Sometime after the world grew larger, everything seemed so... bland. Rust took the hospital beds. The walls of the hospital complex were breaking down in various ways, from the chipping paint to the blackened, moss-bit corners leaking irradiated rainwater. The long-gone flourescent lights were ticking time bombs hanging from the ceiling, coating the floor with glass. And when the glass didn't puncture one's hooves, the scattered remnants of surgical tools would infect somepony with tetanus. These facts were drilled into her head everyday and every night wandering the ruins of her home. Her being a mare of little adventure and little presence, a lithe and sickly pony without a kill or destiny to her name. And her name was Silent Hill, the last known survivor of St. Michael's cryogenics project. Why was she the last survivor? She didn't know. Or care.

It'd been six days since she'd thawed out of cryosleep. She wandered the corridors of Saint Michael's on the seventh day, scrounging about for textbooks on chemistry, anatomy, medicinal sciences and all sorts of interesting things. The subtle, humdrum squeak and roll of her I.V stand followed her everywhere. Even in the pursuit of knowledge, it made her a trotting noise machine. A trotting target. The contents of its pack was regular, equine blood. Why blood, some might've asked. She didn't know. And she didn't care about her morphed physiology, only that it wasn't some gross homeless blood or some annoying bugchaser's donation. Silent Hill, rubbing her tired eyes, meandered toward the nearest restroom. Because boy was she tired. And that was with caffeine pills, which amassed near the E.R stockroom.

The mare stumbled into the remnants of a nice, cozy restroom. Even the bits of broken glass and absent wall couldn't bring it down. It was the only floor with a full, uncracked mirror. She looked again at the strange, glass portal. In it, she saw somepony with black, raven hair all neatly organized like a business pony's. The pony on the other side of the mirror held her hooves at her chest, glancing away when Silent Hill did. Their eyes were a perfect shade of jade. Like marbles stuck in the center of dry, bloodshot whites. Her chin was supple and so was her jawline. Silent Hill saw her pronounced canines, not daring to ask about them. She found the sharp, needle-like things... rather comely.

"W-well... see you later, miss. I'll be here tomorrow, okay?" She chuckled anxiously, slinking away and retiring for the night.

Her gown wrinkled against itself as she walked, blown back by the wind something fierce against her. The corridor itself had a gaping, menacing emptiness near the farthest exit. It was go forward or go back. And the various bits of white, ashy substance blew in toward her. Though it wouldn't have felt like a struggle for anypony else, Silent felt like paper underneath the gusts. As if she'd lose footing and blow away. Her eyes stayed clinging toward the last corner as she neared the titanic gape. Silent powered through and cautiously avoided falling to her death, grazing the dropoff region with the side of her left hooves.

She took to sitting in bed, rehabilitating with several, light weights from the old fitness centers scattered about. Five pounds was nothing. Ten pounds was normal. Fifteen pounds was her maximum, no-injury weight. Anymore and the mare couldn't handle the stress. It wasn't her back that gave out, but her legs. Triceps. Biceps. Everything else was so frail compared to her barely-functional back. Silent dropped her rubbery weights and watched the sun rise from out her half-shattered window. Below, the orange-kissed concrete was... swarming with ponies. Except, she heard their voices echoing about the vast and hollow city. One cackled wildly and asked if he could rape anypony in the building. Then, if they could use the body for a week's worth of hound meal after.

Silent Hill shook in-place, knowing they weren't normal ponies. Knowing they were just there to wreak havoc and use her for Celestia knew what. She couldn't fight. How could she fight three, four psychopaths all rushing in as a pack. Her lead stomach pulled her down and forced the mare to curl into herself. Where did she ever earn this. To die a nameless victim. Silent shambled out of bed and trotted about lost in her own thoughts. Too tired to panic. Too tired to think. Instead, she visited The Mare in the Mirror one more time. One more time before it'd all come crashing down. She held those cheeks best she could and felt the glass between them.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry we didn't do more. I'll be back, okay. There are ponies coming up here and they're no good. They want to hurt us... I love you. If I don't come back, take care of yourself. Run. Run in a straight line and don't look back."

Silent bit her lower lip, wiping her frantic eyes dry.

"I'll miss you. And- and goodbye- I won't- I won't forg-g-e-et you." She choked out, muffling her lips as she fought her urge to stay.

