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THIS DOCUMENT AND ALL OF ITS SUBDOCUMENTS ARE PROPERTY OF THE MINISTRY OF INFORMATION
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HOW TO SURVIVE IDENTIFY AND TREAT THE STAGES OF THE HOLLOW VIRUS
HOW TO SURVIVE IDENTIFY AND TREAT THE STAGES OF THE HOLLOW VIRUS
HOW TO
SURVIVE
IDENTIFY
TREAT
THE STAGES OF THE HOLLOW VIRUS
STAGE:1
1:Slight cough
WARNING
IF INFECTED LIMB NOT AMPUTATED
STAGE:2
1:Cough
WARNING
AFTER A PONY HAS REACHED STAGE 2 OF INFECTION
STAGE:3
1:Severe cough
HOW TO SURVIVE
A PONY AT STAGE 3 CAN BE AVOIDED BY
STAGE:4
1:eyes white
HOW TO SURVIVE
LEAVE THE AREA IMMEDIATELY
STAGE:5
1:deaf
HOW TO SURVIVE
WALK AROUND
STAGE:6
1:primitive hearing
HOW TO SURVIVE
STAY QUIET
STAGE:7
1:can hear
HOW TO SURVIVE
RUN
STAGE:8
[REDACTED]
MINISTRY OF PUBLIC INFORMATION
DAY: 1
Entry:1
Me and the girls ventured out to the old castle today, its weathered stones looming against a cloudy sky. We were there to investigate some unsettling complaints. Apparently, the once-grand halls were now plagued by a putrid smell of rot that permeated the very air.
The villagers couldn't pinpoint the source. Some whispered of restless spirits, while others feared a more sinister explanation. Applejack, ever the pragmatist, had a few theories of her own, but she wasn't sharing them all just yet.
The oppressive atmosphere hung heavy as we explored the decaying courtyard. Crumbling walls offered glimpses of overgrown gardens gone wild. A sense of urgency gnawed at me. We needed to find the source of this stench before it choked the life out of the entire place.
Tomorrow, we'd return, armed with Applejack's plan and a newfound determination to unravel the mystery. The castle held its secrets close, but with a good dose of courage and a dash of Ponyville ingenuity, we were determined to bring them to light.. [the rest of the page is too damaged for us to decipher]
DAY: 2
Entry:1
We found this old metal door behind where the tree used to be. I wonder what it could be doing here. Applejack is opening it now.
Entry:2
We stared, wide-eyed, at the slammed metal door. The stench that had rolled out of the opening was unlike anything I'd ever encountered – rotten apples left to fester in the summer sun wouldn't even come close. My stomach lurched, and I fought back a gag.
Applejack raised an eyebrow. "See what?"
Entry:3
[IMAGE DOCUMENT#1]
DAY: 3
Entry:1
I sent a letter to Princess Celestia. She to my astonishment had told me that she was aware of there being something underneath the castle; I have pinned the scroll here.
[The scroll is partially damaged. The legible parts were written here.]
DEAR MY FAITHFULL [water damage]
Your letter was most troubling I must inform you I was aware of the structures existence you don't live as long me and not see some things however in more serious matters I was not aware of this door you speak of we had sealed all of the exits to that place after we found those things im [further water damage] destroy [damage] important [damage] evacuate [damage] immediately [the rest of the document is illegible].
Entry:2
We are going to leave Ponyville tomorrow. I hope they will make it in time. The rainbow has a rash on her hoof. I treated it with some bandages when we got back.
Entry:3
I went to check on rainbow she is not doing well she looked so pale the rash had spread up her leg her hoof has gone black for some reason im really worried about her even though she told me to leave her here even when i protested she just [water damage appears to be from tears]
Entry:4
Leaving Rainbow behind was hard. She wasn't well, that hacking cough echoing in our ears even after we left. I reached out for a hug goodbye, the kind that would chase away any worry, but she flinched back, her voice barely a whisper, "Not safe." A knot formed in my stomach, a feeling I couldn't place. Now, on the train rattling down the tracks, the same cough echoes from another passenger. Everyone tenses, a flicker of fear in their eyes. Is this really goodbye? Is this the last time I'll see Rainbow's smile? The weight of that thought hangs heavy, a dark cloud amidst the worry swirling around us.
Day: 4
Entry:1
We have finally arrived in Canterlot, the journey much longer than anticipated. As we entered the city limits, the sight that greeted us was unlike anything I’d ever seen. Fields that were once pristine lawns and gardens were now overrun with an encampment of tents. It was hard to believe that Celestia could have mobilized such a large response so quickly.
