2020 Halloween: Resident Poni


                                            >You were never that great a runner

                                            >You always blamed your boots, or that you just weren't feeling up to it

                                            >Running through the forest didn't help

                                            >Or the fact that an unknown number of mangy, severely-damaged looking dogs were chasing you

                                            >"Into that house there!"

                                            >Your squad leader barks out

                                            >You don't really know where he is in relation to you

                                            >Or where anyone else is, for that matter

                                            >This was fucked

                                            >You were told to come in on short notice

                                            >Over the last two weeks there have been multiple victims found in rural townships and hiking routes

                                            >What made them unique was that while the occasional Les Stroud would end up wounded or killed by wildlife, these people were partially devoured

                                            >With human bite marks

                                            >Blue Team was sent out to investigate at around 1300 hours, no doubt after a long and lax lunch

                                            >They've been silent for eight hours

                                            >Definitely a communication no-no

                                            >Red Team, your team, was sent in

                                            >Officially speaking, this was just a basic search and rescue

                                            >Unofficially, there were a few concerns that they might've come across something like a cult, or the madmen that have been doing this

                                            >Outside of yourself, Red Team consisted of Jaime Taylor, a unicorn named Hot Shot, a pegasus named Jetstream, and the team flyboy, Richard Dack

                                            "WHERE THE FUCK IS DICK GOING?!"

                                            >Or as you prefer to call him: Rich Bitch

                                            >You had set down in a clearing closest to Blue Team's last coordinates

                                            >Due to the season you had plenty of light but it needed to be quick

                                            >You found Blue Team's helicopter

                                            >It was totaled but it looked like it was as controlled a landing as possible

                                            >The pilot in it, the venerable John Slide, was dead and still strapped in

                                            >Their communication gear and ammo boxes were all gone

                                            >Which meant that they had reason to take a half dozen boxes, full of ammunition, with them

                                            >Or someone picked the bird clean

                                            >Jetstream had found something else

                                            >A handgun: A G48, with the slide cerakoted to be some outlandish banana yellow

                                            >Adam's gun

                                            >And Adam's hand was still on the gun

                                            >Only Jaime managed to see proof of that before something pinned down Jetstream

                                            >Multiple somethings

                                            >By the first scream we regrouped and were frankly

                                            >Frozen

                                            >Two of the gnarliest looking wolves or dogs or whatever canines you had ever seen swarmed the pony

                                            >In seconds, she was either dead or so thoroughly damaged that

                                            >It wasn't much but you swore you saw the remains of Adam just beyond them, half-obscured by some fallen tree

                                            >You don't think anyone was thinking, the three of you opened fire at once

                                            >The two dogs were filled with so much lead and you could've sworn that they were just deranged changlings on account of the new holes

                                            >You tried to help

                                            >You really did try

                                            >Until more of those feral creatures appeared

                                            >The three of you decided you had to run

                                            >You didn't know what the hell these things were

                                            >You certainly didn't have the firepower for it

                                            >It was only when you got back to the clearing did you realize that Richard was already a foot off the air

                                            >there was some sort of animal clinging to skid

                                            >You may have made the same choice

                                            >But in the then and there, it was a death warrant

                                            >So you ran, blindly popping off shots behind you

                                            >What came into view, what Jaime saw first, was some massive house

                                            >Without time to think or assess the situation, the three of you piled in

                                            >You were the last in, skidding on the polished marble floor like a Hannah Barbara character

                                            >The animals were right outside

                                            >You threw yourself against the ornate oak door, slamming it shut

                                            >You fell to your ass against both doors, listening to gnarly gasping for air and scratching that made you double down on your theory that these were some sort of rabid wild animal

                                            >It was only now that you realized that you were still holding your gun with the coldest death grip imaginable

                                            >You finally let go of it, bringing your hand up to your face

                                            >When did you start sweating so much?

                                            >"What the fuck was that?! What happened to Jetstream!?"

                                            >Hot Shot, the unicorn, looked like she was on the verge of a heart attack

                                            >"Jesus Christ almighty... Anon, tell me you have that door secured."

                                            >You need only a second to look up and behind you

                                            >The fancy, expensive-looking door handles seem pretty reliably closed

                                            >You hear some noises behind you but no more scratching

                                            >Unable to find any words, you just give a thumbs up

                                            >Hot Shot was the second newest to the team

                                            >Jetstream was the team baby

                                            >Which meant we made fun of her all the time

                                            >It also meant that we were all inclined to impart wisdom and strong opinion toward her conduct

                                            >It also meant that we were all duty-bound to protect her from anything bad

                                            "Ah shit... someone tell me they grabbed their radio..."

                                            >For some reason that's the first coherent thought you had

                                            >Hot Shot checked her saddlebags and her vest

                                            >A shake of the head from her

                                            >Jaime just gave you a grimace

                                            "Fuck...alright then."

                                            >Of course you didn't, either

                                            >None of you grabbed your rifles either

                                            >Why would you, right?

