Dawn of the Harmony Corps

by MarkOfKhorne

Escape

Author's Note:

Hopefully, this is a fun chapter. Sorry for the references sprinkled throughout this chapter.

Vandal ran. He ran, and even after three hours since he had last heard the barks and growls of the bloodhounds, he kept on running. It was the dead of the night, but to him, he could see as if it were high noon. Since his escape, he must have put at least 30 miles between the retrieval/hunting party and himself, and it showed.

Fatigue began to set in, and the rough terrain began to weather and chip away at the hard chitin shell on his hooves. The shrill screams from his legs begged him to stop, but he wouldn't--or couldn't. He had to endure. This wasn't about escaping from prison anymore. This wasn't about surviving for the rest of his life. This was surviving as long as it would take for someone to listen to him. He wasn't about to let his "abomination" take innocent lives. He knew he was Dr. Grabstein, and "it" was his monster. He had to be responsible for it. Besides, one single question gave him the "persuasion" he needed to continue: What the hell will "The Captain " do to me if he catches up?

---

EARLIER THAT NIGHT

Corporal Convoy patrolled the bleak, narrow hallway back and forth, and back and forth, and back and forth. The menial labor of pacing along a straight line was getting to him. What's so damn important that I have to be down here (in the Grave of all places!) on Guard's Night at McHops'?! The mere thought of losing a fun night of alcohol, bar stories, and that pretty mare on his mind nearly made him burst into tears. Goddamn, it's freezing down here!

The unicorn took out a small flask stashed within his armor, only for it to fall as he stood there mesmerized. A faint glow emanated from the single cell door he "swore" to protect. Convoy looked in disbelief, staring daggers at his flask to realize he hadn't touched the drink at all that night. At least, not yet. He looked down both ways of the dreary hall, hoping to spot his friends playing a prank on him, but he was alone and frozen in place. Should I go in there? No, no, no. Top Brass specifically ordered to stay out here and make sure that nothing enters or leaves. Kill on sight, he said. But... what if something's trying to get out?!

His horn flashed and opened a flickering portal, summoning his rusty lance, Ol' Tolerable, showing years of neglect. His tarnished armor clanked as he crept towards the door, shaking in fear. As soon as he grasped the doorknob, the glow dwindled into nothing. Convoy jumped out of his skin, sprinting towards the farthest end of the hall. The clanking turned into full-blown rattling, and his magic violently rose his lance off the ground, slowly creaking the door open.

Convoy stared into the black void within. As he stepped inside, he frantically tried illuminating the room with his magic, utterly failing due to fear. "R-r-reveal yourself," Convoy whimpered. Walking further into the room, he followed the chains from their placement on the wall to the single point in the darkest corner of the room. His lance struck the area, but it met no resistance. The prisoner wasn't there.

The door slammed shut, and he shrieked in horror. With all of his might (which wasn't much), he tried breaking down the door, but to no avail. Running about the room, he tripped and fell face-first onto the floor and recoiled at the drastically low temperature he reluctantly encountered. The Grave was relentless as he cowered at the full force of the grim experience. Shivering from both the dreadful darkness and the bitter cold, his horn sparked as he tried in vain to turn on the light. A light chitter brought him to his feet, and he went into a violent frenzy, swearing that something poked him in the back. His lance flew circles around the cramped room, nearly impaling him before getting stuck in a peculiar green substance. In his state of panic, Convoy resorted to the brute strength of his hooves to retrieve his spear, ultimately getting stuck in the substance himself. As he struggled to free himself from the nightmare he was living, the frightened guard collapsed as he felt a tingling sensation in his hooves. Falling before a silhouette in the darkness, he pleaded, "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU?!"

From the shadows, a Changeling faded back into reality. "My name is Vandal, and I am very, very sorry." All sound was trapped within the small room as Convoy screamed into unconsciousness.

Vandal's horn lit up as he drained the guard's emotional essence. "Ugh," he scowled in disgust. I never thought I'd taste fear, and I never want to do it again. He wasn't fully charged, but Vandal knew how to make do with scarce resources. Stingers protruded from his hooves, and they began secreting the green goo onto his restraints. The acidic substance weakened the links of his chains, and as he pushed himself against the wall, the couplings broke apart. Vandal tried walking forward, but he found himself wobbling to and fro towards the cell door.

I'm definitely going to need some more juice. "Convoy?", he heard a voice resonate on the other side of his exit. Stern, but feminine voice. Probably Royal Guard. Proceed with caution, his espionage-savvy inner voice said. Roger, roger.

