//------------------------------//
// District 
// Story: Highlanders 
// by Okhlahoma Beat-Down 
//------------------------------//

I met my friends at the corner of the district, a shabby little corner shop with shutters and graffiti. Likely, this was a testament to the fact this used to be a 'Vault' kind of thing, and will be: Millions were supposed to live down here, keeping society going until fallout cleared. But...we only had a few thousand. It was depressing, to say the least. Plus, a small proportion of us weren't even with us: Spies, vigilantes, hookers, thieves, murderers, and psychopaths, the beginning of the Brony holocaust driving them to those endings. It was very depressing to know that our once proud fan-base was so unaccepted by society, we became no less than vermin, and apparently that some people hated us enough that they were willing to take up arms against a simple fan-following of a TV show.
I cleared my head of these thoughts, smiling and getting congratulatory hi-fives from the others as we crowded under the small doorway. I'm certain they were aware that I had the grip of the M1911 peeking out from inside my jacket, but they were used to the sight of armed men; the vigilantes that stopped us on the way there multiple times were often carrying assault rifles, shotguns, handguns, and in one tense instance, a mounted minigun on the back of a jeep. It still stood as a creepy moment when I found out that people were being sold these things. In England.
Anyway, once we'd finished talking, we prepared to head down what many up above called 'the red light district'. I already knew it was a reference to the legendary city of Amsterdam, where prostitution was legal. I went on holiday there a few years before, and was no doubt tempted by the tight skirts, low-cut skirts, and augmented assets, but I needed the money to get home, and regrettably left the city of sex behind. I turned to Alex. "Right, Alex, listen," I began, "Mares will ask if you want to pay them for sexy time. If you agree, and pay, you'll be buying rounds for a month after, and every time you do it again we'll double that time, so no pony ass for you. OK?" I said sternly. The others laughed.
"Fine..." he sighed. "What if it's a hot woman?"
"Raise the shields, you can go in hot." I snorted. This raised more laughs. "And as a note to all of us: no trying drugs, no getting into fights, and DEFINITELY no gang involvements. Seriously, if this place is more like Chinatown than it seems, we might end up getting attacked by a triad."
"Unlikely." Ollie laughed. "I doubt China's most influential organisation would be bothered to come down into a bunker full of Bronies. Anyway, if they did attack us, we'd hopefully be dead before they caught us."
"I hope." Kim muttered. "Back in Korea we did not have a mafia of any sort; resistance was crushed." We all cocked our heads at the statement as we all began walking down the streets of Hybrid-China-Amsterdam.
"I thought South Korea wasn't that Communist?" Duncan asked.
"No, we were not Communist." Kim explained. "It is like any other system of justice: Uprising was not reccomended unless you wanted the SKPD booting your front door down and shooting your cat with a tazer."
"Meow meow, mother fucker." Simon chuckled. We all laughed, until we realised what he had picked up to look at near a market stall. Literally, Meow Meow; kind of like Ecstasy and Rohypnol put together, and was made using ingredients not banned by the Ingredients Act of 2017. Technically, it was legal...
No.
I snatched it from his hands and chucked it back onto the stand. "Remember what I said, Simon," I said sternly, the small stallion vending the market taking a sudden interest in our conversation. "Nobody here can be trusted, pony or not. Hell, some might be working for a big-time crime organisation, and you'd be funding them! Do you want that? You want to be funding the Yakuza?"
"They're called Triads." cut in the stallion at the cart. I quickly turned to him.
"Yeah, that, cheers. Anyway," I turned back to Simon, "We don't want to be funding a Triad."
"Why not?" Simon asked. "They'd like that, we wouldn't be at risk." I was tempted to slap him for not 'getting it', but I'd begun noticing some ponies and humans beginning to start walking a slight closer to us.
"You just don't understand it, Simon," I said quickly. "Funding the Triads, then stopping, means they'll easily be able to find you. There's only a few thousand people in the bunker. All it takes is a walk upstairs." I suddenly felt somebody pressing their shoulder against mine from behind.
"Is there a problem here?" snarled the guy behind me. Simon suddenly seemed more nervous.
"Uh! N-No!" he stammered, as my friends began backing away. "No problem here! S-See, Simpson? He's n-not a problem!" I didn't want to turn around, since I knew he'd probably be huge, so I instead sighed.
"What he said." I said calmly, before beginning to walk away. I was half expecting to feel him tugging on me and saying 'no', before dragging me off somewhere, but thankfully he didn't. "I can't believe you guys would ditch me over the Triads!" I said angrily. After a bit of brief jogging, we left the street end, and just as we were rounding the corner, I stopped to check my phone. "Oh my god, I still can't believe that you guys would let me di-" A loud pistol shot rang out, pinging off the stonework not even a few inches from my head. "-OH, SON OF A BITCH!" I yelled loudly, as all of us scampered away.
It took a few minutes of running, but we finally got back to the elevator leading to the floor our rooms were on. None of us wanted to speak, but I had a funny picture in my head of the Triad gang member who shot at me, throwing his weapon on the floor and loudly exclaiming the equivalent of 'God Damnit' in Chinese or whatever his accent was. Finally, Duncan coughed, finally getting his breath back.
"J-Jesus," he panted, then looking at me. "Why didn't you shoot back?" All the others looked up at me now, less than amused expressions on their faces. "You can shoot people now, you're basically Secret Service!"
"And?" I shot back (Not literally), "You know the story of the Hydra? Cut off one head, two more grow back?"
"Like Captain America's Hydra?" Ollie asked. "Like, Nazi Hydra?" I facepalmed.
"No, Jesus Christ..." I sighed. "Like...it was basically a tall dragon thing, with two heads. If you went for the neck and cut it off, it'd lose that head, then where the stump was it'd grow two more and it'd be REALLY pissed. Triads are like that: Kill one guy, or injure him, and then two other guys'll come and kill you." I explained. The others gave me the 'are you sure you didn't take something?' look. "Guys, it's simple mythology, how can you not know that?"
"We're not sad, like you." Alex replied. We laughed briefly, then looked at the time. Two hours had passed.
"Well, see that?" I said casually. "Time flies when you anger Chinese people enough that they shoot at you. C'mon, let's go up and see who's hanging around the sane levels."



