Lost and Fallen
Chapter 1: Different
The life of a police officer was never easy. I had to put up with so many factors at once it was almost too much to take, some of which didn't even make sense to me. First, there were my superiors, who demanded my participation as much as possible, even though I was already doing that. Then, there was the constant stream of crimes I had to settle to keep the peace in the city of Los Angeles. Finally, the people who simply hated the cops. The ones that called us 'pigs' and other profane names. They were correct on multiple accounts, but it was a prejudice that grew old fast. Especially since it wasn't related to what I did.
When I thought about it, the media never gave us a break either, but there was no point complaining about them. In fact, complaining about any of these things would do nothing to change what they did. Sort of like how my life had been; a roller coaster of unneeded drama and hardships. For some reason, it always felt good to think about these things, regardless if they brought truth, falsehood, or a mix of both. It was a distraction, something to rest my mind upon before it would need to truly focus. as anyone would agree, as I approached our mission destination.
The large black van I sat in jerked slightly as it careened down the street, knocking me out of my reverie. A glance around told me no one was effected by the sudden shift of the vehicle. A sharp turn to the left proved this point as everyone swayed inside the van, but thought nothing of it. We were all set for the firefight that awaited us. Black attire with a combat vest that sported the familiar white S.W.A.T. logo on the back. The combat helmets we wore over our ski masks were doing their job nicely, hiding our identity completely. Even the dark tinted military giggles strapped over our eyes sheltered our eyes from external means, making us far more imposing. All in all, we didn't mess around in terms of protection, both physically and visually.
My assessment of our apparel was cut short as I remembered why we were dressed that way in the first place. A robbery, the thieves holed up in a building still under construction, a fire fight breaking out between cops and robbers. The rest was a bit fuzzy, but in the end, what did it matter? If S.W.A.T. was being called in, it was pretty serious. What weapons the robbers could have, if we had the element of surprise, and were what was really important, and was unknown to us. Regardless, the firearms each of us held were ready for what was in store, whatever we would encounter. The other five men that were in the van with me were probably thinking the same thing. It was pretty normal, especially with our lack of knowledge regarding our mission.
These precious moments were best left in silence, so everyone can ponder to themselves. Sadly, it wasn't the case for the new guy that had joined our ranks. As usual, no one was thrilled when he was assigned to us. No party or congratulations, just the expectation to do his job and do it well. The way he spoke intelligibly most of the time, mutterings of an inexperienced man as only a few words cropped up from time to time.
Though it was his first time, none of us told him to shut up. Whether it was out of respect for the new guy, or knowing these were the times to prepare, I didn't know, but I was certainly getting irritated.
"Oh man," he mumbled excitedly to himself, speaking coherently for the first time since I had met him as he examined his MP5 submachine gun for the third time. "This is so exciting! Can you believe I was accepted for S.W.A.T.?"
I certainly couldn't believe it, and I had bet many others at the station would agree with me. I didn't hear of him until he was suddenly thrown on our laps. Shaking my head, I wished he would keep quiet like the rest of us. No one responded to his question, assuming it was rhetorical and hoping he would get the message. Some of the other members used to behave like him - enthusiastic at the prospect of stopping gung ho criminals. A single mission was all it took to teach them that S.W.A.T. wasn't a game. The new guy glanced around, not catching on to our subtle hint, and continued on with his ramblings.
"How about you, Anderson?" he inquired to me specifically. I was hoping he wouldn't talk to me, but I suppose sitting next to the chatter box meant one had to interact with him.
"Just call me Nolan," I snapped quietly. Just my luck to be the one who had to talk with him. I didn't even know his name!
"Oh, uh... alright, Nolan," he corrected, his tone sounding a bit confused. He must not have been used to speaking to others so informally. Silence followed afterward, but it only lasted for a second before he decided to speak to me again. "Hey, can I ask you something?"
I gave a calm sigh. I knew the new guy would have questions, but why did I have to answer them? Maybe it was because I was the sole person to actually acknowledge his existence on the van. If that was the case, I had learned my lesson.
"What is it?" I asked rudely.
"Why do you have a revolver instead of a 9mm like the rest of us?" he asked, pointing to the gun holstered to my side. The others in the van looked to each other, like the new guy had asked a stupid question. With inward sigh, I somehow knew at some point he was going to ask that... I suppose it was a good time, but it didn’t mean I had to like answering him.
I gripped the handle of my revolver and pulled it out fluidly, allowing him to see it fully. "A Smith and Wesson 629 .44 Magnum Revolver," I recited perfectly. If I could see his face, I bet the new guy was in absolute awe at my skills involving memory. I had my reasons for memorizing my revolver's official name though.
"It may not be standard issue, but it gets the job done. I call her 'Vera'," I explained while placing the revolver back in the holster. The new guy watched me do this in awe, as if he watching some action movie hero. He wondered if it was wise to stick this man into a place where bullets would be flying by; he seemed like he would be easily distracted. He tilted his head down, obviously in thought about something.
"This may be a little personal," he inquired, rubbing his neck as he faced me again, "But how old were you when you went into S.W.A.T.?"
The question may have been irrelevant to the mission at hand, but I was sure he had his reasons. "Twenty four," I answered, looking off to the side. "I'm twenty five now," I added, thinking he would appreciate the additional info.
