Graphite glided out of the fog like a stork - and with the grace of an ostrich. He covered his eyes as he exited the fog cloud, finding himself standing just another block to the Art Institute of Buckago. Between him and that building were another complex of tents that took up that unused block. Just as before, tattered and rugged cloth for the tents’ walls, and filled with tables and empty chairs. It was like going back in time; going through the same feelings, through the same sights, through the same smells, through the same garbage.

The bent tin cans and scraps of paper were a waste of time to try and rummage through, so Graphite kept to anything that was sitting on the tables that weren’t overturned. The tents here were a little more organized, less trash scattered through the aisles and most of the tables still sitting prepared for a meal.

A broken plate, a napkin, and a metal fork were sitting on the table eagerly waiting for food to be served on it. The plate was cold, the food hadn’t arrived and wasn’t going to anytime soon. Graphite passed through the tent, moving impatiently to the next empty shelter; and the next one; and the next one. Graphite left the food shelters and bunking tents with nothing but the chills from the cool air outside; his next stop were the medical tents, something of use should be in there.

Graphite ducked under the flaps of the tent, moving slowly in while preparing himself for whatever was to appear next. Like a copy of the tents before, more skeletons sleeping on cots. Some of the beds had broken legs, letting their napping guest fall to the floor in a pile of bones. The I.V. bags were sitting on rusted bars and on beds near their patients. They were all empty, dried out in time. Graphite started right down the lanes of beds, taking no time to find another metal square on an empty bed.

Another holotape, Graphite quickly snatching it up and taking a quick listen to the message it had to say.

“We’ll, I found some more gems for this recorder, so here it goes...

I’ve made it from the aid station in the south of the island to the other one just- uh- just north of it. Had to crawl through the dust storms, but I made it. I got to the near the camp and the ponies who were supposed to be helping me out shot at me because they thought that I was a looter. One round grazed my ear. I am also not feeling well - bunch of hair came out of my mane today. It might be the stress, though.

There’s not much left here. Almost every pony is dead or has left except for me and one other pony. I found a stallion lying on one of the beds in the medical tent - he’s the last one left. He can’t speak and doesn’t move much because he’s sick with- with something; but, it’s great that I’m not alone anymore. Maybe we’ll have a better chance to pull through.

The winds are starting to brew up. I’ll try to move us into the art institute itself before the storms throw over this tent. There’s not many supplies left here anyway. So, umm... if you’re hearing this - I am inside the institute itself, not the camp, the institute...”

It went off quickly, the holotape making an odd buzzing noise after the message had finished. Graphite thought a moment, dropping the tape on the bed again as the questions and answers came to his head. This was the same voice of the same stallion from the first message, a bit relieved since there was another pony with him - of which, was breathing over the message. Graphite had just another reason to keep heading north. Whether the message was recorded two hours ago or two decades ago, there was the faint hope that there was some pony in that building waiting for help. There was always that hope that Graphite needed to keep to make sure he would press on. If not for the ponies, he was going to do it for Sunny.

Graphite left the tent, hopping to the same road he traveled on since his arrival on this damned island. It was just a casual walk to the institute beyond the intersection, Graphite was almost ready to leave -- he could feel it. It was this feeling of relief, a burden was being lifted from him by a crane. It was slow, but it inched higher and higher with every step he took. He could almost smile, but the grim feel of the buildings bearing over him kept his happiness to a stupor.

Another few tents passed by, and Graphite found himself sitting at the corner of a three-way intersection. At the top of this crossroad was a large building. The front of the building was extended out from the main building, emphasizing the grand entrance. The first floor of the institute was as big as a mansion, stack two more on that and you had the rest of the building’s height. The doors were spinning doors, three of them lined in the middle of the entrance - one labeled for ‘member’s only.’ The make up of the building was fairly simple, a few arching blocks over the doorways; a border before the basic stone wall that was cut open for a long balcony and held up by four columns carved with images of ponies; another border with words inscribed on it that read, “The Art Institute of Buckago;” after that was the roof, triangular and bare. Graphite looked to the flagpoles over the doorways, all of the flags missing - one pole broken in half with its missing half resting on the stairs that lead up to the entrance.

