As He knew it

Chapters

Prologue: One Man's Scribbles
Entry #1: The End
Entry #2: A Different Perspective
Entry #4: Euthanasia
Entry #3: One More for the Slaughter

Prologue: One Man's Scribbles

Celestia sat upon her throne, and looked out upon her beautiful, peaceful and prosperous kingdom’s Capital, Canterlot. She smiled gently, enjoying such a view as this often. It was a day off of sorts for the Princess of the Sun. There was barely any outstanding governmental affairs to deal with, and thus, they had been dealt with quickly and easily. Now she could relax, and watch time crawl on by in the streets of her fair city. Of course, she shared ownership of this city and the kingdom below and beyond with her sister Luna, and most recently, said sister had greatly contributed to the technological advancements of the era, but it had been Celestia who had started this city from scratch after that event. Her dear sibling was well recovered from it, now fully up to date with modern society, but Celestia still felt the slightest hint of guilt whenever it was mentioned by name or description.

To the diarch’s right hovered a letter from her former pupil, enveloped by the soft sunlight glow of Celestia’s magic. It told of how Twilight Sparkle had finally given birth to her first born foal, and how she was hoping her former mentor would do her the honour of coming up with a name. Already, some ideas had been written onto another scroll of paper hovering on her left, a quill held near in case new names came to mind. The first to be written had been, obviously, the easiest: Midnight Sparkle. Names only numbering in the single digits, all of them seemed good, but at the same time, something was missing.

The telltale light thumping of Princess Luna’s robotic leg forewarned Celestia of her sister’s arrival, the rate of thump implying a canter at the least. Perhaps she can help me with naming the new born, she thought. She never even considered why the mare would be in such a hurry to get to the Throne Room. Celestia reached out an invisible magic hoof into the floor beneath her throne, into the mechanisms that had been installed a couple years back. Finding the switch, she telekinetically pressed it. The throne smoothly rotating on the spot, turning to face the doubles just as the were flung open by Luna’s own magic.

“You’re just in ti-”

“SISTER!” Luna shouted with exuberance. “They’ve found something!”

Paper and quill dropped to the floor. How had she forgotten such a thing as this? She supposed Twilight having a child really was quite the distraction. How long had it been? How long since what the historical records have down as the start of the American Era? Only a couple of years. It came hoof in hoof with Ponykind’s jump in technological status.

“What is it?” She asked, excitement barely contained.

“It’s his journal.”

“You don’t mean-”

“Yes! The very one he wouldn’t let us read.”

“But how?”

“Apparently, he left a message for us on the inside of the cover. It’ll explain, or so I’m told.”

His journal of all things! Celestia really couldn’t believe it. Barely a trace of Their presence could be found anywhere on the planet. Not much had left the continent They’d come from, so when all had been said and done, it was almost as if, at least visually, none of it had happened.

“So wh-”

“Rainbow Dash is bringing it here as we speak. It really was a good idea to let her join the expedition, considering.”

“It appears so.”

A ruckus could suddenly be heard from the corridors beyond the room. Luna hurried to her own throne and put on a placid expression, and Celestia followed suit. As they predicted, the source of the noise and complaints flew in and landed into a bow perfectly. The pegasus mare’s rainbow mane and tail were grubby and wind swept. Her light blue coat gleamed with sweat under her muddy jacket, not dissimilar to the one worn by Daring Do, and she was breathing heavily. The Element of Loyalty always managed to astonish those around her with her speed and determination.

“Your Majesties,” she breathed. “I flew- as fast- as I could.”

“So it would seem,” Luna observed, allowing a small grin.

“So, Rainbow Dash?”

The mare in question looked up to Celestia.

“Do you have it?”

Miss Dash stood proud, a wing lifting a ring bound book out from her saddle bag.

“Of course. You know I’d never fail you.”

The book was taken into Luna’s midnight blue magical grasp (rather hastily if you asked Celestia), and she opened it up at a random page.

“This is definitely his writing.”

“I thank you, Rainbow Dash. Perhaps you would like to see some of what was written?”

Rainbow awkwardly rubbed the back of her neck with a hoof.

“I would if I could, but I can’t read that language of His. I know it isn’t all written like that, but I can’t just start anywhere. Ruins the story.”

“Oh, you won’t have to read it. Here.”

Celestia took the book from Luna’s magic, levitating it above. Held open to the message on the inside of the cover, the Princess cast a spell on the book, and from it shone the image of a bipedal, mostly hairless and clothed being. The creature was of the Human Race; a Homo Sapien. They were not native to the planet, or quite possibly the plane of existence. This specific human was the one who had played a large, yet unknown part in the American Era.

He stood at five foot four (on two legs as priorly mentioned), his skinny frame having hints of muscle where he wasn’t covered by his clothing. From his head there sprouted a shoulder length mane of strawberry blonde hair, and his chin sported the similar coloured beginnings of a beard and moustache, little bristles that almost blended with his lightly tanned skin. His eyes were a strong and vivid green. His facial structure was bony, which came as a consequence for lack of the meat he had required in his diet.

His clothes were of those the ever so generous Rarity had made for him. He requested certain rules to how the apparel be made, insisting on more common materials such as cotton and denim (which in itself was made from cotton). A simple, black polo shirt and denim trousers, or ‘jeans’ as he called them. He wore underwear too, but they were, of course, hidden. His shoes were the same he’d arrived in, only repaired after heavy use.

Truly, this man was a sight to behold. A new being who had helped ponies, even though they were foreign to him, and (according to him) his race generally responded to such things with violence. Hay, they hadn’t even understood each other at first. His world had had many languages, and Equestrian didn’t seem to resemble any of them. His role in starting the American Era was unseen by most.

“I think that’s about enough time for staring at the little man,” said the projection, making the three ponies present jump.

Celestia looked up at the book briefly and saw the message did indeed say that. He really did think ahead with this. When did he find the time?

“To the confused initial discoverer of my Precious, read no further than the next sentence. Send this straight to Their Royal Majesties, Princesses Celestia and Luna, so that they can finally learn what I was writing all those times I kept to myself with Precious.”

“Well, that explains Gold Digger’s reaction when he tried reading this,” Dash commented.

Luna shushed her.

“Now, if you are reading this, it means I succeeded in leaving Precious behind. I thought it only right you have her for your personal records and reminiscing. She wouldn’t be as useful back home anyway. I highly suspect you’re actually using that spell you showed me once or twice during my time with you all. If not, then do it now, silly Celly. I ask you show this to the whole gang, as it’s only fair on them. Held within is my record of the time I spent in Equestria. Some of it you will already know, and some you will have heard of occurring, but all will be new to you, be it perspective or whole events. Use this information as you will. And finally, above all else, read her to the end. I left a gift for you.”

He flickered out as ‘Celly’ stopped the spell.

“Rainbow Dash, you will assist Luna in summoning the others to the Castle, while I have rooms and beds prepared, as well as a comfortable environment for the ‘viewing’.”

RD saluted, and held still until Luna passed, when she turned and followed the Princess of the Night out of the Throne Room. Excited chatter could be heard between the two, fading as they went further from earshot.

Princess Celestia brought the book down to read the cover. The backing consisted of two pieces of hardback, pitch black in colour. The back end was blank, but the front had a sticker, the title handwritten in English. Celestia had learnt the language out of respect for the man whose neat writing (quite possibly the neatest Celly had seen) formed the title:

This Journal belongs to:

Title:

A Brit’s Adventures in the States

A Human’s Adventures in Equestria

(aka ‘Precious’)

Author's Note

The name was originally a block of blue to imply heavily scribbled out, but I know not how to do that here. First few chapters will be in time with dates.

