Side stories to my TCB story, One Pony's Terrorist
Side stories to my Conversion Bureau story, One Pony's Terrorist. Most will be one-shots. Everything, unless explicitly stated, is part of the OPT universe.
Two figures stood on the front porch of a large farmhouse while snow gently fell from the skies, blanketing the harvested crops in a fine layer of powdery snow. The first figure, a rather tall human woman in a number of layers of clothing, rung the doorbell and wrapped her hands back inside her pockets. The second figure, a squat white-coated pony with a light blue mane clothed in a simple scarf, anxiously peered from side to side of the house.
“Are you sure they won’t mind?” the pony asked.
The human looked through the door’s windows impatiently and pressed the doorbell again. “I talked to Jack. He said everyone would be fine with it,” she replied.
“Well, I’m blaming you if everything goes wrong.”
“Oh shut up.”
The door opened up before them, revealing an averaged-sized, but well built man holding a cup of some drink the two at the door couldn’t determine. “Hey, Rachel,” he greeted with a smile.
“Hi, Jack,” she returned, leaning in to give him a peck on the cheek. She gestured to the other one at the door. “I brought Snow Storm.”
“Nice to see you again,” Jack replied. He opened the door to let the two in, stepping aside to give them room. “Your scarf?”
“Oh, thank you,” said Snow Storm, and she unwrapped the large green scarf and gave it to Jack, who hung it in the front closet. She followed Rachel into the house and into a large hallway lined with photos of what she assumed were Jack’s family. Many of the pictures were very old, some she guessed to be taken over a hundred years ago. Finally, the two humans stopped at a large wooden door.
She could hear voices on the other side. She had a tingle of excitement in her belly. She really wanted to meet Jack’s family, but her stomach was doing backflips. She gulped it into temporary submission. Finally, the man pushed the door open. What greeted her was both extremely familiar and very alien. To say the least.
“You’re tree. It’s inside,” she muttered, eyes as wide as dinner plates. She scratched her chin with a forehoof. “You brought the tree inside.”
The entire room turned their heads at her voice.
“Oh, hello. Rachel’s friend.” Another awkward smile. “Maybe Jack told you about me?”
They kept staring, and she heard a stifled giggle behind her.
Oh... this is going to be fun.
* * * * *
“So, Jack’s mother, correct? Mrs. Beckett?”
“Yes. And just call me Gracia. Family friends are allowed to say my first name.”
“Oh, I’m just friends with Rachel, and-”
“I know she and Jack aren’t really married. They’re close and that’s good enough for me,” she explained with a warm smile on her face. “So, how exactly do you know Rachel? Jack just told me you were ‘a friend.’”
“We’re roommates,” Snow Storm answered. “I just moved here from Trottingham by myself a few months ago. I was looking for a place to stay, and Rachel was looking for someone to share the rent. I guess she invited me because I don’t exactly have a family to spend the holiday with.”
Gracia gave a small chuckle. “Oh, how sweet of Rachel. But no one in your family came over?”
“No. They’re not exactly happy with my decision. They, uh, don’t like humans very much.”
“Oh,” Gracia remarked with a frown. “I see. Well don’t worry about them.”
“I know,” Snow Storm acknowledged. “It just gets hard sometimes. I have to say, though, it’s getting hard to get used to it here even though I finished moving in a few months ago.”
“I know what you mean. Some things from your homeland just stick with you. When I first got her after leaving my home in España I was surprised to see how individualist everyone is here. Moving out so early, for instance. Kids go off on their own at eighteen. At home the parents would often house their children until they got married!” The woman paused and took a sip from her drink. “Maldito Británico. If the Spanish got the East Coast things would make more sense. Well, make sense at all I should say.”
Snow Storm nervously coughed into her hoof. “You know, I’ve noticed Rachel doesn’t really talk much about her family. I would have thought we would have visited them, but she made no mention of it.”
“Don’t mention them around her,” Gracia informed, her face immediately hardening. “Her father has been rather... hostile to her recently. She hasn’t even told Jack very much so I know even less. All I know is that it has something to do with her conversion, so I’m sure you can guess what the problem is.”
Snow Storm’s face contorted into a confused frown. “Conversion? But she’s still human.”
“Religious conversion, I meant. Her father didn’t like it, and with both of their up-front personalities, well... They’re not on ‘speaking terms’ now.”
“And her mother?”
“Cancer,” Gracia answered simply.