Graphite had almost mistook this for the aquarium if hadn’t read the title on the building - the sound of water was breaking in the distance. It was hard to get used to half of the city being buried underwater, where the beach and the skyscrapers meet hoof and hoof.

Graphite soon turned away from the dreadful scene behind him to look at the happier picture ahead. He went up to the art institute and climbed the stairs, watching his steps carefully. He pushed through the door, spinning it around until he could slide through the gap and into the building.

Graphite walked into the great hall that awaited beyond the door. The hall room’s walls and floor were decorated in black and white marble panels, the ceiling had decorative murals of clouds and pegasi flying amongst them. The black and whites of the marble were engraved with golds and silvers rings and specks of glistening dust that reflected any light that hit it. The light in the room came from a single, circular hole in the ceiling that gave view to the second floor. It shined a single ray into the room, catching the golden marble and brightening the entire foyer. Graphite could see the art around the hole of the dome, the entirety of it stone carvings of ancient warriors and great legends among ponies. Going right down the ornate ceiling were columns that were encircling the room; they were black and white, topped with golden caps. The whole room matched perfectly, it all looked completely artistic - just to fit in with the purpose of this building.

He stepped into the middle of the round room, looking around him at the four pathways in the room. He looked at the floor under his feet, a six-pointed star was shining in the light. It was black, but it stood out as if it was shining in a cloudless night. Graphite felt an old feeling; though it was odd because it was a feeling he couldn’t remember having. Somehow, Graphite knew he had this feeling before, but it was a memory mixed in his thoughts then buried deep into his mind. His body recognized this feeling from a long time ago, way back outside the city of Buckago. His body was telling him to remember this feeling, remember it so you won’t let it happen again. Graphite turned a left towards the first path -- the one leading into the ‘Classic Art’ wing -- and suddenly, the memory hit him. It was cold, dark, and lonely - it was the exhibition.

The memory was strong now, no matter how deep down the thought was going to go, he would never forget it. Graphite was stuck in his spot, the pathways turning black in his eyes. The dark corners were coming back into view; the iron caskets and the four ponies that lived inside them were there still dead as dead could be. He was frozen in time, stuck in the memories from before he could remember.

As Graphite stood stiff as a statue in the middle of the room, a loud hiss came from his side. He was dragged out of his mind by this high pitched noise, only his body flinching to show that he had returned to reality. He immediately turned to see a ghoul with it’s jaws open and glaring at him with its soulless eyes. The sound the attacker made was horribly loud and the yellow saliva dripping from it’s mouth didn’t make it any more pleasant. Graphite reacted quickly, with a heavy punch to the face of the creature.

“Shut your mouth!” Graphite blared at the ghoul as it dropped unconscious on the cold marble floor, drops of muddy blood falling down with it. The hiss apparently had alerted other monsters in the near vicinity, as he could hear hard pressed steps of somethings running and echoing in the halls. Graphite grabbed his shotgun and ran straight for the classics wing, paying attention only to the direction of his hooves as he ran.

Graphite was right between a painting of the Equestrian landscape and a sculpture of a pony running gracefully. Graphite did just the opposite, running with his hooves stomping against the ground like a giant while the ghouls behind him bounded and rebounded towards him. They jumped into the entrance of the west wing, darting down the hallway towards Graphite.

Graphite was stopped right before the hallway turned right to the rest of the artwork, turning away from the wall of fancy paintings and carvings to face the onslaught coming this way. He turned around, just to see another ghoul coming his way. The pump pulled back and the chamber opened up - empty and puff of dust blowing out the port. He made a quick grab to the shells in his bag, pulling out only three lone, red shells.

