He shuddered, the spell broken for the time being. He stood still under the gaze of the bloodied moon. A trio of batponies… no, thestrals, looked at him. Two mares side by side with a colt who looked more bored than anything else.

His off-white coat spattered by the same dark droplets as the sleeping mare in the auditorium.

He was not a silly pony, though. He still breathed.

“Calm down, he’s clearly under shock.” And spoke. “Also unarmed,” he chuckled.

“I… my name is Steel Rush. If you could help me find my truck… I was sure I parked it around here.”

“This is a new one,” the left thestral snickered.

“Stop it you two,” the chief chastised them. “Good night to you, citizen. What are you doing here?”

“You… Ah… Ah was… at the auditorium, there was a blast… Ah have no idea, who are you bat-,” he caught himself, “you thestrals?”

“Hear hear, not all those who wander are lost,” the chief said, coming closer. Only then he noticed that something stuck out from his saddle. A thin hollow tube, still smoking. The moment he stepped under the rusty moonlight an apple-like blazon shone. Macintosh.

“I made those,” Rush muttered.

“What?”

“I used to work at the factory. The big new one. I’m a welder. Ah don’t know why you are all using those but ah don’t want no trouble sir.”

“The kid is the bucking chosen one,” the thestral chuckled, covering him with his left wing and carrying him together with the others. “Did you hear? He used to work at the factory. And he was at the auditorium. He’s a keeper.”

One of the mares looked at his flank.

“I don’t see a smiling sun on his butt. Clear for me,” she said with a glint of sympathy in her yellow eyes.

“Wh-where are you talking me sir? Ah don’t want to cause no problems sir. If you can help me find my truck…”

“At rest, soldier,” he interrupted him. “My name and rank is Star Sprinkle. Sergeant Star Sprinkle. We’re gathering you all up at a nearby plaza. Keep you away from the fight, after we make them pay for the terrorist attack. Give you all something to do. There’s a bucketload of rifles to be built and we can’t keep those hooves empty, soldier.”

“What are you talking about? Is there a war?” He looked up as if some invisible monster was about to snap at him. “The reds are attacking?”

“The ‘reds’?” The yellow-eyed mare quirked her eyebrow. The other one snickered.

“Nothing like that my friend. I’ll explain everything as soon…”

“Sergeant!” The yellow-eyed mare tackled them both and they rolled on the concrete floor.

Something whizzed past him.

Bees?

It couldn’t be. At night?

“Die, solarists!” The other mare screamed, and she shot more fireworks from her sidearm, biting into something like a muzzle at the side of her head and unleashing a scatter of rat-tat-tat at a group of white-clad ponies that had appeared at the end of the alley.

They shot back.

That was shooting.

Her muzzle was the first thing to go. It burst out in a flower of skin and blood and bone. It flew past her shoulders. She fell on her side and wheezed and tried to reach for her rifle.

Another discharge turned her eyes glassy. Her head slapped against the pavement.

Dreaming forever.

“Twinkle!” Screamed the Sergeant. He rose in the air, holding his rifle with both hands. He managed to hit two of the ponies before a ricocheting bullet hit him in the back. He flapped uselessly, hit a lamppost, and fell. His body bent on one angle and his neck on the opposite one.

“Bastards!” The yellow-eyed mare tried to reach for her muzzle but she was laying at a bad angle and couldn’t reach it. The remaining pony – why was she crying why was she crying – rushed forward, her rifle at the ready, pointed at their head and a star of panic burst into his chest.

He was not a clever pony. But he knew his metalwork and he knew she was trying to pull the wrong way and the iron had been bent by her tackle and she would not reach it in time.

So he did it for her. His right hoof pulled back a hoof-handle and the rifle barked its song just when the other mare was at three steps of distance. For some reason she was not shooting already. Maybe because she could not see well through all those tears.

He hit her straight in the chest. Her neck did that funny thing all necks do when they are hit by a bullet and it folded on itself like paper. She fell on her forelegs, wavered there for a moment like in prayer and then on the pavement.

All he could hear was his breathing.

The yellow-eyed mare rushed him upright. She hugged him and dragged him towards the Sergeant and then she hesitated and pulled him away, away from the rust-colored alley and the five bodies spreading their blood and piss and tears all over the pavement and how they glistened under the embrace of the Night, how bright were all the stars and galaxies dancing inside those growing puddles.

Author's Note

I lost count of the number of times I had to make sure I war writing somepony and not someone.

Please leave a comment if you are enjoying the story. I would love to hear your thoughts. Thanks for reading.