Peering carefully around the corner, Broker Wordsmith leads the careful expedition away from the tram platform, levitating the two long, pointed spurs of bone in front of himself defensively. Seeing nothing in the corridors, he motions to Sketch, and starts moving into the corridor, peering at the signs on the walls. One, pointing towards the right, is labeled ‘Medical’ while the other, pointing to the left, is labeled ‘Housing’ and, below that, ‘Engineering’.

“Looks like we have another choice. I think we should head towards the housing district and see if there are others still alive Sketch. Surely we can’t be the only survivors.” Broker states.

“Yeah, but what happens to us if the people there turned into those things?”

“Then I’ll fight them off. We could go to medical for supplies.”

“Maybe I can find a weapon there for me... Maybe a bonesaw.”

“Have you ever been in engineering?”

“I was there once, that’s it. Plus do you really want to go there? It’s creepy on it’s own, let alo-” Something moves off to the left, the noise cutting off Sketch’s tirade, and both of the ponies prick their ears up as something moves in the vents above them.

Broker holds the talons close to him and looks around the corridor. “Nothing there, I think.” He looks up at the vents and notices the movement within them. “There is something in there, however Sketch.” The magic wraps around the talons tighter as he waits for anything to pop out.

“Well you have the only offensive abilities besides kicking it, go check it yourself!”

“Hell no! Let’s get out of here before another pops out.” Broker trotted backwards, but still looks ahead of him and up at the vents. “Maybe we should head towards medical” Broker turns his head around and goes the other direction, away from the housing district.

“Probably for the best, lets hurry.”

Scurrying away, the two pony bucks carefully trot past more signs of carnage, most of them thankfully older. Most of the lights are working again, though many areas are still only lit by emergency lighting, or else not at all.

Passing several more places, blocked by debris or doors locked with “No Atmosphere” warnings, the two finally arrive at a bloodbath by the name of Medical. Smears of gore and things better left unmentioned and unexamined paint the walls and floor. Tight, curving arcs and line form strange letters or symbols across the walls and floors.

Most notable, however, is the disturbing lack of any full bodies. Organs, severed limbs, all that, but no actual bodies.

“Do they eat the dead?” Sketch asks, looking for any bodies, though all he finds are smeared trails of blood and worse.

“Or they are walking around in the ward” Broker shivers and looks around for any weapons, vials, anything useful. Managing to force open a cabinet, he finds a single small capsule of medi-gel, and a few hundred credits.

“So... Dibs on the medi-gel!”

Broker tosses the medi-gel towards Sketch’s eye with his magic. “Oh, take the damn thing!”

“Yup, now to find real offensive weapons... I doubt your improvised weapons will last long.”

“Any ideas than where we can find better weapons?” Broker asks.

“The security armory, but that would need a security rank, so Joh... uh, right.” Sketch trails off as he remembers the last message he got from his friend.

“Yeah... Johan is gone. Have you tried the coms to see if he is truly gone?”

“ No... I forgot... “ Sketch says, now trying to call back Johan, but to no avail.

Broker sighs “Guess we’re on our own than. Come on, we need to explore the rest of the bay.”

As they check one more time, the slowly rising stench of death finally convinces them to leave the medical area. With no luck finding bonesaws or any other useful weapons on that level of the medical section, there’s no point in staying. Perhaps other parts of Medical would have them, like Surgery. On second thought, Sketch realizes, that’s probably where they are.

Checking on further decks down, after finding a stairwell, the two happen across some personnel lockers, one of them still partly open and another showing the green unlocked coloration.

Broker moves over to the partly opened locker. He opens it fully to see what’s inside. Inside is another credit chip labeled for several hundred credits.

“Well we may die, but you’ll die rich it seems.”

Broker chuckles lightly. “Check the other locker. Maybe there’s a weapon in there”

“Fine, knowing my luck there will be a paper clip.” Sketch sighs, opening up the other locker. Inside of that is a single, human-style pistol, and a flashlight, designed for any race’s use.

