Fallout Equestria: Last Daysby CanterColtChapters1 - Abandoned Laundromat3 - Empty Office4 - Open Wastes5 - City Center2 - Ruined Highway1 - Abandoned Laundromat*** Cobalt Meadow's eyes opened to the sight of empty darkness and the sound of distant screams. Morning. Again. Not that it mattered anymore. The brown buck lifted his head, shifted to the edge of the mattress beneath him, and promptly vomited. The liquid trickling from his mouth was almost transparent—thin, watery—his throat catching as the dry heaves quickly took over. His chest hurt. Ached. He couldn’t breathe. But the convulsions wouldn’t stop. He could feel his vision blur, his sense of balance thrown off. He fell to the floor. Clang. Splurch. The dented pail he’d set beside the bed tipped over from the impact—the bile inside spilling out onto the floor at his hooves. He continued to heave regardless, the mess he’d made in the process lost on him. His memories flashed back to his life two weeks prior. A third floor apartment in a high rise in Mareford. A new position at Four Stars as a customer service rep. A steady paycheck for the first time since he’d graduated—more bits than he knew what to do with. He’d made the move a month ago. From Baltimare. His parents hadn’t wanted him to go. He wondered if they were still alive. With one last heave—a strand of spittle dribbling across his parched lips—the convulsions subsided, the buck inhaling sharply. His lungs twitched at the sudden influx of air. He found himself coughing—once, twice—his struggle for breath immediately resuming. “Fucking...fuck...” He could feel the corners of his eyes grow hot with frustration. Feel the wet tears running down his cheeks. After another minute, the hacking subsided, his vision watery. He could see specks of red on the floor in front of him. “Mom...Dad...” Rat-tat. Rat-tat-tat. Rat-tat. He could hear distant gunshots. Outside. In quick succession. A chorus of cries and shrieks followed suit. Pained. Panicked. Old. Young. Mares. Stallions. At this distance, he was almost numb to it. The sounds of violence in the background were almost constant. The rioting. The looting. The roars and bellows of feral, radiation-scarred ponies that had come running in droves from the city center. Wanton violence. Anarchy. Chaos. He’d heard ponies saying it had been worse across the bridge. Far worse. From the screams he’d heard the first week—the hellish columns of flame he'd seen rising into the sky—he believed it. The sight of the still-smoldering hole in the Manehatten skyline was harrowing. Overwhelming. Enough to make him sick all over again. Ministry vertibucks—those left after the the skies had been closed off—were a constant presence. Rockets from below would occasionally arc upwards in their direction, sending them spiraling into the streets below in balls of flame. The tinny voices of ministry power troops accompanied the explosions from time to time. Sometimes telling citizens to vacate. Other times laying down fire on roving gangs of looters. Or stampeding mobs of panicked ponies. Sometimes both. Another slew of automatic fire rang out. This one closer. Cobalt could hear a number of feral growls and screams, a raspy voice breaking over both. “No! Wait! I’m not like them! Nothing is wrong with me! Help! I need—” Another spray of gunfire drowned the voice out. Cobalt grabbed at his temples with his hooves, his eyes going wide. His chest ached. He’d begun to hyperventilate. More gunfire. More piercing screams. The breaking of glass close by. Across the street. Cobalt closed his eyes, hooves digging deeper into the sides of his head. The bruises and burn marks on his hide scraped painfully against the floor. He’d locked himself in the back room of the laundromat when the bombs fell. He’d bucked the owner in the head when the older stallion had tried to force him out. He could still remember the sound the unicorn’s skull had made when it hit the wall. The closed room hadn’t kept him safe from the fallout, though. The building was made of brick, but drafty. Leaking air in some places. He hadn't realized that when he bucked the door handle shut. There were bloody hoofprints on the metal door frame where he’d attempted to free himself since. He'd eaten all the food in the first week. The water was gone now, too. What rain he’d been able to collect from the small window above the bed was flecked with gray ash. It almost burned to drink. He’d been vomiting daily since resorting to it. His throat tasted like iron from the repeated exposure. The sounds of gunfire ceased, the cries and shouts fading into the background. Cobalt could hear the tinny echo of a distant radio broadcast, a crackling, patriotic tune echoing across the city streets. The soldiers passing through had managed to gain access to the Ministry of Morale’s “Population Party Speakers”—those that were still functioning, at least. “Citizens of Equestria. This is Major Violet Breeze of the Ministry of Wartime Technology. Do not be alarmed. Do not despair. Though things may look bleak, there is hope for Equestria, yet.” Cobalt let out another whimper as the sound of gunfire resumed again—laser fire joining it this time. Distorted. Unyielding. Tzzkt! Tzzkt! Tzzkt-tzzkt! The sound of explosives rocked the side of the building a moment later—rockets, grenades—the floor beneath him shaking as a commemorative plate fell from the shelf above him and onto the floor. Katssh! The buck could feel the ceramic shards spray over him, one embedding itself into his hide and drawing blood. He let out another sick sounding cry—a wail—burying his head into the floor. His eyes were wide. He could barely breathe. His hooves were clamped over his ears, desperately trying to drown out the sounds. Dark splotches had formed at the edge of his vision. Mom. Dad. Why had he ever come here? Why had he ever left them? Why had this happened? Why? Why!? Carrying on despite the buck’s tears and the screams around him, the voice continued, its words calm and even amid the rising panic in the streets. "Do not worry, my little ponies. The situation is under control. Ministry personnel are coming to assist you as we speak.” Batoom! Katssh! Tkzzt! “Remember, Equestrians. We are a nation of hope. And where there is hope, there is friendship—" “Stop! No! Please!” "—And where there is friendship—” “Daddy!?” "Sunny!" Tzzkt! Tzzkt! Tzzkt-tzzkt! “—there is peace.” *** 3 - Empty Office*** Short Sell sighed, adjusting the red tie around his neck. It didn't seem to want to lay flat, no matter how hard he tried. Fiddling with it for a few more moments, he let it drop, shaking his head. Deciding to come back to it later, he reached across the desk with a hoof, pressing down on the small button next to the speaker that had been built into the mahogany panel. “Miss Maripone?” The tinny sound of a mare's voice on the other side of the intercom crackled to life. “Yes, Mr. Sell?” “Cancel all my appointments for the day.” “Yes, Mr. Sell. Right away.” “Thank you, Miss Maripone.” The mare on the other end of the intercom coughed once before breaking the connection. The blue earth stallion didn’t comment on it, sighing as he leaned back into his chair. It had been one of those days. The leather felt cool beneath him, though. Comfortable. Padded. It had cost him a small fortune, after all. He ran a hoof across the wrinkles beneath his eyes. Through his graying mane. He wasn’t a young stallion anymore, that much was certain. Those days were well behind him. It had been over two decades since he’d taken over the family business—Quick Sell Firearms & Ordnance. Granted, the industry had changed pretty substantially since his grandfather’s time. Even since his father’s. Firearms weren’t just oddities that hobbyists used from time to time anymore. For sport shooting or custom order confetti canons. They were weapons of war, now. Munitions. Demand in recent years had doubled. Tripled. Quadrupled. And then doubled again. Allowing the company to get absorbed into Ironshod had been the right call. He’d seen more than a few of his colleagues from the early days—other, small scale munitions dealers—driven to bankruptcy and snapped up for loose bits. Getting in with the big ponies as early as he had—it was probably the only reason he hadn’t ended up out of a job himself. Instead, he’d worked his way to Vice President of Operations in Ironshod's Fillydelphia Branch. About as lucrative a position as a pony could hope for. He could count on his hooves the number of ponies in the company that had a higher annual salary than he did. There were probably only another dozen or so in Equestria outside of that. He’d peaked. Made all the bits he’d ever hoped for. Twice over. And then some. He leaned forward, resting his hooves on the desk. He couldn’t help but feel he’d gotten a little lost somewhere along the way, though. He’d been ambitious in his youth, sure, but coin had never been the driving factor. It wasn't something he hadn't enjoyed, of course, but accolades had been the primary draw. The promise of challenge. Becoming his own stallion. He remembered how he’d felt when his father patted him on the back after closing a sale when he first started working. It wasn’t until the acquisition that his goals had changed. When he’d seen the raw numbers of bits flowing in—all the zeroes that were there and could be there in the future—something in him had changed. There'd been a constant feeling of discomfort. Want. Dissatisfaction with what he had. He’d pushed. Shoved. Schemed. Plotted. Sold out those that got in his way. His wife had divorced him a few years back as well, leaving with their daughter in tow. At the time, he honestly hadn’t cared that much—two less distractions to worry about—but looking back, he wished he’d made more of an effort. His relationship with his wife was a lost cause. That much he’d come to accept. The two couldn't so much as stand in the same room without arguing. But his daughter, a teenager at the time, had tried to reach out to him even afterwards. Sent him letters. Made calls. He’d had his secretary take care of most of the correspondence. He’d been busy at the time. Playing family didn’t bring in bits. Eventually, though, his daughter's communications had wound down to a trickle. Then stopped altogether. The last letter had been from Hearth’s Warming last year. She’d sent a picture. A letter. Said she was joining the Equestrian military after school. As a medic. She'd said she wanted to help keep everypony safe. That she hoped he was doing well. Short Sell turned his gaze to the side, looking at that very picture on his desk. He could see his daughter, Rose—Summer Rose, after her mother—smiling back at him next to a couple of her school friends. A black graduation cap sat atop her head, a diploma in her hoof. He brushed the picture frame with a hoof—tracing the crack that ran lengthwise in the glass. The way the thin cracks spread out beneath his daughter’s eyes, it almost looked like she was crying, despite the grin on her face. He shook his head. It would have been nice to see her again. One last time. With a sigh, the stallion sat back up, leaning over in his chair. He reached for the bottom drawer on his right side, pulling it open with a hoof. Inside was an old fashioned revolver—one his grandfather had owned—polished iron with brass inlay along the muzzle grip and barrel. While not exceptionally expensive in make, the piece was an antique. Worth a fair few bits to the right buyer. It was a family heirloom, though. Short Sell had never considered selling it. The stallion picked it up in his hoof, flipping the cylinder to the side with a practiced flick. Though it was against employee policy to carry loaded weapons in the executive offices, he could see the six bullets staring back at him. While disgruntled employees turning violent was a rare occurrence—particularly in a heavily policed munitions office complex—the chance wasn’t zero. It had been easy enough for him to have his secretary bring the weapon to his office for him, though. That was the sort of thing he’d been paying her six figures up until now to do, anyhow. He flicked the revolver back in the other direction, snapping the cylinder back into the frame and giving it a spin. Quality craftsmanship. His grandfather had always strove to sell the best, after all. A pony ahead of his time. Short Sell shook his head. Oh well. All good things came to an end, eventually. The stallion stood, glancing out the windows behind him. Fillydelphia wasn’t quite Manehatten, but its skyline was impressive nonetheless. The view from his executive office on the top floor overlooked the city center. The beating heart of Equestrian industry. Short Sell could feel a cold wind blow past him through the shattered glass. That same city center was little more than a massive, empty crater now—jagged towers of concrete and metal jutting upwards like massive, twisted pikes toward the darkened sky. Constant fires and smoke clouds billowed out from the buildings that hadn’t been flattened, the city itself bathed in a pulsing, green glow radiating outward from the point of impact. Short Sell glanced down at himself. His blue coat was mottled and dead looking, large sections of it burnt away to reveal cracked, radiation-scarred hide beneath. A faint glow permeated his form, similar to that which he could see pulsating in the city center. He wasn’t sure how he’d survived the explosion. Most ponies who'd been caught up in it seemed to have been vaporized by it or burnt beyond recognition. Even his secretary in the other room didn’t seem to have much time left. Her coughing over the last hour had been growing worse. The stallion shrugged, spinning the barrel in his hoof once more. Oh well. No use thinking too hard on it. Not like there was much value in figuring