"I'm only twenty," he responded, his tone suggesting he was ashamed of his age. "I bet you have loads of experience."
"More than most," I admitted, nodding slightly. The new guy must have presumed I didn't want to speak more on the subject, and the sounds of the van filled the compartment in the short break that followed.
"Have you heard of My Little Pony?" the new guy questioned suddenly, leaning forward towards me. That had to be the strangest question anyone had ever asked me, and I had been asked some pretty ridiculous questions.
"I remember some girls playing with those toys when I was a kid, why?" I replied, honestly curious as to why he would ask a question like that.
"There's this awesome show based off the toys," he revealed, the excitement evident in his voice. I couldn't believe a grown man was watching a show based on a toy made for little girls. The others in the van were unfazed by this knowledge, which was even stranger. Either they already knew about his interest, or they were into the same thing. I really wanted it to be the former, since I couldn't stand the thought of so many men watching such a show.
"Why would you watch something like that?" I asked in disbelief, my eyes trained on him.
"You should check it out on your computer sometime, it's great," he expressed, reflecting my question away. Though I did have a computer, I hardly used it, and the times I did, it was never for entertainment. Even if I did use it for such purposes, I would avoid a show for little girls.
I didn't tell him this though, putting up my silent demeanor. Not just because I didn't want to talk to the new guy anymore, but also because the driver had banged on the metal sheet that seperated us from him. It meant we were nearing our destination, and it helped ready ourselves for deployment when he eventually stopped.
The new kid was already told of this sign, so everyone was checking our gear one last time. Four others held their MP5 sub-machine guns at the ready, while another person and I readied our pump-action shotguns. The seconds ticked by as we neared the drop point, and I had that gut wrenching feeling inside me I always had when I was about to get into a gun fight.
I faintly began to hear the sounds of discharging handguns and the loud pangs the bullets made when they impacted metal. It only got louder as we got closer and closer, to the point where it was difficult to tell where the shooters were. I didn't know how many people were out there, but there must had been a lot.
At that point, some stray bullets were beginning to ricochet off of the armored van we occupied, leaving behind loud ringing noises. The new guy flinched each time a bullet impacted the side, making me give a hidden smile in amusement at his jumpy mood. At last, the van came to a halt; it was time to go.
The two men closest to the doors pushed them open, filing out as they did. I was near the back so I was the last to get out. As I was exiting the vehicle, I realized the gunfire had ceased. That meant the other police officers where following protocol, which was to cease fire and stay at a safe distance to allow us, the big guns, to come in and clean shop. I wondered whether that was wise, since the criminals would know we had arrived, but I had never questioned it.
Our team briskly walked down the street towards the line of patrol cars. Many police officers were aiming their guns at a certain three-story building. That must have been where the convicts were. We headed for the man in charge, Captain Moore, to get an overview of the situation. Our S.W.A.T. captain, Sawyer, was the one who spoke with him. Since I was second-in-command, I had to listen to the conversation as well.
"What's the situation?" Sawyer asked in his deep voice, as Moore kept his eyes on the three-story building. Moore was average looking, if not slightly overweight. Of course, being a captain, he could do what he wanted, so I didn't really care.
"As far as I can tell," Moore said, turning his gaze over to our squad, "the bastards are holed in pretty tightly. They stopped firing when they saw your S.W.A.T. van roll by. Probably getting ready for your breach."
Sawyer nodded, and gestured at the building for us to get into a breaching position. The rest of us nodded to his order and, as quietly as we could, neared the door in the alley way. The new guy was in front of me, and I could easily hear his uneasy breathing. He was definitely nervous, and I knew he would act like that once we were about to get in on the action.
Once we were in the graffiti-filled alleyway, we made a beeline for the deteriorating white door. Sawyer positioned himself to the left of the door, while I stood further to the left behind him. Another person stood on the right of the entrance, readying his MP5. The others stood off to the side, ready to provide support if the need arose.
"Remember, team," Sawyer reminded, looking at each of us in turn, "shoot to kill but if they try to surrender, take prisoners."
So it was the usual plan to kill everyone. I didn't know why he told us to try to take prisoners, since they never surrendered. That's why they sent us in, to take care of them before they caused anymore damage. I bet even Sawyer knew that, but standard procedure probably forced him to tell us anyway.
"Anderson," Sawyer commanded sternly, snapping me out of my thoughts, "Breach, bang, and clear."
I gave a curt nod, and Sawyer nodded back. His hand approached the door handle, grasped it in his hand and turned it. The door swung open to a small degree, and there was thankfully no immediate threat. That was my cue.
I grabbed a flash bang from my belt while holding my shotgun in my left hand. I promptly moved over to the door while at the same time pulling the pin. I threw it in quickly and placed myself back behind Sawyer. The familiar flash of light mixed with the extremely loud sound it emitted told us it went off. The following groans of pain was just icing on the cake.
As soon as the flash bang went off, Sawyer and the person standing to the side entered, weapons at the ready. I heard gunshots as I followed closely behind, but they were disorganized, chaotic; definitely not our own. Apparently, the people inside thought they could get a shot on us while disoriented.
Sawyer and the other breacher took out the three men nursing their eyes and ears, avoiding the enemy bullets while giving short sprays from their submachine guns effectively. I didn't have to discharge my weapon, and neither did the other members of the squad as we entered as well, seeing the dead bodies on the ground.
