Whenever I wake up after a nightmare, I forget where I am. It was especially terrifying here since the beds and dingy surroundings reminded me too much of Yakyakistan. I was almost convinced I was still there. I reached over for my M16, but instead my hoof fell short upon a night stand. I remembered everything and was brought back into reality.

Bellona was already awake, I'd slept until the next day. Luckily she wasn't in a coma, but she still looked pretty banged up. I still remembered last night, the one shot that rang out and split the crowd all the way into the run back to here. I don't know how far they followed me, but if anypony kept going after that they were either stupid or had a death wish. She shook me again, must've fazed out.

"Are you even listening?" We seem to have this same conversation every day.

"Nope, say it again."

"Nopony followed us back. Also, thank you."

"No need, but I guess your plan didn't quite go your way."

She giggled at that, which was odd considering the fact she was almost beheaded after being beaten out of consciousness.

"You could say that, so I got something to thank you."

She flopped a cardboard box down on the bed next to me, it was probably the only one that was empty in the entire room. The rest were in use by the old, the weak, the young, and the sick. The box, however, was roughly four feet long. One could guess what was in it. Bell nodded over to it, almost like a foal wanting his parents to look at his refrigerator art. It was almost cute. Almost.

I slid upright and reached over to the box, lifting it up with both arms. It was unusually heavy, which only added to the obviousness of what was inside it.

"What's in the box?" the pony in the bunk above it said.

"No clue. Wanna guess?"

"I got fifty bucks on a dead body."

I opened it carefully, then slid out an M16A4 rifle. It was brand new, I could even smell the cosmoline. It was a weird feeling, finding comfort in something familiar like this. The rifle was in a coyote tan paint scheme, with laser engravings etched into the side. It was the same rifle I used years ago, just in a fancy color. On the bottom of the box was a classic Ka-Bar combat knife, which generally wasn't supposed to come free. I wasn't arguing though.

'Colt armory, Fillydelphia. Caliber: 5.56x45.

FOR USE BY GOVERNMENT AND LAW ENFORCEMENT ONLY.'

I remembered that name, and it'd been years since I'd seen one.

"Where did you find this?"

"We actually have had it for a while, but nopony knew how to use it so we left it alone. Figured you knew how."

"You seriously can't use one of these?"

"Is that a bad thing?"

'Very, very bad thing. If you cant use basic military equipment you've already lost.'

"Give it a shot, I want to see what you've been trying." To not know how to operate a basic rifle platform is a problem, I needed to teach at least one of them and the word would pass on.

"Well from what I understand you put the clip-thing in." She picked up the magazine to the rifle, she was off on a good start.

"It's called a magazine."

"Whatever, then you stick it in here I think." She slid the magazine in but not to the click, when she moved her hoof it just slipped out and clattered on the floor. She picked it back up and then tried to put it in backwards. It truly was hopeless.

"Let me see it, you're on the right track."

She was confused and skeptical, probably still doubting that these things could even be used even though they're so goddamn simple. I picked up the magazine and flipped it the other way and slammed it in the magazine well, she was being far too gentle with it.

"Are you not scared of breaking it! We literally just gave it to you and I already heard a crack!"

"That was the magazine going into the magwell and getting locked in place, you're too kind."

I then handed her the rifle, just checking to see if she knew what to do next.

"Charge the rifle."

"Do what?"

"Cock the gun."

She put her hoof on the charging handle, which was better than I had expected, but then she pulled it back and couldn't get it out of the safety switch. It actually made me burst out laughing, more than I had in a long time. She was literally the equivalent of a foal picking up his daddy's gun. She was getting stumped by the foal safety.

She gave up, perhaps it was a bit over the top to start laughing. I took the rifle and grabbed both ends of the charging handle with the same hoof, making sure to press the lever on the left side of the handle down. This disengaged the foal safety. I pulled the handle all the way back and then let go, it slammed forwards, but the bolt stayed open. It was a sign that there was no more ammunition and it even made loading faster. I pulled the magazine out and used the hoof that was on the pistol grip to flip the safety off and pull the trigger. The bolt slammed forwards with a click. I then reinserted the magazine and aimed down the rifle's sights. It was familiar, the three bars, two curved and one straight sitting gently in the center of a wide circle.

