A trumpet played loudly outside, causing Graphite to open his eyes. He was in the barracks, in which he had spent the past few weeks. He was lying in bed, unable to wake up from last night’s overhaul. They did an extra five laps around the track then another run around the obstacle course. He didn’t want to get out of bed, but the weeks of discipline training said otherwise. His body was too burdened with exhaustion to leave the bed, but his mind was yelling at him, “Get up you lazy sack of shit!” He knew the drill sergeant was going to scream that anyways. Eventually, it was down to mind over matter, and Graphite came off the bed almost unconscionably.

For several weeks, they had been doing a lot of exercises to build up their physical strength and endurance. It wasn’t easy for him, nor any pony else. Each morning began with a jog around the camp, followed by other exercises. Most of the time, they were made to do a series of push-ups, pull-ups, jumping jacks, more push-ups, and so on.

This day was going to be special. After all that hard work, they are finally going to be taught how to use a rifle and a battle-saddle. Graphite thought of this as he got out of his bed and made it, then stood in front of it like the rest of the cadets in the room.

As always, sergeant Typhoon came to inspect their rooms and lead them through their training for the day. He came through the door, per usual - slamming it open. Sergeant walked down through the barracks and checking everyone's gear as he made his morning speech.

“Good morning, bastards! I don’t have to tell you how special this day is. Apparently some degenerate up above thinks that you’re fit enough to move on to the rifle training. If it’d be up to me, I’d send you all back through another month of physical exercise drills!” He made it to the end of the barracks and turned around, eyes still locked forward and away from any of the cadets, “I want to see you all standing outside in the ditch in five - is that clear?”

“Yes sir!” Everypony replied aloud and Typhoon walked through the door, slamming it behind him.

Everyone in the barracks started to dress and get ready with the required efficiency, which was as fast as possible. They dressed and filed out of the barracks as quick as can be. They were lined in single file, marching behind one another towards the trail where Typhoon explains the schedule for the day. The schedule never changed, “You’re going to run the track a few times, do some push-ups, run the obstacle course, then run back to the barracks,” filled with the usual offensive insults and shouts of ‘encouragement.’ Lucky for every cadet, it was the first day of rifle training - but Graphite didn’t expect much difference from the sergeant’s side.

The row of cadets lined along the trail just as usual and stood in attention -- just as usual. Sergeant Typhoon walked to the middle of the line and shouted at the cadets, “Here’s the schedule - I’m only going to say this once, so you better have that shit cleaned out your ears before I tell you: we are to report to the firing range; there, I will explain to you everything you need to know about the gun we will be firing; we’ll do some target practice; move on for weapon’s course; then we finish off with your favourite - ten laps around the track. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes sir!” Exclaimed every cadet.

“Great! Now let’s move!” Typhoon glided to the front of the group, just ahead of the first pony, and lead them down to the firing range in a march. Typhoon split the file into two equal groups of stallions, then into three single file lines behind him. They marched in tune to a beat of Typhoon’s shouts of ‘left-left-left-right-left!’ They held this same march down for about a good distance before finally reaching the firing range at the end of the boot camp.

Typhoon merged the three lines back into one with a simple direction of his hoof. He pointed to the lines, directing them back into that single line they started in. They all crossed the dirt trails leading into the firing ranges.

The firing range consisted of a long field with several targets lined up in the field. A mechanism was made to make them all pop up when necessary. That mechanism was being controlled by another stallion working in small, enclosed room. There were several small ‘booths’ at one end of the field. They were simply spots where the ground was cleared from any grass before the rest of the range, collared off by a few logs. Behind the rage was a small booth with a watchtower next to it. A pony dressed similarly to the Drill Sergeant watched over the cadets - probably judging their weapons skill.

“Welcome to my firing range. Yes, it’s my firing range, so you will listen to every word I say! I have not lost a single scumbag on my firing line, and I will not lose one today! Do you understand me?”

“Yes sir!”

“Good! Now pick up a battle-saddle, a rifle and some ammo from the booth over there. Then pick a spot on the range and we’ll get to work!”

All of the cadets made their way to the kiosks, where the rifles and ammunition were. Each of the ponies ahead of Graphite got a set of battle-saddles. There was a poster on the side of the kiosk on how to put it on and operate it, so everyone simply put theirs on as soon as they got them. They also received a rifle which was placed into the battle-saddle and a pack of ammo.

