Highlanders

by Okhlahoma Beat-Down

Diner

As I went down the main 'street', I noticed that the building and architectural style differed greatly from the almost industrial style of the hotels and buildings near the massive downwards tunnel. In the distance there was another spire of energy, but that failed to draw my eyes from the buildings lining the sides. It seemed they had been designed with something reminiscent of 1950's America in mind, with cafés, corner shops, alleyways, and a retro-styled cinema. It was likely that some of us were chosen to go here and not to one of the bars on the lower levels, since that was, as someone said, 'where the bad OCs go'. Up here, though, it was frankly glorious. I felt like some kind of stranger to the American style, and the few humans I saw in the crowds of ponies seemed to fit in better with their suits, shapeless worker's caps, fedoras, and briefcases.

As I admired, I didn't forget where I was going; "Rattle 'n' Roll Bar". It became visible ahead, and I could clearly see that it was DEFINITELY a 50's themed diner. It had the metal framework, neon lights, and curved structure of any other bar. It was situated on a street corner, and that's when I truly felt we were the most accomplished internet group. 'bronies are ghey', they'd jeer. 'bronies live with there parents in there basements and will never amount 2 anything', they'd think. But look at us; we have literally rebuilt 1950's America, and have a military bunker that was probably designed to hide massive amounts of Scottish people from nuclear blasts. And what might you have accomplished, my dear 8 year old that does Minecraft 'Let's Play' videos on YouTube?

I smirked at the thought, and waited for a nearby tram to pass before I began to cross the road. Modern cars that were parked nearby seemed hopelessly lost, but that didn't bother me: I entered the bar with my head held high, and realised that the only person there who seemed to have been called for the same purpose as myself was the Korean guy I had entered the hotel with. He was sat in a window cubicle with a coffee, newspaper, and fresh clothes. Lying on the table in front was his Desert Eagle, placed near his coffee in an almost disturbingly casual way, as though it were but a pen or phone of some description. He didn't seem to notice my entrance, so I went over to the bar. Then, I realised; what was the currency?

I pulled my wallet out and looked at the contents. Loose change, at least 30 quid of it judging by my wallet weighing so much, my cards, an image of my old dog called Shrimpleshteen (Don't ask), and, of course, a few notes and bills put in the back pocket. Then I looked at the pricelist and was relieved to see that they took a fair few currencies; Chinese Yen, US Dollars, English Pounds, European Euros, and a few more written in obscure languages.

So, I smiled, and rang the small bell on the desk. It caused the Korean nearby to flick his eyes up, then back at his paper, and a mare to come out of the kitchen. She was wearing a ponified version of a waitress' dress, a slightly cheerful expression, and reading glasses. "Mornin', sugar." she said politely. "What can I get ya?"

"Could I get a coffee, please?" I asked, passing money forward, roughly the right amount and a little bit over. She checked it was the right amount, before smiling.

"Dark?" she asked as she levitated the money into the register.

"I don't mind, I'm used to all of them." I replied. She nodded, then trotted back into the kitchen. Yes, I was used to all types of coffee. I'd drank so much of it during the first few days of the Brony holocaust that I had even started mixing two types together to see if it would keep me awake for longer. Of course, it didn't, but it still tasted pretty good, and eventually it got me used to black, ground, fine, smooth, and all other types of the stuff. I was partial to a cup of tea every now and then, but as wars broke out in places like Africa and India, it became harder to import, and we British couldn't have our national drink. I looked back at the Korean, still reading the paper, and then I looked outside. There were more humans on the streets, and the artificial lighting at the top of the tunnel was brightening up and giving a more day-like image to the streets. Ponies had started going inside for a few moments with their shopping, then leaving with no shopping and smiles as they went about daily business. The humans looked a lot more severe, walking around in long coats, wide brimmed fedoras, and usually black in coloration, the humans stuck out in the crowds of colourful ponies like an American Patriot in the middle of London. The people looked pretty grim in their business, and looked as though they had been told several bad things and left to think about it.

