Chapter 9: Hospitality

“Y’know, you could at least let me have the ammo for my pistol,” I said, trying my absolute best to remain friendly. “I’m gonna need to be able to defend myself if we’re attacked. If there’s one thing I’ve learned down here it’s that death is only an empty magazine away. Or uh, gem pack in my case.”

“Don’t get your feathers all rustled, Birdie,” Greaser replied. “I know this place like the back of my bloody hoof. I can get us to the city in one piece, and if anything comes after us I’m more than prepared to deal with it.”

I felt my feathers bristle in irritation. “Okay, my feathers are not rustled—”

“Who’s the mare that’s spent her entire life down here?” Greaser asked, looking at me with a raised eyebrow.

“You are, but—”

“Now how long have you been down here?”

“I dunno, like three days?” I guessed. “Even if that’s the case, I don’t see how—”

“Exactly,” Greaser said as she turned, her orange ponytail swinging over her shoulder. “Three days versus a lifetime. I know where we are and how to get where we’re going. I know the dangers of the area and how to avoid them, and I’ve also picked up a sizable knowledge of the wildlife. I trust you enough to travel with you but that doesn’t mean I trust you with a loaded weapon.”

“And here I thought we were getting along so well,” I sighed ruefully.

“I said I wanted to make sure you were all right, I didn’t say anything about trusting you,” Greaser said. “I’m just not the type of pony to leave a stranger to die. If you want to be one of my mates you’re going to have to work up to it, yeah? I’m willing to forgive and forget—provided you don’t try to stab me again anytime soon.”

“No, that—you don’t have to worry about that,” I said with little enthusiasm. “The last thing on my mind is turning on you, especially after you helped me.” Maybe I’d read too far into that hug. Now was as good a time as any to ask about it though. “You always hug ponies who try to kill you?”

Greaser nickered quietly. “Tend to get a bit enthusiastic sometimes when I’m meeting new ponies. It’s not always a good thing, but I’ve made a lot of nice friends over the years. It’s also helped me to keep off of anypony’s bad side,” She added pointedly. “Awful hard to stay mad at a cheery pony, innit? Kill ‘em with kindness, I say.”

“Right, yeah…” I muttered. “Friends.”

“What’s wrong?” Greaser asked, turning to look at me with her brow raised in concern. “Don’t you have any friends?”

“Uh,” I faltered, looking over my shoulders at the empty space behind me. “Not anymore? I mean, I did when I was living above the clouds. A small group. I’ve never been all that great at making friends. I have what my sister calls an ‘insufferable personality.’”

Greaser snorted.

“No, seriously,” I insisted.

Things grew quiet for a while, and I followed Greaser as she made her way to our destination. I was putting a lot of trust in her not to lead me right into an ambush. She really had no reason not to walk me across a minefield or into a building occupied by raiders. I was relying entirely on her perceived good-natured intentions. She seemed nice enough and her offer appeared genuine as far as I could tell, but even so I found myself awash with mild anxiety.

Up until recently we’d been following a main road towards a distant city. As we approached the city limits and the buildings grew orders of magnitudes taller, I paused to gaze curiously at an old sign by the roadside. It was a sign welcoming travelers to the city. Several of the letters had fallen off at some point, leaving behind an odd jumble that didn't quite spell out the city’s full name.

“Buckston?” I said, sounding it out.

“It is now,” Greaser said as she doubled back to see why I’d stopped. “The apostrophe and the W have long gone, so it’s taken on a bit of a new identity. The place used to be called Buck’s Town before the war. Quite a bit bigger than a town now, as you can bloody well see,” the unicorn said, inclining her head towards the tall office buildings at the center of the city.

I followed her gesture and looked up at the skyline as something caught my eye. One large black building towered above the others at about twice the height of its next tallest cousin. It stuck out like a sore hoof amidst its shorter brethren. From what I could see, the only way to that building—and the city center, by the looks of it—was by way of a partially-collapsed highway overpass. One end of the elevated structure was sloped downwards, its paved surface curved in a gentle arc not unlike a hillside.

“But why Buck’s Town?” I asked as Greaser resumed walking.

“As I understand it the town was renamed after a griffon bloke named Buck… Somethingorother. I can’t be arsed to remember his whole name. If you ask me, griffons name themselves rather oddly.

“Anyway,” Greaser continued, “Place was a little backwater town before this Buck fellow shows up. Wealthy entrepreneur, I’ve heard. He brought with him business and industry and the little town started expanding. Once the war was in full swing the place exploded in size. Apparently this Buck griffon made quite a lot of money through war profiteering and used it to build himself a nice tower right smack-dab in the middle of the city. Past that, well… you know how things went.”

I was so caught up listening to Greaser’s crash course of the city’s history that I hadn’t noticed us moving away from the highway. When Greaser kept walking forward into the ruined city, my unease started to grow. She appeared to be headed towards a dark tunnel sandwiched between buildings on either side. Upon the hill over the tunnel were even more buildings and the only way past it that I could see was either straight through or over the top. I wasn’t keen to travel through another dark enclosed space and I certainly didn’t feel up to flying just yet, so I bounded ahead of Greaser and blocked her path.

“Whoa, where… where are we going?” I asked, trying my best to mask the worry in my voice.

“Into town,” Greaser said, nickering as she stopped short. “You make a better door than an archway y’know,” the unicorn snarked as she stepped around me.

“Wait a minute!” I insisted, again blocking Greaser’s passage. “Do we have to go through that tunnel? Why can’t we take the highway overpass? It looks like it heads right into the middle of the city!”

“It does,” Greaser huffed, “But we can’t go that way.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t have a bloody trading permit, that’s why,” Greaser snapped, pushing roughly past me. “It’s the safest way in and out of the city. Multiple checkpoints along the way and at either end searching for trader permits and contraband. Freeway’s for merchants only, you see,” Greaser explained. “The permit for passage costs a heap of money. The kind of money only merchants tend to have.”

Checkpoints? Trading permits? And had she said contraband? I found myself following along behind Greaser as she continued on, too curious to care about the tunnel’s mouth looming closer. “I thought everything was just a disorganized rabble down here? You mean to tell me you’ve actually managed to establish some sort of rudimentary order?”

“Obsidian runs their ship tight as,” Greaser said matter-of-factly. “Sale of chems is prohibited within city limits. Slavery is also cracked down on pretty hard. It’s no Canterlot, but they try fairly bloody hard to keep things as close to ponies’ picturesque ideals of civilization as possible.”

