The Slow Mutants

by Doctor Fluffy


05: The Passenger

Slow Mutants

05

The Passenger


Get into the car
We'll be the passenger
We'll ride through the city tonight
See the city's ripped backsides
We'll see the bright and hollow sky
We'll see the stars that shine so bright
The sky was made for us tonight
The Passenger, Iggy Pop

Night
Somewhere in Washington State?
Or Oregon?
I don't even know anymore

I’ve been keeping to the woods for the past couple days, and, going by some of the landmarks I’ve seen, the few signs I’ve found when I got too close to a road, I’m near Yakima. I’ve had to eat grass. I don’t mind… much. I’ve had to eat grass before.

It’s not good, and it makes me feel almost like I could become one of the Ferals any day now, but… what can you do?

I’m enjoying a rare sense of certainty here, even without knowing in which exact State this is all happening.

I can’t exactly walk all the way. I need a way out. The most logical thing to do is find a train. It’s not like I can afford airfare without tons of ID that I simply do not have. 

But then, where’s a train station?

My best guess was going to be Seattle, but Yakima’s closer. And I…

My stomach growls.

I’m feeling really hungry right about now.

Thankfully, there’s a meadow not too far away. 

It’s not the first time I’ve eaten grass, you know? But… it doesn’t mean I like to. I’d prefer vegetarian dishes or something, maybe meat. It doesn’t go down well, but I can do it. 

But I’m just.

So. 

Hungry.

I stagger into the open field. And I start eating. It’s scrubby, tall, thin, and tastes incredibly chalky, but… Well, it’s something. Somehow, it’s even worse than the fields I’ve eaten from. I hate it.

Sitting here, chewing on this scrubby not-quite-desert grass, something hits me.

This is stupid.

It can’t be!

But–

But I’m just going to what, cross the country? By myself? Darn it.

Even if I gallop as fast as possible, which is somewhere near twenty kilometres per hour, that doesn’t change the fact that America is big. Bigger than anything from back home in Britain. Getting there could take…. Okay, not years, but… months. Uncomfortably close to a whole year.

Maybe I could last that long without becoming a full Newfoal. But…

The simple fact is, I don’t want to rely on that. I haven’t been able to rely on staying sane this long. Whoever this man is–

Wait.

Suddenly, getting up feels much harder.

What was my plan again?

I think it over. 

A man allied with ponies and opposed to the Empire. But not PHL. In the east.

I… I feel like that should be a hint. But I just… I don’t know. I know so little about it! And here I am, alone. In the middle of Washington State. Or Oregon? Eh, probably Washington. It all just seems so insurmountable, and it almost makes me miss being with Shieldwall.

In my nice, comfy bed, happy, safe, with something to do. It could only be better than being alone in a field and then dying in an unmarked grave thanks to the HLF. Or worse, going Feral–

I shake my head.

No. I’m not doing that. Like hell I’m doing that!

I have to go. I have to go now. So, I keep trotting through the field. I need to find somewhere to rest, though.

Every journey begins with a single step,’ I tell myself.

Which should be profound, but it’s actually something I remember from a fortune cookie. I was so confused when I got a fortune cookie with advice instead of an actual fortu–

It is at that moment that Chandler’s Law strikes with a metallic click.

Oh, no.

I can’t recognize the model and I seriously doubt that anyone is so good with weaponry that they could immediately recognize what kind of gun has been pulled on them, just based on the sound. But that is definitely a gun, and it has definitely been pulled on me. Close enough.

Someone is nearby.

I freeze like a deer in the headlights for a second.

Oh no oh no oh no–’

And yet, heh, deer… I’ve met some very special deer...

Trying to stay as silent as possible, I trot away from the voice. I can’t let them find me. Can’t let see me. 

Something rustles in the bushes. I’m trying to stay quiet. Trying not to be noticed as I make my escape.

You can’t trust humans, a voice whispers to me. ‘They’ll kill you. Like they always will, like they always have, like this is why you should give in and no no stop, stop bucking STOP–’

I trot four inches. It feels like a mile.

Suddenly, there is a ghastly noise, ringing in my ear, and everything is illuminated like the middle of the day in a plume of fire.

He shot at me, I marvel.

“That!” a woman yells, “was a warning shot! I know you ain’t no deer, wolf, coyote, whatever. No sudden movements with your hooves, no magic, or I shoot you where you stand!”

Everything’s bright again. For a moment, I panic. Has he shot me again? Am I dead? But, no. It’s just a flashlight.

“Walk towards the light so I can see you,” the woman says. “But hey, run away or attack me like an idiot if you want. No skin off my back.”

She laughs, uncertain. And I have a single clear thought.

I can use that.

It’d be easy. It might even mean I survive the night. But… maybe it wouldn’t? And besides. It just wouldn’t be right.

This sort of thing has happened to me so often that I know exactly what to do. 

I walk up on all fours, looking down so she can see my horn plainly. Through the flashlight I can just barely see the person threatening me. They’re… well, they look like they’d barely be older than me before I ponified. Back when I was…

How old was that?

She’s got dark hair, and she’s about 176cm tall. She’s holding a cheap-looking pump-action shotgun with a flashlight attached. Weirdly, it doesn’t look like it has an ejection port on either side.

“Slowly,” she says.

I am going slowly, but it never ends well to argue with the person holding a gun to you. I’ve seen it.

“Alright,” the woman says. “Stop.”

I see her looking me over.

“Callie!” someone says. “I heard shots, what’s going o–”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a dark-skinned man who also has deep black hair, along with a well-trimmed beard, sunglasses, and a baseball cap. He’s also carrying that American rifle. An M4 or M16. I forget which. It’s also got a flashlight, but he hasn’t turned it on.

