Gone

[Equestrian Power Plant, Outskirts of Canterlot; 100 Hours, 5 Minutes; Weave]

“Welcome to the power plant, Weave” And then he remembered; he was deaf.

The power plant was filled with the grumblings of multiple scientists upon the subject of the upcoming apocalypse, claimed to happen in just a few days. A certain scientist, Rod, had brought his son, Weave, to the plant. It was his his birthday in a few days also, the day of the feared apocalypse, so his dad considered this an early birthday present. What Weave had lost in hearing he made up for in wingpower. “Hey Nucleus! I brought my son over to see the power plant before the Big Boom!” He silently chuckled at all of the names he could think of for the event; Big Boom, the End of Equestria, Ultimate Doom, the Climax, the Endless Plot Hole... He was brought out of his daydream by Nucleus, who was sweating like it was a hot summer day. “Hey Nucleus, what’s wrong? It’s the middle of December and it’s snowing outside; how can you be sweaty? And then he saw the culprit; a flashing red siren, pitching out an off-key ‘F’ natural.

Nucleus whispered out the sullen words, laced with doom, “Code Red, Level Five. The End of Equestria is upon us all.” He then whirled out of sight, into the thick white of snow.

See, there are six codes of emergency. Codes are based on color, and in order of least to most dangerous; Purple (Zero, Harmless), Blue (One, Slight), Green (Two, Moderate), Yellow (Three, High), Orange (Four, Huge), and finally Red (Five, End of Equestria). There are also six general levels for the note played. An ‘A’ means it will stay inside the power plant; a ‘B’ means Canterlot; a ‘C’ means Ponyville; a ‘D means Las Pegasus; an ‘E’ means Stalliongrad; an ‘F’ means all of Equestria. So, based on the urgency of the siren and some quick math, the whole of bright, sunny Equestria was coming to an end in five minutes, give or take. Some ponies were leaving through the back doors, some dived into the uranium tanks, dying of poisoning; and yet some still were frozen in place, afraid to move. Moving through the crowd, Weave was beginning to escape when an immense shock wave rippled the power plant, sending people flying through the walls. He saw Rod and Nucleus fly by out of control, but it passed through himself like nothing ever happened; no change, no sickness, nothing. He raced after a speed and intensity that could rival the Captain of the Wonderbolts. No amount of speed could keep him down and out with the wave, now sweeping towards other big cities.

[Ponyville Schoolyard; 100 Hours, 3 Minutes; Root]

“Okay, my little ponies, time to go to recess!”

Miss Quill was the nicest teacher you could hope for come junior year. Yeah, she still treated the whole class like foals, but at least she was a true free spirit; no homework, nobody really ever got into trouble, and nowhere near as strict. I consider myself one of the lucky ones; Stalliongrad would’ve been too strict for me. Out in the lunch yard, Diamond Necklace and Cake Batter were commanding the field as per usual, ordering when to eat, when to hang out, when to scream in terror of me, and, whenever obvious it seemed, when to go in. A bell rang to tell the class that lunch was over when necessary. Now, however, was not one of those times. The teacher had just released them. The Monday band was getting ready, with Brass Bugle and Jazz Hooves. The Monday band had started as a ‘ day-brightener’ for the stereotypical Monday, slabbed forever as the worst day of the week. And then, seemingly out of nowhere, Necklace let out a purposely audible gasp, and shrieked, “Woe be, woe be! Twisted Root has come to me!” She then ran away in mock terror, and the class burst with laughter.

Now, Twisted Root was no ordinary pony. He came from Stalliongrad a couple of years ago, before the Wall was torn down. How he got here was a mystery; he was found by Rarity in a dark alley, but soon moved out into a dirt hole, formerly a badger den. Lame, he couldn’t use his back right hoof. He was a bareback; no papers, no materials, no food, no water. Rarity took upon her the task of saving this colt, unto which he was brought back from nothing. The only traces of where he came from were three things; his thick accent, his easily pained demeanor, and, of course, his crippled leg.

He finally mustered up enough self-confidence to say a simple word, using it as a stepping stone. “Stop.”