There was one ghoul made Graphite hesitate - dropping the shells he tried to load into his gun. It wore a red sweater, adorned with a leather vest and a bandoleer on top that matched the gaudy vest. The ghoul looked more like a pony, even with it’s disfigured face like a broken bust and missing hair. Yet, it was there to kill Graphite, no matter his looks, because no sane pony would rush like that at someone who’s carrying a shotgun.

Graphite finally got his act together, wrapping up the fumbling performance of his load by sticking the shells in his weapon and pumping the handle forward. The ghoul bounded and bounded again, hopping into the air to tackle Graphite to the elegant marble floor. Graphite squeezed the steel trigger, blowing a hole through the ghoul’s chest. It continued its flight, Graphite dodging the loose body and letting the limp corpse hit the paintings on the wall behind him. The artwork nailed to the top of the wall - the one of etching of an abstract wagon in the night - fell down right on the body. The priceless painting was ruined, along with the blood stained marble floor and bullet ridden hallway.

Graphite dashed around the corner, letting the rest of the freaks file around the turn in the wing. He stopped just a few strides after the turn, sliding along the polished marble trying to halt the run. He leaned against the wall, stopping himself with his shoulder. His body turned about, facing the small group of monsters that were having just as hard a time to walk the floor as Graphite had.

One tumbled right over the dead ghoul, piling up in a frantic stack of wrinkled bodies. As the ghoul tried to get back up, two more were sprinting to Graphite. Graphite reared the shotgun around to face the same way down the hallway. The gun fired off a shot wildly, scattering across the wall Graphite was leaning against all over across the long hallway. The bullets whizzed through the air, the blast from the shotgun echoing around the narrow corridor; ringing in the ears of the ponies there and the bullets tearing through the limbs of the feral ponies in that hall.

As the ghoul wearing a blue collared shirt dropped down on the shiny floor, the next one caught the pellet that flew through the first ghoul with his eye. It didn’t die, only tripping horribly. This gave the opportunity for Graphite to book it again, the hallway taking a turn left halfway down and also taking another right at its end. He funneled passed all the art, no time to examine and appreciate the art around him.

Right passed the extra hallway in the middle and down to the second corner, Graphite ran and ran fast to the exit. He skid across the floor and zoomed down the corner, stopping inside a room larger than the foyer. It was covered in a red carpet, plush and clean. To the left of Graphite was a big and grand stairwell that split into two directions at the its peak. The railings were caressed in gold and marble rods. Just to his right were two desks, right around the entrance that was between the two counters. The counters were hard wood and sturdy, some crown moldings and golden borders to decorate and match the rest of the interior. There were two tables against the walls that were by the main staircase; on them, were a few vases that were probably as valuable as the building itself.

Graphite took a step forward to the middle of the room, but was reminded of his purpose in that rose coloured room - ghouls were chasing after him. He heard the screeching sound of the fiends’ growling and snarling from down the hallway behind him. Graphite took up position right near the stairs, ready to take the high ground if the need arose. He checked the chamber of his short shotgun, one shell for three ghouls.

Graphite just sighed an annoyed groan, biting down on his teeth and aiming the shotgun to the hallway. The first two of the pod of monsters barreled out of the corridor, hitting the walls and scratching their hooves across the floor. Their slobber splattered everywhere, ruining the perfect carpet and the great designs in the walls and decorations. Graphite blinked for just a moment. In that moment, the sound of a shattering vase broke in the wind. Shards hit the floor, a hissing shout of pain from one of the ghouls bellowed in Graphite’s ears. He fired his shot, his eyes opening up again.

The pellets had left the gun and ripped apart the room, breaking the last of the vases on the left side of the room. One ghoul was covered in sharp edges of porcelain and holes from the pellets, but only one. One more was still intent on killing Graphite, one more finally coming from the hallway after its fall. Graphite ditched the gun, throwing it to the floor while he flew up the stairs as fast as his legs could carry him.