“Haha, my luck now. Look at the pistol” Broker drops the magical aurora around the talons and picks up the pistol instead. He examines it closely. “Should still work. Now let’s see if it got’s ammo” He presses a button on the side, bringing up the RIG interface, and a hologram displaying ‘3’. There are no other clips in the locker.

“Okay, I got medi-gel and you get weapons, sound good?” Sketch says, picking up the flashlight.

“Sounds fair, though only three rounds. Should conserve it though” Broker picks up the talons as well before proceeding on down the path.

The eerie quiet slowly creeps back into place, as Broker and Sketch head back into the Medical wards. A soft scraping sound seems to follow them everywhere, perhaps in the vents, but whatever is causing it hasn’t shown itself. Yet.

“You think that thing will ever pop out? It’s been following in the vents for a while now. I just want to kill it now.” Broker asks.

“It reciprocates your feelings exactly, lets just don’t let it act on them, or at the least, succeed.”

“I understand that, but I just want it out of those friends and spattered on the floor” Broker sighs. “Should we check surgery or try and head back to housing?”

“Fuuuck housing, let’s check surgery, we can see if there’s anymore medi-gel, I have a feeling we’re gonna need it.”

A loud CLANG! echoes down the corridor, along with the meaty sound of something like a body hitting the ground. Sketch looks back, pointing the flashlight back down the hall with his teeth, the bright beam illuminating the body of a pony, bloodied and battered, climbing to its hooves. Were once a pair of pegasus wings were now sprout a pair of long, scything claws, covered in sinew and feathers. The face is broken in several places, and the cracked open sections in the muzzle are full of teeth and strings of gore.

The monster bellows, and another drops out of the vent as it waddles unsteadily towards the two bucks on unstable back legs, its forehooves ripped off. A third leg, looking like it’s made of muscle and intestines, pours from its split belly and helps support it as it shambles towards the two of them.

“Run away!” Broker yells, turning in the other direction to run.

“Run, fatboy, run!” Sketch shouts, also turning and running from the horrors.

The monsters shamble forward, shouting through shredded throats, and roaring with hoarse lungs. Each of the disturbing, animate corpses continues to advance, some quickly, others slowly.

“Sketch, we need to hide somewhere! Anywhere!” Broker shouts, already panting heavily, but still running away from the horrors.

“No shit!” Sketch replies, looking all around for an escape. The only side passages are either blocked off by debris, fire, or are locked by security gates. ”For now just keep running!”

“I think I’m already doing that part Sketch!’ Broker looks around the corridor for anything, but has no luck as well. His eyes gaze back at the horde of monstrosities. The reanimated corpses of humans and ponies alike continue to shamble and crawl, and a sense of hopelessness overwhelms Broker.

Thankfully, though, Sketch’s flashlight beam illuminates a sign, pointing towards another part of the Medical wing.

“In here!” Sketch shouts, directing Broker into the room, hitting the door panel to close it. Turning around after the door closes, Sketch looks around, spying another couple of doors leading out, though only one is functional and unlocked.

“Lead the way then. This is your home after all.”

“Yeah, but you forgot one problem...”

“And what’s that?”

“My memory is shit.”

As if to punctuate Sketch’s commentary, a loud clang echoes in the room, and the two ponies turn to look at the door they just came through.

There’s a large dent in it, facing inwards. With another deafening clang, a second dent appears in the door.

“Forget that for a moment, we need to get out of here somehow!’ Broker’s eyes scan the room for any exits that are open. There’s one flashing the open colors, blue and orange, and another that is partly open, but the hologram is broken.

“Well, there’s a door there, unless you want to turn into meat pudding I suggest we take it, agreed?” Sketch asks before running through the door. Broker follows closely behind, and neither of them stop to see where the door leads.

Sketch skids to a stop as the emergency lights, in red, reveal exactly which room this corridor leads to.

