Gwen didn't get the hero's welcome from the agency that she thought she deserved. She was convinced that her last effort with the piece of pipe had disrupted whatever it was that Greg was trying to do. And even if he had managed to become invisible, the EMP should have fried his monster just as it had every other computer in or near Grand Island, Nebraska.

Her superiors weren't so sure. The lack of bodies concerned them, and Gwen's claim of invisibility and other esoteric spells was universally disdained. She spent the next month being treated for radiation exposure, getting debriefed dozens of times, and re-walking her escape route with several forensics teams in tow. She thought she was being treated little better than a suspect herself.

Still, she was the only person who had any solid idea how Greg thought and what he was capable of, so if she wasn't exactly a hero, she was invaluable. But there was no hint that Greg had survived. In the real world or on the web there was no trace of him.

My "value" might be only temporary, Gwen told herself, unless I can convince the higher-ups otherwise... She frowned as she watched the CSI nit-pickers sift through yet another bucket of dirt from one of the campsites and began making plans for the future.

The Speaker of the House had gladly been sworn in as President. Because he was of the opposing party to the late President's, he gleefully shoveled all the blame for the disaster on his political enemies. His opponents, terrified of being forced out of power, leaked the classified information about the threat of the Chinese nuclear submarines, and ridiculous claims and accusations began to fly thick and heavy over Washington. Business as usual... just turned up a few notches.

Relations with the Chinese turned brittle and painfully polite. They offered aid and assistance. They were turned down.

The Stock Market had dropped like a stone on the day of the bombings, and then, as the various vultures and hyenas in bespoke suits swooped in to do some profit-taking, began a tenuous recovery. But not in time to save millions of people's investments and retirement funds.

The San Francisco Bay Area and a huge chunk of Central California was a nightmare. The bombs, though of a type and usage that minimized fallout, had still covered hundreds of square miles with radioactive dust. Some of the richest and most productive farmland in the nation was downwind of the disaster area and clean-up efforts began immediately. It was miserable and dangerous work, but thousands who had been rendered homeless and jobless by the attack and subsequent economic collapse lined up to shovel topsoil into lead-foil bags while wearing radiation suits and breathing equipment. Luckier ones worked at the portable desalination plants in the San Joaquin delta. Others labored in composting, decontamination, and fertilization facilities.

Even so, there were rumors of food rationing to come, and almost everyone in the nation realized that life would not be easy for quite some time.

When Greg hadn't been heard from for over a month, despite reported sightings in nearly every convenience store from Alaska to Florida, Martial Law was lifted and things began to travel the long road back to some semblance of normalcy. People began to believe that the "Cartoon Terrorist" had died in his mad attempt to escape. But even if that were the case, things would never really be normal again.

Unknown thousands of ponies and other Equestrian creatures had spread out across the state before the bombs had fallen. Most of them had been beyond the effective range of the EMPs and had survived. At first the government treated them as a dire threat and urged a shoot-on-sight policy. But it was soon realized that the best way to be safe from most of the Equestrians was not to attack them in the first place. Unprovoked attacks by the creatures were extremely rare and limited mostly to the monstrous types. The dragons were big enough that they couldn’t stay hidden and the Air Force and Air National Guard eliminated most of them in the first few months, though not without severe casualties.

Some of the ponies stole food and damaged crops, but didn't seem hostile toward humans in general... unless they were attacked. That they saw as an invitation to duel and, as they had been programmed for appallingly violent combat, they almost invariably killed anyone who challenged them.

The first policy of picking them off safely from a distance with long-range weaponry immediately ran into several problems. It was quickly discovered that the ponies had no exceptionally vulnerable spots. Through-and-through body shots healed immediately, and even headshots didn't stop them unless an explosive round or something similar effectively decapitated them. They only "died" when 40 to 50% of their mass was disrupted, which was beyond the capability of most non-military weapons.

Upon "death," an Equestrian's body dissipated into a granular gray substance that some wit in the NSA had dubbed "pony meat." It was composed almost entirely of carbon in complex nanostructures with traces of metallic elements, though many scientists thought that a considerable amount of the bodies' mass was lost as gas during discorporation, and what was left was not representative of the living composition of the creatures. Analysis revealed no trace of macroscopic structures and was no help in designing effective weapons against the ponies.

The unicorns seemed to have an array of spells that were generally more limited than depicted in the TV show, but still very effective. Nobody had yet come up with a workable theory on how the "magic" operated, but seeing a cute little unicorn twist the heads off a squad of soldiers from a dozen yards away left no doubt that that it did exist. Armored vehicles were too slow to be generally useful and were deemed to be useless when pyrokinesis proved to be a common unicorn ability, and the knowledge of fuel tanks and arms lockers spread among the Equestrians.