“Oh, I had no idea! If I had known-”
“No, don’t go there and don’t discuss it. If she wants she will bring it up.”
“But isn’t the best way to deal with something to talk about it with others? She can’t just bottle it up!”
“Listen,” Gracia said in a voice that made Snow Storm’s train of thought stop cold, “She will deal with it on her own time, when she’s ready. This isn’t Equestria. You can’t control nature, and you can’t force things. It will happen on its own.”
“Right. Sorry,” Snow Storm muttered under her breath. “You’re probably right.”
Gracia nodded. “Why don’t you go see the family? Don’t just stay all cooped up in this corner with me.”
“Well, I could use some air.”
“Well, the boys are outside now I think.”
“I’ll go visit them,” Snow Storm said, and got up from her seat. She began the walk towards the front door to get her scarf, and waved goodbye at the family’s matriarch.
* * * * *
It was refreshing in the cold. Her father, Hail Storm, was a pegasus, and worked in the weather factories near Trottingham. Specifically, the snow factories. Being a pegasus herself, she often visited where her father worked and learned to make many different types of clouds by hoof.
Taking in the sight of the peaceful layer of snow did a great deal of calming her down. Meeting new people made her nervous. The Beckett family’s farm was truly a majesty during the winter. This was her first time there, obviously, but she felt right at home now that she had some time to herself. Was this truly the result of random chance? If you were to ask the average Equestrian, you would be told that whichever pegasus did this was good at his or her job. But here, in the human world, this was simply the result of nature. She-
-CRACK-
With an almost comical squeal befitting that of a school-age filly, Snow Storm sprung several feet into the air as her pegasus instincts took over. Still hovering several feet above the ground, she gently touched down and thanked Celestia no one saw that.
Straightening her posture into a more dignified form than that of a four-year-old who wet herself, Snow Storm trotted down the side of the house to where she heard the sound and now, as she got closer, the voices of several men.
-CRACK-
“God dammit!” a voice yelled.
A second one laughed. “Shit, Jack, you’re the marine here! Why can’t you hit anything?”
“I didn’t use a shitty-ass SKS in Cambodia though. Why the hell would you get this Russian piece of crap?”
“Don’t talk trash about Russian weapons. They’re versatile and consistent.”
“Consistently shit,” Jack countered.
Snow Storm reached the corner of the house and poked her head around. Twenty feet away were Jack and another man standing in front of a bench. Curious, she moved closer. “Excuse me?”
The two turned to her voice. “Hey, Snow,” Jack greeted. He gestured to the man next to him. “This is my cousin, Stan.” He turned towards said cousin and gestured towards Snow Storm. “This is Snow Storm. Rachel’s roommate.”
“Hi,” she returned. “What are you two doing?”
“Just shooting our rifles,” Stan answered. “Want to watch?”
Snow Storm’s heart skipped a beat. “W-wait, guns? You said guns?”
Stan shrugged his shoulders. “Well, technically it’s a rifle. But yeah.”
In response, Snow Storm muttered an excuse about “leaving the oven on” and scurried back towards the house with her tail quite literally between her hind legs.
* * * * *
“So what’s this then?” Snow Storm asked the fifteen-year-old sitting at the computer desk. On the screen was a large menu with buttons such as ‘Resume’ ‘Options’ and ‘Quit Game’ written in a fancy-looking text. It only took up a small portion of the screen, but the rest was darkened and blurred, so she couldn’t really see what was there.
“It’s an old game I found on my grandpa’s computer,” the boy answered.
“Oh, I like games. What’s it called?”
He pressed the ‘Resume’ button on the menu and Snow Storm was greeted with the site of an entire screen of virtual corpses, a ground so covered in virtual blood it was red, and dozens of virtual soldiers marching towards their assured (and virtual) death without hesitation. “Dawn of War.”
I’m going to be sick.
With enough hesitation to make up an excuse about “getting a drink” she slowly moved back out of the room, with a hoof both covering her squeamish face and block any vomit that may have come out right then.
* * * * *
Snow Storm snuck through the somewhat crowded house, which was a remarkable feat considering she was the only pony there, and tried to find Rachel. A conversation with one sane person, or rather an outlet for the culture shock, would do a great deal to calm her down. She caught herself hyperventilating more than a few times as she meant with different parts of Jack’s extended family. It was too much to take in. She just needed a break.
