Skai forces a grin and waves them forward with one of his bloody talons.
“Who's next?” says Skai.
Out of his line of sight, around four sets of hoofs skid to a halt from the balcony area. The steps get closer and when the ponies enter, Skai scoffs in disbelief, for standing in front of him, flanked by four armored pegasi is none other than Royal Sentry.
His number three target is also wearing armor, and has a long rifle attached to his saddle. His guards, however, have shorter rifles with larger drums, and painted on their shoulder pads are winged pony skulls.
The zebras immediately part ways when Royal Sentry reaches them, and he looks at the dead bodies before looking at Skai with a heavy frown while the other pegasi flank him.
“Please stop fighting,” says Royal Sentry.
“Make me,” says Skai.
A hard, blunt object suddenly hits the back of Skai's head and he flops to the ground. He hisses and tries to stand up, but Royal Sentry's hoof hitting his skull knocks him down again and pushes him into the darkness.
The Target- General Kajil Ilb
“Last, and most important, and definitely the first one you need to put a bullet in, is General Kajil Ilb. Ozean dug up as much information as he could, but so far the only thing he found out is that Kajil Ilb is a griffin. Right now he is pretty old, so about your age, but he should not be underestimated.”
General Kajil Ilb -his colors now faded to light red and gray- sits at his desk with Ausar Jah and Royal Sentry flanking him and a unicorn wearing an armored vest and levitating a mini-Gatling gun. From behind his sunglasses his blue eyes stare intensely at a trio of zebras that have been brought into his office. Though, there is not much to his office.
All it is is a cheap desk with a few chairs -one of which is occupied by him- and an oil painting behind him of a yellow fishing boat being operated by a frog with a cigar, and a squeaking ceiling fan in the center of the ceiling. His desk really has nothing to it, either. All it has is a calender with code words scribbled on the dates and a large, heavy glass bottle filled with red fruit juice and a shot glass to accompany it. There is not even carpet! The floor is just a bunch of slabs of wood glued together and the windowless walls are flimsy enough to where he can hear the thumping and pulsing of techno music and the sounds of partygoers having the times of their lives.
Honestly, Kajil Ilb has made plans to improve his office, but he is hardly ever in it and every time he is in there is usually a mess involved, as evidence of the dark streaks and blotches all over the place. Today will be no different in regards to the uncanny ability of fate to force him into making messes every time he is in. He could smell the fear on the zebras the moment they were shoved into his office by his his two close friends and the unicorn, and he is certain one of the zebras pissed themselves.
“I want to know. I want to know. Just tell me what went wrong for you to go behind my back,” says Kajil Ilb, the side of his revolver turning against his skull like a wheel. “Was it money? Did I not pay you enough?”
“We just had enough,” says the center zebra.
The pistol stops cold and Kajil Ilb stares at the zebra, his expression blank.
“You had enough?” repeats Kajil Ilb.
The zebra nods, mouthing: “Yes.”
“Enough of what? You don't like the music? The food? The free pass of being a hooligan?”
“No, sir,” says the left zebra. “We just can't do this any more.”
An ear cracking POP echoes in the room and the zebra's head jerks back with a circle of blood, bone and brain splattered on the wall behind him. The other two scream and leap away as their friend collapses with a hole in his head, but the unicorn in the room cocks his weapon and forces the two to go back to their original spots.
“How hard is it to give an answer?” says Kajil Ilb, his voice cold like a corpse, his pistol smoking and his eyes narrowing in on the sniffling and whimpering duo. “I ask a question. I want an answer. A real answer. I want a real answer with real reasons. Its not hard. Its not-” He takes a deep breath and looks down, briefly running his talons through his plumage and then pressing his fist into his beak. Another breath is taken and he looks at the pair. “Its not- Its not hard. Just tell the truth.”
The two are silent, save for their continued sniffling and whimpering. Their bodies shake and streaks of tears shine their cheeks. They want to move from the corpse and the growing pool of blood next to them, but fear has locked them in place.
He raises his brow impatiently and aims his pistol at the pair. “Should I shoot one of you?”
“No!” they say in unison, their hoofs snapping up.
“Then talk.”
“We were with Ausar Jah in the Wheatlands. He just finished selling a beast to the army,”' says the zebra on the right. “They used it on the ponies. It was terrible.”
Kajil Ilb nods. “Yes, the point of selling 'the beast' as you so inaccurately call it was so they could use it. But are you saying to me that you participated in a very special event, felt bad about it, and then decided to steal my money, some of my guns and ammo, and then run away?”
“But, sir, if you saw what they did you would understand!” says the zebra on the left. “It was awful, even by our standards.”
Another loud POP and the zebra falls with a chunk of his head missing and his bits splattered on the surviving zebra. The survivor is now pale and trembling to the point of collapse, and his cheeks are drenched in tears as Kajil Ilb stares into his bloodshot eyes, his pistol smoking again.
“Awful by our standards?” Kajil Ilb hums and forcefully scrapes the chair against the floor as he pushes his seat back. The scraping of wood against wood brings a pained wince to the zebra and the ears of his companions twitch slightly, but other than that they remain still. “That's interesting. Really interesting, actually.”
Kajil Ilb circles the zebra slowly, uncaring as he steps in the blood or on the corpse. The zebra is stiff. Tears splatter to the floor and his eyes stare at the painting behind the griffin's desk. But he zebra's eyes break away from the picture with a sharp inhale when Kajil Ilb places his hand on top of the zebra's head and gives it a squeeze that digs his talons into his scalp.
“You cannot pretend to have standards since you joined me,” says Kajil Ilb. “You knew about me. You knew what you were getting into when you came here. You cannot play victim because of your choices. Life is just not like that.”
Kajil Ilb then shoves his pistol in the zebra's mouth and pulls the trigger. The back of his head explodes and gore splashes on the ceiling, and the zebra hangs limp in his grip. After Kajil Ilb releases him the zebra crumbles to the floor in a heap and the griffin sits at his desk, sighing as he places his pistol on his desk.
Silence moves into the room. Only the cyclical slices of air from the ceiling fan and rhythmic thumping of the outside music accompanied by cheers and laughter bring any sort of sound into the room.
After some seconds of stillness, Kajil Ilb looks at his shirt and sees that blood has gotten on his sleeve. He mentally shrugs it off and pours himself a shot of fruit punch. After gulping it down he slams his shot glass on the table, whoops and chuckles as he runs his bloody talons through the large feathers on his head, leaving streaks of red.
“Wow, that was crazy, yes?” says Kajil Ilb.
“Very much,” says Ausar Jah.
Royal Sentry nods quickly, swallowing and barely able to speak. "Yeah... Crazy."
Kajil Ilb snaps his talons at the guard. “You. Grab the maids, have them clean this mess up, and, um-” He looks at Ausar Jah and Royal Sentry. “Lets go dancing. I'm pumped!”
“Luckily for you, I got it all figured out so that killing him will be quick and easy. You kill him and his leadership, you cripple the enterprise, and we're free from Ozean. All will be well in the end.”
