>>Pause Playback

“Junior, show me what happened in the orchard before this.”

Her little mechanical servant gave a disgruntled chirp.

“Whaddaya mean ‘corrupted’?”

The metal insectoid gesticulated wildly with multiple appendages, animated sounds crackling out of it.

“C’mon, Junior! Just fix it!” Her hoof cracked against the desk’s hard surface. Her assistant visibly recoiled from the angered mare, hiding behind several of its limbs.

The mare reined in her anger, a look of concern pushing through her scowl. “I’m sorry Junior,” she cooed. “I just wanna know what happened here, to Dad. Can we find Dad?”

With a salute Junior disappeared back into the desk’s jagged hole.

>>New Cue Chosen

The frozen image of the security officer was replaced by a shadowed trio cautiously trotting down some indistinct hallway.

“That’s why you’re my number one assistant.” She rested her prosthetic hoof beside the monitor, leaning in. Her gaze wandered from the screen to her PipBuck. “Hey, Junior! Can you make this portable? I feel the need to go exploring.”

>>Resume Playback

Cider trotted down the eerie hallway, the emergency lighting casting an ominous red hue over the walls. Chief sounded more nervous than a long-tailed cat in a rockin’ chair factory. That ain’t like him at all. She held Betsy’s yoke in her mouth, sweeping her attention from side to side.

Lancet and Sprout flanked the worried mare, walking slightly behind. A strained silence hung in the air between the trio. Chief’s cryptic message had them all spooked.

Sprout broke the silence. “Should we really have left Tiny and Red back there?”

“Chief tol’ me to bring Stitches down to him, and they wanted to stay put. Ya coulda stayed, ya didn’t have to come.”

He inhaled audibly to make a rebuttal, but settled instead for a frustrated huff. “Do you think whatever the Chief wants has something to do with us being on emergency lighting? It’s giving me the creeps.”

“Dunno ‘til we get there.”

The trio hoofed the remaining distance to the lifts through the hushed halls of 48. The lift ferried them down into the depths of the Stable, the oppressive quietude weighing them down. Sprout shuffled nervously from hoof to hoof. The worry radiating off Cider was palpable.

Dr. Lancet screwed on a mirthless grin as the lift slowed. “Good news, the lifts still work.” The doors slid back silently in response to his words. The darkened halls of engineering managed to be more oppressive than the upper levels.

Cider activated her broadcaster. “Chief, we’re in engineering, where are ya?”

“A storage room, G43,” came the reply.

“Headin’ yer way, Chief.” Cider brought up a map of the level and planned a path to the storeroom.

They trotted down the deserted hallways, only the clapping of a dozen hooves and the jingling of medical implements in Lancet’s saddlebags reaching their ears. They passed another intersection when Cider and Sprout whirled around, staring down a long hall labeled “Reactor.”

“What’s got you two so jumpy?” Lancet asked, peering down the hall.

“Thought I saw sumthin’. Musta been a trick of the light.” She turned and trotted down her original course.

“Wait! Somepony was down there!” Sprout called, “Hold up! Aren’t we going to see who it was? It could be somepony who could open the orchard, or somepony lost.”

“Nope. Chief wants us to come straight to him. I ain’t gonna go galivantin’ around in the dark when there’s work to be done.” She took another step to leave.

“But.. What if they need help or something? What if its a lost foal?”

“I done tol’ ya, we ain’t gettin’ sidetracked. Ifn’ ya wanna check it out, fine, I didn’ ask ya ta come, I ain’t gonna make ya stay. But Me and Stitches is gonna go straight to the Chief.”

Sprout stood in indecision for a moment, then turned away. “Alright, I’ll catch up” He took off down the corridor. Cider huffed and cantered down the main hallway, Lancet trailing behind.

Chief sat in the storeroom, a lit blowtorch beside him and a large tin of lacquer thinner between him and the smoldering corpse. Five tightly focused utility lights stood upright in silent vigil around the remains. Their harsh beams framed it in a pentagram of light.

“Dammit, Zip! What the fuck happened to you?” He stared at the charred mass. He wanted to look away, to leave and bolt the door. He wanted to douse the thing with lacquer thinner and finish the burning. He needed her to be gone, to not be that twisted monster he had killed. But those were options he could only entertain in his mind. Duty dictated that he stay, that he investigate. Whatever happened to Zip Tie could be an isolated incident, or something more...

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of hooves approaching. He shifted, bringing the door into his direct view, the remains in his peripheral vision. Cider led Lancet into the room.

“Glad you could make it Doc, Cider.” He rose to his hooves.

“Yeah, what is it you... WHAT the WELL is THAT?” Lancet had noticed the deformed corpse in the halo of light.

“It was Zip Tie. As for what it is now... you tell me.”

Sprout slipped silently down the dim hallway. Ahead of him a trace of shadow teased his vision. Somepony was down here, and they looked small. The thought of some little pony stuck down here, in the dark, alone, locked apart from their parents stung him. Small, alone, frightened. He worried over the possibly imaginary foal he was chasing.

Engineering was a labyrinth, countless twists and turns coiled deep into the mechanical heart of the Stable. Deeper and deeper into the bowels he ventured. Tiny beads of sweat threatened to spill from his brow. He shook his head to clear it, sending stray droplets away from him in a gentle mist. I’m working myself up for nothing! Don’t let Kudzu’s rantings get you spooked! A thought dawned on him with a wave of comprehension. I’m stupid. Why am I sneaking around?

“It’s okay little one! Uncle Sprout just wants to find you so he can take you to your parents!” He yelled, his voice reverberating through the deserted halls. “Olly Olly Oxen Free!”

He jumped at the sound of a loud crash behind him. He wheeled quickly, a pipe lay across the floor behind him. He let out a relieved huff. “Little one, it’s alright, come out! Playtime is over! Come on now. I’m going to count to three!”

“One!” His voice cracked down the hall forcefully, rebounding down the corridor and back again.

“Two!” The echo in the hallway gave his voice an unnatural reverb. Only darkness and the slow death of the echo answered him.

“THREE!” A compact form impacted his neck. In a panic he reared and tossed the assailant away. The green mass somersaulted down the hall several feet.

He took a few frantic breathes, trying to calm himself. Appendages pushed themselves from the green ball of fur. The little colt lifted his head, “Ow! Why’dja do that for Mister?”

Sprout let escape a frustrated groan, then his tone softened. “I’m sorry, but you scared me. There is a state of emergency! You should be home!”

The little green colt tilted his head, “But you’re not home, why aren’tja home Mister?”

“That’s because I’m on an important mission for the Chief of Security.” He puffed out his chest and stood up straight. The little colts eyes widened with wonder.

“Wow, Mister. That sounds super duper exciting! Can I come on the mission too? I’ma super good hider and sneaker! And I’m the bestest bully buster in my class” The colt reared up and threw some adorably vicious blows at an imaginary bully.

Sprout crossed over to the little colt, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck and swinging him onto his back. The tiny colt straddled the small stallion. Sprout locked eyes with the young fighter over his shoulder, “Now hold on now, Killer. We’re going to take you to your parents, that’s the responsible thing to do.”

“My name’s not Killer, it’s Gizmo.”

“Well, I’m Sprout. Nice to meet you. Now, where are your parents.”

“Momma’s with Celestia. Daddy’s working, he fixes the generator!”

That put Gizmo’s dad further in engineering. Sprout started trotting down the hall toward the generator room. “So, your Momma’s with Celestia? My folks are too.”

“Yeah, it’s hard sometimes but Daddy loves me. I just wish he didn’t have to work so much.”

“I’ll tell you what, kiddo. If you ever get lonely, come to the orchard. I always used to play in the orchard. In fact, the old swing I hung up in the north quadrant is still there. It could be fun to sneak away sometimes and play again. What do ya say?”

“Really Mister Sprout?” Gizmo beamed, a smile split his face.

“Yes, really.” Sprout grinned, a little bounce infecting his trot.

Gizmo gripped his back tighter, trying not to fall off the good natured stallion.“Why didja come down here if there is a lockdown Mister Sprout?”

“Well, the Chief wanted to see us on the other side of engineering, so we were heading up that way when I thought I saw a little pony sneaking down the halls. So I decided to come check and found you.”

“So, there are others with ya?”

“You’re with me.” Sprout looked back over his shoulder, flashing his best smile. Gizmo tried to scowl, but the effect was diminished by his natural cuteness. Sprout turned his head back to where he was going, “Dr. Lancet and Foremare Cider Press went on ahead.”

“So you’re alone?”

“Well, no, you’re...” His sentence was cut short by a pained gasp. Fire shot down his flanks. His rear legs gave out and he sprawled to the cold metal floor. He whipped his head around to find the green colt still straddling him, coiling vines erupting from what was once his rear legs. The colt’s eyes bulged and rolled back in his skull as his mouth opened wide. The thin flesh of his cheeks frayed and separated as a viscous pus poured from the ever expanding maw. The cruel mouth continued to expand, unhinged, and velvety fronds erupted down the centerline of Gizmo’s muzzle. Tendrils writhed in the gaping void, the wet slurp of their grinding and twisting drowned out by the unnatural squeal of the creature.

