Secret Moniker's Bizarre Adventure (SBM spinoff one-shot)

>be Secret Moniker, college student
>you’re sitting in your bedroom browsing through /mlp/
>well, you say it’s your bedroom, but it’s really the spare room at your parents’ house
>it’s not a bad deal, you’ve got complete autonomy and rent-free digs
>but right now, you’ve also got a major case of insomnia
>you rub the crust out of your eyes and look around your room to give the poor things a break
>light gray walls, blackout curtains on the window, and some tasteful furniture
>really just your bed and desk, but you don’t need much more
>outside of the light socialization you get when you go to class, you don’t really have a lot going on
>but that’s alright, you were never much for other people anyway
>*knock knock knock*
>you look over at your door in bewilderment, it’s the middle of the night!
>wait
>you glance back over to your desk, checking the time on your monitor
>7:38AM
>with a sigh, you vigorously scratch your hair to make it look like you just rolled out of bed
>*knock knock knock knock knock*
>that’s not your sister, she wouldn’t have knocked again
>and it’s not your mom, she would have just come in
>which means it’s…
“Hey, Dad.”
>”Come on, son, it’s time to get to work.”
“Right, right, yeah, sorry, I was...”
>you struggle to come up with an excuse for not being awake half an hour ago, but Dad’s got that one covered
>”Christ, Secret, again?”
>you look over your shoulder into your room
>you forgot to turn off the computer
>damn
“Yeah, sorry, guess the time sort of got away from me.”
>he just chuckles and shakes his head
>”Get ready you knucklehead, we’ve got to get moving if we want to be on time.”
“Alright, I’ll be downstairs in a while.”
>you turn around and grab a pair of jeans off the floor
>as you drag them on, you hop on one foot over to your closet for a fresh shirt
>get on some deodorant and you’re ready to go

>you shuffle-run down the stairs just as your dad grabs the keys off the kitchen counter
>”Come on sleepyhead, we’ve got a long day ahead of us.”
>as he says this, he slides a 2-pack of Blue Taurus across the counter
>just what you needed
>you wordlessly catch them just before they fall off of the counter
>you and your dad hop into the cab of his company pickup and head on your way
>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bu3rsha1ZtI
>windows down, radio blaring, daily dose of nicotine in both of your hands, you and your dad share a moment as you speed through the small road that cuts its’ way through the wheat fields that mark the outside of your town
>Appleloosa has always been a small town, the good farmland attracted some entrepreneurial ranchers and not much else
>you’ve got to drive a good 45 minutes out to where your dad works, a small transportation company called Pegasus
>they’ve only got 3 trucks at the moment, but they’ve been known to ship nationwide and in good time, too
>almost twice as fast as the competitors, in some cases
>thus, the reason you live rent-free in a house with a trucker as the sole breadwinner
>for relatively local ships, you tag team driving with your dad so that the truck’s always moving and nobody has to drive tired
>it might be breaking the rules a little bit, but nobody gets hurt and it lets everybody get what they want
>you don’t even bother trying to hide from view as your dad pulls up to the front office, a trailer next to a large garage
>everybody already knows the score, and because you live in such a small town you’ve known everybody for your entire life
>”Howdy there, Secret! How ya been?”
>you’d been watching Dad walk into the office, so you turn your head to see Braeburn smiling cheerfully at you

>he was a pretty nice guy, even if he HAD tried to get in your pants in high school
>his cousin Applejack goes to high school in the big city now, if you remember right
“Hey Braeburn, I’ve been alright, you know. Same old, same old. How’s the family?”
>everybody likes talking about something, and there’s nothing the Apples like more than other Apples
>”Oh, they’re doing great! Granny Smith is still working at AJ’s school, her and Big Mac are still making all of us proud. Red Delicious actually started working at a den of ill refute, if you catch my meaning, and...”
>you tune him out once it’s clear he won’t be saying anything of any real interest
>you’re not doing it to be a dick, it’s just that you’re too tired to expend the energy to listen to him
>you keep eye contact and nod until Dad ducks out of the trailer and jangles some keys in your direction
>when there’s a break in Braeburn’s flow, you cut in
“I’m glad to hear everyone’s doing well, man, but the old man’s playing my song. You know how it is.”
>he glances over and nods his head knowingly
>”I guess I’ll have to let you get going. We should hang out sometime, Secret”
>and with a wink, he turns back to go do whatever he’d been doing beforehand
>like you said, cool guy, but your barn door don’t swing that way

