this is an independent, non profit literal piece. i do NOT own my little pony, nor do i own heckler & koch. i only own Edwin Marshall and Elijah Marshall.

Grass. Countless blades of grass were felt against my face and prone body. No matter how you live, or where you live, waking up in an area you don't remember being at WILL freak you out. After a few seconds of wide-eyed stillness, my mind shook of its cob webs and began to function again.

'Alright, no panicking... I'm not burning in flames, nor am I drowning… or bleeding, so its not as bad as it CAN be. Let's see here… I feel fine. No pain, no soreness. Good. That means that I'm either physically okay or paralyzed from the neck down… oh god, please not the latter. I can't lay here forever. Or until I starve to death. Or until something comes and eats me... I should reeeeaally check if I'm fine instead of laying down doing nothing. Okay, first, arms. C'mon, I can do this..'.

Slowly, my arms began to regain mobility. Waiting for a minute or so, I tried to make myself sit up. In no time, I succeeded in pushing myself off the ground and into a sitting position.

'Well that wasn't so hard, was it? At least now you know you're in good condition. Rather lost than broken, eh? Okay. So your body is fine, but what about your mind? Lets test out this noggin…'

'My name is Edwin Marshall. I'm nineteen years old. I am a to-be senior high school student and I live with my father, Elijah. My dad was a U.S. marine sergeant before being honorably discharged with a purple heart he earned by losing an eye in Afghanistan, costing him his position as a marksman. It also cost him his girlfriend, my mother, because she left him due to his misfortunate lack of a left eyeball. She left me with him while I wasn't even old enough to talk. I only know of her because of him and grandma's stories of how happy they used to be together. I'm glad though, because I have no wish of being associated with anyone so shallow.'

'Anyhow, dad got back from war, had his girlfriend leave him with a baby, and this apparently didn't even faze him. War didn't seem to leave a (psychological) scar on him, either. He's still the kind, honest, loyal, and hard working man he was, according to grandma. If there is anything I'd thank him for, it would be for instilling those traits into me.'

'But enough of the soft emotional talk… thought… WHATEVER THIS IS. Onwards! Dad had the fortune of finding a nice, cozy house for just the two of us. He used most of his earnings and benefits on getting that house, leaving him with just enough money to allow him to pursue a dream he had: opening a gun shop. No lie, no bullshit. He opened a gun shop soon after we had settled into the house. It was a surprisingly successful and fruitful business. We've lived comfortably and happily, he and I. We've never fought, all our arguments have been resolved peacefully, and we regard each other as best friends. He even taught me weapon handling and stuff. A while back, he asked me what my thoughts on joining the armed forces was. I was honest and told him that while I believed the skills the marines had to offer would be of great use in life, I could never attempt to kill another man. To my surprise, he smiled wide and gave me a slap on the back, saying that he was proud of my way of thinking. As it turns out, his goal for that conversation was to prevent me from enlisting, which was unnecessary. In addition, he offered to teach me everything he had learned from the marines.'

'Ten months and countless days worth of hard work later, my dad was (again) patting me in the back and congratulating me on successfully passing marine training. He also recently asked me to work with him in the shop, to which I more than happily accepted. Now, the cool part is this: he got me a gun permit for my eighteenth birthday. That and he allowed me to pick 3 guns from the shop to own and customize. Boy lemme tell you, I was like a kid in a candy shop that afternoon. I couldn't decide for what guns I would make my own for the longest time, but after nearly thirty minutes of walking back and forth, I made my decision. Being a Heckler & Koch whore, I chose the short-barreled model of the HK416, to which I attached an under-barrel grip, a side-rail laser pointer and flashlight, and a holographic sight. All in all, it looked pretty awesome. My other gun choice was the HK45 tactical with a laser pointer and suppressor, and finally an L115A3. I took better care of those guns than my room. I cleaned them every other week thoroughly, or just for relaxation. I would plug in my mp3 with music blasting on headphones, and loose myself in cleaning the weapons.'

'Okay, that was a good autobiography... why can't I think of things like that for school? Anyway, now that I'm all checked and good to go, let's tend to the matter at hand. WHERE ON SWEET HADES' NAME AM I, AND HOW THE ACTUAL FUCK DID I GET HERE?!'

