Cutie Mark Crusader Crminls, by Tuner9


                                            [Copied from https://pastebin.com/gkaPAgAA]


                                            >“In—oth- news— severe weather—rainfall…- not ending— near futur- stay indor—dangerous-”

                                            >The screen buzzes and crackles as it struggles to maintain connection to the satellite. It fizzles for a few more seconds before the static completely overtakes it, engulfing the dimly lit room with its glow, the downpour outside completely drowning out the crackling of the T.V.

                                            >You leave the room, not bothering to turn off the T.V. and headed into the kitchen, careful not to knock the tank on your back against any of the doorways.


                                            >It takes you a few minutes, but you eventually found an emergency radio in the counter under the sink.

                                            >The body was a mixture of red and black and a small solar panel was embedded atop it next to the retractable antenna. The back end had a hand crank for power as well and the front sported a flashlight.

                                            >Cranking the handle, you rotate the knob, trying to find a discernible voice in the sea of static.

                                            >“Don’t let allergies get the better o— locos taco—sunny, with a slight chance of rain in the afternoo—he hurricane is literally right off the coast, extreme winds and heavy rainfall to be expected for at least twelve more hours, stay indoors and do NOT go outside-”

                                            >Twelve hours huh? Well, thats a little longer than you had anticipated, but you could definitely work with it.


                                            >You grab the radio off the counter and head back into the living room, dropping it in one of your backpacks.

                                            >Dragging it alongside you, you make your way to the foyer as a flash of lightning streaks across the sky, briefly illuminating the tiled floor and peach colored walls.

                                            >A low rumble echoed out, gradually getting louder before releasing in one final explosive burst.

                                            >The ground seemed to tremble just a bit a you walked up the wooden staircase to the second floor.

                                            >An open floor space awaited you at the top, a foosball table rested dead center while two love seats sat adjacent, facing a medium sized flat screen T.V. hooked up to on old PS2 on a worn out coffee table.

                                            >Three doors connected the space to the rest of the house, leading into both bedrooms and one bathroom.

                                            >A smile briefly adorns your face as you fondly remember the days you wasted playing Shadow of the Colossus for hours on end.

                                            >Heading over to the stand, you unplug the surge protector from the wall and then disconnect the game system from that before throwing it in your bag.


                                            >Opening a drawer in the table, you spot a plethora of games, from ICO to the old Resident Evil’s.

                                            >You never knew you’d feel nostalgic just looking at these boxes after so long. Grabbing a dozen or so after checking to see if the right games were in the case, you shoved them in the bag as well before lugging the whole thing over your shoulder.

                                            >Unplugging the flatscreen next, you wrap the cord around it’s base before carefully lifting it up and carrying it down the stairs.

                                            >You bypass the living room and move back to the kitchen, heading into the hallway that connected it to the garage.

                                            >The garage floor was smooth, yet the surface was cracked in a few places and stains covered the entirety. The walls were packed full of power tools and various other pieces of projects long since abandoned.

                                            >A ladder hung from the roof by a hook right by the house’s side door, and several fishing rods jutted out of a golf bag beside that.

                                            >In the center of the garage a rusty SUV sat silent, its back hatch open and awaiting cargo. You lower the flatscreen into the vehicle and push it past various other house appliances, settling it up against the backseat.

                                            >You throw the backpack in as well, since it was getting pretty full.


                                            >Another boom of thunder shakes the ground, making you flinch. They said it was on the coast, but that storm sounds like it was right on top of you.

                                            >Glancing into the van, you briefly reconsider the entire thing.

                                            >Was skipping town right now really the best idea?

                                            >This town wasn’t really what you expected when you got here and the job pickings were slim. You were ready to move on, but perhaps staying for just a bit longer wouldn’t hurt.

                                            >You shake your head a few times.

                                            >You had already begun packing, can’t back out now.


                                            >You grab another bag out of the van and head over to the tool wall, throwing in a few power tools and some spare drill bits in along with a few unopened models and placing it in the car.

                                            >Your boots clack on the hard floor as you make your way back into the house and up the staircase.

                                            >Heading into the first door you see, you find yourself in the master bedroom.

                                            >A large, queen sized bed was pushed up against the back wall, nightstands flanking both sides. Two dressers sat opposite the bed and several jewelry boxes lay atop.