                                            >Your breathing slowing down, if only barely, you bring yourself to your feet

                                            >Immediately you do a mag check

                                            >The other two follow

                                            >Current mag has three rounds in it

                                            >Plus one in the pipe

                                            >Plus four mags on your vest, three mags in pouches hanging off of the belt on your left side

                                            >It wasn't a hand cannon, but your 92G Brigadier Tac was your baby

                                            >You had ammo

                                            >But you really weren't sure of how much of it was going to be enough

                                            "I'm..."

                                            >You give a hard inhale and exhale, steadying your nerves

                                            "Four plus my seven mags."

                                            >"One in the pipe... and now five mags."

                                            >Jaime, ejected his spent mag and swapped it out with another

                                            >He was proud of how expensive those were, there was no way he'd ever let them hit the floor, even in a real scenario

                                            >He had a P320-M18

                                            >A callback to his enlisted days, he claimed

                                            >"I, uh... yeah. Three total, ten mags remaining."

                                            >Hot Shot insisted on her M&P M2.0

                                            >She didn't really mind the 'grip' or the 'recoil', since her using magic gave her quite the advantage to aiming

                                            >She was kind of a magical gimp, on account of her growing up around humans

                                            >You've seen a few that are pretty amazing but you respect a pony that can shoot a lot more than one that can spontaneously summon napalm or lightning

                                            >But man would that sort of shit help now

                                            "Fucking saddlebags... you pack your lunch too?"

                                            >"Hey, fuck you anon. Jetstream just fucking died out there and we watched and did nothing."

                                            >"We didn't do nothing, Shot."

                                            >There was no escaping what happened

                                            >Or how fast it happened

                                            >It only hit you then that you were in the house

                                            >More so, in a foyer that was so lavish you felt like you'd be sent a cleaning bill just by breathing in the warm... almost stale air

                                            "What is this place?"

                                            >There were doors everywhere, a custom-tailored carpet that covered significant portions of brown and white marble tiles, and a staircase wide enough for three burly men to walk up, leading to a second floor

                                            >"My home, what else did you think I did with my money?"

                                            "Yeah, you mean your falsified disability checks..."

                                            >You chuckle, trying to wrap your head around the area

                                            >You've seen McMansions but this had to be the real deal

                                            >You look over the first floor, at man and pony

                                            "So... at least we know we're here."

                                            >Except for the obvious missing one

                                            >"Where did Richard go?"

                                            >"That pussy..."

                                            >Jaime wasn't all too happy with his exit either

                                            "Knowing him... home. But this is good. If he makes it to the station, he can send the cavalry. APCs, swat, fucking national guard."

                                            >"If we last that long."

                                            >Jaime looked at me with a dark gleam in his eye

                                            >"We can't go back outside, I hope you know that."

                                            >You step away from the doors, freshly reminded of how close you were to being their next meal

                                            "Yeah? No shit... those things were-"

                                            >All three of you assume a shooting stance and aim at the door left of the entrance

                                            >Two shots

                                            "I heard two."

                                            >"Same."

                                            >"Sounded like a revolver."

                                            "Hot, you're with me. Jay, lock down this room."

                                            >"Got it."

                                            >"Sure, I'll get that door stuck good."

                                            >You push through the heavy wood door

                                            >These felt like they were as solid as could be, which was a huge difference from all of those plywood and hollow metal doors

                                            >Hot Shot is your shadow, standing behind and off to the side of you

                                            >The door closes behind you, revealing...

                                            "A dining room..."

                                            >And what a dining room

                                            >The table itself looks like it could fit at least thirty well-spaced people

                                            >A roaring fireplace is on the far end, with a chandelier gently swinging in the center

                                            >There's no signs of a fight anywhere

                                            >More importantly, no shooter

                                            >You inhale through your nose and exhale through your mouth

                                            >You aren't willing to relax, but whatever happened wasn't in this room

                                            >"How much do you think all of this cost...?"

                                            "Enough to almost make me jealous."

                                            >You take to the right side of the table, avoiding the windows that were thankfully closed

                                            >It wasn't that dark out but you couldn't see anything from your position

                                            >You certainly didn't want to test your luck either

                                            >Upon reaching the fireplace, you freeze

                                            >Blood

                                            >Thick blood

                                            >On the tile floor

                                            "Shit..."

                                            >"Who's is that?"

                                            "I don't know but whoever it is, they need severe help. You got your kit on you?"

                                            >"Of course."

                                            >Outside of being an ammo hog, the team decided to make use of her capacity and shoved in a trauma kit and a half into her bags

                                            >None of you were medically certified to perform surgery but you strongly recall sleeping through CPR class so you could handle a little internal spillage

                                            >To your right was another door

                                            "I'm sure we're close... keep at the ready, ok?"

                                            >"Yup."

                                            >You reached for the door knob with a trembling hand and grasped it

                                            >It felt warm

                                            >Like someone had touched or held onto it not that long ago

                                            >You opened it and both slid through with as little noise as possible

                                            >Into a narrow hallway

                                            >Compared to the opulence of the first two areas, this felt like it came from some bad late 60s catalog

                                            >The wallpaper was peeling in various spots, and it was just thin, cheap wallpaper

                                            >And something reeked to high hells

                                            >"You hear that?"

