What's In A Name?
Wet...
The ground was wet from the recent rain that had fallen. The clouds themselves had not parted enough to allow much light through. Everything around him was tinting in the shadow of overcast skies. The scent of rain and wet soil and grass filled his nostrils. The silence of the vast plains before him, and the quiet murmur of life in Canterlot behind him. It was just how he liked it. These precise moments are what made him happy to be alive.
"This is how I want heaven to be." He thought to himself.
He smirked and inhaled the air, releasing it with a sigh of pure contentment. His eyes surveyed the world before him like a speed reader trying to absorb an entire book's worth of knowledge before they had to return it.
It was a much needed reprieve, from the life of a mafia enforcer. From being the "Painter". From beating ponies faces in for whatever reason. From traveling afar, just to act intimidating. From being scum...
He gritted his sharp teeth, narrowed his eyes and tensed his muscles. His heavy black trench coat rustled in the breeze, his dark gray mane barely moved, being cut short and kept combed back. Save for one little strand he referred to as his "Sex Appeal". His lighter gray coat would have made him look like a rather bland pony, if not for the bat ears, fangs and green eyes locked into a thousand yard stare. His wings remained hidden under the trench coat.
"Why does it hurt so much? WHY DAMNIT!?" He silently thought.
He came here firstly, to set things straight. Don Appleretti of the Appleretti mafia family, sent his prized enforcer to put an end to a problem they were having. Loco weed, an unhealthy plant in itself, was being refined into heavy drugs. Drugs that were ruining business, and lives. Mostly business. So what does the Don ask him to do?
"Finale, elrusion, you figure it out." He recalled, thinking of the Don's chubby face and thick lisp.
Not a pony of many words, the Don was however very clever with what words he did use. He was also very particular with them. Not one for semantics nor word play, he was literal mostly with few exaggerations. In dubbing his prized enforcer, he knowingly created a allegory for everything that the Painter would do. Create a pretty picture for his "commissioner" to enjoy. Not that he was alone in his efforts, just that he was perhaps too content with doing his work, but always eager to improve.
"This world only gives so it can take." His father's words rang in his mind, echoing off his thoughts.
He recalled his foalhood. How little he remembered his father. His father had a sadness to him, one that consumed him. While the medical report claimed his father had died of drug induced cardiac arrest, he knew it was the sadness that claimed him. It might claim him too. Even then, he could feel it. Little by little it grew. A deep pain, a yearning, a sudden feeling that constantly drove him down. It gripped his heart like a paralytic toxin and dragged him into the sadness. Then there was the loneliness.
Equestrian's would never know the sensation, the tingle of utter numbness that was total loss. To watch everything burn, and everyone with it. The hollow loneliness of empty halls as your quiet voice danced down them, only to return as a mere whisper. The stench of a rotting battlefield and the ashes of thousands of lives.
He was referred to as an "introvert" by some, "weirdo" by others. All could agree he wasn't the best company. What few friends he could make, eventually drifted away from him. Once more, he would be alone. Save for one pony, she would never abandon him. Their friendship was partially being family, partly from necessity. It certainly wasn't a bad thing, it just wasn't enough. He wanted more, or to not want more, whichever was possible.
His dear cousin, the other top enforcer as she was quietly called, least she overhear and kick their flanks. She and him, had always been friends. Back at the family villa, they were immediately thrown together, not for leisure nor bonding, but for convenience. They were to be instructed together as first born heirs to the family monarchy/matriarchy. Not necessarily a rich family, just one of historical prominence. Doomed to fame or infamy by heredity, left no choice in the matter, only to succeed. She also had the sadness, just, not as bad as he did. Not yet anyway.
It was funny though, how such stock was put into the family name, yet, when hard times fell upon them, they found themselves quite poor and friendless. The war, or rather, yet another war, had ravaged the land. So few options left to grab, he led them forward. He and his cousin, in dire need of money to provide for the family, took up being mafia enforcers, doing what had to be done. Or so he liked to justify.
They were taught how to fight, how to kill, to win. Generations of soldiers, mercenaries and cutthroats, this was the legacy. Not all of it, but enough to influence their education's curriculum.
"You live with everything you do. And you'll always carry that weight with you." His uncle always said. "Don't give them a chance, they sure won't do the same."
Her family fell apart not long after his had. Her father died not long after her little brother. Her mother and sisters were left to her care then. Not having siblings, nor parents, he had no one who needed him. She did, and so, he decided to help. That's all this was for, helping his family. To hell with everyone else, let them eat shit and die.
His teeth made the vile grinding noise he had grown to accept. The one he heard each time he began to think.
"I'm such a spiteful and venomous creature. I don't wake up each morning looking for an ass to kick, no, I wake up with such hopes and dreams. Then, I remember all the scum and shitheads out there... That's when I want to kick an ass. That is when I fill with bile and want to vomit hatred all over this world. I get so mad, I just can't take it..."
