The Conversion Bureau: Prisoners of War

Chapters

Prologue: Capture
Camp Saratoga
R.U.N.N.O.F.T.
Fight...
...Or Flight
Falling apart at the seams
Epilogue: Trenton of the South
Bonus: Three weeks later...

Prologue: Capture

CONVERSIONS NOW MANDITORY

Human Liberation Press, October 14th 2030

-As of ten o’clock Monday morning, Equestrian Royal guards raided communities held by the Human Liberation Front along the Hudson River Valley to as far as Saratoga, seizing innocent and aggressive American citizens and transporting them to Conversion Bureaus in Albany and Manhattan. Many citizens continue to evacuate to Buffalo in attempt to escape the escalating guerilla warfare between the HLF and the combine Equine/PER forces around the New England region.

“This is your last chance! Surrender and no harm will come to you!” A voice shouted from down the road, breaking the human‘s attention from the article on his tablet. Fort Ticonderoga was one of the last strongholds of the Human Liberation Front in New York, mainly the entirety of New England. The bleak October weather had made the grounds wet and moist, the dirt and grim spattered on every human shoe where as their foe paid no heed. The rain seemed to bounce off their golden armor and the emotionless expressions continued to survey the stone and wooden obstacle separating them.

“Fuck off horse!” A reply shouted back, followed by a stray shot. The young man was pulled back by his comrades as several accurate bolts of magic struck the ramparts.

“You’ll get your chance Mikey.” The man looked up to his friend. Michal Hilts or Mikey as his friends called him was around twenty or so from Downtown Brooklyn when Equestria appeared some time ago. He had lost his family and home to those pastel freaks of nature and he wanted to kill every last one, along with every other human in the HLF. His friend Jacob fought alongside him since they started forcing people to get converted at the Bureaus. The AR-15 of his was looted off a dead military man from a previous engagement near Albany, along with a bandolier containing fifteen magazines and a spare pistol. His grey hoodie was drenched from the rain, along with strands of his hair.

"Battalion, Advance! Reserves on center and left! Bombardiers on point!” The same guard shouted and the mass of hooves trembled the ground beneath them. Their attack had begun.

“Here they come!” Another shouted, firing a lever action towards the advancing enemy. Hundreds of guards were charging at the fort, several detachments of unicorns and the majority well trained recruits or members of the PER. Mikey had always hated those bastards and took pride in him for killing every one he saw. They were traitors to humanity. Guns were ablaze at the ground and to the skies. Fast flying groups of pegasi were bombing the ramparts with that grape smelling poison, some delivering their payload before being shot down.

“Get some, you fuckers!” Mikey shouted as he shot at them. The grounds before the ramparts were littered with the dead and more just kept coming at them.

“If they keep this up, we’ll run out of ammo!” A member shouted, her M14 ablaze.

“Keep it up! We may have them!”

The enemy’s numbers were dwindling and victory seemed to be within reach for humanity, only to die in vain when a explosion similar to a firework display shattered the wooden main gates leading into the parade grounds. Anyone not currently fighting off the herd turned towards the gates as a couple of guards quickly galloped in, followed by dozens more.

“They’ve breached the gate! Fall back to the barracks!” A higher ranked HLF member shouted, pointing towards the gate with his shotgun. A bolt stuck him in the head, killing him instantly. Panic soon started the spread amongst the younger members as they ran for cover, half of them cut down or infected by the tonic. Mikey and his friend remained on the ramparts, trying to keep them from scaling the walls but that too was short lived. A Pegasus dive bombed their position with a tonic in hooves.

“Mikey, watch out!” His friend pushed him aside as the tonic splattered on his head. He landed with a grunt as he turned to his friend. The purple liquid was seeping into his skin. Groaning in agony, he looked to Mikey. “Do it Mikey. Do it!” he shouted. Mikey aimed down his sights and pulled the trigger, the bullet sped through his skull. He watched as his friend collapsed over the side into the chaos below. All around him, members were shooting at both the enemy and their former comrades who were unfortunate enough to get infected by the tonic. It had become a protocol within the HLF to shoot members who were infected by the Ponification Serum.

He still had a war to fight and the loss of his good friend continued to fuel his hatred for those ponies. Before he could, a magic aura surrounded his gun and pulled it out of his hands. He reached for his pistol but that too was tossed aside. His own gun turned on him and squeezed a round into his arm. Groaning in pain, he fell down to the grounds beneath him crashing into crates. His vision was slightly obtuse and splinters pierced his back.

“Don’t move!” a guard overlooked him. Several guards had scaled the wall and surrounded him, their horns and hooves ready to do damage if he resisted. By now the battle was a lost cause with barely any humans left to fight it. Young members who hid were eventually found and those who resisted were disposed of on the spot. He looked towards the green where the flag of his country was being lowered and in its place that of Equestria. Mikey soon turned back towards the guard to hear a very old and clique quote.

“For you, the war is over.” A guard said before a bright light blinded Mikey. As he faded, he could barely make out their words and felt his hands and feet bound by something. His world soon went black as he fell unconscious.

Camp Saratoga

“We have in effect put all our rotten eggs in one basket. And we intend to watch this basket carefully.” -Von Luger, “The Great Escape”

This was to be Equestria's solution for any prisoners taken and due to overcrowded Bureaus. An estimated two hundred and seven camps were created from historic parks to college dormatories in states from Maine to as far as the Potomac River in Maryland. About half of the interns were captured soldiers and HLF members.

The wagon jointed along the dirt path as Mikey slowly came to. Although his vision still blurred, he could tell apart civilians from HLF members. The darkened atmosphere of the wagon’s interior and the clouds outside however made the coloration darker than normal.

“Hey buddy. You alright?” An old man nearby noticed Mikey rising from the floorboards.

“What happened?” Mikey replied rubbing the back of his head. His hands and feet were somehow untied, along with all of those inside.

“We’re heading for a POW camp near Bemis Heights, where the Historic Park is. I hear it’s a tough place to escape from.” An HLF member replied pointing out through the bars. “I should know. I’ve escaped nearly from every one in Vermont.” He added. Mikey looked out the bars to see where he was pointing.

Sitting on the next ridge were two wooden watchtowers with two guards each and a large searchlight. A wire fence only three feet high ran along the inner perimeter as large wooden huts and more towers started appearing. He could see seven metal poles with solid blue lights protruding around a twenty-five yard open field as they passed by. Several guards were on standby as the wagon came to a stop inside the compound. Some of the interns there looked on.

“Alright. Every pony out.” One of the guards shouted as the prisoners slowly crept out into the still bleak grey skies. Mikey jumped out and looked around him. There were more wagons filled with prisoners and civilians, at least twenty five wagons of them.

“You won’t turn me into one of you! You won’t make me!” An irrational HLF member shouted and rushed down the road. To Mikey’s surprise, the guards weren’t trying to stop them. The member kept running, thinking that they were idiots and he would be free. It didn’t last long. As soon as his foot crossed the pole’s boundary, the blue lights went red and electric charges shot out at him. He didn’t even have a chance to scream as he was vaporized into thin air, small fires engulfed his clothing. Some of the citizens panicked and screamed in fear as Mikey just looked on.

