//------------------------------//
// Trouble's Onset 
// Story: A War 
// by Comma Typer 
//------------------------------//

Yet again, nighttime.
Half Baked Apple walked and pulled his wagon under the town's entrance gate which had the village's name emblazoned on it in big letters: "Hazarde! Enjoy your stay!"
Hazarde was a fanciful little community lit up by the many little lights that lay either past the windows or on the streetlights. Much of it had a suburban look to it, the houses varied in color and design. At the center stood two clock towers, each displaying the same time on their illuminated faces.
Ponies walked about on the sidewalks and crossed the streets, talking to each other and smiling under the lights, under the dark sky.
There was a party going on by one of the houses. There were balloons tied to the fence, tables on the grass, and a large cake being wheeled out by the parents to their twin colts. Party blowers filled their spot of air, streamers and confetti were thrown around, and the other celebrators gathered around the cake as the mother levitated a knife and cut the cake into mangeable bites while the father levitated those bites on to paper plates.
Everyone there wore colorful party hats.
Meanwhile, walking around the party but still on the house's property, an old stallion pulled out some barbed wire from the backyard and carefully curled it about the fence.
"Mommy," one of the twins asked, pointing at the stallion and his wire, "what's Grandpa doing?"
The mother looked and gasped.
The father looked, too.
He marched straight up to the old stallion, dropping a plate of cake which splat on to the ground.
A filly in line cried.
He tapped the unaware stallion on the shoulder. "Dad, this isn't the time to be silly! Why aren't you staying with your grandchildren?"
"Bah!" he said, slapping the hoof off of his shoulder.
He threw his party hat at his son.
"I didn't raise you up to be a complacent softy, Quick Frosting! If you're going to celebrate the eight years of your foals, at least make sure they're safe!"
"Dad," Quick Frosting countered, motioning his hoof about as he picked up the party hat and placed it on his father's head, "I don't want to have this conversation again, but the Crystal ponies are way out there!" Pointed at the horizon. "Leave it to Mayor Risk Control to do his job of protecting this town. He has a good record of keeping things safe."
"What's a mayor without an uppity population?" the old stallion argued. "He's only one pony, and we are one thousand strong without him! It's simple logic saying that a thousand ponies can dig a trench faster than one!"
He kicked the dirt and shoved some of it to his son's face.
The festive sounds of cheers and music stopped at that.
Everyone was looking at Quick Frosting's dirty face.
"There! One pony couldn't stop me from attacking you!" The old stallion held up a section of his barbed wire and waved it around, catching the attention of even the passersby. "My point stands and I've proven it!"
Faced the rest of the onlookers at the party, including his twin grandcolts.
"You better celebrate in peace and that's because of my initiative to save you all from death!" He glanced aside, muttering incoherent sounds. "Ah!"
Took a step toward the twins.
"Happy eighth birthday to you!"
They replied with nothing.
The old stallion went on fortifying the fence with his barbed wire.
Quick Frosting wiped the dirt off of his face. Spat some of it out of his mouth.
Turned around and brisked his way back to the party, wearing a smile. "Alright, kids! Sorry for the little interruption, but I'm back in action and we can get this rolling!"
The parents went back to slicing the cake for the foals to eat.
"You know," the mother spoke under her breath, "keep this up and you'll do swell when we get to their ninth birthday." She rolled her eyes. "Who knows? Maybe the ol' snapper would start aiming arrows at our friends just because they're walking on our side of the street."
"Steeplechase," he said, putting a firm hoof on his wife's shoulder, "don't be so harsh on him. You know what he's facing."
"What is he facing?" Steeplechase said, flicking her head and her mane. "If we were living at a barracks, then maybe I can understand his paranoid behavior. But, he's stocking up barbed wire in our house! Last night, he ordered shovels and you didn't stop him—ahem, you tried but you were too afraid to make him angry."
"He's my Dad," Quick Frosting said. "What do you want me to do with him? Kick him out?"
"It's a possibility, honey," Steeplechase replied, her tone bitter.
The both of them levitating the knife and plate and slices as they squabbled.
"He's becoming a danger to the entire community," Steeplechase continued, "not to mention us. The only thing that's kept us from total shame is that he's barely listened to in the public meetings."