"Okay… so last night I was cleaning my guns in my room.. I remember packing them onto the carrying bag to go to the range in the morning, slinging them over my shoulder… then as I walked downstairs to the basement fridge for a drink… I… fell…"

The realization hit me like a .50cal bullet to the crotch. Hard, painful, and mind numbing.

"I … I can't be dead. I'm breathing, aren't I?" I asked no one "no… nononononono... I'M NOT FUCKING DEAD!"

Numerous birds erupted towards the morning skies above me. The gentle, warm breeze was soothing, silence following my grievous scream of denial. The silence did not last, however, as I heard a thundering roar coming from my left. It wasn't too far off, either.

Fear and anxiety rose from within me, and in no time I was up on my feet, backing away slowly and carefully. That is, until I tripped over something. Upon closer inspection, I saw it was none other than my gun bag! It had been lying a scant few yards from where I woke up, and I hadn't taken notice of this until now. Frantically, on my hands and knees, I undid the Velcro straps and pulled down on the zipper to open the bag. Inside were my carbine, attachments and all, as well as my rifle and handgun.

I pulled out the .45 pistol and took out the magazine to check if I had loaded any ammunition into it. What I saw was… strange. Instead of seeing any bullets inside, the interior of the clip was emitting a bright light, almost blinding. I had no idea of what was happening, but whatever roared a few seconds ago was getting close, telling by the way the leaves in the trees were shaking in time with the light thumps felt on the ground. I decided that whatever IT was, it seemed it would take more than a pistol to handle, so I took out my carbine instead and took out the clip, only to discover that the same bright light shone from within the magazine.

"OKAY, WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT?!" I shouted in desperation, only to get a roar as a response. It sounded near. Almost shaking in fear, I knew that if I couldn't fight back, I should be running and hiding.

Spinning around, I tossed the carbine and pistol back into the bag, closed and secured it, and began to sprint as fast as I could from my pursuer. With around 28lbs weighing me down, however, I wasn't going to keep running for long. After almost a full minute of running, I reached what seemed to be the edge of the forest. Breaking through the final few trees, I was greeted to a sight for sore eyes.

"Is that –hah- a hut –hah-?" I half panted to myself, still running ahead.

'I could hide there from my assailant if I double-time it' I thought. 'Maybe there I can-'

My thoughts were interrupted as a roar thundered close behind me, and I felt a powerful shove throw me aside. I sailed a few feet off the ground, away from the house. As I crash landed back onto the (thankfully) soft earth, I rolled a few times before stopping, dizzy as hell, and feeling disturbingly lighter. As I lay on my back in a futile attempt to stop feeling the world spinning around me, I realized the reason why.

'Shit! My guns! Where are they?!' the bag was no longer slung over my shoulder, that much was obvious. Also, whatever was attacking me had caught up, and is most likely about to murder me unless I did something.

Jumping onto my feet, I spun around to face what I had been running away from. What awaited me, however, was far from a pretty sight.

"HOLY FUCK, WHAT?!" I cried out in disbelief.

A couple dozen yards before me stood a huge lion-like creature, which also seemed to have huge black-colored bat wings and a huge scorpion stinger. Did I say it was huge? Because it was HUGE, as well as angry-looking. It stared at me, snarling, baring its drooling maw of razor-sharp teeth at me. Whatever this bat-scorpion-lion creature was, it was going to be the end of me.

It snarled one more time, and I began to back away slowly. It followed just as slowly. Stepping back, I felt a hard object tap against the heel of my shoe. Looking down at the object, I saw it was my carbine, carelessly lying on the ground. I looked back at the creature, who was slowly stalking my way, ready to pounce. I slowly inched down to pick it up, but as soon as I took a hold of it, the creature charged.

Time seemed to slow down as I turned off the safety of the gun and raised it to my shoulder, silently praying to god in hopes there was a bullet in the chamber. If I could get a clear shot, I could make that one shot count by scoring it right in that thing's eye. As the holo-sight reticule met the creature's head, I took a deep breath... and pulled the trigger from my crouched stance.

