Apple Bloom's eyes rolled around in her skull. She'd landed face-first on a dirt-spackled, grainy wooden floor. The air reeked of manure with a hint of lye. Groaning, she pushed herself back on her hooves. Through the walls of the outhouse, familiar sounds of ponies walking and chatting made her feel, if not better, at least relieved. She didn't have to worry about returning home now.
If she'd bothered to read the instructions, she would have known that the first plot device she used in the human world was going to send her back. She wished she could have said goodbye, though. That big brown lady with the tick lips had been really nice to her.
There was no sink, so she pulled out a sanitation towelette and did the best she could to rub herself down. She still smelled like urine, though. What she really needed was a bath. Apple Bloom sneezed and rubbed at her muzzle. Her nose had been runny for so long that snot had gotten caked into her fur. A wave of nausea washed over her as her head throbbed in a crushing vice forged from the agony of a thousand headaches. Forget the bath—she would settle for anything that could make her feel better—anything at all.
Creaking open the door, she had to blink twice to make sure it wasn't an illusion. She was in a dry, western town with wooden store-fronts, swinging doors, and all the ponies walking in the streets wore big, wide-brimmed hats.
“Appleoosa?”
The blustering, noon-day sun drove a wedge of red-hot splitting pain straight through her feverish skull, smothering the last little bit of her sanity.
The plague started small, limited to a small community in South Africa. It might have ended there too, if it weren't for the curious effect it had on its victims. Access to technology was limited, but humans were social creatures, and all it took was one user with a cell phone to doom the entire world.
A shaky video posted on LikeBook showed a town full of shambling, groaning, colorful ponies. There was a panicked voice, rambling so quickly as to be incoherent. A pony approached the camera. It was teal, with a ratty blonde mane. Drool hung from its slack-jawed mouth. It's big, blue eyes were bloodshot to the point of creepiness. The voice stopped rambling, and switched to short, fast, wheezing breaths. One word: “Mom?” A hand reached out and touched the pony's cheek, whose eyes closed and tears rolled down its face.
The camera lurched and fell. Horrible screaming began right before the video cut off.
It gained a Like... and a Fav... and a comment bemoaning how utterly stupid it was. Twelve million hits later, humanity had sealed its fate. Pony fever had just gone viral.
Dear Applejack, Big Mac, and Granny Smith,
Hey, cousins and great-aunt! I wish I could write to you with better news, but we caught Apple Bloom shambling in the streets sick with high fever. I almost didn't recognize her without her bow. She seemed insistent on returning to Ponyville and kept asking for a liar. Heh, ponies sure do say the strangest things when they let their fever run away with their lips.
I think Apple Fritter finally managed to convince her that she's too sick for travel and got her to lay down. Don't worry 'bout yer Bloom none, 'cause she's in good hooves here. My sister's already talking up a storm about all the excitin' home remedies she's going to try. We'll have her back to y'all lickety-split!
Home Sweet Home on the Apple Range,
-Braeburn
It was far too absurd to be true. A zombie horse apocalypse? Why did they all have such bright colors? Who could possibly have come up with such a ridiculous hoax?
The reporters swarming the area all wanted the inside scoop. They wanted to know how it was done. They wanted to know who was responsible. They wanted to how much it cost, where they got the materials, why rural South Africa, specifically, and great many other things. Reporting was in their blood. It was in their veins, and they'd get to the bottom of things.
None had expected it to be real.
It's pretty rare for press to be caught so flat-footed. Many shambling, sneezing, groaning ponies came out to greet the reporters with pleading looks on their faces of misery. Many others hid indoors.
The reporters certainly had a lot to talk about as they and their camera crews inspected the fuzzy residents with their fingers. They found no signs of masks. There were no zippers for costumes, and the pleading whines and whinnies were very convincingly equine. To make matters even stranger, a small brown colt with yellow freckles kept scratching the words 'help us' over and over again in the dirt.
Aliens. They had to be aliens. That was the general consensus amongst the reporters gathered there. The ponies had to be some sort of space alien who crash-landed on Earth and went insane from exposure to Earth viruses. That had to be it. It was the reporter's job to ensure that the truth got out, but sometimes they just had to fudge things to make a good story.
