Blackoutby TimeSpiralChaptersPhoenixIncursionDeviationVengeancePreparationRevenantRegretPhoenixSanctuary Base Phoenix, present day. He awoke early and began to train, as he did every morning. Preservation was the key to survival in this age, the preservation of his physical abilities and the ponies that were still alive were chief among his priorities. So he trained. The air was cold and carried the stench of salt everywhere. After nine years of living on base he, just like everyone else, had adapted to the constant sway and motion of the modified Aircraft Carrier. He walked to his bathroom, his hooves tapped against the ice-cold steel floor. He turned the tap and flushed his face with cold water. There was no hot water any more, they barely had enough fuel to alter their course, let alone produce enough power to see to the ponyal needs of everyone on board. Thus they drifted most days, only powering the engines to ensure the carrier stayed far enough away from the shore. Showers were short and cold. Management decided it was for the best. The shorter anyone was out of action, for any reason, the smaller the chance of being overrun. Not that being overrun was very likely. Three deep knocks echoed from through his door and, consequently, around his room. He meandered his way toward it, peering through the peep-hole. A stallion, a military stallion, was standing easy outside. He opened the door to greet the stranger. “Knox, John Knox?” the stallion queried. Knox checked the stallion's rank slides. “Actually that would be Captain Knox, Corporal, do you need something?” he replied lazily. The Corporal pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. He paused for a few moments to read it. Knox tapped his fingers on the door frame impatiently. “Well?” he continued. “Actually, Mister Knox, it says here you are retired from active service.” Knox smiled. “That’s true; however, if you are here it’s more than likely that I’ll have to start using the old title again. Wouldn’t you say?” “That’s not my place to say, Mister Knox. I am here to deliver a message from General Costello.” He answered. “What happened to General Pierce?” “Quarantined,” he answered simply. Knox sighed. “That’s too bad. We can’t afford to lose any more good ponies.” The Corporal shrugged the comment. “General Costello wishes to meet with you immediately. Can I tell him to expect you?” “No.” He answered. “I’m done with military service. Tell your General to find someone else.” Knox showed the Corporal out of the door and closed it. “They’ll be back. I’d better get changed.” He was right. Within ten minutes a military officer was standing at his door. As he did with the last messenger, Knox answered the door and discovered the stallion's identity. His name was Lieutenant MacMurdo. “As you are well aware, Mister Knox, Sanctuary Bases are for the use of Alliance Military ponynel only.” MacMurdo commented. “And?” Knox probed. “General Costello wishes to speak with you regarding a matter of utmost urgency. He tells me it has to do with you being retired from active duty.” MacMurdo informed him. “So if I don’t go see the General he is going to kick me off the base and leave me to them?” Knox asked. “The General would never put it that way.” Knox followed MacMurdo through endless corridors. The floor swayed beneath them. It was a five minute walk from Knox’s quarters to the General’s office. MacMurdo tapped on the door. “Come.” A deep voice commanded. MacMurdo opened the door and Knox followed him inside. An overweight General Costello sat comfortably behind a dark wooden desk stacked high with paperwork which had a light coating of dust gradually covering the stark white paper. Knox glanced around the room. The walls were lined with bookshelves. Most of the books were probably the last ones left, or the last ones anyone could access. They had no use for them, after all. “You served the Alliance for three years, is that correct?” General Costello enquired. “That’s correct. But what does this have to do with kicking me off this base?” “As you know, the Sanctuary bases were designed as guards for the civilian fleet. They serve no other purpose than to safeguard the future of the pony race.” “Your point?” Knox replied, “I served my time.” The General lifted a manila folder from his desk. He opened it and examined it briefly. “That you did, and with great honour.” The General placed the folder back on the desk and stood up from his chair. MacMurdo stood at attention. Costello waved him down. “Every day we are losing our recruits to dangerous missions on land. Only a hoofful of our military ponynel have ever survived our land based operations, you and Lieutenant MacMurdo to name two.” The General commented. “So, what, you want me back?” “Not permanently,” the General answered, “We have a mission we would like you to complete.” “A mission?” “Doctor Lee, our resident biologist, believes she is close to discovering an anti-virus for the infection that plagues the hoard.” He continued. “However, she seems to have hit a roadblock because of the virus’ adaptive nature. After so many mutations she can no longer create an anti-virus to counter the infection on all fronts.” “She needs the source.” Knox commented. “Patient Zero, the good Doctor himself.” “That’s impossible. No one even knows if he is still alive. We know that they do die eventually. What says he hasn’t already bought the bullet?” “Nothing,” the General admitted, “but we need you to determine the truth. And if he is out there, I want you to bring him back here.” “Bring one of the infected to a Sanctuary Base?” Knox enquired. “And if it is too difficult to bring him across that much water?” “A sample of his DNA should prove to be enough to counteract the virus, or so Doctor Lee informs me.” “What makes you think I can do it?” Knox asked. “You remember Borenai?” the General asked, “your mission with Rookie and Toast?” “The old mining town,” Knox confirmed, “what about it?” IncursionOne year earlier. The zodiac crashed upon the waves as they made their way towards the coastline. A storm was brewing in the distance behind them, its triumphant tremors echoed through the turbulent water, indicating the dangers to come. “This shit’s pretty fucked up.” Rookie commented. “Hooah.” Said Toast. Captain Knox snapped his fingers. The men gave him their attention. “This shit-hole is crawling with them.” He said. “Most of them look like the regular kind you see around but I want to keep this op silent. If there are any other types here I’d rather avoid them.” “I heard that, you know, the Doctor was here experimenting on ponies.” Rookie told them. Clouds began to roll over. What was left of the daylight slowly crept away. The Captain turned on his flash light, the others followed suit. “Keep your shit together,” he ordered them, “This mission is Recon only. Don’t engage any targets that don’t block your path. Understood?” “Yes, Sir.” They answered. “Load up, safety off. Watch for civvies.” As the zodiac made its way closer to the beach, Knox switched off the motor in an attempt to avoid detection. As their craft glided onto the sand and beached itself they departed and spread out along a ridge of sand about twenty metres inland. Knox peered from the cover of the ridge, directly in front of them lay the main entrance to the town of Borenai covered with hundreds of Infected. Around the gradual incline were cliff faces on all sides that reached as far as the eye could see in either direction. Too many, he thought. “Toast, is there another entrance to the town mentioned in the brief?” Toast scanned his PDA, analysing the map and cross referencing co-ordinates mentioned in their mission briefing. “One,” he replied, “a mine tunnel about two kilometres south of here.” Knox paused in thought. “What's between us and it?” “About one and a half kilometres of beach and half a kilometre of mangroves.” Toast replied. “Then that is our best bet.” “Mangroves will slow us down, Sir,” Rook commented. “We don't have much choice,” said Knox. On Knox's command all three men got up and moved along the ridge to the south. The infected on the other side hadn’t noticed them. As soon as he could see the mangroves Knox halted and scanned the other side of the ridge, checking for hostiles. “Area clear,” said Knox. Knox crossed the ridge and moved towards the mangroves. The team followed closely but stayed a pace behind each other so that no-one would step on anyone else. At the edge of the mangroves the bank sloped away under water. The mangrove roots were partially submerged but remained, for the most part, above the water. Knox took hold of a mangrove tree and pulled himself up, standing on the roots. “Watch your footing, its slippery.” A cracking sound broke through the silence. Toast looked around. Nothing. The team moved deeper into the mangroves, this far in all directions looked the same. They couldn't see the beach, the ocean or the cliff face. Knox routinely checked his compass, to ensure they remained on track. Deep in the mangrove jungle a moan pierced the air. The murky water stirred beneath their hooves. “Fuck it.” Knox cursed. “Don't touch the water.” “No shit,” said Rook. “Stow it.” They continued through the jungle as fast as they could. Barely audible, a whisper of breath pierced the silence. “Did you hear that?” asked Rook. “Keep quiet,” said Knox. Rook took a step towards another mangrove root and held on tightly to the tree. His hoof clapped the root in front of him but slipped off. “Shit,” said Rook. Knox looked back and saw Rook clinging to the tree with his left hoof dangling above the water. “Check your footing.” He ordered. “Captain!” Rookie shouted as he plunged in the murky water below. “Rook!” shouted Toast and Knox as they clambered back to the tree he fell from. “Rook, come on!” Toast shouted. In the distance a powerful shriek pierced the air. “What the fuck was that?” Toast asked. Rook splashed up from the water, gasping for air. He flailed his forelegs about, Knox and Toast grabbed him and pulled him clear of the water. “Did you hear that Captain?” Rook asked. “The noise?” “Yeah I heard it.” He answered. “Keep your eyes peeled. If you see it, try to stay away from it.” “What the fuck happened, man?” Toast asked. “I don't know, I think something pulled me under.” The murky water began to stir all around them. Knox's eyes opened wide in fear and anticipation. “GO, get the fuck out of here!” They moved as fast as they could towards the edge of the jungle. Finally, Knox saw sand ahead. Almost there, He thought as he leapt ever closer to the bank. They breathed heavily as they reached dry land, their relief, however was short lived. A crack of thunder erupted from the skies above. Thousands of droplets fell from the open skies and pounded the ground below. “Ah, shit,” said Knox. “Captain,” Toast began, he pointed toward the cliff face, “Look, the mine opening.” “Move it!” he motioned towards