Sprout tried to take his eyes off the abomination, to do anything but sit there in shock and pain. A few synapses managed to fire, and he started to try can crawl away from the dripping mass of evil behind him. the Gizmo-thing on his back lunged at him with its slavering, gaping jaws spread wide. He opened his mouth to scream as the maw snapped shut around his head, velvety fronds pushing their way down his throat and nose. The pain was indescribable as the twisting fronds sought entrance into the sacredness of his flesh. He pitched and shuddered as it took him, inch by inch, cell by cell, and then mercifully sank into blackness.

The mare slipped through the long abandoned hall. A fine layer of ash coated every exposed surface, tiny clouds of the stuff puffed up with each step. The light from her PipBuck cut through the inky darkness. Her small energy pistol rode in a shoulder holster. Junior skittered down the hall in front of her.

“You sure this is the right way?”

He trilled an indignant response.

“I do trust you!”

The pair rounded a corner, coming face to face with a bank of doors. The lifts were numbered. Junior hooted victoriously.

“Yeah, yeah. Good job. Now open them up.”

The tiny mechanical helper crossed several appendages. He huffed and sat, obstinately beeping a demand.

“I will not! Open the door!” She stomped a hoof, Junior sat unmoved. “Open it now,” She hissed.

She sighed. “Junior is awesome, and I should not have doubted him,” She monotoned. “There, now open the door.”

He sat unimpressed.

“Gah! FINE!” She took a step back and stood on her hind legs. Taking a deep breath, she began singing a jaunty little number.

“Junior is the bestest, of this we have no doubt. When I’m dumb or in trouble, he always helps me out! Jazzhooves!”

She stood there for a few beats, shaking her forehooves. Junior gave a contented whistle and climbed up to the control panel. He slipped his tail probe into a panel, the door slid obediently open. A half dozen thick cables dangled down the shaft. Well, that could be a problem.

“No lift, huh?” Junior shook himself in the negative. “Lovely.”

Her bionic hoof splayed out into a four-fingered claw. “Hold on.”

Junior entangled himself in her mane as she leapt into the shaft. Catching a cable in her claw, she began her descent.

Lancet stood over the twisted remains. “Well, that’s not a pony.”

“Really? I thought something seemed off about her,” Chief deadpanned. “Do you have any useful observations, Doc?”

Lancet fitted his right foreleg with a tall plastic sleeve past his cannon and ending above the knee. He cinched the thick article on his leg. “I won’t know any more than that until I get in there.”

“Doc, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I don’t know what that thing was, but it was weird and pissed off.” Chief continued to look past Lancet at the still mass behind him. “Her... It’s whole head... neck... thing... popped off and came after me while the rest of it burned.”

Lancet opened his medical bag and pulled out a fabric bundle. He rolled it open and glanced over the assortment of scalpels, probes, and other tools. He pulled out his longest blunt probe and slotted it into the metal ring at the base of the plastic sleeve near his hoof. He sat back on his haunches freeing his other hoof to hold the probe in position while he tightened the screw, locking the probe in place.

He looked over to Cider, who had been watching him tighten the screw with his lips. She looks a little flushed, she feeling alright?. He banished the distraction from his mind. “Cider, I need you to watch my flank. If Chief’s worries are right, and this thing so much as twitches, I want you to torch it.”

She seemed to snap to attention. She nodded a firm affirmative. “I got yer back, Stitches.”

He tested the security of the probe, satisfied it was firmly in place he folded it back along his cannon. He repeated the process, pulling a long sleeve over his left foreleg and affixing a long number seven handle with a hooked number twelve blade to his hoof. Folding the scalpel up, he donned a medical mask and a head mirror.

He moved beside the charred mass. With a jerk the head mirror swiveled into place. He gave the tangled mass a thorough visual inspection before swinging the scalpel into position. He began to poke and prod the corpse, ash tumbling to the ground. “A lot of this appears to be plant matter. I’m not a botanist, Chief.”

He shifted a few charred fronds out of the way with the blunted back of the curved blade. A thick vine sat exposed. The beak-like tip of scalpel pierced the vine with ease. With a steady hoof he drew the curved blade along the vine, splitting it. Instead of fibrous plant matter or sap, rivulets of thin blood seeped from the wound. Is this a vein or artery of some kind? Placing his right hoof on a large blackened mass, he shoved. Entwined tentacles and other less identifiable bits tumbled to the side, revealing a charred remnant of a bloodstained white flank. With quick, clean strokes, he flayed part of the flank below the plastic tie cutie mark. Pulling back the skin, he exposed the flesh underneath.

“What we have here is an anatomically correct pony leg. Muscle anatomy, tendon placement, bone structure, it’s all correct.” He peered discerningly through the head mirror. “There is only a very slight blue/green tinting to the flesh under the epidermal layer. The epidermis itself is a perfect imitation. You say it acted like Zip Tie, Chief?”

The Chief stared blankly at the bloodied pony haunch settled amidst the bed of charred plant matter. He shook himself, Doc was talking to him. “Pardon?”

“I asked if it acted like Zip Tie.”

“Yeah. Completely. She was working on something, humming that same tune. She... It talked to me, just like it knew me. Like it knew all about us.” His voice trailed off, a trace of some unnamed emotion skewing his voice.

Lancet nodded in acknowledgement, the timber of the Chief’s voice wasn’t lost on him. He’ll never admit it, but he is going to need some help getting over this when it’s all said and done. “Well Chief, this thing isn’t Zip Tie, and it wasn’t her when you ran into it.”

“Professor Kudzu was ranting something like that at the orchard. What’s going on?”

“That’s interesting. I was reviewing his audio logs in the brig. They were working on a way to replicate plants, make more food. Inject an apple with some goo, get a replicated goo apple. That’s the best guess I’ve got. Kudzu probably knows something. I’ll tell you this, I’m happy there’s a double bulkhead between us and the orchard if this is the kinda shit that went down there.” He scooted back from the thing and held his forelegs straight out in front of him. “Can you loosen these straps and pull these off Chief?”

Chief’s horn glowed as he removed the leg sleeves from Lancet’s outstretched forelegs. Lancet nodded his thanks. “Just throw them on it, I’ve got other tools. It is my professional opinion that we torch this creepy abomination.”

Chief nodded. “I agree.” He doused the remains with the lacquer thinner. “Betsy, you have the honors.”

Tumble was sprawled on his back staring at the red emergency light illuminating the small living quarters. His brother occupied the bunk below him. From the uncomfortable sounds of it, he was enjoying his own company.

“Are you seriously doing what I think you are doing down there?”

Fwap, fwap, moan.

“Cause that is totally uncool, bro.”

Fwap, fwap, fwap.

“We have a restroom.”

Fwap, fwap, grunt.

“Stop being an ass, Rough!”

All noise beneath him suddenly stopped. He sat for long moments, listening for some sign of his brother below. “Bro?” He rolled and crawled to the edge of his bunk. “Hey!”

He dangled his head over the side. His brother was curled in in the shadowy recesses of his bunk. Rough let out an orgasmic yell, a stream of warm fluid shooting across the room.

The stream hit him in the face. “Gah! You son of a bitch!”

“Hey! Don’t talk about Mom like that!” Rough chucked the squirt gun at his brother.

Tumble wiped his face and looked back and forth between the toy and his grinning brother. “You are a sick, sick stallion. You know that?”

“Whatever you say, Jerky Junk. Your own fault you’re gullible enough to fall for it again.” Rough adopted his most infuriating smirk.

“You should be nice to me, I’m injured. Why don’t you get me a drink.”

“Get it yourself.”

“C’mon big bro, I’m dying of thirst up here.” He tried to put on a pathetic face, but some combination of his inversion and the blood flowing to his head must have diminished its impact.

“Fuck that.”

Tumble plopped back in his bunk. “I’m just sayin’ you could show some sympathy for your poor little brother and his scalded sexer.”

Rough shifted on the bunk below, probably stretching back out. “What do you want? Kiss it, make it better?”

Tumble withheld a snicker, leaving only silence to answer him.

The bunk jumped violently as Rough bucked it from below. “Fuck that shit, I don’t know where it’s been.”

“You mean you don’t know who it’s been... in.”

A pair of chestnut hooves appeared on the side of his bunk and his brother pulled himself up to look him in the eyes. “Yeah, you’re right. But I can narrow it down. I know it ain’t been in no mares!”

Tumble kicked out at at his brother, a rear leg arcing toward his head. Rough ducked below the level of the bed and the kick sailed past. A pale blue aura wrapped around his hoof. Fuck.

