Industrial Perils: Suicide thread: Explorer Anon. CH 8

>You shove the key into the hole, feeling each heavy tumbler move with the keys teeth.
>Turn and open.
>You reach your hands in a pull out the three and a half foot contraption.
>It’s like a FG42 and a Colt Monitor collided, and the pieces were put back together by John Garand
>It’s heavy, easily clocking in over 15 pounds.
>You pull back the left side charging handle; you can hear the click of a ratchet.
>The thin griffon begins to speak, despite her form, her voice is surprisingly delicate.
>”We’ve been having trouble with the barrel harmonics but it should be all fixed now.”
>”The carry handle has another pair of sights with a shorter radius, the cut out should let you use the longer ones without a problem.”
>”We custom made a stock to fit your length of pull.”
>”Oh, and you have a clamp on bipod in there if you want it.”
>With a small flourish the griffon produces a straight pull rifle mag.
>”Last but not least, it can use standard griffon magazines.”
>You take the empty magazine and slide it into the mag well, it’s a side loader.
>”There should be a bunch of snail drums in there for you.”

>You begin checking the sights; the top ones fixed, the bottom however has a rotating drum hidden in the handle.
>All in all, it is easily the finest piece of machinery you have ever held.
“So why is this only a prototype?”
>The griffon seems to deflate a little, leaning in on the counter a little harder.
>”Well, you can feel how heavy it is; now imagine if one of us had to lug it around.”
>This was already a really heavy gun by your standards. Yeah, this thing could do with some revisions.
>It was overly big and super heavy. It was perfect for the griffon’s purpose of showing off.

>The time at the range flies by, the new rifle chews through its 50 round drums in no time flat.
>Watching Gerard try to shoot it was an absolute riot, oh, bad choice of words.
>He already had trouble holding the damn thing stable, and when he fired it just ran away on him.
>every single time without fail. Ammunition is the same as their rifles, long fat cartridges.
>As such you have every bit of confidence that if and when things turn south again, you will at least have the proper armament.

>For some reason last night was the best sleep you have had in your life.
>A cool calm mixed with quiet excitement permeates your body.
>Its early in the morning, the sun hasn’t even shown any rays yet.
“Never understood it…”
>Your thoughts about how this world relied on a living entity to move the source of life were interrupted by Gerard leaning against you as he so often did.
>He didn’t sleep very well, you don’t even have to ask.
>Wordlessly he pulls out his pack, fumbles with the flip top and slowly hands you one.
>You take it upon yourself to light his and yours.
>You quickly scan over the landing field, no protestors, too early, and only a couple of supply zeppelins.
> With a slight squeaking the zeppelins ramp is lowered, the ponies, soldiers and parliament members begin to shuffle up the ramp.
>You however hang back, and gather up your great big lock box, dragging it into the belly of the zeppelin.

>It’s a 12 hour flight.
>It’s only the second hour; you open the door to the exterior cat walk.
>You draw out a cigarette, the noise of the door opening again draws your attention, it’s Gerard.
>You offer him one, he takes it, he looks much better, much more awake.
>You shield your cigarette with your coat, and then let Gerard do the same.
>The sound of a belt being advanced causes you to look over.
>A familiar black griffon is checking the mounted belt feds on the cat walk.
>Gerard is the first to speak up.
>”What are you doing here? I thought you were out for like another month.”
>She jumps up for a second, and looks back at you.
>”Oh, uh, yeah. I heard that this dipolatic thing was going to involve both of you so… I signed myself on as a volunteer.”
>You raise an eyebrow at this.
“They let on because they don’t have to pay you?”
>”yep”
>Gerard leans over to you and mock whispers.
>”The republic is broke.”
“This isn’t because you feel you owe me something is it?”
>Silence and stony visage.
>”no.”
>You’ll never get a straight answer out of her.
“Fine, it’s your choice.”