Well color me impressed. I thought the surface ponies had been beyond hope given everything I’d witnessed over the years. The fact that there was something even remotely resembling law was enough to make my head spin.

I didn’t notice Greaser slowing down until she’d just about stopped and I nearly tripped over her. We’d paused at the mouth of the tunnel, and the reason for it became clear at a glance. From within hastily erected shacks on either side of the road came a small group of ponies. They didn’t look very friendly. The group was outfitted in a vast assortment of leathers and mismatching armor plates that looked like they’d been pulled out of a scrap bin and hastily welded together. Each and every one of them had filthy coats, disheveled manes and tails and the powerful stench emanating from them was enough to turn my stomach. That smell reminded me of one thing, and vividly—Garrote.

Raiders.

“Bloody hell, it’s the Boopers,” Greaser hissed under her breath. “Oi, Stringbean. Keep your mouth off your bloody knife, yeah? Let me handle this. You’re liable to cock it up and that’s us right buggered.”

“I have to keep my mouth off my knife because you won’t let me have it back!” I snapped. “I can’t even defend myself! This is some bullshit!”

My protests were silenced by a swat from Greaser’s tail. “Just shut your gob and let me do the talking,” Greaser muttered. “This isn’t the first time I’ve dealt with Caltrop’s little band.”

Before I could ask who Caltrop was, the small group parted and a pony stepped forward. She was filthy like the rest of them, her coat caked in layers of grime and blood. The muddy brown mare wore a tattered old studded leather jacket, and belts of various shapes and sizes were wrapped around her with no discernable pattern. I got the feeling that they were more for looks than anything else, though I didn’t quite understand the purpose of the aesthetic.

As she stepped closer, she pursed her lips and blew a large pink bubble that popped with an audible crack. “Heya Lady,” the mare said in a squeaky rasp. “You was alone when ya left today. Who’s this clown?”

“G’day, Caltrop. This is… a friend of mine,” Greaser said while I scowled at the diminutive raider. “I don’t want any trouble, mate.”

“No trouble?” Caltrop said, raising her eyebrows. “You an’ me? We’re fine. Now yer little fuckin’ friend here… if ya don’t tell him t’ stop starin’ at me I’m gonna gouge his motherfuckin’ eyes out.” She turned to glare in my direction. “Ya hear me, Stretch? Ya better look somewheres else before I knock all yer teeth out.”

“I’d like to see you try it, you little shit,” I snarled before I could stop myself.

“Mach, shut up,” Greaser snapped as she elbowed me in the ribs.

“’The fuck you jus’ say t’ me?” Caltrop said as she spat out her gum. A few of the ponies in the group beside her nickered and scraped at the ground with their hooves. The youth tossed the unruly bangs of her vanilla-white mohawk out of her face and fixed me with a glare. “Go ahead an’ say it again. I dare ya.”

“You heard me the first time,” I said, stepping past Greaser towards the raider mare. I’d had enough of raider bullshit with Curb Stomp and Garrote. I wasn’t going to put up with Caltrop’s either. “You think I’m afraid of some upstart little shit and her gang? What the hell kind of name is ‘Boopers’ anyway?” Everypony around me reacted at once. Caltrop’s gang bristled and Greaser gave me a sidelong glance and a pained grimace. “A-Anyway,” I continued, “I’m an Enclave soldier. I’ve got years of training and combat experience, and I can fly. What’s the worst a group of street thugs can do to a pony that can fly?”

To prove my point, I lifted off to hover just over everypony and out of hoof’s reach. My chest hurt like hell doing it, but none of Caltrop’s gang had guns and at least I was out of melee range.

“Don’t underestimate a pegasus, dirt-muncher,” I sneered, looking down my nose at Caltrop.

To my immense surprise, Caltrop reached for some sort of rudimentary spear slung across her back. The raider mare took it up in both forelegs as she reared up, doubling her height and bringing her that much closer to where I hovered in midair. Caltrop’s hooves blurred and I howled in pain as the wooden haft of her spear cracked into my wing.

I dropped out of the air and fell flat on my back to the hard pavement below. As I laid there groaning, Caltrop walked over to stand by me. The rest of her gang followed behind her and my stomach did backflips as they entered my peripheral vision one by one.

“Don’t sell earth ponies short, asshole,” Caltrop spat, looking down her nose at me. “Oh an’ one more thing, ya brainless fuck—” Before I could ask what it was, Caltrop hooked her forehoof at my face as hard as she could. A moment later I was blinking tears out of my eyes and cussing up a storm while I cradled what I was pretty sure was a broken nose.

Caltrop bent down, putting her face so close to my own that I could smell her rancid breath. Her pink eyes narrowed as she glared at me, unblinking. Only when I met her gaze did she finish her sentence by uttering a single word.

“—Boop.”

“Right then.” Greaser said, and I felt myself being dragged unceremoniously along the ground away from the raider. “You’ve had your fun, Caltrop. You lot beat it before someone from Obsidian catches you. You know there’s no raiding parties allowed within city limits.”

“I told ya Lady, we ain’t raiders,” Caltrop said with a sly grin. “We’s jus’ tryin’ t’ survive out there like the rest ‘a ya. Can’t afford t’ be choosy ‘bout our targets. Ain’t no fault ‘a mine if some of ‘em can’t defend themselves. Mark’s a mark! We gots t’ put food on the table somehow.”

“That’s the bloody definition of raiding!” Greaser shrieked. “If you want food and shelter, either scavenge like the rest of us or get a job!”

“Eh, tomato/potato,” Caltrop said with a shrug and a dismissive wave of her hoof.

“To-mah-to,” Greaser corrected, her ears twitching in annoyance.

“Whatever. Look, I’m gonna be honest wit’ ya, Lady,” Caltrop said as she popped a little pink sphere into her mouth and turned her back as she started to chew. “The only reason we ain’t laid a hoof on ya is ‘cause yer in tight wit’ Obsidian. If you wasn’t on such good terms wit’ them…” Caltrop paused to turn her head slightly, so that only one eye was visible. “I prolly woulda took yer shit an’ left ya fer dead ages ago.

“Anyway… toodles,” Caltrop said as she walked away and her group followed. “Have fun in the tunnel.”

“Argh, sud ubba bitch,” I growled as the sound of hoofsteps faded into the distance. “I dink she broke by dose.”

