//------------------------------// // Entry #3: One More for the Slaughter // Story: As He knew it // by Suke //------------------------------// Date: Dec 22nd 2012 This is Doctor Vernon Grange. I don’t really know whether I should be writing in here, seeing as I’m not a ‘Brit’, but Buddy’s (he’s the original author of this journal) still under at the moment. He’d been suffering from internal bleeding in the cranium. They’ve also looked at what was in fact just a fractured wrist. Surprised he could write with it all the same. I couldn’t find the pen he’d been using, so I went and got this red one. I suppose it makes it easier to differentiate. I would have written earlier, but after reading what little Buddy had said so far, I got called on for more work. It is now 03:47, according to the hospital waiting room’s clock. Using Buddy’s previous time entries, I’d hazard an accurate guess at it being 08:47 GMT. I think Buddy and I have similar theories on our current situation. Considering the lack of contact with anywhere off the continent, and the change in our stars, we have reason enough to believe that North America has been relocated to a foreign planet. I have no idea as to whether other continents have suffered similarly, but right now, that doesn’t matter. What does matter is this: What life-forms were already native to this new world before our arrival? Also: What level of evolution is/are the most dominant race(s)? Are they a possible threat to our own displaced kind? Are they the cause for our displacement, and/or can they help us back? I doubt all bar the first question will be answered any time soon. I hope that Buddy’s recovery will come sooner still. I add, fifteen minutes later, that I have just been informed the closest person I had to a friend here in Maryland was killed. Not by the initial destruction of planetary transferal, but by armed gunmen. A lone escaped survivor of a group of medics, lead by my friend to find and assist the injured, made it back with bullet wounds in both his legs. He too has now passed, fatality due to blood loss. The gunmen had attempted to take the doctors and nurses for their own, but most refused. Some still lived, having chosen obedience over death. Hayden, my friend, took a bullet for the man who is now in his own body bag. Most thought it all a pointless act. But I didn’t. Now I know where they live. This journal entry was spoken by a different human. One that about half the ponies present recognised. His features displayed a permanent crazed look, with a hint of aggression. His main apparel was a long, formerly white doctor’s coat, now covered in bloodstains. Barely any white made it through the red. Beneath, he wore a muddied green shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, and very holey jeans, this time sharing a mix of mud and blood. Additionally, his hands were held within a pair of fine black leather gloves, evidently torn at the index fingers. This made it easier to move his trigger fingers. “Isn’t that-” Twilight began. Luna, Shining and Cadence all replied, “Yes.” Doctor Vernon Grange did not go straight to the gunmen’s hideout. He couldn’t very well meet them unarmed. No, he first retraced his steps back to the 30 floor apartment building, where a man had given up on salvation, mere seconds before he received it, and executed himself. This time, Vern had the freedom to take each step leisurely; no need to rush. Sure enough, the body lay exactly where it fell upon death. Vern had not bothered to attend to it, with no one else around to complain. The gun too remained undisturbed, which suited Vern just fine. With a steady hand, he lifted the firearm up, and checked the ammunition. A full clip minus one. Time was taken to admire the weapon. A Wolfram PP7, with a special decal reading ‘007’ on the barrel. A James Bond fan. Vern examined his surroundings. A small drawer was hanging open. Inside lay the additional ammo for the pistol, as well an ever so convenient silencer. A ‘die hard’ fan. In total, Vern now carried 34 rounds. Unnoticed by even himself, he smiled grimly. On his way back down to ground level, Vern screwed the silencer on. He had no reason to confront the bastards head on. All his years of gun training shoved down his throat by his military father will come to good use. Remembering his Dad caused him to chuckle. The man died when he ignored safety regulations and got a bullet through the brain for his troubles. Vern’s life choice in doctoring was a middle finger to his father. “Guess I was right then.” Vern froze at the bottom of the stairs. Nonchalantly leaning against the main entrance door frame, arms crossed and smiling smugly was one of the unharmed from the party. The man had lost his brother. “Chris, was it?” “Glad you remembered me. You’re off to kill them fuckwads that gone shot your mate, right?” Vern sighed. No point in hiding the truth. He pretty much implied as such in that entry in Buddy’s journal. Why on Earth he did that he’ll never know. An odd compulsion. “Yes. Now, you’re either here to stop me, or more likely, judging from your tone, you want to join me. Which one is it?” “The latter Doc. I’ve got no one to blame for my brother’s death, and I need to get some shit outta my system. The best stress relief is mindless killing of the deserving.” Vern figured as much. “Fair enough. We’ll have to get you a weapon though.” Chris pulled out a swiss army knife. “Will this do until we steal one of their rifles? Was gonna be my Christmas present to my bro, Banner.” “Sure. All the more meaningful.” “Well then,” Chris held out his free hand, “I’m Christopher Pheasant.” Vern shook it. “Doctor Vernon Grange.” “You don’t mind if I keep calling you Doc?” “Not at all.” Together, the two men exited the apartment building. Chris even went out of his way to slam the doors shut. Replying to Vern’s stare of disbelief, Chris said, “I have OCD with certain things, including closing doors.” “I’ll keep that in mind.” The next few minutes were occupied with the crunch of their feet for each of their steps, and the crackle of unstable, semi collapsed buildings. After what Vern gauged to be half an hour (rough estimate), Chris stopped in his tracks. “Hey, you seeing this?” “Seeing what?” Chris pointed down the road they were crossing. The bordering towers on either side had broken completely free of their lower halves and come crashing down on the three laned inner city highway. Any cars caught underneath were probably pancaked. Chris was specifically indicating just above the pieces of concrete piled up on the road. Perched atop the highest pile was a peculiar bird, wings outstretched and beak directed at the humans. The Sun was at an annoying angle,still rising from the horizon, so the pair could only make out a silhouette. “What d’ya think it is?” Chris asked. “No idea. Perhaps a member of the native wildlife?” “Maybe it’s edible.” “Well, to know that we’d need to examine it.” “Then shoot it.” “I don’t just kill wildlife on a whim.” “Come on! It’s just one creature.” “No means-” The ‘bird’ stood up. On all fours. And turned sideways. It wasn’t a bird at all. It seemed more like a small winged horse. Wearing something. Something inside Vern clicked, and his arm subconsciously raised and fired. The creature fell behind the pile, shortly after being seen flying away, it’s left hind leg hanging differently to the rest. “What brought that on?” Vern rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I honestly don’t know.” As they watched these two men walk through ruined streets, murder on the mind, a knock upon the door made half the ponies jump. Shining cautiously opened the doors to reveal a lone guards pony. “What is it soldier?” the Captain demanded a bit too roughly for Celestia’s tastes. “Sir! I came to inform the Princesses of the time, at this time, as requested by Celestia, Sir!” “Thank you Vigil Watch. As promised, when next we gather, I’ll arrange it so your timetable allows your attendance also,” said the Princess in question. “Thank you Ma’am! Permission to leave, Sir!?” “Permission granted Lieutenant. You can head home, but make sure you remember your check up.” “Yes Sir!” Vigil Watch about turned and limped off, using his wings for assisted balance, a small circular scar in his left hind leg. The journal was levitated to a pedestal in the centre of the room, and Shining cast a shield over it. “We shall continue another time, everypony. For now, let us head to the hall to dine,” said Celestia. The time is: 08:27 Maryland, 13:27 GMT P.T.O