the opening. The team sprinted into the open tunnel. Knox activated his Tactical light, gripping his M16A4 tightly, and peered into the tunnel ahead. On the ceiling a series of deactivated fluorescent lights followed the path deep into the mine. “Toast, motion tracker,” Knox commanded.” Toast set up the tracker at the entrance to the mine. “It should give us an indication if anyone is following us, but it won't show anything more than ten metres in, the signal is bouncing off the stone.” “Alright, let’s move out.” Rook took point as they moved into the dark abyss. Subtly at first a wafted stench of rotten flesh flowed through the air. Then it was stronger, more present. Knox halted and pointed his tactical light around but was unable to determine the source. He turned to ask the others if they could smell it too. The stench of rotting flesh amplified as a whisper of hot breath brushed against his right cheek. Frantic, Knox turned and snapped his M16 to his front. He scanned for anything moving, but there was nothing. Reluctantly Knox relaxed and continued moving forward. As they moved deeper into the tunnel a dark shadow behind them edged ever closer to the wall and disappeared. The stench of rotting flesh dissipated as they moved further into the darkness ahead. Gradually moss became more noticeable on the walls, floors and ceiling. A continual wave-like sound began to echo through the tunnel. They couldn’t tell how far away it was. A light flickered, Rook smacked his Tactical light. It flickered once more and then went out. “Fuck!” he said under his breath. “Change the batteries, you’ve got the spares,” said Knox. Rook patted his pocket and searched his webbing. Nothing. “I think they fell out when I went under.” “Fucking hell,” Knox began, “Toast, I want you on point, I’ll take our six.” They moved on, edging slowly into the darkness. A sense of cold came over them as they approached a fork in their path. DeviationDrip. As the team approached the fork in the road Knox paused in thought. Neither direction seemed to show signs of increased or decreased elevation. “Toast, does the brief have a map of the tunnel system?” Knox asked. Toast searched his PDA. “Nothing, Sir,” He replied. “Fuck it, we’ll have to split up,” Knox decided, “Toast, take Rook and take the path on the left, I’ll take the right.” “Yes, Sir,” they replied. Toast and Rook moved into the tunnel on the left. Knox moved on to the right. The sound of waves became ever clearer as they progressed. A distant, powerful heavy breathing reverberated through them. “What the fuck is that?” asked Rook. “I don’t know, bro,” Toast replied, “keep your eyes peeled and focused where my light shines.” “Wilco.” The moss beneath their hooves began to squish it became more damp as they moved on. Drip. A deep hum accompanied the heavy breathing this time though somewhat less distant now. Sounds of waves splashed against walls ahead. The gentle squish of moss under their hooves soon turned into a splash as they moved ever closer to the illusive body of water ahead. Within steps the depth of water increased exponentially. With water up to their knees they paused to consider their next move. Toast scanned around with his tactical light, the tunnel had merged into a large cavern. From the ceiling a dozen stalagmites hung, impressively in a fragile balance between gravity and natural resilience. Suddenly the heavy breathing stopped. Large appendages splashed heavily in the water. Waves crashed heavily against them. They stumbled back. Toast shone his light on the creature. It was partially submerged, though the part of it protruding from the water was substantial in size. Toast’s tactical light shone in its eyes. It recoiled and let loose a shrill scream that pierced the air. In the blink of an eye the creature darted back under water, disappearing from sight. Toast and Knox searched frantically. They couldn’t see it. Something gripped Rook’s leg tight and pulled him towards the deep water. His legs gave out from beneath him, his body fell back and his head slammed into the stone below. Toast fired on the creature, aiming for its head and torso. It recoiled from the bullet impact, but his bullets didn’t seem to have any measurable effect. It lifted its foreleg above the water and flung Rook into the tunnel opening behind Toast. The mutant roared in defiance. Toast unclipped a fragmentation grenade from his webbing, pulled the pin and lobbed it at the creature. The grenade bounced off the mutant’s skin and fell into the water below. The explosion sent a shockwave through the room, knocking Toast to the ground. The creature moved towards them, low to the water. “Got no legs now, mother-fucker!” Toast screamed. The creature crawled up the stone embankment, howling all the way. Toast kicked it hard in the head. It stumbled and fell to the ground. He aimed his M16 at its head and fired. Within a second its movements stopped, it wasn’t even breathing. Drip. Toast ran back to Rook, he was unconscious. He grabbed him by the shoulders and shook. With a low mumble Rook opened his eyes. “Is it dead?” he asked. “Yeah, brains are all over the floor.” “Thank God.” He said as he breathed a sigh of relief. “Can you walk?” “Yeah, I’m fine.” Toast extended his foreleg and pulled Rook to his hooves. “Let’s get going,” said Toast. They lifted their rifles above their heads as they moved into the water, wading through the depths towards the other side. The cavern walls ahead began to narrow as the ground beneath their hooves began to elevate. They were nearing the exit. Toast took point, proceeding up the incline through the second half of the tunnel. It wasn’t long before he reached the end of the tunnel. They paused at the end, looking down and scanning the area with Toast’s tactical light. Drip. A stench of decay once again filled the air as they observed the central mining area. They were standing in the opening of a naturally forming cave about ten metres above the ground. “Shit,” Rook whispered, “Infected, they’re everywhere.” “Fuck it,” Toast began, “we have to go in, but let’s try quietly.” “Roger that.” Toast slung his rifle around his shoulder and hung from the ledge. He dropped to the ground. “Clear,” he said, motioning for Rook to follow. When Rook hit the ground they followed the wall, making their way around the room. Toast took care to keep his light aimed below chest level, to keep a lower profile. They rounded a corner. One of the infected stood squarely in front of him. It took a deep breath and howled with its decrepit voice, signalling to those nearby that something was here. Hooves began to shuffle in all directions, movement in their direction. Rook fired at the one in front of them, his muzzle flash illuminated everything within the vicinity. The infected had them surrounded. His bullets smashed into the creature’s skull, spraying blood into the air. Ravenous hooves and dislocated jaws and teeth gnawed and gnashed at them as they pushed forward. Every time one of them came close they would smack it in the head with the Stock of their Rifle. “GO!” Toast shouted. They pushed forward, towards the mine control tower. As they reached it Rook turned around and fired, delaying their approach. Toast slammed his leg into the door lock, smashing it through. He opened the door and Rook followed him through. Rook glanced around and found a bookcase. Toast held the door closed as Rook nudged the bookcase in front of the door. The room was sparsely decorated. To their left was a stair case, directly beneath the stairs, on the right hoof side, was a door labelled high voltage. Rook moved towards the door and opened it. A generator was hidden within. “Toast, bring your light over here.” Toast shone his light on the generator, Rook checked it for fuel. “Ha, looks like we’re in luck, she’s got fuel.” Rook pulled the starter cord and ignited the fuel in the engine. The generator started. The lights above their head came online. “Fucking beautiful,” Rook commented, “alright, I’ll check upstairs.” “Roger that,” Toast replied. VengeanceDrip. Knox emerged from the tunnel as the sun began to fall below the hills in the distance. He moved out into the mining facility. Suddenly the street lights lit up throughout the town. I wonder if Toast and Rook had anything to do with that? He questioned. The town was deserted, there weren’t even any infected on the streets. Something’s wrong. Either someone’s cleared out everything in this town, or this place was deserted a long time ago. A light flickered in the distance, a shadow darted across the road. Knox brought his M16 up to his shoulder and aimed it in response. He moved forward, hunting it, whatever it was. The light flickered again, no shadow this time. Something tapped him on the shoulder. He turned in an instant to face it. “Welcome to Borenai,” the Stranger said before he punched Knox in the face, knocking him to the ground. Knox awoke some time later, in a dark, damp room. It smelled oddly clean for a place like Borenai. Almost too clean, hygienic even. He had been stripped of all his clothes and gear, except for his underwear. His hooves were cuffed through the backing of a steel chair. He looked around. All he could see were steel cabinets on the walls, a surgical table with nothing on it and a silver platter on the table next to him. His clothes and weapon were stacked on a chair in the corner on the far side of the room. On his left, a set of stairs led to a door with a splinter of light piercing through the lock and through the gap between the door and the floor. He felt cold, his body shivered. The air was getting colder. He looked up, an air conditioning vent directly above him pushed cold, sterile air into the room. “Forgive the temperature,” said the voice from earlier. The unicorn stallion walked out of the shadows in a far corner of the cold room. Drip. He flicked a switch on the wall. Two bright fluorescent lights flickered and ignited, illuminating the room with a cool white light. The floor was, at last, revealed. All that could be seen from any direction was white tiling. He presumed that below it lay only cement, or dirt. He looked then to the stallion’s face. It was weathered. He had seen many horrors. Undoubtedly caused many in his time as well, Knox assumed. “Where am I?” he asked. “Somewhere safe, for me,” the stallion replied. “Why have you taken my clothes and gear?” “It was necessary,” he stated, simply. “I’d like them back,” said Knox. “I’m sure you would, but how can I trust you?” He asked, “you could be infected.” “You have me practically naked, locked in your basement and hoofcuffed to the chair,” said Knox, “you have had plenty of time to examine me; you know that I’m not infected. So why lie to me?” The stallion smiled. Drip. The stallion turned to face two of the steel cabinets on his left and opened them. Out of one he withdrew a surgical scalpel and from the other, rubbing alcohol