Author’s note: I am currently looking for beta readers. If interested, please let me know.

Deep beneath the earth, forgotten and lost for countless years, lay a concrete chamber. The entryway had been blocked up long ago, though the secrets it held had not been intended for those who had eliminated access.

A steel door, much like that on a naval vessel, served as the doorway. The lock was a large wheel, hidden gears connecting it to a pair of rods to either side that held the insulator material against the border of the door. The door bulged inward under the weight of whatever had been placed atop the other side. The metal would not hold for much longer.

The entryway was filled with ready equipment, storage racks and containers for anyone going in and out. Weapons in neat rows and armor stacked up on shelves occupied either side of the room.
At least, that was how they were supposed to be. Currently, their organization was a mess, half the weapons were missing, and much of the remaining equipment was scattered across the floor.

Beyond an inner airlock hatch lay a command center. A conference table took up the center space, covered in claw marks, the smooth surface now pockmarked and ruined. Sitting in the corner was a small radio station, or what was left after the rats had finally abandoned it.
Off to the side of the command center stood a small office, separated only by a window. The door was broken open, the table inside smashed as though a giant fist had split it down the center.

Other rooms were past the command center, supply chambers and living quarters, with enough equipment amongst the former to support a much greater number than the handful who could have feasibly occupied the space..

Weaponry, food long-since rotted, clothing, armor, books...many things normally filled the supply rooms. Again, their neat organization had been ruined, much of it scattered around, ruined and destroyed, but virtually all of the books were missing from their spaces.

A conspicuous pile of ashes sat in the center of each storage chamber.

The living quarters was filled with cots, their cushions long-since rotted away, and personal items lay scattered across the floor.

Suddenly, after so many years of peace, a noise crept into the sealed bunker. The steel entry door had creaked.

Could it have given way under the constant weight that had kept it shut? No, not yet. The metal continued to creak, but almost seemed to relax. Weight was being removed from the other side.

Mild grunting could be heard from the outside. Whatever creatures of dark and cold that could survive scurried away, as a ray of deadly light poked through a hole in the door.

The door creaked again, a different noise this time; stressed once again. Seconds later, the hinges that had held for so long finally decided to give out.

With an almighty crash, the steel door fell inwards, spilling daylight, rocks, dust, snow, and a human being into the bunker. He cried out as he rolled down the dirt-covered stairs, his helmet falling off and rolling away as he bounced against rocks and a concrete floor, eventually halting when he slammed into the bunker’s inner airlock door.

Coughing, Andrew Shepherd groaned and got to his hands and knees. He felt around, and retrieved his pith helmet, dusting it off before quickly placing it back on his head. “...Never mind!” he called out weakly to those outside, looking around as his eyes adjusted.

Getting to his feet, he dusted himself off, and flicked on a flashlight. Around his torso, covering a long-sleeve shirt, was a purple vest modeled after the Modular Tactical Vest(MTV)belonging to the United States Marine Corps, covered in webbing, and pockets. The bulky and dim angle-head flashlight was nestled in a strap above his left breast. He adjusted his long-coat, briefly revealing the pistol holster strapped around his right leg, containing a small sidearm. A TP-82 was slung over his shoulder, and a box of cartridges bumped loosely against his thigh. Thick gloves protected his hands, his scarf was up around his chin, and he wore a winter hat underneath his French-style pith helmet. It was warm in here, but there was plenty of snow outside.

Not unexpected, it was the middle of winter.

He blinked quite a lot, but nothing was coming into focus. Andrew felt he took far too long to realize his glasses had gone flying in the fall.

“Need some help down here, if you don’t mind!”

There was the sound of scrabbling, and dust and rocks tumbled down as Melissa Foster slid her way down what had once been stairs.
In the months since their arrivals, both humans’ physical appearance had changed noticeably. Melissa didn’t bother with keeping her hair too short anymore, and her neat cut had grown out to near-shoulder length. A hair tie kept it out of her eyes.

A scar ran across her cheek, left by the same knife kept strapped to her MTV. The cut had never faded, not even after they had cured her of the poison joke. Similar other minor bruises and scratches could be seen if one knew where to look.

Her frame had remained mostly the same, but she had lost some weight, with the sudden loss of protein in her diet.

Andrew’s appearance had changed as well, though Melissa couldn’t really tell, not knowing what he looked like beforehand. He had grown a minor beard, and had lost a bit of weight on his own, though not as much as Melissa without a food allergy to deal with.

“What’s the matter?...Wow!” she exclaimed, looking around at the interior of the chamber. Her eyes fell on the remains of the hatch, before glancing up at her comrade with an amused grin, “What’d you do?”

“Nothing! All I did was stick the crowbar in, then it just gave out!”

“Really? That big metal blast door? Just…’gave out’?”

“Yes!”

“Uh-huh. What’d you need?”

Andrew was looking around on the ground, feeling through the dust, “My freaking glasses. I don’t know what happened, but they’re missing.”

“Oh. Shit.”

she flicked on her own flashlight, an Enduro headlamp that had been manufactured back on Terra. It cast a friendly and bright blue light in contrast to the harsh weak orange of Andrew's lamp.
Her tactical vest was covered in equipment similar to his, though most of hers was also created on Earth. Andrew’s gear was all local.

Underneath the N7 jacket she wore over the vest, Melissa wore her most intact set of clothes, a uniform patterned in MARPAT digital desert camouflage. “USMC” was stenciled on one breast, “Cpl. Foster” on the other.

Melissa had taken her Marine Corps Combat Utility Uniform for dry cleaning the day before she arrived on this planet, figuring it would be the last time for a while she could do that before deployment.
For a time, she’d been afraid to wear it, fearing the locals’ reaction to a member of Terran armed forces. After all, they used nukes and chemical weapons, and had a history of war crimes in the past. Who knew how the ponies would react?
Once her secret had been revealed though, there wasn’t much of a point. Now, she took every opportunity she could get to wear them.
And why not? They were durable, versatile, and designed to take punishment. More than anything the ponies could manufacture.

It was impossible to avoid Equestrian equipment completely; complementing her Terran gloves were cloth pads on elbows and knees, made of itchy fabrics.