The feral beasts were coming up the stairs faster than Graphite could climb them, taking grabs at the cape that was lagging behind Graphite’s legs. He turned about quickly, giving the first one a quick kick to the face. His hoof breaking his jaw and loosening the jagged teeth that were hanging in its mouth. The lower jaw fell limp, flopping from his head by the two cracked joints. It continued to follow even if it had lost the ability to eat Graphite after killing him. The second ghoul joined up soon, taking to the stairs like a fish in water.

Graphite finished the first flight of the red stairs, taking a quick right around the rail and up the second set of stairs. He jumped up the last steps, Graphite landing on another floor of art and decor. The second story had a checkered floor with every other square a vivid gold. The floor was speckled in small particles of sparkling silver, no expense spared in creating a sense of emphasis on the entire building. It must have been hard to look at the art in the building when the bright gold would always blind the guests. Graphite looked away from the shining blocks along the ground, looking up the golden columns along the walls, and away from the illuminated spirals of gold and yellow to the ceiling. On the ceiling was something odd; sitting amidst the maroon squares, amongst the paintings of pegasi and unicorns and earth ponies frolicking around clouds and fields of flowers; and about the crown molding along the ceiling was a steel weapon. It was attached by a case that was bolted to the ceiling and connected by hinges and swivels; the weapon, a big machine gun with a belt of large rounds coming from the ceiling too. Below the barrel was a small round camera, the lens tinted a lovely red. Just parallel to that gun was another.

They were automated turrets, the city taking every precaution to protect its priceless valuables -- such as its late vases. Graphite leaned over the stairs, finding the creatures were still on his trail and easing their ways up the steep stairs. He twisted back around, facing the hallway between the two turrets. It was stripped bare, visible marks where dust has gathered around past picture frames. Graphite picked up speed across the lavish flooring, speeding through the hall way and into the next room over. He sprinted through the doorway, passing by the wide open door.

Graphite slowed himself to a stop, losing sight of his hooves in the dark room. One light kept the room from being taken up by the darkness and shadows - a wide window at the end of the room, but a curtain covered most of the pane. From what the outlines of the room could tell, there was a mattress to the right of the room along with a table across from it against the wall. There was the faintest of green lights coming from the table - specifically - a box shaped terminal on the table. Another roar from the ghastly ghouls called for Graphite, so he shuffled to the terminal and shut the door at the front of the room with his magic.

Something hit the door hard, the sound of a hard thud against the door came from the strike. Another bang when the second ghoul hit the door. There was a rampaging rapping at the door, limbs thrown at the door to try and break it down. On the receiving end of those bangs was Graphite, throwing himself to the terminal. The terminal had three options on screen, one of them reading out, ‘Activate Sentries’. He clicked that, which opened another screen reading, ‘Warning: Multiple unidentified subjects detected’. It was a simple click before the computer made an electronic beep.

A muffled clang hit the ceiling, a buzzing sound of gears churning around and around, over the sounds of the ghouls breaking through the door’s layers of paint and wood came metal grinding. The computer beeped again, blinking to a loading message - “Sentries activating...”

Graphite turned away from the screen to hear the turrets turning on with another blaring screech before opening fire on the ghouls at the door. Loud screams and hisses of dying came from the other side of the door - bullet holes flying in through the door. Like bees scattering after their hive has been knocked around, the rounds of loose ammunition ricocheted about the room and bounding across the walls and the table.

Graphite jumped back, hitting the ground near that mattress he saw earlier. He landed on the hard top, bouncing up a bit from the thick springs. Bullets flew though the doorway, hitting the windows to his right. Shards of glass blew out the windows and splashed across the floor, bits of fabric snowed across the room. The turrets finally stopped after showering the room with enough lead to outweigh a mountain. Graphite grabbed his chest, making sure he was still alive; he could hear himself panting, he was alive and more or less well.

The doorway fell from its hinges, more holes were cut in it than he could count. The hallway was red with all the blood the ghouls held in their body. The room was lit brightly now, Graphite could now see something in front of him. It was a painting - a mural - a graffiti painted right over another painting. There was a blue pony, only the shoulders-up were lain out. It was rushed, most areas still unpainted and giving view to the piece of art under it. Graphite lifted off from the mattress, making his way to the mural with his eyes stuck on one thing.

