Viral

by AnchorsAway

Chapter 5: Biorealm

Lieutenant Feldwing Debrief Report

Presented at the Third Global Conference on the Equestria Quarantine Period.

— New Canterlot, Equestria Republic, April 12-16, 1021 A.V

---

Captain Winterhoof:

Let the record show that under accordance with Wonderbolt regulation Twenty-three Alpha that this debriefing is being recorded and will be reviewed before a special Wonderbolt council. Present are Captain Winterhoof of the Wonderbolt Fifth, and Lieutenant Feldwing of the Rapid Response Wing. Anything spoken or divulged in this proceeding can be admissible as evidence for future court-martialing. Lieutenant Feldwing, do you understand?
[pause]
Lieutenant Feldwing, I need you to verbally confirm that you understand.

Lieutenant Feldwing:

Y–yes. Yes, I understand, sir.

Captain Winterhoof:

Alright, let’s try to run through his one more time, shall we. We’ll start again from the top. What happened during the recon mission, Lieutenant?

Lieutenant Feldwing:

The mission?

Winterhoof:

Yes, the deployment over Ponyville. Are you feeling alright, Lieutenant?

Feldwing:

Oh, right. No, I’m ok. The Major, Whiplash, he was leading the reconnaissance sweep. A disturbance or something picked up by Canterlot.

Winterhoof:

And you encountered deteriorating conditions upon arrival, is that correct, Lieutenant?

Feldwing:

Yeah —was touch and go for a hot minute. Instruments in error, crosswinds popping up all over the place. We saw it once we broke through the turbulence.

Winterhoof:

Can you describe it? What was its form?

Feldwing:

Form? No, this was emptiness, black as night. It was like a hole in the sky. Hardly had time to get a good look at it before it closed with this tremendous bang. It’s like that annoying little pop you hear when a unicorn teleports only a hundred times worse.

Winterhoof:

Are you saying it was a spell, Lieutenant? How big was it?

Feldwing:

I don’t know. Big. Like, really big. Almost covered the town. Listen, can’t we take a break. My stomach is rolling harder than a pig in fresh mud.

Winterhoof:

We’ll take a break shortly. Now, this is when you reported air contacts before losing communications with Canterlot.

Feldwing:

Two of them, identity undiscernable, right after the shockwave. Thundercell was trying to get comms back online when they popped up out of nowhere on radar, but the airwaves were clogged by the interference. Where is Thundercell, sir?

Winterhoof:

We’ll get back to that later, Lieutenant. Now tell us about the two contacts you encountered. That was when Major Whiplash and Ensign Clipper broke formation, correct?

Feldwing:

Two contacts?

Winterhoof:

Yes, the two hostiles the team encountered. Who were they? Did you get a good look at any marking, identifiers?

Feldwing:

I don’t know. I can’t really remember. I want to see Thundercell, sir.

Winterhoof:

Lieutenant, we need you to focus, right now. What kind of flightsuits did you encounter over Ponyville? Were they Maretonian?

Feldwing:

I-I don’t know. I couldn’t see. Where is Thundercell? She was supposed to fly with me to Rainbow Falls today. We were supposed to have personal leave.

Winterhoof:

Do you remember what happened, Lieutenant Feldwing? You were found at the scene, everypony testified to how they found you.

Feldwing:

Thundercell always says I’m a little scatterbrained. She always joked all the G-forces scrambled my brain. I’m not sure why she was assigned as wingpony. Thunder always was the better flyer.

Winterhoof:

Lieutenant Feldwing —look, you’re not making this easier —tell us what happened to Second Lieutenant Thundercell, what happened to your wingpony? Clipper said he heard the shot, we have his report.
[pause]
Lt. Feldwing, did you shoot the Second Lieutenant?

Feldwing:

Where is Thundercell? This isn’t like her to be late. We’re supposed to go flying, just her and I, like we always do. She loves visiting Rainbow Falls on leave days. Said she wanted to get a house there one day. I was going to help her pick it out.

Winterhoof:

Feldwing, did you willingly shoot the Second Lieutenant? The shot was close range and matches your suit’s energy signature. We have your flight recorder, it shows there was a weapon discharge.

Feldwing:

Where is Thundercell? I want to see Thundercell. Why can’t I see her?

Winterhoof:

Thundercell is dead, Lieutenant. I’ll ask again, why did you shoot her? If it was an accident, you have to come clean. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me the truth.

Feldwing:

She is going to show me how to perform an inverted roll today when we get to the falls. Thundercell is a really great flier. Will she be here soon, sir? I’m sure she could help answer your questions.

