Pandemic
“No, I don’t think so, honeycakes,” answers a smooth, female voice. “Everypony is caught up in all the Convergence hubbub. Maybe this gentleman is here about that.”
And a more spritely gentleman there never was. Wonder what she thinks of the mishmash of junk strapped to your belt. A sack of their gold coins, apples, a few limp carrots, your plasma cutter, the semiconductor chip had fallen loose and shattered, goddammit, a single power node, and the red foam finger. And your hibiscus lei, of course. You’re a cornucopia, a regular pony Christmas tree, complete with garland, decked with yuletide goodies and delights. Maybe you’re all about Convergence, Isaac, running thither and yon with that shit flapping around. Like a goddamn tool.
You slump lower, covering your visor with your hand.
“Aw, hey now, what’s wrong?” the man asks. He pats your shoulder. “Listen, I can tell you’re not a member of the Church, and that’s OK. Her Highness offers her gift to everyone and everypony. Come on, let’s get you up and at ‘em. I’ll introduce you to some of the community here. Our brothers and sisters. Did you ever want a family? A real family? It can be yours, right here, right now.”
You straighten up, meeting the gaze of his intense blue eyes. Family. You remember your mother’s smiling face, long ago, long before you knew the word ‘love’. She’s holding you up, facing towards the sun. It’s warm and blinding, and she’s saying something over and over …
Fuck that. She'd spent more time hanging up Unitology flyers than being a mother. You push off from the floor, forcing your sore knees to lift you to your feet.
If you cared, Ma, you would have let me follow my own dreams. Not yours. There’s no family here or anywhere.
Your would-be brother claps you on the shoulder. “There we go, awesome. What’s your name? I’m Eric.”
“Isaac. Pleased to meet you Eric.”
“Likewise my friend! This is my fiancée and mentor, Panflute.”
Panflute smiles and extends a hoof. “A pleasure to meet you, Isaac! Welcome to Thiessen Towers.”
Fiancée. He said fiancée. Your legs buckle, and you fall back against the wall.
Eric hops forward and grabs your arm. “Whoa, easy fella. Are you ill? Do you need help? Do you think you could carry him, sweetie?”
“Oh I think I could manage. Climb aboard!” She sweeps her long green mane to the side and hunkers down by your feet.
You give her a quick wave. “Thanks, no. I’m OK. I guess I kind of fainted a minute ago, and I’m still a little out of sorts. I’ve been doing a lot of walking. So, you two are ... getting married?" Please tell me I'm hallucinating, a nightmare inside a delusion is fine, just tell me ...
Eric smiles and helps you regain your balance. "Absolutely! Panflute here is the best thing that ever happened to me. Princess Celestia gave us permission just last week. She prearranged it of course, so the permission was just a formality." He sighs and shares an intimate look with Panflute. "We've been saving ourselves for each other for so long. I can't wait until my Ascension. And we asked Princess Luna to co-preside! It's going to be a fantastic wedding."
"And honeymoon," adds Panflute.
Isn't that the sweetest thing? Isn't that the soul of piety? Romeo and Juliet are saving themselves for each other. Two corpses, joined in fetid matrimony, 'til dismemberment do you part.
It takes all of your resolve not to collapse again. "That's ... really great! Congratulations! Say, after you take me around for the meet-and-greet, could you, I mean, I’ve heard a lot about Princess Celestia, and seen her glorious works firsthand, and I was wondering … could you take me to see her? It would be a great honor.”
It’s a gamble, but a safe one. By the way they’re acting, word from Luna and her assault squad that Eye-Sack is an ill-tempered bastard hadn’t reached them yet.
Eric chuckles. “No need to ask, my friend! She’s been turning the whole Station inside out looking for you.”
“In more ways than one, I’m sure,” you laugh with him, hoping he can’t hear the sarcasm. Makes sense that they’re aware of you. The unicorns are carrying lists of names, after all, gathered no doubt by some zealot holding a security position, or siphoned from the undead minds of the infected.
