Content Warning: Sexual Assault (survivor journal)
Under recommendation, I'm erring on the side of caution and putting an additional CW on this chapter, with specifics on a few of the terminal entries. Please skip the blacked out "spoiler" section to avoid and resume after the horizontal rule.

A spark flies off Swift’s power hoof as it skids along Gearing’s muzzle and knocks his head to turn sideways.

He blinks a few times, with his head looking in the other direction, then turns back to look at her as he re-adjusts his jaw by opening and closing his mouth a few times. He looks her in the eyes and asks, flatly, “Thanks for proving my point. Feel better?”

Swift waves her hoof in his face threatening another blow as her eyes fill with tears. “You shut your whore mouth!”

He leans towards her and asks, “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

She pulls back her hoof for another swing as she yells, “I’m warning you!”

“Your foals,” Gearing says it like a magic word that does indeed have the power to paralyze her.

She wavers a bit, but asks, “What about my foals?”

Gearing puts his forehooves together and takes in a deep breath as if he’s praying. He lets it out as he opens his eyes and looks at her. “You have a decision to make here. Don’t kill the messenger. You have to pick. And I can’t be the one that does it. I won’t make that decision.”

She starts softening as she looks around the room and at the floor. “What- what decision?”

Gearing points a hoof over at Handy. “Who you care more about… Handy or your children.”

She practically spits as her eyes go wide. “What kind of sick sadistic shit is that?! How can you try to make someone pick like that?!”

Gearing keeps his posture and says softly, “Swift… you’re children were in the same room as him…” He tilts his head and asks, “Did you even think about that? There’s no way to know if they’ve been exposed. Not yet anyway. If you give all of that to him now, there’s a chance you’ll lose all of your children.”

She snorts and looks off to the side. “Nettlekiss? Has there been any sign of infection in the children?”

“Nope,” Nettlekiss says flatly. “But for being a bastard stallion, he’s got a point.”

Gearing looks up at a speaker and grins. “Hey, that’s Glorious Bastard! Say it right!” He says with pride as he shoots his sparkling wings up in the air.

Swift looks at Gearing and asks, “What the hell is your game this time, Gearing? Don’t try any of your half truth shit. I want to know for real.”

Gearing looks at her and gives a mischievous grin as he folds his wings neatly at his side. He sits as properly as he can and closes his eyes before he says, “I don’t want to be the one getting blamed.”

Swift tilts her head with an eye half closed. “What?”

Gearing points a hoof at her. “You guys have taken nearly every opportunity to shoot me the stink eye. It’s like you’re just waiting for me to make a mistake… Shit, you literally just accused me of trying to kill Handy, despite the fact that I made the cure.” He sits back and practically sneers at her. “So you’re not using me as a scapegoat for this one. Oh hell no. All I’m doing is giving you all of the information about the shitstorm you’re in. Making you fully aware of the situation.” He slaps his hooves together, brushing off imaginary dust before throwing them out to the side and setting them back onto the floor. “You’re the one that’s going to have to make the decision. I’m washing my hooves of everything… Including whatever consequences come from the decision you make. So… you’re not allowed to blame me for shit.”

Swift’s face is etched with hate, anger, and fear. He’s right, and she knows it, but of course she won’t admit it. But, what can she really do? Beating him into the bulkheads might make her feel better, but it won’t help Handy. Nor her foals.

What about her foals?

Her heart aches. She had been so concerned with Handy that she hadn’t thought about them in danger. She’d thought, somehow, on some level, that they were fine. That they were already out of danger. That they were safe in the medical bay and far beyond all of this. This isn’t fair. This is cruel. Damn Gearing for making her go through this!

She has no choice.

She looks at Cure and snarls, “We’re giving it to him.” She hops over and holds down Handy’s head as she says, “Hurry up and do it.”

Gearing stands up and raises a hoof and waves it around. “And the die has been cast… Good luck.” He turns around and starts exploring the various equipment in the R&D lab.

Swift stares daggers at him. He really is refusing any responsibility for this. She has no choice but to hope, and pray to sweet Celestia, that she’d been right about the children being safe the entire time. They should have shown some signs of infection by now, considering how quickly Handy succumbed to it, right? That had to be a sign that this was the right course of action. She has no choice but to hold onto that hope as she watches Cure ever so slowly jam the needle into somewhere at the base of Handy’s skull.

Swift already knows this isn’t the decision Gearing would have made. And that’s probably why he walked away from it. With tears in her eyes she knows, deep down, that his concern was more for her foals.

The fact that he seemed to have more active awareness to a threat to her foals, than even she did, isn’t missed from her, and she hates Gearing even more for that. Making her feel like a horrible parent. But what’s done is done. And now all they can do is wait.