With a quick magical tug, he was yanked from the bed. He plummeted to the floor in a heap. Rough was on him before he could recover and the chestnut dervish tumbled through their shared quarters. The roughhousing carried on for some time until Tumble impacted against a squat end table. Both brothers froze in abject terror.

The lamp on the little podium shuddered and fell.

“Laaaaamp!”

“Fuuuuuck!”

Two nearly identical magic auras flashed into existence under the fragile lamp, arresting its descent a hair’s breadth from the floor.

The pair gingerly placed the lamp reverently back in its place. Tumble could almost hear his mother chastising them. Sorry, Mom. He heaved a heavy sigh.

Rough helped him to his hooves. “You should be more careful lil’ brother.”

“You wanna know somethin’?”

“What?” He asked as he sauntered toward the fridge.

“My balls hurt.”

Rough chuckled and tossed him a bottle of cider. “Maybe you should get it looked at? By a doctor I mean. I sure as fuck don’t wanna see it.”

“Yeah, right. That’ll happen.” Tumble placed the cool bottle against his nether regions.

“First, you do not put that back in the fridge. Second, you could at least get something for the pain. If, ya know, you insist on being such a pussy about it.” Rough quirked an eyebrow, his concern endearing to his little brother.

“Medical won’t give us shit. They’ll just poke and prod, say it doesn’t look too bad, and send us on our way. They won’t waste a fuck on me.” He kicked idly at the lower bunk.

Rough pulled a bottle out for himself, taking a long drink while his brother continued to sulk. A half grin tugged at his lips as an idea formed. “I heard that one of the nurses got busted for sneaking out Med-X the other day.”

“So?” He didn’t bother to look over, preferring instead to keep kicking the bed.

Rough trotted over. “So she got busted with Med-X. What happens when somepony gets busted with contraband?”

“They spend a night in the brig?”

“And?”

“They get fined?”

“And?”

“Whatever they had gets sent to the contraband locker or contraband lab?”

“Precisely! So add it all up, brother of mine. What do we know?” Rough gave him an encouraging grin.

“That there is Med-X in the contraband lab. But how does that help me? We’re under lockdo...”

Rough punched him hard on the cutie mark.

“Right.”

The brothers donned their technician’s barding and quickly checked their tools. The door to their quarters proved no challenge at all, and they ventured out into engineering.

The mare stood on top of the lift contemplating her next move. She had two options: she could climb up to the doors just above her and come out in what Junior assured her was a science section, or she could pry open the emergency hatch on top of the lift and go into engineering.

“Whaddaya think?” Junior managed to convey a shrug. “Real helpful, little guy.”

She focused her attention on the images playing in the corner of her vision, hoping to draw inspiration from the past.

Rough walked quietly through the halls of engineering, his brother close behind. There was a maintenance hatch not far from their room. The maintenanceways were an intricate series of passages that allowed technicians to monitor and repair the miscellaneous systems of the Stable without disturbing any of the scientist’s precious cleanrooms. A technician with the right clearance, or a way to circumvent the need for clearance, could move through the Stable with impunity.

He slowed, ears cocked forward. He could just hear a faint scuffling ahead. He held out a hoof to stall his brother as he crept toward the intersection. Whatever the sound was, it seemed to be coming from the hallway to his right. He peered slowly around the corner, and recoiled at what he saw.

A coiling mass of vines was attacking somepony, or was it two ponies? He couldn’t tell. Splayed pony legs jerked and spasmed under the mass, vainly trying to escape. The fuck?

He backed slowly back down the hall and turned to his brother. “Back to the room, quick and quiet.”

“What’s up?” Tumble whispered back, confused but absorbing the need for caution from his brother’s seriousness.

Rough remained silent as he led his brother back the way they came. As they got to their quarters, he pointed at the lock. Tumble made quick work of it while Rough looked furtively about. The pair slipped into the safety of their quarters.

“Okay, what’s going on?” Tumble asked. Rough bustled past him, making his way to a metal topped desk. Manipulating several well hidden latches, the top popped open revealing a hidden compartment. Nestled in a bed of foam lay two silvered revolvers. Love and Peace were the pride and joy of the Stable’s first security chief, the brother’s ancestor. Rough levitated Love out of the foam, checked it was loaded, and passed the contraband firearm to Tumble.

“Okay, seriously. What the fuck is going on?” Tumble held the gun in front of him while Rough checked that Peace was loaded.

“Something was eating somepony down there. It looked like a monster from one of your dirty comics. The ones you read backwards.”

Tumble stood stunned for a moment. Recovering, he said, “Are you seriously expecting me to believe there was some horrible tentacle rape monster out there?”

Rough just stared back, his face stern.

“Well, fuck! What do we do? What about that pony?”

Rough fastened Peace’s holster to his barding, indicating Tumble should do the same. “First, we be thankful whoever that was, wasn’t us. Then we get the fuck out of here. I have no intention of being locked in this section with whatever the fuck that was. Same basic plan: we get into the maintenanceways, we take anything useful from the contraband lab, then we keep heading up.”

Tumble finished securing Love to his barding. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Chief hit the lift button again. Nothing. He smacked it several more times in quick succession. Nothing.

“Chief, I don’t think the lifts are working.” Lancet offered.

“Really?” Chief poured incredulity into his voice. “Is that your professional opinion?”

Cider and Lancet stared at him in silence.

He heaved a frustrated sigh. With the lifts out of commision they would have to hoof it. Nothing for it. “Alright, we need to get back up to the orchard.”

“If’n ya don’t mind my askin’, don’t we have more important problems ta deal with?” Cider asked.

Chief trotted down the hall toward the nearest flight of stairs. “Listen. I don’t know what’s going on anymore than you do, but if Doc’s theories are correct, then the only ones who really know are in that orchard.”

They made their way up the first flight of stairs in silence, coming out a floor above Engineering in the lower science section. Lancet pulled in a reluctant breath and voiced what Chief was thinking. “But are they them?”

Rough and Tumble made their way through the cramped maintenanceways, their PipBuck lights providing the only illumination. They had managed to make their way to a seldom used access point as far away from whatever it was that Rough had seen as possible.

Rough is spooked. The thought echoed in Tumble’s mind. It was an alien thought, his brother didn’t get spooked. As far back as he could remember Rough had always handled problems head on, nothing could touch him. Dad used to joke that Mom pushed him out first so he could scare the Stable straight before his little brother showed up. Distracted, he didn’t notice Rough had stopped until he ran into him.

Rough scowled at him. “Watch it with that horn, I don’t swing that way.”

“Well, don’t just suddenly stop. Ass.”

“We’re here, in case you didn’t notice.” Rough unlatched the panel and gave it a shove, it didn’t budge. He slammed into it with more force, repeating a third time. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He levitated a gem-powered drill out of his saddlebags. Taking it into his mouth he pressed his weight against the tool, the whirling bit digging into the metal panel. He stowed the drill and peered through the neat hole. Inky blackness peered back at him. “Gimme your scope.”

Tumble pulled a short coil of wire out of his bags and passed it over. Rough slotted one end into his PipBuck and snaked the other through the hole. He stared at the screen as he manipulated the tiny camera, panning its tiny light over the tight space. A wide variety of beakers and glassware filed the little space. “Are you fucking kidding me! Somepony built a fucking cabinet over the access panel!”

“What now?”

Rough levitated out a small cutting wheel. He concentrated, spinning it at incredible speeds. “Now we cut this bitch!”

The rapidly spinning wheel cut into the wall with a shower of sparks, acrid smoke filled the maintenanceway. After a few minutes of work a small, square section of wall fell out, Tumble cradled it in his magic.

Rough reached into the blackness of the cabinet’s interior and pushed. The cabinet crashed down with a bang and the crystalline shattering of glassware. He grinned and looked over at his brother.

Tumble stood in slack-jawed awe. “What the Well! Don’t you think somepony will notice that?” He stared questioningly at Rough, who continued to grin. “You might’ve hidden the hole, but you just broke a shitload of... shit!”

“Who cares? They’ve got bigger things to worry about.” He shoved on the hidden door and it obediently popped open. “Besides, we’re in aren’t we?” His insufferable grin somehow managed to expand as he high-stepped into the darkened room.

“We’re in aren’t we? Derp de durr.” Tumble mocked under his breath as he followed.

The contraband lab was small, the majority dedicated to a climate controlled vault. Tumble stared at the massive steel door. The locked panel beside the door surrendered easily to his pick. Inside the small compartment sat a keypad. He grinned and slipped his electronic skeleton key over it. His own design, a cascade of red bars dripped down the screen, coalescing into recognizable letters, numbers, and symbols before flashing green. A dozen green characters flashed. K33P0U7A$$3$, funny. He placed his ear to the massive door and gave the combination lock a meticulously slow turn. There. He rotated it back the other way. There. Back again. And there. He wrenched the handle and pulled. “Open Says-a-me!”

