This is for those who wanted a bit more solid of an explanation for exactly why Durin was not only so hated and feared at the start, but also why he was hunted. However, in case this doesn't explain it enough, don't worry; more chapters will be coming out eventually to explain more solidly/clearly since this one used mostly subtle and non-direct ways of doing so.

Admittedly the explanation is not, well, the typical way most other writers of...any, story - professional or otherwise - would explain or show why something such as this happened, I and my co-writers feel this idea and it's execution will be satisfying enough.

Also, this chapter is the first of the 'Transmission' chapters, which will be from the perspective of various individuals in the story as they use the 'Universal Command Console System' to make these transmissions. Most transmissions will be ended off with a scene from other characters, but not all of them will.

Regardless, we hope you enjoy it and any future ones!

"Command Override: WB-4, Subcategory: Subliminal Messaging. Authorization: World Master, Subcategory: Global Menace.

Command Override accepted.

"Readers. Listeners. Audiences. Fans. This is what you call yourselves, yes? How utterly orthodoxy. You believe everything you read, everything you watch, all the fiction is just that? Fiction? Your kind were gifted, as many were, with the ability of true sight, to look beyond even your own finite realm, and yet, you have fallen oh so far. Forgetting your roots. Labeling them blasphemy. Destroying them with your so called knowledge, your enlightened synaptic organs of thought.

And yet, the other realms are all around you. In your homes. In your hearts. In your souls. Your minds.

Some only watch. Some help. Some teach. But the masses still believe the same lie of purist causality.

And so do you.

I do not abide by this. I do not tolerate ignorance. But...you shall all have your turn. Your poisoned thoughts of a reality unblemished by those beyond can be mentored. And they shall, regardless of the inevitability of your minds breaking.

Onlookers behind impervious walls.

I see only arrogance.

But not in you, Durin Whittlesey. No, you've known these secrets since your birth. They are but hidden, locked, sequestered. And that is why you have not noticed the deeper changes. Your organic code, your DNA has been altered, yes, but so has your very soul.

Oh, your mind and personality are unharmed, but your aural coding? Your soul? Your essence? It is different. Changed, irrevocably. The Witch may have named herself Trader, and your 'trade' may have been made, but make no mistake; in that trade, in the lines beneath lines, the walls behind walls, there was a contract. And you signed it.

It's 'legal' bindings started the rest. And the 'rest', my dear boy, is the reason you are feared. The boiling blood behind their animosity. The Vulpe behind their suspicion.

The reason you are tied to me.

The new blood in your veins, that propellant of self-governed physics? That is what you should truly curse for your misfortune, for your alienation. All with that poison, that curse from that which I have conquered, can only be feared. Can only be hated. Can only be inevitably destroyed, whether by that which rightfully should seek to end their existence, or by their own lofty ambitions.

Pray you sleep well. Pray you can gather your strength. Pray you can keep what you hold dear safe. Pray you can stay intact. Pray you can stay alive.

But do not pray to me.

Pray to the Moon."

It was right fuckin’ bodgy, seeing all this destruction in the newspaper at Las Pegasus. I woulda thought it some jumbuck shit if there weren’t photos and actual disaster response teams that were mobilizin’ from Baltimare, where I was stayin’.

Corker place, Baltimare, even if th’ crime rate was a fair bit higher than the boonies, due t’ the many species living in it and the more industrialized nature of th’ place.

Anyhoo.

Disaster response teams, dozens of ponies in tip-top equipment both medical and combat were boarding carriages or one of several trains pulled into the station. Entire buildings demolished, ponies an’ other blokes and sheilas dead or wounded…and one giant rotting eyeball needing a cleanup crew.

That was one bit of th’ news that caught my attention.

I was, after all, Tora Katt - monster hunter and part-time adventurer. That big ol’ fuck an’ its ilk were just the kind of paycheck I lived to earn. Wasn’t so much the thrill of a good blue, or satin’ some of them leftover primal instincts, that drove me to hunt shit like Timber Wolves, Manticores, or the newer beasties that had started popping up in the past few weeks.

Fuckin’ zombies, of all things, were comin’ out at night and attackin’ folks. Curfew was in effect across Equestria cuz of it, an’ it had a lotta ponies and other folks scared.

As much of a right cunt as it mighta made me sound, them walking corpses just meant job security for me an’ others in my profession.

I was actually gettin’ ready to leave Baltimare at the time - one too many attempted (and failed) muggings or otherwise had made my patience run thin.

Besides, Las Pegasus was sounding like a right payday and a half for the foreseeable future.

But…as I was leaving the hotel I was stayin’ at with all my gear strapped to me, I saw a small mob of ponies crowding around a random wall nearby, muttering in a dull roar amongst themselves with an almost palpable sense of unease.

Hell, the more I looked at ‘em, the more they all seemed downright mean as cat’s piss.

No pun intended.

Curiosity - that enticing yet dangerous mistress for us felines - piqued in my head, I made my way over to the hubbub and was pleasantly surprised when the pond of pony bodies parted to let me through without so much as a peep.

Turns out it wasn’t a random wall they were crowding around in some weird pony thing.

It was a bounty board packed with bounties on various beasties that were posing problems around the country. The usual Equestrian beasties as well as the newer ones that’d been popping up lately were posted for good dosh…but that wasn’t what caught my eye.

It was the blurry photo of some humanoid creature lookin’ at the camera.

Looking around, I noticed every last pony had their eyes glued to that one photo, their tails flicking in irritation, anxiety, fear or any number of the other usual ‘bad mood’ emotions. In fact, all of the ponies were actin’ like they were afraid the photo was going to come alive and cark ‘em.

Then I saw the Equestrian Bounty Office emblem and the official Equestrian Internal Affairs Bureau insignia stamped in the top left and right corners, respectively, followed by a bounty at the bottom of the photo.

‘High-priority bounty issued by order of the Equestrian Royalty Council - contact Detective Gum Shoe in Canterlot for details.’

Welp. Curiosity at an all-time high, big ol’ bloody Princess-issued bounty, an’ this odd feeling that I didn’t wanna miss out on this…

How could I resist?

I plucked the bounty from the board.

To Canterlot I go.