//------------------------------// // Chapter 5 // Story: Waking up for the Equestrian dream // by Jack Kellar //------------------------------// “Excuse me, darling. Is this seat taken?” Scooting over from where I was sitting was enough of an answer. The white unicorn jumped up next to me with a smile, taking advantage of the warmth on the part of the bench that I'd just left. It was hard to believe Luna was a merciless, irritable persecutor that had almost overthrown her co-ruler with legal basis not ten minutes ago. Her little weight was a surprise, but after more than a full minute of apologetic hugs and nuzzles, I started to sag. That was the only chance Celestia had to get her off me – her sister was clinging to me like a child to its teddy bear. The two went off on to a private talk with a few others. What they were saying, or why Cadance ran off with a nod after the first words, was a mystery I wasn't very keen on solving. I excused myself to the sidelines as soon as it all started. “If you’ll pardon me being this straightforward, I have to hand it to your tailor…” Without a strategy, my thoughts disbanded and drowned, tortured by alarms. I wasn't exactly in pristine condition when I'd woken up back in that bed, and the latest fight-or-flight only made it worse. I could barely hear this girl making small talk, trying to be amiable. “… and though I have to contest the choice of color – I don't understand why such a bland choice! –, it does have…” She was one of the sextet from before, one of Twilight's buddies. The other four stayed back, waiting while she paved the way to an approach, and their purple friend chatted away with her two superiors. The coughing fit hit fast, hard and rough, like the serrated edge of a knife. The hand in front of my mouth came down polka-dotted in red. “... and the stitching of your coat- oh my goodness, darling! You're bleeding!” There was a pink and yellow blur blocking my vision not five seconds after she said that. A jump back, a quick draw, a face from behind iron sights. Another corpse to the pile. The same knee-jerk that had saved my skin so many times would cost the life of an innocent, maybe more... but that would be if I wasn't too slow. I was, and gravity took that into account. As I tumbled off the bench to meet the cobblestone of the pathway, back first, I couldn't be more glad for being so beat up. “Damn it...!” “Oh no, I'm so sorry! Are you okay?” I wouldn't have been able to stand up again if I didn't have two heads pushing my chest up and a furry back to lean on. “Don't worry about me, I'll live.” The sting under the skin guided my hand to the pocket of my coat. Empty, like I expected. The pills weren’t there when I got dressed; there was no way but magic that they’d be here now. “I've been through worse.” “Still, that doesn't mean you ain't gotta take it easy, sugar cube...” stated the mass I was leaning against. There was a slight strain in the voice. “Please, let me take a look – I mean, if you don't mind. Coughing blood is a very serious symptom…” I took a look at the Equestrian that took my left arm over her back, and the others as well. By this point, all suspicions of foul play had been defused and disposed of. They were the genuine article, so why not give them a chance? “As long as you know what you're doing.” “Well, you can't go wrong with dear little Fluttershy! This girl has got the magical hoof to treat absolutely anything living.” Before, while and after I was escorted back to the bench, using the orange mare as a walking aid, the boys in plate stayed put, not even an eyebrow raised. Discipline hid the fear of a nasty tongue-lashing: the escape had only ended more than half an hour after it started, at the outer wall and by their boss to boot, after I sneaked under their noses for at least a good ten minutes. They probably thought the blame of the fiasco might fall on them, and didn't want to sour things up any further. From what evidence I could gather, this bunch was high up enough in the food chain that they were glad to leave the issue in their hands. As it turns out, little hooves-and-wings seemed to have at least some medical experience, though she kept a nice balance by being unable not to not blurt out a torrent of baby talk. “Oh my, these contusions are almost black. You poor dear, how did you get yourself so hurt?” I kept silent. The truth wasn't a very compelling version of the story to tell, and it already hurt enough to breathe. She prodded the edge of the bruise. Something dripped out the side of my mouth. Then, there were those wide, innocent eyes again. Something clenched deep inside, a non-physical pain that both burned and froze at the same time. It wasn't an eye-to-eye stare from the start, which was the only thing I was thankful for. She turned her attention beyond my teeth, my mouth propped