//------------------------------// // 6: Hunger Games // Story: Crystal Apocalypse // by leeroy_gIBZ //------------------------------// One foot in front of the other, quickly, duck behind collapsed concrete, jump over discarded debris. Reach the exit. Find Lemon, drive like Tartarus was following. That was Sugarcoat's plan. Minutes later, Sugarcoat was again in the depilated foyer, panting and nervously eying the doors out to Cloudsdale. Somebody had definitely come here before here, and had decided to stay, and clearly did not have qualms about disposing of unwanted guests. Running would be wise, running out of the awful town, never returning. But there was still loot to be had, and Sugarcoat wasn’t defenceless and Lemon Zest knew to stay hidden for just a little longer. She risked sneaking behind the receptionist’s desk, brushing the bleached turquoise leather corpse aside, brushing off the golden dust that its hair had partly crumbled into. On a shelf, behind a crusty stack of Filly Fooler’s magazines was a roadmap, tattered, smudged and used as a napkin multiple times, but divine direction nonetheless. Sugarcoat pocketed the papers, and the scissors on the strap about the corpse’s neck. That was all there was of use in the room, so Sugarcoat walked out after that, holding white-knuckled onto her spear. The formerly-cheery tourist trap had taken on a grim tint in the encroaching evening. Buildings, houses, glared with broken-window eyes down at her, like burned and blackened hyenas begging for her to drop dead. Their laughs were the wind, howling now, casting ash into the air. Sugarcoat adjusted her scarf over her mouth, pushed up her glasses, and started over to Lemon. The girl was no longer behind the sign. Neither was the bike, or its bundle of supplies. Sugarcoat considered running away then, again, leaving Lemon to her self-fulfilling prophetic fate there in the outskirts of the Moojave Desert, but something inside her rooted her feet to the ground: Loyalty. She turned around, and headed back into the town, back into the hotel, and waited. Sooner or later, like it or not, whoever had taken Lemon was going to have to eat. Either that or shove her broken body in the freezer with the rest of their prey, but Sugarcoat preferred to think of the first option. Crouching behind a counter, loaded crossbow beside her, she ate a wary supper while awaiting whatever would walk through the steel doors. The windows outside showed nightfall – moon high and blurred – before somebody else arrived in the kitchen. The bolt flew true, and caught Neon Lights in the shoulder, pinning him to the wall. “Fuck! Who’s there? Come out now, asshole, and I won’t carve my name into your skull before I crack it open!” He threatened, trying at the same time to brandish a blood-coated knife and untangle himself from the arrow impaling him. “That was an awful threat. I’d suggest you stop talking in future, but you’d ignore me. Like you always do.” Sugarcoat said, crossbow reloaded, pointed at the madman in the trenchcoat attached to the peeling wallpaper. “Sugarcoat? You did this?” She said, pointing to her injury, “I thought Indy and I traded your ass to Jet Set for a crate of canned spaghetti?” “You did. He regretted the deal.” Sugarcoat said, slowly approaching her former classmate. “So, what? You come here to take revenge on me? For something you would’ve done if the positions were switched?” “No, I came here looking for supplies, idiot. I couldn’t care less about your made-up grudge. I never wanted to see you again in my life. But then you kidnapped Lemon Zest.” Neon smirked beneath his sunglasses, “Her? That bitch is still alive? Thought she got vaporised with the rest of the city.” “She didn’t. Where is she? Tell me now and I won’t set fire to your stash of meat.” Sugarcoat threatened, pointed to the freezer – now open, and doused with a frat party’s worth of booze. “Fuck you I don’t know.” Neon spat, struggling against the bolt. “Last chance, tell the truth.” Sugarcoat said, producing a lighter from within her coat. “That is the damn truth… Now die!” He said, sliding downward, snapping the bolt off the wall, ducking under Sugarcoat’s shot, lunging forward with his razor. Sugarcoat ducked, stumbled back, caught a swipe with the crossbow, tossed both weapons, landed a hasty punch, grabbed her spear. The two teenagers stood seven feet apart, one staring down the knife-edge of the spear, the other staring down the bad end of a gun. “Your move, cunt. Bet I can shoot faster than you can stab.” “Don’t try. Your revolver isn’t actually loaded.” Neon wiped a smear of blood from his lip, “Sure it is. Checked it this morning. One in the chamber, two right next to it just in case that