Gearing putters around the Research and Development department, taking stock of supplies, equipment, and repairs that need to be made. After digging around in the freezer and finding nothing of interest but a metal Mint-als tin with tiny darts in it, which he takes, he confers with Cure. Once he’s sure that none of the components in the walk in freezer are needed to reproduce the cure, he authorizes Cure to sanitize it. He shuts the door once Cure’s inside, but doesn’t lock it, which allows Cure to use the sanitization flame thrower with impunity while not having to worry about damaging anything in the lab or hurting anyone else.

It doesn’t take her long before she reemerges triumphantly from the now soot covered not-so-cold cold storage unit.

Swift is having a hard time staying awake and goes to take off her hazmat suit but Gearing stops her. She looks at him with waterlogged eyes and asks, “What now?”

Gearing waves a hoof around the room. “We don’t know if he’s cured yet. I’m not sure how contagious this is.”

Cure responds cheerfully, “The original disease is only communicable through direct fluid transfer. The only reason he was infected was the particular batch of dust he was exposed to had some sort of fresh fluidic drops in it. Saliva, blood, or some other form of bodily fluid. If we seal the decontamination chamber, and run the sequence again, Swift should be safe to remove her suit.”

Gearing points a hoof at Cure. “Well, there ya go. You guys stay in there, and I’ll start cleaning up in here. But, it probably won’t be healthy for you, so you won’t want to come back in without the suit on. I’m going to be using some strong chemicals. I can’t risk fire damaging the equipment, and well...” He chuckles. “I don’t actually have to worry about breathing any of it. So we should be fine.”

Swift nods lightly, and Cure joins the group by entering the isolation chamber. Gearing watches them zip Handy back up, and the cleaning processes cycle. Afterwards, they open up most of the suit on Handy, and Swift kicks her entire suit off as well. He can’t help but smile as he sees Swift’s eyes jump open, and her hooves wrap around Handy as he tries to lift his head. Gearing can’t tell what’s being said, but given the body language he figures it’s a good sign. He turns and leaves them to it, as his eyes scan the R&D department.

Forget the civilian quarters, this looks like home to him! Everything he needs, except maybe some tools, and maybe some other equipment that he might be able to piece together or build from scratch down here anyway. But there’s plenty of space and, best of all, he’s far from the others so they won’t be bothering him. His smile starts fading as his eyes stall on the air duct vent from before. Something he’d seen before was off, even before Cure had given it the napalm treatment. And something she’d said recently had struck a similar cord of the same file.

“Saliva or blood particles…” he mutters.

Tick. Tick. CLICK.

He slaps a hoof across his face before bringing it down on his pipbuck and opening a channel. “Nettlekiss! Nettlekiss! This an emergency! Priority one communication alert!”

“I hear ya, you stupid stallion. I can see you too. What’s got your balls in a twist this time?” Nettlekiss’s voice comes from the surrounding speakers in the lab.

He looks around the room and waves his hooves. “Don’t let anypony eat the radroach meat I brought to medical! Have it destroyed! Don’t let anyone even touch it!” He looks at one of the cameras and screams. “It’s infected! That’s how Handy got sick! Radroaches in the air ducts!”

Nettlekiss doesn’t respond, but out of the corner of his eye he sees Cure go flying out of the far side door of the decontamination chamber. As the door is closing he flops on the ground and asks shakily, “Tell me no one’s eaten any?”

“You’re lucky,” Nettlekiss’s voice comes out gruffly. “That older one wouldn’t let any of the kids eat it. He didn’t like the way it smelled. Too burnt apparently. Practically charcoal. It’s still sitting on the same table.”

Gearing lets out a sigh of relief. “Could you let them know not to touch it too? Just to make sure nothing happens while Cure is on the way?”

“Already done.”

Gearing looks up at the camera and smiles. “Thank you, Nettlekiss.”

“Yeah, yeah. Now shut up and stop bothering me, you stupid stallion,” Nettlekiss responds flatly.

Gearing looks at his pipbuck and notices the channel’s still open. He reaches down for the button and says softly, “Love you too, Nettlekiss,” then closes the channel himself. Then looks at the nearby camera with a big grin and waves with a wing.

He begins his first task, at least the one that he thinks is most in need of being done, and begins sanitizing the entire R&D department. He finds a large stock of chemicals in the R&D’s storage area, and can’t help but hop around excitedly. They certainly knew what they were doing and they were stocked for years. Decades. Apparently centuries. Not all of it is still useful, as some of the materials would have broken down eventually, but there’s enough here to make him happy.

Especially since he’s able to make a noxious fume gas bomb capable of filling the entire R&D Department.

He uses a few of the tools and makes sure that the air vents are entirely sealed off, but communicates his intentions to Stable-Tec so Nettlekiss would also know to keep the local air circulation system offline while he proceeded. Gearing pours the last of the premeasured beakers of his new toy into the metal bucket sitting on the Bunsen burner, and watches the reaction with interest.