Entry #1: The End

Date:

Dec 20th 2012

So, this is my first entry for my Adventures in the States. According to this fancy watch I splurged out on before boarding the plane, I arrived in Maryland about quarter past one local time, and quarter past six back home. I am actually writing this before an End of the World party. Although, I should probably add some context.

Around the time school was finishing, A levels done and dusted, a friend of mine had invited her own friend from the US. I, being a little VERY drunk, thought I’d try out the theory that American lasses absolutely bummed the stereotypical English accent. She’d just turned 18, and of course, with the legal age at 21 back in the states (mostly), she was OFF HER TITS with legal alcohol. We both were, and I threw in some ‘Jolly Good Shows’, ‘Pip Pips’ and ‘Tally Hos’. Long story short, we made out in the last bar of the night.

Now, at the beginning of this month, over a year later, I post on Facebook that for Christmas, I was going to fly to America. Short notice to everyone but my family, and it was gonna be for as long as I felt I could afford. Shortly after said post, this chick starts talking to me with FB Messenger. Over the next almost three weeks we chatted, got to know each other, and helped me to decide the state I’d start my trip.

Anyway, she picked me up this afternoon. Now that we’re in person, we get on like a house on fire. It’s brilliant. I really hope there might be something there too; a relationship. She’s so beautiful and nice and... I now realise I’m blabbing on, and also I’m writing this weird for a journal.

A friend of hers (another friend of a friend dealie) is playing on the whole Mayan thing for an excuse to host a huge party, with limitless booze apparently. Frankie (my lovely friend) isn’t 21, but looks the part and has a fake ID. Dunno if I agree with the ethics or whatever it is, but right now, I care not. It’s tonight because the official time for ‘The End’ is 11:11 GMT. I thought it would have been something like 21:12, but meh to it all. I doubt the world will end. And if there is any ending, it’ll be more like the end of the world as we know it. Lives will still exist, as will the planet, but things might be very different for some if not all of those alive.

Frankie is calling for me. We’re going to this shindig, the time in Maryland now 20:30. Made sure I was ready early to write this. And I’ll bet less official end awaiters back home will be all, “YAY! No doom!” Were I there, I’d probably shout, “The Doctor saved us!” Oh yeah, on a final note, a major plan for this trip is to go see some American Doctor Who filming or something.

“That was... uneventful,” Rarity said as He disappeared.

“I have to admit, she’s right sister,” added Luna.

Celestia looked over to her sister and nodded, wondering whether she might be able to improve upon the viewings.

It was nearly a week since discovering Precious. Gathering ‘the gang’ hadn’t been hard. However, they had to wait for Twilight’s discharge from Ponyville Hospital, and after that, the foal’s discharge. The Doctors were insistent they couldn’t allow the new mother and child out without checkups. Then there was the arrangements everypony had to make so they could stay in Canterlot for however long the viewing would take.

But now, around the private throne room, now plushed up for plenty of comfort, the ponies who had grown to know Him were united. Their number was small, yet still big enough to take up a lot of room nonetheless. All the room’s light came the electric lights hanging from the ceiling, as the need for privacy prevented the construction of windows in the room.

For barely ten minutes, they’d sat and watched the image of him speaking his written words. It was boring, to say the least. Pinkie Pie had fidgeted the whole way through, and Rainbow Dash was only awake because of her friends fidgeting.

“Perhaps,” Twilight spoke up. “Perhaps you could see if you could tap into his lingering presence. Carrying it around so much, surely our land’s magic will have left an imprint of his soul and memories onto Precious.”

“Great idea sis!”

Shining Armour was sat nearest to the door, his training demanding he stay close to the only way of passage. The siblings smiled to one another. Twilight didn’t wince, as she used to, when light caught Shining’s mechanical eye. Nigh on identical to a real one, its only difference was the zoom function. A personal request of the soldier.

Cadence sat on her own smaller throne, situated to Celestia’s left, Luna to her right. Arrangements had been made so that the Crystal Empire could temporarily run on its own accord. The Crystal Princess also smiled, albeit without showing her teeth. Unlike Luna and Shining, Cadence was not fond of her metal replacement teeth. They’d been made to look identical, and coated with a texture imitating gel, but that still didn’t stop her from hiding her ‘blemishes’.

Such change amongst us all, though Celestia as she scanned the journal for any residual presence. Sure enough, it was there, and quite strong. Latching onto it with her magic, she pulled it to the forefront and demanded it show those present what it had for them. A real view into his experiences.

The toilet flushed fine enough, considering all of the substance it had been asked to remove. A substance the man now washing his face wish he hadn’t had to expel. He’d managed to avoid getting stuff all over his clothes, but it still felt horrible. He checked his face in the mirror to see if he’d missed anything. As he looked over his reflection, it looked over him.

His hair was a couple inches long, and combed over to go for that look Chris Evans had as Captain America. His face was clean, shaven and otherwise. Making the final judgement that all the sick was gone from his features, the man grabbed a towel and thoroughly dried off. On his way out, he stopped to look at the bathroom. To put it in one word: Extravagant.

“And I just puked in it. Heh, probably not the first time either,” he said to himself, turning back to the exit.

Stepping out, he was affronted with the racket that was by far the greatest party he’d ever been to. The place was huge, yet there was nary a place without people drinking, chatting and other party activities.

“Hey you,” came Frankie’s voice from behind.

Two arms wrapped themselves around the man’s waist, and his friend’s chest was pushed against his back.

“Hey.”

The man had sobered up more than he cared for after being ill just a moment ago. He didn’t like noticing the smell of Frankie’s breath. Ruined the appeal.

“How arrrrre you li’ing our American hospi- hospi- treatment?”

“I haven’t been treated aggressively, and I haven’t been asked about my nationality as often as I thought I would, so I’d say I’m liking it very much.”

He discreetly checked the time on his watch. 01:23 Maryland time, 21st December. Just less than 5 hours remaining. Would be the first party he’d gone too that lasted that long.

“Thaz good... I got somefing to show ya.”

“Mind if I down myself another drink first? I need to regain some inebriation.”

“You alwayz use long words don’tcha?”

“Blame my upbringing.”

The arms pulled away, and Frankie came into view, leading the way to one of the many places around the mansion they could get a drink. Her hair was just an inch short of shoulder length, auburn and straight as straight can be. For the occasion, she’d dressed in a dark red top with no straps or midriff; like a tube of cloth wrapped around the chest area. Her lower half consisted of tighter than tight jeans and simple converses. The jeans exaggerated what little ass Frankie had, making it rather nice to look at.

After a couple minutes and at least 2 flights of stairs, the pair of them reached a cooler, still crammed full with assorted alcoholic beverages. Frankie grabbed two bottles, popped off their caps and passed one to him.

“Bottoms up!” she shouted before putting her drink to her lips and tipping her head back.

He did the same, and shortly thereafter, both bottles were slammed down simultaneously. Frankie let out a satisfactory sigh, then burped.

“Good stuff. NOW!”

Before he could react, Frankie had grabbed his hand and yanked him away. Random people were saying greetings of different kinds. He noticed some of them had ‘knowing’ faces. Next thing he knew, he was pulled into one of the many bedrooms, and pinned onto the bed.

“Wh-”

Two pairs of lips collided, and tongues soon after. They made out furiously. He could only hope Frankie had locked the door, because he did not want any interruptions. He barely registered it when she put a hand into his trousers, reaching out for-

“Oh my,” Fluttershy whispered, hoof held to her muzzle, face blushing.