“Oh,” he says. “You found a pony.”

“Yeah, Dimitri,” ‘Callie’ says. “Way to point out the obvious.”

This is it,’ I’m thinking. ‘I’m dead.

Dimitri looks me over. “Looks like a unicorn, y’know? Yellow fur, kind of a red mane, and…”

His voice dies in his throat.

“Ohhhhh, shit,” he says.

Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no. HE FOUND IT!

“Dimitri…” Callie says. “What are you-”

“She has no mark,” Dimitri says, his voice hard. “How about–”

“HLF unmarked me!” I practically scream, like someone who has just suffered a concussion and has only just now remembered the date after panicking. “They, ah… Look, I was held by some bad people not long ago, they, they tortured me, they cut off my marks, and everyone thinks I’m a Newfoal because of it so I’m out here cold and hungry and I’m gonna die, just as I found it out, and I’m dead, I’m so d–”

Dimitri stares at me, a look of concern on his face. He nods. “Damn. I’m sorry to hear that,” he says. “Look, I’m staying at Callie’s house for the night. We can get you some food, she has this great cor–”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Callie says. “Unmarking leaves a U-shaped scar.”

She looks over at me.

“And hers are blank like a foal’s,” she continues. “A very young one. And, well, ‘young’ can also mean new.”

She sounds almost like she’s gloating. She shoulders the shotgun and points it at my face. Dimitri staggers back, gasping.

“You could almost say they’re blank like,” she says, “a new foal’s.”

“Wait!” I protest, rearing up, both forelegs held out. “Just… just let me explain.”

“Why?” Callie asks. 

My mind races. I can’t overpower them. I can’t run away. I can’t teleport. Okay, maybe I can teleport, but I can’t rely on it. So I can’t teleport.

“I…” I start. “Both of you have me at gunpoint. I’m pretty much fff…”

I try to hiss the word.

It doesn’t come.

“Frigged,” I finish. Not what I hoped for, but close enough.

Dimitri looks at me. His assault rifle doesn’t budge, but he looks less… less something. Less ready. 

“Continue,” he says. There doesn’t seem to be emotion in his voice, even though I feel like there should be.

“Look,” I say, staring at Callie’s flashlight, even though the shotgun has moved. Or… no. Callie has. I can almost reach out and touch the barrel. “I… got unlucky. Some PER hit me with a vial of slow potion not long ago.”

“Walking dead,” Callie says, no emotion in her voice. “Nasty.”

“So why didn’t you start with that,” Dimitri says, a forced calmness in his voice. He doesn’t make it sound like a question. 

“Hey, everyone!” I say. If every ounce of the venom I put into this sentence could kill, the two of them would be melting on the ground. “I’m the pondscum of the war, and everyone sees me as a borderline Typhoid Mary! I need help, despite the fact that most of us are literally programmed to ponify you or kill you however possible!”

Callie just stares at me, face unreadable.

“Okay,” Dimitri says. “You… raise a good point. How long?”

I don’t know what she means here. How long have I got? How long has it been?

So I tell them the most convincing thing I can.

“It wasn’t that long ago,” I say. “During that PER attack in Quincy. I… they got me. Dragged me into that base. I managed to escape, barely.”

“So…” Callie says.

“So I…” I start. “I need somewhere to stay for the night. So I can get on my way.”

“And that would be to?” Callie asks. The gun is ever so slightly lower.

“I know it’s probably impossible, but…” I say. The words catch in my throat. “Something rescued me. Told me that there was… someone in the east. That they could help.”

“Help how?” Dimitri asks.

“I don’t know,” I say. “Slow it? Reverse it? I just…”

I feel my cheeks burning.

“I want to go back,” I say. “God, oh Jesus, oh God, I want to go back, I want to be me again, I just want to be me again! I miss my mom, I miss my dad, I just… want… stop! Just Dear God, make it stop!”

I can feel my eyes watering too. Everything hits me in a torrent of emotion.

“...We’re taking her in for the night,” Dimitri says. 

“Are you crazy?!” Callie asks.

Dimitri walks over to me, and places both hands under me. I feel myself lifting, inch by inch. He’s… Good Lord, he’s strong..

I can’t see everything he does next – angles, you know – but I am certain he is staring at Callie as he does it. I am certain he is giving her a flat stare. 

“Stop me,” he says flatly.

“Hey!”  Callie yells. “Look, she’s a Newfoal, she’s dangerous, she’s…”

But she does not move.

I don’t know how long we walk.

“It’s mostly built from converted shipping container,” Dimitri says, as he points to a nearby house. “Callie’s family didn’t have the money for…”

“Wait,” Callie says, and chuckles slightly. “I had money? When did that happen?”

“The struggle’s real,” Dimitri says as we head through the scrubby grass. Towards a scrabbly dirt road.

I look down, and see the silhouette of a house. Oddly boxy house, too. It’s lit by glowing blue algae-lamps. They’re a PHL innovation, made in part by some earthpony engineer. Expensive, but there’s no battery, no electricity costs. There’s concerns about magic, about maybe getting the Rot from it, but I’ve never believed that magic can get you sick. 

Then again, it’s not like I’ve known enough humans long enough to tell.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask. “What… what makes you–”

“You looked like you needed help,” Dimitri says. “Just watch out for Kenshiro, though,” he adds as he sets me down in the spare room.

“Who’s Kenshiro?” I ask.

“You’ll find out in the morning,” Dimitri says. “What’s your name, anyway?”

