Viral

by AnchorsAway

Chapter 18: I'm Not Well

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The grey cement wall stared at Lieutenant Feldwing.

He returned the gaze, seated in the room's only chair, a pitiful, worn piece of wood that creaked as he shifted his weight.

There was a cot where he could sleep nearby and a shaky table where he ate his meals, but besides the spartan furnishings, the concrete box's only other features were the four faceless planes of grey.

It was day ten by his tally. He scratched the little marks into the door, etching the heavy steel with the fork brought with his meals.

There wasn't any hope of getting through that door; it was too heavy and stayed locked except for when he was brought food or when the guard emptied the stinking bucket in the corner.

Ten days.

He could have miscounted because of his increasingly erratic sleep cycle. Sometimes Feldwing lay on the musty cot and tried to count the minutes, each second ticking by one after the other in an endless stream of meaningless time.

Ten days since Ponyville, ten days since sunlight, ten days since a proper shower, ten days since he had been locked within these four walls with a roof and floor. He hadn't seen anypony since then except for the pony who brought him his meals each day. It was always the same hulking stallion with trunks for forelegs and the thinning mane.

Feldwing wanted to ask him what time it was, or where he was, or ask why he was locked up, or who the two ponies were that sometimes could be heard talking outside his door. Somepony named Willow Tree and Tundra Cotton? Royal government? He couldn't be sure, but they sounded like faceless bureaucrats. He wanted to ask his guard who they were.

Each day, Feldwing would start the morning (or was it night?) like the one before.

First, he would make his cot, tucking the corners of the sheets under just like the instructors had ingrained into him as a cadet in the flight academy. It was a simple task, but it was all he had to cling to.

Next, he would go through his exercise routine: thirty minutes of push-ups followed by another half hour of wing-ups, then finish it off with ten minutes of flutter kicks. After the exercise routine, he would usually sit at the bare table in the corner of the room and stare at the wall, or inscribe the same thing he always wrote in the wood with his fork. He had nearly covered the entire surface with his mantra.

The words and numbers were always the same.

Her name was Second Lieutenant Thundercell, Wonderbolt I.D. #2140, and I shot her because she told me to. I am not well.

It was not an admission of guilt, but a reminder, in case he forgot. He didn't want to forget.

It was becoming so hard to remember with the little voice in the corner of his brain. And with each passing day (or night?), it was getting stronger. Confiding with him. Promising him. Telling him to make his bed and bide his time.

But today, Feldwing did not make his bed. Nor did he exercise, or write on the table the things he mustn't forget, like how the voice in his head was now a symphony. What was little more than a whisper on his second day was a torrent when he awoke from his non-sleep. It told him that the day had finally come. Because today was going to be different. Nopony else had told him this, but he just knew. He could feel them coming. It was time for judgment.

The lock on the door clicked. It swung open, the bright corridor lights outside making Feldwing squint after being confined to the dimly lit room so long. This time, it was not the lumbering stallion bringing him his normal breakfast of watery oatmeal with a slice or two of toast, or an apple on a good day, but two ponies he did not recognize. They stepped inside, hovering by the doorway.

“Lieutenant Feldwing? Equestrian Defense Coalition,” the new stallion said, gesturing to the mare with him standing on the other side of the doorway. “If you’ll come with us, please.”

It was them. Feldwing could recognize their voices, the ones that would whisper and confide outside his door.

Feldwing quietly stood up from his cot. “I know who you are,” he answered, standing before them. “Where are you taking me?” he wondered, as if inquiring about the weather.

“There really isn’t time for that now,” the mare responded, her steely eyes shooting daggers at him disapprovingly, like a teacher scolding a troublesome student. “This will be much easier if you just come with us.”

Feldwing knew that if he followed these ponies, that he would be dead in a ditch in the backwaters of Equestria with a slit throat before the next morning. He had seen something he shouldn’t have in Ponyville, and they were here to tie up loose ends.

Feldwing’s eyes wandered to the fork sitting on the table behind him. It wasn’t a gun or even a knife, but it was all he had. If he was quick enough, he could sink it into the stallion before getting a good buck into the liver-spotted mare.

But the DC stallion’s eyes followed his gaze. He saw what he was thinking.

“That would be a very poor choice, Lieutenant,” Cotton Tundra remarked, lifting the corner of his saddlebag. A pistol, probably MAG based, was tucked inside the holster underneath.

Feldwing knew that if he even flinched, he would have a hoofball-sized hole melted through him.

He didn’t have a choice in this matter. He had known that before the duo had even stepped inside. He knew from the moment he had woken up to the voice whispering to him through the thick concrete wall, calling him, that his fate was already decided. They were coming. It had already begun. They had found him worthy.