With the short break granted to us, I took a quick peek at what we were dealing with. The three dead men, sprawled around the room, all wore a red handkerchief over their noses and mouths, crudely hiding who they were. They also wore red baseball caps and dirty shirts. The reason for their resistance against the police wasn't present, as there wasn't anything worth fighting for in the room. It was probably in a different room. The weapons they once wielded were resting next to them. With a quick examination, I could tell they were plain Uzis. We had to be careful.
"Alright, team," Sawyer called as we all gathered around, "same plan as usual. Teams of two, clear each floor. Meet back here when you're finished."
The rest of us nodded, and I finally examined the room we were in. It was all white, there was no furniture, no painted walls, just an empty room. The faint smell of paint was in the air, and the various paint buckets adjacent to the walls added to my conclusion. The complex was probably under renovation. If the rest of the rooms were like this, then the job had just gotten a lot simpler.
I somehow got paired up with the new guy, much to my dismay. I didn't bother asking what his name was out of not caring what so ever. Even if we were working together, I believed it would not be required. We were given the third floor, and in my opinion, the easiest floor, since we had the advantage of height if we needed it. Things had been going my way that day, to an extent.
The new guy and I rapidly climbed the stairs, which were thankfully closed off, eliminating any thought of an ambush. I had to admit, the new guy was holding up. Sure, he hadn't done any real work yet, but he seemed ready to do his job. As we hopped the last step onto the third floor, I raised by hand into a fist, indicating for him to halt. The new guy complied, waiting for my next order.
I observed the area we had to clear. There was a small hallway with three doors, one on the left, one on the right, and one at the far end. I gestured to the door to the left, and he got in position to the right of it. I stood to the left, and when he gave me the thumbs up he was set, I quickly stepped away and kicked the door down.
We charged in one at a time, with our weapons at the ready, but there was no one to greet us. Relaxing our shoulders, the new guy gave a small sigh, and I did as well. "One down," I muttered, "Two to go."
He and I left the empty room and took our places on the opposite door. We did the same procedure; he gave the thumbs up and I kicked the door down. However, It was the same thing as before: empty.
At that point, the new guy was shaking slightly, his jitters becoming obvious to me. He was either growing anxious about having to fight someone, or was impatient at not finding anything so far. Either way, I hoped it wouldn't get us killed.
We had one last room to check, and at that point, I hoped it was empty as well. From my luck, if the previous rooms were empty, it meant the last one would be holding the men we had to take down. It had become such a miserable habit I was on the verge of giving it a name.
The hallway was too narrow to redo the same tactic we had used previously, so I had to improvise a quick breach plan. Only one of us would be able to enter at a time, like the other doors. Unlike the other rooms, however, one person would have to wait until the other was completely inside before he could render aid. The biggest risk with this breach would be someone would inevitably be injured, or worse. That was if the men behind the door knew we were coming, but it wasn't like we had been silent on the floor.
I took a deep breath, knowing what I had to do. I turned to the new guy, who clutched his MP5 closely to his body, waiting for my orders. I told him the situation given to us by fate, and he shook even harder. I know I would have.
"S-So am I going to be the one to... e-enter first, sir?" he stammered, staring at the last door like if was about to bite him. I couldn't help but pity him. A man who thought he would be bringing justice and stuff like that. But at that point, he thought he had to risk his life for a single room. It wasn't right, especially since he had only just joined S.W.A.T.
"No," I answered seriously, and the new guy tilted his head to the side. I guess he had thought I was going to force him to do it. "I'll go in first, you take out anybody when you get the chance. Understand?"
I couldn't tell if the new guy was relaxed or agitated more, for he was still shaking. "I understand," he complied, nodding as his shakes toned down a little afterwards. I was glad I was able to ease his mind, if only slightly.
Nodding back, I faced the accursed door, raising my shotgun to eye level as I began hearing my heart beat against my chest. Before I reached for the door handle, I suddenly remembered I had one more flash bang with me. I lowered my shotgun only slightly while my right hand went to retrieve it, and when I looked upon it, I tossed it lightly to myself. I couldn't believe I had forgotten about it, even the new guy had a few with him! Though it would have been a waste to use them in the previous empty rooms. Even still, I felt pretty dumb.
Groaning at my idiocy, I shrugged the thought off, and held my shotgun vertically to balance it out. I turned the handle of the door, and opened it only a crack. Afterwards, I pulled the pin of the flash bang and shoved it through the small crack of the door. The flash bang went off and I slammed my shoulder into the door bursting into the room with my shotgun at the ready.
The next thing I knew, someone had tackled me from my left side, sending both of us to the floor. My shotgun was thrown out of my hold from the impact, and I was wrestling with the man who was on top of me.
I didn't know where the new guy was, but he must have had his hands full with the other people in the room, if hearing his MP5 was any indication. As I struggled against the man on top of me, I began thinking of my options. My shotgun was out of reach, so that was out. I couldn't get my .44 revolver without this guy getting a shot at me. That only left my combat knife, attached to my vest on my left shoulder.
With a plan in mind, I elbowed the man in the head, and while he was dazed, I quickly grasped the handle of my knife, took it out and rammed it into his neck. He stopped instantly his eyes wide as he choked on his own blood, a few drops falling on my chest. I didn't want to kill him in such a manner, but it was my only available option at the time. With his life fleeting, he tumbled off of me, allowing me to sit up and look around frantically for any other threats.