and placed them both on the silver platter next to Knox’s chair. “I don’t usually like to start so quickly, but I am rarely afforded the opportunity to test a Military pony. I’ve cleared out the streets so I should have ample opportunity to continue when we begin.” The stallion returned to the cabinets and retrieved a box of latex gloves, a package of cotton wool and a box of surgical masks. After placing them on the platter he took two gloves and stretched them over his large, coarse hooves. He then applied a surgical mask to his face. He loudly scraped a steel chair close to Knox’s and sat himself comfortably with his legs resting on the bar close to the base of the chair. The stallion moved his hooves around Knox’s chest and abdomen, examining the contours of his well-maintained figure. “You’ve taken good care of yourself,” He began, “I admire that.” After the stallion finished examining his body he turned towards the platter, ensuring he had all the tools he required. “You can never be too careful with blood, especially these days. I remember a time when the worst risk from blood contamination was EIV, alas things have changed.” As the stallion picked up his surgical blade, Knox’s eyes darted around the room, looking for some way to escape. He looked down, wriggling his hooves behind his back to get them free from the cuffs. Eyes darting upwards he looked at the door. Where before there was a splinter of light under the door there were now three, broken by two small shadowy indentations. “Stop,” Knox began, “you don’t have to do this!” The stallion took the blade in his right hoof and grasped Knox’s left nipple firmly with his left hoof. He brought the scalpel up to the right hoof side of the nipple, where the skin begins to turn dark and made a slight incision around the curve. Knox recoiled in pain but held in his scream. A small stream of blood fell quickly from the wound. The stallion picked up the rubbing alcohol and cotton wool. He soaked the wool in the alcohol and pressed it firmly against the wound. As the alcohol mixed in with the blood and began to sear the wound Knox let out a whimper. The stallion pressed harder on the wound and the whimper turned into a scream. The shadows darted away from the door and were followed closely by a shrill screech. A young girl? Knox thought. The stallion sighed. “Little bitch is going to be the death of me,” He began, “screaming at a time like this. I’ll go sort her out, but I’ll be back for you.” He placed the scalpel back on the platter and rose from his seat. He then trudged up the tiled staircase and opened the door. It didn’t seem to be locked. He closed it swiftly behind him. The stallion moved away from the door and, by the sound of it, rounded a corner. Moments later the doorknob squeaked. A small girl darted quietly into the room. She closed the door quietly behind her. Her long sandy-brown fringe whipped around the sides of her face and her lengthy ponytail bounced as she sprinted towards him. She had a long, feminine face with a nose that dipped slightly in the middle and protruded a little at the tip. A few freckles adorned her upper cheeks and crossed her nose. Her eyes shone a bright shade of hazel. “You’ve got to get out of here!” Knox whispered, forcefully. “I don’t want him to hurt you!” she responded. “I’m a big boy, I can hoofle it,” He began, “I’ve dealt with worse…” “No!” She cut him off, a little too loudly. “He’s killed lots of ponies. I’ve seen him dragging the bodies out and leaving them in the streets for those creatures to eat!” She darted behind his chair and began fiddling with the cuffs that restrained him. A loud crash echoed through the room as the door slammed against the wall adjacent. “You little bitch!” He yelled in frustration, “You’re going to learn your lesson this time!” He stepped heavily towards her; she tried to hide behind Knox’s chair. “Leave her alone!” Knox shouted. “Shut the fuck up,” he said, punching Knox in the nose, “this doesn’t concern you.” The stallion picked her up off the ground by the scruff of her neck. Knox felt her hooves slip away from his hoofcuffs as he threw her into the chair he was sitting on. It tipped and slid across the room. The girl fell to the ground, crying. The stallion undid his belt. “I’ve given you so much,” he began, “I gave you a home, kept you safe from the infected. Then you see fit to betray me?” The stallion picked the girl up and placed her on the surgical table face down and unzipped his pants. “NO!” Knox shouted. Knox flailed his forelegs inside the cuffs. The girl had placed the key in the lock. Quickly un-cuffing himself he got to his hooves, picked up the scalpel off the silver platter and rushed towards the stallion. Scalpel in hoof he pulled the stallion away from the girl and slammed him against a wall. He then took the scalpel and jammed it hard into the stallion’s throat, slicing away toward the jugular. Blood spurted out along the wall. Knox released the stallion and he fell to the ground, unconscious, sure to die at any moment. He dropped the scalpel on the ground and went to check on the girl. She seemed okay, he hadn’t done anything to her. He sat her upright on the table. “You poor thing,” he said,” It’s okay now; I won’t let anything bad happen to you. Just wait right here.” Knox walked to the far corner of the room and retrieved his gear. He opened the cabinets against the wall and found a first aid kit. He opened it and applied a liquid adhesive to his wound, and dressed it with a surgical pad. He put on his clothes and webbing and returned to the girl. Knox parted her hair out of her face. “Are you okay?” he asked. Tears finally stopped rolling down her cheeks as she mustered the strength to reply. “I am now.” Knox lifted her off the table and held her on his hip. “Let’s get you out of here.” She put her forelegs around his neck and he walked up the stairs into the main house. He walked around until he found the kitchen. Placing her on the bench he searched the room for something he could eat. He opened the fridge, fully expecting anything within to be inedible or rancid. However, it was cold and fully stocked. Knox took some of the cooked meat and vegetables gave some to the girl and ate some of it himself. “What’s your name?” he asked. “Grace,” she replied, “what’s yours?” “John,” he said, smiling, “pleased to meet you, Grace. She smiled in response. Knox asked Grace to go to her room and put on, pants, a long sleeved shirt, a jacket and fully enclosed sneakers. She complied. When she returned Knox walked to the door, M16 in hoof, checked the peephole and opened it. He checked his watch; it was one in the afternoon. The sun still shone brightly in the sky. Knox took Grace by the hoof, holding his rifle in the other, with the sling around his neck. They walked out into the street. There was nothing to be seen. Not a living, or non-living pony was in sight. “Where is everything?” Knox asked himself. “My uncle,” Grace began, “he said he had a plan to get rid of them all. All the creatures, one day they were everywhere, the next he managed to get rid of them. He said something about the mine, but he never told me what, and he said never to go down there.” “Where did he take the bodies of the ponies he killed?” “I think he took them down there, but I’m not sure.” He probably lured them down there with all that dead flesh, he thought. If they’re still in the mine I won’t be able to reach them with the radio, but I should try nonetheless, Knox reasoned. Knox reached for his radio, pressed the button on the left hoof side and began to speak clearly in an outward direction. “Knox to Toast, do you read?” he asked over the radio, “I say again, this is Captain Knox to Toast, do you read?" After a few moments of dead air something finally broadcast through the receiver. “Ca…th…read…host…fatal,” said the voice through intermittent static. “Say again?” said Knox. Dead air. “Shit,” said Knox. Drip. “Alright, is there a mining facility near here?” “It’s all the way across town,” Grace began, “I think they are still around that way. There’s a big fence and behind that, they say, is the entrance to the mine, though I’ve never seen it.” “How far to walk there?” he asked. “Maybe an hour,” she guessed. “Will you show me?” he asked. She nodded. Grace, still holding his hoof, led him down the street, into the Central Business District. The roads turned from dirt into bitumen the closer they got to the main town. Every now and again they would pass a burnt out car, with traces of black soot along the doors and roof. Usually the cars were intact, just abandoned. Having lived through the outbreak, he knew why some ponies would leave their cars behind. Some ponies would simply stay indoors and attempt to ride out the storm, usually that didn’t work and they starved or left to get food and died on the way. Others would simply assume that all roads out would be blocked and tried to bypass the problem by going on foot with whatever they could carry. While some ponies managed to survive, not a lot did. Of the few that did survive, almost half died of starvation of dehydration, the other half, if they were lucky, managed to survive long enough to get picked up by a Sanctuary transport. Grace began to veer to the right, crossing the footpath on the right hoof side and walking under the shelter of a local bar. In the distance a group of infected had gathered in the street, they weren’t looking for anything, they were just walking. “I’m not going to kill them,” Knox began, “Killing them may attract more, okay?” Grace nodded, squeezing his hoof tighter. “We’ll stay on the right hoof side; they’re mostly focused in the middle of the road. We should be able to sneak around them.” Slowly they edged closer, taking care not to make any noise. A twig snapped beneath Grace’s hooves. The infected were aware of their presence. They started moving towards them; Knox pushed Grace behind him and raised his M16 to his shoulder, firing bursts of three shots into the infected assailants dropping one after another, after another. One of them crept up on them, approaching from their left flank; it grabbed Grace by the foreleg and motioned to take a bite out of her. She screamed. Knox turned to face the assailant, smacked it in the head with the stock of his rifle. It recoiled, releasing Grace’s foreleg. Knox fired into its head, it fell to the ground. “I think that was it,” he said, “did it bite you?” “N-no, I’m okay,” she replied. Knox paused. A distant hum vibrated through the air. “Do you hear that?” he asked. “Something’s humming…” “That’s not humming,” said Knox, ecstatically, “that’s a helicopter!” PreparationLieutenant Aiden “Harbinger” Redland sat quietly in General Pierce’s warmly furnished office. He leant back slightly in the vinyl upholstered chair; he had already been waiting for twenty minutes to see the General, he saw no reason not to relax a little. The chair creaked