• Published 4th Mar 2020
  • 529 Views, 111 Comments

Mapping Manehattan - The Red Parade



Fiddlesticks and Lightning Dust explore a ruined Manehattan.

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building

Lightning could help her. But Fiddle doesn’t need her. She’s a mare of independence. She can take care of herself.

She climbs the ladder effortlessly, the bags on her back not bothering her. Lightning hovers nearby, watching.

As she climbs up, Fiddlesticks takes a moment to adjust the white stetson she loves. A thin strap keeps it secured to her head. It’s worked so far.

The fire escape is sturdy. It’s meant to be, after all. But it still makes Lightning nervous. Who knows how well it’s aged.

Fiddlesticks pauses, noticing a broken window. She waves at Lightning, and the two climb through the hole. It takes a second for their eyes to adjust to the darkness.

The room is packed with cubicles. Plain white dividers siphon off the room into workspaces. At one point each one had a black office chair, phone, and computer. None of them have all three now.

Chairs are scattered across the room, some in odd places like on top of a desk. Most of the computer screens are cracked and destroyed. Papers are scattered on the floor, and filing cabinets are knocked over.

The foam ceiling tiles aren’t all there anymore. Bits and pieces of wires and cables are dangling from above.

Lightning goes over to a cubicle. There are some photos taped to the sides, showing a smiling family. Lightning wonders if they’re still alive.

White papers sit in a messy pile on the desk. A memo sits on top of them. “Stamp’s sick. Please fill out ASAP,” it reads.

Lightning picks up the phone and presses it to her ear. There’s nothing. Not even a dial tone. Looking down, she sees it’s not even plugged in.

Fiddlesticks laughs and turns away. Lightning hangs up the phone. She hesitates, then gently peels the photograph off the wall. Lightning sticks it in her saddlebags and follows Fiddle.

They pass the cubicles and go to a door marked “Conference.” It’s unlocked.

Inside there’s a big oak table and a bunch of chairs surrounding it. A projector hangs from the ceiling, facing a blank screen. Lightning wonders if they could get it to work again. It’d be nice to watch a movie again.

There are a bunch of boxes on the tables. Fiddle takes a knife from her bag and cuts the tape off one. Inside there are medical masks and bottles of hoof sanitizer.

Lightning nods in approval. Not a bad find. In the next one there are bottles of water. Then canned food. Then first aid kits.

Fiddle smiles and takes out her green book. She makes a note of their location and what they found. They’ll come back for them later.

Lighting used to be worried about looters. Then she realized there weren’t many ponies left alive to loot anything.

She looks out at the empty office. Ponies used to work here. Ponies with a life. With a job. With a purpose. She sighs. That life is gone now. It’s never coming back.