These hallways seemed to go on forever.

My hooves press against grimy metal grates, each step sending a dull clank echoing into the dark. Overhead, rusted pipes crisscross the ceiling like tangled veins, some dripping condensation, others hissing steam from unseen fractures. The air is thick—stale, metallic, tinged with the distant scent of oil and something fouler, something that clings to the back of my throat, yet unknown.

Dim, flickering floodlights line the walls, their glow barely cutting through the murk. Some have burned out entirely, leaving stretches of the corridor swallowed in black. The shadows play tricks, shifting with every movement, teasing shapes that aren’t there.

Despite the dispersion ring digging into my horn, I am just able to conjure a small light to help me navigate in the dark. It is incredibly faint though, and leaves me with complete darkness in my peripheral vision. Although I was alone, my mind began to wonder what was hiding in the dark.

The silence is heavier than the guns I carry on my TACH pack.

I pass an overturned tool cart, its contents scattered—wrenches, saws, a cracked welding mask. A reminder that someone was here once. Workers, engineers, ponies who had plans for this place. What was this place even for?

There had been ten-meter high shelves, all stocked with crates of varying sizes. It gave off the impression of an abandoned warehouse. What could they possibly need to store this far down?

Further down, a massive ventilation fan creaks as it spins lazily, barely holding together. The vents rattle every few seconds, the sound just soft enough to make my skin crawl. Just enough to make me listen harder.

Somewhere ahead, water drips steadily from a broken pipe, the rhythmic plink, plink, plink the only thing marking time. For a moment, I allow myself a moment of peace. Listening to the gentle metronome of water.

Or at least until that moment is forced out of my mind.

“Subject 10102010 has entered the area of operations,” blared the synthesized voice into my earpiece, making me wince, “Subject’s assignment is to make their way to the extraction point in Zone 50.” A holographic display appeared on the inside of my visor, relaying my objective.

NAVIGATE TO ZONE 50

I release a prolonged sigh, the filters on my mask hissing. I stare down into the puddle that had accumulated from the leaking pipe. Looking back at me is a lavender purple mare with tired eyes. I don’t recognize her. If only I had a better look.

This mask—this damned mask—covers everything below my eyes, smooth, expressionless, a prison of dull metal, composite plating, and filters. I reach up, hooves brushing over its surface, feeling the rigid shape, the cold edges that have become a part of me. Will I ever see myself smile again?

I scan up and down at this stranger in the water. Just below the collar on the jumpsuit, there was a patch, one that read "#10102010", the same number my jailer had been referring to me as. I push away from the puddle, tired of being deponyfied by everything around me.

Then something catches my eye.

Just below the small, worn patch sewn onto my suit, just above my chest, there was something else. It’s partially covered in grime, but I can still make out faint, faded letters.

“⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ - Sparkle”

I stare at it, my mind grinding to a halt. The letters feel alien, distant like they belong to someone else. But I know them. They belong to me. Was this my name?

I try saying it aloud, to see if it felt right.

It does.

I don’t know who I used to be. But I will not let this place change what little is left of me.

I take a breath, steady myself, and keep moving.

I will make it through this!

I am now practically skipping down the winding hallways now, still singing my newly recovered name. Filled with a new determination.

“Sparkle, Sparkle. That’s me!” I took on an exaggerated tone, “'Oh, didn’t catch my name? Why, it’s Sparkle, of course!'”

It felt like I was finally figuring things out. Putting the pieces together!

There were several doors, each was labeled with a specific room number and where they led to. According to the last door, I am entering Zone 48-C, and am about to enter Zone 49. This was going pretty well so far.

That's what I thought until I got a look at the next door.

Most of the doors in this place are plain steel slabs—scarred, rusted, barely holding together after years of neglect. But this one? This one is reinforced. Thick plating, heavy-duty hydraulic locks, and caution markings faded with time but still visible.

Security Door 49.

The label is stamped into the metal, bold, utilitarian, practical, like it was meant to keep people out... or maybe keep something in?

I step closer, running my aching hoof along its surface. Unlike the others, this door isn’t just built to last—it’s built to withstand. The frame is reinforced, welded into the walls like a vault.

A control panel blinks to life at my approach. Red, waiting. A circular hologram sits at my feet, a thin ring of LED lights glowing dimly, waiting for an input.

“Please step into the bioscan”

A bio... scan?

That’s all it needs? No code, no authentication—just me, standing here.

I step into the circle. The ring pulses, scanning, processing.

Why did they need a door like this?

