Grassfeeder had tried to steel himself to the sight of the dozen or so dead ponies. He shouldn’t have been surprised; he knew what was going to happen as a member of the Ponification for Earth’s Rebirth. He knew he would see dead, murdered, slaughtered. He just couldn’t prepare himself for it. Wiping the last of the vomit from his mouth, he caught back up with the group’s leader, Lucky Leaf.
He had known Lucky Leaf all his life as a pony, ever since he was purified by the PER during one of their operations. He had resisted his purification at first, but soon learned he was better off. His revelation, his joy and happiness, it was too much! He just had to share it with others. Of course, most humans wanted to resist. He had, too. But there were some things that many people couldn’t find out for themselves. They would thank him later, just like he did.
He cantered over to the group of ponies who were outside of the burning school in various states of panic. He saw the teacher, a blue earth pony mare with a scroll-based cutie mark, treating minor burns and scratches on some of the foals. Most had gone to their homes by then, back to the loving embrace of their pony families. He envied them. He, as a Newfoal, was raised by humans. He had to not only live with, but be indoctrinated to that barbaric culture permeated with violence, dissent, unhappiness, and anger. He was better off now. Despite the site, his only regret was that there were no captured humans; no humans to share his gift with.
Grassfeeder looked around the vicinity, from the locals desperate to put out the flames before they were able to spread to the mess of pony corpses strewn about the premises. There were two dead humans as well; one with a burnt out chest cavity—evidence of magical lightning—and another laying on the ground a small distance from the burning school, as if he was trying to crawl away.
He turned away from the bodies. He couldn’t stand violence, even if done for the good of others. He preferred to let his comrades do it. The stench of burning the human flesh made him gag, forcing him to move back towards the rest of his group. When he was a human, he adored violence. He glorified it. He played violent games with others, attempting to get the rush of adrenaline from defeating and harming people. He played digital simulations, trying to get a feel of war. His entire culture pushed everyone from an early age into those horrible practices. Just thinking of it made him sick, now that he had since been enlightened.
Grassfeeder noticed a hint of movement in the corner of his vision. It was the human near the school. He walked up to it, and it moved again. “It’s alive!” he yelled to his comrades, “Bring bindings!” He knew how dangerous a human could be, how dangerous he was. Lucky Leaf wanted to purify any living humans they could find. And now they had one. Grassfeeder silently thanked Celestia for the opportunity.
As another pony came up to the camouflaged human and tied it with a rope, he put his hoof in the human’s armpit and pulled him towards a nearby rocking chair which had been abandoned during the earlier firefight. The human’s head turned, its groggy eyes trying to take in the surroundings.
“Don’t worry, everything will get better,” he whispered as he tied the barely conscious human to the chair. “I was like you a short time ago. You’ll be happier.”
With the human bound, a grey earth pony, Boulder Cutter, trotted up to it. The human perked up at the sound of Boulder’s hoof-falls, turning its head up slightly to get a better look.
“How do you live with yourself, human?” Boulder asked it. “Why does this have to happen?”
The human stayed silent.
“All your problems, all your woes, everything that caused ponification to be necessary is your fault. You are violent, you are short-sighted, you are arrogant. You believe yourselves so far above everyone that you can just murder them!"
"Your leaders, the ones who are supposed to bring the populace into a better tomorrow are corrupt, full of greed. You know, I’ve realized something. You humans are too stupid, selfish, and ignorant to know what is good for you. You humans refuse to take the obvious path to salvation.”
“Yeah, yeah, stupid and evil humans who twist everyone and everything to their will. That’s us,” the human mocked. How dare it? Boulder was saving the man, and in return he got insults?
Boulder was humorless. He stared back at the human, disappointment etched into his face.
“Listen, can we hurry this up?” the human asked. “I was planning on burning down some homeless shelters later today when the orphan schools let the kids out.”
“ENOUGH!” Boulder said forcefully, silencing the human. “You have stalled long enough.”
But before Boulder could purify the human, it snapped its legs up, catching Boulder in the throat. Weren’t those legs tied? Grassfeeder panicked, his hesitation allowing the human to pull his hands free, and jumped out of the chair and into Boulder.