"Order up!" the mare called, before trotting back with a pot of coffee and a mug on a tray. She placed it down in front of me. "There ya go, hon; dark coffee...it's the best we could do since our usual cook ain't in today. Enjoy!" I smiled back, and picked up the tray. Then, I moved over to the cubicle with the Korean inside. He flicked his eyes up at me, and sipped his coffee.

"Morning." he said.

"Morning." I replied. "Sleep well?"

"Yes. You?"

"Yeah. Did you get called down here by a guy in a suit?" He thought for a moment, lowering his paper.

"No, I was told by some soldier-type. Is it about work?"

"That's what I was told it was about." I looked out the window. "Can't see any of them coming, though, and I can't be convinced by anybody but the suit-guy that it's just us two."

"I suppose you have a point there." he replied, sipping his coffee again, before extending a hand. "My name's Lo Pan Kim, but everybody calls me Kim." I shook his hand firmly.

"Jack Simpson." I smiled. "Good to meet you."

---

About ten minutes later, the door opened as the bell rung. A small group of humans and ponies came in, with some I recognised and others I didn't. At the head was a dark green pegasus stallion with a smoothed back mane, a slightly idle expression, and blue eyes. His cutie mark looked like a megaphone. Then, he stopped the group, looked around, and his eyes rested on Kim and myself. He turned, said something to his group, and then began approaching. "This looks like trouble." I murmured to Kim, who nodded. The group approached the table, causing Kim and I to shift up to the window. And then, without seemingly any care about whether we wanted them there or not, they calmly sat down.

"You must be Kim and Jack." said one pony. We both nodded, Kim still holding his newspaper. She was a purple unicorn with a flowing blue mane, a few freckles, and a bird for a Cutie Mark. "And you got called down here too?" We nodded.

"How do you know our names?" Kim asked.

"A little bird told me." she replied smartly. We stared blankly, and so did everybody else in the group. It seemed that this was the first time we'd met each other. "I asked the guy."

"What guy?" asked another guy at the table. He was a human, with a hint of German in his accent, blue eyes and brown hair. He was wearing a wide-brimmed fedora and black suit, giving him the appearance of an almost Scatman-John style man. "I was told by some pony in an army uniform."

"I got told by somebody in a suit." I added. "Maybe we were all asked by different people?"

"Maybe." said a blue stallion with electric gold and wild hair. "But then they might all work for the same person, who wanted us all here to talk about work." We all considered for a moment.

"That's a pretty good point." Kim said. "But who do they work for, if that's the case?"

"Well, if they organised for us to meet them somewhere, rather than having them come to us, they must be pretty important. I mean, it might just be me, but I got an E-mail saying that my 'skills would be valued', and it also went on about how many guns I owned, that I'd been in Cadets, and other disturbingly accurate information. So I'm assuming this would have something to do with security of some kind." I explained.

"I just arrived with weapons, the guy looked me over, then told me to go here." Kim added.

"I did kind of have to fight to steal a boat." the mare said. "I was on holiday in Somalia, when the 'Holocaust' began, and they were REALLY fanatical over there about finding Bronies and turning them in to get a reward we all know didn't exist. So, when two thugs grabbed my phone from me and read through my messages, they found the e-mail similar to his." She pointed a hoof at me, whilst I poured myself another coffee. "So...I ran. I got shot at when I went to the wrong dock, grabbed a gun from inside a desk, and it went kind of Far Cry 3 for a bit...you guys remember that? Tourist gone warrior?" A few of us nodded.

"That game was tank." I chuckled. "But you fought Somalian pirates? I'm sorry, but I find that hard to believe." Suddenly, there was a feminine cough at the end of the table. We all looked, to see Faust herself standing there. Immediately, we all stood up as a symbol of respect.

"Please be seated; this is an informal meeting after all." she smiled. We immediately sat down, and the waitress from earlier brought a chair out as fast as she could. Faust sat down, and looked at all of us. "Now, I can only assume you're all wondering why I have called you here?" Simultaneously, we nodded.

"Does it have anything to do with multiple different people, usually in military uniform or suits, asking us to be here?" I asked her. She beamed.

