Chapter Four: Waking Nightmare
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The pharmacy’s rear entrance was unsecured; she pushed against the door opening it just enough to test for unwanted sounds. The door hinges did not make a peep and that gave her confidence enough to push it open a little more, and a bit more still, until the gap was adequate enough to allow Commander Shepard to take a tentative peek inside. The moon provided a pitiful amount of light through the windows and even with her eyes adjusted to night it was difficult to make out exact details of the interior.
Her ears swiveled side to side listening for any indication of habitation. It was an odd sensation to feel her ears capable of pivoting without requiring her to move her head, but for the moment she just went along with it. The creaking of wood as the building settled under it weight was the only thing audible for the moment, but still it sparked her nerves. She doubted that there was anything to fear in the dark, but experience said that she couldn’t lower her guard even for a moment. As even the most innocuous of places could be where monsters could be hiding. The kind of nightmarish creatures that loved to wait in the dark corners of the cosmos, planning and waiting for a chance to claim another victim.
Walls damp with organic growth, slick with slime and blood.
A wasteland choked by thousands of bodies waiting processing; their ooze slurping through mazes of pipes and pumps for an alien design.
A newborn Reaper dreadnaught, carved into human form, arising from hell to gazing upon her with cold unfeeling eyes.
Suddenly there was a sensation of a hammer striking against her chest. The whole of her ribcage felt gripped by a vice, crushing under an invisible force. Her life force had begun to beat rapidly in her veins, ready to punch its way out. She stumbled, placing a hoof on her chest while her breathing was accelerating, becoming fast and shallow. The former human fell away from the door and violently slammed herself against the wall, sliding down to rest in a crouched bipedal position.
“Not again, not here!” It was hard to think. Scattered thoughts followed by waves of panic slamming against her mental walls. It had started with nightmares, the ones that plagued her daily after the Reaper occupation of Earth. The slaughter of millions of people and none more terrible than a little boy; he had died right in front of her, it was her fault that his blood was on her hands; one more added upon the countless others she’d failed to save.
“They were all my responsibility. I should’ve been ready, should’ve prepared more.” The sound of grinding enamel from clenched teeth followed as countless emotions danced across her face; from manically happy to crushing depression. The frigid air chilled her to the bone and breathing was getting harder and faster.
“If only they had listened to me. I could have convinced them sooner! My fault!” Then the shaking started as every muscle in her body trembled, almost painfully so. Her body would not respond to her will, every thought was stuck on trying to remain calm as her very physical form was rejecting her. It was shortly after the nightmares that the trembling had started. Mildly at first and nothing she couldn’t handle. Nothing she was incapable of keeping hidden from the crew.
The biotic energy flowing through her implants was starting to spiral out of control, like water leaking from a broken vase. She couldn’t keep it contained, it was growing more and more unstable and she, unable to exercise her will, started to bleed biotic power causing her to glow a faint color of purple. It had never gotten this bad before until that time in the desert.
It had occurred when she first awoke, right after discharging the energy of the Crucible. She had been gasping and writhing in pain, in this new body. Shock gave way to disbelief and soon fell to despair, cries of anger, suffering then as much then as she was now. The same pressure and loss of balance, all control over her power evaporating and it had ended in the release of a massively powerful biotic blast. A circle of devastation was all around her, she had cooked the nearby plants and animals, vaporizing them into chunks of blackened carbon.
The tragedy was that the animals had seen her distress somehow knew she was in pain, somehow she could see it in their eyes, and they had approached her. Whether out of curiosity or concern she would never know. For their reward was a shallow open grave, a thin crater of ruin etched into the ground forever.
Shepard slapped herself hard across the jaw, snapping her back into reality.
She remained immobilized in that spot for a long time just breathing; in and out. Only when she was confident that the situation has settled did she open her eyes. She couldn’t remember when she had fallen against the wall over a dozen steps away from the pharmacy door. She sighed in relief when she examined her undamaged surroundings. The lack of nearby activity showed she had remained quiet during her episode.
“Where did that come from?” she flexed her aching jaw, suspecting that she was going to have a bruise. Steeling herself, she rose onto shaky hooves, breathing in deep measured rhythms, “I need a vacation.”
She clutched her dog tags tightly until her limbs were steady once again. The metal nametags reminded her of who she was; an Alliance soldier, an elite N7 rank operative, and Captain of the Normandy. It was her duty to stay strong, to be a leader, and overcome every obstacle placed before her. Anderson was still out there waiting, depending on her. What would he think if he saw her now? She was better than this. The Reapers were gone; this world would never have to suffer under their oppressive shadow.