No, no! Grassfeeder screamed in his head as he jumped at the human, which was rampaging like a wild animal. Gathering up his courage, he picked up a needle out of his saddlebag—everyone in his group had one—and stabbed it into the human’s back, causing it to freeze up long enough for two more ponies to run up and stab as well. He hated violence. He vowed to himself never to commit a violent act again. He was not human. He was a pony. He was better than that. Unfortunately, the damned ape had forced him to act. He could only hope Celestia would forgive him.
Breathing heavily, he eased in the purification serum from his syringe and turned to Boulder, who was just then getting up from the ground. “How long do you think it will take?” he asked, panting.
“Should be a few hours, maybe around midnight at latest,” Boulder answered. He removed the two extra syringes from the human. Too much serum had adverse affects; the human physiology had to be eased into its new form. Grassfeeder had learned this lesson the hard way. “Don’t worry, Grassfeeder, we’ll have a new friend so-”
Boulder’s leg shot out from under him as projectiles from those horrible, human weapons flew through him. More hit him in the head and neck, ending a once beautiful life. Grassfeeder wanted to run up to him, to hold his body as he passed, but his senses overcame him. He turned to run to cover as an ambushing group of humans fired at them, but was unable to make it before his insides were torn out. He hit the ground hard. He saw Lucky Leaf attempt to defend himself with his magic, but he was no match for the humans and their blasphemous technology. He was easily cut down, blood seeping into the ground.
Grassfeeder had multiple wounds in his abdomen from the initial flurry of rounds, but the bleeding quickly slowed; the wound looked non-lethal to him, thanks to his new pony form. He was glad for the natural advantages ponies had, such as relatively quick healing. It only made him want to help humans more. They had no idea what they were missing. He shuddered as he thought what might have happened were he still a human. The thought of him living, getting back to his new family, going back to the Princess, Equestria; the thoughts allowed him to stay conscious despite the horrible pain. He had to get up. He had to survive. He had to live. He had to-
A swift boot to the side of his muzzle cleared his thoughts, a new pain assaulting his brain. He looked at the offender. A rather tall human, in the same manner of dress as the one he tried to purify, with a large weapon pointed at his head. Another man walked up to him.
“Drag Jack over to Gene Seed. I’ll deal with this one,” it said, reaching for something on the back of its belt. The first human followed the order, not looking back at his superior. The new human regarded him for a moment before speaking.
“I’ve been waiting all day for this,” it said, bringing its arm back in front. In the human’s hand was a very large, very sharp looking knife.
Ryan Matthews briskly walked down the dark walkway of the half-asleep city. Toledo never truly slept; it had grown considerably but not quite to the extent of New York City and other high-bustle locations. Ever since the Cold Revolution decades ago it was a wonder how the city had not become Ohio’s new capital. It was strange to be back here after leaving for so long.
However, it wasn’t time for reminiscing. He had a job to do. A captive pony from a previous operation had finally broken, giving details to the HLF about where they were getting the serum from, but not where it was weaponized. Several names and locations had been given, but the Front was as careful as it was ruthless. They did not, contrary to popular belief, just go and kill ponies and sympathizers. They were fighting time, and fruitless operations cost a good amount of time. They didn’t really care about maintaining a good public image; it was bad enough by virtue of not being ponies. Furthermore, people who didn’t buy into Equestria’s propaganda often needed little convincing who was really on their side.
Corber, his handler, wanted him to find out what they could about not only the listed target, an earthie named Royal Riff who was the general manager of the local Conversion Center, but also every Center in the region. He needed anything he could get. Names, addresses, times, anything that Riff wouldn’t have thought to burn or otherwise destroy. But that was his secondary objective. The captive gave the Front the date for the next pickup by the PER. He was to place a tracking beacon inside one of the crates before they shipped out, where it would be carried to wherever it was weaponized into a gas.
Eventually, he made it to the front of the habitation building. It was rather small for this part of town, being only eight stories with a very tall fenced area for pegasi to practise flying, but was much wider with a neighboring building connected over a street by the wall as though it was a single building with a tunnel. Across another street was the conversion center itself, connected by a narrow sky-bridge. It was even shorter, at three stories tall.
