I have never been a part of S.W.A.T., nor have I done extensive research on it. I have only taken a quick look at some procedures, weaponry, and armor for the purposes of this story. If you find something that doesn't seem right, please let me know. Also note that I have taken a few liberties with how S.W.A.T. works that I will not change.

Lost and Fallen

Chapter 1: Different

A large black van careened down an unknown street, not slowing down for anything. The armored siding was shining in the sun that was only just rising over the buildings of Los Angeles. Four bold letters printed in white were on either side, telling whomever saw it that it was a S.W.A.T. van.

Another sharp turn to the left made everyone sway inside the van, but it hardly bothered us. We were all set for a firefight; wearing combat vests with the white S.W.A.T. logo on the back. Our attire was entirely black with only the white S.W.A.T. logo to say otherwise. Combat helmets were worn over the ski masks that hid our identity. To add to the secrecy, we also wore dark tinted military goggles strapped over our eyes.

What we were wearing was only a part of what was on my mind at the moment. Our destination and the eventual battle was all I could think of. It was normal; the other five men with me would tell you the same thing. Our variety of weapons were held loosely in our hands, patiently waiting to be fired in the upcoming fight.

These moments were best left for silence, so everyone can focus on the objective. Sadly, it wasn't the case for a certain individual. A new guy had joined our ranks; no one was thrilled, as usual. He wasn't given a party or even a congratulations. He was simply given the position and was expected to be ready.

Though this was his first time, none of us told him to shut up. Whether it was out of respect, or knowing that these were the times to prepare, I didn't know, but I was certainly getting irritated.

"Oh man!" he mumbled excitedly to himself, examining his MP5 for the third time, "this is so exciting! Can you believe that I was accepted for S.W.A.T.?!"

I shook my head, wishing he would keep quiet like the rest of us. No one responded to his question, hoping he would get the message. Some of the other members used to behave like this - enthusiastic at the prospect of stopping gung ho criminals. One single mission was all it took to teach them that this wasn't a game. This guy didn't catch on to our subtle hint, however, and instead went on with his ramblings.

"How about you, Anderson?" he inquired to me specifically. I was hoping he wouldn't ask me, but I suppose sitting next to the chatter box meant you had to interact with him.

"Just call me Nolan," I snapped quietly. Just my luck to be the one to talk with him; I didn't even know his name!

"Oh, uh... alright N-Nolan," he corrected nervously. My tone must have given him the sign that I didn't want to converse. The silence only lasted a second, however, when he decided to speak to me again. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

I gave a calm sigh. I knew that the new guy would have questions, but why did I have to answer them? Maybe it was because I was the sole person to actually acknowledge his existence on this van. If that was the case, I learned my lesson.

"What is it?" I asked rudely.

"Why do you have a revolver instead of a 9mm like the rest of us?" he asked, pointing to the gun that was holstered to my side. The others in the van looked to each other, like the new guy had asked a stupid question. I somehow knew at some point he was going to ask that... I suppose it was a good time, but that didn't mean I had to like answering him.

I unhooked the strap that held the revolver in place, and pulled it out so he could see it fully. "A Smith and Wesson 629 .44 Magnum Revolver," I recited perfectly. If I could see his face, I bet the new guy was in absolute awe at my memory skills.

"It may not be standard issue, but it gets the job done. I call her 'Vesa'," I explained while placing the revolver back in the holster. The new guy watched me do this, as if he was watching someone handle a legendary weapon.

"Why was there a mark on the side of it?" he asked quickly, "Above the handle."

This time, the others in the van looked the other way, performing nervous gestures. They knew it was a sore subject for me, but this guy had no clue. "The same reason I smoke," I brushed off, gripping my dark gray riot shotgun firmly.

"Touchy subject, huh?" he asked, adjusting his grip on his MP5. "I see. I won't ask again."

Although he was a new guy, he knew when something didn't want to be discussed. I had to give him props for that. The others in the van had questioned further, and I had to lash out verbally to get them to back off.

"This may be a little personal," he inquired, rubbing his neck, "But how old were you when you went into S.W.A.T.?"

The question may have seem irrelevant to the mission at hand, but I'm sure he had his reasons. "Twenty four," I answered, looking off to the side. "I'm twenty five now," I added, thinking he would appreciate the additional info.

"I'm only twenty," he responded, his tone suggesting he was ashamed of his age. "I bet you have loads of experience."

"More than most," I admitted, nodding slightly. The new guy must have presumed that I didn't want to speak, as the sounds of the van filled the compartment.

"Have you heard of My Little Pony?" the new guy questioned suddenly, leaning forward towards me. That had to be the strangest question anyone had ever asked me, and I was asked if I had killed anyone before.

"I remember some girls playing with those toys when I was a kid, why?" I replied, honestly curious as to why he would ask a question like that.

"There's this awesome show based off the toys," he revealed, the excitement evident in his voice. I couldn't believe it; a grown man watching a show that was based on a toy made for little girls. The others in the van were unfazed by this knowledge, which was even stranger.