                                            >Hot Shot whispered to you

                                            >It did sound like something was clacking

                                            >Or gnawing

                                            >You switched to inhaling and exhaling through your mouth, sidearm at the ready

                                            >You stalked forward, moving from heel to toe

                                            >You could feel your left eyelid twitch

                                            >The end of the hallway opened up into something that looked wide, but that was all you could tell

                                            >You started veering to the left, to give you a quicker look to the right

                                            >After a few more steps you saw...

                                            >You don't know what you see

                                            >You see what looks like someone from Blue Team, sitting with their back to the wall

                                            >On their lap is presumably a male, going off of the nondescript jean and shirt combo

                                            >Except the clothing looks old and filthy

                                            >The back of the man's head looks grimy to say the very least

                                            >And his head is jerking from side to side in short, sudden bursts of movements

                                            >You can see the revolver

                                            >A blued S&W 627

                                            >That's Tommy's sidearm

                                            >Neither you nor Hot Shot say anything, but the man on Tommy slowly turns his head to the right

                                            >You see it

                                            >The face of Death

                                            >Wide, blank eyes

                                            >Once brown but now look grey

                                            >Missing a nose

                                            >Missing lips

                                            >Broken teeth

                                            >Pieces of something organic and flesh-colored hanging between those teeth

                                            >He, it, looked like Death

                                            >It let out a slow rasp, its torso sinking slightly

                                            >It started to get up, never once blinking

                                            >"GET OFF HIM AND PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!"

                                            >Hot Shot screamed, bringing you back to reality

                                            >You did the same, pointing it at its, his, sternum

                                            "FUCKING FREEZE OR I WILL END YOU."

                                            >It didn't heed either warnings

                                            >It stood up, and let out a long, whisper of a wheeze

                                            >Bloody, half-skeletal fingers reached out with blood-painted pale arms

                                            "ONE STEP AND YOU'RE DOG MEAT."

                                            >"DO NOT TEST ME!"

                                            >Both of you shout at once at it, but it doesn't seem to care

                                            >It takes a grand total of one step

                                            "FUCK YOU TOO!"

                                            >You open fire

                                            >Hot Shot does as well

                                            >Seven 9mm Luger rounds pop off in the span of less than two seconds total

                                            >The body lets out an elongated wheeze and falls over

                                            >You stumble to the left, into a corner while Hot Shot jumps back to the right, more into the hallway

                                            >Your breathing forgotten, you drop your mag and reach for one in your belt

                                            >Slide release is flicked and you're back in the game and the business is pointed at the back right shoulder of the freak

                                            >You hear some fumbling from Hot Shot, but hear her release her slide

                                            >The thing is less than two feet away from the tip of your boots

                                            >Its hand is maybe a foot from said boots

                                            >You're paralyzed

                                            >You fucking unloaded on this guy like he was Murphy from the beginning of Robocop

                                            >"...is he gone?"

                                            "Fucker better be... I gotta che-"

                                            >As soon as you shift to move, the bastard's hand snakes up, grabbing onto your boot!

                                            >It brings its head up, letting out a gurgling groan, like it doesn't even mind that it's gargling blood

                                            "FUCKING SHIT YOU-"

                                            >You magdump into it's back, your aim slowly going up until you're pumping round after round into it's head

                                            >All fifteen rounds go, six of them in the fucker's skull, which now appropriately looks like salsa with just a little too much head cheese

                                            >You look at Hot Shot

                                            >She looks at you

                                            >The look on her face is indescribable

                                            >You expected her to freak out about your reaction

                                            >"D... did that thing really just move after seven shots?"

                                            >Staggered, quieted breathing and shaking aside, you nod with 110% confidence

                                            >You slide against it, your back to another window, until you're clear of any possible revival

                                            >You focus as calmly as you can on reloading

                                            >Your ears fucking hurt

                                            >You've gotten used to firing without your ears on but it makes thinking all that much more difficult

                                            "Pi... ah... pick up that mag I dropped, will you?"

                                            >You reload, putting your spent mag in one of your vest pockets, and putting the full mags onto your belt

                                            >A green-tinted mag floats up, blissfully clean

                                            >You snatch it out of the air and put it into your vest

                                            "Thanks."

                                            >Confident that you've neutralized the entity, you focus on Tommy

                                            >He looks like he's been put through the ringer

                                            >He has multiple bites on his arms, including what looks like a nasty gash that trailed down from his left elbow down to his wrist

                                            "Jesus Christ, Tommy..."

                                            >His eyes are focused on the door to his right, wide and desperate

                                            >You kneel down, watching the pony take the opposite side

                                            "These bites..."

                                            >"They match the autopsies."

                                            "More... more or less, sure."

                                            >You reach for his revolver

                                            >357 magnum, eight shot revolver

                                            "Who the fuck has ever heard of an eight shot revolver... fucking weirdo, man."

                                            >There was some blood on the grips

                                            >A little on the side of the barrel too

                                            >And on the cylinder

                                            >All on the same side

                                            >You pop the cylinder to the side

                                            >All of his shots were spent

                                            "Fucking cowboy..."

