My Little Scoota2: Scootaloo's Inferno
By Pascal
A fan made sequel to My Little Scootaloo by DontWannaKnow.
Chapter 1
Author's Note
This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between characters featured within and any real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
***
The house was as run down as the scouts had reported. Sid and Mac parked their black SUV on the curb, and carefully approached, the collars of their black trench-coats turned up to ward away the chill of the night.
They rang the doorbell. As they had predicted, no one was home. Mac withdrew a pair of long, thin rods from his coat and inserted them into the keyhole. After working the tools inside the lock for several seconds, he twisted them, and the door opened with a click.
They drew their guns and stepped into the room cautiously, careful to stand more than three feet apart so they couldn't both be taken out by a single shotgun blast.
The house was a mess. Beer bottles and old stains covered the floor, and plaster had been chipped off of the walls in many places. The kitchen, living room, and bedroom were empty, save for empty bottles and fast-food wrappers. The pair made their way to the garage. At first glance, the room contained only an assortment of various rusty tools and a battered fridge. Mac searched around the room, tapping the walls and floor and listening for echoes. Sid pulled open the fridge, and let out a long whistle.
"Well I'll be damned," he said.
Inside the fridge was a bucket of chilled blood.
"We're dealing with some kind of a motherfucker, alright."
"Look at this!" Mac exclaimed, picking up a tiny scrap of paper from the floor. "It's a receipt from Rite-Aid. It looks like he bought a fuckload of condoms just over fifteen minutes ago."
"We must have just missed him," Sid growled. "He must have bought the condoms, driven back home, picked up the pony, then left again. He could be anywhere."
"Naw, man. There's only one place in this city you go with a bag of condoms: the red-light district. I'll bet he's pimping her out to cloppers,” Mac replied knowledgeably.
"Know what kind of car he drives?" Sid asked.
"An unmarked, white van I think," Mac replied.
Sid whipped out his smart-phone and posted a new article, "Looking for an unmarked, white van in the red-light district," on ponyvillenightly.com. The comment section immediately exploded with activity.
"We got hits," Sid said. "A few bronies in the field have spotted white vans, and we've got some volunteers sending out rescue parties.”
"That'll narrow our search down," Mac replied. "Alright, we're dealing with some kind of sick fucking psychopath. Let's call the cops, then track the fucker down."
"And tell 'em what? That we broke into some guy's house? They're gonna ask what we were doing in here. We'll do the same thing we did in Seattle. We'll go in nice and quiet, take the pony, and get out."
"The guy in Seattle didn't have a bucket of fucking blood in his fridge! We're dealing with some dangerous shit here, Sid! People could die! We need to get the cops in on this!"
"We're dangerous too, and we can't get anyone else involved. The world still isn't ready to know about Equestria, Mac. We have to keep a low profile, no matter the risk. No single pony's life is worth the carnage that would ensue if humanity discovered Equestria."
The two men were silent.
"You'd do it if it were Trixie," Mac growled.
Sid walked out of the garage with no reply.
***
Scootaloo bounced up and down in her seat at the back of the van.
"What's the surprise, Daddy? Tellmetellmetellme!"
"Something I've always wanted to do with my child someday. I thought it would never come."
"What, Daddy?!"
She looked like she was about to explode from excitement. I let the suspense build for a few more seconds, then raised up the bag of condoms triumphantly.
"We're going to go fuck prostitutes together! Happy birthday, Scoot!"
Her squeal of joy was priceless.
"Oh, Daddy! Thankyouthankyouthankyou!"
I just smiled, turning back to the road as the stoplight changed to green.
"I wanna fuck a big black lady!" Scootaloo said.
"I know just the one," I replied.
We drove through the slums for about fifteen more minutes, hunting for our prey. Finally, I found the perfect ho for Scootaloo. She was a morbidly obese black woman, clad only in a tiger-print spandex two-piece.
"Laquiesha! What up, gurl?" I asked jovially, stepping out of the van.
"It's fiddy dollas fo' a fuck, and sixty if you wanna go in my asshole," she grunted disinterestedly.
"Bitch, what the fuck kinda ho do you think you is?" I replied angrily. "I ain't droppin' mo’ than twenty dollas on yo' skanky ass!"
"How 'bout thirty, and you can take a shit on my face too?"
I scratched my chin, carefully considering the offer, but the sudden screech of tires on asphalt interrupted our haggling. A low-rider full of twenty-something college kids in Fluttershy T-shirts came barreling down the street.
"FRIENDSHIP IS MAGIC, BITCH!" they yelled, whipping out Mac-10's and opening up on us as they went speeding past.
