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Chapter One2,961 words
Chapter Two2,571 words
Chapter Three6,232 words
Chapter Four3,523 words
Chapter Five5,469 words
Chapter Six3,780 words
Chapter Seven6,918 words
Chapter Eight6,393 words

Chapter Four

Author's Note:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0ugCkdPDRFw

Mood music.

A soft voice calls out to you, awakening you from slumber. “Anonymous?” the voice asks. “Hey, Anonymous. Wake up. It's time.”

You groggily rub the sand out of your eyes as you come to. Sleep was a rarity amongst the ranks. And more often than not, you took every chance you could to get at it.

A soft touch prods you shoulder. Careful, and gentle, it undoubtedly belonged to a woman. The pale moonlit was just bright enough to reveal her features. Her pale skin was covered with dirt and scars. Her eyes were a brilliant teal that shined with grace, even in the dead of night.

She produces a thermos and pours you a small cup of coffee.

You allow the feeling of de-ja-vu to pass as you take in your surroundings once more. Is this s a dream?

Once again you find yourself in the back of the moving van. Quickly zooming down an abandoned highway. The rhythmic pitter patter of raindrops against the van's roof brings a sense of ease into your mind.

You glance around and spot the same familiar faces. Rag-tag freedom fighters armed to the teeth with a makeshift arsenal. Everything from hand-crafted pipe bombs to foreign RPG's. You rummage through one of your pockets, finding a pack of cigarettes. The small box has seen better days, but it still proudly reads “LUCKY STRIKE CIGARETTES” across the banner. It's a small luxury in this war; but it was one you could afford to share. Passing the box around, the van soon becomes flooded with cigarette smoke. You offer a light to the coffee girl, but she quietly declines.

She seems distracted. Lost, even.

You were about to ask her what was the matter, when suddenly the window between the van's cabin and cargo bay slips open. His radio floods the room, but he spoke over it with a booming voice.

“Aight. I'm sure you boys know the drill by now, but humor me for the moment.” The driver announces as he steers onto an exit ramp. “We're headed to the West Side of the City, and as you know, the Stovies haven't established a steady foothold to this area yet. Their supplies are scarce. And until they do, the forces stationed here are relying on whatever they can loot. The resistance has a reason to believe the Stovies have been using the gas stations along 6th and Hope Ave to fuel a carpool of sorts.”

You finish off the last of the cigarette and flick it out of the van. The driver continues on with his speech as you ready yourself.

“Your task is to poke around the around and see what's up. If the intel proves true, you're tasked to destroy this carpool under any means necessary. Alright?”

The van slows to a crawl, and let's out a heavy hiss at it halts. He parks it at the edge of the city limits. Once he kills silences the engine, the sounds of a waging war can be heard deep inside the city.

“This is as far as I'll take you.” the driver explains. “You'll have to book it from here.”

Your party disembarks.

“If all goes well, I'll meet you all here at dawn.”

He starts the engine. It's heavy chugging rings deep throughout the empty streets.

“I expect to see all of you back here when I return. No fuck-ups. You hear? Stay safe.”

The van drives away, and you quickly lose sight of it through the heavy rain. You turn to face your fellow squad mates as you make your final preparations for the night.

One of the fighters takes point. It's Mac.

“Alright boys, radios on.” he demands. You follow orders and flick the switch on your ear piece. As soon as you do, you ear becomes flooded with noise.

Radio chatter. White noise. Explosion. Gun fire. Men screaming. All in all, an indistinguishable mess of noise.

Mac pulls up his rifle and starts jogging to a nearby alleyway.

“Tune to Channel 141.12!” he shouts over his shoulder.

You oblige, tuning into the near silent channel. Mac's voice fills your ear piece.

“This is out channel for tonight.” he shouted, echoed by the radio feed in your ear. “Alright. Stay low, and watch those roof tops. First mark's only a few blocks away.”

The group heads further west under the cover of night. The rain picks up. Your parka does little to protect you from the water. You clutch your rifle and tread lightly. Each step echoes with a slushy squeak from your boots.

As you head farther west, the noise of war dwindles. For the military lines ares are currently held on the east side of town. Just on the other side of the canal bridge.

You trail behind the pack, the heavy bag of tools weighs you down some.