The excitement for the night was pretty much done. I'd had enough excitement for my liking: I was also thankful that Chinese bloke had crap aim. But, it certainly did make quite the story to tell some of the mares and women at the regular pub. Kim, Simon, Alex, Ollie, Duncan and I had all sat in 'The Shady Oaks Public House', named after Twilight Sparkle's famous library, and just across the room there was a group of women and mares, all looking over briefly at us and giggling like schoolgirls. The bar had a strange 'Irish/1950's American' feel to it, with polished counters and wood in most places. The strong smell of spirits made it smell like a bar more than anything. After about a half hour, even though it was about one o' clock in the morning, we were all just as lively as we were a couple of hours before. "So, just ignoring the fact that I've got work tomorrow," I started, "I guess this is a good evening?"
"Yeah, I guess." Simon sighed, swirling his beer in its glass. "And what're we even doing tomorrow at work? Do we turn up at a certain time?"
"It's a Secret Service," I replied flatly. "We'd need to be following Faust all the time she needs us, except into the toilet. Otherwise, I was just told we need to be in work by 3 in the afternoon. That's apparently when Faust does her daily clippity-clop around the bunker."
"Clippity-clop?" Duncan asked. "The hell's that?"
"Walking, I think," I shrugged, "But knowing how important she is and what we managed to accomplish under her rule, she's probably got an armoured car or something."
"C'mon, Jack, just stop thinking about it," Kim replied casually. "We have to be there at three, just think of that. Otherwise, we might as well call those girls over that've been winky-facing at us." Then, without getting our input, Kim stood up and walked over to their table. The girls over there nodded at what he said, and as he turned back towards us, the giggling intensified.



The SS office was a lot more spacious than expected. I was expecting for Police station clutter from generic cop films, but all there really was consisted of desks, a few gun racks in another room, and a dark interior. Even though we were underground, 3 o'clock was certainly an interesting time to lower the lights. As a small touch, a tiny radio connected to a small antennae on the surface over a mile above streamed live music from the local smooth jazz stations of Scotland. We, being part of the Secret Stallions, were stood around a whiteboard listening to the Chief. He was a rather buff stallion named Commanding Copper, with brown fur and a black mane, grey hairs peeping through making him seem like a true Police chief. He was wearing a mix of casual clothing and protective; beneath his white shirt and tie I could see the black silhouette of a bullet-proof vest, and by his trousers there was the obvious holster for a small revolver. He didn't smile as he explained our duties.
"So at oh-three-fifteen hours, Faust is stopping at the Conversion Labs for a visit. Generally, she'll shake hooves with some scientists, look at the device itself, ask a few questions, then leave. All you fellas need to do is stay inconspicuous. That means no heavy armaments, so no rifles, shotguns, machine guns, nothing. The only person who'll be using a rifle is the Squad's Designated Markstallion." Copper then drew out the simple route on the wipe-clean map, and after a moment of awkward board squeaking, he turned back. "Any questions?" Immediately I raised a hand.
"Who's the Designated Markstallion?" I asked.
"You are, Simpson." he replied sharply. "You won a few shooting tournaments back in the day, and apparently you're better at longer ranges when you don't move, so when everyone else is getting their pistols, mention to Golden Badge that you're the SDM. He'll know what to give you." I paused, then finally nodded. I at least had some responsibility. I was sweating in the warm layers I'd picked, not expecting the office to be warm, but I was wrong as usual. Getting outside would be a blessing.
But as we were leaving, I couldn't help but feel like someone, somepony, something, somewhere was watching me.