She wasn’t the only one blushing either, the whole room was. Even Cadence, well versed in love as she is, turned ruby red at the sight. Celestia quickly blurred out the image and muted the sound.

“Well, we can’t say it’s boring anymore can we?” joked Luna.

Celestia grinned awkwardly, and said, “I’ll see if I can’t fast forward it.”

If anyone were to walk in now, they’d see the stereotypical post sex pose, as seen in TV and films. Frankie was on her side, sleeping calmly with an arm reached over him. He lay with his hands behind his head, smiling to himself. He couldn’t sleep after all that, that was for sure. He thanked God he had his Faithful Emergency Condom, or FEC as he called it, sounding like some Irish man saying fuck.

On the bedside table sat his watch, displaying 04:08. Two hours left according to the Mayans. How much of those last two and a half hours was sex, how long had they paused in the middle, and how long had he just lay there afterwards? It didn’t matter. He just decided it was a great way to be welcomed into USA.

Taking care not to wake ‘Sleeping Beauty’, He shuffled out of bed and slipped back into his clothes. A pair of jeans (he didn’t have anything other than jeans for leg wear), old trainers (so old no one could tell their brand or original colour), and a blue and black checkered shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He knew he smelt of the deed, but assumed it wouldn’t be much of problem for the massive amount of wankered adults still being rowdy as ever.

He sneaked out of the room, wishing to be around the waking when the clock reaches the ‘point of no return’, but not wanting to wake her just for that. To be perfectly honest, He didn’t believe this nonsense, what with the date conveniently making a pattern in the American dating system.

He grabbed another beer, uncaring of its brand or strength. Next, with one hand in its pocket, and the other serving the bevvie to his mouth, he strolled out to the main lounge area, where countless people slept, drank, chatted, puked, made out, etc. A quick scan of the room found a random guy sat on his own, seemingly taking in the atmosphere with drink in hand.

Upon his approach, he called over, “Great party isn’t it?”

“The weather’s just fine,” replied the random.

“Huh?”

“I felt your question was rather like asking ‘Good weather we’re having isn’t it?’ Thought I’d try to be funny.”

He finally reached his seat beside the random.

“Oh, er... heh, funny.”

Random held out a hand and said, “I’m Vernon, by the way, or Vern to my friends.”

“So can I...?” He asked as he took the offered hand and shook it.

“We’re all friends here.”

“Ok, Vern it is. I’m-”

A bottle was dropped elsewhere, causing him to look to the source, distracted. Shaking his head, he turned back.

“You were saying?”

“My name’s-”

A random drunk girl fell over. He helped her back up and sat down.

“They call me-”

The memory they were watching went blank all of a sudden.

“Hey, what gives?” asked Rainbow Dash.

“I don’t know,” Celestia replied. “There’s nothing wrong with the spell or anything else I can think of.”

“Then what d’y’all think happened?” AJ queried.

The Earth Pony mare took her trademark stetson hat off briefly to scratch her head. Her short mane was growing back nicely. At least some of us got off lucky with non permanent visual scars.

“He may have been knocked out,” Shining suggested.

Pinkie moaned, “Aww, but I wanted to know his name.”

Celestia agreed, “As do we all. Oh, and I think I’ve found where he comes to.”

“You alright buddy? That’s a nasty blow to the head you had there.”

The poor man warily opened his eyes.

“What happened?”

Vern came into focus as he answered, “Some idiot thought to try juggling his empty beer bottles. When he inevitably dropped them, one landed hard on your head.”

“Oh.”

He reached up to a sore spot on his head. A light touch sent a wave of pain through his cranium, and his handed flinched away.

“Yeah, hurts don’t it? Just be happy I was here.”

“Huh?”

“Well, considering about half the people here are underage, they didn’t wanna call an ambulance. I’m a doctor, and sober enough to not risk your health too much.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Looking around, the man found himself sat exactly where he blacked out. In a corner, another party goer amongst the seemingly unhalted mayhem was nursing a bloody nose.

“That’s the guy who went and bopped you one. Your girlfriend showed up while I was tending to you. One look at you and she demanded ‘Who hurt my man!?’ Dude was all apologetic, but that didn’t stop the early Christmas present she had for him. I swear that crack echoed throughout the house.”

“You don’t mean that his nose is broken? In one hit?”

Vern nodded, looking like he was on the verge of laughter.

“So where’s Frankie?”

“Washing the blood from her hand. You came to literally seconds after he ran bawling his eyes out and she stormed off to a bathroom.”

The two men went silent, and Vern sat back down. A glimpse at his watch told him there were mere minutes before the world as they knew it was supposed to end; 06:05. The minutes went by. A clock on the wall showed the time to everyone else, a minute or so faster than the watch, but the watch was timed to his phone’s clock, which, in turn, was set by the signal it received.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vern glaring at some other guy walking by on the opposite side of the room. The man would have asked what the problem was, but Frankie returned just then.

“How’s my little stud?” she asked.

She still had a bit of a drunken walk, but she’d sobered up enough to speak properly. She placed herself on the man’s lap and cuddled.

“Better. Heard you defended my honour.”

“Is that what you call it? I suppose I did. Felt good too.”

“Don’t get too used to it. I don’t make a habit of being taken from behind.”

“I don’t recall doing that back- oooohhhhhhhh.”

Vernon raised an eyebrow at this, but the man gave a replying look that read, ‘Don’t go there.’ Instead, the doctor chuckled to himself.

“Still haven’t told you my name,” the man pointed out.

“Don’t.”

He was taken aback.

“Why not?”

Vernon held up a hand and pointed to the clock. Everyone was slowly quieting down and watching the seconds tick.

As the second hand reached the fifty mark, they all shouted, “10!”

It ticked further.

“9!”

The whole building rang with voices well in time.

“8!”

Frankie had said her friend synced all the clocks.

“7!”

Speaking of the girl, her voice was very loud in the man’s ear.

“6!”

As was Vern’s in the other.

“5!”

Through an opened patio door, the countdown could be heard from the whole estate.

“4!”

Had they synced every house?

“3!”

Even he felt slightly tense. Most likely due to the high alcohol consumption and local atmosphere.

“2!”

Damned Americans and their apprehensive atmosphere.

“1!”

Was it just him, or was the floor rumbling?

“DOOOOOOOOOOOOM!”

People were looking to one another, checking everything was as it were before. They all gave it some extra seconds to take a delayed effect.

Nothing.

From outside, another abode could be heard wooting in celebration. Those present around the man all shrugged and followed suit.

One voice was heard shouting, “Live to fuck another day!”

Another voice, one after the man’s own heart, declared, “The Doctor saved us!”

Lastly, another voice was noted screaming to the heavens, “Smite me, O Mighty Smiter!”

“Well, that was bogus,” Vern said, keeping his cool through all of it.

“Great party though, right?” Frankie asked.

“Yes, good weather indeed,” the man replied.

He and Vern burst out laughing, Frankie joining in with a confused look.

When they settled back down, slightly out of breath, the man asked again, “Why won’t you hear my name?”

“You’ve tried and failed three times, and third time’s meant to be the charm. And, in one or more countries in Asia, they have this strong fear of the number four because it’s connected to death somehow. I think it has something to do with similar spelling.”

“Didn’t think you a superstitious man, being so collected at an End of the World party.”

“I don’t believe blatant fear mongering. Anyway, from now on, I’ll just call you Buddy.”

“He’s nothing like Buddy Holly,” Frankie interjected.

‘Buddy’ was going to object, but he noticed something rather odd. The ground was still rumbling. At first, one would think it was from large movement in the building, but you can sort of tell when that’s the case. This was different.