                                            >Realizing you left your other bag downstairs, you rip off a pillowcase and empty the jewelry box contents into that. Opening the drawers on the first dresser, you dig through all the clothes searching for cash.

                                            >Lo and behold, hidden beneath several pairs of socks and underwear, was several wads of cash, mostly twenties. Thumbing through the bills, you roughly estimate there to be about three hundred dollars.


                                            >Moving to the other dresser, you do the same thing, emptying the jewelry and grabbing the cash hidden in the sock drawer.

                                            >You head downstairs once more to unload, then went back up, grabbing the backpack from the living room on the way.

                                            >Bypassing the second door upstairs, which led to the bathroom, you head straight for the third door, the kid’s bedroom.

                                            >As your gloved hand began to turn the knob, a crash sounded from the bathroom before the door was bashed open.

                                            >A middle-aged man in sweat pants and a wife beater tumbled out of the room before crashing to the ground, violently rubbing his face against the carpet and letting out pained grunts.

                                            >His face was bright red, partially from the small wound on his forehead that trickled blood down his brow, the color a stark contrast to his graying hair. Tears poured from his eyes and a steady stream of mucous ran out of his nose.


                                            >Several strips of duct tape wrapped around the back of his head and mouth, muffling his cries while his hands and legs were bound by zip-ties.

                                            >You flung the backpack against the wall behind you and immediately unholstered the chemical sprayer from the tank on your back.

                                            >As his head jolted towards the sound, you squeezed the trigger and released a torrent of the spray into his face for the second time tonight.

                                            >His writhing figure reflected off the lenses of your gas mask as you continued to pour the chemical mixture over his face.

                                            >He really should have stayed in the bathroom like you told him.

                                            >A muffled cry of agony and several stifled coughs emanated from his throat as the liquid he had worked so hard to remove from his eyes was reapplied.

                                            >You release your grip from the trigger but kept the hose in hand as you approach him, your yellow hazmat suit squelching as you kneeled down next to his convulsing body.

                                            “I told you if you were quiet and stayed in the bathroom, we wouldn't have anymore problems. Why didn’t you just listen?”

                                            >“MMPH!”

                                            “Since we’re here, tell me, how does that feel in your eyes? Does it burn? I’m trying to work out just the right mixture to perfect this stuff.”

                                            >“MMMMMPH!”

                                            “Scream all you want, literally nobody can hear you over the storm, if there even is anybody to hear you. You just had to stay and man the fort didn’t you? Couldn’t leave the house unprotected huh?”

                                            >Tears continued to pour from his eyes as your homemade irritant worked its magic.

                                            “Thirty-four years on the force and this is how you go down? Reduced to a sniveling mess by little old me?”

                                            >Thrashing his body around, he begins bashing his head against whatever part of your body he could make contact with. The blows hurt a bit, but it was definitely hurting him more than you, so you just let him continue.

                                            “I bet you don’t even recognize me huh? Eight years we worked together and even now you still refuse to acknowledge my existence. Well, who's the boss now chief?!”

                                            >“GRUHH!”

                                            >His undulations increase tenfold as he realizes that his captor was someone he worked with.

                                            >Well, you really didn’t work with him ever, at any point in time but he didn’t need to know that. After you got out of here he'd focus all his attentions in the wrong places, giving you a great head start to escape.

                                            >The only time other than this that you had actually met him was a few weeks ago when he threatened to pepper spray you for loitering around the local jeweler. Granted, you were considering robbing it but he didn’t know that.


                                            >Grabbing one of his slippered feet, you drag him back into the bathroom and manage to push him into tub.

                                            >The dull thunk of his body against the ceramic reverberated around the room as he struggled to break free.

                                            >Slamming the door shut once more, you hook the sprayer back against the tank and drag both of the love seats over to the door to fashion a crude barricade. He would eventually break through it, but by then you’d be gone.

                                            >Maybe if he used all of his brainpower and decades of police experience, he’d turn the tub on and wash his eyes out. You were pretty sure this place’s water still worked.

                                            >Jogging to the last room, you head inside and rip open the drawers on the lone dresser.