Rows of gurneys, with dead bodies on each one, are arrayed across the room. A thing, like a bat, pushes past him, making him scream in fear, but it mostly ignores him. It climbs onto one of the gurneys, flapping its meaty wings to land on the body, a long, viciously sharp proboscis stabbing into the top of the human corpse’s head.

“Well... Shall we keep running then?” Sketch asks, looking back at the bat, before running yet again.

“Yeah, I agree there.” Broker says, now running along with Sketch, yet already exhausted.

“Running time!” Sketch shouts as he turns, only to stop again as he sees two more of the bat-things advancing down the hall towards him, flapping gently to float through the air. “Fuuuck.. What now dude?!”

Broker stares in horror at the sight of the creatures. “I-I have no idea! You’re the leader!”

One of the bat-things swoops over Sketch’s head, making him duck, as the other simply flaps past. Keeping a careful, terrified eye on the creatures, Sketch points the flashlight into the morgue again, seeing that the first corpse is gone entirely.

“Quick, run while they aren’t surrounding us!” Sketch bolts for, hoping it has a locking door.

Broker does as he suggests, as one of the slasher-monsters peeks around the door, growling. More and more growls can be heard from the morgue, and something clicks in Sketch’s mind. They’re infecting them. Whatever this is, those bat-things are making more from those corpses. Fuck.

The two ponies run as fast as they can back towards the room they’d left, finding the door they’d entered through smashed to the ground, massive dents in it, though there’s no sign of the horde that did it.

Instead of going back out the way they came, Sketch darts to the partially opened door, the one that’s jammed.

“Sketch! What are you doing! It’s jammed!” Broker yells, looking back at the monsters coming towards them.

Sketch peeks through the door, something glimmering and white on the other side, something familiar and comforting. Though he can’t quite make out what it is, it draws him onward, as he wiggles through the door, his motion prying it a bit further open, just enough for Broker to be able to do the same.

As he reaches the other side, Sketch shakes his head, not quite sure what lead him to there.

“Well, we need to keep moving. Those things will be back” Broker says, trying to catch his breath.

“Those bat thingies were making more of them! What the fuck is going on here?!”

“Some infestation! Invasion! Who cares?! We need to get out of here!”

“What do you think I’m trying to do, and why the fuck am I leader?! That’s like putting a lemming in control of the station’s center for intelligence!”

“Probably because I’m fat, slow, and bookish! At least you’re leading us away from these things! Mostly, at least.”

“Well how about I remember those reasons if we ever need them to I don’t know, say, remove you from the group, but for now RUN!”

“Then move your ass!”

“How about the more padded of us runs in front, that way if they run into anything it won’t hurt so much before they are gored to death.” Sketch looks at Broker.

The two ponies begin running as they argue again.

Broker gives Sketch a long glare before taking charge and proceeding onwards down to the right. The doorway leads to a staircase, with a landing every dozen steps or so, were it turns back around. There’s a door on the first landing labeled, ‘Observation’. It is locked.

“This way!” Sketch shouts, running for the stairs, “I swear if you literally shoot me in my back, I will fucking haunt you!”

“I won’t shoot you!” Broker yells, running to the stairs with Sketch.

“Shut up and run!” Sketch shouts, rushing down the stairs.

Broker sighs, but continues to follow. Sketch trips near the next landing, and falls in a heap in front of an unlocked door. Looking up, he sees it’s labeled, “Psychiatric Ward”.

“Well, should we risk dealing with the mentally unstable or sit out here and lick windows?” Sketch asks, opening the door a moment after. Inside is a mess of blood, gore, and pieces of bodies. The stench of spilled blood and slashed bowels roils into their nostrils, making the two ponies recoil.

“Yeah, maybe we should’ve stayed out there and licked the windows.”

“Shuddap, think of it this way, with their bodies being liquified none of them can attack us... Unless they make pony-slash-human soup into a monster... Lets just hurry through before that happens.”

“I highly doubt that will happen... but then again, we should probably do your idea.”