I grabbed Laquiesha by the arm and swung her in front of me. Her blubber easily absorbed all the bullets meant for me in a shower of red splashes. She collapsed into a puddle of blood.
"Scoot, the pipe bomb!" I yelled as the bronies drifted their low-rider into a 180 spin at the end of the street.
Scootaloo rummaged in the back of the van before tossing a homemade explosive at me. I caught it and ignited the fuse with a cigarette lighter.
"Hug this, motherfuckers!" I yelled, tossing the bomb as the bronies came in for another pass.
It landed right on target in the drivers seat. They all flailed their arms and screamed for a split second before the bomb detonated. The low-rider exploded in a giant column of flames, showering burning wreckage and severed limbs all over the street.
Suddenly, blindingly bright lights shone from either end of the alley.
"Freeze, asshole!" a voice shouted.
"Shit!" I yelled, stumbling back toward the van.
"Hand over the pony before we pump your ass full of lead!" shouted a second voice
I saw a figure clad in a black trench coat step in front of the spotlight from down the ally.
"Ow! Don't shoot! I surrender!" I pleaded, kneeling down and pretending to clutch my side in pain as I reached for my gun.
"Put your hands on your head, fucker!" he yelled, rushing closer to meet me.
"Ok, ok!" I whimpered.
I fired through my coat, putting three rounds straight into the guy's chest and sending him tumbling to the ground. Snatching Scootaloo up, I sprinted forward, whipping my gun out of my coat and firing blindly over my shoulder.
Searing pain suddenly exploded in my gut, and I lost my balance and fell. I hit the asphalt hard, cutting through my lip with my teeth. I tried to push myself upright, but my strength was already being sapped away. I'd figured I still had a few ass kicking years in me, but I was well past my prime.
Staring blearily forward, I was shocked to see the man I had just gunned down rising to his feet, a thin tail of smoke trailing from the silenced pistol in his hand. The fucker must have had a kevlar jacket.
"It's ok, Scootaloo. That guy can't hurt you anymore," my killer said.
The last thing I saw before the world slipped away was Scootaloo walking slowly away from me, right into the stranger's waiting arms.
***
"It was so horrible!" Scootaloo sobbed as the man embraced her, stroking her mane gently.
"He. . . he kept me locked up in his house for years, and he hit me and cut me with a knife!"
"It's ok," he repeated softly, holding her close. "My name is Sidneysto, and this is my friend, Mac the Macrophone. We've come to take you away from this horrible place."
"He . . . he made me eat rotten food, and he raped me every day!"
"We're gonna take you someplace safe. There are people who love you, Scootaloo, and we're going to make sure that-EEEEAAAAAUAUUGUHUGUH!"
Scootaloo bit down hard on Sidneysto's penis. She had recently filed her blunt herbivore teeth to razor sharpness, and she sliced through fabric and flesh with ease. Sid collapsed, screaming and clutching his bloody crotch while Mac fumbled for his gun, eyes wide with shock. Scootaloo spat Sid's dong into Mac's face, where it stuck with a sticky splat. He dropped the gun, flailing his hands wildly to get the genitalia off of his face. Scootaloo sprinted forward and bashed her skull into his kneecap. He fell over backwards, his head striking hard against the ground, and he went limp.
"C'mon, Daddy," she grunted, pulling my limp body back toward the van.
She sat my body upright, leaning me against the vehicle's side.
"Daddy, wake up!"
I could make no response, and merely lay motionless.
"Please, wake up, Daddy! Don't leave me all alone!"
She screamed and pounded on my chest, tears streaming down her cheeks. She cried, threatened, and begged, but I didn't wake up.
I was dead.
***
I stood neck deep in a river of flaming tar. The pain was beyond anything I had ever imagined. All around me, the wailing of the damned echoed throughout the vast caverns of Hell. The air was choked with ash and smog, but I thought I could make out a distant, rocky shore ahead of me. I desperately slogged my way through the river, every step wracking my body with pain. I reached my hand out to the shore, but was immediately met with a hail of flaming arrows. They pierced my skin and shattered my bones, and I fell back into the burning oil as a horde of demons laughed raucously at my suffering.
"COME ON! YOU'RE ALMOST THERE!" they taunted.
I choked on oil, swallowing and breathing some as I struggled to regain my balance.
It burned my lungs and stomach. At that moment, every nerve in my body was a searing inferno of indescribable agony.
Suddenly, I found myself lying in a puddle of piss next to a dumpster.
"EEEEAAAAAAUUUUGUGH!" I screamed, my limbs flailing about wildly as electricity crackled through my body.