“Celestial Gates. Finest piece of shit you don’t want to tango with.” One of the prisoners strolled up to Mikey. He was about ten years older than him, un-kept hair and worn out jeans. His jacket had holes in the sleeves and it didn’t look like he shaved in weeks. “Name’s Murdoch by the way.” He extended his hand.

“Mikey.” Mikey reached out and shook.

“Pleasure to meet you Mike. Let me show you around.” Murdoch wrapped his arm over his shoulder as if he was a brother and led him into the camp.

“There are ten huts here. Two and Seven have the showers, five has a small library and ten has the laundry. As you just saw, those poles are the real threats around here. Not the guards, oh no sir. They only have to keep an eye on us HLF boys.” Murdoch explained as they rounded Hut four.

“Why not the civvies?”

“They’re not much of a threat and they know they won’t risk their lives to escape. Also, don’t ask about the gates’ power source. It’s remotely connected to the Bureau in Manhattan, along with the others along the river valley.” Murdoch replied, knowing that Mikey would ask about them eventually.

“Has anyone tried to escape?”

“Dozens tried, only to be turned to dust. I heard that one of the HLF figureheads lead the suicide charge at Camp Liberty near Pittsburg I think, or was it in Maryland?” Murdoch took his arm off and pondered about it. “News moves too quickly around here.”

“Is there anyone else in the front trapped here?” Mikey asked once more.

“Aside from you and five others, there are at least two hundred and fifty of them. Probably less by now.” Murdoch replied. Before Mikey could ask any more questions, a bell rang from one of the towers. “Six o’clock. Chow time at Hut One.” Murdoch got up and walked towards the hut, along with every other intern. He turned back to Mikey and waved him over.

“Your gonna like it here. They actually serve real food here, but still no meat though.” Mikey was disturbed by his light-heartedness. He took hold of Murdoch and slammed him against the side of the hut, out of the way of those entering.

“What the fuck’s wrong with you?! We’re in a war camp guarded by ponies! Your giving up your humanity, your freedom, for what? A fucking meal? ” Mikey shouted. Murdoch sighed as his grip loosened.

“Look buddy. This is my eighth day here. In forty eight hours, I’m getting on those wagons and heading for the Bureaus wither I want to or not. I gave up on escape after seeing many of my friends getting eradicated by those fucking gates on the first three days. I had lost everything during the crash in 2013 and the rations in the HLF aren’t worth for shit. Here, I got warm food, a bed and I haven’t showered in weeks. Do yourself a favor and count your blessings for all their worth or you can go get yourself killed. I won’t stop you, nor will the guards.” Murdoch shoved past Mikey and went inside the hut.

Mikey just stood there. His stench of defeatism lingered in his nostrils and seeped into his mind. He just looked around him as hungry citizens; Human citizens walk by him and into the hut. He even noticed some of the HLF members Murdoch told him about help in elderly or injured people as others spat insults at one of the guard towers. As much as he hated it, he wasn’t going down as easily and walked over to the real fighters.

“Hey Goldie! Your armor’s dirty!” A member shouted. One was tossing a rock at the tower in attempts to hit them, but was shot out halfway in the air.

“Where’d you learn how to shoot? Call of Duty?” Another joked. Mikey reached the group as they tossed another rock. “Hey, you must be Mikey. I’m Jackson. I happened to overhear you and Murdoch, the pussy. The guy would sell you out for a raisin.”

“Are you guys all that’s left of the Saratoga Scoundrels?” Mikey asked. He noticed the HLF patch on their jackets, the blood color ‘S’ along with ‘13th New York’ barely visible in the light.

“Yeah. Fucking horses caught us near Stillwater while we were camping. I heard you guys gave them one hell of a fight at Ticonderoga.” Jackson said shaking hands.

“We lost.” Mikey bluntly stated, retracting his hand away.

“Who hasn’t? Ever since we lost the Boss in Washington, it’s been a loosing war for us. Everyone’s just looking out for themselves now a days, but we New Yorkers have to stick together, am I right?” Jackson turned to his comrades. They gave a loud cheer. Mikey felt right at home with these guys. They reminded him of his friends from the Bronx before all of this started, except they were either dead or ponified. The last thought came to mind.

“You guys know why we’re stuck in a camp instead of in a Bureau getting our asses ponified?” Mikey asked.

“I can answer that.” A civilian walked up to the group. He was at least twenty or so, barely had peach fuzz for a moustache, and wore a black pullover and a pair of mudded Nike sneakers. “The damn bureaus are filled up to bursting with all these forced ponifications, so they shove us here for a while until they have an opening; usually around ten days.”

“Piss off Pester. No body cares for your newsflashes.” Jackson joked.

“My name’s Toby and it’s not my fault I wanted to be a News reporter.” The civilian replied only to be shoved away by Jackson. He gave up and headed towards the hut.

“Don’t worry about Pester. He’s more of a pussy than Murdoch.” Jackson started heading towards the hut. “Come on Mikey, you can eat with us. We get the best tables once the civvies are gone.” Mikey didn’t say anything and followed closely behind.

The inside of Hut six was as trashed as a college dorm, but this was going to be Mikey’s home for the next ten days, maybe less than that. Jackson, Patterson and Grant were still out while Kelly and Murdoch were resting on their bunks. Pester (Toby) lived there as well, but near those two than near Jackson’s bunk. Mikey was resting on the top bunk, his belly full of food. It didn’t seem so bad, though the pizza crust was burnt.

“So Mikey, how does it feel to finally get a break from fighting?” Kelly asked. Her deep blonde hair was tied in a ponytail and hung over her left shoulder. Her HLF attire was still in good shape compared to the others he’d seen, which meant she was still inexperienced like the recruits at Ticonderoga.

“It sucks. I’d rather keep fighting then sit here waiting to get my ass ponified.” He retorted and flipped onto his side.

“Come on. Didn’t you ever once want to just sit down and relax for a while?”

“Yeah, and I tend to make it brief.” Mikey said. Murdoch knew that kind of tone and rose up from his bunk.

“Now don’t tell me you plan to escape tonight, are you?”

“No. I’ll buy my time and wait for the right moment.” He hid his grin. He already had an escape plan ready ever since he met Murdoch. Jackson, Patterson and Grant soon barged in, totting behind a large burlap sack and laughing their heads off.

“Guess what we just ‘liberated’ from the Albany Boys in hut nine?” Jackson soon dumped the contents of the sack onto the ground. Lying on the ground were several piles of magazines, a bushel or two of apples and three folding military spades. There were also some used bandoliers, a clipboard and old GI helmets. Mikey just looked at the others.

“It’s just something they do when they get bored with the guards. They go raid other HLF controlled huts and vise versa.” Murdoch said with little to no interest.

“Your one to talk. You use to raid the Bronx Busters for their autographed baseballs and caps.” Patterson said. His short black hair complemented with his Latino blood and Giants t-shirt. “Quit sulking about your loss and join in the fun. We were about to hit the Vets in hut three before they leave tomorrow.”