Walking into the gorey psych ward, the two ponies at least have the relief of ambient lighting, providing enough light to see by. A thick, almost organic mat of mold-like threads is growing from one of the vents, veiny-looking cords of stuff growing across the metal wall. Broken glass crunches beneath the two friend’s hooves, their shoes protecting their lower legs from severe lacerations.

The dismembered and eviscerated body of a nurse is leaning against a wall, missing an arm and both legs, along with most of its torso and face. The stumps look... gnawed at. Bloody footprints are everywhere, along with distorted hoof-and-foot marks along the floor.

“Well, it seems our pursuers already came through here, maybe they’re gone.” Sketch says hopefully.

Looking around, the shattered glass of the psychiatric cells glitters on the floor in pools of red, black, and brown. Sketch’s gaze turns towards a small packing box, normally green but hidden under the body of less than half a pony. Raising a hoof, he brings it down, smashing the box to find, inside, a cartridge for a Plasma Cutter.

“Yay, ammo for something we don’t have, fuuucking faaantastic.” Sketch says, picking up the cartridge.

“What do you think it’s to?”

“It’s a plasma cutter cartridge, you really are a shut in aren’t you?”

“Well thank you.”

“You’ve never had surgery, have you?”

“I’ve had dental surgery, that’s it. They didn’t use a plasma cutter there.”

“I would hope not, otherwise you have some really fucked up teeth. Now stop bringing up random shit, let’s look for more supplies, maybe there’s more medi-gel.”

“Agreed Sketch.” Brokers nods towards his leader.

“Let’s check the rooms first, make sure the occupants are either dead or gone.”

Broker nods again.

The two look into the rooms more closely, there’s nothing of note, however. Looking up as well, Sketch realizes that the the glass roof leads to the ‘Observation’ room above, presumably so that the researchers and psychiatrists can keep a close eye on the patients.

“Hey, here’s your chance to lick windows Broker.” Sketch points to the ceiling’s panes of glass.

There’s one more door, though, opposite the one they entered through.

“Well, go on ya sheep.” Sketch says, pushing Broker to the door “You go first.”

Broker gulps down his terror and trots up to the door, with his weapons ready to be used. The door opens smoothly, and there’s another staircase on the other side, heading up towards the observation deck. Broker still keeps his guard up as he walks towards the stairs, Sketch following loosely behind.

“Not my fault I have no weapons.”

“Don't worry about that, let’s just see what’s at the end here.”

Climbing the stairs and keying the door at the top, the view of the observation lounge is almost frighteningly plain, no blood or gore visible. A few desks are sitting around, computers and holopads sitting around on them. The glass roofs are now floors, caution stripes around the panes.

“How the fuck is this place NOT gore splattered?”

“Idunno, maybe the psychiatrists left before things got weird?”

“Listen to what you’re saying, it’s a psych ward, things are always weird.”

Broker just shrugs and begins looking around the room, searching for anything that might be useful. Sketch heads over to a terminal, pushing the touchscreen with his nose.

The computer turns on, revealing that there is already a video on the screen.

“Lets see what kind of shenanigans are on here.”

Clicking on the ‘play’ icon, the video begins, showing one of the cells below, with a cream and brown earth pony in the center view on some sort of stretcher or brace.. His head lolls to one side, and he’s in a full straitjacket with a blindfold on.

The camera shows the patient in a harsh, white light, and a human in a surgical uniform stands behind the pony.

“Copy, I want you to repeat the sequence.” The voice of the doctor is clear and crisp, as he speaks to the pony.

The pony leans his head forward and groans. “I-I can’t remember it. There’s too many... to many letters, too many numbers. It- It’s all messed up...”

“Copy, repeat the sequence. I know you remember it, don’t lie.”

“I- no! Y-you can’t make me! I don’t remember, I won’t!”

“Then maybe we should put you through the machine once more, see if that jogs your memory.” The clip ends with the pony screaming in terror.

“Okay then...” Sketch says, walking away from the terminal.

“You find something, Sketch?” Broker asks from across the room.

