I'd like to say it had been a day after I was taken into the ELM, but through the dark brick box I had stayed in it became very hard to tell what was night and what was day. The building itself was, as previously mentioned, essentially a bricked up shell of an old store. I could see the cash register and the counter still intact, although they were both layered in a thick snow of dust and cobwebs. However tonight came the criminal exposition. A time the government takes advantage of ponies that may or may not have committed a crime (sometimes even as small as stealing candy) and turning them into a public example. This left a dark air in the room, especially for the ELM soldiers that were on defense.

On the topic of the ELM, they were mostly either too young or too old. I am probably in the latter of the two so it didn't surprise me that I fit in nicely. Some ponies were as young as fourteen, and the oldest was seventy-three. I recognized the oldest from just before I had my head smashed against the corner of a building. He was the one that got the boards. Now he had a different look, an old Prussian Amoeba camo uniform and an old Prussian Ssh. 40 helmet. It was practically eighty years old at the point he was wearing it, and the wear on it showed that. On his back he had an old Mosin Nagant bolt action rifle, although he had crudely turned it into a sawed off with what looked like a manual saw. It was missing it's stock and most of the barrel, making it the size of a small pistol. It looked painful to hold, and much more painful to shoot.

"We know you trust us to some extent, but we need to know if we can trust you." Bellona's voice was always slow and methodical, every word was spoken with a purpose. It made me all the more anxious to know that even she had an issue with this.

"Is this going to be like an oath or something?" I spoke without thinking, for I already knew that it wouldn't be that.

"No, actions speak much louder than words. The exposition is tonight, I'm sure you know what that means."

"They're going to kill criminals in front of everypony as an example. It's meant for entertainment but the real purpose is clear. They'll generally torture or just kill everypony on the stage."

"Well remember how I said 'Actions speak louder than words?"

"Of course that wasn't even thirty seconds ago."

"Well you're going on the stage."

It was relatively stressful that day, relatively as in every day is stressful when you risk execution for hiding a pistol under your couch. It was just slightly worse considering that I'm being put on the criminal exposition. Something wanted to tell me that they lied to me and were with the Government, but I couldn't quite believe it. I don't know why, but the look in Bellona's eyes when she told me the news was that of honest fear and concern. I probably even knew the logic behind choosing me, they knew I was new to everything but a brawl. The youngest of the soldiers were around me, all lofting where they can with whatever weapons they'd get ahold of. Mostly the weapons were older semi auto handguns or revolvers, things that could easily be salvaged.

One of the soldiers kept quiet as he sat next to me, probably gauging the new guy. I spoke up to break the silence.

"I never got your name, mind telling me?" I started off kind. Don't know what type of a pony he is.

"Broad, Broad Side. I work on planning here and run security from time to time. You're new so I'll give you some slack."

"I'm new to this group, not to fighting if that's where you're taking that."

"Sure, old stallion is going to fight an army on his own, I like the sound of it."

Cocky, I didn't like it.

"I'm not that old and you damn well know it."

"Gramps you're starting to get on my last nerve."

I looked over at him, it was now I noticed that he was actually roughly 18, too young to be running planning. I got up and walked over to another table, I hadn't done much walking in their safehouse so I thought that now would be a great time for sightseeing. The place I was in looked like it was once a bar, they managed to brick off all the windows to make it look empty from the outside. I was actually impressed with the construction of it.

There were tables leading down the probably 20,000 square foot compound. Some rooms were just bunk beds and others were simply empty. The one I came from was a freezer. There was, however, one small room at the far end of the building that had light seeping from the hinges. The building was dark and wet, which made the oasis of light even more noticeable. I opened the door, and I was greeted by something I was certain wasn't real.

It was real, which was what threw me off. It was the alicorn. She was a pinkish white on the coat, and a mix of pink and blue in the mane, her eyes were a light diamond blue. She wasn't expecting me and looked up from her desk. She was reading some book, decided I might as well know the last remaining alicorn.

"What's the book?"

"It's called 'The Prince.'. It's a philosophy book about how ponies think, but I'm sure you may already know of it given your age."

"Philosophy? That's something I haven't heard about in decades." Goddamn does she really think I'm old enough to read literature from the early sixteenth century?

"Sounds like something I'd expect you to say. You're a fighter not a thinker."

"Who said a fighter can't think?"

"The Stallions that run with guns prove it over and over again, they can't do anything but listen to somepony else. Somepony who might not be able to think either."

"That's because you're looking at foals, not Stallions."

This caught her off guard. She wasn't expecting me to say something that made sense. She knew it was right too.