There was safety here, yet she found herself reaching to her sides and back trying to find a weapon, something, anything, familiar that spoke safety and reassurance, but there was nothing for her. All in all, the ordeal only lasted maybe fifteen seconds.
“...herd...Commander Shepard!” The mare snapped to her earbud and the awareness that Anderson had been calling her name repeatedly since the waking nightmare had begun.
“I read you, Anderson.” She answered as normally as she could.
“Shepard, are you ok?” Anderson’s voice was filled with a tone of alarm and concern clearly evident. Shepard could only dread at what she could have possibly said or moaned across the open channel.
“I’m fine, Anderson” Shepard tried to sound as placating as possible. “I’m alright. Just...bad memories.” she wiped the sweat from her forehead.
“Commander, it didn’t sound like you were fine earlier. Sounded like an ambush and you were panicked. You have never been very good at hiding your state of mind from me, so you are going to tell me what is going on.”
“It’s nothing,” she waved a dismissive hoof, and then more calmly, “I’m ok, alright. We can talk about it later, now is not the time.” A few seconds of silence followed before the dark human spoke with reluctant resignation.
“Roger, but I’m holding you to that. We will discuss this later, just be careful.”
“I will.” Shepard replied with more confidence than she felt.
Now recovered, the former human had returned to pushing the door further ajar, all the way open to expose the source of her unknown fear. Cursing the lack of a proper flashlight, she entered the pharmacy with a confident stride; the moonlight casting a long shadow behind her. Being a woman of action she took a quick reconnaissance of the room before jumping into a shadowed corner to hide her presence.
She saw that the pharmacy was cramped by all sorts of various items of furniture and decor. It looked as if the place doubled as a furniture store as well At the front of the store, to the left, there were around seven chairs arranged into a makeshift waiting room, with several columns of stacked chairs nearby. Next to that was an alcove where a flight of stairs led to the second floor. On the right were four, wood framed, spartan beds fully kitted, along with an overhead lamp, similar to ones used in dentist’s offices. A neighboring room was also filled with beds as well as piles of neatly folded sheets, pillows cases, and boxes of unknown contents.
The set beds and lamps were placed against the wall and arranged in a straight line that lead up to the centerpiece of the room which was a L-shaped service counter built out of polished wood. It smelled slightly of disinfectant and was connected to a series of shelves and glass cabinets that headed all the way from the counter around the remaining perimeter of the room and stopped just short of the, ‘waiting room,’ and alcove of stairs.
Limbs bent and belly hair tickled by her proximity to the floor, for maximum cover, Shepard was slowly and carefully crawling from her hiding place. The sound of her hooves scraping on the wooden floor seemed unusually loud. Sneaking like this leant itself to very strange feeling that up until now she hadn’t really given much consideration. Despite the newness of her body, locomotion had come to her almost as if she’d living this way her whole life.
Walking as a pony felt to be the human equivalent of crawling on her hands and knees, but crawling, as she was now, felt like she was shimmying on her elbows and knees. At least that is how her human mind translated it. A couple of theories, albeit brief, had taken their turns at attempting to explain this weird sensation as she pressed herself behind the L-shaped counter. All the drawers and sliding cabinets were easy to open since the handles were shaped to fit a hoof.
The ideal theories Shepard considered had included DNA and gene-alteration coupled with an extensive mental rewrite, or a mind-control chip, that was responsible. Such an idea suggested an external force was behind this. Possibly a scientific experiment of the sort Cerberus used to perform or it was a side effect of direct exposure to the dark energies of the Crucible. Perhaps her ability to adapt quickly was a side effect of having extensive cybernetic and biotic implants that augmented her natural abilities and allowed the manipulation of the mass effect fields, her biotics, around her body. It was all just one more mystery to add to the pile.
While such thoughts tumbled and turned, she was rummaging through all manner of oddities stuffed inside the cabinets. Cleaning chemicals and disinfectants, nothing unusual about that except the containers had a much more twenty-first century feel to them. With bright colors and star explosions boasting such feats as, ‘Cleans all known surfaces,’ ‘Kills 79.9 plus 20 percent of all germs,’ and the pièce de résistance, ‘The bestselling brand in all Equestria.’