News on-hand, the film crews packed up and returned to their studios or moved on to their next assignment. Ah yes, reporting was in their blood and in their veins, along with a little something extra:
The truth.
Dear cousins,
Thank you for informing us about Apple Bloom. To be honest, we didn't even know that she'd gone missing. She was supposed to have been off on a field trip with Cheerilee to the human world. Once she's feeling better, be sure to ask her about that. Ah've a strange feeling it might be related to that liar she was asking for.
If things weren't so hectic right now with apple-polishing season, I'd come visit and nurse her back to health myself. But y'all know how important that is. Can't have any dull apples in the family! At least I can rest easy knowin' she's in good hooves.
Apple Family Pride!
-Applejack
P.S. We've included a replacement bow for her. Ah know y'all prefer big hats over there, but little Bloom would just die without her adorable red bow.
P.P.S. She likes her pancakes with a quarter slice of strawberry, a sixteenth of a stick of butter, and half a cup of syrup. Be sure to stack them three high and slice them into eights. If you don't do that, she'll take too big bites! Also, one bow could get lost too easily. We've included a dozen. She really, really, likes her bow!
P.P.P.S. Granny Smith keeps hittin' me with a mop. I'd best get back to work. Them apples sure aren't going to polish themselves, ya'know? Also, I hope this wagon-load of bows makes it to ya'll in time. Poor little Bloom must be in utter agony!
The city of Johannesburg was the first to fall. Densely populated, at about seven million residents, its loss was a crippling blow to South Africa, but it was hardly a sneeze compared to the chaos that followed.
At this point, there was no doubt that the plague was real. One would think that humans would learn quickly and stay far away from infectious equines, but this disease wasn't playing by normal rules. The same story repeated itself hundreds and thousands of times. A victim who'd been exposed would transform in a fit of agony, sometimes publicly, sometimes on camera. Those nearby simply couldn't resist gawking at or touching the wide-eyed adorable pony. Only after they were infected would they come to their senses and flee. But by then, it was too late.
The ponies themselves weren't all that eager to get out, move, or even do anything. Most disliked being touched, but were far too sick to put up anything more than a token protest. The oddest thing about them, though, was the occasional attempt to communicate. Updated mugshots appeared on LikeBook, showing the sad and snot-encrusted faces of colorful equines. These were often accompanied by blog posts saying such insightful things as:
GGHOFXCD BGHISD SUCCVKSD@!
I;'m a p-onjy8u njkowe kloolo,.;
or even
ewhyyytytytyytyyyy!!1112`121wq!!W1////?
This put their ability to communicate at about the same level as the average high school student.
In this early stage of the epidemic, pleas for aid fell on sympathetic, but otherwise deaf ears. It wasn't a matter of not wanting to help; it was a matter of the plague being to virulent to risk sending any aid workers. All foreign powers could do was to close their borders and pray. It was too bad that didn't work. All it took was a single victim near a blockade to prove that the disease would not be denied. Border guards and refugees alike found themselves fighting over soft, huggable, sneezing ponies.
They were all equally screwed.
Dear Applejack,
Well plum my dumpling darling! You sure are right that bow makes her look sooo sweet! Ah wasn't so sure at first, but looks right fancy on 'er full-body cast. Uh...
Ah MAY have gotten a teensy bit carried away with my doctorin'. But honestly, how was I supposed to know that 'feeling under the weather' was just an idiom and not a secret pegasai conspiracy to keep us earth ponies down, ya know? Though in retrospect, Ah probably should have gone for the balloons instead of the catapult. At least all those cacti broke her fall. They sure are soft!
The doctor assures us that Bloom will make a full recovery in a week, but Ah think I can get her back to y'all even faster if this next home remedy of mine pans out. Look for her soon!
Home Sweet Home on the Apple Range,
-Apple Fritter
P.S. This is Braeburn. Ah want to thank y'all for sendin' us those bows, but could ya please stop deliverin' them? After a dozen wagon-loads we're running out of room!
