"This is insane," I mutter to myself, shaking my head as the reality of the situation sinks in. "This hotel has been a death trap since the beginning. What am I thinking?"

Just a few meters away stands the Elysian Grandeur, the big, five-star hotel with five floors, a restaurant, and death. The parking lot is littered with abandoned cars, and a few unfortunate souls who didn't make it out. And, of course, there’s the horde. A crowd of zombies surrounding the building.

The ponies went to bed a few hours ago, extremely tired after watching movies all day long. I glance back at the direction of my home, wishing I could just go back, curl up on the couch with Rodger, and pretend I had all the food in the world. But that's just not possible. Instead, I’m here, contemplating how to infiltrate a hotel that looks like it fell straight out of a horror movie.

Front door is a no go. Too crowded there.

A few raindrops start to fall, quickly turning into a steady downpour. Another horror element added to the environment. My eyes scan the parking lot, my gaze landing on an overturned truck that’s crashed into the side of the hotel. Its cabin is crushed against the wall, and it looks like I could climb it to get through one of the windows on the first floor. But that means getting past the horde, and I’m not exactly in the mood to become dead zombie meat tonight.

"Alright, no guts, no glory," I mutter under my breath.

I hunker down behind a rusty car, mentally mapping out the distance between me and the truck. It’s at least fifty feet away, with a dozen zombies shuffling between me and it. My best shot is to move fast and hope the rain makes it harder for them to identify me.

Here goes nothing.

Taking a deep breath, I dart forward, keeping low. My heart pounds in my chest as I weave between the cars, avoiding the undead as best as I can. One of them turns its head, its glazed eyes catching sight of movement. I freeze for on the spot, staring back at it. Luckily for me, I was too far away for it to notice I wasn't one of them. The zombie growls a bit before turning around and walk the other way.

I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding and pick up the pace, sprinting toward the delivery truck. I can feel the cold rain soaking through my clothes, but I push the discomfort aside. I reach the side of the truck, my heart racing as I jump to grab the edge of the truck. The metal is slippery because of the rain, making it tricky to climb, but adrenaline fuels my movements. I hoist myself up, searching for a foothold on the side.

Finally, I manage to pull myself onto the roof of the truck. I carefully walk over the top, trying not to slip on the rain-slick metal. I reach the side of the building, and unfortunately, all of the windows are barricaded.

"Of course," I mutter under my breath, not suprised at all but still dissappointed. "Why would they have open windows if they were locked down?"

I scan the area for an alternative entrance, but there’s nothing. My options are limited, and I can’t waste any more time. It’s either break a window or return with no food. I sigh heavily, pulling my hatchet from my belt.

"Alright, here goes nothing," I whisper to myself, positioning the blade against the glass. I take a quick glance around to ensure the zombies are still preoccupied with, whatever they're doing. I raise the hatchet above my head. With a swift, determined swing, I bring it down against the glass. The window shatters with a loud crash, the sound echoing through the night. I flinch at the noise, my heart racing as I quickly look around.

The zombies perk up, heads turning in my direction. I can see their glazed eyes searching for the source of the sound, and my stomach drops. This was definitely

In a panic, I reach inside the broken window, careful not to cut myself on the shards. I can feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins, urging me to move faster. I scramble to pull myself through, my heart racing as I finally manage to get my legs inside.

Just as I pull my body through, I hear the unmistakable groans of the zombies drawing nearer. I scramble into the room, almost cutting my stomach open. I look out the window, heart pounding as I catch sight of a few zombies stumbling toward the truck.

Get a grip, Sebastian, I think, shaking my head to clear the fog of panic. I can’t let myself get caught up in the fear.

I move quietly toward the door, turning the handle slowly to avoid any noise. I push it open just enough to peek outside. The hallway is dim and eerily silent, illuminated only by the weak flickering of emergency lights that barely manage to stay on. I take a deep breath and activate my flashlight.

The first thing I notice is that there are no zombies on this floor. Relief washes over me, but I know better than to let my guard down. They're either downstairs, or on the other floors.

I step out into the hallway. My eyes dart left and right as I scan for any signs of life—or unlife. I inch toward the staircase that leads to the restaurant on the ground floor.

I descend down the stairs and glance around the restaurant. My flashlight sweeps across the room, revealing the remains of what used to be a bustling dining area. I can see the kitchen door sightly opened.