Scootaloo quickly yanked a pair of metal clamps off of my nipples. They were hooked up to a stolen car battery.
"I brought you back to life, Daddy!" she squealed happily.
"Shit, girl. You really do love me, huh?" I said.
"No, you're just the only human whose cock is small enough to fit in my pussy," she replied.
"You're a bitch, Scootaloo!" I growled, opening my arms wide.
"Fuck you, Daddy!" she said, hugging me.
We held each other for a long moment.
Finally, I staggered to my feet, leaning against the dumpster and breathing heavily.
"We're in deep shit, Scoot," I said.
"It's ok, Daddy," said Scootaloo. "I took care of those guys. They're tied up in the van."
"Not those fuckers!" I snapped. "Shut up and listen! When I was dead, I went to Hell. Hell is fucking real, Scootaloo!"
Scootaloo's eyes went wide.
"You told me that all religions were bullshit fairytales for retards and horny old child-molesters!" she yelped.
"Well I was wrong, ok? Fuck, it's not like there was any evidence!"
Scootaloo sat down heavily.
"Oh no," she gasped. "What're we gonna do, Daddy?"
"We must never die," I said.
***
We went home and googled how to become immortal.
A few shots of Wild Turkey had dulled my pain, and some first-aid had taken care of my wound for the moment, but my mood wasn't improving.
"Ok," I said, looking over our list. "We can either create a philosopher's stone, upload our minds into machine bodies, freeze ourselves in cryogenic stasis, become undead creatures, or convert to Christianity."
We both stared at the list, weighing our options.
"Jesus," I said, clasping my hands together. "I'm sorry for drinking too much, and for savagely beating a little pony and then blaming it on her so she would grow up in an environment of self loathing and misery, and for cutting her with a knife, and for raping her in the ass and mouth, and for later having consensual sex with her, since she's an animal-"
"Daddy."
"-and for killing some other pony, and for murdering a woman in cold blood, and for removing her skin and making it into a dress for-"
"Daddy!"
"What?!" I snapped.
"I'm horny. Fucky time now?" Scootaloo asked, looking up at me with her big, puppy dog eyes.
"No!" I said firmly. "We are Christians now, Scootaloo. It's the only way to escape going to Hell. That means no more sex before marriage, not even in the ass."
Scootaloo flopped on her back and reached down with a hoof.
"No masturbating either!" I added. "Now tell Jesus you're sorry for all the bad things you did."
"Um . . . Jesus, I'm sorry for secretly liking it when Daddy fucked me as a filly, and I'm sorry for obviously liking it when he fucks me now, or at least when he fucked me up until recently."
She gave me a dirty look.
"And I'm sorry I ripped off a lady's face, and I'm sorry that I bit a man's penis off, and I'm sorry for masturbating to the sight of my own blood, and I'm sorry for licking Daddy's balls whenever he passes out drunk and naked, which happens a lot."
We stood still in silence for several minutes.
"Did it work?" Scootaloo finally asked.
"I dunno," I replied. "Were you really sorry?"
"No."
"Fuck! Neither was I. We'll just have to freeze ourselves until science advances far enough to upload our minds into robots. You clean out the fridge while I go to the store to get some ice."
"Hey, wait a minute!" Scootaloo exclaimed. "If Jesus won't help us, then why don't we ask Satan?"
I was impressed.
"That's a great idea, Scoot!"
We googled how to summon Satan. To our surprise, it was incredibly simple.
I drew a pentagram on the floor with a pencil, and took a step back.
"Satan, I invoke you! Speak to me!" I demanded.
The devil's hideous head instantly materialized above the pentagram, wreathed in flames.
"WHO DARES SUMMON ME?! AH, IT'S YOU!" he said, smiling. "I'M A VERY BIG FAN OF YOUR WORK!"
"Satan, we need your help," I said, wasting no time with small talk. "We need to become immortal so we don't have to go to Hell."
"WHY SHOULD I MAKE YOU IMMORTAL?! I ALREADY HAVE YOUR SOULS! YOU HAVE NOTHING TO OFFER ME!"
"What the fuck, Satan?!" I yelled. "We do horrible shit all the time! You should be on our side!"
"I AM!" Satan replied. "AND I HOPE YOU WILL PERFORM MANY MORE EVIL ACTS BEFORE YOUR TIME COMES, BUT I DON'T WORK FOR FREE!"
"We'll devote our lives to spreading misery and suffering on Earth! We'll be the next Jeffrey Dahmers, or the next Hitlers!"
"YOU WERE JUST GOING TO DO THAT ANYWAY!"
"Hey, Mr. Satan," Scootaloo interjected. "We have two guys tied up in the garage right now. What if we tortured them until they pledged their souls to you?"