She inched her way past the huge, decorated tree, which she still wondered why in Celestia’s name would be brought inside despite several explanations for the tradition, on the lookout for her friend.
A sharp whistle caught her ear. She pivoted her head towards the source of the noise, the television. A game of some sort was playing. Two groups of humans, dressed in different colors, were playing some sport that involved beating the snot out of each other. She sighed in annoyance.
* * * * *
There was a short knock at the door. Being the closest one, Snow Storm answered the door. Standing on the porch was a man who had less than he probably should have considering the freezing weather, a full beard, and a wide smile on his face.
“Hello!” she greeted. “You are?”
“Kevin, Rachel’s older brother,” he answered.
Oh, finally, thank Celestia. Someone related to Rachel can’t be that bad. “Oh, Rachel talks about how much she misses you all the time! I’m Snow Storm. Rachel invited me. So where have you been?” I may be able to have a pleasant experience this evening!
“I’m sorry, can’t tell you.” He reached next to the doorframe and produced a gu-rifle as long as his leg. Snow Storm’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “Army deployments and all that.”
“Wh- oh, right, yes. Can’t have that,” she said hurriedly, turning around suddenly to distract herself from the weapon. “Um, food and everything is in the living room.”
“Thanks,” he acknowledged. “Oh, if you see Jack or his cousin, Stan, can you tell them I have my 16 with me?”
“Oh, of course.” Oh, are you bucking kidding me...
* * * * *
Finally! Snow Storm quickly walked towards Rachel, making sure not to attract any of Jack’s family. But before she could get her friend’s attention, Rachel reached to somewhere hidden by the corner of a nearby wall and slunk towards a vacant room with a sly grin on her lips and bottle of cheap beer in her free hand. Jack closed the door behind him as he was pulled through.
Do these people do anything besides drink or play violent games?
* * * * *
“Yes, I would much rather be poor and free,” the woman in front of her, Zoe, stated. “People got over the whole ‘slavery’ thing two hundred years ago.”
“Ponies aren’t slaves! Equestrian citizens have just as many rights as anyone here, if not more,” Snow Storm retorted.
“Rights with a capital ‘R’ or lowercase?”
Snow Storm rubbed her forehead in frustration. Princess Celestia, a tyrant? Really?
“But Santa Clause is not a real person,” she restated. “You are giving your children a false worldview because it’s ‘fun’?”
“One, I don’t have children yet. Two, yes.”
Snow Storm smacked her hoof into her muzzle.She wouldn’t be surprised if there was a bruise from how many times that happened tonight.
* * * * *
“Do we really need to leave already?” Snow Storm pleaded, giving her best ‘puppy eyes’ to Rachel.
“It’s two in the morning, I’m drunk off my ass, and you’ve been complaining the entire night,” Rachel said. “Yes.”
“But you’re drunk! How are you supposed to drive home?”
“Jack’s driving me,” came the answer Snow Storm saw coming. “Oh, by the way, you may want to sleep on the couch tonight. Thin walls and all.”
“What? W- Oh,” Snow Storm deadpanned. She gave an unamused glare at her friend, who was too busy licking her lips lustfully and staring at the temporary driver of her car to notice.
The pony uneasily laughed at hearing the human's name. "Human names are so weird!"
"They mean stuff in the languages they came from before names became formalized, usually named after a person's occupation. Like someone named 'Schmidt' means 'Smith' and that person had ancestors who worked at a smith," the human explained.
"Oh, I guess they aren't so weird after all."
The human of undetermined gender scratched his and/or her head. "Why don't ponies have words that specifically mean names?"
The pony, whose gender was also left unspecified by the author because he's a lazy bastard, replied, "It makes our names special and they mean something and describes us."
"But that can be confusing. If I'm talking about, say, apples, I don't want people to think I have some creepy, fetishistic obsession with someone in the Apple family."
"Well, our naming systems have their upsides and downsides."
"Agreed," agreed the human. "It is best to not decide one is inherently superior. We are all people and we should all be friends, regardless of some small differences."
The USS Enterprise. A mobile city. It was of the largest class of aircraft carriers, tieing in with the Nimitz Class of the previous generation at a fifth of a mile. The very presence of such a vessel could end wars in an instant. It could destroy entire armies from afar. And now here it was, drifting dead in the Scotia Sea twelve nautical miles from the Equestrian Barrier.