He walked into the front door of the hab building, the sound of the revolving door scraping the ground waking a stout pegasus mare who was working the front desk. “Hello, I’m here to see someone.”
“It’s kind of late for that, don’t you think?” she replied, annoyance edging into her voice.
Shit, this might not work. “My friend told me to stop by as soon as I could. I couldn’t get off of work until half an hour ago.”
“Hm, alright. Just please try to come earlier, won’t you?” As Ryan nodded, she pulled out a clipboard. “What is your friend’s name?”
“Manya Strotski.”
“OK, and yours?” she asked, flipping through a page until she found the name.
“James McLahn.”
“ID?” she asked, to which Ryan produced a forged driver’s license. “And Mrs. Strotski’s childhood pet’s collar color?”
“Blue,” he responded, getting annoyed with the questions.
Raising an eyebrow, she set the clipboard down on the table and called over a night guard, who looked like a civilian in a navy blue, pony version of a police uniform. “Skimmer, would you be a dear and take this man to room 3-16?”
The guard simply nodded before leading Ryan over to the stairs, right by an elevator which had a “OUT OF ORDER” sign in front of it. That struck Ryan as odd. Why was the elevator not fixed? Surely they could afford the odd repair or two seeing as they were paid for by the Equestrian throne itself. Come to think of it, why did they not have a computer? They were virtually cheaper than food. And why, he thought curiously, were there no light bulbs, and instead a series of candles hung along the wall?
Before he could further ponder the ponies’ reasons, the guard turned to Ryan. “Sorry about the little checkpoint up front there.”
“No, it’s alright,” Ryan answered. “In fact, I’d be worried if you hadn’t had some security.”
“You’re right. With groups like the HLF around, we don’t know what to expect.”
Ryan climbed the last step leading to the third floor. “Group of human supremacists or something, right?”
“Yeah,” the guard answered, a grimacing forming on his face. “Remember Des Moines?”
“Yeah,” Ryan replied. In fact, I was there.
“That was them,” he informed. “Just went in and shot up a bunch of ponies and left.”
Horseshit, those were PER about to put potion bombs in the storm drains and let the vents take care of the rest.
“My brother was a victim,” the pony guard muttered before he reached the top of the stairs and pointed down the hall. “Eighth on the right.”
“Thanks.”
As the guard climbed back down the stairs, Ryan went into the room where the undercover operative was waiting. He walked in to find her holding a backpack containing everything he would need and a set of dark navy clothes, the latter of which he quickly slipped into and the former he tightly strapped to his back. He walked to the window and peered out, seeing how far away the sky bridge was. It was above the first window and over the next one, easily within reach. Thinking of how he would get across, he noticed several small beams going the length of the bridge, where the support struts connected to the bridge.
He quickly put on a belt and attached a small rope to it, the end having a d-ring attached. He climbed out of the window and stretched to the side. He grabbed the support strut for balance and looped the rope over the beam, doubling it back and connecting the d-ring to the rope. He then grabbed the beam and began hand-over-hand climbing across, taking stops to attach the rope when the beam connected to the bridge above.
He reached the end and let the rope dangle below him, pulling himself up so his feet were on the beam and his hands holding the steel brackets of the window. He used his new footing to climb into the roof of the bridge, and then onto the rocky asphalt of the building proper.
He reached into his backpack for his blueprints of the facility. He was looking for the storage room where he was told the potion was being held before being shipped off to who-knows-where to be weaponized. He found it and went to the opposite edge of the roof, above the large factory-style windows.
But he needed a way in. Similar to the bridge, he wrapped the rope around a ventilation pipe, clipping the d-ring back on the line. He crawled over the edge and right above the windows. He held tight to the rope and took out a small snake camera which was attached to a screen on his belt, peeking it over the edge of the window, only to get a screenful of black except for a small light source. Unfortunately, the commercial-grade device was hard to use in low light without an infra-red or light-amplification mode that more expensive and military-grade cameras had. Whoever provided the gear had skimped.