I think about it.

“Hope,” I say. “My name is Hope.”


That Next Morning

“MRMPHLPHLRPHRM!” 

I pull myself out from the mass of fur and muscle that has just jumped on me. I can see it has a wide bear-like face, pointy ears, is colored kind of dark...

“Why do you have a bear in here?!” I hiss.

“...That’s Kenshiro,” Dimitri says. “Say ‘aroo,’ Kenshiro!”

Kenshiro makes a noise that is not quite a howl or a bark or a growl. It’s sort of like a “Gruwr.” And I see that Kenshiro is a very large, rather tawny… husky? He is so large, in fact, that he is actually bigger than me.

“Where do you even get a husky this big?!” I yell, as Kenshiro lays his head on my barrel.

“He’s a malamute,” Dimitri shrugs. “And he’s from Thailand.”

I stare at him. “Wha… wait. Really? Why do they have giant malamutes in Thailand?”

“No idea,” Dimitri says. “Life is just funny sometimes.” 

I don’t know what to make of Dimitri. There’s just… this feeling that he follows his own logic, except now and then he’ll say something like that.

“...So,” I say, trying not to think too hard about the inexplicably Thai malamute that thinks I am the best pillow ever. “Now what?”

“What do you mean?” Dimitri asks. He sits on the bed, running fingers through Kenshiro’s fur.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I say. “I was going to just head out and-”

“There’s something we’ve gotta do first,” Dimitri says. “It’s very important.”


I’ve seen things you wouldn’t believe, people. None of which, mind, were attack ships off the shoulder of Orion. But I have seen bits of spillover from Equus to Earth – plants and animals that have found a new ecosystem. Poison Joke growing here and there, for example.

There’s something about that last part that bothers me. How do I know it’s Poison Joke?

I’ve seen cannibalism. I’ve seen people throw children to ponification or to the Barrier just for the chance to escape. I’ve seen a squad of dedicated earthpony geomancers turn a hill into a golem and watched it rip through human defenses until someone sniped through them. I’ve seen footage of the Crucible. The flooding of Venice. I was in Cyprus when Viktor Kraber shot Heliotrope. I was there when he nearly captured Pinkie Pie. I’ve seen the Elements in battle. I survived the whole of the Purple Winter.  

And yet I am completely unprepared for the important task that Dimitri’s persuaded me to stay and undertake. Something completely outside my frame of reference.

A family breakfast in Callie’s home. 

There’s Dimitri, sitting over at one end of the table next to Kenshiro... who sits in a chair at the table, eating some waffles and sausage off of his plate. Nobody seems to think there is anything odd about this. 

Callie sits next to a tall, well-built, man with a slight tan, dark brown hair, sunglasses, and a black stetson. He likes like a Lemmy cosplayer. Next to them are two kids, a boy and a girl.

“It’s good to see the other Indian around,” the tanned man says.

“...Dimitri’s Indian?” I ask. “What tribe?”

It’s at this point that Dimitri and Tom solemnly look at each other and burst into laughter.

Callie just groans, burying her face in her hands…. Even though she is clearly trying not to laugh too. “Can’t we just let that die?”

“I’m going to go with noooo,” ‘Tom’ says. 

“Wait,” I say, holding up my forelegs. “What happened?”

“It’s sort of a college joke, y’know?” Dimitri asks. “Mom kept pestering me to go to the Indian support group, and…”

“Well, I ended up there,” Tom says. “The look on his face–

“Tom,” Callie says. 

“No, no, he’s right,” Dimitri says. “You know what they say. Comedy is tragedy plus time.”

And suddenly it makes much more sense. “Ohhh, I get it! You’re–”

“Punjabi, yes,” Dimitri says, pushing Kenshiro away from his plate. “Ken… Ken, no, you already had breakfast!”

Ken makes sort of a whine-growl that makes it absolutely clear he does not believe it has been ‘enough breakfast’.

“So,” Tom asks, “Hope, is it?”


My fur stands up. My eyes dart all over the room.

“I... “ I start. “Yes. Yes I am.”

“Friend of D’s, huh?” Tom asks. “How long have you known each other?”

“I’m… I might be able to help you out. I’m on the trail of something interesting.”

“What are you?” I ask. “Detective? PHL?”

“No,” Dimitri says. “I’m… a podcast journalist. I investigate weird stories from all over the country, usually around the Pacific Northwest.”

I snort. “Like Bigfoot?”

“Nah. Not Bigfoot,” Dimitri says, shaking his head. “Besides, Bigfoots dissolve into swarms of butterflies when they die, which is why nobody’s ever seen a Bigfoot corpse. It’s just common sense.”

“I can’t tell if you’re kidding,” I say.

“No, it makes perfect sense,” Tom says. 

“Except for the fact that it’s a Seatco, not Bigfoot or whatever,” Callie says. “Honestly.”

“So,” I ask, “What are you looking for?”

“I’m going to find,” Dimitri says, “the last of the Ambassadors.”

You could hear a pin drop. Tom, Callie, those two foals kids are openmouthed. A piece of sausage drops from Tom’s fork, onto the floor. Even Kenshiro seems a little surprised, momentarily looking at me with no small amount of confusion.

“This,” Dimitri says wryly, “Is the part where you say ‘the Ambassadors are a myth’ or something, and I say–”

“Hell, D,” Tom says. “We all know they’re not a myth! But them surviving this long? They’d have to be dead now, or catatonic.”

“That’s what they said about Amanda Pellick,” Dimitri says. “And yet. Here we are.”


