Rainbow Dash died sleeping in my arms on June 14, 2018. I like to think she was asleep, she was probably unconscious. She would have been buried in a mass grave, she would have been recognized for her sacrifice, her name would have been on the plaque. But I stepped in and said no. I told the guy in charge of corpses,'Fuck that. You put her ass on a plane, you send her home, where she fucking belongs.' 

When a stoner with guns and blood on his shirt tells you what he wants done with a random dead body, you fucking do it. 

Rainbow Dash went back to Equestria, back to Ponyville. She was given a decent burial. I had to pay for it all out of my own pocket, but I didn't and don't care. For my Dash, I'd do anything. I could tell she felt my sudden feeling for her. I think she felt it back. I just hope she knew that someone cared that much about her, to go that far, to risk their own life to try and save hers. 

Day 18

I cried. I cried a lot. I hadn't cried like that in years. After a few minutes of it I decided crying wouldn't help. Something that might, though, was avenging her death. We had already killed the pond scum that shot her, but that one bullet, those eight grains of powder, lowered my already meager respect for Asscrackistan by a lot. It wasn't the soldiers anymore, it was anyone. Women, children, all of them. The entire country's population couldn't measure up to one of my Rainbow Dash. If I could get her back, but only if all of Asscrackistan and some of the surrouding area was nuked, those people wouldn't have time to realize what was going on.

So I got my guns extra-clean. I loaded up on ammunition, and got myself anything useful as a weapon anywhere I could find. Grenades, small arms, gas cans. 

I was packing so much heat matches ignited near me. After a bit I had gathered an assload of goodies to hurt, maim and kill people with. And I used them. Any Asscrackistani who came within range of me got a molotov cocktail dropped on them. If I had no cocktail, they got grenades. If I had no grenades, they got lead pissed on them. 

I became aggressive with kills. If I saw the enemy, I automatically called dibs. The remainer of my platoon figured this out and pretty much sat back and watched me destroy this town's population. I often ran out into the street to do my shooting, and I was very efficient. I could blow away five people with only three rounds. 

I was no longer Fiddlesticks, the weak stoner fuck. I was Megadick, the fearless bringer of pain and death. I didn't keep count of my kills, but others tried to. By the thirtieth day in the field, somepony put the figure at 73. That was fucking phenomenal. Dash would have been proud, and wherever she was, I knew she was proud of me. 

Oh, Rainbow Dash. 

It's all for you. 

Day 3?

The days were blending together. I had accumulated 100 unofficial kills. I don't particularly remember any specifics, it became routine, like fapping had. But I will never forget that one day. 

I was on a ground raid, blowing brains out the side of people's heads as you do with a job like mine. I decided to go further- go right inti their bunker. Alone. 

I got a couple quickly, but going around a corner I was tripped. I felt a gun against my head, heard the grunt, nu-uh, then blank. He killed me.  Next Chapter: No Entry Estimated time remaining: 2 Minutes