“Tell you what, Isaac. Panflute and I have instructions to stay here for now to help out with the Convergence preparations. So once we get you introduced and comfortable, we’ll need to find you somepony who the Princess knows and trusts to show you the way. Some of our new friends,” he nods over at a grumbling colt, “are still, uh, getting the hang of it.”
The pony he’d pointed out was clutching a carton of cigarettes to his chest, stuffing one at a time into his snout and trying to light them as a minder slapped them away with her hoof. The remains of a shirt hang from his neck in limp tatters. Faded lettering is still visible on the wrinkled rag.
other shirt is a rocket
Where had you seen that? It had been one brain-jarring adrenaline hit after another for the past few hours, and not a bite of food. Real human food, not the infected flesh the ponies were farming. Maybe you'd only been half-fibbing to Panflute about fainting. Not so easy to stroll down memory lane, punch-drunk and starving.
Drunk. That’s it. It’s him, the pony-hater guy from the balcony. So he’d ended up here, learning his lessons, turning his grumpy gus frown upside-down. It’s hard to see him like this, all fuzzy and bug-eyed and doted on like a baby. Still fighting it, though, even in death. Good man.
You salute him as you pass by behind your guides. Time to find out exactly what you're dealing with.
The network of aisles connecting the communal living suites are jam-packed, narrowed to winding paths by benches, barrels, shops, and the people and ponies tending them. Where was the typical panoply of ass cracks spilling out of the greasy pants of lounging perma-break shop techs? The wandering douchebag supervisors getting paid for their sadism? Nowhere in sight. The creatures march along in too many colors. Industrious, organized. Shoulder to shoulder, two by two through the buzz of jokes and encouragement like blood in pulsing veins. They're workers, balancing loads of hay, lettuce, and carrots as they tramp along, pausing only to dump them onto wooden carts that are pulled away around corners and into the vents, supply lines for distant friendship soldiers. Rows upon rows of candles light their way, their sweet perfumed smoke mixing with the scent of earth and leafy produce.
They’re charged up, ready to swarm. It’s in their eyes, in the air: a vibration, a restless energy churning, surging, sweeping everything up like the sulfurous red storms of Jupiter. Yes, in the look that woman packing saddlebags was giving you, the smiles of her pony companions, the cheerful waves and hellos as you pass by with your escorts. They’d taken you in, no questions asked. You’re a fresh-face convert, Isaac, on the high-road to sanctity.
A couple of giggling fillies scuttle between your legs, earning a gentle reprimand from Panflute. That’s why you’re not being mobbed of course. They figure you’re already infected, being led away to a discreet sewage collection cistern, maybe, a private, dignified place in the substructure below to ferment into something extra special. Hey, if you're lucky, you’ll get to be one of the meat butterflies you’d seen jerking around the corpses and do some infecting of your own. You drown the image of stomping the two little shits into purple and yellow jelly.
"Happy ponies. Nice little foals," you whisper to yourself as you shake their hands and clasp their small polished hooves. This is it. This is the nest. And one unwitting drone had just offered to take you right to the queen. Or princess, or whatever. That’s how you’re going to finish this job. Get an audience with Celestia, compliment her mane style, give her a nice big hug, tell her the story of your life. Become her best friend. Then when the necromorphs revert to their shit piles, as they seem to do when deprived of their local overmind, getting to Daina would be easy.
Smiles. Laughter. Fun. The living, breathing motivation of believers. One mare is standing in the center of it all, the focus of a train of ponies watching in rapt reverence. She's the one setting the candlesticks, drawing them out of her saddlebag and speaking soft words of prayer as an assistant lights them.
Eric and Panflute stop next to her and turn back, smiling wide. “Isaac, this is Candle," says Eric, putting his arm around the white mare's shoulders. "She’s highly honored among the believers here. Candle, why don’t you tell our guest a little about yourself? He's on his way to meet Princess Celestia, and he might find your story inspirational.”