"Why would you watch something like that?" I asked in disbelief.

"You should check it out on your computer sometime, it's great," he expressed, rebounding my question. I may have a computer, but I hardly use it, and the times I do, it's never for entertainment. Even if I did use it for amusement purposes, I think I would avoid a show for little girls.

I didn't tell him this though, putting up my silent demeanor. Not just because I didn't want to talk to the new guy anymore, but also because we were nearing our destination. The driver always banged on the metal sheet that separated us from him. It helped us to deploy as soon as he stopped.

The new kid was already told of this situation, so everyone was checking our gear one last time. Four others held their MP5 sub-machine guns at the ready, while another person and I readied our shotguns. The seconds ticked by as we neared the drop point, and I had that gut wrenching feeling inside me as I always did when I was about to get into a gun battle.

I faintly began to hear the sounds of discharging handguns and the loud pangs the bullets made when they impacted metal. It only got louder as we got closer and closer, to the point where it was difficult to tell where the shooters were. I didn't know how many people were out there, but there must have been a lot.

At that point, some stray bullets were beginning to ricochet off of the armored van we occupied, leaving behind loud ringing noises. The new guy flinched each time a bullet impacted the side, making me give a hidden smile at his jumpy mood. At last, the van came to a halt; it was time to go.

The two men closest to the doors pushed them open, filing out as they did. I was near the back so I was the last to get out. As I was exiting the vehicle, I realized that the gunfire had ceased. That was routine; the other police officers were to retreat to allow us, the big guns, to enter from a side alley. I questioned whether that was wise, since the criminals would know that we were here, but I dropped it later on.

Our team briskly walked down the street towards the line of patrol cars. Many police officers were aiming their guns at a certain three-story building. That must have been where the convicts were. We headed for the man in charge, Captain Moore, to get an overview of the situation. Our S.W.A.T. captain, Sawyer, was the one who spoke with him. Since I was second-in-command, I had to listen to the conversation as well.

"What's the situation?" Sawyer asked in his deep voice, as Moore kept his eyes on the three-story building. Moore was average looking, if not slightly overweight. Of course, being a captain, he could do what he wanted, but not my captain.

"As far as I can tell," Moore began, turning his gaze over to our squad, "the bastards are holed in pretty well. They stopped firing when they saw your S.W.A.T. van roll by. Probably getting ready for your breach."

Sawyer nodded, and gestured at the building for us to get into a breaching position. The rest of us nodded to his order and, as quietly as we could, neared the door in the alley way. The new guy was in front of me, and I could easily hear his heavy breaths. He was definitely nervous, and I knew he would act like that once we were about to get in on the action.

Once we were in the graffiti-filled alleyway, we made a beeline for the deteriorating white door. Sawyer positioned himself to the left of the door, while I stood further to the left behind him. Another person stood on the right of the entrance, readying his MP5. The others stood off to the side, ready to provide support if the need arises.

"Remember, team," Sawyer reminded, looking at each of us in turn, "shoot to kill but if they try to surrender, take prisoners."

So it was the usual plan then; kill everyone. I still don't know why he tells us to try to take prisoners, they never surrender. That's why they send us in; to take care of them before they cause anymore damage. I think even Sawyer knew that, but standard procedure probably forced him to tell us each time.

"Anderson," Sawyer commanded sternly, snapping me out of my thoughts, "Breach, bang, and clear."

I gave a curt nod, and Sawyer nodded back. His hand approached the door handle, grasped it in his hand and turned it. The door swung open to a small degree, and there was thankfully no immediate threat. That was my cue.

I grabbed a flash bang from my belt while holding my shotgun in my left hand. I promptly moved over to the door while at the same time pulling the pin. I threw it in quickly and placed myself back behind Sawyer. The familiar flash of light mixed with the extremely loud sound it emits told us that it went off. The following groans of pain were just icing on the cake.

As soon as the flash bang went off, Sawyer and the person standing to the side entered, weapons at the ready. I heard gunshots as I followed closely behind, but they were disorganized, chaotic; definitely not our own. Apparently the people inside thought they could get a shot on us while disoriented.

Sawyer and the other breacher took out the three men that were nursing their eyes and ears, avoiding the enemy bullets while giving short sprays from their submachine guns effectively. I didn't have to discharge my weapon, and neither did the other members of the squad.

With the short break that was granted us, I took a quick peek at what we were dealing with. The three dead men, sprawled around the room, all wore a red handkerchief over their noses and mouths, crudely hiding who they were. They also wore red baseball caps and dirty shirts. The reason for their combative demeanor wasn't present in the room. But it was probably in the rooms above. The weapons they once wielded were resting next to them; just plain Uzis. This would be easy.

"Alright, team," Sawyer called as we all gathered around, "same plan as usual. Teams of two, and clear each floor. Meet back here when you're finished."