*RATATATATATATATATATATAT*

Over a dozen rounds of 5.56mm ammo fired out of the 416, and straight into the things head and torso. As the bullets impacted, the animal went limp mid-charge, sliding on the ground for a yard or so before coming to a stop not 6 feet from where I knelt. Awestruck, mouth-agape stupor made me retract the magazine out of curiosity. The light still shone, however.

"What in the world…" loading the magazine back in the well, I pulled the hammer... and the click of a bullet entering the chamber followed.

"Okay… sure, I guess..." turning the selective fire to 'semi-auto' I slowly approached the creature, my aim trained on it. I needed to make sure it was really dead, not just wounded. As I came close, I could see a large pool of blood forming underneath it already, confirming to me that it wouldn't cause me any more trouble.

"Though... it could pull off a dick zombie move…" training my aim on its head, I pulled the trigger twice more, piercing its skull and ending the possibility of a zombie-mutant lion spawn.

"I need to find that bag and my other two guns… I don't know if the magical mystical light will provide the ammo for an entire pack of these." I thought out loud. I searched for my missing arsenal, and found it close to where the beast had swatted me. Unfortunately, it appeared the lion-thing had razors for claws, because the bag was TOTALED. The bag had tears along the length of it, rendering it useless. Its contents (my handgun and the rifle) were spilled near it. I checked a large pocket on its outside.

"I hope the slings and holster are still- HA! Here they are. Looks like I have the pistol's suppressor here too. Thank god... hey! My mp3 and my headphones! Sweet!" I attached a wide sling to my L115 and slung it onto my back; I put on the quick-draw holster to my leg and put the pistol there. Finally, I clipped the remaining sling on the carbine, slipped it over my left shoulder, and kept it drawn and ready. Depositing the mp3 and ear buds on one of my pockets, I thought of what came next, which was still finding where on earth I was.

'Okay... That cottage doesn't look ruined or anything, so there must be someone there…' deciding to investigate, I carefully walked around the cottage until I found what seemed to be the front door. Taking a more detailed look at the small house, I saw several bird houses all around it, and it had a naturalistic look to it. Walking up to the front door, I held the rifle with my right hand while I knocked with the left.

*knock-knock-knock*

"Umm… excuse me? I would like to apologize for the ruckus, but there was… an animal… that attacked me. There's nothing to fear now, I neutralized the creature. However, I'm lost and I need some directions..." I waited for any response.

"Hello? Anybody ho-" I stopped mid-sentence, hearing a raspy and feminine voice shouting nearby.

"Quick! It came from Fluttershy's cottage! C'mon, hurry!" said the raspy voice. It sounded like a girl about my age.

"Oh my goodness! I hope Fluttershy is okay!" followed another. This one sounded less raspy, a bit more feminine than the previous one.

"My stars! I heard several explosions at one point, didn't you?" this third voice had a very strong British accent to it.

"OhmygoshiknowitwaslikeBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMitwasso ooooooolooud!" this one… I don't even know.

"Alright y'all better start calmin' down! Lest' we wanna do is frighten poor ol' Fluttershy with all this here hollerin'!" this voice sounded very much like a cowgirl's voice.

As the voices grew nearer, I also heard galloping. This made me almost gleeful, seeing as the adrenaline of running then subsequently fighting for my life was fading. I began to jog towards the voices, which were galloping nearer over a hill.

"Oh thank goodness I've found someone! Please, would you help… me…?" I slowed down as I saw what was approaching from the other side of the hill.

"holy fuck… I think I've went bat-shit crazy…"

AN;

Hey there! you just finished reading the start to my very first fan-fiction ever! i bet there was a ton of stuff wrong there, seeing as this was uploaded at 1:10 am here in hot and sandy New Mexico. writing fan-fictions is pretty new to me, so i would really appreciate if you could leave some constructive criticism! don't go easy on it, though, as i want to learn what it is that i'm failing at, so don't hesitate in being honest and straight forward! i will post shout-outs and answer questions to anyone who leaves either, or both! thank you in advance for reading this, and thank you further if you leave comments or questions. again, those will be answered on the next chapter!

Adios till then! stay cool, keep it brony!