Prologue
"Tell us about them."
~-~Day 5387~-~
An orange unicorn raised it's eyes from the dusty novel held in its aura. In front of him stood a trio of foals staring at him with a mix of curiosity, and fear. His eyes fell back down to the book, as his weathered lips grunted out a reply.
"About who?"
Of course he knew who they were asking about. It's all the Second Gen would ever ask. The older pony turned a page in his book, a foreleg idly tapping the wooden bench he sat upon.
"About them. The corpses."
The response came from the center foal. A grey filly with tiny buzzing wings on her side, and a head of frizzy, teal blue mane with matching tail. Her sea-blue eyes emitting the same mix of emotions as the other two, as though they were looking at a wounded animal.
The stallion sighed. They all ask sooner or later. Saying nothing, he marked where he was in his book with a fold of the page, and slowly put it an a worn, brown saddlebag beside him. Turning his attention back to the foals, he sat up a little higher, startling blue eyes looking from behind a black-and-white mane cut off the shoulders.
The second filly- the firsts sister by the looks of her identical grey coat, but with a white mane flowing longer and around a small horn -stepped forward from beside her sister.
"We wanted to know." She said in a soft voice. "No pony here tells us what they were like, what they are like. They act as though were too young to know."
Smiling gently at them, the stallion tapped the open bench beside him with a scarred hoof, the fetlock tattered and thinning.
"Sit up here, and tell me your names." The foals paused for a second, then obliged, hoping or hovering to climb onto the bench. As he waited, the stallion looked around him as the warm autumn sun beat down on them. He spotted a few familiar faces wandering around the more peaceful parts of the encampment, such as this park. Walking with friends, family, or just enjoying the shade of an orangingtree. One would call it picturesque, if it wasn’t for the rather dull and ominous chainlink fence running across half out it, with armed ponies on the inside. He turned his attention back to the foals.
"My name's Flicker." The unicorn sister said. "This is my sister Flitter-" Aforementioned unicorn nodded shyly, warming up to the elders company. "And this is Tinder, our friend." A comparatively small colt huddled behind the fillies; a deepest red coat standing out against his grey mane and tail. No wings or horn it seemed for this one. The stallion nodded, committing the names to memory out of instinct more than anything else. He smiled, and they all smile back; even Tinder, albeit rather timidly.
"So you want to know about life out there?" He asked them. His voice sounded like polished wood worn with age; smooth, yet marred by age. The foals nodded. Flitter spoke up. "We decided to ask you because no pony would say and you’re-"
"One of the oldest here, yes." He chuckled, lazily waving a hoof. This was true in fact; being already middle-aged when it all started, the stallion was one of the older people to survive.
That’s what they called them eventually. The initial survivors. 'First Generation of Survivors', or First Gen for short. That was the nickname for those who witnessed the initial carnage first hoof, who lived through fighting and killing. The Second Gen were born into the world that it was now, such as the three foals in front of him.
"So... will you tell us?" Tinder timidly asked, squeaking gently when the stallions laid eyes on him.
"...I suppose I should start from the beginning." He said, adjusting himself so his legs wouldn’t go dead. They'd be here for a while.
"When it all started, we referred to it as Day Zero. Well... I did anyway. That’s when first reports of them were heard. When the rumours went around in the further parts of Equestria, and the first infections in what we call the Dead Zones now."
"How did it start?" Flitter asked, frowning gently. A small chuckle escaped the elders muzzle.
"That depends on who you listen to. A lot of ponies now a days make it out to be some sort of mighty wrath of some godlike entity. They claim ponykind and all the other races were impure, and as such our punishment was ourselves. But that’s mostly the younger First Gens that say that.
"The truth was... we wanted more." The stallion sighed. "We had magic, we had flight, we had strength. but we always wanted more. Enhancers." The trio’s faces lit up in understanding; they'd obviously heard mention of it before.
"We created medicine to make us faster, make us stronger, both arcane and physical. Heightened intelligence, stronger limbs, we wanted it all. And we all wanted it." His face turned sour. "When sales were at it's peak, seventy percent of ponies were using this new generation of enhancers, because scientists claimed there was no negative results. Even other species were able to use it. Griffins, Diamond dogs. Even reports of dragons." The ponies gasped at the thought of the creatures of myth.
"But that was our undoing. See, the enhancers mutated... We still don’t know the exact science behind it; those that created it died long ago. The few scientists that are left are no closer to figuring it out. What we do know, is that those who took the enhancers on a regular basis, succumbed to the virus." The three foals were quiet, but in interest, not in fear. Geez, before then foals would be scared of their own shadow...
"In the majority, it was ponies and griffins who had it the worst, but also survived the most. Diamond dogs, for instance, were trapped in their own tunnels. Dragons were practically wiped out, as those without the virus had to hibernate, whereas those infected did not."
Silence reigned over the four of them for a while as the elder pony finished his tale. The sun was a few hours from the horizon, the glowing orb lazily making its way from one end of the world to the other. He looked down at the foals sat beside him, his gaze caught on the sisters mainly.
"You two recognise me of someone." The stallion said plainly, looking at the pair with curiosity. They grey coat especially. His mind wasn’t brilliant, even though he was only in his late forties. The pair stared back for a moment, letting the elder speak. Tinder was playing with an auburn leaf he'd found.
"Octavia." He said after a moment of consideration. The sisters nodded, smiling. "She's our mother. Why, do you know her?" The elder chuckled.
"Did, up until a few years ago. We'd crossed paths more than once during these near fifteen years. Last time I spoke to her was about... three years ago. I think it was when she went to one of the northern camps with a group."
The sisters nodded. "We were very young, but she told us how she went north thinking it'd be safer. She said that it didn’t work, and soon after our first birthday, she brought us back."
The elder fell silent again. So octy's back, eh? I'll need to see her. I think I have a bottle of wine laying around.
"Could you tell us about her?" Flitter's question caught him off guard. He shook his head from his daydream, and focused on the trio, their interest in the elder renewed.
"Please?! Just one! We'll stop nagging you!" The twins begged and pleaded, giving the best puppy-dog eyes they could muster. The elder gave up trying to argue with them, and chuckled.
"Fine, fine. I'll tell you. but only one!" He raised a weathered hoof, silencing the foals.
"This is a story about your mother, Octavia..."