---

The Royal Guard mare looked around for her good friend, Convoy. She brought a wooden mug of hard apple cider in hoof, knowing how sad he got whenever he missed Guard's Night. She just hoped he hadn't done anything stupid to pass the time, but as if on cue, she saw the cell door open and Convoy walk out quietly. She did a double-take as she could not believe her eyes. "Convoy, you idiot, what the hell are you doing?"

Convoy froze in place. "Oh Celestia, I'm screwed," he muttered.

"Damn right, you're screwed," she barked as she battered the oaf. "What the hell did Top Brass say? 'Absolutely do not let anyone in or out that door.' And what do you go and do?" She frantically paced about. "I can hear it now. First, they're going to court-martial you for interfering with an isolated investigation, and then your good ol' friend, Bastille, here is probably going to get in trouble somehow too, and you know I just can't mess up my rec-" Her mouth was cut off my Convoy's hoof, her muffled murmurs eventually drowning out.

"Listen... Tila," Convoy whispered. "I thought I heard things going on in there, and I just went in to check, okay? There is no reason for Brass to know, right?"

She forcefully pushed his hoof off of her. "But what if he does finds out?" she whispered harshly. "He knows I'm down here and what if he asks? What do you want me to do, lie?" She looked at him for a response, only to see that stare of his along with that shit-eating grin. She groaned. "I cannot believe you're asking me to lie. You know I'm a horrible liar. The worst, I'm telling you, the worst!"

"You don't have to lie. Just... don't tell the truth," he offered with a cheesy smile. She just looked away as she pondered, "I don't know..."

"Please... for me?" Convoy smugly said. Bastille still looked unconvinced, and sweat dripped from his forehead. "I'll owe you big time!" he childishly offered. "I'll take your shift for next weapon polishing duty, and--and I'll give you my share of desert rations for the next three weeks." Like a used carriage salesman, Convoy bargained almost everything he "owned" at his one and only savior, but failed completely. Reaching the end of his rope, he blurted out, "I'll take you out--dinner and a movie!"

The hall was flooded in dead silence, and Convoy stopped in his track as he saw as Bastille's pupils shrunk into pinpricks. The seconds that passed by felt like an eternity, until she slowly turned to face me. "What... what did you say?"

Convoy gulped as he began to backtrack. "I-I said I'll take you out... that is, you know, if you want of course." Convoy felt like he was back in high school, asking the prettiest mare in the school to junior prom. Sweat not only dripped, but poured from his entire body. The two of them stood still in the hallway until he mustered the strength to brake the silence. "Listen, I can understand if you don't want to but-"

This time, Convoy's mouth was cut off by Bastille's. His eyes burst opened in shock as she kissed him, only to slowly come to a close. It was like that scene from that time-travel movie, and the two would look back and swear that they heard "Earth Angel" playing in the background. As they slowly pulled away, the two shared big, dumb smiles on their faces. "I'd love to," was all that she managed to say, and Convoy's shit-eating grin grew three sizes that day.

"Good," he said as they nuzzled together. "How about tomorrow? I'll come by the barracks, and I'll give you a good night on the town."

"Very well," she swooned. "I can't wait. Just... don't do anything else dumb between now and then, okay?"

"You're the boss," he said. "I'll see you tomorrow, Tila."

As the guard mare left the hallway with a kick in her step, the guise of Convoy quickly dissolved back into Vandal. Hook, line, and sinker, he thought, relishing in the love he absorbed. He looked back in the cell to make sure the real Convoy still slept like a foal. Vandal's horn lit up as a beam of light tethered him to the bumbling guard's. The iconic memories of the past ten minutes flushed into Convoy's mind, and he smiled in his sleep. You'll thank me later, friend. Or never, I guess. I mean, it might almost be completely quiet in here, but anypony with a brain could sense that thing you two have for one another from a mile away.

Vandal carried him back into the hall, along with his spear, and he made him look presentable like a mannequin. As he smiled at his masterpiece, he sighed as he looked at the lance. He made a mental note to visit this guard in the afterlife someday as he proceeded to lightly stab himself with the weapon. He sharply inhaled as small traces of his blood went across the room. I think this is enough to make it believable that he put up a good fight. I'm not heartless, after all. He patched his wounds with the goo from his stingers, and donning the identity of a generic guard grunt, he walked out into the world.

---

Vandal talked and snuck his way past many of the security checkpoints towards the central guard station. Following the din past the mess hall, the living quarters resonated with the lively bar songs sung by a full house of Royal Guard enjoying their nights with company and cider. I need a strategic position, he thought on his way to the restroom, kindly refusing several generous drinks from his intoxicated "compatriots".