open by a soft hoof. “Fluttershy? What are you doing?” “Oh, Twilight, Princess, Max is hurt! His neck is bruised really badly. I was doing a checkup so Princess Cadance can move on to fixing him up faster...” “That's very considerate of you, dear. Have you found anything?” The three were joined by other voices, accents and timbres blending together into a confuse cacophony, coherent as radio static. “... it burst a few...” “... why is he...” Exhaustion had burned through my circuits. Sense and reason were gone already; now it was the time for consciousness to follow their lead. “... Max?” Whether it was real sensation or just suggestion was up for debate, but I did feel myself nudging the nurse away and lying down on the stone seat with my head on something warm and fuzzy before I passed out. The air con unit hummed with a sense of peace diametric to the rest of the ambience. A manila folder slapped the tabletop in front of my hands. “C'mon, open it.” Inside were a ream of printed paper and a collection of photos. The shots were a grim showcase of limp corpses sprawled on white stone floors and colorful carpets, the golden sunlight shining over them the gaze of a sad angel. Fur, tails and hooves. They weren't human bodies. “Felt like going for the hat trick, huh?” The figure across the table knew how to keep himself sharp. A hand-pressed dark grey suit, tailored just so the cuffs of his shirt barely showed underneath the sleeves; hair, combed and gelled into place in the typical 'businessman' fashion. His face had some actual color, the flushed complexion of a person well-fed in body, mind and heart. This guy had a reason to take care of himself, someone to go back home to at the end of his shift. I envied him. I envied him so much more than ever before. He thought he was having a bad day. How little he knew about bad days. I browsed the first page of the documents with my eyes. It was all there: my name, social identity number, date of birth, even the four undercover aliases I'd used, all supported by a bunch of paragraphs preceded by dates. The answer was as black on white as the ink on the paper, but I asked anyway, flagging the first page back and forth in the air. “What's this about?” “You didn't seriously think the FBI wouldn't keep a file on you after your stunts, did you? A senator's cover only goes so far, pal.” He stood up and walked to the door. “Why don't you go see for yourself?” Time is far from being a constant. It goes back, freezes in place, fast-forwards. It loops, sometimes the same as the last iteration, others with differences of all kinds and magnitudes. Outside, the weather raged, dark clouds blanketing the sky, bombing the castle's windows with pieces of frozen water and raindrops of the same temperature. Caution tape was stretched everywhere like the string of a careless spider, contrasting with the dark splotches on the carpet. The scene was awfully familiar. Time is as malleable as clay in your head. Your actions determine its flow, your choices the sluice controls, determining if the events you set for yourself will wet your shoes or sweep you off your feet. You have no one to blame but yourself if you drown. As we walked down the hallway, I recognized the faces of the coroners. Focused on their jobs, pinching shell casings off the floor, sampling the blood stains, flashing their cameras at measures they'd put up, they were all the same. I didn't have to strain my imagination to know the question they had in their notepads and in their heads. The other let me lead the way through the grim showcase. I didn't need directions, not that that they would have helped – conventional navigation was useless; the only way to make progress was to follow the blood stains left. And they were watching me do it. Some of them wore cobalt barding, others had golden armor, both either pierced by gunfire or dented by blunt trauma. A few wore classy outfits that would've made a businessman look literally half-dressed. Wherever I went, the few that had their eyes closed opened them, and their gaze moved along with my steps, desperately asking questions that stung harder than accusations, louder and louder with each passing second. I wanted to hide, but I couldn't. The only option was to keep moving. It was the only way out of the cage of icicles my heart was trapped in. The drag marks disappeared under a decorated door. I looked back, and when he nodded, I turned the doorknob. That was it, the eye of the black hole, what it all funneled down to. I pushed the door in and entered, but not without taking a deep breath first. The first thing that came to note was the sobbing. The open window was letting the rain through. The blood still pouring from the six was diluted in the water all over the floor; the wisps of red spread all over, writhing with the current. A set of necklaces