“Equestria, huh? Another horse pun no doubt.” Shepard wondered if that was the name of the state or of the nation. Given its bold declaration her gut said it was the latter, but she couldn’t be certain. Turning from the counter cubbies to the wall mounted shelves she soon hit pay dirt and it was in the form of fresh pillows and blankets, rolled up and secured with string. She pulled two of each onto the floor next to her, claiming her prizes.
Perhaps the greatest trophy came in the form of a black medical bag, the kind doctor’s used in the old days when they still made private house calls. The bag was heavy and rattled with all sorts of instruments contained within. She eagerly removed it from storage and added it to her stash. All she had to do was open it and check its contents.
Now, Shepard had accomplished many incredible feats of skill in her time. Including tracking down serial killers, undercover operations, personally defeating three Reapers, and even surviving death twice. Yet the bag might proved to be her most significant challenge to date as all her attempts to do something as simple as opening the damned thing proved fruitless.
“Damn this wretched little bastard! So much for being acclimatized to this goddamn body” If Shepard wasn’t so worried about her unstable biotics she swore she would have tossed the satchel into the air and obliterated it with a Nova pulse. There were no clasps, locks, or zippers; the top looked like it should simply fold open, but some mysterious force kept it closed.
“This is why hands will always be superior to the hoof.” Not wanting to waste more time than she already had, Shepard chanced it by channeling a minor amout of biotic energy to her fore hooves, just enough to alter the gravitation properties of the bag with a minor Pull ability. A faint purple glow encompassed both the satchel and her hooves
Click.
Shepard gave herself mental pat on the back as the black bag was opened. Self congratulation became realization that her biotics had been the missing key required; which was an extraordinary find. Evidence that there were pony biotics in this world; it wouldn’t be the first time a species was gifted with a natural ability to use such a power. The Asari came to mind as each individual was naturally born with the gift.
The pony-human explored the contents of the bag, carefully setting each item aside as she did so and making sure to cause as little sound as possible. Inside were many familiar items; stethoscope, tweezers, scissors, three rolls of gauze bandages, surgical tape, otoscope, magnifying glass, and a miniature flashlight. Those she expected to find, next came the oddities; horseshoes, nails, a hammer, pliers, a nail file (or was that hoof file?), and...
“Is this a duckbill speculum?” Out of shock she had tried opening and closing it several times just to be sure, before feeling fully content to slide that particular piece far, far, far away from her. Sure the military required yearly physical examinations which naturally included scrutiny of such ‘private places,’ but at least scanner technology had progressed to the point that they didn’t need to actually touch anyone with such a primitive tool.
The tweezers, scissors, gauze, surgical tape, and flashlight were reintroduced to the black satchel. Satisfied with her catch, the mare was about to turn away when a gleam of moonlight off metal caught her attention. Right behind where the bag had been was a smooth metal flask; of the type popular for carrying shots of brandy or whiskey. Shepard reached out and took the object into her hooves.
Unscrewing the top she saw that the flask was filled to the brim with liquid and a quick sniff confirmed its contents. It smelled like really good whiskey, which was to say it hinted strongly of paint thinner and felt like a flame had traveled up her nose and down her sinuses. She let loose a loud sneeze, which taunted her with it clamorous echo in the silent room. On impulse she felt tempted to sample the beverage, but resisted. This was hardly the time or place for such indulgences. It had a better use as an improvised antiseptic, for which it was invaluable. She placed the flask in the black bag.
Finished with the drawers, she turned to face the arrangement of cabinets filled with medicine jars full with liquid, powder, crushed herb, or pill medications. Reading the various labels, she failed to recognize most of the names as she was not a pharmacist or a doctor by any wild stretch of the imagination. She was able to recognize a few bottles labeled, ‘aspirin,’ and another, laughably, marked ‘snake oil.’
She angled to make a reach for the aspirin, but was interrupted when the jingle of keys was followed by the rattling of a lock being undone. Sure enough there was the faint click of a door being opened at the store front, followed by the heavy set clopping of an interloper’s hooves upon the floor. Like a klaxon alarm had sounded, Shepard dropped everything she was doing and sequestered herself in the corner of the L-shaped counter, balancing herself on crouched hind legs.
“Augh, what a most miserable night.” an annoyed, yet suave male voice spoke; a deep breath followed by the door shutting. Shepard willed herself motionless and placed an arm over her mouth to muffle her breathing. Quickly coming to the realization that her only course of escape was either take the newcomer down without exposing herself or abort her mission and head back the way she came. A way which she left very much exposed as the rear entrance was still open.