I head toward the kitchen, hoping that the storage area hasn’t been looted. As I reach the door, I push it open slowly, bracing myself for any noise. The kitchen is a mess—pots and pans scattered across the floor, a few cabinets hanging open as if they were hastily searched.

I scan the room, looking for the storage area. My heart races as I spot a door marked "STORAGE" at the back.

"Please let there be something in here," I mutter under my breath as I make my way to it.

I open the storage door cautiously, the hinges creaking ever so slightly as I peer inside. The sight that greets me is almost too good to be true: shelves lined with canned goods, boxes of pasta, and jars of peanut butter stacked in neat rows. My stomach growls in response, and I can't help but grin at the weeks worth of food.

I drop my hatchet and reach for a couple of cans, stuffing them into my backpack, and I can’t help but grin. This is exactly what I needed.

Suddenly, a noise breaks the silence—a soft scuffle followed by the unmistakable sound of a revolver clicking into place. My heart drops, and I freeze, my breath hitching in my throat. The sound came from just behind me.

"Don’t move," a male voice commands, firm and steady.

I slowly raise my hands, trying to not look dangerous. "Okay, okay! I’m not armed—well, I mean, I am, but I’m not here to cause any trouble!"

The figure steps out of the shadows, a man of what looks like 20 dressed in militairy clothes. His grip on the revolver is tight, and his eyes narrow as they assess me.

"Who are you?" he asks, his voice tinged with suspicion. "What are you doing here?"

"I’m just a survivor like you," I reply, trying to keep my tone calm. "I’m scavenging for supplies. I didn’t know anyone else was here. You don't have to shoot me."

He narrows his eyes, keeping the gun trained on me. "You should’ve thought about that before breaking into my territory."

"Your territory?" I repeat, glancing around the room filled with food and supplies. "This doesn't look like a survivor stash to me."

"Doesn’t matter what it looks like. You’re trespassing. Why do you think there wasn't a single zombie on this floor?" His grip on the revolver tightens.

I swallow hard, feeling a cold sweat forming on the back of my neck. "I’m just looking for food for myself… and for others. As for the podridos, I just thought I was extremely lucky."

"Others? So you’re not alone?"

I hesitate. I doubt he'll believe me if I tell that I'm talking about the colorful ponies. Still, I can’t afford to lie outright. "Yeah… I’m with a group. They’re not survivors like us, though. They wouldn’t last a day out here on their own."

The mans expression hardens. "And what makes you think I care about that? This is survival. I take care of myself. I don't owe you or your group anything."

"Just trying to avoid a bullet in my back while I walk out of here with a few cans of food. I don't need everything you have." I say, glancing at the revolver nervously.

"Why even bother? If they don't got what it takes, why risk your own life for theirs?"

"Like I said, they’re not like you or me," I repeat, my mind racing. His finger twitches near the trigger, but I notice his grip loosening just slightly. "They're... still pure of heart and innocent, unlike us."

I see his finger twitch on the trigger again, and my pulse quickens. He’s still dangerous, still a threat. But that moment of hesitation tells me one thing: he’s not going to shoot immediately.

"Pure of heart?" he laughs, mocking the phrase. "They're living in a fantasy if their heart is really 'pure'. Maybe I should put them out of their delusional suffering, let them be in a real fantasy world."

It’s now or never.

Without thinking, I lunge forward, my hand reaching for the revolver. The moment my fingers brush the cold metal of the gun, he reacts, my body slamming into his as we crash to the floor. The gun goes off with a deafening bang, the sound echoing through the room, but the shot misses. The revolver clatters to the ground and spins across the floor.

We scramble for it, our bodies tangled as we wrestle in the dim light of my flashlight. His knee drives into my side, knocking the wind out of me, but I don’t let go. My fingers claw at his wrist, trying to keep him from reaching the gun first. I can feel the roughness of his grip, the desperation in his movements.

"Get off!" he snarls, throwing a punch at me. I barely manage to dodge, but the second blow lands squarely on my jaw, sending a sharp pain shooting through my head. The man stands up and goes for the gun.

Gritting my teeth, I kick him in the leg, making him lose his balance, his body crashing into a stack of shelves. I don’t waste a second—I lunge for the revolver, my fingers wrapping around the cold metal as I yank it off the floor. My heart pounds in my chest as I stand, gripping the gun tightly and aiming it directly at him.

"It’s a shame," I say, trying to steady my voice. "This could’ve gone a lot differently. We didn’t have to fight." I keep the barrel steady, my finger resting cautiously near the trigger, ready to react if he lunges again.