To be fair the circle wasn't actually that wide, it was just an optical illusion that the rifle sights made to make them more accurate to the shooter by keeping the eyes focused on the front sight.

She stared, something between amazed and confused. She'd never seen anypony familiar with a rifle like this. It was awkward considering that she didn't even know the name.

"So what's the gun called?"

"The civilian name for this is AR-15, but this is a military model so it goes by the name M16A4."

"Let me guess, AR stands for Assault Rifle."

"Nope, Armalite Rifle. It's a company that went under long ago and got bought out by Colt."

I guess it's understandable that the guns had weird names to her, there was no businesses or corporations to name things after themselves here. Steel was a hardballer communist, so everything was owned by him. Logically this made him a rich pony in the land of his starving ponies. Irony is a bitch.

Something told me there was another reason they were showing me this, considering the move yesterday there had to be a problem coming up. I looked at her, and her body language just let me know that she was thinking exactly what I was.

"What's the next job?"

"It's the chief of Iron's police force in the area, he's giving a speech about this tonight and we think he knows where we are. If he does we can expect his other officers do too. We need to get them in one clean sweep. Seeing as you know how to do this I'm trusting you to it."

I expected this, it was obvious that they knew where we were after a show of force like that, and obviously they wouldn't move on to fight without giving public statement first. My stomach churned at the thought of killing a few more ponies, but it wasn't churning because of the fact that I had to kill them but the fact that I was comfortable with it.

"So any ideas Crow?"

I thought about it, there's a way I'd much rather do this than up close and personal. I'd rather this be a long distance affair.

"Do you have any optics for these rifles?"

"Like a scope?"

"Exactly."

"Only things we have are for older rifles, they can't work on this."

"Well that's a shame, looks like we're up close and personal again right?"

"Unfortunately so."

In all honesty I was fine with this, it was better than any other option. The information about this was already news across the nation, meaning that taking a shot close would give a bigger impact on the locals and maybe cause a divide in the populace. This is what we wanted, because change doesn't happen until there are numbers upon numbers of ponies that see the light. It was time for the M9, this time with the M16 coming with it. I've got my ten cents on there being a good number of ponies that want to see this world go back to how it was but are too scared to stand. This is more of a trigger for a bigger event.

In hindsight, that was almost spot on with what was going to happen. The world would never be the same.

I was lightheaded again, and the rest of my body was a frigid cold. I didn't feel any remorse or regret about what I was going to do, only what would happen if I was caught. The image of the M9 to my temple was so close I could almost grab it in my head. If it came to it, I wouldn't hesitate.

The speech was supposed to be broadcasted instead of Steel's normal timely message of denial. My watch gave me the reassurance that I was early, the time was 6:00, when I was looking at my watch waiting for it to start. I was standing at the local capital, where thousands of ponies were standing in the frigid cold waiting for the Chief's response on the topic in light of the shooting (if that is the right word in the first place). Some of these ponies were from other countries, and it was easy to tell which ones were foreigners. Most of them were either news reporters or camera ponies, broadcasting live. In the center, however, was Steel's news team, the ones broadcasting it to ponies everywhere. What was awfully weird was looking at the difference in the cameras, the ponies from Prussia and New Griffonland all had top of the line HD cameras whereas the Equestrian's had something from fifty years ago.

The crowd got more and more dense the closer you got to the front. I was only scared of anypony bumping into the backpack I had on, as I had broken the M16 in half by taking the upper receiver off of the lower, which made them both fit in a schoolbag if they were put side by side. If anypony bumped into the backpack something in the rifle might go out of place, luckily there was nopony trying to grab onto me so I didn't need to worry too much about that.