>After Elena finished her checks on the exterior belt feds she comes in to join you and Gerard in the cargo bay.
>quite conversation is had between Gerard and Elena.
>Mostly trivial things, local news and the like.
>You would be more invested but right now you are very carefully trying to put the new rifle back together.
>Another problem with this gun, too god damn many small parts.
>eventually you managed to slam it back together, oiled, cleaned and ready to rock.
>You raise it up and give it a function test. Brilliant.
>Eventually lunch rolls around, you wind up eating at the same time as the ponies.
>It’s tense and uncomfortable. They obviously didn’t enjoy your company anymore.
>You actually eat much slower than usual, caught up in thought.
>Yes, being alone while mapping out the northern tundra and the southern desert hurt.
>But losing those who were so close was so much worse. It wasn’t an emotional pain, but rather a small void.
>As if some entity had put a needle hole in the fabric of your life and started pulling.
>Slowly watching as the threads snapped and tore, the void opening more.
>When you look back up, you realize that you’re the only one still there.
>For all of Twilights desires to go back to a happier time, you certainly didn’t feel it.

>your impromptu hammock is pretty comfy.
>it’s just a discarded cargo net slung between a couple crates.
>Some of the griffon crew and Gerard have copied you, turning the cargo bay into a nap room.
>A familiar voice breaks you out from your dozing state.
>”We touch down in thirty guys.”
>You feel Elena poking you through the cargo net hammock.
>”Gotta be ready, you never know what those minos will pull now.”
>You groan and slowly maneuver yourself out of the hammock.
>It’s not an easy task, but you manage.
>The cargo is now full of griffons checking their webbing and weapons.
>You throw open your lock box, and remove all of its contents.
>By linking together two griffon web belts, you can make a human sized one.
>Slowly you connect all of your equipment and munitions to the belt system.
>You get that calm excitement in your veins again. You throw the suspenders over your shoulders.
>Ready to rock.
>You can feel the pressure rising as the zeppelin lowers itself to the ground.
>The ponies start to emerge, royal guards first, taking their position at the front with the griffon soldiers.
>They seem laughably archaic next to the griffons, all that ornate armor and weapons, those stoic faces.
>You know they’ve never seen legitimate combat, maybe a few of them, but otherwise no.
>Finally the rest of the ponies emerge, Luna seems to putting on a calm face, but her eyes say otherwise.
>Rainbow and most of the other ponies seem to be in the same boat.
>They want to believe that this conference will result in peace.

>The gates begin to lower; the rattle of the chain can be heard as the crew lowers the ramp.
>You look around, the griffons are to your right. Elena and Gerard stand next to you.
>Gerard’s talons are slowly discoloring as he grips down on his subbie, Elena’s talons have a little of a tremble going on.
>To your left are the ponies, as before their expressions are that of someone desperately trying not to panic.
>The air is tense, the only noise is the chain being lowered, outside light begins to stream in through the crack.
>There’s a massive series of mechanical noises as the griffons check the chambers of their weapons.
>The front row of griffon soldiers takes a knee, well as best as they can given their physiology.
>It comes out to be more of a low crouch, there’s a small commotion as the front rows affix bayonets.
>You look down at your weapon, grip the charging handle, and check the chamber.
>Out of the corner of your eye you notice movement.
>It’s spike, he’s trying to squeeze himself behind Twilight.

>Your heart goes out to the little guy, trapped here by circumstance.
>Being able to send letters instantaneously means he usually has to go to some pretty weird places.
>You squat down, bringing yourself level with the little dragon. You tap his shoulder.
>He flinches and looks up at you.
>You don’t say anything just smile.
>”This is going to work… right?”
>His voice comes out a hushed whisper; your smile falters a little.
>His face breaks down further, for the first time you consider him for what he is.
>A child, he acts so much like the other ponies, and you’ve spent so little time with him, you almost never stopped to consider how young for his race he was.
>However his fire abilities made him precious to the ponies, so here he was the mobile messenger.
>You just pat him on the shoulder; Christ your hand almost dwarfs his body.
“I’ll be there, just holler if you need me. Otherwise, I think Twilight here has this thing in the bag.”
>Spike seems to straighten up a little.
>”Y-yeah, she can fix anything.”
“That’s the spirit.”
>You bring yourself back upright, catching Twilight’s eyes as you move back.
>She’s about to say something when the loading gates hit the ground with a thud, breaking your attention away.

