Title:           Boundless (11)
Author:          BoundlessAnon
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/0i23ZZ4w
First Edit:      Tuesday 31st of January 2017 01:56:23 PM CDT
Last Edit:       Last edit on: Tuesday 31st of January 2017 02:01:17 PM CDT

Your hooves work faster than your brain - you scurry forward into the shelter of one of the big, blocky workbenches near to the door, pressing your stomach to the ground to get as low as possible. The turret opens up with a deafening rattle of gunfire, sending a hail of bullets thudding into doorway and the thick desktop. Beakers and instruments shatter, forcing you to cover your head as splinters and bits of glass rain down on you. You take a second to breathe - nothing hurts, so it looks like you're okay for now, but you feel a twinge of sympathy for Auriga. She stood up to *two* of those? The turret can't see you through the workbench, but you've gone and gotten yourself pinned down.
 
A tinny, obnoxious voice blares from a speaker somewhere overhead. "Biom-m-m-metrics mismatch. Zebr-brabrabrabrabr-FILTHY STRIPE infiltration detected. Scanning for targets." Apparently it talks. Great. You're not a zebra, obviously, but the security system's either too broken down or too indiscriminate to care.
 
The turret grinds loudly in its mounting, probably tracking around to scan the room for you. You take a few seconds to consider your options which, honestly, don't look all that good. Your dinky little pistol probably won't do much against what you can only assume is military grade armor, and apart from a few meager scraps of bandage you used all your medical supplies on Auriga, so you can't afford to get hit at all. Going head to head isn't an option. Corona's supposed to be locked into the other room on the far side of the lab, so perhaps you could try to get over to her - but surely if she could get out of there she'd have done it already. The security door's probably locked down tight and you can't exactly risk shooting out the window - it's probably bulletproof anyway. Rushing straight in here definitely wasn't the wisest move.
 
"Probability of intrururururu-derrrr survival: twenty per-INVALID VALUE point nine nine nine nine percent, repeating-ing."
 
Ho boy. That's getting annoying fast. Apparently if it can't gun you down it's just going to shout at you spastically until you give up. You rack your brains - you're no tech wiz, but you're not stupid either. The turret can't be running all by itself - there has to be a power source somewhere. So, plan A: find whatever's keeping the thing running and hit it until it stops.
 
"Please prereresent yourself for peaceful iden-den-tifi-VENTILATION. I am asking nicely, colon bracket."
 
Or at least until it shuts up. That would be a good start. You crawl to the end of the workbench and risk another peek at the turret. Luckily for you, it's facing the other way. Sure enough, there are thick cables running out of its mounting and across the ceiling into a shadowed alcove near the back room. Taking advantage of your brief window of safety, you haul ass to try and reach it before the gun can get a bead on you again. It's faster than it looks - bullets kick up plumes of ancient dust around your hooves as you scoot around the corner, and you swear out loud as one of them clips your tail.
 
It takes you a second to pull yourself together and take stock, but it looks like your recklessness paid off. The cables feed down from the ceiling into a large metal box marked with a warning sign - a small mare with crossed out eyes surrounded by a cluster of purple sparkles. The locks are rusted through, and prying off the cover reveals an array of spark-batteries. Backing up as far as you dare without getting back into the turret's line of sight, you raise your foreleg and shoot the power box. Amidst a shower of sparks and bits of metal, two things happen. First, the light goes out.
 
Second, to your immediate frustration, the security system starts shouting again. "Primary defdefdefense compromised. Shutdown immineneneneSOON. Possible breach of sta-ta-ta-tate secrets. Sanitizing lab area. Have a ni-i-i-i-ice day, zebra scum!"
 
You have no idea what that means, but don't get time to think before something new catches your eye. The door to the back room begins to glow a fierce electric blue, then starts grinding open. Given barely enough time to open your mouth and yelp in shock, that same glow wraps itself around you as well, hauling you bodily off the ground, then through the door and straight into something large and soft with enough force to knock it over. The door slams shut behind you with a crash.
 
Then, a moment later, the lab erupts in a fiery explosion. You jam your hooves against your ears as everything around you shakes and roars - you're vaguely aware of someone clinging onto you, but for several seconds the entire world is nothing but awful noise. Crumbling concrete, breaking glass and screaming metal, kept away from you by nothing but a dividing wall and some very, very strong glass. Eventually, flinching, you open your eyes. Once again, the only light you have is your little flashlight. You're lying on something - something fuzzy, blue and... moving. You blink and sit up, raising your light to reveal a large, inquisitive pair of eyes, peering down at you through a pair of rimmed glasses several sizes too small. The big mare grins awkwardy, blushing at you. Probably because you're sitting on top of her stomach right now.
 
The mare stammers, raising her hoof in what looks like a bizarre halfway house between a wave and a salute. "Um... hello, little pony. My name's Corona."