“Aww! I can’t wait to fire a rifle! I’ve been sick of this useless jogs around the track over and over!” Graphite suddenly heard a familiar voice with a Bucklyn accent to it from behind him. Without a doubt - it was Spotty. He was standing right behind him in line with a big grin on his face and had excitement bouncing in every one of his words. He seemed a bit jittery, slightly impatient, and eager to get to the kiosk.

“I know how you feel,” Graphite responded with a fake smile, uncomfortable from Spotty’s bounding excitement, “But you do know that this doesn’t mean that it’s all over, right?”

“Gee, Graphite don’t be such a party pooper, I know that this ain’t the end of this. We’re all still going to have to do those stupid exercises. Still, this is something to lift up your spirits, ain’t it?”

“I-i think so...” Graphite said and looked down a bit.

“Ah, I see-” Spotty said with a small grin on his face, “You’re just worried about how you’ll do and that’s killing your mood,” He smiled and patted Graphite on the back, “I can give you my word, Graphite, you’ll do fine.”

“Yeah, thanks,” that was probably all Graphite needed - a pat on the back. It lifted his head up, but he was still pestered to be stuck in line. He turned his head back around and resumed his wait.

After waiting in line for a bit it, was Graphite’s turn to receive his gear. When he arrived at the booth, a rifle was waiting for him along with a few small metal boxes of ammunition.

It was a long, wooden rifle, with only the the barrel and iron sights being made of metal; there was a small pistol grip for the handle, that was then improved with a pattern cut wood panel on the sides of the handle; there was another one of these wooden grips along the hoof guards of the gun, going up until the wood ended and the barrel continued. Graphite was puzzled, his rifle wasn’t given in a battle-saddle like all the other cadets.

“Where’s my battle-saddle?” He asked, staring at his new rifle.

“Ya see, you’re a unicorn,” Answered the pony in a thick, country accent. He was a brightly yellowed colored earth pony with a tan mane. He was wearing the same tan uniform with a black MP band, “Ya can use yer horn to levitate, fire, and reload the rifle - so ya’, don’t need one.”

Graphite gave the rifle a worried look, “I hope that it’ll work.”

“Sure it will. Just keep your mind on the rifle... or was it the target?” The MP wondered, “Anyway, you should know it better than me. I ain’t one o’ ya’ magic ponies.”

Graphite sighed and took the rifle and ammo. He trotted over to his booth and awaited for further commands from the Sergeant.

“Stand still and aim at the target in front of you. If you hit one in the white zone, it means you can’t shoot for shit. If you hit one in the black zone, you’re doing alright. If you should hit the small red circle in the center of the target - which I doubt that any of you pawn scum will do - you’ve won a surprise!”

All of the earth ponies and pegasuses tried to aim as best as they could - with little luck. Graphite looked over at the other unicorn cadets. It seemed that some of them understood how to use the sights on the top of the gun.

Graphite copied them, trying to do the same. He stood still and loaded the rifle with the help of his levitation spell. He aimed down the sights just like the other unicorn ponies did.

Graphite started to breathe slower and concentrated on the target in front of him. When he lined up his sights with the target he squeezed the trigger and a shot rang out. The shot scared him, making him twitch a bit. He couldn’t see where the shot had landed, it was quite a distance between him and the target. Graphite pulled off another shot. With each shot he could concentrate less on the rifle and more on the target, the muscle memory was slowly taking over. He repeated the process until he heard a ‘click’ when he squeezed the trigger. He then took out the empty magazine and sat the rifle down on the pad in front of him.

“Sergeant, I’m all out!” He shouted.

“Well whoop-de-fucking-doo private twinkle hooves. Let me see how bad you failed!” Sergeant Typhoon came over to his booth and looked down on the target with a pair of binoculars, “Holy crap, looks like we have ourselves a killer!” He announced before a slight pause, “I guess that you may be wondering what’s your surprise then, eh, cadet?” He gave a quick nod over to the pony at the booth.

“Yes sir!” Graphite replied, a bit eager to see what his surprise was.

“We have a scoped rifle available for use today; let’s see how many long range targets you can hit.”

