What We Become

“Come on keep up Dawson! We gotta catch that son of a bitch!” Patrick was running as hard as he could with Dawson lagging behind, struggling to keep pace due to the heavy rucksack he carried. First stranger I trust in five years and he has to go an steal half our food. Why am I so goddamn stupid?

“Maybe I'd be able to go faster if one of us wasn't carrying our entire ammo pack,” Dawson panted sarcastically. The duo continued their gruelling sprint through the desert. Sending dust and debris flying in every direction with each step. They continued deeper into the badlands and began to see signs of civilization around them.

“There's a few wells around here, there must be a town or something nearby. I bet you that's where he's headed,” Patrick remarked, slowing his pace slightly. He noticed a set of tracks in the sand, probably the stranger's which led over a nearby sand dune. “Looks like he left us a nice little trail too,” he continued. The stranger was panicked and had obviously thrown caution to the wind, Patrick could use that to his advantage.

“Thank you captain obvious,” chirped Dawson sarcastically between laboured gasps for air, “Damn...I really should've listened to my gym teacher when he said I'd need to have good cardio later in life!” Dawson continued to take increasingly laboured breaths, hunched over with his hands resting on his knees.

“Yeah, yeah. It's probably not too far, these tracks are fresh. Just try and drag your lard-ass over this last hill,” Patrick joked. He then took off over the sand dune that lay ahead of them.

Dawson rested momentarily. Making vain attempts to control his breathing and make the searing pain in his sides go away. He woefully gazed at the gargantuan sand dune that lay before him. Dawson stood there staring down the dune as if he could will it to dissipate in the desert breeze. He had no such luck. “I hate hills,” he mumbled as he grudgingly continued over the dune. As Dawson clumsily stumbled down the other side of the dune, he could see Patrick eying something immediately ahead of them with suspicion. He tracked his gaze to a road sign that read “Appleloosa”. Dawson continued to gaze a bit further ahead and noticed an abandoned old western style community that lay ahead of them. The community seemed to be untouched by the ravages of time and the elements. If it weren't for the lack of anyone around to maintain or populate it, one might have thought that this was a bustling oasis in the desert of sorts. There were food stands of all sorts in the streets, boxes of food, water and many other essential survival items, as well as a giant saloon in the centre of the town. Only they were all eerily abandoned.

“This doesn't look good. No way would anyone just abandon a town filled with supplies. Keep your eyes open and stay in cover. I think we might be in over our heads here,” Patrick stealthily slid behind a stack of shipping containers all labelled “XXX”, Dawson followed suit.

“That...is a lot of booze!” Dawson reached into one of the crates and began greedily stuffing bottles of god knows what into his rucksack. Patrick was quick to slap his wrist away from the crate and shoot him a scolding glare. “What?”

“Dawson! For all we know these people could've been using those bottles as latrines! You could be drinking a bottle full of piss! And besides we could be in the middle of an ambush here! The last thing I need is for you to get drunk!”

“Well, right now I'm thirsty as hell and past the point of giving a shit...So cheers my dear sir,” Dawson's voice dripped with sarcasm. He quickly tilted his head back, closed his eyes and tipped the bottle until the sweet and hopefully alcoholic nectar flowed into his mouth. After a quick chug, his eyes shot open in surprise and he spat out the concoction in utter disgust.

“Told you so,” snarked Patrick. Dawson continued to spit and frantically scraped his tongue with his fingers before wiping his mouth and saying.

“No, that was worse than piss. It was apple cider! Who in their right mind stores crates upon crates of apple cider?” He spat onto the ground once more in an attempt to rid his mouth of the awful taste that remained from the cider. He proceeded to toss all the bottles he had stuffed into his bag out onto the sand haphazardly.

“Yeah, well I can't say you didn't deserve that,” Patrick whispered, “Now let's get on with retrieving our supplies. Just follow me and stay close. We'll stick to the alleyways for now and sweep the town,” he continued. Patrick and Dawson silently stalked through the nearest alleyway of the deserted town. There was still no sign of life anywhere. It seemed to be populated exclusively by tumbleweeds and the occasional abandoned covered cart. It was dead silence, not even any animals could be heard. Some say that silence is golden, but to Patrick, the silence was dark and foreboding. Like a black shroud enveloping the world around him with its' malevolence. For in the past, silence always meant one of two things: danger, or that everything around him was dead. And based on the condition of the town, he was betting on the former.

“Jesus...What would make people who were set up so well just...disappear?” Dawson  quickly glanced around at the empty looking buildings and barricaded doors. He was unnerved by the silence and desertion as well. Dawson could feel goosebumps slowly creeping up the back of his neck. The sound of something being slammed hard could be heard at the end of the alleyway. The noise echoed through the deserted streets. Dawson whistled and Patrick stopped dead, crouched down and readied his assault rifle. Dawson unholstered his scoped hunting rifle as well.

