Just another day in R.O.

by russiancupcake

Rating: mature
Tags: Princess Luna, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Spike, Sex, Tragedy, Adventure, Princess Celestia, Zecora, Human, Sad, Main 6
Length: 2350

Cadet-Corporal Dupont ready for inspection, Sir!

Oh, god.
I am Corporal Dupont from the MCJROTC. and I am requesting comba...
Oh, screw this. My name is Jason Dupont and me and my squad need immediate medical assistance for my commanding officers! Please! Oh, god... Mojica! Put pressure on the wound! Does anyone have a spare mag- *ROAR*
...
Shhh... quiet... It's back... Just lay low...

---

Sex tag is for extreme sexual situations, but actual intercourse will not happen. This is not a clop fic.

Published 2013-05-01 21:20:01 UTC
Last updated 2013-05-22 07:27:25 UTC

Old friends

In local news, Twenty-one year old Jason Dupont was found after missing for five years, after the search was given up two years ago. He was found wandering through the San Diego streets with a multitude of firearms on him, and in his tattered uniform. As some may know, the rest of his squad was reported missing as well as his two ROTC instructors. Local authorities have apprehended him in suspicion for having murdered his entire squad, and are currently questioning him on the whereabouts of his team. His parents refuse to comment on the matter...

Jason Dupont. A child raised by abusive parents, no real friends, and was always picked on in school. Now in a police interrogation room, staring at the reflective glass window, looking at his reflection, and tapping his foot against the concrete floor. The last time he was in a police station was when he was sixteen, when his parents put him there just so the could have a good fuck while he was wasting away in a jail cell, the officers not knowing what to do with him. Never had he ever heard "I love you Jason". Not once in his life. He hated them. He hated them so much he had already took up drinking. He tapped his foot faster, his boots making the tapping louder. He looked at his tattered cover, or a hat as civilians called it, at the claw marks.

A door opened, revealing a police officer in a dress shirt. Badge out, but the gun was nowhere to be found. He was Marcus Alexander, African-American, about five-eight, bald, green eyes. Chief of the precinct Jason was currently sitting in. He was there, on his birthday, talking to him. Trying to comfort him in some way, and went out and getting him some cake. He even got the rest of the officers to sing happy birthday. Jason liked to think he still made a friend that day. But today... Today it felt like he was an old man meeting death. The thought strangely comforted him.

"Jason Dupont. I haven't seen you in ages, kid." He produced a manila folder, setting it on the table. Jason smiled. It certainly felt like ages.

"Certainly Marcus, far too long. I would have visited, but, y'know. Stuff happens..." Jason crossed his legs, shrugging his shoulders.

"Stuff? Honestly, Jason. You were missing for five years!" Another shrug. "This doesn't bother you?"

"Honestly, it doesn't. Although I have a rage problem at times, no. It does not bother me. Please understand I've had years to cope with my situation." he paused, looking the police chief dead in the eye. "It's not so hurtful to me now."

Marcus opened the folder, taking numerous photographs out. Pictures of Firearms, a picture of his armed drill team in a group photo in their digitals, dog tags, ranks, some were indecipherable, and even of some cartoonish-looking land with equines smiling at the camera. Marcus splayed them out, so both occupants could see. Jason gave a ghost of a smile.

"Honestly Jason, I don't know what to make of all this." Marcus hunched over the table, obscuring some of the photos. "What can you tell me about... All of this?" He gestured to the photos. He picked one photo out of the mix. A giant scorpion tail. "Jason, this has a DNA strand we've never seen before. DNA from a lion, a scorpion, a bat, and god knows what else. What is it?"

"First I want you to tell me something." Marcus nodded, giving the go-ahead. "Do I look sane to you?" Jason leaned over, his blue eyes seemed distant, as if looking through the chief like he wasn't even there. His digital ROTC uniform tattered, dirty. His eyes wandered to his hat, or cover as the cadets needed to call them. This is a loaded question, Marcus thought. He looked back into Jason's eyes. Lonely, heartbroken, extreme loss, they practically shouted. He was sane, but tried to dig deeper.

"I don't know, Jason. What do you think?" Marcus gestured to the reversible mirror behind him. Jason chuckled.

"I didn't ask for the bullshit answer, chief." Jason bore his gaze upon Marcus once more, his lips turning to a serious frown. The chief hesitated. No. He was sane.

"Did I ever tell you about my son?" Jason pondered for a moment. Yes, he had. Micheal, his dream was to join the army, be an engineer.

"Yes. He wanted to be in the army, right?"

"Correct. And while you were wherever the hell you were, he got his dream. Two years before you got back, he was captured by the radicals up there in Iraq. He was left alive to tell the tale of how his squad mates were tortured. He was given a section eight, and now lives with me and my wife. He doesn't talk much. Screams in his sleep. He has the same look you have now. But I know your not Micheal, nor are you insane." Jason's face didn't change as he mulled over this information.

"But do I look sane was the question." Jason pointed a finger. "No bullshit this time."

"No. You look like a mental institution escapee who found a uniform and decided to take a stroll down shit storm street." Jason burst into laughter, slamming his fists into the table, his face turning red. Marcus smiled. There was the Jason he knew. After about a minute, Jason Reduced to giggles, then simply smiled.

"I wish I had a father like you, Marcus. You were always so nice to visit, your wife was hospitable, and I have no doubt in my mind you love your son. I only wish I was given such a family." Wiping a tear of joy off his filthy cheek.

"Now could you explain what these pictures are all about?" Jason nodded, sitting up in his seat. Pondering on how exactly he was going to explain the whole story, he crossed his legs. Thinking... hmm... No real way to beat around the bush...

Jason looked Marcus straight in his green eyes.