as his back pressed against it. The steel door enclosing the entrance to the General’s office swung open forcefully as General Pierce entered briskly strode in. Pierce quickly rose from his chair and stood firmly at attention. The general waved his hoof lazily. “As you were,” he said. The Lieutenant waited for Pierce to take his seat before he cautiously followed suit. Redland stomped his hooves in anticipation; he had no idea what this meeting would be about. Pierce reached for his desk lamp and switched it on. The light illuminated the writing pad that was located squarely in the centre of the illuminated area. He paused for a moment, opened his right hoof desk drawer and retrieved a manila folder; he placed it gracefully on the desk in front of Redland. “You are undoubtedly aware that I dispatched half of Alpha team, Captain Knox, Toast and Rook, to an undisclosed location yesterday,” the General began, “Knox and the others were under orders to check in at 0530 this morning, they did not, and have not responded to communications since.” “You want me to go in?” Redland asked. “That’s right, Lieutenant,” he began, “Assemble the rest of Alpha team, take a Black Hawk to Borenai, find and assist Knox and the others with their mission and extract them when you’re done.” “Their mission, Sir?” Pierce tapped the folder in front of Redland. “It’s all in the brief,” the general replied, “Convoy will pilot, take Mouse as a scout and I want you in command until you meet up with Knox, from then on I want you to follow his instructions.” “Yes, Sir,” said Redland. * The three members of Redlands team assembled in the CIC to receive their mission briefing. Redland positioned himself between them and placed the manilala folder on the table, removing the contents and placing half a dozen photos in a horizontal line and a map of Borenai above it. “Knox, Toast and Rook have been sent into a quarantine zone,” Redland said as he pointed to the map, “they were to land their zodiac here,” he indicated the western beach, close to the outskirts of Borenai. “Why did they take a Zodiac?” asked Mouse. “The Op was Recon, and therefore extremely low profile,” he replied. Redland paused and then indicated the two possible entry points to the town, the central entrance between the cliff faces and the mine directly to the south. “Given the nature of the mission it’s a fair bet that Knox opted to take the tunnels, as opposed to a frontal assault through the central entrance,” said Redland, “if this is the case our updated aerial survey, conducted at 0600 this morning, suggests that the quickest exit would place them in an area close to the town centre.” “Should we expect a lot of hostility?” asked Convoy. Knox pointed at the pictures on the desk. “These are aerial snap-shots taken at the time of our cartographic survey,” he told them, “certain areas, such as the first mine exit, are almost completely clear of infected. However, for some reason the fenced in area around the second exit is crawling with them.” “Knox, Toast and Rook are perfectly capable soldiers, why send us?” asked Mouse. “At 0530 this morning the first team missed their scheduled check in via the zodiac’s long range radio transmitter. They’re sending us to rendezvous with the others and, if they have been compromised, finish their mission.” “Which is?” asked Convoy. “To gather original samples of the virus, which we believe are located at a treatment clinic that Morozov ran in early 2001.” “Treatment clinic, my ass,” said Mouse, “the guy practically caused this mess.” “How can you know that the samples are still there, it’s been five years,” Convoy commented. “We don’t, but if they are they may help us derive a cure,” he replied. Redland took all the photos and the map off the table and placed them in the folder. “We aren’t going in silent this time,” said Redland, “Pierce has authorized use of a Black Hawk. Convoy, I want you to pilot and Mouse, I want you to co-pilot and keep an eye out for our team and any survivors. I’ll take one of the Gatling guns.” Redland took the folder off the desk and stepped away. They both turned to face him. “When we locate Alpha team, we will take the chopper to the clinic and finish this,” he said. Convoy tapped his hoof against the edge of the table as he straightened his back. “When do we leave?” he asked. “One hour,” Redland replied, “so head to the armory, kit up and gear up.” “I’ll only take a pistol, a good scout doesn’t need any more,” said Mouse. “You’re right,” said Convoy, “so maybe you should take an M60.” Mouse scowled, Redland laughed. “Automatics are requisite, but keep your kit as light as possible without compromising reinforcement,” he began, “if we get rushed I don’t want to be the only one who has enough firepower to handle it.” Mouse sighed but Redland remained firm. “Are we clear?” Redland asked. “Yes, Sir,” they replied. RevenantToast and Rook stood back from the generator as it powered up. The incandescent lights on the ceiling flickered as the power supply began to stabilize. “Alright, now we can look for a back door out of here,” said Toast as he looked around the room. The windows were caged on the outside with mild steel, unbreakable to anyone without a power saw. Toast walked out to the reception area and paused. “I’ll take a look upstairs,” said Rook, “Do you want to see if you can find a back door?” “Yeah, sounds good,” toast replied. As Rook moved up the stairs they creaked under the increased pressure. The infected outside began to moan more frequently. Rook opened the door to the upstairs level and felt along the left hoof side wall for the light switch. Once his hoof bumped against the protruding surface he flicked the switch down. The lights flickered on, illuminating the urinal-cake yellow walls. The pure white ceiling, skirts and cornices combined with the polished hardwood floors to create an unpleasantly drab feeling. As he moved forward the wall to his right stopped and cornered away, revealing a large office. To his left a side table spanned almost the entire length of the room. On top of it lay half a dozen black binder folders inter spaced with pictures of a mare and two children, a colt and a filly. To his right the floor was barren. On the wall three pictures hung equally spaced from each other and the end of the wall on either side. The paintings were hung with a piece of white nylon string off a set of rusted nails. The first image was a picture of Borenai during its first year as a mining town, dated 1968. The second was a picture of an old warship with a tri-mast system and an arrangement of cannons, though only one side was visible. The third was a picture of a black stallion with his foreleg around a tall, thin gray stallion with a brown mane and white growth close to the roots, at the bottom of the image two names were displayed, Jim and Mikhail. At the far end of the room sat a mahogany desk with a padded, high-backed chair placed centrally behind it. Rook walked behind the desk and pulled out the chair and sat in it. On the desk, placed on a slight angle to the edge, was a diary that was opened to a paged that displayed the date 5th September, 2001. It read: The sickness began six weeks ago to this day. There is still no vaccine or cure. I’ve been asking around, no one remembers who first procured the contagion. We all just hope that we won’t be the next ones to catch it. Even my friend, Mikhail, who opened a clinic six months ago, admitted to me that despite his best efforts he had not been able to discover the nature of the sickness. He told me yesterday that the infected ponies had been safely quarantined as they had been identified, though he also said that if the contagion continued to spread, localised quarantine would no longer have any effect. Something would need to be done to ensure the… The entry ended abruptly. Rook looked at the desk and saw that a pen had spilt some of its ink and rolled to its present location, where a pool of ink now lay. Someone left in a hurry, he thought. He thought over the contents of the diary again. “Morozov,” he said, “Mikhail Morozov, son of a bitch.” He grabbed the diary and had a look at the window behind the desk. It wasn’t caged like the ones down stairs. Outside he saw another building positioned only a metre away from the window. Beyond that he saw another tunnel entrance. Rook put the book in his pack and called Toast to his floor. Together they examined a possible escape route and began to open the window; Toast stood on the ledge and leapt to the other building. Rook followed shortly after. They ran to the edge and let themselves down and landed with a slight thump. An earth shaking screech echoed throughout the caverns. A repetitive thumping sound grew ever nearer. Rook spun around to see what was making the noise. Instantly he turned again and began to run. “Fuck!” he screamed, “It’s a mutant!” “Shit!” Toast replied, “Go, run!” Toast and Rook ran into the tunnel as quickly as they could. With every stride they took the mutant grew closer. They dared not look back as the hulking mass of abnormally over-gown muscles and gnashing teeth shook the ground, with its heavy legs pounding the concrete. A hoard of infected joined the fray between the mutant, Toast and Rook. The creature drove straight through the infected that stood in its way. “That thing’s a fucking juggernaut,” screamed Rook. “Shut up and run!” RegretSanctuary Base Phoenix, present day. “It was a bit reckless wasn’t it?” asked Costello as he reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a silver cigar canister. After clipping the head, he withdrew a packet of matches from his right-hoof pocket and struck one. With care, he placed the finely wrapped Cuban to his mouth and puffed the Cigar alight. “What?” Knox questioned, “taking the Tunnel?” He allowed himself to relax and fall back into the hard backed, vinyl upholstered chair. It creaked as he did. “The Mangroves, the Tunnel, all of it,” Macmurdo interjected. “Piss off,” Knox replied, “we found a way in, one with almost no need for conflict, that’s what mattered. How you could believe that taking on a hundred or more of them to get in the front entrance, expending what little ammunition we had, I will never understand.” “Irrespective of your tactical decisions, Captain,” Costello began, “taking your team through difficult terrain in a black zone, what were you thinking?” “With respect, General, I just told you. The operation was Recon; we were there for the package, nothing more. We didn’t need those mutated mother-fuckers breathing down our necks, hounding us until we couldn’t fight anymore.” Knox retorted. “One of your men could have been compromised,” said MacMurdo, “what would you have done if he was?” “Everything I could possibly have done to save him, you know that.” Costello drew in some smoke from his cigar and exhaled in Knox’s direction. “Let’s talk about your decision at the fork.”