The atmosphere was tense. News of the mysterious illness had clearly reached Canterlot, and the normally orderly city was now a mess of shouting. Soldiers in gleaming white armor patrolled the streets, their expressions grim. Large banners emblazoned with the royal crest declared martial law in effect. No one was allowed to enter or leave the city, and guards were meticulously checking everyone for signs of illness – rashes, coughs, or the unsettling smell of rot. Those unfortunate enough to exhibit any of these symptoms were being herded towards a towering, foreboding building that sent shivers down my spine. The sense of dread was palpable, and I knew I had to stay vigilant and keep a close eye on how this situation unfolded.
[there are no Entries for a few days a few of them appear to be missing only a few Entries remain]
Day: 15
Entry 1
Applejack... she got sick. It happened while we were transporting a body, a grim duty none of us wanted. By the time we got back, it was too late. She's gone now. It's been a couple of days since then, and fear has been a constant companion. Why did she have to be on the graveyard shift? We could have been making clothes, something useful. Now, with her gone, we're forced to burn the bodies in giant pyres.
The past few days have brought some unsettling discoveries. I finally figured out where those missing ponies went. I saw them… the infected. Celestia, our once-proud leader, won't speak to me anymore. There's a constant stream of propaganda blaring everywhere, trying to paint some twisted picture of what's happening. It's infuriating.
A small glimmer of hope remains. Rainbow Dash, where could she be? It's likely she's gone too, but I can't give up on the possibility. We have to maintain some shred of optimism in this bleak landscape. For the sake of keeping track of everything, I've begun taking notes on this disease, this infection that's ravaged our world. Understanding it is the only way we might have a chance someday.
Entry: the hollow
The hollow is a disease that infects any and every living thing that it comes in contact with there is no cure at this time so we are attempting to contain the outbreak as a half measure the stages of progression are as follows
DAY: 80
Entry:1
It's been a crazy few months, Canterlots on total lockdown, and we're stuck in our rooms. These guards in suits keep checking everyone for the Hollow. The screams echoing through the halls are enough to send shivers down my spine.
But guess what? There's a little secret they don't know. i designed the anti-bacterial layer on those suits! They work by using magic to block the Hollow, but only unicorns can activate them, and it weakens them. Here's the kicker: I know how to fix them and make them work for everyone, but for now... Let's just say I have a bargaining chip.
i need to go home but First, I need to find a suit. Rarity designed them, so maybe she can help me upgrade them for everyone. But I can't do anything without one. Maybe Shining Armor has one lying around in storage? Hopefully he's alright too!
Entry:2
The flickering red recording light casts an eerie glow on her face. Dust motes dance in the beam as she clutches the ancient video recorder. her voice, a low rasp, fills the stale air.
twilight: I found this old video recorder from a few months ago, buried under a pile of… well, let’s not dwell on that. It’s low on film, barely a sliver left. Honestly, I don’t know if I can capture everything I need to say, everything I need the world to know. But there’s no other choice. This might be my last chance.
(A cough wracks her body. she proceeds take a shuddering breath and clench her jaw.)
[SUBDOCUMENT#2]
Static hisses as the recorder is turned on. A nervous breath.
Twilight Sparkle (muffled): Are we recording? (Checks recorder) Yes, we are. Here we go. (Pause) I can do this. (Click)
Three loud knocks slam against the metal door. A metallic voice booms.
Guard: Prepare for inspection!
Twilight Sparkle (voice trembling): Ready!
Twilight scrambles to her feet, grabbing a previously packed bag. The door shrieks open , revealing a grim-faced guard.
Guard: What is your name?
Twilight Sparkle: Twilight Sparkle.
Guard: Age?
Twilight Sparkle: Twenty-seven.
Guard: Purpose for leaving cell?
Twilight Sparkle (voice firm): Transfer to military sector.
The guard snatches the recorder returning it without a word. A heavy silence descends before Twilight, now referred to as Sparkle , is ushered out.
They reach a bus. As Sparkle climbs in, a chorus of screams and cries fills the air. A mare's desperate plea cuts through the noise, begging for her foal who is being dragged away.
Sparkle (whispering): That foal was so scared… well, there dead now. (Voice hardening) [REDACTED] them and their stupid quarantine.
The bus lurches forward, checkpoints flashing by in a blur. As they leave the fortified sector, the devastation outside becomes horrifyingly clear. Houses stand with gaping wounds - shattered windows like vacant eyes, roofs caved in like broken skulls.
