Insanity: In Another Life

Chapter 3: Conspiracy Part 1

Standing there in the bright, windy fields outside of Vanhoover brought me memories of Dixie that I’d rather forget. As the song goes, look away, look away, look away, Dixieland!

However, this wasn’t the southern part of the United States, and I wanted to do my best not to remember home. I steeled myself, and examined the file that I’d been given as a debrief by one of my chauffeurs.

The file contained information on the suspect like in his personal file, but this one had some mission objectives, places to go, and leads on my target. It also contained a map and reference on my heading. Of course, I could tell my heading back home using the moon and the Northern Star, as any self respecting man should. However, it was currently the middle of the day. I could tell from the way the sun slowly came across the sky the directions of east and west were still the same in this world.

I could tell from the map that I was at least three miles out from the city. Which was about an hour’s jog away. Any time I spent resting or infiltrating was more time my target had to escape. The mission was already in jeopardy even though I’d just arrived on site. According to my drivers, I would be picked up in fifteen days or if my cover is blown, fifty minutes. They never specified about what my 'cover' was.

I began walking toward the city. As I did so, I searched my bag for stuff I had missed. In the bag, I found some ID in case I needed to access a garrison. The badge was nothing special, probably only gave me rudimentary access to guard files and the garrison. That would be more than enough to find out my target’s favorite watering hole and or hangout spot.

Best thing I could find is if they have a dependency on some drug or something. That way, I can find him through his dealer or pharmaceuticals. Both are equally great.

As I walked past the rolling fields, having found a path that seemingly was leading to the city, I could hear wheels behind me, like a cart. I paid it no mind, keeping my head down and my coat over myself. As I did so, a blue mare pulling a cart passed by me, barely glancing at me. I made note of her strange attire. Probably some kind of performer or wizard. I felt that same feeling as I did when I passed over the tree domicile when she passed by.

I minded myself, glancing out over the fields. Most of these fields had been harvested in preparation for winter. I shivered slightly when a cold wind blew on my face, which was slightly covered by my cloak, which I pulled tighter to myself. As I walked, I noticed the fields slowly becoming a medieval farming town. When I passed it by, I didn’t register it. But then I slowly walked back. A pub! A fucking pub! I had never drank before due to not being of legal age. Now that I was, I was about to go buy the most expensive wine I could to celebrate. Why wine? Well, it had the least possibility to get me drunk while on the job.

I walked over to the door of the pub, then entered. It was mostly empty, except for a group of ponies in the corner who were excitedly chatting and drinking mead. I noticed a bard with a lute playing some pleasant but jolly tunes. I approached the bar, keeping myself covered well.

“You’re the strangest diamond dog I’ve seen through here, stranger. What can I getcha?” The bartender grumbled.

“You sell wines?” I asked, keeping myself low and making a note of the creature he mentioned.

“We just got a shipment of Blueblood Chatreuse 890. It’ll be ten bits for the bottle.” He replied, cleaning a glass with a rag. I had seen the skill where ponies would use their hooves or mouths back at the palace, but it was still slightly surprising and weird.

I rummaged in my bag, looking for money. I pulled a sack of it out. Inside there were at least a thousand of the little gold coins. I took twenty out and placed them on the bar. Two bottles of the stuff were put down on the bar. I took them both and stuffed them in my bag, turning to leave.

The air in the pub gave way to cool morning air. I took my knife and popped open one of the bottles. I took a sip. It tasted fairly sweet, but had this kind of taste to it that made it seem like it would go well with food. I finished it, barely feeling tipsy.

One thing I knew was that I was no lightweight. Scottish and Irish blood ran through me. The only thing that could probably knock me on my ass is moonshine, and that probably didn’t exist here. If it didn't, well I would definitely need to get me a still and some corn. Any southerner should know how to distill and make moonshine.

I decided to enjoy my moment of peace. In this new world, from what I’ve seen, the frying pan will be no different from the fire. I decided to go over things I knew. I knew how to fire a gun. I had a decent throw. I am exceptionally good with a knife due to my transportation here. I probably have the same skills with a sword. From when I cut myself earlier, I know I have a decent amount of pain resistance, and my skin is quite thick. I had a bag full of supplies, I was pretty much set up with a decent cover by the bartender, which reminds me.

I pull out the encyclopedia or whatever it is and hunt down the race of diamond dogs. According to it, the dogs are similar in nature to Abyssinians, or cats, more commonly. They were known to be intelligent, but most were incredibly stupid. The last historical dog was Anthrax the Wise. He discovered several diseases and created vaccines for them, but was discredited because of his race.

The cats, however, were shrewd manipulators. They were known for being thieves and hooligans, and were mostly spotted in the southern bits of Equestria and their homeland, Abyssinia, of course.