Recent population estimates put Africa at about a billion people. Five days later, that had dropped to less than seven hundred million humans, and that number was falling rapidly. The pony population, however, was booming... and they were none too happy about that. Why would they be? They were terribly terribly sick, and, well, their hooves were too big to pick their noses with. When their entire lives had been turned upside-down, and they felt like they'd been turned inside-out, sometimes it was the little things that mattered the most.
Like the virus itself.
Humans did not rule the world because they were stupid. They ruled the world because everything else was stupider. The thought of losing out to a mere virus was unthinkable. No virus could ever beat a human at chess. It was strange, yes. It was something new, yes. But there had to be a way to beat it. There had to a cure, a vaccination, some way to stop it for good. All they had to do was learn how it worked.
Humanity had long known that the world ran by sets of rules that could not be broken under any circumstance. These were the laws of thermodynamics, the laws of physics, the laws of nature, and even the laws of porn on the internet. Many people still believed that the plague was some sort of elaborate hoax, but those that didn't were working feverishly to map it rules and find a way to beat it.
They learned a few things. First of all, after spreading, victims showed no real symptoms until the sudden transformation. The incubation time was short, on the order of hours up to a day. Thanks to that limited time, nobody had yet managed to get the virus past airport security. Though, to be fair, some people had been dead for twenty years and were still waiting in line at airport security.
Next, they learned that it seemed to spread best via physical contact. It also wasn't contagious until after a victim transformed. Thus, sets of protective gear and instructions to avoid touching the ponies would be reasonable solutions to contain the virus until a cure could be found. Except...
They called it the 'kawaii effect.'
Inexplicably, all humans placed in close proximity to ponies would drop what they were doing and fondle the colorful equines. They were simply too cute to ignore. They'd even take off their protective gear! Perhaps it was pheromones. Perhaps it was hypnotism. Perhaps they really were that cute.
That was the key to virus's effectiveness, and short of a cure, countering this effect was the key to stopping the virus. It was just a disease. It didn't think. It had rules it played by—rules that could bind it. Humans would find a way to win. They were superior.
But this wasn't any mere virus. It rewrote the rules. Black king becomes pink pony with a fuchsia mane. Checkmate.
YOU DID WHAT!? Fritter, are you out of yer cotton flippin' mind!? Apple Bloom's not yer personal little science experiment to try yer whackjob home remedies on! Why, if I wasn't so busy with apple-measuring season, I'd be down there lickety-split. Grr... If only it weren't so important to know how well our fruit's been holding up (in inches). You'd best watch yerself 'cause I've got my eyes on you, cos'!
-Applejack
Dear Apple Fritter,
This is Granny Smith. Sorry 'bout my granddaughter. She's cute an all when she's blowin' steam 'bout protectin' her sister, but we're all family and I know you have 'er best interests in heart. 'Sides, it's nice to see another pony who appreciates the cactus. Back in the old days, we used to sleep on 'em 'cause they were so soft. Heh, that sure made pillow-fights interestin'.
Has Bloom said anythin' 'bout how she wound up in Appleoosa yet? Her friends stopped by and gave us a stick claiming it was from the human world. Lotta rubbish that was, but they said she couldn't go 'cause of her illness and should have come straight back to us. Ah know fever can addle the brain, but nopony should have let 'er go travelin' while she was sick like that.
P.S. Uh, as it turns out, you can't actually cancel an order that large. You, uh, don't need ALL of them mesas and canyons, right?
Africa, all of Africa, had fallen victim to the plague. The entire continent was a complete loss. The scope of what had been lost was utterly staggering, but that was as far as it was going to get. Humanity had a plan.
“Generals, news from the front.” Gasping for breath, a courier rushed into the war room. It was densely packed with high-ranking military personnel, secret serviceman and multiple heads of state. All-important eyes turned to the lanky young man who choked up from the sudden pressure.