The rest of breakfast was a blur, but here I am – showered, shampoo’d, washed up, and ready to leave the reservation.

I’m still thinking it over. The Ambassadors. I thought they were all dead. To be perfectly honest, I’d hoped they were. And sometimes I’d even hoped they’d gone painfully.

“The Ambassadors,I say, as Kenshiro and I move in to the back of Dimitri’s truck. Kenshiro comfortably sits on a mattress in the back half of it.

I have to admit. I’m… honestly surprised at how he’s modified the truck. The back half is now a small cabin

  I cannot tell you what emotion I am expressing at this moment.

“Yeah,” Dimitri says. “Exactly.

In the days where Equestria had only just collided with our world, there’d been a lot of experiments to establish contact, to let us see the wonders of Equestria. There were suits lined with an anti-thaumic material which allegedly corroded too fast, there were magic bubbles that failed for obvious reasons…

… And, not long after they developed the Drink, they came up with a temporary potion. It’d let you spend a short period of time as a pony. A few hoof-picked specially chosen humans would take it, visit Equestria, and come back with incredible tales of magic, wonder, and peace in the wake of the only continent-spanning war  in close to a thousand years.

And then they’d become human again. This is where, apparently, the story gets murky. Out of thirty-six Ambassadors, thirteen re-ponified, nine were killed by angry mobs, six suffered bizarre and inexplicable fates such as finding small holes disappearing from their body whenever they went to sleep, spontaneous combustion, and giving birth to a Newfoal, while one was inexplicably killed by a falling goat. The remaining seven vanished entirely, with no explanation.

“So,” I say, “If this doesn’t get us anywhere-”

“Don’t look at it like that,” Dimitri interrupts, as the truck rumbles along a road that I’d swear is dirt, but no, it’s just that poorly-maintained. 

“Why?” I ask.

“Well, to quote Dostoevsky,” Dimitri says, “To live without Hope is to cease to live.”

I snort. “Dude.”

Dimitri takes his eyes off the road for a second, and looks at me. 

“Alright, fine,” he says. “Bad joke.”

We sit for a few more minutes or hours on the road. We are, of course, listening to a podcast, something from the audio drama boom about five years back. I miss being able to use touchscreens. I’ve heard some ponies can do it, but there’s a number of reasons I haven’t been around any who can provide instruction.

“You know,” Dimitri says, “I’ve been thinking. About your story.”

“What?!” I ask. Old survival instincts kick in.  I’m trying to come up with a way to survive opening the door and jumping out.

Any second now.

“Who… actually told you that there was someone in the East that could help?” Dimitri asks. “Because that’s… pretty vague.”

I shrug in the W shape that most ponies can do. “It’s all I can go on.”

“Well,” Dimitri says, “‘East’ is pretty vague. There’s only… maybe three, maybe four candidates I can think of for what they’d mean.”

I nod. “Go on…”

“First is Daniel Romero,” Dimitri says. “He’s… conducting some kind of research on Newfoals, off the coast of Maine.”

I nod. Of course I’ve heard of Daniel Romero. HLF man from the Spader side of the Split, who’s been called a pirate by some, even has a Thunderchild-class ship anchored off the coast of Maine. It’s rumored that he has more, but that seems… questionable. I’m really hoping it doesn’t mean I have to go that far. 

“What kind of research?” I ask.

“Interviewed him once,” Dimitri says. “Says he’s looking for a cure. No word on whether or not he’s going to find one, but he seems to have more faith in it than the PHL.”

It’s impossible not to detect some bitterness in his voice.

“Best way to get to them is probably to find the Reavers,” Dimitri says. 

“So, get to the Great Lakes,” I say.

Dimitri nods. “Exactly. There’s also the Bellweather Newfoal Stable Zone in Nebraska, but–”

“You believe that horseapples?” I ask. “That’s not a research facility. It’s a bucking concentration camp.”

Dimitri very clearly wants to argue. Finally, after a minute that feels like an hour, trees rushing past, he says, “It’s a POW camp, and I actually did a report on it. Undercover.”

“Undercover,” I say.

“Well, otherwise, they would’ve lied about it,” Dimitri says. “Or just refused. Either or. But anyway, it does seem legit. They take… Good enough care. And they actually do research on Newfoals. Maybe there’s something to learn, but–”

“Not going there,” I interrupt. “Not if I can help it.”

Dimitri nods. “Fair enough. There’s also a Mystics encampment in the Colorado Rockies.”

We’re silent for a moment. Kenshiro chuffs ever so slightly.

“This is the part where you say ‘those quacks,’” Dimitri says.

The thought occurs that I would have disagreed, would have interrupted, back when I was human. But I… haven’t. I just haven’t.

That bothers me.

“Show me someone who still says stuff like that,” I say, “And I’ll show you someone afraid to get out of the house.”

Dimitri has a good laugh at that. 

“Yeah,” he says, when the laughter dies down. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“So what will they do?” I ask.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Dimitri says. “But, well, I’ve heard they go in the same odd directions as Romero’s faction. I’d be surprised if they can’t tell you anything.”

I nod. “That’s fair.”

Another silence.

The car trundles down the road. We’re heading west, now, and we’re passing by a sign that points us to a town named “Peshastin.” It’s a big motorway, and I feel more than a little unsettled being around this many people.

Sure. It’s just people in cars, but this is pretty different from what I expect.

“We’re heading up north,” Dimitri says, “Near Bedal.”

“So,” I say, “What’s the plan with this Ambassador when we get there?”

“My plan is that I capture them, and submit them for research,” Dimitri says. “There’s a PHL facility in Seattle.”

