Full Intro to Un-Named Fic

This is the full intro to my un-named Anon in Equestria fic. It is long as a fuck, but I figure some people might enjoy it. I'm a person who needs some serious backstory in many of the things I do, so that has rubbed off on my writing style. Do forgive me if it is too long. Ignore the below paragraph. It essentially says what I have just written now, I just felt it should be here just in case.

 

My first fic/writing/whatever, done with greentext because that's what I'm most comfortable with. You could say that it is an AiE, but that might be misleading. I don't intend to follow any storyline or form that you would see in the AiE threads, its just essentially a fanfic. With Anon as the main character. Also, I'm a huge faggot. Just thought you would want to know. Also, it has a long intro, so do not fear, ponies will be in the story. I'm a /k/ommando too, if it's not obvious by halfway into the prologue.

 

>You are Anonymous

>It's been crazy lately

>Every day there are new stories of school shootings and terrorist attacks

>Contrary to what many think, it's not just the U.S.

>Over in Europe, there are explosions and assassinations every hour

>Another World War is on the horizon

>Terrorist groups that claim responsibility for the attacks are firmly rooted in the governments of Eastern Europe and the Middle East

>Some Americans want to intervene in these countries, others think that the government should focus on internal affairs

>The world is a shithole

>You live in the outskirts of Atlanta, Georgia

>People deemed "dangerous" are being rounded up daily

>It's Monday morning, at 11:45

>Your phone rings, it's Tyler

"Hey bud, what's goi..."

>"Shut up dude, listen. I just need 5 mi..."

"Is everything alright man? You sou..."

>"Anon, shut the fuck up. This is not a fucking game"

>Tyler is not normally like this, you guess it's best to be silent for now

>"Joe is dead, you need to follow my..."

>Hold up. Joe? As in the third member of the Bro-tainian Triumvirate, knew him since birth Joe?

"WHAT?!?"

>"SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LISTEN. I'll explain everything in a minute

>"I'll explain about Joe in a second. I need you to multitask though. Do you still have your "collection"?

>Though you have some insane questions and doubts rushing through your head, you answer

"Yeah man, you know me"

>"You need to get rid of it, hide it, or be ready to lose it and potentially die. I reccomend putting what you can in PVC pipes and burying them. Joe's wife called about 30 minutes ago, told me the story. Some ATF guys came up to Joe's door and demanded for him to hand over 23 registered firearms. Though you and I know he had more, those were the ones registered. He refused, they shot him on the spot. They were about to kill Beth, but there were gunshots down his street, so they loaded his shit onto a trailer and went to investigate"

"So....Joe is dead?

>"Yeah. I know it's sad and I'm ready to burst into treats, but you need to start packing your shit away. The ATF people are going around the country, taking any registered firearm. I don't know how they're doing it, some new bill I think. I don't even know if it's an official law, but the fact remains that shit is hitting the fan."

>At this moment, you put the phone on speaker, and begin to gather your guns. You have more than any human being needs, as did Joe. Tyler has a respectable collection as well, or so you thought.

>"The reason I'm warning you is because I gave up your name. I didn't want to, but it's not like..."

>Your name was mentioned

>YOUR name was mentioned

>This finally registers mid-sentence

"HOLD THE FUCK UP. WHAT?"

>I couldn't give them everything. They had a list of the shit I had registered. My grandpa's over-under was on the list, so was his Luger and my 91/30. Those were the only ones registered that I couldn't give up. They asked where they were, I said I traded them to you. I'm sorry. You know what those mean to me."

>He pauses, as if you are supposed to forgive him.

"I understand man."

>You are having trouble thinking of what to do with all of your guns. They'll probably shoot you on sight for having this many. Might as well die with your friend being relieved.

>"Thanks man. That's why I called you, you need to gather your stuff and make a decision on what to do. You could hide the stuff they don't know about and give them what they do know about, that's what I did. There are probably lots of other things you could do that would end up with you dead. Some might leave you with a few guns. I don't know."

