//------------------------------// // Chapter 5 // Story: The Conversion Bureau: One Pony's Terrorist // by boredhooman //------------------------------// “Princess Celestia has this to say on the recent up-scaling of the Equestrian presence in western Africa: ‘This is not a conquest. This is not a show of strength. This is a response to a threat to my people, to which I take genuine concern. Colonies, granted permission by local human governments, have come under attack by the human populace. Peacekeeping forces that I had ordered to secure the area to protect both ponies and humans have fallen under attack, most recently with the assassination or capture of an Equestrian Infantry captain. We have been forced to take action until a reasonable solution can be made.’ “The New African Dominion could not be reached f-” the reporter said before Rambo cut the news feed from his eyepiece. “You gotta be kidding me,” he radioed to his squad, holding onto the bottom support brace of an Equestrian Infantry carriage as it cruised through an overgrown savannah.  “Called it, guys. Word War III on our hands.” Archer sighed. “You know how it works, Rambo. This would have happened either way.” He tightened his arms, narrowly avoiding a sizable rock. “If anything, we’re giving them a reason to go instead of waiting for them to come up with an excuse.” “That’s still bad.” “Except we’re the proactive ones. All this shit going on? It’s on our timetable. If we waited for them to get it on we’d be chasing their tails.” “Have a point there,” Rambo replied before his carriage took a sudden turn, causing him to curse under his breath when he almost slipped off. Lead’s radio chimed in, “Just a few more klicks to the objective.” “Thank God,” Conan replied. “Yeah,” Rambo agreed. “Horsey’s not a very good infil method.” Rachel grunted as she loaded the wooden crate into the truck. Thankfully, that was the last one. She was getting tired despite herself. It was worth it, however. Each box was filled with assorted goods: canned food, toiletries, clothing, anything that would help the impoverished these were being shipped to. She closed the door to the pickup and locked it, and went around to make sure the straps holding down the crates were secured properly. She waved for the driver to leave and went back inside the Parish Center of her church. It was not a large building, just a little larger than the church proper. It amazed Rachel that the building was there at all. The number of parishioners, and therefore donors, had gone down considerably over the past few decades. “Rachel?” a voice called from a nearby tent, which at the beginning of the day was stacked with boxes. “Your husband’s here!” “I’m not married yet, Father,” she reminded the priest. “Still a few weeks.” “Ah, close enough. Anyway, you can leave now. The brothers and I will clean up.” “You sure?” “I’m not that old, Rachel. Anyway, there’s only a few tents that we should’ve taken down after the rain yesterday, and a few folding tables. We can handle it.” “Alright, then. Bye!” Rachel replied, waving as she plucked her coat from a nearby table and went towards the other side of the parking lot. Waiting for her was an old, black Jeep that she and her cousin had personally helped refurbish with a hydrogen fuel cell engine, tire-wheels, consistently working air conditioning, and a multitude of other features the vehicle didn’t have when manufactured in 2020. The driver waved hello to her and she smiled back. “Hey, Jack!” she greeted as she got into the passenger seat. “Thank you so much for driving me.” “No problem,” he acknowledged, nodding. “Oh, by the way, found your medal,” he informed as he pulled out of the parking lot and into the street. He pulled a small silver chain out of his pocket and handed it to Rachel. Her eyes widened in surprise. “Thank you thank you!” “I didn’t know it was that special to you.” “It- It was a gift from Mom.” “I thought she… you know.” “It was before that. She got me the medal as a birthday present a few months before we knew she had cancer. Then she went to one of the conversion centers. You know the rest.” “Wasn’t she like a huge asshole about being atheist though?” “No, that’s Dad. And it’s only gotten worse since what happened to Mom. It’s... he thinks religion is brainwashing, like potion.” “Maybe he’s just concerned. If you were Turned I wouldn’t want anything to happen to any future kids we might have.” “But just believing in something isn’t even close to converting!” “I understand that. I’m just saying that the basic feeling is valid.” “Oh, so it’s fine that he’s ostracizing me for an opinion?” “I never said that. Just that his intentions aren’t necessarily bad.” “A lot of people have good intentions, Jack. The road-” “I know, Rachel. I’m not stupid.” Jack took a deep breath and looked at her. She wasn’t even looking at him, just staring angrily out the window. “Let’s just get you to your place first. We can deal with it after I visit