Satan chuckled.
"THAT WOULD PLEASE ME GREATLY!"
"Aww, yeah!' I said, hoof-bumping with Scootaloo. "You're just a little genius today, aren't you?"
Scootaloo squealed and danced around in a happy circle at my praise.
"Ok!" I said. "We'll call you again when we're done, Satan."
"GOODBYE!" Satan said as he disappeared.
We headed into the garage, and yanked off the duct-tape Scootaloo had placed over the attacker's mouths.
"You're not cops, so who the fuck are you?" I demanded.
"Bronies," Mac growled. "You're not going to get away with this. I posted all your information on Ponyville Nightly. Every brony in this city will be out for your blood!"
I kicked him in the face, knocking a few teeth loose.
"I'm not scared of you faggots," I sneered. "Let 'em come. I've got enough ammo for all your friends."
I walked over to my tool rack and dusted off an old, rusty pickaxe.
"They'll tear you apart!" Sid grunted through the pain of his missing dong as I approached. "If you give yourself up, we'll make sure you just go to jail. There's no way you can win. We'll put a stop to you, and Scootaloo will go back to Equestria where she belongs!"
"I don't want to go anywhere with you!" Scootaloo snapped. "You're a bunch of closet pedophiles who watch a show for eight year old girls. That guy totally felt me up while he was hugging me, Daddy!"
"What?!" Sid exclaimed.
I swung the point of the pickaxe into his shin. It went straight through the bone with a sickening, wet crunch.
He screamed, thrashing around in his bonds.
"The fuck is wrong with you?" I asked, hefting the pickaxe again. "She's a fucking horse, you sick freak!"
"S-stop! You'll regret this," he whimpered, all his bravado now gone.
"I don't think I will," I replied. "But I think you are going to really regret not pledging your souls to Satan, because if you don't, I'll never stop torturing you!"
"Ooh," Scootaloo grunted suddenly.
"What's wrong, sweetie?" I asked.
"My tummy hurts, Daddy. I think I drank too much blood when I bit off that guy's wing-wang. I need to make an explosion," she replied, wincing and clutching her stomach.
"Hold up a sec," I said, snatching a funnel from a shelf.
I shoved it into Sid's mouth and hoisted Scootaloo over it.
"Ok, Scoot! Give the nice man his blood back!"
"HRRRRRG!" Scootaloo grunted.
A bubbly flood of farty diarrhea soup came shooting out of her ass, filling the funnel in an instant.
"AAAEGRLGURGLURK!" Sid gurgled.
"Holy fuck, you shit-fountain!" I choked approvingly as Scoot unleashed another poop tsunami.
She stank up the whole room like shit, and I began to feel violently ill. I leaned forward and started puking into the funnel with a great big *HUUAAARK!*
Sidneysto flailed and choked like he was having a seizure, his eyes bulging with horror.
Scootaloo followed my vomit with a jet of sparkling, golden piss from her warty vagina.
"Satan!" Mac cried, wisely interrupting the torture before we could get to him. "If you give us superpowers so that we can escape and kill this guy, then we will give our souls to you!"
Satan's head appeared in the basement.
"AGREED!"
In an instant, all their wounds were healed. The two bronies' muscles began to bulge. Their bodies stretched, ripping out of their clothes until they stood nearly nine feet tall, and their dicks grew to twelve inches in length.
"You cocksucking backstabber, Satan!" I snarled, backing away as the bronies ripped free of their bonds.
"HAHAHAHAHA!" Satan cackled. "I JUST SAID IT WOULD PLEASE ME FOR YOU TO TORTURE THESE BRONIES! I NEVER ACTUALLY PROMISED TO DO ANYTHING FOR YOU!"
"Now it's our turn!" the huge naked bronies growled, stepping forward with diamond-hard erections.
My Little Scoota2: Scootaloo's Inferno
By Pascal
A fan made sequel to My Little Scootaloo by DontWannaKnow.
Chapter 2
When you live in the bleak sort of world that I do, you spend a lot of time thinking about death. I'd often wondered how my life would finally end. I had always figured the most probable cause of my demise would be directly overdosing on alcohol or drugs. The second most likely would be gradual organ failure due to my poor diet. Third would be death by DUI, and fourth would be being shot or stabbed in a dark alley somewhere (which had actually happened, but I didn't feel like it had really counted).
Being fucked to death by a pair of giant men who obsessed over a children's cartoon would not have even made it into the top ten. It wasn't even something I could fully comprehend. I wondered briefly wether this was what Scootaloo must have felt when I had first shoved a firecracker up her ass: a mixture of shock, overwhelming terror, and brain-melting confusion.