The rest of us nodded, and I finally examined the room we were in. It was all white, there was no furniture, no painted walls, just an empty room. The faint smell of paint was in the air, and the various paint buckets adjacent to the walls added to my conclusion. The complex was probably under renovation. If the rest of the rooms were like this, then the job just got a lot simpler.

I somehow got paired up with the new guy, much to my dismay. I didn't bother asking what his name was; it wasn't the time, and the easy objective would not require it. We were given the third floor, and in my opinion, the easiest floor. Things were going my way that day, to an extent.

The new guy and I rapidly climbed the stairs, which were thankfully closed off, eliminating any thought of an ambush. I had to admit, the new guy was holding up. Sure, he hadn't done any real work yet, but he seemed ready to do his job. As we hopped the last step unto the third floor, I raised by hand into a fist, indicating to halt. The new guy complied, waiting for my next order.

I observed the area we had to clear. There was a small hallway with three doors, one on the left, one on the right, and one at the far end. I gestured to the door to the left, and he got in position to the right of it. I stood to the left, and when he gave me the thumbs up that he was set, I kicked the door down.

It was empty.

There was no one to greet us as we ran in, fingers itching to fire. The new guy gave a small sigh, and I did as well. "One down," I muttered, "Two to go."

He and I left the empty room and took our places on the opposite door. We did the same procedure; he gave the thumbs up and I kicked the door down. It was the same thing as before; empty.

At this point, the new guy was shaking slightly. He was either growing anxious about having to fight someone, or was impatient at not finding anything so far. Either way, I hoped it didn't get us killed.

We had one last room to check, and at that point I hoped it was empty as well. Generally, if the previous two rooms were empty, it meant that the next one would have twice as many men to take down. It's a curse I like to call 'Double n' Nothing'.

The hallway was too narrow to redo the same tactic, so I had to improvise a quick breach plan. Only one of us would be able to enter at a time, that meant that whoever went in first would likely get injured, or worse. That was if the men behind the door knew we were coming, but it wasn't like were we were silent on this floor.

I took a breath, I knew what I had to do. I turned to the new guy, who clutched his MP5 closely to his body, waiting for my orders. I told him the situation given to us by fate, and he was shaking harder.

"S-So am I going to be the one to... e-enter first, sir?" he stammered, staring at the last door like if was about to bite him. I couldn't help but pity him; he thought he would be bringing justice and stuff like that. Now, he thinks he has to risk his life for a simple room.

"No," I answered seriously, and the new guy tilted his head to the side. I guess he thought I was going to command him to do it. "I'll go in first, you take out anybody when you get the chance. Understand?"

I couldn't tell if the new guy was relaxed or agitated more, for he was still shaking. "I understand," he complied, nodding, as his shakes toned down a little.

I nodded back, and headed for the accursed door, raising my shotgun to eye level as I began hearing my heartbeat. I still had one more flash bang; I suppose that moment was a good time as ever. I lowered my shotgun only slightly while my right hand went to retrieve it, and I tossed it lightly to myself. Strange how I didn't use it in the other two rooms.

I shrugged the thought off, and held my shotgun vertically to balance it out. I pulled the handle of the door, and opened it only a crack. Afterwards, I pulled the pin of the flash bang and shoved it through the small crack of the door. The flash bang went off and I charged through the door, gun at the ready.

The next thing I knew, someone had tackled me from my left side, sending both of us to the floor. My shotgun was thrown out of my hold from the impact, and I was wrestling with the man who was on top of me.

I didn't know where the new guy was, but he must have his hands full with the other people in the room, if hearing his MP5 was anything to go from. As I struggled against the man on top of me, I began thinking of my options. My shotgun was out of reach, so that was out. I couldn't get my .44 revolver without this guy getting a shot at me. That only left my combat knife, attached to my vest on my left shoulder.

With a strategy in mind, I elbowed the man in the head, and while he was dazed, I quickly grasped the handle of my combat knife and sliced his throat open. It wasn't my first choice to kill him like that, but it was my only option. As his life was fleeting him, I shoved the man off of me and looked around frantically.

Two other men were dead on the floor, blood dripping from bullet wounds by a sub-machine gun, but what caught my eye was that one of the criminals was standing over the new guy, with a handgun pointed at his head. Thinking fast, I flipped the knife in my hand until I was holding the blade, and flung it at the soon-to-be murderer. The knife struck home as it lodged itself into the man's back, killing him instantly, and he fell on his stomach beside the new guy.

I released a breath I didn't know I was holding. Who knew I would be this attached to a guy I only met yesterday. I pushed myself to my feet, and stood up, feeling somewhat sore where the man had hit me. The smell of paint was replaced with gunpowder, and it forced me to give a small cough.

I picked my shotgun off the ground, attached it to my back, and walked over to the man I just killed, extracting my knife with a grunt. It was obviously covered in blood, so I wiped what I could on his sleeve and sheathed it. The new guy was still not making any indication to get up, so I held out my hand, expecting him to grab it.

He didn't move for it.

He didn't move at all.