"I was born long before this war, I was trained to fight when I was about your age. It makes me sound old when I say it but it really wasn't that long ago. Back then fighters like that militia were curb stomped by ones like me. We used to run around in countries that looked just a little better than this one and turn them into empires. That was the idea at least."

"I thought you were lying when you said you were a Marine."

I looked her in the eyes, with a blank expression on my face. The faces of the ponies I've maimed and killed flew past my mind, alongside the ones I saw maimed and killed on both sides whether they had anything to do with the war or not. I said the only thing I could think of.

"We aren't foals disguised as wolves like those militia are."

"Then what are you?"

"We are wolves disguised as stallions. The phrase is more true than I think you'd understand. We hunt ponies, maim and kill them, and forget their names after we're done."

"You've killed before?" She was actually surprised, I guess some ponies are still jaded to reality. I simply nodded in response.

"Then tell me, what do you feel when you kill a pony?"

"Recoil."

We got the bad news by word of mouth that day. Bellona had gotten captured by Politburo Military Police when she was trying to tamper with the blade on the guillotine. From the sound of it she tried to make a block out of concrete just big enough to fit in the slits that hold the blade against the boards. It was a smart idea, but I think I understood how she got caught, as concrete isn't exactly the easiest material to work with. Ironically enough even though I was a combat engineer I never touched it, mostly because combat engineers don't engineer anything but actually blow shit up and kill anypony that survives. The criminal exposition wouldn't need ordinance of that type, so I just loaded the pistol with whatever ammunition I could find, which was a mix of standard ball, full metal jacket, and hollow point. I felt awfully bad for the pony that got the last one on the list. There is a siren that plays classical music whenever it starts, so I just waited for that.

When the siren finally came, it was 9 PM. I shoved the compact Beretta in my SERPA Holster, a small plastic holster that makes somepony stealing your firearm out of the question. It was mounted on my right hip, an extra magazine loaded with whatever we could find was in my pocket. I made my way to the area they were doing the show. They didn't check who was going beyond having patrols look through all the homes, probably because they expected everypony to show.

I watched the games for half an hour. They went one by one, shooting the 'criminals' in the head, quickly and mercilessly. Then it came to the actual torture. This was where they always said the game began. They dragged a stallion out from the bottom of the stage and beat him with a hammer. The strikes were directed towards the legs, to keep him from running. They slowly bludgeoned him to death after they crushed every bone in two of his legs. The next pony they pulled was Bellona. I put my hoof on the pistol, waiting for the right moment to do this.

The pony took the blade from the guillotine, then he spoke.

"This degenerate is under suspicion for terrorism. She fights the authorities and goes against the direct orders of Steel. Think, everypony, what it'd be like without him? Would you even be alive?"

The crowd started talking among themselves, they didn't have the right to disagree.

"She was trying to sabotage our game here, what does that make her?"

The crowd responded in unison, not a happy unison but a trained and tired one.

"A degenerate."

I waited for the right time to strike. It was coming.

"So we shall send her off!"

He raised the blade, in turn I pulled a black balaclava over my face. I hadn't done this in years.

I fired a round in the air, then went deaf. The shell tapped the top of my head and rolled to the ground. The crowd parted like an ocean, some hit the ground others ran for their lives. The pony on the stage turned and stared. I walked my way towards the stage, pistol raised at center mass of the executioner, who was easily two to three feet taller than me and much better built. I was silent, waiting for him to move. He put the blade down and raised his hooves. As soon as I stepped on stage I made way to the back of Bellona. She had obviously been beaten before this. there was brown blood stains going down her white coat, and some newer wounds splattered across her face. It was clear the bridge of the nose was broken, which was the least of my concern as I didn't know how long she'd be unconscious.

I pulled her with one hoof while using the other to keep the pistol pointed at him. I looked away for a second. That was his chance. He charged at me so quickly I couldn't put a shot out. I got tackled off of the stage into the dirt, ponies circled us as they watched in horror. The executioner threw the first swing. A hard right hook that missed me by an inch. I ducked under when he threw an uppercut. It was sloppy and just hit my chest. It went right into the sternum, which could've been deadly had he been more precise.

I ran into him, pushing him to the stage, and threw punches to the gut and abdomen. Ironically you can find peace to get your head together when you are pressed against your opponent. He tried pushing me back but I fought my way to his left side. This gave me the chance to prepare a shot to the head, as normally he would've seen it coming and dropped me while I swung. I had to swing high. As soon as I jumped I swung a hard straight punch directly into his nose. It broke with a splash of blood. He stumbled back a few steps then got on one knee. I ran towards him and kicked him in the face, spilling blood on the top of the stage. The executioner tried to get up, that was when my pistol fell onto his chest from the stage. He was quick to pick it up.