Sparkle, her face etched with a mixture of fear and determination, peers into a dilapidated building. Through the tattered drapes and a cavernous hole in the roof, a dark shape shimmers. An unknown creature stirs within the ruins.
The groaning engine of the bus finally sputters to a halt, the metallic doors hissing as they open. Twilight squints through the dusty window, the harsh sunlight momentarily blinding. Military Sector 4. It looms before her, a stark contrast to the crumbling ruins they left behind.
A towering security checkpoint bisects the entrance, a stark line dividing the outside world from the supposed safety within. Two fortified towers flank the checkpoint, each a bristling nest of weaponry. Four heavily armed guards, faces obscured by mirrored visors, scan the approaching bus with cold efficiency.
Propaganda posters plaster the checkpoint walls, their once vibrant colors dulled by the relentless sun. They depict sickly figures, their bodies contorted in pain, with bold captions screaming warnings about the signs of infection.
The bus lurches forward, inching through the imposing gate. A metallic clang echoes through the vehicle as the gate slams shut behind them. A tense silence hangs heavy in the air, broken only by the rasp of the engine.
Suddenly, the bus door hisses open again. Four more armed figures materialize, their faces grim under glowing visors. But these guards are different. They move with an unnatural grace, their hoofs outstretched palms up. a rifle levitates, held aloft by unseen magical energy.
Twilight's heart pounds against her ribs. waking up
Without a word, the guards begin a ruthless sweep of the bus, their levitating rifles searching every face. The recorder clicks, abruptly cutting off the chilling scene.
[DAY 40]
As the steel doors of the overcrowded bus hissed open, a cacophony of shouts from the guards flooded in. "Get up! Single file!" Their voices echoed harshly in the cramped space, jolting everyone awake with a renewed sense of urgency. A young mare, barely older than a filly, trembled next to me. Her mother, a beautiful mare with worry etched on her face, nuzzled her reassuringly. My own eyes felt gritty and raw, the telltale signs of exhaustion after enduring a grueling two-hour journey across the desolate cityscape.
This was no longer the Canterlot we once knew. Gone were the vibrant streets and cheerful shops. The military sector, now our destination, had been carved out of what was once the city center. To reach it, we had traversed a treacherous mountain pass, a natural barrier separating us from the infected hordes. Below, the bombed-out ruins of lower Canterlot sprawled out like a grim reminder of the city's tragic fate. Strategically placed bombings had driven the infected back, leaving in their wake a wasteland of shattered buildings and scorched earth.
However, some of the creatures still lurked in the shadows. The journey had been fraught with nervous whispers and occasional panicked shrieks as something unseen moved in the distance. Now, on the other side of the mountain, we approached the remnants of Canterlot. It was a shell of its former glory, forever overshadowed by the imposing figure of Canterlot Castle.
That was Sector 1 – a heavily fortified zone housing only the military elite and government officials. Ordinary ponies like us wouldn't dare set hoof there. Sector 2, sprawling below it, housed the military command center – the brains of the operation. Sector 3, further down the city, was a hive of industrial activity, churning out the weapons and supplies necessary for their constant struggle. Sector 4, a mere extension of Sector 3, housed the factories' workers. Finally, Sector 5, was the designated lower residential area, notorious for its cramped living quarters and dwindling resources. Sector 6, the furthest from Sector 1, lay at the very edge of the city – notorious for two things: a crumbling prison and a constant threat of infected incursions.
Knowing that the slightest infraction could land me in Sector 6, I decided to stop writing for now so i don't get caught. Celestia help me
A gnawing sense of urgency clawed at me. Reaching Rarity was paramount; she was my ticket out of this oppressive prison disguised as a town. Getting onto an excursion team was the ideal scenario, but I wouldn't turn down anything at this point. Even hoofing it out of here, a desperate and dangerous option, seemed preferable to this stagnant existence. Yet, giving up wasn't an option. Pushing forward, even though hope felt like a flickering candle in the wind, was the only choice.
My first stop was the factory, the rhythmic clang of machinery a grim symphony that echoed my pounding heart. There, I found Rarity, her coat dusty and her mane hanging limply. Exhaustion etched lines on her usually vibrant face, but a spark of recognition ignited in her eyes when she saw me. We hadn't seen each other in what felt like eons, and the reunion was bittersweet. A heavy silence hung between us, a shared misery that needed no words. Briefly, we exchanged tales of woe, a sad-sack solidarity born from our unfortunate circumstances.