was scattered all around the bodies, gems cracked and metal corroded to an ugly, lackluster grey. The remains of a tiara were still dangling from a lavender Equestrian's head. A bullet had shattered the star on top of it. The source of the crying came into view with the second push. With the two holes in her chest and one right below the jaw, Luna wasn't going anywhere. It didn't stop her from trying, though – she flopped in place like a fish in the dry, flailing her limbs without any real result. All she managed was to force the blood faster out of her throat. Something didn’t add up. “What are you doing here?” “W-wha...?” Despite the wound in her neck, her voice came clear and without pain. If anything, she was confused. “This isn’t a place for–“ “So, are you proud of yourself?” My attention slipped from her back to him, and I set the photo back on the table. The other crossed his white-furred hands together in front of his face, shielding his mouth, and tossed more pictures on the tabletop. I thought of rose petals to a matador at the end of his show. “Quick and no-nonsense, most of these. If someone told me you were a cop, I wouldn't believe it.” “What do you mean by that?” “What he means is...” she said, walking out from the shadows. Her body was mostly hidden under a burgundy business suit with a blood-red overcoat on top. The pink and yellow hair framing her face did nothing to hide the cold in her eyes. “It doesn't look like the job someone with just a cop's know-how would do.” Shining Armor nodded. “This is a professional's work, Payne.” He grinned coldly. “Then again, you know all about slaughtering bunches, don't you?” “But I don't understand...” Cadance whispered in my ear. I don't know which had the worst chill, the words or her warm breath. “Why did you step down the game? Going for prey that runs?” The other set his head down to rest his chin on his fist. “Wanna know why, Cadie?” Tapping from the one-way mirror caught my ear. The two didn't mind it. “Our mutual friend here…” he said, grabbing my hand. It was a gentle, but poisonous gesture, like the preparation for a lethal injection. I couldn't fight back. I never felt like doing so. His finger ran through my palm. “Take a look over here: no lifeline. His soul is dead. Max Payne is dead.” The cold metal of the furniture hit my skin as he dropped my hand. I just wanted to have some peace. Not even an end to the broken record of questions, both mine and others'. “So, Payne, no answer?” Just an interlude, a day off from myself, would be enough. A chance to lie down and sleep, long and deep. To wake up feeling rested and ready for the next day. “I'll just say it, then, since the cat got his tongue. You can’t keep your suffering to yourself or have the decency of ridding the world of you. Everywhere you go, people die, things get destroyed.” He lifted his other hand, and a gleam of silver came with it. “There's nothing else you can do except spread your plague. You're a goddamn zombie, Payne.” Someone tapped the one-way mirror on the other side of the room, or rather slammed on it hard enough to dislodge it from the frame. Her fur was marred with black, mane a curtain of crumpled light blue hair. She was thin, emaciated even. Her horn lit up. None of the other two took heed of the newcomer, but they did notice something else. Detective Armor lowered his gun. “You’re just a pitiful little thing, Payne. Killing you would be doing more of a favor to you than the world.” He turned to his partner. “Let’s get out of here.” I felt Winterson nod to him over my shoulder before her cold presence left my back... *THWACK!* … only to come back, cold and unyielding, with fifteen times as much force. “AAAAGH!” As a rerun of previous events, I'd just been smacked in the back of the head with the grip of a pistol. Somehow I knew this shouldn’t have hurt, but it did, enough that I couldn't choke down a scream of pain. There was a glitch in the system. “You're a real angel, Max. The fallen angel of Death.” I saw stars and heard sparks, but I couldn't tell if it was the concussion, or if I should blame the princess and whatever she was doing in a place she didn't belong. When someone says you see things through a jade tint, you normally don't expect to take those words literally. The world felt like an ocean of molasses for the first few seconds, and gelatin for the next. I took a breath, but what came in wasn't air. It was a thick syrup that invaded my throat, evicting bubbles in favor of itself. A radio tuned in, playing a flashback song of drowning under a sea of liquid emerald, a deep abyss of screams and souls. Trying to get out was a losing battle: the walls had no places to hold on to, and no matter what I did, I couldn't swim in the ooze. I was heavier than it was. I slammed my fist on the glass out of sheer desperation, and