He tried to love a few times, each time, he was used. Each time it ended the same. Him alone, hurting and tired. He knew it was his fault, he just couldn't stop it. His sadness pulled his mind deep into the depths, where it would vanish, leaving a husk of a pony behind. Like a manic depressive, he would obsess over ideas one minute and suicidal misery the next. The hours he spent boring little holes into his hooves, all the way down until he drew blood. All so he could feel something with each step, a punishment? All he knew was, it stemmed from a neurotic need to prove himself worthy. To earn something, what, he didn't know.
Dead parents weren't uncommon, certainly not back home. Not with the constant wars. He grew up wanting to be a soldier, until he was old enough to see through the propaganda. Old enough to see the wars for what they were, blood for resources.
"I only wanted peace, right? I didn't want to just blow shit up... Did I?"
It was just a job, one full of fun task, like; leaving no witnesses or bodies, breaking some limbs, transporting illegal stuff, traveling to new places and repeating one through three. Even clearing entire compounds and apartment buildings of ponies, just to make a point. Blood for money.
He wanted to make a difference somehow, who didn't? That is why he was here in Canterlot. Looking for answers. Eager to leave Zebrawa behind him, he wanted to learn something. He wanted to learn why.
Such a simple and ambiguous question, that it was only fitting. Why was Equestria at peace, and his homeland was not? Why... It was just baffling! He began to do research the first time he set hoof there. Each time, he would gather another little piece of information, drawing towards a conclusion.
"I need more time, but how much time do I have? Not enough surely."
The crackle of flames, the sound of raining debris and screams of the injured echoed in his thoughts. The Zebrawa Massacre as he was sure they'd call it. Those vast fields of loco weed and rows of refining huts all got what they deserved. Ruin. The farmers and chemist? Collateral. At least most of them would live to regret it.
Such violent chaos was easy to him, not just in action, but in theory. He could rationalize it effortlessly, even if he knew it was wrong.
"Living up to my name."
The thought made him grind his teeth even more. The idea of being preordained to a life like this. To serving some warmonger or another. Like the three generals that ruled his country. The oligarchy of generals that cared little for the lives of it's ponies, only for resources and power. Quite unlike Celestia's reign. Not that she was being forced to make any hard choices here. No war, no famine and no revolts. The whole raising the sun thing however... That was very different from what he had expected. Was she a religious idol of some sort then? Much like his long, long gone ancestor.
He looked at the off color spots on his hoof, remembering the emotions that drove him to do such a pathetic thing.
"To earn it."
He was consumed by rage more often these days, and equally prone to the sadness. Feeling polarized by the two emotions, as if he only had one extreme or the other. He longed to feel nothing, even though he knew the hollow sensation was no pleasantry, it was better than this.
"You know what it is."
He hated himself more than anything else. Why, he didn't actually know. Only that he hated who he was, what he was.
"I suppose I am trapped in a world of my own design, resigned to live an empty lie, with little to nothing in terms of gain. Only my fragmented sanity remains, and it hangs by a thread of curious hopes that come time to time. I am mad now, surely out of my wits. I have hope, but it is rarely there supporting me anymore. It is dashed with little effort as I am given discontent with my life and its events, all failures transpire into disaster, leaving me in shambles." He shut his eyes.
"Fear and anxiety grip my heart, coupled with an unnerving emptiness, and the desperate shadow of my loneliness. It forces me deeper into my sadness. It drives me down into the pits of my dark places giving me nightmares of horrors deep within the end. Only to make things worse, I fear my will to go on will disappear like a wisp of smoke, being a mere vapor already. I have no one to suffer with me, and no one to take my pain, few people understand, and even less will tolerate. The pain a massive weight, deep within my core, weighing on my choices." He shuttered a bit.
"All I love turns away, run through shit by me, in some twisted game I play. I must be cruel to keep myself strong, to avoid the lack of care in me, as all passion and desire has burned out. I ramble at the shadows, the voices I give them reply back. My genius, my ideals, the wonderful things inside my mind are mixed with great evils and madness, but I can still grasp them, I can share them, build them. But cannot motivate myself into doing so, they are wasted by me, the lies and misery I hide behind. My potential decays as I destroy myself." His internal rant drew on.
"The gifts I should have given to the world are being destroyed by my ruined soul. Death is the only thing I can truly expect anymore, as all my dreams are likely to vanish into thin air, unheard by the ignorant sickly cruel bastards that crowd the world, destroying everything for no reason because they weren't given reason. It cripples my will even further, sending me into madness and depression. I am being crushed by the world and my own self. I am drawn into the shadows of my endless mind, trying to escape the fantasy before it consumes my reality. I am lost to my ocean of thoughts and dreams, my melancholy holding me down." Nearing it's climax.
"Why do I even bother living? I serve no greater purpose, not outside of causing misery." He concluded, his eyes bolting open.
With a growl he fiercely bit down on his right foreleg, so hard, it sent blood gushing up around his jaws. With a muffled scream he continued biting down, until with a deep breath through his nostrils, he let go. Spitting the blood out of his mouth and staring at the wound, he exhaled. Perfectly calm, he wrapped the wound in a bandage, one of several kept in a pocket. The emptiness creeping into him, removing his mind from feeling, if only for a short while.