“Sloppy,” she chastised, “you’re a damned idiot.” She briefly question when was the last time she had seen a manual door like the one she’d used. If the stallion in the room went to close it, he’d see her for sure. She wanted to beat her own skull in at such a careless slipup. She should’ve worried about opening that stupid bag only after gathering up everything and relocating to a safer location. if sensing her turmoil, the male began to make his way in her direction.
“Maybe he won’t notice.”
“Sweet merciful Celestia, did I forget to close the back door again.” the stallion moaned followed by a sigh.
“Damn it!”
He meandered past the counter and was headed right for the back door. As he passed, Shepard risked a peek to see who she was dealing with. The white coat and black mane were both well groomed and slicked back with some kind of hair product, also hinting of a strong scent from some unknown cologne. He was wearing a black vest and a similarly colored top hat, fitting the very description of a fallacious salesman. All he needed was a monocle to complete the set. Still, it was the horn jutting from his forehead that was the most unique quality of the male pony.
“A unicorn?” Shepard recoiled at the recognition. Here was a creature of Earth’s mythological past and something that should not have existed. She had no time to gawk at the childhood fantasy come to life, but rather a tactical assessment. The stallion didn’t appear to be armed apart from the horn, which didn’t look particularly sharp but it could still be used like a spear. He was also bigger than her in height and mass, though his muscle tone was imperceptible. His back was to her, which meant a rear attack put her in danger of a kick to the face. The only unknown was if the unicorn was capable of magic, like in the tales of old. Though she didn’t believe in magic, she recognized that if the black bag took a biotic charge to open then it was prudent to assume that the unicorn owner was the biotic of the species.
As fascinating as it was, to discover folk lore coming to life, Shepard remained steady in her spot. The stallion, she assumed to be Dr. Snake Oil, walked past her being none the wiser to the invader in his homestead.
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“Oh...Oh my stars,” Oil stuck his head out the rear door looking for something, “what is this energy I sense? A unicorn was here recently. I wonder...,” Whatever he had to say next was viciously cut off as he was struck from behind. With the reflex of a king cobra, a forelimb was wrapped around his neck and pulled him back with crushing force. While another hoof clamped over his mouth, muffling his surprised cry.
Snake Oil jerked and kicked with the ferocity of a tiger, limps flailing trying desperately to break free of his assailant. A couple of his swings connected, still the assassin remained resolute. The hooves on his mouth and neck stopped him from turning his head and meet his aggressor’s face. He groaned and sputtered trying to beg for mercy, as the pressure behind his eyes felt as if his head wanted to explode. With every passing second his vision was growing darker and darker as he struggled with the desperation of a pony facing their imminent death.
The hat fell from atop his head, rolling away as Shepard dragged him into a dark corner to complete her sinful task.
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Shepard had her arm around his neck, and had the stallion been human the Commander’s unyielding grip would have been perfectly placed to squeeze out the flow of blood through the jugular veins, starving the brain of oxygen within seconds. She never relented, her grip was tightening with every passing moment. Whether by denying the brain or lungs, she was committed to the grim ending. Time slowed to the pace of molasses as the stallion’s spirited resistance weakened.
There was one final shudder before Snake Oil fell into unconsciousness as his body went limp. Immediately the former human released her hold and carefully lowered Oil’s body to the floor. Placing an ear against the doctor’s chest, Shepard muttered a thanks of relief when the stallion had continued to breathe along with a light heartbeat.
“Sorry about this and I don’t envy the headache you’ll have when you wake up.” Shepard apologized before placing the bag of bits upon the stallion’s chest.
Balancing the sheets and blankets upon her back, Shepard grabbed the satchel in her mouth before she made a break for it, running with all her might out of the pharmacy. Steering clear of the main road Shepard retraced her steps back the way she came and emerged clear of Appleloosa. She now had what she’d come for and it was time to report back to the Admiral.
She had considering a slight detour to collect her armor, but decided that it could wait until morning. Anderson needed her now.
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“It’s about time, Commander.” Anderson greeted upon her return. He waved a hand over several pieces of baking yucca fruit over a small campfire.
“Your welcome.” Shepard tossed him the doctor’s satchel from her mouth, before shaking off the sheets and blankets. “What’s with the fire? Did the patrol move on?”
Anderson nodded an affirmative
“They stampeded off further to the east. They weren’t subtle about it, I could feel the vibrations in the ground from here. Since then, nothing.” He then pointed at the fruit “I already checked the fruit, it should be edible enough.”