PhoenixSanctuary Base Phoenix, present day. He awoke early and began to train, as he did every morning. Preservation was the key to survival in this age, the preservation of his physical abilities and the ponies that were still alive were chief among his priorities. So he trained. The air was cold and carried the stench of salt everywhere. After nine years of living on base he, just like everyone else, had adapted to the constant sway and motion of the modified Aircraft Carrier. He walked to his bathroom, his hooves tapped against the ice-cold steel floor. He turned the tap and flushed his face with cold water. There was no hot water any more, they barely had enough fuel to alter their course, let alone produce enough power to see to the ponyal needs of everyone on board. Thus they drifted most days, only powering the engines to ensure the carrier stayed far enough away from the shore. Showers were short and cold. Management decided it was for the best. The shorter anyone was out of action, for any reason, the smaller the chance of being overrun. Not that being overrun was very likely. Three deep knocks echoed from through his door and, consequently, around his room. He meandered his way toward it, peering through the peep-hole. A stallion, a military stallion, was standing easy outside. He opened the door to greet the stranger. “Knox, John Knox?” the stallion queried. Knox checked the stallion's rank slides. “Actually that would be Captain Knox, Corporal, do you need something?” he replied lazily. The Corporal pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. He paused for a few moments to read it. Knox tapped his fingers on the door frame impatiently. “Well?” he continued. “Actually, Mister Knox, it says here you are retired from active service.” Knox smiled. “That’s true; however, if you are here it’s more than likely that I’ll have to start using the old title again. Wouldn’t you say?” “That’s not my place to say, Mister Knox. I am here to deliver a message from General Costello.” He answered. “What happened to General Pierce?” “Quarantined,” he answered simply. Knox sighed. “That’s too bad. We can’t afford to lose any more good ponies.” The Corporal shrugged the comment. “General Costello wishes to meet with you immediately. Can I tell him to expect you?” “No.” He answered. “I’m done with military service. Tell your General to find someone else.” Knox showed the Corporal out of the door and closed it. “They’ll be back. I’d better get changed.” He was right. Within ten minutes a military officer was standing at his door. As he did with the last messenger, Knox answered the door and discovered the stallion's identity. His name was Lieutenant MacMurdo. “As you are well aware, Mister Knox, Sanctuary Bases are for the use of Alliance Military ponynel only.” MacMurdo commented. “And?” Knox probed. “General Costello wishes to speak with you regarding a matter of utmost urgency. He tells me it has to do with you being retired from active duty.” MacMurdo informed him. “So if I don’t go see the General he is going to kick me off the base and leave me to them?” Knox asked. “The General would never put it that way.” Knox followed MacMurdo through endless corridors. The floor swayed beneath them. It was a five minute walk from Knox’s quarters to the General’s office. MacMurdo tapped on the door. “Come.” A deep voice commanded. MacMurdo opened the door and Knox followed him inside. An overweight General Costello sat comfortably behind a dark wooden desk stacked high with paperwork which had a light coating of dust gradually covering the stark white paper. Knox glanced around the room. The walls were lined with bookshelves. Most of the books were probably the last ones left, or the last ones anyone could access. They had no use for them, after all. “You served the Alliance for three years, is that correct?” General Costello enquired. “That’s correct. But what does this have to do with kicking me off this base?” “As you know, the Sanctuary bases were designed as guards for the civilian fleet. They serve no other purpose than to safeguard the future of the pony race.” “Your point?” Knox replied, “I served my time.” The General lifted a manila folder from his desk. He opened it and examined it briefly. “That you did, and with great honour.” The General placed the folder back on the desk and stood up from his chair. MacMurdo stood at attention. Costello waved him down. “Every day we are losing our recruits to dangerous missions on land. Only a hoofful of our military ponynel have ever survived our land based operations, you and Lieutenant MacMurdo to name two.” The General commented. “So, what, you want me back?” “Not permanently,” the General answered, “We have a mission we would like you to complete.” “A mission?” “Doctor Lee, our resident biologist, believes she is close to discovering an anti-virus for the infection that plagues the hoard.” He continued. “However, she seems to have hit a roadblock because of the virus’ adaptive nature. After so many mutations she can no longer create an anti-virus to counter the infection on all fronts.” “She needs the source.” Knox commented. “Patient Zero, the good Doctor himself.” “That’s impossible. No one even knows if he is still alive. We know that they do die eventually. What says he hasn’t already bought the bullet?” “Nothing,” the General admitted, “but we need you to determine the truth. And if he is out there, I want you to bring him back here.” “Bring one of the infected to a Sanctuary Base?” Knox enquired. “And if it is too difficult to bring him across that much water?” “A sample of his DNA should prove to be enough to counteract the virus, or so Doctor Lee informs me.” “What makes you think I can do it?” Knox asked. “You remember Borenai?” the General asked, “your mission with Rookie and Toast?” “The old mining town,” Knox confirmed, “what about it?”
IncursionOne year earlier. The zodiac crashed upon the waves as they made their way towards the coastline. A storm was brewing in the distance behind them, its triumphant tremors echoed through the turbulent water, indicating the dangers to come. “This shit’s pretty fucked up.” Rookie commented. “Hooah.” Said Toast. Captain Knox snapped his fingers. The men gave him their attention. “This shit-hole is crawling with them.” He said. “Most of them look like the regular kind you see around but I want to keep this op silent. If there are any other types here I’d rather avoid them.” “I heard that, you know, the Doctor was here experimenting on ponies.” Rookie told them. Clouds began to roll over. What was left of the daylight slowly crept away. The Captain turned on his flash light, the others followed suit. “Keep your shit together,” he ordered them, “This mission is Recon only. Don’t engage any targets that don’t block your path. Understood?” “Yes, Sir.” They answered. “Load up, safety off. Watch for civvies.” As the zodiac made its way closer to the beach, Knox switched off the motor in an attempt to avoid detection. As their craft glided onto the sand and beached itself they departed and spread out along a ridge of sand about twenty metres inland. Knox peered from the cover of the ridge, directly in front of them lay the main entrance to the town of Borenai covered with hundreds of Infected. Around the gradual incline were cliff faces on all sides that reached as far as the eye could see in either direction. Too many, he thought. “Toast, is there another entrance to the town mentioned in the brief?” Toast scanned his PDA, analysing the map and cross referencing co-ordinates mentioned in their mission briefing. “One,” he replied, “a mine tunnel about two kilometres south of here.” Knox paused in thought. “What's between us and it?” “About one and a half kilometres of beach and half a kilometre of mangroves.” Toast replied. “Then that is our best bet.” “Mangroves will slow us down, Sir,” Rook commented. “We don't have much choice,” said Knox. On Knox's command all three men got up and moved along the ridge to the south. The infected on the other side hadn’t noticed them. As soon as he could see the mangroves Knox halted and scanned the other side of the ridge, checking for hostiles. “Area clear,” said Knox. Knox crossed the ridge and moved towards the mangroves. The team followed closely but stayed a pace behind each other so that no-one would step on anyone else. At the edge of the mangroves the bank sloped away under water. The mangrove roots were partially submerged but remained, for the most part, above the water. Knox took hold of a mangrove tree and pulled himself up, standing on the roots. “Watch your footing, its slippery.” A cracking sound broke through the silence. Toast looked around. Nothing. The team moved deeper into the mangroves, this far in all directions looked the same. They couldn't see the beach, the ocean or the cliff face. Knox routinely checked his compass, to ensure they remained on track. Deep in the mangrove jungle a moan pierced the air. The murky water stirred beneath their hooves. “Fuck it.” Knox cursed. “Don't touch the water.” “No shit,” said Rook. “Stow it.” They continued through the jungle as fast as they could. Barely audible, a whisper of breath pierced the silence. “Did you hear that?” asked Rook. “Keep quiet,” said Knox. Rook took a step towards another mangrove root and held on tightly to the tree. His hoof clapped the root in front of him but slipped off. “Shit,” said Rook. Knox looked back and saw Rook clinging to the tree with his left hoof dangling above the water. “Check your footing.” He ordered. “Captain!” Rookie shouted as he plunged in the murky water below. “Rook!” shouted Toast and Knox as they clambered back to the tree he fell from. “Rook, come on!” Toast shouted. In the distance a powerful shriek pierced the air. “What the fuck was that?” Toast asked. Rook splashed up from the water, gasping for air. He flailed his forelegs about, Knox and Toast grabbed him and pulled him clear of the water. “Did you hear that Captain?” Rook asked. “The noise?” “Yeah I heard it.” He answered. “Keep your eyes peeled. If you see it, try to stay away from it.” “What the fuck happened, man?” Toast asked. “I don't know, I think something pulled me under.” The murky water began to stir all around them. Knox's eyes opened wide in fear and anticipation. “GO, get the fuck out of here!” They moved as fast as they could towards the edge of the jungle. Finally, Knox saw sand ahead. Almost there, He thought as he leapt ever closer to the bank. They breathed heavily as they reached dry land, their relief, however was short lived. A crack of thunder erupted from the skies above. Thousands of droplets fell from the open skies and pounded the ground below. “Ah, shit,” said Knox. “Captain,” Toast began, he pointed toward the cliff face, “Look, the mine opening.” “Move it!” he motioned towards the opening. The team sprinted into the open tunnel. Knox activated his Tactical light, gripping his M16A4 tightly, and peered into the tunnel ahead. On the ceiling a series of deactivated fluorescent lights followed the path deep into the mine. “Toast, motion tracker,” Knox commanded.” Toast set up the tracker at the entrance to the mine. “It should give us an indication if anyone is following us, but it won't show anything more than ten metres in, the signal is bouncing off the stone.” “Alright, let’s move out.” Rook took point as they moved into the dark abyss. Subtly at first a wafted stench of rotten flesh flowed through the air. Then it was stronger, more present. Knox halted and pointed his tactical light around but was unable to determine the source. He turned to ask the others if they could smell it too. The stench of rotting flesh amplified as a whisper of hot breath brushed against his right cheek. Frantic, Knox turned and snapped his M16 to his front. He scanned for anything moving, but there was nothing. Reluctantly Knox relaxed and continued moving forward. As they moved deeper into the tunnel a dark shadow behind them edged ever closer to the wall and disappeared. The stench of rotting flesh dissipated as they moved further into the darkness ahead. Gradually moss became more noticeable on the walls, floors and ceiling. A continual wave-like sound began to echo through the tunnel. They couldn’t tell how far away it was. A light flickered, Rook smacked his Tactical light. It flickered once more and then went out. “Fuck!” he said under his breath. “Change the batteries, you’ve got the spares,” said Knox. Rook patted his pocket and searched his webbing. Nothing. “I think they fell out when I went under.” “Fucking hell,” Knox began, “Toast, I want you on point, I’ll take our six.” They moved on, edging slowly into the darkness. A sense of cold came over them as they approached a fork in their path.