Tragically, I had forgotten the first rule of dealing with the Prince of Darkness: Satan is a dick.
It was fortunate that Scootaloo acted as fast as she did. The bronies' attention was focussed on me, and it took them a moment to register her wrenching the refrigerator open and hefting the bucket of blood. She flung it at the bronies with all her might. It hit Sid in the face, and blood went splashing everywhere. They were strong, but unused to their new giant bodies, and stumbled into each other. Snapping out of my stupor, I sprinted to the van with Scootaloo at my heels.
Jumping into the driver's seat, I twisted the key in the ignition, and slammed on the gas. The radio blasted I Get Wet by Andrew WK as the van lurched forward, smashing through the garage door. Cracks shot through the windshield and stray debris battered the front of the van as I screeched out onto the street.
The sound of groaning metal filled the vehicle, and I turned to see giant fingers puncturing through the passenger-side door. Mac clung to the side of the van, pulling himself toward the front with his superhuman strength.
The van was a clunky old piece of shit that handled like a dying giraffe at the best of times, there was a giant, bloody, naked man clinging to the passenger side throwing the vehicle's balance off with his weight, and I was pissed halfway off my ass on hard liquor. Combine these three factors and you can imagine the absolute clusterfuck of trying to keep the damn thing on the road. I thanked whatever fucked up forces of fate were at work here that it was late enough that the streets were mostly deserted in my neighborhood.
I swerved wildly through multiple lanes with a screech of rubber on asphalt as I shot down the street at top speed. There was a crunch as Mac ripped the passenger-side door off of its hinges and chucked it aside.
"You're a dead man, motherfucker!" he roared pulling himself forward and reaching into the cabin with a long, muscular arm.
I twisted the wheel, and the vehicle lurched to the right, smashing the giant's skill into a streetlamp with a deafening *CLANG!* The streetlamp was ripped out of the ground and went spinning into a parked car with a crash, but Mac was no ordinary brony, and though he was all but scalped from the impact and blood fan freely over his face, he kept a grip on the van and renewed his assault.
I cried out in pain as his massive hand gripped my shoulder and pulled, twisting my right arm. I clung to the steering wheel for dear life, cursing myself for forgetting the seatbelt. Mac had poor leverage due to his position, reaching through the open door while half dragging on the ground and clinging to the van with one hand, but his hold was strong enough to seriously fuck up my arm. Even with the alcohol dulling my nerves, my poor shoulder joint stung like a bitch, and my twisted muscles burned like fire. The giant gave me another hard yank, and the wheel twisted in my hands, sending the van veering to the right. Mac yelped and lost his grip on me as he was smashed against a second parked car, jolting us back to the left.
"Let the fuck go you fucking fuck!" I yelled in a fit of alcoholic rage.
I took my good arm off the wheel to throw the bag of condoms at him as he tried to pull himself inside the van again. It burst open, showering rubbery silicone everywhere. Mac got a face full of condoms as the van sped through a red light into a busy intersection. Horns honked as we clipped the side of an oncoming pickup, shearing the paint off the driver-side door and sending side mirror flying. All around us, tires and brakes screeched as the other drivers gaped in horror at the sight of an out of control, half destroyed van being attacked by a bloody, naked giant with a huge boner.
Suddenly, I came face to face with the flashing headlights and blaring horn of an oncoming gasoline truck.
"SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!" I screamed in terror, desperately wrenching the wheel to the left with my good arm.
There was a deafening crash of metal on metal as the truck hit my passenger-side at a forty-five degree angle, sending the van spinning away with a massive dent. I was lifted out of my seat and thrown into the airbag as Mac was slammed against the truck's grill with a crunch.
"FUCK YOUUUUUUUUuuuuuuuu…" he howled as the truck carried him away.
The truck's driver lost control of the vehicle, and it swerved into a liquor store. The store's neon sign fell as the truck crashed through the front door, landing onto the ruptured gasoline tank. The sign's substandard electrical work showered a spray of sparks in every direction, igniting the gasoline.
*BOOM*
The whole place exploded into a gigantic fireball. Screams and crashing filled the streets as cars went spinning out of control and slammed together into a godawful pile up of bloody, twisted metal, while pedestrians died screaming in fire as razor-sharp shrapnel and burning petroleum rained down from the sky.
"Hahahahaha!" I cackled madly as I sped away from the scene, filled with a rush of glorious adrenaline. "You really got fucked!"
A sudden, horrible realization struck me.
"OH FUCK NO! THAT WAS MY LIQUOR STORE!"