"So you've been talking to each other? That's good! Yes, it does have something to do with those men and ponies. You see, they work on my Secret Service; they defend this bunker no matter the cost, kind of like the President's Secret Sefvice and the FBI put together. And I assume you already have the gist of what I'm implying?" Some of us nodded, some of us shook our heads. "Did all of you, at some point, receive an E-Mail linking to your past achievements, activities, and weapon ownership?"

"Some of us got texts." Replied the mare that fought pirates. Faust giggled, placing a white hoof to her snout almost carefully.

"I like people with a sense of humour. Anyway, that E-Mail was written by me personally, after we hunted through the internet to find surviving Bronies. For instance, Mr...Lo Pan?" The Korean raised a hand.

"Call me Kim."

"Very well. Mr. Kim, we found your Skype account. It had an image of Twilight Sparkle as an avatar, and said you were online. So, we found your details via a 5-day hacking into the South Korean database, and found most of your details. That meant your E-Mail, weapon ownership, and past activities. We did the same for all of you, and it seems you all have been in some description of Army Cadets or Scouting group?"

"Be prepared." I sighed, raising my right hand and lowering my small finger into the Boy Scout salute. Needless to say, it raised a few chuckles.

"Good. That means that you'll be more likely to be accepted into the SS, or Secret Stallions." Faust said. The German at the table shifted uncomfortably, causing everybody to look at him.

"Oh, nothing. Just that my great grandfather was a...minor part in the Nazis during World War 2." All of us shifted awkwardly.

"I'm...sorry to hear that, Herr Himmler." Faust said unhappily. I nearly spat out all of my coffee, and that was the least bad reaction to finding out that you were sat next to the descendant of Heinrich Himmler. The Kim raised his fedora and dropped his paper to the table, hand uneasily resting near his gun. "All of you calm down, please." Faust glared, and we all did, because she was kind of terrifying in an adorable way.

He sighed. "It's not my fault, my friends. My family has tried to bury that into the past, but don't let it distract you; I can make a delicious Victoria Sponge Cake." We all laughed at the comment, and I knew that even after 15 or so years of being in the Brony Community, I realised we were still the same loveable people we were before we joined.

---

I snuck to the parking garage at 11 o'clock that night. Nobody was allowed to see me entering my van, since it was required for special operations outside the bunker. The huge, multi-story parking lot went out of sight into the distance, and very few lights were on, not to mention very few vehicles. I sprinted, stooped low past the security booth, and slipped behind a pillar. My target, my beloved camper-van, was not even a few feet away. All I had to do was get in, put my mask on, and then get out as fast as I could. Then, I'd drive it down to the Office of Faustian Intelligence, and then hand it over to them. Then I could have my job. I wasn't sure what the others were doing for their 'equipment gathering', but I'm fairly certain it had nothing to do with stealing their own cars.

Waiting 30 seconds to ensure that the guy in the booth didn't know I was there, I got on my stomach, and crawled low across the floor. It kept me less likely to be seen when I went under the car, and I immediately put my mask on. It was a black wool balaclava, with no mouth hole; instead, it was a rebreather. Then, I put on my baseball cap, and rolled out from under the car. Quickly, I then used my keys to open and get inside, slammed them in the ignition, and then put the car into drive. The man in the office looked quizical, then ignored me as I drove out of the parking garage at 60 or so Miles an Hour.

"That was too easy." I chuckled as I entered the main street. The engine roared loudly as I advanced down the road, causing lights to go on and heads to peep out of windows. With my window open, I listened carefully to the abuse yelled at me.

"Get a better car, grandad!" yelled one American stallion. "Some of us are tryin' to sleep!"

"Yeah!" called a woman. "I have work in the morning!" More abuse was yelled in a slurry of words, and all I did was stick my middle finger out the window and give it a twirl as I headed to the office.

"Already hated for my van." I laughed. "Unbelievable social skills."

Comments

[primeoetgrunn]

i.imgur.com/K3nFn.jpg

That's all.
Please keep on writing, good sir.

[Kruziiksilmiin]

3389786

I have that same image on my iPod, but it's Spike smoking a scroll.