>"Hey, bossman. You ok?"
"Me?"
>"There's literally no one else alive in this room... so yes, you."
"I'm doing ok. That prepper did us some good. Found fifteen mags the other day, six loaded. That's one-eighty, plus my two-twenty-seven. That's..."
>"Yeah yeah, big numbers. Just don't get all trigger happy, ok?"
"Sure."
>"I'm gonna get some sleep until sundown. Then it's your turn."
"Sure."
>Shiner's taking this better than you thought
>You didn't think it would ever happen
>Why would it?
>How could it?
>Rioting started throughout the country almost at the same hour
>Then it expanded
>And got worse
>Far worse
>Had it been three weeks or four?
>You forgot
>Prism it out on recon
>Easy to do when you're a pegasus
>Shiner is as damn fine scout
>Turns out zombies and psychos don't like fire too much
>At least twice, you've been in view of her torching someone to ash
>They often cook so fast that there's no screaming
>And Jacky
>She...
>...
>Focus, Anon
>You remain squatted down, leaning against the wall
>Your right leg is asleep
>If you have to move it soon, you're fucked
>But that's ok
>You're on the second floor of some sort of toy store
>The second floor looked like it was someone's home at one point
>At least there were no signs of anyone hiding out
>The fridge is empty too
>The only thing that stuck out was a few DVDs of That 70s Show and some cheap looking Fluttershy toy left on what had to be one of those charging pads
>You could go for some cheap entertainment
>But you gotta remain quiet for now
>Jack's exhausted
>Prism has been keeping an eye on the group for days and laying as low as a flying horse can
>And now Shiner's clocked out
>You gotta stay focused
>For them
>Throughout the day, you eventually shift to just sitting on your ass
>The window is low enough that you can still see
>Every now and again, you hear someone screaming
>Or something
>Hard to tell anymore
>But it's far enough away that you don't worry quite yet
>It could be down the road
>It could be miles away
>At least you don't see anything walking through
>No cars
>No people
>No animals
>Not even a conveniently printed newspaper
>Contrary to most horror movies, the most recent paper you've seen focused on things like economic trends and companies buying more and more properties
>At least it makes for good toilet paper
>Ponies don't need toilet paper
>Apparently that one guy from that message board was right about biological engineering or whatever
>Your mind wanders from stray thought to stray thought until the sun goes down
>You haven't moved an inch
>No drinking
>No eating
>Not even a trickle of urine
>You've been rock solid, glaring out a sliver of a window and holding a rifle with a grip so tight you're almost positive that if you had to aim, you wouldn't hit shit
>You aren't trained for anything like this
>Even those who are trained probably would suck at a stressful vigil
>"Hey bossman. You still alive?"
"Shiner."
>"Yup."
"How's Jacky?"

>"Just like you left her."
"That's not what I mean."
>"Alright, so what do you mean?"
"I mean..."
>You turn her head to
>No one
>...where did she go?
>You shake your head and return your gaze to the window
>"Bossman."
"What."
>Your flat reply is only vaguely flavored with irritation
>"You need to check on her. You got more than enough medicine, you said it yourself that you found some earlier."
"I will. Later."
>"How long do you need to wait? She needs it."
"She's strong, ok?"
>"So? Tell that to that Schwarzenegger-looking freak that tore through out apartment and did in-"
"No one important to us. You and I ran, I carried Jack, Prism flew out."
>"Yeah. Sure she did."
>She's been the voice of reason this entire time
>As dry and as bitter as she is, she's never once faltered or cracked under pressure
>You can't let her win
>It's just like one of your versus sessions
>If you crack, she wins
>And if she wins, she'll remind you until the end of the world
>The room remains quiet
>Soon it's too dark to even see
>"Hey, bossman. Go get some rest, I got watch."
"N... no, that's alright."
>"That wasn't a request, chump. Get your ass out of here and on that couch. I will take care of it."
"...whatever, man. Just don't fuck up again, alright?"
>You close your eyes and leave the rifle at the window
>The stairs are trapped
>All of the lower level doors are locked and glass so any shattering would lead to full alert
>You've spent days mastering the path to take with your eye closed to the couch
>With practiced, measured steps you flop onto it and sink at least a good foot down
>It really is a nice couch
>One of those types that have been around for decades, and will most likely outlive you
>Before you know it, it's morning
>Sensing something urgent, you stumble off the sofa and practically fall into the bedroom
"S-Shiner?"
