Stones sniffed the air. He turned his fat nose skywards and sniffed again. He thought that, for just a moment, he could perceive some tickle of the nose besides his own putrid body odour. He turned to Sticks, two thirds his height and one third his mass, and gave a concerned look. The look was shared. Even in the prolonged presence of the planetoid known as Stones, Sticks still had at least one working olfactory nerve ending.

"Wassat?"

"Smells like... smoke."

I have to hand it to pre-war manufacturing. After a magical holocaust and more years of neglect and abuse than anyone can care to remember, there's an awful lot of stuff that just still works. I mean, not exactly firing on all cylinders, but the fact that it works at all is a miracle. I can't think of a time I was more keenly aware of this fact than when the shitty shack exploded, launching scrap metal, cables, ripped-off seats and raider giblets everywhere. Not an explosion of fire and gas, but of force - one of the shipping containers tore down the wall, shooting out like a bullet, and continuing across the camp. Let me break it down for you.

Among the wreckage the shack was built from were three pre-war motor vehicles, all three of them flying models. Between them there were seven working lift packs out of a possible twelve, three thrusters out of six, and one and a half engines. I say one and a half because one of them leaked shit everywhere when it started. The bodywork was rusted enough that stripping parts was as simple as kicking it. Combine with the shipping container, a mechanic prisoner with a welding spell, some vigilance for grenades tossed in by angry raiders, and the occasional reminder of 'well you can take the front door if you like' for motivation, and you have one improvised tank. We just needed to get it out of the shack.

Now, far be it from me to raise this point, a pony whose special talent is making things violently cease to exist, but for all the reliability of pre-war technologies, they seem to have this utter lack of health and safety considerations. Beyond 'you're going to put someone's eye out with the corner of that terminal' or 'waaah this coffee is too hot I have to sue someone', it's like some board of stuffy executives was presented with a doorstopper list of things that could go wrong and kill everyone and just wiped their asses with the pages. But we have to think of the bigger picture here. All of those people who were killed when their cars got rear-ended and exploded balefire across the highway aren't me, and my benefit from exploding car engines is far more recent than their loss. Net gain, right?

With everyone tucked inside the shipping container and scrambling for things to hold on to, I ducked out of the door and tossed a grenade behind us, then barred the doors shut. The container was angled up for launch, and there was some metal bracing the back end to help funnel the explosion. Moments of your life you never recall later: the infinite three seconds of silence between lighting the fuse or pulling the pin, and the thunder of something getting shredded. I filled these three seconds with, "Hang on, was I supposed to throw that inside, or out-"

I had no time to bathe in the terror. Gravity went all over the place. Failing beams and scattering scrap accompanied the bass rumble of long-overdue motor insurance fraud. Ponies just fell about the container, thumping into each other throughout the flight. I used our couple of seconds of free fall to fly to the ceiling. Last thing I wanted was to lose my loot from someone hitting me.

I landed on someone when the container hit the ground. There was no crash of the container embedding itself in the ground - just the occasional scrape of a pebble or weed, the pings of bullets peppering the shell, and once or twice the thump of a raider getting turned into pizza. The lift packs were just barely enough to keep the container afloat as it sped away. I pulled the bar from the doors and swung them open. Apart from anything it'd be nice to see where we're going, at the risk of us all getting turned into pin cushions by a raider armoured like a hedgehog being scooped up by the open doors. But mostly, I just wanted to hang out the front and scream abuse at them. They couldn't hear any of it, but more importantly, they couldn't hit me.

They couldn't hit anything for shit.

The container kept going for just over a mile. Or at least that's what one of the sadsacks told me. We had no steering or brakes, so once we stopped hearing gunfire, Weldy-McEngineerface cut the cords to the thrusters, and we coasted until the container bumped off a tree. When the engine went off, the whole thing just landed with a squelch in the mud. I cartwheeled out of the container.

"Woo! Yeah! Let's do that again!" The others filing out just stared at me blankly.

Some soulpatch dusted himself off, fixed his hat, and brushed past me. "Come on. Town isn't far. If we don't get moving they'll catch up." His accent stuck out like a leper in a swimming pool. Hot shit, he even has some description and a line of dialogue! Though, that didn't save Hard Sell and Sand Dollar. So y'never know.

They seemed to know where they were going, so I just followed them. I tried to make it look like they were following me, which wasn't hard, because they were mostly just doing this dead-inside shuffle. I mean, guh, I just saved you creeps, you'd think that might be something to brighten your day, y'know? I gave up on trying to keep conversation with them pretty quickly since all I was getting back were grunts and murmurs.

They got a little quicker when we reached Colton. The place didn't look much better than the Reebuck - crumbling ruins patched up with some really awful construction. I guess they inherited the pre-war contempt for health and safety. A perimeter wall ran around it, which seemed to be the most solidly built thing, but that wasn't saying much. I ran ahead to get a better look at the place. The rusty doors were ajar, and a security guard dozed on a tower.

