//------------------------------// // 6. Bad-Hand Dewitt // Story: Equestria: Infinite (Bioshock) // by ThatMrSomeGuy //------------------------------// She keeps her head down when she tells me the tale. Each and every word looks like it is being forcefully extracted from her memory. What can cause Princess Celestia, radiant in duty and manner, to be in so much pain? It hurts her so much that just thinking about it makes me ill too. "I WILL ENJOY SEEING YOUR FLESH DISINTEGRATE TO ASH!" Normally, Booker would charge head-on into the heat of battle and answer to his enemies with a pistol down their throat. Being that this soldier had no reaction to the bullets Booker shot at him and his invisible horn was throwing balls of fire, running away from him started to seem like the more sensible option. So, he galloped as fast as he could in the opposite direction, using clip after clip of blind rounds at the target behind. This was, surprisingly, not very effective against him. What was effective was that Booker was still alive. Down to only two mags, Booker needed to find a way to beat him quick. He was never really a quick thinker. His quick attacks of the guards and sudden recollection of what Fink said about the Vigor were two successive lucky plans. At this moment, no plan seemed to formulate. All the while, his tail felt like it would get scorched any second. The firepony was gaining speed. "LIKE A PHOENIX, I SHALL BE REBORN IN MAJESTIC BEAUTY WHEN KINGDOM COME!" Booker dared himself to look back. The firepony's body was emitting high pitched noises. The fire around his body grew even larger. He had just enough of a boost to lunge and grab Booker. Booker had one more option he didn't want to turn to, teleportation. The reason he didn't want to do so earlier was because teleporting used up a lot of magic. That, plus the physical fatigue from running away made it a useful option only for the desperate. Though, being chased by a fire-throwing metallic soldier seemed to lessen Booker's interests of his condition. The former was the one that would keep his skin. That's all Booker needed to know as he disappeared in a flash. Booker lost his footing and rolled on the concrete floor a dozen times. He was physically drained and mentally dead. His mind was literally and figuratively spinning around inside his head. Right before Booker passed out on the floor, he heard an explosion off in the distance. * * * "Isn't he supposed to be at the restaurant now, brother?" "Obviously not. He's been laying on the floor." "A bit behind schedule, I presume?" "A minor change in route. The destination still remains the same." "So now you're siding with me?" "No. These small differences won't be the factors deviating the result. Not to say the result is the same, but what is happening now isn't affecting it. Besides, we already learned he isn't the one." "I still wonder why we follow him. The experiment has already been proven a failure." "But what failed for them has favored everypony else. We need him to keep everything in motion." "So now you're siding with Clopstock?" "Heavens no. We keep things in motion until we find a good moment to act." "Perhaps we have tampered with this for too long. Whenever we fight the tide, it only make matters worse. Look at what we're doing now. Do you think changing things more will improve anything?" "I still believe we can undo the things we have done. I'm just not sure now if we should continue changing them." "Which brings me back to why we are still with him." "Because, they likely won't make it there without us." "An eternal burden-" "-for the preservation of everlasting peace." Booker, listening in on what the two had just said, was now ready to join in on the conversation. "Why do you two keep following me?" He lifted his head to see he was all alone, with the exception of the three dead ponies from before. His headache by now was mostly gone. His body at least had the strength to pull himself off of the floor. The sun was nearing its set beyond the horizon. The sky was still as bright as day, but the transition to an orange tone would come soon. He also smelled something cooking. Booker looked around his body to find everything intact and not charred. His nose pointed toward's Bill's body. The corpse had broiled when the metal door had been blasted open. The metal gate served as a spatula, roasting the body to a fine crisp. The metal wall was now cooled, but the scent of fried earth pony still lingered. Booker barely held onto his lunch upon realizing of the source of scent. As Booker turned his head to the side to notice a voxophone not even a foot away from him. The record inside was still spinning, creating an all too familiar