The van engine echoed through the tunnel like a cry for help in the silence. The spiral downward was uneventful; the passing scenery being the occasional door, platform, service vent, or pile of scrap. Otherwise, the tunnel was made of concrete, with steel sheets marking every 50 metres downwards with yellow, luminescent light-paint. My watch bleeped as I turned the wheel, and I put it just to the side of my vision so as not to veer into a wall. 1:53 AM was displayed as small glowing pins jabbed up to a thin sheet of glass, lighting up other things like day, month, and year. As far as I could remember, days weren't really that big of a deal. Only how long it'd be until someone found you, or a friend, out, before sending police, or the vigilantes that had been killing us.
Finally, after what felt like 20 minutes, we reached the 1000m mark, and the tunnel levelled out. Ahead, there seemed to be a floodgate or toll, with floodlights from a ledge atop the gate illuminating the road and 2 rather dated mounted machine-guns. Each was manned by a single guard, their gazes never staying on one object, as though everything was blinding. As I drove closer and slowed the engine, there was a yell, and both guns, as well as an unseen Sniper, shifted their aim to the van. I kept as calm as possible, before halting the van just in front of the gates with a squealing of brakes. There was utter silence in the air, the kind you might get if you were a Sheriff facing down a Bandit. I swallowed hard, before winding down the window with the manual crank. An unusual commodity in 2020, but still gave me exercise when I needed to cool down.
Just then, there was a creaking, and a slight beam of light appearing on the road-encompassing barrier. A steel door was opening on the door, and stood in the doorway was a man.
He looked to be in about his late 30's, and as he approached the van, more details became noticeable. For instance, the military uniform he wore donned a rank slide which I recognised from my Cadets as at least a Sergeant, or in English Military name, Serjeant. He was wearing a drill cap, had buffed boots, and in plain view was carrying a .88 Classic Smith & Wesson handgun. From what I'd seen about the rebels in Russia on the news, one of those in the right place can destroy a human head, then tear through concrete and hit another soldier on the other side, before hitting his paperwork and destroying it, rendering everything, quite literally, shot-to-hell, all with one bullet. He kept his eyes narrowed as he approached, laugh lines etched into his face in a steely glare as he finally reached my side of the van. He drew his pistol, and casually leaned into the van, his face not inches from mine. We stared into each other's eyes for a moment, evaluating weaknesses and character, before he moved first.
"Identify yourself." he growled. I straightened up.
"J. Simpson, or Face McShooty II, by internet name." I replied firmly. "I'm here because a few of my friends got found out, so we fled to here. We picked up a few others on the way, but otherwise we're pretty light on gear. India Tango." At the mention of the last two, he nodded, and looked to a man stood on the upper balcony to the ledge. The man nodded, and moved his right arm to a lever on an unseen console and tugging it down firmly. The ground shook as the gate roared into life, slowly grinding into the walls beside it and receding away to an unseen place. When it stopped, the man near my window looked back into my vehicle. His eyes glanced around, before coming to rest on the small Princess Luna figurine.
"So, you part of the Lunar Republic?" he asked in a thick Manchester accent, grinning and gesturing to the tiny Lulu on my dash. I smiled and nodded. "Vive Noctum, lad." he chuckled as he walked away from the car and into the gates. "There's more like you, son. You'll just need to get settled in." I wound my window up again, and began to slowly accelerate to come beside the man. The gates behind began to shut again, and the officer suddenly tapped my window. I halted the van and wound the window down. The officer, now with his weapon holstered, leaned in again. "Mind if I get a lift? I'll need to show you where to park this thing, anyway."
"Certainly." I replied, patting the seat beside. "Hop in." Once again, I had another passenger. And judging by the sound of a slamming door from the back of the van, the guard from up top had got to where he needed to be. The officer sat beside, shut the door, and extended his gloved hand.
"Serjeant Alfred Stevens." he said politely, I shook it firmly.
"Would I know you from somewhere?"
"Probably not. I was one of the ones who didn't make music, stories, art, or videos. I just watched and enjoyed it." Alfred explained as I drove down the tunnel. It was wider now, and more patches of smoothed rock could be seen. "You'll want to take a left here, and 2nd right after that. Anyway, evidently watching the adventures of the Elements was too much for my regiment to take, and they had me hospitalised for 4 weeks after they attacked. Those soldiers covered it up by saying I'd started it, and their final act of retribution came when I was down in the pub and one knifed my arm with a Bowie Knife. Keep going here until the end."
"Worst place to be attacked." I noted. "Surely the police got involved?"
"They did." he sighed, taking his cap off and brushing his dark hair with his free hand. "They almost got the guys who did it, but then the rumour reached them that we were a terrorist organisation. They asked if I was a Brony, and when I proudly said yes, they dropped the case, kicked me out of the British Military, and put me on their watch list."
"Well, that's a bit of an overreaction." I murmured.