“And then?” I ask. “Like… what’s the scientific basis here?”

“There’s…. There has to be something,” Dimitri says. “It’s DNA that’s changed from human to pony and back. If they can synthesize something from his blood, or perform tests on him, or…”

“So,” I say, “You’re running on comic book science.”

I regret it the minute the words come out of my mouth. I’m not trying to be a… an… as… I’m not trying to be as...s…  as insensitive as I sound. I’m just feeling very tired of things like that. During the Bad Old Days, I saw plenty of people trying every method to get Newfoals back to normal. Specially-treated serum, rituals that involved surrounding someone with artifacts of their past life, spells from regretful ponies meant to look into a Newfoal’s mind and undo some of the mental blocks placed in there.

It was ineffective at best. 

At worst…

Well. I don’t want to think about it.

Dimitri glowers at me. “So what if I am?” he asks. “It’s something. It’s my last chance to see Alana again.”

“But you wouldn’t be able to see her anyway, unless–” I start.

The words die in my throat as Dimitri looks at me. And I know for a fact that whoever Alana is, she hasn’t gotten the chance to run away.

Oh,” I say.

“Yeah,” Dimitri says. “Mom and Dad are proud fucking enstablers.” 

‘Enstabler’ is a new one on me. But I get what it means. No matter what people think about us Newfoals, no matter what they know for a fact, there’s always someone who thinks there’s still someone in there.

Weird for me to say, but… Well. As far as I know, I’m the only one left. 

“We keep the pony in the barn,” Dimitri says. “Give them some feed. But…”

I stare up to him. “But she’s ponified. Not with the Slow Potion, I’m guessing. So, you have to…”

“Pretend we’re PER,” Dimitri says. “Pretend we’re happy with this. All because we love her. Pretend that I’ll get ponified.”

I stare at him, agape. “Mother of…”

I’m genuinely glad that Dimitri interrupts me, because I don’t know what would have come out of my mouth. In all likelihood I would have said “Mother of Celestia” or something.

“Why do you think I have a truck I can sleep in?” Dimitri asks. “I just. I just can’t be there. Especially knowing that she could be going Feral.”

“You think that’ll happen to her?” I ask. “I sort of hoped that was a myth.”

“You turn people into something barely sentient, something with only a few simple impulses, something that’s an herbivore and herd animal, then just forget about them,” Dimitri says, “It wouldn’t surprise me if they start acting like that.”

He sighed.

“Fucking PER. They’re worse than those PETA assholes who let lab animals go. Yes, free the animals, I get it. But setting lab rats loose isn’t too different from just feeding them to other animals,” Dimitri says. “Neither one knows how to survive unaccompanied. I mean just what the shit do they think they’re going to accomplish?”

“And like that,” I say, “You know why I didn’t want to go to Bellweather.”

“...Ouch,” Dimitri says. “Yeah, I deserved that one.”

“So that’s why you were this willing to help,” I say.

Dimitri nods. “There has to be some way to fix her. Something that doesn’t involve…”

His voice trails off, because there’s nothing more to be said and we both know it.


It’s as we’re crossing the bridge to Leavenworth that I get a sense that Something Is Off.

Traffic outbound is slowing. Before my eyes, someone makes a u-turn and merges into the other lane. I can see sirens.

What in the…” 

Right as we’re passing on to the main drag of Leavenworth, the traffic abruptly stops and we see a heavy knot of cars blocking the street. I can see police, fire trucks and other emergency vehicles here and there. A big flashing sign that says there’s trouble between Leavenworth and Cole’s Corner.

It’s not specific about what.

“...We’re not going that way,” Dimitri says, wondering. Before he sees a coffee place on the other side of a big box store’s parking lot.

Not much happens as he heads off to get some coffee.

I’m hiding in the back, but I overhear it from outside.

“So what is the delay, anyway?” Dimitri asks.

“They said there was a rockslide and bridge is out,” says the woman he’s talking to, “But Harry was up that way, and he said…”

“He said?”

“An Emission.”

There is a pregnant pause. The world stops and centers on those four syllables.

“Those shouldn’t happen this far out here,” Dimitri says, voice hollow.

“Yeah, well,” the woman says, “It did. About seven miles up, in the middle of nowhere.”

“...Shit,” Dimitri says, before clambering back in. “I brought coffee.”

“There’s three,” I say, “And one of them is just whipped cream.”

“That’s for Ken,” Dimitri says, as he pokes his head over mine, subsuming me with the massive weight of fluff.

“...Okay,” I say, as Ken gets into the backseat. Dimitri passes me some iced coffee.


The detour’s taken what feels like hours, and we’re listening to a podcast about the ERP when we finally…

I want to say smell it. Or see it. Or hear it. But somehow none of these seem to fit. We’re passing by a hill and suddenly, there it is in this valley.

The sky is a greenish-blue that reminds me of copper, and clouds so thick they look almost like solid objects hover over the mountains. Rainbow-colored lightning lances across it.

I can see things floating. Lightning strikes, and the ground splashes up like water and stays there unexpectedly.

These are, of course, just the aftereffects of an Emission. During one, the earth shakes, the clouds go red, trees warp, everything turns in on itself as wild magic that’s leaked from behind the Barrier rushes through the land. 

The earth is warped, twisted into spirals as we drive through. Plants have experienced sudden explosive growth, either exploding or suddenly becoming ridiculously, massively oversized.  Some of them even seem crystalline.

It’s pretty sobering to see. Even if humans get their victory, even if Equestria up and leaves… I don’t know if Emissions are going to go away. And I’m sure as Tartarus not going Away if Equestria does.  No matter what.