With a pang of hope, I reminded Rarity of the protective spells we'd used on the suits. To my surprise, a flicker of determination replaced the exhaustion in her eyes. We created a plan to enchant the suit by combining our powers. Finally, after much deliberation, Rarity agreed to help me enchant a suit, a beacon of protection in this dangerous world.
Empowered by this progress, I set out to find Shining Armor at the storage bunker. Sweet-talking a wary guard, his grimy armor a reflection of the town's decline, we finally gained access to the heavily guarded facility. Shining's face, etched with worry and relief in equal measure, mirrored my own when we saw each other. The joy of reunion was tempered by the harsh realities surrounding us. We filled each other in on the harrowing events that had transpired since our separation, tales that painted a bleak picture of Equestria.
The conversation inevitably turned to the protective suit. Shining, his brow furrowed in concern, explained the dire situation regarding supplies. It seemed obtaining a suit directly was out of the question. Our only option, was to intercept a supply truck before it exited the factory for inspection. This was a risky gamble, but the alternative – facing the unknown without protection – was far more terrifying.
Author's Note
the next chapters will be out soon
[DAY 41]
Stiffness crept into my legs as i rose from the surprisingly comfortable cot. The barracks, held a quiet solice i hadn't expected.
A tremor ran through me afterword. What could they have done to warrant such treatment? I saw the guards' attention firmly on the commotion with the stallion.
But then, his expression softened a fraction. "Ah, yes," he said, his voice clipped but not unkind. "Head to Gate Three. Show your papers there."
As I approached, she shot me a withering glance. "Destination of transit?" she rasped, her voice as dry as yesterday's newspaper.
"Sector 3," I replied, trying to inject a note of confidence that I didn't quite feel.
Her brow furrowed further. "Sector 3? Why in Equestria would you want to go there?" she questioned, disbelief tingling her voice.
"Work," I said, hoping it sounded less desperate than it felt. Sticking around this checkpoint with a grumpy guard wasn't exactly my idea of a good time.
Her gaze sharpened. "Well, sugarcube, if you're headed for Sector 3, you'll need work papers."
My stomach lurched. Work papers? That vital detail had conveniently slipped my mind. Fantastic. "Uh, about that…" I stammered, already picturing myself cooling my hooves in a holding cell.
Sensing my predicament, the pony sighed. "Look, technically you can try your luck. But without papers, there's a high chance of getting flagged down. And I can't guarantee you'll make it through, sweetheart. Sorry, those are the rules."
A flicker of sadness tugged at her voice, surprising me. Maybe beneath that gruff exterior, a hint of empathy still flickered.
Seeing my determined expression, she reached into a drawer and pulled out a single, crumpled ticket. "Here," she said, her voice quieter now. "This might help you bypass the first checkpoint. But after that, you're on your own."
"Thank you so much!" I exclaimed, relief washing over me. "I really appreciate it."
The pony gave a curt nod. "Just be careful down there, alright? Sector 3 isn't exactly a walk in the park."
With a newfound sense of urgency, I pocketed the ticket and stepped through the checkpoint, the harsh glow of the neon sign fading behind me. Sector 3, here I come.
But that silence shattered almost instantly. A faint crack, like a twig snapping under immense pressure, echoed in the distance. It grew louder with each stride, morphing into a series of ominous pops and groans. Then, a deafening boom.
Whipping my head around, I saw the sky beyond the command post tower erupt in a fiery orange blossom. Smoke billowed into the clear blue, painting the world a menacing gray. Alarms wailed, a piercing shriek that sent shivers down my spine.
Without a second thought, I reversed course, a primal scream of fear urging me back to the apparent safety of the barracks. Explosions continued to rock the air, each concussion shaking the very ground beneath my hooves. A soldier, face grim, tore past me, his voice crackling urgently through his radio. "South East Sector 4, multiple Stage Sixes! Backup requested, urgent!"
Stage Sixes. My blood ran cold Fear gnawed at me. I couldn't stay here. I had to get to Sector 3, no matter the cost.
Finally, a few battered and worn guards stumbled back from the checkpoint. Their weary eyes held a haunted glint, a testament to the horrors they'd witnessed. Mustering my courage, I approached them. "Any breaches?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
Relief flooded me as the lead guard shook his head. "Negative. They held the line. But it was close." He gave a shuddering sigh. "Bus station should be back online in a few hours, they say."
