• Published 16th Apr 2019
  • 703 Views, 45 Comments

Taking Back Canterlot - Coyote de La Mancha



Three years after the Sirens' gang war, Twilight wakes from her coma and begins retaking her city from the new gangs infesting Canterlot.

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Episode 6. Rainbooms: Coma White.

Miles away, Twilight continued typing. Location B’s firewalls hadn’t been a problem, but isolating the vending machine had taken longer than she’d anticipated. She’d managed it in time, of course… but now it looked like someone was aware of her efforts, and was trying to access her system.

She gave the small window showing the other hacker’s progress an exhausted frown, and sent them a few viruses to keep them busy. She didn’t have time for this. She couldn’t expect the girls to hold out forever. And besides, getting their backup to them had a very narrow window, and it was dangerously close to closing.

The staff schedule hadn’t changed, at least. She double-checked the phone number and the personnel data she had. Hallway security showed the subject heading down the hallway, more or less on schedule.

Biting her lower lip, Twilight pulled up the camera in residential room one-zero-one. Everything depended on what happened next.


The Saint Mary of Bethlehem Mental Hospital of Canterlot had never been a well-maintained facility. Funds had always been scant, and corners had always been cut. But in recent years, both the funding and the interest in upkeep had gone from minimalistic to practically nonexistent.

The front lobby was presentable enough, and the light fixtures all worked. Yes, the carpet’s mottled grey pattern seemed a bit darker along those paths of greatest traffic, but that was easily ignored. The Plexiglas windows were clean enough, and the staff were generally friendly to what few visitors there were.

The office area was behind the receptionist’s desk, and also showed the same kind of ‘we’re underfunded but we’re trying’ atmosphere. To the right of the main entrance was the door to an exercise area, the elevators, and a pair of secure doors.

One door led to the kitchens, where the war against various vermin was not so much victorious as well-hidden from the public eye.

The other door led to the residence halls. And it was there that the true face of the hospital could be seen.

As soon as the doors opened, one was hit with the clashing scents of chemical deodorizers and human waste. The carpet was distinctly darker, adding its own musty aroma to the blend of scents wafting throughout the halls.

The walls had lightly padded railings along them at about waist-level, for those who had difficulty walking (many of the patients were senior citizens). Above them, the yellowish-brown walls took a steadily lighter tone until finally blending with the cream-colored ceiling.

Nurse stations were at every floor, unpopulated only during med pass, each a quiet refuge of conversation where the nerve-jarring din of screams and call alarms could be briefly ignored. There were perhaps four to six nurses to a floor most days; one or two to a floor most nights. Doctors made their rounds and returned to their offices, while social workers struggled with anywhere from fifty to a hundred cases each. In the top floor, a computerized dispenser had all but eliminated med pass errors, as well as medications being stolen for resale or personal use.

All the room doors locked automatically, accessible only by key card. And in each room, one or two patients (one never called them inmates) could be found. Alone with their dreams or nightmares, perhaps, or continuing the endless struggle of the lost. Some had not even that, sedated to a point of manageability by staff who were either too tired or too jaded to spend the energy looking for other solutions.

It was easy for problems to fall between the cracks in such a place. And if that problem was a person, then it was the perfect place to make them disappear.


“Two syringes? God damn,” muttered the intern, a tan fellow with deep blue hair.

The nurse beside him, an elderly amber-skinned woman, just shook her head. “After every meal’s clean-up, mornin’, noon, an’ night. Ain’t nothin’ to be done, neither. Poor thing.”

She put the needle into the young woman’s IV and slowly pressed the plunger as she spoke.

“She was one a’them gangsters, if you can believe that. Such a sweet face, too. But I guess she’s got a history you wouldn’t believe.”

“Really.”

“Uh-huh. Fires, explosions, you name it. Blew up whole buildin’s, more’n once I guess. But then when they finally caught her, they said she was unfit to stand trial.”

“That’s a thing?”

“Uh-huh.”

She considered the nonresponsive girl in the wheelchair before her, the pink hair kept to a buzz cut for convenience, the half-closed blue eyes.