“I meant like ‘buddy’, the other word for friend.”

“I think your superstitions are stupid.”

Putting a hand to the ground, Buddy felt the rumbling better through his fingertips. It felt just like that small earthquake back in Britain. Only, one problem:

It was getting stronger.

“Each to their own, Miss...?”

“Frankie.”

The watch was looked at for the umpteenth time. The real, global countdown had begun, and 5 seconds remained.

Frankie continued, “Buddy here has a real name.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Meet-”

The rumbling evolved into a ground shaking earthquake at the drop of a hat. Screams accompanied the sound of rock fissuring in the distance.

“Hit the deck!”

As Buddy did so, he realised he was the one to shout the command. He lay on his front, a hand over his head, ignoring the pain of contact. The other hand and attached arm was held over Frankie, who he’d pulled down with him. Instead of joining the screaming symphony, she took a different approach of sobbing quietly into Buddy’s shoulder. To his other side was Vern, both hands over his head, face looking sternly at the floor.

“We’re all gonna die!”

“Shut up! It’s just coincidental.”

The quake got even stronger.

“THIS ISN’T A COINCIDENCE!”

“JUST GET THE FUCK DOWN!”

Something over head cracked.

“IT’LL MAKE NO DIFF-”

An ear piercing scream, and squelching sound. Frankie dug her nails into Buddy’s arm. He was shaking. Vern had closed his eyes and, even with all the other sounds, Buddy could hear him saying his prayers.

As a last ditch, pointless effort to keep up morale, Buddy yelled, “WE’RE GONNA GET THROUGH THIS! I PROM-

The view went blank once more.

“He’d told us it was scary, but this just takes the cake. How could anyone live through that without mental trauma, let alone the physical ache?” Zecora thought aloud.

“I don’t think he did get off scott free, Zee,” explained Scootaloo.

The pegasus, now a young mare, looked back at her friends. Sweetie Belle wiped tears from her eyes, and those of her sisters too. Applebloom huddled up to Big Mac. Bab Seed just stared, mouth agape. Maybe it had been Scoots alone who had noticed the slight emptiness in the eyes, and unnecessarily frequent checks of the watch.

Pinkie was bouncing on the spot anxiously.

“Ooooooo I do hope they get out alright.”

“We will find out soon enough,” Celestia said.

Buddy’s Footnotes:

I still look back on this day. It turned out pretty swell, except for the ending. I’ll never get over how nice Vern had been.

P.T.O

Author's Note

DAMMIT! Just missed 20th Dec here in England. Stupid colouring issues.

Entry #2: A Different Perspective

Date:

Dec 21st 2012

As it turns out, I was right. The world didn’t completely end, but only as we knew it. Most would be happy after surviving such an event, but - - Sorry to anyone reading this. I’ve been phasing out here and there from a concussion. Two blows to the same place on your head’ll do that to you. My spelling seems to be fine though. Anyway, like I was writing, I don’t think I have much reason to be happy of surviving.

I’m all alone They’re all gone Frankie’s dead.

During the initial quake, the mansion I won’t go into Her head’s completely gone. It’s pulp, back on the party floor. I was upset when I first found out, that’s to be sure. It had really felt like we could have made something of us. The constant phasing in and out and the pain in my arm has been taking my mind off of it mostly. Oh, the arm - - I’m told by Vern, who was the first to come to, that the roofing that crushed Frankie’s head killed Frankie had also trapped my arm that I’d had around her.

There’s heavy bruising where I’d worn my watch, and Vern suspected there was at least a fracture. The watch in question survived, but not without the clock telling Maryland time stopping. The smaller ones, one telling G - - GMT, and the other no time in particular, are working fine. Whenever I look at the device, it tells me the time Frankie died; when I failed to save her.

One thing I do remember, even in my current state, is the dead. Vern was barely hurt, scratches here and there and dusty - - clothes the only hints to what he’d been through. Oh, and there was the blood, none of it his. He spent his first waking hours saving as many lives as he could amongst the mansion’s rubble. Other lucky ones helped with moving debris, and followed the doctor’s orders concerning the easier to treat vic - - victims. I had been laid out on a sun bathing chair by the pool, and just watched. More corpses bodies were being placed in the ‘dead pile’ than anyone would want to admit.

At some point, I’d decided to get up carefully and roam over to the pile. One of the many was the man Vern had ra - - randomly glared at. A piece of - - metal stuck out of his chest. Weirdly enough, it stuck right out of the eye of the cartoon character that covered his T-Shirt. A big red horse with a stick of wheat in its mouth. Dunno why I bothered to remember the actual character.

On the opposite side to where I’d originally been placed, I found Frankie’s body headless. Tu - - Turns out those filmmakers really knew their stuff when designing headless corpses. I spent my next few minutes throwing up in a garden bush.

Eventually, Vern decl - - declared any more searching to be pointless, and the next job to be getting those who need more attention than can be given - - without the proper equipment. That’s where I am now, a couple hours of stumbling walking later; a hospital, waiting to be looked at. Que - - Queues aren’t as big as one would expect post apocalypse. Seems most who got injured were too far gone for recovery.

I’ve managed to learn a few other things about the current state of the world. The worst hit places were coasts, built up - - places and, for some reason, the southern borders of Mexico. As all my info is from eavesdropping, I haven’t been able to make out anything that makes sense. It once sounded like there was no land past Mex - - Mexico. Landlines still work betw - - between the states, as well as Canada and Mexico, but there’s apparently no reaching out of North America. Oh, we can contact Greenland too, as much - - as that helps. Seems all satellite connections are kaput. And lastly, to add to the whole confusion even more:

A not so lucky surv - - survivor had had all their limbs trapped, crushed even, and until being found and rushed to the hospital, was stuck staring at - - the stars for the short time between the world en - - ending and dawn. The time had been long enough to dri - - drive her mad. All bar one limb now amputated, she was rolled out of operating. I know all this because I’d asked her frie - - friend what had happened after hearing her ranting. One of the poor sod’s hobbies was star-gazing.

Her rant went a - - little something like this: “They aren’t - - our stars! Our world is gone!” This would cont - - continue, fading out of earshot, on a loop.

I’m beginning to the - - theorise a couple ideas abo - - about what happened nearly - - twelve hours ago. The ti - - time is now 22:57 GMT, making it 17:57 Mar - -

God dammit! Hate concu - -

“You did what you had to do Doc,” said one of the unharmed.

A hand rested upon his shoulder.

“He’s right Doc,” said another. “Euthanasia was the best way forward.”

“They-” started the first.

“-Were in pain, I know,” Vern interrupted, having heard this line many times in past, let alone umpteen times today. “I just... could you leave me be for a bit? Prepare the wounded for movement.”

“Aren’t there more in the rubble?”

“More than likely, but we’ve got so deep and we’re only finding more dead. No-one could survive any further down.”

There was a silence then. Long and lifeless, like death itself. As if no-one had survived at all.

“Come on Chris, the Doc’s right. Your brother’s gone.”

“... I can’t deny it anymore more can I?”

Footsteps indicated their departure from Vern’s vicinity. He looked at the pile of corpses. Even some strong stomached doctors would normally cringe at the sight. Unbeknownst to everyone else, Vern had been drinking every intact bottle he could find. Not much had made it through, just like the people, but enough to give him the buzz required to block the tide of despair the bodies threw at him.

