//------------------------------// // Who Dares Wins // Story: Berry's Burns // by ThatGirl2147 //------------------------------// The Doctor looked up from his protection as the explosion passed, and what he saw disturbed him greatly: he saw several trees, destroyed and aflame, and the fire was spreading quickly. He looked about, and didn’t see Berry Punch, Burns, Frost, or The Master. Expecting the worst, he shut his eyes and said to himself, “I’m sorry, Friends; I’m so sorry.” And at that, he turned face and trotted towards the road. With the clear line of sight to the sky from the road, the stallion scanned the air for any signs of life. “Weather Patrol!” shouted he, trying to alert anypony in the near vicinity. He repeated the call, and after a few seconds, he saw four Pegasus Ponies in red vests and helmets flying towards him, carrying with them a dark grey storm cloud. They saw the fire, and began their work, pushing rain out of their cloud onto the blaze. The stallion watched the Pegasi work, trying to think of a way he could help, when he heard something. It wasn’t the pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the burning ground; it was footsteps, along with heavy breathing. “Hello?!” shouted he, searching for the source of the sound. “Burns? Is that you?” Soon enough, The Doctor’s question was answered as he saw a man-shaped silhouette emerge from the curtain of smoke. It was Burns, and he was carrying Berry Punch in his arms; she was burnt in several places, wasn’t moving, and barely breathing. Burns had removed his mask, and was holding it to the mare’s face. He turned his head and saw The Doctor, then said to him, “she’ll be fine.” He then coughed heavily before he continued, “but only if we get her to hospital, quickly.” “Then let’s not waste a second,” replied the brown stallion, a look of pure determination showing in his features. He led the man to the TARDIS, where he motioned him in, and then hopped to the controls and set the machine wheezing and grinding to its next destination. When the TARDIS landed, The Doctor approached Burns, who was weakened and sitting, leaned against a rail of the main platform. “Here,” said he, lowering himself to the man, “put Berry on my back; It’s probably a good idea to keep you away from more populated areas. I’ll admit her, and then I’ll come back and help you.” The man coughed and complied. “Okay,” said he simply as he tenderly placed the mulberry mare on the stallion’s back. By that point, his mask had slid off of the mare’s face, and was hanging by its straps around her neck. “Got it,” said The Doctor as he trotted out the TARDIS doors, leaving Burns by his lonesome. “It’s so bloody hot in here,” said Burns quietly as he stumbled to his feet and looked about the massive vessel. Satisfied with the sights, he removed his black, soot-covered gloves, his tactical vest, his overshirt, and even his boots. For several minutes he stood there in the TARDIS, wearing only his torn trousers, white undershirt, and black socks; he was relaxed. “Who knows?” said he to the air, “maybe I died in that lorry explosion, or maybe I’m just in a coma and dreaming. I should enjoy it.” As the man thought aloud, the TARDIS doors creaked open, revealing The Doctor, panting from fatigue. “I’m back,” said he between breaths, “now, let’s get to work.” Burns cocked his head in confusion. “Work on what?” asked he, “getting me home?” The stallion shook his head. “No,” said he, that one word falling from his muzzle as though it were a leaden weight. “Unfortunately, when The Master died, the rift he created to bring you and Frost here was sealed, permanently.” “I see,” replied the man, “what about my leg, then?” He stretched out his right leg, revealing past the open hole in his trousers multiple shades of red covering his normally pale tan skin. The Doctor said to the man, “I can fix that, but only if you want me to.” “What do you mean?” inquired Burns, as though the answer was obvious, “of course I would like some help.” “I don’t think you understand,” replied the brown stallion blankly. He then looked the man dead in the eyes and told him, “this is Equestria; it’s no place for a Human such as yourself. So, I want to help you to fit in.” “And what can you do to help with that, Doctor?” asked Burns in just as serious a tone as the stallion’s. Instead of a direct answer, The Doctor opened up a compartment under the TARDIS control panel and produced a metal helmet, covered in lightbulbs, wires, and switches. “This,” explained he, “is called a Cellular Modifier. Basically, it can rewrite living DNA into whatever I set it to.” Burns nodded at the brief explanation. “Okay,” said he, “and why are you showing this to me?” “Because,” began the stallion, “this is what can help you to fit in.” He turned several of the knobs and switches on the helmet and gave it to Burns. “I’ve set it to convert Human DNA into that of a Pony. You can retain memories of your Human self, or forget entirely, and replace them with memories of yourself as a Pony.” Burns cringed at the thought at first. “So, you’re saying that this can make me into a pastel-coloured talking horse?” questioned he, “but I’ll still remember being Human?” “That’s what I said,” answered the stallion. “Is that what you want to do?” The man leaned back, deep in thought. “Well,” said he, more to himself than The Doctor, “I am kind of out of place as it is. But, being a horse would be simply weird for a long time, until I can get used to it.” After several minutes of reasoning with himself, Burns came to a decision. “It would be best if I were to fit in, Doctor.” He then placed the device on his head and ordered, “do it.” The Doctor nodded. “This will hurt a bit,” said he honestly as he flipped a switch on the helmet. Burns screamed in agony as electrical arcs bounced about his body and the helmet. After a few seconds, his form became engulfed in a bright blue aura which blurred his shape. After several more seconds, he ceased to scream as the blue cloud dissipated, revealing his new self. He examined his new features carefully: he was an off-white Stallion with a pair of wings, a short, blue mane with lighter blue stripes, and a matching tail. He looked to his flank and saw an image of a sword with large wings, and a ribbon wrapped around the base, which bore three words on it. “Who Dares Wins,” read the new stallion