FoE: Festering Virtues

I awoke to the sound of one of the unicorn opening my cell. The overcast skies indicated that it was daytime, though I really didn’t know exactly when. I tried not to move, and pretended that I was still asleep. The unicorn slowly walked forward, her hooves audibly clomping on the concrete, while she talked to herself.

“Subject Sierra-19, standard nutrition pack, no anesthetic dosage, wait until he wakes up, mental capability test, euthanize if failure.” She recited, presumably reading it off a clipboard. I heard a bag open, and felt a pinch, and cold radiating from that point. Then she settled down to wait, judging by the scrape of a chair. Well, not much point in pretending anymore.
I opened my eyes.

The unicorn hopped back quickly, obviously prepared to run. I opened my mouth and coughed. “Hi?” I frowned. My voice sounded off. Deeper, much deeper. I tried very hard not to think about it.

She nodded and made three checkmarks on the clipboard. I looked her over more closely. She was much smaller than me, a rarity. Well before, I realized, didn’t necessarily mean much now. Lavender coat, purple mane cut into a bob, lab coat, and minimal makeup. Though the bone deep weariness made the positives hard to see, I thought she was sort of cute.

“Long night?” I asked.

“Oh, sorry, I should have introduced myself. I’m Red Tree.” I said, after a moment.

“Anything else important to say? Oh, I have three sisters. Elm, Yew, and Oak. We work on an orchard.” I said, when she didn’t respond.

“Well, worked, anyway. My job was to keep them safe, so guard and repairman. What do you do?” I flowed into the next sentence with barely a pause.

“It’s subject Sierra-19. It is subject Sierra-19. .. Don’t think about anything else. It’s subject S-19.” She shook her head, and continued examining me.

“I’m sorry?”

“Stop talking.” She snapped, pointing her pen in my face.

“Just making conversation.”

“Well, stop.”

“Sorry.”

After a few minutes of poking and prodding, she asked “Alright, I’m going to release the restraints. If you try to do anything, I will inject you with a paralytic agent. Do you understand?”

“Yep.” I said. My cheerful reply seemed to unnerve her, and she gulped audibly.

“OK, here it goes.” She carefully started pulling clasps and undoing the straining bindings. I made sure not to move too much until my neck was released, and I could start looking around. “Alright, you can get up now.” I rolled over and slowly got to my hooves. After the initial headrush, I mostly noticed how heavy I felt. Like I was carrying a couple saddlepacks of rocks. I walked a bit, trying to get a feel for myself. Didn't expect to think that today. Though a month long coma would have had the same effect anyway...

The unicorn coughed, and said “There’s a mirror on the wall over here.”

Oh, that’s kind of horrific. I thought, looking at myself. My skin was practically shredded from the rapid growth, leaving a patchy spotty coat and visible tears of angry red flesh. I imagined that my insides weren’t much better. Hard to tell without a better basis of comparison, but it looked like I had taken up most of the table, the straps were near full extension, and I probably multiple times what I used to. On a slightly positive note, muscles visibly rippled under what remained of my coat.

“How do you feel?”

“Heavy and big? It doesn’t hurt but it looks like it should.” I said, slowly turning around. My voice still made me feel uncomfortable, but the only real cure to that was talking. “How tall am I? Also, why aren’t I blob of cancerous tissue?”

“16 hands, and a mixture of zebra alchemy and magic.”

“16 hands? Seriously?” I looked myself over, a little worried, before thinking about the second half of the sentence. “Seriously?” I asked again, eyes narrowed at the evasive answer.

She tisked and said, “Fine, growth boosters, aggression raisers, and durability enhancers from the zebra alchemy, I don’t know the specific names.” She finished that flatly, then resumed, “With Gwamp’s connective stabilizer, Herringbone’s indefinite coma inducer, and the Shadowmare’s suggestive command. Minimizes negative effects of quadrupling your mass in a month.”

“Suggestive command?”