The cool air of the vault struck them. Rough punched Tumble’s shoulder. “O-ho, Bro. That’s beautiful! Took you long enough.”

The pair began rifling through the contents of the vault. Rough focused on the contraband sitting in plain sight while Tumble plied his special talent to get at the more exotic drugs.

Tumble was on his third cabinet when he noticed his brother was being uncharacteristically quiet. “Hey, Rough? What you got? Anything good?” Silence. “I’ve got some stuff I’ve never even heard of before. You found the Med-X yet?” Silence. “You gonna say anything, asshole?”

The pain was sudden, a quick violation of his flesh as something pierced his hide. He yelped in pain and whirled, coming face to face with his grinning brother. A soothing coolness spread from the injury, taking the ache in his groin and all the other little dings and cuts from their rushed passage through the maintenanceways with them. He glanced back to see the syringe of Med-X still stuck in his rump. He yanked it free. “Thanks.”

“Think nothing of it little brother. Now back to looting!” He scooped up a pile of meds from the table and deposited them into his voluminous saddlebags.

Tumble was working on the fifth locker when an emergency broadcast blared through the Stable. “Attention all citizens. Under the authority of the Overmare, the Stable is now under a full lockdown. Do not attempt to leave your current location. All doors will be locked down for the duration of the current situation. Attention all citizens...”

The brothers shared a glance between them then dashed for the slowly closing door. Rough made it through, turning to shout encouragement. “Move your fat ass you lazy, mule-faced bastard!”

Tumble dove for the quickly shrinking openning. He almost made it. Almost. He screamed as the heavy vault door closed on his tail. He strained futilely against the door a few times before laying down pitifully.

Rough trotted over to examine the bloody pulp that was the end of Tumble’s tail. “Fuck. That looks like it hurts.”

The Med-X still running through his system took the edge off the pain, but Tumble’s glare still left much to be desired. “No shit.”

“I think I gotta cut it off.”

“Yeah right, pull the other one.”

“No, Bro. Seriously.” He levitated a large shard of glass.

“Fuck no! You’re not hacking off my tail with a hunk of broken glass!” He lunged against the restraining might of the heavy door, pain ignited in his tail and he collapsed, shuddering, to the floor. “Celestia’s shining shithole! Fuck!” He looked up at this brother with pitiful, moist eyes.

“Don’t pussy out on me. I’ll make it quick.”

It wasn’t quick. By the time Rough was finished Tumble was coated in a thin foam of sweat. He turned back to look at his mutilated tail. “Damn it! I look like some inbred draft pony!”

“No. You’re still boss, like me.” He pulled a small bandage from his saddlebag and crudely wrapped Tumble’s severed tail. “So, Bro. Can you get us out of here.”

“Out of here? No.” Tumble walked to the exit. “This level of lockdown is designed to keep ponies in. Interior access panels are powered down. I could probably power up a door with a spark battery in a pinch, but I don’t have one on me.”

“Shit. What the fuck we gonna do?”

“I dunno. Maybe use the maintenanceway to go around this door and go from there?”

“Dick.”

“Biggest in the Stable.” He gestured to the open maintenanceway. “Ladies first.”

Cider trotted along behind the two stallions. The empty laboratories gave her the willies. The Stable was dead quiet, and it left her ill at ease. Gotta keep it t’gether. Chief killed it. Stitches got hoof deep in it. They’re countin’ on ya girl!

“I say, it’s trust well placed.”

“Of course it is! Cider here is the loyalest of friends and the most dependable of ponies!”

“Well said! They have you, and you have us. Betsy and I are here for you, Love.”

“Love!?”

“Ack! Don’t you go cryin’ on about that! It’s just an expression!”

“Settle down now.”

“What was that Cider?” Lancet looked back over his shoulder.

“‘Tweren’t nothin’.”

“If you say so. But if you need any...”

“Attention all citizens. Under the authority of the Overmare...”

“What the Well?” Lancet looked to Chief, confused.

“Damn it! She’s locking the whole Stable down! Stick together! Move!”

The three ponies bolted down the hall, their hooves thundering against the steel floor. They only made it past one set of doors before they found themselves trapped.

“Jus’ peachy.” Cider looked at her two companions, “Y’all got any bright ideas.”

“Hate to waste the fuel, but nothing for it.” Chief unstrapped the plasma cutter from his back and moved to the sealed door. He settled a heavy pair of goggles over his eyes and turned on the machine. “We cut our way through.”

Rough stood in the maintenanceway, a gate barring his path. “Unbe-fucking-lievable!”

“I didn’t even know there were gates in the here. How the fuck do we not know this shit?”

“The fuck if I know. Whaddaya think?” Rough flattened himself against the wall to allow his brother better access.

“No lock, no pad, no dice.” He sucked loudly on his teeth. “We’ll have to go back to the last access, get back into the halls. I can hack those doors. No point in trying to cut our way through.”

“Yeah. That would be like, seriously stupid. What kinda fucktards would waste their time like that?” Rough backtracked toward the last hidden access panel.

“Fucktards that aren’t as brilliant as us.” It wasn’t long before they came upon the latched panel. “Beautiful. This should put us in the hall.”

Rough nodded and unlatched it, silently sliding it aside with his magic. Acrid smoke seeped in from the hall. An incredibly bright light from the left caused shadows to dance in vivid contrast against the walls. The brothers slipped into the hall, the levitated door shading their eyes from the blinding light. Rough could make out Lancet and Cider chatting in the far corner, diverting their eyes from the light. He adjusted the panel to see more of the stallion working on the other side of the hall. Idiot. “What the fuck are you fucktards doing? Douse that torch before you fuck something up!”

Two of the three fucktards wheeled, the third turned off the plasma cutter and removed his thick goggles. Chief looked at them appraisingly. “What are you two doing? We are under lockdown.”

“No shit, Sherclop. But from the look of it, none of us give two shits about that, do we?” Rough took a step forward. He froze when Chief leveled a shotgun in his face. His eyes narrowed. “What’s the deal, Chief?”

“I don’t trust you. What were you doing in there? Where did you come from?”

“My momma’s pussy, that’s where I...” The slug impacted on the wall behind him. He ducked instinctively, pulling Peace from his side. He leveled the pistol as Chief racked another round into his shotgun. Tumble imposed himself between them before he could take the shot.

They stood tensely in a standoff. Rough and Chief both denied a clear shot by Tumble’s body. Cider started to shift, her mouth seeking the yoke of her battle saddle. Rough noticed her and swung his pistol toward her. “Not so fast, Firemuff. You don’t put ANYTHING in that pretty mouth unless I tell you to!”

“Whoa! Everypony calm the FUCK down!” Tumble stared down the barrel of the shotgun. “We got bigger problems.”

Lancet had a restraining hoof on Cider. She stared daggers into Rough, who kept his pistol trained on her head. Tumble locked eyes with Chief, both stallions unwavering. Chief repeated himself, “What were you doing in there? Where have you been?”

“We were down in engineering. There’s some creepy-ass shit going on down there. So we decided to bounce up outta there. We would have been fine without this lockdown blocking the maintenanceways. Now we’re here and you’re fucking pointing a piece in my face! That’s where we at!”

“What kind of ‘creepy-ass shit’?” Chief asked.

“The creepy-ass kind!” When that answer didn’t seem to assuage Chief, Tumble continued, “Some kinda viney, tentacley thing eating some poor soul. We got the fuck outta there before we could start a game of twenty questions!”

“If they weren’t them, they wouldn’t mention being anywhere near one of those things, right?” Lancet quipped.

“Unless they’re countin’ on us ta think that.” Cider’s brow furrowed. “It’s jes awfully suspicious.”

“Fuck you, too.” Rough met her gaze unflinchingly.

Chief cleared his throat loudly, bringing the assembled ponies’ attention back to him. He eyed the two newcomers in turn before continuing. “I don’t know if I trust you.”

“And I don’t fucking trust you! But I’ll tell you what I do know. I know you aren’t goin’ anywhere in this bitch trying to torch your way through doors. So hows about we all put our guns away?”

Chief pointed his shotgun toward the ceiling. “You first, Rough.”

Rough hesitated a moment, then holstered Peace.

“Good choice.” Chief stowed his shotgun. “I should confiscate those illegal firearms, but I suppose given the situation I’ll let you hold onto them... for now.”

Rough scowled. “You aren’t taking shit from us.”

Lancet cantered up, trying to move things on before the situation could heat back up. He looked to Tumble. “You said something about not cutting through the doors? In case you didn’t notice, they’re locked.”

Tumble stared at him in shock. “Fuck! Really? The doors are locked?”

“Oh, well shit!” Rough chimed in. The pair walked to the scorched door. “I sure wish I knew somepony who was good at unlocking things!”

Tumble looked over to his brother. “ I know right?” He pressed a button. “Damn it! It really is locked! What are we gonna do Rough?”

“It’s game over, Bro! Game over!”