green-haired moron shows up for seconds. So, put down my stuff, drop your stick and put your hands up. Maybe I’ll let you live. As my sla-” “The second bullet’s a fake. That’s clearly a rock you jammed into the chamber. Pulling the trigger wouldn’t do anything. Judging by your incompetence with everything else, the other ones are too.” “Shit, is it really that obvious?” Neon said, looking down the barrel of his pistol. Sugarcoat promptly stabbed him in the chest. The boy reflexively clenched his fist, blowing his head off. “Yes. Maybe don’t be a psychopathic idiot in your next life, see how that works out.” Sugarcoat said, pocketing the gun and straight razor, before lighting the stack of corpses on fire. She left the building more decrepit than she entered it: The once-impressive Roaman-style architecture now blazing an orange glow, the antique furniture and dried-out bodies more than enough fuel for the cleansing conflagration. Columns collapsed and screams – thankfully too deep to be Lemon’s – rang out as she fled the burning ruin, narrowly escaping a falling four-poster bed. “Never am I doing that again.” She muttered, once safely outside. “No, you won’t be.” A voice said, and Sugarcoat felt something wicked sharp, cold and shiny lying on the back of her neck. “Indigo Zap. How nice to see you again.” “Why’d you set my house on fire, Sugarcoat?” “I don’t approve of cannibalism. Come to think of it, I don’t really approve of somebody trying to cut my throat open with a bowie knife either.” “Neon was in there, you know. I think you killed him.” Indigo said, walking around until she was in Sugarcoat’s view. The girl was not looking good. Like her partner, she too wore a tattered leather trenchcoat, and her formerly peach-coloured skin had taken on a sickly green hue. Her eyes were sunken and bagged beneath her signature goggles, and her teeth were stained yellow, filed to nails. Her tongue was fat, bloated red, and she ran it over her fangs, eagerly awaiting her coming meal. “So, what is it? You going to say sorry, or should I slit your throat?” “Neon killed himself by picking his nose with his own gun. I simply got to watch.” “You can’t lie for shit. You killed him!” Indigo yelled, pressing her knife deeper into Sugarcoat’s flesh. “What happened to Lemon? Where is she?” Indigo shrugged, “I tied her up somewhere becauss screw you." She said, and spat in Sugarcoat's face, "But do you really want those as your last words, Sugarcoat? Aren’t you going to beg for your life?” Sugarcoat raised an eyebrow, “Would it help?” “No. But it’d be fun to watch. Make some asshole beg for mercy like we used to do. Remember that? You and me, holding that poor shithead hostage, that pig of an alumni, making him beg for us not to kill his wife and kid?” “Tell me where Lemon Zest is. I know you know, I saw your footprints next to the tracks on our bike.” Sugarcoat asked again, trying as hard as she could not to look as terrified as she was. “How were you so sure those were my prints? Loads of people wear Pintoguayan racing boots. Even Spitfire does, well she did, before the world went to shit. She doesn’t now though, ‘cause I stole her pair after she set fire to mine.” “Yes, I know that. You carved your name into the soles. I really thought you of all people would know that ‘Indigo’ isn’t spelled with a Y. But, then again, Ponish was never your strong suit. It’s amazing that you were even let into Crystal Prep, let alone the Friendship Games, considering how you can’t read properly.” “Stop. Right. There.” Indigo commanded, her blade drawing a thin line of blood across Sugarcoat’s throat. “You’re going to kill me. What difference-” “You’re fucking right I’m gonna kill you! I’m gonna make you beg for death. And then, once I’ve cut your stupidly clear skin off and made you eat it, I’m gonna kill your stupid friend too! I’m gonna go straight to the hangar where she’s tied up and drag her here and burn her face right off her skull!” Indigo screamed. “Airplane hangar. Got it.” Sugarcoat said, kneeing her former teammate between the legs. Indigo gasped, and dropped her knife. Before she could pick up the weapon, Sugarcoat kicked her in the face, and kicked her again before she could start picking her teeth out of the ash. She then beat her a few times, with the blunt side of her spear, not too worried if the hook tore anything on its way out. Once the Shadowbolt was sufficiently maimed, and disarmed, and tied and gagged to a lamppost, Sugarcoat went off to find her actual friend. A few blocks of torn-up street later, Sugarcoat came to a small hangar – it contained a jet plane, stripped of anything of use, and it contained Lemon, stripped of anything at a save for her blindfold. “I’m