tempting-to-press-play sound with the needle. Booker accepted the gift, believing more that the two siblings are not from his head. "Why is it that the other races try to act like they are equal beings as the pony? Have we forgotten how our nation was founded in the first place? Where was the zebra when the three kingdoms set course for a new land? Where was the mule when the leaders settled their disputes in a cavern? And where was the griffin when the Hearth's Warming Heart was formed? The very existence of the Heart shows that harmony can only exist for the pony. Yet, they act it was their ancestors who were the ones that built Equestria from the ground. In reality, it is them who cannot accept their lack of an important role in society. They trick themselves into believing they are the same as the pony. I shall wait until they come back with their own magical heart before I even consider them more than talking beasts." "How did you get a voxophone of old Clopstock, eh?" Booker turned his head only to get hit in the back before he got a look at whoever talked. For the fourth time today, he passed out. * * * "Looks like our guest is coming to." "Will he be okay boss?" "Yeah. He'll be fine. 'Lil Jim, next time, try not to hit 'em too hard. Spitz, do a quick scan. Make sure nopony was following you guys when you brought him in." "Sure thing boss." Booker squinted his eyes to a single light bulb idly swaying above him. His back lay on a hard-surfaced table. His head eased to his right side to see a pony in a guard outfit. He attempted to get up, only to fall onto the floor. The guard shook his hoof and calmly walked towards Booker. Booker continued to crawl backwards. "Woah there big guy. Take it easy. This is a disguise. I ain't really one of Clopstock's coppers." Booker stopped. The pegasus wearing the uniform was fairly large with a wavy black mane and blue fur. He pointed towards another pony in a chair on the other side of same room, a fancily dressed earth pony colt with a light chin beard. He wore a white suit accompanied by a black vest underneath along with a red tie. His black mane was groomed back and parted straight down the middle. His white fur coupled with his wholesome blue eyes. One thing was certain, he had class. "Why, you 'oughta be the one causing havoc 'round the streets. Name's Spade. And these are the Idlers." "Idols?" "No. Idle as in inactive. We're the independents who want to remain out of the conflict. Ever since the Keepers showed their extremist pony supremacism, other beings have been fighting for equal rights. I'm pretty sure you figured that out at the raffle, right 77?" "..." "Anyways, Celestia's got their Vox and Keepers all fighting 'round, so what do we do? Nothing. We don't want to lose our loved ones for a lost cause. Those two are leading up to their suicide. That, I can guarantee." "Vox? Keepers?" "Oh boy. Seems we get to give you a local history lesson now don't we? Look, on one side we got the Keepers of Harmony, the high-class snobs who enjoy their leisure. All of them following Clopstock. Right now, we in Keeper territory. All you see here is the wealthiest right? See now the problem is, what about the rest of the folk flying up on this here city? They get none of that sunshine, working their flanks off all day. For a long long time, no one questioned the order here. The two layers of poverty and richy rich ponies stayed untouched. Then BAM! Out comes Daisy Fitzroy. Now this griffin starts promising all of that 'you will be heard' crap to rile up the numbers. She calls her group of protesters the Vox Equus, voice of the horse. A bit hypocritical if you ask me. Woulda named it something else myself, but I digress. Soon, nearly all the poor take a stand. And what does the old and wise prophet do? He starts gunning them down left and right. Tries to keep them all in line. The plan didn't work entirely. Sure, the Vox's numbers dropped, but the survivors' spirits raised. What arose from all that gunfire is a vicious, angry group. What's left isn't rioters anymore. The Vox turned into a rebellion. Now you got both sides murdering each other, forgetting why they are fighting in the first place. Each side's only intentions are to win. Now, just like the Keepers, them Vox are murdering ponies for no reason. "At first the Idlers were all just individuals, a small patrol squad in the Vox. This didn't include me. One by one, they start to wonder if the Vox Equus was using the right methods to gain equal rights. They take that news up with Daisy. You know what she did? Show 'em what Daisy did Vinny." A pony stepped into the room. His purple and blue mane concealed the right side of his face. He used his right hoof to display