TCB: The Magnificent Tails From The Trash Pile.

by Erac

Christmas Event Entry: Not a Normal Christmas Story.

“You see, in this wondrous place, I do many wondrous things!” The man said as he walked about, two men in suits following closely behind.

“On behalf of the H.L.F. we thank you for your service, doctor?” The large goateed man began.

“Oh, let’s not bother with names, they’re quit. . . boring,” The man in the lab coat chuckled, as he walked along the catwalk.

“You see we don’t really have a problem, per say, but. . . your use of pony laborers bother us somewhat, it’s frankly a bit contradictory to our cause,” The other man said, clean shaven yet brawny like his near twin.

“Oh well, I ran into trouble with bonding certain experiments to their caretakers. It just so happens that the process is slightly easier for ponies, plus I can’t really afford to waste spare parts when they get killed,” The doctor chuckled. The two men laughed as well, albeit much more nervously, dealing with the ‘good’ doctor, you could never have the upper hand.

“Now as you see here this is where we hold the animals,” The doctor smiled, gesturing to the various creatures below. The two men stepped back in unison as they felt a resonating hatred.

“Hello Doctor!” A yellow coated mare called down from below.

“Hello Miss Tree!” The doctor called out and waved, looking in a completely different direction than the Mare. As the men squinted they could just make out what appeared to be bark covering her sides and back.

“Ah ha, yes. . . I made a few improvements on her. . . to help her not be mauled,” The doctor chuckled to himself.

“This fucker is crazy,” The man with the goatee whispered to his partner.

“I know that, but he’s the only one who can do what we need,”

“. . . you do see what I’m seeing, right?” Both men looked down out into the yard with it’s high solid fence. There appeared to be zombies moving various feed for the animals out of a storage shed.

“Uh, doctor. . . you never told us about, these,” The man with the goatee said, gesturing to the lurching figures following the pony on the ground.

“Oh yes, them. . . they’re my effort to ‘recycle’ all those lazy bodies lying about,” The doctor giggled. “Anyways, let us continue on with our tour.”

* * *

Miss Tree sat silently for a moment as she watched the doctor wander off. With a sigh she turned to her ‘helpers. “You two, stop eating that raccoon and listen.”

The two guilty pseudo zombies gave a guilty glance at each other, before one of them swallowed it’s meal. “Jez, Miz Treay?” one of them gurgled.

“Would you mind helping with this cage?” She said, gesturing towards one cage with some form of mutated monkey turtle things.

“Nuh Huh,” The rotter shook it’s head viciously. Refusing to go near the creatures cage.

“Oh yes you will, the doctor put you under my lead, so you will do as I ask,” The mare glared at the ‘not quite’ undead creatures.

“Jez Miss Tree,” The rotters nodded in argument. they paused as the poor foolish first one at the cage, was drug through the bars. Even the undead averted their eyes.

“Docktor says not go nere cagies,” One of the horrors said.

“Miss Tree, waht you wun us to tek car today?” This ‘not’ zombie was different, somewhat. It’s speech was of a better quality, and it seemed to think thing through. . . more or less.

“Oh Harold. . . just help me with these cages right quick, I need to get something.”Miss Tree said before trotting off to the shed.

* * *

“What we’re here to discuss is simple, sir. . .” The man with the goatee said glaring at the Madman across the desk from him, as he counted various toenail clippings, scooping each pile into jars, slowly. “Pay attention to us, sir. We need to know how far along the ‘project’ has progressed.”

“Oh it’s progressing fine, and the toe nails help me think, I know it may seem odd to you but genius is a little odd, now isn’t it?” The doctor smiled leaning forward. The two suited men recoiled a bit, it was always hard to tell if the man was about to do something drastic.

“We’re having to. . . reduce funding, we simply can’t keep up this expenditure of resources,” The goateed man said matter of factly. The world seemed to grow silent as the doctors smile faded.

* * *

“I’m not staying here any longer,” The poor pony tree hybrid said to herself as she trotted towards the storage shed. She had planned this out fairly well already, all she needed to do was open a few cages and she’d be able to leave unhindered.
She paused for a moment, looking at one of the rotters staring at her. “Poor poor creature,” She sighed looking at the name tag gracing the vest. “Harold, why are you standing about?”