A wave of exhaustion threatened to overwhelm me, but the thought of waiting any longer in this tense atmosphere was unbearable. "I think I'll grab a drink at the pub," I mumbled, more to myself than anyone else. The thought of a warm mug and some camaraderie, even in this tense situation, held a surprising appeal.
As I turned towards the exit, the guard's voice stopped me. "Be careful out there," he rasped. "Things could get hairy again quickly."
I offered a curt nod, the weight of his words settling heavily on my shoulders. The pub, with its promise of temporary solace, suddenly held a different allure. It wasn't just about the drink anymore; it was about a brief respite from the ever-present fear, a chance to connect with others facing the same unknown. With a newfound determination, I headed out into the tense night, the city lights flickering ominously above as i entered The pub door swung open with a groan, and the cacophony of the outside world was replaced by a surprising symphony of normalcy. A wave of chatter washed over me, punctuated by the clinking of glasses and the hearty laughter of patrons. Ponies of all shapes and sizes filled the room, soldiers nursing drinks alongside civilians lost in lively conversation. For a moment, the weight of the day lifted. Here, amidst the flickering candlelight and the murmur of daily life, it felt as if the world outside had ceased to exist.
I sidled up to the bar, a strange sense of peace settling over me. Ordering a drink, I added two more to the order, a silent thank you to the guards who'd returned. As the bartender set the drinks down, I caught a glimpse of the soldiers huddled in a corner booth. Their faces, etched with fatigue, cracked into surprised grins as I approached.
The night that followed is a blur. Drinks flowed freely, stories were exchanged, and a hesitant camaraderie blossomed. Strong Hoof, a gruff but kind earth pony soldier, regaled us with tales of daring escapes. Leather Hide, a stoic unicorn mare, spoke of her unwavering dedication to the city's defense.
But despite the merriment, a shadow lingered in their eyes. Every so often, a tense glance would be exchanged, a reminder of the precarious peace we enjoyed. The explosions from earlier echoed in my mind, a stark contrast to the pub's jovial atmosphere. The feeling of normalcy was fragile, a bubble waiting to be burst.
As the night wore on, and the drinks took hold, the details of our conversations faded. What remained, however, was a newfound sense of purpose. Strong Hoof and Leather Hide weren't just my saviors from the checkpoint; they were now my companions, bound by a shared experience and a steely determination to face whatever horrors awaited us in Sector 3. The weight of the world returned, but this time, it felt different. I wasn't alone. It was nice i'm writing this on the bus to sector 3 they decided to help me escape from this hell hole so yeah see you when i arrive.
[DAY 42]
The journey to Sector 3 was a descent into a nightmare. The once mechanical landscape was marred by skeletal trees and buildings clawing skyward like broken teeth. The air itself felt thick and oppressive.
Then, we saw it. A hulking monstrosity that could have vaguely resembled a pony once. Black, writhing tendrils erupted from its maw, dripping with a viscous ichor that shimmered like a grotesque parody of pearls. Blood streamed from its vacant eyes, somehow defying gravity to hang in mid-air.
The creature shrieked, a sound that ripped through the silence like a rusty blade. Within seconds, a horde materialized from the shadows – Stage Four infected, by the looks of it. Their movements were spastic, jerky, but purposeful.
Our gunner opened fire, a hail of bullets carving a bloody swathe through the oncoming wave. But they were relentless, a tide of madness crashing against our flimsy barrier. The bus shuddered with each impact, the roar of the engine barely audible over the symphony of gunfire and inhuman shrieks.
Escape seemed impossible. But then, with a surge of power, the driver slammed the accelerator, sending us hurtling down the highway. We left behind a scene of carnage, the diminishing sounds of gunfire swallowed by the ever-present silence of the wasteland.
We reached the Sector 3 checkpoint with a ragged cheer, a fragile moment of triumph shattered by a horrifying sight. The creature we'd outrun had somehow breached the supposedly impenetrable barrier, its tendrils wrapped around an unfortunate soul. A guard reacted instinctively, a single shot ringing out. The thing let out a guttural roar before collapsing, its lifeless form dissolving into a pool of viscous goo.
Relief washed over me, tinged with a chilling realization. The book said these creatures were blind, yet this one... it had tracked us, its vacant eyes seeming to follow our escape. Sector 3 held horrors I couldn't even begin to imagine, and the line between survival and oblivion felt dangerously thin.