things out now, anyhow. He frowned, glancing down, shifting his hoof awkwardly around the revolver’s mouthgrip. That was one of the downsides of traditional pistols. Mouthgrips were far from a perfect means of handling firearms. Battle Saddles—or better yet, unicorns with proper training—opened up a lot more options for ease of use. Being an earth pony himself, though, his options were limited. Short Sell nodded as he managed to adjust his grip, his hoof pressing awkwardly against the trigger from below. Ah. There. The "lazy-hoof" grip. Just like his father had taught him. There were some earth pony trick shooters that specialized in it, actually. He remembered taking his daughter to see one once. When she was a filly. The stallion lifted his hoof, pressing the revolver to the side of his head. He wondered if she still remembered that. He smiled at the thought. If she still did, that would be nice. Straightening his tie one last time, he pulled the trigger. *** 4 - Open Wastes*** Ember Flare slammed her hoof down on the table. "What do you mean they said 'close off the skies?'" The pegasai mare's eyes blazed with anger, her yellow wings flaring out on either side of her. A few strands of her short, orange mane had fallen over one of her eyes, but she didn't acknowledge them. Her white construction helmet rocked to a stop on the floor a few hooves away, a dent in the wall where she'd thrown it a moment earlier. In front of her, the meek, gray figure of her assistant—Morning Breeze—winced, her long blue mane obscuring her face as she averted her eyes. She was dressed in the same white work shirt that her superior was—the standard uniform of all the workers at the Fillydelphia Regional Weather Factory. "Um...they...um...that—" Ember Flare growled, slamming her hoof down a second time on the cloudcraft table. It bent inwards slightly, wisps of mist rising up from the impact. "Do they have any idea what would happen to the surface if we did that? Of what's going on down there right now? It's hell down there, Breeze! Ponies are dying left and right! Do they know how many already died in the blast?" The gray pegasus winced in front of her, drawing her wings in tighter. "I...um...well...they said—" Flare shook her head. "Fuck that, Breeze. I'm not condemning those ponies down there to die." "...but...the orders—" "Those cloudfuckers can threaten us all they want, Breeze. This is my factory. If they want us to close up shop and abandon everypony still on the surface, they can pry the keys to this place from my hooves and do it themselves." "...but—" Ember Flare cursed, cutting the quieter mare off as she slammed her hoof down on the table again. Propping her forelegs up onto the surface, she held her forehead in her hooves, furrowing her brow. How could it have come to this? The fucking apocalypse? This was insane. Cloudsdale, Manehatten, Filly—it was gone. All of it. Instantly. Even Canterlot had fallen. The pegasai command structure was in chaos. The orders had been coming in non stop. Her workers had been working around the clock to send rainclouds down to quell the flaming streets in the city below, but the radiation from the blast had fucked up half their equipment. The fires were breaking out faster than they could handle them. Smoke was blotting out the sky. Fallout had already penetrated the lower levels of the cloud layer. It wouldn't be long before the clouds reached saturation and it started to fall back on the ponies still left below. "Fuck!" Flare ground her head into her hooves. She still hadn't heard back from Amethyst. Below. At the city's edge. Her message had gone through—somehow—after the blast, but the other mare hadn't picked up. "Hello, you've reached the office of Short Sell, Vice President of Operations for Ironshod Firearms, Fillydelphia Branch. We are unable to take your call at this moment. Please leave a message with your name and contact information and we'll see that we get back to you as soon as possible. Have a wonderful day!" Flare winced. Though she'd have usually smiled at the recording of her marefriend's voice, this time it had only managed to make her stomach sink further. She could still see the silhouette of the Ironshod corporate building from her office—still standing, just outside the blast radius—but it was dark. She'd seen one figure jump from the top floor an hour ago, tumbling head over hoof toward the pavement, but other than that, there had been no signs of movement. Flare shook her head. She could still be alive. There was a chance. Despite her pleasant smile and cheerful demeanor, Amethyst was the toughest pony Flare knew. Tougher than she was, even. Something she never would have admitted to before. Flare didn't know all of it—Amethyst's past, her former job, her current one—but she knew the unicorn wasn't your run-of-the-mill secretary. She was too perfect at everything. Always seemed to know more than she should. Though she hid it well, her eyes were always on the move. Studying. Watching. On the lookout. When they'd started spending time together, the purple unicorn had made it very clear she couldn't tell Flare everything. That being with her meant that there'd have to be some secrets. To be honest, Flare herself couldn't even be sure "Amethyst Maripone" was her real name. But for Flare, it didn't matter. Everything about Amethyst was mesmerizing. Breathtaking. The way she moved. Laughed. Talked. Her confidence. Her smile. The knowing, playful glint in her eye. It made Flare's legs weak. Made her heart pound. Brought a blush to her cheeks. Filled her with the sorts of feelings she'd always rolled her eyes at when other mares gossiped about their love lives. Secret agent. Spy. Assassin. Flare didn't care who Amethyst was. What she could or couldn't tell her. She just wanted to stay beside the unicorn—with her—for as long as she could. She'd never met anypony like her. Flare opened her eyes, staring down at the table. Paperwork was scattered across the desk, flung about in the midst of her earlier frustration. She could see authorization forms. Emergency checklists. Crude, hoof-written calculations estimating the impact of the blast on pressure differentials and the resulting wind patterns. She shook her head. No. As long as there was a chance Amethyst was still alive, she wouldn't do it. Closing off the clouds was a death sentence to those below. The fallout alone would kill any survivors in days if they didn't attempt to regulate it. The yellow pegasus raised a hoof toward her assistant. This wasn't the time to give in. "Morning Breeze, send a message back. Tell them we can't afford to close things off right now, not in the state things are in. We'll continue to provide assistance until somepony from the outside can—" Click. Flare glanced up at the sound, her eyes widening as she saw Morning Breeze staring back at her, a small, plastic-looking pistol gripped in the gray mare's wings. There were tears in the mare's eyes, her shoulders shaking. Her wingtips were wrapped around the trigger. Flare could feel her mouth go dry. She tried to speak, suddenly finding it difficult. "Breeze. What are you—" Flare could see the quiet pegasus immediately flinch, tears starting to roll down her face in full as her voice cracked. "I'm sorry! They—they said—if we refused orders, that they would—that everypony here would be—and our families—" Flare's eyes widened again. She could see the gray mare's wing's shaking, her grip on the trigger tensing. Her tears were falling to the floor now, sinking into it as the cloudcraft tiling absorbed the moisture. Flare's eyes slowly shifted from the mare, to her desk, to the plumes of smoke rising from Fillydelphia out the window at her side. Despite the sound of sirens and alarms in the distance, everything seemed to go quiet for a moment. To slow. She could hear her own heartbeat echoing in her ears. Bump-bump. Bump-bump. Amethyst. Flare's eyes slowly turned to meet those of her assistant once more. She tried to speak again, her voice hoarse. "Breeze. Wait. Please...I...we—" The gray pegasus in front of her flinched again, a faint sob escaping her lips as she met Flare's gaze. "...I'm sorry." There was a flash of red light, and then darkness. *** 5 - City Center*** “Zoel. Sister. Your eyes. They wander. / Do tell this one what they ponder.” Zoel blinked, her focus slowly coming back to her. She shook her head. Her short cropped, striped mane shifted as she turned, bristles waving in the cool air. “Forgive me, dear sister mine. / Nothing serious—mere thoughts benign.” Zoel's eyes met the zebra mare who had called her name. The image of her elder sister, Zira, stared back at her, her black braids hanging down on either side of her face from beneath the red mane-tie encircling her forehead. Zira replied with a nod, meeting Zoel's gaze. Zira's green eyes were piercing as always—her thin, gold hoop earrings dangling from beneath her ears as she moved. Zoel watched them. For most missions, her sister would have dressed less conspicuously. But given the nature of the task they had been entrusted with, such dress had been permitted. Zira motioned to the area around them. “Good words these are, to my ear. / Stay sharp, my sister, and do not fear.” Zoel nodded, watching Zira turn back to the other hunters. Six of them, including Zoel and Zira, were currently spread out against the back wall of the underground parking complex. The shadowed frames of the wagons and carriages parked around them offered ample cover. Zoel’s eyes traveled down the back of her sister’s form. Despite the dark, black stealth cloak she wore over her shoulders, the scars along the back of her sister's neck were still visible. Old scars. Many of which Zoel shared. Zoel shook her head again, adjusting her grip on the rifle in her hooves. She turned her attention back to the entrance of the parking complex. Their hunting party had been left to watch the back entrance to the maintenance tunnels that ran beneath the building. It was their job to ensure no ponies stumbled across them. Zoel wiped the sweat from her brow. Even now, she could hear them—the sound of carriages and ponies moving across the busy streets above. She’d never been in a pony city of this size before. The buildings here dwarfed those of the village she had been raised in. The sheer number of voices she could hear at any given point in time was dizzying. Zoel shook her head again. If the enemy discovered their movements before their compatriots could finish, everything they had done up until now would be for nothing. They would hold the back line with their lives, if they had to. A trickle of sweat ran down Zoel's forehead. Failure. It wasn’t an option. Zoel glanced down at her rifle, her eyes passing over the small, paper talisman she had tied around its stock—an allowance the elders had allowed her for this mission. The black glyphs on the slip of paper were crudely drawn. The writing of a foal. It had been a gift from their younger brother. The last gift he’d given them before he had been killed. Zoel's eyes shifted back to Zira. Even now, Zoel remembered the look on her sister's face when they had received the news. The look of rage in her eyes when the Equestrians had declared the massacre an “accident.” The war had broken out soon after that. Zoel and her sister had spent those long years fighting at each others' sides ever since. Even now, Zoel could still remember her brother’s face. His smile. His kind, innocent nature. She watched as the paper talisman shifted in the breeze. He would never smile again for them. Not for Zoel. Not for Zira. Blinking again, Zoel’s eyes caught sight of movement. She realized she’d let her mind wander again. Looking down her rifle's sights, she could see two figures emerging at the base of the stairwell near the parking ramp entrance. It was a pink unicorn mare and filly, the two smiling and talking with one another, a small bundle of shopping bags hovering in the air beside them. Zoel’s eyes went wide, her gaze drawn to the filly. She couldn’t be more than six summers old. The same age her brother had been when he was taken from them. Zoel could feel her shoulders stiffen. Her hoof tensed against the trigger—her eyes still locked on the smaller of the two figures. Both were trotting in Zoel’s direction now. Toward both her and the rest of the hunting party at the mouth of the maintenance tunnel. She could see the filly glance up at the mare's side. "Can I come shopping with you next time, too, Mama?" "Of course, dear. You're such a good little shopper these days. Mama is very proud of you." The mare tousled the filly's mane. The filly giggled. Zoel could feel another bead of sweat drip down her brow. Her hooves were frozen in place. Breathing was suddenly difficult. Her cloak felt tight around her neck. Her hooves wouldn't move. Fchip! Fchip! Two spouts of red blood erupted from the sides of the two ponies' heads, the mare and filly crumpling to the pavement below. The bags the mare had been levitating at her side dropped as well, groceries and papers spilling out onto the lot. Zoel turned. Zira stood on her back hooves at Zoel's side, the silenced pistol in her hoof still smoking at the barrel. The older mare's gaze betrayed no signs emotion, her lips drawn into a thin line at the end of her muzzle. For a moment, Zoel could feel her shoulders tense. Her sister’s piercing eyes looked cold. Dead. Empty. Zoel tensed again as those same eyes shifted in her direction. Zira blinked once—twice—her eyes returning to normal as she nodded toward the two fallen figures. “With haste, sister—to their sides fast! / Ensure for us the danger’s passed.” Zoel nodded, lifting her rifle from the hood of the carriage in front of her. Glancing back and forth for any other signs of movement, she drew her hood up, darting