"That's because they scoff him for his 'overprotective tendencies'!" Quick Frosting said, flailing his forehooves about.
"That's what you said when he proposed moving the entire town to the sky! Or, underground." She rolled her eyes again. "Face the truth, honey: He's not helping at all and you better send him to a retirement village."
"But, he's already retired!"
Steeplechase smacked herself on the face. "You're thirty years old and you still don't get what a retirement village is?!"
"Like I said the twentieth time, our lineage is known for never sending our elders away."
Steeplechase pushed him, grabbed a flower from a nearby bush, and levitated it in front of him.
"Do you see this flower?" she asked.
"Uh, yes?"
"It's a dandelion. Watch."
She blew on it.
A lot of its seeds flew out, floating away with the breeze.	
"That's how crazy your father is!" she said. "He's already lost much of his mind. It's only a matter of time before he's declared insane!"
"He's not insane!" Quick Frosting insisted, taking a step back. "What if he's right?"
"Stop your lying," she replied, shaking her head. "You know he's just crazy, and it's all coincidences."
He took another step back, fading out from the light of the doorstep.  "I don't know about you, but I don't have a good feeling about any of this at all. As much as I want him to act normal, he has that uncanny sense—"
"That's a myth!" she broke in, eyes strained and ears drooped. "He's just right at the wrong times!"
"You said the same thing when Flaky Cheese thought the Mare in the Moon was a real pony, and look where that got the four of us into!"
"He was younger then! What can you expect somepony like him to believe when we tell him those bedtime stories?"
"It was your fault for buying the Mare in the Moon stories—"
"You, sir!" the old stallion cried out at Half Baked Apple on the road, throwing his party hat at the wagoned pony. "You seem like a reasonable person! Wait...is that barbed wire you're selling?"
Steeplechase growled and gritted her teeth, pushing a hoof against the wall. "You must stop him, Frosting."
He sighed and slumped his shoulders. "OK, honey. I'll try. But—" raised a hoof and leaned his head at her "—don't say I didn't warn you."
"About what?"
"About...wait, what was I...?"
The parents then looked at the party.
Everyone, including their twin sons, were watching them. The filly who had cried even brought some popcorn and munched on it. The cake was not even a quarter finished.
The parents put on smiles.
"You know," Steeplechase began, speaking through her grin as the both of them continued their cake slicing, "let's talk about this at a later date."
"Yeah," he said through his grin.
Screams from the streets.
"Look up!" one of the pedestrians yelled, pointing at the sky. "They're coming!"
Everyone looked up.
Green glows in the night sky.
Closer, louder.
The parents looked at the foals in attendance.
They looked back at the parents.
"Party's postponed, everypony!" Frosting yelled. "To the bunkers!"
And everyone ran out of the frontyard, barreling to the streets as they all ran.
Leaving their balloons, streamers, party blowers, tables, and cake there.
Frosting grabbed one of his colts and floated him as he ran.
Steeplechase did the same with their other colt.
"Faster, everyone!"
Approaching the two clock towers.
Houses smashed. From the holes, flying Crystal pegasi with their armor and glowing eyes.
"Out, out, out! Out of the way!"
Shoved a pony to the side, throwing him down.
To the plaza where the clock towers stood.
A pegasus wearing a bowtie flew down to where they were.
"Mayor Risk Control!"
Ponies rushing to the plaza from all sides.
Furor, clamor, budging, shouts, screams, whimpers, cries, hooves pointed up.
To the sky, to the Crystal pegasi moving in.
The pegasus mayor held up a wing. "I need all of you to stay calm and—"
"Open the doors already!" a mare yelped.
The pegasus gulped, removed two keys from his mane, and flew.
To the base of one clock tower. Unlocked the door.
To the base of the other. Unlocked that door.
The doors opened at the same time.	
"Move in now!" the mayor cried out, ushering a stream of hurrying ponies into the other clock tower. "I'll stay behind! Leave it to us townsfolk defenders!"
A beam hit the clock tower.
Its massive hands fell to the ground, shattering much of the plaza.
"In, inside!"
