NOShot 3

>Another day, another gloriously refreshing beverage in the form of NOS, the energy drink for those who took no nonsense
>At least that is what the advert used to say at any rate
>Here it was the only vestige of your old life, plastics, manufactured products, the works
>You can't help but tighten your chubby fingers around the shattered remains of your one true hope, your last can of NOS
>Sure you liked your glistening yellow beverages warm, but so what that didn't make you crazy
>Even when those p0nies made fun of your love of octagons and you flipped your shit, hacking that glorious sign into every building before being wrestled to the ground
>That didn't make you crazy, no you were out of NOS and that made you crazy
>All exercise and no highly caffeinated sugary beverage of unsound nutritional value made you crazy
>There's only one solution
>And this time, it doesn't involve the fire axe
>You had to get more.
>A feverish sweat covering your brow, you stalk the dark streets of p0nyville in search of respite from the demons that haunt the dark corners of your mind
>You had no idea where you got this stuff came from, you just got deliveries of it every month in the mail
>Why look a gift horse in the mouth?
>Because they bite you and shout until you call them a p0ny.


>You can feel your muscles start to twitch in protest at this lack of sugar
>Only one choice, as much as you hate it
>Face to face interaction with p0nies, worse you had to do it without the superior fortifying power of your Elixir of Alphaness
>Time was fast running out on your sugar rush, with that in mind you don’t your best 'Suck it Bitch' face and rush as quickly as your flabby legs will let you to the post office
>Those things are mailed to you, they might have more
>If not, maybe they'll help you go postal before the spaghetti consumes you
>The post office, never have you laid eyes on a place more devoid of life or hope in this world
>It reminds you of the DMV back home, nostalgic feelings wash over your fractured mind as you gaze on this plain red brick building
>The air here is cold, plant life is sparse; it is as though nature itself instinctively knows to shy away from this den of horrors
>You cannot allow yourself any such luxury today, your Princess NOS may reside somewhere inside this castle of iniquity and you must rescue her!
>You place a pudgy hand firmly on the door and shove it open as hard as you can; Enemies of sugar beware, Anon is here to reclaim what is rightfully his!
>The door creaks slowly open under your less than impressive strength before allowing you to stumble into the small office, old notices on yellowed paper litters the walls

>You gaze around this unhallowed hall, eyes passing over the horrors of uncomfortable wooden chairs and ill-written lifestyle magazines so old their contents may soon be considered fashionable again
>Your peerless vigilance is rewarded as you see a grey p0ny sat behind a square opening in the wall, one eye firmly fixed on the ceiling whilst the other seems to be pointed vaguely in your direction
>You waste no time, rapidly advancing on her position with one chubby arm raised in preparation for your decisive reprimands for not knowing exactly what you want before you tell her.
>You slam your hand down on the counter, your fat hand crushing down, forcing a layer of dust across the small work space to get her attention, in response she just turns her head in your direct before uttering those evil words.
>Her lips split and in a most evil tone, she utters the words you dreaded, "Hey there, how may I help you?” her insidious form finished with a smile of a most malign form
>You flinch back, the lack of NOS forcing you to choke back a vile response of 'Y-you too!'
>There is no room for spaghetti on these dank floors, by all that is unhealthy you will have NOS or heartburn by the end of this!
"I am here. For NOS."
>You manage to stutter out, sweat pouring down your back from the intense gaze this mare was giving you, and oh how the tables would be turned if you had your fuel of all things!

>She just nods in response, that villainous smile still gracing her inhuman features, "Okay just give me a minute!"
>She moves her hooves under the counter as her head drops rapidly smashing into the dusty wooden counter with enough force to shake the flimsy interior walls.
>Her face takes on a pained expression, reddened and panting her wings flare out flapping slightly.
>Truly this place is hell, though you cannot help but feel some slight admiration for her, even bound by whatever unholy magic’s that trap her within these confines she can still muster the will to try and fight back.
>Her face takes on a blank stare, her features lax before your keen human ears pick up the distinct sound of liquid filling a container
>You cower back, raising your hands to cover your face in preparation for a deadly confrontation as the mare continues to stare directly at you, a small pool of saliva gathering under her paralyzed face.
>With a rising sense of dread you notice for the first time that both her eyes are staring dead at you, the silent dread you felt when you entered this place is overtaken by one of immense fear
>You cannot counter that gaze!
>Your breath quickens as does hers, there is no escaping that evil gaze it has you trapped
>Falling back on years of extensive training from the countless shopping malls back home you jam your hands, sweaty palms first, into your pockets as the sounds of running liquids pitch ever higher

>Alas! Even the spaghetti is afraid! There will be no pasta savior here today; the monster has failed you in your hour of most desperate need
>Almost as if she could sense your lowest ebb, the mares’ eyes flare as her wings beat madly in the air, blowing the ancient papers into a storm of activity
>Grey feathers fill the air along with those ancient manuscripts of old prams and sewing machines on offer
>You can only stare in a blind panic as the sounds of labored breathing as your only ally the mares’ wings come to an abrupt halt, her wings standing aloft and apart from her body.
>Still, she just stares at you, her face reddened as a gentle rain of feathers falls slowly between you
>She slowly drags one hoof back up from under the counter, "H-here you go, one NOS!" she pants out, the line of drool between her mouth and the counter holding strong
>You care not as in that gooey hoof is the grail of your quest, a can of the most fantastical NOS
>Joy fills your heart as you greedily grasp the NOS close to your heart
>You're gonna need both hands for this one
>With silent exaltations you bring the open can to your mouth and being to swiftly chug the warm beverage
>There is no finer taste on Heaven or Earth than this