He raised it to me, obviously not used to the feel of a real firearm. I jumped over him and landed on the stage, scared as hell I did the first thing I could think of. I grabbed the blade form the guillotine, it was roughly thirty pounds. I ran back that way, he was holding half his body out of the stage and raised it to my face. I dropped the blade onto his chest from roughly a five foot drop. The blade tore its way all the way through his torso. He fired a round from my handgun, but it went wild.

He was trying to get away by dragging himself, but instead he was pulling his intestines all over the grass. I walked over to him, surprised he was alive let alone conscious, and picked my blood soaked pistol up. I put a shot in his head, which made a clean hole right through the back of his head and took a portion of his face off on the other side, must've been one of the full metal jackets. Dirt and blood had sprayed up at me when I did this, but I didn't mind. I grabbed Bell and made my way through the alleys. The crowd followed me, some cheering, others crying. Some were even cursing me out, I didn't care however, I knew I did the right thing.

I fired a round in the air to get them off my tail. Then I made my way to the fake door.

She was unconscious when I got back to the safe house. I thought it was probably oxygen asphyxiation, but further examination showed a swelling goose egg on the back of her head.

"Thank god it's swelling outwards. If it swelled inwards she'd be dead." I thought silently. I don't know why I was worried about her, it was an odd feeling. I don't even know who she is more than a name and a face, there was no reason for me to care. Yet something told me we were two of the same breed.

There were twenty ponies here overall I had figured, one of which was a doctor. She had a red cross as her cutie mark, white coat, and red hair. The overall doctor-like look made it way too easy to notice her, I waved her over. She was working on removing stitches from above somepony's eye, which were without a doubt from a fist fight. She came over and wheeled the unconscious Bell out into somewhere else.

I walked back up the stairs towards the offices, I was curious to if I could find an unoccupied bed to rest in. On the way up, however, somepony called my name. They more of yelled it, which made me jump out of my skin. I was quick to turn around, and find the candy colored alicorn staring at my back.

"How did you do that?" She started.

"What? How'd I do what?"

"How did you make it out alive? We try to get ponies out of the exposition every month and each time we lose one. How'd you make it back?" She still didn't see the difference between me and anypony else. Can't blame her, though it was a bit disappointing.

"You like to think a pony my age has never seen blood don't you?"

"Well, of course not but I just don't know how you learned this?"

"You want a story or an explanation? I prefer the story."

"Alright, well what is it?"

I marched her back into the room with the desk, the one I met her in, and began to explain what she was too young to have seen.

"Equestria used to be ruled by four princesses, you know that much don't you?"

"Well yes, but nopony ever told me what happened."

"Well we always thought that they were immortal gods, something that was put into being to rule over everypony. We kept that idea, we loved that idea, we killed for that idea. Through a faith built government we became the strongest military on the planet, nopony had ever seen a military that could match ours. Then, one year, we're sent to Yakyakistan. Yakyakistan is a cold, then incredibly warm, country to the far north of Equestria. When we got there we caught a glimpse of reality, we found another alicorn."

"But there's supposed to be five, including me?"

"That's what we thought, science liked to say otherwise. Alicorns are actually a subspecies of ponies, so in essence they're exactly the same. This means that they can die too. Our orders were to find the alicorn and kill it. At first we took the orders with grace, that is until we got time to think about it. If alicorns are gods, why are we being ordered by alicorns to kill another alicorn? It made sense. They aren't immortal, they just live a bit longer. When the word got home, the world took a dive to hell. Civil War burst out about where our country was going to go from there. Some wanted the alicorns to keep ruling, others wanted an election, and some wanted the country all to themselves. The warlords are of the last one."

"So what'd they do?"

"Got a bunch of confused starving ponies, offered them food if they shot somepony, and followed through. Eventually the three came to a stalemate. The Brotherhood of Blood took the east, led by a pro-Equestria prince that wanted to maintain power. The center of the lands got controlled by Steel, and I'm sure you know a lot about him. Lastly the east went to 'The Banner', ruled by a Yakistani warlord that believes in ethnic cleansing. Make sense?"

"But those were peaceful times before now, what made you who you are?"

"Somepony had to do the dirty work, that job went to me. I think you're taking the title 'Equestrian Marine' too lightly when you compare me to some militia. It's not a good mistake to make, but it is an understandable one." I walked towards the barracks and found an empty bed.

I was once again thrown into my own personal hell. A punishment for the sins I'd committed.