“C’mere, you big baby,” Greaser sighed. “Give us a look.” She turned my head this way and that, pressing gingerly on my muzzle and eliciting a sharp hiss of pain from me. “You’re fine. Just a little bloodied. It’s going to be tender for a spell, that’s for sure.”

“I taste blood,” I protested as Greaser helped me to my hooves.

“Well there’s a lot of it,” Greaser said, floating over a grimy rag to wipe my nose. I got a powerful whiff of grease and machine oil that lingered even after Greaser stowed the rag in a pocket on her overalls. “She socked you pretty good. Bloody well told you to let me handle it, didn’t I? If you’re not going to listen to ponies that know better than you I can fairly guarantee a lot more mishaps like this in your future.”

“You could’ve helped me,” I snapped as Greaser began walking into the gaping maw of the tunnel entrance. I eyed the weapon she produced with her magic warily. It was rather large and looked more like an industrial tool than a gun. “You just stood there and let her kick the shit out of me.”

“You were asking for it,” Greaser snorted. “You shot your mouth off when I told you to keep quiet and let me handle things. If I were anypony else, we’d both probably be dead right now. Caltrop’s young. She’s got a lot to prove and she can’t afford to show weakness in front of her mates. Her lot know that if she comes down on me, they’ll all have a bad bloody time of it. She’d be right foolish to try anything.”

“What makes you so special?”

“It’s not me, it’s who I know,” Greaser replied. “Connections are power, mate. The more people you know in the Wasteland, the better off you are. I just so happen to be very close with Obsidian—they’re the group that runs things ‘round here. Mercenaries, but their leader is very fair. That’s who we’re on our way to see, actually.”

The gears in my head started turning. This could be my ticket to a steady job. Being a soldier of fortune wasn’t exactly glamorous, but the military life was all I knew. It wasn’t like I could just start up a trading company. I had no idea how to handle the logistics of such an operation. If I could put my talents as a soldier to use for money, I could certainly afford to put a roof over my head and keep myself from starving. I’d just have to figure out the best way to broach the subject.

“What do you think Caltrop meant by ‘have fun in the tunnel?’” I asked, squinting into the darkness.

“Dunno,” Greaser said as she paused to pinch her eyes shut tight. As I watched curiously, the tip of her horn began to glow brightly. A small orb of pale orange light coalesced just above her horn’s tip, casting a wan glow in a large radius around us. “I’ve been out of town for a couple days. The tunnel’s usually clear, but anything could’ve happened since I left the other day.”

“You mean it’s not guarded?” I asked as Greaser continued forward and I followed. “You said the highway overpass had checkpoints but there’s nopony posted to this tunnel?”

“Waste of personnel,” Greaser said. “Posting guards to the tunnel just draws resources away from where they can be better put to use. The inner city itself is patrolled regularly, so even if somepony up to no good were to get through the tunnel they’d still have to make it past one of the town guards.”

A short period of silence passed before I spoke up again to ask a question that had been bothering me.

“Why did Caltrop’s gang flip out when I called them the Boopers? That’s what you called them, isn’t it?”

“About that,” Greaser said, deliberately avoiding eye contact with me. “They’re not really called the Boopers. Officially. That’s just… sort of what we call them. Y’see, Caltrop’s known for leaving ponies she doesn’t kill with bloodied and broken noses. It’s sort of her calling card. Hence… Boopers. It’s a nickname. They don’t much care for it, as you saw.”

I growled incoherently to voice my displeasure. “So what do they call themselves then?”

“The Kneecappers or summat, I dunno,” Greaser shrugged. “Don’t really care, to be honest.”

We fell silent again, the only sound our hooves echoing in the cavernous depths of the tunnel. A concrete barrier divided the tunnel into two lanes, halving the amount of space we had to meander around the debris within. Old rusted-out hulks of abandoned autowagons littered the tunnel, their owners likely having fled once the bombs started falling and traffic became gridlock. Here and there a portion of the ceiling had collapsed, spilling dirt and concrete into the tunnel like a leaky pipe.

Cold gripped my chest and I had difficulty drawing breath. Oh stars, was the tunnel safe? My head whipped around to focus on the nearest hole. I could’ve sworn fresh chunks of concrete and gravel were tumbling down the pile. My eyes snapped over to a support beam to seek reassurance. Was it bending? What was the maximum weight rating for rusted support structures? Two centuries had passed without any maintenance! It looked like it was about to give out!

A strong bout of dizziness washed over me and I stumbled around like a drunken oaf while I fought to keep my balance. I was dimly aware of Greaser asking me if I was all right, her words nothing but garbled noise in my ringing ears. I was so preoccupied with trying not to slam my face into a nearby pair of autowagons that I didn’t hear Greaser’s shout until it was too late.

“Stop, mate! Watch out!”

Something snagged one of my forehooves and I tripped anyway. I flailed and flapped to try and prevent the fall, but I was already too messed up by vertigo to coordinate myself. A second later my claustrophobia was all but forgotten and I yelled in surprise when the tunnel lit up like a Summer Sun Celebration.

Electric jolts of adrenaline coursed through me when I heard what sounded like a heavy machine gun opening fire. Bullets whizzed by just overhead, and I pressed myself as flat to the ground as possible. Everything but survival had been pushed to the back of my mind, and I wormed forward bit by bit to the safety of the nearest cover—the wrecked autowagons. Greaser had already beaten me there, and the mare glared reproachfully down at me as I hunkered up beside her.

“Told you to watch out, didn’t I? Bloody hell!” She yelled over the gunfire. “Is stumbling around like you’re sloshed your idea of a joke? What’s the matter with you?”

“Can we save that for later?” I yelled back. “How many?”

“None!” Greaser shouted as the gunfire fell silent. She rolled her eyes as her voice echoed in the tunnel—now devoid of flying lead—before lowering her volume. “None. It was a booby trap, you featherbrained arsehole.”

“A booby trap?” I pushed myself up to my hooves and followed as Greaser trotted over to the gap between the autowagons. When I drew up alongside her, I followed her hoof down to where a snapped tripwire laid loosely on the ground. “Oh, son of a bitch. Is this what Caltrop meant by ‘have fun in the tunnel?’ Do you think she set this up?”