"Tell me chief, have you ever heard of a pony?"

Proof and questions and poetry

"What?" Marcus asked, raising an eyebrow.

"A pony, Marcus. Do you know what a pony is?" Jason asked with a straight face. Hands now on the table.

"Isn't it a small horse? Why do y-"

"No, and they find that word rather offensive." Jason interrupted. "A pony Marcus. A pegasus, unicorn, big eyes, marks on their asses telling their special talent?" Marcus was rethinking his friends sanity. But... no, let's see this through ...

"Jason, you're scaring me son. What are you-"

"I see this is going to be a lot harder than I thought." Jason looked at the photos, looking for a picture to help him explain. Scratching his shaven head, he sifted with a finger. C'mon, c'mon, it's around here somewhere ... Aha! He pulled out a photo with two fingers, his double jointed fingers needing no assistance from his thumb.

"Okay, whatever you want to call it. Just-" He was interupted once more, the photograph shoved towards him. Marcus picked it up, squinting at the image. Jason was there with a rainbow haired horse right next to him, giving off a challenging look, as if ready to challenge someone. And... It had wings?

"Just what the hell am I looking at here Jason?"

"Not what. Who. Who are you looking at. And that is a mare named Rainbow Dash. "

"Can I speak to you as a friend Jason, not a police officer? "

"I welcome it." The pale adult gestured.

"Just what the fucking hell is this? Do you think anyone will believe what your saying right now? This hor-pony thing looks like it came from a cartoon!" Jason stared at him, his expression of neutrality not even showing any chance of changing.

"That tail that was in my bag. It's all the evidence I need. You think I would come back unprepared Marcus? I knew better than that. Now I have pictures, genetic and physical proof from all those firearms and other weapons found in my possession. There is a curved knife that has blood samples from a Griffin. A sword that has dirt samples that have no impurities, nor is it made from any element known to the human race. Marcus, these are all evidence. Personally I don't care if you believe me. I don't have to because it's true." Jason's face never changing, blue eyes continuing to bore into Marcus'. "Really though, I wish you wouldn't jump to conclusions. I even have a unicorn horn. This is all in my favor. Scientists will be forced to recognize this as proof."

Marcus was silent. He was right. He was completely right. The katana in the evidence room was being analyzing. It held no known elements, the giant tail was already analyzed, nut needed further testing. The curved knife? Eagle and lion blood on it. The dirt? No contamination from any man made chemicals. The horn? Made from bone and other isotopic elements from the periodic table. Jason had this by the balls.

"You... You thought this through, haven't you?" Jason nodded. "Huh. So, tell me. Just what happened when you were at..."

"Equestria."

"...Yes. What did you do there?" Marcus asked. "Now you have me curious. Plus I'm still trying to decide whether this is bullshit even with the evidence."

"This is a very long story, Marcus. Are you sure you want to open this book?" Jason sat up, tenting his fingers in front of his mouth. Marcus nodded. "Very well then. We shall go through with this, from death to death, good times to bad, new sentient beings, and a whole new set of laws of logic."

"Alright... Let's get us something to eat first, huh?" Jason nodded. "How's Mexican food sound? With some coke?"

"I'd love that Marcus. I suppose a whole five years shouldn't be told on an empty stomach." Jason gave a small chuckle. Marcus left the room to order the food, meanwhile Jason looked through the photos again. One stood out in particular. One with his whole squad at the party his marine instructor threw for the winning squad, him holding up the trophy over his head.

Oh, memories. Bittersweet. He looked at himself in the photo. Yup, there was Bones. Heh, fitting nickname. I suppose being able to stick both hands in your rib cage earns such a name. Jason 'Bones' Dupont. He put it back quickly, not wanting to face those he had failed. All I can do now is tell their tale, and hope they are remembered. He sighed, then stared at his reflection. Ever since his return, he has been denied a shower. As one could predict, the grime on his usually white face had only gotten worse. And his mouth tasted like shit. At least he doesn't have to wash his hair.

Marcus came back in, with a tape recorder and note-taking material. Jason raised a brow.

"I never took you for a note-taking kind of guy." Jason eyes the tape recorder. "Do you have a video camera on the other side of the glass?" Marcus nodded, shuffling some papers. "Reminds me of Edgar Allen Poe..." This time it was Marcus' turn to raise a brow.

Jason put on a reminiscing look. "The telltale heart, if I'm not mistaken..." He put a hand on his chin. "TRUE!" Marcus flinched. " --nervous --very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses --not destroyed --not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily --how calmly I can tell you the whole story." Jason jumped out of his chair, slamming his hands on the table. "No doubt I now grew very pale; --but I talked more fluently, and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased --and what could I do? It was a low, dull, quick sound --much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath --and yet the officers heard it not. I talked more quickly --more vehemently; but the noise steadily increased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent gesticulations; but the noise steadily increased. Why would they not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of the men --but the noise steadily increased. Oh God! what could I do? I foamed --I raved --I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder --louder --louder! And still the men chatted pleasantly, and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God! --no, no! They heard! --they suspected! --they knew! --they were making a mockery of my horror!-this I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! and now --again! --hark! louder! louder! Louder! LOUDER!" Jason turned and kicked his chair! "'Villains!' I shrieked, 'dissemble no more! I admit the deed! --tear up the planks! here, here! --It is the beating of his hideous heart!'" Jason pointed to the ground, as if the planks were really there. Marcus sat dumbfounded. "I love poetry, namely Edgar's works." He picked up his chair and calmly sat on it.

"Jason... I'm going to question your sanity. Period. That being said, a psychologist should be here tomorrow to diagnose you. Are you sane?" Jason chuckled.

"I don't know. I honestly don't. I was hoping me and you could find out together."