back, Lemon! They’re all dead.” Sugarcoat announced, walking over to Lemon, untying her from the plane’s wheels. “Thank you thank you so much.” Lemon said, hugging her friend. “You’re welcome. Let’s get out things and get out of here. I have everything I need.” “Got it. Thank fuck those bastards are dead. I mean, all three of them were like the worst people I ever met.” She sobbed as her friend collected her clothes – and the bike – from a nearby workbench. Then, as Sugarcoat was helping Lemon Zest back into her now-unrecognizable Crystal Prep uniform, she stopped. “Wait, Lemon?” “Yeah, Su? What?” “How many people did you say were here?” “Three. Indigo Zap, Neon Lights, and Jet Set. I didn’t see Neon though, but Indy said he was busy getting… toys.” “Stay here. Jet Set is still alive.” “I’m not staying; the last time you said that he kidnapped me. I mean, they were going eat me alive. That's worse than Stygian.” “One, I don't know who that is. Two, if you can figure out how to put your shoes on without me, so you don’t freeze to death, feel free to come along.” Sugarcoat said, unfolding her spear, looking around the gloomy hangar. The cavernous room held little, save for cobwebs, the plane, and the pair of girls. A few tools lay scattered in one corner, as did some clothes, and a tattered Equestrian flag hung like a shower curtain behind what stank enough to be a toilet. Nevertheless, Sugarcoat patrolled it nervously, while Lemon fumbled on her outfit. The chill was picking up again, and she was growing tired. Not having slept properly in days now, Sugarcoat only felt awake due to the fear pumping through her. Jet Set had to be somewhere, and he had to die before she could fall asleep. Driving was an option, yes – but trying to rest in under the stars would be suicide if she was found. Eventually, Sugarcoat’s tiredness gave in, her adrenaline rush ran out, and the gnawing hunger returned. She returned to her friend, tied her shoes, and then both sat down for dinner. “I think he’s gone, Lemon. Either that or he’s hiding somewhere else.” “Alright. What’s for supper tonight then? I could really go for some sushi right now. Man, I haven’t had maki in ages.” Sugarcoat laughed, “Yeah, I miss that too. You know, Sunset used to work at one of those places.” “That’s why I went. Honestly, I hate fish.” “I wonder where she is now. Maybe she went back home?” “Nah, I bet she’s still here. She wouldn’t abandon her friends like that. They were a band, remember?” “Bands break up all time.” “Yeah. I guess. I had all their songs though, even that duet with the Sirens, after they made up.” “Cute chat, girls. Terribly sorry to break it up like this but I can’t just not let you share any of that food. Especially since you stole i!” Jet Set said, jumping down from the plane’s cockpit, steadying himself, then swinging a knife at Sugarcoat. She dodged death, barely, losing the rest of her ear, along with one of her pigtails. She scrambled for a weapon, only for her spear to be kicked out of her hand. It skittered across the room, leaving Sugarcoat defenceless save for Indy’s knife – all her other weapons lay behind the snob with the cleaver. “Any last words, Miss Coat? Before I kill you?” The grey-skinned boy said, swinging his knife again, landing it in Sugarcoat’s arm. She screamed, dropping the knife, clutching the gash. Lemon Zest, meanwhile, scrambled out the way, tossing a few cans of tinned vegetables behind her as she ran. One caught Jet Set on the nose, knocking off his glasses. “You bitch! How in Tartarus did you even hit that?” “I don’t know, I guess she was lucky.” Sugarcoat said, having pulled Neon’s revolver out from her coat, brandishing the useless gun at Jet Set, desperately hoping he’d fall for the bluff and let her get a real weapon. “So, my question to you is: Do you feel lucky, punk?” “How dare you call me a punk? I’ll show you what a real gun looks like!” He said, pulling a surprisingly large, but completely real, pistol out from the waistband of his slacks, “You know, I was saving this for that lying whore Upper Crust, but you’ll do just fine!” He fired the shot with a yell; half-blind without his glasses, the bullet hammered angrily into the windshield behind his intended victim. Sugarcoat shot back, and didn’t miss. “Apparently Neon Lights had two bullets after all. If only the same could be said for you. And, truth be told, I always liked Upper Crust more – she had far better taste in tacky cardigans anyway.” After dressing the cut on her bicep, and disposing of Jet Set's looted corpse, and finishing her dinner, Sugarcoat went to sleep, next to Lemon, and both girls slept as well as one could in a blighted hellscape – only mildly bothered by freakish nightmares.