forward through the shadows. She arrived at the sides of the two ponies quickly. Both the mare and filly were very much dead—identical bullet holes staring back at Zoel from each of their foreheads. Blood had already began pooling beneath their heads and necks, their bodies cold. Unmoving. Zoel uncloaked, waving a hoof back toward her sister. She could see Zira nod to the other hunters, motioning for them to continue their watch as she started in Zoel's direction. Zoel glanced back down at the bodies at her hooves, her eyes slowly drifting back to the smaller of the two. She could feel the tightness in her chest return. The filly’s glassy eyes stared dimly forward—her lips faintly parted. Her yellow mane and pink coat were spattered with blood. A small, stuffed rabbit lay at her hooves where it had fallen from her grasp. It had a small, blue bow with a nametag attached to it, the lettering on the tag written in the messy hoofwriting of a foal. Zoel’s eyes shifted to the talisman on her rifle. Back to the motionless filly. She could feel a small, sinking pit forming in her stomach. What were they even doing anymore? Had she and her sister not been fighting to prevent the slaughter of more innocent lives like this one? Or had it all been for vengeance? Blood for blood? Lives to pay for lives lost? Zoel closed her eyes. She didn't know anymore. The image and voice of her younger brother—laughing, smiling—echoed through her thoughts. She shook her head. She didn't know anymore. She didn't know. Was what they were doing right anymore? Was what they were doing truly protecting their own? She shook her head. She knew the Equestrians were their enemies. She was not so naïve as to hold hope that they weren't. Their Princesses spoke of peace, but the actions of their citizens and soldiers said otherwise. She had seen some of the villages their forces had laid waste to. Burned. Smoldering. Corpses of the young and old there reduced to ash. Countless other foals like her brother, silenced. Never to stir again. Never to laugh. Never to smile. The elders said the Equestrians were tainted. Greedy. Corrupt. That their worship of the Nightmare Demon would lead the world to ruin. That, if they were not stopped, the fighting would never cease. The taking of innocent lives would never stop. Zoel’s eyes fell onto the filly once more. But at what cost did it all come? This filly had done nothing wrong. Instead, she had been taken, like her brother, at the hooves of someone she’d never met in a conflict she knew nothing about. Zoel could hear hoof-falls come to a stop beside her. Glancing down at the bodies, and then back at Zoel, Zira offered her a nod. “Fortunately for them, it would seem, / the end came quickly, as if a dream.” Zira nodded again, placing a hoof on Zoel's shoulder. Her elder sister offered her a reassuring smile—the sort of smile Zoel remembered seeing on her face when they were young. It was different, somehow, though. Too casual. Too relaxed. The Zira she had known from before the war would never have smiled like that with a dead mother and foal bleeding out at their hooves. The Zira before her now, however, nodded again, patting Zoel’s shoulder. “Fret not, sister, the time is near. / Soon our salvation will be here.” Zoel nodded slowly. Taking a breath. Steeling herself. This was for her sister. Her clan. For all the young foals like her brother in zebra lands. This war would not end on its own. If they failed here, the killing would only continue until there was no one left. Zebra or pony. Adult or foal. Zoel could see Zira glance back toward the other hunters, her own eyes moving to follow her sister's gaze. She could see one of the hunters listening to the whispering talisman affixed to his ear, raising his hooves over his head in a circle a moment later before nodding back toward the maintenance tunnel behind them. Zoel could see Zira’s eyes widen at once, an almost fanatical smile breaking across her sister's muzzle. Turning back to Zoel, Zira lifted her hooves to Zoel's shoulders once more, meeting the younger mare's gaze. “Sister! Sister! Do you see? / The time is at hoof for you and me!” Zoel tensed as Zira leaned forward, pressing her forehead against Zoel's and closing her eyes. “At long last, our road, we’ve paved—” Zoel could feel Zira's hooves wrap around her shoulders, her sister's voice dropping to a weak whisper. “—now our brother’s memory will be saved.” Zoel stood in the midst of her sister’s embrace, her hooves firmly locked in place beneath her. Her eyes passed back over the pink mare and filly at their side. The spreading pools of blood beneath them had begun to mingle, bathing the pavement beneath them in red. At the side of the unicorn mare, Zoel could see a small stack of developed photographs that had fallen out from one of the bags. One rested on the top of the pile amidst the lake of blood, the image of the mare and filly along with two others—an older, gray pegasus stallion and a younger, gray pegasus mare—staring back up at her. For a brief moment, Zoel could see herself and her siblings in the picture—Zira and herself standing on either side of their brother in between—the vision fading as she blinked. Reaching up with her own hooves, Zoel returned her sister’s embrace. She could hear the rising voices of the other hunters behind them, a general sense of excitement building in the air. The pit in Zoel's stomach, however, hadn't disappeared. She glanced down at the rifle at her side, taking in the sight of the paper talisman once more. A memory drifted back into her mind. One of her brother's face when she'd awoken from a bad dream of her own when they were young. "Sister? Sister? Are you alright? / Did something happen to you tonight?" She smiled softly at the small talisman. Her brother had been shaking when he'd asked her that. He'd still been afraid of the dark, back then. She shook her head, whispering toward the small paper. “Fear not the darkness, little brother, fear not the moon—“ Her eyes shifted back to Zira, her elder sister's hooves still wrapped around her neck. Zoel closed her eyes. The voices of the other hunters had grown louder. She could hear a crackle of spiritual energy echo from the maintenance tunnel. The hairs on the back of her neck began to stand on end. She whispered to the talisman once more. “—Just wait for us, little brother. We’ll be with you—” There was a blinding flash of white light. "—soon." *** 2 - Ruined Highway*** “Private Cherry Rain! Are you listening?” The cream colored unicorn mare jumped, her back going rigid as she threw her hoof up in salute. She could feel her helmet slide down another inch over her bright red mane. “Yes—yes, sir! Sergeant Haze—sir!” She immediately closed her eyes, fighting the urge to facehoof. Princess fucker. Why did she always flub the response? Looking up, she could see the gray earth stallion trot forward in her direction, an irritated scowl set beneath his buzz cut mane and helmet. He was only a few years older than Cherry herself—thirty at the high end—but he everpresent furrow in his wrinkled brow made it easy to mistake him for a pony closer to forty. Cherry furrowed her own brow at the thought. Served him right. That’s what he got for bitching at her all the time. “Is that a scowl on your face, Private?” Cherry’s eyes widened. She hadn’t meant to make that face while he was looking. “No! Sergeant—sir!” “Right.” The stallion trotted straight up to Cherry, glaring down at her from a hoof away. She winced as he tapped a hoof against her chest. “Did you hear what I told you, Private?” Cherry winced again. “Sorry, sir! No, sir!” He tapped her chest again. Harder this time. “I said pay attention, Rain. Our rearguard can’t be daydreaming! Keep those eyes on the treeline!” “Yes, sir!” “Next time I see those eyes drift, your rations are halved for the next two days. Even if we do make it back to base. Do I make myself clear, Private?” “Yes, sir!” “Good.” Pulling his hoof back, the stallion turned, nodding to the rest of the squad as he trotted back toward the center. Cherry could hear a couple snickers as he left the back—several of her squadmates throwing smirks in her direction. She averted her eyes in irritation, feeling the warmth rising in her cheeks. Celestia this was stupid. The whole soldier act. They were still in Equestria, for crying out loud. Sure it was the middle of nowhere—there was nothing but forest this far west of Neighagra Falls—but it wasn't like they’d been deployed at the border or out of the country. The only reason they were out here was because there’d been rumors that some hikers might have stumbled across remnants of a zebra camp while passing through the forest. They'd spent the last two and a half months searching for the stupid thing and still came up short. It wasn’t like they were going to find anything now. “You really enjoy getting under his hide, don’t you?” Cherry glanced up, shooting the turquoise unicorn at her side a flat stare. “It’s not like I’m trying to, Glow. I swear he has it out for me.” “Well, to be fair, you were spacing out.” “Don’t you start on me, too.” The mare laughed. Cherry rolled her eyes. She and Aqua Glow had known each other since gradeschool. Glow's family had moved to Canterlot from a suburb of Manehatten—Mareford—when she was six. Her grandfather ran a laundromat there. Glow still visited him from time to time. Aqua and her were always like this, though. It was their thing. Their dynamic. Aqua was the type of pony that seemed to fit in anywhere. She was capable. Friendly. As much as Cherry admired that part of her, it was frustrating sometimes. Haze never barked at her for losing her focus or dozing off. Cherry sighed, glancing up as Glow started forward and following her lead. It was thanks to Glow she’d made it this far, though. Through basic. Even with the “abridged” program the Ministries had put into effect for the time being—they were taking almost anypony these days—Cherry doubted she’d have made it through on her own. Not that she'd particularly wanted to be a soldier, or anything. But it wasn’t like she was good at anything else. What kind of special purpose was a picture of cherry flavored raindrops supposed to signify, anyways? Nothing marketable—that was for sure. Cherry shook her head. At least they were heading back to Canterlot, for the time being. Their platoon had stayed out in the forest for a week after comms had gone down. They’d heard about the missile strikes on Canterlot—the fact the Princesses had put up their barriers to stop them. It wasn’t too surprising that they hadn’t received any other transmissions immediately after that. Barriers like that had a way of interfering with most weaker signals. The terrain here didn’t help either. Too many mountains and ravines. The fact it had been almost a month since they'd heard anything was odd, though. As was the weather. Cloudsdale was usually visible from where they were now. It had been so cloudy the last few weeks that they still hadn’t caught sight of it, though. In fact, they hadn’t seen a ray of sunlight since they’d started the march back. Cherry clicked her tongue. The fuck were the pegasai doing? Weren’t they in charge of things like that? Controlling the weather? Relaying messages when ground forces were tied up? Couldn’t they at least respond to their transmissions? Even above the cloud cover, Cloudsdale had to be in range of their radios. She knew the pegasai were stuck up, but this was ridiculous. “Hey ponies, we’ve got blacktop ahead.” Cherry lifted her gaze as a couple shouts rose from her squadmates further ahead. She could see most of them grinning. A few of them exchanged hoof bumps. The sight of the road itself was just ahead of them—faded blacktop, silver guardrails, and a gaudy billboard advertising Sparkle Cola Quantum! in the distance. Cherry sighed in relief. The highway. Thank Celestia. They were finally out of the fucking forest. She didn’t care if she never saw another tree again in her life. “Quiet down, soldiers. We may be outta the woods, but we’re not home yet.” Cherry winced as Haze’s voice called back toward the rear—fortunately not just directed at her this time, though. She could see the stallion raise a hoof, signaling for them to hold as he nodded to Glow at Cherry's side. “Private Glow, can you call for a sitrep from First Squadron? They were supposed to call back when they came up roadside.” The turquoise unicorn nodded, saluting as she shifted the portable radio on her back to her hooves. “Yes, sir!” “Good." The stallion turned toward the four ponies at the front of the formation. "Alpha team. You break off ahead. Head toward that sign. Keep an eye out for any sign of First Squadron. I don’t like the fact we haven’t heard from them.” “Yes, sir!” Alpha's shouts echoed in unison, the four ponies setting off down the road. Cherry frowned when she realized Haze was hanging back with her and the others—his serious eyes scanning the treeline with intent. To be honest, it made sense. Bravo team was all newbies. Herself. Glow. Spark. Rose. She still didn’t like feeling she was being babysat, though. “Parasprite Platoon, First Squadron. This is Private Aqua Glow of Second Squadron. Do you copy?” Cherry glanced back over to Glow at her side. She could see her friend fiddling with the dials of the radio, frowning as nothing but static came back. It was an old model transmitter—equipment from the early days of the war. Clunky. Poor range. Virtually indestructible. With production issues being what they were these days, though, third string platoons like theirs couldn't hope to see much better. “Parasprite Platoon, First Squadron. This is Private Aqua Glow of Second Squadron. Do you copy?” No answer. Cherry could see Glow glance back up, shaking her head. Haze frowned from a few hooves