He sneers, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. "You think pointing that at me makes you the big man? You’re just as scared as I am."

"Maybe," I reply, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "But I’m not the one threatening someone over a few cans of food, or saying I should kill a person because they still have some good in them."

He narrows his eyes, weighing his options as he shifts his stance. "You don’t know what I’ve had to do to survive," he mutters, his voice low and tense. "You think you’re some kind of hero for those people. You’re nothing more than another dead man walking."

I keep the gun aimed at him, my heart racing. "I'm not looking to be a hero; I am a guy who will do whatever it takes to protect those I care about."

His expression twists with disdain. "You're nothing more than a fucking dumbass."

"What's with this unnecessary high hostility man?"

Suddenly, I notice his arm oddly close to his hip. I realize he’s reaching for something hidden on his belt, and I don't think it will be a gift I'd want.

"You’re making a mistake, military man." I warn, my voice low and firm.

"I’m not afraid of you," he snaps back, and suddenly, in one swift motion, he grabs a knife from his belt.

"You’re not going to stab me, buddy!" I shout, and without a moment’s hesitation, I pull the trigger.

The gunshot echoes through th room, followed by a sickening thud as military man crumples to the floor, clutching his stomach. The knife clatters to the ground beside him.

"Wha—" he gasps, his eyes wide with disbelief. Blood splatters from his wound onto the ground. "You… you shot me!"

"Of course I did!" I reply, confused on why he was in disbelief. "Why wouldn't I? You were going to stab me, and I’m not interested in being anyone’s victim today." I shake my head, taking a step back, keeping the gun aimed at him just in case.

A dull thud reverberates through the building, followed by another, and another—the unmistakable sound of the undead banging on the hotel’s windows, drawn by the noise.

I glance toward the windows, my mind racing. "Great. Just what I needed." I look back at military man, who’s now breathing shallowly, his face twisted in pain.

"You were too dangerous," I mutter more to myself than to him, feeling a strange mix of frustration and cold justification. I crouch down before him. "This could’ve gone differently, but you couldn’t just let me have some food, could you?"

His eyes flutter, and now, he looks more like a man who's lost everything than a dangerous threat. But that pity doesn’t last long. The pounding on the windows grows louder, more frantic, and I know I don't have time to dwell on it.

I stand up, shaking my head. "This is what happens when you don’t think things through, man. All this, over some food?"

I glance back at the man one last time. He’s still alive, barely, his breathing shallow and labored. I feel something—a twinge of guilt, maybe—but I push it down. This world doesn’t allow for softness.

"Looks like you’re going to have company soon," I say, my voice quiet but grim. "I could put you out of your misery before they do it for you in a more painful way. Choose wisely."

"Go to hell," he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper.

I sigh, shaking my head. "Suit yourself. I expected a more braver response from a guy who served in the military, but this just means more bullets for me."

I turn my back on him, moving quickly through the storage room, grabbing whatever I can. Cans of soup, beans—anything with a long shelf life. I glance at the shelves one last time before zipping up my bag, and grabbing my hatchet and flashlight from the ground. It’s not as much as I’d like, but it’s enough for now. Besides, staying any longer would be suicide.

The man on the floor groans, his voice barely audible over the noise of the undead outside. I give him one final look. "I tried," I mutter under my breath, not sure if I'm talking to him or to myself.

I make my way toward the stairs, moving as quickly and quietly as I can. I can’t afford to fail—not for me, not for Rodger, and not for the ponies back home who are counting on me.

Just as I reach the top of the stairs, a loud crash echoes from below, followed by the unmistakable sound of glass shattering. The dead have broken through.

"Damn it!" I mutter under my breath, gripping the revolver tighter. The groans and snarls of the undead fill the air as they flood into the hotel’s lobby, their footsteps dragging across the marble floor.

I sprint back to the window I came through, and leap through the broken window, landing hard on the rain-slicked roof of the truck. Fortunately, the zombies that were roaming around the truck are now trying to break into the hotel.

Then I hear the terrified screams of the military man.

The man’s screams echo through the broken window, a desperate, high-pitched wail that pierces through the rain. I stop in my tracks, crouched on top of the truck, listening to his terrified cries as they grow louder and more frantic. The zombies must have reached him by now. He’s trapped, helpless, and surrounded. I could hear the sound of flesh ripping apart in my mind. I grit my teeth, forcing myself to stay focused.