My eyes widened behind my goggles and I knelt down quickly, putting two fingers against his neck. There was a pulse, thank god, but I then noticed a tinge of red where his nose was. He was probably hit in the head by a blunt object, he would be fine. Still, he should get medical attention.

Before I could shout for help, I could see an odd object sitting not too far away. It was a flat piece of stone, stylized and painted like the sun. It was perfect, with smooth corners and no smudged paint. Why was such an object here? Did these bastards steal it?

I stood up again, my eyes not leaving the sight of the object for a second. I carefully stepped over to it, and picked it up. I studied it effortlessly, feeling the smooth object through my gloves as I turned it over. A yellow circle made up the center, and it was surrounded by a light shade of orange. The flames that flowed outward, representing light, were a dark shade of orange. It was very peculiar.

Then, suddenly, the object began to glow white, causing me to raise an eyebrow. Now it had hidden lights in it? I would have left it alone at that point, but something inside me wanted to continue to examine it. A burst of bright light shot out of it, and I dropped it on instinct, backing away from it. The light filled my vision, to the point where I thought I would go blind. Then I felt myself falling, and the light faded to black, as I slipped to unconsciousness.

{~+~}

I could feel the hard floor pressing against my side, a sign that I was still alive. It was dead quiet, not even the small sound of movement could be heard. I opened my eyes fully, the tinted goggles suppressing the light that filtered through the windows. As I sat up from my prone position, I glanced around getting my bearings.

The room was completely empty now - the dead convicts and the new guy were gone. The walls were still white, but looked dirtier than before. The floor also changed from plain concrete to a wooden finish. What the hell happened? Was I moved? Even if I was, I think my squad would be here with me.

I tiredly stood up, groaning as I did. The unintentional sleep had made me sore, and I wondered how long I was out. I checked my equipment, to see if anything was missing. I still had my shotgun, along with all the ammunition I was allowed to carry for it. The same went with Vera, as it was still holstered to my side. Even my knife was in its place.

I lost nothing in my unwilling move, and I was still wearing all my gear. So the real question was, where was I? I walked over to the window, noting it was a four-pane window instead of just one large glass pane. I put a hand over my eyes to see better, but it proved fruitless as the glass was fogged up from the other side. I guess the only way to figure out where I ended up was by going outside.

I turned to the door and tentatively opened it. The hallway was still there, but I didn't know if it was comforting or disturbing. Nevertheless, I made my way back to the stairs, and I found out that I was in a two story building, unlike before. As I stepped onto the ground floor, I sighted a simple wooden door with a round handle. I figured a long time ago that I was in a different building, but confirming that I was moved still made me uncomfortable.

The windows were the same as the one above; foggy and opaque. I hardly took notice, as my objective was just to get the hell out of the building. However, as I neared the door, I felt dread well up inside me. It was the fear of finding something I wasn't ready for. I had no choice, so I, cautiously, opened the door.

The sight made me almost want to slam the door shut in shock.

I wasn't on the same street anymore. I wasn't even in the same city anymore. By only looking out the door, I could tell I was in a different land. There were cottages that were timber-framed with distinct thatched roofs. Almost all the buildings were identical, save a handful. The roads were run down with dirt paths, with a few patches of stepping-stones here and there.

I took a small step in this strange place, looking around in a baffled state. The place was unrecognizable; I didn't know if I was in the U.S. anymore. The buildings were outdated to our construction guidelines, and the streets would at least have cobblestone. I exited the house I was in entirely, circling around to see it. It was similar to the other housings, but had a wooden sign hanging by the door, saying 'For Sale' in black text.

"Alright, calm down," I whispered to myself, trusting that it would help, "It's just a dream. A very vivid dream, but still a dream. I'll wake up, and forget this whole thing."

My gaze drifted to the sky, seeing that it was cloudy with the sun at an angle with the horizon. That was another thing that confused me; the sun seemed... larger, and the clouds were absolutely stagnant. Normally, one could see the clouds just barely moving across the sky, but I guess in dreamland things were different.

That was when the inhabitants of this town began exiting their homes. It was odd to see people leaving their homes nearly simultaneously, but I had to remind myself that this was a dream. They all wore forest green jackets with haggard jeans. Various accessories complimented their heads. If I didn't know better, they all seemed like military, with the revolvers holstered to their brown leather belts.

What was really unusual was what followed behind each person. If I remembered correctly from my Biology classes in college, they were ponies. Four foot tall, pastel ponies, with big eyes, and tattoos on their flanks. My head must have been really messing with me. I decided to explore a little, humor my mind before I woke up.

As I strolled down the street, I couldn't help but regard the place with wonder. The whole town had very unique yet run down buildings. One looked to be made of sweets, while another looked like it was carved into a tree. It was fascinating.

The locales weren't the only thing that interested me, the populace was unreal. Each person was followed by one or two ponies. Mysteriously, the ponies seemed to be sad; they were actually expressing sadness. The humans didn't care in the slightest, or just didn't notice. There was a variety of colors that the ponies displayed, yet I knew something wasn't right.