>The minotaurs have taken up positions similar to your sides.
>Except that they also have an early model tank. The chassis is reminiscent of one of those English WW1 tanks.
>Seems the minotaurs also have a few tricks they want to show off.
>Except the top has been completely opened, making way for five twin linked belt feds.
>The griffons begin to spread out weapons trained on the minos, some griffons in the back rows drag out crates to rest their weapons on.
>You keep with Gerard and Elena, pushing a long heavy crate of medical supplies in front of you.
>The royal guards however maintain formation and begin simply marching out.
 >If and when this thing turns south, those archaic tactics will be their doom.
>A few elderly minotaurs step forward from their lines, the parliament members, and ponies all step forward to meet in the middle.
>The ponies kneel, the minotaurs bow, and the griffons salute.
>One of the elderly minotaurs waves his hand, and the minotaurs slowly lower their weapons.
>As do the griffons, maybe this thing can work after all.

>The conference has been underway for almost an hour now.
>The location is a rather odd choice, an abandoned monastery right between the borders.
>It would have been rather scenic if the whole thing wasn’t in shambles.
>The minotaurs have since moved their magic powered vehicle to provide a better piece of cover.
>The griffons on the other hand had completely dug in, setting up crates and sandbags around mounted guns.
>While the guns might be pointed at each other they’re still ready to roll.
>You are sitting on a pile of dusty masonry in the foyer of the conference room.
>The odd muffled piece of speech comes through the rotted door, but you can’t understand it.
>Gerard flaps in from a hole in the roof. Hovers over the ground and motions with a talon.
>”Smokes.”
“Fine, when you gonna consider it even?”
>You toss him your pack; he removes one and tosses it back, you take one too.
>”Never.”
>He sits down next to you, shuffling his wings before folding them back together.
>You light his and yours.
>A couple of moments of companionable silence.
>”Hey, Anon, what’s it like being so tall?”
“Hey, Gerard, what’s It like being able to fly?”
>He grunts, you grunt in return. Slowly you both begin to chuckle.
>Both of your laughing stops dead at the sound of approaching hoof steps.
>Two pairs you believe, confirming your guess two minotaurs duck into the doorway and enter the foyer as well.

>There’s a quick moment of silence as both parties size each other up.
>The minotaurs are both holding suppressed submachine guns. That was all you needed.
>You and Gerard both forgo guns and leap at the minotaurs.
>Gerard ducks low and gets within the minotaurs strikes, and draws his talons out.
>Your Minotaur however catches you mid leap; his blow slams you into the door.
>It buckles, you can hear a couple exclamations come from inside.
>Before you can move the minotaur charges into you pushing you through the door.
>The minotaur loses balance and falls through the door with you.
>Your head comes to rest looking back at the meeting; all respective members are sitting around a table staring at you.
>Movement on your chest brings you back to the fight, the minotaur makes a move to get up.
>Not gonna happen, you come up from the waist, meeting his head before he can get up.
>You grab his shoulders and bite down hard on the minos ear.

>The mino lets out a roar and quickly pulls himself upright, dragging you up with him.
>Once again, not gonna happen, just as he gets on his feet you hook your foot under his leg.
>A little trick you learned from the griffons, and push him back, he goes tumbling down.
>You spit the minos ear out and draw your knife.
>The minotaur makes a move for his holstered revolver, like lighting, you stomp down on his arm.
>You aren’t fast enough however; his hand makes it to the revolver, but can’t draw it.
>His head shoots up to face you, with that you stab into the side of his neck, grab his head and lever them apart from each other.
>This causes the wound to open, showing both his esophagus and trachea.
>The minotaur convulses in your grip for a moment before involuntarily firing off a round from his holstered gun.

>Suddenly the air is filled with the low chatter of mounted belt feds, cracks of rifles, and screams of pain.
>Seems all it took to set off this powder keg was the sound of a gunshot
>With that you rush back into the foyer, not paying any heed to the conference members.
>Or any of the ponies shock. You round the corner knife out, Gerard has cut the flesh of the minotaur.
>Long strips of flayed meat dangle uselessly off of the minotaurs bones.
>You grab the fancy prototype rifle off he pile of masonry, and give Gerard a pat on the back.
>He picks up his subbie and takes a quick peak outside. He looks back at you.
>”Ten meters, sandbag barricade! Go!”
>With that he only exposes his subbie and the right side of his head to fire.
>You sprint past him as Gerard fires in one long burst.
>You spare a quick glance over. The mino tank is sitting silently, with just odd groups firing from cover around the Monastery’s courtyard.
>The two griffons working the belt fed don’t even notice as you dive into cover with them.
>The mind seems to be working on autopilot, once again, that cool calm takes over again.
>It makes you feel good, not ecstatic, but content. It’s a lovely familiar feeling.
>You press yourself against the crate and wave to Gerard; he begins to count down with his talon.
>Once the last digit closes. You bring your rifle to your shoulder, expose as little as possible, and fire.

