The year is 2356. Humanity has pushed itself to the brink of extinction. Ten years ago wars broke out across the world, nuclear weaponry and bio-engineried sicknesses bringing the human population to less than a million, and destroyed almost all of the natural world. This is the tale of John Abraham, and how he came to Equestria.

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John hated Mondays. He hated them with all of his very being. This Monday was the king of the crop, as well, putting him in an incredibly sour mood. Perhaps I should explain what made this particular Monday so bad. The day had started like any other day in this god-forsaken wasteland. he stepped out of his meager wooden shack he called a house, with the purpose of gaining some food for him to fill his growling stomach with. Looking around, John saw the dusty plain in front of him. The hot sun poured its beams of light and heat like a boiling liquid, burning anything stupid enough to stay in its flaming embrace too long. No plants could be seen in any direction, only the hilly dunes of dirt and sand and rock that made up the world. John sighed, wishing that some sort of color was present in his dreary existence.

John pulled a picture from his pocket, staring at it with teary eyes as he brushed a finger across it. In the photo, was a woman with long, strait brown hair. She had glasses, thin and wiry adjourning her face, along with a broad smile. Held in a tight hug was a small girl, no more than seven years old. She had poofy blonde hair, and bright, blue eyes. A huge grin was on her face, along with stray blobs of paint, still wet. Tears fell from John's face as he silently wept, sadness racking his body momentarily. "I miss you so much, Diane..."

But now was not the time to linger on sentiments he had thought on many times before. Now was the time seek out food and sustenance for his survival. John grabbed his rifle from the wall, just in case something bigger than what he hunted showed up. He donned a large, dull gray cloak from a hanger, draping it over himself to shield his body from the scorching sun. John was not a large man; he had a lean muscle build. Pure strength wouldn't get you far in the wasteland. You had to be strong, fast, and keep your wits about you at all times to survive. His face had sunken in eyes, hollowed out cheeks, and rough, brown stubble sprouting from his chin. He had blue eyes, the color of an icy lake in the middle of winter. They were the eyes of someone who had known many a tragedy before in his life.

John set out from his dwelling, moving to the first trap he had set up in the great expanse of land. As he drew near, John could hear the cries of an animal in pain growing in volume and urgency. A decent meal, finally thought John with grim joy splayed across his features. As he crested the next hill, he spied his prize, and happiness filled his being. There, in front of his eyes, was a wolf, stuck in a bear trap, having been lured there by a small piece of meat placed in the center. John raised his weapon to his shoulder, taking aim down its iron-sights. He pulled the trigger, a loud bang ringing through the dusty wind. The whimpering of the animal fell silent at once, and John slip down the hill, coming to a stop next to the now dead animal. As he began to undo the trap, he heard a slow buzzing fade into being, seeming to come from behind him. John glanced behind, and did a double take at the sight that graced his eyes.

Before him was a speck of purple, hovering in midair, no more than a few feet of the ground. air seemed to be drawn into the splotch of light, bringing with it the whine of a sharp wind. John could see the dot expanding, growing larger with each passing second. Entranced by the sight before him, John got up from his task and slowly stepped towards the only color he had seen in years.He reached out with an arm, staring at the light in front of him. As his arm finally made contact, the world around him shattered like glass, leaving only a purple void to surround him. John tumbled through empty air zipping along an invisible pathway to an unknown place. He could only sit and watch, not knowing what he might have done. What he might have caused. He could see a bright light looming ever closer, drawing him in like water to a drain. He fought and squirmed, helpless in the purple current. Darkness engulfed him as light surrounded his being, and he slowly faded from consciousness.

John's eyes snapped open, a decision he immediately regretted. Color and sound launched an assault upon his senses in the brief instant that they were in use. He slowly, slowly opened his eyes, and gasped at the wonder that was surrounding him. Huge, healthy trees with thick leaves filled his vision, flowers and bushes popping up in rouge beams of light. sounds of birds and insects graced his ears as a cold mist caressed his skin, and a smile forced its way onto John's face. A low growl from the distance snapped John back to his senses. There were predators wherever he was. he looked around for his rifle, and panic gnawed at him as he couldn't find it. He sighed, the wonder of the, forest? Was forest the right word? Yes, yes, this is what a forest was. lots of trees. Anyways, he gave a deep sigh, the air of wonder now gone, replaced instead by caution. John slowly drew a large, wicked looking knife from a hidden sheaf, held it at the ready, and began silently padding off in a random direction.