“Dawson, how many mags do we have between us?” Patrick pulled out his rifle magazine to check its' contents, “I only have ten bullets in this one!” Dawson quickly checked his rucksack and frowned.

“Same story as always, we don't have enough. Let's just try and stay away from a head on confrontation,” Dawson suggested as he scanned his surroundings for any possible hostiles. The town was still deserted, no one was in sight.

“No shit Sherlock. I heard that noise come from the saloon. Maybe we can sneak in there and catch a glance at what we may be up against,” suggested Patrick as he motioned towards the back door of the saloon. The duo silently crept up to either side of the door and slowly pulled it open. The entered the building in complete silence. Staying low and keeping their footsteps muffled. They acted almost instinctively, checking their corners and clearing the hallways that snaked around the building like robots. This was routine for them. They knew what they were doing and they planned to get it over with quickly and cleanly. In their minds, there was no room for error. Any slight fault could mean certain death, or worse, for both of them.

“Well here's the door to the bar. I say we take a peek inside. See what's waitin' for us,” urged Dawson in a hushed tone. Patrick obliged him, he slowly opened the door just wide enough for him to look through and he pressed his head to the small opening.

“Holy shit,” Patricks said with a hushed chuckle.

“What is it?”

“Dawson...you're not gonna believe this,” he whispered, “There's our thief and he's hanging upside down from the ceiling, must have gotten caught in a trap or something.” Patrick moved away from the door to allow Dawson to take a look at the hilarious scene. The stranger was hanging by his leg, upside down from the ceiling of the saloon. He flailed around feebly in an attempt to free his leg, but it was to no avail. It was almost too perfect to be true.

“Wow...It's like christmas! All that's missing is a nice little bow and some gift wrap,” Dawson snickered softly as he moved away from the door, “No one else seems to be in there. We might as well pay him a little visit,” he added wryly. The two barged into the bar area and approached the struggling thief.

“Sorry to bother you, but I think you have something of ours...and we'd like that something back,” demanded Patrick as he knelt down to be at eye level with the terrified man. He pulled out his bowie knife and pressed it to the man's throat. “Would you care to oblige us?”

“Look man...I'm sorry,” the man stuttered, “Please! Just...just take the bag back and get me down. Please don't kill me,” he begged.

“Oh don't worry...we won't kill you. We just might have to teach you a lesson or too. Didn't your momma ever tell you it isn't right to steal?” Patrick asked while running the blade slowly and gently along the man's neck. He could see the terror in the man's eyes as he pressed harder, and harder, on the blade.

“Please! Please don't,” The man was now basically in tears, begging for his life. He begged again “Please do-,” the man was cut off by Dawson cutting through the rope that tethered him to the ceiling which sent him crashing to the floor.

“Look bud. Let's strike a deal here; you give us our stuff back and we'll let you walk...Only if we ever see you come anywhere near us, or our supplies again. I swear I'll kill you myself,” Dawson hissed menacingly, “Deal?”

“D-deal...Thank you,” and with that, the stranger relinquished their belongings and slowly backed away. He then, in a fit of panic, burst out of the saloon and hit the ground running as fast as he could. Dawson and Patrick had a feeling he would not be targeting them anytime soon. The satisfaction  of watching the terrified thief sprint away faded quickly as Dawson and Patrick realized that they might have just kicked a metaphorical hornet's nest. The sound of what could only be described as a small group of horses galloping could be heard from the second floor of the saloon. The duo looked at each other, befuddled as to what horses could possibly be doing inside of a saloon. A light suddenly caught their eyes at the nearest staircase to the second floor of the establishment and they both turned to face it.

What they saw, could not be described as “normal” by any means. There were at least seven of them. Pastel horses of all colours dressed in full western garb stood at the bottom of the staircase. Patrick could make out some normal ones, pegasi, and unicorns who were somehow holding up laterns using what seemed to be an ethereal spell of sorts. What in god's name...

Dawson let out a snicker and then proceeded to cup his hand over his mouth in an obvious attempt to stifle himself. He began turning red and a wide grin crept onto his face as his eyes began to tear up. He eventually could not contain himself any longer and began laughing maniacally and clutching his stomach. “Oh my god...That cider must have had some pretty good shit in it!”, he managed to blurt out before going into another fit of laughter.

“S-stop right there monster,” stammered a yellow horse in a stetson hat and jacket. It was then that Dawson stopped laughing and let his jaw drop.

“D-did you just...” Dawson trailed off and continued to gawk at the strange horses.

“...Yep,” Patrick reassured him.

“Well...at least I'm not headed straight for the loony bin!”