Gene Seed tonight.” She didn’t move. “Does this really matter? It’s not like I’m suddenly going to start treating you any differently.” No response. Jack sighed in defeat. “So, why are we here, exactly?” Corbin asked from his seat. He was facing a map of the eastern United States, which was displayed onto a large dry-erase board from a laptop-mounted projector bulb. Around him sat numerous squad leaders of the Tri-State and northern South Atlantic cells. The leaders of Steven and Andrew from the Tri-State, and Zach and Rob groups of the South Atlantic each had seats. “Mopping up, mostly,” Eric replied. “We’ve tracked PER personnel using the Baltimore Center to get back to the mainland before, and sources say it’s the same deal this time. I don’t know if the Center knows they’re PER or not, but they are allowing them to use the boats. Probably think they’re just regular workers returning home.” “So what’s the plan?” “We’ll hit them while they go through the one in Charleston, West Virginia,” he answered as pointed to the target city. He then pressed a button on the computer and brought up a floor plan of a too familiar building. “This is the Charleston Conversion Center. Two fire-teams of two, two of four.” He drew a series of circles and arrows on the board through the image, marking them A, B, C, and D. “Alpha and Bravo, the four man teams, will assault through the front doors of the business building and go up to the top floor, killing anyone associated with the PER. I will hand out info on them later. Charlie will follow and make sure no one leaves through the front while Delta storms the back and holds there. We’ll discuss team leaders and other details next time. I want minimal pony casualties. The main objective is dead PER. Any questions?” “What about pegasi?” the leader of Andrew asked. “None of the targets are pegasi. If any take off, it’s their lucky day.” “I think he’s asking about any cargo they may have,” another piped in. “Again, it’s their lucky day. Any survivors will only help the PER, and probably the Bitch herself, realize what they’re dealing with when they tell everyone what happened. But only if we’re precise and in control.” Zach’s leader raised her hand. “Better safe than sorry if we’re unsure about a target?” “No. I want as precise an operation as possible. No unnecessary casualties,” he again stressed. “PER being tracked to a specific location and specifically hunted down will send a clear enough message. Public may not get it, but the bad guys will.” “You’re in a lot better shape than when I first worked on you,” Gene Seed observed. Jack gave him a queer look. “First worked on me? As in, more than once?” “Yes. The process took almost three weeks.” Jack got off the examination table—a simple wooden construction with a thick blanket over the top—and examined the apartment more fully. It was rather shabby. When initially walking in he did not see anything that looked like it was designed for sleeping, and there were almost no furnishing. As he looked again, he saw that the few objects in the room either looked like they were just moved in or they were equipment for whatever project the pony scientist was working on. He didn’t know much, but he did know that this apartment wasn’t the pony’s. “What exactly did you do?” “I negated the magic of the serum. I managed to target the artificial viruses that change the body’s genetics with a spell I commonly use to break apart and study cells. It certainly helped that I was familiar with the substance.” “So how did that not kill me?” “I used a very low dose over a long period of time,” Gene Seed explained. “Magical radiation is very different from nuclear. It dissipates rather quickly when used for tasks. It’s only when items are purposefully bound, called enchantments, or some kind of magical battery, for lack of a better term, that it lingers. But for common spells the energy is gone once the user stops casting the spell.” “What about my dream?” Jack asked. “How the body deals with being rewired. The magic convinces you to want conversion. It makes you want your quasi lobotomy. Once your brain is open for remolding the magic does its job. Unfortunately, the higher the dose, the faster and sloppier it is. At conversion centers the dose is only a few ounces of liquid. When in a gaseous form it takes even less, which only makes the PER’s job easier. I’ve seen some newfoals that were utter zombies after being converted by the bastards.” A sharp chill went up Jack’s spine, and he took a breath to calm himself. “How close was I?” he asked. “What do you last remember?” “I was being chased by a bunch of rats, which I assume the potion was trying to make me associate with people, and then Celestia saved me from them. Like Celestia was saving me from humanity.” “I’m not sure you want to know. Very close is all I will say. But that is peculiar,” he mused. “Other man in your squad inhaled potion and fell unconscious within minutes, similar story to yours. Didn’t receive that much weaponized serum. It shouldn’t have progressed so far in the time it took for us to get you somewhere safe. Why?” Gene Seed quietly paced around the room, eyes up as if the answer was written on the ceiling. “This raises numerous questions, none of which have pleasant answers.” Jack nodded as another small chill passed through him. “Right, thanks.” As he got up to leave, he stopped for a second as a familiar tune came over a pair of speakers which rested in a corner of the room.  “Wait a minute. Tchaikovsky?” While he preferred music that was more orchestrated and harmonious than most made in the past century or so, he was never too interested in classical. However, it was impossible not to recognize the 1812 Overture. “Yes. I’ve grown to like your species’ music recently. Your culture is very fascinating. It’s just so much like ours, especially the piece playing right now, yet a different path of development and composure.” “Funny. Kinda the same with me. I enjoyed that Octavia piece for example, experimenting with guitars. I’d have never thought to use them like that.” “No Strings Attached, I believe it’s called. You’re the last person I’d expect to enjoy something like that,” Gene Seed replied, suppressing a chuckle. “It’s their government and terrorists I hate, not the people. Dad’s family’s from England and Mom moved from Spain when she was twelve, and she’s very traditional. Don’t have time to focus on artificial crap. Better to focus on the people than what they do or look like.” Gene Seed nodded in agreement. “I wish more people thought like that.” Jack grunted in agreement as he opened the door to the apartment stairwell. He suddenly stopped and rubbed his forehead with his hand. “I’m a fucking idiot.” “What?” “Nothing. I just… mishandled a sensitive subject with Rachel,” Jack answered. “And by mishandled I mean I tried to justify her father treating her like shit.” Gene Seed blinked in surprise. “Why would you do that?” “I didn’t try. I just don’t think before I do shit.” “But you still did, though.” “Well, yeah. I said that her father had a point. He went too far with it, but was somewhat justified. Not what I meant, but pretty much what I said.” “Hmph,” Gene Seed grunted. “Well, good luck with that then.” “Right,” Jack acknowledged as he closed the apartment’s door and walked down the stairwell to his car. He pulled out his phone and sent a short apology to Rachel, and that he could talk more when she calmed down. But for now, he had a microengine to work on for his company. He had to make money, after all. General Isaac Attah was proud. Eager. Ambitious. But most of all, angry. He had not lead the New African Dominion through years of brutal war just to lose it all now. Not for him, but for his people. He had spent half his life uniting most of central and eastern Africa under a single banner, bringing true prosperity and aid to an impoverished people. Warlords, gangs, drug and weapon cartels, all gone. While Europe collapsed under their fraudulent and wasteful spending, he had grown. He did not feel sorry for his northern neighbors. Not only had they brought it upon themselves with shortsightedness and concern over image—two qualities he absolutely despised—but they were the reason there was a mess for him to clean up in the first place. He did not blame it on the slave trade. The African people were as much at fault as the Europeans, and they weren’t the only ones who practised it as well. It was not the colonization, Africans would have done that themselves if the positions were switched. No, it was their help which tortured an already scarred nation. They divided the continent up by arbitrary boundaries in a faulty attempt of ‘civilizing’ them, causing conflict among deeply rooted tribes who had lived on the land longer than most European countries combined. They sent aid, only to let it be hijacked by selfish and evil warlords, making the problems they were trying to fix even worse. But not any more, he had personally seen to that. The people of Africa were strong once more. But after all that, there was still one more challenge: Equestria. His new neighbor infuriated him. Their princess insulted humanity. She believed herself above humanity. She believed herself the rightful owner of the earth and its people. She believed herself above his species for the simple fact of not being human, and this Isaac could not stand. Unfortunately, nothing could really be done to someone so pompous at the moment. But something could be done to preserve his people’s future. He stepped out of the tent that composed his command post and into the harsh sunlight to be greeted by a magnificent sight. Battalions of soldiers filled the plain. Columns of tanks ready to do battle rested alongside the infantry. Endless convoys of trucks bringing in materials such as food, water, and ammunition reached across the eastern horizon. He could not be more honored to have lead such men here. After