Winterhoof:

Do you even understand what I’m saying? She’s dead, Lieutenant. Pull yourself together, now! Ponyville is halfway leveled, and a bunch of ponies are dead. Who breached our airspace? Who attacked the squad? Why did you do to Thundercell?
[pause]
Lieutenant Feldwing!

Feldwing:

I…I shot her. Oh, stars, I didn’t want to.

Winterhoof:

Lt. Feldwing are you admitting to killing your wingpony? Let me remind you that this recording can be used as evidence in a royal court of law.

Feldwing:

It was h-horrible. Like she was shedding everything. Everything was melting away until she became that thing!

Winterhoof:

But why did you shoot her?

Feldwing:

Because s-she told me to. I only wanted to stop her pain, I swear. But s-s-she wouldn’t stop screaming at me to shoot her.

---

It was such a strange sensation: dying. Dr. Solar Haze had never experienced such a feeling before; all the previous episodes had only left her short of breath. But there was no denying it now: Solar was dying.

Just breathe.

The mare was suffocating, and everything she wanted in all of Equestria was to breathe, just one little taste of air.

She bent over the sink in her office bathroom, the polished marble reflecting a distorted visage of her pain-twisted face, like a mirror in a funhouse. Dim emergency lighting overhead barely illuminated the small bathroom. Hot sweat poured off her forehead and down her cheeks, dripping into the cold marble basin. Her throat was tight, clamped shut from some invisible force. It felt as if a gryphon had its claws around her windpipe, ready to crush it.

The unicorn reached desperately for the medicine cabinet above the sink, her ashen mane falling over her pin-neat blazer. But try as she might, her foreleg refused to respond.

Come on, she pushed herself. She tried again, this time her hoof sluggishly reaching for the mirror. Her vision was reduced to a narrow field of blackness, the edges creeping in from the corners of her eyes until she was sure she would pass out. Her brain screamed for air; her body heaved for relief. Just a little bit more.

She batted open the medical cabinet, the door swinging open to several syringes waiting patiently. Her horn was all but useless now, each puff of magic evaporating in a flurry of disappointing sparks. She would have to use her hooves. Too bad there were as heavy as concrete. A new symptom perhaps? She would have found it more perplexing than heartstopping if she wasn’t about to suffocate.

With a weak grasp, she clutched a syringe, the pink safety cap of the needle quivering under her lips that were already a grave shade of blue. Chattering teeth managed to pull the tip off, Solar spitting the plastic safety cap onto the floor where it rolled under the towel cabinet. With her last seconds of consciousness, her shaking hoof plunged the needle into her shoulder. The plunger depressed with a sharp, uncoordinated slap, the homemade serum instantly shooting deep inside the muscle. And blackness turned to light.

Relief.

She wheezed, gasping deeply. Solar filled her lungs as if it were the last mouthful she would ever receive, her chest burning with the sweet taste of the atmosphere. Waves of shivers traveled up and down her persimmon-colored back as the mare caught herself on the sink, slowly reassuming function of her body. First one hoof, then the others. It felt so good to have control again.

Solar could only compare the sensation to waking up from nightmares as a foal. The ones where she was stuck, frozen, unable to move or shout or run away from whatever monster of the dark or terror of night was stalking her sleeping realm. The only difference now was no Princess was watching over her, waiting to save her from this nightmare. She was all alone.

They’re getting worse.

She had accepted such a grim conclusion months ago. The problem was time. Time was what she needed, the precious commodity so many others took for granted. Time: just a little more time, yet in short supply. Her research was too close to a solution to quit now.

Solar Haze stared into the mirror, brushing mane from her eyes. They quivered, releasing hot defeat that fell down her ginger cheeks. She had never hated salty water so much, cursing every drop.

She collapsed with her back against the opulently tiled wall, tucking her hindlegs against her heaving chest.

How much longer before the treatments were not enough, she wondered? Before the serum was no longer enough to keep the attacks at bay? She sat quietly in the dark under the dim emergency lights, letting the tears fall onto the spotless clean floor. She hated them, so it was time to let them all out; she couldn’t hold onto them any longer.

“Dr. Haze?” came the knock, outside the door. “Dr. Haze, the recovery team is arriving from Ponyville. They said you’re probably going to want a look at this for yourself.” He seemed half a world away from her private sanctuary.

“I’ll be out in a minute, Trotter,” Solar sniffed, shamefully picking herself up from the cold floor. She dabbed at her red, puffy eyes with a damp cloth, trying her best to cover the evidence. She couldn’t let anypony to know —nopony would look at her the same.