“Doubt it,” Greaser said as she looked over what appeared to be a rather complex rig. “This looks a little beyond her capabilities. I might be able to use some of this. Give me a sec, mate. I want to look it over before we go.” Greaser stuck her tongue out in concentration, and I felt the hairs at the back of my neck prickle at the sudden stirring of magical energy. “Let’s see… let’s see, let’s see what makes you tick, little guy.”

As I looked on, a strange magical projection shot out of Greaser’s horn, forming a sort of lattice of pale orange light that splashed over the machine gun booby trap. A second later, a brighter beam of magic swept over the lattice in a sort of slow scanning motion. Greaser’s eyes glazed over and as the beam crept along the lattice, they began moving side to side as if she were reading something. Greaser began muttering in an excited manner and I strained my hearing to understand what she was saying. It sounded almost like she was rattling off items on a shopping list.

“Belt-fed machine gun—intermediate cartridge. General purpose, I’d wager. Reckon I might be able to make use of it if it’s in good condition. Over here we have… a magical actuator rigged to the trigger, powered by a spark battery. Actuator could be useful, but the battery has a weak charge—worthless. Whole rig is held together with brackets made of scrap metal and… wood screws!? Bah! Rubbish.” I looked on puzzled when Greaser’s face lit up like a decorated Hearth’s Warming tree. “Maaad!” the unicorn exclaimed, her hooves pattering as she jogged in place. “It’s mounted to a tripod! Bloody hell, I’ve been looking for one of these for ages! Here, hold this!”

I flailed my hooves and managed to snag the machine gun as she ripped it off the tripod with her telekinesis and tossed it at me. All the little bits that had been attached to it went flying every which way as Greaser tore them off and discarded them like trash. Once she’d gotten the tripod completely free of any impromptu additions, she collapsed it and settled it across her back, securing it with some sort of hooked elastic cord.

“So what, you’re just gonna let me have a gun now?” I asked as Greaser searched the booby trap for anything else of value. I watched a nut and bolt or two slip into one of her saddlebags as I waited for a response.

“Don’t be stupid, it’s not loaded.” Greaser snorted. “The only way you could hurt me with that thing would be if you were to swing it and I’m not too worried about that. No offense mate, but you don’t look like you could beat your way out of a wet paper bag.”

“I resent that,” I muttered, narrowing my gaze at her.

Greaser paid me no mind. She was apparently lost in her own little world and pranced off ahead of me with a noticeable skip in her trot. I hastened to catch up, fastening the empty machine gun to the free weapon mount on my battle saddle opposite the coilgun. I didn’t bother linking the trigger to the bit as I was pretty sure Greaser would want it back, whether it was for parts or to barter with.

“Hey,” I said as I caught up to her, “What was that thing you did back there?”

“Eh?”

“With your magic,” I explained. “That spell you used, what was that?”

“Oh!” Greaser said as sudden realization dawned on her. “I’m not used to ponies taking an interest. That was a diagnostic spell. It’s heaps useful out here in the wastes. More valuable than gold for a tinkerer like me.”

“It’s a what, now?”

“A diagnostic spell,” Greaser repeated. “I learned it from an old manual on autowagon repair I found a long time ago. It’s supposed to help a mechanic pinpoint malfunctioning or broken parts to make repairs easier, but I don’t use it for that.”

“Wait, what?” I said, confused. “Why not? How many other applications could there possibly be for a spell like that?”

“At least two that I can think of,” Greaser said. “I can use my magic to feel out complicated gadgets and devices. It allows me to easily locate useful parts. On top of that, it gives me a greater understanding of how things are put together, like a sort of reverse-blueprinting spell. It’s really made scavenging and building things heaps easier. Wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

A sudden idea bubbled to the surface, jarred loose by my unexpected discovery of Greaser’s mechanical aptitude. Maybe I could convince her to take a look at the coilgun and find out what the hell was wrong with it... That stupid piece of garbage hadn’t worked right since the first time I used it. Hell, it had gremlins when Doc had first showed it to me. Stars-damned thing was more trouble than it was worth and as far as I could see the Enclave was wasting time sending recovery teams to come and pry it off of my dead corpse.

“Oi, mate. Yoo-hoo, Equestria to Mach. Pay attention, Stringbean.”

“Huh? What?” I shook my head and looked over in Greaser’s direction.

“I asked you what your problem was earlier,” Greaser said. Apparently for the second time. “Y’know, when you were stumbling around like you’d had a pint too many?”

“Oh. Uh.” Now that my attention had been drawn back to the fact that we were standing in a tunnel, the world lurched abruptly. I shut my eyes tight and took a few deep breaths until the queasiness in my stomach settled, then took off at a brisk trot. “Can we talk about it while we’re walking? Preferably fast and towards out, please. I’m claustrophobic. I don’t like being underground.”

“What, this here?” Greaser said, looking up at the ceiling above as she trotted after me. “A tunnel? This is hardly what I would call underground, mate. Maybe the metro or the tunnel that goes under the eastern river, but not this one. I think this just cuts through a small hill.”

“I can’t help it, all right?” I snapped. “I just need to get out of here before I have a panic attack.”

We ran the rest of the tunnel’s length without incident, though I had to stop to clutch a stitch in my side once we emerged into daylight. Relief washed over me for reasons several. Not only was I glad to be out of that stars-damned tunnel, but I was doubly glad that Greaser had extended the offer to take me to someone who could look my injuries over. If it hadn’t been clear when I was inches from death, it was certainly clear now that those Steel Rangers had messed me up really badly. The sooner someone who knew what they were doing could examine me, the better.

After checking to make sure I was all right, Greaser gestured towards the end of the street with a tip of her head. I took her cue, nodding in understanding and falling into step behind her as she again took the lead.

Around us, the buildings had gotten taller and much less spaced out as we got closer to the city’s center. Many had collapsed in the centuries following the war, partially if not completely. Some ways were blocked entirely by the rubble of the fallen structures, forcing us to seek alternate routes. Although, I supposed that since Greaser knew exactly where she was going, they weren’t exactly detours.

Walking the streets of Buckston reminded me a lot of the metropolis of Cyclonus above the clouds. A strange phenomenon, it was a sprawling urban cityscape built around the eye of a hurricane. It was the very same hurricane from which the city had taken its name. Cyclonus—the Eternal Storm. A lot of bad memories surfaced as I recalled the few visits I’d made to the city. Memories I’d have rather left buried and forgotten.

“There it is,” Greaser said, dragging me back to reality. “That’s Sanctuary.”