“Too many drugs, I guess,” she said. “Fell in with the wrong crowd, Lord knows what. Ended up here, ‘til she’s deemed fit.”

Then a sigh, adding, “Such a shame. An’ you jus’ know she was somebody’s baby once.”

She tsked as she disposed of the used syringe and held her hand out for the other.

“Sure,” the intern nodded. “But then, shouldn’t we be giving her antipsychotics or something?”

She frowned. “The hell you think these are, candy bars?”

He examined the manufacturer-printed package he still held. “Adderall.”

She stared at him, then at the empty syringe in the waste basket.

“Oh,” she whispered. “Oh, my sweet baby Jesus.”

In the wheelchair, the patient’s eye twitched.

Motioning for the intern to head out the door, she said in as steady a voice as she could, “Honey, now I need you to try to stay calm…”

“Iyamcalm,” her patient said, dreamily.

Then, as her eyes slowly focused on the elderly woman before her, she snarled through gritted teeth, “GOD, I’m calm!”

The nurse swallowed, taking a step back, motioning more frantically at the intern, who simply stood, staring.

“Well, uh, I need you to jus’ stay in your chair, okay?” she said. “The doctor’s gonna be here in just a minute. You jus’… jus’ stay calm, okay?”

At that moment, the nurse’s phone began to buzz in her pocket.

The patient cocked her head to one side, her demeanor suddenly dreamlike again. “You gonna get that?”

“Uh, well…”

The blue eyes narrowed. “Answer. The fucking. Phone.”

Slowly, carefully, the nurse fished the phone from her pocket. She pressed a screen, then held it to her ear, saying, “Uh, whoever this is, can I call you back?”

Then, she stared.

Holding out the phone as though it was going to bite her, she said, “It’s for you.”

With effort, the young woman pushed herself out of her wheelchair. She clenched her fists with a series of audible cracks and pops, then reached out and took the phone, swaying slightly as she did.

After a moment, Pinkie Pie grinned, still staring at the nurse. “Hiya, Twilight!” Then, she nodded. “Sure, no problem.”

Tapping another part of the screen, she put the phone in the pocket of her scrubs top.

“Ma’am,” a new voice spoke over the phone’s speaker, “Thank you for your cooperation. I know this is unusual, but I need you to please hand Miss Pie the remaining syringe and leave the room.”

As though awakened from a trace, the orderly finally bolted from the room.

“I… I can’t do that,” the nurse managed.

“Ma’am, my name is Twilight Sparkle. Do you recognize that name?”

The nurse paled.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“That’s good, because I know your name, as well,” the voice said. “Your name is Echinacea Blossom. You and your husband live at 1963 CS Lewis Boulevard. You’ve lived there for seven years.”

Echinacea Blossom said nothing, only stared at the phone in horror.

“Please give Miss Pie the remaining syringe. Now.”

Nurse Blossom picked up the still-wrapped syringe from where the orderly had dropped it, handing it to her patient with trembling hands.

“Thank you. Now, please leave the room.”

With almost no hesitation, the old woman ran. As the door closed behind her, the electronic lock clicked into place.

“Okay, Pinkie? I need you to inject the other syringe into your IV.”

Pinkie Pie shook her head. “Hmm-mm.”

“Pinkie, you’re going to need that, to finish countering the effects of the antipsychotics they’ve been giving you.”

Pinkie Pie shook her shaven head, wildly, her voice becoming slurred. “Nnno… no more needlzz.”

As Pinkie Pie slumped dizzily against the wall, Twilight’s voice became more urgent.

“Pinkie, please! Security is on its way, and I can’t delay the police finding out about this for long. I understand your not wanting to, but—!”

Pressing her forehead against the wall, Pinkie Pie pulled the IV out of her arm and let it drop.

“Pinkie?”

“Wooooo…”

“Pinkie!”

Slowly, her cheek pressed against it, the pink girl began to slide down the wall.

“Pinkie!”

From the hallway, shouting could be heard. Fists began pounding on the locked metal door.

“PINKIE!”

Author's Note:

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Ending Credits: Coma White, by Marylin Manson. (Lyrics = NSFW)