The more I observed my surrounds, the more it seemed to not be a dream. Everything was so surreal, and I'm pretty sure I could never think up a place like this in a hundred years. What was ironic was that everyone was gawking at me as I went by, like I was the weird one. Even the ponies.

Speaking of the ponies, as I studied them while I walked, I could almost feel a presence I wouldn't associate with a pony, as if it was aware what was going on around it. It's impossible to discern whether this was real, but I was slowly leaning away from it all being fake. My heartbeat increased at the realization that this reality might actually be genuine. My breath quickened as well, and I began to feel woozy. It felt like my whole perspective of logic was thrown out the window.

The sound of an angry cry broke me from my contemplations. It came from around the upcoming corner, and a yelp of pain also resonated in the same direction. I picked up the pace, hoping to assist in some way.

As I rounded the corner, my eyes laid upon a man, whose features were contorted with fury, that stood over a pony. The pony was cowering away from him, clutching its stomach with its hooves. Apples were lying around the filthy ground, and a knocked over basket lay close by.

It was already strange enough that the pony was twisting her leg in a peculiar way, but that it was brightly colored was another. I knew some of the other ponies had abnormal coats and manes, but I didn't think they were so vibrant. This pony seemed to be female, as did a majority of the other ponies, with a pale goldenrod coat and carrot orange mane and tail. Her tattoo on her flank was three carrots.

"Stupid pony!" the man bellowed, kicking the poor pony in the stomach, causing the pony to wince in pain. I didn't think ponies could wince. "Can't even hold a basket of apples without spilling it!"

The man continued to kick the pony relentlessly, and I knew this was animal abuse. As a police officer, it was my duty to uphold the law, no matter where I was. "Hey, knock it off," I said sternly, walking over to him determinately. The man did stop, causing the pony to catch a break.

"What do you want?" he asked threateningly, crossing his arms as he faced me. He had a long face that told everybody that he was always serious. His short black hair had gray growing in random places.

"You do realize that's animal abuse, right?" I explained intently, halting in front of him.

"Animal abuse?" he asked me, and before I could answer, he broke down in laughter. Even passing people thought my comment was comical; was it an inside joke? The man finally stopping his laughing, but was wheezing from overexerting himself.

"Oh, that's rich," he chuckled, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. He gazed at me again, and his snickering was cut off. "You're serious?"

I hesitated a moment, wondering if it was worth going through with this. Was it normal here to just hurt animals like that? I didn't want to question how the system worked. The man narrowed his eyes, "What are you anyway? A special operative of the Baron?"

Baron? Was that the guy in charge? More questions were filling my head, but I had to tread carefully. I was getting a bad vibe from this person. "Uh, yeah," I answered, scratching the back of my head. I may have lied, but telling the truth was probably unwise at that point.

"Oh," he spoke, visibly relaxing from his earlier pose, "Then you must be here to speak with Mayor Jordan about the apple shortage."

"Right," I agreed, pointing a finger at him, "I'm here to find out about the apple shortage."

I had no idea what I was saying. From this man's words, there was apparently an apple shortage in this town. And the leader in this town was Jordan. If I can find him and explain my predicament, he can point me in the right direction. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was a plan nonetheless.

"He's over at Sweet Apple Acres, as usual," he stated, jabbing a thumb at a path that led out of town. "And if it isn't too much trouble, can you put a good word my way?"

"Whatever," I grumbled with annoyance, stepping past him. The man acted like he had been slapped in the face, but didn't say a word. As I was heading to the path he indicated, I looked over my shoulder one last time, and saw the man forcibly pull the pony to its feet, as he scolded it. Why would he talk to a pony who couldn't talk back? I know some people talk to animals, but how loud he was to the pony was ridiculous.

I faced forward again, shaking my head. I'll get all my answers from Mayor Jordan, and then I can get back home. Still, that pony didn't deserve to be treated like that. The other people ignored the abuse as well, like it was a common occurrence.

"What have I gotten myself into?" I mumbled as I strode down the dirt path, leaving the town boundary. My head wandered around, admiring the beautiful nature around me. The rolling hills were filled with golden grass, and it was quite remarkable.

That's when I saw the large castle-like city on the side of a lone mountain. Now, I may not know every city in the world, but I was pretty sure there wasn't a place like that, especially one that looked so haphazardly placed. Just another question to add to my list, which had grown quite a bit.

My trip brought me to a bridge that spanned a small stream. I thought it was quite quaint, seeing as the bridge was exaggerated given the small river of water. The view on my right side changed from wide-open plains to a large tree orchard. Each tree was healthy, bearing bountiful apples by the dozens. I wondered if I could try some when I got the chance, and decided to ask when I could.

A fork in the road was presented to me. One lead onward, leading to who knew where. The other path went into the orchard, and probably to Sweet Apple Acres. I took the latter for obvious reasons.