“Oh I think going crazy is the least of our worries now,” Patrick whispered. He stood his ground and attempted to show no emotion to the horses. They may have looked strange to him, but that didn't mean they weren't dangerous, especially in a group as large and imposing as this one.

“Well I've lived through the end of the world...survived in a wasteland for the better part of five years...and now, I'm probably about to be trampled to death by a herd of cowboy horses...I think this just might be life's way of sending me a giant 'Fuck you!',” Dawson chuckled to himself.

The duo turned to each other as if to ask “What now?”, only neither could answer that question. For once they were in a situation that they couldn't weasel their way out of. The were two fish in a barrel, waiting to be shot. “Dawson...I think our only option here is to talk our way out,” suggested Patrick in hushed tone of voice.

“What? Have you gone insane? Do they look like the negotiating type? Hell...they actually shouldn't even be talking, but that's beside the point!”

“You're going to have to trust me on this one ok,”

“And why, pray tell, should I trust you?”

“Because...I used to be a used car saleseman before the Event, remember?...I know how to bullshit people.”

“Alright fine...just this once. But I swear if this goes awry it is your ass on the line!” And with that the duo laid down their weapons and prepared to negotiate with the strange pastel horse creatures.

Negotiating with talking cowboy-horses...Alright, now I've seen everything!

* * *

The past few hours of Gaige's life had been all but a drug infused haze. He vaguely remembered being wheeled through white hospital corridors. He could remember hearing voices, so many voices. He wasn't able to make out what they were saying but they sounded panicked. He had heard the familiar squeak of a medical cot's wheels, he knew he had been moved somewhere. Maybe he was back in Haventon and the events of the past few weeks had all been part of some sort of psychedelic dreamscape. Maybe he could see Carson again and hopefully he would be safe.

Enough speculation...time to wake up, he told himself. Gaige willed himself to painstakingly open his eyes. At first he saw he saw only a bright flare across his field of vision. The room was too bright for him, he had to shield his eyes with an arm until they slowly began to adjust. As the world began to come back into focused he noticed the room he was in was pristine and neat. It was too clean to be in Haventon. He was probably somewhere  still in the city he had fallen unconscious in. Probably a hospital and a very exquisite one to boot. There were fancy works of  art that dotted the walls. Portraits of important looking ponies throughout the years gone bye. The wallpaper had intricate designs woven into it. Gaige could make out flower's, garden's and villages among the many things on the mural like wallpaper. His bed felt like it was fit for royalty. Though, considering he had been sleeping on the hard ground and a tarp the past few weeks, anything even slightly more comfortable was heaven for him.

Alright, get up. You can do it, Gaige reassured himself as he threw the bed covers off of himself. He noticed that when he extended his legs there was not mattress to support them below his knees. Probably because his bed was optimized for a pony and not a giant bipedal ape. Gaige could now also see that he was stark naked. Of course...they're ponies, they probably can't even fathom the concept of clothes. He slowly began to pull his body up into a sitting position on the bed. He was still disoriented, it was probably a side effect of whatever drugs they had pumped into his bloodstream.

Gaige inspected his body. The large, jagged gashes that had dotted his body were now all either bandaged or scar tissue. He couldn't even tell that he had any wounds. He noticed a long IV tube snaking from his wrist to a pole, holding up a bag of some sort of liquid drug that he did not recognize. Whatever drugs these ponies used were pretty miraculous. They accomplished more than he could have ever hoped to with sutures, dirty bandages and antibiotics.

In the state Gaige was in now, he figured he could probably get up and move around. Despite the slight disorientation he felt pretty confident in his motor skills. He slowly and shakily rose to his feet. His began to feel light headed and the world around him began to blur in and out of focus once again. Just a little head rush, no big deal. He clutched the IV pole that he was attached to him and slowly began to move forwards, one baby step at a time. As he shuffled his way towards the hallway, he noticed a mirror that hung on the wall. Couldn't hurt to take a look.

He looked horrible. His hair was dirty and matted, his beard long and unkempt. He was scarily thin, he could count each of his ribs and his cheekbones were deeply sunken. His eyes were the feature that unnerved him most. They were dark, tired and sunken, almost like those of an animal peering out of his skull. He brandished a set of scars down his left arm and torso, in addition to the open wound across his cheek that had some sort of liquid bandage on it. He looked like a savage, a desperate wild animal. He reminded himself of the bandits and other villains he had come across in the wasteland. He looked like a monster. Was he becoming one too? You will not face the truth...will you Gaige? You will not-

“I was beginning to think that you would never awaken,” cooed a soft voice from behind him. Gaige slowly turned himself around to face the voice. There behind him sat the white alicorn with the flowing multicoloured mane and the navy alicorn with the flowing star dotted mane. Gaige let out a yelp of surprise and quickly yanked his bed covers over his nether regions. The white alicorn cocked her head and asked, “Something wrong?”