“You bet!" Candle nods to her assistant, who continues taking candles from her bag. She sits down and wipes her forehead. "Whew. This is a workout. So you’re new here, huh? And a fellow engineer, by the looks of it. That's cool. I was like you once, from what I can remember: running errands for the Church, eager to please the Stewards – those are the higher-ups – and prove my value to the Animator. I didn’t have a ton of money, so the donation route was out. So I put my technical skills to work, and what a payoff! Believe it or not, I was one of the first to ascend on Titan Station. I’ve gotta say I deserved it. It was me who unlocked the hidden doors and set the Princesses free. Imagine that! A green-as-can-be neophyte entrusted with such a crucial task. That's the Church in a nutshell, really, opportunities for anypony and everypony. I had another name before. It was Vannie … Wanda … or Karrie … something like that. I can’t remember. You stop caring after a while, you know?”
An engineer. Another fine mind wasted. “Yeah, I imagine it’s easy to let go once you’ve ascended to, ah, glory.”
“Oh, so easy! None of that stuff matters, now. Now I’m Candle, because that’s my gift. I light the way to Convergence, to salvation, then and now. Those are the words of Celestia herself. Have you seen my work?” She points at the rows of dripping, fragrant candles. “I don’t want to mislead you, my friend. My path was long, difficult and sometimes dangerous. Yours may be too. But I promise there's light, so much beautiful light when the darkness passes. Tell you what, I'm so happy for you, I’m gonna go ahead and tell the Princess you’re on your way.” She gives her saddlebag to her assistant and canters off, out of sight in the mix of the crowd.
She had set the Princesses free, she'd said. Now that's a bit of news. What could it mean? You glance over at Eric and Panflute, who had begun moving again. There isn't going to be a better opportunity to gather information. Coming right out with the big questions would be the wrong move, though. You step up in line with your guides.
“Excuse me, Panflute, can I ask you something?
"Of course, Isaac. Ask as much as you like. Don't be shy."
"Great, thanks. Why do all of you, uh, ponies have tattoos? Is that a tribal thing?”
Panflute looks back at her rump and smiles. “Well, yes and no. We call them cutie marks. They represent your true identity, the gift you have to offer the world, open and honest for everypony to see.”
“Cutie marks, you say? So that gets back to something else that’s been puzzling me. Why all the, what's the right word? Joy. Yes, joy. I’m sure some humans were frightened or even resentful about their ... initiation ... into the Church."
Panflute raises an eyebrow. “Is there something wrong with being happy?”
Shit. She has a point.
Before you can shoot any holes in her reply, she continues. "It's true. Some of the poor souls we're trying to save are full of fear. But it's fear of the unknown, and what is unknown is not real. What is real is kindness, laughter, generosity. Loyalty, Isaac, honesty and, oh! I'll save the last one. You'll be experiencing that first-hoof soon enough!"
The last one. Experiencing it soon, eh? Not if I have anything to say about it.
She looks to be winding up for a real philosophical monologue. Head it off while you can, Isaac. "So I've been wondering too about the Princesses ..."
"Oops! Here were are," says Eric. He had stopped in front of a dark doorway. "This was my niece Ship Shape's room. She's with Celestia now, bless her. She doesn't need it anymore. Wait here while we see about getting you a proper guide. We'll be just a second.”
Panflute nods to you, and they merge back into the bustling traffic.
Goddammit, that was your chance. Well, you can always jump back in when they return. They're only necromorphs. Who cares if they find your manners lacking?
Now where are we? It's a child's bedroom, packed with toys and books. Scribbled pictures of animals are hung by shiny red tacks on the walls. Up above, a mechanical spinning night light is shining warm yellow silhouettes over the walls and cabinets, shapes of horses, charging around and around in an endless carousel display. A small bed is tucked into one corner, empty it seems except for a folded paper card imprinted with Celestia's sun mark and a message in flowing script.
Abide Forever in Her Light
We're So Proud of You
Ship Shape
Sick cultists, celebrating a child's probably terrifying, drawn-out death. Or maybe they sacrificed her to Celestia. Maybe Her Royal, Kind Benevolent Highness had 'prearranged' it. Oh well. Spilled blood is spilled milk at this point for all you can do about it. The bed is a better seat than the floor. Sorry Ship.
