Throughout the wastelands of Equestria there are 'havens' from the horrors of war known as Stables. Each stable was meant to preserve pony life in theory. However, multiple of these stables were also meant for something more. Some stables were meant to open after different periods of time. Others experimented on their dwellers by introducing new elements and government into play while even more twisted into pursuits of science and morals befitting of the raiders that dwelt outside. Stable 103 was one of such stables, dedicated to the scientific pursuits of genetic origins.

The stable had been sealed with a variety of ponies of both Earth and Unicorn variety. All of them were different in almost every single way, however all of them had been part of the same project. These ponies had been scientists, some of the best of the best. When the megaspells that had devastated the lands fell; their lives became one of underground research. As they aged, their children took up the mantle, furthering their project. Over a hundred years passed, and their tree of research had progressed to the point that their genetic creations started to live through the procedures. However, each attempt failed to take on the results they have wanted.

Their desires were the genetic creation of a being with both horns and wings. Before the Stable had shut, some were convinced that the creation of these ponies was an abomination, claiming that it wasn't right. Others, like Twilight Sparkle, were convinced the right magical ingredients could create an Alicorn instead. These scientists however, looked to a stranger source for their research... Changelings.

Changelings were creatures with chitin covered flesh, wings similar to that of insects and a horn that could use magic similar to that of a Unicorn. These ponies, however, were far from the 'goodness' that dwelled within everypony . These creatures were the opposite. They fed off the emotions of others, draining them for both sustenance and power in order to live and cast magic. In perspective these creatures were master manipulators due to being able to sense the emotions around them and gauge a situation. They were masters of disguise, their existence having only being revealed in an attempted hostile takeover of Canterlot back when it was still standing.

Why mention Stable 103? Because after one hundred and eighty some odd years after its door had shut and I was made. A not so humble beginning, inside a tube about the size of the average barrel. An egg genetically made from the various fragments of Changeling and pony genetics alike. I was one of hundreds of experiments. My 'batch', as the scientists often referred to the groups, having been labeled #1993 -13.

Life inside the Stable was a controlled one. Every event was premeditated and prepared for us. Sometimes we would learn prewar history, mathematics or science, but never magic. We would first have to reach the age of maturity, where our magical talents would start to begin. Those who showed promise stayed. But as time moved on the less potent, or the changelings who had yet to show any magical talent, were led 'off to a better place.’ My first friend was one of such ponies. Experiment #1993-28. He had been a rather comical pony, always telling jokes of his own creation and slacking off in his studies. Though, when he was led away with a majority of the batch, we never saw them again. Little did we suspect why.

When asked, they simply said that they were receiving special training in order to unlock their magical talents. Shortly afterwards our magical training began, those who wore the obedience collar would be trained in the basics of magic. “A precaution” they told us. Those who didn't wish to participate were taken away to be with the others . Only one member out of the four of us refused . We never saw her again either.

Four months passed before the gentle nature of these scientist ponies would fade away rapidly . Their lessons grew from simple childs play with magic to brutal lessons of violence, often accompanied with a beating for all of us if even one of us messed up. If we tried to escape or retaliate, we learned that the 'Obedience' collars, which had been long since a part of our magical training, were death traps. Any attempt to resist or escape would set these collars off remotely. Our caretakers and friends became slavers and tyrants. Soon, we were expected to face off and fight each other to the death. Why? I had no idea. I am Experiment 1993-13, and this is my story of the Equestrian Wastelands.

Black.

The color of the dark room I had lived in for over ten years, my entire life. Nearby, not too far from my stone hard bed was a light switch. Sure the lights could be on, but that was only when the instructor came to check on everyling's personal status of cleanliness. With a mute groan my eyes flickered open to the barren room. It was almost time for the next segment of training, and my sleeping pattern had long since subconsciously changed to wake me up several minutes prior to the alarming horn tooting that would play on the intercoms every morning. I got up, fixing my bed's sparse blanket and brushing up to the scientist’s standards, brushing the long, almost flesh like hair I had been growing, barely being able to even have it as long as is did by a loophole in their regulations. As it was done up in a tight bun with my magic, I sighed.

Three... Two.... One.