“Tendons and ligaments need to be used to grow properly. The command forces your muscles to keep working while you were comatose.”

“Guess that makes sense.” I said, turning back and inspecting my hooves. “Anyway, what’s your name?”

“You seem remarkably well composed for somepony who has been enhanced. Did Caravan tell you what was going to happen?”

“Eh, the outside doesn’t really matter. It's the inside that counts.”

“Oh, your internal organs have been substantially modified as well.”

“Thanks for that correction.” I said slowly, actively resisting thinking about it. “To be honest, I expected to be tortured, raped, killed and eaten. Or tortured, eaten then killed, and raped. Or even tortured by being eaten and raped, and left to die. Hard not to be pleasantly surprised in comparison.” I shrugged. “When your standards are low enough, it’s easy to take things in stride. And you never said your name.”

Her lips pursed as she thought. After a few seconds, she shrugged and said, “It’s Melody Grey.”

“So, you’re a musician?”

“No! Why does everypony ask that? It's just a name. I don’t even like music!”

“Sorry, didn’t realize it was a touchy subject.”

“It isn’t.” She insisted. I decided not to argue.

“Are you able to walk?”

“I think so.” I wasn’t falling down at least.

“Good, follow me.” Melody walked out of the room, I clumsily followed.

“Ok, you are scheduled for outfitting, weapon familiarization, and PT. I’ll need to work in meals, but that should fill the rest of the day. Catch.” She said, removing a wrapped bar from a small bag where she kept her clipboard when it wasn’t in use.

The bar landed on my nose, and I went cross eyed trying to look at it. The packaging proudly proclaimed that it was a “Soldier Fuel Bar!” in cinnamon and apple flavor. I flipped it onto the back and read the “Contains everything you need to give it to those stripped bastards! Full day’s calories, nutrients, and protein, in one handy package!” sales pitch.

Eh, food is food. Well, here food is food only when it isn’t a way of delivering potions to unsuspecting ponies. Still, wouldn’t have made sense to package those, so these are probably reasonably safe. And not as if I really need to care too much about what goes into my body. Hard to imagine more damage being done.

I peeled off the wrapper and started chewing. Bland, but was dense enough to make for pretty good gum.

Still chewing, I followed Melody towards a large sign hanging from the ceiling that said “Outfitting.”

Outfitting turned out to be several storage rooms that had been portioned into different piles of gear, with a number of administrative unicorns organizing, cataloging, and passing out the equipment as necessary.

The first, and largest pile, was for armor, which also had several ponies manufacturing more. Guess it’s hard to find stuff in our size.

The bored looking unicorn in charge of customers took a few quick measurements then shoved the appropriate piece of armor in my face.

“What is this? Plate steel?” I asked, interested. It looked like a cheaper version of Caravan’s armor, leather under plate, with the armor confined to the chest and shoulders, rather than having it distributed and overlapping all over. That said, I wasn’t complaining. It was hard enough for me to walk as it was. The unicorn helped me put it on, and adjusted a few leather thongs to get it to fit better. With a satisfied grunt, he headed back to the pile.

“Erm… could you loosen it a bit? Sort of chaffing around the legs.” I said, pointing, a little embarrassed. The unicorn turned around and nodded, his horn started glowing. “Yeah, there. Thank you.” I said fervently, stepping from side to side gingerly. “That feels much better.”

It wasn’t long before we hurried to the next station, weapons.

Most of the pile looked like looted yak weapons, probably the only group that made stuff large enough for us. Unfortunately, that meant mostly spears and traditional yak swords, which tended to be more decorative than effective. Still, I guess hitting somepony with a large enough piece of metal should work, even if there are better designs. They tend to go for smashing rather than cutting or stabbing.

While I was looking at the pile, the unicorn behind the desk and Melody had a whispered conversation, and the unicorn trotted off behind the pile. He eventually returned with a large gun case.