With some freshly applied confidence (and a touchup of eyeliner) Dr. Solar Haze stepped back into her office, mustering herself one last time. Her head was still faint from the oxygen deprivation, but that usually fade with a few minutes. There was no time to stop now. Time was precious; she reminded herself for the hundredth.

Her office, cluttered with overflowing file cabinets, charts and manilla folders strewn about the dusty room, was lit by the dim glare of the back-up lights and she had to feel her way for the door carefully. That was yet another problem of the morning on an ever-growing list —the power. And it seemed all of Canterlot was without it as well.

Solar strode into the outside corridor, her lab coat fluttering as she trotted down the bright hallway. The door to the office clicked behind her, the title “Director,” etched into the frosted glass.

The lankey brown earth pony quickly caught up with her, pen with a heavily chewed cap tucked behind his ear.

“Good, I finally found you,” he gasped, out of breath, his words deep despite his thin build. “Honestly, your bathroom was the last place I hadn’t looked for you.”

“Sorry,” she coughed. “Needed to clean up a bit, Trotter. Didn’t get much sleep the night before.”

“And some ponies though you would slow down for once when you accepted the CED Director position,” Trotter muttered as he hurried to keep up. “I think you’ve slept on your desk more than your actual bed.”

“Don’t remind me,” she grumbled, stretch the permanent crick in her neck. “Just lay it out for me.” She didn’t have time for formal banter.

“Power is still mostly out across the center.”

“Obviously.”

“The techs think the batteries will last until Power and Water replace the blown transformer in the lower basement.”

“And what about sample containment,” the unicorn asked, the two of them passing a crowded break room. Ponies in lab coats and coveralls congregated around the television, their attention transfixed on the images of ruined houses and destroyed townscape. “Breaking: Ponyville” the banner flashed. It seemed more like a waste of battery power.

“Sample containment from levels One through Four is still within nominal temperatures,” Trotter puffed, trying his best to keep up with the unicorn’s fast pace. “We have enough liquid nitrogen stocked to feed the system for almost a week. We should be ok.”

“Good,” Solar sighed in relief. It was the first positive news she had received all morning. She could always count on Trotter. “Now onto the recovery team.”

Trotter pulled the folder from a thin, sleek saddlebag over his back, his long mane whipping as they hurried along the corridor. “Report was forwarded from the Royal Sisters themselves early last night. Top priority,” he whistled, reading the markup. “Long story short, some Wonderbolts deployed over the Ponyville incident were intercepted by hostiles. They sustained a casualty.”

“Tell me again why they are sending us a military casualty?” The exasperation slid off her words. “Isn’t that a Wonderbolt problem, why involve us? Nopony has even told us what is going on down there or what is up with the power.”

“That’s where our part to play comes in. The Wonderbolt, a Second Lieutenant Thundercell,” Trotter read off, “she didn’t die from her flightsuit crash. She was shot —by her leadpony in fact.”

“Her leadpony?” Solar asked, trying to piece together why the case was being dumped on them, but still coming up short. “Why? Was he suffering from Terminal Freakout.”

It was a reach, but they were seeing more and more cases in Wonderbolts per year, suspected consequences of reduced blood to the brain due to g-forces coupled with the stress induced from piloting flightsuits. It wasn’t widespread, only a hooful of cases ever confirmed. But even the strongest fliers could snap in a short span, sometimes with little warning. Most times they would lock up in flight, crash, make stupid rookie mistakes that got themselves or others hurt. Lesser times, they just went insane or killed themselves.

“Still no diagnosis on her leadpony. Wonderbolt Command is holding him for now, but they forwarded us the preliminaries. From what little they were able they get out of him, it sounds she was exposed to something before he shot her,” Trotter replied around the pen clamped in his teeth, scribbling several notes in the report. “He claims she suffered a bite from an unknown assailant they encountered.”

They were coming to the end of the corridor, a steel-plated gate guarding the end of the passage. Trotter was already punching in the code on the keypad.

“Stars, you hear something new every day. Either way, we’ll find out soon enough,” Solar assured him.

Cold mountain air assaulted the two scientists as the gate lifted away, Solar squinting against the bright sunlight and biting wind that flooded in. Shielding her eyes, she stepped outside.

Sparse and rugged mountain grass, still ripe with morning dew, folded under Solar’s hoofsteps as she ventured onto the mountain ledge. A CED airship, its silvery skin glistening under the clear sky, was mooring itself the pier protruding from the isolated face of Canterlot Mountain.

