It felt like his armour was filled with treacle, his movements feeling heavy and slow as he ascended the steps back up into the city. Vaguely, he could hear panicked screaming in the distance as ponies ran from the centre of the catastrophe. He saw a few bodies in the streets, mostly guards. All were alive but clutching their heads, writhing like his friends had been. A few soldiers were standing, their bodies tense and trying to struggle on, their head bowed and faces twisted in concerted effort. The few who noticed Handy did little more than bat the air with their hooves in his general direction. Their feelings were erratic, in pain and scared, panicking yet not thrashing about. What the hell was wrong with them all? The worst Handy was getting was a very bad headache.