The yellow earth pony from the booth came over with another pack of ammo and a rifle similar to the one which Graphite had just used only this one had a metal tube on it - a scope. The yellow pony moved his hoof down to the electric panel below him, making the target to slide backwards even further down the range.

Graphite’s eyes widen as he saw his target move further and further away; he knew they were going to make him hit that target.

“Let’s just see how good with that rifle you really are, cadet...” Typhoon said in a more undertone voice than his usual and staring back down his pair of binoculars.

The target finally stopped, it was now at four hundred metres. Graphite let out a sigh, bring his rifle back into firing position. He focused his sight down the aperture of the scope, lining the crosshairs to the middle of the target.

“Whenever you’re ready, cadet,” Typhoon added.

Graphite took in a deep breath and held it, keeping his sway down as he focused deeply at the target ahead. He pulled the trigger, letting out that similar bang sound he’s come to known so easily. The bullet flew down range and disappeared near the target; he thought he missed his mark. He pulled his view out of the scope and looked up at Sergeant Typhoon.

His eyes were squinted, trying to keep out the bright light of the sun, “Did I hit it?” Graphite questioned.

Typhoon brought down his binoculars, and was keeping his eyes on that target when he replied, “Yep, you hit it right on the mark, private.”

Graphite had to keep himself down to prevent him from dancing a jig, but then Typhoon brought his spirits down again; as was his job, “Can you do it again?” He asked with an unexcited tone.

Graphite shook his head, breathing back out, “Yes sir.”

Typhoon brought his binoculars up again, and Graphite looked back down the scope once more. His sights were already centred with the target, all he had to do was pull the trigger again - but Graphite didn’t see Typhoon’s next order to the booth pony. Graphite held his breath once more, but the target started moving left. He blew out his breath of air in a sigh of annoyance, still keeping his eyes on the target as it moved left and right slowly.

“Go ahead, cadet; fire when ready,” Typhoon told Graphite. He couldn’t see him, but he could bet his next week lunch that the drill sergeant had an evil smirk on his face as he said that.

Graphite focused all his thoughts on the target, following it with his scope almost perfectly. All his focused was directed on that target; he took in a deep breath, stopping even breathing from interrupting his focus. Time seemed to slow down around him, the target moving ever slower. He pinpointed the very middle of the mark. Without hesitation, or further pause, he fired his rifle; breaking his focus and resuming time back to normal. He couldn’t follow the bullet’s trail, the sun in his eyes. There wasn’t a sound except for the wind rushing through the air.

“Damn...” Typhoon whispered, “You hit your mark... right in the same place...” Typhoon was eerily astonished, he didn’t even take the time to yell out his sentence or throw in an insult.

Graphite was just as stunned, he didn’t expect such a shoot could be possible, “Did I really, sir?”

Typhoon knelt down to Graphite’s level, sticking his binoculars in front of his eyes, “You heard me - look for yourself.”

Graphite gripped the side of the binoculars and stared down the sights. The target had one hole in the centre of the red ring; he couldn’t tell, but there was just a slight scrape along the edge of the hole showing the second bullet had grazed right through the bullet hole.

“I don’t know how you did, but you did it,” Typhoon added, still in awe, “What’s your name cadet?”

“Graphite, sir.”

“Private Graphite, I’m going to have you report to the next area over for Sharpshooter training.”

“Sharpshooter training, sir?”

Typhoon extended a hoof to help Graphite up. Graphite accepted, being pulled up instantly by the drill sergeant, “Yes, deaf-ass; sharpshooter training. The range for that is down the next trail. You’re to report there immediately for your new training regiment!” He lead Graphite off with a point in the direction of the sharpshooter’s range, which was another jog down the trail, “Double-time, Private Graphite.”

“Yes sir!” Graphite responded, with a salute.

He shifted around, starting his jog down the next trail. The trail was just as rough and rocky as the one getting here. The rocks pressed against his hooves, crumbling under the weight. He started to sweat, wiping some drops off his forehead, the sun was beating down hard. It was brighter than he remembered, and as he neared the next range, it only grew brighter. It soon blinded him too the point where he could see nothing but white.

