"....Oh, fuck me..."

He woke up with a pulsing pain in his head. The air was rank with the smell of rotting flesh, drying blood, and smoke. He found it hard to move.

Carefully, he opened his eyes, only to shut them again, thanks to a blinding light coming from above... Blinking profusely, he managed to adapt to the uncomfortable light conditions. As he did, he finally had a chance to look around, well, as far as it was possible - he seemed to be tied down. As he glanced downwards, he figured out why.

- Oh bloody Hell! - he swore, noticing the equine body stretched out unnaturally on the metallic board, held in place via tight, but not uncomfortable leather belts - well, not uncomfortable for his taste.

That was mainly due to the fact that he had other excruciating things to handle:

First of, he was now a pony. He really, sincerely hoped he'll not become one despite coming to Equestria, and now, all his hopes had vanished, flushed drown the drain. "Hope dies last", they say, but now, he felt like he could very easily deny that, for he recognized his surroundings:

A leaning metal table he was bound to.

A piercing lamp above.

A dark room with the smell of makeshift graveyard, cheap crematorium, or some work/death camp from World War 2.

Mutilated and decomposing carrions in the dark.

The lack of any sound.

And him, being a pony in the middle of all this mess, in a helpless position.

"Oh, ruddy marvelous. I'm going to be made into bakery product!" he thought to himself, rather unsurprised and unexcited. Forget being scared or anything, he had heard, read, and seen the fanfict before, he knew what was to come, and couldn't care less about it. The situation was very cliché, ludicrous, and after hearing it so many times, it literally held no surprise to him. He had lived a long life on the Mainland, with colleges you'd wish to see rotting in Hell, bar a few, in an unforgiving, tough and cruel world. His life had been made a living Hell countless times before, both physically and mentally - he didn't gave a toss about morals anymore. He had his standards, and the story he was probably about to relive was LIGHT YEARS beneath the terms "frightening", "exciting", "interesting", or even "annoying" according to them. It was just. Plain. Dull.

So he'd be tortured to death by some unreasonably psychotic pink mare, who, for some loosely logic reason, thinks that eating him would do both of them good, despite her being a herbivore and him...

Well, not agreeing with the whole concept behind all of it.

After some time alone, testing his bounds, and doing nothing, he began to feel bored. She sure didn't hurry, that's for sure.

At last, he heard a heavy door opening and closing in the darkness, along with giggling. After a bit of wait, a ping and fuchsia shape emerged from the darkness.

"About bloody time!" he snapped at her "The Hell took you so long?! Or was this part of the torture? If it was, you failed miserably, you little twerp!"

This seemed to have surprised her. Not that he was angry, but rather the fact that he had been expecting her... And torture.

She looked up at him from under her curly mane, pupils unnaturally shrunk in her blue irises, as she grinned at him with manic euphoria.

"Ah, I see..." he grumbled "So you needed your daily "snort" to get on the go. Hmph, should of expected it. After all, no-one could be THAT chirpy and live, surely!"

Again, this seem to have stunned her, as she stopped smiling, and looked at him with confusion. It didn't last long, but it left an impression of stupidity in him.

Nothing too surprising from her, of course.

"The fuck are you staring at?!" he snapped, impatiently "Don't you have some butchering to do?!"

This snapped her out from her gaze, and her psychotic smile came back.

"Hehehee... You seem very eager..." she chortled. He only snorted at that remark.

"Of course I bloody am! If you're going to torture me to death then vivisect me to make a some cheap, shitty desert from my flesh and viscera, then make it snappy! I don't have all bloody day, you know!"

"WHAT?!" she yelled at him, surprising him for a slight moment "You DARE to call MY cupcakes cheap and... And..."

"UTTER FUCKING RANCID BULLSHIT!" he throated her down "Not even the bloody hobos would eat it! WORSE than our former controller's yuletide cakes! And THAT'S actually saying something!" he spat.

She seemed to be furious for a moment...

But then it all disappeared.

He sighed, hoping that the story would take a new, yet unexplored, and thus, unrecorded turn, but her returning maniacal smile assured no difference.

"Well, that could be solved!" she smirked "I'll turn you into something else! How would you like some muffins instea--?"

"You. DON'T. Put. MEAT. In. DESSERTS. You stupid twit! Can't you understand that?!" he growled "No wonder they taste like shit!"

"But of course..." she said, in a rather admitting manner, which piqued his curiosity. Not for long, though...

"That's why I made everypony a part of me!" she smiled at him "They were all bad in a way, but when I ate them, they all became a part of me, which means they got better!" and she giggled.