We were on the firing range, in the middle of the blistering heat at that. In order to get to the range in the first place we needed to run roughly nine to ten miles, as moving fuel and vehicles through the mountains was a dangerous and tricky business. The runs were constant, with short brakes to allow for some water, but we knew that if we stayed to long the blood flow would lessen and cause cramps. We generally skipped the water breaks and just held our canteens in our hoofs. The formations were tight, and the vision in the goggles was minimal since the sweat tended to fog them up. I generally put them over my helmet, a small plastic Bump helmet. They couldn't stop a round but I wasn't planning on getting shot in the head.

Once the runs were over, that was when we drank from rivers. We carried purification tablets with us, so there wasn't any worry about disease. I never trusted those tablets though, they left this odd trace of iodine and didn't take dirt out of the water. Normally we'd have a steady brown stream flowing when we tipped the canteens over. I remember some ponies dropping entire packs of iodine into their canteen, hoping that it would wash out the aftertaste of dirt and sand. Instead it just made the taste of the water unbearable.

This was eighteen years ago, and this day I'd never forget.

We were settling along the firing range, starting with handgun training runs. They generally consisted of running fifty meters forwards then dropping to one knee to put accurate fire out at a few targets that were something like twenty feet away. It was almost ritualistic, we knew every step to take and moved like machines. From there we went into medical evacuation training, something we hoped we would never need to use. We'd drag a unit back one hundred meters, they would be shooting from their AR15 using one arm. I always doubted the realism of this exercise, as if I were shot I don't think I'd be able to lift my arm and keep firing. That was something I'd never wished to know.

We were about to go into explosives, throwing grenades roughly ten yards into windows that we had set up, when things went downhill.

"Now, grenades aren't armed until the safety lever is r-" The shot rang out from a distance, and the instructor's body dropped. He was holding a grenade in his hoof, the pin pulled but safety lever still intact. It fell off when his hoof hit the ground. Nopony save a few had seen blood before, so I tackled the two next to me behind a pit of sand, and when the grenade went off I was deaf.

It was almost peaceful, not being able to hear. The two stallions I grabbed were okay, one bruised in the face but other than that okay. I couldn't feel my leg, and that was when I noticed something. A sharp stab of pain.

I looked down, my right leg was bleeding profusely. Shrapnel had entered my leg, but the wound was almost immediately seared shut. I got up, then started stumbling on one side. Some of the ponies, miraculously, were okay. The instructor was no longer an equine, he was a ball of burned flesh and some clumps of his coat and bones. It was a grizzly sight. I remember feeling light headed, something between scared and dead inside, and pain. It was more of a dread than anything else now that I look back at it.

The ponies on the firing line were riddled with shrapnel and burns, some were alive, but most were not so lucky. One of them had managed to be okay, only because he was in the back of the group when the grenade went off. His buddies took the shrapnel and he just took the concussion wave of the blast. He was unconscious but still breathing.

The ponies that managed to survive that were close to the blast had permanent disabilities, ranging from loss of limbs all the way to permanent paralysis from the neck down. I remember walking towards the range to check for casualties when I stepped on a missing hoof and a bunch of scorched teeth on the ground with a pool of blood.

It was about that time the Humvee's wheels screamed to a halt in the back of the firing range, the medical officers unloaded and began grabbing the bodies. I couldn't hear them, instead I was entranced by the serenity of the incident. It was surprisingly peaceful. They ran past me, grabbing the dead and leaving the hunk of meat that was the company firearms instructor. They loaded them back up, before they left one grabbed my shoulder. He screamed something at me and I couldn't hear it. I made out something along the lines of "We're not leaving you" from his lips.

"What?" I shouted back, I couldn't even hear it but apparently the staff caught on pretty quick. They ran over with a map and flipped it to it's other side, where they wrote their message.

'We're leaving this location for four hours in order to return the wounded to the base and have most either pronounced dead by the medics or stabilized. We are not abandoning you.'

I was a little stunned and yelled something at the officer, a tear rolled down his eye as he went back into the Humvee, which sped off into the distance. It was a long four hours, sitting with nothing but blood and gore. There were limbs left on the ground, cut in ways that couldn't be reattached. Some charred like an overcooked stake. I leaned back, and the ponies I tackled regained consciousness. For them it was an intensely harsh reality, did this really just happen?

When they brought me back they had me write out everything that happened. One of the ponies radio'd in for reinforcements before passing out, and they sent a medical team to see the issues. They assumed it was an accident. I recited what I knew on a sheet of paper, as I still couldn't hear. I wrote down what I remembered, the instructor getting shot, his body dropping, the grenade rolling to the sandbags, then stopped when I tackled the two next to me. They gave me a bronze star on the spot and waited a few weeks for me to regain my hearing. They were supposed to discharge me from the military for my wounds but instead decided that it wasn't worth the trouble and kept me.

Author's Notes:

Execution by guillotine. Fun isn't it?