"Hey!" I yelled up, tipping up my shades. He jolted awake, and batted his gun between his forelegs a few times trying to catch it. I chewed on my grin. "Do we just like, go in?"

"Where'd you come from?"

"Stable somewhere in those hills."

"Blimey... and where'd you get that armour?"

"Same place I got those guys." I pointed with a wing to the single-file shuffle making its way over.

"You..." He leaned over the edge of his nest, squinting at me, then at the prisoners, then back to me. He rubbed his eyes. "Did you just raid the Wanderers?"

I shrugged. "If you mean the guys wearing porcupines and playing football with skulls, then I guess. Seemed like they were all bark."

His jaw hung slack. He shook his head and raised a hoof before ducking inside. "One sec." He returned a moment later with a colleague and they whispered some things to each other. The other one gawped and started hopping up and down. They beamed at me in a kinda creepy way before disappearing back inside. The freed prisoners reached the gate by the time one of the guards popped his head out, with the other pulling it open. "Come in, come in!"

Inside Colton looked just as ramshackle as the outside, just with awnings and shelters over the streets. The streets themselves were just as dirty as everywhere else, but they were at least dry. A few ponies were milling about, minding their own business, while the guards ushered me along. I got a look over my shoulder at some of the prisoners entering the gate. The first one was immediately tackled, and they swung around in a hug. Blehhh, sentimentality.

I was practically thrown at this other guy with a hat and a badge you could cut open boxes with. Given the rush, I just crumpled in front of him. I looked up, and he grinned at me. I wanted to just shrug and move along, but some cosmic force kept my gaze trained right on him. I couldn't even tell him to fuck off! It was like the universe conspired to have me make conversation with this guy through limited dialogue options!

"I hear you've done some astounding things!" Guessing from his voice, the first pony these guards thought to bring me to was a jazz singer. I can think of worse choices.

"Really? From where I saw it raiders were just laying down when I looked at them."

He laughed, and helped me up. I adjusted my goggles and glasses to try and get the glasses to sit on the goggles. "Humble and sharp as a tack too. My, what ever did we do right to have you fall into our laps?" I masked my wince with a chuckle. "Oh, where are my manners! Forgive me. Name's Lone Star, and I'm the sheriff of this fair town of Colton. Mayor and Judge too when the need arises. And who might our knight errant be?" He offered a hoof in greeting.

I looked at him sidelong for a moment. For all this guy's pretensions to being some kinda cowboy, I liked the glowing praise. I could get used to this. I shook the hoof and deflected my gaze. "Atom Smasher. Really, it was practically an accident that I saved those ponies..."

"Nonsense! I haven't seen one of those jumpsuits in a long time. There's a nugget of good that you Stable Dwellers have inside you, a kind of courage and hope that the big bad wasteland has eroded from many of us out here. You're gonna go far, kid. I can tell already." I can't tell you how hard it was to keep from just doubling over laughing. As it was I had to funnel it into a staged grin. "Come on, we can't let a deed like that go unrewarded." He started walking, and the two guards ushered me on. Man, people really appreciate this hero business.

I couldn't tell one rusty shack from another around here, but Lone Star seemed to know where he was going. He kicked open the swing doors on a particularly dank dive of a place. Hat Accent from earlier was drowning his misery at a back wall, some guy with sunglasses the size of dinner plates was reading a newspaper (no idea where he got it), an obvious underager was hopping on his stool at the bar, and the bar was being tended by a pony with a raisin for a face. Lone Star threw a foreleg on the counter and set his voice to megaphone.

"A drink for myself and the hero of the hour, Atom Smasher!" He gestured at me. I cringed. The sultana behind the bar stared at me. He threw his towel on the bar in a huff, reached under the counter for two bottles and deposited them in front of us, all without breaking his gaze. I briefly looked at the bottles, then back at him. Still silent, he leaned forward, horn sparkling. He held the caps of the bottles. Just holding them. Not doing anything. Continuing to lean towards me. Being wrinkled in my general direction.

Eventually he popped the caps off and pocketed them. Lone Star was completely unfazed, and just scooped up the bottle to take a swig, and then deposited a bundle of caps on the counter. "So!" He was still speaking loudly enough that I was very slightly blown back in my seat. "What brings you out of that Stable? Broken water talisman? Scandalous discoveries? Love?" I was quite sure that when he said 'love', the reverberations could be detected by large animals through the ground, several miles away.

"Someone I had a crush on but never talked to ran away with my scientist dad and some documents detailing a chain of events orchestrated by a secret society from before the war. And broke the water talisman out of spite." I took a sip of the beer while his eyes widened. Eugh, it was warm. "No, I just found the way out."