away, turning back to the rest of the group. “First Squadron’s gone dark. We’re moving up, regardless.” Cherry clicked her teeth. Luna humper. She’d been hoping they’d be able to rest for a few minutes. Her hooves were killing her. Rising from her haunches, she could see Haze nod to the pink earth mare at the front of their group. The cross and butterflies of the Ministry of Peace stared back from her helmet. “Rose, stay on point. Keep your eyes open for any sign of First. Watch for direction from Alpha. Cherry Rain—” Cherry winced as the stallion narrowed his eyes in her direction. “Keep an eye on our asses this time, understood?” “Yes...sir.” “Private Rain!” “Yes, sir!” Cherry held her salute as Haze turned, the other ponies in Bravo rising to their hooves as well. With a sigh, she dropped her hoof to the ground, bringing her own rifle up on her battle saddle. She could still see Alpha a hundred hooves down the road—eyes surveying their surroundings as they made their way down the highway. She shook her head, following after them. Celestia, this was dumb. They’d finally made it back to civilization, and here they were acting like they were still on a mission. Canterlot was practically around the corner. She sighed again, glancing down at her hooves. A greasy hayburger. A hot shower. A comfy bed. As soon as they made it back to the city, she was taking the day for herself, no matter what Haze had to say about it. Whumph. “Ghmmph!” Cherry screwed her eyes shut as she suddenly ran into the pony ahead of her—Glow again—her face smacking square into the mare’s flank. Struggling to keep her balance as she tried not to trip, Cherry pulled back, spitting out a mouthful of dark blue tail. “Geh—Glow! Tell me when you’re going to stop like that!” “Cherry.” Cherry raised an eyebrow, glancing up at the mare in front of her. Glow’s voice sounded distant for some reason. Dazed. Craning her neck to the side, Cherry could see the turquoise mare staring southward, her eyes wide despite the vacant expression that had settled over her face. “Glow?” Glancing forward, Cherry could see the other ponies in Bravo staring in the same direction. Further down the road, the ponies of Alpha appeared to have stopped in their tracks as well. Cherry tilted her head, following their gazes with her own. What was going on with them? It was like they were possessed. Even Haze was staring like some sort of— Cherry stopped cold, her eyes settling on the sight in the distance. No. No way. No. Cherry blinked. This wasn’t happening. Above the treeline, Cherry could see the familiar sight of the purple mountain atop which sat Equestria's crown. Canterlot. The capital. A city of white and gold spires that pointed proudly toward the sky. Visible for miles in all directions. Her home. Where she and Glow had grown up. Gone to school. Graduated. Where their families lived. Everything in the city was pink. Cherry had seen pink skies over Canterlot before. Wonderbolt skywriting. Ministry of Morale fireworks shows. Sunrises and sunsets where the sun hit the sky just right. This wasn’t like any of those. This wasn’t like any of those at all. The city itself was shrouded in a bilious, churning pink cloud beneath the overcast sky—the silhouette of the rooftops and castle spire barely visible. Plumes of the sickly miasma poured off the mountainside toward the valley below—running off the edges of the city like a misty waterfall before dissipating into the air. The actual waterfall was tinged with the same, unnatural shade of pink—pouring down like some sort of nauseating, bubble-gum colored river of blood. Cherry had heard about some of the weapons used on the Zebrican fronts. Clouds of gas that would flood onto the battlefield. Suffocate soldiers’ lungs. Melt their skin. Send streams of blood trailing from their eyes. Wipe out a whole company in minutes. Ponies said the clouds were brightly colored. Pretty even, at a distance. A twisted joke, given their purpose. The more unassuming and cheerful the color, the more hellish the effect. Cherry blinked again as her eyes traced over the Canterlot skyline. What she could see of it. Pink. It was all pink. “Heh...heh heh.” Cherry could hear herself laugh. No. This was a joke. A prank. Somepony from their squadron—or maybe somepony from First—was playing a trick on them. Silver Sorbet in First was a tactical cover specialist, wasn’t he? He could make images appear in front of ponies, couldn’t he? Cherry laughed again. Good one, Sorbet. She’d gotten him. And the rest of Second Squadron. Even Haze. Good one, Sorbet. Good joke. Good prank. Seriously, though. That was enough. Cherry could feel wet lines starting to roll down her cheeks. She lifted a hoof to them, glancing down in surprise. Tears? That was weird. Why was she crying over a prank? A joke? She wasn't a filly anymore. Krakow! Veeeowpths. Thud. Splat. Cherry turned to her right. A few steps ahead of her and Glow, she could see Comet Spark suddenly fall forward, his rifle clattering to his side as his hooves went limp. Cherry blinked. There was red pooling around the ground beneath the stallion's head. His eyes were wide. Unblinking. There was a hole in his helmet the size of a closed hoof. Cherry blinked again. “Comet?” Cherry tilted her head, glancing behind her. Scanning the forest. She blinked a third time, staring dimly as a rustle of movement sounded from the brush at her left. “GET DOWN!” Haze’s shout met Cherry’s ears a half second before the gunfire did, the still scene in front of her shifting into a chaotic jumble of screams and explosions in an instant. Rat-tat! Rat-tat-tat! Rat-tat! Pffew! Pffew! Pffew! Ballistic weapons. Talisman rifles. On either flank. Black and white figures erupting from the treeline en masse. Cherry’s eyes widened in panic—her body going rigid. Only one word came to mind. Ambush. “Cherry!” Cherry’s eyes whipped to the side as she saw one of the black and white figures burst from the stand of trees beside her—its striped cheeks lined with red warpaint as it swung the barrel of its rifle up in her direction. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Glow scrambling to bring up her own weapon at the same time, the eyes of the attacker rapidly switching targets. Rat-tat-tat! Cherry could feel a splatter of warmth against her face, three hoof sized holes erupting in Glow’s chestpiece as she jerked backwards from the impact. There was an electric sizzle as the radio on her back sparked and shrieked—the bullets tearing clean through—a wet thud sounding as the unicorn collapsed at Cherry’s hooves. Her amber eyes were vacant. Red blood trickled out from her mouth. Cherry immediately vomited. Her morning rations splattered out onto her hooves, covering them in warm bile. The barrel of he attacker’s rifle swung back in her direction, one eye closed as it stared down the sights. Rat-tat! A burst of crimson erupted outwards from the side of the attacker's head beneath its helmet—the figure crumpling to the ground in a heap. A half second later, Cherry felt somepony plow into her from the side, shoving her to the ground against the metal guardrail at the highway's edge. “I said get down, Private Rain!” Cherry’s bleary gaze rose in Haze’s direction, the stallion crouched over her as he returned fire from behind the metal railing at her side. She could see his brow furrowed in intensity, streaks of sweat running down the sides of his face. There were blood spatters on his fatigues—blood that wasn't his—the smell of iron filling Cherry’s nostrils. She vomited again. Rat-tat! Rat-tat-tat! Rat-tat! Pffew! Pffew! Cherry’s eyes shifted back toward the road, her expression vacant. Aimless. Beyond Glow’s motionless corpse, she could see the rest of the squadron making for the edge of the road in either direction—ricocheting bullets and beams of light arcing across the scene. She could see Summer Rose—the other mare from Bravo—leap over the guardrail on the opposite side of the street, shouting out in surprise as another figure darted from the brush, no weapons in its grip. There was the sound of heavy hooves impacting flesh as the mare pitched forward—a pained gasp escaping her lips as the wind was knocked out of her. The striped figure didn't hesitate, slipping behind her, throwing its hooves around her neck and wrenching it to the side with a sickening snap. Farther down the road, Alpha was trading fire with a group of attackers that had split off in their direction. Three of the striped figures crumpled to the ground as the ponies in the street coordinated their fire, prompting a second charge from another group of attackers that had been using the first as a distraction. Cherry could see the two groups break across each other like crashing waves, the ponies of Alpha shouting out in panic as they tried to reach for the combat knives at their sides. Struggle ensued as the attackers leapt forward with hooves and knives of their own—grunts of effort and screams of pain echoing down the street. Cherry could see one of the Alpha mares ignite as a stray talisman bolt arced down from the treeline, catching her in the side. Her shriek pierced the gray air as she was burned alive. It was hell. Tat. Rat-tat. Rat-tat-tat. Cherry's eyes shifted back to Haze, the stallion holding his ground as he continued to lay down fire over the edge of the guardrail. The enemy forces that hadn't moved up on Alpha were hanging back—keeping to the treeline after Haze had managed to take out one of their own. Each explosion from the stallion's rifle was deafening—Cherry’s ears ringing amid the haze and smell of gunpowder. Spent casings clinked against the ground on all sides of her. One landed on her neck, searing her hide beneath her coat. Cherry screamed, bringing her hooves to her head as she began to rock back and forth. Zebras? Here? Where had they come from? Had they been following them this whole time? Why hadn’t anypony noticed anything? She could feel a cold realization trickle down her spine. She’d been on rearguard. She was supposed to be the one watching for them. Her eyes widened. It was her fault. Cherry vomited again. Or tried to. This time nothing came out. Rat-tat. Rat-tat-tat. Rat-tat. She coughed as she felt Haze shove her farther into the blacktop, the stallion cursing as he glanced down in her direction. “Keep your head down, Private! That’s an order!” Cherry didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Why was this happening? Why were there zebras here? Why were they attacking? “Fucking zeebs!” Cherry’s eyes darted back down the road. She could see Jackpot, the biggest stallion in their squad, throw back one of the zebras that had jumped up onto his back, slamming them onto the ground with his powerful hooves. There was a sickening splurch as he dove in with the knife clamped in his muzzle, gouts of red splashing across his coat as he ran his blade into the zebra’s neck over and over again. Two more zebras rushed forward on either side of him, one throwing a length of wire around his neck as the other attempted to take his hooves out from under him. The gold stallion bellowed in pain, the three tumbling to the ground in a writhing pile of shouts, curses, heavy kicks, and breaking bone. Lines of rifle fire erupted from both sides—from the zebras and Alpha team—the two zebras and Jackpot thrashing wildly and then going still as their bodies were riddled with bullets. Cherry squeezed her eyes shut, clamping her hooves over her ears as Haze rained down more fire from above. What the fuck was happening? If Canterlot was gone, why were they still fighting? They were all already fucked. Everypony was. It was all over. All of it. Everything. She cried out as she heard a ricochet plink off the guardrail above her. Why were they still shooting, then!? Why were they still fighting!? It didn’t make any sense! Tap tap-tap. Cherry’s eyes opened as she heard something drop onto the ground a few hooves away. Through her blurry, tear-filled vision, she could see a green, lemon shaped metal object roll to a stop on the blacktop. She could see Haze turn at the same time, his eyes going wide. "Private—" Everything went white. Black. White. Black. Cherry blinked. Blinked again. What was going on? Where was she? Why was she suddenly looking up at the sky? She shifted on her back, her eyes struggling to focus on the grayness above. The sounds of gunfire she could hear were muffled. Distant. Her mouth tasted like iron. Her spinning head drifted down to her side. She could see pavement all around her. Blacktop. Why was she in the middle of the road now? How long had she been out? Had the zebras pulled back? Where was Haze— The mare’s eyes widened as they met the figure beside her. She could see the gray stallion staring up at her, his forelegs wrapped around her barrel, his open eyes glassy and vacant. His helmet had fallen to the ground at his side, blood seeping out from shrapnel wounds along his neck and face. His lower half rested ten hooves away, entrails spilling out onto the blacktop below. Cherry could feel the same warmth spilling out across her flanks. Her hindlegs. Cherry screamed again. Shrieked. Kicked frantically at the dead pony blown apart at her hooves. White hot pain erupted all over her body—catching up with her now, her stupor broken. Cuts. Shards. Dozens of them. Hundreds. The muscles along her back and side were fully exposed, blood streaming in rivulets from her ears, mouth, nose and eyes. One of her legs wasn’t moving. Gunfire. Shrieks. Shouts from ponies. Shouts in a language she didn’t know. Another distant explosion. Another flash. More shrapnel raining down on her from above. It wouldn't stop. It wouldn't end. Primal, overwhelming terror seized her. She could feel new warmth spreading between her legs amid the cutting pain. Coughing up blood—once, twice—she opened her mouth. And screamed. And screamed. And screamed. ***
