//------------------------------// // Family // Story: Dreamscape of a Spoon // by Zytharros //------------------------------// The air smelt of sulfur and spent dynamite. The closer he and his team wove to the mining complex, the more Big Macintosh began regretting only bringing thirteen ponies with him. He had divided them into five teams of two and one team of four, sending them in with specially coded white sound stones rather than their normal radios. Mac had judged that there would likely be radio frequency monitoring equipment as well as some decent artillery in the mines, and from the looks of the three large satellite dishes dominating the sky, he was correct. There were several unicorns patrolling the perimeter, occasionally casting detection spells over random plots of earth, and continuous illumination spells frequently scanned along the walls, spreading out over the rest of the forest at sporadic intervals. “They’ve got Buck-22s!” one of the ponies he took with him squeaked. Mac knew the young voice – a colt that he had saved on his maiden voyage with the Silver Spoon who had taken to him as a father figure. He had since become a pimply-faced teenage grease monkey with the ability to literally feel a machine breathe. His rusty mane was always long, matted down, and greasy. His coat’s hue was perfectly halfway between grass and crap. He was also the best marksman Big Mac had ever seen. The colt slithered up alongside Mac and whispered, “Can I take ‘em down? Huh? Can I can I can I?” He began frantically loading a silenced pistol with rounds. “Whoa, Slick Cannon. Now’s not the time to blow ponies’ brains out,” Mac said. “I plan to get in, explore, and get out. That’s all. When we find Silver Spoon or when we’re caught…” Mac cocked a sawed-off shotgun attached to a forehoof by a couple fetlock bands “…that’s when we start shootin’.” Mac heard the colt groan and slowly load the ammunition the rest of the way. He waited for a couple more minutes as his partner shuffled nervously beside him. He continued analyzing the situation, bouncing ideas off the colt next to him to keep Slick occupied. Along with the unicorns on patrol, there were several pegasi perched atop the rotating satellite dishes. At set intervals, they would launch up, fly around a bit, then land. “Celestia’s holy plot,” Slick said, his voice occasionally popping. “That’s Spitfire!” Mac bit his lip and hoped beyond hope Slick was wrong. As his sight passed over the nearest radio transmitter, the pegasus on top was unveiled. Sure enough, there was the former Wonderbolt-turned-mercenary, still in full command of a unit of ex-military pegasi. This made the operation so much more difficult, and Slick made haste in letting Mac know how. “Crud crud crud crud crud… Spitfire’s sight is amazing. She can’t aim worth shit with a gun, but when she fights, man, can she fight with the best. She’s still training as she did as a Wonderbolt, but now she’s making a lot of money being a merc. She knows all the points of paralysis on a body, and she’s a looker, to boot. She’s fast, she’s inspiring, dazzling, a hottie, and…” “Shut up!” Big Mac insisted. “I’m trying to plan our attack!” Slick shut up quickly, shivering in the cold shadow of the forest. “It’s hopeless right now,” Mac said. “We’ll have to come back after nightfall.” He ordered his troops to fall back and to meet at Fluttershy’s old home to regroup and analyze their plans. This wasn’t going to be an easy picnic any way they sliced it. Five minutes and a few close calls later, Big Macintosh and fourteen other ponies were gathered in Fluttershy’s home, a large hollow tree at the edge of both the Everfree and Ponyville. The captain wasted no time in starting off the debrief session. “Alright, you thirteen all know why we’re here, and what we’re up against, at least on the surface. Each of your parties was in charge of a part of this recon. Me an’ Slick were in charge o’ the defense analysis for the north end. We found a whole lotta trou-” Slick interrupted in a bit of a panic. “Guards around the perimeter, armed with machine guns! Walls ten feet high! Spitfire on patrol! Antennas for radio interceptions! They’ve thought of everything!” Mac sighed. “Slick…” The youth kept rambling – “Three pegasi on watch all the time, crates of who-knows-what along the ridge, and even a couple old-style holes for snipers…” “Slick.” “We are so boned! We’re gonna die!” “SLICK!!” Every single pony in the room flinched at the shout. “It’s a little soon to think the worst,” Mac warned. “We ain’t heard what the others have to say yet. Armada! Let’s hear your group.” As Big Mac stepped down, a bald Earth pony stallion of camouflage patterning stomped forward. He was such a massive hulk of a pony that Big Mac was a little under half his size. The earth shook whenever his hoof hit the earth. On his back were strapped two cannons, each the size of Big Macintosh’s barrel. Alongside him skipped an equally bald ash-gray unicorn mare with several black patches on her body that naturally exhumed the smoke of fire. A belt of asbestos was strapped around her barrel and glistened with various mining and digging implements. The stallion spoke first. “First off, me an’ dis lovely chick had da task o’ infiltratin’ ‘n gettin’ da general layout o’ da mine. We found da entrance was inna outhouse smack inna middle o’ this walled area. Afta dat, we jus’ looked ‘roun’ an’ tried t’plan a way in’n’out.” With a cough and a puff of smoke, the mare’s peppy, scratchy voice, punctuated by further coughing, continued. “What he m-means is --- he had t’take a dump first. The mine is shaped like a --- drill. It’s an open p-pit, with a lot of very intric---cate machinery. He was too busy g-k---gawking at Spitfire to --- really register our surr-surroundings.” The hulk glared at the little smokestack and retorted, “I knew what’s what, that’s what! I counted sumtin’ like two hundred ponies millin’bout. Spitfire’s the leader, sure ‘nuff, but dere’s ‘nother pony who’s ack-chally runnin’ t’ings. Calls ‘erself ‘Chocolate Fondue’, she does. Real looker. ‘Bout’cher sister’s size, Big Mac, ‘n’bout as