I howled and pounded my good arm on the steering wheel in drunken fury.
"God fucking damn it!"
I sighed, and let my head fall to the wheel with a thump.
"You ok back there, Scoot? Scoot?"
Oh shit.
***
Scootaloo struggled and writhed, but nothing could break Sid's iron grip around her neck. She lashed out at his chest as Mac and the van went speeding away through the garage door, but it was like kicking a brick wall.
Spittle flew from her lips as she screamed barely coherent insults at her captor.
"Fucking fag-munching cockbreath butt-fondler! Assgiver! Let me go! Daddy's gonna fuck you in the ass with a ten foot cock when he gets back!"
Sidneysto retrieved the ropes that had bound him moments before and quickly hog-tied the pony. He fished through what remained of his torn pants and grabbed his cell phone. He tapped the buttons and held the device to his ear.
"Sid here. I have retrieved the package. The Daddy's AWOL, but Mac's… oh, hey. Yeah, sorry. Is she awake? This is . . . uh . . . work. It's kind of important. Kay, thanks . . . I heard that, you racist! …Yeah, hi. She tell you what the hell happened? Um…"
Sid paused, then let out a long sigh.
"Bad. I didn't find any nephilim running around, thank God, but she's… It's just awful. She's going to need a lot more than a heart-scrub from Cadance. …It's probably best if you come get us, actually. Some shit kinda went down. We lost some samaritans, and the streets are a bit chaotic at the moment. And . . . uh . . . bring some bedsheets or something too. I'll explain when you get here. Thanks."
Sid sat down and stared at Scootaloo. She stared back defiantly, her face scrunched into a grimace of rage.
"Why did you bite my dick off?" Sid finally asked.
"You tried to kill Daddy," Scootaloo growled.
"But what you said about being beaten and raped is true, isn't it? You've got more scars than Michael Vick's pit bull. I've been saving ponies for a long time, and you're the worst case of abuse I've ever seen. Even the ones kept as brood-mares for nephilim are treated better than you."
"Daddy treats me good now! He loves me now!" Scootaloo snarled, but Sid could already see her walls beginning to crack. "I used to be bad, but I got better. I make him happy now. He needs me so much."
"So where is he, then? Looks like he just ran off and left you."
"SHUT UP! SHUT UP! DADDY LOVES ME!"
Tears welled up in Scootaloos eyes.
"GONNA RIP YOUR FUCKING HEAD OFF, COCKSUCKER! YOU DON'T KNOW… GONNA KILL… Daddy loves me…"
Her threats quickly dissolved into sobs as she pulled weakly at her bonds.
"Do you remember Ponyville? Rainbow Dash?" Sid asked.
"No… No, Rainbow Dash was a bad pony. It was good that I killed her. Daddy knows best," Scootaloo whimpered.
"It doesn't have to be this way, Scootaloo. I wasn't lying when I told you that there were people who love you, and I mean real love. Here."
He grabbed his wallet and slid out a photograph, holding it up for Scootaloo.
Inside the frame, a little orange filly with bright, eager eyes and a wide smile rode on a scooter, while two other fillies chased merrily after her. She was so unlike the broken, scarred monster that Scootaloo saw in the mirror every day.
"That's Applebloom and Sweetie Belle. Do you remember them? They miss you, Scootaloo. They don't want to hurt or degrade you, and they won't force you to do bad things. If you go back to Equestria, you can be with them again. You can eat and drink nice food, not stale fries and beer. You can fly out in the open instead of hiding in the shadows with that man. You can love and be loved by normal people. Doesn't that sound nice?"
"Stop. Please, stop," Scootaloo sniffled. She wanted to kill something. The smell of blood and screams of her victims always gave her a rush, but more than that, the world just made sense whenever she hunted with her father. It was a way of life that she understood, and it gave her a sense of clarity and purpose. She felt her grip on the world rapidly slipping away from her. The brony was making everything so complicated. She just wanted life to be simple.
"I want my Daddy. Everything was fine before you came and ruined it all."
"Was it really?"
Scootaloo curled up into a ball and said nothing.
***
Lyra strapped on her kevlar vest, pulling the buckles taut with telekinesis. Next came knee pads, boots for her hind legs, and a pair of cybernetic hand gauntlets for her forelegs. She had made the gauntlets herself, combining improvised human technology with her own magic. They made interacting with human tools easier, especially the pair of Desert Eagles she belted around her waist. She finished off the ensemble with a bandolier full of enchanted hex-grenades.
Bon Bon made her way downstairs in her nightgown, giving Lyra the look.
"What do the monkeys want this time?" she demanded.