1 - Abandoned Laundromat*** Cobalt Meadow's eyes opened to the sight of empty darkness and the sound of distant screams. Morning. Again. Not that it mattered anymore. The brown buck lifted his head, shifted to the edge of the mattress beneath him, and promptly vomited. The liquid trickling from his mouth was almost transparent—thin, watery—his throat catching as the dry heaves quickly took over. His chest hurt. Ached. He couldn’t breathe. But the convulsions wouldn’t stop. He could feel his vision blur, his sense of balance thrown off. He fell to the floor. Clang. Splurch. The dented pail he’d set beside the bed tipped over from the impact—the bile inside spilling out onto the floor at his hooves. He continued to heave regardless, the mess he’d made in the process lost on him. His memories flashed back to his life two weeks prior. A third floor apartment in a high rise in Mareford. A new position at Four Stars as a customer service rep. A steady paycheck for the first time since he’d graduated—more bits than he knew what to do with. He’d made the move a month ago. From Baltimare. His parents hadn’t wanted him to go. He wondered if they were still alive. With one last heave—a strand of spittle dribbling across his parched lips—the convulsions subsided, the buck inhaling sharply. His lungs twitched at the sudden influx of air. He found himself coughing—once, twice—his struggle for breath immediately resuming. “Fucking...fuck...” He could feel the corners of his eyes grow hot with frustration. Feel the wet tears running down his cheeks. After another minute, the hacking subsided, his vision watery. He could see specks of red on the floor in front of him. “Mom...Dad...” Rat-tat. Rat-tat-tat. Rat-tat. He could hear distant gunshots. Outside. In quick succession. A chorus of cries and shrieks followed suit. Pained. Panicked. Old. Young. Mares. Stallions. At this distance, he was almost numb to it. The sounds of violence in the background were almost constant. The rioting. The looting. The roars and bellows of feral, radiation-scarred ponies that had come running in droves from the city center. Wanton violence. Anarchy. Chaos. He’d heard ponies saying it had been worse across the bridge. Far worse. From the screams he’d heard the first week—the hellish columns of flame he'd seen rising into the sky—he believed it. The sight of the still-smoldering hole in the Manehatten skyline was harrowing. Overwhelming. Enough to make him sick all over again. Ministry vertibucks—those left after the the skies had been closed off—were a constant presence. Rockets from below would occasionally arc upwards in their direction, sending them spiraling into the streets below in balls of flame. The tinny voices of ministry power troops accompanied the explosions from time to time. Sometimes telling citizens to vacate. Other times laying down fire on roving gangs of looters. Or stampeding mobs of panicked ponies. Sometimes both. Another slew of automatic fire rang out. This one closer. Cobalt could hear a number of feral growls and screams, a raspy voice breaking over both. “No! Wait! I’m not like them! Nothing is wrong with me! Help! I need—” Another spray of gunfire drowned the voice out. Cobalt grabbed at his temples with his hooves, his eyes going wide. His chest ached. He’d begun to hyperventilate. More gunfire. More piercing screams. The breaking of glass close by. Across the street. Cobalt closed his eyes, hooves digging deeper into the sides of his head. The bruises and burn marks on his hide scraped painfully against the floor. He’d locked himself in the back room of the laundromat when the bombs fell. He’d bucked the owner in the head when the older stallion had tried to force him out. He could still remember the sound the unicorn’s skull had made when it hit the wall. The closed room hadn’t kept him safe from the fallout, though. The building was made of brick, but drafty. Leaking air in some places. He hadn't realized that when he bucked the door handle shut. There were bloody hoofprints on the metal door frame where he’d attempted to free himself since. He'd eaten all the food in the first week. The water was gone now, too. What rain he’d been able to collect from the small window above the bed was flecked with gray ash. It almost burned to drink. He’d been vomiting daily since resorting to it. His throat tasted like iron from the repeated exposure. The sounds of gunfire ceased, the cries and shouts fading into the background. Cobalt could hear the tinny echo of a distant radio broadcast, a crackling, patriotic tune echoing across the city streets. The soldiers passing through had managed to gain access to the Ministry of Morale’s “Population Party Speakers”—those that were still functioning, at least. “Citizens of Equestria. This is Major Violet Breeze of the Ministry of Wartime Technology. Do not be alarmed. Do not despair. Though things may look bleak, there is hope for Equestria, yet.” Cobalt let out another whimper as the sound of gunfire resumed again—laser fire joining it this time. Distorted. Unyielding. Tzzkt! Tzzkt! Tzzkt-tzzkt! The sound of explosives rocked the side of the building a moment later—rockets, grenades—the floor beneath him shaking as a commemorative plate fell from the shelf above him and onto the floor. Katssh! The buck could feel the ceramic shards spray over him, one embedding itself into his hide and drawing blood. He let out another sick sounding cry—a wail—burying his head into the floor. His eyes were wide. He could barely breathe. His hooves were clamped over his ears, desperately trying to drown out the sounds. Dark splotches had formed at the edge of his vision. Mom. Dad. Why had he ever come here? Why had he ever left them? Why had this happened? Why? Why!? Carrying on despite the buck’s tears and the screams around him, the voice continued, its words calm and even amid the rising panic in the streets. "Do not worry, my little ponies. The situation is under control. Ministry personnel are coming to assist you as we speak.” Batoom! Katssh! Tkzzt! “Remember, Equestrians. We are a nation of hope. And where there is hope, there is friendship—" “Stop! No! Please!” "—And where there is friendship—” “Daddy!?” "Sunny!" Tzzkt! Tzzkt! Tzzkt-tzzkt! “—there is peace.” ***
3 - Empty Office*** Short Sell sighed, adjusting the red tie around his neck. It didn't seem to want to lay flat, no matter how hard he tried. Fiddling with it for a few more moments, he let it drop, shaking his head. Deciding to come back to it later, he reached across the desk with a hoof, pressing down on the small button next to the speaker that had been built into the mahogany panel. “Miss Maripone?” The tinny sound of a mare's voice on the other side of the intercom crackled to life. “Yes, Mr. Sell?” “Cancel all my appointments for the day.” “Yes, Mr. Sell. Right away.” “Thank you, Miss Maripone.” The mare on the other end of the intercom coughed once before breaking the connection. The blue earth stallion didn’t comment on it, sighing as he leaned back into his chair. It had been one of those days. The leather felt cool beneath him, though. Comfortable. Padded. It had cost him a small fortune, after all. He ran a hoof across the wrinkles beneath his eyes. Through his graying mane. He wasn’t a young stallion anymore, that much was certain. Those days were well behind him. It had been over two decades since he’d taken over the family business—Quick Sell Firearms & Ordnance. Granted, the industry had changed pretty substantially since his grandfather’s time. Even since his father’s. Firearms weren’t just oddities that hobbyists used from time to time anymore. For sport shooting or custom order confetti canons. They were weapons of war, now. Munitions. Demand in recent years had doubled. Tripled. Quadrupled. And then doubled again. Allowing the company to get absorbed into Ironshod had been the right call. He’d seen more than a few of his colleagues from the early days—other, small scale munitions dealers—driven to bankruptcy and snapped up for loose bits. Getting in with the big ponies as early as he had—it was probably the only reason he hadn’t ended up out of a job himself. Instead, he’d worked his way to Vice President of Operations in Ironshod's Fillydelphia Branch. About as lucrative a position as a pony could hope for. He could count on his hooves the number of ponies in the company that had a higher annual salary than he did. There were probably only another dozen or so in Equestria outside of that. He’d peaked. Made all the bits he’d ever hoped for. Twice over. And then some. He leaned forward, resting his hooves on the desk. He couldn’t help but feel he’d gotten a little lost somewhere along the way, though. He’d been ambitious in his youth, sure, but coin had never been the driving factor. It wasn't something he hadn't enjoyed, of course, but accolades had been the primary draw. The promise of challenge. Becoming his own stallion. He remembered how he’d felt when his father patted him on the back after closing a sale when he first started working. It wasn’t until the acquisition that his goals had changed. When he’d seen the raw numbers of bits flowing in—all the zeroes that were there and could be there in the future—something in him had changed. There'd been a constant feeling of discomfort. Want. Dissatisfaction with what he had. He’d pushed. Shoved. Schemed. Plotted. Sold out those that got in his way. His wife had divorced him a few years back as well, leaving with their daughter in tow. At the time, he honestly hadn’t cared that much—two less distractions to worry about—but looking back, he wished he’d made more of an effort. His relationship with his wife was a lost cause. That much he’d come to accept. The two couldn't so much as stand in the same room without arguing. But his daughter, a teenager at the time, had tried to reach out to him even afterwards. Sent him letters. Made calls. He’d had his secretary take care of most of the correspondence. He’d been busy at the time. Playing family didn’t bring in bits. Eventually, though, his daughter's communications had wound down to a trickle. Then stopped altogether. The last letter had been from Hearth’s Warming last year. She’d sent a picture. A letter. Said she was joining the Equestrian military after school. As a medic. She'd said she wanted to help keep everypony safe. That she hoped he was doing well. Short Sell turned his gaze to the side, looking at that very picture on his desk. He could see his daughter, Rose—Summer Rose, after her mother—smiling back at him next to a couple of her school friends. A black graduation cap sat atop her head, a diploma in her hoof. He brushed the picture frame with a hoof—tracing the crack that ran lengthwise in the glass. The way the thin cracks spread out beneath his daughter’s eyes, it almost looked like she was crying, despite the grin on her face. He shook his head. It would have been nice to see her again. One last time. With a sigh, the stallion sat back up, leaning over in his chair. He reached for the bottom drawer on his right side, pulling it open with a hoof. Inside was an old fashioned revolver—one his grandfather had owned—polished iron with brass inlay along the muzzle grip and barrel. While not exceptionally expensive in make, the piece was an antique. Worth a fair few bits to the right buyer. It was a family heirloom, though. Short Sell had never considered selling it. The stallion picked it up in his hoof, flipping the cylinder to the side with a practiced flick. Though it was against employee policy to carry loaded weapons in the executive offices, he could see the six bullets staring back at him. While disgruntled employees turning violent was a rare occurrence—particularly in a heavily policed munitions office complex—the chance wasn’t zero. It had been easy enough for him to have his secretary bring the weapon to his office for him, though. That was the sort of thing he’d been paying her six figures up until now to do, anyhow. He flicked the revolver back in the other direction, snapping the cylinder back into the frame and giving it a spin. Quality craftsmanship. His grandfather had always strove to sell the best, after all. A pony ahead of his time. Short Sell shook his head. Oh well. All good things came to an end, eventually. The stallion stood, glancing out the windows behind him. Fillydelphia wasn’t quite Manehatten, but its skyline was impressive nonetheless. The view from his executive office on the top floor overlooked the city center. The beating heart of Equestrian industry. Short Sell could feel a cold wind blow past him through the shattered glass. That same city center was little more than a massive, empty crater now—jagged towers of concrete and metal jutting upwards like massive, twisted pikes toward the darkened sky. Constant fires and smoke clouds billowed out from the buildings that hadn’t been flattened, the city itself bathed in a pulsing, green glow radiating outward from the point of impact. Short Sell glanced down at himself. His blue coat was mottled and dead looking, large sections of it burnt away to reveal cracked, radiation-scarred hide beneath. A faint glow permeated his form, similar to that which he could see pulsating in the city center. He wasn’t sure how he’d survived the explosion. Most ponies who'd been caught up in it seemed to have been vaporized by it or burnt beyond recognition. Even his secretary in the other room didn’t seem to have much time left. Her coughing over the last hour had been growing worse. The stallion shrugged, spinning the barrel in his hoof once more. Oh well. No use thinking too hard on it. Not like there was much value in figuring things out now, anyhow. He frowned, glancing down, shifting his hoof awkwardly around the revolver’s mouthgrip. That was one of the downsides of traditional pistols. Mouthgrips were far from a perfect means of handling firearms. Battle Saddles—or better yet, unicorns with proper training—opened up a lot more options for ease of use. Being an earth pony himself, though, his options were limited. Short Sell nodded as he managed to adjust his grip, his hoof pressing awkwardly against the trigger from below. Ah. There. The "lazy-hoof" grip. Just like his father had taught him. There were some earth pony trick shooters that specialized in it, actually. He remembered taking his daughter to see one once. When she was a filly. The stallion lifted his hoof, pressing the revolver to the side of his head. He wondered if she still remembered that. He smiled at the thought. If she still did, that would be nice. Straightening his tie one last time, he pulled the trigger. ***