Frosting held his son tight as they trotted into the tower.
Down a narrow and illuminated stairway.
Illuminated orange. Everything and everyone inside had that orange tint.
Ponies in front, ponies behind.
Steeplechase and their other colt there close by.
Loud, echoing hoofsteps.
Dry and hot inside.
Murmurs from the others.
The family kept silent.
At the staircase's bottom.
Left to a long hallway.
Running, galloping.
Right turn.
More running, galloping.
Slowed down to a trot, others passing them by—sprinting.
Then, a crowd at large metal double doors.
A mare wearing a hard hat banged her hoof on the door and rang a bell.
Everyone became silent.
The hallway to the door had not much. There were pipes going along on the wall, but other than that, there was nothing else.
"Listen up!" the mare shouted, her face unemotional though her voice passionate. "We want everypony to behave in an orderly manner! I don't need you to be up in straight lines. Just be orderly! Anyone who disobeys the rules will be faced with mandatory guard duty outside. Got it?"
Most of them nodded.
"I'm sure a lot of you know me already, but for the visitors and tourists who don't: My name is Curb Rail. You're going to see me too often for your own comfort because we're not getting out of here until somepony comes inside and gives us the go signal. Before that happens—"
Pulled a lever by the door
"—enjoy your stay, eat and drink but not too much, and follow my orders. There's some weapons to train yourselves with in case the worst happens and the shiny eyes break through the doors."
The large double doors swung open, droning with their rusty screeches.
Some ponies plugged their ears with their hooves or their wings.
As the doors slowly parted, those outside could see what these doors hid.
A simple system of beds, kitchens, shelves, and open spaces. Functional, a lack of anything fancy. What was there was the necessities and little more.
The beds were merely frames, mattresses, and pillows. The kitchens consisted of second-hoof, decaying stoves and microwaves with frying pans and spatulas, among other kitchenware, dangling from one rusting metal bar. The shelves were overloaded with largely nondescript cans of food, their only identifier being a meager label underneath that had one word: "Carrots", "Oranges", "Lettuce", "Onions".
The open spaces were open spaces.
Tiled floor, painted walls, orange lights.
That tint of orange.
"Don't worry," Curb Rail said, reassuring. "This is only temporary. When it's all over, you can move back to your homes. Or, let's face it, what's left of them." Beamed with a grin. "But, you can relocate! Relocating to another home is better than having no home, right?"
Grumbles and rude murmurs rising from the crowd as they trudged into the vast room.
Hoofsteps, voices mixed and lost, becoming an anarchy of noise.
Hot, humid. They sweated.



At the sleeping part of the room, hardly anypony was sleeping quietly amidst the disquiet of hoofsteps, words, and metal clangs.
Out of the seventy or so ponies occupying that space, there was only one snoring soundly on his makeshift bed. The rest were engaged with other activities. Two ponies played a game of chess on one of the beds, the players sitting on opposite sides of it with the chessboard on the mattress. A pegasus stallion dropped his flute and those around him rushed to pick it up, inspect it, and declare it...something.
"I say it's completely fine! I see no scratches!"
"How do you know? You don't have 20/20 vision!"
"I interrupt this entire meeting and—"
"This is my flute! Give it back!"
Near the wall and, thus, the end of the room's sleeping part, a few ponies had assembled to witness a collector's collection of old newspapers.
"And, this one..." the glasses-donned collector continued, spreading open a crumbling yet intact newspaper for all to see, "this one is from the famous Rainboom Race. When I found it last Hearth's Warming, I had to fight my way to get it on my hooves no matter what." A pause, a smile. "It's such a valuable piece of journalist history."
"Yeah, says who?" one of his audience argued, half-standing up.
"When's dinner?" a mare asked.
The stallion groaned, folded the newspaper, and put it back on the stack where the rest of his collection rested.
Near the kitchens where sizzles and crackles and fizzles could be heard too much and too near, Quick Frosting and Steeplechase sat on one bed, on its single mattress, with their two foals. Steeplechase patted one of them as he sat there, staring off to the distance.
"Daddy?" Flaky Cheese, the freckled one, spoke up, looking at his father's face. "When will they stop?"