"Look, I'll call you if everything goes okay. Right now I have to go though. If what you said was true, and I am on the list, then I need to get some shit done."

>"Good luck. Don't die either. Without Joe and you, I'm not sure what I would do with myself. Be careful, anon."

>You hang up and take 15 seconds to determine your course of action.

>You do have a shitload of PVC from the pool project, you could fit what you can in those, and bury the others in surplus crates.

>As you walk out back to retrieve the pipes and crates, you see that the faggot neighbor kids have cracked nearly all of the pipes with rocks.

>How the fuck do kids crack 7" PVC pipe with rocks?

>You are happy that you bought those surplus crates though

>They used to use them to ship Mosin Nagants around Russia. Some old dude sold the empty crates for $25 a pop. You bought 10, thinking you could maybe turn them into nice tables and make a profit.

>Thank the Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ that you are a procrastinator

>You open two of them and clear out the little shelves for the Nagants. Now you can fit other rifles into them.

>You get about 15 minutes into loading various long arms, pistols, and ammunition into the crates when you hear the first gunshots.

>They must be coming from Mr. Cole's house, the only other gun owner in this pussy ass neighborhood.

>You haul the 4 loaded crates into the back of your Sierra 3500.

>It's obvious at this point that the only option is to run from the Super-Pigs, so you grab a box of MRE's, and your bug out bag

>Time to get the fuck out of here. The last thing you grab is your Taurus 608 and a few half-moon clips for it full of .357

>At this point, they are probably finishing their clean up of a 67 year old man who never did anything wrong

>No time for feels though

 

>You are Anonymous

>You left your house and are driving on a country highway

>You are going northeast to the Appalachians, hopefully to avoid both the authorities and the general chaos that is now sweeping through the country

>The Sierra is low on gas, there is an exit in ½ a mile

>Better refuel

>You pull into a Racetrack, nobody here

>In your wallet is about $1500 in cash, it will probably take a good $120 to fill the truck with diesel

>Best not to use plastic, don't want the feds tracking your ass

>With a sigh you walk in to the mini-mart

>The door chimes as you open it

>One employee is working the counter

“Can I put this on pump 7?”

>The employee's nametag reads Shivam Patel

>Doesn't say a word as he takes the money.

>You return to your truck and pump the gas. You decide to go back inside for some food and see if there is anything else you could use.

>The chips aisle is a treasure trove of good shit

>Doritos, Pringles, Trail Mix, Pretzels

>You grab a few gallons of water, some soda

>What the hell, might as well

>2 boxes of condoms, a few magazines

>You pay

>You get back into your truck, stuffing the goods in the back seat

>Just then you see a few gascans up in front of the store, pre filled

>Since when did they do that?

>Buy 20 extra gallons of diesel and a 5 gallon of regular unleaded

>Turns out to be $100

>Fucking Indians

 

>Be 2 hours later

>Cruising along at 110mph

>Not like there is anyone around, you haven't seen a car since you passed a minivan after the gas station

>It's going to get dark in the next hour or so, but even in the light you feel somewhat perturbed

>Rain is starting to come down lightly

>Georgia weather

>You turn the radio on, maybe it will soothe your nerves a bit

>Literally no music, but you can get some random news station

>The East coast is having lots of violence, bombings in 3 states from some crazy extremists

>Many deaths from the Weapons Restriction Act

>Drones have assisted in the elimination of over 200 high-threat gun owners

>Surprise hurricane just landed in North Carolina

>Surprise as in calm weather turned to heavy rain and 95mph winds in 15 minutes

>What the fuck is happening?

>All of a sudden, police lights

“Shit”

>You slow down, hopefully it will just be a speeding ticket

>More lights

>This is getting interesting

>The lights are not coming from a squad car, as expected, but a big-ass SUV

>ATF markings

>Seriously, what the fuck. You are a good 300 miles from home

>You floor the pedal, putting all 6.6 liters of engine to work

>It's not like you plan on out-running them on the road, but the 38” tires and 5” lift kit might help you off road

>Rain is coming down harder, the sky has gone dark in less than 5 minutes

>It's go time

>You veer off of the road, but truck takes it and now you are in a scrubby field

>There is a forest about 2 miles away, you can see the trees thicken on a small hill

>Just as you thought, the SUVs are slowed. Not stopped, but slowed.