>you hop up into the passenger seat of the truck cab as the “old man” starts her up
>while he’s focusing on maneuvering the beast out of the complex and onto the road, you take a second to consider him as a streetlight illuminates his profile
>tall, with the classic dad bod, Hidden Title was strength of will personified
>he never went to college, never worked any job but this one, and made sure he was damned good at it
>he always told you that if he had any one thing he was really good at, it was doing boring work for a long time
>taxes, driving, knitting with your mother, he was a machine as soon as he could mentally check out
>you guess you got that from him, and as a result you’re in pretty good shape if you do say so yourself
>not a lot to think about when you’re running besides running, so you let your mind wander and the miles stacked up
>same thing with lifting weights
>speaking of miles stacking up, that’s exactly what’s happening as you let your mind wander
>you take a glance at the GPS and see that you’re already 100 miles away from town, well on your way to delivering…
“Hey Dad, what’re we moving anyway?”
>the stoic man waves his hand as he exhales some smoke
>”Just something or other for some spooks at the Speedwagon Foundation.”
“Ah.”
>you’ve moved for them before, always black suits with black ties and blacker glasses
>even at night, you’d think they’d abandon their motif to be able to see
>as the thought crosses your mind, it pricks at you slightly
>why’s it so dark?

“The sun should be up by now, shouldn’t it? It’s almost 9:30.”
>your father’s eyebrows knit together as though he’s just noticing this for the first time
>”Well, I don’t rightly know. But that old bugger’s been going ‘round since long before either of us was here, and it’ll still be goin’ ‘round long after we’re gone. Maybe everybody’s running late today.”
>the cab falls silent again, but you’re still bothered
>basic astronomy tells you the sun should have risen sometime in the last hour or two, it doesn’t “run late”
>you’ve heard tell of some weird stuff going on in the city, things nobody can seem to explain
>maybe this is some of that?
>your pondering is cut short by the sudden appearance of a lone figure in the middle of the road
>you grab your dad’s sleeve as he curses
>”SHIT!”
>cigarette falling out of his mouth, he wrenches the wheel to the side to avoid running them over
>the change of direction proves to be too fast for your vehicle, the cab then the cargo falling on their sides
>your momentum carries you and a fountain of dirt what must be some 20 yards down the side of the road
>the trip there is unpleasant, full of raucous noise and pain as you’re slammed around the cab
>thank God for your seatbelts, otherwise you’d have been thrown out of the windshield
>still, you can feel several ribs snap as the airbags explode outwards and into you, saving your life at the expense of injury
>you can feel your legs fly up in slow motion, until their momentum carries them into the underside of the glove box
>*snap*
“AAAAAAAAAH!”
>your right leg is definitely broken, the pain sending white hot lightning bolts straight into your brain
>you black out

>when you wake up, you can hear the light crackling of a fire first
>oh, are you camping?
>you always loved going on camping trips with your family
>roughing it in the woods, swimming in the lake, and falling asleep to the sound of a campfire, the smell of gasoline in your nose
>wait
>gasoline?
>your eyes bolt open as you remember your situation
>truck, cab, guy, crash
>Dad
“DAD! Dad, you alright?”
>you push the now deflated airbag out of your line of sight to see something truly horrific
>your father, unconscious, blood running from a cut across his forehead
>that’s not that bad, you’ve seen his hurt worse when he gets into barfights
>it’s what else is happening
>there’s a man, dressed all in black, holding him by the hair with a knife in his off hand
>and now he’s looking at you
>”Oh, hello.”
>he seems surprised
>”I didn’t think either of you would survive that. One second, I’ll be right with you.”
>he quickly and nonchalantly brings the knife to your father’s throat and draws it across, like slaughtering a cow
>from your sideways vantage point, your father’s lifeblood seems to make a ring around his neck before staining the back of his collar crimson
>his eyes flutter open just in time for you to see the life drain from them
“YOU SONNOVA BITCH!”
>you’re thrashing at your seatbelt, the pain in your chest and leg forgotten in your rage
“I’LL KILL YOU, I SWEAR TO EVERY GOD THERE EVER WAS I’LL KILL YOU!”
>the man just chuckles from his squatting pose
>”Oh, you’ll do just fine. Hold on just a minute, okay? I’ll be right back.”
>he stands and his legs leave your line of sight as he strolls towards the back of the truck, whistling a merry tune as he does