To say that was all I was afraid of, however, may have been a lie. I was terrified of the security. Although sure they were mostly just teens on crack with guns, there was a lot of them. Numbers can outdo skill any day. I just needed to find a hole in it, or just take the shot from a distance and hope nopony looks at me while I'm putting the rifle together. There was, however, other buildings I could take a shot from, as the procession was essentially on the front steps of the congress building I could easily pick them off from a distance. My only issue would be if the target moves, that much distance between us will make it so it takes a quarter second for the round to hit target. A lot can happen in one fourth of a second.

The procession was starting, the police chief was moving to his position in the stage, and his advisers were sitting behind him, one directly behind him to be exact. That would make it easy to take two birds with one stone, or two ponies with one shot. I waited until they were all seated, and looked for a way to get around the crowd instead of pulling the shot this close. My chance came when the guards parted the crowd to make room for a VIP to move to the stage. That was my chance. I made my way out of the crowd away from the VIP row, then stopped to look around for a building. Luckily there was a restaurant across the street, but it was roughly two hundred yards away. A shot from there could be a challenge, but it was nothing I hadn't done before. In the EMC we trained by taking shots with iron sights from 300 yards.

I walked smoothly, casually, almost normally. It was the lump in my chest that made it difficult. I was so anxious I couldn't breath. I already could see it, I'm about to line up the shot, then right when I pull the trigger he moves. The shot hits the deck, security rushes to my position and get me on the ground. It was something I didn't want to have happen.

I actually bumped into the restaurant door while I was lost in thought. It more of creaked open when I stepped back, the doorknob was broken and the hinges were old. The restaurant, however, was closed. Out of business in all reality, it'd been years since anypony could afford to eat anywhere, or anything but the handouts. The thick layer of dust was a nightmare for anypony with allergies, even as I walked a thick cloud of smoke pilled up behind me. The restaurant was ransacked long ago, I remember when it was open nineteen years ago. It closed when the war started.

I faintly remembered the sound of laughter at the bar, the old clink of mugs. Years ago, too many years ago. I stepped forward and crushed what was left of a broken bottle under my boot. It almost brought me back to what was, as much as I wish it wasn't, real life. There was a second story to the bar, but the door to the stairs was locked. Most ponies who have ransacked this place probably did it in the night, and didn't want to make noise by kicking the door down. I could bust right through it with one solid kick. I drew my M9 out of my holster and racked the slide, even watching the nine millimeter chamber the first round. It was about to start, before speeches like this they always start with a national anthem, which was essentially a quartet and a blaring row of trumpets.

I waited for it to get loud enough, since the quartet builds up in volume until the trumpets start. As soon as I heard them start I turned over to my shoulder and slammed full speed into the door, tearing right through it. My pistol was steady at the top of the stairs, which led to a room that faced away from the crowd. I made my way up the stairs and turned around, and then...

'You have got to be fucking kidding me.'

The room faced the wrong direction. I had mistaken a rotten tile for a window from the distance. I needed to think, and fast. I had a few ideas, all of them were no good. I first punched through the wall to see if there was another set of rooms through the drywall. I was instead greeted by the sour sensation of punching a brick wall covered in white wallpaper. I turned around, the room was tightly spaced, which ruled out there being another staircase in the room.

Then the worst idea of all of them hit me, yet it probably was the only one that'd work. I opened the window and looked up, I wasn't that far off from the roof, and the bricks stuck out enough to be grabbed onto, sorta like a windowsill. I was halfway out the window when I started having second thoughts, but the music was at it's climax so if I needed to make any noise now was the time. I threw my backpack over both shoulders and went through the window.

I held on with the tips of my hooves, and then slowly reached up to the next jutting brick. It was working nicely, I was actually almost to the triangular roof when the bricks broke. Both of the ones my bottom hooves were on fell off of the building, slamming fifty feet below. I used my front hooves to fling myself onto the edge of the roof, then pushed myself up to the top.