I followed her pointing hoof over to a large gate set up between two buildings. I couldn’t see much beyond the gate, due in no small part to the tight ring of buildings completely enclosing the center of the city. That large black building I’d spotted earlier loomed over everything in the area. It stood so tall I had to tip my head back to fit it entirely within my field of view. I found my eye drawn naturally to it and due to my perspective it looked like it was poised to slice up through the skies and pierce the cloud cover.

“Hey!” Somepony bellowed from behind me, and I whirled to see a stallion pulling a caravan wagon. He’d stopped and was glaring at me impatiently. “If you’re done gawking, do you think you can get out of the way? I’ve got shit to do and time’s a-wasting.”

I grumbled an apology and stepped aside to let him pass. I scrunched my muzzle when I saw a train of wagons behind the first stallion’s, all making their way to the gates into Sanctuary.

“I thought traders had a different way into the city?” I asked as I turned to face Greaser. “That overpass I wanted to use?”

“They do, but the freeway offramp merges onto the street back towards the way we came," Greaser explained. "The traders have the luxury of bypassing all the side streets we had to take to get here from the tunnel. It’s pretty much a straight shot from the offramp to Sanctuary’s gates. I reckon it’s a bit of a fair trade for having to deal with all the checkpoints along the way.”

We fell into step behind the next caravan to pass us by, following it all the way to the entrance. There were one or two more ahead of us, and a pony in jet-black combat armor was stopping and checking for the trader permits Greaser had mentioned. As we drew closer, I caught a snippet of the conversation between the trader ahead of us and the pony posted to security detail.

“Hold up there,” the guard said to the trader. At a wave of his hoof, another pony went to peer inside the fabric covering his wagon. “Permit?” The unicorn trader floated out a little piece of paper for the guard to see. “Thanks. So where ya comin’ in from?”

“We did some good business in Manehattan before heading on over here,” the wandering merchant said. “Might try our luck over on Route 52 next.”

“And what is the nature of your stay here in Sanctuary today, sir?” the guard asked. “How long are you planning on being with us?”

“We’re just looking to see if we can do a little more business before we head out again,” the trader answered. “We’ll be here two, maybe three days, I think.”

“They’re clear,” the second guard said, stepping out of the wagon and returning to his post.

“Right this way, sir,” the first guard said, waving the trader forward. “Welcome to Sanctuary. Please take note that safety is our number one concern in Sanctuary. Discharge of a firearm, sale or purchase of chems and any slaving activity are all strictly prohibited. All security will be handled directly by Obsidian personnel, our local firm. If you notice any suspicious persons or ponies do not hesitate to flag down a patrol to report them. As a visitor, we ask that you please keep these things in mind for the duration of your stay.”

“Uh… okay,” the trader said with an awkward scratch of his mane. “Thanks, I guess. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Merchant lodging is on the outer perimeter of Sanctuary’s central trading area,” the guard called after the trader as he moved past the gates. “If you cannot procure free space, accommodations will be made at that time. Enjoy your stay here. Next!” Finished, the guard turned to face us. His expression was stern and businesslike, but softened when he spotted Greaser by my side. “Oh. Hey Greaser. I see you’re finally back from scavenging.”

“Yeah, mate,” Greaser said, grinning as she gestured at the tripod on her back. “It was mostly rubbish but I had a bit of an unexpected windfall on the way back. Found some good bits I can put to use right quick. Hey, do you know if Kiya has gotten another shipment of rivets in yet?”

“I think so. She said to ask you to stop by the next time I saw you.”

“Mad,” Greaser said. “If you see her again, tell her to put them aside. I’ll take the whole lot of them.”

“Will do. Who’s your friend?”

“Bloke I ran into while I was plundering an autowagon repair shop,” Greaser explained as she made her way past him. I followed, uneasy and expecting to be stopped. “He’s all right, Checkpoint. He’s with me. We’re on our way to have him looked at. He was a bit bloodied when we met.”

“All righty. Let me know how that turns out,” Checkpoint said with a smile that made my stomach do backflips.

Regardless, I followed Greaser into the settlement that was known as Sanctuary. So this was it. My ultimate destination that I’d been traveling towards since Gawd had turned me loose days ago. She’d promised that it was a good place to find work and I couldn’t help but agree as I took a look around.

I tried to take it all in as I followed behind Greaser, but there was too much to look at all at once. Sanctuary’s center was taken up by a small park encircled by a roundabout. On the outermost sidewalk, traders had set up their wagons and stands to peddle their wares. Trader wagons and caravans rolled around the roundabout as they came and went from the city, and ponies and non-ponies alike bustled through the busy town.

This place was practically a metropolis compared to that crappy little shanty New Appleloosa!

A piercing screech cut through the din of activity in Sanctuary, causing me and a few others to jump in surprise. It wasn’t a good sound. It made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and I felt the adrenaline start pumping once more. I didn’t have to wait long to find out what had made the noise. She arrived with a beat of massive wings and was screaming in a language I only barely understood thanks to classes I’d taken in school. Classes I’d taken nearly a decade ago.

"He, du da!” the griffoness bellowed, and I recoiled as she swung the barrel of a sub machine gun around to target me while she hovered in place. "Die Enklave hat hier nichts verloren!"

“Oh fuck me, not again!” I yelped, casting into the depths of my memory to try and remember enough to keep myself from getting shot by another angry griffon. “B-Bitte, nicht das schiessen! Ich bin der freund!”

The griffoness squinted at me warily. “...Was?”

Damn it! She hadn’t understood me! “Stars-damned high school language classes!” I growled.

“Mach—” Greaser began.

“Not now!” I snapped. Couldn’t she see I was trying to avoid getting shot? I had to figure out how to tell her I wasn’t an Enclave pegasus. I wracked my brain a little more and tried getting my message across again. “Nicht innerhalb der Enklave!” I insisted. That sounded kind of right.

I hoped.

“Sag’ mal, verstehst du überhaupt was ich dir die ganze Zeit sage?” the griffoness said, speaking slow and clear. It was at this point that she lowered her gun, perhaps not convinced I was a threat, but not entirely sure I was harmless either.

“Some,” I replied. It was somewhat true, anyway. I could understand her for the most part, but I couldn’t remember enough words to respond fluently. "Ich bin… uh…” I thought for a moment and what I thought was a suitable word came to me at last. “Merk... würdig? Ah! Ich bin merkwürdig!”

“Tatsache,” The griffoness snorted. She covered her beak as she snickered at my response before firing off a retort. "Da hast du wohl Recht."