As the room fills with the thick smoke he trots around and starts organizing things. Then ensures everything has been opened up for maximum penetration. Cabinets, panels, all of it. Any organic materials that could be damaged that he deemed important enough to go through the hassle of saving, he already stuck in containers and puts them in the walk in freezer. Mint-als tin included. He can heat treat them later to ensure their safety. But, for now, he needs to make sure the bulk of the hazard is taken care of.

He flops down at one of the terminals and can’t help smiling. Might as well get some research in while the room practically cleans itself. Sure, no one else will be able to come in to bother him while the gas is pouring everywhere. But that’s just icing on the cupcake. Sometimes it helps to be ruthlessly efficient. He works on the terminals for a while, having to get closer and closer to the screen as it becomes harder to read in the thick fog that begins basting the R&D department. But read he does; delving deep into the archives of the stable as he looks into the history of the stable, but whatever tidbits of information he can find of the world above ground before it all ended, and the doors sealed, are the primary game for his interests.

He’s used to working alone. Sometimes it’s an asset in the areas he’d been at. However, he finds an almost pleasant companionship with his co-conspirator. The AI that runs the stable, he learns, is actually separate from the maneframe and Nettlekiss, and has been online for far longer than Nettlekiss has been in the system as Overmare. They talk casually, and the AI seems to take delight in sharing information and helping him delve through the archives to find any relevant data on each subject he looks up. She even goes so far as to prepare him a timeline of events, and presents records in chronological order for him to peruse. At one point, she even offers to read him the reports as he begins the process of cleaning up the residual residue from the sanitization gas.

He’s more than thrilled, and she’s more than happy to oblige. Considering the length of time to go over, it becomes quickly apparent to him that it’s a good thing he doesn’t need to sleep. And he, ever so silently, gives thanks to the universe for small favors. Even in the form of backhanded compliments such as this.

While Gearing had started his genocidal rampage against all living things present in the R&D department, Handy and Swift worked through their own disaster.

They took him back to the medical bay, still in the hazmat suit, and used the medical pod to do thorough scans of Handy. The results were a mixed blessing, and became something hushed and to be talked about later. The gist of the matter being Handy’s free of the infection, but his brain has had some damage to it. However, as Cure points out, his physiology seemed to be helping him in that regard. That previous tampering with his body had had the side effect of making him more resistant to this type of damage. She took pains to point out that the brains of most ponies that had been infected ended up looking like honey combs with holes all over it. Handy’s damage was minor by comparison, but Cure couldn’t explain why exactly.

Handy and Swift both knew though. Even without the prompting of Cure. They refused to admit it, but it was likely caused by the Institute’s tampering with his body. Their experiments. Their desire to create alicorns had a long list of bodies, living, dead, and some unmerciful combination in between. Their methods were horrendous. Most ponies didn’t survive the process. He probably wouldn’t have if they didn’t escape when they did.

But, all of that is in the past. As much as they try to make it such anyway. Handy’s in no condition to deal with anything, he’s on the verge of a mental break down by the time he’s taken to his new quarters by Sarge. As Swift is leaving the medical bay, a hazmat suit full of wiggly creatures carried on her back and tucked in close with her wings, Gauge walks over from the side and stops her.

She looks at him and snorts in a bit of disgust. “What is it, Gauge? I don’t have time for this right now.”

He waves a hoof toward the medical bay. “You’ve got some secrets, Swift. And I don’t like it, mmkay.”

Swift eyes him, and starts stepping around and sideways to head towards her room. “What’s my business is my business, and you can keep your nose out of it. Whatever it is it doesn’t concern you!”

Gauge walks around in front of her, keeping low as he eyeballs her suspiciously. “Uh huh. Then why is the institute after you?”

“Me?!” Swifts eyes shoot to their widest as she takes a step back from him. “What do you mean they’re after me?!”

Gauge waves a hoof. “They just attacked the stable… I heard from Nahlah, mmkay. They didn’t want me, and they didn’t want the cat… so that kind of narrows it down a bit, doesn’t it?”

Swift looks around and asks, “What makes you think they weren’t after Gearing?”

He tilts his head then stands up. “That protectapony? Why would they want one of those? They have synths!” He tilts his head the other way then brings a hoof up to his mouth. “Though he’s a different model for sure… Never seen anything like that.” He looks at Swift as he half closes an eye. “You really think that’s it? They want some advanced prewar tech?”

Swift shrugs. “I don’t know what else it could be.”

Gauge looks at her and walks around her a bit as he says, “I already know you all escaped them once. And they don’t normally take kindly to anyone that can expose their secrets. Mmkay?”

Swift waves it off with a hoof as she continues down the hallway. “It’s not exactly the best kept secret, now is it? That ship has sailed.” She continues walking down the hallway, as calmly as she can.