finish the tale. His face had 3 claw marks running downward. His right eye was covered with an eyepatch. "She said, 'It's not about unity. We write our own destinies. That means that the Keepers must be no more. We must fight so that one day, we won't be brought down by any oppressors. We only win when the only voice left is the Vox.' She clawed Vinny's face just to make her point clear. Then, our group learned that Daisy is nothing but the Clopstock of the poor. If Daisy wins, the innocent rich die. If Clopstock wins, the freedom of the poor dies. The little group seceded from the Vox Equus and turned to me for shelter. Now, being a close friend of Vinny, I had to at least give him time to explain why me. Soon enough, his chatterbox started talking the same time my heart was beating. It was a calling. So, I became the ringleader, helping as many other individuals as possible, hiding in the shadows until Celestia stops bleeding her citizens' blood. Then and only then will we act." "So you guys are cowards." "DON'T YOU DARE THINK WE'RE A SPINELESS LOT, FALSE HERDER!" Spade sighed to calm down from his sudden outburst. "There's a difference from being a coward and knowing when acting is the same as placing your pretty neck on a guillotine. Best you let that go through your thick head. Out there are ponies killin' for the hell of it. We'd not stand one day 'gainst the fighting. Those who act don't think." "And those who think don't act." Spade chuckled. "Spoken like a soldier. You'll be surprised how effective doing nothing is. It keeps us alive. We must preserve our ideologies. The time for the Idlers to act is not now. "Our group was never for the prophet. We also aren't liberating every soul like the Vox neither. We're all for equal rights and such. The problem is the Vox ain't the answer. Don't think I need to remind you what happened to Vinny. So, we wait. We wait until we no longer have a reason to hide from the eyes of society. The Idlers fend for themselves and as many others as they can." Spade got up from his fancy chair to point his guest to follow him through the door. "It would be rude not to give our welcomed guest a little tour of the manor." * * * Booker followed Spade out the door, behind him was Vinny and the pony in a guard's uniform. The room was large. The size of the room was reasonable considering the fiftyish beings on the main floor. The place was inhabited with groups of chatting ponies. There weren't just ponies either. There were mules, griffins, zebras, any kind of animal who could speak. Booker and the Idlers watched the party from the balcony above. Spade turned around to face Booker. "Now, before we begin our little tour, we got a few secrets between you and I. I don't like tensions. No sir. Not one bit. So, how'd I best start with your real name? False Herder don't really suit my name-calling." "Booker." Spade shook his hoof with Booker. "Pleasure to be acquainted Booker. You're probably wondering why we knocked you upside the head and now we're treating you to a fancy tour. See, our priority was to get to you before Clopstock or Daisy. They want to use you to turn the tide in this civil war they got going. No way you'd go with us willingly. I could tell you're just like us Booker." "Look pal, I'm nothing like you Idlers." "Oh really?" Spade doubted. "I was there you know. The raffle. I saw you NOT throw the ball. A Keeper would've taken a swing at the couple. A Vox would have knocked ol' Fank straight at his fat face. You almost were a Vox though, spinning it 'round, ready to see the bleeding businesspony's nose. Then, *Plop*. The ball hits the floor. Now that is something an Idler would do, think. The other two sides can't do that. They're all busy acting. You thought, 'What good is it by hitting somepony?'. You saw Fank as another being. That's how I know you ain't got Vox in you." "Look. I just didn't want to attract any attention." "Then you'd've thrown that ball at the interracial couple to keep your cover, now would you? Fool yourself all you want Booker." Booker looked to change topics. "Hey. You still haven't told me who the guard is." "Oh, 'Lil Jim? He's the one who found and hit you. Try to pry an apology out of his mouth. He ain't mute, but he sure is a quiet one. Hell, I'd say he comes a close second at poker, behind yours truly. 