Stalliongrad Blues

Welcome to Stalliongrad, one of the most important cities in UPSR.

In essence, welcome to what Equestrians have nightmares about.

It was made when the Tsars ruled over the land. It was a dictatorship, oppressing the ponies who toiled with back-breaking labor until they snapped and overthrew the Tsars. The Equestrians tried to invade, seeing us as a threat. What they did not realize what that we were far ahead of them in terms of weaponry. Our rifles, our grenades and landmines utterly destroyed their puny crossbows, pegasussi scouts and their negotiations. The war went on for two years, with equal casualties on both sides. The Equestrians learned the horrors of war, and how used we were to stand on a mountain of the corpses of friends and kill another. After that, our Glorious Leader took hold.

Oppression doubled. Public executions, public torture, reeducatiion camps... Insanity gripped the leader and made him paranoid beyond belief. Everyone was out to get him.

Then someone shot him in the head.

Then everything took a nose-dive. Four factions formed. The Military, who want a world where you are not measured on anything but your strength. PENPAL, the torturers and oppressors want a world without Free Equestrians, preferring them to be enslaved. The Rebels, the ponies who want a democracy instead of a monarchy or commarist regime. Finally, the CBS, those who wish to make sure the government does not fall apart. This civil war has been going on for 11 months, and the city is already a wreck. It almost seems like Evil came to visit Stalliongrad, and I heard Marecow is even worse.

Me, you ask? My name is Artyom Risovat. I'm a painter who got caught up in all this. I'm also homeless. Guess the world has shifted in my favor, but no-one else's. I just pray to the Creator everything will be okay.

***

This is a freeform RP based around that lovable nation north of Equestira, the United Poniet Socialist Republics. It's not a happy place at all. Feel free to play whoever you want, but if it's a character from the show you'll have to ask me.

We starting over, I presume?

You know my character. Slag, the slightly autistic but skilled metalsmith who's pretty good with the guns he makes.

Since we are moving threads, yeah.

Slag should be great fun.

Should be the same as before for me as well. Are we going to start completely fresh, or from where we dropped it?

Well, we didn't exactly go that far. We'll all just be scavenging around Stalliongrad trying to find a way out of UPSR to Equestria, maybe.

I guess we're sorta gonna have to meet up at some point.

Anyway, shall we get started?

Ivanov strides through the empty streets, casting his eyes around in a futile attempt to watch all directions at once. He has been on the run for nearly a week, after his comrades used his as their stooge for an attempt on the life of the head of the Propaganda wing of the CBS. He couldn't stay in the city any longer; his former friends were after him, and he would not have been surprised if PENPAL was keeping tabs on him as well.


((I think so. So if anyone else wants to join, we'll just let them drop in wherever we happen to be, correct?))

Artyom Risovat was a picture of a UPSR citizen. He was unwashed, had a white mane and coat beneath the brown and black dirt and had a look in his eyes of someone who had seen death upon death. His skill mark was a brush and canvas, half obscured by dirt, and he had two grey saddlebags filled with painting supplies, food, water and a tape recorder which he didn't listen to. Oddly enough, he wasn't just some Earth pony. He was a pegasus, yet he wasn't wearing military clothing.

He quietly walked among the rubble in what used to be the Commissar's Street before. Now, it was had a huge pit dug in the grassy park filled with corpses. Multiple barricades blocking off street, empty of anyone. The Commissar Street was not fought on. It was a place of mourning and respect for the dead. It had a new name. Zhnets Street. Graffiti littered what little remained of the buildings.

COME AND SEE was a prominent one. Otkroveniya 34:45. Artyom knew the verse.

"Ponies shall not go out with a whisper, but with a cry. The Evil Within Us shall smile and lie. 'Your God is dead.' He shall say. 'And your hubris doomed yourselves. Come and See.'" Only the latter shall be true.

Artyom knelled down onto the pavement, and put his head down to the ground.

"Creator save us all. Creator forgive us all." He prayed.

(Edit: Stupid me)

It wasn't past curfew yet, but the streets were too empty, even for Stalliongrad. Ivanonv checked his flank; the greyish ash he had smeared across his body several days ago had begun to fade, revealing traces of his skillmark. The corner of the bluish bridge was visible. That, with his horn was too much. There were few free unicorns in the city, and even fewer (which is to say, none) with the same skillmark as a certain CBS 'traitor'.

"Damn."

(('humanity'? )

Slag quickly and quietly wound his way through the silent apartment complex's hallways. He was surprisingly lightly built for his profession, allowing him to be rather quiet. Unfortunately, everything else was quieter and every footfall struck his fear like the pluck of a guitar string.

He was getting terrifyingly close to the old Commisar's Street.

He knew that the border would be pretty well guarded, but the abandoned facility at Trotnobyl ((Think of a better name for it and I'll very readily change it)) would probably have few guards. Of course, he had heard that the disaster there had left terrifying beasts in its wake, but he'd rather face a few mutated woodland creatures than the psychopathic border guards, and the Dead Zone was small enough to cross in a day.

Artyom heard a gunshot. He ducked under a bench, making himself scarce. He looked around in all directions.

He saw a slumped over pony who was about the same size as a foal. No skill mark. Rapidly bleeding. Artyom's jaw dropped, and he scrambled out of the underside of the bench. He ran towards the downed Earth Pony. It was an earth pony. Well, he. Artyom looked around, then tried to hoist the foal over his back. Then, another gunshot rang out, causing a puff of concrete to materialize merely thirty centimeters away. Artyom gasped and simply dragged the foal to a building.