                                            >You look at him again

                                            >"Check... uh, check his pockets. And his belt. He might have some of those moon clips. And a radio. Or something."

                                            >You take out the cartridges, all of them held in place by a full moon clip

                                            >You flick out the spent brass, one by one, trying to stick to shallow breathing

                                            >The entire area smells like blood and decay

                                            >"No radio... but here."

                                            >She holds up a single full moon clip

                                            "That it, huh..."

                                            >"His knife is missing too."

                                            >Of course it is

                                            "Crazy fucker probably carved up another one of these things... no way our culprit is that new batch of man pudding."

                                            >You pluck the clip out from the magical ether and push the cylinder back in with both thumbs

                                            >He always liked to snap it back into place with a flick of the wrist

                                            >You wipe it as much as you can against his lower pant leg, below the knee

                                            "Shit man... sorry we were late to the party. But I'll take care of your girl for you. Little dirty but I know you like her that way."

                                            >If now wasn't the best time for joking around, you wouldn't know what else to do

                                            >"You know him well?"

                                            "Sure. Used to make fun of each other. He had a tiny dick, he claimed I only knew because I watched him when he peed. But it was because of this."

                                            >You slip your Brigadier into it's holster and take hold of the revolver

                                            "Let's... let's let's let's... Jaime probably has that entrance scouted out. Gotta report."

                                            >You shake your head and stand up

                                            >You've only been giving passing attention to the unicorn, who's been sniffing around the room

                                            >There was a neat little corner table, chair, and lamp nearby that gave the room a gloomy sense of class

                                            >Not it was just background image to something that probably looked like it would be at home in a mystery adventure game

                                            >Newly armed, you lead the way back into the foyer

                                            >Except when you two enter, Jaime is nowhere to be found

                                            "Ah shit... Jay! HEY JAY!"

                                            >While you're more than fine with shouting, Hot Shot seems more quiet and hesitant to speak

                                            "Check this first floor. I'm going upstairs. Don't leave this room."

                                            >"Yup."

                                            >You jog up the stairs

                                            >It splits to the left and right, with a large, thick tapestry hanging off the wall in front

                                            >It almost looks like it blends into the sectioned carpet, it's so similar

                                            >You jog up the left set of stairs, which takes you to the same H-shamed section of second floor

                                            >Two doors on either side

                                            >No real sign of anything or anyone

                                            "God damn it Jay..."

                                            >You whisper under your breath, licking your lower lip

                                            >"Anon! He left a note!"

                                            >Thank God for that

                                            >You rush downstairs and look at the blue unicorn

                                            >"It says 'Heard gunfire, probably yours. Room is secured, some doors locked. Looking for a phone.'... but that's kinda it."

                                            "Kinda it, or that's it for sure?"

                                            >"Sorry, that's it for sure."

                                            "Great... leave it to him to go looking for crayons to snack on at a time like this. At least he's looking for a landline. That's the most obvious answer."

                                            >"What do we do now?"

                                            >She looks up at you

                                            >She looks like she's out of her depth

                                            >And she is

                                            >You are too

                                            "For now... I don't know. But we aren't splitting up."

                                            >"Wouldn't we cover more ground that way?"

                                            "Maybe but buddy system is safer. Jay probably thinks he'll be fine if he goes out alone so he split off into his own."

                                            >"How will we find him again?"

                                            "Well... he has a notepad and pencil, evidently. You got anything like that? We know this room is secure and safe. We can communicate through notes. If we're on the west side and see that our note has been displaced, chances are he came through and read it. Which means we could come across each other. Right?"

                                            >"Yeah... yeah, I got you, hold on."

                                            >You watch her fumble around her bags without even looking into them

                                            >You feel so light-headed

                                            >If this was a dream, you'd be happy with never sleeping again

                                            >But it probably isn't one

                                            >"Alright, note's ready. What do you want to say?"

                                            "Tell him that we found a hostile and Tommy. Tommy didn't make it. We're going to investigate the west wing, first floor first. We're going to look for a phone too, as well as any clues about where the rest of Blue Team is. And hopefully supplies."

                                            >She scribbles it down with a mechanical pencil until it's done

                                            >She holds it up to you

                                            >The paper is imbued with the odd shimmering of magic but it looks serviceable

                                            "Nice penmanship... yeah, that'll work. Where did you find his note?"

                                            >You walk behind her as she leads you to a small end table near the mouth of the stairs

                                            >"He put it in the one drawer here."

                                            "Alright... good to know."

                                            >You fold his note in half and put it in the drawer

                                            >Your note is placed on top of it, not folded

                                            "I guess it'll work as well as anything else. Keep it open, in case."

                                            >You look around the foyer again

                                            >It looks like he had a few door spikes on him since two are put into the entrance doors

                                            >Unless they're torn from their hinges, they'll hold now

                                            >"What do we do now? Do we really go back to the west wing?"

                                            "Yeah... yeah, let's go."

                                            >This is going to be a long night


                                            >You've been sitting on the stairs for a few moments, to catch your breath and to plan your next move

                                            >Hot Shot has been sitting on the carpet, sheepishly checking over her bags, pistol, and self

                                            >At least five times now

                                            >"How long has it been?"