My trek eventually brought me to a red barn. Like the town not too far off, the barn was worn down and shabby, with peeling paint and beaten wood. When I thought about it, the whole town reminded me of those old ghost towns, except this place wasn't abandoned.

I took a small break to check out the surrounding area, leaning against a post of the white rail fence that surrounded the orchard. Sweet Apples Acres looked like a normal farm. Crops were growing vibrant vegetables, animals were in their pens, and farm equipment was strung around.

I gave a relieved sigh, glad to finally be on the right track. This whole place has been so confusing, I was afraid that something would happen to make it weirder. Mayor Jordan would give it to me straight. And if he didn't... I'd think of something else.

The best place to find him would be in that barn, but as I pushed myself off to head there, I heard arguing. It wasn't one of those arguments that lasted a few minutes, but the one that turned violent fairly fast. I decided to investigate, and the sound was coming through the trees.

Vaulting the fence, I carefully snuck through the tall apple trees, wary that I may be trespassing. I got to the point where I was able to discern words in the heated discussion, and I began to approach much more quietly so as to not be found out. One may call this eavesdropping, but a police officer knows that any evidence is good evidence.

"I don't care how tired you are!" shouted a masculine voice, "You need to buck as many trees as you can, or the shortage will continue!"

"I don't care!" a female voice seethed angrily with a southern drawl, "What I need is rest! How am I suppose ta harvest apples if ya never give me a break?!"

I had crept behind one of the trees, my back pressed against it, and I knew that right behind it were the perpetrators of the argument.

"Don't question me!" the man bellowed, using a threatening tone, "Just get the rest of the apples, then you can rest, you fucking bitch!"

The raging disagreement came to a close as footsteps could be heard crunching towards me. I pressed myself harder into the tree, hoping he wouldn't catch me where I shouldn't be. Luckily, he walked past without a glance back. He was tall, maybe a few inches taller than me, and he wore the regular clothes that everyone in town wore. What set him apart from the rest was the light brown Stetson hat on his head.

If my deduction skills were as good as I think they were, that was probably Jordan. And if it wasn't him, than it was someone who could point me to him. I was about to follow him and speak with him, but the woman that he was arguing with crossed my mind. Why were they working someone to exhaustion? Was it slavery? I knew I had to at least talk with the girl to see if she was alright.

A loud crack, followed by many small thuds, came from behind my tree. I peeked around my tree to see what she was doing, but I only saw a pony. This pony had an orange coat, with a blonde mane and tail. The tattoo on her flank were three red apples. I searched the area, but found no sign of the other woman, did she take off? And why does this pony seem so mad?

I took a step forward to get a better view, but my foot, unfortunately, landed on a branch that snapped under my weight. The pony's head whipped over in my direction, her eyes, which I just noticed where emerald green, were narrowed in fury. Soft freckles sat underneath them, on her cheeks. However, upon seeing me, she jumped back in fright. My appearance really was uncommon here.

"Whoa Nelly," the pony said nervously. Wait, the pony spoke? Actual words!? Was she the one who was arguing with the man!? My brain was tripping over word after word, trying to comprehend this unfathomable revelation. I shook my head several times, even banged my head with the palm of my hand to shake me out of it. Though it was difficult with my helmet on.

"What are you doin'?" the pony asked aggressively, referring to my odd motions. She must have gotten over my attire at some point. I simply stood there, dumbstruck. "You're... you're talking," I said dumbly, pointing a shaky finger at her.

"Of course I'm talkin'!" she snapped, glaring with all her might, "Did ya forget that I could or somethin'?"

"I... what... how...?" I stammered, my movement was at a standstill as I observed the pony. She wasn't having any of it though, and rolled her eyes with annoyance.

"Look mister," she explained sternly, "I have work ta do. So iffen you don't mind..."

She walked over to a tree, spun on the spot, and kicked it with her hind legs. A cascade of apples fell, landing perfectly in the baskets that sat underneath the tree. My brain, at this point, was barely registering what was going on around me. I had to process everything that has happened so far, so I sat down, placing my back against a tree, with my hands cradling my head.

At first I thought I was carried to a different location, but that was thrown out, seeing as I was in a different world entirely. Then I assumed I was dreaming, but again, it didn't fit, as this place was too real and, at the same time, too unreal. So, my last option was that I was taking drugs, and this was one large hallucination. It would explain that bright light before I was knocked out cold.

Having an explanation running through my head, I looked up to find the orange pony right in front of my face, causing me to flinch and bang my head against the tree. Good thing I had a helmet on.

"Are ya just going to sit there and watch me all day?" she questioned, her face barely containing her anger. I released a large breath, calming myself so as to speak clearly.

"I think I'm taking drugs," I announced, and the pony tilted her head to the side with a raised eyebrow, "because a pony is talking to me."

I apparently said the wrong words, as her anger grew more intense, taking a few steps away from me, "If ya didn't want me to talk to ya, then ya could've just asked!"

I waved a hand in front of me, trying to control the situation, "Whoa, wait, that's not what I meant. I'm just saying that... wait, why am I trying to explain this to a pony who doesn't exist?"