After she gets a distance away Gauge yells after her, “I’m not that stupid, Swift… I know you’re hiding something. And I think it’s dangerous. And I’m not going to stop until I find out what it is and tell everypony.” He stands up and leans into the yell as he screams at her retreating form, “Secrets are bad, mmkay!”

Swift pays him no mind as she continues down the corridor. But, as she gets around a corner, and out of sight, she starts picking up speed down the hall. She zips as quickly as she can, straight to her room. Her new room that is. Given the other one is now a burnt out husk.

Once she’s through the door, and it’s locked and secured, she opens up the hazmat suit, and turns it sideways. Out comes tumbling three little foals. They look around, shake themselves off, and then look up at their mother and grin. One of them, a little gray filly with yellow mane and eyes, spins around repeatedly until she sees Handy laying out on the bed. She springs over, bounds through the air, and piles on him as she squees, “Daddy!”

The little mist gray colt with cyan mane bounds over and hops onto his mother’s back where he holds onto her tightly and nuzzles the back side of her neck with his cheek. The third sibling, a yellow filly with light brown mane, bounces around her mother in a circle as she stares up at her with sparkling light blue eyes.

Handy recoils at the child’s touch, and whimpers. Swift walks over, with the other two riding on her shoulders. The little gray filly looks from Handy to Swift and asks softly, “Daddy. Sick?”

Swift nods lightly. “Yes, sweetie. Daddy’s not feeling well.” She climbs up into the bed, and molds her own body over his. He flinches at first, but she holds him fast and doesn’t let him go. A moment later he rolls over, and she buries his face into her chest.

Where he sobs.

The children pile onto their parents, especially Handy. They know he’s sad, and they don’t know what else to do, so they do what they would want. And that is show him the love that they have for him.

This only seems to make it worse. Until he finally leans up and says softly into Swift’s ear, “I’m a horrible father.”

She shushes him. “You’re an amazing father. You protected them.”

He holds her tightly, with his muzzle crammed into the mattress by her ear, and after a few moments he admits the atrocity that he was on the verge of doing. What he nearly did. “I… I wanted to eat them… I wanted to. Oh, Celestia, forgive me, I wanted to eat my own children!”

The kids don’t hear it, and can’t really make out his gibberish anyway. But Swift does. And she holds him as tightly as she can. There’s nothing she can say. She knows this. So she does the only thing she can do, and be the shoulder for him to cry on.

And he does. With a hurricane’s worth of tears and despair.

By that evening, Gearing had managed to clean up the entire R&D department, of not only the residual residue, but of the other grime and dirt that had accumulated. It was starting to look like a respectable lab again. As a matter of principle, and not having much else to work on, he began to ferry the supplies he’d gathered in Sector C to the R&D department. As a matter of course, he put his ear piece in from the pipbuck, and has continued on with his education as he’s going about the mindless manual labor that needs to be done.

What he’s learned has given him a lot of ideas. But, unfortunately, it’s also made him highly suspicious of his new cohabitants. He’d really rather not have any conflicts with them if it can be avoided, but some just seem to hate his mere existence.

That’s nothing new though.

Apparently, in any century, bigotry is alive and strong. One of the few things that’s seemed to flourish in the wasteland. Now they have so much to be hateful to each other for. So many petty differences.

He might end up having to leave. And sooner than anypony in his position would have wanted. But, he hopes he can stay long enough to prepare enough supplies to last. Making it on the road is entirely possible. Just a lot more problematic.

But still, maybe he won’t need to, maybe they’ll get their head out of their ass and realize how much of an asset he is. It could happen. Really it could. Despite what written history and his luck has testified otherwise.

That’s why having a contingency plan is important, and he needs to get on that soon. Even more so if it has the benefit of endearing himself to the other stable dwellers.

He gives his former room one last look over before turning out the lights to leave. However, once he does, he notices a green flickering dim light behind a pile of debris. He kicks the light back on and sets down the box before trotting over and going through the items.

He uncovers the boxy terminal and sets it upright on the ground as he looks it over. He’d found it earlier, and meant to go through it, but got a little busy with fighting off the roaches. That fight is what apparently knocked the terminal behind the pile and, as the old adage goes, out of sight out of mind.

Gearing starts tapping out commands while looking around warily. He’s already been attacked in this room once, and isn’t looking forward to another surprise from this hellhole of a stable so soon after the first. The password ‘WingBoner’ draws out both a groan of disbelief from Gearing and the personal logs of the room’s prior occupant from the terminal. Despite seemingly only to contain what amounts to a journal, and not the researcher’s actual files, it provides Gearing the final clues of the stable’s last days:

Opportunity
Sometimes opportunity knocks, and sometimes it bulldozes your house and drags you down the street behind it.