DeviationDrip. As the team approached the fork in the road Knox paused in thought. Neither direction seemed to show signs of increased or decreased elevation. “Toast, does the brief have a map of the tunnel system?” Knox asked. Toast searched his PDA. “Nothing, Sir,” He replied. “Fuck it, we’ll have to split up,” Knox decided, “Toast, take Rook and take the path on the left, I’ll take the right.” “Yes, Sir,” they replied. Toast and Rook moved into the tunnel on the left. Knox moved on to the right. The sound of waves became ever clearer as they progressed. A distant, powerful heavy breathing reverberated through them. “What the fuck is that?” asked Rook. “I don’t know, bro,” Toast replied, “keep your eyes peeled and focused where my light shines.” “Wilco.” The moss beneath their hooves began to squish it became more damp as they moved on. Drip. A deep hum accompanied the heavy breathing this time though somewhat less distant now. Sounds of waves splashed against walls ahead. The gentle squish of moss under their hooves soon turned into a splash as they moved ever closer to the illusive body of water ahead. Within steps the depth of water increased exponentially. With water up to their knees they paused to consider their next move. Toast scanned around with his tactical light, the tunnel had merged into a large cavern. From the ceiling a dozen stalagmites hung, impressively in a fragile balance between gravity and natural resilience. Suddenly the heavy breathing stopped. Large appendages splashed heavily in the water. Waves crashed heavily against them. They stumbled back. Toast shone his light on the creature. It was partially submerged, though the part of it protruding from the water was substantial in size. Toast’s tactical light shone in its eyes. It recoiled and let loose a shrill scream that pierced the air. In the blink of an eye the creature darted back under water, disappearing from sight. Toast and Knox searched frantically. They couldn’t see it. Something gripped Rook’s leg tight and pulled him towards the deep water. His legs gave out from beneath him, his body fell back and his head slammed into the stone below. Toast fired on the creature, aiming for its head and torso. It recoiled from the bullet impact, but his bullets didn’t seem to have any measurable effect. It lifted its foreleg above the water and flung Rook into the tunnel opening behind Toast. The mutant roared in defiance. Toast unclipped a fragmentation grenade from his webbing, pulled the pin and lobbed it at the creature. The grenade bounced off the mutant’s skin and fell into the water below. The explosion sent a shockwave through the room, knocking Toast to the ground. The creature moved towards them, low to the water. “Got no legs now, mother-fucker!” Toast screamed. The creature crawled up the stone embankment, howling all the way. Toast kicked it hard in the head. It stumbled and fell to the ground. He aimed his M16 at its head and fired. Within a second its movements stopped, it wasn’t even breathing. Drip. Toast ran back to Rook, he was unconscious. He grabbed him by the shoulders and shook. With a low mumble Rook opened his eyes. “Is it dead?” he asked. “Yeah, brains are all over the floor.” “Thank God.” He said as he breathed a sigh of relief. “Can you walk?” “Yeah, I’m fine.” Toast extended his foreleg and pulled Rook to his hooves. “Let’s get going,” said Toast. They lifted their rifles above their heads as they moved into the water, wading through the depths towards the other side. The cavern walls ahead began to narrow as the ground beneath their hooves began to elevate. They were nearing the exit. Toast took point, proceeding up the incline through the second half of the tunnel. It wasn’t long before he reached the end of the tunnel. They paused at the end, looking down and scanning the area with Toast’s tactical light. Drip. A stench of decay once again filled the air as they observed the central mining area. They were standing in the opening of a naturally forming cave about ten metres above the ground. “Shit,” Rook whispered, “Infected, they’re everywhere.” “Fuck it,” Toast began, “we have to go in, but let’s try quietly.” “Roger that.” Toast slung his rifle around his shoulder and hung from the ledge. He dropped to the ground. “Clear,” he said, motioning for Rook to follow. When Rook hit the ground they followed the wall, making their way around the room. Toast took care to keep his light aimed below chest level, to keep a lower profile. They rounded a corner. One of the infected stood squarely in front of him. It took a deep breath and howled with its decrepit voice, signalling to those nearby that something was here. Hooves began to shuffle in all directions, movement in their direction. Rook fired at the one in front of them, his muzzle flash illuminated everything within the vicinity. The infected had them surrounded. His bullets smashed into the creature’s skull, spraying blood into the air. Ravenous hooves and dislocated jaws and teeth gnawed and gnashed at them as they pushed forward. Every time one of them came close they would smack it in the head with the Stock of their Rifle. “GO!” Toast shouted. They pushed forward, towards the mine control tower. As they reached it Rook turned around and fired, delaying their approach. Toast slammed his leg into the door lock, smashing it through. He opened the door and Rook followed him through. Rook glanced around and found a bookcase. Toast held the door closed as Rook nudged the bookcase in front of the door. The room was sparsely decorated. To their left was a stair case, directly beneath the stairs, on the right hoof side, was a door labelled high voltage. Rook moved towards the door and opened it. A generator was hidden within. “Toast, bring your light over here.” Toast shone his light on the generator, Rook checked it for fuel. “Ha, looks like we’re in luck, she’s got fuel.” Rook pulled the starter cord and ignited the fuel in the engine. The generator started. The lights above their head came online. “Fucking beautiful,” Rook commented, “alright, I’ll check upstairs.” “Roger that,” Toast replied.
