BlackShardNixium

@, She watched breathlessly as the Undead callously hacked at each other, one with its sickles, the other with its arrows. It didn't surprise her which one came out on top. Though she couldn't help but wrinckle her nose. The noises were absolutely disgusting. Gods, these things are aggressive towards everything! Even each other! She supposed she should be a bit thankful. Had the other beast not interfered, it would be her blood and entrails spilled all over the rooftop by now. The fact that she had been inadvertantly saved by one of the very creatures trying to kill her must greatly amuse some ancient, untold god, but Silvia was in no mood for divine comedy. Besides, she was more interested in the weapons it had carried. At this point, they were her only hope. She began to edge around the sickled-one, getting as close as she could to the archer's mangled body before it inevitably charged her. She knew she would have no time to untangle the bow and quiver from the corpse. If she survived, she'd retrieve it later. She was going for the dagger, something small, quick, and easy to use. Once she was close enough, she launched herself forward, lunging towards the fallen archer and reaching out to snag the dagger from its supply bealt.

@ She cringed back against the ground, squeezing her eyes shut and waiting for the inevitable sting of the blades, all the while mentally cursing herself and every deity to ever exist. That had been a really stupid idea. But, when nothing happened, she dared to crack open one eye and peek out. It had missed??? She processed this for a few moments, really thought about it. The odds had been ridiculously slim, and it wouldn't miss a second time. If she wanted to live, she'd have to fight for it. Shoving down her inner revulsion at the thought, she sucked in a deep breath, hauled back one hoof, and punched the thing in the face as hard as she could manage.

SWEET CELESTIA ON HER GOLDEN THRONE! Silvia cried out as she was tossed clear to the other side of the roof, wheezing as she landed roughly on her side. It took her a moment or two to regain herself, blinking furiously to clear the grit from her eyes. She slowly rose to her feet, legs wobbling and heart pounding. It had sickles. It had sickles. "How is that even fair??" she whined. She backed to the edge of the roof, keeping her eyes fixed on the once-pony in front of her. She could try to fly? It was...or at least used to be... an earth pony. It couldn't follow her into the sky. But the force in which it had used to throw her had strained one of her wings, and she wasn't exactly sure how far she'd get. Maybe she could try to communicate with it? Maybe they could be reasoned with! It was worth a try. ...But if it didn't work, she might as well try to fly. Even if she plummeted, she'd rather get flattened on impact than cut open by sickles. "U-um.. Heeey, buddy! Uh... nice day, huh?", she rambled nervously, "You, eh.. have a pretty firm grip!"

Okay. Okay. The last one was shuffling out. Finally. This was her chance! She rose up on her hooves, carefully peeking around the edge of the desk as the last of the undead pathetically wobbled its way out of the adjacent door. Her entire body trembled, filled with a mixed cocktail of fear and nervous energy. "Just...a little...further!" Now! Silvia scrambled from the opposite door, the one leading into the small, towering stairwell. She fumbled with the door-handle, silently cursing her terror-addled brain as she finally wrenched it open, darted through, and shut it firmly behind her. Heart pounding, she bolted up the stairs, half climbing, half propelling herself with her wings. She just needed to get to the roof! Then she could fly away, far, far away, to safety. Silver lining though. Today she was getting the workout she never wanted.

Silvia crouched lower behind withered old mahogany desk shoved into the farthest corner of the office room. From her vantage point on the ground, she could see the paper files, crumpled receipts, and upended trash bins littered across the entire area, punctuated only by the occasional shuffle of the apparently undead. This wasn't how she'd pictured her afternoon going. Silvia genuinely valued her job at the Gazette. Journalism had quickly become an ardent passion for her. She got to travel, meet new ponies, tell incredible stories, spread some hope. All that good, cheery, fluffy stuff. Everyone needed it these days. She was a writer. She was a desk jockey. She either spent her time interviewing ponies or huddled behind her keyboard typing away at some article. Sometimes, she even got coffee! She was not built for this. Oh no. No way. Ain't no way. Another of the undead ambled by her hiding place, gurgling and groaning obscenely. She shuddered and pressed against the sturdy underside of her desk. If she could just get upstairs, just get by these things! Maybe she would make it out of here. She honestly had no idea what was happening to the rest of the city. Canterlot was a large place, but, in taking one look at the creatures, it wouldn't surprise her if they were all over the place. It was like something straight out of the horror novels she tortured herself with in the dead of night. Only real. Very real. She chanced a quick glance through the minscule crack between the desk an the floor. She couldn't really see anything, but the distant shuffling told her that she wasn't completely alone just yet. She would have to keep waiting. Silvia settled herself more comfortabely against the ground. Once they were gone, she was out of here. Hopefully to find some other real, live, not-undead ponies and get somewhere safe. But until then, she was just plum stuck.

Laps?! 50 of them?! This stallion was determined to kill her. "Well if Celestia could do it better, then why doesn't she?" She can't help but grumble to herself. Silvia's legs are still weak from all those wretched push-ups, and her starting steps are shakey and pitiful. The running coarse seemed to stretch onward for miles, and she could feel the veritable wall of frustration and misery building up inside. She bit her tongue. There was no way she would be able to work up to a gallop. She settled for a brisk trot instead, and even that had her hooves stinging. Her face contorted in exhausted concentration. This probably wouldn't help her in the long run, but dammit, it was her first day! Did he really expect her to be this fit on day one?! She was a desk jockey! She huffed out an annoyed breath and kept going.

Oh this was even worse! Silvia was not a physcial pony, not at all! She was a journalist, for fuck's sake! It was an absolutely miserable experience and it felt like it took forever. Her muscles burned sharply with each rigid, shakey movement, and her breath came out in thin, gasping puffs. 33.....34.... Her face flushed an embarrassed crimson and she kept her focused firmly on the ground in front of her. Her anxiety had settled itself in the pit of her stomach, heavy as a block of solid lead. She hated being stared at, she hated being put on the spot so suddenly, she hated this loud son of a bitch, and she hated the fact that she'd been caught. 47...48 If only she had been more careful. If only she had been more thorough. This could have been avoided. 50. She rose gracelessly to her hooves, trying desperately to calm the frenzied flurry of her pounding heart.

Oh no, this wouldn't do. He was much too loud. She gingerly rubbed the sore spot on her head, having tumbled to the ground after being quite literally thrown from the truck. She supposed, since she was a prisoner now, she didn't have many rights. But dammit, she was a living being! And one didn't just throw living beings out of trucks! She resisted to urge to stamp her hoof like a spoiled filly as she shakily rose up from the ground, giving herself a firm shake to get rid of the thin coat of dust that dimmed the soft sheen of her silver coat. The stallion yelling at them looked like he had seen his fair share of it. Silvia was a sucker for good stories, and he looked like he might be able to tell her some great ones. That is, if he could learn to lower his fucking voice. Regardless, he'd said to get up, and now she was up. Silvia was prone to taking the path of least resistance, and if standing up meant that this tired old sod would stop shouting, then she supposed it wasn't too much to ask.