Tumble levitated the electronic skeleton key over the pad. The readout flashed green and the door slid open. “We’re so screwed.”

Chief stared at Tumble, slackjawed. “What the Well is that.”

“My own design. You’re fucking welcome.”

“I’ll be confiscating that too when this is over.” Chief cantered up to the brothers at the door.

Tumble rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure you will. I can just build another.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Rough snorted. “Really? What ya gonna do? Confiscate his tools? Do you have any idea who you're talkin' to? Down in engineering? We're kind of a big deal.”

Chief fixed them with a withering stare. "You give me any reason, any at all, and I'll coldcock you and leave you behind."

Tumble grinned. "Coldcock? Is that when you fuck in the freezer? Cause the Cafeteria is five floors up and, frankly, I don’t swing that way."

"Hey, Lancet? Is that what you called it when you porked the tubby cafeteria lady? Coldcocking?" Rough chimed in.

"No, I think that’s 'stir the lard' or 'churn the butter,'" Tumble cracked.

Lancet bristled. “You had best shut up.”

Rough smiled with all the appeal of a shark. “Really? Cause we can keep it up. Can’t we brother?”

“You know it! All night long!”

“We ain't even started in on Rack yet.”

“But you have, haven’t ya?”

Rough nodded. “Yeah, I can see it in your eyes. You like bouncing off the walls of that foal chute, don’tcha.”

“Or do you spend your time teaching Pinion how to please her new Daddy?”

“Nah. Fuck’em and forget’em. Right, Lancey Boy?” Rough took a step toward the shaking doctor.

Cider stepped between them, leveling Betsy. She spoke around the yoke in her mouth. “Ya say one more word, I’ll roast you alive.”

“What happened to that whole ‘let’s work together’ thing, hmm?” Chief asked, trying to defuse the situation. He sat a hoof on Cider’s shoulder. “Let’s not do anything drastic, we do need that gizmo.”

Tumble caught his brother’s attention. “Chief’s right. Lay off, Rough. I think Cider is getting upset.”

“Why? You think she don’t know he mounts every Sally Sobstory that waves a flank at him?”

Lancet lost it. “You sons of a bitch!” He charged the pair, only to be yanked hard from behind by Chief’s magic. In a flash the larger security pony had him in a restraining headlock.

Rough looked past them, locking eyes with Cider. “See? He fights for them. You’re just not broken enough. Have a breakdown and get in line. Don’t hold your breath though. I think Golden Shower is in line for the next dicking.”

His face didn’t have time to fully change from smug grin to confused shock. Chief’s shotgun scythed through the air in a tight arch, the buttstock connecting with his skull with bone-rattling force. He collapsed to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut. The weapon flipped with the impact and leveled itself at Tumble’s shocked face.

Tumble knelt down beside his unconscious brother. “What the fuck?”

Chief locked eyes with the stunned stallion. “Just demonstrating what I meant by ‘coldcock.’ You two seemed to be having so much trouble with the word.” He pointed emphatically at the crumpled form of Rough for emphasis. “That’s a coldcocking. Now. Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” Venom dripped from his words as he stared down Tumble. The brash stallion withered under the intensity of Chief’s glare. Feeling Tumble was sufficiently cowed, he spoke over his shoulder to Lancet, “Doc, I don’t care if you have to piss on him, wake him up. We need to move.”

Lancet trailed behind the group as they walked through the corridors of 48. The air was still charged with distrust and animosity. Cider and Chief both walked in silence, assumably wrestling with their own demons. Rough and Tumble led the way, opening doors and joking amongst themselves. They had been whispering conspiratorially since the last door.

Tumble sat down gingerly in front of another door, fitting the device to panel beside it. For the first time Lancet noticed the crude bandage wrapping his tail. What did that idiot do to himself?

He approached the pair, announcing his presence by clearing his throat. Rough turned to face him, Tumble stayed focused on his work. Rouch raised an eyebrow, but stayed silent. Lancet indicated Tumble’s tail, “What happened there?”

Rough glared at him, “Change in fashion sense? The fuck do you care?”

Lancet stood impassive. “Listen, I don’t like you two. You don’t like me. Normally if you wanted to pass out from blood loss and stupidity, I’d let you. As it is, we need you.”

Rough looked over to his brother, a question on his face. Tumble sighed. “Fine, we got some time. This lock has probably been faulty for years and nopony knew. I’ll have to reprogram it before I can open it anyway.”

Lancet nodded and pulled out his doctor bag. He removed the crude bandage and examined the severed appendage. Crude amputation with some sharp implement. Hesitation marks above the amputation site. Shouldn’t be too hard to patch up. “So, how did it happen?” he asked as he hoofed through the contents of his bag. He ignored the lack of response as he found a syringe. He grabbed it in his teeth and popped the plastic top off with his tongue. He maneuvered the local anesthetic to the corner of his mouth.

“You’ll feel a slight pinch.” He injected it into Tumble’s tail, noting the peculiar lack of a wince on Tumble’s face. “Have you taken anything for the pain?”

Tumble grunted, but neither gave a direct answer.

Lancet’s eyes narrowed. “I won’t risk giving you a double dose of anything, so the local is all you get.” He continued on with his task in silence. After cleaning and stitching up the wound, he secured a proper bandage.

“There, all done. No need to thank me.”

Tumble sighed. “No, you’re right. Thanks.” He turned his head and levitated out a lukewarm bottle of cider. He twisted off the cap with his magic and offered it to Lancet. “I was saving this for later, but... peace?”

Lancet got over his shock relatively quickly and took the proffered drink. “I suppose so.” He took a tentative sip and to his amazement it tasted normal, good even. “Thanks.”

Lancet turned and walked back to the others. Rough looked at his brother quizzically, tilting his head to the side. Comprehension dawned across his face. He pointed discretely down to his nuts.

Tumble nodded, a grin threatening to break across his muzzle.

Rough managed to stifle his laughter, almost.

The door finally opened to Tumble’s efforts. Its hiss alerting the other three members of the group. Cider finished off the bottle of her namesake that Lancet had shared with the her and Chief.

Lancet was the first through the door, the brothers standing like sentinels beside it. Chief followed behind. “Took you long enough,” he quipped.

Lancet continued a ways down the hall until he heard a commotion behind him. He turned to see the brothers blocking Cider’s path.

“You know. I’ve been thinking we should charge for this.”

“You mean like a toll, brother?”

“Exactly, how about a toll kiss?”

Lancet took a few steps back toward them. He needn’t have bothered.

“Toll kiss, huh?” Cider fired up the Betsy’s pilot, the gentle fwoosh underscoring her words. “Betsy will be mor’n happy ta oblige. Otherwise, git out my way.”

The brothers parted quickly.

Lancet chuckled and moved down the hall, the rest of the group behind him. He rounded a corner and shrieked.

His tired band of compatriots charged up to him. Chief racked a round into the chamber of his shotgun. Cider had Betsy already warmed up. Rough and Tumble filed in closely behind.

At the far end of the hall, bathed in the sinister red of the emergency lighting, sat a massive arachnid abomination. It was easily larger than a hoof! Lancet recoiled in fear, backing into Cider, nearly scorching a very sensitive area in the process. His comrades' tension eased, their bodies coming out of their rigid alertness.

“A spider! Are you fucking kidding me?” Rough bowled his way through the group. “If you insist on being a screaming pussy, then do us all a favor and off yourself now. I don't intend to die because your balls haven't dropped.” He emphasized his point with a loud stomp. The wet crunch of the spider muted by the clap of his hoof on the floor.

Rough gave a savage twist of his hoof. Green-yellow ichor leaked from under his hoof, the spider's gangly legs splayed out around his steel shoe. “That's how a stallion solves a problem, bitches! Do you know what I am? I’m a force of nature! I'm not ... aaAAH!” Rough's painful scream reverberated off the walls.

All eyes darted down to Rough's hoof. The spider-thing's legs had bent unnaturally back on themselves, stabbing into his fetlock above the hoof. As the thing began metastasizing his cells into living plant, the spider-thing further penetrated his flesh. The taut skin of his foreleg danced as the ichor-fronds slithered their way up his leg, looking like a swarm of radroaches scuttling under sheer linen.

Cider was the first to shake the shock. Springing into action, she reached her head over her left shoulder, grabbing Mr. Splitter off her battlesaddle with her teeth. In one smooth motion she swung the axe, aiming to take the leg off at the shoulder and possibly saving Rough's life, if not the limb. Her aim was fouled by his writhing, and the axe took him high in the shoulder. Blood and a sticky sap leaked from the wound. Cider recoiled, giving up her grip on the axe, leaving it embedded in his shoulder.

Spurred by instinct, Rough's horn lit, the axe enveloped in a blue aura. He ripped the blade from his shoulder with a sickening squelch. The aura faded and the weapon clattered to the floor, the sound echoing off the still corridor.