'Lil Jim, when you tried to calm Booker, you said more outta' your mouth than you usually do in a week." The pegasus gulped. "Eeyup." "What about the other?" Booker asked. "There was another voice before I was knocked out." "You must've been talking about Spitz," Spade said. "He likes getting his nose into other ponies' business that fellah. In fact, I believe it was Spitz who found you, not 'Lil Jim. Is that true 'Lil Jim?" "Eeyup." "Well, that answers why we found you so quickly. Spitz always has a knack for sniffing out trouble. Okay. I believe that's enough about us. Let's talk about Tarot Manor." Spade placed a hoof on one of the columns. "This house was named after those old furtune-telling playing cards. The name is in their honor, dating back to the old ages of the family line. Tarot Manor has been handed down to me from two generations. I'm the third. I know that doesn't sound old, but this is actually one of the oldest buildings in the city. Celestia is relatively new herself. Family got a long line of game-makers. We made a mint out of the 52 deck you use today. All those ponies who did that were ancestors. Our family overheard a little project on a floating city by Clopstock. So we tossed in some bits for construction and we got some of our own turf when it was completed. I'm pretty sure you know the story from there on." Spade led his guest to the edge of the balcony, overlooking the crowd of randomly assorted quadrupeds. "This the living room. Yes I know. The groups here sure don't look like servants. Servants wouldn't socialize with a mass of masters. Servants wouldn't be drinking, chatting and partying. See, that's their cover. All 'round the room, you see pails, mops, all of the things for chore work. When anypony comes to visit, they act like they've been serving us this whole time. It's the only way to hide them in public. I don't believe in servitude. We all work for and help each other. That's what separates me from the rest of the rich Keepers all across the neighborhood. This manor sheltered scores of lives likely dead or would-have-been Vox recruits. As for the ponies, they got their own homes and stuff. Every week I invite other Idlers to a party at Tarot Manor. Now if you'll follow me Mr. Booker, we'll be heading to the casino." Most of the manor's space favored entertainment rooms. They, like the living room, were two stories tall and filled up the interior perimeter space. The center of the house was meant to be for the residents. Surrounding the center on the second floor was the balcony, made so that the house owners may view their guests' activities while still near the comfort of their own private rooms. The casino itself was fairly average sized, not big enough for the high rollers but not too small to shun those looking to make a few bits on the side. "This," Spade introduced with great pride, "is the granddaddy of my business. The casino. I own half a dozen casinos all across the city. I like to think of this place as my little workspace in the comfort of my home. I love the thrill of gambling, the chance, the stakes, it's a buisnesspony's game. Some are just not meant for gambling. They shouldn't have been risking it all in the first place. Wouldn't you agree Booker? Booker?" Booker didn't like the casino. Gambling was what got him to the floating city in the first place. Booker's chance to remove his debt was his only motive to continue at life. The story was written on his face. The Idlers stood in awkward silence, knowing Spade slipped his tongue. Booker rose his head from staring at the floor. "I'd like to move on. There's still a mare I have to get from the tower." "The Alicorn, right." Spade murmured, contemplating whether or not he should let the False Herder out into the open streets with all of Clopstock's ponies searching for him. "No. You must wait 'til nighttime. Not many ponies are out in the streets now. Not to mention nighttime is when you can slip away with my partygoers heading back home. The darkness and crowd should cloak your presence. If you don't get spotted, the news will fade. The police will then have to spread out to all the city. Then, you will have no problem walking in the streets. Scattered police and more citizens about will help you. I at least ask that you stay until hours before sunrise. The guest bedroom is behind you." "Thank you." Just like that, the tour concluded and Booker made his way to rest, rest not forced by drowning, exhaustion, or a buck to the back of the head. * * * "Yeah, got news he's in Tarot Manor. How do you wish for me to proceed?" "Wait. We'll have a squad closing in to shut down the party." "And what about the Idlers?" "Clopstock said that there is no need to attack them unless they're a threat. Now that he's there, is guess there's no reason to keep them alive." "Understood sir." "'Lil Jim, What are you doing?" 