feisty. Real minin’-type, too. Heavy smoker, built thicker’n’a tree trunk. Muscular, too. Brown as da rich earth, with a mane of grass. Eyes’re stone gray. Don’t wanna meet ‘er in a dark alley at night, what wit’ dat explodin’ head t’ing she calls a cutie mark.” “You would notice h--her, Maidy,” the smoky one retorted. “’Ey! Smoke Screen! Name’s Armada! Or Armada Scout! No callin’ me Maidy in public!” Armada shouted, glaring hard at the mare. Smoke Screen chuckled for a bit as Armada blushed, realizing what he had just said in public company. Most of the stallions in the room whooped. All of the other mares groaned. Big Macintosh, of course, just stood with a stoic smirk. Each pony on the ship knew full well the on-and-off relationship between Smoke and Armada, a couple whose personalities could not coexist together, yet could not be without each other. After half a minute, Big Mac chuckled and nodded. “Alright, guys. That’s enough.” The room slipped into silent slumber. “Tornado Wish and Cloud Kicker, you’re up.” An ash gray unicorn stallion with blue hair and a periwinkle blue mare with a blonde coiffure walked up. Immediately, the mare gave a smirk and the stallion blushed as crimson as Big Macintosh as they passed in front of the herd of ponies. As Cloud turned, a little something glistened from her lips. “Cloud, did you…” Big Mac began. Cloud nodded and licked her lips as if she had just consumed the most divine thing on Equis. Another chorus of whoops and hollers, louder than before, and mostly from the mares of the group this time, erupted within the old abandoned home. Cloud spread her wings, drunk with attention. She closed her eyes and… Gunshots. The room went dead silent. Cloud Kicker glared outside. Big Macintosh aimed his rifle. The rest of the crew came together, preparing a multitude of weapons, guns, knives and blades. “Smoke,” Big Mac said. The mare disappeared into the floor, digging through solid tree into the earth. “Armada,” he stated. The lumbering stallion followed his fillyfriend. A tense silence, punctuated with a panicked, coltish whimpering, soon followed. Ponies crowded at the windows, hiding as stealthily as they could. Big Macintosh approached the window and watched the scene outside. The window did not allow anything but loud sound through. However, the scene outside was anything but pleasant. A pink filly with purple hair lay on the ground, cold and dead. Her crown was crushed under the hoof of her killer, a black pegasus with ice-blue hair behind black shades, brandishing a small pistol. Another stallion, this one a tan Earth pony with brown hair, had a smaller pale yellow pegasus filly pinned, a similar pistol pressed hard up to her neck. Though Big Mac and his troupe couldn’t see what was going on, Smoke certainly could hear it. She was the only pony in Equestria that could dig a mile a minute, so it had taken her no time to plough through to the location. “Zippoorwhill,” the tan pony said, “I’m only going to ask you once more: what were you and Diamond Tiara doing playing in the mine?” “We weren’t! I swear!” she exclaimed, tears pouring down her face. She turned to the brown one’s partner. “Thunderlane, you’ve got to believe me!” Thunderlane?! Smoke thought, stifling a cough. Wasn’t he one of the weather ponies for this little hick town? The only response the filly got was being punched in the face. Guess not. “Thunderlane isn’t authorized to speak with you, except to say he’s one of Madam Octavia’s employees, and that he can’t speak with you,” the tan one said, pressing the gun deeper into her neck. “Now tell me the truth!” “I am! What more do you want from me?” the pony identified as Zippoorwhill bawled. “Spitfire said she saw movement in the bushes heading in and out of the mine. Several movements, actually,” the unnamed pony said. “If it wasn’t you, then who was it?” Crud dammit, Smoke thought, biting her lip. These fillies are dying because of us! “I-I don’t know! I really don’t know! Please let me–” Gunshot. You didn’t… Y-you just didn’t! You… “Fucking cunt,” the tan one muttered. He pulled out a cloth and wiped off the barrel of his Glock pistol. “Should’ve spared us the ammunition.” “Did we really need to kill her, Time Turner?” Thunderlane said. “We could have just let her go.” “And have her spreading Canterlot’s type of propaganda? Please,” Time Turner scoffed. “What kind of stallion are you? Octavia gave us specific orders – keep Ponyville on lockdown until that gem horde is excavated. No one in or out.” “What’ll we do with this one, then?” Thunderlane said. Whoever he indicated was clearly out of sight. “Applejack? Let’s take her into the mine,” the tan one said, walking away. “If her brother’s back, we’re not going to make it easy to rescue her. Octavia’s already got the youngest locked up in one of her mansions, so it won’t be difficult to get at the gems under Sweet Apple Acres now, once we’re through with the Everfree, of course.” You son of a… Smoke thought, grinding her teeth in anger as the two stallions sauntered off, still chatting about unimportant topics. Applejack followed, bound and helpless, on a little trolley being pulled by the tan Earth pony. Wait’ll we get through with your fucking mine… Whoever you are, I want your head, Time Turner. With that, she barreled back into her hole. Halfway through, she met her husband. “What’cha see, little missy?” “Back---up. Jus’ ba---back up!” “Whoa, whoa whoa… what’s up?” “They have Applejack.” Minutes later, they returned to the tree and spilled the beans to their comrades. There were whispers. There was the cocking of guns. There were a thousand questions. Cloud Kicker even growled loudly. However, when all eyes fell upon Big Macintosh, he only smiled. The smile grew. Then grew. And grew some more. He began to chuckle quietly. Through these sounds, he began to growl. “Smoke,” he said. The one who delivered the news stood at attention. “Tell Colgate that she should ready the cannons,” he said. “Tell her to get Baggin on the line. Tell him to bring a small armada.” His face immediately fell to a sadistic, evil grimace. “We’re shuttin’ these bastards down.”