Things will never be the same for us them, and I know it.

“...Shit,” Dimitri says. “Do you think…”

He’s about to ask if I think anyone was caught inside. 

“I think we’re better off not thinking about that,” I say.

People caught in Emissions… well, sometimes they die. Sometimes they don’t. There’s PHL facilities that are around to quarantine people who get caught in them, too.

“What the Tartarus is that even doing this far away from the Barrier, anyway?” I ask. I saw an Emission catch one of the Last Ships once – it turned it into a half-molten mass of metal that looked somewhere between a tree and molten wax.

“Nothing good,” Dimitri said, the truck slowly trundling down the road.

“So,” I say, “You mentioned an Ambassador. What was the plan? Who’s this guy, anyway?”

“He went by the name of Gregory Bradich,” Dimitri says. “Apparently, he was a physicist of some kind. He volunteered to go into Equestria.”

Bradich, according to recent history, took the Flash Potion, a temporary ponification serum developed for short visits to Equestria. Some of the research he brought back from Canterlot, including the reports proving the detrimental health effects of magic on the human body, are still used to this day.

“Oh yeah,” I say. “I’ve heard of him!”

But the problem was: something would never be quite right in Bradich after the potion wore out. Regret for the Purple Winter turned to assuming humanity always had to be in the wrong, and colleagues talked about him experiencing something not entirely unlike a Slow Newfoal losing it…

And then one day during the first days of the War, he just disappeared. 

Lots of things disappeared during those first days, and there were more than a few that turned up in Equestria under a different name. Some paintings that were used as spoils of war, some beers and foods that Equestria’s businesses stole…

And Newfoals. Of course.

We all figured that Ambassadors like Bradich would be one of them.

“What makes you so sure it’s him?” I ask.

“I’m not,” Dimitri says. “But, long story short, I have a friend who has access to security cameras-”

“That can’t be legal,” I say.

Dimitri just looks at me and raises an eyebrow. “Hope. You are literally a Slow Newfoal.”

I think about literally every illegal thing I’ve done. It is a very, very, long list. I actually committed burglebezzlement once.

“Okay,” I say. “That is a fair point.”

“See, there’ve been sightings of him the woods up near Skagit,” Dimitri says. “Not enough for the police to act on, but enough to get me curious. I’m going to go up there, and I’m going to find him. I had a friend run a facial recognition script on the cameras in the store where he allegedly showed up, and….”

His voice trailed off.

“It was almost an exact match,” Dimitri says.

“What makes you think you can find him when the police can’t?” I ask.

“Well,” Dimitri says, “I haven’t broadcast it for everyone to see. Who do I look like? Terry Miles? Nic Silver?”

“Well, they’re the same person, aren’t they?” I ask.

Dimitri struggles not to laugh.

“I swear to God,” he says, wheezing slightly, “Did you listen to Leap Year Society? The editors of PNWS must’ve been saying ‘Another one?! Oh come on!’”

“Yeah,” I say, chortling a little, “Like ‘come on, we already have several Illuminati and stuff on our userbase, what even-”

“Fuck, another fucking secret society!” Dimitri interrupts, taking on an absurd Deep South accent, before relapsing into laughs. “We can’t deal with this!” 

“There’s too many fucking police reports, the reporters keep on ending up at crime scenes!” I add, and we’re both lau–

Wait.

“You actually swore,” Dimitri says, marveling. “I hope to God you manage to fix it. Because you, Hope… you’re something special.”

Something special.

Yeah.

I’ve heard things like that too many times. Every time somebody discovered I was the Last Slow Newfoal. And it was never reassuring. Shieldwall found out, and he went straight to dissection in seconds. Sugar Spice found out, and then she tried to hand me in to PHL. Then there was that time some people considered eating me.

That was…

Yeah, I’m better off not thinking about that one.

It seems like I can trust Dimitri, but… he can’t know how long I’ve been ponified. That never ends well. He won’t eat me, obviously. It was just the one time. 

But I can’t predict how anyone will react. All I know is, it’s never ended well.


It takes Dimitri about two more hours of driving to even consider getting to Skagit, and in the midst of shit-talking (‘YAY, AGAIN!’) podcasts, talking about Bradich, and more, I’m thinking about those last words every second of them.

I’m not going to tell him.

In the next fifteen minutes, something happens. We’re laughing at a podcast Dimitri managed to dig out of the ether, some absolutely hideous King Falls AM ripoff called Maisie Meadows Morning Show–

“Sweet Lord, The Lost Cat was less blatant!” I laugh. Kenshiro is poking his head between us, panting, smiling, making light barks and small howls even though he probably doesn’t understand us.

“Maybe it seems less blatant because it was honest?” Dimitri asks.

“Could be,” I say. “I mean, it wore its Night Vale on its sleeve.”

But even so. I still think, ‘You’re something special, Hope.’ Then, as we’re passing a train, I think about that sentence some more, before I speak.

“So,” I say, “What’s Bradich been doing all this time?” 

“I have no fucking idea,” Dimitri says. 

“So then why are you so sure that he’ll do anything for this?” I ask.

“Some Ambassadors,” Dimitri said, “Were shown to have a resistance to the normal amount of serum required to ponify someone.”

“The Thirteen sure didn’t,” I say.

“No, actually, some of them did,” Dimitri says. “There was another Ambassador, Yelena Volgin, who, according to the Spetsnaz team that apprehended her, had tried to potion herself three times. She eventually had to jump headfirst into a vat.”

I blink. I had not heard of that. 