Rather than bored, he felt annoyed, for the first time being there.

"What, you're mimicking Jigsaw now? How cheap can you get?!" he shook his head, realizing that the question might as well be a rhetoric one, given the conditions "Never mind! Just get on with it!"

Again, she looked at him puzzled, which started to irritate him.

"Wait... You know what I'm going to do?" she asked. He rolled his eyes, then shook some of his newfound mane out of his eyes, which turned out to be clean white.

"Of course I bloody do!" he growled "Nearly all of Equestria does!"

"WHAT?!" she shrieked, and for the first time, he saw fear in her eyes. This made him feel delightful. The cotton-candy maned equine was already a tiresome sort to begin with, but adding mental derangement to her personality just made her a great pain in the arse.

He smirked deviously at her.

"Oh yes. Don't think that ponies wouldn't know of such carnal place." he murmured "With all the happiness and sunshine and stomach-churning, peace-loving, chaffy good will this pastel-colored gigworld is composed of, do you REALLY think that they won't catch on on something thing so sinister, unnerving and evil as your "unorthodox" baking methods? Why, I bet that even those naive putzes you call your landlords know about it, but they're simply too wussy to dare and call the pigs, or whatever law enforcement troops you ridiculous equines have!"

The scared look faded from her face.

"So what if they know?" she asked, innocently "They do nothing about it! They never will! And if they do..." she paused for a moment, then lifted a blood-stained meat-chopper "I'll just make some cupcakes for them." and she smirked, triumphantly.

He merely frowned at her, sniffing.

"Oh, don't make me puke!" he hissed "You don't stand a ruddy chance! Don't EVEN think they'll TRY to confront you personally! The princesses will probably teleport you to the castle's dungeon, where you'd be tortured until you commit everything. THEN they'll probably send you to the sun, or I don't know... And even if they DO try this in the traditional, raid-the-dragon's-den way, you won't be able to do ANYTHING! You're just a normal pony, and I SERIOUSLY doubt that you'll be able to dodge even ONE attack from even the most weakest of troops they'll send at you!"

"AND just WHY, pray tell, is that?" she asked on an offended tone. He sighed, his black eyes filled with tiredness, irritation, and something, that, from a distance, could slightly resemble something that could be vaguely passed on as pity...

"Well, no offense, sis, but you're quite well off in the meat department..."

She looked at him blankly.

"What?"

"- Oh, for God's sake, you're FAT! F. A. Freaking T! CHUBBY! LARDY! ROUND! A FATSO!" he sighed tiredly, than added with a grumble "Not so surprising, considering that you chomp on meat and sweets all the time."

He glanced towards the ceiling, as if asking at the gods.

"HOW exactly did you avoided getting diabetes or scurvy, I'll never know..."

He shot a glower at her, once again.

"Especially since you're about to ad me to the lard on your ass. NOW GET ON WITH IT, TUBBO, END MY MISERY AND THEN GO ON A DIET or something..." his voice trailed off, and was reduced into morose grumbling...

She blinked, shook her head, and simply dropped the chopper on the desk near by, picking up a well-known knife instead. She grinned at him reassuringly, but he merely rolled his eyes and sighed, looking away in a bored matter. She frowned, and went back to him.

"You know what comes next?" she smirked, which he found nauseating, simply because of obviousness behind it.

"Of course I do! You're going to play the role of the Skin-Taker from that other fucked up creepypasta, and your going to cut off my bronny brand, or whatever it is! GET THE HELL ON WITH IT, YOU WASTE OF GLUE MATERIAL!"

Again, she was baffled by his knowledge of the process, and his scurrility. But she shrugged her shoulders, and, grinning euphorically once again, raised the knife, aiming... Only to have it fall out of her grip (he wasn't sure, nor did he care, HOW she held it so far, 'cause, SCREW logic, this is a gruesome creepypasta, not a scientific dissertation!).

Finally looking at her to see why she paused, he noticed the shocked expression on her face. Following her gaze, he looked down, only to see his own haunches, the jet black fur lacking any sort of "bronny brand", shining clean against the scraped surface of the adjustable metal berth.

"Heh." he chortled, and looked back up at her smugly, even more conceited when he noticed her hoof put up against her mouth, her eyes showing deep shock and dismay, as she saw the blank flanks. She also looked back up at his face, and was taken aback by his complacent and guileful look.