The plan had been simple. Simple was good. A: Build a wall, and B: don't let anyone look directly at the ponies. Sure, the pesky little detail of frightened, scared and armed Africans not wanting to be trapped inside the plague zone offered a minor complication, but the sheer superiority of the combined Asian, European, and American armies kept the construction effort clear of refugees. More troublesome were the seas, but there were plans to keep those clear too. If the plague could be restricted by geographic boundaries, this was the best chance to keep it at bay.
Every man in that room had a hundred different electronic devices. The room was full of satellite feeds. They could have received the news far faster in a thousand different ways, so the fact that a courier had barged in was quite troubling.
Shoot to kill. That was part of the plan, and also its undoing. Snipers used video feeds to control their weapons indirectly, looking for ponies to drop. Drone pilots carefully monitored their screens as the aircraft patrolled the seas, looking for refugee boats full of ponies to scuttle. This one step removal allowed them to avoid direct observation and thus the kawaii effect. Humanity had declared war on the ponies, but in doing so, they made a terrible mistake. It was a war they could not win.
The tension in the room was so thick that one could cut it with a plastic spork. A five-star general slammed his hands on the ovular table. The impact rattled coffee mugs and pencils. “Well, soldier? Out with it! We haven't got all day!”
It's important to know something about ponies themselves. They're brightly-colored animals native to a world full of large predators. Usually, bright colors warn of toxins or poisons, but ponies have a different defense: magic. Any creature that looks upon them with the intent to harm or kill will have their parental instincts triggered. The ponies will suddenly appear to be helpless and adorable and something that needs to be protected. It's not a perfect defense, since other magical creatures can resist this effect thanks to magic of their own, but humans have no magic in them whatsoever.
“It's the army, sir.” The courier gulped and adjusted his collar. Sweat dripped down his face. “We surrendered.”
“WHAT!?” The shout came from many voices at once. Everyone around the table stood up.
“I-they... cute, so cute...” The man collapsed on the floor, babbling incoherently and sucking his thumb.
All eyes turned to the Big Red Button. It was the contingency plan, the nuclear option. Should their plan fail, they were prepared to lay waste to civilization as they knew it. Atomic bombs would vaporize all of Africa, scouring all forms of life. The fallout would render most of the world uninhabitable, but humanity would persist. It was the only way to preserve their species.
Leaders of nations, leaders of armies reached out to cast their votes. A hundred hands reached for their buttons. Should the vote pass, there would be no turning back. A billion ponies would die.
The many video screens showed close-ups of the wide-eyed colorful equines. The fur on their faces looked smooth and soft. Little pink tongues poked out of their small, petite mouths. Half-drooped ears and big, fuzzy manes adorned the pitiful, sad faces.
A hundred hands trembled. The vote was unanimous.
A hundred nations... surrendered.
Dear Applejack,
Uh, as it turns out, the buffalo pilgrimage to the top of Howling-Mad Canyon was only meant for SPIRITUAL healing, and wasn't ever meant to be attempted by a pony in a wheelchair.
Good news! Little Strongheart assures me that my spirit has been cleansed.
As for yer other question, well, Bloom sure yelled a lot of stuff while she was danglin' from that precipice by her tail, but none of it explained how she got to Appleoosa. Honestly, you'd think she was upset or somethin' the way she kept yellin' at us with her totally unreasonable demands. Ah mean, what kind of whacked-out crazy pony runs around all the time carryin' rope underneath 'er hat? To hear it from 'er, we didn't do anything, but I can assure y'all that we most certainly DID do 'something—anything at all!'
You wouldn't believe just how cute all them cacti looked with big, red bows on them.
Our doctor assures us that if we can keep Bloom in bed, and not gallivanting across the countryside in search of further head trauma, that she can still make a full recovery in another week. But don't worry, I've got plenty of things Ah can try just by staying home and sticking to more 'traditional' medicine.
Yours Truly,
-Apple Fritter
The world was in chaos. Nobody knew what to do. The end times were upon them.
God had forsaken humanity.
Scientists were still hard at work attempting to find a solution, but none came. A mission was launched to retrieve the astronauts from the space station. The official reason being that they did not want humanity's last legacy to be rotting corpses in space. A total global travel ban was placed, in an effort to buy more time, but the end was in sight. It was inevitable.