Two other men were dead on the floor, blood dripping from bullet wounds by a submachine gun, but what caught my eye was one of the criminals was standing over the new guy, with a handgun pointed at his head. Thinking fast, I dropped my knife as my hands instantly unholstering my revolver. Aiming the weapon at the man's head, I fired a single bullet, which passed though the man's head. The mand didn't even mutter a sound as he fell onto his stomach beside the new guy.
I nearly fell back in relief, releasing a breath I didn't know I was holding. Who knew I would be that attached to a guy I had only met yesterday. Of course, I anybody would have done the same, but the feeling was still there. I pushed myself to my feet, and stood up, feeling somewhat sore where the man had hit me. The smell of paint was replaced with gunpowder, and it forced me to give a small cough.
After holstering my revolver, I picked my shotgun off the ground, looking it over for any damage. Satisfied with its nearly pristine condition, I lifted it over my back and attached it to the clip that hung on the backside of my combat vest. Having that little clip made carrying my shotgun much easier when we were finished with a mission. After snatching my knife and putting back where it belonged, I walked over to the new guy, who had not made any indication to get up. Stopping next to him, I held out my hand, expecting him to grab it.
To my horror, he didn't move at all.
My eyes widened behind my goggles and I knelt down quickly, putting two fingers against his neck. There was a pulse, thank god, and I concluded he was knocked unconscious, not dead. He was probably hit in the head by a blunt object. Still, he should get medical attention as soon as possible.
Before I could shout for help, I caught sight of an odd object sitting not too far away. It was a flat piece of stone, stylized and painted like the sun. It was perfect, with smooth corners and no smudged paint. Why was such an object here? Did these bastards steal it?
Standing up, my eyes not leaving the object for a second, I carefully stepped over to it, and picked it up. I studied it effortlessly, feeling the smooth object through my gloves as I turned it over. A yellow circle made up the center, and it was surrounded by a light shade of orange. The flames that flowed outward, representing light, were a dark shade of orange. It was very peculiar, yet beautiful.
Suddenly, the object began to glow white, causing me to raise an eyebrow. Did it have hidden lights in it? I would have left it alone at that point, but something inside me wanted to continue to examine it, to learn about it. A burst of bright light shot out of it, and I dropped it on instinct, backing away from it. The light filled my vision, to the point where I thought I would go blind. Then I felt myself falling, and the light faded to black, as I slipped to unconsciousness.
{~+~}
I could feel the hard floor pressing against my side, a sign I was still alive. It was dead quiet, not even the small sound of movement could be heard. I opened my eyes fully, the tinted goggles suppressing the light that filtered through the windows. I shook my head as I sat up from my prone position, glancing around to get my bearings.
The room was completely empty now - the dead convicts and the new guy were gone. The walls were still white, but looked dirtier than before. The floor also changed from plain concrete to a wooden finish. What the hell happened? Did one of my S.W.A.T. members move me to a different room? Even if I was, I think someone from my squad would be here with me.
I tiredly stood up, groaning as I did. The unintentional sleep had made me sore, and I wondered how long I was out. I checked my equipment, to see if anything was missing. I still had my shotgun, along with all the ammunition I was allowed to carry for it. The same went with Vera, as it was still holstered to my side. Even my knife was in its place.
I lost nothing in my unwilling move, and I was still wearing all my gear. So the real question was, where was I? I walked over to the window, noting it was a four-pane window instead of just one large glass pane. I put a hand over my eyes to see better, but it proved fruitless as the glass was fogged up from the other side. I guess the only way to figure out where I ended up was by going outside.
I strode towards the door and tentatively opened it. The hallway was still there, but I didn't know if it was comforting or disturbing. Nevertheless, I made my way back to the stairs, and I found out I was in a two story building unlike before. As I stepped onto the ground floor, I sighted a simple wooden door with a round handle. I figured a long time ago I was in a different building, but confirming it still made me uncomfortable.
The windows were the same as the one above; foggy and opaque. I hardly took notice, as my objective was just to get the hell out of the building. However, as I neared the door, I felt dread well up inside me. It was the fear of finding something I wasn't ready for. I pushed it aside, knowing I had no choice, so, cautiously, I opened the door.
The sight made me almost want to slam the door shut in shock.
I wasn't on the same street anymore. I wasn't even in the same city anymore. By only looking out the door, I could tell I was in a different land. There were cottages that were timber-framed with distinct thatched roofs. Almost all the buildings were identical, save a handful. The roads were run down with dirt paths, with a few patches of cobblestones here and there.
I took a small step in this strange place, looking around in a baffled state. The place was so unrecognizable I doubted I was in the U.S. anymore. The buildings were outdated to our construction guidelines, and the streets would at least have some signs around. I exited the house I was in entirely, circling around to see it. It was similar to the other housings, but had a wooden sign hanging by the door, saying ‘For Sale’ in black text.
"Alright, calm down," I whispered to myself, trusting it would help as I held out my hands in front of me, "It's just a dream. A very vivid dream, but still a dream. I'll wake up, and forget this whole thing."
My gaze drifted to the sky, seeing it was perfectly cloudless, with the sun at an angle with the horizon. That was another thing that confused me; the sun seemed... larger, as if Earth had grown closer to the sun or vice versa.