He looked through his saddlebag, and found his bandages. He tried to find the bullet.

"Papa?" The foal croaked. "Is that you?"

"No." Artyom said. "What is your name, young one?"

The foal cried. "I want my papa..."

"Listen, it's going to be alright unless your wound is in the..." Artyom frowned. The bullet was in an artery in the leg. Nothing he had could save the foal. He'd die a slow and painful death. "Ah."

"Is it bad?" The foal tried to blink away tears. "Am I going to die?"

Artyom simply took out his morphine needles and strapped one to his hoof. "Right, in about... twenty seconds, you are going to be seeing your papa again. You'll see everyone again."

The foal smiled weakly. "Really?"

"Yes, yes you will. You'll feel a prick." Artyom stuck the needle into the foal's cheek. Then another. Then another. One more for overdose. Done. It was all done.

"I can see them already..." Was the last thing the foal said.

Artyom prayed to the Creator that what he did was the right thing.

Slag had just short of pissed himself.

Whatever had shot was on this floor. There were muffled sounds of panic as the people in the complex reacted to the sound of violence.

Slag noticed that one of the doors, near the end of the hall, was open.

Ivanov heard a pair of shots ring out, a little more than a block away. He couldn't be sure if they were after him, or somepony else. He did what he had always done best: he ran, dashing into an alley and further toward the edge of the city.

Wait.

Artyom perked his ears.

Oh dear.

That sounded like a tank. The ground itself rumbled. Then, the wall exploded in a haze of concrete and shrapnel. Artyom barely managed to hide behind a wall. Outside, the sound of gunfire was loud, piercing the small silence that had developed as the foal died.

Slag carefully peeked around the corner, bracing himself against the doorframe so that he could hold his rifle. The sniper was alone, his eyes tracing the ground.

Suddenly, there was a strange rumble, and the sniper began shooting again. Slag shook off the ringing in his ears and brought his gun to bear on the sniper's head.

The building on the corner ahead shook, bricks crumbling away, as a tank made a rough turn on the pavement, rolling up onto the sidewalk. It was a T-P0nE, the premier MBT of Soviet Brushia. Ivanov ducked into the midstreet alley, drawing his pistol in a telekinetic grip. The tank continued past his hiding spot, moving down toward the end of the street.


"Well, shit. If someone brought a tank out, and it isn't after me... Maybe there'll be some rebels hiding around here. I could sell information in exhange for passage out of Brushia, if I and they both get out of the city alive!"

(Whoopsy, thought you were holding him hostage.)

Slag checked the doorway. A single filament stretched across the bottom, barely visible. It was connected to a can that likely contained beads or something else to make noise. Slag stepped over it and investigated his kill.

PENPAL, probably a hunter tracking down a 'public enemy.' He looked out the window at the noise to see the massive tank rolling down the street. His eye caught movement and he turned his view to a unicorn hiding in the rubble.

((Umm, are you talking about the same sniper I am? I thought I killed him))

It is nearly impossible to get out of the city alone, or on foot. Ivanov made a break for it, galloping up the street after the tank, pistol in a steady grip. It had halted at the intersection, and the turret was traversing to the left. He scrambled up the side, hooves fitting into the mesh ladder. The commander hadn't noticed him over the sound of the engine; her head was out of the cupola, facing towards their target. Ivanov brought his pistol to bear, and drew his knife in another telekinetic field, edging it toward the mare's neck.

The tank seemed to be trying to aim for the apartment. Slag turned and ran away from the window.

"Tank! Tank incoming! RUN!" Slag yelled as he ran down the hallway toward the stairs. Doors began opening and people began flooding out.

Artyom checked outside the building. A unicorn seemed to be trying to hold the commander of the tank hostage. Artyom was slightly confused on how that would even work. Tank Vs. Pony without molotov cocktail = fun for Tank and not Pony. But, it was happening right in front of him and he probably could get some nice street rep from helping out a little. Or he could survive by running away. He chose the latter, sprinting between buildings. He eventually ended up at an apartment complex when he realized he had gone from one end of the street to the next. He quickly clambered up the stairs looking for a good place to escape, and maybe scavenge a few things along the way.

"Tank! Tank incoming! RUN!" Someone yelled, and doors began opening.

"I know a way out! Follow me!" Artyom yelled, and headed back the way he came.

Slag followed the strange pony, hoping this wasn't some kind of set up.

Slag had worked well with every faction, selling them supplies and weapons. He figured he could talk his way out of a situation as long as bullets didn't start flying.

Artyom felt himself being blown back by an explosion. Looking out of the hole, the tank's head was shifting around, trying to toss the unicorn off, and was randomly firing.

"The tank is haywire!" Artyom yelled. "Just keep running!"

Artyom ran down the stairs and tripped. He fell a couple steps and landed onto the concrete. He gritted his teeth and tried to keep moving.

Slag gripped the back of the pony's neck with his mouth and pulled him back to a standing position. "Where now?"

Artyom coughed.

"We go between buildings in zig-zag formation." Artyom couldn't control his vocals. His voice cracked. Coughs tried to force their way up. Must have been the concrete and smoke. "They..." Artyom breathed deeply. "They can't aim properly if we are going in zig-zag. Just try to stay out of sight and we'll be fine."