He laughed again. I swear, he was going to knock one of these buildings down with that laugh at some point. "Ah, curiosity! You are an unending well of surprises, Atom."

"So yeah, I don't really have a gameplan up here. Got any jobs for a demolitions pony?"

"Well, I..."

The door burst open and a couple waddled in. I really do have to wonder about the physiques of some of these ponies. Despite seeing no farming infrastructure of any kind, I've met a startling amount of ponies that don't so much walk as roll. "Where is this adventurer from the Stable?" the mare yodelled, rolling her R's like an opera soloist. For fear that she'd come to eat me, I pointed at the conspicuously inconspicuous newspaper guy in the corner. Lone Star chuckled and nudged me in the shoulder.

"Atom, give yourself a little credit! I think Mezzo Soprano has a job that needs doing."

"Oh, goodie." I knocked back some more beer.

"I require an intrepid soul to assist me! I implore you to lend me your services!"

I took a deep breath and sighed. "What is it?"

"My finest laces and linens have been abandoned at a creek north of town! I was scouring them of filth when... creatures accosted me, and I was forced to flee for my safety! Oboe! Fan me, I think I feel faint!"

"Y-yes dear!" The stallion took out a handkerchief and started feebly whipping her in the face. She continued to look desperate.

"Right. Cool. I... yeah."

"Oh boy! You're an adventurer?" The universe again forced my gaze against my will, this time to the teenager sitting at the bar. My field of vision did a weird zoom, disorienting me for a second.

"I guess that's what I am?" Disgustingly warm as it was, I couldn't get this beer into me quick enough.

"Can I come with you? I've always wanted to see the wasteland, go on exciting adventures, get into thrilling fights..." I stopped listening after this. He spent a good forty seconds prattling on comic book nonsense before coming up for air. "So can I can I can I?"

"If I say yes, will you stop talking?" He exploded in a grin and punched both forehooves in the air alternately. I chugged the rest of my beer.

The kid's promise to stop talking held up for all of five minutes. He bounced around, asking me retarded questions, following up with another one he said was 'even better' before I'd even mustered the will to answer the last one. I took another look at the scrap metal on my arm, ruing the lack of a radio to drown him out with. There would be things to detonate at the creek, I had been assured. I kept my mind on that.

I could tell that we were approaching the creek by the smell. The mineral, clay smell of untold quantities of mud, a reservoir of near ice-cold soil, saturated with water, making it soft and impossible to cross at more than a snail's pace. Patches of grass were separated by smears in the ground, leading down to the river. What was this mare doing washing her clothes here? Was she one of those crazies that had an eternal cycle of going to muddy water to do her laundry, getting as far as the bank, realising that in travel she's completely undone any meagre amount of cleaning she might have achieved, and then immediately gone back in to start over? I was struck senseless with the sheer absurdity. Like, I actually stood there overlooking the river and the kid's incessant rambling vanished from my perception while I boggled vacantly at the laziest fetch quest ever designed.

When I finally emerged from my stupor, the brat had already gone to the riverside and fetched the basket. At least he was that useful. He was being followed by some crabs... crabs? Crabs. I think the guy back at the bar had bigger sunglasses than these things. I sighed, sat back on my haunches and rubbed my temples. Still, I'd come to make things explode, and make things explode is what I'd bloody well do.

I didn't feel like giving myself another mudbath trying to retrieve darts, so I got out one of the grenades from earlier and... I wasn't quite sure how I wanted to throw it. I'd used grenades before, but that was just rolling them with the pin out, instead of a proper throw. Considering we're the dominant life form on this planet, there sure aren't many weapons designed with us in mind. I rolled it from hoof to hoof, trying to get the pin to come out. The kid yelped from being pinched by a crab. I picked up the pin with my teeth, but then let it go. I'd just have a live grenade in my hooves, and I'd probably drop it at my feet if I tried to throw it.

"Help!"

"Hang on a second." I grabbed the pin in my teeth and tentatively let a hoof down to see how much weight it would support. It didn't slip out, so I started walking in circles. Inertia pulled the bulb to one side, but it still held on. I sped up, running in the tightest circles I could manage. I heard a soft metallic schling over the sound of the brat getting harassed by crabs, and I started running in whatever direction I stopped in that wasn't into the river. I swerved left, then right, then harder left again, and it wasn't getting any better from there. I tripped about twenty feet from the river and rolled on to my back. I heard a boom. A few seconds later, the kid emerged from the river with the basket, thoroughly soaked in mud and with a crab hanging off his ear.

"I got... the laundry..." He crumpled to the ground and panted. When I recovered, I got up and scooped the basket on to my back. I figured the kid had passed out, so I just went on without him. Crabs. Did Colton have some kind of mass phobia of crabs? They're not even mutated giant crabs.