“Ironhooves Manticore Gun. .50 caliber rifle, precision machined bolt action, 5 round magazine, currently equipped with iron sights, so long range shots are going to be somewhat hard. Bullets aren’t really optimal for that anyway. Hollowpoints for maximum energy transfer, hand drilled, so not necessarily perfectly stable. Heavy armor might just shatter the bullets, so don’t hit it. This caliber was mostly armor piercing prewar, so make sure you carry enough from us.
You’re not getting more in the field.” He flipped the rifle upside down and pointed to the obviously modified stock and bit. “We’ve adjusted these so they should fit you better, but the splice is a little weak, so it’ll induce inaccuracy.”

He left the rifle on the table, and darted back to the pile to grab an oversized combat knife. “You shouldn’t be in melee combat often, so you should only need this.” He attached it to my armor. Then shoved two cleaning kits in my face.
“And you don’t own either of these, so I expect them to be spotless when I get them back.”

The rest of the outfitting process was about the same, though the ponies doing it cared less. Minus the weirdly intense person in charge of storage; I have never heard so much about canvas. Still got a nice sack and a pair of saddlebags.
At medical, I got a first aid kit and a pair of earplugs.

Clothing, a thick wool jacket, a military style hat, and dark sunglasses.

My saddlebags were completely empty by the end, while the sack was maybe half full. Guess I was expected to scavenge for most of my equipment.

Still, aside from the lack of gear, it felt weirdly organized and professional. I’d say military-like, but the rantings of my grandfather dissuaded me of that comparison.

So, enough infrastructure to create and outfit an army. Not enough to actually reach army levels of inefficiency, at least in supply. I thought, adjusting a few straps. Melody was waiting at the door, vibrating slightly.

“Ok, where next?”

“We’re going to the shooting range for weapon familiarization. Please follow me.” She turned and walked briskly.

The roar from high caliber rounds rang down the hallway, prompting me to insert the earplugs. I will not discuss the amount of effort it took to roll the little foam bits.

Melody smirked and strode off, blithely endangering her eardrums.

I rolled my eyes and kept the same pace. A few minutes later, we arrived at the rear of the stadium, where the raiders had dragged a bus and attached plywood targets to the front.

Melody shoved another ration bar in my face, which I started munching, while she grabbed a lane.

“You lot are weirdly trusting.” I said, settling into a prone firing stance.

“Look behind you.” The gate and some garbage. Melody sighed.

“Look behind you and up.” Oh, that’s a big gun. And a lot of snipers. All with big guns.

“If you do something wrong, I just need to say the word and you will be mulch.”

“And inside?”

“There’s a couple hundred ponies who will kill on command.”

“Huh, good answer.”

The manticore rifle was definitely better than the varmint rifle at the farm, even with the rough bit and stock. My only complaint was that the word “familiarize” was a little too on the nose. After I fired the last shot in the mag, and ejected the brass, Melody stepped in.

“Ok, that’s enough.” She said, literally standing between me and the ammo can.

“Five shots? How well do you expect ponies to shoot?”

“The expected combat range is less than 50m.”

My eyes widened in horror. “How are any of your foot soldiers still alive?”

“Aside from the armor, enhanced durability, and the regeneration?”

“I mean, hunting rifles should be able to decapitate any pony…” Melody was shaking her head. “You can’t be serious.”

“Charging at full speed with a spear and a helmet, farmers find it remarkably hard to hit a vital organ.”

“That’s kind of cheating.”

“It’s effective.”

“Against farmers… maybe, but not against the Mob.”

“You’d be surprised. They really like their submachine guns.”

“That still seems suicidal. Especially as ponies realize that they need more powerful weapons.”
“Its worked so far.”

“Speaking of which, why hasn’t that regeneration kicked in?” I asked, pointedly looking at my ruined coat.

“It requires a massive amount of food, rest, and a chemical trigger. No reason to waste those supplies on somepony when they could be incurably insane from the enhancement process.”