4 - Open Wastes*** Ember Flare slammed her hoof down on the table. "What do you mean they said 'close off the skies?'" The pegasai mare's eyes blazed with anger, her yellow wings flaring out on either side of her. A few strands of her short, orange mane had fallen over one of her eyes, but she didn't acknowledge them. Her white construction helmet rocked to a stop on the floor a few hooves away, a dent in the wall where she'd thrown it a moment earlier. In front of her, the meek, gray figure of her assistant—Morning Breeze—winced, her long blue mane obscuring her face as she averted her eyes. She was dressed in the same white work shirt that her superior was—the standard uniform of all the workers at the Fillydelphia Regional Weather Factory. "Um...they...um...that—" Ember Flare growled, slamming her hoof down a second time on the cloudcraft table. It bent inwards slightly, wisps of mist rising up from the impact. "Do they have any idea what would happen to the surface if we did that? Of what's going on down there right now? It's hell down there, Breeze! Ponies are dying left and right! Do they know how many already died in the blast?" The gray pegasus winced in front of her, drawing her wings in tighter. "I...um...well...they said—" Flare shook her head. "Fuck that, Breeze. I'm not condemning those ponies down there to die." "...but...the orders—" "Those cloudfuckers can threaten us all they want, Breeze. This is my factory. If they want us to close up shop and abandon everypony still on the surface, they can pry the keys to this place from my hooves and do it themselves." "...but—" Ember Flare cursed, cutting the quieter mare off as she slammed her hoof down on the table again. Propping her forelegs up onto the surface, she held her forehead in her hooves, furrowing her brow. How could it have come to this? The fucking apocalypse? This was insane. Cloudsdale, Manehatten, Filly—it was gone. All of it. Instantly. Even Canterlot had fallen. The pegasai command structure was in chaos. The orders had been coming in non stop. Her workers had been working around the clock to send rainclouds down to quell the flaming streets in the city below, but the radiation from the blast had fucked up half their equipment. The fires were breaking out faster than they could handle them. Smoke was blotting out the sky. Fallout had already penetrated the lower levels of the cloud layer. It wouldn't be long before the clouds reached saturation and it started to fall back on the ponies still left below. "Fuck!" Flare ground her head into her hooves. She still hadn't heard back from Amethyst. Below. At the city's edge. Her message had gone through—somehow—after the blast, but the other mare hadn't picked up. "Hello, you've reached the office of Short Sell, Vice President of Operations for Ironshod Firearms, Fillydelphia Branch. We are unable to take your call at this moment. Please leave a message with your name and contact information and we'll see that we get back to you as soon as possible. Have a wonderful day!" Flare winced. Though she'd have usually smiled at the recording of her marefriend's voice, this time it had only managed to make her stomach sink further. She could still see the silhouette of the Ironshod corporate building from her office—still standing, just outside the blast radius—but it was dark. She'd seen one figure jump from the top floor an hour ago, tumbling head over hoof toward the pavement, but other than that, there had been no signs of movement. Flare shook her head. She could still be alive. There was a chance. Despite her pleasant smile and cheerful demeanor, Amethyst was the toughest pony Flare knew. Tougher than she was, even. Something she never would have admitted to before. Flare didn't know all of it—Amethyst's past, her former job, her current one—but she knew the unicorn wasn't your run-of-the-mill secretary. She was too perfect at everything. Always seemed to know more than she should. Though she hid it well, her eyes were always on the move. Studying. Watching. On the lookout. When they'd started spending time together, the purple unicorn had made it very clear she couldn't tell Flare everything. That being with her meant that there'd have to be some secrets. To be honest, Flare herself couldn't even be sure "Amethyst Maripone" was her real name. But for Flare, it didn't matter. Everything about Amethyst was mesmerizing. Breathtaking. The way she moved. Laughed. Talked. Her confidence. Her smile. The knowing, playful glint in her eye. It made Flare's legs weak. Made her heart pound. Brought a blush to her cheeks. Filled her with the sorts of feelings she'd always rolled her eyes at when other mares gossiped about their love lives. Secret agent. Spy. Assassin. Flare didn't care who Amethyst was. What she could or couldn't tell her. She just wanted to stay beside the unicorn—with her—for as long as she could. She'd never met anypony like her. Flare opened her eyes, staring down at the table. Paperwork was scattered across the desk, flung about in the midst of her earlier frustration. She could see authorization forms. Emergency checklists. Crude, hoof-written calculations estimating the impact of the blast on pressure differentials and the resulting wind patterns. She shook her head. No. As long as there was a chance Amethyst was still alive, she wouldn't do it. Closing off the clouds was a death sentence to those below. The fallout alone would kill any survivors in days if they didn't attempt to regulate it. The yellow pegasus raised a hoof toward her assistant. This wasn't the time to give in. "Morning Breeze, send a message back. Tell them we can't afford to close things off right now, not in the state things are in. We'll continue to provide assistance until somepony from the outside can—" Click. Flare glanced up at the sound, her eyes widening as she saw Morning Breeze staring back at her, a small, plastic-looking pistol gripped in the gray mare's wings. There were tears in the mare's eyes, her shoulders shaking. Her wingtips were wrapped around the trigger. Flare could feel her mouth go dry. She tried to speak, suddenly finding it difficult. "Breeze. What are you—" Flare could see the quiet pegasus immediately flinch, tears starting to roll down her face in full as her voice cracked. "I'm sorry! They—they said—if we refused orders, that they would—that everypony here would be—and our families—" Flare's eyes widened again. She could see the gray mare's wing's shaking, her grip on the trigger tensing. Her tears were falling to the floor now, sinking into it as the cloudcraft tiling absorbed the moisture. Flare's eyes slowly shifted from the mare, to her desk, to the plumes of smoke rising from Fillydelphia out the window at her side. Despite the sound of sirens and alarms in the distance, everything seemed to go quiet for a moment. To slow. She could hear her own heartbeat echoing in her ears. Bump-bump. Bump-bump. Amethyst. Flare's eyes slowly turned to meet those of her assistant once more. She tried to speak again, her voice hoarse. "Breeze. Wait. Please...I...we—" The gray pegasus in front of her flinched again, a faint sob escaping her lips as she met Flare's gaze. "...I'm sorry." There was a flash of red light, and then darkness. ***
5 - City Center*** “Zoel. Sister. Your eyes. They wander. / Do tell this one what they ponder.” Zoel blinked, her focus slowly coming back to her. She shook her head. Her short cropped, striped mane shifted as she turned, bristles waving in the cool air. “Forgive me, dear sister mine. / Nothing serious—mere thoughts benign.” Zoel's eyes met the zebra mare who had called her name. The image of her elder sister, Zira, stared back at her, her black braids hanging down on either side of her face from beneath the red mane-tie encircling her forehead. Zira replied with a nod, meeting Zoel's gaze. Zira's green eyes were piercing as always—her thin, gold hoop earrings dangling from beneath her ears as she moved. Zoel watched them. For most missions, her sister would have dressed less conspicuously. But given the nature of the task they had been entrusted with, such dress had been permitted. Zira motioned to the area around them. “Good words these are, to my ear. / Stay sharp, my sister, and do not fear.” Zoel nodded, watching Zira turn back to the other hunters. Six of them, including Zoel and Zira, were currently spread out against the back wall of the underground parking complex. The shadowed frames of the wagons and carriages parked around them offered ample cover. Zoel’s eyes traveled down the back of her sister’s form. Despite the dark, black stealth cloak she wore over her shoulders, the scars along the back of her sister's neck were still visible. Old scars. Many of which Zoel shared. Zoel shook her head again, adjusting her grip on the rifle in her hooves. She turned her attention back to the entrance of the parking complex. Their hunting party had been left to watch the back entrance to the maintenance tunnels that ran beneath the building. It was their job to ensure no ponies stumbled across them. Zoel wiped the sweat from her brow. Even now, she could hear them—the sound of carriages and ponies moving across the busy streets above. She’d never been in a pony city of this size before. The buildings here dwarfed those of the village she had been raised in. The sheer number of voices she could hear at any given point in time was dizzying. Zoel shook her head again. If the enemy discovered their movements before their compatriots could finish, everything they had done up until now would be for nothing. They would hold the back line with their lives, if they had to. A trickle of sweat ran down Zoel's forehead. Failure. It wasn’t an option. Zoel glanced down at her rifle, her eyes passing over the small, paper talisman she had tied around its stock—an allowance the elders had allowed her for this mission. The black glyphs on the slip of paper were crudely drawn. The writing of a foal. It had been a gift from their younger brother. The last gift he’d given them before he had been killed. Zoel's eyes shifted back to Zira. Even now, Zoel remembered the look on her sister's face when they had received the news. The look of rage in her eyes when the Equestrians had declared the massacre an “accident.” The war had broken out soon after that. Zoel and her sister had spent those long years fighting at each others' sides ever since. Even now, Zoel could still remember her brother’s face. His smile. His kind, innocent nature. She watched as the paper talisman shifted in the breeze. He would never smile again for them. Not for Zoel. Not for Zira. Blinking again, Zoel’s eyes caught sight of movement. She realized she’d let her mind wander again. Looking down her rifle's sights, she could see two figures emerging at the base of the stairwell near the parking ramp entrance. It was a pink unicorn mare and filly, the two smiling and talking with one another, a small bundle of shopping bags hovering in the air beside them. Zoel’s eyes went wide, her gaze drawn to the filly. She couldn’t be more than six summers old. The same age her brother had been when he was taken from them. Zoel could feel her shoulders stiffen. Her hoof tensed against the trigger—her eyes still locked on the smaller of the two figures. Both were trotting in Zoel’s direction now. Toward both her and the rest of the hunting party at the mouth of the maintenance tunnel. She could see the filly glance up at the mare's side. "Can I come shopping with you next time, too, Mama?" "Of course, dear. You're such a good little shopper these days. Mama is very proud of you." The mare tousled the filly's mane. The filly giggled. Zoel could feel another bead of sweat drip down her brow. Her hooves were frozen in place. Breathing was suddenly difficult. Her cloak felt tight around her neck. Her hooves wouldn't move. Fchip! Fchip! Two spouts of red blood erupted from the sides of the two ponies' heads, the mare and filly crumpling to the pavement below. The bags the mare had been levitating at her side dropped as well, groceries and papers spilling out onto the lot. Zoel turned. Zira stood on her back hooves at Zoel's side, the silenced pistol in her hoof still smoking at the barrel. The older mare's gaze betrayed no signs emotion, her lips drawn into a thin line at the end of her muzzle. For a moment, Zoel could feel her shoulders tense. Her sister’s piercing eyes looked cold. Dead. Empty. Zoel tensed again as those same eyes shifted in her direction. Zira blinked once—twice—her eyes returning to normal as she nodded toward the two fallen figures. “With haste, sister—to their sides fast! / Ensure for us the danger’s passed.” Zoel nodded, lifting her rifle from the hood of the carriage in front of her. Glancing back and forth for any other signs of movement, she drew her hood up, darting forward through the shadows. She arrived at the sides of the two ponies