The grating creaked beneath her and Solar had to avoid the sight of the distant ground that peeked through the rust-coated deck. The height was dizzying enough for even a gryphon.

With a clatter, hatch to the airship slid aside; two ponies in garb resembling spacesuits wheeled an acrylic-domed gurney onto the dock.

“Where do you want the body, Director?” one of them asked, his voice crackling through his protective suit.

Solar had seen many sights, almost all unpleasant, in her service for the CED: disease and plague, sickness and death. But the pony on the gurney was the first to stop her cold.

“Sweet Celestia,” she choked, instinctively grabbing the dock rail. Her head was still light, and her vision swam. “Where is the rest of her?

“That’s what I was going to add,” Trotter muttered, his face sour at sight. “Her partner shot her with his flightsuit’s cannon. It was an arcana generator, meant to take out enemy airships and flightsuits.”

“Well, that would explain the missing half.” Solar shuddered, her skin quivering beneath her coat. She couldn’t tell if it was the result of the injection or whatever had afflicted the pony before being nearly vaporized. “And the rest of her. What caused that? She hardly looks to be ponyanymore.”

Trotter tucked the pen back behind his ear, taking deep breaths and bracing himself against the weathered pier railing, rust dusting his hooves. “I believe that is what the Princesses want us to figure out,” he chuckled dryly, “with almost nothing to go on. Wonderbolt Command won’t release any further evidence until they conduct their proceedings with her leadpony,” he said, motioning to the body with his chewed pen. “Any idea what we could be looking at here? They said she was symptomatic when he shot her. I need something to go for the Princesses’ report.”

“I have no idea,” Solar admitted, a fact she was not so accustomed to. She peered through the dome, studying the remains, blackened and twisted. “We could be looking at several causations. Biological, chemical, virological radiological, magical — we can’t know until we run an autopsy.”

“Are we assuming this was something natural?”

Solar shook her head, her slate mane wavering in the mountain wind. “I don’t know anything that does that to somepony.”

“So a weapon then?”

“We might have the start of something global here,” she breathed. “If Ponyville was the center of something hostile, we may be looking at a weaponized agent. I want you to take your new colleague; Stardust is her name? She spent some time in the Royal Medic Corp. See if she has seen anything like this during her time overseas.”

Trotter moved aside as the ponies wheeled the gurney inside. “I’ll also give the Defence Coalition a heads-up. If anypony could give us intel on a weapon that could do this to our Wonderbolt here, it’s probably them..”

“Her name?” Solar turned to the earth pony. “What’s her name, again?” The simple thought had already slipped her mind. Hopefully not another side effect.

“Her name?” Trotter furrowed his brow, leafing through the file in his hooves. “Thundercell.” He closed up the file and returned it to his saddlebag. “Her name is Thundercell.”

“Put Thundercell in the level three biolab. I want you to head up the autopsy with Stardust,” she instructed him, turning to head back inside as the airship fired up again, the prop wash flowing over them. “I’ll work on getting that report from her commanders. There may be something we can use to figure out what she was exposed to. Run everything in the meantime, a full workup.I’m betting Maretonia, or some other sick individual finally cooked something up.”

“And what should I tell Canterlot Castle?” Trotter called back over the buzz of the airship as it cast her lines, pulling away from the installation. “Ponies will be asking what happened. I need to give the Princesses an answer.”

“Just worry about your report,” Solar Haze reinforced, leaving her friend outside and disappearing back into the gloomy, power-stricken facility. “Just make sure you use full containment protocols,” she reminded. She couldn’t wait around for the results; she had a project of her own to attend to. There was little time.

---

“Your tea, Highness.”

The servant placed the steaming teapot down, returning to his post by the balcony door.

Celestia gave the pot a tentative glance before pushing it away with a shaky hoof.

“Aren’t thou going to try some, Sister?” Luna pushed the kettle back across the table, hoping she would at least pour some into her cup.

The new morning rays bathed the balcony perched high above the capital, their view, an uninterrupted audience over the city and the luscious green hills skirting the cliffs above. Before them, a table overflowing with assortments of scones, fruits, and other brunch cuisine sat untouched — everything a princess could desire.

Luna watched Celestia look down at the silver kettle, forlornly studying herself in the polished metal. Her hair, bedraggled and tangled, clung to the back of her neck, the strand ends split and torn. A face once bright and full of life, hung limp, eyes drooping like foggy marbles staring lifelessly from the other side of the teapot.

“I’m not really in the mood for tea,” she uttered, sliding back the brew with a dry, cracked hoof.

“Thou really must try to eat something at least then.” But Luna persuasion got her nowhere. “Please, it’s going to be a long day. You need your strength.”