"How... What... WHO ARE YOU?!" she yelled with frustration, reversing slightly from the table, looking at him with a shocked and appalled look, visibly offended by the whole situation, as she frowned at the bound pony pathetically - well, in his point of view, anyway.

"Hmph! You should know by now, you stupid cunt!" he sneered "We, unfortunately, have to meet each other every Sunday, thanks to your Princesses' abhorrent decision to make you incompetent ponies work for the railway until it gathers enough workforce to work on it's own!"

"...What?" she asked, looking confused. He only sighed.

"Oh, good grief! You know! At the marshalling yard, on Sunday, EVERY Sunday, since about six months by now!" he grumbled "Of course, I didn't always look so feeble and trite like this! I used to be a shunter, a shunting diesel engine, that is! But it seems that the powers that be decided that I should be more social, or some other psychological bullcrap."

He took a moment to grumble something under his breath.

"And now I'm here, soon to be pastrified, by some pink psychotic slut. "O, the humanity!", I should say, if it wouldn't be another one of those money-grabbing bastards' quadruple-copyrighted catch phrase!"

"...You've lost me there..." she admitted after a long silence. The stallion just rolled his eyes, once again.

"Oh... I guess this is Pinkamena I'm talking to, the shut-in, selfish little bitch who can't take "NO" for an answer, and can't live a day without some boring, generic party thrown for shitz and giggles!"

"WHAT DID YOU SAY?!" she roared, and climbed into his face, glaring deeply into his eyes, breathing deeply trough her teeth, her mouth twisted into a snarl.

There they were, looking at each other, eye-to-eye, the bound black stallion and the insane pink mare.

He just glowered back at her, the same expression he would make if she'd be gurning at him. Although he remained uninterested and unaffected during the course of events, by now, he had grown tired with the morally and socially retarded mare. He blew some air through his nostrils quietly, not breaking the stare.

"I said." he replied in a cold and calm voice, almost insentient, if we wouldn't count the noticeable irritation "That you're nothing more, than an irrational, pastel-pink, selfish, endorphin-addicted whore who has no common sense, morality, and does NOT understands the term "private space", as exhibited right NOW!"

Upon that, her eyes widened, as she backed away slightly, but not too much, her frown remaining.

"You complain that your friends don't come to your parties, when you act as eccentric and PLAIN WEIRD as possible, as, once again, exhibited right now!" he went on, taking notice of the first tears forming in her eyes, and fighting off the urge to smirk at his own success at making a psychopath cry.

"You throw parties AT ANY GIVEN TIME, even if NOBODY wants to party! You won't take "NO" as an answer, and FORCE everyone to do as you wish. If they don't, you nag them until they do!"

He rolled his eyes.

"I mean, REALLY! I wouldn't be surprised at all if you'd be remembered as "the weird and unfunny friend NO-ONE likes but allow to be around out of pity"! Actually, forget pity, they've probably grown tired of your constant jabbering!"

By now, her frown was shaky, and tears began to flow down her cheeks. He went on, relentlessly:

"And there's another thing! This BLOODY, EXCRUCIATINGLY CLICHÉ "always-the-unlikely-one" mental patient role! No wonder you're the "Element of Laughter"! You're a just a soddy joke!" he growled, then continued in a mocking manner:

"OH EM GEE! Look out, everypony, here comes Pinkamena chaffy Diane Pie, to cut you up and bake you into a CUPCAKE, of all things, and ad you to the roll of fat on her hide! CAN'T YOU FEEL THE HORRENDOUS STUPIDITY BEHIND ALL OF THIS?! HONESTLY, WHAT SORT OF SICK, MENTALLY CHALLENGED IDIOT THOUGHT OF SUCH UTTER NONSENSE?! Oh wait, SHE'S STARING RIGHT AT ME, LIKE SOME POT-SMOKING HIPPY, COMPLETELY OF HER TITS! No surprise, though, considering how nauseatingly cheery you are all the ruddy time! You must be one on, at least, TEN SODDY DRUGS in the same time each day! Talk about "substance abuse"! YOU PRACTICALLY ENGAGE IN GANG RAPE WITH SUBSTANCES!"

She sat on the dirty, blood-stained ground, hair completely deflated, eyes widely open and sparkling with tears, as she looked up at the ranting pony she wanted to cook - now it felt like she was stuck in a never-ending nightmare. Although, he seemed to be just wrapping it up.

"You know what, Pink?" he grunted on a lighter, but still annoyed tone "You're a joke. A horrible, failed joke with NO HOPE of salvaging! You're tasteless, useless, GOD FORBID, even more WORTHless than I am!" he hissed, and the next second, promptly spat right into her widely open eyes.