VengeanceDrip. Knox emerged from the tunnel as the sun began to fall below the hills in the distance. He moved out into the mining facility. Suddenly the street lights lit up throughout the town. I wonder if Toast and Rook had anything to do with that? He questioned. The town was deserted, there weren’t even any infected on the streets. Something’s wrong. Either someone’s cleared out everything in this town, or this place was deserted a long time ago. A light flickered in the distance, a shadow darted across the road. Knox brought his M16 up to his shoulder and aimed it in response. He moved forward, hunting it, whatever it was. The light flickered again, no shadow this time. Something tapped him on the shoulder. He turned in an instant to face it. “Welcome to Borenai,” the Stranger said before he punched Knox in the face, knocking him to the ground. Knox awoke some time later, in a dark, damp room. It smelled oddly clean for a place like Borenai. Almost too clean, hygienic even. He had been stripped of all his clothes and gear, except for his underwear. His hooves were cuffed through the backing of a steel chair. He looked around. All he could see were steel cabinets on the walls, a surgical table with nothing on it and a silver platter on the table next to him. His clothes and weapon were stacked on a chair in the corner on the far side of the room. On his left, a set of stairs led to a door with a splinter of light piercing through the lock and through the gap between the door and the floor. He felt cold, his body shivered. The air was getting colder. He looked up, an air conditioning vent directly above him pushed cold, sterile air into the room. “Forgive the temperature,” said the voice from earlier. The unicorn stallion walked out of the shadows in a far corner of the cold room. Drip. He flicked a switch on the wall. Two bright fluorescent lights flickered and ignited, illuminating the room with a cool white light. The floor was, at last, revealed. All that could be seen from any direction was white tiling. He presumed that below it lay only cement, or dirt. He looked then to the stallion’s face. It was weathered. He had seen many horrors. Undoubtedly caused many in his time as well, Knox assumed. “Where am I?” he asked. “Somewhere safe, for me,” the stallion replied. “Why have you taken my clothes and gear?” “It was necessary,” he stated, simply. “I’d like them back,” said Knox. “I’m sure you would, but how can I trust you?” He asked, “you could be infected.” “You have me practically naked, locked in your basement and hoofcuffed to the chair,” said Knox, “you have had plenty of time to examine me; you know that I’m not infected. So why lie to me?” The stallion smiled. Drip. The stallion turned to face two of the steel cabinets on his left and opened them. Out of one he withdrew a surgical scalpel and from the other, rubbing alcohol and placed them both on the silver platter next to Knox’s chair. “I don’t usually like to start so quickly, but I am rarely afforded the opportunity to test a Military pony. I’ve cleared out the streets so I should have ample opportunity to continue when we begin.” The stallion returned to the cabinets and retrieved a box of latex gloves, a package of cotton wool and a box of surgical masks. After placing them on the platter he took two gloves and stretched them over his large, coarse hooves. He then applied a surgical mask to his face. He loudly scraped a steel chair close to Knox’s and sat himself comfortably with his legs resting on the bar close to the base of the chair. The stallion moved his hooves around Knox’s chest and abdomen, examining the contours of his well-maintained figure. “You’ve taken good care of yourself,” He began, “I admire that.” After the stallion finished examining his body he turned towards the platter, ensuring he had all the tools he required. “You can never be too careful with blood, especially these days. I remember a time when the worst risk from blood contamination was EIV, alas things have changed.” As the stallion picked up his surgical blade, Knox’s eyes darted around the room, looking for some way to escape. He looked down, wriggling his hooves behind his back to get them free from the cuffs. Eyes darting upwards he looked at the door. Where before there was a splinter of light under the door there were now three, broken by two small shadowy indentations. “Stop,” Knox began, “you don’t have to do this!” The stallion took the blade in his right hoof and grasped Knox’s left nipple firmly with his left hoof. He brought the scalpel up to the right hoof side of the nipple, where the skin begins to turn dark and made a slight incision around the curve. Knox recoiled in pain but held in his scream. A small stream of blood fell quickly from the wound. The stallion picked up the rubbing alcohol and cotton wool. He soaked the wool in the alcohol and pressed it firmly against the wound. As the alcohol mixed in with the blood and began to sear the wound Knox let out a whimper. The stallion pressed harder on the wound and the whimper turned into a scream. The shadows darted away from the door and were followed closely by a shrill screech. A young girl? Knox thought. The stallion sighed. “Little bitch is going to be the death of me,” He began, “screaming at a time like this. I’ll go sort her out, but I’ll be back for you.” He placed the scalpel back on the platter and rose from his seat. He then trudged up the tiled staircase and opened the door. It didn’t seem to be locked. He closed it swiftly behind him. The stallion moved away from the door and, by the sound of it, rounded a corner. Moments later the doorknob squeaked. A small girl darted quietly into the room. She closed the door quietly behind her. Her long sandy-brown fringe whipped around the sides of her face and her lengthy ponytail bounced as she sprinted towards him. She had a long, feminine face with a nose that dipped slightly in the middle and protruded a little at the tip. A few freckles adorned her upper cheeks and crossed her nose. Her eyes shone a bright shade of hazel. “You’ve got to get out of here!” Knox whispered, forcefully. “I don’t want him to hurt you!” she responded. “I’m a big boy, I can hoofle it,” He began, “I’ve dealt with worse…” “No!” She cut him off, a little too loudly. “He’s killed lots of ponies. I’ve seen him dragging the bodies out and leaving them in the streets for those creatures to eat!” She darted behind his chair and began fiddling with the cuffs that restrained him. A loud crash echoed through the room as the door slammed against the wall adjacent. “You little bitch!” He yelled in frustration, “You’re going to learn your lesson this time!” He stepped heavily towards her; she tried to hide behind Knox’s chair. “Leave her alone!” Knox shouted. “Shut the fuck up,” he said, punching Knox in the nose, “this doesn’t concern you.” The stallion picked her up off the ground by the scruff of her neck. Knox felt her hooves slip away from his hoofcuffs as he threw her into the chair he was sitting on. It tipped and slid across the room. The girl fell to the ground, crying. The stallion undid his belt. “I’ve given you so much,” he began, “I gave you a home, kept you safe from the infected. Then you see fit to betray me?” The stallion picked the girl up and placed her on the surgical table face down and unzipped his pants. “NO!” Knox shouted. Knox flailed his forelegs inside the cuffs. The girl had placed the key in the lock. Quickly un-cuffing himself he got to his hooves, picked up the scalpel off the silver platter and rushed towards the stallion. Scalpel in hoof he pulled the stallion away from the girl and slammed him against a wall. He then took the scalpel and jammed it hard into the stallion’s throat, slicing away toward the jugular. Blood spurted out along the wall. Knox released the stallion and he fell to the ground, unconscious, sure to die at any moment. He dropped the scalpel on the ground and went to check on the girl. She seemed okay, he hadn’t done anything to her. He sat her upright on the table. “You poor thing,” he said,” It’s okay now; I won’t let anything bad happen to you. Just wait right here.” Knox walked to the far corner of the room and retrieved his gear. He opened the cabinets against the wall and found a first aid kit. He opened it and applied a liquid adhesive to his wound, and dressed it with a surgical pad. He put on his clothes and webbing and returned to the girl. Knox parted her hair out of her face. “Are you okay?” he asked. Tears finally stopped rolling down her cheeks as she mustered the strength to reply. “I am now.” Knox lifted her off the table and held her on his hip. “Let’s get you out of here.” She put her forelegs around his neck and he walked up the stairs into the main house. He walked around until he found the kitchen. Placing her on the bench he searched the room for something he could eat. He opened the fridge, fully expecting anything within to be inedible or rancid. However, it was cold and fully stocked. Knox took some of the cooked meat and vegetables gave some to the girl and ate some of it himself. “What’s your name?” he asked. “Grace,” she replied, “what’s yours?” “John,” he said, smiling, “pleased to meet you, Grace. She smiled in response. Knox asked Grace to go to her room and put on, pants, a long sleeved shirt, a jacket and fully enclosed sneakers. She complied. When she returned Knox walked to the door, M16 in hoof, checked the peephole and opened it. He checked his watch; it was one in the afternoon. The sun still shone brightly in the sky. Knox took Grace by the hoof, holding his rifle in the other, with the sling around his neck. They walked out into the street. There was nothing to be seen. Not a living, or non-living pony was in sight. “Where is everything?” Knox asked himself. “My uncle,” Grace began, “he said he had a plan to get rid of them all. All the creatures, one day they were everywhere, the next he managed to get rid of them. He said something about the mine, but he never told me what, and he said never to go down there.” “Where did he take the bodies of the ponies he killed?” “I think he took them down there, but I’m not sure.” He probably lured them down there with all that dead flesh, he thought. If they’re still in the mine I won’t be able to reach them with the radio, but I should try nonetheless, Knox reasoned. Knox reached for his radio, pressed the button on the left hoof side and began to speak clearly in an outward direction. “Knox to Toast, do you read?” he asked over the radio, “I say again, this is Captain Knox to Toast, do you read?" After a few moments of dead air something finally broadcast through the receiver. “Ca…th…read…host…fatal,” said the voice through intermittent static. “Say again?” said Knox. Dead air. “Shit,” said Knox. Drip. “Alright, is there a mining facility near here?” “It’s all the way across town,” Grace began, “I think they are still around that way. There’s a big fence and behind that, they say, is the entrance to the mine, though I’ve never seen it.” “How far to walk there?” he asked. “Maybe an hour,” she guessed. “Will you show me?” he asked. She nodded. Grace, still holding his hoof, led him down the street, into the Central Business District. The roads turned from dirt into bitumen the closer they got to the main town. Every now and again they would pass a burnt out car, with traces of black soot along the doors and roof. Usually the cars were intact, just abandoned. Having lived through the outbreak, he knew why some ponies would leave their cars behind. Some ponies would simply stay indoors and attempt to ride out the storm, usually that didn’t work and they starved or left to get food and died on the way. Others would simply assume that all roads out would be blocked and tried to bypass the problem by going on foot with whatever they could carry. While some ponies managed to survive, not a lot did. Of the few that did survive, almost half died of starvation of dehydration, the other half, if they were lucky, managed to survive long enough to get picked up by a Sanctuary transport. Grace began to veer to the right, crossing the footpath on the right hoof side and walking under the shelter of a local bar. In the distance a group of infected had gathered in the street, they weren’t looking for anything, they were just walking. “I’m not going to kill them,” Knox began, “Killing them may attract more, okay?” Grace nodded, squeezing his hoof tighter. “We’ll stay on the right hoof side; they’re mostly focused in the middle of the road. We should be able to sneak around them.” Slowly they edged closer, taking care not to make any noise. A twig snapped beneath Grace’s hooves. The infected were aware of their presence. They started moving towards them; Knox pushed Grace behind him and raised his M16 to his shoulder, firing bursts of three shots into the infected assailants dropping one after another, after another. One of them crept up on them, approaching from their left flank; it grabbed Grace by the foreleg and motioned to take a bite out of her. She screamed. Knox turned to face the assailant, smacked it in the head with the stock of his rifle. It recoiled, releasing Grace’s foreleg. Knox fired into its head, it fell to the ground. “I think that was it,” he said, “did it bite you?” “N-no, I’m okay,” she replied. Knox paused. A distant hum vibrated through the air. “Do you hear that?” he asked. “Something’s humming…” “That’s not humming,” said Knox, ecstatically, “that’s a helicopter!”
