Why Did You Kill Them?


                                            Why Did You Kill Them?

                                            By IceMan


                                            >"Why, Anon? Why did you kill them?" Twilight shrieks, her hands placed on her head.

                                            >On the floor lie the now-deceased bodies of what appears to be Fluttershy, Pinkie Pie, and Rarity, riddled with scorched holes of cauterized flesh.

                                            >You crack open the breech of your plasma rifle and eject the energy cell with a loud ping and a his of bluish-grey gas.

                                            “They’re alien shapeshifters, Twilight.”

                                            >“Alien shapeshifters?”

                                            “Yes, that’s what I said.”

                                            >Her mouth still agape in shock, Twilight takes a few steps back, surveying the situation.

                                            >“Where did they come from? Why are they targeting us? And how do I know you’re not a shapeshifter too?”

                                            “I don’t know. Here, put on these goggles.”

                                            >Handing Twilight a set of what appear to be night vision goggles, she attempts to put them on, her glasses getting in the way.

                                            “You’ll have to take those off.”

                                            >“But I can’t see without them!”

                                            “Ugh. There’s no time. Give me those.”

                                            >There’s a loud banging at the door.

                                            >Ripping Twilight’s glasses from her head, you jam the goggles on her, then toss her glasses back along with another plasma rifle.

                                            “Turn them on, you’ll need to see this. They’ll automatically adapt to your prescription.”

                                            >Flicking on the switch on the side of her goggles, Twilight can now see what you see.

                                            >Inside of the corpses of her dead friends, is a black, sickly skeleton with three fingers and four pairs of dragonfly-like compound eyes perched on a narrow head with thick mandibles for a mouth.

                                            >Of course, staring at you, all she can see is the white outline of a human skeleton.

                                            >“Ugh!”

                                            >Twilight grimaces as she recoils back in horror.

                                            “So, you know I’m not a shapeshifter. So let’s go.”

                                            >“No! I mean, I’m not following you unless you tell me exactly what’s going on.”

                                            “There’s no time to explain! The changeling army is going to be here any minute.”

                                            >“Then you’re going to tell me where you got all this equipment, and why you haven’t been replaced with a changeling.”

                                            “I - I can’t answer either of those things right now. You know I’m not a changeling. You’ll just have to trust me, so come on.”

                                            >You pump the rifle to energize the fusion cell.

                                            “There’s shapeshifting bugs to kill.”

                                            >You aim your rifle at the door and open fire.

                                            >A hail of blue bolts flies through the air, shredding the door and whoever was behind it.

                                            >The girl hobbling behind you, you step over the two fresh corpses outside the door and round the corner.

                                            Where are they?” you growl.

                                            >The fluorescent lighting overhead flickers.

                                            >A thunder of footsteps echoes down the hallway.

                                            >“H-here they come,” Twilight says, huddling down behind you.

                                            “Get up! I need you ready to shoot -”

                                            >“How do I -”

                                            “There’s a safety switch on the right side of the gun. Hit that, keep your fingers off the trigger until your ready to shoot, and keep your barrel away from anything you don’t want to shoot. These things have a bit of kick, and the cell should give you enough power for 300 shots.”

                                            >“How many of those things did you have to kill before you got here?” Twilight says, the footsteps growing louder.

                                            “Not enough.”

                                            >The lights shudder one more time, then go out.

                                            “Here we go.”

                                            >Flicking a switch on the side of your goggles to switch to thermal imaging, you shoulder your rifle and aim through the holographic sight,

                                            >A black humanoid figure comes into view from around a corner.

                                            “There they are! Open fire!”

                                            >The figure lets out an inhuman hiss as it charges forward and draws what appears to be a pistol made out of chitin and insectile sinew.

                                            >Two short triplets of azure bolts rip from your plasma rifle, striking the insect in the chest and left arm, knocking him back with smoke rising from his charred outerwear.

                                            >“Is that it?”

                                            “That was a scout.”

                                            >As if on cue, at least a dozen more changelings race around the corner, drawing their jagged weapons and letting off bursts of green plasma.

                                            >You down one with a quick headshot, and then another with a shot to the legs and chest.

                                            >Ducking and weaving to avoid shots, you knock down a few of the lockers to provide some cover, getting into prone position and resting your rifle on top of the metal box to maximize your protection.