Showoff. She was practically talking circles around me.

“If you’re done making a complete arse out of yourself,” Greaser sighed, stepping past me and giving me a sidelong glance, “Tess, you’ve done it again.”

“Eh?” Tess chirped.

“You’ve started bellowing Griffon at yet another pony,” Greaser explained. “I should bloody well say you lost this bloke at word one and judging by your giggling, you’re just having a laugh now.”

“Ja,” Tess replied, her golden eyes shining mischievously. “Apologies, Mausi.”

Greaser rolled her eyes and gestured to the hovering griffoness. “Mach, this is Tess Shadowclaw. She works for Obsidian so you’ll probably be seeing a lot of her if you stick around.”

“Moin,” Tess said, casually waving a claw.

It was then that I noticed that Tess was actually fairly attractive… for a griffon. Wiry and lithe, she had a gorgeous coat and plumage that was a mixture of snowy white, blacks and greys. I almost hadn’t noticed the light combat armor she’d been wearing due to how well it blended in with her tuft of ebony chest feathers. I wondered vaguely what she smelled like and a sudden urge to stroke her back and scratch under her cute little beak overcame me. Utter revulsion and disgust with myself followed an instant later.

Wait, what? What? What was I thinking, she was a griffon!

“You speak Equestrian,” I blurted, slack-jawed and feeling my face start to flush. Thank the stars my coat was red.

“Eh, I speak little,” Tess said in heavily-accented Equestrian, holding a pair of talons about a centimeter apart. “Enough to get by. I am more used to scouting than talking with ponies, but Krieg… he insists on assigning me to patrol duty. So where is it you are off to, Storch?”

“I’m taking him to see Krieg, actually,” Greaser answered before I could open my mouth. “He landed himself in a bit of a spot before he ran into me. Showed up half dead, so I’ve convinced him to have himself looked over before he gets back to whatever it was he was doing.”

“Looking for work,” I said. “I came out this way to find work. I need to find a way to support myself out here since… well, since I don’t have a home anymore.”

“I should bloody well say you’ll find no dearth of work ‘round here, mate,” Greaser said. “There’s always heaps to be done for Obsidian. We can ask Krieg once we’ve got your injuries sorted. I’m sure he can drum up something for you to do.”

“That works for me,” I said as Greaser led me toward the massive black building looming over Sanctuary. Tess followed along, which immediately put me on edge. “You’re not coming with us, are you?”

“Will this be a problem for you?”

“Uh… well you were going to shoot me just now,” I said, annoyed that she couldn’t see why I was wary of her. “I’ll level with you right now—I don’t like your kind. I’ve had nothing but bad experiences where griffons are concerned. I—Oof!”

Greaser cut me off with a sharp jab to the ribs. I wheezed and clutched at my side, biting my lip to keep from yelping at the sudden jolt of pain. I must’ve looked quite the sight, as Tess cocked her head so far to the side it was nearly inverted. I tried to ignore the eyes on me by focusing on the little bobbing plume of feathers on Tess’s head that had been tied up with an elastic. Satisfied that she’d gotten her message across, Greaser continued onward.

“This is the Spire,” Greaser explained as we walked through a revolving door on the building’s concourse. “Obsidian’s main base of operations as well as the most important building here in Sanctuary.”

I took a look around as Greaser gave me the audio tour. Ponies and griffons wearing the same black combat armor as Tess bustled to and fro. So too did ponies and griffons in the garb of ordinary wastelanders, traders and scavengers. There was a near-constant flood of hoof traffic coming and going from a group of elevators at the very back of the lobby. I also noticed that most of those with injuries minor or major tended to make their way toward a particular set of elevator doors that were larger than the rest. A freight elevator, I guessed.

“It used to be a hotel and it still functions as such,” Greaser continued. “Permanent residents of Sanctuary all have rooms here in the Spire. The upper floors are reserved for Obsidian personnel and the very top floor is Krieg Razorbeak’s office. He runs things ‘round here. Down below is the clinic. Obsidian was able to procure enough medical equipment from nearby facilities to convert one of the basement levels into a hospital. It’s the best place for medical care for miles.”

“Holy shit, you guys are doing all right for yourselves,” I said with a low whistle. “You wouldn’t believe how many settlements I’ve seen from the skies that barely had two sticks to rub together.”

“This is Krieg’s legacy,” Greaser explained as she pressed the call button for the elevator. “He’s put years of his life into turning this city around, and it’s a job bloody well done. We’ve got very few problems with raiders and slavers, and Sanctuary has become quite the trader’s hub. We even get merchant ships coming into port from up and down Equestria’s coast.”

I mulled it all over while we stepped into the elevator and Greaser hit the button for the top floor. Stars above, Polaris had surely led me true. If everything was as Greaser had said, I couldn’t have possibly found a better place to settle down and make a living. Sanctuary was a safe haven and there was everything I could ever need to survive here. All I needed now was a job to afford the necessities. Maybe this Razorbeak could help me out with a little facilitation from Greaser and Tess. Stars knew I had a bad track record dealing with griffons.

When the elevator stopped and the doors parted, I saw what was quite possibly the biggest griffon I’d ever seen in my life sitting behind a desk. As we made our way out of the elevator and into the room he looked up from his work, the large grey crest of feathers atop his head bobbing at the sudden motion. There was warmth in his eyes and his jagged black beak quirked up in a smile when he saw Greaser and Tess. That all changed the second his eyes locked onto me.

“Krieg, no!” Greaser shouted.

His beak parted as he stood and a terrible sound rattled the windows. A horrifying cacophony of eagle screech and lion’s roar erupted forth. He exploded out of his chair and flew across his desk with surprising speed, moving far too quickly for a creature of his size. I stood rooted to the spot as he surged toward me, too terrified to move a muscle.

Massive talons closed around my throat a moment later, picking me up and slamming me into the wall. I gasped for air when his claw started to constrict, reaching my forehooves up to try and pry him off. This was evidently the wrong thing to do, as he smashed my head into the wall over and over until my hooves dropped limply to my sides.

“You fuck!” The griffon bellowed into my face. “You come into my city? You come into my building? You come into my fucking office? I told you Enclave bastards you’re not welcome in my city! I’m gonna wring your scrawny little neck until your head pops off, do you understand me?”

“Don’t… I don’t…” I gasped, but I couldn’t get enough air to speak.