She still wore her fire department helmet for head protection. It might have been heavy, but the steel M1 Combat Helmet she’d designed turned out to be heavier. Underneath she wore a fireproof hood designed to fit under the helmet; it provided good protection against the cold. Her Under Armour gloves were battered, but they still worked. Glamdring was still in its shoulder harness, and she also carried a TP-82.

“You can say that again.” Andrew muttered, taking an inordinate amount of time to reply to her comment, “Have you seen what spectacles are like around here?”

“Are they anything like the dentists? I’ve heard about 19th century eye medicine practices; to check if immigrants had some illness they’d stick some sort of shoe-thingy under your eyelids and pull.”

Andrew rubbed his eyes, and laughed ironically, “You can see why I want to find these things.”

Several ponies joined them in the cavern, Twilight and Fluttershy. They wore cold weather gear, tactical vests similar to the humans’, but no helmets or firearms.

“What happened?” Twilight inquired, concerned, “Are you alright, Andrew?”

“He’s fine, Twi’. Just lost his glasses is all. Damn, dude. The elastic break or something?” Melissa inquired.

“Didn’t hear anything, guess they slid off with my helmet. I swear, this never happens.”

“Hey don't worry about it, I think they got pills for this.”

Andrew laughed, but the ponies were far less relaxed about the whole situation.

“His glasses are broken?” Fluttershy gasped, “Oh no!”

“I don’t know if we’ll be able to get a correct prescription,” Twilight grimaced, “Our doctors are used to pony eyes, of a much different size and shape from humans.”

Melissa and Andrew stopped in their efforts, looking from the ponies to each other. “Girls, it’s fine. I just dropped them, is all.” he explained.

The other two members of what some referred to as his harem stared back,

“Yes...” Twilight looked at him like he was crazy, “When you drop glasses, they break.”

Melissa kept searching, “Yeah, maybe a hundred years ago. Here they are!”

Plucking them out of the dust, Melissa held up a battered black set of glasses, the elastic band still whole and the frames intact. She handed them off, and Andrew took them back. To the ponies’ shock, he simply shook the dust off, and slid them right back on. His vision returned to normal and showed Twilight and Fluttershy’s confused faces.

“What?”

“Can you even see?” Twilight asked.

“Yes…?”

“But you dropped them.”

“I did.”

“And they’re still usable?”

“Yes.”

“No damage at all from the fall?” Twilight gaped.

“Nope.”

“What are they made of?”

“Um…” Andrew looked to Melissa out of habit. She was always willing to explain technical things to the others.

“Plexiglass, or something. Probably something made in the Space Race. Every other modern invention that’s awesome came out of that.” she explained, “It doesn’t break when it hits the ground, and is shatterproof safety glass. Same as in my car.”

“How can something be shatterproof?” Twilight inquired.

“Well, safety glass doesn’t come apart very easily, it’s pretty strong to begin with.”

“Yeah, she figured that out.” Andrew grinned, looking at his marefriend as she rolled her eyes. She was still nursing a bruise after hitting the Tesla’s windshield days earlier. With her head.

Melissa sighed, and continued, “When they do come apart though, they’re designed to break into little pebbles, instead of sharp shards, and if just punctured, manages to stay together. I don’t really know the science of it, but most of our transparent surfaces are made with the technology.”

“Shall we get back to the task at hand?” Andrew interrupted, “We need to find anything of value. Weapons, books, maps, anything that looks like it could help us.”

“Yeah,” Melissa agreed, and called toward the entrance, “Girls, what are you waiting for?”

Rainbow Dash and Applejack slid down the dirt mount into the airlock area. They moved rapidly out of the way for Pinkie Pie and Rarity to come down. All were clad in similar field equipment to Twilight and Fluttershy, though Rarity wore a mining helmet with a bow on it. No one commented on it but Melissa, who noted it with an odd expression, and chuckled.

“What a dreary place…” Rarity commented, “I do hope nothing decided to take up residence here.”
“You and me both,” Twilight agreed, “Think of all the damage a beast could have done to the artifacts that may lie beyond this door?”

“Yes, because I wasn’t concerned at all with our own safety when I said that.” Rarity deadpanned.

“Jeez, what’s that smell?” Rainbow demanded in disgust.

“Hoping it’s not a body…” Melissa muttered, as she investigated one of the armor shelves, noting that it was completely collapsed, “Hey look, Wal-Mart furniture!”

“No, see the angle? It was wrecked by something, didn’t buckle on its own.” Andrew said.

He moved closer to investigate the shelf, carefully wiping off some soot, “...Something with claws. Then...set on fire? Wow.”

Rarity trotted over, grimacing, “I guess we see now why the dragons knew the location of this temple.”

“Bunker.”

“Whatever.”

Rainbow Dash wasn’t investigating what lay around them in the small entryway, she wanted to see past the door. She trotted up to the human-sized hatch, and seized the wheel with both hooves. She heaved with all her might, making the door crunch and shift, but did not open it.

“Hold on,” Melissa called out, and brought forward a crowbar, “A few good hits on the hinges should do the trick…”

“Wait!” Andrew ordered, “We might need the door at some point. Don't break it.”

“You broke the other one!” Rainbow pointed out.

“That one was already broken, but this door's still intact. This one we can actually use.”

He moved forward and took the crowbar, “Just stick it in the wheel like this…Applejack, would you do the honors?”
It took not only Applejack, but Melissa, Rainbow Dash, Andrew, and Pinkie Pie to turn the wheel.

The metal shrieked, and there was a hiss of escaping air. Slowly, they were able to pull the hatch open.

Dash flicked on her own angle-head flashlight, and trotted inside without hesitation.

“Well? It’s what we came for!” Applejack said with a grin, and followed.

Pinkie PIe merely bounded inside happy as could be without a flashlight. No one questioned it.

“C'mon, guys! It's just dark!” They heard one of the other ponies call, watching as their lights moved in and out of visibility.

Twilight eschewed a flashlight of her own, instead igniting her horn and walking in after her friends.
“I’ll just stay out here…” Fluttershy almost whimpered, “Just in case the cave collapses and you need someone to get help.”

“Oddly specific…” Melissa commented, before looking at Andrew expectantly. She jerked her head at the door.
“You're the archaeologist.”

“You're the marine.” he countered.

“Rock paper scissors?”

Andrew rolled his eyes, and pushed her ahead of him, moving inside.