quickly. Both the mare and filly were very much dead—identical bullet holes staring back at Zoel from each of their foreheads. Blood had already began pooling beneath their heads and necks, their bodies cold. Unmoving. Zoel uncloaked, waving a hoof back toward her sister. She could see Zira nod to the other hunters, motioning for them to continue their watch as she started in Zoel's direction. Zoel glanced back down at the bodies at her hooves, her eyes slowly drifting back to the smaller of the two. She could feel the tightness in her chest return. The filly’s glassy eyes stared dimly forward—her lips faintly parted. Her yellow mane and pink coat were spattered with blood. A small, stuffed rabbit lay at her hooves where it had fallen from her grasp. It had a small, blue bow with a nametag attached to it, the lettering on the tag written in the messy hoofwriting of a foal. Zoel’s eyes shifted to the talisman on her rifle. Back to the motionless filly. She could feel a small, sinking pit forming in her stomach. What were they even doing anymore? Had she and her sister not been fighting to prevent the slaughter of more innocent lives like this one? Or had it all been for vengeance? Blood for blood? Lives to pay for lives lost? Zoel closed her eyes. She didn't know anymore. The image and voice of her younger brother—laughing, smiling—echoed through her thoughts. She shook her head. She didn't know anymore. She didn't know. Was what they were doing right anymore? Was what they were doing truly protecting their own? She shook her head. She knew the Equestrians were their enemies. She was not so naïve as to hold hope that they weren't. Their Princesses spoke of peace, but the actions of their citizens and soldiers said otherwise. She had seen some of the villages their forces had laid waste to. Burned. Smoldering. Corpses of the young and old there reduced to ash. Countless other foals like her brother, silenced. Never to stir again. Never to laugh. Never to smile. The elders said the Equestrians were tainted. Greedy. Corrupt. That their worship of the Nightmare Demon would lead the world to ruin. That, if they were not stopped, the fighting would never cease. The taking of innocent lives would never stop. Zoel’s eyes fell onto the filly once more. But at what cost did it all come? This filly had done nothing wrong. Instead, she had been taken, like her brother, at the hooves of someone she’d never met in a conflict she knew nothing about. Zoel could hear hoof-falls come to a stop beside her. Glancing down at the bodies, and then back at Zoel, Zira offered her a nod. “Fortunately for them, it would seem, / the end came quickly, as if a dream.” Zira nodded again, placing a hoof on Zoel's shoulder. Her elder sister offered her a reassuring smile—the sort of smile Zoel remembered seeing on her face when they were young. It was different, somehow, though. Too casual. Too relaxed. The Zira she had known from before the war would never have smiled like that with a dead mother and foal bleeding out at their hooves. The Zira before her now, however, nodded again, patting Zoel’s shoulder. “Fret not, sister, the time is near. / Soon our salvation will be here.” Zoel nodded slowly. Taking a breath. Steeling herself. This was for her sister. Her clan. For all the young foals like her brother in zebra lands. This war would not end on its own. If they failed here, the killing would only continue until there was no one left. Zebra or pony. Adult or foal. Zoel could see Zira glance back toward the other hunters, her own eyes moving to follow her sister's gaze. She could see one of the hunters listening to the whispering talisman affixed to his ear, raising his hooves over his head in a circle a moment later before nodding back toward the maintenance tunnel behind them. Zoel could see Zira’s eyes widen at once, an almost fanatical smile breaking across her sister's muzzle. Turning back to Zoel, Zira lifted her hooves to Zoel's shoulders once more, meeting the younger mare's gaze. “Sister! Sister! Do you see? / The time is at hoof for you and me!” Zoel tensed as Zira leaned forward, pressing her forehead against Zoel's and closing her eyes. “At long last, our road, we’ve paved—” Zoel could feel Zira's hooves wrap around her shoulders, her sister's voice dropping to a weak whisper. “—now our brother’s memory will be saved.” Zoel stood in the midst of her sister’s embrace, her hooves firmly locked in place beneath her. Her eyes passed back over the pink mare and filly at their side. The spreading pools of blood beneath them had begun to mingle, bathing the pavement beneath them in red. At the side of the unicorn mare, Zoel could see a small stack of developed photographs that had fallen out from one of the bags. One rested on the top of the pile amidst the lake of blood, the image of the mare and filly along with two others—an older, gray pegasus stallion and a younger, gray pegasus mare—staring back up at her. For a brief moment, Zoel could see herself and her siblings in the picture—Zira and herself standing on either side of their brother in between—the vision fading as she blinked. Reaching up with her own hooves, Zoel returned her sister’s embrace. She could hear the rising voices of the other hunters behind them, a general sense of excitement building in the air. The pit in Zoel's stomach, however, hadn't disappeared. She glanced down at the rifle at her side, taking in the sight of the paper talisman once more. A memory drifted back into her mind. One of her brother's face when she'd awoken from a bad dream of her own when they were young. "Sister? Sister? Are you alright? / Did something happen to you tonight?" She smiled softly at the small talisman. Her brother had been shaking when he'd asked her that. He'd still been afraid of the dark, back then. She shook her head, whispering toward the small paper. “Fear not the darkness, little brother, fear not the moon—“ Her eyes shifted back to Zira, her elder sister's hooves still wrapped around her neck. Zoel closed her eyes. The voices of the other hunters had grown louder. She could hear a crackle of spiritual energy echo from the maintenance tunnel. The hairs on the back of her neck began to stand on end. She whispered to the talisman once more. “—Just wait for us, little brother. We’ll be with you—” There was a blinding flash of white light. "—soon." ***
2 - Ruined Highway*** “Private Cherry Rain! Are you listening?” The cream colored unicorn mare jumped, her back going rigid as she threw her hoof up in salute. She could feel her helmet slide down another inch over her bright red mane. “Yes—yes, sir! Sergeant Haze—sir!” She immediately closed her eyes, fighting the urge to facehoof. Princess fucker. Why did she always flub the response? Looking up, she could see the gray earth stallion trot forward in her direction, an irritated scowl set beneath his buzz cut mane and helmet. He was only a few years older than Cherry herself—thirty at the high end—but he everpresent furrow in his wrinkled brow made it easy to mistake him for a pony closer to forty. Cherry furrowed her own brow at the thought. Served him right. That’s what he got for bitching at her all the time. “Is that a scowl on your face, Private?” Cherry’s eyes widened. She hadn’t meant to make that face while he was looking. “No! Sergeant—sir!” “Right.” The stallion trotted straight up to Cherry, glaring down at her from a hoof away. She winced as he tapped a hoof against her chest. “Did you hear what I told you, Private?” Cherry winced again. “Sorry, sir! No, sir!” He tapped her chest again. Harder this time. “I said pay attention, Rain. Our rearguard can’t be daydreaming! Keep those eyes on the treeline!” “Yes, sir!” “Next time I see those eyes drift, your rations are halved for the next two days. Even if we do make it back to base. Do I make myself clear, Private?” “Yes, sir!” “Good.” Pulling his hoof back, the stallion turned, nodding to the rest of the squad as he trotted back toward the center. Cherry could hear a couple snickers as he left the back—several of her squadmates throwing smirks in her direction. She averted her eyes in irritation, feeling the warmth rising in her cheeks. Celestia this was stupid. The whole soldier act. They were still in Equestria, for crying out loud. Sure it was the middle of nowhere—there was nothing but forest this far west of Neighagra Falls—but it wasn't like they’d been deployed at the border or out of the country. The only reason they were out here was because there’d been rumors that some hikers might have stumbled across remnants of a zebra camp while passing through the forest. They'd spent the last two and a half months searching for the stupid thing and still came up short. It wasn’t like they were going to find anything now. “You really enjoy getting under his hide, don’t you?” Cherry glanced up, shooting the turquoise unicorn at her side a flat stare. “It’s not like I’m trying to, Glow. I swear he has it out for me.” “Well, to be fair, you were spacing out.” “Don’t you start on me, too.” The mare laughed. Cherry rolled her eyes. She and Aqua Glow had known each other since gradeschool. Glow's family had moved to Canterlot from a suburb of Manehatten—Mareford—when she was six. Her grandfather ran a laundromat there. Glow still visited him from time to time. Aqua and her were always like this, though. It was their thing. Their dynamic. Aqua was the type of pony that seemed to fit in anywhere. She was capable. Friendly. As much as Cherry admired that part of her, it was frustrating sometimes. Haze never barked at her for losing her focus or dozing off. Cherry sighed, glancing up as Glow started forward and following her lead. It was thanks to Glow she’d made it this far, though. Through basic. Even with the “abridged” program the Ministries had put into effect for the time being—they were taking almost anypony these days—Cherry doubted she’d have made it through on her own. Not that she'd particularly wanted to be a soldier, or anything. But it wasn’t like she was good at anything else. What kind of special purpose was a picture of cherry flavored raindrops supposed to signify, anyways? Nothing marketable—that was for sure. Cherry shook her head. At least they were heading back to Canterlot, for the time being. Their platoon had stayed out in the forest for a week after comms had gone down. They’d heard about the missile strikes on Canterlot—the fact the Princesses had put up their barriers to stop them. It wasn’t too surprising that they hadn’t received any other transmissions immediately after that. Barriers like that had a way of interfering with most weaker signals. The terrain here didn’t help either. Too many mountains and ravines. The fact it had been almost a month since they'd heard anything was odd, though. As was the weather. Cloudsdale was usually visible from where they were now. It had been so cloudy the last few weeks that they still hadn’t caught sight of it, though. In fact, they hadn’t seen a ray of sunlight since they’d started the march back. Cherry clicked her tongue. The fuck were the pegasai doing? Weren’t they in charge of things like that? Controlling the weather? Relaying messages when ground forces were tied up? Couldn’t they at least respond to their transmissions? Even above the cloud cover, Cloudsdale had to be in range of their radios. She knew the pegasai were stuck up, but this was ridiculous. “Hey ponies, we’ve got blacktop ahead.” Cherry lifted her gaze as a couple shouts rose from her squadmates further ahead. She could see most of them grinning. A few of them exchanged hoof bumps. The sight of the road itself was just ahead of them—faded blacktop, silver guardrails, and a gaudy billboard advertising Sparkle Cola Quantum! in the distance. Cherry sighed in relief. The highway. Thank Celestia. They were finally out of the fucking forest. She didn’t care if she never saw another tree again in her life. “Quiet down, soldiers. We may be outta the woods, but we’re not home yet.” Cherry winced as Haze’s voice called back toward the rear—fortunately not just directed at her this time, though. She could see the stallion raise a hoof, signaling for them to hold as he nodded to Glow at Cherry's side. “Private Glow, can you call for a sitrep from First Squadron? They were supposed to call back when they came up roadside.” The turquoise unicorn nodded, saluting as she shifted the portable radio on her back to her hooves. “Yes, sir!” “Good." The stallion turned toward the four ponies at the front of the formation. "Alpha team. You break off ahead. Head toward that sign. Keep an eye out for any sign of First Squadron. I don’t like the fact we haven’t heard from them.” “Yes, sir!” Alpha's shouts echoed in unison, the four ponies setting off down the road. Cherry frowned when she realized Haze was hanging back with her and the others—his serious eyes scanning the treeline with intent. To be honest, it made sense. Bravo team was all newbies. Herself. Glow. Spark. Rose. She still didn’t like feeling she was being babysat, though. “Parasprite Platoon, First Squadron. This is Private Aqua Glow of Second Squadron. Do you copy?” Cherry glanced back over to Glow at her side. She could see her friend fiddling with the dials of the radio, frowning as nothing but static came back. It was an old model transmitter—equipment from the early days of the war. Clunky. Poor range. Virtually indestructible. With production issues being what they were these days, though, third string platoons like theirs couldn't hope to see much better. “Parasprite Platoon, First Squadron. This is Private Aqua Glow of Second Squadron. Do you copy?” No answer. Cherry could see Glow glance back up, shaking her head. Haze frowned from a few hooves away, turning back to the rest of the group. “First Squadron’s gone