The brony with a Big Mac T-Shirt stared lifelessly at the sky. Admittedly, the euthanasia on that guy was easier for Vern. He just couldn’t and wouldn’t understand what drove grown men and women to blab about the little kiddies show like Beatles fans back in the 60s. And some of the stuff they came up with on the internet; disgusting. Vern wasn’t even sure if euthanasia had been required. The guy might have been savable, but only with great medical attention. Man’s lung was punctured.

Vern didn’t intend on telling anyone he was actually on probation. Last week he’d refused to treat a brony who’d accidentally swallowed a My Little Pony toy when kissing it. It was all kinds of wrong in his opinion. Thing is, he has no real reason for his nigh on hatred of ‘The Herd’. He’s alright with everything else that some others connect bronies with, or just didn’t believe others when they said things like ‘Bronies are terrorists just waiting to happen.’ He certainly wasn’t a homophobe. It just seemed to pull on him in such a way that he wanted nothing to do with it.

Vern shook his head. Now was not the time to think about that. To distract himself, he looked over to Buddy. Poor fellow was curled up in a ball and shaking, bad arm held awkwardly. Moments earlier he had found Frankie’s remains. He and Vern were there because the host was a friend of a friend, only Buddy’s friend was more than that. Vern hadn’t found his own friend, but he considered him more of an acquaintance, nothing like Buddy and Frankie’s bond.

Another member of the deceased pile was the host. He hadn’t bothered asking for her name when he’d found her. She was well on her way. Before Vern could speed up the process, she’d grabbed his collar.

“How’s Frankie?”

Vern didn’t know whether there was more than one Frankie, so he just assumed it was the only Frankie he’d met last night.

“She’s gone. It was an instant death.”

“What about the Brit?”

For someone coughing up blood, she spoke surprisingly clearly.

“He’s well enough. Still unconscious right now.”

With another unexpected burst of energy, she quickly explained Buddy’s situation. Frankie had been a closer friend to the host than most it seemed. Why a young adult’s last words would be explaining some random’s plans for Christmas, rather than saying how they wanted to live, or how much they loved their family and friends in general, Vern would never know. She passed half way through some part about Frankie’s previous love.

Now, still staring at the lonesome Briton, Vern decided he would make sure, of everyone here, that Buddy lived on, got off this continent, and into the care of those more capable than a borderline alcoholic with a degree in medicine.

Vern strode over to the emotional wreck. The man was phased out from the world, a symptom of his concussion.

Buddy muttered to himself repetitively, “Journal. Journal. Journal.”

Miss Host had mentioned a journal too. Something about Buddy bringing it with him. Odd to bring one to a party. Then again, never know when he might have wanted to write in it, drunk and all. Now where had the women said she’d had him put it? vern clicked his finger in time with his remembrance.

“Bookcase by the door!”

Others stared as he ran around the side of the house, ducking and leaping through the mansion debris. The road out front had fissures in it, with no obtainable pattern. Cars were spread out all over, the shaking having managed to move them here there and everywhere. Many were crushed by lamp posts, one even having an arm sticking out. Vern paid all this no heed, rounding on the stubborn front door, which refused to fall.

A firm tug pull the portal open, clean off its hinges and onto the concrete path. On the right, the very bookcase Vern wanted to see. Almost all the books were sprawled across the floor. The doctor only had to look for a ring binding, there being one alone amongst the more normal plain hardback books. Lo and behold, the ring bound book held the title, ‘A Brit’s Adventures in the States’.

Seconds later, Vern was back at Buddy’s side.

“Buddy? Hey Buddy? Look what I found.”

Vern waved the journal in front of Buddy’s line of sight. In an instant, Buddy snapped back to reality, snatching the thing to his chest.

“Welcome back Buddy.”

“Can’t say it’s good to be back, but it’s better than being dead... I think,” said the Brit.

Morbid tones were strong in the man’s voice.

“Look-”

“I know, I should get on with living; she’d want me to. Gotta get back to my family.”

“That... was exactly what I was going to say.”

Buddy cautiously placed two feet on the ground, sitting up, and slowly stood up. He wobbled a little at first, but steadied himself eventually.

“First, we need to get you and the others to the nearest hospital.”

“Where might that be?”

My hospital, Vern thought to himself. He didn’t want to go there, but the second nearest was twice as far. The walk needed to reach the first would already be pushing for some.

“Two hours walk, North Westerly. If we just head towards the city proper, I’ll know my way from there.”

Others overheard the conversation, and called out for everyone to leave what they can. People began to put on coats they’d found, only then realising it wasn’t winter anymore. The weather was more spring like, the temperature warm enough for shirts alone. It was funny what the world ending did to the mind, making people slow in realising the most obvious of things. Even Vern hadn’t noticed until then. And Buddy still hadn’t seemed to have noticed, not having a coat to put on in the first place.

“Everyone ready?” Vern called out, the automatically designated leader.

A chorus of agreement followed, some adding Doc or Vern to them. One guy even called him Jack. No idea where he got that name from.

And so, they set off. The remaining party survivors numbered 13. 5 ‘unharmed’, 2 wounded, and 6 in need of medical attention of varying levels. Vern had listed Buddy under the latter group, even if he was walking fine enough for the time being. The wounded consisted of a torn ligament for one and the other medium cuts on a leg and an arm. The ligament had formerly been unharmed until trying to lift heavy rubble. It would have been considered idiotic if not for the fact that action made sure their 13 wasn’t 12.

Two unharmed carried a makeshift stretcher. Vern, the other two unharmed and the medium cut wounded helped the remaining majorly wounded (bar Buddy) with their walking, holding them steady and giving them something to lean against.

“Is it just me, or is this getting boring again?” Rainbow Dash asked.

“I have to agree with Dash on this one,” said Twilight. “We’re not really learning anything right now.”

“I’ll try getting us to some sort of plot development,” Celestia said with a sigh.

It really must have been boring if even Twilight wanted to skip ahead.

Vern ran as fast as he could. The voice continued to cry out for help. There were just so many flights of stairs to climb. He didn’t have the stamina to keep going much further. Thankfully, the stairs came to an end.

“I’ve been calling out for ages, and nobody’s come... Fuck this!”

An abrupt bang came from the same room as the voice. Vern knew a gunshot when he heard one. He peeked into the room. The gun came into view, then an open hand, then the arm, shoulder, head-

“MERCY ME!” Rarity cried out.

The unicorn covered her sister’s eyes.

“Hey, but I wanna see.”

“No you don’t darling, trust me.”

“I’ll skip further, but I can’t promise I’ll do it later on. Those scenes can be important too.”

The hospital was same as it always was, bar the odd crack here and there, and the queue of people wanting attention. Vern’s probation had been revoked in light of the situation. A short while ago, he’d pushed a triple amputee’s wheelchair out the hospital. They had a friend, but she’d been distracted by Buddy asking her questions. When they’d both left, Vern watched Buddy scribble away into his journal.

Every so often, he’d freeze, eyes glazing over, only to come to again, become frustrated with his journal, and keep on writing. Continued surveillance revealed the pauses were becoming more frequent. Then, Buddy slumped over completely, dropping his journal and pen.

“HEY!” Vern called out to a nearby nurse. “I NEED HELP WITH THIS GUY!”

In seconds, they had Buddy on a bed and rolling into E&A. Vern was going with them before he was stopped.

“I’m sorry, but we can’t let you come in. You’re too acquainted with the patient.”

“That’s bullshit!”

But, it was too late. The doors were shut in his face, I he couldn’t risk being a distraction in the end. Instead, he moped on back to where Buddy’s Journal still lay on the floor. Without a second thought, he sat down and gave it a read.