“What’s the big deal?” Rarity inquired, a light on her helmet projecting a yellow light, “I mean, it’s a filthy old bunker, but what could be down here that could hurt us?”

“Well, there could be more of those devil dog things--”

“You mean diamond dogs?” Andrew asked.

“That’s what I said. There could be those, there could be spiderbugs, ROUS’--”

“ROUS?” Rarity asked.

“Spiderbugs?” inquired Andrew.

“Rodents Of Unusual Size, and Metro: Last Light respectively. By the shoggoths, man, what kind of video games did you play?”

“Metal Gear--”

“‘Rodents Of Unusual Size’? I doubt they exist.” Rarity interrupted skeptically.

She didn’t know why she suddenly gave the humans fits of laughter.

They entered the command center, finding the other ponies already hard at work digging through the dust and the ruin. File cabinets were destroyed and overturned, desks smashed, shelves thrown to the floor. There were many empty boxes, and a meager handful of papers scattered across the chamber.
Oddly enough, most of them contained very little text, or were completely blank.

Rarity entered the small office, brushing past the smashed door, and found a similar state of disarray. She took note of the fact that there were again no books, no thick stacks of paper, no major documents. A flagpole with shreds of cloth was lying on its side in the corner. Judging by the remnants, and the indents on the brass and wood, claws again. Four talons, definitely dragon.
The blue remains could have been any flag, Australian, French, British, Dutch, Russian, or any of the other nation’s flags the humans couldn’t recall.

Turning to the destroyed desk, Rarity began digging through the remains. The workmanship of the desk was impressive, despite the dust and destruction it was still glossy and smooth. She did wonder why something so valuable, especially made of oak, was doing in the middle of nowhere.
In the split between the two sides of the desk, she found the shattered remains of a cup, built for human hands. She had to pick it up with both hooves, with most of the upper portion destroyed and the handle snapped off. The unicorn turned the white cup over, examining its composition, and found it made of…”Porcelain?”
“You say somethin’?” Applejack asked, trotting in.

“This cup is made of porcelain!” Rarity repeated, “I recognize it as clear as day!”

Applejack just looked at her, not understanding.

“Look at all of Melissa and Andrew’s belongings,” Rarity explained, “So few of the materials I recognize, even the cotton is different. But this...it’s made with great skill, but it could be any other cup from any city!”

“Okay…” Applejack nodded slowly, starting to walk away.

“But dear, don’t you see though? Isn’t it strange that the humans would use this material, so primitive in comparison to their own? Why not plastic, or metal, or anything else?”

“Well, not everything of theirs has to be special,” Applejack replied, starting to understand, “Maybe it’s just something simple that doesn’t need any magical materials to improve it.”

Rarity sighed, “I suppose you have a point. We’ve been making chairs out of wood for as long as written history has existed, maybe this is something similar.”

She continued digging through the wreckage of the office, finding little artifacts that had survived the maelstrom of destruction. Pencils, pens, pads of paper, little metal devices meant for clipping paper together, things one would find in an office.
They were of a wide variety of quality, some made of their fabulous future materials, others could have been taken from any office in Equestria.
No matter how poorly made, every artifact she could find went into a bag. They would need every resource they could get. Hers was of course already halfway filled with any shred of clothing she could find, but there was still plenty of empty space.
Rarity was about to leave, when the sides of the collapsed desk caught her eye. Most of the desks and containers had been ripped open, but the drawers on this oak desk were all still shut tightly. Unspoiled.
Tugging with hooves and telekinesis only resulted in snapping the handle off. The warping done to the frame had ruined it.

“Applejack? Would you mind helping me out with this?” she inquired, sticking her head out the door.

Applejack stood up from the trash can she’d been digging through for some reason, and walked back in. She tried lifting the desk from the center, to move it back into shape, but what few bonds remained snapped, splitting it in two.
Wincing apologetically, the earth pony muttered, “No use crying over spilled milk,” and moved to one of the halves. She grabbed the panel where the back of the drawer was supposed to be, and began pulling. The beautiful paneling slowly bent and creaked, breaking apart as the interior was revealed.
“Really, Applejack,” Rarity admonished, “I don’t think that was necessary!”

Applejack shrugged, “It gets the job done. Besides, what good is it anymore? Firewood is all I can see.”

“But--” Rarity’s words were cut off by the tearing of the other side’s back paneling.

“There ya go, all open.” AJ announced, smirking slightly at the unicorn’s glare, “Let me know if you need anything else.”

Rarity growled, but went to work digging through the drawers. A bottle of noxious-looking liquid, office odds and ends, a dead flashlight, matches...and a large green box. It took up the space of an entire drawer, made of advanced metals. It was much more like human technology.
Along the top was an identification code stamped in faded lettering.

“Definitely want to put that in the bag.” Applejack stated the obvious.

Melissa moved along the corridor past the command center, scanning around for any additional tunnels or chambers. So far, it seemed to be a pretty tiny bunker, like the NCR Ranger Safehouse in Fallout New Vegas. And no bugs had made their home inside. At least, nothing big.
Reaching the end of it, she noted a label in english on the last doorway, “generator room.” She stuck her head in, and winced at the sight. Piles of scrap and rubble. It looked like half the roof had caved in on the place.
She was about to take a step inside when something tapped her on the shoulder.

With an embarrassingly terrified cry of alarm and a leap into the air, she turned about, waving her shotgun around wildly.

Pinkie Pie stood there, raising an eyebrow, “Kind of jumpy today, aren’t we, Mel?”

“By all the Great Ones, Pinkie! You scared the crap outta me!”

“I hope not. Watcha doin’?”

“Making sure there’s no monsters hanging about.” Melissa muttered, turning her flashlight on the corners around her. “You ever run into any burrowing creatures at your rock farm?”

“No. No spiderbugs at least. Or giant rodents. There’s really nothing to be afraid of down here!”

Melissa adjusted her grip on her weapon, “Right. Of course.”

A realization suddenly dawned on Pinkie, “Are you afraid of the dark?”

Melissa’s eyes bulged, “No! Of course not! Whatever gave you that idea?!”

A loud shriek nearly made her hit the ceiling again.

“That was Twilight!” Pinkie exclaimed.

Four ponies and one human found Andrew awkwardly embracing a terrified Twilight, who was sitting on the floor of one of the storage rooms. Both appeared to be fine.