The loud tooting of the morning horn crowed itself as proud as any bird in the storybooks. From my left I could hear the muffled thuds of the creations of batch 1994 as they were startled into consciousness, still not yet used to the loud horns as the younger ages were tended to be spared such horns until after the 'introduction' of their military training.

With a shudder, the Stable door slid up and open, revealing the line of instructors awaiting in the long grey maze of hallways. I kept an emotionless expression as my other two classmates marched up with me in front of our instructor, 'Grey Iron'. Grey Iron was a grizzled older scientist and combat veteran who had ventured the wastes in his earlier portions of life for new specimens to add to the research of the scientists. He had been rewarded as the wasteland tore off his back left leg and left him in need of a prosthetic replacement. Even with a fake leg he was a force to be reckoned with. It was general talk around the various 'groups' that left the clank of his false leg giving shivers down the younger members spine.

The objective of today’s training was to survive, which of course meant the destruction of whatever opposing forces had been set up today, using the weapons of whatever the caretakers had given us beforehand. This left us with various choices and combinations, sometimes becoming ridiculous in their choices (Once we had to fight down a disarmed Mister Handy with a couple of bricks for example), and other times becoming nothing short of overkill. A missile launcher battle saddle, for example, was used to fight a single irradiated rabbit, ironically called a Radbit. The overkill was quickly found necessary as it was discovered to be carnivorous, very hungry and aggressive in its pursuits of meat.

Now we were set, my classmates having chosen a submachine gun and assault rifle respectively. Usually during these battles, I would act as a medic, having been useless at close range combat due to my thin frame. While I still loomed over the other ponies by a good head or so on average, my classmates loomed over me and just about everypony else by a good twice that. In comparison to my classmates bulky frames I was a twig, in contrast, when it came to physical strength. So, instead I had picked up the sniper rifle from the selection of weapons. We would get ammo after we had arrived in the cleared arena deep within the Stable.

As always, there was a large thick screen dividing the arena from seeing opposing sides, This meant that we were either fighting something that could have a terrain advantage, such as a Mister Handy on a hill, or something more complex like a swarm of rad-roaches in a maze. With a curt order, our instructor told us that we had ten minutes to create whatever defensive positions we had wanted.

A Changeling had the ability to produce a mucus-like (as other ponies described it) substance from their mouths at the cost of our magical energy. My companions could, for example, form a cocoon around somepony, given enough time with the sticky substance and effectively trap the pony in a jellified, yet hard substance. Or with all their magic, form a small defensive position with alternative covers and places to switch to, in case they had to hold a particular spot. I however, with my small frame of body wasn’t nearly as fast regenerating stores of 'construction goop ' as my companions.

With a sniper rifle, I had positioned myself on the left-most edge of the arena I could reach, spitting up a small shielding cover a few feet from the corner , quickly draining my store of it and feeling as though I had just carried my fellow classmates across a tight rope with my bare hooves. Sitting down for rest I watched as 12, the fellow Changeling who had picked up the submachine gun, constructed a small guard station in the exact center of the map. The other, 17, fortified an upraised position with a thin cover directly behind him.

The bell started a bit sooner than I hoped for; leaning over the cover I telekinetically threw some dirt over the dark green substance to disguise it more as part of the wall and went down into my cover as the curtain went up. I was shocked at what I saw.

On the other side of the rising wall, were three Changelings having built their own, albeit clumsy, defenses. Just like us, they had taken their choice of weapons and fortifications. Two of them chose to go as close to the wall as possible, armed with two shotguns. Their third member rested a mini-gun on the encampment he had raised. My aim faltered, shocked at what I was seeing. I was told this fight was going to be one that changed our lives forever and determined our specializations, though I didn't think it would be against a fellow Changeling. My classmates and the enemy team exchanged fire with each other. Both shotgun wielding changelings charged towards 17, intending to end it quickly, before he could let off a shot. However, he was ready for the tactic. Without pause, he blew holes all throughout one of their bodies before ducking into cover, as the other shotgun wielding Changeling fired off a scatter round where he had been not moments before. 12 focused his fire on the second one but was forced to slide back down his cover as the mini-gun wielding changeling clicked on his Battle-Saddle and began to bombard him.