Cursing under his breath, he pulled the camera back with his only free hand and used it to adjust the contrast and gamma settings until he had something workable. He eventually got it after a few minutes. It wasn’t proper night vision, but it was enough where he could make out the individual shapes of the boxes from the light provided by the lone candle. He was about to put it away and enter when he heard a steady rhythm of light smacks against the ground.
The sound of pony hooves on a polished wood floor. It was an interesting sound. Pony hooves were not like earth horses. Instead of what was essentially a very thick toenail, there was a very calloused stump that could be hardened or softened at will or by sudden impacts, such as bucking a human spy in the arm during his escape from a successful attack on the head of a PER cell. His arm had luckily healed since then.
He kept the camera at the window’s edge, waiting for the pony to come into view. After a few moments, an earth pony in a uniform similar to the security guard he saw in the habitation building. It cantered into the the room, using a lantern to lighten parts of it as he looked around. Satisfied, it set the lantern down on a short table before pulling up a to a table and sitting down.
Shit. Ryan would need to either sneak past the guard, which would be nigh impossible as it was positioned in a way where it could cover the only stairway through the open door which he would have to go through, or neutralize it. He chose the latter. He put the camera away and eased open the window, which were closed to keep out the chilly night air. He detached himself from the line and slipped in, closing it almost all the way so the guard wasn’t hit by a sudden blast of cold air.
He slowly crept up behind the pony, deciding exactly how he was going to take it out. He couldn’t shoot it. Although his pistol was magnetically accelerated, which eliminated the need for worry for both the sound of gunpowder combusting and the surprisingly loud click of the firing pin, the blood left over would alert whoever was picking the boxes up.
He couldn’t use his knife, which had the same problems as his pistol, and he didn’t have a garrote either. He would need to talk to someone about that. This left him with one method left: his bare hands. He reached the pony and lifted the chin up with one hand, shattering the windpipe with the other. He then covered the neck in the crook of his elbow, making sure to close off the major blood vessels, and dragged him away from the table which would generate a lot of noise if tipped over. With humans, it would take around fifteen seconds until the target fell unconscious. With ponies, about five to ten longer as their stronger hearts could slip blood past the blockage.
This was especially true with earth ponies, whose magic gave them greater passive abilities such as strength. Especially strength. He had to make sure the pony couldn’t fight him off, letting it run downstairs and alert others, another way of tipping off whoever was picking up the crates. However, he only had to hold on for a few more seconds, and it got easier as time went on. The pony in his arms finally stopped moving, to which Ryan held it for a short while longer. He couldn’t chance it waking up while he was still around. In fact, he couldn’t chance it waking up at all.
Once he settled it down on the side, he grabbed the chin with one hand and held down the shoulder with the other. He turned the head around 180 degrees, keeping the neck down on the ground and not letting it twist properly to accommodate the new head angle. He heard the sickening crunch that was too familiar to him; the neck was snapped. He dragged the corpse into a nearby closet, making sure to grab any keys he could find, and snuck over to one of the crates of potion.
The crates were on platforms with wheels with small loops at the front. Because of a pony’s lack of hands, which made it hard to grab the boxes, and odd aversion to electricity, which prevented them from using forklifts, they had to pull cargo along the ground using ropes. This, fortunately for Ryan, left the underside exposed by a few inches. He pulled out a tracking device, a small disk as wide as his palm and thin as his pinkie, and slipped it under, tiny blades stabbing into the wooden underside at the touch of a button. He repeated the process with two more random platforms with his remaining devices.
He pulled his wrist up to his mouth and pressed a small button, which activated a small microphone. “Corber, first objective complete. Trackers planted.”
“Good,” his handler said through his earpiece. “Once you complete your second objective, head north two blocks. You’ll have a pickup in a blue Jeep.”
“Got it.”
He poked his head through the doorway and, upon seeing it was clear, went through as silent as a mouse. He reached the end of the hallway, a door with the words Toledo Conversion Bureau Director - Royal Riff stenciled on the glass. He pulled out the key ring, trying each key on the lock until it opened. It eased open on the fourth try to reveal a very tidy office, not a paper or pencil out of place. Before he went in he turned on a flashlight to get a better look, searching the sterile room for anything that could prove him to be a PER collaborator. Almost instantly he found something: a blank envelope on the ground several feet from him, looking like it had been shoved under the door from the outside. He grabbed, folded, and stuck it inside a pocket of his trousers. He could look over it later.