I must’ve lost some control, because Dimitri nods. “Yeah, I thought so too.”

“Did it work?” I ask.

“Apparently she drowned,” Dimitri says. “But signs of ponification on her body were about fifty percent of what they would’ve been… if someone got hit with a vial. Apparently there was minimal organ damage.”

I whistle. I’m amazed I can do that with the lips of a pony.

“That’s… wow.”

“They haven’t released the body back to her family,” Dimitri says. “According to the russian government, her family doesn’t want it back, but…”

He shrugs.

“And you think Bradich has that too,” I say.

“We haven’t seen a Newfoal crowing about being one of the Ambassadors, or being a physicist,” Dimitri says. “And, well. I got the surveillance, didn’t I?”

This, I think, ‘is definitely something.

The truck merges onto a highway. Kenshiro pokes his head out between us, panting heavily. He licks behind my ears.  This is a very strange experience, having a dog that’s bigger than you. It hasn’t happened to me since I was a child a foal.

And then he goes silent.

Dimitri doesn’t notice. He’s looking at the truck’s dashboard, evidently not in a podcast mood. He’s queuing up a song from Gorillaz, using voice control.

Something doesn’t feel right. 

My horn starts throbbing. I look out the window and see a glint of something yellow, and my eyes water.

I hiss slightly. ‘Oh no, no, no, n–

“Dimitri,” I say, through gritted teeth, my head feeling like it’s been used as a battering ram, “For the love of God, floor it.”

I don’t remember the last time I felt this clear-headed. I have this powerful urge to move, as soon as I can.

“Why? What’s–”

Kenshiro starts barking into both of our faces. Shaking.

“Ken, calm down, what’s–” Dimitri starts.

“Floor it because I am a magical bucking unicorn!” I yell.

Dimitri looks to both of us, concerned, frowning slightly. The speedometer needle eases across the dial, gently, from seventy miles per hour to seventy-five–

The car shakes. I look into the mirror to see a purple flash behind us, the pavement buckling, cars being flung up onto the front bumper. Lightning in all colors arcs through clouds that hadn’t been there three seconds ago, clouds that are spiralling outward like some kind of weird backwards hurricane.

Dimitri doesn’t need to be told twice. The number 75 on the dial becomes 85 becomes 95, and the truck roars down the highway. 

Something rattles. The truck feels like it’s going to shake itself apart. Kenshiro barks like crazy. There’s a semi-truck coming up, and I brace for impact. Car crashes are never pleasant.

The world seems to slow down. The car seems to freeze as the trailer gets closer, closer–

Wait. The world isn’t slowing down. Dimitri is. 

Dimitri swerves the truck between an Audi and a semi truck that don’t seem to have caught up on what’s happening immediately behind them, moving into the passing lane with milimeters to spare, and then floors it again. 85 jumps to 100 in the space of several seconds, and the truck shoots down the passing lane like a high-caliber bullet.

I look out the window. Cars are rushing off the road, heading towards exits, trying to pick up speed. It’s a mad dash to be out of range of the…

The…

The Emission!

My eyes hurt just looking at it. It’s a bright white sphere of energy that hurts to look at, surrounded by a rainbow spectrum of light. The other lane is in panic, cars moving towards those little cutouts between lanes, going over the median, heading for exits. Those clouds spread overhead, and lightning lances down towards the grass, towards trees, towards anything.

The trees rapidly grow to absurd sizes before my eyes, doubling, tripling, even quadrupling. The road buckles. I feel the car’s rear half lift slightly, before the whole thing crashes back to pavement.

All the while Kenshiro is barking like crazy.

I hear a crash nearby. Two cars have collided, and I think there’s a pileup at our back. It’s pandemonium. 

Lightning strikes behind it. I don’t want to think about what happened to everyone behind those two crash victims. 

It’s about fifteen minutes later when the pace of the highway seems to get back to normal. When the sky is cloudless again, the sun is shining, and the emission has disappeared almost as soon as it began.

I look through the mirror. Behind me is a landscape of warped and enlarged trees, craters and strange domes that make it look like the ground has bubbled like a mud volcano, and some massive red metal thing.

“Okay,” I say, “One Emission was weird. But two?”

“Yeah,” Dimitri says, “Something is screwy here.”

An Emission this far from the Barrier? Somewhere I know for a fact that there’s PER? Somehow, “screwy” doesn’t even begin to cover it for me.


Dimitri’s hands only stop their death grip on the steering wheel once we pass a sign that reads ‘Newhalem’.

“We’re almost there,” he says, easing off the accelerator and sliding into a gravel parking spot.

Kenshiro is the first out of the truck. He bounds in front of Dimitri, and sits. He very clearly wants to receive pets.

“You okay, boy?” Dimitri asks, running fingers through the enormous malamute’s fur. Mostly so Kenshiro doesn’t feel neglected. Oh, God, he’s got me patting Kenshiro too. It’s strange doing this with hooves. I can feel it, but it’s… muffled. Like hearing other sounds while wearing headphones and having music playing.

Except with touch.

I’m not explaining this very well, am I?

Dimitri heads into the general store. I hang back, hiding between Dimitri’s truck and a baby-blue thing that looks to have survived the entire length of the Cold War.

When he comes back, here’s what he says.

“I managed to get approval for the truck to be put under MagSec so it’ll be here when we get back. They were glad for someone topping off on camping supplies, they haven’t had much busi…”

His voice trails off.

“Aw, piss,” he says.

I don’t even need to say it. Despite the alleged lack of business, there’s plenty of cars everywhere. 

Which means…

HLF.

“Well,” Dimitri says. “We’re boned.”

