Chapter Two
If you cannot fight, you must flee. Death tends to travel faster than a pony but it lacks the ability to steer. Should you find yourself against an enemy whose weapon can fire target-tracking shots, make peace with Celestia in the few seconds you have left to live.
It was as if he were standing outside for a few hours, how complete the blackness was. Except he knew he was not outside. It was too peaceful. He had no awareness of his body in physical space but his mind was at ease once again. It was almost as if he --
He regained consciousness abruptly, eyes flying open, instinctively beating his wings -- er, stumps -- while flailing his limbs in a vague running motion. With the surge of anxiety, it didn’t register to him until several seconds later that he was now tied up around his mid torso. Wrapped in a crude rope of rubber and plastic tubing of some sort, Falcon was restrained to a street light, his back bracing against the semi-rusted pole. One that was still standing, that is. Had he woken up in a more subtle manner, he would not have alerted the raiders around him to his consciousness. He was hardly going to beat himself up for a panic attack however, especially since he thought he was surely dead.
It was lighter out, marginally. It was just after dawn and the first streaks of sun were being consumed by the sickly grayish-green clouds that completely blocked the blue sky. Their brightening was the only sign the sun was rising. It was rare to actually see the fiery circle on the ground but beyond the clouds, sunrise was bright and almost cheerful, despite the most melancholy state of the world. To Falcon, it was one of the few good things in his life. The fact the sun was absent from the world below made him cringe. His life had just gotten just a tad bit darker. Literally.
As light filtered through the clouds befell the Equestrian Wastes, the raider ponies became more visible to the red pegasus. The reason they were hard to see in the dark was their black, leathery armor. It covered enough of their bodies -- upper torso, flanks and limbs -- to mute even the brightest coat in the advanced darkness of night. Falcon could only wish it could remain as such, but alas the sun bowed to no one anymore. It climbed resolute, revealing the horrible ponies in full. The armor differed a little amongst themselves. Some added pads to their shoulders and knees with crudely made spikes sticking threateningly outwards from them. Others were more morbid, adorned with blackened or fresh, red tinted bones. Skulls on the shoulders, teeth made into necklaces and other terrible decorations were the norm. And this was only Ponyville, who knows how outlandish raider fashion could get.
Falcon Wing stared wide eyed at the ponies, the normally large orange ring around his pupils tiny as he stared in shock. They stared back at him, wickedly. They were mostly milling around their turf with each other, tending to their own needs until Falcon returned from blissful nonexistence. It was with that flash of fear in his gaze that excited the bandit group and they corralled into a semicircular formation, looking like they were going to go into frenzy with the restrained pegasus being yet another hapless victim, each one vying to give the newcomer even more reason to fear the ravenous mob. “Oh why did I have to wake up?” he thought, recoiling from the advancing group as little as he could, forcing himself against the lamp post and somewhere in the back of his mind he wished he would phase through or merge with it somehow. One of the ponies further out to his sides gave a wing stub a forceful kick, their hooves sending waves of pain shooting into his spine and from there they radiated to every inch of his body. He stiffened, his pain etched on his face.
It was one thing to beat his hide, to strike him with purely animalistic ferocity. As horrible as it was, Falcon Wing had hardened himself from the abuse. Between the beatings at the hooves of other pegasi and trips to the medic, Falcon’s body became less sensitive to the pain. Blows did not hurt as much and they did not leave as much as an impression over time. He was only sore after most instances until the bullies became frustrated with the lack of response from their favored query and intensified their abuse. That one hit to his recently clipped wing was something else entirely. It was raw, a chip in his natural armor. The stubs had yet to go numb, and from his reaction, every raider present knew it.
They fought amongst themselves to land their hits like wolves fighting over a deer carcass. They kicked, shoved and in some cases bit at one another, just so they had a chance to smash their hooves against his side and send copious amounts of pain into their toy. Falcon cried out, no words conveyed on his voice. He couldn’t muster any. He only thought, “It wasn’t enough that they cut them off, now they want to turn what’s left of my wings into paste!” in between spasms of agony.
The torture continued like this for the better part of an hour. The raiders let themselves get wrapped up in the novelty of a new torture victim. Their on-the-spot sparring with one another to get another hit on their prize before they killed it and mangled it dominated their minds. None paid any attention to the affairs just beyond their playground, a very dire mistake. Lining up one of the savages in their sights was… another savage. From another group of savages. With more savages also drawing beads on their targets. Their guns strapped to their sides, triggers rigged up to battle saddles, the rival raiders kicked back and opened fire. The simultaneous gunshots were deafening. The spray of blood and gore as ponies exploded from bullets tearing through them was just awful. Between the pain and the unexpected slaying of his torturers, Falcon had no idea how to react.
“Suck on this, you dead horse-apple cunts!” a voice wailed from a much closer distance than the shooters. A unicorn filly whose pelt was a dark green in color, the mane a bright yellow, stood in the open with her horn glowing the same color as her coat. Suspended by her telekinetic magic was a missile. Strapped to her tiny body was a dingy red wagon. More missiles and other explosives were at her disposal.
Falcon’s jaw dropped once he was able to blink enough tears from his eyes to see the fiery death looming several yards down the ruined street. That was what got him to push aside the pain he felt and start making an attempt to escape. Unable to force the bindings around his midsection apart with his forelegs, he instead bent forward as far as he could, maneuvered the makeshift rope into his mouth and gnawed. Ignoring the disgusting taste of the rope, it did not take long for Falcon to free himself and get back on all fours, no longer forced to sit on his haunches. He looked back down the street to look at the young unicorn in disbelief that a mere child was a viable weapon to these ponies. What was her cutie mark going to be? A fireball? A bloody mess that translated onto her flanks as a red splotch?
He watched as the little pony sent the missile after a raider charging at her with a rusty and dented metal rod in their mouth. That pony disappeared into a bubble of flame which gave way to smoke and… innards. Falcon’s already upset stomach did loops onto itself and he nearly lost it then and there. Somehow he willed himself to start moving, seeing an escape route. It was an alley way that he could disappear into and hopefully hide away from this living nightmare. Unfortunately, it entailed running towards the psycho pony a good several feet before breaking off to the left, enough time for her to lob another explosive. Making matters worse, the whizzing of bullets became much more prevalent as the raiders under attack got their own firearms and fired back. “They are shooting with their mouths for goodness sake!” Falcon finally exclaimed to no one but himself, finding his voice as shots rang out in staccato. He wasted no more time, making his desperate dash, seeing from the corner of his eye a missile coming his way. Falcon Wing’s expression turned to dread. Instead of smashing into the debris laden asphalt behind him, the glowing missile tracked his path, curving to intercept. In a panic, the red pegasus flapped his stub wings while he ran, closing his eyes tightly.
A massive explosion threatened to blow out his ear drums. For the second time, he swore he was dead. Yet again, he was wrong. He had flown into the alley -- purely a figure of speech mind you -- ahead of the missile when a raider fired upon the filly. Their shot missed their target but struck the payload behind her. The filly was consumed in a gigantic explosion, one that threatened to level the already dilapidated structures. The missile that was once in her influence crashed into the pavement, exploding at the entrance to the alley. The concussive force of the blast knocked Falcon off the ground and sent him end over end, flying down its length, his backside somewhat singed from the intense heat. He came down hard on a wing stub and his scream was caught in his throat. His mouth was agape but only silence came from the red, pegasus-in-name-only. He did not make any move to get up. He was facing back the way he came, watching flames lick at what remained of the buildings that stood on either side of the lane. The fires danced in his eyes.