Buddy’s Footnotes:

Adventure nearly ended here before it even began. I missed all sorts of shit too.

P.T.O

Entry #4: Euthanasia

Date:

Dec 22nd 2012

This is Mister C Hey, me again. Came to about midday-ish, according to my watch. Still not sure whether that was the time of day according to wherever we are, let alone whether days are even the same length any more.

I’ve read Vern’s entry. Surprisingly, I’m not that uncomfortable with the thought that he’s probably out there now, throwing his life away to avenge a colleague of his. Or even how he is intending to murder a bunch of people. Perhaps it is just the residual drugs talking, but I feel it’s more a necessary Euthanasia. For the sake of the area, we don’t want gun toting assholes killing whom they please.

Look at me, writing as if this place were my home. Perhaps it is. I don’t know yet. I want to try and get back to England, to my family, but it’s becoming more and more distant of a goal.

Those who treated me told me I would be fine after a day’s rest. It seems like a short recovery period, but they said I was less in danger than they had previously assumed. My phasing out was apparently only partly due to the internal bleeding. I find this hard to believe, considering internal bleeding. More than half responsible was my ‘emotional state’. I suppose seeing your partner (yes, I already believed we were gonna get together all proper like) as a headless corpse can do that to a man. On the brightside, at least this isn’t some zombie apocalypse. Don’t want to even think about the trauma that might have given me.

A nurse, who was tending to the room they’d placed me in (I count 12 other occupants), answered more of my questions for me. The EBS (Emergency Broadcasting System) was reported to be having technical difficulties; nothing big, but still time consuming to repair. Soon though, they’ll have it going again, and I can finally hear the situation for myself.

Right now however, I can only hope that ‘Doctor Vernon Grange’ comes back alive.

“Did everypony sleep well?” Celestia asked as the entourage got comfortable once more.

“Sleep!?” Pinkie exclaimed. “How could anypony sleep on such a cliffhanger? What will happen with the doctors? Did Hayden really die? Is Chris now a permanent member of the party? What was that mysterious creature and why did Vern shoot it? THERE’S JUST TOO MANY QUESTIONS!”

Twilight shook her head, “Pinkie Pie, we already know most of those answers at this point. Like how Vigil was the one who got shot. And Chris-”

“NO!” Pinkie screamed, holding a hoof to Twilight’s muzzle to mute her. “We can’t ruin it for the readers!”

“What does she mean by readers?” asked Vigil

He had arrived without armour, which was a rare event. Unknown to nearly everypony else attendant, his wife had insisted he be casual. Vigil had argued that one was not to be casual around the Princesses and Element Bearers, but she had simply replied that he wore his armour too much. Even more unknown, this time to Vigil, is that Celestia had secretly requested his wife to force him to be casual. He really was too serious.

The guard armour was enchanted to alter one’s colours, so now everypony got to see him in his natural glory. His coat glimmered a strong sapphire blue, and his mane, only just long enough on the head to tickle his ears, was rosy pink. His cutie mark was a clock with an eye in its centre. The cutie mark eye was coloured like those in his head, a light greyish green.

“Oh, just let Pinkie be Pinkie,” said Celestia. “Now, shall we continue?”

“Hopefully, they’re spread out thinly and not just gathered inside,” Chris said.

The doctor and his companion were currently forming a sort of human tower, Chris standing on Vern’s shoulders to look over a wooden fence. A quick game of ‘Rock, Paper, Scissors’ had decided who stood upon who. On the other side of the fence was a tacky, rundown and (most recently) partially broken three floor apartment building.

Where a window was once held in place by a wall, there now existed a massive hole, one of the gunmen standing guard in it. Around the whole building, a total of six more gunmen patrolled, rifles in hand.

Grunting from the load, Vern managed to ask, “What sorta numbers we lookin’ at?”

“Seven in view so far, but I suspect there may be another one or two round the back.”

“Let’s make sure of that.”

Chris jumped down and the two of them walked to the opposite side of the building around the fence. Over here, a pile of bricks from the building had smashed in some of the fence. They discovered a small knothole in the fence that gave a convenient view without exposing themselves.

“We’re in luck, I was wrong,” Chris whispered. “And there’s a back door.”

“Good,” was all Vern said in reply.

He elbowed Chris aside and scanned the ‘backyard’ of the apartment building, not seeing any forms of cover whatsoever. The patrols were in pairs, the three of them equally spread apart, circling at a steady pace. There wasn’t a chance of slipping in unnoticed.

“What’s the plan?” asked Chris.

Vern looked at the gun in his hand with a sour face. “This piece of crap only holds seven rounds. I have another magazine and some loose cartridges in my pocket, but whatever we do, this has to work the first time.”

“Surprise attack, then.” Chris thought for a moment. “What are your thoughts on shooting people in the back?”

“Sure is safer for me,” quipped Vern.

Chris grinned. “All right, go over by where the fence is knocked down and wait for my signal.”

Vern stepped over to the pile of rubble and waited. Chris waved his hand, and the doctor thrust the gun through the gap. Two guards were walking away from him, presenting a perfect target. He lined up the sights and pulled the trigger twice for each.

The silencer didn’t work as he thought it would. Either it was a fake or the movies had lied to him. It did seem to mitigate some of the recoil, however, and Vern ducked back through the fence before anyone could return fire.

He slapped a new magazine in the pistol and dropped to a crouch, waiting for a new target. The first man to appear got a bullet in the face. He dropped, blocking up the hole and bottlenecking the progress of the other guards. Vern swung the barrel of the pistol slightly and emptied the magazine through the wooden boards of the fence.

Jumping forward, he put the first magazine back in. He thought that there were only three rounds in it, but that was better than nothing. As he went back through the fence, he found that he’d just invalidated his Hippocratic Oath more than usual. Only one man was left alive, a bullet through his arm. The man’s gun lay where he’d dropped it.

“I-I surrender!” He backed up, away from Vern.

“Well, anyone stupid enough to forget that wooden fences make terrible cover would probably be pretty easy to restrain, but I’m not the law, I’m not going to arrest you, and I don’t do mercy. Not anymore.” The next bullet went through the man’s forehead.

Vern jammed the pistol in his belt and grabbed for a rifle on the ground. It was a compact AR-15, he was pleased to see. It had a thirty round magazine and could fire the whole thing quickly. He stuffed a couple extra mags in his pockets. Chris grabbed another rifle and the two of them approached the back door.

The not-silent-at-all shooting had alerted everyone else in the building. Chris was just reaching for the door when it burst open. The two armed men that rushed out were not expecting to find their opponents standing out in the open right in front of the door. A little surprise can be a dangerous thing, and both quickly went down in a hail of bullets.

“So much for the stealthy approach,” muttered Chris.

“At least we learned something today,” replied Vern. “Silencers are bullshit.”

They charged into the building. “Do we have to search everywhere?” asked Chris, looking with exasperation at all the individual apartments.

“Let’s start with the one that has a view,” suggested Vern, heading upstairs towards the place where the seventh outside guard had been posted.

Along the way, they were shot at. Repeatedly. Using his earlier experience, Vern simply plastered the walls with bullets. They cut through the drywall even more easily than wood. Guns thundered all around like the beat of some strange, deadly dance.

Fighting their way upwards, the two men burst into the last apartment. There was a crowd of people, most of them unarmed. Two of them had apparently been watching the door. The first, a female, ran forward and hugged Chris. Chris had just so happened to be further forward. Vern noticed the second running for them too, only this one was a pipe wielding man, with murderous intent in his eyes.

“Chris!” Vern pulled the trigger on his rifle, but the magazine bolt had locked back on an empty chamber without him realizing it.