The orange pony growled, pawing the ground with one of her hoofs, as if she was about to charge. "If you're just gonna insult me, than you might as well skedaddle," she informed me without sympathy, "I ain't got time for that."

She turned away, grumbling to herself, and I wondered how drugs were even interacting with me. What I was told about it, the hallucinations would hardly speak to you, let alone get angry with you. Maybe this was real, and this was all actually happening.

"No," I whispered, causing the pony to swivel her head towards me.

"Pardon?"

"This can't be real," I continued, ignoring her while gripping my head, "I'm not in a magical world where there are colorful, talking ponies with human owners. What the hell is happening!?"

"Stop with your yappin'!" she ordered, facing me fully, "I know your kind, and I know this is just a trick. Well it ain't workin'!"

"Shut up!" I roared, but she didn't back down, or even flinch.

"You listen here, fella," she said, "Just go tell Jordan that I'm working as hard as I can! I don't need no mangy human to watch my every move!"

My mind was in overdrive, I couldn't handle this anymore. So I jumped to my feet and took off, to where I hope was the barn. It was official, I was insane. I just got chewed out by a talking pony. A talking pony dammit! I was probably sitting in an asylum, mumbling to myself with drool coming out of my mouth.

I reached the orchard boundary, and climbed the fence, but slipped and landed on my stomach on the other side. I didn't know where I was, but I didn't care. I was just glad to be alone, to think about what was happening.

My brain was accepting that my surroundings were real; the hint of pain in my stomach, the dirt that I was laying on, everything. I was truly in a land that had talking ponies with humans as the overlords.

Giving a defeated sigh, and I knew there was only one option for me now: getting home. If I could somehow teleport to a completely different place, than the opposite should be true. Now, I just need to find out how to do that. I flipped myself onto my back, sat up, and rested my forearms on my knees.

Jordan was still my main goal. The pony before wouldn't help me, seeing as she didn't like humans. I gave the area a general sweep and found myself in the main farm of Sweet Apple Acres. Giving another sigh, I stood up, and brushed off the dirt that was stuck to my once pristine pants.

After that was finished, I went straight for the barn, figuring that was where Jordan lived. I wished I could have a smoke, to calm myself enough to be in momentary bliss. I couldn't, however, as I was growing desperate for information, and couldn't waste any more time.

I heard more cracks, and I glanced around, seeing other ponies working in the orchard. Even from this distance, I could tell they weren't happy with where they were. And if they all were sentient like that orange pony, than it crossed the line to slavery, unless they were being paid, which was unlikely.

I rubbed my forehead as I neared the barn; I was getting ahead of myself. I arrived here merely half an hour ago, and I can't start accusing people of slavery, especially with ponies being the work force. I finished my pondering with a sigh as I lifted a hand to the door and knocked three times.

Waiting impatiently, I idly played with my hands, wondering how Jordan would respond to my story. The door swung open immediately, with little warning, and there stood Jordan. He eyed me up and down, determining me based solely on my appearance.

"Can I help you?" he asked, giving me a bored expression.

"Yes, hi," I introduced, placing my hand in between us to shake, "I'm Nolan Anderson."

He didn't go for my gesture, still staring at me with his judging gaze while crossing his arms. I retracted my hand - that was rude. "I was hoping I could talk with you for a second," I requested as kindly as I could muster.

"Get on with it," Jordan demanded as he ground his teeth.

"I don't know where to begin," I stated, scratching my neck. "Well... where am I?"

"Sweet Apple Acres," he answered, his tone suggesting he was not amused.

"I mean... what town? What country?" I elaborated.

He cocked an eyebrow, and I just realized that my questions did sound kind of crazy. I also realized that I would finally be getting the answers I craved, causing me to perk my head.

"You are in Ponyville," he replied, sweeping his hand out to indicate the surrounding area. "In the filthy land of Equestria."

"...I never heard of a place like that before," I said, "But anyway, how can the ponies talk?"

I only assumed the other ponies could talk. For all I knew, that orange one was the only exception. My question made Jordan look at me critically, his expression completely amazed, and not in the good way.

"What's your game?" he asked harshly, jabbing a finger at my chest.

"Nothing," I stated truthfully, "I'm just new here, and I have no idea how to get home."

"Knock it off," he ordered, jabbing me again, "I don't want any funny business, and I certainly don't want some asshole asking me stupid questions. Now get lost."

"Look, I just want to-"

"I said get lost!" he roared, pushing me full force with both his hands. I lost my footing and fell into the dirt, releasing a grunt when I did. Using my hands, I pushed myself to a sitting position just in time to see Jordan slam the door, leaving me with a defeated attitude.

I stood up, suddenly feeling tired. I had been tossed around this place and I still had few answers. I only found out that I was in Equestira, and more specifically Ponyville. Only then did I realize the silliness of the names, but I wasn't in the mood to dwell on it.