My heart was racing, it occurred to me that I almost died. I just needed to keep living to make that close call worth something. I made my way up to the highest point of the roof and set my rifle up against it, waiting for a clear shot. I couldn't make out anyponies details. I could only wait for the speaker to start and introduce himself. I knew the police chief's dark, rustic voice. I looked at the flag above the town hall, it was motionless. No Kentucky Wind-age to take into account, so I just aimed center mass. If the chest goes down the head comes with it.

I was lightheaded, cold, and utterly terrified. Instinctively I slowly pulled the trigger, the sights adjusted to the '3' on the lever and the target in the dead center. He was in a brown suit, and right when he opened his mouth I knew it was him. Subconsciously, I pulled the trigger all the way. The gunshot scared me more than anyone else, as the round ripped through the air at supersonic speeds, you could hear the 'Peckew' the round made breaking the sound barrier, it took less than a quarter of a second for it to make contact, the round hit high, directly through the neck. He put his hoofs on it, blood splattered across the stage, as he collapsed silently. It obviously ruptured the windpipe and arteries. He was on his knees, looking towards the crowd, nopony had gotten time to process it other than the guards, who attempted to secure the stage and get the crowd out of the area.

He fell to the side, his hoof reaching towards me.

'Did he see me? There's no way I'm too far.'

The pony directly behind him was untouched, but covered in blood, a guard came to shake him back into the moment, then I adjusted for elevation and shot him square in the chest. The more of the ponies on stage that were dead the less control the police had. It ripped through his chest and flew into the concrete building behind him. The guard stepped back, obviously in shock, and tripped over a running senate member, they both tumbled off of the stage. Another senator tried to help them up, I shot him twice in the chest. He fell on himself, as if his legs just gave up. To the right there was the secretary of state, I could easily recognize him from anywhere. He was a fat pony, sticking out of a crowd like a sore thumb.

He was laying down on the stage stairs, trying to look dead. I shot him through the head, which busted open like a watermelon. I pulled the rifle back, any more shots and the guards would get a beat on me. Then something that should've occurred to me earlier just hit me.

"How the fuck do I get down from here."

I looked around, and directly behind me was another building, and a window if I could hoof it enough to make the jump. I ran towards it, and then slipped. My M16 flew in front of me, and we both slammed into the tiles. I rolled off the roof, holding tight to my rifle. I felt the drop when I slipped off of the roof. The whole scenery changed from black tiles to the open alley way from above. I caught a glimpse of a guard running through the alley, he clearly saw me.

I slammed against the building adjacent to the one I slipped off of and fell backwards, scraping myself against the jagged bricks. I slammed right through the dumpster, which actually did a semi decent job at breaking my fall. My M9 landed right next to me. Which would've been convenient if that wasn't on the concrete. It broke in half and became a pile of scrap metal and loose springs, the M16 was in better shape even though the color was a bit scratched from the bricks since it was on my back the whole time.

The guard rushed to the dumpster and stuck his rifle down on me. I grabbed it with my hoof and twisted it off of me. It was an old bolt action rifle, so when he instinctively shot he couldn't shoot again. He tried to pull the rifle away, instead I lunged it forward into the garbage, giving me a view of his mane. I grabbed it and slammed his face against the dumpster. He let go of his rifle and backed up.

I pulled the bolt upwards and backwards on the rifle, and he was alerted by the shell tapping the earth. I ran towards me and grabbed the rifle. It was facing horizontally between us, and we were pushing against eachother. It was vastly one sided though, I had him against the wall and was pulling the rifle into his neck. He was on his last legs, but that was when he thrusted the rifle to the side. It slammed the stock across my face.

Instinctively I let go, and then he pulled the bolt forward and down. I went back to the game of horizontal tug of war by pulling the barrel above my head. He shot that round then, which caused my vision to blur slightly. I slammed the barrel against his face, playing by his rules this time, and then thrust the stock into his stomach, he let go and I drew back the distance.

I ran towards him, using the rifle as a golf club, and slammed it against his head. He was down.