“Gah?” Harold groaned, a line of drool escaping from the torn corner of his mouth. “I Is dowen, Sctuff.”

“. . . ok, you should go help the others. . . I need to get something from the shed,” Miss Tree started, growing uncomfortable under the dead man's gaze. She hated the way his eyes were always locked on her skull, but surely the doctor had nicked that brain eating thing, right?

“K,” He mumbled, righting himself somewhat before scuffling off towards his brethren. Miss Tree almost felt bad about what was about to happen to them, almost.

* * *

“Cut. . . funding, irresponsible use and expenditure of resources. . . Oh my, is that what you truly think of my grand ‘work’?” The doctor said flatly. The two men were not intimidated by the smaller man, but regardless kept their guns ready.

“Yes. . . your work has shown little progress on, well, any fronts. While the armor you’ve provided our troops is exceptional we find it financially irresponsible, you see our plight?”

“. . . Oh well, I guess I could have a run at making improvements to exist-,” The doctor frowned as he was cut off by the goateed man.

“You don’t seem to understand, there isn’t anymore projects you’ll be running, we’re taking what research you have. Doctor, you’ve become a liability to us as of now, and our organization has no more use for you,” The goateed man said as he pulled out his gun. “You're too much of a liability, and we plan on dealing with you.”

“Oh well, I understand,” The doctor sighed, the two men slowly shot looks of confusion at each other.

“You do realize we’ve been sent to kill you, correct?” The clean shaven man said.

“Yes and it’s rather unfortunate, but I guess you won’t be getting your christmas presents then,” The doctor smiled as men went pale, as they were lifted off the floor. “They were supposed to be a surprise, but I guess I have to ruin that now. . . what with me being fired on christmas and all. Meet Marco, the first successful candidate for the super serum project. The two men fired their guns into the large mans chest, who simply grinned.

“Nice to meet you two, I’m going to be the man guttin you today,” The large man chuckled, Patch work scars laced over his flesh like pieces of a puzzle, the two officials reeled as they were hurled against the wall.

“I do love hands on testing, don’t you gentlemen?” The doctor laughed, and laughed

and laughed. . .

* * *

Thirty or so ‘rotters’ ambled around, feeding the animals and such, and attempted to pull each other out of the more aggressive creatures cages when they were ultimately dragged through the bars. Harold shambled along, what left of his brain was more than capable of basic and some higher thought, but his accursed body wouldn’t move properly. . . such as his legs. It was with a great deal of focus he moved without tripping over his own legs, he was an unfortunate one. The doctor had found him after running over him when he got in his way. . . it mattered little that he was driving on the sidewalk.

“Gun hate dis,” He grumbled to himself. He cast a glaring eye to the ponies on the roof, busily hanging christmas lights and other ornaments. He froze as he tried to process the significance of pony walking along the wall. “Gah?” He shambled halfway out of sight, watching in wonder as the creature moved down into the yard, and in puff of green fire became a rotter like him. With a level of finesse not known to his kind he scrambled for a better hiding spot, and watched in mild horror as it began to open the big cage in the back, the one that held the most horrid creatures the doctor had.

“Gun get Way!” He shrieked as several two headed dogs rushed out of the cage, a few gorillas with a look in there eye one of burning intellect, and a monstrous hulk of a bat.

All hell broke loose as the first rotter began to writhe in the jaws of the dogs.

* * *

“Hah Free, I’m free!” Miss Tree laughed as she let her hind legs dangle in the wind, the changelings carrying her were of the strong sort, so she feared little of falling. “The agreement still stands, I tell you queen what she wants and I’m free to go, correct?” She smiled as one of the two nodded to her. She feared little of them double crossing her, after all plant ponies aren’t compatible with there little pods.

Far on the ground below Harold watched in horror as his ‘friend’ Miss Tree was kidnapped by the changelings, a severed arm flying in front of him brought his attention back quite quickly though to the things that were trying to kill them all.