"AH! MY EYES!" she screamed, and fall back, kicking around on the floor in pain, trying to rub the sour-smelling goop out with her forehooves.

He tilted his head to the side, momentarily surprised that that worked so well - he wasn't used to success, after all. There was a tingle in his hind legs, and as he looked down, he saw that something changed: his haunches were no longer blank, but were now adorned on either side with a white BR "arrows of indecision" symbol. He could help, but smile with honest, true happiness for a moment, even if a faint one. He had never earned the symbol during his working life, but it seems that this stand-out and bastardism towards inevitable fate has proven him to be TRULY an Other Railway... Pony. He frowned at that last bit, but then again, he'd been trough worse, and more importantly, he had other things to take care of...

After examining his bounds, he found that the ones on his hind legs were looser than expected. Looking at the ones that held his forelegs in place, he craned his neck towards the left one, and began to chew on the leather. It was though, and his teeth wasn't exactly that of a carnivore's or omnivore's, but he continued, nevertheless, and his efforts were crowned with success, as the belt finally snapped. His jaw and neck felt sore, so he decided to take a breather, and check on his captor.
Pinkie Pie was still writhing on the floor in pain, desperately trying to wipe the stinging liquid out from her eyes, unaware of his actions.

He rolled his tongue around his mouth, examining the taste of his own saliva.

"Yup, oil sludge." he exclaimed half loudly, and looked at the mare with pity. But he soon shook the feeling off, and went on with his exodus process, freeing his other forehoof. As he finished that, he wondered what to do next. His fetters were loose enough, but without the belts holding him up, he felt gravity drag his legs into them. Stepping out of them would probably break a bone or two, and it would alert her as well. So he began to inspect his surroundings, and moreover, his body, to see if he could find any other options. He soon figured out that the table was adjustable, and that the "top" edge of it was fairly close to his head - closer than expected, anyway. With a bit of fidgeting, he managed to set the table into a horizontal position, but that came with a loud CLANG! He froze, and slowly glanced at the mare - she was busy crawling towards what he suspected to be a sink or tub full of water.

Nodding to that, he held onto the edge of the table, and pulled himself out of his bounds and sat up.

He sat there for some time, enjoying the feeling of freedom, before shaking his head again, and stepping down onto the lukewarm floor. Quadruped movement came naturally, which disgusted him, yet he found it rather relieving, too. He even swished his ivory tail around, out of curiosity. Noticing that his captor's shape was still visible in the dark, he began to leisurely trot toward her.

As he reached her body on the ground, he found that she wasn't to far from her destination: a small tub of clean water was just in hoofs reach, but she seemed to have collapsed out of mental and physical exhaustion, now whimpering on the floor in a fetal position.

He sighed quietly, rolled his eyes (yes, again), and, after getting up onto his hind legs, he hug-grabbed the tub, and systematically poured the hot water all over her head. She coughed and screamed, especially when he dropped the metal bawl on her head.

"There." he snorted, and moved on, towards the darkness, hoping to find the door straight ahead.

He felt wind rush by his right ear, and heard a metallic clang ahead. Glancing back lazily, he noticed that she was on her hind legs now, holding a cutting tool in each hoof - how, he, once again, didn't know, or even care. He simply raised an eyebrow, then walked into the darkness,

No sooner than he did that, he felt air rush by his body again, as knifes, axes and daggers flew past him, often barely missing his head or sides - a hacksaw even skidded between his legs.

He soon found what he searched for however, and, grabbing hold of the handle, he looked back above his shoulder. Obviously, he was invisible to her by now, white mane and tail or not, but he couldn't help but smirk. He turned his head back, then heard hooves galloping across the ground of the basement. He let out a chuckle, which made the galloping sound more directed, then suddenly opened the door in front of himself, closing his eyes.

"AH!"

He heard a crash from behind himself, and, turning around, he saw that his former captor, obviously blinded by the sudden light, had ran into one of her rolling operating tables, and bounced back onto the floor, while some of the objects on the table - nails, a hammer, and jumper cables - fell on top of her, some of the nails scraping her skin under the pink fur, and the hammer leaving a bruise on her hips. The jumpers, fortunately, had fallen clear of her.

That didn't save her from the pain of the crash, the landing, and the fallen hammer, though. Once again, she was whimpering pathetically on the floor, a bloody bruise on her forehead, which she feebly tried to nurse with her forehooves.
He stared at her for some time, then just groaned, and rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time.