>No one
>The rifle is right were you left it
>And nothing else looks touched
>Out of some obsessive habit, you squat back down into position
>"Pretty sneaky, huh."
"Any funny business outside?"
>"Nah. If they did, you'd wake up to the smell of barbeque."
"That's fine, I'll pass. Never was much of a humanitarian."
>"Be my guest. I'm just saying, Ḯ̸͎ ̶͘͜b̴̗̈́e̷̢͝t̴͎͋ ̵́ͅy̷̢̽o̶͉͋u̷̡͂ ̷̱̈́t̷̛̮ǎ̷̘s̸̤̏t̷̤̃e̷̟͒ ̷̫̏g̷̘̍o̷͐͜ö̶͕́d̵̥͛"
>You whip yourself around with the rifle shouldered and finger on the trigger
>What the fuck was that?
>That was her voice
>But it was raspy
>Dry
>Dehydrated dry
"...S."
>Say it
>Say it
>Say it
>Say her name
"...Sparking Shine?"
>From the doorway, a ragged visage of a pony appears
>It's her
>The infamous little gutter sorceress
>The goofy nerd that always wanted to steal Jacky's spot on your lap
>But her right eye is gone
>So is her jaw
>Her front right hoof has been torn off, leaving only raw nerve endings
>At least three ribs are sticking out from her skin, like they were smashed with a hammer
>You let out a shriek and fire

>You magdump into her, stopping when you have only two shots remaining
>You know because you count your rounds
>You did that plus one trick, with a full mag and one in the chamber
>Which means you have one round in the mag and one ready to go
>The grotesque, dripping body of your bestest buddy doesn't react
>Instead, it drags itself to you in a limp trot
>"Watch it, jackass. You just made a lot of noise and effectively rang a dinner bell. How am I supposed to protect you if you go out of your way to do this?"
"W... but... y..."
>Something deep inside of your head is beating against the inside of your skull
>There is a reason she looks like this
>It happened maybe
>No
>No maybes
>It did happen a week ago
"How... are you still here?"
>The corpse of the pony shrugs
>It is such an insane reaction for such an obscene sight
>"How the fuck am I supposed to know? Maybe this is some sort of necromancy. Or maybe I'm a ghost. Or you lost your rocker and I'm a figment of your imagination."
"If you're a figment, then does this mean that I would automatically win a round of Tekken?"
>"Now's not the time, dumb-ass. Take your bags, and go. Night was ideal last time but we don't have that luxury. You need to just take what you can carry and leave, no turning back."
"No, I can't do that, Jacky is-"
>"Jacky is what happens when you're stupid!"
"SHE'S NOT STUPID!"
>You stand up and bark at the phantasm
"SHE HAS MORE BALLS THAN YOU! SHE BARRICADED THE DOOR, SHE JUMPED OUT THE WINDOW, DID YOU FUCKING SAVE ME FROM THAT GHETTO TRAP? NO, YOU WERE OUT FFFFFFFFFḞ̴̡Ǘ̴̞C̴̺͆K̴̳̓I̷̳̊N̸͖̓G̴̤̈́ COOKING THINGS."
>"Anon, I'm begging you, take your bag, go through the back door. There's a bike, I don't care if you said you can't ride it, you have to try it."
"NO. FUCK YOU. I HAVE TO AT LEAST SAVE HER!"
>You shut your eyes, fighting back the liquid fire of your tears
>Or is it eye strain
"I'M TAKING JACKY WITH ME AND YOU... CAN JUST FUCKING DEAL WITH IT."
>You open your eyes again
>Nothing
>No one
>"...alright, Anon. I won't get in your way anymore. I hope you know that I love you. I just want to see you get through this. As long as you can, I'll be content."
>You can hear her voice echo throughout the room
>Your head
>Inside of your head
"Yeah... well..."