My problems, however, changed. Hoofsteps rounded both corners of the alleyway. I was practically eye to eye with guards. They looked from the unconscious body to me, and then to the M16 on my back. I bolted the rifle, time slowed down for some moments. It was a psychological effect of stress, which was oddly convenient for me. Right when the shell tapped the ground, I ran towards the guards to my front and dove low. The shots that rang out from both directions made impact with their shooters, causing friendly fire.

It was minor, however, only one or two of the five on each side were shot. I rushed through the hole in the confusion and turned to fire a blind shot, which missed by a few feet. I kept running, guards calling my location, and then the faint sound of an engine rumbling. It was getting closer, and fast. The technical rounded the corner, carrying a few troops and a browning. It screeched to a halt, which threw the gunner off target. The shots he fired at me went high. It was then I recognized that I was in the open. There was a field between me and the next set of buildings. This made getting away from fire that much more difficult. Then I felt impact in my back left boot.

I quickly looked at it for a second, and it was ripped from the bottom up to my mid shin. It was hit by a small rifle round, which had been so old and rusted that it couldn't supply the force to go through the leather and just caused tearing. I did have this stiff blunt pain running up and down my calf, but it was probably nothing.

The truck was gaining on me at an alarming rate, I needed to think fast. The first thing that came to mind was drop and roll, I didn't have time to think about it. I threw myself into the field and rolled away from the vehicle. It tried to follow me, leaving a scorched trail in the tall grass. It lost control and spun out at the other end of the field. They didn't have enough ponies to follow me into there, so they waited for me to come out. It was a dead end at the other side of the forest. If I had tried to go that way I'd only be greeted by a large concrete wall.

The grass, however, proved to be an odd combination of a bittersweet success. When I moved they could see it, but due to the monotonous color of the grass they probably couldn't make out how far away I was until I was close. There was also random breaks in the grass for me to peek my head out of. I crawled slowly, like a tiger stalking it's prey, towards the nearest open patch, which was the one the truck had made. When I peaked my head out I could tell that nopony was looking in my direction, there was only five guards, not enough to scour the area. I waited for one to go into my direct line of fire while I pulled my M16 off of my back and faced it down across the trail made by the full size truck.

The color scheme blended well with the grass, almost like a painting where a single brush stroke was made. If only it were half as artsy and subtle as that. This was a war, the only thing that should be fluent and graceful is the trigger pull. I kept my eyes forwards, there was what looked like one of the security guards standing just in the corner of my vision. I didn't want to take the shot until I knew for a fact it'd make solid contact.

He started backing into my line of sight, I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, waiting for him to move into the open. Another second passes, he is getting closer to the center of the path, he turns and stops. He is looking directly at me. I fired one shot through his chest, it went right out the other side of his body as he dropped to the ground.

The rest of the group caught on quick and opened fire in my general area. The rounds kicked up dirt right in front of my face, so I backed up some bit, they were shooting into that path I had used. I poked my head up from the brush and fired two shots at one of the four remaining ponies. The first round went wide and passed between a gap in their diagonal line they'd formed. The second hit one of them in the leg.

It's a weird feeling, getting shot at. You feel the dirt kick up in your face and you just don't feel any pain or fear, instead you feel this overwhelming urge to keep living. Well, it isn't really that surprising that you would want to keep living but most ponies would imagine it as some terrifying event that feels like a horror movie. I just looked at it as what it was. Reality.

I pulled myself back, the fire had stopped and I heard a magazine clatter against the pavement. These guards were some of the few with automatic weapons, mostly rusty Prussian AKs. I peaked up from ten feet back on the location I was at before, this time set to 3 round burst. I stood up and ran towards them, emptying three into the bodies of the remaining guards.

The one that was wounded was clearly out of the fight, there was no need to waste any time with him. I just ran my way back to the safehouse and slammed the door. They weren't able to follow me through alleyways and rooftops, so it didn't take long. Things, however, didn't feel even close to over.

Author's Notes:

Kill me please ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°).

No seriously please fucking kill me.