“Wait, they send groups to the bureaus by huts?” Mikey’s interest perked.

“No, they do it by the way you came in. They use to do it by huts, but with new interns coming in, it was difficult to track it. The Vets in hut three are going to be the last ones done by huts.” Grant added. His southern draw made him the odd ball of the group, having moved from Atlanta a month before Equestria appeared. Pester approached the pile, only to be stopped by Jackson.

“Get your own loot Pester. This stuffs ours.” Jackson growled.

“I’m just taking the clipboard. Your not gonna need it.” Pester quickly took the clipboard and retreated to his side of the hut once more, leaving the hounds of war to their spoils.He looked at it briefly, but then looked at it again. “Hey guys. Do you have any idea what this is?”

“A stupid clipboard, what’s your point?”

“There's a list here with the departures for this camp,names and everything.” Pester suddenly stumbled back when Mikey rushed off his bunk and took the list. Every last name was on the list, along with the times and destinations for each group. He also noticed that it was written in pencil instead of ink, which meant anyone could take their place.

“Hey Murdoch, When do you head out?” Mikey asked looking to him.

“In two days, why?” Mikey rushed over to a desk where a pencil rested inside a mug and started looking for his name. Once he found him, he started erasing the names below and wrote in others. Jackson cruised over to see his name being added to the list.

“What the hell man! I still have five days left.”

“It’s the only way we may be able to escape. They’ll have to let those on the list out of the camp. I’m adding all our names so we can escape together and get back to the fighting.” Mikey explained.

“Well count me out.” Murdoch got up and erased his name and added a random name. “I’m done with all the fucking fighting.” He then returned to his bunk.

“So that’s it then. You have given up on Humanity, haven‘t you?” Grant said. Murdoch didn’t say a word. “Well I guess that leaves one spot open for you then Pester.”

“Congrats, you’re now a manlier man than Murdoch.” Jackson joked. “And as your first duty, you get to sneak this back into the barracks.” He shoved the list into Pester’s gut. Muttering under his breath, he walked out the door into the darkened night.

“That did say for tomorrow right?”

“First ones for the ten o’clock express to freedom.” Mikey reassured them all. He didn’t care about the risks anyways. He just wanted to keep fighting and now he wasn’t going to do it alone.

R.U.N.N.O.F.T.

The sun rose next, barely visible through the thin grey layer of clouds as the warning bell rung. Guards were rushing to their posts, ready to quell any attempts of escape and to “escort” interns from their warm bunks to their assigned groups. Huts were tossed into groups designated by each hourly transport, many of them showed minimal resistances. As this occurred, a city bus passed harmlessly through the Celestial Gates and approached the assembly area.

“The eight o’clock group to Albany, please report to the grounds. Eight o’clock group to Albany to the grounds.” The speakers blared to life.

Mikey looked through the window of Hut Five, where he and the rest of the group were forced into. He watched as several elders, a couple of kids and two HLF members were marched out towards the grounds. The members assisted the elders and attempted to comfort the scared children as the guards watched on. The wagon was as actually a city bus operated by human members of the PER.

“Fucking traitors.” He muttered with disgust. The doors opened and the group was lead in. He didn’t care to look on as they helped the elders onto the bus, and the HLF members glared angrily at them as they boarded. When the last human boarded, the doors were closed and the bus started off.

The same thing happened again with the nine o’clock group, heading for Albany. As ten crept close, the speakers blared to life once again.

“The ten o’clock group to Albany, please report to the grounds. Ten o’clock group to Albany to the grounds.” The six interns looked to their door as it opened. The guards looked on.

“Let’s go.” The guard said. Amongst the six member escapees were three more HLF members, ten adults and four young children. Mikey lead the group out to the grounds. He felt every eye fall upon them; interns and guards alike as the bus slowed to a stop. He looked back to his friends and nodded. They nodded back in return. The doors opened and they calmly stepped inside. It was quite warm compared to the cold outside, the seats were given a fresh look and for every third window was a propaganda poster in favor for ponification. It made his stomach turn violently as he sat near an emergency exit, with Jackson seated next to him. Pester and Kelly sat behind them and Patterson and Grant ahead of them.

“Everyone remembers the plan?” Mikey’s mind flashed back to the night before. The six of them were huddled around a single lamp and at a crude drawing of the bus.

“We seat ourselves by the exit here and wait until we’re a hundred yards past the gates. Once that happens, we’ll pull the cord and break out the exit. From there, we make our way west to Buffalo and back to American lines.” Pester’s voice echoed, his scrawny finger pointing to the exact seats.

“What if they catch on before we get to the exit point?”

“They won’t.”

Mikey returned to reality as the doors hissed closed and the drive toggled. The bus lurched a bit before it slowly made the turn towards the gates.

“Stop him!” A guard shouted. Everyone’s attention turned to Murdoch, forcing his way through the guards and towards the bus. His build could easily take the blunt of their attacks, but his speed was tough to match as he ran alongside the bus starting to speed up.

“Murdoch! What the hell are you doing!?” Murdoch didn’t here them as the gates approached rapidly. His heart raced, his breaths short but efficient and his eyes fixed front. The bus was speeding faster and faster, trying to outpace the runner as the front rim reached the gates. He was now a foot behind the bus as he reached the gates. The lights turned red and the bolts struck…nothing but the ground.

Murdoch had barely passed through, receiving only a small shock.

“To hell with this.” Jackson said. He scurried over Mikey and pulled the emergency exit handle. The door swung open and broke off from a nearby tree. Murdoch was slowly gaining speed once again as Jackson stood at the threshold.

“You crazy son of a bitch! What the hell were you thinking?!” Jackson said. Before he could get an answer, he was shoved off by Mikey, followed by Kelly Patterson and Grant. Pester stood at the frame when he felt hands hold him back.

“Pester! Jump buddy jump!” Grant shouted. Pester tried to fight off the hands holding him back, but he was soon shoved off by another group helping him. He stumbled onto the ground and crashed into a tree as a voice cried out.

“Get going!” The bus didn’t stop and continued on. No doubt it will inform the Bureaus what had happened and will send out countless patrols to search for them.

The group rushed over to Pester, to only see blood seep from his left knee. A piece of bone had punched out through the skin, along with several cuts and bruises to the arms and chest area. His head was battered and left a black right eye.

“Crap.” He barely groaned as Murdoch and Grant helped him up.

“We got to get moving.” Mikey said, heading west.

“What about Pester? We need to get him medical aid.” Kelly said. Her medical supplies were still back at the camp, including pain relief pills and fracture braces.

“We’ll patch him up in Malta.” Mikey replied. Kelly fumed at his response. She took old of some large sticks and tore her jacket up to make an improvised leg brace. She wrapped it around Pester’s leg and tied it tight. “That should keep it in place and hopefully stop the bleeding.”

“Thanks Kelly.” Pester replied softly and fell into unconsciousness. Jackson started to feel sorry for the guy, even after all the shit he put him through in the past few days. The procession of the now seven escapees started off after Mikey who had already had a head start.