The pegasi weren't fast compared to aircraft or air-to-air missiles (though there were persistent reports of one exceptionally colorful pony that could go supersonic), but they all were insanely maneuverable, able to execute heavy-G turns that would kill a human pilot outright. Drones fell from the sky with things like, "better luck next time" and "dumb robot" scrawled on them in crayon. Curiously, pilots who were able to eject from crippled aircraft were not attacked.

Even the earth ponies, who looked like harmless miniature horses, could move with incredible speed and hurl or buck objects at such velocity that they became very effective ranged weapons. A standard-issue flak vest was nearly useless against a barely subsonic chunk of rock the size of a man's fist. After some ludicrously one-sided fights, a new series of laws rushed through the House and Senate. The official policy, which ran some 3700 pages in length, could be summed up in three words: Leave them alone!

Melissa had loved camping out. But now, after having lived in a tent for nearly three months, she wasn't too keen on it. Her family had been evacuated from Hayward and relocated to the refugee camp at Redding. She slept in a tent, she ate in a Mess Tent, she attended Middle School in a tent... she even showered in a tent. It was getting old.

None of her friends had ended up in the same camp, and the local kids teased her and called her "City Girl" and "Spots" because of her freckles, so she spent most of her free time hiking and exploring the countryside. It wasn't even nice countryside. Not like Yosemite or Big Basin where she had spent so many happy vacations with her family. Around the camp it was all flat, dusty agricultural land. There were some woodlots, and down by the river there was a lot of greenery, but otherwise, it was pretty boring. But the alternative was to hang around in a tent or be roped into helping out with the gardens or maintenance crews, so Melissa explored.

That day she was down by the river, watching some lazy brown fish lurk in the shade under the overhanging bank when she caught a motion out of the corner of her eye. An animal? She held still, hoping to see some wildlife bigger than one of the feral cats that hung around the camp. She saw it again... something colorful moving through the brush... coming down to the river to drink, probably.

The head and neck finally emerged into clear view and Melissa saw that it was a pony. No, not a pony. It only looked like a pony... a cartoon version of a pony with an impossibly big head and eyes. And a horn. It was a unicorn!

Was this one of those dangerous things that had wrecked her town? But it was so cute and harmless looking! Melissa had been told over and over again to run away from any ponies she saw and never, for any reason, to approach or talk to one. But Melissa was a strong-willed and independent girl and, at the wise old age of 11, she was sure that she was smarter than any of the grown-ups she knew.

And it was so cute!

"Hi," she called out in a soft voice after letting the little creature take a long drink from the river.

It started and snapped its head around, wary and ready to flee or fight.

"I won't hurt you," Melissa called again.

The unicorn looked her up and down calmly and then replied, "No... I doubt you could."

Melissa grinned. "You can talk! Do you want some food? What's your name? Where did you come from? What..."

"Wait, wait!" the little pony interrupted her. "Go back to that part about food."

Melissa had to keep her friend, Cinnamon Chai, a secret. People wouldn't understand. She swiped extra food for her when she could and visited her as often as she could. Cinnamon Chai seemed to enjoy Melissa's company just as much and had even sneaked into her tent on some nights and crouched under her cot for whispered conversations.

With a companion who made her feel safe, Melissa wandered even farther from the camp on her exploration hikes. On one of those extended walks she met two boys near her own age. Cinnamon Chai hid herself in nearby bushes while Melissa talked to the boys. One was carrying a rifle and claimed he was going to shoot a pony.

"You can't do that!" Melissa said, horrified by the idea.

"Sure I can!" he proudly proclaimed. I'm a good shot."

"That's not what I mean. It's not..." she had been going to say "nice" but thought that the pugnacious-looking boy in front of her wouldn't care much about what was nice or not. "It's not safe! They're dangerous."

"Yeah, Jacob," the younger of the two boys put in, "Dad says—"

"I don't care what Dad says! That thing has been stealing our feed corn and I'm gonna shoot it!"

Melissa wheedled the details of the proposed pony hunt out of the bigger boy. Something had been breaking into the feed silo and eating corn that was meant for the farm's animals. It always came at night and no matter how well the door was secured, it always managed to get through it. The boy intended to go out after dinner, wait in the cab of his father's pickup truck until the pony showed itself, and then shoot it. It would have been a good plan... if Equestrians ponies weren't incredibly tough... and homicidal when their combat mode was triggered.