“Dey, dey Taked Miss Tree!” He shrieked, scooping up the severed arm of his comrade. The others lay downed by the dogs, every once in awhile a large leathery form would swoop by, and carry one of them off in it’s jaws. Harold had little time for that, wading through the chaos clubbing things left and right.

The dogs had little interest in him, having instead locked there jaws tightly to the tasty rotters to slow to move out of the way. Harold locked eyes with one of the gorillas across the way, glaring for a moment the large muscular beast began to move away towards the security station. Harold followed, slow at first but getting up to a loping gait. He was glad he had been so limber in life.

He leapt over the prone bodies of his fellows, following the great gorilla. He instinctively knew what the intelligent brutes were up too.

“I come, too!” He howled as he caught up to them at the gate. The massive beasts towered over him, and snorted. Slowly they relaxed, gesturing to the gate house. “Righout!” Harold gurgled a bit, using the emergency situational entrance technique (Punching through the window), he clambered through and began to stare at the console momentarily, eyes glazing over as he looked at them. With a shrug he hit them all.

The gorillas charged through the open gate as Harold clambered out the way he came in. He cast one last glance at the yard, now in ever growing chaos as more cages had been opened. . . somehow, and charged after his allies.

* * *

They had stopped at the old abandoned mall for to rest and wait for nightfall, when the doctor would have more problems hunting them down. It had been left sometime ago, after some mass evacuation had left the area uninhabitable. The burnt out bodies of cars littered the lot, even looking at the place gave her chills. The changelings carrying her didn’t seem to mind either way though, and made no fuss as they gently flew through a collapsed sky light.

It was odd, like stepping into another world. The place was littered with ruined goods, let by old flickering emergency lights the darkness seemed to shift. “Ok, we’re safe here. I don’t think any of the doctors stuff heads out this way,” Tree said with a smile at the two changelings. A normal pony would have been reviled by her, but then again they weren’t half oak. However being a tree pony hybrid does not steel one for what happened next.

“Ho, HO. HO!” A tinny voice boomed throughout the darkness. Slowly the two changelings and pony tree hybrid all exchanged glances. Before she could protest Miss Tree was sweapt up, and they flew towards the skylight. Only to smash head first into a grate that hadn’t been there before.

“It’s, ITS A TRAP!” Miss Tree shrieked eyes bulging out of her head, they fell to the floor in a heap. The last thing she saw was a machine, that at one time may have been the spitting image of the jolly bearded man who lived up north. Time had done a number on him, exposing mechanical pieces and such.

“Someone has been, very, very naughty.” It chuckled. Miss Tree shrank back as mechanical forms moved through the darkness to ensnare them. She whirled but her protectors were nowhere to be found.

* * *

Harold rode up front next to the Gorilla, he could only stare somewhat puzzled as he shifted gears with ease, coaxing the truck to move in ways Harold could no longer do. . . he was somewhat curious as to where he had gotten a driving cap however.

In the back arguing could be heard, he had convinced several rotters to come along to save Miss Tree with him, but it sure did take a lot of convincing to get them to go. Luckily ‘negotiations’ involved smacking them about with a pipe, and they had soon decided to work with them, after they're already dead brains had been rendered to slush.

“Tha, Dey went thar!” Harold said leaning over the dash and pointing to the large derelict building in the distance. With a grunt his wheel man complied, gunning it. The sun loomed overhead as the gorillas and pseudo zombies sped off to rescue their ‘friend’.

* * *

It had gone off without a hitch so far, they had driven into the parking lot, and straight through the main entrance. The side doors of the large truck sprang open and the living dead spilled out, rearin for a scrap. The dead have many handicaps, but they tend to be off set by a few things. One of those benefits was darkness would not hide there prey.

“Get he!” One of the pale faced mooks groaned, pointing a crow pecked undead arm at the ‘man’ in the red suit. The ten or so other Rotters rushed past the ‘lead’ man, laughing merrily as they brandished any weapon they could find. . . in this instance it happened to be garden tools. Trowels, buckets, hedge clippers and lawn gnomes held high they rushed the ‘fat lord’ high on his throne in his domain.

