The air was warm, the sun was shining, and all of Ponyville was having a glorious day. It was like something out of a story that is regarded as a rite of passage among Bronies. But deep in the Sweet Apple Acres woods, three young fillies were having an exceptionally good day. They were all anxious about the events that would transpire today.
“You got them timers right Applebloom?” Scootaloo inquired, oblivious to her grammatical error.
“Yeah, there’s no way these foals could fail.” Applebloom responded. The three fillies known as the Cutie Mark Crusaders reviewed the plans once more, before they each acquired their gear. Applebloom had mostly weapons that she had “borrowed” from her family. She was armed with a Colt Python chambered for the .357 cartridge, a double barrel shotgun with the barrels sawn off, an M1 Carbine chambered in .45 ACP, a hunting knife, and pipe bombs, and ready to do what they believed was the right thing. The only weapons she had not acquired from her family were the M1 and pipe bombs. Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo were a completely different story, both having all their equipment acquired from the “Shed O’ Weps”, a shed owned by two creatures that stood on their hind legs and wore black trench coats. When the creatures eavesdropped and learned of their plans, they promised the Crusaders that they would supply many weapons. Sweetie Belle had packed lightly, and was equipped with a Gluck 26 chambered for 9mm rounds, along with a TEC-9, also chambered in 9mm. To reflect her delicate nature, Sweetie was also going to use a .22 rifle. She was also the most skilled at healing wounds, so she was also going to be carrying a medical kit and performing medical procedures. For her melee weapon, she was carrying a Taser that was now modified to give lethal amounts of electricity. Scootaloo was carrying a Smith and Wesson .500, with an AA-12 chambered for the 12 gauge buckshot round, along with a semi-automatic 50 Cal rifle, a hatchet, and some Molotov’s. They were ready for their big day.
The three blank flanks were now at school. From the time, they guessed it was lunch. They had just finished hiding some bombs when an excited voice called out to them
“Hey guyth!”
“Twist,” Applebloom told her in a monotone voice, “Go home, you were kind to us even though you had a cutie mark and we didn’t. You don’t deserve to be a part of what will happen here.” Twist was sufficiently disturbed by this remark, but decided to trust Applebloom on this one. She began walking home, taking occasional glances behind her.
“Now that we got Twist out of harms way, let’s plant the bombs.” Applebloom told her fellow crusaders. They understood and went into the cafeteria. They each had three bags, which they dropped every few yards. After planting the bombs, they headed outside to get more. When they reached the oak tree, they took the bombs out of the hollowed trunk.
“Now,” Applebloom ordered, “We wait.”
Most of the fillies and colts had not noticed the little bomb-planting escapade, but a lanky colt named Featherweight had. He was incredibly suspicious of the bags, knowing that the crusaders had been harassed for a long time, and they had “BOMB!”
Applebloom heard the scream from the crusaders hiding spot, and looked at her watch. Right on time, she thought as an explosion racked the school. The crusaders rushed into the school, clenching their equipment tightly.
Showtime.
Featherweight awoke to the murderous melody of gunfire, snapping to alert due to a combination of the puddle of warm liquid landing on his back, and shrieks quickle silenced by gunfire.
“Oh, Celestia.” He discreetly muttered to himself. Featherweight’s eyes scanned the room. He was right behind the three murderous school fillies. With a violent grimace, he yanked up an empty soda can and flung it towards the table the yellow Earth filly, white Unicorn, and orange Pegasus.
“Buck was that!?”
“It was nothin’ Scootal-URK!” The yellow filly was cut off with a quick push to the floor. By the time the other two crusaders spun around, Featherweight had sped off clutching an orange juice carton. Our hero was desperately scanning the hallway, when he noticed a chubby clue colt with a pair of scissors for a cutie mark heading into the teachers lounge. Featherweight recognized the colt as Snips. It took Featherweight no time to get into the lounge.
Featherweight locked the door behind him as soon as he got inside. Surveying the scene, he noted that in the center
there was a computer at a desk with a light gray rotating chair. Featherweight spied a lime green couch in the back left corner. Sitting on it was a marshmallow white earth colt with a muddy brown rectangular patch on his stomach and another ring shaped patch surrounding his left eye. This colt was clearly in shock and was eyeballing the magazines on the walnut coffee table in front of the couch. Featherweight took notice of the details of the magazines. One was about pirates, a couple others were about blades, and the third was about health. A magazine that particularly caught our hero’s eye for no discernable reason was about a race champion named Buck Greene.
“Who the buck are you?” Featherweight spun around and was face to face with Snips. Suddenly, Snips’ demeanor changed to a lighter and calmer one. “Oh, it’s you.” The unicorn colt continued. “The colt over there is Pipsqueak.” Facing the door, Snips questioned, “Did you lock the door?”
“Yeah, anypony else would be here right now.”
“Not good enough, we need to barricade it.”
“Okay, how about that table?” Featherweight suggested, pointing his hoof towards the walnut coffee table.
“Okay, sure.” The unicorn replied, clenching the table with the help of Featherweight. In just mere seconds, they had shifted the coffee table to the door. Snips had plopped down on the computer, when he announced “This can view security cameras!”
“Really?” Pipsqueak questioned in a low voice.
“Yes.” Hearing this, Featherweight slinked over to the desk and rummaged through the drawers.
“What the hay are you doing?” Snips pried while watching the search.
“Looking.”
“For what?”
“Found them!” Featherweight exclaimed ecstatically as he held the two devices in hoof.
“What are the radio’s for?”
“Communication.”
“We’re right here.”
“I won’t be.” When this sunk in, a look of sheer horror crossed the unicorn’s face.
“You’re going back out there!?” Snips frantically questioned.
“Yeah, you tell me where ponies are through these and I lead them back here.”
“The door is barricaded, nopony can get in or out.”
“Then I’ll use the ceiling tiles.” Featherweight responded, clutching his camera.
“You’ll be killed!” Snips spastically shouted, waving his arms.
Looking back from his perch on a chair, Featherweight glanced back with a confident grin.
“I’ve covered food fights, y’know.”