“Fine by me,” Feldwing shrugged. “Let's get this over with.”

They led him out of the room and down the forebodingly thick corridor that pressed down on them with the weight of the mountain. Feldwing could feel it all around him, closing in on him. They were somewhere between the Wonderbolt hanger and Canterlot, deep in the service tunnels of the moutain. Nopony would have looked for him here.

Willow Tree led the way down the damp service passage, Tundra guarding the rear.

“We’re making our way topside,” the mare spoke into her earpiece. “Get the airship ready to head back to the Empire.”

Willow suddenly faltered, missing a hoofstep. She paused, pressing her earpiece tighter.

“I think we’re going to miss our departure,” Feldwing said plainly. “I hope you weren't looking forward to any delays.”

“Be quiet,” Willow hissed. “Tundra,” she called. "We have a situation. We need to move."

"What is it?" the stallion wheezed through his crooked snout, giving Feldwing a push along.

"The CED – somepony called in a raid. They were after our asset. Stars," Willow cursed. "Dammit."

"And Dr. Haze? The samples?"

Willow listened in to her earpiece again, eyes lifting to her accomplice. "We need to get out of Canterlot," she breathed. "Fast."

Feldwing was struck from behind with a meaty hoove, his eyes swirling in their sockets. "You hear the lady?" Tundra sneered. "Move it."

"She played your little game, didn't she?" Feldwing let out a dry chuckle. "And now she is coming to erase all of your mistakes. Everything leading up to this very moment."

"Shut it!" Willow interjected, trotting faster.

“I don’t think I have to be quiet. It’s already too late now. I’m sure they can hear us already.”

“She said, be quiet!” Tundra growled, pushing him forward with a stiff shove. “What are you blabbering about? Lose a wire in there birdbrain?”

“I’m talking about your little science project,” he answered. “You just couldn’t not play with the fire, could you? Can't you hear her – hear her all around you? Isn't it wonderful!”

“I mean it,” Tundra warned, drawing his pistol. The weapon buzzed with arcanic energy. “Move it, or I’ll wipe that stupid grin off your face. I'll leave you a pile of ash if you keep it up.”

“She keeps promising me an ocean of time,” Feldwing kept rambling. “Not just as one of her subjects, but something more.”

Something shuffle above them in the vents. The metal ducts whispered and chittered.

Tundra waved his pistol over his head, searching for the source. "What in Tartarus?"

Willow was talking feverishly into her earpiece, calling for backup and for the airship to be ready. "We are almost topside," she relayed into her radio. "Do you copy? What's going on up there?"

“She says I’m going to be one of her disciples,” Feldwing told them, hot tears of joy caressing his cheeks.

Overhead, the lights flickered as a rumble echoed down the corridor. “And that I’ll never have the bad dreams again. That is what Thundercell was really trying to show me," Feldwing choked. "She wanted to show me something so, so, beautiful! To never have to be afraid again. And the Queen will show us the way.”

It was only when the lights went out, that Feldwing felt – no – tasted his captors fear. And that he knew he would never be afraid again.

"I understand, now, Thundercell," he whispered.

The infected burst from the vents, descending upon them like locust devouring the crops in the field.

Feldwing felt the multitudes of fangs sink into his neck and a sweet smile upon his face.

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Comments

[AnchorsAway]

10028276
Good question!
Whiplash is a calm stoic. He is very experienced when it comes to flightsuits from his years of experience and he talks softly if sternly.
Clipper, his wingpony, has a thick Boston accent. He is TF2 Scout if he was in Top Gun.
Lakeshore is a learned professor, sporting casual sweater cests and a stereotypical British cockney accent.
Romulus is a bat pony haunted by the events of his life. However, as former personal Night Guard to Lun, he is a very talented warrior. His voice is deeper, but sharp.
Rose Point is your typical young filly. Though she has lost everything, she still is able to find the little things to enjoy in life.
Zahara is a very maternal zebra with a thick African accent. She chooses to remain in Canterlot to run the orphanage that she grew up in among the "Sisters."
Trotter, lanky pathologist of the Center for Equestrian Diseases. He is passionate about his work, but finds himself questioning those closest to him. His voice is pitched higher, as if he were still a young intern.
Dr. Solar Haze, Director of the CED, is your school valedictorian with an eloquent academic authority around her. Yet, she can be stark, almost cruel as she seeks to accomplish her very personal goals.

I hope this answers your question Let me know if you are interested in the more minor characters. Plus there are always those characters to come in upcoming chapters.

[Clawfoot]

You are on a roll!