“What the hay is going on?” Dash demanded, “This place is creepy enough without you two screaming!”

“Look!” Twilight cried, pointing at a pile of ashes in the center of the storage area.

Applejack, curious, walked over, and kicked at the soot with a hoof, shaking loose a shred of cardboard.

Retrieving it, she found text on it. “Encyclopedia”. “It’s a piece of a book.”

Rarity picked up another fragment, “Page 84 of something, by the looks of it. But what…”

“It’s a pile of books.” Andrew said distantly, “Those are books in there.”

“Someone burned all of them?” Melissa said, disbelieving.

Andrew nodded sadly.

Melissa dove upon the ashes, “No, no! No! Those bastards! There’s gotta be something left! Something!”

The ponies helped sift through the wreckage with her, finding book covers, “...Pocket Manual...”, “Webster’s Dic…”, “Lowe’s Plant…”.
Pages appeared, with numbers or remnants of text, “...Definition: A means by which…”, “Elevate patient’s…” “Preparing and carrying a survival kit is as important as the considerations mentioned above”, etc.

Rainbow Dash looked around the area with new eyes, a sinking feeling in her gut, and found that the bookshelves were all empty. The wreckage wasn’t random, either, whatever had been stored here had all been purposefully destroyed...by something with claws.

“Guys?” she called out, “All the bookshelves are empty!”

They started looking through the rest of the room, scattering old crates and miscellaneous equipment.
“Why? Why would they do this?” Twilight demanded, “What kind of monsters would do this?”

They dug through the other storage chambers. “I guess now we know why we couldn’t find any books or maps elsewhere.” Pinkie Pie noted, “They gathered them all up to burn them.”

Finding yet another empty shelf, Melissa flung it to the floor, angrily roaring, shattering it on the concrete foundation.
Sighing, she collapsed heavily against the storage crates nearby, “‘Ignorance is king. Many would not profit from his abdication. Many enrich themselves by means of his dark monarchy. They are his Court, and in his name they defraud and govern, enrich themselves and perpetuate their power.’”

“Huh?” Dash asked, using a crowbar to try and pry open a crate.

“‘Joyfully, the the mobs accepted the name, took up the cry:” her voice took on a high-pitched mocking tone, “‘Simpletons! Yes, yes! I am a simpleton! Are you a simpleton? We’ll build a town and name it Simple Town, because by then all the smart bastards that caused all this, they’ll be dead! Simpletons! Let’s go! This ought to show ‘em! Anybody here not a simpleton? Get the bastard if there is!’”

“What are you talking about?”

Melissa sighed again, and got to her feet, returning to the first chamber. “Nothing’s left. They got it all.”

Twilight slowly put down the newest fragment, and Andrew rubbed his face, refusing to make eye contact.

“Are you two gonna be alright?” Applejack asked.

Andrew huffed, and kicked an empty crate across the room with uncharacteristic rage, “Oh yeah, totally fine! It’s just all human knowledge lost! No biggie! I’ll be fine! I’m so fine and dandy I wanna fuckin’ puke!”
He slumped to his knees, burying his face in his hands.

Twilight was more controlled, but no less enraged, “Why? Why why why why why did they do it?! Monsters! Evil, destructive...bastards!”

The drama of an unexpected use of a human curse was lost on the others. Applejack looked sadly around at the storage chamber, “Maybe there’s something left we can use. Something to...What is it, 'reverse-engineer’?”

“I don't know...I don't know.” Andrew said, defeated, “Without those books...I don't know. I just don't know what to do.”

Applejack nudged him to his feet, “We keep moving forward. It's not the end of the world.”

“But...But the books,” Twilight whimpered, “all that knowledge…”

Applejack sighed, “I'm sorry to say, but what's done is done. All we can do is salvage what's left.”

Elsewhere, Rainbow Dash was leading Melissa and Rarity to the armory. What few sets of armor remained lay destroyed on the ground, any cloth uniforms were shredded, swords and the remains of firearms alike were melted into their frames. Most of it was unrecognizable.

Ammunition lay scattered all across the floor, spilled out of boxes. A few shelves of radios had been destroyed by claws. Other odds and ends lay here or there. Generally, the armory was a mess.

Most of the wreckage of the ground would be valuable, and they quickly picked up what looked useful, but it was still disheartening to see, almost as much as seeing the books.
There were some things still intact. Vintage-looking binoculars, weapon accessories, hats, anything small and easy to miss.
Rainbow spotted a green box protruding from under an armor rack, the biggest object to escape this room's destruction.
Heaving it out, she realized that it had taken some damage. The labels had been worn or scratched away, and one corner of the box was smashed by the fall.
Reaching for the latch, a gloved hand closed around her hoof before she could touch it.
“Dash, I want you to listen to me very carefully.” Melissa ordered, her eyes fixed on the box, “back away slowly, and don't disturb anything.”

Dash was about to deliver an obnoxious rebuke, but Rarity was already guiding her away.
Melissa nodded, “Thank you, Rarity. This is extremely dangerous, it's a grenade box. It may be anything from pineapples to smoke grenades, so let's treat it like a loaded firearm.”

Suddenly understanding, Dash's military training kicked in, “Bomb disposal, got it. I'll be as far away from that thing as I possibly can.”

“Why would you store pineapples in an armory?” Rarity inquired, both ponies watching from the door.
“Humans, just go with it.” Dash hissed.

“Now, what are you?” Melissa wondered. Normally she would have bomb disposal equipment with her on this, or she would be fast running the other way.
The best thing to do now she guessed would be to at least figure out what it was. Examining what was left of the labels, she attempted to decipher them.
“Let’s see...M...U...S...R...D… Then a space...A, an E, N... Next line down is D, L, and Y, another space, and S, T, and M.”

“Sounds like gibberish.” Rarity commented.

“No, it’s just worn away...what weapon has M, U, S, R, and D in it? M, U, S, R, D...M, U, S... R, D…D L Y, S T M...”

Melissa jumped to her feet, and dashed back toward the door, slamming it shut and dragging the two ponies with her.
“Everybody out! Everybody out! Shut the doors behind you and fly you fools!”

Half the ponies were already out, and Melissa seized Andrew when he started to protest, hauling him outside.