I glance back at the ruined corridors behind me. The endless shelves, the shattered lights, the lifeless facility that stretches endlessly into the dark.

What were they protecting?

What were they afraid of?

…And is it still in here with me?

“Bioscan sequence complete, door unlocked.” The lock releases with a THUNK. The door groans, hydraulics hissing as it slowly grinds open.

Just a little further.

The moment I trot over the threshold to Zone 49, an entirely new smell assaulted me through my mask. One that made my instincts scream, “Danger, Danger, Run!”

Rot and decay.

“Warning, imminent combat threat. Hostile entity’s currently occupying this zone.” The voice buzzed in my earpiece. I hesitate. Combat threat? As in… threat to my life? This was starting to sound even less like basic training.

“Uh, voice?” I begin tentatively, “If there was a threat, how would I deal with it? These weapons are empty.” I gesture to the guns on my TACH pack.

“Subject must assume stealth protocol,” It said in response, “stay low, turn light sources off.”

I didn’t have much choice but to listen. I crouched down and stifled my magic. Once I composed myself, I pressed onward.

The air is thick—too thick—like the walls themselves are breathing. Without my light magic, the dim, flickering red light barely cuts through the gloom, painting everything in long, distorted shadows. My hooves shuffle, slow, careful. Every step suddenly feels too loud.

Something is here. I can feel it. Hear it. Smell it.

I round the corner, heart hammering, sweat slick against my skin.

Then I saw it.

My breath catches, and my body locks up, every muscle screaming to run, to do anything but stand here and stare!

It’s a pony.

No. It was a pony.

A twisted, balding husk of flesh, hunched and motionless. Its legs, unnaturally long, ending in claws. It’s body, twitching in slow, sporadic pulses. Its skin is wrong—stretched too thin in some places, bloated in others, veins bulging like something is crawling underneath. And its face—

Oh God, its face.

A mess of exposed muscle and ruptured flesh, with no eyes, no nose. Just a gnarled, gaping maw, slack and drooling, like it’s waiting to scream.

But it doesn’t.

It just sits there. Breathing.

A deep, wet inhale followed by an agonizingly slow exhale, like something struggling to stay asleep. A sound that sticks in my ears, hot and damp and wrong.

I don’t move.

I don’t even breathe. I swallow, and even that feels too loud.

I have to get out of here. Now.

I take a step back—

The thing jerks.

A spasm, sudden and violent, its joints tensing. The wet, rattling breath hitches. My lungs seize. I freeze in place, heart pounding so hard it hurts.

For a second—just one horrible second—I think it's going to wake up.

But then... it settles. Its body relaxes, its head tilting slightly, as if listening. Then, the long, slow exhale returns.

Still asleep.

I don’t know how long I stand there, waiting, drowning in terror, before I finally gather the courage to take another step forward. And another. And another…

A jarring noise erupts from my earpiece, nearly making me yelp. “Subject must dispatch hostile before continuing.”

Thank Celestia that racket was just in my own head. Otherwise, that thing would have surely woken up and lunged at me.

Wait... I’m supposed to KILL it?!

I have nothing to shoot it with.

My heart slams against my ribs. My breath rattles inside the mask. My neural connection to my TACH pack still aims my empty SMG at it. Like that will somehow make it useful.

I am unable to use magic against it. I’m unable to even lift an weapon.

Think!

I look down at my feet. Do they want me to use… my hooves?

I snap myself back to reality. I’m really thinking about stomping out something’s life here! Sure, it didn’t look like it, but this was surely a fellow pony at some point. Corrupted and twisted by something.

“Subject must dispatch hostile before continuing.”

I have no other choice, if this is what it’s going to take to escape this place, then what options do I have?

I harden my resolve, and begin slowly stepping forward.

The Sleeping pony shifts again. Pulsating and twitching—almost awake—but not yet.

I stop, waiting for it to go back to it's calmer state.

Something happens, whether it was my hoof dragging too loudly or the thump of my own heartbeat, the monster thrashes.

I panic and pounce forward, raising my forehooves into the air. I know nothing of ending life. I don’t even know how hard to hit.

Hard as I can, I guess!

“I’m sorry…” I squeak

With a resolvent yell, I slam myself down. The bottoms of my hooves connect with the top of its skull with a wet, sickening CRACK. The force jars my legs, my face goes numb, my stomach lurches. It doesn’t go down. It just shudders, lets out a choking gasp, opening its jaws that split all the way down its neck.