He stowed himself away in a stall until the bathroom was empty, and he stepped out to see if the coast was clear. Bingo!, he mentally exclaimed as he found what he was looking for: the emergency evacuation map. Let's see. Tower, tower, tower, tower, here it is... in the barracks. He cursed himself over and over, took a deep breath, and sighed. "Well, I'm a dead man anyway," he muttered. He made his way out of the "john" (as he believed the Guard called it) and froze as he walked into the last person he wished he had.

"Whoops. Sorry, private," Shining Armor apologized. The two stood facing each other for a solid few seconds. Shining Armor seemed unfazed, but Vandal just looked horrified. "I'll just mosey my way around you," Shining Armor exclaimed as Vandal just slowly nodded his head as the "Grim Reaper" walked past him. As soon as he stepped into the stall, Vandal made a quick dash for the tower, noticing that his fear was making his disguise sharply pale. Trotting, I better just keep trotting. He looked back as Shining Armor exited the bathroom with a puzzled look on his face. Running, better start running, he mentally chastised himself as he turned the corner, and his guise went white just in the nick of time. Sprinting! I just got to keep sprinting! He felt lucky that the sleeping quarters were nearly empty and quiet.

Ascending the stairs, he opened the door to the highest floor in the tower. He could see it at the end of the hall. A window, far too small for a fully armored guard to fit through, but just the right size for a Changeling. It was right there, just like he thought there would be... past a large pile of drunk, snoring Royal Guard mares. Great! Motherbucking, great! His guise dissipated completely. One Changeling, one window, and a barnyard of wasted, highly-trained soldiers in his path. His stingers protruded once more, and he began crawling on the ceiling towards his one and only goal. Slow and steady... slow and steady. he kept repeating as he made it halfway across the room. That is, until he heard steps coming up the stairs. Buck it! he exclaimed as his wings extended out and he glid towards the window. It slowly opened, and he reveled in seeing a dense jungle as far as the eye could see. He quickly lathered the window with goo and slowly slithered his way through the gap. Yes... yes... Almost there... In his haste, Vandal jerked his body outward, and the acidic goo splashed onto the window's hinges. Everything went into slow motion as Vandal gripped onto the loose, stained-glass pane, holding it in place. "Whew!" he sighed.

"WHASSUP, BITCHES!" a mare yell out behind him, illuminating the room. He jolted, releasing the pane, and he bid it farewell on it journey to the ground level. He heard three sounds in the following order: the sound of broken glass as it shattered against the floor, the deafening howl of a prison alarm reverberating throughout the base, and the growl of thousands of hungover soldiers right behind him. Adding insult to injury, he could not only see, but feel the glare of the Captain right below him. As adrenaline coursed through his veins, he thrust himself forward and flew out into the night, into a tree, and then disappeared with the Royal Guard in tow.

---

So he ran. The thick brush of the jungle vines in front of him battered him around like a rag doll as he wove through the chaotic arrangement of the tree trunks. So this is the "dreaded" Everfree Forest he thought. I don't know what all the fuss is about. It's just a tall canopy of trees complimented with a nice assortment of murky grass as far as the eye could see.

As if on cue, a howl echoed through the forest. He wasn't startled... or at least he didn't show it. He just kept on running. He knew better than to show fear, so he did the one thing he could do alone in the woodlands. Talk to himself.

Okay, Vandal. Let's go over our plan of action. Knowing the good ol' Captain, he wouldn't send a large party after me. Not after leaving that many wounded, of course. He cares too much about their well-being. He must have ordered a small hunting group, then. Maybe not the elite, but quite agile nonetheless. Meanwhile, he was probably sent word to station several others around the main trail exits. That's what I would do, at least. So... running East or West won't do me any good. By the time I arrive there, they would have probably gotten the message. On the other hand, the southern exit hasn't been stationed yet. It would take longer for the message to arrive. So, it would be in my best interests if I make a beeline in that direction. Good plan? Good. Break!

Lost in thought, Vandal slammed face-first into a tree branch, almost as if the divine lights sucker-punched him right in the jaw. It was then that everything hit him. He felt the full force of the crippling pain in his pitiful legs. He doubled-over in agony as everything hurt. His vision dimmed into a haze, and he felt as if the world were spinning around him. After all this sprinting, he was nearly starved of all his emotional energy. As his sight faded to black, he could still hear the roar of the demon resonating within his skull.