When they returned to the entryway, she barred the inner airlock hatch with everything she could, before slumping against it in relief.
“What the hell was that?” Andrew demanded, “We--”

Melissa stood up, and pointed at the door, “Mustard gas, you odd-toed ungulate! There’s a box of mustard gas grenades in there!”

Andrew visibly recoiled from the door, “Oh my god! Forget I said anything!”

“Are you sure? I mean I could just open this back up--”

“Enough! I get your point!”

“Gas?” several of the ponies asked, their curiosity aroused by Twilight casting a magic health bubbles.

“It’s a deadly weapon.” Andrew explained, “Kills anything breathing it in.”

“Mustard gas specifically isn’t that lethal,” Melissa pointed out, “it’s just very harmful. Either way, we’ve gotta stay away from this place.”

“Well, I guess those superstitions weren’t that dumb after all!” Andrew said.

“Well sorr-ee, ‘Dr Jackson’! It’s not my fault we grew up in a society that attaches negative connotations to the word ‘superstition’!”

“That may be so darling, but superstitions usually have a point.” Rarity pointed out.

Andrew nodded, “The legend is usually there to give an easy-to-remember explanation for why people should stay away from some place. Legends about invisible demons might be designed to tell farmers to, I don’t know, stay away from the areas that might contain clouds of poisonous air.”
Andrew gave an example, “There was an old battlefield left over from World War II that hadn’t been touched since the combatants left in 1943. The locals never went near it because of spirits...or maybe the unexploded ordnance left over that probably killed a few people.”

“Oh, right...that one…” Melissa shrugged, “I guess you have a point.” She took a longing look at the door one last time.

“Guess we’re off to Manehattan, then.” Rainbow said, “That signal’s not gonna find itself.”

There were mutters of affirmation as they crawled out into the sunlight, and the snow.

Rarity’s bag made a clunk as Melissa helped her out. “What’s that?”

Rarity glanced at the canvas, it had torn a little and revealed the box from the desk inside. “Oh, an artifact I discovered. I was hoping you could tell me what it was.”

Melissa froze just as she had when she’d seen the grenades when she saw the box.

It was fairly small, olive-drab, and was made of some sort of advanced metal, whatever the military used for storage containers before plastics were the norm. Clearly from the latter-half of the 20th century. Air-tight seal, by the thickness of the lid, and how tightly it was held onto by the hinges and latches.
“1X PISTOL AUTOMATIC L9A1 CAL 9MM” was written across the front. Well, the words were hidden amongst a series of serial numbers and NATO codes, but it was fairly easy to pick them out.

“Back! Back! Everybody back!” Melissa barked, “Rarity, put the box down. Carefully.”

Inquiries came from several individuals, but Melissa overruled them, “Shut up all y’all! This is my turf, my job, my rules! So shut up and do what I say!”

The roar silenced all of them. “What do you need, Melissa?” Twilight inquired calmly.

“I need everyone to stay away from the box, several meters, and get on your stomachs. Stay low, if someone’s head’s gonna get blown off, let’s make sure it’s just one of us.”

The group retreated to a safe distance, laying down in the snow to watch Melissa get to work. Surprisingly, her shoulders slackened, and she almost seemed to relax. She began to hum the strange tune she always did, very calmly and cheerfully.

“What’s she doing?” Twilight whispered to Andrew.

“How should I know?!”

“It’s human stuff. Who else are we going to ask?” Rarity pointed out.

“Shh!” Dash hissed, “Look, she’s opening it!”

Melissa removed the second latch, and slowly lifted the lid open. Her humming gave way to an unmistakable “Squee!”

Twilight took out a weathered notepad, and wrote out the onomatopoeia with a question mark.
The minutes passed slowly, as Melissa inspected every inch of the box.

“What’s she doing now?” Pinkie asked, pointing at the combat engineer removing a small square object from inside the box.
“How should I know?” Rainbow Dash shot back.

“You used to be in the military.”

“Not hers!”

“You know I can hear literally every single word you’re saying, right?” Melissa inquired, not looking away from her work.

“Sorry!” Pinkie apologized, “We’ll try to be more quiet!”

Melissa shook her head, “Well, it’s alright anyway. The ammo isn’t corroded, and isn’t likely to explode anytime soon. I know of only one other way to test them.”

She pulled a glistening, grease-coated shape from within the box, “We have to fire a few.”

The ponies and human got up hesitantly, making their way over. Melissa did a double-take at the weapon she held in her hands, and stared at it for a long time.

When several minutes passed without words, Andrew commented, “...nice pistol.”

“This isn’t just a pistol, man. Look at the slide.” She pointed to the proof mark printed along the slide of the weapon.
“Fabrique Nationale D'armes de Guerre Herstal Belgique--Browning’s Patent Depose”.

“Okay…?”

“Dude!” She glared at him, “It was manufactured on Earth! Fabrique Nationale D’Herstal! FN Herstal! One of the major weapon manufacturers back home, they’ve made the Browning M2 since the 30s, the P90 for a while, M240...oh, and the Browning Hi-Power since 1930--something!” she shook the sidearm at him, “Browning Hi-Power! L9A1 variant! Cold War! This is a genuine Browning Hi-Power L9A1 of the British Army! High tech, or close to it, a testament to human ingenuity...”

Her grip on the weapon tightened, “Human ingenuity they tried to erase. Someone, and I think we all know who, tried to erase us. Our lightning threatened them.”

“What?” Andrew asked.

“The lightning. ‘We used to control the lightning.’” she ground out through gritted teeth, “Lucifer’s Hammer. Some of the last lines of the book. That, and, ‘You can fly. But we control the lightning.’”

She clutched the box tightly, snapping back to a more chipper version of herself, “Well, I guess you got a modern firearm now. I’ll see if I can clean it and make it fire, but with some luck, your Daniel Jackson cosplay will be complete.”
Melissa gestured to Andrew’s attire, “You’ve already got most of the other stuff down, all you were missing was a pistol. I think it looks close enough to an M9, don’t you?”

XXXXX

The group retreated back to the farmer’s house where the Mane Six were staying for the night while they investigated the area. Several hours had passed, and Rarity noticed Melissa had not joined them for dinner, nor had she joined them to talk in the living room.
Andrew had joined them, so she was guessing it wasn’t a normal human thing, but she did know the two were from different sides of their country; and she knew all too well how different ponies from Ponyville could be from those in Canterlot.