Gaige was at a loss at what to say. He just continued to stand there, gawking at the two alicorns and making feeble attempts to cover himself with his bedsheets. His silence was obviously making the alicorns uncomfortable. The navy one especially. She shifted awkwardly as she sat on her haunches observing him. “He's not much for conversation is he?”

“I feel like I've been hit by a train and I'm stark naked. Give me a moment would you?”, Gaige  groaned and massaged his temple as he attempted to turn his bedsheets into a makeshift toga to cover himself.

“Naked? My my, this isn't a formal occasion by any means! You need not be dressed up,” scoffed the white alicorn. She didn't seem to be phased by his nudity. Gaige now figured that clothes were only of any importance to these ponies if it was some sort of formal occasion or appearance. The only problem was that for Gaige, clothes were necessary all the time. He didn't think he could bear walking around naked for the rest of his time on this planet.

“Look I know clothes might not be of the utmost importance to you, but where I come from, it's pretty frowned upon to walk around stark naked. They're kind of a custom among us.” The alicorns look puzzled by this sudden revelation. The navy alicorn let out a soft snicker but was quickly silenced by the white one jabbing her in the side with her forehoof.

“Oh well that can wait, we have many questions for you. How about we finish with them first. Hmm?”, persuaded the white alicorn. She seemed to consider him as one would consider a small child or domestic animal. Gaige felt offended by this, but held off on voicing his displeasure. He wanted to avoid any confrontation at all costs. He was at their mercy after all. Perhaps it was for the best that they underestimated him.

“I'm going to need clothes first. I'm sure those questions can wait,” He insisted.

“Oh alright fine, we will go meet with our finest tailor and have him make you your special garments,” the white alicorn huffed, annoyed by this unexpected delay in her schedule. “We will return shortly. Just remain in your bed until further notice. I do not wish for you to incite more panic than there already is in Canterlot,” she continued as she trotted out of the room with the navy alicorn in tow.

“Before we go, may I ask one question?” , asked the navy unicorn, pausing momentarily to look at Gaige. He initially remained silent and shook his head. “Just one,” the alicorn persisted, doing her best to replicate a puppy eyes.

“...Fine, just the one. Shoot,” Gaige replied with a sigh.

“Does it...always dangle like that?”, she asked gesturing to his crotch. Gaige had the right mind to lash out with vulgarities as he normally would back in Haventon. He had to restrain himself due to the fact that he was in the presence of royalty and creatures he did not wish to see angry. He simply let out an aggravated sigh and pointed towards the doorway.

“Out,” he commanded, doing his best to restrain himself from adding in a certain four letter word that began with “f”. The navy alicorn obliged him and trotted out the door after her companion. He could hear the white alicorn's voice scolding her in a hushed tone.

“You mustn’t talk to that...thing...in such a way. We do not want to anger it we want to get information out of it. I will not allow you to ruin this interrogation for us!” Gaige could hear their hoofsteps growing fainter as the continued down the hallway. He slowly brought himself to his feet and attempted to follow them out of the room, but two guards, armed with spears, quickly materialized and blocked the doorway.

“Stop right there! You heard the princess, return to your bed. We can't have the likes of you prancing about wreaking havoc on the city,” spat one of the guards.

Something tells me these ponies are not too fond of me, Gaige thought to himself as he turned around and shuffled his way back to his cot. He laid himself down on the cot and shifted into a comfortable position. He was so tired.

Part of him wished that he had died back on the street. His only reasons to press on through his hardships were Carson and his group and the fact that he was responsible for keeping them safe. Now that was gone. What reason did he have to continue? Everything he  had ever cared for was dead and gone now. Lost in the days gone bye. What was left. No I mustn’t say that...I am not letting myself give up, he told himself. Gaige now had let his eyes flutter shut, he could not hold them open any longer. As he drifted off a voice echoed in his head.

You know it's the truth...you just won't face the truth. Only that wasn't the only voice in his head. He could hear another. This one sounded feminine. It was unfamiliar and malevolent. It cooed something over and over to him. No one else seemed to hear it.

“Oh don't leave yet,” it said, “We have so much planned for you Gaige. It will be worth your while to stick around. We can help you.” Gaige brushed it off, figuring it to be his unconscious mind toying with him. It was not until it responded to his thoughts with, “Oh this is very real. Just like the danger you're in right now. We're the only ones you can trust here. You must find us if you want to survive.” The voice began to fade away. Gaige attempted to focus entirely on the voice itself and making out what it had to say, but it was already long gone. It was now but a soft echo inside of his head. Gaige was beginning to suspect that there was much more than he had thought to his sudden arrival on this world. That he was but a pawn in a grandmaster's game. The question he had to ask himself now was if he was willing to play along.