“I’m not hungry,” Celestia reiterated, pushing away her empty plate as well.

“Well, we cannot force you.” Luna bit into a pastry, the gooey filling bursting through the crisp crust and running down her chin. Unlike her sister, she was famished from her long night. She was just glad to be above ground again. “You should get some more rest,” she said around the sweet tartlet. “I shall see to the public address.”

“And what do you expect to tell them?” Celestia scoffed, eyes staring listlessly over the waking city. “For all we know, somepony just started a war.”

“We need to assure them we are doing everything in our power to investigate the incident. We must retain order and find those accountable.”

“Order.” Celestia gave a sharp laugh, catching her off guard. It was the most energy she had shown in weeks. “What do we know of order anymore, Luna? We do not keep order,” she told her, waving a hoof across the castle. “No, we only are here to tell everypony that everything will be alright.” She shook her head, solemnly. “Even when we know everything will not be alright.”

Luna set her breakfast down, quickly running a napkin over her mouth. “Then what do thou propose we do then?” Her words were sharp. She was in no mood for her sister’s sullen attitude, and her patience was quickly receding. “The body count in Ponyville is quickly rising, and we doth not even know if we have been attacked. The media is waiting on a statement from us, sister.”

“And what of the rest of the Royal Government? Why isn’t the Ministry of Intelligence or the Defense Coalition handling this?” Celestia massaged her temples with her hoofguards, the metal pocket-marked from the rough cobblestone that paved the capitol streets. “What good are they if ponies keep coming to us for answers? How do they expect us to rule over everything?”

“Equestria doth still needs our guidance,” Luna reminded her, tapping the polished tabletop with a heavy hoof. “No matter how big this country gets, we are still ultimately responsible. You know this, sister.”

“Stars dammit, I know!” Celestia cursed, bolting up in a wave of cutlery and scones. She quickly leaned over the edge of the balcony as if about to be sick, her still-powerful hooves gripping the polished marble tight. Though her strength had faded, Luna knew her sister could break it in an instant.

The servant standing by quickly swooped in, replacing the dropped utensils with a fresh pair and sweeping the scones from the ground before retreating without a word into the castle.

Luna was beside her sister as he left. Maybe she had been a little quick to temper. “I know things were hard while I was banished. And I know things have not improved since my return,” she said apologetically, the same guilt, the pain, resurfacing once again for the grief she had caused in her past ways. “I’m sorry I was not there for you before. All that responsibility was not thine to bear.”

Celestia leaned her tired head against her, Luna gently comforting her, stroking her faded and coarse coat with her hoof.

She held her as they watched the airships hovering in the distance over Ponyville, the silvery beasts arriving to begin the long and painful process of picking up the pieces. Luna knew they would be bringing the sick and injured to Canterlot, Ponyville General badly damaged by the explosion.

“Tis a different time, Tia. Equestria has grown much bigger than us.”

“When did everything change? Do you remember?”

“What doth thou mean?”

“When did everything become so much bigger? It was never like this before. Equestria could face down anything, a draconequus, Tirek, even you, Nightmare Moon, all with the power inside oneself,” Celestia lamented. “When did it all change?”

“The world be a different place now, Tia,” Luna softly spoke. “You mustn’t overwork yourself so, sister. Equestria has grown much too big for just us. We must do what we can; tis’ all we can hope for.”

“Any word on the Wonderbolt?” she wondered quietly, changing the subject away from the constant worry of work and if she was getting enough sleep or if she was eating at all. Luna knew she was good at steering the conversation away from herself, but still, she worried for her.

“Not yet,” Luna answered, sitting Celestia gently back in her chair. “Let the Center for Equestrian Diseases work. As you said, they doth know what they are doing,” Luna assured her. “I believe you made the right call.”

Luna moved her chair beside Celestia, grabbing a scone and placing it on her sister’s plate. “Now eat. I will handle the press conference, but we still must find out what happened. You saw the same phenomenon as I did on that video. Have thou seen anything like that before?”

“No.” Celestia’s eyes narrowed, grabbing the scone and taking a tentative bite. “But there may be somepony I know.” She combed her mane with a hoof, straightening the tangles in a vain attempt to make herself more presentable. “He’s a teacher,” Celestia explained. “A professor at the University.”

Comments

[Mr cold ghost]

I am liking this story so far. One question are we going to see the mane six here soon. I am surprised Celestia and Luna aren’t wondering what happened to twilight. Or did I miss something?

[AnchorsAway]

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You haven’t missed anything.