                                            >Rifling through the clothing, you eventually find another wad of cash, mostly fives and tens, and you took the piggy bank while you were at it.


                                            >You rip a painting off the wall, stole the surge protecter from earlier and threw the stuff into the bag as you ran down the stairs, gripping the banister with your chemically resistant gloves as you flung your body around the corner.

                                            >Dashing through the kitchen, you steal his toaster as you pass by and head back to the garage after bashing his phone against the wall a few times.

                                            >Slamming your fist against a button on the wall, the mechanism activates and the garage door slowly rises up as you haphazardly throw the bag into the back of the car and shut the hatch.

                                            >You then sprint to front seat and turn the keys waiting for you in the ignition.

                                            >The tank on your back pressed against the seat behind you as you drove away from the house, watching in your rearview as the garage door automatically closed.

                                            >The cascading rain crashes against the windshield and even with your wipers turned to full speed, your vision was still somewhat obscured.


                                            >You drive along the soaked neighborhood roadway for about five minutes before turning off on a flooded dirt road.

                                            >You could see the highway on the other side of the swaying pine trees, the few cars that were actually driving on it visible only by their headlights.

                                            >You can’t help but let a toothy smile come to your masked face. Adrenaline pumping, heart racing, you think back on your haul.

                                            >A few hundred in cash, some jewelry and various appliances, you could probably get a thousand or two for all of it if you sold it off right.

                                            >Definitely not your best, but then again, home invasion and hostage taking weren’t really your forte. You were genuinely surprised that he had stuck around, since his wife claimed they were going to visit relatives to ride out the storm.

                                            >Still, thats why you carry a potentially hazardous mix of chemicals on your back when you commit crimes. Guns? To hard to explain carrying that to cops in some places. Chemical tank? Just a pesticide sprayer, sir.


                                            >You pop open the glove box with one hand and pulled out the two new additions to your collection.

                                            >An gun, looked like a .45 auto, and a taser. You got lucky when the taser’s barbs hit the tank on your back. A few inches to the left and you would've been the one convulsing the ground.

                                            >You’d get rid of the gun later, sell it maybe, and you planned to keep the taser, at least until you ran out of cartridges. But only after you scratched the serial numbers off both of them of course.

                                            >As your car continued to push through the mud, you could see the faint outline of an old wooden house in the woods.

                                            >Local gossip said the owner was a secretive, creepy old man and some of the kids around town seemed convinced that he killed and ate puppies, but you didn’t care.

                                            >If anyone gave you trouble you’d just spray them. Might not be very effective in the rain, but you had a taser and a gun now so there was that.

                                            >Pulling around back, you stop the car next to your own white, windowless cargo van. Hopping out of the stolen SUV and trudging through the mud, you begin the process of ferrying the stolen goods from the car to your van. Taking a tarp out first, you cover any and all electronics with it before moving them to your van.


                                            >You shoved the T.V. up against the metal grate that separated the front seat from the back the van and threw the various other appliances and bags of valuables around it.

                                            >You began unstrapping the tank from your back, but then thought the better of it and kept it on.

                                            >Closing up your van, you hop back in the SUV and drove it back out front to where you stole it, then hopped out and marched through the storm back to your van, the rain pattering against your suit.

                                            >Halfway around the house however, something caught your eye.

                                            >You wiped the lenses of your gas mask off to make sure you were seeing things right.

                                            >There was a metal trash can tied to a pine tree about ten feet off the ground.


                                            >Maybe the dude who lived here was crazy…

                                            >Curiosity got the better of you however, and once you spotted a tall ladder on the side of the house, you just had to know.

                                            >They say curiosity killed the cat and considering how rickety the ladder felt in the high wind, you were sure that the cat was about to be you.

                                            >Either the adrenaline had yet to wear off or perhaps you were just really stupid, because you actually started climbing the ladder.

                                            >You reached the top and hugged your yellow body as close to the tree as possible for stability as you peered over the edge of the can.

                                            >You felt the breath catch in your throat as you struggled to comprehend what you were seeing.


                                            >There was a unicorn, just a bit larger than a filly, with a matted white coat and a mangled light pink and purple mane crumpled up in the bottom of the can that was rapidly filling with water. The only thing betraying that it was actually alive was it’s shivering body.