He heads for the truck, shoulders down.

“What?” I ask.

“I said,” Dimitri says, “We’re boned. There’s armed lunatics in these woods. A lot of which probably don’t like a brown person.”

“No,” I say.

“No?”

“No, as in, you heard that there is an Ambassador in these woods,” I say. “No, as in, we did not avoid two Emissions, have me get held at gunpoint, and drive four hours to get here to stop now. No as in, if there is any chance of getting someone with potion resistance or immunity to the science community, I am not letting it slip through my fingerlessness.”

“... Did you just say fingerlessn–” Dimitri starts.

“I absolutely just did, what’re you going to do about it?” I ask. “If there’s an HLF camp in these woods, one on the Yarrow side of the Split, we are going to drive there, and we are going to ask. If there’s someone like Bradich in these woods, they’ll be looking for him already.”

“You were white before you got ponified, weren’t you?” Dimitri asks.

“What does that have to do with it?” I ask.

“You’re so sure we can do this,” Dimitri says. “So sure an Indian guy and a pony can drive up to a bunch of mostly-white armed separatists so committed to not trusting ponies that they still haven’t formally joined with the PHL.”

“It’s also the only idea between us,” I say. “Besides, I said ‘Yarrow’ side.”

“That you did,” Dimitri says, running his hands through his hair. “You’re not wrong, are you.”

“I might be,” I say, “but again. It’s the only idea. And we’ll be heroes if we can bring Bradich in.” 

“Alright,” Dimitri says, “Well. You’ve gone and convinced me. You’re just full of bad ideas, aren’t you?”

“What are you–” I ask. I have the sense he is leading up to something.

“How’s about one more? I’m sure you’ve got room,” Dimitri says.

“Dimitri…” I say.

“I’m going to walk back into that store with you,” Dimitri says, “I’m going to see which side the storekeeper’s on. And if she’s on the Yarrow side of the split, I’ll say that I have a shipment of weapons.”

“That,” I say, “Is ridiculous. We’re going to get shot, and we’re going to die now that we’ve done this. This is the most  ridiculous bucking plan I’ve ever been part of, and there is no logical way it could ever wor–”


“I literally cannot believe that worked,” I say. The car is trundling over an ancient logging road at about twenty miles per hour.

Apparently, there’s an old logging town that some HLF used as a base nearby. It even comes with a logging railroad, one that the HLF use to save gas when they’re heading to town.

“You sure know a lot about this one,” I say. 

“I was honestly kind of surprised that the Olympia Otriad was here,” Dimitri admits. “Had a buddy who joined, but…”

His voice trails off.

“Is he okay?” I ask.

“Well, he said they were okay, but I’d go months without hearing from him after he joined,” Dimitri says. “And this was a guy that used to post memes every ten seconds.”

… I miss having a Facebook account.

The truck comes over a hill, and I see the HLF camp spread out before us. It’s a modest-looking place, compared to bigger ones like Defiance. A few quonset huts, some rough-hewn wooden cabins next to prefabs and shipping containers, and even a train station that has been helpfully marked with a wooden sign carved with an image of a steam locomotive.

There’s just one problem.

“... I don’t see any smoke,” I say. “Or anyone in there.”

Dimitri draws the truck to a stop. “This is as far as we take this thing.”

“Didn’t you want to park it somewhere safe?” I ask.

“I don’t know what could be down there,” Dimitri says. “You, Ken… you stay in the back, there. Keep quiet.”

Kenshiro chuffs slightly. I’m weirdly reminded of a military salute. Either I’m projecting or this dog is very smart.

Dimitri is just about to open the door when-

“Step out of the vehicle, and keep your hands where I can see ‘em,” someone says. “Now.

I hear the click of several rifles. 

At that familiar sound, I try to channel energy into my horn. To make a shield, to throw the truck forwards, I don’t know. But something tells me this is going to go badly.

“Who are you, anyway?” Dimitri asks. He very conspicuously does not move.

“We ask the questions,” another person says. “What’s your business here?”

“I was told the Olympia Otriad was down there,” Dimitri says, pointing towards the curiously silent HLF camp. “I was coming down to conduct an interview.”

“That,” the first man said, “was not the Olympia Otriad. We are.

“Oh,” Dimitri says. “Oh, shit.

Then a pause.

“That bitch from the general store lied!”

“Aunt Penny?” says one woman. “Yeah. She’ll do that.”

“Okay,” Dimitri says, “What the hell is going on. And why are you-”

“Again,” the first man says, “That’s not our camp. That belonged to Glanzon’s Gluemakers.”

I’ve heard of them. Apparently a mostly Swiss HLF branch, formed from some of the first people to evacuate the Barrier, uncommonly vicious.

Really, this world is better off without them in it. 

“And here they are, dead to a man,” the woman continued. “Aunt Penny was trying to lead you into a trap. But someone sprung one on the Gluemakers already. There’s something in these mountains that wanted them all gone.”

A pause. I hear someone heading for the backdoor of the truck.

I want to become invisible. Because in that moment, I know exactly what is about to happen.

“So you’ll have to excuse us,” the woman says. I hear a crinkling, clicking sound, and I try to hide under the blankets as the door flies open. “For being a bit suspicious of some guy in a truck, hiding a pony in the backseat.”

And all of a sudden there is a Kalashnikov with a strange device  mounted alongside the barrelpointed at my face, held by a hard-bitten HLF woman with about six men and women at her back, all armed, all looking like they are very ready to shoot something.

“So,” the woman continues, “The smartest thing to do would be to get out of the car, right now.”