                                            >It’s no good, though, as the hot energy bolts rip through the thin steel plating like a zweihander through a satin shirt.

                                            >A few more changelings fall, but not without you taking a few hits.

                                            >The hits are painful, like repeated hornet stings, but produce no smoke or leave fourth degree burns like your shots.

                                            >They want you alive.

                                            >The air fills with the smell of ozone and burnt flesh.

                                            “Twilight, I can’t hold them off alone,” you yell over the gunfire.

                                            >Her hands are placed firmly over her ears to deafen the noise.

                                            “Ugh, to hell with this.”

                                            >Grabbing Twilight by the scruff of her shirt, you fall back into a classroom, checking to see if it’s empty first, and lock the door.

                                            >Your attempt to turn on the lights fails; the power is completely dead in the school.

                                            “Knock those tables over. We can use them for a bit of cover,” you order Twilight. “Their weapons are attuned to not damage organic materials. Wood should be able to block them better than metal can. Unless they decide to go full kill mode on us, in which case there’s nothing that will stop a 5000 Kelvin plasma bolt.”

                                            >Twilight says nothing but follows your instructions.

                                            “And if they switch to those, we’ll be making a last stand here. Or, I’ll be making a last stand here while you cower in a corner waiting to be slaughtered.”

                                            >“I’m sorry, I guess I’m just not used to being attacked by monsters in the form of my friends and acquaintances.”

                                            “No one can prepare for the absolute worst case scenario, that’s true, but we can at least try to do our best once in it.”

                                            >“And my best is... thinking. Plotting. Not on the battlefield.”

                                            “Then what do you propose we do?

                                            >“We can... we can escape,” Twilight says. “We get those windows open and just run.”

                                            “No. We don’t know how many people have been replaced.”

                                            >“You still haven’t told me how you weren’t.”

                                            “Because it’s irrelevant. All that matters at this point is coming up with a plan to survive, and, if we’re going -”

                                            >There’s a loud bang on the door.

                                            “We’re running out time, so you had better think fast. Otherwise, get that gun ready.”

                                            >Getting into position behind one of the overturned tables, you check the charge on your gun and aim towards the oncoming threat.

                                            >What sounds like a chainsaw revs up outside the classroom; ragged black teeth and sparks fly through the shattering wood and door hinges as the cutting implement shreds on a long diagonal through the only barrier between you and the changeling horde.

                                            >A bead of sweat rolls down your forehead.

                                            >Twilight shivers in the corner.

                                            >With two firm kicks, the door splinters into two large pieces.

                                            >You immediately open fire, sending duplets and triplets of burning ionized gas into the regiments of malevolent doppelgangers of high school teenagers armed with onyx, spiked plasma pistols or circular saws.

                                            >For each one that falls, another takes its place, an avalanche of bodies simply swept aside by their living compatriots.

                                            >Then, of course, the inevitable happens.

                                            >The charge on your energy cell runs out.

                                            >Your rifle beeps, and the stream of deadly plasma ceases.

                                            “Twilight! I have to re - urgh - load,” you shout, a stray shot hitting your shoulder as you speak. “You need to cover me, or we won’t be able to hold them off. I’ve only got one cell left.”

                                            >She gives you a blank look from her spot in the corner.

                                            >You’d have her just toss you her weapon, but she’s ever so slightly too far, and you don’t trust her throwing skills.

                                            “Twilight, if you don’t shoot these things, then we are both going to die!”

                                            >A circular saw spins up and begins to cut through your cover.

                                            >Green bolts of enemy plasma whiz by over your head.

                                            >With no other option, you break open the action of your gun and load the new cell.

                                            >Twilight gets up off the floor and shoulders her rifle.

                                            >Two bugs fall as their skin is turned to charred carbon by energy bolts from her weapon.

                                            >You smile.

                                            “Now that’s more like it.”

                                            >With your combined efforts, the enemy’s numbers are thinned bit by bit.

                                            >Shapeshifter after shapeshifter falls to the hail of glowing indigo death, the body count racking too high for you to imagine.

                                            >Your shots are focussed and precise, laser-like, very few missing the mark.

                                            “What took you so long?” you ask to Twilight over the din of battle.

                                            >“You activated my nerd rage!” Twilight says.

                                            >Chuckling, you execute a few more shapeshifters, only to notice shadowy figures sneaking up from the windows.