Malta was abandoned by all residences by the time the sun was setting and the group’s arrival. The streets were littered and a small fire crackled through the air, the lights were completely out. Mikey headed for the local gun shop along with Patterson as the others walked over to the nearby medical center to help Pester. Kelly’s jacket was now a deep burgundy from his blood and he constantly faded in and out of consciousness.

“Lay him on the counter there. Grant, see if you can find any medical kits.” Kelly instructed. Murdoch and Jackson rested Pester on the counter and Grant rushed past to the back, along with Kelly. When she was gone, Jackson punched Murdoch’s shoulder.

“What was with the change of heart?” Jackson asked. He simply shrugged. Just as the two medics returned, Mikey and Patterson walked in. Weapons of all sizes and three backpacks filled with ammo cluttered onto the ground before them.

“Take what you can carry. We keep moving.” Mikey said and headed for the door once more, a hunting rifle slung over his shoulder and a pistol holstered in his pocket.

“We just got here and I still have a broken leg, you fucker!” Pester gathered enough strength to shout at Mikey. He stopped as he hand rested on the push bar and turned around.

“Anyone who wants to keep with the plan, grab a pack and move out. With or without you, I’m still going to fight.” He then pushed the door open and walked out. A few minutes pasted until Patterson and Grant took a pack each and quickly followed behind.

“We’ll see you guys in Buffalo.” Grant looked back to the remaining members, a small smile of hope on his face and exited the center. Murdoch, Jackson, Kelly and Pester stood there silently.

“The bastard just ran off on us.” Pester said.

“That’s just what die-hard HLF members sometime do if anyone tries to slow them down, At least what I know.” Jackson replied, knowing this sort of experience first hand. He still regretted it. Murdoch nudged his shoulder, snapping him back to reality.

“Help Kelly hold him down.” He turned to Pester. “This is gonna hurt you than it will me, so grab something.” Immediately, he took hold of Kelly’s arm and squeezed.

“Sorry.” He said before a loud crack and high pitched scream filled the center.

Fight...

“I can’t tell what day it is anymore. Is it Wednesday or Friday?” Grant asked, trying to tell from the position of the sun as the three drove for Buffalo. The small grey convertible had plenty of gas and was making top speed through the empty highway, just reaching the outskirts of Herkimer. The sun was barely visible through the tree line and partially cleared skies. Mikey continued to focus on the road ahead of him.

“It’s Thursday. We stole the car at Amsterdam Wednesday morning, along with some more supplies and this tablet.” Patterson held up the hand held device, its screen displaying a headline about some bombings in Manhattan against the ponies there. “We should reach Syracuse by noon and possibly reach Buffalo by tomorrow morning, just in time to escape.”

“I hear the Front’s fighting outside Rochester, trying to keep that beachhead open for more people to escape through. They‘re using 390 as a defense line and up to the coast near Webster.” Patterson said.

“What about Syracuse?” Mikey asked. Patterson looked up the latest report and sighed in relief.

“They still have some pockets there holding off any more waves, but won’t last for long.” He replied. Mikey slammed his foot on the gas pedal, speeding nearly fifty miles over. As much as he wanted to keep running for Buffalo, he was still a HLF soldier and needed to help his fellow comrades in arms.

“We’re going to make a slight detour and help out guys out. You in?” He asked, only to hear the sounds of magazines snapping into place and the jingle of casings rummaging through backpacks. ‘Music to my ears.’ He thought, flooring it for Syracuse.

Bullets ricocheted through the air in Syracuse, accompanied by flashes of various colors. Barricades littered certain chokepoints in the city, manned by any able bodies human and everyone that could shot a gun. Explosions shook the streets from homemade grenades to military issued, Molotov Cocktails rained fire from second story buildings onto their enemies below and roof top defenders firing at any pegasi they could see. Elsewhere, stragglers worked their way west avoiding the fighting and increasing number of Equine soldiers. Established speakers blared out pro-conversion propaganda, doing its best to demoralize those within the city and on the limits.

Only a handful of HLF fighters; an estimated two thousand plus army remnants, remained to detain at least half of the Equestrian army bound for Rochester and Buffalo. Armed with every type of weapon they could get their hands on, barricades were erected in chokepoints on the highway, a majority holding at the Long Branch Park where the State Thruway was blown apart, along with most of the nearby bridges. However redundant is was since the Equestrians could easily bypass them; they still created quite a nuisance to logistic masters.

The convertible pulled up to the banks of the river and its passengers got out, one using a somewhat white collar shirt they found as a parley flag.

“Are you three PERs?” A guard shouted, his rifle aimed at their heads.

“HLF escapees from Saratoga!” Mikey shouted back.

“Saratoga? So they did take Ticonderoga then?” Mikey nodded. The guard quickly rushed over a makeshift pontoon bridge and brought the over.

“Are there more of you?”

“At least four more, but we lost them outside Amsterdam.” Mikey lied. They left them to fend for themselves in Malta, and who knows where they are now. For that matter, he didn’t care anymore. He was happy to just be fighting again.

The headquarters was a mess. Old radio systems and transmitters scattered about, barely powered by a gas fueled generator outside. Members were scrambling about relaying orders from other pockets within the city, along with reports from the front at Rochester. The four members walked their way through when a transmitter blared to life, stopping everyone in their place.

“Rochester is faltering. Repeat, Rochester is faltering. Heavy ordinances obliterated Sector Charlie Delta two. We lost command. If anyone can hear this, you’re on your own. I’m sorry.” And just like that, it gave out. Several leaders fumed with rage as lower class personal fell into depression.

“Alright, you heard them ladies. The cord’s been cut and its everyman for himself.” One of the officers recomposed. “Johnson, get word to the other pockets and rally them to our position. Gunter, get those trenches finished on the double.” The room hopped to life once again when he looked onto the new arrivals.

“Captain Dickson sir. These are some escapees from the Hudson River region that went dark several days ago.” The guard introduced them. Dickson grunted and turned his attention back to the chaos around him.

“Jenny, get a count on stockpiles and give these boys some proper weapons. Them hunting rifles are for campers” He said, his left hand pointing to the boys.Jenny soon led them to an armory that was a nearby park restroom. Upon arrival, the boys’ eyes widened, seeing hundreds upon hundreds of various assault and support weapons, crates of explosives and two light howitzers with enough ammunition to last for months.

“Help yourselves to whatever you need, then meet up with Dickson at the waterfront.” Jenny replied and took her leave. The guys stood there for a moment before breaking out every weapon they could get their greedy little hands on.

After a few minutes of window shopping, they emerged from the storeroom armed to the teeth. Mikey carried out his familiar choice of an AR-15, two Glocks and plenty of ammo and grenades. Patterson strolled out with two AK-47’s and bandoliers of ammo, but Grant, with the widest grin of all, totted out a M60 heavy machine gun and a trench gun. Belts of ammo dangled down from his neck.