His eyes were stuck on the eyes of the mural, its eyes were covered with a bloody rag. There was nothing more to this erroneous masterpiece, just pony and cloth - and the real blood that was spread over the cloth. Graphite stood here, staring, the one artwork he could finally examine at the art institute. He could only imagine the tormented soul that painted this picture; the only ponies he could see being tortured to the point of psychotic drawing are the two ponies that had wandered here a time ago.

A bang grazed his ear, followed by a round blowing through the thick marble wall. Graphite could only react fast enough to duck away after the bullet had hit the wall. Graphite grabbed the table and shifted down, almost slamming the table with his chin. He dove back, behind the the side of the table away from the door - grabbing a weapon from his bag. It was the weapon Tsoy gave him, fully loaded and heavy with ammo.

At the front door was a pony, a pony standing tall on his legs which were spread wide and dug into the floor steadily. It was wearing a thick green coat, like a raincoat, with a big hood overshadowing its head. Its head looked wrinkled, but more than simply aged skin. It was shriveled and charred, similar to a ghoul - but it wasn’t a ghoul; it wasn’t snarling and drooling, it had clothes and even armour underneath the coat, it was also carrying a gun. The armour underneath the coat was Equestrian regulation with thick steel plates all around the body - Graphite’s old set of armour was this exact type. The colours were odd, not anything the military would approve of. It was full of vibrant colours that were swirled into patterns and designs - this was a type of art the zebras would approve of.

The gun was long, a sniper rifle no doubt. It was the generic set up for a gun from the zebra lands - narrow receiver with a bolt on the side and a part for the scope to be attached, a wooden grip with a few holes to vent the long barrel, a small pistol grip, and a fold-able stock on the end. The magazine was big, larger than the standard sniper magazine, this one looked to hold a larger calibre round.

It was obvious this pony was experienced in the culture of zebras; perhaps it was one, and all of the stripes were either burnt off or hiding behind the armour and coat. It was time to act, one moment longer and the sniper could easily score a shot with the rifle he carried. Graphite pointed his submachinegun to the door gap, letting a quick burst of rounds fire out wherever they saw fit.

They scattered across the frames of what was once a doorway, pummeling the already destroyed door jams and wooden frame. The attacker quickly dove away, jumping back away from the doorway and just out of view from Graphite’s angle. Graphite pushed himself up and away from the wall before he sprinted down the corridor.

The sniper was running full speed across the hallway, his coat flapping against his legs as he ran - and he ran fast. He never stopped to turn and head down the stairs, he simply jumped over the golden railing and landed just at the tip of the lower staircase. Graphite stopped himself before he hurdled over the rail, knowing he would fail the jump and land back first against the steps. He shifted right and continued down the stairs after his attempted killer.

He got to the bottom of the steep steps, another bang echoed through the empty building. A shot hit the rim of the rail near Graphite’s hoof - the only sensible reaction was to always jump away from the round. He was was upside down laying with his back on the steps just opposite of what he wanted. He looked up -- or down -- across the hall, standing in the foyer, was that zebra with his rifle up. Graphite lifted the gun and set it right-side-up firing to the foyer. It fired out and made the sniper flee away from the middle of the moonlit ray from the skylight.

Graphite flipped around, standing up once more and heading straight to the archway just before the main room. He took cover behind a half-column of marble and gold. He sighed, his mind easing out with the breath. This sniper was Xain. Graphite shuttered at the realization; he knew Xain was a hunter and was much more familiar with this building. Xain was also a sniper, hitting targets at ranges Graphite couldn’t see through a telescope. He grit his teeth and gave one more second to think. Graphite was inside, he had the advantage of close range. He was going to need it, this was his only advantage.

With gun ready, mind set, and plan developing as he went, Graphite turned the corner and continued the hunt for the hunter.