I watched in shock as 12 didn't get up after sliding down, the slightest greenish red of his blood brightening the darker green of his construction gel. The shock of it drew me back to reality as the shotgun wielding changeling prepared himself to hop over the barricade that was preventing him from shooting my only remaining teammate . I aimed and fired without a second thought. I didn't want to lose my last remaining teammate here.

The shot took the unlucky Changeling in the knee. With a yowl the poor fellow collapsed, clutching at the knee the armor-piercing round had torn an unnatural hole through. With a faint nod of thanks, 17 drew himself up to aim at the remaining danger, the mini-gun changeling who was trying to turn his aim to me, after seeing me fire and disable his remaining team mate. Before he could fire, the thick sound of 17's submachine gun went off again, emptying the remainder of his clip into the mini-gun wielding Changeling.

His body made a metallic thud as it fell off of the higher ground. My gun rang out again, finishing off the Changeling I had disabled.

The shock hadn't quite settled in when I approached my classmate who had begun examining 12 for signs of life. Failing to find any, he gave out a gruff sigh of exasperation, not caring one bit for our classmate beyond the extra gun he was capable of shooting. As I scanned out the dead bodies of the enemy I waited for the signal that the fight was finished.

It didn't come. After a while the large male changeling gave out a sarcastic "What are they waiting for?"

The intercom pinged, "Not all of your opponents are dead 17. Nor are yours 13."

"W-what do you mean?" I asked. It was quite obvious that the only two standing were us. The enemies we fought had ended up in pools of their own blood. Unless...

"Subject 13, your remaining target is subject 17. Likewise 17 to 13." the voice answered in sickly sweet tone.

No… They couldn't… They wouldn't! As my former classmate turned slowly towards me, his face held an apology; it was heart breaking. My only remaining friend was now my enemy. One of us must now kill the other. My thoughts were interrupted as he pulled up the submachine gun. I flinched when he pulled the trigger. The air filled with a clicking sound as the empty gun tried to fire rounds that weren't there . His eyes widened while I looked dumbstruck. With a hurried motion he tried to retreat from me, towards 12's fallen rifle.

Luna penetrate me with her holy horn. He had tried to shoot me. My senses returned as he picked up the rifle. I dove around his previous cover, grabbing the shotguns in my magical grip as he fired. There was a trio of bangs as the shots went wild where I had been less than a second ago, emptying the weapons. Apparently neither of my classmates had learned ammo reservation. As I pointed the first shotgun, the one that hadn't been fired, at him, he shut his eyes. I fired. I fired again to make sure he was dead. Then, I fired the other shotgun’s remaining round, as a bit of treatment for trying to finish me off without so much an apology. Next was the sniper rounds to his head, as the Celestia damned stallion twitched! All the while I was sobbing; my closest teammate had just tried to kill me! With shame, I realized that had he had taken the time to reload instead of forgetting about it, that I would have ended up dead at his feet .

The intercom mused harshly. Not at the amount of damage I had done to my former classmate, but rather, at the waste of ammo that would have been fatal in the wasteland . The Intercom announced that my coronation into the tougher fights would begin tomorrow, as well as the promise for more fights against my fellow Changelings. At that moment I knew I had to do something…

I had to escape…

Footnote: Level up: New Perk: Military Educated: You gain an additional 2 skill points per level earned, Your unique knowledge of Equestria's war has left you with a basic understanding of war and history. Does not stack with other perks that effect Skill points gained such as the Educated perk.

Quest perk: Changeling magic I: Your knowledge of your own body has given you the ability to change directly into the appearance and voice of another pony, however this spell is extremely draining and any pony who knows the pony you're disguised as will easily be able to see through it from conversation. Items can't be disguised.

Quest perk: Changeling energy: Your magic is not that of a pony, but rather a Changeling. As a result you need emotions to regenerate your magic supply, but are capable of holding so more than average unicorn as well as seeing the emotional climate of those around you. These reserves increase by an additional 25 per level in addition to your intelligence's bonus per level.

Thanks to Spitzthegod and Dusty_Detonater for editting this chapter!