                                            >Only it’s head remained above the orange-tinted water. What looked like a busted shock collar had been wrapped around it’s neck so tightly you thought you could see the bloody skin underneath and a large rusty iron nail was driven lengthwise through it’s horn, forming a cross of sorts.

                                            >It didn’t take a biologist to know that it’s right foreleg really shouldn't be bending that way and you could see another, even bigger nail driven straight through the frog of it’s hoof and into it’s leg. The area where it’s… talent mark thingy or whatever they called them had been mutilated for lack of a better word.

                                            >Scars that looked like whip marks adorned the flesh there and the shape of an “X” had been carved across it.

                                            >The rapidly rising water now covered it’s chin and showed no signs of stopping as you began contemplating what to do.

                                            >Should you save the poor creature? Or maybe put it out of its misery? It was obviously on deaths doorstep and you weren’t a stranger to killing wounded animals.

                                            >You’d always pull over when you saw roadkill to make sure it was actually dead and if it wasn’t, you’d finish the job yourself.

                                            >Occasionally some cops called you out on it, but you found it was pretty easy to justify killing those creatures out of mercy because if your guts were on the other side of the road and you were somehow still conscious, you’d want to die. Surprisingly, most cops reluctantly agreed with you and let you go on the promise that you didn’t do it again. You never listened to cops before though, so why start there?


                                            >This though… this was a whole new level.

                                            >You tried to avoid using guns whenever possible because the thought of killing another human sickened you. But temporarily wounding or harming them? A-okay. Twisted and unsound logic to be sure, but you were almost certain that you had some kind of mental disorder other than your rampant kleptomania.

                                            >These ponies though, even though many saw them as somehow below human, you could’t see that. They were clearly sentient and obviously had high intelligence and some could even use magic! Sure, they weren't as technologically advanced as humans were but that wasn’t really grounds to enslave an entire species.

                                            >The water had continued to rise and was trickling into it’s mouth. You moved it’s head up with one hand, the other still gripping the tree with all your might.

                                            >It’s head now repositioned, you were slightly disappointed it continued to breath. If you had accidentally broken it’s neck, you would be on your way now and could justify it to yourself as an accident.

                                            >You move one of the back hooves up and saw yet another nail driven in. Same thing with the other two hooves.


                                            >If you saved it, what good would that do? If it even survived, it didn’t look like it was ever going to walk again and you didn’t have the time or money to care for someone who needed to be waited on 24/7. Hell, you lived in your van, you didn’t even have the space.

                                            >If it had suffered all of this abuse, it was almost certain that there were other parts of it you couldn’t see that were broken.

                                            >As much as it pained you to do so, it was probably for the best to spare it from further suffering.

                                            >Gripping it’s head, you gently lowed its snout into the water and waited for death to take it.

                                            > It’s body squirmed a bit as it seemed to partially awaken.

                                            > “mmm…ma…mom…”


                                            >Your grip on its head tightened a bit as your greedy black heart crumbled in on itself.

                                            >Throwing caution to the wind, you released your death grip on the tree and scooped up the unicorn as gently as you possibly could, gripping it’s broken leg in your hand to stop it from thrashing about in the wind.

                                            >After descending the ladder slowly, you walk backwards toward your van, shielding it’s crumpled body from the gale.

                                            >Hooking the sprayer from your chemical tank under the door handle, you managed to unlock it and used your foot to pry the door open.

                                            >You set the unicorn down in the passenger seat and tied the sprayer from the chemical tank against it’s busted leg to keep it as straight as possible.

                                            >Unstrapping the tank from your back, you set it down on the floor and opened the door to the back of your van.


                                            >Taking care not to step on anything, you strip the hazmat suit off as quickly as possible and threw it into the locker on the side wall panel. The clothes you were wearing under the suit remained dry thankfully.

                                            >That done, you clamored back up front and turned the keys in the ignition before driving into the woods. Turning on the headlights so you don’t crash, you slowly navigate through the short stretch of mud and trees you traversed previously before reaching the highway on the other side.

                                            >You set your GPS to the nearest emergency veterinarian clinic.

                                            >Fifty miles away.

                                            >You growl in frustration but still pull up and onto the emergency lane, gaining speed before merging onto the highway with the few others who were still out.