“A psych evaluation of a resident here, not much else, not even a secret folder.”

“Secret folder? What for?”Sketch rolls his eyes.

“Come on, there might be stuff we missed, how about we go through there?” Sketch asks, pointing to a door.

“Yeah, I guess. Maybe we should try to get to Surgery, there’s gotta be something down there we can use.” Broker says, shuffling towards the door.

“Lets just see where this takes us.” Sketch say, cautiously opening the door. The door opens, revealing...

The stairs, again. Looking around, the flashlight beam illuminates that this is, in fact, the same door that was locked previously.

“Well, that was anticlimactic.” Broker comments, stepping onto the landing of the stairs.

“Would you prefer another monster starts chasing us? Anticlimactic is safe.”

“Good point. Anyways, let’s get moving.”

Broker begins moving down the stairs slowly, watching each step carefully as he descends. The next five doors the two ponies pass are all locked. At the bottom of the stairwell, is a doorway labeled ‘Surgery’, and it’s unlocked.

“Well... Go on then.” Sketch says, pointing at the door with the flashlight, his jaw is starting to hurt.

Broker looks keys the door, causing it to open. Inside is a blood-splattered surgical prep room, a few gurneys and a desk sitting around, the gurneys lacking any sign of recent occupants.

“Seriously, after those bodies got back up and turned into those monsters, I think Medical is the last place we want to be.” Sketch says.

“I don’t care, we need medi-gel, and we need to find an AutoStore, we need some kind of protection, and suits of some kind are a necessity in that case.”

“Shut it fluffer, I don’t like being here. How come you’re all brave all of a sudden?”

“Please stop insulting me, it’s not nice.” Broker says, sounding a little scared as he looks around.

Sketch rolls his eyes. “Great, you sound like Johan now.”

Suddenly, a voice yells out behind the two of them. “Make any sudden movements and I won’t hesitate to kill you!”

With a yelp, Sketch and Broker leap over the desk and huddle behind it, peeking out to see someone in a security suit and carrying a handgun.

“You mentioned the name Johan- do you mean Johan Allegro?”

Sketch replies, “Are you going to kill him if we say yes?” as Broker calls out, “Yeah, he’s a friend of ours.”

The officer lowers the gun, and the mask retracts behind the officer’s head, revealing short black hair and a feminine face. “Officer Frost. Johan is my superior. He’s wounded and is taking shelter over at the tram station. He’s in the yellow, four bars.”

“Shit. How many bars does he normally have?”

“Fifteen.”

“Fuck. Well, we’ve only found a single medi-gel, in spite of this being Medical. Tubs over here wants us to go to Surgery, apparently he thinks there’ll be more there, and I just think there’ll be more of those things there.”

The officer turns a little, and looks at Sketch.

“Wait, Frost? I know that name. Johan talks about you on his spare time a lot.” Sketch says, leaning further out from the shelter of the desk.

Officer Frost huffs and crosses her arms. “Oh really? Let me guess, I’m his lover or something stupid like that?” she air-quotes the words.

Broker stands up, looking over the desk. “Actually, he’s usually talking about how much he likes you. Idunno, he’s a lot more... quiet about you, I guess. Not as, uh, crudely vocal.”

The officer seems a bit confused by this. “O-oh...”

“Uh, you mentioned he’s injured? As in, still alive?” Broker asks, “Where is he? Oh, right, trams. Uh, you’re with the riot control group, right? Can you get us to Surgery? There’s a bunch of those things between here, but there should be loads of medi-gel there.”

“Not until we get Johan, the longer we wait the greater chance it is that something will come across him. He’d also be an asset to the group.” Frost replies.

Author's Notes:

Thank you for sticking with us to chapter 2!
You get one point if you are the first non-contributor to guess the origin of the name of this chapter.

Thanks to the following for contributing to the story so far:
Itsmyfuneral, starring as Sketch
Hunterz263, starring as Broker Wordsmith
Rosethorn, starring as Victoria Frost
The Pieman, Editor in Chief