“I feel like that is a bit of a false savings. Some of the insanity might be linked to waking up and looking like a ghoul.”

“A fair point. If you ever talk to the Colonel, feel free to ask about it. Now, when you finish cleaning your rifle, we’re going to head to the field and do some physical conditioning.”

I shrugged and moved to the side of the firing range, pulling out a bundle of rags, rods, and oil. An uneventful hour later, I put away the last brush, quietly cursing whoever owned it previously. Eh, whatever, odds are that the lazy bastard is dead. I thought, looking distastefully at the carbon and oil soaked rag.

Melody had disappeared after the first 10 minutes, apparently she didn’t realize what needed to be done to keep a weapon in working order. And how long it took to remove caked on carbon.

I stopped in a nearby restroom, and grimaced at my carbon stained teeth. There are definitely times when I wish that I was a unicorn.

Eh, whatever. I grabbed a drink and started looking for Melody. I made it about 20 meters before a suspicious raider stopped me and demanded to know where my handler was.

I shrugged and said she wandered off.

The raider looked annoyed and led me to the field in the center of the stadium, where a number of other recruits, not raiders by their similarly damaged coats, were hauling boulders back and forth. An angry looking guard ordered me to do the same. I threw my gear in a waiting bin and started hauling.

A couple hours of hauling, drinking from a trough, and eating porridge later, the guards stopped us. I wasn’t really paying attention, until they hit me on the side with a sledgehammer.

I got to my feet and waited as they unhooked me from the bolder. Breathing hurt but wasn’t important. I followed the guards over to the side, where one of the zebras was waiting with a multitude of syringes. I waited in line, and eventually got an injection. Then a lot mattered.

Some of the Others were trying to roll boulders on each other. They were easy to crush. Just run and slam.

The Ones trying to eat were as well. They were too distracted to see me spin and kick.

One had reared up onto her hind legs and… ouch… my head throbbed as I replayed what she did. Something clicked.
One of the Others was nearby, not looking. I clumsily tried to imitate the trained pony, and got up on my hind legs as well. I jumped, and hit the Other with as much force as I could with a forehoof. It struck her in the neck, and I heard something crack. Correction, I heard at least two somethings crack as my hoof flopped around. I tried moving it, and it weakly responded. I tried harder and forced it to work.

I felt more cracks, both in my leg and in what I was hitting, until I realized that bloodloss was starting to slow me down. I shoved my forehoof against my chest, the blood soon matting the fur, but it didn’t matter. I still had four limbs to fight with. Five, if you counted my head.

Back on my hindlegs, I stepped into yet another Other and hit as hard as I could, trying to keep my forehoof more centered and taut.

It impacted, and no cracks. In my leg at least. The other went down and I kept fighting. Occasionally piles of thick sludge fell into the arena, and the fighting stopped as we shoved it down out throats. We ate, and then the Others came back and I fought again.

After what felt like an eternity later, I stopped, panting, as I looked out over the blood soaked arena.

The Others were on the ground, broken and not fighting. I dropped to all fours again and started dragging the quivering masses of bruises and broken bones to the edges of the stadium, as Angels fell from the walls and helped.

The Others slowly ate and regenerated, and I followed the Angels up many stairs, until I was placed in a bed with several Others just as bloody and damaged as I. I looked at the food and drink around me, the other fighters, the comfortable surroundings, and I slowly started smiling.

Footnote: Level Up.

New Perk: Heavy Hitter: Hours spent fighting has taught you how to deal with blocks and walls. Melee and unarmed combat will deal more damage through armor and to cover.

New Quest Perk: Experimental Zebra Brew – Recovery: Encouraging cells to divide like mad has benefits and detriments. Plus some effect on your sanity. -1 to Intelligence. -30% to radiation resistance. +10 to melee and unarmed. All hitpoints restored, and limbs repaired. Note: this perk can be taken multiple times, with declining effects.