The radio comes to life with chatter from your squad.

“Hey. Hey. We're at 4th and Hope. Approaching the point of interest now.”

“Anyone got eyes?'

“Yeah, yeah. I see the old gas station, but not much else.”

“It's the fucking rain!”

“Shh. Shh! Quiet! You hear that?”

“Sounds like an engine?”

“Maybe it's the carpool?”

Out of breath, you catch up to the rest of your squad. They're perched by the alley's corner.

“Anonymous!” Mac barks.

You take a moment to wheeze out a simple “Yeah?” for a response. One that does little to amuse him.

“We need eyes and ears.” he says, pointing to an apartment complex on the other side of the street. “Head to the roof. We'll cover.”

Between your gasps for air, you let out a sigh of annoyance. But ultimately do what you're told with little hesitation. You dart across the street and slam against the complexes' wall for cover. A quick glance back shows the rest of the squad vigorously sweeping the street with their sights.

You cart around to the side of the building, to which you find an old fire escape. The climb isn't as daunting as you'd imagined, and you make it to the roof in no time. You perch yourself to the edge of a the rooftop and overlook the streets below.

From here, you see everything. The gas stations loom about a hundred yards to your left, while Mac and the rest of the squad is nestled to the alley on your right. And in front, a huge municipal parking lot is filled to the brim with military vehicles. The lot is completely fenced around by stone walls. It's only entrance is guarded by two Estovakian officers. One smoking a cigar by the gate, and another falling asleep on an MG nest.

“Anonymous!? What's the hold up?” your radio beacons.

“I've got eyes,” you whisper into the earpiece. “Looks like the intel was spot on. There's about a dozen cars in that truck in front of you.”

“I can't see shit from here.” Mac grunts. “There's a wall in the way.”

“Yeah. The lot is fenced in, you'd have to go around the wall. There's an entryway about a hundred yards down the road.”

“Stovies?” he asks.

“Yeah. Two guys.”

“Alright.” he scoffs. “Moving out.”

You watch as the small squad emerges from the shadows. They make a bee line towards the entryway. They hug the wall for cover and onwards. But they grind to a halt just before reaching the gates.

“What's the hold up?” you whisper into the mic, “You're good! Keep going!”

“It's too dangerous to go any further.” Mac replies, “Take out the MG guy. Make it quiet.”

You shuffle along to the far end of the rooftop, allowing yourself a clearer view of the man nestled behind the MG nest. You stow your AK and unsling your small hunting rifle along your back. It's small .22 caliber rounds were sufficient. It was accurate, quiet, and quick. And from this distance, it'd be just enough to critically wound the gunner. Resting your rifle on the edge of the rooftop, you aim for the gunner. Zeroing in your sights for the shot.

“Ok. I've got a shot. Ready when you are.”

In the corner of your eye, you see the squad ready up. Slowly shifting their way out of cover and towards the gates.

“Take the shot.”

You breathe in and pull the trigger. Twice. The kickback from the rifle is manageable to say the least. Two muffled 'pop' erupt from your rifle, and the soldier behind your sights erupts in a pink mist. Quickly afterward, you hear a few gun shots from the ground.

“They're down.” Mac calls.

“Good.” you reply, “I can't see anyone else from here. So it looks like you're clear.”

“Excellent.” he replies. “Hey, listen. Can you see the gas station from there?”

You look to the other end of the street, stretching your vision as far as it goes. And off in the distance, you can see the silhouette of the station. “Yeah.” you whisper.

“Good. Go scout ahead, plant some charges against the gas lines. We'll meet you there.”

“Copy.” you whisper.

You set aside your rifle and ready your AK. You start your descent down the fire escape as the rest of the squad moves into the car pool. They soon begin their 'work' on the vehicles.

“I'm on the street.” you call, “Making my way towards the station.”

“Copy.” Mac replies. The sounds of whirring power tools can be heard over his radio feed.

You quickly shuffle between buildings until the target comes into view. It was an old gas station built decades ago. There were a few pumps that were completely overshadowed by huge gas tanks not too far from them.

Tarvo city was industrial in nature. It housed one of the nation's largest ports and industrial complexes. The gas housed here was used to fuel the almost constant fleet of transport trucks that carried goods that flowed through the city.