Looking up from the woman embracing him, Chris too saw the assailant. He couldn’t react though,as the embrace constricted his arms. Looking back to the woman, she was grinning evilly. Chris worked furiously to break free. Luckily, he was stronger, and soon he broke away. He grabbed the woman straight after, threw her at the man, and riddled both of them simultaneously, until he’d spent his ammo. The two nameless people became a bloody heap on the floor, and the pipe rolled away.

“What the hell was that?” Chris asked as he tossed his rifle down to the ground. “They didn’t look like the others.”

“I’d wager they were a couple of the doctors,” Vern replied, dropping his own rifle.

He took in the rest of the apartment. Nearest to them, past the recently deceased, were two more bodies; More doctors. From first glance,Vern could see one had taken a bullet to the head, and the other had had their life beaten out of them. Only one day, and we’ve already regressed to bandits. There were two more, still alive. One had their back turned to them, attending to the sixth, who was blocked from view.

Then, Vern remembered the hole. Looking at it, in the far corner, he realised something. They had yet to encounter the guard who had been posted there. Of course, they didn’t see everyone they’d shot, but to exit this apartment and find another hiding place lower down would have meant meeting the two man assault team in the stairwell.

“Why would they attack us?”

Vern turned his attention back Chris and said, “They could have thought we were those thugs-”

“Oh God, and I killed them!”

“OR! More than likely, these two were a fine example of stockholm syndrome.”

From the direction of the apartment kitchen, a voice spoke out, “A couple of last minute recruits.”

Three more armed men stood up from behind the kitchen counters, one being the guard in the hole. Their guns were leveled on Vern and Chris. They slowly made their way around and out of the kitchen. Lastly, another man came into view, who strolled calmly to stand amongst the others. He had a rifle too, but he held it down at his side. This fellow just radiated confidence.

“Normally, I’d want you dead and out of my hair for what you’ve done, but we are now currently suffering from a shortage of employees.” The man chuckled, as did the others. “You are quite the merciless killer, aren't you? Maybe you'd like to j-”

When all the gun toters had chuckled, they’d relaxed their guard, and looked to one another to share the humour. They didn’t see Vern reaching behind him for his pistol. Now, at this current point in time, the man, who had already gone from confident to over confident, became an over confident man with a bullet in his brain. His eyes rolled in his head, making it look like he was trying to see the bullet he’d received. He didn’t fall over though, and his three surviving men just stared, one still chuckling.

“Merciless is one word for it.”

Chris, taking advantage of the moment of confusion, pulled out his swiss army knife, flicked out the blade and threw it. The target got the handle right in the eye.

“ARGH! WHAT THE FUCK!?” yelled the man as held his eye, knife clattering on the floor.

The other two armed men came out of their stupors. One went to shoot Chris, who was already running towards the yelling man. Vern used his last bullet to pierce the man’s heart. The second aimed at Vern. Vern let go of the pistol and made to run for his opponent. He trod on the pole from earlier and fell backwards, narrowly avoiding the bullets intended for his torso. They instead hit the poor fifth doctor.

Chris dive tackled his opponent to the floor, where they rolled around, each one trying to overpower the other. The man wanted to reach the rifle, but so did Chris, that is, until Chris felt his back roll over his knife handle. Once they passed over, he grabbed it, spun it in his hand so the blade was pointed downwards, and plunged it in the already bruised eye of his enemy. Said enemy had been too occupied reaching for his gun.

The screams were deafening, but they didn’t stop Chris. He withdrew the blade as the other held his eye again. Holding the man down with his body weight, he leant back so he could see the chest area. Next he rapidly stabbed the man over and over. The screams were choked down by blood, and eventually stopped altogether, along with his breathing.

Meanwhile, Vern was dealing with the last hostile. He found himself on the floor, back aching from his little tumble. The hostile in question was taking the opportunity to reload his gun. Vern saw his chance and rolled forward, onto his feet, picking up the stray pole. The man finished his reload in time to have the pole come crashing down on his weapon, smashing it. Pieces of the gun cut into his hands. He didn’t have time to announce his pain however, as the pole did a 180 and came up into his chin.

He stumbled backwards, unaware he was getting closer to his old watch post in the hole. Vern came down with another swing, but missed as the man kept stumbling. He tried for a swing from the side. The man regained some of his senses and blocked the attack, fracturing his left arm in the process. The pole was brought back over the unrelenting doctor’s head, returning with another sideways swing from the other side. The right arm barely avoided matching the left’s condition.

Once more, Vern pulled back. He knew from how the arms reacted that the left was fractured, with the right not too far behind. The hole behind his opponent grew nearer, and a plan was made.

Going in with a second downward overhead swing, Vern’s attack was blocked by both arms. The right fractured and the left was nigh on broken. Finally, the pole was thrusted into the stomach. Ignoring his body’s complaints, the man took the pole in both hands, trying pathetically to wrest control of it from Vern. He was pushed further, to the very edge of the building.

Then, Vern just let go. But, before the man could do anything with the pole, Vern kicked it into him. He flew through the air outside the building. Flew like a penguin, or any flightless bird for that matter. He twisted around, putting his arms out to break his fall. All that achieved was letting the fall break his arms; and then his spine. He probably could have survived, given serious medical attention, and ignoring the fact he wouldn’t walk again. It would have been possible, had the pole, which had gone higher when launched, crushed his throat.

Vern honoured his opponent enough to watch him die. He was careful to lie down and pop his head over the edge, securing himself. Chris walked over and leaned out in time to see the last breathing attempt, resulting in blood spraying from the mouth.

“Where did you learn to fight like that?”

Before Vern could reply, the one other remaining living being in the apartment block answered for him.

“Well, it certainly wasn’t Little League.”

Vern knew that voice, but couldn’t believe it. He quickly rolled over and sat up to look at the sixth doctor.

“Hayden!?”

Doctor Hayden Senfall, the only man Vernon had called friend before the world ending, raised his arms meekly.

“As I live and breathe... barely.”

“Hey Doc,” Chris cut in. “I thought they said he was dead.”

“They di- no, they said he was shot. We only assumed.”

“Well, that’s not a very nice thing to assume. You should know better,” Hayden said in mock offense. “Anyway, you two gonna get me out of here? Assuming you did come to save the doctors, right?”

The two man army exchanged glances. Then they walked over to the doctor and helped him up, each putting an arm over their shoulder.

“Hey, careful there. I may not bruise easily, but I still have a bullet in me.”

“For a man having recently been shot and evidently beaten, you sure do talk a lot,” Chris commented, not hiding his annoyance.

“Just filter it out. That’s what I do,” Vern advised.

“Aaaahhhh, how I’ve missed you Vern. Your ‘no shit taken’ attitude, your blunt remarks, and-,” Hayden sniffed in Vern’s direction. “The lingering smell of blood on your clothes.”

Chris raised an eyebrow at Vern, and Hayden saw it.

“I’m kidding! But seriously, our friendship is one for the ages.”

Vern sighed. “Let’s just get you back to the hospital.”

“I can never seem to get away from that place, can I?”

The trio made their way out of the apartment block.

Buddy’s Footnotes:

I liked Hayden. He was by far one of the chirpiest people I met before all hell broke loose.

P.T.O

Author's Note

Long time, I know... So, thanks to TNaB for the gun scene through the block up until the last apartment, and thanks in general to the fine fellow for being my editor!

Entry #3: One More for the Slaughter

Date:

Dec 22nd 2012

This is Doctor Vernon Grange.

