I have the power, the power of creative control!

“Whatever, must be a modded server.”

Zuckles sat under a solitary tree, surrounded by miles of empty grass. He held a large rock in his hooves, holding I over his head before smashing it down on the tree. It landed with a crunch. He did this for about two minutes before the tree finally fell.

“Finally," He said, lowering his rock and looking at the top of the tree, listening to the cracking of the falling tree.

“Timberrr- AAAHHH!" He threw himself to the side, narrowly avoiding the tree that currently occupied the space he did.

“Hmm, very realistic,” He said, calmly getting up and trotting over to the log. He grabbed it with a hoof and tossed it on his back, grunting as it landed with a small sting of pain.

“Bro, I'm so weak,” He said quietly, slowly walking away from the tree towards his makeshift home.

***

He finally arrived, tossing the log onto a larger pile with a relieved grunt. He rolled his shoulders with a pleasurable sigh. “Finally.” It was night by then, so he decided to call it a day.

His home was about 3x3x3 meters of stone bricks in a small 7x7 meter clearing, along with a slanted roof that slope down slightly over his raised door. He threw open the door and jumped into his bed, shutting the door in the process. He stared at the roof with a smile, listening to the furnace placed next to his bed crackling in conjunction with the crickets outside.

After about an hour of waiting, he heard the crackling die down, signaling that the meat was done cooking.

“Moment of truth," He said, licking his lips as he hopped off his bed, looking at the furnace. He slowly pulled the stone plate out, drooling at the juicy meat in his grasp. He quickly placed the plate on his bed, turning to eat it. He grabbed the meat and bit a large chunk off.

Quickly, his eyes widened as he stopped chewing. He turned to the side and started spitting it out, a disgusted look plastered look on his face.

“Bitch!" He yelled, shattering the plate on the tall tool cupboard directly behind him, screeching in pain and fall onto his back as each shard cut into his skin, blood slithering under his Misfits hoodie and down his red coat, blending in nearly seamlessly.

“Goddamn it!" He hissed, groaning in pain. He slowly reached for the small chest place next to the cupboard, carefully raising the hatch. He quickly grabbed a white syringe with gray ends and a green tip, along with a green cross in the middle, with a gray cap on the opposite end. He grabbed the cap with his teeth and pulled it off with a click, revealing a big red button as he spit the cap off to the side. He quickly stabbed it into his foreleg and pressed the button, hissing in pain as the chemicals coursed through his veins. After a moment, he yanked it out and dropped it, clenching his teeth as the pain slowly began to fade away as he slumped on the edge of the bed.

He sat there for a second, recovering from the pain. “That hurt way more than it should've,” He said, glaring at the pile of meat in the corner.

He heard voices in the distance, which snapped his eyes open. “Of fucking course,” he cursed, scowling as he carefully got up and walked over to the chest. He opened it and rummaged through the contents, smirking as he pulled out a bone, one end sharpened into a lethal weapon, the base wrapped in black tape. He twirled it in his hoof, hearing the short whoosh of air as he tightened his grip, holding it in preparation to stab a guy, or in this case, a pony.

He stood a foot from the door. His face hardened as he held the bone knife ready to throw at some pony.

“This is the place, if they map was correctly traced," A female said, confusing him with her rhymes. He was expecting to hear something along the lines of whooshing, followed with the noise of a square object sticking to the door and hissing.

“You sure?" Zuckles face twisted in confusion. I feel like I know this guy.

“It's a stone cube with a door that has a bigass lock. I think this is the place.” A separate familiar voice said, which caused Zuckles to lower his knife.

He slightly jumped as one of the ponies outside rapped on his door a few times. “Mason? That you buddy?"

He dropped the knife with a clatter, rushing to the door and throwing it open. “Guys?" He said incredulously. He noticed the tall pegasus’ cutie mark, and immediately pulled him into a hug. He quickly pulled away and started talking.

“Why are we here? How are we here? Why are we ponies? Why is there a talking Zebra? Why-” Zuckles was cut short by a hoof shoved into his mouth by the short unicorn that stood by Fitz. He quickly moved the yellow hoof as he stared at the short stallion in disbelief.

“Swaggah?" Zuckles said, his accent making it sound southern… ish. Before Swagger could speak though, he was pulled into a quick hug as well.

Zuckles stood back, admiring the two yellow ponies before him.

“What, no hug for the zebra?” Zecora said. Zuckles glared at her for a second, putting a sheepish grin on her face.

“That's fine, then. I guess I do not deserve recognition," She said, dramatically lowering her head and pawing at the ground, ears lowered. Suddenly, Fitz was the one to wrap her up in a hug. She smiled in smug satisfaction as Fitz pulled away with a smile.

“We’re all done with the hugs now, right?" Swagger asked. The other three laughed. He chuckled nervously along. “We are though, right?"

“But I haven't got one!" A voice complained from behind. A pink stallion passed through Fitz and Swagger and hugged Zuckles.

“I missed you, bud," Toby whispered in his ear. Shortly after, he pulled away.

“Now. Let's get going, shall we?” Toby said, Turning back the way they came. A devilish smile crept onto Zuckles’ face.

“Race you, cunt!” He shouted, running off into the distance, leaving a trail of dust behind him. Toby sighed in exhaustion.

“I'm not looking for him," He declared, calmly trotting in the direction Zuckles had gone off to. Fitz and Swagger looked at each other, shrugging as Zecora turned to follow Toby. They quickly followed, Fitz taking to the sky to search for the bald red pony.

Author's Note:

I feel like I always end up writing half a story whenever I write stuff about Rust.
Weird.

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