The checkpoint guard waved us through with a tired nod, and the bus lurched forward, carrying us into the heart of Sector 3. Here, the world took on an unsettling beauty. Unlike the decaying landscape we'd traversed, Sector 3 boasted a stark, industrial elegance. A hexagonal city unfolded before us, each point crowned by a towering edifice of steel and glass. The architecture, though imposing, held a strange allure, a testament to the ingenuity that had birthed this haven amidst the wasteland.
But the allure wouldn't last. As we entered the city proper, the mask I wore did little to shield me from the assault on my senses. The air hung thick with a noxious cocktail of smog and gasoline, a potent blend that stung my throat and burned my eyes. The grime of industry clung to every surface, a grim reminder of the relentless toil that kept this city alive. Factory smokestacks pierced the sky like skeletal fingers, spewing plumes of black smoke that obscured the sun.
The faces of my companions mirrored my own growing unease. This wasn't just a city; it was a crucible. The initial beauty of Sector 3 had faded, replaced by the harsh reality of a fight for survival. A single glance at the hardened expressions around me told a story – my task in Sector 3 wouldn't be easy. It wouldn't be pretty. But for celestia's sake, it was a task I wouldn't turn back from.
The bus lurched to a shuddering halt within the confines of the Sector 3 station. Relief at reaching our destination was short-lived. As soon as the doors hissed open, a barked command shattered the fragile calm. Guards, their faces grim beneath mirrored visors, materialized from the shadows, their presence radiating an aura of steely authority.
"Out! Single file line, now!" they barked, leaving no room for argument. We filed out of the bus, a shuffling mass of weary travelers, the weight of countless watchful eyes heavy upon us. The air crackled with a tension thicker than the smog that hung heavy in the air.
We disembarked from the bus, the air thick with suspicion rather than smog. My companions, Strong Hoof and Leather Hide, nudged me forward as the guards barked orders at the throng of weary travelers. Thankfully, thanks to the crumpled ticket from the first checkpoint and a whispered explanation from Strong Hoof, I was allowed to bypass the initial screening. Relief washed over me, a fleeting sensation in this oppressive city.
With newfound urgency, we hurried towards the factory entrance. The guards there, even more formidable than the checkpoint guards, seemed to relish their power. my companions barked at a nervous guards, who scurried to obey their command and let us into the factory complex.
Our destination: the completed suit area. Three pristine suits, marvels of engineering, awaited us. But simply acquiring them wasn't enough. We needed a way to sneak them out undetected. A mischievous grin spread across my face. I cast an invisibility spell on the suits, shrouding them in a shimmering cloak of nonexistence.
Our hearts pounded a frantic rhythm as we navigated back towards the barracks. Every shadow seemed to conceal a watchful eye, every creak of the metal floor a potential alarm. But with each step, the weight of the invisible suits grew lighter, a tangible symbol of our defiance against Sector 3's iron grip. Finally, we reached the barracks, exhaustion warring with a sense of accomplishment. Sleep, however, would be a fleeting luxury. In this city, survival demanded constant vigilance, and who knew what challenges awaited us with these newly acquired suits at our disposal.
A throbbing headache woke me several hours later. The world pulsated with a dull ache, a testament to the previous night's revelry. Leather Hide, sprawled on the bunk next to me, stirred with a groan.
"Up for some hair of the dog?" I croaked, my voice thick with disuse. We'd snuck out of the barracks after Strong Hoof complained about the lack of beer, and the rest, as they say, was a blur.
Leather Hide managed a weak smile. "Maybe later," she mumbled, burying her head under a pillow.
Guilt gnawed at me. Sneaking out was reckless, and returning empty-handed only amplified our transgression. Shitfaced, I ventured back to the barracks with Leather Hide in tow. Strong Hoof, bless his fuzzy hide, simply sighed and ushered us towards the bunks. A doctor arrived shortly after, wielding a needle and an IV bag. As the cool liquid flooded my system, a wave of relief washed over me.
Then came the doctor's parting words, his voice laced with a disconcerting amusement. "You two looked quite cute together, you know," he said, a twinkle in his eye.
My stomach lurched. Cute? The word was like nails on a chalkboard. I wasn't here to be cute, I was here for a purpose. Yet, a flicker of something else sparked within me – a nascent curiosity about Leather Hide, a connection that went beyond mere companionship. But was it romantic? The answer remained frustratingly unclear.
One thing was certain – this drunken escapade had thrown another complication into the mix. The doctor's casual comment hung heavy in the air, it made me feel something i can't quite place.
Author's Note
that's right you heard it here folks twilights gay wooo!!!!! and shitfaced drunk