The bed is nothing special. Just a cot, really. You pick up the card, admiring the thick high-quality paper, trying to imagine the little girl who once lived here. There's a conversation going on in the next room. Two women, and they sound like they're on the verge of tears. "This is a very special time, like, once in a lifetime. Actually once in a million lifetimes! They say we've been preparing for this since before we were human! Do you know how special that makes us? ... I'm so excited my skin is tingling ..."
You place the card back down, just so. Why can't these people see it? It would be so nice to grab every one of them by the collar and shout the miserable reality of their existence into their bewildered faces. We're out here in space, people, nothing but a long, overblown chemical reaction spreading out of control, dying in the far reaches of nowhere. EarthGov is fucked three kinds of sideways, and the only reason you're alive is to collect resources for them to keep their idiot machine running. We've got nothing. Nothing but miles of black empty space.
What's this? There's something else, peeking out from the folds of the wrinkled covers. A pony statuette. What a surprise. You pull it out, turning it over, pressing the hard blue plastic with your thumb. Not cheap stuff. The mane and tail are an iridescent blonde, smooth and soft between your fingers. This is more than just a toy to these people. This is a lesson for the children, a tool to help them learn about themselves and their faith, not unlike the one you had when you were ... wait ...
"She's pretty, Isaac. What's her name?"
"Shit!" You jump to the left, almost falling off the bed. Nicole is sitting next to you, smiling like the sun. She has wings now, spreading to the ceiling from her shoulders. Long, white angel's wings.
Altmann's balls she has to stop doing that. "What do you want, Nicole?"
"Don't be afraid, Isaac. You won't die. It's the only way out." She extends her white-gloved hand, offering you the unicorn horn she was carrying back in the tram station.
The room is spinning, flashing like another lockdown. No, it's the lights, the ponies projected onto the walls, galloping around you laughing and cheering in sweet voices, free to play forever. "You're not Nicole," you say, standing up and taking a step back. State the facts, Isaac. Facts are what keep you alive. Keep you sane. "Nicole is dead. You're not really here."
She withdraws the horn, giving you a disapproving look. The laughter fades away, lost in the ever-present hum of the Station's air regenerators. Nicole's bright pink eyes close, and she vanishes like a light being switched off.
"You see that Nicole? Reality is the correcting factor. Always was, always will be. And I don't want to be a unicorn! I'd rather take the wings. More tactical."
There's a gentle knock behind you. "Isaac? We're back! And ... were you talking to Ship Shape's Ponysona Doll?" It's Eric and Panflute, back from their search.
The little blue figurine is still in your hand, smiling at you from between your thumb and forefinger. "No, of course not. I was just taking a breather here on the bed, and started thinking out loud. I talk to myself. Bad habit. I think I've got my strength back."
"Well that's good to hear," says Panflute. "Because we've got another pillar of the community here to lend you a hoof with your pilgrimage to the Princess."
A stout forest-green pegasus steps between them and waves a foreleg. "Hi there!"
You toss the doll back on the bed. Some memories need to stay buried.
The newcomer's mane and tail are striped a bunch of different colors, like she'd run them through a pile of spilled paint buckets. Like some kind of punk. Maybe she'd been a no-account freeloader when she was alive, one of the tattooed sulking grinders who malingered in the substation terminal shopping outlets, ignored and avoided by the CEC and EarthGov citizens of high repute. Now look at her. She fits right in.
You walk over and extend your hand, hoping that the microfiber of your glove would hold against the pathogens. "Name's Isaac. What's yours ... friend?"
She raises her hoof, letting you grasp it. “Gleaming Over. Got a ring to it, huh?”
“Yeah it’s, uh, something else.” She returns your firm shake and somehow meets you eye through your visor. This one's a cut above. Probably a conglomerate form, a real killer. Losing sight of her on the way to the Princess would be a mistake. Best to walk behind.
Eric claps his hands and rubs them together. "OK, you two, are you all set? Isaac, can I offer you anything for the road? We've got plenty of oats, carrots, celery, and apples. You might want to consider getting used to pony meals. It's all vegetarian from here on out."
So good. Celery would be so good right now, bite after watery bite of thirst-quenching celery, just a little something to tide you over on the way to Daina. God you're thirsty. But food offered in hell comes with a hefty price. Just ask Percyphone, or whatever her name was.