I can’t stop what I started. In a frenzy, I stomp again.

And again.

And again.

Finally, something gives. Bone, flesh—it all caves in. The monster collapses, its limbs twitching in a grotesque death rattle. Near-congealed Blood spills out onto the floor, thick and dark, pooling around me.

The whole scene causes my stomach to finally give in, and I begin to heave. Whatever liquid food they’ve been sustaining me on, all it results in is bile, acidic and bitter.

Fortunately for me, most of my stomach’s contents is purged out of the carbon dioxide filter on my mask, preventing me from asphyxiating.

I open my eyes again, expecting to be sick again from the result of my “training exercise”.

But instead, I’m shocked. The body is…decomposing?

The creature’s corpse becomes rigid, small cracks begin to form on it. As if made of brittle stone, what remained of the sleeping pony collapsed into a pile of dust and pitch black crystals.

Am I losing it? Those crystals. The shine. The formation. They seemed… Eerily familiar.

“Subject, congratulations.” The voice commented, completely void of emotion.

I wasn’t too proud of the word that left my mouth in response to the voice's dead praise.

I was now hyper alert to every sound and creak this place made, and I was right to be.

Inside Zone 49, there were those things everywhere. Leaned up against walls, curled up on the ground, just standing there menacingly. The rooms were big enough where I could avoid them altogether, no need to go through that again. I hoped I would never have to.

One of the rooms I entered was particularly bad. There were no Sleepers, thank goodness, but the steel reinforced ceiling was completely caved in, collapsing shelves and bursting pipes.

The concave nature of the room left a small pool in the middle where moisture from the pipes, with an abundance of moss and grass around the edges. It looked almost serene. Who knew just getting a little glimpse of nature could bring such ease to my mind.

I was about to move on, stepping around what I thought was just another pile of scrap and rubble, when something caught my eye.

A small metal box, half-buried beneath dust and debris, wedged between rusted pipes.
At first, I think it’s just more useless junk—another remnant of whoever worked down here before this place became a tomb.

But then I see the markings.

Ammunition!

My breath catches. I immediately utilize the claw on my TACH pack, wrenching the box free from the pile, my body trembling as I snap it open. Inside, nestled in foam padding, was a magazine and several crystal-tipped rounds. There were some for the my pistol too.

I exhale slowly, relief washing over me like a dying ember of warmth. Finally, finally! I grab the magazine, the TACH pack automatically loads it into the empty mag well of my SMG with a satisfying click. The bolt racks, I feel the weight of a gun that is now more than just a lump of metal strapped to my sides.

Now it can kill.

I should feel safer. In a way, I do. But the comfort is thin. hollow.

Because now, there are no excuses.

Now, when something comes for me, I won’t just run. I won’t just hide. I’ll have to pull the trigger.

I think about the Sleeper, the one I caved in with my hooves, how long it took to die, the way my legs wouldn’t stop shaking afterward.

This will be faster than that. Cleaner. More efficient.

But that doesn’t mean it will be easier.

Zone 49-E,

This room—if you can even call it that—is an extensive hallway. From my estimate, I’d say it’s nearly 100 meters in length.

Even then, it’s hard to miss what’s at the end of it. Another security door. The red glow of the security panel pulses like a heartbeat. Sealed. Locked. Behind it—freedom. Extraction. My way out.

“Warning, imminent combat threat.”

I jump, startled. Again.

That was really starting to get annoying, yet I appreciate the early warnings. It really was time I came up with a name for the voice that was by my side throughout all of this.

A name echoed from a deep place in my mind. One that gave a sense of familiarity, but I couldn’t quite call it to the front of my brain. It was something…Sharp.

Thorn? No, too organic.

Spur? Nah, too country.

Barb? Definitely not, too 1960s.

Point? That could work.

It definitely complimented the voice’s directional and bossy undertone.

Point it is!

“Alright, Point. Where is the threat?” I ask, testing the name. It felt good, felt as though I had a friend down here.

“Opening this door will trigger an alarm.” Point replied, “Hostile entities will swarm this area until the alarm is deactivated.”

My ears droop. The moment I activate the sequence, the door will start screaming. Blaring sirens, flashing lights, a beacon in the dark. And then they’ll come. The things lurking in the corridors, the ones that will wake up due to a pin dropping.

This was about to be a lot of pin drops.

I swallow against the lump in my throat and glance behind me. The hallway is narrow—good for a funnel. Bad for a last stand.