I don’t really know whether I should be writing in here, seeing as I’m not a ‘Brit’, but Buddy’s (he’s the original author of this journal) still under at the moment. He’d been suffering from internal bleeding in the cranium. They’ve also looked at what was in fact just a fractured wrist. Surprised he could write with it all the same.

I couldn’t find the pen he’d been using, so I went and got this red one. I suppose it makes it easier to differentiate. I would have written earlier, but after reading what little Buddy had said so far, I got called on for more work. It is now 03:47, according to the hospital waiting room’s clock. Using Buddy’s previous time entries, I’d hazard an accurate guess at it being 08:47 GMT.

I think Buddy and I have similar theories on our current situation. Considering the lack of contact with anywhere off the continent, and the change in our stars, we have reason enough to believe that North America has been relocated to a foreign planet. I have no idea as to whether other continents have suffered similarly, but right now, that doesn’t matter. What does matter is this: What life-forms were already native to this new world before our arrival? Also: What level of evolution is/are the most dominant race(s)? Are they a possible threat to our own displaced kind? Are they the cause for our displacement, and/or can they help us back?

I doubt all bar the first question will be answered any time soon. I hope that Buddy’s recovery will come sooner still.

I add, fifteen minutes later, that I have just been informed the closest person I had to a friend here in Maryland was killed. Not by the initial destruction of planetary transferal, but by armed gunmen. A lone escaped survivor of a group of medics, lead by my friend to find and assist the injured, made it back with bullet wounds in both his legs. He too has now passed, fatality due to blood loss.

The gunmen had attempted to take the doctors and nurses for their own, but most refused. Some still lived, having chosen obedience over death. Hayden, my friend, took a bullet for the man who is now in his own body bag. Most thought it all a pointless act. But I didn’t. Now I know where they live.

This journal entry was spoken by a different human. One that about half the ponies present recognised.

His features displayed a permanent crazed look, with a hint of aggression. His main apparel was a long, formerly white doctor’s coat, now covered in bloodstains. Barely any white made it through the red. Beneath, he wore a muddied green shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, and very holey jeans, this time sharing a mix of mud and blood. Additionally, his hands were held within a pair of fine black leather gloves, evidently torn at the index fingers.

This made it easier to move his trigger fingers.

“Isn’t that-” Twilight began.

Luna, Shining and Cadence all replied, “Yes.”

Doctor Vernon Grange did not go straight to the gunmen’s hideout. He couldn’t very well meet them unarmed. No, he first retraced his steps back to the 30 floor apartment building, where a man had given up on salvation, mere seconds before he received it, and executed himself. This time, Vern had the freedom to take each step leisurely; no need to rush.

Sure enough, the body lay exactly where it fell upon death. Vern had not bothered to attend to it, with no one else around to complain. The gun too remained undisturbed, which suited Vern just fine. With a steady hand, he lifted the firearm up, and checked the ammunition. A full clip minus one.

Time was taken to admire the weapon. A Wolfram PP7, with a special decal reading ‘007’ on the barrel. A James Bond fan. Vern examined his surroundings. A small drawer was hanging open. Inside lay the additional ammo for the pistol, as well an ever so convenient silencer. A ‘die hard’ fan. In total, Vern now carried 34 rounds. Unnoticed by even himself, he smiled grimly.

On his way back down to ground level, Vern screwed the silencer on. He had no reason to confront the bastards head on. All his years of gun training shoved down his throat by his military father will come to good use. Remembering his Dad caused him to chuckle. The man died when he ignored safety regulations and got a bullet through the brain for his troubles. Vern’s life choice in doctoring was a middle finger to his father.

“Guess I was right then.”

Vern froze at the bottom of the stairs. Nonchalantly leaning against the main entrance door frame, arms crossed and smiling smugly was one of the unharmed from the party. The man had lost his brother.

“Chris, was it?”

“Glad you remembered me. You’re off to kill them fuckwads that gone shot your mate, right?”

Vern sighed. No point in hiding the truth. He pretty much implied as such in that entry in Buddy’s journal. Why on Earth he did that he’ll never know. An odd compulsion.

“Yes. Now, you’re either here to stop me, or more likely, judging from your tone, you want to join me. Which one is it?”

“The latter Doc. I’ve got no one to blame for my brother’s death, and I need to get some shit outta my system. The best stress relief is mindless killing of the deserving.”

Vern figured as much.

“Fair enough. We’ll have to get you a weapon though.”

Chris pulled out a swiss army knife.

“Will this do until we steal one of their rifles? Was gonna be my Christmas present to my bro, Banner.”

“Sure. All the more meaningful.”

“Well then,” Chris held out his free hand, “I’m Christopher Pheasant.”

Vern shook it.

“Doctor Vernon Grange.”

“You don’t mind if I keep calling you Doc?”

“Not at all.”

Together, the two men exited the apartment building. Chris even went out of his way to slam the doors shut.

Replying to Vern’s stare of disbelief, Chris said, “I have OCD with certain things, including closing doors.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

The next few minutes were occupied with the crunch of their feet for each of their steps, and the crackle of unstable, semi collapsed buildings. After what Vern gauged to be half an hour (rough estimate), Chris stopped in his tracks.

“Hey, you seeing this?”

“Seeing what?”

Chris pointed down the road they were crossing. The bordering towers on either side had broken completely free of their lower halves and come crashing down on the three laned inner city highway. Any cars caught underneath were probably pancaked. Chris was specifically indicating just above the pieces of concrete piled up on the road.

Perched atop the highest pile was a peculiar bird, wings outstretched and beak directed at the humans. The Sun was at an annoying angle,still rising from the horizon, so the pair could only make out a silhouette.

“What d’ya think it is?” Chris asked.

“No idea. Perhaps a member of the native wildlife?”

“Maybe it’s edible.”

“Well, to know that we’d need to examine it.”

“Then shoot it.”

“I don’t just kill wildlife on a whim.”

“Come on! It’s just one creature.”

“No means-”

The ‘bird’ stood up. On all fours. And turned sideways. It wasn’t a bird at all. It seemed more like a small winged horse. Wearing something.

Something inside Vern clicked, and his arm subconsciously raised and fired. The creature fell behind the pile, shortly after being seen flying away, it’s left hind leg hanging differently to the rest.

“What brought that on?”

Vern rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“I honestly don’t know.”

As they watched these two men walk through ruined streets, murder on the mind, a knock upon the door made half the ponies jump. Shining cautiously opened the doors to reveal a lone guards pony.

“What is it soldier?” the Captain demanded a bit too roughly for Celestia’s tastes.

“Sir! I came to inform the Princesses of the time, at this time, as requested by Celestia, Sir!”

“Thank you Vigil Watch. As promised, when next we gather, I’ll arrange it so your timetable allows your attendance also,” said the Princess in question.

“Thank you Ma’am! Permission to leave, Sir!?”

“Permission granted Lieutenant. You can head home, but make sure you remember your check up.”

“Yes Sir!”

Vigil Watch about turned and limped off, using his wings for assisted balance, a small circular scar in his left hind leg.

The journal was levitated to a pedestal in the centre of the room, and Shining cast a shield over it.

“We shall continue another time, everypony. For now, let us head to the hall to dine,” said Celestia.

The time is:

08:27 Maryland, 13:27 GMT

P.T.O

Author's Note

This is only half the day, because my time was limited and distractful combined. FIRST PONY! And first OC too. Not a major one involvement wise, but OC nonetheless. I had to submit something on time-ish! (Past midnight here but fuck it you're american... mostly?)

Oh, and Merry Christmas Brony Pony (aka Banterful Phrase).