As John moved trough underbrush and grass in search of the noise, he continued looking around at his surroundings like a child with a new toy. Tons of plants he had never seen or heard of in his life were in every direction he looked, and only his knowledge that any of them could be dangerous kept him from running through them like an idiot. He had never felt excitement like now in ten years, and all that bottled-up energy was gushing forth at this very moment. he felt like a kid, when everything hadn't gone to hell. John sighed, remembering that he was in a mysterious with vague knowledge about how he got there.

The growling John had heard was growing louder, seeming like it was almost on top of him. Sweat formed in beads as he approached the noise, hoping he could succeed in sneaking up on the beast. He slowly crept into a bush, eyes searching for the noise's source. He froze in shock at the sight before him, the creature halfway in a bush. It was large, with brown fur coating it body. A giant, inky black scorpion tail sprouted from its backside, and it slowly sniffed the air as if sensing his very presence. Its massive head swiveled toward his hiding spot, and its eyes locked onto his position. The to beings simply stared at each other, both daring the other to make the first move. John complied. He sprinted out from his bush, in the opposite direction of the beast. he could hear its footsteps, loud and clear ringing out behind him in hot pursuit. He pushed bushes and branches aside as he leapt over roots threatening to trip him. His breath came out in ragged gasps, and he could hear the thing catching up to him.

John gasped as he reached the edge of the forest. He could see a strange cottage-tree thing off to his left, a pathway leading to many brightly colored homes. He could see movement among the buildings. Now was the time to face his enemy. Pivoting on the balls of his feet, John prepared to engage the beast in mortal combat. The creature bound from the forest, giving out a deafening roar as it did so. It pawed the ground like a bull, staring him in the face. With a yell John charged towards the thing. It, too, began running in a full sprint at him. before they could collide, however, John leapt up and over the beast, bringing his knife into its back as he passed over it, staining his cloak with red. It gave a howl of pain, before flinging him off its back. John landed on his feet, ready to continue the fight with fists and feet. He ran up to its face, spun on his left leg and brought his right foot to smash into the side of its head like a hammer. It reeled, stepping away from Johns mighty attacks. But he would give no quarter, as he rushed yet again, this time grabbing its shoulder, hoisting himself onto its back. Before it could throw him off, he pulled his knife from its back, causing it to release a loud whimper of pain. He leaped from its back, rolling on the ground and coming to his feet, ready to fight once more.

Imagine John's surprise when the creature went back to the forest, whimpering in pain. John collapsed, the adrenaline leaving his system, he suddenly felt incredibly weak, like a gentle breeze could sweep him away. His vision blurred and fogged, as he tried to focus on anything. He heard walking noises coming from behind him, yet he didn't have the energy to turn around and see what it was. He heard fevered whispers, coming from everywhere he couldn't see. His breath slowly returned to him, vision back to normal, and he slowly rose to his feet. He turned, expecting the unexpected. yet John still gasped as he saw what it was chattering behind him.

There were probably 30 of them, forming a semi-circle around him. They stood on four legs, almost all of them brightly colored in purple, blue, green, orange, you name it. they were all staring at him with wide, frightened eyes, whispering among themselves, wondering what he was as he wondered what they were. No one made to move, simply digesting the image of the other.

They creatures standing before John continued to stare, and vice-versa. No one made a move. A tumbleweed blew by, bouncing merrily through the space between John and the ponies. The silence stretched on into what could have been hours or minutes, no one was keeping track. the silence, however, was not meant to last, and was shattered like glass as a thick-accented voice called out to everything gathered. "Move out the way now, y'all hear?" John was equally surprised to hear the ponies speak English as he was to see a group of six of the things to walk towards him through a pathway the crowd had formed. he looked at each of them, taking in their features. It was fairly obvious they held some form of importance.

The one leading the group was a lavender color, with a feminine look about it. It had a strait black mane with pink and purple highlights running through it, a horn parting it at the forehead.. She had purple eyes, and wore an expression of quizzical curiosity. next to her was a orange, well-built pony wearing a stetson hat, one that seemed to carry the weight of much wear and tear upon it. It had green eyes, and looked like it was judging how to respond to the sight it was beholding, with its eyebrows in a deep furrow. On the other side of the purple one, a mass of pink was bouncing, eyes closed and wide grin plastered on its face. John had no idea why it might be happy, but this mystery was dismissed when no easy answer presented itself. Flying above all of them was a sky blue pony, wings beating in slow, lazy motions. Its arms were crossed, and it looked incredibly bored with the whole ordeal. A fifth and final pony presented itself, walking up from behind the others. Its mane was a deep purple color, and heavily stylized, slightly darker than the first pony's colors. Its coat was a marble white, and looked like much care and attention was given to it 24/7. A horn also adjourned this pony's skull.