Sirens soon filled the air as they rushed to one of the trenches nearby, seeing other members rushing towards them. The other pockets now lay abandoned or rushed over by the enemy. The numbers swelled into the trench works and crews took their positions behind sandbags and machine gun emplacements, facing to the north and east. The sirens soon died down as a dense fog bank rolled before them but stopped short of their defenses.

“Look alive boys!” Dickson shouted out to the lines. Cautious eyes looked down their sights, pointing to the fog. Others further in the trenches looked to the sky, keeping a weary eye out for Pegasi bombers. A few minutes pasted until a figure came walking out of the shadows, holding a white flag. It was a human from their own ranks with a parchment in his right hand.

“Traitor!” One member shouted.

“Let the man speak!” Dickson silenced the member, then looked back to the figure.

“On behalf of her Majesties and of the citizens of Equestria, We wish to offer you a choice. You can surrender and live new lives, or you can fight and be slain to the last man.” He read out the demands. He turned his head back as if the fog bank was talking to him, and then started walking towards the trenches. Soon, more were walking out of the fog and towards the trenches, each with a sorrowful expression.

“Mikey. What the hell’s going on?” Grant asked. Mikey didn’t respond. Instead, he stood up and fired a shot onto one of the walkers. Before anyone could protest, the walker exploded into a purple sparkling mist. All of a sudden, all hell broke loose. The walkers started running like mad men and hundreds of ponies charged out from the fog shouting.

“FIRE AT WILL!” Dickson shouted, firing his Colt 1911. The trenches erupted into a frenzy, holding off the attackers. Bullets, arrows and bolts of magic exchanged in the air as purple mist glistened the sky. Several runners had made it into one of the trenches and exploded on impacts, infecting all around them including the runners themselves. Screams of pain and agony echoed through the trenches as the trio continued holding out. Grant’s M60 suddenly jammed just as five or so ponies converged on him, he tried to pull out his side arm, but it was no good.

“Grant!” Mikey shouted trying to help his friend, shooting off his assailants. When he reached Grant, he noticed a deep purple cut on his neck. Their weapons had been coated with the potion.

“Give me a grenade.” Grant groaned, his hand reaching out to him. Obliging, he handed him a primed grenade and watched his friend slowly get back up and run towards the enemy. His skin was starting to turn to a sea green and his limbs reconfiguring to a pony’s autonomy.

“Die you mother fuc-” The explosion interrupted his last words, killing those around him. Mikey looked on as Patterson pulled him back down, saving him from an onslaught of arrows and magic.

“It’s no use crying over dead body parts.” Patterson snapped him back to reality, occasionally firing a volley or two with his AK. They seemed to be holding off pretty well, despite their increased causalities, but all that changed when one member noticed something above.

“Incoming!!” A member pointed to the sky. Swooping low and fast, dozens of pegasi bombers descended on the trenches, dropping large potion bombs and surprisingly a few Cocktails. Fires and potions rained from the heavens and onto the close combat chaos below, regarding whatever it struck. Friend and Foe alike suffered.

“To hell with this!” A young member shouted. He tossed down his weapon and made a run for the outskirts, followed by many others.

“Stand your ground traitors!” Dickson shouted and pointed his pistol to the cowards. He fired shot after shot with pristine accuracy, squarely in the back of their heads. Order had been broken and morality unstirred amongst the madness of war, but Dickson was determined to hold to the last man. He never got that chance when a Cocktail and several bolts of magic struck him down into a burning corpse. The lines started to collapse and scattered everywhere, some taking refuge in nearby buildings or dugouts, only to be slaughtered or converted. Others, including Mikey and Patterson, started running for the edge of town, occasionally holding off a Pegasus or two.

“I hope your happy.” Patterson grunted past Mikey down the Thruway.

“I never was.” Mikey muttered under his breath as he ran after him, disappearing into the fog.

...Or Flight

Birds chirped as Pester hobbled behind the group. They had decided to avoid the highway and opted for side roads on their advance to Buffalo. Murdoch took point with a shotgun in hand, with Kelly close behind with a pistol. Jackson took the rear, a pair of pistols holstered and hunting rifle and keeping a weary eye out for any Pegasi patrols. Most of the roads were completely empty as they approached a sign, welcoming them to Fonda. They had been hiking/ hobbling for two and a half days now and had yet seen hide or hair of ponies.

“Jackson. You and Toby stay here. I’ll move up with Kelly and make sure the town’s clear.” Murdoch turned to the two. For a short time now, everyone was starting to call Pester by his actual name, including the one guy who mocked him back at the camp.

“Stay low and quiet.” He added and rushed ahead, Kelly tailing behind. The town before them laid abandoned, natural overgrowth slowly making its way towards the foundations. Everything that wasn’t nailed down littered streets and alleys. There seemed to be some promise from an old car lot, still containing a few cars and an abandoned ambulance. “Kelly, go get the others and meet back here.” He looked to the ambulance. It would definitely give Toby a break.

Kelly took off, backtracking to the tree line to fetch the others when something caught the corner of her eye. It moved too fast for her to get a detailed look but she one thing: It wasn’t another human. Pistol at the ready, she quickened her pace to find the guys hunkered low next to a suburban home.

“We found a ride, but there’s something here. Let’s go.” She whispered and assisted Toby on his feet. Jackson pulled the bolt back a forward, exchanging a fresh round.

Back at the ambulance, Murdoch was looking over everything inside. More medical supplies, a few pistol rounds, and some bags of trail mixes. He made his way back to the front to see the three friends rush their way over to the ambulance, Toby wincing in pain at each forced step. He rushed to the back to open the doors.

“I saw something on my way to get them.” Kelly said only to catch the same glimpse from before pass behind Murdoch. She shoved him aside and fired off two rounds. The bullets pinged off the concrete, missing the blur entirely. As quick as it came, another strafed the group and disappeared.

“Son of a bitch!” Jackson shouted out, wincing in pain. An arrow dug deep into his arm with blood slowly seeping out the wound. Dropping his rifle, he took out one of the pistols and shot wildly into the air. Another arrow flew through the air and forced the pistol out of his hand.

“Jackson! Get in!” Toby shouted, Kelly closing the door behind him. Murdoch was now seating in the driver’s seat.

“Get going Murdoch! I’ll handle this.” Jackson said as another arrow pierced his thigh, the head poking out through the knee. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” He muttered and collapsed to the ground just short of the doors. Murdoch got out, spraying a few shots from his shotgun and took hold of Jackson.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Murdoch shouted, swinging the back door open and shoving him in. A fifth arrow made its mark, squarely into Murdoch’s back. He winced in pain and closed the door. “Kelly, get out of here!” He pounded the side and hobbled away in hopes of luring their attackers away.

“Murdoch! We’re not leaving without you.” Kelly shouted.

