Salvation

by Sandstorm Inkwell

Chapter Thirty

“It's the weekend again!” I shout as I run out of the schoolhouse with Pip beside me.

“Woohoo!” he adds as we gallop to the library to fetch our pirate outfits.

The week had gone by fast now that I was friends with Pipsqueak. Having him beside me helped me get through the school (and the bullying by Tiara and Spoon). He had even taken to joining the CMC since he didn't have his cutie mark either.

“What adventures are we going to have this weekend?” I ask as we weave between ponies in the marketplace.

“Good question,” he replies as he runs under a pony. I see him purse his lips, indicating that he has retracted into his thoughts. Giggling at his face, I continue to lead the way to the library.

Barging through the door, I come to a skidding halt with I see Twilight with the newspaper floating in front of her and a hoof to her mouth and water in her eyes.

“Twilight?” I ask, walking slowly to her. I hear Pip follow behind me.

“Oh, hi Scoots. Sorry. Just some disturbing news,” she says with a forced smile.

I walk over to her and give her a hug. Not a second later, I feel Pipsqueak join in. Looking over at Pip, I smile at him before looking up at Twilight.

“He'll be alright... mom. You'll see,” I say before letting go and continuing up the stairs to where our costumes lay. When we were both up there, I hear Pipsqueak ask:

“Did you just call her mom?”

I pause and think back to the hug before nodding, “I did. Tyler's my dad and if he-”

“You don't have to explain anything Scoots. I understand,” he interrupts, hugging me as he does.

/--\

Two Days Before

“Clear!”

“Clear!”

“Move!”

Goddamn tunnels. Even here, the bastards find some to crawl into, I think to myself as I advance down the corridor behind a British Mechanized Infantry trooper. The way forward was lit only by the point guys' flashlights.

“Possible tunnel on the right,” I hear from the guy in front of me, who was the point guy of our column.

“Got it,” I reply, checking to make sure the safety was off on my M4.

Reaching the other tunnel, the MechInf guy briefly checked it before taking up a defensive position past it with his rifle pointed forward. That left me turning into the other tunnel with rifle raised and ready. A scan from the entrance showed that it went forward a little ways before turning to the right.

“What do you see?”

Turning to the voice, I see our useless attachment standing behind me. A tan mare with a stereotypical journalist fedora whose name was Ink Splatter. She had been attached to my specific squad yesterday and already she was a thorn in all our sides. Just trying to get her some protection was a hassle in itself. Finally, we got a hold of some Royal Guard armor, dulled it and forced her into it before writing 'PRESS' onto the side of the armor with a Sharpie. Needless to say, the first article wasn't flattering for our squad and she did not allow us to explain our actions.

“Dirt, dirt, and even more dirt,” I finally reply.

“By god, do you have to ask that every time we find another bloody tunnel?” pipes in the MechInf guy, the frustration evident.

“I am here to observe and report; or 'spy' as you say,” Ink responds, her tone indicating annoyance.

“Observing doesn't require talking,” rebukes the Brit.

“I think he got ya there,” adds a Ranger from the other column with a chuckle.

“Whatever. Can we please just finish up? Ponies were not meant to be in caves and the faster I can get away from you brutes the better.”

I roll my eyes before advancing to the turn, aware that Ink is right behind me the entire way. Switching my rifle to my left hand, I lean around the corner. Suddenly, the tunnel is lit up and my ears are ringing as booms echo down the tunnel. Jumping back around the corner, I slam into Ink, whose horn inadvertently digs into my thigh.

“Goddamn it!” I shout as I aim my flashlight at my thigh to, happily, see that it wasn't bleeding. I look at Ink, ready to swear and shout, but stop when I see her eyes clenched shut, her hooves to her ears, and tears leaking from her eyes.

After what felt like an eternity, the shooting finally stops. However, just as I'm about to round the corner, I hear a 'clunk' follow by another 'clunk' near my feet. Aiming down, a round metallic object stares up at me. Instinct takes over as I swing my foot at the object while screaming:

“Grenade!”

My foot connects with the pineapple grenade, sending it flying back down the tunnel. Then, remembering Ink, I turn, push her to the ground, and throw myself on top of her (careful not to stab myself on her horn of course).

When the grenade finally explodes, it causes the entire tunnel to shake. Dirt and loose rock falls from the ceiling onto us. Standing, I swing around the corner with rifle raised. Advancing forward, I step into the area where the attacker was. Scanning the dust filled room, I see the Iranian soldier that had almost taken me out. His entire torso was ripped apart by the grenade. Behind him was another human corpse in Afghani robes that had no holes. So I put one in his head, my gun booming in the enclosed space.

Looking at the room again, I feel my feet grow roots into the floor.

“By Celestia...” I hear Ink whisper, right before I hear the sound of puking and hooves on dirt.

Lining the edges of the room were cages made from scrap. Housed in each was a species of this world. Gryphons, Ponies, anything that wouldn't be on Earth, was locked away. Not only that, but they lay in pieces, they're bodies looked to have been dissected before just being ripped apart, the leftovers being thrown back into the cages.

Blood caked the ground and the metal table that lay in the middle of the room. Bloody tools lay on the table, awaiting use. Approaching the table, I look down at it's current occupant. Dull blue eyes look back up at me, as does the open chest cavity. The pony also had a stub where their horn apparently was. Said, small, horn was laying by their head. White ooze and red blood dripped from her private regions.

Walking back to the corpses, I put another bullet in both of their heads.

“Bastards,” I mutter before walking down the tunnel to the turn. Turning around it, I see the Ranger looking at me with a worried look as he's crouched beside an Ink Splatter that has curled up into a fetal position and leaking water like a fountain.

I motion him back, which he complies, before kneeling next to the journalist myself. I set a hand on her head. She jerks back as her eyes snap open. I watch as she looks up at my eyes before she closes her own again. I set my hand onto her head again and, when she doesn't jerk away this time, I begin to softly stroke her mane like a parent might do for their child.

“Ink? We need to keep moving.”

“W-wh-why?” I hear her stutter out, her eyes opening and glancing at the turn before clenching shut again.

“Because humans are evil-hearted jackasses,” I reply, continuing to pet her brown mane.

“B-but sh-sh-sh-she was just a-a-a filly!” she yells through her tears.

I close my eyes as I feel them begin to water. There it is. That moment of revelation.

“I know,” was all I could say.