aloud, a copious amount of pride leaking from his voice as he read the words. As he tried to walk, he stumbled and fumbled about until he fall to the floor. “That’ll take some getting used to,” remarked he dryly, making The Doctor chuckle. After several hours of intensive physical rehabilitation, the white stallion managed to master walking, as well as obtain a small amount of knowledge on how to fly. “That’s great, Sgt.,” complimented the brown stallion at his friend’s improvement. “Now, all you need is a name.” “I understand,” replied the stallion. He looked in a mirror on the TARDIS console and saw his dark green eyes. With much thought, he finally uttered a name. “Frost Wing,” said he, under his breath at first, but he repeated it loudly enough for The Doctor to hear. “My name is Frost Wing.” “That’s a great name, Frost,” complimented the stallion. He then typed something into a typewriter on the TARDIS console, and pulled the resulting document from the machine. “This is your personal file, Frost,” informed he, “it contains all of your information.” Frost Wing took the paper and read it. All of the information was accurate: his name, his mane, coat, and eye colours, his Cutie Mark, and his age. “Very nice, Doctor,” said he, giving the document back to the brown stallion. “Everything’s in order, then,” beamed The Doctor. “Now, you should go visit Berry in the hospital.” Ponyville’s hospital was a rather large building, with a plain white foyer and a reception desk being the first sight when inside. At the desk sat a white Earth Mare with a pink mane, tied in a bun, wearing a nurse’s tiara. “Excuse me,” said Frost Wing shyly, “I’m looking for Berry Punch.” “Good Day, Sweetie,” greeted the mare joyfully. “She’s in Room 318. Third floor, two rights, a left, and the fourth door on the right.” She motioned with her hoof as she uttered the directions. “Thank you,” replied Frost with a smile as he followed the directions. Soon enough, he found his way to a door with big brass numbers “318“ on it. Berry Punch had been asleep for a few hours, and she finally awoke. Groggily, she looked around her bland hospital room. She had bandages wrapped around various parts of her body where she was burnt. She sat up in her bed and glanced at her nightstand; it had a small lamp in its centre, and Burns’ mask lay on it. She tenderly picked it up in her hooves, looked over it, and brought it close to her chest. “I’m sorry, Burns,” said she as tears dropped from her eyes onto the mask. She didn’t hear the door open, but she heard what the stallion behind it had to say. “That gas mask saved your life,” informed Frost Wing as he walked slowly into Berry’s room. “That mask is designed to protect the wearer from deadly toxins that are inhaled. In that fire, had you inhaled any more of that smoke than you had, you’d have suffocated from lack of oxygen going to your lungs.” The stallion made Berry almost jump from her bed, but she stayed put. “Wh.. who are you?” asked she, terrified, “a.. and how do you know about that?” The stallion gently approached the mare and looked into her eyes with is own, shining emerald eyes. “You know me,” said he, “but you don’t know you know me yet.” Berry’s cerise eyes, though full of fear before, beamed with joy and love for the stallion before her as she realised who he was. “B.. Burns?” stuttered she, “is that you?” The stallion nodded. “The name’s Frost Wing,” said he. “But.. but how?” asked Berry in return. “I’ve seen a stallion become a mare, but I never thought I’d see anything turned into a Pony.” “There’s a first time for everything, Mate,” joked Frost dryly. “I just came to make sure you’re okay,” explained he, “and now, I’ve got a train to catch.” The mare looked to Frost curiously. Cocking her head, she asked, “a train? To where?” As the stallion began to exit, he turned and answered, “to Canterlot. I’ll write.” And at that, he left. With her mind now free from many concerns, Berry Punch leaned her head back and fell into a deep, good night’s sleep. ************************************************************************************************* Dear Berry Punch, I said I’d write, and now it’s time I kept that promise. I’m living in Canterlot now. That Doctor fellow left me a note at the hospital reception desk that day, telling me to go to Canterlot. I’ve looked everywhere for him to thank him, but he’s nowhere to be found. Anyway, when I first arrived in the capital city, I was called by name to go to the Royal Guard’s Training Facility, where I was recruited. It feels great being a Royal Guard, protecting the Royal Family; it feels as though I never really went anywhere different than where I’m from. There’s no need to worry about me, for this job pays exceptionally well; I’m well taken care of here. If you ever need a place to stay or you’re low on funds, just send me a message, and I’ll help in any and every way I can. I’ll be awaiting your response. With Regards and Love, Frost Wing (formerly Marcus Burns) ************************************************************************************************* “Frost! Where are you?!” an aged male voice called throughout the drab, tan room filled with bare-metal coloured bunk beds, barely covered by green sheets. The voice belonged to a middle-aged soldier in tan fatigues, a tan helmet, dark sunglasses, and a green tactical vest bearing a small flag of red, white, and blue. “Frost! Report, dammit!” “He’s not here, Sandman,” said a Black man in similar dress, standing beside another soldier. “We looked in all the bunks and the locker room. Frost’s gone.” “Well where the hell’d he go, Truck?” asked Sandman, sounding infuriated and confused. The Black man shrugged. “No idea,” replied he, “we should search the rest of the base.” “To Hell with that,” barked the Southern drawl of the man beside Truck. “Frost is AWOL far as I’m concerned.” Sandman nodded. “I’m with you on that, Grinch,” said he. “If he comes back, he’ll wish he hadn’t. Let’s go; we got a plane to catch.” The trio then left the room. The outside of the barrack wasn’t much different than the inside; a plain grey road leading many directions, several metal benches holding soldiers of various appearances, and a vehicle awaiting the three men. Sandman looked to a bench near him and looked to the soldier sitting there. “Come on, McCoy,” ordered he, “you’re with us now.”