Farmer had never seen anything quite like it. After the sell-off many special units were transported by private companies, usually airlines. And even now, they were taken across the sea by a local fishing company with a ship large enough to carry two helicopters.
The ship below was huge, much larger than any ship he had ever seen. Nothing the United States military had after the sell-off a decade ago was comparable in size. The Navy still had a number of combat ships, but they were mothballed, so he had never experienced them in person.
This fact was partly why this mission was of high importance. Washington was getting very bad vibes from the Equestrian crown, and the conflict in West Africa was doing nothing to alleviate that. Not only did they want an additional strategically valuable ship in case of an outbreak of war, the more important objective was to keep it out of pony hooves. Ponykind had already shown remarkable feats of ingenuity made possible by their literal magic. He didn’t want to imagine what they could do with an entire aircraft carrier to play around with.
As the Blackhawk ferried them closer to the tarmac, he looked down the runway towards the midsection, where another team of Recon Marines were fast-roping onto the bridge’s upper levels. Eventually it reached the vessel and he disembarked, his fireteam following in suit.
Once the others had made it off the helicopter, he ran at a strong jog towards a crew access stairway at the edge of the runway. He peeked over the side with his coilrifle scanning for threats just in case, but found none. He quickly descended the metal stairs and turned towards the large sealed hatch that led to the carrier’s interior.
“You got point, Farmer.”
He nodded and stepped towards the hatch, his teammates stacking in behind him. Wheezy leaned over and pulled it open, and Farmer burst through with his coilrifle set to automatic, ready to blast away any hostile resistance. He was met with silence and darkness. He scanned the steel corridor with his barrel-mounted flashlight. The rest of his fireteam followed through.
“Clear,” he reported.
Frie placed a hand on his back, signalling for him to continue. Farmer took a breath and took his first step into the belly of the vessel. Inside, the ship’s narrow passageways immediately closed in around him. It wasn’t the dark atmosphere or long and freaky shadows that got to him. He had a gun and several others behind him as backup, after all.
He was a country boy; he needed his wide-open spaces. Or, rather, he was as country as an Indiana farmer got, but he was getting claustrophobic nonetheless. Before nervousness overtook him, he took a deep breath and subtly adjusted his grip on his coilrifle. Suddenly, a small brownish discoloration on the ground caught his eye.
“Hold up,” Farmer muttered, holding up a fist. “Saw something.”
“What is it?”
Farmer picked a small, metallic object from the ground. “Belt buckle. Rusted to shit, though.” He dropped it in disgust, and aimed his flashlight down the corridor to reveal half a dozen others, along with a number of other small scraps of metal. “I think I know what happened to the crew.”
“Let’s go. Mess isn’t that far off. Explain once we get there.”
* * * * *
The door creaked open at Farmer’s pull, and the man stepped into the cavernous room and scanned for threats. Of course he wasn’t expecting any, but if up-top didn’t want to be cautious they would have immediately sent in salvage teams. He hadn’t spotted anything out of the ordinary in the room, except for, of course, the missing crewmen.
He reached a hand up to his helmet to activate his radio. “Bravo, this is Alpha Three. At first objective, over.”
“This is Bravo One. Copy that, Alpha Three. Almost at ours, out,” came the reply from the second team.
Farmer stepped up to a nearby table, which had a full set of metal serving trays and cups but without a scrap of food on them. Curiously, most were positioned as though they were being eaten from. However, he had more important things to worry about. The guys coming in later could figure everything out.
He reached into his pack and pulled out a small computer. He opened it up to reveal a larger touchpad and pressed the activation button. A list of icons appeared and he selected a map of the area with objectives and suggested paths marked. After a second, it updated with his and the second team’s positions, a series of light blue triangles appearing among the numerous lines representing the ship’s endless corridors.
“I heard Army’s got better stuff than our screens,” he heard Wheezy remark from behind him.
“They’re a glorified national guard after the Fed pretty much dissolved,” he replied. “Why the Hell would any money be spent on them?”
Wheezy put up his hands in a sarcastic manner. “Hey, just relaying the scuttlebutt. Rumor is, they have these goggles that display this augmented reality stuff.”
“Like that old Google Glass thing before shit hit the fan?”
“Better, and not voice activated.”
Farmer grunted in annoyance and turned back to the screen. “Who the Hell would use that in the Army?”
“We always get stuck with Army leftovers, Farmer. Don’t be so surprised.”
“I’m not surprised. That’s the problem.”