That was when the inhabitants of this town opened their doors, exiting their homes. It was odd to see people leaving their homes nearly simultaneously, but I had to remind myself I was still in a dream. They all wore forest green jackets with haggard jeans. Various accessories complimented their heads. If I didn't know better, they all seemed like military, with the revolvers holstered to their brown leather belts.
What was really unusual was what followed behind each person. If I remembered correctly from my Biology classes in college, they were ponies. Four foot tall, colored ponies, with big eyes, and tattoos on their flanks. My head must had really messed with me. I decided to explore a little, humor my mind before I woke up.
As I strolled down the street, I couldn't help but regard the place with wonder. The whole town had very unique yet run down buildings. One looked to be made of sweets, while another looked like it was carved into a tree. It was fascinating how my mind would come up with them.
The locales weren't the only things that interested me, the populace was unreal. Each person was followed by one or two ponies. Mysteriously, the ponies seemed to be sad. They were actually expressing sadness, like a human would. The humans didn't care in the slightest about that phenomenon, or just didn't notice. There was a variety of colors the ponies displayed, yet I knew something wasn't right.
The more I observed my surrounds, the more it seemed to not be a dream. Everything was so surreal, and I'm pretty sure I could never think up a place like this in a hundred years. What was ironic was that everyone was gawking at me as I went by, like I was the weird one. Even the ponies.
Speaking of the ponies, as I studied them while I walked, I could almost feel a presence I wouldn't associate with a pony, as if it was aware what was going on around it. It's impossible to discern whether the reality I found myself in was real, but I was slowly leaning away from it all being fake. My heartbeat increased at the realization that this place might be genuine. My breath quickened as well, and I began to feel woozy. It felt like my whole perspective of logic was thrown out the window.
The sound of an angry cry broke me from my contemplations. It came from around the upcoming corner, and a yelp of pain also resonated in the same direction. I picked up the pace, hoping to assist in some way.
As I rounded the corner, my eyes laid upon a man, whose features were contorted with fury, as he stood over a pony. The pony was cowering away from him, clutching its stomach with its hooves. Apples were lying around the filthy ground, and a knocked over basket lay close by, presenting to me what had happened.
It was already strange enough that the pony was twisting her leg in a peculiar way, but that it was brightly colored was another. I knew some of the other ponies had abnormal coats and manes, but I didn’t think they were so vibrant. This pony seemed to be female, as did a majority of the other ponies, with a pale goldenrod coat and carrot orange mane and tail. Her tattoo on her flank was three carrots.
"Stupid fucking pony!" the man bellowed, kicking the poor pony in the stomach, causing the pony to wince in pain. I didn't think ponies could wince. "Can't even hold a basket of apples without spilling it!"
The man continued to kick the pony relentlessly, and I knew it was a case of animal abuse. As a police officer, it was my duty to uphold the law, no matter where I was. "Hey, knock it off," I said sternly, walking over to him with determination. The man did stop, causing the pony to catch a break as it breathed raggedly
"What do you want?" he asked threateningly, crossing his arms as he faced me. He had a long face that told everybody he was always serious. His short black hair had gray growing in random places.
"You do realize that's animal abuse, right?" I explained intently, halting in front of him.
"Animal abuse?" he asked me, and before I could answer, he broke down in laughter. Even passing people thought my comment was comical, as they tried to stifle their own laughter. Was it an inside joke? The man finally stopping his laughing, but was wheezing from overexerting himself.
"Oh, that's rich," he chuckled, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. He gazed at me again, and his snickering was cut off. "You're serious?"
I hesitated a moment, wondering if it was worth going through with this. Was it normal here to just hurt animals like that? I didn't want to question how the system worked. The man narrowed his eyes, "What are you anyway? A special operative of the Baron?"
Baron? Was he the one in charge? More questions were filling my head, but I had to tread carefully. I was getting a bad vibe from the person. "Uh, yeah," I answered, scratching the back of my neck. I may have lied, but telling the truth was probably unwise at that point.
"Oh," he spoke, visibly relaxing from his earlier pose, "Then you must be here to speak with Mayor Jordan about the apple shortage."
"Right," I agreed, pointing a finger at him, "I'm here to find out about the apple shortage."
I had no idea what I was saying. From the man's words, there was apparently an apple shortage in town. And the leader of this town was Jordan. If I can find him and explain my predicament, he can point me in the right direction, and I could get home. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was a plan nonetheless.
"He's over at Sweet Apple Acres, as usual," he stated, jabbing a thumb at a path that led out of town. "And if it isn't too much trouble, can you put a good word my way?"
"Whatever," I grumbled with annoyance, stepping past him. I didn't like when people tried to brown nose their way through the ranks. The man acted like he had been slapped in the face, but didn't say a word. As I was heading to the path he indicated, I looked over my shoulder one last time, and saw the man grab the pony's mane and forcibly pull her to her hooves as he scolded it. Why would he talk to a pony who couldn't talk back? I know some people talk to animals, but how loud he was to the pony was ridiculous.
I faced forward again, shaking my head. I would get all my answers from Mayor Jordan, and then I can get back home. Still, that pony didn't deserve to be treated like that. The other people ignored the abuse as well, like it was a common occurrence.
