I slowed the vehicle as I reached the gates. Either side of the entrance, men exited booths, hands placed on holsters nearly invisible to me in the lower light. The man to the right, a relatively middle-aged man in a blue security uniform, raised his hand to halt me, so I applied the brakes and stopped. I rolled the window down.
"Good day to you." I said through my mask. The man was unimpressed.
"Lemme see your ID, pal." he grunted firmly. As requested, I reached into the glove-box, and pulled out the sheet of paper I was issued earlier in the day. He took it, looked over it for a moment, before nodding. Then, he moved away from the window of my van, and went back to his booth. I saw him press a button, and then the gate in front slid open almost silently. I raised a gloved hand in thanks to the security guard, before slowly beginning to enter the parking lot. It was moderately empty; I could only see about 7 or 8 cars when I went in, and any of the other few were parked near the back underneath flickering lights. Careful not to leave tyre-marks, since that looks hideous on such nice floors, I slowed my van, then selected a spot near the entrance to the offices. The engine sputtered quietly as I removed the key, dying like a disease-ridden man with no life-support. I unclipped my seatbelt, removed my mask and hat, and placed them in the glove-box. Then, I retrieved my 1911 from said glove-box, slipped it into its holster, opened the door and stepped out into the empty parking garage.
Wind from the generators carried the distant hum of the H³ energy spires, with their blue glow barely visible in a distant outside tunnel. Turning for the door, I saw it had a flickering bulb above it, illuminating chipped paint and aging wood, as well as a few cracks in the double-glazing. I cautiously pulled the handle open, releasing an ear-decimating screech of an un-oiled door. I stepped inside, and began to ascend several sets of stairs.
I reached the floor I needed to. The lift, as lavish and oak-decorated as it was, took about 2 minutes to ascend all the way up, but the glass window displaying the outside bunker as I went up was truly an amazing sight. The lift made a quiet ding sound as it arrived, and both doors slid open with a nearly whisper-like sound. I looked terribly out of place; my black shirt and coat, as well as my brown cargo trousers clashed sharply against the penthouse-like wooden walls. Mirrors, plants, pictures and carpets decorated the hall ahead, leading up to a small...waiting room, I'll say. Around the room sat a fair few people, all likely here for the same reason I was. They looked slightly nervous over this; effectively this was a job interview, and it was, to our exceedingly small community, like applying to protect the Queen, President, or other official: very important.
I received narrow-eyed glares as I approached the secretary's desk. Behind the desk sat a blue stallion with glasses, filing through some paperwork with a less-than excited look on his face. If anything, he looked incredibly bored. I rang the bell. "Hey man, do I need to sign in here, or something?" I said out to him. He looked over to me with a beady look, and nodded.
"Take a seat, and She'll be with you in a minute." He narrowed his eyes. "Man." I rolled my eyes, turned, and moved to an empty chair. It was practically in the corner of the room, meaning I'd get a few scrutinizing eyes directed at me, but I didn't generally care. I did GCSE Drama, I had a whole room full of my classmates and other morons gawping at people on stage, then afterwards whispering to me "what the hell was the point in doing -insert improvised acting piece here-?", to which I would reply "I dunno." So I was used to being stared at. In fact, I was comfortable enough that I nonchalantly pulled out my 1911 and checked it was safe with no magazine. This sharpened many glares, including one mare across the room.
She was a black unicorn, with a silver mane and white highlights. Her almost consistently angry blue eyes stared at me all the while as she levitated a hi-tech looking handgun, and checked hers was loaded. All eyes were on us now.
The mare smirked victoriously as she slipped her modern looking pistol away and reclined. In reply, I smirked, leaned forward, rested it on my lap, and tapped the side of the weapon. Since I got it pre-owned from a collector of Vietnamese-US weapons, it was obviously bound to be bearing some kind of markings. This one had 13 little notches engraved into the side, as a count of...you know. The mare looked at this, and swallowed hard. Then she refused to look at me, instead looking nervously at the wall. I looked to the guy next to me as I slipped the 1911 away. "Pre-owned." I whispered. "From the Vietnam war." The man smirked.
"Gotta love them cocky US troops, eh?" he replied quietly. He had a northern accent. "Always counting kills."
The amount of people in the room began to lessen as they were called in and sent out. Those who got the job came out with a smile, those who didn't trudged out without a word or a job. It was about 10 o'clock when I was called in. So, I received a pat on the back from my neighbour, who I found out was named Simon, and I went in with my head held high. The door was already open, revealing what one might call 'the boss' office'. It had a blue carpet with wooden edging, a large window near the back displaying a LOT of the bunker below, a TV bearing the My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic logo, and that was set above a fireplace. In the middle of the room was a chair sat in front of a highly decorative wooden desk, and behind it sat Faust. Today, she was wearing a pair of red reading glasses, and a bored expression. She seemed to brighten up slightly when I entered the room, mostly because my group had kept her entertained for a while in that diner. "Ah, Mr Simpson." she greeted warmly. "Please, sit."