"They found Scootaloo," Lyra explained patiently, ignoring her partner's use of the racial slur for what felt like the billionth time. "Apparently, the Daddy was a psycho. I'm going to go pick her up,"
"Great. While you're out playing with your monkey toys, I guess I'll just stay up all night wondering if you're going to come back. Again," Bon Bon said exasperatedly.
"It's not a game!" Lyra protested. "I protect the lost! I help them escape that place you think is so horrible."
"You were obsessed with them for years before you joined the Minutemares! Look at you! All you do is talk about them! Everything you own is some kind of weapon! You don't have a bloodstain on your flank, Lyra! You're supposed to be a musician! You're not supposed to be getting shot at by monkeys!"
Lyra was silent for awhile.
"Bon Bon, don't you ever miss your Daddy, even a little bit?" she finally asked.
"He lives in Manehatten. I call him every week and visit him every few months," Bon Bon replied tersely.
"You know that's not what I meant."
Bon Bon let out a frustrated sigh, and held a hoof to her forehead.
"No, Lyra. I do not miss him. Not even a little bit. Humans are nasty creatures. I will never understand what you see in them."
"I miss mine," Lyra said sadly, turning her gaze away from her partner. "They can be so sweet when they want to be."
"If you love him so much, then why don't you just go live with him?!" Bon Bon shouted.
"Bon Bon, please," Lyra said, extending a hand.
Bon Bon recoiled from the cold, metal gauntlet.
"Go! Just go! You're just going to get shot full of bullets or eaten by a nephilim, and you don't even care!"
She ran back upstairs and slammed the bedroom door.
Lyra clinched her titanium fist and pounded the floor.
"Why, dammit?" she wondered allowed. "Why can't she just take a fucking chill pill?"
She blinked. "Fucking" was a human word. She'd used it around humans before, but it had never slipped into her normal vocabulary like that.
She hesitated, peering up the staircase. Bon Bon's sobs carried clearly down into the living room.
Lyra sat down on the floor and cradled her head in her cold, metal, human hands.
***
Scootaloo had been right behind me!
I sat back in my seat and let out a long breath.
There was nothing I could do for her now. I had only just barely escaped myself. Going back for her would be suicide. They probably wouldn't hurt or kill her anyway. They'd just send her back to Equestria, right?
Unless they thought she was so far gone that they had to put her down.
I shook my head.
That was just the hand fate had dealt her. Nothing I could do to change that. Not my problem. The smart thing to do would be to get the hell out of the city, get some ice on my arm, and figure out the secrets of immortality on my own.
Immortality.
I awkwardly lit a cigarette, trying to move my injured right arm as little as possible, and took a long drag. My gut was starting to hurt again, too. I should probably get that looked at.
You know that song by Slipknot, People = Shit? I think that's probably the most profound philosophical statement in the history of humanity. I'd known everything was bullshit from day one. Religion, politics, business, and pretty much every other kind of human endeavor was just a horde of dim-witted suckers being scammed by a handful of assholes at the top. Anyone who tells you different is either a sucker or trying to con you. I guess now that I'd encountered Satan and Hell I couldn't really call religion itself bullshit anymore, but the institutions surrounding it were still just glorified extortion rackets. Why even bother with a world like that?
Before I had found Scootaloo, my life, or rather, my existence, as I had preferred to call it, had sucked balls. I spent night after night of pissing away what little money I had on drinking alone and watching T.V. in a filthy house in a filthy city. No friends, no family, no plans for the future. Every day was much like the one before it. Every night I'd just wish it would all end.
I imagined what it would be like for that to carry on forever.
"Fuck that shit," I said.
Scootaloo was the only thing in this pointless fucking world that I gave anything even close to a shit about. She'd started out as a mere outlet for my frustration, but as much as I had tried to deny it to myself, she'd become precious to me. For the first time in my life, I wasn't alone. There was someone who I could relate to, who I could share the things that made me happy with.
I might end up getting myself sent back to Hell for this, but fuck it. My life wasn't much better than the Lake of Fire anyway. I'd be immortal with Scootaloo, or not at all.
I started up the van again and pulled back out onto the street. It was dangerous to drive such a damaged vehicle around, both mechanically and in terms of attracting unwanted attention, but I didn't need to go far. Going back home was still suicide, but I wasn't about to give up. I just needed a plan.
One way or another, I was going to get my daughter back, and woe to anyone foolish enough to stand in my way.
***
"Just minutes ago, the streets were witnessed to a shocking display of gang violence. Local resident Laquiesha Jackson, age 42, was gunned down in a vicious drive-by attack by a passing gang of youths armed with submachine guns. The car was then destroyed by a bomb. Police are still investigating the scene for information on a possible third party responsible for the bombing."