With your AK set for full auto, you trek into the gas station. The overhead awning shields you from the pouring rain. You remove your parka's hood, and wipe the water off your face. And although you're grateful, you remain ever vigilant. You bob and weave through the pumps and long abandoned cars, making your way to looming fuel tanks in the back.

No hostiles. It's unnerving.

Quickly you scan the surrounding rooftops, searching for any silhouettes. But you find nothing.

Lightning cracks overhead, followed closely by booming thunder. The rain doesn't let up. Fierce winds whiplashes water across your face. The rain stop sting as the smack across your skin.

You pull out a satchel and remove a bundle of plastic explosives. You crawl underneath one of the gas lines leading from a tank and plant it. You've become efficient, and quickly travel down the fuel line. Planting a dozen or so charges. You finish planting the final charge against the base of the tank.

“Alright.” you whisper into the radio, “All charges have been plan-”

Gunshots erupt.

“Anonymous! We've got hostiles!” Mac shouts over the radio.

“Where?”

“From your end of the street!” he shouts. “They might not have noticed you yet! Just get to cover! We're on our way!”

You react quickly. Pulling yourself out from underneath the gas tank.

But before you could get to your feet, you feel a sharp pain across the back of your head.

It knocks you out cold.

A bright light burns into your eyes, and your natural reaction is to shield yourself. But try as you might, it proves to be useless. Your arms and legs are bound together by a heavy telekinetic force. It tugs against you whenever you try to move.

Your eyes quickly adjust to the light, paint a bright and vivid scene around you. The ponies from before are still here. But this time, you find yourself along a dirt path nestled along rolling fields. Dawn's golden light is just starting to break over the horizon. The ponies are still here. Talking amongst each other. They whisper back and fro in a strange language unlike anything you've ever heard before.

Small pebbles and grave dig into your face. Your cheeks are scuffed and your lip is slightly bloodied. You feel your wrists and ankles start to become sore with rope burns. The ponies have you hog tied against the gravel.

You gather whatever breath you can. But it proves to be difficult. Your breathing is coarse, and labored. And with every breath, a dull pain erupts from your left side of your chest. It feels as though you've bruised a rib, perhaps you've broken it.

“H-Hey” you whisper. You voice is dry and weak. It doesn't carry very far.

You watch as the purple unicorn paces back and forth frantically. She glances over to you, and double takes in shock when she realizes you've come to. They pause their conversation to approach you. As the purple unicorn approaches, a purple aura surrounds your body. Tightening your binds. She comes face to face with you.

“Let me go.” you croak.

She tilts her head in confusion.

The orange pony comes forward and starts poking you in the chest. You flinch in pain as she prods your sore rib. She carries a smug look of pride along her face.

“Untie me!” you shout.

The orange one stammers about, clearly startled. You try against your bindings once more, but they only become tighter. The purple unicorn addresses the rest of the group. They collect their things before starting down the dirt path once more. With her telekinesis, she drags you along. You shout in protest, but for the most part, they don't seem to bat you an eye.

You cuss them out at first. You promise them death threats. You say terrible things to them. But as soon as you realize that didn't work, you try to bargain with them. Pleading. Begging, even.

But they ignore you all the same.

Who are they?

What are they?

What do they want?

A cold shiver runs down your spine, leaving the hairs on your neck on edge. Brutal memories of the war flash before your eyes. You recall coming across the corpses of POW's during your travels.

Military, militia, and ever civilians were all given the same treatment. You'd come across corpses so mutilated and disfigured, they were barely even human. The words of Mac, your late squad leader, echo in your mind.

“You've seen what they've down to our comrades; our fellow brothers and sisters. To them, you are nothing more than a toy. They will break you. And they'll stop at nothing to get even the smallest amount of information out of it. They have no mercy, no remorse, and no limit. Under no circumstances are you to ever be taken hostage. Don't you ever give them that chance. Do I make myself clear?”

Suicide.

Your mind trembles at thought. As you glance around, you find all all your equipment has been stripped from you. The white unicorn is carrying them nearby with he own telekinesis. You let out a small sigh of defeat.