'Lil Jim turned around to see Spade at the door. "Nothing boss. Just calling my wife." "Gee, very talkative today now aren't you?" "..." "Whatever. Hurry it up. That phone bill ain't cheep." Spade closed the door behind 'Lil Jim. "One hour. Be ready." * * * Spitz was ready to take all the chips at the center of the pot. Going all in at Texas Holdem, he knew that the next card didn't even matter at this point. "Come to Papa." Before he could scrape his doubled cash, he had a combo: floppy right ear, knee twitch, floppy right ear, twitchy tail. Oh no. Spitz abandoned his earnings to go and see if he could try to stop the events soon to come. * * * "Booker! Wake up! Come on! Wake up!" "Wha?" "This ain't a joke. We gotta get you out of here real soon. The police are coming." Booker jolted out of bed. His eyes able to make out a blurry Spade. "Where?" "I don't know. What I do know is that they'll barge through the front door soon. We need to get you to safe-" *BANG* The powerful sound of the gunshot inside a small closed space rung through Booker's ears. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on getting his hearing back. As they opened, Spade was replaced with a guard with a gun between his teeth. The barrel was still smoking. The figure turned its head to Booker. *BANG* Booker could feel the cold of his flesh through the lethal wound. He took one last look at himself. *CLUNK* He saw his chest had no bullet holes. He turned to face his killer, now down on the floor. Behind him was another pony. Booker looked down at his chest to make sure it was him who wasn't shot. The only standing gunner left tossed his gun away and knelt down to the guard. "I trusted you," he said. "You killed us all. Why Jim? Why?" The figure on the floor didn't respond. Whether it was because of his nature or he was dead, he wouldn't speak. Booker used an illumination spell dead center of the room to see what was going on. Three ponies, a dead 'Lil Jim, a shot Spade, and a third crying earth pony guard, took part of the bedroom massacre. The earth pony glared at the spell caster. "We can still get you out of here. They've probably already breached after they heard the noises." Shouts and screams could be heard in the distance. Echoing gunshots followed. "The fight has already begun. We have to hurry." Booker got out of his bed. He grabbed his pistol and rounds from the top of the dresser. He stopped when he heard groaning. Spade survived the shot, barely. "Pick me up." Booker ripped the bedsheets to provide Spade with something to hold the blood in his system. The shot landed on Spade's right cutie mark. The red hole went through the stem of the black spade of his mark. Booker and the guard wrapped the right leg to hold the bleeding. Booker then placed Spade's body on his back. The colt washed off the saliva from 'Lil Jim's scoped revolver and placed it on his holster. "We haven't been properly introduced False Herder. I'm Spitz, the guy who asked about Clopstock's voxophone log." "Yeah. I kind of figured that out." "Here's the plan. We have to hold off Clopstock's army until you can get out of here safely. You and Spade have to head upstairs. Just get your flank up until you reach the rooftops. I'll provide cover fire from behind. Just keep going. No matter what." "Got it." * * * Tarot Manor turned into a warzone. The police were firing from the windows outside. The Idlers were all across the main entrance. Many took to the high ground for overwatch. Others took cover behind tipped over furniture. In between the two sides was a death trap. Corpses from both forces lay in the center of the battle zone. Booker was to go carry Spade around the second story balcony to the dining room. From there was a straight shot up to the rooftop. Booker just ran. There was no getting to cover. He just took two 90 degree turns around the second story balcony to reach the dining room on the opposite end of the building. Booker couldn't hear, couldn't think, couldn't feel. He could only run. That's how most ponies' mindsets were in a war. They lose their train of thought and their senses. All that's left is their survival instincts. There is no trick in running across the battlefield. Go as fast as you can and hope you make it out alive. Luckily for Booker, the run to the dining room was a straight shot with no incidents. As soon as he was in the clear, Booker placed Spade off of his back and laid him against the wall. Booker looked around. Other Idlers have taken refuge. The dining room looked like a hospital. Idlers with wounds lay on the floor. Some walked around to provide the little medical experience they had. Others were crying. It was chaos. "Booker." Booker turned his head to see Spade. The bed sheet was soaking red. Spade handed Booker a key. "Get 'The Taxman'." "Taxman?" Booker looked at the key and backed away a few steps. Fellow Idlers were surrounding their boss and attempted to aid him as quickly as possible. Booker hurriedly looked around for any clues to a taxman. He kept talking to Idlers if it was some kind of codename. He observed the names of paintings on the walls. Finally, he spotted a cased rifle on the wall. In bold metallic engravings said: The Taxman. Booker opened the casing with the key. 