//------------------------------// // Chapter 5: Collateral Damage // Story: Grand Theft Trevor // by RainbowBob //------------------------------// “Shoot first, ask questions never, that’s the Trevor Philips motto!” Trevor shouted with glee, smacking down a barrage of shotgun blasts on the assorted Merryweather company. The professional soldiers sent out to kill Trevor were having trouble on the killing end of deals, more often than naught being on the receiving end of Trevor’s shotgun. “Boom, baby, boom-boom-boom-boom!” Another four Merryweather soldiers died in assorted fashions—one having most of his chest blown up across what used to be a perfectly white wall—while a fifth actually managed to stay upright despite heavy damage to his right shoulder. This was exactly the area Trevor aimed the butt of his shotgun with, repeatedly, over and over again, until the resulting pain trauma and blood loss killed him. “Do you have to be so barbaric with dispatching the enemy?” Luna asked, turning her muzzle upright at the bloodshed. She had to hover over the ground just to avoid accidentally stepping in a dead body or lower intestines splattered all over the ground from Trevor’s ‘work.’ “Do you have to be so much of a nag while I’m doing it?” Trevor replied. The two made their way down the blood-soaked hallway, strewn with the black-clad corpses of Merryweather personnel. The distant buzz of a helicopter could be heard outside, probably the reason most of the windows were broken in the castle as well; the soldiers had been dropped down via ropes, a tactic used for quick assaults and hasty retreats just to kill one guy in particular. Trevor walked backwards and basked in the glory of his handiwork and shooting skills. “See? I took care of the problem. Like a professional. Unlike these clowns.” Trevor poked the helmet of a soldier who was unresponsive, probably due to the baseball-shaped hole in his head. “Fucking amateurs. Plus, best of all, the prize is still here.” Trevor wiggled the duffel bag filled with meth in front of Luna’s face. “Enough crystal to get a trailer park past New Years with a good high. Quality craftsmanship, right from Trevor Philips Corporation!” “You named your own company after yourself?” Luna asked. She gagged at the smell emanating from the duffel bag and shoved it out of her face. “Because I made it from the ground up, like a baby. Except I actually cared about it.” Trevor hugged the duffel bag to his chest much like a mother would hold their newborn—except in a much more twisted and smelling even worse like piss fashion—and petted it. “This here is my enterprize. My life’s work. To make a fucking huge-ass drug empire and get rich off of it. The American Dream, so to speak.” “This America sounds like a cesspit of crime and debauchery,” Luna replied in a deadpan manner. Trevor snapped his fingers and pointed right at her. “You got the crime and debauchery parts correct all right. Next you add some new tits and cocaine weighing more than an obese lady and you got Lady Liberty in the flesh!” “That’s absolutely asinine.” “You’re damn right this ass is mine!” Trevor slapped his own butt and laughed, jumping up in the air and tapping the heels of his feet together. “Man oh man, I haven’t even smoked any crystal yet and I’m already on top of the world.” “Perhaps it is your obscenity and excessive violence that has piqued your own disturbing happiness,” Luna suggested, still following behind Trevor as he navigated the hallways. They appeared empty now, no sign of Merryweather anywhere, with much of the castle staff already ‘abandoning ship’ at the first signs of the strange disturbance. “Eh, probably.” Trevor swung his shotgun around like a cane, moseying down the hall with a nonchalant ease, and much to Luna’s chagrin leaving bloody footprints everywhere he stepped. “It could just be that I haven’t been in a good ol’ shootout in fucking forever. Man, I remember when I used to do these all the time. The thrill of popping open a skull. The rush of desperately racing for your life as a storm of bullets follow your ass. The smell of gunpowder, sweat, blood, and piss in the air, filling up your nostrils like the vomit in the back of your throat.” Trevor breathed in a large gulp of air, resting his shotgun against his shoulder. “Those were the days.” “How long ago was it?” Luna asked. “Oh, around last week. Then a whole bunch in the 90’s. That fucking decade, hooboy,” Trevor said. “Lemme tell ya, crack rock was the biggest product alive. I still kick myself for not investing more in it. Fuck ecstasy pills only took off a few years ago, and just look at me now.” Trevor growled and destroyed what appeared to be and probably