With fleeting hope, I dragged my feet over to the rail fence and sat on it, my feet dangling slightly. Leaning my arms on my legs, I gave a heavy sigh. I was in one of my moods again, and there was only one way to remedy it. I opened one of the many pouches on my combat vest, extracting a cigarette pack. When I got it out, I opened it to see I had ten left inside.

I pulled one out and put the pack back in the pouch. I quickly tugged off my entire head gear - helmet, ski mask and goggles - and tossed it to the ground without much care. My short brown hair wavered in the small breeze that came by as I rubbed my light stubble beard. I reached into my pocket and retrieved my silver lighter.

Routinely, I placed the cigarette between my lips, while igniting my lighter close to it. In a matter of seconds, the cigarette lit, and I put my lighter back where it belonged. I breathed in the smoke, enjoying the intoxicating feel it had, and pulled out my cigarette from my lips as I exhaled. I watched as the smoke danced around in the air as it disappeared completely.

To sum up, my situation turned from bad to worse. I had no plan, no way home, and no place to go. I suppose I was a little too optimistic about getting home, but there was no way to predict that everybody would be this hostile towards me. So I just sat there, trying to forget my past, the present, and the uncertain future.

A loud crack right behind me broke my train of thought, and I glanced over my shoulder. It was the orange pony from earlier, but she tried to ignore that I was sitting here, keeping her eyes on the trees and its apples. I faced forward again, inhaling another lungful of smoke.

"So you're still here, are ya?" she questioned, kicking another tree with a little more power than I thought necessary.

"I guess I am," I replied curtly. I gave a small grunt, and mused, "I doubt you'd answer my questions."

"What would a human like yourself ask what you already know?" she asked, kicking another tree. "You already took what I hold dearly: my home, family, friends."

"What are you talking about?" I snapped, swinging my legs over the fence to face her fully.

"Don't act like you don't know," she said, still not looking at me. "You know full well what you and your kind did to us ponies."

"No, I don't!" I shouted, throwing my arms in the air. "I'm not even from here, and everyone thinks I'm the bad guy. You think I did something terrible, while everyone else thinks I'm up to no good!"

At last, she stopped her tree kicking to give me a cold stare. It was slightly unsettling, considering I just blew my top. Her stare went on for a quarter of a minute before she gazed at the ground.

"I still can't tell if you're lyin'..." she mumbled, shaking her head.

"What do you mean?" I asked hesitantly, sliding off the fence while inhaling from my cigarette.

"I mean," the orange pony emphasized, "that I can't tell if you're lyin' or not. I'm usually pretty good when it comes to that stuff, but with you humans..."

So she was a living truth detector or something? Was that even possible for a pony? Why do I ask questions like that; anything's possible with these ponies. I didn't voice my confusion, staring off into space instead. I sighed, "So basically you don't trust me."

She gave me a straight face and gave a quick nod to my statement. "Fine," I whispered dejectedly, "then how do I earn your trust?"

She jerked her head back at my request, her mouth slightly open. "You... want to earn my trust?"

I shrugged and gave another drag from my cigarette before I answered, "It seems like the only way to get my questions answered. And I'm sure the people here aren't going to help me without throwing a tantrum."

The orange pony's surprised expression slid into contained anger, her eyes furrowed as she frowned. "I don't know if this is just another trick or not, but you can start by gettin' my stuff back."

"Alright," I complied, flicking my burnt out cigarette bud away. "What is it?"

"My hat and hairbands," she stated.

"Your hat and... hairbands?" I asked, looking her over. She didn't seem like the type of pony to wear clothing of any kind. Hell, I didn't even know that ponies had clothing overall.

"Yes, that there Jordan fella took 'em away from me when he..." she trailed off, turning her head away from me. She looked to be fighting back tears. It was probably a sore subject, one that doesn't want to be talked about, like my own past.

"Okay," I agreed, vaulting the fence and picking up my head gear.

"Wait, you're actually going to get 'em?" she asked, tilting her head to the side in doubt.

"I said I would, didn't I?" I replied putting on my head gear individually.

"Well, I suppose, but..." she said, playing with the dirt. She obviously wasn't used to thanking people, so I faced the barn, wondering where to begin my search for the items.

"What's your name?" the orange pony inquired. Her voice wasn't harsh like it usually was, but compassionate, and maybe even friendly.

"Nolan Anderson," I responded, "And yours?"

"Applejack," she replied instantly in turn.

She matched her name well, but I didn't think about that for long. Still, I smiled underneath my mask; though she didn't want anything to do with me, she knew the proper etiquette of exchanging names. I had a rocky mission ahead of me, one that I found questionable, but I always keep my promises. As best as I can, anyway.

Editor's Note: Hello, my name is Legion222, and I'll be you editor for this story.

This is my second time working with Superdale33, and I gotta say, you folks are in for a ride! He's tons of fun to work with, and a great writer! This story was especially fun to work on, and I've enjoyed it every step of the way so far. I hope you do, too!

Read on,
Legion