I also searched up some information on guns technology. According to the book, the most powerful gun currently to exist is a prototype black powder musket that fires an approximately .43 caliber ball. However, the most commonly used is the .36 caliber Enforcer pistol, used by guards and militias. The pistols available for civilians range from .22 to .32 and no higher. Rifles used commonly range from .25 ball shot to .36 ball shot. This means the average guns here are merely target shooting weapons back home.

I closed the book, mentally noting to ask about illusions and possibly transformation magic later. Appearing as a common race may take my humanity from me, but going home was not on the plate for me, right now. I have so much to fix here before I go.

I replace the book in my bag. Onto my target. I knew the target’s appearance, but he could easily use Illusion to create a fake identity. However, using my powers of deduction, I could probably locate his retarded ass before he got ten miles out from this place. Then, it would be a simple matter of trigger discipline or just tackling and then tying up the target. Of course, he had a head start.

I resolved to stop fucking around with my thoughts and get on with it. Starting towards the inner cityscape, I covered my identity well, and checked my weapons’ locations. Sword still at hip on left side. Knife still stuck in my belt. Gun at thigh plate, ready to be drawn.

The city was not as modern as I’d been used to, but it had mostly brick or concrete buildings, and a cobble path. However, interspersed with the new were wooden and thatch homes. Some used roof tiles, but it still contrasted heavily with the concrete and brick industrial buildings. The ponies and other such creatures here were decently dressed, a slight mix between the snobbiness of the high class in Canterlot and more rural people.

Most kept their distance from me, whispering. I could almost hear the claims of, “Outlaw!” from here. I ignored such things, until I was approached slowly by a group of guards.

“Halt, state your business, creature!” The lead shouts. I simply open my bag and flash my ID. Instant respect, as it should be.

“We are extremely sorry sir. We were not informed of your arrival. Please, come with us.” The lead is saluting. I gesture for them to begin the walking so I can begin the following.

I followed the guards slowly. As we walked through the town, it seemed the crowds had calmed, thinking I was under arrest or something. On the way to our destination, we chatted. That is to say, I scraped for information.

“The AWOL soldier, did he have any reason to leave the military?” I asked the highest ranking officer present, a Sergeant by the name of Shield Bastion. He was grey, with a silver mane and tail. He seemed gruff, and was the only guard I had seen with a beard yet.

“Other than a fiancé at home and a commonly found disrespect for authority, nothing, sir.” The sergeant replied.

“Can I get a list of associates and family at the garrison?” I asked.

“Yes sir. In fact, we have a couple of his friends in the guard at the garrison currently.” He said, examining the rooftops strangely. I was ready to draw at a hat’s drop now. Something was extremely off.

As we walked, I stayed wary of my associates. Unfortunately, that left my eyes off the streets. A bullet flew into my leg, and ponies started screaming, running, and hiding.

I screeched in pain, then threw myself behind a random stall. My pistol was out, ready to pop some assholes as soon as I could see them. I crouched in cover, looking over the stall’s counter.

My guard escorts had taken position behind some carts a little further back, which left me quite exposed. The attackers, which I could now see, were some kind of fanatics. They wore deep blue robes, with a silvery full moon eclipsing the sun.

I took aim, hands shaking from pain. I fired at one of the cultists, watching as they fell down and wailed in pain. I snapped to the next target, double-tapping my trigger. They fell down, presumably dead. There were only two left, armed with small caliber rifles.

Given an opening, the guards charged in and attacked the remainder of the attackers, disarming them and then getting them in cuffs. I sank down behind the cart, holstering my weapon.

The bleeding from my leg was profuse, worsened by the fast beating of my heart. I breathed in and out, slowly, measuring my breaths. Keeping pressure on the wound, I managed to stifle the bleeding enough.

I took out my knife, pulling the wound apart using my index and middle finger. I hissed, surprised by my tolerance of pain, then examined the wound closely. The bullet was lodged in muscle tissue. I grimaced.

I either had a perfectly shitty wound, or a lame leg for the rest of my life.

One of the guards approached as I was about to pull the bullet out, and simply magicked it out. It barely hurt. He then handed me something to drink, which I chugged immediately. The wound healed like lightning before my very eyes. I had a lot to process.

The medic checked me over for any other wounds, but eventually calmed and left me to my devices. I took out my knife again and carved another cut into the back of my hand, another kill to my name.

I felt exhausted already, despite the short day. I will recount the rest of the trip to the garrison in this next chapter, and some explanations for the attack.

Author's Note

I was half awake for most of the writing of this. The other part? Half asleep.

This brainshit is sponsored by 4chan cancer.