was an expensive vase off a pedestal by smashing it with the shotgun like it was a baseball bat. “Fuck. At least meth is still golden.” Luna frowned at the pieces of shattered vase covering the floor like snowflakes. “Are all you humans so needlessly aggressive and violent?” “Are all you fucking ponies so damn annoying and stupid? Oh wait, don’t answer that.” Trevor held up a finger and skipped a beat in stride, silence now descending upon the pair—sans the helicopter motor in the background. “The silence is the best yes to it.” That silence was soon to be broken, along with even more windows in the castle, when the helicopter's railgun started spitting out bullets like seeds at a watermelon eating competition. The priceless stained-glass windows directly before the pair blew up in a shower of rainbows, only these rainbows ripped your skin to shreds and were much less pretty when they entered your eyes. “Shit, shit, move, shit, move your shit right fucking now!” Trevor demanded, shoving Luna aside and running for all he was worth down the hallway. With no doors on his other side and dozens of feet to the ground from the windows on the other, Trevor’s chances were slim. And seeing how the helicopter had an abundant amount of bullets and no real opportunity to use them other than to riddle him full of lead, there wasn’t much of a chance of it stopping longer enough for him to aim at it. So, in other words, right from Trevor’s mouth: “I’m fucking fucked!” Just as Trevor’s words were about to become true when he dived for cover (and received one of the worst rugburns of his life), he was miraculously saved. Picking his face off the carpet, he realized it wasn’t from an angel, but from Luna, who was standing directly above him. A forcefield of sorts had appeared around her, deflecting the bullets and keeping the pair completely safe from harm (other than rugburns). “Holy shit,” Trevor whispered, breathing heavily. “You’re a fucking alien too?” “No, I’m a pony,” Luna replied, then pursed her lips and hummed. “Well, to be more exact, an alicorn. Which means I can produce magic and fly as well.” “Well, fuck me two times on Sunday and once on Monday, magic is real. Just when I thought I was already high enough off of my mind.” Trevor got back on his feet and whistled at the sight of the forcefield. Bullets were just flying right off of it, ricocheting to the walls, ceiling, and floor. “So, why the save? Other than my own deluded mind keeping me safe.” “My sister went… somewhere, and apparently you’re the only one who knows where, on account you sent her there in the first place. Plus, you manage to keep these Merryweather folks from killing me, which I think is ample enough reason to keep you around… for now. At least until we find Celestia.” Trevor leaned downward and shook his hands on either side. “Ooooh, I’m frightened in my boots. Better pray on my life now that a pony has it out to get me.” Standing back up straight, Trevor sniggered. “As if.” “Regardless, you’re a useful asset to me at the moment.” Luna tilted her head. “Any idea where my sister could have gone?” “Eh, probably a hospital with her wallet a bit lighter. Happens to me whenever I get wasted. Only problem for you is that it ain’t in magical fucking ponyland.” Trevor pointed off into some unseen distance. “To find her, we’ll be needing to shove off into the human world, otherwise known as Assholeland and better associated with ‘the end of whatever fucking trip I’m on.’ So don’t expect getting some train tickets to get there.” “Then how did you arrive here?” Luna asked. Trevor shrugged, scratching the side of his head with the butt of his shotgun. “I’dunno. Explosion. Or at least I think it was. Cannibals were definitely involved in some way.” “Then all we need is some large wave of force to propel us into your world?” Trevor scoffed, turning his back to her and chuckling under his breath. “Oh, this is just too fucking rich. The fuckhead pony actually wants to be in an explosion. Forget about idiots, you ponies are just fucking morons!” Laughing some more, Trevor’s good cheer was abruptly halted when he glanced out the broken down window to the black helicopter outside. “Oh fuck me, I spoke too soon.” Luna glanced over his shoulder, her forcefield dissipating now that the bullet barrage was over with. “What?” Trevor was already making a break for it down the hallway, shouting over his shoulder, “Missiles are fucking incoming! Dive, duck, and cover your dick, because this is gonna be a big one!” Luna’s eyes went wide at the sight of two, then four, and now six missiles approaching her at fast speeds, like moths to a flame. “But I don’t have a dick to cover!” KABOOM!