Wheezy leaned against one of the many tables, his coilrifle ready but not pointed at anything. “So about what you said might’ve happened to the crew.”
It felt strange vibrations in the floor. The vibrations were not natural. They scared it. It wasn’t scared by the ocean waves. They were smooth and lulling. It wasn’t scared of the Big Warm. It was a gentle humming that reminded it of its time as a larva in the hive, before they came to the Big Float. No, these were strange vibrations, scary vibrations.
They sounded like running. They sounded like a lot of Others running. Except it sounded different. Others sounded pat-pat pat-pat. These strange things, these Strangers, sounded pat pat. Except there were a lot of them. It couldn’t tell where they were, though. It would need to check. The Strangers could hurt the Hive.
Others had noticed too. Others woke up and hissed to each other in fear. The Strangers could hurt them. The Strangers could hurt the larva. It needed to defend the Hive. It went up to the door where he heard the Strangers. It was dark outside the Big Warm, but he had to go on for the Hive. Some of the big Others followed him. They were strong. They could defend the Hive.
It crept out the door and exited the Big Warm. It began its journey to the Strangers. The tunnels were long, dark and cold. They got colder the further away it was from the Big Warm. It traveled through the winding tunnels towards the pat pat the Strangers made. After traveling very far through the scary tunnels, cut off from the Others and the Hive, he finally saw the Strangers.
There were five Strangers. They were tall, its head would only reach the space between their front arms. The Strangers only stood on two legs and carried huge sticks with their front arms. They scared it. The Strangers’ sticks made magic light. The only other things that could make magic light were Ponies, and Ponies were bad. Maybe these Strangers were friends with Ponies?
That was it! They were friends with the Ponies! It had to stop them. The Strangers would hurt the Hive. They needed to defend the Hive and the Big Warm until the Queen came back. If the Strangers kept coming they would hurt the Hive. It had to protect the Hive.
It bared its teeth and charged at the Strangers. The Strangers yelled something out in their weird language and one of the closer ones jumped back in shock. It was only a few paces away. But before it could sink its teeth and stab its horn into the Strangers, the ones in the back pointed their magic sticks at it. There was a loud sound and it began to hurt all over.
It fell down and looked towards the Strangers. They were going away now, using their magic sticks to hurt the Others like they hurt it.
“Wait, hold up. Something’s wrong,” Farmer announced. “They’re doing... something.”
“Can you talk to ‘em?” Wheezy asked, stepping closer to Farmer to inspect their position on the screen.
Farmer pressed a button on the side of his helmet to bring up the other fireteam’s communication channel. “Bravo Team, this is Alpha Three. Give me a sitrep.”
“-s is Alpha Two,” answered a voice, panic evident in the tone. “Fucking bug things! Got Sarge in the leg real bad.”
“Bug things?” Farmer questioned.
“I don’t know! There were these fucking things, and they looked like bugs, and they came in and tried to fucking eat us!”
“Do you need help?”
“Not right now, no. They’ve backed-”
“Two?” he called as the radio died, trying to raise the other Marine. “Two? Fuck.” He studied the screen again. He touched the corner of the screen and several small boxes appeared on the screen, each one the video feeds from Bravo Team’s helmet and gun cameras. Unfortunately, he couldn’t view past footage and could only see a live feed, and past recordings could only be viewed once loaded onto a proper computer after they made it off the ship. So far, only blackness.
Frie stepped in behind him, his eyes on the screen as well. “What was that about?”
“Remember my theory about the ship coming out of the barrier?
He scratched his head. Where was he? There were trees all around him, but last thing he remembered was the concrete jungle he called home. He heard various animals yelping, calling, and singing, but last thing he remembered was the sight of humans and ponies running and screaming. He smelled the pleasant fragrance of flowers and decaying leaves, but the last thing he remembered was the smell of gunpowder and blood...
“What the Hell!?”
He was in a fight a minute before, fighting those ponies shoving that damn potion down everyone’s throat, and traitorous humans who had struck a deal with their pony masters. The sight of gurgling men in front of him, choking on the purple slop and changing anatomies came to the front of his mind, and he could again feel the recoil of his rifle as he ended their suffering.
His eyes watered and his throat choked, reducing his breath to a choking sob. Rob, his friend since middle school...
“Reminiscing about your past, I see?”