“Drive you damn bitch! Drive!” He shouted back, threatening to shoot her. Frightened, Kelly took hold of the wheel and started off down the road. Murdoch stumbled towards the nearby sales office, arrows striking his left arm. He dropped his shotgun and collapsed onto the ground, his breath slowing and labored. He looked back to see the blurs slow down and approaching him. Distinctive clops stuck the concrete as he slowly pulled out his sidearm. A blue aura surrounded the gun and tossed it aside, unarming the wounded behemoth. Standing before him were three Pegasi guards, their crossbows aimed at his neck and a much larger pony wearing a darker color of armor.

“In the name of her majesties, you’re under arrest...” The voice blurred as Murdoch slowly subdued into unconsciousness.

The ambulance drove as quickly as possible down the highway bound for Buffalo, though getting past the frontlines maybe a problem. They all were silent, trying to cope with the loss of their friend, especially Jackson.

“The fucker. He just had to be a fucking hero. What’s he trying to prove? That’s his not the pussy from before?” Jackson said to himself, though loud enough for Toby and Kelly to hear. He stopped to review those words. “Damn it brother. What were you trying to prove?” He muttered under his breath, barely audible to the others.

“Don’t worry Jackson. I’m sure he’ll pull through. He did help us get away.” Toby rested a hand on his back. “Now, let’s try and get those arrows out of you.” Grunting from his own pain, Toby did his best to remove the arrows, occasionally getting cut. He noticed something odd about the cuts however.

“Jackson. What color are your cuts?” He asked.

“Red dumb ass.” Jackson replied emotionless.

“Then why are mine purple?” Jackson looked to Toby’s cuts from the arrows he removed to see not red wounds, but purple.

“Kelly. Pull over.” Jackson said.

“What?”

“PULL OVER!” Jackson worked his way to the front and slammed his good foot on the breaks. The ambulance pulled onto the median. Jackson forced the back doors open, pushed Toby out and aimed a pistol to his head.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Kelly screamed.

“He’s infected with that pony juice!”

“Well so are you!” Toby retorted back in fear. “You may not see it on the outside, but its in your bloodstream now. Either way, we’re both screwed.” Jackson’s hand was shaking at the facts, decreasing his aim. He was right, they were both infected. Inside his mind, he had just lost family, friends and now his humanity. He couldn’t take it anymore and stared down at the pistol as if it was a good friend.

“I‘m not turning into one of them.” Jackson said, leveling the gun to his temple. The barrel was still shaking, scrapping against his hair.

“Jackson, No!” Kelly shouted and forced his arm away just as he pulled the trigger. The gunshot echoed in the air and birds scattered all about. Dropping the gun, Jackson fell to his knees and began to sob. Toby looked on as Kelly stood behind Jackson, a small trail of blood slowly crawling down her left arm.

“Kelly. You should keep going.” Toby broke the silence.

“No. I’m not leaving any of you.” She replied.

“In a matter of minutes, we’ll be ponies. Who knows if we’ll be brain washed and turn you in.”

“I don’t care. I’m not leaving.” Her remorseful anger grew, her fists clinching together. Before Toby could say anything else, he suddenly collapsed onto the ground, eyes shut. Jackson soon followed, leaving Kelly to watch over them. She turned and entered the back of the ambulance, closing the door behind her. She didn’t want to witness her companion’s transformation. She noticed the blood flow on her arm and started tending her wounds to pass the time.

An hour must have pasted when Kelly could hear soft moans outside the doors. Looking out the back windows, she saw two ponies resting where Toby and Jackson lay. She opened the doors and looked down on them. The one on the left was a dark blue colt with jet black mane with a single grey streak running down the middle, along with matching tail. Its wings were neatly folded against its body. On its flank was a pair of hockey pucks crossing over one another.

Kelly then looked to the other just adjacent. A dark red coat with a yellow mane with a horn protruding from its forehead. On its flank was a newspaper and tablet. A soft moan came from this one as its eyes slowly opened.

“Toby?” She asked the pony. The pony looked up to her, as if it knew her.

“Kelly? Why are you still here?” Toby asked just as the other colt woke up, rubbing the back of his head.

“God, why does my head hurt?”

“Good morning to you too Jackson.” Kelly said. The blue colt looked to her and frowned.

“You should have left like Toby said. We could have tackled you to the ground and carted you off somewhere.” Jackson raised his hooves at her.

“How? You don’t know how to fly and you can’t use magic.” Kelly replied, pointing to their new features. They both inspected their appendages and Jackson tried to fly, only to fall back down to earth two seconds later face first.

“Crap.” Jackson said blankly, possibly disappointed.

“As for leaving, I didn’t because you part of my plan to get through enemy territory to Buffalo.” Kelly said. During their little nap, she had removed every last trace of HLF regatta on her jacket, in its place were some hand made patches with Celestia’s sun on one sleeve and Luna’s moon on the other. Her Red Cross armband was snug just under the sun. “A little change in class and they won’t touch me.”

“Impressive.” Toby asked, getting up. He tried to take a step forward, only to have his back leg turn him over and crashing back to the ground.

“Great. Now we have to learn how to walk again.” Jackson raged, attempting the same thing to then take a bite out of the median’s grass. Withholding her urge to laugh, she assisted them to the ambulance. With her new passengers now sitting awkwardly inside, Kelly took the wheel and continued onto the highway once again.

Falling apart at the seams

Patterson and Mikey sat in the back of a Ford as rain poured down the Thruway, along with any fortunate enough to escape the fiasco that became the Syracuse Pocket. The numbers had dwindled from two thousand plus to barely six hundred fitting on a column of seven Ford trucks with trailers, Three RVs and two military humvees. People were sittings or standing everywhere, even on the roof of the RVs. Others had to walk or bike alongside.

“So what do we do now?”

“We make a run for Buffalo’s airport and escape.” Mikey replied, turning to the member who asked the question.

“Then what Mikey? Keeping running? We lost all the arms and some of our best leaders in Syracuse, hell possibly in all of New York and New England combined. Look at us!” Patterson interjected, waving his arm amongst the retreating throb. Their clothes were torn, barely a quarter of them had their weapons, they were cold and sick from the rain and lack of warm clothing. Some were too shaken to continue on foot. The younger members and recruits wore the thousand yard stare as if they were GIs from Okinawa, seeing their world crumble around them with their sanity.

“Your friend makes a point. We’re short on food, fresh water and everything shut down five years ago.” An elder member added.

“You all should be a shamed of yourselves. Have you forgotten that our Revolutionary fore fathers faced this exact same thing, only to win in the end? How they fought back in Trenton and Princeton the same year?” A rather enthusiastic member proclaimed. A few murmured in agreement while the rest remained quiet.

“Are you a fucking idiot? You saw what happened in Syracuse. They used our own guys; their prisoners, as conversion bombs! They didn’t exactly experience that in the War for Independence.” One member jumped off the truck and squatted on the median. He tossed his gun aside and faced towards Syracuse. “To hell with all of you, I’m staying right here.” He shouted back.

Several others soon started to do the same and met up with him. Mikey and Patterson just watched as the numbers slowly dwindled once more. Patterson looked to Mikey and could tell he was determined to keep going. Mikey looked back to him.

“I’m sorry Mikey, but he’s right.” Patterson said, tossing his gun into the wilderness and jumping out of the truck.