"No thanks. I'm, uh, fasting for my Ascension. Candle's story, and Ship Shape's have really given me a sense of ... wonder and humility." And I'd rather not cough up my gall bladder changing into one of you wackos.
Eric's eyes widen in surprise. "That's really special, Isaac. Good for you. Well, go with the blessing of the Royal Sisters. And when you're on the other side, look us up. We'd love to hear about your time with Celestia, and how her gift manifests in you."
"I'll make a point of it," you say, checking to make sure nothing had become detached from your belt. "You'll be the first to see my cutie mark. Thanks for your help, Eric, and you too Panflute."
"It was truly our pleasure, Isaac. Bringing lost foals like you to the Light of the Daybringer fills us with the joy you're coming to understand. Go now with Celestia's grace."
You nod and turn to Gleaming Over. "Ready to go, greenhorn?" she asks. "This way." Without waiting for you to follow, she opens the only other door in the room and heads through.
You jog a couple of steps to catch up. Excellent. Everyone is smiling, hearts are warmed, good feelings all around. Necromorphs defeated.
You'd entered a hall leading to the right, with a single exit straight ahead. Candle has been busy. Somehow she'd found the time to plant her twinkling votives even while hurrying ahead to announce your arrival. Even ... without her saddlebag. Special gift indeed.
Gleaming Over is leaning over a balcony a short distance down the hallway, hindquarters cocked against the wall, tail swishing away. Her mark shines in the candlelight, a circle of water ripples, with each crest a different color. She spots you and calls you over. "Hey buddy, come check it out." She tips her muzzle over the railing.
You reach her side look out over the railing. More preparations are underway below. Ponies are packing up, hugging, shaking each other's hooves. Some of the younger foals are crying and waving goodbye to their still-human parents. A granite statue of Celestia towers above them all, its wings and forelegs stretched to the sky like in the signs at the recruitment center.
"They don't look excited about the Convergence. What's going on?" you ask.
Gleaming looks up at you. "The little tumblers? Oh, uh, they're not up to the tasks that still need to be done, so they're being relocated. Don't worry, they'll see their moms and dads again soon."
"Relocated? Where?"
Gleaming rolls her bright green eyes. "Um, can't tell you that just yet. Convergence mystery. Not for the uninitiated. Sorry to be all smoke-and-mirrors with you, but, well, the Princess can explain it better anyway. She's the one with the master plan."
Interesting. Not so open and honest now, are we? Maybe you can pry out the monster's secrets if you dig a different hole. "OK, no problem. All in due time." You pause, watching the scene unfold below, pretending to be lost in thought. After a while, you lean toward her. "So what's your story?"
She shrugs her shoulders. “Me? Oh, I'm a water specialist. Top of the CEC utilities staff before my Ascension. Guess you can say I make it rain." She giggles for a moment. "The Princess says that I’m to be the first in a long line of rainbow ponies. I’ve been a loyal churchgoer pretty much my whole life. Time, talent and treasure, my friend. Had to downgrade to a base unit apartment after a while. But that’s how faith is, you have to really give. Sacrifice. When my time came, the Princess gave me this sweet mane and a wing boost for my dedication and hardship in service to the community."
"Bye bye mama, I'll miss you ..." a filly's voice reaches up from below.
Gleaming takes a step back from the railing and sighs. "But enough about me. Time's a wastin'. I'd carry you down, but I don't want to startle anypony below. There's an elevator a little way's up. Let's get a move on!" She strides ahead and to the right, through the other door you'd seen on the way in.
Your first impression had been spot on. She walks lockstep wing in wing with Her Highness the Princess, and knows her role. CEC mentality to the core. Getting more information out of her is going to be ticklish business.
The next room is an elaborate overlook surveying the courtyard below. Gleaming Over is shaking her head, pointing toward the statue of Celestia. "Hey, our mutual friends are here. Wanna say hello, Isaac?"
Mutual friends? Not Eric and Panflute again - they were still tied up with organization duties. You hurry around a support column blocking your view. Maybe you'd get some backup at last.