>you hear the creaking of the cargo container being opened, followed by a bang as the door slams into the ground
>boxes shift and break, the whistling interrupted by grunts of effort
>what is he looking for?
>wait, what are you doing?
>gritting your teeth through the pain, you open the glove compartment as quietly as possible and take out the snub-nosed revolver your dad normally keeps on his hip
>you pop the cylinder and rotate it so that the empty chamber is past the barrel
>5 shots
>you’re just cocking the hammer back as your mystery man stops his tune
>”A-ha!”
>you hear quick footsteps heading towards the cab again
>thinking quickly, you shove your gun into your waistband on the far side of the window
>just in time to see an all-too-happy face leaning over the open window
>”So, it occurs to me that I’ve let my manners get away from me. I’m Ink Blot, and I commandeered some of your cargo because it’s very important to me. I do apologize for the inconvenience, Mr…?”
>you manage to choke your name out through the pain
“Moniker. Secret Moniker.”
>”Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Moniker. Now, do you have ANY idea what you were carrying?”
>this guy is kind of old-fashioned for a younger dude
>three-piece suit complete with watch chain, a fedora (a real one, not a trilby), and his mannerisms complete the image
“No, I don’t. My Dad and I-”
>at this you flick your eyes painfully to the body beside you
“just get the truck already loaded and start driving to the address in the GPS. I think I can guess that whatever it is, it’s important enough to kill for. And judging from the racket you were making, you’ve got it behind your back all ready for some big reveal. Save me the theatrics.”
>Ink Blot’s face falls, his eyebrows creasing together
>”Well, points for observation then. What I stopped you for was this.”
>with a flourish, from behind his back he pulls a stone mask

>thick veins adorn the left side of the forehead, and the feminine lips have sharp teeth jutting out from between them
>the pale white marble flickers in the light of the fire
>just looking at it feels...wrong
>like some otherworldly energy is radiating off of it
>this thing is unholy in every sense of the word
>”Now, I know what you’re thinking, it’s a mask, right? Well, this is a very special mask. Observe.”
>with that, he reaches toward your father’s split neck and dabs a small amount of blood onto his finger
>he raises an eyebrow and smirks at you as he runs it across the mask, being careful to hold it by the eyeholes
>as soon as the fluid makes contact, spikes jut from the edges of the stone object
>that’s impossible, there is absolutely no way
>there can’t be any moving parts in that thing, and there’s no way it could hide that much more stone within itself
>”This mask does something very special, you see. Powers beyond your wildest dreams, for a bit of faith and a bit of bloodshed. I’ve never been much for the former, so you’ll have to be my test subject.”
>as the spikes retract into the mask, Ink Blot begins to lower it down towards your face
“I’d rather burn.”
>reaching into your waistband, you whip out the small firearm and point it at the bastard that killed your father and planned to kill you
>his eyes blow open and he moves the mask into the path of the gun
>you empty all five chambers, each shot deafeningly loud and sending vibrations down your arm
>to your horror, all five shots ricochet off of the mask like it was made out of steel
>the cab is still and silent, save for the ringing in your ears
>you stare at one another, stunned, until Blot throws his head back and laughs
>you still can’t hear it, probably due to what’s more than likely blood trickling out of your ear
>but laugh he does, wracking his body with spasms until he finally calms down enough to talk
>you can’t hear him, but you CAN read his lips
>NICE
>TRY

>with that, he slams the mask onto your face
>the cool marble breaks your nose as it makes contact, but you can still smell it
>once, when you were in high school, your dad hit a deer
>you’d been freaking out pretty badly, but he calmly stopped the car, got his gun out, and shot it
>you didn’t see anything, but the stink of death has stayed with you your whole life
>the mask was bathed in that stench
>Ink Blot winks at you and again dips his finger into your father’s blood
>the last thing you see before the stone spikes impale your brain is his red-stained digit descending towards your face
>…
>pain
>lots of pain, and blinding white light
>but it’s fading
>fading, fading….
>but then, it stops
>it burns brighter, fights back the darkness, and steadily grows until it permeates everything you are
>you come to all at once, the mask still pressed to your face
>and you’re mad enough to raise Cain
>your arm shoots out to grab Blot’s, still holding the mask
>as soon as you make contact, you feel it crumple like it was breakaway glass wrapped in tissue paper
>your ears are still ringing, but your hearing slowly comes back
>to the satisfying sound of Ink Blot screaming, clutching his arm as the mask falls past you
>your chest burns and itches, and you can feel your ribs knitting back together, your punctured lung sealing up
>you can fight
>you look down to your leg, trying the best it can to heal while being pinned by the crumpled glove box
>focusing, you pull your leg, feeling the bones crack and grin to dust as you force it out
>you reach to your left and begin the climb out of the cab, dragging your still-healing leg behind you
>you reach the window and you can already push yourself through using all your limbs
>you see Blot, seated on the ground, clutching his injury close to his chest
>and he’s smiling
“You...”
>you fall to the ground and rise to your full height
“WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?!”