As if studying strange deadly diseases wasn’t rewarding enough, the opportunity I’ve been provided with to do so is an extraordinary ray of sunshine. Yes, I know. There’s no actual sun in this place and I might very well die never seeing it again. And ‘opportunity’ may seem stretched when it wasn’t a choice so much as an ultimatum.

‘Work for us in this pit, or starve to death on the surface.’

Although when you’ve been ostracized from the community and blacklisted from anything resembling work or life in Equestria, because of the actions of a greedy sibling, beggars can’t be choosers.

But, as far as ‘homeless beggar’ status goes, I have it pretty cushy. They’ve let me live here while I work on studying this ‘Blood Hunger Plague’. I get a regular stipend. And have no real bills anymore. Though, I still have a chance to make a mark on the world. A real positive one at that. If I can solve this, I might even manage to scrape off enough of the mud on my face to show I’m not a double crosser like my stupid sister. Who knows how many lives would be saved in the process?

I practically have the entire facility to myself. At least until the Omega threat call goes out and the stables are all activated. Then I’ll have nearly a thousand cohabitants. Odds are at least one of the mares coming in will be in need of some companionship, right?

Don’t hold your breath, Blackbriar.

Until then I’ve been using my stipend to stock up on cola, booze, and other frivolities. Why not, right? Not like there‘s anything else to do in this hole besides work.

Though, admittedly, there is something particularly charming about a disease as insidious as this. It’s probably why they want it looked into so far removed from everypony else.

Blood Hunger: Synopsis
This disease seems to have originated from the Zebra’s side of the world. From what I’ve been told, the so called vegetarians have, on repeated occasions, resulted to cannibalism during droughts. I have strong questions on why they didn’t simply move to a different location, instead of deciding to dine on their neighbors, but that is for other more qualified scientists to explore.

My task, whether I wanted it or not, is to explore the consequences of said barbarism.

Some sort of pathogen had been introduced that keeps being passed around. It’s spread through the zebra camps and, if my sources are right, has actually jumped the border to infect soldiers that have been wounded in combat.

Although that’s all been kept under wraps by the Ministry of Image. After all, returning heroes that suddenly lose their minds and decide to eat their spouses would be bad PR for the war effort.

But, unlike some superstitious nonsense about it being curses, there are enough instances for me, and the ones who’ve hired me, to conclude that the disease is passed on via bites. And, most likely, other fluidic transfers. Though on the zebra’s side consumption seems to be the primary mode of transmission.

If the zebras themselves weren’t a threat, the plagues the filthy creatures are dragging with them certainly are.

I’ve been given several samples, and there are a few of our casualties that are being detained to watch the progress of the diseases. Their families have already been informed of their passing. Gods only know when they’ll actually die though. But, this war calls for sacrifices from all of us. They get to die as a noble martyr for a cure that’ll save countless, and I get to toil in a dank hoofmade cave for the same reason. Time will only tell which one of us got the short stick.

Once I figure out what makes this thing tick, I can start trying to throw a wrench into its workings so to speak. Doesn’t matter how I stop it, as long as it gets stopped.

Surprising progress
Diseases are amazing!

Yes, they kill ponies and lesser creatures in horrible disfiguring ways sometimes, but that doesn’t detract from the statement.

This one is particularly tenacious. Insidious. Just. Plain. Wonderful!

We’ve been able to confirm that the disease is not only nonresponsive to a variety of known medical treatments, but that it is also highly resistant to heat as well! It has evolved such that it can actually survive the cooking process, and live to infect the poor souls that consume the contaminated meat. I mean, as ‘poor soul’ as an individual can get where they are cannibalistic barbarians, but, I digress.

I’ve already had a bit of progress in understanding the microbes that cause this. While original reports have indicated that the original disease could take months to manifest, the samples I’ve been working on and tinkering with have shown far faster progression rates.

My tinkering has paid off!

In case one of you Ministry of Morale yuppies are reading this, let me explain.

If I can continue to increase this rate of progression, I could actually make the disease run its course so fast, that a pandemic will become impossible! The reason for this? The infected will, if accelerated enough, die far quicker than they are able to spread it on to another individual.

I also hypothesize that, given the diseases track record, the individual may just end up being too busy trying to eat themselves, instead of going after others, and thus limiting exposure even further.

This weaponized variety of it could be unleashed on the zebra’s population, and all we’d have to do was sit at our walls and enjoy a nice sparkle cola while the striped bastards ate themselves to death. Literally. I’m going to be hard pressed to find a supporter for this. Certainly not the Ministry of Peace. Fluttershy would have my head!

However, I have plenty of time, and I’m not giving up on finding a real cure. I’ve made some progress in that route, but it’s not revealing its secrets as readily as just speeding it up. I’ll report back when anything of note happens.