                                            >Glancing over at your new passenger, you could see a few drops of blood trickle out of her hooves and onto the seat. That’ll cost a pretty penny to clean.

                                            “Just, just hold on, I’m gonna get you help…”

                                            >You speed up to 90. A terrible idea really, but you didn’t know how much longer the thing was going to last.

                                            >It lets out a small moan, it’s tail flicking involuntarily to the side, presenting you with it- her, privates. You move her tail back over and continued driving as she mumbles incoherently in her daze. You knew she probably wasn’t going to wake up, but talking helped calm you down.

                                            “So you're a girl huh? Don't suppose you’ve got a name?”

                                            >Silence.

                                            “Well alright then, how about I call you… Swibble?

                                            >“Uhhhnn…”

                                            “I’ll take that as a yes.”


                                            >The barrage of rain continues to assault your windshield as you barrel down the highway, swerving around the occasional fallen tree branch, various pieces of debris, and safe drivers.

                                            “Life in the fast lane…”

                                            >You really were starting to lose your mind. She stopped moaning and twitching about ten minutes ago, and you still had another five or so before you reached your destination.

                                            >After a few more minutes of unsafe driving, you pull off on the exit lane and drive into town.

                                            >The gas stations were all shut down and the roads completely abandoned. The only building still open seemed to be the Waffle House, judging by the few people siting by the window. Must have gotten lucky, power seemed to be out everywhere else.

                                            >Blowing through several intersections, you spot a sign for the emergency vets clinic in your headlights. You swerve around the corner and slow your vehicle down enough that you don’t knock Swibble out of her seat upon parking.

                                            >You reach for her, but decided to instead head inside first since they might have a stretcher or something to help with transportation.

                                            >You reach into your glove compartment and pulled out a crumpled rain breaker, flinging it on your body as you exited your van and made a beeline for the door, careful not to trip on the curb in the darkness.


                                            >There was a makeshift “closed” sign prominently displayed, but you could see a flickering, dull orange glow from inside behind the double glass doors. You grip the handle and yanked it back, your socked feet sliding on the concrete as the locked door refused to budge. Maybe you should have thrown on some shoes after you got out of your suit…

                                            >Still holding the handle, you haul yourself off the ground and began pounding your fist on the glass door, trying to make as much noise as possible.

                                            “Hey, HEY! I need help out here!”

                                            >Slipping the jacket’s hood over your head to shield it from the rain, you continue to bang the door.

                                            “Is anybody in there?!”

                                            >A young woman, likely in her early twenties or maybe late teens in pale green scrubs, walked from around the corner, looking less than pleased at the noise. She grumpily points to the closed sign and then promptly strutted away.

                                            “HEY! I SAID I NEED HELP!”

                                            >You bang the door for a few more seconds, before realizing she wasn’t coming back. Your eyes dart to the slight overhang above the doors, searching for any cameras. Seeing none, you formulate your plan.

                                            >Increasing the pace of your banging to an almost frantic rate, you shout as loud as you could.

                                            “THERE’S SOME CRAZY GUY OUT HERE! HE’S GONNA KILL ME! PLEAS— AAAAARGH!”

                                            >You stop banging and shouting and dash back to your van, peeking from behind it as you watched the doors. She still didn’t come back.


                                            >Bitch.

                                            >You take the keys out of your pocket and unlock the back door, throwing it open and diving inside to keep as much rain out as possible. You shut the door against the force of the wind and yanked open the locker on the wall.

                                            >Dragging the hazmat suit out for the second time tonight, you rip your soaked socks and jacket off and pull the hazmat suit over your body, adjusting the gas mask and zipping the suit up tight.

                                            >You open the metal divider to the front seat and quickly, yet gently, untie Swibble’s leg from your sprayer. Dragging the tank into the back the van with you, you strap it to your own back and clip your cell phone to one of the straps, turning on the flashlight function. Reaching back up front, you slide your arm in between her back legs and cradle her chest in the palm of your hand to try and keep her back as straight as possible. Her legs dangle lifelessly from your arm as you hug her close to your stomach.

                                            >You pulled the taser out of the glove compartment while you were at it. Cradling her limp body in one arm, taser held in the other, and you pull the handle on the door, letting the billowing wind force it open. Hopping out onto the ground, you wince as her leg flopped around in the wind.