Her bandaged legs wobbled about every other step. The stains of dried, old red and fresh tears layered about like camouflage. She shivered and trotted half-alive throughout the halls, gathering furniture and miscellanic, heavier items. Silent slipped and weaved through the many obstacles in her way, hopping over puddles, misplaced vines and loose tiles. Then, it hit her, as she tripped over one and drenched her coat in disgusting liquids. She could set traps.

It took Sanguine Sonnet six minutes to successfully start the damn elevator. Her partner and the other two cursed in sweet relief. They rode the damn box up another few floors, stopping to find various trinkets and abandoned valuables. Sanguine Sonnet reloaded her .32 magnum, sticking one of those hollow-point rounds in the seventh chamber slot. It'd been forever since she could use it. The thought brought a smile on her face. To her left was Social Sonnet, who shared her crimson mane and bright, gold eyes. He wore his same painspike armor from back way east, even carrying one of those combat shotguns with the drum magazine. The grin he had on stuck in her head. Just like His.

"You sure like that gun, Sangie. You gonna use it on the first waster we find?" He asked, chuckling as she tapped his shoulder back.

"You bet. Ha, bet Dad would've loved to see me shoot his old Helmshotter. Best damn .32 I've ever shot, really. You ever know it had an empty butt for cigarettes?" She responded, sighing hard when her twin broke into laughter.

Right. Anything with the word 'butt' in it could potentially be funny. Lesson-learned and none-taken, she hushed, watching the doors open. They walked out of their metal prison and tread upon the 42nd floor, immediately noticing the danger of missing lights. However, the fresh bandages and snack wrappers littering the hall spoke of occupants. Somepony was there. And they were all delirious with hunger at that point. Sanguine Sonnet took the flank, watching for ambushes. Nopony, not even a late afternoon disturbed them. Social Sonnet bit his lip, resting a few feet behind the front to tie one of his boots right. He watched their leader fall over for some, awful reason. An eruption of long, scratchy screams assaulted his ears. The colt turned back to show the glass jutting out of his face, his cheeks and skin melting with a sickly, acidic smell. Social Sonnet stumbled backwards against the nearest wall, horrified and darting his eyes about.

"My face is fucking melting! Go get me a stimpak! Get me some meds...!" He howled, unable to stand on his hooves.

He slipped and fell all sorts of ways, burning and itching wherever the puddle he was trapped in touched. It stuck to his skin and smelled like a sour, bitter medicine and vinegar. Before long, his raw skin ate away at his conscious mind. He felt himself growing more and more lifeless while his blood hissed and foamed under exposure to the vile substance. The screams stopped as his lifeless corpse lay wide-eyed and eaten away.

Sanguine Sonnet clutched her gun and kept it pointed toward every, single sound that struck her ear. Her jittery hooves only grew worse. She heard the other lead pony shriek her lungs away, only to be cut away by inequine, crinkling plastic sounds. What would ever make that noise. What living thing sounded like a bag wrinkling and expanding constantly. Her fear shut her down as she charged the source, firing wildly at the nearest area of deafening noise. It was a lit room with the bullet-ridden body of her friend. She grit her teeth and stomped her feet.

"Y-you're not even gonna come out and fight me?! What kind of pussy are you?! Come out and fight me...!"

Somepony tripped near the doorway behind her. She jumped and fired twice. Sanguine Sonnet dropped her weapon and galloped over to her victim.  His lifeblood spilled over his coat and made him look like a target. Sanguine Sonnet shook his body and screamed his name. She shook him again and cried over his neck when his eyes started bleeding out. His legs were still warm against the spurting neck wounds. Before she could cough and hack her air away, she saw the world go... white. White, plastic material stole the air from her. No. It wasn't stealing her air, it just took away the air outside her lungs. She bucked and struck wherever she could but her legs were in the air and her back was slanted. Her stomach writhed as it burned and her chest charred deep inside. Her last thoughts were of father and her brother, at home eating meat pie and keeping mother clean of chems.

Silent Hill waited for her legs to stop bucking. They took to quiet, microscopic twitches. And then, when the mare with the orange coat stopped breathing, she pried the plastic bag from her own hooves and let it fall to the floor, where it belonged.

Next Chapter: Pony Nature Estimated time remaining: 2 Hours, 18 Minutes