“That’s right, you shit,” the griffon snarled. “Choke. You and your pals have caused me no end of trouble and I’m fucking sick of it. I warned you. I warned you not to set foot inside this city and now you’re going to pay for it.”

“Krieg!” Greaser shouted again. “Krieg, put him down!”

“Stay out of this, Greaser,” Krieg growled. “I’ve had it. It’s time to make an example.”

“Krieg, you’ve got him all wrong! He’s not with the Enclave!”

“Bullshit,” Krieg spat. “I know an Enclave soldier when I see one. See this logo?” Krieg pinched the Grand Pegasus Enclave patch between two talons and tore it off of my jacket with a flick of his wrist. “That’s the symbol of the Enclave.”

“Would you just listen to me for one bloody second?” Greaser snapped before turning to Tess, her gaze pleading. “Tess, help me! Talk some sense into him before the poor bastard suffocates!”

“Krieg, Liebchen, please listen to the little one, ja?” Tess said, resting a claw gently on the arm keeping me pinned to the wall. “What do you lose by hearing her out? It is not as if the pegasus could escape. There are three of us and only one of him.”

Little stars were starting to dance in my eyes and my chest was convulsing as it made a desperate attempt to draw oxygen. When the claw released me I flopped to the floor coughing, spluttering and gasping in lungful after lungful of air. I thanked the stars above that the griffon had seen reason but didn’t push my luck. Instead I remained on the floor while I got my breathing under control.

“Dashite, huh?” I flinched when the same claw that had tried to choke the life out of me locked around my leg like a vise. “Tch. That doesn’t change much. Once Enclave, always Enclave. Get him out of my sight.”

“But Krieg—” Greaser protested.

“Now, Grease Gun,” Krieg said, his tone stern.

“I’ve told you not to call me that,” Greaser said, her voice deathly quiet. I saw a lot of myself in her then. Anger and rebellion. “You know I don’t like it when you call me that.”

“Then get this waste of space out of my office before I really lose my temper and throw him through a window,” Krieg said. “I don’t know why you thought this was a good idea.”

“He hasn’t done anything wrong and he needs help!” Greaser protested. “The whole reason I brought him up here was to talk to you! I figured you’d let me explain, but you went and blew your bloody top before anypony could say a word! Krieg, he’s been cast out of the Enclave. He has nowhere to go and he was half dead when I found him. The least you can do is help him out, especially after you damn near killed him.”

“I’ll think about it,” Krieg relented. “Come back tomorrow.”

“But—”

“I said I’d think about it!” Krieg shouted, his words underscored with a lion’s roar. “Tess, get these two out of here before I have a damn stroke!”

"Auf geht's, meine kleinen Pferdchen. Come, come," Tess said, helping me to my hooves and ushering us towards the elevator. “It is not wise to try our luck. Bitte, come back tomorrow. He will have cooled down some by then. I hope.”

As we piled into the elevator, I turned to face the closing doors. I caught a glimpse of the behemoth of a griffon just before the doors slid shut. I saw nothing but contempt in his eyes when they met mine. He was glaring at me with such utter hatred that it chilled me to the bone. What was this guy’s grudge with Enclave ponies? Why did he think we—they—were or had been in his city?

I held a hoof to my temple and groaned my frustration. This was getting way too complicated way too fast. Combined with what I’d heard talking to the Wind Twins and Steel Rangers, things just weren’t making any kind of sense. My brain was tangling itself into a knot trying to figure it all out. I needed sleep. And food.

“Can we be even now?” I sighed, breaking the awkward silence as we stood in the elevator. “I think at this point we can call it even.”

“I’m sorry,” Greaser said, her ears pinned back. She wouldn’t look at me and kept flicking her tail and scratching at a foreleg. Tess was looking like she was trying to pretend she wasn’t there. “I didn’t… I thought he would be fine if the two of us were there with you.”

“Yeah, well... He wasn’t.”

“I’m sorry!” Greaser said, turning so that she was facing me straight on. “I really am, I swear to you. You've got nowhere to stay at the moment, yeah?” I shook my head. “I didn’t think so. Look, why don’t you spend the night at my place? It’s right here in the Spire so you know it’s safe, you won’t have to spend a cap, I’ve got food—I think—and I’ll come with you tomorrow to see Krieg again.”

“No! No, I am not going anywhere near that monster,” I said, my voice trembling. “Did you see how big he was? My head must have come up to his shoulder and he got his claw all the way around my neck! All the way!”

“If I may interrupt, Storch?” Tess said from behind me. I turned to give her my attention. “I will talk to Krieg before you are to meet again. He is stubborn, but my word carries weight with him. You do not have to fear for your safety next time. This I swear.”

“See? Everything will be fine. So what do you say?” Greaser said, her expression brimming full of hope.

I really didn’t want to go back into that murder machine’s office. Greaser was offering me free room and board though. Greaser’s smile widened when my stomach roared its own approval of her offer. It couldn’t hurt, I guess. I could always spend the night and then change my mind in the morning if I wasn’t feeling up to it.

“Yeah, all right,” I sighed. “I’ll come crash at your place.”

“Good on ya, mate!” Greaser said, clapping me on the back. “I uh… Well I’ve not had time to clean, so the place is in a bit of a right state. Bloody hell, we’ve been standing around in this elevator the whole time and nopony’s pushed a button.”

Greaser reached over to the panel and hit a button for a few floors down. That put her room near the top. Hadn’t she said the upper levels were for Obsidian personnel?

When the elevator stopped on Greaser’s floor, the two of us said our goodbyes to Tess and set out for her place. The Spire was pretty ritzy, all things considered. I could feel plush carpet beneath my hooves and the lights were functional, so they had to have working generators rigged up somewhere. I saw room service carts and was considerably impressed until we got closer and I saw them caked in layers of dust. Ah well, I could survive without the pampering as long as I got food.

“Well, here we are,” Greaser said as we stopped in front of a door. Her horn lit up and floated a key into the lock before pushing the door wide. “Home, sweet home.”

“Sweet Cygnus.”

Mess didn’t even begin to describe it. I heard debris being pushed aside as she opened the door. When Greaser flicked a light on I was greeted by what could only be described as a disaster zone. An innumerable amount of devices in varying states of assembly were strewn over every square inch of Greaser’s home. Scrap metal, spare parts. Nuts and bolts covered every last bit of floor that wasn’t otherwise occupied by appliances, recovered weapons and detritus.