Rarity excused herself from the living room, and trotted outside, magically retrieving her scarf, heavy coat, and hat from the hooks they were hung on.

The old door creaked open, and she stepped out into the cold night. The porch was fairly clear of snow, with a roof extended over it, but the path to the barn was already coated with a fresh layer of snow. It was coming down hard.

With a wince of displeasure as her gloved-hoof plunged into the snow, Rarity trotted through the snow toward the barn, using her horn for illumination.

Even from the area near the porch, she could hear the sound of the “Terran” music filtering from inside the barn.

As Rarity approached, she read the sign Rainbow Dash had carved into the barn door, after the many complaints about the cold. It was some sort of reference to an old moving-picture of Melissa’s, one so old it used black-and-white filming like equestrian photography.

“Shut the door! Where do you think you’re living-- in a barn?!”

Rarity had to admit, it was slightly amusing. The picture was called…”Go For Broke”, yes, that was it. Melissa referred to it as a classic.

She pushed the door open, and had to blink to adjust her eyes to the bright of the interior. Electric lights, both those locally-made and the handful of camping lamps Melissa had, were arrayed to provide eerie lighting in the area.

The Tesla was parked in the center of the barn, all doors open, and with Melissa sitting in the trunk. The pistol retrieved from the bunker was beside her, in pieces on a cloth.

She seemed lost in thought, as she strummed an oversized guitar, at least for pony scale; it might have been fine for humans. It took a moment for Rarity to realize the music was coming from the guitar and Melissa’s lips.

Melissa looked up, and nodded to Rarity but kept singing. It was a rather upbeat and jaunty song, with interesting lyrics. It described various grisly ways that one could be killed or maimed, from being struck by lightning, hit by an “A” train, but stating that the odds of experiencing such disasters would be minimal. The song got it’s name from the chorus, Odds Are.

Rarity clapped a little as the marine finished, and lowered her guitar a little. She opened her mouth to say something, but winced, and held her head in pain.

“Another headache?” Rarity inquired, trotting over, “Are you sure you don’t want to see someone about that?”

“No, I’m fine. Just need more aspirin.” Melissa replied, grimacing and retrieving more painkillers from her emergency kit beside her.

“Darling, you’ve swallowed quite a lot of those tablets since we got here. It seems to be getting worse to me.”

“I’m fine, Rar’, really. I don’t know what it is, must be lack of sleep. You haven’t noticed any symptoms of magical ailments about me, right?”

“I’m hardly an expert, dear. I still think you should at least ask Twilight--”

At mention of Twilight, Melissa’s ears burned. “Nope. ‘So much nope’. I cannot express--”

“Darling, it was just a suggestion!” Rarity cut her off, holding up her hooves, “Let’s change the subject. May I ask why you weren’t at dinner?”

Melissa shrugged, “Still kind of the same subject. Also I didn’t want to talk to people who’d look at me like a monster. Anyway, I ate.” she gestured at a mauled container of freeze-dried rations, completely empty.

“That’s hardly a fitting--”

“Did-ja read the label? Says ‘Meal, Ready-to-Eat’. I’m not hungry.”

“That’s not the point,” Rarity pressed, “We’re guests in their home--”

“Not really. I’m living in my car, and even if I wasn’t, I’d still be out in their barn. I’m not technically in their home, and since I didn’t go in, their food can go straight to hell.”

“Melissa!” Rarity admonished.

“Agh, dammit! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that, it’s my freaking head and this fucking migraine…” she groaned, and held her head again.

The door burst open, “Where’d you two get off two?” Applejack demanded, “Don’t ya know how rude that is?”

“Yes, AJ, we are all very aware of that. Are you also aware that bucking a frakking door open with your big hooves is quite bad for someone’s migraine?!” Melissa shot back.

Applejack raised her eye at the outburst, and Melissa looked sideways at Rarity. “Did it again?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Melissa growled, and gently beat her head against the side of Oscar, reaching for her guitar again.

She extended her guitar pick, and idly began tuning it, attempting to relax.

“Okay, I am sorry, AJ. Having a very hard time here. Found a bunker full of mustard gas, and I already have a migraine. I think I might be a little rattled.”

She cracked a small smile, and Applejack returned it. The orange mare shrugged, “I guess you got reason to be. But it might help...some ponies to understand if you explained what mustard gas was.”

Melissa blew air out her cheeks, “It’s a chemical weapon outlawed about a hundred years ago. During World War I, they loved to spam it through artillery and grenades. Kills anything, regardless of the uniform, or how many legs it has.”

Rarity gasped, but the shock turned to confusion, “But wait, isn’t that true of most weapons?”

“At least if you’re pointing them in the wrong direction?” AJ added.

“Not these. It’s literal gas…” Melissa gulped, and shook her head, pressing onward, “It floats around the battlefield, guided only by the wind, maiming or killing anything it comes into contact with. It’s horrible stuff.”

“Why haven’t you mentioned this before?” Rarity inquired.

“Because it’s unethical. It didn’t occur to me to mention things like that, and even if it had I wouldn’t have told you. It’s a weapon that frankly scares the absolute shit out of me.” she winced, and coughed. She was very clearly uncomfortable.

“Mustard gas is simply one of the most basic forms of poisonous gases. Though normally we have at least basic gear to deal with nuclear, biological, or chemical threats, I’ve always been afraid of it. Downright petrified. Some of the gases are odorless, tasteless, or invisible, you almost never know what type it is, how long it will take to kill you, or anything. All you can do is button up and pray...if you catch it early enough. If you don’t, well, you’re just screwed.”

She shivered unconsciously, her eyes filled with fury and fear, “My mother told me stories about her grandfather, my great-grandfather. He was a member of the British Expeditionary Force in 1915, World War I. Got caught in a German gas attack. Oh, he got his mask on in time, but those masks only kept your lungs and eyes unhurt. Any contact with your body causes problems, and he’d been wandering around for hours in the clouds. Then when he was sitting in a shell crater, he saw some medics with their masks off. He took his own off, forgetting that the gas doesn’t disappear that quickly, and it likes to settle in bomb craters.”

“By Celestia…” Applejack cursed, “What happened to him?”