With that settled, for now, he was able to return to his previous thoughts. The reason he was even in Canterlot. To find an answer to his home's ongoing war. He had gone place to place, passing numerous souls whose own journey's would become crucial to the future. Just the other day, he had seen an amazing sight. First, he had heard this massive explosion, like one from the air raids when he was younger. Then he saw it, a massive ring made of rainbow, radiating outward to the horizon. He couldn't understand it, at first he thought it was normal for Equestria to have magic rainbow rings in the sky. Only when he gaged the shock and wonder around him, did he understand the event to be an anomaly. It forced him to think.
He thought about Celestia, maybe that was the answer. The "God King" solution. Their own was long dead, no thanks to Equestria, or so the legends said. Correlation was difficult. The time periods were what rendered it most difficult, extending beyond a millennium. The time lines were sketchy thanks to the massive wars. To the centuries of suffering that had rendered his nation as soulless as he was. As empty and apathetic. As hurt and mentally scarred.
"There's something to that idea." He mused.
It would have to wait until he got home. He might just have a solution. Firstly, he would have to quit his job. Then, then he'd find a way.
Several Years Later...
Here he was, drenched in sweat and grim, just moments away from making a change. Down here in the government labs of Hell's Forge, as a scientist. Far removed from his days of criminal activity. He had even managed to drag his cousin along, though he wasn't sure what she was doing. Maybe she was testing something? All he knew was that he was finally doing it!
Back in the continent of Matavita, far on the other side of the world from Equestria, in the heart of the Empire of Ponies United. Adjacent to the infamous war industrial district whose color coded structures earned it the name "Rainbow Factory District". Down below the surface, in a deep cold lab, built of bland steel from top to bottom, entombed in concrete.
With his trusted colleague Maxwell, he began to carefully input the program into the massive computers. Maxwell's orange coat and pink lavender mane was mired in muck and singe marks. Both of their lab coats were stained beyond the help of bleach. His size was easily twice that of most ponies, matching Celestia in most proportions. Looking at him, it was easy to see him as that enforcer. Watching him work, it was equally easy to see him as a scientist.
"That should do it. We're finally ready for testing." Maxwell smiled.
"I'll get washed up and into the chamber, you call down the generals and finish setting up." He replied.
Within minutes, he was entering the large ballistic glass shielded chamber, a circular tube really. Once inside, it was filled with clear bluish liquid, submerging him, filling his lungs. Through the glass, he could see the three generals gathered behind an even thicker layer of ballistic glass in the observation room. He looked to Maxwell, who made the final checks. They exchanged a glance, one of reserved optimism. Looking back to the Generals, he read their lips.
"If it fails, we'll need a new test subject." One general said to the others. "The world won't miss him, it'd just be karma."
"They already have one in mind. Let's hope it works the first time, this operation isn't cheap." Another replied.
He shut his eyes as the countdown began. His mind racing, equally excited and nervous. He could've done anything with his life. Yet, he didn't. He spent most of his years doing nothing. He knew he was a lost cause, but she wasn't. That's why he had to tell her.
"3..."
He told his cousin everything he could, sharing with the only pony who understood him. The only pony who could say his damnable name. He wanted her to pursue her own dreams from here on out. To be anything she wanted to be, and everything she could be. To outgrow his limitations.
"2..."
To be a better pony.
"The loneliest ponies are the kindest. The saddest ponies smile the brightest. The most damaged ponies are the wisest." He pondered.
"1..."
His name coming to his thoughts. How he felt controlled by it, yet empowered. How he had lived his life dead set on doing something, yet achieving little. He didn't feel hate now, he didn't feel the sadness right now either. Nor was he feeling empty.
"Starting test." Maxwell announced.
He felt peace. He was finally making use of his life, to achieve something lasting. To for once, be a better pony.
With that, "Wubz" Pondera as he was called, shut his eyes. About to endure a dangerous procedure, one that if it worked, promised a better future for all. From killing ponies for profit, to trying to save the Empire, he had lived up to his name. An unfortunate truth, one he felt he had no power to fight.
"And she'll be and do so much more than I ever could." He had told Maxwell.
"You're a far better pony than me. I was never meant for more, now, don't try correcting me. This is who I am, who I have to be. It's not who I want to be, but that's the world we got. Maybe one day, we'll be who we want to be. No more wolves eating sheep. No more needless pain. No more hearts of war..." His last words to his cousin.
No one really knows what happened down there in the depths of Hell's Forge. One day, the place exploded, leaving no survivors save the few lucky enough to be away at the time. What is known, is that it was never rebuilt. Several projects from it however were re-opened and are currently operating in Prometheus, the neighboring science labs. The mysterious project known as "Back In Black" was destroyed in it's entirety in the event. Not a single member of the team survived, not officially anyway. Here, one story ends, and another begins.
But that's for another time.