The wicked crescent wound wept ichor and blood. Poisoned fronds churned in the back of the wound while the edges hardened into jagged bark and thorns. Rough's screams turned to whimpers as the wave of sub-dermal fronds spread up his neck to his face. A weak aura formed around his horn, an accompanying aura surrounded the pistol at his side. Peace swung toward his head, only to clatter to the floor as his magic failed him. He wailed as the fibrous vines drilled through his skull, sadistically assimilating bone and flesh but leaving his mind intact to comprehend the horror, the wrongness, of his very self being consumed by the malevolent plant. A swelling pressure built behinds his eyes, and with a wet pop the fronds burst from his sockets, tears and vitreous humor cascaded down his face. A few fronds slithered down his snout before invading his sinuses while the majority double back burrowing into the base of his horn, severing him from his sense of magic, making him well and truly blind.

He yelled, not a scream of pain, but a bellow of rage. The gaping maw in his chest adding a discordant note to the chorus of anger and sorrow that poured from the Rough-thing. A thunderous blast cracked the small group out of their stupor. The shotgun blast flayed flesh from its neck, revealing a coiling mass of vines writhing and reforming underneath.

“Light him up!” Chief yelled.

Cider responded with a short burst of flame. The gelatinous fluid clung to its legs. She went to correct her aim, when the vines took fire and burned brightly. The inferno raced along the flammable vines and ichor. The flora contagion was quickly turned to ash, cleansed by the flames. Rough tumbled forward, blood staining the floor where he fell. Pained, frantic gasps were pulled into his charred body. A doctor’s expertise was not needed to know his time was short.

“Br… Brother?” The injured pony croaked.

“I'm here, Brother.” Tumble responded, kneeling close to his brother's broken, charred body.

“It… fucking... hurts… ”

“I know,” Tumble's voice hitched, “It’ll be okay, I'm going to give you something for the pain.”

“I love you… Brother. I'm… sorry.”

“I love you, too.”

Bang.

Love swayed, smoking, in the air, surrounded my Tumble’s magic. The pistol dropped, joining its twin on the metal floor.

Junior beeped encouragement as the mare tried again to pry open the door to the reactor room. It turned out the lift car was too mangled for her to get into. She had managed to climb up the shaft to the door marked G. G level was the lower of two science sections. From there she had had the option to go up to F with the upper science section and the orchard, or down to engineering. Sure some creepy shit had happened down here, but engineering had to be full of loot!

And that is how she ended up at this door. This barred, no-lock, no-console door. She bucked it in frustration. “We didn't come all this way for a bag full of charred scrap! There's still power, there's still air, there’s probably still water! There has to be some sweet tech in there! Argh!”

“Are you sure you can’t just squeeze under it or something?”

Junior chirped a negative.

“Fuck this level then.”

Tumble stared at the red display, green digits materialized and the door slid open. The fresher air was a gift, clearing the scent of burnt flesh from nostrils. Somewhere behind him Cider was finishing the grizzly work of cremating Rough’s remains. Chief wouldn’t leave him be. Gotta make sure. Can’t leave any part of him.

Lancet walked up to him. “Hey, are you ok?”

“Fucking fantastic.”

“Yeah, dumb question. I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but if you need...”

“Save your fucking sympathy. I don’t need your sexual healing. So fuck off.”

Lancet looked at him, stunned. He stumbled over a few more words before walking back to where Cider was dousing Mr. Splitter in fire to sanitize it. She apparently wouldn’t leave the damn thing behind.

Tumble stared at the ceiling for a few long moments, blinking moisture from his eyes. Fucking smoke. He turned to the rest of the little party. “You waiting for an engraved invitation? The door’s fucking open.” They filed silently past him. He glanced over at the scattered remains of his brother. He quickly looked away, his gaze fell on the shining shapes of Love and Peace.

Chief called back to him, “Hey! Let’s stick together.”

He levitated the twin pistols to himself. “Yeah, I’m coming.”

Tiny Spartan stood with Redstrake flanking the orchard doors. Professor Kudzu's ranting had calmed somewhat, only the occasional nonsensical phrase drifted from the speaker. His eyes drifted over to Redstrake shifting nervously from hoof to hoof.

“So, big guy? They've sure been gone a long time, don'tcha think?”

Tiny shrugged.

“Think we should, uh, maybe go look for them?”

“Hmph.”

“So that's a 'no,' right?”

Tiny slowly turned his head and blinked. “No.”

“'No' we should go? Or 'no' we shouldn't go?”

He scowled in response to the overly talkative pony.

“Alright, fine. We'll stay here. In silence. Staring at the wall.” Redstrake sucked on his lips. “Yep, standing in silence. That's the ticket. Why my great, great, great, great, great grandmother was a champion 'Shhh' player. Why I bet I can...” Tiny tuned him out. He could see his gums still flapping away. There was a nice cadence to his continual droning, though. It was like listening to the ocean, or at least what he figured an ocean sounded like. It was at least similar to the big, old shell he had in his quarters. He still talking? He glanced over. Flap, flap, flap. Yep, still talking.

He shifted his massive bulk to the right. The auditory onslaught continued. Where's Cider to shut him up? He squinted down the hall, somepony was coming. He cleared his throat.

“...and I said, 'Oatmeal’? Are you crazy?”

Tiny grunted.

“What's that, big guy?” Redstrake glanced over to his huge companion.

Tiny gestured down the hall.

“Ya don't say?” He chuckled at his own joke and looked down long hall. “Ah! Finally, somepony to talk to!”

Tiny gave an indignant huff.

Redstrake ignored him and waved at the approaching figure. “Oh, don't go getting all emotional on me. Sprout's just so much more of a conversationalist.”

Three more doors surrendered to Tumble’s device before the quartet came into sight of the orchard bulkhead.

A trio of ponies waited for them at the orchard door. Cider was the first to call out, “Hey, fellas!” She threw a wave up and the three returned it.

Tumble ignored the reunion and focused his attention on the door. He slipped the machine over the door’s access panel, but it refused to light up. “Damn.”

Chief turned from the discussion of Sprout’s wild goose chase to hover over his shoulder. “Something wrong?”

“A shit-ton of things are wrong. This whole fucking situation is wrong.” Noticing the stern expression plastered on Chief’s face, he sighed and changed tack. “The professor or whoever fucked up this door. The reason you couldn’t use your access to force the door earlier is because the panel’s dead.”

“Dead? It’s lit up.”

“You’re right. The lights work so it must be fine.” Tumble deadpanned. He took Chief’s glare as an invitation to continue. “The lights work, so it still has power. Which is good. I’m guessing our dear professor got the cover off and started yanking wires at fucking random. Lucky bastard should be a scorch mark.”

“Can you get it open or not?”

“Who ya think you’re talkin’ to? I’ll have to do it manually, it will take a bit. But I’ll have it open.” Folding out a small keyboard, he got to work.

Chief stood before the assembled group. Tumble waiting by the door. He brought up his PipBuck. He first checked the PipTags, a screen full of names scrolled past, all shown as being in the orchard. I’ll be there soon, Goose, just be ok. He cleared his throat and activated his broadcaster. “Alright folks. Some crazy stuff has happened, and what’s behind these bulkheads is the source of it. We don’t know what we will find, but I want you all to be as prepared as possible. I’m deputizing you all.” He made a selection and the assembled ponies PipBucks beeped. “I’m sure you all remember how to use SATS and EFS from emergency training. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” He turned to face the bulkhead. “Open it.”

The bulkhead door cracked down the middle, hissing as the overpressure within bled out. Pressure normalized, the portal slid open. Curled inside lay the still form of Professor Kudzu, an empty syringe beside him. He stirred, the depressurization causing his ears to pop. He eyes tried to focus in the sparse red light. Forms started to coalesce out of the gloom. Alarm tried to push itself through the drug-induced calm.

“Stay back!” He scooted away from the encroaching forms. “Stay away from me!”

“Calm down, Professor,” soothed Chief, “It’s Chief Heads Up with Cider and some workers to check on the orchard. Dr. Lancet is here too. Will you let him help you?”

“NO! Stay back I said!” The chartreuse stallion flattened himself in the corner. “I don’t want to hurt you! I don’t want you to hurt me!”

“It’s alright Professor. Nopony wants to hurt you.”

“It’s not ponies I’m worried about. It’s the ponies that aren’t ponies! You don’t understand!”

“We do.” Lancet took a step forward and lowered himself to eye level with the paranoid professor. “We killed one of the things. And we’re going to take care of the rest. But we need you to focus! We need to know how bad it is on the other side of that door.”

“If you open that door, every living thing in there will try to kill you. It’s all of them, it’s everything.” His glazed eyes sharpened for a moment, his mind clear. “You can’t open this door. You’ll let it out! You will kill us all.”

Chief locked eyes with the frightened professor. His voice came out a deadly whisper, “Containment failed, Professor. Whatever is in there is out here too! It’s time to pony up!”