dark. We’re moving up, regardless.” Cherry clicked her teeth. Luna humper. She’d been hoping they’d be able to rest for a few minutes. Her hooves were killing her. Rising from her haunches, she could see Haze nod to the pink earth mare at the front of their group. The cross and butterflies of the Ministry of Peace stared back from her helmet. “Rose, stay on point. Keep your eyes open for any sign of First. Watch for direction from Alpha. Cherry Rain—” Cherry winced as the stallion narrowed his eyes in her direction. “Keep an eye on our asses this time, understood?” “Yes...sir.” “Private Rain!” “Yes, sir!” Cherry held her salute as Haze turned, the other ponies in Bravo rising to their hooves as well. With a sigh, she dropped her hoof to the ground, bringing her own rifle up on her battle saddle. She could still see Alpha a hundred hooves down the road—eyes surveying their surroundings as they made their way down the highway. She shook her head, following after them. Celestia, this was dumb. They’d finally made it back to civilization, and here they were acting like they were still on a mission. Canterlot was practically around the corner. She sighed again, glancing down at her hooves. A greasy hayburger. A hot shower. A comfy bed. As soon as they made it back to the city, she was taking the day for herself, no matter what Haze had to say about it. Whumph. “Ghmmph!” Cherry screwed her eyes shut as she suddenly ran into the pony ahead of her—Glow again—her face smacking square into the mare’s flank. Struggling to keep her balance as she tried not to trip, Cherry pulled back, spitting out a mouthful of dark blue tail. “Geh—Glow! Tell me when you’re going to stop like that!” “Cherry.” Cherry raised an eyebrow, glancing up at the mare in front of her. Glow’s voice sounded distant for some reason. Dazed. Craning her neck to the side, Cherry could see the turquoise mare staring southward, her eyes wide despite the vacant expression that had settled over her face. “Glow?” Glancing forward, Cherry could see the other ponies in Bravo staring in the same direction. Further down the road, the ponies of Alpha appeared to have stopped in their tracks as well. Cherry tilted her head, following their gazes with her own. What was going on with them? It was like they were possessed. Even Haze was staring like some sort of— Cherry stopped cold, her eyes settling on the sight in the distance. No. No way. No. Cherry blinked. This wasn’t happening. Above the treeline, Cherry could see the familiar sight of the purple mountain atop which sat Equestria's crown. Canterlot. The capital. A city of white and gold spires that pointed proudly toward the sky. Visible for miles in all directions. Her home. Where she and Glow had grown up. Gone to school. Graduated. Where their families lived. Everything in the city was pink. Cherry had seen pink skies over Canterlot before. Wonderbolt skywriting. Ministry of Morale fireworks shows. Sunrises and sunsets where the sun hit the sky just right. This wasn’t like any of those. This wasn’t like any of those at all. The city itself was shrouded in a bilious, churning pink cloud beneath the overcast sky—the silhouette of the rooftops and castle spire barely visible. Plumes of the sickly miasma poured off the mountainside toward the valley below—running off the edges of the city like a misty waterfall before dissipating into the air. The actual waterfall was tinged with the same, unnatural shade of pink—pouring down like some sort of nauseating, bubble-gum colored river of blood. Cherry had heard about some of the weapons used on the Zebrican fronts. Clouds of gas that would flood onto the battlefield. Suffocate soldiers’ lungs. Melt their skin. Send streams of blood trailing from their eyes. Wipe out a whole company in minutes. Ponies said the clouds were brightly colored. Pretty even, at a distance. A twisted joke, given their purpose. The more unassuming and cheerful the color, the more hellish the effect. Cherry blinked again as her eyes traced over the Canterlot skyline. What she could see of it. Pink. It was all pink. “Heh...heh heh.” Cherry could hear herself laugh. No. This was a joke. A prank. Somepony from their squadron—or maybe somepony from First—was playing a trick on them. Silver Sorbet in First was a tactical cover specialist, wasn’t he? He could make images appear in front of ponies, couldn’t he? Cherry laughed again. Good one, Sorbet. She’d gotten him. And the rest of Second Squadron. Even Haze. Good one, Sorbet. Good joke. Good prank. Seriously, though. That was enough. Cherry could feel wet lines starting to roll down her cheeks. She lifted a hoof to them, glancing down in surprise. Tears? That was weird. Why was she crying over a prank? A joke? She wasn't a filly anymore. Krakow! Veeeowpths. Thud. Splat. Cherry turned to her right. A few steps ahead of her and Glow, she could see Comet Spark suddenly fall forward, his rifle clattering to his side as his hooves went limp. Cherry blinked. There was red pooling around the ground beneath the stallion's head. His eyes were wide. Unblinking. There was a hole in his helmet the size of a closed hoof. Cherry blinked again. “Comet?” Cherry tilted her head, glancing behind her. Scanning the forest. She blinked a third time, staring dimly as a rustle of movement sounded from the brush at her left. “GET DOWN!” Haze’s shout met Cherry’s ears a half second before the gunfire did, the still scene in front of her shifting into a chaotic jumble of screams and explosions in an instant. Rat-tat! Rat-tat-tat! Rat-tat! Pffew! Pffew! Pffew! Ballistic weapons. Talisman rifles. On either flank. Black and white figures erupting from the treeline en masse. Cherry’s eyes widened in panic—her body going rigid. Only one word came to mind. Ambush. “Cherry!” Cherry’s eyes whipped to the side as she saw one of the black and white figures burst from the stand of trees beside her—its striped cheeks lined with red warpaint as it swung the barrel of its rifle up in her direction. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Glow scrambling to bring up her own weapon at the same time, the eyes of the attacker rapidly switching targets. Rat-tat-tat! Cherry could feel a splatter of warmth against her face, three hoof sized holes erupting in Glow’s chestpiece as she jerked backwards from the impact. There was an electric sizzle as the radio on her back sparked and shrieked—the bullets tearing clean through—a wet thud sounding as the unicorn collapsed at Cherry’s hooves. Her amber eyes were vacant. Red blood trickled out from her mouth. Cherry immediately vomited. Her morning rations splattered out onto her hooves, covering them in warm bile. The barrel of he attacker’s rifle swung back in her direction, one eye closed as it stared down the sights. Rat-tat! A burst of crimson erupted outwards from the side of the attacker's head beneath its helmet—the figure crumpling to the ground in a heap. A half second later, Cherry felt somepony plow into her from the side, shoving her to the ground against the metal guardrail at the highway's edge. “I said get down, Private Rain!” Cherry’s bleary gaze rose in Haze’s direction, the stallion crouched over her as he returned fire from behind the metal railing at her side. She could see his brow furrowed in intensity, streaks of sweat running down the sides of his face. There were blood spatters on his fatigues—blood that wasn't his—the smell of iron filling Cherry’s nostrils. She vomited again. Rat-tat! Rat-tat-tat! Rat-tat! Pffew! Pffew! Cherry’s eyes shifted back toward the road, her expression vacant. Aimless. Beyond Glow’s motionless corpse, she could see the rest of the squadron making for the edge of the road in either direction—ricocheting bullets and beams of light arcing across the scene. She could see Summer Rose—the other mare from Bravo—leap over the guardrail on the opposite side of the street, shouting out in surprise as another figure darted from the brush, no weapons in its grip. There was the sound of heavy hooves impacting flesh as the mare pitched forward—a pained gasp escaping her lips as the wind was knocked out of her. The striped figure didn't hesitate, slipping behind her, throwing its hooves around her neck and wrenching it to the side with a sickening snap. Farther down the road, Alpha was trading fire with a group of attackers that had split off in their direction. Three of the striped figures crumpled to the ground as the ponies in the street coordinated their fire, prompting a second charge from another group of attackers that had been using the first as a distraction. Cherry could see the two groups break across each other like crashing waves, the ponies of Alpha shouting out in panic as they tried to reach for the combat knives at their sides. Struggle ensued as the attackers leapt forward with hooves and knives of their own—grunts of effort and screams of pain echoing down the street. Cherry could see one of the Alpha mares ignite as a stray talisman bolt arced down from the treeline, catching her in the side. Her shriek pierced the gray air as she was burned alive. It was hell. Tat. Rat-tat. Rat-tat-tat. Cherry's eyes shifted back to Haze, the stallion holding his ground as he continued to lay down fire over the edge of the guardrail. The enemy forces that hadn't moved up on Alpha were hanging back—keeping to the treeline after Haze had managed to take out one of their own. Each explosion from the stallion's rifle was deafening—Cherry’s ears ringing amid the haze and smell of gunpowder. Spent casings clinked against the ground on all sides of her. One landed on her neck, searing her hide beneath her coat. Cherry screamed, bringing her hooves to her head as she began to rock back and forth. Zebras? Here? Where had they come from? Had they been following them this whole time? Why hadn’t anypony noticed anything? She could feel a cold realization trickle down her spine. She’d been on rearguard. She was supposed to be the one watching for them. Her eyes widened. It was her fault. Cherry vomited again. Or tried to. This time nothing came out. Rat-tat. Rat-tat-tat. Rat-tat. She coughed as she felt Haze shove her farther into the blacktop, the stallion cursing as he glanced down in her direction. “Keep your head down, Private! That’s an order!” Cherry didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Why was this happening? Why were there zebras here? Why were they attacking? “Fucking zeebs!” Cherry’s eyes darted back down the road. She could see Jackpot, the biggest stallion in their squad, throw back one of the zebras that had jumped up onto his back, slamming them onto the ground with his powerful hooves. There was a sickening splurch as he dove in with the knife clamped in his muzzle, gouts of red splashing across his coat as he ran his blade into the zebra’s neck over and over again. Two more zebras rushed forward on either side of him, one throwing a length of wire around his neck as the other attempted to take his hooves out from under him. The gold stallion bellowed in pain, the three tumbling to the ground in a writhing pile of shouts, curses, heavy kicks, and breaking bone. Lines of rifle fire erupted from both sides—from the zebras and Alpha team—the two zebras and Jackpot thrashing wildly and then going still as their bodies were riddled with bullets. Cherry squeezed her eyes shut, clamping her hooves over her ears as Haze rained down more fire from above. What the fuck was happening? If Canterlot was gone, why were they still fighting? They were all already fucked. Everypony was. It was all over. All of it. Everything. She cried out as she heard a ricochet plink off the guardrail above her. Why were they still shooting, then!? Why were they still fighting!? It didn’t make any sense! Tap tap-tap. Cherry’s eyes opened as she heard something drop onto the ground a few hooves away. Through her blurry, tear-filled vision, she could see a green, lemon shaped metal object roll to a stop on the blacktop. She could see Haze turn at the same time, his eyes going wide. "Private—" Everything went white. Black. White. Black. Cherry blinked. Blinked again. What was going on? Where was she? Why was she suddenly looking up at the sky? She shifted on her back, her eyes struggling to focus on the grayness above. The sounds of gunfire she could hear were muffled. Distant. Her mouth tasted like iron. Her spinning head drifted down to her side. She could see pavement all around her. Blacktop. Why was she in the middle of the road now? How long had she been out? Had the zebras pulled back? Where was Haze— The mare’s eyes widened as they met the figure beside her. She could see the gray stallion staring up at her, his forelegs wrapped around her barrel, his open eyes glassy and vacant. His helmet had fallen to the ground at his side, blood seeping out from shrapnel wounds along his neck and face. His lower half rested ten hooves away, entrails spilling out onto the blacktop below. Cherry could feel the same warmth spilling out across her flanks. Her hindlegs. Cherry screamed again. Shrieked. Kicked frantically at the dead pony blown apart at her hooves. White hot pain erupted all over her body—catching up with her now, her stupor broken. Cuts. Shards. Dozens of them. Hundreds. The muscles along her back and side were fully exposed, blood streaming in rivulets from her ears, mouth, nose and eyes. One of her legs wasn’t moving. Gunfire. Shrieks. Shouts from ponies. Shouts in a language she didn’t know. Another distant explosion. Another flash. More shrapnel raining down on her from above. It wouldn't stop. It wouldn't end. Primal, overwhelming terror seized her. She could feel new warmth spreading between her legs amid the cutting pain. Coughing up blood—once, twice—she opened her mouth. And screamed. And screamed. And screamed. ***