                                            >You shrug and check your watch

                                            "It is... nine twenty-one."

                                            >It had been less than a half hour

                                            >Less than thirty minutes, that you landed and everything went to hell

                                            >"How long have we been waiting?"

                                            "Maybe five minutes, I guess."

                                            >"Are we going to keep waiting?"

                                            >You sigh and stand yourself up

                                            >You cock the hammer on the revolver, well aware of the hair trigger it has

                                            "Nope. Let's go."

                                            >"Roger that."

                                            >After one last chamber check, she nods and goes behind you

                                            >While it wouldn't be a bad idea to have her in front since you could shoot over her, you'd rather have

                                            >With a deep inhale and exhale, you open the door and go through, into the dining room

                                            >It's the same room as it was before

                                            >Fire crackling

                                            >Chandelier swinging just enough to give a slight creak every now and again

                                            >Which is odd because you don't feel any sort of wind

                                            "Alright... we went down one way for the hallway. Let's go the other way this time."

                                            >"Sure."

                                            >The dining arena lasted a lot less longer than you wanted

                                            >You grabbed at the door knob and...

                                            >Hesitated

                                            "Ready?"

                                            >"...yeah."

                                            >You pulled the door open and stepped through, the clopping of hooves following your boots

                                            >At the end of the hallway was the monster you turned to partial jelly

                                            >You couldn't help but feel some relief at that

                                            "So that's to the left..."

                                            >Almost immediately in front of you is one door

                                            >Then another, much further down the hallway, on the left-hand side

                                            >Further still, what looked like a left turn

                                            "Guess we know where to start, huh?"

                                            >You approach the closest door and turn

                                            >Try to turn the knob

                                            >Locked...

                                            "Well, points for security I guess."

                                            >"No good?"

                                            "Nope. I'd lock up too if I had a giant mansion, I suppose."

                                            >"Would you keep weird monsters around?"

                                            >You look down at her

                                            >She flinches like it's a bad time to joke

                                            >You smirk

                                            "And death traps. Let's hope this place doesn't have my name on it, huh?"

                                            >Keeping your index finger away from the trigger, you tentatively sneak down the hallway

                                            >For all you know, there may actually be some sort of Saw-esque traps around

                                            >When you reach the further door and test the knob, it yields

                                            "Alright."

                                            >"Yup."

                                            >You push it open and quickly turn the corner

                                            >You didn't expect this

                                            >It's a bar room

                                            >Like an old-fashioned whiskey barrel sort of bar room

                                            >Though the scent of pine and liquor calls out, you remain focused

                                            >You enter and she follows, both guns sweeping the area

                                            >No signs of anyone

                                            "If you're here, save us the trouble of finding you. RPD SCU!"

                                            >Racoon Police Department Special Crimes Unit

                                            >Decades ago, when you were a kid, it was called something like S.T.A.R.S.

                                            >They were a lot more creative back in the day

                                            >Nothing moves at your words

                                            "Check behind the bar."

                                            >Both of you approach a dusty, expensive-looking piano

                                            >She branches off to the left, and you continue around to the right

                                            >All you find are a few shelves, chairs, and a ripped up book

                                            >A quick flip through shows that it is a set of musical sheets

                                            "I'm no ivory tickler..."

                                            >It doesn't mean much to you

                                            "Alright, I'm clear."

                                            >"Yeah! Clear here too... you know, they got a lot of booze here."

                                            >You scoff and nod

                                            "Yeah, I bet."

                                            >You can see her weird magical layer going over various bottles

                                            >"...mind if I swipe one?"

                                            "You know what? Go for it. We're gonna need one once we get picked up."

                                            >Because that is going to happen

                                            >It has to

                                            >"Any preferences?"

                                            "Anything but rum. Now pick your poison, we need to keep moving."

                                            >"Roger that."

                                            >You watch her pluck a bottle from the collection after a thorough magical dusting

                                            >It looks expensive to say the least

                                            >She trots back to you, smiling, her saddlebags just a little more filled

                                            "Remind me to watch you next time you come over."

                                            >Both of you leave the warm, almost familiar bar for the hallway again

                                            >A quick glance to the right and you can still see pudding-for-brains

                                            >Good

                                            >You turn to the left and follow the wall

                                            >When you turn left, you stop

                                            "Huh... nice."

                                            >An old elevator is sitting there, empty and as clean as could be expected

                                            >Just for kicks, you press the up button

                                            >Nothing

                                            "So much for that."

                                            >"It has a down button too... what's below?"

                                            >Her attention to detail leaves you looking ahead

                                            >The wall turns to the left once more

                                            >You follow and immediately get a chill up your spine

                                            >It's a long set of stairs down

                                            >The tacky wallpaper ends halfway, degrading until it looks like the iron door and the walls nearby are rusty red

                                            "Let's..."

                                            >"...not..."

                                            >You watch the door for a few seconds, as if something was waiting to pop out behind it

                                            >Most likely a chainsaw wielding maniac with a Texan accent

                                            >Thankfully the door doesn't move

                                            "Let's go back to the other end of the hallway. I think there was a door around there."