All of the pony's walked up to within five feet of John, not an ounce of fear in any of them. Silence returned for a brief few seconds, before the purple one cleared its throat, and spoke. "Who and what are you, and how did you get here?" This question was a deceptively hard to answer. How should he deal out information to creatures from god knows where, who would do god knows what to him? John decided that telling them his name would be a good place to start. "My name... is John. John Abraham." This seemed to confuse the purple pony, a single eyebrow raising. "that's an odd name. Again, where are you from?" John thought hard as to what to say. Sate? Country? Planet? Dimension? He decided to start with country, that sounded good. "Ever heard of the United Sates of America?"

"Hmmph. Figures. i don't know what else to tell you, whatever you are." This seemed to anger the creature, indignation flashing across it's face. "I'll have you know, sir, that I am a pony! We have always been in this land, known as Equestria." This was new information to John. A place called Equestria? John had never heard of such a place before, either. He brought a hand to his chin as he thought, only to have them interrupted by the orange pony, which spoke with the heavy drawl he had heard earlier. "So, why was that manticore chasin' you in the first place?" The crowd of ponies began to echo the question, eager to hear what had caused the battle. "Hmmm... Quite simply, I was just in the forest, saw the... manticore, you called it? Anyways, it chased me to here, and so I defended myself." This time the blue, flying pony spoke up, using a high and scratchy voice filled with curiosity. "Why were you in the forest?" John sighed. All these questions, just kept coming and coming. he hadn't talked to a group of people bigger than five in ten years, for Christ's sake! he decided to go with the easy way out. "Long story." Unfortunately for John, the ponies were not to be put off so easily. The purple one, who John realized he didn't know the name of, stepped up to him, practically shoving her face into his. "Perhaps you'd like to tell us this story in a more secluded spot?" At this John gave a frustrated groan, and decided that the sooner he got this over with, the better. "Fine. Where exactly are we going?"

All five of the previously described ponies, plus one John hadn't seen before, had arrived. The newcomer had a long and lustrous pink mane and tail, that flowed like liquid fluff. She had tender, caring eyes that seemed as if the shunned the notion of anything aggressive or violent. She had a creamy tan coat, a color lighter than clouds themselves. The pony continually tried to hide behind her companions, and was held in the open by those same ponies. John sat down in the center of the floor, looking around at the building he was now in. however, building isn't entirely accurate. Instead, where he now sat was the middle of a hollowed out tree. Shelves of books lined the wall, along with various nick-knacks like small statues and masks and flowers. Stairs led up to a balcony above, and from there a small hallway led off to somewhere. He brought his eyes back to the mares in front of him, all of which were now seated. The mental image of a teacher lecturing a class on some subject or other, and this brought a smile to John's face. He cleared his throat, ready to recite his tale. "Now where shall I begin... Ah ha! I know! *ahem* many year s ago..."

It all began on the 15 of March. By shear, unlucky coincidence, many power-hungry leaders had come into power recently. Fights turned in to wars. Sides were picked, and bombs and sickness began its merciless rain upon the world. People died in the thousands, cities were bustling with people, and the next day demolished, ruins looking like no one had been there for century's. The world was dying, and everyone knew it. So we built underground, where the bombs wouldn't reach us. But that didn't stop the sickness. It was always, it wasn't meant to be cured, it was meant to murder and kill those it laid its filthy hands upon. The bunkers were wiped out, save for those few people who had some sort of immunity. i was one of those people. My family were not those people, and my wife, Diane, died along with my daughter. She was only 6 years old. Hr name was Amanda.

As time went on, nature failed to rid itself of the chemicals and filth we had delivered to its doorstep. Trees and plants died, only those few places that hadn't gotten entangled in the web of alliances and pacts. The worlds population had gone down from billions upon billions to less than one million. We, the survivors, weren't going to give up. we began building our own homes wherever we pleased, bearing the sadness of countless deaths on our shoulders. over the decade since the world ended, people have hardly seen another human. Our lives became a dull repetition of the same dusty plains and rocky wasteland. And now, I find some weird purple thing floating in mid-air, and suddenly i'm in a forest getting chased by a manticore and fighting for my life.

John rapped up his story with a few stray tears flowing down his face. His voice had never changed from a deadpan narration, yet his body shook with small, silent sobs. All of the ponies around had eyes wider than thought possible, and their moves hung ajar. They had never heard of such violence and death and sickness. They lived in a Utopia, where everything was perfect. No one said anything, much too shocked for words to properly portray what they all felt. they all sat like this for many minutes, before that thought were shoved aside by a knock on the door, followed ny a deep, gruff voice that demanded attention and compliance.

Battles of Another

by BraxAttacks

Battles of Another Ch. 1