>you project all your anger into the question, and can hear it echo off of the woods a quarter of a mile away, and the smallest of pebbles at your feet
>”I made you into a god, Secret. People search for their entire lives for power like this, and once I kill you it’ll be mine to give to as I please. Can you imagine? People like Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr., and Mother Theresa never have to die again. The world can change for the better!”
>your throat burns, and it’s not getting any better
>like you’ve been wandering through the desert for a week without having had anything to drink
>Blot must have seen something in your face, because he chuckles knowingly
>”Feeling the thirst, are we? It’s one of the only downsides, I’m afraid. Every so often, you’ll have to have a very...special meal. Human blood, I’m afraid.”
>human blood!?
>the psychopath wants you to believe you’re a vampire now?
>taking stock of yourself, you can’t say you don’t believe him
>you can feel your muscles coursing with strength, and every individual cell in your body thrummed with energy
>but you were so thirsty
>and you knew just who would slake your thirst
>you charge towards Blot, a wordless cry escaping your lips
“WRYYYYYYYY!”
>he doesn’t look anywhere near as scared as he should be
>”[BLACK SUN]!”
>suddenly, your vision goes completely dark
>it’s not like you closed your eyes, it’s like you just don’t HAVE eyes any more
>”Do you like my Stand, Mr. Moniker? [BLACK SUN] lets me stop the sunrise for as long as I’d like, or alternatively turn whomever my target is blind as a bat. Unfortunately, I can’t do both at once, so by my calculations we have about 20 minutes until sunrise. It would be longer, but the poor thing has to catch up to where it’s supposed to be in the sky.”
>Stands? Stopping sunrises? Vampires? None of this makes any God damned sense
>and whenever Blot speaks, you can’t pin down where he is because of all the echoes you can hear bouncing off of every object

>”Remember the drawbacks I was telling you about? Well, unfortunately, you’re in for one devil of a sunburn that no SPF is going to be enough to stop.”
>you run forward and throw a punch with all your strength, aiming for where you think his voice is coming from
>you feel your knuckles make contact with cold metal, and a cacophony of screeching as the truck is crumpled under your blow
>”Impressive display, but no cigar. Did you think I would pursue an object like this without doing extensive research into each and every one of the abilities it grants? Your hearing may be improved, but I fear it may be improved too much to be useful to you. At least, not without time, which is something you don’t have all that much of.”
>think, Secret, think!
>this bastard needs to die, and all you can rely on is your hearing
>you need time
>you need to…
“How did you know the mask would be on THIS truck?”
>you can hear him struggling to his feet, the sound seeming to come from all around you
>”Well, as a RESPECTED professor of anthropology, I’ve always been good at research. When I discovered the existence of the mask, I dove into its’ travel history, tracking it across the globe, from museum to museum, until eventually...”
>everybody likes to talk about something
>you focus, trying to find the source of the sound amidst the noise it created
>all the echoes were like the ripples made by skipping a rock on a lake
>all you had to do was find…
>you whip your head around, pointing straight at Ink Blot
>the rock
>your sudden movement makes him pause in his monologue
>”No...no, no, that’s not possible! You shouldn’t be able to DO that! The sheer amount of information being sent to your brain...HOW?!”
>you don’t grin, you don’t make a snappy comeback, you just begin to walk forward

>step after step, you can hear his heartbeat accelerating
>the pulses coming quicker and quicker, the vibrating air molecules brushing against the small hairs on your face
>you stop just in front of him
>”W-w-wait! I can stop the sunrise! We can BOTH use the mask, I can give you anything you want!”
>that gives you pause
“Money?”
>”Yes!”
“Power?”
>”YES, YES!”
>your arm shoots out and punches through his chest, gripping the source of those thumping beats
>as you pull it from him, you lean in until you can whisper into his ear
“I want my father back you son of a BITCH.”
>you regain use of your eyes just as the light goes out of his
>you let him fall, and all your sadness and hurt culminates at the back of your throat
>you lean back, your arms flex and your hands open like claws
“WRYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!”
>you scream until your lungs are empty, tears cleaning tracks down your dirty face
>you just want to sit and cry, but you can’t
>you’ve got work to do, and you’re short on time
>you turn and walk back towards the truck, the first rays of the sun beginning to peek over the horizon
>when you get to it, you drop to your knees and start tearing through the metal exterior of the cab
>you can smell the skin on your back burning away when you finally find it
>the mask
>you pick it up in both hands and stare at it
>then, you crush it into powder, the grains slipping through your fingers
>your skin being eaten away more and more quickly, you look up to see the mangled body of your father
>more tears fall down your face as your arms fall to your side
>you lean your head back as the sky turns from blue to black, like a time lapse of a normal sunrise
>you draw breath one last time, and utter your final words as you begin to turn to so much dust
“I’ll see you soon, Dad.”