“What about our plan? To escape to fight another day?” Mikey shouted back. Patterson didn’t look back as his shoes squashed on the wet median, towards the gathering deserters. “Fine, you fucking traitors! Go get converted! We’ll just kill all of you in the end!” He shouted in anger, flipping off the group as they slowly sank in the distance. The rain disguised his tears.

Night had fallen, but the rain continued to pour down as the ambulance arrived in Syracuse. Kelly looked out to see bodies lying everywhere; both human and pony alike. Small fires littered intersections as she cautiously drove past guards and new foal conscripts. When she reached the Long Branch parks, a patrol stopped the vehicle.

“State your business.” A guard asked, looking up at an angle to meet her eyes.

“I’m a medic from Albany, along with my two assistants. We were to drive to the front at Rochester to aid the wounded there.” Kelly lied, pointing to Jackson and Toby poking their heads up from the back.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to delay those orders. We could use all the medicals here.” The guard replied.

“What happened?” Toby asked.

“There was a Front stronghold just across the river and we sustained massive causalities. A small number of them escaped, but left their wounded or dying behind alongside ours. If you treat them before we ship them to Atlanta that would be great.” the guard explained.

“Why Atlanta? Albany is a lot closer.”

“The super bureau there was finished two days ago and her majesty has closed all the bureaus in the region. We could airlift them out, but the Front did a number on the local airfield. We won’t be able to land the zephyrs here until it’s fixed. Pegasi teams are doing their best to clear off the rain there and your PER comrades are trying to repair it.” He noticed her patches.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Kelly hesitated and was directed to the airfield.

The Syracuse-Hancock International was in a state of ruins. Jet liners rested on the runways burning or crippled, the control tower was obliterated by barrages and the building barely stood on its own. Medical tents lined one of the runways with wounded rested outside. The sky was barely cleared of the storm as the ambulance slowly rolled down the tarmac.

“God almighty.” Toby said seeing the masses of body bags being loaded onto wagons.

“The cost of war buddy. Everyone has to face it eventually.” Jackson said. The ambulance came to a complete stop and the trio got out. They had parked before one of the larger tents when a doctor pony came out to see the next patient.

“Ah thank Celestia, a human medic. I could really use your help with some of our other patients.” The doctor said. His rim frame glasses fit snugly on his muzzle and his brown mane in tatters around his horn. His cutie mark was obscured by some blood but could clearly be seen as a heart monitor. He leads them inside the tent and towards the back where some human wounded rested. They were all around her age, some a few years older and they were screaming in agony or shouting profanities to those tending to them.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Kelly said and walked pasted the doctor. Jackson and Toby stumbled as best as they could after her.

“Pardon me, but may I speak with you two for a moment? Outside?” The doctor stopped the two.

‘Shit.’ Jackson thought as they turned to face him. “Sure.” He said and they struggled out with him, leaving Kelly unaware of their absence. She focused on the patients before her, doing her best to help them removing arrows carefully, treating magical burns or saying their last rites to them upon request before their eyes closed forever.

“You’re a good field medic, aren’t you Kelly Quincy?” A stern voice spoke behind her. She turned around to face a grey unicorn in a dark armor, flanked by two royal guards. Behind them were Jackson and Toby, guarded by another pair of guards. “You almost had us fooled with your little patch job.”

“How do you know my name?”

“Being the warden at Saratoga, I learn all the names of my interns. Along with Jackson Percy, Toby Hayworth and Murdoch Jones.” The unicorn replied. “A shame to what happened to Grant Albrecht. I heard he blew himself up while killing some of her majesty’s soldiers, just to avoid a new and promising life.”

“Captain Iron Wall, I insist that she stays and help the wounded before you cart her off.” The doctor pleaded. “We could all the medics, prisoner or not, we can get.

“Very well Doctor Stable. She can stay, but will be under guard at all times. As for her friends here, they are to undergo a full conversion immediately.” Iron wall replied.

“No.” Kelly suddenly snapped. Wall turned back to the medic. “Don’t take away my friends. If you leave them be, I’ll go quietly once I’m done here.” She hung her in defeat.

“At least there some humility left in these vermin. I accept your terms. Sergeant.” He turned to the guard next to him.

“Sir.”

“Make sure she fulfills her duty to the point.”

“Yes sir.” The sergeant saluted and walked over to Kelly. Iron wall turned around once more and lead the rest of the group out, leaving her to her work.

The sun was rising now and Mikey was running for dear life, alongside random strangers in the Front’s column. The storm had lifted, only to replace with an advanced guard of Pegasi guards armed with stun guns and paralysis darts. They just came out from nowhere as they approached the small town of West Junius.

“Surrender! Your hopes of escape are lost!” A guard shouted through a megaphone as the chaos rampaged around him. Bullets were spray frantically into the air and ground, but it was no good. They panicked and fled into a westerly direction. This too was short lived as Earth guards and conscripts ambushed them further down the road, along with a wall of Unicorn guards. Only one volley of arrows flung at them, killing a few but wounded dozens more.

Mikey could just run. He didn’t look back, nor did he want to as one by one, those around him started to vanish through the trees and bushes. He reached a river, along with two others just as platoon of guards swooped before them, blocking their path. Mikey shot several rounds before five wires and two darts struck his arm and chest, sending volt and paralyze serum into his system. He screamed in agony, his bladder control lost and collapsed onto the rough ground and rocks, his gun lost to the river. The others gave up without a fight.

“Take that one to Syracuse at once. The captain wants to talk to it.” A guard pointed to Mikey before he slammed his armored hoof into his face, knocking him out.

“Wake up Michal Hilts.” A deep voice reverberated in his head as Mikey slowly regain consciousness. Mikey found himself inside a field hospital, looking up to a guard in a dark armor.

“Where am I?” He groaned, only to winch back in pain. His arm had been bandaged, along with a portion of his chest.

“Your in Syracuse, more specifically the airport.” He saw Kelly walk up behind him, wiping her hands with a blood stain washcloth. “This is Captain Iron Wall, our camp warden back in Saratoga.” She introduced the guard, with a slight sense of resentment.

“Just keep your end of the deal and your friends will keep their memories.” He said. “Now listen closely Hilts because I’m only going to say this once. This little fight of the New Yorker Army is over. Every last one is either dead, awaiting conversion or converted already. I’m going to give you one last choice; a rarity at most.” He levitated a revolver towards his hands. “There’s only one bullet, so it will do you no good escaping. You can either end it all now by pulling the trigger or you admit your defeat and await conversion. I offered Patterson Wright the same choice, only now his body bag is being loaded as we speak.”

Mikey looked to the gun in timidly, the hammer already pulled back and the round in place. Was it really as simple as that? Kill himself meant staying human, but at the cost to his closest friends. Surrender entirely and become a pastel, four legged freak of nature along with his friends. Somehow the gun seemed like the only way out. He took hold of the gun, but stopped midway.

“Damn you all.” He aimed the pistol into the air and fire. The bullet tore through the linen and disappeared into the air. He tossed the gun aside and laid his head back. That horrid say from Ticonderoga filled his head.