God had cursed humanity.
With the failure of armies, a few citizens turned to vigilantism. They armed themselves to the teeth, and declared their personal vendettas against the ponies. Surely, where everyone else had failed, a few whack jobs with guns would be able to take matters into their own hands and stem the endless tide of zombie ponies. Their sweaty tank-tops and rippling biceps would be protected by God, and they would save all of humanity with their heroism.
...they were never heard from again.
God had a new favorite.
Ponies walked in the hearts of nations. Their shambling strides and mournful, sneezing cries replaced the once-bustling activity of the previously human residents. Discarded signs proclaiming doom and gloom littered the streets.
The end times were neigh.
Dear Apple Fritter,
Y'all are walkin' on real thin ice here, REAL THIN. It might sound like I'm calm, but that's because I'm so spittin' with rage that I can't even put pen to paper without tearin' it to shreds. Big Mac's writing this and he's not one to copy my cussin'.
Eeyep.
Y'all are so lucky that the single most important part of the apple-growing year is upon us and Ah can't abandon the farm for ANY reason: apple looking-at season. Why, it's so important that I can't even get my friends to help; they might look at something else! And, well, Ah can't leave, because those apple sure aren't going to look at themselves.
Eeyep.
Y'all have one last chance to take of Bloom and nurse her to health the RIGHT way. Don't waste it.
-Applejack
PS. Eeyep.
There was one last-ditch effort to save humanity. A great vault had been built. The location was secret, but the intent was clear. Fifty of humanity's best and brightest men were to seal themselves off from the rest of the world. They had enough supplies to build a small underground civilization that could last for thousands of years.
Without ceremony, the vault doors were closed. They were sealed shut, welded from both sides.
The fifty brightest minds of humanity sat around a table. All wore solemn expressions. It was a sad day, but thanks to these brave men, their legacy would be preserved for the foreseeable future.
A man in a green shirt stood up. He lifted a coffee mug, peered under it, then set it down. He turned his back to the others, and parted a potted plant. A moment later, he opened and closed the refrigerator. “Nope, nope, and nope.”
“Excuse me, but what are you doing?” a man in a blue shirt asked.
“I'm looking for the women.”
“The women!?” A black-robed man jumped up and slammed his hands on the table. “Please tell me that we didn't forget the women!”
“How could we forget the women!?” another voice wailed, “They're possibly important!”
“Whoa, whoa! Calm down, everyone!” A red shirted man slammed a granite gavel on the table. The noise echoed in the hollow chamber. “Of course we didn't forget the women! This shelter has two hundred rooms and they were admitted yesterday. They'll come out to greet us when they're ready.” Dropping his gavel, the red shirted man pointed at the one in the green shirt. “The better question is, why are you looking for the women in the refrigerator, you freak!?”
A man with a pink shirt moaned, “Great, we're stuck here for all of eternity with that loon. Is it too late to vote him out?”
The green shirted man cackled. He roared with laughter and twirled a large key around his index finger. “I was just messing with you all. This was something of an in-joke between myself and my wife Mare. There's something special about Mare... Oh, I remembered the 'women', all right.” He fitted the key in the lock of a large iron door. Grunting, his high heels dug into the dirt, and the door squeaked as it slowly inched open. “You can come out now, ladies.”
Ears drooped and heads hung low, fifty mares shambled out. The foreseeable future suddenly became five minutes.
“They're infected!” Jaws dropped and mouths hung open.
“You! This is your fault!” a white shirted man screamed. He backed against the wall but his defensive posture quickly melted when he gazed into the half-lidded emerald eyes of a tan mare with a long, flowing pink mane. “Wendy, is that really you?”
The mare sneezed, and nodded.
He couldn't help it. He wrapped his arms around her soft, fuzzy neck. He scratched behind her ears while he still had hands. The heat from her feverish body nearly burned him even as her sweat stained his white shirt. “Oh baby, I'm so sorry.” Tears welled up in his eyes. “Don't worry. We'll get through this... somehow.”
Around the room, the scene was the same. Each man held his pony, stroking with loving affection.