“Went blind for a few days, had serious chemical burns, breathing problems, and cancer eventually got him decades later. He got discharged, and stayed out of the war after that, but...he was never the same. Spent his life in pain.”
Her anger grew, “I kills everything indiscriminately. You know about all our drones, guided munitions? We developed those to kill only those who mean us harm, and while we have had some collateral damage, civilians caught in the crossfire, unfortunately, that’s war. Mistakes happen. Gas however, is dangerous to everyone and everything. It kills, and its only function is to kill and kill and kill, no matter the uniform they’re wearing, or if they’re an animal or not. It will linger on for days, killing or maiming those who come into range. It brings one down to a level of barbarity, a level no one should have to reach, since it’s a slip-n-slide straight to a complete collapse of morality. It is immoral.”

The ponies’ eyes had been wide for a while, “By Celestia,” Applejack repeated, “What was wrong with your people?”

Melissa punched something solid, “The sad thing is...it’s still in use.”

Rarity blinked several times, “What? I thought you said it was outlawed!”

“Child soldiers are outlawed too, but that doesn’t stop some people. Chemical weapons have been outlawed since 1929. That didn’t stop Churchill from stockpiling, or Imperial Japan from using it in China during World War II. The Geneva Convention’s more of a ‘suggestion’ for anyone who’s not a First-World nation,” she then added hastily, “We’re the good guys, we try to follow the Geneva Convention as much as possible. Little while ago, however, the president of this place called Syria, he ordered a strike with chemical weapons on civilian targets.”

“Your people attack civilians?” Applejack demanded in disbelief, “But...but…”

“That’s horrid! What kind of war is that?” Rarity questioned, “There are rules to this sort of thing!”

Melissa inhaled deeply. The Victorian Era romanticized warfare quite a lot; Compared to that period, modern glamorized concepts of war were downright pessimistic.

It seemed the ponies, at a similar social and technological level as the Victorian Era, may have done something similar.
“Yes, there are rules. But as I said, the Geneva Convention is more of a suggestion to people...and there are no real rules in war. War’s not a pleasant thing. It’s dangerous, terrifying, and causes a lot of death and destruction. In both world wars, we broke a lot of rules. Chemical weapons had originally been outlawed in 1899, or something. But they broke that rule, and used them. Civilians took massive casualties in the large-scale bombing campaigns, men, women, and children alike. Whole countries shattered. We’ve improved a lot since World War II, we care a lot more about casualties. The Geneva Convention is a serious rule now, but...it’s not pretty. War never is.”

The ponies were quiet. “Have you ever fought anyone, Melissa?” Rarity asked quietly.

“No, not really. I was about to ship out before I got here My mom and dad have, though. My mom flew A-10s in the Gulf War and after 9/11, in Afghanistan, and my dad...well, he never talked about it much. He was a marine, some special ops thing he wasn’t allowed to talk about.”

Melissa scratched her head, “I have to admit, I’ve always had a fascination with military history and equipment. I know war’s immoral and all that. I always tell myself I believe in fighting only as a last resort, for the right cause and when there’s no other choice, and not just for the hell of it...but...I’ve always had immense respect for soldiers, and their tales are just so darned fascinating. It’s a moral conundrum, how our society both hates and adores warfare…”

She spoke more of the wars, the strifes, the glory, and the shame Earth had been through, unable to contain it all. She kept talking for who-knew-how-long.

Mud-filled trenches of horror to the heroic actions surrounding Pavlov’s House. Horrendous devastation wrought in the Allied bombing campaigns during World War II, but how that paled in comparison to what the Axis had done.

Gettysburg, thousands of men dead for a noble cause, to the worthlessness of Vietnam.

Over and over the problem ran in her head, and Melissa still didn’t know how to properly express it. She was no warhawk, no paranoid gun-toting racist, but...she was fascinated by military history, by the weapons and tactics used, and was a soldier herself. It was a strange dilemma.

When silence filled the barn once again, Melissa reassembled the pistol beside her, and picked up her guitar again.

“I didn’t know you could play an instrument.” Applejack noted, “Heck, I didn’t know humans could play our instruments.”

“I learned it in high school. Also, it took a while to manufacture a guitar pick, but it was worth it.”

Taking the crude pick, she began strumming the guitar. In contrast to Odds Are, The Green Fields of France was subdued, slow, and mournful.

It described a 19-year old victim of World War I, only one of the millions of white stones that marked the millions of graves across Europe. Had they known why they died, did they really believe what they’d been told they were fighting for?

When the song was over, Melissa didn’t stop long. The silence, and the ponies’ expressions were unbearable to look at in silence. She sang Born in the USA, Amazing Grace, At the Elbe, Christmas in the Trenches, any and all songs of war she could recall that spoke of the details. For some reason, she finished on a slightly different note. The song Imagine by John Lennon. Well, she’d never heard the original, only the version from Quantum Leap, but it matched up with the point of the other songs.

As she finished singing, Melissa suddenly slumped, holding her head again. “Whoa, got a buzz all of a sudden. Damn magic music. Dammit. This was supposed to be real somber and shit. Then I get a buzz. I’ll go on as best I can.”

“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Unless you wish to sadden us further, in which case, do go ahead.” Rarity said.

“Ooh, sarcasm.” Melissa smiled somberly, and leaned back. “Jeez, I don’t even know how to feel right now. I’m talking to you guys about the Cold War, World War II, war crimes, Vietnam, Afghanistan...you guys wouldn’t understand. Not at all.”
She sighed, “I’m sure you think humans are all bastards, now. Well, go ahead. Call me a monster. Call me a demon. Call me...call me anything you want. I don’t care.”

To her surprise, Rarity hugged her. “Oh, Melissa, why would we do that? I’m so sorry for what your people have been through. Such horrid things you describe!”

“Yeah,” Applejack agreed, patting Melissa on the hand, “Your people sound incredible.”

“Explain. Please.” Melissa asked, confused and trying to muddle through her buzzed brain.

“To go through all that, and survive! To do such things, and create such arts and magnificent inventions! How could we call you monsters? You’re to be congratulated as a species for surviving, and thriving, and creating!” Rarity exclaimed, “And even more so for acknowledging your history. I’d be concerned if your leaders hid the information, but if they allow such detail to be accessed...”

“Your people are certainly brave, I’ll give ‘em that.” Applejack said, “I don’t know if we would come out as well as you did if we went through the same stuff. I don’t even know if we could survive...all that.”