“Oh HO HO HO!” The mechanical santa laughed as the army of ‘not’ zombies rushed him full force. “Your aiming for the naughty list quickly, aren’t you?” Setting aside the long mummified pony from his lap he stood on powerful mechanical legs. “SANTAS HELPERS, TO ME!” All throughout the dead mall, within the broken stores and amidst the spent shell casing of battle long ago. They came, creeping and clunking out of the stores, like the long dead. Machines, rusted in places, dented hides from the stray shots of foolish scavengers. They came out in a tide of broken. rusted. steel!

“FOR DA DOKtoR!” one of the dead creatures cried, lifting his garden hoe high.

“Gun saHve miss Tree!” Another rotter roared, hosting a cash register wrapped in chain, as though it were a ‘mildly’ unwieldy flail.

The rotters may have been dead, stupid, unwashed, smelly, (you get the picture) but they were much quicker than the machines, and they happily rushed headfirst to their doom. . . til they realized the fight was fair and even. They were routed before the battle proper had even begun.

“Dun Run AWA!” Shouted the ‘lead’ man. The rotters eyes glazed over for a second before he realized he stood alone now.

“Oh Ho ho. . . looks like we have a, naughty naughty boy here, doesn’t it?” The ‘jolly’ mechanized santa laughed. “Take him to the ‘TOY’ shop!”

“Guff’!” He cried out as one of the machines cuffed him hard, sending him sprawling. If anything, the living dead have a certain good qualities to them, a sharp blow to the head is not going to knock one out. It mattered little, with robust strength the machines dragged the rotter with ease, even as his nails tore at the old rotten carpet of the abandoned mall. “Dun gun get your’s, Da Fat MAN!”

* * *

“Gam, NAH!” The ‘lead’ man shrieked as the machines tossed him into the old daycare, now repurposed as a makeshift holding pen. before the unfortunates got to sit on santa's lap, to be judged naughty, or nice.

“Ha-harold?” Miss Tree asked hesitantly. Harolds eyes slowly focused on her, the lovely Miss Tree was standing in a flowerpot, her hooves sunk deep into the dirt. “Ha, they. . . don’t feed prisoners. . . it’s not like I enjoy this, mostly.”

“Wuah?” Harold eyed the ‘improved’ earth pony, staring at her roots for a moment, before shaking his head. “Wher-E we at?”

“A sort of holding cell, before they kill us,” She sighed, “There only ignoring me cause I’ve taken root. Harold you shouldn’t have came here, there going to kill you, again.”

“Gahragh. . . Miss Tree hel Us, we sav Miss Tree,” Harold groaned.

“Harold, I tried to run away, back to someplace that I don’t have to work, where they can make it so I’m not a freak show anymore!” Miss Tree cried, “I don’t want anyone to get hurt because of me.”

Harold stood stock still for a few moments, before glancing about the room. Broken chunks of wood, and wall lay about the old play area. Harolds eyes locked onto something he didn’t expect to see. A gun lying next to the partial skeleton of a man of some sort. Harold clutched the gun tightly. “I’ma take care dis,” He nodded, striding towards the grate that held them in.

Outside stood two poorly maintained security drones, each doodling about looking for more intruders to add to their masters catch. “Stay back, and await to be judged.” One of them crooned from there tinny speakers.

“I haz gan,” Harold said through a grin, *BOOM* the first dropped as the bullet punched through a weakened crack in it’s head. Apparently the previous owner had sought only to use it on himself, not stupid/ or brave enough to fight the machines, but Rotters have little use for such intelligence. Harold glared, swaying on unsteady feet as several bullets found their mark, impacting against his chest. “Owchie,” He groaned staggering back.

“HAROLD, GET DOWN!” Miss Tree yelled as the grate was blown to bits by makeshift explosives. Harold flew back, rolling to a stop in front of her pottery ‘bed’.

*Bring him to me, Oh Ho Ho* a voice called out over the intercom. Slowly three machines stomped in, and began to drag Harold back to the center of the huge mall.

* * *

“Gah?” Harold drooled, before a machine struck him again. His head lulled to the side for a moment, but other than that he was fine, being undead has it’s advantages at times.

