BZZZZZZZZZZ

>Today, we find Anonymous in a jovial bar in Canterlot

>For decompression, drinking away the memories, or perhaps just a good time?

>That is a tale for another time

 

 

>Anonymous spies a young p0ny in armor, his fur white as snow and his helmetless head held high

>He's talking up a storm to a pair of mares at his table who are well on their way

>Full of spunk and pizzaz

>Bravado and perhaps a touch of foolheartednesss, he sips at his mug and then sets it on the table, next to his fresh issue helmet

>"...And I'm headed out just next week."

>The ladies ooh and ahh at this young thing's spunk, enraptured in his confident charm

 

 

>Anonymous lurches forward, and addresses the young guard

I heard you were shipping out to the front, is that right?

>"Yup!" he says with no small amount of pride

>"Finished my training, I ship out next week.  Ain't that right, mares?"

>The mares both dumbly nod their heads

Well ain't that something

>Muses Anonymous

I'll bet you're hell on wheels.

>"Damn straight" Replies the young guard

Gonna git you some buggers, huh?

>"Well yeah.  I aim to kill me some"

>Anonymous's eye twitches.  

>But the liberally flowing cider prevents all but the bartender from noticing it, and the conversation continues

I'll tell ya colt, it ain't no hoofball game over there.  Them buggers're pretty good at killing back.

>"Is that so?" Asks the grunt, sarcasm heavy in his voice

Is that so?

>Replies Anonymous, a touch incredulously

>He settles in a little closer, and stares intently at the young stallion

Is that so?

>A crack in the youth's armor appears, as his brow furrows slightly

 

 

>Anonymous is slow in coming to his next sentence.

Do you know what death sounds like in the tunnels, kid?

>He shakes his head

It sounds just like this.

>The boy looks on with rapt attention, and perhaps a little fear in his eyes, as Anonymous draws breath

BZZZZZZZZZZZZ

>Anonymous emits a harsh buzzing noise from his mouth

Those buggers are always moving down there, never truly asleep, never truly at rest.

>Anonymous's stare is intense

Just millions and millions of 'em crawling around, covering the floor, covering the walls, covering the roof

>He pauses, and says the last part with deadly calm

All of 'em just waiting to tear you to bloody shreds.

 

 

>Anonymous leans in closer, his rank breath pouring across the distance and causing the stallion's nostrils to curl

Why you might be out there with your lights off, because them fuckers can see light coming miles off

Just pitch black, can't even see your spear in front of your face

>Anonymous's eye twitches again

>He's perspiring now, slightly

>The fear in the young stallion's eyes grow, as the mares across the table titter nervously

And you have to be quiet, too.  Quiet as a snake.  Because them things, they can hear like bats

>Anonymous grips the table

And all you can hear is BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

>There's a slight strain, now

And it's so damn loud, you can't even think

 

 

>Anonymous pauses, and sits back.

>The intensity of his stare, however, maintains its power

Y'know, you remind me of this young thing I served with once.

>The stallion is now visibly perspiring

>Anonymous is not presenting what would strictly be called positive body language

All full of himself, he was.  He was the lead man with us, for a while.

>Anonymous pauses for a breath, he himself also perspiring.

>His eyes stare ahead, not entirely seeing the young stallion in front of him

So here goes this hotshot down the tunnel, whispering to us about how he got all the mares in his hometown and was the hoofball star, when all of the sudden we hear this crumbling.

And the lead guys hit a ledge, and our young buck finds himself on a crag of rock above a pit trap that didn't quite collapse all the way.  An' his hoof is stuck.

>The wood of the table creaks and groans under Anonymous's grip

>His eyes bore holes in the forehead of the now nervous stallion

And he's calling for his mommy, and trying to get it loose, and making an uncelestial amount of noise.

So my two best stallions, they go forward, they try to calm him down.  They tell him "Just be quiet", because if the buggers found us then it'd be the end the whole squad.  And they go out there, and they try to get his hoof loose.

>Anonymous pauses for another breath, and the stallion realizes two things.

>The first is that he would like to excuse

>And the second is that he cannot

>For Anonymous has pressed the table forward and pinned him into the corner of the room

>The poor thing's face contorts, holding back a cry, or a sob

But before they can do that, this young hotshot jumps!  And he jumps and clatters and pounds and tries to get his hoof out and then there's this CRACK

>Anonymous lifts the table and bangs it upon the flagstones, drawing the attention of the entire pub

And then they're gone, they're all gone, my two best men, the colt, all of them... and all you can hear is BZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

 

 

>The young colt, at this point, is on the verge of tears

>Anonymous stares at him with the stony eyes, the signature thousand yard stare of a veteran

Why is it?

>he muses in a not alltogether sane tone

Why is it always some young, loudmouth... hotshot that gets my stallions killed?

One just... just like you?

Can you tell me, why is that?

>The stallion recoils as Anonymous leans fowrard

>His hands release the table-

 

 

 

>"DRINKS UP!" shouts the bartender

>Anonymous gives the colt one last, tortured gaze

>And then he rises, and turns

>And retakes his specially made barstool