>Since your gun is so blasted heavy the recoil is manageable, especially since you’re firing full sized rifle rounds on full auto.
>However, it seems to go exactly where you point it, the gun works with you.
>The group you targeted ducks behind their waist high wall.
>Your rounds punch great craters in the wall, you don’t let up, using the bipod and the 50 round drum to your advantage.
>Gerard makes it next to you, you duck down and check the magazine, it’s pretty light.
>You drop it and draw another drum from it’s pouch, only now do you realize how big these things are.
>It clicks into place, the click however is drowned out by a great roar, a mechanical one.
>The two griffons working the belt fed go pale and hesitate for a moment; you follow their gaze for a second.
>The tank is now belching thick black smoke out the back as it lurches forward, plowing right through the monastery courtyard and it’s short walls.

>Out of the corner of your eye you can see the royal guard enter the monastery, they only care that the princess and former element make it out.
>You slap the griffon manning the belt fed, bringing him to face you.
“Aim for the view slats!”
>You point past the machineguns shield at the little black rectangles dotting the tank.
>With that you draw out tow of your three grenades and hand them to Gerard.
>He takes them, already knowing what you’re going to say.
>”Sure thing! Just give me the opportunity!”
>You give hearty nod, and break from cover, running to the short dividing wall that once separated gardens.
>You run forwards, firing from the waist. You can see your rounds bounce and ping off the great metal behemoth.
>you can see one of the tanks twin linked belt feds turn to address the irritating bug that is you.
>You redouble your efforts to reach the wall; you do, slamming your back into it hard enough to wind yourself.
>The belt feds fire, shooting wildly where you were, the large caliber rounds shredding the dirt and rock surrounding your actual position.
>You hear more metal on metal pings, you look back at the griffon lines, the mounted belt feds are trying to score a hit in the tanks viewing slats.

>The oncoming fire ceases as the turret gunner stops to feed a new belt in.
>With a heave you vault over the wall and run up alongside the tank, the cool excitement completely permeated your body; you have never felt more alive.
>You shove the barrel of your gun into the closest viewing slat and fire, letting a couple short bursts of rifle fire bounce around in the hull of the tank.
>The guns stop firing, you look over your shoulder as Gerard takes to the skies.
>In each talon he has a bag of grenades, he must have somehow found more.
>A couple more groups of griffons break from cover and come charging forward.
>Even though the shooting in this area has stopped you can still hear small infantry engagements going on outside of visual range.
>You begin to circle around your side of the tank, putting small bursts in each viewing slat.
>The griffons have made it to the tank and are slowly spreading around it, not one of them wants to fly up and check the open top.
>That’s when Gerard comes down at a high angle, pulls the pins on the bagged grenades, and drops them in.

>A line of submachine gun fire laces out the top of the tank, catching Gerard in the gut and wing before he can pull up.
>He slams into the tank, leaving your sight as he passes through the open top.
>Without thinking you throw your rifle on your back, and begin to scale over the tanks side.
>You feel a sharp talon latch into your shoulder and pull you back as the top of the tank belches out fire, smoke, and you could swear just the smallest bit of tan feathers.
>You just sit there, leaning against the griffon that pulled you away.
>You said it hurt earlier to lose friends. Well it doesn’t hurt anymore; you just sit there, still piecing it together.
>You continue to sit as the griffon soldiers go about mopping up the remaining minotaurs.
>You continue to sit as the conference members are brought out.
>You continue to sit as the mind tries to restart itself.

>At some point Elena comes by and helps you to your feet.
>She walks with you back to the zeppelin; there are about four minotaur prisoners plus the delegates for the conference.
>The griffon parliament members are already in the zeppelin, eager to leave
>Upon seeing the minotaur prisoners a new feeling comes up, vengeance.
>Pull the heavy prototype rifle off your back and begin power walking forwards.
>You can see some ponies running/flying towards you, it’s the six.
>Twilight is the first to say anything.
>”Anon! Are you okay, when you le-“
“Not now.”
>You check the chamber of your rifle, still loaded.
>You Fluttershy speak to the other ponies.
>”I wonder what’s got him so-“
>You promptly raise and fire at the first of the prisoners.
>Your single round flies true striking the first prisoner center mass, toppling him over.
>The guarding griffons jump and look over at you, you could swear a couple of them smiled.
>Their feathers ruffle for a moment, showing that they are excited for something to happen.