If anything happens.

Something happened
Welp. That was unexpected. Okay, not really, I mean they did build these damn massive bunkers after all, so somepony saw the writing on the wall. Thank the gods for them.

I heard the door opening, and thought it was just another delivery of supplies or maybe my next oversized shipment of sparkle, booze, and the newest issues of Wingboner.

Nope. No winged beauties for me.

Instead I was left standing there as a stampede of ponies came running into the stable. Screaming. Even from here, deep inside, I could hear the roar of bombs exploding in the distance. The rumbling starting in the ground and vibrating the walls. Some of them just kept running, going down as far as they could to try and get away from the door, then, the alert sounded, and the doors finally closed.

I just stood there, in my doorway, looking at the shell shocked faces as I sipped on my sparkle cola. A mare unicorn, a young thing at that, leaned up against the bulkhead across from me as she panted and had a thousand yard stare. Not being one for missing an opportunity, I dangled a sparkle cola in front of her eyes.

She blinked at it a moment, then turned to look at me and I laid on the ole Blackbriar charm. “Looks like you could use a drink.”

She shook a bit, and took it in her own levitation field. Being the gentlestallion I am, I popped the top off with mine then raised my bottle to her health before taking a long drink.

She smiled at me, took a sip, then continued walking away as she thanked me.

Things are already looking up! Though I wish I would have gotten her name, she’s going to be hard to find in this rabble.

Nettlekiss
That’s her name. Nettlekiss. How could I be so sure? Because she’s the only fucking mare in this gods forsaken stable! How the hell did someone fuck this up so badly! I’m not a geneticist, but you don’t have to be my level of genius to realize how bad this is going to turn out! One mare. One thousand stallions. How the fuck does that math work out?

Answer: it doesn’t.

The science team, what there is of us, have already talked with the Overstallion and he’s already warned us of his concerns. A kiss ass named Butter Churn was even worse. Who the hell names their kid that? The kid sounded like a hick to boot! He was crying about long term survivability, how the mare, Nettlekiss, had to be taken care of, how she was the key to everything, how we could try all kinds of complete bullshit with stasis pods and technological wombs.

The kid’s a fucking loony and has spent too much time with his head in fiction books while on whatever farm they dragged him out of.

Meanwhile, I’ve never been happier about my hoard of Wingboner mags. If I ever get bored of them, I’ll be sure to be able to sell them at a premium. A thousand lonely bachelors to bid on them. Could be rich! It’s only been a week, give it some time and these things will be worth a mint.

That didn’t take long
So it took less than a week before everyone realized the gender ratio in here. The stallions with rotating barn doors almost seem like they’re in a fucking candy store the way some of them are prancing around.

The others, not so much.

There’s already been a couple murders, and Nettlekiss has reported, and been found, raped. Repeatedly.

One of which was caught in the act by security and the Overstallion had them publicly executed. As a deterrent.

It deterred nothing.

Meanwhile I’m burying myself into my work as much as possible. I try not to think about it. We’re all going to die in here eventually. But, at this rate, it’s going to be a lot sooner than anyone had expected. I hope I can find this cure and get it out of here before that happens. Maybe I can still save somepony.

Now I know
I suppose I should be thankful it took this long for it to have happened. That bastard earth pony Brick.

All the time here alone. The month since the world ended. Nothing prepared me for it.

Last night.

I tried to report it to security, the bastard shrugged and asked me what I expected him to do about it.

They really didn’t care anymore. While I was trying to tell him, and wanted to tell him where to go shove his nightstick, I heard a familiar scream in the atrium. He didn’t even flinch. I knew that scream. I made it all night the night before. All I could do was leave.

In shame.

It’s not enough!
I spend all of my time working. And try to run from the R&D department to my room when it’s most crowded. Locking the door when I can. Usually I manage it. Sometimes I don’t. Other fuckers don’t even so much as look at me as they walk by and it’s happening.

I keep thinking of Brick’s breath on my neck as he grunts and groans about how one unicorn’s as good as another.

I can’t get that out of my head. I keep thinking about it. Of all the times it’s happened. The regularity of it. That comment is what I keep coming back to. Unicorn = fuck toy.

I’ve seriously thought of breaking off my horn, but somehow I know that won’t change anything.

To make matters worse. I’m not even safe in my room anymore. Last night I woke up to him jumping on my bed. Fucker overrode the lock with a security override. What sadistic fuck made him a member of security! Giant earth pony bastard!

The end is near
He brought his friends this time. Brick. They had a damn party at my expense. I’d already taken to drinking most of my alcohol, so I didn’t have much when they raided my room anyway. But then I got passed around as much as the last drops of liquor.

One of them had the bright idea to dope me up with Med-x. I doubt it was out of kindness. More so they wouldn’t get a headache from the screaming.