“You’ve been very, very naughty.” The once jolly looking Santa esc machine laughed. All about his paint chipped ‘gold’ throne, and amidst the broken animatronic elves. “What would you like for Christmas. . . little boy,” The mechanical ‘jolly’ brute laughed. “Stand him up, it’s no good to have him sprawled on the floor.”

Harold groaned as he was dragged to his feet, trying his damndest to regain his senses. He began to attempt to wrench free of their grasp. It was impossible, the old machines were too well made to allow that to happen. “Wah you Gun Do?” Harold spat at the machine lord.

“Why, I’m going to judge you naughty, or nice. then you’ll get your present,” He gestured with that permanent smile on his hard molded face to a pile of mouldy bones on either side of him.

“You gun kill meh?” Harold glared, still trying to pull free. “You not do that, I’m already dead!” Harold grinned. The santa look alike seemed to consider this for a moment.

“Alright, bring his friend to me,” ‘Santa’ began to laugh as Harold redoubled his efforts to tear free. Several moments passed, Harold writhing in the machines grasp. There was the sound of ripping metal and nothing more. “You two, go and see what the problem is, we don’t have all day.”
Two machines, automated stocking equipment of some sort y the looks of there clamps, stomped off into the darkness. A metal head came back out, screaming across the distance like missle, striking the machine holding Harold with bone shattering force.

“Vile wretch, what sort of trick do you have up your sleeve?” ‘Santa’ demanded standing up from his accursed festive throne.

“I has Mohnkee, he has Bigga gan!” Harold grinned staggering to his feet and lunging at the metal man. Biting hastily with his teeth, but only causing superficial injuries as his rotten teeth bit into his latex flesh.

Out of the darkness strode a gorilla, it had found reason enough to dig through the ruins and was wearing an ill fitting suit, but what it held was a gun. One used by ‘small’ time monster hunters everywhere. The bore was large enough for a small child to stick in his hand, the scratched and rusted metal of the weapon spoke wonders of the hell it had seen. Large yet nimble hands pulled back the bolt, before blowing the head off of one of the machines.

The Santa look alike had no recourse or action, after the last group that raided the building most of his defenses had been disabled. How he hated those three humans and there Diamond Mutt.

* * *

Miss Tree lay stock still in the darkness, gnawing on the tendrils that had grown from her hooves. That was the worst part about staying on soil for long, she had no clue what would happen if she stayed on it for too long. Her ears perked up as shuffling footsteps could be heard in the darkness. “Harold?”

“Miz Tree, I’m here!” Harold called out as she stood.

“Thank you for saving me,” She said grinning at her undead ‘friend’. She epped as she was swept up into a hug, but soon enough gave in and hugged him back. . . that’s when she heard him sniffing her head.

* * *

“AREN’T.WE.HAVING. FUN YET!?” The doctor screamed in the two men's faces, they sat in spinning chairs, bound with christmas lights. The two men shook uncontrollably as a Griffin walked about, examining them.

“You guys want some more egg nog,were going to be here awhile longer,” The griffin said, offering a glass to the bound men. Slowly he raised it to one of their lips allowing them to drink deeply for a moment each. The Doctor had been ranting for the past three hours, and the staff had the good ‘fortune’ to be caught up in it. Broken gingerbread men rained down on them all as the doctor continued shouting, and ranting. No one really paid it any mind really, so far he hadn’t killed anyone so they felt fairly safe. Though he had blacked one of the lab techs eyes.

“Ok, so how the fuck do we get out of this alive?” The man with the goatee asked the griffin, strangely calm even as the doctor did his best to smash a break table, eventually giving up and instead ordering Marco to break it.

“You know, if you guys just keep quiet for a while and wait til his tantrums done he’ll probably will have forgotten what you said,” The griffin chuckled raising the glass to his beak again.

“How do you work here without losing it?” The other man in the suit said.

“I’m not going to lie, I’m well known at the local bars for a reason. All in all this isn’t that bad a way to throw a christmas party. . . considering he hasn’t killed or maimed anyone. . . yet.”

* * *

Rotten jaws clamped down hard, and Miss Tree winced. It wasn’t what she had really expected, but it wasn’t as bad as she imagined. Harold kept gnawing on her mane for another hour and all she could think about was simply this. ‘I’m never going to escape on christmas again.”