regretted it right away. The vibrations ran through the muck and straight into my flooded eardrums, rattling them hard. As I grunted in pain, one of my hands flew straight to the bullet's entrance, the point that hurt the most. The circuit closed to one very simple fact. This wasn't like the danger of being shot dead, where you're able to stall it by hiding behind cover, where time losing its momentum is a blessing that gives you the chance to solve the trouble with a well-aimed response. This time, time worked against me, and it slowing down was just extending the agony of facing the inevitable. I was drowning to death, and there wasn't a single damn thing I could do about it. A rumble from the outside caught my attention, but the goo was too thick to see through. I plastered both hands on the edge of the water prison, pleading for help from the other side. Something moved above, and next thing I knew, I was moving up through the green, coughing out three gallons of it as soon as my head emerged. Someone gasped. “Whoa, whoa, easy there, little fella!” It was a male, a newcomer to the book. When I was done expunging my lungs, I rubbed my eyes open. We were in a different room than last time, a whole other suite colored mostly in aquamarine green and dull silver, the same colors as the bed the third person in the room was on, breathing with a hitch, her whole body shivering and slick with sweat, staring ahead into a limbo privy only to her own two eyes. Another one of her Night Watch was talking to her, trying to snap her out of the aneurysm she was having. I'd caught myself in that exact same situation too many mornings not to know what was going on. Shell-shock, traumatic stress, call it what you want. All that matters is how nasty the moment is. Luna looked as sick as I felt. She was about to either have a stroke or barf her guts out. I myself was draped arms-first over the edge of a glass vat near the bed, weighing far too much for my liking. My stomach was shriveled, its remains glued to my spine. It made me feel like a curiosity display, or a bad petting zoo's main attraction. “Hey, buddy! You okay up there?” The benefit of privacy washed off the Buckingham guard makeup from the soldiers, or at least that was the case with this guy, a unicorn grey in fur and navy in armor. His horn was shining a very pale green. “Listen: I'm gonna get you out of there. If you feel sick through it, tell me.” I nodded, too raspy to talk. I wondered how he was going to do that; it's not like he had a pair of wings like his pal over with their charge to fly up here. The light on his head brightened up and I was halfway shoved into an inner tube one size too small. He grunted, and before I knew it, I was floating in mid-air, suspended by the same aura as his horn. So much for doubting him. The fur right under his helmet became wet in seconds, the glow on his horn flickering like a rave party's light set. If he was tiring as fast as he looked, this crazy parlor trick was about to get ugly. Sure enough, when the guard cut off his David Copperfield imitation, I almost kissed the tiles, in many ways a twisted simile of a newborn fresh off the womb. “Shoot…!” He was quick to shove his head under my chest to push me up, for all the good his strength alone did where before it took three. “You're really not on your weight class, are you?” I was too busy panting the air back in to respond. It flowed in like scraps of sandpaper, worsening the itch, rekindling the cough. A horse's snort bounced off the walls like a pinball. “Gentlecolts...” Luna spoke, a bit shakily, “I have reason to believe your services are no longer necessary for the moment.” “... Your Majesty?” “For now, it might be more productive of you to find escort Doctor Mi Amore Cadenza over to this chamber so she can check on her newly-awoken patient. I shall take care of him until then.” “... by your order, Your Majesty.” The two left, clicking the door shut behind them. Four unshod hooves slowly clipped closer. “Can you stand?” I spoke through action. The uphill was stopped by a steel gauntlet deep inside, gripping and twisting all organs and muscles into a painful cramp that Luna caught on to. “Do you need help?” I nodded. I'd been doing a lot of that recently. Other than my stomach, the past week felt like it had been crossed off the script after the scenes were filmed. Freshness I hadn't felt in ages was ingrained in my muscles, the feel of bullet wounds no issue other than phantom pains. I was as healthy as a duct taped trinket: not pleasant, but solid enough to last for a while. A wing landed on my shoulders, gently pushing me into a walk aimed at a set of beanbags. “Max... why was the baby crying?” Her undertone was velvet on crystal. Saying the truth out loud would take me having to face it. “I don't know.” She wanted her daddy back.