"What have I gotten myself into?" I mumbled as I strode down the dirt path, leaving the town boundary. My head wandered around, admiring the beautiful nature around me. The rolling hills were filled with golden grass, and it was quite remarkable.
That's when I saw the large castle-like city on the side of a lone mountain. I may not have known every city in the world, but I was pretty sure there wasn't a place like that, especially one that looked so precariously placed. Just another question to add to my list, which had grown quite a bit.
My trip brought me to a bridge that spanned a small stream. I thought it was quite quaint, seeing as the bridge was exaggerated given the small river of water. After I crossed it, the view on my right side changed from wide-open plains to a large tree orchard. Each tree was healthy, bearing bountiful apples by the dozens. I wondered if I could try some when I got the chance, and decided to ask when I could.
A fork in the road was presented to me. One lead onward, heading to who knew where. The other path went into the orchard, and probably to Sweet Apple Acres. I took the latter for obvious reasons.
My trek eventually brought me to a red barn. Like the town not too far off, the barn was worn down and shabby, with peeling paint and beaten wood. When I thought about it, the whole town reminded me of those old ghost towns, except this place wasn't abandoned, just neglected.
I took a small break to check out the surrounding area, leaning against a post of the white rail fence that surrounded the orchard. Sweet Apples Acres looked like a normal farm. Crops were growing vibrant vegetables, animals were in their pens, and farm equipment was strung around.
I gave a relieved sigh, glad to finally be on the right track. The whole place had been so confusing, I was afraid something would happen to make it weirder. Mayor Jordan would give it to me straight. And if he didn't... I'd think of something else.
The best place to find him would be in the barn, but as I pushed myself off to head there, I heard arguing. It wasn't one of those arguments that lasted a few minutes, but the one that turned violent fairly fast. I decided to investigate, and the sound was coming through the trees.
Vaulting the fence, I carefully snuck through the tall apple trees, wary I may be trespassing. I got to the point where I was able to discern words in the heated discussion, and I approached much more quietly so as to not be found out. One may call what I was doing eavesdropping, but a police officer knows that any evidence is good evidence.
"I don't care how tired you are!" shouted a masculine voice, "You need to buck as many trees as you can, or the shortage will continue!"
"I don't care!" a female voice seethed angrily with a southern drawl, "What I need is rest! How am I suppose ta harvest apples if ya never give me a break?!"
I had crept behind one of the trees, my back pressed against it, and I knew right behind it were the perpetrators of the argument.
"Don't question me!" the man bellowed, using a threatening tone, "Just get the rest of the apples then you can rest, you fucking bitch!"
The raging disagreement came to a close as footsteps could be heard crunching towards me. I pressed myself harder into the tree, hoping he wouldn't catch me where I shouldn't be. Luckily, he walked past without a glance back. He was tall, maybe a few inches taller than me, and he wore the regular clothes everyone in town wore. What set him apart from the rest was the light brown Stetson hat on his head.
If my deduction skills were as good as I thought they were, that was probably Jordan. And if it wasn't him, than it was someone who could point me to him. I was about to follow him and speak with him, but the woman he was arguing with crossed my mind. Why were they working someone to exhaustion? Was it slavery? I knew I had to at least talk with the girl to see if she was alright.
A loud crack, followed by many small thuds, came from behind my tree. I peeked around my tree to see what she was doing, but I only saw a pony. This pony had an orange coat, with a blonde mane and tail. The tattoo on her flank were three red apples. That pony must have been the most ordinary one I had seen so far. I searched the area, but found no sign of the other woman. Did she take off? And why does this pony seem so mad?
I took a step forward to get a better view, but my foot, unfortunately, landed on a branch that snapped under my weight. The pony's head whipped over in my direction, her eyes, which I just noticed were emerald green, were narrowed in fury. Soft freckles sat underneath them, on her cheeks. However, upon seeing me, she jumped back in fright. My appearance really was uncommon if I could spook a pony.
"Whoa Nelly," the pony said nervously. Wait, the pony spoke? Actual words!? Was she the one who was arguing with the man!? My brain was tripping over word after word, trying to comprehend this unfathomable revelation. I shook my head several times, even banged my head with the palm of my hand to shake me out of it. Though it was difficult with my helmet on.
"What are you doin'?" the pony asked aggressively, referring to my odd motions. She must have gotten over my attire at some point. I simply stood there, dumbstruck. "You're... you're talking," I said dumbly, pointing a shaky finger at her.
"Of course I'm talkin'!" she snapped, glaring with all her might, "Did ya forget I could or somethin'?"
"I... what... how...?" I stammered, my movement was at a standstill as I observed the pony. She wasn't having any of it though, and rolled her eyes with annoyance.
"Look mister," she explained sternly, "I have work ta do. So iffen you don't mind..."
She walked over to a tree, spun on the spot, and kicked it with her hind legs. A cascade of apples fell, landing perfectly in the baskets that sat underneath the tree. My brain, at that point, was barely registering what was going on around me. I had to process everything that had happened so far, so I sat down, placing my back against a tree, with my hands cradling my head.
At first I thought I was carried to a different location, but that was thrown out, seeing as I was in a different world entirely. Then I assumed I was dreaming, but again, it didn't fit, as this place was too real and, at the same time, too unreal. So, my last option was I was taking drugs, and this was one large hallucination. It would explain the bright light before I was knocked out cold.