He could be commanding at times, but right now was not one of those times. This was a time to be gathering up strength for a telling point. “Just because the end of the world is upon us, that doesn’t mean you can start bullying anypony! What if the world doesn’t end? The Seeds have never been wrong on the small stuff, always on time, but they’ve never been tested on something as big as this before; the end of the world!” He gave a small chuckle, a deep, hearty chuckle, and continued. “It must have still been a big thing back then; they could’ve easily forgotten a number and messed up Equestrian society!”

There was a small voice in his head. Strike now! The voice gave him confidence; debates were his specialty, and boy, did he love them! “The pinnacle of our success is only so if the world were to end now, and since the Seeds stated that, and I quote, ‘We are but merely at the bottom of a vast hill, seeming to stretch on to the sky and above’, we cannot be done!” And with that, the cocky stallion gave a smug grin at his wordplay, but the voice now sounded alarmed. The Seeds were wrong, I can sense a change in our path now. Go! Gather food, feed all people! He suddenly reared up on his legs, and, promptly realizing what he did, tried to lean forward. He fell on his hindquarters, and the motion of falling kept him in fluid synchronization with the floor, now flat on his back. The instant his back touched the dirt floor, laughter fell upon him. However, oblivious to the laughter, he simply bellowed out, “The end is here! Go! Get food, before it’s all gone!” And with that, he sacked the abandoned market, preserved it all in salt, and dragged it all back to his hole in the ground.

“Geez, what’s his problem?” The bell rang around thirty minutes later, and all of the ponies went inside the school. A shriek was heard as one of the students realized the abnormality; the teacher was gone! So far, all she had written was ’Open your arithmetic textbooks to page 1’ and there was a small curve; it was part of a number. Was it a two, or maybe a three? Could it have been an eight, a zero, a nine or a six? For this was all the school ponies knew; there was a large piece of chalk, split in half on the floor, slightly to the right of the curve.

[Stalliongrad Infirmary; 100 Hours, 0 Minutes; Brush]

        “You simply must stop getting hurt, Paint! No more high-rise murals, at least a month! I don’t want to see you in here again.” Doctor Whooves then started rambling on about a small village called Ponyville, and to go there in case of an emergency, whatever and wherever that is. “You just follow the train tracks away from Town Center.” All of a sudden, it was silent. I could’ve sworn that it was the beginning of another long yarn about the earlier days, when he lived there. He did have a hint of urgency in his voice. I should see what’s wrong. She opened her eyes, and the doctor was gone. All she could hear were the crying foals.

        “Doctor? Where are you?”

I’m in your head. Save the colts, save the fillies, every and anypony that needs help. Don’t bother with ones in critical care, or on life support. They are dead. Just worry about yourself, and everything will be alright. Remember: Follow the train tracks away from Town Center.

And on that note, she started off with a lengthy “Hello my little ponies, let’s get out of here!” Just like the voice in her head said, a lot of the ponies in critical condition had gone into a coma or were dead, and the ones on life support had perished the instant the shock wave rippled through town. She didn’t bother with these ponies. She only cared about the ones that could be saved. By the time she had finished evacuating the hospital, the lengthy introduction had turned into a smile and a held out hoof, trying to symbolize to the ponies Hey, I am your friend. Come with me!

Eventually, she evacuated the infirmary. Now, Paint Brush was not your ordinary pony. She was a complete dunce; even though she was a solid 13, she still had to have a pack of sticks for adding and subtracting numbers. She couldn’t read or write. Her vocabulary was limited to what the voice in her head said, but, on her own, she could make very basic sentences. That was all she had to say, that was all she ever needed to say. She was orphaned at a young age; she had lived off of the pure generosity of others, until she saved up enough money for her first paint, brush, and canvas. The Voice told her to do so, what to paint; it controlled her life. After her first painting, she was able to begin the struggle against poverty, being able to buy the same three materials, plus a few bits extra, which went to a decent meal. Once her paintings became worth more money, she bought a few clothes, such as a blue beanie and a blue hoodie to compliment her gray coat. She painted with these clothes on, slept with these clothes on, did everything with these clothes on, even painted with them, that she eventually tore the beanie and had to throw it away, and sold her hoodie once she had accumulated tons of paint on it for a fair price. Right now, she was wearing a newer hoodie, deciding where to take her herd of around 75 to 100 colts and fillies. The only colt there around her age, Cloud Chaser, had paired with her during the buddy system. They were now deciding where to take the group.