A mid-size assault ship is rolling back and forth outside behind a two story viewport, like a snake charmer's hypnotizing hand. It's trying to angle its searchlights around the stone Celestia's overshadowing wings. You duck back behind the support column. Gleaming stands her ground, grinning and waving her hooves at the pilot.
You fumble to raise Daina, hissing into your RIG's mic. "Daina! Tiedemann's soldiers have found me! They're tracking me in some sort of gunship!" You pause to check on Gleaming. She's mooning them, unimpressed it seems by the triple racks of gatling pulse rifles bristling under the ship's cockpit.
Daina responds, her signal crystal clear now that you're close to her position. "You're almost here! Hurry."
You sever the comm link this time. If the necromorphs find out you're in collusion with other survivors, there would be hell to pay. "Gleaming, we've got to get out of here! These guys are trying to kill me!"
She yawns, waving them away with a lazy hoof. “Them? Those lame-o's couldn’t hit the broad side of a star. Though they might get in a lucky shot or two. Better not chance it – come on!” She leaps up and flies to an exit on the far side of the overlook.
Damn she's quick. You duck your head and give chase, running as fast as your suit will allow. You make it through the door before it has time to close.
You're in the East Wing now, still in a residential block. A lone pony is lugging an overstuffed suitcase out of his apartment.
"Hey Gleaming!" he calls as she lands to give you time to catch up. "What's the rush? Who you got there with you?"
You reach them and keep running. "Ixnay on the estionsquay!" She shouts, passing you again and leading you to an elevator. "I've got the package. En route to the Golden Swan. Delivery in ten."
"Luna be praised, Celestia in the highest! The hour is upon us!" he cries, and runs back inside. "Honey, you won't believe this ..."
The elevator door closes on you and your companion, pressing you against each other. What the hell was that all about? Golden Swan? Bronitologists and their shibboleths. Maybe letting a known necromorph guide you to its revered overmind is taking it a step too far. You give Gleaming a good hard look.
Her cheery tail is draped down your leg in thin wisps of red, yellow, green and purple. She clears her throat, her snout bunched into the opposite corner of the cramped metal box. You can almost read her mind. 'If you don't make it a thing, I won't make it a thing'. Fine, let's not go there.
The elevator is slowing down. Awkward discomfort is good. Discretion is good. She's acting civil, so the rule holds. There is no pony, and if there is, there is no necromorph. You're fighting, and winning. Nothing to worry about, Isaac.
The doors open, and Gleaming rushes off to the right, held up only by piles of luggage, hugs and messy last-minute transformations performed by overworked unicorns. The statue of Celestia watches over the departure, decorated and graffitied in honor of the end times she was orchestrating.
We are ready
The Goddess walks among us
All Ascend
Funny. She actually is protecting them in a way. The gunship can't see any of them to get a clear shot.
Gleaming weaves through the milling ponies and piles of belongings, leading you to an elaborate door surrounded by runes and swirling foreign symbols. One or two look like horseshoes, but that's all you can make out. There's no time to study them, even if you wanted to. Gleaming is already through, waiting for you at the end of a blue-lit corridor.
You pick up the pace. Stained glass windows shine slant-wise on memorials and placards, outlining the origins and history of the Church, judging by the captions. One of them catches your eye. It's a triptych. On the left is a family - mom, dad, three kids and a dog, surrounding a tall woman who was holding a pen. She's pointing to the right, the center panel, where Celestia and Luna are standing tail to tail, forelegs raised in noble poise. On the right are a unicorn, a pegasus, three foals and a dragon.
OK, so the family met the Princesses, who killed them and turned them into necromorphs. That's easy enough, though the Bronitologists would probably see it differently. But who's the tall woman? And dragons? Is that next on the menu, Isaac? Are you going to turn the next corner and get a discount cremation courtesy of some magical alligator's case of gas?
The center panel bears a motto, engraved deep into the solid, dark rosewood frame.
BENEATH MOON AND SUN
ALL ARE ONE
This is wrong. This shouldn't be here. This phrase, this prayer is already in your head, already echoing in your memory. They know. They know and they're making damn sure you stop forgetting, stop ignoring. Stop ... stop ...