He stepped around the room, careful not to leave anything out of place. He didn’t know how paranoid the pony was, but he didn’t want to chance it inspecting every last trinket in the building, no matter how unlikely that was. Any person, human or pony, involved in this type of business worth their salt was paranoid, as it was often justified. Looking around the room, he couldn’t find anything. He looked through the desk drawers, he searched the filing cabinets, even under the rug. Nothing. He turned back to the immaculate desk. It was perfectly organized, the stack of blank paper was perfectly square, the stationary were in neat lines, the inkwell without a misplaced spot of ink.
It was too perfect. If he touched any of it he doubted he could get it back to prime condition. However, that was a risk he had to take. He set down the flashlight on the table to free his hands. Placing a soft fist on the top of the stack, he eased up the edges and slowly flipped through, careful to not rotate any of them out of place. Nothing. Just blank white. Except-
He thought he saw something on the paper when it was in front of the flashlight. He repositioned the flashlight to shine directly on the paper and flipped to that part of the stack again. There it was: invisible ink. He couldn’t really make it out, but it was there. He carefully eased the pressure from his fist and pulled out the sheet. Smart bastard. Anyone else would have just put it in a locked drawer and be done with it.
“Corber, I’ve got the secondary.”
“Roger, proceed to extract. Let’s see how good that Beckett guy I keep hearing about is.”
Jack awoke. He blinked open his weary eyes to find nothing. All around him was black, there were no light sources as far as his eyes could see. Despite all that, he could see himself clear as day. There were no shadows, even withing the folds of his own clothes. He looked down at the ground. An impossibly smooth surface, as black as the deepest void utterly barren of color, stretched infinitely across the horizon. Or, rather, he imagined it infinitely large as he couldn’t see the surface he was standing on, let alone any sort of horizon.
He took a few steps and the scenery remained the same. He heard no echo from his footsteps. the only sound in existence came from him. All around him was nothingness. There was not even air, but he somehow still lived, just like he could see even though there was no light. “Hello!” he requested to no one in particular. He felt dismayed from the lack of response, but not surprised.
Then he heard it behind him, or rather felt it. They were scurrying. They were clawing. They were biting at the air, trying to eat his scent. Rats were swarming towards him from as far as his eyes could see. There were skinny, skeletal ones with the barest of clothes almost as happy to trample other rats as they would rip into him. There were fat, greasy ones with finer suits swarmed and carried by others who looked at him like a resource to be harvested for their master.
Leading the charge were dozens of the beasts with their attention solely on him. They moved as one, carrying sharpened sticks on their backs as if their horrific teeth and claws weren’t enough. Their dark and patterned clothing partly concealed them amongst themselves, making it difficult for him to watch them closely. But the worst part was their eyes. Not bloodthirsty like some. Not greedy and lazy like others. There was no emotion but the intent to kill him and utterly wipe him from existence.
He felt for his sidearm but felt an empty holster. He was defenseless. His lungs seized up as the hordes of diseased-ridden, savage, and hungry rodents were getting closer. He tried to run but tripped over his own feet, falling to the ground with a thud.
“F-fuck!”
He tried to scramble back, clawing at the glasslike surface in an effort to prolong the inevitable. The monsters came closer and closer, and all he could do to protect himself was hold up a quivering arm in front of him. Not out of defiance, but of fear. But before one of the horrid beasts could touch him, a huge pillar of pure white descended from above to directly in front of them, in between them and their prize.
A golden wall rose around the pillar, slowly but steadily expanding and pushing the horde back. It was sheer enough for him to watch the rats scurry and flee in fear. The few who tried to fight and resist were quickly vaporized upon touching the wall. As he looked around he saw that the barrier formed a circle around him, with three other pillars making a square.
He felt better. His hands had stopped shaking. His vision was no longer tunneled. His mind was not hazy, his head not light. He took in deep breaths as he got back to his feet, delicious air filling his lungs. He examined the pillar in front of him, his eyes following it upwards into the bright sky and right into Celestia’s warm smile.