I know something they don’t though. My research has borne fruit. And, the next time. I’ll be ready. The whole stable’s going to burn in hell, and I’m going to be the one holding the doors open while it happens.

HAHAHAHA!
I spent three days in medical for it, but it was worth it! They couldn’t understand why I was laughing so hard. Even when they had to wire my muzzle shut, and reset nearly every bone in my body. They couldn’t understand how I could be laughing.

They couldn’t understand how it was one of the first things to do when I came to.

But, as bad as they beat me for sticking them, they didn’t knock out the knowledge from my head. They didn’t knock out the myrth. They didn’t destroy my realization.

I’ve won.

Oh, it’s going to take them a while. Not too long. But too long for them to do anything about it at this rate.

All four of those fuckers got a nice little prick. And Brick got it right on his prick!

But, it wasn’t the fastest variety. Oh no. This one is going to take a bit before it starts really rearing its ugly head. In the meantime, it’s going to spread and spread and eventually the fuckers will start eating each other.

I have a dozen or so of the weaponized variant hidden in a cache in the R&D department cold freezer. I’ve removed one, and am going to use it on myself. So, when Brick comes in for his ‘unicorn rendezvous’ again tonight… he’s probably going to get his dick bit off.

By my corpse.

Let it be known, Blackbriar got the last laugh!

Ha!

Gearing sits there staring at the last entry a while longer. He’d been right. Butter Churn and Darling Night had also been right. There was at least two variants of the disease. And one was definitely artificial. And, seemingly, both were intentionally unleashed on the population of stable 68. And, if his hunch is right, he knows right where the rest of the weaponized variant of the disease is. But, he’ll keep that to himself. The entries confirmed what he was already sure of, the disease only spreads from direct fluid transfer. Consumption included. Never know when something like that’ll be useful. For either further cure research, or as a weapon of last resort.

More options are better than less.

He resecures the terminal, then buries it back in the pile of rubble, this time with the screen hidden better. He might be able to use this one for parts. But, despite how badly he has an urge to delete the data and keep the knowledge hidden, he can’t bring himself to do it. Not yet anyway. He walks out of the room, locks it back up, grabs his crate of salvage, and then heads back towards R&D.

As Gearing’s hauling a box of broken devices down the hallway, with the voice of the stable’s AI in his ear giving him a retelling of crop yields from years previous, he notices the red pegasus mare from before. He says into his pipbuck quietly, “Pause please,” and the audio cuts out as he sets the box down. The red mare notices him and starts scurrying towards the door to the arboretum faster.

Gearing waves a hoof, and a wing, at her with a smile as he says, “Hey, you’re… Scarlet, right?”

She sticks close to the wall, almost rubbing against it as she continues towards the door that is only a couple hops away. “Yeah. Why? What do you want?”

Gearing waves his hooves defensively. “I just wanted to introduce myself. With all that’s been going on, I hadn’t had a chance to yet.” He doesn’t see this going anywhere but he decides to at least be friendly. There’s something off about her and he’d rather not make yet another unnecessary enemy.

She regards him for a moment, then gets away from the wall enough that she’s not rubbing it anymore, and continues on at an exaggeratedly casual pace. “Oh… okay… Well. Hi. I’m Scarlett… and if that’s all… Bye”

“Actually,” he begins, causing her to tense up again. “I was wondering if you knew if we had any seeds or if you had preferences for food.”

She turns and looks at him with an eyebrow raised high enough that it looks like it would fall off the back of her head.

Gearing taps on the box next to him. “I’m working on setting up a hydroponics bay down in the R&D department. And I was wondering if there was anything you’d like to eat.” He runs a hoof through his mane and admits sheepishly, “Or if you actually knew anything that’d still grow that I could get seeds to grow down there?”

She turns and tilts her head as she regards him. “I’m already in charge of the arboretum. We’re growing food in there.”

That, he already knew. Thanks to his inquisitions with the Stable-Tec AI.

“Besides the apple orchard, I’ve managed to get some carrots growing as well.”

That part, he didn’t know.

Gearing looks at the box next to him and asks, “Well. I don’t really need to eat… but I figure if I produce enough, and if I can get the right plants to make some medical supplies, it would help everypony else out.” He sees her staring at him and he blurts out, “I do have experience with running hydroponics systems. Don’t worry. I just need the right supplies.”

She tilts her head a bit the other way and says, far less harshly than her normal tone, “That… would actually help.”

Gearing nods and picks up the box. “That’s the plan. Figured I’d make myself useful… So, if you need any help, just message me. Or swing by the R&D department, that’s where I’m moving too.”

She watches him slowly walk down the hall as she asks, “You’re going to live… in the R&D department? In the lower levels?”

Gearing turns enough to look at her and grin. “Yeah. Lets me keep working and not have to worry about the noise keeping anypony else awake.”