>Just when it's starting to look better, somehow you end up noticing that a small drone-helicopter thingy is loitering a few hundred feet up

>You will arrive in the trees in just a minute

>But that fucking drone-thing

>Can't beat it

>Or so you though

>The wind is going ape shit now, it had to speed up by at least 50mph in 2 minutes

>This is some freaky-deeky shit right here

>Lightning strikes about 100 feet to your left

>Naturally, you swerve

>Huge ass bump

“Fuck”

>Gotta keep going though

>But wait

>Why the fuck are you doing this

>It's bat shit insane

>Guns aren't worth nearly dying

>You are not some crazy murderer, what do you have to fear other than prison for not surrendering your firearms?

>Just as you start to question your sanity, some events take place in seemingly slow motion

>The helicopter-drone-thing, already struggling with the wind, gets hit by lightning

>You see it happen

>This is bullshit, no way in a hundred years would this happen

>The lightning fucks something up, now the drone is nose down into a dive

>Helicopters are not made to do this

>Then again, you are not a person likely to run from the cops in a huge-ass chase

>Lightning again hits the ground, this time less than 20 feet away

>You are still watching the helicopter though

>Now it hits the ground

>Better turn back to looking at the road, or lack of a road

>Oh look, you made it to the forest

>That is a fuckhuge tree right there

>Blackout

 

>You open your eyes

>Your head hurts pretty bad

>Your mind, though, is just fine

>At least for now

>Now you see the devices

>A rack, a small fire with iron rods in it, an Iron Maiden

>Pretty much a torturer’s place of work

>Fucking ATF

>You open your eyes again

>How the fuck did you do that?

>Turns out that there is no torture room, and you have some serious internal issues that need to a psychologist to be dealt with

>You see the familiar black of your leather interior

>Truck-sweet-truck

>Except for the cracked windshield, deflated airbags, and branches

>Branches in your truck

>Just the forest, no biggie

>You open the door and step out onto the forest floor

>Your foot smashes a mushroom

>That is a bright green mushroom

>The whole forest is kind of bright

>Vibrant, you might say

>In fact, it seems to be the middle of the day, and all of the plants are “glowing”

>Your attention turns to the truck

>It's fucked up

>Just in case, you attempt to start it

>It starts surprisingly, but dies after 3 seconds

>You fiddle around with it, but after a few minutes, you can tell that it's FUBAR

>And where did those bulletholes come from

>Seriously, what the fuck

>Your head hurts a little bit less though

>Where is the damn ATF?

>You can't see the helicopter wreck either

>This getting kind of...odd

>You want to take a seat and think things out, but if you get caught after this mess, you can kiss your anal virginity goodbye

>This forest seems to be thicker than you remembered when you drove into it

>Doesn't matter though, get your shit together

>You are probably about a hundred miles north of Augusta

>That's the last major place you even got close to

>Your destination is a trail start on the West border of South Carolina, heading Northwest would probably be the best course of action

>You should run across a small town where you can get a tow-truck to bring your truck in

>Better get ready for a trip

>You get your bug-out-bag, a couple of canteens of water, and pack some more food into it

>You don't expect trouble from animals, it's people you are worried about

>You open up a crate and look for one of your rifles in .308

>Any of those should take a man, easy

>You decide on a right arm of the free world, an FAL clone

>You load a magazine, and insert it into the weapon. You proceed to gather another 6 magazines and load them, keeping one in each pocket and the remaining 4 in your bag

>To be as inconspicuous as possible, you put a gun sock over it and work it into a place where it is not as noticeable

>The best course of action is to remain unseen until you can find a place to stash it while you get the tow-truck

>Your revolver remains on your hip, however, just under your shirt

>With a glance at the compass on your watch, you turn Northwest and begin to walk