decades of brutal civil war, after many families destroyed, after many fine young men killed, he had produced the single finest military in that side of the world, and soon to be the most peaceful and prosperous nation. He was not proud of himself. He was proud of his people. He was simply a means to an end, that end being the cessation of the suffering of millions. To the west, the front lines of the Equestrian forces. Huge, stretched formations of infantry, emplacements with heavy weapons, large metallic structures resembling primitive tanks encompassed the horizon. He would be damned if a bunch of horses defeated him, taking away all he had worked for. He looked up to the sun. An hour from sunrise; it was time. He stepped to the edge of a large cliff face. Seeing him, the entire camp quieted, turning to their leader, their father. Isaac considered that an apt comparison. He treated them as his sons and daughters, and they treated him as their father. They followed him not out of fear, not out of an assurance of safety, but of love and respect, to which Isaac paid back in folds. There was a small, bare table in front of him, upon which sat a single radio box. He set it to transmit and leaned over to speak into it. "You see our enemy over there, men? I pity them. “Our foes outnumber us three to one. They have spent more time training than you've been alive. They're fast and they're mean, and by the end of the day today every single one of them will be dead. “You see men, our opponents are probably the strongest and most agile creatures in the known galaxy, but they are no soldiers. They live in harmony with their planet's ecosystem. There is no pollution, no wars, no disaster and no famine. This bond between them and their planet has formed them into mighty creatures. They believe mankind is impure and our philosophies are completely monstrous. They believe that, with the power of their natural prowess and their spirituality, they can wipe humanity from existence. “They are dead wrong. “While they have been sitting around eating food that virtually fell into their laps, we have been stabbing our best friends in the back for a scrap of bread. “While they have been singing tales of the harmony and magic of nature, we have watched our children wither away to husks from a bloody plague. “While they have sat sunning their wretched furry hides in open calm meadows, we have clung desperately to survival in frozen tundras and barren deserts. “Our suffering has become our strength. Despite the best attempts of nature, God and even our fellow man, humanity stands strong. Humanity can endure anything, a fact that those sorry fools don't understand. “Let us enlighten our foes to the unyielding spirit of mankind. Within all of your veins flow the blood of generals, soldiers, and murderers. Shred their bodies with a storm of lead! Tear their organs out with your bayonets! Crush their skulls underneath your iron boots! “SLAUGHTER THEM ALL!" * * * * * Private Straight Arrow of the Equestrian Infantry stood proudly among his squad. He studied his spear one last time, admiring the craftsponyship of the weapon. Each was made by hoof, unlike human weapons which were crudely mass-produced in factories. His armor, sporting the bronze shine of the Equestrian Infantry, shined proudly among his peers as opposed to that of humans, shoddily put together in an attempt to hide from their enemies rather than fight with courage. The Infantry’s gear was not the only thing expertly crafted. He, and a large portion of the Infantry, came from noble families dedicated to serving the Crown. He and others served with honor and pride. The traditions of the Equestrian Infantry were thousands of years old, stretching back to the beginning of the Princesses’ reign after they wrested control from the tyrant Discord. The humans, on the other hand, were largely made up of whoever signed up and trained for several months at most. They sent unprepared children into battle. Their standard of battle was cowardly. They were so afraid to die for their nation they hid in the terrain, taking potshots at their enemy. He would show them soon. The Equestrian Infantry would show them how to wage war. They would show them how to fight with pride, honor, and glory. At the end of the campaign, when the Crown’s borders were safe once more, when his battalion was back at their barracks singing tales of their accomplishments, the flag of this New African Dominion would be hung in the lounge as a trophy, right next to the Gryphos Third Army’s banner. “What is that?” one of the other soldiers asked, pointing his hoof at what the humans passed off as war machines. “Are those humans using fire signals to communicate?” Arrow followed his fellow soldier’s hoof off into the enemy’s lines before drawing his last breath as a High Explosive Squash Head tank shell decimated his auto-rifle emplacement, turning him and his squadmates into little more than blood stains in the sand.