"Mwahahahaha! Fools!" The Great and Powerful Trixie cackled.
She leaned back in her chair in the dirty little human hovel that she had made her home, resting her hind legs on the huge, hulking figure that lay in front of her as she gleefully viewed the scene of carnage on the television. Clearly visible amongst the wreckage behind the reporter was a smoldering chunk of bumper with a scorched Rainbow Dash cutie mark decal.
"Isn't it wonderful, Isaac?" Trixie purred, not taking her eyes away from the screen. "The bronies are getting fucked!"
The massive figure stirred. It was wrapped from head-to-toe in a long, black cloak, but the flames of Hell itself kindled in its beady, red eyes, casting a faint glow over its misshapen, elongated face as it raised its head to suck greedily at her teat. Isaac liked the taste of "red milk," as he called it, better, but he'd take what he could get. He'd learned the hard way that biting mommy for red milk was a bad idea.
"Aww, is mommy's widdle nephiwim hungwy? Does he want his wed miwk now?"
The nephilim let out a hiss, bearing its crooked, black fangs.
"Fool!" Trixie called.
A human in a black T-shirt with a image of Trixie and the words "I put on my robe and wizard hat" on it came out of the kitchen. He had defected from Ponyville Nightly some time ago, and had groveled at her hooves for the chance to be one of her minions. Trixie thought it was kind of adorable in a pathetic sort of way, but his doting obsession reminded her too much of him.
"What do you desire, mistress?" the human asked, bowing low.
"Give Isaac some red milk," Trixie ordered.
The human looked confused.
"You mean strawberry?"
In a flash, the nephilim leapt on him in a blur of claws and teeth. The human let out a deafening scream as Isaac reached into his belly and ripped out his liver, savoring the sweet gore as he chewed greedily.
"Remember to share, sweetie," Trixie chided.
Isaac removed the piece of liver from his jaws and shoved it into the human's mouth, muffling his screams as the nephilim continued to eat him alive. Isaac peeled away the flesh of the human's arms and ripped out the bones, taking a moment out of his gluttony to watch the boneless muscles whip and spasm around on their own.
Trixie's nephilim had been very useful to her in this harsh, alien world. Long ago in the days of Sodom and Gomorrah, when the sons of Adam and the daughters of Celestia had lived together, the nephilim were a scourge upon the Earth until the wrath of God had culled them. The magic of Isaac's pony blood was twisted into a mockery of its natural beauty by the human curse of Original Sin, making him a vicious killing machine. Nephilim were the reason that bestiality was condemned in the Bible.
"He wuvs his mommy, doesn't he?" Trixie cooed, scratching the beast's ugly head as he ripped out the human's throat.
"Daddy die?" Isaac rasped, a trickle of gore running from his muzzle as he turned his gaze toward the television, which was still covering the drive-by.
"I doubt it," Trixie replied. "He would never use such crude tactics. These are likely just some of his brainless followers. But he is here in the city."
Trixie's phone displayed an article on Ponyville Nightly, "Looking for an unmarked, white van in the red-light district."
"If whoever is in the white van has some sort of grudge against the bronies, then we may be able to use him. But where did he go?"
"… Residents are advised to stay indoors and…" the reporter on the television trailed off, raising a finger to his earpiece. "Wait a minute… I am being told that there are reports coming in of a second bombing, this time of a nearby liquor store."
Trixie rose from her seat.
"Perfect! Soon, the False Princess and that bastard Sidneysto will both get what's coming to them! Come, Isaac. It's time to get some more red milk!"
***
Coroner Chad Snyder laid the woman's massive body on the slab.
He cut the spandex two-piece off with a scalpel and carefully sealed it away in a plastic bag. Searching for any other foreign items, he spotted a piece of bling lodged in the corpse's belly button. It was a tiny, silver skull with diamond teeth. He reached out for it, but it suddenly began to glow with a sinister purple light. Chad backed away as a whirling cloud of shrieking spirits enveloped the corpse. It rose off of the table, wreathed in a vortex of vengeful ghosts and crackling magical discharge. When she spoke, it was in a voice that thundered with eldritch power.
"Oh no dat nigga didn't! Gonna break my foot off in his cracka ass! Damn! Stupid-ass My Little Pony-lovin' muthafuckas. Sheeit. You see where his ass went?"
Chad ran screaming out of the room.
"Fuck," said the voodoo zombie. "'Ay, Rainbow Nigga. You got any ideas?"
"Gurl, I been to his crib," the ghost of Rainbow Dash replied. "Let's go kick his ass!"