                                            >You force the door closed with the tank on your back and hobbled over to the left side of the building, the sound of the splattering rain echoing around the inside of your suit as you shielded her body from the elements as best you could.

                                            >As you creep along the flooded sidewalk, you spot a window that shined like a beacon in the darkness. Your masked visage stares back at you as you peer through the glass.

                                            >The room appeared to be the staff break room and had several camping lanterns illuminating the two inside, laughing and drinking wine together. There was one woman, early forties, with short brown hair and a lab coat, probably the vet. A lone unicorn also sat in the room, smiling and levitating a glass of wine as well.


                                            >He had a Carmel colored coat and a light brown mane and a heartbeat monitor for a talent mark.

                                            >Wait a second…

                                            >Unicorns couldn’t even use magic anymore, they lost the ability after staying on earth for so long. When they first arrived, magic was declared illegal and there were severe punishments for the slave and any humans who were complicit with magic usage. These clowns were somehow breaking the law!

                                            >Truthfully, you could care less, but this would be a tremendous advantage for you. Setting the sprayer down, you pull the phone out off the clip and switched to the camera. You back your head out of the window and hold the phone there instead, capturing a few seconds of video.

                                            >You tap the “save” option and go back to the flashlight mode, clipping it back in place while you do so.

                                            >Deciding not to barge into the room with a magic capable unicorn, you sneak back to the van and throw the taser inside since that unicorn could easily turn it against you. You then creep around to the other side of the building and, spotting another side door with no glow, you switch the light off.


                                            >Peeking through the glass pane in the door, you see the nurse from before leaning up against the circular receptionist counter chuckling at something on her phone, oblivious to the world around her. A few lit candles were placed around the room, casting a faint orange glow. The back wall was lined with seven doors, each one likely leading to an examination room.

                                            >Looking at the hinges on the door, you step to the side where the opening door would obscure your body, and began tapping and scraping the bottom of it with the chemical sprayer while meowing loudly like a cat.

                                            >“Oh! Hold on sweetie-pie, I’m coming!”

                                            >Wow.

                                            >You only half expected that to work. So a human crying for help gets turned away but a cat scraping at the door gets immediate attention?

                                            >Bitch.


                                            >The lock on the door let out an audible click as it was turned, before the woman inside cracked it open just wide enough for a cat to fit through.

                                            >“Come on, lets get you out of that storm fuzzy-kins!”

                                            “Why thank you!”

                                            >Your muffled voice startles the nurse enough that she flinches away from the door, giving you the opportunity to jam your boot in and kick it open. As you force your way in however, the nurse straight up punches your gas mask right on the filter, sending you stumbling back outside. The door slams shut once more and the telltale click of the lock sounded out.

                                            >You twist the filter a few times to make sure it stayed on as you watched the nurse stick her tongue out at you from behind the glass, grinning at you smugly.

                                            >Yep.

                                            >Definitely a teenager. Though, you did have to give her props for punching you. Good reflexes.

                                            >You clip the sprayer to the side of the tank and brought your phone up once more, turning the brightness all the way up and brought out the video of the unicorn using his magic. You slam the screen against the glass panel and watch as her eyes widen in surprise.

                                            “Open the door and let me in now, or else this video goes public! I’ve still got a few bars out here! What’s the penalty for willingly letting a slave use magic again? Ten years in prison or twenty?”

                                            >Her smug grin disappears rapidly and she hesitantly unlocks the door for you.

                                            “Back away from the door.”

                                            >She steps a few feet back as you waltz in like you own the place.

                                            “See, that wasn’t so hard was it?”

                                            >She looks at you with a surprising amount of hatred, before spotting the pony in your arm and glaring at you with such animosity that you actually flinched a bit inside your suit.

                                            >“WHAT DID YOU DO TO THAT PONY YOU FREAK?! HOW COULD YOU?!”

                                            >Your chemical tank knocks against the door as you back up a few steps, surprised at her outburst. You threw the phone back on the clip and pull out your sprayer, menacing her with it as she advances on you.

                                            >To her credit, she took a few steps back but was still trembling with rage, clearly waiting for the right moment to tackle you.