Gleaming Over is stamping her hoof. "Come on, Isaac, quit dawdling. Everypony knows that stuff. If you need a history lesson I can give you one on the way."
You're leaning on the display, transfixed by the image of the Royal Sisters. Almost to Daina. Almost there. She's going to fix this. "Sorry, just admiring the bronzework on these panels here. You ponies got some real artists Gleaming." That's right. The bullshit variety. You follow Gleaming through the door at the far end.
You take the steps beyond two at a time. You're in what looks to be a sanctuary, or lobby of some kind leading into a Bronitologist cathedral, a quiet check-in point to screen out potential EarthGov infiltrators. Somber faces glare down from the tall stained glass windows and ceiling. Prophets and saints of the apocalypse. Don't misbehave, Isaac.
It's calm. Good time to pump Gleaming Over for more info. Can't use the direct approach, of course. Start her off talking about something in her comfort zone first. Her family, maybe. "So, Gleaming, I was wondering ..."
Glass explodes overhead, blowing into the outer vacuum. Your RIG's oxygen readout blinks on and begins counting down. The gunship had located you somehow, the persistent fucks. And perfect timing too.
Twenty-five millimeter slugs hammer into the delicate stone and woodwork behind you, raining chips and sawdust onto your helmet and shoulders. Negotiations appears to be out of the question.
Before all of the air evacuates, you hear Gleaming Over growl. She slams her front hooves together. "OK, that's it. Isaac, go on ahead into the Church and wait for me. I'll take care of these clowns." She spreads her powerful wings and springs upward, spiraling and rolling between the streaking tracers, riding the torrent of air as it rushes into space.
You start to ponder how she's going to last more than five seconds in the frigid, minimal atmosphere above Titan Station when another volley of gunfire gouges fist-sized holes in the floor at your feet.
She's a necromorph, she can handle it. Pondering complete. You lunge forward through the exotic double doors.
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*Looks in E-Mail, sees 'Friendship Space has updated'*
....
SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!
Aaaaaayyyyyyyyyyy
AYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
4945302
Hope you like it!
Oh, wow, you found a way to put Vandal in this story... brilliant! And now shit is really starting to get real... can't wait to see how you handle what's coming next.
YES! YES! YES! One of my favorite stories is now back on track! Huzzah! Joy, wine, and virgins!
Now bring on the kicker...
NYEH NYEH NYEH NYEEEEEEH
4945413 woo so excited to see this and more to come
Oh happy day!
I recon the Hand Canon could be used to 'kill' ponies.
Issac is still fucking crazy... oh my gord... and i'm still confused! WHERE'D THE NECROMORPHS GO?! What is going on?!
Here's some ambiance, in case anyone wants it
4945413
Perhaps Wanda or Karrie or whatever her name was will be returning ...
4945779
Old school version
4946100
4946801
Stay tuned - the shenanigans will intensify in the next chapter.
4947025
Ixnay on the anoncay!
4947149
I'm sure if they show up again, Isaac is well-equipped to deal with them
4951035
Nice. Here's some more
Also, someone knows what's up.
I have the best kind of headache right now.
Damn, this is absolutely awesome!
5012300
Thank you for the kind words, Mr. Crowbar. I would venture to say you will not be disappointed by the next chapters.
5013112 I'm wondering about something... How is it that the Luna necro didn't actually dismember him while she was snuggling him, or is the Marker literally cuddling Titan to death?
5014942
Isaac's dementia makes it impossible for him to tell the difference between the ponies' attempts to befriend him and the necromorphs' attacks. For all he knows, it could have been a very close call will a powerful necromorph - that is, just catching a major beat down rather than being dismembered.
Hope that helps.
5015453 Oh, alright. Yeah', that makes sense.
That would be terrifying and brain-wrenching at the same time...
"Oh shit, I'm being snuggled by an overly-friendly pony who might actually be a giant necromor- Oh, there goes my leg!"
The fun thing about following someone's POV who has a very severe case of paranoia, lunacy and dementia, it makes it impossible for us to belief anything he sees as the truth.
5025204
ha, LUNAcy...