“For you, the war is over.”

Epilogue: Trenton of the South

The lights were dim as Mikey walked down the corridor towards the Conversion chamber. He, along with several others caught in New York had arrived at the Atlanta bureau only two days ago and already they were facing their fate. The profanites of the detainees still lingered in the corridor by inmates still awaiting their turn from behind barred cells, with small slivers of moonlight beaming through the windows above. Their shoes shuffled on the freshly polished floors, easily drowned out by the guards marching alongside the column; each spaced out for every five humans on the line. He couldn’t help but look back to one of the prisoners behind him, flanked by two guards and a lavender unicorn. He knew that one from somewhere, but the name was lost in time. The prisoner seemed to be writing something, but he couldn’t tell what though, maybe his life story or just something that unicorn wanted him to fill out.

Up ahead, the line moved slowly. Too slow to his liking. For a massive facility, the process seemed to take forever. Maybe this was the only conversion chamber they had, talk about engineering fail. There was a bright side to the slow nature however. It gave him time to think about his friends; both dead and converted alike. He had managed to chat with Toby, Jackson and surprisingly Murdoch before he was loaded onto the zephyr bound for Atlanta and he stole a kiss from Kelly before she entered the chamber yesterday evening.

He was now the fifth in line.

Fourth.

Third.

He was second in line, before the doors when an explosion shook the world around him. He collapsed to the floor as gunfire flew above his head, killing guards around him. Mikey turned back to see the Front leading people out. It was a surprise attack on the bureau and a rescue mission, as if fate had other plans for him.

“Let’s go! Let’s go! Everyone out!” One of the members shouted, pulling up prisoners on the ground. The member took hold of Mikey and pulled him up.

“Do you have a spare gun?” Mikey asked. The member tossed a sidearm towards him and followed them out of the smoking building, towards the streets of Atlanta, towards Freedom once more.

'New York's war maybe over, but Humanity's war is far from it.'

=====================
Author's Note.

Your probably aware that this ending and the 'Fight...' chapter runs parallel to the 'New Tactics' stories by no sh*t sherlock because of the settings and time. Truth be told, it is. I originally had no intent to do so, but my mind works in mysterious ways and thought it would be interesting to have another Point of view.

As for the title of this certain chapter, I thought it gave that sort of revolutionary feel to it.

Bonus: Three weeks later...

Somewhere in Texas...

Sweet summer rain filled Mikey’s nostrils as he looked over the vast prairie around him. Bodies of both human and ponies littered the ground before the abandoned complex as the rain made a futile attempt to wash their transgressions away. Ruined cars and trucks were scattered about the lot and the building itself was a shell of what it once was.

He could hear the thundering of hooves over the pitter-patter of the rain.

They were coming again.

How many times did this make it now? Ten, twenty times in the past two days? His ammunition was long gone by now and all he had left was a K-Bar knife off one of the dead National Guardsmen and his pistol from Atlanta. He had wasted three clips worth of bullets save for only one left in the chamber.

His name literally etched onto the brass casing.

He quickly returned into the complex having looted whatever ammunition remained on the dead. Five magazines for the Colt M16A4, three rounds for a hunting rifle and a full clip of shotgun shells.

“This is all you got left Mike. Make them count.” He muttered to himself as the hooves came closer and closer. The lot was now occupied by thirty or more Royal Guards; most likely conscripts, all lightly armored

“Search them. If you find any survivors, kill them. They had their chance long ago.” One of the guards said, barely auditable from within the complex. Mikey was now on the third floor balcony overlooking the lot as they approached. He steadied the scoped rifle and aimed at what he believed to be the officer.

He held his breath and pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit its mark through a small crack in the pony’s neck in between the armor.

“Sniper! Get to cover!” Another guard shouted before meeting a similar fate as his fallen comrade. The guards scattered and hid behind the broken cars and trucks, out of Mikey’s sight.

“Sweet Celestia, I’m bleeding.” The fallen guard gurgled on his own blood.

“Hang in there, I’ll try and get you out of there.”

That voice. Mikey remembered that voice. He moved his finger off the trigger and simply watched through the scope. Cautiously creeping from cover was one of the guards carrying a medical kit in a saddle bag. Believing it to be clear, the pony rushed over to the slowly dying guard.

Kelly.

He once again placed his finger on the trigger, held his breath and fired.

The medic was shot in the leg.

“Third floor balcony!” A guard shouted form behind a low rider convertible as the remaining guards rushed the building.

With the rifle now out of ammo, Mikey switched to the Colt and started spraying the lot. Bullets flew everywhere, hitting four more ponies before too many got inside. He abandoned the balcony and entered the hallway to a secondary position. A dark blue Pegasus landed on the balcony and charged after the human. Mikey quickly turned and fired the Colt at point blank range.

Three bullets punctured the pony’s armor and leg guards, wounding it. Mikey didn’t stay to finish the job.

The guards had arrived on the third floor, which were cubicles, only to be welcomed by more oncoming fire from the determined killer. A red unicorn with a newspaper on its flank tried to push forward, casting its magic on one of the chairs nearby to use as a shield. Three more did the same.

Mikey’s bullets tore through the chairs but they kept coming until the Colt too ran out.

“Fuck.” He said, pulling out the shotgun. The chairs were now feet away from the cubicle Mikey had made into a bunker.

The red unicorn leaped from his cover and at Mikey, only to be sent flying back with a chest full of lead.

Mikey still fired the shotgun at the guards. After it ran out, he started using it as a club. Swinging it left and right until it was forced out of his hands. He gave a blood curtailing smile as his now pulled out the K-Bar.

He charged at the guards as he plunged the knife into a pony’s neck exposed from the protection of the armor. As he continued to fight off the guards, the wounded unicorn from before slid behind him. During his struggle, the pistol had fallen out of his pants pockets and clattered near the pony.

Mikey kept on swinging his knife at the guards, taunting them to come at him.

A shot rang out to the surprise to both sides.

The knife dropped to the ground as Mikey looked down to his chest. A dark red spot was growing. He turned around to see where the shot came from. His own gun brought him down, enveloped by a yellow aura emitting from the unicorn he had shot only seconds ago.

The Pegasus, being supported by the wounded medic approached the scene.

Mikey soon fell to his knees and approached the unicorn. Still threaten; the unicorn readied a defense spell. However, he didn’t get tackled or attacked. Instead, he saw the human reach for the spent casing resting nearby.

Mikey got a better look of the pony that shot him.

Pester. The know it all finally had the guts to kill.

“Get ready to run it through.” The Pegasus shouted.

Jackson. At least he'll die surrounded by his former friends.

To the surprise of the guards, Mikey started to laugh. With the casing in hand, he crawled to the wall of the cubicle and rested his back on it, facing the victors. There was a reason why he chose this certain part of the wall. His eyes fell upon a remote resting under his left hand.

“In the wise words of Iron Wall…” Mikey muttered as the guards approached.

“… The war is over for you.” He pressed the button.