My Little Saboteur

“Ahhhrr, my bloody head.”

Sean Devlin, a former Irish racecar mechanic/driver and, reluctantly, a current member of the French Resistance in Paris, was hung-over. Not that that was anything new.

Pulling himself from the bed, he walked through the hidden door that led into “La Belle Du Nuit”, the “Gentlemen’s club where he had been staying for the past four months.

“Where the hell is everyone?” wondered Sean, looking around the main floor. Normally it was filled with horny men and beautiful, near naked dancers. Instead, it was empty. The lights were dimed. The Chairs were still stacked on the tables. The bar was closed. The place didn’t even look like it had been cleaned last night either. As the pain of Sean’s hang-over diminished, everything seemed to feel more and more wrong.

“This don’t feel right.” Sean continued to the building’s entrance, but stopped abruptly as he saw his reflection in a mirror.

…

…

…

…

“W-WHAT THE BLOODY HELL!?”

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“What the bloody hell….?”

Sean had been staring at his reflection for nearly five minutes. Looking back at him was a pony with a tan coat and a brown mane. If that wasn’t weird enough, it was wearing a brown jacket and cap, and green pants. It was also wearing a satchel bag. However, the strangest thing was that it had a pair of wings sticking out of two holes in the jacket. Looking down at himself confirmed that he was indeed the weird pony…thing in the mirror.  Unable to figure out what else to do, he turned and continued out of the club.

Walking out onto the streets of Nazi occupied France, the first thing Sean saw were ponies. Ok, correction: The first thing he saw was a car wildly barreling right towards him, at terminal velocities.

“Aaaahhh!” screamed Sean as he dived out of the oncoming vehicle’s path. “Watch it you bloody wanker!” he yelled as the car narrowly missed three other ponies before swerving around a corner. Shaking off the near death experience, Sean turned and began walking towards the Resistance base at the slaughterhouse.

Looking around him, he saw other ponies, most of them looking just as freaked out by this as he was. To his left he saw a pony wearing a German uniform. He was walking down the street, muttering something in German with a crazed look on his face. On the other side of the street, there was a group of ponies with wings. One of them was giggling like a maniac while flying in circles above the group. The others were shooting her annoyed looks. In the middle of the street there was a pony with a horn on his head. He was……looking at a levitating car while laughing maniacally.

Deciding that he had seen enough, Sean turned into the alley where he knew Santos had set up a black market shop. Behind the tables there were two ponies. The one on the left looked up and called to him.

“Irishman! It’s good to see you again! Did you notice that we’re all ponies now? Strange, no? Well enough of that, how can I help my best customer?” Sean stared at the horned pony that just happened to be the biggest black market dealer in the city. How is he taking this so casually?

“Santos,” began Sean, “How in the bloody blazes is this happening? What in the name of Saint Peter IS happening!?”

“Calm yourself Irishman. We cannot get ourselves worked up over this.”

“WE ARE HORSES, YOU WANKER!”

“Yes, that’s true. And while even I find this disturbing, you need to calm down Irishman.”

“Calm down!? I woke up this mornin’ a HORSE! H. O. R. E. S. Horse! How am I suppose ta stay calm when I’m not even a fucking human anymore!? This is not even bloody possible!”

“Look at yourself Irishman. Possible or not, it happened.”

“…But….”

“Listen Irishman, if you think that this isn’t freaking me out, you would be wrong. However I found that the best way to deal with it is to ignore it completely. After all, just because the entire population of Paris has changed species doesn’t mean that there isn’t still money to be made..”

“Ah can’t believe it. Even after all this, you’re still only concerned about money.”

“That is all I am ever concerned about Irishman. I would have thought you would have figured that out by now. Anyway, back to business. I have to ask a favor of you Irishman.”

“… What kind a favor are ya talkin about?”

“I need you to give a message to Luc. Tell him that just because we all woke up without fingers, doesn’t mean that he worm his way out of paying for that last shipment of weapons.”

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Sean flexed his wings as he walked down the street. It was…weird to be able to move an appendage that he had never had. It felt alien, yet at the same time, natural. Looking at the buildings around him, a thought appeared in his mind.

“Hu? I wonder…?” A grin came to his face as he took off running. He flapped his wings and he felt his hooves leave the ground. “Aha, I’m flyin’!” He didn’t know how he was doing it, but he was actually flying. Sean didn’t think, he just flew, letting his instinct take over. He felt the wind in his face, he heard the sounds of the city fly past him, he saw the window he was a bought to crash into...WAIT WHAT!?

CRASH!!!

“WAS ZUM TEUFEL?!”

“Ow. Um, he he. Top o’ de mornin’ to ya.”

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“I need ta practice a lot more before I try something like that again.” Sean continued down the street on foot. “Still, did that wanker really need ta kick me in my bloody face?” Looking around him, things were still just as crazy as before. There were some German soldiers passed out drunk in an alleyway, more floating things, and the cars. By God the cars! These people were obviously not use to driving as ponies, because most of them were driving like maniacs. He had almost been run over three times already. Sean was considering giving flying another shot just to stay out of the damn streets. Shaking his head, he continued down the street. “I’m almost there. Just a few more blocks.”

As he passed by another group of Germans, a thought hit Sean like a freight train. ‘How am I supposed to use my guns if I don’t have any fingers?' His thoughts drifted to the silenced pistol and MP-40 that he currently had hidden in his jacket and how, if the need would arise, that he wouldn’t be able to use them. Faced with this revelation, Sean took care to avoid the few patrols that were still trying to keep order. Not seeing any watching him, Sean turned the corner, finding himself at the slaughterhouse. Taking a deep breath, he descended the stairs to the basement and the Resistance base within.

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