I gallop back to shut the standard door behind me, locking it tight, before returning to the security door. Not to keep them out, just to buy myself a few more seconds.

My body aches, my breath is ragged inside the mask. I’m so close. But between me and escape is the one thing I’ve been dreading

Deep breath. In. Out.

I activate the bioscan.

The door wails like a dying creature, flashing yellow and red as the security sequence begins.

I hear distant screeches.

A rumbling. Dozens of limbs skittering, crawling, barreling through the dark. The horde is waking up. I now hear the claws on the flimsy door.

I plant my feet, heart hammering. The scanner sequence crawls across the screen.
20%...25%...30%...

Too slow.

I hear a crash in the hallway behind me, and I whip around. The creature’s silhouettes now visible through the pulsing light, shifting, crawling. The red strobes of the alarm lights cast grotesque shadows against the walls, stretching the shapes of the things that are coming for me.

I brace myself for contact. I plant myself to give the TACH aiming gyros the best chance of hitting my targets. No running. No hiding.

Just survive!

A shape bursts into the light— long limbs, boiled flesh, a mouth that peeled back the neck, exposing rows of sharp teeth and even a barbed tongue!

I stare right down its throat and think the word, SHOOT.

The SMGs recoil bucks against my body, sending the muzzle towards the ceiling. The burst of fire shreds through the first Sleeper’s head, sending it sprawling, twitching. But it’s STILL STANDING.

How could anything take a bullet to the face and continue charging? I don’t have time to dwell on the one target. There are more. Much more.

I fire again. Short bursts. Controlled.

A Sleeper drops. Then a second. Then a Third.

My ears ring from the close-range blasts, the heat of the muzzle flash lighting up the swarm just long enough to see how many are left.

Too many.

The magazine runs dry. I curse, switching from my SMG to the high caliber pistol. I line up my shot, and brace.

SHOOT.

The sleeping horror that leaps at me meets the barrel. The firing pin clicks, and its head becomes a spray of bone and blackened gore. It doesn't get back up. The kickback from the high caliber took me off my feet and sent me sliding backwards.

Before I could regain my footing, I looked back at the door.
…95%...

Another Sleeper lunges at me. I position myself so I can shoot it with my pistol.

SHOOT!

The gun clicks. Jammed.

There’s no finesse. No precision. Just instinct. I raise my forehooves.

I stomp. Trample. Crush. Blood sprays across my visor, warm and thick. I don’t think. I don’t feel.

Something tackles me. I hit the ground hard, the weight of it crushing, its breath wet and rotting in my ear.

I put my hooves between its face and mine and push, barely holding it back. My muscles scream. My body shakes.

Then—

“Bioscan sequence complete, door unlocked.”

I use everything I have left to throw the Sleeper off me and scramble for the door.

I dive through, and it slams shut behind me.

The alarm door seals shut behind me, cutting off the shrieks of the horde. The silence is so sudden, so absolute, that for a moment, I think I’ve gone deaf from the gunfire.

I collapse. I don’t move. Can’t move. My body is coated in sweat, blood, grime. My gun is empty. My hooves are slick with things I don’t want to think about. My chest rises and falls in ragged gasps, my body still trembling from the adrenaline that hasn’t caught up to the fact that I survived.

I survived.

The air in this room is different. Stale, but not rotting. It’s clean. Safe.

Then I hear it.

A distant, mechanical hum.

I look up.

The ceiling is nothing but blackness, stretching endlessly above me—except for the single, massive metal arm descending from the dark. It’s slow, deliberate, its clawed harness opening wide as it lowers toward me.

The Rig. The same crane-like machine that lowered me down here.

When the harness reaches my limp body, it clamps down around me, securing my arms and legs. I barely flinch.

My mind is still trapped in the hallway behind me. The swarm. The blood.

The harness lurches upward. The ground falls away beneath me, and the pit below disappears into a swirling void of blackness.

The complex sinks beneath me as I ascend.

I don’t fight it.

I don’t scream.

I just let it take me.

“Reinitializing Hydrostasis.”

As I rise, I feel something pierce the back of my neck. A sudden, sharp pressure—then a flood of cold liquid.

“I’m not leaving... am I?” I stammer, to no one in particular, tears welling up in my eyes.

My limbs go heavy.

Darkness creeps in at the edges of my sight.

I go to sleep,

Dreading the moment I am to be woken up again.

Author's Note

Phew!
Bit of a long chapter.
Glad you saw it through!
This concludes the introduction.
You can certainly expect some "Friends" in the next update!
Seeyas!