“Riiiight,” Scarlet says with a mix of confusion and disbelief. “Well… see you then.” And she scurries into the arboretum, quickly closing it behind herself.

Gearing switches on the audio again, listening to the stable AI detail the various systems that’d gone into food production. He can’t help but wonder where he can get some of the medicinal plants he needs. Given the right mix, they can turn lethal. The others certainly wouldn’t want that. But, the plants could be very useful before then, and he could grow them in surplus without suspicion. Just in case.

Because contingency plans are important. And gases are one of the most efficient deadly types of poisons he knows. And it doesn’t hurt that he can use them with impunity when the need arises, since he’s completely immune to all non-magical types of poison.

Which is pretty much all of them.

He hates to have to think that way. But he learned long ago, during the war, that it was a necessary evil. Having at least a bit of suspicion was the thing to keep the mind fresh. And a healthy dose of paranoia would keep a pony alive in the situations he found himself in.

The pony that had earned his respect enough to be beyond suspicion was a rare gem few and far between. There were less than a dozen such individuals in all of Equestria. Individuals who would have his benefit of the doubt regardless of what was presented to him. It wasn’t exactly blind loyalty. But it was close enough. Except to one. Towards her he was unshakeable.

Yet she was already dead. Along with all of the others. Given the time lost, that’s the only sensible answer. His only hope is that she’d died as she lived. With honor. As a hero.

And it’s in honor to her, and the others that had fought, and died, for the cause that he wouldn’t do such a thing needlessly. Even if they did become hostile for whatever reason. No, he swore to protect everyone in Equestria. That was his vow. And, as far as he was concerned, he was still on the job.

The world ending just means he’ll be expected to pick up some over time until further notice.

Once in the R&D department, he carries on learning about the stable and history, every now and then asking questions about different areas. He continues working on a small piece of equipment as he carries on the casual conversation with the Stable-Tec AI. Anyone else seeing this would probably be certain that he’d lost his mind.

Perhaps they’d be right.

But, he finds a bit of comfort in the conversation. Even though it’s not like one he’d have with an old colleague during the war. It was close. Even if it was extremely work focused and seemed more like a never ending lecture, he found a nice rhythm in keeping his mind working, learning, growing. All the while he busies himself with a little piece of arcano-technology between his hooves. The conversation doesn’t stop until, sadly, he needs to have full access of his pipbuck. He connects the wires to the device, and starts tapping out commands. A few moments later, and thanks in large part to the AI helping with the programming, the little device powers up, and spins around. The single lens from the salvaged camera looks around, then up at Gearing. It skitters towards him a bit, then pauses as it awaits commands. Gearing shuts it down again, attaches a modified torch that was used for welding and soldering to one of its crab-like forearms. Then he folds the entire thing up into a neat package. Afterwards he uses a crowbar and breaks the welds on the vent, and slips his new package into the hole, before reapplying the vent and bolting it in place.

He taps on his pipbuck, and a smile creeps across his face as he sees the small drone’s lights power up and it look around. He gets down from the table he’d been partially standing on while hovering and looks at his pipbuck. “Okay. Stable-Tec. Please use provided asset named ‘Crawler’. Perform predetermined search algorithm. Priorities are as follows: sanitization, mapping ventilation system, logging repairs needed, and alerting to any deviances in known architecture.”

“Confirmed, Subject Gearing. Beginning ‘Crispy Critter’ protocol,” the robotic mare’s voice comes from around him. The bot in the vent spins around, acquiring its position for its search grid as its point of origin. A moment later the vents burst into flame as the bot has taken the opportunity to ensure that the remains of the radroach eggs are thoroughly carbonized. Then the bot skitters along the air duct away and out of Research and Development. But, far after he’s lost sight of it, he can hear the echoing of the sound of the blowtorch kicking on through the vent.

Fwoosh.

Fwoosh, fwoosh.

Fwoooooosh.

Satisfied with a job well done, or at least well in progress, he starts going over a set of schematics that he’s working on. He has most of what he needs. But, not everything. So it’s going to be a while before he can get the hydroponics bay up and running. There’s a strong possibility that what he needs is in the lowest levels. But, failing that, and arguably more safe, there is the option to go to the surface and try to scrounge around for supplies. Both have their own risks and possible rewards. But, at the moment, he’s not really wanting to pull the pins on this particular grenade bouquet and hope for the best.

Footnote: Local intranet not responding, seeking alternate reboot procedure. . .

Internal failsafe activated, please stand by. . .

Component diagnostic protocols loading, please stand by. . .

This chapter is the first one I've attempted the "Content Warning" method I'd mentioned weeks ago. I haven't gotten a lot of feedback on it at time of posting, but figured it was better than nothing. Suggestions or comments either way would be appreciated.

-Quillsy