                                            “Behind us!”

                                            >You whirl about to defend yourself against the surrounding attackers.

                                            >The shapeshifters are no longer simply high school students and staff; you spot a grocery store clerk, a clown, and a housewife among the dead.

                                            >How many have been replaced?

                                            >Too many.

                                            >Too many to kill them all.

                                            >The aliens smash through the windows and open fire.

                                            >Doubling over in pain from at least a half dozen hits, you manage to finish off a few more bugs, but it’s no use.

                                            “Twilight!” you call out. “I’m down!”

                                            >She rushes over to help you.

                                            “No! Stay there! You need to -”

                                            >“Enough!” a louder voice cries. “Cease fire.”

                                            >The enemy gunfire grinds to a halt.

                                            >Principal Celestia - or, rather, something in the form of Principal Celestia, steps into the room.

                                            >“You have fought well, Agent Anonymous, but it is clear that your efforts are futile. You are surrounded and beaten. Surrender now, and I may spare you and your little friend from the consumption of this planet,” the Celestia doppelganger says.

                                            >Twilight helps you up off the floor.

                                            >You clutch your arm to support it against the pain.

                                            “This is a non-Federation world, Queen Lerva. This is an act in complete defiance of the Elysian Treaty of SD562.”

                                            >“A treaty made completely without considering our interests or needs!”

                                            “What of the needs of pre-warp sentient lifeforms? Should they be considered a part of our affairs? The Elysian Treaty is clear: we are to keep species who have not discovered warp travel safe. The Federation will provide you with clones to satisfy the Xia’s need for sentient life. But pre-warp civilizations are not to be made tar-”

                                            >Queen Lerva clutches you by the throat and lifts you high above the floor with one hand.

                                            >“I have already told you, I care not for your treaty, or your Federation! We Xia must feed... and this planet has so much richness to it. I simply could not resist feasting upon so many weak sentients!”

                                            “Then you have declared war on the entire Federation,” you manage to spit out. “The Xia Empire will be destroyed. Starting with you.”

                                            >The queen throws you against one the desks.

                                            >“And how do you plan on doing that?” she says, standing over you.

                                            >You reach into your pocket and pluck out a small detonator.

                                            “I would have just shot you, but you must have shields. So, I’ll blow both of us up with the Regulus bomb in my chest. Agency standard for all operatives, to be used upon capture. Not even the strongest personal shield can take an explosion of that magnitude. With you dead, your drones will be without your pheromone guidance.”

                                            >“What a selfless sacrifice. But completely worthless. I have no shielding; it interferes with the masquerade camouflage used by my soldiers and myself. And you’ll have no time to start the detonation sequence once I - AUGH!”

                                            >A blue bolt flies from Twilight’s rifle, striking the queen right in the chest.

                                            >“How?” she moans, collapsing on the floor, along with the remainder of her army.

                                            >“Nerd rage,” Twilight says, tossing the plasma rifle aside.

                                            >You dust yourself off and inject yourself with a small vial of clear liquid, evaporating your pain.

                                            “We should search for any other survivors. There may still be some people hiding out somewhere.”

                                            >“No. You have some explaining to do,” Twilight says, poking you in the chest. “Who are you?”

                                            >You merely let out a light chuckle.

                                            “If I told you, I’d have to kill you. Agency policy. You maybe already know too much from my little spat with the Queen there. But instead, I think I’m just going to tell you to... wake up.”

                                            >“What?”


                                            >“Wake up, Twilight, it’s time for school!”

                                            >You jolt awake at your desk, unsticking a paper from your cheek.

                                            >“Did you stay up too late last night, Twilight?” your mom asks.

                                            “Ugh, I guess,” you reply.

                                            >An old B-movie titled “ALIEN SHAPESHIFTERS FROM THE PLANET XIA” sits on your computer screen.

                                            >“I know you stay up late sometimes, but you’re supposed to be working, Twilight, not watching old movies,” your mom says as she opens the blinds.

                                            “I know, I know....” you mutter, getting out of your chair. “I was waiting for a big file to download, just wanted to watch something cheesy while I waited.”

                                            >“Well, alright. Get dressed and ready for school. I can trust you to do that right?”

                                            “Yeah, yeah....”

                                            >Stupid movies.

                                            >Stupid dreams.