"Yeah. So, when a few other Bronies and I were online in a chat room, evidently they'd had the same kind of things happening to them. Attacks, job losses, marriage failures, you name it. One of them was pretty rich, and bought this place as part of his military collection. We all agreed to go down here, clean it up, and set it out as a last place of hope for Bronies. We'd expected a few million, but...you know what happened to them."
"Mass Holocaust of Bronies." I nodded solemnly. "How many have we got here?"
"At last count, 3,527."
"That's it?"
"Yep."
"Oh my god. We're all done." Alfred began to chuckle at my comment.
"Heh, not...exactly." Just then, there was a sudden light that filled the tunnel as we rounded a corner. I grunted, fumbling my hand about until I successfully lowered the sun visor. It blocked some light, but it didn't compare to modern polarisation technologies available for newer cars. Hell, I was one of the few who still drove manually, and I also attended shows to show modern kids how real men drove before computers took over the driving. Alfred, on the other hand, quite casually pulled a pair of Vintage Raybanns from his pocket, placing them on his eyes as though it were quite easy to avoid blinding. I didn't. But, as we came around the corner, there was a brilliant sight.
In the centre of a large cylindrical shaft, there was a massive H³ power core, emitting a blue light that filled a whole tunnel with light. As we came even closer, more details could be made out, like doors and windows built into concrete walls. It became obvious these were what we'd be calling 'home' for a while. The shaft went down until it was out of sight, with concrete platforms serving as walkways to shops, houses, restaurants, farms, factories, and other utilities. It was a city beneath Highlands, and yet nobody would know it was there unless they'd been invited. I stopped the van next to the small wall between the road and a seemingly endless drop, before leaning out the window and looking up. It went up even further, for another 500m with similarity to that of below.
"Bloody hell..." I murmured.
"You still haven't met the people you're living with, yet." Alfred said calmly. "Well, people and ponies. This tunnel to your right is a parking lot. You'll park there, and meet me over by that statue of Celestia so I can guide you to your home."
On my back was my shotgun, on top of that was a backpack, strapped to my leg was a small pouch with a first aid kit inside, and on the other leg was the 1911. Next to me was Duncan, with his suitcase containing clothes, meds, a few books, and some shoes. The same applied for the guys I was with; they'd arrived the same time as myself, and we were put with another group of 'survivors' to see where we'd be staying. The excited murmurings between us all, young and slightly older, were cut short by a tapping on a microphone. We stopped chatting and looked to the front. Stood before us, about 90-100 of us in total, was something that stunned us all into silence.
Gazing down on us was a tall, white alicorn with a red mane and tail, almost Twilight-like in styling but slightly more bedraggled, and light blue eyes. Either side were two white guards levitating tactical shotguns beside them with stoic stares. Judging by the eyelashes, I assumed it was a 'she'. She cleared her throat. "Good morning, gentlemen." she said in a wonderful voice. "My name is Creative Ink, but as you may know me, Lauren Faust." We all just gawped at the arrival of a pony. We can do that? We can be ponies? "I assume you're all here for the same reason I am, and the several thousand before you; safety. We were disliked from the beginning, yet they'd never find us before we found them. This time, we're not going to look for them. Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to Canterlot Centre."
We all gazed around, marvelling at the sheer scale of the architecture in the huge tunnel. It was so vast that it looked like it took millenia to build, but what really got me was that I didn't notice the other citizens looking down at us from other balconies. There were humans stood beside ponies that leaned over the wall, checking out the new arrivals, looking for which ones would be approachable, which ones wouldn't. Like the first day of school, where the older kids would look the new entrants down to see if they were food or friend. Pegasi hovered just next to the thick glass of the reactor, and they were getting a good look at us all.
"Now now, settle down." Faust said calmingly. "I'm sure you have plenty of questions, and you shall receive answers. I am able to answer a few now, before I hand you over to the orderly officer. Any questions?" Almost every hand shot up, including mine. Faust giggled, before pointing to a random person I could not see. "Yes, you at the front."
"Ma'am," began an Southern-Accented American, "Why're there ponies everywhere?"
"Ah." Lauren began, raising a hoof and clearing her throat. "It's a process with which you may wish to have performed on you at a later stage, called 'Ponifying'. It's free, but can be incredibly disorienting to some. It is also permanent, and there are other details that can you can ask about at the clinic, on sub-level B." Faust looked down at her wrist at a small watch, before looking slightly surprised. "I do apologize, but it seems I'm late for a meeting. If General Markson would like to lead you to your homes and flats, that would be wonderful." The tall mare spread her wings, and hovered slightly above the crowd, causing a round of 'ooooooh's'. "Toodles!" she said politely as she flew off downwards and out of sight. In her place on the podium, a man in military dress stepped up.
"Alright, people, you heard the mare!" he barked. "Pick those bags up and follow me!" Before anybody could groan, the man ran to a truck, held onto the back rail and jumped onto the back-right side. He smacked the ancient truck twice with two sharp movements, and the vehicle drove all the way to the other side within a few moments. We, meanwhile, were scrambling for our bags and looking over to him. We went silent, before someone made a move.