"We've got to do something!" Melissa said to Chai later.

The unicorn shrugged, an odd motion for a pony. "What can we do? You've got to get back to camp. It's getting late."

"No," Melissa shook her head. "I don't care if I get in trouble... we're going to stop that boy from getting killed!"

"Alright. So what do we do?"

Melissa thought for several minutes. "I know! We need to find that other pony first and stop it from going to the farm. That boy said its tracks came up from the river, so..." She shaded her eyes and looked off at the farm in the distance. "...if we wait over there..."

Melissa didn't know it, but the boy had gotten tired of waiting and had gone to bed. She was made of sterner stuff and was still keeping a lookout even though her eyes kept trying to close by themselves and it was getting harder and harder to hold her head up.

Cinnamon Chai nudged her in the ribs. "Here it comes," she whispered.

The rush of adrenaline left Melissa wide awake. She peered out in the direction that Chai was looking and saw a light blue earth pony with a blond mane and tail. It was just as cartoony-looking as her friend.

"Stop!" Melissa called out to it. "Don't go any farther!"

The little pony did stop. It jumped and faced her, eyes narrowing warily. Suddenly, it didn't look so cute. "Git outta my way," it said to her.

"But there's a boy up there waiting to shoot you!" Melissa told it.

"Too bad fer him, then," the pony said. "I’m hungry, and if’n he tries to stop me—"

"Please don't! I'll try and get you some food—"

"Pah! I kin get my own food, you stupid monkey! Now git outta my way or..." it snorted and pawed the ground.

"Don't you try it, Apple Cider!" came Cinnamon Chai’s angry snarl. "She's trying to help you!"

Apple Cider whinnied in surprise, not having noticed the other pony until then. The mare looked from the girl to her friend and back again. "What's goin’ on here? You're befriendin’ humans? Are you plum crazy? Them things killed Greg!"

"Greg was a human, you dumb hick!"

"That's a stinkin’ lie! You take that back!"

"He was a human... a good one, just like Melissa here. You shouldn't be hurting humans even if—"

But Apple Cider was enraged and, the emotion triggered her combat mode. She charged Cinnamon Chai, rearing and striking out with the edges of her fore hooves. Chai slammed her aside with a burst of magic. They circled and charged each other, snapping and biting. Chai threw bursts of magic while Apple Cider kicked chunks of rock at her with unbelievable speed. All the while, Melissa pleaded with them to stop.

Apple Cider knew she was losing the fight and, in a move born of desperation, she made a feint at Melissa. When Cinnamon Chai automatically moved to defend the girl, Apple Cider used the opening to strike. A rock the size of a grown man’s fist slammed into Chai’s head and she staggered and fell.

Melissa acted without thinking. She had been one of her team's best soccer players and placed a kick in Apple Cider's side that would have knocked the ball to the goal from half the field away. Apple Cider landed in a heap and squealed in rage, leaping up with eyes blazing and no thought but to destroy the hated human who had delivered such an indignity.

Before the earth pony reached Melissa, Cinnamon Chai used the last of her energy to rise and leap in front of the girl, slamming her horn into the charging pony. Apple Cider gasped and fell.

There was no blood. Ponies didn’t bleed. They didn’t suffer a slow collapse of their system when damaged beyond repair. They dissolved. Apple Cider burst into a cloud of sparkling motes that slowly flickered out and drifted down into a heap of soft gray dust.

"You saved me..." Cinnamon Chai and Melissa both began, and then chuckled together.

Chai leaned against Melissa and the girl obliged by wrapping her arms around the pony’s neck. "Thank you for being my friend," she said.

Over the next year and a half the same scenario, with variations, played out all across the nation. People became friends with ponies despite the warnings and in several cases, other creatures from Equestria found friendships with humans as well.

They all kept it secret, of course. Equestrians were still viewed as hostile and dangerous by the general public. But some people knew different. They and their companions defended towns and cities against marauding monsters in secret, waiting for the day that they knew in their hearts would come... when everyone would see how wonderful the Equestrians really were. They found each other by accident, or through subtle searches and began gathering in loose groups, planning for the day when they could openly declare themselves to their families and the world.

Then Greg returned and ruined everything.

Author's Notes:

Thanks again to my phenomenal prereaders and editors, Jordanis, WrittenWord333, and the fashion-conscious Fana Farouche, who assures me that putting ruffians in their place with a sturdy walking-stick is best done in a smart suit!