                                            >“Emily sweetie, what are you shouting a-”

                                            >The caramel unicorn stepped out of one of the offices, wine glass held in his magical grasp for only a few seconds before it literally imploded on itself when he saw you, the broken shards and liquid still floating in the air. The vet’s head peeked out of the doorway above the unicorns, her face a mixture of fear and confusion.

                                            >“S-s-sweetie B-b-belle?”

                                            >You ignored the stuttering unicorn and focused your attention on the vet, who was slowly walking out of the room over to the nurse.

                                            “Don’t do anything stupid doc, I just want-”

                                            >Your words were cut short as the unicorn ripped Swibble off your arm with his magic, her whole body almost comically rigid as she rapidly levitated over to the unicorn who promptly dove back into the office, the doctor clearly torn between following him or staying here.

                                            “HEY!”

                                            >Your momentary distraction and absence of a meat-shield was all the nurse needed to smash her elbow against your ribcage shoving your body hard against door, the force pushing it open. You manage to jam your sprayer through the door before she slammed it shut on you again.

                                            >“Mom, lets go!”

                                            >You hear the sound of retreating footsteps as you scramble back to your feet. Wrenching the door open and diving to the tiled floor, your slick hazmat suit gains on them rapidly.

                                            >Your momentum wasn’t enough though, and they ducked into the office and shut the door as you helplessly slid by on the floor, the opposite wall eventually halting your ride.


                                            >You push yourself to your feet and shove the phone in the glass panel on the door once again, banging the side with your fist. The doctor looks at the phone with confusion, then fear as she realized what the video showed.

                                            “Same deal I gave your daughter lady! Do what I say and this video never sees the light of day!”

                                            >The door slammed open against your face, sending you sliding back against the receptionists counter as your boots lost their traction. You jerk your head up at doorway to see Emily pointing a semiautomatic at your chest.

                                            >“Give my Mom the phone.”

                                            >Her mother walks around from behind her and holds her hand out to you, still a little shaken by everything that just happened but coherent enough to at least try and hide her trembling. Although you weren’t sure whether this was a good thing or not, this wasn’t the first time the tables had been turned on you. Acting confident was the key to success.

                                            “Sure, sure, no problem. I already sent it to a couple of my friends.”

                                            >You calmly offer the phone to her mother, who's hand tightened into a fist at the new revelation.

                                            >“W-what do you mean?”

                                            “What do you think Emily? If I don’t visit them tomorrow, that video goes public. Sure you could still kill me, or point that gun at me until the police arrive, but how much of your life are you willing to give up for mine?”


                                            >The good thing about wearing a mask? Nobody can see your fear. Your life was in the hands of a scared teenager with a gun.

                                            >Not good.

                                            “I don’t want to hurt anybody, okay? I just want-”

                                            >“Then what’s with the Hazmat suit, psycho!?”

                                            >You face the vet, who had snapped herself out of her stupor enough to ask you a question, her hand still hovering next to the phone.

                                            “Oh that? That’s just to protect my skin from the acid in the tank on my back. I hear the whole skin melting thing isn’t really in season now.”

                                            >Her eyes widen in surprise a bit as she steps back, giving you the opportunity to clip the phone to the strap once more as Emily takes a step towards you. Just a little more…

                                            >“I said give her the phone.”

                                            >“Emily stay back!”

                                            “Lets cut a deal. I’ll leave the acid sprayer out here so long as you put away the gun. I only want to help the unicorn.”

                                            >You drop the sprayer to the ground and slowly undid the straps keeping the tank on your back, letting it slide to the ground as well, prompting Emily to take another step forward.

                                            >“I said give her the phone!”

                                            “Why though? It’s not like it matters anymore. There are already multiple copies of the video elsewhere!”


                                            >Emily steps forward yet again, placing the trembling gun on your forehead.

                                            >“Emily sto-”

                                            >“No Mom! He’s lying! Only he knows about Da-Doctor Horse!”

                                            >She turns to glare at her mother, tears forming in the corner of her eyes. Seizing the moment, you backhand the gun, sending it skipping across the floor as her grip faltered. You shoulder Emily to the side and lunge to  the floor again, sliding over to the gun and twisting your body around to point it at them once you grabbed it.

                                            “GET BACK!”