                                            >"Was there?"

                                            "I think. If nothing else, we can re-examine things. See if we missed anything."

                                            >"Sure."

                                            With a bit of a more casual step, you both make it back to the scene of the murder

                                            >And the scene of vengeance

                                            >Looking at Tommy's body puts you in a weird sense of deja vu

                                            Or an out of body experience

                                            >You turn to focus on the corpse that dared to touch you

                                            >The clothing isn't just dated, but it looks old

                                            >Like it's old and worn

                                            "Who is this guy? Do we have any missing persons reports from the last year?"

                                            >"A few fillies that ran away from an adoption agency, maybe. But no humans. No adults."

                                            "Guess we can't ID you without a face, huh... as if it would've helped."

                                            >It can help to say things out loud

                                            >If only because it helps remind you that you aren't going nutty over nothing

                                            >Finally taking your eyes away from the situation, you see that there is a door in the corner, though it's far enough away from any sources of light that only the knob is visible

                                            "Alright. Let's go."

                                            >You step over the bodies, doing your best to avoid breathing in

                                            >"Sorry..."

                                            >Shot hops over Tommy's legs one at a time, extra careful to avoid touching him

                                            >You turn the knob and pull open the door, showing only a dark, barely lit hallway that eventually curved to the right

                                            "We'll get him a proper burial..."

                                            >If you don't end up dead here, yourself

                                            >You both creep, down the new hallway, barely taking note of the dozens of portraits and pictures that line the walls

                                            >When it turns right, you follow

                                            >It opens up into a wide, tall stairwell

                                            "I guess we're going up then."

                                            >Outside of dozens of more pictures, an open window on the left rattles open and closed

                                            "I hope those things don't know how to climb..."

                                            >Thankfully it seems like it's between the second and first levels

                                            >You creep up the stairs first while Hot Shot looks over the pictures

                                            >You lose the fight to resist looking outside and give a peek

                                            "What the hell..."

                                            >"What's wrong?"

                                            "It's pitch black out there. Or getting close to it. Doesn't the town stay a bit better lit for a while still at this time?"

                                            >"Maybe. But if we're really in the middle of nowhere, we might not have any lights to look at."

                                            "Good point..."

                                            >You reach the second floor and immediately see something worth investigation

                                            >Spent brass

                                            "Hey hey, up here."

                                            >You kneel down, examining the casings

                                            >357 mag

                                            "Tommy was up here. This is probably his ammo here."

                                            >"How many rounds?"

                                            "Eight. Full cylinder it looks."

                                            >When she meets you at the top of the stairs she looks around

                                            >"Wherever he shot them, it wasn't over here."

                                            "No kidding... but what he shot is probably beyond that door there."

                                            >"Hey Anon... you haven't heard Jaime's gun in a while, have you?"

                                            "No ma'am, I haven't..."

                                            >That's either good

                                            >Or bad

                                            "Stack up."

                                            >"Yup."

                                            >You steel yourself with another full breath and open the door

                                            >Immediately you see another corpse

                                            "Fuck..."

                                            >You step through and Hot Shot follows

                                            >It looks like another one of those psychos

                                            >But there's a big pool of blood around him

                                            >And a few particularly dark spots on his back

                                            "Ventilated good, huh... only got yourself to blame."

                                            >You didn't mind saying that under your breath but you weren't going to kick him

                                            >Just in case

                                            >This one looked different though

                                            >Maybe just a different race because this guy's skin was pretty red

                                            >The fingers looked particularly vile, since the tips of the fingers were destroyed enough to show bone

                                            >This wasn't damage that happened out of nowhere

                                            "Who are these guys..."

                                            >"Psst! PSST!"

                                            >Hot Shot tries to get your attention, her ears flickering

                                            >"I hear another one of those guys... to my right, down this way."

                                            >You back up a few steps until you're near her again

                                            >After another moment, you hear it too

                                            >A raspy moan

                                            >It sounds almost exactly the same as the salsa head down stairs

                                            "If he doesn't see reason... take out his legs."

                                            >"Is that ethical?"

                                            "I've seen what they've done, you could gut them for fun and I wouldn't care."

                                            >The two of you enter an L-intersection

                                            >Another door in front of you, but a route that goes down to the left

                                            >The noises are also on the left

                                            "Let's just clean up..."

                                            >The hallway is rather plain, outside of the hard wood floors and red carpet in the center

                                            >At the end of the hallway is a long, narrow mirror

                                            >And in the reflection, a third psycho

                                            "...what's it doing?"

                                            >Both of you sneak up to the mirror, stopping halfway down the corridor

                                            >"Maybe he doesn't notice us?"

                                            "I call bullshit... hey buddy! Come here, I got something to talk to you about."

                                            >Your voice triggers something in the guy

                                            >He turns around, revealing that the entire front of his face has sheered off

                                            >"That's... what is this?"

                                            >The mutilated man brings up his arms, walking toward the reflection of you in the mirror

                                            >Were these people predators or merely victims?