He sighed. "I don't know." Looked away. "They usually last for hours."
"We've been here for three hours!" Flaky complained. "Aren't they happy with their evilness?"
"Their evil is unlike any we've seen before," Frosting told, still looking away. "I won't be surprised if they leave this place an unrecognizable mess."
Silence on their bed.
Noise everywhere else.
A stallion walked up to their bed and unhooked himself from his wagon.
"Why, howdy!" Half Baked Apple said, putting his hat away and making a little bow. "I'm Half Baked Apple at yer' service! Survival extra-ordinaire, as they say in some parts but not i' ot'ers. I should know since I've been to ot'er parts o' Equestria an' some got me out an' turned me 'way, but I'd like to have it honest an' plain like a salt'd chip!"
Displayed a toothy grin.
The family exchanged odd, surprised looks with each other.
Steeplechase gave him a dour stare. "I think we've had enough of—"
"Hold on," Frosting said, levitating a saddle bag on the foot of the bed.
He brought a sack of bits up, turned it upside down, and shook a few bits out of it.
"What's your, um, best-seller?" Frosting asked.	
"Well!" Half Baked Apple shouted, chucking his head into the wagon and then pulling out a piece of barbed wire. "I've got a fine spec'men o' barbed wire an' its friends an' cousins an' other related wires both by ancestry and by descendents!"
"How does that even work—"
Bells ringing.
Banging.
"Attention, everypony!" Curb Rail shouted, though unseen in the middle of a huddled crowd at the open spaces. "They've managed to get to the bunkers!"
Panic in screams, gallops, flights, stampedes.
Dropping everything.
"Save yourselves!" Half Baked Apple yelled, stringing barbed wire with his teeth.
Microwaves fallen over and pans, too.
"Everypony!" Curb Rail yelled. "Remain Calm!"
Drowned in the sea of panic.
Ponies rushing, moving, almost everywhere.
Many banging at the closed metal doors.
Banging from the other side.
Stomps, set hoofsteps and marches from the other side.
"Emergency exit!" Curb shouted, lunging at one of the levers at the wall and yanked it down.
A portion of the wall slid open, exposing a dark and dirty tunnel.
Held up a flashlight. "I'll lead the way! Come on!"
Haphazard stream of ponies toward the tunnel.
Screams, shouts, yells, cries, whimpers.
Echoing, bouncing from wall to wall.
Bang!
Doors burst open, plunging several to flight and to unconsciousness.
Glowing green eyes.
Masked and armored Crystal ponies charged in, the pegasi taking the comatose ponies and pulling them away.
Last few left awake scrambling to the secret passageway.
In.
Curb pulled the lever up.
Passageway sealed.
Curb Rail put on a fighting stance and growled. "If you want to get to them, you have to get through me first!"
Punched down, knocked out.
Hard hat thrown off to the floor.
A Crystal pulled the lever back down.
Passageway opened.
Several swarmed inside.
Most of the pegasi flew out, carrying Curb Rail and the other unconscious ponies out the room, past the broken metal doors, up the staircase, to the outside.
Still nighttime, though the fires from many houses replaced the ordinary lights in brightening the streets.
Down below, more Crystal soldiers rounded up ponies in shackles and chains. Others invaded more houses, more buildings, and took out yet more surrendering ponies.
Far out, on the distant meadows outside Hazarde, several colorful dots and specks slowly fading into the horizon.
As a squad of Crystal pegasi flew in their direction.
Beam.
One shot down.
The pegasus fell.
Rest of the squad turned tail.
As unicorns on flying pegasus-held platforms fired their beams at the Crystal soldiers.
"You might want to recheck that, mister!" one of the Equestrian unicorns taunted.
More Crystal pegasi turned tail, including the ones with knocked out ponies in tow.
They signalled to each other, making hoof movements at each other, pointing to this and that position.
"You!"
One of them looked at the unconscious pony he was holding.
Wasn't unconscious, after all.
Saw that many-sided glint on her eyes.
"Take this!"
Punched his face.
Loosened his grip.
She fell.
Falling.
Wind rushing.
Ground closer.
Closer.
Nearer.
Hearing nothing but wind.
Then—