He whipped around to the sight of his greatest enemy, the Sun Princess herself. What a pretentious bitch, he had always thought. She didn’t even control the sun, or have any influence on it at all really, or anything else for that matter. Despite that, she titled herself as though she were a god who moved the stars on a whim.
“Nothing to say to me, Matthew?”
How did she know that? he thought, panicking. He scowled at her and cursed her know-it-all attitude. He reached for his sidearm and pulled it out, aiming right for the head. But when he pulled the trigger, a couple of bubbles gently floated out as though there was a gentle breeze and they were blown by a six year old, non-murderous girl who would not qualify as a textbook psychopath.
Celestia bowed her head, as though she were disappointed. “You should know better by now, young one.”
His other hand went for his knife but instead found a rather obscene rubber toy in its place.
“OK, I may be in control if this dream, but it’s still yours,” Celestia said, barely containing her disgust. “Perhaps you should be checked-”
“Fuck you!” he snarled as he launched himself at the figure in front of him only to pass through and land harshly on the ground.
“This is usele-”
He threw a log at her only to watch it bounce harmlessly off her image.
“Would you stop already!?” she bellowed, and Matt froze, soon dropping a fifty pound rock he had found. She cleared her throat and regained her composure. “Matthew, I am not here to conquer you. I am here only as a guide.”
“What do you mean?”
“Change is coming, young one, and for you it is quite literal.” She gently walked closer to the human, whose face was falling with the realization of his situation. “I did not want it to happen this way. I would have preferred you come to a bureau yourself, but it seems my overager subjects got a little jumpy.”
She was right, he decided. Change was coming, and he had failed to stop it. The only thing he had succeeded in doing was killing a bunch of humans and ponies alike. Some of them thugs, but others just doing what they thought was right. Now that he thought about it deeply, they had been doing the same to him. He had thought the right thing to do was to kill ponies instead of prepare human civilization for the unstopping barrier. He had done nothing, and if anything made things worse.
“All I’ve done...”
“I’m sorry, Matthew.”
“All the ponies I’ve killed.” There it was again. The choking sensation returned, and he became so dizzy he had to go to all fours to keep himself from vomiting. “All for nothing. Their deaths didn’t do anything.”
Celestia bowed her head knowingly. “At least you see it now.”
“Oh God, I just murdered a bunch of ponies, didn’t I?” he yelled at the sky, rolling onto his back as the lightheadedness overtook him. “Would be the same with them alive or dead. No more humanity.”
“But there is one way you can salvage this.”
He perked up. As his vision cleared, he saw Celestia slowly come closer and closer.
“They died trying to save you. Surely you don’t want them to die in vain...”
Matt shook his head. No, he didn’t want that. He had seen far too many good men and women throw away their lives needlessly. He had seen too many die for pointless objectives. He had seen too many die for those who did not even acknowledge their sacrifice. “No, I don’t want that.”
Celestia sadly smiled. “So you see-”
“But I also don’t want what they represent,” he interjected.
Celestia blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve seen your society. I’ve seen your perfection. I’ve seen your pervasive censorship and restrictions of your subjects in the name of peace, I’ve seen the control you have over everyone and the stagnant utopia they enjoy.”
“Surely you can agree it’s more comfortable than the conditions for the majority of your kind,” she offered.
“But I don't want comfort,” he quoted, “I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin.”
Celestia sighed. “Aldous Huxley, in his book Brave New World.” She glanced quizzically at Matt. “Surprised? Yes, I am quite the fan of human literature.”
“Then you know what I want.”
She sighed again. “It is true that ponification biologically limits your more aggressive and harmful attributes, Matthew. But I believe we can come to a compromise.”
“And that would be?”
“Seek what you want. They died to give you the chance,” she said, as her image slowly began to fade, along with the rest of the scenery. “Earn it.”
He awoke, but this time as glorious Nagant rifle of 7.62 millimeter caliber. An HLF soldier wearing a very masculine plaid shirt scooped him up and began firing at the pony enemies. Secure in two burly arms, one with a tattoo saying “Freedom” and the other saying “Liberty” he let loose an intimidating war cry.
“AHHH MOTHERLAND!“ he screamed. “Remove pony!”
“Matt?” his carrier asked, “Is that you?”
“No,” the rifle replied. “Call me Ivan.”
Celestia rubbed her snout with her forehoof in frustration. “This... is not what I had in mind.”
“Quite the spiteful bastard, isn’t he?” Luna commented.