Having an explanation running through my head, I looked up to find the orange pony right in front of my face, causing me to flinch and bang my head against the tree. Good thing I had my helmet on.
"Are ya just going to sit there and watch me all day?" she questioned, her face barely containing her anger. I released a large breath, calming myself so as to speak clearly.
"I think I'm taking drugs," I announced, and the pony tilted her head to the side with a raised eyebrow, "because a pony is talking to me."
I apparently said the wrong words, as her anger grew more intense, taking a few steps away from me, "If ya didn't want me to talk to ya, then ya could've just asked!"
I waved a hand in front of me, trying to control the situation, "Whoa, wait, that's not what I meant. I'm just saying... wait, why am I trying to explain this to a pony who doesn't exist?"
The orange pony growled, pawing the ground with one of her hoofs, as if she was about to charge. "If you're just gonna insult me, than you might as well skedaddle," she informed me without sympathy, "I ain't got time for that."
She turned away, grumbling to herself, and I wondered how drugs were even interacting with me. From what I was told about hallucinations, they wouldn't speak to someone, let alone get angry. Maybe this was real, and this was all actually happening...
"No," I whispered, causing the pony to swivel her head towards me.
"Pardon?"
"This can't be real," I continued, ignoring her while gripping my head, "I'm not in a magical world where there are colorful, talking ponies with human owners. What the hell is happening!?"
"Stop with your yappin'!" she ordered, facing me fully, "I know your kind, and I know this is just a trick. Well it ain't workin'!"
"Shut up!" I roared, but she didn't back down, or even flinch.
"You listen here, fella," she said, "Just go tell Jordan I'm working as hard as I can! I don't need no mangy human to watch my every move!"
My mind was in overdrive, I couldn't handle it anymore. So I jumped to my feet and took off, to where I hoped was the barn. It was official, I was insane. I just got chewed out by a talking pony. A talking pony dammit! I was probably sitting in an asylum, mumbling to myself with drool coming out of my mouth.
I reached the orchard boundary, and climbed the fence, but slipped and landed on my stomach on the other side. I didn't know where I was, but I didn't care. I was just glad to be alone, to think about what was happening.
My brain was accepting that my surroundings were real; the hint of pain in my stomach, the dirt I lied on, everything. I was truly in a land with talking ponies and humans as the overlords. Though it didn't make any sense, I had to accept it, or I would actually go insane.
Giving a defeated sigh, I knew there was only one option for me now: getting home. If I could somehow teleport to a completely different place, than the opposite should be true. I just needed to find out how to do that. I flipped myself onto my back, sat up, and rested my forearms on my knees.
Jordan was still my main goal. The pony before wouldn’t help me, seeing as she didn’t like humans at all. I gave the area a general sweep and found myself in the main farm of Sweet Apple Acres. Giving another sigh, I stood up, and brushed off the dirt stuck to my once pristine pants.
After that was finished, I went straight for the barn, figuring that was where Jordan lived. At that moment, I wished I could have a smoke, to calm myself enough to be in momentary bliss. I couldn't, however, as I was growing desperate for information, and couldn't waste any more time.
I heard more cracks, and I glanced around, seeing other ponies working in the orchard. Even from this distance, I could tell they weren't happy with where they were. And if they all were sentient like the orange pony, than it crossed the line to slavery, unless they were being paid, which was unlikely.
I rubbed my forehead as I neared the barn. I was getting ahead of myself. I arrived here merely half an hour ago, and I couldn't start accusing people of slavery, especially with ponies being the work force. I finished my pondering with a sigh as I lifted a hand to the door and knocked three times.
Waiting impatiently, I idly played with my hands, wondering how Jordan would respond to my story. The door swung open immediately, with little warning, and there stood Jordan. He eyed me up and down, determining me based solely on my appearance.
"Can I help you?" he asked, giving me a bored expression.
"Yes, hi," I introduced, placing my hand in between us to shake, "I'm Nolan Anderson."
He didn't go for my gesture, still staring at me with his judging gaze while crossing his arms. I retracted my hand - that was rude. "I was hoping I could talk with you for a second," I requested as kindly as I could muster.
"Get on with it," Jordan demanded as he ground his teeth.
"I don't know where to begin," I stated, scratching my neck. "Well... where am I?"
"Sweet Apple Acres," he answered, his tone suggesting he was not amused.
"I mean... what town? What country?" I elaborated.
He cocked an eyebrow, and I just realized my questions did sound kind of crazy. I also realized I would finally be getting the answers I craved, causing me to perk my head.
"You are in Ponyville," he replied, sweeping his hand out to indicate the surrounding area. "In the filthy land of Equestria."
"...I never heard of a place like that before," I said, "But anyway, how can the ponies talk?"
I only assumed the other ponies could talk. For all I knew, the orange one was the only exception. My question made Jordan look at me critically, his expression completely amazed, and not in the good way.
"What's your game?" he asked harshly, jabbing a finger at my chest.
"Nothing," I stated truthfully, "I'm just new here, and I have no idea how to get home."
"Knock it off," he ordered, jabbing me again, "I don't want any funny business, and I certainly don't want some asshole asking me stupid questions. Now get lost."
"Look, I just want to-"
"I said get lost!" he roared, pushing me full force with both his hands. I lost my footing and fell into the dirt, releasing a grunt when I did. Using my hands, I pushed myself to a sitting position just in time to see Jordan slam the door, leaving me with a defeated attitude.