'The Taxman' itself was a bolt-action scoped sniper rifle. Near the trigger was a grip intended to be held by a claw. Claw grips were made for griffins and diamond dogs. The trigger guard was removable so that hooves could fire it as well. It was also a biped weapon, meaning the wielder must stand on their two hind legs while the other two legs are used to operate the gun. Most guns didn't have that feature because of multiple complaints that standing on two legs ruined the shooter's accuracy. Also in the case was a drink. Booker brought it along with 'The Taxman' to Spade. Spade shook his head. "No. You use it Booker. An earth pony like me couldn't even squeeze that trigger." Booker could tell the weapon was never used. Spade probably doesn't know the trigger guard is removable. "That bottle is also for you too. It's a Vigor. I'm sure Spitz knows how to use it." The realization suddenly hit Booker. Where's Spitz? Booker frantically observed every Idler in the room. No sign of Spitz. Spitz didn't make it to the dining room. He sacrificed his own life to protect Booker and Spade. He tried to go back to report Spitz's disappearance, but had trouble getting past the growing crowd. Booker frantically shoved his way to Spade, hoping for a small sign that he was still alive. The mass of Idlers were right however. Spade, the leader of the Idlers, had died. Booker saw to it now to leave. Turning himself in would only mean that Spitz's and Spade's deaths were in vain. They both died making sure Booker got out of this conflict alive and ready to continue to Monument Island. With that on his mind, Booker went up the stairwell to the roof. * * * Vinny stood all alone at the top of Tarot Manor. Before all the shooting started, Spitz told Vinny to meet him there to regroup. Spitz was never a liar and could fortune tell almost as good as Clopstock. Vinny sat there for the longest 30 minutes of his life with his only company, the bright night moon. Vinny kept looking up at the moon wishing that every shot he heard wasn't one hitting his comrades. Then, he heard somepony make it to the top of the stairs. "Spitz!" Vinny cried. His random eruption was exchanged with a saddening frown. The pony who made it to the top was not only not Spitz, but shaking his head. Booker's silent gesture gave Vinny the biggest upset he ever had in his life. The two stood in wordlessness. "Take no prisoners!" That moment was interrupted by the hundreds of close-sounding loud gunshots being fired all at once. Vinny jumped and tried to stick to the plan. He could at least die knowing he saved Booker's life. "Okay. Okay. Okay," Vinny breathed heavily to try and calm himself down. "Do you have the Vigor?" Booker pulled out the bottle from his vest pocket. "Good good. Now step onto the side of the house and drink it." Booker drank the Vigor. His vision turned black and red, slowly zooming in to further distances than he could normally see. Booker quickly jerked his head to the roof's entrance to the house. He heard Clopstock's soldiers making their way up the final set of stairs. Then, his boosted senses returned to normal. "Alright and step three. Oh crap they're coming. What did Spitz say? Oh yeah. You need to jump off of the building while activating your Vigor!" "What!?" Booker knew that there was some kind of powers enabling him to survive, but that was a large leap of faith. He needed some reassuring precautions before he leapt. "Are you sure that was the right Vigor?" "It may or may not be the Vigor you were supposed to take." "Wait, you're saying I might not even have the right drink?" "I can assure you with absolute faith you drank the right one." "Not very assuring you're saying this out of instinct." "Oh, almost forgot. When you have the Vigor activated, you'll-" The bullets got to Vinny's throat before his words. His body fell off the ledge and down to smack the manor's floor. A glaring searchlight placed on the near the front gate light up Booker's vision. The cops were on the ground, on the roof. There was nowhere or no one to turn to. "There's nowhere to run False Herder. Place your body on the floor and you will live. It does not have to end like this." Booker took one step back and his leg dangled above the roof's border. He was steps away from falling off of Tarot Manor. He faced the edge and started charging his Vigor. With faith in the ponies who provided him a safe haven, Booker jumped.