"Man up, bitch!" he called out to her, then went through the door, founding himself on the very bottom of a stairway, leading into blinding light. He turned around and quickly closed the door, also locking it. Quite soon, he heard hooves pound on it, as she screamed:

"LET ME OUT!"

"SHUT UP, OR I'LL GET BACK IN THERE, AND RIP YOUR ORIFICES OUT THROUGH YOUR BLABBERING MOUTH!!!" he roared back. Soon enough, the screams were silenced. With a nod of approval, he turned around, and began walking up te stairs, wondering what to do next: call the police, or get the strongest drink available, THEN call the cops...

...And suddenly, he woke up.

"Huh-wha'?" he muttered, blinking hard. Soon enough, he regained his sight, and looked around.

His colleagues, their drivers, AND his driver was looking at him. He glanced at the Class 17 next to him.

"I was talking in my sleep again, wasn't I?" the shunter asked.

"Yep." Derek replied.

"Oh, goody!" Diesel muttered sarcastically "Sorry about the commotion, lads!" he apologized to the others, then looked at the mares "But what the heck are YOU doing here at..."

He took his first look at the clock that day.

"SIX in the morning? We won't start until eight!"

"We decided to come over a bit more early." Twilight explained "We heard shouting, and ran over here. You woke up as soon as I touched your buffers." she added discreetly.

"Oh. Right, right." he muttered, then, realizing what she did and was still doing, he snapped at her "OI! Hooves off!"

She complied.

"Now tell me, just what the hay were ya screamin' 'bout?" Applejack asked.

"Musta been some scary dream!" a familiar voice said "Or a weird one, by the sounds of it!"

Upon hearing this, the Class 08's eyes darted around, until they settled on the pink mare next to Steamie's buffers. He eyed her for a long time, the gaze and the silence became uncomfortable.

"Uh... What?" she asked.

Diesel sniffed.

"Just you know..." he began "Even as a homicidal, psychopathic serial killer, you're still VERY dim and dull, not to mention pitiful."

"...OK?" Pinkie was used to the engine's gloomy behavior, but he was rarely this straightforward with insults.

Finally, Diesel broke his gaze, and looked around at the others.

"Anyways, where's that mock-loyal blue sack of Skittles? I'll have a word with her..."

"You mean Rainbow Dash?" Twilight asked.

"Yes, Sparkle, I mean Rainbow Dash." Diesel muttered didactically, before changing to ominous:

"Where's she? I wanna give her a piece of my mind..."

"Why is that?" Rarity asked. The other engines looked at him curiously as well.

Diesel sighed.

"Well, among other things, I'd like to tell her that she's a great big wussy!"

"Nice going, Lulu..."

"Yeah, REAL smooth..."

"Oh, quiet, you two!" the Princess of the Night retorted "So I messed THIS up! What of it?"

"It was a weedy plan to begin with." Alexei snapped back "Reenacting a stupid, graphic rumor to subdue HIS very nature. REALLY smart!"

"I thought that meeting with such a corrupted form of such an unlikely perpetrator would get him reconsider a few things!"

"Oh, you little Sigmund!" her sister scoffed "Haven't you forgotten something? Like the fact that he had already heard, AND had a gutful of these sordid tales?!"

"SO I haven't taken account of a few things! Big deal!" Luna yelled "It would of worked, if it wasn't for that... That...!"

"That bloody diesel..." the Flat Controller finished her, glancing at her sister "Honestly, Tia, can you believe her?!"

"OK, that's enough, Alex!" Celestia replied sternly. The foreign god just rolled his eyes.

"Oh, smag of!" he growled "Can't you see the OTHER extremity of this?! The OTHER way it could have ended?!"

"What?!" the two alicorns were puzzled.

The stickly figure just sighed.

"I think both of you are familiar with the "Rocket to Insanity" story..."

The two sisters shuddered and nodded in agreement. Then, their movements became lagged, as their eyes widened in realization.

"Oh... My... Goodness... You don't think...?" Celestia uttered, looking very pale.

Luna didn't said anything, she just stared in front of herself blankly.

"It could've happened..." Alexei replied solemnly "Hadn't Diesel been such a stubborn bugger, I think he would've ran over her in a fit of psychotic rage..."

The Princesses were horrified.

After a long silence, the Controller spoke up again.

"But, now that I think of it, if Pinkie wouldn't take back with her jabbering soon, he will run over her anyway..."

The Chairmare and the Director exchanged glances.

"Well, no manure..." they admitted.