A minute later he caught up, as full of chatter as ever. Sigh. "Did you just leave me there for Mirelurks? I don't know if that was a very heroic thing to do. Were you attacked? It might have been okay if you were attacked and had to go, but I didn't see anything there. Was that grenade you? I didn't see anyone else around before I went down to the river so it must have been you in which case you're really bad at throwing grenades and that might have hit me, an-"

Boom. I caught the dart as it span away, and chambered it again. I wiped the blood from the end of my gun on his side and carried on. "Nope. Do not have the time for that today."

"Hey lady! I've got your laundry!"

I could feel gravity shift as Oboe and Mezzo Soprano approached. "Wonderful! Simply marvellous!" Oboe took the basket while Mezzo leaned in to kiss the air either side of my face. I winced. She smelled like this weird mix of talc and body odour. Lady, all your attempted bourgeois crap is not quite covering up the lack of showers in this place.

"So what do I get?"

"My deepest and most sincere gratitude!"

"Wait, you mean..."

"Now do take care! We must be off! Come, dear!" Before I could properly articulate my disbelief at having been tricked into charity, the two moons of Colton exited the bar and blundered down the street to go back to their lives.

"Now you know why we don't get many heroes around here," Raisinface behind the bar said, with a smug smirk buried somewhere in the crevices of his wrinkles.

I yelped when something pulled me to the floor. A hoof was pressed to my mouth. I flailed, but it held firm. My hoof made contact with felt, and a face, producing a masculine grunt. Some seconds passed before I was released. I shoved whatever it was away and scrambled back up to dust myself off and fix my glasses.

"What the hell was that about?"

Hat Accent fixed his hat, replacing the three playing cards that were sitting in it. "They nearly saw you."

"They? My plot senses are tingling. Who's 'they'?"

He inhaled deeply and looked around the bar. Sunglasses had left. He started moving to the far corner. "C'mon. This needs to be quiet."

"Is it a conspiracy? I love conspiracies!" I bounced after him to a table at the wall. I watched his posture sink.

"Name's Full House. I don't know what you did, but you've got the Enclave lookin' for you."

"The who?"

"You are fresh out of the Stable, aren't you?"

"About eleven o'clock this morning."

He sighed. "Okay, here's a crash course on wasteland politics. There are all kinds of cliques of ponies for any cause you can think of. Raider tribes, technophiles, slavers, assassins, neighbourhood watches, you name it. But there's one that you don't want to put yourself on the wrong side of, and that's the Grand Pegasus Enclave. Remnants of pegasi that abandoned the war."

"Your accent is weird. You're not from here, are you?"

He frowned and ignored me. "They hoarded technology and built farms in the clouds. Now nobody knows what they're up to, but I can tell you this much: no good. Experiments. Crazy racial purity schemes. When the Enclave want something, you know that trouble's on the way, and two of their spooks just passed by looking for you."

"How do you know they wanted me?"

"They had a photograph. One of them was reading a newspaper when you came in earlier. Only one in print around these parts is their own Times. They like to think ponies read it, but it's just kindling in most places. If you see a pony reading a newspaper, it's a safe bet they're an Enclave agent."

"So, if one of their fronts for looking inconspicuous is to do something that nobody else does, how have they not wised up to that yet?"

His face went blank and he paused for thought. "Don't jinx it."

"But what could they possibly want with me? I woke up this morning in a Stable, I can't fly for more than fifteen seconds, and I'm armed with a Nerf gun."

"Back where I come from, Equestria..."

"Ah! The belligerent assholes that started the war! Bang-up job, guys!"

He sank his head to the table before continuing. "... the Enclave took a pretty bad hit from a Stable Dweller. There's stories from all over the wasteland of ponies coming out of Stables clueless and then pulling all kindsa heroics. There's something special about 'em. I'll bet they're thinking that if they can get one on their side, they can put them to use, or even figure out what it is."

"Sounds like a load of superstitious crap to me."

"That don't matter. If the Enclave believe it, then you better believe it, because you're gonna need all the luck you can get."

I sat back for a minute. I had two lines of inquiry I could press. There was a sensible one, and there was the one I went with. "Forgive my naivety, but aren't clouds kind of a volatile place to build on?"

"It never stops raining here. They have almost permanent cloud cover without even trying."

"Cloud cover that's constantly being eroded from the bottom."

"You've lived in a Stable all your life."

"You're a mudpony." He gasped. "Relax, I'm an equal-opportunities misanthrope. I could have said sparkle pony or featherbrain, but they're both inaccurate."

He grumbled. "Right. What's your point?"

"Presumably the Enclave have a base somewhere."

"Yeah, they have a Thunderhead over Manechester, but..."

"Then, Mr. Full House, I might permit you to discover why I'm called Atom Smasher."

Level up! There it is again! I'm not putting these here why is New perk: Jobseeker's Allowance

Every day that you have no active quest, certain offices will have a small stipend of caps for you.