“You don’t think I’m a crazy paranoid gun-toting racist lunatic warhawk?”

Rarity shook her head, “Of course not! Your race is filled with contradictions, and we know you. We understand.”

“Yeah, you’re just a paranoid gun-toter.” Applejack said.

The barn door creaked open, and Andrew stepped inside.

“Right on schedule!” Melissa slurred, her mood changing to a more cheerful one very abruptly.

It was like the tone of the situation had been taken out back and shot. “You always seem to have great dramatic timing! You checking up on me, or...or…” she trailed off, looking confused.

Andrew blinked, looking from her to the ponies around her.

“The song problem again.” Rarity explained, suppressing a little laugh, “She was singing again.”

“‘Shaddup, ah don’t need ta answer yer questions, fuzz’!” Melissa giggled, hopping out of Oscar’s trunk and stumbling over to him.

“Y’know Andy…”

“Andrew.”

“That’s what I said, shut up. Something that’s always been weird to me. In several of the temporal/dimensional displacement stories, when there’s only one individual from the modern age, he’s always some doofus idiot ‘blandsy mc-bland-bland’ guy, who ostensively has some useful skills, but turns out to be some average moron who thinks so little of their own intelligence, they don’t even realize that telling the doctors to wash their hands will save countless lives. Then, despite being one of the blandest people on the planet, he somehow manages to always get the attentions of some hot local ‘weemen’, exotic love interest or something,” she pronounced it strangely, quoting something, “and they always fight for his attention. I mean look at Kelly Davis or Davies or whatever his name is from The Human Memoirs…”
She took on an exaggerated announcer tone, “‘Oh no, looks like Kelly must choose between a hot human woman or the literal, actual equally-attractive cat lady! Let’s watch the wackiness!’
“The damn Mary Sues always goes native too. Okay, Earth might have problems, but modern day Earth is objectively way better than anywhere else these people run off to. the intent might be to show how the average person is like a god to less-advanced people, but do you really have to make them such doofuses? Are we the only people who are different? I mean, I’m a combat engineer, with everything I need, and look at what you’ve done. I mean, you might be a cowardly, indecisive jerk, but most of the other idiots can’t do anything right, usually spend their time wandering around being lazy, nearly murdered and kidnapped a lot, or...y’know, just straight up take a viking axe to the face. The one guy just kinda went on a magic quest and forwent going home afterwards. You take the cake. I mean, you're still living out the tropes, and bein’ lazy as fuck, but you're more likable. Kind of. You haven’t taken any stupid risks, you’re actually kind of intelligent despite your doofus nature--kind of-- and I respect you about as much as I do Jim Eckert from The Dragon and the George.” she caught herself, as the others looked at her.

“Shit, I just complimented you, didn’t I?”

She placed the Browning Hi-Power in its box, sealed it, and hopped to the ground. She looked up at him, trying to suppress a goofy grin, “I finished your pistol, just gotta test fire it later. I’m gonna go veg out watching Beast Wars. Do we need some insults applied to balance out the compliment?”

“No, I think I’m good.” Andrew replied, smiling a little, and quite confused.

“Alright. Fuck you anyway.” she was still smiling as she retreated into the driver’s seat.

He chuckled a little again, and turned to the ponies behind him. “I think she’s warming up to me.”

“She’s got a funny way of showing it.” Applejack muttered, the corner of her mouth turning upward.

XXXXX

Day 7 of expedition:

Found the bunker. Definitely human, all the proportions were right. Found some supplies, attached an inventory and description of the place to this paper. The rumors were true, also; mustard gas instead of invisible demons or whatever bullshit. Had to start running though, just in case it started leaking.

Someone else was there before us, though. Definitely dragons. They burned the books, documents, maps, everything. However, something Rarity noticed was that the mass of the ashes didn’t match up with what the shelves should have contained. It was almost as if some were missing.

Certainly likely, given that they might want to control the lightning like we did, but it also arouses my suspicions once again.

Legends are dismissed in academic circles all the time, at least the ones that don’t confirm one’s beliefs. That was Andrew’s explanation for it, anyway. Twilight didn’t find much on us because she wasn’t looking at all the right legends.

I could understand that, she’s done that before, skipping over obvious answers. Look at the episode when Zecora first showed up. Though that was because of a typo.

Seriously, “supernatural” vs “super natural” remedies.

It still seems odd that there is so little mention of us in pony academic circles, even given the evidence, especially things like the bunker. Even weirder, looking at things with new eyes, Twilight did find mention of human-like creatures in very old stories, even spoke with Lyra. Very similar to the dragon stories, only from the opposite point of view. They’re viewed like...I don’t have an example, any creature of goodness that is known to be fake and is nearly forgotten about by adults, or rather anyone not Lyra.

Didn’t anyone notice how cross-cultural the stories are, though?

This is what I’ve been worried about.

I think Princess Queen Celestia has been killing, imprisoning, or hiding anyone and anything that’s come through the wormhole, as well as suppressing information. Immortal bitch probably didn’t think the tech was that vital, or put it on the backburner because of how advanced it was, and might not have been able to reverse-engineer it.
Is this crazy?

Partly, investigating this lead has been one reason to head to Manehattan. The signal we picked up was quite strong, and aside from the obvious revolutionary implications, it also could suggest use of human equipment.
At present, the signal hasn’t changed too much, still gibberish. They have not created a code for it yet. I’m guessing they developed wireless before wired because of their other method of communication, dragonfire. It’s wireless too, and they already had optical, so maybe they didn’t think wired telegraphy was necessary.
Or perhaps it’s based on reverse-engineered human tech.

Also, note to self: keep exposing ponies to everything, don’t hide anything. It creates trust to show that we trust them enough to show them our skeletons in the closet.

Addendum:
Been eating aspirin like it’s pez. I’ve got headaches for most of the day now. It’s not sinuses, it’s not dehydration, what is it?

I’d say allergic reaction, but...I don’t know.

Something fishy has been going on lately. I don’t know what, but something’s wrong with me.

I keep forgetting things. I keep snapping at people. I feel really angry all the time and I don’t know why. There’s something I’ve been dreaming about that I can’t remember, something that wakes me up terrified and covered in sweat. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, or what’s happening.

All I can say for sure is…

I’m scared.