Impromptu junkyard aside, Greaser’s place was spartanly furnished. Her door “opened” into a living room with a small kitchenette equipped with naught but a table and a refrigerator. Within the living room was a plush-looking couch and some sort of workbench Greaser had either assembled herself or scavenged from the Wasteland. A darkened doorway led into what I could only guess was a bedroom or a bathroom, and large plate glass windows let in the dim light of the overcast skies.

“It’s bad, I know,” Greaser said with a sheepish grimace. “I’ve really let it get bad. I’m always so busy scavenging and tinkering that I can’t be arsed to clean up the place. Did… did you want to come in?”

“Uh... yeah, thanks.”

I was extremely careful not to tread on anything as I made my way into Greaser’s home. I picked my way through the debris, only placing my hooves down when I was sure I wouldn’t step on something that would lodge itself firmly into their undersides. This left me in a somewhat awkward position after only a few steps, stranded in a small clearing a meter from the doorway. As innocuous as my predicament was, it was somehow still very stressful and I nickered when I felt my neck start to sweat.

“Hold on, I’ve got it,” Greaser said, shutting the door behind her and firing up her horn. All of the junk in the room was swept up and collected into a mountainous pile by Greaser’s magic before being unceremoniously deposited into an empty bin she procured from a corner of the room. “There we are. Sorted. Go on and make yourself at home, mate.”

I thanked her wordlessly and plodded over to the couch. Undoing the straps on my battle saddle and resting it on the floor was about all I could do for maintenance right now. Shrugging out of my jacket, I tossed it down as well and flopped onto the couch, letting myself sink into the plush cushions with a contented sigh. This was nice.

I took a look around while Greaser busied herself over in the kitchen. Being so high up gave the room’s window a nice view of the outside, and I clambered off of the couch to take a look. There wasn’t much to see of the city on this side of the tower, but it afforded me a very good view of Buckston’s coast. A large bay filled most of my view, encircled on either side by outcroppings of land in the vague shape of a horseshoe.

Something caught my eye as I looked out at the water. Right in the middle of the bay was some sort of structure that looked like it was anchored to the seafloor. I couldn’t fathom its purpose and before I could ask Greaser if she knew what it was, she called over to me from the kitchen.

“All right mate, I don’t have much to munch on but you’re welcome to what I’ve got.” She approached me holding three objects in her levitation field. A bottle filled with some sort of brown liquid, a little box of snack cakes and… an apple?

“Where’d you get an apple?” I asked as I held my hooves out to receive the food Greaser had brought. “I thought the Enclave were the only ponies who could still grow produce.”

I took a bite of the apple before Greaser could answer and dropped it the second my teeth bit into its crisp red peel. Flavor exploded into my mouth with that very first bite. Sweet, tart, and completely unlike anything I’d ever tasted in my life. I snatched the apple back up and devoured it in only a few bites, licking the juices off of my hooves even after it was long gone.

“That was amazing,” I said, smacking my lips. “I’ve never tasted an apple like that in my life. The apples we have above the clouds taste like shit. Well technically they don’t taste like anything but they may as well taste like shit. How are they grown? You guys shouldn’t get enough sunlight to reliably maintain an apple orchard.”

“Well, we—” Greaser was interrupted by a polite knock on the door. She furrowed her brow in confusion. “—Uh, excuse me. That’s odd, I don’t usually get visitors.”

I watched as Greaser trotted over to answer the door, ready to bolt out the window at a moment’s notice. I was expecting to see that monster griffon come to crush my skull like a grape, or maybe Tess. I wasn’t expecting to see what was on the other side of the door.

When the door swung open, I caught a glimpse of a statuesque pony. Indigo in color and with attributes of all three pony races prominently displayed. She practically dwarfed Greaser in size and she certainly would have towered over even my lanky frame. My blood ran cold and I tensed up as I remembered the last time I'd encountered such a terrifying creature. Alicorn! How had a stars-damned alicorn gotten into the building? We were all dead!

“Hello,” the alicorn said politely, “Excuse us, ma’am. We were wondering if you had a minute to talk about—”

“No solicitors!” Greaser bellowed before slamming the door shut right in the alicorn’s face. I felt my heart do several backflips. Was she insane? That thing could kill us all with a thought and a flick of her horn! “Bloody hell, it’s every other week with that lot.”

“Okay,” the alicorn said from behind the door, her voice noticeably muffled. “Thank you for your time.”

“What.” was all I could muster in my stunned state. “Why would you...? That was an alicorn!”

“Oh yeah, they come ‘round all the time,” Greaser said matter-of-factly. "That Unity lot, they’re always looking for willing ponies to join their cause. Doesn’t matter how rude I am to them, they always come back.”

“I can’t take this shit,” I groaned. “This is a bad dream I can’t wake up from. I think… I think I need to lie down.”

“Feel free to,” Greaser said. “Like I said, make yourself at home. I’m going to step out for a bit, I’ve got some errands to run. I’ll lock the door behind me but I shouldn’t be too long. I’ll definitely be here with Tess before we head up to see Krieg again.”

“Thanks, Greaser. Really,” I said as I clambered back up onto the couch. “For everything. I really don’t deserve it after what I tried to do to you.”

“No worries, mate,” Greaser said. “It’s all water under the bridge now, especially after what happened with Krieg. Get some rest, yeah? Remember, we’ve still got to get you looked at.”

I mumbled a drowsy affirmative as I sank lower into the couch’s cushions. I was glad I’d trusted Greaser in the end. She really was a pony of her word, and that was worth more than gold to me at the moment. I had time to hear the door click shut behind Greaser before the combination of comfort and fatigue dragged me down into the blissful depths of sleep.

Maybe living down here in the Wasteland wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Footnote: Level up.

Companion Perk Added:
Wrench Wench – Tech-savvy mechanic Greaser has joined the party! With her expertise, you gain a +15 point bonus to repair and discover more crafting materials than normal within containers.

Author's Notes:

New header by none other than my pal PencilGuy (NSFW images within)!

Translation for Tess's dialogue provided by my other good buddy Bottleguy!

I'm not going to make excuses this time. The delay was loafing, plain and simple. I think from this point on I'm not going to make any sort of claims to chapter length or time estimate. It's come back to bite me more times than I can count. All I can do is apologize for my sluggish speed and thank you all for your patience.

And last but not least, Future Frenzy — Theme of Greaser