“How did this happen?” the red shirted man asked. “The quarantine...”
“Don't be stupid!” the green shirted man shouted. “We're the smartest men on Earth! A little security is easily bypassed by ones such as us!”
“But... why?”
“Why? I'll tell you why!” The green shirted man puffed out his chest. He leaned to the side, proudly presenting his pony for all to see.
This was a man who held multiple PhDs. His inventions had transformed the world, and his IQ was so high that traditional tests could not measure its limit. Whatever reason he had for betraying humanity's last hope had to be profound. Philosophers could potentially study his answer for centuries and still not find half the hidden meaning. Those in the room all knew that he was the best amongst them all. They looked upon his pony with envy, and waited with baited breath for him to speak.
“Because... I'm a furry.”
Dear Big Mac,
Hey, 'cos, y'all won't believe just how cute the entire buffalo herd looks with big, red bows on 'em. More like bow-falo herd, right? Y'all gave us enough bows for them and everyone and everything else. Why, the sheriff's even thinkin' about changing our town's name to Apple-bow-sa! Wouldn't that be a hoot?
Oh right, you probably want to know how Apple Bloom is doing...
The doctor assures us that Apple Fritter is a complete quack who shouldn't be allowed within fifty tectonic plates of another patient. Ah'm sure he's just exaggerating a little bit. Honestly, panacea, poison, both words start with the letter 'p.' Anypony could have made that mistake!
Well, the good news is that poison ivy is mostly harmless aside from a lingering rash and terrible, insatiable itching feeling that consumes all waking thoughts and drives one to the edge of insanity on a rusty tricycle. Good thing Bloom's still wearin' that full-body cast, or she might actually scratch herself.
Hold up. She has something to say:
HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLP!!!! - Apple Bloom
'Daw, isn't she just the cutest little thing when she's in utter agony? Well, Ah'm sure that Fritter's next plan will work. Once she brings those blue flowers back from the Everfree, the doctor will no choice but to admit that he was wrong 'bout her. Ain't no flowers never hurt nopony, right?
-Braeburn
P.S. Uh, y'all won't tell Applejack 'bout this, right?
P.P.S. HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLP!!!! - Apple Bloom
Civilization had collapsed. Humanity was in tatters. The only remaining population centers of any significance were on remote islands. It was only a matter of time before some boat full of ponies would wash up on their shores and they too, would fall.
Waiting was the worst part.
The seas were never calm. Even on clear days with no wind, waves from halfway across the world would still lap up against the beaches. While people still begged to God for forgiveness and asked to be spared, it was clear that He was not listening. Or perhaps He was.
Back were it had all began, deep in the heart of South Africa, the fever had finally run its course. The ponies started feeling better, and were attempting to return to their normal lives. The once rambling and incoherent blog posts became more well thought-out and used actual words. They were full of angst and despair, but they were real words. Things were bleak, but there was some hope.
Humans built things to last. Their legacy would persist far beyond their existence as a species. But ponies had a vested interest in keeping things running too. Perhaps civilization didn't need to collapse, after all. It would be difficult to keep going, but was it impossible? Only time would tell.
The oceans were vast, far larger than land. They held a great many things, and one such thing appeared on the horizon. It was the Carnal Victory, a luxury cruise ship that had fallen victim to the plague shortly after leaving port. Estimated population: about four hundred ponies. The restless ocean was slowly, inevitably, carrying it to shore.
Waiting was the worst part.
Dear Idiots,
If y'all are readin' this, then that probably means that you're waking up right about now. Ah'm so terribly sorry 'bout yer headaches, but that's what happens when ya get knocked in the head. Repeatedly. With proper rationing, Ah figure you've got enough supplies for 'bout three to four moons. That's about how long it'll take ya to learn to navigate by the stars and paddle yer way back home. Since y'all seemed to like 'em so much, Ah took the liberty of building yer raft entirely out of cacti.
Enjoy being lost at sea!!!
With love from your family,
-Applejack
The last human on Earth sat alone in her room. There was a knock on her door. It was time. Pants or no pants, she would join the herd.