“Hey, I’m Cloud Chaser, and I’m a baker.”

“Paint Brush, I’m a painter. If you chase clouds, then why are you a baker?”

“I couldn’t chase clouds until a couple of weeks ago. Why are you so confused?” Unbeknownst to him, Brush had never learned about the Great Stalliongrad Wall that enveloped the city, the dictatorship, the freedom that came after the uprisings and when it was ripped down; nothing but a blank.

“Why wouldn’t you be able to leave?”

“The Stalliongrad Wall, it was torn down a couple of weeks ago. Have you been living under a rock your life?”

“No, but you were close; I actually live under a cardboard box!” She nickered, but her weak attempt at humor cost her a smack on the back of her head and a ‘get into the mix’. “My doctor’s last words were to follow the train tracks to Ponyville, away from Town Center; after that, he disappeared, just like the rest of the adults.”

“Well, since this is the only notion of a direction to go to, it’s decided; Ponyville or bust!”

“Okay my little ponies, follow me!” Let me see if I can find the most generous pony in all of Equestria in Ponyville!

[Outside Equestria; 99 Hours, 55 Minutes; Rod]

“Where am I?” After searching around, he saw nothing to pinpoint anything, except for the fact that he was probably colorblind; all the colors around him were either a pale gray, a deep black, or a piercing white. He came back to where he had appeared and saw, of all ponies, both princesses, one with a look of dismay, and one doing a facehoof and preparing for something.

“Of all the places, you had to choose the Moon?” In one sentence, Princess Luna had escalated from agitated to a full-blown Royal Canterlot Voice. Her last word echoed on for around a minute or two. Meanwhile, Princess Celestia was just minding her own business, making a new world, a breathable atmosphere, a variation of cities with enough houses and huts for everypony.

She finally took note of the navy blue mare in painful agony. “Lulu, play your part, before all of the prisoners from the various places arrive.” She now motioned over towards me. “Come and see the creation of a new world, a new Equestria. You were the person nearest the incident, so do you know what happened? I presume that, since you are Rod, it was at the power plant?”

“That is correct, Your Highness”

“Please, just call me Madame, I don’t feel too regal right now.”

“Yes, Madame. All I know is that there was a Level Five, and it was a Code Red. Equestria must have been destroyed.” Her face was a mix of shock, dismay, and confusion much like his. “There was a blue wave, and then... I was here. I know we are on the moon, but what are you doing?”

Avoiding the last question, she answered, “If something of your magnitude happened and you’re here, you were closest to the blast, how come you haven’t keeled over and died from radiation sickness or a cancerous super tumor?” She paused, and her horn lit up. Rod felt something, poking him seemingly everywhere. Her face was a face of pure shock. “You have no radiation in you whatsoever. Where’s your son?”

“I honestly don’t know, madame.” By now, Luna had finished creating a vast prison, and sat down beside the Princess of the Day.

Luna spoke up. “I looked at Equestria from one of my viewpoints here; it looks perfectly normal. Looking closer, however, there’s nothing over 15 years old, though; everything over 15 years old has disappeared. And when I mean everything, I mean everything. No classical books, no mares or stallions, some stores and food carts have vanished, pretty much all of Canterlot, Ponyville, and almost all of the other major cities are gone. The railroad track are gone, and really, only Stalliongrad is left. At least there are still crops for them to eat. And sadly, everypony in Stalliongrad is leaving. Hello, Doctor Whooves.”

“Hello, madame. She thinks she has to follow the train tracks, but if there are none, I just told her to get away from Stalliongrad. She will find an old friend soon enough, remember what he did to save her in a time of need, and realize her true destiny.”

“May I presume this is Twisted Root?” The name clicked in Rod’s head; was he an old friend? And then he remembered; he had seen him running, in the train station, looking for Mother, on the run with him.

[A/N: Phew! I actually had time to type this out! The next chapter is a flashback that will explain some things, like Weave’s deafness, Root’s lameness, and other things too. Look forward to it; I already have started working on it! My technique is this; write it on paper, then type it. And if you’re wondering what happened to Evasion, I’m going to re-publish it a few months from now.

~Fresh Cookies]