Kudzu’s eyes widened, comprehending the truth for the first time. “It’s out?” came the choked whisper.

Chief nodded.

The professor’s face sharpened with resolve. His horn lit and he pulled his saddlebags to himself. “There is something you need to know. This thing, it can replicate living tissue, but it isn’t necromantic, it can’t replicate dead cells. There is only one way to keep your mind and body your own.” He looked down at his open saddlebag, several syringes nestled within. He removed the plastic caps and held them, hidden, in his magic. His watery eyes held fast to Chief’s gaze. “One way.” The syringes launched from the bag, piercing his neck. He welcomed the darkness that took him.

The small group stood in shock over the professor’s still form.

Lancet broke the silence. “Great motivational technique, Chief. He’ll be a really cooperative source of information now.”

Chief pointedly ignored him. He’s wrong. It couldn’t have gotten everyone. Sunny’s safe, I know it. “Tumble, get this door open. Cider, warm up Betsy, we don’t know exactly what’s waiting for us.”

“Uhm, C-Chief?” Sprout stuttered.

“Make it quick.”

‘Well, it sure sounds like there’s something you’re not telling us. What happened down there?”

“Short answer: something was pretending to be Zip Tie and attacked me. Whatever it is originated from Tentation’s experiment. We killed it, and burned it.” Chief turned, giving Sprout his full attention.

Sprout faltered a bit under the focused stare. “Well, don’t you think we should be getting something to defend ourselves with? It’s dangerous, right? Everypony is freaking out about it.”

“I’m not arming civilians.”

“I’m not asking you to. You’re letting Cider lug Betsy around, let us arm ourselves. There’s a storage room on this level with spare tools. Let me go see what I can put together.”

After a few moments appraisal, Chief acquiesced. “Alright, but nopony goes anywhere alone. Take somepony with you.”

Sprout nodded. “How about it Lancet? No offense to Tiny or Red, but I think you’re the best available mind.”

“Alright. We’ll try to improvise some weapons. Don’t open that up until we’re back.” He gestured toward the remaining door then turned to Sprout. “Lead the way.”

Sprout turned and, grinning, lead him into the dark.

Tumble cursed from half inside the wall. Chief stood guard over him. Cider was in the center of the open door, Redstrake and Tiny flanking her. She nervously flicked Betsy’s yoke from side to side. Causing the flamethrower to jerk spastically around.

Betsy shook her head. “Something jus’ don’ feel right. I can sense it ‘n my hoses.”

“Relax, darling. I’m sure Stitches is fine. Tumble might be a dickend but he quite a dab hoof at opening anything he oughtn't. We’ll go fetch the dashing doctor soon,” Mr. Splitter soothed.

“I jus’ don’t like him out there on his own.”

“But he isn’t alone, love.”

“But Sprout was.” Cider turned and galloped down the hall.

“Cider? Cider!” Chief bellowed. “Fuck! Don’t open this door ‘til I get back!” He didn’t wait for an affirmative before chasing after the fleeing mare.

He charged after her, barely able to keep her fiery tail in his vision. Damn she’s fast. “Cider! Slow the fuck down!” The athletic farmer ignored him, continuing to barrel down the halls as fast as her hooves could carry her. He could barely see her tail disappear down another hall. He rounded the corner only to find an empty hall. “Damn.”

He manipulated his PipBuck, bringing up her PipTag. You can run... With her location now marked on his EFS, he kept a more subdued pace. Shotgun at the ready, he continued down the darkened halls.

Several minutes passed in silence before a scream pierced the still air. Chief found himself running toward the sound before his mind could start parsing it out. It wasn’t a mare’s scream, but who? He was getting closer. He could hear the sounds of an argument, the content of the yells were lost over the distance.

He skidded around a corner only to be confronted by a confusing scene. Sprout lay huddled against the wall, his eye starting to swell. Lancet was physically restraining Cider, although he doubted the small doctor could manage such a feat if Cider was willing to hurt him to get past. The mare in question wasn’t physically struggling much, but she continued to yell at the injured pony on the floor.

“What the Well is going on here!” Chief authoritarian voice scythed through the constrictive hall.

Sprout looked up at Chief through watery eyes. “She attacked me! Just ran up outta nowhere and bucked me in the face!”

“Only to protect Stitches! Sprout cain’t be trusted!”

“Can’t be trusted? We came here to try and get some weapons to kill whatever is in there! I’m on your side!”

“Where were ya, Sprout? Where did ya run off ta? Why didn’t ya come back?” Cider closed on the cowering pony, Lancet being drug along behind her. She glared daggers at the undersized worker, her face an impassive mask.

“Like I said before, you were right! It was just a trick of the light. After I wasted so much time chasing shadows I figured I’d just head back here. Honest.” He held his forelegs in front of him defensively, but the blow didn’t come.

“I’m watchin’ you.” She turned in Lancet’s grip, his grasp falling away as she trotted back down the toward the orchard. “I reckon Tumble almost has ‘er open by now, wouldn’t ya agree Chief?”

Chief sidestepped as Cider bustled past. He shuffled over to the side as Lancet and Sprout went by, keeping a mindful distance between him and the pair. The trot back to the orchard bulkhead was made in silence.

“Hey, Chief! Can I get a hoof in here? I need a non-fucktard’s assitance for a minute!”

Chief cantered over to Tumble, half hidden inside the wall. “What do ya need?”

Tumble shifted over giving Chief enough room to get his head in. A small lamp illuminated the stallion’s faces eerily in the dark access.

“Two things. First I need ya to get this wrench on that nut so I can tighten that bolt down.” Chief obliged, Tumble turning the bolt a quarter turn to the right.

Chief looked over to the technician suspiciously. “Number two?”

Tumble looked him in the eyes. “Listen. I saw you checking Sunny’s tag. I know we don’t see eye to eye. You’re a dick, I’m an ass. We just don’t go together. But you have always been fair to me and my bro.” He swallowed, a crack threatening to break in his voice. “If she’s not... her. I’ll take care of it. Nopony should have to kill family.”

Chief looked at Tumble appraisingly and nodded. The silent agreement made, he backed out of the tight access. Tumble scooted farther in.

“Hold on to your nuts.” Tumble called from inside the wall. A second passed then the orchard door split slowly open.

A concrete pad jutted into the orchard, beyond lay brown earth and rolling fields. The orchard was a cavernous space. Sheds and greenhouses peppered the view. Rows upon rows of apple trees dominated their vision, but many smaller fields of corn, wheat, and another myriad of crops stretched out before them. No sign of the scientists or security ponies could be found, the orchard ominously pristine.

Chief stepped past the entryway, letting his trained senses take in the still orchard. The smell of the fruit trees wafted on an artificial breeze, a normally calming smell corrupted by paranoia and suspicion. He eyed every inch exposed to him, no wayward scraps of cloth, no sign of a struggle in the loose dirt, and not a soul to be seen. He heard the clap of hoof on concrete as his companions followed him.

“Hey! Little help here?” Tumble called as he struggled to wiggle his way out of the access. “I’d rather not get bit in the ass while you dumbfucks twiddle your hooves!”

Chief glanced back. Tumble had managed to get himself half out of the wall, the compromising position reminiscent of a certain white mare... He shook his head violently to clear it. “Red, get him out of there.”

“Will do, Chief! I’m on it, I’ll have in out in two shakes of a...”

A withering glare from Cider paused Redstrake mid-ramble. He began extricating Tumble in silence. “Gah! Watch your hooves you nut-groping ass ranger!” Almost in silence.

Lancet and Cider joined Chief out past the bulkhead. They stood, still as statues, for several long minutes. The stillness only interrupted by Tumble’s cursing as he was finally freed. Tumble sauntered up to the intent trio, Redstrake and Sprout behind. Tiny Spartan stood in the bulkhead, a crease of worry marring his normally stoic contenance.

Tumble paused a moment and snorted. “Looks like fucking trees to me.”

Chief kept his eyes on the orchard. Where are you Goose. “Zip looked just like a fucking pony too. Keep your eyes peeled and your guard up, we don’t know...”

His speech was interrupted by a yellow streak impacting his neck. “Unca’ Uppity!” the mare sobbed into his mane. He wrapped a leg around the panicked mare, and she collapsed into the embrace. The group stood in shocked silence as Sunny wept.

Chief tried to console her, whispering encouraging words. “It’s ok Goose, I’m here. It’s alright...”

The tide of emotion receded and the butter pegasus broke off the embrace. She blinked a few stray tears away, her face turning serious. “We’ve gotta get out of here! This whole place isn’t what it seems!”

Questions poured out the group. “What do you mean? Where is everypony? Why are you here? What happened?”

Cider took a few steps away from the group, staring intently at the trees while her friends assaulted the flustered mare with questions. Something had been bugging her, something she couldn’t put a hoof on. The epiphany hit her with all the subtlety of a bucked apple tree. “Hush it!” she bellowed.