>The other prisoners begin to shimmy away.
>You stop at the one you shot, you can hear the mino breathing, ragged and strained.
>You grab onto one of his horns and lift up his face, the cow like features serve only to incite further vexation.
>His head drops and hits the floor with a thump when you let go of his horn.
>You stomp down on the minos back and put a round through the back of his head.
>You make your way to the next prisoner; he’s trembling and has his eyes shut tight.
>This one you smash in the face with the rifle butt. The shock vibrates up to your arm.
>He tumbles to his side and looks up at you through that insipid cow eye.
>It drives you stomp on his face, the eye is still there, so you stomp again, and again, and again, and again.
>The last two minotaur prisoners panic at this and make a break for it, one of the guards raises his straight pull.
>You simply walk past him aim and fire. One burst two burst.
>The first burst lands square in the minotaurs lower back, severing the spine, causing him to tumble and fall to the desert floor.
>The second burst hit higher on the second minotaur, with a round hitting it’s shoulder, and a second round hitting it’s head.
>even from this distance you can see the front section of skull pop out and tumble off.

>Cheering erupts behind you.
>You turn, some of the griffons have their rifles raised and are letting out rather loud bird calls.
>You look past the griffon soldiers and see the ponies, their expressions a mix of horror and disgust.
>Spike is even hiding behind Twilight again, her expression itself locked on a wide eyed blank stare.
>You trudge back, still angry beyond reason, you can hear odd snippets from the griffons.
>”I didn’t see nothing”
>”Well they did run away”
>”You saw it right, those prisoners were resisting.”
>go straight up the ramp and roll into one of the cargo net hammocks.
>One of the parliament members walks up and rests his talon against a crate and says.
>”Our official reports will say that these prisoners were resisting, you won’t speak to the contrary I presume.”
“no.”
>”wonderful”
>His beak contorts into a smile as he leaves you.
>There’s nothing you can do but stare up, you feel the pressure begin to drop as the blimp gains altitude.

>You’ve been left alone in the cargo area. You sit there, slowly the anger turns to sadness.
>It’s a hollow, draining, heavy feeling that pins you against the crate and floor.
>You spend the rest of the trip like this.
>It’s late night by the time the zeppelin touches down, as a result there’s no one about but the crew of your zeppelin.
>Many of the griffons disembark, but a few stay on to take the ponies back to the seaside so they may sail home.
>You watch as the ground crew replaces the magic crystals the griffons used as batteries.
>It’s an interesting process, but you really just want anything to keep your mind occupied.
>You spot Luna coming down the ramp, she walks up to you sitting down, you can tell she won’t be sticking around.
>She looks at the ground for a couple moments.
>”Anon”
>She called you by your nickname, this was certainly going to be bad, better prepare now.
>As she speaks you pull out your pack and light up a smoke.
>”We have been in contact with our sister… and … she believes it would be for the best… If you stayed here… just for a while!… and cooled off so to speak.”
>You saw this coming. You let out a long breath and rest you head against the bipod of your rifle.
>There’s no sadness, no anger, just defeat. Total and utter resignation.
>You know that you will never see pound and pumpkin cake finish school, never get to see Twilights new castle, never get to see the CMC get their marks, never have another apple pie.
>The list goes on and on.
>You just slowly look up, deep dark bags under your eyes, slightly bloodshot.
>Missing an ear, cuts from the bottle. Uncountable bruises and nicks.
“I-I…”
>You close your mouth and just slowly nod.

>You sit and watch as the blimp takes off.
>You continue watching as the ground crew begins to clean up.
>You sit and watch as the zeppelin turns into a speck against the brightening sky.
>The thoughts come full circle, to those few scant months ago, you are a disposable person.
>You’re usefulness has just run dry.
>Without your consent the rifle moves between your legs.
>Without thought you line it up, sticking the barrel in the area between your nose and lips.
>There’s a rustling coming from behind you, the small black griffon climbs over the pile of crates and takes a seat next to you.
>Elena just regards the stars.
>Slowly, you move the gun off of your face and rest it against the crate.
>Time to start life over for a second time.