                                            >As soon as his face was visible you shifted into a firing stance

                                            >This shit is going to hurt your ears

                                            "Alright, I'm obliged to tell you to get on the ground but I personally hope you don't. Just a heads up."

                                            >As you expected, the faceless freak doesn't heed your words

                                            >"Should we really be shooting these people?"

                                            "If he takes two more steps, I'm going to do it."

                                            >"Hey, stop! He ain't kidding, you know!"

                                            >It stumbled forward, jaw extending more than enough to give Steven Tyler a run for his money

                                            "Right..."

                                            >You fire once

                                            >The magnum revolver barks, spitting lead right into his chest

                                            >Where his heart would be, actually

                                            >That didn't drop him

                                            "I hit him right in the heart, Shot."

                                            >"What?! You're kidding!"

                                            "I got him in the heart and he's still coming!"

                                            >Whatever it is, it takes another step before you squeeze off another shot

                                            >This time in it's head, right above where the right eyebrow would've been

                                            >Part of it's skull from behind bursts out

                                            >The heartless, brainless creature collapses, stopping a body's length away

                                            >You don't stop out of your stance, despite the fact that you killed it twice now, by normal standards

                                            >"Jesus Anon..."

                                            "Get back up from that, fucker."

                                            >Nothing moves

                                            >There's no second grumbling

                                            >No twitching

                                            >The blood that comes out looks... off, somehow

                                            >"This blood looks wrong."

                                            "I guess so..."

                                            >You finally relax

                                            >This is insane

                                            >More so, it's insane that you aren't really bothered that you killed an unarmed man

                                            >A man that could shrug off a heart shot like it was nothing

                                            "Let's move on."

                                            >"...roger."

                                            >You push the thoughts regarding the matter out of your head

                                            >You can go crazy later

                                            >Stepping past the corpse, and past the mirror, you turn left to see two doors

                                            >One in front of you, and one to the right

                                            "This place just keeps going on..."

                                            >You test the one to your right

                                            >It's unlocked

                                            >Keeping your hand on the knob, you motion to the Hot Shot

                                            "That one unlocked?"

                                            >The door knob glows blue and rattles

                                            >"Yup."

                                            "Alright... the choice is made for us."

                                            >"...yup..."

                                            >You both step through, into...

                                            >The dining room?

                                            >You're on a set of walkways above the dining room

                                            >The chandelier keeps creaking

                                            >Except this time you can see why

                                            >It's off-balanced with a little bag that's caught on one of the upward hooks

                                            >Are those hooks?

                                            "Hey, we got a bag here."

                                            >"Got it."

                                            >The bag saturates into a mystical blue and lifts up

                                            >You grab it out of the air

                                            >It's a pouch

                                            >You slip the revolver into your pants pocket and open the pouch

                                            >It's velcro

                                            >Certainly not anything from this decade

                                            >Inside is a radio

                                            >The antenna is stuck to it

                                            "Finally, some good luck."

                                            >"Where did this come from?"

                                            "Not sure. Maybe Blue Team?"

                                            >You screw on the antenna and fiddle with the settings

                                            >The batteries aren't dead so that has to be a good thing

                                            "Anonymous of RPD SCU. I repeat, this is Anonymous of RPD SCU."

                                            >You let go of the transmit button, looking down at Hot Shot

                                            >You don't really know how ponies age but she looks tired

                                            >You transmit again, looking down at the pool of blood near the fireplace

                                            "Anonymous of RPD SCU, we have officer casualties. Four confirmed, need evac."

                                            >As soon as you let go of the transmit button, it sparks to life

                                            >"ANON, THAT YOU? THOSE THINGS ALMOST GOT ME MAN!"

                                            >Rich the Bitch

                                            "Fuck you Dick, you almost got the rest of us killed."

                                            >"LISTEN MAN I CAN'T COME BACK."

                                            "What do you mean you can't come back?"

                                            >"HQ CALLED, THEY NEED ALL PILOTS AVAILABLE."

                                            "What? Why?"

                                            >"WE GOT ONE OF THOSE CULT GUYS THAT WANDERED INTO TOWN, GUY LOOKED FUCKED RIGHT UP. FEW BEAT COPS TOOK HIM TO THE STATION. GUY GNAWED OFF A GUY'S HAND AND BIT A PONY."

                                            >You look down at the unicorn

                                            >She looks up at you

                                            "Rich, you gotta kill that guy. I shot one in the heart and it didn't even pause. We pumped one full of seven shots and he didn't stay down."

                                            >The pilot shouting every word is grating, but at least you have his attention

                                            >"YOU WHAT? NAH MAN, IT'S BAD. THERE ARE REPORTS OF MORE OF THOSE GUYS COMING OUT OF THE WOODS. THOSE DOGS TOO, MAN. I SAW YOU GUYS RUN INTO THAT HOUSE, YOU GUYS CAN HOLE UP FOR A BIT, RIGHT?"

                                            "What?! Negative, we can't just sit and help ourselves, we got at least three of those psychos in here. Whatever they're on, they're fucked up good and can shrug off a blasted heart! We need to get out of here, and now!"