>All of the rage
>Energy
>All of it
>It drains down to your feet and pools out into what is still at least your own shadow
>You need to get to Jacky
>Then you can maybe try that bike
>You trot downstairs, to the toy store floor
>So many of the toys look like things your mom grew up with
>Or her mom
>You can't imagine that many kids of this generation would care about old wooden and fabric figures
>So many memories
>Fads
>Researched products
>Happy children made
>All of it amounts to a blood-stained carpet
>Abandoned shelves
>A phone that hasn't left the charging pad since the owner left for good
>This place
>It's just a tombstone
"Jacky, sorry but we gotta go."
>You circle around a ramshackle counter to
>...
>Oh no

>She's lost more of her coat
>Her head turns toward you
>Slow
>Creaky
>Like the muscles are stiff
>She lets out a soft rasp
"I... I-I'm sorry, I..."
>You lose the will to speak
>She looks so pale
>Her eyes
>They're so cloudy
>Still the bright, vibrant, beautiful, flawless green
>But
>They look wrong
>Her head twitches to the side like she's trying to see you
"I.. it's me, Jack."
>Tears well up from the bottom of your eyes
>The pressure is enough to make you drop the rifle
>You kneel down next to her and rest your hand on her back
>Close to her flank
>Close to a chunk of flesh and muscle that was ripped out of her
>Ripped out of her by some flying, mutated freak that you had to put down
>It had dive bombed right for her
>Before you could react, it ripped entire pounds out of her leg
>It took not even ten minutes
>Not even
"I... listen, we gotta go. Ok?"
>You were quick enough and wrapped her legs up
>It has effectively turned her into an invalid
>But it's ok
>She hasn't been violent at all
>She hasn't tried to bite you
>She hasn't tried to kiss you
>She hasn't tried to even hug you
>She hasn't told you that she's ok
>She hasn't
>She
"I... y-you're still with me. Right?"
>Your vision blurs as the first few tears fall
"I... yesterday, remember when I f-fed you? I know it wasn't well stirred but..."
>You look down on the blanket you set up for her to lay on
>The oatmeal you made
>She hasn't touched it
>There is still some on her chin, long dried out and matted into her coat
"Y... you didn't eat..."
>Your voice comes out as a squeak
>She hasn't eaten it
>Because she can't
"Jack... Jackula... c-c'mon, man..."
>You pull her into the tightest hug you can muster
"You can't leave me too... you're all I have. I can't just go out there alone. Not anymore."
>You fail to contain your blithering and gasping
>With every passing word you hear yourself turn more and more desperate
>No
>That isn't the word, is it
>The word is "defeated"
>You can hear her rasping
>Air entering and exiting her lungs
>But it's more from your hugging than anything else
>Even now
>With her face next to yours
>She doesn't try to attack you
>She's different
>She's special
>She's...
>Temporarily out of action
>That's all
>You pay no mind to the oatmeal that is spilling over
>You position yourself so you're sitting with your back to the counter
>And her laying on her back, against your chest
>You look out the window
>The only sound in the room is your whimpering and her breathing
>Is it breathing?
"...you gotta keep your strength up, Jack."
>Something inside of you just
>Snaps
>Like all of the tension you felt just tugged free from the back of your skull
>This is the best
>Isn't it?
>You flex some life into your left hand and
>And

>And place it against her mouth
>Your right hand goes to her chest, gently ruffling her coat
"You dork... I should have brought you up stairs."
>You feel something hard
>Sharp
>The pain reminds you of the pain box from that space movie
>The one with the sand worms and the dunes
>...the fuck was that called?
"I-I-I sh-should have s... fuah... set us up... a movie. Y-yeah?"
>Your face contorts as she eats
>You can't pull away
>You can't leave her
>You can't do to her what you've done to everyone else in the world
>Your right hand presses into her chest with all of your manic might
>If you can just hear her heart beat
>Or feel it
>If you can just know that she's alive
>That this is saving her
>You need to
>You must
"Th..."
>Why are you sweating?
>The pain causes you to vomit
>Even now, your reflexes make you duck your head to the side
>She would never forgive you if you puked on her like that
>Hell, you'd never forgive you
>Your hand starts to go numb
>Then your lower arm feels the same type of gnashing
>You lose track of time
>You lose track of yourself
>Bit by bit, you can feel the fuel from your engine dripping away until you feel like you've been covered in wet, chunky paint
>This is fine
>You'll wake up later
>Y o u w i l l w a ke u p l a t e r . . . . . . . .
>
Ju
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