"Come on, lads!" yelled an American voice, before footsteps were heard sprinting away. "Last one there's buying the first round!" We all laughed, and began to run.
All the way around the 200 metre half-circle, with no stops.
But hey, at least we knew we could be ponies, right?
The house was, to be honest, quite nice. It was on sub-level B, so the noise of the reactor was barely audible, and this was also within walking distance of the Pon-3 Clinic, where we would be able to take that one permanent step and become a tiny pony of our own design. Thankfully, a recurring joke was that a badly designed pony would be buying rounds all the time, and that meant we were immediately told by Bronies who'd been in the bunker for a while that there was a black and red alicorn named Fire Shadow who was buying rounds all the time, so we wouldn't need to pay for drinks.
Anyway, the home, or barracks, more accurately, was built into a smooth stone wall, and had 3 floors with a balcony on each save the ground. The windows were clean with small trees visible inside the window, and next to the door was a sign.
PLEASE SIGN IN WITH RECEPTION
-SENIOR BRONY MANAGEMENT TEAM
I chuckled, and gave a nudge to Duncan. "We have a reception?" I said as we walked into a lavish foyer. "Nice." Suddenly, a pair of hands fell on both of our inside shoulders.
"Like a bloody hotel, this!" Ollie laughed loudly from inbetween the two of us. The three of us chuckled in agreement, as well as a few other guys around us. The group of us, around 10 in total, approached the front desk. Of course, I stayed relatively close to the front, but another guy was going to do the talking. He looked similar to me, with a few weapons of melee variety and a Desert Eagle. He had a chiselled face, a hard and bony nose with consistently narrowed eyes, and tanned skin. On his head was a black fedora covered in soot and congealed blood stains, and his black jacket over a Twilight Sparkle shirt fared no better. His black jeans, and deep blue converse shoes made him a stark contrast to the light grey surroundings of the foyer, with its statues of famed Bronies and the small pond with Koi Fish swimming in amongst the lilies.
A set of blue lights were in the water, and a small fountain poured water from some scales into a stone bucket. The cycle continued endlessly. However, the guy next to me began to speak with the receptionists, who, I might add, were a pair of young mares with headsets and bows. One was pink with a blue mane, and the other grey with a brown mane. They both had freckles, so I assumed they had the same idea when designing their permanent bodies. "10." the man next to me said. The first receptionist smiled.
"Yes sir." She tapped her little hooves away on what looked like a modified keyboard, then looked back at the man. "Any wishing to share?" Our spokesman turned.
"Any of you guys want to share rooms?" he asked in a hint of a Korean accent. There was a simultaneous no.
"Well," I laughed and pointed at Ollie and Duncan, "These two MAYBE..." There was a fresh round of laughs. Once we had finished, our spokesman was given a slip of holo-paper.
"These are your rooms," the mare smiled, "Enjoy your new life, and I hope to see you with good lives here in Equestria Bunker." Our Korean friend nodded, and gathered us in a huddle. Slip of holo-paper unfolded, it hummed quietly, before a pop noise sounded as a floating, 3D image of this building appeared in the middle of us.
It was bigger than I had anticipated. The hologram had a small red sphere where we were located, and several other key notes like elevators, stairs, toilets, and utilities. The structure spanned a great length backwards, and considering it was only three floors, I was amazed at how few rooms were filled. Must be new. Over 100 rooms were flashing orange, with another amount glowing blue. Next to the hologram were small hovering initials, each being our names and ready to be moved to a room. When that room was picked it would turn green, and a mechanical voice would announce which room was chosen by who. I was amazed humans had developed the technology to make holographic paper, but not the thoughts to NOT kill a group of innocent fandom members.
I remember the room I got. 117. It was on the second floor, middle of the building, next to an elevator and stairwell, and had a nearby meeting area in the form of some tables, carpet, chairs, rails, the lot. It was next to Duncan's room, and Alex's as well, so I wasn't alone. As I went along, I passed multiple groups of ponies and humans going down the corridors, all talking excitedly over 'new arrivals'. Not one of them recognised me as a new guy, but seemed more interested in the fact I was armed. When I reached the room, I opened the door, slipped inside, and closed my door for the evening.
Donning my casual clothes and throwing my battered clothes in the wash, I headed out of my room with my key, and left the hotel. My watch said it was about 8:30 AM, and I was ready to explore my new home. Wishing the receptionists a good morning, I left the foyer and headed outside. It was no brighter than the night before, and there were very few humans outside; I could easily make out human silhouettes moving behind curtains, and the only things outside were lots of ponies with baskets, buying things from a market over the reactor hole and down a tunnel into the rock. There were some people walking around, mostly in military dress, but I had no quarrel or conversations to be had with them. The night before, when the officer was leading us to our hotel, a man in a suit asked for me and a few others to go and meet him at a breakfast café so we might learn our new duties. I was pleased.
Normally, a job hunt in the UK would take fucking months, years even. And I arrive somewhere and get given a job within two hours. Lovely jubbly.