PreparationLieutenant Aiden “Harbinger” Redland sat quietly in General Pierce’s warmly furnished office. He leant back slightly in the vinyl upholstered chair; he had already been waiting for twenty minutes to see the General, he saw no reason not to relax a little. The chair creaked as his back pressed against it. The steel door enclosing the entrance to the General’s office swung open forcefully as General Pierce entered briskly strode in. Pierce quickly rose from his chair and stood firmly at attention. The general waved his hoof lazily. “As you were,” he said. The Lieutenant waited for Pierce to take his seat before he cautiously followed suit. Redland stomped his hooves in anticipation; he had no idea what this meeting would be about. Pierce reached for his desk lamp and switched it on. The light illuminated the writing pad that was located squarely in the centre of the illuminated area. He paused for a moment, opened his right hoof desk drawer and retrieved a manila folder; he placed it gracefully on the desk in front of Redland. “You are undoubtedly aware that I dispatched half of Alpha team, Captain Knox, Toast and Rook, to an undisclosed location yesterday,” the General began, “Knox and the others were under orders to check in at 0530 this morning, they did not, and have not responded to communications since.” “You want me to go in?” Redland asked. “That’s right, Lieutenant,” he began, “Assemble the rest of Alpha team, take a Black Hawk to Borenai, find and assist Knox and the others with their mission and extract them when you’re done.” “Their mission, Sir?” Pierce tapped the folder in front of Redland. “It’s all in the brief,” the general replied, “Convoy will pilot, take Mouse as a scout and I want you in command until you meet up with Knox, from then on I want you to follow his instructions.” “Yes, Sir,” said Redland. * The three members of Redlands team assembled in the CIC to receive their mission briefing. Redland positioned himself between them and placed the manilala folder on the table, removing the contents and placing half a dozen photos in a horizontal line and a map of Borenai above it. “Knox, Toast and Rook have been sent into a quarantine zone,” Redland said as he pointed to the map, “they were to land their zodiac here,” he indicated the western beach, close to the outskirts of Borenai. “Why did they take a Zodiac?” asked Mouse. “The Op was Recon, and therefore extremely low profile,” he replied. Redland paused and then indicated the two possible entry points to the town, the central entrance between the cliff faces and the mine directly to the south. “Given the nature of the mission it’s a fair bet that Knox opted to take the tunnels, as opposed to a frontal assault through the central entrance,” said Redland, “if this is the case our updated aerial survey, conducted at 0600 this morning, suggests that the quickest exit would place them in an area close to the town centre.” “Should we expect a lot of hostility?” asked Convoy. Knox pointed at the pictures on the desk. “These are aerial snap-shots taken at the time of our cartographic survey,” he told them, “certain areas, such as the first mine exit, are almost completely clear of infected. However, for some reason the fenced in area around the second exit is crawling with them.” “Knox, Toast and Rook are perfectly capable soldiers, why send us?” asked Mouse. “At 0530 this morning the first team missed their scheduled check in via the zodiac’s long range radio transmitter. They’re sending us to rendezvous with the others and, if they have been compromised, finish their mission.” “Which is?” asked Convoy. “To gather original samples of the virus, which we believe are located at a treatment clinic that Morozov ran in early 2001.” “Treatment clinic, my ass,” said Mouse, “the guy practically caused this mess.” “How can you know that the samples are still there, it’s been five years,” Convoy commented. “We don’t, but if they are they may help us derive a cure,” he replied. Redland took all the photos and the map off the table and placed them in the folder. “We aren’t going in silent this time,” said Redland, “Pierce has authorized use of a Black Hawk. Convoy, I want you to pilot and Mouse, I want you to co-pilot and keep an eye out for our team and any survivors. I’ll take one of the Gatling guns.” Redland took the folder off the desk and stepped away. They both turned to face him. “When we locate Alpha team, we will take the chopper to the clinic and finish this,” he said. Convoy tapped his hoof against the edge of the table as he straightened his back. “When do we leave?” he asked. “One hour,” Redland replied, “so head to the armory, kit up and gear up.” “I’ll only take a pistol, a good scout doesn’t need any more,” said Mouse. “You’re right,” said Convoy, “so maybe you should take an M60.” Mouse scowled, Redland laughed. “Automatics are requisite, but keep your kit as light as possible without compromising reinforcement,” he began, “if we get rushed I don’t want to be the only one who has enough firepower to handle it.” Mouse sighed but Redland remained firm. “Are we clear?” Redland asked. “Yes, Sir,” they replied.
RevenantToast and Rook stood back from the generator as it powered up. The incandescent lights on the ceiling flickered as the power supply began to stabilize. “Alright, now we can look for a back door out of here,” said Toast as he looked around the room. The windows were caged on the outside with mild steel, unbreakable to anyone without a power saw. Toast walked out to the reception area and paused. “I’ll take a look upstairs,” said Rook, “Do you want to see if you can find a back door?” “Yeah, sounds good,” toast replied. As Rook moved up the stairs they creaked under the increased pressure. The infected outside began to moan more frequently. Rook opened the door to the upstairs level and felt along the left hoof side wall for the light switch. Once his hoof bumped against the protruding surface he flicked the switch down. The lights flickered on, illuminating the urinal-cake yellow walls. The pure white ceiling, skirts and cornices combined with the polished hardwood floors to create an unpleasantly drab feeling. As he moved forward the wall to his right stopped and cornered away, revealing a large office. To his left a side table spanned almost the entire length of the room. On top of it lay half a dozen black binder folders inter spaced with pictures of a mare and two children, a colt and a filly. To his right the floor was barren. On the wall three pictures hung equally spaced from each other and the end of the wall on either side. The paintings were hung with a piece of white nylon string off a set of rusted nails. The first image was a picture of Borenai during its first year as a mining town, dated 1968. The second was a picture of an old warship with a tri-mast system and an arrangement of cannons, though only one side was visible. The third was a picture of a black stallion with his foreleg around a tall, thin gray stallion with a brown mane and white growth close to the roots, at the bottom of the image two names were displayed, Jim and Mikhail. At the far end of the room sat a mahogany desk with a padded, high-backed chair placed centrally behind it. Rook walked behind the desk and pulled out the chair and sat in it. On the desk, placed on a slight angle to the edge, was a diary that was opened to a paged that displayed the date 5th September, 2001. It read: The sickness began six weeks ago to this day. There is still no vaccine or cure. I’ve been asking around, no one remembers who first procured the contagion. We all just hope that we won’t be the next ones to catch it. Even my friend, Mikhail, who opened a clinic six months ago, admitted to me that despite his best efforts he had not been able to discover the nature of the sickness. He told me yesterday that the infected ponies had been safely quarantined as they had been identified, though he also said that if the contagion continued to spread, localised quarantine would no longer have any effect. Something would need to be done to ensure the… The entry ended abruptly. Rook looked at the desk and saw that a pen had spilt some of its ink and rolled to its present location, where a pool of ink now lay. Someone left in a hurry, he thought. He thought over the contents of the diary again. “Morozov,” he said, “Mikhail Morozov, son of a bitch.” He grabbed the diary and had a look at the window behind the desk. It wasn’t caged like the ones down stairs. Outside he saw another building positioned only a metre away from the window. Beyond that he saw another tunnel entrance. Rook put the book in his pack and called Toast to his floor. Together they examined a possible escape route and began to open the window; Toast stood on the ledge and leapt to the other building. Rook followed shortly after. They ran to the edge and let themselves down and landed with a slight thump. An earth shaking screech echoed throughout the caverns. A repetitive thumping sound grew ever nearer. Rook spun around to see what was making the noise. Instantly he turned again and began to run. “Fuck!” he screamed, “It’s a mutant!” “Shit!” Toast replied, “Go, run!” Toast and Rook ran into the tunnel as quickly as they could. With every stride they took the mutant grew closer. They dared not look back as the hulking mass of abnormally over-gown muscles and gnashing teeth shook the ground, with its heavy legs pounding the concrete. A hoard of infected joined the fray between the mutant, Toast and Rook. The creature drove straight through the infected that stood in its way. “That thing’s a fucking juggernaut,” screamed Rook. “Shut up and run!”
RegretSanctuary Base Phoenix, present day. “It was a bit reckless wasn’t it?” asked Costello as he reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a silver cigar canister. After clipping the head, he withdrew a packet of matches from his right-hoof pocket and struck one. With care, he placed the finely wrapped Cuban to his mouth and puffed the Cigar alight. “What?” Knox questioned, “taking the Tunnel?” He allowed himself to relax and fall back into the hard backed, vinyl upholstered chair. It creaked as he did. “The Mangroves, the Tunnel, all of it,” Macmurdo interjected. “Piss off,” Knox replied, “we found a way in, one with almost no need for conflict, that’s what mattered. How you could believe that taking on a hundred or more of them to get in the front entrance, expending what little ammunition we had, I will never understand.” “Irrespective of your tactical decisions, Captain,” Costello began, “taking your team through difficult terrain in a black zone, what were you thinking?” “With respect, General, I just told you. The operation was Recon; we were there for the package, nothing more. We didn’t need those mutated mother-fuckers breathing down our necks, hounding us until we couldn’t fight anymore.” Knox retorted. “One of your men could have been compromised,” said MacMurdo, “what would you have done if he was?” “Everything I could possibly have done to save him, you know that.” Costello drew in some smoke from his cigar and exhaled in Knox’s direction. “Let’s talk about your decision at the fork.”