You let up on your struggles and allow yourself to be dragged along the beaten path. In this daylight, you take a moment to study your captors.

Small pastel colored ponies. Each one of them with a unique color pallet and hairstyle. And by the looks of it, each one with a completely different personality.

The entire walk, you've been stared down by the orange pony. Her eyes stabbing daggers into you. She seems uneasy, untrusted, or even hostile.

While on the other hand, the yellow pegasus seems to be a bit more timid. She flies close to you and occasionally tries to speak with you. She takes note of your cuts and bruises along your face. But you pay her no mind. Occasionally, you'd shoot her a deadpan stare when she'd fly to close to you, sending her off.

But the whole ordeal was short lived. Before you knew it, your party had arrived at it's destination. A small town cracked at the horizon. It's small building nestled between rolling hills. Houses of all sizes were neatly aligned between dirt roads. They were all constructed using simple materials. Wood. Earth. Masonry. And glass. All in all, it gave a simple and inviting feel to the place.

A start contrast to your steel and concrete city.

It was all so peaceful and verdant. It seemed like a vacation town.

Your mind wanders. Where are the others? Mac and the rest of your squad? What of the the resistance movement back home? What of the war?

Your militia training pops into mind. The resistance never issued cyanide pills. There wouldn't be enough to go around. Instead, they advised one to bite their own tongue off. With any luck, one would sever one of the major arteries and bleed to death before being tossed into a Stovie interrogation chamber. You shudder and the thought and dismiss it.

The rows of houses eventually gave way to an enormous tree nestled in the middle of town. Truly, it was breathtaking. Thick roots planted into the ground gave the tree ample support. A small door and a pair of windows were carved into the tree itself. More balconies and windows were perched on various branches through the tree. You silently marveled at it's grace before being ushered inside by the ponies.

The interior was of the tree was almost as breathtaking as the exterior. You swear that the inside was bigger than the out. Dozens upon dozens of shelves lie carved into the walls. Each one of them packed to the brim with books and scrolls. Was this a library?

The usher deeper inside, and place you on a couch obviously too small for you. Your gear is still being carried by the white pony, who only watches you cautiously.

You feel their eyes.

Watching. Studying. Examining.

The purple unicorn trots up to you. She speaks a few words to you. She carried a curious tone in her voice and waits expectantly when she finishes. But you cock your head to the side, and only offer silence.

The yellow pegasus returns from the other room, presumably a kitchen. She carried a tray full of food and drinks. Fresh fruits and vegetables served up on fine china. She hands out food and drinks to the other ponies, to which you watch in envy.

Food has been scarce. It always has been. You stomach growls at the sight.

But the yellow pegasus takes notice. She grabs an apple from her plate and slowly hovers over to you. She lands on the couch next to you before saying a few words to you.

You remain silent.

She holds the apple over to you. A large smile fills her face. You feel the telekinetic bindings release from your body.

Your arms are freed. But, in the corner of your eye, you can see the orange and ponies ponies preparing a rope. The purple pony also eyes you cautiously.

No chance at pulling an escape here.

You look back to the yellow pegasus. She stares deep into your eyes as you do to hers.

Eyes of innocence. Grace. And kindness.

Traits no Stovie could ever carry.

You've been though hell and back. Any kind gesture now is one you'd take to heart. You reach out and grab the apple from the yellow pony's hood. You take a bite.

It's been a while since you've had fresh fruit. Fresh food had become a luxury during wartime embargoes. Most of your food came from a can, and sometimes that included trash cans.

It could have been months since you've last had something 'good' to eat. But honestly, you've lost count of the days.

You look to the yellow pony. You could feel her anxiety. Waiting to see what your next move was. But honestly, it was a mutual feeling that you tried to cast aside.

You place your hand on her head and pet her a few times. She is wary of your touch, and cowers slightly as your hands make contact. You run your fingers down her mane. Once she realizes you mean her no harm, she gives caution to the wind.

You raise your hand against yourself.

“Anonymous.” you announce.

You repeat the gesture a few times before they seem to catch on.

The purple unicorn steps forward. She raises a hoof and presses against her chest.

“Twiliiiight” she slowly announces.

You both smile.

You take a bite into your apple. The sweet flavor enriches you taste buds.

“Thanks.”

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