Helping herself to a piece, Shepard proceeded to fill the hole in her stomach. The fruit was sweet like molasses with a fig kind of taste.
“What happened, Commander?” He unbuckled the black armored vest he had been wearing, pulling it over his head. The action was stilted as he was still in pain and lightly shaking from heat loss due to prolonged exposure to the frigid night air.
“I was nearly spotted by the good doctor.” The vanguard pony said in between bites. “There is no need to worry, Anderson. I just knocked him out and I’m certain he didn’t get a clear look at me.” She finished off her meal, “Plus, I left him the money as compensation.”
“Nothing is ever simple with you, is it?” The Admiral shook his head. He removed the military jacket followed by his undershirt exposing his whole torso, still quite muscular and toned for his age despite a small paunch. His dog tags were still around his neck and gave quick jingle.
“It`s a gift.” She smiled though it didn’t reach her eyes as she took stock of Anderson’s chest. A myriad of scars, some young and some old, decorated him in a nonsensical pattern. A long healed gunshot wound was also displayed just under the collar bone on his heart’s side. Shepard was curious as to how and where he’d received such a near fatal blow, but she didn’t ask.
Her important concern was the crimson hole on Anderson’s lower torso, the left side specifically. The wound she had been forced to inflict upon him with a handgun, courtesy of the Illusive Man’s attempt to mind control them both. A single bullet, the size of a grain of sand accelerated to supersonic speed, hadn’t simply punched a hole through his gut, it had left a shredded mess of human hamburger. His combat vest was the only reason he hadn’t had his whole side blown off. Thankfully it had not begun to bleed again, but how Anderson had lasted this long with such a grisly wound was a goddamn miracle.
“Thank someone for small favors.” she mused.
Anderson cut two square patches of gauze and lightly soaked them with the amber colored alcohol from the flask. Shepard, positioned behind the Admiral, accepted one of the moist wipes and started to gently clean the exit wound. There was a soft touch on his back, not from the soaked gauze, but rather it was the feeling of her other hoof upon his back. He found it hard to describe what it felt like, certainly nothing like what he imagined a horse’s appendage to be. In three words, Anderson would categorize it as, ‘soft yet firm.’ It felt warm and comforting, more of the latter as it was coming from a trusted friend.
The Commander applied only the lighted of pressure necessary in tending to the wound as to cause him as little distress as was possible. Still, a grunt of displeasure rumbled from his throat from time to time. The pair was quick to clean the dried blood out and sterilize the wound; switching for fresh wipes as needed.
Afterwards, Anderson’s wound was secured in gauze, the two of them trading off the roll as it was wrapped around him. They hoped it would be enough to keep Anderson out of danger from contracting some alien disease. They would have felt a lot more optimistic about it if a significant amount of time hadn’t already passed by this point. Now it was a gambler’s game of chance.
After the Admiral redressed, the two of them extinguished the fire, gathered their supplied and had made a quick dash to a new location. They jogged for several minutes before they had located a grove of rocks arranged in a semi-circle. Bunking down for the night, the two had wrapped themselves in the sheets and blankets, staying in close proximity to share body heat. Silence reigned between them, neither having anything of importance to say. That is until Anderson lifted up the nearly empty flask.
“Commander.”
“Admiral.”
“Care for a drink?” he handed the flask off to Shepard. She, in turn, silently nursed the flask for a few moments. Stirring the contents around before lifting it to her lips and took a shot.
The whisky was powerful, overwhelmingly strong to the point of hilarity. Surely anyone who was willing to voluntarily pour the liquid down their throat deserved to be laughed at and ridiculed. There was also a heavy taste of apples, which would’ve been nice to the palette if said apples were not being deep fried in the blazing inferno of a starship’s reactor core. She could have sworn she snorting twin bursts of fire out of each nostril.
Somehow she managed to completely it without spraying a jet of it all over the place. The experience of her throat being cooked, however, reduced her into an involuntary fit of violent coughing.
“Very smooooth...” she squeaked like a Turian who’s jewels had been kicked in.
“It must be really good stuff. By the way, Commander, I have to ask. How are you doing that?” Anderson pointed at her.
She handed, or maybe she should start thinking of it as hoofing over, the flask back to Anderson who also took a shot of the volatile liquid. In a repeat performance he coughed and wheezed just as badly as she had.
“I was expecting something with a little more kick.” He wheezed, and they both laughed. Soon after, they both laid their heads down and slept.