I obliged, approaching the chair and taking a seat. After a few seconds where she flicked through some files on her computer, she looked at me. "Soooo..." she began, pulling up a file on the screen above the fireplace. "Jack Simpson. Attended the British Army Cadets, but was denied military access due to your...back, correct?"
"That is correct, ma'am." I nodded. "Scoliosis." She winced.
"Ohh, sorry." Faust coughed. "Anyway, let's see what else...your brother is in the police?"
"That he is, ma'am. Attended, reluctantly I might add, the Police Cadets from the age of 15, then went on to join the Thames Valley police when he was 21. I believe he's a Sergeant at this time." I replied formally.
"Hmm..." Faust noted something down on her paper using magic. "Right...let's continue. No criminal record, not on a watch list of any kind, that's good. What else do we have...?" She flicked through something else, then brought that up on the screen. "Face McShooty II was your Steam name, it says here. Is this correct?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Not a cheater, I might ask?"
"Not at all." I replied. "Almost a clean slate. If I did anything of the sort, my parents would come out of their graves and yell at me."
"Did you have trouble with your parents?"
"Well, they could be strict at times, ma'am, but they were still my parents. They raised me, sheltered me, and never knew I was a Brony."
"Right now that's a good thing; over half of the people and ponies I've met so far were being watched by the police as 'terror suspects', they like to call us." Faust sighed. "I never wanted anything like this to happen."
"It isn't your fault." I said calmly. "If they choose to go one step too far against us, we have the right to sprint away in the other direction and hide in the bushes. These vigilantes don't really have much support; they're like the SA. But the thing is," I leaned forward. "They can't arrest what they can't find." She smiled.
"I suppose you're right." She looked at me. "Thank you. Right. Shall we continue?"
"By all means."
"Now then...it states here that you joined a rifle club at 14?"
"Yes I did. Once I had a decent rifle, I was quite the deadshot, if I may say so myself."
"And I assume you did well with your shooting at the Cadets?"
"Of course. First shoot, top score."
"Impressive. It says you also attended a sporting club?"
"What? No, that's an error. Never attended a sporting club. Couldn't get into it."
"I understand you on that one. Hmm..." she narrowed her eyes at me. "...did your back stop you from doing sports?"
"Kind of. If I went too fast, the steel rods would bend or grate against my bones. A very, very unpleasant experience."
"In summary then, you're not one for moving around a lot on foot, not exactly a soldier, but more of a shooter?"
"If you put it like that, yes."
"Right...is there anything you can bring to defending this community?"
"Discreet outside contact."
"Explain, please."
"I know some Bronies haven't made it out here yet, and I know people who know how to contact these people. And if they're the type that has deactivated all online messaging accounts, then we may be able to get hundreds more to safety. I can also go out and do the shopping in my van."
"Ha, I suppose you could. One final question."
"I'm ready, ma'am."
"Good. Now then; Why would you want to join the Secret Stallions?"
"Well, I don't really think I have a specific reason. Just the fact that I'd be giving up free time to help others is enough, plus this is the closest thing to a life I'll have now that our world is ending. My life used to consist of playing games, and serving no purpose. Since I got here, I've realised I can do much more than sit in front of a screen all day and speaking to people I barely know. Plus, I always wanted to defend something worth defending: The survival of a people." I stopped. "That's all, ma'am." She looked at me, and ran a hoof through her mane as she thought. Finally, she cleared her throat, and stood up.
"Well, Mr Simpson, welcome to the Secret Stallions." Faust extended a hoof, which I firmly shook.
"Thank you, ma'am." I smiled.
"Oh, you can drop the 'ma'am' buisness, it makes me sound like a queen. And I'm no queen; just a woman who had an idea."
After going back to my room to get changed, I headed down to the bar on Sublevel-G. According to a few guys I'd met, it was 'the place to go to celebrate'. I'd arranged to meet Duncan, Kim, Ollie, Alex, and a few other guys down there that night, job or none. I told Simon he could come as well, and he said he would consider the offer. So I had a fair few new friends here, and I was starting to like it. I stepped out of my room wearing a pair of new jeans, my blue converse shoes, my favourite white wool jacket, and a black shirt. I brought nothing with me other than black shirts and clothes that matched, besides a few other things, so I did receive some confused looks when I seemed to wear the same shirt every day. However, the jacket helped conceal a new inner-jacket holster issued to the Secret Stallions. I had the 1911 inside, loaded this time, just in case anything happened.
Satisfied I was ready to go, I headed down to what I now call the 'Red Light District'. I'll explain why later.