                                            >"YEAH MAN I KNOW. LISTEN, LET ME HELP OUT THERE, FUEL UP, I'LL BE RIGHT THERE. IT CAN BE SOME INDIANA JONES SHIT MAN."

                                            >He just isn't listening to you

                                            >You bang your wrist on the railing

                                            >What could be happening that requires all pilots to come back?

                                            "Listen... Adam's dead. Jetstream's dead. We found one of those things devouring Tommy. You leave us out here for long enough, we're dead. You understand that, right?"

                                            >No reply

                                            >This can't be out of range

                                            >Not yet anyway

                                            "Dick, I said you leave us out here, and the three of us are dead."

                                            >Nothing

                                            >You're about to pitch the radio until it crackles back to life

                                            >"LISTEN, WE GOT THREE DEAD AT THE STATION NOW, THEY NEED EVAC. AND WE GOT SOCCER MOMS REPORTING RABID ANIMALS EATING THEIR PETS. I'LL COME BACK BUT SOMETHING BIG'S HAPPENING RIGHT NOW. YOU TWO NEED TO HOLE UP, SECURE A SPOT. I AIN'T FORGETTING ABOUT YOU. I REPEAT, YOU GUYS AREN'T GONNA BE STUCK THERE. HOLE UP, BE CAREFUL."

                                            >The look on Hot Shot's face shows that this is plummeting her morale

                                            "...yeah, alright. You watch yourself out there, ok?"

                                            >"OH I'M AS SAFE AS CAN BE BROTHER. DON'T LET THOSE THINGS BITE YOU, ALRIGHT? I REPEAT. HQ SAYS GETTING BITTEN IS FATAL. YOU WATCH YOURSELF. RICHARD OUT."

                                            >You watch the radio

                                            >You lean on the railing, looking out out one of the multiple tall windows

                                            >It really is starting to get dark out

                                            >"...what do we do, Anon?"

                                            "We... we gotta find Jaime. This is the dining room."

                                            >You point down to the far wall

                                            >There is a single door there, same placement as the one on the first floor

                                            "We basically just made a big circle. Come on."

                                            >"Yeah."

                                            >You pay no mind to the shelves or baubles on the wall

                                            >Unless there was a set of car keys around, it wasn't going to help you any

                                            >You didn't see any roads from the sky either

                                            >There's probably a few dirt roads that you could maybe take into the city

                                            >But you don't know what those roads are

                                            >You don't know where you could even find a vehicle

                                            >And you certainly don't know what's even out there

                                            >The door's locked but on your side is a little latch

                                            "...huh. Weird way to secure a place."

                                            >You unlock the door and pass through it

                                            >And you're back in the foyer

                                            "Jaime, you in here?"

                                            >You raised your voice but you hardly had the strength to do so

                                            >"Jaime, we found a radio!"

                                            >Nothing

                                            "Shit..."

                                            >Sighing with the weight of a city on your shoulders, you step down the steps and sit down on the bottom three

                                            >Hot Shot trots down to the first floor, toward the little end table

                                            >"Anon, the drawer's closed! Jaime might've stopped by!"

                                            "Cool. What's it say?"

                                            >You hear the drawer slide open

                                            >"Oh no..."

                                            >She brings the note nearby for you to see

                                            >It's half blood-stained

                                            >It goes back to her face

                                            >"No luck on finding a phone. Fucking crazy old house, am I right? Tried to apprehend a cripple, he bit me. So I put a canoe through his head. Will return soon, need to patch myself up."

                                            "Oh... no."

                                            >You bring your hands up to your head

                                            >What did it mean, to not get bitten?

                                            >Obviously it would lead to some severe infection if not handled properly

                                            >Was there something more to it?

                                            >"Anon..."

                                            >It's Hot Shot

                                            >"Anon. What do we do?"

                                            >You check your watch

                                            "It is... nine forty."

                                            >You shrug, throwing up your hands

                                            "I don't know. Dick's out doing his thing. If what he said is right, well, you heard him. Jaime got bit and Dick said to not get bit. So I don't know. I guess we just sit it out for a bit. This room is safe. We know where that bar is, too."

                                            >She flashes a smile for a second

                                            >"Yeah... oh! Oh yeah."

                                            >She brings out that bottle

                                            >It's not just a decanter

                                            >It's a really nice type of bourbon

                                            >You think

                                            >You're not rich enough to care about higher tiers of booze

                                            "At least we have something to drink..."

                                            >You take a short swig

                                            >You're tempted to drink far more but you just need enough of it to coat your tongue

                                            >You didn't realize it before but you're completely parched

                                            >You forgot how live-fire situations can affect someone

                                            >You hold out the bottle until she embraces it with her magic

                                            >She tips it over, measuring out a precise amount

                                            >The alcohol becomes a floating sphere that she pops into her mouth

                                            "That's a neat trick."

                                            >"Thanks."

                                            >She squeezes the cork and glass cap back onto it

                                            >Sit sits where the stairs and floor meets, between your legs

                                            >"We're stuck here."

                                            "Yeah..."

                                            >You don't dare say it

                                            >But maybe you're safer in here than you are out there