I stood up, suddenly feeling tired. I had been tossed around this place and I still had few answers. I only found out I was in Equestira, and more specifically Ponyville. Only then did I realize the silliness of the names, but I wasn't in the mood to dwell on it.
With fleeting hope, I dragged my feet over to the rail fence and sat on it, my feet dangling slightly. Leaning my arms on my legs, I gave a heavy sigh. I was in one of my moods again, and there was only one way to remedy it. I opened one of the many pouches on my combat vest, extracting a cigarette pack. When I got it out, I opened it to see I had ten left inside.
I pulled one out and put the pack back in the pouch. I quickly tugged off my entire head gear - helmet, ski mask and goggles - and tossed it to the ground without much care. My short brown hair wavered in the small breeze that came by as I rubbed my light stubble beard. I reached into my pocket and retrieved my silver lighter.
Routinely, I placed the cigarette between my lips, while igniting my lighter close to it. In a matter of seconds, the cigarette lit, and I put my lighter back where it belonged. I breathed in the smoke, enjoying the intoxicating feel it had, and pulled out my cigarette from my lips as I exhaled. I watched as the smoke danced around in the air as it disappeared completely.
To sum up, my situation turned from bad to worse. I had no plan, no way home, and no place to go. I suppose I was a little too optimistic about getting home, but there was no way I could have predicted everybody would be this hostile towards me. So I just sat there, trying to forget my past, the present, and the uncertain future.
A loud crack right behind me broke my train of thought, and I glanced over my shoulder. It was the orange pony from earlier, but she tried to ignore that I was sitting here, keeping her eyes on the trees and its apples. I faced forward again, inhaling another lungful of smoke.
"So you're still here, are ya?" she questioned, kicking another tree with a little more power than I thought necessary.
"I guess I am," I replied curtly. I gave a small grunt, and mused, "I doubt you'd answer my questions."
"What would a human like yourself ask what you don't already know?" she asked, kicking another tree. "You already took what I hold dearly: my home, family, friends."
"What are you talking about?" I snapped, swinging my legs over the fence to face her fully.
"Don't act like you don't know," she said, still not looking at me. "You know full well what you and your kind did to us ponies."
"No, I don't!" I shouted, throwing my arms in the air. "I'm not even from here, and everyone thinks I'm the bad guy. You think I did something terrible, while everyone else thinks I'm up to no good!"
At last, she stopped her tree kicking to give me a cold stare. It was slightly unsettling, considering I just blew my top. Her stare went on for a quarter of a minute before she gazed at the ground.
"I still can't tell if you're lyin'..." she mumbled, shaking her head.
"What do you mean?" I asked hesitantly, sliding off the fence while inhaling from my cigarette.
"I mean," the orange pony emphasized, "I can't tell if you're lyin' or not. I'm usually pretty good when it comes to that stuff, but with you humans..."
So she was a living truth detector or something? Was that even possible for a pony? Why did I ask questions like that; anything's possible with these ponies. I didn't voice my confusion, staring off into space instead. I sighed, "So basically you don't trust me."
She gave me a straight face and gave a quick nod to my statement. "Fine," I whispered dejectedly, "then how do I earn your trust?"
She jerked her head back at my request, her mouth slightly open. "You... want to earn my trust?"
I shrugged and gave another drag from my cigarette before I answered, "It seems like the only way to get my questions answered. And I'm sure the people here aren't going to help me without throwing a tantrum."
The orange pony's surprised expression slid into contained anger, her eyes furrowed as she frowned. "I don't know if this is just another trick or not, but you can start by gettin' my stuff back."
"Alright," I complied, flicking my burnt out cigarette bud away. "What is it?"
"My hat and hairbands," she stated.
"Your hat and... hairbands?" I asked, looking her over. She didn't seem like the type of pony to wear clothing of any kind. Hell, I didn’t even know ponies had clothing overall.
"Yes, that there Jordan fella took 'em away from me when he..." she trailed off, turning her head away from me. She looked to be fighting back tears. It was probably a sore subject, one that didn't want to be talked about, like my own past.
"Okay," I agreed, vaulting the fence and picking up my head gear.
"Wait, you're actually going to get 'em?" she asked, tilting her head to the side in doubt.
"I said I would, didn't I?" I replied putting on my head gear individually.
"Well, I suppose, but..." she said, playing with the dirt with a hoof. She obviously wasn't used to thanking people, so I faced the barn, wondering where to begin my search for the items.
"What's your name?" the orange pony inquired. Her voice wasn't harsh like it usually was, but compassionate, maybe even friendly.
"Nolan Anderson," I responded, "And yours?"
"Applejack," she replied instantly in turn.
She matched her name well, but I didn't think about it for long. Still, I smiled underneath my mask. Though she didn't want anything to do with me, she knew the proper etiquette of exchanging names. I had a rocky mission ahead of me, one I found questionable, but I always kept my promises. As best as I could, anyway.
{~+~}
Editor's Note: Hello, my name is Legion222, and I'll be you editor for this story.
This is my second time working with Superdale33, and I gotta say, you folks are in for a ride! He's tons of fun to work with, and a great writer! This story was especially fun to work on, and I've enjoyed it every step of the way so far. I hope you do, too!
Read on,
Legion