I can’t go back. There’s nothing I could do even if I wanted to. He made his choice.

I stumble slightly as I regain my balance on the slippery roof of the truck, my heart racing. I can still hear the chaos unfolding inside the hotel as the zombies swarm the lobby. The man’s screams pierce through the din, and I can’t help but feel a small pang of regret.

Climbing down the side of the truck, I hit the ground with a soft thud, my senses on high alert. The rain pours down around me. I dash across the parking lot, glancing back only once to see the horde of zombies climbing through the windows. There are so many of them, and in the far distance, behind the hotel, I can see a brawler approaching. The creature roaring as it slowly makes its way to the building.

The rain pours down, soaking through my clothes, making me feel heavy and weighed down. I can barely see in the downpour, but I push on, cutting through alleyways and dodging some stray zombies. I can barely think straight, my mind racing with thoughts of the ponies back at home. I need to get back to them, to make sure they’re safe.

I look up at the sky, covered in dark clouds that are blocking the view of the moon. I quicken my pace, running through the dark streets.

I pick up speed, sprinting past a familiar looking shop, letting me know I'm not that far away from my house anymore. I’m almost there, almost safe, when I suddenly, distance screams catches my attention. These are not from the military man, not in the slightest.

"What are those things?!" one voice shouts, laced with fear. "What's going on out of here!"

They don't know what podridos are? That can only mean one thing.

I run around the corner and see two familiar figures a few streets away from my house. Twilight Sparkle and Applejack, dodging a couple of zombies that have stumbled into their path.

What are they doing out here?

I can see the fear in their eyes as they evade the grasping hands of the undead. I put away the revolver and grab the hatchet from my belt.

I dart forward, moving low and fast, using the shadows to my advantage. Just as Twilight barely dodges a zombie’s grasp, I come up behind the creature, my hatchet ready to slice some rotten flesh. I swing it with all my might, burying the blade into the side of its skull. The zombie collapses at my feet. I glance over my shoulder, meeting Twilight's wide eyes as she stares at the corpse.

"Sebastian?!" she gasps, her voice a mix of shock and fear. "What did you just do?"

I pull the hatchet from the zombie’s skull and I can feel Twilight’s eyes on me, a mixture of horror and disbelief reflected in her gaze.

"It’s not what you think!" I say, urgency surging through me. "We need to move! They’re coming!"

Applejack’s expression shifts from shock to determination as she steps closer. “What in the hay is going on here, Sebastian? What did ya do to that poor human?!"

"Not human. I'll tell you everything later. Right now, we need to get back to my house!"

Twilight shakes her head, her voice trembling. "But… you just—"

"Now!" I cut her off, grabbing both of their wrists and pulling them toward the alley behind the shop. "Trust me! I'll tell everything later."

They stumble after me, their hooves slipping on the slick pavement and I can feel their hesitation to follow me. I run through some random alleyways before returning into the direction of my home.

Finally, we reach my house. I glance around to ensure we’re not being followed before shoving the door open and ushering them inside. "Quick! Get in!" I shout, glancing over my shoulder as I pull the door shut behind us.

I lean against it, panting. Rodger comes from the living room and sits down next to me, whining. Twilight and Applejack stand just a few feet away, eyes wide, their breaths coming in quick bursts.

"Sebastian," Twilight says, her voice shaky. "You… you just killed that thing. It was a human like you! How could you—"

I hold up my hands, trying to calm them down. "I know it looks bad, but that wasn’t a person anymore! Those things—" I glance around the room, searching for the right words. "They’re called zombies. They’re not alive like you or me. They only want to hurt us."

Before they can respond, Pinkie, Rarity, Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash, and the princesses descend the stairs, their eyes darting between the three of us, confusion etched on their faces.

“What’s going on?” Rarity asks, her mane slightly disheveled from sleep. “Why are you all gathered here?”

"Sebastian just… just killed a human," Twilight stammers, her voice trembling. "He says they’re called zombies."

A hush falls over the room, and I can feel all their gazes burning into me, pure fear reflected in their eyes, before they all slowly step away from me.

Princess Celestia steps forward, her eyes narrowing.

"Sebastian," she says, her voice filled with authority, "you owe us an explanation. Now."

How the hell can I explain this in the most family friendly way possible?

Author's Note

Sorry for the long wait. I am apologizing way too much, but I had a very busy week and didn't have time to write, so I hope the wait was worth it for you all.