The sun was beating still, continuing to pain Graphite with it’s brightness. He sat up from the bed, squinting his eyes and blocking the rays with his hoof. The sun was shining through the the tainted, cracked window and seemed to be attracting only to Graphite’s eyes. He used his other hoof to wipe his eyes, groaning from the abrupt awakening. He looked on either side of the bed, and on either side of the bed were some blood stains that really sent Graphite a post-apocalyptic ‘good morning!’He slid over to the left, hopping off the bed. The bed made a very loud, broken squeak as he leaped off; the loud whine was terrible to hear while still half asleep. He cringed, flopping his ears to stop the ringing. He stretched out his arms and back, his joints cracking from the stress; popping his spine back into place, “Ow...” he said to no pony, his lower back getting stiff. He pulled himself back, blowing out a sigh before he hit the road again. The sun beam continued to filter into the room, flushing out all the stains on the walls and all the marks on the floor. The blots on the floor were a unhealthy red, the mildew on the ceiling was still festering around the chandelier, and the mold on the walls still seemed to be growing.

The bathroom still seemed like an unruly place to go, but Graphite couldn’t pass up the curiosity; the light was on his side now, so it made him feel just a little safer. He moved in slow and carefully, keeping his eyes fixed on the door to the bathroom - keeping in mind whatever may pop out. He stopped at the doorway, just peeking his head through to check the bathroom. He slowly inched more and more into the shadows, he had a strong urge to swipe his knife into the darkness just for reassurance. Graphite didn’t want his knife to be swallowed up by the beast that could lurk within -- or drop it in the toilet -- but he kept his concentration on it as his head finally came by far enough to see the bathroom. What Graphite was truly a surprise - it was just a normal bathroom. The sink was lying against the wall, a mirror just above it; a toilet just next to the sink, somewhat clean; the tub ahead was yellow with lime stains and the shower head that came with it was rusted down to the core. The sink had a poorly made formica that didn’t seem to fit the sink very well. The faucet was rusted just as bad as the shower head, the handles too. He fiddled the handles, the rust had jammed them to the point where they couldn’t even budge. He pulled on them again, breaking the right handle right off the sink. He dropped the handle into the dirty sink, looking into the fogged mirror.

In the corner of the reflection lied a small metal box. He looked over to the edge of the sink to inspect it. It was covered in dust, yet it hadn’t rusted over all these year’s. Graphite used his magic to shake off the dust and take a closer look. He brought the box up to his eye and opened it. Inside lied a chromed lighter, it was still polish and unrested - like it hadn’t even been touched. Graphite took it out of the metal box and examined it. On the front there was an engraving of a thunderbolt and a set of wings behind it, below was an inscription - “Equestria’s Finest”.

Graphite knew that saying from somewhere; it was the motto of the wonderbolts. They truly were the Equestria’s greatest fliers. He remembered their frequent aid in the war effort; often doing fly-bys as the ground troops stormed the fortifications of the Zebras. Sometimes they would fly their strafing runs so low that the ground troops could take a good look on their faces before they took off again. Like most pegasi, they were daredevils, sometimes not even realizing how close they had been to their deaths. The fires from their fly-byes rose high enough to touch the clouds, and the wonderbolts would just fly through like it was nothing; they took to their work as if it were a performance. Thinking of the fires got his train of thought back unto the lighter.

Graphite decided to test out the lighter the best way he knew how; he took out a cigarette and put it in his mouth. He flipped the cap of the lighter, coming open with a clinging sound. The flame was burning, so he lit up his cigarette and then closed the cap again and put it on the inside of his black duster, right next to his wallet.

With the cigarette in his mouth he went outside on the wooden walkway and looked over the neighborhood. The four dogs were still down in the courtyard, roasting under the sun. The smell was almost non-existent. Either then baking under the hot sun or their radiated bodies, the decaying dogs didn’t seem to produce a scent from their bodies. Graphite walked over to the railings along the edge of the porch, resting his hooves on it. He continued looking over the bodies and the neighboring building ahead. He puffed a cloud of smoke, enjoying the taste of his Canterfield cigarettes. With no food for breakfast and no water to hydrate, all he could do was enjoy his cigarette. He blew another puff of smoke, taking a look down at his necklace. He looked at the way the stone shined under the bright sun - he couldn’t help but to be reminded of Adan and Turquoise. Graphite looked back up, staring over the area once more. He kept his cigarette going enjoying the cheap taste of his only meal.