The assembled ponies ceased their questioning and turned to the farmer. Lancet stepped up beside her, trying to trace her line of sight. Nothing seemed out of place to him. “What is it?”

“It’s the trees. Look at the canopy, they shouldn’t be all tangled up like that.”

The huddled ponies gazed out on the expansive orchard. Innumerable trees spread out as far as they could see, all inexplicably entwined. They stood, mouths agape, as the gravity of the situation dawned on them. “New plan, we lock this place back up and find some way to...”

Chief’s plan was interrupted by a wet wrenching sound behind them. The ponies turned to witness the horror behind them. Tiny Spartan stood rooted in the airlock, his enormous bulk bloating as sinuous cords roiled beneath his skin. He stared at them, his face his usual impassive mask. No pain, no fear, only apathy was carved into his face as he swelled like a sinister balloon, blocking their only escape.

The bulbous abomination blocking the exit screamed. The reverberating note shattered the veneer of tranquility over the orchard. Answering shrieks resounded throughout the orchard.

Cider took Betsy’s yoke in her mouth and bathed the exit in a stream of sticky, liquid fire. Tiny sizzled and popped like a pine log full of sap. It writhed in the flames, in the throes of death, but it’s flaming pyre still denied them an escape.

Chief stood protectively between Sunny and the immolated husk, shotgun at the ready. Tumble drew Love and Peace and stood with him, leveling the pistols at the thrashing form in front of them. Lancet turned away from the blaze toward the now ominous orchard. Sprout stood beside him, shying away from the furnace Cider was liberally dousing with another jet of flame.

Redstrake bolted.

Redstrake knew he talked too much, too fast. It wasn’t his fault, he just thought fast. When Tiny swelled up like an evil quiche his mind went into overdrive. Is that what happened to Zip Tie? Had to be. Was Tiny one of them the whole time? Unlikely, he would have tried to take me when we were alone! Would I know if he infected me? No... yes... maybe? I’m me, dammit! No, he had to change later. When? Who?

He looked around, Cider was hosing down the thing a second time. Chief was protecting Sunny. Lancet was looking out into the orchard. Sprout was staring fearfully at the flames. Of course.

He turned and galloped into the orchard. He’d worked there his whole life, there were countless places he could hole up. He couldn’t get through those flames, and staying with the group was death. It’s safer to only trust myself.

He barreled along the outskirts of the apple trees, a golden field called to him in the distance. I’ll run through the wheat field and get a sickle from the shed. Then I can defend myself.

He thought he heard yelling behind him, but he pressed on.

Sunny cowered behind her uncle, his strong presence calming her. The monster was horrifying, but they all had been. She had borne witness to the whole outbreak from high in the rafters. Dozens of lives ended, consumed.

She saw Redstrake run away. She stood transfixed by indecision. He had made it a fair distance away before her mind broke free. She spread her wings and took off after him.

“Red! Stop! It’s all bad in there!” She flew low and fast, skirting the edge of the orchard. She didn’t get much practice flying for speed, but she was still faster than him. She focused on his fleeing red form and urged herself to overtake him.

It was her focus that almost cost her her life. A blur of motion swept into her peripheral vision as a nearby tree thrust a long, gnarled branch at her. She tucked in a wing and threw herself into a roll, dodging the impaling attack. She skidded across the packed earth, spinning out of control. She screamed as a wing wrenched against itself. Her momentum finally bled off and she came to rest well within the confines of the rows of apple trees. Branches lanced down, blocking her path back to the relative safety of the clearing. She clawed her way to her hooves as more seeking limbs slapped down where she had been. She galloped down the row. In the distance she could just make out the shiny aluminum form of a fuel shed, of safety.

It was close. Somewhere behind her she heard gunshots and a stallion’s yell. She put it out of mind as she sprinted toward the shed.

It was so close.

Tumble saw a golden blur streak off in his peripheral vision, Sunny chasing after the cowardly Redstrake. Oh yeah, fly off, that’s fucking brilliant.

“Chief!” he yelled, his voice drowned out in the confusion around the bulkhead. “I got her!”

He galloped after her. She was faster than he expected, streaking off toward the fleeing form of Redstrake. She suddenly dove to the right and crashed heavily into the ground. He lowered his head and charged after her, pistols drawn.

As he closed on the scene of her crash, he noticed the trees swaying vigorously. He dug in his hooves and skidded to a stop as a branch whipped past his face. He backpedalled and blasted the attacking tree. The bullet dug into the wood; the tree didn’t seem to care.

“Fuck!”

He turned back toward the relative safety of the group. Where once stood a small band of ponies now burned a raging firestorm.

“Fuck!”

The trees slashed and stretched for him. Well, at least they’re rooted in place. A scream echoed across the fields. Tumble glanced toward the pained voice. He squinted, just able to pick out a writhing red form under an unbucked section of apples in the distance. Dumb bastard. That’s a lot of red though. The red mass seemed to be moving now. It snaked toward him, bouncing. It wasn’t a single something, but a mass of somethings. His confusion was quickly replaced with concern as the realization they were coming his way finally dawned on him. Shit!

Behind him was a wall of fire, to his left the massive steel and concrete wall of the orchard, to his right pony-eating trees, and in front of him quickly moving red somethings that most likely wanted to eat him as well.

He yelled and charged into the treeline.

Lancet stared at the trees, movement drawing his attention. A single apple had fallen from a tree at the edge of the grove, then another. Soon apples were raining out of the trees. he cocked his head, curious.

“Cider? Chief? Something’s going on over here!”

One of the apples shifted. It’s red skin split as a long, spindly appendage lanced out of its side. Five more legs spread out from it. It raised itself up as it split nearly in two. It’s disjointed jaw flapped open and a barbed serpentine tongue slithered out. The other fallen apples started to shiver and transform.

He backed up in horror as the tiny horde advanced toward him. Bumping into Cider pulled him back into the moment. “CIDER! Burn them NOW!”

The tawny mare turned from the bulkhead. “What’re ya hollarin’...” she mumbled past the control yoke. Her eyes went wide for a moment then she swept Betsy in an arc before her, isolating the group from the orchard with a wall of flame.

I’m fucked.

Tumble latched the shed door behind him, but he doubted it would hold long. As if in answer to that premonition, a heavy impact caused the door to shiver.

He reached into the bag of stolen contraband and pulled out a tin. He popped a Party-time Mint-al. His mind raced, his stream of consciousness becoming a raging torrent. A multitude of plans, schemes, and strategies coalesced in his mind. He played each to its conclusion. He picked through them all, a plan formed and ready.

I’m fucked.

But I am not going out like a bitch.

The banging was coming from all sides. A few exploratory fronds had found their way underneath the dented door. He levitated the bag of contraband drugs in front of him, and with a swift motion emptied it. As they fell toward the ground he activated SATS. The time manipulation spell froze his perception.

He regarded the multitude of drugs suspended in time before him. He started targeting a selection with his telekinesis. Hydra regeneration might slow down the spread. Med-X for pain. Cateye? Why the hell not. Hey, distilled Dash on a timer collar! Oh, and MindBuff Telekinesis strengthener. What’s this? He targetted an oddly shaped cylinder, a unicorn with a stylized octopus on his head was pictured. Octomind, magical multitasking enhancer. Apply directly to your horn!

He released SATS, the untargeted medicines clattering to the ground. He injected the Hydra and Med-X then set the timer on the Dash collar to three minutes. He downed Cateye with the chalky MindBuff. Ick, nasty stuff. He looked at the the odd cylinder, a hole in the bottom was covered by a thin membrane. Insert horn here, well, that’s easy. He slipped the cylinder over his horn. Nothing happened. Well, fuck! The banging picked up in its intensity. He started to look around for a weapon when the cylinder fanned out like a blooming flower. A high pitched whirring was the only warning before pain stabbed into the base of his horn. An octet of tiny drills burrowed into his horn, locking the fanned out ring in place. An icy chill seemed to seep from the base of his horn into his mind. He latched the Dash collar around his neck and pushed a button. The world slowed.

He took in his surroundings thoroughly for the first time. He was in a tool shed. Neatly ordered shelves held an assortment of small tools. But what drew his drug-altered attention were the half dozen tools hung with care around the now dented and deformed shed.

He wrapped the implements in a vivid blue aura, lifting them from their racks. Love and Peace joined them in a cloud around him. He gripped the drawstrings on the sextet of improvised weapons and with a rip they flared to life. Sharpened chains sped around the saws’ long bars. The roar was deafening in the tiny shed.

Let’s dance.

Author's Note:

All hail Kkat, crafter of the sandbox we play in.

I want to thank Mysecsha for being my Alpha reader, sounding board, and general entertainer.

And then I need to thank my volunteer beta readers: FallingSnow, MelonHunter42, and all the others who stopped in from the FoE community to give it a quick look-see.